Bad/Good News + a Video
Bad News?
I STILL can't figure out for the life of me how to upload the videos from my camcorder to my computer..
Good news?
You get the next best thing! A low quality, bad resolution video made by yours truly, using my old digital camera/camcorder, recording the video I wanted to share that is playing on my TV which is hooked up to my new camcorder..
Try to contain your excitement people...
I don't know if your children turn into spawns of satan are a little unbearable
when they are sick like mine.. but the past few weeks have been long, hard and exhausting..
But the tell tale sign your family has been sick WAY TOO long?
The classic baby fake sneeze attack
The boys both did this when they were little as well and it makes me SO happy that Ella is doing it too..
Is it normal that my baby fake sneezing makes me feel normal? Normally?
And now that I've figured out a way around my terribly un-techyness I just might be unstoppable!
(Sorry.. I still haven't found a way around my terribly un-vocalularyness...)
Look forward to more grainy, blurry and best of all second-rate low quality videos!
You'll only find them here at Life on M Avenue!
I can almost feel your anticipation seeping through these blog lines!
Or maybe that's the feeling of the mob of people hurrying to click the "unsubscribe" button...
Hmmmm....
Celebrating Life
This week we celebrate life.
We could choose to be sad over how we were forced to spend 5 weeks of our life last year.
We could be upset that Ella got so sick when she maybe shouldn't have been discharged in the first place.
We could be angry about the stress it put on our lives.
We could be miserable thinking of what could have happened.
We could struggle to find our way back to "normal."
We could spend our days worrying and fearing for the worst.
But we are choosing to not do any of those things.
This week...
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| Ella (and Charlie) started it off with a bang by blessing us with their presence and staying up 2 hours past bedtime..) |
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| This week there were leaves to walk in.. |
 |
| and jump in |
 |
| over and over. |
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| This week there was family time |
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| and daddy time. |
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| There was giving mommy a heart attack time by grabbing a whole slice of apple and eating the entire thing.. |
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| un-doing all of mommy's laundry folding, |
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| and lots of "hanging out" time. |
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| Best of all? Everybody sleeping through the entire night in their own beds THREE nights this week! Woo hoo! |
Nothing makes you want to celebrate life more than a full night of sleep!
Yes, even this week.. especially this week... for many many reasons... we celebrate life.
Back at the Hospital
Don't worry.. we're not sick.
Yesterday Ella had a few Specialty Doctor appointments. Back at the same hospital she spent 5 weeks in. Last year. At this exact time... It was a little surreal being there.. seeing the familiar hallways, same receptionists, lunch ladies.. We've been there a few different times during the past year, but yesterday was different, knowing it was exactly a year ago that we were in this same building fighting for our daughter's life.. making decisions that could ultimately decide if she lived another day.. the same place we slept in, ate at, shed a thousand tears and prayed a million prayers.
A few weeks ago when I realized that our appointments randomly coincided with Ella's 1-year anniversary, I thought it would be neat to take a visit to the PICU to celebrate, but after finding out we probably didn't know any of the doctors or nurses up there at that time we decided not to. I was a little disappointed at first.. I wanted to see everyone. Show them how far Ella has come. Thank them yet again for making today possible. But I suppose it's a good thing we don't know anyone. It means we haven't been there for awhile. It means we've stayed healthy. It means we, and everyone there is moving on. That life in the PICU is a part of our past.. not our present. (And hopefully not our future!)
So instead of visiting the PICU between appointments Ella and I enjoyed a nice lunch in the cafeteria together. While I've eaten that food so often I think I've had everything on the menu.. Twice.. I realized it's probably the first time Ella has eaten there. Last year at this time she was enjoying a hearty meal of TPN liquids through her IV, then later Nutramagin through an NJ tube straight into her intestines, and finally an NG into her stomach..
What a difference a year makes..
Of course while we were enjoying our lunch date almost every single person who walked by had to slow down to admire this precious girl sitting so big in her high chair. Some had to physically stop just to smile and remark on how adorable Ella is. She caused a little hiccup in the middle of everyone's busy lunch hour and seemed to bring them a moment of happiness. She tends to do that to people...
Yesterday Ella had a few Specialty Doctor appointments. Back at the same hospital she spent 5 weeks in. Last year. At this exact time... It was a little surreal being there.. seeing the familiar hallways, same receptionists, lunch ladies.. We've been there a few different times during the past year, but yesterday was different, knowing it was exactly a year ago that we were in this same building fighting for our daughter's life.. making decisions that could ultimately decide if she lived another day.. the same place we slept in, ate at, shed a thousand tears and prayed a million prayers.
A few weeks ago when I realized that our appointments randomly coincided with Ella's 1-year anniversary, I thought it would be neat to take a visit to the PICU to celebrate, but after finding out we probably didn't know any of the doctors or nurses up there at that time we decided not to. I was a little disappointed at first.. I wanted to see everyone. Show them how far Ella has come. Thank them yet again for making today possible. But I suppose it's a good thing we don't know anyone. It means we haven't been there for awhile. It means we've stayed healthy. It means we, and everyone there is moving on. That life in the PICU is a part of our past.. not our present. (And hopefully not our future!)
So instead of visiting the PICU between appointments Ella and I enjoyed a nice lunch in the cafeteria together. While I've eaten that food so often I think I've had everything on the menu.. Twice.. I realized it's probably the first time Ella has eaten there. Last year at this time she was enjoying a hearty meal of TPN liquids through her IV, then later Nutramagin through an NJ tube straight into her intestines, and finally an NG into her stomach..
What a difference a year makes..
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| Cheeseburger and fries please.. Do you Supersize? |
Of course while we were enjoying our lunch date almost every single person who walked by had to slow down to admire this precious girl sitting so big in her high chair. Some had to physically stop just to smile and remark on how adorable Ella is. She caused a little hiccup in the middle of everyone's busy lunch hour and seemed to bring them a moment of happiness. She tends to do that to people...
What? Doesn't everyone eat in their chair sideways?
And backwards?
And upside down??
Or maybe everyone was stopping to look at us because after about 20 minutes of sitting there
I finally realized we sat at the table that was very clearly reserved for guests using wheelchairs...
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| Wow.. Seriously.. How did I miss that sign that I set my tray down RIGHT next to? |
And the best part about being at the hospital on this day a year later?
WE GOT TO COME HOME THIS TIME!!!
One Year Ago
It's hard to believe it's been one year..
One year since Ella got sick.
One year since they told me "Your baby (who was only eating formula and jarred baby food, mind you..) has Salmonella Poisoning."
One year since they sent us home after a long week in the hospital with slightly sunken eyes and an explanation of "She might be a little dehydrated" but "She should be okay."
One year since I rushed her back to the hospital a mere 16 hours later, asking my then-3 year old the whole way, "Is Ella still awake?" "Are her eyes open?" Is she breathing??"
One year since my Doctor walked in the exam room, took one look at her and exclaimed, "She looks awful!"
One year since said doctor took off running down the hallway carrying Ella in her car seat while I nervously waited in the lobby for my parents to come pick Charlie up.
One year since they told me my 9 month old daughter's kidneys were failing.
One year since she had an IO (basically a metal straw stabbed into her leg bone) after numerous failed attempts at an IV in her vein. And after that didn't work either, another IO drilled into her other leg bone to get her much-needed fluids.
One year since I sat in that helicopter, listening to the roaring engines and whirling blades above me, waiting to be transported to a larger hospital.
One year since we arrived at the larger hospital, only to find out Ella's tiny little 14 pound body was going into shock from all the stress and she started to show signs of multiple organ failure.
One year since my husband and I went to sleep on the pull out hospital bed in our PICU room, only to be awakened by the nurse and doctor the next morning grimly telling us to "Get up. Get yourself a cup of coffee. Whatever you have to do to wake up. We need to talk."
One year since the doctor told us the devastating news that we could keep doing what we were doing-pumping Ella full of fluids- but it wasn't working. Or try surgery to put a dialysis port in, knowing that wasn't guaranteed to work either and her body might not be strong enough to even survive the surgery.
One year since I held my baby girl for what I thought was certainly the last time.
One year since I fought back the thoughts trying to silently creep into my mind of wondering what songs we would play at her funeral.
One year since I kissed her sweet little cheek, amid the tubes and wires and monitors and watched them whisk her away to surgery.
One year since I waited numbly in the busy surgery center, curled up in a chair in the fetal position with Ella's pink blankie clutched tightly to my chest, my stomach in knots, threatening to lose its contents at any moment (while my husband munched absently on a stack on cookies beside me...)
One year since I thought my boys would never see their sister this side of Earth again.
One year since we were brought back in a private room when the surgery when finally over, expecting the worst possible news, wondering how I would react.. only to sit in disbelief and listen to the surgeon nonchalantly say, "Everything went good." (Those doctors really should learn to show some facial clues of 'everything went good' when they begin to walk you back to that room..)
One year since Ella's kidneys started to slowly function again.
One year since every single wire, tube, machine, monitor that had served such amazing purpose of keeping my daughter alive was removed one by one.
One year since we were overwhelmingly blessed by the complete love and care, thoughtfulness, and generosity of our family, friends, neighbors, and complete strangers.
One year since Ella got sick.
One year since they told me "Your baby (who was only eating formula and jarred baby food, mind you..) has Salmonella Poisoning."
One year since they sent us home after a long week in the hospital with slightly sunken eyes and an explanation of "She might be a little dehydrated" but "She should be okay."
One year since I rushed her back to the hospital a mere 16 hours later, asking my then-3 year old the whole way, "Is Ella still awake?" "Are her eyes open?" Is she breathing??"
One year since my Doctor walked in the exam room, took one look at her and exclaimed, "She looks awful!"
One year since said doctor took off running down the hallway carrying Ella in her car seat while I nervously waited in the lobby for my parents to come pick Charlie up.
One year since they told me my 9 month old daughter's kidneys were failing.
One year since she had an IO (basically a metal straw stabbed into her leg bone) after numerous failed attempts at an IV in her vein. And after that didn't work either, another IO drilled into her other leg bone to get her much-needed fluids.
One year since I sat in that helicopter, listening to the roaring engines and whirling blades above me, waiting to be transported to a larger hospital.
One year since we arrived at the larger hospital, only to find out Ella's tiny little 14 pound body was going into shock from all the stress and she started to show signs of multiple organ failure.
One year since my husband and I went to sleep on the pull out hospital bed in our PICU room, only to be awakened by the nurse and doctor the next morning grimly telling us to "Get up. Get yourself a cup of coffee. Whatever you have to do to wake up. We need to talk."
One year since the doctor told us the devastating news that we could keep doing what we were doing-pumping Ella full of fluids- but it wasn't working. Or try surgery to put a dialysis port in, knowing that wasn't guaranteed to work either and her body might not be strong enough to even survive the surgery.
One year since I held my baby girl for what I thought was certainly the last time.
One year since I fought back the thoughts trying to silently creep into my mind of wondering what songs we would play at her funeral.
One year since I kissed her sweet little cheek, amid the tubes and wires and monitors and watched them whisk her away to surgery.
One year since I waited numbly in the busy surgery center, curled up in a chair in the fetal position with Ella's pink blankie clutched tightly to my chest, my stomach in knots, threatening to lose its contents at any moment (while my husband munched absently on a stack on cookies beside me...)
One year since I thought my boys would never see their sister this side of Earth again.
One year since we were brought back in a private room when the surgery when finally over, expecting the worst possible news, wondering how I would react.. only to sit in disbelief and listen to the surgeon nonchalantly say, "Everything went good." (Those doctors really should learn to show some facial clues of 'everything went good' when they begin to walk you back to that room..)
One year since Ella's kidneys started to slowly function again.
One year since every single wire, tube, machine, monitor that had served such amazing purpose of keeping my daughter alive was removed one by one.
One year since we were overwhelmingly blessed by the complete love and care, thoughtfulness, and generosity of our family, friends, neighbors, and complete strangers.
One year.
One year we will never forget.
Thank you. THANK YOU to everyone who was there on this day one year ago.
maybe next week
We've had a busy, crazy week and I have been so neglectful of my poor blog.. I have tons of ideas of things to write about, some partially typed out, some scribbled on random pieces of paper scattering around the house, some merely still floating around in my head, yet I've had no time to finish any of them. And what I really wanted to post tonight was an absolutely so-sitnkin cute video of Ella but I CANNOT get it to load.
So frustrating!!
I've only had my video camera for oh.. almost 3 years and am just getting around to trying to upload the videos onto my computer.. only to find out.. I can't!
So frustrating!!
I've only had my video camera for oh.. almost 3 years and am just getting around to trying to upload the videos onto my computer.. only to find out.. I can't!
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| Good to know she inherited something from me.. My shocking disdain towards my vintage computer may have looked similar to this earlier tonight
Hopefully next week I can figure it out.. *fingers crossed*
|
Until then.. these plain ol still images will just have to do..
Kickin the Bottle
If this were a bigger blog and I were a more famous blog writer, I might have done some big give-away on my Facebook page today. My friend Marjo might be packing her bags for Figi, or relaxing in front of a new 46" flatscreen, or merely sipping a cup of Starbucks.
