Mosey Along Little Mosley

Back in January, we had Ren's post-op follow-up appointment. It's funny that every time we go for the post-op appointment I'm surprised when the doctor gives us bad news. Because, he always does. And still, I am always surprised. Always. This time, the bad news came in the form of his decision to extend Ren's restrictions for EIGHT more weeks. EIGHT WEEKS!

We are now five weeks into our EIGHT-week recovery extension. I suppose you're all a bit tired of hearing about the back and the surgeries and the recoveries, so I'll give you a quick run down: Ren still can't cook, do laundry, make lunches, clean, drive, or vacuum (this one is particularly hard for him). He has also only been out of the house four times in the past 9 weeks. Over the last three weeks, everyone (but me) ALSO took turns sharing a high-fever-hacking-cough-body-aches kinda love called the flu.

Working and managing the house while Ren's still down and out means things have been less like well-oiled machine and more like three-ring circus. LUCKILY, friends have taken pity on us and brought food from time to time (thank you guys!!!!!!). And, I guess you could say I've also become a bit of a logistics Houdini.

Only, not really because it turns out there's a limit to what I can manage, and THIS put me over the edge.

"What is this?" you ask. This, this is Mosley. Mosley came home from Pink's second-grade class last Tuesday along with a big-a** bag full of things to do and a travel journal. Apparently Mosley likes to travel and write about his adventures.

Since Mosley has been at our house, he has run up and down the banister, tumbled in the washer and dryer, danced, practiced using chopsticks, ridden in the car, watched Pink do gymnastics, played a few games, and drawn a few pictures. He has also been kidnapped approximately one thousand times by a mischievous Stow who seems to pretty consistently forget where he's hidden Mosley.

It has been loads of fun (not!) taking pictures and searching frantically multiple times a day for this stuffed animal that doesn't belong to us and that needs to be returned so the next kid in line has a chance. I mean, I can't think of anything better than spending one of the busiest weeks of my semester looking for the same darn stuffed monster over and over and over and over again. Imma really miss ol' Mosley when he's gone (hahahahaha, yeah, right). Now if I could just get my printer to work, Pink could post these pictures in the travel journal and send Mosley on his way!

Longing for October

A week ago, I was gushing over how happy I was to make it through October and into November. But, I TAKE IT ALL BACK. November's not proving to be any better than October was. I mean, it started out innocently enough: Saturday we went trick-or-treating, and Sunday, we went to the harvest festival at a nearby church. But, on Monday, we woke up to a Pink P in breathing distress.

For those of you who don't deal with asthma, let me explain how this works. Pink always takes a "maintenance medicine" that is basically an inhaled corticosteroid. When she is healthy and doesn't seem to be fighting with her allergies (which we treat daily with allergy meds), she is "in the green." Those days, she just takes her maintenance and allergy meds and is on her merry way.

Adult and children's peak flow meters.

On days when she seems to be under the weather or developing a cold, we make sure to check her peak flow rate using a peak flow meter (a hand-held device that measures how well your lungs can expel air). Over the course of several visits to the pulmonologist, we have been able to determine that Pink's "normal" peak flow range is anything over 160. Her "yellow" or warning range is 100-160, and anything under 100 is her danger zone. Without fail, on days when I notice she's getting a cold, her peak flow falls into the yellow, and we have to enact her asthma action plan.

Example of zones with necessary actions. Image from allergybegone.com

Pink's action plan requires us to start using her "emergency inhaler" (albuterol) when she's in the yellow in order to get the asthma under control. When Pink is in the yellow zone, she gets this every four hours while she's awake. Normally, now that we know the signs, we're able to give her a few doses of her emergency medication and get her symptoms under control. So, that's good.

