MommyBlog

Today was one of those glorious Fridays: perfect, cloudless and warm. Casey finished up a round of meetings early, and we decided to meet downtown for a walk and an early dinner.     I packed Dudley and the boys in the car and we headed down.   By the time we got there, the 78 degree day somehow became an 88 degree one (total surprise) and before we’d even walked a block, we were all sweaty, Dudley was panting and Cooper was fussing and whining in the stroller.  

It was still too early to head to dinner, so we decided to hit the city playground for a while.   It’s a huge, safe, shady place and the kids love it.   Kenny took off as soon as we arrive, and Cooper was not far behind.   I followed a few paced behind him, making sure that he didn’t climb too far too fast.   At one point, he navigated himself up to one of the highest points and started to sit down on the top of the slide.   I grabbed him before he began his decent and sat him in my lap, intending to have a fun ride down together, as we have 100 times before.   But this was a new slide, with a sharp curve in the middle.   And it was narrow – I was a tight fit, and I’m not much bigger than the average 12 year old.   Anyway, as we rounded the curve, Cooper let out an unbelievable screech.   We actually slowed down and I looked at him to see that his rubber shoe sole  had somehow gotten stuck on the plastic slide, and his leg had bent back and twisted and was now behind us.   We were completely wedged, and I had to dig in with my own shoes to try and back us up so that I could get his leg out.   He was nearly in the splits and his knee was bent at a crazy angle.

He screamed for ten minutes straight, while we stood there in the playground.   Casey wanted to see if he could walk, but between the heat and the crowd and the pain, he just started crying harder and harder.   We got back to the car and he was shaking.   There was no visible swelling, but he whimpered when we touched his knee and wouldn’t put any weight on it.   We piled back in the car and headed to the ER.

By the time we got there, he was sound asleep, so we decided to get home and have dinner and then see how he was doing.   He was happy as a clam all through dinner and we started to breathe that proverbial sigh of relief.   Until we set him down out of his highchair.   He started to walk, then stopped and started to cry and reached out and held on to his chair.   He stood there, tears streaming down his face and standing on one leg, looking up at Casey and I.   Casey tried to distract him and get him to walk, but it was no use.

We got him into his pj’s, and I was all set to take him when Casey reminded me that I couldn’t go in with him to get an x-ray.   I felt awful.   I can’t take care of my sweet baby because I’m having a baby…

Casey took him to our local nighttime pediatrics, where they still wait.   My biggest worry at this point is not his leg, but that they’re both going to come home with Swine Flu.   Casey said that the waiting room is beyond packed, and they are actually standing on the sidewalk outside holding a beeper.

Going through my mind: “It’s all my fault.   What if it’s some kind of ligament tear or joint injury that affects him into his adult life?   What if he never plays sports?   How could I be so stupid?”   Going through Casey’s mind: “They are going to x-ray my tiny boy’s legs and I have to protect his nuts at all costs.”   Seriously, I thought about that, too.   Do they have tiny willy-protectors in radiology??

I will have to post an update once they get home.   My poor little guy…

***UPDATE***

I just got off the phone with Casey.   The x-rays are inconclusive, but the doctor believes that there may be a bend, or “green stick fracture” in Cooper’s femur.   We’ve been referred to an orthopedic doctor… who happens to be a close friend.   We will know more tomorrow, after a visit to the office.     For now, Cooper’s in a soft cast.   waaaa…

Between late night meetings and my website being down for most of yesterday, I have had  news waiting to be posted for nearly 48 hours now:

I am pregnant!

And not just 48 hours pregnant, but eight whole weeks!   We had our first doctor’s visit on Monday and all is well: a solid heartbeat and the baby is measuring just the right size.   My due date is May 21st, but I will be scheduling a c-section for the week prior to that.

We told Kenny and Cooper, and Kenny’s reaction was the funniest face I’ve ever seen.   It said, “Oh no!” “wow” “are you sure?” and “can’t we get a puppy instead?” all in the same instant.   But he put on a happy face right after.   Cooper doesn’t really understand it, of course, but he’s asked to see my belly 800 times today… I think he’s waiting to see something pop out.

I have been sicker than I was with either Kenny or Cooper.   Still not the yakking kind of sickness, but that dizzy sea-sickness that makes you run far away from any food and food smells one minute, then sends you sprinting to the kitchen for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a spaghetti and meat sauce chaser the next.     I ate four slices of bread and butter today before lunch, then put away scrambled eggs and watermelon and a chocolate bar.   I weigh about 5 pounds less than I did when I got pregnant with both boys, so my body must be trying to play catch – up.   I think that Kenny is enjoying my oddly timed cravings, too: today he caught me hiding in the kitchen with a bag of salt and vinegar chips at 9 in the morning… “If you can eat chips at breakfast time, can I have some, too?”   “Sure!” I said, eager to share in my bounty.     He was a little turned off by watching me dip them in hummus, though.

