Outnumbered Two to One

My two year old…ah. He’s at a special stage in his life. A delicious phase that involves a roller coaster of emotions that I, his father, and his siblings are constantly weathering.

Alright, granted most of those emotions are varied and not-so-subtly nuanced states of misery, but there’s a difference nonetheless.

Observe…

This one I call “mild indignation” brought on by a frosting mustache as captured by Mommy on a digital medium. Note the refusal to make eye contact with the camera lens.

This would be “moderate agitation” incited by a playmate attempting to muscle in on his snapshot at the park. There can only be one star after all.

This is most likely “harried aggravation”, prompted by Mommy’s repeated requests that he stand still for yet another photo op, this one in a dinosaur costume that he promptly shed before angrily stomping away.

And this last in the series is aptly labeled “extreme frustration” or possibly even “cocktail of vexation with a twist of outrage” inspired by none other than a despicable choral version of the birthday song sung for some one else.

Occasionally, he’ll spare a smile or two, just don’t make any sudden movements, that could change at the drop of a hat.

• During my morning routine, I’ve got roughly three minutes to brush my teeth, rinse my mouth, wash my face and get dressed. I may or may not have time to finger comb my hair before I slip on some shoes and dart out the door to distribute my brood to their various school buildings. Those three minutes are crucial and counted down to the very second. Three minutes in the morning are nothing. They go by in a blink, a sneeze, a breath.

• Why then when I’m on the treadmill, panting like an overheated Labrador, do three minutes feel like an eternity? A forever of burning lungs and fatigued muscles and the slowest seconds of my life, next only to the torturous teeth grinding minutes of a contraction during active labor. It’s like a weird exercise time warp.

• Surprisingly, I didn’t eat much candy during Easter. I’m not gloating, there was an abundance of Hershey’s Kisses, Peanut Butter Cups and foil covered chocolate eggs to be had, but I preferred instead to overdosed on puff pastries, fried ham croquettes, and cheesy pasta. I also had some spinach salad somewhere in there, and some fruit salad, so it balances out, right?

•   My teen got a haircut last Thursday, check out the before and after.

• On the drive to the beauty salon, this darling girl embarked on a well rehearsed rant about the insignificance of hair, deriding her teenage counterparts who fought to keep their hair long, or cried actual tears when someone took a pair of scissors to their silky tresses. This darling girl had her heart set on a short haircut. Which she got. Which she proceeded to complain, whine, and cry actual tears about over the course of the entire weekend. Please tell her how cute she looks, cause Mommy’s compliments are apparently not good enough…

• And to prove that all my kids are not selfish little chocolate hoarders, here’s one from Easter.

• That’s my tween putting one of her eggs in to my two year old’s basket, not stealing one for herself. Not that my little guy needed any extra sugar in his arsenal. Earlier in the day we attended another hunt and while I was busily chatting away with my neighbor he must have digested at least a pound of chocolate confections. When we brought him home he proceeded to strip down to his diaper and fall asleep face down on his carpet in a half naked, chocolate drunk state. He didn’t even stir when I picked him up and laid him in his crib. Talk about crashing. Wow.

For more fabulous randomocity (it is so a word), visit Keely The Un-Mom in her fabulously random lair.

Recently my two year old son has exhibited some familiar signs as listed in a Babycenter potty training readiness article …

• shows interest in others’ bathroom habits (a little too much if you ask me, he’s almost scientific in his observations)
• dislikes the feeling of a wet or dirty diaper (the ear piercing squeals and tormented expressions that follow result in some very inefficient use of our Luvs supply)
• gives physical or verbal signs when he’s having a bowel movement (definitely TMI when it’s shouted in the middle of a crowded room, also farts are announce periodically, accompanied by a smug grin)
• demonstrates a desire for independence (trips through a parking lot are taken in a white knuckled grip around a tiny wrist because my little tyrant eschews public hand holding)
• Can follow simple instructions (he just generally interprets them as suggestions, to adhere to or ignore as he sees fit)
• Is in a generally cooperative stage (are kids ever cooperative after the age of 2?)

You’d think after successfully schooling three children in the rituals of toileting, I would be a little more confident in my abilities. But the prospect of this is always a tad daunting. What will it entail? How frustrated will we both become? How much upholstery am I going to have to burn because it’s become soaked with urine on more than one occasion?

