what happened

First, this happened, courtesy of Josie and her best buddy.



21 missing keys, in approximately 3 minutes of unsupervised time.

Oh, and they snapped several individual keys IN HALF. I'm so proud of her fine motor skills, obviously.

Then, of course, there were more stitches, courtesy of Josie banging her chin against the edge of her crib.

The irony is that I needed to take a shower so I placed her in her crib to keep her safe. HA HA HA HA HA. I came back wrapped in a towel to find blood EVERYWHERE. Everywhere. And she wasn't even crying! She just tilted her head up and showed me her chin and said, "I have a boo boo, I need an Elmo bandaid mom." Another trip to the ER, another set of stitches.

Then, I found, um, let's call it a mysterious animal, dead in the basement. I lifted up a paint tarp, and there he was. Maybe a squirrel? Maybe a possum? I don't know, but he was shriveled and hairy and I may have touched him with my hand, and honestly, let's stop talking about it because I'm still traumatized.

So I did what I always do when one of the kids has an accident. Any guesses? Yep, yep, I started a large scale home renovation project, by myself, with no advance planning or warning to my husband. Pictures and details to come.

And then I kind of just fell apart. Not a lot, just a bit. Josh is working around the clock and the injuries always set me off, and everything felt overwhelming for a few weeks. But I'm starting to feel better- more normal.

The computer is still broken, which is the major impediment to typing anything, but thankfully I joined the 21st century and got an iPhone and hopefully this will help until we figure out what to do with the computer. And Josie, we need a plan for what to do with Josie. Besides the bubble wrap because that isn't working.

can 22 month olds have attitude problems?

Um, wow. I guess I shouldn't be surprised to learn that the IRS has determined breast pumps don't fall under a "medical expense," even though acne cream and denture adhesive counts. But I AM surprised. Go ahead, take a few minutes to read the article.

I breastfed my kids for almost 12 months and 18 months, respectively, and it was a huge commitment, both emotionally, time-wise, and financially. A pump, different sized pump pieces, storage bags and more storage bags and more storage bags, not to mention the herbal remedies I purchased to try to increase my supply. I can totally understand why not everyone would want to or be able to breastfeed, because holy smokes, it is very challenging.

I'm shocked, therefore, to find that even though the American Academy of Pediatrics would advise them otherwise, that the IRS wouldn't deem a breast pump worthy of a tax break under the flexible spending plan. I don't think breastfeeding is right for everyone, but I do think it is worth supporting and definitely should be covered as a medical expense. Well, at least my insurance paid for my pump for Josie, and hopefully it'll be covered next time.
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In other, totally unrelated news, Josie's repeat hearing test was today and 100% normal hearing! YIPPEEEEEE!

I'm not sure about the balance issues, though, for the last few days she's been falling as much as usual, but I'm still keeping fingers crossed. Speaking of breastfeeding, it apparently didn't help my kids with their ear infections, even though it was supposed to.

She's also had a couple of nose bleeds, which the ENT said must be related to her adenoid spot healing. Isn't that kind of odd? Has anyone else experienced this?
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Thanks for the advice on the leash. I'm hoping this is just a stage and she will eventually start listening, or else it is Baby Boot Camp for her. Well, it is probably Baby Boot Camp for her regardless, because this child is a little pistol. During her hearing test, she was pointedly ignoring the audiology technician when she was asking her to look at the puppet or at the light. Finally, without lifting her head, Josie snarled "NO" when the woman asked if she could hear her.

So positive result on the hearing, negative result on the attitude. I am not looking forward to the teenage years, I'll tell you that.

keeping the sanity

Theoretically, if I were thinking about being super pro-active and buying birthday and holiday presents up front, do you have any ideas for the following individuals?

- Four year old boy
- Two year old girl
- Husband who doesn't like anything

I'm thinking maybe Playmobil and Lego stuff for the boy, and doll stuff for the girl? I don't know, she isn't super impressed by dolls yet, to be honest. She likes them fine, but she isn't fawning over them. My gratitude runneth over for your always excellent ideas!

if he says "sh*t," then I'll take responsibility, but this time it wasn't me

I'm not sure where Gabe heard it, but we've had some episodes of him saying the word "stupid". It has been a totally incorrect usage, although one time he did call his sister a "stupid dog," but he said it in an affectionate tone. Almost as if he thought it was a term of endearment. Anyway, regardless of the usage, I've made it clear that it isn't a nice word, and is totally unacceptable.

Last night, we were getting ready for bed and he was playing with some little figurines, and one of the men referred to his toothbrush (I know, random) as stupid.

Me: What did you say?

Gabe: I didn't say it, the man did.

Me: Did you say stupid?

Gabe: The man said it, not me.

Me: Remember when we talked about how stupid isn't a nice word and we don't say it?

Gabe: (exasperated) I told you, it was the man.

Me: Well, the man is going to have to go away for a while if I hear that again. We don't say stupid, it isn't nice. It isn't a word we use.

Gabe: I'll talk to the man about it. I'll let you know what he says.

someone please send some workmen over

Things have got to change around here.

I love doing projects, don't get me wrong. I love the planning, and prepping, the doing, and especially, OH ESPECIALLY, the completion.

But I'm feeling like the projects are overtaking my life. I don't even mean the painting of rooms, although by gosh, I've been doing a lot of room painting lately. It is more the fact that I let those projects, big or small, get in the way of my treasuring every day with my children.

