four!

Big Ben! Parliament! Westminster Abbey! Buckingham Palace! The National Gallery! Hyde Park! It's all been stunning and fabulous and we are having the best time.

For now, though, I'm here to wish my beautiful sweet boy the happiest birthday ever! Worst mother ever, right? I went back and forth on whether or not we should be traveling over Gabe's birthday, and although I'd love to be with him today, truth be told, he doesn't even know today is his birthday. We celebrated it a few days early with cake and gifts and lots of hugs, and we'll celebrate it again on Friday, and then again in school, and then again with a small party in January. I think he'll get plenty of birthday fun, and a happy mom and dad is probably more important to him, so for now, I'll push my mother's guilt to the side.

So... onto more important things (written the night before I left for London)...

To My Dear Sweet Gabriel,

Happy Birthday!

Four years old! How is that possible? How can you be growing up so fast? I can almost believe it, though, because I see and hear the ways you are changing. Your speech is more complex, your mannerisms are more grown-up, you're getting taller, stronger, more coordinated
every day. You're wonderful and amazing and funny and the sweetest son we could ever wish for.

My favorite part of the day is when you come down the hall in the morning and climb into my bed. You snuggle up against my side and whisper, "Mama..." into my ear, and I just melt. For now, at least, you are so affectionate, so loving, so ridiculous disgustingly adorable, it just kills me. You hug and kiss me constantly, and want to climb onto my lap to snuggle with me. You love to be "comfy cozy" and we'll get under blankets and watch movies or read books, and
sometimes Josie will come and sit with us and you'll kiss her and say, "Hello baby girl!"

You love your sister to death, although since you two are interacting and playing together all the time now, there are also many moments where your screams and complaints drive me crazy. You love to run and laugh and tackle each other, and you are such an excellent big brother, teaching her, sharing with her, being (mostly) patient with her. You tell her you love her and get upset at bedtime if she won't give you your nightly besito and abrazo.

You adore your daddy too, and seeing him play with you and enjoy your company is such a treat. Last night you asked him if he missed you while he was at work, and when he said of course he did, you said, "yeah, I miss you too." You tickle each other and laugh until you can barely breathe, and you tell him stories about your day and of course, Buzz Lightyear.

What would we do without Buzz Lightyear? He is your one true obsession these days, and shopping for you has become the easiest thing ever because all you want is Toy Story All The Time. You're hilarious because you tell us complete stories about what Buzz said or did or what you think Buzz might do if he were here. You are growing up so fast and gaining this amazing imagination, it is such a pleasure to watch.

You are the most amazing blessing to us, Gabe, and I thank God every day that you're my son. You are so sweet and easy-going and happy, and I pray you stay this innocent and content forever. You are perfect and wonderful and gorgeous and brilliant. The things you learn every day astound me.

Tonight I told you that you were the most perfect Gabe to me, and I was so thankful that you were mine, and you told me you didn't want anyone else to be the same Gabe as you. You don't have to worry, my sweet boy, no one could ever be you. No one could ever take your place in my heart, and forever and ever and ever, you will be my baby.

I love you,
Mama

buzz better be on his best behavior

In other AMAZING news, we are leaving for Florida on Thursday! For 2.5 weeks! I know! Crazy! I am slightly concerned about the whole staying with in-laws for 2.5 weeks thing, not because I don't love my in-laws (because I do), but because staying with ANYONE for 2.5 weeks could be challenging.

For any would-be home robbers out there, Josh is staying here for a huge chunk of that time and then we have house guests for the rest, so don't even think about it.

Anyway, our schedule is psychotic for the trip. We are going to Sarasota for 3 days, then Orlando for 6 days, then back to Sarasota for 2 days, then back to Orlando for DISNEY (more on that later) for 2 days, then back to Sarasota for 3 days, then on to Fort Lauderdale for 3 days. And then home. Phew. I'm exhausted just writing that. I'm hoping for good weather and well-behaved kids. If I have the well-behaved kids part, it can rain every single freaking day for all I care.

Most exciting out of that whole trip is that rite of passage for parents and their children- Disney! I am ridiculously excited. RIDICULOUSLY EXCITED! I keep picturing Gabe's little face when he sees the castle, when he rides It's a Small World, when he sees BUZZ LIGHTYEAR! He may pee his pants. Seriously. We decided, after not much consideration at all, to leave Josie with my in-laws. I've been shocked, honestly, at the amount of flack we've gotten about that decision, when to us it was a no brainer. Josie would think it was fun, she definitely would, and you know, maybe she'd be great. But in our minds, we are going for 2 days, and trying to make the most out of those 48 hours. This means non-stop walking, rides, long and possibly hot days, and crowds. Josie won't remember, and she doesn't know characters and she is hesitant about rides. She isn't going to love it the way we KNOW Gabe is going to love it.

We never get to spend one on one time with Gabe, and I am looking forward to every little second I get to spend alone with him. I plan on inhaling that tiny little person, holding the tiny little hand, eating up every word he says. I cannot wait. He is at this perfect age where he is excited about everything, but scared of nothing. He doesn't get spooked by scary rides or pirates or ghosts, and he loves all characters, girly or boyish or in-between. It's going to be awesome.

I have my encyclopedia of Disney information, and we're going at what should be one of the best and least crowded times of the year (first week in December), and we're making all our final reservations and plans now, but I'm still looking for more advice. We've done Disney without kids before, but never before with little ones. Please do share all your tips! In return, I'll share any secrets I learn while we're away! In particular, did you have a favorite hotel that didn't cost a fortune? Also, is there a way to get cheaper park tickets? Those suckers cost a fortune!

Oh also, did anyone take preschoolers to Disney Hollywood Studios? We're considering it just because of the Toy Story ride, but I hadn't planned on it initially. Should we just do Magic Kingdom for 2 days?

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.

done. through. finished.

What was I saying about feeling relaxed and refreshed and Zen and all that? Apparently, I needed it, because Josie dislocated her OTHER ELBOW tonight.

I took the kids to the mall with a friend tonight to get out of the rain and let them run around a bit. All 4 kids (both of mine and both of my friend's) were acting crazy. Really batshit nuts and running all over the place and yelling and tickling each other and acting generally hyper. We asked them to calm down several times and threatened a bit and took away privileges, but something was in the air, so finally we packed them all up and left.

