Dear Connor - 4 Years, 11 Months

Dear Connor,

Tonight I got the old baby clothes out of the attic for the consignment sale I will be participating in this year. I decided to go ahead and get rid of all of the winter and fall stuff that your brother has already outgrown. I was so certain that it was going to be a quick and easy process that while Daddy was doing the pre-bed-prep I threw the first bag of clothes onto the bed and began sorting. My eyes were watering within 4 minutes. I wasn't prepared for how hard it was going to be.




I thought I would just toss them in neat little piles, smiling at this one or that one, but when I picked up your green fuzzy sweatsuit that was the standard, cold weather outfit, when you were just a year old, I held it to my chest. When I picked up a pair of footy pjs and held them up so I could see the size, my muscle memory kicked in and I remember how exactly it felt to hold you up in the air when you only weighed a few pounds. I can tell you where each article of clothing came from, who purchased it and why I loved it so. I can tell you which shirts your belly poked out of, or which onesie you threw up on immediately each time we put you into it. I can tell you which pants were the warmest and what you wore the first day of preschool. And while it doesn't matter to anyone else... those memories matter to me. Because when I see the pants that you wore on the first day of preschool, I remember you on the first day of preschool. How small you were sitting on my hip, next to my buldging belly where your brother, (due any day) was curled up and sleeping, waiting to be born. How scared I was for you. How I went to iHop to celebrate my child free time and ordered pancakes that I was too nervous to eat.




Tonight, I could not stop staring at you when you came over to rummage though the bag to see if there was anything that would fit one of the babydolls we bought for you when Tristan was born. How did you get so big SO FAST?! It's incredible. I'm so lucky to have been able to stay home with you and your brother. While I do a lot of complaining about how I don't have time to myself or how I don't stop moving until 9pm, it really is a gift to have been able to nurture you full time. You should thank your Father some time for making it happen... and maybe so should I.



But some days now you look at me, like you've just had enough of me and when I come over to put my arms around you and hug you, you whine and push me away. I understand. Some days I feel like that too. But if I could get you back into that onesie with the bunnies and bears on it, I swear I'd hold you forever.
I love you,
Mommy

You Have the Right to Remain Silent

Its afternoon and we are at Grammie’s house when my Step Dad comes in wearing his police uniform after work. He sits down at the table and Connor appraises him, looks and me and then says seriously to him, “Papa Chuck, I don’t want to tell you this but Mommy has a library book and its WAAAYYY overdue.” My Step dad responds, “She does?” at which point Connor reiterates just to be sure that he’s being clear. “It’s WAY overdue.”
I asked my Step Dad to arrest me, because the thought of 3 meals a day that I didn’t have to cook, a facility with outside time and a gym seems like a spa retreat to me, but he wasn’t buying it.
I guess it’s time to talk to Connor about family loyalty. Or maybe just about library fines.

Dear Tristan - 2 Years, 11 Months

Dear Tristan,

Right now as I'm writing this, you are upstairs in your room, talking very loudly to yourself about how you shouldn't be up there taking a nap. You are almost ready to give up the nap, but because I'm unwilling to part with it, you'll be put in your room for a mid afternoon siesta until you stop falling asleep while you are in there.

Last week we went to the beach. I went up to mow the grass for PaPaw, so we could have one last vacation before school started up. The first evening we were there, I got out the lawn mower and before I even had it started you were screaming. You weren't afraid of the mower at all, you were for some strange reason, suddenly afraid of bees. Specifically that bees were going to fly up your nose. You protected your nose by sticking both fingers into your nostrils as far as they would go and kept them there the entire time you were outside.

PaPaw's theory was that you were just trying to get attention, but I think it was more than that. I think you were actually afraid that bees would fly up your nose. I have no idea where you got this idea, or if maybe a gnat actually DID fly up your nose, but this phase definately put a damper on the "play in the backyard" portion of our trip. You weren't just crying about it... you were screaming hysterically and with both fingers shoved into your nose. It was just as incredibly funny as it wasn't.

