Girls

Clearly, a "non-weird" girl

Boy: I don’t like that girl, and she just looked at me.

Mom: Do you know her?

Boy: No.  I just don’t like her.

Mom: How do you know you don’t like her if you don’t know her?

Boy:  She has weird hair.  And she’s wearing a funny dress.

Mom turns around to look at the girl again.  She is a very cute little girl with blond hair and a purple dress. Nothing at all jumps out as “weird”.

Mom: I think she looks very nice.  What about that boy over there, do you like him?

Boy: Sure, I guess so.

Mom: But you don’t know him, why do you like him and not her?

Boy sighs and rolls eyes

Boy: She’s a GIRL

Mom (laughing): But you like girls.  Some of your best friends are girls.

Boy: Yeah, but they’re *my* girls.

Mom: *Your* girls? 

Boy: Yeah, you know, Izzy-and-Maddy-and-Abby-and-Sophia-and-Jocelyn-and-Claire-and-Maggie-and-Grace-and-Elisa.  They’re my girls.

Mom: So the girls in your class are *your* girls.  What about the girls in your new class?  Will they be your girls?

Boy: Well, yeah, because then I’ll know them.

Mom: And that girl you met yesterday on the playground?  You played with her…

Boy: Yes, but I met her, and then I knew her, and she wasn’t weird.

Mom: So, let me make sure I understand.  If you know them, they’re yours, if you don’t they’re weird.

Boy: Yep, that’s it.

As the curtain closes, the mom walks with her son to the checkout wondering how long it will be before she starts hearing about cooties.

It’s easy to miss that

www.storypeople.com

Someone called the house one night asking for a donation, and although I declined, it prompted a lot of questions from the kid.  We talked about how we give what we can of both time and money to help other people who might need it.  I told him that we really have to think about the organizations we support because although we don’t have a ton of money to give, every little bit makes a difference.  When we can’t give money, we still volunteer our time.

Today, we were sitting in the basement sorting through his toys.  He has WAAAAAY too many, and quite a few that he has outgrown.  Sadly, he also has a memory like an elephant, and the sneak-the-toys-out-while-he’s-not-looking tactic has been tried and has backfired.  So I had to try something different.

He wants screwdrivers.  His own.  Not toys. 

I want toys gone. They aren’t really mine to get rid of.

So I offered to pay him.  I told him we’d sort out all the toys.  One pile he could sell, one pile of toys that are too young for him but he wasn’t ready to let them go, and the rest to keep.  He chose 35 toys for the “sell” pile.  Then, he started pulling things out of the “sell” pile and making another pile.  I asked him what he was doing, and he told me that he wanted to give half the things away for free to a baby who might need them.  

He got $6 for the rest, and I told him how proud I was of him for deciding to just give some away.  Because as the Story above says, *many* days I’m louder about other stuff, and it’s easy to miss that.

A rolling stone and all that…

A rolling stone gathers no moss.  A blogger who doesn’t blog gathers no posts.  And you want to know what happens the more you *don’t* blog?  You don’t blog some more. 

So.  What have we been up to?  As my sister pointed out, “Your last post was a month ago, and the kid was in the hospital.  Don’t you think you should update?”  

We have been…

• To Savannah (where we discovered that there are businesses who don’t take credit cards but tell you to enjoy your ice cream and bring the cash back)
• To the beach (where I sent my kid off with people I’ve known my whole life but he’s never met – he was fine, as it turned out)
• To the doctors office every week for HSP check ups (so far, so good)
• To the spraygrounds and the movies and the playground (these seem to be our staples this summer)
• Swimming with friends (it would seem the kid *can* swim underwater when properly motivated by friends who can swim)
• To check out the new school (“This school is the GREATEST, Mom!”)
• To Ikea (gotta love free child care for an hour)
• To camp (seriously, PPP has THE BEST summer camps)

And that’s about it.  We *did* get to have our friends from Bloomington back for a week, and we’re so glad because we’ve missed them, so I’ll leave you with the conversation I overheard in the backseat one afternoon.

