Friday, August 29, 2008
On Wednesday morning, my mom went out to get Michael to come in from her patio. When she got out there, she discovered that he had dropped his binky into a bucket of water he was using to wash her patio door. She turned to go in and wash the binky when she tripped over a broom he had left in the door way*. I'm not sure why he was washing her windows and I'm not sure why he had a broom either, but I do know that she did something really bad to her knee.
The original plan was for me to take Friday off and watch Michael while she took the long weekend off to recover. That is until Thursday morning when she tried to get out of bed and realized just how bad her leg is. So, I took yesterday off to watch Michael and to take her to the ER.
I've never mentioned this, but my mom lives right next to the hospital. When I delivered Michael, I could actually see my mom's apartment from my room. If she was in the sewing room, I could actually see her. That's how close it is. So, it felt a little silly picking her up, driving up her driveway, making a left, and then another quick left, and then driving right back down to 100 yards from where we started from. If her knee wasn't so bad, it would have been faster to walk.
They processed her in pretty quickly, so I decided to stay with her for a while. The triage nurse was lacking on bedside manner, but we didn't have to see her dower face for very long. It wasn't long before my mom was escorted back to a room. Everyone was very pleasant from that point on. I guess they have changed to a first name basis approach, so everyone that came introduced themselves by their first name. It made it hard to distinguish between the kid who came to take her to x-ray, and the kid who turned out to be her doctor. (Except that the doctor was HOT!)
The x-ray didn't show anything but age related wear and tear. The doctor picked up her leg and wiggled it around, which did nothing but hurt my mom. (This reminded me of a discussion I had in the ER when I got a piece of plastic in my eye. My doctor said that patients feel better after an ER visit if their doctor does something that causes them pain. Later that night, when I actually got the plastic out of my own eye I decided that patients might actually feel better if the doctor actually helps them.) He offered her prescription Motrin, which she refused. He offered her a leg stabilizer, which she refused, he offered her crutches, and then looked at us like we were crazy when we both burst out laughing.
See, my mom can't use crutches. She's had plenty of chances to learn. She's crushed a toe, broken her foot, broken her ankle, and had three surgeries to correct problems related to the breaks. Every time, they give her crutches, and every time she gives it a try. She stands up, swings them forward, and then practically falls on her butt when she tries to swing forward. I've seen her try it about 20 times, and every time it's the same thing. She looks like a Weeble wobbling between the crutches, only she does fall down.
In other words, we spent an hour at the ER to have them tell us that she hurt her knee. It would have been a complete waste of time except that the doctor was HOT.
Now it's just a waiting game. She's going to stay off of it for five days. If it improves, great, life goes on. If it doesn't, then she'll need to see an Orthopedist. If that's the case, and she needs surgery, then we will have to place Michael in daycare until she recovers. I'm doing my best to stay positive, and to not worry too much until we see what happens. But, I'm worrying anyway.
*I'm starting to wonder what they do all day? It sounds like he's doing her housework for her. Either she needs to stop that, or I need to make better use of Michael's time.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
Last night, M got her revenge on Michael. Back in my "is my child a brat" days, M was Michael's biggest target. Honestly, I can see why she was so hard to resist. She's just so sweet and innocent looking. The chubby cheeks, the curly hair, the pouty lips. What little boy could resist the temptation of pushing that?
Michael has been really sweet for the past week or so. No pushing, no hitting. He's even been SHARING! He's finally starting to charm her. But, boys are hopelessly lacking in sense when it comes to girls. Last night when we went outside, M was smiling his way, luring him in. So, Michael went right over to see her. Her, and the the hose that she was holding. He walked up and she gave him a big grin and drenched him from head to toe, laughing the entire time. His evil mommy stood there laughing too. Poor boy.
In other news, I finally finished Breaking Dawn last night. I totally loved it and felt very fulfilled when it was done. I really only had two problems with it. 1) Vampire stories should NEVER mention anything along the lines of Chromosomes. If we are going to suspend our disbelief long enough to read about vampires, we can probably handle it without any fake science backing it up. I'm glad there was very little of that stuff mentioned. 2) I read London's Word of the Week Post before finishing the book and felt like I was being poked in the eye every time SM used the word "Chagrined".
