Reese was helping me go through my piles of pajamas today, as I decided which ones to part with, and which to keep. We came across some fancy ones I had let her and Drue play dress up in one day months ago. I had done their makeup, nails, put big curlers in their hair, the whole nine yards.
Then my wise old five year old sighed and said, "I miss the olden days...when I was four."
Saturday, December 29, 2007
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Hitting the Slopes
Who needs a Fountain of Youth? Just take your kids sledding one afternoon and you will feel 20 years younger! (Of course, that feeling only lasts until the next morning, when your sore limbs and shoulders make you feel 20 years older).
I talked David into taking the kids sledding with me on Sunday afternoon. I always envision a Norman Rockwell moment of family togetherness. Why didn't ol' Mr. Rockwell ever include the before pictures of kids and parents hollering, trying to round up 3 sets of snow gear, then tackling your 19 month old to get him shoved into everything while at the same time laying down the law to the other two kids that they WILL go potty NOW before any gear is put on.
All of the preparation chaos was forgotten, however, as the crisp air breezed past our faces on the way down the hill. It. Was. Fun. And whom do you think was the first family member down the hill...to "test" it out and make sure the bumps weren't too dangerous? Yes, the same man I had to beg to come with us in the first place!
Two of my little snow bunnies.
Heading back up the hill for another go 'round. Reese lasted about 5 steps, then dropped the rope and ran off.
Tate's first real snow adventure. And he is one lucky little guy that his hand-me-down snow pants from Reese just happened to be from the year that Target was out of every other color, and I had to buy her black. Otherwise, his little legs would have been adorned in pastel pink or lilac.
The girls mostly went together, then took a few turns each by themselves. It was the ultimate example of Parenthood and how sometimes, you just have to hold your breath and let your kids go without being in control of what happens next. Scary, scary feeling. I just knew Drue would careen crazily into the tree that was 20 yards away from where we were sledding, or that one of them would hit the small bump in the hill the wrong way and fly off into oblivion. I was the only crazy freak mother running down behind them ready to throw myself in the path of the sled, should it decide to keep going 50 more yards into the street.
I took Tate down a couple of times and he had a blast. Then I sent him and David to go purchase another sled. Of course, they came back empty handed as every other family in the Midwest had the same idea. Tate decided the sled wasn't a necessary tool and would sit down on the actual hill, itself, then wonder why he wasn't moving.
I wasn't looking forward to ending their afternoon, but we got lucky on that note. Reese kept saying her feet were getting cold (she just had on rain boots) so I sent her back to the van to warm up with the boys. Drue and I went down one more time together, then as we were heading back up the hill, she said, "Um, I think I am getting tired...from all this walking." So we made a detour back to the van, also, where David had a thermos of hot chocolate, three small cups, some marshmallows, and some Christmas cookies.
Now that, my friends, was a Norman Rockwell moment...
I talked David into taking the kids sledding with me on Sunday afternoon. I always envision a Norman Rockwell moment of family togetherness. Why didn't ol' Mr. Rockwell ever include the before pictures of kids and parents hollering, trying to round up 3 sets of snow gear, then tackling your 19 month old to get him shoved into everything while at the same time laying down the law to the other two kids that they WILL go potty NOW before any gear is put on.
All of the preparation chaos was forgotten, however, as the crisp air breezed past our faces on the way down the hill. It. Was. Fun. And whom do you think was the first family member down the hill...to "test" it out and make sure the bumps weren't too dangerous? Yes, the same man I had to beg to come with us in the first place!
Two of my little snow bunnies.
Heading back up the hill for another go 'round. Reese lasted about 5 steps, then dropped the rope and ran off.
Tate's first real snow adventure. And he is one lucky little guy that his hand-me-down snow pants from Reese just happened to be from the year that Target was out of every other color, and I had to buy her black. Otherwise, his little legs would have been adorned in pastel pink or lilac.
The girls mostly went together, then took a few turns each by themselves. It was the ultimate example of Parenthood and how sometimes, you just have to hold your breath and let your kids go without being in control of what happens next. Scary, scary feeling. I just knew Drue would careen crazily into the tree that was 20 yards away from where we were sledding, or that one of them would hit the small bump in the hill the wrong way and fly off into oblivion. I was the only crazy freak mother running down behind them ready to throw myself in the path of the sled, should it decide to keep going 50 more yards into the street.
I took Tate down a couple of times and he had a blast. Then I sent him and David to go purchase another sled. Of course, they came back empty handed as every other family in the Midwest had the same idea. Tate decided the sled wasn't a necessary tool and would sit down on the actual hill, itself, then wonder why he wasn't moving.
I wasn't looking forward to ending their afternoon, but we got lucky on that note. Reese kept saying her feet were getting cold (she just had on rain boots) so I sent her back to the van to warm up with the boys. Drue and I went down one more time together, then as we were heading back up the hill, she said, "Um, I think I am getting tired...from all this walking." So we made a detour back to the van, also, where David had a thermos of hot chocolate, three small cups, some marshmallows, and some Christmas cookies.
Now that, my friends, was a Norman Rockwell moment...
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Poor Santa (I mean Tate)
Well, our visit looked promising at first. In my head I imagined Drue and Reese being fine but Tate screaming. We got to the mall and there was no line! That was a huge plus because I figured I'd be able to get the kids somewhat adjusted to the big scary bearded man without having to rush through for the waiting people.
Reese hesitantly headed toward him with just a bit of prodding. Drue followed. And Tate couldn't scramble out of his stroller fast enough. He walked right up to Santa and started jabbering gleefully. That is, until Santa moved. I think Tate thought Santa was just a stuffed decoration.
It all went downhill from there. Santa reached out and scooped Tate up and plopped him on his knee. Tate's initial look of wonderment quickly turned to terror. I knew we had to act fast. I scooped Drue up and delivered her to his other knee. Her fingers immediately went into her mouth and the tears started flowing. I hastily positioned Reese on the arm of the chair next to Santa, then ducked out of the way so the gal could start snapping pictures.
