Ree was so cute last night. Every night before bed we clean her room, and every night it is a battle. She is not opposed to cleaning, she is just easily distracted. She will start to put Legos away and realize that they will fit better in the tub if she first arranges them in the shape of a castle. Or she discovers that the doll house people really need to have a major renovation of their abode before going to sleep for the night. We actually don't fight about it too much, we just try to keep her on task and either Jeff or I do most of the cleaning. Last night when she and I got to her room, all of her blankets and pillows were on the floor, which wasn't unusual. She likes to have "sleepovers." However, last night, when I said it was time to clean she said, "Mom, you're sick. You lay down and I'll do all the cleaning." She even had a blanket, pillow, and "friend" out just for me.
I've been battling a mild case of the flu since Sunday, and I didn't fight her. Instead, I laid down and closed my eyes. Surprisingly, I heard cleaning sounds. I somehow managed to resist the urge to check on things. I waited a few minutes and then asked if she needed help. She said, "No thank you. You just get cozy." So I did.
And somehow, miraculously, the girl who can't pick up her toys managed to clean her entire room in under 10 minutes. I suppose I shouldn't use this against her when it's time to clean up tonight. That nap on the floor was awfully nice.
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Monday, April 12, 2010
Adventure in Hair
Just so you know, this has nothing to do with the kids. You've been warned. Bwahaha!
Yes, the evil laugh was necessary. It's been one of those nights.
So women are always changing their hair in order to be more attractive and to better reflect their personality. I am personally guilty of this. Through the years I've had a few hits and a whole lot of misses.
During college, I changed my hair pretty regularly. I had numerous hair styles - bobs, shags and, of course, long hair. I was a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead. I had phases of crazy, product-free (translation: super frizzy) hair and phases that required considerable time spent with a hair dryer, curling iron, and arsenal of products before I could walk at the door.
Post college, my hair has mostly been long and blonde. There was a brief period while I worked at Toilet in which I had a crazy, spiky short style. It involved lots of layers and assaulting myself with a can of spray wax each day. Although "fun", maintaining that 'do was pricey, not-so-eco friendly, and a bit disturbing. It was a lot of work and coughing (spray wax really hangs in the air!) for what was essentially bed head.
As I've gotten older, my hair has gotten longer and blonder. The insanely dry winter air here and a lack of time and desire to care for it led to a nasty, frizzy disaster. I also frequently forget to get my haircut for months on end, which doesn't help the situation. Over the past couple of years, I've had a few haircuts where I asked the stylist to cut off split ends and dry part. The result of all those trims was that my hair still looked about the same.
I decided to give my hair a break, and I dyed it light brown just before Christmas. I decided that was boring, so I dyed my hair chocolate brown after New Year's. I was really excited. My hair would be low maintenance (no coloring it every 4 - 6 weeks! The roots would magically blend in!) and the color would be sexy. I would be all Angelina Jolie or Megan Fox.
That might've worked if I was tan, actually remembered to put on makeup, and tried a little. But I'm not and I forgot and I didn't. So rather than being a goddess, I was more mousy librarian. And with my hair all dark and brown, I started noticing grays. Yikes. Definitely not the look I was going for.
So I'm ready to go blonde again, but my hair is just not in a good place. After failing to get my rear to a salon for the past few weeks, I finally took the scissors to it one night last week after the kids went to bed. The plan was for just a little trim. I would cut off all the nasty, fried layers. I ended up cutting off six inches in parts. Oops. Perhaps it was a bit more than a trim.
But it really doesn't look that bad. Really. (Humor me. I'm tired. And I really believe it doesn't look THAT bad.) Perhaps it is an awkward length, it's just past my shoulders, but it will grow. And I noticed too that it makes me younger, especially since I keep putting it in a ponytail to deal with the strange length. Not that it is necessarily good younger. I'd say it's makes me look like a crazed middle school who needs to lay off the booze and get some sleep. But it may have contributed to what was clearly the best unintentionally funny moment in my world last week.
Most nights I take each of the dogs for a short walk after the kids go to bed. The walks usually take place between 8:30 and 9:00, and it's definitely dark out then. It was warm when I walked them on Wednesday, so I just wore a t-shirt and athletic pants, and I had my hair in a ponytail. I walked Max first, and as I'm walking him, I hear a kid screaming. I was about to investigate when two boys about 12 or 13 come running out from behind a house. Apparently they were playing hide-and-seek or something and were just generally taking advantage of the fact that one of the kids' parents wasn't home. They weren't paying attention and almost crashed into me. I decided not to be the weird old mom yelling at them to watch where they were going, and I kept on walking.
I took Max home and set back out on the same route with Pru. The two boys were sitting in the other kids' driveway when I came around the second time. As I'm walking I hear, "Hey red shirt!" (That would be me since, well, I was wearing a red shirt and I was the only other person out in the dark.) "How old are you?" I stop and tell them, "Old." So they ask, "14?" and I told them I was a little bit older. So then they jokingly asked, "27?" I replied it was something like that and just kept walking.
And when I got home I laughed and laughed as I spent the next 45 minutes trying to wrestle three car seats into the back of the car. So when all else fails, when the kids are screaming and the dogs are barking and appliances are breaking, at least I know I've still got it. At least in the eyes of the the junior high crowd. In the dark. But maybe I'll keep those details to myself.
Yes, the evil laugh was necessary. It's been one of those nights.
So women are always changing their hair in order to be more attractive and to better reflect their personality. I am personally guilty of this. Through the years I've had a few hits and a whole lot of misses.
During college, I changed my hair pretty regularly. I had numerous hair styles - bobs, shags and, of course, long hair. I was a blonde, a brunette, and a redhead. I had phases of crazy, product-free (translation: super frizzy) hair and phases that required considerable time spent with a hair dryer, curling iron, and arsenal of products before I could walk at the door.
Post college, my hair has mostly been long and blonde. There was a brief period while I worked at Toilet in which I had a crazy, spiky short style. It involved lots of layers and assaulting myself with a can of spray wax each day. Although "fun", maintaining that 'do was pricey, not-so-eco friendly, and a bit disturbing. It was a lot of work and coughing (spray wax really hangs in the air!) for what was essentially bed head.
As I've gotten older, my hair has gotten longer and blonder. The insanely dry winter air here and a lack of time and desire to care for it led to a nasty, frizzy disaster. I also frequently forget to get my haircut for months on end, which doesn't help the situation. Over the past couple of years, I've had a few haircuts where I asked the stylist to cut off split ends and dry part. The result of all those trims was that my hair still looked about the same.
I decided to give my hair a break, and I dyed it light brown just before Christmas. I decided that was boring, so I dyed my hair chocolate brown after New Year's. I was really excited. My hair would be low maintenance (no coloring it every 4 - 6 weeks! The roots would magically blend in!) and the color would be sexy. I would be all Angelina Jolie or Megan Fox.
That might've worked if I was tan, actually remembered to put on makeup, and tried a little. But I'm not and I forgot and I didn't. So rather than being a goddess, I was more mousy librarian. And with my hair all dark and brown, I started noticing grays. Yikes. Definitely not the look I was going for.
So I'm ready to go blonde again, but my hair is just not in a good place. After failing to get my rear to a salon for the past few weeks, I finally took the scissors to it one night last week after the kids went to bed. The plan was for just a little trim. I would cut off all the nasty, fried layers. I ended up cutting off six inches in parts. Oops. Perhaps it was a bit more than a trim.
But it really doesn't look that bad. Really. (Humor me. I'm tired. And I really believe it doesn't look THAT bad.) Perhaps it is an awkward length, it's just past my shoulders, but it will grow. And I noticed too that it makes me younger, especially since I keep putting it in a ponytail to deal with the strange length. Not that it is necessarily good younger. I'd say it's makes me look like a crazed middle school who needs to lay off the booze and get some sleep. But it may have contributed to what was clearly the best unintentionally funny moment in my world last week.
Most nights I take each of the dogs for a short walk after the kids go to bed. The walks usually take place between 8:30 and 9:00, and it's definitely dark out then. It was warm when I walked them on Wednesday, so I just wore a t-shirt and athletic pants, and I had my hair in a ponytail. I walked Max first, and as I'm walking him, I hear a kid screaming. I was about to investigate when two boys about 12 or 13 come running out from behind a house. Apparently they were playing hide-and-seek or something and were just generally taking advantage of the fact that one of the kids' parents wasn't home. They weren't paying attention and almost crashed into me. I decided not to be the weird old mom yelling at them to watch where they were going, and I kept on walking.
I took Max home and set back out on the same route with Pru. The two boys were sitting in the other kids' driveway when I came around the second time. As I'm walking I hear, "Hey red shirt!" (That would be me since, well, I was wearing a red shirt and I was the only other person out in the dark.) "How old are you?" I stop and tell them, "Old." So they ask, "14?" and I told them I was a little bit older. So then they jokingly asked, "27?" I replied it was something like that and just kept walking.
And when I got home I laughed and laughed as I spent the next 45 minutes trying to wrestle three car seats into the back of the car. So when all else fails, when the kids are screaming and the dogs are barking and appliances are breaking, at least I know I've still got it. At least in the eyes of the the junior high crowd. In the dark. But maybe I'll keep those details to myself.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
No longer MIA
I'd like to have a great reason for not writing anything for the past two weeks. I'd like to say that it's because my parents came to visit or because Michael ran a 103-degree fever all last week. And both are true, but they really weren't why I didn't write. I'd like to say it's because we've been busy enjoying the spring and are spending time each day running around in the backyard, which is also true. But again, this isn't why I haven't been writing.
