Stand Off

Lest you think I forgot about WME, I assure you that I did not. Since February's start, we have had one very sick child, followed by a second sick child, a sick child's borthday, including a trip to the pediatrician on her birthday, a birthday party for the sick child, a relative who missed the party and came up the next day, thus spreading the birthday to a three day affair, and finally, when all that was over, a sick Mommy. February has been a banner month for us here!
But it has not been without WME moments. My finest occurred on Helen's birthday. Ruthie was on day 3 or 4 of antibiotics for a double ear infection and Helen had developed a fever and cough the day before. A friend whom we had missed at christmas time came over that "day before" just as Helen's fever was climbing, and bestowed holiday gifts upon the girls. The wrapping paper from the affair was stuffed in to a shopping bag where it remained into the next day. Ruthie, upon spying the bag of wrapping paper, proceeded to remove pieces of it and tear them into teeny, tiny, little bitty bits and scatter them on the living room rug. I told her to stop. She refused. When she finally completed her "activity" I told her she needed to pick them up. Again, she refused. About an hour later, I made lunch for both girls. I told Ruthie she could have her lunch as she cleaned up the living room. She continued to stand her ground and refused to clean up. i refused to feed her. Off we went to the doctor with poor sick Helen. Helen got a snack in the waiting room. Ruthie did not. She hadn't cleaned up. We got home and Ruthie announced she was hungry. I told her she could have her lunch after she cleaned up. She refused. All afternoon this went on. Finally, DH came home aorund 5 p.m. with a piping hot pizza. The floor was still a mess. Ruthie was obviously hungry. She still refused to clean up. I told her we would have birthday cake after dinner and she could have some if she cleaned up. She refused. We all sat down to dinner (just cause you're not eating doesn't mean you don't have to be part of the meal.) Ruthie cried hunger a couple more times. As DH and I were on our second slices each and Helen had made a good dent in her piece, Ruthie finally asked if I would help her clean the living room floor. I brought her the trash can and watched her clean up every bit of that wrapping paper in about fifteen seconds. As I served her a slice of pizza, I checked the clock. It had been nearly seven hours since the stand off had begun. And I won.

Barf

I have not needed to send my daughter out into the cold again, but I do have a lovely story for you.
I was recently awoken at about 3 a.m. by a small child letting out blood-curdling screams from her bedroom. I jump, run across the hall and find her sitting a the edge of her bed screaming "My sock came off!" I'm not a whole lot of fun in the middle of the night when I have been awoken from a dead sleep. I shoved some new socks on her feet (ones with better elastic) and told Ruthie that she was never, ever, ever to wake me up for something that ridiculous again. She was only to wake me up for emergencies, real, real emergencies. Fast forward three days. It is Benny's day to get up with the children. I arrive downstairs in time for him to take a shower and find Ruthie shirtless in the living room, where she announces "I throwed up on my shirt." Benny clarifies that her pajama shirt was covered in vomit when she got out of bed. I go up to her room to see what the story is and it ids evident by the several well-spaced pools of vomit that Ruthie has thrown up several times during the night but didn't come get me, likely out of fear, and the fact that she didn't know that vomiting was considered an emergency. Oops.

BOO!

This happened last week but with my weekend away and all I forgot to post.

I had a lingering cold and was feeling particularly run down. I decided that we all must nap. Helen is no problem...she naps anyway. Ruthie is another story. She probably needs a nap, but resists in every possible way. So I desperately explained to her that Mommy was sick and needed to sleep, but I couldn't sleep if she was awake (though I later found out DH did just that while I was away) so she really needed to sleep that day. She protested at first, but then agreed. I reinforced the importance of her staying in her room and put her to bed. I left my dolor open so that I could hear her if she tried to make a break for it. It was quiet and soon I had dozed off. I don't know how long I was sleeping when I awoke to this feeling that someone was in my room. I turned my head and saw Ruthie standing at my night stand, reaching for something. She wasn't facing me, so she didn't realize I was awake. I yelled "Hey. What are you doing in here?" A startled Ruthie jumped, screamed and ran back to her room crying. I heard her, and briefly contemplated going in to comfort her. But I didn't. I went back to sleep.

