I should have known better...

~
I had two doctor's appointments today - one OB and one diabetes. My daughter was going to be at school and I had made arrangements with a friend to watch my son. For the past week, I had been blissfully imagining what a kid free 3 hours, in the middle of the day no less, would look like. Sure, I would be at the doctors, but who cares? I wouldn't have my kids with me. I envisioned getting Starbucks and sipping coffee and reading my Kindle while in the waiting room - it was going to be heavenly. (On another note, how pathetic is it that going to the doctor kid free is my idea of bliss?)

I should have known better. I should have known that simply dreaming about how wonderful this would be would mean that it would never happen.

My daughter had a cough yesterday and a fever last night. I couldn't send her to school. And since my children are petrie dishes, I was fairly certain my son would be sick in less than 24 hours. Which meant he couldn't go to his friend's.

And I couldn't reschedule the doctor's appointments.

They were great for the OB appointment. Sure, there was the instance when my son turned the lights off in the reception room when I wasn't looking, but for the most part they were really good. They sat on the couch and watch the Sesame Street videos I had fortuitously downloaded to my phone earlier that morning.

It was at the second doctor's appointment that things started to go downhill. See, the diabetes doctor shares his office with 6 other diabetes doctors and 2 nutritionists. And there are always a lot of old people in the room; maybe one other preggo woman. There are never any kids there.

Today, my kids changed all that.

After sitting so quietly at the OB's office, my son decided he didn't want to sit quietly anymore. He wanted to climb over the chairs. And the tables. He even tried to crawl into a potted plant. Then he leaned over a chair, practically crawled into an elderly woman's lap, and said, "HELLO! Book?" I'm guessing he wanted a story.

My daughter was whiny. She wanted to go home. She wanted to read. She wanted to watch Jake and the Neverland Pirates. She wanted Daddy. She wanted McDonalds. She didn't want to be here.

So I was pulling out all of my mom tricks - videos, books, toys, snacks, games - and nothing was working. The old people were staring at me. Judging. Whispering. There were no smiles of indulgence, no quick looks shot my way to say, "It's okay, I've been there."

As an elderly woman was leaving, she stopped to speak to me. "You know," she said, using that tone. (You know the tone - the one that old woman reserve for young mothers? The condescending, if these were my children, I would beat them tone? The you-obviously-have-no -idea-what-you-are-doing tone?) "You shouldn't bring your children to doctor's offices. There are germs here. They might get sick."

I forced a smile. I should have murmured a polite thank you and ignored her. Instead, I said, "That's okay, they are all ready sick."

At that moment, my son sneezed in her face.

Mommy Snowman

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My daughter danced out of preschool today, positively beaming. "Lookit Momma!" she cried, thrusting a blue poster at me. "I made you a snowman!! It's name is Mommy!"

As I oohed and ahhed over it, I noticed the story on the back. Allow me to share:

"This is my snowman, Mommy. She got eyelids too. She makes pizza spaghetti. It's her favorite. She goes to work, a little bit, doing spaghetti stuff. My mommy puts me to bed when it gets dark and reads me four story books."

I'm totally putting "spaghetti stuff" on my resume.

Crazy Things My Kids Say, Volume 281,235

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Girlie, crying to me, "Brother hit me and made me serious!!"

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Boyo, after we had to install a KEY LOCK to keep him out of the entertainment center. "Mommy? Need key pwease!"

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Girlie: "Momma, did you know you have Baby Auntie Katie in your tummy?"

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Boyo: "Momm-EEE!! Open gate pwease! Giant on show! Nononononononononononono!" (accompanied by vigorious head shaking)

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Girlie: "I have a yucky cough and a froggie in my throat. I need water to wash the froggie down to my knees so it will go POP! out my knee. If I don't have water, it will climb up to my head and go pop out a whole in my head by ear."

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Girlie: (after falling at the park and skinning her knee) "My knee hurts!! I'm so frustrated with it!!"

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Boyo: (after tripping over his two feet) giggling "Eat it!"

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Girlie: (after hearing her brother wailing from the other room): "Don't worry! I didn't hit him!"

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Boyo: (after running into a wall when he wasn't looking): "Sowwee Mommy."

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Girlie: (taking a dollar in quarters out of my purse): "Momma, you borrowed it to me!"

Girls: 2, Boys: 1

We are having a baby girl! We can't wait to meet her in July!

Teaching and Kids

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I'm a virtual teacher. That means I work from home. That means I teach once a week, but I set the times that are convienent for me.

Or so I thought.

I held a class on Wednesday at 1 pm. Boyo's normally asleep and Girlie's normally enthralled with a show then.

Oh, not this Wednesday!!

Boyo was settled into his bed, ready for his nap. Girlie was coloring in her room.

12:57: I'm chatting with students when my daughter waddles out of her room, panties around her ankles, shouting "I need you to wipe my butt!" The students who are in my "room" early started to smirk.