Last night I was scheduled to be a guest instructor for our county’s home schooling co-op, and an hour before I was supposed to leave, I was balled on the floor of the living room in a horrible bout of agonizing nausea.   I rallied, though, and took the kids with me, where there was a volunteer waiting to watch them during my hour-long class.   That, however, didn’t pan out, and I ended up with two assistants.   Kenny spent about half of the class sitting in the corner, raptly watching, and the other half standing at the podium with me, looking curiously at the assembled high school age students.   Cooper decided that he didn’t like the fact that I was addressing someone other than him, and wailed until I picked him up.   I ended up holding him for 45 minutes straight.     The poor volunteer kid-wrangler tried her best to corrale then a few times, but they would have none of that.   The class actually went well, all considering.   Hey – I considered it a success just that I didnt’ faint or vomit on someone’s shoes.   But next time, I’m hiring a babysitter.

So that’s my news that fit to print.   Or, post, I guess.   I can’t believe it.

As the sun rose this morning, Kenny was joyous to discover Baa in bed with him (yeah, Daddy!) and asked Casey to recount The Story over and over again of how his poor lost lamb was found.   By the fifth telling of it, Casey was doing a belly crawl through the wild North Carolina brush, only to grasp the bleating foundling and somersault out of the woods with him, where he was safely strapped into a car seat and shuttled home.   Kenny loved it.

This morning we rolled out of bed, and prepared for one last beach walk before making the drive home.   Except that Cooper was doing one of his very rare sleeps past 6 AM.   And then 6:30.   And 7.   And 7:30… and then we were all making noise and packing the car and going in and out of his room and still he slept, lightly snoring,  tushie sticking straight up in the air.   Just as the clock hit 8, our little VanWinkle rolled over and smiled, blanket pattern tattooed across his cheek.   Oh Little One, who couldn’t you have done that at least one of the other six mornings of vacation, and let us enjoy the slumber as well???

Our drive started well… a quick stop for fresh, hot, homemade donuts as we left town ensured a happy drive, or at least a chocolate covered one.   Ah, but we hit the wrong road on the wrong day, it seems, and only an hour into the drive we hit a wall of traffic.   It ended up taking us well over 7 hours to get home (normally a 5 hour drive).   We survived, and now I see a monster pile of suitcases and duffel bags before me.  

And sand.   Lots of sand.   But it’s good to be home, and as soon as I can find the usb cord, I’ll post some pictures of my sweeties.

Kenny has had a little stuffed animal named “Baa” that he has slept with every night since he was barely 12 months old.   He once had fluffy white fur, but one day Dudley chewed off his left ear, and being very germ-o-phobic, I threw him in the wash, causing his fluff to become matted and grey somewhere in the spin cycle.   All the more lovable.

When he was 18 months old, I actually bought another one on ebay (fluffy fur intact), “just in case” we ever lost Baa.   Baa has been to Hawaii, Arizona, Florida, California and the Outer Banks (four times!).   He has been on every overnight trip we have ever taken.   He has flown on at least four major airlines and riden in the car on countless adventures.     When Cooper was born, I gave the fluffy Baa to him, and Kenny sniffed, “He can have it.   I like my Baa just the way he is.”

Tonight the inevitable happened: We lost Baa.

It was doomed to happen; one of our family rules is that Baa never goes on casual outings.   No trips to the grocery store, no playing at the park, no walks through the city.   In other words, Baa may come from bed to bed (via suitcase), but under no circumstances may he be put in a dangerous position.  

Tonight, our last night of vacation, we strapped the boys into the stroller to walk to cafe for dinner.   Kenny had Baa in his hands.   I briefly protested, but Kenny was so sweet in wanting to take him that I relented.   It wasn’t until we were tucking him into bed, three hours, and  a three mile walk  later,  that we realized he was gone.

(cue doom music)

Kenny’s giant chocolate colored eyes filled up.   “I … I … really want him back… ” he started to sob.   Casey jumped up.   “I’m on it.”   and he was out the door, back tracing our route in the car.   I laid in bed with Kenny we talked about Baa.   We talked about how happy we would be when Daddy found him.   And about how he might not find him, but that maybe someone else would and maybe they would send him to us.   But Kenny is a smart little guy.   “Mama!   They won’t know who he is or who he belongs to and how will they know our address?   What if we never find him.   I want him!”   Then he got quiet for a second.   “If only he had more fur he could have left a trap.”   I got quiet for a minute.   “You mean a trail?”   “Yeah, that’s what I’m saying.   He could have left a trail for us to find him.”

