Abbie & Ian & Tory Update

Tuesday, October 31, 2006

"This isn't rocket science, it's brain surgery!"

Tory’s day started at 5:45 yesterday morning. Usually I wake him/he wakes me closer to 8am, but we needed to get him out of the house early for his surgery. This would have been overwhelmingly early for him, but we were one morning removed from turning the clocks back from Daylight Savings Time, so it was like we were waking him at 6:45, which is the time I occasionally break into his room anyway to coax him back to sleep with a pacifier for another hour.

Tory was scheduled for surgery at 7:30, but the hospital wanted him there at 6am. They had a list of things they needed from him before his surgery, such as hemoglobin levels, weight, and an hour’s worth of screaming in the waiting room. I wasn’t sure how he was going to react to this early wake time without even a meal as consolation. I assumed he’d cry from hunger and confusion most of the time. So I wished Ellie good luck and sent them out the door. It turns out he did cry a lot, but he also settled down and acted cute for much of the wait, eventually even falling asleep approximately nine seconds before the staff whisked him into the surgery room.

I can’t stress how minor this procedure, a frenumectomy, was. The doctor simply clipped the little piece of skin, called the frenum, that connects the base of the mouth to the tongue. I probably could have seen a more serious procedure at the Piercing Pagoda in the mall yesterday. The only worrisome part was the general anesthetic he needed. If he were a little younger and unable to squirm or a few years older and able to hold still, the doctor could’ve ectomized his frenum in his office. Instead the doctor needed him knocked out to work without the flailing and the screaming.

Tory emerged from surgery in good shape. The doctor said he had one of the most severe tongue-ties he’s ever seen. It was so severe that simply placing the retractor in his mouth caused the frenum to split. The doctor finished the job, added one stitch, and they woke him up. Tory returned to Ellie hungry, off routine, and disoriented from the anesthesia. Ellie immediately addressed the hunger with a bottle, which he could thankfully eat without problem. The anesthesia wore off shortly thereafter, probably about the time he threw up most of his breakfast.

We spent the rest of the day putting him back on routine. I was worried that he’d be cranky for the rest of the day, in too much pain to eat, sleep, or do anything but cry and play in the dishwasher. He was actually in relatively good spirits that morning, screaming only marginally more than usual.

His first problem was falling asleep for the morning nap. The only time I give the boys a pacifier is when they sleep, and they’ve turned that into a crutch to fall asleep that could be fun to break when it’s time to toss the pacifiers. He wanted to fall asleep, but he needed to suckle to comfort himself to sleep, and sucking for comfort doesn’t work when you feel a sharp pain on every suckle. Eventually he drifted asleep and stayed asleep, but only after 15 minutes of screaming.

His next problem was during lunch. I figured that since he took his bottle without problem immediately after surgery, he should be ready for a normal meal a few hours after surgery. Apparently his mouth was too sensitive for solids though, because he screamed in agony every time I brought a spoon near his mouth. Not even Tasteeos cheered him up. His pain medicine must have worn off too because drinking his bottle seemed like a struggle.

Eventually he finished his bottle, and we made it through the day without much more fussing than normal. He was feeling good enough that night that we took him trick-or-treating.* Tory screamed frequently while we were out, but that was because he hated his costume. He might have been tired, too. Hopefully he’s in great spirits after an 8am wakeup.

* Yes, Des Moines does trick-or-treating the day before Halloween. Apparently it cuts down on hooliganism because the holiday always sneaks up on them a day early before they have a chance to plan pranks.

Monday, October 30, 2006

One of the Best Reasons to Move to Hawaii

I used to love Fall Back Day, the day when Daylight Savings Time ends. We set our clocks back an hour, and everyone magically gains an extra hour in their day to spend as they chose. I used to choose to spend that hour sleeping. I loved being able to sleep in and still have enough time for a leisurely breakfast.

Now that’s all a thing of the past. Specifically the sleeping in is a thing of the past, but so are the leisurely breakfasts. I have kids now, and when they wake up, I wake up. Unless I want to workout that day, then I need to wake up an hour before I think they’re going to wake up. Sadly, the kids don’t realize the clocks have been turned back, and fight to keep their schedule on the “old” time.

I know I’ve complained about the time shift on this blog before. That’s an advantage of writing a blog for more than a year: Recycling topics. Soon I get to recycle the “Halloween” topic, then the “stocking up on clearanced Halloween merchandise” topic, and finally the “throwing away unwanted Halloween candy” topic. I keep returning to the time shift because I keep encountering new wrinkles each year as the kids age and become more cognizant of ways to fight sleep and bug me when they’re awake.

The new wrinkle this year is Tory’s surgery to correct his tongue-tie.* We had to bring Tory to the hospital for surgery preparation before dawn this morning. That’s before dawn even after the time shift. This is a major wrinkle into his schedule since I never wake them until the sun has fully risen and I’m fully exhausted from my morning workout. My plan was to keep everyone on the “old” time throughout yesterday; that way his 6am wakeup call will feel more like 7am, keeping him closer to his normal schedule, and more tolerable to be around until the anesthesiologist gasses him.

I stuck to that plan for a solid 90 minutes that morning until I grew too dizzy subtracting and adding an hour to remember if I was really late finishing dishes, or if I could afford to take the extra time to scrub the grime between the counter and sink. When the boys’ morning naptime arrived according to the old time, and they were still playing contentedly with blocks and random carpet fuzz, I completely abandoned the plan and reset all the clocks.

Their attitudes yesterday could have been worse, and often are. Everyone woke from naps too early, the boys were certain they should’ve gotten their milk a while ago, and Abbie scratched more than normal by the end of the day. Otherwise it was a normal day of trying to bend the wills of a toddler and two infants. By the time bedtime arrived, Abbie was in an amazingly pleasant mood. I think she enjoyed the concept of getting to be awake for an extra hour. I’m anxious for the day when she enjoys the concept of sleeping in.

* Tory had his surgery this morning and is home and doing great. I’ll give a full write-up tomorrow.

Sunday, October 29, 2006

Early Trick-or-Treat

In what looks like a developing family tradition, we took the kids to Des Moines’ Blank Park Zoo yesterday for their annual Night Eyes event. Night Eyes is a trick-or-treat event designed to coax people into the zoo in late October, a time when few people want to spend a day outdoors in Iowa unless football is involved. About half of the zoo’s animals appeared to be absent as well, though I doubt they were attending football games, unless someone somewhere desperately needed a live sea otter mascot.

We took Abbie to Night Eyes for the first time last year. I remember carrying Abbie from greeter to greeter, holding out her treat sack, saying trick or treat for her, and generally trying to convince people that this was for her benefit, not ours. Then we went home, sent Abbie to nap, and ate most of the candy she accumulated.

This year went better, as Abbie followed directions somewhat and showed independence. This is a good thing since we had two extra children to trick-or-treat for this year. Of course to enjoy her independence we had to enter the zoo, which proved challenging.

The zoo was busy and the parking lot was full when we arrived. The only decent spot I found was between two other cars that were actively unloading. One car had a single toddler to prepare, but the other car was piloted by one of those inconsiderate families with more children than adults that leaves every car door wide open while they unload. This is completely different from our family that leaves every car door wide open while unloading because we have young children. This family had children who were at least old enough to move out of the way while the others unloaded so I could park instead of idling in the aisle for a couple minutes.

After that initial does of aggravation, we unloaded, walked to the entry building, and stumbled upon one of Abbie’s current quirks; she hates dark enclosed spaces like the zoo’s entrance. While I fumbled through my wallet for the cash needed for entry, she screamed in terror at my side. I’ve grown so adept at ignoring her screams that I never thought to comfort her while paying for our tickets, making me one of those dads who lets his kids scream.

Once we walked into the open spaces, Abbie calmed down. Ellie pushed the boys in the stroller while Abbie walked to the side and I stayed back to ensure that Abbie stays in position. We walked from station to station, picking up treats like suckers, chocolates, and a can of Hawaiian Punch for some reason. After a couple stations, Abbie caught the idea, possibly thanks to the trick-or-treat training episode of Dora we’ve watched extensively this week. She held her own treat sack the entire time, though she did insist on carrying a treat in her other hand the entire time for ballast. She would hold the bag out for a treat when prompted and utter three syllables that, if you weren’t listening carefully, might be confused with the phrase “trick-or-treat.”

Abbie must have enjoyed the zoo because she willingly walked the entire pathway. The boys were harder to read since they sat motionless in their stroller the entire time, either taking in the experience or just wondering why they couldn’t play with their toys. Abbie wound up with a sack full of treats, and the boys each had sacks full. Of course they’re too young to eat their treats, so Ellie and I get a sack apiece. And now, photographic evidence of our adventure:

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Our herd is parading to the next treat station. Abbie is a fairy princess, or Tinkerbell if you insist on licensed characters.

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The boys are in their stroller. Tory is in front, flashing a rare bit of emotion during the day, and is dressed as a lion. Ian is in back dressed as a pumpkin.

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Our family stopped for a picture. Abbie is still clutching her treat sack, Ian is interested in the camera, and Tory just wants to play with his blocks again.

Saturday, October 28, 2006

Picture Post

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Playtime is happier when they don’t simultaneously try to use the corn popper, here seen on the right. Tory is on the left, Ian is on the right.

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Because Abbie won’t be ignored when a camera is involved.

Friday, October 27, 2006

Second Hand

I had grand plans for disposing of our used baby gear. I would hold a grand garage sale with tables full of gently used merchandise. Prices would be fair and clearly marked. People would file through, picking up needed items. In the end, I’d have a tidy sum to invest in the kids’ college fund, and would give any remaining merchandise to charity.

Then we took part in a small neighborhood garage sale, and my plans died painfully. In the weeks I had to prepare, I only managed to mark prices on a few dozen items, leaving hundreds of clothes unmarked and still in our basement. We don’t have any folding tables to hold clothes, and I discovered that one new folding table costs about what I hoped to pocket from my grand garage sale. Few people came to our sale, proving that I must be the only person who goes to garage sales in our neighborhood. My sales made enough money to cover the cost of the price tags. I donated the big items that I never wanted to see again to charity and hauled the little leftovers back to our basement. My new plan is to hold a more successful garage sale after we move, a sale hopefully aided by magic gnomes living around our new home.