Run Like the Wind

Well, last night brought on another tantrum from Ruthie at bedtime. I maintained my cool for significantly longer than my husband, and he got all pissed off when I told him to just leave her and go downstairs. At that point, he was mad, she was maniacal. Let them both cool off and see what happens. So I got Helen ready for bed while Ruthie is screaming at maximum volume again. She kept busting in wailing while I was trying to read poor little Helen her bedtime story. I finally locked her out and she beat on the door and screamed until I was done with her sister. I emerged from Helen's room and told Ruthie I would help her when she stopped. I then deposited her in her room and the screaming escalated (and just when I thought it couldn't get any louder). Helen, who always goes to sleep without a problem, began crying. I saw red and realized that letting Ruthie scream it out on her own wasn't going to work if Helen was going to sleep. So we ran. That's right. I brought her downstairs, jammed her boots on her feet, got her coat and hat on, brought her outside and let her run. She's only three, so I couldn't let her run, in the dark, unsupervised. so I ran with her. i held her hand and informed her that we we'd stop running when her screaming stopped. We got less than a quarter mile form the house when she stopped. We turned aorund, I let go of her hand and let her follow me as I walked at a pretty brisk pace back to the house. She went in, got off her coat, her hat and her boots without a word, and went to bed. No story. She began to cry again when I left her room and I told her that we'd get all of her stuff back on and go run again if she wasn't quiet. She stopped. I didn't hear from her again until morning. DH told me that bordered on child abuse. I reminded him that he is a runner and runs for his mental health just as much as for his physical health, and perhaps that running cleared her little brain of whatever was making her so hysterical. And I ran right there with her. So think of it as quality time with mom instead.

Baby it's cold outside

As I mentioned in my previous post, I was away for the weekend. I might add that I was away sans children or husband. Woot! I got back later yesterday afternoon. And I reluctantly agree to give the girls a bath. Benny says I can reconnect with them. Yeah, while I'm unpacking my bags and they're drowning. I hate giving baths which is why he normally does it. But, I tell him I will if he just gets them up and into the tub while I finish unpacking the car. I finish and head upstairs where I am greeted by Ruthie, whio is creaming because she can't get her undershirt off. Ruthie is completely capable of getting her undershirt off. She just refuses to listen to us while we try to instruct her, and instead chooses to erupt in to total fits of hysteria and a maniacal screaming. I calmly try to remind her how to get off her shirt. She just screams. I eventually take her and place he in her room, which is mere feet from the bathroom. She continues to scream and opens her door. I close her door. She opens it, screaming. I lock it. She opens it screaming. After a few round of this game, I am totally through with her screaming. I drag her downstairs, put a coat on over her undershirt and send her outside to the porch, shoeless, in the 30 degree cold. (She did have socks on.) I plop her onto the porch step and tell her she can come back in when she is done screaming. I close the door. (Oops, I forgot to turn on the porch light.) She attempts to open the front door, so I lock it. She screams. And screams. I stood right there and listenedd to her, while little Helen ployed in hate tub upstairs, unsupervised. I finally opened the door, and she stopped, came in, and didn't give me another minute of trouble all night.