The truth is, I just haven't been able to get myself organized. It's been so weird. Normally, I am on top of things. When asked at interviews about my greatest strengths, organization and time management popped up at the top of the list. But these days, not so much.
Which leads me to wonder what the heck happened. If anything, I should've had more time than ever to write. I did not work a full week in the past four weeks. The first week doesn't really count. We had that stomach bug from hell, and I stayed home from work on Monday, Tuesday, and half of Wednesday. The following week, I just worked half a day from home on Monday since I had the flu and Michael had all those new teeth. Realizing how run down I was, I worked another half day from home on Friday.
Three day weeks are nice. So nice that I decided to only work three days the following week. I had been planning on saving vacation, but my parents were coming in town, and with our crew, it takes an entire day to accomplish anything, including cleaning the house. So I took off a day so that Jeff and I can clean the house and he could do some much-needed yard work. (And one of the reasons I love my husband so? He did almost all of the cleaning while I took care of the kids. Ahh. Some days I know I married the right guy!)
My parents arrived late that afternoon, and then I had a real three day weekend to play. It was wonderful. I think everyone had a fabulous time. It was definitely our best visit with guests since the boys have been born. We managed to squeeze in everything that everyone wanted to do. We went to the beach, swimming at the indoor pool at my parents' hotel, and shopping. My parents took off on their own and got to take care of some things they wanted to do. Jeff and I even got to have a date. Part of the reason we did so much was that we were constantly shuffling schedules around naps. That resulted in us going out on a date at 9:30 a.m. on a Saturday, but hey, WE GOT TO GO ON A DATE! Perhaps I used up all my time management skills for the month that weekend. They were working overtime.
I certainly can't blame my disorganization on a lack of sleep, at least not for the usual reason. Leon has been sleeping through the night. Yes. Really. LEON IS SLEEPING THROUGH THE NIGHT. Crazy stuff. I think it's because of the amount of time he spends outside. Both boys love outside. Leon defines any excursion outside our house as "bye bye," and he regularly beats on both the front and back doors asking "bye bye?" If he really wants to turn on the charm, he'll thrown in his version of "please" which sounds like "peez" and his fake smile. His fake smile is hilarious. It's really hard to say no to a little guy begging, "bye bye, PEEEEEEZ???" and grinning like a mad man.
When he gets outside, he runs and runs and runs. On Saturday, the first time we went outside, he ran in circles for 10 minutes screaming, "eeeeEEEEEeeeeeeEEEEE," the whole time. He was one happy little dude. When he comes in, he eats and eats and eats. And then he sleeps well. It's great. And, yes, I realized I have completely jinxed his sleeping. But it's been great while it lasted. And at least we know he is capable of sleeping. And development. Since he started sleeping, his vocabulary and social interaction skills have just exploded.
But since Leon is turning into a functioning human being, that means it's time for Michael to fall apart. He just hasn't been right lately. He really did have that nasty fever all week. He also got five new teeth to go with it. What we'll never what was really wrong. The poor little guy may have had the flu too, which would explain why he had to be held 24 hours a day for four or five days. Jeff held him all day. We would take turns holding him from the time I got home from work until bedtime. The one not holding him would be running around like mad trying to take care of Ree, Leon, Pru, and Max and at least meeting their basic needs. Then I would do most of the holding at night. That was crazy. I'm blaming that on my inability to get organized last week. We were only sleeping three to four hours a day night in short bursts. That wore me down. Whew.
But then we had a fabulous weekend. Michael still didn't feel great, but he wasn't horrible either, and we had a lot of fun. Maybe my brain was just on strike.
That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.
The truth is, I just haven't been able to get myself organized. It's been so weird. Normally, I am on top of things. When asked at interviews about my greatest strengths, organization and time management popped up at the top of the list. But these days, not so much.
Which leads me to wonder what the heck happened. If anything, I should've had more time than ever to write. I did not work a full week in the past four weeks. The first week doesn't really count. We had that stomach bug from hell, and I stayed home from work on Monday, Tuesday, and half of Wednesday. The following week, I just worked half a day from home on Monday since I had the flu and Michael had all those new teeth. Realizing how run down I was, I worked another half day from home on Friday.
