Little Lost Lemur

I was on the verge of plastering posters around the neighborhood this morning. They would read like this:

"Missing! Small brown lemur with giant eyes and fluffy white tufts of ear hair. 

He goes by the name "Wemur" and he's been known to develop ear infections, so he should not swim without ear plugs. He likes to snack on Cheez-its and apple juice and occasionally belches rudely. 

Last seen in the arms of Wuke Boper yesterday afternoon. 

Please return ASAP. He is missed!"

Tricky Little Lemur

We looked for him last night and didn't find him. At bedtime, I convinced Luke that he was playing hide and seek and he would find him in the morning. He settled for Coco Monkey and Fifi, but he did wake up asking for Lemur in the middle of the night. 

First thing this morning, he sat up in bed and said, "Mommy, will you find Lemur with me?" I set off searching the house for him again. I looked everywhere I could think that he might hide. I looked all the places that I thought Luke might put him. I asked Luke lots of questions to try to jog his memory of where he left them, but he had no idea. That was the odd part. He usually knows where he left his stuff. It might be under the table at Jack's, but he can tell you where it is.

I was becoming more distraught as I search the upstairs, the basement, outside, my car and then started looking again. I sent Dave a text, "Lemur didn't get into the big truck with you, did he?" He had not. All the while I was looking, Luke was thinking up places that he might be and telling stories about him. Lemur is the most special of Luke's babies; he's the Maggie Beth of Luke's world. We really needed to find him.

Three generations. 

When Grandmother got to the house, I whispered frantically, "I can't find Lemur!" She started looking, too. We pulled the bed out to see if he was trapped between the mattress and the wall, then she started pulling out the toy baskets. I told her I had already looked in there, but please look again. 

She found him. He was hiding at the bottom of the basket of dress-up stuff. I had looked there three times, but I didn't dig deep enough. She thought she had put him there when she cleaned all of the dress up crap off the floor yesterday. When I told Dave that he was found, he told me he was the one who put him there when he cleaned the dress up crap off the floor. I thought I had put him there when I cleaned the dress up crap off the floor. Obviously Luke didn't know where he was because he didn't clean up any dress up crap off the floor.

I think there's a lesson to be learned here: Stop cleaning up Luke's crap. 

Good Riddance, Teething Fairy

Our Teething Fairy has finally left on her long awaited sabbatical. I hope she's resting peacefully on a tropical island somewhere. She best not show her face in our house for at least a year, and she's only welcome back if she's accompanied by her sweet sister, the Tooth Fairy.

Luke's last molar broke the skin over the weekend so he finally has his full set of teeth. He was still grinding them when he woke up this morning, because the molars are still pushing their way in, but he did turn down my offer of Motrin, so I know the hard work is done. He has also slept much better for the last two nights. Thank all the good things for that.

Look at all those pearly white teeth.

My aching neck and back and hip are glad to be back in their own bed. It will probably take a while for my fuzzy brain to recover from the past month's worth of molar-growing work, but that's okay, because it is finished. I feel like I should throw a party for these teeth. I think this set hit me the hardest since Ella grew her very first two. Is it because I'm older? Maybe. I'm sure it's because Luke had already started sleeping through the night during the fall, so these Teething Fairy wake ups just felt harder.

I'll say it again: I'm so glad I don't remember growing teeth. It's a harrowing experience to watch; he's been pitiful. Now that it's done, I'm hoping his stuffy nose and the stye on his eyelid will clear up. He busted his lip over the weekend, so between that and the stye, he's been walking around looking like he just got out of a cage fight.

So long Teething Fairy - I won't miss you.

Tonsils, Adenoids, and Tubes, Oh My!

H. Luke will have his tonsils and adenoids removed and tubes put in his ears two weeks from today. He’s following the same medical path as Ella – suddenly and consistently sick at 16 months, living on antibiotics, gradually becoming less and less able to breathe and sleep. Only this time, we knew what to look for and got him to the ENT before his situation got as severe as hers.

I knew tubes and adenoids were coming. He’s had an ear infection since Christmas, even without having a cold, and he started snoring/snorting and sounding congested all the time. He keeps falling down because his balance is off from the fluid in his ears. There’s been a lot of choking/gagging when eating and sleeping, and of course, plenty of vomit to go with it. That made me suspect his tonsils, too. Then last week, when he was full-on wailing at me while I tried to suck out his nose, I got a good look at those tonsils. They are so big they’re almost touching each other. They are coming out.

I’m hoping this explains some of his recent, sudden terribleness. I’m hoping that after he recovers from surgery, he’ll be back to his sweet self again. If he’s not, well, I think I’m going to rent him out as an all-natural, non-hormonal form of birth control. If you can survive an evening with Luke without him getting hurt, you getting hurt, or yelling, then you are probably ready for kids. (Note that these criteria disqualify me from parenting most evenings, but it’s too late for me.) It takes mad wrestling skills to change that kid’s diaper. I’ve resorted to pinning the top half of him down with one leg and using The Claw to hold his legs while I change him. It’s not pretty, and it should totally count as a workout in my Healthmiles activity journal.

Also? The crying. Some days I cannot do a single thing right. Walk into his field of vision? Crying. Walk out of his sight? Crying. Pick him up? Crying. Put him down? Crying. And sometimes, most times, he either throws whatever is in his hands or throws himself in the floor. He even bit Grandmother’s dog on the head the other day for lack of something to throw and on account of she was standing right next to him. That animal is a saint in a dog’s body.

So, I have high hopes for his surgery because there’s enough sweetness peeking out of him for me to know it’s still in there. When I give him his cup, he tells me, “Thank you, Mommy. Ju-ju.” When I help him get his ball out from under the dresser, he tells me, “Thank you.” He takes good care of his baby. He loves and pats us when there’s something wrong. I just think he doesn’t feel well and he shows it with his attitude rather than being obviously sick. This face doesn't look so terrible, does it?

Luke feeding his Baaaby.

Like Ella did, he’ll have to spend the night in the hospital because he’s under two. I completely dread trying to keep an IV in his hand for 12-ish hours and sleeping on the world’s most uncomfortable hospital cots. I also just dread seeing him so pitiful after the surgery, but it needs doing.

And just for good measure, here is the tonsil and adenoid free big sister, helping the baby Maggie Beth with her balance beam routine.

EGR coaching gymnastics.

The Twos Got Terrible Over the Weekend

A few times over the weekend I found myself thinking, "When did my sweet baby boy turn into this holy terror?"

Oh my mercy. Luke celebrated his 19th birthmonthday with a record breaking tantrum followed by an Incident with a block and his sister's head.

After church and lunch yesterday, we took the kids to Tractor Supply in hopes of seeing the baby chicks and ducklings. It really wasn't good timing for Luke as he was already starting to fall asleep in the car, but we did it because we knew they would love the fluffy babies. We were sadly disappointed to find them sold out, so we didn't get to see the babies and Luke was in such a state that things were scaring him. Those little faces that you stick on trees? Terrifying. The stuffed chickens? Scream inducing. We made our way out of there quickly, but we stopped at the front of the store where they have little bins of things you need. There was a ball. He grabbed it and talked about it for a few minutes while Dave assessed the rubber mallets. (I think he was thinking of buying me one, but he was afraid I would actually use it to knock them over the head when they are refusing to go to sleep at night. I would never, but it's probably best not to have that or tranquilizer darts in the house.) Anyway, when it was time to go, we went through the whole "tell it bye bye, give it love" transition, but Luke Roper had no intention of leaving that ball at the store. When I took it from his hands, he lost it. He screamed like I was peeling him all the way home. At home, I tried to put him down for nap and he kept fussing at me in his mad voice and saying, "Ball!" I decided to let him have a few minutes to wind down and try again for the nap.

During that time, he and Dave were playing blocks in his bedroom and Ella went in there to play. Shortly, I heard screaming and genuine crying and Daddy's scolding voice. I was trying to find somewhere to lock myself, but they found me. I overheard enough to know that Luke hit Ella in the head with a block. She was crying real tears and Dave was attending her. I scooped Luke up and tried that nap again. He needed it badly, but instead of falling straight to sleep like he normally does, we kept having this conversation.

Luke: Eh?
Me: Ella is with Daddy. He's taking care of her.
Luke: (while patting his head) Eh. Hit head. Block.
Me: I know you hit her head with a block. We don't use blocks for hitting people.
Luke: Daddy?
Me: Daddy is taking care of Ella.
Luke: (patting his head) Hit head. Block. Daddy.
Me: I know Daddy told you not to use blocks for hitting. We use our soft touch with each other.

And so it went until I took him out to the living room to see them both and know that everything was okay. He was very worried about Ella and very worried about the scolding he got from Dave. After that, he finally went to sleep.

So, I learned something. He's so much like me. He's as much like me as Ella is like Dave.
Ella and Dave have tempers like the Fire Swamp in The Princess Bride - quick to flare up and quick to die out. Luke and I, well, we're more like that pot you keep watching, waiting for it to boil and it's taking forever until suddenly it's boiling over and then you keep turning it down but it keeps boiling up again and making a mess all over the stove. Yeah, that's us. Slow to anger and slow to get over it. And, it seems like it's not just the messy temper he got from me. The way he worried about Dave and Ella after the block hitting deal makes me think he might also have inherited my tendency to be really hard on myself. I am and have always been my harshest critic. I kind of hate it for him because I know that forgiving myself for something is one of the hardest things for me to do - much harder than forgiving others. But I also know that there is not much anyone else can say to me that I haven't already said to myself. That makes it so much easier to let other people's crap roll off my back. And really, when you meet someone's angry tirade about something you've done or said with, "You're right, I am a jackhole. Please be angry with me; I deserve it" - well, there just isn't much left to say.
 
I know this about me because I'm a study in my own personal psychology. I know it about Luke because now he has enough words to tell me what he's thinking about, and what he was thinking about all afternoon was the ball I made him leave at the Tractor Supply Co. and the block to the head incident.
 
While he made me nuts all Sunday afternoon with his angry fits, I can't complain too much. For the most part his second year has been all climbing naughtiness. I guess he was about due for expressing his discontent with my parenting.
 
P.S. Because it deserves to be noted, EGR did not even retaliate when Luke smacked her over the head with a block. Amazing.

Juice is the New Milk

That’s what Dave said recently about Luke and his juice cup, and it’s the truth. Ella almost exclusively drank milk – mine and the cow variety, but Luke won’t drink more than about a cup a week of alternative milks. We offer him soy and I just started giving him cow’s milk, but he could take it or leave it. He still nurses at bedtime and sometimes overnight, but he has started asking for juice in the middle of the night. Occasionally he’ll ask to nurse after work, but that’s only happening about once a week – and usually what he really wants is the cuddle and then he’s off and running again. He’s 18 months old (last Saturday) and I don’t think he’ll nurse much longer. So, yes, juice is the new milk. The boy loves some juice.

On that note, I’m still hauling my breast pump around in the back of my car for no good reason. Dave mentioned that I need to get it out of there and offered to store it in the basement for Ella to use in 25 years if I just couldn’t get rid of it. When I told him how much improved the technology would be by the time she needed one, he said, “Yeah, you’ll probably be able to pump with your iPhone…. Look at my suction cup app! It feeds the baby virtually.”

My baby is not a baby anymore and I need to get rid of the pump.

He amazes me every day with his ability to communicate, his resourcefulness, and his sweet, sweet spirit. He has had a runny nose since Christmas and we’ve been through the whole nose sucking routine so many times that he now does that to his baby, complete with laying a wipe out perfectly flat to wipe the bulb on after he sucks baby’s nose. Just I do. His baby is named Baby and he pronounces it with heavy emphasis on the first syllable, like “Baaa-by” in fine Southern drawl. He also nurses Baaaby and shares his juice with him. Sometimes I have to nurse Baaaby at bedtime.

He recently stripped off his socks to use them to wipe his nose. That was funny, but it was even funnier the next day when he found a pair of Ella’s and tried to wipe my nose for me. If he can’t find a sock, he’ll just climb the couch at Grandmother’s house to reach the Kleenex – and he prefers to wipe his own nose. He’s sick to death of us doing it for him.

His communication skills, both verbal and non-verbal, may be even more developed than Ella’s were at this age. He’s already using short sentences, like “tee-tee in the potty” and “need a drink”. He has a huge vocabulary and he uses a new word nearly every day now and in context. Yesterday when I called to check on them on my way home, I heard him telling Grandmother, “Stuck!” He had put something down his shirt and couldn’t get it out. He asked me for a banana over the weekend, then he took my hand and walked me to cabinet where we keep the peanut butter, spun the lazy susan until he found it, and pointed to tell me he wanted some. When he wants us to sit with him, he pats the spot on the floor/couch/bean bag/bed. He spontaneously says “thank you” most of the time when you give him something, and now when you do something for him or something that he deems worthy, he claps and says, “Yaaay!”