That sale from a couple months ago was still fresh in my mind when we offered to sell some gear to an expecting neighbor couple. I could probably make more money at a garage sale, but it would be nice to help a neighbor while avoiding the hassles of pricing items, sitting through an unattended garage sale, and vultures asking if I’ll take $2 those boxes of 2T girl’s clothing. Plus the more things we discard now, the less we’ll have to move; I think I can talk Ellie into letting me tote well-packed boxes of clothes to the new place, but I don’t know about a rocking chair.

Of course our neighbors didn’t buy all of our used gear, but they did buy several things I’d been kicking in the basement for the past couple months. They bought our swing. This was the fancy kind that swings in two directions with a light-up musical mobile attached. We got it for Abbie, who hated it. We brought it back out for the boys, and they seemed reasonably entertained by it, though she was now enthralled by the mobile. She would stand in the swing’s path to grab the mobile when we used it. Finally we put it back in storage too soon, so the neighbors got a great deal.

They bought our bouncy seat. This was the fancy kind that plays music and gives a back massage. We got it for Abbie, who tolerated it. It coaxed her to sleep a few nights when daddy couldn’t stand the crying anymore. The boys were content to sit in it and watch me do dishes.

They bought Ellie’s breast pump and its accompanying paraphernalia. This was the super-deluxe, best-one-available-without-a-prescription, probably-could-have-extracted-milk-from-me kind. It cost a fortune new, but they’re almost worthless used because of a risk of disease transmission. Our neighbors trusted the source, and we’re glad to find one cheap. I was glad someone else could get use out of it. Plus I didn’t want it taking up space our basement.

They bought our bottles. I felt it was time to let these go since the boys haven’t used them for several days now. Actually they still drink a bedtime bottle, so we’ll give them two more bottles in about a month, but otherwise they’re drinking from sippy cups. It was a big step to let the bottles go since they symbolize their infanthood. Unlike the other gear that I hauled to the basement as early as possible to make room for more gear, the bottles stayed in our cupboards for their entire first year. I used them several times every day, which is something I can’t say about the swing.

The only biggest things they didn’t buy from us are clothes. This couple is going the “we don’t want to know what we’re getting until he/she arrives” route. More power to them. I wanted to know early so I could plan by accumulating things like clothes, room decorations, and two of everything.

After their baby arrives, they’ll go through our old clothes, so we could see a little more money. For now I’ve made back enough to pay for that folding table I bought for the garage sale. Plus I’ve earned the right to not have to move so much stuff.

Thursday, October 26, 2006

I Don't Know. What Do You Want?

Suppertime in our house usually begins with “what do you want to eat.” The correct answer is “something leftover” since by the time I ask the question, it’s too late to prepare anything that requires inputting more than two numbers into the microwave’s timer. Last night we had barbecued beef from the night before, tuna mac casserole of undetermined age, or frozen pizza or hot dogs for the truly adventurous. Ellie’s mealtime answer was “I want to go out.”

With the boys rustling awake in their bedroom, we sat on the couch for five minutes determining a course of action. She wanted to go out, which was fair to me since we hadn’t eaten out recently. We’re not just some DINK couple any more though; we lack the time and funds to leave the house for the sole purpose of avoiding leftovers. When we leave the house now we have to have a minimum of two objectives, and eating out only qualifies as one even though we have to stop for Abbie’s Happy Meal before stopping at a place the adults want to eat. We could stop at K’s Merchandise to see if anything good is left from their going out of business sale, but last time we were there the other buzzards had already picked them dry. We could get groceries, but I’m prepared to add new stock to the refrigerator on the weekend, not Wednesday. We could stop for frozen custard on the way home, but, no, that still qualifies with the original “going out to eat” objective. Maybe we could stop for frozen custard anyway.

We finally settled on stopping at the mall after eating. We could visit the mall-based big box store, even though there’s absolutely nothing we need from them. Afterwards we could visit the mall-based playground and let the kids swap germs. If nothing else, we could always mall walk.

We packed up the kids and drove to our sandwich shop, stopping for Abbie’s Happy Meal on the way since she still shuns sandwiches. At the restaurant, I marveled at how excited she was when we unveiled the Happy Meal sack. I fear we’re thisclose to her begging for a Happy Meal on a daily basis. I’ll really be in trouble when she realizes that she could have fries instead of those apple slices I always get for her and end up eating myself. As she dipped her chicken nuggets in barbecue sauce, I noticed that she can eat neatly when there’s a promise of a toy at the end of the meal. The boys spent the time locked in the stroller, trying out their pincher grasp on handfuls of cereal and flirting with other diners.

After an amazingly pleasant meal, we drove to the mall, specifically the big box store’s entrance. I knew we didn’t need anything, but I looked around anyway. After picking up a couple things on sale, a couple more things on clearance, and a couple cans of formula since we’re running low, I wound up with a $119.30 total at the register.* Since it had been about a week and a half since my last visit, this proves my earlier formula stating that whenever I make the inevitable trip to the big box store, the amount spent will increase proportionally with the time passed since the last visit. That total doesn’t count the additional stop we made at the mall-based children’s clothing store for those blanket sleepers we’d been meaning to pick up.

Finally we walked to the playground. I could tell it had been too long since our last visit to the playground when Abbie took off in a full run when she saw it. I had to drag her to the side to pull her shoes off. She spent the next couple minutes running around the playground in a fit of toddler delirium. The boys spent their time crawling around the decorations, luring curious older children to their side, and screaming when they wandered too far away.

We returned home in time for the bedtime routine. I think it helped Abbie to run off some energy before bedtime as she sucked down her bedtime milk. The boys also seemed to enjoy the chance to get outside the house, see new sights, and spit up on new surfaces. Ellie picked up some things she didn’t know she needed. I was happy because our excursion meant I don’t have to cook again tomorrow, though I hope the tuna mac casserole is still good.

* It would have been more, but I had a $.35 coupon on the laundry detergent.

Wednesday, October 25, 2006

Learning to Self-Feed

I need to change the boys’ eating habits. They need to learn to use utensils. They need to start using sippy cups. They need to start eating solids, or at least solids that aren’t poured out of a blender.

I’ve settled into a groove of feeding them the same type of things in the same order for every meal. They eat something pureed, and then drink from a bottle while I prepare Abbie’s meal. It takes effort for me to devise new ways of feeding while keeping Abbie distracted, so I’m happy to continue feeding them pureed banana until I can pass them off to their kindergarten teachers.

I, and when I say “I” I mean “Ellie,” realized the boys’ eating proficiency is a little behind when they hit 11-months old a few days ago. They’re almost a year old, and Abbie was much more advanced by that age. She could eat from a utensil as long as an adult loaded it for her. She ate non-pureed foods at every meal. She could drink from a sippy cup. I realized that if I’m to achieve my long-term goal of sitting down as a family and eating a meal without having to rise to feed someone. After all, Abbie didn’t gain that spoon proficiency overnight; it took months of practice before she could chuck that utensil halfway down the hallway.

I’m working on the utensil and solid training with fruit. I gave Abbie canned fruit speared on a fork at this age, and that should work with the boys. Canned fruit works well because it’s soft, meaning it mashes easily when I cut it with a fork and when the child puts it in his mouth. It’s also sweet, meaning the child should readily put it in his mouth, although considering how much they love chewing on Abbie’s crayons this may not be an issue.

I gave Abbie anything I could find in a can and plan to do the same with the boys. For now, though, we only have canned peaches because I still give her canned fruit as a snack, and peaches are the only fruit she’ll still put in her mouth instead of the dog’s mouth. So a couple days ago I dished out some peaches, sliced them into tiny pieces, and held them on forks for the boys to grab for the first time.

The boys don’t fully grasp “fork theory” yet. When I hold the fork vertically in front of them, they focus more on the peach than the utensil holding it. Sometimes they grab the peach, although sometimes they get the idea of a fork and grab the tongs just below the peach. After directing their fingers into proper utensil position, the peach doesn’t always go into the mouth. It goes near the mouth, but not in it. They like sucking on the peach, maybe masticating it with their lips, instead of putting it all the way into their mouths and gumming it into mush. I usually have to pick a few drained peach carcasses off their bibs before releasing them from their high chairs.

After the peaches, I let the boys graze on finger foods while trying to figure out their sippy cups. The sippy cup adventures deserve their own post, so I’ll save those. The finger foods are basic stuff, like Tasteeos, with a handful on each boy’s tray. That may not sound like a big deal, but it is a change from my earlier method of dumping them on a tray, and letting them battle each other, their sister, and the dog for the cereal goodness. I also sneak a few of their sister’s peas onto their trays. The boys respond to these finger foods by grabbing giant handfuls and shoving it in their mouths. Naturally most of it misses and lands on their bibs and on the floor. This should provide practice for their pincher grasp, though until then they’ve at least reached Abbie’s eating proficiency in dumping food on the floor for the dog to eat.

Tuesday, October 24, 2006

Cats in the Kennel

Leaving the house with one small child is difficult. Leaving the house with three small children borders on impossible. Leaving the house with three small children and two cats rivals “reaching the World Series after an 83-win season” in degree of difficulty, but that was the task facing me as I took both of our cats to the vet yesterday afternoon.

I’ve learned that I need to start preparing the children about 20 minutes before my targeted time of departure. Otherwise I’ll have to apologize and blame traffic for my tardiness upon reaching the destination. The kids can be difficult to prepare since by the time I’ve diapered, shoed, and coated everyone, one child will have removed a shoe and possibly a sock, Abbie will have removed her coat, and someone will have pooped.

Throw cats into the equation, and preparation time goes off the chart. I can spend 20 minutes just looking for a cat, and since there’s two, the first is likely to escape when I try adding the sibling to the cage. So needing to arrive at the vet at 2pm, factoring in a 10-minute drive and 20-minute child prep time, I started herding cats at 1pm.

