Spring has sprung! At least for the first part of the week... Warmer weather included our first trip to the playground, which both kids enjoyed. We also got out the sidewalk chalk and the ride-on toys for an after supper block party. Well, if our house is a block. Then, when Scott returned from Cincinnati we took a family walk about town. Much fun!
Of course, by Saturday we were bursting out of the house. We'd had an unplanned four-day weekend after mama got a tummy bug. I was actually in pretty bad shape on Thursday. As in passing out while vomiting bad shape. I've only passed out twice in my life -- both times while vomiting and both times hitting my head on the toilet. Unfortunately, this time was witnessed by my two small and relatively helpless children. I'd spent most of the day on the couch except for an excursion where I brought Violet into the bathtub with me -- Milo was happily playing with his Star Wars guys and I needed to contain her long enough for me to close my eyes for a few, so she happily splashed and washed her hair while I melted into the tub. When the kids wanted to play outside, I brought a pillow out and laid on the deck near the sand table while they played around me. In retrospect, I should have called for help when it became obvious that I couldn't stand for more than two minutes without wanting to die.
Anyway, I was holding on for bedtime knowing that the minute I closed the kids' door, I was going to crawl over to my bed and conk out. I got them bathed (laid on the bathroom floor while they payed in the tub) and pajama-ed (with a five minute break between Violet's diaper and her jammies -- thank God Milo dressed himself) and managed to get up the stairs to their room. I sat down on the floor, propped against Milo's bed and Violet asked to nurse. She had just latched on when I realized that the exertion of carrying her up the stairs, heck probably just CLIMBING the stairs, was going to make me vomit again, so I plucked her off my breast, set her down gently, and dashed for the bathroom.
I think I heaved two or three times when everything went kind of gray and an alarm started ringing. I remember lying on the floor thinking, "There is a child in my dream and it is crying." I remember another part of my brain trying to convince me to stay asleep. But then I heard Milo's panicked voice calling, "Mom? Mom? Mom?" I snapped to alert and sat up, heaving a few more times. I felt him as he stepped over my legs, running into his room. Violet was in the doorway, screaming because she was mad that I'd stopped her from nursing. I couldn't do anything about any of it right then. I seemed to dry heave endlessly, but as soon as I stopped, I looked up and Violet was still screaming in the door frame, Milo was peeking out of his room and into the bathroom, eyes wide. I had a big glop of saliva on my arm, I must have drooled when I passed out. My shirt was damp, too, so I yanked it off and used it to wipe my arm. Violet ran from me when I approached her, clinging to the bookcase in her bedroom, not looking at me no matter how I enticed her.
I found a clean t-shirt and sat down right where I'd been sitting when I started to get sick. Milo instantly climbed into my lap with a Winnie-the-Pooh book. "Mom?" he asked, tentatively, "Mom? You scared me when you were throwing up and when you were lying on the floor."
"How long was I asleep on the floor?"
"Not long, you sat up real quick. But it was scary!"
"I know, baby... I didn't mean to scare you. I'm OK now, I promise!"
"OK. Can you read the Pooh book?"
Eventually Violet let me pick her up and nuzzle her tummy. I honestly think she was mostly just mad because I made her stop nursing, but I do know that Milo was scared. So was I, though. So was Scott -- he insisted I call for back-up as soon as possible, so Grandma Sue spent Friday helping me keep the kids out of trouble. I was still pretty weak Friday, but was feeling much better on Saturday -- hence the trip to the playground!
Oh, and in a note from Miss Extra-Cute: Toddlers should always smile and sing, "Happy! Happy! Happy!" It makes your parents want to give you anything... Last week at daycare, they celebrated a birthday and every since, Violet is walking around singing, "Happy! Happy! Happy!" It makes us all pretty darn happy to hear her!
Monday, March 23, 2009
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Figuring
I cannot believe that nearly a month has elapsed since my last entry. Bad girl!
It has been quite a month, too. Scott has made several trips -- Nashville (Ass-ville, according to Milo), Connecticut, and now Cincinnati. I've taken on increasing responsibilities at work, culminating in the visit of a guest speaker/author/physician today. And we have interviewed three candidates in four working days for my supervisor's position. My first choice was offered the position and she *eagerly* accepted on the spot. I am thrilled!
