The artist in him

{I'm a day late, but I still wanted to link-up with Heather of The Extraordinary Ordinary's Just Write series. Better late than never, right?}

It was day three of Baby Girl's stomach bug. She had woken up on the wrong side of the bed, and because of this, threw three massive tantrums in a row during the course of breakfast. By 9:30, she was wiped. So much so, that she laid down and fell asleep in the middle of the family room.

I asked my Little Man if he wanted to color beside me while I worked so that he wouldn't disturb his little sister's much-needed nap. He nodded enthusiastically, asking for the coloring book that his Grandma had given him the week before. "The one that teaches you how to draw, Mommy."

I set him up in the seat next to me and we both dove into our work. He was studying the lines so carefully as he moved his marker over the white paper. I love how he draws grass on most all the pictures he colors. And the way he draws faces on his stick people is so incredibly cute. Big holes for eyes and a nose, then a huge line of a smile that goes all the way from one ear to the other.

Makes me wonder what my drawings of people looked like from when I was his age.

The only one I remember is a dinner plate that I drew on at preschool for my mom and brought home as a Mother's Day gift. It was a big circle of a head and the arms came right out of the sides of the head.

My son is obviously much more of a gifted artist than I was at that age.

I've always had a fascination with art and it warms my heart to see my son so happy as he colors, draws, or paints. He makes me so proud.

I looked over at him drawing this picture of a giant man and said, "You're a very good drawler, bud." {I know there's no "L", I just remember how I used to say it that way when I was young. I was speaking his language.}

"Am I like an artist?" he asked, a serious tone to his voice.

"You sure are," I replied.

"I'm your little artist," he declared.

My creative heart skipped a beat. And smiled with pride.

Making changes for the sake of my kids

I've read a few blog posts recently about how we, as a society, have become so wrapped up in our handheld technology that we have been neglecting our relationships with our kids. My cousin even went so far as to get rid of her smartphone after realizing she didn't want to miss out on one bit of her daughter's childhood by falling into the habit of "staying connected".

As I read "How to Miss a Childhood," I found myself nodding here and there, but mostly thinking that getting rid of my Windows phone (I am pretty much the only person I know without an iphone) was something I could never do, simply because I mostly use it to take pictures and video clips of the kids, not to play games or surf Facebook while pushing my child on the swings at the playground, as the author described. And yet, as I read a similar post by a different blogger, it started to hit me.

In "Dear Mom On The iPhone," a mother of four wrote about how if we are not careful, our kids will remember us as having been more connected to our smartphones and ipads than we were to them as they grew up.

That is NOT how I want my children to remember their childhood.

She went on to describe in detail how important she feels it is for us as parents to always, and I mean always, give our kids their full attention. Even if that means listening to your 5-year-old daughter tell the same silly joke five times in a row. Because kids remember.

I felt empowered after reading these posts. Not that I was about to toss my smartphone out the window. Please. If I did that I would never be able to drive anywhere other a three-mile radius from our house, I use it's GPS that much, really. But I was ready to make some much needed changes to the way I utilize technology in our household. Yesterday afternoon I tried it, with limited success. You see, I also recently discovered the Vine app and it's slightly addicting, as you'll notice by my Twitter feed. But I guess that is the root of this story now, isn't it? I digress.

On Sunday afternoon, I made sure to look my Little Man in the eyes, each and every time he said, "Mommy! Mommy, I want to tell you something." I snuggled with my Baby Girl and we sung the ABC's at least fifteen times. I played games with them and helped my Sweet Pea work on her color identification. These are simple things that I used to do with my son all the time when he was little, back when we didn't own smartphones, an ipad, and an ipad mini.

I truly listened to my kids and I heard their voices in a way I hadn't in a long time. I noticed how Baby Girl skips the "H" in her ABC's and how she perfectly and emphatically pronounces the "X" the same way her big brother did when he was her age. I felt her smooth, soft baby skin and noticed, when she decided to strip down to her diaper, that she's starting to lose some of her adorable baby rolls. Her pudge is being replaced by a more slender version of herself. And her brother. His imagination is running wild in all sorts of directions and his stories of what his monster trucks and firemen are up to are just fascinating. I never tire from seeing how his eyes light up when he tells a story. His eyelashes practically touch his forehead, they are that long.

I noticed such an impact, such big differences in just one day of slight changes in my behaviors. From now on I'm going to do my best to make even more of these important changes. Slowly, I think. Because I've never really been a cold turkey kind of gal.