Cleo (the soft one) kicked me into gear when I saw her saunter through the living room at 1pm. Usually the cats hide until the children go to sleep, so I jumped on this opportunity. I picked her up, lovingly stroked her chin, and dumped her in the bathroom.

With her locked up, I hunted down Charlie (the fat one). I checked his favorite daytime hiding place, and luckily found him hiding under the basement futon. I called him out and he responded, intrigued by the thought of early afternoon chin scratchings without the threat of nearby children. I carried him upstairs, lovingly stroked his chin, and dumped him in the bathroom while blocking Cleo who was certain I accidentally locked her in the bathroom.

Next I brought the cat carrier to the bathroom door. I couldn’t even look at it before sequestering the cats lest they discover their fate and wedge themselves under the couch for protection. Before opening the bathroom door, I was smart enough to shut every room door in the house to limit their hiding options should they escape. Sure enough the cats ran as soon as I opened the bathroom door, but they collapsed in confusion at the closed basement door, allowing me to easily pick them off.

By this time it was 1:30, putting us schedule. I finished preparing everyone, and we pulled into the vet’s office at 2pm. The vet had two people ready to help me haul everyone when I arrived, so perhaps they were aware that the crazy guy who always brings his three little kids was coming.

When the vet saw us crammed into the exam room, he wondered why we didn’t just bring the dog too. I offered to let the chinchilla tagalong next time. The vet offered us good advice, such as make your kids eat the kid’s meals when you eat out for as long as possible, because once they start insisting on the big person meals, restaurants turn very expensive.

Cleo weighed in at 10 pounds, and Charlie almost broke the scale at 18.5 pounds.* Charlie is up a pound from last year, which is disturbing since he doesn’t eat treats, and only eats a third-cup of cat food a day, plus whatever he pilfers from his sister’s food dish. The vet recommended making him move more, and I remembered that he essentially hides all day now that the children can stalk him.

The vet appointment went smoothly. Afterwards the staff helped me load everyone back into the car, and we drove back home. I hurriedly carried everyone inside, hoping to get the coats and shoes off in time for naptime. The kids helped by partially undressing as I carried our 28.5 pounds of cats in from the car.

* Like I said, he’s the fat one.

Monday, October 23, 2006

Basketball, Basketball, Milk!

After returning from the entirely unsuccessful trip to a college football game, the first question on my mind was “what other college sporting event can I drag my family to see this weekend?” As luck would have it, my alma mater Drake University was hosting intrasquad scrimmages for its men’s and women’s basketball teams yesterday. The scrimmages were open to the public, free, and perfectly situated between lunchtime and afternoon naptime. Ellie humored my vain attempts to relive my college days through athletic events and helped haul the kids as soon as everyone finished their peas.

I wanted to attend the scrimmages as a trial run for bringing the kids to real games. When Ellie worked late, I brought Abbie to a game or two a season for her first two years. These were important bonding times for us as we both stared at the ball and wondered what we could do to make it go where we wanted it. Now that the boys are here, I wanted to see how they’d react to the brightness of the lights, the volume of the crowd, and the frustration of all the missed shots.

The scrimmage was free, except for the popcorn and soda pop, so even if it’s a crushing disappointment like the football game, I’m not out much money. The scrimmage was sparsely attended, even by the standards of Drake basketball crowds, with maybe a couple hundred spectators. We could settle into an empty row of seats, giving the kids room to run/crawl, providing a buffer zone between their screams and any unsuspecting patrons, and increasing the odds that a thrown toy will bounce harmlessly off an empty seat instead of an influential alumnus. The scrimmage was also bribing people to attend with door prizes. With only a couple hundred people to compete with for one of 100 prizes, I liked my odds.

We settled into a row of seats on the top row of the lower section, giving us a row of dead space between our seats and the railing to store the diaper bag and whatever else we might find forgotten under our seats. I sat on the aisle and Ellie sat three seats in, leaving between us a runway for the kids to scamper as desired.

The boys spent their time alternating between being held and ambling within the baby run. Occasionally they crawled under our legs and outside the baby run, which was no problem when they ventured into the seating beyond Ellie, and a major problem when they ventured onto the stairs beyond me. I had to keep a closer eye to the space under my seat than on the court in front of me to ensure that no little men started climbing stairs. When one tried making a break for it, I’d put him in my lap, passing the current occupant onto Ellie if needed, and held him with a toy. That toy often went flying eventually, but the nearby spectators happily handed it back without once muttering, “if that thing lands by my seat one more time I’m keeping it.”

Abbie sat happily in her own seat and watched at first. I think I’m raising a little basketball player, or maybe a soccer player if I can ever convince her that she can’t use her hands. Colleges offer full-ride scholarships for both, so either will work. Eventually she grew bored and started digging through the diaper bag and competing with her brothers for space in the baby run. Eventually even physical activity failed to entertain her, and at that point mama returned with popcorn. She spent the rest of the game with a hand in the bucket.

We stayed for about an hour. Tory turned cranky about that time, reminding us that naptime was approaching. We packed up and returned home. It was a successful trip, and gave me confidence that we could return for a game that mattered more than Black vs. Blue. The experience would have been perfect if I just could have won a door prize.

Sunday, October 22, 2006

Football, Football, Milk!

My Alma mater Drake University played a huge football game yesterday, or at least as huge as games get in the realm of division I-AA non-scholarship football. It was #1 versus #2 in the rankings for their classification. The local media spent the last week giving the game a heavy dose of promotion. Tickets were $1, free for kids, with various concessions also selling for $1. We packed up the kids and headed for the stadium as I wondered, “what could go wrong?”

For starters it was about 40-degrees at game time with a stiff wind. It was also a night game, though it wasn’t warmer during the day. Yesterday was one of those magical Iowa days when the sun hides and the temperature remains steady all day and night, and only those of questionable mental propensity venture outside, especially with three small children in tow. Undaunted, we continued to historic* Drake Stadium with enough dollar bills in my pocket to make the misses wonder where I was the night before. I believe this was the first football game for all three kids, and if they hated it and made us leave early, I’d only be out a few dollars.

Since this would be more than a jog from car door to store door, we experimented with heavy winter clothing for the first time this season. Abbie wore her new winter coat that we bought at the end of last season, and looked good in it. The boys wore hand-me-down snowsuits since we failed to buy coats for them six months ago. They didn’t like their suits because they were a little small, or possibly because they were too stiff to move. Either way, the boys didn’t appreciate the way they restricted circulation.

After a long walk from the car to the ticket window, we discovered that a toddler can walk excruciatingly slow when your arms are loaded with 30 pounds of baby and baby-support gear. We selected our seats a few minutes before kickoff, choosing an isolated corner of the stadium where we could sit in the front row while Abbie runs back and forth on the walkway, and our children won’t bother anyone except those dumb enough to choose to sit near a family with three small children.

The plan was for Ellie to grab a $1-an-item supper for the three oldest members of our family, while I bottle-fed the two youngest. I propped the boys up on the blanket we spread across the metal bleachers, set the bottles in their mouths, and watched them choose not to eat. Our hungry little men who’d easily down 6-ounces at home stopped at 4-ounces, deciding to scream instead. I assumed they were cold, and did my best to comfort them, but they were determined to scream. Tory was especially inconsolable.

Ellie returned with the food, and we set about eating with one hand, comforting with another, and threatening Abbie with our voice. Abbie started wandering the walkway as planned, but she eventually wandered to the stairs and started climbing. I had to periodically set down my hot dog to retrieve her before she fell on the steps. I was also worried she might decide she wanted to commandeer that ball those men were playing with on the grassy field. I had hoped to distract her with a hot dog, but we didn’t have any utensils for cutting the hot dog into toddler-appropriate bites, and I had no intention of ripping a hot dog apart with my fingers while it was covered in ketchup.

After a few minutes of listening to Tory scream, we realized this wasn’t working. I wanted to at least stay long enough to “enjoy” my supper, so I finished my hot dog and downed my hot chocolate before packing up. The first quarter ended as we walked up the stairs in defeat, so at least we stayed for a fourth of the game. Speaking of defeat, my team lost 37-0, so I’d qualify the night as a rousing failure. The biggest consolation was Abbie enjoyed the stairs.

* Translation: “Open air.”

Saturday, October 21, 2006

Fit to be Tied

I hear unsolicited advice all the time, from friends, neighbors, family, in-laws, and random store clerks. I listen to it, process it, and discard as needed. Usually I discard most of what I hear. I compare notes, hear what works for other people, but no one knows my kids better than I do. If all my knowledge is barely enough to keep them in line, I don’t see what chance a stranger’s advice has.

When someone looks at my kids and says unsolicited “you might want to have someone look at that,” I tend to ignore it. I’ve probably been looking at the same blemish since it appeared, and have since learned to ignore it as nothing. Abbie has a strawberry birthmark on her forehead that probably isn’t going to disappear, something my cousin can attest to since she still has hers. All three kids constantly fall and pick up new scrapes and bruises, but it’ll heal over time. It’s nothing to worry about.

When a medical professional offers advice, I listen to that. Such was the case when Abbie’s speech therapist looked at Tory and said, “I think he’s tongue-tied. You might want to have someone look at that.” Forget my intuition and gleaned knowledge; a speech therapist has years of training and practical experience to diagnose when a child needs a couple M&M’s to start talking, and when a child needs surgery to correct a physical deformity. Abbie had a visit to the pediatrician coming up to follow-up on her ear infection; I could easily tick off the pediatrician and ask him to sneak in a look at Tory’s tongue while we’re there.

I’ve always noticed Tory’s tongue looks a little short. I’d always dismissed it since he’s never had a problem eating like a tongue-tied baby would. Plus he spent the first three weeks of his life in the NICU; if there were a problem surely one of the around the clock caregivers would have noticed it and sought treatment.

Nope. The pediatrician looked at his tongue and agreed that he looked tongue-tied. He referred us to an ENT specialist, and 24 hours later we were in his office for a closer look.* After a detailed process of filling out paperwork, playing the waiting room shuffle, and gathering his vitals, the doctor looked at his mouth and immediately proclaimed him tongue-tied. If he had seen him at birth, he would have taken care of that in a second.