Three day weeks are nice. So nice that I decided to only work three days the following week. I had been planning on saving vacation, but my parents were coming in town, and with our crew, it takes an entire day to accomplish anything, including cleaning the house. So I took off a day so that Jeff and I can clean the house and he could do some much-needed yard work. (And one of the reasons I love my husband so? He did almost all of the cleaning while I took care of the kids. Ahh. Some days I know I married the right guy!)
My parents arrived late that afternoon, and then I had a real three day weekend to play. It was wonderful. I think everyone had a fabulous time. It was definitely our best visit with guests since the boys have been born. We managed to squeeze in everything that everyone wanted to do. We went to the beach, swimming at the indoor pool at my parents' hotel, and shopping. My parents took off on their own and got to take care of some things they wanted to do. Jeff and I even got to have a date. Part of the reason we did so much was that we were constantly shuffling schedules around naps. That resulted in us going out on a date at 9:30 a.m. on a Saturday, but hey, WE GOT TO GO ON A DATE! Perhaps I used up all my time management skills for the month that weekend. They were working overtime.
I certainly can't blame my disorganization on a lack of sleep, at least not for the usual reason. Leon has been sleeping through the night. Yes. Really. LEON IS SLEEPING THROUGH THE NIGHT. Crazy stuff. I think it's because of the amount of time he spends outside. Both boys love outside. Leon defines any excursion outside our house as "bye bye," and he regularly beats on both the front and back doors asking "bye bye?" If he really wants to turn on the charm, he'll thrown in his version of "please" which sounds like "peez" and his fake smile. His fake smile is hilarious. It's really hard to say no to a little guy begging, "bye bye, PEEEEEEZ???" and grinning like a mad man.
When he gets outside, he runs and runs and runs. On Saturday, the first time we went outside, he ran in circles for 10 minutes screaming, "eeeeEEEEEeeeeeeEEEEE," the whole time. He was one happy little dude. When he comes in, he eats and eats and eats. And then he sleeps well. It's great. And, yes, I realized I have completely jinxed his sleeping. But it's been great while it lasted. And at least we know he is capable of sleeping. And development. Since he started sleeping, his vocabulary and social interaction skills have just exploded.
But since Leon is turning into a functioning human being, that means it's time for Michael to fall apart. He just hasn't been right lately. He really did have that nasty fever all week. He also got five new teeth to go with it. What we'll never what was really wrong. The poor little guy may have had the flu too, which would explain why he had to be held 24 hours a day for four or five days. Jeff held him all day. We would take turns holding him from the time I got home from work until bedtime. The one not holding him would be running around like mad trying to take care of Ree, Leon, Pru, and Max and at least meeting their basic needs. Then I would do most of the holding at night. That was crazy. I'm blaming that on my inability to get organized last week. We were only sleeping three to four hours a day night in short bursts. That wore me down. Whew.
But then we had a fabulous weekend. Michael still didn't feel great, but he wasn't horrible either, and we had a lot of fun. Maybe my brain was just on strike.
That's my story, and I'm sticking to it.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
He Can Walk!
Sometimes I am just so stinkin' proud of my kids. They really make me want to gush. Which I am about to do. Sorry. At least you were warned. But sometimes, when you get past the snot and the screaming and the general mayhem, you realize they really are the most amazing little creatures.
Right now Michael is practically making me swoon because he walked across the backyard on Sunday. I know, I know. It doesn't sound like much. But for him, this is HUGE. Leon started pulling up Thanksgiving weekend, and he took his first step on Christmas. I'm not sure when he started actually walking since that didn't coincide with a holiday, but it happened. (It stinks to not be the first child. And a twin. No milestones will be remembered for these poor little guys.)
But Michael never had any interest in the whole walking thing. It wasn't that the tried and failed; he just didn't bother to try. You could see what he was thinking. Why walk when crawling works just fine? (Plus there's the fact that he thinks he's a dog.)
Crawling was fine when it was cold and nasty out. Crawling was great when all he had to do was maneuver inside the house. But then it got warm outside. Our big snow was the weekend of Valentine's Day (again with the holidays. Sad, huh?) and the following weekend was gorgeous. We finally had temperatures in the 60s - normal Wilmington winter. So we headed outside. On Saturday we played in the backyard. Sunday the whole family headed to the beach. Michael spent a lot of time watching his brother and sister run around the yard and on the beach. You could just watch the wheels turn in Michael's head. He had to get in on the fun.
