Yesterday Benjamin captured a beautiful Pandora Sphinx moth. He kept it in a container for observation, and wanted to keep it forever, but I was able to convince him that it was better left in the wild.
Wednesday, May 31, 2017
Tuesday, May 30, 2017
Nightmares and Hopscotch
I just got Zoë tucked in again after her midnight pee. So far she hasn't screamed—all it takes is faith, trust, a back rub, a lullaby, fresh ice water, 100 reassurances that I'll "be back" (if only in the morning, or, more realistically, when she climbs into my bed in a couple of hours) the soundtrack from Moana, being tucked in a snuggly quilt. Oh, and something I forgot. Dust. Yup, just a little bit of pixie dust.
Truthfully, she usually screams. So there really must be a pixie in there.
Never mind. Thar she blows. Andrew's going in to comfort her. We'll see how that goes.
So, she's two and I think her grand record for "Most Time Spent In Own Bed" is three whole hours. But at this point I'm pretty much used to it.
What gets hard is when Benjamin wakes up in the middle of the night, which he usually doesn't at this point, but I've been making an effort to be a more emotionally-available, less-reactive parent after reading a book my mom sent me, called Childhood Disrupted.
Benjamin is a hard child to parent. When my mom was reading this book she thought of him (and me) because of his time in the NICU, because apparently even stress from those early, early days can effect someone for the rest of their life. It makes sense, I guess. That time was hard for me. I felt like I was being forced to abandon my baby—even though I knew that's where he needed to be to keep him alive. Being away from him was...hard.
I have to remember that it was hard(er) for him, too (and accept that it will always be part of who he is).
Truthfully, she usually screams. So there really must be a pixie in there.
Never mind. Thar she blows. Andrew's going in to comfort her. We'll see how that goes.
So, she's two and I think her grand record for "Most Time Spent In Own Bed" is three whole hours. But at this point I'm pretty much used to it.
What gets hard is when Benjamin wakes up in the middle of the night, which he usually doesn't at this point, but I've been making an effort to be a more emotionally-available, less-reactive parent after reading a book my mom sent me, called Childhood Disrupted.
Benjamin is a hard child to parent. When my mom was reading this book she thought of him (and me) because of his time in the NICU, because apparently even stress from those early, early days can effect someone for the rest of their life. It makes sense, I guess. That time was hard for me. I felt like I was being forced to abandon my baby—even though I knew that's where he needed to be to keep him alive. Being away from him was...hard.
I have to remember that it was hard(er) for him, too (and accept that it will always be part of who he is).
Long Weekend Fun
Andrew spent the day on campus—writing, of course. The kids spent the morning playing outside, which was fine for the most part, but it became clear that we'd have to do something to continue enjoying each other's company. The kids spent all day Saturday and Sunday pushing each other's buttons. It was a miracle they were playing nicely together at all, but I knew it wouldn't last.
But what to do? Honestly. What. To. Do?
I had visions of taking the kids to the zoo or the museum or hiking or camping this weekend but, uh, that was all before The Toe. Maybe I'm a wimp but all of a sudden this didn't feel like prime time to be walking around at the zoo all day (plus Andrew decided to go to campus...perhaps because I'm a wimp).
"You could take them to the pool still," Andrew said. "Just don't get in with them."
Truthfully, that idea stresses me out to no end. I'm a trained lifeguard (or, was...whatever) so you'd think I'd be cool with the idea but, actually, no. Being around water stresses me out 10x more than it does the average person. Putting my kids in the water...without me right there to save them should they need it?! Insanity.
But the children were very nearly ready to eat one another alive, so I decided to brave the pool.
Nursery
I got a substitute for nursery on Sunday because chasing around a bunch of two-year-olds sounded like a bit too much work with my poor wee toe in such a sorry state. It was nice to have a week off, and Memorial Day weekend was a good weekend to do it because so many people were out of town that the chapel was eerily quiet. We had eight kids, total—with both nurseries combined.
Zoë has never really gone to nursery on her own. I've left her for a few minutes at a time to run errands (eg. getting supplies from the nursery cabinet, which isn't in our nursery room) but she's always cried the whole time I was gone. And the one week (in six months of nursery attendance, but really nearly a year of being in nursery) that I stayed home sick and Andrew took her to church she ended up hanging out with him because she couldn't stop blubbering.
