Why I scrapbook

There. I've admitted it. I am a scrapbooker. And I love it. I have a whole room dedicated to paper, and pictures, and different kinds of adhesive, and things that cut, and ribbon, and buttons, and who knows what else. I mean, really. I totally don't know. It's complete chaos in there. For all I know there may be another child hiding in there somewhere. It'd be hard to find it. Or for it to find it's way out. Someday I'll clean it out. Maybe. Probably not.

Anyway, the question begs to be answered, why?! Why do I scrapbook? I can't tell you how many times I've been asked. Usually it's posed by another woman, who has this weird, perplexed, almost judgemental look on her face. Like "why the eff would you waste your time on that?!". Or maybe that's just how I'm taking it. Because I feel guilty often when I scrapbook. But that's a whole different post.

Okay, so why? I scrap for 2 main reasons. First, I scrap because it's my "me" time. I've described it as my therapy. It's just about the only time I have the opportunity to be by myself, do something creative, and not be constantly interrupted by children or husband. Because hubby generally avoids scrapbook world. I think it scares him. And children with good self-preservation mechanisms do, too (usually).

I spend most days talking to other people about their own stuff (issues, crap, drama, problems, trauma, whatever you want to call it). And while I love being a social worker, it does leave me little time to think about/deal with/whatever my own stuff. Scrapbook times guarantees I have a quiet space to just be. I don't have to be empathetic, ortell a family that I'm about to call child protective services on them, or think about someone else's trauma. And it's also the only way I get to be creative. 'Cause there just isn't time to do it in any other ways.

The 2nd reason I scrap is for my boys. There are lots of pictures of me from when I was a kiddo, but the little stories and circumstances that go with those pictures aren't documented. I so treasure the pictures, but I wish I knew the stories, too. Of course I could ask my mom, but chances are that the words that go with those images, at least for a lot of them, are long gone. I want my boys to have the stories that go with the pictures. I want them to be able to share those stories with their children and grandchildren.

Also, I want the boys to be able to know me through the words I write to them in those scrapbooks. I want them to know who I am right now, when they are 1 and 6, and I am 33. Not just the me they will know when they are teenagers or adults and I am hitting middle age. With all the drama that comes with parenting middle and high schoolers to alter their memories. I want them to know the young mom, not the tired, worn down one (well, considering I'm sleep-deprived, I suppose I am currently tired and word down, but I suspect it's in a different way than I will be in 10 or 20 years).

I want my boys to know the children I know right now. To be able to see themselves through my eyes as little boys. Not as the children I will tell them about when they are older. And there are all those experiences between now and then to color my opinions and memories (as well as their own).

Scrapbooking is about me. But it's also about my boys. And, I consider it a gift I am giving to their future selves. And, heck, when I'm old and can't even remember my own name, maybe those scrapbooks will be a gift to me, too.

Today's lesson: The women's bathrooms at the hospital don't have urinals in them. And I'm not going to explain any further how I learned this lesson. Except to say that it may have been the hard way.

Just ew

Lest you think my little one is the only one who puts disgusting things in his mouth, here's a lovely little story for you about my kid.

Monday we were all home thanks to Presidents' Day and me just having Mondays off work. So the boys and I - because it was a wonderfully sunshiny kind of day, - took a walk with a friend. We were bopping along and I pointed out a lovely little patch of crocus flowers. The kid crouched down to get a good look at them. He loves flowers, and trees, and plants of all kinds, well, just nature in general. So I just assumed he was really checking them out. But then he said, with head still down, "there's also a piece of gum down here". "Ew, kid! Come on, lets go." And off we went.

And then, several minutes later I noticed the kid chomping away on something. So I asked him what it was. And he put his head down and started walking really fast. And it hit me. Dearlordinheaven, he put that piece of gum in his mouth. My sweet baby boy was chewing away on some piece of ABC gum he found ON. THE. GROUND. It was in someone else's mouth. And could have been peed on by a dog. Or have bird poop on it. Or god knows what else. Yuck. Gag. Shudder. Ewwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.

I told him to spit it out immediately.

Today's lesson: And that is why God invented mouthwash, people. Actually HERE is the history of mouthwash, in case you're interested. Because after I wrote that I all of the sudden needed to know. And it made me feel MUCH better about baby E eating that pee pee toilet paper. And now you're curious, too, aren't you?!

My little jailbird

"I can't stop wo-wo-wo-worrying that I'm going to go to jail", is what my baby blubbered Sunday night. He'd come sobbing out of his room about an hour after he'd been put to bed. An hour after we thought he was already asleep, because he'd gone to bed almost an hour late as it was. I couldn't make eye contact with hubby because I was afraid I would start giggling. Which would not, of course have been the appropriate response to my baby's emotional pain. Probably.

Let me go back to earlier, to share with you the back story. And then you can decide if this was a parenting fail, or success. Because, in truth, I'm not sure. Even though I'm still giggling about the whole thing.

Saturday I had to work. Hubby had both boys and took them to the grocery. The were walking along and saw a Superman key chain. Hubby commented on it, as he is quite the fan of Superman. And then they walked on. Back to Sunday. I was down in the basement cleaning up the kid's "man cave" as we were having some friends over for dinner that evening. I noticed a Superman key chain I'd never seen. I asked him about it. He said they'd gotten it from the grocery the previous day. I thought nothing of it and continued cleaning.

Less than 10min later, I heard hubby telling the kid to go to timeout. (Side note, I was very proud of hubby for remaining cool and calm throughout this whole thing.) Apparently the kid had shoplifted the key chain when they were at the store. Hubby was asking him about it, but getting little response. So we let him stew in timeout for a few minutes then asked him to come sit at the table with us.

We explained that what he'd done was stealing. We don't take things from our friends' houses when we're visiting them, because the things at our friends' houses belong to them. Not us. And the same principal applies with stores; things in stores belong to said stores until we pay for them (either with cash or debit/credit cards). When he walked out without paying for the key chain he'd stolen something that didn't belong to him.

And then I threw in there at the last minute, just for fun, that people who steal things can go to jail. I wanted him to know that there was a serious consequence for stealing. His immediate consequence was that he was going to go the following day and return the key chain, explaining to the store employee what he had done.

The whole time he refused to sit down, and just stood there looking immensely pissed off. I asked him if he was angry, or what he was thinking, or if he had any questions. He just growled "no" and refused to make eye contact. So, we let it go at that, reminding him that we love him no matter what but know that he feels better about himself when he makes good decisions. (insert glare and another growl here)

We didn't say another word to him about it and had a lovely evening with our friends.

Then, Sunday night, long after we thought he was asleep, he came out. I assured him that he was not going to jail, because they don't put 6yo's in jail. But, if he continues to steal, it may be a consequence. After many hugs and cuddles and reassurances and kisses (in between me trying not to look at hubby or giggle), I finally got the kid back to bed.

Monday morning, hubby took the kid back to the store and they returned the key chain. He told them what he'd done and apologized. Theyasked him if they needed to call the security guard. She dropped his head and mumbled "no" between a few very real tears. They then told him it was okay, but not to do it ever again. He seemed much relieved that there were no police or jail involved. And - hopefully - that will be the end of that.