Violet is talking more and more. Last night, she had a fit because while the kids were bathing in the tub, I was pawing through the clean clothes in the dryer to find clothing suitable for an indoor day at daycare. In the process of looking for clean clothes, I pulled out a pair of her new pajamas, then put them back in the dryer. When the kids were done with their baths, I was drying her off, Milo was shrugging into his new pajamas and I reached for the pair she'd worn the night before. She saw them, glared at me, crossed her arms so that I couldn't slip them into her sleeves, and said, "No! Nunnah! Nunnah!"
Clearly confused, I said, "It's time for your jammies!"
"Noooo! Nunnah! Nunnah!"
I realized she wanted something else. I let her down from my lap and she scrambled up the step and into the bathroom, where she pointed at the dryer, calling, "Nunnah! Nunnah!" I fished out the new jammies and held them up to her. She beamed, nodding and approving, "Huh! Huh!" Apparently, eighteen months is the time at which girls become insistent on their appearance...
Milo, on the other hand, is finding himself seeing the world through the eyes of his best friend. Particularly when it comes to what he's wearing. If I suggest something, he'll answer, "Yes! Mark likes that shirt!" or "No. Mark doesn't like that..." He feels too young to be concerned about what the world is thinking of him, but this anxiety has been coming on for about a year and I don't see it abating. He is still very afraid to enter a room full of strangers for fear that they are looking t him. He is fine entering or leaving s store or a place where he is anonymous, but anywhere I need to introduce him makes him petrified. He tenses his entire body, flushes, and climbs me like a tree.
I don't want him to be so concerned with the rest of the world -- but he wants to do things right and worries that he'll make mistakes. I try to point out to him all of the times I've made mistakes and have no issue in making mistakes, correcting myself, and pointing it out to him, but his inner perfectionist is growing louder and louder. I know how he feels -- I was that kid, and so was Scott. Scott doesn't believe me, but I think that his intellectual development is just enough ahead of his emotional development that he's struggling because he understands more than his emotions can handle. He is a bright and perceptive child. He asks outstanding questions about his world and observes so many things that I miss or overlook. But I think with that ability comes caution and he's very cautions of new situations. He doesn't like to try anything until he's certain that when he DOES try, he'll get it right. So we've introduced the concept of practicing to him. It helps some.
Violet, on the other hand, seems to have not a care in the world. Oh, sure she's got opinions and prefers it when she gets her way, but her general attitude sort of suggests that she knows no one is really paying THAT much attention to her (in the grand scheme of things) and that as long as she looks like she knows what she's doing, she is probably doing it right. I never really see her fail at anything, though, because she has an unusual combination of persistence and patience. She'll keep at it until she gets it because she is generally not frustrated by much. She's a very capable toddler, for certain, dressing herself and feeding herself -- she prefers an open cup these days to a sippy and properly uses a spoon and fork (most of the time).
It is so very interesting to me to watch them become the people that they are -- someone said to me today, "Having another child seems crazy at this point -- I feel like I just got this one figured out!" I guess if you have them close enough together you don't get that feeling of having figured a child out -- I know I haven't gotten Milo completely figured out and certainly not Miss Independent. Then again, I'm not sure I have ME figured out yet...
It has been quite a month, too. Scott has made several trips -- Nashville (Ass-ville, according to Milo), Connecticut, and now Cincinnati. I've taken on increasing responsibilities at work, culminating in the visit of a guest speaker/author/physician today. And we have interviewed three candidates in four working days for my supervisor's position. My first choice was offered the position and she *eagerly* accepted on the spot. I am thrilled!
Violet is talking more and more. Last night, she had a fit because while the kids were bathing in the tub, I was pawing through the clean clothes in the dryer to find clothing suitable for an indoor day at daycare. In the process of looking for clean clothes, I pulled out a pair of her new pajamas, then put them back in the dryer. When the kids were done with their baths, I was drying her off, Milo was shrugging into his new pajamas and I reached for the pair she'd worn the night before. She saw them, glared at me, crossed her arms so that I couldn't slip them into her sleeves, and said, "No! Nunnah! Nunnah!"
Clearly confused, I said, "It's time for your jammies!"
