It was my favorite time of the year, picture time!!!! Every since Jory became a big brother this event has become it's own ball of fun. And yes, I'm being sarcastic there. The first picture undertaking with TTT gave me my first feeling, that was unknown to me at the time, of wanting to strangle someone. I walked out of that photo session thinking Rowan owes her life to that photographer.
This year, I wasn't sure what to expect. We were taking pictures at night, so after a long day. We were doing it on Good Friday and with Jory's injured foot. It could be a disaster, but it couldn't be any worse than past years.
I decided to cut out the middle man this year so they got dressed in all their Easter finery at home. I wasn't sure if I was returning the girls' shoes so they had to put on whatever slip-on shoes they had since they couldn't walk around in their church shoes. Hairstyles done and matching and we were out the door.
We were late for our an appointment, but it's not easy carrying a six-year-old while trying not to wrinkle his suit. We didn't wait too long and in we went. The girls took their individual pictures first, then Jory. The photographer was great and got some great shots.
As we walked to the car, it dawned on me.....I didn't feel the urge to strangle anyone, not even once. Yippee!!! A first. A first in our picture taking in years. I think my babies are growing up.
And the proudness continued as I took the girls' dresses off before they got into the car because they were light colored and I didn't want the evening to go downhill. Plus the dresses not only stay cleaned, but don't get wrinkled any further.
Everyone was rewarded with a sundae from McD's for such good behavior. This getting older thing has its upsides.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Easter Wednesday
Easter was fantastic!!! Yes, we were late for church because I didn’t want the kids to get dressed too early, particularly the girls since their dresses were ivory. I didn’t want the celebration of the Lord’s resurrection to start by me strangling them for getting who knows what into their dresses.
My mom carefully got the girls out the car and I decided carrying my injured foot son would be easier and faster than waiting for him to hop to the door of my cousin’s church. As soon as we got in the door, I noticed the small church was packed. As I sat Jory down in the closest chair I could find, I heard Mort and Uncle Bobby say, “Why are you carrying him?” I heard my mom explaining as my cousin whispered to me, “You made it just in time. Jory’s next to give his speech.” Yikes!
I took the girls to the front of the church to an available seat, but instead they decide to sit on their cousins’ laps. I walked to the back of the church picked up Jory and carried him to the front of the church. He got the microphone from the pastor and said his speech. He said it quickly, but I was busy trying to videotape him so I didn’t have time to grab his attention and tell him to slow it down. He was done and hopped over to sit with Happy. Next up, Rowan. My cousin wasn’t lying when she said we made it just in time.
Rowan sped through her speech like she was Dale Earnhardt at the Indianapolis Five Hundred. This time I was ready and when she finished, I said, “Rowan, slow down and say it again.” I thought people understanding her speech was more important than the fact they couldn’t see the top of her dress because of her sweater.
The baby’s name was maligned next and she came up to say her speech. I got her sweater off in time. She said it her way with certain words omitted, but what could I do. She did say it a slower rate of speed than Rowan, but it was still pretty fast.
When that was done, it was time for our song.
Do you know The Son Of God?
The Son of God?
The Son of God?
Do you know the Son of God
Who died and rose again?
Oh, yes, I know the Son of God,
The Son of God,
The Son of God.
Oh, yes, I know the Son of God
Who died and rose again.
Do you love the Son of God?
The Son of God?
The Son of God?
Do you love the Son of God
Who died and rose again.
Oh, yes, I love the Son of God,
The Son of God,
The Son of God.
Oh, yes, I love the Son of God
Who died and rose again.
Will you obey the Son of God?
The Son of God?
The Son of God?
Will you obey the Son of God
Who died and rose again.
Yes, I'll obey the Son of God,
The Son of God,
The Son of God.
Yes, I'll obey the Son of God
Who died and rose again.
They sang the song with only one little mix-up, but everyone applauded and it was a success. I leaned over to my cousin and told her Jory wanted to sing a solo and she added him to the program.
Hopping on one foot, my baby proudly sang, “Lord, I lift your name on high.”
Lord, I lift Your name on high
Lord, I love to sing Your praises
I'm so glad You're in my life
I'm so glad You came to save us
You came from heaven to earth
To show the way
From the earth to the cross
My debt to pay
From the cross to the grave
From the grave to the sky
Lord, I lift Your name on high
He sang beautifully. After he finished, my nephew, Mason, sang “Jesus loves me” in the most beautiful voice. I was very impressed.
All in all, it was a beautiful surrounded by loved ones, celebrating Christ’s resurrection, and beautifully dressed children. Score!
A quick change at home, then we were off to my aunt’s for Easter dinner. Or rather we dropped Oma and Rowan off, the sleeping Layla, “I need to soak my foot” Jory, and I returned home. And let me tell you nothing says, “Thank you for dying on the cross and rising from the dead on the third day,” like a grilled cheese and lamb sandwich and tortilla chips, while you watch “The First Forty-Eight” on the DVR and your kids watch an Easter cartoon movie.
Yes, it was a great day.
My mom carefully got the girls out the car and I decided carrying my injured foot son would be easier and faster than waiting for him to hop to the door of my cousin’s church. As soon as we got in the door, I noticed the small church was packed. As I sat Jory down in the closest chair I could find, I heard Mort and Uncle Bobby say, “Why are you carrying him?” I heard my mom explaining as my cousin whispered to me, “You made it just in time. Jory’s next to give his speech.” Yikes!
I took the girls to the front of the church to an available seat, but instead they decide to sit on their cousins’ laps. I walked to the back of the church picked up Jory and carried him to the front of the church. He got the microphone from the pastor and said his speech. He said it quickly, but I was busy trying to videotape him so I didn’t have time to grab his attention and tell him to slow it down. He was done and hopped over to sit with Happy. Next up, Rowan. My cousin wasn’t lying when she said we made it just in time.
Rowan sped through her speech like she was Dale Earnhardt at the Indianapolis Five Hundred. This time I was ready and when she finished, I said, “Rowan, slow down and say it again.” I thought people understanding her speech was more important than the fact they couldn’t see the top of her dress because of her sweater.
The baby’s name was maligned next and she came up to say her speech. I got her sweater off in time. She said it her way with certain words omitted, but what could I do. She did say it a slower rate of speed than Rowan, but it was still pretty fast.
When that was done, it was time for our song.
Do you know The Son Of God?
The Son of God?
The Son of God?
Do you know the Son of God
Who died and rose again?
Oh, yes, I know the Son of God,
The Son of God,
The Son of God.
Oh, yes, I know the Son of God
Who died and rose again.
Do you love the Son of God?
The Son of God?
The Son of God?
Do you love the Son of God
Who died and rose again.
Oh, yes, I love the Son of God,
The Son of God,
The Son of God.
Oh, yes, I love the Son of God
Who died and rose again.
Will you obey the Son of God?
The Son of God?
The Son of God?
Will you obey the Son of God
Who died and rose again.
Yes, I'll obey the Son of God,
The Son of God,
The Son of God.
Yes, I'll obey the Son of God
Who died and rose again.
They sang the song with only one little mix-up, but everyone applauded and it was a success. I leaned over to my cousin and told her Jory wanted to sing a solo and she added him to the program.
Hopping on one foot, my baby proudly sang, “Lord, I lift your name on high.”
Lord, I lift Your name on high
Lord, I love to sing Your praises
I'm so glad You're in my life
I'm so glad You came to save us
You came from heaven to earth
To show the way
From the earth to the cross
My debt to pay
From the cross to the grave
From the grave to the sky
Lord, I lift Your name on high
He sang beautifully. After he finished, my nephew, Mason, sang “Jesus loves me” in the most beautiful voice. I was very impressed.
All in all, it was a beautiful surrounded by loved ones, celebrating Christ’s resurrection, and beautifully dressed children. Score!
A quick change at home, then we were off to my aunt’s for Easter dinner. Or rather we dropped Oma and Rowan off, the sleeping Layla, “I need to soak my foot” Jory, and I returned home. And let me tell you nothing says, “Thank you for dying on the cross and rising from the dead on the third day,” like a grilled cheese and lamb sandwich and tortilla chips, while you watch “The First Forty-Eight” on the DVR and your kids watch an Easter cartoon movie.
Yes, it was a great day.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Our little adventure
I want to start this by saying what I heard at Mimi’s abuela’s funeral. God is good (all the time). God is great (24/7). Let us celebrate!
Leaving work on Monday evening, I got a call from my mom saying Jory’s temporary doctor said he called Children’s Hospital and they were expecting us.
(Read "Are you serious?!", "Soaking," and "Back to el doctor" to get the back story). I wasn’t panicked, but was in a slight state of disbelief. My baby was going to the ER over this gimpy splinter.
I drove home, picked up Jory, his bear, and his police car. I’m not quite sure where he thought we were going, but I took them with us. I grabbed some magazines and some things for Jory to read and we were off. I assured my mom that I didn’t need her to go to the ER with me, didn’t need her to come with the girls, that Jory and I would be fine on our own.
While we were driving to Children’s Hospital, it dawned on me the first and last time I went to this hospital. It was two-and-a-half-years ago to say hello and goodbye to my baby cousin, Savannah. Before swimming lessons, I got the call from my mom to come to the hospital because there was nothing more the doctors could do for this three-week-old who got an infection that had spread to her brain.
I felt so bad for my cousin and her then boyfriend. I felt guilty. How many times had I driven past their house on the way to work and from work and thought I won’t stop today, I’ve got to get home to the kids or as I told Mona, I’ll see the baby at her welcome home party. But instead of driving to her welcome home party that Saturday afternoon, I drove to Children’s Hospital to see her being kept alive by machines as she was cradled in her sobbing aunt’s arms.
I parked in the same spot on Sunset that I had parked for her visit. I put money in the meter, put my purse on my shoulder, and Jory on my hip. After a misstep of trying to get into the emergency room via the ambulance entrance, we hiked around to the front of the hospital where we took periodic breaks where a falling Jory was lifted up or switched to another position. Arriving at the front desk of the hospital, I was given a map on how to get to the ER. Take a left at the end of the hallway, then a quick right, then a left, then a right by the giraffe elevators, and then a left. Uh, okay. Yeah, I don’t do well with maps. At the end of the first hallway, I cast the map aside and just tried to figure it out with the signs around the hospital.
We arrived at the ER; I quickly put down my heavy son, my heavy purse, and took off my jacket. If I’m hot then it must be a billion degrees in the hospital or I exercised hard. I think it was the latter. I checked in with the guard and looked around the waiting room. Why were so many people in the ER at 7:30PM? Why were some children wearing masks? Were they highly contagious? And if so, why have they been left out with us, the general public? I took out a magazine and called Mona to wait out the long wait. Surprisingly in a short amount of time, we were called to the window where our information was taken. I thought I could skip, hop over to the window by myself, but Mr. Jory was not being separated from his mommy. Does he not understand that if I take him, I have to take all the important stuff with us? Does he not see all the people in the waiting room and how our chairs might be taken? Nope, doesn’t understand, doesn’t see and doesn’t care. I took him with me, where he was amazed at the in taker’s fast typing speed. She told him she had been doing this job for a long time.