Since May of a year ago when we decided to sell our house, I spent that May and June prepping the house for sale and finishing the basement, then keeping the house neat and clean and organized for all of July and August and September (which nearly pushed me over the edge), and then the house hunting for September and October, and then the packing for October and November, and then the illnesses and unpacking and projects for December and January and February and March and April (and holy smokes, can you believe we haven't had an ear infection since APRIL?) and then the injuries this summer and the projects I've been working on, I have been letting life pass me by.

I adore my children, and I have no doubt that they know it. I shower them with hugs and kisses and take them to museums and zoos and parks and schedule playdates and all of that, but I think I'm missing the little things. I'm not sitting with them and watching them push the cars around. Or sitting at the table to color with them. Or relaxing on the bedroom floor while I hear the many, many, MANY details about Buzz Lightyear's life story (what did we do before Buzz Lightyear, I'd like to know).

I'm not soaking every moment in because I'm folding laundry and worrying about the paint colors or whether we should tile the basement floor or carpet it or staring around at the mess and thinking about who is stopping by later today. I have to stop. I don't want to look back on my Gabe and Josie's babyhoods and toddlerhoods and feel like I missed them. I don't want to look around at a beautiful and put together house, but then realize I didn't notice them getting so big.

Who needs a nice pretty clean house if you're missing out on life?

alert alert alert

They MAY be some movement on the whole third child front. We MAY have some compromise on the horizon, and there MAY be some swaying of the husband to allow us to wait a little bit longer than RIGHT THIS MINUTE.

Do you see me doing a little happy dance on my kitchen floor? Oh wait, I'm stepping over a tantruming Josie and a pile of cars. Here I go again, more dancing.

I think the whole endless-injured-children-amputatedfingers-brokenwrists-loosenedteeth-dislocatedwrists-burntwithcoffee may be talking some sense into Josh. I'm not going to lie, though I'm thrilled to have a bit of breathing room, I'm a little sad too. I was getting excited about the idea about trying for another baby, being pregnant again (although not the whole vomiting nonstop for 26 weeks thing), and then that whole squishy delicious baby thing. I was especially looking forward to that baby thing.

But this isn't a no, this is just a postponement. Hopefully this won't come back to bite us in the tushies!

coffee is a weapon apparently

I feel like a broken record these days, and honestly, if I were hearing all of this from someone else, I'd swear they must be making it up. Alas, I wish I were making this up, but it's all true. We seem to have been hit with the unlucky stick this summer. Another round of stories, though, and I swear you don't want to miss these.

So last week, as I mentioned, I took the kids to a local farm to pick up our share of vegetables from our CSA and pick some flowers. I was trying to keep them both corralled as we walked through the fields and Josie was acting like a total maniac, flinging her body against the plants and running through the fields rather than around them. I tried to verbally correct her a few times, but it wasn't working, so I made her walk next to me and hold my hand. A few steps into our hand-holding, Josie tripped or threw herself down or something of the sort, and I heard a popping sound in her wrist. She started whimpering and saying, "boo boo, boo boo" and stopped using her arm, exactly the same way she'd behaved when she broke her wrist. And then I promptly freaked out.

I called Josh and asked him to meet me at the ER, called the pediatrician to let them know what was happening, and then sobbed the whole way to my friend's house to drop Gabe off with her. Josie was whimpering in the car as we drove, and I cried along with her as I envisioned another cast, another long few weeks of plastic bags and worry, not to mention my concern that they were going to call Child Protective Services on me for the string of accidents. We made it to Children's Hospital quickly, got tucked into a room swiftly, and after talking with the nurse and a pediatric orthopedist, we agreed her wrist was probably broken again. The doctor decided to examine her arm before we took her back to get x-rays, and as he lifted her arm, he heard a pop and thought it possible that her elbow had been dislocated (nursemaid's elbow) rather than a break. They left us for a few minutes to see how she acted and within 2 minutes she was good as new, climbing the walls of the hospital room and singing her smooshed up version of the ABCs.

Another quick exam, and we were sent on our way with a clean bill of health, and an admonition not to hold her hand anymore because once an elbow dislocates, it is likely to dislocate again. Turns out after talking to Josh's parents, it happened to Josh TWICE when he was a baby.

You'd think that was enough for one week, right? RIGHT? Well, not in my world, apparently.

Friday morning, we head into Josh's work to have lunch with him, and he asks if we can grab coffee at a certain large chain coffee shop- hmm, let's say it rhymes with "farm trucks". I ordered a decaf iced coffee, and after waiting for several minutes, was handed a drink, which I tasted and discovered to be something besides a decaf iced coffee. I went up to the counter to ask the barista why it tasted so strange, and she said they didn't have iced decaf coffee so she'd made me something else. Umm, okay. I asked for a regular iced coffee, and although she said she'd make it for me, she seemed super annoyed at my request and then made me wait while she made several people's drinks ahead of mine. I was standing at the counter for about 10 minutes waiting for my drink with Gabe at my side and in the meantime, she began to argue with a coworker who was standing outside the drink area and became visibly flustered. She even left the drink bar and went to the back for a couple of minutes.

Anyway, she came back and finished two drinks, and then (seeming very annoyed) slammed a grande hot drink down on the counter. Can you see where this is going yet? She put it down so hard, the top popped off and the drink exploded across the counter, pouring scalding hot coffee onto Gabe. I screamed as the coffee poured all over him, and Gabe started screaming this horrible high-pitched shriek as the coffee hit his skin. I had just a second to react, so I grabbed him to pull him into the bathroom and as I touched him, realized how hot the coffee actually was, so I tore his shirt off of him and ran to the bathroom to pour cold water all over him.