One picture got snapped, then Tate slithered down from Santa's gloved grip and started running for me. Please let that one picture be ok I thought. I started to go look at it, then remembered Drue was frozen in place on Santa so I went and rescued her as well. The girls were looking in the general direction of the camera in the first picture, but all you could see of Tate was the back of his head as he was turned away from the camera screaming in Santa's face.
The picture gal cheerfully said, "Let's try again."
WHAT?!?
Voluntarily subject my youngest two children to another terrifying encounter with Kris Kringle?!?
Sure, why not. I at least wanted Tate's face to be in the picture.
This time they suggested that I put Reese on his lap, let Drue stand in front, plop Tate down and r-u-n. By this time a small line was starting to form much to my dismay. I always think the parents waiting will be appalled at me stepping back and watching my children cry. But much to my surprise, they were cheering me on.
"Pull that picture out to show him when he turns 16!", they shouted amusingly.
After I peeled my sweatshirt sleeve out of his little fist, I snatched his blanket from the stroller thinking that might help. As you can clearly see...it didn't. He stood right up and just hollered.
Santa kept saying, "You are making Santa sad," to Drue because she didn't want to sit on his lap. Call me crazy, but I don't believe she cared. Of course, Reese latched on to that train of thought and has been taunting Drue all afternoon, "Drue, you made Santa cry".
What a joyous season indeed....
Friday, November 30, 2007
O-U-C-H
Egads! I can't believe I haven't had a few moments to sit and recount this tale until now. It happened on Wednesday...
The kids were all upstairs playing together. I usually shut the bathroom door and the door to our bedroom so I don't have to worry about Tate trying to brush his teeth with everyones' toothbrush, then dipping them one by one into the toilet. The girls are good about making sure those two doors stay closed. However, they also like to open and close/slam their bedroom doors while they're up there. I just know one of these days I'm going to hear an ear piercing scream and run upstairs to find someones' pinky lying on the carpet.
Anyway, all was going well until I heard Tate start to cry. It wasn't a "you took the ball I was playing with" type of cry so I headed up to investigate.
Problem #1: I found Tate in the hallway cradling his left hand against his little body. Uh oh. I quickly ascertained that it did, in fact, have all five fingers safely attached then scooped him up and demanded to know what happened from the girls.
Reese looked honestly clueless. Drue, on the other hand, looked a bit suspicious. "I think he hit his hand", they said. Hit his hand? I wasn't quite buying it as the tears continued to stream down his face. We headed downstairs and I held him close and grabbed his blanket.
Problem #2: He couldn't even bring his little hand up to his face so he could suck his thumb. I knew it must be bad.
I held him for awhile and, again, tried to get the real story from the girls.
Problem #3: Turns out, Reese wasn't in the room with him when it happened so the only word I had to go on was a 3 year olds!
I vaguely remembered hearing some doors opening and closing so I asked Drue if she had shut his hand in the door and she said yes she had. I still wasn't quite convinced.
Problem #4: When David got home a little while later, Tate didn't even lift his arms up to be picked up by his Daddy, aka "hanger of the moon".
That was it. We were off to the ER. I am the Mommy. I want to be with my kids when they are sick or hurt, especially when they have to go to the ER or hospital. However, I am not the one who should be going. I panicked all the way there. What was it going to look like when I carried in my screaming 18 month old but wasn't able to give a clear answer about where he got hurt or what happened? Not good.
Let me interject here that Tate is TERRIFIED of doctors, nurses, hospitals, exam rooms, the whole 9 yards. This amazes me, because I know he is remembering back to the summer when he was in the hospital and it makes me sad that he has been traumatized by that. As soon as he sees the white paper over the exam table or a white sheet draped across it, he goes crazy.
The nurse weighed him then plopped him down on a gurney. He was crying, I was crying, it was awful. She finally let me pick him up and gave our blubbering selves some tissues.
I had to recount my story to numerous people, whom, I'm sure, were trying to scope me out to see if I needed to be carted off to jail and I teared up everytime.
Finally the PA came in and was so sweet to us. I told the story again and said I wasn't even sure if it was his hand he had hurt, or his arm. She grabbed his arm tenderly, said, "Let me try something", then flipped it around and bent it back at the elbow. He yowled, I cried some more, then it was over.
She said, "Yep, I felt it pop back in. He'll be fine."
POP BACK IN?!?!
Apparently his little elbow had been popped out of place!!! She reassured me this was a very common injury among small children. Poor little fella.
I texted David the diagnosis and told him to try and get the real story from Drue. Within a few seconds he texted back, "She said she was trying to pull him up onto our bed and he started crying."
All the pieces fit together. I just felt plain horrible. I felt horrible he had gotten hurt and couldn't tell us what was wrong and that I hadn't been up there to prevent it or help him.
A few minutes after the popping back in fiasco, he was fine. A nurse came in with some stickers and he reached for them with his left hand like nothing had happened. Of course, he was still giving her the evil eye and furrowing his eyebrows at her, but at least he could move his little arm.
As we were gathering our things to leave the nurse looked him right in the eye and said, "Don't worry, in a few years you'll get your revenge on those sissies of yours....".
Oh great...I can't wait.
The kids were all upstairs playing together. I usually shut the bathroom door and the door to our bedroom so I don't have to worry about Tate trying to brush his teeth with everyones' toothbrush, then dipping them one by one into the toilet. The girls are good about making sure those two doors stay closed. However, they also like to open and close/slam their bedroom doors while they're up there. I just know one of these days I'm going to hear an ear piercing scream and run upstairs to find someones' pinky lying on the carpet.
Anyway, all was going well until I heard Tate start to cry. It wasn't a "you took the ball I was playing with" type of cry so I headed up to investigate.
Problem #1: I found Tate in the hallway cradling his left hand against his little body. Uh oh. I quickly ascertained that it did, in fact, have all five fingers safely attached then scooped him up and demanded to know what happened from the girls.
Reese looked honestly clueless. Drue, on the other hand, looked a bit suspicious. "I think he hit his hand", they said. Hit his hand? I wasn't quite buying it as the tears continued to stream down his face. We headed downstairs and I held him close and grabbed his blanket.
Problem #2: He couldn't even bring his little hand up to his face so he could suck his thumb. I knew it must be bad.
I held him for awhile and, again, tried to get the real story from the girls.