A few short minutes later, we were off down other long, long hallways to go to waiting room number two, which was even smaller than waiting room number one. But at least here, there was a television with a sign that read “This television is for children.” Unfortunately some adult thought “American Dad” and “Family Guy” were quality children’s program. Luckily Jory was more interested in the toys meant for toddlers, than he was in the television.
(Waiting room two)
We waited and waited, until Jory said he had to go to the bathroom. I grabbed my purse, left the rest of the stuff, and picked up my one flip flop wearing son. The bathroom thankfully was empty and right next door to the waiting room. I put Jory down on his good foot and told him to place his sore foot on top of my shoe.
“Mommy, I have to boo boo.”
Are you serious?! At a public bathroom, little boy. This is the worse timing, but okay. I bend at the knees and lift him up hovering over the toilet, like I do for the girls. Next thing I know the wall is being sprayed with pee and some of it is splashing back on me.
“Jory put your penis down!” That’s right, holding him is not like holding one of the girls.
Penis is down and now being aimed at the toilet. But then I discovered he was having an explosive bowel movement. Thankfully it was a short one. When he was all finished, I surveyed the mess and realized I was going to have to clean up the public restroom. Jory passed me paper towels as I cleaned the wall, the toilet seat, and dried the floor. Oh, the joys of parenthood.
We returned to the tiny waiting room where Jory entertained me with his slightly off key rendition of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star on the toddler piano. A short while later, another trip to the bathroom. My son has diaheria at the hospital. On one hand a great place to have it if you’re ill and it’s a symptom of your illness. On the other hand, YUCK! Really, we have to use a public bathroom.
This time he was ready with the keeping his penis in a downward position. Unfortunately it was taken him more than a minute to go and my arms started wavering. Yep, not only do I get to clean the seat again, he got the bottom of my pants leg and my shoe. Awesome. Another clean up job, only to return to find more people in the waiting room.
I looked at my watch and thought I better check to see if I could leave my car on Sunset. The guard guarding the sacred ER rooms wasn’t sure. Over the fields and through the woods, Jory and I trekked, this time with him on my back to get to the front of the hospital. As we were about to exit, I asked the guard about my parking space. He felt my car was moderately safe and now since it was after 8PM, parking was free. I was happy not to have to walk more with Jory and pay seven dollars to park, but on the other hand I wish I would have known this before we walked all the way up to the front. I was so tempted to stop at what must be the 24 hour McD’s, but I stayed strong and resisted. I was staying faithfully to my diet.
Another guard saw us walking back and smiled, “Stretching the legs?”
I just nodded and smiled back, what was I going to say. Finally I couldn’t do it any longer and I had to put Jory down. Pulling a toy van out of his pocket, he got on his hands and knees and began pushing his van down the hallway. For a second, I thought how gross, but my arms, back, and hip were gratefully for the break. We turned down the hallway, but it didn’t look right.
“No, Mommy, we need to go the other way.”
Praise God for little boys with great sense of directions. I love this male gene. I love this little boy.
I checked with the guard to make sure our name hadn’t been called and sadly he said, no. We went back to the waiting room only to discover there was only one chair. Jory sat in my lap as I dozed off and on, until he woke me for another bathroom run.
This time our game was on point and there was no cleanup necessary. SCORE! We returned to the waiting room to find new families and only one children’s chair available. I placed Jory in the chair, leaned against the available wall space a chair away from him and dozed.
After another bathroom run, we heard it. We heard his name being called. Grabbing our stuff quickly, I threw my baby on my hip and walked as fast as I could, so we would not be forgotten. Four hours after arriving to the ER, we were in a room with a toddler who was sick. Really, do we have to be surrounded by sick children? My son is healthy and I want to keep him that way.
(In the ER room)
Fifteen minutes later, a doctor came in and took our information. I gave him the bottles of anti-biotics Jory had been taken. As he rattled off the names of the drugs I thought, that was hot. I’ve got Grey’s on a season pass. I watch Grey’s Junior, when I have nothing else to watch on Hulu. But hearing this doctor say the hard-to-pronounce names of the drugs without missing a beat somehow sounded sexy and he wasn’t even that hot, but that ability inched him up the hotness scale. Who knew I would ever find that hot?
The doctor looked at his foot and asked what happened. I stated that Jory had a splinter and part of it must have broken off in his foot. The doctor decided to put some cream which numbed, on the bottom of Jory’s foot, but he warned me it might not work since the bottom of our feet is a tough area to deaden.
(The deadening cream with a bandage on top)
He also ordered X-Rays so we were off on another journey. Left, right, right, left. We arrived at a ghost town or rather the X-Ray department.
“Hello,” I called out in the empty room.
We looked down the empty hallway. No other humans appeared to be around until suddenly a man questioned, “No one’s in there?” He gave us a little scare. He looked in the X-Ray waiting room, and then told us to follow him.
I laid Jory on the X-Ray bed that was hard and just had sheet on top of it. The X-Ray technician put a shield on Jory’s private parts.
“Why are you putting that there?” my baby questioned.
“To carry on the family name and make sure mom gets some grandkids,” he responded back.
Jory didn’t understand that answer, but I smiled and approved of this technician’s way of thinking. And like the brave boy he had been through the whole ordeal, Jory let his foot be positioned to take X-Rays from all sides. When the technician stepped out of the room, I snapped some pictures. This was our first time to the ER, happening around the same time I went to the ER for the first time many, many moons ago. This needed to be documented.
“First trip to the ER, huh?” another technician said from behind me.
I sheepishly nodded.
Our technician came in and said, “Come look at your X-Rays.”
He picked Jory up and we went into the other room to see a needle in Jory’s foot. As plain as a day that was definitely a needle in my son’s foot. Where in the world did he find a needle in our non-sewing household? Our household is so non-sewing that he and Rowan can’t even get the badges they earn in AWANA put on their vests.
Back to the ER we went following my brown eyed boy’s impeccable directions. I laid him on the bed and waited for the doctor again. He called us into the other room to see the X-Rays.
“How did you get a needle in your foot?” he asked Jory.
“I put my foot on the nightstand to get on Mommy’s bed and it went into my foot, but the top was broken off,” the six-year-old answered.
Wait, why is this the first time I’m hearing this version of events? Where did the needle come from? Why is the eye of the needle not on the needle? I think three someones might have gotten into Oma’s sewing container.
The doctor turned to me as I was shaking my head and told me he would try to get the needle out since it looked close to the surface, but if he wasn’t successful Jory would have to be admitted and a surgeon would have to get it out.
Some shady happenings go down one Sunday night a week before and now there’s a possibility of surgery? Are you kidding me?! Uh, did I sign up for this?
He told me in case he had to dig around for the needle; he was going to put Jory in a haze. I agreed to the haze and walked behind him as he carried Jory to the next room. The kind nurse with the amazingly perky voice for midnight and the male nurse prepped Jory for the procedure. They took his blood pressure, hooked him up to the heart monitor, and answered Jory’s questions throughout. Then came time to put the IV in and unexpectantly my son turned into the Hulk. Jodi, I’m sure with “I” because that would fit her voice, commented on his strength as the male nurse stepped in to hold down Jory’s arm as she inserted the IV into my crying baby.
("He's alive!" exclaimed Dr. Frankenstein.)
(Iicky IV!)
Once she was done taping it down, Jory asked for it to be removed but she told him he needed it for the medicine. A few minutes later the tears were dried and she came back with the medicine. She inserted it into the IV as I watched the doctor clean Jory’s foot. I tried to seem like a concerned mother, but I really wanted to see what the doctor was doing. It was like I was on my own episode of the truly missed show, Trauma in the ER on the truly missed network, Discovery Health.
I heard Jodi ask Jory to take a deep breath, once, then twice. Then she said, he’s already asleep. It took him two seconds to get knocked out. I thought I should hold his hand so they’ll think I’m a good mother, as I tried to watch the doctor lance Jory’s sore.
Looking up at my son, I was slightly freaked out because his eyes were wide open. Uh, okay, that’s not strange at all. Seeing my reaction, Jodi assured me that most people’s eyes are wide open like that, and Jory might start to twitch or his tongue might start hanging out his mouth, and all of it was normal. I nodded, and then picked up his hand. It was cold. Okay, this officially upgraded from slightly freaky to completely freaky. What am I holding the hand of a dead person? I thought about mentioning it, but thought Jodi might think I was weird so I kept mum.
I rubbed Jory’s hand to warm it up as the hot doctor commented that there wasn’t a lot of pus in the sore. It hadn’t looked like it to me either. It was mostly dead skin so I watched as he trimmed away dead skin. He told me as the sore healed and for a few weeks afterwards it would look a little ugly, but in the end it would be fine. I thought we can live with an ugly looking sore turned scab on the bottom of Jory’s foot.
He picked up the long tweezers, as Jory’s tongue started hanging out of his mouth, and pulled. Slowly he pulled the needle out. The hole is deep; it looks as if the body was trying to rid itself of the foreign body, the doctor stated, as he put the needle into a see through container.
A needle in my son’s foot for eight days. How odd, yet amazing.
Thankfully the needle didn’t cause a bone infection, the doctor continued, or he would have been taking anti-biotics for months.
Praise God for that, I agreed silently. God truly protected my baby from having the needle cause serious damage.
(The final result)
The doctor and male nurse bid us adieu and left Jodi and I behind to wake Jory. She said, it could take five to fifteen minutes for him to come out of it, but it might be slightly more difficult for him since it was 1AM and he would naturally be sleep around this time.
“Mommy,” Jory called to me.
“Yes, baby,” I answered, rubbing his hand.
“I can’t see anything,” he responded.
I rubbed his face. “Mommy’s right here.”
“Close your eyes for a little while and rest,” Jodi suggested.
Jory closed his eyes tightly.
I wanted to laugh that was no way to close your eyes to rest.
He opened his eyes back up and the fun began. It’s trippy watching your son come out of a drugged out state. He saw stars. He stared at his fingers and hands like they were doing something magically. He’d call for me, ask for his bear, and then say he still couldn’t see anything. He said nonsensical words and made odd sounds. I wanted to laugh out loud, but thought it might not be appropriate to laugh at him in his condition.
After about fifteen minutes, he came out of it.
(Poor baby!)
