All is well, or nearly so, with the Zugs. Thomas is getting over his bout of bronchialitis, Ruthie is so far staying healthy, and most importantly… daddy is home again. The computer has been turned off, for the most part, to focus on these things.
In other news, we had accidental success this week in potty training Ruthie through the night. Though she is potty trained through the day and even through her naps, I have hesitated to attempt all night success since she usually ends up in our bed in the wee hours of the morning… and MY mattress does not have a plastic covering over it. However, the other night we must have forgotten to put her pull-up on because we met on the stairs at midnight as I was heading up to bed.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked.
‘I have to go potty.’
‘You don’t have a pull-up on?’
‘No.’
And she continued past me, still half asleep.
So I followed her down into the bathroom and talked about what a big girl she was for sleeping in her underpants, then I carried her back up stairs and tucked her into bed.
The next night we put her to bed in her underpants again, and when I went up to bed around midnight I woke her up and carried her down to the bathroom. She peed, I tucked her in again, and she woke up in the morning with dry jammies.
So cross my fingers: I may be done with one set of diapers!
The waiting room was packed at seven in the evening, but not to worry: when you tell the triage nurse you have a two year old experiencing shortness of breath you get bumped to the head of the line. Quickly. They sent someone out within ten minutes to look at Thomas in the waiting room, and when she saw his chest retracting (pulling in tight at every breath so his ribs popped out) she said, ‘Yup, I need to see him. Bring him back.’
He was an amazing little guy, letting the nurse put a ‘sticker’ on his toe to read his oxygen level, sitting quietly as she checked his heart rate, and not even flinching when he had his temperature read rectally. He sat patiently in his stroller while I held a wand in his face that blew Albuterol up his nose – three rounds of it – and then tolerated a large plastic mask when the nurse finally found one. The nurse warned me ahead of time that kids don’t like nebulizer treatments, and that he’ll probably fuss with all that steam in his face. But no. He sat there sucking his thumb. Who DOES this? I know adults who aren’t that compliant.
Ruthie was a big girl. She was in charge of the Spiderman bag and charming all the staff. In her cuteness she managed to score stickers, graham crackers, teddy bears, paper and crayons, and special trips to help the nurses get supplies. She never once darted out the door or pushed big red buttons or pulled on emergency cords. She danced, she colored, she sang songs, she twirled, she said hello to sick and injured people as they were wheeled past our room… she was the poster child for Pleasantness.
Honestly, and I know this may sound crazy, but I think I may have had more fun in the emergency room than if we’d been at home all alone.
Our trip to the San Jose area couldn’t have come at a better time. I’ve spent the last couple months reorganizing and reprioritizing my focus as a mother and household manager, trying to correct the part of my brain that sometimes finds it easier to focus on the latter and see the former as a distraction. I want to be present with my children. I want to enjoy them. My goal in spending ten days apart from the household duties of cleaning, laundry, and other such necessities was to develop good habits in spending time with my children.
I believe I did well in accomplishing what I set out to do. We played hide and seek. The tickle monster attacked. We went to parks and visited attractions. We left the hotel every day. We talked. And we didn’t watch t.v. Even in the midst of being away from the comforts of home, I only used the morning PBS programs to occupy Ruthie while I showered. We kept busy, and I remained focused on them until they were sleeping.
For me the pinnacle came on Monday when we visited Santa Cruz, about an hour from our hotel. We were nearly alone on a wide open beach, running around and digging in the sand with nothing but our fingers and some empty coffee cups. I stretched myself, and offered Ruthie some freedom from my control, and I watched her revel in a world with few boundaries. The beach was so empty, so expansive, and the ocean before us was so never-ending, that my need to control every situation, every moment, every move seemed insignificant. I realized how rigid I had become, how inflexible. But that morning I was able to let my children run, and I practiced trusting them, and I patiently corrected them when they wandered too far, and I became their biggest fan once again.
