"Bang, bang, bang.... Mom, I'm shooting at you!" Landon called across the room. I quickly redirected him the ways of hunter safety and told him in simple words, "We don't shoot people, we only shoot animals."
"Oh. Aminals?" He clarifies.
"Yes, animals. You can shoot things like... um..." (I was trying to think of a good animal to shoot).
"SHEEP!" He interrupts my thinking. So, I agree with him; sheep are good to shoot. I mean, we count them in our sleep only to get an idea of how many there are to shoot the next day.
As Landon goes on his hunt, he eventually ended back up in the kitchen with me.
"Hey Mom," he says. "I'm shooting sheep and bears and moots!" he declares excitedly.
"Moots?" I asked him, "What's a moots?"
"Um... a moots is small.... really REALLY small... and it's an aminal... um.... its a moots," he finished with as if the name alone gave the definition. But, then he went on while deep in thought, "A moots pees really REALLY hard on deers and a moots poops on them too," he stated very matter-of-factly, as if this was a good character trait of an animal.
Wow. I was speechless. I was having a sudden vision of these rodent-size creatures that ran around the forest jumping on a deer's back with an intense fury while, well, doing what Landon says they do to deer.
And since "deers" are scarier to Landon than the bogey man is, I'm surprised he would have the desire to shoot an "aminal" that sounds to me like it is as against the deers as Landon is. Who would've thought a moots could be so detestable though. And where does this kid come up with this stuff?!
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
On Running Backwards and Slimy Noodles
I finally figured out my problem. Yes, problem. You see, the Good Lord has blessed me with 24 hours in my day just like He's blessed the rest of you in the same way. But, with me, He also blessed me with 3 time stealer's... i.e. children. As if that wasn't enough to be blessed with, He gave me 8 loads of laundry to do. And then He required of me to do justly and be merciful to my family and feed this flock 3 times a day. With the food comes the fun of dirty dishes. Usually about that time, the precious baby is screaming because his swing is causing him to feel lonely. And as I walk to the swing to get the precious screaming lonely baby, I step on a slimy noodle and track the noodle all the way to the baby swing.
So, not only do I have 3 darling children, 8 loads of laundry, 3 meals to attend to, 3 kitchen cleaning sessions a day and 1 precious baby to comfort, I now have 1 sticky smeared noodle to pick out of the carpet.
You do the math:
24
3
8
3
3
1
-1
---
19
That leaves me with 5 hours left over. I usually use those 5 to sleep. If I'm lucky.
The other day Toby found a hastily scrawled 8 1/2" x 11" piece of paper that I had sitting on the buffet. "What's this?" He asked, reading down the sloppy list. I pleaded with him to treat the parchment like a sacred scroll because That Paper was My List. I took precious time out of my 24 hours to design that list. And I look at that list every few days just to see what else I could add to it. It's usually, "Clean noodles out of carpet" or some other monotonous thing. I'm thinking about putting "Change baby's diaper" on there just so I could actually cross something off.
I always thought 24 hours was a lot of hours. Until I had 3 kids. It seems like once my feet hit the floor in the morning, everything starts going backwards. My daily motto is "running 90 mph backwards." I call this frustrating; my husband calls it talent. He claims he doesn't know anyone that can run 90 mph backwards. "Well, hi my name is Courtney, I'm your wife and I can run 90 mph backwards."
Just recently, I spent all of one entire Saturday cleaning, sweeping, mopping and organizing the basement. You read that right, all day. In the huge process there were a few highlights. Such as me finding a snake skin behind the dryer, me killing giant crickets and fast spiders that hid under heavy bins and boxes and me saving an entire freezer from defrosting when I found it had come unplugged. On the way to church the next morning, Toby was complementing my successes. You know, doing what the Proverbs 31 woman gets when she finishes a job... "her works shall praise her." In our case, my works give their voice to Toby and I might add he does a fine job of encouraging me in this way.
I hate to admit this but lately, my unfortunate habit has been to occasionally moan to my dear husband about not being able to get anything done. When I worked so productively in the basement I think he was either praising me or else saying "I told you so" since he always counteracts each, "I can't get anything done" with "You'll get it all done." I seem to have a practice of complaining every night about my inability to actually accomplish something so maybe it's not as occasionally, as I like to think it is.
I mean, seriously, I can't even just sit and eat a meal without getting distracted in some way or another. I asked someone once what it was like to actually sit down at the table and stay there until the meal was done. I think if I did that, I'd feel like a child feels when their mom says, "you sit in that chair and stay there." I'd feel grounded.
Back to the Praising Works conversation we were having the morning after my big day... "I know Honey, it's great isn't it?" I said to him, both of us enjoying our clean basement. Then I went on, "But, I still could only cross maybe one thing off The List though." As if that wasn't discouraging enough, I then remembered that only half of the basement was actually considered done so therefore, I couldn't even cross "basement" off. I should've written "Half of basement" when I made The List. Or even, "Plan to clean all of basement."
So, back to my problem. I have 24 hours to get done what is seeming to take me several weeks to get done. Sometimes I look at The List and wonder if maybe I should just not sleep at night so that I could actually accomplish something without a baby screaming, kids falling off the steps, a child spraying water all over the bathroom floor, answering a toddler's deep theological questions ("Does God make you die?") or stepping on a wet noodle.
But, when you're running 90 mph backwards, it's nice to get a little bit of a break once in awhile. One of the things I've learned about my full 24 hours is that slimy noodles can always wait until morning.
So, not only do I have 3 darling children, 8 loads of laundry, 3 meals to attend to, 3 kitchen cleaning sessions a day and 1 precious baby to comfort, I now have 1 sticky smeared noodle to pick out of the carpet.
You do the math:
24
3
8
3
3
1
-1
---
19
That leaves me with 5 hours left over. I usually use those 5 to sleep. If I'm lucky.
The other day Toby found a hastily scrawled 8 1/2" x 11" piece of paper that I had sitting on the buffet. "What's this?" He asked, reading down the sloppy list. I pleaded with him to treat the parchment like a sacred scroll because That Paper was My List. I took precious time out of my 24 hours to design that list. And I look at that list every few days just to see what else I could add to it. It's usually, "Clean noodles out of carpet" or some other monotonous thing. I'm thinking about putting "Change baby's diaper" on there just so I could actually cross something off.
I always thought 24 hours was a lot of hours. Until I had 3 kids. It seems like once my feet hit the floor in the morning, everything starts going backwards. My daily motto is "running 90 mph backwards." I call this frustrating; my husband calls it talent. He claims he doesn't know anyone that can run 90 mph backwards. "Well, hi my name is Courtney, I'm your wife and I can run 90 mph backwards."
Just recently, I spent all of one entire Saturday cleaning, sweeping, mopping and organizing the basement. You read that right, all day. In the huge process there were a few highlights. Such as me finding a snake skin behind the dryer, me killing giant crickets and fast spiders that hid under heavy bins and boxes and me saving an entire freezer from defrosting when I found it had come unplugged. On the way to church the next morning, Toby was complementing my successes. You know, doing what the Proverbs 31 woman gets when she finishes a job... "her works shall praise her." In our case, my works give their voice to Toby and I might add he does a fine job of encouraging me in this way.
I hate to admit this but lately, my unfortunate habit has been to occasionally moan to my dear husband about not being able to get anything done. When I worked so productively in the basement I think he was either praising me or else saying "I told you so" since he always counteracts each, "I can't get anything done" with "You'll get it all done." I seem to have a practice of complaining every night about my inability to actually accomplish something so maybe it's not as occasionally, as I like to think it is.
I mean, seriously, I can't even just sit and eat a meal without getting distracted in some way or another. I asked someone once what it was like to actually sit down at the table and stay there until the meal was done. I think if I did that, I'd feel like a child feels when their mom says, "you sit in that chair and stay there." I'd feel grounded.
Back to the Praising Works conversation we were having the morning after my big day... "I know Honey, it's great isn't it?" I said to him, both of us enjoying our clean basement. Then I went on, "But, I still could only cross maybe one thing off The List though." As if that wasn't discouraging enough, I then remembered that only half of the basement was actually considered done so therefore, I couldn't even cross "basement" off. I should've written "Half of basement" when I made The List. Or even, "Plan to clean all of basement."
So, back to my problem. I have 24 hours to get done what is seeming to take me several weeks to get done. Sometimes I look at The List and wonder if maybe I should just not sleep at night so that I could actually accomplish something without a baby screaming, kids falling off the steps, a child spraying water all over the bathroom floor, answering a toddler's deep theological questions ("Does God make you die?") or stepping on a wet noodle.
But, when you're running 90 mph backwards, it's nice to get a little bit of a break once in awhile. One of the things I've learned about my full 24 hours is that slimy noodles can always wait until morning.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Word Verification
I know how annoying Word Verification is so I will do my readers a favor and disable it. I hope the spammers don't get wind of this though. There is something freaky about going to your email inbox and finding 134 posts from commenters on your blog. Wow! I'm famous, is your first reaction. And then you find out it was some computer generated automated system that did that.
Word Verification keeps a blogger from having that despair.
But, then I hate it when I read a blog, go to comment and find I have to type in those "characters." Is that a 'g' or a '9' I'll wonder, and then hit enter and wait and then have to retype those 6 characters because I can't tell my numbers from my letters.
Now that I've disabled the annoyance for you readers, maybe that'll encourage some more comments on my blog?
Word Verification keeps a blogger from having that despair.
But, then I hate it when I read a blog, go to comment and find I have to type in those "characters." Is that a 'g' or a '9' I'll wonder, and then hit enter and wait and then have to retype those 6 characters because I can't tell my numbers from my letters.
Now that I've disabled the annoyance for you readers, maybe that'll encourage some more comments on my blog?
Saturday, September 15, 2007
It's Game Day...
And I hate football. Okay, I know hate is a strong word so in other words, I detest and dislike and despise football. I mean really, what is so exciting about somebody catching or throwing a ball?