He knew how many fingers Jodi was holding up on both hands, but he was sleepy as all get out. And a sleepy Jory is a whiny, nightmarish Jory. Jodi asked him to take a few sips of cherry flavored Gatorade, but he refused. He cried. He put his hand to his mouth. No amount of rubbing, coaxing, bribing, on either of our parts worked to get him to drink. Finally Jodi offered him some Sprite and he perked up and agreed to drink that. She left quickly and returned with a small can. She told him if he drank a few sips and kept it down, he could go home and sleep in his own bed. I held the cup to his lips and he took a few sips. Score! Maybe we could get home before the sun came up on the Santa Monica Boulevard.
We waited for a few minutes to make sure he kept it down while I ruined my diet and drank the Sprite and Gatorade. I wanted us to get out of there fast. Jodi gave us the all clear; I signed our release papers, thanked her profusely, and seated my baby in the wheelchair she provided.
Left, right, left, over the fields, down the hallway, pass the Giraffe elevators, and we were back at the front of the hospital, with a slight pause for photo ops and a temptation to stop at Mc D’s. I picked up Jory and we walked out and around, down Sunset to the car. Score, no ticket! I lowered the seat, put him in, put his seatbelt on, and then got in the car. We were on our way home.
Amazing how quickly you get home when there are no cars on the street at 1:45AM, even if you take a slight detour because you’re driving down an unfamiliar street and the car lights, street lights, and signals make it impossible for you to see the name of the streets. We got home, I swiftly undressed him, put his jammies on, and put him to bed, where I quickly followed with the theme song of Merlin humming us to sleep as our first and hopefully last adventure to the ER came to a close.
Leaving work on Monday evening, I got a call from my mom saying Jory’s temporary doctor said he called Children’s Hospital and they were expecting us.
(Read "Are you serious?!", "Soaking," and "Back to el doctor" to get the back story). I wasn’t panicked, but was in a slight state of disbelief. My baby was going to the ER over this gimpy splinter.
I drove home, picked up Jory, his bear, and his police car. I’m not quite sure where he thought we were going, but I took them with us. I grabbed some magazines and some things for Jory to read and we were off. I assured my mom that I didn’t need her to go to the ER with me, didn’t need her to come with the girls, that Jory and I would be fine on our own.
While we were driving to Children’s Hospital, it dawned on me the first and last time I went to this hospital. It was two-and-a-half-years ago to say hello and goodbye to my baby cousin, Savannah. Before swimming lessons, I got the call from my mom to come to the hospital because there was nothing more the doctors could do for this three-week-old who got an infection that had spread to her brain.
I felt so bad for my cousin and her then boyfriend. I felt guilty. How many times had I driven past their house on the way to work and from work and thought I won’t stop today, I’ve got to get home to the kids or as I told Mona, I’ll see the baby at her welcome home party. But instead of driving to her welcome home party that Saturday afternoon, I drove to Children’s Hospital to see her being kept alive by machines as she was cradled in her sobbing aunt’s arms.
I parked in the same spot on Sunset that I had parked for her visit. I put money in the meter, put my purse on my shoulder, and Jory on my hip. After a misstep of trying to get into the emergency room via the ambulance entrance, we hiked around to the front of the hospital where we took periodic breaks where a falling Jory was lifted up or switched to another position. Arriving at the front desk of the hospital, I was given a map on how to get to the ER. Take a left at the end of the hallway, then a quick right, then a left, then a right by the giraffe elevators, and then a left. Uh, okay. Yeah, I don’t do well with maps. At the end of the first hallway, I cast the map aside and just tried to figure it out with the signs around the hospital.
We arrived at the ER; I quickly put down my heavy son, my heavy purse, and took off my jacket. If I’m hot then it must be a billion degrees in the hospital or I exercised hard. I think it was the latter. I checked in with the guard and looked around the waiting room. Why were so many people in the ER at 7:30PM? Why were some children wearing masks? Were they highly contagious? And if so, why have they been left out with us, the general public? I took out a magazine and called Mona to wait out the long wait. Surprisingly in a short amount of time, we were called to the window where our information was taken. I thought I could skip, hop over to the window by myself, but Mr. Jory was not being separated from his mommy. Does he not understand that if I take him, I have to take all the important stuff with us? Does he not see all the people in the waiting room and how our chairs might be taken? Nope, doesn’t understand, doesn’t see and doesn’t care. I took him with me, where he was amazed at the in taker’s fast typing speed. She told him she had been doing this job for a long time.
A few short minutes later, we were off down other long, long hallways to go to waiting room number two, which was even smaller than waiting room number one. But at least here, there was a television with a sign that read “This television is for children.” Unfortunately some adult thought “American Dad” and “Family Guy” were quality children’s program. Luckily Jory was more interested in the toys meant for toddlers, than he was in the television.
(Waiting room two)
We waited and waited, until Jory said he had to go to the bathroom. I grabbed my purse, left the rest of the stuff, and picked up my one flip flop wearing son. The bathroom thankfully was empty and right next door to the waiting room. I put Jory down on his good foot and told him to place his sore foot on top of my shoe.
“Mommy, I have to boo boo.”
Are you serious?! At a public bathroom, little boy. This is the worse timing, but okay. I bend at the knees and lift him up hovering over the toilet, like I do for the girls. Next thing I know the wall is being sprayed with pee and some of it is splashing back on me.
“Jory put your penis down!” That’s right, holding him is not like holding one of the girls.
Penis is down and now being aimed at the toilet. But then I discovered he was having an explosive bowel movement. Thankfully it was a short one. When he was all finished, I surveyed the mess and realized I was going to have to clean up the public restroom. Jory passed me paper towels as I cleaned the wall, the toilet seat, and dried the floor. Oh, the joys of parenthood.
We returned to the tiny waiting room where Jory entertained me with his slightly off key rendition of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star on the toddler piano. A short while later, another trip to the bathroom. My son has diaheria at the hospital. On one hand a great place to have it if you’re ill and it’s a symptom of your illness. On the other hand, YUCK! Really, we have to use a public bathroom.
This time he was ready with the keeping his penis in a downward position. Unfortunately it was taken him more than a minute to go and my arms started wavering. Yep, not only do I get to clean the seat again, he got the bottom of my pants leg and my shoe. Awesome. Another clean up job, only to return to find more people in the waiting room.
I looked at my watch and thought I better check to see if I could leave my car on Sunset. The guard guarding the sacred ER rooms wasn’t sure. Over the fields and through the woods, Jory and I trekked, this time with him on my back to get to the front of the hospital. As we were about to exit, I asked the guard about my parking space. He felt my car was moderately safe and now since it was after 8PM, parking was free. I was happy not to have to walk more with Jory and pay seven dollars to park, but on the other hand I wish I would have known this before we walked all the way up to the front. I was so tempted to stop at what must be the 24 hour McD’s, but I stayed strong and resisted. I was staying faithfully to my diet.
Another guard saw us walking back and smiled, “Stretching the legs?”
I just nodded and smiled back, what was I going to say. Finally I couldn’t do it any longer and I had to put Jory down. Pulling a toy van out of his pocket, he got on his hands and knees and began pushing his van down the hallway. For a second, I thought how gross, but my arms, back, and hip were gratefully for the break. We turned down the hallway, but it didn’t look right.
“No, Mommy, we need to go the other way.”
Praise God for little boys with great sense of directions. I love this male gene. I love this little boy.
I checked with the guard to make sure our name hadn’t been called and sadly he said, no. We went back to the waiting room only to discover there was only one chair. Jory sat in my lap as I dozed off and on, until he woke me for another bathroom run.
This time our game was on point and there was no cleanup necessary. SCORE! We returned to the waiting room to find new families and only one children’s chair available. I placed Jory in the chair, leaned against the available wall space a chair away from him and dozed.
After another bathroom run, we heard it. We heard his name being called. Grabbing our stuff quickly, I threw my baby on my hip and walked as fast as I could, so we would not be forgotten. Four hours after arriving to the ER, we were in a room with a toddler who was sick. Really, do we have to be surrounded by sick children? My son is healthy and I want to keep him that way.
(In the ER room)
Fifteen minutes later, a doctor came in and took our information. I gave him the bottles of anti-biotics Jory had been taken. As he rattled off the names of the drugs I thought, that was hot. I’ve got Grey’s on a season pass. I watch Grey’s Junior, when I have nothing else to watch on Hulu. But hearing this doctor say the hard-to-pronounce names of the drugs without missing a beat somehow sounded sexy and he wasn’t even that hot, but that ability inched him up the hotness scale. Who knew I would ever find that hot?
The doctor looked at his foot and asked what happened. I stated that Jory had a splinter and part of it must have broken off in his foot. The doctor decided to put some cream which numbed, on the bottom of Jory’s foot, but he warned me it might not work since the bottom of our feet is a tough area to deaden.
(The deadening cream with a bandage on top)
He also ordered X-Rays so we were off on another journey. Left, right, right, left. We arrived at a ghost town or rather the X-Ray department.
“Hello,” I called out in the empty room.
We looked down the empty hallway. No other humans appeared to be around until suddenly a man questioned, “No one’s in there?” He gave us a little scare. He looked in the X-Ray waiting room, and then told us to follow him.
I laid Jory on the X-Ray bed that was hard and just had sheet on top of it. The X-Ray technician put a shield on Jory’s private parts.
“Why are you putting that there?” my baby questioned.
“To carry on the family name and make sure mom gets some grandkids,” he responded back.
Jory didn’t understand that answer, but I smiled and approved of this technician’s way of thinking. And like the brave boy he had been through the whole ordeal, Jory let his foot be positioned to take X-Rays from all sides. When the technician stepped out of the room, I snapped some pictures. This was our first time to the ER, happening around the same time I went to the ER for the first time many, many moons ago. This needed to be documented.
“First trip to the ER, huh?” another technician said from behind me.
I sheepishly nodded.
Our technician came in and said, “Come look at your X-Rays.”
He picked Jory up and we went into the other room to see a needle in Jory’s foot. As plain as a day that was definitely a needle in my son’s foot. Where in the world did he find a needle in our non-sewing household? Our household is so non-sewing that he and Rowan can’t even get the badges they earn in AWANA put on their vests.
Back to the ER we went following my brown eyed boy’s impeccable directions. I laid him on the bed and waited for the doctor again. He called us into the other room to see the X-Rays.
“How did you get a needle in your foot?” he asked Jory.
“I put my foot on the nightstand to get on Mommy’s bed and it went into my foot, but the top was broken off,” the six-year-old answered.
Wait, why is this the first time I’m hearing this version of events? Where did the needle come from? Why is the eye of the needle not on the needle? I think three someones might have gotten into Oma’s sewing container.