I know that there was something else that I wanted to post about, but for the life of me, I cannot remember what it was. Think, think, think...Nope, it's gone. Sorry.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
A. Attached or single? Attached
B. Best friend? George & Karen
C. Cake or Pie? Pizza
D. Day of Choice? Saturday
E. Essential item? Car
F. Favorite color? Periwinkle blue
G. Gummy bears or worms? worms
H. Hometown? Philadelphia, PA
I. Indulgence? High quality pistachios
J. January or July? October
K. Kids? Michael
L. Life isn't complete without? Books
M. Marriage date? 4/16/05
N. Number of brothers and sisters? One of each. Both older
O. Oranges or apples? Apples
P. Phobias? Spiders and bugs
Q. Quotes? I don’t do quotes. If I have something to say, I’ll say it myself.
R. Reasons to smile? Just about everything
S. Season of Choice? Fall
T. Tag some peeps:
U. Unknown fact about me? I am a direct descendant of one of the signers of the U.S. Constitution. Jacob Broom. Look him up, he’s real. I swear. Seriously.
V. Vegetable? Lima Beans
W. Worst habit? Gum chewing
X. X-ray or Ultrasound? Ultrasound
Y. Your favorite food? Pizza
Z. Zodiac sign? Aquarius
Monday, August 25, 2008
It was a normal evening. Andy and I took Michael out to the local golf shop. Andy has been looking at a putter that he really likes, and I decided to buy it for him for his birthday. The store has a wide open putting green with several holes, lots of balls, about 200 clubs surrounding it, and some sort of machine that must do something terribly important. In other words, it's about as tempting as you can make a place for a two year old.
Michael and I have been working on appropriate golf store behavior for several months now. It has resulted in several trips out of store with him screaming and flailing in my arms - oh, and maybe an entire rack of drivers being knocked over. But, he has learned how to behave pretty well in golf stores, which he demonstrated beautifully on Friday.
Then, it happened. The moment that I have both yearned for and dreaded for months now.
Me: Michael, please leave those clubs alone.
My jaw just dropped as I stood there frozen. So, Pandora's box has been opened. Wish me strength.
Friday, August 22, 2008
Remeber my shoe post from last week? I had a horrible time with the pictures for that post. I even ended up with some of them sitting on the desktop of my work computer. I haven't cleaned my desktop off in a while, so it's getting cluttered.
One of my coworkers is scrambling to submit a paper for a conference. She has had a long, hard battle getting it approved and she needed it converted to a .pdf file to submit it. I'm the only one in my group with the software to do that, so she sent it to me to convert. I saved it to my desk top. They found an error. I converted it again, and saved it my desk top. Then, another change, so I did it again.
I'm sure you see where this is going. Yes, in my rush to get her the last copy, I accidentally grabbed the shoe picture instead of the paper. So, instead of opening up a file of her very important technical publication, she opened up this.
I'm so glad it wasn't a picutre of the Birkenstocks. That would have been bad.
The good thing is that I sent it to a woman, and not one of my male coworkers. If I had sent it to one of the guys, I would have owed him a beer. Instead, she emailed me back and asked me where to get them.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
As I’ve mentioned, we live in a town home community with a number of other young families. It’s wonderful for those of us with children. Not so wonderful for Snowball, the well loved cat.
We have had some of the nicest August weather I’ve seen in years, so the kids have been spending a lot of time outdoors playing with one another. Last night, we had a little gang of the beasties roaming the front lawns, playing with sidewalk chalk, and trying to force car keys into the mailbox locks. It was Michael, J who is the same age, N who is almost two, and M who is 21 months and the only girl. They played nicely together for over an hour.
M, being a little younger, and being a girl, doesn’t always get into the same things as the boys do. While the boys were playing with clods of dirt from a neighbor’s garden project, she was sitting on her mommy’s lap. When the boys found a praying mantis, she was picking up chalk. Finally, when the boys headed off into the shrubs to find a tree to climb, she just rolled her eyes and shook her head. (Oh wait, that was me.)
