Merry Christmas!

We had a busy and wonderful Christmas Eve. Miss Terry convinced Zorak to let the children open a few gifts when we visited with them this evening. All the small ones have been snuggled and read to, tucked in (again and again and again). I'd have posted pictures, but I left the camera card home to, um, guard the printer...

It's now five minutes to four. Everything is wrapped. Everything is placed just so. Everything is put away and cleaned and ready for tomorrow. Everything is just perfect, when you are eight and six and four and nearly-one.

I can hardly wait for morning!

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Curse You, Dough Boy!

Miss Emily was sound asleep in my arms. Her weight had settled fully into the pull of gravity. I probably could have tossed her into the air and she wouldn't have stirred. And just as I began to think it might be safe to move, that awful Pillsbury flaky biscut commercial came on. The one with the poor doughboy trudging through, what is that, the Alps? Just to bring us flaky biscuits in a can? Isn't there an easier way? Ah, but it's not him, per se, it's the music. The Ride of the Valkyries comes through the speakers, straight to her ears. Without moving any other muscles, her eyes pop. wide. open.

Game over.

She loves that piece.

This is probably why I normally read instead of watching TV at night. Where is the clicker, anyway?

So, the TV is off now. She's back to sleep. The boys are down. Zorak is down in the basement, doing something constructive. I'm trying to pep talk myself into doing some sewing before heading to bed. (It may, or may not work. Honestly? It's all dependent upon whether Zorak comes up in time to watch a movie with me. Without commercials.)

We got a lot done today. Just a little baking and cleaning left to do tomorrow. That's a nice feeling. Oh, and groceries. OK, and I guess I should admit now that when I bought stocking stuffers, I didn't get any for Miss Emily. She's not getting an entire sock full of sweets (can you imagine the contact high, alone?). She'd only eat tape and batteries, which is what we're putting in the boys' stockings. So, what do you put in a stocking for an almost-one-year old? She's got to have *something* or the boys will forever hold a grudge against Santa (and, by default, me, once the cat's wholly out of the bag). I'm tellin' ya, this is why we only have them one at a time. The learning curve is STEEP.

Ooo, he's up! And he comes bearing what looks like a toy shelf, ready to be assembled. WooHoo! (He also said he'd turn the plans into a .jpg so I can blog the directions. Yay!) I'm gonna go watch a movie! erm, um, sew... and watch a movie. :-)

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

The End of the Day

It's almost one o'clock, and do you know why I'm up? I'm afraid to go to bed.

Zorak's got Baby Girl in bed with him, and if I try to slip in, either she's going to sense my presence and be wide-awake and ready to play, or he's going to roll over on her and then she'll be wide-awake and angry.

Smidge is asleep on the couch - t-shirt, skivvies, one sock, drooling all over the place. He's like a miniature frat boy over there.

John's in the guest room. The pink eye has now spread to the other eye, and... well, ew.

That pretty much leaves me with Smidge's bed (a toddler bed with a crib mattress, not such a good idea for anyone over three feet tall), and John's bed (twin size, but a foam mattress, not such a good idea for anyone over, say, 60 pounds). Indecision has imobilized me, and so, I sit and type, sip coffee, and wait for somebody to wake up and free up a spot for me. Maybe I'll grab a throw and crash on the futon? Maybe tomorrow night *I'll* be the first one to bed and won't have to worry about where everyone else lands? (Yeah, I like that idea.)

We got the house ready for company, and then our company never materialized. No phone call, either. Part of me wonders if Zorak wrote that on the calendar in an effort to get me motivated before the Actual Last Minute. Well, if he did, it worked. I even had time to formulate a plan on the couch - fabric paint. Haul it onto the porch, and turn the kids loose with fabric paint! Wouldn't that make an awesome couch? (Oh, stop. Zorak looked at me like that, too.)

Tomorrow we have to wrap Daddy's gifts. (Right, because we couldn't have done it during the week, while he was at work. I know.) Finish tidying the house and start the baking. We love the baking part. I've also got to dig up my favorite Christmas skirt and pray that either it fits, or that I can find my squisher and make it fit. Everybody else has their Christmas outfits ready to go.

Oh, and sewing - TONS of sewing. James and I are making a Thomas pillowcase for Smige. Then I need to sew the barstool covers (in going with the Biggest Visual Impact theme), and the curtains for the guest room. And stockings. We need two more stockings. The boys have made it clear that Balto MUST have one. And while I sew it, I will think of KathyJo, who said, "I don’t particularly enjoy the process, but I enjoy doing special things for you boys that make you happy." I do. And it will. It will make them very happy.

Ah, I think the futon is calling me.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Woops!

So, if you throw the couch cushion covers into the wash, they'll come out a LOT cleaner than you can get the couch iteself with your Little Green Machine.

I wonder if anyone would believe us when we said it's supposed to be a two-tone design?

Yeah, it's time to start saving for a couch. Thankfully, this one is beyond repair, anyway. I just didn't need to go and make it any uglier than it already was.

