Merry Christmas!
It's been a while, right?
I'm still not sure if I want to rehash it all in great detail or let it become part of the hazy past. Oh, I'm sure I'll write it all out eventually. I mean, it's me. But for now, let it suffice that during my convalescence, somebody was here every day, for a month, to take care of things. That's a lot of days.
There's so much to catch up on, I'm having a hard time marshaling my thoughts. Christmas was wonderful. Peter didn't get a nap, and so was having sugar-induced meltdowns by bedtime, but other than that, they did great. Loved their gifts, and so on. I feel like I got super spoiled this Christmas.
Nathan wrote me a super sweet letter at school Thanksgiving week. You know, when I was in the hospital. He wrote "you are the greatest mom ever. I hope you get better soon." It was a sweet message from a very unsentimental boy. He's picked up the phrase "I know, right?!" from school and says it all the time. He is super excited about the microscope he got for Christmas. We're growing mold on a piece of bread so he can look at it. And, so far, I haven't had to learn to play Pokemon. That probably won't last.
Clara is tearing it up at kindergarten. Her reading is coming along nicely. She's already on her second best friend. (Not looking forward to when the friend drama steps up.) Her easy bake oven was put into use almost immediately upon opening. She's been wanting one for months. And how is it possible she's going to be six in five days?
Alice, fierce and adorable as ever, is very sure that the circular scribbles she writes say her name. I'm not allowed to write her name on her papers at nursery, because she'll just do it herself. She also wants to learn to read, so she'll sit by me with a book and ask me what each page says. She'll repeat it, and turn the page, and this goes on and on. We read a Fancy Nancy book once for almost an hour. She's recently decided she's scared of the dark, with all the fun that entails.
Peter. Peter started talking. I think we can credit some grandmothers' attentiveness, repeating words back to him until it clicked. So now his mischievousness is accompanied by adorable running and lots of "no!" (even when he means yes.) He also learned to nod yes. Shaking his head no, that's easy. he's been doing it for months. But, when you ask him something, his eyes light up and he deliberately and emphatically nods. It's almost a whole body effort.
Tuesday, December 29, 2015
Wednesday, October 14, 2015
The negativity ends today.
The last couple of posts have been downers. Blech.
Following the expert advice from one of my Facebook friends, I tried a four-week diet in an effort to get back into my pre-Peter clothes. I lasted 12 and a half days. And then I was so hungry and so grumpy that I decided treating my family decently outweighed (ha!) my vanity. I was going to just take a couple days off, but now come all the Halloween parties and my willpower is gone. So, later. Right?
It's just another area of my life where I have no control. I'd love to have my house clean and organized so I can find things when I need them, but my team of professional reorganizers take care of that. I have a list of projects, including several pieces of furniture that I plan to refinish, but that's not happening, what with limited time and energy. My life is not really my own at this stage. And I've been thinking of this lately, why we feel we need to keep things orderly, why Pinterest is such a phenomenon: we want to feel like we have control of our surroundings, so we feel like we have control over our lives, like we're not just a half-step away from the rug being pulled out from under our feet.
I scheduled my surgery today: November 18. So I should be back on my feet by Thanksgiving, but not enough to do any Black Friday shopping. If there's any good deals I don't want to miss, I'm sure I'll be able to send some of my lackeys to go fetch them for me. Maybe I'll have surgery every year before Black Friday.
I've been putting this off now for a year, since I don't like the idea of living without a spleen and the attendant risks of infection it will bring. But, a higher platelet count might mean I get to be less careful of when and how hard I blow my nose. (Never too hard, and never right before bed or right after I get up, or I could get an epic nosebleed.) Maybe I won't have giant bruises I have no explanation for. Maybe I'll achieve normal platelet counts (remission!). Maybe my counts will go up, to a lower but still safe level. Lots of maybes, but the chances are good.
So I'm taking the advice of the rather-sermonizing opening prayer from sacrament meeting last week, in which he counseled us to find joy in our trials. And mostly he was talking about the old and sick in our ward, specifically mentioning diabetes and arthritis, he did remember to throw in a mention for those who might be young and sick as well. It was a very interesting prayer.
But there is joy in everything. This past year the joy has been opening myself up to the love and support of friends and family. Their love has borne me up while I've been busy feeling sorry for myself and stressing over things out of my control. So thank you for that. And if this is the path I'm going to walk, I'm going to leave the self-pity behind. That just blinds me to all the good things along the way.
Following the expert advice from one of my Facebook friends, I tried a four-week diet in an effort to get back into my pre-Peter clothes. I lasted 12 and a half days. And then I was so hungry and so grumpy that I decided treating my family decently outweighed (ha!) my vanity. I was going to just take a couple days off, but now come all the Halloween parties and my willpower is gone. So, later. Right?
It's just another area of my life where I have no control. I'd love to have my house clean and organized so I can find things when I need them, but my team of professional reorganizers take care of that. I have a list of projects, including several pieces of furniture that I plan to refinish, but that's not happening, what with limited time and energy. My life is not really my own at this stage. And I've been thinking of this lately, why we feel we need to keep things orderly, why Pinterest is such a phenomenon: we want to feel like we have control of our surroundings, so we feel like we have control over our lives, like we're not just a half-step away from the rug being pulled out from under our feet.
I scheduled my surgery today: November 18. So I should be back on my feet by Thanksgiving, but not enough to do any Black Friday shopping. If there's any good deals I don't want to miss, I'm sure I'll be able to send some of my lackeys to go fetch them for me. Maybe I'll have surgery every year before Black Friday.
I've been putting this off now for a year, since I don't like the idea of living without a spleen and the attendant risks of infection it will bring. But, a higher platelet count might mean I get to be less careful of when and how hard I blow my nose. (Never too hard, and never right before bed or right after I get up, or I could get an epic nosebleed.) Maybe I won't have giant bruises I have no explanation for. Maybe I'll achieve normal platelet counts (remission!). Maybe my counts will go up, to a lower but still safe level. Lots of maybes, but the chances are good.
So I'm taking the advice of the rather-sermonizing opening prayer from sacrament meeting last week, in which he counseled us to find joy in our trials. And mostly he was talking about the old and sick in our ward, specifically mentioning diabetes and arthritis, he did remember to throw in a mention for those who might be young and sick as well. It was a very interesting prayer.
But there is joy in everything. This past year the joy has been opening myself up to the love and support of friends and family. Their love has borne me up while I've been busy feeling sorry for myself and stressing over things out of my control. So thank you for that. And if this is the path I'm going to walk, I'm going to leave the self-pity behind. That just blinds me to all the good things along the way.
Monday, October 5, 2015
Hanging out at the oncology center
{I wrote this a couple months ago and saved it, thinking (of course) that I would come back and fix it. Ain't happening. Moving on.}
If you're wondering, moving and then starting a four-week course of treatment for your auto-immune disorder is a good way to feel really really tired.
Surprise!
My hematologist's office is also an oncology office. So, when I go, I feel two things:
So I went in the last Thursday in June for the first of four weekly infusions of Rituxan. The hope is that it will kind of reset my immune system so I'll be in better balance for a couple of years. I'd also settle for forever. That would be fine. My doctor said I'd not really have any side effects from it, other than during the infusion I might feel tired and achy. (ha.) Also, apparently, it's a chemotherapy drug. Who knew a drug used to break up tumors in cancer patients could also be used for RA and ITP? Oh, the wonders of off-label uses.