None of the boys has managed to find a tree to climb yet, I mean they are only three feet tall. But, that doesn’t stop them from trying. J’s daddy finally got them all distracted from trying to climb a miniature tree that clearly could not hold any of their weight. N and J came out from the bushes and looked for something else to destroy. Michael, on the other hand, decided to go on Safari. This just drives me crazy. He won’t come out, and I’m too big to fit back there and get him out. So, I’m reduced to the entirely ineffective, “Michael, come out here. Michael, we’ll have to go in if you don’t come out. Michael…Michael...Michael.”
Last night, my first “Michael” was met with J and N running over scolding “Michael” as well. I had to stop and laugh as they continued to chide him with their little toddler voices. “Mi-chol, come owt!” J even put his hands on his hips while he did it.
It was really very cute until I realized what I must look like doing that. Maybe a leash isn’t such a bad idea.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Here you go. http://www.dooce.com/2008/08/19/pay-attention-ones-complicated It's funnier than anything I would have posted anyway.
Tuesday, August 19, 2008
It seems like Michael has been pretty busy too. I had a feeling that something was going on with him when he reverted back to confusing "mommy" and "grandma" again. My mom LOVES this confusion. Me, not so much. I know I'm no spring chicken anymore, but I'm really not ready to be called "grandma."
Infant development, especially with your first born, is such an amazing and clear cut process. Smile? Check. Laugh? Check. Roll over? Check. But, once the toddling starts and the first few words are said, the milestones become more subtle, and less tracked.
I've been lucky enough to catch a few developments in the past week. The first was the introduction of galloping into Michael's repertoire of ways to get around. It's so much fun to watch my reluctant walker gallop around the kitchen chasing Andy. I guess the next step is skipping when he figured out how to alternate his legs.
Alternating legs was the next development I caught. On the stairs. We we heading up for bath time when Michael paused and looked at his feet. Instead of bringing the left foot up to the right foot, and leading off with the right again, he alternated. He hesitated and then did it again, one more time before switching back to the old way to finish the trip.
The third development is the one that hit me the hardest. For months now we have been joking about the Shaq effect. That's when you always talk about yourself in the third person. Michael has been doing that forever. My favorite one being, "Michael wants a, needs a" fill in the blank. (Normally cookie, or a HOT bottle.) He's been saying, "I love you" for a while, but last week I caught his first "I" when he announced that he had the hiccups. Since then, "Michael" seems to have disappeared. I'm really going to miss it.
One development that he hasn't reached yet is the ability to figure out the Bugs bunny trick of Duck Season/Rabbit Season. We were grocery shopping this weekend, and Michael managed to get his hands on the Wheat Thins box. We had our normal discussion about how we don't open something until we pay for it and then Michael got into "Mine" mode. He kept pulling on the box saying "mine". I'd pull back and say "mine." After a few rounds I tried pushing, instead of pulling, and said "yours" and was rewarded with him pushing it back at me with a big, old "YOURS!" I took the box away and watched the look of confusion cross his face. It was priceless.
Don't worry, I'm a softy. I gave it right back. And then pulled it on him again five minutes later. Kids are so much fun.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
Michael: Mommy! I have...hic
Michael: Mommy, mommy...hic
Michael: Mommy, I ...hic...I...hic...
Me: Slow down Michael, what are you trying to say?
Michael: Mommy, hic...
At this point, I can see he's getting frustrated, and I'm really dying to know what's so important.
Michael: MOMMY, I HAVE THE HICCUPS!
Really? I never would have guessed.
I hate wearing shoes. It's just one of those quirky things about it me. It drives Andy crazy because the moment I realize I'm inside and I'm wearing shoes, I take them off and leave them. It means we end up with shoes scattered all over the house.
I hate shoes so much, that this is what I used to wear. Even in the winter. With socks.
I know, it's disgraceful.
I did own some more appropriate shoes for work, including high heels. However, they may have been just a little on the conservative side. What do you think?
