Sunday, February 28, 2010

Leaves of Three

In the warm summer days leading up to her first day of kindergarten, Katie went through a "decorating" phase, taking special pleasure in finding unique items with which to beautify her top bunk. At one point she brought in a pretty vine and showed it to me.

"That's pretty, Katie. Where did you find it?"

"Outside. I think I'll decorate my bed with it." And off she went.

On her first day of school Katie showed me a small, red patch on her cheek, complaining that it was itchy. I don't remember what I did--put Calamine lotion on it? Hydrocortisone? Ignore it? No matter, I sent her to school with her little rash. The next day it had spread. I sent her again. By the third day a large part of her body was covered with the strange, itchy rash and I became concerned, but I still sent her to school. I didn't want to start school looking like a parent who allowed her child to be chronically absent, especially over a little rash. Mother of the year. Yep.

Oh, but it gets better.

When the rash threatened to cover her entire body rather than resolve itself, I became a detective. (Better late than never, right?) What on earth could be causing this? Had I changed laundry detergents? Had she eaten something new and had an allergic reaction? I continued my sleuthing into her room where I noticed the dying vine hanging from her headboard, dropping its dried, crunchy leaves onto her pillow.

I think that the light bulb that went off over my head must have been one of those fluorescents that take forever to warm up. Could that vine be the culprit? What was it, exactly?

I approached Carl, "Didn't you say you had to spend the summer before kindergarten with your grandma because you had such a horrible reaction to something?"

"Yeah. It was poison ivy. I got it everywhere. Ev-ery-where." I think he crossed his legs at that point.

"Umm, what exactly does poison ivy look like?"

"You know. Leaves of three, let them be."

While my bulb was getting brighter, I had no idea what he was talking about.

He clarified, using incredible self-control to not roll his eyes at me. "It has three leaves."

"Is it a vine?" I asked.

"Yeah." The bulb above my head exploded at that point.

"Oh no. Will you come an look at this?" We climbed to the top bunk to inspect Katie's dying decor. Sure enough, it was poison ivy. And she'd been sleeping in it.

I don't know if it's a result of being saturated with the weed that one time or if it's genetic (Carl is extremely allergic to poison ivy), but Katie seems to develop a rash if the wind blows just right and poison ivy is in the vicinity. Yesterday when Carl took the girls fishing, Katie and Hailey took a romp through the surrounding wooded area. The only green they saw was grass; nevertheless, Katie has a rash today. Not Hailey, just Katie



How can she let be leaves of three when there remain no leaves to see?




Wednesday, February 17, 2010

Her Name is NOT Chicken Butt

Recently Hannah and I visited one of my favorite places in town: the public library. Not only do I find free material to fuel my fascination with all things written, I get to enjoy my own little social hour. This particular evening provided comedy hour as well, courtesy of Hannah.

Hannah stood near the computers with a pack of other children. One of the kids, a classmate of hers, had a cell phone and was reading a text out loud that included the words chicken butt.

Immediately Hannah grabbed her tush and said, "Hey! Do not call me chicken butt!"

Startled, the little boy pointed to his cell phone and said, "I didn't call you that. It says chicken butt right here."

Hannah actually gasped, grabbed her butt again and said, "My name is not chicken butt." Everyone within earshot started chuckling. "Stop calling me chicken butt!" The chuckles became muffled laughs.

The poor kid tried to remedy the situation, but only made it worse by saying, "I'm not calling you chicken butt."

For whatever reason, Hannah didn't understand his explanation. Grabbing her butt again, she said, "Do NOT call me chicken butt! Call me Hannah!"

Between Hannah's repeated tush-grabbing, her obvious misunderstanding of the boy, and the juvenile humor of the term chicken butt, everyone burst into laughter.

And being the sensitive mother that I am, I just said, "Aw. I'm sorry. Come here, my little chicken butt."

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Boy, have I missed blogging. I've decided that instead of giving blogging up for Lent like many do, I'm going to take it back up again. Over the next few days I'll be doing some catch-up posting...all the way back to Halloween and earlier. Ah, catharsis.