LONG Week

Oh my goodness this week put me through the wringer. Between Timmy being ill, Scott being grumpy because of work issues and Robby starting a myriad of extracurricular activities, I feel like I have been run ragged. I'm so glad that the weekend is upon us, although I am ignoring the glaring reality that my schedule is not going to lessen over the next few days. For some reason I keep thinking that the weekend will allow me to rest, but when kids are involved that rarely becomes my reality. Instead, during my autumn weekends I find myself desperately trying to keep the kids entertained and quiet so Scott can enjoy his football games. (Side note, I have learned to hate football season!)

Robby has been invited to participate in a local parade tomorrow. He's excited to march with his Taekwondo friends, and I wouldn't want him to miss the opportunity. I'm dreading the parking lot obstacle course, fighting the crowds to secure a good vantage point and wrangling Timmy throughout the 3 hour event.  (We have to arrive 90 minutes before the parade begins.) I'm sure that Timmy will have a blast, but I'm setting the bar to survival for me.   

After the parade we are headed to a World War II weekend in Gettysburg.  Robby is looking forward to viewing the tanks and visiting with veterans and reenactors, and I'm sure that Timmy will enjoy seeing the machines and hanging out with his brother. Looking at military arsenals isn't exactly my favorite activity, but I know that the boys will love it. Sunday I have no real plans, so I'm hoping that I can sleep-in, catch up on some work and just relax. Hopefully the stars will align and my wish will be granted!

Perfect Pitch

Did you ever have a day where everything seemed to be working against you? From the moment I woke up to when I finally fell into bed at night, it felt as if just about everything was working against me. By mid afternoon I found myself fighting the urge to build and hide from the world in a pillow fort.  

Of course, had I built a pillow fort I probably would have fallen asleep.  Despite being sick, Timmy was up obscenely early. Looking at his little eyes through my tired haze at 4:30 AM, I knew that it was going to be a long day. He was restless the night before, and although he refused to heed my warnings to go back to sleep, I knew that he was going to become tired by mid morning. I also knew that he was going to fight a nap with all of his energies, which typically equates to cranky destruction.

Nothing I was offering could soothe him. He was sick enough to feel icky and grumpy but not ill enough to stay calm and rest. Instead of cuddling and watching cartoons he opted to try to outrun and out maneuver his misery. Unfortunately the more active he became the more miserable he felt, and the cycle continued to spiral throughout the day.  By lunchtime we were both close to tears.

While I was working on dinner in the kitchen, as it turned out a meal which nobody ate, Timmy became frustrated and threw either a remote control or a train. I heard the impact and swooped him up and strapped him into his time-out chair. I made him sit alone while I finished in the kitchen.  If I had known the damage done by the projectile I probably would have been more severe in my punishment.  It wasn't until a few hours later did I realize that his missile had hit the television, cracking the screen.  With a single pitch the television was ruined. 

At this point I broke down and sobbed on the couch.  I manage to dry my tears in time to chauffeur Robby from school to his enrichment art class. While my Koopa Van Gogh was at work on a masterpiece Timmy and I went television shopping. After buying the cheapest television that met our requirements we drove around until it was time to pick up Robby. Timmy fell sound asleep, affording me the only quiet time I had all day. Unfortunately he only slept for a few minutes, but my goodness I needed that time!

The chaos continued well into the evening, until my little Hamlet finally surrendered to his exhaustion. He slept better last night, so I am optimistic for a better day. At this point, I'll be happy with survival without destruction of property.

Rash

Timmy's healthy (with no rashes) streak came to a screeching halt when my speckled little guy was knocked down for the count yesterday afternoon.  He has been feeling well for so long that I began to hope that he had outgrown the autoimmune issues.  Seeing his legs, torso and face covered with spots was a cruel reminder that my seemingly invincible little mischief maker is still weakened. He started the day strong and happy but finished by sleeping through the afternoon on the couch.

Today his rash is still visible although it is changing in appearance. I am going to call the doctor and document with photos, but I know the best thing I can do is keep him quiet at home. Hopefully a day of rest, plenty of fluids and medication will help fade the rash and fever.  It looks like a Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and Thomas the Train day is in my future.

