Dear Doc

Dear Doc -

Once upon a time there was a beautiful little girl.  She was very special but, as in all fairy tales, she was given certain challenges.  As soon as she was born she was whisked off to the first doctor, but he reached deep inside her heart and made it strong.  His magic would allow the girl to live a long life and run fast. The girl's parents were well pleased.

Her parents then took her to the eye doctor so she could see all the flowers and story books.  They took her to an ear doctor so she could hear her family laugh and the dogs bark.  There were other people for her feet and still others for her neck - courtiers abounded.

But some of these doctors gave her shots and stuck needles in her arms.  Sometimes she would visit a doctor, fall asleep, and wake up feeling sick in a different place.  That was scary.  One time the little girl was very, very ill and stayed in a hospital where they had the temerity to vacuum her nose like a peasant.  Once they actually held her trying to get pictures!  Audacious paparazzi!

The girl did not care for these gross invasions of personal space.  Their paltry compensation - stickers! ice cream! - was beneath her and she scorned it all.  (Well, maybe not the ice cream but it was wildly insufficient.)

The girl began to believe her parents had abdicated their duties.  She ignored their entreaties and became an expert at spotting and eluding anyone with medical training.  If cornered, she would roar like a dragon and fight back.  Hard.

Though she was impressively fierce, this made her parents sad.  They loved her very much and wanted her to have all the flowers and laughter.  They believed these alchemists could help, but they wanted her to be happy too.  Confusion and darkness spread across the land.  

But then the girl met you, Doc.  She watched you coax reluctant patients into treatment.  She saw you check their ears, check their eyes, and find out what was going on.  She saw how much you cared and how hard you worked to help.  She watched you reset limbs, excise debris, and patch tears.  She saw how happy your patients were by the end of each episode.

Because of you, the girl decided to give the doctors another chance.  Perhaps not aallll of them were evil trolls, after all?  She started bringing you with her to appointments for a second opinion.  

Like a food taster of old, you would gallantly test the equipment on her behalf.  

You submitted to exams to evaluate the physician's technique.  Charlatans who failed to respect or recognize their peer were quickly dispatched. 

Because of you, the girl was properly treated, with deference and every courtesy.  Because of you, the girl's parents were assured she was given every advantage.  Peace was restored and both the girl and the parents were pleased.  

Thank you, Doc McStuffins.  

Thank you.  

Conversations with my Children, Part III

The Girl, first thing in the morning, signing "cracker."

Me:  "No, sweetie, you can't have crackers for breakfast.  How about cereal?"
The girl grabbing her iPad, emphatically pounds, "[WOMAN!] I WANT CRACKERS!"
Just in case I'd misunderstood her.

~~~~~~~~~~ 

The Girl, voluntarily (!) turning off Princess Sofia to switch to Proloquo:  "Snack, I want please."
Me:  "What kind of snack do you want?"
The girl:  "Yogurt, please."

~~~~~~~~~~

The Girl, signing, "Goodnight, Mommy.  Bye-bye."
Me, surprised at the abbreviated process & picking her iPad to recharge it, "Goodnight, sweetheart."
The Girl starts crying, having realized there would be no midnight showing of Frozen:
"Noooooo!  More book, please?  Snuggle?  Lights out!"

~~~~~~~~~~

 The Girl, upon hearing we were having (coffee) cake for breakfast, "Candles?"

~~~~~~~~~~

The Girl, during a thunderstorm, signing:  "Outside? Bikes?"

Me:  "No, it's raining outside."

She grinned and returned a moment later with her rain boots on. 

"Outside? Bikes?"

~~~~~~~~~~

 

This is a terrible picture, but she drew out the "Little monkeys jumping on the bed" song and was able to explain it to her para (who kindly provided captions).  

~~~~~~~~~~

Back in May, at the end-of-kindy IEP, The Girl's school peeps formally announced the goal of communicating her wants and needs through multiple modes across a variety of settings 20x/day over 3 consecutive dates had been met eons ago and needed to be updated.  This may or may not have been followed by a wry look, a chuckle, an eye roll, and a comment about how very glad they are that she was at their school.  Oh, yes.  Yes, indeed.  That goal was a carry over from her preschool.  The school where her principal wondered if she had anything to say. 

Did I mention we were never, ever moving?  