Long, long, LONG story short, Gabe ended up being fine after the cold water and lots of burn cream and ibuprofen, although his chest and arms were red and inflamed for hours. The barista never apologized, the manager was apologetic but ultimately unhelpful, and after spending 20 minutes sitting in the store making sure Gabe was okay, she handed us her business card and two free drink coupons and said, "Please don't hate us. Come again soon!" Oh, and she claimed they didn't have accident reports and wouldn't let us fill anything out, although Josh insisted and we ended up writing it all up on a plain sheet of white paper.

I do understand that accidents happen, of course, but given the way the barista was acting, I don't think this was an accident. I would have loved to tear her to shreds, but I was so focused on Gabe, I couldn't find the energy to focus on her. Thankfully, Gabe is fine, but I spent most of Friday with shaking hands and feeling like I was on the verge of a panic attack because I couldn't stop envisioning how awful it could have been. If I hadn't torn his shirt off of him, if he'd been younger, if the coffee had been just a little bit hotter. It is enough to keep you up at night.

That's it. Another couple of shitty incidents to put behind us, and another wish that this is really the end of the bad luck. I am not joking when I say I am really really REALLY going to look into some kind of cleansing ritual for the kids, because this is getting ridiculous. I find myself walking around and waiting for the next shoe to drop, because this is a never-ending cycle. My one saving grace is that for most of the accidents (except for this most recent elbow dislocation) I haven't even been there when my kids have been hurt, so I'm spared the worst part of the guilty conscience. The worry is still there, but at least my guilt is kept to a (somewhat) minimum.

If you have some ideas for fending off bad mojo, please send them my way, because we can use all the help we can get!

beets are delicious

I got online to write a post several times, and had to stop because I am boring myself with the complaining, honestly. We got the stomach flu again, this time I was firmly included in the camp, and as it went through Josie, then Gabe, and then me, I just couldn't help but start to seriously consider the possibility of this house or us being cursed. I know that sounds crazy, but this is where my mind is these days.

But... BUT! I was going to come on this morning and tell you that my children were no longer behaving like demon spawn! We had a full week where I didn't want to fling anyone from a moving vehicle, and it was great, and glorious, and I wanted to smother them with kisses, and I felt like my normal little boy was back. The little boy I am accustomed too, who is compliant and sweet and reasonable and delicious, and then. Today happened.

I think today may be one of the worst days in my parenting career, really and truly. Gabe was so awful. So horrid. So, ugh, difficult and contrary and outrageously disobedient and frankly, pretty much an asshole all day long. It was shocking and amazing, and I was at a loss for what to do. My normal parenting style was simply not working AT ALL, and threats and carrying out of threats and time-outs and spankings and all the rest were not working AT ALL. Like, NOT AT ALL. I finally put him in bed wayyy before his bedtime, without dinner, and told him that I loved him so much. SO MUCH, but I did not like the way he had been acting all day long and I hoped tomorrow would be better (please let tomorrow be better), and I haven't heard a peep since.

Today was baaaaaad, though, and I think now I shall retire downstairs to my living room with a movie and some deliciously fresh beets from our farm share (which I haven't told you about at all, and I really owe you multiple posts about it). And maybe some ice cream too. And perhaps a pina colada as well. And some chocolate. A lot of chocolate.

gag

Wading through day 11 of a stomach bug. Yesterday, today, and tomorrow, I am scooping poop into little vials to be tested for parasites.

Is there anything more disgusting than this? Please tell me if there is...

it's only lemons right now

It's official. Josie fractured the growth plate at the base of her hand- beginning of her wrist- and has to be in a soft cast for two weeks. I petitioned for a waterproof cast, or at the very least a removable splint so we could enjoy our few times of water play, but no such luck. The doctor flat out refused, and I'm trying to figure out what I am supposed to do for the two weeks of swim lessons we are signed up for over the next two weeks.

I thought I was okay with all of this, or at least as okay as I could possibly be with two children with injuries less than a month apart. Turns out, though, I actually wasn't. I walked out of the doctor's office and promptly burst into tears and cried for an hour while I drove around in circles with the kids in the back seat.

I'm so tired, you know? I feel totally defeated, and it doesn't help that Josh's work and travel schedule is all over the place and makes him completely unavailable to help. I feel like my life is totally out of control, and I'm overwhelmed, and frustrated, and angry, and nothing I do seems to help.

I looked back over the last week and realized that in ONE WEEK, I did the following:
1. Organized the kid bathroom cabinet
2. Organized the master bathroom cabinet
3. Organized the linen closet
4. Painted an old nightstand we had for Gabe's room (navy blue, so it took 4 coats of paint)
5. Weeded through ALL of Gabe and Josie's old clothes in the plastic containers in the basement (about 10 large containers)
6. Reorganized my closet
7. Painted the entire living room a new color (that room has 6 windows, a doorway, an elaborate fireplace mantle, and 4 beams across the ceiling, so it took a loooong time, about 16 hours of painting)
8. Researched and purchased a swing set (actually two swing sets, because I bought and returned one, a story for another time)

In that same week, of course, I also took care of the kids, made dinner every night, did tons of laundry, attended our regular activities, and packed for the Berkshires. I was out of control, obviously. I hardly slept last week, and stayed up until all hours of the night doing projects and planning projects and picking paint colors and scouring websites for ideas. At the end of my crazy week, I looked back and realized I was nesting, without the whole pregnancy thing, and I couldn't figure out why.

I think I've got it, though. I can't get control over my life. I can't stop the kids from hurting themselves, I can't help incompetent doctors and unfortunate accidents and traumatized kids, but I can organize my house. I can get a grip on the things in front of me, so I'm going crazy trying to control the things I can actually control- i.e., the bathroom cabinets. The linen closet. The living room paint color.

