Okay, and here's a little quiz for you for April Fool's Day.
Which of these statements is NOT true?
1. I impulsively bought a bicycle yesterday.
2. We found a tick on Julia's head.
3. Alex has joined a cult.
There you go - oh, and Facebook friends are disqualified, as they already know the answer.
Happy Foolish Day!
This was Friday afternoon.
The weather was about ten degrees warmer than we had expected - a gorgeous spring day.
We were all home - from work, school, whatever, and Bill and I were walking around the yard checking the gardens to see what was coming up and what wasn't...what might need new soil...what might need to be moved...that sort of thing.
The kids decided to dig for treasure in the bare spot where we put their pool every summer.
"No, wait, you have to put an X there before you dig!" (Of course, because if there's no X, there's no treasure.)
Well, they dug for a bit and - much to my surprise - found nothing in the way of pirate plunder, so they started bringing buckets of icy cold water from the sandbox (which had been left uncovered for, oh, the winter) and pouring it into the hole they'd dug.
And then, well, things got a bit messier.
They had a blast until it was time for them to come in the house. We had them strip down to their underwear and then (perhaps not the best idea) Bill hosed them down. So we went from two happy, laughing, muddy kids to two shivering, cold, sobbing children. "IT STINGS!!!!"
I herded the kids into the house and directly into the shower. They sat in the tub as the NICE AND WARM water pelted them and the mitrror and window steamed up. I got MOST of the bits of dirt out of Julia's hair. I think.
All the rest of the pictures are here.
Last fall sometime I brought Blur to the vet because she had a runny nose and she was sneezing. You know how sometimes something just overtakes you and you sneeze multiple times in rapid succession? That's the sort of sneezing she was doing. She's pretty much never been ill in her life, so this was an unusual occurrance. I figured maybe she caught some germ the kittens brought into the house with them and it had taken this long to manifest.
I saw a different vet - our usual Dr. C was off that day - a Dr. H. He pointed out that the discharge was only one one side (mucus only coming from one nostril) and that could mean something more than just a cold, especially in older cats. He ran his fingers gently along the front and sides of her face - a forwardness she did NOT appreciate at all - and looked in her mouth. No abnormalities, which was good. He prescribed an antibiotic and sent us home. If the discharge didn't clear up, we'd maybe have to come back and have her head x-rayed or something. You know, in case there was a tumor. Great.
Fortunately the discharge cleared up by the time the round of antibiotics was completed, and that was that.
Until, of course, recently.
She's been sneezing again. And she's been sounding kind of snuffly. Congested. It's especially pleasant when she sneezes on our heads in the middle of the night. So not only have I had small children who don't think to RUN to get a tissue until AFTER the grossness is running down their faces post-sneeze, now I have a cat who sneezes grossness on our heads while we slumber.
I didn't bring her to the vet at the first sneeze - or the second. I didn't want to, truthfully. I was hoping it would just subside. My kids had been sick - heck, we've ALL been sick - and I was hoping - irrationally, perhaps - that with the warmer weather (HA!) and windows open and fresh air flowing throughout the house, all those ucky germs from the past couple of months would just BE GONE and we'd all be breathing clearly through two nostrils and not sneezing all over each other any more.
Well, that "not sneezing" part hasn't happened yet for Blur. Oh, yeah, and the discharge is just coming out of one nostril again.
Yesterday morning I noticed that there was a tiny bit of blood on her fur right next to that runny left nostril. Not a lot - just kind of a little smear. I called the vet as soon as they opened and got an appointment for that afternoon.
Then I spent the day thinking the worst. And looking up feline medical symptoms on the internet. Because that's how I roll.
I thought about...well, about how old she is. She's eighteen now. I've had her eighteen years, almost exactly. She's had a very good life....on and on...that kind of thinking. And to make it worse, she stayed next to me on the loveseat while I attempted to write up my Tuesdays with Dorie post. I tend to read WAAAAAAAAAY too much into things like that, so in my mind, she was acknowledging that yes, it had been a long and good life, and she was content, despite her yucky nose. She curled up in such a small and lightweight little ball beside my legs.
Of course, the fact that she does this ANY time I'm sitting on the loveseat, typing on my laptop, meant nothing. I was busy looking for signs.
The other thing I thought about was the great WHAT IF possibility. What if I had to make some sort of final decision TODAY? I knew, if it was a question of her being in pain, or having a greatly diminished quality of life, I could do whatever was best for her. Words like "dignity" and "peace" and the like were whispering in my mind. I've had to make the decision before, and it's horrible. Horrible.
Worse, though, was my worry that I'd have to go through that IN FRONT OF THE KIDS.
Bill wasn't going to be home til after we'd left for the vet, so I couldn't leave the kids with him. I thought about calling up my friend across the street and explaining the situation and asking her to watch the kids for the half hour or so til Bill got home, but that didn't pan out. And besides, when they heard I was bringing Blur to the vet's, they wanted to come.
So, for better or for worse, the kids came along.
I was already gearing up mentally for worse. I don't know if that's a good or a bad thing to do, but habits are hard to break and I've had this habit for a long, long time. I suppose it's a control thing. If I imagine all the ways something could turn out, and gear up for the very worst of them, then I will be able to handle whatever comes my way without embarrassing myself. It's a lovely theory, isn't it?
I told the kids that they would need to be VERY GOOD while we were at the vet. It wasn't the zoo - they needed to just SIT DOWN and WAIT PATIENTLY until it was our turn to go into one of the exam rooms.
Yeah, that worked. Well, it worked with Alex. Julia? Not so much. We walked into the office and right in front of us in the waiting area was a man with a dog on a leash. The dog looked kind of like a beagle, but bigger and longer, and more like the size of a bassett hound, only without the bassett face. The man was apparently waiting for something or someone. I turned the cat carrier so that Blur wouldn't see the dog and freak out, and so that the dog wouldn't see Blur and freak out. I sat on one of the benches and told the kids to sit with me.
Remember my daughter, Julia? Yeah. She obediently sat, hands folded in her lap, and waited quietly until our appointment. Hahahahahaha! No, she ran some kind of fake-out play, meandering over to the two fish tanks across from us but then crossing quickly and purposefully to the man with the dog. "May I pet your dog?" she asked first, and when he said yes, that was it. She wasn't sitting on any bench anywhere any time soon. She was busy.
And okay, fine. No harm in that. I need to relax about her sometimes. She wasn't doing any harm, she wasn't causing any sort of disruption, she was just saying hi. She and the dog became buddies, and then a few minutes later ANOTHER dog came out, dragging our vet along for the ride. The two dogs were almost identical. Julia was overjoyed. "Ohh!!!!" she chortled, "you've got TWINS???" The man chuckled and said they weren't even brothers, but yes, they do look a lot alike. Then he turned to discuss dog #2's condition (or lack thereof, from what I could hear) while Julia introduced herself to the other dog.
And then we were summoned into room number three. Come on kids, time for fun.
OH - I forgot this part. (It's twenty past three in the morning - I don't know why I'm awake, but I am, or at least I was. I seem to be a third asleep now.) On the ride to the vet I casually but pointedly reminded the kids that Blur was pretty old and so MAYBE and HOPEFULLY this was just a cold, but we needed to bring her to the vet to find out for sure.
And Alex said "I hope she doesn't have leukemia!"
Yikes. He's very aware of this now because of the Pasta for Pennies fundraiser at his school earlier this month.
Julia asked what leukemia was, and Alex sort of explained to her what it was, mainly by listing symptoms...you get a lot of bruises...your bones break easily...you're tired. And he also told her that "when you take the medicine for this sickness, it makes your hair fall out."
We all agreed we hoped Blur didn't have leukemia.
So back to the vet's.
First in was the tech, a nice girl who may be relatively new there, as I haven't seen her before. She was a loud talker, a trait she'd probably developed to be heard over barking and yowling dogs.
I told the kids to SIT in the two chairs while I put the cat carrier on the exam table and opened the little door. Loud-talker-tech peeked in and oohed at Blur and was incredulous when I confirmed that Blur was eighteen. "She doesn't look eighteen! She doesn't have an old lady face!" Nope, just a bloody, drippy nose.
We got Blur out of the carrier, and the first order of business was to check all her vitals. Starting with her temperature. Out cane the little jar of vaseline, the thermometer, and, as I held Blur and Loud-talker-tech did the deed, out came the sound of my kids' horrified voices. "EEEEW!!!"
And then Alex: "You put that RIGHT IN HER BUTTOCKS!!"
Loud-talker-tech and I both attempted to hold our breath and then gave up and burst out laughing. Yep, that's where she put it. Right in Blur's buttocks. Thanks, Forrest.
The kids kept up a commentary through the rest of that preliminary exam. They didn't stay in their seats, either (the thermometer incident pulled them to their feet pretty fast), and Julia in particular was all over the place, first on one side of the exam table, then on the other ("what's THAT?" it's vaseline. "can I smell it?" um NO.), while I tried to have a conversation without actually saying THE MAIN WORDS of the topic. Loud-talker-tech and I managed just fine, with nods and eye contact and words that danced on the outskirts of unpleasant paragraphs. She knew I knew what MIGHT be happening.
She left to go get Dr. C., and while I had the chance I directed the kids back to their seats and asked them to please SHHHHHH when I was talking to the vet.
A few moments later Dr. C came in and we had another of those conversations without having a conversation, and she checked Blur out...listening to her heart and her breathing...running her fingers over Blur's face to feel for any lumps or bumps that hadn't been there before...checking her teeth and inside her mouth, too, for those bad lumps or bumps. Nothing. So maybe there's something else in Blur's nasal passage that is getting irritated and infected and causing the drainage. Hard to tell. For now, we agreed on antibiotics (a two week dose) to see where that got us. And then, after that, we'd play it by ear.
Blur happily went back into her carrier and pretty soon we were on our way home.
It's kind of funny - once we were home, Blur became a little more active than she usually is. She ate some food...wandered around the kitchen sniffing things...explored the dining room...ate a bit more...maybe she was just glad to be home. Maybe she was energized by her little adventure, such as it was.
Maybe she thought that by appearing extra perky she could avoid another incidence of that greasy thermometer in her buttocks.
Let's hope so.
Julia "But...don't you want to play with me?"
Alex (after having spent hours playing with her already): "No."
Julia: (silence for a bit, and then) "OH YEAH? THEN YOU'RE AN IDIOT!"
My husband's brewing beer today with a friend/coworker.
Outside, mostly. In the arctic tundra that is our back yard and driveway.
I am sensibly staying indoors and baking bread and, later, making risotto.
The kids - my two and one belonging to our friend - are playing downstairs, and I just heard one of my own little ones shout out - proudly - a swear word.
In German.
Now, the rule in the house (because sure, we have rules about swearing for our small children to follow - we're responsible, conscientious parents, after all) is that you can only say that particular word if you're in the "MAN AREA" and playing darts with other MEN. (That should give you a clue as to where and from whom my offspring learn their foreign language bad words.)
Of course, this rule completely excludes Julia from playing darts or swearing. And while I don't think she should be discriminated against because of her gender, I don't think she needs to be throwing sharp pointy objects at this stage of her life. And she's already broken the swearing rule anyway, so there's no going back with that one.
But anyway.
I am pretty sure Julia shouted the bad word. But because I haven't heard it repeated by the other two kids, I'm letting it slide.
It's delightful to know that our home will be that special home where all the neighborhood kids learn new words.
In case you can't tell, those noses are Legos.
My son, just moments ago, after being asked to put away his toys downstairs:
"Ohhhh, it's not FAIR! We're like the king's servants and we have to do ALL the work and you just sit around and relax and play on your computer!"
~~~
Well...yes. Isn't that why people have kids?
Julia sounds like she's getting a cold:
"Alex, you want some gub? Alex! You want some gub?!"
Remember this post? Just last month?
Well, this morning, while we were all hanging around together in the living room before Bill had to leave for work, Alex looked over at Reddy's tank...and said "Oh no! Look at Reddy!"
And, with sinking hearts, we did.
In the vernacular of the tank mates in "Finding Nemo," Reddy went belly up.
Again.
And this time we couldn't hide it from Alex.
He cried, of course. Poor little guy. I held him on my lap and he cried, and Bill patted him on the back, and Julia did her best to be soothing and sympathetic. ("Alex. I'm really sorry that Reddy DIED.")
I told Alex we'd bury Reddy outside next to Dinoraptosaurus's plot after school today, and he asked if he could write some words for Reddy like we did before. I said of course.
But what surprised me, besides how nice Julia was, and for how long, was Alex's recovery time. He was sad, but he stopped crying relatively quickly, and is already talking about his next fish. Maybe a blue one.