In the car, I lectured Gabe for a few minutes about appropriate behavior and why he was losing his Buzz Lightyear toy for the rest of the night and why he wouldn't be allowed to read any books, and blah blah blah. He acted all apologetic and understanding, so I decided I could risk a quick stop at the Container Store for some drawer organizers. It would be 5 minutes, I reasoned. It'd be okay.

Everything seemed fine, and I spent a few minutes picking out the drawer organizers, while Josie and Gabe chatted and laughed. Josie was strapped into the cart and Gabe was standing next to her. All of a sudden, Josie began shrieking in a bloodcurdling manner, and I looked up to see Gabe let go of her arm from the other side of the cart where he'd been pulling on it. She cradled her elbow in her other arm as the tears began pouring down her cheeks and she screamed, "Gabe broke arm! Gabe broke arm!"

I stood there, stunned, and literally seeing red. I was SO mad, I was actually afraid of what I might do in that moment. I just couldn't believe it. I threw what I had in my hands into the cart, while Josie continued to scream, "Gabe broke arm!" and in a moment of what I assume was shock, I PAID FOR THE STUFF (which seriously, what the hell is wrong with me?) and then walked out. As I was walking, I called the pediatrician and left a frantic message asking whether there was anyone still in the office (it was evening, by this time) or whether we should go to the emergency room. Then I called Josh and told him to meet me at the hospital. I spent a horrid few minutes slowing inching Josie into her car seat while she screamed, and then I strapped Gabe into his seat and then screamed at him like a crazy person as I started driving to the hospital.

It was not my finest parenting moment.

A few minutes later, my savior of a pediatrician called back and told me to bring her to his house. Did you read that correctly? He told me to bring her to his house so we wouldn't have to go to the hospital. He gave me directions, and 15 minutes later we were there, and 15 seconds after that, her elbow was fixed. She didn't even cry after that, although she repeated approximately 87 times, "Gabe broke arm! Sorry Josie. Eees okay. Gabe broke arm."

Sigh.

So much for feeling ready to take on the world. I may be booking another trip to Myrtle Beach for next weekend. Right after I wrap both kids in bubble wrap.

I hate the word staycation

Hypothetically speaking...

If you had no extra money, and your husband was taking the week off from work, and you had NO extra money, what would you do?

Would you try to scrape something together and take the kids away for one night somewhere fun? Or would you do day trips? Would you go to the beach? A pool? Miniature golfing? Thoughts?

Also, Gabe starts school on Wednesday of this hypothetical week, so we have intro classes on Wednesday and Friday for an hour and a half.

Ideas? Bonus if you have New England specific ideas! Double bonus if they are toddler and preschooler appropriate! (can you believe Gabe is almost a preschooler?)

***********************

I read each and every comment, of course, and I always take your comments to heart, even if I don't necessarily agree with them. When one anonymous commenter told me the situation with Tango and Murray was all my fault, I was initially hurt and then reconsidered and thought, "well, yes, probably." But whether it was my fault or not, the dogs were now stuck in this unhappy situation with crazy children and we had to come up with a solution.

But. But. But. The comments to this post made me laugh out loud! Disgraceful! I've been walking around the house exclaiming "disgraceful!" in a Southern accent and then cackling gleefully! I love it!

It's a good thing my anonymous commenter doesn't live here and hasn't met the many, many, MANY moms in my neighborhood who have a full-time nanny while they are full-time stay at home moms! GASP! Some of them only have one child! And have help! Holy smokes! I refuse to believe that pinching pennies to send my child to a top-notch preschool that happens to be a grand total of 15 hours a week is disgraceful.

Hee! Disgraceful, indeed!

I'm going to miss the little bugger

Gabe starts preschool next Wednesday (SOB), which deserves a post unto itself, but there's been a lot of questions from moms around my neighborhood about what activities Gabe will be participating in this Fall. Now, Gabe's preschool is (unfortunately, in my opinion) five days a week. I would have been thrilled with 3 or even 4 days a week, but the school only offers a 5 day a week option, and the school is amazing, so we're going to do it. Given the fact that we're going from no days a week of school since March (!!!), I'm slightly worried about the transition to 5 days a week.

On the one hand, I think he'll be fine, because Gabe always surprises me. He's more ready for life changes than I ever am. On the other hand, I think he is going to be Exhausted, with a capital E. I suspect we are going to have a resurgence of nap love and perhaps some grumpy days.

All of this led me to the decision that we aren't signing up for any additional activities because honestly, isn't 5 days of school sufficient? He is still only 3, for goodness sake! My thoughts on this, however, are clearly unpopular with several of my friends. Today one of these girlfriends told me her son is taking 3 classes in addition to his preschool- soccer, swimming, and t-ball. Another friend is putting her son in an activity every single afternoon, in addition to 5 days of school!

Is it me or does this sound insane to you? I get tired just thinking about doing this much driving.

I am considering maybe signing up for one class, after I see that Gabe is firmly and comfortably settled into the school schedule. I'm thinking perhaps by October, if I see that he is ready or interested in something else, then we'll look into one class. ONE CLASS. Not 3 or 5 or 7.

Now, if I thought my friends were horrified when I mentioned that we weren't signing him up for any classes, you should have heard what they said when I told them what classes Josh and I were considering for Gabe. Dance. Not just any dance, but a series of different dance classes that includes ballet. GASP! Yes, I was told today that ballet is inappropriate for boys. And that they'd never put their son in any dance classes, and even if they wanted to, their husbands would forbid it. In fact, I may actually "make him gay".

Hee! I'm still chuckling over that one.

I'm less worried about Gabe taking ballet than I am with the fact that Josie is OBSESSED with Rod Stewart. Obsessed. Every time she hears a Rod Stewart song she proclaims from the back seat, "I yike dis song!" This is her absolute favorite song, oddly appropriate, I thought.

So what do you think? Yay or nay on the ballet front?

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.

you can never have too many injuries

Since we are nothing if not consistent, today at 11:30am, I received a call from Gabe's sports camp that he'd taken a tumble and could I please come get him ASAP.