I know that this is normal kid stuff. And, truly, I don't think he understood that what he'd done was wrong. He didn't try to hide it from me when I saw it downstairs. He doesn't pay attention to us paying for things when we're at the store. And we only ever pay with credit/debit cards, which I think probably further makes paying seem rather ambiguous. In retrospect, I think some of his pissed off-ed-ness when we were talking about it was just not understanding what the big deal was.

I do think he gets it now. I don't think he steal again. He'd better not. And we've got some work to do regarding teaching him about this whole buying/paying system that we live in. Obviously.

Today's lesson: Sometimes, your kid's pain may make you giggle a little. Or a lot. And that may or may not make you a bad parent. But, also, sometimes that pain can go a lot further in teaching them the lesson. Because, sometimes, the pain means that the lesson has sunk in and they really get it. And by pain, I mean like the kid's fear of going to jail. Not like a broken bone or anything. Just clarifying for those of you out there in the whole "spare the rod, spoil the child" camp. That's not actually a good lesson. Just sayin'.

My new work schedule

This new job has really changed things up in our family. In addition to giving me my new-found anxiety about driving with the boys in the car, I'm now working two 12 hour (and two 8 hour) shifts. This leaves hubby home with the boys in the evenings a couple nights each week on single-Poppa duty. Also, I work every 3rd Saturday. That means more single parenthood for the hubby. He's been great about it, not complaining about this extra responsibility at all. He has expressed worry that we may have less time together, but I haven't seen this really happen. Fingers crossed it won't. Fingers also crossed that he doesn't start to bemoan his increased one-on-one time with the boys!

So, all that also means I now am only working 4 days/week. Which is fabulous. A couple of jobs ago, I used to work four 10 hour days, which I loved. This was my schedule for the first few years after the kid was born. It was nice to have that one-on-one Momma-kid time. So, it's nice to now have that with baby E. I do feel like I'm missing out on some time with my kiddo. And that makes me sad. Stupid public school 5 days/week schedule.

So far, the boys haven't seemed to really notice a change in my schedule. Other than the kid realizing baby E is getting to stay home with me more during the day. Not sure he's particularly thrilled about that. I think he mostly thinks that if E gets to be home, so should he. Also, now that I think about it, baby E has been wanting to nurse more often. But I don't necessarily know that that has anything to do with my schedule change.Who knows with that child.

All in all, we seem to be adjusting well. I think. I hope.

Today's lesson: Apparently I am the Dancing Queen. And I'm only 17. And young and sweet. At least according to my 6 year old. I'll take it. (Abba can clue you in, if you have no idea what I'm talking about. And, in which case, you'll have learned 2 lessons today, you lucky reader, you.)

So, maybe this happened...

This one time I might have been in the bathroom and baby E might have been in there, too. And I might have had to fish toilet paper out of baby E's mouth. Toilet paper, wet, from the toilet. The toilet that might have had pee in it. And after I might have yelled "no, E, no!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! EEEEEWWWWWWWWW!!!!" and hubby came running. He might have said, "oh, that's not even the first time that's happened this week". And then he might have said, "at least there wasn't poop in the toilet this time". And I might have gagged a lot. And then washed baby E's hands. A lot. And then washed out his mouth. With water. Not soap. Though I might have really wanted to use soap. And then toothpaste, because water might not have seemed like enough.

Maybe. That just might have all happened. At the social worker's house. With her child. While she was "supervising".

Today's lesson: Even if your husband thinks that your baby eating peepee toilet paper out of the toilet isn't a big deal, it is. And it's gross. So very gross. And it isn't something you want to hear that happens "all the time". (shudder)

Sometimes we sleep

I'd like someone to explain to me why, just when baby E seems to finally be sleeping better (note: we're usually still up once or twice, but they're brief, and that's still half the times we used to be up), the kid is now getting up. I mean, seriously?! I'm pretty sure they must be conspiring against us. For some reason. Like they like us being sleep-deprived. And cranky. And think the dark circles under my eyes are becoming. Or maybe they wouldn't even recognize me without them. Like when I got my hair cut super short and E kept looking behind me for it.

That, or it has nothing to do with us and they - individually- have stuff going on that's messing with their sleep. One of the two.

Either which way, I am thrilled to report that baby E is sleeping sooooooooooo very much better. Last night he was only up once, and briefly at that. But the previous 2 nights he slept about 11hrs straight. That's 11hrs each night. Not waking up. At all. I call it awesomeness. The melatonin seems to be doing the trick. Though, interestingly, he also seems to sleep better at night when we put him in a wool diaper cover. Not sure what kind of a connection there could be there. But, by George, we will continue to use them! And the melatonin. (Unless one of our pharmacist people finds something that indicates otherwise.)

Now, if only we could get them both sleeping 8pm-7am... Someday...

Today's lesson: Melatonin is my friend. And never say never, especially when it comes to parenting. You know, like you should never say you won't give your kid meds to sleep. Because you might just get super duper desperate and be willing to try anything. Even crushed up pills.

TV lies

I think I've mentioned in passing a few times that I recently started a new job. I don't think I've told you anything about it though. Well, I'm now a social worker in the Emergency Department (ED) of a local hospital. Let me just tell you, as disappointing as it is, ER and Grey's Anatomy are not realistic. I mean, maybe you're not shocked by that. Probably your momma told you that you can't believe everything you read on TV. And mine told me that, too, but - somehow - I believed in those. At least a little. The reality, however, is much less exciting.

We have patients who are in the ED for the first time ever. And patients who are in for the 3rd time that week. Old, young. English speaking, non-English speaking. Every color and ethnicity. Patients who are generally healthy, those who have terminal illnesses. Ones who arrive alone, those who come with every single person in their extended families.

The reality of what's seen at an ED consists many things. A lot of breathing difficulties for a variety of reasons (kids swallowing things that aren't edible; respiratory issues; RSV; COPD; etc...). People seeking drugs (for valid pain/injuries, and because they have a substance abuse issue). Falls (down stairs, seemingly from simply standing, kids from places they've climbed, etc...). Burns (often kids accidentally getting some kind of hot liquid on themselves).

There are lots of ear infections. And vomiting. And coughing. These few things drive me crazy, so here's a brief teaching (or ranting) moment: the ER isn't the appropriate place for these kinds of issues, folks, unless it's the middle of the night and your kid is in horrific pain and has been screaming for hours. Or really can't breathe.  Otherwise, please access your regular pediatrician, or, of course, do whatever your pediatrician's office tells you. But, please, contact them first.

There is also a fair amount of child abuse. Injuries that have just happened. Injuries that parents claim have just happened but examination proves differently. Teenagers. Tiny, little babies. Single injuries, injuries covering much of their bodies. Babies who aren't gaining weight because of neglect (as well as those who aren't gaining weight because of some kind of medical condition). There's lots of - often frustrating - interaction with child protection. But that's a whole rant deserving of it's own post.

The reality also consists of a lot of car crashes. Like a lot. Just run-of-the-mill ones (car vs. other car/tree/telephone pole/etc...). Often associated with bad weather. Minor, and major accidents. Lots of accidents.

And these accidents are the things that seem to be affecting me, personally, the most. I mean, you'd think (or at least I did), that the child abuse would be the most difficult for me to stomach. But, apparently 12 years of social work have allowed me to be able to handle the abuse alright, and at least not take them home with me. I mean, am I infuriated that kids are being abused? Hell yeah. But those kids aren't the ones infiltrating my dreams at night. It's those car accident kids that keep disrupting my sleep.