This Sunday, however, I sneaked away while she was investigating the toys and she didn't even notice. I took her potty in the middle of nursery and she cried for a minute when I dropped her back off, but recovered in record time.
"Stay, Momma! Stay!" she begged.
"I can't stay right now," I said. "But I'll be back. I'm going to come do singing time with you at the very end. It's snack time right now—you don't want to miss out. Look, there's your spot!"
She wasn't very happy about the idea of us parting, and she wailed as she ran across the room away from me, but by the time I'd walked around to peek in the other set of doors she was happily seated.
When I came back in to do singing time she said, "Momma—gack!"
"Yes, I'm back," I said, gathering her into my arms. "Of course I'm back. Mommas always come back!"
Perhaps now that she's two she's getting over this separation anxiety thing...
Zoë has never really gone to nursery on her own. I've left her for a few minutes at a time to run errands (eg. getting supplies from the nursery cabinet, which isn't in our nursery room) but she's always cried the whole time I was gone. And the one week (in six months of nursery attendance, but really nearly a year of being in nursery) that I stayed home sick and Andrew took her to church she ended up hanging out with him because she couldn't stop blubbering.
This Sunday, however, I sneaked away while she was investigating the toys and she didn't even notice. I took her potty in the middle of nursery and she cried for a minute when I dropped her back off, but recovered in record time.
"Stay, Momma! Stay!" she begged.
"I can't stay right now," I said. "But I'll be back. I'm going to come do singing time with you at the very end. It's snack time right now—you don't want to miss out. Look, there's your spot!"
She wasn't very happy about the idea of us parting, and she wailed as she ran across the room away from me, but by the time I'd walked around to peek in the other set of doors she was happily seated.
When I came back in to do singing time she said, "Momma—gack!"
"Yes, I'm back," I said, gathering her into my arms. "Of course I'm back. Mommas always come back!"
Perhaps now that she's two she's getting over this separation anxiety thing...
Sunday, May 28, 2017
Ex-storm-inate
My walking mileage has significantly decreased this week (while my biking mileage has significantly increased). I'm not going to blame that on Tuesday's little toe incident, but....oh, wait. Yes, I am.
Still, the kids like going for walks and so we've gone on a few painfully slow walks (literally painfully slow). I think it was Wednesday afternoon when Benjamin begged to go on a walk between cloud bursts (we've had a rather rainy week). I told him that we could, but only a "one speed bump walk" (because that's how we measure walking distances (except we ignore the speed bump closest to our house)).
As I was hobbling along pushing the stroller, Benjamin skipped and bounced beside me.
"Looks like there's another storm coming," I said.
"Well, when this storm ex-storm-inates can we play outside some more?" Benjamin asked, quite seriously.
I looked at him sideways, not sure if he was making a joke or not. He was definitely serious.
"What does ex-storm-inate mean?" I asked.
"It means that the storm gets calmer and calmer and calmer until it uses up all its storminess and then it's gone!" he explained.
Still, the kids like going for walks and so we've gone on a few painfully slow walks (literally painfully slow). I think it was Wednesday afternoon when Benjamin begged to go on a walk between cloud bursts (we've had a rather rainy week). I told him that we could, but only a "one speed bump walk" (because that's how we measure walking distances (except we ignore the speed bump closest to our house)).
As I was hobbling along pushing the stroller, Benjamin skipped and bounced beside me.
"Looks like there's another storm coming," I said.
"Well, when this storm ex-storm-inates can we play outside some more?" Benjamin asked, quite seriously.
I looked at him sideways, not sure if he was making a joke or not. He was definitely serious.
"What does ex-storm-inate mean?" I asked.
"It means that the storm gets calmer and calmer and calmer until it uses up all its storminess and then it's gone!" he explained.
Cleaning out the attic
As I mentioned, we cleared out the attic on Monday night after FHE. What I didn't mention was that I made the girls come up with me to help out, and help out they did!
We had a few mishaps along the way. For instance, Rachel, who was quite timid up there and found the whole experience slightly traumatizing, was passing a box down to Andrew but was too afraid to close enough to the hole in the ceiling to actually reach him. So she just...dropped it.
He tried to catch it/shield himself but it ended up hitting him, sending him sprawling, and then crashed on the floor (busting a corner of the box in the process).
It wasn't a great experience, but the good news is that things only went up from there. And we learned a lot about communication (because remember how I would say, "Do you have it?" and Dad would say, "Ok, go it," before I let go of any boxes? That's called communication).
