In which we raise the dead, melt eyeballs and otherwise prepare to celebrate our mothers.
So much has happened since last we wrote, Faithful Readers. (There are still a few of the Faithful out there, aren't there?) To begin with, as many of you suspected from our last entry, Owen enjoyed his first ear infection for the whole two weeks I was home with him.
Nothing quite gives you the crash course in parenting like holding your screaming baby under a fan at 2 a.m. in an effort to cool his fever enough for sleep. Since his little 103-degree body is WAY too hot to hold next to you, it's fun to get an early morning arm workout while you rock his sweaty little leaden mass to snoozy town. Was it hard to go back to work after having one-on-one time with the O-boy?
Ah, no. I needed the rest.
Fortunately he recovered from his ear infection in time to make his first full day at Day Care. (Thank you, Amoxycilin-- or, as I call you, Proof of God.) I should note that Owen gave me his bug and I enjoyed a truly festive sinus infection on my business trips to New York and Boston. Nothing says "Joy of Fatherhood" like a few thousand feet of pressure on an achy, congested head.
My pain didn't bring the boy down, though. He LOVES daycare. I get the full stiff-arm to the chest, reaching for the kids and toys on the floor treatment the second we walk into the room. Owen apparently can't get enough of it. Literally. According to our daily report cards on him, he's getting about 5 minutes of naptime and a bite and a half of food daily. He just can't be bothered with the time away from the action.
It makes pick-up a lot of fun.
Sadly, we don't have the resources to snap a photo of it, but imagine this as your cover to Time magazine: A weary parent staggers down the street. In her arms she carries the limp body of her child. Unidentified viscous fluids are smeared on his face and clothes. His eyes are half-closed, the lids fluttering.
That's Robin picking up our nightly corpse from school. No food and no nap make Owen one mean little zombie.
Still, Owen remains a treat on the weekends (amazing what a little sleep and food will do for your temperament) and, apparently, he's a doll at school. This Friday I dropped Owen off early and discovered he was going to have a substitute teacher from one of the other classes, the Lambs.
"I've been looking forward to having Owen all week," Miss Vanetta told me.
"Well, I'll be picking him up at 11:30," I said.
"Oh, no!"
And I don't think it was a platitude, either. When I actually did come grab him, Miss Vanetta was on lunch break. As I left, though, one of the other teachers stopped me in the hall.
"Vanetta's going to be crushed that she didn't get to keep Owen all day!"
Puppet Master strikes again.
Now why was Owen, not to mention his daddy, making a jail break so early on a school day? Well, we had to run Mommy to the doctor. As a special treat for Mother's Day, we were having her eyes burned with lasers so that she could see again.
I got to watch. It was totally gross.
First, they dilate the heck out of your eyes making you look incredibly evil. That part was cool. Then, they get two doctors to grab you and one of them WRITES on your eyeball. Yikes! After that they drag you into another room, which I couldn't see, and laser off the top layer of your eye. Then they bring you into a third room, which I could see, peel off that top layer with a metal hook, zap your eye repeatedly for about 90 seconds, pop the skin flap back on and brush it down.
Robin got some neat-o Yoko Ono sunglasses and about 20 gallons of eyedrops. She also gets to sleep in some bizarre-O Fly Girls Specs. Otherwise she is free and clear of the glasses and seeing great!
Happy Mother's Day!
And, speaking of today's holiday, it was lovely. We had all the grandparents and good friends Lisa, Tad and Holly (whose names just HAVE to make you think of the opening line to the theme from Land of the Lost) over for lunch. Food was courtesy of Diane Gallagher who, God love her, brought over an enormous and delicious frozen breakfast casserole while I was home with Owen. In case you're wondering, the recipe feeds seven with leftovers.
Owen and Holly compared teeth (she has three and he's just now cutting one) and we generally just hung out together. It was quite nice and I remain full hours after eating one of the giant slices of pie that Holly's parents brought to the party.
Of course neither Owen nor Holly could be convinced to nap in the midst of all the activity so we're getting a little jump-start on this week's zombiedom. Fortunately we know the voodoo to deal with just such a demon:
The lady with the cooked eyes has six ounces of a formula that puts our monster down every time.
