So Stacy has a raging case of poison oak that she picked up in California during a solo trek up and down a hill (she calls it a mountain) near Lisa's house. It's primarily on the inside of her left arm, though there are small patches here and there on her arms and legs. I'd post pictures, but they'd most certainly be stolen and posted to ThingsThatWillDefinitelyMakeYouPuke.com. Thank God Gavin doesn't have it, as Stacy remembers coming back from her walk and picking up the baby (why she didn't wash her hands immediately after her walk is beyond me). She was exposed a couple of days before we left California and it really didn't start showing up until Wednesday. By Friday she had at least two huge blisters that looked like boils weeping pus tears of sadness down her arm. Her doctor's office was closed so she wanted to wait until Monday to go. Earlier in the day at the drug store she'd asked the pharmacist what he would suggest and he said she should see a doctor. Do I need to mention that I also told her this? No, no I do not. He also said that what the doctor would likely prescribe would potentially leach into her breast milk so she was paranoid about going to an urgent care clinic without seeing her doctor -- who, not incidentally, is also Gavin's doctor, first. I was paranoid about my wife not having any skin left on her arm come Monday so I called her doctor myself and left a message on her after hours line. After a conversation with a doctor Stacy has some kind of topical "creme" to use and hopefully that helps. It looks a little better today, but I am only basing this on the fact that the pus-filled boils have popped and there is no more weeping. That is, to me, a huge improvement.
I currently have a mosquito bite on my back and when I said, "It itches like crazy," I thought Stacy was going to hit me. Gavin has a tiny mosquito bite on his head. We were all at Stacy's dad's today and we went for a walk in the woods to see his new deer stand. He has about 15 stands he's built in the woods and he likes to show them off. His new one he calls his Mega Stand and it's 20 feet in the air. We took Gavin up in it and he did not seem at all phased by the height. In fact, his biggest concern was how to get the door open once we were inside of it. Thankfully it latches from the outside and only a grown-up arm is long enough to do any unlatching.
Is it weird for me, someone who doesn't eat animals, to have my son up in a deer blind? Yes. Not only for the height issue (after all, it's pretty much impossible to be up there without thinking, "If he fell, he would die. And then I would have to die"), but because of how much Gary (Gavin's grandpa) talks about hunting one day with Gavin. And I love the whole idea of bonding with Grandpa Gary. But I'd much rather Gavin "hunt" with a pair of binoculars and/or a camera. But in Stacy's family hunting is totally normal. Stacy's brother has bagged a deer or two in those very woods as has Gary. In my family no one hunts. We never had guns in the house and we never had venison in the freezer. I remember my Grandpa Mitch had a gun in his apartment. A big old shotgun leaned up against the wall behind his front door. I have no idea if it worked or was loaded or what. I do recall a story about my Grandma Lucy using a shotgun to chase a robber out of her apartment when she and Mitch lived in Detroit. She shot down the shaft through the top of the elevator trying to get him. She also had a tattoo on her arm of a man's name. And it wasn't "Mitch."
So yes. Hunting. Not my favorite. I don't think people who hunt are necessarily bad people (except for "hunters" shooting penned animals or picking off wolves out of helicopters), I don't know how I am going to explain my feelings about animals and non-violence toward them while reconciling the fact that his grandpa kills deer for fun. Not to disparage him, of course. He absolutely reveres nature and is one of the most knowledgeable people I know when it comes to the outdoors. See why it's hard? Dear family and friends: Can't you all just be uncomplicated for the sake of my son?
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