"You Butthead," and Other Traditional Holiday Greetings

We got home from our Christmas travels yesterday. Everyone's asking, "how was your Christmas?!" Ah, it was pretty crappy, but thanks for asking!

Three-year-old Darling Son #2 had a seizure on Christmas morning.

Hospitals are not good places to spend Christmas. FYI.

It was absolutely terrifying. He was totally incoherent in the ambulance en route to the hospital. He finally perked up as the nurse was taking his rectal temperature--his eyes flashed open and he shouted, "I HATE THIS! YOU BUTTHEAD!"

On one hand, it was very reassuring. Our precious son spoke! A proper sentence! Subject and predicate! And so relevant to the task at hand!

On the other hand, our precious son just called someone A BUTTHEAD. That's so rude. Where did he even learn that word? I don't call people 'buttheads.' At least, not audibly.

Turns out that was just the tip of the iceberg. Over the next thirty hours, poor little potty mouth was poked, pricked and prodded such that anyone who walked in the room was verbally assaulted with whatever hateful vitriol he could come up with. All his 'bad words' were pressed into service, including, but not limited to, 'butt,' 'wiener,' 'stupid,' and 'idiot.'

I kept apologizing for his rudeness, assuring everyone that under normal circumstances, he really is a very sweet little boy! Truly! I'm not just saying that because I'm his mother. Other people think so, too. Except when catheters, blood pressure cuffs and pulse ox monitors are involved.

We did have to cut the DS2 some slack--it was a rough time, and quite frankly, when you're three and this cute:

You can get away with a lot.

Calculating Rudeness Tolerance
The whole thing got me thinking, what's the rudeness tolerance threshold for a grown woman giving up coffee? Because that, Lord help me, is what I'm about to do.

Kicking Joe to the Curb
I've been toying with the idea for a while. Mostly because I know I'm an addict. The thought of giving it up scares me. Last year, I put off getting blood drawn for months because it required a fasted state. I didn't mind not eating, but I minded not having creamy coffee when I woke up. I could have had it black, but ewww....

See, that's the rub--it's the cream. I don't take sugar and I never have. I like my coffee just like me--light and slightly bitter.

But the truth is, I often don't sleep well. And I have to admit, coffee has mastery over me. Should I really be enslaved to a beverage? Especially after I threw off the shackles of sugar earlier this year (which, by the way, I consider to be one of the best decisions I've ever made--right up there with marrying the Darling Husband.) I don't want to be enslaved to anything else.

Honestly, I don't even think it's the caffeine. I couldn't leave DS2's room the morning after Christmas, at least not without a veil of tears, so I didn't have my coffee until a good three hours after I woke up. I had a mild headache, but it wasn't really that bad. It's more the comfortable ritual of my warm, creamy cup.

But after Christmas and traveling and hospital food, I feel quite yucky. I'm feeling the need to do some sort of reset, and the great thing about doing it this time of year is that practically everyone else is doing one, too. There is an element of camaraderie. At least, that's what I'm telling myself.

Whole30
This time, I'm toying around with doing Whole30, a paleo-type plan that involves eating pretty much any whole food (including fruit) and not eating the usual suspects (processed foods, alcohol, sugar,) as well as giving up grains and dairy.

I've given up grains before, but never dairy. I like dairy. I've never been a big milk drinker, but I like cheese and I *love* yogurt. But I can live without them for 30 days. It's the cream... oh dear.

Apparently I'm not the only one who struggles with this. Whole30 creators Dallas and Melissa Hartwig are pretty adamant that you follow the plan to the letter, and they have a tough love essay on their site, in which they tell us: "It is not hard. Don’t you dare tell us this is hard. Beating cancer is hard. Birthing a baby is hard. Losing a parent is hard. Drinking your coffee black. Is. Not. Hard." 

Oh. Ok. I guess if you put it that way...

So we'll see how it goes. I'm sure I'll blog about it. At least if I call you a 'butthead' you'll know why.