And - this just in - he is also able to joke about it. He just walked by the tank on his way upstairs to brush his teeth, and he reached for the fish food, saying "Oh, I forgot to feed - Oh, guess I don't have to." And he laughed a little.
So here we are. Just an hour after the body was discovered. And everything's fine.
And I am marveling a bit at my little boy's maturity.
The other evening Alex and Julia wanted to try on their Halloween costumes. Again.
Julia is a pink princess (of course), and Alex is Anakin Skywalker from the recent Star Wars/Clone Wars movie.
They looked cute and all was fine.
But then...
Something went wrong.
Very, very wrong.
At some point, the word "butler" came to mean - to my children, who are 6 and 4 but may have been 5 and 3 when all this began - butt. Or bum. Or derriere. Fanny. Tush. Tuchus. Whatever you call it.
And this word - butler - became the funniest word in the world to say or hear.
"Wanna see my butler?"
"You're a butler!"
"ACK! Mom, she showed me her butler!"
And so on. Each use of the word is always followed by both of them gurgling with laughter and using "butler" over and over again a few more times in new and expressive sentences.
Oh, and you have to say it in italics, too. Can't just say butler. Has to be butler.
This morning my daughter, happy about an upcoming field trip, broke into a spontaneous dance, shimmying and shaking her little self all over the room.
"Mom! I'm shaking my butlers!"
And then later, after they've both gone to school, I laugh and laugh and laugh.
Alex: "Mo-om.......Julia just showed me her butt...and I just woke up!"
I took a bunch of shots with them at the rear of my car, and kept telling Alex to OPEN his eyes and stop making goofy faces, AT LEAST ONCE!
He stopped with the faces, but kept his eyes closed.
"Alex. WHY WON'T YOU OPEN YOUR EYES?????"
"Well Mom, it's because the sun keeps getting in my eyes."
"Oh."
I moved them over to the side of the house and things improved a smidge.
Julia pretty much hammed it up in every shot. Really? Couldn't see that coming.
And yes, those are metallic pink sneakers she's wearing.
I think the shot below is the only one in which Julia ISN'T mugging for the camera. They were looking at our friends across the street.
Julia actually started pre-K on Monday, but since Alex went back to school today, I waited to do the "first day" pictures.
Alex is in the first grade this year. There are two first grade classes in his school, I've heard great things about both teachers, so I really didn't care which teacher he had - I was more interested in which of his morning kindergarten classmates would be in there with him. So we all met up this morning and got the kids sorted out, met the new teacher, saw his kindergarten teacher and said hi to her (I love her. I wish she could just be his teacher in every grade. Including college.) And yes, some of his friends are in the same class, some aren't, as expected, but they'll see each other for various things the two classes do together.
He stood there in line looking so serious. He confessed, once we got to the school, that he was feeling "a little bit shy." Up til then he'd been all excited about the first day, but, expectedly, that changed when we reached the back of the building and there were a ton of parents and kids milling around, checking the lists and finding where to stand.
Oh, Alex. I was like that. I was "a little bit shy" too. I still am, in some situations - new situations, where there are people I don't know, and some of them are louder and more boisterous than I am. It is my nature - and yours - to hang back a bit at first and watch...to assess the situation...to get my bearings...to figure out how and where I fit into the puzzle. With age (usually) comes the ability to fake it until you feel more sure of yourself, but right now, I know you are just holding yourself together and being a big boy.
All the parents stood around taking pictures with their cell phones and smiling big at their little student-children. It's real school now. First grade. I kept wanting to go over to Alex and make him smile. Make him relax. Make him feel not so shy. But I can't do that for him. That's all stuff he's going to have to learn to do on his own.
But still, I couldn't help myself, I squeezed through some other parents and went over to kiss him on the head and look into his guarded eyes and tell him "Don't smile." Our game. And then he smiles. Today? Well, he flashed a quick one and went back to looking serious and introspective. I told him I loved him, and then backed away a bit so flabby parts of me wouldn't end up in other parents' snapshots of their new-clothes-wearing, hair-in-place, shiny-faced kids.
And then, in a blink, their teacher was telling them to wave to their parents and then turn and follow her into the building. Alex didn't hear the part about waving - he just saw the kids on either side turning to the right, so followed suit and off he went, march, march, march.
I hollered "Alex!" so I could wave to him once more, but he didn't hear me. It was so noisy.
I watched the back of him. His short blond hair, his bright yellow shirt, his blue backpack.
And then he turned the corner and went inside.
Sniff.
Julia and I walked home, and then I brought her to daycare/pre-K.
And OH, what a different scenario it was there.
It's her third day, but for SOME reason - I'm thinking maybe all the excitement wrapped around Alex's first day - she adhered herself to my upper body and eventually had to be pried off with a crowbar. Okay, not a crowbar. But pretty close - one of the teachers had to peel her off me. And you know how sometimes when you're trying to peel something off of something else, say, a "30% off" sticker off a book? And sometimes the sticker is easily removed and other times you have to pick and pick and pick at the edges, and even after you get it off, you've still got tiny bits of sticker glue residue still stuck to the book and there are little thumb nail tracks embedded in the dustjacket?
That's kind of how it went with Julia. That glue residue and thumb nail tracks part.
It's a good thing stickers don't cry - the book would get all wet.
I know she will be fine, I know she will have stopped crying within 27.42 seconds of my departure. But still. I don't want her to cry. And to keep bawling "mommymommymommy" over and over. She'll adjust, and it'll get easier as she gets back into this routine. I hope.
Anyway.
It's been a rather emotionally tumultuous morning for Mommy.
I think I'll go bake some cookies.
Wiped out.
You know, I've found that conversations with the vet about kittens are pretty similar to conversations with the pediatrician about babies. Especially about illnesses and symptoms. Particularly the condition of their poop. Or stools, if you want to be more clinical about it all. But what's the point, really? We know what we mean, and what we mean is poop.
So consider that a bit of a head's up - if conversations about poop-related issues are disturbing to you, this post may not be for you. But if you've been through kitten or puppy or baby stuff, and are a veteran of ick, then read on.
One or both of the kittens have had diarrhea for a couple of days, and yesterday morning I saw what looked like blood in one of the...um...samples. Up til then I'd thought maybe it was caused by them eating our adult cat's food, and it not sitting well in their little kitten digestive systems. But the blood? Not something to mess with - or even the diarrhea, as they can get dehydrated and die from that. (My PSA for the day.) So, veteran poop mistress that I am, I saved some "samples" in a ziploc bag (inside another ziploc bag...inside a paper bag so I wouldn't have to look at it any more) and called the vet. Got an appointment for mid-afternoon for the babies. Here we go.
Coincidentally, my kids' yearly exam appointment was scheduled for the same time. It's handy having a spouse - one can do the human appointment, one can do the feline. I took the kittens. I do most of the kids' doctor visits through the year, so it's good for Bill to take them now and then. Heh heh.
So off we went, in opposite directions.
I got to the vet's office, filled out the paperwork for the babies (cringing as I wrote "Softie" and "Scratchy" because, you know...I would have named them something like oh, Luke and Leia, which is so much more mature. Or Pesto and Remoulade, maybe. Or Bechamel and Bolognese. You know, proper cat names. But we let the children name them, and so their names stand.
I went to sit, with the kittens in their carrier, until it was our turn. Over on the table in the corner, the magazines were fanned out nicely, so I went to get something to read. My choices were "Cat Fancy" or "Dog Fancy" (at least that's what it might have been - I didn't really look at the dog magazines because a) it would be disloyal to the kittens and b) it would get me wanting a dog, and right now, that's a very adamant NO. I've got enough poop to clean right now, thank you. So I took a copy of "Cat Fancy" and sat. And flipping through the magazine I felt...uncomfortable. Like I was peeking in on a meeting of some secret society. Because, you know, I have loved all my cats over the years, but I have never even considered rebuilding my home so it is more pleasing TO THE CATS. I saw glossy spreads of home interiors with skinny stairways running up the wall, leading to a little doorway (think Tom & Jerry size) so the cats can go - where? So they can have privacy? They can crawl under a bed for that! Or hide in a closet! I found myself shaking my head a lot, a little bemused grin on my face, as I flipped through the pages.
And yet...there are a LOT of subscribers to Cat Fancy. A LOT of people who submit photos, share heartwarming stories, and read their pets' horoscopes on a daily basis. (Okay, I don't know about that last bit, but it sounded appropriate.) And I'm not knocking any of that. But it's just not me. I don't quite get it. But whatever. As long as everyone's being nice to their pets, I'm fine. I guess I'm just not quite ENOUGH of a cat person. And I like dogs, too. I can't be pigeon-holed. I'm a rebel.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.
Okay, enough of that.
Suddenly, out of the silence, I hear a pleasant and professional voice over the loudspeaker. (oh, and I've never been at a vet's office where there is a LOUDSPEAKER. It felt, briefly, like a grocery store - "clean up on aisle five!")
And the voice said: "Softie and Scratchy are here for their 2:20 appointment with Dr. Blahblahblah!"
LOUDspeaker. An appropriate term. So there we go - the whole WORLD got to hear what my kids named the kittens. I put my magazine down, in anticipation of someone (laughing hysterically, no doubt) to come looking for me and the kittens.
A rather business-like looking woman (the office manager, I believe) came over and confirmed, in a business-like manner, that the kittens in the carrier were, indeed, the aforementioned Softie and Scratchy. I followed her to room 4, she told me a tech would be in shortly, and then she left. Moments later the tech showed up - she looked familiar but I couldn't think where I'd seen her before, unless it was (in all likelihood) last time I was at the vet's with Blur.
First one out of the carrier, once all the preliminary questions were answered, was Scratchy. He is, I have to admit, aptly named, though he didn't do any real damage. He tried to, however, once that thermometer went in. Oh, he didn't like that at all, and he was quite determined to get as far away from it as he could. He twisted and turned and reached and squirmed and made little angry kitten noises. The tech said she'd need to have some help with him (besides me). She reached into the carrier for Softie, who, not surprisingly, was huddled way at the back of the carrier, hoping we'd forget about her completely. But she was very docile and patient during the temp-taking part of the show, and only let out a little tiny "mew!" of discomfort during the whole thing. Her temp was normal.
The tech took Scratchy out of the room for his temperature re-take and also so they could do a Feline AIDS/Leukemia test on him. She said I might hear some horrible cries from him but he'd be okay. I told her I'd been through it before and I wouldn't worry about anything I might hear. Strangely enough, he was very good during whatever torturous things they did back there, and I didn't hear a peep from him. Tech Girl brought him back in and he seemed fine, but he refused to look at anyone and promptly sat down and started licking the leg they'd taken blood from. He shook his head a few times at the unpleasant taste of the antiseptic, but soldiered on, licking determinedly, in order to erase, as best he could, the memory of all his recent indignities.
Softie left the room with Tech Girl and Scratchy worked his way across the floor until he was under my chair, and there he stayed. Softie was brought back - she had behaved well, of course - and she, too, sat down right away to attend to her leg.
She barely licked the damp fur and then she was airborne - made me think of a popcorn kernel bursting open - the taste was clearly the most horrible she'd experienced in her 10 weeks of kittenhood. She gamely tried again and - POP - up she went again. Yuck! She tried one more time, and then gave up for a bit. She saw her brother still licking away under my chair, so she went to sit near him and gave it another go. Nope. Just not working. So she opted to prowl around the room a bit more instead.
Well, to prevent this long story from getting TOO much longer, I'll cut to the point where the examination of the disgusting poop was complete and Tech Girl came in (Dr. Cat Lover was already in there with me and the kittens, she'd examined both of the babies and played with Scratchy a while, and we were chatting about Old Wives' Tales regarding urinary tract blockage in male cats. Fun stuff, I know. Anyway, Tech Girl came in and confirmed with Dr. Cat Lover that yep, she was right, it was coccidia.
Coccidia, in case you're interested, are (and I am quoting from the hand-out they gave me) "protozoan (one-celled) organisms that can infect the intestine. The disease "coccidiosis," most often affects young puppies and kittens, but can infect animals of any age." Symptoms include (surprise, surprise) diarrhea, dehydration, weight loss and loss of appetite. Fortunately for my kittens, they only seemed to have the diarrhea issue, as they were eating and drinking (and peeing) just fine. If ignored (another PSA here), the kittens or puppies can eventually have seizures, and can lead to a weakening of the immune system and even (because of the dehydration) death.