Me – “I – Do you like living in Indiana?”

I – “Yes!  There is a cool pool with lots of slides and parks and I can ride my bike and..”

N – (Interrupting) “Well, *I* don’t like it at all.”

I – “Why?”

N – “Because you live too far away from me now”

I – “Yeah.  I don’t like it either.”

Red grass is frowned upon and other things we learned at the hospital

Levine Children's Hospital

Yes, we ended up at the hospital because of the rash.  Tuesday morning, we went into the pediatrician’s office, they took pictures of it and sent it to the Children’s hospital, and that, along with high urine protein, caused us to be admitted.*I* have been admitted to the hospital exactly twice in my life, the kid’s birth and my own.  Needless to say, I am not well versed in such things.  Here are some things I learned:

1. Message delivery is important.  My fabulous pediatrician gave me the news in such a way that I was really not worried at all about going.  We went home, collected some things and went on over.  After two attempted phone calls, I sent the husband got this text “Headed to the hospital”.  In hind-sight, probably not a wise choice of words.
2. They have valet parking.  No kidding.  I was so thrilled about this, I can’t even explain.  The hospital campus is huge, and since we’d never been there before, I had no idea what I was doing, so I pulled up in front, some very nice man in a headset comes out and asks if I want him to park my car.  Um… yes, in fact, I do.  He gets my information and tells me to go inside.  The lady at the check-in desk is all ready for me, scans my license, we get checked in and are in our room in what seemed like a matter of minutes.
3. Taking blood from a five-year-old is much like performing an exorcism. 
4. Levine Children’s hospital has got it together.  They have an outside play area on the roof, in-room tv, movies and video games, a play room that also has books, toys and games you can take back to your room, and activities for the kids.  We even got to play Bingo and win prizes!

Oh, and about the red grass.  The lovely Child Life people came to let us know that they were doing a Father’s day project.  It was a flowerpot with a Styrofoam ball in it, and cut-out hands taped on pipe cleaners for flowers.  So they have the Styrofoam balls out and green paint so they would look like grass.  The kid sits down and paints some green on it, then goes over to the Child Life person and says, “OK, now I need red.”

Child Life (genuinely confused): But grass is green.

N: Uh huh.  But I need red.

Child Life: That’s supposed to be grass.

N: Yeah… I want it to be red.

Child Life: But it’s not…

N: (rolls eyes, and BIG dramatic sigh) Never mind, it can just be green.

I let it go since she was obviously bewildered by this insane request for red grass.

Later, back in the room… “Mommy, just because grass is green out in the world doesn’t mean it can’t be red in my flowerpot, right?”

Right.

What goes up…

Must come down.

I am lucky.  Every month or two, the boys of the house will go away for the weekend, leaving me to myself.  This was the case last weekend, and I had a marvelous time.  Sleeping when I wanted to, eating what I liked, catching up with a friend, generally just being a little bit spoiled.

Saturday afternoon, there was a phone call:

“The kid has a fever” he said. 

“Tylenol and plenty of water, lots of rest” said I (aka Dr. Mom)

Some more phone calls followed, basically the same theme – a sore throat, a bloody nose, lethargy, and a pitiful little voice saying “I miss you Mommy…”

Last night, they came home, and then the kid declared himself not hungry for dinner and ready to go to sleep at 6pm, so off he went.  12 hours later, I heard, “Mommy?  I’m really itchy and I can’t sleep.”  So I got up, and this is what we have now:

Hives, apparently, from some unknown virus.  The pediatrician’s office said to add Benadryl, and call back if there were still hives, fever or sore throat tomorrow. 

I’m really glad I enjoyed my weekend, because *this* is no fun at all.

Doing things you know you’re not supposed to do

It’s been a trying week.  And yes, I know it’s only Wednesday.  We have been conducting an exercise in pushing limits here at my house.  Sadly, all that means is that limits have to be enforced.  For the record, we’re pretty lenient here – the kid is allowed to do pretty much anything that isn’t likely to cause harm to a person or property.

