Wasn't I just here a month ago, apologizing for my lack of blogginess? Ai yi yi, what a month it has been. Mostly, a lot of sick. I mean a LOT. As in, all my boys have pneumonia. Even my big boy, John. And it may be very stereotypical of me to say this, but my god, men are the biggest babies when they are sick. Other than a really annoying cough that wouldn't go away, I didn't even know the boys were sick at all, but John on the other hand, well... Between the whining and the PMS-like symptoms, it was pretty obvious something wasn't right. I think the thing that pissed me off the most, though, was the trip to the doctor.
John is currently laid off, meaning he is staying at home with the kids, while I work M-F, 8-5. I had been telling him for about 2 weeks that I thought the boys needed to been seen, the cough was really bad and getting worse. He argued that as long as they had no fever and were just as active as ever, they were fine. As he got whinier and whinier, and refused to do pretty much ANYTHING, because he didn't feel good, I finally just asked him why he wasn't going to the doctor too. His response, "I will, as soon as I find a babysitter for the kids." WTF? They are sick too, and their doctor and his are in the same building. He's sick with the exact same symptoms as them, and he'll take himself to the doctor, but not them? Needless to say, I was a little perturbed. After listening to my boss carry on for a week about the RSV epidemic that's hitting our area, especially those that use the Native Hospital (like us), I finally took a day off work and took them in. And what do I find out? No, not RSV - pneumonia. Two weeks, and two antibiotics later, Chunky is much better. Peanut, however, is about the same. I've taken him in twice, and they all say his lungs are clear, but every night he starts coughing again. He has huge circles under his eyes, and looks absolutely miserable. He's stopped eating for the most part, especially at night. So I'll be taking him in again later this week.
In other news, my mother in law, Dev, has moved back in with us. Last year, she came to visit in July, and stayed on as our nanny through October, when John got laid off. Now she's back, and will be staying until October again. God help us all. I love her, I really do. I even worked with her for 3 years at the same company, sometimes even as her boss. But living with her is a whole different animal. For starters, she smokes. I don't. My husband used to, but since we moved 2 years ago, he doesn't either (thank god). My son is allergic (we think, most of his breathing troubles/rashes cleared up almost instantly after John quit and we moved). She doesn't smoke in my house, but the smell clings to her all the time. And she smokes in my truck - she seems to think cracking the window a half inch is good enough. John thinks I'm crazy about this one, but it drives me insane - I fold up the kids clothes and put them away. I match up all the outfits that came together, shirt on top, pants on the bottom, on one half of the shelf. On the other side, I put all the pants in one pile and all the shirts in another that don't have "matches" but can be worn with anything. She picks out their clothes for the day by going in there and digging though all the piles until she finds something she thinks will work. Yesterday, my son wore the pants to his dinosaur outfit (complete with little dinosaurs embroidered down the sides) with his big red Elmo sweatshirt. GRRRRRRR. I know, in the grand scheme of things, it's a tiny thing. But it's not like she doesn't know that's how I put them away. I have even laid out their clothes myself, and she will completely ignore them. I don't get it. Part of the reason I do it that way is because it makes it easier. Just go pull the matching outfit off the top of the pile, and go. What is her freaking problem?
I have a feeling this blog is quickly going to descend into "my mother in law is crazy and let me tell you why" territory, so I will attempt to keep myself in check on this particular subject. But be forewarned, it may get worse before it gets better.