Independent: The New Four Letter Word

When the ultrasound tech said "It's a girl," my first thought was that I wanted to raise a strong, independent woman. OK, so technically, the tech said "And we have a labia," to which I immediately thought "Ugh, now I have to say the names of girl parts. Out loud," but my SECOND thought was that I wanted the kind of girl who has her own thoughts and ideas and isn't swayed by peer pressure.

Now that I have a strong, independent three year old who isn't swayed by the peer pressure that I am constantly applying, I'm not so sure that a passive girl would have been such a bad thing. I know (I HOPE) that when she is sixteen, these personality traits will serve her well. But for now, here is a Top 10 List of the "independent" things that Abby has done in the last 24 hours.

10) "Made" her bed. Which consisted of untucking the sheets and blankets and then putting the whole mess on top of the bed.
9) "Set" the table. AKA got out all the silverware from the drawer (and licked some of it.)
8) Went out to the car BY HERSELF to get her Bitty baby. Good thing she is not quiet so I could hear her stomping feet and the slam of the door.
7) Put her own toothpaste on the toothbrush. And on the counter, the drawer, her pajamas, and Josh's arm.
6) Got herself dressed. By stacking some things in her room up and standing on top of them to reach the clothes in the closet. But, they matched. I think we're making some progress there.
5) Got out, opened, and spilled a yogurt from the fridge.
4) Took the lid off of Max's cage, lifted him out, and was playing with him on the TV room carpet when I found her. (I was getting dressed if you are wondering.)
3) "Answered" the phone. Or, pushed the talk button while it was ringing, forcing me to talk to the guy trying to get money for a mythical charity I have never heard of.
2) "Read" herself another story. This one featured a naughty little girl who ALWAYS has to go to time out. Also, she has to go to her room. Nice.
1) And my personal favorite, which spurred me to sit down to type this, got out the milk, a cup, a spoon, and the chocolate syrup. She made herself chocolate milk. I was in the bathroom for this one. . . Why is this my favorite? Because she did it. No spills, no mess, no mopping. Maybe all this independence will pay off sooner than I thought!

Pretending. . . Grown-Up Style

So, I was a little (ha!) grumpy last night when I posted. But tonight. . . I am feeling great. Mostly because today, I did a little grown-up pretending. John had to work today even though it was Sunday (he probably doesn't feel great tonight. . .), so when I awoke at 7:30 to Abby crawling into bed on John's empty side of the bed and beautiful blue sky outside the window, it seemed like summer again. When I realized that it wasn't, rather than get depressed about it, I decided to just make believe that it was! Magic pixie dust. . . poof--it's summer.

After lying in bed reading stories to Abby for a while, I got up and played Wii with the boys. We played enough Wii to use up the entire week's worth of Wii minutes, but I didn't even keep track. I'm a rebel, I know. Then we all had a bowl of cereal at 9:30, got dressed (in shorts and T-shirts for the boys, a sundress for Abby, and flip-flops, capris and a pony tail for me,) and headed in to my mom and dad's house. We ate lunch and then spent the afternoon "playing summer." My sister and her husband brought Henry over and the three younger cousins played naked in the sprinkler and with the hose while Josh and my dad went out for a round of golf. The sun was warm, the breeze was perfect, and I don't think that I had to remind anyone to do anything all day. We went out to pizza--the perfect food for a summer's night when it is too hot to cook-- and then headed home, watching the gorgeous sunset as we drove. When we got home, we discovered that Grandma and Grandpa 'Sota (John's parents) were still in town after meeting up with John for dinner. So we went for root beer floats and milkshakes--one of our favorite activities of this past summer.

Amazingly, bedtime went smoothly. Everyone had stories of their choice and were sent off to their dreams with hugs and kisses and smiles from their happy mother. I think that some of the pixie dust must have spilled over onto bedtime. Now, if only it would work it's magic on the chores I didn't do and the work I neglected while I played in the land of no schedules and no obligations. . . . .

