So not prepared for this!

The baby is crawling. Yep. Self mobile. Oy. And now the cat officially hates me.

Earlier today we had her first crawling wound--a nose plant on the hard hardwood floor. Followed by a two second glare in my direction--a look that said, "What the...? You never told me there would pain involved!" Followed directly by wailing and gnashing of teeth...er, gums. Once again--Oy.

On another note--nothing seems to bring family and friends out of the woodwork like a disaster, natural or otherwise. So far this week I have had phone calls from an aunt, husband's grandmother and his mother (all whom I very rarely and in the case of the grandmother--never--hear from). As well as an e-mail from a friend I haven't heard from in just over a year--her last e-mail expressed concern over our well being following the shootings at Virginia Tech. For those who aren't glued to the news regarding the goings on in the state of Virginia--three tornadoes bounced around the south/eastern part of the state on Monday. One was about half an hour south of us. If it had been a hurricane we'd be pulling bits of the oak tree out of our attic, but as tornadoes tend to be a little more selective and localized, we emerged unscathed. Wet and wind blown, but no harm done. Though, it is nice to know people still worry about me.

A random thought...

Just one of the many, many reasons I vowed to spend the rest of my life with this man until the cold, clammy hand of death rips us apart.

This is Husband's blog entry last night. Feel free to read more of his ramblings at your own risk!

And in conclusion...

On the flip side of 8 o'clock...

Husband--dear and wonderful husband--just handed me a glass of wine (a Spanish red, if you're interested). I still smell like baby spit up. I'll take a shower in a little while. Right now I just want to sit, unwind with American Idol and the computer, of course.

Jacob--aka Snot Boy--was begging--begging--to go outside this afternoon. It has rained for the past two days--out back is a lake (again). The difference today was that it was too chilly to let him go out and frolic in the mud. I figured we could go to the playground. Then thought that maybe the other mommies might turn on me if I brought Phlegm Boy and Hacking Girl around their perfectly healthy offspring. Compromise--I loaded them up and we went and walked around the botanical gardens. On the same day as a senior citizen tour. You know--the other really germ vulnerable group. I think I managed to keep my son from phlegming (thank you, Gina--it's a word now!) on them too much.

We'll watch news at 11 for a mass viral outbreak at the senior citizen's center. Or not, since I plan on being well into dreaming by then!

The day so far...

The little ones have been sucker punched with another cold and I, once again, am having to deal with no one keeping their bodily fluids to themselves.

So far this morning I have been sneezed on, coughed on, spit up on and I came this close to stepping in cat throw up. Oddly enough, Kyleigh peeing on me after her bath last night didn't bother me at all. That I can handle. Jacob missing the tissue and blowing his nose on my hand--not so much.

And I found out I still cry at the end of The Lion King.

The big, glaring light at the end of my tunnel on days like this is knowing that 8 o'clock will come. Just like it does every night. Sigh. It's not even noon yet!

The official Kokoo countdown begins...

The grandparents will be here in exactly two and a half weeks! Can I get a "Whoo hoo" please?!

I know they're anxious to move into their own house, but even that's not too far away. I can load everyone up for a day trip. The weather will be perfect for Jacob to frolic in the river--because I don't have enough stress. He might even start taking naps again.

the view from my parent's back porch

It's raining--again--and even though both children are icky, Jacob is still managing to bounce off the walls. I want a day off, but I'll settle for time to finish reading a chapter. So, yes, the official Kokoo ("grandmother" in Maa) countdown has begun.

16 days left...

Of course this also means that I have 16 days to clean out their room--it is currently a holding cell for various homeless household items. And 16 days to fix the downstair's bathroom--which, thanks to Uncle George's tax rebate, we just might pull it off!

Is there a support group for this?

The little ones and I went out to spend the afternoon with my sister today. Only to find out once we got there that the local library was having a book sale--and after 1pm it was $4.00 for a bag. Well, of course we all had to go.

