a letter, a confession and a guilt trip

Dear Miley Cyrus (aka Hannah Montana),

You are one very special and very talented girl. As the mother of a 7 year-old girl who is growing up entirely too quickly, I am grateful that there is a kid like you out there for her to watch and admire.

A kid who dresses in a way that doesn't make me blush and trigger an imaginary p0rn movie soundtrack in my head. A kid who has clearly devoted a great deal of time and energy into developing her skills (including, but certainly not limited to, singing, dance, guitar and possibly gymnastics.) A kid who dearly loves and trusts her parents to guide and manage her career and life.

I regret that your concert tour was tarnished by the ticket scalpers that succeeded in making more money on a pair of tickets than some people earn in a single year. I would have loved to have taken my daughter to your concert live, but I would rather pay a car payment or 10 with that money.

Instead, we donned our very Revenge of the Nerds style glasses and enjoyed the Most Comfortable Theater Seats Ever (seriously) and pretended we were at your concert. And it was wonderful. I was pleasantly surprised that your voice appears to be as good "live" as on your songs. (You just never know how much someone's voice is tweaked and, shall we say, embellished in the studio.) I do wish you had included the duet with you dad (which totally rips my heart out and brings on the ugly cry, thankyouverymuch Billy Ray Cyrus.)

So, thank you, Miley. We had a great time. Stinkerbell thinks you're the Stuff. And, for now, you have free reign in the Auburn Family Always household. Just be good and watch your step. Don't disappoint these kids that has fallen love with you. Us mommies might just hunt you down and shave all that long, thick, curly, beautiful hair of yours and use it to stuff our throw pillows with it.

xoxo,
Auburn Gal Always

ps - I think the movie theater was a better choice after all. I enjoyed the Most Comfortable Theater Seats Ever (seriously) a lot more than I would have enjoyed standing up for a couple of hours, surrounded by thousands of SCREAMING girls.

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Tonight, after seeing the Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus concert movie, Stinkerbell, her cousins, aunt and myself walked through the outdoor mall. We moms needed to get a little retail therapy (or at least think about it, even if we didn't buy anything.) Stinkerbell wore her fancy shoes (gold ballet slippers, courtesy her daddy's indulgence.) For some reason, Stinkerbell finds it more, um, interesting to wear slip-on shoes such as this (or crocs or flip-flops) with her toes in the proper place and her heels on the ground and the back of the shoe sticking out from underneath her in a way that absolutely drives me nuts.

NUTS!

Let me provide some reasons as to why this shoe habit of hers got to me in a BIG make-an-idiot-of-yourself way tonight: It was a cool night. It had rained most of the day. We were outside. It was dark. There's a correct way to wear shoes.

What did I say to encourage Stinkerbell to wear her shoes properly?

If you don't quit doing that with your shoes, I'm going to take your feet away from you.

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Friday evening, a few bumpy-little spots appeared on Lucky. Saturday, the spots seemed redder and larger and started to multiply. By that evening, he had "chafing" around his little legs and hips where his diaper was stretched tightest. The spots were also showing up on his face and neck. He didn't seem to be uncomfortable, and the source of this growing rash had us all stumped. A phone call with a pediatric nurse helped us to determine that he was most likely having an allergic reaction to the amoxicillin he had been taking for almost a week.

Gave him some benadryl and discontinue the amoxicillin and he seemed to improve enough for us all to go to bed.

At 2am, he woke me up. After trying to get him back to sleep, I relented and made him a bottle. While doing so, I noticed the rash was spreading and looking more angry than ever.

My gut told me to get him to the ER. My 2nd-guess said that there were worse bugs to catch by taking him there at that time of night. My prayers asked God to help me sleep if Lucky would be ok and to keep me awake if not.

After sitting up and Just Watching Him for 45 minutes, I lay down and slept till 7.

The rash had not miraculously disappeared. It had spread and was worse than ever. The Mighty Hunter fed him some breakfast while I dressed for the 3 mile drive to our local ER.

I really don't think he and I sat in the chair in the waiting room 2 minutes. There was no one there. It could have been a madhouse during the night, but it was empty this morning. (thank you Lord)

The triage nurse was the one that had snuck me into an actual ROOM (vs curtain area) while pregnant with Lucky and puking from the migraines I suffered. She commiserated with me over such a pretty boy being so spotted and swollen. He was wheezing a bit. (No big deal though, remember the amoxicillin? He had a cold. Colds can make you wheeze.)

The ER doc did a brief exam and prescribed some steroids and sent us home.

I really don't think we were there 45 minutes. (thank you Lord)

His rash is MUCH better. The spots on his face and neck and ears (his ears were swollen!) are G-O-N-E gone. His belly, legs and bum have some dark-ish spots remaining. The swelling is all gone. The redness is gone. The chafed rash at the bend of his legs is gone.

The Mighty Hunter sufficiently distracted him while I took Stinkerbell to the Hannah Montana/Miley Cyrus movie. Yet, he was distraught waiting for me to return home. (Lucky was distraught.) (The Mighty Hunter just needed a drink and maybe a little distraught too.) I was greeted by a crying baby who pushed his sweet, little face (sans spots and swelling) into my neck and pinched my goozle and was absolutely relieved by my return.

He went to sleep in my arms quickly and easily. He's sleeping peacefully. He's not wheezing and doesn't look like he has leprosy.

My pretty baby is pretty again.

Proof that I'm a bad blogger? I didn't take the first picture of his spots to share! tsk tsk tsk