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Just Past Mad Men O'Clock
Sep. 19th, 2010 11:56 pmInteresting weekend, for certain values of such. On Saturday we ran errands, mainly successful, until Mom was supposed to take Cal overnight so that we could go see Devil. Got him over there and all seemed in order, up until he started holding his side and moaning as though highly constipated. I said: "Do you have to go poo?" "Pee," he said, which is the first time I can recall him using the word. We put him on the toilet, but nothing happened; he was bent over, making hooting, slightly shrieky sounds, cheek pillowed on Mom's knees. Eventually, I put a diaper on him, moved him to her bed and stayed with him, turning off the lights. His eyes began to close, though he still hooted intermittently. Half an hour later he was deeply, deeply asleep.
Mom didn't like the idea that the only theatre we could go to was in a dead zone, so we ended up just eating out, going home and working. In the morning, after eleven solid hours, he woke up fine, chirpy, crazy. Stayed that way all day, then went to bed at 8:00 PM and was asleep within half an hour, diapered again. Massive poo-splosion in his sleep, like I thought would happen--we changed him, he didn't wake up, everything's "good".
Upsetting, obviously--though I was happy to see that this time, unlike most previous times something similar has happened, he didn't lose his language completely--we'd ask him questions and he was able to answer "No" like he was actually listening, as opposed to the usual "Oh no oh no oh no!"/I just don't want to talk or think about it-type B.S. I also managed to teach him to say "I'm full, Mommy", as a variant for his annoying habit of pushing food he doesn't want imperiously away; some things are ridiculously easy to get across, especially if he treats them like a game. (Most recent example of this, which we're now trying hard to UN-teach him, is his not-so-cute habit of yanking at my breasts and imitating me saying: "Don't grab my boobs!")
But yeah: He's six years old, and when you ask him to describe what's going on with him, he simply can't. And the fact that he has a hyposensitively high tolerance for pain isn't really a help, in this particular instance, because it makes the fact that he's acting like he's in pain exaggeratedly traumatic--you think: "Oh my God, it must really be awful!" Still, when he can go to sleep anyhow, that's pretty much the No Sick Kids' Visit Necessary seal of approval. I'll tell the ladies about it at Surrey Place tomorrow, see what they think it might have been.
Meanwhile, since he was still none the worse for wear by noon, we were able to go see the first Sunday showing of Devil, so that was good. Short story: I liked it. Slightly clumsy script, interesting idea, well-executed--it's fast-paced, twisty, nicely logical. And yes, very Christian, so if you have a problem with that, then stay the fuck away. It's called Devil, after all.
Finally, my CZP Speculations blog-post is up, here (http://chiseries.blogspot.com/2010/09/queering-my-genre.html). Looks pretty good, if I dare say so myself; enjoy. It's been a (literally) crappy weekend, and I'm going to bed.
Mom didn't like the idea that the only theatre we could go to was in a dead zone, so we ended up just eating out, going home and working. In the morning, after eleven solid hours, he woke up fine, chirpy, crazy. Stayed that way all day, then went to bed at 8:00 PM and was asleep within half an hour, diapered again. Massive poo-splosion in his sleep, like I thought would happen--we changed him, he didn't wake up, everything's "good".
Upsetting, obviously--though I was happy to see that this time, unlike most previous times something similar has happened, he didn't lose his language completely--we'd ask him questions and he was able to answer "No" like he was actually listening, as opposed to the usual "Oh no oh no oh no!"/I just don't want to talk or think about it-type B.S. I also managed to teach him to say "I'm full, Mommy", as a variant for his annoying habit of pushing food he doesn't want imperiously away; some things are ridiculously easy to get across, especially if he treats them like a game. (Most recent example of this, which we're now trying hard to UN-teach him, is his not-so-cute habit of yanking at my breasts and imitating me saying: "Don't grab my boobs!")
But yeah: He's six years old, and when you ask him to describe what's going on with him, he simply can't. And the fact that he has a hyposensitively high tolerance for pain isn't really a help, in this particular instance, because it makes the fact that he's acting like he's in pain exaggeratedly traumatic--you think: "Oh my God, it must really be awful!" Still, when he can go to sleep anyhow, that's pretty much the No Sick Kids' Visit Necessary seal of approval. I'll tell the ladies about it at Surrey Place tomorrow, see what they think it might have been.
Meanwhile, since he was still none the worse for wear by noon, we were able to go see the first Sunday showing of Devil, so that was good. Short story: I liked it. Slightly clumsy script, interesting idea, well-executed--it's fast-paced, twisty, nicely logical. And yes, very Christian, so if you have a problem with that, then stay the fuck away. It's called Devil, after all.
Finally, my CZP Speculations blog-post is up, here (http://chiseries.blogspot.com/2010/09/queering-my-genre.html). Looks pretty good, if I dare say so myself; enjoy. It's been a (literally) crappy weekend, and I'm going to bed.
