Summer Recap

It suddenly occurred to me that I posted a grand total of about 10 times this summer.  I don't exactly like that, so how about one giant summer recap post?  This summer, we...

...went on lots of walks.  For some reason my kids are obsessed with storm drains.  Every time we walk past this one, we have to stop and yell into it:  "HELLOOOOO, helloooo, hellooo."

...baked some treats.  Sam has really started to like helping in the kitchen.  Whenever he asks, I try to find a job for him to do.  His favorite job is taste-testing.

...played in our toy kitchen.  While Sam likes to help cook in the big kitchen, Sydney will usually go whip up a little something in the toy kitchen.  She usually fixes some type of soup, which is strange, because I usually can't get her to eat more than a couple of bites of soup if I fix it.  Maybe she just prefers her own recipe.

...celebrated our 14th wedding anniversary.  Shawn and I don't go out alone very often.  We both think it's really important; we just don't make the effort to do it very often.  So we agreed that during our 15th year of marriage, we were going to make it more of a habit.

On a completely different note, can you believe I've been married for 14 years?!  What were my parents thinking letting me get married when I was 12 years old?

...made a couple of trips to the emergency room.  On July 4th, Sydney slipped and broke her leg.  We had been swimming, and when we came inside she slipped on our hardwood floor and fell.  She suffered a spiral fracture just above her ankle on her tibia.  It was almost identical to the injury that Sam had.  She refused to let me put her down in the emergency room, went absolutely bananas during the x-rays and then slept through the splinting process.  I had Shawn snap a quick picture because I was sure she wouldn't believe us when we tell her this story in a few years.

I've wondered how much of the rest of this story that I want to share, and I think I'll just say this:  There are some people in this world that have really difficult jobs.  They are charged with protecting children from the people who should protect them the most...their parents.  I'm so glad that those people exist, and I cannot begin to imagine the stress that they operate under on a daily basis.  The system is not perfect, to be sure, but I am thankful that it is in place.  Because such evil exists in our world, we have to cast a wide net and then weed out the accidental injuries from the deliberate injuries.  If Shawn and I have to answer a few uncomfortable questions in order to ensure that even one child is safe, we are willing to do that.  That being said, we truly hope we don't see the inside of an emergency room for a very long time.

...had a few picnics.

...didn't let our injuries slow us down.

As a matter of fact, she quickly learned how to use it to her advantage.  "Mommy, push me!" became a pretty common request demand.

...started preschool.  From the very first moment that we mentioned going to school to Sam, he was excited about it.  I was worried that when it actually became reality, the idea would lose some of it's sparkle.  I'm happy to report that he has loved every second of it.  Which is a good thing, because if he had shed even one tear on the first day, I might have just marched him right back out of there and back home.  (I might've shed a tear or two after I dropped him off.)  But he has really blossomed in school:  after only a month, we can already tell a big improvement in his speech, his listening skills, and his handwriting.  His brain is a little sponge, and I'm so grateful for the wonderful people who are helping to fill it up.

...ate lots (and lots) of popsicles in our playhouse.

...learned to drive.  Sam's friend Carson took Sydney for a drive in the little Jeep.  The reason this is significant is because Sydney would NEVER let Sam drive her around, but as soon as she saw Carson driving, she insisted on riding with him.  Shawn and I joked that she went on her first date at 2 years old.

These two always have such a good time together.  I can't wait to see what kind of mischief they get into when they're older.

After Carson safely drove her around, she decided that maybe riding with her brother wasn't so horrible after all.

...attended a Mommy and Me music class.  Now that Sam is in school, Sydney and I have been looking for a few special things to do together.  We've tried story time at the library, but she basically listens to the story for about 5 minutes then wanders off to play with the train table and I end up sitting and listening to the story by myself.  So one week a friend recommended this music class at our church.  Because of some scheduling problems, we've only attended one time, but we'll definitely go back.  Sydney was so excited about "singing with Mommy" until we got there and other people began showing up.  The nerve!  She sat in my lap and refused to participate in any of the class activities.  UNTIL...they got the giant parachute out.  I've never seen a kid alive that could resist playing under a parachute.

...missed Sam while he was in school.  The first day that we took Sam to school, Sydney looked around in the back seat and declared, "We forgot Sam!"  She's always excited when it's time to go pick him up.