"Please No Gifts" - One Life Lesson, in 9 Parts

One rather awesome kid, plus
One fabulous group rate at the local pool, plus
One small measure of maternal guilt for skipping the annual Christmas cookie party and never buying him that swing set, plus
One more pinch of guilt for working, thus restricting his social & after school activities, plus
One set of lifeguards to minimize any incidental drowning, plus
One mega class of 30 kids, plus
One mother's hefty aversion to mountains of plastic crap, plus
One small teachable moment nudge from Mommy, plus
One (or two) reminders that he'll still get lots of stuff at the family party, equals
One memorable birthday blow-out and a mountain of donations for the Crisis Nursery.

Damn, but I am proud of him.
Happy 9th Birthday.

[I don't want to over-sell our altruism because my primary motivation in suggesting this admittedly WAS to keep the small, trip-able, foot-bruising plastastica out of the house but I think it worked out for the other parties too. :) ]

Conversations with My Children, Part II

Post story, just before lights out, while discussing the current status of The Boy's unrequited year-long crush ~

The Boy:  I'm telling people I don't love her anymore.
Me:  Are you just telling people that or do you really not like her anymore? 
(stressing the word "like" because he's not even 9 yet, people).
The Boy:  No, I'm not in love with her anymore. 
Me:  What happened?
The Boy:  I don't really know.  Besides, it would never work out. 
Me:  Why not? 
The Boy:  Well, we'd have to go to college and move away from each other and then we'd never see each other again. 

I'm raising a fatalist.  A romantic fatalist, but a fatalist nonetheless.

I'm going to remind him of this conversation when he's a teenager, helplessly adrift in a sea of testosterone and begging for money to take his latest trollop out for ice cream, a movie, and a little back seat action.

The Boy and the only woman who will ever matter :)

Conversations with My Children, Part I

While negotiating his new-found love of cooking, particularly pies - fruit pies, which has turned into a rather expensive interest, since until very recently things were decidedly Not In Season:

The Boy:  We could plant some blueberry bushes.
Me:  Yes, that would be cool.  
The Boy:  And raspberry bushes, and an apple and peach tree too.
Me:  We could even get a couple chickens.  Home grown eggs are supposed to be way better than the grocery store ones. 
The Boy:  WE COULD GET A COW AND HAVE FRESH MILK AND WHIPPED CREAM ALL THE TIME, AND I COULD MAKE ICE CREAM AND HOMEMADE BUTTER.  WE SHOULD MOVE TO A FARM!!!  CAN WE MOVE TO A FARM?  LET'S MOVE TO A FARM!  
Me, thinking quietly to myself:  ((Or I could just shut up, buy you the $16 bag of frozen blueberries, and be grateful I don't have to milk them)).

Keep in mind this child is the spawn of me, queen of the PB&J, and someone who doesn't trust food that isn't salted, wrapped in plastic, frozen, and requires microwaving.  I cannot explain it.

Nature Boy. 

On time & healing.

Brennan would have been 10 years old today.  A full decade has passed and I don't know if it's a tribute to my busy days or perhaps actual healing but I didn't think about it until Thursday afternoon, April 3rd, when I was staring at my calendar trying to sort out weekend plans.  Used to be I'd take April 4th, 5th, and 6th off because I couldn't stand to be around people who weren't rending their garments and wailing but I haven't for two or three (?) years now.  Vacation time is precious.  I'd stopped making The Saddest Cake even a couple years before that (more out of deference to my slowing metabolism & the scale but it counts, dammit).

Nor do I get agitated when people ask me how many children I have.  I say two and there's a little part of me that still waits for the adrenaline but my body has stopped reacting.

I am, however, having increasing difficulty remembering how old my two are.  I was in the middle of something at work a bit ago and exchanging pleasantries with someone on the phone when it came up.  I may or may not have mentioned fictional children two years younger than the actual ones residing in my  home.  Not ghost children, just a freak glitch in the time space continuum.  Someone should call Neil DeGrasse Tyson.

For the record, The Boy is finishing third grade and going into fourth.  FOURTH GRADE.  He'll be turning NINE years old next month, an astounding fact which I still feel compelled to fact check with him.  He plays outside unsupervised, googles rocket building, and cringes when I sing in the car.  Thirty seconds from now he'll be double digits and tomorrow morning he may just move out and go off to college.

We watch Cosmos together Sunday nights, he is obsessed with Minecraft, we finished Harry Potter and have moved on to Percy Jackson, and in addition to rocket building he's taken up cooking.  Today he made pancakes for breakfast and then a chocolate cake.  Yes, I know ladies, please restrain your daughters.

