Not Me! Monday... er, Tuesday

Hey, I'm not late posting my "Not Me! Monday" post. Nope, not me. I'm never late.

That certainly wasn't me at the grocery store last week, buying fresh donuts at the bakery counter. I'm watching my weight, so I don't need to buy donuts. I prefer carob-chip cookies and sugar free ice cream. So obviously, that wasn't me you saw in the produce section reach into the donut bag and wipe out two chocolate-frosted delights. First of all, that would be a disgusting lack of self-control. And secondly, it would be embarrassing for me to have to pay the lady at the checkout counter for an empty bakery bag. She'd probably give me an odd look and shake her head. So I'm glad I didn't do anything like that.

For sure, I would never take my children to a free summer kids show like "Bee Movie" and cry at the end when, you know, Barry the Bee unites the bees of Manhattan to re-pollinate all the flowers in the city. It would be ridiculous to need a Kleenex for something as cheesy and predictable as that. Of course, it would also be ridiculous for me to spoil the end of the show for everybody who hasn't seen "Bee Movie" yet.

So glad I didn't do that.

You know that wasn't me at the park on Saturday with my four kids, either. I don't lie around on a picnic blanket and block out my kids' screaming by staring blankly up at the clouds. I certainly didn't tell Emily to drop trow and go pee-pee behind a tree because I didn't want to have to pack up and go find a bathroom. That would irresponsible and unsanitary.

And thank heavens I would never, ever rip my shirt off and run around topless in my backyard. What an embarrassing situation that could be for my father-in-law if he was, say, working in the side yard and saw me. After all, I've seen "Bee Movie." I know that when a bee flies down my shirt, it doesn't mean any harm. Stinging a person - even when angry - shows the rest of the bee world an embarrassing lack of self-control. So it's a good thing that bee didn't sting me and I didn't have to streak my neighbors.

It's nice to know that bees and I have that it common: a sense of decency and self-control. It's not helpful for writing humorous blog posts, but it sure makes me feel good. I think I'll go reward myself with a nice big glass of rice milk...

The Perfect Parent

Ty knocked himself out last week.

Knocked. Himself. OUT.

And shaved a good two years off my life.

Of course I was only standing about 10 feet away when he did it, which proves that the concept of "keeping an eye on the kids" is totally overrated. Ty was pushing a truck on the hardwood floor with his foot when the truck rolled forward and he flipped back. And knocked himself out.

I have to give myself credit for not freaking out. He came around after only an eternity a few seconds and started crying, which I took as a good sign. 9-1-1 was already punched in, but I hung up and speed-dialed the Children's Hospital nurse hot line instead. I don't know why, but I like that they know me by name over there. Anyway, Nurse Janet sent me packing to the nearest emergency room, which received us in record time. One lengthy exam, one CT scan, and three packages of graham crackers later, Ty was discharged home under a clean bill of health. Praise God.

It seems His angels are putting in some overtime around our house these days. I have to tell you that the week before Ty's frightening fall, we had an even more terrifying incident occur. Before I share though, you have to know that I NEVER move a car without all of my children accounted for - either in the house or buckled into their seats. It's a good rule anyway, but the accident that killed Steven Curtis Chapman's daughter last year in her own driveway has given me a healthy sense of paranoia. So I NEVER move a car when my children are outside. And isn't that the way all accident stories begin?

A few weeks ago, it was pretty clear that something was going on with the transmission in the minivan. I was not in a good mood, since we don't exactly have the money to fix a car that should run just fine. Instead of pulling the van all the way into the garage like I usually do, I pulled in only part way so I could check the transmission fluid. By the time that job was done, our neighbors, their son, my husband, and our four kids were all out in the driveway talking and playing. Around here, three adults to five kids is a pretty good ratio. So I counted all the kids, made sure every child was accounted for, and walked back into the garage to pull the van forward the last three feet. And then muttered a few inappropriate words under my breath when I couldn't find the keys.

That figures. Nothing's ever just easy. Can't even pull my car in the garage without it being a production...

I got out of the car, slammed the door, and stormed towards the kitchen to find my keys.

Just as Ty toddled around the front bumper of my car.

I am not exaggerating this at all. If my keys had been in the ignition where I was sure I'd left them, I would have pulled that car forward three feet and crushed my son. Our garage is a very tight space, and the car would have either rolled over him or pinned him to the wall.

I snatched Ty up and about hugged the breath out of him, while getting on my knees and thanking God that He is a better parent to my children than I am. Not just in terms of their safety - because clearly I can't keep them safe even when I am watching them - but in terms of their complete and total well-being.

