I was cleaning up the kitchen; the kids were in the tub. Dave was supervising and he called me into the bathroom. When I walked in, they were standing on the towel, shoulder to shoulder, in front of the tub - two little brown bodies with giant brown eyes looking at us like we were the firing squad.
Dave: I'm going to ask one more time. Ella, who threw the soap?
Ella: Luke.
Dave: Luke, did you throw the soap?
Luke: No.
Dave: Who threw the soap?
Luke: Somebody.
I couldn't control my snicker at the cheeky answer and the absurdity of the scene. I was excused, so I left Daddy to handle the somebody who threw the soap.
The case went on for quite a while, and Ella was called back for questioning. It was her very first cross-examination. I felt kind of sorry for her until she turned it right around and started asking the questions. She was also excused.
Somebody failed to consult an attorney, and so, did not take the opportunity to plead the 5th. Instead, somebody implicated every other possible soap thrower in an effort to strike a deal. The case was finally dismissed due to a lack of evidence... and exhaustion.
To this day, no one has admitted to throwing the soap. I'm pretty sure it was the same somebody who keeps putting the hand towels in the Diaper Genie.
Showing posts with label Luke. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Luke. Show all posts
Thursday, August 22, 2013
Sunday, August 18, 2013
Three Years
Man Cub is three years old today.
He is loud and wild and sweet and smart and particular - very, very particular. He thinks nothing of collapsing into a heap in the floor because we closed/opened the door for him, got his ice, picked out his pajamas, bathed him - any number of things he intended to do himself. Wait, didn't I write about this last year? I guess some parts of Two are going to linger into Three. To his credit though, he has perfected his technique. Instead of just crumpling carefully to the floor, he throws himself violently, face down, but only on carpet. I said he was smart.
He loves potty and garbage can humor, and well, any kind of humor, really. The kid pays close attention to conversations around him, even when it looks like he's on another planet, and he laughs at things that I, mistakenly, assume are over his head. He loves silliness, his own and other's, too.
He lives in a world where umpires are called "umpirates" and pirates sword fight with plastic golf clubs. More often than not these days, he is a puppy, resorting entirely to barking and taking commands from his sister, who grooms him with perfume and hair bows for the dog talent show and feeds him treats in his kennel (his tent).
When we do something that makes him happy, he hugs us and proclaims, "You my best friend ever!" Likewise, when we make him mad, he tells us, "You not my best friend ever" and "I so mad at Daddy." It's usually Daddy he says he's mad at, and I'm not his best friend anymore.
At bedtime, our conversations move fluidly from books to prayers to philisophical discussions about things like, "some crocodiles are sweet" (except he pronounces it "crocodies" and "fweet").
His favorite Bible story is Jonah and the Whale. He has learned the Lord's Prayer, and now he prays it as the blessing at meal times.
He loves movies and cannot resist acting them out as soon as they are over, and sometimes before. After watching The Prince of Egypt, the same golf club became his staff and he was Moses (even though he had snake dreams for three days). During Pocohantas, he had to put on his rain boots and pretend to stomp in the mud. He asked for a Nemo birthday cake this year "with blue." We assume he means water.
He can dress himself when he wants to (read: when I refuse to put winter pajamas on him in July) and put on most of his shoes. He loves shoes just like his sister, and has nearly as many pairs. He still wears hers on occasion, but I think he finally has enough to satisfy all of his costuming needs now.
He's athletic and busy and he often drives me absolutely batty with the number of times he says "Mommy" in a five minute period, but I love, love when he curls up in my lap like the baby he's not anymore and settles in for a cuddle. He is the best cuddler.
He is loud and wild and sweet and smart and particular - very, very particular. He thinks nothing of collapsing into a heap in the floor because we closed/opened the door for him, got his ice, picked out his pajamas, bathed him - any number of things he intended to do himself. Wait, didn't I write about this last year? I guess some parts of Two are going to linger into Three. To his credit though, he has perfected his technique. Instead of just crumpling carefully to the floor, he throws himself violently, face down, but only on carpet. I said he was smart.
He loves potty and garbage can humor, and well, any kind of humor, really. The kid pays close attention to conversations around him, even when it looks like he's on another planet, and he laughs at things that I, mistakenly, assume are over his head. He loves silliness, his own and other's, too.
He lives in a world where umpires are called "umpirates" and pirates sword fight with plastic golf clubs. More often than not these days, he is a puppy, resorting entirely to barking and taking commands from his sister, who grooms him with perfume and hair bows for the dog talent show and feeds him treats in his kennel (his tent).
When we do something that makes him happy, he hugs us and proclaims, "You my best friend ever!" Likewise, when we make him mad, he tells us, "You not my best friend ever" and "I so mad at Daddy." It's usually Daddy he says he's mad at, and I'm not his best friend anymore.
At bedtime, our conversations move fluidly from books to prayers to philisophical discussions about things like, "some crocodiles are sweet" (except he pronounces it "crocodies" and "fweet").
His favorite Bible story is Jonah and the Whale. He has learned the Lord's Prayer, and now he prays it as the blessing at meal times.
He loves movies and cannot resist acting them out as soon as they are over, and sometimes before. After watching The Prince of Egypt, the same golf club became his staff and he was Moses (even though he had snake dreams for three days). During Pocohantas, he had to put on his rain boots and pretend to stomp in the mud. He asked for a Nemo birthday cake this year "with blue." We assume he means water.
He can dress himself when he wants to (read: when I refuse to put winter pajamas on him in July) and put on most of his shoes. He loves shoes just like his sister, and has nearly as many pairs. He still wears hers on occasion, but I think he finally has enough to satisfy all of his costuming needs now.
He's athletic and busy and he often drives me absolutely batty with the number of times he says "Mommy" in a five minute period, but I love, love when he curls up in my lap like the baby he's not anymore and settles in for a cuddle. He is the best cuddler.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Don't Judge a Kid by His Costume
Luke has a very vivid imagination and it doesn't take much at all for him to bring it to life and play it out for our entertainment. He has a rather extensive collection of dress up things, and what he doesn't have, he just imagines out of something else. It makes me laugh every time he reveals his new identity because it is never what I thought it was going to be.
What have I learned here? Some things about assumptions, and also how very un-imaginative I am. Because, duh, anyone knows that a neon green garden hose makes you an alligator.
For example, this looks like a construction worker, or maybe some kind of hard core cleaning person, right?
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| No, this is a soldier. |
This looks like a half-naked kid playing in the street, yes?
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| No, that stick makes him a pirate.
This looks like a little boy tangled up in a garden hose, am I wrong?
|
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Ode to a Toad
It's not really an ode. I thought about writing one, but I suck at poetry. Prose is more my style, but "Prose to a Toad" sounded stupid.
The toad in question is this one.
Actually, it's like this one, but with blue where the orange part is. That's very important.
During the last week of school, Luke's interest in wearing underpants increased to the point that the first thing he did each evening when we got home was change into some. He can do that himself now. I know this because I accidentally got the underpants out of the drawer one time when he intended to do it himself, and after I had dressed him completely, he undressed and changed underpants to a pair that he got out of the drawer. By himself. It didn't matter what kind, just that he did it himself. The independence? It's lovely and also frustrating. So frustrating.
Still, though he was working really hard, he had not been successful with the actual using the potty part of the operation. Until last Friday night when a small miracle occurred in our life and he used the frog potty at Grandma's house. Three times. We brought it home with us. And, we bought another one the next day. The newer ones have the orange bowl; it was just barely acceptable. The blue-bowled frog is very much his preference.
He used the potty all weekend, even at church in a not-frog potty. Since Monday, he's been wearing underpants for all of his waking hours and he has not had an accident yet. He even went yesterday afternoon when I suggested he just try before we left Aunt Becca's house - on command. He made it happen.
This "potty training" business went just like I thought it would. As soon as it clicked, it was game on. Potty training. Whatever. The only training we've done involves the careful emptying of the bowl (which he must do himself) and hand washing, the rest was just me freaking out like a fool everytime he uttered a breath about needing to potty and washing lots of laundry.