The Girl will be turning SIX this summer.  I still feel new to this special needs world but perversely I hardly ever think about her as having a disability.  She is funny, adorable, demanding, and woe to the poor soul that comes between her and -depending on the day- her Mickey, Sofia, or Doc McStuffins.

I think she's going to be effectively non-verbal and I suspect there will be many future soul crushing moments on the playground but she communicates just fine with me at home with ASL and her teachers rave about how fast she's picking up her speech app.  She acts out stories and tells me jokes and while not the norm, it works.  Her "where are your glasses?" routine, by the way, is hys-TER-ical.

We go on walks, have tea parties, and "go to the store" up and down the hallway and thru the kitchen on her tricycle, which she's somehow outgrown.  She's become obsessed with "pretty dresses" (I blame Princess Sofia) and rather particular about which ones are up to her standards. She insists on two books at bedtime, unless they are Sandra Boynton in which case she wants three.  When I come back from running she tries to clean me up with baby wipes.

Y'all are catching me on a good day.  The thing is I did give birth to three children and every now and then I wonder what Brennan thinks of the giggles and snuggles down here.  I hope he's in a good place.   I think we are.

31 for 21: The 24th

It's the 24th today which means my grand 31 for 21 blogging effort is huddled in a corner, shaking, cold, and wet.

But look at my pretty button!


Grab This Button

The Girl's first parent teacher conference is tonight which should give me LOTS to write about, but in the meantime, here are a couple things that never made their way onto Facebook:

~  I was doing errands over the weekend after a particularly awful week at work, and between stops listened to Radiolab's bit about probiotics and stress.  This isn't new news but the swimming rats with "behavioral despair" nicely embodied my week.  Instead of medicinal yogurt, however, I went home and made a huge plate of french fries.  Those worked just fine too.

~  I remain, however, highly concerned about my state of mind.  REALLY WORRIED.  To wit:  I went to the grocery store, picked up various foodstuffs but forgot to buy both wine AND coffee.  What the hell?  This is akin to forgetting to breath.  I resisted the urge to call 911 but clearly need to take action before it's too late.  Neurologist?  Personal yogi?  Personal shopper?  Double order of the medicinal fries?

~  Have I mentioned The Girl has completely mastered the TV upstairs?  Not that I encourage it but she likes to get up at 5am and I'm in no position to argue.  As long as there are no resulting ER visits, whatever happens before mommy is caffeinated is free time.

I put The Girl to bed the other night, went downstairs, then heard the TV upstairs turn back on.  I headed back up but she must have heard the gate open because the TV was off again and she was hiding.  I marched her back to her room but she stopped me at the threshold and shut the door in my face.  Hard.  Who needs verbal skills when you can slam doors?  Gawd, mom, you never let me do anything!  My 5 year old, going on 15.  Awesome.

~  I don't think we need to worry about excessive compliance in this one:

(27/31) - Two for one.

Last fall The Girl went thru a 6-ish week long period of "GI upset".  Daycare called about every other day for us to come rescue her and we went thru testing, negotiating, and then outright begging for them to knock that off because taking 1.5 months off work is a really poor career move.

All the tests were negative and her doctor just said it can sometimes take six weeks to resolve.  SIX WEEKS.  Much to our dismay he was right about the time frame - it was Not Fun.

We seem to be on repeat.  It started sometime before Halloween and I got a call yesterday to pick her up (thankfully not till 5).  I'm still on the 4x10 plan, so am home with her today, but I'm really really, nervous about this next month.  Matt's taking off on Saturday for a week-long wedding shindig and I'm suppose to join him next Thursday.  There are already scheduling shenanigans and adding this to the stew will not make anything easier.

[Destination wedding!  I had to renew my passport!  ...So naturally the washing machine just threw a ball bearing, the toaster is only toasting one side, and I have to take my computer in because it's moving slower than the continents.  And now we have GI issues.  Murphy's law reigns supreme!]

She won't nap in her own room anymore but the couch is fair game.

She's been wearing her Halloween wings nearly non-stop this past week.... 

So many "angel" jokes, so little space.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Totally unrelated:

Funny things my son said about the election, below.  Posted here because FB has seen enough politics - not necessarily mine, except for my one outburst yesterday, but I think everyone is tired.  I realize yesterday's post was more anti-GOP than pro-Dem, and I didn't cover the economy, or the other 17 issues near & dear to my heart, but I'm happier having chucked my two pennies into the pool.  To all my friends who voted for the other guy - I still love you.
(Yes, even YOU!)