Taking care of a newborn’s tongue-tie involves asking the parents to leave the room, and then letting them return to comfort their screaming and untongue-tied child. Of course Tory isn’t a newborn, he’s almost a toddler, and one that would be too adept at squirming and fighting should a doctor attempt to stick a scissor in his mouth. So Tory gets to go to the operating room in a week.

Even though he’ll have to be put under, it’s a minor surgery with minimal chance of complications. Still, this is big. Not only is it Tory’s first operation, it’s the first operation for any of our children. Everything should be fine, though. He’ll be sore for a day or two, but after that I’ll get him back on his schedule. I know how to keep him content.

* We also had him look at Ian since they’re twins, which in my mind makes him more susceptible to the same problems. The doctor said Ian’s tongue is fine, though, so his visit was just a contribution to the doctor’s boat fund. He also said they’re probably not identical twins.

Friday, October 20, 2006

Sweater (n) - A knitted upper body garment that your mother makes you wear when she's cold

The weather in Iowa is cooling down. It’s furnace weather for most homes, though not for us since the dishwasher produces enough heat to keep our tiny home in t-shirt and shorts weather all night. Temperatures reach into the 50’s during the day, dip into the 30’s at night, and hover around 75 all night in my bedroom.

Outdoor weather is essentially over for the season. The kids still poke their heads outside occasionally, especially when they sneak through the door when the dog goes out, but otherwise we’re sequestered indoors until the great thaw. We could still venture outdoors to the park during warmer afternoons, but by the time we finish lunch and I single-handedly slip coats and shoes on everyone, it’s almost naptime. I’d rather encourage Abbie to bounce around the house for her daily exercise.

Of course we can’t spend all day everyday inside, no matter how much easier it is to sit on the floor reading the paper while the children play King of the Mountain on my hunched back. We have to venture outside into the soon-to-be-frozen tundra for essential errands, like doctor visits, procuring Vital Supplies, and picking up take out.

These brief trips from the building’s door to the car door create a dilemma: Do the kids really need their coats? They’re only going to be in the cold for a minute. They’re going to get too hot bundled in a coat and trapped in their car seats. I just spent ten minutes changing diapers and attaching shoes and socks; I don’t feel like spending an extra five minutes putting coats on everyone and recoating Abbie as she slips it off as fast as I can slip it on.

For now I let the coats slide as long as it’s not too cold and we won’t spend any significant time outside. Such was the case yesterday afternoon when I stepped outside before a Vital Supply run, saw the abundant sunshine, felt the 50-degree air nip at my cheeks, and said screw it. The sun kept the car’s interior warm, and the kids’ long-sleeve outfits would keep them warm enough during the sprint to store doors and back.

The coatless trip was uneventful. Not once did I hear anyone say, “I’m cold.” The only complaints I heard came from my 1,521st attempt to make Abbie eat pizza, this time from a vendor handing out free samples. Other people in the store were wearing t-shirts. If teenagers weren’t stuck in school, they would have been there in shorts assuming they were willing to demean themselves by appearing in a Vital Supply store. That didn’t prevent this conversation after a well-meaning middle-aged female cashier saw Abbie:

Cashier: “Where’s your coat?’
Me: “Bah. It’s nice out.”
Cashier: “Not that nice.”

I couldn’t argue with that logic, especially coming from someone who might not have stepped outside since walking into work that morning, presumably while huddled underneath a parka and several scarves.

Store employees aren’t supposed to question my parenting; they’re supposed to ring up my purchases with a smile and let me know when someone kicks off their shoe. Worse, I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was admonishing me because I’m, you know, male, and males can’t possibly know what’s best for their child, just like I couldn’t possibly have acted as the primary caregiver for my daughter for over two years and observed that as a baby she liked being exposed to the cool air more than being bundled under a blanket. Maybe if Ellie had been with me at the time she wouldn’t have said anything, or at least she would have directed her condescension to Ellie since she’s the woman and obviously the primary caregiver.

I shrugged it off and carted everyone to the car, hurrying because it was, you know, cool. We needed to move quickly to return home in time for naps anyway. The kids were all approaching naptime, and I was tired since I don’t sleep well with my bedroom being so warm at night.

Thursday, October 19, 2006

Sit-Down Adventure

We went out to eat last night, but not just at any restaurant. We eat out regularly, but it’s usually at a quick service place where we can order and eat quickly before a poor teenager in a paper hat informs us that if we can’t control our children we’ll have to leave. Last night, we ate out at an actual sit-down restaurant where the waitress takes our order, the walls are decorated with kitsch, and the kids are expected to behave for upwards of an hour.

The impetus for our splurge was two-fold. First, an aunt sent us a restaurant gift card for a birthday present. With part of our meal paid for, we needed a reason to leave the house. With three young children, suppertime at home usually ends about the time the bedtime routine begins. Try to leave the house for a nighttime meal, and I’m probably not going to make it to bed until after midnight, or about the time the first round of squawking begins from the kids’ room.

The second kick out the door came when a friend offered Ellie a free pedicure and manicure.* Since Ellie was going to be all prettied up and in the area of our target restaurant anyway, I figured I might as well pack up the kids and meet her for an exciting night out. We used to have romantic nights out, but having the kids in tow ensures no one can afford to spend more than a couple seconds gazing into anyone’s eyes.

We could have gone on a weekend night when we would have more time to jostle the kids, but I wanted to take advantage of the weeknight crowds. We could walk right into the restaurant, sit down with no wait, and watch our food come quickly from a kitchen with nothing better to do than prepare food for a smattering of people too lazy to cook on a weeknight.

My hope for a quick night went to waste like so much spit milk when I walked into the restaurant and found a 20-minute wait. I was still waiting for Ellie to meet us after her pedi-mani, so I pulled up a bench and hoped the kids would sit quietly for 20 minutes. The boys were surprisingly happy in their stroller, watching people go by, throwing their toys, and watching people pick up their thrown toys as they go by. Abbie entertained herself by playing with crayons, running around the waiting area, and generally ignoring me.

The 20-minute wait turned worked out well since Ellie’s pedi-mani took 25 minutes longer than she thought it would. She arrived to find us seated at a large table in the back. The man seating us knew exactly where to put us since he admitted having a three-and-a-half year-old son and 21-month-old boy-girl twins at home, matching our age gap almost exactly. I had enough time to position the boys in their stroller against a wall, pick out a meal for Abbie, and glance at my menu in between peeking up to make sure Abbie didn’t spill anything.

Our hope was to eat our meals in peace while Abbie picked at her kid’s meal and the boys sat magically content in their stroller. The waitress complied with our hope for Abbie by bringing her meal immediately, but the boys foiled us by squawking soon after Ellie arrived. We tried holding them in our laps, but they squirmed too much to comply. Eventually we set them on the ground and let them roam under the table. This worked out well since we were in a corner, allowing explore a confined area. We were confident they couldn’t get into trouble, and once we pulled that gum out of Ian’s mouth, everything went smoothly.

When the adult food arrived, we entertained the boys with pieces of bread. By this point, Abbie was done with her kid’s meal, and was using a fork to eat Fruit Rings from the diaper bag. In between giving the boys bread and helping Abbie spear Fruit Rings, Ellie and I took bites of our food. I realized the children were fading fast, and when the waitress returned to make sure our food was okay, I asked for the check and three boxes.

We made it out of the restaurant without incident, an incident being defined as a meltdown episode or someone leaving a mess that would guilt me into leaving a 30% tip. Unfortunately the service was a bit slow, and we walked into the door literally just in time to start the bedtime routine. We bathed the children, gave the boys bottles that they didn’t want after bulking up on bread, and read bedtime stories. Everyone went down for the night at exactly the regular time, except for me. I didn’t make it to bed until after midnight.

* She offered one to me too, but I like my cuticles just fine the way they are.

Wednesday, October 18, 2006

Hurting the Ones She Loves

The best way to keep Abbie out of trouble is to prevent her from getting into situations where she can misbehave. This means putting crayons up so she can’t draw on the walls, locking the dog kennel so she can’t eat dog food, and moving every chair out of the kitchen so she can’t climb up to the marshmallows in the freezer, unless of course she pulls a chair in from the hallway, which she usually does.

The concept of using discipline to reinforce that a behavior is bad still doesn’t work with Abbie. I still scold her every time she shoves a brother to the ground, but the way she ignores me or occasionally laughs as I admonish her reinforces in me that she doesn’t get it. Sometimes she’ll give me that warm fuzzy feeling by crying and signing “sorry,” but the thud of a brother’s head hitting the ground is never far behind.

Without discipline, I can only do so much to prevent Abbie from misbehaving. I can’t keep her brothers out of her reach, so I, and I suppose they, have to accept that she’s going to make her brothers scream periodically. She needs to learn to socialize with other children eventually anyway because there’s no way I’m home-schooling her.

Besides hurting her brothers, one of Abbie’s worst transgressions is destroying her books when I’m not looking. She destroys bindings, rips paper pages, and pulls apart board pages. She can obliterate a lift-the-flap book in less than three minutes. She has more books in the landfill than she has left in her library.

Despite her destructive tendencies, I still give her free access to her books. The only time I remove them is when I want her to sleep instead of reading and ripping her books. I feels wrong to do anything discouraging her from reading, especially with so many messages touting the power of books as the key to mental development, and if you don’t help your child read as often as possible, you’re essentially condemning her to a lifetime of delivering newspapers for a living. Occasionally I’ll take a book from her when she starts tearing it as punishment, but recall that punishment doesn’t work. As soon as she gets it back, she starts attacking that same loose thread of paper.

Something inside me snapped recently. Maybe I was sick of picking up tiny scraps of shredded book off the carpet. Maybe I’d thrown away one too many formerly beloved books that I’d hoped to share more with the boys. Maybe I finally recognized some of the deceased books as ones I’d bought new instead of at a garage sale or received as gifts. Whatever it was, I decided Abbie no longer has free access to her books. They now spend most of the day on a shelf above Abbie’s closet, beyond her view and well outside her reach, at least until she learns where we keep the ladder. The only time she can look at them is when I pull them down before naptime. That way I can supervise her book time instead of ignoring those tearing sounds coming from her room while I pull the boys out of the pet water.