The doctor turned to me as I was shaking my head and told me he would try to get the needle out since it looked close to the surface, but if he wasn’t successful Jory would have to be admitted and a surgeon would have to get it out.
Some shady happenings go down one Sunday night a week before and now there’s a possibility of surgery? Are you kidding me?! Uh, did I sign up for this?
He told me in case he had to dig around for the needle; he was going to put Jory in a haze. I agreed to the haze and walked behind him as he carried Jory to the next room. The kind nurse with the amazingly perky voice for midnight and the male nurse prepped Jory for the procedure. They took his blood pressure, hooked him up to the heart monitor, and answered Jory’s questions throughout. Then came time to put the IV in and unexpectantly my son turned into the Hulk. Jodi, I’m sure with “I” because that would fit her voice, commented on his strength as the male nurse stepped in to hold down Jory’s arm as she inserted the IV into my crying baby.
("He's alive!" exclaimed Dr. Frankenstein.)
(Iicky IV!)
Once she was done taping it down, Jory asked for it to be removed but she told him he needed it for the medicine. A few minutes later the tears were dried and she came back with the medicine. She inserted it into the IV as I watched the doctor clean Jory’s foot. I tried to seem like a concerned mother, but I really wanted to see what the doctor was doing. It was like I was on my own episode of the truly missed show, Trauma in the ER on the truly missed network, Discovery Health.
I heard Jodi ask Jory to take a deep breath, once, then twice. Then she said, he’s already asleep. It took him two seconds to get knocked out. I thought I should hold his hand so they’ll think I’m a good mother, as I tried to watch the doctor lance Jory’s sore.
Looking up at my son, I was slightly freaked out because his eyes were wide open. Uh, okay, that’s not strange at all. Seeing my reaction, Jodi assured me that most people’s eyes are wide open like that, and Jory might start to twitch or his tongue might start hanging out his mouth, and all of it was normal. I nodded, and then picked up his hand. It was cold. Okay, this officially upgraded from slightly freaky to completely freaky. What am I holding the hand of a dead person? I thought about mentioning it, but thought Jodi might think I was weird so I kept mum.
I rubbed Jory’s hand to warm it up as the hot doctor commented that there wasn’t a lot of pus in the sore. It hadn’t looked like it to me either. It was mostly dead skin so I watched as he trimmed away dead skin. He told me as the sore healed and for a few weeks afterwards it would look a little ugly, but in the end it would be fine. I thought we can live with an ugly looking sore turned scab on the bottom of Jory’s foot.
He picked up the long tweezers, as Jory’s tongue started hanging out of his mouth, and pulled. Slowly he pulled the needle out. The hole is deep; it looks as if the body was trying to rid itself of the foreign body, the doctor stated, as he put the needle into a see through container.
A needle in my son’s foot for eight days. How odd, yet amazing.
Thankfully the needle didn’t cause a bone infection, the doctor continued, or he would have been taking anti-biotics for months.
Praise God for that, I agreed silently. God truly protected my baby from having the needle cause serious damage.
(The final result)
The doctor and male nurse bid us adieu and left Jodi and I behind to wake Jory. She said, it could take five to fifteen minutes for him to come out of it, but it might be slightly more difficult for him since it was 1AM and he would naturally be sleep around this time.
“Mommy,” Jory called to me.
“Yes, baby,” I answered, rubbing his hand.
“I can’t see anything,” he responded.
I rubbed his face. “Mommy’s right here.”
“Close your eyes for a little while and rest,” Jodi suggested.
Jory closed his eyes tightly.
I wanted to laugh that was no way to close your eyes to rest.
He opened his eyes back up and the fun began. It’s trippy watching your son come out of a drugged out state. He saw stars. He stared at his fingers and hands like they were doing something magically. He’d call for me, ask for his bear, and then say he still couldn’t see anything. He said nonsensical words and made odd sounds. I wanted to laugh out loud, but thought it might not be appropriate to laugh at him in his condition.
After about fifteen minutes, he came out of it.
(Poor baby!)
He knew how many fingers Jodi was holding up on both hands, but he was sleepy as all get out. And a sleepy Jory is a whiny, nightmarish Jory. Jodi asked him to take a few sips of cherry flavored Gatorade, but he refused. He cried. He put his hand to his mouth. No amount of rubbing, coaxing, bribing, on either of our parts worked to get him to drink. Finally Jodi offered him some Sprite and he perked up and agreed to drink that. She left quickly and returned with a small can. She told him if he drank a few sips and kept it down, he could go home and sleep in his own bed. I held the cup to his lips and he took a few sips. Score! Maybe we could get home before the sun came up on the Santa Monica Boulevard.
We waited for a few minutes to make sure he kept it down while I ruined my diet and drank the Sprite and Gatorade. I wanted us to get out of there fast. Jodi gave us the all clear; I signed our release papers, thanked her profusely, and seated my baby in the wheelchair she provided.
Left, right, left, over the fields, down the hallway, pass the Giraffe elevators, and we were back at the front of the hospital, with a slight pause for photo ops and a temptation to stop at Mc D’s. I picked up Jory and we walked out and around, down Sunset to the car. Score, no ticket! I lowered the seat, put him in, put his seatbelt on, and then got in the car. We were on our way home.
Amazing how quickly you get home when there are no cars on the street at 1:45AM, even if you take a slight detour because you’re driving down an unfamiliar street and the car lights, street lights, and signals make it impossible for you to see the name of the streets. We got home, I swiftly undressed him, put his jammies on, and put him to bed, where I quickly followed with the theme song of Merlin humming us to sleep as our first and hopefully last adventure to the ER came to a close.
My baby
I can't believe Jory is six. He's six and adding double digit columns. He's solving word problems. He's reading books. In a few months, he'll be graduating from kindergarten. My baby, my first baby is getting older. I carry him on my hip and his leg tries to impede my walking haning there between my own. I switch him from one hip to another hip. Then from my hips to the front, but now it's easier if he's on my back. The weight seems less.
As I shift Jory around various parts of my body and back to my hip, I look up into his face and think, I need to enjoy this time. As I carry these forty-two pounds, I know that soon he will get too heavy for me to even attempt to carry. That one day he'll probably be able to pick me up. That these are my last days to carry my baby and I should enjoy each and every moment even as I move him to the other hip to give the carrying hip a break. How did we go from newborn to six in a blink of an eye?
As I shift Jory around various parts of my body and back to my hip, I look up into his face and think, I need to enjoy this time. As I carry these forty-two pounds, I know that soon he will get too heavy for me to even attempt to carry. That one day he'll probably be able to pick me up. That these are my last days to carry my baby and I should enjoy each and every moment even as I move him to the other hip to give the carrying hip a break. How did we go from newborn to six in a blink of an eye?
Monday, April 25, 2011
"Receive Him" as recited by Jory
You can believe in God's Only Son;
who wants to take your sins away.
He's patiently waiting for you to come,
won't you believe and receive Him today?
who wants to take your sins away.
He's patiently waiting for you to come,
won't you believe and receive Him today?
"Not Many Words" as recited by Rowan
Not many words,
But a lot I'll say
Christ our Lord
Is Risen today!
But a lot I'll say
Christ our Lord
Is Risen today!
"Hi" as recited by Layla
Hi!
I just came (by) to say,
"(Have a) Happy Easter Day!"
Parenthesises are the words she decided to take out.
I just came (by) to say,
"(Have a) Happy Easter Day!"
Parenthesises are the words she decided to take out.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Back to el doctor
Brought the girls again because- - I don't really know why. I thought it was easier? Or maybe I was just high. El doctor looks at Jory's foot and is not happy. He thinks it hasn't been soaked enough. Uh, I can't help if Oma and Happy don't want to see their baby in pain. He seemingly doesn't understand this. Has he really never met a grandmother who doesn't like to see her first grandchild cry? Or rather doesn't want to hear it?
I try to show that the redness on the side of Jory's foot has gone down. He quickly corrects me and says that's not redness that's infection and Jory will have to go to the hospital if this turns into a staph infection. He says I told you to soak it not as a suggestion, but to avoid going to the hospital. I said, I understood and I would make sure the older women who adore Jory understand too. This answer didn't seem to satisfy him.
He called in Jory's doctor. Thank you, Jesus. He got her opinion. She asked Jory how it happened. He gave her some song and dance that equated to he didn't know. I love this woman. She's such a great doctor. She has a wonderful bedside manner. She's caring.
I know the other doctor is a recognized doctor in his field and is well-known, but I realized if you act gimpy and you're hot, that's acceptable. Or if you're gimpy and charming that's acceptable a la Simon Baker on The Mentalist or House. But if you're just gimpy so not hot or cool.
Our wonderful doctor consulted and they decided more soaking was necessary, more anti-biotics were needed and for Jory to come back the next day. And if there was no improvement, we'd be off to the el hospital.
I try to show that the redness on the side of Jory's foot has gone down. He quickly corrects me and says that's not redness that's infection and Jory will have to go to the hospital if this turns into a staph infection. He says I told you to soak it not as a suggestion, but to avoid going to the hospital. I said, I understood and I would make sure the older women who adore Jory understand too. This answer didn't seem to satisfy him.
He called in Jory's doctor. Thank you, Jesus. He got her opinion. She asked Jory how it happened. He gave her some song and dance that equated to he didn't know. I love this woman. She's such a great doctor. She has a wonderful bedside manner. She's caring.
I know the other doctor is a recognized doctor in his field and is well-known, but I realized if you act gimpy and you're hot, that's acceptable. Or if you're gimpy and charming that's acceptable a la Simon Baker on The Mentalist or House. But if you're just gimpy so not hot or cool.
Our wonderful doctor consulted and they decided more soaking was necessary, more anti-biotics were needed and for Jory to come back the next day. And if there was no improvement, we'd be off to the el hospital.
Soaking
The no bedside manner having doctor told me Jory's foot needed to be soaked as much as possible so the sore/bump could burst and the pus could ooze out on its own without him having to intervene.
I told this to Oma, after picking her up on Tuesday after we left the doctor, when I got home it really hadn't been done. Why? Why, because Jory was screaming and crying. Uh yeah, but he needs to get better. He needs for the sore on the ball of his foot to go away so he can walk on both his feet and not me carrying him for the rest of his life. But her grandson's comfort more important than his foot getting better, obviously. I guess this is something I'll understand better when Jory has kids. I wonder if I'll be carrying him around still then?
Well, it did get soaked a little when Aunt Brenda came over. Thank God for Aunt Brenda and her medical training. She can stay so calm and cool when her sister wants to lose it.
So I came home and had to put the smack down. And I learned that you can have story time and devotional time while your daughters sit on the bathroom rug, as you sit on the edge of the bathtub with your son, making sure his foot stays in the warm water, while he's bawling and sometimes screaming. It's amazing as a mother the things you learn to ignore. Awesome ability that is. Is that a superpower ability?
