Clair has PTSD

After vomiting multiple times on Saturday night, my poor daughter appears to have PTSD.

Several times a day she stops mid-play to tell us, "I pit up." After which, we have to say, "I know, baby. You spit up," and make a sympathetic sad face, in order for her to go back to doing what she was doing.

She also is having a harder time getting in and staying in her crib.  I think this is because most of the throwing up happened after she was in the bed for the night, and every time my Mom put her back in her pack 'n play.

Last night, she cried after we put her down to sleep -- something that happens very rarely. When I went to soothe her, she cried harder, saying, "No Mommy. I pit up!"

I think she thinks if she stays in her crib, she'll vomit. Awwww. Poor baby.

And then this morning, I went in to get her and she was standing up in her crib, smiling happily, but saying, "Pit up!"

She's obsessed. I feel so bad for her. What do I do with a child who has stomach virus PTSD?

Rat skulls, cocktails and Murphy's Law strikes again

In my quest to find more science-y things to do with the kids, I happened upon the most awesome thing. Every Saturday, Masonville Cove Environmental Education Center has free activities for pre-K kids! Every Saturday. FREE!

The one trick is that they can only fill 20 slots, including adults, and so you have to sign up fast for the weekends you want to go. I learned this the hard way, as I have been trying to go to one of their programs since October!

But this weekend, we finally made it -- and the lesson was on "noc-turtle" animals. (That's how the boys say it.)

We learned about owls and bats and other animals that do most of their living at night. The programs are awesome because they combine toys and stuffed animals with music (the teacher sang a song about nocturnal animals - seriously, who makes a song about nocturnal animals?), a little science experiment, outdoor playtime, arts and crafts AND snack. Did I mention this was all for FREE?

Playing with all the stuffed animals.

The science experiment involved dissecting "owl pellets," which owls cough up after eating mice and other small animals. Because their stomachs can only digest the fleshy parts of animals, the pellets contain all the fur and bones. So we pulled apart the pellets and looked under magnifying glasses at little mice skulls and leg bones and teeth and tails.

The boys were only mildly interested in this -- especially because they had discovered binoculars earlier in the program and really only wanted to look at everything they could find with those. So checking out mice bones was a road bump in their binocular play. I suspect slightly older children, who really understand digestion and anatomy a little bit more would find this supremely exciting.

For my part, I found it pretty cool, but also a little bit gross. But I did a really great job of hiding my  grossed-out-ness because when one is trying to nurture the inner brain surgeon in one's children, one cannot make faces and go "Ewwwww!" when checking out mice skulls. (As much as one might want to.)

Come on. Look at that and tell me you don't want to give me a high-five for suppressing my "ewwww!"

Making a craft.

Owl puppets, with "real" feathers.

It was a little chilly for the outdoor play part of the program -- pretending to be bats and trying to find your friends (or Mommy) using echolocation. But the boys thought it was a lot of fun running around with their eyes closed shouting.

All in all, the morning was really awesome. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, and I know that going to this program will be a big part of our lives from now on. In fact, I think I've just found the place that will get our end-of-the-year donation in 2014: Masonville Cove.

Lester took Clair with him to a political event that morning, so while the boys and I were sciencing (just coined a word! Holla!), the two of them were politicking.  The Mayor was there and the Lt. Governor (who is running for governor), but Lester said Clair stole the show. I'm not surprised.

Later Saturday afternoon, we all went to my parents' house. We dropped the kids off with Mom and Dad and went to a holiday dinner party at the home of my friend Wes' girlfriend Danielle.

Danielle and Wes.

The fancy Davises (pre-cocktails).

The evening was VERY elegant. There were all sorts of stinky cheeses, and appetizers with brie and caviar, and super fancy place settings and a beef tenderloin so damn good I wanted to sing halleluiah to the cow who gave it to us. There was a signature cocktail (with cranberries that had been soaking in vodka for two YEARS) and dinner served with both a red and a white wine.  And the conversation was really hilarious and substantial and satisfying.

Grown-up night out. Good friends. GREAT food. Excellent conversation. Kids safe and happy (and asleep) with my parents: When we left Danielle's house, we were on quite a high!

It was quarter to 1 when we walked in -- and the high ended there.

Every light was on in the house. Mom was up washing linens and pajamas and Cary and Dean were awake and wired. Clair was crying and looking pitiful.

Apparently, poor Clair had vomited THREE times while we were gone. Once, she spit up all over Cary. And in the middle of all of that, Dean got ahold of a stapler in my parents' office and stapled his thumb. Dad had to pry it out with pliers. 

I thought for a half a second: Boy, so glad we missed all this excitement! But remember how we always say that no good date goes unpunished? Well, just know that Mom happily handed her shift over to me when we came in, so the fourth time Clair vomited (this time mostly liquids), it was our turn to change her pajamas, put new sheets on the boys' bed (how she managed to aim and hit the boys' bed every time is beyond me) and try to get her back to sleep.

At 3 a.m., she and I were still awake on my parents' living room sofa.  Her tummy was upset and she was "hunggy" and "firsty" but I wouldn't dare put another thing on her stomach, so she just whined and complained and fidgeted until finally, around 3:40, she collapsed from exhaustion.

Of course I was sorry as can be for my poor sweetie (and my poor parents!) but I was also thinking how it is SO Murphy's Law that the one night I have two or three (or four, but who's counting) cocktails, plus two glasses of wine, is the night my poor, sick child won't sleep until nearly 4 a.m.!!

And of course C and D were up at 7:30 a.m. --  bright-eyed and ready to eat breakfast and play in the snow that started falling later in the morning.

Lester and I were both so tired, we missed church and didn't get to go buy our Christmas tree like we wanted to. We mostly just sat around the next day, drinking coffee and falling asleep mid-sentence.

Lucky for us, the bug was pretty much over and done with by morning, so Clair feels much better and we are making plans to go get our tree sometime this week. So there are no regrets, people. I'm dragging still a little bit this morning, but I still have the memory of that fabulous tenderloin. And boy was it worth it.

Worst night with the babies ever!

OK, this blog post title is definite hyperbole.

But I remember back when the boys were infants that bad nights always seemed like the WORST NIGHTS EVER. Looking back on them, even this one -- they don't seem that bad after all. And now, with a little parenting experience under my belt, I can even realize  -- smack in the middle of the bad night -- that this night is not the worst it could be.

Still. Last night was pretty sucky.

All three kids have had runny noses, but had been feeling mostly normal. Until five minutes after Michelle left yesterday and I snuggled up to Cary on the couch, only to feel that he was hot, hot, hot. I took his temperature - 101.5. Dean insisted I take his temperature: It was 99.5. And then Clair took the thermometer and dragged it across her forehead (it was so cute) so I appeased her by taking her temperature, too: It was 100! What the what? These fevers came out of nowhere!

Immediately after finding out they had temperatures, the whole lot of them descended into whininess. I tried to distract them, tried to hug and love them, but they seemed almost happy to be whiny. (Whining does make me feel better when I'm sick, too, so I guess I understand). I popped some Tylenol and decided to go with it.

But then, Cary had to go to the potty. He shuffled slowly, whining the entire time, to the potty and barely pulled his pants down. By the time he lowered his narrow behind onto the potty, it was too late. Pee was all over the floor. I hustled to the kitchen to get paper towels and cleaner. I heard a scream: "Mommy!! Clair's touching the PEEEE!"

I ran from the kitchen to the living room to keep the baby out of the wet spot, while Cary whined that he did more than just pee and now he needed me to help him wipe. (At least that part made it into the potty!) I asked him to wait while I cleaned up the pee. This pushed him from whining to full-blown crying. Clair was also crying because she had a desperate need to play in the pee, apparently.

Using one arm to barricade her, I got the floor cleaned up with the other hand, wiped Cary and told him to pull his pants up. "I cannnnn't!" he whined. "I want YOUUUU to do it!"

Meanwhile, Clair kept trying to open the potty lid to see what was in it. So I ran up the stairs to take both potties and dump them in the toilet. Cary whined ever louder as I noticed that the potties - and the potty seat that goes on the toilet -- smelled horrendous, even after I washed, rinsed and scrubbed them with Scrubbing Bubbles. I almost gagged, it was so bad. How had I not noticed this before??
I started scrubbing more and more and got a little bit OCD about it, tuning out Cary's whining, until I heard another scream: "Mommmmmy! Clair's in the kitchen cabinet!"

I ran downstairs and sure enough, Clair was sucking feverishly on a bottle of floor cleaner.  (We are really not winning any parenting awards this year, believe me.)

I pried it from her, stuck a bottle brush through the cabinet handles as Clair screamed, ran to pull Cary's pants up and decided that everyone needed to go to bed early. So up the stairs we marched.

When Dean realized that there was going to be no bath, he flipped out. The only way I got him to calm down and come put his pajamas on was to tell him that after his pajamas were on, he could have some medicine. Yes, I bribed my child with drugs. The same child who had to go to the emergency room for chugging medicine while we slept. Yes. I did. Moving on...

Sufficiently incentivized (you like that corporate-speak, don't you?), the boys got their pajamas on quickly, and took their medicine. I had to go downstairs to get Clair's bottle, so I told the boys to keep their bedroom door closed while I ran to the kitchen and not to open it under ANY CIRCUMSTANCES.  I had just crossed the threshold into the kitchen when I heard the boys' door open.

Frustrated, I yelled up the stairs, "I said not to open that door under ANY CIRCUMSTANCES!!"

Deanie started stuttering: "M-m-m-m-mommmy, Cary, Cary, Cary. Umm....Cary, Cary, Cary, Cary. Umm. Cary spit up! Cary spit up because he choked!"

Then of course, I felt like the WWM (world's worst mother). I ran up the stairs (lot of running up and down stairs last night) and comforted a sad Cary, who had indeed coughed until he choked (a regular occurrence for him) and then he threw up, all over a green plastic chair. And Dean, being his ever-helpful self, tried to wipe it up and was freaking out about the fact that there was now spit-up on his hands. Meanwhile, Clair is crying because she also doesn't feel well, and is SO ready for her bottle and for bed; Cary is crying because he just threw up mushrooms and medicine; and I felt like crying because seriously -- this might not be the worst night ever but it is pretty darn close!!

I got the chair, Cary and Dean cleaned up, ran back downstairs, got Clair's bottle, ran back upstairs, said prayers, tucked the boys in, gave Clair her bottle, put her to bed and was putting all the potty seats and potty-related gear in a soaking bath with disinfectant in the laundry room basin when Lester came home around 7:45.

At that point, I considered my shift OVER. And I went to bed -- with buttered popcorn and Raisinets as my reward for surviving.

I thought I was home free, but Lester and I had just settled in for an episode of House of Cards when we heard an ear-piercing screech. Poor Clair had had a nightmare! I ran into her room (why don't I lose weight with all the running I do around here?) and scooped her up, brought her back into our bedroom, snuggled under our comforter with her on my lap and soothed my sleepy, sniffling baby girl.

After she calmed down, she was so sweet and cuddly. She smiled at us and looked adorable with her messy hair and wide eyes. She crawled over and laid on Lester, looking up at the TV as if she could understand the plot. She was so pleasant, I almost forgot that this was ADULT time. But I came to my senses, deposited her back in her bed with a million kisses, and finished the evening relaxed and content.

And with an ending like that, how could the night ever be classified as the worst night ever?


I'll save that title for another night. I'm sure there will be plenty more that are worthy.

Twin Twilight Zone or Why I Must Be Catnip

I'll save you the sob story about how I'm too tired to post at night, and just jump right in.

First -- Lester and I are in some kind of Twin Twilight Zone where the boys are crazier, crankier and clingier than ever.

