Last Monday was my birthday, and I woke up much later than usual, at 7:30. My three year-old wakes up at around six every morning, which is just fine with me, because I am a bit of a lark as well. I also really love having coffee with my husband before he leaves for work at 6:30, so I get up around five or so to start breakfast for the guys. Waking up so late threw off my sense of normalcy, but I vaguely remembered my husband coming to kiss me goodbye before leaving for work at the plumbing supply company where he manages the warehouse, so I knew for sure that I had slept far too late and that my day would seem strange. Little did I know how truly strange this day would turn out.
When my son came into my room to wake me up, he seemed confused as well: “Where's Daddy? I'm hungry. It's late...Why is it late? What is late?”
I was totally unprepared for the barrage of questions and padded my way down the hallway to the kitchen to make my son's breakfast. There I found a birthday card from my husband and a note stating that there was not much to be found for breakfast, to look on the coffee table. He had gone to the doughnut shop down the street, and picked up doughnuts and kolaches, which was just fine with me. I gave Kidsplosion one of each. (Stellar parenting, I know...but gimme a freakin' break; it was my birthday and I didn't feel like making a wholesome breakfast.) The note had also stated (apologetically, I might add), that a trip to the grocery store was in order. I told Kidsplosion about the morning plans, and he and I both sulkily munched our junk food breakfast, dreading what was in store:
We had to go to Wal-Mart.
About fifteen minutes after breakfast, my son came into my bedroom, where I was fixing my hair.
“MMMOOOMMMMMMMMYYYY-YYYY-YYY!!!” he wailed, huge tears rolling down his coppery-red cheeks, naked from the waist down and carrying his Spiderman underwear in his right hand. “I need Butt Power, Mommy!”
I was torn between concern for my child and the obvious pain he was in. and the hilarity of the phrase he used to express it, and it took all I had to contain my laughter and say, “Aww, honey what's wrong? Is your butt hurting? Why don't we go to the bathroom and you can show me what is the matter.”
Kidsplosion grabbed my wrist with his free hand and led me down the hall to the bathroom, where he sat on the commode and reached forward and wrapped his arms around my leg, crying his little eyes out. “It HHHUUUURRRRTTTSSS!!”
“What hurts, hon?”
“My dump! I need BUTT POWER!”
Then Kidsplosion let loose a grunt that any grown construction worker would have been envious of, and then yelled “BUTT POWER!!!” one final time, and let loose the largest turd I have ever seen a kid crap out. Apparently he had been pretty constipated, and since he has been fully potty trained for over a year now, neither his father nor I knew. He poops well on his own, quite shamelessly, and wipes his own butt and washes his hands with no trouble...until this particular incident.
You could see how his bowels had formed together several marble-shaped mini-turds into one monstrous kid-grogan, one that was the size and shape of a half-liter bottle of water. I was shocked at what I had just seen come out of my kid's ass, but he seemed so relieved that I pushed my fear to the side and handed him his Kandoo wipes. He was just fine after that, putting his clothes on and saying, “Let's go shopping so we can come home and play with cars!”
With the assumption that I had encountered the worst possible scenario early on in the day, Kidsplosion and I headed to buy groceries with nary a worry in mind. We happily shopped about until we reached the back of the store, when the Kiddo said, “I gotta go pee pee.” OK, I thought, we can do that. We headed to the restroom located at the back of the store and proceeded on to the handicapped stall, because it's way easier to maneuver with a toddler with more room.
The stench hit us befor
Melody - 12 years ago
Last Monday was my birthday, and I woke up much later than usual, at 7:30. My three year-old wakes up at around six every morning, which is just fine with me, because I am a bit of a lark as well. I also really love having coffee with my husband before he leaves for work at 6:30, so I get up around five or so to start breakfast for the guys. Waking up so late threw off my sense of normalcy, but I vaguely remembered my husband coming to kiss me goodbye before leaving for work at the plumbing supply company where he manages the warehouse, so I knew for sure that I had slept far too late and that my day would seem strange. Little did I know how truly strange this day would turn out.
