Tuesday, May 24, 2011

Sick child, costly super powers, and The Moral of the Story

The Child has an infection of some sort. 105.3 fever a couple of nights ago, and I almost panicked myself to death. I did have the presence of mind to call the doctor before calling 911, and they told me to bring her in the next morning, and only to worry if it climbed to 106. So we loaded her up with ibuprofen and Tylenol, she slept like a rock all night, and was much better in the morning (though still very hot).

I took her in, chatted with her on the way about how the doctor would have to look in her eyes and ears and mouth, and listen to her chest and back, but that he was her friend, and he was trying to figure out what was making her sick. On the way in, she was chattering away at me, and said, "We're going to the doctor to get sick!" No amount of correction would dispel that notion. Sigh.

She was her usual shy self at first, but the first nurse to wave at her, she turned the charm on. I wish I could make nurses and doctors and other highly educated people fawn over me just by touching my hairdo and declaring, "This is Naomi's pigtail!"

She is most likely fine, though we have to wait on some cultures to be sure. They put her on antibiotics, which is super awesome because she refuses yogurt. Sometimes she'll drink it in smoothie form, if we're lucky. So, I have to get to the store sometime today to pick up some probiotics. Yaay.

Jeremy and I have recently been thinking of awesome superpowers at a price. Like, if you had Fire Hands, but you had to scream constantly whenever your turned your power on.

We play too many video games, I think.

Also, Little Golden Books. I like them because they don't usually have A Message. They're just cute little stories. But I like to give them A Message. For instance, The Poky Little Puppy.


Five puppies keep digging under the fence and are gone all day, exploring and doing little puppy things. They keep getting home in time for supper, but their mother sends them straight to bed because they dug a hole under the fence. The Poky Little Puppy is a dawdler, so he gets home after everyone is asleep and eats up all the dessert. The third time this happens, his brothers fill up the hole under the fence instead of just going to bed, and their mother rewards them by giving them the dessert. The Poky Little Puppy has to squeeze in through a slat in the fence, and goes to bed with nothing to eat.

Moral of the story:

If you break the rules, more often than not, you'll get a family-sized portion of dessert.

Or The Shy Little Kitten. Synopsis:

A shy little kitten wanders off by herself her first day out of the barn, meets new people, and eventually wanders back to the farmyard, where her mother gives her a bath, and they all go on a picnic.

Moral of the story:

If you wander away from your house, be sure to talk to strangers, go on long walks until you get lost, but be home in time to get a bath and some delicious food.

Also, I would like to know what the parents are doing in these stories. If my kids were consistently destroying property, I'd probably do more than just withhold supper, you know?

Friday, May 13, 2011

I am so glad I did not wear shorts

(I wrote this yesterday, but then Blogger exploded)

Let's talk about how dumb I am. Yaaay! Our favorite topic!

Apparently, being closer to the sun means you burn more easily. Who would have thought?? Genius.

See, in Wisconsin, I can spend almost an entire day outside and not even tan. When we went to the zoo a couple of weeks ago (a few hours of alternating sun and shade), I came home, lounged around during the girls' nap, and this BURN appeared on my shoulders two hours later.

First, I would like to know what's with the delay in sunburns. Since when does a burn take TWO HOURS to appear?

Second, ow.

Third, duh.

Moving on.

Today we went to a park and walked around a lake. It's a newish park, so all the trees are little babies, and there is no shade. None. We live in a desert. Of course there aren't any trees just springing up for the fun of it in the middle of the valley. I'm not Jonah, for crying out loud.

For some reason, I just assumed that this time, it would be different. Like, the laws of physics and biology in Utah would have changed (OF COURSE!) for my white Wisconsin-raised self.

I came home after this two-hour walk outside. Next to a lake. In blazing sun. With no trees. Did I mention no trees? I did not see a sunburn when I arrive home twenty minutes later. I didn't even see one an hour later after the girls went to bed.

Two hours later, a brilliant cherry red blossomed all over my shoulders, arms, and face. I look like I just got done with a REALLY intense workout. Or maybe I chewed up an habaƱero pepper, and then took it out of my mouth and rubbed it all over my body. Or maybe I took a nap in the oven.

So you can all laugh. And I will stock up on lightweight cotton long-sleeved shirts. And scarves. And long gaucho pants.

Incidentally, did you ever wonder how Prince Feisal and all the other black-clothing-wearing people didn't melt in the fiery desert of Arabia?

Tuesday, May 10, 2011

Jean does not have a future in therapy

We have been having some trouble getting the girls' medical records transferred to our new pediatrician. I have filled out all the forms twice, to no avail. So I finally called our old pediatrician's office today.