The trouble is that sometimes we have days like last Monday. When Pink went to bed on Sunday, she had a bit of nasal congestion but no signs of any kinds of respiratory issues. When she woke up on Monday, though, she was clearly struggling with her asthma. Her peak flow rate was well into the red at 75 and her pulse ox was down to 94. We gave her the emergency inhaler and waited to see how she responded. Because the flare she was having seemed pretty bad, we followed that with a dose of the albuterol through her nebulizer. Thankfully, after the second treatment, she was back into the green (pulse ox 99%) and feeling fine, so we sent her to school with a note for her teacher and the school nurse to keep a close eye on her.

I didn't hear from the nurse until 2:15 p.m. By that time, I was convinced that Pink's asthma episode had been triggered by the smoke from the bonfire at the harvest festival. While we didn't go anywhere near the fire, the smoke from it blew straight from the church's lot into our neighborhood, filling the air with a thick haze. Pink wasn't in the smoke that long--just long enough for us to walk from our house to the other side of the church--and she seemed fine when she went to sleep, but given how fast the episode came on, I'm sure that was trigger. The school nurse called right before putting Pink on the bus home to let me know she was coughing. (For Pink, the cough is our biggest initial clue that she's having a full-on asthma attack.) I was puzzled as to what might have triggered the cough at school until the nurse told me that someone was burning leaves at a house next to the playground. [I foresee two letter rants, coming soon to a blog near you: "Dear Local Church with Your Stupid Bonfire" (Sky wants to call it "How Can You Call Yourself Life Church When You're Trying to Kill My Sister?") and "Dear Person Burning Leaves Instead of Bagging Them."]

#childhoodasthmasucks

When Pink got home, she still seemed okay, but we followed through with another albuterol nebulizer treatment. Within an hour, she needed another one, so I called the pulmonologist because when the emergency medicine starts not to work, you have call the pulmonologist. I got through to his nurse just before they left for the day, and they told me to take her to the ER. Well, techincally, they told me to wait 20 minutes, give her another albuterol treatment, and if that didn't work, take her to the ER, but when we get to that stage, I know what's coming next.

So, while Pink had her fourth treatment in less than 2 hours, I started getting our stuff ready for a hospital stay. The nearest hospital is 20 minutes away, and I didn't want Ren to have to drag the boys out to the hospital in the middle of the night to bring clothes to us.

When we got to the ER, the guy at check-in told me the wait could be over three hours, but when the triage lady saw Pink, she got her into a room stat! Pink's pulse ox was at 92% despite five back-to-back treatments (the pulmonologist told me to give her 2 extra puffs on the inhaler to hold her over for the ride). By this time, Pink was experiencing retractions, her nostrils were flaring, and she was panting as if she'd just run a 100 meter dash. They did what they always do at the ER--gave her a double shot of asthma meds and a dose of prednisone. And, once her pulse ox seemed to be holding at about 96%, they sent us home.

The next morning, she woke up deeper in the red than she'd been the day before. We decided to keep her home from school and watch her. I went to work to try to get a few things done before the inevitable trip back to the hospital. It looked briefly like the meds might work, but 90 minutes later, we were on our way to the ER again. Pink was finally admitted around 2 pm (or approximately 5 hours after we got to the ER for the second time).

The number that matters. When the oxygen saturation level is below 95, it's time to start worrying.

Honestly, the only thing they can do in the hospital that we can't do well at home is constantly monitor her vital signs. After 36 hours of not being able to get the asthma under control, I was glad they were keeping her for observation, even if it meant a sleepless night starting at this monitor while lying on the most uncomfortable reclining chair on the planet. Because she was on so much albuterol, Pink's heart rate was off the charts, and despite all the meds, she still spent a night hovering at 92% oxygen saturation. For the record, it's really hard not to obsess about that number when you're lying awake next to your kid in the hospital.

Here's the thing about asthma attacks: they don't look like you expect them to and once they start, sometimes there is very little you can do to stop them. With Pink, the attacks come on very subtly and sometimes very unexpectedly. She never comes to us gasping for air. There is never any drama. In fact, we have to be really paying attention to realize what is happening. The first time she had an asthma attack, we made her go through the entire night struggling to breath, and by the next morning, she could barely stand. When Ren got her to the ER, her pulse ox was 89%, and she had to stay for three nights. (That's still my worst parenting moment ever, even though I know I didn't know any better.) Now, I'd like to believe we are pretty vigilant. Even so, despite our best efforts, there are still attacks that get ahead of us and just can't be stopped.