Yesterday morning, we are preparing for a trip on the lake in a friend’s boat.  We both love boat trips and were looking forward to it.  I had said at the beginning of the week that if he could not follow instructions, we would not be going on outings with our friends.  That morning, there were two instructions.  I stated them clearly and obtained confirmation that they were understood.

• Leave the dog alone.  Do not poke, prod, kick, pet, feed or otherwise interact with her. (this was brought about after I caught him trying to haul her around by the collar)
• Do not throw the matchbox airplanes in the house. (I think this one’s obvious)

So now you all know what he was doing when he thought I wasn’t looking, right?  Say it with me…

THROWING THE AIRPLANES AT THE DOG.

*Sigh*

So, no boat for us.  If you had knocked on our door at that very moment, you would have been appalled at the crying, screaming and general fit-throwing that went on.  I was officially declared “The WORSTEST boat-mommy EVER” and there was a real speech about how *I* had caused us to miss our trip.  When I asked how on earth it was *me* who was responsible, he told me I could have just pretended like I didn’t see him throwing the planes at the dog .

We also had an incident of doing something you’re not supposed to but no-one ever told you so you didn’t know.  We learned (the hard way) that towel racks are not meant for hanging on.  In a spectacular display of good parenting (which I could do since I’m not the parent who will have to repair the towel rack), the kid and I talked about things we *can* hang on (like monkey bars) and things we can’t hang on (like towel racks and curtains) and the consequence will be giving up one of his fun evening activities so the towel rack can be repaired.

On the other side of the coin, for years I’ve been doing something I know I’m not supposed to do.  I drink Diet Coke.  Or now, I can say I *drank* Diet Coke, because I quit this week.  I know that sweeteners are horrible for you, I know they encourage weight gain, and I know that basically, diet soda has no redeeming qualities whatsoever.  So I quit, I’m done.  Only unsweetened tea and water for me now.  No, I don’t love unsweetened iced tea, but the family voted against my giving up caffeine all together (it seems lack of caffeine makes me.. uh.. difficult to live with) so that’s what I was left with.  Well, that and the occasional margarita…

Fiesta Shoes

Dear Mom at Plaza Fiesta yesterday,

I have your kid’s shoes.  Well, to be accurate, my kid has your kid’s shoes.  Perhaps, as you were leaving yesterday, you were in a hurry.  Perhaps your kid was using the same old “My shoes won’t do up!” stall tactic (which, of course, you didn’t fall for, they are velcro, after all).  Perhaps you gave him the stink eye, told him you didn’t want to hear it, and his shoes were fine, time to get moving.  Which, admittedly, I would have done.  Then, your kid starts complaining his shoes hurt.  And after you get home, you wonder why the heck the top strap won’t stay done up.   That would be because the shoes he has on are (much like the Grinch’s heart) two sizes too small.  And the top strap won’t buckle because the velcro is both worn out *and* coated with dog hair. 

Maybe, you don’t even realize what’s happened.  Maybe you have two other kids, and if you had a penny for every time someone complained about an article of clothing, you’d be a very rich woman.  But in case you did realize, and in case you wondered what happened, here’s my story.

My kid was the last one out of the play area.  As he walked out, he said his shoes were too loose.  At a glance, I could tell they weren’t his, mostly due to the lack of dog-hair-infested velcro.  So we went back in and checked all the shoe cubbies.  Nope, someone had walked off with his shoes.  Outside the play area, I walked around checking out all the kid’s feet.  No luck.  Our shoes had left the building.  That’s how your kid’s shoes came home to live with us. 

I have contacted Plaza Fiesta with my information, just in case you check in with them.  The ones that were ours needed to be replaced anyway (as you’ve probably deduced for yourself), but you may want yours back since they are nice and clean and presumably the right size for your kid.

Heather

Summer, Day 1, a year later

Last year, the first word of the first post was “rain”.  Funny, that – rain again today.  But this year, we did not just stay home, I sent out the list last Saturday, and we’ve already got plans for the week!

