Wax On Wax Off

My poor Ali walked right through the front door tonight and straight into her room.

Ali: “Mom, can I go right into my bed? I am so tired.”

She was asleep within five minutes.

Carlos and I unloaded the car and prepared to have a delicious no-brained meal of Olivieri Three Cheese Tortellini and pesto sauce. Somewhat of a comfort food staple in our house.

While I was boiling the pasta I noticed quite a few had green stuff in them. I pulled the package out of the garbage to check that it wasn’t cheese and spinach, which it wasn’t, and to confirm it wasn’t past it’s due date. August 7. So we’re fine there but it was definitely mold. I called Thrifty’s to let them know and they were so nice, apologizing profusely and advising me to bring in my receipt for a refund.

All well and good but dinner is botched and Carlitos has already seen me pour the pasta into the strainer. Fuck.

Carlos: “Tortanini Mama? Pasthta?”

Me: “It’s moldy my love – do you want a hummus sandwich?”

Carlos: “Ya! A sammich!”

I know, hummus sandwiches…my kids are weird in their likes and dislikes (Ali only likes “smushed” tomatoes right now). I shudder every time I send them to school with hummus sandwiches thinking of the epic burps and farts their teachers have to endure and I know this to be true because I have been on the receiving end.

After our gourmet dinner of hummus sandwiches an leftover veggies from the night before, it is time to bath Carlos and begin the looooong journey of putting him to bed.

Carlos’s big things right now are asking what things are, what they are doing and repeating that line of questioning incessantly.

Carlos: “Whatsth thisth Mama?” (Pointing to the pin for the shower)

Me: “That’s for the shower. It redirects the water from the faucet to the shower head.”

Carlos: “Whatsth it doing Mama?”

Me: “Well, nothing really. It’s just kind of there.”

Aaaand rinse and repeat.

Carlos: “Whatsth thisth Mama?” (Pointing to the pin for the shower)

Me: “It’s for the shower. When you pull it the water comes out of the shower head.”

Carlos: “Whatsth it doing Mama?”

Me: “It’s sleeping.”

I felt like Louis C.K. but honestly after answering something five different ways you start to lose your creativity!

I have to bribe him every night to get out of the bath with a digger video or else he would stay in there for hours until he was a wizened little prune.

After I have troweled him off, put his diaper on, given him his three different meds and wrangled him into his jammies it is time to do the slowly slowly to slumberville. To which every night I am met with new and creative attempts at procrastination. Sleep? Sleep is for suckers and he isn’t having any of it.

After lots of stories, songs, chats, youtube videos of animals and snuggles I throw in the towel and leave him to out himself to sleep.

It was at this point Ali came barreling out if her room all flushed cheeks and crying.

Ali: “I donnnnnnn’t feeeeeeel wellllll.” [sobbing] “My neck hurts.” [more sobbing]

When I feel her glands they are definitely swollen and then when I look in her throat it is like two golf balls again. Sure enough I take her temperature and she has a fever.

I get her some Advil, a Popsicle and set up a movie on the iPad for her to watch in her bed. The crowning glory in my fever toolkit is the jaw bra from my surgery. Este rigged it up last weekend when she had a fever and it looks like a cross between Ralph Macchio’s bandana from the Karate Kid and Axl Rose’s bandana from the Sweet Child O’ Mine video. It is awesome.

It is strange. When I was a kid if you had strep throat or swollen glands often they would just remove your tonsils. They don’t seem to do that anymore and I am not sure why.

Anyhoo, it is 8 pm and one of my monkeys is asleep and the other is curled up beside me like a heat seeking missile.

Just a typical Thursday night :)

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Carlos del Luchador: A Case Of The Wednesday Night Crazies

Holy shit. Does anyone else’s kids go nuts on week nights? I get that everything is rushed and you are trying to cram in fifty things within a two hour window, but Jesus Christ!

I picked up the kids from daycare at five o’clock and the drive home was like every other; it started out all fun with lots of laughing and giggling and then turned sour about two blocks from our house.