~  When explaining health insurance to him, he kept calling it life insurance.
Which it is, really.

~  I explained how having insurance makes it easier to go to the doctor if you're sick, even when you don't have any money.
"If you're sick or...  if you get bitten by a cobra!"
Yes, even when you are bitten by a cobra (?!).

~  This morning, while I was flipping between news stations:
"It's almost like the country has two presidents."
Hmmm.  I hope not, buddy.

11/31 - 10/11/12

Did you know yesterday was today is 10-11-12?  Slate calls these Festivals of Numerical Coincidence.  I am noting this merely because I’ve decided all my 31 for 21 posts need to be titled numerically.  Totally unrelated, did you know blogger lets you backdate posts?  [I really meant to do this last night but fell asleep with the kids – getting 8 hours of sleep is its own festival of awesomeness].

In honor of everything falling into line, two vignettes about my children, who do not:
A month or so ago, The Girl’s teacher told Matt that she had walloped some kid that day.  Apparently they were in circle time, it was The Girl’s turn to do whatever it is they do in circle time, but the other kid tried to go instead, so my girl tried to grab/push/hit her.  Matt said he laughed.  Which I’m sure horrified the teacher.  *I* was horrified – that he laughed.  I know The Girl is starting to get frustrated with her communication skills and is at high risk of developing some behavioral issues because of it, but this was a one off and I will tell you that a little part of me is delighted at her feistiness.  No one is going to let her miss her turn.  I would have liked to say we are secretly delighted, but Matt’s guffaw and this post blow that option.

~~~~~~~~~

Yesterday an aide at The Boy’s school pulled me aside during pick up to tell me he’d gone to time out during aftercare.  There is, apparently, a rule against going back to your class after a certain point in time.  But he forgot his homework folder so asked teacher#1 if he could go get it.  She said no, citing this inviolate time on the clock.  So he asked teacher#2, who also said no and chided him for shopping his request.  So then he asked teacher#3, who didn’t know about the rule, and let him go.  I understand that there are safety and crowd control considerations, tossed in with a little personal responsibility lesson (remember your stuff!), but he was trying to get his homework, not spray paint to graffiti the school.  I didn’t scold him.  Of all the things I don’t want my children to learn, blind obedience to authority is at the top of the list. 

Love these kids. 

And Then We Were Four

Happy Birthday Little One.

Your brother & I have one of those silly games where we take turns saying,
"I love you!"
"I love you more!"
"I love you to the stars and back!"
"I love you to the stars and back a billion times!"
"I love you to the stars and back a bajallion kajallion times!"

Although I could easily list a bajallion kajillion reasons why I love you, that would make for a really long post.  You are turning four years old this year, but I'd have a hard time limiting this to just four things, and loving you to the stars and back ten times four is probably just long enough to drive away most of our readers.  Plus, Mommy turned 40 this year so it seems karmic.

Month One.

I love your grin.  I love the way you pat my back when I hug you.  I love the way you pat your dollies' backs when you put them down for a nap.  I love the way you hug your brother when he's sad.

   

 I hate that we almost no photos of your first few months.  

5-6 days after they fixed your heart.

I love the way you don't nap anymore, but spend the time reading to your dolls.  I love the way you run away from me laughing when I tell you it's diaper time.  I love the way you've learned to sign.  I love the way you try really really hard to hold up two fingers when you're asking for two cookies.

No nap today.

I love that you know two whole cookies are better than two half cookies.  I love the way you try really really hard to hold up your pinkie finger when you sign, "I love you."  I love that you know all your colors.  I love the way you throw a fit when you think your brother is getting something you aren't.

One.

I love your dramatic pout when we don't understand you or we say no.  I love that you are fearless at the park.  I love that you are fearless when we wrestle and play airplane.  I love that you learned to love the water this summer.  I don't love it when you climb on the dining table and make the lights swing.

I love it when you run across the room to hug me.  I love it when you hug my legs.  I love that you are verbalizing "up" and holding your arms up for me to hug you.  [Bonus:  I love it when you hold your arms out and fall into me from the edge of the pool or the stairs.]  I love that you can tell the dogs to shoo and push them out of the way.

Two.

I love that you love to throw the dogs' toys for them and feed them your toast.  I love the way you try to sneak out the bathtub.  I love the way you hold your feet up for me to wash and then laugh hysterically when it tickles.  I love the way you insist on brushing your own teeth first.

