The Piercing

This past Sunday was a big day in my little girl’s life…she got her ears pierced.  Or maybe I should say I allowed my seven year old daughter to undergo cruel and unusual punishment.  Let me just say that I don’t remember what it was like when I got my ears pierced.  I was also seven, and maybe I have blocked it from my memory, I don’t know, but if I had gotten a good look at the torture device piercing implement earlier, I am not sure that my ears would even be pierced at this point. 

So we get to the torture parlor, I mean piercing parlor, I mean earring shop, and I told the teenager working the staple gun piercing thingy that Kate wanted her ears pierced.  She handed me a clipboard full of waivers that I needed to sign.  Waivers?  Oh, right.  It all made sense once I got a look at the staple gun with the 3/4 inch steel lance attached to it.  The one that I was going to voluntarily submit my daughter to have her innocent, sweet little ears gored with.  I got a hot flash, seriously, when I saw that thing.

But not feeling quite dizzy enough to be deterred, I signed the papers and handed them to the piercing agent.  She makes a mark on Kate’s little precious earlobe, and asks me if that is the spot that I would like the goring to take place.  “Oh that looks perfect!” I happily reply (clearly suffering from a lack of oxygen to my brain at this point).  I try not to look into Kate’s eyes, lest she sense my guilt over what I’m about to let happen to her. 

Then she marks the other ear, and asks Kate if she is ready to have her ear punctured with the staple gun. 

She places the gun on Kate’s ear, and squeezes.  You should have seen the look on Kate’s poor little face.  It clearly didn’t feel quite as mild as a shot (which is what I told her it would feel like.  Remember, I have blocked out the memories of my own torture).  I got another hot flash.

On to ear number two.  (Thank goodness there are only two).  Again, the squeezing, the grimacing, the metal piercing her sweet little earlobes.  I think I almost fainted.  Very quickly, the teenager handed her a mirror before she started to cry.  Her little ears looked darling!  You see honey?  You see how pretty it looks now that you have been through the torture? 

 Welcome to womanhood my darling little girl…the torture has only just begun.

Wordless Wednesday

Summer!

When Barbie Lives with Boys

I searched in vain for her other parts, but there was nary a part to be found. 

Just Look at Him Now

Five years, three months and three days ago, my little boy fell.  William was 15 months old, and was getting into the trash can, so being the brilliant mother that I was, I took the trash can and placed it up on the sink.  Because, of course, he couldn’t get it there.  Unless he climbed up on the potty.  So he climbed up on the potty.  He had done this many times before, he was rather sure-footed and he was a climber.  Those of you with little boys will understand that term. 

I had my back to him, literally 18 inches from him, and he fell.  It didn’t take long for me to realize that something was terribly wrong with my little boy.  When I tried to stand him up, his entire body just buckled.  I laid him down, looked for obvious signs of injury but couldn’t find any.  Then I realized that when I picked up his left leg, it was floppy.  I tried his arm.  Same thing with his left arm.  He couldn’t sit up, he couldn’t even roll over.  He was crying inconsolably; it was a strange cry, one I didn’t recognize.  The 911 operator told me not to pick him up, because if his neck was broken, I could paralyze him.  So I knelt over him, trying to comfort him, all the while my worst fears playing like a video in my head.

I remember crying and asking ”Oh my God, what have I done to you?  I’ve ruined your life…”  I shouldn’t have had my back to him…If I hadn’t had my back to him, I would have seen him climbing and I could have stopped him from falling.  The paramedics came and assured me nothing was wrong–he was fine.  I told them that “*something* is wrong with him.  He’s just not right.”  At my insistance, they took us to the ER (imagine me and two screaming SCREAMING toddlers riding in the back of the ambulance), where I proceeded to wait well over an hour-maybe 2-with my child, because there was “nothing wrong with him.”  I had hoped that I was wrong, but once the ER doctor saw William it became clear that there was, indeed, something to be concerned about.  We were transferred to a bigger hospital that could handle more complicated cases.    

I answered question after question about how the fall happened.  I wondered if I was being questioned for another reason…I felt a bit like there was some suspicion, as though I may have caused some trauma that resulted in William’s injury.  After about a day and a half of questions and tests, we finally had an answer. 

William had suffered a stroke.  While it is not that terribly uncommon for a child to suffer a stroke, it is uncommon for an otherwise healthy child to suffer a stroke.  Most incidences of strokes in children are associated with other conditions such as sickle cell, or heart conditions.  We then went through a battery of blood tests and an ultrasound on William’s heart, all of which came back normal.  I don’t think we’ll ever have all of the answers we’d like( was it the fall that caused the stroke?  or did the stroke cause the fall?  and if so, what caused the stroke?).   

I remember the neurologist, Dr. William McClintock, visiting and telling me that William was young, and that he should make a full recovery.  I remember specifically that William’s face was affected by the stroke.  His entire left side was limp, but it really showed on his beautiful little face.  He smiled only once in the hospital and it broke my heart; his smile was disfigured.  I was so worried about his face.  And I remember asking Dr. McClintock if “even his face would look normal” again.  He just smiled at me and said “yes, even his face.”  He was such a gentle doctor.  I really liked him.  I wonder what he thought of me, the vain mother that was so concerned about her little boy’s face…

We were discharged and went home with a 15 month-old child that could no longer roll over, could no longer sit up unassisted, could not stand,  or walk and could barely move his left side.  They warned us that he could easily choke, that he may not be able to toilet easily, that drinks may just run out of his mouth because he may not be able to close his lips around a bottle or sippy cup.  We struggled through the next few days, trying to figure out what our new “normal” was.  William seemed to make progress on a daily basis.  Within 3 days he could get to a seated position from his belly.  At four days, he was cruising around the coffee table and rolling over.  By day five William could stand, and by the sixth day post-stroke, he attempted to walk unassisted, crawled and pulled himself to a stand.  This is truly unbelievable progress.  I understand now what a blessing it was that William was a “mover.”  From the moment he was born he couldn’t sit still.  (He STILL has ants in his pants, especially during Mass.)  Without this antsy nature about him, I am not sure that he would have been so successful.  We spent a few years in physical therapy.  At first it was 2-3 times per week, then once a week, down to twice per month, until the need faded.  He wore a brace for a good part of that time and an insert in his shoe to keep his foot from pronating.

Today, William is a very normal little boy.  He swims, he plays baseball and soccer, he rides his bike and his scooter and he can keep up with the best of them.  I am constantly amazed by him.  I watch him sometimes, and I remember the days when I wondered what his life would be like.  Would he always wear a brace?  Would he be coordinated?  Would he be able to play sports competitively?  I analyzed every little movement, to see if he was using both feet equally, to see if his left side was as strong as the right, and if he had equal balance.  When you have a child with special needs, you lose the naivety you once had.  You realize how complicated and fragile our lives are, and that when one thing “breaks” it often affects many different parts in ways you never would have expected.  I longed for the days when I could watch him play and just enjoy what I was seeing, and not analyze each step he took.  Even now, though I can watch him and feel confident that he is well, I worry about another stroke.  We were given less than a 5% chance that would happen again, but for me, 5% is bigger than I’d like.   

All of that history is to get you to this.   Last Friday, we were seeing a new family doctor, and I was filling out the new patient forms for William.  A million questions always errupt when a doctor sees the health history of this six year old boy.  As he read through the papers, the doctor asked me what the presenting symptom of the stroke was, and I began to tell him how he had fallen off the potty…  He got this puzzled look on his face and asked what hospital.  When I told him, he said to me “I was there.”  He said “I remember you, and how you reacted when we diagnosed William, and it has never left me.  I never forgot that.”  (For all of you wondering, I have no idea how I reacted, but I wonder, too, what I did that left such an impression.)  What are the chances that our new family doctor would be one of those that worked on William’s stroke diagnosis?!

He told me that pediatric strokes “don’t happen very often.”  He asked me questions that I don’t remember our other doctors asking.  He really looked at William.  He looked at his muscle tone, at his back, at his balance.  He asked to see his old records.  I sat there, watching my little boy.  To look at him you would never know what challenges he faced 5 years ago.  No one asks anymore, about how William is doing – that is probably a good thing.  But I felt appreciative that this doctor did.  I am so glad that he knows what William went through, and how far he has come.  I feel really blessed that we found our way to him.  And I am constantly amazed how life sometimes comes full circle.  I am certainly happy that it does.

I am SO Fashion-Forward

The boys were both at their friends’ houses today, so Kate and I had a little while to do something fun together, just us, while Ella slept.  Know what we did?  We made paper doll outfits.  Well, she made a backpack, I made an outfit, complete with boots and a handbag.  I swear it took me as long to decide on the outfit and the materials as it did to actually create it. 

 

How cute is that?!  I had –I mean we had — SO much fun putting this together.  I could have seriously done this for HOURS, if there hadn’t been a sweet little redhead beckoning from her crib.  Do you remember paper dolls?  I remember awkward outfits that never really stayed on the dolls that they were made for.  I guess these don’t either, really, but who cares–these have beads and embellishments!  And they have itty-bitty hangers! 