I live in “Husker” territory. For you college football fans, you know I’m not referring to somebody that works with corn but rather to the UNL football team. Today in the city of Lincoln, just a stone’s throw away from my doorstep is the game of the year being played. And what am I hoping? That “our” beloved team loses. My apologies to any Husker fans that may stumble on my blog. If you like the Huskers, you can put that on your blog. I dislike the Huskers and I’m putting that on my blog.
I found out recently from a friend that lives in Lincoln that he was really worried about the Huskers winning. Why? Vandalizing mobs break out when their team wins a victory. Weird way to celebrate, I know. It makes no sense to me either. And he lives in the heart of Lincoln. He was specifically worried about his 12 passenger van getting tipped over.
Today as I shopped and cruised around town, I was reminded again that today was Game Day by the see of red I saw everywhere. Husker Red. Everyone is wearing red; how dumb, I mused to myself.
Imagine my horror when I suddenly realized I happened to be wearing a red jacket today too. Totally Husker red. WHAT was I thinking this morning when I got dressed? You can tell I definitely didn't wake up with the game on my mind.
I live in “Husker” territory. For you college football fans, you know I’m not referring to somebody that works with corn but rather to the UNL football team. Today in the city of Lincoln, just a stone’s throw away from my doorstep is the game of the year being played. And what am I hoping? That “our” beloved team loses. My apologies to any Husker fans that may stumble on my blog. If you like the Huskers, you can put that on your blog. I dislike the Huskers and I’m putting that on my blog.
I found out recently from a friend that lives in Lincoln that he was really worried about the Huskers winning. Why? Vandalizing mobs break out when their team wins a victory. Weird way to celebrate, I know. It makes no sense to me either. And he lives in the heart of Lincoln. He was specifically worried about his 12 passenger van getting tipped over.
Today as I shopped and cruised around town, I was reminded again that today was Game Day by the see of red I saw everywhere. Husker Red. Everyone is wearing red; how dumb, I mused to myself.
Imagine my horror when I suddenly realized I happened to be wearing a red jacket today too. Totally Husker red. WHAT was I thinking this morning when I got dressed? You can tell I definitely didn't wake up with the game on my mind.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
The Sleeping Baby Dance
Do not expect this to work everytime. Your baby has to be just enough awake and just enough tired to comply with this formula. And even then this isn't a guarantee.
A side note before you continue --> The fact that your baby’s need fluctuate so much during the period of the dance, is in no way a reflection of your desperation. Your baby just wants variety. If you ate the same thing 6-8 times a day, you’d want some kind of change circulating somewhere in your life style. That’s how your baby feels. So that’s why he goes from being starving to neglected (and so forth and so on) in such a short time.
Here is my tried and true formula:
First, you feed the starving infant.
Then you diaper the neglected infant.
Then you try to feed the famished infant yet again.
Then you burp the painful infant.
Then you lay upon your chest the attention deprived infant.
Then you position upright the non-finicky infant.
Then you plop in the swing the swing longing infant.
Then you wrap in a snug blanket the cold infant.
Then you place a pacifier in the mouth of the suck induced infant.
Then you again change the diaper on the well fed infant.
Then you lose the pacifier and break the heart of your demanding infant.
Then you try another blanket on your needy infant.
Then you walk the restless infant.
Then you rock the unrestful infant.
Then you bounce the unrestfuller infant.
Then you walk, rock and bounce the unrestfullest infant.
And about the time you think you might need to look up on the internet again how to put infant to sleep, he suddenly, with no warning at all, leaves the land of the wakeful and heads right straight to dream land. Just like that, he’s gone.
He goes so fast you are concerned of his oxygen levels. So, you quickly shove a finger by his nose to check for adequate air. You count breath movements. You monitor his heart beats. You examine skin color and evaluate body temperature. And just to be sure, you gently shake him to check for reflexes.
You are pleased with your results and enjoy the wonderful fact that your child is actually sleeping! The only thing left is for you to head to bed yourself. Or so you think.
Unbeknown to you, the infant is playing possum. If you don’t believe me, put him in his bed and watch what happens. Then you repeat steps 1 through 17 above.
Enjoy your night!
A side note before you continue --> The fact that your baby’s need fluctuate so much during the period of the dance, is in no way a reflection of your desperation. Your baby just wants variety. If you ate the same thing 6-8 times a day, you’d want some kind of change circulating somewhere in your life style. That’s how your baby feels. So that’s why he goes from being starving to neglected (and so forth and so on) in such a short time.
Here is my tried and true formula:
First, you feed the starving infant.
Then you diaper the neglected infant.
Then you try to feed the famished infant yet again.
Then you burp the painful infant.
Then you lay upon your chest the attention deprived infant.
Then you position upright the non-finicky infant.
Then you plop in the swing the swing longing infant.
Then you wrap in a snug blanket the cold infant.
Then you place a pacifier in the mouth of the suck induced infant.
Then you again change the diaper on the well fed infant.
Then you lose the pacifier and break the heart of your demanding infant.
Then you try another blanket on your needy infant.
Then you walk the restless infant.
Then you rock the unrestful infant.
Then you bounce the unrestfuller infant.
Then you walk, rock and bounce the unrestfullest infant.
And about the time you think you might need to look up on the internet again how to put infant to sleep, he suddenly, with no warning at all, leaves the land of the wakeful and heads right straight to dream land. Just like that, he’s gone.
He goes so fast you are concerned of his oxygen levels. So, you quickly shove a finger by his nose to check for adequate air. You count breath movements. You monitor his heart beats. You examine skin color and evaluate body temperature. And just to be sure, you gently shake him to check for reflexes.
You are pleased with your results and enjoy the wonderful fact that your child is actually sleeping! The only thing left is for you to head to bed yourself. Or so you think.
Unbeknown to you, the infant is playing possum. If you don’t believe me, put him in his bed and watch what happens. Then you repeat steps 1 through 17 above.
Enjoy your night!
Kid Klips
We Match!
While noticing his sister's pink outfit and my poison ivy infected leg, Landon made a keen observation.
"Mom," he said. "Janae's clothes match your poison ivy."
Bacon?
"Patty cake patty cake, baker's man...." Landon seemed to have the song down real well. Until the end, "Put it in the oven for 'bacon' and me."
Showers For Boys; Baths For Girls
After learning how to take a shower by himself recentely, Landon was boasting of his achievements one morning. Janae joined in and started talking about taking a shower herself. Not to be outdone by his sister, Landon told her, "No Janae; girls are for baths."
While noticing his sister's pink outfit and my poison ivy infected leg, Landon made a keen observation.
"Mom," he said. "Janae's clothes match your poison ivy."
Bacon?
"Patty cake patty cake, baker's man...." Landon seemed to have the song down real well. Until the end, "Put it in the oven for 'bacon' and me."
Showers For Boys; Baths For Girls
After learning how to take a shower by himself recentely, Landon was boasting of his achievements one morning. Janae joined in and started talking about taking a shower herself. Not to be outdone by his sister, Landon told her, "No Janae; girls are for baths."
Laying Down The Law
Falling off the fence, toppling off the swing set, slipping off the swing, getting chewed on by the puppy, tripping and falling, etc. these are all very valid reasons for concern. But, I've had it with the crying. If there's one thing I hate, it's kids crying endlessly outside.
So, today I've laid the law down. Every time somebody cries outside they have to come in the house for 5 minutes. The timer is my best friend today.
As soon as I hear the crying, I evacuate the kid from the back yard and into the house. I hate sharing a screaming kid with the neighbors and feel it is my neighborly duty to not share such annoyances. The kid comes in and I survey their damage, cleanse their wounds and/or prosecute any sibling at fault with them. Being a mom in this situation means you're the investigator, news reporter, doctor, lawyer and cop all at once. Then, I make the child aware that because they were crying outside, they have to stay in the house for 5 minutes. At this point, we ceremoniously set the timer and I go back to what I was doing before the accident took place. The kid usually stands at the door quietly, looking out the window wishing they were outside.
I got to thinking as I watched my kids play out in the yard this morning. They have hardly any care or concern for their own safety and seem to enjoy the opportunity to cry every time they get hurt. Unfortunately, they seem to make up scenes so that they can fall or topple just to cry. The crying is worth the pain. By instigating some law and order out in our back yard, I'm hoping to help my kids realize that when they're careful, they usually don't get hurt, they don't cry and ultimately, they don't have to come in the house for 5 minutes of their precious day.
I mean really, climbing the fence is not exactly what a 3 year old should accomplish in his day. Of course he's going to get hurt. Flinging herself wildly on to the swing in a moment of playful frenzy, is perhaps a little risky for a 2 year old. We all know she'll get hurt. Or, letting the playful and hyper puppy out of her kennel is possibly not the wisest thing to do either. It's as if they walk around in the yard going, "hmmm, there's the dog, she has teeth, I want to get bit." And then they go open the kennel. Duh. And then I here wails and screams of the puppy mauling the kids. If you jump in the lions den, don't be surprised if you get bit just a little.
So, yes, call mean and cruel by making my kids come in from the great out doors for a whole 5 minutes but I really have to teach them somehow that there are consequences for unthinking behaviour.
Plus, I am really tired of having to share my screaming and bawling kids with the whole neighborhood. And I'm sure the neighbors are too.
So, today I've laid the law down. Every time somebody cries outside they have to come in the house for 5 minutes. The timer is my best friend today.
As soon as I hear the crying, I evacuate the kid from the back yard and into the house. I hate sharing a screaming kid with the neighbors and feel it is my neighborly duty to not share such annoyances. The kid comes in and I survey their damage, cleanse their wounds and/or prosecute any sibling at fault with them. Being a mom in this situation means you're the investigator, news reporter, doctor, lawyer and cop all at once. Then, I make the child aware that because they were crying outside, they have to stay in the house for 5 minutes. At this point, we ceremoniously set the timer and I go back to what I was doing before the accident took place. The kid usually stands at the door quietly, looking out the window wishing they were outside.