On the drive to the library Jacob asked where we were going. My niece was riding with us so we both explained that we were going to the library to buy some books. From that point on the Little Man's only concern was if he was going to be able to find a book about spiders.

Small room. Tables around the perimeter and two rows down the middle, overflow boxes underneath and a small bonus room off to the side. All covered in books--small paperbacks, large hardcovers, fiction and non-fiction. Meet my heroin.

I found some titles I had yet to read from a few popular authors I enjoy--Greg Iles, Rebecca Wells, Jeffery Archer, Marion Zimmer Bradley and Anne Perry...plus a bonus hardback of my favorite Maeve Binchy book--Quentins. And some authors I haven't heard of--Tami Hoag, Simon Schama, Paula Cohen and Thomas Mullen. Book reviews to follow.

And yes, Jacob found a book on insects that did indeed contain spiders--he also found a couple others that we had to sit and read tonight. I even picked up a Rudyard Kipling collection to be enjoyed together.

Just in time. My "to read" pile was down to only three or four books!

The last window...for now!

This memory was sparked by a recent phone call from a very dear friend. She called to inform me that once again the month had come and gone without her managing to somehow align all of the forces of the universe and get pregnant. Six years ago when she and her husband decided (okay, she decided) that it was time to start a family, she was pregnant within three months. Now, almost two years into trying again--nothing. Our lives--at least the reproductivity parts of our lives--seem to have flip-flopped.

October 2004...I just wasn't feeling good. It was like a bug I simply couldn't shake. I was missing meetings at work because there were days I simply could not get up off of the couch. It finally got to the point where I accepted the fact I needed to take myself to the doctor. Our very ancient, yet thorough primary care doctor set me up with an entire battery of tests. Full blood work, urinalysis and even a pelvic ultrasound.

Oddly enough, no one--including myself--thought to test for, oh, say--pregnancy? It just didn't cross my mind. Husband and I had tried for years to get pregnant with no success. Lots and lots of tears and heartache--but no baby, at least none that survived past five weeks in my womb. Lots of doctors and various fertility drugs and regiments. Lots of questions. No answers. Lots of, "Well, maybe it's this...maybe it's that. We just don't know." Lots of guilt. Lots of blame. Finally, enough. It was enough. We quit. Having a baby come out of my body was not worth the price our marriage was paying. We found other things to focus on. Husband and I discovered that not only did we still like each other--we still really loved each other.

Regardless of circumstances, life moves on. Husband decided it was time to part ways with the military. I decided it was finally time to go back to school and complete the degree I had started years before. We moved cities when Husband was hired by the police department here and I managed to graduate college summer of 2004. Enough time had passed, wounds didn't quite smart so much and we started once again, carefully, bringing up the subject of babies. I felt emotionally incapable of enduring another miscarriage. We were now discussing adoption. I had contact numbers on my desk--ready to call once I started feeling better.

I received the call at work. My lab results were in. I had a cyst on my left ovary. I would need to follow up with my gynecologist. I cannot adequately describe what it feels like to have your world crumble with a single phone call. Prior to leaving the military I had had a portion of my cervix removed--pre-cancer cells had shown up so they went in and scooped them out. Now, it appeared something else was rotten. None of it worked anyway, so maybe this time they'd just take it all out. Fine.

That was a Thursday--I remember. Too late to call the girl parts doctor. The next morning I rummaged around in a box that hadn't been unpacked yet and found an old home preggo test--no idea how old it was or if it still worked, it was the second in a two pack. From past experience I knew that the first question out of the girl doctor's mouth was going to be, "Are you pregnant?" Since they very seldom believed me when I said "No" and stuck me for blood just to make sure, I was going to pee on the stick and give them definite proof that I was indeed not knocked up. So, I aimed and peed, set the stick on the counter and proceeded to shower and forget about it. Until I was half dried off and happened to glance down at the sink...

