That’s right. She’s walking now. Friday night after work she just up and decided to motor all over the place. The video was taken at my parents’ house and she kept walking into the kitchen to peek at my mom’s cockatiel, Nicky. At first she wasn’t as sure-footed without shoes on, but she’s gradually becoming more proficient in getting around in her stocking feet. As you can see by the picture below, she’s rather thrilled to have another way of getting around.
Archive for October, 2006
Autumn is sick again. This time it’s croup and another double ear infection. I have a feeling she’s heading down the same road I was when I was a kid. I had many, many ear infections and wound up getting tubes inserted into my ears when I was five. Her doctor said that if she gets six ear infections in a season we’ll have to go to an ear, nose and throat specialist. The croup came out of the blue. I noticed she started in with a raspy cough Friday night and it just escalated from there. By Sunday she was barking like a seal and yesterday morning was just plain miserable so I stayed home with her and took her to the doctor in the afternoon. She was prescribed a stronger antibiotic for the ear infection this time and we were given a pamphlet with instructions on how to make her more comfortable until the croup runs its course.
Autumn still had the barking cough this morning, but she seemed to be in good spirits. Last night she woke up around 11:00 in a coughing fit so I took her into the bathroom and turned the shower on. We sat in the steamy room for almost 15 minutes while she played with her rubber duck and coughed some of the congestion away.
Our daycare provider gave us the okay to bring Autumn back today as long as the croup wasn’t contagious so things were supposed to be business as usual. I was in the middle of loading up my car with the bags I take to work and daycare when I stepped out into the garage and sprained my ankle. We have this thick grass rug in front of our garage door and I stepped out with my left foot half on and half off the rug. As I put my weight on my foot to step out, my ankle buckled underneath me and OUCH! It was painful, nauseatingly painful and I screamed like a woman in labor. Nathan rushed downstairs to help me back inside and I sat down on the steps. I then tried putting some weight on it so I could go upstairs and sit down, but that was too painful so I had to actually crawl my sorry ass up the steps.
Nathan made sure I was comfortable before he went to work and I made sure I was comfortable with some Vicodin and the remote control. I’ve kept ice on the ankle all morning and kept the rest of me warm with a comforter and a space heater. My supervisor, always compassionate and understanding, suggested I come in later this afternoon if I’m feeling better. In her mind she must have thought “twisted” ankle when in fact I have sprained it. I sprained my ankle three years ago and I know what’s what. After the swelling goes down I should be able to get my foot back into a shoe. Next will be the bruising and my entire foot, down to the toes, will be black and blue.
I should be able to make it back in tomorrow though.
There’s a really great article about Dooce (a.ka. Heather Armstrong) over at the Salt Lake City Tribune website. I was first referred to Heather’s site earlier this year by a fellow blogger and have been hooked since. I love her honesty and irreverent humor, but most of all I love the monthly newsletters Heather writes to her daughter and publishes on the site for all to see. It’s some of the best writing about motherhood I’ve ever read.
What really hit home for me when I read the article is that at first Heather thought she was in her own private little world with the blog. When she wrote some things that deeply offended her parents though, she realized she can write what she wants but she can’t distance herself from how people react to her words. Boy is that the truth.
As far as I know, Nathan and my brother are the only family members who have read this blog. I’ve asked my dad repeatedly if he’s visited this site and the answer is always the same. Nope. I have the feeling that unless I start posting pictures of national parks or antique trains, Dad is going to stay away. I think he would like to consider me a mystery for as long as possible. Mom, on the other hand, has no chance in hell of ever getting online as long as Dad’s around. The internet is my father’s crack.
There’s also my uncle, my father’s brother. He’s been here, but I have no idea if he still visits. I had the misfortune of getting the link to his blog from my brother some months back. Buried amongst the Bush diatribes and the Brian Wilson raves was a tiny little mean-spirited snippet about our family. It was posted right after he had spent Christmas day with us. I found it because Christmas day was the first time he ever saw Autumn and I wanted to see what he thought of her. There was nothing in his small post about Autumn but plenty about the rest of us. He called us dysfunctional, criticized our weight (hello! just had a baby!) and all but called my brother a deadbeat.
To say he had a lot of nerve is an understatement. I’ll save you the history, but everything he wrote about us could be applied to him tenfold. I confronted him right after I read the post and told him I didn’t appreciate it. His response, at first, was to tell me the post was his way of expressing concern about my dad’s health (my dad’s a large guy) and even offered to go on a diet with me. Yeah, right. I want the person who trashed me publicly to be my diet buddy. Whatever.
To make a long story short, the rest of the family gradually became involved. I shared the post with my brother and mother and my uncle told my grandmother who in turn told my father. My uncle defended his position by claiming his blog was his place to vent and to not take it seriously. When things still didn’t die down he deleted the blog entirely, only to replace it with another blog with an introductory post that basically warned anyone who might be offended to enter at their own risk. Does that sound like the voice of remorse to you?
So, what’s my point? Dooce has it right in saying that she will never again write anything on her blog that she wouldn’t feel comfortable saying in front of her family. I think that’s a good rule to blog by. I love this blog. I love to share myself with the (very) few readers I have, and should my dad ever decide to visit I don’t want to worry that he’ll find a post offensive or hurtful.
I’ve been thinking about my uncle more latley because the holidays are coming up. Autumn’s birthday is in a few weeks and I’ve opted not to invite him to the party. It’s hard to welcome someone into your home who you know doesn’t particularly enjoy spending time with you. More’s the pity. We’re really not a bad bunch of folks.
Last night Nathan and I sat in front the TV, riveted by the latest installment of “Heroes”, the new drama on NBC. This is one of the best new shows I’ve seen in awhile and just one more reason why I can’t get my fat ass off the couch and actually do something. I am, however, in the process of crocheting another baby afghan for a shower I’m going to this weekend, so I feel justified in sitting on the couch. As soon as the people around me stop having babies I may have to revamp my evening routine to include a nice walk around the block or an exercise video.
But seriously, “Heroes” rocks hard core. (Do people actually say that anymore or is that term passé like “doofus” or “sweet”? I know “snap” is the new “sweet” and I’ve used that one, though only at home and only in front of Nathan). Anyway, “Heroes” has me hooked and is my very favorite show right now.
I’ve also discovered a not-so-new show in “Charmed.” I tried to stay away from that one as long as possible because, hello, eight seasons. God bless TNT for showing a two hour block of the show at once so that the eight seasons should fly by in about six months or so.
Yes, I need help. Not only that, but my daughter has become addicted as well. As soon the rhythmic beat of the “Charmed” theme song comes on she whips her head around and nothing except hollow silence can divert her attention.
Yes, I’ll be going to hell along with the parents who let their children read the pagan filth of Harry Potter