I told this to Oma, after picking her up on Tuesday after we left the doctor, when I got home it really hadn't been done. Why? Why, because Jory was screaming and crying. Uh yeah, but he needs to get better. He needs for the sore on the ball of his foot to go away so he can walk on both his feet and not me carrying him for the rest of his life. But her grandson's comfort more important than his foot getting better, obviously. I guess this is something I'll understand better when Jory has kids. I wonder if I'll be carrying him around still then?
Well, it did get soaked a little when Aunt Brenda came over. Thank God for Aunt Brenda and her medical training. She can stay so calm and cool when her sister wants to lose it.
So I came home and had to put the smack down. And I learned that you can have story time and devotional time while your daughters sit on the bathroom rug, as you sit on the edge of the bathtub with your son, making sure his foot stays in the warm water, while he's bawling and sometimes screaming. It's amazing as a mother the things you learn to ignore. Awesome ability that is. Is that a superpower ability?
Are you serious?!
Jory didn't sleep well on Sunday night. He kept waking up periodically saying his foot hurt. I wasn't sure if it really hurt or it was the memory of his foot hurting or if he was just Jory being all male aka "I'm dying" about his foot. For a second I panicked, maybe when he jumped off the bed he hit his toes and they're broken. I quickly turned on
the light, checked out his toes, and even though he cried I made him wiggle his toes so I could make sure they weren't broken. His big toe and its side companion moved so we were all good on the broken front.
On Monday, it was obvious he couldn't go to school so Aunt Brenda, who is also a nurse, took him home with her. She said, well his toe could be fractured and if it is he would still be able to move his toe. Thanks for that uplifting piece of knowledge, Auntie. They were off with promises to call when she got home. I prayed his toes were fractured.
A few hours later, she called to say she didn't think his toes were fractured, but that he did have a sore on the ball of his foot and she thought some of the splinter might have remained in his foot. So a trip to the doctor was in order.
On Monday, I called the doctor's office to make an walk-in appointment. The scheduling nurse told me all their walk-in appointments had been filled so we would have to come in on Tuesday to see the doctor. Really!?!? Really?! So if I walked into the doctor's office with my crying son, who can't walk on his left foot, he wouldn't be seen? I highly doubted this, but I couldn't take off work and Oma was feeling well so she didn't feel like waiting for a few hours in the doctor's office to test the theory so I made the appointment for Tuesday morning.
I took everyone to the doctor with me and I was slightly apprehensive because I took an appointment not with Jory's regular, wonderful, kindhearted doctor, but with one of the other ones. We were sent to an exam room, the doctor walked in and he gave stickers to the girls, talked to Jory, and seemed very pleasant. Look-a-there, I thought, the doctor has discovered his bedside manner. Then he looked at Jory's foot, then turned to talk to me and I thought, nope, it's only for kids. He still has the bedside manner of a ganat. Yep, a ganat. UGH!
As he was, I'm sure in his own head gently reprimanding me, for not bringing Jory into the office sooner, it was on the tip of my tongue to rat out his scheduling person, but I held my tongue. Jory got some anti-biotics and we were off.
Let me say carrying around 42 pounds is extremely different and more difficult than carrying around 25 pounds. And it's difficult to keep the Irish twins contained when I'm carting Jory around. When the baby is on my hip, we are still steppin'. We're not missing a beat. But with my first baby on my hip, yikes! When did 42 pounds become so heavy? Or rather when did my firstborn start weighing two tons of fun?!?!
And on top of the carrying issue, Oma kept calling wanting updates. I finally had to ignore her calls. She obviously had never been to the doctor carrying a six-year-old, while making sure a four-year-old and a three-year-old didn't find any mischief in the doctor's office or get off on the wrong floor while riding the elevator, while carrying a heavy purse.
How did we end up here from a simple splinter?
the light, checked out his toes, and even though he cried I made him wiggle his toes so I could make sure they weren't broken. His big toe and its side companion moved so we were all good on the broken front.
On Monday, it was obvious he couldn't go to school so Aunt Brenda, who is also a nurse, took him home with her. She said, well his toe could be fractured and if it is he would still be able to move his toe. Thanks for that uplifting piece of knowledge, Auntie. They were off with promises to call when she got home. I prayed his toes were fractured.
A few hours later, she called to say she didn't think his toes were fractured, but that he did have a sore on the ball of his foot and she thought some of the splinter might have remained in his foot. So a trip to the doctor was in order.
On Monday, I called the doctor's office to make an walk-in appointment. The scheduling nurse told me all their walk-in appointments had been filled so we would have to come in on Tuesday to see the doctor. Really!?!? Really?! So if I walked into the doctor's office with my crying son, who can't walk on his left foot, he wouldn't be seen? I highly doubted this, but I couldn't take off work and Oma was feeling well so she didn't feel like waiting for a few hours in the doctor's office to test the theory so I made the appointment for Tuesday morning.
I took everyone to the doctor with me and I was slightly apprehensive because I took an appointment not with Jory's regular, wonderful, kindhearted doctor, but with one of the other ones. We were sent to an exam room, the doctor walked in and he gave stickers to the girls, talked to Jory, and seemed very pleasant. Look-a-there, I thought, the doctor has discovered his bedside manner. Then he looked at Jory's foot, then turned to talk to me and I thought, nope, it's only for kids. He still has the bedside manner of a ganat. Yep, a ganat. UGH!
As he was, I'm sure in his own head gently reprimanding me, for not bringing Jory into the office sooner, it was on the tip of my tongue to rat out his scheduling person, but I held my tongue. Jory got some anti-biotics and we were off.
Let me say carrying around 42 pounds is extremely different and more difficult than carrying around 25 pounds. And it's difficult to keep the Irish twins contained when I'm carting Jory around. When the baby is on my hip, we are still steppin'. We're not missing a beat. But with my first baby on my hip, yikes! When did 42 pounds become so heavy? Or rather when did my firstborn start weighing two tons of fun?!?!
And on top of the carrying issue, Oma kept calling wanting updates. I finally had to ignore her calls. She obviously had never been to the doctor carrying a six-year-old, while making sure a four-year-old and a three-year-old didn't find any mischief in the doctor's office or get off on the wrong floor while riding the elevator, while carrying a heavy purse.
How did we end up here from a simple splinter?
The end of an era
There was a routine in the summers. Ryan's Hope, Loving, followed by All My Children, One Life to Live, General Hospital, and Edge of Night were watched like clockwork. Lunch would be made and served either during All My Children or One Life to Live. After Edge went off, the kitchen was cleaned and Uno or Spades was played either at the kitchen table or outside in the backyard on a blanket. This was my summer routine with Mona, Monday through Friday.
And to hear last week that AMC and OLTL were going off the air hurt me. I no longer watched the shows, but I was familiar with the main characters still, got updates from time to time. Soap operas, called that because soap companies advertised during the shows, were something I grew up with and still watched as an adult. My first theme song I remembered hearing as a child was the haunting chords of The Young and the Restless. I knew the words to OLTL's theme song when they had one. I watched when they did live episodes. I probably know the Martins' or Buchannans' family history better than my own.
An era of television is dying. Shows that have existed for over thirty years on television, some shows that started in radio, made the jump to television, went from fifteen minutes to thirty minutes to an hour, from black and white to color, are leaving the airways. Why aren't more people outraged? Yes, it is true all of primetime is a soap opera. Most shows aren't bottled episodes. Yes, you can jump into The Good Wife at anytime, but the show will have more meaning if you know the back history of the characters and have been watching from day one.
I hope soaps return in some form one day. But for now, I'll just be sad that an era that was passed down from one generation to another is slowing and painfully going away and I might not be able to pass it down to my kids as it was passed down to me.
And to hear last week that AMC and OLTL were going off the air hurt me. I no longer watched the shows, but I was familiar with the main characters still, got updates from time to time. Soap operas, called that because soap companies advertised during the shows, were something I grew up with and still watched as an adult. My first theme song I remembered hearing as a child was the haunting chords of The Young and the Restless. I knew the words to OLTL's theme song when they had one. I watched when they did live episodes. I probably know the Martins' or Buchannans' family history better than my own.
An era of television is dying. Shows that have existed for over thirty years on television, some shows that started in radio, made the jump to television, went from fifteen minutes to thirty minutes to an hour, from black and white to color, are leaving the airways. Why aren't more people outraged? Yes, it is true all of primetime is a soap opera. Most shows aren't bottled episodes. Yes, you can jump into The Good Wife at anytime, but the show will have more meaning if you know the back history of the characters and have been watching from day one.
I hope soaps return in some form one day. But for now, I'll just be sad that an era that was passed down from one generation to another is slowing and painfully going away and I might not be able to pass it down to my kids as it was passed down to me.
Mysteries of life
I was chillin' at home watching Arsenio Hall- - okay, I wasn't but I had to write that after I started my sentence with "I was chillin'." I was chillin' on the sofa with my mommy when I heard a scream, it wasn't the baby's or Rowan's, which meant I had to rush into my room. Jory's screaming meant something was wrong. The girls' screams mean anything from something's wrong to the earth is still spinning.
I went into the room and Jory indicated something was in his foot as tears streamed down his face. I sat him down and looked at the bottom of his foot. I saw something sticking out, a splinter. Where did he get a splinter from? I removed the splinter, wiped up the trickle of blood, and placed him on the bed.
How did this happen, I asked.
The baby was silent.
Rowan said, Jory fell onto the part of my cell charger that plugs into my phone. Yeah, that wouldn't have caused a splinter or make him bleed.
Jory was still bawling.
I felt on the side of the bed to see if wood was missing. I checked the floors, but there was nothing there. What happened? I suspected, the fall was due in part to jumping on the bed, but I couldn't prove that.
Leaving a calmed down Jory and quiet girls, I walked back into the other room with Oma. As I sat on the sofa next to her, I realized I would never get the full story or the true story or the real story on what happened in my room on this Sunday night before bedtime. And I thought this probably wouldn't be the last time this would happen. There would be other times were the truth behind the accident would remain a mystery due to trauma, confusion at that time, or because of sibling silence.
I went into the room and Jory indicated something was in his foot as tears streamed down his face. I sat him down and looked at the bottom of his foot. I saw something sticking out, a splinter. Where did he get a splinter from? I removed the splinter, wiped up the trickle of blood, and placed him on the bed.
How did this happen, I asked.
The baby was silent.
Rowan said, Jory fell onto the part of my cell charger that plugs into my phone. Yeah, that wouldn't have caused a splinter or make him bleed.
Jory was still bawling.
I felt on the side of the bed to see if wood was missing. I checked the floors, but there was nothing there. What happened? I suspected, the fall was due in part to jumping on the bed, but I couldn't prove that.