When my son came into my room to wake me up, he seemed confused as well: “Where's Daddy? I'm hungry. It's late...Why is it late? What is late?”
I was totally unprepared for the barrage of questions and padded my way down the hallway to the kitchen to make my son's breakfast. There I found a birthday card from my husband and a note stating that there was not much to be found for breakfast, to look on the coffee table. He had gone to the doughnut shop down the street, and picked up doughnuts and kolaches, which was just fine with me. I gave Kidsplosion one of each. (Stellar parenting, I know...but gimme a freakin' break; it was my birthday and I didn't feel like making a wholesome breakfast.) The note had also stated (apologetically, I might add), that a trip to the grocery store was in order. I told Kidsplosion about the morning plans, and he and I both sulkily munched our junk food breakfast, dreading what was in store:
We had to go to Wal-Mart.
About fifteen minutes after breakfast, my son came into my bedroom, where I was fixing my hair.
“MMMOOOMMMMMMMMYYYY-YYYY-YYY!!!” he wailed, huge tears rolling down his coppery-red cheeks, naked from the waist down and carrying his Spiderman underwear in his right hand. “I need Butt Power, Mommy!”
I was torn between concern for my child and the obvious pain he was in. and the hilarity of the phrase he used to express it, and it took all I had to contain my laughter and say, “Aww, honey what's wrong? Is your butt hurting? Why don't we go to the bathroom and you can show me what is the matter.”
Kidsplosion grabbed my wrist with his free hand and led me down the hall to the bathroom, where he sat on the commode and reached forward and wrapped his arms around my leg, crying his little eyes out. “It HHHUUUURRRRTTTSSS!!”
“What hurts, hon?”
“My dump! I need BUTT POWER!”
Then Kidsplosion let loose a grunt that any grown construction worker would have been envious of, and then yelled “BUTT POWER!!!” one final time, and let loose the largest turd I have ever seen a kid crap out. Apparently he had been pretty constipated, and since he has been fully potty trained for over a year now, neither his father nor I knew. He poops well on his own, quite shamelessly, and wipes his own butt and washes his hands with no trouble...until this particular incident.
You could see how his bowels had formed together several marble-shaped mini-turds into one monstrous kid-grogan, one that was the size and shape of a half-liter bottle of water. I was shocked at what I had just seen come out of my kid's ass, but he seemed so relieved that I pushed my fear to the side and handed him his Kandoo wipes. He was just fine after that, putting his clothes on and saying, “Let's go shopping so we can come home and play with cars!”
With the assumption that I had encountered the worst possible scenario early on in the day, Kidsplosion and I headed to buy groceries with nary a worry in mind. We happily shopped about until we reached the back of the store, when the Kiddo said, “I gotta go pee pee.” OK, I thought, we can do that. We headed to the restroom located at the back of the store and proceeded on to the handicapped stall, because it's way easier to maneuver with a toddler with more room.
The stench hit us befor
Norman - 12 years ago
Why are they doing this; to save a few dollars,..shutting down the hospital for land development?Exposing people to disease for the drug companies to make even more money off the vulnerable,weak and usually poor...Has there been any kind of study done to substantiate the need for this reckless abandonment of the sick and concern for public safety ? How do we protect the care givers at home , how do we stop the spread, who foots the bill,is there a safety net in place? Who takes the fall if it all goes wrong? Will these people be treated like leapers once they are integrated back in to the public sphere? Show me the reasoning and the necessity for doing what is being done before it happens...make sense of it in common language and no mumbo jumbo and no corporate nonsensical gibberish,plain english...please.
adlerman - 12 years ago
Everyone needs to remember that this is a Republican decision. When it appears that TB is spreading again you know who to blame. I think the punishment should be that every Republican who voted to close the hospital will be injected with TB.