Three.

I love the way you agree, most of the time, that after you're done, it's Mommy's turn to brush your teeth.  I love the way that when we're done, and I pick you up, you always give me the biggest hug and smile at us together in the bathroom mirror.  I love that you're signing full sentences now.  I love that your second sentence was, "I want play Mommy's hair."  [Your first sentence was "I want candy."  I might not love that.  Though it is adorable.]  I don't really love the hollering, but I understand it.

I love that your very very favorite activity is to sit behind me on the couch, with a blanket, and play with my hair.  I love that you aren't yanking on it anymore.  I love that you try to sing with me when I'm humming your nighttime song.  I love that you are as a terrible singer as I am.

I love it when you ask where your brother and daddy are.  I love it when you ask for more books at bedtime.  I love that you take your plate back to the kitchen after dinner.  I love it, most of the time, when you try to help me empty the dishwasher.

I love it when you growl like a tiger or bear when we're reading about them.  I love your "Mmmmmm" when I give you a treat.  I love the way you say "Thank you" after.  I love that you might be left-handed.

You have Graced our lives.
Happy Fourth Birthday.

Almost Four.

Water Baby

The older kids at summer camp had a water-balloon-baby project (less stinky during summer than the traditional baby-eggs?).  The Boy followed suit.

A seven year old's joke:
What's my baby's favorite drink?
Chocolate milk?  No!
Juice?  No!
Coffee?  No!
Wine?  Nooooo!!

IT'S WATER.  Really, mom, don't you get it?  It's a water balloon.

He thought I was a lot funnier when he was 5.

Sparkly lights for Gigi

Our Gigi lost her brother this last Sunday. Less than a month after losing her sister. Lest we all forget how very short and fragile our time on this planet it. We love you Gigi.

And since there's no way to transition from that to kvetching about my week, or extolling the joys of making 400 cookies last weekend, I'll just toss out a snippet, so maybe Gigi will smile.

The boy, yesterday morning:  Maybe when we have more money we can get one of those big cars that play movies?
Me:  You mean a minivan with a DVD player?  (me, silently gagging)
Him:  Yes!  So I can watch Home Alone when we drive.  Or maybe just Spongebob on shorter trips.
Me:  Probably not, honey (It is critical for your emotional and social development to stare out the window and be bored out of your mind daydream, just like I did as a child.  Besides, listening to Spongebob while driving will drive your mommy completely insane.) 

The boy, last night:  You know what would be cool?
Me:  What?
Him:  If our house had one of those giant balls with lights that sparkle and it could spin around on our roof.
Me:  You mean a giant disco ball?  On our roof? 
Him:  Yes, that!
Me:  That is an excellent idea, buddy (And WAY more likely to happen than the minivan with DVD).

11/31 for 21 Eleven Things

11 Things about my daughter:

1.  She has two middle names, as does her brother, and both uncles. My sisters and I only have one apiece.  Hurrumph.  The extra initial online(krlR) is courtesy of my husband (though not legally applicable) - I might be suffering from residual childhood jealousy.  Dad said he didn't think about it till later. 
2.  Her favorite songs are 5 little monkeys in a tree, Twinkle Twinkle, Row Row Row Your Boat, and Ring around the Rosie.
3.  I did not teach her Ring around the Rosie, because I once heard it was about the Black Plague and so I always considered it a little morbid.  Nonetheless, she's very cute as she very carefully falls down.
4.  She loves playing with my hair but is getting a little aggressive about undoing my ponytails.  Man, that hurts.
5.  She's had 3 surgeries:  one on her heart and two on her eyes.  We're hoping she doesn't make 4.
6.  She's sick again.  I don't think a mommy blog is a mommy blog till you talk about poop, but I don't really have the constitution for it right now (ha!).  I am just befuddled by the lack of other symptoms and the sporadic, occasional nature of it.  She's seeing her pediatrician tomorrow.  I will NOT consult Dr. Google.

7a.  Her favorite books are The Bear Snores On (Karma Wilson), Moo, Baa, LaLaLa, Blue Hat Green Hat, But Not the Hippopotamus (all Sandra Boynton), two books by Kate Toms, Goodnight Moon, and The Big Red Barn.  She likes other books too but will occasionally, randomly reject them.  These are sure things.  She anticipates a lot of the 'action' scenes & sort of signs along with me. 

7b.  I have not come up with a good way to sign & read to her at the same time, since she insists on sitting in my lap (facing the book & away from me).  I figure the snuggling and reading-while-pointing to things is also developmentally important. 

7c.  Not that my signing is a good translation anyway.  I mostly hit the key words I've remembered to look up.

7c.  Sometimes I just want to read and snuggle with her and not worry about the other stuff. 