Ali: “Mom! Carlos has my big this and won’t give it back!”

I turn to look and sure enough Carlos has big this wrapped around his head like a turbin and is laughing uncontrollably with his signature mischievious giggle accompanied by his crinkled nose. It is next to impossible for me not to laugh.

Me: “Carlitos, give Ali back her big this.”

Carlos: “No Mama – no want it!”

Finally Ali just snatches big this back and the two of them continue to yell, cry, laugh and scream. By the time we pull into the driveway my nerves are already shot.

I unload lunches, jackets, kids and head into the kitchen to get lunches made and dinner going. Typically I will put on some music and the kids will play while I cook dinner. Tonight is no different. As I am sauteeing veggies Ali and Carlos are playing on this little couch that Este bought when he was 18 to play video games. You know the kind that are foam and fold out into a make-shift bed? It is covered in that hideous celestial patterned fabric that is navy blue with yellow stars and moons all over it. I just want to throw on Women and Songs cd, light a sage smudge stick and buy some tickets to Lilith Fair – it is like the ’90’s threw up all over it. The kids like to unfold it, climb in and fold it back up on top of them. They call it “camping” – don’t ask me why.

While they were playing a rousing game of “camping”, Ali with her big this and Carlos with his stuffed puppy, I hear quite a commotion brewing from beneath the folded couch.

Carlos: “No Addie! My puppy! My pupppppppppy! MINE!!!!!!!!”

Ali: “I’m just playing with it Carlos. You took my big this in the car, remember?”

At this point in time Ali is smarter than Carlos but he is WAY more physical and will solve his problems with her by brute force. Cut to thirty seconds later when he has stood up, out of the cocoon of the couch and totally tackled her with all of his might. It was like a scene out of WWE where I thought he may break out a metal folding chair to follow-up the tackle if the puppy was not returned to him. He is yelling, Ali is crying, my fucking veggies smell like burnt garlic because I have abondoned them to deal with this melee and it is not even six o’clock yet. This is one of the many reasons I opt for sandwhiches or “tapas” for dinner most nights.

After dinner, in which I stupidly included rice, it was time to clean up and bathe the kids. Any parent of kids under the age of five will know exactly what I mean when I say I curse myself every time I serve rice as I remember just as the first fistful is landing on the floor what a fucking nightmare it is to clean up. It is like the herpes of the kitchen, you can never get rid of it.

After I spent ten minutes picking starchy, smushed rice grains of the floor I decided I just couldn’t face bathing the kids. So I did what any responsible parent would do and I wiped them down with baby wipes and put on their jammies. Ali was asleep within in five minutes and Carlos put up his usual fight.

As I was lying beside him, he decided it would be infinitely funny to grab my nose and twist it extremely hard. This provided him with endless amusement and anger was met with peals of laughter. After the requesite “fuckkkkkk” which, I am shocked he didn’t repeat as he is a total parrot these days, I was done with cuddles and left him to put himself to sleep. There is nothing like two watering eyes and a stinging nose to raise just enough irritation for you to abandon your maternal instincts and leave your kid to cry it out. Just as I was leaving his room he hit me hard with a good one…

Carlos: “Mama? A snuggle?”

Carlos still has a tongue-tie so has a slight lisp which makes anything said with an “s” sound ridiculously cute. As my mother-in-law says, he pronounces things perfectly as if he was from Barthelona. I digress.

The long and the short of it is, that monkey coaxed me back into lying beside him as he stroked my face with his little hand and nuzzled his head into mine before he fell asleep.

God damn it I love my kids. They drive me crazy, but they are mine :)

Now for a few hours of peace and quiet before I am woken up by Carlos multiple times tonight because he has misplaced his choochi.

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That Time When You Realize You Are A Blogger Who Doesn’t Blog

*Siiiiiiiiiigh*

It’s been a long time since my last post, about five months long. This has been one of the hardest years of my life; in some ways I faced it head on and in others I buried my head in the sand. One of the things I love about blogging is the freedom to be completely honest about the things that are going on in my life. The trouble is, when you are working through a mountain of shit the posts aren’t that appealing.

I sat down to my computer many times over this past year, attempting to write, but was met with hesitation as I didn’t want to share my struggles until I was sure I was well on the other side. I am happy to say I am on the flip side of horrible and ready to talk about my journey.

One year ago, to the month, I returned to work from Maternity Leave. As I have widely documented in this blog, the year was fraught with many absences from work, trips to emergency and multiple prescriptions for my Carlitos; culminating in a chronic asthma diagnosis from a Pediatric Asthma specialist this past March. All of the spheres of my life seemed to impload at once, at a time when I had just transitioned off of anti depressants. This was an incredibly dark time for me. I have talked only to my counsellor and a select few about the depths of my dispair and how I was so scared my emotions would betray me and lead me to the point of no return. Let me be clear, I did not ever want to commit suicide but I felt so suffocated by my depression and anxiety that I was terrified of arriving at that place.

I have never shared this with my husband or my closest family members. That is the power the stigma surrounding mental illness holds.

During this time of intense depression my best friend B, would check in on me everyday. We share a common messaging system at work so she would be sure to touch base multiple times a day to see where I was at. On weekends she would ensure she made plans with me at least one of the days so that I wouldn’t retreat deeper into the darkness. It was B who encouraged me along the way to seek counselling, supported me in my determination to take better care of myself and who created the safety between us for me to feel free to talk about the things that tormented my heart and mind.

To make matters even more complicated I had jaw surgery right smack dab in the middle of this emotional clusterfuck. In a way, it was a distraction; a surgery where my jaw was broken and advanced using a bone graft from my hip. Just to give you an idea of how bad I was feeling that this was a welcome diversion.

I was desperate to shed the shackles of my feelings so I got to work.

My focus shifted to recovery. I went to my specialist appointments, followed the protocol and developed a routine that involved way too much soup. In fact, if I ever have to look at a fucking Campbell’s Cream of Chicken Soup can again I might pitch it out the window!

I had started to lose weight from eating shitty canned soups and Nutribullet smoothies for weeks after the surgery and decided that joining Weight Watchers was the next step on my road emotional recovery. In the midst of my personal turmoil I had put on forty pounds. It was the personification of all the negativity going on inside me, projected on the outside. I attended Weight Watchers meetings once a week and tracked my calories. Routine is extremely important for me and I viewed the program not as a diet but as self care. I told myself: I am worth the effort it takes to live a healthy life.

It is a funny thing when you lose a lot of weight. Two things happen: you feel emotionally lighter and you become visible to the world again.

Over the next few months I continued to go to Weight Watchers, meditate, write in a gratitude journal and work hard at keeping my anxiety at a manageble level. II will tell you one thing: it is exhausting and hard fucking work living a healthy life.

So here we are. One year later. What’s changed besides my smile and the number on the scale? Well, I would love to tell you that everything is fantastic and that my problems are solved but that wouldn’t be truthful or realistic.

The truth is, I am in a lot better place emotionally. I have maintained my weight for five months and the spheres of my life that had imploded previously are actually thriving. Being mindful of the things I need to remain healthy and happy is a full-time job. Some weeks I am better than others at certain aspects of self care and other weeks I totally fall down. I am a work in progress. No one is more aware than I am that it is all so tenuous.

It is incredibly easy for me to backslide on what is proven to be positive for me; it is my pattern. I try to gently remind myself when I get lazy and don’t write in my journal because I am tired or go to bed late because it is easier to watch tv than to go to bed early that skipping these things eventually becomes detrimental to my health.

It is a balancing act in which I am constantly learning the ropes.

I am glad to be back here, sharing the shit that counts.

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Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

It is hard to believe that just under four and half years ago, on December 15, 2009, at 1:00 am, my water broke.  It was the symbol of my old life being washed away to make way for the new life that would greet me twenty four hours later over the curtain on the operating room table at Victoria General Hospital. From the moment I heard the popping sound and felt the subsequent rush of water I knew my life would never be the same.

In the months leading up to Ali’s birth I had read all the books, blogs, forums and anecdotes I could get my hands on. I was going to be the most prepared mother ever with Ali adapting to my life and not the other way around. I had heard stories, peripherally, through friends of friends about how having a child changes the relationship with your husband, how the idea that you are instantly in love with your baby is often romanticized and that all of a sudden your world becomes a whole lot smaller for awhile. I tried valiantly to ignore this, reasoning with myself that those are things that happened to other people and my experience would be different; all the while the impending truth gnawed at that place of uncertainty just below the surface.

When my water broke Este and I made our way to Victoria General Hospital, both awash of nervousness and excitement. We arrived at Labour and Delivery and although my labour had just started the contractions were very intense. I remember reading that early labour was gradual and felt more like uncomfortable gas pains and this felt anything but. All I knew was that these “rushes” as contractions were described as in Spiritual Midwifery were not anything close to orgasmic but more like what Amy Phoeler’s  exclaimed in Baby Mama: “It feels like I am shitting a knife!”

I labored for twenty four hours of back labour. I was begging for an epidural at three centimeters dilated and felt like punching every nurse that told me to use the gas to get me through my contractions. I sat in the shower, sat on the ball, rocked on all fours and lay in my bed praying for the waves of pain to end. I questioned myself many times wondering if I wasn’t trying hard enough as thousands of mothers did this naturally and without drugs every day.  Finally when the one hundredth person came in to check my vagina (seriously, everyone and their dog was up in there) and confirmed that I was ready for an epidural, they actually asked me, in all seriousness, if I still wanted one. Was this guy fucking kidding? I wanted one six weeks before going in to labour. Jack me up!

After the epidural I was feeling SO much better but became stuck at nine centimeters dialated . After a few hours the doctors told me Ali’s head was too big and was stuck on the one centimeter lip of my cervix and I should probably start to consider a C-section as she was getting tired. I don’t know about you, but after twenty four hours in labour, the most intense pain of my life and a feeling of anticipation like you wouldn’t believe, I wasn’t concerned anymore about getting a badge for squeezing my kid out through my box. I was quite content to keep that area perfectly in tact and go ahead with the C-section. Sign me up (and feel free to take a little extra while you’re down there)!

So they prepped Este and I and off we went to the OR. Ten minutes and a pair of forceps later they held Ali over the curtain and Este and I started sobbing. It was surreal. I couldn’t believe he and I had made her and that she was finally here. Poor thing was so beat up; her nose was squished to one side and she had a big bruise over her eye and forehead from the forceps. She looked like a baby boxer (fighter not dog). They popped her on the scale and she quickly became “famous” for being the ten pound baby on the unit.

They finished sewing me up and wheeled me in to recovery where the overwhelming barrage of change began and didn’t stop, if I am being honest,  for a good twelve months after. I sometimes feel bad that Este and I weren’t better parents to Ali when she was a baby. We were not as present and fucked up constantly given that we were new at it and had no idea what we were doing. I learned a lot of things after having Ali, definitely to Carlitos’s benefit. I try not to spend too much time there as I know it is no use living in the past. I can only do my very best for both my treasures today and I try to keep that in mind when they are driving me bonkers! It’s not as if the changes stop but you become better equipped at dealing with them.

Fast forward to today and my baby Ali is four and a half years old. She is starting Kindergarten in September and it feels like just yesterday Este and I were loading her into the truck to take her home from the hospital. I never understood the breadth of what it meant when people said “time goes by so fast” until I had kids. It seems it is going at warp speed these days.