Week 1: Got to the office at 10. Did my CBC before heading over and choosing a recliner back in the corner. Looking forward to being able to sit and read for the next six hours, I had brought several books with me. You know, in case I finished one, or got bored, or maybe I was just giddy at the thought of that many uninterrupted hours. I did not bring snacks or water. I kept my head down and focused on my book, because I didn't want to bear witness to all the other human dramas that intersect in the oncology treatment center. They started me with Tylenol, and then on a drip of benadryl and prednisone. Once that was finished they started the Rituxan. They have to start it slow and then can increase the rate of the drip, once they're sure you are handling it all right. This is the part where I laugh at my ambitious reading plans, because the 50 mg of benadryl made me pass out pretty quickly. I fought it as long as I could, because I had an Erik Larson book on the Lusitania I was really excited to read. I conked out for the next hour or so. When I woke up I felt vaguely itchy. My scalp, and my throat. It took me a while, through my woozy benadryl state, to realize, Oh, I might be having a reaction. When they came around to turn up my dose, I told them, causing a flurry of nurse reactions. They turned off the rituxan, gave me more benadryl, and waited for me to feel better. And I soon did, but all the fluids they were putting in me, and all the benadryl, meant that I really needed to get to the bathroom, and there was no way I could walk there. So I needed two nurses to load me into a wheelchair and walk me past all the old, enfeebled, actually sick people having their chemotherapy, since I had seated myself in the chair furthest from the bathrooms. It felt a little ridiculous. Once I was seated back in my recliner my nurse said, "Maybe you shouldn't be driving yourself home." And I agreed. Once I was feeling non-itchy and they started the Rituxan up again, I again tried to read. I really just wanted to read. But I slept again, and woke, and they made me eat some snacks, and I started to feel better and was able to walk myself to the bathroom the next time. After some more napping my head felt a lot clearer and I decided I didn't need someone to come get me. At 4:30, only six and a half hours after arriving, I was done. I got home about the same time as Levi. I felt tired and a little shaky but thought I was doing pretty well. Linda, though, who had volunteered to watch my kids, looked at me kindly before she left and told me to take it easy. Levi later told me I looked really pale. And so I did. I laid in bed and finally got some good Erik Larson reading time in. The next couple of days I felt really tired but I took it easy and drank lots of water, and by Monday got back to normal living and unpacking.
Week 2
After my CBC I walked into the infusion room to choose a seat. I was scanning the far side of the room for an empty recliner when I heard a surprised, "Hillary!" My grandparents were sitting right in front of me. So, being the wonderful granddaughter that I am, I sat by them. My grandpa comes in every four(?) weeks for six days, for treatment for preleukemia. His infusions only last 30-45 minutes, so I sat and chatted with my grandma as he fell asleep. What grandpa doesn't fall asleep when holding still? We talked, and the woman on the other side of him joined in; a lot of the patients get to know each other if their treatment times happen to coincide. I was fighting the benadryl's effects by the time they were ready to leave. I'm pretty sure my conversation was getting less and less lucid. They offered to bring me a sandwich, but I had snacks, didn't tend to get hungry, and didn't want to bother anyone with obnoxious food smells. I didn't have the same reaction as I had the week before and so was able to get the infusion done a little faster. When I got home it was just about time to leave for DATE NIGHT! That deserves all caps. For my birthday Levi bought me tickets to "And Then There Were None" up at the Caine Lyric Theater, so we had dinner at the Bluebird before the play. It was lovely, although the Bluebird was so slammed we were nearly late. I want to love the Bluebird, because its ambience is so perfect, but it's food is sometimes not the best. It was a lovely night, but I paid for it later. As I continued to be miserable, exhausted and dizzy for the whole next week, I realized I hadn't followed instructions about drinking a lot of water because I'd been out and about. Didn't make that mistake again. (This was also the weekend I painted my chairs; see other post.)
Weeks 3 and 4 were much the same, although each week they were able to do the infusion a little faster as my body was better able to tolerate it.
I recently read a book (Lizzy and Jane) where one sister accompanies another to her oncology visits, and a lot of it seemed familiar. They talked and developed relationships with the other patients. I didn't. For one thing, I was always asleep most of the time. But also, I didn't feel the same as them. For one thing: much younger. But my fight is much less serious. I felt lucky to be uninitiated in such things as joking mentions of trying Rogaine, or talking of overwhelming fatigue and weakness. So I sat in my corner, admiring their good humor, their strength, honoring their fight, and wishing them well.
And I did eventually finish my book.
***
I shouldn't have waited so long to post this, because now I get to write this unhappy postscript: it didn't work. Not the slightest differences in my counts. I'm really wishing medical treatments came with a money back guarantee, because I'm still settling up my bill from July while biding my time, waiting for the Rituxan's effects on my immune system to wear off so we can do the immunizations one has to do before a splenectomy. Also, hoping for a last-ditch miracle. Because my spleen and I may not be getting along, but that doesn't mean I want to get rid of it.
If you're wondering, moving and then starting a four-week course of treatment for your auto-immune disorder is a good way to feel really really tired.
Surprise!
My hematologist's office is also an oncology office. So, when I go, I feel two things:
- Very very young
- Obscenely healthy
So I went in the last Thursday in June for the first of four weekly infusions of Rituxan. The hope is that it will kind of reset my immune system so I'll be in better balance for a couple of years. I'd also settle for forever. That would be fine. My doctor said I'd not really have any side effects from it, other than during the infusion I might feel tired and achy. (ha.) Also, apparently, it's a chemotherapy drug. Who knew a drug used to break up tumors in cancer patients could also be used for RA and ITP? Oh, the wonders of off-label uses.
Week 1: Got to the office at 10. Did my CBC before heading over and choosing a recliner back in the corner. Looking forward to being able to sit and read for the next six hours, I had brought several books with me. You know, in case I finished one, or got bored, or maybe I was just giddy at the thought of that many uninterrupted hours. I did not bring snacks or water. I kept my head down and focused on my book, because I didn't want to bear witness to all the other human dramas that intersect in the oncology treatment center. They started me with Tylenol, and then on a drip of benadryl and prednisone. Once that was finished they started the Rituxan. They have to start it slow and then can increase the rate of the drip, once they're sure you are handling it all right. This is the part where I laugh at my ambitious reading plans, because the 50 mg of benadryl made me pass out pretty quickly. I fought it as long as I could, because I had an Erik Larson book on the Lusitania I was really excited to read. I conked out for the next hour or so. When I woke up I felt vaguely itchy. My scalp, and my throat. It took me a while, through my woozy benadryl state, to realize, Oh, I might be having a reaction. When they came around to turn up my dose, I told them, causing a flurry of nurse reactions. They turned off the rituxan, gave me more benadryl, and waited for me to feel better. And I soon did, but all the fluids they were putting in me, and all the benadryl, meant that I really needed to get to the bathroom, and there was no way I could walk there. So I needed two nurses to load me into a wheelchair and walk me past all the old, enfeebled, actually sick people having their chemotherapy, since I had seated myself in the chair furthest from the bathrooms. It felt a little ridiculous. Once I was seated back in my recliner my nurse said, "Maybe you shouldn't be driving yourself home." And I agreed. Once I was feeling non-itchy and they started the Rituxan up again, I again tried to read. I really just wanted to read. But I slept again, and woke, and they made me eat some snacks, and I started to feel better and was able to walk myself to the bathroom the next time. After some more napping my head felt a lot clearer and I decided I didn't need someone to come get me. At 4:30, only six and a half hours after arriving, I was done. I got home about the same time as Levi. I felt tired and a little shaky but thought I was doing pretty well. Linda, though, who had volunteered to watch my kids, looked at me kindly before she left and told me to take it easy. Levi later told me I looked really pale. And so I did. I laid in bed and finally got some good Erik Larson reading time in. The next couple of days I felt really tired but I took it easy and drank lots of water, and by Monday got back to normal living and unpacking.
Week 2
After my CBC I walked into the infusion room to choose a seat. I was scanning the far side of the room for an empty recliner when I heard a surprised, "Hillary!" My grandparents were sitting right in front of me. So, being the wonderful granddaughter that I am, I sat by them. My grandpa comes in every four(?) weeks for six days, for treatment for preleukemia. His infusions only last 30-45 minutes, so I sat and chatted with my grandma as he fell asleep. What grandpa doesn't fall asleep when holding still? We talked, and the woman on the other side of him joined in; a lot of the patients get to know each other if their treatment times happen to coincide. I was fighting the benadryl's effects by the time they were ready to leave. I'm pretty sure my conversation was getting less and less lucid. They offered to bring me a sandwich, but I had snacks, didn't tend to get hungry, and didn't want to bother anyone with obnoxious food smells. I didn't have the same reaction as I had the week before and so was able to get the infusion done a little faster. When I got home it was just about time to leave for DATE NIGHT! That deserves all caps. For my birthday Levi bought me tickets to "And Then There Were None" up at the Caine Lyric Theater, so we had dinner at the Bluebird before the play. It was lovely, although the Bluebird was so slammed we were nearly late. I want to love the Bluebird, because its ambience is so perfect, but it's food is sometimes not the best. It was a lovely night, but I paid for it later. As I continued to be miserable, exhausted and dizzy for the whole next week, I realized I hadn't followed instructions about drinking a lot of water because I'd been out and about. Didn't make that mistake again. (This was also the weekend I painted my chairs; see other post.)