Seriously, we cannot afford to replace our family vehicle right now because it suddenly starts smelling like a public restroom.

Despite my trepidation, I made a purchase the other day during a routine Target spree. Really I just went in for some groceries and a replacement watch, $200 later we were in possession of this…

Sigh.

It was mostly an impulse buy, me deviating through the baby supply aisle while my husband toured the rest of the kids through toys. When I happened upon the training seats, I made a split second decision to put it in our cart. As I approached the family, I held it out to my two year old who accepted it like he would any shiny, brightly colored new toy.

“OH, COOL!”

Now, whether or not he’ll maintain his enthusiasm for the thing during the next few weeks, remains to be seen.

I won’t be switching him to underpants just yet.

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For more unrestricted, uninhibited Spins, visit Sprite’s Keeper.

I owe my pediatrician an apology.

Well, not so much my pediatrician because I never actually questioned his integrity to his face, instead I opted to express my indignation via the World Wide Web. Then today, after The Mother’s thoughtful comments regarding any unintentional phone features I may or may not have had installed on my home line that would have impeded my doctor’s attempts to return my call last Thursday night, I decided to go online and take a look at my plan.

Guess what I discovered when I did a little research in to the details of my AT&T phone bundle…a little something labeled Caller ID Name-Number Delivery Anonymous Call Blocking.

I also learned I have the ability to forward selected calls to my cell phone, put 30 numbers on speed dial, and personalize the ring tones of my preferred callers.

Who knew?

So my pediatrician is not a total heel after all. Although he did call us at 3 am once , from a party, but I forgave him for that.

Unfortunately I’m still in the process of switching doctors, since recently his office has taken some weird cost cutting measures. Rather than purchase vaccines to have on hand, they’ve been referring patients to the county health department to get their immunizations there. Or, patients can pay for the shots up front, out of pocket, then try to get their insurance to reimburse.

It’s a weird policy that’s resulted in my youngest being behind on his immunizations.

The doctor himself is fine, he’s been with the boys since they were born, and I hate walking away from his office since he’s familiar with our history and the kids and he knows us by our first names, but well…all things come to an end some time, don’t they.

As a mom, I never want my kids to get sick. Ever. If it were up to me, I would intercept each and every nasty cold and flu germ and take it upon myself to weather the illness for them. The reasoning is only one part martyrdom and two parts self preservation. Sick kids are hard to take care of, number one. Number two, worrying about my sick kids is way more difficult to treat than say, clogged up sinuses or a nagging cough. They sell over the counter medication for that stuff.

Thursday after my last post, my two-year old’s temperature rose to about 103 degrees under his arm. That in itself was concerning enough. Worse still was the sound he made when he was breathing, a rattling wheeze that affected both his inhales and exhales. The cough was clearly croupy, but sitting in a steamed bathroom barely improved it and the steroid nebulizer treatment I’d given him before bed yielded similar results.

I called the Dr.’s answering service at about 10:30. When he didn’t call back, my husband packed the baby up and took him to the ER where he was promptly seen and treated. His oxygen saturation levels were a little low and they kept him for about three hours for observation, but he was home, breathing easier by 4 am.

My doctor’s office called me at about 9 am the next morning. Almost 12 hours after my original call to the answering service.

“The doctor tried to call you last night,” the receptionist said over the phone, “but couldn’t get through because of the call block.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “I don’t have call block on my phone, that’s not possible.”

“His call was blocked, that’s why he couldn’t get through.”

“We don’t have that feature on our home phone, why wouldn’t he have been able to get through?”

“So tell me how your son is feeling?” she asked me, completely disregarding my befuddlement and the argument at hand. The rest of the conversation was brief, and my pediatrician never once got on the telephone with me. Coward.

I was already in the process of switching doctors, but this whole exchange just kind of reinforced my decision.

Needless to say, it’s been a long weekend. My six year old is fully recovered from his flu outbreak and my two year old is on the mend, still drippy nosed and coughing, but much improved. Thanks to everyone for the concern and support. I’m sorry I haven’t been able to read and comment much in the past few days, but hopefully I’ll be able to catch up with my pal Google Reader during the coming week. I mean, all four of my kids will be home, but I’m sure I’ll have plenty of free time. Right?

It didn’t take a crystal ball to foretell that one sick and contagious child was only the beginning of my woes. Especially when said plague bearer was continually hacking unrestrained bits of toxic phlegm in to his younger brother’s previously healthy face. Not to mention the inadvertent cup sharing, face licking, and finger sucking.

