Last week, a colleague of mine was complaining that she couldn’t take her 2 1/2-year-old son on car trips to visit family because he’d get extremely carsick. I could empathize, having been a motion-challenged child myself. ”Have you tried Dramamine?” I asked. ”No,” she replied. ”I don’t want to give my son any medication.” ”Oh. So she’s one of THOSE moms,” I thought. Good luck with that. ”I’m pretty sure they make a version for kids,” I said. Wanting to prove I’m right, I pulled up the site on my computer and, sure enough, there’s a version for kids named, interestingly enough, “Dramamine for Kids.”
Category Archive: For Reals
A wise Pinterest pin once read: “Thanks for changing my political ideology through your rant on Facebook, said nobody, ever.” And I wholeheartedly subscribe to that theory.
Facebook is a place for pictures of puppies dressed as people and photos of cute babies drooling. It is NOT the place for political cheerleading and berating others for their opinions and beliefs. It’s a place to solicit donations for fun runs, thoughts and prayers for ill family members, to commiserate about crappy jobs, brag/vent about wonderful/shitty spouses and/or kids.
I woke up Friday morning, the first day of my four day vacation, with a sore throat. Uh-oh, I thought to myself. This won’t be good. A shower didn’t help, neither did the 7+hour road trip I’d taken the day before from Chicago to Ohio with my brother and sister-in-law’s boisterous but loveable dog, Walter, to whom I am very allergic. I did everything I could – purchased the Zyrtec plus congestion meds that I was put on the national meth registry for buying, sat in the front seat, etc. By Friday afternoon, the sore throat had migrated down into my chest and I hacked like a life-long smoker with a breathing problem. By the time we’d arrived at my family’s lake house Friday night, I knew I was in trouble. (For those who are regular readers of my blog, this is the same place where I had my eyebrow threading adventures last summer.)
I had been looking forward to the Turtle Races for months, ever since my friend Michelle told me about the bar that hosted it down the street from her husband’s old neighborhood. We had planned to go before, but I’d gotten sick and wasn’t able to attend. So when the e-mail titled “Turtle racing?” arrived in my inbox last week, I was all over it.