Well child checks, part 2

Even though our doctor's office has a two-child-per-visit policy, the doctor and I agreed that it's just plain silly to have my five children split between three appointments so in the future we can split the children into two groups (a group of 3 and a group of 2) for their well-child checks. Thank goodness! I am getting sick of going to the doctor already and we're not even finished yet!

Today Alexander had his check up.

He had to be weighed and measured like an infant because he couldn't stand on the scale. Poor dear.

He's growing just fine. He was 33.25 inches long and 24 lbs 11.6 ounces. He's all but grown out his laryngomalacia (we only ever hear it now when he's overexcited about things) and is perfectly healthy...except for that foot of his.

The doctor looked at it and since there was no obvious bruising or swelling and since Alexander didn't seem to react strongly when his leg was probed that it probably wasn't broken, but we have "orders" for an x-ray tomorrow should he still not be walking.

This non-break is starting to get really expensive...

After the doctor left, the nurse came back to check Alexander's hemoglobin levels and administer his flu shot. The kids were all worried that he was going to scream—because that would be a normal reaction—and covered their ears to shield their tender aural canals from his mighty and powerful lungs. Benjamin even stepped into the hallway.

But Alexander hardly even winced.

When the nurse pricked his toe (to collect a blood sample), he grimaced and buried his face into my arms. When the nurse jabbed him with the needle, he winced, but didn't scream or cry at all.

An extra trip

Because we won't have enough of the doctor this week, with well-child visit sprinkled across three days and dentist and orthodontist appointments as well, we decided that we should squeeze in an extra trip to the urgent care clinic.

Grandma is laughing at us from heaven, I'm sure, because it all came down to our trampoline (an idea she vehemently opposed). I'm aware of the danger, but I also think a little danger in a child's life is good, so I'm not opposed to trampolines. We do, however, have rules and one of the rules is no wild bouncing when the baby is on the trampoline.

This afternoon he was on the trampoline with Zoë, Benjamin, and Miriam, but I'd asked them to not bounce and to just play with him on there because I was going to finally tackle the poison ivy in our yard. Things were going great until I was getting suited up and realized that I'd grabbed two left gloves and had to return to the garage to find a glove for my right hand.

So I left Miriam in charge for the two minutes it would take for me to grab a glove and when I returned Alexander was screaming a scream I've only heard him scream once before—we'll call it his "broken bone" scream—and my heart sunk. He was wild with pain, completely inconsolable.

Well child checks, part 1

Today I finally took two of our children in for a well-child check—you know just approximately three months after I made appointments for them because those were the only appointments available. I had a hard time finding a doctor that would take new patients at all (even insured ones) and the clinic that I did find has a two-kids-per-appointment rule so that means I will be going back to the doctor two more times with other sets of kids. Perhaps one day I'll convince them to bed the two-kid rule to allow me three in one appointment (because two appointments sounds better to me).

Anyway, it was supposed to be Rachel and Zoë today, but Rachel ended up having "interims" (short for interim examinations, or mid-terms, or whatever) this week and didn't want to miss school and have to make up her exams, so I shuffled kids around and took Miriam and Zoë in (with Alexander and Benjamin trailing along, naturally).

The doctor was concerned about Miriam's height and weight. She's small for her age, but just barely within the range of "healthy." All the doctor wanted to know—bless her— was if Miriam had always been small of stature and I said—mostly truthfully—that she had (we'll ignore her 3–9 month stage when she was a roly-poly thing). She checked out with flying colours on everything else.

Zoë was 41 inches (60th percentile) and 33.2 pounds (25th percentile), which is long and lean, but not as long and lean as Miriam, so well within a healthy range.

Zoë was hilarious. The doctor had more questions for her and Zoë was always ready with an answer.

"Can you spell your name?" the doctor asked.

"Yes," said Zoë confidently, fingerspelling in the air. "Z-O-E."

"Very good," the doctor said. "And can you write your name?"

Zoë stared at the doctor.

"Like, on paper with a pencil," I clarified.

Bedtime woes

I've given up trying to get Alexander to fall asleep in his own bed tonight, so now he's falling asleep in my bed and I'm sitting here typing (which is a much better arrangement than what we had going on). And perhaps sometime I'll move him to his own bed (and perhaps I won't). For some reason, though, he'll lie still in my bed (something he absolutely will not do in his own bed).

I remember falling asleep in my parents' bed when I was younger. My mom would turn on music for me and I'd lie in her bed until I fell asleep. I'm certain my parents moved me after I fell asleep and I can't remember why I had to fall asleep this way or how old I was (or how long it happened for). I know it was in the PoCo house.

Anyway, I guess if he'll fall asleep in my bed he can have it since it's 10:00 and he's been going strong all day long.

At our house "bedtime" lasts an average of two hours. And it's torture. 

The other half of Inspired

Bear with me as I write down the quotes I enjoyed from the second half of Rachel Held Evan's book, Inspired, which brought me to tears. I think it was just knowing that she passed away and hearing her speak of her hopes for her children that did me in.

On page 149 she poses the question, "So what is this good news?" and then she goes on to say what it might possibly mean to the many people who came in contact with Jesus during his ministry (and beyond). On page 150 she says, "The good news is as epic as it gets...and yet the Bible tells it from the perspective of fishermen and farmers, pregnant ladies and squirmy kids. This story about the nature of God and God's relationship to humanity smells like mud and manger hay and tastes like salt and wine.... It is the biggest story and the smallest story all at once—the great quest for the One Ring and the quiet friendship of Frodo and Sam."

That last part is particularly relevant today since Elder Uchtdorf discussed The Lord of the Rings in his conference address.

