A Good Egg…

So, three days ago I started an experiment with Kaleb.

No, I do not mean I am experimenting ON Kaleb – we started a science experiment together.  We took an egg and submerged it in vinegar. Once the shell was completely dissolved, we were going to soak it in Karo syrup for a night to shrink it.  Then we were going to soak it in a bowl full of colored water.  We were then going to create a colorful egg volcano.

Naked Egg

Naked Egg

I’ve been looking forward to this for days.  What would be cooler on Easter sunday than to wake up and make an egg explode blue water everywhere???

Well, that isn’t gonna happen.  At least, not on Sunday.  Looks more like it’ll be next Wednesday.  The egg was finally done in the vinegar this morning, I took it out, cleaned it up, and let all of the kids touch to see how it felt without the shell.  Kaleb was fascinated – and he wasn’t the only one.  Mason was enamored.  In love.  I mean MUST.  HAVE.  SQUISHY.  EGG. kinda love.  He grabbed it from my hand and started squeezing as I tried to extricate it from his devilish little fingers with as little damage as possible.


SPLAT!!!  Squishy egg is no more.  Now it’s a puddle of goop, yolk, egg white, vinegar, and a creepy looking skin that resembled a used condom in some back alley.  All over the kitchen floor.

Mason was stunned.  My niece just shouted “Oh No!” in her dramatic little fashion.  I stood there shocked.  And here came Kaleb.

With his perfect timing, and his beautifully strange way of seeing the world.

“Oh Mommy!  It’s an Egg-tastrophe!”

I about fell over giggling.

Good one kid.  That’s gonna have me laughing for a while.  Almost worth the squishy egg exploding before its time.  I need more coffee.


Rockin’ Down The Highway…

This was supposed to be posted yesterday.  For some reason I never actually hit the button.  So, it’s a day late.  But, here is the last day in the hospital.  If you’re wondering why it took me a week to write, I have a perfectly reasonable explanation:  I was sick as a dog.  It happens every time.  I get stressed, I don’t sleep enough – and the minute the stressors are gone my body rebels and I end up with a nasty cold.

I spent most of Thursday in bed, and most of Friday & Saturday half asleep on the couch.  So, now we’re all caught up.  I’m off to boil eggs to dye, clean my desk, and try to work on a sideshow I’ve been attempting to put together for weeks.


Mason is still naked.

He still won’t pee.  Though he did resurrect Poopcasso Jr yesterday and poop on his bedroom floor.  Why?  To torture me of course.

He’s also being a snot today.

I mean it.  Nobody is allowed to touch anything.  Nobody is allowed to come within to feet of him.  And still, he’s naked.



Wednesday was our last day in the hospital.  Kaleb slept better Tuesday night, and was in a bit of a better mood for it.  He even got up and went to the bathroom without doing battle – which was nice to say the least.  He pitched a fit when the nurse came in to check his vitals, but once we convinced him he couldn’t have breakfast until she was done, he mellowed out some.  While he ate I asked the nurse what time she thought we’d be discharged (thinking with no small amount of desperation of the Starbucks less than two miles away).

Her answer:  they have you scheduled to be here until about 9 or 10.

Um… considering it was already 9:30 in the morning… at NIGHT??  You’re joking, right?  Please allow me to list the things wrong with this idea.

  1. I have night blindness.  It’s not debilitating, but it isn’t safe either.  I have a hard time driving long distances at night.  My eyes tend to lose focus, I see things that aren’t actually there, and it’s just an overall unsafe situation.  I’m better if I have my glasses – but I forgot them on my desk.
  2. I-4 is bad enough during daylight hours.  It’s worse during daylight hours when I’m tired and Kaleb is cranky.  It’s a downright disaster when it’s dark, I’m tired, and Kaleb is cranky.
  3. There are huge storms rolling in – and they’re scheduled to stay until tomorrow.
  4. Kaleb is exhausted.  His bed time is 7 o’clock at night.  There’s not a chance he’s going to stay awake till ten.  Then help me drag all of his crap back to the car.
  5. I need REAL coffee.  Not this pretend sludge I’m being given.  Not that I’m not grateful for the sludge – because I am.  But I want a caramel machiatto so bad I spent half the night dreaming about it.

I could keep going.  I could continue to count all the reasons why this is a bad, bad idea.  Fortunately for you (and not myself), Mason and my niece are going wild on the drums right now while Kaleb wails on the xylophone.  So I’m having a bit of a difficult time concentrating.

The doctor came in a little while later to tell me they hadn’t found anything significant.  Can’t say I’m surprised.  Neither Daddy nor I know what is going on with our Monster – but neither did we expect anything to pop on the EEG.  At this point we’re just trying to figure out if whatever is going on is neurological or psychological.

I talked to the doctor a while, and he agreed keeping us until 10 was a bit extreme – especially when nothing has popped.  So we were being discharged between 2 and 3.

Kaleb continued to work on his Lego Police Station, I made sure all of our stuff was together and ready to go.  576018_4794150767115_395803878_n

Then the tech came in to remove the leads.

Oh holy nightmare.

For starters – she was using rubbing alcohol to loosen the glue.  The most pungent rubbing alcohol on the planet.  I was a foot away and I was choking on the stench.  Kaleb was downright unmanageable.  Nevermind he’d been begging to get rid of the sticky stuff for two days – she was hurting him, and the smell was choking him.  She kept trying to put a towel on his face to mask some of the smell, which was only making the situation worse.  I kept telling her to stop – but she continued to try and do it.  I get your reasoning behind this – but I mean it, stop.  You’re scaring the hell out of him, and it’s only increasing the panic he’s feeling right now.

Lady, I know you’re just doing your job – but if you cover my child’s face up with that towel one more time his flying fists won’t be the ones you need to worry about.

Finally she realized I wasn’t just being some panicked parent – she was making him more upset with the stupid towel – and she stopped.  Twenty minutes later the leads were out, and for the second time in three days Kaleb was clinging to me sobbing and shaking like a little lost spider monkey.  I finally got him calm enough to realize we were leaving.  Going home.  Done.

I borrowed some scissors from the nurse and cut up a piece of the tri-fold board I brought for him to work on so he could have a safe platform to carry his Lego Police station on.  He went pee, we loaded ourselves up with our bags and made the trek back to the car.  Finally homeward bound.


We swung by Starbucks, and pointed toward home.  Where Kaleb spent thirty minutes sitting in the tub while I drenched his head in baby oil and tried to comb out as much of the glue as possible (it’s been a week – there’s still glue in the kid’s hair).

Read My Mind…

So, before I talk about our adventures in the Hospital on Tuesday – there’s a preface – and it has nothing to do with Kaleb.

And everything to do with a certain naked two year old.

I woke up, looked at the monitor – and saw a little butt waving at me.

Told ya he had a cute butt!

Told ya he had a cute butt!

I asked if he had to pee.  He said “Yeah!”  He fibbed.

I put him in underwear and got the boys breakfast.  He took off his underwear and ran around laughing.

I put him in underwear and took a phone call.  He took off his underwear and ran around laughing.

I put him in underwear and we fed the fish.  He took off his underwear and ran around laughing.

I am not amused.  But I give up.  Fine.  Be naked.  Just don’t pee on anything but the toilet.  Who am I kidding??

Daddy woke up, shuffled his way to the coffee maker, and was greeted with Mason’s free-flying weenis.  For the second time in a day, I heard “Oh my God!  Why are you naked?!”

Okay, now I’m amused.

Mason wanted to sit in Daddy's lap, the price for this?  Underwear.

Mason wanted to sit in Daddy’s lap, the price for this? Underwear.

So, anyway.  Back to the hospital.


Kaleb fell asleep Monday night around midnight – shaking and upset, but better than he was.  I pulled out the couch/bed thing and set myself up to get some rest.  Or not.

You would think, as worked up as Kaleb had been, that he would sleep long and hard after such an ordeal.  Not our kid.  He doesn’t sleep well on a good day, let alone a traumatic one.  He was up most of the night – whining, talking in his sleep, thrashing, crying – you get the idea.  It wasn’t a good night.  Around 2 he woke up screaming in agony, and I knew without even thinking he had to pee.  He hadn’t gone to the bathroom since we left home (for those of you who don’t know, Kaleb doesn’t do unfamiliar toilets.  They aren’t safe.  End of story).  So I gather him up, while he’s screaming, thrashing, still mostly asleep – grab the little bag that has the little box that all of his little wires are connected to, make sure I have enough cord free to reach the toilet, and carry him over.

Stand him up, and stay right behind him, because he’s still pretty much asleep and he’s swaying on his feet precariously, strip him down and tell him to pee.  Amazingly, he does.  He’s still screaming the entire time, and he’s yelling at me in his sleep that it’s not a safe potty, but he does go to the bathroom (are we picking up on a theme here?  Most of my life revolves around a toilet these days!).  Back to bed with him, he thrashes and whines for another two hours, and finally falls into a peaceful sleep around 4 – I was out shortly after.

I woke up around 7am, to find him still sleeping soundly.  I ordered his breakfast and some coffee for myself, cleaned up my sleep space and read until he woke up about 8.  That’s when the real fun began.  We argued over what he was going to watch for about thirty minutes (he wanted Madagascar 3 – of course one of the only movies we don’t have on DVD), until he finally settled on the Lorax.  We pulled out his little binder of paper and markers for him to color – but he refused to color because “I can’t do anything with sticky things on my head!  The lady with no mouth broke me Mommy!  You’re supposed to fix me so we can go home!  I can’t color because I’m broken and I have sticky things on me!  People with sticky things can’t do ANYTHING!”


Luckily his breakfast arrived (along with my coffee-ish substance), and I was given a bit of time to figure out how to explain to him he was not broken.

After breakfast I grabbed his paper and a marker and asked if I could show him what the sticky things were for.  He didn’t scream at me, so I took his silence as a yes and went to work.  First of all – you need to understand, Mommy is not an artist.  Mommy has no artistic talent whatsoever.  When Kaleb was little he used to carry around a Magna-Doodle like it was his lifeline.  He would constantly as me to draw things, then (every single time) he yell at me because I didn’t draw what he told me to.  Yes I did!  I just didn’t do it well.

Anyway, I told Kaleb that all the sticky things were like little readers.  They all read different parts of his brain, and when the doctor puts them all together they tell a story.  So the doctor gets to read the story of his brain.  I went on for quite some time, but that was gist of it.  Our picture (and I say our picture because Kaleb told me to draw 90% of it) came out like this:

brain storyDon’t laugh.  I told you I can’t draw.

This seemed to appease him for a while.  He continued to get more and more agitated each time a nurse checked his vitals, and was constantly wary that the lady with no mouth would come back – but at least he wasn’t saying he’s broken anymore.  Which was a plus.  He also wasn’t screaming – which was even better because mommy was going through serious nicotine and caffeine withdrawal.

I ordered his lunch, and he remained focused on that for the hour until it arrived.  The nurses can’t check his vitals because he has to have lunch.  Then his lunch came and he refused to eat it.  He also refused to drink the milk – again it’s school milk and we’re in the hospital and he’s sticky and he can’t have school milk in the hospital when he is sticky.  How on earth am I supposed to argue with that logic??  It got worse when Woody Woodpecker arrived from Universal.  Kaleb was NOT having that.  He immediately threw his blankie over his head and started screaming at Woody.  That was fun.

But not as fun as the thirty minutes we spent in the bathroom while he screamed bloody murder because he had to pee but refused to use the potty as it was not safe.  The nurse came in four times to check on us – they could hear him screaming down the hallway, and she was shocked when she realized he was not in mortal danger – he just needed to pee.

Finally, Sho-Sho arrived.  Bearing gifts.  Beautiful, wonderful Sho-Sho with her beautiful wonderful gifts.  The Lego City Police Station for Kaleb.  And cupcakes.  And milk.  And snacks.  And Madagascar.  Diet Pepsi for Mommy.  And a break.  Thank goodness for Sho-Sho!    A couple hours into her visit, I had run out to the parking garage to take some stuff to the car and have a much needed nicotine fix.  As I walked back to the room I saw a giant, fuzzy, green monster thing leave Kaleb’s room.  My first thought was oh no.  I walked into the room to find Kaleb in bed, with two Miami Heat dancers on either side of him, while he completely ignored them to work on his Legos.  According to Sho-Sho, when they all walked in the room, Kaleb’s only response was “No!  You are NOT Lego builders!”  After that he ignored them.

577462_10200979684440754_1103700177_nAt least he didn’t hit anyone.  A little while later Kaleb stopped building long enough to have a conversation with my mom.

“Sho-Sho, you went to school today.”

“Yes, I sure did buddy.”

“Did you borrow my school?”

“No.  I have my own school.”

“No!  You have to borrow my school!”

“Okay.  Well, can I borrow your school!”

“No!  You’re on your own!  Surprise!”

Both of us just about fell out of our seats laughing.  Even when he’s stressed out the kid is outrageous.

Eventually Sho-Sho went home and we watched Madagascar for the 7th time while settling in for bed.  Until Kaleb pulled off one of his leads.  Thankfully it was one on his temple, so the guy just taped it back down – no glue required, and only a minor meltdown.  He finally fell asleep around midnight, fitfully, but asleep.  A tech woke me up at 2 – Kaleb had pulled out another lead and this one he had to glue.  Oh Hell.  Thankfully, someone out there likes me, and Kaleb slept through the entire thing, with only a few twitches and nonsensical mutterings.

Of course, Wednesday is another day.  And I’ll write about that tomorrow.  For now I have to go chase a naked baby into the bathroom.



(Hey) Fancy Pants! …

Our house is being terrorized by a naked two year old.

And by naked I mean NAKED.

Seriously.  Mason has become Captain Underpants.


Shiny Hiney bouncing from room to room, laughing like an evil imp who has come to traumatize both the furniture, and my hopes of one day getting rid of the evil diaper genie (don’t get me wrong – I love the diaper genie.  I just don’t want to need it anymore).

Mason and my niece both decided to ditch their pants and diapers yesterday at nap time.  Really?

I thought, okay, fluke.  Her pants were a bit big, so I figured she just got tired of them and Mason followed suit.  Until bedtime.  When Mase got naked again.  And again.  And again.

My wheels start turning. Is this a sign?  Is it potty time?  He doesn’t tell me when he has to go.  He doesn’t stay dry at night.  He doesn’t seem overly uncomfortable or bothered when he’s wet.  But maybe none of those things matter.  Maybe his little naked butt is the only sign I need!

He woke up clothed this morning (thank goodness for that – I do not need a Poopcasso Jr. resurrection), and it was business as usual.  I got the boys breakfast, got some work done, wrote on here for a bit, and went to clean Mason’s disaster area.  While sorting through the mess that used to be his dresser, I got up to handle some other form of minor emergency with Kaleb.  When I got back to the room, Mason was gone – but his diaper wasn’t.  OH NO.  I do not need a naked two year old running free through this house.

Then I found him – in the bathroom.  He’d lifted the lid on the toilet and was standing there staring at the bowl.  What is this??  Is he going to pee?  In the toilet?  By himself?  Seriously???



Nah.  He’s not.  We sat in the bathroom for around half an hour, me trying to bribe with anything I could come up with – and he just taunted me with his little “I’m going to go potty – Not!” stance.  Belly sticking out, hands on hips, fiendish grin – but no pee.

Okay big guy, you wanna play?  We’ll play!

I went through this with Kaleb at this age – was sadly disappointed – but still, I have the packs of underwear I bought that never got used.  Promptly stuck Mason in a brand new pair of tighty whiteys.

Made them lunch – while Mason ran around like Captain Underpants laughing with glee – and Kaleb peppered me with questions because “Babies don’t use the potty!”

My niece got dropped off right after lunch, and off they went to wreak havoc together.  Only they went straight to the bathroom.  Where Mason again tormented me for twenty minutes by stripping down, waving his little wee in front of the toilet – and every time I said “Are you going to go pee?”  He’d shout “No!” and laugh like he’d just gotten a good dose of gas from the dentist.

This went on all day.  Twice he had very minor accidents – not enough to actually wet anything more than his undies.  So, in my head, I know he’s doing the same thing Kaleb did.  He’s holding it (at least now I know he can hold it).  I also know the minute I put him in a diaper he’s going to soak himself in seconds.

Why won’t you just pee???

Around 3 I head out to run a couple errands and do our Easter shopping (stupid Pinterest with these stupid ideas, now I’m all gotta be crafty – social media is going to be the death of me).

I get back home around 5:30.  Open the garage, stash the Easter stuff, unload the rest of the groceries, close the garage, start bringing stuff in the house (see?  I’m sneaky!  No kids screaming at the gate while I unload the car!  Ha Ha!).  I get all of the general groceries in the house while Kaleb flits around me like some sort of hyped up lightning bug.  Eventually he stops for a breath and I ask where Daddy is.

“Daddy is in the bathroom with Mase cause Mason went to sleep and peed ALLLLL over his bed and got all yucky in his underwears cause babies don’t wear underwears so Daddy has to give Mason a bath.”

This is that point in the story where I know Daddy is going to give me the “OMG seriously?  You just told the world this?” look after he reads the blog – but I’m still laughing.  I’m sorry love, but I’m seriously still laughing.  And I feel for him – because it happened just like Kaleb said.  Mason went and fell asleep.  In his underwear.  After basically holding in his pee all day.  And once he was out – so was the pee.  So the Bug got a bath, and Daddy got another reminder of the joys of potty training the un-trainable.

Though, my ESP must have kicked in at Walmart cause I totally bought Daddy some pre-emptive “your day has gone to hell” presents.

An hour later, while Daddy is making dinner (did I mention I feel super special today?  I’m not sure what I did, but I totally feel super special – do not make a wise crack here), I’m sitting on the porch.  I can here him and Mase chattering.  I can’t hear what Mason is saying, but I can hear Daddy saying “Heeey Boo-Boo!” which, I caught myself doing when Mason was really young, and now neither of us can stop.  Ten minutes or so goes by, and Mase comes out to me and starts yanking on my arm and yelling at me.  I just want to finish what I’m reading and I’m all his.  I look up as he goes running back in the house and I hear Daddy yelling “Oh my God!  Why are you naked??!”

This is the point where neither one of us can help but laugh.  The kid has been pants and diaper free for going on thirty minutes, and neither of us caught on.  He’s waving his little weenis around in the air like it’s his new best buddy, laughing like a loon, and we’re totally oblivious.  Yeah, we’re that awesome sometimes.


So, I suppose we will try again tomorrow.  Considering the kid has stripped himself naked 12 times since then.

Like I said.  There is a tiny naked tormentor in my house.  He’s giving me hope that I may one day be done with diapers.  Then he’s giggling with maniacal glee and peeing on my dreams – but not the toilet.  No candy, or cookies, or new cars are good enough to get the kid to actually aim his new favorite discovery at the potty.

But it’s okay.

He’s got a cute butt.

Apparently I don't actually have a picture of Mason's butt - so here's his mostly naked self at around 1

Apparently I don’t actually have a picture of Mason’s butt – so here’s his mostly naked self at around 1


A Little Bit Stronger…

You may have noticed I’ve been kind of MIA over the last week or so.  It wasn’t intentional – but it’s been a whopper of a week.

First of all, I’d like to share a conversation that just took place between Kaleb and myself.  As a prelude to this, Kaleb has been trying to understand the concepts of sons and daughters.  For some reason he’s having a really difficult time grasping this, no matter how many times or ways Daddy and I explain it.

“Mommy, you can’t have sons because you’re a girl!”

“Kaleb, it doesn’t matter if I am a boy or a girl, I can still have sons.”

“But sons are boys and you are a girl!”

“Right.  So, I am a daughter.  And I have two sons.”

“No.  You have three sons.”


“Daddy is home now.  So you have three sons.”

“Daddy isn’t my son buddy.  He’s my partner.”

“Nooo.   Daddy is a boy, so you have three boys.  So you have three sons.”


Anyway, Kaleb had his extended EEG Monday – Wednesday.  I’m probably going to break this down into a couple of different posts, because it’s a lot to tell, and if I try to put it all down in one post I’ll never get it up.


I had been told I would receive a phone call around 9am Monday morning, letting us know what time to be at the hospital.  We were going to one of the Children’s hospitals in Orlando, and it would take us around an hour or so to get there, depending on traffic.  By 10am I hadn’t heard anything and opted to call.  Turns out, the beds were all full and they were waiting for someone to be discharged – I was assured that a couple of children were being discharged, it was just a matter of what time they would actually be leaving.  By 1pm I was frustrated.  Kaleb had been in his button down jammies (you don’t even want to know what a nightmare those were to find) all day, and had been anxiously following me around the house with his backpack asking if it was time to leave, while I paced around the house staring at the phone (productive, right?).

I called back, was given the same line as before, and went back to wearing a track in the floor (I’m genuinely impressed that Daddy hadn’t tied me to a chair at this point – the pacing was probably driving him insane).  We had everything packed.  And by everything I mean everything.  I wouldn’t have been surprised to see the kitchen sink.  Tablet, laptop, kindle, phone, ipod, chargers, clothes, toys, books, games, paper and markers, dvds, food, etc… there was a lot of stuff.  Most certainly more than we actually needed.  But you can never be too prepared with Kaleb (and in retrospect I’m glad I packed most of it).

By 5pm I was pulling my hair out.  Now we’re both wondering if it’s even going to happen, or if they’re going to put it off another day.  If they do that, I may as well pop cotton in my ears and brace for the screaming.  Kaleb was ready.  He was prepared, he understood where we were going and what was going to happen, and he wasn’t fighting me.  There was no guarantee this would be the case if we pushed it off a day.  And then, just as I was getting ready to call and probably make someone very irritated, the phone rang.  We’re good to go.  Finally!!

Throw the bags in the car, say our goodbyes to Daddy, Mason, and Milo, and off we go.

By 7pm we were lugging our bags across the hospital, ready to get checked in as quickly as possible.  Of course, it would have helped if I hadn’t walked right past registration – thus having to turn around and drag our stuff back to the other side of the hospital.  By 8pm we were in Kaleb’s room.  He was agitated because it was past “quiet time” (aka bed time), and “We are supposed to have quiet time at home!”  I had him flipping through the DVD book to try to distract him – which was working – until the nurse came in to get his vitals.

For some reason I have yet to figure out, both of the boys HATE the little red light being put on their fingers.  They don’t mind the blood pressure cuff, they don’t mind the stethoscope, or the thermometer (as long as it’s under the arm or on the forehead), but they hate that little red light.

On top of all the other nonsense we brought, Kaleb also brought a Lego bin filled with random toys (the stethoscope from his Doc McStuffins kit, a Mr. Potato Head, a beaded necklace, etc…).  He was quite upset with the nurse for the little red light being stuck on his index finger, and as a result, demanded she hold still so he could check her blood pressure.  She was a great sport, and acted like the perfect patient for the Monster Man.  She went and grabbed him some milk – another problem.  The milk was in little cartons like at school.  We aren’t at school, we’re at the hospital.  So now he refuses to drink the milk.  Again, I play the distract and calm game, and he seems to be doing okay.  By 9pm the tech still hadn’t come in to hook him up and Mommy was starting to get agitated.  The kid was exhausted, overwhelmed, and the later it got, the more difficult he was going to be.

Finally, around 9:30 the tech comes in.  And she’s wearing a face mask.  Kaleb freaks out – “She doesn’t have a mouth!” – oooh great.  The tech explains that she has a runny nose, but Kaleb isn’t buying it.  She doesn’t have a mouth and that’s that.  She’s not getting anywhere near him.  I know from his previous EEGs that the tech will need a few minutes to set everything up, so I jump back into distract and calm mode.  When a voice started asking me questions from the ceiling I just about had a little heart attack.  Forgot for a minute that the entire stay was being monitored and recorded by mystery people in the ceiling.  Kinda also forgot to mention that to Kaleb – so I have to answer ghost guy’s questions while still playing distract and calm.

Fifteen minutes or so pass by and the tech is ready, but before we get started, she walks me through what she’s going to do.  Once again, I’m expecting this to be routine.  Put gel on his head, put electrode on gel, cover in gauze square, repeat – wrap head like mummy.

Once more I’m surprised.  She tells me there’s a new skin glue they use.

Um, what?

She applies the gel, then the electrode, then she dips the little gauze square in glue, puts it on the electrode, and then uses what looks like a little mini air compressor to blow the glue dry.

Oh, S**t.  This isn’t gonna be good.

And it wasn’t.

It was a complete nightmare.  Not as bad as the time we had to have the MRI and they tried to sedate him – but bad nonetheless.  He was fine with the gel.  Fine with the electrode.  Not fine with the cold wet glue.  Even more not fine with the air.  Really, really not fine with her blowing the glue dry with her little air gun.  By the time she was halfway done I was sitting on the bed, my legs across Kaleb’s chest – holding down his right wrist between my ankles, holding his left wrist in my hand, and holding his head with the other hand.  It’s taking most of my body strength just to keep him on the bed – it was pretty much impossible to keep him still.

He was worked into such a state that there was no talking to him.  No reasoning with him.  No explaining that the more he struggled the longer it was taking.  Not happening.  I had to reposition myself a time or two – to get one of my legs under his, keeping his butt from scooting down the bed any further; the other leg on top of his to keep him from kicking me in the face, arm still pinned between my ankles… and back to the original position again.

There was no keeping this kid still.  And he was screaming.  Between great, heaving, sobs, he was screaming.

“No!  Stop!  Don’t break me!  Stop breaking me!  I said stop!  X!  I said X!   That means you have to stop!  No!  Don’t do that!  Mommy make the lady stop!  You’re supposed to be nice to me!”

At this point I’m just repeating that he’ll be okay over and over again.  What else can I say?  He’s not okay – not right now – and I’m not going to try and tell him he is.  But he will be.  We’ll be done soon.  In the meantime, my heart is breaking.  I asked her how many more she had – 12.  Okay, start counting.

Just 12 more kid, and you’re done.  Just 12 more.  Okay, okay, look – only 11 now.  See?  Only 11.  I know 11 is a lot – but it’s less than 12.

With five left to go he starts screaming that he has to pee.  Oh no, seriously?  You can’t get up right now!  Just 5 more!  Now he’s fighting with renewed vigor.  Twisting and squirming and screaming.  By this point the tech is going as fast as humanly possible (which was evident two days later when I was trying to wash the glue out of his hair and the entire right side of his head was basically plastered in it).  Finally, we’re done.  Kaleb is shaking like a leaf, and clinging to me for all he’s worth.  She cleans up all of her equipment, puts a little mesh sock looking thing on his head, and puts the bed back to it’s original position.

I ask Kaleb if he wants to go potty – nope.  Not a chance.  He is not moving.  The tech explains that the cords will reach to the bathroom, but tells me to try and keep him from moving in and out of bed too much to lower the risk of him yanking out any of the leads.  I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.  She goes to leave, stops, turns around, and thanks me.  I must have looked as baffled as I felt.  She elaborated to say she’s not stranger to being yelled at by parents when the kids get that upset, and she appreciated my help with keeping Kaleb as still as I could.  I was a little stunned.

After she left, Kaleb finally fell asleep, still shaking like a leaf.


What she said had me thinking though.  After four years of one test, evaluation, meltdown, nightmare adventure after another – I definitely see things a bit differently.  She was just doing her job.  It’s not her fault Kaleb reacted the way he did – that’s just him.  But had that happened three or four years ago – I’d have lost it.  Because I would have needed someone to blame.  I would have needed to point a finger and say “this is your fault”, instead of being able to accept that it was an upsetting situation and Kaleb was going to react how he was going to react regardless of who was applying the glue.  The same way he’d have a giant meltdown if his PopTart broke, or his tower of blocks fell down.

The realization that I didn’t feel that need – the need to blame his pain on someone else – made me feel a whole lot stronger than I have in a long time.  I’ve always loved and accepted Kaleb for who he is – but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been as willing as the next person to point fingers.  Especially in situations where I feel like I’m failing him, and am afraid the fingers should be pointed at me.  It’s not a pretty flaw, but it’s a real real one.  Recognizing in a tough situation that I didn’t feel the need to blame anyone, especially myself, was pretty huge.

So, anyway.  I’ll write about Tuesday tomorrow.  For now I’ve got laundry to do, Mason’s room looks like it was struck by the Toys ‘R’ Us Tornado, and I have to go buy our Easter supplies so we can start our Spring Break festivities tonight!

The Wizard…

Kaleb didn’t go to school today.

There were a couple reasons for this.  The first – when I woke him up for school this morning he just started sobbing and telling me he’s so tired.  Well, okay, I woke up at 3am because I could hear him coughing through Mason’s baby monitor.  So I’m sure he really was exhausted.  And I felt horrible for the poor little Monster because I know how little rest you really get when you’re coughing like that all night.

Now I could have dragged his behind out of bed and stuck him on the bus.  But not only would he have most likely yelled loud enough to wake everyone in the house, he probably would have ended up suspended.  It’s bad enough he still isn’t feeling well.  He came home from school yesterday and went straight to the couch to lay down.

Kaleb and Mason laying on the couch after school

Kaleb and Mason laying on the couch after school

Add not feeling well to exhausted and what you’re going to get is a volcanic Kaleb.  Meaning meltdowns.  Violent, sudden meltdowns.  Take right now for example – changing a shirt has turned into a fight between Kaleb and Daddy that somehow went from shirt to playing outside to shirt to apologizing to screaming and crying.  In the span of about fifteen seconds.

On top of all that, their aunt is leaving today to go back home.  She has to head to the train station before school lets out, so Kaleb wouldn’t get a chance to say goodbye.    Not that he’s much in the mood for goodbyes right now.

In the meantime, Mason has picked up the cough.  No more fever, but now they’re both coughing and hacking away.  And I’m still trying to figure out how to explain next week to Kaleb.  We have to go to the Children’s hospital Monday for a two night EEG.  I have no idea how I’m going to make him understand what is happening without completely freaking him out.

Poor Daddy is going to have a stroke – he wakes up to a defiant, tired, screaming Kaleb; Mason and my niece making one giant mess after another, and we’re all running around roaring like dragons.  And he hasn’t even had a cup of coffee yet.  Then Kaleb got mad at me because I decided to be a squirrel instead of a dragon.  And I am a fearless squirrel.  He is not fond of this.

Then Daddy says something, anything and Kaleb starts screaming that he’ll only talk to Mommy.

 Mommy the squirrel is not talking to that attitude kid.  No you cannot have a snack.  Stop making Daddy crazy.  Stop yelling at Mason.  Mason, stop hitting Kaleb.  Kaleb, nobody wants to destroy your tower.  I take it back.  Mason, stop destroying Kaleb’s tower.  Kaleb they’re going to make sounds.  All the yelling in the world – which by the way, is a sound – is not going to prevent that…

And so it goes.  And Daddy’s thoughts on all of this?  “I think Mickey’s Clubhouse Airplane is really cool.”

Yep.  I’m worried.  No longer about them being sick.  About them taking the last few shreds of my dude’s sanity.

On another REALLY COOL SUPER AWESOME MOST INCREDIBLE THING EVER note – my mom found a Merlin in her pool this morning.

This may seem like nothing to you – but to me, it’s only second to finding a book that has “Don’t Panic” written on the cover.

I’m a total Merlin geek.  I’ve read every Merlin book I can get my hands on.  I’m not talking about the bird here people, I’m talking about the wizard.  Young Merlin, Old Merlin – anything Merlin, Camelot, Arthur – I’m all over it.  There was a time where I was downright obsessed.  So the fact that my mom finds this bird – this incredibly rare migrating bird – in her pool, after he broke through the screen, is just awesome.  The wizard got his name from the bird.  I’m like a five year old who was just given a bag of lollypops right now.  She needs to buy a lotto ticket.  Heck, I need to buy a lotto ticket!

When it’s healed the bird sanctuary that she brought it to is going to release him back at her house.  I will be there.  I HAVE to be there. Coolest.  Thing.  Ever.

Don’t laugh, I mean it!

The bird Merlin

The bird Merlin

Sick As A Dog…

I hate when my kids are sick.

Even more so when I have no idea what is going on with them.

Kaleb came home from school Thursday feeling poorly.  He put on his pajamas, crawled into our bed, and with the exception of the one time he got up to pee and one time he got up to ask me to change his movie, that’s where he stayed until about 6am.  Early evening his fever spiked to around 103,  so I let him stay in our bed and I slept on the couch.

Kaleb sleeping in Mommy & Daddy's bed

Kaleb sleeping in Mommy & Daddy’s bed

He got up at 6 to come lay with me, and his fever was gone.

Most of Friday he didn’t have a fever – he was clearly not feeling great, but his temp was fine.  By Friday night his fever was back up and he spent another night in our bed.  By this point Mason had begun to run a low-grade fever as well.  Saturday we went to pick up Daddy’s sister from the train station, and both kids were tired and cranky, but no sign of fever.  Until Sunday, when Kaleb’s fever was back, along with a vicious cough and a runny nose.

Mason also started to pick up a bit of a runny nose.  All minor, so I’m not worried.  We went to the beach on Monday.  It was supposed to be the nicest day of the week – 81 degrees with clear, sunny skies.  Yeah, it wasn’t.  It was definitely chilly, breezy, and overcast.  But we all had fun nonetheless.  I don’t think anything could destroy a beach day for those kids.  After a while the kids start to get pretty cranky and it’s time to head home.  I’m getting a bit concerned because Kaleb feels warm, and he keeps telling me he doesn’t feel good.

We get home, check temperatures, and surprisingly everyone is okay – the boys both have really low grade fevers, but nothing I’d worry about.

Boy did that turn around quick.  Mason fell asleep, and woke up with a pretty moderate fever.  He woke up and got upset, so I grabbed him and sat him on the couch with me.  He fell back asleep in my arms, and after about an hour I put him back in bed.  Which, by the way, was a really insane reminder of how difficult it is to get out of a recliner with a sleeping child – especially when the child in question no longer weighs 12lbs, but 36.

Anyway, he wakes up again, fever is now between 103 and 104.  I take him to bed with me hoping he’ll get some sleep and I can keep an eye on his temp.  Fail.  The kid was all over the place – everywhere but bed.  Eventually I took him back to his own bed and just sat on the floor next to him for a while.  He went back to sleep, and I followed suit.

67389_4743298255834_1232405528_n Until 11pm when he woke up again – and I jumped out of bed half convinced I was dreaming.  Get to his room, his fever is now between 105 and 106.  I grab a washcloth and throw it in cold water, start wiping down his head while trying to give him Motrin and making sure the thermometer is reading accurately.

However, every time I touch one spot on his head – just above and to the right of his forehead – he screams like I’ve just caused him serious pain.  That spot on his head feels like it’s on fire, and I’ve got no idea what is happening to my kid.  So, we rush off to the ER.  Mason cries the whole way there, and my heart is both breaking and racing at the same time.  We get to the smaller local hospital, I tell the receptionist what’s going on, they take my information, his information, and send us to wait.

Then I look around the waiting room for the first time.  It’s packed.  I’ve never seen so many people in there.  And then it dawns on me – it’s Bike Week.  Of course the hospital is packed.  The entire town is filled with people on motorcycles, and the idiots who aren’t paying attention to the people on motorcycles.  Well, doesn’t that just suck.

Eventually they call us back to check Mason’s vitals.  His fever has gone down to 104 so that’s good.  The Motrin must have kicked in, that’s a plus.  They send us back to the waiting room.  Where Mason does what he’s been doing since the minute we got out of the car – clinging to me like a spider monkey and crying hysterically.  We were there about an hour before they took us back to a bed.  Another check of the temp – down to 103 – awesome.  More crying and clinging.

After a while Mason fell asleep laying on me.  Of course, it’s not like I’m all that fluffy.  I could feel his ribs rubbing against my ribs – and I’m pretty sure my purse – which I was using as a pillow – was filled with invisible rocks.  But at least he wasn’t crying.  Until the nurse walked in the room – and his little brain started screaming “Danger Will Robinson!  Danger!  Danger!”  Back to the screaming and crying.

By 3am I was done.  His fever was no longer dangerous and we still hadn’t seen a doctor.  The nurse came back and I asked when we were going to be seen – and was informed there were five charts still in front of ours.  Nope.  Going home.

She told us whatever he has had been going around like wildfire, and unless his temperature spiked super high again there really wasn’t a reason for concern.  So, home we went.  We went to bed and I completely slept through the alarm.  Which was okay, because Kaleb was coughing and hacking away all night and I wasn’t sure about sending him to school anyway.  Both of the kids ran around all day with mild fevers – and I did too.

Daddy came home last night, and Mason was still up to greet him when he got home.  Kaleb is still coughing away.  Mason is still running a mild fever.  On and off, on and off – fever, no fever.  Fever, no fever.  They’re both acting perfectly normal unless the fever is high, then it’s lethargy city.

I’ve never seen anything like it.

So, Kaleb is out of school for another day due to his horrendous cough, Mason is just being Mason – only with a slight fever, and the rest of us are sitting here with our fingers crossed that we don’t pick up whatever they’ve got.

Clean Up Time…

558384_4424264520190_1270815831_nI hate cleaning.

There.  I said it.

I absolutely abhor dishes.  And laundry.  Don’t even get me started on laundry.  It wouldn’t be so bad if the Mini-Monster didn’t insist on pulling all of the clothes out of his and his brother’s dressers every time I finally finish putting it all away.  But he does.  And I despise laundry.

Unless I’m angry or frustrated.  Then the crazy clean fairy comes out and will scrub that grout to a sparkly shine.  This is only entertaining when it happens early in the morning and Daddy wakes up to find me scrubbing something – his immediate concern about my impending explosion (which really is rarely based on anything having to do with him) is almost enough to make the crazy clean fairy pack up her favorite cleaning toothbrush.

Anyway, I’m not by any means the mom with the clean house.  Do I let the kids pick up a fruit snack they dropped on the floor and pop it back in their mouth?  Of course I do.  Is the floor actually clean enough to eat off?  Not a chance.  I think of it as good exercise for the immune system.

I probably shouldn’t have let that little confession slip.  Oh well.

Anyway, the other day we were cleaning.  Partly because we have company coming, partly because Daddy comes home in a couple days – but mostly because the house is completely trashed and mommy had PMS.

Of course, as much as I dislike cleaning – it’s a million times worse with two sick kids, and one tired one.  Throw in the little dog who is DETERMINED make me trip and break my neck – mommy was kinda scary that day.  It shouldn’t have taken me more than 20 minutes to clean the kids rooms.  The only thing in Kaleb’s rooms were Legos – and while Mason’s room looked like it was struck by the Toys-R-Us tornado, it was mostly big stuff – easy.


The two little ones were right behind me making bigger messes out of the toys I had just cleaned, the dog was wherever my feet were going, and Kaleb was just standing in the doorway screaming.  It took me nearly two hours to clean those two rooms.

Why?  Why can’t you just let mommy clean?  Not that it much matters.  Two days later the house once again looks like it was struck by a kid tornado.  It all just seems kind of futile and insane.  Clean.  Destroy.  Clean.  Destroy.  Wash, rinse, repeat.

I suppose the point of this is just for me to admit that we’re a mess.  The laundry is almost never put away the same day it’s washed.  I’d probably go postal without the dishwasher.  And my kids are like little disasters just waiting to happen.  But the toys everywhere are also a sign of how much fun we have.  The crumbs on the floor are dropped at meals that we all enjoy (rarely together since I don’t actually get to eat most of my meals, but still).  Our house is a mess.  You can pretty much count on that.  But we have oh so much fun making it that way.