I regularly beat myself up for all the ways I've failed as a parent. And I am terrified that my kids are going to grow up, move out, and never speak to me again, because I consistently fail to meet all of their needs.

When did I start thinking I was God?

I can't meet all of my children's needs. I will never be able to meet all of my children's needs. I succeed in keeping them from physical harm well enough, but not perfectly - as the bumps and bruises on their elbows and knees will attest. I try to keep them happy, but not all that effectively - which is clear to the public at large every time I take them grocery shopping. I hug them and kiss them and love on them every day - but I still manage to yell at them several times a day, too. I am so not a perfect parent.

But thank God He is.

He loves my own children even more than I do. Infinitely more so, because He was willing to sacrifice His own Son for a relationship with them. He is capable of giving my children more joy in their lives than I can because of the relationship they can have with Him. And He is even more capable than me at keeping them from physical harm; clearly so, because Ty is safe and healthy and with us today.

And I am so grateful for that.

Dear Doctor

Thank you for sending home an informational pamphlet in preparation for Ella's tonsillectomy. It's always helpful to have a sheet of bright orange paper to reference when one's child undergoes surgery. Unfortunately, I find that it isn't as thorough as some parents might prefer. I'm writing to suggest some changes you may wish to make on future pamphlets.

First of all, I'd like to recommend you add a paragraph to your pamphlet that informs parents how their child is to dress the morning of surgery. In our case, I suggested that Ella wear her pajamas in order to feel comfortable during her post-op stay. She disagreed - as I'm sure you noticed, since she accessorized her jammies with a tiara, tutu, and ballet slippers. Did this distract you at all during surgery? If not I'm glad, since dancing down the hospital corridors provided such a nice diversion for our daughter prior to her procedure. If it was a problem however, I would encourage you to be more specific about hospital dress code in the future.

As far as post-operative concerns, I find your pamphlet only moderately informative. For example, the section labeled "Diet" suggests that tonsillectomy patients should drink 4oz. of liquid every hour and includes a handy little sticker chart to help motivate the patient to drink. Are you aware, sir, that some children do not like sticker charts? That some children will, in fact, refuse to do anything asked of them, regardless of bribery and rewards? To make matters worse, you advise patients to stay away from milk the first few days after surgery. How exactly are parents like us supposed to get our child to drink anything? Ella doesn't drink anything but white milk, even when she's healthy! It's not like we can take her to Sonic, which boasts hundreds of drink combinations, and expect her to find one single drink she might enjoy. She won't. Granted, you allow Popsicles to count towards liquid intake. Unfortunately, Ella does not particularly care for Popsicles, as she considers them "too cold." Frankly, we could have used a little more direction from you in this area.

In fact, the entire "Diet" section should be re-written, as what you suggest conflicts entirely with what my daughter requests. You seem to think that jello, pudding, and ice cream are well-tolerated and even enjoyed by 5-year tonsillectomy patients. I am sorry to inform you that this is indeed NOT the case. My child would prefer to eat M&M's and pretzels - foods you specifically deny her, according to your pamphlet. Perhaps you would like to come over and prepare Ella's meals and snacks for the next two weeks?

Which, incidentally, is the amount of time your pamphlet directs us to moderate Ella's play. NO "vigorous activity?" NO running or biking? NO SWIMMING? My daughter came home from the hospital and immediately requested we walk the 1/2 mile to our neighborhood playground. As I write, she's pumping herself on the swing so high she can "touch the sky." Yet your pamphlet offers no alternative suggestions for activities. Nor does it indicate if I can tie her to a chair or bed without being questioned by the Department of Child and Family Services. Again, this would be helpful information to have.

Finally, your pamphlet references a post-operative condition known as hypernasality. According to the information provided, "it is normal for your child to have a higher voice...immediately after surgery." What it does not tell me it this: Are my ears supposed to be bleeding? It seems possible - indeed, probable - that my daughter's voice has ruptured my ear drums. Therefore, I suggest that if you decide to respond in some way to this letter that you do NOT pick up the phone to call me. A letter of apology will be sufficient.

I hope that you are not offended by the tone of my letter. I simply want to help you do a better job in the future of preparing parents. Hopefully you will find my suggestions useful.

Sincerely,

Stages

It's been one of those weeks this week.

OK, it's one of those weeks every week.

But this week seems particularly insane, despite the regular help I'm getting from Miss Amanda, my summer sitter. (Although around here she's "Miss A-Panda." Cute, right?) We love our Miss A-Panda. Well, except for when we're hitting her. Or locking her in a room, as the case may be.