Evans quotes Flannery O'Connor who said, "A story is a way to say something that can't be said any other way, and it takes every word in the story to say what the meaning is. You tell as story because a statement would be inadequate. When anybody asks what a story is about, the only proper thing is to tell them to read the story."

Ubby-dubbo

One of my very favourite sayings of Alexander's is "ubby-dubbo." He says this when he would like to trade out his colouring implement for a different one.

Ubby: Other (or another)

Dubbo: Colour

Ubby-dubbo.

It makes no sense and yet we all understand him perfectly well. He really enjoys colouring these days and will spontaneously drop whatever he's doing and scramble to find drawing supplies, declaring, "Oh! Need dubbo! Need dubbo! Need dubbo!"

Sometimes I know what inspires him, for example, whenever I call Miriam and Benjamin to work on a lesson together. This is a time that Alexander invariably needs to colour.

But there are other times that are seemingly random.

I suppose that when inspiration strikes you just have to go for it!

Bees make honey and butterflies make butter

In science today we dove back into life sciences since our circular economy unit has seemed to have swung from being hard science into soft science (environmental science is like that—at times it feels like a science class, sometimes it definitely feels like social studies). We're still working on it, I just am counting it as social studies for now.

The kids are actually rather excited about it because we discussed the 17 UN Goals for Sustainable Development and then we picked one to work on together (since we're all responsible for making things happen). They decided they wanted to work on the first couple: that there shall be no hunger and that there shall be no poverty.

Secretly I was hoping they'd pick one of those goals because my friend Hayley's nonprofit, Lifting Hands International, is doing a push right now called "Gather for Goats" where you basically throw a party and ask guests to donate money toward buying a goat for Syrian refugees living in Jordan. So we're planning a little hefla for our neighbourhood in a couple of weeks.

The kids have made big plans for a cookie/lemonade stand (we considered hot chocolate but it's 90s still so I'm not sure anyone will feel like hot chocolate even though the calendar says it should be on the menu).

Anyway, in science we were talking about niches (the role an organism plays within its environment). I was trying to help the kids understand (at least as well as I understand things) and brought up bees for an example.

"What is a bee's niche? What role to bees play in our environment?"

"Bees make honey!" Zoë offered.

She's not really part of our "class" but she's there soaking things up every day.

"They do!" I said. "That's true. What else do they do for us? It's a very important job..."

"They're pollinators," either Benjamin or Miriam said.

"That's right! Now, do any other organisms in our environment make honey?"

"No!" Zoë said, then she lifted her index finger in the air and seriously informed us, "But butterflies make butter!"

Zombie Forms

I thought that when we'd turned in forms 3300 and 3231 that we'd have successfully registered the kids for school. But then I had a phone call from the kids' elementary schools saying that their dental form wasn't acceptable and they graciously offered us an extension to get that filled out, which we did at the very end of August. So then I thought that for real we'd finally completed the registration process. It may have taken us two months to do but at least we'd done it!

But, no.

To quote myself in a rather saucy email I sent to the principal this evening:

I will probably have nightmares about these forms for the rest of my life. They're like zombie forms that keep reappearing to eat my brainz every time I think I've put them to rest.  

How can I make them go away?!?!

You see, this afternoon Rachel brought home a letter for me. A letter that says Rachel's file was audited and the auditor found "no certificate or documentation" of immunization. A letter that says my child may be "excluded from school...if this information is not received." A letter that says that "any parent or guardian who intentionally does not comply with the Code section, shall be guilty of a misdemeanor and, upon conviction thereof, shall be punished by a fine of not more than $100.00 or by imprisonment for not more than 12 months."

And—you guys—flames on the side of my face!

More Alexander Tales

I should be working on the Hancock Hummer (and in fact, have been working on it), but there's nothing like procrastinating another activity to get you to do other things that you should be doing.

...stuff like this (blogging is important, okay?).

I remembered the third Alexander story I meant to tell the other day. He has been working on opening doors and although he's not very good at it yet he can occasionally get them to pop open. It helps that all our doors are original-to-the-house, solid-core doors (ie: incredibly warped; none of them close very well at all). Anyway, on this particular morning the outside temperature was fairly cool so I had left the front door open (with the screen door closed) while I ran some trash out to the can.

Alexander was upset that he'd been left inside.

"Mommy—stay! Mommy—stay!" he cried.

"I'll be right back," I assured him.

He kept pleading with me to stay and was reaching up for the handle so he could open the door and follow me and, much to his surprise, he did it! He was so proud of (and surprised by) himself that he didn't even follow me outside. Instead he stood there dancing and squealing, "I did it! I did it! I did it! I did it! I did it!"

Rachel's Fall Concert

This evening we attended Rachel's fall concert, which was mind-blowingly impressive. The progress she's made from last year to this is astounding (though I guess I never blogged about her "monster concert" at the end of last year (it's not a monster-themed concert; rather it's a combined concert with every elementary school orchestra in the district, so it's monsterously huge...or so they thought) but that doesn't mean I don't love you, Rachel, it only means that life was insane (we were moving, remember?) and I didn't get around to it but I'm sure I have a video from it somewhere)) and the program is challenging and serious, but also enjoyable.

Here's a clip of the 7th grade orchestra playing British Grenadiers, which was my favourite piece of theirs. Don't mind the shaky filming job—I was holding Alexander on my lap and helping him sketch on the magnetic sketch board while also filming so it is what it is:



I couldn't pick her out of the sea of middle schoolers; there are over 100 kids in her orchestra (and that was just her grade). I'll assume you won't be able to pick her out, either, so here's a video she made for her playing test a couple of weeks ago: