We Knew It Would Happen Someday

The first incident happened to Elias. I was watering the garden around 10am, and my child who likes to find bugs and flying things and observe them then moosh them chose the wrong creature to moosh. With his foot. His bare foot. He came running to me, wailing, arms up, and immediately showed me the tender ball of his right foot. I pulled the (excessively long, in my opinion) stinger out and took the now screaming child into the house for ice and to search for my "What To Do When Your Child Gets Sick" book. I made a paste of baking soda and water and wiped it over the welt where the stinger had been, and I watched the poison move in a weird snaky line towards the heel of his foot. I called my neighbor, a seasoned mom of four, and inquired in between screams what she would do if her child had been stung by a bee. She affirmed my actions and was standing at my door within 2 minutes to provide insight and to read a book loudly and lavishly to Elias to get his mind off the pain. These everyday heroes in my life. His anguish lasted a little more than an hour, and then we called upon neighbor children-- the owners of the beloved "jeeps"-- to allow Elias to sit in the jeep on their porch. (The battery wasn't charged.) He stayed put there for lunch, his little foot wrapped in a piece of an old sheet, tying the baking soda paste in place. Then he napped, and when he woke up he replied, "Good," when I asked him how his foot was, but he hobbled around on his heel the rest of the day. My sweet boy.

The other incident involved Kindred. He was lying on the kitchen floor, playing with his cars, and out of his mouth, out of nowhere, came:

"Fukinhail."

I said, "What?" He repeated it, and added, "That's what Daddy says." So ahem, there, husband. It was only a matter of time.

More on the Job and other stuff

I'm sorely lacking on the picture department these days, even though we have been filling our lives with very photo-worthy events and adventures. I failed to bring my digital camera to Idlewild when we took the kids there with my parents and brother last weekend, and failed once again on our trip to Maryland where we visited Michael's family and celebrated our nephews 4th (holy cow!) birthday at the local PumpItUp. My mother took pictures at Idlewild, but don't ever expect to see them on this blog. She loyally keeps all of her pictures on her camera flash card, never to budge. (I think she's on pic # 746 or something.) And my mother-in-law took photos at the bday party, but I don't have access to them either, so maybe someday we will develop some from Michael's old school film camera and I will oblige you with all the missing photo treats. Until then you will just have to be content with more stories about my job, and a few about my family.

I will begin with an exchange that happened in the car on the way home from Maryland, a 2 hour ride. The boys were in the back. I was driving. Kindred was quiet. Elias was yapping. We heard:

Elias: "Jidgie! Jiiiiiiidgiiiiieeeee!"
Kindred (softly): "I'm tired."
Elias: "Jiiiiidgiiieeee! Jidgie! Jiiiiiidggiiieee!!" This continues.
Kindred (bellows): "I'm going to sleep, Elias!"

(Now that I write this, I think it was one of those "you had to be there" moments. I promise, it was hilariously funny and surprising when it happened. Sorry you missed it.)

Now more about me. Me Me Me. So I accepted the job. I am a housing counselor at a center I will refer to as CITP. I will start on August 25th, a few days after I return from "Grandpa sitting" in Florida while my in-laws cruise the high seas and my husband finishes the last weeks of his theater camp. Now there are a few interesting mentionables to share about my job and my landing it.

A long time ago, when I was first thinking (and only thinking) about getting a job, someone asked what I wanted to do. Having not worked for several years (besides that brief stint at TSW last year), I had no idea what I wanted to do. I didn't think I wanted to jump back into the mental health field. (That is where I have the most experience and training, but there is a level of intensity that comes with those jobs that I wasn't sure I wanted to sign up for again. I would like to be able to leave my work at work.) So I flippantly said, "I don't know. I kinda want to just be a housing counselor at CITP." Now here's the catch. I didn't know A THING about CITP except that it was very close to my old apartment, and that somewhere in the process of buying our house, I noticed that CITP offered housing counseling. I didn't even realize at the time that they only offer counseling to people 55 and older. But the thought stuck in my head.

A few months later, I popped onto craigslist to look at job postings. Still had no resume prepped, but wanted to see what was out there. Wouldn'tcha know, two days previous there had been posted a need for a Housing Counselor at CITP. I was a little floored. After taking the next 2 weeks to get a resume together and customize a cover letter, I applied for the job. I also applied for about 15 others in varying positions all over the city. So it was both ironic and shocking that my first interview was at CITP for the job I'd said I wanted. Then it was even more ironic and shocking to discover that CITP has ONE housing counselor, and her last day was Friday. You already know how I felt when they called two hours after I got home from my (two hour) interview and offered me the position. I felt like the hand of providence was somehow moving all of the pieces of my life into a checkmate and I was the winner. Now how often does that happen?