Problem #3: Turns out, Reese wasn't in the room with him when it happened so the only word I had to go on was a 3 year olds!
I vaguely remembered hearing some doors opening and closing so I asked Drue if she had shut his hand in the door and she said yes she had. I still wasn't quite convinced.
Problem #4: When David got home a little while later, Tate didn't even lift his arms up to be picked up by his Daddy, aka "hanger of the moon".
That was it. We were off to the ER. I am the Mommy. I want to be with my kids when they are sick or hurt, especially when they have to go to the ER or hospital. However, I am not the one who should be going. I panicked all the way there. What was it going to look like when I carried in my screaming 18 month old but wasn't able to give a clear answer about where he got hurt or what happened? Not good.
Let me interject here that Tate is TERRIFIED of doctors, nurses, hospitals, exam rooms, the whole 9 yards. This amazes me, because I know he is remembering back to the summer when he was in the hospital and it makes me sad that he has been traumatized by that. As soon as he sees the white paper over the exam table or a white sheet draped across it, he goes crazy.
The nurse weighed him then plopped him down on a gurney. He was crying, I was crying, it was awful. She finally let me pick him up and gave our blubbering selves some tissues.
I had to recount my story to numerous people, whom, I'm sure, were trying to scope me out to see if I needed to be carted off to jail and I teared up everytime.
Finally the PA came in and was so sweet to us. I told the story again and said I wasn't even sure if it was his hand he had hurt, or his arm. She grabbed his arm tenderly, said, "Let me try something", then flipped it around and bent it back at the elbow. He yowled, I cried some more, then it was over.
She said, "Yep, I felt it pop back in. He'll be fine."
POP BACK IN?!?!
Apparently his little elbow had been popped out of place!!! She reassured me this was a very common injury among small children. Poor little fella.
I texted David the diagnosis and told him to try and get the real story from Drue. Within a few seconds he texted back, "She said she was trying to pull him up onto our bed and he started crying."
All the pieces fit together. I just felt plain horrible. I felt horrible he had gotten hurt and couldn't tell us what was wrong and that I hadn't been up there to prevent it or help him.
A few minutes after the popping back in fiasco, he was fine. A nurse came in with some stickers and he reached for them with his left hand like nothing had happened. Of course, he was still giving her the evil eye and furrowing his eyebrows at her, but at least he could move his little arm.
As we were gathering our things to leave the nurse looked him right in the eye and said, "Don't worry, in a few years you'll get your revenge on those sissies of yours....".
Oh great...I can't wait.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Dinner Conversation with a 3 year old
Drue: "U".
Me: Crunching my taco, not quite sure how to respond to that
Drue: "Is U a number?".
Me: "No". (Crunch, crunch, crunch.)
Drue: "Oh", contemplating it some more, "What's U?".
Me: "A letter".
Drue: "Oh...I love U!".
Me: Crunching my taco, not quite sure how to respond to that
Drue: "Is U a number?".
Me: "No". (Crunch, crunch, crunch.)
Drue: "Oh", contemplating it some more, "What's U?".
Me: "A letter".
Drue: "Oh...I love U!".
Monday, November 26, 2007
The Boy
99% of the time, if Tate wanders away from us in the house and doesn't reappear within a minute or two, something is awry. He can either be found tumping all my makeup out of their containers, emptying the contents of his sisters' sock and underwear drawer, or pulling every last diaper out of the package and scattering them across his floor. Needless to say, we usually keep a tight reign on the boy. A familiar shout of despair around our household is...."WHERE'S TATE?!?!".
The other 1% of the time he disappears, he is just desperate to find a quiet moment for himself. The other day, after a short frantic search, this is where I found him....
The other 1% of the time he disappears, he is just desperate to find a quiet moment for himself. The other day, after a short frantic search, this is where I found him....
Monday, November 12, 2007
It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas...
I must admit, I wrinkled my nose up at our local radio station that began playing CHRISTMAS music on Halloween. HALLOWEEN! And I wrinkled it yet again when another radio station began playing their non-stop Christmas tunes the very next day.
With that said, if you went out to my van right now, take one guess what music would blare out at you when you turned the ignition...."Here Comes Santa Claus". I caved. And I'm loving it.
We put together our "Operation Christmas Child" boxes again this year. I took Reese with me to help pick out the goodies. She had me explain to her no less than 12 times why we were buying gifts for other children. "Tell me again Mommy...." she'd implore.
So I patiently went over the reasons again and again, how some children wouldn't be getting any gifts for Christmas this year. I thought it had almost sunk in, when she asked. "So, do they live in a place where Santa can't go?".
Uh oh.
Of course I managed to stammer out something about how we were being his helpers and sending the gifts through the mail and Jesus is the real reason for the season. Yikes! Close one.
We had a fun time gathering our items then headed home to get them wrapped (which we still haven't done but the deadline is Wednesday).
Immediately Drue was drawn to our tempting stash as Reese separated out each and every gift to the appropriate box. Drue snatched up a little baby doll and cradled it to her chest saying, "I wanted this!". I started my explanation about how these things were for children who didn't have any Christmas presents. To which she quickly protested, "But I don't have any Christmas presents." True statement, hard to argue with, she didn't get to keep the doll.
David surprised me and took me out on a date Saturday night. We went to dinner, then headed to the movies, discovering there was nothing out we wanted to see. So...much to his chagrin, we started our Christmas shopping! I am the biggest procrastinator so it felt a little foreign to begin this process before December 23rd. Our plan is to get a little bit each week, and hopefully wrap and label along the way.
We got most of the stocking stuffers that night. The bright side is the kids haven't found our hiding spot yet. The not so bright side is...the dogs did. I was feeling a bit Scroogish when I discovered an empty chocolate Santa package and empty bag of mini candy bars strewn about our back lawn this afternoon.
So much for planning ahead...
With that said, if you went out to my van right now, take one guess what music would blare out at you when you turned the ignition...."Here Comes Santa Claus". I caved. And I'm loving it.
We put together our "Operation Christmas Child" boxes again this year. I took Reese with me to help pick out the goodies. She had me explain to her no less than 12 times why we were buying gifts for other children. "Tell me again Mommy...." she'd implore.
