Our three year old has many opinions as most children his age do. We enjoy getting Neil's perspective on all sorts of random things. After a few hours with Neil, we both frequently find ourselves quoting him, often while giggling. In order to share the amusing perspective of our little guy, my husband has started a blog, http://www.neilthecritic.blogspot.com/, to share his funny insights.
Although the blog is mostly about Neil, it also reflects my husband's focus on music, politics, or whatever is on his mind these days. My hubby also has a habit of editing out anything that goes against his idea of what is right (i.e., you won't see Neil discussing how awful Steely Dan is, why Bush is the best president ever or how yummy meat is). Since he can't edit my posts, he can't edit my gently tormenting him.
oh yes i can! - c.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Thursday, March 13, 2008
Draw of a straw
I find it interesting how memories can be tied to the oddest things - a certain piece of cloth, a smell in the air, some trigger that takes you back in a way that merely remembering something independent of external stimuli can't emulate. In many cases, the triggers appear randomly without any suggestion that you're about to be reminded of another day and time. You open a drawer, turn a corner or merely look at something differently and synapses fire back to old, dusty memories at the recesses of your brain.
Today, I held my 3 year old and felt the stirrings of old times as I watched him sipping his milk from a cup. I don't know how many times a day I watch him drinking from his cup or, more specifically, with a straw but something about how I was holding him, how tired he looked triggered memories of a time before the twins were born and I was in the hospital.
Not unlike many moms pregnant with twins, my body wanted to go into labor before it was in our babies' best interest. At 30 weeks, I started having regular contractions, had a positive fetal fibronectin and was dilating. My doctor admitted me after a routine check up and I stayed in the hospital for 4 weeks. At the time, Neil was approaching 2 years old.
Although 4 weeks is a long time for an adult to be in the hospital, it was an even longer time for Neil to be away from his mommy (I did see him a few times while I was there) and a long time for me to be away from my son. While enduring the constant monitoring, the isolation, the discomfort and medications that were administered, I focused my energy on getting through the experience with as positive and strong an attitude as I could muster. With the exception of a few incidences where we were very concerned about the welfare of the twins, my strength only dissolved when I thought of my sweet, darling Neil who I missed so much.
While I was in the hospital, I missed our baby shower. All our friends came and had a party without me. My husband even had to leave the party early because of concerns that labor wasn't going to be averted. Thankfully, it did. Also, we were fortunate to have many caring family members and friends there to support us during such a tumultuous time. A day or so later, my mother-in-law brought pictures from the shower.
I enjoyed looking through all the photos, seeing my friends having fun in our house, seeing my family talking with my friends and seeing the children playing together. When I got to one picture, though, of Neil drinking with a straw my heartstrings were strummed. Before I left for the hospital, he wasn't using a straw. Here he was not only using a straw but he looked like he'd been doing it for a while and he looked so grown. I felt so absent from him at that moment, like a parent who has died and can't see, smell and touch their own child. He was out of my grasp and living his life without me and it made me sad. It also made me proud of him though to see him doing something new, to see him turning into a bigger boy. I just wanted to be there too and I couldn't.
Before the twins were born, it was Neil and I. Of course, Chris was part of the whole equation but I spent more time with Neil than anyone and vice verse. I won't pretend that it was always a blast and that he never drove me nuts as kids can do, but we had a solid bond and he was my buddy. It was so emotionally jarring to be removed from him so suddenly and for so long despite knowing how completely necessary it was. It helped that I had two babies moving around in my belly to remind me. As I laid in the bed, I rubbed my huge, swollen, wiggling belly and cried as I held the photo.
Tonight, so many things are different from that night. Neil is older. He's no longer a baby and I see him sip straws all the time. I'm 65 pounds lighter than I was that day (thank God!) and the twins are wiggling in the house now and not in my belly. Times are tough in different ways but not as hard as they were then. I didn't know then how my babies would do once they were born, I didn't know how I was going to parent them and I wondered how different Neil would be when I came home. I'm fortunate that everything worked out and that my babies are safe and warm in their beds. Just as Neil fell asleep with me on the couch within the first few minutes of my return home from the hospital, I feel peace in my heart.
Today, I held my 3 year old and felt the stirrings of old times as I watched him sipping his milk from a cup. I don't know how many times a day I watch him drinking from his cup or, more specifically, with a straw but something about how I was holding him, how tired he looked triggered memories of a time before the twins were born and I was in the hospital.