It was the silence, and the time, and the space provided by this trip that allowed me to grow as a parent in this way – to remember that my job is much more than just keeping them fed and clothed, but to also disciple and teach and model, and to sometimes play with them. I developed a taste for getting out, for exploring, for inspiring my children and giving them opportunities to run and jump and play – not that it couldn’t have happened in the absence of a vacation, amidst the everyday life I live, but it seems a trip to San Jose is how God chose to get through to me.
As we left the beach in Santa Cruz my kids immediately crashed into a coma, and I listened to the Garden State soundtrack. I love it for its mix. Many soundtracks have a schizophrenic feel to it, accommodating for love scenes and fight scenes and war scenes all within the same album. But the Garden State soundtrack has a vibe, and it’s a good vibe for a quiet ride home from the beach. When the song, Let Go, by Frou Frou began playing I immediately knew it was the soundtrack for the day at least, and maybe even for my overall struggle through anger and control.
You’ll know why when you hear it.
So, the video you are about to see is more than just a video scrapbook of a fun day. I had a vision for this project the moment I heard the song. It is a stone for me to carry, like the ones Much Afraid carried. It is a rock cairn to remember the path I have taken to get where I am now. It is an alter built to God, in praise of who he is, like the ones built by my spiritual forefathers in the desert.
Traveling with children would be a lot more fun if one could teleport from Point A to Point B, because moving all these people is a lot of work (and I don’t even have a huge family)! But having traveled by air many times since we’ve had kids, we’re getting our system very finely tuned. I think the biggest challenge (next to the flight itself, I suppose) is getting from the baggage claim to the rental car. If only we could just push our crap down a hallway to a rental counter, that would be a dream. But any airport we’ve ever been to transports you to an offsite rental company by shuttle bus, and let me tell you how fun THAT is with two kids, a stroller, four carry-ons, one car seat, three suitcases, and two back packs.
The kids were amazingly good for the entire flight despite having started their day at 4am. As it turns out, the Polly Pockets were a better time distraction for Ruthie than watching movies on my laptop – she loves to take their clothes off and change their outfits all around. The only downside is the tiny tiny shoes (about the size of my pinkie fingernail) kept getting dropped on the floor, and they are VERY difficult to find. On the trip home Bryan plans to tell Ruthie that Polly Pockets like to go barefoot on airplanes.
Thomas was scared of the airplane. As we stood on the jetway about to step onto the plane, he literally dug his heals in and would not move forward. A successful boarding experience depended on each kid carrying his or her own backpack, so Bryan ended up carrying Thomas AND his car seat AND an armful of other crap. Thomas cried fearfully all the way down the center isle to row 18 and for the entire time it took to strap in his car seat. The 6am flight to San Jose is pretty much all business commuters, so I was feeling a little on the spot about my screaming kid. But after snuggling with me during the pre-flight process, he was fine. He clutched his blanket at played with his Hotwheels the entire flight.
By the time we landed, got our car, checked in to the hotel, and dropped Bryan off at work it was after 11, and I had been awake since 3am. I bought the kids a Happy Meal and settled them in to a nap, only they didn’t sleep. What the??? They’d been up since 4am and they wouldn’t nap? I almost went insane.
After only 45 minutes of quiet, during which I passed out on the living room couch, I heard Ruthie’s little voice at the bedroom door, ‘Can I be awake, now?’ I was in such a deep sleep that I actually felt heavy, and I couldn’t move my body, and my eyes wouldn’t open. I kept telling myself to wake up, but I couldn’t move, and she kept asking if she could be awake, and I was afraid of what chaos she would create if I didn’t wake up.
As I came out of my sleepy fog I recalled something Bryan said in the car on our way to the hotel: “I’m thinking of everything I would do differently next time.â€
The weather has been crazy this winter – first two snow storms around Thanksgiving, then a major windstorm knocking out power for up to ten days at Christmas, and now more snow. My friend Gayle, who is a middle school teacher, said that before this latest snow storm the school year had already been extended through June 26th! She was joking about the possibility of having a 4th of July assembly, but at this rate it may not be so funny!