A moment of brutal honesty

I love my kids. More than life itself. But I hate bedtime. There. I've said it. My confession to the world about my serious deficiency as a parent. Every night, I tell myself that bedtime will be warm and cozy and loving, that my kids will head off to dreamland thinking lovingly of their most wonderous mother. But then bedtime actually arrives, and I am irritated that they can't put on their pajamas without help even though all three dress themselves at all other times. In outfits that never match. I am more irritated that they can't ever pick a bedtime snack and that every night, they beg for candy. It doesn't help when we have no candy in the house. They will still beg as though a) I can conjure Tootsie Pops out of thin air and b) I have suddenly seen the light and consider a lollipop to be an appropriate bedtime snack. Soon after, I hear that "mean mom" in my voice as I repeatedly tell them to BRUSH THEIR FLIPPING TEETH BEFORE I STRANGLE SOMEONE AND YOU BECOME THE CHILDREN OF AN INMATE. YOU KNOW, THE KIND OF KIDS THAT HAVE TO LOOK FORWARD TO VISITING HOURS. (I am really positive that most of that is said only in my mind. Really. Positive.) And then, because once again the best laid plans have not resulted in a lovely, well-paced routine that leaves exactly twenty minutes of storytime per child, I guiltily try to convince Abby that the very shortest book in her room is her heart's desire, read James's book to him so quickly that he can't possibly hear what the story is, and secretly hope that Josh gets so tired waiting that he falls asleep. Later, I go into their rooms to tuck them in, I see their sweet sleeping faces, and I am overwhelmed with love. And then serious guilt. At which point, I resolve to make bedtime better the next night. We'll start earlier. I'll make a "get ready for bed chart" and reward them for appropriate bedtime behavior. Maybe I'll put up a sign to remind myself that childhood is short and that I should appreciate my kids while they are young. And ignoring me and begging for candy. I'll let you know how that goes. My money is on the appearance of mean mom. . . . .

The Golden Rule 2.0

The other day I had a conversation with James about the Golden Rule that I knew I had to blog. I was busy (I believe that I've made that clear in the last eighteen whining posts?? No? Oh, be sure to ask me about it next time you see me--I'll be SO happy to catch you up) so I didn't get it typed right away. The next thing I know, I see this post on Sarri's blog. Since Garrett and James are in the same class, I can tell that the Golden Rule must be discussed often by their teacher! Here is our version:

James: (with breathless amazement) Mom, today a boy in my class BROKE THE GOLDEN RULE!
Me: Oh, tell me about what happened.
James: What do mean?
Me: Well, what happened when he broke the Golden Rule?
(I can't really explain the look he was giving me at this point. Something along the lines of "How can you possibly be so dense that you need to ask me that?")
James: He broke the rule.
Me: I know, but when he broke it, what was he doing?
James: (slowly to be sure his incredibly stupid mother is getting it) Mom. The Golden Rule is that you have to line up when the teacher blows the whistle. The Boy Who Broke The Golden Rule (which will most likely be his name in our house forever) didn't line up when Mrs. M blew the whistle.

Duh.

Apparently, the poster of the Golden Rule that is hanging in the classroom doesn't really help a non-reading kindergartener understand what it is!

24

OK, so I know that I am not exactly one of those mommy-bloggers who have a huge following, so most of you have heard this story in its entirety, so I apologize to most of you! But the truth is that yesterday was a day from hell, and I feel like whining. (Some more. My apologies again to those of you I saw yesterday. . . ) And as hell is the strongest bit of profanity I have ever used in this blog, you know that it was a LOOOONNNNGGG 24 hours. Nothing catastrophic happened, but still. I'm a little exhausted.

2 am, Tuesday: I am awakened by the sobbing of James. He had a wart removed yesterday, and it was causing him enough pain to wake him up. While at the doctor for the wart treatment, we also discovered that he had a raging ear infection. Super.

3 am: I am awakened by the sobbing of James, who is now in my bed, hogging all of the space.

4 am: I am awakened by the sobbing of James, who I return to his own bed to let him bother his brother with his sobbing. And snoring from the cold that gave him our friend, the ear infection.

5 am: I am awakened by the sobbing of James. I finally think to put a Band-Aid over the wart blister and he sleeps for two solid, peaceful hours. I, on the other hand, cannot sleep because I am thinking about how soon the alarm will go off.

7 am: I jump out of bed after falling asleep AFTER the alarm went off. No time for a shower, I throw pancakes on the griddle and rush the kids through the morning routine.

8 am: En route to school, I hear these unfortunate words: "Uh-oh, Mom. Did you grab my backpack?" This was from Josh who had his self-packed lunch in said backpack. I assured him that I would go home before Abby's three year check-up and then drop it back at school.


8:15 am: Back at home, I hear these even more unfortunate words: "Mommy? Where Maxi go?" (Max is the hamster if you have forgotten.) I approached the cage with dread to see that the lid had been left off in our rush to leave, the cat is indeed in the house, and Max is MISSING. OMG!!!! And here we are a good ten day after the get-a-free-new-hamster guarantee! (Hey, no one ever said that I wasn't overly practical. . .)

8:20 am: After a frantic search of the house, looking for what I am sure will be the bloody carcass of a tiny hamster, I hear a little "scratch, scratch, scratch" from the oven area. Plus the cat is watching the oven intently. As I am certain that no delicious meat is being cooked in that area or scratching to get out, I am relieved to hear that Max is, at least for the time being, alive.