Unfortunately this isn't a big blog. And I'm not a famous blog writer. Sorry Marjo.
So what would this big give-away have been for? For being the first person to correctly identify this.
There were a lot of great answers, albeit many true ones.. A clean counter? Yup. One that has not been clean for a long time? Uh huh. No Dishes? Absolutely. And my personal favorite? A picture in which all the clutter is pushed to the right, giving the appearance of cleanliness. Ahhh.. so true again. Yet not quite what I was looking for.
The "right" answer? A counter with NO MORE BABY BOTTLES!!!!!
I really, truly didn't know if this day would ever get here.. I mean.. I guess I knew it would someday. I just didn't know when. Or how. Eating and drinking is such a huge issue for kids with CdLS that I just didn't know how we were going to make the transition.
Ella and the bottle have always had a "it's complicated" sort of relationship. We never wanted to do the bottle in the first place. I nursed her for awhile, but after she wasn't gaining weight and no one knew why, they (doctors, nurses, nutritionalists..) told me I needed to add extra calories to her milk. So I pumped and added a scoop of formula to a bottle for about 5 months until it became too hard. We went to straight, nasty Nutramigen-formula after that and have been on it ever since. After I got over the fact that we constantly looked like a crackhead house from the white powder covering our counters, the bottle really wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.
When Ella was so so sick with Salmonella poisoning last year, getting her to drink her bottle again was a HUGE struggle. She had an NG tube at home for nearly 3 months because she refused to eat. But I never gave up trying. Every 3 hours I would make her bottle, wake her from her nap if need be, and TRY to get her to drink, knowing she wouldn't. I did that about 6 times a day for 3 months. I became a little cynical after awhile. "Here Ella.. here's your bottle that you're not going to drink." "Oh.. let me wash these bottles again that no one is using.." But I did it anyways. Even when it was hard, I did it. Even when I just wanted to give up and feed her through the tube, I didn't (until after I tried to feed her by mouth first, of course). And eventually one glorious day, just like that, she started feeling better and drinking her bottle again. And that NG tube just "came out." (That's what I told our GI dr anyways... I might have left out a few details..)
Through the last few months though Ella has started to resist the bottle again.. I began to have to get the bottle ready, rock her to sleep with her pacifier, then when she was just asleep, but not too much or too little, I would sneak the paci out and switch it for the bottle. (This made it a little difficult to ever leave her since I seemed to be one of the only ones who knew just when the magical moment was that she was just enough asleep to take it but not too asleep to just let it drip out the side of her mouth..) She would then drink her entire bottle in her sleep and not even know it. (Not good for her teeth, I know.. but ya do what ya gotta do..) We've done this about 3 times a day for the past few months..
When these more recent shenanigans started, I knew we needed a Plan B. If she just up and refused the bottle one day I knew we would need a back-up plan. We'd have no way of getting fluids in her and knowing all too first hand how quickly she can dehydrate I knew that could be a potential trip to the doctor, an NG tube, or even a more permanent G-tube (A lot of kids with CdLS have them). I didn't want that to happen. Don't get me wrong.. G-tubes can be great. They're wonderful for kids who need them. I just didn't think we needed one.
We've been working on a sippy cup with Ella for.. ohhh.. about 10 months now. We've tried Dr. Brown's, Gerber's, Nuby's, Nuk's with a hard spout, Nuk's with a soft spout, mason jars... And she would take small sips. But not enough to replace the bottle. She did better with water and juice, but just doesn't seem to like milk. We've tried Pediasure, whole milk, 2% milk, chocolate milk.. She just doesn't seem to like the taste of any of them. But I thought she needed those bottles for extra fluid, for extra calories. Even though most kids her age are off the bottle by now and it made me insanely jealous to see their mamas sans bottle, insert, cap, formula, and microwave nearby to warm it up.. I was in no way ready to give our safety blanket up yet.
But Ella was.
About 3 weeks ago Ella got a cold. Nothing major. Just a little snotty nose. But that snotty nose made it tough to suck a bottle.. in your sleep.. that you didn't really even want in the first place. So she didn't. We tried and tried.. and she wouldn't take it. So eventually we quit trying. And behold- Ella started eating more solid foods.. feeding herself more.. Instead of me force-feeding her bites with a fork, she started literally shoveling handfuls of food into her mouth all by herself. (And sitting her her high chair for longer too!) She was replacing the calories from the bottle! And she started drinking more from her sippy cup. Sometimes she would get fussy in the evenings and after numerous failed attempts at trying to figure out what she wanted (pacifer? cuddles? blanket? rocking? new diaper? floor time? being held? music? toy? walker?), we finally got the genius idea to offer her a cup of water. And she chugged the whole thing! She still doesn't drink a ton of milk, and she probably doesn't drink as many total fluids as they say she "should" (I guess we'll see what GI has to say about this next week.. eek!) but from my view, she's doing great.
And my counter??? CLEAN!! After 21 long months I am SO happy to have those bottles out of there! It leaves SO much more room for junk mail.. bills.. dirty dishes.. clean dishes.. toys.. groceries.. laundry.. I can't wait to fill it! :)
It just seems like it all happened so quickly.. so suddenly.. I feel like I am still reeling. Like, it just can't be true. She hasn't had a bottle in 3 weeks and she is OK! I didn't know that was possible!
Even though there was no big, fancy give-away, my joy that I'm sure is bursting through the lines of this blog should be prize enough.. right Marjo??
*crickets chirping
I guess this should be a lesson then to choose your friends wisely. And your blog wrtiers.. ( - :
On a side note, Ella also gave up her pacifier this week... I am NOT so joyful about that one.
Unfortunately this isn't a big blog. And I'm not a famous blog writer. Sorry Marjo.
So what would this big give-away have been for? For being the first person to correctly identify this.
 |
| Who can guess what this is? |
The "right" answer? A counter with NO MORE BABY BOTTLES!!!!!
I really, truly didn't know if this day would ever get here.. I mean.. I guess I knew it would someday. I just didn't know when. Or how. Eating and drinking is such a huge issue for kids with CdLS that I just didn't know how we were going to make the transition.
Ella and the bottle have always had a "it's complicated" sort of relationship. We never wanted to do the bottle in the first place. I nursed her for awhile, but after she wasn't gaining weight and no one knew why, they (doctors, nurses, nutritionalists..) told me I needed to add extra calories to her milk. So I pumped and added a scoop of formula to a bottle for about 5 months until it became too hard. We went to straight, nasty Nutramigen-formula after that and have been on it ever since. After I got over the fact that we constantly looked like a crackhead house from the white powder covering our counters, the bottle really wasn't as bad as I thought it would be.
When Ella was so so sick with Salmonella poisoning last year, getting her to drink her bottle again was a HUGE struggle. She had an NG tube at home for nearly 3 months because she refused to eat. But I never gave up trying. Every 3 hours I would make her bottle, wake her from her nap if need be, and TRY to get her to drink, knowing she wouldn't. I did that about 6 times a day for 3 months. I became a little cynical after awhile. "Here Ella.. here's your bottle that you're not going to drink." "Oh.. let me wash these bottles again that no one is using.." But I did it anyways. Even when it was hard, I did it. Even when I just wanted to give up and feed her through the tube, I didn't (until after I tried to feed her by mouth first, of course). And eventually one glorious day, just like that, she started feeling better and drinking her bottle again. And that NG tube just "came out." (That's what I told our GI dr anyways... I might have left out a few details..)
Through the last few months though Ella has started to resist the bottle again.. I began to have to get the bottle ready, rock her to sleep with her pacifier, then when she was just asleep, but not too much or too little, I would sneak the paci out and switch it for the bottle. (This made it a little difficult to ever leave her since I seemed to be one of the only ones who knew just when the magical moment was that she was just enough asleep to take it but not too asleep to just let it drip out the side of her mouth..) She would then drink her entire bottle in her sleep and not even know it. (Not good for her teeth, I know.. but ya do what ya gotta do..) We've done this about 3 times a day for the past few months..
When these more recent shenanigans started, I knew we needed a Plan B. If she just up and refused the bottle one day I knew we would need a back-up plan. We'd have no way of getting fluids in her and knowing all too first hand how quickly she can dehydrate I knew that could be a potential trip to the doctor, an NG tube, or even a more permanent G-tube (A lot of kids with CdLS have them). I didn't want that to happen. Don't get me wrong.. G-tubes can be great. They're wonderful for kids who need them. I just didn't think we needed one.
We've been working on a sippy cup with Ella for.. ohhh.. about 10 months now. We've tried Dr. Brown's, Gerber's, Nuby's, Nuk's with a hard spout, Nuk's with a soft spout, mason jars... And she would take small sips. But not enough to replace the bottle. She did better with water and juice, but just doesn't seem to like milk. We've tried Pediasure, whole milk, 2% milk, chocolate milk.. She just doesn't seem to like the taste of any of them. But I thought she needed those bottles for extra fluid, for extra calories. Even though most kids her age are off the bottle by now and it made me insanely jealous to see their mamas sans bottle, insert, cap, formula, and microwave nearby to warm it up.. I was in no way ready to give our safety blanket up yet.
But Ella was.
About 3 weeks ago Ella got a cold. Nothing major. Just a little snotty nose. But that snotty nose made it tough to suck a bottle.. in your sleep.. that you didn't really even want in the first place. So she didn't. We tried and tried.. and she wouldn't take it. So eventually we quit trying. And behold- Ella started eating more solid foods.. feeding herself more.. Instead of me force-feeding her bites with a fork, she started literally shoveling handfuls of food into her mouth all by herself. (And sitting her her high chair for longer too!) She was replacing the calories from the bottle! And she started drinking more from her sippy cup. Sometimes she would get fussy in the evenings and after numerous failed attempts at trying to figure out what she wanted (pacifer? cuddles? blanket? rocking? new diaper? floor time? being held? music? toy? walker?), we finally got the genius idea to offer her a cup of water. And she chugged the whole thing! She still doesn't drink a ton of milk, and she probably doesn't drink as many total fluids as they say she "should" (I guess we'll see what GI has to say about this next week.. eek!) but from my view, she's doing great.
And my counter??? CLEAN!! After 21 long months I am SO happy to have those bottles out of there! It leaves SO much more room for junk mail.. bills.. dirty dishes.. clean dishes.. toys.. groceries.. laundry.. I can't wait to fill it! :)
It just seems like it all happened so quickly.. so suddenly.. I feel like I am still reeling. Like, it just can't be true. She hasn't had a bottle in 3 weeks and she is OK! I didn't know that was possible!
Even though there was no big, fancy give-away, my joy that I'm sure is bursting through the lines of this blog should be prize enough.. right Marjo??
*crickets chirping
I guess this should be a lesson then to choose your friends wisely. And your blog wrtiers.. ( - :
On a side note, Ella also gave up her pacifier this week... I am NOT so joyful about that one.
"That family"
When our sweet Ella girl was diagnosed with Cornelia de Lange Syndrome (CdLS) last year my world fell out beneath me. I was heartbroken in ways unimaginable to someone who hasn't been through it. I was devastated, confused, sad, worried.. terrified really.
I spent far too much time and energy worrying what she would accomplish. If I would love her the same. If our families would accept her the way she is. I worried that such a pretty name as Ella would be "wasted" on someone with her disabilities and delays. (I know it sounds terrible, but if you've never been in this situation- don't judge..) I worried too much what others would think, how people would look at us, how they would judge us. If they would think I had done something during my pregnancy to cause this, or be wary of our seemingly contaminated genes. I cried too many tears wondering how her brothers would be affected- if they would ever be teased because of the way their sister is. I feared we would never be able to take Ella anywhere or do "normal" family things again-camping, boating, the zoo, football games.. Would we forever be held hostage by Ella's needs? Would revolving around her all our lives would become? I worried we would be "that family."
Well, a lot has happened and changed over the past year. I've learned a lot. Struggled a lot. Grown a lot. And I've realized that most of the hours I spent worrying, crying, despairing.. while they were probably necessary for my grief process.. were hours well wasted. Hours I could have spent enjoying this little miracle.
Because I can now look back and see that Ella and our lives are nothing like I feared it would be.
There's only one thing I worried about that has indeed come true. We have definitely become "that family."
"That family" that sticks together. "That family" that uses loss and hardship to grow closer together. "That family" with the ray-of-sunshine little girl who lights up the lives of everyone around her.
I guess being "that family" isn't so bad after all.
Welcome, ladies! Before we get started, have you entered to win A Thousand Flowers Giveaway yet? We're giving away some wonderful prizes, including a Diamond Candle, $25 to Old Navy, $25 to Starbucks, and a gorgeous OPI nail polish! The giveaway ends on the 7th!
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If you haven't noticed, one of my favorite things to do here at Two In Diapers is to share stories about motherhood and my littles. One of my favorite things about sharing these stories is your comments with stories of your own children!
Welcome to...
