Soap Operas and Bon Bons - That's Me...

7:00 pm Wednesday night - Email from neighbor (N1) asking if I can pick up her kindergartener (Lila) after school and drop her off at the sitter's as the sitter will be one child heavy for a safe car ride.  No problem except Thursday is yoga day.  If Lila would like to join us for yoga, I can drop her off at the sitter's after that.  Lila likes yoga, all is well.  Simple.

12:50 pm today -  Nurse's office calls stating HRH is complaining of groin pain.  He had complained of this a week ago and Andy explained he had pulled a muscle, relax and it'll pass.  Second occurrence, we worry about a hernia.  Change of plans: No yoga. Pediatrician.

12:55 - En route to pick up Gremlin at preschool. Plan to speak to other neighbor (N2), whose son (Jack) is in Gremlin's preschool class - and also has a kindergartner - to see if she can drop Lila at sitter's.  Jack is out sick today.  N2 not at preschool. 

1:05 pm - Call N2's cell to run plan by her. No answer/leave voicemail.  Call N2s home number.  No answer.  Contemplate calling own husband (Andy) to have him call N2's Husband's (NH2) cell to see if he knows his wife's where-abouts.  Get Andy's voicemail.  Don't leave message.

1:15 pm - Arrive at HRH's school.  HRH bops out of nurse's office a little too energetically for one in so much pain.  Get incredibly rudimentary explanation of hernia from very nice school nurse.  Leave school.  Gremlin has nervous breakdown in playground as we are *not* stopping to play.

1:20 pm - Call pediatrician from car to see if we should drive there immediately.  Nope but do have 3:45 appointment today.  I can pick up Lila at regular time but not sure if day care provider will be home an hour earlier than anticipated.

1:25 pm  - Gremlin jumps oddly on couch connecting his knee with his nose, resulting in nose bleed.

1:30 pm - Kids in front of Alvin and the Chipmunks: The Squeakquel.  Back to work! N1 is a nurse practitioner who works in a maximum security prison and is not allowed a cell phone at work.  Call N1's husband (NH1), who is currently traveling for work in DC.  He has no idea of gyrations going on up here but I have his cell #!  Explain all and instruct him to call sitter to find out if she will be available to receive Lila an hour earlier than expected.  Await call back.

1:35 pm - NH1 reaches sitter.  All is well.  She will expect Lila at regular time.

1:45 pm - N2 returns my voice mail.  She is onboard to pick up Lila along with her own kindergartner and drop off at sitter.

1:50 pm - Text NH1 with school phone number so he can tell school to release Lila to N2.  Also must mention that Lila was originally supposed to attend after-school enrichment yoga with me.

2:01 - UPS arrives with new starter for Daddy's boat.  HRH carries 15 lb package from front door to kitchen table.


I'm sorry, Angela.  It seemed like such a simple thing...

What to Really Expect - What's Your Point?

Ever hear of foreshadowing? Me too.


It's February vacation and we're headed to my sister's house to let them (destroy her house for a change) play with their cousins. After I finally get the boys dressed and ready, I head upstairs to retrieve my watch. It is from here that I hear the blood curdling screams of my first born.

Like all mammals, I know the differences in my sons' cries. This one was not irate (Gremlin took something belonging to me!) nor was it over-reactive (There is a spider in the basement!!), this scream said, This is my own blood!!!

We meet at the door to my bedroom where HRH is cradling his right hand in his left as blood drips from the puncture wound on the back of his wrist. Gremlin is following surily behind. I grab a towel and apply direct pressure while trying to simultaneously calm him and find out what the hell happened.

Turns out that in the 3.2 minutes I was upstairs, the boys got into a game of poking with sharpened pencils. After repeated "light" pokes to Gremlin's face, he'd had enough and reciprocated by stabbing HRH in the hand with a pencil. I wish there was an "incredulous" font. Are you kidding me?

I steer HRH into the bathroom so we can clean/inspect/band-aid. I instruct Gremlin to go downstairs to retrieve the pencil so I can see if the tip is broken off.

The tiny puncture is slightly black-ish but I can't tell if there's graphite in there or just he's just marked. Also the vein in his wrist is bulging but it doesn't look like it was pricked. Gremlin arrives with the pencil but as I turn to this forensic evidence, he proceeds to poke the bathroom doorjamb with it, rendering the point uncheckable.