Wait, though. Don't call the cops on me yet. These abuses are all courtesy of my almost 5-year old, Ella. For reasons I still haven't figured out, she decided to beat up on sweet Miss A-Panda - and lock her in a room - while I was out running errands with my mom the other day. Miss A-Panda, being the smart girl that she is, quickly popped the lock and picked up the phone to call the woman with the naughty stick Ella's mom.

Fortunately, I was almost home. Fortunately, too, I had a few minutes to vent to my mom about Ella's bad attitude, because she was able to calm me down and gently remind me that I've been through A LOT of stages with these kiddos. This is just one more stage, she told me. And she's right. Although the Hitting and Being a General Pill Stage? I'm over it. I can't wait for it to go the way of these other annoying stages that, praise God, eventually passed:

1. Worst Morning Sickness EVER Stage

I know, I know. You probably think that you had the worst morning sickness ever, and you're probably right - because morning sickness is THE MOST MISERABLE FEELING IN THE WORLD, regardless of your personal sickness level. But even my OB agrees that my level was off the charts: like a 19 out of a possible 10. During the course of my three (successful) pregnancies, I was hospitalized 14 times for excessive vomiting. During the twins' pregnancy, which very nearly killed me, I lost weight faster than my babies could gain; I looked like an orange stuck on toothpicks. Those times when I was temporarily discharged from the hospital, I had a home nurse monitoring me, a Zofran pump pumping anti-nausea medicine into my leg, and a PICC line in my arm delivering fluids and TPN. It was not my favorite stage ever.

I have plenty of gross / disgusting / kinda funny stories about my 25+ months' experience with hyperemesis (i.e. morning sickness on crack), which I'll probably write about at some point; but my point in writing about it now is simply to say: I didn't die. I thought at times I was going to, but I didn't. I survived, it's over, and I have four healthy and surprising chubby children to show for it. We made it.

2. Now My Baby Is Throwing Up Stage

The irony is that the next stage still had everything to do with digestive functions... just not my own. The Now My Baby Is Throwing Up Stage (better known within the medical community as acid reflux) was a different experience with each child. Emily and Evie had it, but I didn't really notice because I was too busy feeding, burping, bathing, changing, swaddling, and rocking them to really care about the spit-up all over my clothes. Ty had it as well, but he was what the pediatrician called a "happy spitter." In other words, I was covered in baby goo but Ty never fussed. Go figure.

Then there was Ella.

Ella was NOT a happy spitter. She was not a happy baby. In fact, members of my family can testify that Ella didn't stop crying for three months after we brought her home. My hubby's grandmother called it colic. I called it pure agony.

Even once the crying stopped diminished, the projectile vomiting continued for another three months. Plenty of people, who got used to seeing me regularly in semi-soggy clothes, asked why I didn't just use a burp cloth. At which point I'd pull three or more mushy, sodden burp clothes out of my diaper bag and ask, "Why?" It eventually got to the point where my sister could find me in a store simply by following the trail of baby vomit. How's that for birth control?

3. Make The Screaming Stop Stage

Ella made such a quick transition from spitting to screaming that I never really had a chance to celebrate the end of the Now My Baby Is Throwing Up Stage. We jumped right in, feet first, to the Make The Screaming Stop Stage.

Now again, I'm sure you think that your kid gets pretty loud. And he or she probably does pull off a good scream now and again. But Ella could shatter glass with her scream. No kidding, we could've taken out the whole crystal section at Macy's with one blood-curdling yell. It got to the point where I couldn't leave the house because she screamed ALL THE TIME.

Eventually, I got so desperate that I called a world-renowned counseling center, held the phone up to Ella, and after a few screams begged the man on the other end to tell me what I could do to make her stop. He told me to buy ear plugs and wait for the stage to pass. Easy for him to say, but in reality I had no choice... so that's what I did. And praise God, it finally passed - just about the time we found out I was pregnant with twins.

4. Diaper Removal Stage

The twins, of course, brought with them their own unique stages. What I had learned from parenting Ella was inadequate when I tackled their new, double-your-trouble phases. Like the Diaper Removal Stage.

This stage started shortly before Ty was born, and continued for a good six months. At first I wasn't too concerned, since the girls were still in their cribs and the damage was contained. I just put onesies on over their diapers and assumed that the problem was solved. And it was until they moved into their big girl beds - at which point they teamed up to unsnap one another's onesies, rip off their diapers and leave poopy-butt imprints on every piece of furniture, bedding, and window pane in the room.