Luckily there are no bees on the beach so you were fine there, frolicking in the surf with your brother. This trip was the first time that you didn't have to wear floaties, (at the sound) which allowed you to move around more freely. My efforts to teach you to swim were pointless as you had absolutely no interest in even being held by me in the water. You've never been dunked, but due to your healthy respect for the water, you rebel any depth higher than your tummy. Even if I'm holding you when that depth is reached.

In a few weeks you'll start at a brand new preschool. I have butterflies in my tummy for you and I can only hope that you love it. I know for sure that they will love you. Especially since there is no cat for you to chase around the classroom.

I love you,
Mommy

Dear Connor - 4 Years, 10 Months

Dear Connor.

Yesterday we were going to Trader Joe's and you and Tristan snuck your crayon and paper into the car. I've been trying to pick my battles with a little more care so I let it slide. On the way to the store, you were in your car seat with your paper pushed up against your knee, working your red crayon with intense concentration. At one point you were so focused I felt the need to see what exactly was going on and asked if I could see you art, (we were at a stop light). You flashed your paper at me and I was so stunned the only thing that kept me from jumping out of the car and hugging you was a seat belt and the 15 cars behind me.

It was colored completely solid. INSIDE OF THE LINES.

This was the first time ever that you had TRIED to stay in the lines, held the crayon in the proper position and then actually stayed in the lines. For most kids that's something that they've been doing since they were 3. For you, it was a major accomplishment. An accomplishment that you repeated four more times, later that day!

And there, sitting on the exit ramp of the interstate... I knew that I could not have been more proud of you if you had just been elected President.

I love that you make the ordinary, extraordinary.

Mommy

The Next Attention Deficit Disorder?

The Next Attention Deficit Disorder?

I'm so thrilled to see some attention given to SPD. It's such a relief when I meet someone that knows what it is so I don't have to launch into a detailed explaination of it all.

Dear Tristan - 2 Years, 10 Months

Dear Tristan,
Every day I see or hear you do something that I want to remember to blog in your monthly entry. There is so much that you do that simply amazes me. Of course, by the time I sit down to write an entry you are sleeping upstairs in your chair and not even a cup of iced coffee can jog my memory to recall all of the cuteness that is you.
I could write about your obsession with booboos and bandaids. Or how you torment your brother by taking something that's his and running for your life to hide behind my legs claiming that you had it first. I could mention the little bit of sass you are experimenting with, finding that calling Mommy and Daddy names lands you in time out, even if Cuckoo-Popper isn't really an insult. Maybe your obsession with bugs. Your fear of mosquitos, swimming pools, said bugs and sunscreen.


I could write an entire entry on how quickly you've potty trained, even staying dry through the night and naps. We've been bribing you with the jellybeans left over from Easter and now we've moved on to m&ms. For the first time in almost five years I can not remember the last time I changed a poopy diaper. If I wrote an entire entry on potty training you, it would certainly include the neurotic flushing process you go through. Before going potty, you flush. You pee. You flush. You poop. You flush. You wipe. You flush. You finish pooping. You flush. You wipe. You flush. And if it's not all gone down. You flush again. I've tried explaining to you that you only flush once and even tried to make you get on the potty and finish your business without flushing in between jobs, but you refuse to even sit on the potty with that filth in the bottom. I guess it can go on for another week or so just until you really get comfortable with it all. I'm so proud of you.


I probably would like to forget how you torment the cat, chasing him and roaring like a lion because you think it's hysterical to watch him panic. I could also forget the screaming tantrum that you throw when we put you down for bed, as you take a page from your brothers book, yelling, "I want to tell you something!", over and over again. I've fallen for it a couple of times and the thing that you want to tell me is the free association stream of consciousness that's running through your mind. Anything that keeps me from closing your door for bed.
I could probably also stand to forget how if you don't like something that you've been given for dinner, you spit it out. Onto your plate. Immediately. Chewed or not. It's gross and we can't seem to break you of it.