So I patiently went over the reasons again and again, how some children wouldn't be getting any gifts for Christmas this year. I thought it had almost sunk in, when she asked. "So, do they live in a place where Santa can't go?".
Uh oh.
Of course I managed to stammer out something about how we were being his helpers and sending the gifts through the mail and Jesus is the real reason for the season. Yikes! Close one.
We had a fun time gathering our items then headed home to get them wrapped (which we still haven't done but the deadline is Wednesday).
Immediately Drue was drawn to our tempting stash as Reese separated out each and every gift to the appropriate box. Drue snatched up a little baby doll and cradled it to her chest saying, "I wanted this!". I started my explanation about how these things were for children who didn't have any Christmas presents. To which she quickly protested, "But I don't have any Christmas presents." True statement, hard to argue with, she didn't get to keep the doll.
David surprised me and took me out on a date Saturday night. We went to dinner, then headed to the movies, discovering there was nothing out we wanted to see. So...much to his chagrin, we started our Christmas shopping! I am the biggest procrastinator so it felt a little foreign to begin this process before December 23rd. Our plan is to get a little bit each week, and hopefully wrap and label along the way.
We got most of the stocking stuffers that night. The bright side is the kids haven't found our hiding spot yet. The not so bright side is...the dogs did. I was feeling a bit Scroogish when I discovered an empty chocolate Santa package and empty bag of mini candy bars strewn about our back lawn this afternoon.
So much for planning ahead...
Saturday, November 10, 2007
My baby is on steroids
Tate and I spent a fun-filled Saturday morning at the urgent care clinic down the street. I personally propose a name change to "we'll get to you when we get to you whether the people in front of you are as sick as your kid or not" clinic, but that name probably wouldn't have fit as well on the check I wrote for our copay.
Poor little fella. It was breathing problems again...the third time since July. Our medical visits have gotten progressively less extreme each time.
First visit: hospitalized for 2 nights.
Second visit: middle of the night visit to the E.R.
Third visit: Saturday morning walk-in clinic.
By the time our fourth visit comes around, I will probably just take him down to the corner and bum some narcotics from a drug dealer.
Same old story. Croupy cough, shortness of breath, etc. Gasping for breath is more like it. David stayed up with him until 2am this morning on the couch, then decided to try the steam shower. I sat with Tate in the darkened bathroom for a bit, then headed back downstairs. I changed his diaper and he just laid still on the floor. Which was another telltale sign he wasn't feeling well. After I got him changed, I grabbed a cozy blanket, covered us both up, and laid down facing him, prepared to catch a few winks, even if it meant snoozing on the living room floor. That stinker looked over at me, squeezed his eyes shut and grinned from ear to ear. That is his new way to smile. I must get it on camera one of these days.
His eyes popped back open and he scurried out of our coziness, but wasn't quite sure what to do next in the dark living room. His breathing was still very labored, and I remembered the doctor said to take him outside the last time. So there I was, a huge blanket wrapped around me and my boy, standing on our front porch at 3am. We stood there for a bit and his breathing calmed down.
I tiptoed back in, laid him in his crib, and crawled back into bed. David was still awake so I explained to him that the cool night air helps breathing problems. "Ummmm....why didn't you tell me that trick?" he asked groggily.
This morning we headed up to the clinic, which opened at 9am. Apparently. although they don't start seeing patients until 9am, everyone knows to get there earlier and sign in. So we walked into a waiting room with a handful of folks already there! At first he was shy and just sat on my lap and watched cartoons. Then he scrambled down and inspected each and every other person in the room. I'm sure he was a bit confused why all these people with glazed expressions were not in the mood to play peek-a-boo with an 18 month old.
I was actually kind of glad he slid off my lap and started running through the waiting area. When he had been sitting peacefully, his breathing seemed ok. I didn't want to walk into the exam room and have them look at me like I was crazy. But all his activity had him breathing like an 80 year old man chain smoker with emphysema in no time flat. It was kind of like when you take your car to the shop and beg for it to make that same odd noise for them.
Anyway, to wrap up, I really liked the doctor who saw him. She was the easiest doctor we've ever had to talk to. She didn't make me feel dumb for asking all my dumb questions. She said she has a child exactly like Tate at home, with the same chronic symptoms he has. She almost wrote me a script for a breathing machine to keep at the house, but when she listened to his lungs, she said the wheezes weren't coming from them, they were coming more from his airway. She said she still gives her child the breathing treatments from time to time, even though she knows it's not having that big of an effect, she does it simply because it makes her feel better and feel like she's doing something to help his breathing. I thought that was awesome...very motherly of her.
We opted for the oral steroid instead, and after she assured me it wouldn't make him grow baby muscles or facial hair, we were on our way.
I sure hope he doesn't get this ailment when he's a major league baseball player someday...
Poor little fella. It was breathing problems again...the third time since July. Our medical visits have gotten progressively less extreme each time.
First visit: hospitalized for 2 nights.
Second visit: middle of the night visit to the E.R.
Third visit: Saturday morning walk-in clinic.
By the time our fourth visit comes around, I will probably just take him down to the corner and bum some narcotics from a drug dealer.
Same old story. Croupy cough, shortness of breath, etc. Gasping for breath is more like it. David stayed up with him until 2am this morning on the couch, then decided to try the steam shower. I sat with Tate in the darkened bathroom for a bit, then headed back downstairs. I changed his diaper and he just laid still on the floor. Which was another telltale sign he wasn't feeling well. After I got him changed, I grabbed a cozy blanket, covered us both up, and laid down facing him, prepared to catch a few winks, even if it meant snoozing on the living room floor. That stinker looked over at me, squeezed his eyes shut and grinned from ear to ear. That is his new way to smile. I must get it on camera one of these days.
His eyes popped back open and he scurried out of our coziness, but wasn't quite sure what to do next in the dark living room. His breathing was still very labored, and I remembered the doctor said to take him outside the last time. So there I was, a huge blanket wrapped around me and my boy, standing on our front porch at 3am. We stood there for a bit and his breathing calmed down.
I tiptoed back in, laid him in his crib, and crawled back into bed. David was still awake so I explained to him that the cool night air helps breathing problems. "Ummmm....why didn't you tell me that trick?" he asked groggily.
