DadaMama

A Thought

Until further notice, the children will be referred to as "Not Me" and "I Don't Know."

Thank Goodness Today is Almost Over

Two sick kids home from school, the mad rush into work to leave assignments for my students, to the grocery store for more Gatorade, cartoons, cartoons, cartoons, cartoons, naps, lunch, cartoons, cartoons, massive struggle over time-out with the four year old, play-doh, meatloaf, bathtime, pajama time, family time, medicine time, banning the husband and the oldest child from blocks because they can't play nice, bedtime.

I am exhausted.

And This is Monday

Note to self:

If you plan to take your children to the pumpkin patch, do not wait until the very last weekend before Haloween. You will have only the dregs to select from, and the hay maze will look more like a moldy pile of compost than anything else.

That being said, we did manage to find a couple of pumpkins that will serve, seeing as how we're only going to cut them open and watch them rot anyway. The weather is appropriately dreary here, and there's even a slight chill in the air. Maybe it's not still summer in the Sunshine State after all.

On Saturday I threw a tiny Halloween party with a couple of sets of good friends, and we had a marvelous time. As the children get older, we are more able to set them free in the back yard and hang out with the adults. It's amazing.

This is Your Kid on Albuterol

Will is still sick.

I took him to the doctor last week because he was wheezing. Well, it turns out Will was wheezing badly enough to earn himself a course of steroids and breathing treatments every four hours until Tuesday. It may continue after Tuesday, but we won't know until after the recheck. No flu shot was had by Will, though I did get the pleasure of holding Gus down so he could get one.

I am thinking asthma. I am thinking reactive airway disease. I am thinking that for the next few years, fall is going to bring the hardcore suck for little Will. He hates the breathing treatments. They start off okay, but generally end with me holding the mask over his face while he cries and begs his father to come save him from his evil mother. "I don't want to doooo this!" he wails, until I turn the machine off and he hops off my lap and goes on his way like nothing ever happened. Oh, the drama.

The doctor mentioned that Will might seem a little, um, hyper after a breathing treatment, but she didn't mention that albuterol would make the kid think he can fly. Over the past five days, much to my amusement, I have witnessed the following episodes of hyperactivity:

1. Will tearing through the house at top speed, up and down the hallway, while getting ready to go to Nanny's house, shouting, "I'MONMYWAYI'MONMYWAYI'MONMYWAY!"

2. Will, running in a circle, saying, "WHERE'SMYCARWHERE'SMYCARWHERE'SMYCAR?!" When he finally stopped running in a circle and made like he was going to run down the hallway, he ran into the bookshelf and fell over.

3. Will, hopping up and down on a chair like a gymnast on crystal meth. When his grandfather told him to stop, he turned around and leapt tree-frog style off the chair. And landed on his face.

4. And lastly (this one reported by Dashing Husband), Will once again leapt off a piece of furniture, tree-frog style, but this time landed on his toe.

Dashing Husband: Will, are you ok?

Will: I landed on my toe. I can fly like a bird!

A Loooong Week

I was almost run off the road by some little old lady in an SUV this morning. She could barely see over the steering wheel, which MUST be why she didn't see me when she went to change lanes without signaling.

This has been one of the longest weeks of my life. I cannot haul my pregnant ass out of bed, and spend a lot of my time thinking wistfully of that brief time in my life when I could sleep in and no one bothered me, not even my alarm clock.

This morning at 1 am, Will arrived at the edge of the bed bearing an empty sippy cup. "I want moooore," he said. Which means, more water, I'm like the Sahara over here. Dashing Husband and I thought, at one time, that we would take him off his allergy/asthma medications (stay with me, this is relevant, I swear), but those hopes were promptly squashed at the last doctor's visit. Not only would we NOT be taking him off the medication, we would be re-introducing one he hadn't needed in months.

One of the medications is an antihistamine, which dries the nasal secretions along with Will's saliva glands--and so the child needs access to lots and lots and lots of water. I am woken up by a stealthy little person with a sippy cup several times a week, and have gotten adept at filling said cup in the dark.

Last night, Will had his cup in one hand and his pacifier in the other. I stumbled into the bathroom and filled his cup at the tap (I usually go into the fridge for filtered Brita water), and then guided Will back to bed. The child drank his fill and then, in a magnificent show of habit,  handed me the pacifier and said, "Put my bink in my mouth."  He's so used to me putting the thing in his face after I dig it out from under the bed, that even though he was holding it, things just wouldn't have been the same if I hadn't tucked it in there for him.

Between the nighttime escapades of Will and my own need to pee every thirty-five minutes, I am up in the middle of the night roughly three times, but often more. This is not awesome when one has to be at work at 7:30 am. I haven't slept a whole night in five years, even when I had the opportunity, because 1) even involuntary habits are hard to break and 2) LIFE IS NOT FAIR. 

Strangely, leaving for work is usually one of the best parts of my day, mostly because all the boys give me kisses and hugs. Will likes to stand and wave at me as I drive away, and it's then that I can (almost) forgive him for waking up so damn often. This morning, however, Gus was the cute one. I had kissed him goodbye in his room, and was walking down the hallway when Gus said, "Oh, Mom, I almost forgot--I LOVE YOU!"

"I love you too!" I said. "Bye!"

And then Gus's voice again, "Have a fun day at work, Mom!"

"Have a fun day at school!" I replied.

And finally he said, "Bye, Honey-bunch!"

I left for work giggling, which would have lasted all the way there except for the little old lady who needs to sit on a phone book when she drives.

And thus we have come full circle.

UpStaged.