So now our company is here. And she walked into a bit of a disaster.  But, it wasn’t as bad as it could be, so I’ll take the win.  Plus, the house smells like muffins right now, and that makes everything better.

The Land of Make Believe…

Do you ever feel like you’ve been a victim of a fairy tale?

Okay, sure that sounds completely insane.  However…

I frequently find myself the victim of Goldilocks Syndrome (and yes, I did just completely make that up).

Take coffee for example – one of my absolute must have survival tools.  I get up in the morning, make myself a cup of coffee, take a sip, and burn the taste buds right off my tongue.  Hot.  Hot hot hot hot HOT!  So, I set it down and leave it to cool for a bit.  Then I get distracted, side tracked, or otherwise occupied and forget about it.  Find it an hour later, take a sip, and it’s waaaaaay too cold.  Now, I’ve gotten to the point where I just drink it cold.  I used to stick it in the microwave – make it way too hot again, and repeat the cycle so many times I ended up with a pile of evaporated sludge in the bottom of my cup.  Now I just drink it cold.

Moving on – showers.  Turn on the water, get in the shower – it’s freezing!  Turn up the heat, it’s scalding!  Back and forth, back and forth – by the time I actually get the water spraying at a good temperature I’m pretty much done and getting out of the shower.  Then I go to get dressed – these jeans are too tight.  Those jeans are too loose.  This shirt is too itchy, that shirt is too short.  Round and round it goes until I finally end up with just the right outfit (that inevitably doesn’t match), only to spill my cold coffee on myself.

Like I said, Goldilocks Syndrome.  And it isn’t just me, the kids fall victim to it all the time.  This car isn’t in the line right, that block is crooked…

Kaleb had a bout of it this morning with his ‘bag’ (the purse he stole from my mom ages ago that he rediscovered the other day and has insisted on carrying around with him since).  With his backpack on, his bag wasn’t right.  It wasn’t to the side enough, it was to the side too much… A huge screaming meltdown in the middle of the driveway at the crack of dawn (I’m so sorry for my neighbors).  Finally, we got it just right.  Then it slipped as he walked to the bus.  *sigh*

We have all kinds of fairy tale syndromes happening in the world of Monsters.  Cinderella Syndrome (shoes go missing ALL the time), Sleeping Beauty Syndrome (some days it takes some serious magic to get people out of bed around here), Alice Syndrome (who DOESN’T feel like they fell down a rabbit hole?), the list goes on.


Have you been affected by this?  I’m thinking of starting a support group.

All I Know…

As a parent, I have learned a lot – especially about myself.

For example, my kids have taught me that:

  • I am completely illogical, and often very wrong. 
  • I am incapable of showering without commentary and assistance.
  • I do not drive fast enough.
  • I drive too fast.
  • My meal-preparing skills will never touch the deliciousness of Welch’s Fruit Snacks.
  • In fact, my cooking is so bad it requires copious amounts of ranch dressing in order to mask the taste.

Don’t forget:

  • I am incapable of doing something perfectly – unless/until my child becomes frustrated – then everything I do is amazing.
  • I am the pour-er of milk.  This often makes me the child equivalent of God.
  • I am the withholder of fruit snacks.  This often makes me Satan.
  • I am the finder of the things.  This makes me the Hero.
  • I am the taker-away-er (just deal with my crappy dash induced grammar infractions) of things – this makes me the Villian.
  • I am the one who takes us places – this makes me the Chauffeur.
  • I am the one who refuses to go places.  This makes me Fired.

Everything has to be perfect in the world of the Monsters.  Yet, absolutely nothing is.  It’s a constant battle between light and dark.  But when it comes right down to it, my children have taught me some of the most incredible lessons life has to offer.

  • Compassion.  I see the struggle of a fellow parent, stranger or not, and want to do everything I can to help.  This was not the case when I was single, selfish me.
  • Patience.  Yeah.  Never had that.  Don’t have much of it now.  Unless you’re someone I count as mine.  My kids, my family, my friends.  There’s a whole lotta patience going on in there.  Primarily in the kid department.
  • Appreciation.  There was a time when nothing was enough – and don’t get me wrong, that certainly rears it’s head now and again. But I’m happy.  I love what I have and who I have.  Especially who I have.
  • Acceptance.  Life has thrown a lot of curve balls.  And as much as I love baseball, I’ve never been particularly adept at it.  So, I’ve learned to duck or take the hit.  With a smile.  Mostly.

It’s remarkable to think of myself ten years ago, and look at myself today.

I’m completely off my rocker.  I’m constantly procrastinating until I give myself deadlines.  I’m constantly jumping from one task to the next – play with cars, make that phone call, pretend I’m a doctor, send that email, start the laundry, forget the laundry… I can’t keep on task to save my life.  But I sure have a lot of fun jumping around.  And it totally beats a gym membership.

But more than anything – I look at myself, and my life right now and am astonished.  At the incredible family I have.  This support system I couldn’t have dreamed up if I tried.  At my friends – people I am proud to call my friends, who make me want to be a better friend.  My significant other, my kids, heck, even the dog (okay, that might be pushing it a bit) – they all make me better.  They make me want to be more, but they’re all completely okay with me just being me.

Except my kids.  They want milk.  And a jungle gym.  And fruit snacks.

But usually they’re just happy with me.  And I couldn’t be happier with them.

Until they make me the jungle gym.  Then I just want them to stop trying to break me into a million pieces.

There wasn’t actually a point to this.  I just felt the need to write something.

Oh, and I totally want a Monster Mom cape for my birthday.  In case anyone was wondering.