When in doubt, call the pedi. I manage to calm HRH's screams and cover the wound with a Scooby Doo band-aid and make yet another call to our doctor. He agrees that maybe he should take a look and off we go, with a quick call to my sister, letting her know about the unplanned pit stop.

Diagnosis: It doesn't look like the pencil tip broke off in his arm and the positioning most likely rules out any bits from traveling to his brain. But essentially, HRH will have a life-long, tiny black dot tattoo.

The boys were also subjected to a lengthy dissertation on the dangers of graphite poisoning (yes, I made up that term), potential enucleation, and general acts of stupidity and violence.

Then we went and played at Auntie's house.

Anatomy of a Guy Friendship

Last week, after school, HRH caught sight of some kids playing ball and decided to join them. I was pleased as HRH has recently given up most forms of outdoor play, preferring Legos, TV, Wii, Homework, pretty much anything to outdoor exercise. I was also pleased because he insinuated himself into a group in which he knew no one and just waited his turn until it became clear he was indeed included.

The game proceeded for the better part of an hour while I chatted pleasantly with some other mommies over by the play structure. Suddenly, a loud scream rent the air and we all turned to see the victim. It was HRH, running toward me, crying, clutching his crotch! Oh...crap.

As we sat, me cradling HRH, him cradling his package, we managed to piece together what had transpired:

Another boy had been 'fake punching' HRH to make him flinch, then calling him a scardy cat (aside: strange word to spell, funnier that kids still use it). HRH in turn pulled a fist up to the the bully's face and told him he'd "show him scared". I'm actually perfectly okay with HRH's actions and truthfully quite proud of him for standing up for himself in the face of an older (2nd grade) kid. Unfortunately, the kid wasn't as impressed and instead kicked HRH squarely between the legs!

We were able to identify which child and his appropriately horrified mother dragged him away for some serious talking-to. After everyone had calmed down, the mother brought her little hooligan son to HRH to offer an apology. The boy seemed genuinely contrite and HRH accepted graciously.

Since that day, he and HRH have been seeking each other out to play; ball, tag, whatever. His name is Gabe.

And I'm pretty sure he's going to be an usher at HRH's wedding.

De ja Boo-Boo

Andy's cousin and his wife (our friends) had their first child this past Thursday, a beautiful 10 lb, 3 oz (oy) 21 1/2 inch baby boy. So I'm dedicating this edition of What to Really Expect to the new parents, Tim and Katie.

Last Tuesday, HRH was playing some sort of spy game with the neighborhood kids and was crouching under a bush keeping look out. It is at this point that our six-year-old neighbor, exhibited a slight issue with impulse control by dropping a rock on HRH's head. HRH emerged screaming from the bushes where he was met by the mommies and the daddy of the rock-dropper. The result was an inch or so gash above his left ear that my nurse practitioner neighbor determined did need stapling. (The laceration is in nearly the same spot as the one he got two years ago running in socks in the kitchen.)

Another neighbor yelled "I've got Gremlin. See you in a while!" over her shoulder as she headed to round up the rest of the kids. The daddy was last seen striding purposely home, rock-dropper in tow. I ran into the house, grabbed a dish towel and my bag, trundled HRH into the car, and headed off to the hospital. On the way I placed my third call in two years to Andy, instructing him to meet us in the Emergency Room.

For the next three hours, we compared notes with at least four other families who also entered the ER with dish towels attached to the sides of their childrens' heads. And one frustrated mom whose child appeared to be in fine health with no visible wounds. Turns out her two-year-old had shoved his dinner so far up his nose that they were unable to retrieve it (this time - apparently, this is not a one-time occurrence) and were instructed by the pediatrician to head to the hospital. No, I didn't ask what type of food was up there. Yes, I'm curious, too.

Once again, the state has not removed our children from our custody. Once again, all questions regarding "the incident" were directed to HRH. We engaged in a long conversation about impulses and the importance of controlling the more negative ones. There was a tearful apology from the mother of the rock-thrower. There was a sincere-ish apology from the rock thrower, himself, who spent a lot of time in punishment. And a sincere-ish acceptance of apology from the throw-ee. Followed by "Hey! Wanna see my staples?".

Staple-removal is today at 1500 hours. Wish us luck.


I can't help but think that all through this adventure, I didn't panic, I didn't get upset, squeamish, angry, or lightheaded. I have boys. This is what happens. It's done. Until the next time.

Manic Mommy Goes to Step Aerobics...