Not unlike many moms pregnant with twins, my body wanted to go into labor before it was in our babies' best interest. At 30 weeks, I started having regular contractions, had a positive fetal fibronectin and was dilating. My doctor admitted me after a routine check up and I stayed in the hospital for 4 weeks. At the time, Neil was approaching 2 years old.
Although 4 weeks is a long time for an adult to be in the hospital, it was an even longer time for Neil to be away from his mommy (I did see him a few times while I was there) and a long time for me to be away from my son. While enduring the constant monitoring, the isolation, the discomfort and medications that were administered, I focused my energy on getting through the experience with as positive and strong an attitude as I could muster. With the exception of a few incidences where we were very concerned about the welfare of the twins, my strength only dissolved when I thought of my sweet, darling Neil who I missed so much.
While I was in the hospital, I missed our baby shower. All our friends came and had a party without me. My husband even had to leave the party early because of concerns that labor wasn't going to be averted. Thankfully, it did. Also, we were fortunate to have many caring family members and friends there to support us during such a tumultuous time. A day or so later, my mother-in-law brought pictures from the shower.
I enjoyed looking through all the photos, seeing my friends having fun in our house, seeing my family talking with my friends and seeing the children playing together. When I got to one picture, though, of Neil drinking with a straw my heartstrings were strummed. Before I left for the hospital, he wasn't using a straw. Here he was not only using a straw but he looked like he'd been doing it for a while and he looked so grown. I felt so absent from him at that moment, like a parent who has died and can't see, smell and touch their own child. He was out of my grasp and living his life without me and it made me sad. It also made me proud of him though to see him doing something new, to see him turning into a bigger boy. I just wanted to be there too and I couldn't.
Before the twins were born, it was Neil and I. Of course, Chris was part of the whole equation but I spent more time with Neil than anyone and vice verse. I won't pretend that it was always a blast and that he never drove me nuts as kids can do, but we had a solid bond and he was my buddy. It was so emotionally jarring to be removed from him so suddenly and for so long despite knowing how completely necessary it was. It helped that I had two babies moving around in my belly to remind me. As I laid in the bed, I rubbed my huge, swollen, wiggling belly and cried as I held the photo.
Tonight, so many things are different from that night. Neil is older. He's no longer a baby and I see him sip straws all the time. I'm 65 pounds lighter than I was that day (thank God!) and the twins are wiggling in the house now and not in my belly. Times are tough in different ways but not as hard as they were then. I didn't know then how my babies would do once they were born, I didn't know how I was going to parent them and I wondered how different Neil would be when I came home. I'm fortunate that everything worked out and that my babies are safe and warm in their beds. Just as Neil fell asleep with me on the couch within the first few minutes of my return home from the hospital, I feel peace in my heart.
Needy-Wants
We're seemingly over the odd stomach ick that briefly affected our oldest. As far as we can tell, it was a fluke. Now that we're past the hurl-arity, we've come down with a common disease around here - the needy-wants. I think all children get this bug at least once a day but unfortunately it can occur every few minutes.
Symptoms of the needy-wants are persistent neediness for an unknown thing, indecisiveness about what it is they want and a tendency to talk in a whiny tone that can escalate to the pitch of a pig at slaughter. However unpleasant this condition must be for the child, it is very difficult for the primary caregiver or of the individual from whom the child thinks he can get his needy-want satisfied.
Fear not, you are not alone. As sad as it is, there are no definite cures but there are a few things that can help. Ignoring their incessant demands is helpful but is maddeningly ineffective if your child is determined to give you the second hand disease which is utter, total madness. Alternatively, fulfilling each and every wish is tantamount to keeping your child needy-wanting and, again, also leads to utter and total madness. Finally, if you're desperate enough to try this, you may find it helpful to sing the "Needy-Wants" song to the tune of polly wolly doodle all day. Here is how it goes. It will likely be received with giggles and may at least temporarily interrupt the, "I want. . . " and "I need. . ." cycle.
I have the needy-wants
the needy wants
the needy, needy, needy, needy wants.
I want some thing and I need it now.
Needy, needy, needy, needy want.
I don't know what I need and
neither do you but I need it, need it now.