It’s been a few days, and Abbie is taking the change well. Yesterday she came up to me while I was doing dishes, and drug me back to her room while furiously signing, “book.” I told her no, explained that she destroys her books, and returned to the dishes. She complained for a minute before shifting to a non-destructive activity, like jumping on her bed. Otherwise the complaints have been minimal. As a bonus to her, she’s getting to read some of the fragile books I’ve been storing out of her clutches like those with paper pages or flaps. She’s really enjoying her “Elmo’s Dangling Flap and Intricate Pop-Up Extravaganza” book.

I hope to give her free access to her books again someday, as soon as she learns to treat her books with respect, or at least to not intentionally destroy them. As course as soon as she hits that stage, her brothers will be at prime destructiveness. Maybe by that time she’ll be adept at defending herself and her possessions, though hopefully not by shoving her brothers to the ground.

Tuesday, October 17, 2006

Feeling the Pinch

A few weeks ago, I wrote a riveting post about giving the kids separate baths. They’d become too large and too mobile to allow everyone in the bathtub simultaneously. Children were climbing over each other, each fighting for the coveted spot under the faucet, and I was afraid someone would fall face first in the water.

That strategy lasted for about nine seconds. As soon as I turned on the faucet for the first bath, all three children ran or crawled into the bathroom, sidled up to the side of the tub, and watched the magic faucet fill the tub. I realized that as hard as it was to keep the children from trampling each other within the tub, it would be even harder to keep them out of the tub. So I threw everyone in the tub without trying to give separate baths, and have continued doing so. I still worry about someone falling face first in the water, probably because it’s happened a few times, but as long as I’m next to the tub to quickly rescue the horizontal, everyone should stay relatively safe.

After the bath comes the set routine for dressing everyone. I dry and diaper the boys while Abbie runs naked about the house, and then put a diaper on Abbie before she sprinkles more than bathwater on the carpet. Despite getting the last diaper, Abbie dons her pajamas first to deter her from playing with the diaper’s straps. Otherwise her diaper would be on the floor potentially alongside a little something extra. The boys wait for a few minutes by playing in the hallway while I clothe Abbie completely oblivious to their actions. This might not sound safe, but I ignore them all the time. I have to ignore the kids periodically; otherwise how would I ever change diapers, clean up after meals, or read the newspaper?

Their last bath went without incident, except for the few times Abbie intentionally put her face in the water to see what would happen. The kids may be getting better at keeping their faces above water as they jockey for position, or maybe they’ve just learned to keep their distance when Abbie gets the “that is the coolest thing I have ever seen” look in her eyes. I pulled everyone out, diapered the boys, and went to work on Abbie.

As I attached Abbie’s diaper, I heard Tory scream from the hallway. I figured he was mad that Ian knocked him over, or perhaps he was caught dangling over the edge of the book basket again. I continued working with Abbie until I reached a stopping point with her, though as I slipped her pants on I recognized Tory’s scream as the “I’m in pain” kind.

With Abbie adequately dressed and on the floor, I checked on the boys. Ian was playing with the door to the hallway closet, happily opening and closing it. Tory was sitting to his side with his fingers caught in the door hinge. Had I been thinking clearly, I would have moved Ian to the side and calmly pried Tory’s fingers out of the hinge. I was not thinking clearly, I was tired after a long day of chasing the kids and stressed from ignoring my child’s screams of pain.

I slammed the door shut to keep Ian from playing with it, and I guess magically free Tory’s fingers in the process. Instead it pinched Tory’s fingers again, and probably harder than Ian 17-pound frame ever could. I sympathetically cringed and worked to loosen Tory’s fingers while praying he wasn’t seriously hurt. With fingers free, I picked him up, listened to him scream, and watched his fingers closely. They were pale white as the pinched out blood hadn’t yet returned, but he was moving them freely as he flailed wildly to cope with the pain.

I gave him a dose of ibuprofen to help with the pain, but he’d already stopped screaming by the time I put the medicine dropper in his mouth. Tory then enjoyed being carried for an extra long time as I made him as calm as possible before setting him down. He was about to be ignored for a few more moments as I put pajamas on Ian. I eventually set Tory down far away from the hallway door.

Monday, October 16, 2006

Schedule Deviation

Sleep is important in children. It helps with their mental development. It keeps the kids in an acceptable mood. It gives me time to watch TV. For these reasons, I keep the kids on a highly precise sleep schedule. I constantly refine this schedule through diligent observation of the kids’ behavior. How long can I make them sleep? What time of day do they start melting down? How many times has Abbie kicked her brothers in this wake period?

The schedule mostly goes to waste when we travel. I’d like to keep them on the regular schedule, but there are too many things keeping them awake. They don’t sleep well in weird places. Guests would rather see the kids when they’re whiny and irritable than let me regale them in peace with stories about the kids while they nap. It’s impossible to make a child sleep in a car. It’s also impossible to make a child stay awake in the car, no matter how loud you turn up the Sesame Street DVD.

For this reason, our weekend trip didn’t go as smoothly as it could have. We had several things in our favor. The car ride was only 90 minutes. We rented a house for the kids to run/crawl around in peace. The house had a few never-before-seen toys for the twins to enjoy, and some mostly intact books for Abbie to rip.

The house was a charming old craftsman style home, which is real estate speak for “drafty.” It was also twice the size of our current home with the ballyhooed “third bedroom” our children have heard so much about. We could finally separate the children into “one nap-a-day” and “two naps-a-day” rooms, allowing them to sleep and wake up at their leisure without worry that someone will squawk the house awake far before the standard wake time.

Ellie and I picked the largest bedroom for us, gave Abbie the room with the least amount of stuff to destroy, and put the boys in the third room. Abbie’s and our rooms were at the ends of the house on the outskirts of the heat vents on a cold and windy night. Ellie and I compensate by leaving our bedroom door open, allowing warm air from the living room. We couldn’t leave Abbie’s door open, though, or else we might find the house awoken by the living room television at 2am, 4am, and 6am. Abbie’s room was therefore cold all night. I worried that she would have trouble sleeping all night, especially in the thin pajamas I foolishly brought for her. Instead she fell asleep quickly that night, and stayed asleep.

At least she stayed asleep until 45 minutes before her wake time, at which point she awoke screaming. I rolled out of bed, got a head start on breakfast, and gave thanks that the boys were still asleep.

The rest of the morning went well. Abbie was in a good mood despite the shortage of sleep and potential hypothermia. The boys continued sleeping until their normal wake time, and took a good morning nap.

We drove home after lunch, and that’s where the schedule fell apart. I had planned to travel a few miles before turning on the DVD player so Abbie wouldn’t have to watch reruns on the way home, but Abbie fell asleep before we hit the next town, well before her scheduled naptime. I had hoped to let her nap the entire ride home, but an ill-timed stoplight a few towns over woke her. The boys did something within their rear-facing car seats, but I couldn’t see when they were napping and when they were fighting Abbie to get their toys back. They were quiet the entire trip, and that was the important thing, especially since Abbie was not happy when she woke up 45 minutes from home.

Back home I let the kids play while unloading the car and wondering how the scheduled afternoon nap would go. Was Abbie’s short car nap long enough to let her refuse to take a regular nap? Did the boys sleep too much in the car? When could I watch the shows I recorded while out of town? I let everyone stay awake until they were too irritable to handle, which was an hour past the regular naptime. Then I set everyone down for a nap and hoped for the best, especially since everyone was back in the same room.

45 minutes later I let Abbie out of the room. Not that she had just woken up; she never fell asleep. She was now making too much noise for her brothers to sleep. A few minutes later, I pulled Ian out of the room since Abbie woke him up, or maybe he never fell asleep either. Regardless, he was awake and wanted the same freedom Abbie had connived. Tory stayed asleep until his normal wake time, and earned a gold star for the day.

The rest of the night was difficult as two children whined from lack of sleep, and the third whined from sympathy. I made it through by concentrating on the kids, and ignoring the chores that piled up over the weekend. By bedtime the kids were almost inconsolable, and complained heavily before falling asleep. After everyone quieted down, I wound down by watching a little television. I finished one episode before Ian woke up screaming. A little acetaminophen, and he was back to sleep, and I was back to the couch.

Saturday, October 14, 2006

Gone

We're out of town this weekend, so no updates until Monday.

Friday, October 13, 2006

Dental Day

We went to the dentist yesterday. “We” here refers to Abbie and me. The boys stayed home since I didn’t think to make an appointment for them six months ago. They only have eight teeth between them, so there’s not much for the dentist to look at anyway.

When I made the appointment six months ago, I made it for late in the afternoon. It was perfectly timed to coincide with the boys waking from nap 2 of 3 and Abbie waking from nap 1 of 1. I prefer making appointments for first thing in the morning, which for our dentist is 10am*, so I know I can be seen immediately without worry that he’d fallen behind during the day. 10am was in the middle of the boys’ morning nap, so I’d need to find someone to listen for them while I was out. Instead I opted for the 4pm appointment so I could be a responsible parent and let the boys scream in the waiting room while I had my teeth cleaned.

Unfortunately, life goes on, children grow, and naptimes change. 4pm is now in the middle of everyone’s naptime, except for me of course. 4pm is the tail end of my naptime. I adjusted by setting everyone down a little early, and commandeering our neighbors into listening to the boys as they napped. Theoretically the boys should nap the entire time I’m gone, so our neighbors wouldn’t have to do any childcare per se, unless I woke someone up when I entered their room to fetch Abbie, which I did, but fortunately Ian fell back asleep so everything worked out.

We arrived at 4pm, parked on the street, and walked into the office. The dentist promptly greeted us and told us it would be a few minutes as he finished with another patient since he’d fallen behind during the day. We passed the ensuing 25 minutes by going through the diaper bag, rejecting its toys, discovering hidden crayons, and resisting the urge to entertain her with snacks right before having her mouth examined.

Abbie’s appointment was first. A child’s appointment consists of the dentist looking at her mouth, telling me everything looks good, and collecting his fee.* She still has no cavities, so it’s good to know that making her stick an electric toothbrush in her mouth once a day is accomplishing something. He did caution that she may have some space issues with her mouth being too small to accommodate all her teeth, but that was still a few years away. Ellie and I both had teeth pulled as children for the same reason, though the dentist informed us that there’s now an apparatus to stretch the mouth instead of removing teeth. This sounds like it takes the pain of having teeth pulled, and stretches it out over several weeks or months.

After her appointment, Abbie just had to sit quietly while I had my teeth examined. Unfortunately, Abbie doesn’t do “sitting quietly.” She screamed in the corner for a minute before I coaxed her onto my knees. I spent the rest of my exam and cleaning entertaining her on my knees, poking her, bouncing her, and talking to her, all to the enjoyment of the dental staff I’m sure. They helped entertain her by giving her a toothbrush, her choice of Barney, Dora, or Barbie. To my amazement she shunned Dora, whom she watches every day, for Barbie, whom she’s never seen before in her life. And I thought I was raising a tomboy.

After my appointment we packed up and made our appointment for six months from now. This time I made the appointment for 10am. The boys should be down to one nap a day by that time and awake in the morning. At least they’d better be awake; they have an appointment too.

* It must be nice to be a dentist.

Thursday, October 12, 2006

Lap Ian

As I write this, I’m sitting at the computer, legs crossed, with a cat spread across my lap.* She’s purring, looking cute, and no doubt wondering what more she can do to coax me into dropping just a few more cat food pellets into her food dish.

In an amazing display of mimicry, Ian has also learned to rest in my lap. He’ll lay face-first across my lap, cooing cutely, and no doubt wondering what more he can do to coax me into giving him just a little more bottle. Or maybe he didn’t learn this behavior from the cats since they tend to spend all day hiding until they hear the kids’ room door latch shut for naptime. No matter where he picked it up, I can’t sit on the floor with the kids anymore without Ian crawling across my legs.

I sit on the floor with the kids often. If I’m not busy feeding someone, changing someone, or cleaning up after someone, I’m on the floor. While down there, I read to the kids, stack blocks, and yell at Abbie to stop ripping her books. Ian likes to take this opportunity to crawl up to me, flop his arms over my legs, and roll like a beached flounder until he positions himself across my lap perpendicular to me. From there he’ll continue rolling, perhaps chewing on his fingers or my leg, and making occasional noises. It would be unbearably cute if he didn’t soak my pants with drool after a couple of books.

Tory will do the same thing, but he’s more of a climber. He enjoys crawling up to me, pulling himself up by my shirt, and cruising around my body until I notice him and, hopefully, give him a little more bottle.

I’m glad that I’ve found a personality difference between them. I know that it takes time for children to develop into little people, but usually I can only speak about their personality traits in vague terms, like Ian is a little more patient, or Tory has a slightly higher gravitational pull. Most of the traits are the same like they both sleep well at night, like drinking their bottles, and hate it when Abbie pushes them over onto their heads. Now when someone asks what they like to do, I can say that Ian likes to crawl in my lap, while Tory likes to circle around me.

Of course Abbie doesn’t sit idly and let me pay a modicum of attention to a brother when I could be paying full attention to her. Maybe she’ll throw a book in my lap and on top of a brother. Maybe she’ll circle around to my back, knocking Tory over if necessary, and climb aboard. Maybe she’ll try to bounce on my lap with a look of glee in her eyes that says, “first born!” Whatever she does, our floor sessions often degenerate into greater violence until I rise to set someone down for a nap.

At naptime, I can set the boys down for their naps easily since they’re within arm’s reach of wherever I’m sitting, plus they’re wound down from all that sitting and reading. Either that or they’re screaming bounced around on them, which works just as well because they’ll scream to sleep quickly. Abbie needs a bit more unwinding before naptime as we sing and march through the house. When she finally goes down, I’m usually ready for a nap. In fact, I’m ready to sleep right now. It’s easy for me to move since the cat left a few minutes ago.

* It’s the soft one, not the fat one.

Wednesday, October 11, 2006

A Snotty Post

The kids are still fighting through a cold. Or maybe it’s a sinus infection. Or possibly it’s some sort of nanotech invader. Whatever it is, it doesn’t want to leave the boys.

Abbie seems in good shape. Her nasal passages sound clear, and the only thing snotty about her is her attitude. Her improvement may be related to the antibiotics I’ve been giving her for a week now, or it could be because those magic gnomes mined all the treasure they could from her sinuses and have now moved on to another host.

The boys aren’t too sick; they’re just drifting in the same kind of miserable state they’ve been in for two weeks now. I think they’re turning a corner because I’m wiping less snot off their under-nose region. This could be because their system is producing less mucus, or it could be because they’re screaming less as the cold loosens its grip, facilitating a drop in crying-related runny noses.

Their worst time the past couple days has been mornings. You know how when you have a cold, you’re sinuses are completely plugged when you wake up because you’ve been horizontal all night, which prevents your sinuses from draining properly? And it takes many minutes before you’ve adequately blown and hacked all of the extraneous snot out of your passages? And until you do, you sound like a frog with a six-pack-a-day habit? With the disposition of a frog desperately trying to find the funds to support a six-pack-a-day habit? Now imagine that you lack the capacity to blow, hack, or comprehend what’s happening, and you have an idea of how the boys are in the morning.

They keep coughing until well after breakfast, vainly trying to dislodge the snot that cemented itself in their throats. Eventually it clears along with most of their nasal passages, though it is tough to determine exactly how much mucus is draining onto their upper lip because I usually feed them banana for breakfast.

That cough is particularly troublesome. I’ve woken up two hours early the past couple mornings to the sounds of a boy coughing. This is just like hearing the birds chirp at sunrise during the summer months, except now I can turn the monitor off and fall back to sleep in peace.

When I awake at the normal time, a boy is occasionally still coughing. I don’t know if he coughed the whole time, dozed off and woke back up coughing, or traded coughing duty with his brother. No matter how they spent the intervening time, someone is always cranky, partially from the cold attacking his system, but mostly because he just lost two hours of sleep.

Two days ago it was Ian who woke up early coughing. I fed him breakfast, and he spent the rest of the morning by my side as I tried to keep him from screaming. At first playing with him kept him calm. Later I had to hold him kept him calm. Eventually I had to toss him in the air kept him from screaming, not because it kept him entertained, but because he couldn’t catch his breath to scream. Finally I set him down for his nap 15 minutes early, and let him sleep 15 minutes late. This may not sound like much, but it was a direct violation of the Schedule, and threatened to disturb the entire day’s nap schedule. Instead he awoke happy, and I kicked myself for not setting him down sooner.

Yesterday was Tory’s turn to wake two hours early. I had a feeling we’d be in for a rough morning when he couldn’t finish his bottle without screaming. I pulled both boys out of their high chairs, set Ian in the living room, changed Tory’s diaper, and listened to Tory scream the entire time. This time I was wise enough to set him back down for a nap immediately. He screamed briefly before falling asleep for a solid hour, waking just in time for me to put him and his brother through their pre-morning nap routine. He understandably slept poorly during his scheduled morning nap.

This morning Tory woke up screaming two hours early, but not really coughing. I gave him a pacifier, and he drifted back to sleep. When I awoke, everybody was still sleeping. Hopefully this thing is finally leaving us.

Tuesday, October 10, 2006

Hot Shower

I wish children had an innate self-preservation instinct. It would make my life easier if I didn’t have to worry about children falling off furniture, grabbing things off the stove, and shoving everything in their mouths. If they could at least learn lessons quickly that would help. Even vermin know that if eating something makes you vomit, don’t eat it again. With children, spitting something up just gives them a second attempt.

Abbie’s latest effort to poke the eyes of Serious Injury involves playing with the bathroom faucet. She loves toddling up to the sink, climbing atop her step stool, and playing in the basin with the water running. Sometimes she splashes in the water. Sometimes she scoops up residual soap bubbles and deposits them in her mouth, which you wouldn’t think would taste good, but judging from the way she repeatedly scoops, she thinks they taste better than cake and pizza. Sometimes she just turns the faucet on and off, and therein resides the problem.

Our bathroom faucet is the type with two knobs, one on the left for hot water, and one on the right for cold. Abbie loves twisting these knobs, but since she’s apparently afflicted with the same left-handedness I endure, she almost always reaches out with her left hand to turn on the hot water. Full blast. And if she notices the cold is on, she’ll shut that off. This is especially perilous since we live in multi-unit housing where I have no control over the hot water temperature. I doubt anyone has much control over its temperature because, judging from the way it feels flowing from the tap, our hot water comes straight from a nuclear cooling tower. When we owned our house, I kept the water heater set low, partially for safety reasons so no one could inadvertently burn themselves, but mostly because I’m too cheap to pay for really hot water.

Usually we keep her safe and non-scalded by keeping the bathroom door closed, but we can’t always keep her out of the bathroom. Tooth brushings are notoriously dangerous times. Abbie has to have the water running while brushing her teeth, otherwise she’ll turn the water on herself. I’ve learned to compensate for this by turning the cold water on when we start; that way even if she turns the hot water on full blast, the temperature will only reach extraordinarily uncomfortable. I need to watch her closely, though, because one twist of the cold water knob, and she’ll melt her toothbrush bristles under the running water.

Yesterday she was in the bathroom again, this time with me as I used the, um, bathroom. I saw her climb up to the sink, so I turned on the cold water. She played in the sink for a minute, and I let her. Then she grabbed one of the 32-ounce cups she plays with during baths, and I let her. Then she filled the cup with water, dumped it in the tub, and I let her. Then she turned off the cold water, and I missed it. Then she refilled the cup with scalding hot water, hoisted the cup above her head to dump it on herself, and I was about to let her. Then I noticed the steam rising from the cup, possibly as the plastic reached boiling and evaporated, and knocked the cup from her hands. A little water splashed on her, and she screamed. I don’t if she was screaming because hot water hit her, I just freaked out, or the fact that water landed on her clothes making them wet and quickly cold.

I kicked her out of the bathroom, gave her a hug, changed her shirt, and sent her on her way. She was happy again, and I was glad that she didn’t have any burn marks that would hurt my chances for Father of the Year. Then she fell while trying to climb up to the CD rack.

Monday, October 09, 2006

Wobble Wobble

One of the most common questions I hear, right up there with “what were you two thinking?” is “what does Abbie think of the boys?” Our answer is “not much,” and that response applies to both questions.

I think people are hoping to hear that Abbie is a wonderful big sister, always hanging out with them, building block towers with them, and comforting them when they’re sad. Instead she’s ambivalent toward them, mostly ignoring them unless they have something she wants such as a toy or food. And don’t even think about trying to read to them if she’s around; as soon as she hears me reciting a book, she will come running from another room if necessary, snatch the pages from my hands, and commandeer the page turning and pointing duties.

Sometimes the only sign that she even knows they exist is she shoves them to the side when they get in her way. I’ve caught her trying to clap a brother’s hands at an appropriate celebratory moment such as the completion of a song or the stacking of blocks, but otherwise she pays little attention to them.

Recently she’s started playing Weebles with her brothers, though. I don’t mean that she’s finally using those Weeble play sets she received as gifts for their intended purpose of expanding her imagination through free play instead of just chucking them at pets and furniture. I mean she’s treating her brothers like Weebles, except they actually fall down after wobbling, usually with a thud, although it can take her a few shoves to knock them over.

I don’t know why she’s started doing this. She’s been shoving them for as long as they’ve been able to sit between her and her booster seat, but this is different. A brother will be sitting to the side, innocently trying to gather enough pet hair off the floor to make a clump worthy of chewing on. Suddenly Abbie will walk up to him and shove him. If he doesn’t hit the floor or he just leans to the side with his head still elevated, she’ll shove him again and again until he does hit the floor. Then she’ll laugh, and check her other brother to see if he’s also in a sitting position. The victimized boy usually screams when he whacks the floor, but quickly recovers when restored to an upright position in full view of his pet hair clump.

I think this is a form of entertainment for her after she grows bored of tearing her books and drawing on the furniture. I don’t think it’s an attempt to grab our attention because Ellie and I are too aghast when we see her do it to react. Anyway I don’t even know how to react. She still doesn’t understand timeouts. I tell her things like “no,” “stop,” and “dear lord, what are you doing?” when I catch her pushing them, but she usually keeps going until they fall over. Perhaps “you’ll be sorry when they’re big enough to push back” would get the message through.

I guess for now we just rely on the old standbys of redirection and telling her “no” in the hopes that it sinks in eventually. In the meantime we need to watch her carefully to make sure she doesn’t do anything more harmful. And we need to be thankful that we’re consciously thinking about not adding any more children.

Sunday, October 08, 2006

Requiem for K's

One of the greatest phrases in the English language is “going out of business sale.” It’s right up there with “I do,” “it’s a boy/girl,” and “we find the defendant ‘not guilty.’” All sorts of bargains can be found when a business liquidates, from merchandise, to display cases, to fixtures, just in case you want to decorate a room in the “retail store” motif.

Des Moines is losing its K’s Merchandise.* I hate seeing small businesses closing. Someone poured their lives and life savings into a business, only to see both wasted away in a short time. I feel sorry when I see a new restaurant open in a location that used to be another restaurant before it failed just like the half-dozen restaurants before it. I want to buy a sympathy lunch from that cheese steak place down the road before they close, but I rarely eat out for lunch.

K’s Merchandise is not a true small business, although it is still family owned. It’s a medium-sized regional business, which helps it appear faceless, alleviating the guilt and letting me concentrate on the sweet satisfaction of beating out hundreds of other customers to buy merchandise at steep discounts from a chain desperate to get out of town. K’s Merchandise is like a big-box store, except with about a quarter of the inventory and prices a shade higher. They also sell higher end items like furniture, jewelry, and electronics, along with collectible, figurines, bric-a-brac, and other dust collectors. Another key difference is the store is usually empty (Wal-Mart sells more in the 3am hour than K’s Merchandise does in a weekend) so the employees are always happy to help just to have something to do.

K’s Merchandise has always been a favorite place of mine to shop. They offer good prices on better merchandise than the big box stores offer. We bought the kids’ changing table from them, and they haven’t destroyed it yet except for that one drawer. We bought our glider chair from them in a memorable day after Thanksgiving crush. Our first purchase from them was Ellie’s engagement ring, where we found the benefits of a good price, a unique setting, and everyone assumes it came from the much swankier Kay Jewelers when we say we bought it from “K’s.”

Now they’re closing their Des Moines location. The ubiquitous “guy holding a sign on a street corner” delivered the bad news, prompting me to wonder, “Where to they find these guys? Temp agency?” I visited their store the night I learned they were closing. I found the parking lot packed for the first time since the fourth Friday in November of last year. Inside I discovered that they’re taking their time to clear out the merchandise, offering small discounts at first, and ratcheting them up as the boxes get a little more scuffed from handling. I did find a See ‘n Say to replace Abbie’s older version that was a victim of an unfortunate spit-up incident. Otherwise I found absolutely nothing else that interested me at their current prices.

The next day I visited again, this time with Ellie. We picked up a couple more toys for Christmas presents, and scouted out a few pieces of furniture to purchase when the discounts grow steeper. The store won’t close for a couple months, so we’ll have to check back often. I’m sure we’ll buy a couple more toys at each visit.

* The entire chain is closing its doors.

Saturday, October 07, 2006

Cheating on My Library

I took the kids to another children’s time at a library yesterday. I want to attend one of these sessions every week as a way to prepare her for preschool next year. The cluster of similarly aged children should help build her social skills, and the crowded indoor environment should help build her immune skills. I wanted to go to the library near our house, but I missed their children’s time this week. With yesterday being Friday, I had to scramble to fit any children’s time into the week.

After a little Internet searching, I found the web pages for all the area libraries as well as several offers for free dinner at the Olive Garden. One of the suburban libraries had a children’s time Friday morning, so I called to register. I’m not sure why these libraries want us to register; the urban library didn’t seem to know what I was talking about when I said I wanted to register, and this suburban library seemed a little surprised that someone was following their directions.

I knew the suburban library experience would be different from my previous experience as soon as I noticed the presence of “W” stickers on the cars in the lot. Everything about the session was more reserved, more conservative if you will, than the urban library.

I arrived 5 minutes early for both children’s times. In the urban library, I easily found the reading room by listening for the screaming children gathered inside. In the suburban library, I poked into a few rooms before finding the correct one. We were the first family to enter the room; the rest of the families were outside quietly looking at books on the racks and enjoying their brunches from the library’s coffee shoppe. As soon as I entered the room, the rest of the families followed me, possibly because they assumed I knew what I was doing. Suckers. Unlike the urban library, everyone in the group appeared to be a stay-at-home mom; no dads or grandparents acting as caregivers here.

The librarian entered shortly after we staked out our carpet turf. The librarians at both libraries looked like they had been working there since the building first opened. Of course in the urban library, this meant the librarian had 20+ years of experience working with children; in the suburban library, she had closer to 20+ months of experience. The urban librarian seemed more comfortable leading the children through their natural state, which is noisy and unfocused. The suburban librarian seemed to be calming the children with hushed tones and limited audience interaction.

I preferred the more boisterous approach, especially since I didn’t feel like we were disturbing the entire room every time someone squawked, which was quite often yesterday. Their colds/ear infections didn’t help their attitude. Neither did the unfamiliar surroundings. The deportment death knell was a game they played early that involved passing a ball around a circle. Abbie loves balls, and was happy passing the ball, or at least tolerated me ripping it from her hands and giving it to the adjacent child, because she knew the ball would return. When the game ended, the librarian collected the balls and set them on a cart behind her. Abbie could see the balls taunting her from the cart, and spent the rest of the session trying to steal it. I tried to hold her near me, but I was too busy keeping the boys from melting down and wiping their spit-up from the nice suburban carpet.

Eventually Abbie hit total meltdown from my repeated efforts to thwart her from grabbing the ball. Just as we were about to prematurely leave, the librarian played a music CD that brought her back to the group while drowning out her complaining. We limped to the end without further incident, and I packed up everyone to leave. Since we were the only family prolific enough and foolish enough to have three children in attendance, the other families had mostly left by the time we were ready. This gave us a chance to talk to the librarian, especially since I had to return the ball after Abbie stole it while I was strapping the boys into the stroller. She thanked us for coming, gave us a handout, and never once asked us never to return, so I guess the visit couldn’t have gone too badly.

Friday, October 06, 2006

Everything Is Better in Stick Form

I took all three kids to see the doctor yesterday morning. I felt a little silly taking them to the doctor for what was essentially a cold, but they’d gone a week without improving, and Ellie thought at least one of our children had an ear infection, what with the law of averages and everything. I hesitated a bit, deluding myself into thinking they were finally a little better today, but when the boys melted down simultaneously, I knew it was time to visit the doctor, if for no other reason than to get out of the house.

I walked up to the receptionist to check in. She didn’t laugh when I told her that I wanted a walk-in appointment for all three children, so I took that as a good sign. We were there on a Thursday, not a peak day, and in the morning when most of their patients are still asleep, so their docket shouldn’t have been too full.

This visit didn’t have to be complicated. I just needed someone to look in six ears, check for an infection, and write a prescription if needed. Unfortunately the words “healthcare” and “complicated” go together like “Tom Cruise” and “crazy.” The receptionist had to enter our names into the system, collect our insurance information even though it’s still exactly the same as last time, inform us of our HIPA rights, and generally stall us until a room was ready.

The boys cooperated during the check-in wait fairly well. They’d complain, I’d shake a rattle, and they’d be distracted for another couple minutes. Abbie was more of a handful, squirming about the room, digging in the diaper bag, and generally preventing me from reading anything before signing it.