1:00: I press record and start teaching.

1:01: My son poops. I can smell it three rooms away. I pray he stays asleep and keep teaching.

1:03: My daughter yells, "It smells like poop in here!" My students start to snicker.

1:06: My son wakes up crying. My daughter says, "I'll go get him!" She proceeds to run to his room, clamber over the baby gate like a monkey, and slam the door. Silence. I keep teaching.

1:09: My daughter opens her brother's door, climbs over the gate, and stands in the hallway, shouting, "Brother got poop on EVERYTHING!" My students are now hilariously laughing.
I take five minutes - posing the questions: What do you think was the start of the Cold War? Why? for my students to ponder - and go to my son's room. My daughter's right. There is poop on the boy, bed, pillow, blanket -- in short, everywhere. Working quickly, I strip the boy, clean him up, put him in his sister's bed, and reset up the baby gate. I set Girlie up in my room.

1:14: I start teaching again. Out of the corner of my eye, I see my daughter clamber over the baby gate into her room. I decide to ignore it so long as they are quiet. After all, how much trouble can they get into?

Alot.

1:35: I finish my class. It's eerily quiet in my daughter's room. I hear her say, "And then you just jump." I answer a student's question, while I am carrying my laptop to my daughter's room to see what is jump-worthy. The door to her room opens. She shoves a chair to the baby gate. Her brother climbs up the chair, throws a leg over the baby gate, and tries to "just jump" over it. He and the baby gate collapse.

1:36: I call it a day with my students and comfort my son. As I am rubbing his back, I notice the crayon markings on my daughter's wall.

I need a nanny on Wednesdays.

Why I Will Never Fly With My Kids Alone AGAIN

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Because my son is two.

Because there is no safe room in which to put my son when he throws a tantrum (like at home).

Because when you have to turn Sleeping Beauty off so the pilot can land the plane, my son will lose it.

Because sitting next to a screaming, red faced, furious two year old while all the other passengers stare at you is embarrassing.

Because my son can throw a temper tantrum for an hour - an HOUR! - without stopping.

Because when your son decides to go limp and you are 18 weeks pregnant and have a 3 year old, a car seat, two carry-ons and your daughter's stuffed bear to carry, you can't just pick him up.

Because the flight attendant will say to you in a syrupy voice, "Oh dear! Someone looks mad! What can I do?" as your son tries to kick the seat in front of him and wails "No!" repeatedly. And all you want to do is hand her your son and say, "Can you gate check this please?"

Because my husband could hear us coming five minutes before he saw us.

Because my daughter's screaming, "Brother, you stop crying RIGHT NOW!" wasn't helpful.

Because other people were telling me to beat my child. (Seriously. Two women told me "If that were my kid, he would have gotten a spanking by now." Please explain to me how smacking my child will get him to stop crying? I have never understood that.)

Because when I forget about this little incident, and decide to take my kids up to San Francisco by myself in a few months, you will write me brief note, reminding me to read this blog post.

Lack of Understanding or Stubbornness?

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My daughter is all about numbers lately. She could count to twenty by the time she was two, but she was just reciting the stupid number song I had taught her. But now she gets that numbers represent something... she goes around and counts everything she can. She wants to know how old people are. How many pets they have. How many cheerios are in her bowl. How many cars on the freeway.

So we were sitting in the car the other day and she was counting how many girls there were (2) versus how many boys (1). Then she started counting all of the white cars. Then she counted all of the gold fish she had in her cup. And then she moved on to ages.

"I'm three," she told me.

"Uh-huh," I murmured.

"Brother's two."

"That's right," I said absentmindedly.

"Daddy's thirty-five."

"Good."

"You're forty one."

"That's ri--wait, what? No, I'm not," I said a little desperately. "Girlie, don't add to Mommy's age. Mommy's only 31."

"That's what I said," Girlie said with exasperation. "You're forty one."

The little devil just shoved me over the hill.

Mommy vs. Auntie

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Scenerio: My son pulls his shoe off at the park and proceeds to throw it at another little boy.

Mommy: (on it before the shoe makes it off his foot) No, honey, keep your shoes on, we don't take your shoes off at the park.

Auntie: I wonder why he's taking his shoe off... oh, he can't throw it that far... oh, yes he can! Ha!
(They had to leave the park after the other kid's mom got mad)

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Scenerio: My daughter orders Momma and her Auntie not to talk.

Mommy: Girlie, I don't like it when you talk to us like that. It's very rude, and you are just a little girl. If you talk to us like that again, you will go to your room.

Auntie: (Turns to me) I can't talk to you any more because Girlie said I'm not allowed.

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Scenerio: My children want cheetos - and only cheetos - for lunch.

Mommy: You can have some if you eat some cheese, apple slices, and sandwich too.

Auntie: That sounds good... do you guys want some juice to wash it down? Here's the bag of cheetos, can you guys share on your own? (Cheetos are now ground into my carpet.)