I probably should write about how when you get hungry you go and sit in your seat, patiently waiting for your dinner. You are on a mission and you are serious about it.
Your Dad and I often talk about how sneaky you are. We, of course, can tell when you have a piece of food from the table that's being hidden in your hands or a toy that's been tucked into your pants, but you think you are getting away with something. If you are quiet, you are definately up to something... or sleeping in your chair.
I love you more than Sun and Light,
Mommy

Theme Week

I may have mentioned that I have divided the weeks of summer into theme weeks. The boys are really into it because they get to pick the weekly theme and they think it’s something special all week long. I print out coloring pages from the internet and have them color pages based on the theme, (this week is pirate week), and then we read books on the theme for bedtime, (which, really, we are reading bedtime books anyway, right?) and I come up with one other activity during the week. For Indian week, we read books, made Indian headdresses and colored pages printed from online. While we colored we listened to Native American flute music. When they wanted to watch a movie, I gave them a choice of Peter Pan or Pocahontas… Nifty right?

This week I’ve been slacking a little bit, but this weekend we are taking them to Discovery Place to see the pirate exhibit.

 

Here’s some ideas that Pattie sent via email…

 

Dinosaur week, huh.....get the paper mache going, girl.....you can make some big dinosaur eggs and then hide them around the yard.  There's one thought!  When I think of anymore stuff, I'll yell!  (Maybe some plaster of paris dino footprints.......)

 And if you ever get around to NASCAR week, I've got TONS for that!  We can show them how to roll tables and chairs, and set up for race!  WOOHOO!  Then you can show them how to pillage suite buffets for 800 lbs. of whole beef tenderloin, turkey breasts, hams and already wrapped hot dogs!  (Don't forget.....you can also show them how to properly stuff said 800 lbs. of whole beef tenderloin, turkey breasts, hams and already wrapped hot dogs into duffle bags for transport!)  And don't forget the hike to Parking Lot Z.....THAT oughta tire them both out!!!  Hell, with some beer and friends, you can even show them how to fend off drunken Earnhardt fans!!  You can then cap off the week with a trip to Darlene's driveway at 4am, with cold beer (alright....juice!), and tons of $1 dollar bills, of course, where they will also learn how to share the aforementioned pillaged foods, along with wonderful stories of their NASCAR week experiences!

Break Report

Just yesterday I was going to go around the house and take pictures of all of the holes in the walls and put them into a photo montage that chronicled what it’s like living with drunken monkeys two small boys. I walked around room to room looking over the things that needed to be fixed and becoming more and more agitated. I thought that taking pictures of it all would be good therapy for me and at the least generate some sympathy from your loyal readers out there.
I grabbed the camera turned it on and was rewarded with Nikon’s famous, “lens error”. This means that the camera is now just a kids toy because it no longer is functional. Could be the kids broke it. Could be I did and have no memory of it whatsoever… but that’s not as likely. Now our first Nikon died the same, “lens error” death. I know that cameras are fragile, but they should be able to withstand at least some sort of abuse.
Thus, there will be no break report entry today because the kids have broken the camera… That being said, we will now begin taking donations for the digital SLR that will be replacing the cheap ass point and shoot cameras we’ve been buying. I’ll put up a donate now button just as soon as I’m finished patching up some of the holes in the walls.

Dear Connor - 4 Years, 9 Months

Dear Connor,
Finally you are starting to emerge from the chaos. When I say, you... I mean, YOU. It must be difficult to live in a world of visual and auditory distraction. To not be able to organize your own thoughts or to be in time out every thirty minutes because you can't control your impulses. Finally, you are starting to slow down.
At first I thought that maybe it was just a phase, but now I'm starting to feel like maybe it's going to stick around. Maybe the intensive therapy is starting to pay off already. It's been four days in a row and you've been in trouble less and coherent more. There is no hope like the hope of a Parent. This is something I know for sure.


When we started the therapy they said that we'd see changes in as little as six weeks. I had heard from other moms that major changes could come about in two weeks. In two weeks, you had gone the other direction, getting worse, before you were getting better, something that was quite hellish, when you add in the stress of continual therapy.
Because we've had no one to talk to, save the friends of friends that have Sensory kids and have been kind enough to spare me a few minutes on the phone to listen to me, I and another Mother with a Sensory kid have decided to head up the Sensory Support Group in Charlotte. We are trying to get it started through the SPD (Sensory Processing Disorder) Foundation and have a long road ahead of us. We are dabbling in the Foundation to see how it goes, but it's entirely possible that we'll end up starting something of our own. I guess one child's misfortune can be another child's salvation. I hope we can help some people.