This morning we headed up to the clinic, which opened at 9am. Apparently. although they don't start seeing patients until 9am, everyone knows to get there earlier and sign in. So we walked into a waiting room with a handful of folks already there! At first he was shy and just sat on my lap and watched cartoons. Then he scrambled down and inspected each and every other person in the room. I'm sure he was a bit confused why all these people with glazed expressions were not in the mood to play peek-a-boo with an 18 month old.
I was actually kind of glad he slid off my lap and started running through the waiting area. When he had been sitting peacefully, his breathing seemed ok. I didn't want to walk into the exam room and have them look at me like I was crazy. But all his activity had him breathing like an 80 year old man chain smoker with emphysema in no time flat. It was kind of like when you take your car to the shop and beg for it to make that same odd noise for them.
Anyway, to wrap up, I really liked the doctor who saw him. She was the easiest doctor we've ever had to talk to. She didn't make me feel dumb for asking all my dumb questions. She said she has a child exactly like Tate at home, with the same chronic symptoms he has. She almost wrote me a script for a breathing machine to keep at the house, but when she listened to his lungs, she said the wheezes weren't coming from them, they were coming more from his airway. She said she still gives her child the breathing treatments from time to time, even though she knows it's not having that big of an effect, she does it simply because it makes her feel better and feel like she's doing something to help his breathing. I thought that was awesome...very motherly of her.
We opted for the oral steroid instead, and after she assured me it wouldn't make him grow baby muscles or facial hair, we were on our way.
I sure hope he doesn't get this ailment when he's a major league baseball player someday...
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Fashion Show
Twice we've planned to have Reese's little friend come home with us after church and play all afternoon. And twice our plans have been foiled by illness. The first time, we had to cancel because our household was infected with the "crud". This time, her little friend's mom called to cancel because the "crud" had found its' way over to their house.
Poor Reese. We've been anticipating this event for weeks. She picked up her room, the basement, and Tate's room Saturday night. Then we got the call. I felt so bad for her. It breaks my heart to see her ice blue eyes fill with tears of disappointment. So I promised her that she and I would do something fun this afternoon.
She quickly dried her tears and started planning our Fashion Show. Basically it was an entire afternoon of dressing up, doing nails, singing and dancing to Disney Princess songs, refreshments (a snack size Snickers for her and a tiny box of sour lemon nerds for me), and some games made up along the way.
We had to decorate first of course. Reese nominated me to make all the signs--she told me what to write...word for word. And she colored and cut out the other decorations.
Getting beautified. Don't worry...she had to scrub it all off before evening church.
Singing her heart out with her wand/microphone that she would shove in my face every few verses when it was my turn for a solo.
Me modeling the latest style of head adornment. (Thank goodness for Sepia coloring, because it makes it harder to see all my wrinkles up close!).
We had a fun time. Of course, the thing that made it so fun was seeing her get so excited and enjoy her afternoon. I must admit, I was exhausted at the end of our time together. But tonight as I was putting her to bed, I told her I would remember our Fashion Show forever. "Even when I go to college?", she asked.
At that moment, the tears began filling my eyes....
Poor Reese. We've been anticipating this event for weeks. She picked up her room, the basement, and Tate's room Saturday night. Then we got the call. I felt so bad for her. It breaks my heart to see her ice blue eyes fill with tears of disappointment. So I promised her that she and I would do something fun this afternoon.
She quickly dried her tears and started planning our Fashion Show. Basically it was an entire afternoon of dressing up, doing nails, singing and dancing to Disney Princess songs, refreshments (a snack size Snickers for her and a tiny box of sour lemon nerds for me), and some games made up along the way.
We had to decorate first of course. Reese nominated me to make all the signs--she told me what to write...word for word. And she colored and cut out the other decorations.
Getting beautified. Don't worry...she had to scrub it all off before evening church.
Singing her heart out with her wand/microphone that she would shove in my face every few verses when it was my turn for a solo.
Me modeling the latest style of head adornment. (Thank goodness for Sepia coloring, because it makes it harder to see all my wrinkles up close!).
We had a fun time. Of course, the thing that made it so fun was seeing her get so excited and enjoy her afternoon. I must admit, I was exhausted at the end of our time together. But tonight as I was putting her to bed, I told her I would remember our Fashion Show forever. "Even when I go to college?", she asked.
At that moment, the tears began filling my eyes....
Daylight "Saves Me" Time
Ahhhhh....Daylight Savings Time. The one Sunday a year where I am not running out the door dragging a resistant toddler behind me with one arm, tugging my panty hose on with the other, and clinching my tube of mascara between my teeth to be messily slathered on as we tear down the highway on the way to church.
We didn't quite know what to do with ourselves when each and every member of the family was dressed and ready to go 25 minutes before we needed to begin the van loading process. We just kind of stared at each other dumbfoundedly.
If only we could have a magical extra hour every Sunday...
We didn't quite know what to do with ourselves when each and every member of the family was dressed and ready to go 25 minutes before we needed to begin the van loading process. We just kind of stared at each other dumbfoundedly.
If only we could have a magical extra hour every Sunday...
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Carvin' Time
Drue hates getting messy. She quickly came up with an alternative method to sticking her hands in the goo...she turned her pumpkin upside down and tried to shake the seeds out.
Reese, on the other hand, loves getting gooey...
The scariest costume yet.
Don't Ask...Don't Tell
I have borrowed this philosophy when it comes to wondering what exactly goes on when David is in charge of the children and I am away from the house.
Case in point: Yesterday I had to work late and didn't get home until around 7:45pm. David had solely been responsible for the young ones for less than 3 hours. I overlooked the kitchen, which was left in mild disarray, when I saw my children's cherubic faces smiling up at me, bathed, already in their pajamas, with no signs of obvious blunt trauma anywhere on their bodies.
I went to sleep feeling lucky to have such a dependable helpmate.
However, as I began my days' events this morning getting everyone up and ready, my thoughts of his dependability waned as I peeled off Tate's pajamas and was met by the unmistakable sheen of silver DUCT TAPE, holding my little one's diaper securely to his bum!
Don't ask...don't tell...
