First there was a sick husband.

Followed by a sicker son.

Not to be outdone by a delusional daughter.

My boy came down with strep throat. Hard.

Bad enough that he couldn’t muster up enough energy to laugh. That’s the worst kind of sick for a 10-year old boy.

Bad enough that his mom had a heart-to-heart with the after hours nurse, begging her to convince the on-call doctor to not make us return for the dreaded repeat office visit, but instead phone in a second antibiotic to replace the first one that wasn’t working.

Bad enough that there was more white than pink in the back of his swollen throat.

Bad enough that his 6-year old sister noticed the extra attention he was getting from mom and dad.

Watching Goosebumps episodes in between fever episodes.

Watching Goosebumps episodes in between fever episodes.

It was only a matter of time before that girl thought her throat might be hurting too. She begged to have her temperature taken and her tummy rubbed.

She felt the word her brother used, lightheaded. She didn’t need to know entirely what the word meant. She was convinced she had it…whatever it meant.

After 24 hours of listening to little sister complain of having the very real symptoms that were making him miserable, big brother looked at her and said, “Hey Jaycee. I have an app on my phone that I can use to scan your body to see if you’re really sick. Do you want me to try it out on you?”

With a poker face that Kenny Rogers himself would be proud of, she looked straight in his eyes and said, “Sure.”

She wasn’t ready to fold em.

Below is the patient photo he took before scanning her entire body.

She is sssiiiiccckkk.

She is sssiiiiccckkk.

Much to little sister’s shock and disbelief, this was the reading that came back on big brother’s phone.

IMG_0205

After having cried fever so many times and convincing herself that she was, in fact, as ill and miserable as he was, she reacted the way any sensible 6-year old would. By flipping out.

Her brother decided to scan her body one final time and this second reading (a culture, if you will) finally revealed what she knew to be true.

IMG_0201

She was a little sick after all.

I ask that you continue to keep us in your thoughts.

Written by Heidi Woodard

The ultimate denial

October 29, 2014 — 1 Comment

I’ve been suffering big time, people. As those of you who listen to me on the Pat&JT Show know, my husband of 15 glorious years came down with a nasty bug.

A few sniffles turned into a round of sneezes, which turned into coughing, then inconsolable moans and groans, and finally a fever spike.

Before I knew it, Ryan morphed into Roz from Monster’s Inc.

sssiiiiccckkk

He is sssiiiiccckkk.

To his credit, Ryan’s pretty much weathering out this storm on his own…asking for nothing, grateful for everything.

He’s shouted spoken very little compared to normal, but the words he did utter spoke volumes.

Less than 24 hours after falling victim to this debilitating illness, he looked me square in the eyes and broke the news:

“I don’t think we’ll be able to make out tonight.”

Now, I don’t know how many of you can relate to the gravity of this particular predicament. Having known this man for half my life, I wasn’t sure if I could go a day without making out with him…in all his phlegm-filled glory.

It was hard for me to hide my disappointment.

“You mean to tell me I’ll have to just curl up in my pajamas under my warm blankets and prepare for uninterrupted sleep with ZERO chance you’ll attempt to grope a feel? Oh man, I’m not sure how I am going to deal with that.” I responded.

In between nasal clearings, he level set all expectations.

“It’s just not going to happen,” he said sadly.

I’ve been dealing with this new reality ever since. Keep me in your thoughts.

Written by Heidi Woodard

I am parenting three pretty great people at the moment. My boys are ages 12 and 10, and their little sister is 6 years old. I think I’m in a phase where I might be so physically exhausted most days from running around, however, that I’m not exactly giving them my A game. So I decided to write them a letter to explain my current inadequacies and beg for their forgiveness while promising better days to come.

 

Forgive me for my lack of hustle, kids.

Forgive me for my lack of hustle, kids.

October, 2014

Dear Mr. Know-It-All, Mr. Mind Wanderer, and Miss Thang,

Do you remember what it was like when you were young and naive and didn’t put 2-and-2 together that not EVERY mom was as clueless as yours is in the kitchen? The days when frozen snacks like chicken nuggets, pizza rolls, and toaster strudels didn’t seem like a total cop out?

I made a fatal mistake in letting you sleep over at your friends’ houses. I recognize that now. Hindsight is always 20/20. I see that look in your eyes when you return home and try to mask your disappointment, fully cognizant of the fact you will not experience that level of culinary fulfillment until the next invitation is extended.

Cooking frustrates me. Why spend more than one hour on something that A. no one will like, or B. people will like so much that it disappears in 8 minutes flat? It’s like the precious artwork you bring home that you later find in the recycling bin. You pickin up what I’m putting down?

I also feel the need to address your nonstop extracurricular activities. I see the moms of your teammates stand outside in the bitter cold, as daylight is smothered by dusk, watching every practice drill. Me? I often find myself getting lost in cyberspace, taking multiple hits of Vine videos from the comfort of my van. Just like an addict, I sulk a little lower with every passing onlooker. DON’T JUDGE ME.

 

The mom who unplugged, while I watched Vine videos.

The mom who unplugged, while I watched Vine videos.

 

Plus I work a full-time job in insurance. I can’t even begin to explain to you what that means other than by saying it’s like standing in line waiting for the chance to eat your favorite cafeteria food (pizza, french toast sticks, nachos, you get the picture) but the line is 8 hours long. When I get home at the end of my shift, the couch is my favorite cafeteria food. And I am ready to consume it.

I figure I’ve got six to eight years ahead of me before you’re in college and I become the mom of all moms.

My care packages are going to blow your mind. I will have worn dad down by then about all financial matters. After all, he will have put up with me for nearly A QUARTER CENTURY by the time you’re in college.

Since I will no longer have to drive you to anything and can just show up before tip-off, the first pitch, whatever (assuming you’re still playing), I’m going to be that chill mom you always wished for. Balancing a drink in one hand and a hot dog in the other, you won’t even know I’m there.

I’m going to remember what it’s like to hang out with your dad again. You’re going to turn around one day to introduce us to your advisor, and we’ll be pinching each other in awkward places that will make you cringe.

Just you wait. Bonfires will still involve s’mores, but there will be stories that you’ve never heard us tell you before. I will tell you about dad giving me my first wine cooler in his parent’s basement. He will tell you about the book he always wanted to write detailing all of the dumb things I’ve said in total seriousness.

My tears of laughter will morph into tears of sorrow knowing that you are running a pace that I can’t keep up with, yet I am so proud of you for maintaining.

You may strip me of all my energy now, but there is no other way I’d want to spend it.

Love, Mom

Written by Heidi Woodard

I had the chance to talk about my latest post about how adults go crazy over a kid’s game on the Pat&JT Show this morning.

Talk about therapeutic!

And here’s the kicker: I received calls, tweets, and even an invitation to connect with someone on LinkedIn as a result. People are passionate about this topic. It seems as though we’ve all witnessed at least one rabid adult going completely ballistic at a youth sporting event.

Enjoy listening to the replays below. For those in/around Omaha, I’m on air every Tuesday and Thursday from 7-8 a.m. on KQKQ Q98.5 FM. Tune in to listen and call in to 402-962-9898 if you have something you want to add to the conversation!

You’ll hear Jill (JT), me, and Whit, who was filling in for Pat today, in the segments below.

If you’d like to listen to the entire 7 a.m. podcast, you can access that here. Fair warning: I maaayy have found a way to bring the discussion back to my collegiate softball playing days at the 8:30 mark. I also said I was “an 18-year old collegiate senior.” I’ve never been good at math.

Written by Heidi Woodard