So starting the next day, Michael put some serious effort into walking. Every night after dinner he would spend 30 minutes walking in circles from the living room through the kitchen pushing various ride-on toys and walkers. He was even willing to walk holding my fingers, something Leon always refused to do. Michael was determined. But then he started teething, and the poor little guy got nine teeth all at once. Yes, NINE. Then we were all struck by the stomach bug from hell that knocked us out of commission for four days. Then Michael got better and his body could focus its efforts on getting all of his boulder size teeth through his gums. That led to The Worst Night EVER. Seriously. I thought the night when we were all uber-sick with the stomach nasties was bad. I ended up sleeping in the living room with the kids because I could at least hold down Gatorade, which meant I was way better off than Jeff. And I had the kids all in one place because at bedtime Michael was still puking every 15 minutes and Ree wasn't doing much better. Poor Leon didn't know what was going on, but it was just easier to have him with us. But we made it through that night. And it was still better than The Worst Night EVER.
On the WNE, Michael would SCREAM for an hour and a half, pass out for another hour and a half or so, and then wake up and do it all over again. And nothing would console him. His body laughed at ibuprofen and Orajel. He had no interest in teethers or cold wash cloths. He was so miserable he was even turning down popsicles. At 4:00 a.m. I had him in the sling and was jiggling him up and down while rocking him side to side and watching an Elmo DVD. And he was still miserable. And so was I. As though we hadn't been through enough, I had the flu and was running a fever and just wanted to crawl in bed for, oh, about two weeks, and Michael, of course, only wanted Mommy to take care of him.
But we survived that too. And the following night, Michael slept for 13 hours straight. Just passed out. I don't know if he even changed positions during the night. And when he woke up, he was a beautiful butterfly. Wait. Sorry. Too much Very Hungry Caterpillar. But when he woke up, his teeth had all broken through the gums, which seems to be the worst part, and he was free to work on walking.
And that's what he did. Over the last week, he has walked and walked and walked until he was able to walk across a room. On Saturday we went outside, and he watched everyone else run and play, but he still wasn't ready to try his balance on the grass. But on Sunday, he took off and walked about six feet from the kids' picnic table in the yard to the patio. And he was so proud of himself! He did it! He was playing like all the other kids! He just beamed. And so did I.
Right now Michael is practically making me swoon because he walked across the backyard on Sunday. I know, I know. It doesn't sound like much. But for him, this is HUGE. Leon started pulling up Thanksgiving weekend, and he took his first step on Christmas. I'm not sure when he started actually walking since that didn't coincide with a holiday, but it happened. (It stinks to not be the first child. And a twin. No milestones will be remembered for these poor little guys.)
But Michael never had any interest in the whole walking thing. It wasn't that the tried and failed; he just didn't bother to try. You could see what he was thinking. Why walk when crawling works just fine? (Plus there's the fact that he thinks he's a dog.)
Crawling was fine when it was cold and nasty out. Crawling was great when all he had to do was maneuver inside the house. But then it got warm outside. Our big snow was the weekend of Valentine's Day (again with the holidays. Sad, huh?) and the following weekend was gorgeous. We finally had temperatures in the 60s - normal Wilmington winter. So we headed outside. On Saturday we played in the backyard. Sunday the whole family headed to the beach. Michael spent a lot of time watching his brother and sister run around the yard and on the beach. You could just watch the wheels turn in Michael's head. He had to get in on the fun.
So starting the next day, Michael put some serious effort into walking. Every night after dinner he would spend 30 minutes walking in circles from the living room through the kitchen pushing various ride-on toys and walkers. He was even willing to walk holding my fingers, something Leon always refused to do. Michael was determined. But then he started teething, and the poor little guy got nine teeth all at once. Yes, NINE. Then we were all struck by the stomach bug from hell that knocked us out of commission for four days. Then Michael got better and his body could focus its efforts on getting all of his boulder size teeth through his gums. That led to The Worst Night EVER. Seriously. I thought the night when we were all uber-sick with the stomach nasties was bad. I ended up sleeping in the living room with the kids because I could at least hold down Gatorade, which meant I was way better off than Jeff. And I had the kids all in one place because at bedtime Michael was still puking every 15 minutes and Ree wasn't doing much better. Poor Leon didn't know what was going on, but it was just easier to have him with us. But we made it through that night. And it was still better than The Worst Night EVER.
On the WNE, Michael would SCREAM for an hour and a half, pass out for another hour and a half or so, and then wake up and do it all over again. And nothing would console him. His body laughed at ibuprofen and Orajel. He had no interest in teethers or cold wash cloths. He was so miserable he was even turning down popsicles. At 4:00 a.m. I had him in the sling and was jiggling him up and down while rocking him side to side and watching an Elmo DVD. And he was still miserable. And so was I. As though we hadn't been through enough, I had the flu and was running a fever and just wanted to crawl in bed for, oh, about two weeks, and Michael, of course, only wanted Mommy to take care of him.
But we survived that too. And the following night, Michael slept for 13 hours straight. Just passed out. I don't know if he even changed positions during the night. And when he woke up, he was a beautiful butterfly. Wait. Sorry. Too much Very Hungry Caterpillar. But when he woke up, his teeth had all broken through the gums, which seems to be the worst part, and he was free to work on walking.
