Well, we got a little worried for Madison this morning. She got up and told Bill she had to puke. She went into the bathroom and started dry hacking. She then wanted some water (which we gave her) and that stayed down. She looked really pale, but said she felt fine. We even checked her temperature, and she was fine. She ended up in the bathroom one more and nothing. She just got up now from a nap, and she’s starting to act like herself again. She’s eating a piece of bread, and she was just acting goofy. Even so, I told Bill he couldn’t bring her to the South Side Parade today. (For those of you who don’t know what this is, let me explain. The weekend before St. Patrick’s Day on the South Side Of Chicago there is a St. Patrick’s Day parade. Now, I have never been to this before. However, from what I have heard, it really is just an excuse for people to drink and get drunk. Now, I may be wrong about that, but I just don’t think it is a good environment for little ones. When we were coming home from the party last night, Bill made a comment about bringing the kids. I think he also knew he should start looking at getting some life insurance quotes if he did, since he know my feelings on this.) Madison seems fine now, but I am still keeping my fingers crossed. Sick kids make for a miserable house!
Posts Tagged ‘uke’
The sickies
Sunday, March 9th, 2008Kids and their bodily fluids
Thursday, June 28th, 2007I thought that title would get your attention. Also, it serves as a great warning say if your are eating breakfast and don’t want to hear about things like bodily fluids over your breakfast. Ok, on with the story . . .
My bodily fluid day started at the doctors office. While being weighed, Will proceeded to pee all over the scale and me and the nurse and himself. It was great, let me tell you. Then after we got home, Will proceeded to pee on me twice while I was trying to change him. I thought this was the end of my fun. I was wrong. About 11 pm last night, I fed Will in my bed. I was being lazy and did want to take him back into the living room which has not been a problem. Last night, however, he ate his bottle and then proceeded to throw up all over me and my bed. Not a little, mind you. I had to change my clothes, and we had to rip all the bedding off the bed. My entire side of the bed was covered in puke.
I thought we were done with this stuff by today. Madison climbed into bed with me this morning. I was feeding Will about 8 and I noticed a wet spot on the bed on Bill’s side (and I was pretty sure Bill didn’t wet the bed). This is where Madison lays when she climbs into bed with me. Her diaper leaked!!!!
So today has now turned into “let’s wash all the bedding” day. I tell you, its great being a housewife. Somebody please help me . . . 
My Love Story
Sunday, April 15th, 2007Since I am hosting the Postie Carnival this week, I figure I have to do a post for it. I love chocolate and sugar — especially when I am pregnant. However, that is not what I am going to talk about. I could talk about Madison, but who does not love their kids.
However, a question I get a lot is how Bill and I met since I am from Green Bay, WI and he is from Burbank, IL. That is about a 4 hour drive depending on traffic. We are two people who should not ever have met. Bill went to college at the Milwaukee School of Engineering (MSOE). I went to college at the University of Wisconsin – Green Bay. Since the girl to guy ratio at MSOE was 8 guys to 1 girl, I use to drive carfuls of girls down to Milwaukee to party on the weekends. I dated one of Bill’s friends for a little while there, but he decided to go back home (which was in MN). I met a lot of really nice people at MSOE, so I continued to stay in contact with the guys there (including Bill).
The weekend Bill and hooked up is an interesting twist to our story. I was sick. I mean really sick. Like 102 degree fever sick. Me, being all of 19, did not go to the doctor. Why? If I went to doctor, I knew he was going to put me on antibiotics, and I could not drink if I was on antibiotics. I figured I could wait till Monday. Plus, I had a carful of girls that I told I would take down there. We got there on Friday night. The guys would hook us up too. One of the guys (Jimmy) would give up his room, so all of us girls could stay in there (we weren’t suppose to be there at all. We would sneak in.). We went to the frat party, and I clearly remember asking Bill to make sure that I did not hook up with anyone bad. Remember, at this point, we were really good friends. He was one of those guys you never think to date, because they are way too nice. We hung out at the party, I hooked up and set up a date with a different guy for Saturday night, and Bill and his friends walked us all back to the dorms. Well, the next night happens, and I got stood up. It sucked. I remembered being extremely sick and depressed. Bill stayed up with me all night, and we talked. I still remember thinking “why didn’t I hook up with him”. On Sunday, us girls went home, but I continued talking to him. We talked about what happened between us, and eleven years later we are still together.