Remember last weekend, when we went to Chick-Fil-A and visited friends and family and the boys were just lovely? Ha! It was all a ruse to get us to trust them, so that they could divide and destroy us! My children are terrorists, folks. I'm sure of it.

We left after work Friday to go to my parents' house. Saturday morning, Cary woke up at 5:30 a.m., and Dean decided to join him. Cary refused to nap all day long Saturday and Dean took a three-hour first nap, but no second nap, so by about 4 p.m., the day was shot for both of them.
Dean was the biggest culprit. He was SOOOO whiny and fussy, I could do nothing with him. He only wanted me and he was very vocal (read: bratty) about every little thing, so much so that my sisters said they're buying him an "STFU" shirt for Christmas. Which is mean, of course, and they were joking, but still, I can understand the sentiment. (Sorry, Deanie. I love you, but you really were workin' the last one, buddy.)

And then, both boys had trouble sleeping Saturday night. Cary woke up at 11-ish and didn't go back to sleep until after 1. Dean tossed and turned loudly and balefully all night, and even shrieked in his sleep once or twice. Needless to say, Lester and I didn't sleep well on Saturday either.

So even though we intended to stay through Sunday, hanging out with family, we hurried out -- in our pajamas, no less -- at 8:30 a.m., while most of the house was still sleeping. We were determined to make it home in time to let the boys really nap in their cribs, but of course they both fell asleep in the car on the ride home and so neither one was interested in napping once we got to our house. Instead, they just transferred their crankiness and clinginess to Baltimore!

I was feeling really wiped out (I think it has a lot to do with my blood sugars) so I ended up leaving Lester downstairs with the boys most of the day Sunday, while I rested upstairs. I actually didn't get much sleep, sadly, but my body was telling me that I really, really needed to be lying flat, so I did what I was told. The sad thing is, when I tried to lie flat on the sofa or on the floor, just so I could be in the same room with the boys and Lester, they went bonkers! (Well, Lester didn't!) Lester actually banished me upstairs at one point, and -- lo and behold -- they were just fine! I barely heard a peep out of them as they played with Lester, and independently.

I wonder what that's all about it. Why do they act so crazy around me?? Ugh! It's like I'm catnip, but with a real ugly side.

And guess who woke up at midnight and cried and screamed for an hour? Cary Davis. I cannot believe this baby is waking up again at night. WTF.

Of course, all the developmental reading I'm doing says that this is perfectly normal -- one blurb even said babies at this age are like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, which is so true over here, except that I usually have one of each at any given moment. And they all say that babies are testing boundaries, having trouble sleeping, becoming pickier eaters and being more vocal (read: bratty) at this stage. But, for some reason, reading all that confirmation doesn't make me feel better, because not ONE book/website/blog post tells me WHEN THIS ENDS!!

Guess I'll have to wait and see.

In other news, Cary vomited in his crib last night and had a 101.6 fever.
Poor sweetie!
I went in to cover them with their blankets around 9 and could smell the vomit. I thought it was just on his blanket, but then I noticed that it was all in his hair and everything. Poooor baby!
Lester and I had to wake him up to wash his hair and change his bedclothes and give him some Tylenol and some water. He LOVED every minute of it. I have to admit, he was pretty darn cute all sleepy, with wet hair, looking around our bedroom like, "I know I'm not supposed to be here this time of night. Whoo-hoo! Party!!"
I let him sleep in our bed, because I was freaked out that he would vomit again and I wouldn't know it. Needless to say, Lester and I got very little sleep. Cary tossed and turned and cried for his Lovey allllll night. I felt sorry for him, because he clearly didn't feel well, so I'm not as bitter about losing the sleep. But I sure hope and pray (praying HARD) that I get some sleep tonight.
(And that Dean doesn't get whatever bug Cary has.)

It's so strange having had babies STTN for so many months and then -- just like that -- back to night wakings.

Like I said, we must definitely be in the Twilight Zone.