Give it to me really, really soon
or I'm going to have a cow.
The needy wants.
The needy wants.
The needy, needy, needy, needy wants.
I need something and I need it now.
Needy needy needy needy wants.
Of course, if you make the song too funny you can find that you've altered your child's latest want to having the song sung over and over again. So, one should be careful how much of the song you administer to your child since the effects of the song vary per child.
Symptoms of the needy-wants are persistent neediness for an unknown thing, indecisiveness about what it is they want and a tendency to talk in a whiny tone that can escalate to the pitch of a pig at slaughter. However unpleasant this condition must be for the child, it is very difficult for the primary caregiver or of the individual from whom the child thinks he can get his needy-want satisfied.
Fear not, you are not alone. As sad as it is, there are no definite cures but there are a few things that can help. Ignoring their incessant demands is helpful but is maddeningly ineffective if your child is determined to give you the second hand disease which is utter, total madness. Alternatively, fulfilling each and every wish is tantamount to keeping your child needy-wanting and, again, also leads to utter and total madness. Finally, if you're desperate enough to try this, you may find it helpful to sing the "Needy-Wants" song to the tune of polly wolly doodle all day. Here is how it goes. It will likely be received with giggles and may at least temporarily interrupt the, "I want. . . " and "I need. . ." cycle.
I have the needy-wants
the needy wants
the needy, needy, needy, needy wants.
I want some thing and I need it now.
Needy, needy, needy, needy want.
I don't know what I need and
neither do you but I need it, need it now.
Give it to me really, really soon
or I'm going to have a cow.
The needy wants.
The needy wants.
The needy, needy, needy, needy wants.
I need something and I need it now.
Needy needy needy needy wants.
Of course, if you make the song too funny you can find that you've altered your child's latest want to having the song sung over and over again. So, one should be careful how much of the song you administer to your child since the effects of the song vary per child.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Stomach virus 101
How can one possibly be prepared for a stomach bug? You can't. Not really. There are things that can be helpful though. Here are some things I've learned after previous experiences of 3 puking children and 2 puking parents. We learned these things the hard way and continue to add to our repertoire of barf-flinching strategies. If you have any to suggest, we'd love to hear them!
(By the way, if you're faint of heart, you may need your own barf bag to read this.)
1) You can't ever have enough: clean towels, sheets, and mattress covers. After our last round of barfing babes, my mom came to our rescue when we ran out of clean mattress covers. Like a Red Cross helicopter dropping in emergency supplies, my mom flung 3 brand new covers on our porch as she ran, fleeing, the virus that had knocked all 5 of us down. Thanks to her help then we're better prepared for future rounds of vomit.
2) Trash bag ready for chunky, vomit clothes. Ok, this is gross but I find this helpful. When juggling several kids while at least one is throwing up last night's dinner, you can't always get to the laundry fast. Thankfully, we have a utility room where I can isolate the ick. As experienced moms know, there are various degrees of vomit-soiled linens and clothes - liquid and solid. In order to prevent the chunks from littering the floor and everything it touches, I throw the chunky stuff in a trash bag so that I can then carry it to the trash when I don't have babies dancing around my feet. Of course, I don't throw it away - I just shake it out before I throw it in the wash. The stuff only stained with liquid junk can be thrown in the wash sooner.
3) Finally, it helps to have on reserve those items that send you running to the store such as Pedialyte (or equivalent), crackers, and a bottle of wine for you at the end of the night.
4) Hand sanitizer for cleaning and lotion for all the many cracks your hand will develop from all the ridiculous hand washing you'll be doing.
5) A healthy dose of acceptance of the situation, patience and pats on your back as well as theirs is incredibly helpful too.
Perhaps after this recent round of ralphing I'll have new ideas. Until then, I'm trying to take it one barf at a time.
(By the way, if you're faint of heart, you may need your own barf bag to read this.)
1) You can't ever have enough: clean towels, sheets, and mattress covers. After our last round of barfing babes, my mom came to our rescue when we ran out of clean mattress covers. Like a Red Cross helicopter dropping in emergency supplies, my mom flung 3 brand new covers on our porch as she ran, fleeing, the virus that had knocked all 5 of us down. Thanks to her help then we're better prepared for future rounds of vomit.
