Our Ordinary Days

Sick Boy

Elliot.  Poor Elliot.  He is a sick boy.  He has a terrible stomach bug.  A stomach bug that I'm hoping he doesn't share.  It's a bad one.

He started vomiting at midnight last night, and then he vomited every 20 minutes until the sun came up.  It. was. bad.

He was so miserable all day today.  We finally went to the doctor at 11.  By that time his vomiting had slowed to every hour.  Ugh.  The doctor gave him some medicine to stop the nausea.  Thankfully, the medicine was fast-acting.  He hasn't thrown up since.  And he has even kept some saltines and Gatorade down.

After our trek to the doctor, Elliot was feeling so exhausted and yucky and wanted nothing more than to get back on the couch and go to sleep.  We were getting home just in time before he melted down completely.  But to our disappointment, my garage door opener wouldn't work.  It wouldn't work!  And I didn't have a key to the house.  We were locked out.

I quickly devised a plan:  first, stop at my dear neighbor's house to see if she has any saltines; second, drive 10 minutes away to the battery store and get a new battery for the garage door opener; third, rush home and put the miserable boy on the couch.

My dear neighbor had saltines!!  And she even had some Sprite for Elliot to try!  Bless her!

The battery store had the right battery!  The nice man installed it for me, and only charged me $7.77!  I handed over my credit card, explaining that I would have paid WAY MORE than that at this point!  That lifesaver is definitely going on the Christmas card list for next year!

I ran (yes, I literally ran -- my sick boy was counting on me to hurry!) to the car and rushed home.  As we pulled up in the driveway and watched with relief as the garage door opened, Elliot had reached his limit.  He. was. miserable!

But he was home.  And he's been on the couch ever since.

And now we wait and we pray until we learn if the stomach bug is done with Elliot and if it's going to stick around our house or not.  Let's hope the mean ol bug makes his way down the street instead!  I mean, not to my dear neighbor's house, of course. . . .

$2 x 3

I'm looking for $6.  Gotta find $6 before morning.

Elliot is losing his baby molars.  Well, that's not exactly true.  Elliot is losing pieces of his baby molars.

The first one happened a month or so ago.  He was flossing -like all perfect children do- when the floss stuck to his tooth and broke half of it off.  Half of his molar was in his hand; half of his molar was still in place and not even loose.  Weird.

Since it didn't hurt him all that bad the next day, I decided we didn't have to rush to the dentist.

This weekend after Elliot was in bed, he felt with his tongue that the molar on the other side of his mouth was loose.  He touched it lightly with his tongue . . . and half of the molar broke off.  He came in my room again with half of his molar in his hand while the other half was still in his mouth not even loose.  Weird.  Weird, weird, weird. I stared into his mouth at 2 half molars firmly in place.  And these 2 halves did not make a whole!

So we went to the dentist on Monday morning.  I expected the dentist to call in all her friends while they stared and studied this odd phenomenon of teeth crumbling in a child's mouth.  But, surprisingly, she wasn't the least bit thrown.  It seems that it is not uncommon for baby teeth to crumble.  <shrug>

After xrays, the dentist showed me 2 more molars that were in danger of crumbling soon.  I signed the release for her to pull the 2 halves and one of the others.  I was sure wishing that 2 halves did make a whole so I wouldn't have to pay for all 3 teeth . . . .

So my boy had 3 extractions yesterday.  His eating and chewing is slightly inconvenienced.

And I need $6.

And then I have to maneuver up onto the 7 or so foot loft bed and carefully slip the money under his pillow.  I will try to be more graceful than I was the time that I completely fell on top of him while he was sleeping.  Thankfully he already knew that I was the tooth fairy; otherwise, that would have been a tough one to explain . . . .

Now, to find $6 . . . .

Just What I've Always Wanted

One day this week, Zippy and I were in the van together -- you know, the van that I have driven for 5 or 6 years.

The question from the backseat:  "Mama, is this a minivan?"

"Yes, it is."  I replied.

"Oooooooo!  I've always wanted a minivan!!  Wow!  I didn't know this was one!"

And there you have it.  I granted a boy's dreams and wishes -- just. . . like . . . that!

Chloe's UN-happy "Friends"

Ouch!  Sorry, guys.  I promise she loves you like crazy!  I'll watch her more closely next time . . . .  Now, where's the Super Glue??

And here she is doing her Innocent Act, half-hiding behind a Star Wars brochure!

 

Warm Coats

Warm coats!!  A little too late? . . . or right on time?