Aside from the daily excitement of therapy we've not been doing much this summer. You've honed your obsession with building contraptions, using anything available and various rolls of tape or blankets. I sometimes wonder if you were Macguyver in a past life. By the time you read this entry, Macguyver will be one of those pop culture references that you don't know. It will be a word that's as unfamiliar as album, cassette or cash. Google it babe. I'll bet that's something that's still around.



I've divided the remaining weeks of the Summer into theme weeks. This sounds much more June Cleaver, (another name for you to Google) than it is. Basically, I get so paralysed by my analysis of what to do each day, we sometimes end up doing nothing because the things to pick from are just too overwhelming. So, this week. Indian Week. Next week is Pirate week and so on. It's easy for me to think of an Indian related (or Native Americans as the nice lady at the library with a dot on her forehead reminded me) craft or project to do. You are so crazy into this. I should have thought of it sooner. Really, it's quite genius. Each week will end on a Saturday and we'll have some sort of Grand Finale. I'm not sure what the Indian week finale is going to be... but you'd best be glad that you're not 16 or we'd be out back building a sweat lodge. I wonder if the neighborhood association as a rule against those?

I love you more than ever.
Mommy

Platypus Helps Illuminate Ovarian Cancer

Seriously.
Platypus Helps Illuminate Ovarian Cancer

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Silly's All We Got

It's getting more and more difficult to find things that are new and interesting for Connor to do for his heavy work. Tonight we got the five lb, soft squishy weight ball and had him throw it over and over onto an empty diaper box crushing it. He was so happy he was able to legally destroy something in the house, I don't think he realized he was doing the "heavy work" part of his therapy. We've had to get creative so far to find things that interest him. I've filled a gallon juice bottle with blue colored water, glitter and sparkles and we played hot potato with it, or pretended like it was a baby that had to be rocked and then put to bed. We've used the 5lb stick weight to shoot aliens. We have wheelbarrow and crab walked all over the house. We bulit a 12" square board with casters that rotate 360 degrees for him to sit on and pull himself around the house by using his hands. And that's just a few of the fun and exciting things we do all day. He needs to do things that would be to us, a good work out. He only does the heavy work for about 5 minutes and after that he needs to be tired from it. I can't believe how much strength he's built up in just two weeks. And this is where I need your help. I welcome any suggestions or ideas for things and are both fun and strengthening for him to do. Send me your ideas even if you think they are silly. Round here some days, silly's all we got.

6 Simple Steps

To enjoy the use of your ipod, first plug in your headphones.


If you can't get them plugged in, it could be because you aren't holding your mouth just right.

Once plugged in, put the earbuds into your ears.

Then, choose your music.

Sit back. Chill.

Enjoy.

Because I Said So

It's early evening and Connor is doing the "heavy-work" part of his therapy. He has a 9 lb medicine ball and is lifting it up over his head and dropping it onto the sofa. It's a fifth of his body weight. I tell him to do it five times.

He says, "I'M GOING TO DO IT 100 TIMES!!!"
I respond, "Buddy, you do that 100 times and I'll let you eat as much ice cream as you want, right out of the carton."

And when you are a parent, you have to do what you say you are going to... even when the impossible happens.

Dear Tristan - 2 Years, 9 Months

Dear Tristan,
You poor little thing. In addition to having to watch Mommy spin and play with Connor five times a day to get his therapy done, (the 6th time is with Daddy), you have developed an obsession with bugs. Today alone, I've taken the broom from you four times because you saw a piece of fuzz on the floor and thought it might be a spider. Wednesday I flushed a spider down the toliet, "sending it to the beach" of course, and you talked about it for the rest of the day. You are fascinated and frightened all at once.