Weekend Recap...aka No, I'm Not Making This Up

Every single part of the story you are about to read is true.  None of the details have been altered or fabricated.  Also, no animals were harmed in the making of this story.

Saturday, Sam's bff Carson had his 3rd birthday party.  I'm secretly a little glad that Sam isn't at the age where every single kid in his class invites him to a birthday party, but Carson is a special friend.  After all, he taught Sam how to run around naked.  That kind of thing just forges a special bond in young boys. 

Side note:  one day last week, I was putting laundry away.  I was buzzing around from room to room while Sam played in the living room.  When I finally got all of the laundry put away, I came back into the living room only to find my previously clothed son lying naked on the floor, watching cartoons.  Not a stitch of clothing.  And when I yelled, "SAMUEL THOMAS!" as moms are apt to do when they find their children doing something socially unacceptable (even if they're not in a social situation), he looked at me as if it was the most natural thing in the world to lie about one's house completely naked. 

Anyway, the party was to last until 3pm.  Shawn's only request was that we make it home by 4pm so he could watch the Cats play.  No problem.  We had fixed a large-ish, late-ish breakfast that day and none of us had really eaten anything before the party, so when we left we decided to grab a couple of burgers to take home.  The burgers took FOREVER, so by the time we got our order it was pretty evident that we were not going to get home by tip-off.  Being the loving and supportive wife that I am, I suggested a different tactic.  Rather than driving all the way to the other side of town to get back on the interstate, I suggested that we hitch a ride on the ferry.  It shaves off a few miles, I thought Sam would enjoy the ferry ride, and we FOR SURE weren't going to make it home by tip-off going the other way, so why not try this route? 

As it turns out, riding the ferry on a sunny Saturday afternoon is apparently a VERY popular thing to do.  I have only used the ferry service 2 or 3 times max, but I have never had to wait very long.  At most, I have waited for the ferry to return from the other side of the river, a trip that probably takes around 5 minutes.  On this particular day, we were the 10th car in line to board.  We waited through 2 complete ferry cycles.  Across....back....across....back.  Finally were were able to board. 

By this time, the game was well underway, but I have to hand it to Shawn.  He was very calmly listening to the radio and not fidgeting or getting antsy.  Those who know Shawn well know what a big deal it is that UK was playing and he was not either at the game or in front of a television.  So I really appreciated that he wasn't all crabby about it.  Especially since it was my idea.  And especially since we didn't get the added benefit of Sam enjoying the ferry ride since he conked out before we ever boarded.  Although, for the record, he might have exhibited the teensiest bit of road rage when, after we got off of the ferry, the car in front of us insisted on driving VERRRRRY slowly.  They were clearly sight-seeing, as you could see them pointing out landmarks as they drove.  It was at that point that he might have yelled, "C'MON!!!!  THE CATS ARE PLAYING!!!!" to nobody in particular. 

But the REALLY impressive part of the weekend happened on Sunday.  Our college student friend came over to watch the kids for a few hours that afternoon while Shawn and I stole away for a rare date.  We saw a matinee then grabbed a bite to eat.  And while I was SO looking forward to a little adult time and honestly NEEDED a little time to just be a wife and not a mommy, by the time we got to dinner I was missing my kiddos tremendously and kinda wanted to just go on home and eat with them.  And Shawn was like, "No!  We can do this!  We can have a conversation that doesn't involve the words 'bite-bites' or 'poo-poo'."  And I agreed, so then we sat there for a few minutes staring at each other, trying to figure out what we should talk about.  And then we took turns telling funny stories about the kids.  Eventually, we did finally have a real conversation, and while I couldn't really tell you exactly WHAT we talked about, it was nice to talk to my husband again. 

But anyway...the story.  So we enjoyed our lovely afternoon and came home to our kids, who were most excited to see us.  Our post-date bliss lasted for about 10 minutes.  Shortly after we got home, Sam informed me that he had gone to the bathroom.  We're still not hard-core serious about the potty training thing, but we do try to sit on the potty, especially if he initiates it.  So he and I headed towards the bathroom.  I won't share the gory details of the story, but suffice it to say that I ended up scrubbing poop off of our bathroom wall and the toilet seat.  Boy, nothing brings you back to reality like a little poop under your fingernails. 

Later in the evening, I was getting Sydney ready for bed when from the bathroom I hear, "Sam, no!  Nooooooo!!!"  Curious, I peeked my head in to investigate---and found my son with pee in his hair.  While running water for his 2nd bath that day, I asked Shawn, "So....how is it that you managed to pee on our son's head?" 