"Noooo! Nunnah! Nunnah!"
I realized she wanted something else. I let her down from my lap and she scrambled up the step and into the bathroom, where she pointed at the dryer, calling, "Nunnah! Nunnah!" I fished out the new jammies and held them up to her. She beamed, nodding and approving, "Huh! Huh!" Apparently, eighteen months is the time at which girls become insistent on their appearance...
Milo, on the other hand, is finding himself seeing the world through the eyes of his best friend. Particularly when it comes to what he's wearing. If I suggest something, he'll answer, "Yes! Mark likes that shirt!" or "No. Mark doesn't like that..." He feels too young to be concerned about what the world is thinking of him, but this anxiety has been coming on for about a year and I don't see it abating. He is still very afraid to enter a room full of strangers for fear that they are looking t him. He is fine entering or leaving s store or a place where he is anonymous, but anywhere I need to introduce him makes him petrified. He tenses his entire body, flushes, and climbs me like a tree.
I don't want him to be so concerned with the rest of the world -- but he wants to do things right and worries that he'll make mistakes. I try to point out to him all of the times I've made mistakes and have no issue in making mistakes, correcting myself, and pointing it out to him, but his inner perfectionist is growing louder and louder. I know how he feels -- I was that kid, and so was Scott. Scott doesn't believe me, but I think that his intellectual development is just enough ahead of his emotional development that he's struggling because he understands more than his emotions can handle. He is a bright and perceptive child. He asks outstanding questions about his world and observes so many things that I miss or overlook. But I think with that ability comes caution and he's very cautions of new situations. He doesn't like to try anything until he's certain that when he DOES try, he'll get it right. So we've introduced the concept of practicing to him. It helps some.
Violet, on the other hand, seems to have not a care in the world. Oh, sure she's got opinions and prefers it when she gets her way, but her general attitude sort of suggests that she knows no one is really paying THAT much attention to her (in the grand scheme of things) and that as long as she looks like she knows what she's doing, she is probably doing it right. I never really see her fail at anything, though, because she has an unusual combination of persistence and patience. She'll keep at it until she gets it because she is generally not frustrated by much. She's a very capable toddler, for certain, dressing herself and feeding herself -- she prefers an open cup these days to a sippy and properly uses a spoon and fork (most of the time).
It is so very interesting to me to watch them become the people that they are -- someone said to me today, "Having another child seems crazy at this point -- I feel like I just got this one figured out!" I guess if you have them close enough together you don't get that feeling of having figured a child out -- I know I haven't gotten Milo completely figured out and certainly not Miss Independent. Then again, I'm not sure I have ME figured out yet...
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Scents without Sensibility
This weekend has whirred by... I'm not actually sure if I got anything I intended to do DONE. Of course, I was partially felled by my dang tonsils. Officially diagnosed this morning by a doctor dubious of the negative results from the fast-check strep test. My tonsils, renamed "something alien" by my astounded husband, who stuttered, "Oh, good, God! There's something alien in there... are they supposed to be tiger striped?" Funny thing is, they don't really hurt, but they are swollen and pressing on my uvula, therefore making swallowing quite difficult.
My children were just thrilled that I brought back "Mr. Da-donald's" for lunch. I chugged the vanilla milkshake I'd ordered with Scott's food on the fifteen minute drive from the golden arches to my brown house. Who am I kidding? I drank it in about five minutes flat. The toast that I'd eaten for breakfast didn't have enough protein to anchor my blood sugar for an entire morning, I had foolishly expected to get right in at the doctor's. Nope, not so much. I had a two-hour wait, long enough, in fact that the receptionist had suggested I come back in a couple of hours to wait for my name to be called. So I spent 9:00 - 10:30 prowling Target. And returned at 11:10 to fill my prescription -- for pills so large I couldn't think how I was supposed to swallow them with my angry swollen throat. I guess it's a good thing that I have next to no gag reflex. The only time I've ever been gaggy was when pregnant with Violet. And, after the nurse swabbed my toes through my mouth, I'm happy to report that I am, once again, in control of my gag reflex.