I'm not going to turn on my laptop/ipad/phone first thing in the morning. Instead, I'm going to kiss and hug each member of my family before engaging with an electronic device. Because my family deserves that kind of respect. I'm only going to log onto Twitter/Facebook/blogs/email in the evening after the kids are in bed or during nap time. My friends and family know how to reach me in an emergency, and if something is urgent, then a person can call me rather than email me. Email can wait. I will no longer make calls while driving, hands-free earpiece or not, unless it is an emergency. This is precious time that I can spend talking to my kids about their day, having conversations. And I'll do my best to pull out my DSLR to take pictures of my family instead of clicking snapshots of them with my phone.

On Saturday while the kids were at swim lessons, out of annoyance from all the other parents who were on their phones while their kids swam fifteen feet in front of them, I refrained from taking out my phone to take videos of my kids. Instead, I waved excitedly at my two little fish and beamed with pride as my son did his best few freestyle strokes yet, complete with a strong kick. I may have missed that moment had I been checking out my Facebook news feed like so many of the other parents.

I share this with you not because I am planning on becoming a model parent when it comes to limiting technology in the home. Lord knows I still have a great deal of work to do in this arena. I share because my eyes were opened by what two other women had written. And maybe you haven't read their posts, but you are reading mine. And maybe this may help you make some changes that will allow you to capture so many more memories of your kids as they grow.

I know I grabbed a ton this weekend that I'll hold in my heart forever now.

Which is much, much more important than time spent on any so-called smart technological device, don't you think?

{Just in case you are wondering, I wrote this post last night in my journal, after the kids were in bed, hubby snoring happily beside me while I wrote. I edited and am posting it this morning from the guestroom office, while my Mother-in-law is spending time with the kids downstairs.}

Watching time fly

Do you ever think of how fast time actually passes? The first time I really noticed how fast time moved was two months ago when my daughter was in the hospital with pneumonia and Kawasaki disease. We came in through the ER and after her bloodwork and x-rays came back inconclusive, we were admitted overnight to give the doctors more time to figure out why our little girl was so sick.

Once up in our room on the pediatric floor, I distinctly remember the first thing I saw at the top of the wall opposite her bed. It was a gigantic digital clock, the red numbers pulsing out the seconds, minutes, and hours of the night. The nurses got us settled in, giving baby girl a dose of Motrin for her fever which had her asleep within minutes. I pulled the side rails of the bed up to make bumpers and propped up the bed with the remote so that she wouldn't be tempted to roll over and tangle up her IV line. I took the set of sheets and blanket from the nurses and made up the pull-out cot a few feet away from my daughter's hospital bed.

No matter what I was doing while we were in that room, be it night or day, my gaze kept shifting back to the clock.

The seconds were slipping away.

There goes one. Wait. Five more, poof! An entire minute, gone in an instant.

There were times in that hospital room (we were there for eight days, remember) when all I could do was think about how fast life goes by.

It got me thinking about how sometimes I wish with all my heart that I could freeze time.

Like the moment I kissed my husband right after the priest declared us husband and wife. The moment we walked into our first home together. The moment the second line showed up on the pregnancy test.

Or the moment I set eyes on my firstborn. And my second child. Those moments dashed through my life.

Some of the most incredible moments of my life happened in a second of time. A second and they were gone. I don't get to do them over. I will never get those moments back. They are gone from the present, yet frozen permanently in my memory, forever engrained on my heart.

As much as I grew to despise that clock on the wall in my daughter's hospital room, I was grateful to have experienced staring time in the face, 24/7. It gave me a new perspective on the seconds, minutes and hours that make up the days of our lives. It was during that hospital stay that I realized how short life really is and how important it is to make every. single. second. count.

Because they just keep on ticking by.

Work stress

School cancelled again. This morning due to icy rain and super slick road conditions. Okay then. I'll just have to keep the kids entertained with various busywork activities all day while I attempt to get work done so my boss doesn't notice I'm completely distracted by these little people who are constantly nagging me for more snack! More milk! More shows! God help me.

Morning started off well enough. The kids ate a decent breakfast and then settled into the couch to watch a few of their favorite shows. I was able to get a few things done and then the reminder of the conference call popped onto my screen.

Shit.

Ran over to plead with the kids to be quiet while Mommy made a very important work phone call.

Dialed into the conference call and immediately realized that I was supposed to have been logged into the video chat room for the call which I wasn't able to do because I could not remember my password for these particular occasions. I immediately became extremely embarrassed (red cheeks and all, although they couldn't see that through the phone, obviously, because I wasn't logged into the video call).

Still, I was mortified. Especially because the call started at 1pm and I was supposed to be delivering a mini-presentation to the group. At least I had emailed my boss the list of points I was going to cover ahead of time, because I had to hop off the call and call IT Support to have them help me get into the video call. By the time I got back onto the conference call (sans video, because IT wasn't able to get me the password I needed), it was pretty much wrapping up.