The  dominoes are falling, one by one, into influenza’s sinister clutches.

The two-year-old, my diapered bundle of harnessed electricity, is currently a bleary eyed feverish mess. It is compounded by the fact that his ability to communicate is not quite as evolved as his older brother’s. Complaints and requests are usually shrieked at an inaudible pitch, possibly one only dogs can hear. Trying to decipher the words is another thing altogether. It’s almost like playing a really angry version of charades with someone from another country where language and hand gestures are completely reversed - holding your stomach means you want to be carried, rubbing your eyes means you’re cold, throwing up in Mommy’s bed means…well, that one is self explanatory.

So of course, mostly capable Mom, is for the interim, reduced to a worried, neurotic, scatterbrained lunatic. I’m agonizing over every cough, every whimper, every uneaten bite of Jello and unsipped cup of water. It makes me short tempered and irritable and generally unpleasant to live with…just ask the rest of the family.

It’s going to be a long weekend.

• My six year old has the flu. It sucks. He’s had a fever since Saturday. He’s lethargic, his appetite is nonexistent. I hate seeing him this way, I really get beside myself with worry. The kid is so damn skinny as it is, I’m afraid he’s going to waste away to nothing. I find myself hovering over him, constantly brushing the hair from his forehead and urging him to eat something, I’m driving myself bananas. It reminds me of when I brought him home from the hospital, he was so tiny and slight, he was terribly jaundiced and every time I looked at him I would dissolve into tears. I don’t want to cry every time the poor boy sniffles, I’m going to give him a complex, not to mention the puddles I’ll leave behind turn our ceramic tile floors into quite the slip hazard.

• Yes, it is in fact that time of the month again…thanks for asking.

• Sigh.

• It’s not that I get completely unreasonable during this particular phase of the lunar cycle, it’s that I tend to walk a very thin line between unreasonable and certifiable. It’s like I teeter on this very precarious edge, poised ever so delicately on that precipice I like to think of as the cliffs of insanity. Those of you who’ve never watched The Princess Bride really should.

• So let’s see…cramping - check, migraine - check, lower back pain - check, anxiety…anxiety? anxiety, where are you? Oh there you are, hiding behind the sugar cravings and the mood swings. Check, check, check. All systems go. Let’s just hold on to our hats shall we?

• It’s not that I meant to eat the muffin batter, I mean, I’m an adult, I can overlook the gooey, cinnamon and raw egg concoction in favor of healthier fare, like a carrot stick, or a bowl full of bran. I was actually on my way to dig some bran out of the pantry, when the muffin batter accosted me, nay provoked me, into licking the mixing bowl clean in a matter of seconds. It was over so fast, I barely have any memory of it at all. It must have been mind control. I’m thinking maybe the government is to blame, or aliens or…probably the government.

• According to our pediatrician the flu epidemic we’re currently battling is highly contagious so we need to take adequate precautions to ensure it doesn’t spread from child to child. Considering my kids are routinely spitting/coughing/licking one another, I am pretty much guaranteed to have four sick children sneezing directly on my person over the course of the next few days. Worse still is the fact that Spring Break is next week, so I’ll be home bound with four sick and incredibly bored kids for seven whole days. I may have to give myself a lobotomy as a precautionary measure.

• I’ve officially stopped watching Heroes. I’ve deleted it from my DVR as an act of protest against bad writing and lackluster acting. I think NBC is really going to miss me on Monday nights, I can feel it.

• That field trip I went on was instrumental in reminding me why I abandoned my aspirations of becoming an elementary school teacher. By the end of that interminable bus ride home, I was ready to fling myself from one of those emergency windows in the hopes of escaping the kicks to my seat and the incessant yammering. Kissing asphalt seemed like a better prospect than knocking one of the little monkeys unconscious with a souvenir Spider-man mug.

• It did however make me happy to come home to my own sleeping monkeys, that coincidentally missed me while I was gone.

• For the record, I would never knock a child unconscious unless they really deserved it  with overpriced drink ware. It’s just not in my peaceful, loving nature.

For more randomness…well, you know where to GO .

When we signed up to go to Islands of Adventure for my tween’s 5th grade class trip, the big prize at the end of the interminable predawn bus ride was the prospect of riding the Incredible Hulk Coaster. Walking in to the park, the snaking green tracks dominated the skyline. The roar of the coaster unmistakable as it twisted and dove at nausea inducing angles.