2) Trash bag ready for chunky, vomit clothes. Ok, this is gross but I find this helpful. When juggling several kids while at least one is throwing up last night's dinner, you can't always get to the laundry fast. Thankfully, we have a utility room where I can isolate the ick. As experienced moms know, there are various degrees of vomit-soiled linens and clothes - liquid and solid. In order to prevent the chunks from littering the floor and everything it touches, I throw the chunky stuff in a trash bag so that I can then carry it to the trash when I don't have babies dancing around my feet. Of course, I don't throw it away - I just shake it out before I throw it in the wash. The stuff only stained with liquid junk can be thrown in the wash sooner.
3) Finally, it helps to have on reserve those items that send you running to the store such as Pedialyte (or equivalent), crackers, and a bottle of wine for you at the end of the night.
4) Hand sanitizer for cleaning and lotion for all the many cracks your hand will develop from all the ridiculous hand washing you'll be doing.
5) A healthy dose of acceptance of the situation, patience and pats on your back as well as theirs is incredibly helpful too.
Perhaps after this recent round of ralphing I'll have new ideas. Until then, I'm trying to take it one barf at a time.
Signs of a stomach bug
My son asked for water this morning instead of milk. I thought it was odd but then. . . .
After cleaning up vomit and having put the first batch of laundry in the wash, I believe an evil stomach bug has struck.
This is a time for praying, cursing, and ducking. Let's just hope the other boys don't get it.
May not be posting until this storm is over.
After cleaning up vomit and having put the first batch of laundry in the wash, I believe an evil stomach bug has struck.
This is a time for praying, cursing, and ducking. Let's just hope the other boys don't get it.
May not be posting until this storm is over.
Monday, March 10, 2008
Confessions of a Quitter
I'm a quitter. I get inspired by things, I jump in then the newness wears off and I quit. It's a rather undesirable trait, one about which I am not proud. Funny thing is my children are teaching me something - there are some things you can't quit, namely them.
When I think back to my childhood at the first sign that I was a quitter, I remember scenes in a Principal's office where I begrudgingly listened as the dark haired, older man explained in a seemingly condescending manner that quiting cheerleading would only make me a quitter. Since he didn't want to encourage that, he wouldn't let me quit. I showed him. I still showed up for practice and games but I didn't have to cheer because I had a doctor's note. Although I won that battle, I didn't really win because, since then, I have continued to quit things rather than tough them out but, for once, I really have been trumped. I can't quit my kids and I'm supremely thankful for that even though there are times I would love to go running - at least for a few hours of quiet.
When I ponder how I became a quitter, or rather, what flaw in my character predisposed me to quit, I can't pin point the true cause. Perhaps I was spoiled by my good parents? Although I think I was fortunate to have been raised by thoughtful, caring parents, I can't blame them for my predicament because my brother was raised the same way and he is anything but a quitter. As a published writer of short stories and a professor of English, he has done nothing but tirelessly fight for his dream. I wouldn't have the patience to write and attempt to get published just one story or article much less the many, many things that my brother has written and gotten published. So, how I was raised was not the cause of my quitter-ness.
Perhaps a reason for my tendency toward quitting is that I have too many interests and I find it difficult to determine which interests are my soul's calling and which ones are mere curiosities. That in itself isn't enough though. I think that the underlying cause is likely to be laziness, yet another pleasant quality that I find I'm guilty of. Basically, I like things to go smoothly and to be nice. When things get tough, it exhausts my mental faculties and I need to rest which is a nice way of saying be lazy. I can't do too much.
Three babies later, I'm not lazy anymore. Now, although I may throw my hands in the air with the appearance of giving up, I still face struggles head on because my babies are my ultimate responsibility. Of course, I still find myself walking upstream against my tendency toward resisting difficulties when faced with the many challenges a parent faces but my children don't let me quit. I absolutely can't.
Perhaps if I had listened to the principal back in the days when he tried to keep me from quitting, I would never have gone down the quitter's path. The fact is I didn't listen to him. His authority was not strong enough for me to push back my lazy tendencies. Thankfully, the maternal instincts that flow through my blood coupled with the soft cuteness of my boys has trumped my lazy nature and pushed me beyond quitting to embracing life's difficulties as I learn to drink in the beauty of life as a mother even when it's hard as hell.