It wasn't a pretty stage. I would've been well-served to strip the carpet and bedding from their rooms, paint the walls chocolate brown, and call it a day. But I persisted in fighting the battle, even wrapping their diapers in strapping tape before bedtime. Did you know that a child's tummy shrinks during the night, and that come day the taped-up diapers can just slide right off? If you do, you're smarter than I was because strapping tape did not exactly solve our problem. Nothing did. Eventually, I think the girls just got tired of painting the windows and walls with their poo and moved on to another stage, because it too has passed.

For now, anyway - since Ty is starting to get more curious about the mechanical workings of his disposable diaper. I'll have to cross my fingers and buy some onesies. But even if he does hit the Diaper Removal Stage, I know that it too will pass. As will - God willing - the Picky Eater Stage, the Arguing With Every Word That Comes From Mommy's Mouth Stage, and the Still Going Pee-pee In My Night-time Diaper Stage. And of course the Hitting and General Pill Stage. Surely it too will pass. Right?

Lord, I hope so.

Five Minutes on 285

There are two things you need to know as you read the following conversation:

1) 285 is a twelve-lane interstate of terror that goes around the city of Atlanta. I HATE driving on this road even at the calmest of times.

2) Even though I have four children in my mini-van at any given time, Ella is the dominant voice I hear - because the twins are usually playing quietly in the back and because Ty is - well, Ty.

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

"OK, guys. We have a long drive home, and it's rush hour traffic. I need everybody to be sweet and quiet so Mommy can concentrate. OK, Ella?"

"OK Mommy, we will... Mommy what is traffic?"

"Um, traffic just means that there are lots of cars all going the same way, really slow."

"Oh."

"Mommy you're driving too fast."

"No, I'm not. It's fine"

"Holy cow, Mommy! Watch out for that car!"

"Honey, it's fine. This is just traffic."

"What's traffic, Mommy?"

"I told you: Lots of cars, going really slow."

"Oh. Mommy, how did Nana give me this puzzle?"

"Huh? Oh, I don't know how. Didn't she just hand it to you?"

"Oh. Yeah. But WHY did she give me this puzzle?"

"I guess she thought you'd like it."

"Oh. I do like this puz... AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"What's wrong?!?"

"I...dropped...my...PUZZLE PIECE!!!!!!!!! Stop the car, Mommy!!! STOP!!!!!!"

"I can't, Ella. I'm driving!"

"I... WANT... MY... PUZZLE... PIECE...! MY... PUZZLE... PI... oh, I found it, Mommy! It was under my leg. Hee, hee. Isn't that silly, Mommy?"

"Hilarious, Ella. Now just work on your puzzle. I'm trying to drive, and there's a lot of traffic."

"OK, Mommy. What's traffic?"

"Lots of cars. Driving slow."

"Are you going slow?"

"Yes."

"You're not going too fast?"

"No."

"Is the policeman going to get you?"

"No."

"Because you're not driving too fast?"

"Correct."

"Why is your car beep-beeping?"

"Because that car almost hit us."

"Is that car going too fast?"

"No."

"Is the policeman going to take him away? Mom? Mommy? MOMMY!?!"

"What?!"

"Can I listen to my CD?"

"You can listen to Bob and Larry's Backyard Party, since it's already in the CD player."

"NOOOOOOOOO!!! I don't like that CD!!! I want a different CD, Mommy!!!"

"I can't reach another CD, Ella. I'm driving."

"But... I... want... my... blue... Veggie... Tales... C... D............."

"Wahhhhhh!!!"

"Emily, what's wrong?! Ella, stop crying so I can hear Emily!"

"I the baby, Mommy. I pretend the baby."

"Oh, are you and Evie playing Mommy - Baby?"

"Yes. But I want you to be the Mommy and I'll get in your tummy again and then I'll come out."

"Oh honey, I can't play Mommy - Baby right now. Besides, I don't think I can get you back in my tummy, Emily."

"But I was in your tummy first, Mommy. Wasn't I in your tummy first?"

"Yes, Ella. You were in my tummy first."

"How did I get in your tummy, Mommy?"

"Um, God put you there."

"HOW did God put me in your tummy?"

"Hey Ella, do you want to listen to your blue Veggie Tales CD?"

"No, I want to sing."

"Oh, OK. That sounds like a great idea."

"Oh Christmas tree, oh Christmas tree. How lovely have you been..."

"Ella, do you want to sing a different song?"

"No. OH CHRISTMAS TREE, OH CHRISTMAS TREE. HOW LOVELY HAVE YOU BEEN..."

"Ella, maybe you could sing a little quieter. Mommy's trying to concentrate."

