Archive for the ‘My Insides Hate Me’ Category

In Memory

13 Aug

Yesterday we attended Xander’s memorial.  It was a nice service, with a hopeful message and a lot of sweet memories shared between friends and family.  When they asked people who knew Xander to come forward and share, I really wanted to.  But each time I tried to stand up, my stomach lurched in such a way that I was pretty sure my attempt at speech would end with me running toward the nearest exit.  See, I have this unfortunate fate of possessing a digestive tract that is ever so closely linked with my emotional state, and sometimes when things aren’t easy, my body starts rejecting anything I eat.  It’s really annoying (though my trainer commented on Saturday that I look like I’ve lost weight… I guess that could be considered a benefit).  Anyway, had I been able, I would have said something like this…

Xander was my son’s best friend.  In fact, in the full version of the picture [on display at the memorial], his arm is around my son.  His arm was always around Koren.

Koren’s not a huge kid, so we were amused when he immediately picked the biggest kid in class to be his best buddy  – we figured if they grew up together we’d never have to worry about anybody picking on him.

When Koren started going to preschool with Xander, we had just moved back from Alaska.  He didn’t know anybody and was used to being in the same class as his older sister – so drop-offs in this new environment were hard.  Even on days he didn’t cling to my leg as I dropped him off, he would still walk slowly and timidly into the noisy cafeteria.  Until he saw Xander.  If Xander was there in the mornings, he and I both knew it was going to be alright.  He’d climb into a seat next to his newfound friend and start chatting.  His teachers picked up on this pretty quickly.  Pretty soon, we’d open the door to hear, “Xander, Koren’s here!” or “Koren, Xander’s over here!”

They were quite a pair, and brought out the silliness in each other.  Sometimes they would get in trouble together.  Jens or I would walk in to pick Koren up in the afternoon, to be told immediately that Koren had been reprimanded.

“I had to separate him and Xander,” his teacher would say.  “They were hugging too much.”
“They were… what?”
“They were hugging too much when they were supposed to be paying attention.”
“Oh.   … Ok.”

I’ll be honest, it’s kind of hard to make your kid apologize for being a distraction when you really just want to laugh at the fact that his crime was being affectionate.

I was always in a hurry to pick up Koren and get out of there (you know, us and our busy lives), but I frequently got roadblocked by a certain four-year-old with outstretched arms:

“Kowen’s Mom, gimme a hug!”

How can you say no to that?  Sometimes he wouldn’t even ask, he’d just plow into me when I wasn’t looking 🙂

When Xander got moved to a different preschool class, we saw that it affected Koren.  Not anything super dramatic, but I noticed that he was a little more subdued when I picked him up.  He told me several times how much he missed being in class with Xander.  He soon found a new little friend to hang out with in class, but always referred to her as “my best friend in Ms. Teresa’s class.”  Best Friend (without qualifications) was a title still reserved for Xander.

Tonight Koren wanted to look at pictures of his birthday party.  For every picture he flipped through that had Xander in it, he would say, “That’s my friend Xander who’s in Heaven,” or “There’s Xander.  He’s a hero.”

I want Koren to remember the special bond he shared with this remarkable boy.  I wish they had been able to grow up together, but I think that somehow Xander will continue to be with Koren in the years to come.  And every time we look at his pictures, read his story, or release ladybugs in his honor, I hope he feels the warmth of that friendship and remembers the loving boy he was so privileged to know.


You're SICK

08 Nov

Tonight I had some bad sushi. It tasted good. But it didn’t agree with my insides and for a while I wasn’t sure whether it was the sushi, or my insides, that were about to exit my body in a rather unfriendly fashion.

Consequently, I spent a good portion of the evening alternating between the couch and the toilet.

J is gone on a business trip tonight so it was just me and Kaelin for the evening. It is surprisingly difficult to spend an evening sick on the pot with a curious and concerned toddler investigating, questioning, and playing doctor.

“Are you ok Mama?”

(between winces, and with my head in my hands) “Not really. Mama’s a little sick right now.”

“You’re SICK. Are you ok Mama?”

“I will be ok soon. Mama just needs to go potty. Can you go watch TV for a few minutes?”

“Do you have an owie? Does your eyes hurt? Do you have an owie on your arm?”

“Mama’s tummy hurts.”

“Mama has an owie on her tummy. Does it need a kiss?”

“No thank you. But thanks for offering.”

(Removing a strip of toilet paper to wrap around an old scratch on Mama’s arm) “Mama has an owie RIGHT THERE. Put this on it because it makes it feel all better for you.”

“Thank you sweetie.”

(Grabbing my arm at attempting to pull me off the toilet) “Puuuuuuuuuulllllll! Puuuuuuullllll! Go out there. Go into the living room, Mama.”

“I can’t right now, baby. Go ahead and I’ll come in a few minutes.”

“I need some toilet paper!

“No you don’t. Don’t take any more toilet paper. Leave it alone.”

“I love you Mama! Hold you?”

“I love you too, but I can’t hold you right now. I’m going potty.”

(Attempting embrace) “HUUUUUG!”

She then found a small flashlight and proceeded to spotlight and name Every. Single. Item. in the bathroom.

“Shine the light and then you can see it. This is a scarecrow! How about the scarecrow’s basket? How about the toilet paper? How about the door! How about the shoe! How about Mama’s knee? How about Mama’s other knee! How about Mama’s cheek! How about Mama’s arm! How about Mama’s tummy! How about Mama’s boob!”

“Kaelin, can you please go watch TV for a few minutes.”

“Are you ok, Mama? Mama has an owie.” (Runs down the hall) “Your SICK!”


The Hard Way

12 Dec

Lesson #41.