I spent far too much time and energy worrying what she would accomplish. If I would love her the same. If our families would accept her the way she is. I worried that such a pretty name as Ella would be "wasted" on someone with her disabilities and delays. (I know it sounds terrible, but if you've never been in this situation- don't judge..) I worried too much what others would think, how people would look at us, how they would judge us. If they would think I had done something during my pregnancy to cause this, or be wary of our seemingly contaminated genes. I cried too many tears wondering how her brothers would be affected- if they would ever be teased because of the way their sister is. I feared we would never be able to take Ella anywhere or do "normal" family things again-camping, boating, the zoo, football games.. Would we forever be held hostage by Ella's needs? Would revolving around her all our lives would become? I worried we would be "that family."
Well, a lot has happened and changed over the past year. I've learned a lot. Struggled a lot. Grown a lot. And I've realized that most of the hours I spent worrying, crying, despairing.. while they were probably necessary for my grief process.. were hours well wasted. Hours I could have spent enjoying this little miracle.
Because I can now look back and see that Ella and our lives are nothing like I feared it would be.
Ella is..
beyond sweet
a-dorable
mischievous
determined
sassy
silly
and adored by her brothers
She is my beautiful little girl
and I couldn't possibly love her more.
There's only one thing I worried about that has indeed come true. We have definitely become "that family."
"That family" that sticks together. "That family" that uses loss and hardship to grow closer together. "That family" with the ray-of-sunshine little girl who lights up the lives of everyone around her.
I guess being "that family" isn't so bad after all.
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Aaaannnndddd... I'm co-hosting a blog hop today! Eeeeeee!! ( - :
Welcome, ladies! Before we get started, have you entered to win A Thousand Flowers Giveaway yet? We're giving away some wonderful prizes, including a Diamond Candle, $25 to Old Navy, $25 to Starbucks, and a gorgeous OPI nail polish! The giveaway ends on the 7th!
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Welcome to week 11 of the Mommy-Brain Mixer, ladies!
Last week we had a wonderful 118 link-ups! The Mixer is thriving!
If you haven't noticed, one of my favorite things to do here at Two In Diapers is to share stories about motherhood and my littles. One of my favorite things about sharing these stories is your comments with stories of your own children!
Welcome to...
At the Mommy-Brain Mixer, we will be linking up our writings about anything and everything motherhood!
We want to see funny posts, serious posts, sweet & sappy stories, mommy-brain episodes, memories from when your older children were younger, thoughts & lessons learned, and anything related to motherhood or little people. You know that post you wrote yesterday about your teething baby? Or that hilarious post you wrote about your 2nd grader's school play? Those are perfect, so link 'em up!
We want to see funny posts, serious posts, sweet & sappy stories, mommy-brain episodes, memories from when your older children were younger, thoughts & lessons learned, and anything related to motherhood or little people. You know that post you wrote yesterday about your teething baby? Or that hilarious post you wrote about your 2nd grader's school play? Those are perfect, so link 'em up!
The Mommy-Brain Mixer is the perfect place to find some great new blogs to follow, make some wonderful new blog friends, and enjoy some entertaining new reads!
To make things even more fun, my friend Mar, over at Raising Bean, is hosting a sister link-up
for you to join, too!
Head on over there after your finished here and link up your recipes, DIY, arts & crafts, and sensory activities!
Head on over there after your finished here and link up your recipes, DIY, arts & crafts, and sensory activities!
Let's get to it, friends!
RULES:
1.Follow Two In Diapers
{the first link below}
If you are new to the Mixer, please leave me a comment so I know to follow you back! I try to get around to all the posts but, as the Mixer is growing, there are some weeks that I'm not able!
2. Follow your co-hosts
This week's lovely co-hosts {the first 4 on the linky} are:
Sarah from It's a Vol!
Faith from The Life of Faith
Maria from Life on M Avenue
Carmen from Adventures of the Triple B's
3. Link up your mommy post!
4. Make sure to visit some of the blogs in the link-up and maybe even follow them!
{and comments are always loved}
5. Tweet about the Mommy-Brain Mixer to help spread the word!
6. Grab this adorable button and place it somewhere on your blog!
7. Don't forget to check back throughout the week, as we gain many new links throughout the week!
If you are interested in co-hosting a Mommy-Brain Mixer, send me an email at twoindiapers@gmail.com!
If you are interested in co-hosting a Mommy-Brain Mixer, send me an email at twoindiapers@gmail.com!
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Why we LOVE Mondays!
We LOVE Mondays around here!
No, it's not because we all slept in and woke up crabby and very unready for the week to start. Or because when Nolan tried to put on his jacket instead of gently reaching in and turning the arm right side out he just shoved it through and ripped the whole side out. It's not because we couldn't get it together this morning and left for Nolan's school about 15 minutes later than we should have. Or because that caused us to not have time to feed Ella breakfast before bringing Charlie to preschool. Nope, it's not because I had to grab Ella whatever was handy (a Special K bar, fruit snacks, and mini Nutter Butters) to eat in the car. Or because coffee was lovingly made for me this morning, only to realize I was out of creamer. We don't love Mondays because the car was almost out of gas, backpacks were forgotten at home, and we're out of dog food. Nor because the cat knocked a half eaten bowl of cereal off the counter leaving the floor covered in stick, Ella is refusing to nap this afternoon so I haven't had a chance to mop it, and my cell phone is still missing from last week.
Despite all those wonderful reasons to enjoy today, the real reason we love Mondays is because..
It's THERAPY DAY!!
And I'm surprisingly not even being sarcastic.. What???? You say? Let me explain..
Ella has been receiving in-home therapy for about a year and a half now. Every week we've had a procession of Physical Therapists, Speech Therapists, Occupational Therapists, Vision Consultants, Services Coordinators, and Special Education Teachers cycle through our house. (What would you them.. a flock? gaggle? a pack? swarm?) They have spent the last year teaching, strengthening, and listening to our concerns. They have done a wonderful job working around our schedule, reassuring me that it's okay to have baskets of (clean.. usually) laundry laying everywhere, and dirty dishes in the sink. They have provided beneficial therapies for my daughter, while allowing us the luxury of staying in our own home (sometimes in my pajamas and not far from the coffee pot I admit). It's especially wonderful in the winter months to not have to load 3 children up and herd them out the door, or expose any of them to unnecessary extra germs of the world.
For the past year and a half it's worked out really well. (Although I suppose I really didn't have much to compare it to.) The boys look forward to Ella's therapies because theyusually always get to play the iPad and I usually always get about the only social adult daytime conversation of the week! Win-win!!
But things change.
When Charlie started pre-school about a month ago, we realized we would be in town 3 days of the week, with 2 1/2 hours to spend each day. (We live out of town, so unfortunately for us it wouldn't be worth the trip to go back home in between every day) I didn't want to clog up our only 2 week days home with therapy sessions, so in an effort to save a little gas money we decided to schedule them during pre-school hours at the Family Center. I was a little worried about how Ella would handle the change. She would be in an unfamiliar environment, with some unfamiliar faces around. She is typically very clingy at home, and I expected her to be worse in a new place. I was prepared for a struggle to get her off my lap. I was ready to push her a little to "get out there." I assumed there would be pacifier-producing caliber crying, intense whimpering, extreme anxiety, and a very timid little girl.
I wasn't ready for this.
She LOVES it there!!
I can't get over what a different child she is at therapy. She hasn't hardly whined once, ventures off on her own, climbs, explores, plays... It's amazing. She does more work "playing" there than she would if we were to try to make her do any kind of exercises (in which case she would exercise mainly her lungs).
And it's obviously paying off. Last week at therapy she climbed a single padded stair all by herself for the very first time without me having to push her leg up and "show" her how. We were ecstatic!
Last night?
She climbed over half way up our staircase all by herself!!
Yes, I am totally eating my words that I wrote last week saying "Don't expect her to be scaling mountaintops anytime soon, or stairs cases for that matter."
Mmmmm... and they taste delicious. ( - :
No, it's not because we all slept in and woke up crabby and very unready for the week to start. Or because when Nolan tried to put on his jacket instead of gently reaching in and turning the arm right side out he just shoved it through and ripped the whole side out. It's not because we couldn't get it together this morning and left for Nolan's school about 15 minutes later than we should have. Or because that caused us to not have time to feed Ella breakfast before bringing Charlie to preschool. Nope, it's not because I had to grab Ella whatever was handy (a Special K bar, fruit snacks, and mini Nutter Butters) to eat in the car. Or because coffee was lovingly made for me this morning, only to realize I was out of creamer. We don't love Mondays because the car was almost out of gas, backpacks were forgotten at home, and we're out of dog food. Nor because the cat knocked a half eaten bowl of cereal off the counter leaving the floor covered in stick, Ella is refusing to nap this afternoon so I haven't had a chance to mop it, and my cell phone is still missing from last week.
Despite all those wonderful reasons to enjoy today, the real reason we love Mondays is because..
It's THERAPY DAY!!
And I'm surprisingly not even being sarcastic.. What???? You say? Let me explain..
Ella has been receiving in-home therapy for about a year and a half now. Every week we've had a procession of Physical Therapists, Speech Therapists, Occupational Therapists, Vision Consultants, Services Coordinators, and Special Education Teachers cycle through our house. (What would you them.. a flock? gaggle? a pack? swarm?) They have spent the last year teaching, strengthening, and listening to our concerns. They have done a wonderful job working around our schedule, reassuring me that it's okay to have baskets of (clean.. usually) laundry laying everywhere, and dirty dishes in the sink. They have provided beneficial therapies for my daughter, while allowing us the luxury of staying in our own home (sometimes in my pajamas and not far from the coffee pot I admit). It's especially wonderful in the winter months to not have to load 3 children up and herd them out the door, or expose any of them to unnecessary extra germs of the world.
For the past year and a half it's worked out really well. (Although I suppose I really didn't have much to compare it to.) The boys look forward to Ella's therapies because they
But things change.
When Charlie started pre-school about a month ago, we realized we would be in town 3 days of the week, with 2 1/2 hours to spend each day. (We live out of town, so unfortunately for us it wouldn't be worth the trip to go back home in between every day) I didn't want to clog up our only 2 week days home with therapy sessions, so in an effort to save a little gas money we decided to schedule them during pre-school hours at the Family Center. I was a little worried about how Ella would handle the change. She would be in an unfamiliar environment, with some unfamiliar faces around. She is typically very clingy at home, and I expected her to be worse in a new place. I was prepared for a struggle to get her off my lap. I was ready to push her a little to "get out there." I assumed there would be pacifier-producing caliber crying, intense whimpering, extreme anxiety, and a very timid little girl.
I wasn't ready for this.
She LOVES it there!!
I can't get over what a different child she is at therapy. She hasn't hardly whined once, ventures off on her own, climbs, explores, plays... It's amazing. She does more work "playing" there than she would if we were to try to make her do any kind of exercises (in which case she would exercise mainly her lungs).
And it's obviously paying off. Last week at therapy she climbed a single padded stair all by herself for the very first time without me having to push her leg up and "show" her how. We were ecstatic!
Last night?
She climbed over half way up our staircase all by herself!!
Yes, I am totally eating my words that I wrote last week saying "Don't expect her to be scaling mountaintops anytime soon, or stairs cases for that matter."
Mmmmm... and they taste delicious. ( - :
The Next Step
I've never been the kind of mom who pushes her kids into doing things. Naturally I expect them to do their best at whatever they choose to do, but I am not a fiercely competitive mom. The kind who expects nothing short of perfection of her children's clothing, hair, manners, schoolwork, lives in general. I'm not the soccer mom screeching at the referees on the sidelines, demanding flawlessness out of not only my child, but the coaches and players around him. I'm not the beauty queen mom spending thousands of dollars on the perfect ball gown and spray tans for my infant. I'm not the organic health-nut mom who forces her children to eat rice cake tofu sandwiches drizzled with whey protein shake powder.
I like to think I value the journey and the experience of learning just as much as the end result. I like to take each day at a time and allow my children to learn at their own pace. (Or maybe I'm just a lazy parent..... Nah.. let's go with the first one. It sounded WAY better.)
When the boys were younger, I wasn't on my hands and knees crawling around to "show" them how it's done. I knew they would crawl in due time, when they were ready. I wasn't the mom who was pushing her baby's legs up the stairs to help them achieve that feat sooner. I knew it would come soon enough and I would probably regret the fact that I now had to be extra vigilant to lock the baby gate at the bottom of the stairs (and be ready to kiss copious amounts of boo-boos from chairs, couches, sinks, ladders..) I wasn't the mother who had her 1 year old signed up in 17 extracurricular activities, practicing flashcards before they could crawl, pushing the "Your Baby Can Read" books in hopes of a novel-reading 2 year old, and forcing them to memorize all 44 presidents in both numeric and alphabetical order while correctly matching their photos (at the same time standing on their heads and scrubbing the toilet. Hmmm.. maybe not a bad idea really..) I knew my children would only be young once and we only had a glimmer to time to enjoy them in that innocent stage. I knew it would soon be over, leaving me to mourn the "loss" of their "baby-ness," so why rush through it?
That being said, it might come as no surprise that it comes completely UNnatural to me that sometimes I have to push Ella to do things, to learn new things she might be too scared to try on her own.