Shawn and Sam frequently play a bridge game.  Shawn spreads his legs, and Sam goes under the bridge.  It's all very funny, and he can only manage to go under the bridge two or three times before he collapses in giggles.  It seems that Shawn had gone into the bathroom to....well....do what it is that you DO in a bathroom.  Sam busted through the door (because privacy is a thing of the past around these parts) and, seeing Shawn standing with his back to him and his legs spread, immediately tried to go under the bridge.  And in the process, stuck his head right in the pee.

Yes, he did.

Oh, and I'm pretty sure some random guy in the Bonefish Grill parking lot saw my boob.  We were going to be gone during one of Sydney's feeding times, so I decided to take the breast pump with us.  I thought I had done a pretty good job of being discreet and keeping my sweater covering me, but apparently I didn't.  And what's totally funny about that is before my experience with breastfeeding I would've been totally MORTIFIED to think that I had flashed someone.  And now I'm just kind like, "Eh...whatever."

And I've gotta be honest with you---given the choice between flashing some stranger that I'll likely never see again and getting poop under my fingernails....I've gotta go with the peep show.

So...what did you do last weekend? 

The Griswolds Do Thanksgiving

What's that?  You've never seen that holiday classic?  It was just released this weekend.  Blockbuster hit.  We highly recommend it.  Here's a brief synopsis of the story-line.

This year, we weren't actually having our family Thanksgiving dinner until Friday (scheduling conflict) so my plan was to leisurely cook and visit with family all day Thursday, then put the finishing touches on everything Friday. 

I make plans.  Life laughs. 

Shawn had been battling what we thought was a little stomach bug all week.  He soldiered through work Tuesday and Wednesday, but on Thursday his illness peaked.  He had a pretty miserable day that day and basically isolated himself in our bedroom to rest and not spread germs.  When he was still sick on Friday, we were both a little concerned.

And Friday is when the proverbial "fan" got hit.

The turkey had only been in the oven for a little over an hour when my brother came upstairs from our basement and asked if we had turned water on.  Thinking he could just hear water running in the pipes, I barely looked up and told him Shawn was probably just in the shower.  "Well, it's leaking through the basement roof."   That got my attention.  I went rushing in our bedroom to find that our toilet was overflowing; apparently the water was draining down into the basement through an air vent. 

I made a couple of phone calls to find a plumber that was working.  In the meantime Shawn had been on the phone with his uncle, a family practice physician, and they had decided that he should maybe go to the ER.  Despite pushing Gatorade all week to stay hydrated, Shawn had lost about 10 pounds in 2 days.  I quickly gave my dad instructions for the plumber and for the turkey, and Shawn and I took off for the ER.  A couple of bags of IV fluids later, he was looking a little better. 

Somewhere in the middle of all of that, my sister arrived at our house with her crew, and the action really picked up.  I set about trying to put the finishing touches on dinner.  Kids were getting hungry and starting to whine.  I couldn't figure out why in the world the little "done" indicator on the turkey hadn't popped yet.  Then I realized the oven didn't seem as warm as it should.  Apparently, the oven had accidentally gotten turned off during the ER fiasco, so we cranked it up and tried to pacify the kids with a snack.

Shawn's mom and stepdad stopped by for a quick visit, and they had brought a little singing Mickey for Sam.  I vaguely remember someone saying, "We have a bleeder," but I didn't hear any kids crying so I didn't think much of it.  The Shawn's stepdad walked over to me holding his finger.  He had apparently been trying to put new batteries in Mickey when his pocket knife closed on his finger.  So we sent them off to the ER with our blessing to get 6 stitches. 

Somewhere in the middle of all of that chaos, Shawn let the dog out, and she found a pile of something disgusting to roll in.  She had green goo from her chin to her shoulder.  Awesome.  My idea was to lock her in the garage and leave her there for the rest of her life, but Shawn thought we should probably bathe her.  So she got a bath while the turkey was finishing up. 

Long story short, we finally ate our Thanksgiving dinner, and it was delicious.  Afterwards, while we were cleaning up, my sister gently suggested that perhaps we shouldn't host Thanksgiving next year, and I couldn't really hold the maniacal laughter in any longer. 