If only I could put my own outfits together this quickly, and get as much enjoyment out of it!

Looking for a Good Photographer???

I’ve got one for you!  Suzanne over at picture this by Suzanne recently did my baby girl’s one year portrait.  I read about her at Rocks in my Dryer.  It was literally days after my husband and I discussed getting Ella’s one year portrait done.  How ironic that she lives 20 minutes from me, and is often in my town shopping and running errands.  Heck, I’ve probably even seen her at the super T!  But let’s stay on track here.  So anyway, Oh.My.Goodness.  The pictures were fantastic!  Of course it helped that Ella is extra cute, imho.  And that she was a total ham (I mean Ella, not Suzanne) for most of the session.  Here is one of my faves (one of many, seriously):

I love this picture because it captures what Ella looks like when she stands at my feet, arms wrapped around my legs, smiling up at me.  She says “Mama,” her one and only word.  I want to remember forever how she looks during these fleeting moments.  Now I will.  So all y’all out there in the surrounding areas (you know who you are), if you’re in need of someone to do portraits, she is great.  Suzanne was patient with my four, and is even coming back out to get some shots of the older three since they were uncooperative the first go-round.  Oh, and Suzanne offers a bonus for any of you that come to her through my blog…double packages!!!

Have a great night interpeeps… 

Food for Thought

At the risk of adding more fodder for the search engine, I tell the following story…

It’s lunchtime. 

Something about food makes my children’s brains go haywire. 

They wiggle a lot.

They laugh a lot.

They become clumsy and spill any liquid matter within their reach.

They talk about silly things.

Today at lunch there was just such a silly conversation.  It ended with “What if every single Pokemon tooted at the same time?”  I say it ended because I stopped it right there before it went downhill.  (Some things you just gotta nip in the bud.)

I had to stifle my laugh, because seriously people, the image of all the world’s Pokemon engaging in a simultaneous toot kind of cracked me up.  What would you call that, a Poke-toot? 

Maybe I spend too much time around them…

Search Engine

So I was checking my blog to see what search terms people have been using to find me, and for the last week, here is what I’ve got:

-dirty socks

-black booger in child

-mens durty white socks (their misspelling, not mine)

-writing lines punishment

-can’t sleep, bugs on me

-barefeet dirty

-how to take small ball out of ear

-popcorn in nose

Ooookay.  So I’m just kind of wondering what type of impression I’m giving off here.

Those Feet Were Made for Walkin’

The last week has been pretty good.  Except for the whole misbehaving, writing punishment episodes I mean.  Really, the difference has been in Ella.  She walks now.  I know I said she walked before, but now she really walks.  Every where.  Around and around.  All.Day.Long.  I’m cooking supper, she’s walking around the island.  I’m cleaning the kitchen, she’s walking around the family room.  I’m doing laundry, she’s walking in circles around the house.  It’s great!  She just walks around.  There’s no fussing, there’s no discontent.  It’s just happiness, screeches and squeals and walkin’. 

Last night she walked around my bedroom with a videotape of the Redskins 1991 football season.  (I know, I’m dating myself here).  This seems to be the item of choice for her when she’s in my bedroom.  (Couldn’t it be something a little more feminine?  And no, I don’t know why there is a 17 year old football videotape in my bedroom.  And did y’all know that football coaches curse a lot?  I digress…)  Anyway…

She carried it around, she oooo’d and aaaaah’d.  

She walked.

She held that videotape up high above her head as though it were an offering.

She shouted and she walked.

She shook the box. 

She looked at it, looked at it more closely, and then held it out at arms length. 

She squealed, and walked around some more.

“Mama” she said, snuggled into my legs, and looked up at me.  She showed me her football videotape.

She walked around in circles.  She just walked.

What a hoot!  

I thank God every day for her, for this little baby girl.  She lifts my heart, she makes me laugh, she helps me to notice and appreciate the little things.  She reminds me how precious my children are.  I love her.  

 

I Will Not…

 

For those of you who asked for photos after Tuesday’s fun time, here you go.  I’ll leave to your imagination what he did to deserve this one.  Come September, this boy’s handwriting is going to be superb!

Oh, and just fyi, writing is not a good punishment for little girls.  I told Kate to write the same thing 100 times.  I even numbered it for her.  You know what she did?  She wrote it 110 times.  And she numbered those extra 10 lines, too.  Is she trying to mess with me???