He has discovered the beauty of the Pez dispenser. A toy that gives candy? What’s not to love? He has a Mickey Mouse Pez that Grandma gave him for Valentine’s day and he carries it around the house with him, gnawing on the one little piece that sticks out when you flip up Mickey’s head. Sometimes he asks me to get the candy out for him. We were doing this the other night when he dropped a piece and instead of grabbing it off the floor, he let the dog eat it. Then he flipped up that Mickey head and realized he had dropped the last piece of candy. The look on his face was priceless, complete with a pitiful little pouty noise. Then he took matters into his own hands and tried to pry the dog’s mouth open to get it back. It was so cute, and a lot pitiful, so for his effort, I reloaded the Pez dispenser.

He and Ella have been getting along amazingly well lately. I think it helps that he is able to make himself understood more often now, and she has developed a sense of patience with him that I’ve not seen before. As with all things, I’m sure it’s just a phase, but I hope it’s also a foundation. I can handle repeating the scene from Lowe’s a few weeks ago when he reached up to hold her hand while they walked through the store.

He had his 18 month check-up this week and he weighs 23 lbs. and 2 oz, measured 32.5 inches long and has 8 teeth. He’s a skinny little thing for sure. We're supposed to try to fatten him up a little with Pediasure - the idea being that he might drink it since it's sweet like a melted milkshake, but we'll see. He was very proud to recieve his special "ju-ju" and needed to carry all four bottles out of there himself, but I think he's over it already. It's not juice.


The EGR Update
I’ll just give you two recent quotes that made me laugh.

While Dave and I were discussing our supper plan and his need for ice cream the other night, Ella kept asking me if we were going to get ice cream. I told her we would have to assess the situation after we ate. She went bouncing across the room to tell Dave excitedly, “Daddy! We have to assess the situation first!”

The same night while we were eating, Dave was talking about something “not coming up in this joint,” to which she immediately replied, “This is a house, Dave Roper.”

Little Shoes Make Me Crazy

It’s not just the fact that they cost too much and are outgrown before the soles are worn; it’s because I put them on little feet eleventyninehundred times a day. At least it feels that way.

Luke has the sweetest disposition of anyone in my house. He's just an easy kid; he rarely needs more than a distraction to correct him when he's misbehaving. He is happy, he greets me with a smile in the mornings, and even when he’s naughty (like last night when he needed rescuing from the puddle of toilet water he created after putting half a roll of toilet paper in the potty in MY bathroom where he wouldn’t be disturbed), his enthusiastic baby grin usually diffuses my frustration.

Except when he takes off his shoes.

It’s probably an issue of leftover baggage from Ella’s shoe-shedding phase that only recently ended. But holy mother, it drives me nuts to put on his shoes and the put them on again, then again, and then one more time BEFORE WE GET OUT OF THE HOUSE. Then, as soon as we get into the car, he takes them off again.

Gah!

The only reason I bother to put them on him in the mornings is because he walks to the car by himself. He would gladly go barefoot, but sometimes it's wet and sometimes it's cold. So, I’ve started waiting until the last minute to put them on, right before we walk out the door. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. Today, not so much.

I put the shoes on him (praise the good Lord that Ella finally does this job herself), I gathered up all our crap (because I’m not just a mommy, I’m a Mommy Mule), I opened the door and said “Load up” like I do every morning. On the way to the door, he took off his shoe. And handed it to me with his cute little face, saying, “Shoe-shoe!”

I lost it.

I yelled out a rant that went something like, “WHY must you take your shoes off EVERY.TIME. I put them on you?! We are about to walk out the door! You can’t leave them on for 45 seconds? I am so tired of putting your shoes on you fifteen hundred times a day!”

He just cocked his head and looked at me with his sweet face like, “Is she talking to me?” Then I stomped out to the car, loaded all the crap, got Ella in her side, and came back for him. He always stops on the porch to love the cat and usually he runs from me when I’m ready to put him in the car. I was all loaded and ready for that this morning, but do you know what I found?

The sweet little punk was working so hard to close the door behind himself; and he was so proud.

Diffused again.

I picked him up and thanked him for his helping hands, then I whispered that I was sorry I yelled at him. He loves whispering right now, so he grinned and whispered back to me. All is well; he probably forgave me before I ever yelled the first word because that’s how he rolls.

But I still hate little shoes.