When I think back to my childhood at the first sign that I was a quitter, I remember scenes in a Principal's office where I begrudgingly listened as the dark haired, older man explained in a seemingly condescending manner that quiting cheerleading would only make me a quitter. Since he didn't want to encourage that, he wouldn't let me quit. I showed him. I still showed up for practice and games but I didn't have to cheer because I had a doctor's note. Although I won that battle, I didn't really win because, since then, I have continued to quit things rather than tough them out but, for once, I really have been trumped. I can't quit my kids and I'm supremely thankful for that even though there are times I would love to go running - at least for a few hours of quiet.
When I ponder how I became a quitter, or rather, what flaw in my character predisposed me to quit, I can't pin point the true cause. Perhaps I was spoiled by my good parents? Although I think I was fortunate to have been raised by thoughtful, caring parents, I can't blame them for my predicament because my brother was raised the same way and he is anything but a quitter. As a published writer of short stories and a professor of English, he has done nothing but tirelessly fight for his dream. I wouldn't have the patience to write and attempt to get published just one story or article much less the many, many things that my brother has written and gotten published. So, how I was raised was not the cause of my quitter-ness.
Perhaps a reason for my tendency toward quitting is that I have too many interests and I find it difficult to determine which interests are my soul's calling and which ones are mere curiosities. That in itself isn't enough though. I think that the underlying cause is likely to be laziness, yet another pleasant quality that I find I'm guilty of. Basically, I like things to go smoothly and to be nice. When things get tough, it exhausts my mental faculties and I need to rest which is a nice way of saying be lazy. I can't do too much.
Three babies later, I'm not lazy anymore. Now, although I may throw my hands in the air with the appearance of giving up, I still face struggles head on because my babies are my ultimate responsibility. Of course, I still find myself walking upstream against my tendency toward resisting difficulties when faced with the many challenges a parent faces but my children don't let me quit. I absolutely can't.
Perhaps if I had listened to the principal back in the days when he tried to keep me from quitting, I would never have gone down the quitter's path. The fact is I didn't listen to him. His authority was not strong enough for me to push back my lazy tendencies. Thankfully, the maternal instincts that flow through my blood coupled with the soft cuteness of my boys has trumped my lazy nature and pushed me beyond quitting to embracing life's difficulties as I learn to drink in the beauty of life as a mother even when it's hard as hell.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Play by Play
Neil steals toy from Evan.
Evan cries.
Neil asks me what he did.
Dylan cries for some reason.
Evan comes to find me. Wants held.
Neil tries to hand me a ball.
Evan whines.
Neil wants me to watch him.
Dylan climbs in chair.
Evan whines.
I take a brief break to hold Evan.
Evan wants a tortilla.
"Caterpillar" toy making noise.
Neil throws football.
Evan is in play room now.
Neil is in living room now.
Dylan is in chair playing with caterpillar.
Nothing changes for one minute.
Evan now in living room.
Dylan has Neil's foot ball.
Neil is working on filling his diaper.
Evan wants another tortilla.
Dylan tries to play with Neil.
Neil pushes Dylan.
I intervene.
Dylan wants tortilla.
Neil is playing with new toy.
Neil stole Dylan's tortilla.
Gave Dylan a new tortilla.
Evan wants another one.
and so on.
All this happened in about 4-5 minutes at the most - a fraction of my day made up of an average of 13 working hours (i.e., when they're awake) or 780 minutes.
Evan cries.
Neil asks me what he did.
Dylan cries for some reason.
Evan comes to find me. Wants held.
Neil tries to hand me a ball.
Evan whines.
Neil wants me to watch him.
Dylan climbs in chair.
Evan whines.
I take a brief break to hold Evan.
Evan wants a tortilla.
"Caterpillar" toy making noise.
Neil throws football.
Evan is in play room now.
Neil is in living room now.
Dylan is in chair playing with caterpillar.
Nothing changes for one minute.
Evan now in living room.
Dylan has Neil's foot ball.
Neil is working on filling his diaper.
Evan wants another tortilla.
Dylan tries to play with Neil.
Neil pushes Dylan.
I intervene.
Dylan wants tortilla.
Neil is playing with new toy.
Neil stole Dylan's tortilla.
Gave Dylan a new tortilla.
Evan wants another one.
and so on.
All this happened in about 4-5 minutes at the most - a fraction of my day made up of an average of 13 working hours (i.e., when they're awake) or 780 minutes.
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