People have been asking me if I'm excited about my job. The short answer is, well, no. I mean, it's fine. I'm sure I will do a good job, and I will learn a lot, and I will make us some money. But I'm really mourning the loss of time spent with my kiddos. Although I often long for breaks, I can't imagine not being with them for hours and hours every day. I fully support Michael wanting to have his shot at SAHD (stay at home dad) before the boys go off to school, and I know he is going to have a great time with them. It is just a hard adjustment for me to make mentally and emotionally. I take solace in the fact that not only will I work in a park that has a playground almost outside my office window that the kids can play in and visit me, but I will also be close enough to home that I will try to take lunch with my guys. I have a negligible commute, and might even try to get a bike to get me there and back. (There will be days I will need the car for home visits, but I can leave the car at home most days.) It is really ideal for the most part, and I have no real reason to complain too loudly. But I will miss my boys.

Thanks for everyone's support in this process. Your comments have been appreciated.

Two Hours Post Interview

Holy crap. I got the job.

Oddly enough, I kinda feel like sobbing like a child. Very professional response.

Will Work For Food, and other stuff

I am looking for work, just incase you didn't know. In the fall, Michael and I have agreed to switch spots. He will stay with the kiddos and I will secure lucrative full-time employment. (Yeah right. I'm a social worker. Lucrative might be out of the question.) I haven't put together a resume since I could include: "Who's Who Among High School Students" 1994 in it, so I was a little rusty on the drawing up of paperwork. But I did it (it only took 9 days to finish), landed good editors (thanks, Nora!) and sent it out with thoughtfully crafted cover letters to about 15 places.

I had initially imagined that I would call one or two people I knew, mention I was looking for a job, and they would respond with, "Oh I have the perfect thing for you! I know about this job opening. I could get you in there, no problem. Let me make a call." That didn't happen. Or at least it hasn't happened so far. (It still can happen! Let me know if you have that perfect position for me!) So I have utilized various job posting websites and tried to find the perfect job opportunity for me, a woman who might have had a professional edge at one point but after 3.5 years with little children has to frequently remind herself to not dumb it down just a little when conversing with people who stand higher than 38". I have my first interview tomorrow-- a housing counselor for seniors position. We'll see how that goes. I'm trying not to be nervous. Confidence! Good sense of career path! Articulation! Active listening! Thoughtful questioning! Don't slouch! Don't apologize! Be the Housing Counselor you know you can be!

This is so freakin' intimidating.

Ugh

"Immigrant Beaten to Death in Pa"

They say it wasn't racially motivated and everyone in town is defending them. Because really, they are good hearted guys. They weren't being racist. I'm mean, sure, they killed the guy after ganging up six against one, but golly, they're just kids who got a little riled up at a Mexican, right? C'mon, they aren't haters. Just football players.

Growing up, moving forward

They grow up so fast, these boys. One day you wake up and they are little babies anymore. They are old. They have a mustache.

No seriously, Elias has learned how to talk. He finally figured out how his tongue works and how he can use it to form letters in his mouth. I can't even begin to list the words he uses, and the sentences he forms, there are so many.

He hands out orders, makes his wishes known, and talks about what he likes. Today he dragged his "BearBear" and "Bongo the Monkey" out to the store with me, and he showed everyone. He would of course show "Beo-Beo" first, then "Mahnkay". One of the store clerks asked him what his name was. He pointed to himself and replied, "Baby."

He's far from "baby" though. He is growing up, moving forward, blowing our minds.

And here's Kindred, post smoothie-sipping, looking remarkably like his Papap (or so says my husband).

Terrors and Teammates

These two right here can be quite the terrors on four feet.

They may not look like it, but they are good at foolin'. The week has been simultaneously delightful and infuriating. I guess that's how it goes with your children sometimes.

But they have the ability to play well together, and with others. And here's some examples of that.

This is Elias and Grif playing in the "designated playing dirt" outside. (Grif is emptying his shoe out.)

This is one of the neighbor girls (she's six) offering to teach the boys how to play cards. Kindred put in a valiant effort to understand and participate, but Elias gave up almost as fast as she could deal them.

The neighborhood kids love my boys. They are all fascinated that Kindred and Elias still take naps during the day and go to bed before it's dark. I'm also pretty sure they are astounded that dinnertime is an event we participate in as a family at the same time every day. They are all great kids and I really like them.

The twins who live on the corner got riding cars for Christmas last year. The boy got the fancy black escalade, and the girl got the barbie jeep which is too small for her to ride, but she perseveres and has a good time in it. When these cars come out, Elias cannot contain himself. "DEEEEEEEEP!! DEEEEEEEEEEP!!!" he stands on the porch and yells, clamoring to get down the steps and into one of the jeeps. The children are more than happy to oblige him.