Weeks 3 and 4 were much the same, although each week they were able to do the infusion a little faster as my body was better able to tolerate it.
I recently read a book (Lizzy and Jane) where one sister accompanies another to her oncology visits, and a lot of it seemed familiar. They talked and developed relationships with the other patients. I didn't. For one thing, I was always asleep most of the time. But also, I didn't feel the same as them. For one thing: much younger. But my fight is much less serious. I felt lucky to be uninitiated in such things as joking mentions of trying Rogaine, or talking of overwhelming fatigue and weakness. So I sat in my corner, admiring their good humor, their strength, honoring their fight, and wishing them well.
And I did eventually finish my book.
***
I shouldn't have waited so long to post this, because now I get to write this unhappy postscript: it didn't work. Not the slightest differences in my counts. I'm really wishing medical treatments came with a money back guarantee, because I'm still settling up my bill from July while biding my time, waiting for the Rituxan's effects on my immune system to wear off so we can do the immunizations one has to do before a splenectomy. Also, hoping for a last-ditch miracle. Because my spleen and I may not be getting along, but that doesn't mean I want to get rid of it.
Catching Up
October already. In between moving and Rituxan (post in the works), I feel like I lost the whole summer. We had a couple small camping trips in August, and the day before school started I took the kids to the Treehouse and the splash pad, so the kids were able to end the summer not feeling too picked on.
School has begun and is going nicely. The kids were nervous to start at their new school. Nathan came home the first day and said it was horrible and that I should homeschool him. The first week was rough on him. I can sympathize--I started at a new school in third grade, and it's hard to start over with friends. He's doing well now, though. Clara was nervous to start kindergarten, but she's on fire. She has a week to do her homework--one worksheet, back and front. She comes home and does the entire thing. Then she sometimes makes up homework for herself to do the other days when Nathan's doing his. Nathan's doing better at his homework now that I let him move the school desk I bought at Savers from the entry to his bedroom. Easier to focus, less of a fight. What's the downside? Never mind the empty space in my entry that needs some love. The whole entry needs some love, though.
Come to think of it, the whole house needs some love. I'm monumentally slow at decorating. Mainly because I can't decide how I want things. And also, doing things seems to take some time. For the entry, I want to do some wainscoting, but that's a project that doesn't just happen. And if I do that, where am I going to put the gallery wall I've been putting together? I made myself stop buying artwork until I start hanging what I have. I look at my empty gray walls and think: "I love my gray walls." But in some lights I think: "Oh no. I think my gray walls are taupe." I hate taupe. Make up your mind, taupe! Are you tan? Are you gray? I also hate tan; see exhibit A, the tan-upholstered chairs I painted gray three weeks after we moved in, while battling early-July heat and extreme Rituxan-induced fatigue, because I couldn't look at them any longer. (They turned out lovely, by the way. Come to my house and I'll tell you all about them. Pinterest is the best.)
It's coming, though. I dropped some stuff at the DI with no plans of going inside, but decided to take a quick gander. So I unloaded Peter and Alice, and as we walked inside I could see down the aisle to a dream of a midcentury dresser, just waiting for me. I just need to decide what color to paint it, and if it's going to stay in the girls' room or become the sideboard I want in my kitchen. Once we got the dresser moved in, we put up the chalkboard silhouettes of paper dolls, and the gold vinyl polka dots on the wall, and their room finally has a bit of personality. The boy's room got gold stars on their walls. They had so much fun putting them up. And one of these days I'll get around to tweaking their placement to actually be what I had in mind.
School has begun and is going nicely. The kids were nervous to start at their new school. Nathan came home the first day and said it was horrible and that I should homeschool him. The first week was rough on him. I can sympathize--I started at a new school in third grade, and it's hard to start over with friends. He's doing well now, though. Clara was nervous to start kindergarten, but she's on fire. She has a week to do her homework--one worksheet, back and front. She comes home and does the entire thing. Then she sometimes makes up homework for herself to do the other days when Nathan's doing his. Nathan's doing better at his homework now that I let him move the school desk I bought at Savers from the entry to his bedroom. Easier to focus, less of a fight. What's the downside? Never mind the empty space in my entry that needs some love. The whole entry needs some love, though.
Come to think of it, the whole house needs some love. I'm monumentally slow at decorating. Mainly because I can't decide how I want things. And also, doing things seems to take some time. For the entry, I want to do some wainscoting, but that's a project that doesn't just happen. And if I do that, where am I going to put the gallery wall I've been putting together? I made myself stop buying artwork until I start hanging what I have. I look at my empty gray walls and think: "I love my gray walls." But in some lights I think: "Oh no. I think my gray walls are taupe." I hate taupe. Make up your mind, taupe! Are you tan? Are you gray? I also hate tan; see exhibit A, the tan-upholstered chairs I painted gray three weeks after we moved in, while battling early-July heat and extreme Rituxan-induced fatigue, because I couldn't look at them any longer. (They turned out lovely, by the way. Come to my house and I'll tell you all about them. Pinterest is the best.)
It's coming, though. I dropped some stuff at the DI with no plans of going inside, but decided to take a quick gander. So I unloaded Peter and Alice, and as we walked inside I could see down the aisle to a dream of a midcentury dresser, just waiting for me. I just need to decide what color to paint it, and if it's going to stay in the girls' room or become the sideboard I want in my kitchen. Once we got the dresser moved in, we put up the chalkboard silhouettes of paper dolls, and the gold vinyl polka dots on the wall, and their room finally has a bit of personality. The boy's room got gold stars on their walls. They had so much fun putting them up. And one of these days I'll get around to tweaking their placement to actually be what I had in mind.
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
The last paragraph was the best part
The trip was easy. It was no more dangerous than crossing the street, or driving to the beach, or eating peanuts. The two important things that I did learn were that you are as powerful and strong and you allow yourself to be, and that the most difficult part of any endeavour is taking the first step, making the first decision. And I knew even then that I would forget them time and time again and would have to go back and repeat those words that had become meaningless and try to remember. I knew even then that, instead of remembering the truth of it, I would lapse into a useless nostalgia. Camel trips, as I suspected all along, and as I was about to have confirmed, do not begin or end, they merely change form.
Robyn Davidson, Tracks
Monday, August 31, 2015
A slight miscalculation
Saturday night during bathtime, as I watched Alice wash herself, I said, "You're turning into such a big girl!"
To which she asked, "Am I a big girl now?" (pronounced: gull-er)
"yes!"
To Alice, though, a being a big girl is synonymous with being fully potty trained. All summer she's resisted potty training since she's still little. So after her bath she was pretty incensed that I was putting a diaper on her. "But I'm a big gull-er!"
Sigh.
Now that school is in (can I get a hallelujah?) and she's finally ready, in her words, "to be trained," she's actually cooperating with it. Makes all the difference in the world.
I'll leave school for a separate post for another day, but let's just talk about kissing for a minute. Peter kisses, specifically. He's just started giving them out, and they are an equal mix of adorable and disgusting. You get a whole mouthful of lips and teeth and always a lot of drool. But he's so happy. Now if I could just stop him "kissing" my shoulder. Because when he hugs my shoulder and leans his face in, I know it's going to turn into a big bite. He's leaving marks on my shoulder. Whatever he does, he does with gusto. And he's always so happy about it. Vampire.
And we did this months ago, but when we switched car seats so he could be forward facing, he was so delighted at the view. And the arm rest that he could finally reach. Now whenever we drive he keeps one hand touching the arm rest, just because he can.
