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 . . . .

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.

What to Wear

Elliot.  My 10-year-old boy.  The one who has never shown any preference at all about what clothes he wears.  Never.  Not even one time.  Really.

Well, at least until yesterday.

Yesterday it got cold here.  Ok, for you northerners . . .  you guys who have been wearing sweaters for weeks and weeks, I should clarify:  it was in the mid 50s, but there was a freezing cold wind!  It had to have been 20 below on the wind chill factor!  It was cold!  (I exaggerate a tad . . .)

Anyway, we winter weenies in Fort Worth thought winter had settled upon us yesterday.  It was cold enough, in fact, for long pants and a long sleeve shirt.  Elliot's attire:  size 10 jeans, thankyouverymuch! And a hand-me-down navy shirt with a silver Superman S on the front.

He loved the shirt! I promise he commented on how much he liked the shirt all day long.  He said several times, "You never showed me this one.  Why have you never shown me this one?  It is so cool!"

And at bedtime last night, Elliot inquired about today's weather.  He needed to know if the weather would require long sleeves again or not.  When I informed him that the weather would still be FREEZING today (high 50s, I think), he asked if I would wash the navy Superman shirt for him while he slept so that he could wear it again today!

So, in order to earn major points for the upcoming Mother of the Year Award, I washed and dried his new favorite shirt.  It was waiting for him this morning when he hopped out of bed and went searching for it.

He has a favorite shirt.  How funny.

Brothers

I have to quick write this post before the situation changes . . . .   :)

Yesterday my boys played together beautifully!  They played together like the best of friends!  Their laughter filled the house and blessed the rest of us.

There was no fighting or whining or complaining or tattling.

They played a video game together in the morning, laughing and having a big ol time.  They rode bikes/scooters/skateboards in the afternoon.  They played ball together in the evening, laughing and cutting up.

Wowee!  It's as if someone came and changed their little sibling-rivalry hearts to best-friend hearts!  And the transformation is incredible!

I will not be hunting down that someone to find the old sibling-rivalry hearts, that's for sure!

What caused the change?  What makes the difference?  And what's the secret to making it last?

I don't know.  If I figure it out, I'll let you know.  I'm just hoping it sticks for at least a couple of days . . . . a few more hours. . . .  I can hope, right?!

Our Halloween

I have been participating the last couple of Mondays in Not Me! Monday with MckMama and other bloggers.  I'm assuming Not Me! Monday will not happen today because MckMama's baby is in the hospital and is not doing very well.  Please join me in praying for Baby Stellan today!  Thanks! 

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

Saturday proved to be a very busy Halloween.  We had Zippy's last football game, our church's family picnic, a nearby church's Fall Festival, and then a little trick-or-treating in our neighborhood. 

Here are the highlights: 

ELLIOT: 

Elliot (10) dressed up as a soldier.  He was camouflage from head to toe.

   

At the Fall Festival, his favorite activity was the big-ol-bolster-fight deal.  (I obviously have no idea what it's called, but the jest is that you knock your opponent off their post by bonking them with huge puffy sticks!)

   

 He enjoyed all the booths and getting candy! 

While we were sitting enjoying some free food there, a man announced that they needed some volunteers to work a few of the game booths.  Elliot piped up immediately, wondering if he could volunteer.  Ten years old and not a member of the church?  Who knows.  So I sent him up to ask the man. The man thought it was just fine so off Elliot went with the other volunteers.  He was proud and excited as he went off to work.  But he came back a few minutes later and reported that they didn't need him after all.  Bummer.  But I was so proud of him for being so eager to help! 

Later, while we trick-or-treated, I was surprised that Elliot was very embarrassed and nervous that he might run into one of his 5th grade friends.  He was convinced that they would think his costume was babyish.  Camo babyish??  Oh, me.  It's times like these that the "tweens" baffle me! 

CHLOE: 

Chloe (7) dressed up as a ladybug.  She was the cutest ladybug this mama has ever seen!  She was quite proud of the costume and especially loved the wings! 

At our church picnic, she refused to use her walker.  When she fell repeatedly, she got very frustrated and threw a little silent fit:  Sit down and stomp, stomp, stomp!  Stomp with one foot!  Stomp with two feet!  Stand up, hold on to Mom for support and kick, kick, kick the air!  Hold on to Mom and jump!  Jump!  Sit back down and stomp some more!!  Poor baby!  Once over the frustration of falling, she and Dad hung out on the church porch while Chloe opened and closed the door for an hour and a half.  Not quite healthy play, but sometimes it works!

   

At the Fall Festival, Chloe and Dad hung out in the petting zoo the whole time!!  Again, she had a little love affair with the animals there.  She hugged on rabbits and baby pigs.  The girl running the petting zoo remembered Chloe from last year's festival and remembered that that's where she stayed the whole time! 

 

Paul said that when there was a line of kiddos waiting to come in, the girl in charge would make some of the little kids get out so others could come in.  But she never made Chloe leave!  I think Chloe was the teacher's pet for sure!  (Paul did make Chloe leave and get back in line a few times to avoid completely taking advantage!)

   

By the time trick-or-treating came along, Chloe was quite tired so she stayed in her wheelchair.  She went up to the porches and even a few times joined in on the "Trick or Treat!" part. 

ZIPPY: 

Zippy (8) decided his Power Ranger costume was too itchy and didn't want to dress up as anything.  I made him slip on a jersey with his shorts so he could at least be an itchless basketball player.  After a small fit, he obliged and was happy as a bball player.

   

At the church picnic, Zippy jumped and jumped and jumped in the bounce house.  He did take a short break for the limbo contest and a hotdog, but the rest of the time he bounced. 

At the Fall Festival, Zippy jumped and jumped and jumped in the bounce house.  He did take a short break to play a couple of games (as long as they had NO LINES) and eat some food, but the rest of the time he bounced.  Deja vu!

   

Several booths offered him candy with peanuts which made him nervous and a little bit freaky.  He has an anaphylactic allergy to peanuts, and it is one of his greatest anxieties.

   

Check out Zippy's dinner!  He was so pleased with this meal!!  Happy, happy boy! Zach mostly had a good time trick-or-treating.  We roamed around with some new neighbor friends.  They have a little 4-year-old boy who Zach really enjoyed.

   

But again several houses had candy with peanuts which kept Zippy on edge the whole time.  At one house, the man plopped some candy in Zach's bag before he could explain his allergy; as it fell into his bag, Zach noticed they were Snickers.  He dropped to the ground and started frantically digging in the bag to get the peanuts OUT.  I assured him that when we got home I would check all of his candy just like I always do, and we would throw away any nuts.

   

We continued on past a couple of houses where the lights were off and turned a corner where we met up with a large and noisy crowd.  It was then that Zachary had a full-blown panic attack that I was afraid was going to end up being an asthma attack.  He froze, he started panicking and breathing heavy.  It took me a minute to get him to look at me and talk to me.  When he did, he just started crying and saying, "I don't want to eat peanuts!  I don't want to eat peanuts!  I don't want to eat peanuts!"  

I waved Paul and the others on while I grabbed Zach and got him away from the crowd.  When he had calmed down and his breathing had returned to normal, the two of us went on home to throw away all the peanuts. . . .  Poor baby!

Jack-O-Lanterns

We carved pumpkins this week.  Zachary had been begging for weeks to carve pumpkins.  Both boys were excited to carve a pumpkin and put a candle in it.  Then Paul brought three pumpkins home a week ago. The pumpkins have been sitting, waiting, asking to be carved ever since. 

Finally the day came for the carving.  We covered the table with a vinyl cloth.  The boys excitedly watched and paced and jumped and spun around while we gathered the supplies.  Chloe came in the room, took one look at the pumpkins, and said, "No way," and went back to playing.

 

Zachary accompanied Dad to the knife drawer and started grabbing the long, serrated, sword-like knives, claiming them as his own.  But Dad said, "NO!" and directed Zach to the smaller, red-handled, not-even-close-to-looking-like-swords knives.  While Zach tried over and over to claim himself a kitchen sword for the deed, Dad insisted that it was the small knife or no knife.  Period.  So Zach chose a boring little knife and went and sat at the table, disappointed already. 

Paul cut the tops of the pumpkins off (too small, we realized later), and I literally watched the excitement drop lower and lower in the room.  It was odd.

   

 The next step:  digging out the goo.  This step was not an enjoyable one.  Both boys were grossed out and unexcited.  

   

 

Again, carving pumpkins fell lower on the excitement scale.  We knew we'd better get the fun knife part started quickly or we would completely lose the boys.

Zachary gave his pumpkin a couple of good stabs, bringing back some of his joy.  But when he heard the advice to draw the face he wanted to carve, his excitement fell again.  He asked Dad to draw some triangle eyes and a triangle nose.  "No mouth." 

Elliot regained some excitement while he drew two different faces on opposite sides of his pumpkin -- one mad and one happy. 

 And now . . . for the knife part of the activity . . . finally!

 

It was harder to carve the pumpkins than anyone had been expecting.  It was frustrating and difficult. Zippy carved his pumpkin for 20 seconds before tossing his little weenie knife and telling Dad to finish it. Elliot carved one eye and then asked me to finish his.

 

So Paul and I carved pumpkins at the kitchen table while the boys played outside with friends.

   

Not quite the family experience I had pictured . . . .  but the Jack-O-Lanterns turned out cute!  The boys were pleased, and Elliot talked again about putting a candle in them on Halloween night.

   

The next day when I picked the boys up from school, the first word from Elliot was a report from the school nurse.  Seems that the nurse had joined in on the morning announcements and had a special caution about pumpkin carving:  NEVER use a kitchen knife to carve pumpkins and NEVER put a candle in a pumpkin.  "She said not to do exactly what we did and were going to do!  Isn't that funny??" Elliot asked. 

 Ugh.  Not very funny.  But then, maybe a little bit funny.

A Brother ' s Advice

Last night Zippy's football practice was moved inside since the fields outside were flooded.  The team practiced in the church's "gym," which was carpeted and had completely different acoustics than a real gym. I had tried to picture Zippy practicing football in a real gym and was not excited!  If there is anything worse than the confusing yelling and whistle blowing of the football field, it's yelling and whistle-blowing in the acoustical nightmare of a gym.  Suffice it to say that a gym is not a place where Zach is at his best. This carpeted "gym" was awesome, and Zach did great!  It was easier to listen and to hear in this gym compared to the field which is up on a hill (where it's always windy) and right next to the highway.  I was amazed at how much more attentive and involved and "with it" he was inside the "gym."  ( I guess I should not put the word in quotes . . .  if the church calls it a gym, then I should just call it a gym. . . .) Anyway, the whole practice, the coach repeated and repeated and repeated and repeated, "Zachary, keep your feet still!" and, "Zachary, don't move your feet!" when they would line up for a play.  Each and every play, we all heard about Zach's feet. After practice, I told Zippy how well he'd done at practice.  Elliot had to chime in since he thinks he's Zippy's other Mama.  He added, "Yeah, but what you really need to work on is keeping your feet still.  The coach had to keep telling you to keep your feet still.  You really need to do that, Zach!" Zippy, only a little bothered replied, "Well, I don't do that.  My feet don't stay still.  They move." End of discussion. Oh, me!  ADHD feet don't always cooperate on the ball field, do they?