Miriam surprised me by being very brave. She was so comfortable getting right over the hole to lower boxes down that she was making me nervous. I was afraid she was going to end up tumbling through the hole (with her box) on top of Andrew. I had to tell her to not lean her whole entire little self over the hole.
She was—rather excitedly—climbing back in the shelving unit and pushing boxes to the front and then hopping down to help heft it off the shelf. Rachel was climbing back in the shelving unit to help maneuver boxes around but she took a little more coaxing/prodding/threatening.
"No, you will go back there with your sister. It won't break. I was just in there and I'm much heavier than you. All the heavy boxes we already took out were in there as well. You are just one little girl; you won't be the straw that breaks the camel's back (or the shelf or what have you). You'll be fine, I promise. Seriously, get in there and help your sister now."
It's great to have such big, capable helpers now.
Even if one was too brave and the other too timid.
Or, what if it's not them? Maybe it's me.
I will never be satisfied.
For example, now that "empty the attic" is crossed off our intimidatingly long to-do list, I'm a little dissatisfied by the maze of boxes that have taken over our house. But, oh, well. It needed to get done and it's giving me plenty of time to go through the contents to make sure we really want to keep what's inside.
We had a few mishaps along the way. For instance, Rachel, who was quite timid up there and found the whole experience slightly traumatizing, was passing a box down to Andrew but was too afraid to close enough to the hole in the ceiling to actually reach him. So she just...dropped it.
He tried to catch it/shield himself but it ended up hitting him, sending him sprawling, and then crashed on the floor (busting a corner of the box in the process).
It wasn't a great experience, but the good news is that things only went up from there. And we learned a lot about communication (because remember how I would say, "Do you have it?" and Dad would say, "Ok, go it," before I let go of any boxes? That's called communication).
Miriam surprised me by being very brave. She was so comfortable getting right over the hole to lower boxes down that she was making me nervous. I was afraid she was going to end up tumbling through the hole (with her box) on top of Andrew. I had to tell her to not lean her whole entire little self over the hole.
She was—rather excitedly—climbing back in the shelving unit and pushing boxes to the front and then hopping down to help heft it off the shelf. Rachel was climbing back in the shelving unit to help maneuver boxes around but she took a little more coaxing/prodding/threatening.
"No, you will go back there with your sister. It won't break. I was just in there and I'm much heavier than you. All the heavy boxes we already took out were in there as well. You are just one little girl; you won't be the straw that breaks the camel's back (or the shelf or what have you). You'll be fine, I promise. Seriously, get in there and help your sister now."
It's great to have such big, capable helpers now.
Even if one was too brave and the other too timid.
Or, what if it's not them? Maybe it's me.
I will never be satisfied.
For example, now that "empty the attic" is crossed off our intimidatingly long to-do list, I'm a little dissatisfied by the maze of boxes that have taken over our house. But, oh, well. It needed to get done and it's giving me plenty of time to go through the contents to make sure we really want to keep what's inside.
Wednesday, May 24, 2017
Budding photographer
I went to get the pictures of Zoë's birthday off the camera and, much to my surprise, instead of only tens of pictures on the camera there were hundreds.
A certain little boy found the camera this morning and decided to record life at his level.
Toe problems
Below are pictures of the toenail that I'm sure cost me an arm and a leg to remove, but I just could not pull it off myself so I texted Andrew and begged him to come rescue me (he'd taken the van to Duke today since it was raining). While we were waiting, Benjamin and Zoë stroked my arms and kissed my cheeks and brought me a nice glass of ice water.
"Happy, Momma! Happy!" Zoë pleaded.
"I'm trying," I assured her.
Andrew's hopeless when it comes to this kind of thing, but he drove me to the doctor, so that was nice.
Lidocaine is also nice.
Once my toe was numbed up, the doctor grabbed a big pair of scissor-tweezer things and wiggled and yanked until my toenail popped off. Honestly, it didn't make anything feel better (except for the lidocaine part) but at least it's gone now.
Next time I'll be sure to rip the whole thing off in one blow. And there will probably be a next time because this toe has no hope. It's the toe I broke in high school (and by "I broke" what I mean is "Jake broke") during ballroom, causing "profuse" bleeding and, a few days/weeks later, the nail to fall off. It also took a beating during the "Halloween Half" marathon a few years ago—seven miles of downhill running was harsh and, yup, a few days after the race I started shedding toenails, this one included. At this rate I'm almost positive there will be a next time for this particular toe.