Damn it. Five minutes late. Maybe I'll just do the machines. Nah. Just go in.

Oh great. Only space left located behind the column. Just as well, I don't like to cause a fuss. Heh.

Out of step and out of breath. Already.

OMG. If the instructor's ass jiggles, what must I look like?

What was I thinking trying to do football drills after birthing two babies?

Back from Ladies Room. Much better.

It's 9:20. Maybe I'll leave at 9:30.

Shit. I've already finished my water.

Jeez. Someone in here really smells bad.

OMG. I hope it's not me.

Probably not me.

I'm hungry. Wish I'd eaten something.

Nah. I would have thrown it up by now.

Why does the instructor keep coming over by me?

Wrong foot (again).

Maybe that's why.

Oh, I remember this from when I used to take Step back in the 90s...in my 20s.

That woman in the back is taking her pulse. Is she having a heart attack?

God, all I need is the white man's overbite and I'll look like Billy Crystal at a wedding.

I was dancing at the wedding Saturday night. Does that count as exercise?

Nah. Probably just offsets the food and drinking.

Those stuffed mushrooms were delicious.

Heh. The girl with the tattoos is finally out of step.

Wow. Marilyn's only lifting one weight at a time. Maybe I'm in better shape than I thought.

Damn. She's got the eight pounders.

Oh! Abba! Dancing Queen, young and sweet, only seventeeeeen.

My lungs are burning.

Maybe I'll stay for my regular yoga class after this.

Need to take a little rest or I'm gonna die.

Probably not staying for yoga.

I feel so bad for Jen having to be behind me.

I wonder if I'll get better if I come every week.

Thank God. It's 9:50. We're almost done.

I'm gonna make it.

What? We're doing crunches now?

Crunches? Dude.

I...am...so...DONE...

Nearly Wordless Wednesday

Injury

Insult to Injury

Technique

Actual conversation at our house:

Andy: Hey, did you know that RC knows how to lock the bathroom door?

MM: No...when did he figure that out?

Andy: He was twisting the lock with the door open while we were in there tonight.

MM: You know it's just a matter of time.

Andy: I want you to remember, when it's time to break down the door, the stairs are right behind you.

MM: Uh-huh...

Andy: So make sure you don't try to kick it down (demonstrates Kirk kick move). You'll end up at the bottom of the stairs. Instead, use your shoulder (demonstrates COPS move).

MM: Thanks for the tip.

It really is only a matter of time...

He's Got Your Back

Yesterday was our second actual warm-ish, sunny day in months, when the kids were able to play outside after school. It's hard to say no after this interminable winter. So RC is happily digging up rocks in the sand and HRH is engaged in The Pushing Game with his classmate, Timmy, in the school playground.

The Pushing Game (for those of you who are female and/or only have daughters) involves running full bore across the grass and slamming into your friend with sufficient force to knock him down. Apparently, it's a blast. So after seven or eight times of Timmy's mother and me admonishing them to slow down and be careful, we simply gave up. Boys truly will be boys and besides, the grass is like a sponge from all the melting snow and rain.

While we're chatting, we take note a particularly brutal (but clean) hit that lands HRH on the ground with his elbow under him in an unnatural way. We head over to survey the damage. HRH is stoic and doesn't cry but RC witnesses this interchange from his vantage point in the sand. He runs over and with a rock (a stone actually, about half the size of a brick) and launches it, connecting with Timmy's shoulder. "Don't you knock over my big brother," he yells!

Thankfully, both HRH and Timmy were fine and Timmy's mom understands the nature of little boys. No harm, no foul.

Not surprisingly, Andy regaled his entire office with this tale, with all of the men and most of the women congratulating RC on his loyalty and protective insticts. Tonight's dinnertime discussion centered around clean hits and no weaponry.

A hard concept for an an almost three year old. And for a mommy.

Clipped

This post is cut and pasted (with permission) directly from an email I received from my cousin, a teacher, last evening. Only the names have been changed to protect the innocent.

Hi everyone!

This is both funny and disturbing at the same time, but I wanted to share. If you are weirded out about personal girly things, involving a friend or cousin as the case may be, stop reading now, and go about your business. But if the intrigue of the matter overshadows that, (Christine?) read away.

So I'm in work today and it is one of those crazy days. My assistant was out and there was no substitute, so my boss was with me. I am in my dramatic play area with the kids, and I'm kneeling down tying an apron on one of my students, since we are doing a restaurant theme.