For some reason, this spring, I decided that the unpolished nails and Birkenstocks just didn't cut it anymore. I think it may have something to do with the fact that I'm pretty much surround by men all the time. I work all day in a male dominated office, and then I come home to my two men. It's just too much testosterone for me to deal with. So, I ask you, what raises the estrogen levels better than a pedicure and a new pair of shoes?
I got a little fancier this year, and bought these.
I know, thrilling aren't they. I'm such a wild woman. I did branch out and bought a similar pair in brown.
Last week I wanted to wear my black flats, but when I pulled them out I discovered they were damaged by the excessive amounts of salt my company spread this past winter.
Nothing like a nice pair of conservative black flats with salt stains to win friends and influence people. I decided it was time to go shoe shopping. (I'm keeping this pair for the winter.)
I'm a big fan of DSW shoe warehouse. I wear a...gasp...size ten, and any shoe store that requires a salesperson to run into the back room is too painful for me.
Sales person: Can I help you?
Me: Yes, do you have this in a 10?
Sales person: Oh, um...let me check.
Sales person returning from stock room: I'm sorry. We have it in a 9.
Me: No thanks. How about this one?
Sales person: Oh, um...let me check.
Repeat until I'm reduced to tears and a pair of conservative black flats.
My approach to DSW is to walk through the entire selection, and anytime I see a shoe I like, I check the sizes. It's great because I don't get too discouraged. There are always a few 10s around. It's bad because I I have to look at every shoe in the store.
I did find a pair of black flats. I don't think they are too conservative for business slacks. I don't normally go for adornments.
Then, I found these...
And I just HAD to have them. I mean really, shouldn't a girl have at least one pair of red heels, well, almost red heels, at least once in her life? How could I resist?
Oh, but wait...I decided to walk through the sandal section too and encountered these.
Here they are from the side.
Aren't they just to die for?
Yes, I did buy them. But you want to know something more amazing? I actually wore them. Out of the house. To work!
World watch out. There's no holding me back. I love shoes!
P.S. Don't worry. I did this as well.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
I would love to wrap Michael up with bubble wrap every morning to keep him safe throughout the day. It seems he’s inherited the accident prone gene from Aunt Bubbles.* In the past year, the poor child has already managed to fall down cement stairs, ripping up his face; and to get his finger caught in a door, breaking the finger and eventually losing the nail. He’s finally gotten to the point where the pink mark over his eye is gone, and the finger nail is just about grown in. So, there are no more visual reminders of the boo boos that I would gladly have suffered in his place.
The first thing that Michael said to me on Monday when he got home was, “my knee hurts.” I hadn’t even gotten him out of his car seat yet. Normally, he fights to get down as soon as I get him out of the car. You know, so that he can chase the neighbor’s cat, throw rocks at someone’s car, or otherwise terrorize the neighborhood. However, he didn’t try to run off when I put him down. Instead he stood there. Finally, he took a step. He limped, said “ouch”, and started to cry.
That’s when that feeling set in. That sinking feeling in my stomach that happens anytime I’m concerned about my little boy. That feeling I really wish I would never feel again.
My mom explained that she wasn’t sure what happened to his leg. He tripped over some of his train tracks, and cried, but it didn’t seem that bad until after his nap. There were no cuts or scraps. Nothing looked swollen or out of place. No bruises. It didn’t hurt to the touch. Whatever was wrong, it was internal.
So, my mind started spinning. Do we go to the doctor? Maybe we should just head straight to the ER, that’s where the doctor will send us anyway. What about dinner? Oh no, it’s rush hour. The best ER for kids is a long drive. Can we wait until traffic dies down? What are these people going to think? X-rays again? We were just in a few months ago.
Calm down. Take a deep breath. Think.
I ended up bringing Michael in and placed him on the sofa. I got him a hot bottle (I know, I know) and let him watch a little TV. When the milk was done, I manage to convince him that I really didn’t want him to eat these two yummy, pink candies that could not possibly really be Tylenol. He tried walking again, but cried, so I put him back on the sofa.