I arrived to find his face bloody, his lips swollen and split, and his front teeth loose and bleeding.

Let's pause here to take a deep breath and recall that one of my number one phobias is for my children to bust up their teeth and end up with black teeth or no teeth or broken teeth. Big fat SIGH.

We headed in to an emergency trip to the dentist where they confirmed he didn't fracture any teeth or break any facial bones, but beyond that they can't help us. The dentist says the teeth will either be fine, or they may discolor, or they may fall out, or they may abscess and get infected and need to be removed. But they may be fine, but they may also be any one of those horrible things I just mentioned. We just don't know. Oh, and it could take months before any or all of those things happen. Have a nice day!

Anyone for margaritas at noon? On a Wednesday? As much as I wanted to bash my head against the wall, I kept my cool because Gabe was visibly nervous about another accident and the possibility of more trauma being done to him. We're on a soft foods diet for the next week, and in the meantime I've decided to pull him out of the sports camp even though I had ONE FREAKING WEEK OF FREEDOM but whatever, it's fine, I'm not bitter or anything. I'm too afraid of the very real possibility that he'll get hit in the mouth with a ball or fall again or whatever and it will further damage the teeth.

Honestly? I just feel defeated. Isn't this getting a bit ridiculous?

too much sun exposure?

One of my friends emailed me this article on why parents hate parenting, or could be otherwise titled "how and why our children make us unhappy". In some ways it was a depressing article, and in others, totally liberating. I found myself nodding along in the article as the author spoke about the pressures on parents today, the things we worry about, the ways we are making ourselves crazy, and how being a parent brings you such joy even though the day to day is draining.

These days, I will freely admit it, life is hard. I am Exhausted, with a capital E. Gabe has become a full-fledged 3 and a half year old, and it turns out that 3 and a half year olds are totally unreasonable, totally insane, totally annoying, totally frustrating, and totally infuriating. They are also absolutely adorable and hilarious and brilliant, and thank goodness for that, because if not I'd be selling him on the street corner. Additionally, 18 month olds (or at least MY 18 month old) are all of those above things and more, and the combination of the two of them has me contemplating a drink at 9:15 in the morning, and I don't even like alcohol.

I have been having a hard time parenting lately, and I can't quite put my finger on the why. I feel like I'm always frustrated, have a short fuse, can't seem to get the day on a good track. I'm yelling more than I want to, getting actually angry rather than keeping control of the situation. I feel like both kids are just not listening, and actively disobeying all the time, and it is driving me bonkers.

I'm sure part of it has to do with all the injuries, part of it has to do with Gabe being out of any organized program since the end of March, part of it has to do with our contemplation of a third child, part is the ages of Gabe and Josie, and the rest, I have no idea. Maybe I'm not sleeping enough, maybe I'm just grumpy, maybe the kids are just difficult, maybe it is just a phase. Regardless, something has to change because my level of frustration (and Josh's too) is just too high.

If we're going to have a third child, Josh is adamant that it has to be soon, and I'm beyond terrified at the possibility. I really do want another baby- as insane as that is- but things are so crazy right now I can't imagine fitting another pregnancy, another bout of all-the-freaking-time sickness, another person into the mix. I think the worries about another baby are increasing my anxiety over Gabe and Josie's behavior too. Rather than viewing it as regular kid stuff, I keep having this doomsday attitude of "oh my God this is awful and it is only going to get worse and now we're going to have another and shoot me now." Somewhat unhelpful, I do acknowledge.

On the one hand, I'm adoring this summer with our super lazy days at our town lake (almost every single morning), delicious ice cream, relaxing grilling, and playing outside, but I'm also feeling totally burnt out and disappointed in my own and the kids' behavior. Any tips? Is this a terrible age? Tell me it is going to get better PLEASE.

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?

worst vacation ever, part III

If you missed the beginning, parts I and II of WORST VACATION EVER are here.

Dwelling on this whole trip is making me have flashes of post traumatic stress, so let's get this story done and over with so we never have to speak of it again.
_____________________

We left off from the story when Gabe was discharged from the hospital at 2am, with surgery on his hand scheduled for 6am the following morning. Gabe was asleep before we left the parking lot, and Josh carried him into my parents house, changed him, and put him to bed without him ever waking up. My parents house is small, so the idea was for me to sleep on the couch and Josh on the twin bed on the floor of Gabe's room, but both of us were so anxious and upset, we opted to sleep together on that tiny twin bed on the floor. Neither one of us slept. I couldn't stop dwelling on the surgery to come, and envisioning horrible scenarios where Gabe died under general anesthesia for something as stupid as a hurt finger.

By the way, I can't believe I left out how it happened. My parents have a heavy door between the garage and the house, and it slams automatically. We've never paid any attention to the door, except to keep it from slamming because it wakes up the kids. My mom and Gabe were leaving the house on Friday afternoon to run a quick errand, so my mom held the door open for Gabe, and then realized she'd forgotten the car keys. She turned back to grab them, the door slammed, and at the last moment, Gabe stuck his hand into the closing door. The door slammed on his finger, and it was heavy enough to partially amputate the top part. My mom said Gabe started screaming, and when she turned around and pulled open the door, there was blood everywhere. (shudder)

So Josh and I spent a miserable and unhappy night on the floor, both of us sitting upright at the faintest sound, both afraid Gabe was in pain, and afraid we might sleep through the alarm (not a chance) and both terrified of what was to come. In particular, I couldn't stop getting myself riled up over the possibility of an iv. I was DONE with Gabe being in pain, and I was ready to go to the mat with anyone who disagreed with me. There was even one moment where I honest to goodness hallucinated my mom coming into the room. It was totally crazy.

I finally got up around 4am, jumped in the shower, woke Josh up, he got dressed (same clothes since our bags were still at the hotel in Napa), and got the car ready to go. We woke Gabe up at the last possible second, lifted him from the bed to the car- totally asleep. We drove to the hospital, lifted him out of the car, carried him through the hospital, checked in at admitting, argued at the desk for 20 minutes because the paperwork wasn't complete- totally asleep. The surgeon finally called down to admitting and threw a fit because they wouldn't let us up and he was afraid an emergency surgery with more precedence might take our slot, so they let us go upstairs to pre-op while my mom kept arguing downstairs.