I think it's because I look at my boys and I know they are safe from the angry injuries most of the "abuse kiddos" are experiencing. I know my boys are being fed appropriately and are growing well. I know that hubby and I, though we certainly get frustrated with our boys at times, don't use physical discipline. And when one of us has had it, the other is there for backup so that neither of us loses it. I don't worry about my kids being covered in bruises in that way.

But car accidents seem so out of my control. It feels like there is so little I can do to prevent them. Of course the boys are absolutely always in their car/booster seats, even if we're just driving the half mile to Gram's house. And hubby and I always wear our seat belts. I know hubby and I are safe drivers, though, yes, I totally did back into a parked car less than two months ago (no, thankfully, the boys weren't with me). Also, I've totally backed off on the speeding as well.

But, still. I have no control over road conditions. Or the weather. Or other vehicles. The fear of being in an accident with my kids in the car is invading even my dreams, stealing the (albeit) little sleep I could be getting.

And I'm not sure what to do about it.

Today's lesson: Slow down and drive safely. I don't want to see you in the ED because of a car accident. I especially don't want to see your kids in here for one. And, for the love of pete, pretty pretty please put your kids in properly installed car seats Every. Single. Time.  Even if you're just going around the block.

My baby is 6. Oh my.

I started thinking of all these emotional, gushy things to say about the day my baby was born. But then I remembered that I'd already said all of them last year. And all of that is still true of course. This day brings me smiles and joy, just in the remembering of it. It was a perfect day, 2/9/06.

But, today, I'd like to really tell you about who my sweet kid is, right now, as he turns 6.

Consider what a big year it's been for my boy. Really stepping into being a big brother (especially the part where he has to get used to baby E getting into all of his stuff). Starting public school. Being faced with his first bully (those awful mean girls). Starting gymnastics (and man, is he good at it!). Getting a real "big kid" room (pics of the robot room to come. Hopefully...). Losing his Oma. Having cranky, sleep-deprived parents short on patience (yeah, for a whole year). So many changes in a little person's life.

We've had bumps. Some small. Some enormous. Overall, the kid has way fewer time outs compared to a year ago. But the infractions that do earn them are a bit more irritating. I mean, where did these moments of disrespect come from?!

He's grown. Good grief is he tall now. He's just about up to my armpits. (And there's probably some kind of something to analyze in that comparison/measurement.) He seems so very grown up in many ways. And still very little boy in many others.

The things that come out of that boy's mouth! Oh my goodness. Hilarity one minute. Followed by some amazing insight the next. And whining about wanting his Optimus Prime the next.

The fascination with bathroom "stuff". You know. Like farts. And poop. (sigh) I live in a house with 3 boys (4 including the dog). I see a lot of this in my future. I can't say I'm pleased about it though.

He's busy. But in a different way than baby E, and really, in a different way than he used to be. He often seems unable to stop. But then he will. And sit and really listen. Or become absorbed in writing. Or say something deep and meaningful. And then he's off again, running laps around the house. That kid does have energy abounding. Not that that is new.

In some ways I grieve leaving the kid's baby times behind. He doesn't need his momma in the same way he used to. He still (tries to) curls up in my lap and gives and asks for frequent hugs. But he doesn't really come to me needing kisses when he gets hurt. He's losing that sweet baby smell. And it's been replaced by little boy funk. Of course his hair products blessedly covers that up most of the time. But sometimes there's a distinct stank.

He's absolutely sweet and loving, with not a mean bone in his body. I don't think this is something that will ever change. I think that is the essence of who he is.

Happy birthday, baby boy. Momma adores you for the being baby who made her a momma. For being the toddler who wrapped his gooey hands around her neck and whispered that she is "mine's momma!!!!!". For being the little boy who writes loves messages in a bottle declaring his love of his momma, his intention of living with her forever. For the opportunity to watch him continue to grow up.

Happy birthday, kid.

Today's lesson: Parenthood is such an education. Mostly about things you never expected.

The Superbowl

Last year I told you why the Superbowl is special to us. In short, it was on Superbowl Sunday that we first met the kid's birth parents. It was on Superbowl Sunday that we realized that - like, for real! - we were going to be parents. And soon. It was on Superbowl Sunday that we, for the first time, were able to say that we were "expecting", that, in fact it would be mere days before we would be parents. It is one of those days that I will never forget. It is a day that while the rest of the country gorges itself on food, I sit and smile, remembering the best gift I've ever been given. Hope, joy, parenthood, my sweet kiddo.

Last year, I wrote this:
"So today, on Superbowl Sunday, I celebrate for a different reason. I could care less about some football game. Honestly, I have no idea who's even playing. I don't even care that much about the commercials. Today I chose to remember the way my life changed in the biggest way. And the people who made that possible. L and D, where ever you are, today I thank you and send you extra gratitude, love and prayers."

This year, things are a little different. We know where L and D are. We've seen them and they've seen the kid. But the sentiments are the same. I thank them and hope they know how much we love and appreciate them.

For the record, I still don't know who is playing. And I still could care less. Yes, even about the commercials.

Today's lesson I will repeat from last year's - some things are worth celebrating. The day you learned you were going to be a parent is one of them. To add to that, I'm so glad you and the rest of the country is also celebrating with us ;)

School lunch

Warning: this is one of those topics that will lead me up on my soap box.I'm apt to be long-winded.  Just sayin'.

A few days ago, The Stirrup Queen (aka Mel) had a great post about school lunches. And it made me start thinking about them, too. Now, we send the kid with his lunch to school every day. He's a pretty good eater, and so generally his lunch (like mine, hubby's and baby E's) consists of leftovers from the previous evening's dinner. Some days he comes home with an empty lunchbox, others it seems as though he's eaten nothing. Most of the time when it's relatively full it's because he was talking too much and not eating enough.

The other day, however, his lunch obviously hadn't been touched at all. As in, it didn't even look like he'd opened it. And so I asked. His response? He'd gone through the lunch line and had a grilled cheese sandwich, french fries and some chocolate milk. I groaned. And then realized it was time to have the discussion about why we send him to school with lunch, instead of through the lunch line everyday.

And it went something like this. "Kid, we talk a lot about healthy foods right?" "Yes, momma." "Can you explain to me why it's important for us to put healthy foods in our bodies?" "Yeah, it's because our bodies use food for energy and healthy foods make more energy than not healthy foods. Maybe you really should not feed me such healthy foods then I would be a little bit calmer." "While you may have a valid point there, mister, healthy foods also make our moods better and make us healthier for a long time. Also, you might not have enough energy to play with your friends or do your gymnastics classes if you ate not healthy foods a lot, right?" "Yeah, that's probably right and that would make my friends really sad." He's a riot that one is.

We then continued to talk about how the foods he'd chosen to eat at lunch that day were not healthy choices. And though it was okay to have not healthy foods sometimes, it wasn't something we wanted to do frequently. He agreed and was able to point out the not healthy aspects of his lunch, primarily that his lunch was lacking in fruits and veggies, and the high sugar content in his chocolate milk, as compared to plain milk. That's right, y'all, he knew all that on his own.