Last Monday was my birthday, and I woke up much later than usual, at 7:30. My three year-old wakes up at around six every morning, which is just fine with me, because I am a bit of a lark as well. I also really love having coffee with my husband before he leaves for work at 6:30, so I get up around five or so to start breakfast for the guys. Waking up so late threw off my sense of normalcy, but I vaguely remembered my husband coming to kiss me goodbye before leaving for work at the plumbing supply company where he manages the warehouse, so I knew for sure that I had slept far too late and that my day would seem strange. Little did I know how truly strange this day would turn out.
When my son came into my room to wake me up, he seemed confused as well: “Where's Daddy? I'm hungry. It's late...Why is it late? What is late?”
I was totally unprepared for the barrage of questions and padded my way down the hallway to the kitchen to make my son's breakfast. There I found a birthday card from my husband and a note stating that there was not much to be found for breakfast, to look on the coffee table. He had gone to the doughnut shop down the street, and picked up doughnuts and kolaches, which was just fine with me. I gave Kidsplosion one of each. (Stellar parenting, I know...but gimme a freakin' break; it was my birthday and I didn't feel like making a wholesome breakfast.) The note had also stated (apologetically, I might add), that a trip to the grocery store was in order. I told Kidsplosion about the morning plans, and he and I both sulkily munched our junk food breakfast, dreading what was in store:
We had to go to Wal-Mart.
About fifteen minutes after breakfast, my son came into my bedroom, where I was fixing my hair.
“MMMOOOMMMMMMMMYYYY-YYYY-YYY!!!” he wailed, huge tears rolling down his coppery-red cheeks, naked from the waist down and carrying his Spiderman underwear in his right hand. “I need Butt Power, Mommy!”
I was torn between concern for my child and the obvious pain he was in. and the hilarity of the phrase he used to express it, and it took all I had to contain my laughter and say, “Aww, honey what's wrong? Is your butt hurting? Why don't we go to the bathroom and you can show me what is the matter.”
Kidsplosion grabbed my wrist with his free hand and led me down the hall to the bathroom, where he sat on the commode and reached forward and wrapped his arms around my leg, crying his little eyes out. “It HHHUUUURRRRTTTSSS!!”
“What hurts, hon?”
“My dump! I need BUTT POWER!”
Then Kidsplosion let loose a grunt that any grown construction worker would have been envious of, and then yelled “BUTT POWER!!!” one final time, and let loose the largest turd I have ever seen a kid crap out. Apparently he had been pretty constipated, and since he has been fully potty trained for over a year now, neither his father nor I knew. He poops well on his own, quite shamelessly, and wipes his own butt and washes his hands with no trouble...until this particular incident.
You could see how his bowels had formed together several marble-shaped mini-turds into one monstrous kid-grogan, one that was the size and shape of a half-liter bottle of water. I was shocked at what I had just seen come out of my kid's ass, but he seemed so relieved that I pushed my fear to the side and handed him his Kandoo wipes. He was just fine after that, putting his clothes on and saying, “Let's go shopping so we can come home and play with cars!”
With the assumption that I had encountered the worst possible scenario early on in the day, Kidsplosion and I headed to buy groceries with nary a worry in mind. We happily shopped about until we reached the back of the store, when the Kiddo said, “I gotta go pee pee.” OK, I thought, we can do that. We headed to the restroom located at the back of the store and proceeded on to the handicapped stall, because it's way easier to maneuver with a toddler with more room.
The stench hit us befor
Last Monday was my birthday, and I woke up much later than usual, at 7:30. My three year-old wakes up at around six every morning, which is just fine with me, because I am a bit of a lark as well. I also really love having coffee with my husband before he leaves for work at 6:30, so I get up around five or so to start breakfast for the guys. Waking up so late threw off my sense of normalcy, but I vaguely remembered my husband coming to kiss me goodbye before leaving for work at the plumbing supply company where he manages the warehouse, so I knew for sure that I had slept far too late and that my day would seem strange. Little did I know how truly strange this day would turn out.