I got to thinking as I watched my kids play out in the yard this morning. They have hardly any care or concern for their own safety and seem to enjoy the opportunity to cry every time they get hurt. Unfortunately, they seem to make up scenes so that they can fall or topple just to cry. The crying is worth the pain. By instigating some law and order out in our back yard, I'm hoping to help my kids realize that when they're careful, they usually don't get hurt, they don't cry and ultimately, they don't have to come in the house for 5 minutes of their precious day.
I mean really, climbing the fence is not exactly what a 3 year old should accomplish in his day. Of course he's going to get hurt. Flinging herself wildly on to the swing in a moment of playful frenzy, is perhaps a little risky for a 2 year old. We all know she'll get hurt. Or, letting the playful and hyper puppy out of her kennel is possibly not the wisest thing to do either. It's as if they walk around in the yard going, "hmmm, there's the dog, she has teeth, I want to get bit." And then they go open the kennel. Duh. And then I here wails and screams of the puppy mauling the kids. If you jump in the lions den, don't be surprised if you get bit just a little.
So, yes, call mean and cruel by making my kids come in from the great out doors for a whole 5 minutes but I really have to teach them somehow that there are consequences for unthinking behaviour.
Plus, I am really tired of having to share my screaming and bawling kids with the whole neighborhood. And I'm sure the neighbors are too.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Proof that Naps ARE Necessary
The frantic mad dash that happens around here at nap time is enough to make anyone tired. Except my kiddos. They seem to get hyped and energized by the ordeal and add to the mad brigade as much as they can. At this point, it suddenly dawns on me why naps are so important for kids. Especially my kids.
It usually starts with the baby. I hold his noon feeding off as long as possible so I can put him to sleep after the older kids. I like him to lay down LAST. About the time lunch time is over, he starts fussing for his meal. After a couple squeaks, he's in a full-fledged holler and the whole house takes shape for a catastrophe. Until this point, all was peaceful. But, Alex has officially sounded the alarm that nap time has come.
Then the next step towards total chaos is Janae either insists on going to bed now or else her attitude shows that she actually needs to go to bed five minutes ago. The only problem is that lately, she just starts crying for no reason when we prepare for bed. And she'll keep up the wailing for quite some time. So, now we have the baby squalling and Janae joining in. Who's next?
Well, Landon. Although he's not a crying kid, he does have antics of his own that can be just as debilitating for his character. He's also the first kid I like to lay down because he sleeps the longest. Does he like to lay down first? No. It starts with me telling him to go potty. He insists he just went potty yesterday. I tell him to go and make sure there's no pee left. He reminds me again he got rid of all his pee yesterday. By now, I'm laying down the law and enforcing a trip to the bathroom. He complies, pees like a race horse and then heads outside. I stop him on the thresh hold and tell him to go wash his hands in the bathroom. Thrilled with the chance to play with water, he gladly "washes" his hands.
Meanwhile, The Baby is crying loudly, Janae is crying louder and I'm trying to get both to quiet down. And the bathroom sink is running water. Lots of water.
I get Baby Alex calmed down, send Janae to her room until she stops crying and tell Landon to shut the water off, dry his hands and go to his bed and wait for me. Then, he says he has to go potty. Then he asks for a drink after he gets up from his nap. Then he decides he doesn't want to go to bed and runs through the house wailing at the top of his lungs and landing on the livingroom floor in a tearful heap. Now he's crying. I think his younger siblings are a bad influence on him.
Now all three kids are crying, thanks to nap time. I thought nap time was supposed to be peaceful?
Long story short, Landon gets tucked in bed, Janae gets rational and dries her tears and gets in bed happily (the attitude change is sudden) and I snatch up my sweet little baby and cuddle in my own bed with him. He's squealing with delight and gasping happily in anticipation of getting fed.
The Baby just gets latched on after his heightened expectancy and I hear a door open.
Ugh. No wonder why her attitude change had been sudden: Janae just got the bright idea that's she'd extend the Laying Down For Naps time a little longer and stop with the tears then start later with the Getting Out Of Bed.
So, I get up, ignore the weeping baby and attend to a Janae that decided she would be happy now and not cry. Okay, that's great but you still need a nap, I tell her. She's put back in bed, totally heartbroken that she has to stay there.
Alex who's now dozing gets a good portion of his feeding when I suddenly hear Janae wandering around her room singing, "Trust and Obey." What a fitting song, I muse as I detach myself from The Baby, fully waking him up and attend to Janae's disobedience.
I resume the feeding with the baby and soon hear more sounds coming from Janae. I regrettably leave Alex again go to Janae's room in time to find her streaking around the room naked because she says she peed.
Finally, several trips later, I looked into Janae's room after all was quiet and found her eerily sleeping in her bed with her eyes half open. Obviously, she was so tired she didn't even give herself time to shut her eyes before she went to sleep.
And this ends Day Number 1,976 of nap time at our house. Though the most exhausting part of our day, it definitely is worth it when the house is actually quiet for a good length of time. And stays quiet until Janae gets up. She's always the last one down and the first one up.
How I love naptime! It's my own little oasis in the desert of a long day. It's my own little island in the middle of the ocean of a busy day. Now for a little of my own nap time before little feet plop out of beds and head back out to the great and wonderful sleepless world of wake time!
It usually starts with the baby. I hold his noon feeding off as long as possible so I can put him to sleep after the older kids. I like him to lay down LAST. About the time lunch time is over, he starts fussing for his meal. After a couple squeaks, he's in a full-fledged holler and the whole house takes shape for a catastrophe. Until this point, all was peaceful. But, Alex has officially sounded the alarm that nap time has come.
Then the next step towards total chaos is Janae either insists on going to bed now or else her attitude shows that she actually needs to go to bed five minutes ago. The only problem is that lately, she just starts crying for no reason when we prepare for bed. And she'll keep up the wailing for quite some time. So, now we have the baby squalling and Janae joining in. Who's next?
Well, Landon. Although he's not a crying kid, he does have antics of his own that can be just as debilitating for his character. He's also the first kid I like to lay down because he sleeps the longest. Does he like to lay down first? No. It starts with me telling him to go potty. He insists he just went potty yesterday. I tell him to go and make sure there's no pee left. He reminds me again he got rid of all his pee yesterday. By now, I'm laying down the law and enforcing a trip to the bathroom. He complies, pees like a race horse and then heads outside. I stop him on the thresh hold and tell him to go wash his hands in the bathroom. Thrilled with the chance to play with water, he gladly "washes" his hands.
Meanwhile, The Baby is crying loudly, Janae is crying louder and I'm trying to get both to quiet down. And the bathroom sink is running water. Lots of water.
I get Baby Alex calmed down, send Janae to her room until she stops crying and tell Landon to shut the water off, dry his hands and go to his bed and wait for me. Then, he says he has to go potty. Then he asks for a drink after he gets up from his nap. Then he decides he doesn't want to go to bed and runs through the house wailing at the top of his lungs and landing on the livingroom floor in a tearful heap. Now he's crying. I think his younger siblings are a bad influence on him.
Now all three kids are crying, thanks to nap time. I thought nap time was supposed to be peaceful?
Long story short, Landon gets tucked in bed, Janae gets rational and dries her tears and gets in bed happily (the attitude change is sudden) and I snatch up my sweet little baby and cuddle in my own bed with him. He's squealing with delight and gasping happily in anticipation of getting fed.
The Baby just gets latched on after his heightened expectancy and I hear a door open.
Ugh. No wonder why her attitude change had been sudden: Janae just got the bright idea that's she'd extend the Laying Down For Naps time a little longer and stop with the tears then start later with the Getting Out Of Bed.
So, I get up, ignore the weeping baby and attend to a Janae that decided she would be happy now and not cry. Okay, that's great but you still need a nap, I tell her. She's put back in bed, totally heartbroken that she has to stay there.
Alex who's now dozing gets a good portion of his feeding when I suddenly hear Janae wandering around her room singing, "Trust and Obey." What a fitting song, I muse as I detach myself from The Baby, fully waking him up and attend to Janae's disobedience.
I resume the feeding with the baby and soon hear more sounds coming from Janae. I regrettably leave Alex again go to Janae's room in time to find her streaking around the room naked because she says she peed.
Finally, several trips later, I looked into Janae's room after all was quiet and found her eerily sleeping in her bed with her eyes half open. Obviously, she was so tired she didn't even give herself time to shut her eyes before she went to sleep.
And this ends Day Number 1,976 of nap time at our house. Though the most exhausting part of our day, it definitely is worth it when the house is actually quiet for a good length of time. And stays quiet until Janae gets up. She's always the last one down and the first one up.
How I love naptime! It's my own little oasis in the desert of a long day. It's my own little island in the middle of the ocean of a busy day. Now for a little of my own nap time before little feet plop out of beds and head back out to the great and wonderful sleepless world of wake time!
Friday, September 07, 2007
Measuring Success
I couldn't figure out why I felt a measure of success today considering I was getting next to nothing done. The laundry sat unwashed, undried, unfolded and unputaway. The house was a mess. Beds weren't made. The kitchen was a wreck. The baby was fussy. Lunch was late. And then I remembered why I felt successful: my dishwasher had been unloaded and reloaded!
Never mind that it did take close to 4 hours to get done. But, no wonder I felt accomplished when it was finally finished.
Never mind that it did take close to 4 hours to get done. But, no wonder I felt accomplished when it was finally finished.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
What To Do With A To-Do List
As if to play a part in an ongoing brigade of change and decay going on around here, our van has turned a gear and decided to add itself to our growing list of things to fix. The thing with that list though is the only thing that ever changes on it, is the addition of more items. Unfortunately, that list seems to not have a "cross off" feature on it.
Well, at least it feels like it somedays.
First it was the basement. When it rained, the rain gauge outside was the exact same as the rain gauge in our basement. Funny, huh? So we got smart and made sure all our storage items were in rubber maid bins or on top of rubbermaid bins. Fix the leak, I can hear you say but really, why go to the bother as long as you store nothing in card board?
