Monthly Archives: February 2012

Bye Bye Binky

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I can NOT believe it! We (and by we, I mean SweetGirl) has kicked her binky habit.  It only took 12 straight hours of a Puke Fairy visit to do it.  Not so bad, right?  I mean, so what if the pink sparkly puke bucket got a workout.  And, it’s okay that NO ONE, except SweetDog, got a wink of sleep. I don’t mind the gargantuan pile of towels and sheets we had to go through to get here.  And, I can even deal with the back-end-business that we all know is coming; cuz you know what? The binkies are gone!

We spent months and months and months building up the story of the oh-so-illusive Binky Fairy who would be visiting “sometime soon”.   And we talked about how the Binky Fairy would take all of the binkies to the babies “who need them”.  (We’re all about sharing at our house.) And we told SweetGirl that there would be presents.  And a party to celebrate.  And dancing.  Even SweetDaddy would dance. And mommy would get it on video. And post it on YouTube. And then I’d have proof that he dances.  Shoot. Where was I?

Ah, yes… So, watch out Nana & Grampy! SweetGirl is expecting her “Binky Party”when we get to your house; whereby she announces to the world (or at least the 8 members of her extended family assembled together in one place to hear her proclamation) that the Binky Fairy came to town.  Yes indeedy, she shore did!

He’s Our Man!

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My SweetBoy is quirky.  I could pretty much end this post right there.  But hey, I won’t.  We began the diagnostic process, when he was newly two, noting how he could string together these incredibly long phrases to make complex sentences about random things that generally weren’t all that helpful socially. (And now, we all know where he got that…).  In other words, he could quote Blue, from Blues Clues, verbatim, one episode sequence at a time.  Now, this came in handy when we wanted to remember the words to episode 8 from season 2 of Blues Clues.  Not so much at any other time. If you’d like someone on your team for any game of “What are the words from that movie…?”, he’s your man!

A few years later, we began to notice his propensity for remembering incredibly minute details about roads and routes that we took to get to new places.  He would even be able to tell you the number of the exit, from which highway/interstate/route to take to proceed to the next leg of your destination.  And he still can!  We’ve begun to refer to him as our “Cartographer in Training”.  It’s absolutely amazing, to us, how his brain works.  And hey, if you need to remember where the closest bathroom break will be when you are halfway into your 6 hour road trip?  He’s your man!

Fast forward  a couple more years and his latest perseveration is hopping.  Now, I will grant that it provides some much-needed exercise on those cold gloomy days that outdoor play is just not in the cards.  I will even go so far as to say – wouldn’t it be great if we could ALL get a “release” from the stressors of life with such a healthy habit.  But, we are at a loss as to how to turn this newest fixation into a strength.   We’ve had some well-meaning friends suggest Hip Hop Dance.  That… was a mini-disaster with a heaping helping of frustration and self-esteem dousing for good measure.  Unfortunately, Sir-Hops-Alot, alone, chooses the when and how this happens each day. And it happens a lot!  So, when you need an exercise buddy when you’re on the rebounder, he’s your man!

Having a child with special needs takes a lot out of us sometimes.  It also puts a lot back in.  He teaches us patience, the likes of which, I promise you, we never would have been able to cultivate without him.  The emotions he feels and shares are unfiltered.  Sometimes they are a raw mess of crazy.  Sometimes, they make us put on the brakes and rethink how we’re approaching one of our own situations in life.  We are so grateful that God saw fit to bring him into our family.  And, that he’s our man!

I NOT!

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It has become quite the catchphrase around here, lately.  SweetGirl coined it, of course (who knew that three-year olds could coin phrases?  We aim high around here, you see.)  She uses it for just about anything and everything.  Because, obviously, she’s three. Or, as she would tell you, “I NOT!”

Some sort of wildebeest springs forth from BOTH SweetGirl and SweetBoy at approximately 4:45 each afternoon.  Sometimes, this thing catches me off guard at 4:30.  Sometimes, at 5:00.   But it always comes lunging at me ferociously and hungrily.  I’m fairly certain that most of you have encountered this beast, too?  It’s the oh-so-whiney “When’s Dinner?  I’m HUNGRY NOW MAMA” beast.  See?  You’ve met this animal before, right? Oh yes, indeedy!

Tonight, the thing announced it’s arrival at 4:20.  Now, I’m all for starting dinner early, if the SweetChildren are getting a hankering, but c’mon?  4:20?  I felt like I should be back in South Florida at an Early Bird Restaurant. With my Grandmother. But with my preschooler and elementary school-er?  That’s just not right.

Therefore, I felt inclined to say something along the lines of “I NOT starting dinner now. Mommy is busy Pinterest-ing working.” And all chaos ensued.  But I scored a huge victory!  You see, SweetGirl promptly announced “I NOT eating dinner, Mama!”  And then to further her point… “I mad at Dinner, Mama.  I NOT eat it!”  Well, alrighty then.  You run with that; because, that means you’re not mad at ME for not fixing you dinner right-this-very-second. Usually in these moments, I’m shooting up a quick and earnest prayer for patience.  But instead, I was able to carry on with my obsession work.

