At War with the Chicken Pox Vaccine

I am on a mission to avoid the chicken pox vaccine.

I know, I know. Darren is only seven months old, but I want to be well informed. Without stuttering and stammering, I want to tell his future teachers and doctors why he shouldn’t have the vaccine.

Call me crazy, but I have my reasons.

 

This post was created in response to a blog post  from  The Mommy Chronicles: Vaccinate or Face Jail...Say What!?

I OBJECT! 

Why?

Because of all the vaccines our children are ‘required’ to receive, the chicken pox vaccine is most useless one.

Why?

Common knowledge is, when chicken pox is contracted as a child it is ‘in general’ harmless. Yes, our children will suffer form itchy raise bumps, maybe a slight fever, and miss some school, but really, they are none the worse for wear.

Common knowledge (again in general) is that the chicken pox virus has been proven to be deadlier (twenty times deadlier) when contracted as an adult. This is my biggest problem with the chicken pox vaccine issue.

The chicken pox vaccine has been being administered since around 1995. Since then, over ten million doses of the vaccine have been issued. Another fact: the chicken pox vaccine does not always prevent chicken pox. In the event that the virus is contracted by someone who had the vaccine, the symptoms are present in a milder form.

So explain to me again, why should I give my child a vaccination for a virus he could get anyway?

Here’s another tidbit of information. All children in Minnesota are required to receive the vaccine (if they have not yet contracted the virus) before they are allow to enroll in kindergarten.

Let me recap. I am required to give my son the chicken vaccine as a child. Which, one, does not necessarily prevent the virus and which two, is a virus known to be deadlier as an adult than as a child. And now the suggestion is that I should go to jail if I don’t comply.

I OBJECT!

Oh, by the way. Fifteen years later, after the first vaccine was given (which was over ten million vaccines ago) they still are still trying to do research to find if adults should be re-vaccinated.

This is killing me. The fact that I will be forced to go through the hub-bub of getting this live ‘weakened’ virus for Darren, is a bit ridiculous. The rational is that it can prevent “serious” medical conditions and reduce costs related to the virus. This argument is weak at best.

Why?

Here are the stats.

An estimated 9,000 people in the U.S. are hospitalized each year because of chicken pox.  Of that 9,000 and estimated 90 (1%) die.

Why do I feel like some keeps throwing rocks at my head and calling me stupid?

1% is not a death rate of epic proportions. 

What happened to a vaccinating because virus was of life-threatening epidemic proportions? 

The chicken pox virus is a virus that can be contracted and treated as easily as the common cold, or more accurately the common flu; which, I would like to point out, is an optional vaccine.

 

My second biggest issue with this vaccine. I DON’T HAVE A CHOICE!

As a parent I feel like pulling my hair out and screaming. PLEASE STOP WASTING MY TIME!

For the same reason I’ll let my kids eat dirt and pick their noses on the sly; I will also let them play with a friend who has the deadly chicken pox. It builds character and more importantly, their immune system. I would rather deal with it now that worrying that my child might die from it later.

In short, the chicken pox vaccine is a vaccine of convenience. This vaccine makes life easier for teachers, easier for parents, and easier for a dysfunctional health care system (you can debate that last point).

From what I have seen, nothing about life is easy. Throwing a child with chicken pox into the mix can’t put that much of a wrench in your life.

What to know where I got my information? Check out:

http://www.cdc.gov/vaccines/pubs/vis/downloads/vis-varicella.pdf

http://www.aap.org/advocacy/releases/chickenpox.pdf

http://www.health.state.mn.us/divs/idepc/immunize/laws/childcareimzrec.pdf

The African Jiggly

I know I have been MIA for the past week, but I’m back to blogging

And I got my hair did.

Yep I did. 

The transformation to completely natural hair has been started. Excited? Yes I am. My new look? Micro braids.

The comments I have been getting are quite something. I walk in to work. “Did you put extensions in?” Then I try to explain the concept of micro braids. “Really….Can I touch them?”  “That’s not real human hair is it?” is by far the most laughable comment. The most common? “How long did it take?”

 

Four and a half hours. Yes, by the end my neck was stiff and my butt was sore. But ladies, you know as well as I do the price we pay to make ourselves look good.  The sacrifice is necessary and well worth it. 

Four and half hours. Yes, I took my son with me. 

Yeah I am crazy, but I lately I have been feeling I only get to see him when he is a sleep, so I wanted to be with Darren as much as possible on my day off. 

I am glad I did.

The African ladies doing my hair didn’t mind at all. Darren being his usual self turned on the charm and played nicely in my lap on and off for about an hour and a half. 

Then he was done.

Pooped out. Ready for a nap. 

No biggy right? I’ll just rock him in my lap. 

Nope. Not having that. 

Let me explain first about Darren and his naps. One, he is not a napper. This kid will go a hundred miles per hour for the whole day with maybe two twenty minute naps. Two, this kid will not fall asleep if there is tons of commotion around him. So being in a small room with three other people he’d never seen before, it was a recipe for disaster. Plus, these people where women? Forget it; I had already prepared myself for this. I was willing to let him exhaust every ounce of his energy before I forced him to take a nap.

