Phoebe Had it Right, All Along

I have been "running" a couple of days a week for a few months now.  (I put the term "running" in quotations because, for me, it is much more like really fast walking that every so often gets a skip in the step.  Walk/Jogging Wogging?  You get the idea...) Through the heat of the summer, I was "wogging" on the treadmills at our YMCA.  It was air conditioned, it was incline controlled, it was solitary, it was kind of easy.  I would make it my goal to complete a 5k every day.  I would usually do this, no problem, in about 45 minutes.  Not great, but it was a start... and for me a start was huge.

Let me back up a minute.  Since my RA diagnosis 11 years ago, I haven't really ran.  To be honest, I haven't really done any extensive exercises, aerobic or otherwise on any regular basis.  So, for a decade, my sedentary lifestyle packed on the pounds, eliminated any sort of stamina, and killed my self esteem.  (Not to mention increased my blood pressure, cholesterol, and weight impacting the very joints that created the problem in the first place.)  I had been fearful that any sort of high impact exercising, i.e. running, would injure my joints further, because in the past any time I would try, a RA flair was soon to follow, knocking me on my butt, and further convincing myself it was just not in the cards for me.

As you know, my Beautiful Bald Husband is a runner.  He has been running on a regular basis for nearly two years now.  He has gotten a lot out of this in health, self confidence, friendships, etc.  A little over a year ago, I joined the YMCA in hopes that I could get in to some Water Aerobic classes or do a little weight training and begin to get back in shape as well.  That went fine for a year, then I got bored. Nothing was changing except my stamina.  The water aerobics was not a challenge anymore. But, I was still too scared, lacked the self confidence, and was too embarrassed to get on a treadmill.  That is when I found Zumba.

I have always loved dancing. I danced my whole childhood, I was going to major in dance education at college, and stopped abruptly at 18 when I started getting excruciating joint pain, swelling, and fatigue.  When my doctor told me I had Rheumatoid Arthritis, she followed it up with "you may need to find a new major." So, when I found Zumba, or rather once I finally got the guts up to go to my first class, it was like awakening that 18 year old again! It filled me up, and WORE ME OUT.  I am still going to Zumba class two to three days a week, and loving it just as much, if not more than I did on that first day.  Zumba also gave me some self confidence back.  I lost a little weight, I gained more stamina, and I was feeling good about myself and what I was doing.  So, naturally, I decided to challenge myself again.  My doctor gave me the go-ahead.  She said she was inspired by my tenacity, and assured me the benefits I am getting from the exercise right now, far outweigh the damage it may be causing my joints. Sooo....

I got on the treadmill.  I walked, I jogged, I limped off.  I swore I would never do it again. I got back on the next day.  I put on my ipod, turn it up, and get to moving.  Now that the weather has cooled off a bit, I decided to take this new hobby on the road.  I figured I had been doing it for a bit on the treadmill now, I am sure it won't be too much different on the road. Ha!

I am not sure if it is the sun, the hills, the wind, the lack of wind, having to watch out for others and where I am going, OR the 30lb. baby in the stroller I am pushing, but I can tell you now, IT'S DIFFERENT.  I am still completing my 5k every day, but it is not the cake walk it once was.  After two weeks of a non-improving time, I started to get discouraged.  I was getting frustrated that I was not improving...

Today was the tipping point.  I was at about the mile and a half marker, and I was running out of steam.  The baby was fussing, the sun was beating down on us, and I knew I still had to go the whole way back to get to my car.  I had lost the joy.  I was not having fun.  What was the point?  That is when I remembered a conversation I had with my BBH just the weekend before about why he runs.  He was saying that his philosophy may be different than others, and yes he does get competitive and enjoys breaking his PR's, but if he's not enjoying himself, what is the point?  He said his philosophy is, "just run." Don't worry about time, and breaths and strides, just run.  Just let go and have fun.  Then, when I thought of this conversation, an image of Kermit the Frog flailing his arms in the air as he runs off screen, gloriously imitated by Lisa Kudro's character "Phoebe" on an episode of "Friends" about this very thing popped in to my head.