I already feel like I can take him out of the house in underpants and he'll be able to make it to a potty and use it. He still asks for a diaper to poop in, but that's fine with me. We can work on that later - preferrably when he's comfortable sitting on the big potty. I'd rather change poopy diapers than clean poop out of a little plastic bowl, but maybe that's just me?
The toad in question is this one.
During the last week of school, Luke's interest in wearing underpants increased to the point that the first thing he did each evening when we got home was change into some. He can do that himself now. I know this because I accidentally got the underpants out of the drawer one time when he intended to do it himself, and after I had dressed him completely, he undressed and changed underpants to a pair that he got out of the drawer. By himself. It didn't matter what kind, just that he did it himself. The independence? It's lovely and also frustrating. So frustrating.
Still, though he was working really hard, he had not been successful with the actual using the potty part of the operation. Until last Friday night when a small miracle occurred in our life and he used the frog potty at Grandma's house. Three times. We brought it home with us. And, we bought another one the next day. The newer ones have the orange bowl; it was just barely acceptable. The blue-bowled frog is very much his preference.
He used the potty all weekend, even at church in a not-frog potty. Since Monday, he's been wearing underpants for all of his waking hours and he has not had an accident yet. He even went yesterday afternoon when I suggested he just try before we left Aunt Becca's house - on command. He made it happen.
This "potty training" business went just like I thought it would. As soon as it clicked, it was game on. Potty training. Whatever. The only training we've done involves the careful emptying of the bowl (which he must do himself) and hand washing, the rest was just me freaking out like a fool everytime he uttered a breath about needing to potty and washing lots of laundry.
I already feel like I can take him out of the house in underpants and he'll be able to make it to a potty and use it. He still asks for a diaper to poop in, but that's fine with me. We can work on that later - preferrably when he's comfortable sitting on the big potty. I'd rather change poopy diapers than clean poop out of a little plastic bowl, but maybe that's just me?
Friday, April 19, 2013
The Vomit Chronicles: Sometimes It's the Dog's Fault
Monday morning found us tired and dragging this week. Ella woke up with the barking cough, the pollen having finally caught up with her, so Mucinex and cough syrup and a cup of hot chocolate were in order. I got her fixed up and she finished her morning jobs while she waited on me to get Luke ready to go.
I dressed Luke and did my usual last minute running around, making sure we had Gigi Blanket and cups for everyone, and that all the rats had been brushed out of their hairs. Since I had told them several times that were about load up the car, they were both standing ready at the door.
Then I heard the gag.
My spidey sense perked up and Luke started to cry. He gagged again as I swooped and scooped him to the kitchen floor like the super hero that I play on TV. Because they are well-trained vomiters, he leaned over and puked on the floor, just missing his shoes. Bless him; I didn't even have to change his clothes.
When he was finished, I wiped his face and hands and asked him, "What happened? Do you have junk in your throat?" (That's what we call sinus drainage, of which we've all had plenty.) He shook his head and said, in his saddest voice, "Noooo. Someone poooooooped!"
Well, that explained it. Since we were all ready to walk out the door to load the car, and not one of us had pooped, it had to be the dog, who was also waiting to go out for her last potty of the morning. I said, "Did Georgia poot?" He nodded emphatically, "Yes!"
I cleaned up the vomit and we finally got on our way. I was late to work, of course, but it was okay because I texted my boss to let him know:
I dressed Luke and did my usual last minute running around, making sure we had Gigi Blanket and cups for everyone, and that all the rats had been brushed out of their hairs. Since I had told them several times that were about load up the car, they were both standing ready at the door.
Then I heard the gag.
My spidey sense perked up and Luke started to cry. He gagged again as I swooped and scooped him to the kitchen floor like the super hero that I play on TV. Because they are well-trained vomiters, he leaned over and puked on the floor, just missing his shoes. Bless him; I didn't even have to change his clothes.
When he was finished, I wiped his face and hands and asked him, "What happened? Do you have junk in your throat?" (That's what we call sinus drainage, of which we've all had plenty.) He shook his head and said, in his saddest voice, "Noooo. Someone poooooooped!"
Well, that explained it. Since we were all ready to walk out the door to load the car, and not one of us had pooped, it had to be the dog, who was also waiting to go out for her last potty of the morning. I said, "Did Georgia poot?" He nodded emphatically, "Yes!"
I cleaned up the vomit and we finally got on our way. I was late to work, of course, but it was okay because I texted my boss to let him know:
"Running a little late. The dog farted on Luke so he threw up as we were walking out the door and traffic sucks. Happy Monday."By the time I got to the office, The Vomiting Ropers and Their Stinking Dog were infamous.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Our Little Wise One
Like the rest of us, Luke has an opinion about everything, but he has really developed is own brand of wisdom lately. It seems to be a bit of practicality mixed with observation and a dash of heart for good measure. I find it very amusing.
As we were riding around in the car last weekend, Ella told me that she had a red thing on her toe and it hurt. Before I could respond, Luke chimed in helpfully, "Oh, you just need-a bite it off." That's what he does when he has a hangnail, or any bit of finger or toenail really. He's a compulsive nail biter. I don't ever have to trim his nails.
At some point over the last few days, he explained this to me about my recent renaming: "Ma? That what a boy says. Ma." Then Ella followed with, "A girl says 'Mother'," in her very best Amber (from Sofia the First) impersonation.
As I was getting him out of the tub Monday night, he asked if he could bring his dinosaurs to bed with him. We gathered them up, dried them with the towel, and took them to his room. While I was getting his diaper, he informed me, knowledgably, "Dinosaurs don't wear biabers. They have tails." Too true.
When I unloaded him from the car after work one day, he told me he needed to tell me a secret. I expected a fake belch in my ear since that's the latest thing they do to amuse themselves, but instead he whispered, "Thank you God for Mommy; she's a sweet mommy. And thank you Jesus loves me. Amen." Be still my heart.
I'm so thankful for his kind, funny, little soul.
As we were riding around in the car last weekend, Ella told me that she had a red thing on her toe and it hurt. Before I could respond, Luke chimed in helpfully, "Oh, you just need-a bite it off." That's what he does when he has a hangnail, or any bit of finger or toenail really. He's a compulsive nail biter. I don't ever have to trim his nails.
At some point over the last few days, he explained this to me about my recent renaming: "Ma? That what a boy says. Ma." Then Ella followed with, "A girl says 'Mother'," in her very best Amber (from Sofia the First) impersonation.
As I was getting him out of the tub Monday night, he asked if he could bring his dinosaurs to bed with him. We gathered them up, dried them with the towel, and took them to his room. While I was getting his diaper, he informed me, knowledgably, "Dinosaurs don't wear biabers. They have tails." Too true.
When I unloaded him from the car after work one day, he told me he needed to tell me a secret. I expected a fake belch in my ear since that's the latest thing they do to amuse themselves, but instead he whispered, "Thank you God for Mommy; she's a sweet mommy. And thank you Jesus loves me. Amen." Be still my heart.
I'm so thankful for his kind, funny, little soul.
Monday, April 08, 2013
What's in a name?
Luke: My mom said I could ride a motorcycle.
Me: Really? Who's your mom?
Luke: Gina.
Luke: My mom said I can play football.
Me: Oh? Who's your mom?
Luke: Gina.
Me: Well, who am I?
Luke: You're a little princess.
Luke: My mom said I can ride my horse.
Me: Who's your mom?
Luke: Gina.
I don't know who she is, but I'm starting to feel angry at Gina. A motorcycle?! She obviously has no regard for his safety or the safety of those around him.
I don't know where this "my mom said" thing came from either, but it's pretty cute. I like it better than when he walks through the house calling me, "Ma? Ma? Maaaa?" Dave thinks it's hilarious. I think I'm not raising him in a log cabin on the prarie so he needs to knock it off.