So--to recap--our Thanksgiving consisted of:
--a dog covered in unidentified poop
--an emergency plumber bill
--2 ER visits (I think that might be some kind of record)
--cleaning carpet
--a turkey that tried his darndest to stay raw

BUT our Thanksgiving also consisted of:
--a house full of really cool kids
--a lot of laughter (at our own expense)
--a trip to the Horse Park to see the lights
--a few games of UNO around the kitchen table
--two wins for UK

I'm happy to report that Shawn is feeling much better now and was actually able to eat yesterday.  I have promised him a re-do of the chocolate pie in a couple of weeks.

Hickory, Dickory, Dock...

...the mouse ran up the clock...and under the dining room table...and behind the curio cabinet...and the people tried to catch it while the cat sat back and watched.

Let's back up:  Most people have cats to keep mice OUT OF their homes.  We are fortunate enough to have cats that want to bring the mice IN.  Our cats are excellent hunters.  They are constantly leaving "presents" for us on the back porch.  DECAPITATED presents...but presents nonetheless.  There is a field directly behind our house, so it gives them plenty of gift-giving opportunities.  Last Thursday, Ollie's kill count for the day was two mice and a bird.  And we know it had to be Ollie because she was the only one who went out that morning.  That's one busy day for a cat!  She's a regular mouse-assassin. 

So anyway, Saturday night Shawn and I were getting ready to go to bed.  Shawn went to the back door to let the cat in, but when she came trotting in she immediately deposited a baby mouse in the middle of the kitchen floor. 

Time froze for a second.  I had a brief flash of deja vu. 

And then chaos ensued. 

Molly offered her assistance and starting pouncing on the mouse like a big, 70 pound cat.  "ROOF!"  *pounce*  "ROOF!"  *pounce* 

Shawn grabbed a bucket and started trying to throw it over the mouse.  I got the broom and dustpan and tried to trap the mouse with it.  We whisper-yelled instructions to one-another so as not to wake up Sam.  He's over there!  Get him!  Don't let him get past you!  Then the mouse ran between my legs into the dining room with Shawn, Molly and me in hot pursuit.

Annie, the captor, sat back and watched all of the commotion, calmly licking her paws like someone eating popcorn at the movies.

The mouse ran under the dining room table then skittered behind the curio cabinet.  Shawn and I formulated a plan--he would pull the cabinet out from the wall (being very careful to not break anything in it in the process), and when the mouse ran out I would nab him.  I'm not really sure where that all went wrong (I mean our plan was foolproof, right?), but somehow the mouse ended up on the other side of the room behind the dog's water bowl.  Sure that we had him trapped and could soon get some sleep, we cornered him with the broom, the dustpan and the bucket.  He had nowhere to go.  Except mice are very good climbers and he just skittered right over the dustpan back into the kitchen.

This is where the cat decided we needed her assistance.

She grabbed the mouse and took off downstairs with him.  I tried to jump up from my squatting position and somehow hit my elbow on the door frame...right on the funny bone.  My entire left arm went numb, and I started seeing stars.  Shawn took off down the stairs after the cat yelling at me to come help him.  I had my head between my legs saying, "I'll be right there!"  As soon as I can stand upright, that is.

By the time I made it downstairs, Shawn had somehow corralled the cat and mouse into the unfinished part of our basement.  Unfortunately, the cat released the mouse when she saw that Shawn and I didn't appreciate her gift, and the mouse promptly ran into the wall frame and behind the drywall.  We poked; we prodded; we pleaded...but the mouse was nowhere to be seen.  Finally, we decided to just lock the cat and the mouse in the room for the night and we would let her finish what she started.

Sunday morning, I cautiously opened the door to the unfinished room, dreading the carnage that I would encounter...and I saw...NOTHING.  No blood, no guts, no self-satisfied cat licking her lips.  It was as if the mouse had disappeared into thin air.

And that's where we still are.  I am riding on the notion that the mouse somehow found a way to get outside.  Shawn thinks he's just become a permanent resident of our house and will make random appearances now and then.  Neither of us are willing to admit that there is a possibility that the cat mortally wounded the mouse before he ran into the wall and he's...well...I guess we'll know in a couple of weeks if that's the case.  When we will start ripping out dry wall to find the rotting mouse carcass. 

Ew.

Sam's Big Break

So a really brief recap of what's been going on in our lives lately: 

We are the Griswolds.