When my son came into my room to wake me up, he seemed confused as well: “Where's Daddy? I'm hungry. It's late...Why is it late? What is late?”
I was totally unprepared for the barrage of questions and padded my way down the hallway to the kitchen to make my son's breakfast. There I found a birthday card from my husband and a note stating that there was not much to be found for breakfast, to look on the coffee table. He had gone to the doughnut shop down the street, and picked up doughnuts and kolaches, which was just fine with me. I gave Kidsplosion one of each. (Stellar parenting, I know...but gimme a freakin' break; it was my birthday and I didn't feel like making a wholesome breakfast.) The note had also stated (apologetically, I might add), that a trip to the grocery store was in order. I told Kidsplosion about the morning plans, and he and I both sulkily munched our junk food breakfast, dreading what was in store:
We had to go to Wal-Mart.
About fifteen minutes after breakfast, my son came into my bedroom, where I was fixing my hair.
“MMMOOOMMMMMMMMYYYY-YYYY-YYY!!!” he wailed, huge tears rolling down his coppery-red cheeks, naked from the waist down and carrying his Spiderman underwear in his right hand. “I need Butt Power, Mommy!”
I was torn between concern for my child and the obvious pain he was in. and the hilarity of the phrase he used to express it, and it took all I had to contain my laughter and say, “Aww, honey what's wrong? Is your butt hurting? Why don't we go to the bathroom and you can show me what is the matter.”
Kidsplosion grabbed my wrist with his free hand and led me down the hall to the bathroom, where he sat on the commode and reached forward and wrapped his arms around my leg, crying his little eyes out. “It HHHUUUURRRRTTTSSS!!”
“What hurts, hon?”
“My dump! I need BUTT POWER!”
Then Kidsplosion let loose a grunt that any grown construction worker would have been envious of, and then yelled “BUTT POWER!!!” one final time, and let loose the largest turd I have ever seen a kid crap out. Apparently he had been pretty constipated, and since he has been fully potty trained for over a year now, neither his father nor I knew. He poops well on his own, quite shamelessly, and wipes his own butt and washes his hands with no trouble...until this particular incident.
You could see how his bowels had formed together several marble-shaped mini-turds into one monstrous kid-grogan, one that was the size and shape of a half-liter bottle of water. I was shocked at what I had just seen come out of my kid's ass, but he seemed so relieved that I pushed my fear to the side and handed him his Kandoo wipes. He was just fine after that, putting his clothes on and saying, “Let's go shopping so we can come home and play with cars!”
With the assumption that I had encountered the worst possible scenario early on in the day, Kidsplosion and I headed to buy groceries with nary a worry in mind. We happily shopped about until we reached the back of the store, when the Kiddo said, “I gotta go pee pee.” OK, I thought, we can do that. We headed to the restroom located at the back of the store and proceeded on to the handicapped stall, because it's way easier to maneuver with a toddler with more room.
The stench hit us befor
Why are they doing this; to save a few dollars,..shutting down the hospital for land development?Exposing people to disease for the drug companies to make even more money off the vulnerable,weak and usually poor...Has there been any kind of study done to substantiate the need for this reckless abandonment of the sick and concern for public safety ? How do we protect the care givers at home , how do we stop the spread, who foots the bill,is there a safety net in place? Who takes the fall if it all goes wrong? Will these people be treated like leapers once they are integrated back in to the public sphere? Show me the reasoning and the necessity for doing what is being done before it happens...make sense of it in common language and no mumbo jumbo and no corporate nonsensical gibberish,plain english...please.
Everyone needs to remember that this is a Republican decision. When it appears that TB is spreading again you know who to blame. I think the punishment should be that every Republican who voted to close the hospital will be injected with TB.