Tara's Take

Pediatrician + Drug Coupon = Lesson Learned

Like so many families with children this time of year (Winter/Spring Flu Season), I spend quite a bit of time at the pediatricians office.  Most of the time it’s pretty routine: bring my sick kid into the doctor’s office; the doctor checks his lungs, eyes, ears, nose and throat; if there is sign of infection, she will prescribe an antibiotic(s) and then send us on our way.

On Wednesday, it was a pretty routine appointment:  we left with two prescriptions- one for an ear infection and the other for bacterial conjunctivitis- aka “pink eye”.   However, there was one thing different this time, the doctor gave us a coupon for the pink eye medication, telling us that the drug would cost no more than $20 dollars.  

Here’s the coupon:

What happened next was a series of battles between the pediatricians office and our local Walgreens over that coupon.  Turns out, the coupon wouldn’t process correctly and that “pink eye” medication (brand name called Moxeza)  wasn’t covered by my insurance.  And if I wanted it, the drug would cost me a whopping $147.00 out of pocket.  

The pharmacist assured me that there were many alternatives suitable for treatment of children with “pink eye”.  The simple solution to the problem would be a new prescription for a drug covered by my insurance.  

He Knows How to Wipe His Own Butt…. and I didn’t see it coming

A friend of mine said she’s at her most creative early in the morning when the “ethers” were at their quietest.  A friend of hers had shared that piece of advice with her back in the 1970s.  His name was John Lennon.  He knows a thing or two about creativity.  

However, right now I don’t share their mantra.  I’m up at the crack of ass for two reasons: 1) I don’t feel well and 2) my babies kept me up most the night because they also don’t feel well.

So, what better time than now to share some devastating news:  My almost 4 year old doesn’t need me to wipe his ass anymore.  Yes, it’s true.  He can wipe his ass on his own.

I’m his mother and I didn’t see it coming.  He was on the toilet going “poop” yesterday and after about 5 minutes I noticed that he didn’t yell my name to come wipe his butt. So, I sauntered into the bathroom to see what was up and he was already off the can with his batman undies already pulled back up.

“Do you need me to wipe your butt?”, I asked.

“Nope, I don’t need you anymore,”  he answered.  ”Miss Kathleen showed me and I can do it on my own.”

And he then proceeded to re-enact the wiping of his own ass.   His sweet, almost 4 year old ass.  And he did it perfectly.   Miss Kathleen, his preschool teacher, effectively changed our lives in one “front to back” swipe.  

While I was shocked and devastated inwardly, outwardly I praised him for being such a big boy, the “bestest” boy ever.  He was so happy and so very pleased with himself.  It was a sweet moment.  A milestone in his young life.   And I was crushed.  

Crushed because I know this is the beginning of the end. He will soon know how to ride his bike without training wheels, he will want to cut his own food, and even open his own juice box.

As his mother, I will have to learn to adjust and evolve as he grows…. my beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.. beautiful boy.

Don’t Mess With The Elf On The Shelf

If you have no idea what  ”The Elf on the Shelf” means you probably don’t have small children.  ”The Elf on the Shelf” is a relatively new, manufactured Christmas tradition started by some brilliant marketer who was out to sucker families with small kids all over the world.  The book has been so brilliantly successful they’ve turned it into an animated Holiday Special (golf claps).  

Here’s the 99 cent version: an elf, which you let your kids name, comes visits your house every year during the month of December.  My kids named ours Roy. Yes, his name is ROY (Whatever). Okay, so the story goes that Roy watches over the kids during the day and then mysteriously (or magically) disappears at night to visit Santa and report on all the doings of the day (all that naughty and nice bullshit).  There is one rule: you must NEVER touch Roy or he loses his magic and he will leave your home. Simple enough, right?

Well, two days ago my kid touched Roy.  He pushed the couch up to our fireplace mantle, jumped on the cushions and then poked his little finger into Roy’s tummy.  

And I watched it all go down.

“Did you just touch Roy?”, I gasped.

Silence.

“Dude, did you just touch Roy?” I asked again.

“Yes, I’m sorry,” he said, as tears welled up in his eyes.

I just sat there stunned not sure what to do next.  I didn’t want to mess with his fragile mind who so believes in Rudolph, Frosty and Santa.   And yes, he also believes in the magic of  ”The Elf on The Shelf.”   

“Okay, well, that is not good,”  I said.  ”Roy is now going to loose his magic.”

His tears then turned into out of control hysterical sobbing.

“What are we gonna do?” I asked.  As I gave him a hug, I grabbed Roy off the mantle and threw him behind the TV.  

After holding him a few minutes, assuring him that we’d figure it out, I gasped, ”Oh My Gawd… Roy is gone!”

Stunned…  looking toward where Roy had been perched on the mantle, he asked ” Did he go back to Santa?”.

I knew I had to work some Christmas magic and work it quick.  I suggested that we could write Santa a letter just like the boy who messed up in the “Elf on the Shelf” holiday animated special.

“Okay,” he said as he wiped away tears.

And this is the letter that my boy dictated to me verbatim.  Pretty sweet and sincere, if I do say so myself.   After he signed it, I put it in an envelope and “mailed it” to Santa. 

Tis the Season for some holiday magic.  And yes, it appears Santa does listen and he does forgive.

Meet Roy…. our Elf on the Shelf who magically turned up today after nap time.  My almost 4 year old was overcome with joy and sat for at least 5 minutes staring at Roy.