This all happened because my boss had accidentally forgotten to extend my contract via paperwork she should have submitted, therefore, I was logged out of some of the company systems. I had also received a very large empty box this morning, complete with packing materials to ship my equipment back to them because my 6-month stint had *expired*. The good news is that she is keeping me on longer than initially planned, which is wonderful. The bad thing is what I had to experience today. Complete and utter embarrassment.

It was easy for me to brush it off and move on though. An old co-worker caught me looking at her LinkedIn profile this morning and she emailed me to say that if I ever needed a job (part-time, full-time, work-from-home) that I was to call her immediately.

The feeling of being wanted and appreciated will always erase any inkling of a rough day in my book.

And the kids were happily playing away in the other room together as I worked on for the rest of the day.

Precious baby moments

"Up! Mama! Uuuppp!!!" came the wail from down by my knees.

I scooped up my squishy, paci-sucking baby girl and swung her around so we both faced the mirror hanging in the hallway.

She clutched her pink and white lovie blankie in her chubby fist, blonde curls now reaching down past her shoulders, and I smiled at our reflection, seeing more wrinkles around my eyes and mouth than I had remembered being there last time I checked. Not a bad thing, I told myself. Means I smile and laugh a lot. I like that.

My precious daughter seemed to notice me studying the lines on my face. She took my cheeks in her pudgy little hands and turned me to look at her. We were nose to nose.

"Boo eyes, Mama. Boo eyes."

"You're right, Sweetie. Mommy does have blue eyes," I whispered with a proud smile.

I gave her a quick dip backwards and swung her back up to kiss her bright red lips. She giggled so sweetly as I took a long breath of her curls to take in her baby scent and remember the moment.

Moments like these are going by so fast lately. When I realize I'm experiencing one of these beautiful little moments, I try my hardest to make it last as long as possible.

But I know in my heart that they'll forever live in my memory.

One sunset memory at a time

I patted her diaper-padded bottom as we ascended up the stairs to the hall bath last night, her brother a few steps ahead of us. She playfully peered through the rungs of the banister and smiled at her reflection in the foyer mirror. I sang a song of marching up the steps to move her along. It only added to the silliness of parading into the bathroom for tub time, her feet happily marching along to the beat of the song.

I am so lucky, I was thinking to myself.

You see, each time I walk the kids up the stairs to tackle bathtime, I can't help but think back to the night I took my son up for his bath at 18 months old, his baby sister a mere poppy seed in my belly, and how I could feel that I was losing my mind. Thoughts were racing through my head, but yet at the same time, there was a calmness about it all. He was completely oblivious to the whole thing, of course. He climbed up the stairs and I paused to look out the window above our front door, the clouds swirled up in the sky a hazy magnificent sunset display, colors so vibrant they looked as if they were burning with the secret of heaven.

We sang songs in the tub filled with bubbles and toys, and as we did this, I began to feel like the world was ending. The planes soaring over our house because of our close proximity to the airport, pushed my anxiety over the edge and I started shaking a bit, the walls were beginning to cave in on me. I quickly and methodically bathed my little man and then wrapped him up and dressed him in warm jammies, smelling his freshly washed skin and hair with deep whiffs as I read him a story, sung him a song and tucked him in his crib for the night. I remember thinking I would probably come get him and bring him into our bed once my husband and I went to sleep for the night. Given it was probably our last night on Earth, I felt it was fitting we should be together as a family in a cozy bed at least.

Hard to believe I made it out of the hospital after a week's stay, and recovered from that episode within a few months under my doctor's close supervision. I thank God every day that we had a healthy baby when our little girl was born 8 months later, and it never ceases to amaze me that I was given the job of being their mom every day. I'm a good mom. It's just that I have a past that is speckled with bits of sickness and recovery, and I often am reminded of those times. For me, they are simple reminders for me to be grateful for my health and my family. These times I remember, these old dusty memories of what happened when I became manic and how I became well again, they make up my story and they inspire me to keep on writing.

One day at a time. Or, one sunset step up the stairs to the bathroom for tub time, at a time.

Praying silently for Sandy Hook

My insecurities & a birthday wish for my daughter

I'm struggling lately folks. And since it's on my mind, I feel the need to write about it here. My place to type things out, to figure things out, to vent things out. I hope you don't mind that it won't be all neat and pretty. Just probably my rambling and not making much sense, but I have a feeling I'll feel a whole lot better once I get it all off my chest. A blogger I follow calls it the root of blogging: uninterrupted narcissistic rambling.

So here goes. Bear with me.