8.  She can't isolate her pinkie finger yet so when she signs "what's wrong", "telephone", or "play", she uses her index and thumb instead.  I find this marvelously scrappy of her. 

9.  She is, however, getting her pinkie halfway up when she signs "I love you".  I find this marvelously endearing. 

10.  She's starting to stomp her feet when she gets mad.  This is only a little bit endearing. 

11.  When she gets home at the end of the day, she immediately requests Signing Time and will watch it till dinner's ready.  This is a massive improvement over earlier when she would stand in the middle of the kitchen and cry till dinner was ready. 

[I just checked Dr. Google.  I should not have done that.  CRAP!]

Happy Birthday Little Girl

Your 3rd birthday was actually a week or so ago but we celebrated on Saturday.  I wanted this to be the Post to end all Posts but mere words cannot convey how very very lucky we are that you have graced us with your presence.  You have enlightened and blessed us all.  Happy Birthday Sweet One.

Now let's get this party started!

Where's the cake?
They promised me cake!

Fine.  If I can't have any cake yet,

I'll just sit in the hallway alone, eating crackers.

It's my party and I'll snack if I want to.

Socialize?

Who do you think you're talking to here?

Oh, you mean this guy?  He's ok, I guess.

...And then the balloon went *BOOM*!

It's not a party till we break out the cowboy hats.

Books are the Best Presents Ever.

...And then the bunny went *HOP*!

Finally!  Goodness, people, bring on the cake already!

NOW it's a party!

As Donkey says, a party ain't a party till somebody cries.

Ed:  Photo credit for #7 & 8 to my SIL.

He heard it in a song, he says

My 6 year old:  Mommy, was does BFG mean?
Me:  You mean BFD?  It means...wait... what?

He also tells me that he never remembers coming into our room in the middle of the night.  He says he must float in on a cloud. 

And just this past weekend my girl started to nod her head 'yes' and 'no', appropriately.  Very deliberately and emphatically.  I never realized she didn't do this, till she started.  Such a little thing, and yet so proud. 

That is all. 

Of Trains, Freaks, Zombies, & Mama Bears

[A post 3 weeks in the making!] 

So the boy and I took Amtrak out to Kansas City for my big race.  A bit over 5 hours but if you factor out the time for airport security and the risk we'd never get on a plane flying standby, and add in the comfy seats and the lure of a train to a 6 year old, it was a great trip.  Plus, it was the boy's birthday present from his uncle and offered incredible people watching for me so win-win.  Any sociologist in need of paper ideas needs to scoot down to Amtrak post-haste.  Bizarre and awesome mix of suburbanites taking their (mostly male) kids on an Exciting Train Adventure and others who, forgive me for making snap superficial judgments, but others who probably don't have the personal auto/airplane options available to them.  Particularly delightful was the contact high I got from the lady who leaned up against me as I was getting something out of our bag & asked if I worked there.  In case you're curious, I was wearing a black T-shirt, not a white button down with epaulets.  I must have that bureaucratic stench about me. 

Also noteworthy was the incredibly creepy guy sitting in front of us.  When we got on the conductor gave us two separate aisle seats & told us to ask someone to move.  Fine.  For a second I was thinking we had to wait for the train to take off, like a plane, so I told the boy to sit down in front (next to creepy guy) for a few minutes but... No.  I'm not making any claims of super mom intuition but it just seemed wrong.  Pasty middle aged guy, my kid... No.  [And, genius, I realized we didn't need to wait to reach cruising altitude].  So the gal next to me agreed to switch and we settled in.  Except creepy guy kept chiming in to our conversations.  The seat backs were high & he couldn't see us but he was listening...  Yech.  I ignored him & took my son with me when I visited the loo so in all it was a non-event but still, maybe a little intuition? 

A LOT of people talk to my kids.  They're both really stinking cute & my son is hyper-friendly (I know it's bizarre, but I'm fairly certain he's mine) but he needs to not tell everyone who asks what his name is & where he goes to school.  We've been working on that.  I've also been trying to tell him that private parts are private... but he's asking for more & more parameters (who? when? why?).  I get the feeling the boys are talking at school...?  I am so very much not prepared for this.  He also asked me again last night how babies get out of the mommies' tummies.  It feels too soon to provide a technical description but maybe it's just me who's not ready?  But then we need to have these conversations NOW because he's 6 (wait, only 6?  What the hell am I talking about?  But then there are creepy guys out there on trains.  Parental confusion!) 

White shirt.  Epaulets.  Official looking hat.  NOT mom in black T-shirt.