After a night in the hospital and her third dose of prednisone, Pink finally turned the corner, and 50 hours after it started, we were home and life was back to "normal." I wish I could end here with a pithy quote or some kind of sage advice, but these asthma episodes are terrifying. So, mostly this November has started by reminding me that childhood asthma really, really sucks. Oh, and, that parenting isn't for the weak at heart.

Rain Rubble Earthlings

A friend ask Sky to draw a picture of St. Basil's Cathedral in Moscow with a monster on it. I suppose you could say it was his first commissioned piece. He'd never seen a picture of St. Basil's, so I showed him one on the Internet. Within an hour, he'd drawn this:

Ren and I thought something this violent might jeopardize any future political ambitions, so we suggested he tone it down a bit. Thirty minutes later, he'd created this somewhat tamer scene: 

\

Not to be outdone by her brother, Pink created her own version of a monster attacking St. Basil's only her monster was a cute "bat monster," and he was met by a giant bird, a unicorn, and a pegasus:

*****

My kids are always drawing, and a lot of times their ingenuity their ability to communicate so clearly with their art kind of blows my mind. Today when I went to tuck Pink into bed, I found this:

Pink P's guide to calming down when you're sad. Have you ever seen sadder people? She proffers all sorts of advice in her book. In this illustrated guide, she suggests hugging Mom, kissing Mom, playing with a beloved toy, watching a favorite TV show, and even screaming into your pillow.

If none of those work, you can always chew on something:

Though I suggest chewing on something slightly less larger than your head.

Or, take a nap:

With your pink pillow of course.

Mostly, though, she thinks you should just calm yourself down already. I mean, sheesh, you shouldn't need a picture for that.

Here's the thing...Just when I think the hard parts of parenting are about to get the best of me, I stumble across something they've done that's unexpected and insightful, and I am reminded that being a mom is so much more than slogging through the muck of things like early morning bento making and argument refereeing!

Thank goodness, too. Without their quirky creativity, I'm not sure I could keep my sense of humor especially when I seem to spend ALL of my free time writing strongly-worded e-mails to school. [Today alone, I wrote one message to Pink's principal suggesting they find better ways to celebrate Earth Day than by giving toys only to the kids who purchase "hot lunch" (but not to the ones like Pink who can't eat hot lunch due to allergies) and a series of e-mails to Sky's teacher troubleshooting ways to make sure he is adequately supported in his attempts to advocate for himself when he's being picked on.]

So, RAIN RUBBLE EARTHLINGS! There's nothing in this world a few well-placed monsters and a couple of unexpected drawings can't fix.

This Is So Amazing It Should Be on Pinterest

Pink P has lost four teeth over the past two weeks. And, really I--I mean the Tooth Fairy--was doing a good job keeping up with it all. Then my semester ended and 60% of us got sick (including Pink who had a fever for EIGHT days), and I lost my everloving mind.

Loss of mom sanity leads to all sorts of collateral damage. In this case, it meant that I TOTALLY forgot about Pink's lost tooth and my role in the Tooth Fairy exchange. I completely spaced it. That is until Pink woke me up at 5:15 in the morning a couple of days ago to tell me that THE TOOTH FAIRY DIDN'T COME!!! WHY DIDN'T SHE COME?!?!

Crap.

I suppose this might be like forgetting to move the Elf on the Shelf, which, by the way, is why I won't ever allow one of those darn things into our house--that and the fact that the elf requires me to maintain a pattern of constant and intentional deception, AND it teaches kids that they should behave only when being surveilled. Given my stance on the whole elf thing, the irony of my response to Pink's tooth dilemma isn't lost on me. As soon as I realized I'd blown it, I told Pink that the Tooth Fairy probably didn't come because Pink had been treating her brothers so badly lately. I'm not proud (even if it is true that Pink's been a bit of a terror, what with the fever and all). Parent fail times two.

Later in the day, I encouraged Pink to write a letter to leave for the Tooth Fairy. She wrote this:

FRONT: Dear Tooth Fairy, Why did you not come? I lost my tooth. Why did you not come? (Repeated and highlighted for added effect).

BACK: Please come next time. Merry Christmas, Tooth Fairy.

Oh, to have a child who believes so strongly and to be a mom who fails so miserably! (I also, for example, completely forgot to prepare gifts for approximately 40% of the people who work with my children, but that's another story).

After I saw Pink's note, I swore I'd do better. No way would I forget again. Never!

The next morning, Pink came in crying because the TOOTH FAIRY STILL DIDN'T COME. MAYBE SHE DOESN'T LOVE ME. WHY DOESN'T SHE LOVE ME?

How could something so cute induce so much fear?

Crap.

This time, I did what any rational parent would do in this situation. I told Pink to put her tooth under my pillow and sent her back to bed.

When she was gone, I locked myself in the bathroom with the tooth pillow, a pen, and all the coins I could scrounge up. I wrote this note, put the note and coins in the pillow and shoved the whole thing back under my pillow.

Merry Christmas, Pink! Sorry I was late. Lots of teeth and the cold makes my wings slow. Love, TF

Five minutes later, Pink was back asking for it. She thought it would work better if she kept it under her own pillow. Thirty seconds after she walked out with it, I realized I HADN'T TAKEN OUT THE TOOTH! 

Ugh.

When I went to her room, I asked her if she'd checked the tooth pillow. She hadn't. This gave me the perfect chance to pull out the coins and the note and hand them to a thrilled Pink. "Wonder when she left this stuff?" I asked, sneaking the tooth out of the pillow and flushing it down the toilet.

"I don't know. I just saw the note and I didn't see a dollar, so I thought she forgot. I didn't know she left coins!"

"Next time you should look more carefully BEFORE you get upset. The Tooth Fairy wouldn't forget you," I said without an ounce of irony in my voice.

Sigh. With these kinds of parenting skillz, Christmas could be a complete catastrophe!

The Luck of the Leprechaun

This came home from school with Pink on Friday afternoon.

"Your homework assignment is to create a leprechaun trap to bring to school. We will set the traps out at the end of the day on Friday, March 14th to see if we can catch a clever leprechaun on Monday, March 17th.....Some helpful hints: color your trap green and decorate it with green items. Leprechauns like four leaf clovers, Lucky Charms,  Skittles, and rainbows..."

Do you ever feel like school is just making up things for kindergarteners to do for homework? I do. First, there was the turkey decorating, then the Christmas tree, then the 100th day of school homework, then Dr. Seuss's birthday (a whole week of activities) and now this. Normally, I wouldn't mind,* but this weekend Ren and I are getting ready to make a trip of undetermined length to the Mayo Clinic,** so I am a bit stressed with trying to get my work stuff in order, preparing everything to help my parents while they watch the kids, and packing for our trip.

Really, the last thing I need or want to think about is a leprechaun trap. It doesn't help that I was not blessed with any genetic predispositions toward crafting or creativity. When I mention that I think the assignment is silly since leprechauns aren't real, Pink interrupts me to explain that I am wrong and she knows I am wrong because their teacher would never tell them to make a trap for things that don't exist. I back pedal quickly, remembering that Pink's belief system is still fully intact (unlike her brother's), and reply, "Well, I guess they could be real. I've just never seen one."

After buying some St. Patrick's Day garland and raiding our craft stash, we came up with this (I knew those new shoe boxes from Stow's brace-friendly shoes would come in handy! I'm feeling pretty thankful for leftover sequins from the sensory boxes, too):

Pink feels certain no leprechaun is his right mind would skip this party. And, she knows the camouflage garland is sure to trick him right into that hole. I, on the other hand, feel pretty sure the whole thing may be destroyed before drop-off day (we've already had to make two repairs due to the antics of a certain curious two-year old), and even if it does, there's no way she's going to get it to school safely on the bus. Lucky for me, I guess, that's one problem I don't have to worry about (sorry, Mom and Dad!).