We made it upstairs, and in the one shining moment of mercy throughout this whole nightmare, we got an anesthesiologist who also had a 3 year old, and she told us she would put Gabe under before doing anything else since he was asleep. Josh laid Gabe gently down on the gurney, and somehow, impossibly, he stayed asleep. We did the whole pre-op preparation with the nurses and the anesthesiologist and the surgeon, and he stayed asleep. They actually WHEELED HIM IN to the operating room, put the mask on him and put him under, and he never woke up. I cried big fat hot tears of relief for that, and actually got on my knees to thank God later for that small gift.

The surgery took about an hour, so he was intubated and had an iv once he was already under anesthesia, and thankfully the iv was done after he was asleep because they later told us it took multiple tries to get the needle into a vein.

I was strangely calm during the actual surgery, although I did have plenty of moments of envisioning that surgeon walking through the door with horrible news- you know, the nightmares you see on television. I went downstairs for a coffee, tried to be calm and reasonable and told myself this was the best thing for Gabe. I wasn't prepared for the surgery to take as long as it did, though, so after 45 minutes, I became pretty antsy. Finally, the surgeon came out and said everything had gone well, and it was as he'd expected.

The cut had gone almost all the way through, down to the bone, so he'd examined the growth plate at the end of the finger, cleaned it, sewn multiple layers of stitches through the skin, repaired the nail bed, removed the nail, and inserted an aluminum nail to protect the nail bed until it was healed. He said the bone was actually broken, despite the ER doctor's assertion that it was not. The whole finger was wrapped up and bandaged around the hand, and Gabe would be out of commission with that finger for 4-6 weeks, with follow-ups for the next 4 months to make sure everything was healing. I was pretty surprised by the length of time for recovery, to be honest. We have swim lessons scheduled at a nearby lake for the end of June, and the surgeon said he couldn't get his hand wet for closer to 6 weeks.

We were allowed back, and Gabe looked fine. His tongue was swollen and protruding through his lips from the intubation, but besides that, he just looked asleep and I was so thrilled to see him whole and safe and alive, I could have cared less about anything else. The surgeon had been kind enough to get Gabe a large blue bandage with cars all over it, and then accent the bandages with Toy Story band-aids so Gabe would be sure to love it.

It took a while for Gabe to wake up, and I think Josh and I were a little nervous because the anesthesiologist kept hovering around him and checking on him and running her hands across his head to see how he was doing, but eventually, he snapped awake and sat up, just like that. He looked totally and utterly confused, because remember, he had no recollection of even coming to the hospital, so why all these people were around him and he was hooked up to tubes and monitors, he had no idea.

The removal of the iv went off without a hitch, and I carried him out of the hospital to the waiting car, and that was that. I could have kissed the surgeon and the anesthesiologist, I was so thrilled to be done and for my baby to be safe and finger repaired. For the rest of the day, Gabe was in a stupor, acting drunk and falling over his feet, and lying dazed on the couch. We put him down for his nap, and while he slept, Josh and I talked about what to do about all our stuff still in Sonoma.

We had no clothing or toiletries or shoes or anything, and after all, we'd come to the Napa/Sonoma area principally to see our dear friend T get married. We didn't want to miss the actual wedding, so we decided to start packing up the kids, rent my parents a room at the same hotel, and leave that same evening. Gabe could continue to recover at the hotel, armed with dvd players and toys and food. My parents could watch the kids while we attended the wedding, but we'd be close by in case something happened. So we did.

The next couple of days were rough, I'm not going to lie. We were all terrified Gabe would hurt his finger again, and the four of us (Josh and I and my parents) did a lot of yelling to keep Gabe from jumping or climbing, especially because the painkillers made him unsteady on his feet. Worst of all, the painkillers seemed to remove his inhibitions (who even KNEW three year olds have inhibitions, but I am here to tell you- THEY DO) and Gabe was incapable of listening to anything we said. He was acting like a maniac, and we were so terrified and stressed that any further injury to the finger might cause permanent damage or undo the surgery. Not to mention, the four of us shared a hotel room and let's not even TALK about how that worked out. We were all a mess. I know my parents were thrilled to drop us off at the airport hotel in San Francisco because they were done being stressed, and were sick and feeling guilty over the whole experience.

We did make it to the wedding, though, and even to a late Saturday night event, and we had a great time. I tried to put the weekend's events out of my mind for one night and enjoy seeing all of my girlfriends during that time period and for the most part, I was successful. I rarely drink, but I did consent to a few margaritas during the wedding, and truthfully, it probably helped.

On Monday afternoon, we left the Napa/Sonoma area, and drove to one of the San Francisco airport hotels for our flight on Tuesday morning. The hotel was fabulous, we turned in early, and Josh and I breathed a sigh of relief to be heading home. Josh turned to me at one point and said he needed a vacation from this vacation, and I agreed. The kids actually slept through the night even though we were sharing a room, and the next day, bright and early we headed to the airport for our flight home.

On the shuttle bus on the way to the airport, Josh got a text message from Delta saying our flight was delayed. I was concerned we'd miss our connection, but Josh assured me we wouldn't. We checked in at the front counters, sent off our luggage, asked about the connections and the agent assured us we were fine. We stood in line for security and got another text message saying the flight was further delayed and we were definitely missing the connection. We decided to go through anyway, and spent the next 3 hours arguing with gate agents and over the phone because according to them, we were stuck in San Francisco with absolutely no options for getting home.

We finally exited the terminal and went back to the front counters to argue and were seated on an overnight flight departing at midnight that night. With two kids, one of whom was drugged and acting crazy, and we were totally and completely sleep-deprived. When I tell you the Delta agents were horribly rude and unhelpful, it is an understatement. I almost started crying while standing at the counter when the agent told me I was lying about our 19 hour flight from Boston to San Francisco, and when he said that because we'd booked our flights with mileage, we were pretty much screwed because there was nothing they could do for us (which by the way, WHAT? So I am a loyal customer and you reward that loyalty by screwing us over?).