Leaving a calmed down Jory and quiet girls, I walked back into the other room with Oma. As I sat on the sofa next to her, I realized I would never get the full story or the true story or the real story on what happened in my room on this Sunday night before bedtime. And I thought this probably wouldn't be the last time this would happen. There would be other times were the truth behind the accident would remain a mystery due to trauma, confusion at that time, or because of sibling silence.
Sizzler
Driving home the other day, I noticed the Sizzler near my home was being torn down. I was saddened by this. It was a nice go to place after church, though I hadn't been in a month of Sundays, but it was also a place that held history for my family.
It was the restaurant where my family celebrated my Grandma's last birthday. I can clearly recall my whole family in the "private" section spending time with each other, eating, laughing, not knowing it would be the last time we would share a meal with my Grandma, not knowing it would be her last birthday on earth, not knowing it would be one of the last times we would see her alert and not in a coma having continuous mini-strokes.
It was the site where Whitney, Melody, and I went after they had their surprise meeting with Jory. They had been home for Christmas and they came over so we could have dinner and catch up on our Christmases. I went to get my jacket so we could leave, and go to Sizzler, and I returned with three-week-old Jory sleeping in his carseat. They were shocked to say the least. They were still flabbergasted as we ate our steak, seafood, and salad.
It might have been Layla's first restaurant visit in the US and the place we celebrated Rowan's second birthday. As we stood in line, an older woman asked, "Are they twins?" The girls were dressed in their matching pink joggig suits. I wanted to say, yes, but alas I could not and I said, "No." I should have said, "Yes, Irish twins." But I was new to the game then.
Some important family memories were made at that Sizzler. It will be missed. Steak, seafood, salad, Sizzler.
It was the restaurant where my family celebrated my Grandma's last birthday. I can clearly recall my whole family in the "private" section spending time with each other, eating, laughing, not knowing it would be the last time we would share a meal with my Grandma, not knowing it would be her last birthday on earth, not knowing it would be one of the last times we would see her alert and not in a coma having continuous mini-strokes.
It was the site where Whitney, Melody, and I went after they had their surprise meeting with Jory. They had been home for Christmas and they came over so we could have dinner and catch up on our Christmases. I went to get my jacket so we could leave, and go to Sizzler, and I returned with three-week-old Jory sleeping in his carseat. They were shocked to say the least. They were still flabbergasted as we ate our steak, seafood, and salad.
It might have been Layla's first restaurant visit in the US and the place we celebrated Rowan's second birthday. As we stood in line, an older woman asked, "Are they twins?" The girls were dressed in their matching pink joggig suits. I wanted to say, yes, but alas I could not and I said, "No." I should have said, "Yes, Irish twins." But I was new to the game then.
Some important family memories were made at that Sizzler. It will be missed. Steak, seafood, salad, Sizzler.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Hollywood
I had to get to the bottom of Hollywood.
"Rowan, what is Hollywood?" I asked.
"It's where you go. It's far away. I want to go to Hollywood," she answered.
"You sing a song and if they like it, you get to go to Hollywood," Jory added.
Ahh, the power of television and children who get older.
"And if you don't sing well, the police will take you to jail," he continued.
Umm, okay. That's an interesting twist. He does have a good point, some of those kids do need to carted off to jail for murdering our ear drums.
"Rowan, what is Hollywood?" I asked.
"It's where you go. It's far away. I want to go to Hollywood," she answered.
"You sing a song and if they like it, you get to go to Hollywood," Jory added.
Ahh, the power of television and children who get older.
"And if you don't sing well, the police will take you to jail," he continued.
Umm, okay. That's an interesting twist. He does have a good point, some of those kids do need to carted off to jail for murdering our ear drums.
"Mommy, that's a lot
of people," Rowan commented, referring to the group of high schoolers walking in the opposite direction of their school.
Jory climbed into the car and said, "Mommy, that's a lot of people," referring to the same group of kids.
Rowan nodded her head in agreement. "Oh, I know where they're going?"
"Where are they going?" I inquired.
"To Hollywood," she answered.
Hollywood? "Hollywood? Why are they going to Hollywood?" How did she even know what Hollywood is? Or where it is? Did she learn this word from Hollywood week on American Idol? We really didn't even watch Hollywood week this year.
"They are going to Hollywood."
Hmm, I wonder what she thinks Hollywood is exactly.
Jory climbed into the car and said, "Mommy, that's a lot of people," referring to the same group of kids.
Rowan nodded her head in agreement. "Oh, I know where they're going?"
"Where are they going?" I inquired.
"To Hollywood," she answered.
Hollywood? "Hollywood? Why are they going to Hollywood?" How did she even know what Hollywood is? Or where it is? Did she learn this word from Hollywood week on American Idol? We really didn't even watch Hollywood week this year.
"They are going to Hollywood."
Hmm, I wonder what she thinks Hollywood is exactly.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Is it possible
that I have the world's worst sleepers as children? I think Layla might be the worse of the three, but that's not saying much because the other two are no short stops. But what's amazing is their ability to speak clearly and coherently in their sleep.
Scene - dead of night
"Mommy, the baby's head is on my legs," Jory says.
I wake up at the sound of his voice, feel down for his legs which for once are actually downwards and not sideways or upwards, and sure enough I touch the baby's head. I reposition her as she grunts, Jory straightens his legs and just like that my son is asleep again. Was he ever really awake?
"Roro get off of me!" the baby's cries pierce the night.
Rowan, if she's awake enough, gets off her sister if she's awake enough to hear her, if not I intervene and remove her. While both girls sleep as if nothing's happened.
"Baby, get off my head," Rowan says in the middle of the night.
"Move your legs, Jory," the baby screams in her sleep.
Why is that they make each other their pillows in the middle of the night or in the twilight hours of the new day? How is it that they scream, cry, yell, to get someone off of them and yet are asleep the next instant the person moves or is moved? How did I end up with three such horrible sleepers? Can I wrap them up in a cocoon like thingy to teach them how to sleep the correct way?
Scene - dead of night
"Mommy, the baby's head is on my legs," Jory says.
I wake up at the sound of his voice, feel down for his legs which for once are actually downwards and not sideways or upwards, and sure enough I touch the baby's head. I reposition her as she grunts, Jory straightens his legs and just like that my son is asleep again. Was he ever really awake?
"Roro get off of me!" the baby's cries pierce the night.
Rowan, if she's awake enough, gets off her sister if she's awake enough to hear her, if not I intervene and remove her. While both girls sleep as if nothing's happened.
"Baby, get off my head," Rowan says in the middle of the night.
"Move your legs, Jory," the baby screams in her sleep.
Why is that they make each other their pillows in the middle of the night or in the twilight hours of the new day? How is it that they scream, cry, yell, to get someone off of them and yet are asleep the next instant the person moves or is moved? How did I end up with three such horrible sleepers? Can I wrap them up in a cocoon like thingy to teach them how to sleep the correct way?
"If there's nowhere else to stay in...
Seattle, sleep in your car." That was a quote on trip advisor about a Travelodge in Seattle. How horrible must this person's experience have been for he or she to write that?! I didn't think Travelodges were that bad, but in the future I'll be avoiding them.
The last two weeks have been consumed with the very first family vacation. How is it that we've never taken a family vacation?!?! I'm not sure, but it is now being corrected. I had no thoughts when I decided last year we were going on a cruise to Alaska and I'm not sure why. I knew how difficult it was to plan a meeting for Rudy when there was more than one person in that meeting. I dreaded trying to juggle schedules of three or more people, why didn't I think of that when I planned this trip with five people to juggle?
The cruise itself wasn't a problem. It's a cruise. My hardest job is choosing which excursion to go on. I've been blessed with an awesome mom who is open to going wherever I chose and usually is happy to go on any excursion I chose. Though on the last cruise, I almost took away her power to have a vote when she couldn't decide between visiting King Tut's stuff or seeing the Pyramids. I had to bite my tongue. Was there really a question between the two? In her mind, there was sadly.
The hard part came when planning the trip to visit loved ones in Seattle beforehand. When do we leave? Do we stay at a less expensive hotel near the airport and take the train into Downtown Seattle every day? Or do we stay at the expensive hotel in the heart of the tourist traps? Who knew asking for a hotel that served free hot breakfasts and had an indoor pool would narrow my list greatly? Do these Seattle people know where they live? Why in the world would you build a hotel and give it an outdoor pool? No one cares that your pool is heated if it's raining on their head.
And who knew hotels were so expensive? I wasn't moving in, so why am I paying an arm and a leg? It's just a place to sleep and eat breakfast, and if we get back to the pool early enough, to go swimming. This reminds me of why I stick to my floating hotel when I travel.
I realized how Southwest can charge quite a bit more than they use to do since they still do this antiquated thing called "your first two bags are free" and give snacks. I remember when that was part of your ticket price. Sadly, it's not.
I also learned if I get an email from airfare watchdog I need to log on to every computer in the surrounding area and buy my tickets. As soon as I finished purchasing my ticket and refreshed the page, the deal was gone. Are you serious?!?! Then I was stuck. I had to keep buying from them since I couldn't let the kids fly in on a later plane by themselves or on a cheaper airline. Oh the joys! Though once you throw in the cost of luggage, I got the same deal the other airlines were offering.
I printed out things to do from a mom's traveling blog. I'll have to weed through them and see what we're actually going to do cause if this Mommy isn't entertained then no one is entertained. Space Needle and Pike Market Place are the two most do activities on day one. Everything else is gravy. Things will be a little tight since now we only have 2 1/2 days in the city.
Praise God for great friends saying the right thing at the right time. I was planning our trip with no consideration of upfronts. Can you imagine me being somewhere other than work for upfronts? I most have been high when I started planning this trip. Thankfully our trip was after CBS' upfronts, but not CW's so instead of spending all day Thursday in Seattle, we'll hit the ground running on Friday morning.
Me, three kids, double stroller, four backpacks, two pieces of luggage, and a carry-on alone in a big city. This is definitely going to be an adventure.
The last two weeks have been consumed with the very first family vacation. How is it that we've never taken a family vacation?!?! I'm not sure, but it is now being corrected. I had no thoughts when I decided last year we were going on a cruise to Alaska and I'm not sure why. I knew how difficult it was to plan a meeting for Rudy when there was more than one person in that meeting. I dreaded trying to juggle schedules of three or more people, why didn't I think of that when I planned this trip with five people to juggle?
The cruise itself wasn't a problem. It's a cruise. My hardest job is choosing which excursion to go on. I've been blessed with an awesome mom who is open to going wherever I chose and usually is happy to go on any excursion I chose. Though on the last cruise, I almost took away her power to have a vote when she couldn't decide between visiting King Tut's stuff or seeing the Pyramids. I had to bite my tongue. Was there really a question between the two? In her mind, there was sadly.