"Because there's traffic?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Mommy, what's traffic?"

"Just keep singing, Ella."

"OK, Mommy."

It' Party Time!

Three days and counting before the official first birthday!

Were you around for that first tentative blog post? Probably not. I was so afraid of "putting myself out there" that I didn't even tell my husband what I was doing until I'd written several posts. Even then, it was my sister-in-law who kicked my blogging butt out of the closet when she outed me to the world on her blog. If it wasn't for her, I'd probably still be blogging in secret.

Wow. Aren't you lucky?

Of course, the birthday isn't until June 10. Yes, I rolled out my birthday gift / blog makeover a little early. And then I left town. And left you with nothing to read.

Oooops.

I suppose I should feel bad, but I don't. I'm back now. And before I get into my little party contest, I have to tell you that the kids and I had a great week at the beach - as evidenced by the amazing pictures Andrea shot (with comments by me):

Here's a shot all three girls on the beach, about 1.2 seconds before that wave out there washed up to their knees. No, we didn't take the "during" shot - we were all too busy running. Then we were drying eyes. And Emily's panties...

Here's Ella. She's beautiful, isn't she? My hubby can't even look at this picture. Of course, what he doesn't know is that Andrea shot 45 pictures prior to this. My big girl CANNOT hold still to save her life. She yells "cheese" as she's running away, "cheese" as she's squinting into the sun, and "cheese" as she's bending over to pick sand out of her toes. The only reason we managed to get this shot is because I was standing behind the camera saying, "DON'T smile, Ella. Whatever you do, DON'T look at me and smile." Funny how my oldest child can't help but disobey...

Then there's Emily. Thinking I'd learned my lesson with Ella, I told her the same thing: "DON'T smile, whatever you do." You know what she did? She obeyed! We have a whole selection of pictures of her staring blankly at the camera. It turns out it works better for Miss Emily if I just say, "OK, look at the camera and smile pretty!" And then just walk away.





Here's Evie. My happy girl always smiles, but for some reason this is my favorite shot of her. It's a more classic "Emily look" (and if the pictures weren't labeled, I'd probably get them mixed up), but here Evie is looking at her reflection in the lens. Precious...

And then there's "Ty-Ty, Sugar Pie," as big sister Ella calls him. No, Andrea didn't have any difficulty getting this shot. Nope. No story here. Just my sweet, happy boy.

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

Well enough about our trip to the beach, which - did I mention? - was glorious. I've got a party to prepare. And you've got some work to do.


Hopefully you noticed that the name of my blog is no longer "Surviving 4." Put Me in the Zoo, by Robert Lopshire, is one of my kids' favorite books. When I was trying to come up with a new blog name, it was the first idea I came up with. Because, well, I live with five monkeys. (C'mon - of course I'm going to count my husband!) Plus, it was a lot easier to come up with a blog design in a zoo theme.


In honor of the birthday and the name change, I'm giving away a copy of Lopshire's Put Me in the Zoo.



And in case you already have the book, you don't have kids, or you're still waiting for grand kids, I'm also throwing in a $10 gift certificate to Ella's favorite store.

Target!!!
(Actually no. Her favorite store is the Home Depot. So it's really her second-favorite store.)

All you have to do is leave a comment at the end of this blog, telling me the name of your favorite children's book. That's it! On Wednesday, I'll pick a name (randomly, I promise) from the list and announce the winner on my blog. (Note: If you leave an anonymous comment, make sure you write your name in the actual comment somewhere, so I know who you are!)

Have fun and good luck!

Surprise!

Welcome to my new blog! It got finished earlier than I was expecting, so I'm a little late on the official kick-off and a little early for June 10th's birthday party. But welcome anyway! I hope you love the new look and the updated pictures as much as I do.

Things are still a bit under construction, but I wanted you to notice a couple of things: 1) I'll be advertising for Andrea Ward Studios on this blog, so all of the sidebar pictures are courtesy of Andrea! There will be a button up soon that you can click on. It will take you directly to her site, where you can view some great samples of her photography, as well as her brilliant fine art. She is worth every penny in either medium, so I hope you'll stop by to check out her work.

2) I added a section in the sidebar that takes you to some of my favorite posts from the last year. If you haven't been following me for long, I hope you'll go back and check these out. They might be good for a laugh or two. (And be sure to check out my most recent post - yesterday was a doozie of a day.)

Don't forget to check back in for details on my upcoming birthday party. I'll be conducting my first giveaway, and you might win the birthday present.

Can't wait to hear what you all think about the new look!