"What do you see?"

Poor Husband was simply trying to wind down after working all night and I stormed in brandishing a pee stick.

"Huh...wha..."

"In the little box thingie...what do you see?"

"I don't know...a couple of lines...why? And is that pee?!"

And there you have the most unromantic, un-thought out method of informing the love of your life that he is, indeed, going to be a daddy.

And the cyst? Apparently perfectly normal. Just most women don't have ultrasounds that early on and they aren't found. They did schedule me right away for another ultrasound--now that they knew they were looking for a baby.

Seeing that wee little speck, no bigger than a grain of rice, pulsing with a heartbeat we knew that one was going to stick and our lives would never be the same.

February 2007...Husband and Son had both been sick. Husband had spent several days shifting from toilet to bed back to toilet again. Then I started throwing up. And I never throw up...

Ah...such wisdom

Jacob and I have been watching and talking about caterpillars for the past couple of days. And just now, he dropped this little pearl of wisdom...

"When a caterpillar grows up it will fly to God. And fly into snow on the way up."

Amen.

Though, as Husband just pointed out--mommy's Heaven will not have snow.

And so, today it was warm...

...and my heart soared right along with him!

A door

I didn't mean for this to become a series. And then I had to come back up and change the title to "a door" once I realized that this had become so much more than simply another window into my past, offering clues for what makes me, well--me.

Sorting through an old notebook last night I came across this. It is a return ticket from Spain to the US, dated October 1998. And as you can see, it wasn't used.

August 1998. I cleared out my savings account, dropped out of classes at the University of Richmond--the day before classes started--put everything I owned in storage, purchased a round trip ticket to Madrid and got on a plane.

I did not sleep the entire flight. (For those who know me, you know that's odd--to say the least! I can fall asleep any where, any time, any how--it's a gift, I know.) I had $40 in my pocket--that was it. My nerves were raw. I was excited. I was petrified. Then, coming around the bend out of customs, there He was. My heart thumped, and in an instant, I knew I had made the right decision.

I had separated from the US Navy that April. I went through all of the paperwork to separate locally there in Spain. Then, after spending another month together with then Boyfriend, we decided that a long distance relationship wouldn't work and we went our separate ways. He remained in Spain and I flew back to the US to begin my post-military life. That arrangement lasted all of three months! E-mails back and forth. Intoxicated 4am phone calls--all from his end, never from mine! At some point we figured out that we needed to be on the same continent and since I was the one in a position to move--I bought the plane ticket and arrived back in Spain September 5th.

The next several months weren't without drama. Legal issues, waiting on my birth certificate-- waiting on the marriage proposal itself--all held up the process. Held it up to the point where I was this close to being deported. Fortunately, thankfully, we had good local friends who were able to walk me through the police red tape--visa pictures, proof of health insurance (I actually had to purchase local insurance), proof of hospitalization insurance (since I was a veteran I did have access to the base hospital), a letter of my intentions (I was there to get married) and a bank statement showing I had adequate funds to support myself for the duration of my stay (we transfered all of Boyfriend's paycheck into my account, printed off a statement and transfered-most-of if back). Once all of the above was completed, translated and summited I was granted a three month visa extension and allowed to remain in the country.


December 20th, 1998...we were married here. In the Plaza Naranjos in the Cathedral of Seville. Just the two of us, huddled there in the cold, with my parents as my dad married us. It was beautiful and perfect and I can't imagine being married any other way.

A window

A combination of several current events brought this "window", this little view of my past, to mind. Reading someone else's post on her "windows", reading Harry Potter, and rain like today's always reminds me of Kijabe.

Jacob has gotten into watching the Harry Potter movies. I really don't mind. They're well made and he's learned to walk out for the scary bits. Though he did let me know that he would snuggle with me so I wouldn't be scared when the spiders came on. I decided to go back and read through the series again. I put the book down last night right at the part where Harry first gets to Hogwarts. It brought up my own boarding school experience--slightly less positive.