Dy

Home Remodel, Holiday Melee

If you were to give a home renovation a difficulty factor to add into the general level of confusion, living in the home during the process counts for a point, at least. Living there with children would certainly weigh heavily, as well. How about the holidays?

I think at that point, you just call it good and aim for finishing the race. Later. As in, next year.

Zorak and I sat down this morning to go through our To-Do list on the house. We listed all the little things, down to restretching the carpets after we've got baseboards down. We came up with a plan, and it felt good.

OK, so we'll mark the things we'd like to do before Christmas. Let's be realistic and just shoot for Biggest Visual Impact. Then, starting in January, we will take one room per weekend and finish it out completely. All those little, niggling things, like touch-up paint and closet trim. At the end (we're hoping by Easter, perhaps), we will be done. Done, as in, "We could sell this house as it stands and not take a loss" done. Ooohhhh. Cool.

We were feeling SO together, and SO on top of things. Then it hit me - aren't we having company today? You know, as in, it's-11:00-and-we're-still-in-our-jammies-and-some-of-us-are-sick-oh-boy-what-now, company!

The Master List is out the window, folks. We're into High Survival Mode now. Lysol, cleaning, scrubbing, frantic attempt to make the place not look like it's been a convalescent home for the motivationally impaired. Ah. Fun. (And yes, company has been forewarned. Company has no small children and is not afraid of the germs. Yay.)

In the words of one of our favorite singers, "Happy Holidays, Y'all!"

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

All is Quiet

I love our pediatrician. He's not an in-your-face practitioner. He knows that I'm the one who has the ultimate responsibility for the well-being of these children. He's a partner in the plan, and we appreciate that. He listens. He advises. And then he leaves the ball in our court. He. Is. Wonderful. He was careful to check for any concurrent icks that may be going on, and all looks well. He also wrote a refill on the prescription in case the other three monkeys get the eye crud over the weekend. Zorak has it, too, poor guy.

John is resting now. He's got antibiotic drops for his eyes, and they sting. I'm pretty sure he cried most of the medication out. Quietly. Holding my hand. He didn't fuss, but you could tell he was miserable. I slipped out of the room to douse a cotton pad in "Mother's Secret Antibiotic Solution" *grin*, and brought it back to him. It's soothing and comforting, and he's now sound asleep, and healing. Tomorrow will be much better.

Miss Emily's teething and her cold kept her up until about two-thirty last night. John awoke at three with his eye glued shut and was awake until a little after five. Just as I got him settled in and asleep, Smidge awoke and ran screaming from his room. I found him in the kitchen, crying and calling for me. Turned out he had bad dreams. By the time all was said and done, I slept about 45 minutes last night. So I'm going to bed.

And I'm thankful for the bed.
For the babies.
For the soft, warm covers.
I'm thankful for the warm, nourishing meal Zorak prepared while I was out with John today.
For the hugs all around when we returned.
For the rest that evening brings, and the fresh start that rises with the sun.

I couldn't talk Zorak out of a foot rub, but that's okay. There is still so much to be thankful for.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

John's Eyes

I love John's eyes. They are beautiful, and they remind me of Zorak's. Deep, rich worlds echo through time in them.
They make me feel centered. They make me want to take off in flight. They are magical.

And they are the source of a lot of my motherly fears.

When John was about seven months old, he was sitting happily in his bouncy seat while I cleaned our little apartment. James had a rag and was helping me "dust". He was only two at the time. We were singing and having a fine time of it.

The dryer stopped. I took the load of clothes out of the dryer and into our room. No sooner had the clothes hit the bed, then I heard John crying. I ran out (it was a very small apartment - maybe 600'sq. - so none of this took much time at all). He was sitting there, his head was wet, and James was trying to comfort him. I smelled him.

Oh. My. God. Chemicals.

I'm ashamed to admit it now, but I freaked. James showed me what he'd used (Formula 409 - it was on the breakfast bar. I had no idea he could reach things on the breakfast bar.) He thought it would be nice to clean the baby. I snatched up John Baby, grabbed the phone, and ran into the bathroom, where, if he could remember the incident, he'd swear I proceeded to try to drown him under the sink faucet. (I was actually trying to rinse his eyes, but things were a bit hairy.)

Called poison control. They said, "Keep rinsing, but call an ambulance NOW." I kept rinsing. I called 911. They came right away. Looked at him, checked the bottle. They recommended he go to the hospital for a thorough eye wash. They called Poison Control, who also recommended a trip to the ER for a thorough eye wash. The ambulance couldn't take me and James, and I had nobody to watch James. The EMT's said they would call it in, and we could drive him ourselves. They called from the house.

We took off. When we got to the ER, they wouldn't see us. They wouldn't even take him into triage for an hour. He wasn't crying, so the nurses wouldn't listen to me. They called Poison Control, who once again recommended an eye wash. They triaged us, and told me to take him home. Said they wouldn't see him. I refused to leave. I asked for a supervisor or the charge nurse. She came out. She'd been briefed. She told me to go home and let him get some rest.

A waitress came in from work. She had a cold. They took her back. They told me again to go home.