Case in point: Yesterday I had to work late and didn't get home until around 7:45pm. David had solely been responsible for the young ones for less than 3 hours. I overlooked the kitchen, which was left in mild disarray, when I saw my children's cherubic faces smiling up at me, bathed, already in their pajamas, with no signs of obvious blunt trauma anywhere on their bodies.
I went to sleep feeling lucky to have such a dependable helpmate.
However, as I began my days' events this morning getting everyone up and ready, my thoughts of his dependability waned as I peeled off Tate's pajamas and was met by the unmistakable sheen of silver DUCT TAPE, holding my little one's diaper securely to his bum!
Don't ask...don't tell...
Monday, October 29, 2007
False Alarm
Ok, so this MRSA...Superbug...Staph scare has me freaked out. And they say to look for anything that may resemble a boil or spider bite.
So my breath caught in my throat this afternoon as my eyes were drawn to a suspicious looking red bump on the back of Tate's head right at the base of his skull!
Upon closer inspection, however, it was deemed to be leftover ravioli from todays' lunch.
Whew!
So my breath caught in my throat this afternoon as my eyes were drawn to a suspicious looking red bump on the back of Tate's head right at the base of his skull!
Upon closer inspection, however, it was deemed to be leftover ravioli from todays' lunch.
Whew!
Wisdom from the Potty
It was another harried morning, and we were running late as has been our trend the past few days of preschool. Reese and Tate were successfully dressed and ready to go so I turned my attention to Drue. I pried her few uneaten cheerios from her grasp and plopped her on the potty.
As I tried to convince her that now was not the time to sit and ponder life's mysteries, Tate began howling on the other side of the door, desperately wanting to come in and either topple headfirst into the tub, or gleefully climb the stepstool and brush his four front teeth.
I attempted to block him out as I sat on the edge of the tub and patiently waited for Drue to count out her last few pieces of toilet paper.
With the clock ticking, Tate crying, and one of the dogs barking to go outside, I sighed and commented, "Our life is pretty crazy isn't it Drue?".
"Uh-huh...it is," she replied, then added, "But my life is a beeeaaauuuutiful life!".
As I tried to convince her that now was not the time to sit and ponder life's mysteries, Tate began howling on the other side of the door, desperately wanting to come in and either topple headfirst into the tub, or gleefully climb the stepstool and brush his four front teeth.
I attempted to block him out as I sat on the edge of the tub and patiently waited for Drue to count out her last few pieces of toilet paper.
With the clock ticking, Tate crying, and one of the dogs barking to go outside, I sighed and commented, "Our life is pretty crazy isn't it Drue?".
"Uh-huh...it is," she replied, then added, "But my life is a beeeaaauuuutiful life!".
Saturday, October 27, 2007
Friday, October 26, 2007
Sweet Moments
Most nights, I snuggle with the girls in their beds for a few moments before we say goodnight. I look forward to doing the same with Tate when he graduates to a big boy bed.
After I snuggled with Drue tonight, I wearily climbed out of her bed and got into Reese's. Fall weather is very snuggle friendly, I might add. I crawled under her sheet and quilt and held her close.
"What was your favorite part of the day today?" I whispered in her ear.
She turned her little face toward mine and whispered back, "This one....".
After I snuggled with Drue tonight, I wearily climbed out of her bed and got into Reese's. Fall weather is very snuggle friendly, I might add. I crawled under her sheet and quilt and held her close.
"What was your favorite part of the day today?" I whispered in her ear.
She turned her little face toward mine and whispered back, "This one....".
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
True Love
Here's a few glimpses into what a sweet, loving, encouraging man I married:
Normally, I look into the mirror to apply makeup, do my hair, etc. These events don't usually require me to smile. In fact, it's rare that I look into the mirror and smile. That's just odd. But I guess I happened to be laughing the same moment I looked into the mirror a few weeks ago and was aghast to see distinct LINES fanning out from the outside corners of my eyes. I assure you, that was nothing to smile about. So I vowed from that moment on, no more smiling for me. Ever.
Later that evening I informed David of my decision. "What? Why?", he asked.
I went on to explain to him my smile line discovery earlier in the day, and since we can't afford Botox, my only other solution is to quit smiling altogether.
"Smile lines?", he asked, confused.
"Yes! Those little lines that creep out from my eyes when I smile!".
"Oooohhhhh. Yeah, they do make you look old. They're called crows' feet...but on me, they're called character lines."
The other day I had been doing laundry and had piled a couple of clean loads onto our bed. After getting everyone bedded down for the night, David and I went into our room to start getting ourselves ready for bed. We both eyed the mountain of clothes lying there. I will confess, I've been known to simply sweep the mountain onto the floor, or chair at times and drift off to sleep. However, when I discovered that laundry elves do not visit our house in the middle of the night to put away our clean clothes, I've tried to stop doing that.
I could see the wheels turning in David's head as he tried to figure out another location to store the clothes so we could go to sleep.
I picked up a towel and began folding it. He was standing at the end of the bed just staring.
"I have to fold these and put them away tonight because if I have to wake up to this mound of clothes tomorrow morning I am going to kill myself!" I explained. (I know, that is nothing to joke about, but drastic times call for drastic empty threats).
David didn't even blink an eye. "Well honey, please don't kill yourself on top of the clean clothes, because that would just cause an awful stinch which would be hard to get out."
Isn't he a catch?
Normally, I look into the mirror to apply makeup, do my hair, etc. These events don't usually require me to smile. In fact, it's rare that I look into the mirror and smile. That's just odd. But I guess I happened to be laughing the same moment I looked into the mirror a few weeks ago and was aghast to see distinct LINES fanning out from the outside corners of my eyes. I assure you, that was nothing to smile about. So I vowed from that moment on, no more smiling for me. Ever.
Later that evening I informed David of my decision. "What? Why?", he asked.
I went on to explain to him my smile line discovery earlier in the day, and since we can't afford Botox, my only other solution is to quit smiling altogether.
"Smile lines?", he asked, confused.
"Yes! Those little lines that creep out from my eyes when I smile!".
"Oooohhhhh. Yeah, they do make you look old. They're called crows' feet...but on me, they're called character lines."