You see.. Ella is a very timid learner. (Our PT says most late-walkers are late-walkers not because of a muscular or any kind of physical problem, but because they're timid to try new things..) She doesn't like to try something she might not succeed at. Shecan be is very excruciatingly clingy to me at times every moment of the day . She doesn't like to stand at her table toy if I'm not right next to her for fear she'll fall over. She's a pro at pulling herself to stand against any object (even a plain ol wall) but once she gets into a standing position she starts to scream because she realizes she's alone and unsure of what to do next. She's doing better at sitting in her high chair, but don't even try to leave the room. Trust me.. just don't.
For the first year of her life Ella stayed pretty developmentally on track. She rolled when she was "supposed to", smiled on time, and without her sickness would have been very close to sitting at an age appropriate time. Even army crawling at just over a year seemed typical, given her hospitalizations and all.. But since then things have felt very gradual.. I can tell she's getting stronger, working her muscles for some future accomplishments. But that's just it. She gets on her hands and knees, even crawls a few inches, then flops back to her stomach because she gets scared. She cruises along furniture like nobody's business, but if I'm not in eye level you can bet the siren's gonna wail because even though she CAN get back down to the ground on her own, she is so frightened at the prospect of doing it alone.
For the past almost 2 years I've been pretty content to let her develop at her own pace. I didn't want to push her into something she was physically and mentally not ready for. From experience with the boys I learned that (for my kids at least) pushing them into something they're not ready for (such as being left with "strangers" to go to a MOPS meeting) can be a terrifying experience, taking years to resolve itself. (Yes.. we are STILL dealing with the side effects of that torturous encounter..) Sure, we get PT, OT, and SP, but with Ella's extreme anxiety with anyone touching her, it's mostly an observational therapy with pointers of what I could do to help her. No treadmill, restraint belt, or muscle-toning workout balls here.. Remember this??
Now don't get me wrong.. I definitely encourage Ella in her development. I make sure to provide her with appropriate toys that will help with fine and gross motor skills. I give her plenty of free time on the floor to explore her world and learn about it. And my body tends to serve an an all-purposes jungle-gym-play-tower-tumbling-mat of sorts for her to climb on, over, under, up.. whatever.
But lately I've started to feel some frustration setting in. Frustration that her delays are becoming bigger and bigger. Frustration that, although she seems to be working those muscles, she isn't putting them to good use yet. Frustration that I don't know if the right thing to do is to continue to let her go at her pace, or to push her a little harder. Frustration that as an almost 2 year old she should be venturing into independence and growing out of her clinginess, instead of being at the peak of it (and staying there for months and months with no end in sight..)
If you "like" me on Facebook you might have seen this photo last week.
It would appear that Ella has now become a climber. (This was not without a little help though, just to clear the air.. Don't expect her to be scaling mountain tops anytime soon.. or even staircases for that matter..) But I HAVE decided to take some steps to try to push her a little harder, work with her a little more, to help her realize that she CAN do these things.. To ease some of her anxiety. To build her confidence. To help her feel less scared in this big world. To get her off my tired, aching hip if nothing else!
I'm sure many of you are wondering how I'm doing this. (Or, in all actuality NONE of you were really wondering that..) BUT despite the lack of interest, I took it upon myself to put together a little photo tutorial on how we accomplished this particular feat.
I like to think I value the journey and the experience of learning just as much as the end result. I like to take each day at a time and allow my children to learn at their own pace. (Or maybe I'm just a lazy parent..... Nah.. let's go with the first one. It sounded WAY better.)
When the boys were younger, I wasn't on my hands and knees crawling around to "show" them how it's done. I knew they would crawl in due time, when they were ready. I wasn't the mom who was pushing her baby's legs up the stairs to help them achieve that feat sooner. I knew it would come soon enough and I would probably regret the fact that I now had to be extra vigilant to lock the baby gate at the bottom of the stairs (and be ready to kiss copious amounts of boo-boos from chairs, couches, sinks, ladders..) I wasn't the mother who had her 1 year old signed up in 17 extracurricular activities, practicing flashcards before they could crawl, pushing the "Your Baby Can Read" books in hopes of a novel-reading 2 year old, and forcing them to memorize all 44 presidents in both numeric and alphabetical order while correctly matching their photos (at the same time standing on their heads and scrubbing the toilet. Hmmm.. maybe not a bad idea really..) I knew my children would only be young once and we only had a glimmer to time to enjoy them in that innocent stage. I knew it would soon be over, leaving me to mourn the "loss" of their "baby-ness," so why rush through it?
That being said, it might come as no surprise that it comes completely UNnatural to me that sometimes I have to push Ella to do things, to learn new things she might be too scared to try on her own.
You see.. Ella is a very timid learner. (Our PT says most late-walkers are late-walkers not because of a muscular or any kind of physical problem, but because they're timid to try new things..) She doesn't like to try something she might not succeed at. She
For the first year of her life Ella stayed pretty developmentally on track. She rolled when she was "supposed to", smiled on time, and without her sickness would have been very close to sitting at an age appropriate time. Even army crawling at just over a year seemed typical, given her hospitalizations and all.. But since then things have felt very gradual.. I can tell she's getting stronger, working her muscles for some future accomplishments. But that's just it. She gets on her hands and knees, even crawls a few inches, then flops back to her stomach because she gets scared. She cruises along furniture like nobody's business, but if I'm not in eye level you can bet the siren's gonna wail because even though she CAN get back down to the ground on her own, she is so frightened at the prospect of doing it alone.
For the past almost 2 years I've been pretty content to let her develop at her own pace. I didn't want to push her into something she was physically and mentally not ready for. From experience with the boys I learned that (for my kids at least) pushing them into something they're not ready for (such as being left with "strangers" to go to a MOPS meeting) can be a terrifying experience, taking years to resolve itself. (Yes.. we are STILL dealing with the side effects of that torturous encounter..) Sure, we get PT, OT, and SP, but with Ella's extreme anxiety with anyone touching her, it's mostly an observational therapy with pointers of what I could do to help her. No treadmill, restraint belt, or muscle-toning workout balls here.. Remember this??
Now don't get me wrong.. I definitely encourage Ella in her development. I make sure to provide her with appropriate toys that will help with fine and gross motor skills. I give her plenty of free time on the floor to explore her world and learn about it. And my body tends to serve an an all-purposes jungle-gym-play-tower-tumbling-mat of sorts for her to climb on, over, under, up.. whatever.
But lately I've started to feel some frustration setting in. Frustration that her delays are becoming bigger and bigger. Frustration that, although she seems to be working those muscles, she isn't putting them to good use yet. Frustration that I don't know if the right thing to do is to continue to let her go at her pace, or to push her a little harder. Frustration that as an almost 2 year old she should be venturing into independence and growing out of her clinginess, instead of being at the peak of it (and staying there for months and months with no end in sight..)
If you "like" me on Facebook you might have seen this photo last week.
It would appear that Ella has now become a climber. (This was not without a little help though, just to clear the air.. Don't expect her to be scaling mountain tops anytime soon.. or even staircases for that matter..) But I HAVE decided to take some steps to try to push her a little harder, work with her a little more, to help her realize that she CAN do these things.. To ease some of her anxiety. To build her confidence. To help her feel less scared in this big world. To get her off my tired, aching hip if nothing else!
I'm sure many of you are wondering how I'm doing this. (Or, in all actuality NONE of you were really wondering that..) BUT despite the lack of interest, I took it upon myself to put together a little photo tutorial on how we accomplished this particular feat.
 |
| The small bit of Rice Krispie bar strategically out of reach. |
 |
| The dilemna: a stool in the way |
 |
| The ascent (I had to help with the initial knee) |
 |
| The reach |
 |
| The grab |
 |
| The look of triumph |
 |
| The sweet, krispy reward |
 |
| The satisfaction. |
 |
| The CUTENESS! |
 |
| The End. |
And NO that is not the same pile of laundry on the coffee table that was there last week.......
Okay yes it is...
What's a Girl To Do?
when her Husker cheerleading uniform is still in the wash from last week?
and Fall weather has decided to hit on..well... the first day of Fall?
And her second-in-line outfit is just a little too skimpy for the cool weather?
and Fall weather has decided to hit on..well... the first day of Fall?
And her second-in-line outfit is just a little too skimpy for the cool weather?
Homemade leg warmers of course!!
Not to mention some adorable size 3-6 month shoes that luckily-for-us still fit. ( - :
I try
Lately I've had a lot of sweet, mushy, I-love-my kids-so-incredibly-much-and-I-cannot-bear-the-thought-of-them-growing-up-one-more-day days. Days where the sunshine feels extra warm upon my shoulders, the giggles ever-present, and the thought of this sweet moment in time ever being over, completely devastating.. Days where I think "Why of course we should have another child.. and then maybe another? Twins?? And shouldn't we adopt or foster too because this.. This right here is what it's all about. THIS is bliss."
Today was NOT one of those days.
Today was one of those hard, grueling, "Why-did-we-ever-start-having-these-heathens-we-call-children-in-the-first-place?" days. A day where every tick of the clock feels like it should have moved the hour hand instead of merely the second hand.. A day where the whining and fighting overtook any semblance of peace and calm, crumpled it up like a bad manuscript (or blog post? except those aren't written on paper.. except when I get an idea during the day but I don't have time to get to the computer.. then they're kindof on paper I guess, right...), and threw it out an 67th story window.. into an inferno. A day where bedtime just cannot come soon enough and you wonder if it is commonplace in some cultures to put your children to bed at 5:00 (or earlier) and you really hope so because somehow that would make it more acceptable in your house too.
A sick day.
Is there anything in the world worse than your child/ren being sick?? Now, let me preface this by saying that I've done SICK. I know what long hospital stays, ambulance rides, NG tubes, surgeries, ventilators, and helicopter life-flights are like.. I'm not talking about that right now. THAT is definitely one of the worst.. My kids aren't that sick right now. Just a little sniffle. But this comes in a close second because that tiny little sniffle somehow manages to transform my normally sweet, enchanting children into MONSTERS. Not the witty, charming monsters of Sesame Street (of 20 years ago I mean.. has anyone seen that show lately? What have they done?!?) But monsters that mothers (and some fathers) old and young, far and near cower in fear from. Whose nighttime dreams are haunted by.. Monsters who fight, whine, don't listen, fight, whine, break stuff, fight whine, spill things, fight, whine, JUST GO TO BED!!
I tried today.. I really did. I tried to make it a fun sick day. I was actually hopefully optimistic at the prospect of having all three of my littles home today. It just doesn't feel right when they're not all here.. (Yes I've contemplated homeschooling. No I don't think it would work for us.) And there is a slight possibility that I was also looking forward to sleeping in a few minutes, enjoying a cup ofcream coffee and the morning news, not having to get everyone dressed, fed, and out the door by 7:30, and enjoying some movie/cuddle time with my boys. Of COURSE that's not the reason I kept them home, but it was a perk. ( - :
It didn't really go well from the start.
I tried playing Go Fish with them. One would inevitably get upset when he lost (or Ella tried to eat their cards).
I tried being patient while reminding them over and over and OVER to please blow their nose and then wash their hands whenever they would sniffle their snot back up their nose and into their raspy little throats (sorry for the graphic). My patience wore thin.
I tried getting the Gator out for them to ride. The battery was dead (Special thanks to Someone who said they would charge it last night. Not mentioning any names but he does live in this house..).
I tried making Chicken Noodle Soup for my sick family. I was out of carrots. (A 'real' thanks to my wonderful father-in-law for bringing me some.. and movies for the kids.. and staying to entertain Ella while I completely took advantage of his presence by chopping up veggies, making noodles, disinfecting the counters, washing bottles, then the rest of the dishes-hey I didn't want the sink of hot soapy water to go to waste.. and he will probably never volunteer to bring me carrots, or ANYTHING for that matter, ever again..).
I tried keeping my house and floors semi-clean today. When I stepped out of the room to talk on the phone to a friend, the "outside" cat got in, jumped on the counter, and dragged my (cooked) chicken carcass all over the floor.
I tried truly feeling empathetic for my children that they obviously don't feel good and their poor sniffling bodies just can't help it. They made it increasingly difficult with their never ending carousel of fighting and whining. (Charlie told me today, "When you're sick, you're mad." 'You' being the general population.. not 'you' meaning me, the person he was talking to.. I think.)
I tried making homemade bread to go with our soup, thinking that a healthy, nourishing, Grandma-inspiring, antioxidant rich meal would make even the sickest of sicks feel better. I made a mistake. If you've ever wondered what bread minus the 5 tsp of yeast the recipe called for looks like, wonder no more...
So stale-ish Saltine crackers it was.. I tried.
Yet still I press on. I refuse to give up.
At this very moment, I am trying to drink a glass of wine before I go to bed. I am confident that this is something I can do.
Today was NOT one of those days.