And, talking. Mostly now he says "ball." Because if it isn't a ball or a phone, it isn't really worth his time. He likes the basketball hoop on the side of our new swingset. He'll get a ball and hold it over his head until somebody lifts him up to drop it into the hoop. It's adorable, but I wish he enjoyed the short hoop he could actually reach himself as well. And it doesn't even need to be a ball for him to enjoy it. Socks, phones, anything can be called a ball. Today while I was trying to untangle a slinky (for the second time in as many minutes, but who's counting?), he kept pelting me with the folded-up wet diaper I'd just removed from his body, yelling, "ball!" If he weren't so sweet, it would have felt a little mean spirited. We'll have to have a family home evening about not bullying mom.
To which she asked, "Am I a big girl now?" (pronounced: gull-er)
"yes!"
To Alice, though, a being a big girl is synonymous with being fully potty trained. All summer she's resisted potty training since she's still little. So after her bath she was pretty incensed that I was putting a diaper on her. "But I'm a big gull-er!"
Sigh.
Now that school is in (can I get a hallelujah?) and she's finally ready, in her words, "to be trained," she's actually cooperating with it. Makes all the difference in the world.
I'll leave school for a separate post for another day, but let's just talk about kissing for a minute. Peter kisses, specifically. He's just started giving them out, and they are an equal mix of adorable and disgusting. You get a whole mouthful of lips and teeth and always a lot of drool. But he's so happy. Now if I could just stop him "kissing" my shoulder. Because when he hugs my shoulder and leans his face in, I know it's going to turn into a big bite. He's leaving marks on my shoulder. Whatever he does, he does with gusto. And he's always so happy about it. Vampire.
And we did this months ago, but when we switched car seats so he could be forward facing, he was so delighted at the view. And the arm rest that he could finally reach. Now whenever we drive he keeps one hand touching the arm rest, just because he can.
And, talking. Mostly now he says "ball." Because if it isn't a ball or a phone, it isn't really worth his time. He likes the basketball hoop on the side of our new swingset. He'll get a ball and hold it over his head until somebody lifts him up to drop it into the hoop. It's adorable, but I wish he enjoyed the short hoop he could actually reach himself as well. And it doesn't even need to be a ball for him to enjoy it. Socks, phones, anything can be called a ball. Today while I was trying to untangle a slinky (for the second time in as many minutes, but who's counting?), he kept pelting me with the folded-up wet diaper I'd just removed from his body, yelling, "ball!" If he weren't so sweet, it would have felt a little mean spirited. We'll have to have a family home evening about not bullying mom.
Friday, July 17, 2015
We got all sorts of moved
It's been a month since I posted? It's been a month. And how.
We moved! Four weeks tomorrow. The upstairs has been I think cleared of boxes. That was a pretty big goal for me to have done before my book club came over 2 weeks ago, and it happened. Never mind the garage and the basement. They're supposed to look like that. I'm trying to get organized and not just shove things in weird places, so I'm taking my time deciding where things should go.
The kids spent the first week thinking, Today will we make new friends? It was a little heartbreaking to watch. But they are all good little playmates so they weren't too bored or sad as the first week stretched into two and no new friends had appeared. Our street is inordinately quiet. We invited friends from the old neighborhood to play so they wouldn't be too lonesome. By the third week we'd met some people, and a family on the next street up came by to invite them to play. The kids were over the moon! Nathan practically catapulted out of the house. Alice and Clara were very trepidatious, but did not want to miss the opportunity. For a minute Clara tried to carry Alice, but they're nearly the same size, so that wasn't sustainable. They walked off down the street behind their new friend, holding hands, encouraging each other. So, new friends are happening, finally. This week we also had some neighbors come by and told us about the ward playgroup that happens every Thursday. So, next Thursday we'll be able to go and make more new friends. So I'm finally feeling like this move won't be terrible for them.
We moved! Four weeks tomorrow. The upstairs has been I think cleared of boxes. That was a pretty big goal for me to have done before my book club came over 2 weeks ago, and it happened. Never mind the garage and the basement. They're supposed to look like that. I'm trying to get organized and not just shove things in weird places, so I'm taking my time deciding where things should go.
The kids spent the first week thinking, Today will we make new friends? It was a little heartbreaking to watch. But they are all good little playmates so they weren't too bored or sad as the first week stretched into two and no new friends had appeared. Our street is inordinately quiet. We invited friends from the old neighborhood to play so they wouldn't be too lonesome. By the third week we'd met some people, and a family on the next street up came by to invite them to play. The kids were over the moon! Nathan practically catapulted out of the house. Alice and Clara were very trepidatious, but did not want to miss the opportunity. For a minute Clara tried to carry Alice, but they're nearly the same size, so that wasn't sustainable. They walked off down the street behind their new friend, holding hands, encouraging each other. So, new friends are happening, finally. This week we also had some neighbors come by and told us about the ward playgroup that happens every Thursday. So, next Thursday we'll be able to go and make more new friends. So I'm finally feeling like this move won't be terrible for them.
Peter Peter Pumpkin Eater
My camera is broken. And I'm too lazy to put pictures from my phone on here. So, words is all you get.
Peter is now fifteen months, and is all toddler. Somehow my sweet baby has disappeared and has become an urgent grunting thing with opinions who always wants to go outside. He's also the only kid who dares go down to the basement by himself. We've lost him a couple of times in the new house. He's usually in the basement or, if someone's left the door open, in the garage.
He loves shoes. Dad's are his favorite, but anyone else's will do in a pinch. He just carries them around grinning.
He has just learned to fold arms for a prayer. If you place his arms in a folded position he'll keep them that way for the entire prayer, looking bemused and befuddled the entire time. He'll stay that way until you unfold his arms and give him five.
He's switching from two to one naps, and hates to go to bed. There's so much he knows he's missing.
He's been going to nursery with me and Alice the last few weeks, which he's been loving. Alice hasn't allowed me to leave when I take her in there, and it looks like that's going to be permanent. At least for the next five months when she goes to Sunbeams. So really we're just kicking the conflict down the road until January. But Peter gets a bonus three months in nursery, so it will be good. I've spent most of the last couple of months in the hallway at church with him anyway. So, nursery calling. Never had that before. It will be good.
Peter is now fifteen months, and is all toddler. Somehow my sweet baby has disappeared and has become an urgent grunting thing with opinions who always wants to go outside. He's also the only kid who dares go down to the basement by himself. We've lost him a couple of times in the new house. He's usually in the basement or, if someone's left the door open, in the garage.
He loves shoes. Dad's are his favorite, but anyone else's will do in a pinch. He just carries them around grinning.
He has just learned to fold arms for a prayer. If you place his arms in a folded position he'll keep them that way for the entire prayer, looking bemused and befuddled the entire time. He'll stay that way until you unfold his arms and give him five.
He's switching from two to one naps, and hates to go to bed. There's so much he knows he's missing.
He's been going to nursery with me and Alice the last few weeks, which he's been loving. Alice hasn't allowed me to leave when I take her in there, and it looks like that's going to be permanent. At least for the next five months when she goes to Sunbeams. So really we're just kicking the conflict down the road until January. But Peter gets a bonus three months in nursery, so it will be good. I've spent most of the last couple of months in the hallway at church with him anyway. So, nursery calling. Never had that before. It will be good.
Wednesday, June 17, 2015
It's really happening this time
Just got off the phone with our mortgage person. And, apparently, she was under threat of horse's heads in her bed if she didn't get us to closing on time, but she pulled through. One of the benefits of getting your mortgage through a place your brother works: you get good treatment.
Closing day is tomur little ones. My korrow. Moving day is Saturday.
I woke up this morning early, feeling all of the sadness. Change is stressful, and I not only have to manage the logistics of things, I'm also responsible for the emotional well-being of foids love this place. They have great friends. They are going to be sad next week when the impact of moving sinks in: no friends next door, across the street, always available. We're only moving a few miles, possibly less, but it means new new neighbors, new ward, new school. Starting over is hard when you're seven. I know: I remember.
Also, sadness for me: It's a lot harder to make friends as an adult than it is as a kid. My kids will do fine, they'll make friends, Nathan's even excited to start at a new school. But I have some lovely friends here and I won't see them as much. I don't like this part of moving.