My daughter turned two yesterday. Two whole years old. My precious baby girl who just recently spent eight days in the hospital fighting pneumonia and Kawasaki disease, celebrated her second birthday with a play-date party at our house where six little friends - all boys! - and her brother, spoiled her and showered affection all over her cute little blond pigtail head. (Literally. One of the little guys just couldn't get enough of her - by the end of the morning she was practically in tears when he came near her to give kisses - it was hilarious and I have the pictures for when they're older.)

I had gingerbread sleighs for the kids to decorate with icing and candy, and wooden snowmen ornaments that they colored with crayons and markers. For lunch I made them peanut butter and fluff sandwiches, cut in a triangle to make a reindeer face (my friend's idea - I'm not that creative), complete with pretzel antlers and maraschino cherries for noses. I had hastily cut up fresh veggies that morning, which I served with Ranch dip, and I had leftover fruit salad from a brunch we had been to the day before.

Leftovers. This is where it started.

I had intended to order a pizza for us moms - the four of us could have easily polished off a medium pizza. But with all the craziness of 8 kids running around, I just didn't have the energy to deal with it. And since my husband the amateur chef had baked up to gourmet-like pizzas from scratch the night before when his parents came over to celebrate baby girl's birthday, I offered that as an alternative, not even thinking how terrible it made me look as a hostess. The salad my mother-in-law had brought over to go with the pizza had gone untouched, and so I had that to go with the pizza I served heated up from the toaster oven.

We supervised the kids eating first, then we adults took our turn. After everyone had lunch, we sang Happy Birthday to the birthday princess, and the kids ate strawberry cake that I had actually thrown in the oven an hour before when I realized I had almost forgotten to bake her cake. For us moms, there were the cupcakes my in-laws had brought over the evening before - a dozen in all - so we had six remaining and I had the moms pick one of those as dessert.

The girls all brought gifts for the birthday girl, even though I had said "please no gifts" on our casual email invitation. They are my two old roommates from college and my best friend from college who is like a sister to me. I love how our boys are such good friends and my daughter loves running around with them too. Watching our kids play brings us all such joy, I know this because we always talk about it.

I am sure that all the kids had a fantastic time and I'm sure the moms probably did too. I had a fun too. But after everyone left, and I had dropped my son off at preschool, tucked my daughter in for her nap and cleaned up after the little party, I kept thinking about my crummy hostessing skills and how I wished I had put more effort into the Mommy side of the play-date menu.

I wish I would have done a better job of de-cluttering and cleaning up in general before our guests arrived. I wish I would have made some sort of special sandwich or salad for my friends who drove a half hour or more to get to our house for the party. I wish I would have made little goodie bags for the kids. I wish I wouldn't have forgotten to offer the girls drinks during lunch.

I wish, I wish, I wish. I find myself saying those words a lot lately.

I could barely sleep last night. I know it probably sounds so ridiculous. After tossing and turning for nearly two hours I finally caved in to my sleep meds and took an Ambien so that I could get some shut-eye.

I woke up today still upset about it. Embarrassed, even. I called my mom on the drive home from dropping the kids off at daycare. I was quickly in tears and she was very sympathetic. Apparently, she said, this is something she and I both suffer from. We say or do something, or forget to do something all together that we regret very soon after, and then subsequently beat ourselves up about it for several days.

"It's a hormone thing honey," my mom explained.

Definitely a trait I wish I would not have inherited.

It's not just this incident though. Lately I've been feeling so torn. Reminded me of this post I wrote back in September about balance. I've been wondering how other moms do it all. How do they do ALL THE THINGS? And they do them SO DAMN GOOD TOO.

I just feel so inadequate sometimes.

I should be writing a post about how unreal it feels to have such a smart, beautiful, funny, independent, social, happy little girl who adores her big brother and has a passion for learning and all things art. How her perfect blond curls make me smile at the sight, especially when they're tied into those cute pigtails that fit her personality so well. She has a fierce determination to do things her way most all of the time, and does the back arching thing if you're holding her and she wants to get her way so much so that you have to put her down for fear of dropping her on her head. Her eyes are an perfect blend of blue and the lightest green. They sparkle with mischief pretty much every hour of the day. She loves bedtime the most and will never protest when we say it's time to go upstairs for bath. Strangers find it incredibly adorable that she still signs - Thank You most often, but also Milk and Please a lot - even though she is talking more and more these days. The pacifier is still one of her best buds and the dentist said it is perfectly acceptable for her to continue using it until her remaining four molars come through, since it is such a comfort to her. You hardly ever see her without her pink giraffe lovie blankie held tightly in her fist, corner knots usually being poked into her baby ears as her own soothing mechanism.

