My Really Crappy Day

Yesterday was a Horrible Terrible No Good Very Bad Day. My wallet was stolen, and some lowlife had a shopping spree ($2000+) while I was at work. We cancelled our credit cards (we only have two) and my ATM card, and the banks are sorting it all out, so we aren't on the hook for the $800 he spent on sneakers, the $400 in gift cards he bought at wegmans, and the $500 he spent on video games, etc etc etc. I only had about $20 in cash . . . . but I had 8 movie theatre vouchers and all my "valued customer" cards for all my favorite stores -- I was only one punch away from a free haircut. All our insurance cards, AAA. . . And my special coupon for 10% off all my kitchen appliances at Lowes. (Since we're supposed to close on our new house in two weeks, this coupon was especially valuable - the house comes without kitchen appliances.)

And, of course, my driver's license. But wait, here's the extra kick in the teeth -- last week when I was reading through our mortgage papers, I learned that the Patriot Act requires the paperwork people to verify our identity at the closing day by viewing either a drivers' license or passport (happily I have my passport!), and my social security card. The paperwork was very clear -- If I forget and show up to closing without my social security card, the closing will be postponed. So, of course, I dug out my social security card, and tucked it into my wallet, so there would be no way for me to forget it on closing day in two weeks. AAAAGGGGGHHH!

I spent the afternoon on the phone with credit card companies and banks, then meeting with the police, then talking with hospital security (my wallet was stolen from the parking lot at work, where it fell out of my purse, unnoticed, as I got out of my car in the morning), and then downtown at the social security office. The gave me a receipt stating that I should receive my new card in "7 to 10 business days" -- which means if there are NO screw ups or delays, it will arrive by Aug 6th -- two days before closing date. They won't issue me a new SS # -- which I requested for fear of identity theft since the thief has my name, address, and SS#. They said that won't give me a new number until AFTER I've been a victim of identity theft. Meanwhile, I'm instructed to "watch my credit report." So called all the credit reporting agencies and had the put Fraud Alerts on my files.

The driver's license I can replace on-line -- but need a valid credit card to pay the replacement fee. I don't have one of those right now, since I cancelled both of ours. ARGH! Matt's Mom kindly put it on her credit card. We were able to make it over to my bank before they closed, and they were kind enough to give me some cash straight out of my account (no ATM card) so that I could buy groceries and gas for the car this weekend. Of course, I can't drive the car any where because I don't have a license.

And all this when Matthew is in his last 24 hours before his Board Exams. UGH! Would it make me a bad person if I wished this lowlife a nasty case of necrotizing fasciitis?

On the upside -- Pittsford Wegmans was one of the many stores where he managed to shop in the 3.5 hours the card was active (bought a bunch of gift cards for other stores). I spoke with the head of wegmans security who was awesome -- I gave him the exact time and $ amount of the fraudulent charge, and he searched through register receipts until he found it -- then cross referenced it with the security cameras, and found a nice clear photo of the guy to share with the police. When last we spoke, he was searching through parking lot footage to try and get a make/model/color on the guy's car for the police as well. Whether anyone will be able to ID him from the photo is a whole other matter . . .

I feel so angry.

I feel violated.

I hate this.

Happy Birthday to Me!

So, it's my birthday today. (email if you wanna know just how old I am!) I woke up this morning very shy on sleep, since Malcolm was up most the night. He's been battling a cold, so I get it, but it was still exhausting and frustrating. Managed to shake that off, and have a good day at work.

My husband and son picked me up from work and took me to Red Robin for dinner (my favorite burgers ever! Been craving them for weeks now.) Two bites into my salad, and Malcolm starts vomiting. Copiously. For a while.

On the upside, he was sitting next to Matthew -- who, by the way, deserves the cool-headed-most-discreet-daddy-award-of-the-year. I don't think the booth behind them even noticed, which is kind of a miracle. Once the worst of it slowed down, Matthew wrapped his jacket around Malcolm and carried him out. I went and found our server who was just about to bring our food out. I told her what happened, and that we had to leave. In less than two minutes, she provided me with an empty container and stack of napkins for the car ride home, brought the check, processed my credit card (earned a very generous tip), and rallied other staff to box up our dinners (even down to my salad and our lemonades!) They were amazing. And so discreet and professional.

We got Malcolm home, cleaned up, tucked into bed and (hopefully) asleep. Dinner's not too appetizing to me right now, but maybe I'll be hungry later. Sympathy pains for my poor sick kid are ruining my appetite currently.

So much for my birthday celebration.

On the upside, my Mom sent me an email from her and Dad, my brother Darin left me a voice mail I haven't had a chance to listen to yet, and my friend Lea sent me a video of her kids singing "Happy Birthday Mrs. Teresa." (See below) Plus, I'm pretty sure that Matthew feels so sorry for my ruined birthday celebration that I can easily talk him into a should rub and playing with my hair tonight while we watch whatever movie I want.

So, happy birthday to me anyway!

Sick Baby!

Day four of the Fever Than Never Ends . . . Malcolm's been sporting a high fever since Friday morning.  Started at 101, and soon found cruising altitude at 104.  It even hit 105 at one point (which was a little scary.)  An advil/tylenol regime has helped us keep it from getting too high, mostly leaving him at the 102 range for all of friday, and saturday, and sunday, and monday. .  .  .  .  .  UGH!  Poor baby!  He's pretty miserable.  Too tired to play, too sick to sleep.