Anyway, after we got to Kansas City we did a couple errands (new running hat!), carbo-loaded (my SIL is an excellent cook), and then ventured out to First Friday, which is when the art district opens all the galleries, the street vendors come out ...and the flash mobs emerge.  My first flash mob!  Its mere proximity caused my coolness quotient to skyrocket.  Except, NO.  It was a zombie mob with a freakishly large number of people, who poured a freakish amount of time and detail and gore into their costumes, and who had clearly practiced their freakishly realistic limps and moaning.  We were sitting on a bench enjoying our icees when they started streaming past (passed?) - I covered the boy's eyes because he's just a 6 year old kid and doesn't need those pictures in his head.  Surprisingly, he didn't object.  I was marveling at it all until one JERK reached for my kid, the one with his head buried in my arms, with a dripping brain-thing in his hands.  Good thing I can cuss up a blue streak.  No one ever expects the suburban mom to get rage-y.  I found out later it was all for a good cause but still, not cool.   

However, I just found this video on YouTube and now that my son isn't with me I think it's kind of funny again.  Weird - undeniably weird - but funny.  The 2011 video seems kind of tame.  If you're bored and click around, there are other zombie videos that better capture the lurching & moaning we saw.  Also, on the zombie website above, there are "zombie rules" posted (don't drip on the sidewalk!  don't assault small children!); drippy JERK was not in compliance, so I'll try not to hate on the next zombie flash mob I run into.  [Because clearly running into another one is just a matter of time!?].

I once heard that you spend the first 10 years of your child's life protecting them from the outside world (sharp knives, viruses, creepy train guys, & zombies) and the next 10 protecting them from themselves (binge drinking, sports cars, & the tramp in his english class).  We're 66% of the way through the first part.  It's a little nerve wracking & exhausting, this parenting gig.  Good thing they're cute!

Of Transitions & Furniture

Matt called me at work this morning to tell me a little urchin had come into our room to wake him up.  Not the 6 year old male one.  The other one.  My baby. The one I haven't yet moved out of her crib because she never tried very hard to get out of it, it was a safe place to stash her during showers, and because she's a constant whirl of motion whilst sleeping and if we had moved her into a toddler bed she would have just ended up sleeping on the floor. 

My baby figured out how to crawl out of her crib, onto the end table, and safely maneuver herself onto the floor (he watched her do it later).  She figured this out the day immediately after she figured out how to scramble up the kitchen chairs.  She's also bending her arms when she runs now, like a little girl - no longer my baby with her arms straight out, zombie style.

My heart is bursting and I don't know if it's from pride or fear of the trouble she'll get into at 3am, or fear I'll never sleep again, listening for her door, or fear I'll never sleep again because now we'll have TWO kids kicking us in the face in the middle of the night, or fear that she's growing up and starting school in the fall and here were are, about to take off on this grand new adventure.  And I can't figure out what to pack for it.

[Do you remember the dream in college where you had to take a final for the class you'd forgotten you'd signed up for and never attended?  And you can't figure out which room the test is in?  I know I'm not the only one to have that, right?  Well now my stress dreams are about packing:  Can't find the right things to pack, can't find a suitcase, it won't all fit, can't pack fast enough... A shrink would have field day with me.]  

52557 Hours Ago

Five years, 364 days, and about 21 hours ago my son was born.  He was pretty cute at first.  To wit:

Then he did a lot of this:

We drank a lot of this:

Matt's ankle had been casted just a couple weeks earlier, because he tripped on a curb swatting at a bee while walking the dog, so he did a lot of this: 

Of all the things that have tested our marriage, that cast might be top on the list.  His "medical restrictions" with a new baby in the house were... ill timed.  It eventually came off, he was eventually able to fetch things for me from upstairs again, and all was right with the world.  [kidding...  kind of.]

Then 6 years went by in the blink of an eye.  Tonight my son was riding around on one of his sister's toys chatting, "I'll be 6 in first grade, then I'll be 7 in second grade, then I'll be 8 in third grade, then I'll be 9 in fourth grade, then I'll be 10....   Oh please, please, please stop talking child.  Mommy's not ready.  Happy Birthday Baby.

Home!

Welcome Home Little Girl!

Mommy and Daddy are so thrilled you are back home with us.  We missed Healthy Baby.  Though I suppose you aren't really a baby anymore.  I still call your almost-6 year old brother Baby Boy, which he laughs at, but I tell him that you'll both always be my babies and mommies get to say that. I look forward to threatening to use it in front of his friends in high school.