At this point , Casey came in the door and beckoned to me.   Kenny sat bolt upright.   “Dada??   Did you find Baa?”   Casey looked crushed.   “No, baby.   I didn’t see him.”   Kenny started to cry, but tried to be brave and hold it in.   I said,  “I  think I know where he fell out – when you and  Cooper were playing peek-a-boo…”   Casey headed out the door again, this time with a little better idea of what part of the route to look on.

Sure enough, ten minutes later, he returned Triumphant.   Baa had been picked up by another walker and placed on the post at the beginning of the neighborhood, waiting patiently for a ride back home.   Casey burst into Kenny’s room, only to find him sound asleep.   He tried to wake him up, but the kid sleeps like  a man in a coma, and had no luck.   So he tucked Baa into the crook of Kenny’s arm and tiptoed out.

Welcome home, little buddy.

We  are having a wonderful time here in the Outer Banks.   Non-stop walks, running around on the beach, games of catch and hide and seek fill our days.   You’d think we are all sleeping like rocks.   Ha.

The first four nights, Kenny crawled into our bed (which is much smaller than our bed at home) just after midnight, prompting me to creep into his bunk bed around two am in search of sleep without being pummeled by a four-year-old’s heels.   Each of those nights as well, Cooper woke up around 2:30 to sit up in his bed and talk to himself for nearly an hour before settling down to sleep again.   And then  of course Dudley, paws stricken by surf and sand until they are raw, licked himself non-stop all through the night.

Last night should have been one for the sandman – both kids and dog slept like logs.   This time, it was me.   I woke up at 2 to use the bathroom, and then stayed awake for another full hour, my thoughts like a ping pong ball trapped in my cranium.   It was maddening.

I’ve got a lot simmering right now.   I’ve taken a position to  be the co-director of our church’s big Christmas production, and we’ve had numerous planning meetings over the last month.   One  of my main jobs will be teaching a piece from Handel’s Messiah to a very inexperienced group of singers.   It’s a crazy/fun challenge, but I’m starting to get a little nervous about it.     We start rehearsals in one week, and I have a feeling that it’s going to be one rockin’ ride.  

On top of that, I’ve agreed to teach a workshop to a group of home-schoolers in our county next week.   It’s a class that prepares them for competitive dramatic and comic speech and debate, and I will be doing the class on character developement.   Tell me, is there anything scarier than a room full of really smart highschoolers??   I  am still not quite sure how I’m going to fill out the hour, and procrastination is begining to choke me.

We are also houselooking (again!) and our washing machine is broken for the second time in a month.   The repairman comes two days after we get back from vacation, and I fear the towering stack of stinky clothes I left behind.

All of that became a noise in my head in the middle of the night last night.   Silly isn’t it?   Tonight I will try counting sheep, instead of counting Things To Do.   Baaaaaa…..

I really don’t know.   Wicked writer’s block?   Now, as I log into my own blog for the first time in a month, I am left wondering, does anyone still check in here?   Have folks assumed that MommyBlog has closed shop and already forgotten about me??

Truth is, we are still here!   We are thriving and flourishing and joyful:   Cooper is officially 15 months old, and my sweet, sweet firstborn celebrated his big FOURTH birthday on September 9th!   As  I   write, we are on vacation in the Outer Banks (off-season rocks!).   I mulled over trying to back track and fill in the missing pieces of the last month – especially considering that I missed Kenny’s birthday on this blog –  but the mere thought of it has kept me far away from the computer for a day in sheer panic.  

I may go back and add in some pictures later, but for now, let’s pick up with the here and now:

We are on vacation.   Cooper repeats everything we say (quite comically, I may add… his most recent was “Yee Haw!” and “‘eh, Butterface!”), Kenny is hitting pitches with his new aluminum bat and official T-ball balls (gifts from Daddy on his birthday), and our current favorite family songs to dance to are Beyonce’s “Single Ladies” and Darius Rucker’s “All Right.”     Cooper has also started yelling, “Willie!” whenever he needs a diaper change.   It’s pretty funny.

Ok, so now that we are all back on the same page, I’m going  to start blogging again.   I don’t really know why I temporarily stopped.   Maybe because for  a  while there it seemed like every mom on the planet had a blog, and I was tired of being one of the babbling crowd?   Like when you’re in middle school and you get totally unbelievably excited because you score your first pair of Guess? jeans (ok – I found them for $5 at a yard sale) and it turned out  that not  only  did everyone else alreay have a pair, but it turns out that the pair I bought was a fraud: someone had cut the lable  off a real pair and sewn it onto a JC Penney’s pair, the pair I bought, and I had no idea until one of the popular girls called me out and mocked me in gym class one day.   Ok, not completely   a relevant metaphor.   But you get the idea.   Anyway, I’m back.   Stick with me here!