Who cares if my time is better than the day before?  Who cares if I am able to run that much longer between bouts of walking that I had the previous run?  Who CARES?  It is just me out there, you know?  The only person counting is me! So, I asked myself, what is it I enjoy?  Dance.  What is it about dance that makes me so happy?  Letting the music move me.  That is when I turned up my Jamiroquai, and let "Canned Heat" push me through.  I danced my way back to the car.  I tapped my hands on the stroller, I sang out loud, bobbed my head, skipped my feet, I made the fussy baby smile and squeal with my lost inhibitions.  I turned some heads, in that "I should probably stay as far on the other side of the path as possible from that weirdo" kind of way, but... I HAD FUN.  So, maybe Phoebe had is right. Just dance! Er, I mean, run.

Smaller Child's First (and hopefully only) Trip to the ER

Well, it happened.  We had to take one of our children to the official, big time, Emergency Room.  It has been six, nearly seven, years of parenthood, and we have managed to skirt this experience so far.  Granted, we have taken full advantage of "After Hours" clinics and "Urgent Care" offices, but never a full fledged, attached to a hospital, E.R.

It all started Wednesday night, when we noticed that our normally bouncing and boisterous, nearly always content, Smaller Child was just not acting himself.  He was very clingy, kind of whiney, and just all around unhappy.  I took his temperature that night at bedtime, and he was running a 101 fever.  The next day, the fever persisted, and began to get higher.  He was still eating, drinking, and sleeping fine, but the fever kept climbing.  By that night, the temporal scanner was reading 106.  By Friday morning, Tylenol was doing little good, and the fever was hanging on between 103-105.  I called our family doctor.  She had no available appointments, but said that he needed to be seen that day, so I rushed him to the local Urgent Care center.

Beautiful Bald Husband met me there.  He has this amazing ability to swoop in and lift me up right when my knees begin to shake.  Thinking there was something really wrong with the baby definitely made my legs wobble, and there he was.  So, after a ridiculously long wait, the nurse took the temperature and it was 101.  They did a strep test, checked his ears, and said, "Eyedunno?" They sent me off saying that if his fever spikes to 105 or higher again, to take him to the E.R.

So, that night we kept a close eye on him, and let him sleep. He woke up twice.  The  temperature was 103  the first time and 104 the second.  All morning this morning, it hovered right around 104. I finally decided to call our family doctor, at home, to get her opinion.  She said he needed to be seen, and to take him to the ER.  When he woke up from his nap this morning, fever still at 104, his neck was swollen.  We decided to take him to the hospital.

They checked his temp there, and it was 102. They took us to a room, and then we waited.  After some time, they checked his ears, looked in his throat, and asked us lots of questions.  The doctor said that his ears seemed infected, and he had white puss on his tonsils. So, they gave him two shots of antibiotic, advil, tylenol, watched his vitals for an hour, and sent us home with an amoxocillin prescription.

Okay, so that's the facts... that's the timeline.  Here's what REALLY happened...

Wednesday night, his Nana had mentioned that he had been a little less upbeat than usual.  This was true, but I chalked it up to grumps, or teething.  I didn't think much of it even when I got the 101 reading on the thermometer.  I assumed, again, teething, and brushed it off with a dose of Tylenol and some Oragel.

Thursday, more of the same.  I gave him frozen teethers, and tried to muster more patience and empathy than normal to sooth my teething baby.  That is, until that night, at 2am when I read the scanner to see the 106 reading.  I think there was part of me that thought, "This has to be wrong.  There is no way! He's just teething!! How could that be right?"  I gave him another dose of medicine, and tucked him in for the night.

Friday my Mommy Guts began to churn at every thermometer reading.  Even with the Tylenol I could never get it down below 103.  I was worried, but with no other symptoms, I could NOT figure out what it could be.  I finally decided better safe then sorry and called the doctor.  The receptionist freaked out when I told her how high the fever was, and the panic in her voice led to panic in my heart.  When I was told he needed to be seen, "to-day!" I jumped in the car and drove fast to Urgent Care.  That is when the words, "I'm scared" came out of me to my BBH.  He asked me where I was going, and with that question, I knew he would be there.

We were at urgent care for what seemed like hours and hours and hours.  None of them knew what they were doing, besides making me feel guilty for not bringing him in before then, and then rudely insinuating that I should maybe buy an new thermometer.  I left with no answers, and with all the poking and prodding, a pretty grumpy baby.