The Kindness of Strangers

I got to go away this weekend, and didn't get to post his before I left, but I damn near got my child killed last week. It all started when I decided to take the children to the state museum to meet some friends and their kids. We usually bring the strollers, do a few laps on the concourse below to get some exercise, then bring the kids to the discovery area to play. Finally, we head up and have lunch. The nice thing about going with other moms is that we all kind of watch out for each other's kids. Or really, they keep an eye on mine cause I'm easily distracted. But seeing as they also have their own kids to watch, I shouldn't really rely on that. Case in point: today, we had finished lunch and were packing up to leave. The museum is part of the Empire state Plaza, complete with several office buildings, visitors' areas, etc. It's a busy place. As I was attempting to make sure all of my Tupperware containers were back in the bag and ready to go, my friend drags Helen over and tells me that she wandered around the corner and down the hall and some complete stranger got up from eating her lunch to bring her back. Oops. Thank you, kind lady.
Then we got to our van. At this point, the moms have all gone their seperate ways and it's just me and the girls. I instruct Ruthie to get out of teh stroller as I search in vain for the sippy cup that Helen is screaming for. It is past naptime and she is exhausted an unable to understand that mommy left the sippy cup in the museum and is not going back to get it, and perhaps if Helen had not run away and had to be rescued by a stranger, Mommy would have remembered it. I launched a final search of the diaper bag and lunch bag, searching for the cup, when I hear a woman's voice. I poke my head out of the van and realize I don't se Ruthie. Before I can register the thought that someone might be trying to kidnap my child, this very kind woman appears on the sdiewallk with Ruthie and tells me that she wandered into the VERY BUSY street. The woman experessed concern because the cars go very fast down thee street and a little girl might easily get run over. She is so right. I thank her and watch the cars whiz by as I strap Ruthie into her seat. Thank you, kind lady #2.
Where would my poor kids be without the kindness of strangers?

Worst. Day. Ever

Well, if it wasn't the worst, it was close. I've been sick all week AGAIN, Helen has been sick. Ruthie hasn't been sick, but I'd be very surprised if she wasn't getting sick, based on her horrific behavior today. I won't bore you with the minutiae of my day I'll just recount some of the more fun moments.
Ruthie decided, five minutes before we needed to leave for th gym (yeah, why was I going to the gym when I'm sick...mostly because the thought of spending ALL DAY in the house with my children was too much to bear.) that she needed to change into pair of ugly pants that did not match her shirt. They are pants I don;t like for anything but hanging around the house. But I didn't have the energy to wrangle her into the ones I picked out because I was too busy telling her how hideous her outfit was. At the risk of losing any points I may have been awarded for that, I felt awful and apologized to her later, telling her how beautiful she looked today. Thank God she believed me.
Helen fell off the kitchen chair as I was loading the car for the gym. I had so had it with theatrics and crying at that point that I merely picked her up off her back, where she was laying in a pile of Cheerios and Raisin Bran, placed her in a chair without saying anything and walked away from my crying toddler, and out the door. Fortunately, I realized later she was not hurt.
After the gym, we went to Target to pick up a few things. I let Helen walk into the store. Usually she is in a cart. The plan was to find a cart they could both sit in. I don't know if she fell or threw herself on the floor, but there she was, laying on the floor in the middle of the entrance, screaming, while the automatic door kept opening and closing. She flung herself onto her back and I left her there, to get a cart, while Ruthie screamed, "Mommy, look where she is, she's on the floor," and other patrons stepped over her to get in. I got many a dirty look from the elderly couples shuffling in, but the cart guy thought it was hilarious.
After we got home from Target, I realized what a bad idea it was to have gone to the gym, as I ha d used up nearly every ounce of energy on the x-bike. This left me no choice but to force Ruthie to take a nap. This was made much easier by the temper tantrum she threw just after lunch. I carried her to her room to let her scream. She emerged into the hallway. I put her back and locked her in. When she realized she was locked in, she worked herself into a total frenzy that eventually led to a nice 2 hour nap. But sleep did not come before I made my way in to her room and informed her that children in my house didn't act this way, and if she wanted to throw fits of this nature she could pack her bags and move in with another family. Since she's not quite four, she can't reach her suitcase at the top of the closet, so she shut up and settled down.

Wordless Tuesday??

Okay, I had every intention of posting this last week for worldess Wednesday, but I forgot. I beleive it needs no further explanation.

Eeeeew

Poor little Helen has a nasty ear infection. I was warned by the ped. to expect it to burst and drain. Yum. It's been four days and it hasn't so I'm hoping we're safe. We are not, however, safe from the side effects of Augmentin. I am quite grateful it is not my potty trained three year old who is on it, as that might make for lots of accidents and really gross messes. However, I keep forgetting to check the diaper clad diarrhea prone toddler more frequently than usual. Yesterday we had a Polar Express party in the a.m. I ha errand to do first, and time got away form me. i thought about it once or twice a the party, but she was in her p.j.s and I was loathe to do all the undressing in the middle of the party. So I didn't. I waited til we got home, and it had been 6 hours at that point. Needless to say, her diaper had leaked, her onesie was covered in diarrhea, and the poor baby had a rash. Rash was better by evening good thing because I did the same thing today.

