I got quite the scare this afternoon. Fortunately, someone out there is watching out for me and baby Iain.
In an effort to use the food we get each week from our community farm share, I've been trying to cook more. My cooking friend Sarah sent me a few recipes to try to help use up the items I don't typically cook with like beats and cucumbers. I cooked the beats to use in a salad tomorrow and then chopped up the cucumbers for a basic cucumber salad. Easy enough. While I was cooking and had the over still hot from the beats, I also thought it would be nice to make some oatmeal chocolate chip cookies to keep in the freezer for a little snack every now and then. Have I mentioned that I'm a chocoholic? Well, I am. And I thought the cookies would reduce the number I handfuls of chocolate chips I eat each afternoon when I need a snack.
So here I was, in the kitchen making cookies, dancing to some music to get in some cardio for the day, with Iain in the bouncy seat happy as can be. I can be an insane multi-tasker and it just so happened that I was also emptying the dishwasher as I was dancing, making cookies, and watching Iain. That's normal, right?
As I emptied the dishwasher, I was trying to put the blender away in a high cabinet that is poorly organized and contains a mini food processor, parts to a stick blender, and a small food chopper. I've always hated the contents of this cabinet and how something always got dislodged whenever I opened it, further frustrating me and causing me to hate the cabinet even more. I had recently purged half it's contents to make it less ominous, giving away a few small kitchen appliances that just didn't fit in our house and could be put to better use by someone with a better space to store them. Too bad that didn't help me today.
There I was, reaching up to try to shove the base of the blender back into the corner of the cabinet when the cabinet's contents starting tumbling out at me. I, as instinct, jumped back so that the blender parts and other random small appliance accessories could fall unobstructed --just to watch them hit baby Iain in the head on their way to the ground since I had stupidly placed his bouncy seat right below that cabinet.
First, my heart skipped a beat. Then it sped up rapidly as I watched the stick blender whisk attachment hit him first. And then I'm pretty sure that the blender blade for the chopper hit him next. It all happened so fast that I just remember thinking, "Please dear God don't let whatever just fell on Iain have injured his eyes." I'm not sure how I could deal with myself if something so stupid had caused him to be blind or leave him permanently scarred in some way. Luckily, the way these objects impacted him caused very minimal damage. I was relieved when I saw just the smallest cut form on his forehead between his eyebrows. How often do you hear that? I, the parent of a newborn, was relieved to see blood on his forehead!
He, on the other hand, was not so relieved. He was in fact pissed off to the extreme. The screams he let out could tear a mother's heart in two. It was awful. I instantly cuddled him, shushing his cries as we bounced and rocked and swayed down the hallway to the living room. I think I started breathing again once we got to the couch. He screamed. I nursed him and tried to put an ice pack on his head to reduce the swelling but he wanted nothing to do with that so I gave up. He just wanted to be soothed and a cold foreign object on your head after a trauma like that doesn't really set well with him. Luckily, it turned out that it didn't even swell or bleed for that matter. But it did take a good five minutes for him to settle down again and even then he was still pretty jumpy. I know I spent the duration of his crying spell thinking how lucky we are, how much I love this little guy, how important it is for me to think more about my actions and how they might affect him, and how much I really need to slow down and reduce my multi-tasking so that I don't miss out on life by trying to do too much.
Moral of the story: When something happens to your child, don't panic. Breathe. Hope for the best. Stay calm and deal with the situation you've been dealt with as best you can.
Showing posts with label Accidents. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Accidents. Show all posts
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Rut-ro, Time to Toddler Proof
As Scooby Do likes to say... Rut-ro.
In a moment of brainlessness, I left a bottle of Hydrogen Peroxide on the dining room table yesterday and Ada found it this morning. She didn't do anything with it, thank goodness, and Rick caught her sitting in front of it, holding the lid. But that was too close for comfort. I must be much more careful with my toxic household items, even if I am a pregnant scatterbrain with a big blister on my foot. No excuses.
Potentially worse than getting into poisons lying around, today she climbed onto the box our new tent is in, which is currently sitting on the kitchen floor awaiting transport to the basement storage unit. She quickly learned that standing on the box gets her better access to the countertop where she can play with things that are normally out of reach. I moved the glass jars out of her way thinking they would be the most dangerous thing for her to get into in case she dropped them and caused a mess everywhere. As I was at the sink draining her peas and carrots for dinner, I noticed she had a six-inch steak knife in her hand and was waving it at the glass jars I had secured in a basket on the countertop. "Rut-ro" didn't quite cover just how quickly I went from calm to "Holy shit. Give that to me right now." I quickly re-located the knife block to the higher countertop, faced them sideways instead of outward, and slid them as far back from the edge as possible.
Turns out, our baby proofing has officially expired and we now need to upgrade to full on toddler proofing.
She can now open closets, get into cabinets, and open bottles and doors. Medicines with "childproof" caps don't seem as childproof these days. I used to be able to zip up the nail polish bags and feel pretty good that I wouldn't have red and pink stripes on the floors. Now, I think I need to zip them up and put them on shelves above four feet high in the closet. And I finally have a reason to be thankful for the double vestibule doors since she can't quite open them yet do to their weight. I'm also thankful that they provide two more obstacles to prevent her from escaping our house.
To make life even more exciting, she has starting throwing things into the garbage. Mostly things I ask her to throw away or recycle, but I'm wondering where the two sets of baby nail clippers we had have disappeared to. And the fact that she flushed the toilet three times in a row yesterday when I was standing right next to her made me worry that we will soon be getting really friendly with our plunger. Not to mention how I quickly had to stop Rick from showing her that he could use toilet paper as a tissue and then flush it instead of throwing it away since I don't think she'll be able to ascertain when it is toilet paper and when it is a wet wipe or tissue or a paper towel or an actual towel and how toilet paper is the only one of those that is truly "flushable". Her new interest in the potty is great...until you start to think about all of the things she could possibly flush and the repercussions of those flushing actions.
And so I say, Rut-ro. Here we go.
Moral of the story: It is never too early to develop safe habits when you have children. Bad habits are hard to break so get into the childproofing mentality from day one and you'll be glad you did.
In a moment of brainlessness, I left a bottle of Hydrogen Peroxide on the dining room table yesterday and Ada found it this morning. She didn't do anything with it, thank goodness, and Rick caught her sitting in front of it, holding the lid. But that was too close for comfort. I must be much more careful with my toxic household items, even if I am a pregnant scatterbrain with a big blister on my foot. No excuses.
Potentially worse than getting into poisons lying around, today she climbed onto the box our new tent is in, which is currently sitting on the kitchen floor awaiting transport to the basement storage unit. She quickly learned that standing on the box gets her better access to the countertop where she can play with things that are normally out of reach. I moved the glass jars out of her way thinking they would be the most dangerous thing for her to get into in case she dropped them and caused a mess everywhere. As I was at the sink draining her peas and carrots for dinner, I noticed she had a six-inch steak knife in her hand and was waving it at the glass jars I had secured in a basket on the countertop. "Rut-ro" didn't quite cover just how quickly I went from calm to "Holy shit. Give that to me right now." I quickly re-located the knife block to the higher countertop, faced them sideways instead of outward, and slid them as far back from the edge as possible.
Turns out, our baby proofing has officially expired and we now need to upgrade to full on toddler proofing.
She can now open closets, get into cabinets, and open bottles and doors. Medicines with "childproof" caps don't seem as childproof these days. I used to be able to zip up the nail polish bags and feel pretty good that I wouldn't have red and pink stripes on the floors. Now, I think I need to zip them up and put them on shelves above four feet high in the closet. And I finally have a reason to be thankful for the double vestibule doors since she can't quite open them yet do to their weight. I'm also thankful that they provide two more obstacles to prevent her from escaping our house.
To make life even more exciting, she has starting throwing things into the garbage. Mostly things I ask her to throw away or recycle, but I'm wondering where the two sets of baby nail clippers we had have disappeared to. And the fact that she flushed the toilet three times in a row yesterday when I was standing right next to her made me worry that we will soon be getting really friendly with our plunger. Not to mention how I quickly had to stop Rick from showing her that he could use toilet paper as a tissue and then flush it instead of throwing it away since I don't think she'll be able to ascertain when it is toilet paper and when it is a wet wipe or tissue or a paper towel or an actual towel and how toilet paper is the only one of those that is truly "flushable". Her new interest in the potty is great...until you start to think about all of the things she could possibly flush and the repercussions of those flushing actions.
And so I say, Rut-ro. Here we go.
Moral of the story: It is never too early to develop safe habits when you have children. Bad habits are hard to break so get into the childproofing mentality from day one and you'll be glad you did.