Friday night was torture. I was up every hour, listening, checking, feeling, covering, uncovering, rubbing, watching, worrying.  Fretting.  Part of me wanted to wake everyone up and say, "I can't take it... let's just take him to the hospital."  The other part, dreaded the visit and feared what they may do to him.  I watched the thermometer like a vigil. With every increase of a tenth of a degree, my heart sank.  When he woke up with the same 104 fever, started showing swelling in his neck, and began to lose his appetite too, I knew it was time to stop messing around.  The call to the family doctor was just a formality at that point.

I had all of the, "what if it's Meningitis?? Could it be Mumps??? Are they going to have to admit him, or keep him overnight?? My poor BABY!" conversations going on in my head. I can say I am glad the drive was short, I am glad the wait was nil, and I am glad my family was there to distract me. BBH, Larger Child and I were all there to surround our Little Man with love. This guy... This guy right here... he's got us all, for sure!

The doctor in the ER was much more thorough in his inspection.  He didn't mind making SC cry, to be able to really SEE what was going on. It didn't take him long at all to see infection, which to me was a HUGE sigh of relief.  Eureka! That's the culprit! Okay, I can handle that.  Give us the pink stuff, and we will be on our way.  Then a conversation about injecting antibiotics. I hate when my children have to get shots.  They had to swaddle his arms down, straight jacket style, I held his head down, and BBH held down his feet.  Larger Child set in the corner, closing his eyes, and putting his fingers in his ears.  Smaller Child screamed, cried, and was clearly in a lot of pain.  It broke my heart.

Once that trauma was over, they had to monitor him for a while and watch for reaction.  He was none to happy with this either, and he HATED this thing on his finger!

We kept watching the clock, beyond ready to go, Smaller Child is tired, hungry and grumpy, Larger Child has lost all patience.  Time for entertainment.  DS and IPhone help a little, but a rubber glove.... well, THAT'S a SHOW!

Daddy did his best at making Little Man feel better...

But, sometimes a little one just needs his Momma.

But, Dad can still entertain while he's there!

Though it was trying, and stressful, and frustrating that the doctors the day before couldn't find this stuff and saved us all this trouble, I am glad we went.  We got answers, I can rest my weary Momma Heart now, and hopefully Smaller Child with be on the speedy road to recovery.

And HOPEFULLY this will be the LAST time he has to visit.

Pic of the Week

She may be teeny, but she's got the spirit of a Rottweiler!

One Less Appendage

It's official.  I have a big bad First Grader. Today marks the beginning of the day long school curriculum for Larger Child. Today also marks the end of days with Mama.  I have to be honest, I am having a really mixed bag of emotions here.  There is part of me that remembers the loud, obnoxious, often stinky boy that required nearly constant entertainment that is, quite frankly, THRILLED that Larger Child is starting all day school today.  But, there is this other part of me....

There is this other part of me that feels as though she has lost an appendage. Yes, it was a loud, obnoxious, often stinky appendage, but it was a part of me.  I have spent the majority of my day, nearly every single day, for the past six years with one little boy.  A little boy who has exactly one third of my heart... and he carried it with him to school today.

I don't get to be the one who sees all of the goings on in the day anymore.  I don't get to guide him, and teach him, and see all of his little accomplishments.  I do get to hear about them when he gets home though, but it's not the same.  I know that nearly every single mother on the planet that has school aged children can understand how I am feeling.  I know I am not the only one who, despite all protests to the contrary, balled her eyes out on the way home from dropping him off.  Regardless of my lack of uniqueness on this issue, it is so bittersweet, none the less.

So, now that I have fully expelled the tears, for the moment, I may have the ability to describe to you the events of the morning.

I awoke this morning to the sound of Larger Child on the porch swing outside my bedroom window.  This has been his morning routine since the weather warmed up after winter this year.  When he wakes up, he goes outside and watches the sun come up.  He swings, talks with Olivia the Weirdo, and often, on those really lucky mornings, he sings.  Larger Child has a tendency to sing when he is excited, nervous, scared, or really really happy.  It seems to be a lovely coping mechanism that he has picked up.  This morning was no exception, though I am not entirely sure which emotion he was feeling today.