There are many changes on the horizon for my little Ali and she is experiencing them in all of her feeler glory. She is going  to a new school in September for Kindergarten and a new daycare for before and after school care. We have talked a little about this already and it has proved very upsetting to her. As part of the preparation for Kindergarten, her daycare class is phasing out naps and we have also decided to begin the arduous task of phasing out her bringing “big this” to school. These changes have made her anxious and needy resulting in more visits to our bed at night, more crying and more hypochondria  as she deals with  feeling vulnerable. Although I know all of this is normal, it kills me to see her go through the angst and I would give anything to shield her from all of it. But, you can’t avoid life. My hope is that going through these transitions will make her stronger and more able to face challenges that will inevitably arise as she grows older.

I am so proud of the person Ali is becoming. She is caring, kind, compassionate, bright and funny. Her ability to sense emotion and react with unprecedented empathy continues to blow my mind. I am so incredibly blessed to have a child with such a beautiful heart. Ali, I love you more than words could ever adequately express.

baby ali

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Throwback Thursday

On May 18, 2012 I was 34 weeks pregnant and on bed rest. I had been on bed rest since about the five month mark due to Pelvic Dysmorphia Syndrome which is essentially your ligaments pulling away from your pelvis. If you are thinking that sounds extremely painful you would be correct.

At 28 weeks I went for an ultrasound and they noticed that my cervix had shortened to half and I was told I was at risk for preterm labour. There were a lot of words thrown at Este and I like cerebral palsy, beta shots, weekly ultrasounds, non-stress tests etc. Basically we were told to take it day by day with the goal of “making it” to 35 weeks.

Cut to May 18th, 2012. After weeks of strict bed rest, meals on wheels from family and countless hours of tv, my water broke at 1:00 pm in the afternoon. I remember I was lying in bed with Ali trying to get her to nap as we had family coming over at five for my 31 birthday celebration.

I heard the tell tale pop and felt the subsequent gush and knew my water had broken. I called Este who freaked out, telling me to call 911 and I told him to calm down and meet Ali and I at the hospital as I was driving.

When we got there Labour and Delivery confirmed that my membranes had indeed ruptured and the whirlwind ensued.

We had a meeting with the maternity GP on call, an obstetrician and the head nurse who all lulled Este and I into a false sense of security. “Oh this is fine” they said “we are happy when babies make it to 28 weeks these days”. We were left with the choice of immediate c-section or I could wait a couple of days until I went into labour naturally and deliver vaginally with the risk of infection due to the fact that I was strep-b positive.

We were not willing to risk infection so we opted for the c-section.

At six pm they wheeled me out of my room in Labour and Delivery and into an operating theatre. Ten minutes after that they held Carlitos over the curtain and Este and I burst into tears.

He was beautiful and he was crying.

They took him off to the side while they started to put me back together. Este cut his umbilical cord and then they bundled him all up and brought him over to me.

I noticed right away he was having trouble breathing and his lips were purple. After what seemed like a split second with my son they took him away to the neonatal intensive care unit. Neither Este or I wanted our bean to be alone so we decided that Este would go to the NICU while the doctors finished sewing me up.

After I came out of recovery and was settled in my room on Mother/Babe I had the overwhelming urge to be with my son. Este wheeled me into the NICU and nothing could have prepared me for what I saw.

My sweet Carlitos was on his tummy in an incubator hooked up to a CPAP machine to help him breath. He had leads on him everywhere monitoring his breathing, heart rate, sats etc. I started sobbing. This was not what I was expecting after our pep talk from the doctors prior to delivery. I wanted to hold my son and I couldn’t. All I could do was open a portal on the side of the incubator and rest my hand on his diaper. Because he was born at 34 weeks the nerve endings in his skin were extremely sensitive so the nursing staff advised against any rubbing or light touch.

The next few days were hell. I was in a shared room, alone, and I kept dreading the arrival of another new Mom and her babe. I finally asked one of the nurses to put my anxiety at rest and she replied “Oh honey, we would never put another mom in there with you when you don’t have your baby.”

I was relieved and devastated all at the same time. I sobbed for a long time as an artificial machine pumped my boobs so that my milk would come in and the nurses could start feeding Carlos through an nasal gastric tube when he was ready.