In desperation, I finally called the hotel back in tears and told her what was happening and asked if there was any way we could have our hotel room back (it had already been cleaned and checked out) for a few hours so the kids could nap and we didn't have to stay at the airport for another 12+ hours. Would you believe they said yes? She told us we were welcome to come back and she would set the room up again with a pack and play and we could stay as long as we needed to. That, my friends, is good customer service, and you better bet I will go out of my way to stay at that hotel chain again.

We returned to the hotel with just our carry-ons and car seat and jackets, and I let the kids sleep for the afternoon before the flight home. Thankfully I'd packed a pair of pajamas for each of them in the carry-on suitcases, so I dressed them in those for the flight back to Boston. We returned to the airport at 9pm, grabbed a couple snacks in the airport, and finally started our trip home at midnight.

It was AWFUL. We had a stop along the way, and Josie pretty much cried the whole way home (6+ hours) because she was too exhausted and uncomfortable to sleep, and Gabe couldn't get comfortable either, and after sleeping 3 hours, decided he was up for the day. Josh and I propped our eyelids up with toothpicks and did the best we could to manage the two of them. We finally landed in Boston at 11am, at which time Josh had to head straight into the office and I had a message from our pediatrician that I had an appointment with a hand surgeon that afternoon at 2pm, and I had to make it, because he didn't have another appointment for 3 weeks.

We rushed home, I dressed and fed the kids (dry cereal, since we had no food in the house) and we headed out to the hand surgeon appointment. On no sleep, with one drugged child and one sleep-deprived and screaming child. The appointment took 2 hours, and honestly, I have never been more mortified as a parent. Josie cried for the entire 2 hours, and Gabe was completely and utterly freaked because this was another doctor looking at his finger and trying to touch it and do x-rays and he was clinging to me like a spider monkey and crying and begging me to take him home while Josie clung to my legs and cried and gnawed on the bone models they had in the office.

I wish I were joking, it was beyond awful.

Thankfully, the surgeon said the surgery looked great and was healing well. It was exactly what he would have done, he said. We had a quick chat where he recommended casting the arm because he said little boys are notoriously untrustworthy with stitches and surgical sites. I agreed, but when the nurse who did the actual casting came in, she poo-pooed his suggestion and said she'd rather try to splint it. I was skeptical, but when she said it would be much easier for me to have a splint, I agreed. She did a half-assed splint, which I quickly made her re-do, we got our follow-up appointment, and I promised the kids cookies in the cafeteria on the way out.

I pushed the two of them in the stroller through the halls and got into the busy cafeteria where I tried to buy cookies and a grilled cheese so they'd have actual substance in their stomachs, while Gabe and Josie cried and argued, and somehow in the midst of the commotion, Josie got back and RIPPED THE SPLINT off of Gabe's finger, gauze, metal splint, bandages and all.

I swear to God, I almost left the two of them in the middle of the aisle.

My second thought was to sit on the floor and cry.

I did neither, but as best I could, calmly walked them back to the hand surgeon's office, waded through the crowds of waiting patients with the stroller, and told the front desk receptionist that I couldn't possibly do the splint and needed to talk to the doctor again. I was brought back, where we had another quick chat and after examining his finger, we decided to go for the cast after all.

I had several hours of horrible guilt that night when we got home because the cast is massive, from beyond the tips of his fingers to his shoulder. I had some kind of crazy post-traumatic stress anxiety attack where I started crying and couldn't stop and became convinced I was ruining his life because his arm was going to become atrophied underneath the cast and he'd never play sports again. It got so bad at around 3am that I started trying to figure out what I could do to cut the cast off myself. In the end (and after assurances from Josh and a few hours of sleep), I really do believe it is better. Gabe said to me as soon as she'd wrapped up his arm, "Now no one can hurt me! Now my finger is safe," so I think he is happier too.

So that's that. This Wednesday, we go back in to the surgeon's office and hopefully the cast comes off and a splint comes back on. Gabe is managing beautifully with the cast and has impressed all his little friends with it and gets lots of attention. He is definitely having some lingering issues about me leaving him and has been particularly teary and clingy lately, and will burst into tears and ask me not to leave him out of the blue. I'm also having some anxiety and especially have had some strange moments where I'll start thinking about everything that happened and break out in a cold sweat. It's been stressful, and as soon as we got home Josh had to leave on a business trip and both Gabe and Josie have been sick. It's been a little crazy, to say the least.

But, and it is a big but, Gabe is going to be fine. We're all fine, and I have a renewed appreciation for parents who have to deal with seriously ill or injured children. This seemed like such a nightmare to us, but in the grand scheme of things, it was a minor injury and we'll all recover and one day we'll hopefully laugh about it. Well, maybe my mom won't, but hopefully we'll look back and not want to cry. I don't know how parents keep it together and advocate for their children day after day and keep it together. My hat is off to you.

Thanks for all your kind thoughts and words. As always, they are great to hear, and make me feel better.

worst vacation ever, part II

When last we left off, our heroine (oh, who am I kidding? basketcase, is more like it) was speeding along the highway to reach her son who'd been admitted into the emergency room.
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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.

The doctor said they were taking him in to get x-rays, and then would evaluate the cut part of the finger. At that time we learned it was the pinkie finger of his left hand, and I spent many minutes of the drive taking deep breaths and trying to find that reassuring. You don't NEED a pinkie finger, right? Kids won't make fun of him TOO much if his pinkie finger is messed up. The pinkie finger is practically useless, if he loses it, it'll be okay. It worked, somewhat. But the truth is you don't want your baby to hurt, no matter what. And you don't want your baby to have any kind of deformity, no matter how minor, no matter if it is just his pinkie. And worst of all, you never want him to go through anything without you by his side.

Josh and I drove silently, willing the cars to drive faster. We sat in standstill traffic and bit our nails and stared at each other, and stared at the phone and prayed for time to move a little slower so we could get to the hospital. When we were about an hour from the city, the phone rang and it was my mom. She said the x-rays showed no break in the bone, and they'd already numbed his finger, which went horribly, as you can imagine. She said poor Gabe was screaming for them to stop and for her to take him away. And geez, I felt like the worst mother ever.