We spent this morning with our pediatrician.  I have to take a moment here, to share how incredibly stickin' proud I am of Malcolm, who conquered his fears with great courage.  We pulled into the peds office parking lot; I'm pretty sure he remembered the place (he got a booster shot at his last visit) and started whimpering.  "No bear," he begged, seeing the panda bear logo on the side of the building.  When I parked the car, he shook his head, and told me "Mommy, drive car!"  Clearly he didn't want to stay.  When I got him out of his carseat, he looked at me with tears sliding down his cheeks.  "Momma, please all done?"

And yet, when it came time to see the doctor, he held still, opened up and said "Ahhhh," sat quietly while she listened to his heart, took deep breaths while she listened to his lungs, and even held still for the dreaded ear check.  He did try to convince her to skip that step, saying "No ears.  No, thank you, Doctor."

Malcolm bravely survived his sick visit to the doctor, and we were declared fit to return home.  Random viral nasty (NOT swine flu!), and we can expect a few more days of it.  We should have one fun day together at home, however, once the crudlies are over, as his school has a "24 hour fever free before returning" policy.  So, likely sick tomorrow, but better wednesday, and hopefully back to school on Thursday.  I guess I won't be getting much packing done this week.  I do seem to be getting lots of snuggles, though, and those are always sweet.  I just wish he were well enough to enjoy them, too.

A Really Really Really Long Night

So, last night, about 1:45 am Malcolm started crying.  And by crying, I mean screaming like six cats with their tails caught under the world's largest steam roller.  We went down the Parents' Check List -- is he cold? Hot? Hungry? Thirsty? In pain? Scared? Reflux? Etc.  We got nothing.  He knows enough words and signs to tell us all these things and more.  He told us "no" to all of them.  If I held him, he screamed for Matthew.  If Matthew held him, he screamed for me.  If we put him back in the crib he screamed.  After an hour, we gave him Children's Advil, even though he said nothing hurt.  We figured only pain would cause him to be this frantic and inconsolable.  We waited half an hour for the advil to kick in  . . . . and nothing.

4 am arrives, and he's still screaming his head off.  Now, if these 2 plus hours had passed with no calm moments whatsoever, we would have called the peds and headed for the emergency room.  That's how hard the crying was.  But . . . He would calm down if the lights were on, and we cuddled in the chair reading books.  After Chicka Chicka Boom Boom, Personal Penguin, and Goodnight Moon, he was all smiles and cooing.  "Hi" and "Peek-A-Boo," and giggles.  Seriously, kid?  It's four in the freakin' morning, and the only one in the house enjoying the super warm down comforter on our bed is the dog.  We'd get him calm, happy, settled, but the moment he hit the crib again, it was Rage Time.  

By 4:45 am, Matthew had given up on the night entirely, and was on the computer, with trips into Malcolm's room every 20 minutes to try to calm him, and make sure he was still okay.  I still held onto a small shred of hope, so I was buried under the down comforter, trying desperately to build an aura of heat around me before the next 20 minute timer went off, and I had to get back up again.  

He finally fell asleep just past 6am.   . . . which left a little under an hour till our alarm clocks went off.  

Poop.

Well, at least he was sleeping.  We turned the alarms off, crawled under the comforter, and all slept a while.  I got up at 9am, to head to the hospital where I volunteer, while Matthew and Malcolm kept sleeping till 10am.  The hospital program ended up getting cancelled, as I was the only volunteer there, so I headed back home with Starbucks, in time to get Malcolm to the pediatrician appointment.

Our doctor wasn't in today, but we met another doc in the practice, who was absolutely fabulous with a very tired and cranky Malcolm (and Mommy and Dada.)  The verdict . . . . ear infection!  Poor Malcolm!  We felt pretty good as parents that one of our first guesses in the night (pain, and thus advil) was the right way to go.  And we felt miserable that the advil pretty much did nothing to help!

So, home we went, with a stop by the store to pick up Malcolm's very first antibiotic (as well as some yogurt and bananas, for the likely side effects.)  The pain must have spiked in the car ride home, as he completely lost his cool, throwing a tantrum so big that the cars next to us at the stoplight just sat and stared like we were some sort of circus attraction.  I especially "enjoyed" the car-full of ladies who tsked and shook their heads at our obviously criminally bad parenting.  I hope they were completely grossed out a moment later when the tantrum brought on the endless rounds of tantrum vomit.  He coated himself, the carseat, parts of the backseat. . . .

Great.  12:30 in the afternoon, and our really really really long night still wasn't over.  Matthew cleaned him up while I took apart the saturated carseat to wash all the parts.  It took half an hour to calm him down enough to get him to keep some pain meds down.  A little lunch, and then down for a nap -- one which we all desperately need.  Putting him in the crib brought on a fresh round of tantrum, but after I went back in once, he calmed down.

I'd like to think that he's asleep now, as I type.  At least he's not screaming.  But I do hear whines and whimpers.  What I wouldn't give for a magic wand to wave and make it all better.  I'd suffer it all, and then some, in his place if I could.  I'll have to content myself with knowing that this is his first ear infection, first antibiotic, and that soon he'll be feeling better.  Until then, we can at least offer the max amount of pain killers (alternating tylonel and advil every three hours) that our peds will allow.

So, dear readers, please send good thoughts our way.  If you like, you can click on "comments" just below this paragraph, to share some words of sympathy or encouragement (hint hint).