But African ladies are a force to be reckoned with. 

They have tricks up their sleeves from the homeland that I wish I could do.

After being passed around the room to be rocked in the unoccupied hands, he was still fighting sleep. 

Finally one of the ladies asks.

“Do you mind if I put him on my back?”

“Seriously?” I ask. Yes, I asked. Just to double check I am not being taken for a ride.

“Yes, this is how we do it in my country.”

Do I mind? No ma’am I do not mind at all. Actually I am extremely intrigued. 

I watch as she gets a long African sari and they lay Darren piggy-back like on her back, then settle his legs on either side of her waist. The sari is around him like a blanket and the ends are tucked in at her chest and waist. 

Darren is laughing.

Then she starts doing a little jiggle.

Ten minutes later my boy is out like a light, his head bobbing gently to the jiggling.

I am amazed. 

I mention so to them. “I need to learn how to do that.”

“You have someone help you do it the first time.” They laugh. 

It’s true. I will need help, but baby number two (when he/she comes) will definitely be well acquainted with my African jiggly. Just to make sure I am going to practice with Darren now.

Embracing My Clumsiness

Let me introduce you to the clumsiest person in the world. Yeah, that would be me. Hi world, howya doin’?

As you know it is customary for me to share my less than stellar moments on my blog. Today I won’t disappoint you. Actually, you’ll get two, no, three of these moments for the price of one.

For someone who can break into a pretty good groove on the dance floor, I have found that there is absolutely no translation of this gracefulness when it comes to every day actions; like walking or even holding things for that matter.

Yesterday illustrated this perfectly.

First, I walked into a swinging door. Yeah. And it wasn’t your usual full size door either. It was one of the short ‘bar’ doors that comes up to you waist; usually found by counters. My luck was that I walked straight into this swinging door right after someone had sung it open. So it didn’t harmlessly bounce off my thighs. Nope, it pretty much killed my left ovary. 

 I am seriously worried I won’t be able to produce the siblings I promised Darren he would have.

Second, I made a spectacle at my work’s family night and since it is ‘family’ night, my lovely hubby and Darren were with me. Darren, being the charmer that he is, was a complete hit. Me, on the other hand took the rap for Darren dropping his bottle, which would not have been so bad if it hadn’t been glass.

Yeah. I made the mistake of unathletically trying to catch it.

“Really, a glass bottle?” Cindalicious

“I would be really embarrassed right now if I were you.” The hubby pointed out with his customary grin.

“Who give a baby a glass bottle?” Some random guy.

Um. Yeah. I do. You got a problem with it? The clean up better than the plastic ones. 

The hubby keeps throwing his five cents in once I start mopping the mess up.

“Babe, are you sure you’ve mopped before?”

Cindalicous (the traitor) snorts and laughs. Obviously the hubby is a hit tonight to.  But she does get points for helping me sweep up the glass.

I wish it ended there. For those who stayed the show got better. Because a half an hour later I drop a cup of Lemon-Lime Lemonade slushy about two feet away from the shattered bottle incident.

Yeah, so I tolerated the jibes about the actual contents of the slushy and cleaned the mess up. The hubby adds a quarter to his ever present comment jar.

“I would like to say, that I am use to this. She is even worse at home.”

But really what took the cake about all these mishaps was this morning. 

The hubby woke up giggling.

When I asked him what was so funny he says he just remember what happened last night.

I just rolled my eyes. “Really, you know I’ve done worse, that was nothing.”

“Yeah, that was funny, but what was funnier was that you actually tried to keep the nipple from the bottle.” He says this with his man giggle.

Jeez. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. What a SA.

Things that go Thump

When it snows in the country, it can give you the feeling of being wrapped in a warm blanket, especially when you know you have now where to be. 

So when the weatherman predicted that snow would be descending on southern Minnesota for the weekend I was excited. I had two days off of work, a house to clean, a little boy to cuddle with and romance novel to get lost in. 

But what really happens.

The power goes off. 

This isn’t that big of a deal, until you live in an old house in the middle of nowhere. 

Then you get scared witless. 

I know I have chronicled the hubby’s creeped out feelings about living in an old house, but now it is my turn.

Saturday morning the hubby had left for work, braving an unplowed road with three inches of freshly fallen snow and I had settled in to the task taming the wildness of what we call home. I was making great progress. Darren was fed and playing, the dishwasher was running and I was finally folding mountain of clothes that covered our kitchen table. 

Being comfortable with the sounds our old house makes and with the fact that it can be weird sometimes, I didn’t even blink when the lights flickered and dimmed every once in a while.

Then the power goes out and puts a wrench in my housewifely duties. 

In all honestly, I didn’t mind. I just proceeded to wrap Darren and me in a blanket. As I start playing with him I try to shake off the feeling of eeriness. 

The house it completely quiet. No water heater or furnace kicking in. No nothing. 

Except Darren’s trying to have a serious conversation with me.

“UUUUUUUUUbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbeeeeeeeeeeer, EEEEEEEEEEAaaaaaaH”

“Really, man? I know the power went out but it’s ok.”