And that's what he did. Over the last week, he has walked and walked and walked until he was able to walk across a room. On Saturday we went outside, and he watched everyone else run and play, but he still wasn't ready to try his balance on the grass. But on Sunday, he took off and walked about six feet from the kids' picnic table in the yard to the patio. And he was so proud of himself! He did it! He was playing like all the other kids! He just beamed. And so did I.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
Free Stuff
Man, the internet is a time waster. I have been waiting all day, for two days actually, to get online and bitch and moan about our past couple of weeks. I finally had free time (yes, really!) and energy (yes, really!) tonight to do it. I even got access to the computer. (Yes, we only have one computer at home. I know it's hard to imagine, but it's true. And I'm married to someone who legitimately needs it to work at night. Crazy!)
So I get online, but before I could actually get to my blogger account, I got completely sidetracked by a link Jeff had bookmarked. It was entitled The Best Birthday Freebies. How could I resist? So I clicked on it. It turned out to be all I had hoped for and more. Links to all sorts of wonderful places that want to give me free stuff on my birthday. And on Jeff and the kids' birthday. I thought I did well with free birthday stuff this year. Ree and I had a girls' day in which we had free lunch at Moe's, followed by free ice cream at Cold Stone, and free shopping at World Market. But these links will help me take it to a whole new level! That level most likely being obesity. But what fun I'll have along the way!
So now it is already time for me to get ready for bed and I have yet to complain about the past few weeks. But it's coming my friends, it's coming. In all of its gory glory. And oh have there been some gory moments! (Just a hint: five people simultaneously sick with a stomach bug combined with one dog who ate a blanket and a second dog obsessed with eating yard waste. Imagine the possibilities!)
For now you have been saved by my obsession with all things free. Aren't you lucky?
So I get online, but before I could actually get to my blogger account, I got completely sidetracked by a link Jeff had bookmarked. It was entitled The Best Birthday Freebies. How could I resist? So I clicked on it. It turned out to be all I had hoped for and more. Links to all sorts of wonderful places that want to give me free stuff on my birthday. And on Jeff and the kids' birthday. I thought I did well with free birthday stuff this year. Ree and I had a girls' day in which we had free lunch at Moe's, followed by free ice cream at Cold Stone, and free shopping at World Market. But these links will help me take it to a whole new level! That level most likely being obesity. But what fun I'll have along the way!
So now it is already time for me to get ready for bed and I have yet to complain about the past few weeks. But it's coming my friends, it's coming. In all of its gory glory. And oh have there been some gory moments! (Just a hint: five people simultaneously sick with a stomach bug combined with one dog who ate a blanket and a second dog obsessed with eating yard waste. Imagine the possibilities!)
For now you have been saved by my obsession with all things free. Aren't you lucky?
Monday, March 8, 2010
Lessons at Indian Hospital About Births
This post has nothing (and everything) to do with the kids. This lovely little gem from the NY Times so epitomizes many of my thoughts toward birth. For those who don't know, I am a big fan of midwives and had midwifery care throughout most of my pregnancy with the boys. My midwives worked in conjunction with an OB/GYN practice, and once things got complicated, the doctors insisted I be under their care.
I did notice a substantial difference in the type of care I received once under the care of the physicians. When I'd had a regular check-up with the midwives, they came in and chatted with me. They made sure I was really okay, physically and emotionally. We discussed my pregnancy and what to really expect along the way. They were my advocates and wanted to make sure I had the birth I wanted, even with twins. I knew all of them personally. They knew the name of my husband and child, and I knew theirs. When a new midwife joined the practice, she spent 20 minutes with me one day getting to know me and sharing about herself, so that if she attended my birth she wouldn't be a stranger.
While under the care of the physicians, my appointments dropped from 20-30 minutes with the practitioner to 5-10 minutes. The doctors listed for fetal heartbeats, just like the midwives, and that was just about it. They would ask if I was having any problems. They didn't ask any probing questions. Many of the physicians in the practice are renowned surgeons, and while I'm sure they are experts in an operating room, that is the last place I wanted to be when I ushered two new little people into the world. They didn't want to even discuss that I wanted to deliver naturally. They just assumed I wanted a c-section.
I was so frustrated that I am fairly certain this is why I delivered the way I did. The mind-body connection can be powerful, and I'm pretty sure some part of my brain figured out there was only one (crazy!) way to get the boys into the world without a c-section.
Following my delivery, my midwives followed up with me even though I was no longer "their" patient. They visited me in the hospital, and that new midwife who had taken the time to get to know me was the one who sat with me for half an hour the day I was discharged and my babies weren't. The midwife I knew best followed up with me, calling me at home and checking on things. As an added bonus, they were also lactation consultants, so I could get advice on feeding twins from women I already knew well.