Little by little, he seemed to perk up. By dinner time, he was able to limp to his chair. When he was done eating, he really pushed to get down. We needed to run some errands, and all the neighborhood kids were out when we got home. Michael hopped down from the car, and ran right over to play. Whatever was wrong earlier seemed to have resolved itself. Michael was no worse for the wear.
Me, I’m still a little upset about it. That sinking feeling doesn’t just go away. In fact, I think they just keep building on one another, and you feel each one over again anytime something happens. It really does make me wish I could just wrap him in bubble wrap to keep him safe all the time. I know it wouldn’t work. I know we’ll go through this feeling again and again. But, I can dream.
What’s the plastic wrap for, you ask? My furniture. My carpet. My clothes. Pretty much anything that can’t be wiped off with a towel. While Michael manages to harm himself now and again, he’s really mastered the art of harming my stuff. Frequently. My poor sofa will never be the same.
*Aunt Bubbles is my sister, Christine. She did not get this nick name through her warm, bubbly outlook on life. She got it because she has the rare, and disgusting, ability to blow spit bubbles on her tongue and launch them in the air. You now, the kind of thing a two year old thinks is the coolest skill in the world.
Monday, August 11, 2008
We had beautiful weather on Saturday, so I took Michael to the small, local playground in the morning. For most of the time, we had the playground to ourselves, which means I got to play on the slide too. Michael enjoyed bossing me around. I think it must be nice for him, considering I'm normally the one doing the bossing around. After about 45 minutes, a father, son and daughter came over. The girl wanted to swing, which means that Michael had to swing as well. I pushed him twice, and then he decided he wanted OUT. I lifted him out, put him down, and he ran right in front of the girl on the swing. Her father and I both jumped in to save him. I got him settled and 2 seconds later, he ran right into her. The momentum knocked him off his feet, and right into the wood chips. He cut up his arm and scared himself (and me) pretty good. I felt so bad. I just hope he learned the lesson about swings.
On Saturday evening, we went to the Stride Rite outlet. His feet measured a size 8, so they recommended I buy 8 1/2. I was looking for some, but couldn't find any when the sales woman informed me that I needed to look in the BOYS section. I almost cried. My little baby isn't a BOY. He can't be a BOY. He's a baby. Well, a 2.25 year old baby. Sigh.
Yesterday, we had a number of thunderstorms. We have had them before, but Michael has never seemed to have noticed thunder before. Yesterday, after a loud clap of thunder, he asked, "What's that?" I told him it was thunder. He went to the window, pulled the curtain aside, and glanced out at the rain. "We are having a thunderstorm." he informed me. Yes, we are. How do you know that? Andy told him that the clouds were drumming, and I almost expected Michael to correct him with the technical description about charged ions and such. It's just a matter of time.
And, the most memorable experience from this weekend? The knot on my forehead. Michael bonked me on the head with a rock on Friday. It was completely out of the blue, and was not intended maliciously. But, it sure does hurt.
Friday, August 8, 2008
- Balloons have amazing powers over children
- Dry, freshly cut grass is sharp enough to pop balloons
- Children do not like when balloons pop
- Always wash your hands after diaper changes, especially when diaper cream is involved. You don’t want to be second guessing when, during the bedtime story, you have to lick your finger to turn the page.
- Fragrance free soap does not make it easy for a distracted woman to determine if she’s washed her hands
- Diaper cream doesn’t taste all that bad
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Yesterday evening, before we went out to play, I reminded Michael about taking turns, sharing, and being gentle. For the most part, he did pretty well. It was beautiful out, so tons of kids were out for him to play with. He was very gentle with two of the younger children. I was very proud of him, and he got a number of comments from parents when he shared. I think that's very helpful. J, who is the same age as Michael, and the sweetest child ever, has been learning about being assertive, and he managed to keep Michael in line too. I was very proud of J, because that's no easy task.
Ah, but then there is M. I knew she would be the real test of Michael's understanding of sharing and being gentle. She is just the cutest little girl. She's petite with beautiful dark spiral curls. She knows she's a princess, and it suits her perfectly. And, for some reason, she just pushes Michael's buttons. He managed to resit temptation for a little while, but finally, he couldn't resist. He gave her a nice shove and looked so satisfied. I had this strange feeling as I was carrying him inside for a talk that he has thinking, "It was worth it."