When we moved in here, we were two relatively newlyweds, naively looking forward to the birth of our first child. We thought we'd live here for maybe five years, have a couple of kids, then move on. We've been here seven; we've brought four kids home. We learned a lot about home maintenance, how to clean up vomit, and the importance of keeping up on the dishes. So, so many dishes. So many happy hours in the back yard with our lovely shade tree that I will miss dearly. So many nights we were glad our kids couldn't tell time so we could put them to bed early (I miss those days). Watching our babies grow and turn into people.
The last seven years have been an intense ride in all aspects of our lives. A lot of professional development for Levi, a choice to step back from the professional world to focus on some screaming beings for me. Days and months when we struggled and tried to work together, growing in respect for each other's strengths and grace for each other's weaknesses. And many hours of church service that we pretty much always felt ill-prepared for but hoped that it would turn out all right. We still hope that. It's hard to leave a ward we know needs us but...our path is beckoning. And we look forward to what it could be.
Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.
Closing day is tomur little ones. My korrow. Moving day is Saturday.
I woke up this morning early, feeling all of the sadness. Change is stressful, and I not only have to manage the logistics of things, I'm also responsible for the emotional well-being of foids love this place. They have great friends. They are going to be sad next week when the impact of moving sinks in: no friends next door, across the street, always available. We're only moving a few miles, possibly less, but it means new new neighbors, new ward, new school. Starting over is hard when you're seven. I know: I remember.
Also, sadness for me: It's a lot harder to make friends as an adult than it is as a kid. My kids will do fine, they'll make friends, Nathan's even excited to start at a new school. But I have some lovely friends here and I won't see them as much. I don't like this part of moving.
When we moved in here, we were two relatively newlyweds, naively looking forward to the birth of our first child. We thought we'd live here for maybe five years, have a couple of kids, then move on. We've been here seven; we've brought four kids home. We learned a lot about home maintenance, how to clean up vomit, and the importance of keeping up on the dishes. So, so many dishes. So many happy hours in the back yard with our lovely shade tree that I will miss dearly. So many nights we were glad our kids couldn't tell time so we could put them to bed early (I miss those days). Watching our babies grow and turn into people.
The last seven years have been an intense ride in all aspects of our lives. A lot of professional development for Levi, a choice to step back from the professional world to focus on some screaming beings for me. Days and months when we struggled and tried to work together, growing in respect for each other's strengths and grace for each other's weaknesses. And many hours of church service that we pretty much always felt ill-prepared for but hoped that it would turn out all right. We still hope that. It's hard to leave a ward we know needs us but...our path is beckoning. And we look forward to what it could be.
Every new beginning comes from some other beginning's end.
Tuesday, June 2, 2015
Counting Down
Too much I need to write down, and so of course I do none of it.
At the end of April our contract fell through, and then Levi had a birthday, and then we went to the zoo, and then we got two offers on the same day--again. Then we went on a marathon of house hunting (ten houses in four hours with three kids). And we found one! After a snafu of MLS # mixups and second showings and our first loved house made a reappearance online but then wasn't really available again after all and sadness, we made an offer on a house that isn't our dream house (but who has the budget for that sort of thing?) but will be a great house with enough space for our kids to grow, and we're hoping it isn't TOO MUCH, and now I'll end this really long sentence.
We're moving just a few miles, still in Roy, which wasn't my first choice, but we feel really good about it. It means new schools and new friends, but it also means more than twice as many square feet and plenty of room in the garage for all of the bikes.
And now, the sadness. There are friends and neighbors I wish I could pack up and bring with us, because even though we aren't going far and can still see them, it just won't be the same. That if my kids disappear from view, I won't know they're just at Sara's and I don't need to worry. They have a great little crew of friends going on and it's so fleeting and wonderful.
Anyway. I'm having Linda come take pictures of us in our house so we can try to hang on to some of the magic that has been growing our family in this place.
Speaking of magic, I gave the kids some sugar snap peas for lunch. Nathan disappeared in the backyard and came back to report he had planted some peas and a maple tree, and did I want to come see? He's also turned the patch of gravel on the side of the garage into a mining trove. "This one is real diamond! This one has purple diamond! This one is real coal!" He did find a small red rock that, looking online, looks most like carnelian. Magic is just outside the door when you are seven. After I forced the removal of training wheels and instituted mandatory practice, Nathan finally got the hang of it. After for months insisting riding bikes was boring and he didn't want to be able to join his friends across the street, he now pedals happily over and joins the cycling fun.
Peter is just about walking. He'll take a few steps when bribed properly (read: smartphone). And he's waving and throwing food on the floor when he's tired of it and doing all of the things a 14 month old (tomorrow!) should be doing. He's a bottomless pit and has been outeating all of the other kids lately. And he's mostly given up eating Legos (big relief there). Peter likes to open the garage door whenever possible (if it's not latched completely he can pry it open) and try to escape the house. And he'll hang on to the tricycle and walk around the driveway pushing it.
Alice is indomitable. If she doesn't want to do something, nothing will shake her. (Speaking of potty training, we're on a hiatus, probably until school starts and I have some mental energy left for it.) She roughhouses with the big kids like she belongs there, and for the most part she holds her own. Although a certain incident with a big brother and a bunk bed ladder, involving a front tooth's untimely loss, would argue otherwise. She just learned to pedal the tricycle and we're trying to teach her to stay out of the street.
As for Clara, the countdown has begun until kindergarten. This fall is going to be a great thing for everybody. For the record, Clara was the first to request training wheels on her bike, and then quickly developed the balance necessary. She's been wheeling around for months on her scooter, which has helped, while Nathan has been insisting we should get rid of his scooter because it's also boring. We also can't keep her out of the road, or get her to keep shoes on her feet. She's getting bold and adventurous which is quite a transformation.
At the end of April our contract fell through, and then Levi had a birthday, and then we went to the zoo, and then we got two offers on the same day--again. Then we went on a marathon of house hunting (ten houses in four hours with three kids). And we found one! After a snafu of MLS # mixups and second showings and our first loved house made a reappearance online but then wasn't really available again after all and sadness, we made an offer on a house that isn't our dream house (but who has the budget for that sort of thing?) but will be a great house with enough space for our kids to grow, and we're hoping it isn't TOO MUCH, and now I'll end this really long sentence.
We're moving just a few miles, still in Roy, which wasn't my first choice, but we feel really good about it. It means new schools and new friends, but it also means more than twice as many square feet and plenty of room in the garage for all of the bikes.
And now, the sadness. There are friends and neighbors I wish I could pack up and bring with us, because even though we aren't going far and can still see them, it just won't be the same. That if my kids disappear from view, I won't know they're just at Sara's and I don't need to worry. They have a great little crew of friends going on and it's so fleeting and wonderful.
Anyway. I'm having Linda come take pictures of us in our house so we can try to hang on to some of the magic that has been growing our family in this place.
Speaking of magic, I gave the kids some sugar snap peas for lunch. Nathan disappeared in the backyard and came back to report he had planted some peas and a maple tree, and did I want to come see? He's also turned the patch of gravel on the side of the garage into a mining trove. "This one is real diamond! This one has purple diamond! This one is real coal!" He did find a small red rock that, looking online, looks most like carnelian. Magic is just outside the door when you are seven. After I forced the removal of training wheels and instituted mandatory practice, Nathan finally got the hang of it. After for months insisting riding bikes was boring and he didn't want to be able to join his friends across the street, he now pedals happily over and joins the cycling fun.
Peter is just about walking. He'll take a few steps when bribed properly (read: smartphone). And he's waving and throwing food on the floor when he's tired of it and doing all of the things a 14 month old (tomorrow!) should be doing. He's a bottomless pit and has been outeating all of the other kids lately. And he's mostly given up eating Legos (big relief there). Peter likes to open the garage door whenever possible (if it's not latched completely he can pry it open) and try to escape the house. And he'll hang on to the tricycle and walk around the driveway pushing it.
Alice is indomitable. If she doesn't want to do something, nothing will shake her. (Speaking of potty training, we're on a hiatus, probably until school starts and I have some mental energy left for it.) She roughhouses with the big kids like she belongs there, and for the most part she holds her own. Although a certain incident with a big brother and a bunk bed ladder, involving a front tooth's untimely loss, would argue otherwise. She just learned to pedal the tricycle and we're trying to teach her to stay out of the street.