Ruthie and Thomas get really excited every time it snows, but playing in it requires many stops inside for me to warm up their hands because their lame mother (who grew up in Minnesota, by the way) didn’t buy any snow gear after the first TWO TIMES it snowed this year. So, I’ve learned my lesson – I’m buying mittens and boots tomorrow, so you can count on it never snowing again once I do that. Murphy’s law and all.
One rarity for this snow storm, though, is that today is a beautiful sunny day. And the snow is of the wetter variety, so it sticks to the tree branches and glistens like jewelry – and makes for great snow balls!
Following our romp in the snow last night, the kids hunkered down for some hot chocolate – a favorite treat. I’ve finally figured out the combination of not-too-hot water, a not-filled-too-full cup, and a flexi-straw all work best for optimal toddler and preschooler enjoyment. As we sipped, Ruthie remembered the last time it snowed when we walked to the restaurant for pizza, and she asked to watch the movie we made. I thought that was very cool, and it made me excited that all these technical tools and toys are becoming a part of her every day experience.
Here are the snow pictures, and here are the hot chocolate pictures.
The other day while I was making lunch, the kids were playing in the family room located in the basement. At one point I became alarmed at the quiet (as all mothers do), and snuck down the stairs to spy. At first I was pleased to observe Thomas and Ruthie pleasantly sharing a push toy they normally fight over, until I decided the concept was too absurd to be believable so I asked a subtle, probing question: ‘What are you guys doing?’
‘We’re playing with balls!’ Ruthie announced cheerfully.
‘Okaaaay…’ I said, still not feeling comfortable about the peace and harmony.
And then Ruthie threw him under the bus. Out of the blue, as I turned to go back upstairs, she said, ‘Thomas did it.’
Bingo. Something was up.
At that point Thomas lifted up the seat of the push toy to reveal their stash of ‘balls,’ which were not actually toy balls at all, but the balls from the Christmas tree. Nearly every. single. one, in fact.
So now our tree is ball-less (as far as the kids can reach, anyway) and I’m tired of fighting it. I am certainly no Martha Stewart, and it’s actually festive in a Griswold sort of way, so I think I’ll let it be.
I’m working on a video diary from my day at MindCamp3.0 yesterday, but in the meantime here is a short clip of Thomas. I spent some down time yesterday evening between sessions to sort through my huge library of photos and videos and found this one from our trip to Palo Alto in July. I love the Toddle!
This weekend we went out for breakfast and tried a new place (for us) in Columbia City called Geraldine’s Counter. We love eating breakfast out, and this food was to DIE for. What made the experience even more lovely was how well the children behaved. It was fun, they were patient, the service was quick, and Ruthie actually ATE her food. It is just a lovely place to be with bright, warm colors and a cafe feel.
Thomas was adorable (as you can see) as he struggled his rather large plate of food in the direction of Bryan’s plate to ‘cheers’ the meal (and yes, he is STILL doing it).
Have you noticed that every time a man needs to take a crap he brings some sort of leisurely reading with him? What is with that? For the longest time I actually wondered if there was something wrong with me because when I go I’m in and I’m out – no time for the newspaper.
I think a man’s bowels are built differently than a woman’s, and when men are babies, those bowels are much too powerful for their little bodies to handle. Thomas has been waking up from his naps with record breaking, monkey flinging, death defying diaper blow-outs lately – the kind that require me to strip the kid down IN HIS CRIB, then wrap up the foulness into his sheet to be laundered.
It’s getting so bad that today as I chopped green onions in the kitchen and Bryan went upstairs to get him, I smelled the odor of poop wafting down the stairs to my nose. (Mind you, that poop odor has to make a right, a left, and a hairpin turn on the landing). The other day during his nap Thomas’ poop oozed up his back, and as he played quietly in his crib he stood and backed up against every inch of every side of his crib walls.
THAT was fun to clean.
Thomas also poops in the bathtub two out of three times and I find his huge floaty logs next to the swimming Dora. And when I say huge I’m not exaggerating. Bryan saw the floating poop once and his eyes lit up and he was all, “Nice poop, Thomas! That’s man sized! Gimme some knucks!”
So if you are reading this while drinking your morning coffee, I apologize. I should have warned you.
This afternoon Thomas started crying shortly after he fell asleep, which could only mean one thing: he had pooped. He mellowed out to a quiet fuss, so I finished my lunch and read a few blogs before I went upstairs to change his diaper. I’m one of the lucky ones, in that I can get away with changing his diaper in the middle of his nap because he’ll just go back to sleep.
Walking into his room confirmed it – the stench was definitely poop.
But when I walked up to his crib I saw the monkey cage he had created – he had taken off his diaper and was rolling around in… it.
I know, I know, it’s gross and I’m talking about it. I actually started laughing. It’s just been that kind of day, what with the rat making another appearance during lunch. Also, I was remembering the monkeys from Madagascar, when they got busted trying to escape the zoo: “If you have poo, fling it now!”
I give up. I’m not cleaning the house today. I just spent too much energy washing poop off babies, out of clothes, and out of sheets. I’m done.
This morning as I was drinking my coffee, Thomas held out his sippy cup to me and said, “Da!” which means “Cheers!” in Thomas-speak.
It’s a little something Bryan started with Ruthie a long time ago, daddy and daughter clanking their glasses together as they partook in beverages. But it soon evolved into something Ruthie does when she notices she has the same thing as another person, like when she cheers-ed our toes because she wore the same color nail polish as me.
I’m so used to this endearing ritual that it never occurred to me it’s a little quirky. Until, of course, I was at a playgroup last week and noticed a four-year-old wearing the same style and color of sandals that I was wearing. When I stuck my foot out in his direction and joyfully said, “Cheers!” he crossed his eyebrows at me and walked away.
Thomas has quickly picked up on this tradition, and now whenever we’re holding a beverage at the same time I’m sucked into the toddler-style uber-repetition of cheers-ing his sippy cup. It never ends. And just now as I was sweeping, he jabbed my little hand whisk out in front of him and said, “Da!” as he tapped my broom.
The way Thomas quietly soaks in the kiddy pool, hunched over his protruding belly, reminds me of the wrinkly old men on The Sopranos who sit in their steam rooms wrapped in a white towel. He has the belly, he has the bald head and the bow-legged hobble. He just needs a cigar to top it off.
A major heat wave has driven us outside for most of the day and evening, which has caused me to realize how much I love our yard. It’s like a park. In fact, yesterday I suggested we go to the park after dinner, but when After Dinner came I didn’t feel like leaving because our own yard was so much fun.
But this evening we brought a picnic dinner to our local farmer’s market, and after buying cherries and zucchini, we sat in the grass and partook – everyone except Ruthie, of course, because she no longer consumes meals during meal time. Though I don’t blame her for the apparent loss of appetite because there was another little girl who sat inches from our plates and just stared at us. Watching. Listening. It was unnerving and I kinda wanted to say ‘back off, bitch!’ but her mom was right behind her. Which brings up another point: what kind of mother ALLOWS her daughter to encroach so un-American-like on another human being?
We then let the kiddos splash around in the fountain, and when Thomas was done splashing he simply soaked like an old man in a hot tub. Ruthie, however, ran circles around the fountain at least eight times, which was fine with me because I knew she’d be tired enough to sleep when we got home.
It seems official: summer is upon us. I feel a constant film of perspiration coating my body. My cleavage and… other areas… are uncomfortably hot. And my kitchen hasn’t been cleaned in days because it’s just too damn hot to be in here.
But I’ve managed to keep my house ten degrees cooler than the outside, and my basement feels like it’s air conditioned. And all my flowers are blooming – the daisies, the lavender, the dahlias, the astilbe and hydrangea and roses – and we roast marshmallows in our fire pit, and my husband’s commute home today was ten steps up from his office to the kitchen, and my life couldn’t be any more perfect than it is right now.