Fortunately it can be treated with medication, so I'll be dosing the kitties for the next 9 days. Tech Girl gave them their first dose (a double dose) in the exam room. She said the initial taste isn't bad (how she knows this for sure, I'm not certain and didn't ask) but the aftertaste was yucky. She dosed Scratchy first, and he handled it well. Softie, she of the more refined palate, struggled and coughed and spat out what she could. She will be the tough one to medicate, clearly.
Oh - but the best part? When Dr. Cat Lover told me, with a slight wince of sympathy, "It's (the diarrhea) going to get worse before it gets better." Such common words, actually, in illnesses. The pesky little parasite responds to the meds by MULTIPLYING RAPIDLY and causing the symptoms to increase, in a desperate attempt to fight off the meds and remain, happily and disgustingly, in its happy intestine home. The parasite, however, will soon learn the power of the dark side, and will be forced to flee or die. Something like that, anyway.
So, armed with a bottle of medicine and two droppers for the kittens, plus a box of free kitten food and two free samples of some flea and tick and ear mite and heartworm stuff, AND the carrier with the kittens in it, I paid my (shockingly huge but okay, it was for TWO kittens and the first year is the worst in terms of shots and illness and all that so just take a few deep breaths and sign the check already) bill and all the people (really) in the front desk area took their turns oohing and aahing and squealing and gushing over the kittens - AND calling them by their names without snickering at me - I left the vet's office and headed home. The kittens promptly curled up in exhausted little balls of fur and fell into comas. Really. They didn't bother to move until hours later. It was just so draining, all the various devices poking them and sticking them, people looking in their ears and at their teeth. Just too much for such little baby creatures.
And speaking of being stuck and poked, Bill and the kids arrived about 20 minutes later. Alex told me "Wait til you hear how brave Julia was!" Ah yes, age 4 - THE SHOTS. My baby girl sported 4, count 'em 4, band aids on her arms (two and two). But the thing was, when it came time for her to have those shots, Julia was - according to the nurse who inflicted all the pain - the bravest 4-year-old she (the nurse) had ever seen.
First off, she refused to sit on Bill's lap for the shots. She climbed up onto the table herself, and told the nurse she was ready to go. No reaction to the first shot. Second one - a bit of wimpering, but the nurse said that was the one that would sting most. Third and Fourth shots - yeah, is that all you've got? And then it was over. She got her band aids and she was all set. The nurse gave her a sticker because she was such a tough little chick.
Bill was amazed and impressed. He probably would have cried more. I know Alex would have. But not my girl.
She is probably so jaded about needles now that as long as she doesn't see any blood, she's fine.
That was the only horror story from the kids' visit - and it's not even a horror story, really.
There were, of course, the humorous moments. It's nice for Bill to experience those, too. I don't think he's been to the yearly checkup appointment in a few years, so he hasn't had to sit and cringe when the doctor asks the kids "What kinds of healthy foods do you like to eat?" and Julia bursts out with "Macaroni and Cheese!" every time. Alex said ribs first, but also included sushi, and eventually got around to peas, and squash, and carrots. So we're okay as parents, I think. At least they didn't say "Happy Meals!" or "M&Ms!" or something like that.
And Alex is going to need a visit with an eye doctor, because apparently his right eye isn't seeing as well as the left one. Ah well - he can blame genetics for that. I wear glasses, and Bill SHOULD but doesn't unless he's reading music in a low-light situation.
All in all, though, the kids and kittens are healthy and (now that the appointments are over) happy, so things are good here. This morning Julia had me rip off her band aids because "I'm all better now." I made the mistake of saying "One, two, three, BLOOP!" or something else dumb like that when I ripped one of the Daffy Duck ones off. She told me, in a rather condescending tone "Mommy, don't say 'one, two, three, bloop' when you do that, okay?"
At four, she's just simply too old for that sort of thing.
I took this picture a couple of weeks ago but forgot to post it at the time.
My kids had watched the movie Ratatouille (we own it. of course.) recently, and were inspired to create their own restaurant.
For dinosaurs.
I could hear them down in the basement, but I didn't know what they were up to. All that mattered was that neither one was screaming or hollering or threatening "this is what YOU get!" or crying. But I could hear little bits of phrases about "he should have fish" or "is this good for him?" "yeah, he likes leaves."
Eventually the mystery was solved, and this is what I saw:
Each dinosaur has either a meat or a vegetable, depending on whether they were a carnivore or an herbivore. I like how the food here is so good that the meat eaters aren't interested in eating the herbivores at all.
Everyone dines in unprecedented prehistoric harmony.
(Now I've got the lyrics to "Ebony and Ivory" playing as background music in my mind....)
Not sure if I mentioned it before, but my husband is giving my son guitar lessons. They're about 3 weeks into it, with a 15-20 minute lesson most days of the week.
My husband, by the way, is a classical guitarist with a Master's degree in Performance from New England Conservatory. He teaches in both a middle school and a college, performs, and now - teaches our son.
Bill (my husband) was kind of hesitant about teaching Alex - it's not easy to teach - really teach - your own child. And eventually, if Alex wants to keep going, Bill may have someone else teach him. But for now, the lessons are here, and Alex can attend class in just his Shrek underpants if he wants to.
The other thing about the lessons is that Bill didn't want to force them. He's been asked (and so have I, actually) if the kids play guitar yet, and people have been surprised when the answer has been no. But you can't force music lessons down a kid's throat and expect them to be passionate about music. At least, that's not the way Bill wanted to do it. So he waited, and just...played guitar like usual, practicing at home for concerts or whatever. And eventually, Alex expressed a desire to "play guitar like Daddy."
Alex has a nice guitar - it's a real guitar, just 3/4 size. And, as a Mommy, I have to say that watching Alex play, with his little face all serious and intent on the music, and his correct posture, his hands where they belong on the strings and frets, and his bare foot on the footstool - it's unbearably adorable.
It's been hard to get a good shot of Alex playing because if he sees me approach with the camera, he looks up and grins like a madman, and the adorable factor is rather diminished.
But recently, while family was here last week, Alex performed his first paying concert (really! He got a dollar from his uncle!) for an audience. I took a few pictures - they didn't come out great from a technical standpoint, but still - they're priceless to me.
And then, of course, he has to take his final bow...
Pretty good, huh? Only 6 years and one month and he's already played his first paying gig.
~~~~~
And then there's Julia.
Julia is two years younger than Alex, and while she definitely has shown interest in playing guitar, she isn't really interested in the LEARNING HOW TO part of it. So even though she wants equal time (mainly when Alex is having a one-on-one lesson with Daddy and she wants in on the attention), once it's her turn, she isn't interested in what Bill has to say or teach. She prefers to just play and sing.
Yesterday Bill did Alex's lesson and then Julia wanted a lesson. They went downstairs to the basement, where Bill has a guitar that he lets the kids play. After a little while, Bill came upstairs and asked if I wanted to watch Julia's performance. I said sure, and headed down. Bill brought the DVD camera.
And there was Julia, sitting on her little tiny chair, holding Daddy's big guitar. Bill stood nearby. He asked Julia if she was ready, and she nodded, so he started recording and announced:
"Presenting...Miss Julia Maker!"
After a few straggling claps from me, Julia began.
She held the guitar neck with her left hand, and strummed confidently with her right.
And she sang:
"The ants go marching one by two, hurrah, hurrah!
The ants go marching one by two hurrah, hurrah!
The ants go marching one by two, the little one......
........................................................................."
And then she slammed the guitar, strings down, onto the carpet and stalked away, muttering, "Oh, I don't know it."
She apparently is more a student of the Pete Townsend school of guitar abuse.
So yesterday I'm in the kitchen with Bill, talking briefly before one of his students arrives for a guitar lesson.
The kids are outside playing.
And I glance out there, and see, way in the back corner of the yard, that Julia is lying flat on the ground, motionless.
And Alex is approaching her, carrying a whiffle ball bat.
He reaches down and looks at her a bit, then pulls her by the arm a little way.
Then he sort of swings the bat around a bit and puts it down. And pulls Julia a bit further - closer to where he'd been swinging the bat.
And then he sort of pauses, and his lips move a bit.
And then Julia stands up and Alex lies down.
Julia moves away from him about fifteen feet...and then sashays, like she's riding a horse, toward Alex.
She stops a little way away from him and then just walks normally to where he is lying, motionless on the ground. She carries the bat.
She touches his face. And then she takes his arm and pulls him about a foot. Then she turns away from him and swings the bat in a sideways arc, like Alex had done moments earlier. And then she pulls him again and then stops and stands, sort of staring off into her own little vision.
And her lips move.
And then - again - it is Julia's turn to lie down.
They go through this little scene once more, and this time, when Alex is standing there and his lips are moving, the wind blows the sound in my direction and I can hear him.
I knew, all along, what they were each saying in turn.
The same phrase, after the swinging of the whiffle ball bat and the dragging of the prone person.
The pause. And then the line:
"And I thought they smelled bad...on the outside!"
I was getting dinner ready last night and Bill was outside when the new neighbors started to move into their house.
Bill called to me from outside, quietly, so as not to be rude.
And behind our house, we could see the Mister surveying the neighborhood from his front window.
A bit later, the Missus came back from curtain-shopping...
Alex, in particular, was very excited about this. I think I wrote about getting these birdhouses a month or so ago (Julia's is the smaller abode to the left). To be honest, I thought it was too late in the season; that all the birds had already built their nests and were waiting for their offspring to hatch.
But I was wrong. So hopefully in the near future we will get to see little baby sparrows poke their heads out that front door/window and learn to fly across our back yard.
~~~~~
While I sat outside snapping distant pictures of birds, Alex looked for bugs and worms and things,
and Julia flung dirt with a shovel for no particular reason other than she is Julia.
And while I'm at it, here are more pictures of my kids from last evening. Just because.
You can just tell where the picture above is going...and you're right.
Below, Alex is telling me the difference between butterfly antennae and moth antennae...
And here are some of Julia...being Julia.
She's nearly four. My baby girl. And nearly ready to rule the world. She just needs to fix the tag on her shirt, and I think she'll be all set.
Yesterday, completely on a whim, I decided to bring the kids to the beach. Alex is in the middle of a 4-week study of the oceans and sea creatures of all kinds, so I figured this would be especially cool for him. It was a gorgeous day, too. And the best part was, I didn't tell the kids where we were going. Just bundled them up, gave them rubber gardening gloves to wear in case it was cold (and because we'd be collecting sandy, wet treasures along the shoreline) and off we went.
We went to Oakland Beach, in Warwick, because it was close by. We drove past the little house that Bill and I rented for a few years way back when, and we got chowder and clamcakes and lemonade at Iggy's.
We filled my deep coat pocket with all sorts of shells and rocks and crab claws, and I took a bunch of pictures. The kids chased seagulls...we climbed on rocks...we saw 4 dead jellyfish...and we were out in the fresh air for a couple of hours.
The kids see our collection of shells as their bounty, but I look through the pictures and see our time spent together as the real treasure. I've included a few shots in this post, but if you want to see the rest of them, you can go here.
(and I didn't put that little starburst highlight on the shell - it just came out that way.)
and lastly - a bit of dabbling with artistic effects...we saw a pair of swans on the way home...here's one shot:
and here's what happened after I played with it a bit:
Fun stuff, huh?
Anyway, like I said, if you want to see all of them, you can go to my Oakland Beach set on flickr.
Good thing we went yesterday...it's pouring rain today.
Here she is, and see how nicely she's healing? Thank goodness it was all surface scratches and nothing worse.
I also like that look on her face.
She has many looks, as those of you reading this blog may have noticed over the past few years.
Yesterday I brought her to the doctor's to make sure she didn't have strep. She didn't really have symptoms, but since Alex had it, I just wanted to know for sure, one way or the other.
I had to bring Alex, too, because Bill was at work, and my biggest fear was that he would tell Julia what was coming. The strep test. Throat culture. Spanish Inquisition. You know.
But, amazingly, he didn't.
The three of us sat in the waiting room with another mom and her little girl. The girl was somewhere between one and two, very cute with dark blond hair parted on the side and swept into a little braid on one side.
She was a little leery of Alex and Julia, both bigger kids who were playing with the toys like they owned the place. (It's so funny to think of Julia as a "bigger kid.")
The waiting room is this little rectangular room with chairs that line one wall beneath the windows, and two chairs on the opposite wall, right next to the large window into the receptionist's area. A couple of other chairs are at the other two walls, and there is a low table with 4 kid chairs and some toys in the middle.
I was sitting in one of the chairs near the receptionist's window. Alex and Julia were playing, and the other mother and her little girl were over to my right.
At one point Julia came over to me and leaned on my knee. She gazed toward the receptionist, a hopeful expression on her face, and asked, "Mom, is it okay if I ask her if I can have some of what she's eating?"