Today was one of those hard, grueling, "Why-did-we-ever-start-having-these-heathens-we-call-children-in-the-first-place?" days. A day where every tick of the clock feels like it should have moved the hour hand instead of merely the second hand.. A day where the whining and fighting overtook any semblance of peace and calm, crumpled it up like a bad manuscript (or blog post? except those aren't written on paper.. except when I get an idea during the day but I don't have time to get to the computer.. then they're kindof on paper I guess, right...), and threw it out an 67th story window.. into an inferno. A day where bedtime just cannot come soon enough and you wonder if it is commonplace in some cultures to put your children to bed at 5:00 (or earlier) and you really hope so because somehow that would make it more acceptable in your house too.
A sick day.
Is there anything in the world worse than your child/ren being sick?? Now, let me preface this by saying that I've done SICK. I know what long hospital stays, ambulance rides, NG tubes, surgeries, ventilators, and helicopter life-flights are like.. I'm not talking about that right now. THAT is definitely one of the worst.. My kids aren't that sick right now. Just a little sniffle. But this comes in a close second because that tiny little sniffle somehow manages to transform my normally sweet, enchanting children into MONSTERS. Not the witty, charming monsters of Sesame Street (of 20 years ago I mean.. has anyone seen that show lately? What have they done?!?) But monsters that mothers (and some fathers) old and young, far and near cower in fear from. Whose nighttime dreams are haunted by.. Monsters who fight, whine, don't listen, fight, whine, break stuff, fight whine, spill things, fight, whine, JUST GO TO BED!!
I tried today.. I really did. I tried to make it a fun sick day. I was actually hopefully optimistic at the prospect of having all three of my littles home today. It just doesn't feel right when they're not all here.. (Yes I've contemplated homeschooling. No I don't think it would work for us.) And there is a slight possibility that I was also looking forward to sleeping in a few minutes, enjoying a cup of
It didn't really go well from the start.
I tried playing Go Fish with them. One would inevitably get upset when he lost (or Ella tried to eat their cards).
I tried being patient while reminding them over and over and OVER to please blow their nose and then wash their hands whenever they would sniffle their snot back up their nose and into their raspy little throats (sorry for the graphic). My patience wore thin.
I tried getting the Gator out for them to ride. The battery was dead (Special thanks to Someone who said they would charge it last night. Not mentioning any names but he does live in this house..).
I tried making Chicken Noodle Soup for my sick family. I was out of carrots. (A 'real' thanks to my wonderful father-in-law for bringing me some.. and movies for the kids.. and staying to entertain Ella while I completely took advantage of his presence by chopping up veggies, making noodles, disinfecting the counters, washing bottles, then the rest of the dishes-hey I didn't want the sink of hot soapy water to go to waste.. and he will probably never volunteer to bring me carrots, or ANYTHING for that matter, ever again..).
I tried keeping my house and floors semi-clean today. When I stepped out of the room to talk on the phone to a friend, the "outside" cat got in, jumped on the counter, and dragged my (cooked) chicken carcass all over the floor.
I tried truly feeling empathetic for my children that they obviously don't feel good and their poor sniffling bodies just can't help it. They made it increasingly difficult with their never ending carousel of fighting and whining. (Charlie told me today, "When you're sick, you're mad." 'You' being the general population.. not 'you' meaning me, the person he was talking to.. I think.)
I tried making homemade bread to go with our soup, thinking that a healthy, nourishing, Grandma-inspiring, antioxidant rich meal would make even the sickest of sicks feel better. I made a mistake. If you've ever wondered what bread minus the 5 tsp of yeast the recipe called for looks like, wonder no more...
So stale-ish Saltine crackers it was.. I tried.
Yet still I press on. I refuse to give up.
At this very moment, I am trying to drink a glass of wine before I go to bed. I am confident that this is something I can do.
SHOUT OUT!
HEY! Just wanted to give a quick SHOUT OUT to my all-time favorite Mom!
She has FINALLY gotten the subliminal messaging (screaming bloody-murder is subliminal, right? No? My bad..)
about leaving the tray off my high chair!
I realize that this act was due largely to the fact that my tray was dirty (significant laziness on her part for not wanting to wash it.. or she didn't feel like doing it one-handed while hauling around a feed sack aka. me.. but whatever..)
I just love getting in these easily accessible comfy eating positions.
And I can reach my toes SO much better!
Going tray-less has even given me the freedom to learn some new tricks when she walks away to get a washcloth. Fun, huh?
(I have no idea why mom's face looked so panicked when she walked back in the room..)
But before you guys get too excited and nominate her for Mother-of-the-Year or something crazy like that I want to let you in on a little secret... Shhhhh... Sometimes she forgets (or dad washes the tray) and she actually tries to put it back on the highchair... I know, right????
Mom.. I'm not angry. Just disappointed...
Okay.. honestly? I was a little angry until I realized I can stand up with the tray on just as well.
Even in the tightest locked-back position.. Believe it.
I've also been doing a little "outside the box" thinking and have discovered an even better way to sit in this chair and godforsaken tray.
How about a little ham with those potatoes, Mom?
All in all.. I think I'm really making some progress with this lady.
FOX News
The boys were home from school, excited to be outside playing in the late summer rain. Catching raindrops on their tongues, getting their camo rain boots stuck in the mud, tackling each other in the giant puddle by the barn.. typical boy adventures.
They had VERY STERN instructions that when they came in the house they MUST leave their boots outside. Not on the rug in the kitchen. Not on the porch. OUTSIDE. I was taking no chances on destroying my hard-earned, hard-to come by, freshly toothbrush scrubbed kitchen floor. (And seriously? What are the chances it would rain the day after I scrubbed the floor?? We've been in a drought all summer..) Meanwhile the husband and I were enjoying a rare quiet moment in the house while they were outside and Ella was still taking a nap. (He was dozing off on the living room floor. I was washing dishes.. Exciting.)
When all of a sudden the blissful silence was burst apart at the seams by two boys frantically rushing in the door with crazy wide eyes, screaming and yelling and insanely excited about a white fox in the barn. The hubby and I shared a smirky, knowing glance.. A white fox? Really?
This coming from the child who recently told me that one time. When he was little. He was standing in a field. And he saw a bull. And it came rushing right at him. And he whacked it. With a stick. Right between the eyes. And his eyeballs fell out. And his horns fell out too. And he could not grow any more...
So about that "white fox"? It was probably a stray cat...
But being the dedicated, loving parents we are we strapped on our boots and ventured out in the rain to investigate this "white fox." And sure enough, we were beyond shocked to find.. a white fox. In our barn. RIGHT next to where our children were playing.
JJ grabbed the gun (come after me all you want Animal Rights Activists.. if there is a wild animal, in my yard, next to my children, in broad daylight.. it's probably not going to see tomorrow..) and was about to shoot it when he realized there was a collar on it. This was no stray fox. This was a pet. It wasn't afraid of us like a truly wild animal would be (more like an animal with rabies...) but it wasn't tame either (ie. when JJ got close to it, it tried to bite him.)
So there we stood, the boys jumping up and down on the front steps wild with excitement, me in the middle of the yard with a perplexed "what in the world do we do now?" look on my face, JJ poised and aimed with the rifle, still ready to add a fluffy white fox pelt to his hunting collection, and Ella graciously still sleeping.
The fox (we'll just call him Leonard) ran back into the barn so JJ hurried and shut the door, locking himself inside with Leonard, while the rest of us helplessly looked on.. The seconds ticked by. All was quiet. We didn't know who the victor would be. We waited in terrified silence, when suddenly a white bushy tail emerged from under the barn wall. Leonard escaped. *insert more fanatic small boy screeches and squeals here
Leonard then scurried around our yard a bit, causing us all to run wildly in different directions, sniffed his way through the sand pile and slinked into the dog house. JJ sneaked up from behind, I grabbed an old window (see honey- I told you those would come in handy someday..) and we trapped him, screwing the window to the dog house so he couldn't escape.
And that is the story of how we came to own a white marble fox.
Kidding!
We went back in the house (supper was cooking and almost ready) while JJ made phone call after phone call to the vet, the Exotic Pet Farm, the Game & Parks, and neighbors trying desperately to find Leonard's home. We knew he had a collar but we were NOT getting close enough to check for a tag (he tried to attack my hand through the glass. *insert frightened, high-pitched lady shriek here
And amid all the hustle and bustle and chaos, you can guess what happened to my clean, sparkly kitchen floor can't you? We were in. And out. Checking on the fox. Taking pictures. Making phone calls. Tracking through the mud. (Let me note that the boys DID take off their boots when they came in the house.. it's just that their socks were equally as wet and muddy as their boots were..) We were eating supper, rushing off to CCD. And back home again. And in. And out. (and I'm fairly certain JJ did NOT heed my stern warnings to take his shoes off..)
And now my kitchen floor is covered in muddy foot (and sock) prints, splattered ketchup, dribbled milk, and greasy chicken bones from when the cat got in and dragged the remains of our supper we hadn't had time to pick up from all the confusion, ALL OVER the floor.
*sigh...
At least we found the owner. Around 9:00 last night Leonard returned to the safety and comfort of his home. And we can all enjoy another day without rabies. Gotta be thankful for that!
They had VERY STERN instructions that when they came in the house they MUST leave their boots outside. Not on the rug in the kitchen. Not on the porch. OUTSIDE. I was taking no chances on destroying my hard-earned, hard-to come by, freshly toothbrush scrubbed kitchen floor. (And seriously? What are the chances it would rain the day after I scrubbed the floor?? We've been in a drought all summer..) Meanwhile the husband and I were enjoying a rare quiet moment in the house while they were outside and Ella was still taking a nap. (He was dozing off on the living room floor. I was washing dishes.. Exciting.)
When all of a sudden the blissful silence was burst apart at the seams by two boys frantically rushing in the door with crazy wide eyes, screaming and yelling and insanely excited about a white fox in the barn. The hubby and I shared a smirky, knowing glance.. A white fox? Really?
This coming from the child who recently told me that one time. When he was little. He was standing in a field. And he saw a bull. And it came rushing right at him. And he whacked it. With a stick. Right between the eyes. And his eyeballs fell out. And his horns fell out too. And he could not grow any more...
So about that "white fox"? It was probably a stray cat...
But being the dedicated, loving parents we are we strapped on our boots and ventured out in the rain to investigate this "white fox." And sure enough, we were beyond shocked to find.. a white fox. In our barn. RIGHT next to where our children were playing.
JJ grabbed the gun (come after me all you want Animal Rights Activists.. if there is a wild animal, in my yard, next to my children, in broad daylight.. it's probably not going to see tomorrow..) and was about to shoot it when he realized there was a collar on it. This was no stray fox. This was a pet. It wasn't afraid of us like a truly wild animal would be (more like an animal with rabies...) but it wasn't tame either (ie. when JJ got close to it, it tried to bite him.)
So there we stood, the boys jumping up and down on the front steps wild with excitement, me in the middle of the yard with a perplexed "what in the world do we do now?" look on my face, JJ poised and aimed with the rifle, still ready to add a fluffy white fox pelt to his hunting collection, and Ella graciously still sleeping.
The fox (we'll just call him Leonard) ran back into the barn so JJ hurried and shut the door, locking himself inside with Leonard, while the rest of us helplessly looked on.. The seconds ticked by. All was quiet. We didn't know who the victor would be. We waited in terrified silence, when suddenly a white bushy tail emerged from under the barn wall. Leonard escaped. *insert more fanatic small boy screeches and squeals here
Leonard then scurried around our yard a bit, causing us all to run wildly in different directions, sniffed his way through the sand pile and slinked into the dog house. JJ sneaked up from behind, I grabbed an old window (see honey- I told you those would come in handy someday..) and we trapped him, screwing the window to the dog house so he couldn't escape.
And that is the story of how we came to own a white marble fox.
Kidding!
We went back in the house (supper was cooking and almost ready) while JJ made phone call after phone call to the vet, the Exotic Pet Farm, the Game & Parks, and neighbors trying desperately to find Leonard's home. We knew he had a collar but we were NOT getting close enough to check for a tag (he tried to attack my hand through the glass. *insert frightened, high-pitched lady shriek here
And amid all the hustle and bustle and chaos, you can guess what happened to my clean, sparkly kitchen floor can't you? We were in. And out. Checking on the fox. Taking pictures. Making phone calls. Tracking through the mud. (Let me note that the boys DID take off their boots when they came in the house.. it's just that their socks were equally as wet and muddy as their boots were..) We were eating supper, rushing off to CCD. And back home again. And in. And out. (and I'm fairly certain JJ did NOT heed my stern warnings to take his shoes off..)
And now my kitchen floor is covered in muddy foot (and sock) prints, splattered ketchup, dribbled milk, and greasy chicken bones from when the cat got in and dragged the remains of our supper we hadn't had time to pick up from all the confusion, ALL OVER the floor.
*sigh...
At least we found the owner. Around 9:00 last night Leonard returned to the safety and comfort of his home. And we can all enjoy another day without rabies. Gotta be thankful for that!
All I wanted..
was to scrub the kitchen floor. That's it. It hadn't been done for a few weeks, months awhile. and that's all I wanted to do yesterday. The cleaning gods don't shine upon me often, so I know when a sudden and unexplainable ambition to deep clean, or heck.. clean at all hits me, I better take that offer or it might be a few weeks, months awhile before it comes again..