As for Clara, the countdown has begun until kindergarten. This fall is going to be a great thing for everybody. For the record, Clara was the first to request training wheels on her bike, and then quickly developed the balance necessary. She's been wheeling around for months on her scooter, which has helped, while Nathan has been insisting we should get rid of his scooter because it's also boring. We also can't keep her out of the road, or get her to keep shoes on her feet. She's getting bold and adventurous which is quite a transformation.
Wednesday, April 15, 2015
ISOPH
(In Search of Perfect House)
Home shopping is like speed dating. Except you have to propose after the first, possibly second, date. You do get to check them out beforehand, and bring an expert adviser along on your date, but you have to know--bam!--if the chemistry is there.
Of course, it's not really an option to completely renovate your spouse. Houses do have that advantage.
I kid.
The problem with house hunting is the number of options. Where should we live? Stay in humdrum but dependable Roy? Join the snobbery of the east bench? Out beyond farthest Egypt in Syracuse or West Point? Would we be comfortable in 2600 square feet (double what we have now) or should we go for a behemoth at nearly 4000 that is somehow in our price range? One of my current favorites has a nice workshop area in the basement. Should I take up woodworking? Maybe I could them make all the new furniture I want instead of buying it.
Also, should we give up looking at existing and just decide to build? If lightning doesn't strike soon we may just decide on that.
Looking back now, I'm amazed at how nonchalant we've always chosen where we lived now. We chose apartments after looking at a few. We looked only at houses in Roy last time. Back then the stakes seemed a lot smaller, the consequences more temporary.
The last time we moved we didn't have any kids. We didn't think about schools or neighborhoods or traffic or crime stats. We didn't worry about choosing a house that would have the right friends for our kids, a situation that would help us as we try to somehow nurture these beings into adulthood. Also, making friends as an adult is trickier than it used to be--would it be too much to ask to have adult neighbors we like as well? (We do have awesome neighbors now, and I wish we could pack them up and bring them with us.)
Same goes for our ward. Our ward has its struggles, which we have seen and worked around as we've been in leadership positions for the last seven years (either one or both of us for nearly the entire time we've lived here). But we love the people in our ward. There are some people I just ache about leaving. But, we don't feel like the house that we could possibly buy in our ward is the right option for us.
So, a house that is big but not too big, with a lot that is spacious without being a beast to take care of, with a truly perfect kitchen with a pantry, a mudroom, three or more bedrooms, a master suite, and the mystical, undefinable quality that will make that place our home. And room for a piano. Is that too much to ask?
Home shopping is like speed dating. Except you have to propose after the first, possibly second, date. You do get to check them out beforehand, and bring an expert adviser along on your date, but you have to know--bam!--if the chemistry is there.
Of course, it's not really an option to completely renovate your spouse. Houses do have that advantage.
I kid.
The problem with house hunting is the number of options. Where should we live? Stay in humdrum but dependable Roy? Join the snobbery of the east bench? Out beyond farthest Egypt in Syracuse or West Point? Would we be comfortable in 2600 square feet (double what we have now) or should we go for a behemoth at nearly 4000 that is somehow in our price range? One of my current favorites has a nice workshop area in the basement. Should I take up woodworking? Maybe I could them make all the new furniture I want instead of buying it.
Also, should we give up looking at existing and just decide to build? If lightning doesn't strike soon we may just decide on that.
Looking back now, I'm amazed at how nonchalant we've always chosen where we lived now. We chose apartments after looking at a few. We looked only at houses in Roy last time. Back then the stakes seemed a lot smaller, the consequences more temporary.
The last time we moved we didn't have any kids. We didn't think about schools or neighborhoods or traffic or crime stats. We didn't worry about choosing a house that would have the right friends for our kids, a situation that would help us as we try to somehow nurture these beings into adulthood. Also, making friends as an adult is trickier than it used to be--would it be too much to ask to have adult neighbors we like as well? (We do have awesome neighbors now, and I wish we could pack them up and bring them with us.)
Same goes for our ward. Our ward has its struggles, which we have seen and worked around as we've been in leadership positions for the last seven years (either one or both of us for nearly the entire time we've lived here). But we love the people in our ward. There are some people I just ache about leaving. But, we don't feel like the house that we could possibly buy in our ward is the right option for us.
So, a house that is big but not too big, with a lot that is spacious without being a beast to take care of, with a truly perfect kitchen with a pantry, a mudroom, three or more bedrooms, a master suite, and the mystical, undefinable quality that will make that place our home. And room for a piano. Is that too much to ask?
Saturday, April 11, 2015
Alice the Rascal
Last night, sitting in her bed at bedtime, holding a pencil and paper.
I'm doing my potty homework.
Oh? How is it going?
I have to do the numbers again. They got messed up.
***
Sitting in her carseat, recently.
Once Nathan sat there (gesturing to Peter's carseat), and it was awkward.
***
Tonight at bedtime, freshly bathed and with pajamas on. She (unless it was Peter?) dumped the bottle of hand soap all over the bathroom floor, and they both crawled in it. Alice kept trying and trying to stand up but couldn't. Just slipping all over the bathroom floor and eventually crying. After being cleaned up, we had this conversation.
Did you or Peter do it?
I did it.
Why?
Because it was slippery.
Do you do it on purpose or on accident?
I did it on purpose. Because it was slippery.
Tonight was a moment I chose to laugh. And video my child's distress.
I'm doing my potty homework.
Oh? How is it going?
I have to do the numbers again. They got messed up.
***
Sitting in her carseat, recently.
Once Nathan sat there (gesturing to Peter's carseat), and it was awkward.
***
Tonight at bedtime, freshly bathed and with pajamas on. She (unless it was Peter?) dumped the bottle of hand soap all over the bathroom floor, and they both crawled in it. Alice kept trying and trying to stand up but couldn't. Just slipping all over the bathroom floor and eventually crying. After being cleaned up, we had this conversation.
Did you or Peter do it?
I did it.
Why?
Because it was slippery.
Do you do it on purpose or on accident?
I did it on purpose. Because it was slippery.
Tonight was a moment I chose to laugh. And video my child's distress.
Friday, April 10, 2015
It's not even April Fool's Day
On April Fool's Day our realtor called to assure us, "This isn't an April Fool's Prank, but someone wants to see your house in 45 minutes." We pushed it back another half hour, and I got to work, cleaning, loading kids in the car, and then final cleaning. I had it down to an art. Also, speed vacuuming is good exercise. We ended up having three showings that day.
Lots and lots of showings, but no offers. Until.
Peter got the best birthday present. He didn't really care about it, but Levi and I were happy.
It's been one month since we put our house up. We've had 29 showings, three birthdays, general conference weekend, and now...
One signed contract. Wahoo!
And none too soon. We were keeping the house pretty clean, ready to ship out at short notice. The kids were great. For a brief period they were picking up toys, putting dirty clothes in the hamper, all sorts of cleanliness. I loved it. But it also felt like we couldn't relax and just live in our house. Our house was on the market for exactly one month, and we had showings nearly every day. Sometimes as many as three in a day. It's a seller's market. And we are sellers. We spent lots of time at grandparents' houses, and then started a tour of Weber county playgrounds. Turns out most playground bathrooms are locked mid-March, so we also made a couple unscheduled visits to family members who happened to live near those parks. They were very gracious.
On Peter's birthday, we got two offers on our house. The first was all right, and we were planning our counteroffer, when we got another. Full asking price, and we pay closing costs. Done and done. More savvy negotiators might have tried to play them against each other to knock out the closing costs, but that's not us. I was just happy to sell it for more than we paid, since I've spent much of the last seven years sure that we would lose money on this house.
Closing isn't for six more weeks, which is perfect, since now the real work begins. Finding a new home.
Lots and lots of showings, but no offers. Until.
Peter got the best birthday present. He didn't really care about it, but Levi and I were happy.
It's been one month since we put our house up. We've had 29 showings, three birthdays, general conference weekend, and now...
One signed contract. Wahoo!