Eleven years seems like a long time. It is even longer because the first 4 years of our relationship was long distance. Remember that I lived in Green Bay, and during the school year, he was in Milwaukee (2 hour drive) and during the summers, he was in Burbank (4 hour drive). When I moved down here in 2000, it was a hard adjustment for us. We had never spent more time together than a weekend ever. It was a transition, but we made it through. We have been married 6 years in June. We have a 3 year old with another little one on the way (in about 11 weeks).
And that is my love story . . .
New Orleans Needs Federal Aid, Not Presidential Photo-Ops
Thursday, March 1st, 2007Mr. President: Katrina Survivors Do Not Welcome You, We Rebuke You!
We live in a devastated city and you are a big part of the reason why it sill sits in ruins. Your administration has abandoned our children by savaging their public schools. Your administration has tortured our working class people by refusing to reopen the city’s public housing developments. And your administration is fully complicit in placing our uninsured in harms way by ruthlessly pursuing the privatization of local public healthcare in the aftermath of Katrina. And, finally your administration is guilty of sending our sons and daughters of to war for oil and empire just when we need them most to help us rebuild our community.
Mr. President, we, Katrina Survivors all, do not welcome you to our city, we rebuke you!
Sponsored by Survivors Village, United Front For Affordable Housing.
(504) 587-0080
If you have a blog please consider posting this today.
From: http://humidcity.com/2007/03/01/rebuke-bush-2pm/
Believe in Miracles
Monday, November 27th, 2006I got this in an email. I am not sure if it is true or not. However, it brought a tear to my eye. Let me know what you think.
Three years ago, a little boy and his grandmother came to see Santa at Mayfair Mall in Wisconsin..
The child climbed up on his lap, holding a picture of a little girl. “Who is this?” asked Santa, smiling. “Your friend? Your sister?”
“Yes, Santa,” he replied. “My sister, Sarah, who is very sick,” he said sadly.
Santa glanced over at the grandmother who was waiting nearby, and saw her dabbing her eyes with a tissue.
“She wanted to come with me to see you, oh, so very much, Santa!” the child exclaimed.
“She misses you,” he added softly.
Santa tried to be cheerful and encouraged a smile to the boy’s face, asking him what he wanted Santa to bring him for Christmas.
When they finished their visit, the Grandmother came over to help the child off his lap, and started to say something to Santa, but halted.
“What is it?” Santa asked warmly.
“Well, I know it’s really too much to ask you, Santa, but..” the old woman began, shooing her grandson over to one of Santa’s elves to collect the little gift which Santa gave all his young visitors.
“The girl in the photograph… my granddaughter well, you see … she has leukemia and isn’t expected to make it even through the holidays,” she said through tear-filled eyes.
“Is there any way, Santa . any possible way that you could come see Sarah? That’s all she’s asked for, for Christmas, is to see Santa.”
Santa blinked and swallowed hard and told the woman to leave information with his elves as to where Sarah was, and he would see what he could do.
Santa thought of little else the rest of that afternoon. He knew what he had to do.
“What if it were MY child lying in that hospital bed, dying,” he thought with a sinking heart, “this is the least I can do.”
When Santa finished visiting with all the boys and girls that evening, he retrieved from his helper the name of the hospital where Sarah was staying. He asked the assistant location manager how to get to Children’s Hospital.
“Why?” Rick asked, with a puzzled look on his face.
Santa relayed to him the conversation with Sarah’s grandmother earlier that day.
“C’mon…. I’ll take you there,” Rick said softly. Rick drove them to the hospital and came inside with Santa.
They found out which room Sarah was in.
A pale Rick said he would wait out in the hall.
Santa quietly peeked into the room through the half-closed door and saw little Sarah on the bed.
The room was full of what appeared to be her family; there was the Grandmother and the girl’s brother he had met earlier that day.