For those who couldn't care less about the birth process, just read the financial figures. This model of healthcare could save billions per year. That ought to cover a good chunk of the proposed healthcare reform...
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/03/07/health/07birth.html?pagewanted=1&emc=eta1
I did notice a substantial difference in the type of care I received once under the care of the physicians. When I'd had a regular check-up with the midwives, they came in and chatted with me. They made sure I was really okay, physically and emotionally. We discussed my pregnancy and what to really expect along the way. They were my advocates and wanted to make sure I had the birth I wanted, even with twins. I knew all of them personally. They knew the name of my husband and child, and I knew theirs. When a new midwife joined the practice, she spent 20 minutes with me one day getting to know me and sharing about herself, so that if she attended my birth she wouldn't be a stranger.
While under the care of the physicians, my appointments dropped from 20-30 minutes with the practitioner to 5-10 minutes. The doctors listed for fetal heartbeats, just like the midwives, and that was just about it. They would ask if I was having any problems. They didn't ask any probing questions. Many of the physicians in the practice are renowned surgeons, and while I'm sure they are experts in an operating room, that is the last place I wanted to be when I ushered two new little people into the world. They didn't want to even discuss that I wanted to deliver naturally. They just assumed I wanted a c-section.
I was so frustrated that I am fairly certain this is why I delivered the way I did. The mind-body connection can be powerful, and I'm pretty sure some part of my brain figured out there was only one (crazy!) way to get the boys into the world without a c-section.
Following my delivery, my midwives followed up with me even though I was no longer "their" patient. They visited me in the hospital, and that new midwife who had taken the time to get to know me was the one who sat with me for half an hour the day I was discharged and my babies weren't. The midwife I knew best followed up with me, calling me at home and checking on things. As an added bonus, they were also lactation consultants, so I could get advice on feeding twins from women I already knew well.
For those who couldn't care less about the birth process, just read the financial figures. This model of healthcare could save billions per year. That ought to cover a good chunk of the proposed healthcare reform...
http://www.nytimes.com/2010/03/07/health/07birth.html?pagewanted=1&emc=eta1
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Today
I like to think that I handle stressful situations fairly well. I feel like I am good at staying cool in a crisis. I survived three years and four summers running afterschool programs and camps for elementary aged kids. I even delivered my own baby in the back of my car! But every now and then I have moments in which the brain just stops. This evening at dinner was one of them.
The past couple of weeks have just been insane. As a result, the kids have not been getting as much attention as they need. Yesterday I tried to make it up to Ree with a girls' day that turned into a bit of a disaster. (But that's a whole other story.) This morning, it was Leon's turn for mommy-time. We were out of just about everything in the house, which required a trip to Walmart. Leon was thrilled. As I put him in his car seat, he excitedly asked, "Bye bye?" and I confirmed that we were going on an adventure together. He was all smiles as we pulled out of the driveway.
While we were driving, I noticed that Leon was awfully quiet, but I thought it was just the fact that he got the window seat. Normally, he sits in the middle as is flanked by his siblings, but when he's the only one in the car, he gets the "good" seat. Then, right before we got to Walmart, I heard a choking noise. Not good. Thankfully this is the part of the day I handled well.
I glanced back, not that I could see anything over the monstrous seats in the Pilot. I kept calling his name, and he responded before too long. Okay. He was alright. But there were still a lot of coughing, choking noises. Quickly pulled over into a hotel parking lot. Ran around to Leon and found that the poor little guy had thrown up his breakfast all over himself. Thankfully, at the last minute as we were leaving, I grabbed a blanket to place over Leon, and it seemed to have taken the brunt of it. Also, luckily, as we were leaving, I grabbed the diaper bag which had an extra onesie for him to wear. While I was changing Leon, I noticed he had gotten his pants too, and I didn't have a pair of pants for him, but I did have a lovely pair of pink floral leggings belonging to Ree, so he got to wear those. By the time I got Leon cleaned up, he seemed to be feeling better. I assumed he was just carsick having spent over 45 minutes eating breakfast and we went on our shopping adventure.
Shopping was fairly uneventful, as was most of the day. When Leon got up from his afternoon nap, he had diarrhea. It kept up, and so I held him while the rest of us ate dinner. Well, actually Ree was not eating with us (I have lots of catching up on story telling to do), but Michael, Jeff, and I were eating. While we were eating, Leon started getting really squirmy. I thought that he was asking to get down. This is the part of the day when my brain shut down.