Now picture this, I am completely on my knees, and somehow a clipboard (for taking food orders you know!) gets placed on it's side and somehow makes its way between my legs. I then decide to sit backwards, so as to put my butt on the back of my calves. (OK, this is where it gets gross...)

Now I can't manage to be accurate for anything else, but somehow my girly parts made direct and hard contact with the edge of the clipboard, causing significant pain. Then, 2 seconds later, I realize that blood is gushing down my legs. So now I bolt out of the classroom to the bathroom to clean up, to realize that it is not stopping!

So in what became a total comedy, I run to my desk to grab pads, (thankfully I keep a stash of them), one of my supervisors takes me in the bathroom to check out my injury. I later found out that she didn't realize the exact location of the injury, thinking it was just on my groin - I didn't get to show her thankfully.

Now mind you, I don't have the car, it is in [city 15 miles away] with [husband], and now I have to call my gyno to tell her that I have a vaginal injury due to sitting on a clipboard. So my friend drives me to [husband's work] to get the car, I drive to my mother's to get clothes to change into (yup, had to wear her undies too - turned them inside out, and was still padded) and head off to the doctor.

At the doctor's office, I was a bit of a celebrity because they were practically taking bets as to how the injury actually happened. The top of the list was that the metal clip on the top of the clipboard clipped me. Once they found out what happened, they decided that a metal clip may have been better. So the nurse practitioner comes in to examine me and I believe her exact words were "OK, let me see what we have - OH GOD!" Not a very promising thing to hear when you are laying in stirrups on a table.

So they get my regular doctor to check me out and she determines that what I did to myself was the equivalent of giving birth, (to a clipboard!!!) kind of like a do-it-yourself home episiotomy. She then debates about giving me stitches, but decides that the pain involved in that might be worse.

So now, I am bruised, swollen, and have to use a squirt bottle when I pee. And to top it all off, no sex until I am completely healed. People at work think that [husband] is going to sue for pain and suffering. But the best part of all of this is that I have to fill out an accident report at work. Now what do I write on that...

So thumbs up to any of you who have given birth vaginally. The pain/discomfort involved in a c-section is nothing compared to how I currently feel! Hope none of you is too weirded out by this and that your days went better than mine. Well, off to put a bag of frozen peas down my pants.


I...have nothing to add.

Things I Never Thought I'd Say - Part III

Scene: This morning, five minutes late dropping HRH off at Pre-K

MM to HRH's teacher: Mrs. Stoffel, RC stuck his finger up HRH's nose this morning and it bled a little. I think it's all set now but I wanted you to know just in case.

Mrs. Stoffel: It must be so much fun to have two boys.

MM shakes head and chases RC down hallway.

Things I Never Thought I'd Say - Part II

The Scene:
RC enters kitchen, opens silverware drawer, grabs a handful, and tosses them down the basement stairs.

HRH happens to be walking up the basement stairs.

MM: RC! Don't throw all the forks at your brother.

HRH: (completely and surprisingly unfazed). They were spoons.

Oh, well then.

Misty Water Colored Memories

Back in April, about a week before RC's 2nd birthday, we had our first Emergency Room visit. I didn't have a blog back then but I'm not letting that stop me from telling a pretty good boys-will-be-boys story. Here's the email I sent out to friends and family:

So yesterday afternoon, HRH undid the gate at the bottom of our stairs and headed up. He did not relatch the gate, so naturally, RC followed. I'm in the kitchen unloading the dishwasher when I hear the thump-thump-thump. I arrive at the bottom of the stairs just as RC does, face first. He got a half inch gash just below his right eyebrow and it's bleeding like a sieve!

I call my mother in law, who lives around the corner and she comes over to watch HRH. Next call is to Andy. I leave him a voicemail with RC screaming in background. I thought I got the "he's okay but I want it checked out" across but who knows?

End result is that he now has three stitches above his eye. The hospital was fantastic. We only waited about ten minutes then were brought into a room where we were given bubbles, a pinwheel, a toy train, lollypop and our choice of kids' videos.

Poor Andy arrived just before they had to wrap RC in a blanket (like a cat when you cut his nails) while two doctors, two nurses, and I pin him down to stitch him up. I'm there right next to his face saying "mommy's here, it's okay”, etc. while he screamed. I think it was definitely the pinned thing rather than the stitches that had him so upset. The thing that finally calmed him down was when I said we'd go home soon and see HRH. Right after they let him loose, he sat up and said "sink you" (thank you) to everyone. Of course they all melted.