Lady: Blah Blah Pediatrics, how may I help you?
Me: I've been having some trouble getting our daughters' records transferr--
Lady: Oh, let me just stop you right there. I need to transfer you to records, so you don't have to explain it all twice.
Me: Oh, thanks!
Lady: Hold just a minute.

::bad music::

::more bad music::

::still more bad mu--:

Jean: Blah Blah Medical Records; this is Jean. How may I help you?
Me: Hi, I've been having some trouble getting our daughters' records transferred to our new pediatrician, specifically the--
Jean: Name please?
Me: Last name Whine--W-H-I-N-E--, first names Grace and Emmeline--E-M--
Jean: Emily?
Me: No, Emmeline. E-M-M--
Jean: How do you spell that?
Me: [For serious?] E-M-M-E-L-I-N-E

(Oh, I love the name, but I'm so sick of spelling it; poor child has a rough life ahead of her with the Americanized German atrocity that is our last name. Get married quick, 2.0!)

Jean: Okay... here it is. It shows we sent 34 pages on February 9, 2011.
Me: Hmm. Well, the main problem was the immunization records. I'm pretty sure they got the--
Jean: Well, we sent it. 34 pages.
Me: Okay, well, I'll just call and double check. Her last visit was shortly after that, so maybe they hadn't been processed yet.
Jean: Okay. Bye!

She wasn't mean, just brusque. I still wanted to shake her. She's in such a hurry to do her job, let me finish a sentence! It would have gone much more quickly.

So I called our new pediatrician's office (almost an hour later, since they close for lunch), got transferred to records again, after more bad music. The nicest lady works in that office:

Kim: New Blah Medical Records; this is Kim. How may I help you?
Me: Hi, I've been having some trouble getting our daughters' records transferred here; she has an appointment coming up, and I want to make sure they made it.
Kim: Okay, name please?
Me: Last name Whine--W-H-I-N-E--, first names Grace and Emmeline--E-M-M-E-L-I-N-E. [SEE HOW MUCH FASTER THAT WENT, JEAN?]
Kim: Okay, I have 34 pages here, but I'm not finding the immunization records. I'll just look through it for you quick...
"quick" being a relative term, I suppose
Kim: Hmm... Okay, there's nothing here. All I've got are two sheets saying they got their flu shots.
Me: Argh. Okay. I'll call them again. Thank you!

Me: [to self] Okay, why don't I just find the number for Blah Blah Records and call them directly so I don't have to get transferred again.
Lady2: Blah Blah Records, how may I help you?
Me: Hi, I'm calling again about my daughters' records. I'm having trouble getting them transferred.
Lady2: Name please?
Me: Last name Whine--W-H-I-N-E--, first names Grace and Emmeline--E-M-M-E-L-I-N-E.
Lady2: ...Oh, is this for pediatrics?
Me: Yes, I found the number on your website. It was the only one for records.
Lady2: Sorry; this is just the hospital; I'll need to transfer you to pediatrics.
Me: Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't realize.
Lady2: That's fine; no problem!

::bad music::

::more bad music::

::still more bad mu--:

Jean [breathing fire]: Mrs. Whine? WHY did you call the hospital's records?
Me: Bwah? This is the only number for records on Blah Blah Health Care's website. I thought it would be easier for everyone to call directly. I didn't know--
Jean: WELL. This is pediatrics [imagine this spoken slowly, like I'm two, or Bolivian, or nearly deaf]. The hospital can't give you our records.
Me: Okay...
Jean: Now, I SENT those 34 pages to your pediatrician just now. Why did you call again?
Me: Umm... You did?
Jean: I TOLD you I was sending them.
Me: I'm very sorry. I don't remember you saying that.
Jean: Well, I sent them. Why did you call again?
Me: Excuse me? I've sent this request twice. I wanted to make sure they actually got their records this time. They hadn't. I called here again.
Jean: Okay. Bye [with that note of irritation you leave on the end of a word to let someone know you think she's an idiot].

The whole thing is ridiculous, since they are the ones who botched the whole thing, but the 4th grader in me got off the phone and almost cried. Ridiculous.

But seriously. I know nothing about how offices work. Other than wasting her time (eyeroll), is there some horrible thing about accidentally calling the wrong number in the system?

In other news, I have found some pants that fit me perfectly. Black dress pants, no less, which is good because the pair I got from Old Navy five years ago are now tissue-thin. They are Gloria Vanderbilt, which makes me feel like a 60-something Kohl's aficionado, but hey! They look good on me. They are not high-waisted, pleated, or tapered, so who cares if they're a mom jeans and cardigans kind of brand, right?