The day was going fairly smoothly. Ella started to get a little crabby mid-morning so my plan (ha! there's the problem..) was to get her down for a nap, then have Charlie help me scrub the floor. I thought we could make it fun and possibly get something done at the same time-a win-win! It took longer than I anticipated to get Ella down for a nap and by the time I laid her down it was almost lunch time. And I had 2 loads of wet laundry that needed to be hung on the clothesline. And the bunny hadn't been fed. And Charlie hadn't gotten any special attention. *sigh..
So I decided we would tackle those things first. I would get Charlie lunch and off to a rest and my plan (ah~ there it is again..) was for Ella to sleep this whole time, through the afternoon, allowing me to get the kitchen floor scrubbed.
Uh huh...
Except when we came in the house 10 minutes later, Ella was already awake. Bright eyed and bushy tailed.. Ready for lunch and more than ready to play for few more hours. I wanted to cry.
My first reaction was anger. Oh I know you can't really be angry at a 1 year old, but the frustration was definitely setting in. My house is a mess and I have begun to realize that I have been in a vicious cycle of not getting anything done around here. Ella can be pretty *ahem clingy. So basically the only thing I can do all morning is either A. haul her around like a sack of 'taters on my hip, including but not limited to, her hanging upside down, sideways, and grabbing her toes from every angle, B. lay on the floor next to her and hold steady her push toy for hours on end so she doesn't face-plant it into the rug, or C. attempt to get up for a brief moment to *gasp! use the bathroom, only to listen to her cry and throw a fit full of soon-to-come gassy goodness.. So needless to say, all morning I lay here next to her, seeing the millions of things I should be doing/cleaning/making/picking up and think to myself "I'll do it when she takes a nap." Except then I lay her down for a nap and I realize that doing most of those things will wake her up. ie. vacuuming, hanging a picture, putting her clothes away, dropping a pin... And so I accomplish seemingly nothing during nap time, thinking "I'll be able to do those things when she wakes up." Annnnnd we go round and round...
So today, I really wanted to make an effort to overcome that vicious cycle... And when it didn't work out? I wanted to be angry. I wanted to sulk about how my "plans" were ruined.. I just wanted to scrub that darn floor!!
But when I looked up from my pity party, this is what I saw
A little girl who loves and adores me. Who wants to spend every moment with me merely because of who I am, her Mommy, not because of what I did or didn't get done that day. Right then and there I made the conscious decision to enjoy this afternoon, even if it didn't go the way I planned. Even if I wasn't happy about it. Even if the kitchen floor was still dirty.
And I did my best to focus to what I did do that day instead of the hundreds of millions of things I felt like I didn't do. And I forced myself to realize that no matter how small the things I did do, they mattered.
Fed my children breakfast? It mattered.
Drove Nolan to school so he could sleep an extra hour? It mattered.
Washed and hung out 2 loads of laundry that will be dirty again tomorrow? It mattered.
Helped Charlie feed Mr. Fluffernutter (our bunny)? It mattered.
Pushed him on the swing (Charlie.. not Mr. Fluffernutter)? It mattered.
Kissed an owie to make it feel better? It mattered.
Rocked Ella to sleep? It mattered.
Made sure she got her medicine? It mattered.
Pushed her hippo toy across the living room five thousand times to help her learn to walk? It mattered.
Babbled back to her when she made noise to encourage speech? It mattered.
Took the (sometimes discouraging) time to enforce her signs? It mattered.
Frosted a cake for the School Carnival? It mattered.
Today's society puts such pressure on mothers to to perform to a certain standard. We're supposed to have weekly date nights with our husbands, scheduled girls nights out, work out 3x a week and fit back into our "skinny" jeans immediately after giving birth.. We're supposed to be our children's best advocates (which is further exemplified when you have a child with a rare genetic syndrome in which you often know more than your doctors about..), research the side effects of vaccines and determine the best route for our individual families, feed our children fresh, organic meals, grow and can our own vegetables, sew homemade garments, use eco-friendly cloth diapers, have picture-perfect Pinterest worlds..
When in reality sometimes you stay in your pajamas all day and eat cereal for supper. Some days are just like that.
And even on those days, especially on those days, when you don't think anything you did mattered?
It did.
As for me? I'm about to side step my way through the minefield of toys strewn across our house to enjoy my sparkly clean kitchen floor. Because I'm sure it won't last the day... *
*editor's note: I was right. Clean floor is gone. Post to follow...
The day was going fairly smoothly. Ella started to get a little crabby mid-morning so my plan (ha! there's the problem..) was to get her down for a nap, then have Charlie help me scrub the floor. I thought we could make it fun and possibly get something done at the same time-a win-win! It took longer than I anticipated to get Ella down for a nap and by the time I laid her down it was almost lunch time. And I had 2 loads of wet laundry that needed to be hung on the clothesline. And the bunny hadn't been fed. And Charlie hadn't gotten any special attention. *sigh..
So I decided we would tackle those things first. I would get Charlie lunch and off to a rest and my plan (ah~ there it is again..) was for Ella to sleep this whole time, through the afternoon, allowing me to get the kitchen floor scrubbed.
Uh huh...
Except when we came in the house 10 minutes later, Ella was already awake. Bright eyed and bushy tailed.. Ready for lunch and more than ready to play for few more hours. I wanted to cry.
My first reaction was anger. Oh I know you can't really be angry at a 1 year old, but the frustration was definitely setting in. My house is a mess and I have begun to realize that I have been in a vicious cycle of not getting anything done around here. Ella can be pretty *ahem clingy. So basically the only thing I can do all morning is either A. haul her around like a sack of 'taters on my hip, including but not limited to, her hanging upside down, sideways, and grabbing her toes from every angle, B. lay on the floor next to her and hold steady her push toy for hours on end so she doesn't face-plant it into the rug, or C. attempt to get up for a brief moment to *gasp! use the bathroom, only to listen to her cry and throw a fit full of soon-to-come gassy goodness.. So needless to say, all morning I lay here next to her, seeing the millions of things I should be doing/cleaning/making/picking up and think to myself "I'll do it when she takes a nap." Except then I lay her down for a nap and I realize that doing most of those things will wake her up. ie. vacuuming, hanging a picture, putting her clothes away, dropping a pin... And so I accomplish seemingly nothing during nap time, thinking "I'll be able to do those things when she wakes up." Annnnnd we go round and round...
So today, I really wanted to make an effort to overcome that vicious cycle... And when it didn't work out? I wanted to be angry. I wanted to sulk about how my "plans" were ruined.. I just wanted to scrub that darn floor!!
But when I looked up from my pity party, this is what I saw
A little girl who loves and adores me. Who wants to spend every moment with me merely because of who I am, her Mommy, not because of what I did or didn't get done that day. Right then and there I made the conscious decision to enjoy this afternoon, even if it didn't go the way I planned. Even if I wasn't happy about it. Even if the kitchen floor was still dirty.
And I did my best to focus to what I did do that day instead of the hundreds of millions of things I felt like I didn't do. And I forced myself to realize that no matter how small the things I did do, they mattered.
Fed my children breakfast? It mattered.
Drove Nolan to school so he could sleep an extra hour? It mattered.
Washed and hung out 2 loads of laundry that will be dirty again tomorrow? It mattered.
Helped Charlie feed Mr. Fluffernutter (our bunny)? It mattered.
Pushed him on the swing (Charlie.. not Mr. Fluffernutter)? It mattered.
Kissed an owie to make it feel better? It mattered.
Rocked Ella to sleep? It mattered.
Made sure she got her medicine? It mattered.
Pushed her hippo toy across the living room five thousand times to help her learn to walk? It mattered.
Babbled back to her when she made noise to encourage speech? It mattered.
Took the (sometimes discouraging) time to enforce her signs? It mattered.
Frosted a cake for the School Carnival? It mattered.
Honestly? It was still hard to focus on those things. It took very intentional effort. But I'm glad I did. Because Ella and I had a great time playing and you know what? My husband ended up coming home from work early and took Charlie out to "help" him move his tree stand, Ella took another nap soon after, and I DID get that floor and cabinets scrubbed (I'm talking old toothbrush in the crevices scrubbed..) AND the fridge. (THANK YOU cleaning gods!!!!)
Today's society puts such pressure on mothers to to perform to a certain standard. We're supposed to have weekly date nights with our husbands, scheduled girls nights out, work out 3x a week and fit back into our "skinny" jeans immediately after giving birth.. We're supposed to be our children's best advocates (which is further exemplified when you have a child with a rare genetic syndrome in which you often know more than your doctors about..), research the side effects of vaccines and determine the best route for our individual families, feed our children fresh, organic meals, grow and can our own vegetables, sew homemade garments, use eco-friendly cloth diapers, have picture-perfect Pinterest worlds..
When in reality sometimes you stay in your pajamas all day and eat cereal for supper. Some days are just like that.
And even on those days, especially on those days, when you don't think anything you did mattered?
It did.
As for me? I'm about to side step my way through the minefield of toys strewn across our house to enjoy my sparkly clean kitchen floor. Because I'm sure it won't last the day... *
*editor's note: I was right. Clean floor is gone. Post to follow...
Dear Charlie
(Sorry if you're sick of reading "Back to School" posts. Heck.. I'm even sick of them. Just one more?? Please?)
Dear Charlie,
My sweet, sweet Charlie boy.. I thought I was prepared. I thought I was ready. I thought already having done it once would make it easier the second time.
I was wrong.
On Friday you started Preschool. And I was completely blindsided by the fierce ache in my heart when I walked out that door. (Actually it started when I woke up early that morning to make your Monkey-Toe Bread for breakfast..)
How is it possible that you're old enough for this? That it's your turn already? Wasn't it just the other day we were dropping Nolan off for his first day of preschool?
Over the years I've semiadjusted to Nolan being gone, but you? You've always been there. My little buddy. As upset as I might be about leaving him, I always knew you were there in the backseat waiting for me, ready to babble another story about 'kunks (skunks), or excitedly watching out the window for the crick where you always see a splash from a fish jumping. ( - :
You have always been a little more *ahem* undisciplined then your older brother, more of a "free-spirit." And I love that about you. You have always been the messiest eater, with an ever present ring of dirt/food/whoknowswhat around your mouth, earning you the endearing nickname "Pigpen." And you have single handedly elicited most of my parenting "I never thought I would say that" moments..
You are also my all-too classic middle child. You, my poor son are never the first to do anything.. Nolan always has you beat in the "first to go to school" or "first the lose a tooth" scenarios. You're forever in his shadow of being bigger and stronger and faster (although we tell him frequently that you might be bigger someday just like daddy's "little" brothers) And so often you are also overshadowed by your little sister as well, with all Ella's doctor appointments and weekly therapies taking my time and energy..
But whether you meant to or not.. you, my sweet boy, have taken those challenges and used them for good. You are by far the sweetest, most kind-hearted boy I have ever met. It comes completely natural to you to share with others and you get no joy whatsoever out of having something someone else doesn't. On Nolan's first day of school when I made cookies for us to decorate together? You refused, saying you wanted to wait until Nolan got home so he could do it with us. When you get to pick a special supper for a birthday or special event, you almost always pick Nolan's favorite instead of your own, because you know it will make him happy. When you got a birthday card with two dollars in, you immediately said "One for me and one for Nolan!" And just the other day at a parade when you picked up 2 licorish sticks, without a second thought you turned and immediately gave one to your brother.
Oftentimes you are the first to ask Dad when he gets home from work how his day was, while the rest of us are all selfishly talking about our own. And just the other day I had a pounding headache so when I laid down next to you at rest time, you reached over and started gently rubbing my head. You asked if that made it feel better, then leaned over and sweetly kissed my cheek. You rubbed my head for a few moments longer, then leaned in close and softly whispered "Mom.. I have to scratch my butt now."
Oh Charlie.. you never cease to bring a smile to my face.
As sad as I am to see you growing up, I am so excited for this new journey in your life. I know you will have so much fun there because let's face it.. as much as I try I just am NOT as much fun as a 4 year old (or 6 year old) boy. I'm just not.
You're ready for this. I know you are.
I can't wait to hear all about it.
Love
Mom
Dear Charlie,
My sweet, sweet Charlie boy.. I thought I was prepared. I thought I was ready. I thought already having done it once would make it easier the second time.
I was wrong.
On Friday you started Preschool. And I was completely blindsided by the fierce ache in my heart when I walked out that door. (Actually it started when I woke up early that morning to make your Monkey-Toe Bread for breakfast..)
How is it possible that you're old enough for this? That it's your turn already? Wasn't it just the other day we were dropping Nolan off for his first day of preschool?
Over the years I've semiadjusted to Nolan being gone, but you? You've always been there. My little buddy. As upset as I might be about leaving him, I always knew you were there in the backseat waiting for me, ready to babble another story about 'kunks (skunks), or excitedly watching out the window for the crick where you always see a splash from a fish jumping. ( - :
You have always been a little more *ahem* undisciplined then your older brother, more of a "free-spirit." And I love that about you. You have always been the messiest eater, with an ever present ring of dirt/food/whoknowswhat around your mouth, earning you the endearing nickname "Pigpen." And you have single handedly elicited most of my parenting "I never thought I would say that" moments..