So, summer, Day 1 was spent with good friends having a good time.  We went to check out the new play area at Reedy Creek Park.  It was a HUGE hit for both the kids and the adults.  The web site touts it as “a special playground designed to encourage longer and richer play experiences in a natural setting.”  I have to agree.  Sort of. 

OK, if we’re being perfectly honest, I don’t think that’s completely accurate.  I think that if you let kids play outside in any natural area, they create their own long-and-rich play experiences.  I do not think you need a “special playground” for it.  I *do* think, however, that carefully manicured lawns (“NO, you may NOT dig a hole in the middle of the yard!”) and carefully sterilized playgrounds (“Stay on the play equipment, darling, there may be bugs or snakes or (gasp) NATURE in those woods”) have taken away from children having access to *actual* natural areas.  Perhaps it’s my own lack of manicured lawn that makes me think this way, or maybe it’s the fact that I now just sigh and say things like “take your clothes off on the deck, we’ll just hose you down, I draw the line at having to steam clean the carpets over this”.  After all, we still have a downed tree laying across the backyard, but it makes a fantastic balance beam/fort/hurdle/cave.

That said, this place is really neat.  And shaded.  The shaded part is very important, and helpful when it’s raining.  The kids splashed in the stream (if you are anti-wet-tennies, I suggest you bring boots), found treasures in the sand box, danced on the stage, climbed in the bird house, balanced on the logs, jumped on stumps and generally ran wild.  The parents?  Well, we sat around and talked until someone needed us.  ‘Cause really, isn’t that how it’s supposed to go?

To wrap up the day, the kid made Portuguese Potato Dumpling Soup for dinner.  It was delicious, and all I had to do was cut up the carrots and manage the sauteeing.

It’s shaping up to be an excellent summer.

The end

At first I was afraid, I was petrified
~”I Will Survive”

I really was, when I started this.

And here, on the other end, I can’t imagine why. But it *is* the end of the summer, and since I’m here posting this, I suppose I survived. It did try to get me, though, right at the end…

We spent 10 days in sunny Saint Augustine, FL with my parents and my sister and her family. We had great weather, dolphins, mini golf, playgrounds, beach, pool and lots of ice cream. Sunday, the kid and I drove home.

When we left at 9am, it was pretty smooth sailing. A bit of rain that made traffic slow, but nothing terrible.

We stopped for lunch somewhere in Georgia, it was good, but the kid dumped his milk all over himself (change of clothes #1).

In South Carolina, for some reason, traffic was backed up near Hilton Head – we spent about an hour sitting there before it cleared and we were able to proceed at a “reasonable” rate.

When we got to St. George, SC, both the kid and I were a bit stir crazy, so we stopped at the McDonald’s there.

As an aside, I am, as a rule, vehemently opposed to McDonald’s play places. They skeeve me out. This one, however, was more like a little playground, it was nice and clean with no suspect ball pits or strange stains. So we stopped, got him some milk, and I let him play. He made friends with another little boy with the same name, and I secretly congratulated myself on the excellent decision to stop here and let him run off some energy. Until…

30 minutes after we got back in the car and he threw up all over the place. A lot.

Now. If you have never had a kid puke in a car, I suggest you do everything you can to avoid it. If you *have* been through it, you know why I say that.

This brings us to Orangeburg, SC. Here, I pull over at a gas station, change the kid (change of clothes #2), and clean up the best I can. My best effort, however, still did not make the car seat suitable for the kid to ride in. So, with a little help from a wireless connection and a friend, I locate a Wal-Mart and head over to see about a new car seat.

(I feel the need to explain that my usual procedure for purchasing *anything* that costs more than $10 and/or is responsible for my child’s safely involves considerable research and waffling back and forth on a decision for a while. I don’t *do* impulse buys, and “emergency” car seat purchases are certainly not a comfortable thing for me)

I made the best decision I could, given the circumstances, and new car seat in hand, went back to the gas station (the Wal-Mart parking lot was not feeling like a smart place to sit around with the car open and me not paying attention to my surroundings). I could have REALLY used a box cutter, but three broken fingernails later, I had the car seat assembled and installed.

