Aw, Crud

That's what I call it: The Crud. You know--worse than the common cold, but not the flu. Cough. Hack. I ran a fever around 100.5 Friday, but it broke and I thought I was getting better.

Wrong.

So yesterday I self-diagnosed infection and refilled an antibiotic from last October. Does anybody else do this? The antibiotic was Levaquin, which is indicated for sinus & lung infections. The Internet says so and the Internet is never wrong. Right?

I'm not whining. Just telling you why my posts have been fluff.

Temperatures reached 69 degrees here today. I knew I wasn't feeling well when I opted to stay inside rather than enjoy the sunny day. I hope the antibiotic is the key.

Barbie's

A month ago Carl took Hannah with him to run a few errands. On their way home Hannah gave me a call on Carl's cell phone.

"Hi Mom!" She sounded both surprised and excited to hear my voice, even though she was the one that called.

"Hi Hannah. What are you doing?"

"Mom! It's me! Hannah!" she replied with more effervescent enthusiasm.

"I know, Hannah. What are you doing?"

"Riding in Daddy's truck."

"What have you been doing with Daddy today?"

"We eat at Barbie's," she answered.

"Barbie's. What's Barbie's?" I went through a mental list of potential places they could have gone that Hannah might call Barbie's, but nothing came to mind.

"We eat at Barbie's," she repeated as if I didn't hear her the first time.

"What did you eat at Barbie's?" I asked, still trying to narrow things down.

"Chicken," she replied. That answer confuses me to this day.

"Chicken? At Barbie's?" I paused. "Let me talk to your dad."

After some shuffling noises, Carl got on the phone.

"Where did you and Hannah eat today?" I asked him. You'll never guess what the answer was. Scroll on down...




Keep scrolling....






Almost there....










Makes perfect sense, doesn't it?

Matchy-Matchy

Here I am in the Wichita area while Carl swoosh-swooshes down the ski slopes. If anyone deserves that vacation, he does. I hope they're having a blast.

Hannah has been learning to "match" things this year. Maybe she's learned it every year of preschool, but this is the first year she's been able to verbalize the lesson at home. "Look Mom! My shirt matches your pants. They're blue!" Or "Your shirt matches that car!" (They're both red.)

My mom, a.k.a. Grandma Janis, rearranged her basement recently, moving the bedroom where Katie and Hailey sleep to a different location. The minute we arrived Saturday, Grandma Janis took all three girls down to show them their new digs, complete with a new quilt on the bed.

"What's that, gwamma?" Hannah asked, pointed up at gray duct work running along the ceiling of the new bedroom.

"That's the duct work for my heater."

Not missing a beat, Hannah informed her, "Gwamma! It matches your hair!"

On the Road Again

I don't know if you've realized it from my previous posts, but Carl is the original prototype for the Energizer Bunny. Truth be told, Carl's DAD, Mel, is the original prototype and Carl is merely Son of Prototype. Carl grew up in a family with five sisters and no brothers who all snow skied together every winter and water skied every other weekend in the summer, and they haven't slowed down since.

Mel has continued to snow ski well into his later years, even getting free senior citizens lift tickets at certain ski slopes, but he hasn't skied since winning his battle against colon cancer a few years ago. Now, at the ripe old age of 83, Mel has decided to take one last ski trip and his six children are joining him sans spouses. Louise, Carl's mom, is going too, but won't be skiing. They leave for Colorful Colorado tomorrow to ski for three days in the Colorado Rockies. I don't expect to see Carl again until his raccoon-style sunburned face shows itself next Friday. Pray that all bones stay intact.

My sentences and paragraphs are all choppy because right now I'm fighting some kind of crud, complete with tight cough and low grade fever. Perfect timing. Being the pioneer-spirited woman that I am, I'm packing up my three kids to stay with Mom and visit my sister for a few days rather than be a single parent for an entire week. I've even pulled the girls out of school Monday. Wimpy? Maybe. Let's just say I know my limitations and leave it at that. Katie and Hailey would be a breeze, but the Hannah factor weighs in heavily.

I need to get up and get packed. This crud has kept me from doing what little laundry I usually do so that I'm actually planning to pack dirty clothes. Eww. Yes, I'll wash them before we wear them, just not before we leave. Am I making any sense?

Getting up now...really...I'm moving...soon...hack, cough, hack...here I go...

Mondegreens

Here's a multiple choice question for you:

What is a mondegreen?

A. Part of a golf course

B. A kind of insect

C. The mishearing of a phrase

I've included this picture not only for your viewing pleasure, but also to keep you from seeing the answer as you contemplate. You are contemplating...aren't you?

The answer is C. Answers.com defines a mondegreen as "A series of words that result from the mishearing or misinterpretation of a statement or song lyric. For example, I led the pigeons to the flag for I pledge allegiance to the flag."

Do you remember this commercial from...when...2006? It's the perfect example of a mondegreen, mistaking the Clash's "Rock the Casbah."

Following are some other common mondegreens.