Wish us all luck!


UPDATE (3/17/14):

The leprechaun came to the classroom while the kids were at recess and damaged all of their boxes. WTH?


* Actually, that's not true. I tend to get annoyed by busy work that they can't do on their own and that has no educational value--not to mention "homework" that requires me to fabricate stories about make-believe green tricksters.

**In the interest of Ren's privacy, I'm not going to go into detail on this other than to say that the back still stinks and, well, we have to go to Mayo Clinic, so that should give you a pretty good idea of how things have been going.

Perspective by MOE

I just posted a picture of the shoes I bought (on sale!) for Stow to wear with his new braces (link). Under it, I wrote, "Sometimes I totally rock (and other times I fail miserably, so I guess it works out in the end)." This second part is the real truth.

Proof in point: Pink P's glasses.

Pink lost her first pair within 32 hours (link) but then found them. And then lost them. And then found them. And then broke them before losing them again and deciding she didn't really want to wear them after all--which was good because they were broken and we were moving, and I didn't want to mess with them.

The first week of school, I tried to send Pink to kindergarten with her glasses, but by then, she'd chewed off both of the nose pieces and didn't like to wear them. I know I should have been proactive and figured out a way to make the whole thing a learning experience for her, but I was starting a new job and trying to get Early Intervention for Stow and an IEP for Sky.

Then classes started, I went to Japan, and Ren had back surgery. Then it was Thanksgiving, Christmas, and the New Year before everything started all over again in January.

In other words, I let Pink go to school without her glasses for a very long time, and I felt bad about it. I really did.

In the meantime, Sky's glasses got broken in PE class and weeks of soldering and/or duct taping eventually took a toll on the integrity of the frames. So, two weekends ago, I managed to get both kids in to be fitted for new glasses (after, of course, being forced to call the old optometrist to request she resend the prescriptions which I'd lost). I also had Pink's old pair repaired, so she'd have a back-up pair.

And, for a brief moment, I felt like I'd managed to get my sh** together.

The feeling lasted almost a week. But then this happened:

At least she didn't lose the teeny tiny screw.

And I thought that maybe some battles really aren't worth fighting.

*****

Pink is the kind of spunky that can make a mom a little crazy, especially when she does things like take Sky's stash of "calming" gum and pass it out to all the other kids on the bus without offering him a piece of his own gum (....not that this really happened or anything.....). But, right at the exact moment when I am pretty sure I'm going to lose my cool with her, she turns around and does things like this:

"I love mom more than gum and Skittles."

Or, this:

"My Mom Wind" (Sorry for the poor white-out job today--too tired to match the color)

And, I am reminded that I have to keep fighting the good fight for all three kids, no matter how crazy it all seems or how much I seem to fail at it. Because, even when I think I'm blowing it, they think I'm a winner (or, more precisely, a wind-er).

Abstract Art, by Pink P

This is Sky:

This is Pink P:

This is Sky and Pink P:

Do you know who this is?

How about this?

Take a close look, and maybe you will see the resemblance.

Done looking?

Know who it is?

::::::::
::::::::

Give up?

::::::::

You sure?

::::::::

Okay, okay, I'll just tell you:

It's Grandma and Grandpa.

Problem is, I can't decide whether Grandma and Grandpa will be flattered that Pink thought about them and wanted to draw pictures of them or disturbed by her seeming obsession with their wrinkles. ***




***(In case you don't get it, here, I will spell it out. First she drew the pictures, then she wadded them up. Then she unwadded them and handed them to me. "Wrinkles," she said, "for Grandma and Grandpa.")

Pink P for Pope

I think Pink P might have designs on becoming pope. I mean, look at the mitre she made for herself at school today in anticipation of an announcement from the conclave. (If none of that sentence made sense to you, you might not be Catholic or send your kids to Catholic school like I do. Just Google it. I won't judge.)