I love that I keep this bipolar blog, and also my private family one with photos and videos, as an everlasting journal of my life, my family, and my journey living with mental illness. Because I hope one day my kids will grow up and learn that their mom is trying the best she can. And even though she may compare herself to others, and she may wish she could be the perfect mom who has it all together all the time, all she'll ever be is theirs.

This will never change. Just the same as how my love for them will always be as strong as our hearts beating life through our bodies.

Except unlike hearts which will eventually stop one day, my love for them will go on forever.

Happy 2nd Birthday, Baby Girl. Mommy loves you with all her heart.

And more.

xoxo

Life changing

When your almost-2-yr old daughter is sent to the Emergency Room for suspected pneumonia and dehydration, your entire world stops.

Nothing else matters but figuring out how to make her better. How to make her stop crying from the pain.

More screams. More tears. More kisses from Mommy who was trying to make it better.

The stabs and jabs from the phlebotomist trying to get a vein to start an IV while two nurses held her down didn't help things.

Neither did my conscience telling me I should have pushed fluids more, should have taken her temperature so that I knew exactly how high her fever was. I should have just done more.

Her cries pierced my heart. Poor baby girl didn't have much fight in her since she was so sick. She was admitted to the hospital and I practically let out an audible sigh of relief. She had already been sick for three days. By the time we were wheeled up to her room on the pediatric floor, she had fallen fast asleep and I was equipped with a bag of clothes and toiletries which my husband brought from home so that I could stay with her. There was no way I was leaving her side while she was sick.

When I washed my hands, the mere smell of the medicinal hospital soap brought back memories of the previous hospital stays I had endured.

We were there for two nights and then they decided to send us home, thinking it was viral pneumonia and it would just have to run its course. So even as the fever lingered, she was deemed fully hydrated and that was good enough to send her home.

We got to spend Thanksgiving Eve and Thanksgiving Day together as a family at home. That was the silver lining. The fact that baby girl was so obviously not getting better was the dark cloud that lingered over the yummy holiday meal. She only ate two tiny bites of apple pie. And barely drank anything, as much as I tried to encourage fluids. She was lethargic and still in a great deal of pain. We were worried, to say the least.

A call to the pediatrician was made at 7pm, as awful as I felt about disrupting a holiday evening, I was much more concerned about our daughter to think twice before dialing the number I have memorized for just these situations.

We didn't get a call back for almost 30 minutes, which is twenty-five more minutes than usual for an after-hours call. A sure sign that we most likely did interrupt our pediatrician's Thanksgiving meal.

She was sympathetic and gave us instructions for the evening, asking us to follow up first thing in the morning and get her in for her ER follow-up appointment. And if things became worse overnight, we were to immediately go back to the ER.

Luckily that didn't happen, and we were all able to get a decent night's sleep. However, at her appointment the next morning we were sent back to the Emergency Room, this time for suspected appendicitis since her abdomen seemed to be the source of the pain she was in and the doc was concerned it could have ruptured.

Another day, another ER visit. In the back of my mind I was hoping it actually was the appendix. That way, they'd act fast and remove it and within a day she would feel so much better. Simple x-ray to determine if it was, surgery to get it out. Done and done, right?

Wrong.

Back in the ER she was taken for an x-ray, then ultrasound, then a CT scan to triple check. Turned out it wasn't her appendix at all, but a possible constipation issue. Now, I know my daughter better than anyone in that department given the fact that I am the one who changes 97% of all of her diapers and I must tell you - she has never had a constipation issue. Ever. But having eaten so little over the previous 6 days, I had to trust the doctor and follow her direction.

She was admitted again since her fever was still persisting and because they had not yet been able to solve the issue of her abdominal pain. Again my husband had brought me an overnight bag when he and Little Man came to visit while we were still in the ER triage room. It was kindof an unspoken thing that I would be the one to stay with her. It is blatantly apparent that she favors her Mommy right now at this stage of her life and I am soaking it all up while I can. If her teenage years are anything like mine were, she and I will fight more than we get along, and so I want to enjoy every single second of these baby years when I hear, "Mommy! Mommy!" a hundred times a day coming from my toddler's mouth, head tilted back looking up at me with outstretched arms yearning for me to pick her up.

I always pick her up.

The next morning the doctor came by our room in the early afternoon to speak with us about our daughter's case. She was a different doc from the one who had seen us earlier in the week. She took the time to review our daughter's history, starting from when she became sick up until that point. She then went over her theory on what was going on, what could be the cause of the pain and how she wanted to go about treating her. She was so thorough and detailed, we were confident that our daughter was receiving the absolute best care available.

The nurses were wonderful. They were so gentle with our baby who just cried every time someone came in to check on her. The doctor prescribed a new antibiotic, so on top of the two she was already on, there was now a third sent in via IV to try to kill the infection. We would offer sips of juice, water, or milk, but she rarely drank. The IV was keeping her nourished so we didn't need to push too hard.