Saturday, May 8, 2010
Weird, Funny, Annoying and Disgusting
Weird, funny, annoying and disgusting things Ada has done this week:
Disgusting: I tossed the leftover frosting from a chocolate cake I had eaten the night before into our garbage can and used the side of the can to scrape off the fork. All was fine until Ada threw something away, saw the frosting and decided to have some--from the side of the garbage bag. I freaked out and quickly scrubbed her down and took the garbage out. Yuck.
Funny: On our walk home from day care on Thursday, we got to the corner by our house when Ada started screaming and pointing across the street. She's in a pointing phase now to communicate what she wants. And a bossy phase, but I digress. I waited for the street light to change and took her across the street only to have her walk up to the door of the ice cream shop and demand that I take her inside for a scoop. She must have been channeling a craving from BB in the belly because we all walked away happy. Oddly enough, we hadn't been to the ice cream shop in months due to my heartburn and crazy diet.
Weird: While on a walk yesterday, Ada picked up a small stick to carry. It wore out from her bending and swinging it so we quickly found another, more interesting stick with a good place to hold on to and several arching branches. She enjoyed it all the way around the block until we met up with a dog, I think he was a boxer, and he traded Ada a few kisses for the stick -- and then he devoured it. She found one final stick in front of our house and decided to bring it inside, and put it in her mouth just like the dog did. I washed it off, and her off, and now we have a pet stick.
Disgusting: I tossed the leftover frosting from a chocolate cake I had eaten the night before into our garbage can and used the side of the can to scrape off the fork. All was fine until Ada threw something away, saw the frosting and decided to have some--from the side of the garbage bag. I freaked out and quickly scrubbed her down and took the garbage out. Yuck.
Funny: On our walk home from day care on Thursday, we got to the corner by our house when Ada started screaming and pointing across the street. She's in a pointing phase now to communicate what she wants. And a bossy phase, but I digress. I waited for the street light to change and took her across the street only to have her walk up to the door of the ice cream shop and demand that I take her inside for a scoop. She must have been channeling a craving from BB in the belly because we all walked away happy. Oddly enough, we hadn't been to the ice cream shop in months due to my heartburn and crazy diet.
Weird: While on a walk yesterday, Ada picked up a small stick to carry. It wore out from her bending and swinging it so we quickly found another, more interesting stick with a good place to hold on to and several arching branches. She enjoyed it all the way around the block until we met up with a dog, I think he was a boxer, and he traded Ada a few kisses for the stick -- and then he devoured it. She found one final stick in front of our house and decided to bring it inside, and put it in her mouth just like the dog did. I washed it off, and her off, and now we have a pet stick.
Annoying: At nap time yesterday, I missed her "sleepy window" in order to feed her lunch. I should have just put her down and let her eat later but hindsight is 20/20. She refused to nap and when I thought she would just play quietly in her room, I laid down on the couch for a mini siesta myself. Twenty minutes later I awoke to her pink unicorn rocking horse on a repeat loop from hell "I'm a magical unicorn, I'm a, I'm a, I'm a magical unicorn..." as she kept pushing the button over and over and over, never letting it cycle through the whole song. I reacted like a grumpy bear by storming into her room, grabbing the unicorn by the handle at the side of its head and swinging it out of her room and into the hallway. GRRR. Then I gave up and let her lay on the couch with me until I woke up more properly five minutes later.
Weird: When I put her down for bed the other night, she refused to get into her toddler bed and insisted upon sleeping on the floor. She pulled down her pillow and blanket, grabbed her stuffed animals and laid down. At that point, I was too exhausted to care. I did warn Rick when he went in to get her the next morning not to step on her and sure enough, she was still lying on the floor in the middle of the room.
Funny: We had friends over for a BBQ last weekend and I cleaned the long mirror in our bedroom of all of the handprints at Ada's height. I didn't bother to clean the upper half of the mirror since I was cutting corners and knew it wasn't that dirty--after all, we don't eat a banana and then go dance in front of the mirror with sticky hands. When I looked at the mirror from an angle the next day, it was clear to see that I hadn't wiped the top down as it had a fine layer of dust adhered to the glass. Oops. At least we can see our legs and shoes clearly when we get dressed in the mornings.
Annoying: Trying to keep Ada from ruining things around the house is no easy task. Last week she was playing with the fireplace tools and I was fine with her using the broom tool since it was still new and had never been used. Then she moved on to the log grabber and scooted it across the cream part of the rug, revealing to me that it had indeed been used and was covered in black soot. That game ended fast and she is now banned from all touching of anything fireplace related. At least the soot came out with a little elbow grease and upholstery cleaner.
More Annoying: I'm a hawk about her and crayons as I've heard several horror stories of crayons and walls and all other surfaces really. She got crayon on her Easter dress and Grandma Ba miraculously got it all out. This time, she had the white crayon in hand and stroked it on the brown part of the rug before I could stop her (what are the odds?). I'll get around to cleaning that up this weekend hopefully.
Weird: She likes to taste the nuts in a trail mix and licks the ones she doesn't like, then leaves them on the floor or the table for you to throw away later. She also likes to dip french fries in ketchup or a sauce and then licks the sauce off and leaves the french fry on your plate. She's still a work in progress.
More Weird: Last night at dinner she poured salt onto the table from the shaker and then licked the table.
Disgusting: With her cough induced asthma, she's been throwing up a lot lately. That itself is gross. But the smell it leaves in your car even after you scrub the car seat is even worse.
Funny: In an attempt to make a cheese sauce for dinner to accompany a baked potato and steamed broccoli, I had a stick of butter in its wrapper sitting out on the counter. Ada grabbed it and took a bite out of it, through the packaging. I later found the chunk she spit it out lying on the floor. At least she didn't eat it.
Moral of the story: Each day that goes by with a child brings more surprises than you could ever imagine.
Friday, March 26, 2010
House Go Boom!
How do you explain to a two-year-old that they are NOT to touch the knobs on the front of the stove due to the threat of a gas leak that could cause the house to explode? I tried today but don't think Ada really understood. This all came just minutes before we left the house for day care and I just happened to be standing at the stove packing my lunch when I smelled gas and noticed the right back burner knob was turned on to low with no flame. Luckily I saw it, turned it off and opened the back door for a few minutes to air out the house before we had to leave. I also left the bathroom window cracked open an inch for the day to air things out, just in case.
Once I got to work, I realized just how dangerous her little knob turning incident was when my neighbor Kelly called to tell me that she and two other neighbors smelled gas in the hallway this morning. I quickly fessed up via email to calm all of my neighbors' fears -- or ignite them knowing that they have a two-year-old pyro living in their building. I did let them know to always check my stove first if they smell it in the future and I'm willing to give them all a set of keys to our unit, if that helps at all. Yikes!
I tend to think I'm good about keeping the knobs off when we aren't cooking, but in my exhaustion following my 6 hour grocery shopping and cooking marathon on Monday, I must have forgotten to remove the knobs. Talk about a lucky break. And now I want to just punch the person who designed my stove in the face and tell him or her and their design team that they are a bunch of idiots. I'm just glad I'm not responsible for buying the stove new because then I'd just have myself to blame.
Moral of the story: Don't buy a stove with ignitor knobs that can be easily turned on by a child. Invest in safety features to prevent them from accidentally being turned on. And be sure to check them often, and first whenever you smell gas... or just get an electric stove.
Once I got to work, I realized just how dangerous her little knob turning incident was when my neighbor Kelly called to tell me that she and two other neighbors smelled gas in the hallway this morning. I quickly fessed up via email to calm all of my neighbors' fears -- or ignite them knowing that they have a two-year-old pyro living in their building. I did let them know to always check my stove first if they smell it in the future and I'm willing to give them all a set of keys to our unit, if that helps at all. Yikes!
I tend to think I'm good about keeping the knobs off when we aren't cooking, but in my exhaustion following my 6 hour grocery shopping and cooking marathon on Monday, I must have forgotten to remove the knobs. Talk about a lucky break. And now I want to just punch the person who designed my stove in the face and tell him or her and their design team that they are a bunch of idiots. I'm just glad I'm not responsible for buying the stove new because then I'd just have myself to blame.
Moral of the story: Don't buy a stove with ignitor knobs that can be easily turned on by a child. Invest in safety features to prevent them from accidentally being turned on. And be sure to check them often, and first whenever you smell gas... or just get an electric stove.
Monday, February 22, 2010
A day of weird moments
Yesterday contained a few weird moments. That's the best way for me to describe it. See for yourselves.
First off, we started the day with brunch and learned that two of our most awesome friends are expecting their first child this year. Yeah! I couldn't be more excited as they are going to be AWESOME parents! Totally took me by surprise.
At brunch, we tried a new place that just happens to be a big deal in Chicago. Lou Mitchell's on Jackson. You walk in and get a powdered covered donut from the hostess. Then you get a mini halloween-size box of milk duds when you are seated. You order and they bring you a prune and an orange wedge in a small bowl. Food comes and you're happy. Then they offer you a tiny cup of ice cream to send you off on your day with a smile. Ada got crayons to play with of course. The weird part was... as we go to pay with our credit card, we learned it was cash only. Not a big deal, just another weird shocker since this is a large restaurant that is busy and doesn't deal with credit cards. They save on the credit card fees, and make a killing on the ATM fee commissions they must be getting from the ATM by the door. But they can do that, because the food is good, the service is fast, it's a friendly atmosphere, and you get tons of fun goodies. All surprising in a good way.
Then, our desktop computer hasn't been loading correctly so I've been getting the "Windows death screen" as I call it. You know the one where the computer starts up and just stays on the start up screen. The little load bar keeps going and going, and then it stops to fake you out and make you think it's going to continue to start up the computer, but it doesn't. This annoyed me so much that I have been nagging Rick for the past three days to fix it as I was desperate to get it back up and running. I really depend on this thing as it turns out.
In an act of brilliance, Rick was able to fix it yesterday and all is now well with the world. Ah...
Then last night, as we were playing a new board game I'm kind of obsessed with called Settlers of Catan, a bowl that my friend Anne passed down to me about 2 or 3 weeks ago, just jumped off the counter in the kitchen, taking another bowl with it, and one of them shattered all over the kitchen floor. I haven't found a home in the kitchen for this set of 5, now 4, bowls and made the mistake of stacking them on a pile of produce still in their plastic bags from the store and over time, or maybe the spin cycle of the laundry machine on the other side of the wall, they became dislodged and plunged to the floor. Ada really wanted to go walk all over the mess while barefoot but we, mean and evil parents that we are, forbid her from walking in the kitchen. So mean...
As the day is nearing its end, we decide that maybe we are hungry since it's 8:45 and we had brunch at 10ish, then lunch at 3ish, and maybe it was time to eat something. I grabbed a bag of pretzels and hummus to tide us over until we could order something and upon opening the bag I discovered, what is that?, my little one-inch-tall karate man figurine that used to sit on the computer desk. As I'm laughing hysterically, my friend Bob looks at me like I'm a nut. Yes, I am a nut... But I'm laughing because Ada stuck the little karate guy into the pretzel bag last week when we were having pretzels and hummus for a snack on the couch. She cracks me up!
Still hungry at 9:30, Rick calls our good ol' standby for last minute dinner, Ceasars. It's a block away and the food is always ready in ten minutes or less. We can always count on Ceasars to save us, until 10pm when they close the kitchen. Rick calls and no one answers. He calls again, no answer. It's so close that he decides to just run over and order and bring it back. Thirty seconds after he leaves, my phone rings. Ceasars is closed on Sundays. Duh. We're going to just have to go to bed hungry. What's weird about that? We've lived here for over three years now and I can think of only two other instances where we've ordered on a Sunday and they've been closed. I think they are open on Sundays in the summer. Just not winter. Oh well.
Moral of the story: Life is totally unpredictable. Just roll with it.
First off, we started the day with brunch and learned that two of our most awesome friends are expecting their first child this year. Yeah! I couldn't be more excited as they are going to be AWESOME parents! Totally took me by surprise.
At brunch, we tried a new place that just happens to be a big deal in Chicago. Lou Mitchell's on Jackson. You walk in and get a powdered covered donut from the hostess. Then you get a mini halloween-size box of milk duds when you are seated. You order and they bring you a prune and an orange wedge in a small bowl. Food comes and you're happy. Then they offer you a tiny cup of ice cream to send you off on your day with a smile. Ada got crayons to play with of course. The weird part was... as we go to pay with our credit card, we learned it was cash only. Not a big deal, just another weird shocker since this is a large restaurant that is busy and doesn't deal with credit cards. They save on the credit card fees, and make a killing on the ATM fee commissions they must be getting from the ATM by the door. But they can do that, because the food is good, the service is fast, it's a friendly atmosphere, and you get tons of fun goodies. All surprising in a good way.
Then, our desktop computer hasn't been loading correctly so I've been getting the "Windows death screen" as I call it. You know the one where the computer starts up and just stays on the start up screen. The little load bar keeps going and going, and then it stops to fake you out and make you think it's going to continue to start up the computer, but it doesn't. This annoyed me so much that I have been nagging Rick for the past three days to fix it as I was desperate to get it back up and running. I really depend on this thing as it turns out.
In an act of brilliance, Rick was able to fix it yesterday and all is now well with the world. Ah...
Then last night, as we were playing a new board game I'm kind of obsessed with called Settlers of Catan, a bowl that my friend Anne passed down to me about 2 or 3 weeks ago, just jumped off the counter in the kitchen, taking another bowl with it, and one of them shattered all over the kitchen floor. I haven't found a home in the kitchen for this set of 5, now 4, bowls and made the mistake of stacking them on a pile of produce still in their plastic bags from the store and over time, or maybe the spin cycle of the laundry machine on the other side of the wall, they became dislodged and plunged to the floor. Ada really wanted to go walk all over the mess while barefoot but we, mean and evil parents that we are, forbid her from walking in the kitchen. So mean...
As the day is nearing its end, we decide that maybe we are hungry since it's 8:45 and we had brunch at 10ish, then lunch at 3ish, and maybe it was time to eat something. I grabbed a bag of pretzels and hummus to tide us over until we could order something and upon opening the bag I discovered, what is that?, my little one-inch-tall karate man figurine that used to sit on the computer desk. As I'm laughing hysterically, my friend Bob looks at me like I'm a nut. Yes, I am a nut... But I'm laughing because Ada stuck the little karate guy into the pretzel bag last week when we were having pretzels and hummus for a snack on the couch. She cracks me up!
Still hungry at 9:30, Rick calls our good ol' standby for last minute dinner, Ceasars. It's a block away and the food is always ready in ten minutes or less. We can always count on Ceasars to save us, until 10pm when they close the kitchen. Rick calls and no one answers. He calls again, no answer. It's so close that he decides to just run over and order and bring it back. Thirty seconds after he leaves, my phone rings. Ceasars is closed on Sundays. Duh. We're going to just have to go to bed hungry. What's weird about that? We've lived here for over three years now and I can think of only two other instances where we've ordered on a Sunday and they've been closed. I think they are open on Sundays in the summer. Just not winter. Oh well.
Moral of the story: Life is totally unpredictable. Just roll with it.
Monday, January 25, 2010
I'm bringing clumsy back...
Justin Timberlake might have brought "sexy back", but I'm bringing clumsy back... in a big way.
I thought about keeping track of my clumsiness, just to prove a point...but then I realized that it would only depress me to know how bad it really is. This is what happens when I'm pregnant. Not only does my brain turn to mush such that when trying to tell Ada not to drop her doll in the toilet, I first call it the garbage, something else I now can't even remember, and finally get "potty" on the third try. Whew! Talk about needing to S-L-O-W D-O-W-N!
Even if I tried moving at a snail's pace, I don't think it would be of much help. Not even five minutes ago, I had a near miss between my elbow and my water glass--which is now permanently plastic whenever I am at home or at work due to my breaking 2 glasses last pregnancy (one at each place)--lucky for me this time, it just teetered and didn't topple. I wasn't so fortunate two nights ago when I knocked over the glass next to our bed with my pillow, or the day before that when I kicked it while trying to move Ada to the couch(that's what I get for putting it on the floor - I know), or the night before that when I, again, decided the top of my dresser--and what the heck, the whole wall and floorspace behind it--needed a nice dusting/cleaning/scrub down just before we tucked in for the night. Surely I'm just getting warmed up. I mean, I still have 22 weeks before this baby is born. Last pregnancy was so bad that a co-worker bought me a sippy cup for Christmas and I had a full roll of paper towels on constant guard at my desk. Beyond ridiculous.
And for some reason that is completely beyond me, pregnant or not, I can't seem to figure out how to stay focused on the refrigerator in-door water dispenser long enough to pay attention to when it is nearing the cup's full point and remove the glass from the door. Nine times out of ten (I kid you not) it overflows onto the floor. It's such a habit now that I just laugh and have a dishtowel permanently placed at the foot of the refrigerator. Sad. Poor Rick still puts up with me even though it drives him INSANE. Hey, at least that one kitchen floor tile is constantly clean, right?
And it isn't just water. Two nights ago I spilled a bowl of dry (thank goodness) cheerios all over the hallway when I was trying to balance them on an empty soup bowl, with a water glass in the other hand. I would have been fine had I not then used the hand balancing the cheerios to attempt to turn on the hall light. Damn multi-tasking and trying to be efficient! I then went on to curse Rick (sorry honey) for not noticing that I'm a total and complete nutcase, incapable of balancing all of these things and he should pay more attention to what he can carry back to the kitchen from the living room in an attempt to save my sanity. Sad part is, it's really only about 30 feet between the two rooms, if that. Not sure how "efficient" I really am, especially if you calculate in all of the spills I've had and the clean up time. Surely I'm negative overall.
Then there are all of the new bruises that just happen to appear when I'm pregnant. I run into doors, door handles, walls, door frames, bed frames, coffee tables, counter tops, and dining room tables. I hit myself with the car door, the front door, and the bathroom door (it's a small bathroom and the damn diaper laundry bin limits its range of motion, so there!). Either my hips widen (which I really don't think is the case) or my brain just shorts out (much more likely). And this time there is the Ada factor. So far this morning I've received a puffy lip, several blows to the face, chest, and abdomen, and surely others that I can't even remember. She doesn't quite have control of her body and, while we try to teach her not to hit, she's still learning and most of it is accidental. But put the two of us together and you've got trouble.
And why is it that she insists on scooting all the way back whenever she sits on my lap? She tries to sit, literally, on top of my belly and then slides down to my lap. That doesn't feel so good. It's like she can't get close enough so she just goes back as far as possible and hopes she ends up with a comfy seat.
Needless to say, I've got a long 22 weeks ahead of me. But at least I can take credit for making clumsy cool again -- or I can try.
Moral of the story: Pregnancy does all sorts of weird things to your body that you just have to adjust to. Slow down. Relax. Learn to laugh it off and accept that yes, you are crazy--but that's normal.
I thought about keeping track of my clumsiness, just to prove a point...but then I realized that it would only depress me to know how bad it really is. This is what happens when I'm pregnant. Not only does my brain turn to mush such that when trying to tell Ada not to drop her doll in the toilet, I first call it the garbage, something else I now can't even remember, and finally get "potty" on the third try. Whew! Talk about needing to S-L-O-W D-O-W-N!
Even if I tried moving at a snail's pace, I don't think it would be of much help. Not even five minutes ago, I had a near miss between my elbow and my water glass--which is now permanently plastic whenever I am at home or at work due to my breaking 2 glasses last pregnancy (one at each place)--lucky for me this time, it just teetered and didn't topple. I wasn't so fortunate two nights ago when I knocked over the glass next to our bed with my pillow, or the day before that when I kicked it while trying to move Ada to the couch(that's what I get for putting it on the floor - I know), or the night before that when I, again, decided the top of my dresser--and what the heck, the whole wall and floorspace behind it--needed a nice dusting/cleaning/scrub down just before we tucked in for the night. Surely I'm just getting warmed up. I mean, I still have 22 weeks before this baby is born. Last pregnancy was so bad that a co-worker bought me a sippy cup for Christmas and I had a full roll of paper towels on constant guard at my desk. Beyond ridiculous.
And for some reason that is completely beyond me, pregnant or not, I can't seem to figure out how to stay focused on the refrigerator in-door water dispenser long enough to pay attention to when it is nearing the cup's full point and remove the glass from the door. Nine times out of ten (I kid you not) it overflows onto the floor. It's such a habit now that I just laugh and have a dishtowel permanently placed at the foot of the refrigerator. Sad. Poor Rick still puts up with me even though it drives him INSANE. Hey, at least that one kitchen floor tile is constantly clean, right?
And it isn't just water. Two nights ago I spilled a bowl of dry (thank goodness) cheerios all over the hallway when I was trying to balance them on an empty soup bowl, with a water glass in the other hand. I would have been fine had I not then used the hand balancing the cheerios to attempt to turn on the hall light. Damn multi-tasking and trying to be efficient! I then went on to curse Rick (sorry honey) for not noticing that I'm a total and complete nutcase, incapable of balancing all of these things and he should pay more attention to what he can carry back to the kitchen from the living room in an attempt to save my sanity. Sad part is, it's really only about 30 feet between the two rooms, if that. Not sure how "efficient" I really am, especially if you calculate in all of the spills I've had and the clean up time. Surely I'm negative overall.
Then there are all of the new bruises that just happen to appear when I'm pregnant. I run into doors, door handles, walls, door frames, bed frames, coffee tables, counter tops, and dining room tables. I hit myself with the car door, the front door, and the bathroom door (it's a small bathroom and the damn diaper laundry bin limits its range of motion, so there!). Either my hips widen (which I really don't think is the case) or my brain just shorts out (much more likely). And this time there is the Ada factor. So far this morning I've received a puffy lip, several blows to the face, chest, and abdomen, and surely others that I can't even remember. She doesn't quite have control of her body and, while we try to teach her not to hit, she's still learning and most of it is accidental. But put the two of us together and you've got trouble.
And why is it that she insists on scooting all the way back whenever she sits on my lap? She tries to sit, literally, on top of my belly and then slides down to my lap. That doesn't feel so good. It's like she can't get close enough so she just goes back as far as possible and hopes she ends up with a comfy seat.
Needless to say, I've got a long 22 weeks ahead of me. But at least I can take credit for making clumsy cool again -- or I can try.
Moral of the story: Pregnancy does all sorts of weird things to your body that you just have to adjust to. Slow down. Relax. Learn to laugh it off and accept that yes, you are crazy--but that's normal.
Friday, January 22, 2010
The 24 Hour Bug
It's finally here. We've been fearing it all winter and it finally arrived. Ada caught a 24 hour flu bug and it hit her yesterday afternoon. Talk about a rough 24 hours for the poor kid, not to mention tough on us (and our plans for the weekend now that we are contagious and awaiting the full-blown cootie invasion ourselves). Gesh.
We've done eight loads of laundry. Changed the sheets on our bed, her bed, her bed again. Covered the couch in blankets, towels, more blankets and more towels. Wiped up the floor in the kitchen, the floor in the hallway, the floor in the bathroom and the floor tiles in her room all due to messes caused by (what I call) the stomach flu. I've changed shirts and pants more times than I can count, both hers and mine, and finally took a nice cleansing shower at 10:30 last night when I was so covered in yuck I couldn't bear it any longer. Luckily, I suggested Rick change out of his work clothes, including his new dress pants, prior to tagging in for some Ada cuddles after work. Shortly after he changed, she begged for "wa-wa" and he succumbed to her whines, being careful not to let her have too much. But after awhile, she had worked him down and "not too much" became "more than enough" when it ended up all over him, his pants, and the couch--which got nailed three or four times even with all of the blankets and towels we could find to cover it and ourselves (Next time I'm getting garbage bags or a plastic drop cloth).
After changing her outfit three times in the first hour, I decided our house heaters, and her temperature, made it okay for her to don a diaper and a blanket or towel as needed. At one point, we had barely pulled the towels out of the dryer in time for her and Rick to dry off after her second shower of the night.
You know it's bad when, after draining the tub and wrapping her in a towel, she curls into the fetal position while still in the tub and hunkers down as if for the rest of the night. That was my sign that she desperately needed some rest and was too tired for me to even bother with a diaper at that point. She was so dehydrated that the diaper wasn't going to do any good and I knew she'd be up in three hours anyway.
I highly recommend you have a "tag team" system in place for sick kid days. I, once again, have no clue how I would have handled it all without Rick. Between running up and down the stairs for laundry, across the street to pick up dinner and, later on, shakes. Lifting Ada up and down out of the crib, off the couch, into the tub, out of the tub, into our bed, out of our bed. And then there is the whole task of waking up in the middle of the night with her. Rick got the first two times as I was a worthless lump in the bed at that point. I got the early morning wake up call at 6 am, which turned into me being the "wa-wa" sucker and having it come back to get me, literally, half-an-hour later in the form of a mess on the kitchen floor.
So if you want to see your heart break, just spend time with, or even look at, a sick child who doesn't understand why her little body is expelling a bunch of crud from her tummy. She just doesn't understand yet. All energy is drained and she can't understand why you won't give her water, even when she asks politely. It's awful.
On the bright side, I learned a few more tricks to add to my Mommy-arsenal.
1. Cover large areas with bath towels - or even beach towels if you get desperate- and then layer them with smaller hand towels, cloth diapers, or burp cloths that are easier to wash and replace.
2. When your child is demanding water, give them a few sips and then rub a piece of ice on their lips. Wrap the ice in a thin washcloth or a handkerchief and let them suck on it.
3. Consider raising the heat or just keep them covered so you don't have to wash their clothes every five seconds. Turns out that sick kids hate being dressed and undressed.
4. Have a lot of blankets and backup bed sheets on hand whenever possible, just in case.
5. When in doubt, just keep feeding movies into the DVD player while snuggling on the couch. Ada highly recommends Finding Nemo, Cars, and Toy Story 1 and 2.
Moral of the story: Sick sucks. Call in backup for help with mess reduction and pull out your patience reserves. You're going to need them... and a nap.
We've done eight loads of laundry. Changed the sheets on our bed, her bed, her bed again. Covered the couch in blankets, towels, more blankets and more towels. Wiped up the floor in the kitchen, the floor in the hallway, the floor in the bathroom and the floor tiles in her room all due to messes caused by (what I call) the stomach flu. I've changed shirts and pants more times than I can count, both hers and mine, and finally took a nice cleansing shower at 10:30 last night when I was so covered in yuck I couldn't bear it any longer. Luckily, I suggested Rick change out of his work clothes, including his new dress pants, prior to tagging in for some Ada cuddles after work. Shortly after he changed, she begged for "wa-wa" and he succumbed to her whines, being careful not to let her have too much. But after awhile, she had worked him down and "not too much" became "more than enough" when it ended up all over him, his pants, and the couch--which got nailed three or four times even with all of the blankets and towels we could find to cover it and ourselves (Next time I'm getting garbage bags or a plastic drop cloth).
After changing her outfit three times in the first hour, I decided our house heaters, and her temperature, made it okay for her to don a diaper and a blanket or towel as needed. At one point, we had barely pulled the towels out of the dryer in time for her and Rick to dry off after her second shower of the night.
You know it's bad when, after draining the tub and wrapping her in a towel, she curls into the fetal position while still in the tub and hunkers down as if for the rest of the night. That was my sign that she desperately needed some rest and was too tired for me to even bother with a diaper at that point. She was so dehydrated that the diaper wasn't going to do any good and I knew she'd be up in three hours anyway.
I highly recommend you have a "tag team" system in place for sick kid days. I, once again, have no clue how I would have handled it all without Rick. Between running up and down the stairs for laundry, across the street to pick up dinner and, later on, shakes. Lifting Ada up and down out of the crib, off the couch, into the tub, out of the tub, into our bed, out of our bed. And then there is the whole task of waking up in the middle of the night with her. Rick got the first two times as I was a worthless lump in the bed at that point. I got the early morning wake up call at 6 am, which turned into me being the "wa-wa" sucker and having it come back to get me, literally, half-an-hour later in the form of a mess on the kitchen floor.
So if you want to see your heart break, just spend time with, or even look at, a sick child who doesn't understand why her little body is expelling a bunch of crud from her tummy. She just doesn't understand yet. All energy is drained and she can't understand why you won't give her water, even when she asks politely. It's awful.
On the bright side, I learned a few more tricks to add to my Mommy-arsenal.
1. Cover large areas with bath towels - or even beach towels if you get desperate- and then layer them with smaller hand towels, cloth diapers, or burp cloths that are easier to wash and replace.
2. When your child is demanding water, give them a few sips and then rub a piece of ice on their lips. Wrap the ice in a thin washcloth or a handkerchief and let them suck on it.
3. Consider raising the heat or just keep them covered so you don't have to wash their clothes every five seconds. Turns out that sick kids hate being dressed and undressed.
4. Have a lot of blankets and backup bed sheets on hand whenever possible, just in case.
5. When in doubt, just keep feeding movies into the DVD player while snuggling on the couch. Ada highly recommends Finding Nemo, Cars, and Toy Story 1 and 2.
Moral of the story: Sick sucks. Call in backup for help with mess reduction and pull out your patience reserves. You're going to need them... and a nap.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Crayon on the Couch
So not only did Ada stick peas up her nose on Rick's watch this week, but she also got crayon on the couch cushion. How do you get that out? No, seriously, I'm asking. I don't know how. I'm assuming I start with a paper towel and a blow dryer so I can heat the wax and absorb it with the towel. But that's just a guess. I'm assuming it is sort of like candle wax.
Either Rick has been slightly pre-occupied or Ada's just giving him a dose of the terrible twos. At least it is only a 4 inch mark and we have a durable couch fabric that resists most stains. That's my task for this weekend.
Moral of the story: If it can leave a mark (or fit up a nose or in an ear), keep it out of reach of your two-year-old or don't let it out of your sight.
Either Rick has been slightly pre-occupied or Ada's just giving him a dose of the terrible twos. At least it is only a 4 inch mark and we have a durable couch fabric that resists most stains. That's my task for this weekend.
Moral of the story: If it can leave a mark (or fit up a nose or in an ear), keep it out of reach of your two-year-old or don't let it out of your sight.
Friday, October 23, 2009
Potty Time, Excellent!
Mmmmm.... maybe not quite yet. I've been trying to get Ada interested in the potty and the other day I got her to pee a whole 6 drops of urine into the potty. I celebrated by singing and danceing and clapping and congratulating her like we just won the potty lotto. For a moment I was so excited thinking, "Yeah. We made it. She's ready! No more diapers." Then reality stepped in.
No she's not. Not even close to ready. Keep dreaming momma.
As it turns out, she needs to care that she has a poopy diaper and want it changed. Ada could sit in that mushy diaper for hours and not be bothered.
It would help if she could say "Poop" or "Pee" so that she can communicate that she needs to go. I can't get her to even say her name yet so those might take a bit longer.
On the upside, I can get her to sit naked on the potty and read books. At least there is that. I'll keep hoping that she's an early trainer... but I'm not holding my breath or selling my stock in diapers just yet.
Moral of the story: Potty training must be 100% on their terms. Keep suggesting it as an option and hopefully, someday, eventually, it will stick.
No she's not. Not even close to ready. Keep dreaming momma.
As it turns out, she needs to care that she has a poopy diaper and want it changed. Ada could sit in that mushy diaper for hours and not be bothered.
It would help if she could say "Poop" or "Pee" so that she can communicate that she needs to go. I can't get her to even say her name yet so those might take a bit longer.
On the upside, I can get her to sit naked on the potty and read books. At least there is that. I'll keep hoping that she's an early trainer... but I'm not holding my breath or selling my stock in diapers just yet.
Moral of the story: Potty training must be 100% on their terms. Keep suggesting it as an option and hopefully, someday, eventually, it will stick.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
My Friday Before Dinner
It's Friday. I've invited my college buddies over for dinner and what started out as just us and my friend Bob for dinner, turned into us three, Bob, Vern, Cara, Alex, Kim, Ted, Alison and Will. Sweet. We tend to have trouble finding time when we can all get together and this impromptu thing ended up working out really well.
Knowing that I can't cook, I arranged to order pizza and have it arrive about 6:45. Everyone planned to arrive around 6:30 or 7 and that seemed like as good a plan as any. We've learned from past dinners that if we don't pre-order, we starve while waiting for the food and then don't have time to play a game afterward, which is really what this is all about. Having fun with old friends, and playing games.
I had a few errands to run before picking Ada up so I left work at 4:30. I went to the ATM, then went to a different bank to make a deposit for the condo association. I have two letters in my hand that I need to mail. Previously, when making the condo association bank deposit, I though I had inadvertently put the envelope I keep the ATM card in, into the mail drop box with a bill I was mailing then. That resulted in me being distracted and telling the story about just how I'd lost the card when Ada fell down the back porch stairs. Yikes. Don't want a repeat of that. (It turns out that the ATM card was in an envelope on the kitchen counter the whole time.)
This time, I again have letters to mail so I crossed the street to deposit two bills into a postal drop box and re-crossed the street to be on the south side for the entry to the El train home. As I'm waiting for the light, it dawns on me that I can't remember where I put the ATM card. The light turns in my favor and I cross the street while quickly, not frantically but concernedly, digging in my purse for the ATM card envelope. I know it's there. I just can't find it under all of the crap I have. Why do I have a sippy cup, a diaper, wipes, and goldfish snacks in here? How the heck am I supposed to find...SMACK!
Oh no I didn't. Oh yes you did.
While intensely focusing on the contents of my purse, I continued to walk toward the El station and completely lost all awareness of my surroundings and walked straight into...wait for it...A BUS SHELTER. Thunk. My calf, knee and head all connected with the advertising side of the small structure.
"Oh My God. I did not just do that", I think.
"Oh yes I did." I start laughing uncontrollably. Then I realize, "What if there is someone waiting for a bus? They must think I'm an idiot."
I peer around the corner of the shelter. Yep. Hi there. In my head I'm saying, "That was me who just walked into the side of this place. Sorry about that. Hope I didn't startle you but damn, that's funny." In reality, I shot her a quick glance with the biggest smile on my face and quickly continued on my way down the street. Laughing to myself and at myself the whole way to the El train. Then I laughed even more as I sent my friend Colette a text retelling the event.
But that's not all.
I got Ada, got home and all but forgot about the previous "incident", putting it in my back pocket for a funny story later on. It was time I focus on cleaning up the last bits of things that are out of place and feeding Ada before everyone starts to arrive.
All is going well. I've done the dishes and she helped me put them away - which I encouraged as I quickly grabbed each glass plate and dish she handed to me from the bottom rack of the dishwasher. Boy was that nerve-wracking but she insisted on helping.
Ada is eating. I'm settled in to watch some Grey's Anatomy on ABC.com (since we don't have cable). I've supplied Ada with a gourmet dinner of bagel, goldfish crackers, graham crackers, turkey, and apple sauce. And I've just dumped out our old milk and given her a full cup of milk that tasted okay to me but is on it's last day as well. Why does our milk seem to go bad so quickly these days? I text Rick to have him pick up new milk since our friend Bob is coming over and that man drinks more milk than anyone I've ever seen in my entire life. Multiple gallons in a week. He could have been a dairy cow in another life.
All is well in the world. Rick comes home and greets us. He removes his winter coat (yes, I know it's early October!) and settles in next to us to see what is going on. I have two minutes left on Grey's Anatomy and friends will be arriving anytime now. Ada's finishing up dinner and... then... it starts. As we are sitting around all content with the world, Ada starts throwing up her entire dinner. At first, we think she's just choking on something and is going to spit it out. Then it keeps coming up, and up, and up. She has expelled everything in her stomach. All over herself, the highchair, the floor. Everywhere.
"It must have been the milk. I didn't think it was 'bad' but it clearly wasn't 'good'. Let's clean her up." I mutter as I take her to the bathroom while holding her at arms length, hoping to stay clean.
She is, by this time, hysterical. Screaming. Not quite sure what the heck is going on or why she has her dinner all over her body. I've got her in the tub and she won't let me take her vomit covered shirt off. I'm tugging, she's resisting. Finally I win and get her naked. I turn on the shower and start to spray her down. She's still hysterical.
"Screw it." I think to myself as she reaches out to me, wet, naked, and covered in her regurgitated dinner. She crawls out of the tub and into my fully-clothed, dry clothes and clean arms and cries. I get her to calm down a bit and then decide to join her in the shower to comfort her and get her cleaned up. So what if I have 8 people coming over for dinner in just a matter of minutes. They are such good friends, I practically consider them family.
I'm in the shower with her when I hear the first door buzzer. At least Rick's home to let people in. I'm shampooing her hair for the second buzz. We are rinsing off for the third tone. And we are standing naked, dripping wet and trying to towel off when the pizza arrives. Thankfully I set out money for the pizza guy ahead of time and Bob took care of it all. My kind of house guests.
I passed Ada out to Rick so he could get her dressed again. Then I quickly shuffle around the hall corner to my bedroom to get decent. A quick glance in the mirror reveals that my mascara has run, but overall my makeup is salvageable and my hair isn't too wet. Five minutes and a whole new outfit later, I'm dishing up pizza and enjoying friends.
About an hour later, I remember that good old bus shelter incident and decide it's a great time to share one of my most "blonde" moments ever as tears of laughter gush from my eyes.
Good times had by all.
Moral of the story: The best friends are those that can help themselves and love you just the way you are. And those that laugh with you instead of at you. Just keep laughing at yourself.
Parenting rule to live by: When in doubt, throw it out.
Knowing that I can't cook, I arranged to order pizza and have it arrive about 6:45. Everyone planned to arrive around 6:30 or 7 and that seemed like as good a plan as any. We've learned from past dinners that if we don't pre-order, we starve while waiting for the food and then don't have time to play a game afterward, which is really what this is all about. Having fun with old friends, and playing games.
I had a few errands to run before picking Ada up so I left work at 4:30. I went to the ATM, then went to a different bank to make a deposit for the condo association. I have two letters in my hand that I need to mail. Previously, when making the condo association bank deposit, I though I had inadvertently put the envelope I keep the ATM card in, into the mail drop box with a bill I was mailing then. That resulted in me being distracted and telling the story about just how I'd lost the card when Ada fell down the back porch stairs. Yikes. Don't want a repeat of that. (It turns out that the ATM card was in an envelope on the kitchen counter the whole time.)
This time, I again have letters to mail so I crossed the street to deposit two bills into a postal drop box and re-crossed the street to be on the south side for the entry to the El train home. As I'm waiting for the light, it dawns on me that I can't remember where I put the ATM card. The light turns in my favor and I cross the street while quickly, not frantically but concernedly, digging in my purse for the ATM card envelope. I know it's there. I just can't find it under all of the crap I have. Why do I have a sippy cup, a diaper, wipes, and goldfish snacks in here? How the heck am I supposed to find...SMACK!
Oh no I didn't. Oh yes you did.
While intensely focusing on the contents of my purse, I continued to walk toward the El station and completely lost all awareness of my surroundings and walked straight into...wait for it...A BUS SHELTER. Thunk. My calf, knee and head all connected with the advertising side of the small structure.
"Oh My God. I did not just do that", I think.
"Oh yes I did." I start laughing uncontrollably. Then I realize, "What if there is someone waiting for a bus? They must think I'm an idiot."
I peer around the corner of the shelter. Yep. Hi there. In my head I'm saying, "That was me who just walked into the side of this place. Sorry about that. Hope I didn't startle you but damn, that's funny." In reality, I shot her a quick glance with the biggest smile on my face and quickly continued on my way down the street. Laughing to myself and at myself the whole way to the El train. Then I laughed even more as I sent my friend Colette a text retelling the event.
But that's not all.
I got Ada, got home and all but forgot about the previous "incident", putting it in my back pocket for a funny story later on. It was time I focus on cleaning up the last bits of things that are out of place and feeding Ada before everyone starts to arrive.
All is going well. I've done the dishes and she helped me put them away - which I encouraged as I quickly grabbed each glass plate and dish she handed to me from the bottom rack of the dishwasher. Boy was that nerve-wracking but she insisted on helping.
Ada is eating. I'm settled in to watch some Grey's Anatomy on ABC.com (since we don't have cable). I've supplied Ada with a gourmet dinner of bagel, goldfish crackers, graham crackers, turkey, and apple sauce. And I've just dumped out our old milk and given her a full cup of milk that tasted okay to me but is on it's last day as well. Why does our milk seem to go bad so quickly these days? I text Rick to have him pick up new milk since our friend Bob is coming over and that man drinks more milk than anyone I've ever seen in my entire life. Multiple gallons in a week. He could have been a dairy cow in another life.
All is well in the world. Rick comes home and greets us. He removes his winter coat (yes, I know it's early October!) and settles in next to us to see what is going on. I have two minutes left on Grey's Anatomy and friends will be arriving anytime now. Ada's finishing up dinner and... then... it starts. As we are sitting around all content with the world, Ada starts throwing up her entire dinner. At first, we think she's just choking on something and is going to spit it out. Then it keeps coming up, and up, and up. She has expelled everything in her stomach. All over herself, the highchair, the floor. Everywhere.
"It must have been the milk. I didn't think it was 'bad' but it clearly wasn't 'good'. Let's clean her up." I mutter as I take her to the bathroom while holding her at arms length, hoping to stay clean.
She is, by this time, hysterical. Screaming. Not quite sure what the heck is going on or why she has her dinner all over her body. I've got her in the tub and she won't let me take her vomit covered shirt off. I'm tugging, she's resisting. Finally I win and get her naked. I turn on the shower and start to spray her down. She's still hysterical.
"Screw it." I think to myself as she reaches out to me, wet, naked, and covered in her regurgitated dinner. She crawls out of the tub and into my fully-clothed, dry clothes and clean arms and cries. I get her to calm down a bit and then decide to join her in the shower to comfort her and get her cleaned up. So what if I have 8 people coming over for dinner in just a matter of minutes. They are such good friends, I practically consider them family.
I'm in the shower with her when I hear the first door buzzer. At least Rick's home to let people in. I'm shampooing her hair for the second buzz. We are rinsing off for the third tone. And we are standing naked, dripping wet and trying to towel off when the pizza arrives. Thankfully I set out money for the pizza guy ahead of time and Bob took care of it all. My kind of house guests.
I passed Ada out to Rick so he could get her dressed again. Then I quickly shuffle around the hall corner to my bedroom to get decent. A quick glance in the mirror reveals that my mascara has run, but overall my makeup is salvageable and my hair isn't too wet. Five minutes and a whole new outfit later, I'm dishing up pizza and enjoying friends.
About an hour later, I remember that good old bus shelter incident and decide it's a great time to share one of my most "blonde" moments ever as tears of laughter gush from my eyes.
Good times had by all.
Moral of the story: The best friends are those that can help themselves and love you just the way you are. And those that laugh with you instead of at you. Just keep laughing at yourself.
Parenting rule to live by: When in doubt, throw it out.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Such a bad mom...?
From over here, it looks like you might be a bad mother.
Sometimes I feel like that's what other people are thinking of me. I don't believe it's true, but women can be very judgemental and critical, and well, sometimes I just wonder if they are being critical of my parenting style.
Today at the park was a great example--especially following Ada's fall down the back steps yesterday (my neighbor probably thought we were awful to let her stand on the stairs on her own. Gasp, oh the horror!) We're at the park--a tiny neighborhood park on Belmont that isn't much bigger than the size of a standard house lot so maybe 30 feet wide by 120 deep. There are over 20 kids and their moms or dads or nannies and their strollers. It's a lot to take in and I'm clearly over stimulated. Moms on cell phones. Kids eating snacks. Toys being borrowed, stolen, and fought over. Pretty close to full-on chaos.
We've been at the park for about 15 minutes. I'm yawning and daydreaming when all of a sudden I hear a mom squeal and look to see that Ada has run under a swing and got kicked in the face by the woman's child. Everybody is fine. One minute of screaming and all is right with the world. Too bad Obama doesn't have it that good. Then about ten minutes later she ran straight into a railing at forehead height for the ramp up to the jungle gym. The same mothers saw her do both. And they saw me watch her do both, or watch me not watch her in the first case.
To that I just say "So what?" This is a big city. When am I going to see those moms again?
Moral of the story: Don't be too quick to judge other moms, and don't worry if they are quick to judge you. Focus your energy on being a good mom.
Sometimes I feel like that's what other people are thinking of me. I don't believe it's true, but women can be very judgemental and critical, and well, sometimes I just wonder if they are being critical of my parenting style.
Today at the park was a great example--especially following Ada's fall down the back steps yesterday (my neighbor probably thought we were awful to let her stand on the stairs on her own. Gasp, oh the horror!) We're at the park--a tiny neighborhood park on Belmont that isn't much bigger than the size of a standard house lot so maybe 30 feet wide by 120 deep. There are over 20 kids and their moms or dads or nannies and their strollers. It's a lot to take in and I'm clearly over stimulated. Moms on cell phones. Kids eating snacks. Toys being borrowed, stolen, and fought over. Pretty close to full-on chaos.
We've been at the park for about 15 minutes. I'm yawning and daydreaming when all of a sudden I hear a mom squeal and look to see that Ada has run under a swing and got kicked in the face by the woman's child. Everybody is fine. One minute of screaming and all is right with the world. Too bad Obama doesn't have it that good. Then about ten minutes later she ran straight into a railing at forehead height for the ramp up to the jungle gym. The same mothers saw her do both. And they saw me watch her do both, or watch me not watch her in the first case.
To that I just say "So what?" This is a big city. When am I going to see those moms again?
Moral of the story: Don't be too quick to judge other moms, and don't worry if they are quick to judge you. Focus your energy on being a good mom.
Six steps at a time...
Ada learned this weekend that the quickest way to the bottom of the steps on our back porch is to fall down them. She's fine, amazingly. She really only feel down about seven steps but that was enough to do a complete head-over-feet roll and bend her neck back in a way that creeped both of us out.
Rick and I watched the whole thing happen, with our neighbor standing next to me, and couldn't do anything about it. I was sitting at the top of the stairs telling a story about how I thought I just mailed my credit card to my doctor's office with a bill I was paying (I found it later on the kitchen counter) and he was at the bottom landing with his arms full of potting materials as it was repot-the-houseplants day for us. She fell so fast and time went into a slow motion blur. It was all so surreal. Our neighbor was totally freaked out and worried about her. I knew she was just fine and stayed calm. Rick picked her up and cuddled her. Five minutes later it was all forgotten... minus the tiny scrap on her nose.
This isn't her first trip down the stairs, but it is her longest. She's wiped out a few times on the front steps and gone down like a ragdoll. That's partly why I don't get freaked out when something like this happens. She's built to be floppy at this age... not that I don't encourage parents to watch their children closely around stairs, because I do. She's not indestructible by any means. But I think she's built to bounce. She falls down at least ten times a day. I can't say I'd be in good shape if I fell even twice a day. I also believe in giving kids room to learn on their own and make their own mistakes. My brother and I both tumbled down the stairs as kids. (I don't think there is any lasting damage but others may disagree.) It seems to be a right of passage. Just something that happens.
Moral of the story: Try not to freak out too soon when your child falls. Chances are that they are going to be just fine and their injures are fixable. And only make them wear a helmet in moderation (ie. bikes, skateboards, scooters, etc., not going downstairs).
Rick and I watched the whole thing happen, with our neighbor standing next to me, and couldn't do anything about it. I was sitting at the top of the stairs telling a story about how I thought I just mailed my credit card to my doctor's office with a bill I was paying (I found it later on the kitchen counter) and he was at the bottom landing with his arms full of potting materials as it was repot-the-houseplants day for us. She fell so fast and time went into a slow motion blur. It was all so surreal. Our neighbor was totally freaked out and worried about her. I knew she was just fine and stayed calm. Rick picked her up and cuddled her. Five minutes later it was all forgotten... minus the tiny scrap on her nose.
This isn't her first trip down the stairs, but it is her longest. She's wiped out a few times on the front steps and gone down like a ragdoll. That's partly why I don't get freaked out when something like this happens. She's built to be floppy at this age... not that I don't encourage parents to watch their children closely around stairs, because I do. She's not indestructible by any means. But I think she's built to bounce. She falls down at least ten times a day. I can't say I'd be in good shape if I fell even twice a day. I also believe in giving kids room to learn on their own and make their own mistakes. My brother and I both tumbled down the stairs as kids. (I don't think there is any lasting damage but others may disagree.) It seems to be a right of passage. Just something that happens.
Moral of the story: Try not to freak out too soon when your child falls. Chances are that they are going to be just fine and their injures are fixable. And only make them wear a helmet in moderation (ie. bikes, skateboards, scooters, etc., not going downstairs).
Thursday, September 10, 2009
This message brought to you by plastic...
The problem with having a tall child is that she can reach the countertops that much faster. Plain and simple. I'm just not ready for that yet as this story will show.
Two days ago, Ada figured out how to pull a towel off the countertop. She didn't know that a small lunch-sized cooler was sitting on top of it, and I watched as it bonked her on the head--hoping that the tiny bump she'd get would be a mini sort of lesson to her. Sure enough, it bonked her head and she looked at me like "Huh? What was that Mom?" She's clearly too young for a lesson on how gravity works.
In the past, her ability to reach the counters hasn't been much of a problem. She can reach her sippy cups to tell us to refill them. She pulled the dried pineapple and the raisins off the counter as a "Mom, feed me!" sign. I've done my best to train myself and Rick to keep the knives far back on the counter or in their block so she can't reach them. We've been keen to do the same at parties. All is fine and dandy until last night...
Last night, I had too much on my "to do" list. I always do so this should come as no surprise. I'm a list maker and a list checker-offer. It's what brings me joy in life. Completing a task and starting something new. So last night, I'm trying to get something off my "to do" list and feed Ada dinner. While eating dinner, Ada was throwing her food on the floor so I was reprimanding her for the millionth time hoping that lesson would soon sink in. It didn't. She seemed to be finished eating so I took her out of her high chair. Just then, our lovely neighbor Kelly came over to hang out before her haircut appointment. She sat and ate a sandwich while chatting with us. She was eating so Ada wanted to eat. That's just how it works. So I decided to peel an orange for Ada. We're fine up and to this point.
Here's where I get stupid. Oranges are messy and I figured I'd put it on a plate. I SHOULD have grabbed a plastic plate or a bowl, but I didn't. Instead, I grabbed a plate my good friend Colette gave me for my birthday this past June. One of a set of four mind you. They've been put into the everyday rotation so I can remember our year and a half of good times before she moved to Seattle this Summer.
So I get the orange peeled and onto the plate. Ada immediately goes to grab a piece of orange from the plate and I realize what's about to happen... SO I MOVE THE PLATE TO THE FLOOR. Part of me felt like I was putting down the dog's dish at my parents house. Dishes just don't feel right on the floor. Somewhere in my gut a little voice was screaming "Nooooooooooooooooooooo!" But I didn't listen.
We hung out with Kelly. She stayed for about 45 minutes. Ada did her thing, ate some oranges, hung out. Then Kelly left and I resumed work on my "to do" list by paying some bills on the computer. Ada's babbling and finishing the oranges. Something tells me to look over at her and sure enough, she's got the plate two feet off the tiled kitchen floor and is holding it awkwardly.