8:30 am: I remove the drawer from under the oven (thank goodness we picked out the kind with a drawer) and crawl in among the dust and "stuff" to retrieve him from the farthest back corner. He seems to be in good health, and I take a moment to promise myself to be a better housekeeper.

8:40 am: We start to leave the house. No keys. Well, obviously they must be right where I left them. Right? Right? Right?

9:00 am: Wrong. After 20 minutes of searching, still no keys. I call the doctor's office to let them know that we won't be making Abby's 3-year appointment. After the receptionist was super rude and informed me that the next available opening is in DECEMBER, I hang up the phone and burst into tears. (I swear I am not, repeat NOT pregnant, and if I am, I will be suing the pants off of the makers of Mirena) After a bit of a cleansing cry, I glance at my daughter to see that she is watching me in horror. When I say her name, she bolts into our room, yelling "I want Daaaaddddyyyy!" Nice move, mom.

9:30 am: While searching for the keys some more, I hear Abby in her room talking to Bitty Baby. It went a little something like this: "Mommy crying. Mommy say 'wah, wah, wah,wah.' It's O-tay Bitty. Daddy be home soon." Oh, the guilt, it's killing me. . . .

10:15 am: Having no luck, I call the one person who helps me get out of all my messes. He leaves work (sacrificing his lunch hour) to come home and deliver the left-behind lunch and pick up James from kinder. He also spends 30 minutes searching for the keys. Still no luck.

11:45 am: Teresa has to drive to her house to get the spare keys, drive back to my house to deliver them, and then I finally can head to work. Guess what? After three hours of looking, still no keys!

5:00 pm: After a fairly uneventful afternoon in the classroom, and somehow managing to get the whole family changed into soccer field appropriate clothing, get James into his soccer gear, and get John picked up from home to avoid two cars all evening, I collapse into a chair to see James's game. He had another great game and scored a goal, but. . . . in an unidentifiable incident, the now gigantic and painful blister on his hand got partially ripped off. Yes, I did say partially. I have a strong stomach, but John said that I got a little pale when I saw it. We wrapped some tape around and sent him back to the game, figuring we could worry about it later.

7:00 pm: We get our dinner! It was 50/50 night for our PTA at McMenamin's, so it took a while, but we were with tons of friends and had a great time! Check out Sarri's blog today to see a picture of James with his buddies. So sweet!

8:00 pm: Homework is done, teeth are brushed and we take off the tape and guaze on James's hand. Uh, we have a problem. It is now oozing and bleeding and James is sobbing and writhing in pain. So, I call Providence RN, the nurse advice line, to get some . . . . advice. We await the call-back.

8:15 pm: The keys are found. In the back of the toothbrush drawer. A full twelve hours after they were "misplaced" by my charming daughter.

8:20 pm: The advice nurse calls back with her advice: Call the doctor on call. I have called that advice line at least twenty times and at least eighteen of those times the advice has been to get advice from someone else. Quite a system.

8:40 pm: The doctor on call calls back to tell us to wash the wound with soap and water and then bandage it. Wow. You need a medical degree for that?

9:00 pm: I pinned James down while he screamed and John performed the oh-so-complicated procedure on his hand.

9:30 pm: All children are finally asleep.

1 am Wednesday: I awaken to the sobbing of. . . Abby. Her foot hurts (she twisted it on Sunday and unfortunately, we never made it to the one place that it could be checked out because, well, you know the story) and she is begging me to "Make it stop."

2 am: Three back rubs, a dose of ibuprofen, a glass of water, a hundred hugs and kisses, and many songs later, Abby is finally asleep.

Whew! My 24 may not star Keifer Sutherland, and it may not involve terrorists or anything at all interesting, but I feel like I need a vacation!

Man-ish?

Setting: Story time, Abby's big girl bed

Me: Which stories do you want tonight?
Abby: Ummmmm. . . . .Uhhhhhh. . .. (employing one of her favorite stalling techniques)
Me: You need to decide, Abby. How about this one? (holding up her very favorite Backyardigan's book)
Abby: Ummmm. . . No, that one (pointing to Tasha, the yellow??? hippo-ish one) is man-ish.
Me: What? Tasha is man-ish?
Abby: No. MAN-ish.
Me: Well, do you want to read it anyway? (since when did she become so judgemental--so Tasha is a little gender neutral, big deal.)
Abby: No, Mommy. I don't unnerstand MAN-ISH. (lightbulb! She doesn't understand SPANISH)

Not sure why she thinks her very favorite book of all time has suddenly been translated into Spanish, but I'd rather her believe in magic than be judgemental of the appearance of others. Besides, Tasha wears a flowery dress. If anyone is man-ish, it's Uniqua. Bald? Overalls? They are pink, but still. . . .