The doc watched her fever. They even brought in the Pediatric Infectious Disease Physician. I liked him well enough, but when her fever spiked to 103 on our fourth day and he wanted to "wait one more day" before looking outside the initial diagnosis of pneumonia, I hit my breaking point.

I wanted to scream. I couldn't believe he could possibly say "let's wait and see" while observing my little girl in such heart-wrenching pain. Weren't doctors supposed to act when their patient is sick and even getting worse? Not sit back and wait. My blood was boiling. But I managed a weak smile back at the doctor to cover my anger.

I called my best friend, a nurse for eleven years. I called my cousin, an ER doctor. And then I called my daughter's pediatrician. My question to each of them was something my dad wanted me to ask: should we have her transferred to a better hospital? Even though I knew in the back of my mind that she was at a very good hospital and she was in the hands of extremely skilled doctors and nurses who were doing what they thought was the best course of treatment for her condition.

My pediatrician offered to call the doctor at the hospital. Just knowing that I had advocate on our side was a relief. Maybe they'd put their super duper intelligent doctor brains together and figure out exactly what to do to cure our daughter. I could only hope.

The doctor on our case spoke with our daughter's pediatrician and immediately afterwards came in the room to speak with us. I had gone home to shower and get clean clothes for the next day, so she began talking with my husband about the new plan of action. She, in combination with our daughter's pediatrician, and the pediatric cardiologist on staff, thought they should go ahead and treat her for Kawasaki disease. She had mentioned Kawasaki to us back on the day when she went over our case. It is an autoimmune disorder that sometimes arises when the body has an infection. She was watching for it and now that it had been ten days of fever and baby girl also had several other symptoms of the disease but not all the classic signs. The doc explained that there is no definitive yes or no test for Kawasaki and that as a team they decided it was in her best interest to go through the treatment because if left untreated, it could hurt her heart in the long run.

I was on my way back to the hospital when she called on my cell and began explaining the treatment. It would be a 12-hour IV bag of gamma globulin, a highly purified blood product. They would basically be infusing her with antibodies so that she could effectively fight the infection which was persisting inside of her. It was started very slowly so that if she had any kind of allergic reaction, they could stop the treatment. They would give her a dose of aspirin at the beginning, in the middle, and at the completion of the procedure since it was an inflammatory process which could cause stress on the heart. One potential risk was a coronary aneurism. The whole discussion of what would take place scared the living daylights out of me. With my cell to my ear, deep into the conversation of how things would play out, I walked into the hospital room where our daughter lay sleeping and my husband and the doctor were discussing things in person. Hanging up the phone to continue the discussion face-to-face, we were given plenty of time to ask as many questions as we needed.

Then it was go time.

First they had to put in a new IV for the IVIG treatment. The original IV they had put into her right hand had started leaking a tiny bit. So yeah, after they put a new on in her left had for the new treatment, they had to put another one in her right hand (higher up from the original spot) so they had a tube to run her antibiotics and fluids through. My kid was a ROCK STAR for the phlebotomist. Lots of crying, but that was to be expected. Poor baby isn't even two yet.

The nurse had me give baby girl the first dose of aspirin since she tended to do better taking medicine from me versus one of the nurses. She went right back to sleep and her nurse hooked up the gammaglobulin bag and started the drip. They watched the clock meticulously and were in the room every 15 minutes checking blood pressure and vitals. The process was started at 9:20pm. My husband and I stayed up until 11pm at which time I walked down the hall to the "parent sleep room" so that I could get a solid stretch of sleep since the procedure was going so well. I asked him to wake up at 4am so that he could give the next dose of aspirin.

He slept through it. I woke up at 4:15am to the sound of my daughter screaming down the hall because the nurse had just given her the second dose of aspirin. Baby's got some pipes on her.

We all were able to go back to sleep until 6:30 when I woke up since she was stirring a bit. I couldn't sleep any longer. I couldn't wait to see if the treatment worked. I sat in the rocking chair beside her bed with my computer on my lap, emailing friends and family updates on how she was doing. Luckily for me, I didn't have to wait much longer.

Around 10am our baby girl was sitting up, eating breakfast and there were actually some smiles being flashed around! I was so happy to finally have my daughter back. She started talking and I felt a rush of emotion at hearing her voice again since she had been so quiet during the week she was sick. Hearing her words again was almost like hearing her talk for the very first time.

I gave her kisses. I nuzzled her neck. She let me comb the bed head out of the back of her hair with detangler spray and a soft brush. We put on a clean hospital gown and fresh socks and walked down to the playroom to play. She chose paints, my little artist. Just like her mama.

Two days later, 48 hours after her last fever, we were going home. It was the sweet taste of freedom I tasted as I drove us home to her Daddy and big brother who were eagerly awaiting our arrival. The fresh air smelled so crisp I wanted to breathe in every last whiff of it that blew through my hair. Familiar feelings to me since these were the emotions I felt when I was released from my last two hospitalizations.

Spending a week in the hospital with your toddler really does change your perspective on life. I now can appreciate what a family goes through when their child is battling a disease or even the early stages of cancer. The not knowing what is wrong, the time spent discussing options with the doctor, the tears that fall because you want so badly to be the one who can make it all go away for your child. What we went through wasn't anything close to cancer or a highly complicated childhood disease, but it was enough for me to count our blessings. Over and over again.

Life seems to stop when you or someone you love is in the hospital.

And I don't think it's necessarily a bad thing. At least it wasn't for me.

XOXO

As a mother of two

As a mother of two...

• our day starts at 7am sharp (or 5am if Mister Man decides he just can't wait until the sun is completely up to go downstairs and play - I pull him into bed with us until the sun is actually up or else I can't function).
• breakfast is usually filled with lots of urgent requests for milk, fruit, napkins, mommymommymommy!!! (Is it 8pm yet?).
• then we're either home for the morning while I try to put a few hours in of work while they watch educational children's shows (Pinky Dinky Doo, anyone?) or I drop them off at the Mom's Morning Out program up the street where they play for 3 hours.
• lunchtime is just as urgent as breakfast. Baby Girl has been demoted to sippy cups for her recent cup dumping incidents.
• three days a week the boy goes to afternoon preschool for 3 hours, so that's another 10-minute drive across town with both kids to drop him off, while on the way home I have all the windows down and the radio blasting to keep the princess from falling asleep before we get home. otherwise, her nap will be much shorter than I need it to be.
• she's in her crib by 1pm every day for her nap, which rarely goes past 2:30. if the little guy is home with me, he'll always go in his room for quiet time but if he's not asleep after 30 minutes, I let him come downstairs and play quietly. so I don't have to listen to him romp around in his room while I'm trying to work blog.
• by 4pm when we're home from preschool pick-up (thank God for car lines, sooo much easier), we're ready for Daddy to be home. Unfortunately for us, we have another two hours to kill. So we have snacks, got to the playground, or head to the library. Or, if on the off-chance I'm attempting to cook that night, the kids watch another show or play on the ipad (Toca Tea Party is AWESOME, btw) while I try to put together a meal that the whole family will actually eat.
• The hubby gets home around 6pm each night, sometimes earlier, but never later. I'm a very lucky girl in that regard, I do know this and am incredibly thankful for his family-friendly work schedule. The kids play with him for an hour, we all eat, and then do bathtime.
• After bath, we each take a kid. For a few months, our daughter only would let me put her to bed, now she's much better about giving Daddy a chance too.
• By the time 8pm rolls around, both kids are in bed and the hubby and I have our time together.
• We need to get back into working out together at night, but travel schedules lately have gotten in the way and we're too exhausted to think of putting on a 90-min P90x DVD. Maybe we'll do it again in January, but for now we're just relaxing and trying to get to bed earlier (I joined the "10pm & earlier bedtime club" this week).

I love our kids and the routine we have. This town we live in is so family-oriented and I am so grateful to live 3 minutes away from my best friend. Sometimes, like today for example, I can take a moment and sit back and take it all in and in my heart I feel one thing: content.

Except for one little notion that lingers in my mind and tugs at my uterus.

I think I want one more baby. I just don't know when.

What I do know is that right now I am content with the two beautiful babies I do have in my arms. I am content with getting a solid 7-8, or sometimes even 9 on the weekend, hours of sleep each and every day. Sometimes I can even nap on the weekends if I want. I am content in being able to work part-time from home and get paid a decent salary, while at the same time, enjoying being able to be with my kids during the day.

I don't think I'm ready for a newborn again.

Not anytime soon.

So we'll see. The gap between the Little Man and Baby Girl is 2 & 1/4 years and at the rate we're going, it would likely be a 3 year gap between the Little Miss and a new baby if we started trying soon. That would be nice, but the more I think about it, the more I think that I'd be okay with a bigger gap.

Guess we'll just have to wait and see.

4 years ago he changed my life forever

I'll never forget the moment I became a mom. 

Even though I was manic beyond belief by the time I finally got to hold him for the first time and for the entire four weeks following his birth, I still somehow knew how incredibly different my life was going to be now that he had arrived.

He made me want to be a better person. He gave my life purpose. He made us a family. He made my heart explode with love every time I held him to my chest.

Little Man, your Mama loves you more than anything in the whole world.