- "Charlie.. keep the kitties ears out of your mouth."
- "Put the tape measure down. We don't measure our pee-pee.."
- "No.. we do not shock-a-bloo-ey the kitties."
- "Please don't pound nails in each other's butts."
- "CHARLIE! Take the kitties ears out of your mouth!"
You are also my all-too classic middle child. You, my poor son are never the first to do anything.. Nolan always has you beat in the "first to go to school" or "first the lose a tooth" scenarios. You're forever in his shadow of being bigger and stronger and faster (although we tell him frequently that you might be bigger someday just like daddy's "little" brothers) And so often you are also overshadowed by your little sister as well, with all Ella's doctor appointments and weekly therapies taking my time and energy..
But whether you meant to or not.. you, my sweet boy, have taken those challenges and used them for good. You are by far the sweetest, most kind-hearted boy I have ever met. It comes completely natural to you to share with others and you get no joy whatsoever out of having something someone else doesn't. On Nolan's first day of school when I made cookies for us to decorate together? You refused, saying you wanted to wait until Nolan got home so he could do it with us. When you get to pick a special supper for a birthday or special event, you almost always pick Nolan's favorite instead of your own, because you know it will make him happy. When you got a birthday card with two dollars in, you immediately said "One for me and one for Nolan!" And just the other day at a parade when you picked up 2 licorish sticks, without a second thought you turned and immediately gave one to your brother.
Oftentimes you are the first to ask Dad when he gets home from work how his day was, while the rest of us are all selfishly talking about our own. And just the other day I had a pounding headache so when I laid down next to you at rest time, you reached over and started gently rubbing my head. You asked if that made it feel better, then leaned over and sweetly kissed my cheek. You rubbed my head for a few moments longer, then leaned in close and softly whispered "Mom.. I have to scratch my butt now."
Oh Charlie.. you never cease to bring a smile to my face.
As sad as I am to see you growing up, I am so excited for this new journey in your life. I know you will have so much fun there because let's face it.. as much as I try I just am NOT as much fun as a 4 year old (or 6 year old) boy. I'm just not.
You're ready for this. I know you are.
I can't wait to hear all about it.
Love
Mom
It's GONE
Well, it's not really GONE gone.. Technically it's still here.. faithfully tucked in a sweet little Monster Pillow, awaiting a visit from a certain Fairy. But it's gone from my boy's mouth. Forever. Yes, my "baby's" first baby tooth is gone. It fell out today. At school. While he was chewing gum as a reward for being a good listener. (Why oh WHY is he so well behaved..... Is it bad to halfway wish he would have been at the "naughty" table so the tooth wouldn't have fallen out right then? I would have loved to be the one there to see the surprised look on his sweet face...) (- :
I really didn't think him losing a tooth would be such an emotional milestone. I truly thought I would probably be moreirritated disappointed it happened before our family pictures (shallow, I know..) But then I remembered why this is a big deal.. This isn't just any ol' ordinary tooth. This is THE tooth. The tooth that has tasted his first drink of milk. The tooth that chewed (and spit out) his very first bite of sweet potatoes. The very first tooth that bit me. The tooth he was born with.
Yup, it took these inexperienced, newbie parents a few days to realize what the strange white thing on their newborn's gums really was... When we showed it to the doctor she agreed that it certainly was a tooth, cementing to us incredulous parents that indeed, this beautiful baby was truly the most amazing and unique gift ever witnessed by mankind and that we had surely done the world a huge favor by gifting everyone with the presence of his life. (*insert dramatic eye roll) Hey- give us a break. He was our first. We didn't know any better.
Fast forward SIX incredibly fast years.. And that very same tooth is now sitting in a sweet little Monster Pillow (that I stayed up way too late sewing the other night because I put it off till the last minute when I finally noticed he had a loose tooth) on our Dining Room Table, somehow NOT in his mouth, while a very excited little boy lay upstairs dreaming of flying fairies and gold coins. (HA! Too bad for him we've gotten real and only have a few tarnished pennies laying around.. Kidding! Kindof..)
I think this is so hard because I feel like this was one of the last shreds of baby-hood I was clinging to. The tiny coming home outfits have long since been washed and packed away. The soft baby curls were cut off years ago.. I've watched him transition from baby rattles to monster trucks, blocks to soccer balls.. And now that tooth that has been with him, literally every single day of his life.. is gone.
And he is beyond excited.
So I will be too. I'm off to put on a brave face, smile, and act beyond surprised when he wakes up in the morning to his "fairy dust" sprinkled pennies.
I really didn't think him losing a tooth would be such an emotional milestone. I truly thought I would probably be more
(In case you don't believe me)
Yup, it took these inexperienced, newbie parents a few days to realize what the strange white thing on their newborn's gums really was... When we showed it to the doctor she agreed that it certainly was a tooth, cementing to us incredulous parents that indeed, this beautiful baby was truly the most amazing and unique gift ever witnessed by mankind and that we had surely done the world a huge favor by gifting everyone with the presence of his life. (*insert dramatic eye roll) Hey- give us a break. He was our first. We didn't know any better.
Fast forward SIX incredibly fast years.. And that very same tooth is now sitting in a sweet little Monster Pillow (that I stayed up way too late sewing the other night because I put it off till the last minute when I finally noticed he had a loose tooth) on our Dining Room Table, somehow NOT in his mouth, while a very excited little boy lay upstairs dreaming of flying fairies and gold coins. (HA! Too bad for him we've gotten real and only have a few tarnished pennies laying around.. Kidding! Kindof..)
I think this is so hard because I feel like this was one of the last shreds of baby-hood I was clinging to. The tiny coming home outfits have long since been washed and packed away. The soft baby curls were cut off years ago.. I've watched him transition from baby rattles to monster trucks, blocks to soccer balls.. And now that tooth that has been with him, literally every single day of his life.. is gone.
And he is beyond excited.
So I will be too. I'm off to put on a brave face, smile, and act beyond surprised when he wakes up in the morning to his "fairy dust" sprinkled pennies.
Pain + Suffering = Blessings
Let me start by stating that I am not a controversial blog writer.. nor a controversial person by any means. I hate confrontation, shut down when people get upset, and take everything to heart. (Ask my husband..)
With that disclaimer in mind.. yesterday I was scrolling through my Facebook when I saw this image.
The image is startling.. sad. But what saddened me even more were some of the comments under it.
Someone was arguing that eagle eggs can in no way be compared to a human fetus because eagles are an endangered species and humans are obviously overpopulating the earth. He argued that Pro Choice is the only choice. He also boldly stated that if a child is found to have a "defect" the mother should have the right to spare the child from a miserable life of pain and suffering.
That stopped me cold in my tracks.
My daughter was born with a "defect."
After another woman posted a response on the link that she was, in fact, born with a defect that caused her pain every single day, but in no way was her life worth NOT living, the other man went on to clarify that by "defect" he meant that the child would surely be born dead, or would die shortly after due to complications.
Ohhhh... so you mean like the many MANY children I know who have CdLS, like my Ella, whose mothers were told that they probably wouldn't be born alive? That immediately after birth they were given the grim diagnosis that their child might not make it through the night? That they would never be able to walk, talk, eat, even breath on their own? And those same children that are today walking into their doctor's offices, staring them in the face, talking to them, proving them wrong.. EVERY DAY?
Or like this sweet baby, who has Trisomy 18. She was expected to be stillborn or live a very few minutes at best. She's 4 1/2 months old now. Has her family endured pain and heartache? Yes. Suffering? Of course.
Blessings beyond measure? ABSOLUTELY.
No one should have the right to decide for an innocent baby who is brimming with potential and life what they can or cannot, should or should not do. Who are we to decide who we think is going to live? Who we think is going to have a pain-free life? (As if that were even a thing!)
Life is FULL of pain and suffering, defect or no defect. Imagine if you will.. The first woman on Earth. Her belly is swollen, excruciatingly painful contractions are coursing through her body. She has no clue what is happening. She only knows the pain. She only knows she is suffering. She doesn't know what is coming, doesn't know what is happening to her body. What if she were able to decide in that instant that she wanted it to end. Right then and there. To stop, press a magic button (no, I'm not talking about an epidural), and take it all away. All the pain, the suffering, the discomfort. GONE. A wonderful feeling I'm sure. She would have felt better immediately, euphoric even, justified that that kind of pain could not have been worth whatever outcome was to ensue. Little would she have known though, that along with that pain and suffering she took away, she was also taking away something else-- something she couldn't even imagine.. her precious "unknown" baby. The blessed outcome of that pain. Sure, she would be done suffering for a short while.. but imagine all the "unknowns" she would be missing out on.. Hearing the first amazing cries of her newborn, running her lips along the soft fuzz atop his head, the sweet smell of his chubby neck, the feeling of fierce love after seeing him smile up at her, his mother, for the first time, watching him grow and learn every day...
To take away pain and suffering is to also take away the infinite blessings that come directly from that pain. If we do not allow ourselves to struggle, to suffer through the storm, we may never be able to truly appreciate the awe and beauty of the lush green fields beneath the strikingly brilliant colors of the rainbow that ensue.
There are many things in this life that people don't necessarily deserve.
The Facebook conversation took a bit of a nasty turn after that, like discussion like this usually do, and I left feeling sad and downhearted about the world we live in.
Like I said, I'm not trying to stir up a debate. I hold no judgement towards people who have differing opinions, nor people who have had abortions (I know some). I know that your beliefs have probably stemmed largely from fear and inexperience in your situation. I admit I had many of the same anxieties and uncertainties before I had the privilege of "getting to know" my sweet Ella girl.
But what I do know is that our "defect," our "unknown" has been one of the greatest blessings in our lives and I cannot imagine a world where we "chose" not to even give her a chance.
With that disclaimer in mind.. yesterday I was scrolling through my Facebook when I saw this image.
(Please keep in mind the disclaimer.. not really trying to stir up a moral debate NOR a political discussion..
Just sharing my thoughts..)
The image is startling.. sad. But what saddened me even more were some of the comments under it.
Someone was arguing that eagle eggs can in no way be compared to a human fetus because eagles are an endangered species and humans are obviously overpopulating the earth. He argued that Pro Choice is the only choice. He also boldly stated that if a child is found to have a "defect" the mother should have the right to spare the child from a miserable life of pain and suffering.
That stopped me cold in my tracks.
My daughter was born with a "defect."
Does this look like the face of a miserable life of pain and suffering?
After another woman posted a response on the link that she was, in fact, born with a defect that caused her pain every single day, but in no way was her life worth NOT living, the other man went on to clarify that by "defect" he meant that the child would surely be born dead, or would die shortly after due to complications.
Ohhhh... so you mean like the many MANY children I know who have CdLS, like my Ella, whose mothers were told that they probably wouldn't be born alive? That immediately after birth they were given the grim diagnosis that their child might not make it through the night? That they would never be able to walk, talk, eat, even breath on their own? And those same children that are today walking into their doctor's offices, staring them in the face, talking to them, proving them wrong.. EVERY DAY?
Or like this sweet baby, who has Trisomy 18. She was expected to be stillborn or live a very few minutes at best. She's 4 1/2 months old now. Has her family endured pain and heartache? Yes. Suffering? Of course.
Blessings beyond measure? ABSOLUTELY.
No one should have the right to decide for an innocent baby who is brimming with potential and life what they can or cannot, should or should not do. Who are we to decide who we think is going to live? Who we think is going to have a pain-free life? (As if that were even a thing!)
Life is FULL of pain and suffering, defect or no defect. Imagine if you will.. The first woman on Earth. Her belly is swollen, excruciatingly painful contractions are coursing through her body. She has no clue what is happening. She only knows the pain. She only knows she is suffering. She doesn't know what is coming, doesn't know what is happening to her body. What if she were able to decide in that instant that she wanted it to end. Right then and there. To stop, press a magic button (no, I'm not talking about an epidural), and take it all away. All the pain, the suffering, the discomfort. GONE. A wonderful feeling I'm sure. She would have felt better immediately, euphoric even, justified that that kind of pain could not have been worth whatever outcome was to ensue. Little would she have known though, that along with that pain and suffering she took away, she was also taking away something else-- something she couldn't even imagine.. her precious "unknown" baby. The blessed outcome of that pain. Sure, she would be done suffering for a short while.. but imagine all the "unknowns" she would be missing out on.. Hearing the first amazing cries of her newborn, running her lips along the soft fuzz atop his head, the sweet smell of his chubby neck, the feeling of fierce love after seeing him smile up at her, his mother, for the first time, watching him grow and learn every day...
To take away pain and suffering is to also take away the infinite blessings that come directly from that pain. If we do not allow ourselves to struggle, to suffer through the storm, we may never be able to truly appreciate the awe and beauty of the lush green fields beneath the strikingly brilliant colors of the rainbow that ensue.
There are many things in this life that people don't necessarily deserve.