He lost the bandaid first thing as it was bugging him and he kept pulling at it. Now he's got the stitches exposed (which they said is okay) and every once in a while, I catch him pulling on the actual threads. My sister suggested we may need to get a cone. :-)

Somehow, I think this is pretty much how the next 15 years are going to go with these boys...

CSI - New England

Scene: Loud crying erupts from previously playing children in livingroom.

MM: What was that?

RC enters kitchen, holding head, sobbing. HRH at his heels.

MM crouches down to kiss and make it all better.

MM (in sing-songy voice): Whaaat haaappennned?

HRH (not letting RC get a word in edgewise): He was on the coffee table -

RC: Sobs unintelligibly over HRH's explanation.

MM kisses boo-boo again.

HRH: He was on the coffee table -

RC (around pacifier in mouth): I'm all better, Mom.

(and he is! RC is the fastest healer I've ever met)

HRH (compulsive confessor/'the informer'): Wait! I'll show you:

Fin.

*****************

Also? A shout out to my doppleganger. I never said I was original. Give her a look-see. She's funny, too! And to quote The New Girl, is there room for one more?

The Backside of Determination

One of the primary reasons I live near Boston is because of its excellent health care facilities.

Bubble Boy

Apparently, I need to buy me one of these:

It's been nary two weeks since having the staple removed from the side of his head following a run in with the stove. This past Tuesday, HRH slid on the floor and smacked his head resulting in a bloody nose. My first thought was "I just can't go to the emergency room AGAIN."

Then just yesterday, while playing outside he crashed into my three year old neighbor and somehow ended up with two very badly skinned knees. He looks like a losing prize fighter or maybe a walking advertisement for Bandaids. It's everywhere, I tell ya! I downloaded some pictures from June only to find this one:

Yeah, that's a Dora the Explorer bandaid on his right knee. I've taken to asking my material witness, I mean, neighbor if I have the clumsiest kids in the world or if everyone goes through this. Until the bubble arrives, my child will be strapped to the couch, surrounded by pillows, eating unhealthy snacks with his new best friend:

Sometimes Material Just Presents Itself

Friday night, just as I was “preparing” dinner - leftovers if you must know, Andy arrived from work announcing "we have visitors." It was my neighbor and her 3-year-old and 9-month-old, having just locked herself out of the house. Andy immediately left to try and break into her house via sliding door using a coat hanger.

HRH, Roger Clemens, and 3-year-old-neighbor-girl decide to play tag, running around my house - living room, dining room, kitchen, hall. Somewhere in the second lap, HRH wipes out while making the transition from dining room rug to kitchen Pergo. On the way down, he slams his head on the bottom drawer of the stove.

To be honest, we'd been in the house for most of the afternoon and HRH and Roger Clemens had been at each other's throats, so the crying really didn't resonate. I walked away from pleasant chit-chat with my neighbor to oh-poor-baby-you're-okay HRH (in HYSTERICS) to discover a gash in his head about an inch above his left ear.

I pick him up, examine the wound, and and show my neighbor (a nurse practioner), to get her opinion, already knowing the answer. She says "yeah." I call my mother-in-law -- for the second time in three months -- to ask her to come over immediately to look after one while I take the other to the ER.

So here we all are, me anticipating MIL’s arrival, awaiting Andy breaking into my neighbor's house, and my SCREAMING, jumping-up-and-down, refusing-to-let-me-put-ice-on-it, four-year-old.

While I'm gathering my purse, his special blanket, etc., HRH decides he wants to go tell Daddy and actually leaves. I spot him through the front windows heading across the street and run after him. Luckily, Andy has broken in and is exiting the neighbors’ via the front door and meets up with me as I catch up with HRH.

MIL arrives, neighbor et al can get into her house, and Andy, HRH, and I are off to the Emergency Department.

After much histrionics, and surprisingly, no visit from DSS (the 'childlife specialist' assigned to us did ask HRH what had happened), my boy now has exactly one staple in his head due to be removed the day before we leave for week at the beach.

In a bizzare case of de-ja-boo-boo, we had the same nurse, same doctor, and same room as we had with Roger Clemens' head injury/stitches at the end of April.

My sister, reminded me this morning that none of her five children has ever had stitches. I remind her that her BOY is only three...or maybe I'm just over my limit.