Tasha is the hippo, Uniqua is the pink one. I rest my case.

What a week!

This past week was one of those weeks that I know everyone has, but I'd like to be a big baby about it for a minute. It was long and exhausting and crazy. Our calendar was so full that I resorted to abbreviations to fit it all in--and that is on our new and improved freezer sized calendar! I'll spare you the details and get to the highlights. . . . .

Monday brought James's very first soccer practice! He loved it, and I loved that it keeps his feet moving and that he was, for once, sitting still once we got home! With the big climb for Josh and a busy day for James, we had two tired boys that night.

Tuesday brought our first time having TWO classrooms to visit for Back to School night. I was glad that I spoke a little Spanish, at least, since Josh's teacher did her presentation in all Spanish. I guess that is what our kids face everyday. . . .

Between work, my own Back to School night, volunteering at the boys' school and several meetings, it doesn't seem like I even sat down for the entire week, but eventually, we arrived at Friday night. It was a big night for Abby: after asking how many days until her birthday party for the last four months (not even exaggerating here!) the day had finally arrived. I'm happy to say that she loved every minute of it and didn't cry (for the first time ever) when Happy Birthday was sung. I let her "help" me choose what we did at her party, and she picked the following: decorating prince and princess crowns (lovingly cut out by her mom and dad late Thursday night,) Pin-the-Tiara on the Princess (purchased for a mere dollar at everyone's favorite merchant of lead based painted toys from China,) eating pizza and apples with caramel (obviously every princess's food of choice) decorating cupcakes, and playing with her friends. We had fifteen kids and ten adults, so it was loud and chaotic and perfect. Here are a few pictures, but Sarri and Judy have many, many more over at their blogs, so check it out!!

Princess Abby eating her self-decorated cupcake! Check out the nose "piercing." The girls discovered that the sparkly gems used to make the crowns were excellent for pretend piercings.

Abby's beloved Denney girls (with no small amount of encouragement from her beloved Tee-sa) gave her her first American girl doll for her birthday. A Bitty Baby named. . . .Bitty. Her creativity overwhelms me.

Cupcake toppings. Lots of sugar, artificial colors, high fructose corn syrup and probably some trans fats too. Nice!

Saturday morning was another big day for James. His first ever soccer game!!! He scored two goals and basically ignored all idea of "position" as he zoomed around the field. He loved every minute of it and can't wait to play again. It was fun to finally see him in the game after having to sit on the sidelines of Josh's games since birth. The other day, I figured out that he has sat through (or slept or nursed through) at least 90 soccer games! I'd say he has paid his dues as a spectator. We were sad that we missed Josh's game-out of all the possible schedules they could have gotten, Josh's team has the schedule that had them playing Friday night. Since we were a little busy with a herd of princes and princesses, we sent him with his Grandma and Grandpa. He made the first goal and his team got its first victory.

Getting ready to start. It was very hard to get pictures since he moved non-stop!

Practicing being goalie! Notice the tongue out--the sign of heavy concentration.

First time in as goalie. Not sure what is going on with the rainbow sherbet goalie shirt colors?

After the game on Saturday, we drove the kids into Beaverton to stay with my parents for the night. It was really nice to have some time together without the kids. We had been on the run and barely had time to say hello all week, so we enjoyed the evening. We thought we'd go out to dinner, but after a series of "I don't know, where do you want to go? " conversations, we decided to go with an old stand-by from our pre-kids days: go to Roth's and get our favorite things, get a movie and eat on the floor of the TV room. I had fancy olives from the olive bar, cheese fondue with yummy bread, and a fresh peach from a local farm--yum!! John made himself a Mexican cheese dip, and we shared some fancy cheese and crackers too. Lots of cheese was consumed, and we watched What Happens in Vegas while we stuffed ourselves silly. After sleeping in late this morning and enjoying a leisurely breakfast that did NOT come from a fast food restaurant, I'm feeling rejuvenated and ready for another crazy week.

Mt. St. Helens. . . Part Two

You may remember that Josh's first trip up Mt. St. Helen's ended in disappointment (and rain, wind, sleet, and zero visibiltiy.) Pretty much as soon as they got home, my dad started looking for dates that they could try again. Since they only give out 100 passes a day, spots are hard to come by. He called one night to see if I would let Josh miss a day of school to go. I figured, hey, they study volcanoes in third grade, so a trip up to look into a volcanic crater was practically a school sanctioned field trip. Practically. The truth is that kids miss school for just about everything, so I knew that it would be fine. (I, for example, once had a student whose mother took her out my class once a month for a girl's day out. Shopping and the spa in Portland. Yes, seriously.)