This whole school lunch thing, is a hot button issue for me. I am horrified by the kids of foods we serve to kids in schools. I am horrified by the things that are considered acceptable. French fries counting as vegetables. Poptarts being okay for breakfast. Nearly everything being so very processed, high in sugar, salt and preservatives. I know there are families and kids who rely on schools to provide food, but we're lying to everyone by trying to tell them that it's healthy or balanced.

 Many teachers and assistant principals (who are often the one handling the discipline issues at their schools) will tell you that discipline problems and referrals peak mid-morning, likely coinciding with sugar levels plummeting. You know, when that poptart - that was served with no protein or fiber to balance it out - starts to wear off. I think about my kid, with his sensitivity to red dye, and wonder how many other behavior issues are related directly to the foods we're serving our kids under the guise of being "healthy".

People claim children simply throw away the healthy options offered by schools. And I don't deny that happens. But, really, most kids, when given the choice between pizza and a salad will, at least most of the time, go for the pizza. However, if the pizza isn't an option? They'll eventually eat - even a salad. Or, make the freaking pizza healthier! I mean, I love school pizza as much as the next girl (probably more), but make it with real cheese, and whole wheat crust, and throw a veggie or two on there, and you have a much healthier product that kids are still likely to eat.

I realize there are cost issues. Seems like these things always boil down to money. But, I also know that by feeding our kids healthier foods, we have healthier kids who have fewer behavior problems (which saves lots money), we have kids with healthier bodies (hello major savings to us all through lowered Medicaid costs!), we have improved test academic test scores. See it's a win-win.

It seems like an easy fix to me. I know it isn't. Which is why we will continue to send packed lunches with the kid to school. Even though school pizza is awesome. And I'll continue to talk about the importance of all kids and families having access to healthy foods.

Today's lesson: Systemic issues sometimes seem like they have a simple answer. And yet, there are so many hands in those pots, many of them kind of invisible, that change happens discouragingly slow. So slowly that we're apt to give up because it seems impossible. However, if we're not willing to continue to push for the changes we know are needed, no one will.

A Billy Goat

My baby E climbs. Every. Thing. The stairs. The couch. The DVD/bookcase. The kitchen chairs. His bed. The rocking chair. The high chair. Me. The baby gate. The kitchen table. The oven door. He climbs.

Also? My baby eats compost. Yes. That means exactly what you think it means. Baby E has eaten the scraps of food we set aside to throw outside into our compost pile (scraps that many of you would call "garbage"). While, of course, this isn't something we've served to him, still he's eaten it. More than once, she whispers. (hangs head in shame)

We can't keep him out of things. We can't keep him off of things. We can't keep things out of his mouth. You know, like out of cabinets. And off of the the kitchen table. And compost out of his mouth. He is simply into everything.

Now, I know kids go through a stage where this is the case, but, when I think back to how the kid was at this age...there is no comparison. The kid was never a climber, and he was fairly easily distracted. Baby E, however, is damn persistent. You may be able to distract him for a minute or even 5, but, by george, he will be back over there/up there/into that as soon as YOU forget about it. And then forty more times before he finally stops. And he only stops when he's good and ready to do so. You are simply an annoyance. Not a deterrent.

While in some ways I kind of admire his determination, mostly I find it exhausting. And, in truth, at times exceedingly frustrating. It's like I can hardly get anything done because I have to always be on the watch for what he's gotten into now. And then there are the times when I'm sure he is into/on something, but I weigh the risk with the benefit of having a few minutes to do ___________ (fill in the blank - mostly things like reading on my Kindle, or going to the bathroom, or putting away laundry). Usually I regret the few minutes, but I don't know what else to do.

I know these days are limited. I know it won't be like this  forever. But it sure is tiresome.

But, then I catch him sitting on the kitchen table with a banana peel hanging out of his mouth, grinning from ear to ear, clearly incredibly proud of himself. And I can't help but giggle as I pull the peel out of his mouth and take him over the sink to clean the goo off of his face and hands. I move the chairs away from the table and my kitchen looks ridiculous with them scattered all about. But it's the only way I can get a few minutes of peace. And, besides, he seems to find the challenge of how to get back up on the table enjoyable. It will at least give me 30 minutes to read another chapter of a new book.

My little billy goat. He makes life never boring.

Today's lesson: Parenting comes with unique challenges. And unexpected joys as well. Who'd have thought seeing your baby eat garbage would be the  highlight of your day?

The Crud

We've been fighting the crud - me and both boys - for 3 months now. We seem to keep passing it around. And around. And around. This is now the 4th round. Just call us Momma Snot and her two little Buggers. It's congestion, and headaches and just feeling crummy. It's super fun.

And, really, that's about all that's been goin' on around here. Nothing else too exciting. Really. Nothing else. Unless you count how much I adore my new Kindle. It's just the basic one (that's what I asked for), but I love, LOVE it. And this coming from the girl who said she'd never forsake real books. Count me in as a convert.

Oh yeah. I've started my new job as a social worker at a hospital emergency department. That's been interesting. It's going to be a bit of a change for us as a family as we adjust to what will be (in a week or two) my new work schedule (2-8hour days and 2-12 hour days, along with every 3rd Saturday). I like the job thus far, though that schedule does have both hubby and I a bit nervous.

The kid continues to do much better with Mrs M and I am so very happy with our decision to switch him.

Baby E...sigh. That child. He is such a daredevil. Scares me, he does. I feel like we spend a majority of our time at home getting him out of things. Or off of things. Or taking things out of his mouth. I mean, I know you do that with all kids. But this one. Wowziers. Compared to the kid (who can be a bit of a handful on his own), baby E is quite the little tornado. That smile he constantly has on, though, it makes it worth it.

So, yeah, that's about all here. At least for now. I know this was a terribly exciting post. You're welcome. I'll try to be more riveting next time. (Really, I will!)

Today's lesson: Toddlers are notorious for being picky eaters. However, this apparently does not extend to things they aren't supposed to put in their mouths. Like paper. Or compost.

Momma the druggist

Last week I took baby E to his 15 month well child. He's perfect by the way, still skinny, with an enormous head (big heads are good in babies after all because big head = big brain) but absolutely perfect.  Except for that whole not sleeping thing. (big, huge, sigh) But, for the very first time, the pediatrician was able to offer a possibility of something to help. Her suggestion? Melatonin. 1mg about a half hour before bed, crushed up. Our decision? What the hell, it's worth a try.

I must admit I feel a little uncomfortable with giving him the Melatonin. I mean, I fall into the whole, "no antibiotics unless absolutely necessary/a fever doesn't necessitate Tylenol/delayed vaccination" camp. So, to give my babe a pill (albeit it crushed up in applesauce) every night, makes me a feel a bit ugh-ish. The boys' pediatrician was a bit flippant about it all, throwing out a dosage that she just guessed on. However, as you well know, we're a big desperate for sleep around here and, short of a hot toddy, we're willing to give about anything a shot so to speak.

Hubby and I - desperate beyond belief to get some freaking sleep - jumped on it. The 1st night we crushed up a 3mg pill, giving him approximately 1mg mixed in applesauce. Imagine my surprise, when little E was asleep in my arms before I even finished the bedtime routine. And then slept 6hours straight. Followed by a brief waking, and then another several hours of sleeping. The 2nd night, he again went to sleep super easy. He was pretty restless, but didn't necessitate parental intervention. I mean, I was still awake several times, but at least I didn't have to get up. The 3rd night, he was up twice, but 1 of those was because of a leaking diaper, so I still count that as a success.

