Whine at me: publicserf@yahoo.com

I had a nice moment today, Sunday. Super Wife showed me a questionaire that Ms. Pikachu had done at school. One of the things was "Most Admired Person." Yup, she wrote, "My dad." Apparently that's what I get for giving her chocolate when she craves it. Everybody has their price, you just need to know the currency.

This evening I told Super Wife that we should do something for Train Boy's birthday. With Ms. Pikachu it was always a big 'something.' I told her that maybe on his birthday we could take him and his friend Benjamin to Chuck E Cheese. She thought that wouldn't work- his birthday is on Wednesday, and Ms. Pikachu has Youth Group on Wednesday nights. I said that's ok, she doesn't want to go to Chuck E Cheese anymore anyway. Just taking the boys would be fine, and it would be a special day for Train Boy. So will you call Benjamin's mom and ask? "Not today, tomorrow." Why not? It's only nine o-clock on a Sunday evening, do you have reason to suspect they're normal? Well, at least I tried.

It wasn't much of a Sunday, almost ninety degrees and I mowed the lawn. Sweat City. The Super Wife is happy to have the lawn cut as short as the neighbor's, so it was worth it. Admittedly, a rancher asked about grazing rights, so maybe it did need a cutting. So she was happy about the lawn, but not for long.

She talked to her sister to find out how their Mom is doing and was told that now Clare has a bacterial blood infection. As if enough hasn't happened already. Super Nurse is just sure the infection was caused by sloppy procedure on the part of Clare's nurses. They routinely disconnect the PICC line to make their work easier. The problem is that every time they disconnect the line it's another risk of infection. Do it a lot, and infection almost becomes a certainty. Super Nurse says that where she works PICC lines are only disconnected if absolutely necessary, and then they're swabbed with disinfectant for at least thirty seconds. At the hospital the nurses just give it a quick wipe and slap it together. Super Nurse is REALLY NOT HAPPY. Tomorrow she's going to drive back and talk to the nurse manager about their lack of sterile procedure and unacceptable PICC line protocol. Oh, to be a fly on the wall.

I have a feeling that by the time Clare is out of there Super Nurse will have made her impact felt on the whole hospital. She told me she was considering calling JCAHO and explaining the situation to them. Conceivably, that would result in the American Hospital Association auditing the hospital for proper procedure protocols. While I understand her anger over this happening, calling JCAHO is like retaliating with the nuclear option. Are you sure you want to do that FIRST?

She's really not happy though. She said some of the nurses don't belong in an ICU. The ICU should be the nursing cream and she thinks some of the nurses would hardly be acceptable in a skilled unit, and marginally tolerable in a general medical unit. She's slow to say anything bad about anybody, so it says something about how she perceives things there. Some of the nurses have been outstanding, the quality has just been maddeningly uneven. Why yes, Super Nurse SHOULD be a nurse manager.

Earlier today Ms. Pikachu was demanding that we take her out and let her drive something. Super Mom has done this in the past- she'd go a business that was closed and let Ms. Pikachu drive around the parking lot. She's getting antsy, she wants to drive NOW.

Super Mom is still having wrist and shoulder pain. She was discussing that with someone she knows and the other woman suggested that cherry juice can be helpful in reducing inflammation. So, tired enough of the pain to try anything, she bought some. When I got home that evening Ms. Pikachu asked me if I’d bought it, “That’s nasty stuff Dad.” Okay, I’ve been warned.

When Super Mom got home later she recounted her conversation of how it was recommended, and said I should have some. Do I look inflamed to you? Whatever I need, cherry juice probably isn’t the answer. I drank some anyway, because it was my husbandly duty. Duty, Honor, Super Wife.

The stuff is as thick as syrup and it’s like drinking cherry pie filling- we’re talking Verry Cherry, quite tart, intense. It’s not the kind of stuff where you say, “Barkeep, I’ll have another, and make it a double.” No, this is sippin’ juice, or lickin’, because it IS that thick. But it would probably be good to cook with. Putting it in a chocolate cake might be wonderful.

Anyway, when we had lunch today I poured the kids a Sprite. I thought a little cherry juice might make it “punchy” so I got it out. Ms. Pikachu saw it and yelled, yes yelled, “Not in mine, that stuff is evil!” I put some in mine, tried it, and thought it quite tasty.

I asked her if she’d just like to have a sip to try it, “Uh uh, get that stuff away from me.” I offered it to Super Wife, she liked it. I said, “See, I like it, and your Mom likes it.” That got an adamant “You two are freaks.” “Well, then that would explain YOU.” My but we have fun.

Where was Train Boy in all this? Supplying background sound effects. He seemed to spend every available moment putting both wrists together, then blowing against them to make farting noises. Apparently he was sound editor on a reality show where flatulence was the punch line to everything. On the way home from church? Farting noises. Sitting at the table to eat? Farting noises. Oddly enough, the only time he didn’t make farting noises was when he was in the bathroom.

My Dad probably would have known what to do, but I didn’t. All the noise had my nerves on edge, I was stressed. Don’t explode, don’t say something to regret. So, what to do? In desperation I put on my best Wise Father Knows Best demeanor and said, “You know, if you keep doing that, some day you’re really going to fart like that, and nobody is going to believe you.” That got a laugh, and that was the last of the day’s farting effects. Being a parent often isn’t what you expected at all.


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