I'd say that it is delirium that has me wandering all over, describing a simple case of tonsillitis in such detail, but it's really boredom. After the doctor and the shopping and the brief sushi interlude called lunch -- don't tell me you thought that I fell off the diet wagon and ate McDonald's? Nope, I splurged for a half-moon combo from the Target sushi counter instead. Anyway, now I'm in hour 4.5 of proctoring a practice MCAT exam. I've read Water for Elephants -- and enjoyed it, for the most part. I checked and updated facebook. I wrote an email to a friend. And now I'm sitting here, really needing to use the bathroom, but hanging out while two students remain focused on their computer screens, calculating and recalculating, editing and re-editing their practice tests, breathlessly waiting practice results.
My children have been extra sweet and extra funny lately. Violet is downright demanding when it comes to her state of dress. She's taken off and put on shoes enough times that she can balance on one foot while holding the door frame as she slips her tiny foot into a fur-lined snow boot. She doesn't always get tops and bottoms on the right halves of her body, but socks are tugged appropriately onto her feet and hats perched carefully on her head. I did get a great laugh out of her skipping around the corner wearing a pair of Scott's clean boxer briefs. She'd stepped into one leg and pulled it up over her shoulder, toga-style. She beamed and declared herself to be "unna-lella." Cinderella. She chirps excitedly about her clothes, her hair, her baby and several other things that SHE clearly thinks I understand, though I cannot decipher all of the words she says. She tips her head and nods when I look her in the eye, mesmerized by the gray-green-blue-brown iris. Though her personality is forming, her eyes haven't picked a color yet, they waffle chameleon-like with her clothing and surroundings. Although the color isn't set, the intensity of her gaze is powerful. She is precise, she is strong, and she is clear in her ambitions and goals. She will become a force...
Milo has been playing daddy's birthday present -- Lego Indiana Jones Wii game. He's alternately proud and crushed as his skills are tested. He is boisterous in his success, coolly crowing, "Yeah, baby! Wock and Woll!" and equally desperate when he can't make the avatar jump the stones in the right succession, hopping madly, crying, "I can't DOOOooooo it! I can't DOOOoooo it!" until he can do it, then he's cool as a cucumber, with a little swagger in his step.
A funny one, he is. I can see hi battling perfectionism already -- his tender little heart takes entirely too much too seriously and his expectations for himself are higher than our expectations for him. He is embarrassed if he can't get something right, and more embarrassed if he's corrected. His sensitivity to correction makes discipline hard -- he understands too much and he views correction as personal failure. I remember those days, myself -- sitting in class, trying not to make any mistakes, frozen in my spot if I answered something incorrectly. I wouldn't wish that on anyone, yet it is staring me straight in the heart, growing up right in front of me. It's not surprising, that relentless perfectionism is a trait shared by both of his parents -- and the intensity of emotion that goes with it. It is difficult to be bright, to understand more than your emotions can handle. I know this, Scott knows this, and Milo will learn it. It's not a lesson that I have wanted to teach, though, nor is it a lesson learned from instruction -- only from experience.
Oh, my boy... I hope that you can let go of some of this and enjoy life the way you do when you are playing with your Star Wars guys, oblivious to anything around you, anchored in your extensive imagination, creating worlds. Or when you nest in the crook of my arm, feet pulled up, small as an egg, your head tucked under my chin. I can smell you, then, and you still smell to my heart the way you smelled as a newborn. I can smell you and I can smell Violet and in your scents I am transcendent, open to the universe, connected to history, woven into the fabric of time itself. I grow dizzy smelling you. It turns me inside out, stops my thoughts, catches me still, unbreathing and whole. Something awakens, something primal that screams, "my babies, my babies, my babies!" I know that this is the way it is supposed to be.
I know this as I sit, now five hours into the test, missing you... missing my family...
My children were just thrilled that I brought back "Mr. Da-donald's" for lunch. I chugged the vanilla milkshake I'd ordered with Scott's food on the fifteen minute drive from the golden arches to my brown house. Who am I kidding? I drank it in about five minutes flat. The toast that I'd eaten for breakfast didn't have enough protein to anchor my blood sugar for an entire morning, I had foolishly expected to get right in at the doctor's. Nope, not so much. I had a two-hour wait, long enough, in fact that the receptionist had suggested I come back in a couple of hours to wait for my name to be called. So I spent 9:00 - 10:30 prowling Target. And returned at 11:10 to fill my prescription -- for pills so large I couldn't think how I was supposed to swallow them with my angry swollen throat. I guess it's a good thing that I have next to no gag reflex. The only time I've ever been gaggy was when pregnant with Violet. And, after the nurse swabbed my toes through my mouth, I'm happy to report that I am, once again, in control of my gag reflex.