Before I was released three days later, the NICU staff informed Este and I that a nurse had accidentally given all of the colostrum I had tirelessly pumped to another baby by accident. I will never forget Este’s face. He just broke down under the stress and worry for me and our little bean.

Carlos remained in the NICU over the next seven weeks on CPAP, caffeine, monitors and nasal gastric feeding tubes. We, along with the NICU nurses, celebrated each new milestone together. It was a test of emotional strength for both Este and I as our little guy got stronger.

We have gone through months upon months of assessments with Queen Alexandra to ensure Carlitos is developing as he should. This past summer “he graduated” from the program as well as from his pediatrician. Those were huge milestones for him and for us.

Since he was born, Carlitos has always had respiratory issues. He was seriously ill with croup the September after he was born, seriously ill when we went to Argentina and we have endured countless trips to the ER, clinics and his family doctor over the past twenty months.

This past Tuesday Este took him to emerg as his never ending cough worsened quickly and he was struggling to breath. They advised us that this time it was not croup but a virus made worse by what they suspected to be asthma. It was suggested we see his family doctor as soon as possible to talk about some long term planning. Four hours and two inhaler prescriptions later the two of them were home.

Yesterday I was able to get Carlitos in to our GP’s office. The locum and I discussed Este’s family history of asthma, Carlitos’ many trips to the clinic, constantly being on antibiotics for lung infections and always having a cough that worsens with any viral or bacterial infection. She explained that it is hard to diagnose children under three but that this did sound like asthma and it was serious enough to warrant a referral to a pediatric specialist.

Today was day two of Carlitos running a fever. When he woke up this morning his temperature was 39.7. I alternated both puffers, Tylenol and Advil all day but he was writhing around on the floor screaming and crying. Back to the clinic we went. It seems his virus has turned into a bacterial infection.

Every time Carlitos gets sick I am taken right back to that horrible, helpless feeling I felt when he was in the NICU. Even though he is talking up a storm (by 20 month old standards) he is still unable to tell me what hurts or what I can do to help. It hurts my heart and sends me into the depths of anxiety.

Thank you for bearing with me through this long post. Some have it much worse, I know, and some have no idea what I am going through, but most people know what it is like to love somebody so profoundly you would do anything to take their pain away. That is what it is like with my kids. Whether it is Carlos and his lungs or Ali and her feelings; when they hurt, I hurt.

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Silver Lining: When Este got home tonight he told me today at daycare (he prefaced it with “today your daughter…”) Ali and Brucy were busted kissing in the romper room (side bar: what is it with my kids and getting busted kissing?! This doesn’t bode well..). Teacher Chianne told them that kisses were reserved for family to which Brucy replied: “We are family…she’s my wife.” Chianne, being the quick thinker that she is, said: “Oh you need a marriage certificate to be married”. Brucy then went and drew a “marriage certificate”, had Ali “sign” it and gave it to Chianne and said “See? We’re married.” Chianne had the last laugh though as she told Ali and Brucy that you had to be 18 to be married. They both just shrugged, said “oh” and went about their business.

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And A Big Brown Shark Came… [said in voice of Eddie Murphy]

I arrived home on Saturday night after being away for a week visiting my uncles in Toronto. To say I needed it would be the understatement of the year. I was totally spoiled – for seven days I ate amazing food, drank great wine, watched interesting tv and movies all while spending time with two of my favorite people. Did I mentioned that I slept in until ten everyday? Yes, a total lazy whore.

There is nothing like a little distance to put your life in perspective. I missed Este and the kids terribly and realized that a week is the longest I could go without them.

Sunday was busy and somehow Monday was upon us before I even blinked.

I had just come from an appointment with my surgeon where he told me a) everything was looking great, b) I could go to wearing elasticths (elastics said in voice when wearing elastics) half time, c) that I could start running again AND d) that he had found my blog through a mutual friends Facebook page and thought it was funny! I cannot even tell you how much respect and admiration I have for this man who has provided me the most exemplary customer service while changing my life (go back and review the before pictures and you will be reminded…pluck an apple through a picket fence kind of reminded). A compliment from someone other than friends or family is always nice as it is unsolicited and totally honest. Fist pump.