January 1985...just a few days into being 13 and my first week at Rift Valley Academy. I was excited and anxious at the same time. Being away from home wasn't too big of an issue. I had been home schooled the year prior in order to properly adjust schedules (British school year ran January to December while the American system was September to July and I didn't want to stay back a year). I think my mom and I were more than ready to take a break from each other. I was going to be around my peers for the first time. An entire school full of people just like me. I've often felt that the missionaries were the red headed step child of the ex-pat community. Even in Mwanza, we really didn't fit in at the yacht club even though my best friends were there.

My parents were able to take my sister and I to school that term. They wouldn't always be able to make it. For the most part we were picked up from Wilson Airport by either the school bus or our local guardians and deposited at school. But that first term, I had my mom there to help me unpack and make my bed. Something I still do to this very day--every move, I make the bed first.

The term started off innocently enough. I think arrival day was a Friday and that night there was the usual start of term festivities. Saturday night was movie night--with an appropriatly edited movie (I was well into my twenties before I ever saw an unedited version of Romancing the Stone. Apparently Michael Douglas's mudslide landing was too spicy for young missionary children!) Then came Monday morning. In the dorms we were all assigned various chores that had to be complete each morning--in addition to keeping our rooms clean. I had never had to face that level of time management before and that morning I remember feeling very stressed and very overwhelmed. Then, one of the other girls asked if she could help. Karen, if you should ever read this, know that I remember and that to this day that little act of kindness remains in my thoughts. She made my bed for me and I made it to class on time.

Rainy, rainy Monday

Our property value just went up--now that we're a lake front house!

This is what happens to our back yard when it rains for two days straight! Somewhere back in the history of this house someone had an above ground pool. It created a nice, cleared level area--perfect for the play set. It also made it the lowest spot in the yard. Oh, well. Jacob, of course, managed to find a silver lining--when it gets warmer we can swim in it!

The branch hanging down in front is from our ancient, hundred foot tall (at least) oak tree. Last night's storm was simply too much for that particular branch. But it didn't come all the way down so now we need to take care of it--I suppose it's a safety hazard.

We've alerted FEMA regarding the stranded dump truck and bulldozer. Apparently they have too many "real" disasters to respond to.

A diet and exercise program that works...

And for just three easy payments of $19.95 it can be yours! Okay, just kidding about that part. Oh, wait...maybe I could profit from this...

Since I'm under 10 pounds away from my pre-preggo weight (I can get those dang size 4 jeans on but it's not pretty--no, it's not) I just might know what I'm talking about. This isn't like Dr. Phil hawking his weight loss program. Spare me the rhetoric, Dr. Non-Svelte "Trust Me, I'm a Nutritionalist" Phil.

The diet.

Real easy. Take whatever is on your plate and split it with your toddler. It makes no difference what it is, or that he already has food on his plate. I cannot recall the last time I actually ate a sandwich in it's entirety. And drink lots of coffee. Yes, I know that caffeine causes cancer. And weird non-cancer lumps in your breasts. However, I rarely ever get headaches. Coincidence? I think not.

The workout.

Carry a 14 pound baby around. Everywhere. Chase after an almost 3-year-old. All day. Every day. Carrying the baby. Up the stairs because we forgot clean clothes. Back down stairs because Daddy is sleeping--shhh. Back up the stairs because Jacob wants his Kokoo blanket. Oh, and this one is only for the advanced class--balance the baby on your hip, stoop down and lift up the toddler to put him in his car seat. Bonus points if you manage to do so without bumping anyone's head on the door, without dropping the baby and without getting muddy from flailing toddler's muddy shoes. Extra cardio is involved for forgetting the car keys in the front door.

Enough already.

This goes out to those of you who apparently enjoy playing the game of "Let's Find Spelling and Grammar Mistakes in Dori's Blog."