The doctor suspects I may have broken my toe as well (fun times) but we decided to forgo an x-ray because the treatment would be nothing, so knowing for sure whether or not it's broken is...pointless.
And now for pictures (feel free to skip this part; I kind of don't like my feet anyway but they're extra unpleasant in these pictures):
Happy Birthday to Zoë!
My plans for the afternoon involved fixing the blinds in Miriam and Benjamin's room, wrapping presents, squeezing in a quick nap, and then spending some joyful after school hours letting the kids help me finish decorating Zoë's birthday cake—a beautiful ocean scened, Moana-themed cake.
Instead what I ended up doing was tipping the stool over as I was trying to fix the blinds and ramming my toe somewhere on the way down, ripping my toenail almost off (but not quite) and then spending the next four hours at the InstaCare waiting doctor rip it the rest of the way off because neither Andrew or I could stomach doing it at home.
I didn't fix the blinds, wrap presents, take a nap, or finish decorating the cake.
When I finally got home (around 5:00), the kids and I set to work moulding ocean critters out of fondant while Andrew (my hero, who drove home from campus to take care of me...missing a meeting with his advisor even) made enchiladas for dinner.
The kids all had a lot of fun playing with (and eating) the fondant. Needless to say, the cake didn't end up quite as pristine as I was hoping but, under the circumstances, I'd say it turned out wonderfully. And we had a good time together, which is really the most important thing. We based our cake off this one; here's our finished product:
Monday, May 22, 2017
Potty talk
We've had a few accident-free days this week, so I guess you could say that potty-training is going well (which still boggles my mind after spending years potty training that Benja-boy). Just tonight Zoë wouldn't go to sleep, evidently because she had to go potty. She kept crying "la-lo" so Andrew went in and refilled her bedtime cup (which she'd already finished) but she still kept crying "la-lo" so I figured that instead of water she wanted to use her yellow potty. And she did. And then she went straight to sleep.
We really need to get that child to say something—anything—for "potty" (other than "la-lo").
At nursery I have a pretty steady stream of children coming up to me to announce they have to go potty. Today was no different. We had twelve kids in there today (and not even everyone was there) so it was pretty exhausting. I felt like I spent half my time texting parents "so-and-so needs to go potty," which is way better than the olden days when you'd have to walk the child around the church to find their parents so their parents could take them potty (except, I guess, if you have one of those little kid-sized bathrooms in the nursery; I worked in a nursery once that had one and it was rather awesome).
Zoë's never very far away from me at nursery. She keeps me on a tight leash. I don't know what we're going to do when it comes time to send her to nursery without me.
Anyway, since Zoë has no words for pottying yet, she'd just piggyback on with whoever was asking whenever she had to go.
"I need to go potty," someone would whine to me.
"Dup! Dup! Me!" Zoë would emphatically add ("dup" is how she says "yup").
So I'd text the well-spoken child's parent to come get them, and then I'd text Andrew to ask him to take Zoë (sometimes I'll just take her myself...but not when there are twelve kids in there).
Once we get this girl some appropriate vocabulary we'll be golden!
We really need to get that child to say something—anything—for "potty" (other than "la-lo").
At nursery I have a pretty steady stream of children coming up to me to announce they have to go potty. Today was no different. We had twelve kids in there today (and not even everyone was there) so it was pretty exhausting. I felt like I spent half my time texting parents "so-and-so needs to go potty," which is way better than the olden days when you'd have to walk the child around the church to find their parents so their parents could take them potty (except, I guess, if you have one of those little kid-sized bathrooms in the nursery; I worked in a nursery once that had one and it was rather awesome).
Zoë's never very far away from me at nursery. She keeps me on a tight leash. I don't know what we're going to do when it comes time to send her to nursery without me.
Anyway, since Zoë has no words for pottying yet, she'd just piggyback on with whoever was asking whenever she had to go.
"I need to go potty," someone would whine to me.
"Dup! Dup! Me!" Zoë would emphatically add ("dup" is how she says "yup").
So I'd text the well-spoken child's parent to come get them, and then I'd text Andrew to ask him to take Zoë (sometimes I'll just take her myself...but not when there are twelve kids in there).
Once we get this girl some appropriate vocabulary we'll be golden!
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