Tonight is the 4th night, and we are back to him taking forever to get to sleep. Not sure what's up with that...maybe we didn't give it to him early enough? No idea. He's in there screaming "night-night. Night-night!!!". But I've got my fingers crossed for a decent night. Please, whoever-is-the-patron-saint-of-babies-and-sleep, make this baby sleep tonight!  [Update: After about 45minutes, he's out. This is still a huge improvement!]

But, I continue to worry a bit about whether it is safe, appropriate dosage, long-term effects, etc... So, when trolling facebook the other night, I was reminded that one FB friend from high school is now a pharmacist. I decided on a whim to send him a message and ask him his opinion. (Side note: it's so funny/odd to be faced with someone you knew that long ago as just your kid brother's friend, but he's now this super smart professional. Cool, but weird.) Well, awesome person that he is, he called and gave me all the info he could dig up. He asked about E's medical history, current symptoms, and a myriad of other clinically relevant questions. He shared his concerns, the primarily one being that he could find no information regarding what might be an appropriate dosage for baby E based on his age and weight. He was professional, informative, empathetic, and so very kind.

He's going to continue to see what he can come up with for appropriate dosage. He suggested getting a compounding pharmacy to make up the right dosage (once we figure out what it is - probably .5mg) so we know for sure. He recommended absolutely not using it if there is any child-specific or biological family history of seizures or liver problems. Certainly baby E hasn't had issues with either of these and the medical histories we have from his birth families doesn't indicate a history there either. The last thing he recommended was using a specific company for the supplement, as herbals aren't regulated by the FDA but this company sends their products to a 3rd party for verification. Because I'm thorough (Read: slightly OCD), we also spoke with hubby's aunt who is also a pharmacist and she's looking for some info for us as well.

Based on all that, the decision we've came to is to continue with the melatonin, for now. It seems to be working for E. He's sleeping - much - longer (for him) and the little circles under his eyes have started to go away. My circles are still there, but I have faith that a few more days of 6+hours of sleep will help those start to resolve as well.

Today's lesson: Some time you do things you never thought you would. I mean, we delay vaccinations and hesitate to even give our kids Tylenol. Giving them a pill to make them sleep is not something I ever thought I'd do. And yet, here we are. You do whatcha gotta do. And that's okay.

Carpe Kairos

You may have tried to read this post a couple of days ago and when you clicked over it was gone, you have my baby E to thank. He somehow managed to publish the post in the 45 seconds I walked away from the computer. I'm in trouble with that one, I tell ya. Anywho, here it is now, for reals.

Have you read this article? If you're a parent or hope to be one some day, you should. Actually, even if you're not a parent, or don't plan to be one, yo should still read it. Really - since I hate the word "should" and all - you need to.
So, if you're not going to click on over there and read the original article, here's the short version. The author hates when people (often well-meaning older people whose kiddos are probably old enough to have kids of their own) tell her to "treasure these moments because they're gone way too fast" or that they "loved every single moment of parenting/when their children were young". Because, the author asserts, that's crap. All moments in parenting are not glorious. Some of them suck big ones.

And I'm gonna have to have her back on this one. Take my Friday night for instance. I put baby E down at 7:30. It was 9:30 before he went to sleep. Then he was back up at 11:45. This eventually necessitated me rocking him to sleep. I finally crawled back into bed at 1:15. He slept til 4. Then was back up at 4:45. And 5:30. And then 7:30 for good. Hubby was out of town at a meeting so it was all me. Tell me, who is going to enjoy that crap? I mean, do I love him? Of course. But was that something to be appreciated and treasured? Not. So. Much.

Funny enough, I feel guilty about all the cussing that was going on in my head that night. It's that infertility thing. You know, I asked (more accurately begged) for the gift of parenting, and all that came along with it. I spent nights pleading with god to just give me a baby and I'd love every single moment. The puking, the diapers, the sleepless nights. Through all of it I would be happy and loving and calm and patient and...and...and...

And yet, I don't enjoy all of it. I am grateful for being a parent, but those moments...those moments, well, they kinda, sorta, for real suck. I'm pretty sure God was laughing at me through all those tears. You know, in a loving kind of way. God knew there would be times when I hated parenting. Times when I would be pissed off to be covered in baby vomit. And not want to read "Goodnight Moon" for the 13th time that day. And hide the play dough because I don't want to have to clean it up again. When I would think, to paraphrase Samuel L. Jackson, "Go the F to sleep!". Or "You are not that cute" in the midst of changing today's 3rd disgustingly explosive diaper. Or come in to find the playroom rug and walls covered in bright red and purple finger paint.

And that, my friends, is okay. Because nothing in life is all good or all bad. I mean, I adore chocolate, but too much of that and I have heartburn for days. And if one of my kids gets it on their clothes, it's a pain to get that stain out. Parenting is like that. Wonderfully delicious at times. A miserable pain at others. I know these well-meaning people had those painfully crappy moments, too, so why don't they remember them? Didn't they, too, get inundated with people telling them to treasure every little moment and feel like a failure at times for not loving every minute? Do they feel the need to - for some reason - pass along the errant belief to unsuspecting parents that everyone else loves every minute of parenting?

But all those things do is make the rest of us also feel crappy about the moments - the very normal and universal moments - when crappy things are happening. I think that when we ignore or try to hide the bad parts of parenting, all we do is set each other up for more feelings of guilt and inadequacy. It makes us all feel more alone, more isolated, more ashamed.

I would suggest that what we should instead do, is walk up to the mom whose 2 year old is throwing a very public tantrum and remind her that it won't last forever, and that we've been there, too, or at a minimum smile at her. Or remind the mother of the middle schooler that we, too, every day have moments of wanting to both hug and kill our children. Or tell that new mom that we, too, had that moment (perhaps nightly) where we truly "got it" as to why people shake their babies.

And I know that that some of you are still waiting for your child, you're still at that place where I was, bargining with God to be happy with every single moment, poopy diapers, screaming fits and all, if only you could have your baby. And I'm not negating that place where you are. I've been there, too, so many times.

But this article (which I don't think was written by someone facing infertility) still stands true in my book. Even when all you want in the world is to be a parent, it won't be perfect. You will hate moments. You will think "what the eff was I thinking?". There will still be moments when you're pissed off at your kid, exhausted beyond what you thought possible, painfully embarassed at your 4 year old's tantrum at Target, and wanting nothing more than a day to yourself.

And that is okay.

Today's lesson: Carpe Kairos, y'all. Living in God's time allows us to treasure the small moments, without feeling the pressure to treasure all the moments. You don't have to love the screaming and poopy diapers as long as you can find the moments that really make you happy. Like those giggles, and kisses, and "you're the best momma in the world"  moments. Those are the important ones.

A Smiley School Meeting

Thursday afternoon I met with Mrs M and the counselor. We'd discussed meeting a few weeks ago in order to determine if we wanted to continue with the 504 plan, and just to see how the kid's adjusting in Mrs M's room. Y'all, seriously, the meeting was great. And very interesting.