The hard part came when planning the trip to visit loved ones in Seattle beforehand. When do we leave? Do we stay at a less expensive hotel near the airport and take the train into Downtown Seattle every day? Or do we stay at the expensive hotel in the heart of the tourist traps? Who knew asking for a hotel that served free hot breakfasts and had an indoor pool would narrow my list greatly? Do these Seattle people know where they live? Why in the world would you build a hotel and give it an outdoor pool? No one cares that your pool is heated if it's raining on their head.
And who knew hotels were so expensive? I wasn't moving in, so why am I paying an arm and a leg? It's just a place to sleep and eat breakfast, and if we get back to the pool early enough, to go swimming. This reminds me of why I stick to my floating hotel when I travel.
I realized how Southwest can charge quite a bit more than they use to do since they still do this antiquated thing called "your first two bags are free" and give snacks. I remember when that was part of your ticket price. Sadly, it's not.
I also learned if I get an email from airfare watchdog I need to log on to every computer in the surrounding area and buy my tickets. As soon as I finished purchasing my ticket and refreshed the page, the deal was gone. Are you serious?!?! Then I was stuck. I had to keep buying from them since I couldn't let the kids fly in on a later plane by themselves or on a cheaper airline. Oh the joys! Though once you throw in the cost of luggage, I got the same deal the other airlines were offering.
I printed out things to do from a mom's traveling blog. I'll have to weed through them and see what we're actually going to do cause if this Mommy isn't entertained then no one is entertained. Space Needle and Pike Market Place are the two most do activities on day one. Everything else is gravy. Things will be a little tight since now we only have 2 1/2 days in the city.
Praise God for great friends saying the right thing at the right time. I was planning our trip with no consideration of upfronts. Can you imagine me being somewhere other than work for upfronts? I most have been high when I started planning this trip. Thankfully our trip was after CBS' upfronts, but not CW's so instead of spending all day Thursday in Seattle, we'll hit the ground running on Friday morning.
Me, three kids, double stroller, four backpacks, two pieces of luggage, and a carry-on alone in a big city. This is definitely going to be an adventure.
Yippee!!!
On Friday, I learned I'm getting forty-seven thousand dollars and some change back from the IRS. How awesome is that?!?! Praise God from whom all blessings flow. I wasn't expecting this much. This could definitely be the way to follow Dave Ramsey's plan and be debt free.
Yep, I looked at the computer screen as the H & R Block guy went to the return screen and I saw the number for myself. He looked at the number too.
"I haven't really done adoption tax credit. I'm going to call The Wolf (okay, the guy's name wasn't The Wolf but you get what I'm saying, right, and if you don't I'm crying on the inside) who will be available on Monday and I'll ask and talk to him about it," the H & R Block guy said.
I nodded my head. "Yes, I think that's a good idea."
Yep, I looked at the computer screen as the H & R Block guy went to the return screen and I saw the number for myself. He looked at the number too.
"I haven't really done adoption tax credit. I'm going to call The Wolf (okay, the guy's name wasn't The Wolf but you get what I'm saying, right, and if you don't I'm crying on the inside) who will be available on Monday and I'll ask and talk to him about it," the H & R Block guy said.
I nodded my head. "Yes, I think that's a good idea."
Oma, you're not
helping. Jory decided he wanted to spend Sunday with Oma so I let him. We got to church pretty close to on time being one kid down. We had a good time. Someone was generously giving away videos and I found a Psalty video. PSALTY!!!!! How awesome is that? I remember sitting in the library at Redeemer and Psalty movies being projected on the wall. This is AWESOME!!!
But I digress, we leave church and come home only to find out that no one is there. Oma isn't answering the door so of course then the first words out of Rowan's mouth are, "Are you going to have to call 9-1-1?"
"No, Oma just ran to the store I'm sure. She'll be right back."
And twenty minutes later, Oma, Jory, and Aunt Brenda did arrive. But this not being home when we came home not helping at all with the 9-1-1 talks.
But I digress, we leave church and come home only to find out that no one is there. Oma isn't answering the door so of course then the first words out of Rowan's mouth are, "Are you going to have to call 9-1-1?"
"No, Oma just ran to the store I'm sure. She'll be right back."
And twenty minutes later, Oma, Jory, and Aunt Brenda did arrive. But this not being home when we came home not helping at all with the 9-1-1 talks.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Me and my boy
After discovering our swimming pool was closed, I decided Jory and I would run errands as a dynamic duo. It was as exciting as running errands can be, but it was nice spending some alone time with my big boy. He said he was hungry, so at the bread store he got to choose a Hostess treat of his choice. He chose the pink balls of sugary goodness and I got him some cookies n' cream milk to swish it down with.
My wishy-washy baby is gone. Once upon a time, I could tempt him with a few choices and I would ultimately have to choose for him, but no longer. He had a Ding Dong in his hand, but when he saw the pink balls he quickly put the Ding Dong back. I asked him if he was sure and he assured me he was. Never once did he regret his decision.
He's become a negotiator. "Why don't you get this instead of that, Mommy?" "What about this one, Mommy?" Sometimes I gave him the look, sometimes I ignored him because he was just being silly and ridiculous, and sometimes I took his suggestion.
And he's not so little anymore. He fell asleep on the way to the bank, so I opened the hatchback to get his flippy floppy wearing self out the Odyssey that way. Those 42 1/2 pounds are nothing like those six pounds he weighed as a newborn. But I carried him on one side and my purse on the other. I carried my baby. A baby who is not so tiny and not so short at 45". As I carried him back across the street, he giggled and said, "Ouch!"
"What's wrong?" I asked concerned.
"You're hurting me."
"How am I hurting you?"
"With your hip."
"Am I hurting your penis?"
He giggled. "Yes."
My baby can't even be carried on my hip when he's awake anymore. And my baby is talking to me about his penis. Time is definitely zooming by.
My wishy-washy baby is gone. Once upon a time, I could tempt him with a few choices and I would ultimately have to choose for him, but no longer. He had a Ding Dong in his hand, but when he saw the pink balls he quickly put the Ding Dong back. I asked him if he was sure and he assured me he was. Never once did he regret his decision.
He's become a negotiator. "Why don't you get this instead of that, Mommy?" "What about this one, Mommy?" Sometimes I gave him the look, sometimes I ignored him because he was just being silly and ridiculous, and sometimes I took his suggestion.
And he's not so little anymore. He fell asleep on the way to the bank, so I opened the hatchback to get his flippy floppy wearing self out the Odyssey that way. Those 42 1/2 pounds are nothing like those six pounds he weighed as a newborn. But I carried him on one side and my purse on the other. I carried my baby. A baby who is not so tiny and not so short at 45". As I carried him back across the street, he giggled and said, "Ouch!"
"What's wrong?" I asked concerned.
"You're hurting me."
"How am I hurting you?"
"With your hip."
"Am I hurting your penis?"
He giggled. "Yes."
My baby can't even be carried on my hip when he's awake anymore. And my baby is talking to me about his penis. Time is definitely zooming by.
AWANA
I love AWANA. I heard about it when I was a kid, but I never went. Last year when I found out my old high school was the site of AWANA, I knew my kids had to go, plus I thought it was a good way to connect with homeschooling moms. Once again, like the kids' school, not the place to connect with moms really. Everyone drops their children off and scatter to the wind. Finding other moms to talk to and click with is as difficult as finding a God-fearing single man who is a family man, close to his padres but not too close, is funny, Pop culture literate, extroverted, brilliant, and wants a large family.
But I digress. This year Jory is in Sparks and they start each class by going into the gym, where I use to play volleyball from September to November, and saying the pledge of allegiance to the American flag, to the AWANA flag, they sing the AWANA song, and end in a prayer before they go back to their classrooms. It was so awesome! So awesome that something my growing boy is involved in is so awesomely Christ centered!
AWANA rocks!!!
But I digress. This year Jory is in Sparks and they start each class by going into the gym, where I use to play volleyball from September to November, and saying the pledge of allegiance to the American flag, to the AWANA flag, they sing the AWANA song, and end in a prayer before they go back to their classrooms. It was so awesome! So awesome that something my growing boy is involved in is so awesomely Christ centered!
AWANA rocks!!!
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Amazing feats...
You know what's awesome six-year-olds who know how to vacuum. Every Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday, Jory's job is to vacuum the whole house. Not only does he vacuum, he also plugs up the vacuum, wraps and unwraps the cord. We're working on making sure he not only picks up things he finds on the floor that impedes him from vacuuming, but to actually put those items where they need to go. Kids that can vacuum ROCK!!
You know what else is awesome four-year-olds who know how to turn lights on and off. This comes in handy when the baby says, "Me gotta use the bathroom. Turn the light on, please." It's nice to send a four-year-old to turn the light on. SCORE!
I'm not sure if the baby's ability to dump the contents of her potty is an amazing feat or just an amazingly scary one.
You know what else is awesome four-year-olds who know how to turn lights on and off. This comes in handy when the baby says, "Me gotta use the bathroom. Turn the light on, please." It's nice to send a four-year-old to turn the light on. SCORE!
I'm not sure if the baby's ability to dump the contents of her potty is an amazing feat or just an amazingly scary one.
"Mommy, why did you call
the police?" Rowan asked me.
When did I call the cops? What is she talking about?
"Mommy remember when you climbed over the fence?" she continued.
Uh, no. Have I entered an alternate universe? What is this little girl talking about?
"She called 9-1-1 because I thought Oma was dead in the house and we couldn't get in," Jory answered.
Oh snap! I instantly remembered as if I could forget. Rowan is talking about last summer when we had to call 9-1-1 because Oma wasn't answering the phone or the door or responding to her name being called or the honks of the horn, all because she was in a deep, deep sleep. It's officially Rowan is a big girl with an intact long term memory.
"And the police didn't come, it was the firemen and the ambulance," Jory added.
"Yes, I called 9-1-1, Rowan, because Oma didn't come to the door," I finally answered.
I wondered what brought this up, then I recalled I happened upon a fire DVD at the library called Danger Ranger. The video was all about fire safety and not calling 9-1-1 as a prank, so my kids heard that message loud and clear and started thinking about the time Mommy called 9-1-1. The things that trigger memories and the things that make you realize your oldest Irish twin isn't a little baby anymore but morphing into a big girl.
When did I call the cops? What is she talking about?
"Mommy remember when you climbed over the fence?" she continued.
Uh, no. Have I entered an alternate universe? What is this little girl talking about?
"She called 9-1-1 because I thought Oma was dead in the house and we couldn't get in," Jory answered.