The other day I had been doing laundry and had piled a couple of clean loads onto our bed. After getting everyone bedded down for the night, David and I went into our room to start getting ourselves ready for bed. We both eyed the mountain of clothes lying there. I will confess, I've been known to simply sweep the mountain onto the floor, or chair at times and drift off to sleep. However, when I discovered that laundry elves do not visit our house in the middle of the night to put away our clean clothes, I've tried to stop doing that.
I could see the wheels turning in David's head as he tried to figure out another location to store the clothes so we could go to sleep.
I picked up a towel and began folding it. He was standing at the end of the bed just staring.
"I have to fold these and put them away tonight because if I have to wake up to this mound of clothes tomorrow morning I am going to kill myself!" I explained. (I know, that is nothing to joke about, but drastic times call for drastic empty threats).
David didn't even blink an eye. "Well honey, please don't kill yourself on top of the clean clothes, because that would just cause an awful stinch which would be hard to get out."
Isn't he a catch?
Tuesday, October 23, 2007
Readers Talk....I Listen
A loyal reader and friend e-mailed me today about my lack of blog postings lately. It could have been worded, "While I do enjoy seeing that sweet little baby picture of Reese on her Birthday Blog, I look forward to reading new posts about your adorable family." But that is not her personality. It simply said, "If you people have a blog....you need to update it. I am sick of clicking and finding the SAME thing....".
As always, I have had 1,078 ideas of blogs running around in my head, yet just don't quite find the time to sit and type them all out. But this is one cute grocery store happening that hopefully you'll enjoy.
The grocery store.
Just a dreaded experience all around. For some strange reason, I have always loathed going grocery shopping. I don't mind dashing in for a couple of things, but to actually sit down, make a list, and fill up an entire cart, just makes me crazy. I've been this way my whole married life, so it really has nothing to do with dragging along three energetic wee ones whose idea of a fun afternoon is not comparing green bean prices.
David requested a specific meal for last evening. You will be proud to know, I didn't snidely respond that I am not his own personal short order cook, nor is this a 5 star hotel where he is free to pick something to his liking off the menu. I gathered up the kids and dutifully made a late afternoon trip to the grocery store, list in hand, to get all the needed ingredients for his specified delicacy.
A trip to the store isn't just the matter of plopping the kids in their seats and be-bopping on over on the spur of the moment. It takes precision and planning. First, is timing. After naptime, after snacktime, and after potty break time usually works pretty well.
Two sets of lists are made. The rough draft scribbled out with items as they come off the top of my head. Then the second list carefully constructed from that first list, only this time, I write down all my items in order of where they can be found in the store, mapping out the quickest, most direct route, to cut down on extra time spent running back and forth from the vegetable aisle to the toilet paper aisle, then realizing I forgot carrots.
Then I must mentally prepare the wee ones for every possible scenario we may encounter once we get to the store. Believe me, this is a key element and saves many a thrown fit. For instance, yesterday, I simply stated that Drue and Tate would ride in the car cart and Reese would get to walk and be my helper. I have learned how to make every position a positive one. Reese doesn't like that she can't always ride in the cart anymore, but all of a sudden walking doesn't sound so bad if I enlist her as my official helper. Of course, then Drue complains that she does have to ride in the cart, but I enlisted her to be my helper from a seated position and she was finally ok with that. Then they are quizzed on the correct and incorrect behavior to be displayed at the store.
All the way there I kept repeating as stated above: Drue and Tate would ride in a car cart, Reese would walk and be my helper. So wouldn't you know it, we get there and nary a car cart was to be found. I had to quickly change my strategy before my whole mission fizzled to pieces. "Ok, no car carts. Drue, you get to walk and be my special helper after all" then I quickly whisked Tate into the regular cart (which he feels is his own personal solitary confinement cell on wheels) praying he would be too distracted by the pretty potted fall foliage to notice.
We were off. For some odd reason, even with my orderly list, I still seem to miss that one item that's all the way back over on the other side of the store. Personally, I think grocery stores should be set up with two of every section but on opposite sides of the store. So by the time I realize I forgot to get yogurt 13 aisles ago, it wouldn't be a big deal, because, hey, lookie there, another dairy section is up ahead!
Anyway, back to our trip. Two walkers and a rider actually poses more of a threat to a relaxing time, because I now have two little fighting helpers and no one in the cart to entertain the boy. But this trip, Reese and Drue both willingly took turns, no hair pulling involved, at putting stuff into the cart for me. And Tate had no back arching incidents accompanied by his girly shriek of disdain at being strapped down.
One dad even commented that I had a lot of helpers. As I smiled back at him and probably said something stupid, Drue stopped stock still in front of my moving cart which was quickly brought to a stop by her little achilles tendons. She toppled forward spilling her bear companion. My breath literally caught in my throat as I waited for the howls. I even prepared our gentleman friend by saying in my fake sweet mommy voice, "Uh oh, we're going to cry now...we're going to cry".
But she hopped right up, gathered glow bear, and acted as though nothing happened. Of course, I bent down and closely inspected her, sure I had inadvertently switched her with someone else's child. Soft brown curls encircling large hazel eyes...yep, that was my Druebie.
We grabbed the rest of our items, Tate did attempt to stand up at one point, but I gave him my list to hold, which took his mind off everything else. We even made it through the checkout smoothly. Our baggers put bright orange circular stickers on our milk usually, I guess to show that we did, in fact, purchase it. For some reason my kids think the sun rises and sets on those stickers. Most of the time the bagger offers them one, which they readily accept. But sometimes, the baggers forget. Reese kept asking me if they could have a sticker. The bagger wasn't paying attention, so I turned to the register behind me and grabbed two off their strip. I stuck them on the girls' shirts as we headed out of the store, still amazed at our very successful afternoon.
My thoughts of disbelief were interrupted by Reese tugging on my hand saying, "Mommy, you only got two stickers". "Yes dear, one for you and one for Drue." "But Mommy, you didn't get one for Tate." Then I watched my sweet one, whose little day is brightened by these bright orange stickers, peel hers off her shirt and gently place it on her little brothers' shirt.