I hate seeing my little guy sick!

Puppy Love

I don't know what makes a child gravitate towards a specific comfort item, but I do know that the love is specific and deep. Robby had Black Bear. He adored that raggety bear, carrying it around with him everywhere. He slept on Black Bear until he was well into Elementary school, at which point his beloved friend was retired to the bookcase and his assorted stuffed turtles filled the vacancy. 

Timmy adores his blue Puppy Blanket.  He spied Puppy in a bin of old blankets leftover from Robby's childhood.  When Timmy was one year old,  he latched onto the blue plush blanket (with a puppy head and paws sewn on) and they quickly became inseparable. Reminiscent of Linus with his blanket, Timmy always has Puppy within reach when we are inside. If Timmy had his druthers, Puppy would play outside and accompany him everywhere. However, I'm a mean Momom and stick fast to the "no Puppy outside" rule.  

Sneaking Puppy away from Timmy for occasional, yet much needed, runs through the washer has become a full blown stealth mission.  If he sees Puppy in the laundry basket he begins to fret and a meltdown is never far behind. I try to avoid washing Puppy, but yesterday he was pungent from a nighttime diaper failure and the run through the washer could not be delayed.  

As Timmy was busy watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and eating cheese balls, I sneaked Puppy into a box and managed to get him to the washing machine undetected.  After he was washed and while Timmy was busy playing with his trains, I put Puppy into the dryer. I felt pathetically relieved that I had escaped the Puppy needs a bath drama.

Unfortunately I wasn't in the clear. When I retrieved Puppy from the dryer, I was horrified to discover that he had become decapitated while tumbling. I began to panic, fearing Timmy's reaction to seeing his beloved companion in pieces. I grabbed a spool of thread, stuffed the blanket and head up my shirt and ran into the bathroom.  

As I was sitting on the toilet, frantically conducting reattachment surgery on a blanket, I felt like I had reached a whole new level of motherhood: A stage in which I lived in fear of my toddler seeing his comfort item in pieces. I was hoping that I would be able to repair Puppy to the point where the surgery was undetectable, not because I want to keep the blanket pristine but because I wanted to avoid the heartbreak that would ensue. I was working with the diligence of a college student drafting a final essay, concentrating and trying to beat the clock. Only this time the clock wasn't the due date but rather Timmy realizing that I was in the bathroom. In both situations, the stakes were high.

I'm happy to report that Puppy has been repaired and is currently back in the clutches of his not-so-gentle handler. I'm just hoping that his head stays attached until I can fix him properly with my sewing machine. Of course, that is going to take Scott's cooperation to get Timmy out of the house (and preferably the zip code).  He melts down when Puppy goes into the washer, I can't imagine the drama that would occur if he saw him put under the fast moving needle of my sewing machine.

Cookie Tradition

Yesterday afternoon I called both boys into the kitchen and invited them to help me make cookies. While they are typically game to help (or to at least snitch the dough when they think I'm not looking), I really wanted them to work together to help bake this batch. I felt a surge of pride and love as I heard his brother take the lead with Timmy, explaining why it was important to follow the recipe "this time."  Instead of correcting him with a reminder that the recipe should always be followed when we bake, I decided to stay silent and let the conversation play out. 

I listened and smiled as Robby intently and patiently explained the significance to his little brother. "A long time ago some bad people crashed planes into buildings. A lot of heroes died that day when they tried to save people because the buildings fell down on them. It was a really REALLY sad thing. The anniversary of that day is sad but Momom and me, and now you too, make cookies to take to the firehouse. We've been doing it since I was a baby.  And if you smile they let you sit in the trucks, so that's a nice trade."
 
Robby has turned into a snarky tween, but it is nice to see glimmers of my sweet little Koopa. I loved watching him interact with his little brother, helping to include him in our family tradition. While I doubt that Timmy understood the story Robby shared, I do know that he was delighted to be spending time with his big brother. It made my heart smile to see them working together and to know that Robby has grasped the significance of our cookie baking tradition.