And none too soon. We were keeping the house pretty clean, ready to ship out at short notice. The kids were great. For a brief period they were picking up toys, putting dirty clothes in the hamper, all sorts of cleanliness. I loved it. But it also felt like we couldn't relax and just live in our house. Our house was on the market for exactly one month, and we had showings nearly every day. Sometimes as many as three in a day. It's a seller's market. And we are sellers. We spent lots of time at grandparents' houses, and then started a tour of Weber county playgrounds. Turns out most playground bathrooms are locked mid-March, so we also made a couple unscheduled visits to family members who happened to live near those parks. They were very gracious.
On Peter's birthday, we got two offers on our house. The first was all right, and we were planning our counteroffer, when we got another. Full asking price, and we pay closing costs. Done and done. More savvy negotiators might have tried to play them against each other to knock out the closing costs, but that's not us. I was just happy to sell it for more than we paid, since I've spent much of the last seven years sure that we would lose money on this house.
Closing isn't for six more weeks, which is perfect, since now the real work begins. Finding a new home.
Tuesday, March 17, 2015
March is marching on
In the last 14 days we have had 14 showings.
Two of those we heard didn't actually happen, one due to a missing key snafu (what kind of realtor doesn't put the key back in the lock box?), but still. Almost an average of one person a day looking at our house. It's getting a little exhausting, being this clean. I love it, though. Every room in our house is clean. Every day. Levi and the kids are being wonderful. Especially (not really especially, maybe surprisingly?) Nathan, who doesn't even want to move. He never neglects to take his dirty clothes upstairs to Alice's laundry hamper since we're no longer keeping a laundry basket out downstairs. Yesterday morning we were running a little late to school but he remembered to make his bed. I was so pleased I didn't even yell he was making himself late to school (he wasn't). We had a showing on Sunday and so he made my bed for me as I was running around getting everyone ready. Sometimes that boy can be so sweet. Alice has been putting her shoes and toys away in her closet as she gets ready for bed. I've been really enjoying all this putting-awayness. I hope our house sells before the inevitable backslide into clutter begins. I'm hoping this will start new habits for everyone, including me. I've never been a bed-maker, but now I am. And it makes such a difference.
A few things about our family as of now:
Peter has three favorite playthings: electrical cords, bookshelves, and the contents of any cabinet he can open. He is the direct enemy of all the cleaning we've been trying to enforce lately. This morning I had the upstairs clean so I closed all the doors. When he crawled upstairs and couldn't get to any of his favorite play spaces (the bathroom cabinet and the bookshelf in his bedroom) he cried and cried. He's had a cold for quite a while and was getting grumpier and grumpier until I finally took him to the doctor. Probably shouldn't have waited so long, as Peter became the first of my kids to be prescribed oral antibiotics. Poor little guy with hurty ears. He's much better now.
Alice has recently made a large leap in dialectic capacity, both in vocabulary and sentence complexity. Today she said, "I don't like bugs because they creep me out!" The other day my mom laughed when she said, "What the heck?!" and so she kept saying it, getting louder and with more pronounced facial expressions and head movements. We're taking a break from potty training since she was getting more and more resistant. I think we're making progress towards starting up again since she's no longer insisting she's a baby, and has even gone so far as to admit she'll go potty when she's big, and that turning three will make her big. She's also said she'll be big AND go potty when she's five, though, so there's that deadline to look forward to. She has a "robot" she made with Nathan's help (an empty yogurt container with freezer tape wrapped around it) that we have tried and failed to get rid of. She fills it with little princess figurines and totes it around. It comes to preschool with her. And heaven forbid one of the toys be missing--she will notice. I'm looking at you, Prince Eric--what were you thinking, being in the van all by yourself?
Clara is pining for kindergarten. She comes up with elaborate plans every day: parties, mostly. Every day is a letdown. Where are we going today? What are we doing? Who's coming over? Why isn't mom planning elaborate celebrations all the time? Clara I think wishes she could live in a Fancy Nancy book. Every day life is just too humdrum. She's been riding her scooter a lot lately and is getting pretty fast on it, as opposed to Nathan, who can't be bothered to practice. She's back to happily doing online preschool every day, and is making a lot of progress. One day Levi found a list of the names of our family and commented on why Nathan didn't know how to spell Peter. It was spelled something like "Pedr." When I told him Clara had done it on her own, he was much more impressed.
Nathan has recently made a big jump in schoolwork. Every day he brings home a book from his classroom for reading, and he'd been working on level E or F. One day he was so excited. "Look at my bag, mom." He'd jumped from level E to level K. That burst of confidence also got him over the hump on a math test level he'd been stuck on. It's so nice to see the daily frustrating math and reading practice translate into progress, and to see the satisfaction for him. He's also become best friends with a little boy who it turns out lives just in the cul-de-sac across the street. So at every available opportunity, he's wanting to be over there. Or up the street to play with some other boys who are always outside. This is why he doesn't want to move.
Two of those we heard didn't actually happen, one due to a missing key snafu (what kind of realtor doesn't put the key back in the lock box?), but still. Almost an average of one person a day looking at our house. It's getting a little exhausting, being this clean. I love it, though. Every room in our house is clean. Every day. Levi and the kids are being wonderful. Especially (not really especially, maybe surprisingly?) Nathan, who doesn't even want to move. He never neglects to take his dirty clothes upstairs to Alice's laundry hamper since we're no longer keeping a laundry basket out downstairs. Yesterday morning we were running a little late to school but he remembered to make his bed. I was so pleased I didn't even yell he was making himself late to school (he wasn't). We had a showing on Sunday and so he made my bed for me as I was running around getting everyone ready. Sometimes that boy can be so sweet. Alice has been putting her shoes and toys away in her closet as she gets ready for bed. I've been really enjoying all this putting-awayness. I hope our house sells before the inevitable backslide into clutter begins. I'm hoping this will start new habits for everyone, including me. I've never been a bed-maker, but now I am. And it makes such a difference.
A few things about our family as of now:
Peter has three favorite playthings: electrical cords, bookshelves, and the contents of any cabinet he can open. He is the direct enemy of all the cleaning we've been trying to enforce lately. This morning I had the upstairs clean so I closed all the doors. When he crawled upstairs and couldn't get to any of his favorite play spaces (the bathroom cabinet and the bookshelf in his bedroom) he cried and cried. He's had a cold for quite a while and was getting grumpier and grumpier until I finally took him to the doctor. Probably shouldn't have waited so long, as Peter became the first of my kids to be prescribed oral antibiotics. Poor little guy with hurty ears. He's much better now.
Alice has recently made a large leap in dialectic capacity, both in vocabulary and sentence complexity. Today she said, "I don't like bugs because they creep me out!" The other day my mom laughed when she said, "What the heck?!" and so she kept saying it, getting louder and with more pronounced facial expressions and head movements. We're taking a break from potty training since she was getting more and more resistant. I think we're making progress towards starting up again since she's no longer insisting she's a baby, and has even gone so far as to admit she'll go potty when she's big, and that turning three will make her big. She's also said she'll be big AND go potty when she's five, though, so there's that deadline to look forward to. She has a "robot" she made with Nathan's help (an empty yogurt container with freezer tape wrapped around it) that we have tried and failed to get rid of. She fills it with little princess figurines and totes it around. It comes to preschool with her. And heaven forbid one of the toys be missing--she will notice. I'm looking at you, Prince Eric--what were you thinking, being in the van all by yourself?
Clara is pining for kindergarten. She comes up with elaborate plans every day: parties, mostly. Every day is a letdown. Where are we going today? What are we doing? Who's coming over? Why isn't mom planning elaborate celebrations all the time? Clara I think wishes she could live in a Fancy Nancy book. Every day life is just too humdrum. She's been riding her scooter a lot lately and is getting pretty fast on it, as opposed to Nathan, who can't be bothered to practice. She's back to happily doing online preschool every day, and is making a lot of progress. One day Levi found a list of the names of our family and commented on why Nathan didn't know how to spell Peter. It was spelled something like "Pedr." When I told him Clara had done it on her own, he was much more impressed.
Nathan has recently made a big jump in schoolwork. Every day he brings home a book from his classroom for reading, and he'd been working on level E or F. One day he was so excited. "Look at my bag, mom." He'd jumped from level E to level K. That burst of confidence also got him over the hump on a math test level he'd been stuck on. It's so nice to see the daily frustrating math and reading practice translate into progress, and to see the satisfaction for him. He's also become best friends with a little boy who it turns out lives just in the cul-de-sac across the street. So at every available opportunity, he's wanting to be over there. Or up the street to play with some other boys who are always outside. This is why he doesn't want to move.
