The Legend of the Hose

In a certain house in a certain town, there is a legend, the Legend of the Hose.

It all began one day 4 or 5 years ago when the Daddy was taking a break from his parenting duties to take care of business. He stood there, silently, letting nature take it course when he was shockingly interrupted. There, out of the blue, clinging to his leg lovingly and pointing determinedly was his little girl.

The little girl asked, innocently, "Daddy, what's that?"

The Daddy answered unthinkingly and hurriedly, "That's my hose!"

**********

Fast forward a couple of years, and the little girl's parents brought home a new baby sister.

The little girl was, of course, enraptured with her little sister. She was fascinated by all parts of having a sibling: feeding, clothing, bathing, and, of course, changing.

During one of the baby sister's very first diaper changes, the little girl pointed and asked nonchalantly, "Where is her hose?"

The Mommy, a pro by this time, answered, "She doesn't have a hose; she's a girl."

"But, Daddy has a hose."

"Daddy is a boy."

"Oh. When I grow up, I'm going to have a hose."

"No, Honey, you won't have a hose when you grow up. You're a girl."

"Oh."

*********

Fast forward 18 months, and the little girl's parents brought home yet another baby, this one a boy.

The little girl was, of course, enraptured with her little brother. She was fascinated by all parts of having another sibling: feeding, clothing, changing, and, of course, bathing.

During one of the baby brother's very first bathtub baths, the little girl pointed and asked nonchalantly, "What's that?"

The Mommy answered, "That is his hose."

"Oh. I don't have a hose. My little sister doesn't have a hose."

"That's because you're a girl."

"I know."

**********

Fast forward 17 months, and the little girl's Daddy was bathing the little brother.

The little girl came in to watch, naturally, and after a few moments of quiet reflection asked the Daddy, "Why is his hose so small?"

The Daddy answered, "Because your brother is still little."

"When he gets bigger his hose will get big, like yours."

"Uh, yep."

**********

And thus continues the Legend of the Hose.

And So It Finally Happened

I went in to get M up this morning and smelled something.

Something bad.

Something yucky.

Something that would require my immediate attention.

Something that no one wants to deal with first thing in the morning.

And then I saw something.

Something worse.

Something gross.

Something that would require more than my immediate attention.

Something that no parent wants to deal with. Ever.

Poop. Everywhere.

On hands, on feet, down legs, on face (*gag*), on bedsheets.

Good morning, Mommy!

It's Been Awhile Since I Confessed Anything, So Here You Go

I have a confession to make:

I actually like going to the dentist.

Heavy-handed assistant aside, I've always had rather pleasurable experiences at the dentist. Growing up, we went every six months, religiously. Even in college. There may have been two years in there where I only went during the summer, but once I got married, it was back to every six months. Religiously. I actually found us a dentist before I found myself a doctor.

Sick, I know.

I love the feeling of clean teeth. I love the look of whiter teeth.

Now, I'm not the greatest caretaker of my teeth, but I definitely don't neglect them. I use a Sonicare, but I'm not a career flosser. I usually only floss regularly for a couple of weeks after my latest appointment and the week before my next appointment.

(Please tell me I'm not the only person who does this!)

The weirdest thing about me liking the dentist so much is that if anyone has reason to dislike having somebody stick metal instruments in her mouth, it's me.

I've had permanent teeth pulled. I've had wisdom teeth dug out.

I've had braces. Twice.

And oral surgery. Extensive enough surgery that my jaw was broken, moved, and screwed back together. Extensive enough surgery that two screws were drilled into my jaw from the skin-side (and yes, for a awhile I could actually feel the tiny screw heads with my fingers when I ran my fingers over the skin on my jaw). Extensive enough surgery that it took an entire year for all of the swelling to go down.

And yet, I still like going to the dentist.

I don't like the actual process of having my teeth cleaned, but I've developed coping mechanisms, which usually involve grabbing onto the bottom of my shirt so I can discreetly clench my fists when needed.

I like having the dentist come over and check my teeth. I like that he likes looking at my x-rays and commenting on all the metal in my mouth. I like that he agrees that the surgery was worth it.

And I love, Love, LOVE running my tongue over my smooth, clean teeth.

That feeling alone makes it all worth it.

On Turning 32

When you turn 32, it's not that special.

When you turn 32 and your birthday just happens to fall on a Friday, you still have to clean the house, even though it's your "special day."

When you turn 32, the kids will still argue, will still need their diapers changed, will still demand your time.

When you turn 32, the world doesn't stop for you to take a break.

When you turn 32, dinner out with your husband and free babysitting are just about the best presents you could ask for.

When you turn 32, you realize you wouldn't change what you currently have for anything.

Happy Birthday to me!!!

My Little Girl

Do you see this little girl?

This is my little girl, my "momma's girl."

She is me as a child.

I don't remember my early childhood very well.

But I will forever remember hers.

In My Defense...