You walk around the house during the day peering under furniture and in the cracks of windows trying to find bugs. In this house, if you are really looking, you are going to find them. And you do.
You are getting a little bit jealous of your brother getting so much attention right now and I feel so bad for you. I try to let you help, but it turns into a brawl with the two of you fighting over whatever object we are working with. I try to give you some extra love in the evenings after your brother goes to bed and you don't seem to mind this at all.

We also have two days a week where your brother is in his preschool program and we get to spend those together, alone. The first hour you spend at the gym with me, but afterwards we have a whole two hours for you to do the fun stuff that you've missed out on being the second child. Each time you beg me to go to the grocery store so that you can push the little kids cart around the store. You are so good at it too! Your brother tries to run the cart into displays or see how fast he can run down the aisle with it, but you are a dilligent shopper. You stay on your side of the aisle and even stop and pull something off of the shelf, pretending to read the box and then throw it in the cart. You are disappointed when I put it back explaining that we don't need soda can covers or a box of eclairs, but I do let you pick out your own ice cream, a magical experience.

You are getting so big! I'm so glad that you are still small enough to fit into my lap, so in the evenings when I read, "Meet Diego" from your Dora the Explorer Storybook, for the 200th time, I can sit with your head next to mine and smell your sweet baby smell.
The blankie is your eternal friend. You love blankie. You talk to blankie. I know for sure if there was a fire in the house and there was one thing you could grab, it would be blankie. Blankie is also the one thing that you do not have to share. If your brother tries to take it from you and I appear in the room, he instantly drops it, knowing that punishment for taking Blankie is swift and sure. We feel like if there is any one thing in this house that is completely yours... it's Blankie... well... and maybe the chair in your room.

Oh, but you love to sleep in the chair in your room. Generally, you nap in your chair during the day and sleep in your bed at night. Many nights, even if we put you in the bed, you get up and move to the chair when you are done with the "I don't want to go to bed" protest. Some mornings though, when you wake up at 6am and your "I'm ready to get up", cries are ignored, you snuggle into your chair and allow us all another hour of blissful sleep.
You are starting to fight bedtime, standing at your door crying and sometimes falling asleep in front of it. When this happens you wake up, not sure where you are screaming in terror. You'd think there was a spider in your room.
I know I should be potty training you, but I keep putting it off. You like to pee in the potty, but still cry for a diaper if I insist that you poop on the pot. I'm not sure if I am putting it off because we have so much going on right now, or because once you are trained, our baby is growing up. It's so hard to let go.
I love you,
Mommy