But an unborn child DOES deserve a chance at life.
The Facebook conversation took a bit of a nasty turn after that, like discussion like this usually do, and I left feeling sad and downhearted about the world we live in.
Like I said, I'm not trying to stir up a debate. I hold no judgement towards people who have differing opinions, nor people who have had abortions (I know some). I know that your beliefs have probably stemmed largely from fear and inexperience in your situation. I admit I had many of the same anxieties and uncertainties before I had the privilege of "getting to know" my sweet Ella girl.
But what I do know is that our "defect," our "unknown" has been one of the greatest blessings in our lives and I cannot imagine a world where we "chose" not to even give her a chance.
Wait.. WHO turned a year older yesterday?
Many of you know yesterday was my birthday.. Yes, I turned another year closer to 30. *Deep breath*
But not NEARLY as close as my dear husband whose birthday was the day before mine.. hee hee.
THANK YOU for all the wonderful birthday wishes and for making my day so incredibly special.
(The Dairy Queen ice cream cake from the hubby helped quite a bit too..)
Anyways, apparently all the hype leading up to the big day(s) made Ella believe she was turning a year older..???
I'm not sure...
All I know is she is throwing temper tantrums like a seasoned veteran of a 2 year old.
Someone please tell her she still has 4 1/2 months left!!
My sweet baby girl has morphed, seemingly overnight, into a raging FIT, throwing her pacifier across the room when she gets upset, then hastily crawling over to retrieve it, sucking on it a few seconds, then remembering she's mad, throwing it again (she's got quite the arm..), and frantically rushing to get it again, for fear that someone will take it away (as if we would punish ourselves like that!!)
I'm really not sure how to handle her fits.. They're actually pretty hilarious. But I know she's mad about something. She just has no way of telling me what it is.. And I feel like I should leave her to cry and whine a little like I did with the boys, but knowing that she'll get a tummy ache I just can't do that.. A little frustrating to say the least.
On a lighter note, she is also acting like a "big kid" by doing some really great things! Last night for the first time ever, she pushed up to a sitting position from the floor all by herself! She has been so close for months, just stubbornly refusing to even try. She'll do it if there's something (or someone.. namely me) to lean on for help, but she's never done it all by herself before. ( - : So proud of her!
And today for the first time she left the confines of her rug! We have hard wood floors in our house and usually she plays on the living room rug. Sometimes.. rarely.. she'll venture off of it to grab something from the toy stash nearby, but she usually hurries back after a few moments to its comforting warmth and security. She's NEVER shown any desire to go anywhere else in the house.. This morning she was playing nicely (on the living room rug) by herself so I snuck off to the kitchen to wash the dishes quick (Obviously we had a therapist coming soon..). I heard some thumping, so I turned around and there she was, rockin' the army crawl around the corner to come find me. SO CUTE! She then proceeded to tear all the magnets within her arm reach off the fridge, find and eat a leftover cheesy puff on the floor from yesterday, and nearly pinch her fingers in the front door...
While I was super excited to see her venture out on her own and explore, there are some definite downfalls to her newfound independence..
• Now ALL the floors need to be clean. Every. Day. Instead of just the living room rug.. Occasionally.
• All the microscopic, most fun to put in our mouths, very choke-able boys' toys need to be picked up in the toy room. Every. Day.
• I can't escape from her. Ever. Again.
• I need to make sure ALL the floor are clean. Oh, did I already mention that? I'm a little stressed...
*If you didn't know yesterday was my birthday, maybe you should "like" Life on M Avenue on Facebook?? Like how I threw that in there? Hee hee.. I even created a cute little link box-thingey on the side of the blog.. Someone try it and let me know if it works? I put off creating a page for "myself" for awhile.. I guess because it seemed conceited. Like I was trying to get people to like me, and create a fan club for me.. But that's not at all what it is. A big part of my desire for this blog is to connect with others, especially parents of kids with special needs.. So hopefully this will be a good way to reach out and encourage others! Thanks!
But not NEARLY as close as my dear husband whose birthday was the day before mine.. hee hee.
THANK YOU for all the wonderful birthday wishes and for making my day so incredibly special.
(The Dairy Queen ice cream cake from the hubby helped quite a bit too..)
Anyways, apparently all the hype leading up to the big day(s) made Ella believe she was turning a year older..???
I'm not sure...
All I know is she is throwing temper tantrums like a seasoned veteran of a 2 year old.
Someone please tell her she still has 4 1/2 months left!!
My sweet baby girl has morphed, seemingly overnight, into a raging FIT, throwing her pacifier across the room when she gets upset, then hastily crawling over to retrieve it, sucking on it a few seconds, then remembering she's mad, throwing it again (she's got quite the arm..), and frantically rushing to get it again, for fear that someone will take it away (as if we would punish ourselves like that!!)
I'm really not sure how to handle her fits.. They're actually pretty hilarious. But I know she's mad about something. She just has no way of telling me what it is.. And I feel like I should leave her to cry and whine a little like I did with the boys, but knowing that she'll get a tummy ache I just can't do that.. A little frustrating to say the least.
On a lighter note, she is also acting like a "big kid" by doing some really great things! Last night for the first time ever, she pushed up to a sitting position from the floor all by herself! She has been so close for months, just stubbornly refusing to even try. She'll do it if there's something (or someone.. namely me) to lean on for help, but she's never done it all by herself before. ( - : So proud of her!
And today for the first time she left the confines of her rug! We have hard wood floors in our house and usually she plays on the living room rug. Sometimes.. rarely.. she'll venture off of it to grab something from the toy stash nearby, but she usually hurries back after a few moments to its comforting warmth and security. She's NEVER shown any desire to go anywhere else in the house.. This morning she was playing nicely (on the living room rug) by herself so I snuck off to the kitchen to wash the dishes quick (Obviously we had a therapist coming soon..). I heard some thumping, so I turned around and there she was, rockin' the army crawl around the corner to come find me. SO CUTE! She then proceeded to tear all the magnets within her arm reach off the fridge, find and eat a leftover cheesy puff on the floor from yesterday, and nearly pinch her fingers in the front door...
While I was super excited to see her venture out on her own and explore, there are some definite downfalls to her newfound independence..
• Now ALL the floors need to be clean. Every. Day. Instead of just the living room rug.. Occasionally.
• All the microscopic, most fun to put in our mouths, very choke-able boys' toys need to be picked up in the toy room. Every. Day.
• I can't escape from her. Ever. Again.
• I need to make sure ALL the floor are clean. Oh, did I already mention that? I'm a little stressed...
Good thing she's cute..
*If you didn't know yesterday was my birthday, maybe you should "like" Life on M Avenue on Facebook?? Like how I threw that in there? Hee hee.. I even created a cute little link box-thingey on the side of the blog.. Someone try it and let me know if it works? I put off creating a page for "myself" for awhile.. I guess because it seemed conceited. Like I was trying to get people to like me, and create a fan club for me.. But that's not at all what it is. A big part of my desire for this blog is to connect with others, especially parents of kids with special needs.. So hopefully this will be a good way to reach out and encourage others! Thanks!
Dear Mom, let's chat
Dear Mom,
We need to have a little chat..
I know you're frustrated that I am basically refusing to do any and all of my sign language.
Especially "more" and "all done" at meal times.
You know I can.
I know I can.
It's just that.. well... I don't want to.
I feel like, as my mother, the woman who brought me into this world and has shared nearly every waking moment with me for the past 19 months.. I feel like you should understand me well enough to just know what I want.
When I want it. How I want it.
It's not that I want you to read my mind..
It's just.. well, yes.. yes actually I do. That's exactly what I want.
I want you to read my mind.
Is that really too much to ask?
Yes? Well, then.. let me remind you of all the times you've walked through doorways and misjudged the distance between my head and the wall. Or the times you took your eyes off of me for what you say was only a second, leaving only the hard wood floor to catch my fall. What about the time you insisted on taking me along to swimming lessons in 110 degree heat and I refused to sit in the water to help me cool off and my face turned beet red because I was overheating? Or all the times you've had the audacity to let me CRY for more than 3 seconds, causing me severe gas pain?
Must I go on??
I didn't think so...
BUT because I am the amazing daughter I am, I thought I would put together a small tutorial to help you better decipher my wants and needs.
You're welcome.
Before we can begin a meal and even think about signs, I need a comfortable sitting position.
It could look like this.
Or this.
Either works.. But please, PLEASE leave that restricting tray off. I know you like to put food on it for some unknown reason. Or so I can learn to feed myself I guess.. but it my opinion it would work just as well for you to feed me with your own hand, leaving me not only more time to wiggle, but also more room to wiggle. And isn't that why you want me to sign? To hear my opinion? I thought so.
Thanks in advance..
WHAT THE.... Did you seriously NOT just hear me about the tray??
Anyways.. some signs (hee hee.. see what I did there.. get it?? "signs"?) that I might be done include (but are not limited to..)
Clearly getting more food on my face (and neck) than in my mouth..
Spitting my noodle out onto my arm.
Looking at my hands like I might want to move them back and forth, (which you say means 'all done') but not actually doing it..
Looking at you with a blank stare like I have no clue what you're saying. (The truth? I do.. hee hee)
AHEM! Are you still with me?
Good.
Moving on.. some 'signs' (HA! It never gets old..) that I might want more to eat include (but are not limited to)
Banging my tray with wild abandon
Smiling sweetly at you
Or crying.. both seem to work quite well
And looking at you with a blank stare like I have no clue what you're saying. (The truth? I do again.. hee hee)
I will warn you, that if you do not decipher these "signs" in a timely manner you will be greeted with THIS FACE, which means
"Look lady.. I'm NOT gonna do it. Not now. Maybe not ever... Just get. me. outta here."
Wait.. What do you mean this is more complicated??
It's easy.. I promise.
This face means I threw my fork off the side of my tray
(WHY... is there STILL a tray?)
This face means my Applelax (applesauce + Miralax for you amateurs) might be starting to kick in
And this face means..
Ahhh... nevermind..
All you REALLY need to do during the day is get more of these faces
And less of these..
Capiche?
and THE TRAY!! Seriously!!! What. doesn't. this. woman. understand. about. this??
Oye... She's never going to get it, is she?
Bittersweet
It seems like just yesterday I was writing this post about the last day of school, dreaming of the time we would spend together and the fun we would have this summer. How is it possible that those days are already nothing more than mere memories that will be slowly fading with each passing day? The colors are already a little less vibrant and the focus is a little fuzzy.. but the smiles and giggles are bright as ever in my mind.
Don't get me wrong.. my mother's insight was absolutely right. Some days this summer were filled with splashes in the pool and popsicles and giggles. And some were filled with fighting and whining and crying. (Especially this last week... WOW!) But that's the beauty of time. A reflective look back, even on the hard times, can always bring a smile to my face, knowing we made it through together, stronger than ever. I'm thankful I got to spend the good and bad days with you.
As our carefree summer wore on, I started to sense the familiar school panic setting in (for me). I made a conscious decision to not set foot in a Wal-Mart after the 4th of July when they get their school supplies out (and to stock up on toilet paper and dish soap), not look at a Sunday Paper ad that had the words "Back to School", nor read the school newsletter with the school supply list in until at least August started. Everyone around me knew better than to utter the "S" word. And just last night I noticed this is what my calendar looks like...
As sad as I am to see summer end, to watch the calendar pages flap in the breeze, unable to catch them and slow them down no matter how much I try.. I am actually happy that there is an end to summer. Knowing there days were fleeting and there was an all-too-soon end in sight made me enjoy and appreciate these last 3 months even more. So here I sit, with a familiar ache in my heart.. torn between happy and sad. I suppose that's why they call it bittersweet.
Don't get me wrong.. my mother's insight was absolutely right. Some days this summer were filled with splashes in the pool and popsicles and giggles. And some were filled with fighting and whining and crying. (Especially this last week... WOW!) But that's the beauty of time. A reflective look back, even on the hard times, can always bring a smile to my face, knowing we made it through together, stronger than ever. I'm thankful I got to spend the good and bad days with you.
As our carefree summer wore on, I started to sense the familiar school panic setting in (for me). I made a conscious decision to not set foot in a Wal-Mart after the 4th of July when they get their school supplies out (and to stock up on toilet paper and dish soap), not look at a Sunday Paper ad that had the words "Back to School", nor read the school newsletter with the school supply list in until at least August started. Everyone around me knew better than to utter the "S" word. And just last night I noticed this is what my calendar looks like...
Denial much??
No denying it now.. You are off to 1st grade and so begins yet another exciting chapter in our lives. I hope we have have given you not only the roots, but also the wings to fly.
I found this poem on a friend's blog and thought it was perfect for today.
I wonder what you're doing right now.
And if everyone is treating you kind.
I hope there is a special person.
A nice friend that you can find.
I wonder if the teacher knows
just how special you are to me.
And if the brightness of your heart
is something she can see.
And if you need a hug.
I already miss the sound of your voice
And how you give my leg a tug.
I wonder if you could possibly understand
How hard it is for me to let you grow.
For on this day my heart leaves home as
I watch my baby go.