It isn't a solution, but it does help a little, and who knows. Maybe this will actually help me to complete our house before we've lived here for 5 years. I finally feel motivated to get curtains hung and closets organized and pictures on the walls. Feeling a little less overwhelmed and insane would be a nice result, as well.

On a related topic, does anyone have any experience with a child who has had a traumatic injury? Gabe is totally freaked out over his finger and is refusing to put it in water, refusing to let me touch or wash it, refusing to use it, and will sob uncontrollably if I insist. Yesterday I was trying to get him to just wet his finger in the tub, and he was sobbing and saying, "It's too scary Mommy, please, it's too scary. I can't do it. It hurts." It is enough to break your heart, I tell you. I don't believe it actually hurts, I think it is a psychological thing, and I don't know how to help him past this. Will it just take time? Should I not rush him?

beyond ridiculous, honestly

You have GOT to be kidding me.

Guess where I spent my afternoon today?

If you guessed a hospital emergency room in the Berkshires, ding ding ding! You're right! Seriously.

The kids, my mother in law and I went into Lenox to attend the library's toddler story hour and grab some lunch before I left for NYC this evening. Everything was proceeding beautifully, and both kids sat and listened to the story, Gabe made a lovely craft and sat longer than all the other children perfecting his "pizza" (which oh my goodness, is a post for another time because this is the child who I thought would never sit longer than 30 seconds for the rest of his life), and we walked toward the car to drop our books off and grab the stroller on our way to lunch.

I was pulling the stroller out of the car and my mother in law was standing on the curb with the kids when I heard Josie start screaming. I actually didn't pay a ton of attention because truthfully, Josie falls 72,846 times per day. This wasn't a noteworthy fall, but then she continued screaming, and toddled over to me with her left arm hanging limply at her side and huge crocodile tears flowing down her cheeks. I picked her up and tried to examine her arm, but her screams got worse when I even gently touched her. I gave her a couple of minutes of calmly holding her to see if she would calm down, but her crying didn't lessen and that was when I started to worry.

I grabbed a couple of super tantalizing items from my purse (cell phone, keys, cookies) and held them out to her left side, and nothing. She kept crying, and wouldn't even attempt to move her little arm. I tried to take off her sweater and the screaming became so loud I couldn't continue, so I told my mother in law we were heading to the hospital.

I called Josh to find out where the closest children's hospital was, because I wasn't going to face the same situation as last time. I do learn new tricks, after all. He had no idea, so I called my pediatrician and my college roommate who is also a pediatrician, while my mother in law called anyone who lived in the area and had kids to see what they suggested.

After much gnashing of teeth (mine) and tears (Josie's), we eventually settled on the closer community hospital, rather than the farther children's hospital because her arm didn't look like a terribly serious injury, even if it was broken. My reasoning was that if anyone suggested anything like surgery or another invasive procedure, I'd demand to be transferred to a children's hospital at that point.

A few hours, several x-rays, many consultations later, the official diagnosis is that no one is sure what is wrong with her. Her shoulder and elbow are not dislocated, her forearm looks okay, and the pain seems to be centered on her wrist and hand. The problem is (according to the doctors) that the bones in her hands are not totally calcified and don't show up clearly on x-rays, so they can't see whether the bones are broken or not. It could be a sprain or it could be a break, and we won't know until it starts to heal next week and we see some callouses on another x-ray.

Poor Josie was in serious pain throughout the emergency room visit, though, and it broke my heart to see her crying like that. She was a limp little sack of potatoes and wouldn't even lift her head from my shoulder when people would enter the room. The doctor opted for a fiberglass splint/removable cast, and as soon as they wrapped her arm, she completely perked up and became a different kid. As they were wrapping it, she looked concerned until I reminded her that now she was "just like Gabe" and you can imagine how thrilled she was about that. 5 minutes later, she was running the halls of the hospital like the crazy little boss she is.

We are seeing an orthopedic hand surgeon next week- coincidentally the same one Gabe is seeing, of course, and we're hoping for good news on a repeat x-ray.

Needless to say, poor Josh had to rush out here when I called him in a panic and our trip to NYC is cancelled, or at least seriously modified. We may decide to head to the city on Saturday night or maybe just for the wedding, we're playing it by ear. If Josie doesn't seem much improved by tomorrow, I may ditch altogether and stay with her. Sigh. So much for our second attempt on a vacation, huh?

Most importantly, I think I may NEVER LEAVE MY HOUSE AGAIN, or at least until the kids turn 18. I'm also wondering if I should consult with a voodoo doctor to find out if someone cursed me or something equally evil. This is getting a little ridiculous, don't you think?

vacation, take 2

We're hopeful, or maybe daring, or possibly insane, take your pick, but we're attempting another vacation sans children after the first one turned out not so well.

I'm very hesitant to go away, mainly because I hyperventilate at the thought, but also because Gabe seems a bit clingy. He is a pretty independent kid, but for the last 3 weeks he has been weepier and more tantrumy and asks for me to sleep with him and stay with him, and has had a couple of random meltdowns where he asks me not to leave him alone again. It is enough to break a mom's heart, just a little bit.

Unfortunately, or fortunately, as you see it, we have a wedding just outside of New York, so we have to leave. It is forcing us to jump right back on the horse, I guess. Gabe and Josie will stay with my in-laws for 2 nights, and we are staying with friends in New York City for those 48 hours, and hopefully living it up. I have big plans for Broadway shows, and cupcakes, and walks in Central Park, and most importantly, I want to eat an ice cream from the Big Gay Ice Cream Truck. This is number 1 on my list of priorities for the weekend. I am not even kidding.