So, my husband got smart. He researched leaky basements. And he found the perfect remedy: a a paint-like texture that once applied to the walls turns into a rubber-like substance which results in a complete water proof barrier. We could drop our house in the middle of a massive swimming pool and not get a drop of water inside. Sweet stuff.
I'm sure this stuff will do the trick eventually. The reviews were incredibly promising. Funny thing is that it just doesn't seem to work no matter how long we store it in buckets down in the basement. State-of-the-art repair man, that hubby is. (Actually, he really is when he has a little of that thing called "time." Ever heard of it? We sure haven't lately.)
But, riding even higher on our to-do list was the perpetual problems going on in our one and only precious bathroom. Talk about turn-of-the-century accomodations. Only, this was at least a century behind in function and performance.
For starters, the faucet leaked. No, not the drain; the faucet. We came up with an excellent solution. By positioning a container to collect dripping water under the sink, we aspired to repair the situation by just dealing with it in a very cost effective manner. The container would fill with water and then be poured out and then be put back under the leaky faucet. Great idea, I'm sure but we never were able to figure out where to put the container. The drips were inconsistent and sporadic and seemed to drop wherever the container wasn't.
At this point we realized why there was a hastily written handnote duct taped to the bathroom sink when we bought this house last spring: DO NOT USE SINK. (Tip ---> if your real estate company offers free plumbing inspections, accept them at any cost. Really.)
As if the leaky faucet wasn't bad enough, the drain volunteered its membership on our to-do list. It just completely quit working. If you couldn't remember if you had brushed your teeth that morning, you had at least until bedtime to check the bathroom sink for frothy toothpaste. Add shaving results and shaving cream to the frothy water and top it off with sudsy soap and by the end of the day you had quite the chemical reaction going on in the sink.
Yet, above all, the most inconvenient part of our bathroom was the shower. The faucet part where the water comes out was loose and rickety. If you pulled on it at all, you could see the pipe behind it. The stopper that you pull up on in order to activate the shower had completely malfunctioned. So, you technically couldn't take a shower but you also couldn't take a bath either because the plug for the drain was like a bath timer: you only had minutes to enjoy a full tub and suddenly, your dreamy bath soak turned into a shallow drought.
Embarking on a new career, my so-not-a-plumber-husband assured me he could fix it all. What man doesn't wish to rescue a damsel in distress, especially if that distressing damsel happens to be his wife?
So, that's when he got the bright idea about the container under the sink that fixed the leaky faucet. As for the anti-drain drain, he bravely picked it and pulled globs of slimy hair out. (what a hero!) And when it came to the malfunctioning shower, he turned to his roots (carpentry) and brought in a small load of wood. Yes, wood. With the skill of a brain surgeon, he strategically crammed several pieces of wood shims up into the faucet resulting in a permanent shower setting in our bath tub. This setting worked but the water pressure was pretty low because half of the water came out the faucet through the shim dam and the other half sprayed haphazardly out of the shower head. It took a whole hot water heater full to fully rinse your hair.
I'm not married to a plumber. And in case you didn't catch that I'll repeat: I'm not married to a plumber. Toby can fix about anything but that anything doesn't include plumbing or cars.
And just yesterday he informed me that the van's transmission is going out. But, I can't entirely believe him because just a few months ago he assumed something tragic had happened with our outdoor spigot of the home we were selling. So, for once he called the plumber. (Smart thinking.) Only problem was that the spigot had no problem: it merely needed the shut-off valve turned to on. That's why for him to conclude out of the clear blue that the van needs a new transmission, I'll not hold my breath until a real mechanic looks at it. Who knows? If the van is anything like the shut-off valve at our old house, the van could just need the oil changed.
Sweetly enough though, while we took our latest trip to visit my folks, Toby arranged for a plumber to come and totally repair our bathroom in our absence. I knew nothing of the arrangement either. I was more than just a little surprised and elated when we came home and found a modern bathroom in place of the previously dilapidated accommodations.
As a double feature, we not only get to enjoy our new bathroom but we also get to experience the thrill of crossing something off The List. Unfortunately, those slots on our List have already filled up and overflowed but at least we can enjoy a good shower in the mean time.
Well, at least it feels like it somedays.
First it was the basement. When it rained, the rain gauge outside was the exact same as the rain gauge in our basement. Funny, huh? So we got smart and made sure all our storage items were in rubber maid bins or on top of rubbermaid bins. Fix the leak, I can hear you say but really, why go to the bother as long as you store nothing in card board?
So, my husband got smart. He researched leaky basements. And he found the perfect remedy: a a paint-like texture that once applied to the walls turns into a rubber-like substance which results in a complete water proof barrier. We could drop our house in the middle of a massive swimming pool and not get a drop of water inside. Sweet stuff.
I'm sure this stuff will do the trick eventually. The reviews were incredibly promising. Funny thing is that it just doesn't seem to work no matter how long we store it in buckets down in the basement. State-of-the-art repair man, that hubby is. (Actually, he really is when he has a little of that thing called "time." Ever heard of it? We sure haven't lately.)
But, riding even higher on our to-do list was the perpetual problems going on in our one and only precious bathroom. Talk about turn-of-the-century accomodations. Only, this was at least a century behind in function and performance.
For starters, the faucet leaked. No, not the drain; the faucet. We came up with an excellent solution. By positioning a container to collect dripping water under the sink, we aspired to repair the situation by just dealing with it in a very cost effective manner. The container would fill with water and then be poured out and then be put back under the leaky faucet. Great idea, I'm sure but we never were able to figure out where to put the container. The drips were inconsistent and sporadic and seemed to drop wherever the container wasn't.
At this point we realized why there was a hastily written handnote duct taped to the bathroom sink when we bought this house last spring: DO NOT USE SINK. (Tip ---> if your real estate company offers free plumbing inspections, accept them at any cost. Really.)
As if the leaky faucet wasn't bad enough, the drain volunteered its membership on our to-do list. It just completely quit working. If you couldn't remember if you had brushed your teeth that morning, you had at least until bedtime to check the bathroom sink for frothy toothpaste. Add shaving results and shaving cream to the frothy water and top it off with sudsy soap and by the end of the day you had quite the chemical reaction going on in the sink.
Yet, above all, the most inconvenient part of our bathroom was the shower. The faucet part where the water comes out was loose and rickety. If you pulled on it at all, you could see the pipe behind it. The stopper that you pull up on in order to activate the shower had completely malfunctioned. So, you technically couldn't take a shower but you also couldn't take a bath either because the plug for the drain was like a bath timer: you only had minutes to enjoy a full tub and suddenly, your dreamy bath soak turned into a shallow drought.
Embarking on a new career, my so-not-a-plumber-husband assured me he could fix it all. What man doesn't wish to rescue a damsel in distress, especially if that distressing damsel happens to be his wife?
So, that's when he got the bright idea about the container under the sink that fixed the leaky faucet. As for the anti-drain drain, he bravely picked it and pulled globs of slimy hair out. (what a hero!) And when it came to the malfunctioning shower, he turned to his roots (carpentry) and brought in a small load of wood. Yes, wood. With the skill of a brain surgeon, he strategically crammed several pieces of wood shims up into the faucet resulting in a permanent shower setting in our bath tub. This setting worked but the water pressure was pretty low because half of the water came out the faucet through the shim dam and the other half sprayed haphazardly out of the shower head. It took a whole hot water heater full to fully rinse your hair.
I'm not married to a plumber. And in case you didn't catch that I'll repeat: I'm not married to a plumber. Toby can fix about anything but that anything doesn't include plumbing or cars.
And just yesterday he informed me that the van's transmission is going out. But, I can't entirely believe him because just a few months ago he assumed something tragic had happened with our outdoor spigot of the home we were selling. So, for once he called the plumber. (Smart thinking.) Only problem was that the spigot had no problem: it merely needed the shut-off valve turned to on. That's why for him to conclude out of the clear blue that the van needs a new transmission, I'll not hold my breath until a real mechanic looks at it. Who knows? If the van is anything like the shut-off valve at our old house, the van could just need the oil changed.
Sweetly enough though, while we took our latest trip to visit my folks, Toby arranged for a plumber to come and totally repair our bathroom in our absence. I knew nothing of the arrangement either. I was more than just a little surprised and elated when we came home and found a modern bathroom in place of the previously dilapidated accommodations.
As a double feature, we not only get to enjoy our new bathroom but we also get to experience the thrill of crossing something off The List. Unfortunately, those slots on our List have already filled up and overflowed but at least we can enjoy a good shower in the mean time.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
What I Belong To
So, I have a blog. Yeah, who doesn't these days? The only thing with my blog is that I have it; it doesn't have me.
And that's not an entirely bad thing when I already belong to this:
(insert picture of the hardworking man)
And that's not an entirely bad thing when I already belong to this:
(insert picture of the hardworking man)
And this.
(insert picture of the rugged and adventerous young man)
And this.
(insert picture of child who continually lives life on the edge)
And this.
(insert picture of that baby who smiles well on camera but screams well off camera)
The lack of posts can be explained by the above or can be summed up in this:
(insert picture of super mom power)
Friday, August 31, 2007
Change For A Time
As a sequel to "Time For A Change," I'll give a little update.
I knew something wasn't quite right with my baby when the most my baby ever did was scream. Not cry or be fussy but scream.
I chalked it up to him being on a bottle, him being a big eater, me drinking coffee a few days ago or him not dealing with a change of weather. I was not even going to think of a milk intolerance and proved it by cutting sugar out of my diet for a day or two to see if that would help.
It didn't help but I still knew Alex did not have a dairy intolerance. I mean come on! what would a person eat if they couldn't have something with dairy in it? Did you know even granola bars are made with dairy?
His diapers displayed some kind of distress but I blamed it on the gas he had from the popcorn we traditionally eat on Sunday night. So, I sacrificially cut out the popcorn. This definitely wasn't a sign of milk intolerance!
Alex would occasionally get a strange skin rash but I knew it was from the humidity, not dairy.
He would also have really strong gas and smelly diapers but even that wasn't from a dairy intolerance. No, this was not that serious.
