I'm Lindsay Ferrier, a Nashville writer with a passion for family travel, exploring Tennessee, and raising kids without losing my mind in the process. This is where I share my discoveries, along with occasional deep thoughts, pop culture tangents and a sprinkling of snark. Want to get in touch? Use the CONTACT form at the top of the page.
October 31, 2005
The stars finally have aligned. Baby is taking a much-needed nap, the house is empty and the keys on my computer miraculously are working- for now- although I looked up the problem on the Internet and apparently losing the use of the “h”, “g” and “delete” keys is a common HP laptop problem that requires taking the computer apart and messing with it- something I don’t do, along with dusting. So eventually, I’m going to have to (gasp, hack, choke) take it in for repairs.
As for Baby’s croup… It simply sucks. We’ve suffered through three days now of wheezing and coughing and her sweet little voice has morphed into the voice of Froggy on The Little Rascals. Sadly, the croup’s arrival has coincided with Baby’s new determination to speak in sentences, so I feel like I’m living with a pigtailed E.T who follows me around saying, “I read me!” and “Mine mama!” and “Poo poo dada!”. I now find it highly ironic that two of her favorite words are “phone” and “home”.
My parents came for a three-day visit, arriving Friday morning, pre-croup. Baby was her usual charming self, daintily pulling candy pieces out of a Halloween bucket to prove she could in fact count from one to five, pointing out her umbelicus (belly button for the uninitiated- something my doctor dad taught her), and smiling prettily whenever they told her how cute she was. As she was clearly exhausted after two hours of undivided attention from Grandma and Grandpa Mac (whom she has dubbed “Mackie”), I put her down for a nap.
One hour later, I heard the sounds of a strangling seal coming from her bedroom. I rushed in, certain she was choking on something. Thank God my dad was here, because he immediately diagnosed the problem.
“Croup,” he said, before heading for the computer and printing out the entire CDC explanation for me.
For the remainder of the weekend, poor Baby coughed and hacked and cried a bit and then gamely tried to play and smile for the grandparents’ benefit. I felt bad that they traveled four and a half hours to see a sick baby, but at least they got to see what she was really like for a couple of hours there at the beginning.
Anyway, for those fans of my mother out there, my favorite Mom Moment was when we were all talking about sneaking out. (15 had a 12-girl birthday sleepover on Saturday. Sounds a lot worse than it was.) 15 said one of her friends asked her if she’d ever snuck out. She told them that her parents let her sneak out, so… yeah. And it’s true. As long as she tells us about it, she and her friends are welcome to “sneak out” and roam the neighborhood feeling naughty for a little while. Our neighborhood is tiny and we generally wait on the porch until they return with tales of their exploits.
“Well, Lucinda had friends that snuck out when she was your age,” Mom knowingly told the girls. “And those kids that snuck out- you just didn’t hear about them much after that.”
After getting some uncomprehending looks she elaborated.
“They were, you know, shipped off. To boarding school. Or reform school.”
Um. Reform school? For sneaking out at night? I don’t think so… The topic was quickly changed as I fought down a snort.
Tonight, we will enjoy one last flurry of costumes and candy before the Great Halloweekend of 2005 finally comes to a close. Hubs, who took the day off, just ran in waving a flier from our neighborhood president, which informs us that if we wish to “support” Halloween tonight, we may do so between the hours of 6 and 8 pm, and we are to put balloons on our mailbox.
Screw that.
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