If Gabe doesn't do well, have no doubt I will be jumping right back on the train and Josh can attend that wedding all by himself. I already had a little crying fit last night because I don't want to go, but I know it is important for us to get away and actually enjoy ourselves. The kids will be fine, and as everyone keeps assuring me, statistically, the odds are totally against something else happening while we're gone. Cross your fingers, though, just in case.

Gabe got his cast off today and did great, and his finger looks great, and we are hopeful it is going to heal well. We are cleared for water play and swimming and his aluminum fingernail will hopefully come off soon, and the sutures are hopefully healed also. Keep your fingers crossed for that too!

Have a great weekend!

worst vacation ever, part I

Josh and I had an amazing trip planned for last week. I was flying to San Francisco on Friday afternoon, taking the kids to my parents' house and getting them all settled in. Then on Wednesday morning, I was picking Josh and two of our closest friends up from the San Francisco airport and heading off to Napa/Sonoma for a wine trip that culminated in another dear friend's wedding.

Our plans were fabulous, and we were so excited, and I planned and researched and planned and researched on best wineries and best restaurants and best locations and most fun things to do. We were all giddy with excitement, especially Josh and I because it was our first ever kid-free vacation since having Josie. We couldn't wait.

Friday came around and I packed everyone up, got the kids ready, Josh took us to the airport, and we boarded the plane as planned, and then sat on the tarmac. First, we sat there for an hour when they announced an ice storm in Atlanta (our connection), although I called my friend in Atlanta and she reported no ice storm, but whatever. Then it was two hours. Then it was three hours. After three hours, the crew announced that by law they are no longer allowed to keep people on the plane for longer than three hours, so we were allowed to get off the plane, but although they had to allow us off, they didn't have to wait for us to get back on. So if they got the call allowing the plane to take-off, they were allowed to LEAVE PEOPLE in Boston. They would make a quick announcement at the gate, but if we went to the bathroom or to grab a snack, they were permitted to leave us.

Now, if you have two or more children, you know even a trip to the bathroom can take forever, so I, of course, stayed on the plane. I thought the odds were pretty high if I got off the plane with my two maniacs, we might get left behind while I was chasing one or the other around the terminal.

The wait turned into 4, and finally 4 and a half hours, when the pilot finally announced we were allowed to take off. Now, at this point, we haven't moved an inch, and the dvd player has already run out of batteries and everyone is tired and frustrated. I have to admit, though, the kids were still doing really well at this point. We fly to Atlanta, I'm freaking out about our connection, but at least I've secured a place to stay that night if we can't make it to San Francisco.

We land, and sit on the tarmac for another 45 minutes because there is no gate for the plane, but finally, FINALLY, we are parked and allowed off the plane and we run through the Atlanta airport, board the train, jet over to another terminal, and are thrilled to find our connection also delayed. I grab chicken nuggets for dinner at the first food stand, rush onto the plane, without even having time to change anyone's diapers or take a bathroom break or charge the life-saving dvd player. We get settled onto the plane, and the crew announces- there are no pilots. The pilots are missing, no one can find them, they think they are on some delayed flight that hasn't even landed yet. Now, why we're all boarded on the plane and sitting here, no one knows.

I have to laugh or cry, so I laugh, and try to get the kids calm and settled in. We eat dinner, and wait, and wait, and wait. 2 hours later, they announce the pilots have landed. Another hour later, the pilots show up on the plane and everyone claps. Half an hour later, we are completing our safety check and finally heading out.

By this time, we're at 2am Boston time, the kids are losing their shit, and frankly, I'm losing my shit too. We're all tired, annoyed, stir crazy, hungry, bored, and did I mention tired? Oh, and no one has napped.

We make it through the flight by the skin of our teeth, and I tell you, it is a good thing you aren't allowed to beat your children in public because I had my moments during that flight. Josie wouldn't stop crying, and when she finally fell asleep, Gabe kicked her in the head because he was frustrated he wasn't sleeping also. She fell asleep again and Gabe announced he had to poop. I held both children in my arms for most of the flight, and if I moved an inch, one or the other would cry. My patience was being SERIOUSLY tried. Seriously. We landed, and I finally got everyone settled into bed at 7am Boston time, and were up for the day a little less than 2 hours later.

I will say, however, after those first two days of recuperating from the flight, we had a great few days. We spent quality time with grandparents, checked out the sights, played at playgrounds, I had dinner with friends, and the kids were happy.

I was anxious, but left the kids in capable hands, picked up Josh and our friends, and started our vacation off optimistic that we'd be having a terrific time. We tasted wine, ate great food, laughed a TON, ate delicious cheese, laughed a TON, and hung out with our fantastically fun friends. There were multiple times during those first couple of days where we commented to each other that vacations like these were what made growing up worth it. We were having so much fun, and the wedding weekend hadn't even started yet.

Friday came around, and we met up with the bride and started the wedding activities. Friday night consisted of Sex and the City 2 in the afternoon, and a casino night including dinner and lots of gambling for all the guests. I left Josh lounging in a square full of shops and excitedly went into the movie, until about 15 minutes in, he ran into the theater, grabbed my arm and told me he'd gotten a call from my mom that Gabe had hurt his finger and was in the hospital.

I ran out of the movie theater, our friends grabbed all of their stuff out of our car, and we jumped on the road back to Sacramento. We were in Healdsburg, about 3 hours from Sacramento on a good day, and we were leaving in the heart of rush hour, right at 4pm. We were a mess.

10 minutes onto the road, the doctor called and told Josh she was hopeful Gabe wasn't going to lose his finger. And that was when I lost my mind.