And then I made that appointment with the lactation consultant and assumed I was going to get help for me to teach him how to nurse. As Alex screamed through the majority of the 2 hour appointment, she somehow conveyed to me over Alex's persistent wailing that we indeed had two problems: he wasn't latching on right and I was eating something irritating to him.
She gave me a list of symptoms and Alex had every single one, except for the bloody stools. The conclusion? Dairy Intolerance.
So, trying to be a good little mom, I cut dairy out. I quit eating cereal, ice cream, yogurt and buttered toast. You know, the real obvious things, the no-brainer dairy products. That helped a little but the screaming seemed to not improve the way the doctor thought it would. So, then I started getting serious and reading labels and that's when I learned that granola bars have dairy in them.
But, he still screams, the diapers are still strange and I'm still confused since I thought a milk intolerance would be the worst "allergy" a baby could have. I'm learning that it's not. The actual cause can be so hidden that many moms and health care providers never find the culprit.
I've heard story after story about colicky babies that are actually weaned from breast milk because they can't tolerate it. They're then put on special formulas only to have to be weaned off that even. Finally, trying goats milk brings relief for many babies.
I told Toby I felt bad that my milk is hurting Alex. And I feel especially bad since if I put him on goats milk, he'd probably do a lot better. Its weird to think that a smelly dumb goat could actually make him happier than me.
So, Toby thoughtfully recommended a goats diet for me and pointed out "all "the grains I could eat that would easily replace the dairy foods in my diet. His grain recommendations? Oatmeal and brown sugar three times a day.
It would be a shame to quit nursing now because at last Alex is happily and sufficiently breast feeding. A nipple shield has done the trick both in protecting me and in adjusting him from bottle to breast. He's a real cuddly baby so nursing is right up his alley. But, if only I could help him quit screaming.
On our recent trip to Wisconsin to visit family and friends and introduce Alex to everyone, I found it quite frustrating that my darling baby spent a lot of time just screaming. I felt like every time I showed up for something, I was arriving with my screaming kid. Every time some one commented to me on who they thought he looked like, they were having to yell in order to be heard over the screaming. Every time someone wanted to simply get a look at our new baby, they had to endure the loud screaming.
Except for one time when Alex amazed me and stayed completely peaceful and sweet and let a mother hold him who just lost her own little baby boy. He was never that quiet for that long for anyone all weekend long. I'm glad he picked that time to be that way though.
As we enjoy our growing (15lbs +) 2 1/2 month old little boy, I'm researching options, substituting foods and improvising recipes. I can't have any dairy at all -- not even to fry my eggs in butter. Which brings me to the next thing: maybe his intolerance includes eggs and soy as well. Yikes.
Read any ingredients list on anything related to food and tell me if you can find something that doesn't have dairy, eggs and soy in it.
Oh, and it has to have calories in it since I am a nursing mom. And if you do happen to find something, let me know.
I knew something wasn't quite right with my baby when the most my baby ever did was scream. Not cry or be fussy but scream.
I chalked it up to him being on a bottle, him being a big eater, me drinking coffee a few days ago or him not dealing with a change of weather. I was not even going to think of a milk intolerance and proved it by cutting sugar out of my diet for a day or two to see if that would help.
It didn't help but I still knew Alex did not have a dairy intolerance. I mean come on! what would a person eat if they couldn't have something with dairy in it? Did you know even granola bars are made with dairy?
His diapers displayed some kind of distress but I blamed it on the gas he had from the popcorn we traditionally eat on Sunday night. So, I sacrificially cut out the popcorn. This definitely wasn't a sign of milk intolerance!
Alex would occasionally get a strange skin rash but I knew it was from the humidity, not dairy.
He would also have really strong gas and smelly diapers but even that wasn't from a dairy intolerance. No, this was not that serious.
And then I made that appointment with the lactation consultant and assumed I was going to get help for me to teach him how to nurse. As Alex screamed through the majority of the 2 hour appointment, she somehow conveyed to me over Alex's persistent wailing that we indeed had two problems: he wasn't latching on right and I was eating something irritating to him.
She gave me a list of symptoms and Alex had every single one, except for the bloody stools. The conclusion? Dairy Intolerance.
So, trying to be a good little mom, I cut dairy out. I quit eating cereal, ice cream, yogurt and buttered toast. You know, the real obvious things, the no-brainer dairy products. That helped a little but the screaming seemed to not improve the way the doctor thought it would. So, then I started getting serious and reading labels and that's when I learned that granola bars have dairy in them.
But, he still screams, the diapers are still strange and I'm still confused since I thought a milk intolerance would be the worst "allergy" a baby could have. I'm learning that it's not. The actual cause can be so hidden that many moms and health care providers never find the culprit.
I've heard story after story about colicky babies that are actually weaned from breast milk because they can't tolerate it. They're then put on special formulas only to have to be weaned off that even. Finally, trying goats milk brings relief for many babies.
I told Toby I felt bad that my milk is hurting Alex. And I feel especially bad since if I put him on goats milk, he'd probably do a lot better. Its weird to think that a smelly dumb goat could actually make him happier than me.
So, Toby thoughtfully recommended a goats diet for me and pointed out "all "the grains I could eat that would easily replace the dairy foods in my diet. His grain recommendations? Oatmeal and brown sugar three times a day.
It would be a shame to quit nursing now because at last Alex is happily and sufficiently breast feeding. A nipple shield has done the trick both in protecting me and in adjusting him from bottle to breast. He's a real cuddly baby so nursing is right up his alley. But, if only I could help him quit screaming.
On our recent trip to Wisconsin to visit family and friends and introduce Alex to everyone, I found it quite frustrating that my darling baby spent a lot of time just screaming. I felt like every time I showed up for something, I was arriving with my screaming kid. Every time some one commented to me on who they thought he looked like, they were having to yell in order to be heard over the screaming. Every time someone wanted to simply get a look at our new baby, they had to endure the loud screaming.
Except for one time when Alex amazed me and stayed completely peaceful and sweet and let a mother hold him who just lost her own little baby boy. He was never that quiet for that long for anyone all weekend long. I'm glad he picked that time to be that way though.
As we enjoy our growing (15lbs +) 2 1/2 month old little boy, I'm researching options, substituting foods and improvising recipes. I can't have any dairy at all -- not even to fry my eggs in butter. Which brings me to the next thing: maybe his intolerance includes eggs and soy as well. Yikes.
Read any ingredients list on anything related to food and tell me if you can find something that doesn't have dairy, eggs and soy in it.
Oh, and it has to have calories in it since I am a nursing mom. And if you do happen to find something, let me know.
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Watch Out For Toddlers and Wet Floors
Everyone knows you're crazy when you have 3 kids in tow and the oldest is only 3. But, you know you're crazy when you march into a Target store in the middle of a state you're traveling through in order to set your van free from screaming kids so your husband can participate in a 2 hour business conference call. And, you take all three of those screaming kids into the Target store.
Actually, none of the kids were screaming at the time but they all had that potential. This was one time in their lives when I was hoping that they wouldn't live up to their full potential. The possibility was very high considering it was a humid 95 degrees, naps were messed up and we were hundreds of miles from home. Not to mention that I have NEVER taken all three of my kids shopping alone. EVER.
I had one full cart but when I saw the shopping baskets stacked just past the carts, I was tempted. The sign promised this: " To Make Your Shopping Experience Easy." I knew I needed all those baskets. I almost grabbed the whole stack but thought better of it when I realized the front of my cart was loaded with 2 kids and the back of the cart had a car seat filling it up along with an actual screaming baby.
Then I wondered if I was supposed to select 3 baskets, put one kid in each basket and shop my way around the store. I finally realized that those baskets were not meant for me. Besides, the only thing I ever see those baskets used for is when people don't think they need a cart so they grab a basket instead and then load the basket up only to have to go back to the cart station and get a cart where they should've gotten one in the first place. And I didn't have time for that.
As I mosied around the store as inconspicuous as possible with a barking kid (he was pretending to be a dog), a quiet kid and a screaming kid, I could only wonder how life could ever be better.
I wondered that the whole way home as I took video clips on my cell phone of 2 screaming kids and a little boy singing "Trust and Obey" while his siblings wailed and screamed their way down I35 in our van. And I really began to wonder how life could ever be better when we finally got home and realized that the trip had taken twice as long as it should've.
It wasn't until the next day when reality hit hard and the floor made a fast impact with the end of my spine and left me sprawled out on the floor with a screaming baby and a wailing toddler. Believe me, I was shocked to find myself suddenly laying there with shooting pain, unable to get up or find my footing.
Sharp pain makes you realize that being a spectacle in Target with 3 loud kids is an addition to put on your list of blessings.
My only advice to everyone who has a toddler, knows a toddler or lives with a toddler: watch out for dripping wash cloths; they may cost you weeks of nursing a broken tailbone. And a broken tailbone is no fun because you have nothing to show for it. A broken leg would actually be better because 1) the doctor could actually fix your problem, 2) you could get sympathetic notes and autographs on your cast, 3) a cast would make it obvious to everyone that you actually have a bad injury and 4) you could still lay or sit even though you couldn't walk.
So, next to getting hypothermia on my bottom from all the cold packs, I'm not doing much else to speed the healing. For an injury that gives no evidence of it's vengeance to an onlooker, let me assure you that for a creature created without a tail, I'm really really wishing the bone would've gone with the tail. I mean really, what is a tailbone good for anyway? I hardly knew I had one until I found it on the floor today. And that wasn't a good way to find it either.
Now I need a sign that says: "To Make Your Day Easy" because I have no clue how I'll get through the days ahead with 3 kids brimming with so much potential. For one though, I'll take a good look at the bathroom floor before I walk in and hopefully, me and my tailbone will get on good terms again. And soon.
Actually, none of the kids were screaming at the time but they all had that potential. This was one time in their lives when I was hoping that they wouldn't live up to their full potential. The possibility was very high considering it was a humid 95 degrees, naps were messed up and we were hundreds of miles from home. Not to mention that I have NEVER taken all three of my kids shopping alone. EVER.