My daughter’s friends were not keen on riding. They balked immediately at the idea, but she and I were itching to get strapped in to the seats and scream ourselves hoarse.

As we approached the line that boasted a brief 20 minute wait, my eager, bouncing daughter was instructed to sidle up next to the measuring post. The minimum height for riders was 54″, marked by a horizontal black and white ruler. My daughter fit comfortably under it, with barely half an inch to spare. She was turned away at the entrance.

Talk about disappointment. Talk about crushing blows.

Sure there were other rides, sure there was an abundance of fun to be had, but the Hulk and Dueling Dragons were off limits.

To add insult to injury, it seemed almost every other kid on the bus ride home was bragging about having ridden the Hulk coaster at least twice.  So our return trip wasn’t lightened by excited chatter about how great the park was, instead it was tainted by my daughter’s soured expression and brooding silence.

Bummer.

Don’t worry, it wasn’t all gloom. We did manage to get on Dr. Doom’s Fearfall ride, among others. My biggest gripe…lunch. Seriously, it was like prison food. You’d think with the exorbitant amounts they charge for admission they’d at least be able to serve something decent at the in-park eateries. The “grilled” chicken sandwich I had was more like a dehydrated chicken nugget with sear marks on a stale bun. Thank God for condiments, without the help of the eight mayo packets I had to lubricate that chicken with I don’t think I would’ve been able to choke it down. Yikes.

At least she was able to muster the occasional smile…

•  The gentle pitter-patter of rain on my roof this morning made it that much harder for me to rise and greet the day. It was such a soothing sound and the muted sunlight was like an open invitation to stay in bed. Now, the six year old boy that snuck into my bed last night and spent all morning kicking me in the spine was somewhat less inviting. He was more like a cruel eviction - the kind where they don’t even put a notice up, just throw your clothes on the lawn and change the locks.
• I got even by making him go to school. (Insert evil laugh here.) The power of Mom.
• Alright I’m not really that tough, I let him stay home from Kindergarten yesterday because he was clutching his stomach and whining inconsolably. The whining conveniently ceased after I dropped both of his sisters off at school and he curled up with some chocolate milk on the sofa. He was all smiles after that. Although he was quick to point out, he wasn’t smiling because he pulled one over on me, he just smiles sometimes when he’s sick.
• I smile sometimes when 3/4 of my children are at school, and 1/4 are napping.
• I’m so hungry right now, except I want to eat something delicious and everything in my kitchen is lame. A lame sandwich, or some lame leftovers, or possibly a lame can of soup. It almost makes me not want to eat except for the way my stomach lining is currently trying to devour itself.
• Someone ate the last Fiber One bar in my pantry, but left the box on the shelf so that when I opened the door and got excited over munching on a sweet caramel concoction, I was rudely disappointed when I reached in and found nothing but cardboard and space. Somewhere one if my kids is having a good laugh at my expense. They’re probably boasting some significant regularity too.
• Yesterday my tween was watching Charlie Unicorn on her computer. For those of you unfamiliar, here’s a little taste of his bizarre slightly insane randomness. I warn you, it might be a tad annoying…I don’t expect it will make me any less starving.
• Don’t watch unless you have 3 minutes and 46 seconds to completely waste.
• Also, it may offend you if you have an aversion to using organ harvesting as a comedic tool.

Since tomorrow is my son’s 6th birthday, we thought we’d include his Kindergarten class in on the celebration by bringing cupcakes to school for everyone to partake in. Luckily Publix has this nifty creation called a pull-apart cake, which is basically individual cupcakes set up in rectangular formation then iced and decorated like a normal sheet cake would be. Any decorated cake they offer can be set up in this fashion.

My son, the dino nut, opted for a prehistoric theme…

Lovely, isn’t it?

The great thing about this cake is that there are roughly two and a half inches of butter-cream frosting smothering the tops of these 30 cupcakes.

In case you don’t know, most 5 to 6 year olds will only eat the frosting off the top of their cupcake, the actual cake part will end up (still wrapped neatly in its paper liner) face-down in the garbage can. Then said children will promptly ask for a second cupcake they can similarly lick clean.

Seems kind of like a waste of $40 but look at these faces…

Tomorrow, we embark on a birthday safari…stay tuned.