A slightly less brief recap (because really you just need the full picture): 

Last Saturday night we got home from a WONDERFUL week at the beach and started trying to ease back into normal life.  Sunday night, I was working on a little project in the dining room while Shawn was folding laundry in the living room.  Sam, who had really perfected his walking skills while we were at the beach, was toddling around with Molly at his side.  As he was coming through the kitchen towards me, we heard a fall and then crying.  Like serious crying. 

Shawn and I rushed to check things out, and we quickly decided we were going to the ER.  Sam just wasn't calming down, and every time I tried to get him to stand up he refused to put pressure on his left foot.  We loaded everyone into the car and headed towards the hospital. 

This would be a good point to pause and explain a difference between Shawn's personality and mine.  When crises arise, I tend to downplay everything.  "It's not that bad...things will be fine..."  I feel like if I say it enough times, it will be true.  Shawn, on the other hand, who tends to be happy-go-lucky most of the time, usually assumes the worst during emergencies.  "My baby's hurt!  Get out of the way!  Coming through!! STAT!!!"

Just a few miles up the interstate, we came up on a traffic stand-still.  For miles ahead, we could see cars that weren't moving.  By this time, Sam had finally stopped screaming, and I was already telling myself we were just being freakishly overprotective.  (Not that we would ever be that way, or anything.)  I mentally turned the car around in the median, but Shawn didn't even hit the brakes.  He swerved over onto the shoulder and kept barrelling past dozens of cars, all while hitting buttons on my console and screaming, "Where are your hazard lights?!"  Did I mention that it was raining, too?

Trying to remain the voice of reason in a stressful situation, I screamed calmly asked, "What's your plan for when we get to the front of the line?  Clearly there is a bad wreck or something up there.  They won't let us through."

"Oh yes they will," he replied.  "I'm going to tell them we have a medical emergency and we have to get through!"

I may or may not have yelled something to the effect of, "IT WON'T DO US ANY GOOD TO GET TO THE ER IF WE'RE ALL DEAD WHEN WE GET THERE!!!"  All while Sam calmly sat in the back seat looking very not-hurt.

We finally got to the front of the line, and a policeman was letting cars through using one lane.  Shawn rolled his window down in preparation to explain our situation.  I braced myself for the lecture we would get from the policeman when he saw how "hurt" Sam looked.  Suddenly, a space opened up between cars.  Shawn swerved into the space and we drove right through the traffic stop.  I slouched a little lower in my seat and tried to avoid the eyes of the other motorists who were undoubtedly hurling cuss words at us.

We got to the emergency room (thankfully in one piece) and signed in.  And then we waited. 

And waited. 

And waited. 

Turns out a holiday weekend is the worst time possible to go to an emergency room.  Sam ate Teddy Grahams, flirted with the lady sitting behind us and watched football while I silently berated us for over-reacting so badly. 

When we finally got called back, Sam barely even whimpered while the nice gentleman examined his leg, he smiled during the x-rays, and I was even more convinced that we had made a wasted trip.  When they came in and told us he had a fractured tibia, you could have knocked me over with a feather.  My baby has a broken bone?  Put the cuffs on me!  Take me away!  I'm an unfit mother!!!

They splinted Sam's leg and we went home.  The next day, I was off and Sam and I just hung around the house nursing our wounds...his physical, mine emotional.  We got in lots of snuggles, I spoiled him like crazy, and I even gave in to a temper tantrum or two.  Just this once...  He seemed to be doing well with the splint, so I felt reasonably good about sending him to the babysitter the next day. 

Sometime in the afternoon, Tammy sent me a text saying Sam's splint was loose.  Sure she was over-reacting and he had just loosened the bandage around it (there's my reaction again), I eased her concerns and told her I'd check him out when I got there to pick him up.  However, when I arrived, I saw that he had worked the splint down his leg from knee level to about mid-calf.  Because apparently ONE visit to the emergency room per week just isn't enough...  So it was back to the ER we went where they splinted us again and sent us on our merry way...again.

The next morning, we had an appointment with an orthopedist, and Sam was a total rock star.  He got his cast (UK blue, of course!) and wasn't the least bit scared.  I was so proud of my brave little man!  Shawn and I were relieved to learn that because babies heal much more quickly than adults, he would probably only have to wear the cast for about 3 weeks.  More good news!

All set up and ready to go!

He looks great, right?

One of the many advantages of being Mommy:  I got to be the first to sign his cast!

But the story doesn't end there...