"There's a bathroom on the right." for "There's a bad moon on the rise." Bad Moon Rising, Creedence Clearwater Revival

"Dead ants are my friends; they're blowin' in the wind." for "The answer my friend is blowin' in the wind." Blowin' In The Wind, Bob Dylan

"The girl with colitis goes by." for "The girl with kaleidoscope eyes." Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds, The Beatles


"Sleep in heavenly peas." for "Sleep in heavenly peace." Silent Night, Christmas carol

"I got no towel, I hung it up again." for "I get knocked down, but I get up again." Tubthumping, Chumbawumba


"She's got a chicken to ride." for "She's got a ticket to ride." Ticket to Ride, The Beatles

"Sunday monkey won't play piano song, play piano song." for "Sont des mots qui vont tres bien ensemble; tres bien ensemble." Michelle, The Beatles

"Baking carrot biscuits." for "Taking care of business." Takin' Care Of Business, Bachman-Turner Overdrive

"Donuts make my brown eyes blue." for "Don't it make my brown eyes blue." Don't It Make My Brown Eyes Blue, Crystal Gale

Frankly, some of them amaze me. Who the heck thought CCR was singing about bathrooms??? I grew up reading Blowin' in the Wind piano music from a collection bound in a big, green Reader's Digest piano book, so "dead ants?" Come on. Finally, Tubthumping's song is one of my all-time favorites, so that one especially cracked me up.

We have our own Mondegreen in the Solomon house, courtesy of Hannah. After watching The Sound of Music approximately 3,427 times, she has figured out the words to So Long, Farewell. Following are the correct lyrics, with the confusing German words in italics:

So long
Farewell
Aufwiedersehn
Goodnight

Hannah, being unfamiliar with German (shocking, huh?), has figured it out:

So long
Farewell
The people say
Goodbye...

...Goodbye.

The Deeper Meaning of Tail Feathers

Yesterday I told you of poor Pippin's tail feathers. Every time I think of the actual plucking, I unintentionally practice twenty or thirty Kegel exercises in subconscious sympathy for the bird.

Since then I've imagined the events that lead to the crime. Thursday morning Carl took Katie and Hailey to school. When he returned he left Hannah inside to entertain herself while he prepared his truck for work. I picture her playing with her Leapster or watching the musical State Fair for a while, then noticing a lighthearted chirping coming from the big girls' room.

Up until that day Hannah had committed several small acts of vandalism, including dumping an entire bag of bird seed into the bottom of Pippin's cage or simply leaving the cage door open, but nothing harmful to the parakeet. She had attempted to capture Pippin without success, managing only to set the bird free to poop throughout the girls' bedroom.

That Thursday morning was different, though. In my mind's eye I see Hannah's walking into Pippin's room, approaching the birdcage and reaching for Pippin. Pippin anxiously avoided Hannah's pudgy hand until, to her surprise, she succeeded in capturing the frightened bird.

Did you ever hold a baby bird when you were a child, felt it's frantic heart beating until it pecked your fist? You probably released the bird upon the first little bite. You may have even cried. I imagine that's exactly what transpired between Hannah and Pippin, except for the part where Hannah should have released the bird and cried.

Pippin's tiny bird brain had no way of knowing that Hannah had used biting herself as a method of self-soothing since she was a toddler. She still sports the scabs and scars to prove it.




As Pippin pecked Hannah's already wounded hands, Hannah noticed the long tail feathers. Like a kid pulling a dog's fluffy tail, Hannah gave the feathers a tug. Surprise! The feather came out in her fat little fingers. Kegel. Kegel. Kegel. Unlike a dog's bite, Pippin's pecks were harmless.

Pluck.

Pluck.

Pluck. Pluck. Pluck.

I don't know what made Hannah quit, but I'm glad she did.

I'm going to take a giant leap and say that I identify with Pippin. Hannah was to Pippin what arthritis was to me when it first disrupted my life. Like Pippin, I lived a simple life, experiencing setbacks no bigger than having all of the birdseed dumped into the bottom of the cage or occasionally being ignored. I had long, beautiful tail feathers in my life: I was an above-average pianist, a straight-A college student, an energetic participant in intramural sports and extracurricular activities, all the while tying my identity and worth into those elements of me.

Almost as quickly as Hannah plucked Pippin's tail feathers, arthritis yanked those elements from my life. Nowadays Pippin hops back and forth between the two mirrors in his cage and I wonder what he sees, wonder what he thinks of the bird in the mirror. I thought he might react like a dog with a bad hair cut, sullen and humiliated. Surprisingly, he seems unaffected by the situation. Maybe he knows his tail feathers will grow back. Or maybe his tiny bird brain doesn't have a segment for vanity.

Like Pippin, I've had to grow new "tail feathers." But, my identification with the parakeet stops there. Pippin's tail feathers will look almost identical to the ones he lost. Mine look much different, the equivalent of bright red peacock-style feathers on a baby blue bird. Years of commitment to the piano have been replaced with a hit-and-miss, halfhearted attempt at writing. Intramural sports have transformed into regular attendance at an arthritis aquacize class otherwise attended by senior citizens. These tail feathers have the potential to become full and stunning if I give them my full attention, but they will always be red.