Then they push him all around in the vehicle that really doesn't go faster than a crawl. He couldn't be happier. (Unfortunately this picture is goofy of him but great of all the girls who are lovin' on him.)


(Now if you haven't already, go to Michael's blog and read about what happened tonight.)

The Wild Landscape of the City

I grew up in western Pennsylvania, camped a lot as a kid (I was a Girl Scout, yes) and spent a great deal of time outdoors.

Yet it wasn't until I moved into the city, into this house specifically, that I have encountered wild things up close.

I have seen 5 raccoons, four of which were exploring the yard next to mine one night while Kindred and I searched for shooting stars in the sky and watched lightening bugs light up the trees and field. And then yesterday, while I was looking for zucchini amongst the wide leaves in our rear garden bed, a mockingbird attacked me! It flapped its wings on my back and then landed on the fence, remaining there to stare me down and taunt me.

Then today it happened again. Only this time I had the hose in my hand....

I had seen this bird attacking cats a few weeks ago and I thought that was rather crazy, and then we found out it had built a nest in the vines in our yard. It must be feeling particularly defensive-- perhaps a hatching is close at hand? But I'm worried that it's going to go at the kids. I've never heard of average birds who aren't very big just stepping up (or flapping up) to people. Doesn't it realize that I know where its nest is and I'm not going to mess with it? And why would it choose to build a nest in a yard with an active family about? There are so many other choices!

I guess I just haven't really been out in the wild before. Pretty soon folks are gonna start tramping for moose around here in Philadelphia proper.

Firsts. And lasts.

I guess moments like these are becoming less rare, but this morning everything Kindred has done and said has made me think "I need to record what's happening. This is a first."

I only got about 2 hours of sleep last night. I think that was because of a couple of things: 1) I stupidly drank some wonderfully tasty yet very caffeinated iced chai at 8pm, enjoying desserts with some friends who live close by, and 2) because, in those hours spent staring at the ceiling and watching the lights from my neighbor's TV through the window, I found myself thinking a lot about Andrea, who passed away yesterday, and all of the things her situation brings up for me in my own life. In any case, I reluctantly opened my eyes when Kindred came into the room around 7:50am. It was my turn to get up with the boys while Michael slept in.

I didn't get out of bed right away, and Kindred quickly tired of playing with whatever he could find on the floor. After a couple of minutes, without a word, he stood up and left the room, pulling the door closed behind him. I didn't hear any signs that he had returned to his room to wake his brother. So I rested a while longer and eventually went downstairs to find him playing alone in the playroom. I told him how proud and thankful I was that he let me sleep a little bit more and that he hadn't woken his brother. He said:

I saw the smoke alarm when I came downstairs. I said 'Hi,' and it said 'Hi' but it didn't say 'Beep beep.' It wanted to push its button but I said that wouldn't be a good choice because it would go 'Beep beep' and we don't want it to say 'Beep beep' because Elias and Daddy are still sleeping and that would wake them up. So it didn't say 'Beep beep.' There's another smoke alarm downstairs.

The smoke alarm on the ceiling in the living room, the one he's face-to-face with when he comes down the stairs, is still his greatest fear when he's descending alone. It also is a gauge for some of his greatest accomplishments.

But the story doesn't even end here. Kindred asked if he could come to the basement with me when I opened the door. I agreed and asked if I could help him carry some of his toys down. He handed me 2 cars, a big red one and a little red one. He explained, "This one is the mommy, and this one is the little brother." He went on, pointing at the car transporter (which is gray and black) and another red truck, "And that's the daddy, and that's the big brother. Sometimes I'm the big brother."

Then we all got ready to go to church. Our church only recently started an ongoing nursery care program again. For many years it was not necessary-- there weren't really any young kids in the church-- but now there are tons of little ones again. My children almost always reject the offer to go the nursery after the children's sermon, and if they don't reject the offer initially, they are returned to us in the middle of the adult sermon, tearful, in the arms of a frazzled nursery worker. We'd begun giving up altogether on the idea. But today I told them they weren't allowed to go to the nursery. And somehow that did the trick. After the children's sermon finished, Kindred grabbed his puzzle and headed upstairs while Elias stood up on stage behind Pastor Maggie shouting "No!" I picked Elias up and brought him back to our seat. He struggled out of my arms and while I was making an announcement to the congregation, took himself down the aisle, up the stairs and banged on the door until they let him into the kid's room. By the time I finished my announcement and went to find him, he was already with the other children, making himself comfortable with a book. Shocking! I actually paid attention to the entire service, following along in the program the whole time! The boys came back with the others for communion, and I was so proud of them.