I went outside to greet him, "Hi there, First Grader!!" He, already fully dressed and ready, greeted me with a giant smile, hug and began to tell me that he was making up songs to go with different parts of his life.  He asked me if I wanted to hear his song for homework time.  OF COURSE I DO!! He started humming a very upbeat happy tune with lots of repeats.  (My mini Bach?)  I was happy to hear that "homework" created positive thoughts in his head, for now anyway.

He came in. I had made him scrambled eggs, toast, and grapes.  He thanked me for his "first day of school breakfast," and proceeded to tell me how excited he was about today! I agreed, and told him how excited I was for him (and a tiny crack in my heart began to form).  He finished his breakfast, and I got myself and Smaller Child up for the day.

When it was nearly time to go, I asked Larger Child if he could please stand next to the wall I am designating to chart our children's growth.  I marked how tall he was on his first day of first grade. (The crack grew...) Then we went outside to take pictures.

He's always going to look like that adorable three year old who clung to me before Mother's Day Out.

Though he does look awfully grown up... (crack...)

I told him to "think of something funny."

I asked him how excited he was!

A few days ago, we discussed whether or not he wanted me to come in with him again this year, and walk him to class for his first day.  He said that since they were going to the playground, he really "didn't need me" to walk him to class.  He would be fine.  (Craaaaack....)  I had kind of hoped that when the reality set in for him he might change his mind.  So, on the two minute drive to school I asked again.  He said, "No Mom, I'm good."  I took a deep breath, and said, "Yeah, I know YOU are."  That is one thing, one thing I can hang on to.  He will have NO TROUBLE making friends, and getting acclimated to his class.  His biggest concern when we got in the car was not missing Mama today, it was whether or not he would have enough time on the playground before school started. (sigh... craaack.)

When we got to the school, I fully expected a line of cars and a wait to drop off.  But, we got right in there, and I had no time left!! I rushed out a prayer with him, asking God to be with him, and help him to have a fun-filled and successful year.  We have had a tradition on the first day, since he started Mother's Day Out that we would draw a smiley face on each other's hand, so if we get sad, or lonely, or scared, we can look at that smile and know the other one is there.  I asked him if maybe we could do that again this year.  I prefaced it with, "I know you are going to be GREAT, but I think I may miss you some today..."  so, he, feeling sorry for Mama, decided to cooperate, despite the big kid safety patrol officer holding the door for him.

This is the smile he drew for me. This use to be a tradition to help make LC feel better,  I think the roles have changed.

Then it was time.  He needed to get out of the car.  There were people waiting behind us.  I didn't want him to go.  I told him I loved him, that I was insanely proud of him, and knew he would be SO AWESOME this year!! I sent him off with a "Have a wonderful day!!" and followed it quickly with a shout out the window, "Waaaaait!!! Hang on a second!" because I needed "one more picture."

I hope he always tolerates my nuttiness.
Though, I am pretty sure I am setting myself up for disappointment on that one.

A moment after this, he caught sight of a friend from last year.  He called his name, chased after him, and he was gone. (Crack, shatter.)  That was it.  I rolled up my window, and started my drive back home.   One less appendage.

About the time I pulled out of the parking lot, I heard a "Bubba! Buuuuhba!" from the backseat.  I looked in my rearview mirror, "Yup, Boo... He's off to school!" Smaller Child smiled, then started calling me instead.

"Hi, Mama!"

A walker, and a talker... this kid has quite the bag of tricks!

Today Before Noon

1. Breakfast for larger child
2. Coffee and quiet time for Momma
3. Shower and dressed
4. Bottle and dressed for Smaller Child (including blow out diaper)
5. Head to LC school
6. Meet teacher
7. Pay cafeteria account
8. Sign up for PTO
9. Verify address
10. Learn pick up/ drop off routine
11. Get supplies
12. Go home
13. Feed SC breakfast
14. Change clothes
15. Wash off make up
16. Pack up kids and head to YMCA
17. Zumba Class (kicked my butt today)
18. Come home
19. Put SC down for nap
20. Make LC lunch
21. Take second shower
22. Get dressed
23. Eat lunch
24. Post a blog about it.