Over these past four years you have become such an inquisitive fire-cracker of a preschooler who challenges me to the core each and every day.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

Your laugh makes me smile and within seconds I am laughing right along with you.

Your energy keeps me motivated to run along with you.

Your eyelashes make me so incredibly jealous.

I love the way you protect and love on your baby sister.

I get goosebumps when I see how happy you are when you're in the water. You are such a fish.

You are so passionate about fire trucks and fire fighters that I wouldn't be surprised at all if you become one someday.

Having you in my life is one of the most magical miracles I have ever experienced.

Singing you Twinkle, Twinkle every night these past four years is my favorite way to end the day.

In one hour you turn four.

Happy 4th Birthday, Little Man. I love you to the moon and back.

Love,

Mommy

xoxo

An honest letter to my babies {2}

Dear Mister Man and Sweet Pea,

The past few weeks have been filled with a bunch of new changes. With the change of seasons comes changes in schedules, and it always stresses me out even though it really shouldn't.

Last week was really rough. First off, you both had croup so it made for an extremely long week of lots of tears, moping around and general whining about not feeling good and being stuck in the house. It wore me out to the core. So much so, that I practically forgot your Grandma's birthday.

Luckily for you, Mister Man, although you had to skip your "Meet the Teachers" day at school, you were well enough to start school on time and last Friday was your first day. You ROCKED it. And I was very impressed with myself for not crying.

You made me so proud when your sister and I walked you into your new classroom and you gave me a quick hug goodbye, walked right up to your new teacher, smiled and jumped right into your day with your classmates. It went so smoothly.

When we picked you up later in the afternoon and I asked you to tell me all about your day on the way home, you got annoyed easily with me because I was asking for too many details. Whenever you get that scrunched up tight-lipped smile and cross your arms, I know you're overtired. I was worried about it because you do still nap sometimes, but the afternoon program was the only spot that we were offered since it is such a popular, well-regarded program in our area.

I've been having some mommy-guilt. I feel like I've been missing out on things lately because I'm trying to juggle this part-time job and also be totally present with you two. There were times last week when I would need to put in an hour or two in the morning and Sweet Pea you would come toddling over to me with a sad smile because you knew I couldn't play at that moment. You'd tug at my hand as if the weight of your little body could pull me out of my chair and into the family room where you had some blocks sitting in a pile ready to build a tower.

It was breaking my heart. I wanted so badly in that moment to just ignore my work emails that were waiting in my inbox to be answered so that I could take your hand and walk over and build tower after tower until we went on to the next toy or book or puzzle. Sometimes I am torn up inside because your brother had that from me and you aren't getting that undivided attention from your mommy because I have to split my time between work, your brother, housework, errands, and your daddy who I feel as if I don't get enough time with either.

But I need to stop thinking like the pessimest that I am and start thinking about the many blessings that we have.

We live in a beautiful house, eat nutritious food every day, have wonderful friends and family around us, and I get to see you both throughout the day, every day.

I love that you said you missed me today, Mister Man, when we were driving in the car. You said you missed me when you were at preschool the other day. I missed you too, bud. But the best thing about being a stay-at-home-mom with a part-time, work-from-home-job is that I get to pick you up from school every. single. day.

And I wouldn't trade that for the world. I'm going to make the most of the hours and minutes we do have together, when I'm not putting in the work hours.

Sweet Pea, you are amazing me more and more these days. You are constantly wanting to do exactly what your big brother is doing, whether that be climbing the big ladder at the playground or climbing the bar stool in our kitchen to have breakfast in the morning. And when I decided three days ago to add a Mom's Morning Out for you and your brother on Mondays and Wednesdays to your busy schedules, you didn't blink an eye. I dropped you both off and I barely got a hug and kiss goodbye before you ran into the room to meet your new teacher and friends. You started playing immediately and I headed home to work for three hours, uninterrupted.

Uninterrupted, if you don't count the couple of times that I stopped what I was doing to wonder exactly what you two were doing at that moment. Were you coloring or playing dress-up? Maybe play-doh or enjoying snack time with your new friends?

Again, I was so proud when I picked you two up and your teachers said you did so well and they loved having you in class.

I know I'm packing your schedule with Mom's Morning Out, preschool in the afternoon, and a swim class for each of you, and I sometimes worry that it's too much. We'll see how September goes and will make changes in October if we need to. But I know in my heart that you love all the activity. You both are so social and outgoing and it makes me so incredibly happy to see you making friends and playing and learning every day.

Your little hearts are so open to new things, meeting new people and learning about the world.

Stay that way always, my loves.

The seasons are changing, and there are so many good times ahead.

All my love and hugs,

Mommy

xoxoxo