A friend of mine on the facepage made a suggestion to me and some other gals: Wouldn’t it be fun to post some side-by-side pictures of our kids, then and now, just to really see how much they’ve grown?
Uh, YEAH! I thought to myself. And *joy of joys* Jim just bought a fancy new scanner/printer so I can use all those photos I have on film (since I am a total hag).
BUT WAIT! I might have some pictures of the boy as a baby after all, saved in a file in my e-mail. So I start scouring through the old e-mail folders. And what I discovered is, I was blogging before I was blogging.
Here, a story I wrote and sent to some relatives and friends about the special men in my life, back on February 15, 2005:
After a long two weeks of working several double shifts at the United Center, I finally had Monday off. And how perfect: Valentine’s Day! I decide that because he is such a good man to put up with me and all my “special moods”, I should make Jim a nice dinner. So, after running a few errands and a quick visit to Grandma’s house, I decide to get started.First, I put Hank at the table for a late lunch of chicken nuggets, corn and milk, yummy! Then I pull some frozen whiting out of the refrigerator, planning a delicious meal of broiled lemon-peppered fish, garlic mashed potatoes and green beans. A smile crosses my face as I realize we even have an unopened bottle of wine, hooray!I turn to check on Hank, still happily eating his lunch. But he is instead picking his nose.“Stop that,” I say, in a motherly tone with no profanities at all, of course.I turn back to my fish, which I realize I still have to scale. But, that’s ok! I look again at Hank, his pointer finger wedged far up his right nostril. “Stop that,” I hear myself say again. Ahh, these two pieces of fish are perfect. I better check on him one more time. This time, pointer finger and thumb wedged into that tiny right nostril.“That’s it,” I say, walking over to him. It is then that I notice there is something in his nose. I lean over, and upon further inspection of my beautiful child, it is not simply a little snot, but several pieces of corn wedged up his nose.“Mumble, mumble,” I say. I proceed to push on the sides of his nose, sending kernels of corn shooting out of his nostrils as if they were tiny cannons. At one point, he sneezes, sending two yellow bullets out of each nostril, landing on my shirt. After several are ejected, I look into his nose, only to see one piece that is hopelessly lodged deep inside. He is now crying, coughing and a little bit scared. So into the car and off to the ER we go.The ER is completely congested with cases of the flu and a few broken limbs. “My son shoved corn up his nose,” I say as quietly as possible to the triage nurse. She makes me repeat myself, louder. She laughs. I sulk away to a seat, realizing at this point that I hurried out of the house, and my hands still smell like raw, unscalled fish. About an hour later, not having been called yet, my angel points to his nose. I look up, and joy of joys, that kernel has worked its way down, enough for me to squeeze his nose and send the last bit shooting out. Several people around me laugh. I consider making the child eat the remaining piece of corn, but, fearing that he will think it tastes good, I wrap it in a tissue instead. It is at this point, our name is finally called, but we do not need to see the doctor.Upon our arrival at home, Jim was forced to order and pick up his own pizza. The wine remained unopened and the fish went back into the freezer. Valentine’s Day has never been so romantic.Love, MarneyPS, there was no lesson learned by young Hank, by the way. Just a few hours after this incident, I caught him trying to shove Cheerios up his nose. Boys are gross.