All is now right in the world. And I hate to admit it but a Christmas tradition was born in our Casa— you don’t fuck with “The Elf on the Shelf.”

Mom… The Joker’s Dead?

Over the years I’ve had friends tell me that the NEVER allow their kids to watch TV news. Their fear?  Their kids might see or hear something that isn’t appropriate, something that they, as parents, don’t want to have to explain to their impressionable children.  

I totally respect that.  And I too try to shield my kids from the harsh realities of our wonderful, albeit fucked up world.  But sometimes I mess up.  

Case in point…  this morning, while driving with my animals (my 2 and 3 year sons), I had one of those, “Oh shit, I’m a parent moments”.

As we were driving to our favorite book store, we had KNX news radio on (I had left it on the dial from the day before).  The host was updating all the top stories one of which was about the death of Jerry Robinson—  the man who created the comic book character “The Joker”.  

The radio host said,  ”And Jerry Robinson, the creator of one of the biggest comic book villains of all time “The Joker”,  has died”.

My 3 year old immediately perked up, gasped.. and then screamed, “MOM… THE JOKER’S DEAD?”

Oh my Gawd…  What do I tell him?  Does he understand what “dead” means?  What is an appropriate parental response in this situation?  

“Yep, Batman finally got him. Good triumphed over evil,”  I said quickly.   “The Joker is gonzo!” 

As we continued to drive, I watched his reaction through my rearview mirror.   I was praying he wouldn’t ask me what “gonzo” meant, or for that matter, about death.

He was stunned and I could see that he was processing the news that the Joker was no more.  About 30 seconds later a big grin spread across his little face.

“AWESOME! BATMAN IS AWESOME!”, he yelled from the back seat, pumping his fists in the air.

He then turned to his brother in the car seat next to him,  ”Sammy… The Joker is bonzo!”

Then the two started clapping and cheering.   And yes, I too joined the celebration. I got lucky on this one.  

A lesson learned…

MeHubs likes to SIP  (wear sweats in public) on Sundays.   There is nothing wrong with Sippin’, I do it all the time. But I just thought we should dress up a little because it was the first time we were going to take our 3 year old to a movie together.   We were aiming to make a 12:50pm showing  of “Puss N Boots”.   I just thought we should look nice so  I asked him to change into jeans.  I now know that was MY first mistake.

The short drive to our Nanny’s home was wonderful, memorable even.  Our 3 year old requested that I play his favorite song (Pumped Up Kicks).  He really gets into the song- dancing (in his car seat) and lip synching.  MeHubs had never seen his routine.  He thought it was so cute that he pulled out his iphone to shoot video.  

Right about when we hit the chorus our 2 year old started to get fussy.  You know…  the kind of fussy where you do anything to shut him up fast.   The best plug is his bobbie (aka bottle).  MeHubs opened the diaper bag, grabbed the full carton of rice milk and poured our baby a fresh one.  He then put the carton back in the bag and then immediately resumed the iphone shoot in the Prius.  He now knows that was HIS first mistake.

When we pulled into my nanny’s drive way, I reached down to grab the diaper bag and noticed it was wet.  Soaking wet.  In fact, the entire floor of the front side passenger area was soaked.   I immediately opened up the diaper bag and you guessed it, MeHubs put the carton of milk back inside the bag UPSIDE DOWN.   I immediately let him have it, saying, “you don’t pay attention to detail”. “That was the only milk we had”  ”What if our 2 year old shits his pants at the nanny’s there is nothing to change him with?”.   I was over the top and out of line.  I now know that was MY second mistake.

Our nanny took our 2 year old from the car and  told us not to worry she’d take care of everything (she always does).  So, we left her house and went on our merry way to the movie theater.  After several minutes of listening to us argue in the front seat, our 3 year old yelled, “Mom and Dad….  Share!”.   That’s his way to tell us to shut the fuck up. It worked.  

We got to the theater about 30 minutes early.  30 minutes in “toddler time”  is an eternity.  We decided to kill about 15 minutes by grabbing a hot chocolate at a nearby Starbucks.  It gave us all time enough time to chill out.  I also said I was sorry.  MeHubs just looked at me and nodded.  We were good.

The three of us then made our way over to the theater, bought tickets and went inside. Inside the lobby was about a half a dozen video games.  Our 3 year old went nuts.  It didn’t matter that he’s never played a video game in his life.  He knew what he wanted and he knew what to do.  And of course, we let him play.   Plus, it gave me just enough time to stand in line for a diet coke and popcorn.   I now know that was OUR first mistake.

After the game was over, we headed into the theater where our 3 year old went to town on the popcorn while slurping the diet coke.  12:50pm turned into 12:55pm.   12:55pm turned into 1pm.   1pm turned into 1:05pm.  Yes… 15 minutes of commercials and previews and 15 minutes of my boy chomping on popcorn and slurping diet coke. Coupled with the hot chocolate… I should have known we were headed for disaster. What goes up, must come down… right?   I now know that was OUR second mistake.

The minute the lights dimmed for “Puss N Boots” our 3 year old hit the wall.   He begged to play more “bideo games”, he wanted to go home because he missed “his baby” (2 year old brother), and he wanted more diet coke.  Translation— he was a mess. He was done.  It was game over. 

There would be no “Puss N Boots” Sunday matinee.  And it was both OUR fault. 

Dear Mom,

Dear Mom,

This is what I think of your new “time out” game.  Best of luck cleaning up the mess.

Love,

Your 2 year old Son

PS… this was on dad’s watch, so put him in the crib for a “time out”.