Oh shit.
There it goes. In s-l-o-w-m-o-t-i-o-n. Down. Down. Down to the floor where it crashes into 4 main pieces and a dozen little shards we'll be finding three weeks later. I freak out and yell "Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" Ada starts crying. I start tearing -- I really miss Colette and this is a new plate. Damn it Ada. I scoop her up and maneuver through the kitchen to her room to keep her safe. Silly me thinks I can just shut the door and she'll play while I go clean up the mess. Nope. She starts screaming like the neighbor's kid just squashed her favorite donut.
New plan. Let's lock both of us in Ada's room and clean it until daddy comes home. Then he can clean the kitchen.
Urg.
Moral of the story: Always use plastic. For everything. Until your kid is 25, at least.
Two days ago, Ada figured out how to pull a towel off the countertop. She didn't know that a small lunch-sized cooler was sitting on top of it, and I watched as it bonked her on the head--hoping that the tiny bump she'd get would be a mini sort of lesson to her. Sure enough, it bonked her head and she looked at me like "Huh? What was that Mom?" She's clearly too young for a lesson on how gravity works.
In the past, her ability to reach the counters hasn't been much of a problem. She can reach her sippy cups to tell us to refill them. She pulled the dried pineapple and the raisins off the counter as a "Mom, feed me!" sign. I've done my best to train myself and Rick to keep the knives far back on the counter or in their block so she can't reach them. We've been keen to do the same at parties. All is fine and dandy until last night...
Last night, I had too much on my "to do" list. I always do so this should come as no surprise. I'm a list maker and a list checker-offer. It's what brings me joy in life. Completing a task and starting something new. So last night, I'm trying to get something off my "to do" list and feed Ada dinner. While eating dinner, Ada was throwing her food on the floor so I was reprimanding her for the millionth time hoping that lesson would soon sink in. It didn't. She seemed to be finished eating so I took her out of her high chair. Just then, our lovely neighbor Kelly came over to hang out before her haircut appointment. She sat and ate a sandwich while chatting with us. She was eating so Ada wanted to eat. That's just how it works. So I decided to peel an orange for Ada. We're fine up and to this point.
Here's where I get stupid. Oranges are messy and I figured I'd put it on a plate. I SHOULD have grabbed a plastic plate or a bowl, but I didn't. Instead, I grabbed a plate my good friend Colette gave me for my birthday this past June. One of a set of four mind you. They've been put into the everyday rotation so I can remember our year and a half of good times before she moved to Seattle this Summer.
So I get the orange peeled and onto the plate. Ada immediately goes to grab a piece of orange from the plate and I realize what's about to happen... SO I MOVE THE PLATE TO THE FLOOR. Part of me felt like I was putting down the dog's dish at my parents house. Dishes just don't feel right on the floor. Somewhere in my gut a little voice was screaming "Nooooooooooooooooooooo!" But I didn't listen.
We hung out with Kelly. She stayed for about 45 minutes. Ada did her thing, ate some oranges, hung out. Then Kelly left and I resumed work on my "to do" list by paying some bills on the computer. Ada's babbling and finishing the oranges. Something tells me to look over at her and sure enough, she's got the plate two feet off the tiled kitchen floor and is holding it awkwardly.
Oh shit.
There it goes. In s-l-o-w-m-o-t-i-o-n. Down. Down. Down to the floor where it crashes into 4 main pieces and a dozen little shards we'll be finding three weeks later. I freak out and yell "Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" Ada starts crying. I start tearing -- I really miss Colette and this is a new plate. Damn it Ada. I scoop her up and maneuver through the kitchen to her room to keep her safe. Silly me thinks I can just shut the door and she'll play while I go clean up the mess. Nope. She starts screaming like the neighbor's kid just squashed her favorite donut.
New plan. Let's lock both of us in Ada's room and clean it until daddy comes home. Then he can clean the kitchen.
Urg.
Moral of the story: Always use plastic. For everything. Until your kid is 25, at least.
Friday, August 7, 2009
My first heart attack, of what I assume to be many
This morning, as I was making blueberry pancakes for breakfast and Rick was getting ready for work, Ada gave me a mini-heart attack(if there is such a thing as a heart attack being "mini"). I seriously think my heart stopped beating for a moment or two.
Here I am, la la la, just woke up. Still in my pajamas I'm measuring out the milk and cracking an egg when Ada comes around the corner from the bedroom where Rick is getting dressed. All is well with the world. Then she drops something small and it tumbles across the kitchen floor and her tiny little fingers are going after it, trying to stop it and grab it.
Then my world goes into slow motion...
"What's that she's got?" I think to myself.
"Looks like a carrot chunk."
"NO! It's one of the generic Advil pills I spilled all over the floor three days ago. Grab it now!"
I quickly and loudly scare the living daylights out of Ada and Rick as I yell probably one of the sharpest "NO!"s I've ever said to Ada as I swooped down to grab the pill.
Then I stand still and brace myself on the counter for a few breaths to calm myself down as Rick is staring at me and Ada is screaming wildly as if she's just murdered the neighbor's cat or something.
I look at Rick. "It's one of the pills I spilled the other day."
"Good catch." He says as he goes to get a stuffed animal to cheer Ada up since she's still screaming for fear that whatever she has done is quite possibly the worst thing in the world.
I wish there was a way to tell if you've picked up every last tiny little part of something when you spill it. Like a shattered glass, or an economy size bottle of medicine. I swear I checked the area really well after spilling them but obviously, I missed one. Lucky for me, I caught it before she got to eat it. And damn the makers of these bottles for not inventing a spill proof bottle already for klutzes like myself, and for making the outsides candy coated so they taste good going down. Can't they have some sort of bottle that only shakes out one pill at a time? Then you wouldn't have to touch five pills everytime you needed one or two. Can somebody invent that please?
I count my lucky stars that I caught her before she ate it. Hopefully one Advil wouldn't do too much damage but I'm of the belief that I'd rather not have to find out.
Moral of the story: Always be vigilant around your children and be thankful and praise them profusely when they listen and do as they are told. Amen for that.
Here I am, la la la, just woke up. Still in my pajamas I'm measuring out the milk and cracking an egg when Ada comes around the corner from the bedroom where Rick is getting dressed. All is well with the world. Then she drops something small and it tumbles across the kitchen floor and her tiny little fingers are going after it, trying to stop it and grab it.
Then my world goes into slow motion...
"What's that she's got?" I think to myself.
"Looks like a carrot chunk."
"NO! It's one of the generic Advil pills I spilled all over the floor three days ago. Grab it now!"
I quickly and loudly scare the living daylights out of Ada and Rick as I yell probably one of the sharpest "NO!"s I've ever said to Ada as I swooped down to grab the pill.
Then I stand still and brace myself on the counter for a few breaths to calm myself down as Rick is staring at me and Ada is screaming wildly as if she's just murdered the neighbor's cat or something.
I look at Rick. "It's one of the pills I spilled the other day."
"Good catch." He says as he goes to get a stuffed animal to cheer Ada up since she's still screaming for fear that whatever she has done is quite possibly the worst thing in the world.
I wish there was a way to tell if you've picked up every last tiny little part of something when you spill it. Like a shattered glass, or an economy size bottle of medicine. I swear I checked the area really well after spilling them but obviously, I missed one. Lucky for me, I caught it before she got to eat it. And damn the makers of these bottles for not inventing a spill proof bottle already for klutzes like myself, and for making the outsides candy coated so they taste good going down. Can't they have some sort of bottle that only shakes out one pill at a time? Then you wouldn't have to touch five pills everytime you needed one or two. Can somebody invent that please?
I count my lucky stars that I caught her before she ate it. Hopefully one Advil wouldn't do too much damage but I'm of the belief that I'd rather not have to find out.
Moral of the story: Always be vigilant around your children and be thankful and praise them profusely when they listen and do as they are told. Amen for that.
Monday, April 13, 2009
Who's superstitious?
I'm going to have to admit that I'm not superstitious. And I have to say that because Ada is way too young to have 7 years of bad luck. No one-year-old should have to suffer that curse because her mother said "No Ada, put the hand mirror back." and her father said, "It's fine. It won't break. It's plastic."
You already know how this ends up. Ada made it about 3 minutes before banging the mirror on the kitchen floor and breaking it into about seven different pieces.
I told you so, daddy.
If she has any curse, it's that of being too cute for her own good.
You already know how this ends up. Ada made it about 3 minutes before banging the mirror on the kitchen floor and breaking it into about seven different pieces.
I told you so, daddy.
If she has any curse, it's that of being too cute for her own good.
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