The other mom burst out laughing.
I told Julia no, and she accepted this like she knew the answer all the time but figured it couldn't hurt to ask.
When it was our turn to go into the exam room, of course the nurse took one look at Julia's face and asked about that, so I told her and Julia told her version of it and Alex chimed in a bit of detail as well. Then I told her we weren't there about the face, and I explained the whole strep thing.
Let me just say right now - the nurses, like the doctors, at this place rock. They just do. I love them. They are kind and THEY KNOW WHAT THEY'RE DOING. I had anticipated all sorts of struggles with Julia once she realized the strep test would involve sticking things into her throat. I figured, knowing Julia, it would be worse than dealing with Alex the day before. So I was poised and ready.
The nurse got the little swab kit out and told Julia "I'm just going to tickle your throat" as she peeled apart the plastic wrapping and took out the evil tongue depressor and the giant double Q-tip. She had Julia sit on my lap, and I wrapped my arms around Julia and held her hands, ready for the writhing. The nurse moved in quickly, asked Julia to stick her tongue out (on went the tongue depressor) and to say "Ah," and basically as Julia opened her mouth, the nurse stuck the Q-tips in and even though Julia flinched and tried to turn her head, the nurse moved right with her and kept the swab in there until she hit pay dirt and pulled them back out.
It was over in seconds. Julia sat there not quite knowing what just happened, not liking it, but not saying much either, because it was over and what was there to say? She swallowed several times and looked unhappy, maybe she whimpered once, but that was IT. The nurse left to run the test, and I sat there marveling at how nicely it all went.
While we waited for Julia's strep test result, my kids decided to tell knock knock jokes. And I wrote them down. Yes. I have a little notebook for scribbling stuff like pictures I want to shoot and, yes, stuff my kids say. I can't remember everything, you know.
So here they are. My kids made these jokes up right there, on the spot. Geniuses, they are. Geniuses.
Knock Knock Joke #1
Alex: Knock knock.
Julia: Who's there?
Alex: Light!
Julia: Light who?
Alex: Light, can ya go to the doctor and let me through?
Knock Knock Joke #2
Julia: Knock knock.
Alex: Who's there?
Julia: Telephone.
Alex: Telephone who?
Julia: Telephone's gonna...go to the doctor and let open our tongue and be sick.
Knock Knock Joke #3
Alex: Knock knock.
Julia: Who's there?
Alex: Knock knock.
Julia: Who's THERE?
Alex: NO - it's "knock knock!"
Me: You mean Julia needs to say "Knock knock who"?
Alex: Yeah.
Me: Julia, say "knock knock who."
Julia: Who's there?
Me: Never mind. I'll say it. Knock knock who?
Julia: No, I want to say it!
Me: Then say it.
Julia: Knock knock WHO.
Alex: Knock knock we're sick, we need your help with something, too.
~~~~~
I love when little kids make up their own jokes. I seem to remember my niece doing that for a while at some point, years ago.
Anyway, the test was negative, and I was hugely relieved. So today - both kids are at school/daycare - and I have time to myself! The house is quiet! No one wants juice! No one is screaming because the other one "took that (insert toy name here) and I wanted to play with it"/"won't be quiet"/"won't share"/"won't play with me"/"wants me to play with her but I don't want to"/"said I was stinky" and so on.
Okay, well, that's it for now. I can't think of a graceful exit line. Have a good day!
Yesterday I barely looked at a computer or a camera. Instead, I spent my day hitting the grocery store early and coming home and cooking for the menfolk. And the kidfolk, too.
Yesterday was a Brew Day at our house. My husband, in case you aren't aware, brews beer as a hobby, and he's pretty damn good. He and his friend John have been doing this for years. They hadn't been at it more than a year or so when I came into the picture, so I've observed and experienced many of the ups and downs as they have fine tuned their process.
Currently most of the brewing equipment is kept at our house, so this is where Brew Day takes place. Yesterday they made 25 gallons, which will be divided among the 5 guys in total who were here to help (and eat. and play darts. and drink beer).
Bill had asked me to make Buffalo Ball Sandwiches, so I picked up roughly a ton of ground beef and pork and veal at the store (okay, more like 6 lbs) and torpedo rolls and additional hot sauce. I made a ton of meatballs and put about 2/3 of them in the buffalo sauce and the other third in regular (and yes, canned!) spaghetti sauce for the kids.
Ah, yes, the kids. In addition to my husband's friends, we also had, at long last, a little playmate for Julia. One of the guys brought his 3-year-old daughter and Julia was beside herself with joy because she finally had a little GIRL to play with. Sure, she can hang with the boys, but it's nice to be with your own kind at times, too.
I have to back up for a minute about the whole girl thing. Initially there were going to be two girls coming over - the 3-year old and an 8-year-old daughter of one of the other guys. On Friday when I shared the news with Julia and Alex, I naturally got two responses. Julia gasped, her eyes got wide, and she was speechless with joy. Alex rolled his eyes and groaned, and said "Two ladies? Now I won't have anyone to play with!"
(Excuse me while I laugh again at that. "Ladies." hahahahaha)
So I said, "Alex, there have been a lot of times when your friends come over and Julia doesn't have any girls to play with."
And he said "Yeah, but ladies and boys can't play together!"
(where does he get this "ladies" thing???)
I said "Sure they can!"
"Not this boy!" my man's man boy-child replied.
So that was the plan. And since he has had a sore throat for a few days and hasn't felt all that great anyway, if he wanted to spend the day just lying on the couch, that's fine with me.
Anyway, back to the show.
The guys all arrived at different times. John first, and then Peter (who was going to bring his 8-year-old daughter, but she didn't come after all - probably to Alex's great relief), and eventually the others. David and his 3-year-0ld daughter arrived late morning, and she was adorable - dark hair, dark eyes, serious little 3-year-old face. She was eager to meet Julia, and headed on downstairs like she'd been here before.
Now, the reason David brought Jackie (or Jakey, as Julia called her) over was partly because he said Julia was a lot like Jackie. And we all thought it would be interesting to put two headstrong three-year-old girls together for a day just to see who survived it. Amazingly enough, they got along very well. I think at first, Julia was just SO happy to have a girl her own age to play with, she didn't care who decided what. Bill was downstairs when the two girls first started playing together, and Julia handed her beloved pink elephant to Jackie in an instant sign of friendship. She was pulling out toys for them to play with, dumping everything all over the floor - a vast smorgasbord of Playskool people and animals. Alex stayed on the couch and tried to ignore them.
There were little flare-ups here and there, but the girls managed to sort things out with no hair-pulling, biting, or hitting.
Jackie was definitely Julia's kindred spirit. She said what she thought with no hesitation. At one point she pointed at a napkin Alex had left on the table. It had a purple blueberry-applesauce stain on it. She said to me - and she speaks in a rush - "Could you take that nakkin away - it's freakin me out." I was too busy trying not to laugh to realize I was now being bossed around by two preschoolers instead of just one.
I fed them their lunch before I fed all the menfolk - mini meatball grinders and french fries. They all ate the fries first and just nibbled at the meatballs. And then they were done. And off and playing.
Toward the end of the visit, you could see little cracks starting. Jackie was pushing Julia's little princess baby stroller around the house (and around and around and around) and finally Julia wanted to play with the penguin (who had been strapped into the stroller the whole time). Julia reached for the penguin and Jackie immediately pulled the stroller back and said "No! I'm playing with it!" "But I want to!" "No!"
I intervened - "Maybe you can SHARE. You know, TAKE TURNS."
So that almost worked, until Jackie said "You can borrow it (the stroller) but you have to give it back because it's mine."
And Julia roared back "NO IT'S NOT, IT'S MINE! I GOT IT FOR CHRISTMAS!"
Hey! Do you girls want to play with Play-Doh?
War averted.
And when it was time to go home, Jackie DID NOT want to go. I told her we'd love to have her come over again some time. But she was tragically heartbroken and inconsolable as only a 3-year-old can be as her father put her coat and hat and mittens on and led her dejected little form out the door.
They were really very cute together - those little girl voices.... And the little girl screaming. Bill played an impromptu game of hide and seek with them - he was a roaring monster of some kind and whenever he found them he'd ROAR and the two of them would SCREEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAMMM with terror and glee as they raced to another room to escape.
Cuteness abounded.
So that was the junior edition play date. Very successful.
Grown men version went well too. The beer was made without any major problems - which was nice because Bill's had a sinus headache since Thursday night and woke up in such horrible pain Saturday he didn't think he's be able to participate at all. I said I thought the cold outside would actually help matters, and so he went and sat with an icepack on his head to jump start the recovery process. And it worked. (yay, me!) Abrupt weather changes will bring about these headaches, I've noticed, and we've been going from wet and warm(ish) to cold and dry over the last couple of days.
Anyway, the beer-making went well, and lunch was a hit. And not just the sandwiches. I asked Bill the day before what he wanted along with the buffalo balls, and he came up with onion rings. So that's what I made.
And they were the hit of the party. Not a one left. Well, no, I take that back. There was one left - Julia had tried it and didn't like it and threw it back in the warming drawer while I was taking the rest of them out for lunch. But that doesn't count.
I also made a spicy sauce to dip them in - a mixture of mayo and sriracha and lemon juice.
For the onion rings, I bought some large, sweet onions - a perfect onion ring shape. And I'd read a recipe somewhere about soaking them in buttermilk, like some people do when they make fried chicken. So I sliced the onions into half-inch wide rings and soaked them in buttermilk while I was shaping the meatballs. Then all I did was dredge the wet onion rings in a mixture of flour and salt and pepper before frying them in 350-360 degree oil. Cooked them til they were crispy and golden brown, and kept them warm til I'd fried them all. Simple as anything.
I have another onion. I'm almost thinking of making them again today, just so I can take pictures. Well, that, and so I can eat them again, too.
Alex was psyched up for his swim class tonight - has been since this morning. Not just because he is ready and willing to jump into the pool, but because AFTER class, as a reward for facing his fears and conquering them, and for doing well on his report card (hee hee hee - his very first report card!), the deal was that we'd go out for dinner at Smokey Bones. It's one of his favorite places to eat. And fortunately, he forgot all about wanting to go out for sushi. We'd need to sell one of the vehicles to support his tuna habit.
Anyway, swim class went great - and at the end, when they lined up along the edge of the pool, Alex was the first one in. His skinny arm shot up and he was wiggling with excitement. And in he went. Second time through, he was smiling huge and pointing to himself and nodding like "Yeah, I want to do that again!" And he did. Bill and I sat there on the bench, grinning and giving him thumbs up signs and nodding like annoying bobble-head dolls. After the class, he came running over to us, beaming with pride.
We got the kids dried off and back in their clothes, and headed up the road to eat.
For dinner? What does the triumphant water boy eat? Ribs. No question. He ate a half rack of ribs, and might have eaten more if he hadn't eaten half his fries, his slice of garlic toast, Bill's garlic toast, and some tortilla chips before the meals came.
I wish I'd brought my camera with me tonight. Not just to take a picture of his jump into the pool, but to capture his rapturous face, dotted with sauce, as he devoured rib after rib. He'd hold the meatless bone up to Bill and laugh as Bill gave him a look of shock and amazement.
Lots of the time, I just go on with things, you know? Don't we all? Get up, go about our days, do our things, eat, work, shop, relax, go to bed, etc. Get the kids dressed and ready for school and daycare, shuttle them back and forth, do laundry, plan meals, help with homework, mediate squabbles, direct traffic, wash faces, tuck blankets under chins, hugs and kisses and off go the lights.
But I try to be aware now and then. I try to pay close attention to the smaller picture. A week ago, Alex was afraid to jump into the pool. Yesterday Bill worked with him in the pool, helped him work through the fear and get past it and discover that it's actually fun when the water goes over your head. And tonight - he did it himself. Twice.
So the four of us, our little family, went out to celebrate. We relaxed, we had good food, and we had fun. No tears, no tension. Just...comfortableness.
A peek into the window of my own life...tonight glowed warmly, gentle laughter and random giggles dancing from room to room.
They're downstairs right now, watching a Dora and Diego DVD ("The Great Dinosaur Rescue" or something like that. Featuring Dora and her football head, and her normal-looking cousins, Diego and Alicia.) Julia got to pick this morning, and Alex was just trying to convince Julia that she's not really interested in this movie.
"Hey," he hisses with fake excitement, "I've got a better idea! Let's watch...(dramatic pause) cartoons!"
Cartoons, as in something on TV, rather than a DVD.
Sometimes he can sway her, but not this morning.
"No! I'm watching THIS!"
They are quiet now.