I had one full cart but when I saw the shopping baskets stacked just past the carts, I was tempted. The sign promised this: " To Make Your Shopping Experience Easy." I knew I needed all those baskets. I almost grabbed the whole stack but thought better of it when I realized the front of my cart was loaded with 2 kids and the back of the cart had a car seat filling it up along with an actual screaming baby.
Then I wondered if I was supposed to select 3 baskets, put one kid in each basket and shop my way around the store. I finally realized that those baskets were not meant for me. Besides, the only thing I ever see those baskets used for is when people don't think they need a cart so they grab a basket instead and then load the basket up only to have to go back to the cart station and get a cart where they should've gotten one in the first place. And I didn't have time for that.
As I mosied around the store as inconspicuous as possible with a barking kid (he was pretending to be a dog), a quiet kid and a screaming kid, I could only wonder how life could ever be better.
I wondered that the whole way home as I took video clips on my cell phone of 2 screaming kids and a little boy singing "Trust and Obey" while his siblings wailed and screamed their way down I35 in our van. And I really began to wonder how life could ever be better when we finally got home and realized that the trip had taken twice as long as it should've.
It wasn't until the next day when reality hit hard and the floor made a fast impact with the end of my spine and left me sprawled out on the floor with a screaming baby and a wailing toddler. Believe me, I was shocked to find myself suddenly laying there with shooting pain, unable to get up or find my footing.
Sharp pain makes you realize that being a spectacle in Target with 3 loud kids is an addition to put on your list of blessings.
My only advice to everyone who has a toddler, knows a toddler or lives with a toddler: watch out for dripping wash cloths; they may cost you weeks of nursing a broken tailbone. And a broken tailbone is no fun because you have nothing to show for it. A broken leg would actually be better because 1) the doctor could actually fix your problem, 2) you could get sympathetic notes and autographs on your cast, 3) a cast would make it obvious to everyone that you actually have a bad injury and 4) you could still lay or sit even though you couldn't walk.
So, next to getting hypothermia on my bottom from all the cold packs, I'm not doing much else to speed the healing. For an injury that gives no evidence of it's vengeance to an onlooker, let me assure you that for a creature created without a tail, I'm really really wishing the bone would've gone with the tail. I mean really, what is a tailbone good for anyway? I hardly knew I had one until I found it on the floor today. And that wasn't a good way to find it either.
Now I need a sign that says: "To Make Your Day Easy" because I have no clue how I'll get through the days ahead with 3 kids brimming with so much potential. For one though, I'll take a good look at the bathroom floor before I walk in and hopefully, me and my tailbone will get on good terms again. And soon.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Time For A Change
Later today, I plan to lug my 15 pound bundle of a baby boy and learn how to nurse. Yes, you read that right. I am going to a haven of lactation consultants and surrendering my instincts to someone that can help me learn how to channel my efforts in the right direction.
This Medela Pump In Style has been a life saver for my baby boy but it's time to cut the ties with it. It has been the bridge between Alex's nutrition and my ability to produce his nutrition. But it's time to burn that bridge. My freezers are experiencing a dairy dilemma, thanks to all the milk the pump has produced but it's time to make room for harvest occupants instead. Where is the milk bank when you need it? Or would that be better phrased: when they need you?
After 2 successfully nursed babies, I was confidant and unafraid of any nursing hurdles when I first had Alex. Except for the usual engorgement and frustration in waking a newborn baby to eat, I figured I'd be all professional this time.
But, that was not to be. I've had a breast infection, he's had colic. I've had a yeast infection, he's had colic. I've had production frustrations, he's had colic. I've had too much milk, he's had colic. I've had not enough milk, he's had colic. His improper latch technique has totally changed my approach to nursing him, and then we both have colic.
Did I mention that he has colic?
So, with my darling screaming baby today, I plan to educate myself in the ways of womanhood that are supposed to come natural but often don't when problems arise. I am praying that the results will conclude that I can indeed nurse, my baby can indeed latch on right and our home can indeed be inhabited by peace.
And to think I used to complain about our house being too quiet... may the peace return after the results from today.
This Medela Pump In Style has been a life saver for my baby boy but it's time to cut the ties with it. It has been the bridge between Alex's nutrition and my ability to produce his nutrition. But it's time to burn that bridge. My freezers are experiencing a dairy dilemma, thanks to all the milk the pump has produced but it's time to make room for harvest occupants instead. Where is the milk bank when you need it? Or would that be better phrased: when they need you?
After 2 successfully nursed babies, I was confidant and unafraid of any nursing hurdles when I first had Alex. Except for the usual engorgement and frustration in waking a newborn baby to eat, I figured I'd be all professional this time.
But, that was not to be. I've had a breast infection, he's had colic. I've had a yeast infection, he's had colic. I've had production frustrations, he's had colic. I've had too much milk, he's had colic. I've had not enough milk, he's had colic. His improper latch technique has totally changed my approach to nursing him, and then we both have colic.
Did I mention that he has colic?
So, with my darling screaming baby today, I plan to educate myself in the ways of womanhood that are supposed to come natural but often don't when problems arise. I am praying that the results will conclude that I can indeed nurse, my baby can indeed latch on right and our home can indeed be inhabited by peace.
And to think I used to complain about our house being too quiet... may the peace return after the results from today.
Monday, August 20, 2007
Accomplishments And Arachnids
I feel successful: 3 pairs of Janae's bloomers that have been sitting in my sewing heap for the past few months have finally been finished. What good timing for bad weather that sent me to the basement with nothing to do but finished procrastinated projects.
In other news, the mentally challenged crickets in our basement left me alone as well while I sewed barefooted, and that is a good thing. Had the electricity gone off I don't know what I would have done.
Crickets function in the dark; I don't. Crickets find me in the dark and that's freaky. Crickets love the darkness rather than the light because their deeds are evil. I don't like their evilness. And these crickets are big and that makes their evil deeds even bigger. In mass quantities, you get even greater deeds of evilness. Yuck.
At least I don't have it as bad as this mom here is having with arachnids.
Did I mention yuck yet?
In other news, the mentally challenged crickets in our basement left me alone as well while I sewed barefooted, and that is a good thing. Had the electricity gone off I don't know what I would have done.
Crickets function in the dark; I don't. Crickets find me in the dark and that's freaky. Crickets love the darkness rather than the light because their deeds are evil. I don't like their evilness. And these crickets are big and that makes their evil deeds even bigger. In mass quantities, you get even greater deeds of evilness. Yuck.
At least I don't have it as bad as this mom here is having with arachnids.
Did I mention yuck yet?
Thursday, August 16, 2007
All I Wanted Was Breakfast
All I wanted was breakfast but a child was haphazardly stacking books open and with covers bent. Next time we'll play library after every one's breakfast.
All I wanted was breakfast but a child was smearing oatmeal all over herself and the fated vicinity around her. Next time we'll save the smearing for, well, we just won't do that anymore.
All I wanted was breakfast but two children wanted the same truck. Next time we'll save toys for after every one's breakfast.
All I wanted was breakfast but a child "couldn't figure out" how to clean his room. (his own words.) Next time we'll save chores for after every one's breakfast.
All I wanted was breakfast but a child needed tea - not water, juice or milk, he was very clear on the tea part. Next time we'll save drinks for after every one's breakfast.
All I wanted was breakfast but a child needed to go to Walmart for markers right now. Next time we'll save shopping trip discussions 'till after every one's breakfast.
I've always wondered why I end up skipping breakfast anymore. Now I know.
All I wanted was breakfast but a child was smearing oatmeal all over herself and the fated vicinity around her. Next time we'll save the smearing for, well, we just won't do that anymore.
All I wanted was breakfast but two children wanted the same truck. Next time we'll save toys for after every one's breakfast.
All I wanted was breakfast but a child "couldn't figure out" how to clean his room. (his own words.) Next time we'll save chores for after every one's breakfast.
All I wanted was breakfast but a child needed tea - not water, juice or milk, he was very clear on the tea part. Next time we'll save drinks for after every one's breakfast.
All I wanted was breakfast but a child needed to go to Walmart for markers right now. Next time we'll save shopping trip discussions 'till after every one's breakfast.
I've always wondered why I end up skipping breakfast anymore. Now I know.
Monday, August 06, 2007
The River That Wasn't There
It's summer time here in hot Nebraska and I'm dying to see water. You know, the lakes with dainty white caps on a windy day or a swelling river trailing through the country side. To just dip my toes in, skip a few rocks and watch my kids take in the expanse of a bowl of water bigger than their bath tub, is all too thrilling of a prospect.
When Toby suggested a day trip to a local state park recently, I was totally enthused about our "mini vacation." WATER! YAY!
Some of you blessed folks out there may not understand what is so thrilling about seeing water. Of touching water. Of driving over a bridge with real water under it. Of actually saying, "hey kids, lets go to the river!" But, if you lived in Nebraska, you would understand why it's so rare. A real live river to us is like the ocean is to you.
You may find it interesting when I tell you that we actually live in "Big Blue River" country. But don't be deceived. Trickling through our local country side is a muddy, messy trickle of brown water (if you're lucky) that proudly boasts signs of, "Big Blue River." When you come to a cattle crossing bridge, you'll even see the charming sign there. Very deceptive. In Wisconsin, they have large bridges expanding rivers with no name on the bridge. Humble folk, them Wisconsinites are.
The first time I saw the sign, I immediately thought of three words: BIG. BLUE. RIVER. I craned my neck out the car window and hung my head way over just to get a glimpse of this big blue river. And what would I see but a washed out river bed with branches and sticks. When I looked real hard, I thought I could see a faint line of some kind of water trickling through the over grown mess. Maybe the water was actually just a mirage, now that I think of it. But, it definitely wasn't blue.
So, as we headed out of Big Blue River country and made our way towards the Platte river, I was envisioning real water. Of course the Platte river in our parts isn't much of river either but its definitely bigger than the Big Blue River. They say you can walk across the Platte river in most parts. And not even get your belt wet. Pretty shallow but at least it's big.