At this point, the kid declares himself STARVING, so we get some food (no milk) and hit the road. He falls asleep, it’s getting dark, and I’m more than ready to be home. Somewhere between Columbia, SC and Charlotte, a bloodcurdling scream comes from the back seat, and although sleuthing is difficult driving on a highway at night, I was able to deduce that he had (somehow) dumped almost an entire bottle of water on himself in his sleep.

(Here, I should note that we’re hitting the 12 hour mark for travel time. It should have taken us 7.)

I take a DEEP breath, try to tune out the screeching 4-year-old, pull off at the next exit, and go to the first hotel I see.

Comfort Inn. I remove soaking wet kid from the car (still sobbing), take him by the hand and go into the Confort Inn. Another deep breath, and I approach the desk.

Desk guy: Hi! How can I help you?

Me: I know this is kind of an unusual request, and we aren’t staying here, but I was wondering if, by any chance, I could purchase a bath towel from you?

Desk guy: A towel?

Me: Yes. You see, my son here just proceeded to spill an entire bottle of water all over himself while we were driving down the road, so both he and his car seat are soaking wet.

Desk guy: (leans over counter to look at drippy kid. A tiny smile comes to his face) I see. You can *have* the towel.

Back out to the car, (change of clothes #3), towel in wet carseat and back on the road.

Home, a stiff drink and bed.

The end.

It’s all fun and games until…

It’s all fun and games until somebody says “swine flu”.

The kid has been sick since Saturday night.  The husband and I caught it a few days later.  Here’s how it’s gone for each of us:

Kid: Fever, River-of-Snot-nose, sore throat, headache.  All that went away by today except the nose, and now we’ve added a cough.

Me: Just the nose (not as bad as the kid’s, but that may be because I know how to use a tissue), sore throat, now just nose and cough.

Husband:Same as me, except we have no idea if he’s had a fever since he’s been taking Tylenol since Sunday, and (to hear him tell it) everything is worse.

Today, I call the pediatrician.  The kid has Reactive Airways Disease (basically his bronchial tubes tend to overreact to stuff, like colds), and EVERY time there’s a cough, it goes on, and on, (and on…).  The nurse calls me back, and I launch into my ten minute explanation of the cough and the history, and that it isn’t his allergies because he’s been off those meds for a month, and how we’re going to Florida, and I know they won’t really do anything unless it’s been 2 weeks, but when it’s 2 weeks, we’ll be in Florida for another week, so do they want to see him before we go (because I know it’s not going away over the weekend – it never does) or wait until we get back, etc.

Nurse: Hmm.  That sounds like swine flu.

Me: Excuse me?  That’s so strange because I *thought* you said “Swine Flu.”

Nurse: Yes.  That’s what it sounds like.  Let me talk to your Pediatrician, and we’ll call you back.

Huh.  Swine flu.  Great, just great.

I sit here for a minute and surf around on the web, you know “Swine flu Symptoms” searches and such.  And yes, looks about right.  And then I realize, as with everything, there are high-risk groups.  One is people who have respiratory issues (like reactive airways disease) and another is people with diabetes (which the husband has). FAN-tastic.

So I go wake up the husband, and tell him to call his doctor, he needs to be seen.  Long story short, the peds called back, and both of them are going to be seen by their respective doctors tomorrow. 

I should add, though, that if it *does* turn out to be swine flu, then for your normal, everyday Jane (me) it was not at all bad.  I’ve had the regular flu, and the simple absence of puking with the swine variety is a HUGE bonus.  I was down and out for a few days, and now have a little lingering snottiness and cough, but not horrible.  For the rest of them, well, I guess we’ll see what tomorrow brings.

I should also add that making your Facebook Status Update:

So they think the kid had swine flu. And maybe us too. Yay.

Will result in a LOT of comments.