...my fridge is already stocked with fruits and veggies. And I did get milk and yogurt, too; they were buried. Just so you know.

Yeah, you who looked my grocery cart up and down and didn't like what you saw;

yeah, you who peered at my kids eating free bakery cookies and saw the take-and-bake pizza sitting on top of my cart;

yeah, you who eyed me buying frozen nuggets and fries;

yeah, you who assumed I'm one of "those" parents who only feed their kids crap.

In my defense:

my kids only get a free cookie if they behave in the store (they almost always do, even without the promise of a cookie);

the pizza is for family movie night, which we do every week;

I buy nuggets and fries maybe three times a year;

my kids actually like fruits and veggies and almost always eat them first.

So there.

It's Party Time!

Oh my goodness! It's party time again, and I haven't decorated, or styled my hair, or even blogged in forever!

Oh, well. What you see is what you get, I suppose.

I'm Hillary, aka Mrs. Einstein. I'm a former English teacher with a math degree married to a former math teacher with an English degree.

I know. Don't bother figuring that one out. It's just how we roll around here.

Mr. Einstein and I will have been married 10 years this August. We have produced three children together, two girls and a boy: E is 6 years old, C is almost 3 years old, and M is 16 months old.

I'm currently a SAHM and a student. I have hopes of opening my own Etsy shop someday soon. I'm really interested in becoming a certified doula. I'm the women's ministry leader at my church.

I love to read and make cards. I love to cook and bake. I make my own laundry soap.

Ants are my nemesis; I take it personally when they get into my house.

My current obsession is my new camera, a Nikon D5000. It's a fantastic camera! I'm really loving dabbling in photography. I just don't have the time to devote to it, though I'd really like to get more into it.

Well, that's me in a nutshell. Thank you for stopping by!

Happy partying!

**********

Oh, and let's not forget the prizes! *squee!*

Here are my top 5, since I can't choose just 3:

US1: $150 gift certificate to Pedal Cars and Retro Collectibles, donated by 5 Minutes for Mom

US3: $150 gift certificate to A Rocking Horse to Love, donated by 5 Minutes for Mom

USC43: 3 personalized plates/placemats, donated by Olive Kids

USC11: $50 gift certificate to Priddy Creations, donated by Priddy Creations

USC57: a pair of Eleven shoes, donated by Wishing Penny

And others I am interested in, in order: US6, US16, US33, US58, US72, US22, USC8, US112, USC37, USC3, USC15, US75.

The Problem With 6 Year-Olds, Part 2

They are sassy, mouthy, and rude.*

The End.

*Okay, so not all the time, and I'm sure a lot of it is just bad timing due to spring fever and whatnot; but, dang! The girl is driving me nuts!

The Problem With 6 Year-Olds

The problem with 6 year-olds is that once they turn 6, they want to be 7.

E is already asking me about when her next birthday is. She's already counting down to 7.

*sigh*

*blink*

*blink*

It seems just like yesterday that E was doing the hula at my parents' house.

*blink*

It seems just like yesterday that she was in her first ballet recital.

*blink*

It seems just like yesterday that she was twirling around with her sister in matching Christmas dresses.

*blink*

It seems just like yesterday that she had crazy hair and crazy clothes for school.

(Okay, so that was last Wednesday. Whatever.)

*blink*

My baby, my firstborn, my darling E turns 6 today.

Happy Birthday, Honey! I love you very much.

He's Back!

Do you see this little boy?

This is my little man. My Bubba.

I haven't seen him in almost four weeks,

and I'm so glad he's back!

Surgery Success

M's surgery went well this morning!

We had to get there at 7:00 am, but his surgery wasn't scheduled until 8:30 am. Have you ever tried to keep a tired, hungry, thirsty, bored, 25-pound 15 month-old entertained for an hour and a half with no toys, food, or drink?

No?

I don't recommend you try it anytime soon.

Gah!

Anyway, soon after we arrived, the anesthesiologist came in to explain what he going to do (gas first, then IV port once he was asleep). We had just assumed the gas was going to happen in the prep room with us there watching him fall asleep.

Um, no.

After waiting, and waiting, and waiting, a very nice male nurse came up, asked us if we were ready, and then held out his arms for M.

I know my heart skipped a beat. THAT I was not prepared for.

So, after prying M from my sweatshirt, I handed him over to this very nice male nurse who promptly walked away with my screaming little boy in his arms.

Fortunately, I was too shocked to be emotional.

Mr. Einstein and I then headed back out into the waiting room where we finally got to eat our breakfast and drink our now-lukewarm coffee. I had every intention of blogging from the waiting room, but due to a dead laptop battery and no outlets to be found, I didn't, obviously.

We were told that the surgery would only last about 20 minutes, and that M would need another 30-40 minutes in the recovery room to wake up before we could see him.