I'd say that it is delirium that has me wandering all over, describing a simple case of tonsillitis in such detail, but it's really boredom. After the doctor and the shopping and the brief sushi interlude called lunch -- don't tell me you thought that I fell off the diet wagon and ate McDonald's? Nope, I splurged for a half-moon combo from the Target sushi counter instead. Anyway, now I'm in hour 4.5 of proctoring a practice MCAT exam. I've read Water for Elephants -- and enjoyed it, for the most part. I checked and updated facebook. I wrote an email to a friend. And now I'm sitting here, really needing to use the bathroom, but hanging out while two students remain focused on their computer screens, calculating and recalculating, editing and re-editing their practice tests, breathlessly waiting practice results.
My children have been extra sweet and extra funny lately. Violet is downright demanding when it comes to her state of dress. She's taken off and put on shoes enough times that she can balance on one foot while holding the door frame as she slips her tiny foot into a fur-lined snow boot. She doesn't always get tops and bottoms on the right halves of her body, but socks are tugged appropriately onto her feet and hats perched carefully on her head. I did get a great laugh out of her skipping around the corner wearing a pair of Scott's clean boxer briefs. She'd stepped into one leg and pulled it up over her shoulder, toga-style. She beamed and declared herself to be "unna-lella." Cinderella. She chirps excitedly about her clothes, her hair, her baby and several other things that SHE clearly thinks I understand, though I cannot decipher all of the words she says. She tips her head and nods when I look her in the eye, mesmerized by the gray-green-blue-brown iris. Though her personality is forming, her eyes haven't picked a color yet, they waffle chameleon-like with her clothing and surroundings. Although the color isn't set, the intensity of her gaze is powerful. She is precise, she is strong, and she is clear in her ambitions and goals. She will become a force...
Milo has been playing daddy's birthday present -- Lego Indiana Jones Wii game. He's alternately proud and crushed as his skills are tested. He is boisterous in his success, coolly crowing, "Yeah, baby! Wock and Woll!" and equally desperate when he can't make the avatar jump the stones in the right succession, hopping madly, crying, "I can't DOOOooooo it! I can't DOOOoooo it!" until he can do it, then he's cool as a cucumber, with a little swagger in his step.
A funny one, he is. I can see hi battling perfectionism already -- his tender little heart takes entirely too much too seriously and his expectations for himself are higher than our expectations for him. He is embarrassed if he can't get something right, and more embarrassed if he's corrected. His sensitivity to correction makes discipline hard -- he understands too much and he views correction as personal failure. I remember those days, myself -- sitting in class, trying not to make any mistakes, frozen in my spot if I answered something incorrectly. I wouldn't wish that on anyone, yet it is staring me straight in the heart, growing up right in front of me. It's not surprising, that relentless perfectionism is a trait shared by both of his parents -- and the intensity of emotion that goes with it. It is difficult to be bright, to understand more than your emotions can handle. I know this, Scott knows this, and Milo will learn it. It's not a lesson that I have wanted to teach, though, nor is it a lesson learned from instruction -- only from experience.
Oh, my boy... I hope that you can let go of some of this and enjoy life the way you do when you are playing with your Star Wars guys, oblivious to anything around you, anchored in your extensive imagination, creating worlds. Or when you nest in the crook of my arm, feet pulled up, small as an egg, your head tucked under my chin. I can smell you, then, and you still smell to my heart the way you smelled as a newborn. I can smell you and I can smell Violet and in your scents I am transcendent, open to the universe, connected to history, woven into the fabric of time itself. I grow dizzy smelling you. It turns me inside out, stops my thoughts, catches me still, unbreathing and whole. Something awakens, something primal that screams, "my babies, my babies, my babies!" I know that this is the way it is supposed to be.
I know this as I sit, now five hours into the test, missing you... missing my family...
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