I did not post yesterday because my entire day was zapped with taking Elliot to the doctor -- we were there for over 2 hours!!! -- and shopping desperately for coats for my boys.  I hear that later today, we are getting an Arctic Blast -- AN ARCTIC BLAST!!!!!  It will get down to 14 degrees tonight and the next couple of nights -- 14 degrees!!!  The high for the rest of the week is in the 20's -- The HIGH for the rest of the week is in the 20's!!!!

Okay,  I will try to stop repeating myself.

I admitted here this week that my boys didn't have winter coats.  But when I heard of the ARCTIC BLAST coming to attack us, I decided to run out and get coats.  Well, guess what?  The first week of January is NOT a good time to buy coats for children . . .  because all the coats are gone!!

So after running all over town yesterday for hours, I think I bought the last 4 coats in the Fort Worth area for my 2 boys!  Yes, 4 coats.  I originally bought Zach a really pretty yellow coat.  Yellow is his favorite color, and I couldn't wait to show it to him.  But it went back to the store because it "looks like a girl."  And the first coat I bought for Elliot had a small rip in the sleeve.  But I was feeling desperate!  It was a really puffy coat and the only one in the city so I grabbed it.  But later I found him another coat that wasn't quite as puffy and had no rip.  (I, for one, can't stand a puffy coat, and I can't imagine my boys playing outside and being able to ride a bike or play basketball in a really puffy coat . . . .  but that's just me!)

I would like to end this post with something brave and daring like, "So come on, you nasty Arctic Blast!  We are so ready for you, you bad boy!"

But the truth is, I'm frightened of the Arctic Blast.  It. Will be. So. Cold.

New Year's Hope

New Year's Eve, Paul had to work so Zippy slept in Paul's spot in the bed beside me -- a privilege the boys often fight over.  (And Mom loves it, knowing that in a few short years they won't want to sleep with me anymore.)  Zippy and I did not stay up to welcome the new year.  Instead, we went to bed around 10 and cuddled up close so we could sharemy new electric blanket.

Just about the time I thought he'd be asleep, he spoke in a sleepy little voice, "I can't believe tomorrow is 2010."

"Me either," I whispered back.

"I can't wait," he said in his groggy, slurred voice.

"Me either," I whispered back, smiling.

And then his next words came in the same groggy slur but were delivered with such authority and truth that I almost sat right up in bed.  "It's gonna be a really good year, Mama."

I seriously missed a breath or two while those words repeated in my mind.  It was weird and surprising how it struck me.  I felt like it was a message -- a promise, even -- from God.  I silently thanked God for it.  And as I listened to Zippy's little snore beside me, I claimed that statement for my family for this year.

"It's gonna be a really good year!"

Beauty Sleep -- Not!

I think probably the "beauty factor" doesn't kick in if your sleep is broken up into 20-minute intervals!  Ugh!

I used to have nights like last night all the time -- literally 4 or 5 nights a week!  So when they happen now and then, I'm reminded that I should be very thankful for how far we've come.

Here's the play-by-play from last night:

First of all, you should know that I have been taking Trazodone for the last year or so to help me sleep at night.  My doctor prescribed it, explaining that "sometimes Mommies can't make their minds stop running enough to sleep at night."  Yep, that pretty much explains it.  The Trazodone is good stuff for the most part.  But when I take it and then am awakened with something that I need to take care of in the night, I often run into walls and stagger around in my grogginess.  Really!  But other than that, the stuff is good.  It helps me go to sleep and stay asleep.  Cutting the Trazodone to the right size for my dosage has been A PAIN!!  (Another story for another day!)  Anyway, when I picked up my prescription a couple of days before Christmas, my parents both tried to help me cut them (again, another story. . .), and my medicine got lost in all the Christmas stuff, and I haven't taken it in a few days.  Thus, I lay awake ALL NIGHT!

So last night, I went to bed at 10:30.  I think I finally dozed sometime after 11.

Paul came in shortly before midnight -- I woke up and was awake for a long time.

Paul turned off his reading light at around 1:00 -- I woke up again and was awake for a long time.

2:00 --  Zippy came in saying he had a dream.  He got in bed with us.  I was awake for a long time.

3:00 -- Zippy started coughing.  I got up, found his rescue inhaler, and used it two or three times.

Coughing continued.  Finally gave 2 nebulizer treatments at 3:45 which finally stopped his attack.

Laid back down a little after 4:00 and was awake for a long time.

Elliot came in at 4:30 saying he had a bad dream.  He wanted to sleep with us, but I talked him into going to the couch since I already had little feet sticking in my back.  I helped Elliot get some blankets for the couch and went back to bed and was awake for a long time.

I was awake for a long time at this point.