ONE HOUR LATER the surgeon finally comes out and tells us the surgery went well and that M was just now resting in the recovery room. So much for the 20 minutes we were expecting. (Okay. In all fairness, the surgery probably did last 20 minutes. Of course, anesthesia came first, then surgery prep, then surgery, blah, blah, blah. I just wasn't prepared for having to wait an hour after they took him to hear how everything went.) I had been trying really hard not to worry and not to let my mind wander to negative possibilities. It's probably a good thing I was so tired from lack of sleep and so wired from caffeine all at the same time.

Regardless, everything went just as it should. The hernia was taken care of and the little bit of M's hydrocele that was left was also closed up. He has interior stitches, but no exterior ones. The wound was left "open" but taped up with some super-duper waterproof tape. He was, of course, groggy when we finally got to see him, but he just cuddled in close and sucked down water and apple juice as fast as he could.

After another half hour or so, M was declared good to go. His IV port was removed, his incision inspected, his diaper and clothes changed, and we were off. Once we got home, he snuggled for a bit, then was off our laps and down on the floor playing with C and running around the house.

What a goofball!

Before you start questioning the wisdom of this, the surgeon said to let M do what he wanted. If it hurt, he wouldn't do it. It is completely amazing to me that this little boy who was in so much pain last night and had surgery this morning was his usual happy self within an hour of being home. Just amazing!

Right now, he's napping. In a little bit, he'll have a snack and a bath. And tonight there will be no more pain or worries.

God is good!

And I'm so glad this is over!

A Long Short Weekend

Friday evening, around dinnertime, M started having one of his "episodes." We didn't think too much of it, since he's been having them off and on for almost three weeks. However, around 9:30 pm, he started vomiting. Again, we didn't think too much of this. We just figured he had a stomach bug on top of his hernia.

I know, right? Poor guy.

He was vomiting every couple of hours or so throughout the night, until about 4:00 am; and he ended up sleeping in until almost 10:30 am, which is really unusual, even when sick. He wasn't hungry when he woke up, his hernia hadn't receded, and he he couldn't even keep water down. Turns out, when a hernia doesn't recede quickly enough, it can cause vomiting. So, we headed to the emergency room.

We have wonderful neighbors who took care of the girls for us and even fed them lunch.

The ER doctor put M on an IV of saline (for hydration) and even had the nurse give him some morphine. Once the morphine kicked in a bit, the doctor had to force M's hernia to recede. Poor little guy! He was screaming! It was painful to watch and listen to. A respiratory doctor happened to walk by during all of this. I was just standing in the doorway with my back turned away from M, and I smiled sheepishly and told the doctor I couldn't handle it, so he came in to help. Mr. Einstein was brave, though.

Once everything was back where it should be, M perked right up, as kids tend to do. He was his normal chatty, playful self within five minutes of the doctor finishing. They kept us just short of another hour for observation then released us with instructions to keep M on a clear liquid diet for six hours. I was trying to figure out how we were to keep a 25-pound 15 month-old from eating. The kid eats all day, when he's feeling well! So, he ended up eating popsicles for the rest of the day, which suited him just fine.

All in all, we were in the ER for about three to four hours. Hopefully this doesn't happen again.

We have a consultation with a surgeon here in town on Tuesday afternoon. We're hoping for a quick surgery scheduling. I can't handle much more of this!

The girls feel ignored, I'm stressed out, Mr. Einstein is stressed out. This needs to end soon for the health and sanity of my family.

Diagnosis: Not Good

Sorry for the absence lately. We've been dealing with something for the last few weeks that we finally got to the answers to today.

M has been in a lot of pain off and on during the last three weeks. We've thought it was anything from a peanut intolerance to constipation.

In the last week, though, our thoughts turned towards something intestinal, and this afternoon, our suspicions were confirmed.

Poor M has a hernia.

We knew this was a possibility, since he was born with a hydrocele; but, from what I've read, most babies who get hernias get them before their first birthday.

M is 15 months old.

Of course, we have no idea how long he's had this. It hasn't seemed to have bothered him (at least not that we've known) until recently.

So, now we're just waiting to hear back from the doctor. He's calling around trying to find us a pediatric surgeon who can get M in as quickly as possible.

My baby has to have surgery!!!

I haven't freaked out about this yet. I probably won't until everything is scheduled and in place and I'm actually in the hospital with him.

At least, I hope I won't until then.

Because, seriously? My baby has to have surgery, and it makes me want to cry.

Blueberry Trauma

Last Thursday, M was sick.

On Saturday, during nap time, C threw up. Blueberries. On her pretty butterfly sheets.

We weren't convinced she was actually sick, but we still watched her very closely, just in case.

She wasn't.

However, throwing up blueberries was obviously traumatic enough that this morning when I gave her blueberries for breakfast, she took one look at them, her eyes welled up, she looked at me and said in a quavering voice, "But I don't want to throw up blueberries!"

Such a sweetheart!

I quickly, and calmly, assured she that she wouldn't throw up blueberries again.

And she hasn't.

Yet.