Alex, resigned.
Julia, triumphant.
~~~~~
Yesterday Bill took Alex over to the Y during "Family Swim" time at the pool so he could coach Alex in jumping into the water. At swim class, for some reason, Alex has developed a fear about jumping off the edge of the pool. He used to be fine, but something changed at the end of his last swim class, and in order for him to move up, he needs to get over this.
So for half an hour, Bill worked with Alex, having him jump in holding Bill's hands, and then one hand, and finally no hands...jumping in and giving Bill a high five in passing...and it worked. Yay!
Swim class is tonight, and hopefully Alex's confidence won't suddenly disappear.
~~~~~
My sister's kids spent the weekend. It's always nice when they visit - my kids love their big cousins, and I think the big cousins get a kick out of the little cousins. Best of all, they all keep each other occupied, which gives Bill and me a bit of a break.
Of course, there was cooking. We cooked Mexican for the weekend, and I also gave everyone samples of some of the desserts I've been working on for some of next month's posts.
So it was a weekend of eating. Especially Saturday. I'll post recipes and pictures later.
In a few minutes, I've got to get the kids moving, brush teeth, get dressed, bring Alex to kindergarten and run a few errands with Julia in tow.
It's cold out this morning, and we had a little snow yesterday, so everything looks clean and wintery.
That's it for now. I'll be back later.
We don't just feed people here....
Remember that snowman my kids and my husband made yesterday? It looks like this:
Well, this morning as I was bundling up the kids for school/daycare, Bill (he's home, sick) was looking out the window at the back yard and announced "There's a squirrel on the snowman!" So as he picked up the kids so they could see, I grabbed my camera and stealthily slid out the door to try to catch the squirrel in action.
He was stealing the peanuts (in shells) we'd used for eyes and mouth. At this point, he was working on the snowman's shrinking grin which, understandably, now looks more like a frown....
A few minutes ago, while I was uploading the icy pictures from this morning, Bill announced that the squirrel had eaten all the peanuts, and just the nose (and hat and scarf) remained.
Our snowmen do not live peaceful lives here.
The other day I was driving home with the kids after picking them up at kindergarten (Alex) and daycare (Julia). Somehow they got into a discussion of how different animals would break through ice to get to water if they were thirsty.
"What about...an eagle?" I asked them.
"His beak!" Julia shouted. "And his...claws!"
"Yeah," Alex confirmed, "But eagles don't have claws - they have talions!"
Last night was the next session of my kids' swim class at the local Y. They're both in the Pike class, though Alex could progress up to Eel, but he's still kind of leery about jumping into the water unassisted. He does well once he's in, but it's the scary jumping in that is holding him back from my husband's Olympic dreams. Ah well. We all get our bubbles burst from time to time.
Anyway, couple of little things from last night. Okay, three.
First thing - it was EVEN hotter/more humid than usual in the pool room over there. Just in case you were wondering.
Second thing - while we're sitting with the kids on the benches waiting for the earlier class to finish up, I noticed a little girl about Alex's height in a swimsuit. She looked familiar, and within a second, I recognized her. She and Alex went to daycare together when he went to earlier place (where he went for about 5 years of his 5 and a half years on the planet). She is very cute in a tomboy girl way. Pretty brown hair, big brown eyes, couple of baby teeth missing in the front with the edges of the adult teeth just starting to appear. Very quick to smile. Her father was tying the styrofoam "bubble" around her middle when she noticed Alex. And I watched her telling her father and pointing to Alex. So I hissed at Alex - "Hey, isn't that?" And he looked and looked away, because he is a cool macho boy and girls are yucky. Bill joined in and tried to get Alex to say hi, but that didn't work either. There was something very interesting Alex needed to stare at on the opposite side of the room. The girl and her father sat a row behind us and as they climbed up, she said hi to Alex. But of course, like I said, Alex is a cool, macho manly man boy and girls are yucky. So he ignored her. Which I thought was rude and so I hissed (yes, it's my day to speak Parsel-tongue) at him "SAY HI TO HER!!!!!" and, realizing I wasn't just kidding around, he turned around and tossed a casual "hi" over his shoulder in her general direction.
When the teachers came around to call the names of the students in their classes, GUESS who was in class with my kids. Yep! Bill and I grinned to each other like the goofy parents we have become and settled in to watch the show.
Actually, it wasn't a whole lot of a show. At first, she was at one end of the little line-up of students and he was WAAAAAAAAAAAY at the other. Eventually, after late registrants had been added to the classes, there were 7 kids in that class. Two boys, five girls. And while Julia was still the tiniest, there was one other girl around her size. But back to Alex. The teacher passed out pool noodles to all of the kids and they hooked the noodles under their arms, across their chests, and began paddling and kicking across the width of the pool. This is old hat for Alex and Julia, and like I said, Alex is doing well once he's in the water, so once he got acclimated to the process, he was way out in front of the pack every time. They'd paddle and kick and splash across the pool, with their instructor helping the kids who were new to it, or joking around with Julia, the class clown. (She hit him with a pool noodle last session. And she was splashing water at him today. He is great with little kids.)
Anyway, again, back to Alex. After one or two races across the pool, lo and behold, guess who now was lined up next to Alex along the edge of the pool. And guess who was chatting away with her like they were old war buddies. I sat there elbowing Bill and giggling. I'm so goofy. Not much else came of it, but at least he wasn't being aloof any more. He said "bye" to her as we left. Girls aren't ALWAYS yucky.
And the third thing. If you've been reading this blog for oh, the past two weeks or so, you know that Julia has had a bout with Lyme disease. The most recent adventure was when she had to have blood work done. That was last Friday. One of her band aids (the Diego one, on her right arm) came off over the weekend, but she wouldn't allow anyone to touch the Dora band aid. I'm sure she was afraid of more pain.
But with pain and suffering often come great stories to share with friends and family, and Julia, while not as wordy as her mother, told her story with great passion and drama. I overheard her telling Alex about it, her eyes wide, her face animated....
"I went to the BAD doctor, and she put a SHARP THING in my arms and I GOT BLOOD!" And as she said this, she'd hold our her wounded arms, pointing at the band aids (or where the Diego band aid had been), her face drawn and grave. She knows she's lucky to have survived that morning. She's told the story to a few people now, and has her delivery down pat.
So back to last night. We're watching the kids go back and forth with their pool noodles, and you know, Julia's small and so she kind of gets hemmed in by some of the slightly larger kids who can take off faster. But she can move pretty fast if no one's in her way. She smiles hugely through the whole class.
She is not, however, there to learn to swim. At least it didn't seem like that last night. No, this is her social hour. Social half hour. She and the second-to-littlest girl bonded immediately and spent the swim-across-the-pool time chatting away about hair and nails and makeup and boys.
We didn't notice this immediately, because we were too busy watching Alex and looking for signs of romance there. And then Bill said "Why is she swimming with her arm like that?" I looked, and there, in the middle of the pack, was Julia, her left arm raised straight up. She looked like she was at a synchronized swim team practice session. I waited for the next graceful move...and then I looked at her face. It was no longer smiling. It was grave. Somber. And her mouth was moving. She was talking to her little best friend, and she was telling her the story of the Bad Doctor Who Put a Sharp Thing in her arms. I saw Julia's mouth as it formed the words "And I got BLOOD!"
She'd been holding up that arm so her little friend could see, with her own eyes, the scars of battle.
Well, even though the repair guys from Sears came out on Thursday to fix the fridge, over the weekend, things have gotten WORSE - now in addition to random things freezing in the fridge, now things on the door are freezing too. And supposedly everything is fixed. HA! And also - the water line in there is frozen (I assume) because while the icemaker is working just fine, the water won't come out now. It was working Saturday. It did not work on Sunday. Bill called the repair center on Saturday to get someone out here and Wednesday was the first available appointment. I called again this morning, because of the water line, thinking that maybe I could get someone out sooner, but NO. Wednesday is apparently the first available date. Lovely.
So instead of continuing to rant and rave about that, I'm just going to put up a few pictures of the kids from when we made pizza a couple of weekends ago.
There. That's better than my annoying refrigerator stories.
Just wanted to put up a few pictures. I'm home today - our fridge is malfunctioning (it's running too cold, in areas, so for instance, we had blocks of milk and half-n-half available for our coffee this morning, but the ketchup, thank goodness, is fine. We thawed some half-n-half for Bill's coffee...and little dots of curdle floated to the top. Nothing was wrong, really, other than the molecular issues caused by the freezing. It looked oh, so tasty. I drank mine black.) and the repair guy is coming this afternoon to expensively assess the situation. In the meantime, I've got three birthday cakes to work on, all due tomorrow. Some are already started. And at some point I'll go pick up the kids from daycare.
But in the meantime, for your amusement or entertainment or something...
This was earlier in the day. The neighborhood holds a Halloween Parade every year, and we were all assembling in front of the organizer's house. It's a huge event. But anyway, here is my daughter, the Fairy Princess, fighting the neighbor's Pirate kid. Go Fairy Princess!
And for fun, I messed around with effects this morning (because I procrastinate even when what I have to do is something I enjoy doing - like working on cakes. I don't know what's wrong with me.) and came up with this:
A little freaky, I know. But I was having fun AND putting off what I was supposed to be doing, so too bad.
And here's my son, Batman, keeping an eye out for bad guys. Thank goodness my children were on hand to keep the peace.
After dispatching the Pirate, Julia the Amazon Warrior Fairy Princess confronts Darth Vader.
"Light Saber, Schmight Schmaber!" she tells him. "You're no match for my Sparkly Fairy Wand with Silvery Streamers and a Star On Top!" And at that, Darth turned and ran, sobbing, for his mommy.
Once all the bad guys were taken care of, Batman and Julia the Amazon Warrior Fairy Princess took a break, had some popcorn, and laughed about the fun they'd had beating up thugs. It's fun to be a Super Hero. And an Amazon Warrior Fairy Princess.
And here they are again, later that night, the trick-or-treating is done, they did well, and I forced them to sit still so I could take a few pictures before they dove into the candy.
And now? Off to the kitchen.
Yesterday we had a little Halloween party for our kids and some of Alex's friends. I had them decorate halloween cookies, and originally I was going to have some sort of haunted part of the house with stuff to touch, like cold spaghetti for brains (or guts) and peeled grapes for eyeballs.
But Saturday I felt like I was coming down with something, and I really didn't have any desire to peel grapes.
So instead, I made a spider web in the back yard and then wove separate lengths of string from the gate through the web and ultimately to their little goodie bags hidden around the edges of the yard.
Here's the view from our second floor:
The original web was more web-like in appearance. This is after I wove all the string mazes through it all. The whole web was about chest high on me, so taller than Alex, and he's the tallest of the group of kids. So no child was decapitated during the event.
And you know, it was the best fun, making this thing. Especially the original web itself. I was out there by myself laughing with delight. (So I'm sure I looked like quite the lunatic to anyone walking by...)
And it went pretty well, the game part. It was a little frustrating for some of them, having to follow the strings and unloop them from the main web lines, but still, everyone ended up with chocolate eyeballs and spooky tattoos and rubber bats and spiders, so overall, the web maze was a success.
I actually thought of writing "Boo" or something in the web, but I didn't have enough string. Maybe next year....
I sent the kids into the bathroom to start brushing their teeth while I tried to add a few more lines to a post I've been trying to write since yesterday...
Both kids in unison: "Shake yer BOO-TAY! Shake yer BOO-TAY!" over and over.
Me: "BRUSH YOUR TEETH!"
Alex: "But Mom! We're shaking our booties!"
(This is why Bill gets migraines.)
Bill: "Alex, what's the name of the girl rat in Flushed Away?"
Alex: "Her name is Ree-tah. And the boy rat is Rotty."
Yesterday I left work early with a skull-crushing headache. Tension and stress, plus the change in the weather, and I was down for the count. I came home, where Bill was with Julia. Julia, as I think I mentioned the other day, came home from daycare Tuesday with a 104 degree fever. She wasn't allowed back until she had been fever-free for 24 hours, so Bill stayed home with her on Wednesday.
When I arrived, he was cleaning the music room and Julia was playing with legos. I pretended to be interested in what was going on until Bill told me to just go upstairs and go to bed. That seemed the sensible thing to do, so I said goodnight to Julia and headed to bed.
A few minutes later, as I lay there with my eyes closed, trying to release all the cast iron bars of tension that had formed across my shoulders and up the back of my head for days, my bedroom door opened and Julia came in and got up on the bed. She gave the cat a few energetic pats on the head and then a slightly more gentle hug, and then looked at me with great concern as she felt my forehead and my cheek, as I had done to her the day before. She comforted me a bit more, and then hopped off the bed and left the room, "bye bye mommy" as she closed the door. That was nice.