So, I'm still not sure about the brat thing. But, I really am starting to wonder if this is his first crush.
Wednesday, August 6, 2008
It started a little while ago with an innocent shove from one of my neighbor’s children. Michael was getting into her personal space, and she pushed him away. No big deal, right?
Wrong. It was like the light bulb went off over his head. Hey, I can push people away from things I don’t want to share! Why didn’t I think of that? And the pushing commenced.
He’s taken to pushing several of the neighborhood children, none of which are aggressive with him. If he wants what they have, he pushes. If he doesn’t like where they are standing, he pushes. If he thinks I’m not looking, he pushes.
Andy and I are very consistent with how we handle this. Every time he does it, we pick him up, take him inside, wait until he stops crying, and then explain that pushing is not nice, that he has to take turns, blah, blah, blah. Then, he can return to playing outside. If he does it again, then he’s taken back inside for good.
This weekend, I took him to Barnes and Noble to play with their train table. The big one, with about 20 trains sitting on it for all the kids to play with. So, an older boy walks up, reaches for a train, and guess what Michael did? Walked right up to him, and shoved him. I apologized to the boy, who looked shocked that a kid half his size would push him, and removed Michael. His mom asked what her son had done, and I explained that it was MY child that had caused the problem. That was fun.
After the tears and the talk, I let him back to play. He was good for a few minutes until a little girl reached for one of the trains. Michael went right after her, and pushed her. So, I apologized again, and took him out of the children’s section where he preceded to melt down on the floor, kicking and screaming. (My mom felt so vindicated when I told her about it. Karma stinks.) Once again, the serious talk. I considered leaving, but I really wanted to buy Breaking Dawn, so I decided to give him another chance.
We walked back to the trains, and like an angel, Michael gave the little girl a train as a peace offering, and then played nicely for another 20 minutes. Phew. Something must have gotten through.
So, we were outside playing with the neighbors last night. It took all of 5 minutes before he gave M a nice shove. Sigh. Here we go again…
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
On Friday night, we decided to try to go out to dinner. Nothing fancy, just a quick trip to Panera. To make things go better, we decided to keep our expectations really low. Hey, it’s the only thing we really had control over.
Michael was an angel. He sat nicely on the booth seat next to me and enjoyed a nice meal of grilled cheese, chips, and milk. He didn’t throw anything, he didn’t yell, he didn’t try to escape and run around the restaurant. He just sat there like a human being and ate dinner with us. It was so nice.
For the most part, his pleasant demeanor stayed through the rest of the weekend. Well, except for the trip to the book store. There may have been two pushing episodes and a lay on the floor kicking and screaming tantrum, but no one got hurt, I’m not being sued, and Michael did finally play nicely at the train table. I’d consider that a success.
He was so pleasant, that we actually decided to take him to a real restaurant on Saturday. You know, the kind that has waitresses that come to your table and take your order. Once again, Michael behaved very well, so we took him to the mall and let him walk around there too. I could tell him that he needed to hold my hand or he would have to ride in the stroller, and it worked. We repeated this process in the park on Sunday with the same results. We were even able to let him loose by the creek so he could throw rocks in the water, and not once did he try to go into the creek.
I know these things don’t really seem like a big deal if you haven’t had a two year old, but for us, they are huge. Going out to dinner or taking a walk in the park, should be relaxing and enjoyable activities; not anxiety producing, maniac chasing, want to sit down and cry kind of activities. And I’ll tell you, after months of the later, the former is more than welcome.
If Michael can change so much in just a few short months, it makes me wonder what he’ll be like two or three months. Then again, maybe I don’t want to know.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Here's the reality. I went and stood in the hall waiting until the cold, clammy sweat broke out, letting me know that I wasn't about to hit the floor. When the stars stopped swimming across my vision, I headed back into class. What an amazingly private moment to have shared with so many, even if did not write it.
If this post makes no sense to you, then you really MUST read Twilight. I'd recommend buying it. This is an author we want to support, so she can keep on writing.