Last night, because of the chaos of tiling our kitchen and hallway, we spent the night with Nana and Cheez. The boys had gone on ahead with Nana while Dashing Husband and I finished up. So when I stopped at the grocery store to pick up a rotisserie chicken for dinner, I also got each boy a Push Pop (this weird little lollipop that has a lid and that you can retract or extend as you see fit). Push Pops are very big at our house lately, but because they're candy, they remain at Hallowed Treat Status.

So, in my infinite wisdom (stop laughing! shut up!) I showed the boys the treat, and told them that they were for anyone who chose to eat his dinner. This always works like a charm with Gus, who launched himself into a chair at the table and voluntarily ate chicken, broccoli, and cranberry sauce. Little Will, however, is a hell of a lot more stubborn and not so easily bought. He ate the skin off his fried chicken (ew) then got down from the table and announced that he was ready to have his "new Push Pop."

"Will," I said, "you haven't eaten any broccoli. You have to try your broccoli if you want your treat. Just one bite!"

You see, in our house, the rule is that you take one bite of everything your mother or father has lovingly cooked for you. If you don't like it after you've tasted it, you are free and clear to eat a peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich instead. This rule was born after much arguing by The Parents, one of whom wanted to take the hard line on food, and one of whom did not. I leave it to you to guess who was which. Or whatever.

So Will, who in all fairness was running a fever and obviously not feeling his best, replied, "I don't want broccoli!"

I patiently explained The Food Rule, emphasizing that all that was required of him was one bite, but Will was having none of it. He is my stubborn child, and will remain unmoved no matter what when he sees fit to do so. I know this, but I tried again, then Nana tried, and then Nana had Gus try. Gus, ever the helpful and conscientious big brother, pulled a minscule leaf off the very tippy-top of a piece of broccoli and said, "Will, here, eat this!" Seriously, you probably couldn't have seen that particular piece of broccoli with an electron microscope. He might as well have offered up a big spoonful of air. But rather than give in, Will burst into tears and ran away from Gus, saying, "I don't want broccoliiiiiiiiii!"

And then, from the other room, the Cheez called out to Will. Will made his way into the computer room with his grandfather, where I can only assume a whispered conference took place. And then, miracle of miracles, Will calmly emerged and said to me, "I want my broccoli now." I gave him a bite, and he went back into the computer room to show Cheez that he'd eaten what was required.

I was suspicious of this sudden turnaround. Why would a kid who ran away crying from a broccoli leaf suddenly decide he wanted an entire forkful? Was he offered money? A pony? An all-expenses paid vacation to the South of France?

And then Will walked out of the bedroom holding an unopened Matchbox helicopter. I opened it for him, and then said, "Would you like your Push Pop now?"

"No."

If only the Cheez were there to bribe him every time broccoli is on the table.

Things I Don't Get

1. Why being pregnant affects my brain so. I put my shirt on backwards this morning. After I looked at the tag to make sure I wasn't.

2. How Old Navy can advertise a 25% off sale on kid, baby, and maternity clothes until 9/20, but then change the promotion in the middle from 25% off to FREE SHIPPING! Big whoop. Shipping is all of $5.

3. How, only fifteen weeks into this pregnancy, I already need new bras. I swear, after this last child weans, I am so getting my breasts cut off. I am tired of them. I think I've spent $100 billion on keeping them properly dressed over the years. I could feed and clothe and entire third-world country for that amount of money.

4. Why can't I find a book to read? I have tried, but have failed to come up with anything that grabs my wandering attention for more than thirty seconds. Any suggestions?

5. Is summer over yet? Because I am tired of living in a sauna.

6. Why do I keep forgetting to eat the ice cream I bought myself last week? It's Ben and Jerry's, so I think you'll agree that forgetting it is a crime.

Super Powers

So yesterday, while Dashing Husband and my parents were busting their asses installing tile in my house, I was watching the children. We spent the day at my parents' house, which meant many, many hours in front of the high-definition TV watching my father's colossal collection of every movie for kids ever made. Ever.

Gus happened to reach into the stack and pull out a DVD that boasted "17 episodes of The Original Superman." I quickly tired of Lois Lane's ass-hattery (is it just me, or is she really that stupid and annoying?), but Gus and Will were enthralled. As Superman righted a toppling skyscraper, Gus said admiringly, "he's so strong."

Strength and superheroes are something Gus is obsessed with lately. He wants to be stronger, faster, and bigger than everyone. I have witnessed him eating broccoli and then kissing his muscles. I hate to think what this might mean for his future, but let's not go there now.

After a few episodes of the Man of Steel, we decided to go outside and play--guess what the game was?

Superheroes.

All was well until Will decided to play, at which point Gus told him, "you don't have any powers." Luckily little Will is unfazed by brotherly criticism, and ran around making chomping noises with his Jaws of Steel, and shooting something out of his palms--maybe spiderwebs, maybe lava. All I know is that he points his hands at his victim and goes, "pssssst!" We don't yet know if he's using his powers for good or for evil.

I told Gus that Will can have powers if he wants them, which led to a discussion of how powerful Gus is and how weak the rest of us are. "You will never defeat me!" he said. I informed him that his father and I are invincible, and that he will never have more powers than us. My shields are stronger, my lasers more intense, and my wits and reflexes faster.

Gus didn't buy a word of it. I asked him what his super powers were, and he said something vague about "remotable sensors." Whatever--I think his true power is in The Talking. What happens is this: Super Gus talks until your ears bleed. And then you die.

So, it's 7:50, and I'm at work

7:50 p.m., that is.

Ugh.

I am trying to edit and post the photos from our vacation but the crappy-ass photo editing program keeps shutting down in the middle. So I am saving as I go, but it might be some time before I can do the vacation write-up I've been working on.

Instead, let me regale you with the story of how Gus whacked his little brother in the face with one end of the see-saw, which resulted in hysterical crying and a really fat, bloody lip. Will's first! Thank goodness for rocket popsicles ...