Blessed life.

I Love Your Funny Face!

This is how we roll.

Beautiful Bald Baby!

So, I am going to show my hand here. I am going to record a story that is still stinging a little bit on my psyche... but I KNOW will be something I will want to remember and laugh about in the years to come.  I am going to share with you the story of our Smaller Child's first haircut.

(breeeathe in.... breeeeathe out....)


Yesterday was like any other Saturday in our house.  Beautiful Bald Husband came home, and I tagged him in, and me out as I headed out the door to go to the grocery store.

(On a sidenote, I have to say my Saturday afternoon grocery shopping excursions can be something close to an exotic island vacation for me. It is a solid hour to hour and a half where I can be by myself, not have tiny hands tugging on me, crying at me, or asking me for things. I can take my time, enjoy the quiet of my own head, and relax.)

So, I pull into the garage, grab a few bags of groceries and head in the house.  I walk in, refreshed and rejuvenated and eager to spend some time with the family.  The first thing I notice is the high chair pulled out into the dining room, all the lights on, and something on the floor.  I had just come in from the very bright afternoon, and my eyes were still adjusting to the darkness of the house.  I couldn't quite tell what was under the high chair, but it was something that wasn't suppose to be there.

That's when I noticed the electric clippers on the counter.  I was then shocked into the realization that what I was seeing on the floor was the remains of my baby's beautiful blonde hair.  My Beautiful Bald Husband made him into a Beautiful Bald Baby!!!

(Bare with me.... this is where things get interesting....)

Once the realization set in, I went from rejuvenated to horrified.  All of the thoughts, expectations,  plans I had for "The First Haircut" were gone, on the floor, and about to be swept into the trash.  Now, I know this is all going to sound VERY dramatic, and VERY ridiculous, but it is honest.  I was so angry that I was shaking. I started to cry, and I began to tear my BBH apart.  He looked at me with giant eyes of confusion and hurt, and sent Larger Child to his bedroom.  He didn't understand why I was upset.  I (tried to) explained to him that I had images of fantastic pictures, videos, and saved clippings for the baby book, I would have been there to witness it.... and it would have been just a TRIM, not buzzed all the way off!  He apologized and (tried to) explained to me that it came from a good intended place.  He thought I would come home and be thrilled.  He asked what he could do to make it right, and I couldn't even make sentences at that point.  I went to my room (like a child throwing a tantrum) and cried.  I called two friends, texted my mom, and CAME BACK DOWN TO EARTH.

My sweet Husband.  He was so well intended.  We had been mentioning that Smaller Child needed a cut, because his hair was constantly in his eyes.  He knew I had a lot on my plate, and thought he would go ahead and take care of both of the boys hair cuts for me.  He didn't realize the "First Haircut" was a big deal... how could he?  He was, in all honesty and sincerity trying to do a really good thing, and I in all of my wisdom and patience SUCKER PUNCHED him in the stomach.

So, after the Mother Ship decided to remove the alien that possessed my body, and return me back to the planet, I managed to muster up an apology, and a real hug and tried to express my gratitude to him.  A few hours after that, I managed to finally admit that the cut actually did look ridiculously cute!  Even if it did make him look more grown up than I am ready for.

Well, see for yourself...

Back to School Shopping. Year One of Twelve.

Larger Child is going to be a big bad First Grader this year.  It is his first time to be going to school full days, and my first time to have 7 hours every day away from my Sugar Bee (he will always be my Sugar Bee).  So, in preparation for this momentous occasion, we went "Back to School" clothes shopping this week.

It all started with a day of inventory in his room to see what he had, what he needed, what he wanted, and what needed to go.  He tried on nearly every stitch of clothing he had.  All of his shirts (both long and short sleeved), all of his pants, socks, shorts, and jackets were put on, examined, removed and landed in one of three categories.  There was Pile One, the "these clothes are pretty worn out, don't fit, and are not worth saving" pile.  I think they will eventually head to the Salvation Army.  There was Pile Two, the "these clothes are still fitting okay, and don't have TOO many holes or stains... I bet they can last another year" pile.  Lastly, there was Pile Three, the "hardly worn, still in great shape, but gigantor children grow out of things VERY fast, so we will save these for Smaller Child" pile.  Probably two thirds of the clothes landed in piles One or Three, leaving Larger Child with very little clothes left to start the school year.