Today I had chicken fried rice for lunch. I like ordering chicken fried rice because they always give you enough for two meals and it keeps pretty well for a few days.

Today I ate the entire dish of chicken fried rice.

Bad idea. Bad bad idea.

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Posted in Food, My Insides Hate Me


Eww, Ow, and Holy Crap

12 Aug

This past week has been a hard one, physically.

A week ago, I made the mistake of eating a grilled cheese sandwich with a glass of chocolate milk. Am I pregnant or what?

Anyway, the “mistake” part comes from the fact that I have certain food “sensitivities” which make my intestines react to the combination of certain foods, particularly those containing a lot of dairy products. At the time, it didn’t occur to me at all until I found myself in the bathroom vomiting like I haven’t done since I was five, and then enduring one of the most painful sessions of diarrhea I’ve ever known. Having endured many cases of grumpy intestines, that’s saying a lot. This is the first time it’s actually made me throw up.

The next day, I took a spill in the Chili’s parking lot while trying to run shoeless to a car in a torrential downpour. Again, my fault. But it sounded like a good idea at the time. It sounded like less of a good idea when I found myself on the ground in a river of water with a banged-up ankle. The jury is still out on how I managed to scrape up the top of my ankle (and only the top of my ankle) while falling on my butt.

Yesterday, I went to the doctor with abdominal pressure, cramping, and lower back pain. After checking me for signs of preterm labor, the doctor determined that I have a bladder infection and gave me a prescription for antibiotics.

While filling the prescription, I decided – since infection in general can be bad for babies – that it couldn’t hurt to pick up some Neosporin and band-aids for the ankle wound I had received in the parking lot several days before.

It hurt.

The wound, which I had been washing daily with antibacterial soap, had previously been only slightly swollen around the red area, but had scabbed over and been little more than an inconvenience on the road to recovery. The only real soreness came from the skin pulling on the new scab when I flexed my ankle.

Within four hours of taking my antibiotics and applying the Neosporin, my foot had swelled to the size of a water buffalo and was too painful to walk on. What had been a typical brown scab became yellow and pus-looking, and the redness had spread to a much larger area.

My bladder infection also picked this time to swing into a full-blown, too-painful-to-stand-up-straight, can’t-find-a-position-that-doesn’t-hurt problem.

Today, I am doing the John Merrick hobble around the house trying to find a position to sit or lay in that doesn’t instill misery. Being seven months pregnant, I only have about 3 positions to choose from, and have found each to be more uncomfortable than the other two.

Having never had a bladder infection before, I’m not sure what they’re normally like. But I can tell you that having one with a 3-lb baby sitting on top of it is comparable to having a very tempermental porcupine residing in my abdomen.

Here’s hoping the antibiotics kick in, like, yesterday. And it will be a very long time before I drink another glass of cranberry juice.



20 Jan

“Everyday is a struggle between what I wanna say, and what I should keep to myself…”

-Toby Lightman, Everyday

“[Company Name], this is Amy.”
“I’m a distributor and there’s a sticker on my box that says ‘Distributor ID Number: 5714.’ Is that my Distributor ID Number?”
“Well it’s certainly not your IQ.”
(NOTE: Distributor ID Number has been changed to protect the stupid)

“Olive Garden, may I help you?”
“Yes, I need to add a soup to the pick-up order I placed a few minutes ago.”
“What kind?”
“I can’t remember the name, it’s the one that starts with a Z.”
“The Pasta e Fagioli?”
“Did you pass kindergarten?”

Personal Victory of the Day: I am slowly winning the battle of the bulge. Of the 12 pounds I gained after I got married (actually, after I graduated and quit walking around a 5-level campus all day) I’m down to 7 as of this morning. Yee-ha! Of course, that probably has less to do with any efforts of my own, and more to do with the fact that last night’s dinner didn’t stick with me very long.

I think I have developed some sort of a food allergy, but can’t for the life of me figure it out. Sometimes I make notes on what I eat, and have come to the following conclusions:

Milk: OK if I drink it on a regular basis. BAD if I haven’t had it in a while
Milk on an empty stomach: BAD
Milk + Wings: BAD
Chocolate Milk + Wings: OK
Chocolate Milk on an empty stomach: BAD
Milk + Cereal: OK
Pizza: OK
Pizza + Coke: usually OK
Studio Movie Grill Pizza + Pepsi: Bad…sometimes
Cheesecake: BAD
Crab: BAD sometimes, but I don’t care. I like it too much.
Wienerschnitzel Hot dogs: BAD…but that probably goes without saying.
Alfredo: BAD
Tai Noodle Dishes: BAD
Fajitas at On the Border: OK
Fajitas at Colorado Restaurant: BAD
Coke: OK
Penne w/4-cheese marinara: OK
Coke + Penne w/4-cheese marinara: BAD

After all that, I still can’t figure it out. I guess I’m not lactose intolerant, or dairy products would always bother me, right? It seems that carbonated beverages and cheese don’t go well together. And I don’t know what was with the hot dogs and fajitas. Ideas, anyone?

I’m a glutton for punishment. It’s free lunch day at work (yay) and we’re having Olive Garden. Cheese ravioli and lasagna. And Coke. Bad for diet and food allergy. Yummmmm…

On a side note, I have discovered why cowboys walk bow-legged. Contrary to popular belief, it has nothing to do with riding horses. It’s so they can keep from scuffing up those pretty boots. I need to take a lesson from them, as I have just succeeded in ruining yet another pair of great leather boots by scratching up the sides with my heels. Doh.

And on another side note,

I can’t even teach my cat to do this.

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Posted in Are You Kidding Me?, Confessions, My Insides Hate Me, Peaves, Such is Life, Work