We hung up, and I finally gave in to my need to pee, that I'd been putting off for 3 hours already, not wanting to tack on those 5 minutes to the trip. We were literally sitting at a dead stop on the highway, so those 5 minutes weren't going to change our arrival. It might even help.

We got back on the road, and with 25 minutes to go, we got another call from the doctor. She opened up the call by saying, "I'm sorry we have to talk under these circumstances," which is pretty much the WORST POSSIBLE WAY you can start talking to a parent. My mind jumped to terrible scenarios, but it turned out to just be her way of talking. She said she'd been able to sew up his finger, but he didn't tolerate her trying to repair his nail, so she'd just "tacked it back on". I've never heard of that before, so after getting her to explain a little more thoroughly, I asked if that was common, and she said yes, she did it all the time. To tell you the truth, she was fairly dismissive and rude on the phone, and I later found out my mom had already had two arguments with her.

Backing up the story for a minute, when she'd numbed him, my mom asked her if she could numb him once and then wait a couple of minutes for the anesthetic to take effect before numbing the rest and she refused. Then when she was doing the actual sewing, Gabe was screaming the entire time that he could still feel it and flinging his body all over the place and begging her to stop and she told my mom he was lying and didn't give him more anesthetic. My mom starting screaming at the doctor, and they got into an argument where the doctor told my mom that "she was the doctor and she decided how they were going to handle things." Then my mom, which may not have been the best thing, told her I was already unhappy about my mom's choice in hospitals (which was true) and that I thought she should have taken him somewhere else. They had some sort of disagreement over that also. My mom says Gabe screamed for the full 7-10 minutes while they did the sewing, and the nurses were apparently so horrified with the doctor, they wouldn't help with holding him down. My mom had to take the brunt of his terror, and toward the end she said the stress was literally making her black out and she thought she might faint. My stomach is turning just writing that paragraph, so let's move on.

I hung up the phone, and told Josh about the whole "tacking on the nail" thing, and about my mom's comments on the doctor's behavior, and decided to call our pediatrician, even though by this time it was about 11pm in Boston. I made the call, told him the whole story, and he said hands were way out of his area of expertise, but he did agree it sounded a little bit sketchy. He said I was totally within my rights to ask for a hand specialist to look over her work, and if I was worried I should do that.

Josh was racing down the highway while I was on the phone, and finally, we were there. I called my mom to find out where they were, and I could hear Gabe screaming through the phone. We sprinted through the parking lot and into the emergency room, and finally, FINALLY, we were there. I threw my arms around Gabe, and held him on my lap while he sobbed and begged me to "run away from here and never come back". Nurses were trying to finalize the bandages on his finger and he was distraught, but when the doctor walked back in, I felt his whole body recoil. She started to insist on removing his bandages for us to see, while Gabe, my mom, and both nurses were arguing to just let him be. We talked her out of it, thank goodness.

I asked her about a hand surgeon, and she just about bit my head off. She told me I was being ridiculous, and a hand surgeon was totally unnecessary, she did this all the time, a hand surgeon would never come for this kind of injury. I was taken aback, but I insisted. We argued a bit, she said she wouldn't call a surgeon, and finally I picked Gabe up and told her I'd be taking him to another hospital. At that point, my mom walked out in tears, furious with me for insisting on another course of treatment that would likely end up in more pain for Gabe. I understood where she was coming from, but in my mind, I had to ask. I had to know this was the right thing to do, and I thought 5 minutes of pain was worth his hand being repaired correctly. I had to believe the Gabe in 10 years would be grateful if his pinkie was perfect and whole.

When I stood up with Gabe and told her we were going to another hospital, the doctor got visibly nervous, and said she'd go consult with a colleague. She came back and said there was a hand clinic tomorrow we could go to. Fine, I answered, we'd be there. She left, and returned again and said she was going to try the hand surgeon if I really felt that strongly about it. Great, I said. She called, returned, and said she was shocked, but the hand surgeon said he would come when he was done with his surgery. Perfect, we said we'd wait for him.

It was 9pm by this time, and Gabe hadn't eaten since noon, so she said to go out and get him food. Josh went out for some food, and Gabe scarfed it down like he hadn't eaten in weeks. Chicken nuggets, fries, chocolate milk, he was starved. At 11pm, the surgeon finally showed up.

He came in and chatted comfortably with Gabe, removed his bandages, examined the wound, asked my mom again to describe what had happened, and then told us everything the ER doctor had done was wrong. He said Gabe could lose his finger if we left her stitches in the way they were. He said the ends of the bones of children are more like cartilage than regular bone, so you can't see a break on x-ray. The growth plate in his finger could have been crushed, and without a repair the finger might not grow properly. The nail bed also needed to be properly repaired, the finger nail removed, and a substitute covering inserted. The hand surgeon should have been called because it was a partial amputation, and at the very least, a pediatrician.

Throughout all of this, of course, the ER doc was SILENT. Super super silent, and I couldn't even LOOK at her, lest I start throwing punches. There was talk of trying to hold Gabe down for 20-30 minutes to do an exploratory look around and see whether the hand surgeon could fix it without an actual operating room. I put a big fat thumbs down on that one, and told both of them Gabe had been through ENOUGH, and if anyone was doing anything to him, it would be asleep or sedated, or SOMETHING.

Of course, you'll recall that this same ER doctor told us to feed Gabe, so no one could do any sedating or putting to sleep tonight. The hand surgeon talked with us for a good amount of time and he agreed we should just schedule an OR for either later that night or the next day, and proceed with a surgery, which is where he figured we'd end up anyway.

He left to schedule an OR, and a flurry of activity followed. Gabe needed either an iv or injections of antibiotics (we opted for injections) and paperwork and medical history and various other preparations. The injections were horrific because the nurse proceeded to prepare the needles in front of Gabe so he started preemptively screaming and begging me to keep her away from him. I lay in bed with Gabe, holding him, and telling him all about the swing set I was going to buy him for being such a good boy, while he repeatedly asked to go home.

During all of this activity, no one returned to re-bandage his finger, and Josh and I were terrified he was going to bump it or get germs on it, or whatever happens to a partially amputated finger that hasn't been repaired correctly. We must have asked 9 times for a nurse to come put a bandage on it, and I finally had to open up the cabinet and grab bandages and antibiotic ointment and do it myself.