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Scenerio: Girlie is crying because Boyo took her Barbie laptop away.

Mommy: We are going to share and take turns. Boyo, it's Girlie's turn right now. It can be your turn in one minute.

Auntie: (scoops up Boyo) If you give this back to Sissy, I'll buy you your own.

~
Scenerio: Other moms at the park are debating what kind of new car to get.

Mommy: (shamelessly eavesdropping and thinking) Oh, that's a good point. I'll have to tell my husband... what? Oh, you can't get that car with three kids and one on the way...

Auntie: (shamelessly eavesdropping and thinking) Are you kidding me? What is this, Desperate Housewives of North Orange County? Just buy a car all ready!

What would you do?

I'm flying up North to see my family this weekend. With Girlie and Boyo. By myself. The thought of it makes me slightly ill.

Girlie has flown several times before - no prob. She's easy - a new coloring book, a new box of crayons, and a juice cup and she will forget she's on a plane.

Boyo scares the bejeezus out of me. The last time he was on a plane he was six months old. And he is not a calm, listen-to-Mommy-follow-directions-type of toddler.

I'm scared that this is going to happen.

So I'm scared of the flight, excited for the challenge, and wondering if my belief in my ability to handle two toddlers on an airplane is stronger than my actual ability to handle two toddlers on an airplane.

And, as I do with everything, I'm planning ahead like crazy. DVD player, check. New toys, check. Enough snacks to get us through a week, check. A change of clothes, check. 100 diapers, check.

Each kid gets their own seat. And hence, my predicament...

...do I drag Boyo's carseat through the airport so I can put him in his seat, thereby restraining him for the flight? The thought of dragging it through the airport, with two kids and all their sh#$ is a very daunting task.

...or do I check it and hope and pray (hard), that my son will sit docilely on the airplane, trapped between me and the window, and calmly eat snacks, drink juice, and watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. The thought of him refusing to do sit quietly, possibly (probably) screaming, climbing, and doing God knows what else, is also very daunting.

What would you do?

I finally got one!!

I've mentioned a few times that taking pictures of my kids together don't always go as planned. In fact, I mentioned it here. And here.

Still... the gods have smiled. I got a perfect one for their Valentine's Day card. And it has only taken me two years.

I don't even care that they are still in pj's and don't match.

Some people shouldn't be nurses/ultrasound technician people.

~
I've been very candid about my son's health problems.

Thankfully, we seem to be at the end of the road (knock wood). He's off his meds. He doesn't have to go to the doctor weekly anymore. I no longer go into over protective, get your germs away from my kid mother mode any time someone sneezes in his vicinity. He's sleeping through the night (sort of). And I haven't even gone into his room at night to check if he was breathing in at least a week. Okay, so I snuck in yesterday. And the day before that. Sue me.

There was just one more test... a heart echo. For those of you who have never had this procedure, you lie on a bed with your shirt off while a nurse or ultrasound technician person runs a wand over your chest, recording all sorts of stuff - size, beat, chambers, etc. Pretty easy if you are an adult. Pretty much sucks if you are two and don't understand.

Still, I went in prepared. Girlie had a plethora of snacks and crafts to keep her occupied and out of my hair so I could focus on Boyo. He had the DVD player and a new Elmo DVD. When we were ready to get started, I took off his shirt, climbed up on the cot with him, and held him in my arms.

He did great! Didn't even notice... until the end. The nurse/ultrasound technician person said, "Great, I need you to hold his head to the side."

"Uh, what?" I asked.

"I need to get under his chin for the last part of the echo."

Now, I am not a nurse/ultrasound technician person, so I didn't question it, but I wanted to ask why she needed to scan his neck when his heart was in his chest. Did she get lost?

My son was not happy to have me press his head sideways. He began to cry, and the nurse/ultrasound technician person said, "We need him to be quiet."

Good luck with that, lady.

"How long do I have to hold him for?" I asked.

"About five minutes," she said, jamming the wand into his neck.

Are you freaking kidding me?!?

So I pinned my son down to the cot, while he wept silent tears that fell into my hands. I sang to him and whispered nonsense to try to soothe. I promised him a trip to the 99 Cent Store and McDonald's. I told him I would take him to Disneyland. I told him that daddy would bring home M&Ms. Anything to make him happy.

He didn't scream or wail, but his tears continued to fall and his chest heaved with great big silent, gulping sobs. And even though it broke my heart, I was handling it.

Right up until the moment my 3 year old crept over to the cot, patted her brother's leg and said, "It's okay, brother, you are so brave! You don't have to cry." So naturally, I started to cry.

Nurse/Ultrasound Technician Person finished and said, "Well, hopefully that will do. Toward the end I think we picked up your and your daughter's talking. We really need quiet you know."

I gritted back a nasty retort (since my daughter would have cheerfully repeated it for ages), and said, "Well, if the doctors don't like it, they can bring him for a heart echo."

What ever happened to bedside manner?