In the spirit of celebration - Part 6

Just a reminder...mine were early and weighed 2 lbs. 12 oz. and 3 lbs. 11 oz....don't look like typical newborns. But if you ask me, they were just as beautiful!

Amelia (Ruthie) the day she was born:

The firs time I held her...she was about 40 hours old:


And when she was about two days old:

And Anya (Helen) in the delivery room:


Anya and me before they took her to he NICU (I hadn't been able to hold Amelia before they took her away, so this was an amazing moment for me.)

And when she was about a day old:

One man's trash...

This morning hubby was kind enough to let me sleep in again. (He got up yesterday with Helen, the human rooster, but I've been nursing a head cold that he gave me, so maybe he felt guilty. It was very nice of him either way.) I made my way downstairs around 8 a.m. and plopped down on the couch with Benny and Ruthie. Little Helen was wandering around the kitchen. A little while later she came toddling in with something in her hand. She was ceremoniously bringing it to her mouth and licking it. Curious, I leaned forward and looked a bit closer. Looked like a bagel...and cream cheese.
"Did you give her a bagel for breakfast?" I ask Benny.
Silence.
"She's eating a bagel, did you give that to her?"
A bewildered look comes across Benny's face.
"Uh, no. I gave Ruthie a bagel, but she threw it in the trash. That must be where she got that from."
I turn to the baby. "Did you take that out of the trash?"
"Trash" she replies with a big cream cheesy grin.
I shrug. Benny shrugs, And Helen enjoys the rest of her bagel.
On a whim, later, I peek in the trash can and sure enough, Ruthie's bagel is gone.

How's that dinner?

Yesterday was my birthday. Last year, I spent the day in the doctor's office and then the pharmacy, getting a prescription for antibiotics to kill my bronchitis. Yay. This year, it's not as bad, but I have a nasty head cold. I don't expect much for my birthday. No big fanfare, but it's a good excuse to eat out. P.F. Chang's opened here about a month or so ago, and we've been waiting to go yesterday. I was not going to let my illness prevent me from my long-awaited meal. However, there was he small issue of Helen's head cold, and Ruthie's diarrhea. I briefly entertained the thought of picking up take-out from there, and even more briefly, the thought of staying home completely. But nope. I wanted my dinner and I wanted it there, even f the likelihood of me being able to taste it was slim. So., after naps, and a huge bout of diarrhea for poor Ruthie (and resulting rash because she was sleeping and had a pull-up on when last bout occurred), I dressed them up, combed Helen's booger-encrusted hair into some cute little pigtails (to detract from the mask of snot on her face), and off we went. The last thing I wanted was Ruthie having an accident at the restaurant, what with the diarrhea and all, so while Benny and I ate our lettuce wraps, calamari, crispy honey chicken and shrimp with lobster sauce, Ruthie enjoyed a nice steaming bowl of white rice. I'm pretty sure she liked it.

Scavenging

Because I have so much free time on my hands, what with the kids taking care of themselves and all, I signed up for an online scavenger hunt. It was a challenge on one of the message boards I frequent and it involves taking digital pictures and posting them, with your screenname included to prohibit cheating. Asdie form the general neglect of my children that this requires on my part as I wrack my brains for creative ways to get a picture of a crackhead, it also involved my children in the following situations:

• crackhouse - we were required to find a pic of a crackhouse. Sadly, I know just where one is. I used to work across the street from it, in a rehab, ironically, and the rehab clients all knew it was a crackhouse. So I drove my kids to the 'hood and parked on a side street outside a crackhouse to get a picture. "Tell Daddy what we did today?' "Daddy, we went to a crackhouse." I can see OCFS at my doorstep already. This trip also required a photo of a ghetto so I pulled off to another side street to get a picture of the ghetto. Nothing like a field trip to the 'hood. I looked for a pimp when I was there, but coudn't find one at 10 a.m., so I improvised on that picture and dressed Ruthie's Ken doll up like one. I think that photo was disqualified
  
• traffic lights - I had to get a green traffic light, a yellow one, and a red one. Now the other team wisely parked somewhere and waited for the light to change to the appropriate colors. Not me. I drove around with elbows on the steering wheel, a camera in one hand and a paper with my screenname in the other, trying to navigate traffic and frame my pics. The yellow light, in particular, was a bitch. But I got it.
  