Part II to come...

avoid beheadings and crucifixions at all costs

It was raining yesterday, and given our new non-school situation, I've been trying to get the kids out the door and doing activities most days. If we stay home, I find that the percentage of screaming coming out of me goes up dramatically, so out the door we go.

I was feeling brave, and decided to attempt Boston's Museum of Fine Art. With a three year old. And a one year old. By myself. In the rain. Stop laughing. Seriously, it's not funny.

I did my research beforehand and read on the website that the MFA offers little bags of activities for kids and some handouts on ways to keep them engaged- something along the lines of "how many dogs can you find in these pictures?" I was excited and enthusiastic and I packed tons of snacks and talked up the visit and kept telling Gabe we were going to see pictures and sculptures and mummies and all that. I wavered at the last minute, wondering whether I should take a single or double stroller, because the double would mean full confinement for Gabe, but I decided in the end that taking him into a museum and not even letting him walk by himself was cruel and unusual punishment, and brought the single instead.

We arrived and he started running ahead immediately, telling anyone who would listen we were going to look at pictures and having a special day. I checked our coats (less baggage), headed straight to the visitor's center for our free bag of goodies, and we were on our way. The bag was totally not age appropriate, but Gabe felt super special just to be carrying it around. We would arrive into a room and he'd plop down on a bench and remove all his items from the bag, sort the papers, and put them all back again.

We basically did a speed tour of the museum. We'd walk into a room and I'd offer commentary about this lady's hat, or that pack of dogs, or "wow! Look at those cows!" and then we'd move on. I talked up the newest exhibit containing items from a tomb, thinking the toy ships would be a big hit, but he barely looked at them. We liked the walking around, and except for an incident where HE TRIED TO SHIMMY UP A SCULPTURE, all was right with the visit. Let's not talk about the sculpture climbing, I've blocked it out and I hope no one caught it on video.

The museum was fairly loud, thank goodness, due to visiting school children and tourist groups, so our chattering went unnoticed. Three year olds and one year olds are not clear on the whole "inside quiet voices" thing. We did get reprimanded when Josie realized her voice echoed in one hall and she let out several loud "ahas" as I raced through the room. The employee at the museum sternly told her to stop, which I found kind of unnecessary as I was obviously doing my darnedest to get out of the room asap. Stopping us in the middle to shush us did not speed up the process. Plus, dude, she's one. And small for one, most people assume she is 9 months old.

The Japanese gardens were great, and both kids balanced on rocks and walked across the benches and enjoyed the reprieve from the rain. Lunch was also a hit, and we sat at a table and looked outside at the courtyard and talked about what we'd seen.

All in all, I'm not doing it again any time soon, but it was fine. Gabe would tell you he saw "some picture men and a guitar", Josie would tell you she was pissed I wouldn't let her out of the stroller, and I'd tell you I'm happy to be able to tell my in-laws I took their grandkids to the museum. I survived, only a little frazzled and not much worse for the wear. Next time, though, it's the Aquarium for us.

spoiled, ungrateful, bitchy, all of the above

Josh asked me if an appropriate Mother's Day gift would be a contribution to our swing set fund.

Am I meanest, most selfish mom EVER if I say no?

I don't know, something about swing set fund contributions does not feel Mother's Day-ish to me. I don't even care about any presents. I'd be thrilled with breakfast in bed and homemade scribbles from the kids, and maybe a little fabric shopping outing for me. I love to fabric shop, did I ever mention that? But the whole kid gift contribution thing felt very non-gifty to me.

I'm sure he meant well, since he knows I am desperate for a swing set which will (hopefully) provide countless hours of amusement for my two monsters. His heart was definitely in the right place, I am just hard to please perhaps.

What are your Mother's Day traditions? Give me ideas!

arrivals and departures

I can't remember now if I mentioned that the kids and I were leaving for California, but we were, and we did, and now we're back.

I survived, although I will admit that the trips to a fro were BRUTAL. On the trip there Gabe, Josie, and I were flying from Boston to Washington D.C. and then on to Sacramento, and because Josh happened to be flying out the same day from a different airport, I was lucky enough to have a friend offer us a ride, but we had to be dropped off at the airport 3.5 hours early. We'd been in airports or flying for 7 hours by the time we boarded the plane in D.C., and it wasn't until that moment that I realized the horrible truth. We'd made NO PROGRESS and were facing a 6 hour flight to California. I almost cried, but instead I fed the kids cookies and ate peanut butter cups. Then Gabe got diarrhea on that flight and I spent 30 minutes in the airplane bathroom wedged into a corner, pressing my knee against Josie to keep her from moving and licking the sides of the toilet and holding Gabe up while he cried. It was, well, A.W.F.U.L. Really. I've been blocking it out of my mind because I still faced the return trip and I didn't want to consider what might happen on the return.

It wasn't quite as bad as the initial trip, mainly because we were traveling for 8 hours as opposed to 14.5, but Josie did vomit all over me as we were descending into Denver, and then we had an Incident on the moving walkway when her car seat got trapped in front of me as we were trying to get off the moving walkway, and the rolling luggage was behind me, and I looked like a cartoon character as I tried to balance with a rolling item in front of me and another behind me and my legs pinwheeling while I frantically tried to heave the caught car seat off the ramp. A kindly man finally took pity on us and sprinted over and helped me fling the car seat off the metal ramp. I'm sweating just remembering that moment, I wish I had video. The rest was terrible but not due to any dramatic events, just general toddler misbehavior and a 2am arrival time. There isn't much you can do when you are keeping kids up for hours and hours past their bedtime. You just give them more lollipops and hope for the best, no?

