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Thursday, October 4, 2012

You Say Chicken, I Say....Pox.

A couple weeks ago the full force of my OCD was unleashed when Big Son presented with these weird "bug bites" on his upper body and neck area. I googled my way into insanity, absolutely obsessed with the idea that perhaps we had somehow, despite aforementioned OCD, gotten an infestation of bedbugs.  And even though Google (the know it all bastard) gave me the idea in the first place, I totally ignored all the information that said these critters can absolutely be seen with the naked eye if you know where to look.  Oh yeah, I knew where to look and it didn't take long for all the mattresses in this house to be flung around, examined and deemed perfectly clean and bug free.  Which kind of pissed me off.  I just KNEW something was eating my child alive and I was hell bent on destruction (of the chemical variety, but ended up just destroying their rooms.  Whoops.)  The next thing I obsessed about were fleas.  Yes, that HAD to be it.  That just made sense (about as much as the invisible bedbugs) because my son used to have a dog in his sleeping quarters and since the dog was no longer in our family (she went to live with our vet after having a bit of an issue with our other dog) maybe the leftover fleas were using my son as a food source.  So despite seeing no bedbugs or fleas, I did the most logical thing  I bought a spray that covered both.  I honestly, in my dimwittedness, thought that it was some sort of sign that we had one or the other when I discovered a spray specially formulated to cover both these nasty critters.  (Did I mention I have 7 children...did I mention that one of them is not even 3 months old.  I'm allowed to think irrational thoughts from time to time....)  So we sprayed and it stunk to high heavens and problem was solved.  Yeah.  Even though the "bites" had stopped well before we applied the spray, I still gave it all the credit for ridding us of invisible blood-sucking insects.

But two days ago, I saw something that freaked me out hugely.  Little blisters on Middle Son.  What the hell?  Seriously? Now bugs are eating him too?  Alright, time for another huge cleaning and spraying.  But first I had to consult Dr. Google (because you know, he's pretty smart)  I googled "blisters on torso" and several versions of this and kept getting all this crap about some version of Herpes.  Yeah, I'm thinking this wasn't plausible for a 9 year old, at least not in this country, you know?  So I called Mom.  She had no clue.  She called her Mom.  Maw-maw's opinion was that it sounded like 3 day measles.  Dr. Google said "Nope.."  I applied Calamine to the spots, confident that putting toxic chemicals around the room to kill the invisible insects (I am quite confident at this point the whole "you can definitely see these with the naked eye" thing was complete crap because Middle Son had the bites to prove it.) and left it at that.  By the evening time, when more blisters appeared, I finally left out all locations in my search and just typed in "blisters."  Holy crap!  Right there, right at the top of the screen, were the exact blisters my son had.  Clicked it open and read the magic words: Chicken Pox.  No.  No....this can't be.  Big Son was vaccinated against these.  There's no possible way he brought them home (I only let him out of the cage to go to classes...the others stay home all the time doing the homeschool thing).  His "bites" were mild...but Chicken Pox?  Seriously?

Despite the early morning hour of my discovery, I woke up the husband and told him the news. He didn't have quite the reaction I was looking for, although in hindsight I am not exactly sure what the expected reaction was.  Maybe he just thought I was delusional or something (he's trained well in the delusions that I live amongst...) but by the morning, it was clear that we were headed into a nightmarish two weeks. 7 children.  Chicken Pox.  Holy crap.

So far, we are dealing.  I would say well, but the children are long past irriated at my constant checking their skin, asking if they feel okay, slathering them with pink smelly concotions, demanding they take an oatmeal bath, clipping nails down to mere nubs and feeling their heads.  The two down now are quite pleased with their position on the couch, watching mind-numbing animation that leaves me begging for something with a little more intelligence, like oh, a documentary about Meth (they vetoed this idea...I was trying to be a good homeschooling Mom, all teacher like)  And yes, I do realize there is a vaccination for this very malady, but after I put the first three though this, I had a change of heart and it would be a good time to mention that when it comes to the Mommy Wars, I am a pacifist.  Since I've been a Mom for 14 years, I am thinking this qualifies me for the scholarly equivalent of a Ph.D in mothering and it's my expert opinion that barring any sort of mental illness most every mother does everything they do with their child's well-being in mind.  I don't get into the debates about what is/isn't the best thing for someone else's child.  I do what I do, you do what you do and it's all good. 

In knitting news, I think I've done just about the stupidest thing one can do when deciding they want to dive into knitting socks.  I chose the largest person in the house and the tiniest yarn you can knit (besides lace.  Lace to me is a four letter four, for now) and cast on.  The first sock is taking FOR-EV-ER.  Of course, I am knitting a poncho too.  And a scarf.  A sweater. A stocking (dumb that I wanted to take a break from knitting a sock to knit...a bigger sock, but all's fair in yarn and needles)  When it comes to project monogamy, I'm a total slut.  I can't stick with one thing more a couple hours before I feel all twitchy about something else.  Not sure why that is, but a stitch on one project is just as good as a stitch on another and since I already have an enormous "have to do" list every single day, my knitting is totally exempt from any pressure to get it done.  It's my thing.  MY thing.  (You know when you have children so many of YOUR things are really just communal in a way they shouldn't be.  Knitting isn't like that.  Its' too much like work for anyone else to be interested, although my bigger girls do have their own projects, they wouldn't want to touch anything I'm doing.  That would be, you know, work....)

And so I sign off to go slather on the Calamine, wash my hands, pick up my sock and berate myself for not making socks for the almost 3 month old on my first go around with these devilish foot warmers so many knitters rave about.  Wish me luck (and if you're into anykind of voodoo type thing, please do let me know if there's anything I can do about my husband's feet.  If y'all can shrink heads, feet shouldn't be too much of a stretch)  Thanks in advance!

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