• churches - I dressed my children at 7 a.m. on a non-school day, and packed them in the car in 35 degree weather so we could go get a picture of a mosque and a Seventh Day Adventist Church.
• pregnant dog - A pregnant dog. If only I'd known a breeder. But alas, I do not, so I went in search of that twisted toy that's a dog with removable puppies in her belly. Apparently that one isn't sold in stores anymore. But I did stumble upon a dog costume on clearance for 80 cents, so I did this to Helen:

My team won.

Oh Happy Day

Benny is out of town on a business trip. I am taking a sickening pleasure in the fact that his overnight away coincides with Zero Nutrition Thursday!! I have huge plans to eat nothing good, and, in preparation, I baked a batch of chocolate chip cookies yesterday. I feared you might deduct any of my pre-earned points because they were homemade cookies, but Ruthie really wanted the snowman ones that you don't even have to slice before you bake. You open the package, move the cookie dough and bake. We made that kind recently, which we don't ever do, and when I told her we were making the homemade kind, she cried. I'm sorry honey, but Mommy needed something to do to avoid cleaning.
It's starting...the bad language that occasionally slips from my mouth when I'm not looking, is being repeated on a more regular basis by my child. But I must say she's chosen the less offensive ones to repeat. Ones I can easily blame on someone else, or someone else's kid, for that matter. She has recently been caught, and on more than one occasion, telling her little sister to shut up. I have to remind her that shut up isn't a nice word and that Mommy shouldn't say it either. (I'm waiting for her to tell me not to say it the next time I do, but it's usually only used when she is in the middle of screaming fit and she can't be bothered correcting me.) This weekend she shocked my friends. We were having a little playdate at our house, two friends and their little boys, both preschoolers as well. We were sitting a the kitchen table snacking on mini-donuts, mini-muffins, bagels (not mini), when Ruthie lets loose with "Don't piss me off." I heard it loud and clear but hoped the others did not. My one friend says "She couldn't have said what I think she said, could she?" I nodded, "Yeah, she could." I never did bother to find out who was pissing her off.

Wordless Wednesday

Tales From the Bathroom

This story is from a few weeks ago, before I joined WME. I hope it's okay to resurrect stories. After all, I do need to prove I belong here, right?
My older daughter is capable of doing nearly everything for herself when it comes to the bathroom. She does have difficulty unsnapping her pants, so it was nothing unusual this morning when she asked me to unsnap them for her. I did this, and then returned to whatever was demanding my attention (the computer). Her shouts that the baby was in the bathroom were met with my direction to take her sister by the hand and lead her out. She knows how to do this. Today, she didn’t do it. After a few long minutes of delightful but disconcerting silence, (I knew I should have checked on things right away, but I couldn't...I just couldn't), I made my way over to the bathroom. Having not seen the baby on my way there, I wasn’t surprised when I opened the door and caught sight of her pigtails and overalls. I was, however, horrified to find her elbow deep in a toilet that had been used by my older daughter, but not flushed. Yay! Water play isn’t enough fun…let’s have urine play. I handled this with far less grace and patience than I should have. A few expletives probably passed my lips and I dragged the baby out of the bathroom and stripped her, washed her down with some baby wipes and a wash cloth, and declared her clean. She got an additional, full blown scrub down later, but I made her father do it.