We got a pass to a state park that advertised of being on the banks of the Platte river. After circling the entire park twice looking for some sort of beach or fishing dock, we found a rugged foot trail that led in the general direction of the river.
Our anticipation mounted as we slipped and slid down the well trodden dirt path towards the lighted sky at the end of the trail. We lugged a camera, hauled the stroller over a fallen tree and carefully led the kids through the rough spots. Quite the effort. As the trail came to an end and the sky opened above us, what should we see but a huge, gorgeous river! Only, it was about 50 feet below us with two railroad tracks and a small lake-like outlet of the river between us and the real river.
So much for throwing rocks, let alone dipping my toes in, I thought.
As we took in the view and headed back through the woods, we decided to just go to the Platte River State Park.
Good idea.
Surely with Platte River and Park in the same sentence, you'd be able to actually get on the river from the park. I should've taken in the "State" part and realized the name only meant that the park was in the same state as the river was.
We circled this park too and found animal petting barns, a large and well occupied swimming pool, a few family reunions and paddle boats. But no river. I wanted a river, not an amusement park or zoo. "Come to our park! We have ponies to ride!" I could just about hear. What is wrong with these people? This is a state park, not the state fair, I moaned.
Wisconsin does it right when it comes to water. You can actually drive up to a river, and get out of your car and walk just a few feet to its shores. No day pass for the river bank is needed either. And if you have your kids with you and they're not used to out backing it when you just want to look at some water, no worries! You won't have to take a half mile hike through rough woods to get to the river. The parks in Wisconsin are family friendly. You could even drive your car into the water if you wanted.
But, in Nebraska, they make it difficult to have a good time around or in water.
At this point, we gave up the river idea and decided to just sight see around the area. As we drove, Toby noticed a small and vacant parking lot in the park with a sign that read "Falls" with an arrow. "Whatever," I thought, still disgusted by the Platte River-less State Park we had driven a long ways to see. If they can talk about the Platte river like its some tangible amenity of this park when its not, don't even try to get me to believe there are "falls" in this flat country.
The kids were antsy, the baby was fussy and one of the kids had just puked all over herself. The van reeked so we decided to try for these "falls." We made a mad dash down the little foot trail that was in the direction of the arrow on the "falls" sign.
The trail circled through some pretty dense woods on our way. The kids ran ahead of us, behind us, collected sticks and tripped on tree roots jutting up on our trail. One of them ran into a tree. Falls or no falls, this was turning into a fun hike.
Teasing us along our way was a really muddy canal of branches, sticks and a trickle of water. I wondered out loud several times if that was the "falls" the sign referred to. Until we finally came upon the falls.
They were actual, real, live falls. It was a perfect little paradise. In Nebraska even. I couldn't believe it. We were welcomed by a little sitting area, observation "deck," and a cute arrangement of natural falls. The sound of falling water could be heard even before we saw them. The setting was ruggedly beautiful and there was just enough water for the kids to play in.
The water above the falls was so shallow, you were lucky to get the top of your feet wet when you walked through. I kept waiting for the water to stop; I thought for sure if we stayed long enough, we'd see the end of the water supply. "Okay kids, time to go! The water is done...." But it kept coming consistently. You could see the erosion around the flow of the water that indicated there had been much more water here at one time but now just a delicate stream trailed through the woods and crashed over the water worn rock and ledges. It was a simple beauty but very satisfying. And impressive.
We basked in the peaceful and cool setting all by ourselves. It was so quiet and serene. Definitely beat the Platte River, I decided.
So, the next time we're ready for some water time and nice drive in the country side, we have our own signature water park, hidden in the middle of large state river-less park.
When Toby suggested a day trip to a local state park recently, I was totally enthused about our "mini vacation." WATER! YAY!
Some of you blessed folks out there may not understand what is so thrilling about seeing water. Of touching water. Of driving over a bridge with real water under it. Of actually saying, "hey kids, lets go to the river!" But, if you lived in Nebraska, you would understand why it's so rare. A real live river to us is like the ocean is to you.
You may find it interesting when I tell you that we actually live in "Big Blue River" country. But don't be deceived. Trickling through our local country side is a muddy, messy trickle of brown water (if you're lucky) that proudly boasts signs of, "Big Blue River." When you come to a cattle crossing bridge, you'll even see the charming sign there. Very deceptive. In Wisconsin, they have large bridges expanding rivers with no name on the bridge. Humble folk, them Wisconsinites are.
The first time I saw the sign, I immediately thought of three words: BIG. BLUE. RIVER. I craned my neck out the car window and hung my head way over just to get a glimpse of this big blue river. And what would I see but a washed out river bed with branches and sticks. When I looked real hard, I thought I could see a faint line of some kind of water trickling through the over grown mess. Maybe the water was actually just a mirage, now that I think of it. But, it definitely wasn't blue.
So, as we headed out of Big Blue River country and made our way towards the Platte river, I was envisioning real water. Of course the Platte river in our parts isn't much of river either but its definitely bigger than the Big Blue River. They say you can walk across the Platte river in most parts. And not even get your belt wet. Pretty shallow but at least it's big.
We got a pass to a state park that advertised of being on the banks of the Platte river. After circling the entire park twice looking for some sort of beach or fishing dock, we found a rugged foot trail that led in the general direction of the river.
Our anticipation mounted as we slipped and slid down the well trodden dirt path towards the lighted sky at the end of the trail. We lugged a camera, hauled the stroller over a fallen tree and carefully led the kids through the rough spots. Quite the effort. As the trail came to an end and the sky opened above us, what should we see but a huge, gorgeous river! Only, it was about 50 feet below us with two railroad tracks and a small lake-like outlet of the river between us and the real river.
So much for throwing rocks, let alone dipping my toes in, I thought.
As we took in the view and headed back through the woods, we decided to just go to the Platte River State Park.
Good idea.
Surely with Platte River and Park in the same sentence, you'd be able to actually get on the river from the park. I should've taken in the "State" part and realized the name only meant that the park was in the same state as the river was.
We circled this park too and found animal petting barns, a large and well occupied swimming pool, a few family reunions and paddle boats. But no river. I wanted a river, not an amusement park or zoo. "Come to our park! We have ponies to ride!" I could just about hear. What is wrong with these people? This is a state park, not the state fair, I moaned.
Wisconsin does it right when it comes to water. You can actually drive up to a river, and get out of your car and walk just a few feet to its shores. No day pass for the river bank is needed either. And if you have your kids with you and they're not used to out backing it when you just want to look at some water, no worries! You won't have to take a half mile hike through rough woods to get to the river. The parks in Wisconsin are family friendly. You could even drive your car into the water if you wanted.
But, in Nebraska, they make it difficult to have a good time around or in water.
At this point, we gave up the river idea and decided to just sight see around the area. As we drove, Toby noticed a small and vacant parking lot in the park with a sign that read "Falls" with an arrow. "Whatever," I thought, still disgusted by the Platte River-less State Park we had driven a long ways to see. If they can talk about the Platte river like its some tangible amenity of this park when its not, don't even try to get me to believe there are "falls" in this flat country.
The kids were antsy, the baby was fussy and one of the kids had just puked all over herself. The van reeked so we decided to try for these "falls." We made a mad dash down the little foot trail that was in the direction of the arrow on the "falls" sign.
The trail circled through some pretty dense woods on our way. The kids ran ahead of us, behind us, collected sticks and tripped on tree roots jutting up on our trail. One of them ran into a tree. Falls or no falls, this was turning into a fun hike.
Teasing us along our way was a really muddy canal of branches, sticks and a trickle of water. I wondered out loud several times if that was the "falls" the sign referred to. Until we finally came upon the falls.
They were actual, real, live falls. It was a perfect little paradise. In Nebraska even. I couldn't believe it. We were welcomed by a little sitting area, observation "deck," and a cute arrangement of natural falls. The sound of falling water could be heard even before we saw them. The setting was ruggedly beautiful and there was just enough water for the kids to play in.
The water above the falls was so shallow, you were lucky to get the top of your feet wet when you walked through. I kept waiting for the water to stop; I thought for sure if we stayed long enough, we'd see the end of the water supply. "Okay kids, time to go! The water is done...." But it kept coming consistently. You could see the erosion around the flow of the water that indicated there had been much more water here at one time but now just a delicate stream trailed through the woods and crashed over the water worn rock and ledges. It was a simple beauty but very satisfying. And impressive.
We basked in the peaceful and cool setting all by ourselves. It was so quiet and serene. Definitely beat the Platte River, I decided.
So, the next time we're ready for some water time and nice drive in the country side, we have our own signature water park, hidden in the middle of large state river-less park.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Kid Klips
Landon One Liners...
"Dad, does God have a Bible?"
"If Landon died, God could just make another one."
"Have a good later!"
------------------
The Way To A Man's Stomach
I had just given Landon some prune juice. After he gulped down a few swallows he came over to me. "Hey Mom, look in my stomach," Landon said as he opened his mouth wide, "See my prune juice?"
-----------------
The Universal Headache"
I have a headache," Landon moaned from his car seat after church one Sunday. "Where's your headache, Landon?" I asked him. His response? "In my 'froat.' "
"Dad, does God have a Bible?"
"If Landon died, God could just make another one."
"Have a good later!"
------------------
The Way To A Man's Stomach
I had just given Landon some prune juice. After he gulped down a few swallows he came over to me. "Hey Mom, look in my stomach," Landon said as he opened his mouth wide, "See my prune juice?"
-----------------
The Universal Headache"
I have a headache," Landon moaned from his car seat after church one Sunday. "Where's your headache, Landon?" I asked him. His response? "In my 'froat.' "
Sunday, July 29, 2007
On Rotten Bananas and Chipped Teeth
It was after 11 pm and I was starving. The quickest thing I could come up with was a bowl of cold cereal. I'm eating for two anyways (breastfeeding) so I figured since I hadn't had a second breakfast yet, cereal was a good idea. Then I caught myself putting the container of dry cereal in the fridge next to the milk and I wondered if I had had a long day or if it was just one of those "new normal" days that I've been having lately.