I could hear the vacuum cleaner going - Bill had cleared up all the sheet music and located the floor, apparently. That's okay, it wouldn't last long and it was just white noise anyway. So I concentrated some more on trying to release tension and loosen my jaw - I noticed recently that I've been clenching my teeth a lot - and then the door opened again and my perky little attention-craving daughter climbed back on the bed.
"Mommy? Can I draw?"
"Sure, Julia, go downstairs and ask Daddy for some crayons and paper."
"Noooooo, I want to draw with marrrrkerrrrrrrrs!"
Fine. Bill was still vacuuming and wouldn't hear her anyway. I got her a sketch pad and the washable markers she is allowed to use on the bed, and she settled down at the far corner and chattered on as she scribbled. My participation wasn't required - she was apparently talking to herself. So I closed my eyes and, again, tried to relax.
"Mommy, I'm done."
"Okay sweetie. Go ahead downstairs. And could you please close the door?"
"Okay Mommy!" And off she went. She's so cute sometimes.
Next, Bill got out the FloorMate so he could clean the hardwoods. When he's on a mission, he doesn't stop. More noise. But whatever. It's not a big room. I rolled onto my side and squished the pillow into a better position under my head.
"Mommy? What are you doing?" She came trotting around to my side of the bed and looked at me with a huge smile.
"Mommy's head hurts. I'm trying to sleep. Could you go back downstairs and play with the legos some more?"
"Oh, sweetiepie, you don't feel good?" All concern as she patted my brow.
"No, Julia, I don't feel good. I really need to sleep." (hint hint. which is a complete waste of time with a three-year-old.) Could you please go back downstairs so I can take a nap? I'll see you later."
"Are these your glasses?" She picks them up from the nightstand and gives them to me.
"Is this your clip?" She hands me a hair clip that is actually hers, but I was using it to keep bangs out of my eyes earlier.
"Is this yours?" She hands me a coaster from Red Hook Brewery in Seattle. Bill and I went there nearly 10 years ago. I thank her.
"Okay, sweetie, I REALLY need to take a nap, and you REALLY need to go downstairs. Okay?" I am pleading. I am desperate.
"Okay." She reluctantly leaves the room.
"Julia? Could you please close the door?"
"Okay."
I take deep, slow breaths and uncurl my fetal-positioned legs and arms...I uncurl my carpal-tunnel-clawed hands. RELAX.
"Hi Mommy!" The tornado spills back into the room. Her bare feet slap determinedly on the floor as she rounds the foot of the bed to look at me. She is smiling, and I hate to spoil her fun, but this is NOT helping and my HEAD HURTS and I REALLY need to take a nap and WHY can't Bill notice that she KEEPS DOING THIS TO ME????
"Julia," I groan, "I really, really need a nap. You NEED to go DOWN STAIRS so I can sleep."
"I don't want to!" She stares at the little ceramic duck and goose on my bureau. My mother made them when I was little. She took ceramics classes back then and glazed a lot of greenware for everyone over the years. The goose's neck was broken once, but still it survives. Julia thinks if she ignores me, I will be quiet and let her stay. Not this time.
"Julia. You need to go DOWN stairs NOW. PLEASE. NOW." I feel mean, but my head hurts and I need sleep.
She still won't look at me. "FINE!" she hollers, and I fast forward to her teen years and a cold chill runs down my spine. She stomps out of the room and closes the door behind her.
And then, less than a second later, she opens the door again - and SLAMS it shut.
Exclamation point.
I can't help but laugh. And then, finally, I sleep.
"All of my stuffed animals are circus animals...even me!" (Alex)
Yesterday I got a call at work around noon - Julia had a fever of 104 - so I changed my voicemail and sent a quick email to people to let them know I had to leave. When I arrived at daycare, all the other little kids were asleep on their cots, covered with blankets, except Julia. She sat on a little chair, a blanket across her lap, waiting quietly. They had given her tylenol, but it hadn't kicked in yet. She still felt hot when I carried her to the car, and she was sad-sounding "Mommy, I don't feel good...."
We hung out on the couch and watched Dora and other movies until we both dozed off.
Today she's still warm - 101 - so my husband is staying with her for the day. And Alex has to go to kindergarten. Bill's downstairs explaining this to him now. Wonder how that will go.
Okay, I thought I'd be able to post more, but apparently not. Gotta go get Alex moving along. And me.
I really wish Julia slept. I mean, she sleeps, but she doesn't zonk out for a solid 10 hours like her brother does. Of course, he didn't always sleep like this either, so I'm hoping this is just a phase. A long, endless, coffee-necessitating phase.
Two nights ago around 2:30 in the morning, Julia started calling "Mommmmmmyyyyy....Mommmmyyyyy...." She, like the birds and other wild creatures, has different tones that indicate different things. In this instance, it's kind of a blend of Moan and Whine with a bit of Crabby Girl stirred in. I go into her room and see what I expect to see when I hear that sound: she is in her bed, eyes shut, on her side, blanket on the floor, and her legs and arms swim in arcs across the surface of her purple Dora sheets. She is in constant motion, 3/4 asleep, and in need of something. She doesn't know what it is.
I try. "Do you need your blanket back on?" I ask, tucking it around her swishing legs.
"Nooooooooooooooooooooo" she Moans/Whines in sleepy irritation.
"Do you need to go potty?"
An insult, apparently. "NOOOOOoooooooooooooo, I don't need to go pottttttyyyyyyyy!" She sort of sounds like a ghost too. She keeps writhing slowly, like a willow tree in a brewing storm.
"Are you thirsty?" This is it - it's usually one of these three things.
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!" She thrashes around now, and somehow works herself sideways across her toddler mattress, jamming herself temporarily between the back of the former-crib-now-big-girl-bed and the safety rail in front.
I try sense. (Apparently I lack any myself.) "Okay, Julia, if you aren't going to tell me what the problem is, I'm going back to bed."
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO" More thrashing and flailing. The storm's picking up. "I DON'T WANT YOU TOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"
"Julia, you need to be quiet, you're going to wake up Alex and Daddy." (Like she cares.) "Now what's the matter?"
I try the three main questions again, all of which anger her more, and she becomes louder and more thrashy. She turns a complete circle, lying on one side - sort of like Donald O'Connor did on his arm in the "Make 'Em Laugh" scene of Singin in the Rain. But there's no laughing here.
I start to leave. I'm tired. She screams "NO MOMMMMYYYYYYYY" and, obedient puppet that I am, I swoop back to the crib and hiss at her to be quiet.
She just gets louder, and I'm tired of standing bent over the bed, so I say "Okay, we're going downstairs." Which is something she normally would love to do in the middle of the night, but since it wasn't her idea, then no, it is not a good idea. She shrieks. "I DON'T WANNA GO DOWNSTAIRS!" I pick her up and she is heavy with sleep and her eyes are still mostly shut and she starts writhing and flailing and I don't even know how to describe the sound of her voice except by saying things like "banshee" and "angry bird" and "Janis Joplin." Alex, at this point, sits bolt upright in his bed and starts to cry, terrified, no doubt, by the demon in his room. I tell him kindly to go back to sleep as I carry the wild animal out the door. She is still shrieking "NO! NO! I DON'T WANNA GO DOWNSTAIRS!" and trying to escape, which makes going down two flights of stairs a bit challenging, but we make it to the basement and I put her on the floor and go sit on the couch to wait it out.
She is a tiny monster, her dark blond hair seems to wave around her head like Medusa's snakes, and she glares at me from beneath her bangs. If she had fangs, she would bare them. Instead, she continues to shriek at me and tremble with sleepy rage.
I just watch. Because I want to laugh and that wouldn't be good. But it's hard to be frightened of a banshee in pajamas that have oversized pink and purple flowers all over them.
Perhaps feeling hampered by these benign garments, my little fireball suddenly - still glaring at me, swiftly REMOVES HER PAJAMA BOTTOMS AND HURLS THEM ACROSS THE ROOM! SO THERE! She waits to see if I react. I don't, because I really have to fight to keep from laughing at that little display. So she looks around and finds a yellow plastic bowl from her play kitchen set, and throws that. Interestingly, she sees a plastic play knife but does not throw that. I guess this is all just for show and she has no real interest in bloodshed tonight.
Since the throwing isn't having any effect on me, she shouts "I'M GOING BACK TO MY BED!" at me and heads for the stairs. I cut her off, and plant myself a few steps up and say, calmly "You need to calm down."
"I DON'T WANNA CALM DOWN!" she shrieks and falls to the floor and flails and wriths and screeches and then it starts...the shrieking begins to change, and the face crumples some, and she starts crying now, and finally the end is in sight, and she is no longer the scary banshee...she is just a tired little girl who was in some strange half and half state of wakeful and sleepy and now she just wants to be one place or the other...so she cries, and I pick her up and hold her for a while...and we just hang out there in the middle of the darkened living room until we are no longer wild animal and observer, but child and mommy.
She goes back to bed pretty soon after that, and the rest of the night is fine.
Now, last night right around 2:30 again, I was awakened by a loud and sad "MOMMY! MOMMMMYYYY!" - a different sound from the moaning/whining one. I went into the room and "Mommy, I fell out of my beddddd!" she wails from the floor. She is tangled in her Dora blanket and not hurt, but not all that thrilled either. I get her untangled and back to bed pretty quickly.
And then about 5:00 or so this morning it comes again: "MOMMY! MOMMMYYYY!!!!!!!!!!" And I go in again, expecting to see the same purple and blond lump on the floor, but no, she is in her bed, and crying.
"Julia! What's wrong???" I ask.
"Daddy ate my cheeseburger!" She wails.
I bring her into our bed, show her that no, Daddy is sleeping and didn't eat her cheeseburger, and she falls back to sleep, snug between us. Peace.
Alex loves kindergarten.
He doesn't, however, love daycare.
More specifically, he hates going there first in the morning. It's been...challenging...to drop him off without a long, dragged-out drama. He just doesn't want to be there. He says he doesn't like some of the kids, some of them tease him, there are too many kids...and that's all true. In the mornings, before the kids are carted away to the local elementary schools, it's loud and chaotic and stressful. There are "older" elementary school kids there too - just waiting for the ride to their school - but still, they're bigger, they seem tougher, and they are - not always intentionally - intimidating.
And this is no different from how it was at Alex's original daycare. The difference, I believe, is because Alex started going to that first place when he was three months old and left shortly after he turned five. Sure it was chaotic, but he had his place there. He was part of the fabric. He was family.
Here - he's the new kid. He started going here in mid-July - and only three days a week, if that - and other friendships (and gangs of pint-sized thugs) had already been formed. He was the odd kid out.
And he can be shy in certain situations. Like chaotic mornings at a new daycare.
And - to add to the fun - Julia is picking up on his misery (oh yes, that's an accurate word) and now SHE says she doesn't like daycare.
Yesterday morning - both kids were in TEARS in my care before we even pulled into the daycare parking lot. I've had to peel my little boa constrictors off of me and hand them off to teachers and leave the buildings listening to the sobbing and the "Mommeeeeeeeeee" that chases me out the door. It sucks.
And yeah, I've read the articles. I know - I'm supposed to be brisk and upbeat and cheerful and quick about it. They may cry, but I'm not supposed to acknowledge that really, at least not with hugs or kisses. No, I'm supposed to, I don't know, pat them on the head and shake their hands and march off. Somehow this will teach them not to be upset.
I'm not good at that whole thing. Very not good. I try. I have really tried. But yesterday - yesterday just about did me in. I was carrying Julia out of the building Alex is in (the pre-K and K kids are in one brick building; the pre-school and toddler and infant kids are in the other brick building) and he was clinging to me and sobbing and rubbing his runny-nosed, drooly, tearful face all over my shirt. Thank goodness it was a "casual day" at work and I didn't really need to look perfect. And the snot blended well with my gray tee.
The worst of it was when I got on the other side of the little gate and gave him another hug and let him rub more mucus on my shirt - all the while lugging Julia in one arm - and I started to walk to the door - and he did a "STELLLLLLLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA" kind of thing behind me - so loudly and so raw and tormented that other kids paused and stared and teachers stared and Alex's face was red and wet and miserable, and as he verged on agonized hysteria I just wanted to wake up and look at the clock and realize it was all just a hideous dream.
But no. In the next moment, as Alex burst through the gate, the assistant director awoke from her trance and hustled over and took him back into the room and said firmly "No, we're not going to do this every day."