And when SweetBoy and SweetGirl sauntered in to the kitchen 30 minutes later, they said (having forgotten how Very Hungry they were a mere half hour ago) “Mama, we thought you were working?”

And you know what I said?  Yup, “I NOT!”

Pin Ta What Now?

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If you have ever wandered on over to ETSY, on this here Internet, then you know how easily you can blow an hour or three! And I have no problem, what-so-ever, finding ways to fritter away an hour or three. Yes, indeedy! Especially when I should be headed to bed for the evening, instead. Because, as the saying goes, “There is no end to what you can accomplish when you should be doing something else.” That’s a course, you know?  I think I might be the valedictorian of that class. Yup, I’m pretty sure I am. And ETSY allowed me a place to continually stay at the head of that class.

So, I thought it odd that one of my worst best friends, ever, thought I needed a little more help frittering away some hours. She felt it was her duty to introduce me to this benign little website, called Pinterest. Pin Ta what-now, you ask? Essentially, you view and then “like” and/or “repin” these pictures of links to recipes, art, decorating ideas that fellow “pinterest-ers” have found.  You can pin anything that tickles your fancy onto your own created “boards”. Think of these boards like mini-bulletin boards, that you can name at will and post as many pictures to, as your little heart desires. If you haven’t been there yet, I implore you: do not GO! You will be sucked in to the Vortex of Never-Ending Time-A-Wastin’. Unfortunately, it’s pretty blissful there. You can dream the impossible dream. You can pin pictures of all of the beautiful sparkling white kitchen remodel ideas that you’d love to attempt someday (but that surely ain’t happenin’ anytime in this decade), or pin pictures of adorable sparkling white frilly frocks (that certainly would never get ketchup stains or mud smudges on them). Well, at least I can console myself with the fact that by the time we can afford a kitchen remodel, our kids will be old enough to keep those sparkling white cabinets sparkling. A girl can dream, right? See? Total Time Sucker. I haven’t had so much fun whiling away the hours since… well, since I discovered ETSY.

The poor SweetMan hardly ever saw me to begin with. Now? He’s fairly certain he has a wife, but since she’s almost always gazing longingly at her computer screen, he’s looking into website blocking technology now.

And I’m left with the desire to head on over to ETSY and buy a T-shirt that says “Pinsomniac”. Because that, folks, is what I think I just might have become. Thanks, friend…

What a Feeling

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Have you ever had a gut feeling about something that you just couldn’t confirm?  I recently went to the local home improvement store  and bought a sparkly pink bucket.  Why, you ask?  We’ve been playing a little game with our SweetGirl’s pediatrician whereby every three to four weeks, without fail, she either develops a low-grade fever, or not,  and then vomits for 24 hours. This has been going on for about six months or so. It’s a game that no one seems to win. Now, according to the health care professionals, she’s “building up her immunity to the various viruses that run rampant in preschools”.  Really?  Is that what they’re calling it these days?  Would any of you traditional health care professionals care to set up a monthly appointment at my home whereby you help me clean up the Nastiness That Is a Result of All the Immunity Building?

My SweetBoy has a peanut allergy.  At this point in his elementary-school life, he has outgrown a milk allergy, a wheat allergy, and an egg allergy.  We are So Very Grateful.  Unfortunately, his allergy to peanuts developed about 3 years ago and has steadily grown.  We are no strangers to the many ways that food allergies present themselves.  We are no strangers to the concept of Food Intolerance.  So we find it quite interesting that not one single traditional health care professional advocated, or even suggested, journaling her diet/daily activity to help us get a better sense of why this is happening.  Not one.  Really?  We have a dear non-traditional health care professional friend that suggested it.  Friends with children that have severe food allergies also suggested it.  Maybe that should be classified under Aggravating instead of Interesting.  Because, it officially is.

When SweetBoy was first diagnosed with Pervasive Developmental Disorder six years ago, we just knew something was off with him.  We felt it in the very core of our guts.  And at first, we listened to the traditional health care professionals tell us that we were “first time parents”; or that “he’s a boy and boys develop/mature more slowly than girls”.  Really?  I think your gut-feelings should count for something.  We tell our children that they should trust their gut in all sorts of situations.  Shouldn’t we adults be doing the same thing?  We were given an ability to have a “gut-feeling” for a reason.

Please don’t misunderstand my Aggravation.  It needs a little TLC. It’s been slowly growing as we go through this cycle month after month after month; quietly journaling what she eats and drinks as we hold her little head up over the Pukey Bucket.  I believe I may have just gotten to the point where my Aggravation has taken over my Interest.  I think it’s time to push Interesting and Aggravating over and make room for some Reality.  Based on good ole’ gut-feeling.  And hey, at least her jammies match her pink pukey bucket.