If "Ma" is all he's got to offer, I'd prefer he just call me Amanda - and sometimes he does.
Me: Really? Who's your mom?
Luke: Gina.
Luke: My mom said I can play football.
Me: Oh? Who's your mom?
Luke: Gina.
Me: Well, who am I?
Luke: You're a little princess.
Luke: My mom said I can ride my horse.
Me: Who's your mom?
Luke: Gina.
I don't know who she is, but I'm starting to feel angry at Gina. A motorcycle?! She obviously has no regard for his safety or the safety of those around him.
I don't know where this "my mom said" thing came from either, but it's pretty cute. I like it better than when he walks through the house calling me, "Ma? Ma? Maaaa?" Dave thinks it's hilarious. I think I'm not raising him in a log cabin on the prarie so he needs to knock it off.
If "Ma" is all he's got to offer, I'd prefer he just call me Amanda - and sometimes he does.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Chalazion: Another Fancy Word
I recently took Luke to see a pediatric ophthalmologist (read: eye surgeon) because the stinking stye that popped up overnight on his eyelid in December is still there. Crusty and no longer swollen, but still there. At a visit to the pediatrician at the end of February, the doctor asked, "What's up with his eye?" I said, "It's that stye he had in December." Yeah, he sent me on to a specialist because it's no longer just a stye, it's a chalazion and it will need to be surgically removed. I was hoping the eye surgeon would want to try some ointment first, but no, he's passed the point where it would heal itself with or without ointment, so surgery it is.
"Chalazion" is a fancy word for a blocked oil gland in the eyelid. It is a type of stye, and it can start as a regular, old, normal, stye, but sometimes it doesn't go away. Luke's is on the upper left eyelid. It definitely hurt when it was in the stye phase, before it popped and scabbed over, and it still hurts periodically. I know it bothers him, even when it isn't hurting. It just keeps scabbing over. He knocks the scab off, and it bleeds and then scabs over again. The surgery to remove it should only take 15 minutes, and he will have general anesthesia because kids can't be still during that procedure. Obviously. I'm not sure I could be still to have that done to my eye, though I understand that for adults they just use local anesthesia (shiver and cringe). They say he'll be able to go to school the next day, but we'll see how he's feeling. He might get to wear a fun eye patch for a few hours after surgery. Please read that last sentence again with sarcasm.
Since we saw the eye surgeon a couple of weeks ago, I am no longer allowed to touch or look too closely at Luke's scabby eye. As he fends me off, he tells me insistently, "I went to the doctor! No! I went to the doctor!" We've had several discussions about the surgery, and I came to the realization soon after the doctor's appointment that we are in uncharted waters. Both kids have had surgery before, but both of them were only 21 months old at the time. This time, Luke understands a lot more about what I'm saying, and he's worried about it. At bedtime the other night, he asked me, "The doctor will take my eye and give me another one?" I explained that he's not going to take his eye away, he's just going to fix the bo-bo (Where did we ever come up with that non-word?). I talked him through the whole process again, and he responded with, "That's too stary (scary)." Poor little guy.
It will be nice to see him without a scabby eye again, and thankfully, he's first up in the OR tomorrow so his fasting will be limited to the wee hours of the morning. I fully intend to scoop him out of bed and into the car, and I hope he'll sleep until we get there. Withholding that juice cup is hard on everyone.
Updated 4/15/2013: The surgery went smoothly, and aside from a couple of hours worth of swelling where they injected his eyelid with numbing medicine, his eye looked better than it had in months. Right after surgery. It was amazing. He layed around most of the surgery day and woke up bouncing off the walls the next morning. The actual eye ball stayed goopy and red - almost like he had pink eye - for about five days, but I used the ointment they gave me until it was gone and it healed up nicely. At this point, several weeks later, there is just a small pink spot where the chalazion used to be; it looks great.
"Chalazion" is a fancy word for a blocked oil gland in the eyelid. It is a type of stye, and it can start as a regular, old, normal, stye, but sometimes it doesn't go away. Luke's is on the upper left eyelid. It definitely hurt when it was in the stye phase, before it popped and scabbed over, and it still hurts periodically. I know it bothers him, even when it isn't hurting. It just keeps scabbing over. He knocks the scab off, and it bleeds and then scabs over again. The surgery to remove it should only take 15 minutes, and he will have general anesthesia because kids can't be still during that procedure. Obviously. I'm not sure I could be still to have that done to my eye, though I understand that for adults they just use local anesthesia (shiver and cringe). They say he'll be able to go to school the next day, but we'll see how he's feeling. He might get to wear a fun eye patch for a few hours after surgery. Please read that last sentence again with sarcasm.
Since we saw the eye surgeon a couple of weeks ago, I am no longer allowed to touch or look too closely at Luke's scabby eye. As he fends me off, he tells me insistently, "I went to the doctor! No! I went to the doctor!" We've had several discussions about the surgery, and I came to the realization soon after the doctor's appointment that we are in uncharted waters. Both kids have had surgery before, but both of them were only 21 months old at the time. This time, Luke understands a lot more about what I'm saying, and he's worried about it. At bedtime the other night, he asked me, "The doctor will take my eye and give me another one?" I explained that he's not going to take his eye away, he's just going to fix the bo-bo (Where did we ever come up with that non-word?). I talked him through the whole process again, and he responded with, "That's too stary (scary)." Poor little guy.
It will be nice to see him without a scabby eye again, and thankfully, he's first up in the OR tomorrow so his fasting will be limited to the wee hours of the morning. I fully intend to scoop him out of bed and into the car, and I hope he'll sleep until we get there. Withholding that juice cup is hard on everyone.
 |
| "No! I went to the doctor!" |
Monday, February 04, 2013
Luke's First Haircut
We finally did it. We had the man-cub's hair cut. Though I loved his wild hair, it had gotten a bit unruly, even for me. He'd started shoving it out of his eyes during gymnastics class and it couldn't decide if it was curly or straight.
We weren't ready for the close cut yet, so it's still a bit unruly but much neater looking than before. I'm pleased with it, and he seems to be, too.
We saved the curls for his keep box. I kind of hate that it probably won't go in a ponytail anymore so that he can sport the West Coast surfer look with his sweat pants and flip flops, but it was time.
We weren't ready for the close cut yet, so it's still a bit unruly but much neater looking than before. I'm pleased with it, and he seems to be, too.
The Evolution
 |
| He had a full head of soft, black baby hair at birth. (That's Maunt Becca holding him.) |
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| At his first birthday party. |
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| At his second birthday party. |
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| Just before the haircut. He was nervous. |
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| After. |
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
Potty Training Blues
Luke has decided to learn how to use the potty. Actually, he started this venture last Labor Day, and he's sort of piddled with it (pun intended) since then. It picked up steam again over Christmas, then fizzled when we went back to our normal schedule, only to flare up again Sunday morning as we were getting ready for church. I'm starting to think he's serious now.
Perhaps you can tell I'm less than enthusiastic? I am.. less than enthusiastic. I can't wait until I don't have to buy diapers anymore, but I don't love potty training. It's a lot of work and I'm pretty bad at it.
He's driving this project, which is just fine with me.
My philosophy is: The more he can do for himself, the smoother it will go, so I'll just follow his lead.
My failure is: Once he becomes interested, I forget the philosophy and try to control all the things in an effort to avoid mess and force his success.
It goes something like this past Sunday.
Luke: I wanna wear choo-choo underpants.
Me: We are about to leave for church, so you can wear a Diego pull-up. We'll tell Mrs. Kim, and you can try to use the potty during Sunday school.
After church, I breathed a sigh of relief that he had momentarily forgotten about the choo-choo underpants and put a diaper on him for nap.
After nap...
Luke: I need to potty. I wanna wear choo-choo underpants.
Me. (assembling the potty because the bottom half is also our step stool) Ok. You sit on the potty, I'll get the underpants.
Luke: (sits for approximately 15 seconds) I all done.
Me: No, you aren't. You didn't do anything. If you are going to wear underpants, you have to tee-tee in the potty.
Luke: I all done.
Continue that conversation for another 7 minutes until I give up and put the underpants on him. Unfortunately, I can't control his bodily functions, nor can I magically make him able to control them.
TWO AND A HALF HOURS LATER, as he climbed into his chair at the table to practice cutting with scissors, he forgot he was wearing underpants (and so did I) and peed in them.
Cue Crazy Mommy swooping in with a swiftness to contain the mess and get him undressed and on the potty in hopes that he'll finish there and make a connection. Because he still cannot make himself pee on command - not his own command, and certainly not mine. He did not.
Enter the second pair of underpants. He wanted to watch football, so I brought the potty to the living room.
Then, 20 minutes later without my prompting, he jumped out of his chair, exclaiming, "I need to tee-tee!" and ran to the potty, pulled down his own pants, and sat on it. Yes, breakthrough! No... he forgot to point his penis downward so he peed on the carpet instead of the potty. The carpet part is fine - whatever, it will clean, that's why they made Resolve - but he was so upset about peeing on the carpet that he couldn't finish on the potty.
Enter the third pair of underpants, because the second pair got caught in the crossfire. Several more times he sat on the potty and did nothing, but he told me he did. Then he picked up the little bowl and told me it spilled. Cue Crazy Mommy rushing to clean up the mess. There wasn't a mess. There were some forcefully spoken sentences about potties and germs and not wearing them on our heads. Then he actually did pee just a little, and three drops got on his underpants.
Enter the fourth pair of underpants. He ended up in Ella's room, sitting on her rug to play, and he relaxed enough to pee enough that I needed to wash the rug. And the underpants.
Enter his second Diego pull up, because I only have seven pairs of underpants and he had already created a load of laundry by himself in a matter of hours.
Standing at the table to eat supper, he peed again. He always pees at the table. I guess food is distraction enough that he forgets to hold it? Because the good Lord knows he won't stop long enough to empty his bladder any other time and he can hold it longer than a kid that age should be able. Since it was a pull up, I tried to make him wait until after supper to change him (because sometimes I just want to eat my food without getting up over and over again), but he couldn't handle it. This time, he chose a diaper. And he promptly emptied his bladder. Finally.
He hadn't said anything else about underpants until this morning, when he insisted on wearing them to Grandmother's house. He doesn't have school today, and he wouldn't be convinced otherwise, so I took him and his underpants and five more changes of clothes to Grandmother's house. When I told Dave about it, he said, "Your mom is going to kill you," to which I responded, "Yeah." Or, maybe some magic will happen today. We'll see.
I was kind of hoping he'd wait a couple more months before trying again because he just doesn't seem to be physically ready to use the potty yet. He doesn't want to stop long enough to sit long enough to potty. He won't empty his bladder when he does sit on the potty, then he has an accident. That freaks him out, so he holds it again, and we enter into a vicious cycle. And he can hold it a really long time. His teacher just sent a note home yesterday to tell me that he is always dry all day at school, but he won't use the potty. I know this. He stays dry overnight, at school, and most of the day when we are at home. I do think he's on the brink, but he hasn't had the big breakthrough yet. Maybe this means that once it clicks, it'll just be done?
I hope so, because he really wants to wear choo-choo underpants. I just need to try to control myself and let him do it, and then I'll spend $20 on carpet cleaner instead of diapers and that will be that.
P.S. Nothing desensitizes you to the use of the word "penis" like potty training a little boy. Penis, penis, penis, penis.
Perhaps you can tell I'm less than enthusiastic? I am.. less than enthusiastic. I can't wait until I don't have to buy diapers anymore, but I don't love potty training. It's a lot of work and I'm pretty bad at it.
He's driving this project, which is just fine with me.
My philosophy is: The more he can do for himself, the smoother it will go, so I'll just follow his lead.
My failure is: Once he becomes interested, I forget the philosophy and try to control all the things in an effort to avoid mess and force his success.
It goes something like this past Sunday.
Luke: I wanna wear choo-choo underpants.
Me: We are about to leave for church, so you can wear a Diego pull-up. We'll tell Mrs. Kim, and you can try to use the potty during Sunday school.
After church, I breathed a sigh of relief that he had momentarily forgotten about the choo-choo underpants and put a diaper on him for nap.
After nap...
Luke: I need to potty. I wanna wear choo-choo underpants.
Me. (assembling the potty because the bottom half is also our step stool) Ok. You sit on the potty, I'll get the underpants.
Luke: (sits for approximately 15 seconds) I all done.
Me: No, you aren't. You didn't do anything. If you are going to wear underpants, you have to tee-tee in the potty.
Luke: I all done.
Continue that conversation for another 7 minutes until I give up and put the underpants on him. Unfortunately, I can't control his bodily functions, nor can I magically make him able to control them.
TWO AND A HALF HOURS LATER, as he climbed into his chair at the table to practice cutting with scissors, he forgot he was wearing underpants (and so did I) and peed in them.
Cue Crazy Mommy swooping in with a swiftness to contain the mess and get him undressed and on the potty in hopes that he'll finish there and make a connection. Because he still cannot make himself pee on command - not his own command, and certainly not mine. He did not.
Enter the second pair of underpants. He wanted to watch football, so I brought the potty to the living room.
Then, 20 minutes later without my prompting, he jumped out of his chair, exclaiming, "I need to tee-tee!" and ran to the potty, pulled down his own pants, and sat on it. Yes, breakthrough! No... he forgot to point his penis downward so he peed on the carpet instead of the potty. The carpet part is fine - whatever, it will clean, that's why they made Resolve - but he was so upset about peeing on the carpet that he couldn't finish on the potty.
Enter the third pair of underpants, because the second pair got caught in the crossfire. Several more times he sat on the potty and did nothing, but he told me he did. Then he picked up the little bowl and told me it spilled. Cue Crazy Mommy rushing to clean up the mess. There wasn't a mess. There were some forcefully spoken sentences about potties and germs and not wearing them on our heads. Then he actually did pee just a little, and three drops got on his underpants.
Enter the fourth pair of underpants. He ended up in Ella's room, sitting on her rug to play, and he relaxed enough to pee enough that I needed to wash the rug. And the underpants.
Enter his second Diego pull up, because I only have seven pairs of underpants and he had already created a load of laundry by himself in a matter of hours.
Standing at the table to eat supper, he peed again. He always pees at the table. I guess food is distraction enough that he forgets to hold it? Because the good Lord knows he won't stop long enough to empty his bladder any other time and he can hold it longer than a kid that age should be able. Since it was a pull up, I tried to make him wait until after supper to change him (because sometimes I just want to eat my food without getting up over and over again), but he couldn't handle it. This time, he chose a diaper. And he promptly emptied his bladder. Finally.
He hadn't said anything else about underpants until this morning, when he insisted on wearing them to Grandmother's house. He doesn't have school today, and he wouldn't be convinced otherwise, so I took him and his underpants and five more changes of clothes to Grandmother's house. When I told Dave about it, he said, "Your mom is going to kill you," to which I responded, "Yeah." Or, maybe some magic will happen today. We'll see.
I was kind of hoping he'd wait a couple more months before trying again because he just doesn't seem to be physically ready to use the potty yet. He doesn't want to stop long enough to sit long enough to potty. He won't empty his bladder when he does sit on the potty, then he has an accident. That freaks him out, so he holds it again, and we enter into a vicious cycle. And he can hold it a really long time. His teacher just sent a note home yesterday to tell me that he is always dry all day at school, but he won't use the potty. I know this. He stays dry overnight, at school, and most of the day when we are at home. I do think he's on the brink, but he hasn't had the big breakthrough yet. Maybe this means that once it clicks, it'll just be done?
I hope so, because he really wants to wear choo-choo underpants. I just need to try to control myself and let him do it, and then I'll spend $20 on carpet cleaner instead of diapers and that will be that.
P.S. Nothing desensitizes you to the use of the word "penis" like potty training a little boy. Penis, penis, penis, penis.
Monday, September 17, 2012
A Paradigm Shift
There's been a paradigm shift in my house. The child who has always been challenging is less so, and the child who has always been easy is not right now.
I was quite surprised recently when I discovered how very easy it is to have 4 year old Ella around the house when Luke isn't there. He spent the night at Grandmother's by himself for the first time ever, and Ella was home with us. It was so easy! I was so amazed that I told my sister and her response was, "Duh. I've been knowing she is the easier one right now for a while."
Of course she has. She's had the Luke-free evening experience with her a few times when Ella spent the night at her house. Until just a few weeks ago, I had not had an evening with just Ella in the house since before Luke was born. My how she's changed since then! She played by herself in her room until supper, ate, showered, read books with me, and went to bed. It was quiet. There was no yelling. She's almost entirely self-sufficient.
When did this happen?
Apparently while we've been wrangling the wild beast that is the most recent version of her brother.
Since turning two, he has fully embraced The Tantrum Phase of Independence. But you know the story, right? He wants to do everything by himself, he thinks he can do everything by himself, but he really can't yet. "No!" means no, except when it means yes - and that is often because "No!" is the default answer to everything. He wants to make his own decisions by himself, but he makes them so impulsively, they're often wrong. And who's fault is that? Mine. Because of course I should know that when he picked the Piglet cup he really wanted the Pluto one.
He's defnitely in that place where he needs lots of time and space to practice his independence. Dave and I are in the midst of a refresher course on the intricacies of toddlerhood - distractions and redirections and choices and transitions and time-ins.
He is a sweet, funny, loving, enthusiastic little spirit trapped in a frustrated toddler mind and body. It's rough on him. It's rough on us.
He wants so badly to play soccer, on the team, with the other kids. He tells me about it all the time. "I wanna play socter." He's too young; he can't play until he's 3. For a whole year, he'll be too young.
He wants to get on the balance beam and race across it by himself like the older kids. While he's physically capable of running on a 4 inch beam, he isn't mentally focused enough to do that yet.
He wants to tell us when he's feeling really mad or slighted, but he lacks the self-discipline to do that with his words.
His will is strong and his intent is generally good, but he is limited by his own development. His physical and emotional maturity will catch up with his will eventually, but until then, we have our work cut out for us. At the end of it, we'll have another confident, self-sufficient four year old. But you know what they say about sausage - it's good, but you don't want to watch the making of it. Toddlerhood is the sausage-making of a four year old, and it's not for the faint of heart.
I was quite surprised recently when I discovered how very easy it is to have 4 year old Ella around the house when Luke isn't there. He spent the night at Grandmother's by himself for the first time ever, and Ella was home with us. It was so easy! I was so amazed that I told my sister and her response was, "Duh. I've been knowing she is the easier one right now for a while."
Of course she has. She's had the Luke-free evening experience with her a few times when Ella spent the night at her house. Until just a few weeks ago, I had not had an evening with just Ella in the house since before Luke was born. My how she's changed since then! She played by herself in her room until supper, ate, showered, read books with me, and went to bed. It was quiet. There was no yelling. She's almost entirely self-sufficient.
When did this happen?
Apparently while we've been wrangling the wild beast that is the most recent version of her brother.
Since turning two, he has fully embraced The Tantrum Phase of Independence. But you know the story, right? He wants to do everything by himself, he thinks he can do everything by himself, but he really can't yet. "No!" means no, except when it means yes - and that is often because "No!" is the default answer to everything. He wants to make his own decisions by himself, but he makes them so impulsively, they're often wrong. And who's fault is that? Mine. Because of course I should know that when he picked the Piglet cup he really wanted the Pluto one.
He's defnitely in that place where he needs lots of time and space to practice his independence. Dave and I are in the midst of a refresher course on the intricacies of toddlerhood - distractions and redirections and choices and transitions and time-ins.
He is a sweet, funny, loving, enthusiastic little spirit trapped in a frustrated toddler mind and body. It's rough on him. It's rough on us.
He wants so badly to play soccer, on the team, with the other kids. He tells me about it all the time. "I wanna play socter." He's too young; he can't play until he's 3. For a whole year, he'll be too young.
He wants to get on the balance beam and race across it by himself like the older kids. While he's physically capable of running on a 4 inch beam, he isn't mentally focused enough to do that yet.
He wants to tell us when he's feeling really mad or slighted, but he lacks the self-discipline to do that with his words.
His will is strong and his intent is generally good, but he is limited by his own development. His physical and emotional maturity will catch up with his will eventually, but until then, we have our work cut out for us. At the end of it, we'll have another confident, self-sufficient four year old. But you know what they say about sausage - it's good, but you don't want to watch the making of it. Toddlerhood is the sausage-making of a four year old, and it's not for the faint of heart.
Thursday, September 06, 2012
Luke's Day of Labor
Dave and I were off work for Labor Day so we decided to spend the day with his brother and sister-in-law in Gardendale. We went to their house for lunch and stayed most of the day playing and sorting through Nana's pictures. The kids love to play there because they have big dogs, lots of toys, and good snacks. Aunt Jessica is a chip eater, just like Ella. She even bought them "cheese tuffs" to eat with their "ot dogs" this time.
About halfway through the day, while we were outside playing, Luke randomly announced that he wanted to use the potty. I've never heard him say that other than when one of us was using the bathroom, so that was weird in itself. Jessica told him she had a special potty seat he could use and we went inside to see about it.
That child got so excited about the "Melmo" (Elmo) potty seat. For nearly an hour he worked on mastering getting the seat from the closet, putting it on the big potty, climbing up, wiping, flushing, and putting the seat away again. All by himself. Over and over. Seriously, I started rationing the toilet paper. He did actually pee in the potty at one point, which was shocking and exciting for both of us, this being his very first time.
Once we finally wrapped up that activity and got back to playing, he announced again that he needed to potty. I took him back in and we went through the whole routine a few more times. This time we didn't quite make it in time, but who cares? This is the most interest he's ever expressed in a potty. I decided that we would stop at Target on the way home and get a Melmo potty seat for our house.
When we got home, I got it out and gave it to him. He did the rest, putting it on his potty and getting up there by himself. He played and played on the potty. Then he brought the seat to the living room because he was just so excited about it. He told Dave he needed to potty, and sat down on it in front of the TV and peed in his diaper. Again, who cares? Sitting on the potty seat to potty, even in a diaper, is a step in the right direction.
After his bath, he decided to use the potty again - the actual potty with the Melmo seat on it. Knowing he would be there a while, practicing, I left him in Dave's charge so I could finish helping Ella get ready for bed. I heard Dave asking if he was ready to get a diaper and then suddenly they both came running into the kitchen to find me - Luke crying and Dave excited. He had pooped in the potty and Dave got so excited that it scared Luke.
We all, even Ella, gathered around the toilet to have a look, give each other high fives, and let him flush and wave bye-bye to the poop. It was like a slightly twisted version of the goldfish funeral scene from The Cosby Show.
He was so very proud of himself. So proud that I thought he would never go to sleep. But he did, and for the first time ever with me lying beside him, he went to sleep without nursing at bedtime.
Two major milestones in one day.
Afterward, Dave and I were discussing how we hope these breakthroughs mean he's about to ease off his recent reign of terror. (Milestone phases are hard - on toddlers and parents.) Then the next morning, he refused to sit on the potty and he refused to take off his race car pajama pants to get dressed for school. Well, he would have willingly taken them off to trade them for Melmo pajamas, but it wasn't Pajama Day at school nor was it 50 degrees outside, necessitating long-sleeved pajamas, so we ended up in our regular diaper/clothes changing wrestling match.
But who cares? At least he didn't grow up overnight like I feared he might.
About halfway through the day, while we were outside playing, Luke randomly announced that he wanted to use the potty. I've never heard him say that other than when one of us was using the bathroom, so that was weird in itself. Jessica told him she had a special potty seat he could use and we went inside to see about it.
That child got so excited about the "Melmo" (Elmo) potty seat. For nearly an hour he worked on mastering getting the seat from the closet, putting it on the big potty, climbing up, wiping, flushing, and putting the seat away again. All by himself. Over and over. Seriously, I started rationing the toilet paper. He did actually pee in the potty at one point, which was shocking and exciting for both of us, this being his very first time.
Once we finally wrapped up that activity and got back to playing, he announced again that he needed to potty. I took him back in and we went through the whole routine a few more times. This time we didn't quite make it in time, but who cares? This is the most interest he's ever expressed in a potty. I decided that we would stop at Target on the way home and get a Melmo potty seat for our house.
When we got home, I got it out and gave it to him. He did the rest, putting it on his potty and getting up there by himself. He played and played on the potty. Then he brought the seat to the living room because he was just so excited about it. He told Dave he needed to potty, and sat down on it in front of the TV and peed in his diaper. Again, who cares? Sitting on the potty seat to potty, even in a diaper, is a step in the right direction.
 |
| Yes, that's a potty on his head. |
We all, even Ella, gathered around the toilet to have a look, give each other high fives, and let him flush and wave bye-bye to the poop. It was like a slightly twisted version of the goldfish funeral scene from The Cosby Show.
He was so very proud of himself. So proud that I thought he would never go to sleep. But he did, and for the first time ever with me lying beside him, he went to sleep without nursing at bedtime.
Two major milestones in one day.
Afterward, Dave and I were discussing how we hope these breakthroughs mean he's about to ease off his recent reign of terror. (Milestone phases are hard - on toddlers and parents.) Then the next morning, he refused to sit on the potty and he refused to take off his race car pajama pants to get dressed for school. Well, he would have willingly taken them off to trade them for Melmo pajamas, but it wasn't Pajama Day at school nor was it 50 degrees outside, necessitating long-sleeved pajamas, so we ended up in our regular diaper/clothes changing wrestling match.
But who cares? At least he didn't grow up overnight like I feared he might.
Monday, May 21, 2012
Photographic Evidence: He does eat.
We don't know how Luke got to be such a skinny little thing, but he is. He's skinny enough that our pediatrician wonders if we feed him. We do.
And he eats.
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| At Petrucelli's he ate half of my fettucine alfredo. I was planning to bring home leftovers. I didn't. |
And eats.
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| Luke knows Moe's knows how to make a quesadilla. He ate every bite and tried to lick the queso drips off the table. |
And eats.
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| At home, he often stands while eating, because he is so busy. |
And he still looks like this.
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| Long, lean, Luke. |
Monday, April 30, 2012
Around the House
I don't have a full post in my head right now, but I have compiled a list of quotes from around our house. Some of these go back several weeks.
"I'm gonna eat lunch at Grandma's... I don't know who Aunt Tricia's people are." - Ella, in response to the news that Aunt Tricia was bringing us lunch from the Christ Table ministry at her church the day after Dave came home from the hospital. And no, we don't generally talk in terms of someone's "people," so I have no idea where that came from.
Through the baby monitor, in the middle of the night, I heard Luke saying, "No-no. No-no." I went in to check on him and found that Ella had rolled over and snaked her arms around his so that he couldn't get away. Sometimes she sleeps in his bed if she falls asleep before he does on nights when I do bedtime for both of them.
"Mommy, will you just brush my teeth for me tonight? Because I have a wedding tomorrow." - Ella, at toothbrushing time Saturday night. I guess teeth need to be Mommy Clean for weddings? We did not actually attend a wedding, so this is a good example of our combination life - half real and half Ella's alternate reality. It's hard to keep it straight sometimes.
I did bedtime for both of them last night, so we were cuddled into Luke's bed. Ella was telling me all about their trip to the zoo that afternoon with Grandma and Pop the Pop. In the middle of it, Luke leaned over me and said, "Mama. Boo. Chicks. Baaak, baaak, baaak (chicken noises)."
Me: "You went to the zoo and saw chickens?"
He smiled.
Me: What else did you see?
Luke: Baby!
Me: A baby gorilla?
He smiled again.
I love that he's participating in the conversation now.
And for fun, another photo comparison of my offspring that do not look like me.
That juice cup he's holding? That was a serious situation. After fasting for 16 hours, he was thirsty. The nurse told us he woke up from the anesthesia reaching for the cup. Not a single tear, just reaching for the cup. He drank 16 ounces in the hour or so we waited to go home, and another 4 on the way. Withholding his "ju-ju" was by far the hardest part of his surgery experience.
"I'm gonna eat lunch at Grandma's... I don't know who Aunt Tricia's people are." - Ella, in response to the news that Aunt Tricia was bringing us lunch from the Christ Table ministry at her church the day after Dave came home from the hospital. And no, we don't generally talk in terms of someone's "people," so I have no idea where that came from.
Through the baby monitor, in the middle of the night, I heard Luke saying, "No-no. No-no." I went in to check on him and found that Ella had rolled over and snaked her arms around his so that he couldn't get away. Sometimes she sleeps in his bed if she falls asleep before he does on nights when I do bedtime for both of them.
"Mommy, will you just brush my teeth for me tonight? Because I have a wedding tomorrow." - Ella, at toothbrushing time Saturday night. I guess teeth need to be Mommy Clean for weddings? We did not actually attend a wedding, so this is a good example of our combination life - half real and half Ella's alternate reality. It's hard to keep it straight sometimes.
I did bedtime for both of them last night, so we were cuddled into Luke's bed. Ella was telling me all about their trip to the zoo that afternoon with Grandma and Pop the Pop. In the middle of it, Luke leaned over me and said, "Mama. Boo. Chicks. Baaak, baaak, baaak (chicken noises)."
Me: "You went to the zoo and saw chickens?"
He smiled.
Me: What else did you see?
Luke: Baby!
Me: A baby gorilla?
He smiled again.
I love that he's participating in the conversation now.
And for fun, another photo comparison of my offspring that do not look like me.
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| Ella at 21 months, after her tonsil/adenoid/tube surgery. |
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| Luke at 20 months, after his tube/adenoid surgery. |
Tuesday, April 17, 2012
Pediatric Hearing Tests
Or Scaring the Crap Out of Toddlers in the Name of Medicine
Three weeks ago we scheduled Luke's tube/adenoid/tonsil surgery for today. Last Friday, we got a call from our ENT's office telling us that he cannot do surgery any more and we were being referred to another ENT. That resulted in flurry of phone calls and another doctor's appointment yesterday. Because, you know, the surgeon actually wants to meet you before he operates on your kid.
We ended up at the ENT specialty clinic at Children's downtown. If you've never been to clinic there... well, I hope we don't have to go back. It sucks the life out of me. Everything moves so slow - so slow that they give you a paper when you sign in to explain why it moves so slow. That's all well and good unless you're riding herd on a busy toddler. At lunch time. I'll be sure that we schedule his follow up appointment at Children's South; it's just so much easier.
We started the clinic adventure with the audiologist. She checked for fluid in his ears; he has some. She asked a bunch of questions about his hearing, I told her he hears well and he already speaks in two and three word sentences. Then she put us in this really fun room with shelves full of toys. Luke got so excited. He was ready to play! And she shut us in. We didn't play.
I sat in a chair in the middle with him on my lap. There was a speaker on our right and one our left. My instructions were to hold him and pretend like I didn't hear anything. A sound came out of the right speaker, and he turned to look, right on cue. And he saw a flapping, robot penguin with a creepy light shining on it that we hadn't noticed before because it was hidden behind black glass in a dark box. It was flashlight-shining-on-your-chin-telling-ghost-stories-round-a-campfire creepy. He freaked out. I calmed him down and we got ready for the next sound. This one came from the left and it was same scenario, but not a penguin - some other robotic, flapping, creepy toy. He lost it again. We regrouped and waited. Then a bunny on a shelf above our heads start hopping and making a noise. We weren't recovering from that. He was climbing my body, shrieking and crying giant tears. I was done, on the verge of yelling for them to let us out of that Little House of Torture, when one of the ladies came in and sat with us. Apparently the first rounds of testing were inconclusive.
She distracted him with toys - the ones he was excited about playing with when we went in there - and they went through the noises again without the robotic animals. Luke Roper is nobody's fool. He was listening to the same sounds and refusing to turn his head toward the noise. I was feeling and watching him studiously ignore the sounds, and preparing my argument about how their testing was invalid since they scared the absolute crap out of him and then expected him to respond accurately. I didn't have to say anything. Either he flinched and moved his eyes enough to convince her, or she was watching my face and knowing what was coming. He passed his test and "hears really well for a child with fluid in his ears." Excuse me, but I believe that's what I said before we got locked in there. Whatever. I get why they do it, and I appreciate that they do it because if he needed intervention, that would be the place to start it. However, is it really necessary to scare the living crap out of a toddler with robotic, flapping, scary flashlight story telling animals? What do they have to do with the ability to hear sound?
Seriously, if anyone knows the answer to that, please enlighten me. I'm still a little ticked about it.
Three weeks ago we scheduled Luke's tube/adenoid/tonsil surgery for today. Last Friday, we got a call from our ENT's office telling us that he cannot do surgery any more and we were being referred to another ENT. That resulted in flurry of phone calls and another doctor's appointment yesterday. Because, you know, the surgeon actually wants to meet you before he operates on your kid.
We ended up at the ENT specialty clinic at Children's downtown. If you've never been to clinic there... well, I hope we don't have to go back. It sucks the life out of me. Everything moves so slow - so slow that they give you a paper when you sign in to explain why it moves so slow. That's all well and good unless you're riding herd on a busy toddler. At lunch time. I'll be sure that we schedule his follow up appointment at Children's South; it's just so much easier.
We started the clinic adventure with the audiologist. She checked for fluid in his ears; he has some. She asked a bunch of questions about his hearing, I told her he hears well and he already speaks in two and three word sentences. Then she put us in this really fun room with shelves full of toys. Luke got so excited. He was ready to play! And she shut us in. We didn't play.
I sat in a chair in the middle with him on my lap. There was a speaker on our right and one our left. My instructions were to hold him and pretend like I didn't hear anything. A sound came out of the right speaker, and he turned to look, right on cue. And he saw a flapping, robot penguin with a creepy light shining on it that we hadn't noticed before because it was hidden behind black glass in a dark box. It was flashlight-shining-on-your-chin-telling-ghost-stories-round-a-campfire creepy. He freaked out. I calmed him down and we got ready for the next sound. This one came from the left and it was same scenario, but not a penguin - some other robotic, flapping, creepy toy. He lost it again. We regrouped and waited. Then a bunny on a shelf above our heads start hopping and making a noise. We weren't recovering from that. He was climbing my body, shrieking and crying giant tears. I was done, on the verge of yelling for them to let us out of that Little House of Torture, when one of the ladies came in and sat with us. Apparently the first rounds of testing were inconclusive.
She distracted him with toys - the ones he was excited about playing with when we went in there - and they went through the noises again without the robotic animals. Luke Roper is nobody's fool. He was listening to the same sounds and refusing to turn his head toward the noise. I was feeling and watching him studiously ignore the sounds, and preparing my argument about how their testing was invalid since they scared the absolute crap out of him and then expected him to respond accurately. I didn't have to say anything. Either he flinched and moved his eyes enough to convince her, or she was watching my face and knowing what was coming. He passed his test and "hears really well for a child with fluid in his ears." Excuse me, but I believe that's what I said before we got locked in there. Whatever. I get why they do it, and I appreciate that they do it because if he needed intervention, that would be the place to start it. However, is it really necessary to scare the living crap out of a toddler with robotic, flapping, scary flashlight story telling animals? What do they have to do with the ability to hear sound?
Seriously, if anyone knows the answer to that, please enlighten me. I'm still a little ticked about it.
Friday, September 30, 2011
Luke's First Injury
Given his fall down the stairs, his love for climbing, his new affinity for jumping on the furniture, and his fierce independence, I've already started preparing myself for the idea that Luke will be our kid that breaks limbs and needs stitches. There are emergency room trips in his future. I know it in my bones.
This morning, he got his first official injury, meaning, one that left a mark.
Every morning when we leave the house, he walks across the porch and down the stairs by himself. He's like a horse at the starting gate, bursting out of the front door when I open it. He stops along the way to greet all of the statue animals, and by the time I've put the bags in the car, he's coming down the stairs. He is very careful, coming down sideways so he can hang on to the railing with both hands. I'm usually there to grab him at the bottom so I can put him in his carseat.
This morning, just as I turned around to get him from the steps, I saw him fall from the bottom step onto the driveway. On his face. He was wearing pants today, and I think his foot got caught in his pants leg, tripping him up. I knew from the landing that it hurt, and then he started to cry. I scooped him up and got a close enough look to know there was blood, so we headed back into the house to clean it up.
He was crying hard, so I sat on the toilet and nursed him while I wiped his face with a warm rag to clean off the dirt and blood. That calmed him down enough that he tried to get out of my lap as I put Neosporin on the scrapes. By the time we headed back out to the car, he was well enough to slide down my leg and toddle across the porch and down the steps all by himself.
He has a scrape next to his eyebrow, under his eye, and on the corner of his nose. I can't tell yet if it's going to be a nasty bruise, but it already looks pretty pitiful - especially with those sad eyes and that puffed out lip. I'm pretty sure he's going to work this for all it's worth.
 |
| Luke's first injury |
This morning, he got his first official injury, meaning, one that left a mark.
Every morning when we leave the house, he walks across the porch and down the stairs by himself. He's like a horse at the starting gate, bursting out of the front door when I open it. He stops along the way to greet all of the statue animals, and by the time I've put the bags in the car, he's coming down the stairs. He is very careful, coming down sideways so he can hang on to the railing with both hands. I'm usually there to grab him at the bottom so I can put him in his carseat.
This morning, just as I turned around to get him from the steps, I saw him fall from the bottom step onto the driveway. On his face. He was wearing pants today, and I think his foot got caught in his pants leg, tripping him up. I knew from the landing that it hurt, and then he started to cry. I scooped him up and got a close enough look to know there was blood, so we headed back into the house to clean it up.
He was crying hard, so I sat on the toilet and nursed him while I wiped his face with a warm rag to clean off the dirt and blood. That calmed him down enough that he tried to get out of my lap as I put Neosporin on the scrapes. By the time we headed back out to the car, he was well enough to slide down my leg and toddle across the porch and down the steps all by himself.
He has a scrape next to his eyebrow, under his eye, and on the corner of his nose. I can't tell yet if it's going to be a nasty bruise, but it already looks pretty pitiful - especially with those sad eyes and that puffed out lip. I'm pretty sure he's going to work this for all it's worth.
Thursday, August 18, 2011
It's Official: Luke is 1.
Somehow an entire year has passed since this happened.
Dang, how did I ever fit him in there?! Dave took a picture of me in the waiting area outside the OR right before we went in for all the pre-op stuff, and I am not kidding when I say it looks like I’m holding a beach ball under my shirt. And, I was wearing one of Dave’s XXL shirts!
Here he is, minutes after we met face to face.
He was such a quiet, cuddly baby. He’s still a quiet, cuddly toddler – except when he’s yelling at his sister, but sometimes a man just has to stand up for himself.
Here he is now. He’s finally doubled his chin, but he’s still a skinny little thing.
At 12 months old he is a walking, talking, eating machine. The child loves to eat; what he does not love is being fed snack when he knows that real food (read: supper) is cooking. I have to banish him from the kitchen until it’s time to eat because he drives me nuts, climbing my leg, lunging into the pots/pans/oven when I pick him up. He doesn’t care if the broccoli is raw, he’s ready to eat!
He says a bunch of things:
Mmmmnak (snack)
Up we go
Soft touch
All done
Hey
Dada
Papa
Pop
Mama
Ella
Georgia
Dog dog
Kitty
Thank you
Mickey
I love you
And he sings – the ABCs, M-I-C-K-E-Y, God of Wonders, and other sing along songs. (Obviously he sings them in Jibberish, but you can pick out the tune.) He loves music. When we play in The Big Room, he goes to the radio and stares at it so that we know we need to turn it on. Sometimes he dances, if he really likes the song.
He reads; he loves books. I put all the board books on the shelf that he can reach, and I often find him sitting in the floor with books all around, studying. He demands that we read a stack at bedtime, and then I have to hide them to get him to go to sleep.
He walks and climbs. He already knows how to go up and down stairs. He knows how to back off of the couch or bed feet-first. He thinks he can step into the bathtub by himself, and he would if there were a step stool in the bathroom.
He sneaks and opens the potty, plays in it, and closes it back so we won’t know he’s been there – all in silence. He pulls off pieces of toilet paper and tears them into tiny bits, strewing them through the house in his wake, like a flower girl.
He loves the play kitchen and the McDonald’s drive-thru. He makes a cell phone out of anything, including his hand, and walks around talking on it all the time (“Hey!” “Hey!”), sometimes he gives it to us to talk, too.
He plays peek-a-boo, especially when we are waking Ella up in the mornings and he’s finding her under the covers. He also plays patty-cake, and he rolls the dough. He folds his hands for the blessing, and then he claps for Ella after she sings it.
He started “school” Tuesday (he’s going to Mother’s Day Out twice a week), and he loves it. When we went to Meet the Teacher night, we had to drag him out of his classroom.
He’s already cut his nursing sessions down to sleep times (most days), and he usually wakes up twice over night to nurse and cuddle.
He has four teeth and another one about to pop through any day.
Edited to add: He weighs 20 lbs. and 14 oz and he's 30.5 inches long.
He’s a happy, affectionate, active toddler who is, quite literally at times, running head first into his second year. One year ago today, God blessed me with another amazing child, so different from his sister, yet a perfect fit in our family.
 |
| Luke, in utero on his birth day |
Here he is, minutes after we met face to face.
 |
| Luke, minutes old |
Here he is now. He’s finally doubled his chin, but he’s still a skinny little thing.
 |
| Luke, 1 year |
He says a bunch of things:
Mmmmnak (snack)
Up we go
Soft touch
All done
Hey
Dada
Papa
Pop
Mama
Ella
Georgia
Dog dog
Kitty
Thank you
Mickey
I love you
And he sings – the ABCs, M-I-C-K-E-Y, God of Wonders, and other sing along songs. (Obviously he sings them in Jibberish, but you can pick out the tune.) He loves music. When we play in The Big Room, he goes to the radio and stares at it so that we know we need to turn it on. Sometimes he dances, if he really likes the song.
He reads; he loves books. I put all the board books on the shelf that he can reach, and I often find him sitting in the floor with books all around, studying. He demands that we read a stack at bedtime, and then I have to hide them to get him to go to sleep.
He walks and climbs. He already knows how to go up and down stairs. He knows how to back off of the couch or bed feet-first. He thinks he can step into the bathtub by himself, and he would if there were a step stool in the bathroom.
He sneaks and opens the potty, plays in it, and closes it back so we won’t know he’s been there – all in silence. He pulls off pieces of toilet paper and tears them into tiny bits, strewing them through the house in his wake, like a flower girl.
He loves the play kitchen and the McDonald’s drive-thru. He makes a cell phone out of anything, including his hand, and walks around talking on it all the time (“Hey!” “Hey!”), sometimes he gives it to us to talk, too.
He plays peek-a-boo, especially when we are waking Ella up in the mornings and he’s finding her under the covers. He also plays patty-cake, and he rolls the dough. He folds his hands for the blessing, and then he claps for Ella after she sings it.
He started “school” Tuesday (he’s going to Mother’s Day Out twice a week), and he loves it. When we went to Meet the Teacher night, we had to drag him out of his classroom.
He’s already cut his nursing sessions down to sleep times (most days), and he usually wakes up twice over night to nurse and cuddle.
He has four teeth and another one about to pop through any day.
Edited to add: He weighs 20 lbs. and 14 oz and he's 30.5 inches long.
He’s a happy, affectionate, active toddler who is, quite literally at times, running head first into his second year. One year ago today, God blessed me with another amazing child, so different from his sister, yet a perfect fit in our family.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Friday, Bloody Friday
If Ella is a test of my patience, Luke is a test of my nerves. And, at this rate, I’m going to have nerves of steel (or maybe none at all?).
Less than an hour after my arrival at work this morning, I got this phone call.
Ring-Ring..
Me: Hello?
Grandmother: (baby screaming in the background) We’ve had an accident. There’s blood.
Me: What happened?
Grandmother: (over screaming baby) I don’t know. Can I take him to Dr. Downthestreet?
Me: Yes! What happened?!
Grandmother: I’ll call you back from the car. I can’t hear!
Me: (Waiting, waiting, waiting. Debating driving home right now. Waiting some more.)
Five-ish minutes later
Ring-Ring..
Me: Hello?
Grandmother: He fell and hit his mouth on his push toy. He’s bleeding a lot and I can’t get him to open his mouth. I’m going to take him in and see if they’ll look at him and see if I need to take him to the other doctor (the pediatrician) for stitches. I’ll call you back.
Me: Do I need to leave and meet you there?
Grandmother: No, I’ll call you back when I know if we have to go to the other doctor.
Me: (Waiting, waiting, waiting).
Another ten-ish minutes later.
Ring-Ring…
Me: Hello?
Grandmother: Okay, once we finally got his mouth open, we could see two perfect tooth marks in the top of his tongue. He didn’t bite it all the way through.
She took him home to give him Tylenol and put him to nap. Poor kid. He tripped over some other toys he was playing with and fell on the push toy.
Mouth wounds bleed a lot. Like, ridiculous amounts of blood that make it look much worse than it is. I learned this from Georgia’s puppyhood. Knowing this tidbit might be the only reason I kept my head while I sat here waiting.
So yeah, nerves of steel. And gray hair.
Less than an hour after my arrival at work this morning, I got this phone call.
Ring-Ring..
Me: Hello?
Grandmother: (baby screaming in the background) We’ve had an accident. There’s blood.
Me: What happened?
Grandmother: (over screaming baby) I don’t know. Can I take him to Dr. Downthestreet?
Me: Yes! What happened?!
Grandmother: I’ll call you back from the car. I can’t hear!
Me: (Waiting, waiting, waiting. Debating driving home right now. Waiting some more.)
Five-ish minutes later
Ring-Ring..
Me: Hello?
Grandmother: He fell and hit his mouth on his push toy. He’s bleeding a lot and I can’t get him to open his mouth. I’m going to take him in and see if they’ll look at him and see if I need to take him to the other doctor (the pediatrician) for stitches. I’ll call you back.
Me: Do I need to leave and meet you there?
Grandmother: No, I’ll call you back when I know if we have to go to the other doctor.
Me: (Waiting, waiting, waiting).
Another ten-ish minutes later.
Ring-Ring…
Me: Hello?
Grandmother: Okay, once we finally got his mouth open, we could see two perfect tooth marks in the top of his tongue. He didn’t bite it all the way through.
She took him home to give him Tylenol and put him to nap. Poor kid. He tripped over some other toys he was playing with and fell on the push toy.
Mouth wounds bleed a lot. Like, ridiculous amounts of blood that make it look much worse than it is. I learned this from Georgia’s puppyhood. Knowing this tidbit might be the only reason I kept my head while I sat here waiting.
So yeah, nerves of steel. And gray hair.
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