As I was putting Leon down, his little body cleaned out just about everything he had consumed in the past day. Instead of doing something practical like taking the poor little guy to a sink or toilet, I just stood there, holding him, watching him puke. I vaguely recall my brain taking inventory and noting that, yup, I was seeing everything he had consumed. (Must be the auditor in me!) He stopped for a second, and it occurred to me that Leon had covered himself, the chair, the floor, and me. Eww.
Again, you think I would've moved toward a bathroom, but I just stood there, everything dripping. And that's when the poor little guy got sick again. And again.
It finally occurred to me to do something. I headed towards our bathroom thinking Leon and I could shower together. That was a good thought, especially since we have a hand held shower head which would let me easily spray us down. An even better thought would've been to take our clothes off and close the shower curtain before taking down the shower head and turning on the water. So there we were, covered in puke, wearing our clothes and sopping wet. Oops.
Eventually, I got us cleaned up. After the kids went to bed, I got the bathroom cleaned up too. (It actually looks better than it has in weeks.) I also eventually got something to stay in Leon's belly. Thankfully, the little guy is still nursing, and after we were all nice and clean (at least relatively speaking), he and I cuddled up on the couch and he filled his belly. Breastmilk, among other properties, happens to be a natural form of Pedialyte, and so far it's working its magic. Here's hoping it stays that way...and the rest of us don't get this ick...
The past couple of weeks have just been insane. As a result, the kids have not been getting as much attention as they need. Yesterday I tried to make it up to Ree with a girls' day that turned into a bit of a disaster. (But that's a whole other story.) This morning, it was Leon's turn for mommy-time. We were out of just about everything in the house, which required a trip to Walmart. Leon was thrilled. As I put him in his car seat, he excitedly asked, "Bye bye?" and I confirmed that we were going on an adventure together. He was all smiles as we pulled out of the driveway.
While we were driving, I noticed that Leon was awfully quiet, but I thought it was just the fact that he got the window seat. Normally, he sits in the middle as is flanked by his siblings, but when he's the only one in the car, he gets the "good" seat. Then, right before we got to Walmart, I heard a choking noise. Not good. Thankfully this is the part of the day I handled well.
I glanced back, not that I could see anything over the monstrous seats in the Pilot. I kept calling his name, and he responded before too long. Okay. He was alright. But there were still a lot of coughing, choking noises. Quickly pulled over into a hotel parking lot. Ran around to Leon and found that the poor little guy had thrown up his breakfast all over himself. Thankfully, at the last minute as we were leaving, I grabbed a blanket to place over Leon, and it seemed to have taken the brunt of it. Also, luckily, as we were leaving, I grabbed the diaper bag which had an extra onesie for him to wear. While I was changing Leon, I noticed he had gotten his pants too, and I didn't have a pair of pants for him, but I did have a lovely pair of pink floral leggings belonging to Ree, so he got to wear those. By the time I got Leon cleaned up, he seemed to be feeling better. I assumed he was just carsick having spent over 45 minutes eating breakfast and we went on our shopping adventure.
Shopping was fairly uneventful, as was most of the day. When Leon got up from his afternoon nap, he had diarrhea. It kept up, and so I held him while the rest of us ate dinner. Well, actually Ree was not eating with us (I have lots of catching up on story telling to do), but Michael, Jeff, and I were eating. While we were eating, Leon started getting really squirmy. I thought that he was asking to get down. This is the part of the day when my brain shut down.
As I was putting Leon down, his little body cleaned out just about everything he had consumed in the past day. Instead of doing something practical like taking the poor little guy to a sink or toilet, I just stood there, holding him, watching him puke. I vaguely recall my brain taking inventory and noting that, yup, I was seeing everything he had consumed. (Must be the auditor in me!) He stopped for a second, and it occurred to me that Leon had covered himself, the chair, the floor, and me. Eww.
Again, you think I would've moved toward a bathroom, but I just stood there, everything dripping. And that's when the poor little guy got sick again. And again.
It finally occurred to me to do something. I headed towards our bathroom thinking Leon and I could shower together. That was a good thought, especially since we have a hand held shower head which would let me easily spray us down. An even better thought would've been to take our clothes off and close the shower curtain before taking down the shower head and turning on the water. So there we were, covered in puke, wearing our clothes and sopping wet. Oops.
Eventually, I got us cleaned up. After the kids went to bed, I got the bathroom cleaned up too. (It actually looks better than it has in weeks.) I also eventually got something to stay in Leon's belly. Thankfully, the little guy is still nursing, and after we were all nice and clean (at least relatively speaking), he and I cuddled up on the couch and he filled his belly. Breastmilk, among other properties, happens to be a natural form of Pedialyte, and so far it's working its magic. Here's hoping it stays that way...and the rest of us don't get this ick...
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