Going…

going…

going…

Gone!!

Kenny is very observant.   He is also very chatty.   And he asks a lot of questions.   Example:

“Mommy, why aren’t you turning right on red?   You know you can if you want to.”

He is a tenacious negotiator:

Kenny: “Mommy, can I have a cookie for breakfast?”   Me: “No.”  Kenny: “A half?”   Me: “Nope.”   Kenny:   “Maybe one bite?”   Me:  “No, Kenny.”   Kenny:  “Then can I watch a TV show instead?”

He says whatever he’s thinking, lacking that social filter of what is  appropriate conversation:

Kenny: “Mommy?   How did your boobies get so small?”   Me: “There isn’t any milk for Cooper in them anymore.”   Kenny: “You should really get some more milk in there.”

And he definitely has an opinion:

(after a guy in a pickup truck honks and waves at me in the Home Depot parking lot) Kenny: “Why did that guy honk at you?”   Me: “Maybe he thinks I’m pretty.”   Kenny: “You’re not pretty, Mama!   You’re not wearing any lipstick!”   Me, putting some lipstick on: “How ’bout now?”   Kenny: “Yeah.   That’s better.”

Dear Cooper:

I love you.   I care for you.   I am willing to do anything for you and for your well being.   Why (oh why oh why) then do you put up such a fight when I change you??

Do you have any idea what a big deal it is that I so willingly and lovingly change your diaper 8 million times a day?   Would you really rather sit there with turds congealing on your bum?   And yet as soon as we come within 8 centimeters of the changing table, you begin to scream, to buck your body, to claw at my face, to kick me in the chest and to wail as if I was strapping you to The Rack.

As soon as I expose your oh-so-cute behind, it never fails that you first stick your hand right in it.   Yes, I do understand that you love your willy, but really: it’s poopy!   Next you swat at my face with your fouled hand, then arch your back and twist to the left as your firmly plant your heel into the goop.   By the time you are somewhat wiped off, both you and I are sweaty, and we still have a diaper to get on!     I gave up on the Desitin long ago, because what you do to me when I try to get that on you is just not worth it.

Do you know that your otherwise fearless big brother usually runs and hides under my bedroom curtains when I am changing you?   You are loud.   Even Dudley runs for cover.

What is a Momma to do?   Teach you a lesson and only let you wear one diaper all day?   Potty train you at 14 months?   Leave you naked?      How can I get it through to you that getting your hiney changed is really not a big deal????   How can an otherwise so happy baby turn into a roaring banshee?

Oh, baby.   If only you knew what you put this mama through…

Love, Mommy

I know: I only have two.   But Dudley really quite technically counts as a dependant.   He is, on some days, far more work than the other two, and, even though he has four legs and pees outside, he really is one of us.

But a small change has come over Dudley in the last 6 months: the beast has calmed down.

He and  I are now the same chronological age: 35.   And I think that just as my wrinkles and greys are starting to appear, his own age marks are slowly making their way in.   It used to be that if he wasn’t in the same breathing space as me all day long, he would howl like a wolf and bark like a hyena.   But now he will often escape the crazy noise of the boys and slink into my cool, quiet bedroom and lie in a patch of sun on the carpet.   Once he would instantly inhale any scrap of crumb that landed on the floor – so much so that I never had to clean up after feeding baby Kenny.   Now he ignores the cheerios and cracker crumbs littering the floor beneath the high chair and instead politely waits for a sliver of steak to come his way.   He used to nearly explode if we waited a moment too long to take his morning walk (or Heaven forbid, skip it due to hurricane or blizzard).   Now he perks up when he hears, “Wanna go for a run?” but otherwise doesn’t seem to mind the occasional lazy morning.

It’s his demeanor with Cooper, though, that most amazes me.   Cooper adores him.   He fawns over him.   He pats him and strokes him and covers him up with his blankie.   And Dudley just sits there calmly and takes it all in.   Even yesterday, when Cooper pulled his tail for the first time, Dudley let out a tiny whine and looked at me as if to say, “Hey Lady Who Takes Care of Me and Spawned These Hellions: can you please remove Sticky Fingers here from my arse?”

Here, in fact, is where he sits as I write:

…laying peacefully beneath the desk.   He was dozing, but lifted his head as I snapped the shot.

He’s only 5 and a half, but it is a little melancholy to see the puppy years finally wean away.   I love you, Dudley!