So we started off with Mrs M just giving me an overview of how she structures her classroom. It's so much more free-flowing and Montessori-ish. Be still my momma-heart. Then she told me about the movement breaks she has worked into the schedule (for the kids and herself). And that in "centers" there are always choices. Like the kids get to choose what they're going to do from 2-4 different activities (novel concept, eh?).

And then she broke out the sheet. You know, the one that Mrs L used. But, instead of describing everything as an "area of concern", everything was "accomplished", with the exception of 3 areas that all involve him not being able to wait to be called  on to speak out (and - for real - no big shocker there). And these were classified as "progressing plus" because, according to Mrs M, he's shown drastic improvement with this already since he started in her room, without intervention. This was about the point I exhaled in relief the enormous breath I had apparently been holding.

She went on to say lovely things about the kid. "She likes him! She likes him!!!!!!". That's about all I was hearing. So I hope there wasn't anything really important in there. 'Cause if there was I totally missed it.

Overall, it was such a relief to hear all these things. And a confirmation of the decision we (uh, I) made to switch his classroom. I must admit the validation was nice. But, mostly, I'm just happy that my kid is happier and that he's being treated kindly. And that the other major woman in his life also likes him. Shew.

Today's lesson: Save your blog post before you walk away from it . Otherwise your children may decide to pull your laptop off the ottoman, type their own crap on it, delete half your (unsaved) blog post, change completely your Internet settings, and send an email to who the hell knows who on your work email. You know, of the job you just started last week. Such things are apparently possible in less than 3 minutes. Even though it takes your 10x that long to undo all of it. Or you could just put your laptop where they can't access it. In hindsight, this may be the most helpful lesson the day.

A Book

One of my most read posts is this one, about the brave family who chose to give baby E the milk pumped for their sweet baby boy...a tiny soul who passed away just one short month after he was born. At the time I wrote it, I knew nearly nothing about this family. I particularly didn't know what had happened to their son, how he had died. I was torn about using the milk. Saddened that the milk that momma had so lovingly pumped for her own babe was being used to make mine healthy and strong. Heartbroken for the family who would not see their son grow to be a man. Guilty that I had severed one more tie they had to him. Just so sad at the loss of this tiny person.

I wrote my post, eventually used all the milk, and continued to think of that special family. Then, one day several months ago, I opened an unexpected email. From the father of that baby boy. He thanked me for my post. He said they were in the process of writing a book about their dear son. He asked if they could include my blog post in the book. I was floored. I mean, what could I have said that was in any way important compared with what they had to say about their experience, and their son's. But of course I said "yes". How could I not? He thanked me and offered to send me a copy once they were done.

I didn't really think anything else of it. I mean, I continued to think about them, but I didn't think about the blog post or book.

Until a couple of weeks ago. When I received in the mail a most beautiful and heart-wrenching book. Giving witness to their sweet little boy and his short life. Oh, the beauty in this family is even more than I knew. They are truly amazing. One thing they wrote, was they hope that in the giving of the milk, baby E would know God. And I can say, without a doubt, that he will. I mean, he would have anyway, but this gift was such a tangible and extraordinary example of God's love. And of the beauty of the human spirit. Such beauty, such love, could only come from one source. And so, while this milk does not introduce my child and our family to God's love, it does remind us in an immensely unique way.

They have a website, A Song of Suffering, to which I'd like to direct you, if you're interested in knowing more about them. They're a family who suffered a horrible, tragic, unimaginable thing. They survived. Their faith sustained them. They sustained each other. They have changed me. And so I thank them yet again. Because I can never thank them enough.

Today's lesson: We never know how our lives will intersect with others. We never know how our words may affect others. We never know what role our words may have in the lives of others. Sometimes I am reminded that it behooves us all to chose our words so carefully.

Sweet Mrs M

Nearly two weeks in with the new teacher and things are going so well. I felt the need to clarify this after my post the other day. Please know, she's awesome and, if we must live under the auspices of public school (which for right now we must), we couldn't ask for a more fabulous teacher. She is responsive to our emails (always within less than an hour - shocking, right?!). She seems to really like the kid. She wants to meet with us so she can get to know him better and share info about what she's observing (holistically, not just academically) in the classroom. She isn't putting him in time out. She's even letting him get in the treasure box because he's having days that good. These things are all amazing to me. Which is kinda sad, if you think about. Which I'm trying not to do.

The best, part, though, is that the kid is coming home and he is able to tell me at least one, but often more, great/fun/happy thing(s) that happened that day. At first those things were still of the "I didn't get in trouble today" variety. But even those were different, in his delivery at least. They weren't said in this beaten down, sad tone. They were with this lit up face, as if he was amazed that such days were even possible. But now, he says honest to goodness positive things - about his day, about the other kids, about Mrs. M herself. It's wonderful.

Funny enough, he still mentions MG1 (mean girl 1). I think it really bothers him that she doesn't like him. We're gonna need to have a convo soon about bullies and how it's about them, not you. But we'll get there soon enough.

A friend, who's child previously had Mrs. M raves about her. She said Mrs. M is early childhood trained, and that is so very obvious. She - really - is fantastic and I am so grateful that we made this switch.

That said, the kid has been an honest to goodness MESS the past two weeks. I mean OHHHHH. MMMMMM. GGEEEEE. He is driving me up a wall. All the walls. The attitude and disrespect coming out of his mouth is not my child. "So, what? Who cares what you think about that?!". "So?! What are you going to do about it anyway?!" "Just put me back in my normal life already, will you woman?!" I mean, what?! I'm not sure where my sweet boy went, but I'm gonna need him back. And sooner rather than later. You know, before I kill him. I jest. (Sort of...)

In truth, I think he's just adjusting to this new big change. He doesn't really completely understand the reason for the change. And he's not sleeping well of late (had a cold, asthma started acting up, ran out of meds --> not sleeping well at night and waking early in the morning). So all of those have left me with a mess of a kid. Even though Mrs. M is perfectly lovely, and a total keeper.

Today's lesson - The "fix" doesn't undo the damage caused by the problem. The damage doesn't just go away. It still has to be addressed and allowed to heal. Which means you should try not to make it worse. You know, by like telling him that he'd better care what you think because you're the momma . So there". That's probably not a good choice. You know, to help in the healing and all.

This One Time...

A post from another blogger (CallMeMama) reminded me of a similar experience I had when the kid was a newborn. And I felt compelled to share it with you.

I was in my 2nd semester of grad school to get a Masters of Social Work when the kid was born. (Side Note: Yes, working full time, going to grad school almost full time, and parenting a newborn does suck. Big time.) I skipped my classes the first week he was born because, well, I mean, wouldn't you? And my professors were wonderfully understanding. One actually went so far as to order me to not come in. I adore her to this day for that.

When the kid was about 10 days old, though, I went to class. I, as I think most new parents would do, took in a few pics of my darling babe. At the beginning of class I passed them around and shared some basic info. I mean, we'd been in class together for only a few weeks and though none of us knew each other well, they did know me well enough to know that I hadn't been pregnant 2 weeks prior. So, I told them that we were adopting him and thrilled beyond words to have been chosen by his birth parents to be the parents who would raise him.