So, they headed up Sunday to camp overnight and try again on Monday to get to the top. I made this climb over twenty years ago, but it was so memorable that I can remember every detail. I knew that Josh was in for some hard work! And hard work it was. But Josh did it! They had beautiful weather. And although it took longer than they had anticipated, Grandpa was patient and encouraging with Josh and eventually they made it up. . . and back down again. Apparently, the down part was just as difficult as the up part for Josh. At least once you're up, you can't exactly give up and say you are going to live up at the rim of the crater! I am really proud of Josh--it was quite an accomplishment for an eight year old!

The first section of the climb is actually just a trail through the trees. When you come out of the trees, you hit. . . boulders. And a lot of them. Picking through the rocks makes up most of the rest of the climb. Or at least thats it the way it feels on your knees and quads.

I liked this picture because he looks like he is going to break out into a rap. And that image makes me laugh out loud.

Near the end of the climb, you realize that the top finally looks reachable. You are actually going to do this thing. The only thing standing in your way is an enormous field of ash and loose rock. A field tipped on its side so that you have to go straight up it. If you enlarge this picture, you can see the people going up and a bunch at the top to give you size perspective.

Josh making his way up! Almost there. . .

Success! This picture kind of makes me ill. He is so close to the edge of a volcanic crater that his shadow actually goes over the edge.

This one makes me feel better. It made me remember that it isn't a straight down drop off to the crater. It's more of a really steep slope. Full of jagged volcanic rock. Hmmm. At least his shadow isn't falling off here!

Whoops!

When we found out Abby's due date (September 19th) and then were told early on that a C-section was in my future, I began to hope that I wouldn't end up having her on September 11th. There are many worse things in the world than having a notorious birthday, but still, I figured since I was going to be planning this thing anyway, why not avoid that day? My doctor scheduled my surgery for the 12th, and I tried to convince my uterus not to contract on the 11th. (Because of my very complicated emergency C-section with James, I was told that they didn't even want me to have ANY real contractions. Bummer, huh?) Apparently, my reproductive organs were feeling cooperative, because Abby waited to be born on the 12th, at 7:30 am. Just as scheduled. And a 9/11 birthday was avoided. So imagine my surprise when I glanced back at my birthday letter to Abby and found it dated. . . . September 11, 2008. Sometimes I just don't get technology. And I apparently have a pretty crummy short term memory since I have forgotten at least five times that blogger publishes on the date that you start a blog, not the date you push publish. (Personally, I was pretty impressed with myself that I realized how crazy the actual day would be and wrote the letter ahead of time. How very unusually organized of me.) So, to set the record straight and to give my uterus the credit it is due, Abby was in fact born on September TWELFTH!

Stay tuned for pictures of Josh atop Mt. St. Helens. He should be summitting in a little more than 12 hours. Unless the very different weather problem of extreme heat turns them back this time!

How did we get here so fast?

Dear Abby,

Three years ago today, you arrived in our world. It instantly became a better place. Your birth was calm and organized and beautiful. I heard you cry, and it took my breath away. When the doctor lifted you up over the sheet so that I could see you, I was so surprised to see you. You looked nothing like your brothers and had lots of DARK hair. You have been surprising me since even before you were born. I was surprised to be having a girl instead of the boy that I thought I would have. And I was really surprised to learn that a daughter was something I really, really wanted.

You were such a good baby. A typical third child: laid back and understanding that the world did not actually revolve around you and you alone. But I did hold you for months. Literally. Through class parties and soccer games and Christmas programs and dinners out. Through meetings at work and making breakfast and supervising the other kids. I was pretty sure that you would be my last chance to have a newborn, and I didn't want to waste a moment of smelling your baby smell or watching you snuggle into me.

Every day, I am amazed by you. You do everything in a big way. You love big, hug big, laugh big, talk big, cry big, dream big. You are funny and sweet and fiercely loving. You are you. And I've never known someone quite like you. Your observations about the world always make me smile and often make me laugh out loud. You have always seemed older than your age, and it isn't just because you are so tall. You want to keep up with the big kids, and you are just strong willed enough to get what you want.

Two nights ago, you moved into your big girl bed. I can't bring myself to face taking the crib down. How did you get so big so fast? When did my little dark haired baby become the blond, curly haired dynamo that I see today? I am excited to see who you become as the years pass by, but I wouldn't mind if time slowed down just a little bit. In the next year, your last year at home before you discover the wonderful world of preschool, I am going to enjoy every moment.

I love you my sweet girl. Happy, happy birthday!