A woman whom he guessed was Sarah’s mother stood by the bed, gently pushing Sarah’s thin hair off her forehead.
And another woman who he discovered later was Sarah’s aunt, sat in a chair near the bed with weary, sad look on her face.
They were talking quietly, and Santa could sense the warmth and closeness of the family, and their love and concern for Sarah.
Taking a deep breath, and forcing a smile on his face, Santa entered the room, bellowing a hearty, “Ho, ho, ho!” “Santa!” shrieked little Sarah weakly, as she tried to escape her bed to run to him, IV tubes in tact.
Santa rushed to her side and gave her a warm hug.
A child the tender age of his own son — 9 years old — gazed up at him with wonder and excitement.
Her skin was pale and her short tresses bore telltale bald patches from the effects of chemotherapy. But all he saw when he looked at her was a pair of huge, blue eyes. His heart melted, and he had to force himself to choke back tears.
Though his eyes were riveted upon Sarah’s face, he could hear the gasps and quiet sobbing of the women in the room.
As he and Sarah began talking, the family crept quietly to the bedside one by one,
squeezing Santa’s shoulder or his hand gratefully, whispering “thank you” as they gazed sincerely at him with shining eyes.
Santa and Sarah talked and talked, and she told him excitedly all the toys she wanted for Christmas, assuring him she’d been a very good girl that year.
As their time together dwindled, Santa felt led in his spirit to pray for Sarah, and asked for permission from the girl’s mother.
She nodded in agreement and the entire family circled around Sarah’s bed, holding hands.
Santa looked intensely at Sarah and asked her if she believed in angels.
“Oh, yes, Santa… I do!” she exclaimed.
“Well, I’m going to ask that angels watch over you, “he said. Laying one hand on the
child’s head, Santa closed his eyes and prayed.
He asked that God touch little Sarah, and heal her body from this disease.
He asked that angels minister to her, watch and keep her.
And when he finished praying, still with eyes closed, he started singing softly, “Silent Night, Holy Night…. all is calm, all is bright.
“The family joined in, still holding hands, smiling at Sarah, and crying tears of hope, tears of joy for this moment, as Sarah beamed at them all.
When the song ended, Santa sat on the side of the bed again and held Sarah’s frail,
small hands in his own.
“Now, Sarah, “he said authoritatively, “you have a job to do, and that is to concentrate on getting well. I want you to have fun playing with your friends this summer, and I expect to see you at my house at Mayfair Mall this time next year!”
He knew it was risky proclaiming that, to this little girl who had terminal cancer, but he “had” to. He had to give her the greatest gift he could — not dolls or games or toys — but the gift of HOPE.
“Yes, Santa! “Sarah exclaimed, her eyes bright. He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead and left the room. Out in the hall, the minute Santa’s eyes met Rick’s, a look passed between them and they wept unashamed.
Sarah’s mother and grandmother slipped out of the room quickly and rushed to Santa’s side to thank him.
“My only child is the same age as Sarah,” he explained quietly. “This is the least I could do.
“They nodded with understanding and hugged him. One year later, Santa Mark was again back on the set in Milwaukee for his six-week, seasonal job which he so loves to do.
Several weeks went by and then one day a child came up to sit on his lap.
“Hi, Santa! Remember me?!” “Of course, I do,” Santa proclaimed (as he always does), smiling down at her.
After all, the secret to being a “good” Santa is to always make each child feel as if they are the “only” child in the world at that moment.
“You came to see me in the hospital last year!” Santa’s jaw dropped.
Tears immediately sprang in his eyes, and he grabbed this little miracle and held her to his chest. “Sarah!” he exclaimed.
He scarcely recognized her,for her hair was long and silky and her cheeks were rosy — much different from the little girl he had visited just a year before.
He looked over and saw Sarah’s mother and grandmother in the sidelines smiling and waving and wiping their eyes.
That was the best Christmas ever for Santa Claus.
He had witnessed –and been blessed to be instrumental in bringing about — this miracle of hope. This precious little child was healed. Cancer-free. Alive and well. He silently looked up to Heaven and humbly whispered, “Thank you, Father.
‘Tis a very, Merry Christmas!