You were pretty sick there for a bit, Little Miss. Not really REALLY sick, which you have been before, but sick enough to stay with the Axis of Evil nice people in yellow quarantine gowns. Mommy got a little freaked out in the head, despite the "not really REALLY" part, because it reminded her of how sick you were when you were a baby and how if anything happened to you (or your brother) then the world would just stop turning, the sun would go dark, and all the flowers and trees would turn to dust.

Don't pull any stunts like that again, 'k? 

You and your brother bring us so much joy. When mommy was younger and cavorting around the world having grand adventures I thought that folks living in the suburbs with a couple o' kids must lead the dullest lives. I had no idea. Living with you, showing you new things, and watching as you find your own new things is magic.  There is absolutely no purer moment of bliss than when you give me a hug and pat me on the back. You are so much clearer now about what you want - you had the doctors cracking up because (in calmer moments) you would pick up my hand and move it HERE MOM and then you'd pat my hand. You will also stick your elbow in my face because, mysteriously, you like it when I kiss your elbow.  You are signing all the time now, independent of my suggestions.  I wish you had a few more fine motor skills because I have feeling you have novels inside your head, waiting only for the means to express them. The dogs make you laugh and you love feeding them while you eat and throwing dropping their toys for them. You'll soon throw them far, I'm sure.

You are also so funny. You love to play peek a boo, and tag.  You are just an inch away from full tilt running but right now, when you are chasing me with your chunky toddler speed walking, I can't help but stop so you can catch me and so I can scoop you up and kiss you. You love to share and will hand me your sippy cups and sticky bits of your meal to enjoy. I always take them and say thank you. It makes you smile. Then when I hand you sippy cup back you say thank you. It sounds like "dee-dee".  I wish you said Mama but I also find it hysterical that your second word is thank you. Gotta love a polite child.  Your first word was happy.

You are also a little hellion. You regularly move the step stools around so you can access the kitchen counters. Your various therapists think this is fabulous problem solving skill but, I'll admit, the novelty has worn off a bit because the counters aren't always clear of sharp knives and breakable bits. Yes, it's mommy's job to keep the sharp knives away from you but sometimes I'd much rather play tag or snuggle than load the dishwasher. We also don't give you plates yet because when you tire of your food you hurl the plates onto floor and break them.  Come to think of it, you should be able to throw the dogs' toys farther, given the velocity those plates achieve.  If you don't outgrow this quickly, we're going to have buy plastic plates, which mommy isn't a big fan of, and which will just allow you to give more of your food to the dogs faster.  You also love to explore, just like your brother. Your therapy people want you sit down and activate noise & light things, and do puzzles, but you're much happier emptying out the drawers and cabinets. Your curiosity inspires me, even if I grumble about the messes. You are also fascinated with water.  Which is why even your brother automatically shuts the bathroom door now.  Also why we have developed a bizarre system & schedule for the dogs' water bowls because if you have access, you will immediately dump the water all over yourself and the floor. You have an uncanny radar for water. Sometimes you try to drink from the dog bowls, if we forget to move them, which makes mommy laugh, but I haven't taken any pictures of this because I don't want anyone to ever make fun of you.  Ever. 

Your fascination with water has also given mommy a little tic inside her head. Your daddy and his family have some OCD tendencies. Nothing to worry about, their houses are just really clean and every now and then daddy will get a thing about bridges, or escalators. But not so bad that we have to take the long way home.  Mommy has previously mocked this ruthlessly not fully understood Daddy but now I am worried about any water you might be drawn to, and get stuck in. Please be careful.

We love you and your brother more than the earth and sky. Thank you for being with us. 
xoxoxoxox,
Mom.

Editor's note:  The boy's off at a birthday party and the girl's napping.  Matt had to go to work.  We did spend one more night in the hospital but I was happy we did and since we probably blew our annual insurance deductible on night 2, there was no harm. I just poured myself a large glass of wine - nevermind the hour - and am off to snoggle my DVR.  I might not be around for a couple days because I have to put in 120 hours or something this coming week.  Or I might need a break. Will see how it goes.