PS I chose some songs just for you today: You are My Sunshine because we used to sing it every night before you went to sleep; Isn't She Lovely because it makes me cry; the whoo-hoo song (Sweet Escape by Gwen Stefani) because you love it so much; Daughter by Louden Wainwright because it makes me smile; and Father and Daughter by Paul Simon because you love your daddy so much!

Again with the no camera!

I know that today is September 11, and I might write about it later. But for now, the adventures of Abby continue. We had our little friend Carter over for a while this morning. Abby was so excited for him to come. He got to ride home from school with us! In our car! To our house! To play with her! And to see her new big girl bed!! As Abby put it, "Me and Carter (who she calls tartar, like the sauce) are going to sleep together in my room." They wanted the door closed too. Hmmmm. Good thing they are only two. They had a great time: sleeping together, playing kitchen, chasing Max in his hamster ball and reading stories. They had several really serious discussions about the books, which was so cute, but this was my favorite part.

Abby: Carter, I'll read you a story.
Carter: Oooh. OK.
Abby: (holding a hideous book about Disney colors that we got for free somewhere) This a dog. She mommy say "Don't be naughty, doggie." That doggie say "I not naughty. I nice!" The end.
Carter: Oh. Good story.

#1 That is pretty good story telling for a two year old. Especially when there isn't a dog in the story. Or a story for that matter. #2 Yes, I do feel a touch guilty that my daughter is projecting her feelings onto a mythical Disney dog. And #3, Seriously, she seriously cracks me up.

PS In case you were wondering, my camera is still at school. Which explains why there are no pictures of Abby sleeping in her big girl bed for the first time or her second time "sleeping together" with a boy in a bed. Um, yes. I did say the second time.

Update

Someone asked me the other day about "the little boy who had leukemia" whom I wrote about a while back, and then coincidentally his mom called me tonight. I thought I'd give a quick update. Liam has had a pretty rough go of it. I remember when Josh was diagnosed, there were a lot of times when the doctors would say, "Only a few kids have a problem with this," or "Only 2% of kids have this certain complication." Liam, unfortunately , has been one of the few and one of that 2% too many times to count. Although he has the same form of cancer (ALL) that Josh had, his is really a different ball game. He has been classified as high risk from the start, and he has had many of the complications that "only a few" have. The doctors have decided that it is in his best interest to have a bone marrow transplant as soon as possible. Although they have not yet been able to find a compatible donor match for him, they have found a cord blood match that they will hopefully be able to use if a donor is not found. Even better, his mom told me just today that they have found a possible donor, and there are hundreds of new donors being rushed through the system as I write. There is more good news too: his cancer is in remission (achieved through a mind-boggling number of drugs and hospital stays), the transplant doctor is one of the best and extremely confident, his family is wonderfully close and supportive, and it is 2008. So many incredible advances have been made in the fight against leukemia in the last 5, 10, 20, even 30 years that the doctors have a lot in their arsenal to fight against his disease.

Liam's parents have handled this all with an incredible grace and strength. Liam himself has proven to be just as remarkable as his parents always knew he was. Liam's little sister has been giving him the best play therapy in the world. His extended family is nearby and supporting his family in every way possible. The doctors have been agressive with the disease and loving with the patient (and his family.) And so, with all these amazing forces at work, very soon Liam will have new marrow creating new blood cells. Send this family your best wishes/prayers/ positive thoughts as they embark on the next phase of the journey. And if you get a chance, get on the marrow donor registry. It doesn't even require a needle. You can go to www.marrow.org to find out how to get on the registry.

A pint-sized manipulator

Under the category of things I don't want to forget about Miss Abby (a category that makes me want to cry because it makes me think of all the adorable things that Josh and James did or said that are completely lost to me now!):

Abby has been (surprise, surprise) getting into quite a bit of trouble lately. She is always into something or doing something or saying something that will get her a direct ticket on the trouble train. She has developed a surprising intuition for reading people's expressions, especially her mom, dad and brothers. As soon as she sees frustration, annoyance or anger start to develop, she quickly sings out, "I wuv you, mommy/daddy/Jos/Jame/Mawy (Mary)/Wowa (Laura)/Dina" and throws her arms around the offended person or plants a sweet kiss on a cheek. If it wasn't so manipulative, I would find it really cute. Oh, who are we kidding here? It's adorable!

Wheeeeee!