All of this time, poor Josie was at home with my poor Dad who has never been left alone with a child in his life, and who had absolutely no idea what to do with her. God only knows what he did with her for all those hours, although I did hear she slept in the recliner until my mom got home at 1:30am.

Toward the end of our time in the ER, the ER doctor did return to the room. She walked in and said she was sorry about the whole situation, it was a learning experience for her too, she didn't know she needed to call a pediatrician or a hand surgeon. Now, I am generally pretty forgiving and non-confrontational, but I LITERALLY could not look at her. I could not see her face, I could not make eye contact. I was so mad, I thought I could actually spit. I said, okay, fine, and when I wouldn't respond further, she bent over to try to meet my eyes and said again, "really, I'm really really sorry. I feel awful. This is all my fault." And I felt for her, I did. I understand, she made a mistake. But she made a mistake on my fucking kid, and I just couldn't give her what she wanted. I nodded, said thanks, and then turned back to Gabe and wished for her to leave. She didn't come back again.

We were eventually discharged at 2am, Gabe passed out in the car on the way home, and we set the alarm for 4:30am. The surgery was scheduled for 6:00am, and we had to check into the hospital at 5:45am. Josh and I didn't sleep a wink all night long.

Part III of this nightmare to come, after I deal with my flooded bedroom due to the broken gutter that is pouring water against our window and causing rain to flow freely onto our bedroom floor. Oh, and did I mention Josh is out of town?

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.

drama with the 3 year old crowd

I can't believe I forgot to tell you what happened when we got back from California! I had to pull Gabe out of the CRAZY PRESCHOOL. I know. Summer started veeeerrrrryyy early in the Halloweenlover household, and it hasn't been pretty.

I'm sure you remember the preschool drama, but for those of you who missed it, you can catch up here.

The continuation is that the day I was flying home from California, when Gabe was supposed to be back at school 2 days later, I get a message on my cell phone letting me know BOTH of Gabe's teachers quit while we were gone. One just up and quit and never showed up again at work, and the other claims she got a full-time job and they needed her to start asap. With 6 weeks left of the school year, and no notice. So the director was left to find two substitutes for Gabe's classroom with, ohhh, 3 days of notice.

I called the teacher back, listened to her long-winded, totally unclear explanation, and then called the director to get more details. In the meantime, Josh and I start talking about what to do. I wasn't fully comfortable sending Gabe into a classroom with two substitutes that were found at the last minute and no supervision from the director or the other 20+ years experience teacher. Josh assured me, though, the two substitutes couldn't possibly be left alone with the ten children given the circumstances.

Oh wait, did I mention this would be Gabe's FIFTH and SIXTH new teachers of the year? We have had multiple teachers quit since he started in September.

Anyway, I called the director back on Monday morning to get the scoop before Gabe was supposed to be in at 9am. She exploded on the phone at me, ranting about the teachers and how unprofessional they'd been (agreed) and how it made her look bad (agreed) and how everyone was going to think she'd fired them (um, no that isn't precisely what it make me think) and how ridiculous the whole situation was (agreed). She went on and on about what the teachers quitting was doing to HER, and how SHE felt about the situation, and what a bad position SHE was in.

At some point in our chat, I said I assumed since there were two classrooms, let's call the other classroom room A (no disruption all year), and Gabe's classroom room B (fifth and sixth new teachers), with two teachers each, she would be putting one experienced teacher in each class, and one substitute or temporary teacher in each class. So room A would get one original experienced teacher and one new teacher, and room B would get one experienced teacher and one new teacher also. This seemed the fairest plan to me, since room B has already had so much upheaval.

Seriously, I haven't even bothered to mention it throughout the year because it seems so absurd, but Gabe's classroom has been wild. I've arrived to mad chaos almost every day, and teachers who look defeated and unhappy and uninspired. I hear stories from other parents about conflicts they've had both with the director and with the teachers, and although the kids seem fine, they don't seem to be thriving. Gabe was in a little home-based toddler program last year, and he seemed so much happier and excited to go every day, and when I came to pick him up at the end of the morning, the director never seemed to annoyed and frustrated with the kids. Whenever there has been an event, such as a teacher leaving or a child having problems, I see a noticeable effect on the kids, Gabe included.

Okay, back to the conversation. I said I thought it was most fair for the teachers (the director is one of the teachers in the other classroom) to be split between both classrooms so both classes get a little upheaval and lots of stability. Her response? "To be honest with you, we're not doing that because I don't feel like it." (emphasis added on my part) "I just don't want to have to deal with a substitute teacher. I think I have a difficult classroom this year, and I enjoy working with my assistant teacher, and I just don't have the strength or inclination to deal with someone new."

Wait, are you speechless yet? Are you noticing she ISN'T EVEN PRETENDING this is about the kids? My response? "Well, to be honest with you, I don't think Gabe's class is the easiest class ever, and I don't feel comfortable sending him into a class with teachers who haven't worked with these kids before and who were found on such short notice." She said she understood, but again, didn't really care, and didn't want to deal with the temporary teacher, and thought it wasn't a bit deal for the kids to have all of this change, and didn't think it was affecting them, so she wasn't changing anything. Oh, and if I didn't like it, I was welcome to leave.

The conversation was longer than this, of course, but I was actually pretty proud of myself because I tend to not say what I'm thinking in confrontational situations, but in this case, where my son was concerned, I said what I thought. I said I was disappointed in the situation. I said I didn't think she was being fair. I said I wasn't comfortable, and at the end, I said I was pulling him out of the school. And she said fine. And then I chickened out, so Josh called back and asked for our money back for the last two months and she agreed.

We were in a particular situation, where we'd been on vacation for 2 weeks, so Gabe already had a period of separation from the school and had no idea what had gone on with all of the teachers quitting. There were 6 weeks left of school (one of which was April vacation), and we didn't think it made sense to put him through all those changes and adjustments just to leave in such a short time. Josh, in particular, felt strongly he didn't want Gabe sent back to the school.