About the time I started dozing, Zippy woke up, asking if he could get up and go play the wii.  I told him no, bribed him asked him to stay still and quiet so that Elliot could stay sleeping.  I had hoped that maybe I could go back to sleep, too, but he needed me to rub his back and rub his face and rub his belly and hold him and answer questions etc.

Anyway, by this time the sun was coming up.  Elliot came in a little bit later, and I sent both boys away to go play the wii quietly together.

And that was my night.  My nearly sleepless night.  I'm glad those nights don't happen much anymore.

Is it nap time yet??

The Weed

Here is a little story from several years ago.  It is a sweet story with an amazingly sweet message that has encouraged me from time to time over the years:

Elliot ran in from playing outside and presented me with flowers.  Tiny little delicate flowers on one rather thick and hairy-looking stem with a large root system attached.

"Ahhh!  They're beautiful.  Thank you!" I said while I found the perfect bud vase to display my gift proudly on the kitchen counter.

"They're weeds from the yard," he explained as he turned to run back outside.

The pronouncement of "weeds" deflated my happiness a bit, but I still smiled, admiring the beauty of my gift.

Later when Paul saw the flowers he laughed.  "Did Elliot tell you about those flowers?"

"No.  He just said, 'Here's some pretty flowers I picked for you.'" I retold, choosing not to call them weeds.

Then Paul told me the story of what happened in the front yard.  The boys were playing in the front yard while Paul trimmed a bush in the flower bed.  Elliot spotted some beautiful flowers in the yard, dropped to his knees to inspect them more closely, and called out, "Daddy, come look at these pretty flowers in our yard!"

Paul glanced over, saw the weed that had invaded his yard, and announced that it was a weed.  "And this is what we do to yucky weeds," Paul said as he triumphantly yanked it -flowers, stem, and roots from the ground.  Proudly, he held the defeated weed out to Elliot.

But Paul quickly noticed Elliot's gaping mouth, unbelieving eyes, and sad heart.  Paul, Weed Hunter Destroyer, at once melted into Daddy, Counselor Comforter, who knew he had unknowingly, unintentionally smashed his six-year-old son's joy and excitement.

Changing his tone, Paul acknowledged the pretty flowers and suggested presenting the bouquet to Mommy.

Later, looking at the flowers and remembering their story, I thought about how often similar things happen to us in our relationship with God.  We have something that we are proud of to present to Him, and someone -- friend, foe, or the Enemy -- steps in, calls it ugly, calls it a weed, labels it insufficient, and calls us unworthy.  Or maybe someone else presents something bigger or prettier or more delicate.  Then we receive those names and labels and are ashamed of our gift we have presented.  Ashamed of our offering and of our effort.  There's no joy or happiness or fun in giving an ugly weed as a gift.

But God sees the beauty.  He sees the flowers, the delicate flowers.  And it seems He doesn't even notice the big hairy stem or the ugly roots.  He's thrilled with what I've given.  He sees the effort and is pleased.  He puts it proudly on display and periodically leans over to smell the delicate flowers.

Zip's Theology

As Zippy was putting on his socks and shoes, he was chanting over and over, "God is everywhere.  God is everywhere.  God is everywhere."

Then he stopped, looked at his sock and added, "He's even in my sock!"

Out of the Mouths of . . . Preteens

A 12-year-old neighbor girl who lives with her dad and grandparents celebrated Christmas with them this past weekend.  Today when I asked her what she got for Christmas, she excitedly replied that she had gotten a TV/DVD player for her room.

As she passed the football back to Elliot, she casually commented, "I used to always eat at the table.  But now I just take all my food to my room to eat.  Now there's no reason for me to stay out there."

"Now there's no reason for me to stay out there."

I collapsed into a heap in the front yard as I heard those words come from her mouth.  If I hadn't been so paralyzed at the truth and tragedy of her comment, I would have dashed across the street and begged her grandparents to move that new TV into the living room!

This sweet, sweet girl who has already had quite a trying 12 years -- her parents divorced when she was little bitty, her dad and step-mom divorced this past year, her father was away in Iraq for a couple of years -- is now bound to spend her teen years in her bedroom by herself, isolated, instead of out at the table with her family.

Am I the only one who feels the need to scream, "NO!!!!!!" at the top of my lungs?

Is it possible that the simple act of letting a child have a TV in their room contributes to the deterioration of her relationship and her openness with her parents?  Are parents just handing over the nurturing and bonding opportunity with their children by sending them to their room with their own TV?  I think it is possible.  And I'm guessing most parents are doing it without even realizing the impact it has on their children.

I am a little sick to my stomach.

I hope I remember this moment when my boys ask for a TV in their room in the next couple of years.