The rest of the trip was great, although much much colder than I'd planned on due to some sort of unexpected cold front. My parents and I took the kids to the zoo, the San Francisco Exploratorium, some toddler type amusement park, tons of parks and walks, and I gained 5 pounds because I ate like a pig and sat on my behind all day long. Ahhh, vacation. I miss you.

We're back at home, and I am in some sort of crazy delirium of being thrilled to be home, in my bed, with my husband, and loving my house and neighborhood and the weather that is somehow ridiculously warmer than California. Go figure! I'm taking long walks and slow jogs every day because I have to lose these 5 pounds before this weekend due to an incredible event taking place on Friday.

I am LEAVING MY CHILDREN FOR THE FIRST TIME EVER. EVER. I am going to Vegas with some of my best law school girlfriends and we are doing extravagant things like staying at the Venetian hotel, going to Stiletto Spy School, gambling, dancing, and taking care of no one besides ourselves for 72 whole hours. I will not be wiping another human beings' behind for 3 whole days. I'm hyperventilating at the thought. I've also cried 3 times over the last 3 days because I'm leaving Josie for the first time in the care of her father, and it is killing me softly, but I am holding on to the belief that doing something for myself with my friends will make me a better mother. Right? Tell me I'm right, please.

I'm leaving Friday morning, and between now and then I'll be scouring my closet to find acceptable clothing for a weekend where no one will smear greasy fingers on me. My friend told me not to get off that plane if I do not have sequins in my bag. Can't wait.

no wonder my laundry pile is taller than Gabe

Our new town isn't that far from our old town, but it feels decidedly different. I joke that we are now in the middle of noooooowhere (picture me saying this in a pathetically moaning voice) because I can't walk to a mall, sushi, or an ice cream shop. The ice cream shop part was particularly devastating to me, but perhaps that'll be helpful to my waistline come summer.

The neighborhood definitely feels like the suburbs, with tons of kids playing hockey in the streets, moms out walking with strollers, and even sightings of random animals like rabbits, deer, and foxes. Josh left the garage door open to run to the grocery store and as he was pulling back in, a massive animal strolled out of the garage and he swears he initially thought it was a small bear but it turned out to be the mother of all raccoons! It caused so much excitement that Gabe hasn't stopped talking about animals in his garage for weeks. Any random noise in the house is cause for a resurgence of the talk about the gigantic raccoon.

Even though our move was just a few miles, my circle of stores has completely changed too. My old grocery store is too far away to be convenient, my old favorite mall is now farther away than another less liked mall, my coffee shops, drugstores, Target, well, you get the point. It all feels like a big change. And I'm farther away from some of my neighborhood friends. Not so far that we can't have lunch together, but too far to stop by within 5 minutes for a quick playdate.

All of this is to say, it has been a change. Far more of a change than I'd initially expected, that is for sure. After my initial freak out, things have been steadily improving. The folks at my local convenience store recognize me, which feels great, my neighbors say hello when I drive by, which feels even nicer, and I've decided that I won't sit and wallow in my unhappiness for one. more. minute.

I am a friendly person, but to tell you the truth, I also get very insecure about meeting new people. I don't seem to have a problem with the meeting part, but any subsequent get togethers or communications brings out the anxiety in me. If I call them and don't hear back quickly, I worry that maybe they've decided they don't like me anymore, or maybe I'm bothering them or whatever. It is totally annoying and sometimes ridiculously insane that I do this.

Take, for example, a newish friend I've made since moving. We have definitely clicked, and just a few days ago she asked whether I'd be interested in taking a girls trip together this summer. I take that to mean that (a) she likes me enough to want to spend a good amount of time together and (b) she plans to be friends at least until the summer. Well, yesterday I called her twice in a row, and then decided not to call even though I had something to tell her because I worried maybe she was starting to not want to be friends anymore. It's crazy, right?

I'm revealing all my neuroses now, hopefully you won't stop reading me because now you know the truth about the crazy.

Anyway, long story short, I've decided to move past the crazy and break out of my shell and try to make friends in the new neighborhood, even if it makes me uncomfortable. I've shown up to town events, I've been friendly, I've shared my phone number, been proactive about asking for playdates. As soon as we had a couple of good weather days, I've walked around my neighborhood to try to make friends with neighbors. I joined a playgroup. I asked around and started a book club, and our first meeting is this Sunday. This is our chosen book (love it love it love it), and I'm really excited and hopeful this will take off. I've gotten off the couch after Josh is home from work and the kids are in bed and gone to see a movie or grabbed coffee with a girlfriend.

For a homebody like me, this is seriously difficult, but I believe it will be worth it in the end. I have some really really REALLY fabulous friends, but most of my friends live far enough away that I can't see them on a regular basis, and I really need a few good local friends to spice up my life.

So do you have any tips? Have you had to break out of your shell and make friends too? Did anything bring you luck? I'll take all the advice I can get!

rain would be a better match for our moods

When it rains, it pours.

We've been heading steadily downhill from my post on Monday. Josie's breathing has continued to be challenged and we took another trip to the pediatrician on Tuesday morning when I set her down on the ground and she flopped over and lay there like a wet noodle. She wouldn't even move her hands, but kept moaning piteously and sobbing. This time they tried two breathing treatments and looked her over again, but couldn't achieve any improvement. Her fevers hovered steadily around 103 degrees, with slight fluctuations around the Tylenol and Motrin doses. She did have one massive coughing fit that seemed to clear her up slightly, but the day was definitely awash in sickness.