Most everyone oo-ed and awe-ed over my baby kid (as they should have because, I mean, he was freaking adorable). One girl, however, kind of freaked out, wanting to know why we had a black baby. She, too, was black and didn't think we, as white parents, should have this baby. I explained that we didn’t decide to parent a “black baby” (her words). We wanted to be parents and were open to whatever child came to us/was meant to be part of our family. We were chosen by the kid's birth parents and the difference in our races didn't bother them. I said that it was their decision, not hers. And if she had a problem with it, then I recommend she look into adoption herself. The rest of the graduate level social work class nodded their heads in agreement and we went on.

Fortunately, that was nearly 6 years ago and it’s been the only experience of that kind that we’ve had. However, it’s hard to feel like you have to “justify” your family. And what I know now, is that I don't actually have to justify my family to anyone. But I didn't know that then. Now, I decide when presented with situations whether I will let things be, or whether I will take the opportunity to educate people about adoption in general or transracial adoption specifically. I used to just babble on and on about it. Now I tend to be much more judicious about what I say. I used to probably tell a lot of my son's story. Now I realize that his story is his own. And that means that he gets to chose what to tell others. Not me.

On the flip side, I feel like it's so very important how I respond to adoption related comments and questions. Because he's there, always listening. And how I respond to questions - whether I'm uncomfortable, or how much I chose to share, or whether I am respectful  - affects how he thinks about adoption (his own, his brother's, and in general). It also affects how/what he thinks about himself. I have to be so much more intentional in the words I choose to say, and with those choose to share with others. Because he has big ears.

So, when I think about the incident that happened almost 6 years ago, I wonder how I would respond to such a thing now. I think I'd probably say about the same thing, if he weren't there. I don't know how I'd react and what I'd say if he was. I think I'd better figure it out. Because I suspect that it's just a matter of time before it happens. And I need to have my ducks in a row, so that I project confidence. So that he knows we can talk about adoption, that it is a safe topic. And that he only has to share the information he wants to share.

I have a post brewing in my head about the reasons why I think this woman had such a strong reaction. I think it's multi-faceted with cultural and historical components. Will let ya know when I get that cranked out.

Today's lesson: I'll leave you with the words of that adorable kid. The sweetness of the apples is only topped by the sweetness of the love my brother gives me in his kisses. Sometimes the heart nearly bursts from the amount of love in it. This, is a most wonderful feeling.

Heart Outside of Your Body

I don't even know what to do with a kid who is old enough to lose teeth (as in he's lost more than one now!). I mean, surely that means he is GROWING UP. Like, a big kid. Not my little boy anymore. I don't know how to handle that.

I frequently think about that quotation that goes something like "having children is like having your heart walk around outside of your body" (I'm sure one of you knows how that actually goes, and even who said it; I'm much too tired to even care to google it). I am not immune to my kid's flaws, but in truth he is really a sweet, empathetic little being, and he gets his feelings hurt easily. It's one of the reasons I have worried so about him going to public school. At his Montessori school, they were just as worried about kids' feelings and emotional well being as their academic achievement. And, as a social worker, a therapist, a momma, I am all about that.

However, public school simply isn't set up to work that way. It's a much more cut throat kind of environment. Kids are taught to suck it up and focus on the damn test. They're expected to sit and attend for what I feel are long - and frankly age inappropriate - periods of time. The expectation is that they will engage in adult-directed activities for the vast majority of the day. They are allowed to make very few decisions about what they will be doing.

And, as I've been recently reminded by an old friend, that just isn't the way we parent; those aren't the expectations our child has grown up with to this point. We haven't trained him to sit for long periods of time by providing him with the opportunity to watch television shows (he didn't get to watch TV til after he was 3. I mean at all). He doesn't sit in front of a computer playing games. We allow him to choose what he is going to do/play at any given time. We engage in play with him when he requests it, following his lead, not forcing our own agenda. We gently suggest activities, but ultimately it's up to him. We talk about feelings. A lot. It is as important to us that he learn to be a compassionate person as anything else.

Is it any wonder public school has been a challenge for him thus far?

And yet, him growing up means that I am no longer in control over his days. The public school system doesn't care that my goal as a parent is to raise a compassionate, caring human being. They care that he can read. And count by 5's to 50. And the way it's set up to do that is by teaching all children in the same way. Which means sitting still. A lot. And we're just - ALL - going to have to get used to it.

Or find a new school. Which we're not ruling out.

Today's lesson: Childcare has been, and continues to be, one of the most difficult parts of parenting. To trust someone else to care for you child is scary. Because the chances of them doing it just like you want or would is nil. So, your heart walks around outside of your body. And you have no control over how it is treated or cared for. Hard.

Oh, Domperidone...

So, I took my last Domperidone. I've been titrating down the dosage for a month or so. I noticed I was getting low and had to decide whether or not to order more. At about $50-60/month, we'd spent a lot of money on the medication. I mean, it's been, geez... probably 2.5 years that I've been taking it.

Also, I never saw what I'd consider a significant result. I mean, I don't really know how much milk I was able to produce, but I'd be willing to go out on a limb and say it was certainly less than an ounce per feeding (maybe up to that much when he was little, before I went back to work). It just seems like a waste to be spending the money for so little, uh, output.

I also stopped pumping a few months back. Because of my hectic and unpredictable work schedule, I just never knew when I'd have time to pump. Or where I'd be when I had the time (Kroger parking lot anyone? Random church parking lot? Not ideal locations). One time, I was sitting there pumping (with a hand pump because I don't have a car adapter for the electric one) and someone pulled up and parked right next to me. Super uncomfortable. And, again, the output was so tiny (less than 5ML always), that the effort just didn't seem worth it. So I gave myself permission to just stop.

But here's the thing, I feel guilty about stopping the medication (and pumping, too). Here's the main reason - we're continuing to give baby E donated breastmilk (hopefully til he's at least 18 months - so another 3 months). So, all those mommas are still doing their part (the endless pumping). And, yes, I realize that they're also feeding their babies, but if they weren't committed, or at least willing, to also in part feed mine, they wouldn't have to pump as much or as often.

So now I'm feeling like I've shirked my responsibility. I'm not putting in the extra effort that they are. To feed my baby. It's already one of those things I "should" be able to do on my own. One of those things that I so wanted, want, to do on my own. I already rely on others to do it. And while of course I appreciate them beyond measure, I still carry that guilt, that feeling of pissed-off-ed-ness at my body for not doing what it "should" have be able to do.

I keep telling myself that it's okay. That baby E has a full belly. That he's happy. And that's what's important. But that nagging voice telling me I'm a failure just won't  go away.

Damn the mommy guilt. Damn the infertility. Neither of them ever seems to go away. Neither of their effects ever seem to lessen.

Today's lesson: It's interesting how pervasive guilt can be. How it can show up in places both expected and unexpected. It's also funny how some lessons show up over and over in your life. They seem to keep showing up until you really and truly learn them. Note to self: Learn the damn lesson already.