Captain Ahab’s Daughter – Part One

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A handful of friends and family are going to get the reference above.  But boy, oh boy, am I ever.  When I was a wee little lassie, girl, my family would take a couple of weeks every summer and jet off to an island in the Bahamas.  Now, before you shut down this blog as the ramblings of some privileged snoot, hang in there for a moment.  Let me share with you a few key details about our yearly summer escapade.

1) We needed to wake up at 4:30 in the morning to get loaded up on the boats and caravan over to this island that was 3 hours away from our home in South Florida.  And if you didn’t get up and get cruisin’ (literally!) by 5:30, that water was going to be r.u.f.f.  Think, a 25 foot boot on 6-8 foot waves for 3 hours.  Yup, a TON of fun.  And vomit.

2) Upon arrival at said island, we spent the first 3 hours unloading 3 weeks worth of food and beverages contained in about 6 coolers, two of which were sized large enough to carry a big and tall MAN inside.  (Thinking back on it now, as an adult, I think I understand why one of those Big Coolers were almost entirely filled with beverages…).

3) Those of us who were too short to qualify for carrying one of said Big Coolers were given the task of helping the moms either: apply tin foil and saran wrap to the windows that were missing pieces of glass or were cracked or were just simply missing; unload an endless supply of the makings of tuna noodle casserole (it was good hot or cold, right?); or make the beds with our own linens.

The rest of the kids immediately started rounding up the stray dogs and puppies on the island to play with.  There were lots.  It took a while.

Does it sound luxurious yet?

Rest assured, we were blessed to be able to hang out for 2 or 3 weeks at a stretch on this not-yet-popular island.  Oh, indeed!  But, I should also mention the daily routine.

5:30 a.m. Captain Ahab starts making all manner of noise in the hopes of waking up his own and the other 3 families to get going for the day.

6:00 a.m. One or another of the other families’ adults threatens Captain Ahab with bodily harm if he doesn’t pipe down.

6:30 a.m. Captain Ahab begins loading the boats with gear for snorkeling, fishing, and diving.  In the hopes that by the time he’s done everyone will miraculously be ready to rumble.

7:00 a.m. Captain Ahab’s wife tells him that if he doesn’t stop hounding people to get rollin’, she’s gonna roll him right into one of those cavernous Big Coolers.  He’d fit, you know…

7:30 a.m. Captain Ahab heads down to the docks to get the boats fired up.  You never know… we could be on our way down.

8:00 a.m. Captain Ahab goes back up to provide the lunch-makers with his sandwich order.  He’s starting to get hungry for lunch.  At this point, the lunch-makers begin checking the Big Cooler with the “beverages” to take stock of what’s left.

8:30 a.m. We finally get a move on.  And Captain Ahab announces he’s ready for a nap.

I find myself understanding the thinking behind his desire to get up and get movin’ more and more, the older I get.  Maybe it’s because I turned 30 40 this year.  Maybe it’s because I’m married to Sweetman who truly doesn’t understand why anything before 9:00 a.m. ever made it onto the official clock.  But, I do know this.  When I get up and get to see that beautiful sunrise; or get the first snuggle of the day with Sweetgirl or Sweetboy before they’re fully awake yet; or enjoy that 30 minutes of quiet time before the world comes crashing in?  It’s then that I understand what a gift it is to be Captain Ahab’s daughter. Yes indeedy!

In Stitches We Trust

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Oh, dear John!!  I am NOT a good patient. No. Truly. Just ask Dr. Patience, my childhood pediatrician, about the time when I was 7 and had to get stitches under my chin for jumping into the pool backwards and forgetting to bring my chin in with me.  He would tell you that I screamed bloody murder until they had almost all available staff holding me down to begin the stitching.  At which point, I stopped dead still and screamed “WAIT, WAIT, WAIT!  I HAVE to kiss my daddy first!”  Nice stall tactic, hmm?  Or, you could ask that same pediatrician how many staff members had to help him hold me down for my necessary vaccinations. At age 21.  Or maybe, you’d prefer to ask my OB what sent her scrambling for her chart in the middle of labor with my first child as I screamed over and over that “I’m telling you all that I am ALLERGIC to needles!”  (She clearly didn’t appreciate my humor.)

Fast forward to now.  Here I sit with stitches in my belly for a mole removal that didn’t quite clear the margins first time around.  Apparently, the recuperative process for this minor procedure prompts such comments as ”Stay off your feet for 48 hours.” Umm, really? “No heavy lifting for 2 weeks.” Who lifts my SweetBoy when he has a nightmare?  “Try to take it easy for a few days.”  Huh?  What does that even look like as a mama of two younger kidlets, one elderly SweetDog,  a SweetMan who routinely can’t find things right under his nose… You get the point. How does one recuperate under those circumstances?  No, really.  I’d like to know how ya’ll do it?  Because, let me tell ya, it’s a bit very disconcerting to realize that if you accidentally pick up your crying child, you will rip open said stitches.  I’m trusting in these stitches to do their job people! And if they don’t?  That would be very very bad; because, did I mention I’m allergic to needles?