Gravel head

I'm trying really hard to write a witty story about my daughter's recent playground accident. However, the fact that we have kept a 20 month old and a three year old, who usually go to bed at 7:30, out until at least 9 p.m. every night for the past three nights, has left me with two very tired children who have participated in a tag team marathon temper tantrum for a large portion of the last 48 hours. The incessant screaming and attempted negotiating has left me completely exhausted and unable to form a coherent thought, so I will keep this simple. I met some other moms at he playground the other day. The girls were let loose and I proceeded to chat it up with other moms (I was one of only two moms there with two mobile children...I realized I couldn't really keep constant track of both at all times, so I gave up completely.) I let me children play coatless when the other children had winter coats, or at least fleece, keeping them warm. They didn't want their coats..who am I to question them? Helen nearly made it to the neighborhood behind the park before I realized she was running away. And finally, poor Ruthie, unsupervised by her chatty mother, attempted a piece of climbing equipment which, had I been watching, I would have know she could not maneuver without assistance. She fell...head first...from about four feet up...into the gravel. I had to pick a lot of stones out of her poor little forehead.

Self-cleaning

My baby, Helen, hates to have her diaper changed. I know this is not uncommon. My older daughter, Ruthie, did as well, but Ruthie is a different child than Helen. Ruthie would protest and occasionally have to be held own. She'd whine. She'd scream. We'd get it done. Helen, on the other hand, turned it into a sporting event. Helen is incredibly strong for her size. ( I mentioned in my intro post that she was born ten weeks early. She came home from the hospital 6 weeks before her due date, weighing a little over 4 1/2 lbs. At that time, if you held her in a standing position on your lap, she would bear weight on her legs. The is is when she was negative 6 weeks old. I mean it, she's strong.) Anyway, it takes some force to hold Helen down when her diaper needs changing. She twists herself into all kinds of positions, slips from adult's grip and runs away, half naked and screaming. Adult chases her down, pins he own again, and hopes to get diaper on before Helen escapes again. I don't need to tell you that I change her diaper as infrequently as allowed by the Office of Children and Family Services. And I'm generally pretty wiped out when it's over. So much so that I often forget to throw the diaper away and it lays on the living room floor awhile (we gave up on the changing table long, long ago). So today, late afternoon, we had a diaper changing event/match. After a brief struggle, Mommy won. Once the new diaper was on, I quickly returned to the kitchen to finish defrosting dinner. Hubby came home, children were happy, playing laughing, blah, blah, blah. During a break in the defrosting process, I returned to the living room ,where Helen was still clad in only her diaper. She had what appeared to be a tissue in her hand, and she was vigorously wiping her bare belly (she loves to clean surfaces, including herself.) She then proceeded to thoroughly wash her face, and then her hair, and hubby and I chuckled over how she was smearing snot into her otherwise clean hair. Ha, ha, ha. I glanced over to the other side of the room, and realized the diaper from an hour or so ago was still sitting there. Unfolded. (I always wrap them up, even if I don't throw them away.) I pick up the diaper, glance inside, and relaize, as I gag, that Helen's tissue was indeed the wipe from her wet diaper change. Fantastic. No, I did not rush her to the tub. I chased her down with a brand new clean wipe and cleaned her that way. Cuz, you know, dinner was almost ready.

Introduction

Hi. I'm Marianne (emmay). I am a mom to two daughters, aged 3 1/2 and 2o months. Both were born prematurely (28 weeks and 30 weeks gestation respectively...surely my inability to gestate my children completely should earn me some points right off the bat). I do not work outside the home for pay, but I do volunteer weekly at the NICU where my children "lived" after they were born. I have been blogging since early 2007. My first blog, Safety Week, is about day to day stuff. My second blog, Pondering, is written as a memoir of sorts about my journey to motherhood, my girls' experiences in the NICU, etc. It's moving kinda slow...I haven't even had the older one yet. I also contribute to two other shared blogs about motherhood. I am a terrible typist, so my posts are nearly always generously peppered with typos. I also refer to my children by their middle names in blogger world. Ruthie is the older one, Helen the baby.
My recent affinity for blogging seems to be havinga positive impact on my children. As I was completing my registration for this blog, my older daughter cried to me "She's out!" I tore myself away from the keyobaord to find my baby heading down the porch steps, wearing nothing but a diaper and pair of socks. It's 46 degrees here.