This Full House Archive

Tag: creeping crud

  • Don’t Have a Speaking Paper, GET ONE!


    The warm-ish, cold-ish, back to warm-ish, make up your mind, already, ding-dang weather has kicked off Hope’s croup (a.k.a. the creeping crud), which usually means:

    • She will cough the entire night
    • She will lose her voice
    • And then she will throw up

    Lovely, yes?  Don’t worry, she’s used to it.  Me?  Not so much.  I don’t do well with throw up.  Never have.  When it comes to the kids getting sick, Garth (not his real name) has been my go to, as the…ummmm…throw up handler?  Puke wrangler?  Chumming buddy?

    [blank stare]

    The Speaking PaperSoooooo, aaaaanyway, poor thing got sick in school.  On the way home, I asked her if she was able to keep her lunch down.

    “Yes, until I coughed up the goober that got stuck in my throat and my lunch decided to play follow the leader.”

    I love this kid.  She just cracks me up.

    “Aaaaaand, I had to write a speaking paper.”

    Long story, short (you’re welcome!) Hope lost her voice in school and decided it would behoove her teachers that she make a list of common phrases she uses throughout the day:

    • Can I go to the bathroom?
    • Can I get a drink?
    • Can I go to the nurse?
    • Can you repeat that?
    • I don’t understand.
    • Thank you!

    I thought it was soooooo funny (especially, the part where she thought “I don’t understand” not as rude as asking people to repeat themselves!) until I wondered (out loud) what would be on MY speaking paper, to which she answered:

    • Where is your ding-dang coat?
    • What part of “pick up your wet towels” do you NOT understand?
    • The dishwasher IS DIRTY, dangit!
    • Did you do your homework?
    • Get up, you’re going to be late! (may or may not be used separately)
    • What do you MEAN you don’t have ANY homework?
    • Throw me a bone, people!

    Aaaaand, she would have gone on and on…if I hadn’t reminded her that…you know…I would be the one taking care of her, for the next few however long it took for her to get over the creeping crud.

    [blink-blink-blinkety-blink-blink]

    She then pointed to the last bullet of her Speaking Paper and, well, now that I think on it some more, I really SHOULD send a thank you note to her teachers, or flowers, maybe even a box of chocolates, a butt load of cough drops, or something, right?!?

    Cheeky kid.

    © 2003 – 2013 This Full House 

  • At Our House, It’s Called a Blood Drive-By

    Teenager PostAs a mother of 3 teens, 1 kid in double-digits and Supreme Goddess of All Things Domestic (in my house, anyways) I feel it safe say that there is NOTHING worse than battling a foreign object, invading your child's body, that you canNOT see.

    3yo Heather:  Hey…wook…isn't that where you gave bwud, How-wee?

    Unless, you have to take said child to have their blood drawn and, well, game over dude!

    5yo Holly/How-wee:  I didn't give it…Heatherrrrr…THEY TOOK IT!

    Even years later, my two oldest daughters would play out this same conversation, every time we'd drive by the building, where they each got their "bwud tooken" and, well, How-wee…I mean…Holly will tell you…YES!..it was THAT traumatic.

    [pulls up sleeve]

    Me:  Dude…they won't take your blood here.

    I took my son to the doctor, yesterday.  Long story, short (you're welcome) he's got a nasty case of some sort of creeping crud she couldn't quite identify and, well, now it was his turn to have his "bwud tooken".

    Me: We have to go…you know…[whispers]…to that OTHER place.

    [eyes go wide]

    This is the kid that doesn't get sick.  He's only heard stories, from his oldest sisters, whenever we would drive by the place where they had their blood…you know…tooken.

    Receptionist:  Name?

    Me:  Glen  [whispering] he's never had his blood…tooken…I mean…taken.

    The receptionist just nodded her head and, thankfully, the place was empty. Except for this one kid, going ALL ape sh*t, and his sh*thead father:

    Kid, going ALL ape sh*t: BWAAAAAAAAH!!!! NOOOOOOOO!!!!  NOOOOOOOO!!!  NOOOOOOOO!!!

    His sh*thead father:  SHUDDUP!!!!  SHUDDUP!!!  SHUDDUP!!!

    So, my son and I just sat down and…you know…covered our ears.

    Medical Asst.:  Glen?

    It was funny to watch the receptionist's face, as he stood up and she handed my son a cup.  I swear, you could actually hear her neck muscles pop.

    Medical Asst.:  You can leave it on the bathroom sink and then go right into Room #1.

    [eyes go wide]

    Medical Asst.:  Oh relax, your friends probably hit you harder than this is gonna hurt!"

    Thank goodness for kind-hearted medical assistants, right?

    Glen:  Buuuuuut, no one said ANYTHING about peeing in a cup!

    [blink-blink-blink]

    Me:  Well, I didn't think it would be SUCH a big deal.

    [voice cracking]

    Glen:  Buuuuuut, it's a really small cup!

    Judging by the way the she was laughing…I guessed correctly…the medical assistant was a mother AND happened to have a teen boy at home…too.

    Stupid blood tests, dumbass creeping crud.

    © 2003 – 2012 This Full House

    FRESHLY-BREWED ELSEWHERE:  I'm over at PlaydatePlace.com this week, confessing not teaching my kids how to ride a bike. Also, sharing a recipe for Angel Food Cake that does NOT suck!