Wednesday morning, she woke up crying and I spotted a welt on her neck. Huh, I thought, how did she get that? And then she turned her head and she had another welt in the same spot on the other side of her neck. Very odd, I said to myself. I peeled off her pajamas and BAM. Hives. Everywhere. I spent a few minutes checking over the hives and then picked her up to grab her toothbrush from the bathroom and walked in to find Gabe with an opened bottle of antibiotic poured onto the bathroom countertop and spilled all over him.

Another emergency trip to the pediatrician for both of them. I asked the front desk nurses if they might consider renting us a room for the rest of the week. It would be easier than shuttling the kids back and forth, for sure!

Gabe was cleared of any type of overdose, and Josie was diagnosed with an allergy to Amoxicillin. Her bronchiolitis seemed slightly improved, although her hives were quickly getting worse. A new prescription, dosage instructions for Benadryl, and we were on our way.

The rest of yesterday, though, continued to be awful. Josie's fever kept jumping up to 104 any time she wasn't being continuously dosed with Tylenol or Motrin, and she would barely move. I carried around her sad little moaning self all day, and Gabe whined about wanting to play outside and enjoy the weather.

Today is much of the same, with Josie looking particularly monstrous. Her face is totally deformed from the hives around her eyes and neck, and now her hands and feet and legs and back are totally covered as well. She won't let me put her down and just cries to be held and comforted and nursed. It breaks my heart, and I feel badly for Gabe also because it's clear he is desperate for some attention.

This has only been going on since Sunday, and I've had so many moments of wanting to collapse into a bucket of tears. I don't know how parents with seriously ill kids do it. I really don't. This whole experience has reinforced for me the knowledge that nothing makes you more grateful for your health than a rough time like this one. There is nothing like bad health to plunge you into a depression or sour mood.

Here's to hoping Josie is feeling better soon. I'd love to get her out of the house and have some human contact for all of us. The pediatrician said it could take weeks for the bronchiolitis to improve, but to that answer, I'm plugging up my ears and screaming "NAH, NAH, NAH, NAH, NAH, I can't hear you!"

growing up- all of us

I'll admit it, I do not like baking with the three year old crowd.

I get frustrated. I get annoyed. I want to limit what he does and how he does it, I worry about kid germs on licked fingers, I stress over the flour flying all over the floors, and that does not make for a happy or fun experience. It isn't the way I want to spend my time with Gabe. I want him to grow and experience and have a great time.

Today we went to check out a summer camp for Gabe, and one of the activities the kids were undertaking (it is a regular preschool during the year) was baking. They made brownies, and the teachers were very liberal with what they thought the children were capable of doing. They even handed Gabe an egg and told him to crack it into the bowl.

I was fairly shocked as I watched them let the kids crack the eggs, measure and pour the oil, dump the brownie mix into the bowl. I would never give him that much freedom, but all the kids were able to do what they'd been asked. It made me realize I really need to loosen up, let go a little, try to enjoy the process without being such a tense mess during the baking.

Part of my Happiness Project is to enjoy life with my children more. I'm trying to step outside of my regular schedule and do interesting, educational, and enjoyable things with them. We're baking more (despite my true feelings on the subject), I'm taking them to museums (ALONE EVEN!), I'm being more playful and positive on a daily basis.

I want them to remember these days as GOOD days, I want them to remember their mom as FUN (strict, but fun), I want their childhood memories to be HAPPY. After all, this is the only childhood they will ever have. This is my one and only chance.

So if you need me, I'll be over here baking. Gritting my teeth, and baking.

mean mommy

Last night was a serious milestone in my parenting career.

I sent my son to bed without dinner.

GASP.

I know, it was a little harsh, but I'd really had it, and he was doing the whole three year old pushing buttons thing, not listening thing, blatantly disregarding your requests thing, and I warned him, and warned him again, and told him the consequences of his actions, and started to repeat myself for the fifth time and then I had this moment of clarity where I stepped back from my life and asked myself, "what the fuck are you doing?"

So I stood up, told him dinner was over, picked up his plate, ushered him upstairs with little fanfare and got him ready for bed. I told him I was sorry he couldn't listen and I was sorry he wouldn't get to eat dinner, and I was especially sorry he wouldn't get to play with his daddy, and I loved him but didn't like his behavior and I hoped tomorrow would be a better day. I hugged him, kissed him goodnight, and walked out the door.

That was it. And it felt... well... pretty good.

I feel like for the last few weeks, I've been angry all the time. Frustrated, annoyed, short on patience, and just plain mad at the kids. They are pushing buttons and being difficult and testing the limits and being really, totally, spectacularly ANNOYING. But that isn't a reason for me to be so angry, for me to be screaming all the time, for me to feel like my head is going to pop off. Something had to change, and I've decided to do something about all of this anger before I end up in therapy for anger management or a neighbor called child protective services because of all the yelling going on over here.

I read a book, I read another book, and another book, and I took your advice and started a chore/positive rewards chart, and things have been going much, much, MUCH better. 10,000 times better. We have had 7 consistent days of happy and sweet and mostly great kids. There are still moments where I have to take a breather, or where I do a bit of raised voice speaking, but I feel in control of myself. I am not having ridiculous fantasies about smacking my kids or watching the clock and counting down until naptime/bedtime or calling Josh weeping and hysterical.

I'm keeping calm and staying positive and even when the kids are being a willful three years or a tantruming fourteen months, I can step back and see some good options for how to handle the drama without resorting to screaming and timeouts. Best of all, I'm not angry, and I'm not stuffing my face with cookies because of all the anger. I'm okay. Frustrated at times, but peaceful.

And that, my friends, is priceless. I may just be able to do this parenting thing after all.








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