It was funny at first...ha, ha...spell check doesn't work in the title area. But it's getting a little old. If all you can find to comment on is something piddly like a spelling mistake, then don't bother commenting. I won't publish it and your negativity will simply spread out into the ether somewhere.

For some of you--the brilliant ones who rarely had to study and were/are still brilliant--you have never felt the humiliation of being called stupid. There are parts of my makeup that you will never understand.

My learning "disability" (in quotes because dyslexia is simply just another way of looking at the world, I don't view it as a disability) was treated in various ways--none of which would be approved by the current Board of Education.

I had one teacher who was under the impression that throwing the maths book at me would help with my multiplication skills. And then there was my infamous 8th grade maths teacher who explained to me--in front of the entire class--that I was too stupid for Algebra so he signed me up for General Math instead (which I completed with an "A"). I then went on to get all "A's" in Algebra, Geometry and Algebra II. Maybe it was the teacher. I even managed to graduate college with a 3.9 GPA. I did not realize stupid people could do that.

As far as my writing goes, yes I use spell check. This is my blog--my thoughts in writing for all to see. Sometimes my brain works faster than my hands and I don't catch all of the mistakes. I apparently failed to read the fine print that said I was being graded. I do the best I can so please oblige me and back off.

Thank you.

We will now return to our regularly scheduled postings on adorable toddlers and babies.

Why is this woman smiling?

Neither child is napping--though I think the baby is just prolonging the inevitable. I've been up since 6am, which means I did get 7 hours of sleep--interrupted in the middle by a bottle request, but I did get sleep. Once again it's a gorgeous day and I'm forced inside by annoying pollen allergies--no one else in this house seems to be affected by it. I've got the alluring scent of baby puke going on. By all rights I should be down right cranky.

Yet, I'm sitting here, almost giddy. Why? Because Husband took tonight off--and is already awake. Ha--let the game of tag-team parenting begin! Not it!

I have re-enforcements tonight. I'm not cooking dinner. In fact, he doesn't go back to work until Monday and even then he's teaching all week. We have him home at night for almost 2 weeks. Whatever shall we find to talk about?

Guilty!

I committed dinner.

I admit it. I have no real remorse--heartburn maybe, but not remorse. Besides, the only witnesses were my children. And one of them isn't talking.

I really don't enjoy cooking. It's not that I can't, because I can if I should so choose to. But to steal someone else's quote (I don't remember who said it, but I can't take credit for the cleverness)--I read recipes like I read science fiction: I enjoy the genre, then I get to the end and think...Seriously? Can that really happen?

Several years ago, after attempting to be "helpful" in the kitchen, Husband threatened to parent block Food Network. So now I try to contain my helpful nature and simply let him do the kitchen magic that only he can do.

I do, however, really enjoy baking--bread, specifically. It's very therapeutic and almost like chemistry class. I get to experiment and there's always the potential that something just might blow up in the oven!

For the most part Husband's new work schedule works out well for us--four nights on and four nights off. However, every now and then (this week) it reaches around and bites us in the collective butt. He is in court every morning this week--comes home around 7am, court at 9ish, home to sleep and up again in time for showers and then off to work again by 7:30pm. Nowhere in there is there family time--let alone time to cook dinner. Which has left me responsible for all of the meals of the day. So, in an Utopian world--it's not my fault. I do what I can for the survival of my family. And my poor, neglected son is eating a PB&J for dinner tomorrow night.

Spring!

Everything is blooming. I love it! The azalea bushes survived my amateur pruning last summer and this is my reward! I'll take a picture of the front yard once they're all in bloom.

Do you remember the wild abandonment of toddlerhood? Jacob got a new swing this Sunday and this is how he prefers to swing.

We were outside this morning enjoying the cool spring morning--without pollen blowing everywhere. Husband and Son made a trip to Home Depot on Sunday. Some of their spoils included new additions to the play set. Jacob loves the mountain!

Is someone really keeping score?