Yesterday we went the the city fair. We got a postcard in the mail a few weeks ago, telling us that there was a big event scheduled to thank volunteers from the community and as a volunteer from the community, John was invited as a special guest. Which actually just meant the same event that everyone else was invited to and getting a free T-shirt, but still. So we walked over to the park. They had all the city agencies (fire, police, park and rec, etc) with booths with free stickers and lollipops, a marching drum line, people on stilts, jugglers, various magicians and performers, police dog demonstrations, free hot dogs and popcorn and ice cream, and a VERY popular inflatable slide. All free. And all pretty fun. We really liked the drum line and the slide, but the best part in my family's opinion? The hot air balloon ride. It was tethered, but it was still pretty cool. A special thanks to my husband who stood in line for 45 minutes in the direct sun to get us on the third ride of the day. We all got a bit too much sun (because who would think to bring sunscreen to an event scheduled at a park with no shade from the hours of 10am-2pm? Everyone but me? Oh, yeah, that's right.) and ate total junk for the day, but we really had fun!

Good thing we found CB with her iphone. Because guess what was sitting at home? Yep, the camera and the sunscreen were partying at home together. And by the way, it really is us in there. A friend said they could tell it was us because they could see John's bald head. I can spot Abby's bright turquoise T-shirt if I squint really hard. . . .

The one that isn't about the kids

(Remember how the titles of Friends episodes all started with "The One. . ."? No? Well, you will never be as cool as me then)

About four years ago, the moms from my playgroup decided that it would be fun to go out to dinner every once in a while and--GASP--not take the kids with us. We thought we'd try it once, and if it didn't work, we'd just go back to meeting up at playgroup. And here we are four years later. We've been to every restaurant in our little town about forty times each. We've been to the beach for the weekend. We've invited the husbands and traveled into Portland. We are even planning a trip to Disneyland together (the kids get to come to that, of course.) Newborns are allowed (until they are old enough to make their presence known and we were kicked out after 10:30 once for having a "minor" The first Friday of the month is sacred. Well, unless someone can't go on that day. Then it's the second Friday or the first Saturday or. . . you get the picture. I don't think we've ever missed a month, and I will tell you that it is one my favorite things that I do. Cosmos and appetizers and good friends--what could be bettter? It's like Sex in the City. Except not really. We've added some moms and lost some moms over the years, but it is so great to have a group of people who know all about me and still want to have dinner, drinks, and dessert (ugh--I'm still a little full from last night) with me.

Here is an interesting note to end this blog. . . interesting to me, at least. I started this post this morning to recount the humorously bad service we had at a certain Japanese restaurant in our little town, but by the time I signed back in tonight to finish it, I liked it just as it was. I guess sometimes it IS better not to whine! Who knew my mom was right all those years?

A hard lesson learned

I heard the horrible sound of a head hitting something hard this morning. Anyone with young children (probably teenage boys too) knows this sound. It is quickly followed by the bellow of a child who is both in pain and SERIOUSLY angry at the injustice of an inanimate object having the nerve to come in contact with her body.
Abby, with no playmates for the first time in just about her whole life, was enjoying the freedom to do whatever she wanted. I was coming around the corner toward the kitchen when I heard the sound. Followed quickly by the other sound. She was able to communicate through her screams (man, that girl is LOUD) that she had smacked into the corner of the counter. When she realized that she had blood on her hands. . . well, let's just say that we're lucky we didn't end up with a house full of shattered glass objects. And I thought she was loud at first impact!
She had a small but deep cut in right next to the corner of her left eye. (It kind of makes me cringe to think about how hard she had to hit the corner to make the sound that I heard!)
I am terrible at assessing the need for medical care. My first reaction is to rush my kids to the doctor for any little thing. So I called John to see what he thought. He decided to come home--Daddy to the rescue!
A butterfly bandage, a Spiderman bandage, and some reassurance (for me) later, John headed back to work, leaving Abby and I to finish the Diego episode we had convinced her to stay still for. It was at this moment that I remembered another sound that I had heard, right before the crunch of counter to eye socket. It was the sound of a drawer closing. Hmmmm.
Me: Abby, what were you doing when you hurt your eye?
Abby: Ummm. Bleeding?
Me: No, before you hurt your eye. What were you doing in the kitchen?
Abby: Ummmm. Nothing?
Me: I don't think it was nothing. Did you have a drawer open?
Abby: I don't 'member.
Me: Try to remember.
Abby: (looking sheepish) I did open a drawer, Mommy. The balloon drawer.
side note: We have a drawer in the kitchen for Saran, Tin foil, plastic bags, etc, and inexplicably, it has leftover balloons from birthday parties in it too.
Me: Are you supposed to have balloons?
Abby: Nooooo. But I can have swords, though.
Me: (What?!?) What?
Abby: I can have swords.
Me: What swords?
Abby: The swords in the drawer. I show you.