Finally, after three hours of waiting, I started yelling. I threatened to call the police, the DA, the newspaper. They put us in the back. We waited another hour.

When the doctor on the floor finally arrived, he got on me about nursing a seven month old. He refused to do an eye wash. He called Poison Control, who stuck by its recommendation for an eye wash. He offered to write a prescription for something (I don't even remember what now, but it had no bearing on John's eyes), and told me to start feeding that child solids. I refused to leave. I told him I would not leave until he either did an eye wash or proved to me that it wasn't needed.

Fine. He agreed to do a litmus test.

pH in this baby's eyes was 11.5.

The doctor ordered an eye wash - immediately - "The large bag."

He sent me a nursing student who'd never done an eye wash before. She panicked and said she didn't know how to do it.

I hooked it up.

I rinsed his eyes.

I cleaned him up.

If we'd listened to the staff, my son's eyes would have liquefied during the night and he would be blind today. As it is, there's no telling what kind of damage was done in the four hours they made us wait, and refused to listen. We've been told the damage could come over the years. He has until four years after his 18th birthday to attempt any recourse, but of course the hospital has covered their collective butts rather well.

They never apologized.

Their records show that treatment was received. End of story.

Aren't they the heroes?

They turned us over to collections for my refusal to pay for this dog and pony show.

We had to pay them off when we bought our Forever Home.

I hate them to this day. Yavapai Regional Medical Center in Prescott, Arizona has killed - outright, through sheer incompetence and arrogance - more people than I could name in one post, and although the damage they did that day is nominal compared to the end result of many of their actions, it's the one that's lodged in my memory as one of the worst days of my life.

And it's the one that makes John's eyes so very precious to me, and makes me so very scared when something, even something small, happens to them.



Kiss those babies.
~Dy

ARGHHH.

So we were invited to supper with friends Saturday night. We were there about half an hour, the kids all playing together, when their precious little 2yo came toddling out, half-awake from a late nap. We had a nice supper, a good visit.

On the way home, Zorak says, "Well, be prepared, I guess."

"For what?"

"The little one has pink eye. Didn't you notice?"

"No. Oh, crap. I thought it was just sleep in her eyes."

"Nope. Pink eye."

Well, we've spent the week holding our collective breath. I really thought if anybody got it, it'd be Emily, since she played with the little one's toys most of the night, and she and the little one played together.

This morning, at a little after three, John comes to me, groggy and panic-stricken, his left eye matted completely shut.

*sigh*

We didn't need this. We really didn't. And after the Big Scary Eye Incident of '01, John's eyesight is the one thing that consistently gives me nightmares that will wake me with a jolt. I worry constantly.

And, if I'd been given a heads up, we'd have taken a raincheck. I don't mess with the eyes. The sniffles? Sure, what kid doesn't get the sniffles? Some of the nastier things? Maybe, depending. But pink eye? No. Would not have chosen to go. And would have been nice to have the choice.

*sigh*

Appointment with the doc at 9:30. Trip to the pharmacy after that, and then, rather than the market and the library, we'll be heading straight home.

ARGH.

Kiss those babies!
~Dy

Disappear for a few days...

and, wow.

We've been without a phone line (and, therefore, internet access) for two days, with a brief 20-min. reprieve last night. We hit all the highlights: is the bill paid, is the phone plugged in, have mice chewed through the wires in the walls, did a child stick something where it might cause electrical failures? None of those... Called the phone co., and they said it was in their line, they'd have it fixed by Wednesday morning. Wednesday morning came and went... nothing. Called back, and they said it was in the house. (Thanks for the heads up, guys!) And then, ohhhh... I was at the point of thinking I might have to admit that I'd done something horrible to something technological, and had no idea what it was.

Turns out (happy dance) that a wire had broken down in the basement. It wasn't me! It wasn't the kids! I don't know what happened, but it wasn't us! Yippee. Fudge and hot chocolate all around.

And did you know that without internet access, we still don't get much accomplished? I always read these inspirational stories about all the work people get done when they don't have email or boards to read. Pffttt. Not us, man. The boys and I can kick some serious boo-tay at Computer Solitaire and Pinball now, though.

So. Anyway, we're about as ready for Christmas as it's going to get. One last package arrived today, from Dover Publishing. Yes, I order Christmas gifts from Dover. My children may need therapy, but I don't care - at least they'll have something to read in the therapist's waiting room! We'll do a little spiffing and more normalizing of the place over the weekend, and that's about it on our schedule. I forgot to tell Zorak we were taking off from lessons, and when he asked the boys what they did in school one day, they both said, "Nothing. Same as usual." Meaning, one would hope, the same as usual FOR THE WEEK. But eh, nothing like leaving 'em hanging. (Which, naturally, I couldn't. I just had to yell from the other room, "We're on Christmas Break!" Yes, yes, I know. He trusts me. He knows they're learning. He knows they're fine. But, still... "nothing?" C'mon. You can't leave that just dangling out there, looking awkward.)

Kiss those babies!
~Dy