I was riding high after that appointment!

When I finally got to daycare to pick up the kids they were so happy to see me. It is the BEST feeling when you walk in to a room and your kids faces light up at the very site of you. We made our way home and had leftover Chinese food for dinner.

I don’t know why I forget how much I hate cleaning up the aftermath of Chinese food. There was rice everywhere. After dinner Carlos ate about a pint of raspberries and I didn’t think much more about it until later.

After an epic shakeout of rice and noodles the kids were naked and ready for the bath. Everything was going great – there was lots of laughing and splashing and then all of a sudden Carlos said “I toot”. This sent Ali and I into peels of laughter as he had never said that before.

And then Ali paused and looked slowly down towards Carlos’s direction…

Ali: “Mom? MOM!!!!! Carlos! Carlos is pooping in the TUUUUUUB!”

Me: “Oh fuck.”

Ali: “Ewwwww! It’s coming towards me! MOM!”

So now I am scrambling to get Ali out of the tub, Carlos out of the tub while simultaneously gagging as I stick my hand in the water to pull the drain.

It’s all fun and games until someone shits in the tub.

I finally got the kids down and wanted to go and hide at the thought of the rice paddy in my kitchen and shit in the tub that were waiting for me

Many gags later all was as it should be and I was spent. I put on my jammies, crawled into bed and was dead to the world until six this morning.

Did Tuesday relent? Well, Este is currently in emerg with Carlitos who has a fever and croup.

We shall see what hump day has to offer…

Before…

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After…

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PS I went for my first run today in four months and it was fucking awesome!

Follow Your Heart All The Way To The Door…

I have been home for the past two days with Ali who has a lung and throat infection. When she came in to our bed in the wee hours yesterday morning complaining of a sore throat I figured it was her usual attempt at not going to daycare. My alarm went off at six and as I went to get ready my little bean was quick on my heels all sleepy-eyed and haggard insisting that her throat “really, really hurt”. I took a look inside her mouth and was honestly astonished that she could even breath as it looked like there were two ping pong balls on either side of her throat. She was definitely sick.

We ventured to the clinic that afternoon to confirm that she had swollen glands and throat in addition to some kind of lung infection. Off to the pharmacist we went to pick up antibiotics and then home to snuggle and watch movies. This is how we have spent the majority of the past twenty four hours.

A favorite movie of hers right now is Disney’s newest, Frozen; it is a close second to my favorite Brave, but she is obsessed.  We have probably watched it four or five times in the last two weeks, so much so that I am beginning to know all of the words to each song. Good thing this is a movie where they are somewhat bearable.

Anyways, those of you with small kids who watch Disney movies incessantly will know that there are three major themes that seem to pop up over and over: following your heart, finding your true love and overcoming adversity. Blah, blah, freaking blah blah.

I didn’t realize how skillful Disney is at permeating the brains of our young ones until it smacked me in the face this afternoon.

Me: “Ali, can you take this container and put it by the front door where the recycling is?”

Ali: “No Mom.”

Me: “What? What do you mean no? I asked you to please take it so do so now…”

Ali: “Mom, I told you no. I am following my heart and my heart doesn’t want to take out the recycling. It is really importnant to follow your heart Mom. It really is.”

*Stunned Silence*

At this point I am trying so hard to keep from laughing uncontrollably and also cursing her lawyer mind (just like her father) for actually making an argument that is hard to counter. Thankfully I had my parent cap on and dashed those dreams immediately.

Me: “That’s great that you are following your heart my love but  it’s probably a good idea that you take that recycling to the front door right  now.”

Ali: “Ok Mama. But when someone is following their heart it is very, very rude to make them take out the recycling.”

Me: “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As she walked to the front door with the empty jar of pesto sauce I could hear her singing “For the first time in foreverrrrrrrrrrr, nothing’s in my waaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!”

She is SO one for the theatre.

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expecting to be expecting

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