At this point, I was trying desparately to remember what could possibly be in the drawer that resembled a sword. And more importantly, a sword that would be appropriate for a two year old. When we got to the drawer, she triumphantly pulled out. . . a balloon.

Me: Abby! You are not allowed to play with balloons!
Abby: This not a balloon. This a sword!

At which point I realized that this was a balloon animal balloon and John did, on occasion, blow these up to make swords. It has been a long while though. And while I am pretty impressed with her recall, I was not happy. Why did she cut her head? Because she was trying to hide the evidence of being into something she wasn't supposed to be into. And then, although she was told YESTERDAY that she cannot play with ANY balloon that is not blown up, she was trying to find a loop hole. She'll make a great politician someday. My guess is that not even a sharp blow to the head is going to get this message through to her. The allure of balloons must be too great for her to resist. Oh, and by the way, the balloons have been moved to a different location, the rule has been repeated in a very firm voice, and we have a new rule at our house. No swords for Abby. Kind of thought that one could go unspoken. My lesson learned: No rule can go unspoken. Abby's lesson learned: Counters are hard. Don't run into them.

The Last Day in Preschooler land

I realized last night, with a jolt, that today would be the last time that James wasn't a school age kid. He asks me a hundred times a day when he goes to kindergarten EVERY day like everyone else, so he obviously doesn't get the momentousness (hmmm. . . a word?? who knows?) of the day. I know that I tend toward the melodramatic, but this is pretty big. Until he hits retirement, he will have the responsibility of being somewhere at some time. Sure, summers and vacations will come, but he will still always have school or a job just around the corner. Crazy. I know that he is on to bigger and better things, but it still makes me just a little bit sad.

Back in the good old days. Before he was, you know, all grown up. At the ripe old age of 5. Perhaps I more than "tend toward" the melodramatic?

Off to school!

This morning, dressed in matching outfits, (shhhh, don't tell Josh--I don't think he really noticed, although he did say (accusingly) "Are these the same shorts that James has on????") the boys marched into school for their first day. For Josh, it was old hat--same teacher, same kids in his class. He wasn't nervous, although he did confess to being a little stressed that his teacher will speak in Spanish A LOT of the time this year.

Same light switch--2008 (3rd and kinder) and 2004 (preschool and age 1)

James, on the other hand, was more than a little nervous. When I asked him if he was nervous, he replied "No, just scared." I guess when you are five those are two very distinct emotions. . . He certainly wouldn't have seemed scared to a casual observer, but in the eyes of his (very practiced at emotion-hiding) mother, he was a bundle of nerves. What? You've never seen a terrified kid skipping and smiling? Well, then you've never seen James. When he let me hold his hand when we WEREN'T EVEN IN THE PARKING LOT, I knew it was serious.

Picture 1: Josh helping with the backpack. Picture 2: Moments before walking toward school--James is looking a bit "tense."

We dropped Josh off (he barely even glanced over his shoulder to say goodbye, to tell you the truth) and headed to the kindergarten room. James waved to a boy he knew from pre-school and proceeded to sit down at a table and color a picture for the entire 30 minute parent meeting. He didn't speak a word or move a muscle except to change crayon color and apply color to the page. It was amazing--I have never seen him sit so still. I had no idea he had that level of concentration in him. By the time I left him, he let me hug him (in public and everything) and then quietly walked to the rug to sit down. After only being told to do so ONCE. He is so "energetic" at home that the whole scene floored me. I was way too surprised to cry. There was one moment during the parent meeting that I inexplicable felt tears welling up, but as I mentioned, I am an excellent emotion hider and managed to keep it under control.

When I picked him up from school, I wasn't sure what to expect. Would he say he loved school? Hated it? Would he even talk? Well, talk he did. All the way home, a mile a minute. He was totally fascinated by the genius of the choosing time system. He also explained kindergarten assessment in a way that would help most adults understand it better. Kudos to whomever explained to him!

At bed time tonight, I asked him if he was glad that he was in kindergarten.

James: No, not really.

Me: Why not? Did you not like your teacher?

James: No, she's really nice!

Me: Were you bored?

James: No, we did lots of fun stuff.

Me: Were the other kids mean?

James: No, they were all nice.

Me: Well, why aren't you glad to be in kindergarten then?

James: I just don't like the school.

Me: Why?

James: It's just so QUIET!

And since I'm sure you are all wondering what Abby thought of all of this, I will leave you with a quote from the poor little left behind baby sister (and you must hear this in your mind with the maximum amount of sobbing and sadness imaginable):

"I can't stay at the house by my own self! I come with the boys! I come with you! I come with you! I. COME. WITH. YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Poor thing--do you think that she'll ever realize how lucky she is to have the house to herself for a few hours?