And - I fled. I felt entirely rotten. I felt sick. I hated the whole episode on so many levels and for so many reasons. I don't even WANT to have to bring them to daycare. I don't WANT to be brisk and upbeat and cheerful when I'm NOT feeling that way. It's fake. I don't see that it's beneficial - my kids aren't stupid. And let's face it, I'm really not a good actress anyway.
I carried Julia - who had started to whine - to the other building and tried to make a smooth transition there, but no, she was already primed and ready - tears, sobbing, the hand-off to the teacher - and I dragged myself out of that building and across the parking lot and into my car. I wanted to cry. And quit my job. And yell at people. And go home and curl up in a ball and pull a blanket over my head.
But no, I went to work instead. Joy joy joy.
And I stewed about it for a good chunk of the day. And I thought - dammit - I don't see how a stressful, tear-filled morning is good for ANY of the three of us. I need to do this differently.
And I was figuring that after a while Alex is going to make friends. I'm not as worried about Julia - I think she's following his example, and if I can figure out to ease this a bit for him, she'll chill out too. I just feel this in my gut. And I'm trusting that gut - imperfect though it may look - more and more over time.
So I told my boss about the hell of that morning, and told her I wanted to come in to work later for a while. I'm going to bring Alex to kindergarten and the van can bring him to daycare for the afternoon. And in doing this, I'll also be bringing Julia in later, and odds are more of her little classmates will arrive and she'll have more kids to play with. And also, if he's happy, she's less likely to decide to be unhappy. My boss - who is also a friend - said to go ahead and not worry about the hours. And so that's what I did.
This morning I got the kids ready to go by their normal leave-the-house time - about seven o'clock. Bill leaves before that, so if I get them just about ready by the time he leaves, things fall into place pretty well. Anyway, I got them ready, they waved out the window to Bill as he drove away, and then...
I told them the new game plan. I told Alex I was bringing him to kindergarten - not to daycare - and that he'd go to daycare in the afternoon. He brightened up at that. Score one for Mommy. And I told Julia I would bring her in later, so there'd be more of her friends to play with. She still didn't sound enthused, but she didn't get upset either.
BUT, I informed them - if you're going to go in later, then you can do some things around the house. You can't just sit around and watch a movie or annoy each other. You need to WORK!
And you know what? We got SO MUCH DONE! I emptied the dishwasher and re-loaded it and washed the other stuff and they picked up toys and books and put stray articles of clothing in the hamper in the bathroom and put their shoes in their shoe bins, and we went up to the bedroom they share and I put a load of their laundry away while they picked up stuffed animals and dolls and books and put them where they belonged.
And - even more thrilling - they were cooperative - not only with me, but with each other! It was kind of fun, even! Tomorrow morning we'll attack the basement (the family room area - with more dinosaurs roaming the carpet than ever walked the earth) and after that - who knows? Maybe I can teach them to iron...
And the drop off? We brought Julia in first - and she cried a bit, but not...not with anguish, if that makes any sense - and I handed her over and left quickly - hurrying Alex along in front of me. One down. Then we zipped over to the elementary school, and I brought Alex into the gym where the other kids in his class were - all sitting along one wall, one girl eating a banana. The teacher and assistant teacher or whatever she is were there, checking kids off as they arrived. Alex wanted me to walk him all the way over to THAT side of the gym before saying goodbye - fair enough. I did, the teachers greeted him happily, and Alex and I did the hug and kiss and high five routine - and he gave me a little smile - he didn't look perfectly relaxed, but he didn't look tearful, either. Works for me. We said see you later - and that was it - I was out the door! Walking to my car! Waiting in my car for the other parents dropping off their older elementary school kids to move by so I could pull away from the curb! And on my way to get coffee! And an egg and cheese sandwich on an english muffin! And the newspaper!
I was kind of amazed at how well it went.
I know that's no guarantee that it will always go well, but there are no guarantees, really, in life, anyway. So I'm not going to stress about it. I'm giving it a shot. I'll see how it goes, and eventually if I can or need to make another change, I'll do it.
At the very least, the house will get a good cleaning.
June 27, 2002:
(taken with the first very cheap digital camera we had, so please excuse the poor quality)
And that same creature...first day of Kindergarten:
I did more traditional standing-at-the-front-door shots, but on the way back into the house, they wanted to run. Fortunately no knees were skinned during the photo shoot, and Alex was neat and tidy for his first day at elementary school.
Alex and I drove Julia to daycare and then drove back to the house. Alex wanted to walk to school. So we did - me with my keys, he with his enormous backpack. Holding hands. Looking both ways before crossing the street. Avoiding the dog poop on the sidewalk when we were almost there. Watching all the other families walking with their kids on this first day of another school year.
And no, he wasn't excited at all - I only had to run (in heels), practically, to keep up with him. I brought him into the gym, as instructed when we went to orientation the week before. There were a few other little backpack-bearing kids sitting cross-legged on the floor along the wall, and a very cheery blond woman took Alex's name and checked him off the list. The teacher arrived a moment later, greeted Alex and the other kids...more new kids arrived...and there was nothing left for me to do but hug and kiss Alex, exchange stinging high fives with him, flash him a big smile (he smiled back) - and...leave.
I've left him before - he's been going to daycare since he was three months old...but still...Kindergarten.
This is the official start of big kid school.
It's the next milestone. So many gone by already...so many to go.
I'm excited for him. So much to learn, to explore...he will eat it up.
I wished I could go with him into his kindergarten class.
Just to watch. He doesn't need me there, however.
He doesn't need me every moment.
I guess we're doing our jobs right...preparing him to give us high fives and hugs and go out there on his own. Without us hovering over him, ready to catch him or wipe his nose or clean up his scrapes and tears. It feels, at times, like he was born, we got to hold him for a while, but in the blink of an eye, we're letting him go...helping him to stand...walk...run...ride a bike...go to school...go out into the world...go his own way.
I walked home alone.
I held my house keys in one hand.
In the other, I held the residual warmth of a stinging high-five. Tightly.
We went camping Friday night - just the one night is enough while Julia is three. She...well, she's Julia. She wants to be carried. I don't want to carry her. So she will stand there. And I'll say "fine, stay there" and start to walk away. And she'll holler out "MOMMY!!!!" and I'll turn back to her and say "well then come on!" and she will move her left foot forward half an inch, then the right, then the left, all the while looking at me like "Okay, Mom, you want me to walk? THIS is how I'm going to do it!"
It's fun.
But anyway, apart from that aspect of it, things went pretty well. Alex had a blast. His favorite part?
Going fishing...
and catching bullfrogs. Meet Jeremiah.
You can see a few more of the camping pictures on my flickr site.
The best part, of course, is all the camp songs. The singing together. Bill brought Julia's pink ukelele and pretty much kept all the wild animals far away from us while we were at our site. And on the ride home, Alex and Julia took turns playing tunes and singing the words to the classics at the top of their lungs:
Last week (okay, I know I'm supposed to recap more of July, but forgive me, I'm skipping around anyway) we brought the kids to Southwick's Wild Animal Farm - Alex has called it "The New Zoo" for some time now, because it is (or, rather, was) the NEW zoo as opposed to the OLD ZOO. It was Tuesday. I was heading off to work and they were heading off to have all the fun. So at the last minute, I called in to say I was taking a mental health day, and that was that.
The best part of Southwick's is their deer forest. You buy dried corn and bring it in with you, and the deer are all out and about and many of them come up to you to mooch food.
Julia adopted this one. This deer was apparently the greeter - it met us at the gate and escorted us into the forest to meet all the other deer. Julia fell in love, and walked like this, her hand on the deer's back, for quite a while. After we'd fed deer for a while...
Julia started walking away with her buddy...
When asked where she was going, Julia replied "I'm bringing her back to her mom!"
Julia dropped her new friend off right about here, and that was that.
Later on we went into the farm animal pen...it's mostly an assortment of goats. There were a couple of llamas in a separate pen, and a rabbit in a hutch...but the goats were the ones ready and waiting for food when we got there.
There was a little barn at one end of the pen, and more goats hanging out in the shade inside.
Julia headed straigh in to join them...
But wait...
Hey little guy, why are you all alone?
You wait right here...
HEY! He can't find his mom and dad!
Once we reassurred her that the goat's parents were around somewhere and that he was okay, she went into the barn to greet all the other goats and make sure they all knew where their moms and dads were.
She's very sweet like that.
Alex, meanwhile, was thrilled to see the rhinos...
And he was so impressed, he directed me to take one more picture to remember them by...
(keep in mind he's a five-year-old boy)
We took the kids to a small Art Festival just over the Connecticut line this morning - a friend of a friend was selling her photography and I wanted to go there and see her work.
By the way - and this has nothing really to do with my story - it's really hot and really humid.
Anyway, we got there and ventured reluctantly out of the air-conditioned car to see the various displays. It was a pretty small event. And the photos were clearly the best examples of talent and all that. I bought one. But I digress.
Of course, neither kid wanted to be out in the hot sun, and Alex began complaining immediately as we trudged from the car to the first exhibit.
I was carrying Julia.
While the woman at the first display showed us her painted boxes and things, we listened politely and Alex complained some more about the heat...and then Julia sneezed.
Let me interrupt here to show you this picture:
I got Julia those festive hair things for Easter this year, and she finally wore them again today. I have been desperately trying to get her to wear her hair up in pony tails or something, because I personally can't stand to feel my own hair sticking to the sweat on the back of my neck or across my face in this hideous weather. But she doesn't seem to care. And so I almost fell over this morning when she consented to my offer to put her hair up. I took full advanage of the opportunity to do the girly thing, and so even though they didn't really match what she was wearing, I put these bright, frou-frouey bejeweled things in her hair.
Okay, back to the Art Festival.
Ah yes - Julia sneezed. She's had a bit of a cold or something, so her sneezes are, shall we say, productive.
First thing I saw was some of that productivity dripping from her left nostril. But I was soon distracted by what her right nostril had produced. And I showed Bill. And then I just burst out laughing and carried her back to the car to clean her up.
And if you dare, you can look below to see what I saw...
From an email to my sister recently:
A new word - this morning Julia was hanging out on my bed for a while, before I took my shower, and the cat was on there, and she (Blur) stretched out one paw to touch Julia, and I guess a tip of a claw made contact with skin, because Julia pulled away and said "She's trying to get me with her THORMS!"
In case I've never posted a picture of her before - this is Blur:
She's about sixteen years old, and yes, she only has one eye. When she was a kitten - not too long before I adopted her - she was hurt somehow and a friend of mine who, coincidentally and fortunately, worked at a vet's office, nursed her back to health. She'd had injuries to her radial nerve in her front left leg and to her right eye. The vet was afraid she'd lose mobility for good in the leg, but actually that healed quickly. But I am jumping ahead a bit.
At the time I already owned four cats. I was waitressing a lot and that was basically my life at the time. A friend of mine waitressed with me and she knew I had some cats...one Sunday - it might have been Easter, actually, she told me about this kitten - they'd named her Blur because before the accident she would hide under the furniture and dash from one hiding place to another. She was just a tiny gray blur...
Anyway, at this point, Blur had been hurt and was recovering at the vet's office. My friend couldn't keep her - the place she was living didn't allow pets. So she figured, since I already had four...
Well, she worked on me all shift, in between serving meals and collecting tips, and by the end of the day, I had caved. We agreed to meet the next morning and she'd introduce me.
Blur was just a little thing, around 8 weeks old or so - who knows. She was a foundling. She lay in the cage and showed no interest in me or anyone else, that I can remember. We opened the door to the cage and I very slowly reached in and let her sniff my fingers. She didn't shrink away or bite me, so I started very gently rubbing her cheek.
Bit by bit, she accepted me. I moved on to scratching under her chin, and smoothing the top of her head, and petting from head to tail, and by the end of an hour, she had rolled onto her back and I was rubbing her white tummy. She had adopted me.
I think I brought her home a little later in the week. I kept her shut in my bedroom while she healed, and while I tried to keep her right eye lubricated with the drops the vet had prescribed. But the tear duct had been damaged beyond repair, and since I couldn't put the drops in around the clock, the surface of her eye got dry and ulcerated. So the eye was removed. She healed from that, and then it was time for her to get acquainted with the other cats.
They all certainly knew about her - they would hang out at the door to the bedroom, sniffing...one of them would reach a paw under the door to try to touch this new thing I was hiding.
One day I shut the other cats in a bathroom or somewhere, and let Blur out to explore. She crept slowly through the house, sniffing everything, getting familiar with the layout.
I think I did that a couple of times, and then it was time for all of them to meet. On someone's advice - I don't remember if I'd read it or if someone told me to do this - I put the cats' breakfast down on the floor in the kitchen, and while the original four were eating, I opened the bedroom door and waited.