Neither of my children are great sleepers. The little man wasn't consistently sleeping through the night until well after his first birthday--and now he's convinced he no longer needs a nap. The baby was showing great promise but recently had a relapse and I feel like we're now in reverse on the sleeping--sleeping less and less hours in a row as opposed to more and more. However, when she lays in her crib at 4am not sleeping she's very happy about it. She chats and coos, growls and snorts. Her brother, on-the-other-hand, would lay there not sleeping at 4am and scream. Fed and dry, yet still screaming. He ended up sleeping in bed with me on most nights simply out of survival on my part--it was the only way I was getting any sleep at all.

Now when people ask me if the baby is sleeping through the night instead of bursting out, "Are you kidding me? Babies don't sleep. And anyone who says they do is lying! Lies I tell you--all lies!" I simply smile and say, "No, not yet. But she doesn't scream either--we're grateful for the little things!" (Usually I'm that polite--but not always.) Of course, even with the latter response the conversation swings over to the asker relaying stories of his or her child or grandchild who is the world's most perfect sleeper. Seriously, are we keeping score here? My child was sleeping through the night the day we brought him home from the hospital. Bully for you. The thing is, I truly cherish the midnight hours with my daughter. We get so little quiet time alone. She was cooing up at me at 2 this morning. How can I whine about that? Don't misunderstand me--I'm more than ready to sleep for five hours in a row, but if she's not ready for that yet then I'm going to continue to enjoy these wee hours of the morning get-togethers we share. Yes, fine--I still whine about not getting any sleep.

Just trying to blend in

I face cultural clashes on a daily basis. I'm the product of several different cultures--all vastly different from the other and most days I just do my best to blend in. Then, just when I think I've got the chameleon thing going, I'm thrown on to a branch of a different color and someone calls me out.

I went to a baby shower today. Most would find that innocent enough--I was terrified. For a couple of reasons. One--though I knew the mom-to-be (I wasn't just crashing a stranger's party!) I knew I would know very few of the other guests--and there were a lot of them! I don't do well in social functions. I don't chit-chat very well and I always wind up saying the wrong thing and I get that look--that look of "Oh, you're not from around here, are you?". Today, however, I had the ultimate screen--a baby. The wee Princess gave me the excuse to simply sit and she was a great conversation starter. Though most of the conversations she started ended up with whomever going on and on about either their own child or their grandchild. Fine. I'm good with smiling and nodding.

The second reason I was terrified is that the baby shower seems to be the epitome of American culture. I don't know how to blend in with that form of excessive consumerism. It's not that I'm against the institution of the showers...we benefited from two of the baby ones (more on that later). I simply don't understand the entire industry built around them. The gift recipient registers at a store, or several stores, for items she wishes for--a wish list with some pretty pricey items. One of my cousin's wedding registry was for every single thing in their house--including appliances! And again, it's not that I didn't want to give this person things she wanted, it's just that I find registries overwhelming and I dislike being told what to do. Seeing as this is a first time mom I picked out a few items that I felt I couldn't have lived without. Sadly, I was the only one who gave books (Good Night Moon and The Going to Bed Book by Sandra Boyndon) and only one of two who gave diapers.

Like I said, we actually did have a baby shower for each baby. Neither was traditional and I enjoyed both immensely! For the first, my best friend Amy (my ambassador of American culture) wanted to organize it for me. I requested low key, no stress. We ended up having afternoon tea at The Painted Lady with just a handful of very dear friends. Yes, there were gifts, but it was neither the highlight nor the focus. I was able to spend an afternoon with friends I hadn't been able to see in a while. For the second, one of my co-workers really wanted to throw a shower and make it a party. She opened up her house and we had a party. Once again, there were gifts, but they most certainly weren't the focus--keeping Little Man from breaking anything in that incredible house was the focus!

Back to this afternoon. Kyleigh also gave me the perfect graceful exit--"Yeah, she's done--I just need to get her home. But lovely shower, thanks for inviting me." Muah!