"Reese!", I exclaimed proudly, "That is exactly what Jesus would have done!". She shyly smiled all the way back to the van.
What a sweet ending to my story.
I almost don't want to write about how as I was getting them all buckled in to go home, Reese turned to Drue and said tauntingly, "I gave Buddy my sticker...and yoooouuuu didn't."
Pretty sure Jesus wouldn't have said that.....
As always, I have had 1,078 ideas of blogs running around in my head, yet just don't quite find the time to sit and type them all out. But this is one cute grocery store happening that hopefully you'll enjoy.
The grocery store.
Just a dreaded experience all around. For some strange reason, I have always loathed going grocery shopping. I don't mind dashing in for a couple of things, but to actually sit down, make a list, and fill up an entire cart, just makes me crazy. I've been this way my whole married life, so it really has nothing to do with dragging along three energetic wee ones whose idea of a fun afternoon is not comparing green bean prices.
David requested a specific meal for last evening. You will be proud to know, I didn't snidely respond that I am not his own personal short order cook, nor is this a 5 star hotel where he is free to pick something to his liking off the menu. I gathered up the kids and dutifully made a late afternoon trip to the grocery store, list in hand, to get all the needed ingredients for his specified delicacy.
A trip to the store isn't just the matter of plopping the kids in their seats and be-bopping on over on the spur of the moment. It takes precision and planning. First, is timing. After naptime, after snacktime, and after potty break time usually works pretty well.
Two sets of lists are made. The rough draft scribbled out with items as they come off the top of my head. Then the second list carefully constructed from that first list, only this time, I write down all my items in order of where they can be found in the store, mapping out the quickest, most direct route, to cut down on extra time spent running back and forth from the vegetable aisle to the toilet paper aisle, then realizing I forgot carrots.
Then I must mentally prepare the wee ones for every possible scenario we may encounter once we get to the store. Believe me, this is a key element and saves many a thrown fit. For instance, yesterday, I simply stated that Drue and Tate would ride in the car cart and Reese would get to walk and be my helper. I have learned how to make every position a positive one. Reese doesn't like that she can't always ride in the cart anymore, but all of a sudden walking doesn't sound so bad if I enlist her as my official helper. Of course, then Drue complains that she does have to ride in the cart, but I enlisted her to be my helper from a seated position and she was finally ok with that. Then they are quizzed on the correct and incorrect behavior to be displayed at the store.
All the way there I kept repeating as stated above: Drue and Tate would ride in a car cart, Reese would walk and be my helper. So wouldn't you know it, we get there and nary a car cart was to be found. I had to quickly change my strategy before my whole mission fizzled to pieces. "Ok, no car carts. Drue, you get to walk and be my special helper after all" then I quickly whisked Tate into the regular cart (which he feels is his own personal solitary confinement cell on wheels) praying he would be too distracted by the pretty potted fall foliage to notice.
We were off. For some odd reason, even with my orderly list, I still seem to miss that one item that's all the way back over on the other side of the store. Personally, I think grocery stores should be set up with two of every section but on opposite sides of the store. So by the time I realize I forgot to get yogurt 13 aisles ago, it wouldn't be a big deal, because, hey, lookie there, another dairy section is up ahead!
Anyway, back to our trip. Two walkers and a rider actually poses more of a threat to a relaxing time, because I now have two little fighting helpers and no one in the cart to entertain the boy. But this trip, Reese and Drue both willingly took turns, no hair pulling involved, at putting stuff into the cart for me. And Tate had no back arching incidents accompanied by his girly shriek of disdain at being strapped down.
One dad even commented that I had a lot of helpers. As I smiled back at him and probably said something stupid, Drue stopped stock still in front of my moving cart which was quickly brought to a stop by her little achilles tendons. She toppled forward spilling her bear companion. My breath literally caught in my throat as I waited for the howls. I even prepared our gentleman friend by saying in my fake sweet mommy voice, "Uh oh, we're going to cry now...we're going to cry".
But she hopped right up, gathered glow bear, and acted as though nothing happened. Of course, I bent down and closely inspected her, sure I had inadvertently switched her with someone else's child. Soft brown curls encircling large hazel eyes...yep, that was my Druebie.
We grabbed the rest of our items, Tate did attempt to stand up at one point, but I gave him my list to hold, which took his mind off everything else. We even made it through the checkout smoothly. Our baggers put bright orange circular stickers on our milk usually, I guess to show that we did, in fact, purchase it. For some reason my kids think the sun rises and sets on those stickers. Most of the time the bagger offers them one, which they readily accept. But sometimes, the baggers forget. Reese kept asking me if they could have a sticker. The bagger wasn't paying attention, so I turned to the register behind me and grabbed two off their strip. I stuck them on the girls' shirts as we headed out of the store, still amazed at our very successful afternoon.
My thoughts of disbelief were interrupted by Reese tugging on my hand saying, "Mommy, you only got two stickers". "Yes dear, one for you and one for Drue." "But Mommy, you didn't get one for Tate." Then I watched my sweet one, whose little day is brightened by these bright orange stickers, peel hers off her shirt and gently place it on her little brothers' shirt.
"Reese!", I exclaimed proudly, "That is exactly what Jesus would have done!". She shyly smiled all the way back to the van.
What a sweet ending to my story.
I almost don't want to write about how as I was getting them all buckled in to go home, Reese turned to Drue and said tauntingly, "I gave Buddy my sticker...and yoooouuuu didn't."
Pretty sure Jesus wouldn't have said that.....
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
Happy Birthday Reese!
5 years ago our lives were forever changed by this tiny bundle. What an awesome journey parenthood has been thus far...and we've only just begun. We love you Reese!
You never cease to amaze me with your kind hearted spirit. And today was no exception. It was your 5th birthday, you were sick with a sore throat and couldn't go to your beloved preschool where they were going to celebrate your special day. We were stuck inside all day watching the pouring rain out our window. And we were debating whether or not to let you go sing in your first choir performance in front of big church tonight.
You were excited about your presents we let you open. So I reminded you that you would get to open even more this weekend at your Family Party. You were happy about that. Then, instead of focusing on the crummy parts of your day--being sick, the rain, etc, you said, "But Mommy...my greatest gift of all is from Jesus."
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