Head Injuries

Here's a running list of the head injuries baby E has sustained in the last couple of days:

• Getting head stuck in between banister railings. Necessitated a little finagling to get him out. He screamed for about 3 minutes afterwards. Because he was mad. And then he stuck his head right back in there. Whole process repeated. Including the part where he stuck his head back between the railings. For the third time in less than 10 minutes.
• Me, dropping him. On his head. He was squirming to get down. He was less than a foot off the ground. Man, he was ticked at me. And so torn because he also wanted me to comfort him. I only laughed on the inside. And, of course, because he was okay.
• Me, colliding heads with him after he stood up, finally consoled about the whole dropping thing. That set him off, pissed at me again.
• The kid running into him, knocking him to the floor. He bit his lip. There was blood (ew). And lots of pitiful crying. For about 5 minutes, then he was trying to console the kid, who was really upset that he'd hurt his little brother. That was pretty cute.
• Falling down half a flight of very hard stairs. There were LOTS of tears, many of them mine. He seems no worse for the wear. My Grandmother said, "My, isn't it great that they have such bounce in them". I think that means she was glad he was okay. I think.

Today's lesson: It will be a miracle if this baby gets through the next year - heck, the next month - without a trip to the ER for something head related.

The New Teacher

I'd write an ode to Mrs M, if only I remembered how to do such a thing. Or a haiku, which I seem to remember was easier. But I can't actually remember the rules for those either. But, suffice to say, we're loving Mrs M so far! Hubby sent an email to her early in the day just to introduce himself and check in. Imagine our surprise when she replied. Like immediately (And by immediately I mean within the same hour because that's never happened before). And she had lovely things to say. Like that she was also an active and social person, so she thought they'd get along well. And that he was lovely. And she was thrilled to have him in her class. Picture one big grin from this momma.

The, out of the blue, I got a very kind email from Mrs M at the end of the day. She said he'd had a good day and reiterated that she was glad to have him and felt he would do well in her class. I could kiss this woman. I wanted to tell her that but fortunately I restrained myself and instead just thanked her. Perhaps profusely.

The kid came come smiling and said honest to goodness GOOD things about his day. I mean, GOOD THINGS!! As in more than one good thing. Sure, he was still able to come up with something sad (a girl was poking at him), but the fact that he could give me anything good is a good step in the right direction. This is one happy momma.

Today's lesson: Head injuries are common in toddlers. See the next post for more on that.

Oh, you missed me?

I have certainly been the absent blogger of late. I have a good reason. Well, a few. First it was the the holidays. Second, things have been super busy (see first). Third, well, I just really haven't had much to say. I mean, I've been busy (refer back to 2nd reason), but there's not really been anything in particular that I've wanted to write. Or, I suppose there have been things (like when my baby fell down the very hard stairs at my grandmother's house, or the awesome man-cave hubby and I made for the kid for Christmas, or how awfully baby E slept while we were traveling, then slept through the night last night - unpredictable little creature), but no time to formulate a full post about any one of them in particular. (And you're welcome for all the vagueness in all that.) Maybe I'll come back at some point and fill in some of the holiday breaks. Maybe not. I have a feeling many of us are just ready to move on from the holidays. I am at least. We'll see...

Anywho, here's the deal-io with today. What, you don't remember why today is important in our little household? I can't imagine why. Well, I'm willing to remind you. Today the kid starts in his new class at school. We're finally done with Mrs L. Now, Mr P (the principal) was supposed to call the week of Christmas with the name of the kid's new teacher. He didn't. Really, this didn't bother me because I hope he was spending the time with his kids and family instead of worrying about mind - I have no doubt he was. But, come yesterday evening and we didn't didn't know anything I was getting a little concerned. Finally. about 7 he called and told us the kid's new teacher will be Mrs M.

I don't know anything about her other than that the kid who lives behind us is in her class. Really, that's all I know. But it's got to be better. So, we're going with it. I walked him in this morning and met Mrs M in the office. She took the kid to the room and I briefly checked in with Mr P. Then I headed down to the room. Mrs M was showing him around. He had a huge grin on his face, though I know he was nervous. She just is what I picture when I think about a Kindergarten teacher. Kind eyes. Welcoming demeanor. General warmness. Friendly and slightly humorous smile.

Dear Lord, I hope this is a good fit. We need this woman to like our kid. To get our kid. To undo the damage Mrs L has done. To remind him that he loves school. And, poor woman, 'cause that is lots of pressure to put on one person. Thankfully, I haven't told her all this.

So, here's to holidays being over and the kid having a great day with a (sweetbabyjesuspleaseletherbeawesome) new teacher.

Today's lesson: Probably your baby who doesn't like to sleep at home won't just decide that he'd love to sleep when you're visiting with family.

This morning

I was awoken by a 5 year old telling me he needed to pee at 5:30am. Just as I got back to sleep, the baby woke up, fussing in his room. I stuck the paci back in his mouth and patted his butt for a few minutes. That didn't work. So, I threw him (not quite literally) in bed with hubby and I. Again, just as I was almost asleep, the 5yo came back, “uh, momma, I’m pretty sure it’s time to wake up now. Right?”. A quick look at the clock, confirmed that it was not even close to time to get up (hello 6am). I growled at him to get back in his room. Tried to get back to sleep -again. Awoken by baby smacking me in the face. But then he smiled, nuzzled his head under my chin, sighed with contentment, kissed my cheek and said, “wub ewe”. Then the 5 year old came barreling back into the room, hurdling himself onto the bed. Screaming, "good morning, Momma!!!!!!!!!!".

So I sighed and got up.

It’s was 645.

I wouldn't change it. Except maybe the time. A couple hours later would have been fabulous. But, still. I'll take it.

Happy Christmas Eve, friends!

Today's lesson: Kids don't care that parents have the opportunity to sleep in. They just don't. Deal.

Oh, there's that Christmas Spirit

So I've finally found a bit of Christmas spirit. And it's all thanks to two of my dearest friends.

JE actually likes wrapping presents. No, idk what the heck is wrong with her, but I'll take it. Because do you know what this wonderful woman did?? She wrapped nearly all of my Christmas presents. She spent 2 (that's right -2!) of her evenings at my home, wrapping presents in my cold basement. I mean, whaaaaat?! Who does that?! My awesome friend JE, that's who. And it's not like she had nothing else going on. She works 3 (yes, that's right 3) jobs and has this kind of awesome husband at home who adores her company. And yet she still found - made - time to take this huge task that I heartily abhor off my list of things to do.

And then, my BFF came over and helped me with this super cool fort hubby and I (and the BFF) have made for the kid for Christmas (pictures to come soon, hopefully). I'm pretty sure I'd still be down there measuring and cussing if she'd hadn't come to help me. And then - I know, how could there be more?? - she came and took the kid yesterday to give hubby a break and get the kid out of the house for awhile. She subjected herself to Bounce U (you know, one of those places where the kids run around screaming at the tops of their lungs, throwing themselves onto these enormous inflatable things. It's fun for them. Not so much for any adult unlucky enough to be accompanying them). So, after that, she took him to lunch, then to get ice cream. And THEN, she spent the afternoon with us, helping to decorate cookies (it was loud and crazy up in here, y'all). And, to top off her cake of awesomeness, she cleaned up my kitchen from dinner.

I mean, really, what else could a girl ask than to have such wonderful and giving friends?? I am blessed to have them. And I can only hope that I am half as loving and supportive as they have been, especially in the last year. So, today I began to feel some of that Christmas spirit I have so been lacking. And I have my wonderful friends to thank for that. Love you girls!

Today's lesson: Where would a girl be without her friends? I mean, really, who else would wrap your presents, or clean up your dinner dishes? Girlfriends are a must for any emotionally stable momma.