Blur came slowly down the stairs and followed the smell of food. She really didn't seem interested in the other cats at all. She just marched in like she owned the place, and started eating.
And that was the beginning.
Now, we only have one cat (and two lizards and a bunch of fish) and that's plenty, since the two small humans are more than enough to handle at the moment.
Blur's been great with them - very tolerant of the rough handling when the kids were little (okay, they're still little...but when they were LITTLER.) and quite comfortable with them now. The kids, in turn, have learned to be gentle. They carry Blur around, they pet her, they hug her, they kiss her - she gets all the attention she wants, and they have a real live furry animal to love.
Blur likes to snuggle up next to Alex when he goes to bed. She lies there and purrs...there is nothing that says "contentment" more than a happy cat.
Blur would snuggle up next to Julia, too, but Julia is still leery of the thorms.
For now.
Alex's preschool graduation was today.
Yes, I know - preschool graduation. What next? Newborns will be switching their tassles over from one side to the other right after the nurse weighs and measures them. Congratulations! You've graduated from the womb!
But anyway. They had gratuation this morning, complete with little red borrowed caps and gowns. They get to keep the tassles.
Before the ceremony began, the kids got to run around and blow off some steam up on the stage. Julia, who isn't aware that she's Alex's younger sister, was up there running around with them. In fact, even after Alex's little group had been pulled off the stage to don their robes in another room, she was up there, chasing around with some of the other siblings.
And then it was just about time for things to get underway. So we parents got our wild animals children back to ground level and dragged them back to sit with us.
But things still hadn't started yet. And Julia, ever-fidgety, needed - yes, needed - to race up and down the aisle between the rows of chairs. Fine, let her wear herself out a bit more; it will do everyone good.
And then, when things were one step closer to starting (you could tell by the merging and parting of all the preschool teachers over by the door) Julia decided to go back up on stage, solo, and run around and jump up and down and basically ignore her idiot mother standing at the edge of the stage hissing at her to GET OVER HERE NOW.
She'd come running toward me, giant grin on her little face, and then stop JUST out of my reach, drop on her knees and lean back a bit, then spin around and get up and race back across the stage. I am a useless parent, obviously. Bill finally couldn't stand the stress of it all and got up and caught her and carried her outside to have a chat. When they came back in, she was pretty obedient. Yes, my usefulness ended once each one was weaned.
Anyway, shortly after Julia was finally parked in a chair, "Pomp and Circumstance" (yes, I know...for pre-schoolers...hahahahaha) started blaring from a portable sound system, and in came the tiny graduates. They marched up the stairs, across the stage, and were formed into a line by height - with the shortest kids at either end, and the tall ones in the middle. Just like the Rockettes. Alex looked very serious until he spotted us, and then he relaxed and waved a lot.
They began their show with the Pledge of Allegiance, and went right into "Yankee Doodle Dandy" afterward. Alex and his best friend Chad, who were about 3 or 4 people away from each other (because Alex is tall and Chad is not) both kept their hands on their hearts through "Yankee Doodle" and into "This Land is Your Land" as well. It was cute and patriotic.
Next - onto the summertime song - a rousing rendition of "Take Me out to the Ball Game." Little hand gestures had been choreographed into the song, and my favorite was "For it's one, two, three strikes you're out" and watching all the kids staring at their hands as they carefully held up one..then twwwooo...then......THREEEEE! fingers.
And then they chanted "Kindergarten Here we Come" which I don't remember at all, and followed that with "It's time to say Goodbye to our Friends" which I also don't remember - I think they were poems. OH - no, I know why I don't remember those - it's because in between them, Julia decided she had to go potty. So we dashed out of the room (in front of everyone, with Julia jumping loudly along behind me) and found the bathroom. Took care of things, and by the time we got back, they'd started handing out (yes) diplomas. Alex already had his, in fact.
I found out later that before that part began, during the SILENCE, Alex called out from the stage "DADDY, DID JULIA HAVE TO GO POTTY?"
After they were awarded their diplomas, they were free to go, and refreshments were served in the basement. (This all took place at a church, by the way. Not that it really matters, but I just like to keep people informed.) Alex was happy to get rid of the cap and gown - it was pretty hot in there by the end of the ceremony. We headed downstairs and the kids ate pizza squares and cake and watered-down apple juice and then chased each other around until Bill was ready to leave.
We headed off to the car, and then went to the pet store and bought a Cuban Night Anole to keep our Plain Old Regular Cuban Anole company. Or to start a turf war - one or the other. Stay tuned....
One day last week Julia escaped from Bill at the midway point between getting undressed and getting dressed.
We found her standing on the back of the couch in the living room, which is below the GREAT BIG WINDOW that faces the street. She stood there, unclad, leaning against the window, for all the world to see.
And on Saturday morning, the day of Alex's birthday party (as described in the previous post), he came out of the bathroom without a stitch of clothing on.
"Go get your underwear!" I hollered in mock horror, to which he explained:
"But when my friends get here I want them to think I'm silly!"
My firstborn child, my son, my little man, my baby boy...he turned five yesterday.
Five.
We had a party for him on Saturday, with some of his friends and their parents and some relatives. Of course, it rained. Last summer we had a party for him and some of his friends and it rained then, too. Probably because the main kid activities were to take place outdoors.
They still did. Rain does not stop US!
We had a dinosaur egg hunt - complete with thin plastic safari hats - and then the little kids played in the pool while the older kids filled water balloons. The highlight was the THROWING OF THE WATER BALLOONS AT ALEX'S DADDY. Bill's not so nuts about it because the little kids don't quite have the muscle power to throw a balloon hard enough so that it breaks on impact. In my good sport husband's words "They never pop, and they hurt!" We may not continue the water balloon tradition.
In addition to all this fun - plus all the running around up and down the stairs and in and out of every room in the house - loudly - we had good food.
Bill smoked 4 racks of ribs, made 3 beer can chickens, and grilled up a few hot dogs for the pickier eaters. I made an enormous pasta salad with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, ham, soybeans, and red, orange and yellow bell peppers sauteed in a roasted garlic/olive oil puree. I also made 3 family-sized boxes of Velveeta macaroni and cheese because I wasn't sure how many people would want that and because I'd rather have leftover food than not enough. My sister brought a fruit platter, my cousin and his wife brought a vegetable platter...and we put out guacamole and salsa and chips and pretzels. We also supplied juice and water and Bill's latest batch of beer. Wine was available, but no one had any.
The party ran from around noon until around six. I hadn't really specified an end time for things...I just told everyone "come on over any time from noon on...." As a result, arrival times and departure times were pretty staggered.
While the majority of the guests were at the house, we did the birthday cake. Here's a really bad, rushed picture of it:
Please, first of all, excuse the mess that surrounds it - we left the dishes for AFTER the fun. Anyway, in case it's not completely obvious, this is the "dinosaur cake" that Alex requested. I'd made one last year - I must have a picture of it somewhere...Anyway - this year, because I knew we'd have around 30 people or so at the house, I went vertical with it. That top section is a volcano...sort of. There's the old, cooled black lava, and the newer, fiery red lava spilling over it. The lighter green blobs (they looked a tiny bit better in person) were clumps of grass or bushes that had not, as yet, been touched by the liquid fire. The dinosaurs you see are most assuredly out of proportion and drawn from every dinosaur period with no regard for timelines.
Alex saw the cake as it was assembled. Inside, it's layers of pound cake with chopped cherries, strawberries and blueberries smashed in between, and vanilla (canned) frosting mixed with strawberry jam. That stuff that I covered the cake with is called fondant. It's like modeling clay, just to give you an analogy if you haven't encountered it before. It tastes like blech, but it's fun to work with. I didn't get tidy or fancy with this one - it's dinosaurs - they rough it.
Anyway, at some point during the contstruction of this cake, probably toward the end, Alex suddenly hugged my legs and told me I was the best mommy in the world. I'm so self-critical about everything...it's nice to be reminded that I don't have to be perfect in my own eyes to be exactly right in someone else's.
Anyway, it was a good party. The best part, for me, though, was earlier in the day when Alex woke up. Julia and I had been up since before six or so...Bill was in the shower...and I could hear Alex starting to wake up on the monitor. I heard him moving around on his bed, and then silence, and then, in a whisper, "party!" He scurried from his room and started down the stairs, and I heard him, once more, still in a whisper, "party!"
The next morning - Alex's real birthday - I made pancakes and we gave him presents from US, and of course he grew tired of new clothes pretty quick, but he liked the other stuff.
Later in the day Bill took Alex fishing. Big Manly Man fishing in the canoe. Here they are, about to set off on their adventure:
They didn't catch anything, but Alex learned how to cast from a sitting position in the canoe without whacking Daddy in the head with the tip of his pole or the lure.
All in all, a pretty good weekend.
That's about how much uninterrupted sleep I got last night. The rest was in ten or fifteen minute naps on the couch, whenever Julia stopped crying and crying and sobbing and sobbing long enough to doze off for a few minutes. And all this with the background of Dora-the-Slora running in endless loops on the TV.
And as I was watching Dora's Mami and Papi kiss Dora and Boots goodnight in the living room so Dora and Boots could wait up for Santa and give him a present on Christmas (I know...it's May...) it occurred to me that Dora must have been a really difficult delivery for Mami. I mean, take a look at this family portrait:
(sorry for the blur - I don't think their photographer was using a tripod.) Notice Mami's normally proportioned hips. And noticed Dora's freak head. And I thought my kids' heads hurt!
It's also possible that Dora was adopted by Mami and Papi...after, you know...the unspeakable tragedy....
Anyway, that's the sort of stuff that drifts around in my head when I'm tired and trapped on a couch by a child who won't stop crying. Bawling. Sobbing. Wailing. Out of breath gaspy trying-to-talk-but-completely-incoherent crying.
Sometimes she'd say her belly hurt. Other times she'd say her mouth hurt. I had a sore throat not too long ago, so I thought maybe she had one...gave her some tylenol at some point once she finally consented to take it, and that helped a tiny bit, but for the most part it was a non-stop ride of crying, wanting juice, wanting to lie down on the couch on top of mommy and watch Mowgli, wanting to go back in her crib, wanting to go downstairs again and lie down with/on mommy and watch DoratheSlora, wanting to go potty, wanting more juice, wanting to writhe around on the floor speaking in tongues and the occasional bit of American Toddler English, wanting to be held, not wanting to be held, wanting to go back in her crib, wanting to lie down on mommy's bed, wanting to go back in her crib, wanting to go downstairs again, wanting to go upstairs again, wanting to watch Diego Saves Christmas, and on and on and on.
Both my sister and a friend of mine suggested this morning that maybe she's teething.
Aha. Hadn't thought of that - I was only thinking ILLNESS. But a little while ago I looked in her mouth with the flashlight again - and by the way, for someone who can yell really really loud and stuff an awful lot of lo mein noodles and shrimp in her mouth, she won't open wide for flashlight exams. But anyway - throat was normal color - but AHA - yep, there we are. I could see the new teeth coming up on her lower gums. I could feel them too, so they're not that far down and that really explains the misery and the pain. I'm lucky she didn't bite my finger off.
So anyway, we are home, the kids and I. And I can't say I'm unhappy about it - I have pink irises opening up on the front walkway and I got to run out there and take pictures several times already this morning as they open. And the peonies are opening, and Mr. Lincoln (the rose) is opening...it's an exciting day in the land of flora here.
But for now, this is all. I'm going to go downstairs and have the kids help me clean up the mess of toys and maybe even GET RID OF SOME!!! I know. I'm getting giddy. Must be the lack of sleep.
And if I'm very lucky, when Julia takes a nap, I'll be able to take one too. Alex won't, but he'll let me sleep on the couch if he's got a good movie to watch.
That's a few hours away, though. Maybe some more coffee would be good first....
Well, it worked for one night, at least.
Last night Julia got out of bed four times - within 5 minutes - and when I told her that if she didn't stay in bed, I'd have to turn the bed back into a crib, she said "I want my crib." So...I put the crib rail back on. We'll try again some other time.
We have converted Julia's crib to a toddler bed.
She loves it - "because I'm a BIG GIRL!!!"
And she is also well aware that she can get in and out of it on her own. She demonstrated this to me when I put her to bed tonight. Three times.
"I'm not tired! I want to watch a movie!" she said, standing by her bed.
I basically told her that if she can't stay in her big girl bed, then I'd have to make it into a crib again.
I really hope that convinces her to stay in bed. I don't feel like putting the crib rail thing back on. I like how it looks as a toddler bed. And I got her new Dora-the-Slora sheets and everything...
We'll see....