In between all of these "firsts", I had to face one "last." For the past 5 days now, Elias has not nursed in the mornings as is customary around here. He was sick a few days and had a stuffy nose, so I assumed it was because nursing was just difficult that he was refusing. But today he was perfectly fine, perfectly awake, and Kindred had been ordered to play downstairs until I had finished nursing Elias, so we were alone and it was calm. When I got him up and offered him my breast, he said, "No, Mommy." I said, "Honey, if you don't nurse today, all of my milk is going to go away and you might not be able to nurse anymore. Are you done nursing?" He took a taste, then wanted to get up. I repeated, "Are you done nursing Elias? You probably won't be able to nurse ever again." I wanted him to understand the gravity of his decision. I wanted us to have a closing moment. He didn't. He pulled my shirt down and said, "Bye, nurse," and left the room, calling for his brother. He is 22 1/2 months old. I nursed him for twice as long as his brother. And now it seems he too is done.

This is Elias hopping his sandwich around the table.

And I move, yet again, into a new identity. No longer a nursing mother. Yeah, I'm gonna have to let that one sink in.

Getting Well

If Michael hadn't taken my camera to work today, I would have included a picture of the round neon-pink sticker that loudly exclaims "I'm an ER visitor", the one I wore around all day yesterday while I followed my chatty youngest son through sterile (yet very colorful) hallways at the local children's hospital. He was the patient. I had been concerned that his ear infection had returned, so I made yet another appointment with the Pediatrician's office sent from God. However, when he woke yesterday morning before the appointment, his breathing wasn't right. He was doing these short little grunty breaths, and I didn't like the sound of it at all. Neither did the doctor. Elias screamed and thrashed his way through a nebulizer treatment (just like he screamed and thrashed through the ones he continued to get throughout the day, but this one was the shortest) that proved pretty ineffective, so off we drove to the ER at St. Christopher's Hospital. He coughed and threw up on the way there and I nearly lost it, but we made it to the hospital without any other incidents.

Long story shortened: Elias got diagnosed with Bronchiolitis, a baby bronchitis, and although that wasn't great news, it was better than pneumonia which is what the Ped feared. He got an x-ray and few breathing treatments with your basic stuff, then when it was clear that wasn't working, they switched medications. When the nurse brought the new med into the room she drawled at him, "This is gooooood stuff, Man." (Ok, she didn't say "Man," but she wanted to.) This treatment worked, but it was hard to tell because he spiked a fever (nearly 103º) and fell asleep. Tylenol didn't work to bring the fever down more than to 102º, so they gave him Motrin. Within 20 minutes, he was awake, alert and normal, and he wanted to go walk the halls again. (There was a train painted on the wall outside our room that he loved to run to, pat and yell "Wooo Wooo!") His breathing was better. His heart rate went from 190 to around 150. We were home by 6pm.

Last night, we both slept in the living room-- me on the couch and Elias in the playpen. My newest hero (besides my husband) is our Pastor, who offered to take Kindred to a children's museum with her boys this morning. Michael delivered Kindred to her this morning so E and I got to sleep, me until 10am and E until 11:10am! It was bliss. Ok, not really, we're both sick. But my gratitude was great. E and I have been hanging out all day, lounging, watching DVDs, playing with trains. We've been ordered to let the sickness pass and treat the symptoms, and drink lots of fluids.

This just happened

Kindred is refusing to sleep during his alloted naptime this afternoon. He has been up in his bed yelling and singing and playing with the AC, and it's making me nuts. I'm finding myself using those mom-phrases that don't really make sense but sounds threatening, like "If you don't be quiet right now, you're going to be in a lot of trouble," or "If you can't be a good listener to me right now, I'm just going to say 'no' when you ask me for something later." I can't really deliver tangibly on the first one, and the second one won't sink in to his 3 yr-old brain. So my discipline of choice was to bring him down to the basement and sit him in a chair where he has to stay, being quiet, and watching the clock until 3pm. It was 2pm when we came down. I continued working on the computer.

At about 2:25pm, I heard him whispering:

"Dammit dammit dammit dammit dammit dammit."

I am trying to not make a big deal of my kids using curse words as to not blow it out of proportion, so instead of throwing a fit, I asked him, "Why are you saying dammit?"

He replied, "Because the clock isn't going fast enough."

Hmm. Well, at least he used the word appropriately.

In other not-as-current news, this is our cucumber plot. I "built" a lattice out of twine for the plants to grow up, and they seem to like it. (All except the runt on the right.) And last night, after due ceremony....


...we picked and ate this one.


It was kind of heavenly.

And finally, in "news that just happened", I won a contest that I entered through Etsy.com! This is really fun because I can't afford to buy a single thing for myself right now. Thanks, Angie!