The first week, I'm not going to lie, I panicked. It was April, and the summer stretched on interminably and September looked ridiculously far off. I buckled down, though, and started making plans for day trips. I've called everyone we know, made playdates for every day, and taken the kids to the Museum of Science, the Children's Museum, Boston Common, parks everyday, the library, long walks, whatever gets us out of the house and onto a schedule has been included. The first days were painful, and just when I assumed Gabe would never ask, he asked if he could go to school tomorrow and I had to tell him school was over. It was sad, but Gabe didn't seem all that upset, although we had a couple days of less than stellar behavior which I attributed to the news.

Lately, though, things have been great. The house is a little messier, and dinner has been a little skimpier, but everyone is happy and busy and enjoying the days. I'm glad we made this choice, and I hope next year's preschool is better in so many ways. Closer, more professional, more stable, and NOT CRAZY! Is that too much to ask?

bloggy business and mother's day too!

I did it! I did it!

It's been years, but I finally updated my blog. I was a little sad to do it, because I did love the customized autumn blog theme, but it was time. This bloggy background is more Spring and Summer appropriate. Hopefully before Halloween comes back around, I'll be able to find something a little more Fall and Winter appropriate. Plus, the graphic artist who designed it is from Argentina! Totally fitting, no?

What do you think? Better? That "labels" feature, which tells you how many posts are about any given subject is kind of scaring me, though. I apparently talk about Gabe A LOT. Poor Josie is going to start feeling neglected if I don't start sharing the news about her!

Happy belated Mother's Day also! My day was fabulous and the kids were sweet and Josh was generous and helpful and I had a great time. I received cards in bed and a book about cheese, because I've decided I want to be a cheese connoisseur (long story for another post). My book about cheese was accompanied by a gift certificate to my favorite cheese shop and a promise to take me on a Vermont Cheese Tour. We spent the day in Rockport, Massachusetts, and walked around in the freezing wind drinking hot chocolates, window shopping, eating cupcakes, and then taking leisurely drives up the coast.

It was truly lovely, and the kids were funny and silly and behaved beautifully. I think I'll keep the three of them. I do adore them.

gabrielicious

You know how you have a new puppy, and since they're so small and cute you let them climb on your lap and on the couch, and then the baby puppy starts to grow and soon they are too big for your lap and certainly too big for the couch. But the puppy doesn't yet know they are growing too big for your lap, so they fling themselves onto your lap and have no idea they are crushing you. And they do all these crazy puppy things but in the meantime, they are all long legs and giant paws and cuteness.

Gabe is that puppy.

He is so big and so funny and so sweet and adorable and delicious and brilliant, and he totally doesn't know he is all arms and legs and giant feet and HEAVY. He picks out a book and then throws himself onto my lap, even though he is hanging off all over the place. I arrive at the door of his preschool and he runs full force into my arms and knocks me over. He snuggles into my arms and asks to be carried up the stairs and begs me to crawl into bed with him and give him kisses. At the pediatrician the other day, after observing Gabe for a few minutes, he said, "well, he is certainly passionate for you."

And I am beyond crazy about him. Every day I fall more and more in love with him, and it takes all my self control not to swallow him whole, and I threaten to do so all the time, just so he can't leave me anymore. Today I put together the tuition deposit for him next year. He'll be attending a Montessori school five days a week, and it kills me just a little bit that we'll be apart for so much time. I'm thrilled for him, and I have the feeling that he is going to flourish in the Montessori environment (although I'm intimidated by the intensity). He's my baby, though, and I have these moments where I realize we are so close and he still adores me and thinks I am the coolest person ever. We sat together and watched a Disney movie and he asked me to sing along because he loved hearing me sing. You guys, how could I not adore him?

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!"

enough talk about sticking fingers in holes already

We made peanut butter and jelly muffins last night (I know! Yum!), and it was an exercise in hilarity for Josh and me.

You have to make the peanut butter batter, then push a little hole into the center of the muffin, spoon in the jelly, and then put another glob of peanut butter batter on top. We got Gabe involved, and these were the comments that came out of our mouth, complete with uncontrollable snickering from Gabe's parents.

"You push your fingers in the hole and spread it."

"After you put your fingers in the hole, Daddy will stick the jelly in."

"Stop licking your fingers after putting them in the hole."

"It's too sticky in there."

"You stick your fingers in the middle, not on the sides."

And on, and on, and on.

This is a public service announcement, do not try to accomplish any cooking project like this with preteens or teenagers. It will not go well, I promise you that.

maybe electric shock collars would work

MY CHILDREN.
ARE TRYING.
TO KILL ME.

Okay, it's out there. I said it.

Whooooo boy. I am either going to run away from home, start drinking, or lose my everloving mind. And soon.

Gabe is on a three year old rampage. On Friday afternoon he spit at me, got sent to time out, took off his clothes, and peed on the time out step. I'm not even going to tell you what I did, and what I really wanted to do, but suffice to say, I really and truly feared for his well-being. That is how angry I was.

Josie is teething multiple teeth complete with blood blisters on her gums. She is a non-sleeping, screaming all the time, demanding to be catered to, utter disaster of a child. A lunatic who runs head first into everything and will not be contained.

And Josh is away on a business trip.

I have been humbled, and I am exhausted, and I put the children down at night and then come downstairs and try to calm the anger that has been building throughout the day while I am endlessly patient and understanding and loving.

I gave the ultimate punishment to Gabe tonight and he went to bed without his pacifiers. Josh actually gasped when I called to tell him. Punishment courtesy of him asking to take down his "special" toys, the train and semi-truck we bought for him in Prague at an outdoor market from a hand carving toy stand, where I spent hours poring over the toys and picking out the perfect toy for him and his future siblings. After playing with both toys for 10 minutes, he stomped on the train and broke off the wooden hand carved wheels, and then walked over and stomped on the semi-truck and broke the wooden HAND CARVED platform where the cars are carried.

I could cry, I'm so angry. I know they are just toys, and obviously we have our health and our home and everything is good and happy and all that, but WHAT THE FUCK? I am at a loss. I'm so tired and frustrated and angry and I don't know what to do anymore. I am stern, I am strict, I have firm limits. I am positive and happy and kind to my children and I model good behavior, and still. STILL.

I need a vacation. Or a valium.