If Pink P was pope, all papal announcements would be preceded by pink smoke billowing out from a great inferno buried deep in the Sistine Chapel (I'm not sure how many ballots she thinks were cast, but obviously, it's a lot). 

In Pink P's Sistine Chapel there would be an enticing super-fast purple waterslide that would trick bad guys into slipping right to their doom in the raging pink and purple flames. For fun, little girls would hang out giggling on a cross while all the boys look up in awe: "Dude, how'd she get all the way up there?" they'd say.  Or maybe they'd just wind up  and throw giant invisible Nerf balls at the girls like they're playing dodgeball (I'm not quite sure what those kids in the picture are doing, but it looks fun).  Fortunately, though, the Sistine Chapel would never get gloomy. How could it with a huge pink sunflower to welcome guests and an ornate candy-striped door reminiscent of Willy Wonka's chocolate factory?

I was going to write something else, but really, the mitre speaks for itself. Besides, after that whole Lent-Diet-Coke debacle (you can read about it here and here), it might be good to cut down on the sacrilege. 

The World According to Pink P

I'd say this pretty much sums it up:

(And she's never even heard the John Mellencamp song...)

Are You SURE We're Related?

We got to school a little early on Friday, so Pink P's teacher had a chance to corner me.

Teacher: Have you heard about her "boyfriend?"
Me: (Sigh) Yes.
Teacher: I just wanted to let you know that they were holding hands during naptime, so I separated them.
Me: Thank you.
Teacher: She still has a problem with blowing kisses though. So maybe that's something you can talk about at home?
Me: Of course.

Those of you who know me can understand why I am wondering where this kid came from. If teachers talked to my mom, it was usually about how I beat up a boy on the play ground or didn't try hard enough to make the other kids like me. Just the other day, I was reminiscing about the fact that I was essentially kicked out of Brownie Scouts. Apparently, my scoffs and refusal to glue doilies onto empty coffee cans was the last straw. I don't remember. I just remember wishing I could be home playing basketball or building forts in the woods.

In the last 48 hours, Pink P said all of the following:

» I can't wait to go to school so I can be with my boyfriend.

» (To a complete stranger) I just love your hair.

» (Again to a complete stranger) What a pretty bow!

» Can I take my unicorn with me?

» I don't want to wear pants! I want to wear a dress!!!

» This needs more glitter.

» They like it when I blow them kisses!

» He thinks I'm cute.

» I never have enough money to go shopping.

» Why can't I paint my fingernails? I'm old enough!

I don't think I've ever, in my entire life, uttered any one of these phrases. Ever.

***

I tried to intervene, I really did. And when I did, we had the following conversation:

M: Pink, I don't think Chase thinks of you that way.
P: Yes, he does. He's my boyfriend. He loves me and I love him.
M: But when we saw him the other day, he seemed kind of annoyed by you. I think he just wants to be your friend.
P: (in tears) Mommy! That's mean! You just don't understand.

***

Now, I know you think I am overreacting, but look. She drew these this morning:

I admit it. I'm worried. Because she's right. I don't understand. I actually have no idea what she's talking about. Probably because my brain went into panic shutdown mode and hasn't been able to reboot since.

Proof Once Again that These May Not Be My Children

I've long believed that my kids' artistic talents are the clearest sign they may not be my children. I can't draw.

Ren can.

You've seen the awesome cakes Big Sissy designed, and you know I'm not her biological mom, so there. More proof.

In the past 15 hours, my children created these:

Tokyo Towers by Sky, Age 7. (Yup, that's Tokyo Tower and the new Sky Tree.)

Anpanman by Pink P, Age 4. (Google "Anpanman." You'll be amazed at how accurate this is, except of course for the signature pink instead of red.)

And, Titanic by Sky, Age 7. (Check out the detail. People are plummeting to their deaths, and he's NEVER SEEN THE MOVIE. This is just based on a description he heard from a friend at school).


Meanwhile, I'm left to wonder whether any of my genes made the cut.