Maybe, though, as I age my other "feathers" will change from blue to red, so that my red tail feathers won't seem so odd. Eventually it won't seem strange that I'm part of a senior citizens' aquacize class: red body feathers. Many pianists develop arthritic hands and stop playing like they used to, maybe even replacing their piano playing with other creative outlets: more red body feathers.

It's a reach, I know. But we all have our tail feathers plucked at some point in our life. Some of us get them all yanked out at once and have to decide whether or not to lapse into self-pity and humiliation while we wait complacently for a few stragglers to grow back. Others of us experience a hidden, consistent loss of one tail feather at a time, which is, in some ways, more difficult in its tenacity and anonymity. I have to admit that a sick serendipity of having a deforming illness is that I don't have to suffer silently or alone.

I'm not sure how to conclude this. I've got these crazy, red peacock feathers growing out of my backside, clashing with the baby blue feathers of my life, and I'm trying to decide how much time and attention to give them. Focusing on them feels vain and selfish. But ignoring them leaves me depressed and resentful. Somewhere in between is Aristotle's golden mean.

Have you noticed any red tail feathers growing out of your rear end lately?

Birds WITH a Feather...

Do you remember this picture?

Last September Katie picked out this beautiful bird for her birthday, primarily because it had the longest, prettiest tail of all the birds in the store.




Fast forward to the first weekend of February. My sister's husband, Ed, has taken two or three business trips yearly, leaving Ashley home with their five children aged eight and under. The youngest is nine months old. Can you imagine? To top it all off, they home school.

Before Ed left for his most recent business trip, Ashley grumbled that motherhood doesn't provide "business trips," no weekend escapes from the mundaneness of stinky diapers, midnight feedings and the constant sound of "Mom. Mom. Mom." Nobody says, "Hey, I need you to fly to this faraway city and have intelligent, adult conversation with other like minded adults. Oh, and then we'll provide you with your very own quiet hotel room (read: a full, uninterrupted night's sleep)."

Before you work-outside-the-home mom's chime in and say, "I wish I could stay home all day," or anyone says, "Wait, that's the choice she made when she decided to stay home with the kids," I say stow it. Every choice has its benefits and challenges. Everyone grumbles now and then. If you're not a grumbler, you're stronger than I. Bully for you.

But I digress. SuperEd came up with a SuperSolution for their situation. He suggested that Ashley take a little "business trip" of her own while he stayed home with the kids. It became a SuperDuperSolution when Ashley invited me on her "business trip" to Winter Park, Colorado, along with my mom and dad. Carl OK'd the trip, we found excellent accommodations and enjoyed two nights in the Rockies. Ahhhh.

Look, Mom, it's Byers Peak!

So far, so good. Right? Ashley and I have wonderful, selfless husbands who are willing to sacrifice for our sanity, right?

Well, sort of. SuperEd lives near his family, who provided a couple of meals and a place to hang out with the kids while we vacationed the days away. That's not to minimize his efforts. He still spent the nights alone with baby who's still nursing and a two-year-old who awakens at odd hours.

While Carl didn't have a baby to contend with, he had Hannah. Need I say more? No family lives within a one hundred mile radius. He even took Hannah to work with him Thursday. What a guy.

I called Carl from Colorado that Thursday night. "How are things going?"

"Great. The DVD player in the truck didn't function while Hannah and I were at work, so I had to go to plan B, but Hannah was an angel. A guy at my last job gave her a big, white helium balloon."

"How's everything at home?"

"No problems." He paused, then muttered, "Here's another one."

"Another what?" I asked.

"Oh, I keep finding Pippin's feathers all over the house. I don't know what's going on."

I pictured downy white and blue feathers dotting the floor and asked, "Do you think he's sick?"

"Nah. I'm sure everything's OK." We talked a little longer, then hung up for the evening.

I spoke with Katie the next evening. "How was school today?"

"Fine." We've recently entered the realm of monosyllabism. That's my new word.

"Did anything unusual happen?" I asked, hoping to solicit a lengthier reply. I wasn't disappointed.

"Next time I see Hannah I'm going to dump water on her head."

Uh oh. "Why's that?" I asked cautiously.

"She pulled all of Pippin's tail feathers out. Next time I catch her at Pippin's cage, I'm going to dump a glass of water on her head."

"Yeah, you said that already." At least she didn't say she was going to kill her. I attempted to soothe Katie and told her we would figure something out when I returned home.

Katie's description was accurate. Hannah pulled all of Pippin's tail feathers out, not just a few downy blue and white ones.

I can only hope they'll grow back. Poor bird. For now, we keep Pippin locked in Katie's and Hailey's room during the day until we can determine how to make his cage Hannah-proof.

I haven't written here in a long time, but believe me, it isn't because life has become dull.

Tune in tomorrow for The Deeper Meaning of Tail Feathers. It's already written and scheduled to publish tomorrow morning.