Oh snap! I instantly remembered as if I could forget. Rowan is talking about last summer when we had to call 9-1-1 because Oma wasn't answering the phone or the door or responding to her name being called or the honks of the horn, all because she was in a deep, deep sleep. It's officially Rowan is a big girl with an intact long term memory.
"And the police didn't come, it was the firemen and the ambulance," Jory added.
"Yes, I called 9-1-1, Rowan, because Oma didn't come to the door," I finally answered.
I wondered what brought this up, then I recalled I happened upon a fire DVD at the library called Danger Ranger. The video was all about fire safety and not calling 9-1-1 as a prank, so my kids heard that message loud and clear and started thinking about the time Mommy called 9-1-1. The things that trigger memories and the things that make you realize your oldest Irish twin isn't a little baby anymore but morphing into a big girl.
I'm not gonna do that again, Mommy
If I had a dollar for every time I heard that I would be debt free. The baby says it like clockwork whenever she gets into trouble which has lately been for doing something to her sister. Hitting Rowan, pushing Rowan, pinching Rowan, telling Rowan she's not invited to the baby's party. Where do they learn this stuff? And before you say two words to the baby the water works starts after she confesses to the crime that Rowan says she committed.
Cry, whine, cry, sniffle, rubbing of the nose, rubbing of the eyes, and the mommy mantra all are apart of the tactic to either elicit sympathy or avoid punishment or maybe to do a bit of both.
I never thought there would be a day where, before I dropped my daughters off at school or Happy's, I would have to say, "Remember to listen and obey. And no hitting, pinching, pushing, or say anything mean to people. What does God want us to do? Love your neighbor as yourself. And what does that mean? Treat people like you want to be treated." Really? Really?! Jory never had to hear this on his morning drive to school, but alas Jory isn't the Irish twins and the Irish twins aren't Jory.
Layla needs to hear the keep your hands to yourself line more than Rowan does. While Rowan needs to hear listen and obey more than the baby does. Well really the baby needs to hear keep your hands to yourself, mostly when it comes to Rowan. Obviously she's not a crazy baby and knows she can't pull this stuff on Jory because he might not be as passive as Rowan or maybe because he weighs 42 lbs to her 25 or he's 45 1/2" to her 35", whatever the case she rarely touches him in a not nice way.
I'm not gonna do that again, Mommy, the baby says when Rowan revealed the baby threatened to spit on her. And she said it again when Jory revealed the same thing later in the evening. Ugh, spitting! Where do they learn this stuff? Why must they be such Israelites?! Darn that evil snake for whispering sweet nothings into Eve's ear!!! Deana Carter has a song entitled "Did I shave my legs for this?" and my song title would be "Did I sign up for this?"
Cry, whine, cry, sniffle, rubbing of the nose, rubbing of the eyes, and the mommy mantra all are apart of the tactic to either elicit sympathy or avoid punishment or maybe to do a bit of both.
I never thought there would be a day where, before I dropped my daughters off at school or Happy's, I would have to say, "Remember to listen and obey. And no hitting, pinching, pushing, or say anything mean to people. What does God want us to do? Love your neighbor as yourself. And what does that mean? Treat people like you want to be treated." Really? Really?! Jory never had to hear this on his morning drive to school, but alas Jory isn't the Irish twins and the Irish twins aren't Jory.
Layla needs to hear the keep your hands to yourself line more than Rowan does. While Rowan needs to hear listen and obey more than the baby does. Well really the baby needs to hear keep your hands to yourself, mostly when it comes to Rowan. Obviously she's not a crazy baby and knows she can't pull this stuff on Jory because he might not be as passive as Rowan or maybe because he weighs 42 lbs to her 25 or he's 45 1/2" to her 35", whatever the case she rarely touches him in a not nice way.
I'm not gonna do that again, Mommy, the baby says when Rowan revealed the baby threatened to spit on her. And she said it again when Jory revealed the same thing later in the evening. Ugh, spitting! Where do they learn this stuff? Why must they be such Israelites?! Darn that evil snake for whispering sweet nothings into Eve's ear!!! Deana Carter has a song entitled "Did I shave my legs for this?" and my song title would be "Did I sign up for this?"
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Layla's first day of school
I can't believe my baby...
Yesterday on Oma's birthday:
"Is the baby going to school tomorrow?" Oma asked.
"Yes," I answered.
"Oh," she responded.
"Do you not want her to start school tomorrow?"
"Can you afford it?" she retorted, then walked out of the room.
Hours later...
"So why doesn't the baby start school next month?" she questioned.
"The cruise is next month," I replied.
"Hmm, that's right."
"What if she starts in June?"
"Why?"
"You're right it's the summer. Well then, I guess she could start in September."
"Yes, September would be a great time for her to start."
I can't believe my baby starts school in September.
Yesterday on Oma's birthday:
"Is the baby going to school tomorrow?" Oma asked.
"Yes," I answered.
"Oh," she responded.
"Do you not want her to start school tomorrow?"
"Can you afford it?" she retorted, then walked out of the room.
Hours later...
"So why doesn't the baby start school next month?" she questioned.
"The cruise is next month," I replied.
"Hmm, that's right."
"What if she starts in June?"
"Why?"
"You're right it's the summer. Well then, I guess she could start in September."
"Yes, September would be a great time for her to start."
I can't believe my baby starts school in September.
Happy Birthday, Oma!
Today was Oma's birthday, we had plans. Go to church, take her to lunch, and do whatever she wanted to do. Well what did she want to do for her milestone birthday- - sleep. She slept through church, we ate around the house as my friend, Ellen calls it, the kids played. I thought we'd at least go to lunch, but I checked on her at lunchtime and she was dozing with the TV going.
So in the end her birthday was spent like she wanted it just chillin' with her family, never getting dressed and having pizza for dinner. And of course, in typical Oma fashion asking for her birthday gift to be returned.
Happy Birthday Oma! Thanks for making our lives possible! And if you truly loved us you'd find us not necessarily rich, but wealthy step-dad/grandfather type on your next cruise. The kids and I are open to being adopted and changing our last names for the right dad/grandpa. We love you!
So in the end her birthday was spent like she wanted it just chillin' with her family, never getting dressed and having pizza for dinner. And of course, in typical Oma fashion asking for her birthday gift to be returned.
Happy Birthday Oma! Thanks for making our lives possible! And if you truly loved us you'd find us not necessarily rich, but wealthy step-dad/grandfather type on your next cruise. The kids and I are open to being adopted and changing our last names for the right dad/grandpa. We love you!
Sunday, April 3, 2011
The best made plans
I had it all planned after the Dish Network technician left, TTT were going to use the money Grandma and Grandpa sent them and buy themselves breakfast at McD's. They were excited until the Dish tech took longer than expected and the walk we were going to take turned into a drive, but by the time we were ready leave McD's was no longer serving breakfast. Instead I made fried eggs, a newly learned skill, and threw them on a tortilla with meat and cheese and rolled it up. It's like I'm a cooking genius. Jory loved it.
Our new plan was going well so while Jory and the baby were eating, I decided to go vacuum. I vacuumed away until I thought did I give Rowan her food. I went to the kitchen to check only to discover, I never turned off the pan and her breakfast was now burnt. I turned to Jory and asked why he didn't tell me the food was burning.
"I was calling your name but you didn't hear me," he replied.
As I opened windows, doors, and turned on fans, I asked him, "Could I hear you over the vacuum?"
"No."
"Then why didn't you come get me to tell me the food was burning?"
He and Rowan stared blankly at me.
"If you smell something burning and I didn't hear you calling me, then you need to come get me. Do you understand?"
Yes, they nodded.
"Like this Mommy," Jory asked as he got out of his chair.
"Just like that," I answered. They can get out of their chair for a billion different reasons, but they can't get out of it to tell me the house is going to burn down?
I could tell it was going to be a day for an early nap, but instead of a nap we took Layla to get her first haircut or rather trim, I can't have her with some crazy hairstyle right before Easter. She sat in the chair like a big girl. I was so proud of her. Then it was off to Target to pick up an item or two, then back to the house with our McD's food, it got too cold and windy to walk.
We watched a movie about Easter as we ate, but after lunch everyone started acting a little nutty and I couldn't take it any longer. Jory was sent to the dining room to do math problems and read. Rowan was sent to the kitchen to write her alphabet. And baby sat in the family room and colored. I helped Jory with his work, reviewed Rowan's alphabet handiwork, and admired the baby's masterpiece. It was so nice to have silence so I could think about what to do next, while at the same time have all my children being productive. I loved it! I didn't imagine the day would end up like this, but I'm glad it did.
Our new plan was going well so while Jory and the baby were eating, I decided to go vacuum. I vacuumed away until I thought did I give Rowan her food. I went to the kitchen to check only to discover, I never turned off the pan and her breakfast was now burnt. I turned to Jory and asked why he didn't tell me the food was burning.
"I was calling your name but you didn't hear me," he replied.
As I opened windows, doors, and turned on fans, I asked him, "Could I hear you over the vacuum?"
"No."
"Then why didn't you come get me to tell me the food was burning?"
He and Rowan stared blankly at me.
"If you smell something burning and I didn't hear you calling me, then you need to come get me. Do you understand?"
Yes, they nodded.
"Like this Mommy," Jory asked as he got out of his chair.
"Just like that," I answered. They can get out of their chair for a billion different reasons, but they can't get out of it to tell me the house is going to burn down?
I could tell it was going to be a day for an early nap, but instead of a nap we took Layla to get her first haircut or rather trim, I can't have her with some crazy hairstyle right before Easter. She sat in the chair like a big girl. I was so proud of her. Then it was off to Target to pick up an item or two, then back to the house with our McD's food, it got too cold and windy to walk.
We watched a movie about Easter as we ate, but after lunch everyone started acting a little nutty and I couldn't take it any longer. Jory was sent to the dining room to do math problems and read. Rowan was sent to the kitchen to write her alphabet. And baby sat in the family room and colored. I helped Jory with his work, reviewed Rowan's alphabet handiwork, and admired the baby's masterpiece. It was so nice to have silence so I could think about what to do next, while at the same time have all my children being productive. I loved it! I didn't imagine the day would end up like this, but I'm glad it did.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
The future
"Mommy, they said a bad word," Rowan announced.
"Kissing isn't a bad word." She and Jory currently believe seeing any kissing or even hearing the word is icky and obviously wrong, though they like giving and receiving kisses. "One day you're going to kiss your husband," I informed her.
"What's his name gonna be?"
"Baby, I have no idea."
"Kissing isn't a bad word." She and Jory currently believe seeing any kissing or even hearing the word is icky and obviously wrong, though they like giving and receiving kisses. "One day you're going to kiss your husband," I informed her.
"What's his name gonna be?"
"Baby, I have no idea."
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