I've learned to constantly survey the kitchen before I leave it to make sure I haven't left the stove on or left food out or forgotten to shut the water off in the sink. It's one thing to leave a cupboard door left open but its quite another to leave the fridge open, believe me. Pulling soft butter out of your fridge is a scary thought.
I stuck the cereal back in the cupboard and made sure the milk was still in the fridge. I grimaced at the black bananas sitting next to the milk in my once sterile fridge. Those black, oozy mush tubes looked like a giant slug got stuck in my fridge and had three kids before he (I guess that would be 'she') succumbed to an anti oxygen environment. "Where is the poor mama slug?" I wondered in my sleep deprived brain. Wait! those are the bananas you were going to make banana bread out of 3 days ago! Oh yeah. Duh.
The baby was screaming and had been for most of the evening it seemed. He was starving but wouldn't take his milk. He needed to be burp but wouldn't burp. He wanted to lay on his stomach but only screamed louder when we put him there. He didn't like the lights glaring but he really didn't prefer the dim rooms either. And he needed his pacifier only to spit it out again. I felt like such a successful parent this evening. Especially as I ate my soggy cereal while the baby screamed ten inches behind me in his swing.
But at least the house was quiet. The other two kids were in bed, safe and sound and everyone was healthy, happy and safe. I just love that word, safe. Its funny how you like simple things like "safe" when you've experienced unsafe things which make for eventful experiences.
"Eventful" is another thing that happens a lot around here and I've learned that "eventful" and "unsafe" are not a good combo. Like the day Janae pulled the baby off the bed. Talk about eventful. And definitely unsafe, if you ask me. (In case you're wondering, the baby was fine and didn't even cry).
Or the time Landon locked the bathroom door shut and I had to take the doorknob off to get to the lock so I bit on the blunt end of a hairpin to jam in the lock and ended up with a chipped tooth that sent me to the dentist where I found out that they charge nothing to sand a chipped tooth down that wasn't chipped that bad but there's nothing like finding tooth dust floating in your mouth and rubbing your tongue against a rough corner that used to be smooth before you bit the hairpin that you were using to get the door opened that your son locked. The end.
Now you understand just how exciting eventful can be at our house and why it usually results in something unsafe. Which brings me to this evening.
Landon and Janae have this "game" they play where they run from one end of the house to the other and back again. And they do it over and over and over and over and... you get the idea. Usually they do it until somebody crashes or slams their body into a doorway or gouges into a protruding corner. The "winner" normally gets a band aide or ice pack and the "loser" is usually reprimanded for not being more careful with his sister. Its a very exciting game and takes lots of energy. That's why I never play it with them. Plus, if I had that kind of energy, I would use it on something useful like making banana bread before the bananas evolve into decomposing giant slugs.
So, as this game was in session, I told the kids they needed to stop running. And before I could say "before somebody gets hurt," Landon suggested setting the timer until the end of the game. I figured a 5 second timer wouldn't hurt so I said sure. He set out on a run again but then I got the bright idea that HE set the timer, to which he was thrilled with. Timers are the latest fad around here.
And with that, he whirled around in a flash and crashed headlong into his sister, resulting in a 90 mph front end collision.
"That's why you don't play this game anymore," I said to no one in particular, considering my voice was drowned out by the crying children burying their faces into my lap and shoulder.
As I counted teeth, checked for crooked noses and made sure the sobbing eyes hadn't been punctured, I could only find blood on Landon where he split his lip on Janae's hard head. At the sound of blood, Landon buried his head again in my lap and wept for all he was worth over the fact he was spilling precious drops of his own blood.
When Janae heard blood, her eyes perked up and her sobs subsided, until I told her she had no blood and was indeed fine. Believe me, its hard to explain to a bloody child that he was fine with blood and to turn around and say to one without blood that they were fine too.
By this point, there was no need to set the timer so we all split ways and the incident was forgotten until bedtime when Landon requested a band aide for his split and puffy lip. He knows that only bloody owies (versus bumps and bruises) get the bandages so I'm sure he thought I was using an excuse when I told him a band aide would not be in order for an owie on the lip.
As I headed out of his room and back to my fussy baby, I wondered how on earth my life ever exploded into so much excitement. With a shower that skimps on hot water, snakes living in our basement, a tired husband sleeping in our quiet room and a wailing baby on my hip, I feel like there's no reprieve. Not even a hot shower! Every busy mom needs a hot 10 minute shower once every few days. Not only does it regain your sanity but it also gives you a good opportunity to wash your hair and maybe get clean once in awhile.
So, to make the most of the eventful, new normal and unsafe day, I lit a blue berry muffin candle and made a mental note to remember to blow the flame out before I went to bed. I would hate to burn the house down tonight. Especially over a nostalgic candle. Then I sat up with a fussy baby who soon cuddled in and went to sleep in my arms while I enjoyed the flicker of the burning candle and basked in the aroma of fresh baked goodies while eating soggy shredded wheat.
And that was my reprieve.
I've learned to constantly survey the kitchen before I leave it to make sure I haven't left the stove on or left food out or forgotten to shut the water off in the sink. It's one thing to leave a cupboard door left open but its quite another to leave the fridge open, believe me. Pulling soft butter out of your fridge is a scary thought.
I stuck the cereal back in the cupboard and made sure the milk was still in the fridge. I grimaced at the black bananas sitting next to the milk in my once sterile fridge. Those black, oozy mush tubes looked like a giant slug got stuck in my fridge and had three kids before he (I guess that would be 'she') succumbed to an anti oxygen environment. "Where is the poor mama slug?" I wondered in my sleep deprived brain. Wait! those are the bananas you were going to make banana bread out of 3 days ago! Oh yeah. Duh.
The baby was screaming and had been for most of the evening it seemed. He was starving but wouldn't take his milk. He needed to be burp but wouldn't burp. He wanted to lay on his stomach but only screamed louder when we put him there. He didn't like the lights glaring but he really didn't prefer the dim rooms either. And he needed his pacifier only to spit it out again. I felt like such a successful parent this evening. Especially as I ate my soggy cereal while the baby screamed ten inches behind me in his swing.
But at least the house was quiet. The other two kids were in bed, safe and sound and everyone was healthy, happy and safe. I just love that word, safe. Its funny how you like simple things like "safe" when you've experienced unsafe things which make for eventful experiences.
"Eventful" is another thing that happens a lot around here and I've learned that "eventful" and "unsafe" are not a good combo. Like the day Janae pulled the baby off the bed. Talk about eventful. And definitely unsafe, if you ask me. (In case you're wondering, the baby was fine and didn't even cry).
Or the time Landon locked the bathroom door shut and I had to take the doorknob off to get to the lock so I bit on the blunt end of a hairpin to jam in the lock and ended up with a chipped tooth that sent me to the dentist where I found out that they charge nothing to sand a chipped tooth down that wasn't chipped that bad but there's nothing like finding tooth dust floating in your mouth and rubbing your tongue against a rough corner that used to be smooth before you bit the hairpin that you were using to get the door opened that your son locked. The end.
Now you understand just how exciting eventful can be at our house and why it usually results in something unsafe. Which brings me to this evening.
Landon and Janae have this "game" they play where they run from one end of the house to the other and back again. And they do it over and over and over and over and... you get the idea. Usually they do it until somebody crashes or slams their body into a doorway or gouges into a protruding corner. The "winner" normally gets a band aide or ice pack and the "loser" is usually reprimanded for not being more careful with his sister. Its a very exciting game and takes lots of energy. That's why I never play it with them. Plus, if I had that kind of energy, I would use it on something useful like making banana bread before the bananas evolve into decomposing giant slugs.
So, as this game was in session, I told the kids they needed to stop running. And before I could say "before somebody gets hurt," Landon suggested setting the timer until the end of the game. I figured a 5 second timer wouldn't hurt so I said sure. He set out on a run again but then I got the bright idea that HE set the timer, to which he was thrilled with. Timers are the latest fad around here.
And with that, he whirled around in a flash and crashed headlong into his sister, resulting in a 90 mph front end collision.
"That's why you don't play this game anymore," I said to no one in particular, considering my voice was drowned out by the crying children burying their faces into my lap and shoulder.
As I counted teeth, checked for crooked noses and made sure the sobbing eyes hadn't been punctured, I could only find blood on Landon where he split his lip on Janae's hard head. At the sound of blood, Landon buried his head again in my lap and wept for all he was worth over the fact he was spilling precious drops of his own blood.
When Janae heard blood, her eyes perked up and her sobs subsided, until I told her she had no blood and was indeed fine. Believe me, its hard to explain to a bloody child that he was fine with blood and to turn around and say to one without blood that they were fine too.
By this point, there was no need to set the timer so we all split ways and the incident was forgotten until bedtime when Landon requested a band aide for his split and puffy lip. He knows that only bloody owies (versus bumps and bruises) get the bandages so I'm sure he thought I was using an excuse when I told him a band aide would not be in order for an owie on the lip.
As I headed out of his room and back to my fussy baby, I wondered how on earth my life ever exploded into so much excitement. With a shower that skimps on hot water, snakes living in our basement, a tired husband sleeping in our quiet room and a wailing baby on my hip, I feel like there's no reprieve. Not even a hot shower! Every busy mom needs a hot 10 minute shower once every few days. Not only does it regain your sanity but it also gives you a good opportunity to wash your hair and maybe get clean once in awhile.
So, to make the most of the eventful, new normal and unsafe day, I lit a blue berry muffin candle and made a mental note to remember to blow the flame out before I went to bed. I would hate to burn the house down tonight. Especially over a nostalgic candle. Then I sat up with a fussy baby who soon cuddled in and went to sleep in my arms while I enjoyed the flicker of the burning candle and basked in the aroma of fresh baked goodies while eating soggy shredded wheat.
And that was my reprieve.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