The irony is just sickening!

It's a glorious spring day and I have to have the house shut up tight with the A/C on! Bah!

I opened up the windows the other day airing out the house from months of canned heat. The kiddos and I had a play date yesterday and when we got home I found myself walking on a layer of yellow pollen. Every horizontal surface was covered! My throat started itching, nose started dripping. Spring--it's a love/hate relationship. Fortunately I hadn't opened up the office windows--I wouldn't be able to sit in here otherwise! So yesterday evening found me scrubbing and mopping. Not exactly what I had planned but it was the only way I was going to be able to breath in my own home!

This morning--back to wiping off horizontal surfaces! It's supposed to rain today, hopefully that'll calm the pollen down some. And leave lovely yellow streaks on my black car.

Get outside!

For our last anniversary Husband renewed my membership to the botanical gardens. This morning dawned warm and dry. After days, weeks even, of rain--I loaded up the little ones and we went to the gardens.

Kyleigh, once again, did great in the backpack and Jacob didn't fight holding my hand--a recent break through. Without the constraints of the stroller we were able to wander down some of their woodland paths. We walked, we looked at turtles, we admired a mama goose on her nest, we found puddles to splash in. There's no better way to wear out an energetic toddler! We came home and he napped. It was amazing.

For the past several weeks the little man has been attempting to convince me that he no longer needs naps. He might not need them, but I certainly am not prepared for him to give them up. I need that time in the afternoon to simply catch my breath. This afternoon I heard him thumping around in his room shortly after I'd laid him down. I went upstairs prepared to do battle--and he had moved his blankets, pillow and animals onto the floor. He wanted to sleep on the floor. Fine. Did it really matter? So, I knelt down, kissed his head and told him to go to sleep. He did. Amazing. I got a nap as well. I feel like a new woman--kind of.

Medicating our children

I sat and watched a PBS Frontline special last night on medicating children and childhood bi-polar illness. My emotions ran the full gamut from sad to enraged, but basically stayed at being really pissed off by what I was seeing.

Toddlers being prescribed anti-psychotic drugs for basically being--toddlers! Four-year-olds on eight different medications--each one prescribed to counter the side effect of the one before it. Have we lost our minds?! What is wrong with us? When did we stop allowing our children to be children? I realize that in the history of society and American culture the institution of childhood is relatively new--last hundred years or so--but we created it, so let them enjoy being children! Create, and enforce, the boundaries they need and let them be.

One of the four-year-old boys in the program basically sat comatose in front of a computer, downing pills his mom gave him, for the whole interview. When he wasn't doing that he was eating--corn dogs and Gatorade. At no point did the little boy's doctor mention nutrition or any other form of treatment other than medication. In fact the doctor made the statement that he was too young to respond to therapy so they would just keep him medicated.

I realize that there are some children with genuine behavior problems. Some of them actually do benefit from medications. I get that. But shouldn't the goal be to get them to the point where they no longer need the meds? It can be hugely overwhelming for parents--but these are our children.

My son is extremely intelligent. He's so smart. He's also 2. He has always hit his developmental milestones far earlier than his peers but sometimes his brain works faster than the rest of him can keep up with. Some days he's more than I can handle on my own. He's 2. That's okay. The first time I have a doctor look at me and tell me that my son's brain isn't wired correctly and may need medication to function "normally", I will politely (maybe) thank him or her for their time and walk out. And find another practice.

A disclaimer...of sorts

I mentioned to my husband that my mom was now reading his blog. He was horrified--figuring he had to rethink everything and change his content. Once I reminded him that my mother was not the delicate flower he was mistaking her for he suggested that maybe I add a disclaimer to my own blog for anyone wishing to take one of the links over to his.