Monday, February 2, 2015
Zombies! Also, Elsa does go potty
Sometimes, if the cupboard is open, she'll spot a small bottle on the shelf and say, "There's the special drink that makes me go potty!"
In early January Alice started being really uncomfortable with diapers. She'd lay on the floor, unable to walk, because "I'm too poopy!" Every time she had a wet diaper. So, we figured, let's start with potty training before she gets used to it again. You'd think I wouldn't make the rookie mistake of starting potty training at the same time I'm trying to do other large and sundry projects. I've been to this rodeo before, but apparently I never learn. And here is where I owe a huge shoutout of thanks to Levi and his immense patience. My attention has been so fractured lately with trying to get things fixed, decluttered, organized, and what have you, that I was not having a lot of success with remembering to get Alice to the bathroom. So he took a weekend and set the timer, sat with Alice in the bathroom reading stories and letting her play on his phone, and plying her with a water bottle of flavored water (hence the special drink from the cupboard, a bottle of sugar-free flavoring). And by the end of that weekend she had figured out how to pee on the toilet without spending a lot of wasted time in the bathroom first.
I bought some training pants made by Gerber, so they have the picture of the Gerber baby on the tag. At first she didn't want to wear them: "These are Petey's." But we told her the tag was a picture of her when she was a baby, so now she gets excited whenever she puts them on. We also bought a toilet seat that has a smaller training seat that folds down, but is held to the lid with a magnet when it's not being used. It's awesome, and it makes it her toilet. She thinks the brand name on the seat is her name, thus making the entire toilet hers.
As long as we remember to take her regularly, she's pretty good at staying dry. But, she will not tell us before she needs to go, so if we forget, it's accident city. And she doesn't like taking a shower to clean up, so she won't tell us. She'll just take off her wet underwear off and leave it for me to find. It's not a fun surprise. We're taking a break to save my sanity and lessen the battle of wills. She knows once she finishes filling up her sticker chart she'll earn her Alice book, a photo book of pictures of her. She's really excited about it. I'm hoping it will click soon for her.
And yes, we have had more than one conversation about Elsa and the toilet. Even though you never see a bathroom in Elsa's ice castle, princesses do use the potty. Alice was not the only kid who had this misconception.
Peter at nine months
A few more things about Peter:
He loves electrical cords. He's knocked over a couple floor lamps by pulling on the cords.
He loves to put anything and everything in his mouth. One day we were at my mom's eating lunch and Clara asked what was in Peter's mouth. I told her it was bread or applesauce or whatever I was feeding him, and she said, "No, it's blue." I fished it out: a wire nut he'd found on the floor. It's a miracle he didn't swallow it while he was eating. Another day we found a fingernail sticker that Clara had gotten for her birthday, in Peter's diaper. And tell me again why I got the three other kids Legos for Christmas? It will be a miracle if Peter survives babyhood.
He started crawling on Clara's birthday. He's since progressed to pulling himself up, which he does at every opportunity. Sometimes he'll stand up, flop himself down, and do it all over again. It's a party.
When he's really happy, he'll grin and shake his head no.
He's working on growing his top two teeth. They're so close and then I think we'll get back to better sleeping again.
He's also fascinated by stairs. He's fallen down them a few times, but still heads back to them whenever he can. I'm getting better at remembering to put him downstairs to play, because it's harder to fall up stairs. If I put a baby gate up, I'll be spending all day lifting kids over it as they go about playing, and not to mention it will ding up the walls I've been so laboriously touching up. Every time I think I've got all the dings fixed, I find more.
He has said NO MORE, WOMAN! when it comes to baby food. If he can't feed himself, he wants no part of it. Except for yogurt and green smoothies. Those I can feed him. We gave him a little bit of hot chocolate on Saturday. His first drink he pulled back pretty quickly. Then he kept going back for a series of quick drinks as he adjusted to the taste and temperature. Then he got a little manic as he grunted and reached for more as he realized how awesome hot chocolate is.
Christmas 2014
Other Christmas highlights:
Michael and Erin and Ethan came for Christmas! We had a lot of fun spending time with them. We went together to Christmas Village after Christmas. We didn't make it before Christmas when the weather was really mild, and the night we went was frigid and windy. Alice cried almost the whole time. Another night all the brothers went to a Jazz game, and the rest of us gathered for a pizza and game night. And we all spent New Year's Eve together. It was a fun couple of weeks.
Last year photo dump
Monday, January 26, 2015
A series of unfortunate events
This morning:
Alice: You look like Cinderella.
Me: I look like Cinderella? That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me all--
Alice: No! You the mommy.
Well, maybe considering the awesome case of bedhead I had this morning, I could be considered pre-pumpkin, pre-fairy godmother Cinderella?
Also this morning, I was downstairs and heard Clara say, "Peter, no! Ew! Yuck!"
I cam upstairs to see what she was overreacting about and found, for once, she wasn't. He had tipped over one of the paint cans sitting on the kitchen floor, and when I thought the lid was on sufficiently tightly, I was wrong. Flat white ceiling paint on the floor, soaked through his pajamas onto his legs, on his hands and face, in his hair. Alice seemed most concerned that there was paint on a snack container from the diaper bag. It wasn't much paint, but it sure covered everything thoroughly. Luckily latex paint washes off tile easily, and thanks to the magic of rubbing alcohol and a toothbrush, it even came off the grout. Phew.
This is just the latest in a series of home refurbishing mishaps. Turns out trying to fix up a house while living in it with four small children, doing most of it on nights and weekends, is kind of hard. And the more I do, the more I find that needs to be done. I'm thinking, though, that I need to quit while I'm still marginally ahead. Rubbing alcohol can only do so much.
Oh, and fixing up our house? We're thinking of moving this year. If I don't get into a bigger kitchen soon, I might lose my mind.
Alice: You look like Cinderella.
Me: I look like Cinderella? That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me all--
Alice: No! You the mommy.
Well, maybe considering the awesome case of bedhead I had this morning, I could be considered pre-pumpkin, pre-fairy godmother Cinderella?
***
Also this morning, I was downstairs and heard Clara say, "Peter, no! Ew! Yuck!"
I cam upstairs to see what she was overreacting about and found, for once, she wasn't. He had tipped over one of the paint cans sitting on the kitchen floor, and when I thought the lid was on sufficiently tightly, I was wrong. Flat white ceiling paint on the floor, soaked through his pajamas onto his legs, on his hands and face, in his hair. Alice seemed most concerned that there was paint on a snack container from the diaper bag. It wasn't much paint, but it sure covered everything thoroughly. Luckily latex paint washes off tile easily, and thanks to the magic of rubbing alcohol and a toothbrush, it even came off the grout. Phew.
This is just the latest in a series of home refurbishing mishaps. Turns out trying to fix up a house while living in it with four small children, doing most of it on nights and weekends, is kind of hard. And the more I do, the more I find that needs to be done. I'm thinking, though, that I need to quit while I'm still marginally ahead. Rubbing alcohol can only do so much.
Oh, and fixing up our house? We're thinking of moving this year. If I don't get into a bigger kitchen soon, I might lose my mind.
Wednesday, January 7, 2015
Me? Hit my kids? Never.
Nathan came to me with those plastic bags full of air that come in packages now up his shirt, and said:
Punch me. But not as hard as you can.
He was remembering a year or two ago, when he came to me wearing a shield that was really a cardboard box that pinioned his arms down, and asked me to punch him as hard as I could. And I didn't do that, but I didn't really softball it, so when I punched him, and his arms were bound so he couldn't right himself, he fell over, bouncing off the chair as he traveled downward.
It was a great laugh, then and now.
For both of us.
Punch me. But not as hard as you can.
He was remembering a year or two ago, when he came to me wearing a shield that was really a cardboard box that pinioned his arms down, and asked me to punch him as hard as I could. And I didn't do that, but I didn't really softball it, so when I punched him, and his arms were bound so he couldn't right himself, he fell over, bouncing off the chair as he traveled downward.
It was a great laugh, then and now.
For both of us.
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