Another woman, a fellow waiting room waiter, saw her bouncing about the room, and tried to help me. She offered to share her breakfast with Abbie. Her breakfast was a box of French toast sticks from a fast food restaurant. They looked horribly unhealthy with a sugar content that would send her bouncing off the walls even harder, but that wasn’t why I turned her down. I told her “no thanks” because I was certain Abbie wouldn’t like them, as she usually dislikes bread-like substances.

Abbie did her best to make an ogre out of me, first by simply staring at the woman as she ate, and then by adding an “mmm” sound as she took a bite. Abbie must not have realized what they were, possibly because the dipping syrup made them look like chicken nuggets.

The woman told Abbie to ask me for permission. I again assured her that she wouldn’t like them, and hoisted Abbie onto the counter to wait. Abbie made a few more “mmm” sounds before I distracted her with the pen. I figured I might as well make her sign some of my busy work.

Finally we went back to the waiting room to have their ears checked. But first we had to strip the children, weigh them, check their vitals, and prevent everyone from grabbing delicate doctor’s office instruments. Finally the doctor checked their ears, and the verdict was Abbie had an ear infection, and the boys were just cranky. He gave us a prescription, and we rushed out to fill it. It was close to naptime, so we just drove to the pharmacy and back, but I was tempted to stop at a fast food restaurant on the way for some of those French toast sticks.

Thursday, October 05, 2006

Going Out to Play

We were invited to a playgroup yesterday morning. Family friend Patty invited us partly to give all of us a chance to escape the house, and partly because her playgroup already had one stay-at-home dad in it, and none of the other mothers could believe that two such dads existed in the greater Des Moines area.

This playgroup met at a state park just outside of town. The park had a playground, walking trails, and several bathrooms sealed behind locked doors because no one in their right mind visits an Iowa state park on a weekday in October. I was a little leery of the weather when I received the invite, but we’ve been basking in warm sunny days during another typically atypical Iowa autumn. As long as temperatures keep peaking in the 70’s, we can still enjoy outdoor activities.

Naturally the morning of the playgroup was the coldest in weeks. Temperatures were in the 50’s, winds were gusting, and rain was in the area. I called Patty to confirm the playgroup was still meeting, and started packing. Sure the kids were all fighting colds, but this was a rare chance to socialize, plus the chill would help keep their lunches at an ideal temperature.

I started prepping the children 20 minutes before my desired departure time. After much trial and error and apologizing for our lateness, I determined that 20 minutes is the amount of time needed to move all children from a barefoot and potentially poopy state into the car. Unfortunately I derived this time in the summer when all I needed to do was strap shoes and socks on Abbie and marvel at the fact that it took me 20 minutes to accomplish that. Now that the weather is cold, I need to slip coats and shoes on everyone, effectively doubling my preparation time.

So we were 20 minutes late leaving the house, and 25 minutes late arriving after I finally found the park. With the weather, that was just as well. Everyone was gathered next to the playground. Nobody was actually on the playground; everyone was huddled in a shelter next to the playground for warmth. I loaded the children, grabbed a ball for Abbie and the other children to chase around the grass, and headed for the shelter.

The playgroup was decorating shirts for their children. In some cases this meant directing the child through proper color selection and drawing technique. In other cases, it meant the parents got to design a really cool shirt for their infant children. Not feeling artistic, I guided Abbie through the decorating process, pointing out the fabric markers for her to color on the white t-shirt. She thought this was pretty cool, almost as cool as drawing on daddy’s important papers. Even cooler was playing with the caps for the fabric markers, clicking them on and off. I accented her random scribbles with fabric spray paint for that “my parents helped, but not much or well” look. She didn’t like spraying the paint, but she did enjoy putting her hands in the spray.

I hung her shirt to dry, cleaned her hands with baby wipes, and let her run around the grass until lunch. The boys needed little maintenance during this time, though I did check on them periodically while Abbie used my negligence to run toward the road or the playground. They suffered a meltdown right before lunch, and I pushed them in their stroller in a vain attempt to coax them to sleep.

When I conceded that they wouldn’t sleep, I fed everyone lunch. Abbie took her food well, except for the homemade cupcake another mother gave to her that wound up tossed on the floor. The boys also ate well, though the instant their bottles ran dry they reverted to meltdown mode. I took this as my cue to leave, and packed everyone back into the car.

As we pulled away, I realized that I didn’t socialize much. I suppose that was because I spent most of my time chasing children and fishing park detritus out of their mouths. It also didn’t help that the other stay-at-home dad didn’t show up.

Wednesday, October 04, 2006

Bad Medicine

The kids are still sick. That means Abbie gets her favorite treat: Medicine. Our sweet girl who still won’t eat pizza or cake will run to my side whenever I so much as bump a medicine jar. She’ll look at me with the same expression the dog has when I dig in her treat jar. The dog at least has the self-control to not climb on me, though. We bought her some chewable vitamins several months ago, not knowing how she’d react to the chalky taste. It turns out she loves their delicious medicine flavor, and today I need only rattle the jar to call her into her bedtime routine.

I assumed it was the same with all children, that they all love cherry flavor, bubble gum flavor, and, um, Benadryl flavor. I just need to fill the medicine dropper, hold it over their heads, and they’ll prop their jaws open baby bird style.

In reality, our boys hate medicine. Ellie tells me this is the joy of raising children, watching them develop into their own individuals. I see her point, but I was hoping this meant our children would rank the various flavors differently on an awesomeness scale from 1 to 10. Say, Ian would put Benadryl at a 9, Tory would put it at just a 7, while Abbie would put it at 11. Instead our uniquely individual children put Benadryl at an 11 for Abbie, 1 for Tory, and negative Avogadro’s number for Ian.

It took me a few tries to determine the ideal way to administer this liquid candy, or liquid death depending on the point of view. I have one medicine dropper, one medicine bottle, and three sick children. Everyone takes medicine at the same time, which is right before they sleep as it makes them drowsy and helps everyone enjoy a good sleep. I’m giving three consecutive doses, but I don’t want to stick the same dropper into three germy mouths, putting the contaminated dropper back in the bottle between each mouth. All that medicine backwash can’t be good for the medicine’s constitution.

My first idea was to give Abbie the medicine dropper after filling nipples with medicine for the boys, and let them drink it like milk from a bottle. I soon realized this trick only works when the boys want to consume the nipple’s contents. Tory had no problem chugging down the medicine since he loves sucking on bottles. He’s been known to suck the semi-congealed undissolved powder chunks through the nipple. Ian gives up easier, especially when he senses I’m trying to poison him.

My next idea was to drop the medicine on a baby spoon, and let them eat it like solids. I figured that if they’d take my creamed spinach supreme off a spoon, they’d tolerate medicine. Tory will take anything off a spoon and ate it without complaint, though his expression said he’d prefer the spinach next time. Ian took it readily at first too, perhaps erroneously appreciating that I’d finally started giving him a bedtime banana snack. Then the medicine hit his tongue and he screamed. He might have hated the taste that much, or the sensation of Benadryl shooting into his sinuses as he gagged might have sent him crying. Either way the medicine was in his system, and I considered it a success. Hopefully they’ll enjoy medicine in chalky chewable form a little more.

Tuesday, October 03, 2006

The Monkey on My Back

Abbie has a horse. His name is Walter. Walter isn’t a real horse in the sense that he eats, breathes, or possesses limbs. Walter is a plush horse head on a stick, suitable for riding about the house like a broom handle, or whacking her family members in the head as she haphazardly turns.

Ellie bought Walter for her a couple months ago. She thought Abbie enjoyed looking at horses in her books so much that she might enjoy riding one, and since we couldn’t fit a gargantuan bouncy horse or even a modest-sized rocking horse in our home, Walter was the closest she would get. Abbie had no experience riding things, and I wasn’t sure what she’d do with Walter. Kiss him? Drag him around the house? Run away in terror?

Abbie hopped on Walter and rode him around the store at first sight. Apparently children have an innate desire to ride things, just like they have an innate desire to throw food and tear important papers. We brought him home, and ever since, Abbie has ridden him several times a week, often to the sounds of her parents singing the theme song from Bonanza.*

I was happy with Abbie’s riding options, but about a week ago, Ellie encouraged her to expand her options. I was sitting on the floor engaging in a little escapism from my life as a parent by reading my latest issue of Parents. Ellie noticed the easy access to my back, and prodded Abbie to climb aboard for a piggyback ride. I helped her climb on my shoulders, gave her a ride around the house, and a good time was had by everyone except my back.

I light turned on in her head that day as she discovered that people can ride other people.** Ever since then she’s been obsessed with piggyback rides, taking every opportunity to climb on our backs. Sometimes I oblige her and hoist her onto my shoulders. Other times I ignore her and she climbs onto my shoulders anyway. This is especially hazardous when I’m hunched over the newspaper trying to read it while the kids run/crawl around the yard hopefully not sticking things in their mouths. I do my best to ignore her until I’ve finished Doonesbury, but she has a knack for finding tender spots in my back to use as footholds. To find these soft spots, she lifts the back of my shirt to use my pant line as a stepstool. Eventually she works her way onto my shoulders and bounces, making Dear Abby very hard to read. At this point I flip her forward onto the ground, she runs around to my back, and the process restarts.

She’s also experimenting with different riding partners. She’s tried climbing onto mommy on several occasions, and has found varying experiences depending on whether or not she’s trying to nap. She tried climbing onto Ian’s back last night, but quickly discovered he couldn’t/wouldn’t support her weight. Then she tried Tory and found the same thing. She’s even tried giving me a ride, or at least I think that’s what she’s doing when she holds onto my legs while I’m trying to walk. This sounds cute, and it is as long as there aren’t any screaming babies that I’m trying to address. If I do have a wailing little man, I keep with me until I can divert her attention to something else, such as riding Walter. Walter is usually easy to find; Abbie usually drops him when she notices her brother is crying after Walter whacked him in the head.

* “Dum da-da-dum da-da-dum da-da ridin’ Walter. Dum da-da-dum da-da-dum da-da-dum, gonna ride all night.”
** I’m hoping a similar light turns on soon to help her discover that just because she can put something in her mouth, it doesn’t mean that she should.