Link to Husband's blog at your own risk. While content usually remains at a PG rating, he has nights where the frustration level tips it over to a Die Hard use of language rating. He is a husband, a father, a police officer, a son and a student. Any one of those is enough to turn one's conversation into a Dennis Leary monologue. As it is, he uses his blog as a catharsis--much the same as I use mine and why I have always turned to writing. If left inside it will only fester, spread and come out anyway, just at a much higher volume.

Since we're discussing my husband, let me say this: He is Batman. The "Dark Knight" himself. The quintessential hero of all times. Everyman with a kick-ass suit. Not just because he's the 5-o--not all cops can be compared to super heroes--he was this way when I met him almost 14 years ago. And Batman wasn't Batman because of the bat belt and the fully equipped garage. He was who he was because of his convictions and fundamental beliefs--that, and a bottomless checkbook. Batman was touched by darkness yet he chose to remain a force for good.

Yes, my husband is my hero. He cooks--amazing things come out of the kitchen, he's a genius in there! He cleans poop out of the tub. He cleans the cat box and takes out the trash. He goes to Sam's Club on Sundays and he brings home hot coffee when the power goes out. He brings me Indian food when I need comforting. He is the man of my dreams and after all these years--he still makes my heart thump. Even though we have our differences and our arguments, there is not one thing I would change about him.

Morning conversations

Overheard in my house Sunday morning...

"Jacob?"
silence...
"What are you doing?"
more silence...
"Jacob?"
"I can't hear you right now!"
ah...warning...danger
"Seriously--what are you doing?"
"Go away--I'm making toast!"
okay--not too bad since the toaster doesn't stay plugged in (any guesses as to why that is?!) And by this time I've managed to make it in to the kitchen without losing a beat in feeding the baby.
"Jacob...dinosaurs do not go in the toaster"
"Yes, they do!"
"No, they don't"
"Yes. They do! I'm making dinosaur toast!"
"Dinosaurs don't make good toast! Stop putting things in the toaster."

Seriously, it's the one kitchen appliance I know how to use and I don't want to have to go out in icky weather to replace a toaster all because my two-year-old insisted on making toast out of dinosaur magnets!

And this morning...cookbook toast! I'm thinking the toaster is moving to an upper cabinet.

Co-exist

This is what happens when cat and laptop attempt to co-exist! I have the computer resting on my knees to allow the needy drama queen room. Nifty iSight camera though!

The new book crisis

The Husband and I have similar literary tastes (i.e. we read just about anything and everything). Normally this isn't a problem. Both of us usually have several books piled on our "to read" shelves and for the most part they don't overlap. However, every now and then a new book will come out that we both have been waiting for and those, of course, get head of the line priority on both of our "to read" piles. Then we're faced with the wretched dilemma of who gets to read it first.

Fortunately for us--and our marriage--we function on opposite schedules. As long as we don't lose each other's bookmarks we do manage to simultaneously read the same book. Unfortunately for me, my awake time is usually full of toddler wrangling--not an awful lot of time in there for pleasure reading. But...tomorrow is Little Man's play date day. I, therefore, intend to nothing, repeat--nothing, other than amuse Kyleigh and read. I'm even running loads of laundry as I type just so I don't have to be bothered by that particular household chore later! Not exactly a day off, but I'll take what I can get.

Important safety tip

When one shuts off the power to the hot water heater in order to turn down the thermostat, one must then remember to turn the power back on to said hot water heater if one wishes to have a hot shower in the morning.

That is all.

Best Rainy Day Activity Ever...

Or "Terror of the Living Room"?

Check out the outfit...it was a jammie day and those are his "mowing" shoes (they were in a hand-me-down box and are too big but he insists on wearing them!) Our downstairs is a very open floor plan and Jacob was doing laps with loony tune turns around the corners. Poor Dakota T. Dog was a wreak but he refused to go outside in the rain! Little Man got rid of a lot of energy though (Kitty enjoyed the ride too). The Husband can be grateful he was out training instead of upstairs trying to sleep today.