Itching With Inspiration

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I am itching with inspiration. Itching. And the inspiration comes from an actual itch and Facebook. The itch can be scratched. Facebook? It will be the death of me, if I don’t learn to keep quiet.

I find myself funny; unfortunately, I don’t keep the ‘funny’ to myself. (I don’t keep anything to myself.) Moreover, as I share what I find funny, I soon realize the rest of the world does not see things the way I see things. Amazing. Really, it’s a shame. Poor, poor world. I have a friend that says ‘you might as well laugh as cry’, and I try to remember that sentiment when things get crazy.

Yesterday, I posted what I thought was a funny poem on my Facebook status. “Too much info I sometimes share; here’s an example in case you care, My kid Joe does not have rabies. Nah. Instead this kid has scabies.” Well, the humor in my poem went over like a lead balloon. *THUD* (Actually, my neighbor found it funny, as she literally called me on the phone seconds after I posted the status.)

Other Facebook friends? Not so much. One FB friend, who has a child in my son’s daycare class, proceeded to contact the daycare provider. She was not amused with my mentioning my child and scabies in the same poem. [I admit, ‘scabies’ sounds horrible.] She wanted to request my child not be allowed back into daycare until the scabies was cured. Ok. Fine. I understand her concern. I understand her wanting to protect her child, as well as the other children in the class. But – Charlie was not the one with a rash. In fact, Charlie is rash free.

Again, I understand the Mom’s concern. As a Mom, I experience the same concerns, and I certainly don’t want to expose other little ones to my sick little ones. However, as a Mom of two, my knee-jerk response to illnesses has lessened. Greatly.

When my oldest was a newborn and throughout his first three years, I freaked whenever he was sick and/or was thought to have been exposed to someone else who was sick. I freaked to the point of becoming a freak. (Rumor has it I am still a freak, but for other reasons.) Then, when I had my second child, I found I freaked less. I found juggling childcare and my paid gig was tough, especially when a child was sick and had to stay home. Hmm . . . maybe the kid isn’t sick. Maybe he just has allergies. No fever. He’s fine. Off to daycare you go.

Yes,¬† juggling work and two kids eased my freaky “Oh my gosh! My kid is sick! Quick! We must go to the Urgent Care Center STAT!” nature. Juggling parenthood and employment eased my freaky “What do you mean he was exposed to chickenpox? What kind of Mom takes their child out in public when they have chickenpox? Argh!” nature. Just like being a Mom of two eased my “He fell! Is he breathing? Is there blood? Do we have to go to the ER?” knee-jerk reaction. Now, if one of my two falls the reaction is more like, “I can’t see any blood from here. Shake it off. Rub it. Move along.”

I admit, my neighbor and I still call each other (immediately) when we fear one of our little ones is battling a scary illnesses or has just experienced a serious bonk of some sort. She and I will talk each other off the ‘freaking out’ ledge.

Back to the rash. I’ve discussed Charlie’s lack of rash, which brings me to Joe. Joe doesn’t have scabies. However, the pediatrician thought it best he (and Charlie) be treated for scabies because our neighbor’s kids had scabies. The rash on Joe’s arm is actually dermatitis, and we are treating it with a steroid cream. Still, last night, we did the scabies treatment, too, which consists of lathering the child in a special cream before bed and washing the cream off in the morning. Treatment also includes washing sheets, towels, etc. Done, done and done. Joe is enjoying a normal day at school, and Charlie is enjoying a not-so-normal day at home.

And Scabies? Yeah, it’s a scary name for a mite that is similar to lice. Scabies mites typically thrive on the body below the neck, whereas lice thrive on the scalp. Scabies is far easier to treat than lice; plus, unless you are sharing a bed or rolling around naked with someone suffering Scabies, Scabies is harder to transmit than lice. You can access the MayoClinc’s website for information about Scabies by clicking here.

I’ll work harder on keeping things to myself, while holding my humor in check. Still, tonight I may have to create a new poem for my FB status; many words rhyme with ‘flu’.

The Dreaded Fitted Sheet

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The left sheet was folded by me, and the right sheet was folded by my husband.

I present to you Exhibit A. And, no, there is no exhibit B. On the left, you see the fitted sheet I folded, and on the right, you see the fitted sheet my husband folded. For over 40 years now, I have yet to hone my skill of folding fitted sheets. Clearly, my husband’s skill-set is above mine, as his end result is quite neat. Though I will no doubt come across as sexist, I challenge all the men reading this post to take a moment and try their skill at folding fitted sheets. Married men, please consult with your wife on which sheet is the fitted sheet; and single men, please call your Mom and ask her. I am sure all the Moms in the world would love to receive a call from her son(s), anyway. Oh, and please, if you call your Mom, let her know I suggested you call. I try hard to get on the good side of Moms.

Folding fitted sheets neatly is not something I do well – do good? Argh, is it do well or do good? My use of grammar is not always done – um, I’m not always correct in my usage of grammar. Perhaps my mother will read this post and call me with the proper usage of ‘well’ and ‘good’. But, you will not find me waiting by the phone for my Mum to call, because my Mum, like me, doesn’t like the phone. This is not a post about phones, so I apologize for the digression. For the record, I referenced my Webster’s dictionary and found that I do not fold fitted sheets well, but I do have good hands.

I have already showed you pictures of our closets, so you are well aware of my lack of organizational skills. Though I lean more towards the insecure side, it does not prevent me from exposing my faults. In fact, one might say, okay – many would say, over-sharing is something I do well. Talking is another thing I do well, provided ‘do well’ means ‘often talks’. I listen well, too; even though I may ignore what I’ve been told or overheard. I am not a good silent reader, in part because I am easily distracted by sounds and miscellaneous and impromptu thoughts in my head. I do well when reading aloud to my boys, provided I am not reading Dr. Seuss. Dr. Seuss proves to be quite a challenging read-aloud. Actually, I find reading aloud A. A. Milne challenging, too.

I have a wonderful ability to annoy people. Just one loud outburst of my laughter will scare babies and generate looks of annoyance. In fact, on our way to a birthday party yesterday, my oldest did something I found quite funny, so I generated a loud outburst of laughter. My oldest quickly covered his ears and whined. I said, “Oh, I am sorry; I know that was loud.” My husband quickly returned, “Yes, it was loud, especially in the car.” Still, while my laughter may generate some annoyance, I have the ability to make people laugh, too. I mean, the fact that people laugh at me, counts as having the ability to make people laugh, right? And yes, self-deprecation is another thing I do well. I believe belittling is an important skill to keep one’s ego in check. Not sure why, but as I type, I hear Tigger saying, “And, belittling is what Tiggers do best!”

I am good at Jumbles. Frankly, I’m good at many word games. I love word games, too. I’m not good at number games. Sudoku is not my friend. I believe word problems are evil. I do not enjoy reading about Farmer John, who is driving his tractor 7 miles an hour, while wearing his size 36″ waist purple pants on the 2nd Tuesday of the month. When Farmer John gets to his brother’s house, which is 3 miles from where he went to school 20yrs ago, and the total number of times his 13″ diameter tractor wheels rotated completely during his journey, is of no use to me. I suppose getting a triple word score and a double letter score with a great word in a game of Scrabble is of no true¬† importance to me, either. Still, I’ll always pick a word game over Farmer John and Sudoku.

Aside from sharing the fact that I don’t fold fitted sheets well and my husband does fold fitted sheets well, I’m not sure I know what the purpose is of this post. Staying on target, following one train of thought and generally making sense is not on my list of things I do well; however, the ability to cause people to scratch their head and look confused is something I do quite well.