The next day, I loaded up the two kids, packed the baby's lunch, grabbed the stroller, and headed to shop.  The first store we went to was a big box store.  I knew I could knock out the staples... i.e. socks, underwear, pants... and get out pretty cheap.  BUT, this was also the location of our very first Mother/Son fight about what to wear.  Being a boy, and being swayed by marketing, like most children are, he wanted to compile his ENTIRE wardrobe with obnoxious graphic tees of Spongebob, Batman, and Mario.  This is where I learned a VERY valuable lesson that I hope to pass on to any mothers of young-ones out there who may have not reached this milestone yet.

If you give your children the ILLUSION of freedom, that is enough.  We worked out a compromise.  I told him he can pick out ONE of those graphic tees, and then he would need to pick out the rest in collard, solids, or striped shirts. I gave him the feeling that HE was choosing the clothes, when in reality it was a very controlled and select amount of options.  Muah-ah-aaah.  Sometimes we Moms have to be a little devious.

The next hurdle we faced was in the selection of footwear.  He chose two pair of sneakers.  One that were VERY comfortable, the other that were VERY cool.  I told him I was going to let him choose. After going back and forth for some time, we decided that maybe a second opinion could be in store.  So, we called Dad.  After some discussion with Dad, Larger Child said, "You know, I think I'm going to Eenie, Meenie, Miney, Moe it."  Aaaaand he did.  (For the record, he ended up with the super Cool light up shoes.)

It was pretty much smooth sailing from there, though we did have some difficulty finding denim shorts. Apparently they are soooo not in right now.  We took a break for lunch at the mall.  LC chose Greek! (That's my boy!)

After the refueling, we picked up a few more shirts, and then went to choose a lunchbox, and thus another snag. There were two very cool lunchboxes.  Again, we had a bit of a function over form argument.  I suggested another meeting with Dad, but he mustered all of the decision making skills he could and made a decision.  Ninja box it is!

We came home with ALL of the supplies we needed to have a fun filled, self confident, and successful school year.  MY GOSH! To think, this is the first of the next 12 years.  Hopefully they will all go this smooth.  (Ha! Yeah right.)

Move Over Michael Phelps!

The beginning of this summer, Larger Child started swim lessons.  This is something that we waited a long time to start, way too long.  He has always had trepidation about water.  He never liked putting his face in.  He wouldn't ever relax if I tried to hold him up, etc.  He refused to even attempt water that was over his belly button without floaties on his arms.  Because of this fear, I held off swim lessons.  Looking back, I wish I had the opposite reaction.  I just didn't want to push him too fast, and have the fear grow greater.  Eh, shoulda' woulda' coulda'! Right??  

THE POINT IS... he began swim lessons this year.  He went through three sessions at our local YMCA.  He started off afraid of putting his face in the water.  He had a floatie strapped to his back.  He clung to the side of the pool like his life depended on it (it may very well had).  That session ended with him getting more acclimated to the water, and willing to at least put his face in the pool.  The fear that gripped him was starting to wane.

The second session, he ditched the floatie in exchange for a noodle.  He learned basic technique of how to move your arms, and began to doggie paddle and tread water a bit.  By the end of that session, he was able to keep himself above water for a few seconds, willing to hold his breath and dunk himself in, willing to jump from the side of the pool (with the noodle), and even took one VERY timid leap from the diving board while clinging to the noodle, into the waiting arms of his instructor below.  

Today was the last day of his third session.  By the end of this class, he was doing bobs (holding his nose and bobbing up and down in the water) constantly, and even staying under for a few seconds at a time.  He was willing and very capable jumping off the sides of the pool and swimming back to the edge, and even now has the ability to swim the entire WIDTH of the pool unassisted by both floatation device AND instructor! He even jumped from the diving board without a noodle, and swam back to the edge without any help!! 

Here he is in action! This is him swimming the width of the pool.  The instructor is next to him, but not holding him or touching him.

This is the Big Jump!!  A moment hesitation, but then the leap!! 

I am so stinkin' proud of him!!  I can't wait to see how he's going to WOW me next!!