 

“Bababababababa…bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaauuuuuuuuuh.”

“I agree. We should text daddy and let him know.” I pull out my phone which Darren tries to confiscate.

Then….

THUD. THUD

Then…

The house shudders.

My heart drops and my ears going into hyper hearing mode. Every few moments there are thuds coming from above, these are followed by the house shuddering.

My mind goes into overdrive. Then I remember my sister-in-law swearing her and my brother heard someone walking around upstairs one night during a thunderstorm. My heart starts beating in my throat.

Then I tell myself to stop being so ridiculous. There is a perfectly explainable reason for all these noises in a quiet house. 

After twenty minutes a pure freaked out weirdness, and visions of a translucent ghost appearing in the doorway of the living room to talk to Darren and me, I realize what it is:  

Snow falling on the roof from the trees and the wind shaking the front patio.

See, I have my creepy old house moments too.

I am a point to tell my hubby. 

“Babe, if you think this house can be creepy with a bunch of noises, you should be here when it’s completely silent.”

He laughs at me, but he totally agrees. 

Ask him how it feels when you’re alone in the house and the power kicks back in, while you’re on the toilet. 

Yeah, he was just as freaked out as I was.

Rodents

We have rodents.

I shouldn't be surprised, but when you step on a dead mouse surprise is a mild reaction in most cases. To put more emphasis on this country development, I will say it again. Actually scream it.

WE HAVE RODENTS!

Ugh. My question is why did it manage to die in our bedroom? Yes, our bedroom. There is mouse poison in our basement, but this mouse is belly up in our bedroom, which is not in our basement. I have even a bigger question. HOW did it get to our bedroom?

The crazy thing is, I am no worried about mice running through our house. I am just concerned about where they die. It's to be expected. It's an old farm house that was built in the 1900s. It's bound to have an intricate labyrinth of mouse holes.

But I am losing sleep over the fact that I might walk in the room and find Darren gumming up a dead mouse.  It is understandable if you are shuddering, I am too.

Me, being a woman, left the mouse there and sent a text to my husband and my father. It kind of went like this.

Me: um …we have an issue. (accompanied with the picture below.)

Dad: Yes we agree! Is it dead?

Pause. I had to roll my eyes, then texted him back.

Me: Um…yes…it appears that way.

He didn’t reply back. But my mother did come and put more rat poison in the basement.

Devon did his manly duty and called me.

“It’s dead?”

I have to roll my eyes again. “Yes it’s dead and it will be waiting for you to dispose of it when you get home.”

“Where is it?”

“In the bedroom.”

“How did it get there?”

“Um..it walked. I don’t know.”  I know my sarcasm is unnecessary, but I didn’t get to ask it a million questions before it went to its heavenly maker.

I wish it ended there.

We also have raccoons in our grove. Or that’s what my dad tells me.

Two weeks ago I went out to burn garbage. Because it had been windier that crap the previous week, we had just placed the bag in the barrel and left it to burn for later. Well the raccoons had gotten to it; gotten in to it good. Diapers were ripped into; the back that had the leftover meat from grilling was completely annihilated.  Various wrappers had blown all throughout the trees

So I spent the afternoon picking up garbage.

Now, when I walk in our house I always wear slippers. Stepping on a small squishy rodent is not desired. I also, send a glare towards the burning barrel every morning before I go to work. That should keep the raccoon rodents away.

I Can’t Compete with Daycare

Darren is bored.

The Hubby and I finally have a day off together on a weekday so daycare was not necessary today.

Pretty sure Darren would beg to differ.

He love’s daycare. There is constant action, little ladies loving him up and cater to his every whim, and of course, the coolest toys ever. Sounds like a baby rap video right? All of these things are lacking in our home environment.

I never knew it until today. Ok. Lying. I knew that home and daycare were two different environments. But when your child is at daycare for eight plus hours a day five days a week, the hubby and I thought that tons of toys, little girls who weren’t sisters (any other type of girls, in my opinion, are banned until he moves out) weren’t necessary. 

How wrong were we? Daycare is stiff competition.

By six this morning Darren was taking his fist nap of the day. By seven-thirty he's awake and wily.  By nine he’s screeching to keep himself amused. Ten-thirty he’s settled down for his second nap (his choice not mine). Twenty minutes later he’s bright and bushy-eyed for the hubby who is just officially waking up for the morning.

By this time I realize it might be a long day for all of us. 

Three hours and a twenty minute outside excursion later, I have a pounding tension headache and I am more than ready for Darren to take nap number three. 

Then he starts nodding off while eating his bananas.

Insult and relief are at war within me. I know we are a low key when we are at home, but seriously?  He never falls asleep if food is present. I am relieved as I lay down with him, but spend ten minutes critically questioning my parenting priorities.

Priority #1: purchase more toys. When you have to resort to using the TV to keep a six month old amused you are definitely lacking in the toy department.

Priority #2: Have more children. I will admit that my son appreciates the little ladies at daycare and would pick them to play with over me any day. I refuse to duel with them. My solution is to provide him with build in playmates. Mama trumps all when it comes to these kinds of decisions.