What it is

I haven't had much time to write because I've been busy doing therapy with Connor every 90 minutes. I know I said I would post more info about the Sensory Processing Disorder, but it's taken me this long to get a grasp on what it is, what is does and how we are going to fix it.
Connor was diagnosed with Sensory Seeking type of Sensory Processing Disorder. This disorder is also called, Sensory Integration Disorder, Sensory Modulation Disorder or Sensory Integration Dysfunction. It seems to be if they would just pick a name, maybe there would be less confusion. The Sensory Seeking part of the disorder, appears much like ADHD in a child. You know the child that can't sit still or stop talking. The child that is constantly running into other children on the playground or hitting them self or basically doing anything that will provide the stimulation they are so desperately craving.
In addition, he was diagnosed with Dyspraxia, which manifests in a fine motor skill delay. I always thought that maybe he wasn't into coloring and drawing because he didn't get the art gene. In fact, it's more likely that it's difficult for him to do because holding a pencil is hard for him. So is holding a toothbrush or a fork or anything else that requires a strong grip for functionality. It's difficult for him to catch a ball as well, which on the playground sometimes leaves him left out of ball games.
Also, they found that he has Low Muscle Tone, which, attributes to the Fine Motor Delay as well.
And this is what we are doing about it. Right now, he has therapy every 90 minutes.
His therapy consists of brushing his body, (to wake up the nerve endings that are desensitized). Then compressions where we push into the joints, for example, taking the arm while holding the elbow and pushing it back into the elbow, (this is supposed to give him the deep tissue sensation that he craves). Then there is five minutes of spinning or swinging or rolling to stimulate the hairs in the ears, which brings a nervous system response or stimulation and then since he’s pumped up after, we have to bring him down with five minutes of heavy muscle work, (lifting heavy objects, push ups, sit ups or wheelbarrow walks). The lifting heavy objects does seem to calm him down, so I’ve been having him help with more heavy work around the house.
All of this is basically retraining his nervous system. The Sensory Seeking kids, get ramped up and don’t have the ability to come back down. Doing the hard muscle work, forces their nervous system back down, sort of training it. Some of the therapy seems a little strange, but if it produces results, we'll do anything. He’s getting to where he starts to fight me on the heavy muscle work because he’s getting tired of having to do it. At least during the day he gets a solid 15 minutes of Mommy time 5 times during the day, in addition to our other activities. Jorma does therapy number 6 in the evenings. The therapy is supposed to only be every 90 minutes for a few weeks then it goes to every 2 hours then it will move to every 3 and so on. This will continue for the next nine months, at which point they will evaluate him again and see if he needs more.
All of this is hard for me too, because it seems like as soon as I start doing something, I have to stop and do his therapy. Then there’s Tristan who is starting to get jealous and doesn’t understand why Connor gets to swing and spin with Mommy and he doesn’t. His response has been bad behavior to get extra attention. It’s tough. Sometimes after I am finished with Connor, I have to then do “therapy” for Tristan, doubling the therapy time. I feel lucky to have time to throw in a load of laundry.
Or blog. In fact, above is mostly an excerpt from another email I sent to a friend that was asking after Connor. But I wanted to post some information for those of you that are checking the blog to see how things are going.
Things are going well... considering Mommy feels like she's drowning some days.
They said that in six weeks we will see a drastic difference in Connor. I've heard from other Moms that in just two we should start to see improvement. I'm looking forward to it, not just for our own good, but for Connors. It must be awful to not be able to stop doing the things that you know will get you in trouble. I can't imagine how it must feel to go into shutdown each night due to over stimulation, (this is what led us to start seeking help in the first place). Connor would get so ramped up that he couldn't even eat his dinner. It's like he was having a mini nervous breakdown each evening and while it was hard on us, certainly it's even harder on him. I'm just glad that we were able to find some resolution and hopefully start taking the steps that he needs to get him back on an even keel again.

Dear Connor - 4 years, 7 months

Dear Connor,
Once you told your Grammie Kathi that you wanted to be good, and you didn't know why you couldn't be. We thought for a long time you were just "all boy" and that maybe you were just really, really tired at the end of the day when you couldn't slow down. After a while, once you passed through your terrible twos and the "even worse three's" you still were non stop. It started to appear that there might be a problem.
In fact, I thought there was a problem well before that. By well before, I mean when you were one year old and displaying little quirks that we were sure weren't normal. You wouldn't make eye contact, you didn't want to be held, you wouldn't let us brush your teeth, you didn't really play with toys. I researched Autism. I was afraid. Your Dad was worried. I talked to the Dr. she didn't take it seriously, you know, me being a new Mom and all.




At two years old I went back to the Dr. explaining that you were unusually active. The diagnosis was that you were "a boy". That we needed to be more consistant. In part this was because you were only having problems at home and I reported no problems at school... because none were reported to me.
A year later I was back. Explaining that something was off. That it wasn't normal for a little boy to be as active and frenetic as you became in the evenings. That it wasn't sleep deprevation, and it wasn't just me not being able to handle my own child. Again she was going to lecture me on consistancy until I said the words, Sensory Processing Disorder. Then she said that she could recommend someone and did. They had a year long waiting list for diagnosis.
While I was trying to find more information to help you, I started getting reports of your bad behavior in school. I was confused by this since I had not had any reports of bad behavior any of the previous years. I called to speak to the Director of your preschool, because I thought that if all of a sudden you were misbehaving this badly, that your new teacher, (who, later we came to love) had expectations that were too high. Imagine my surprise when the director informed me, (without any compassion), that the year before your teacher had been in her office several times about your behavior. No one had ever mentioned this to me. Imagine my fury. And suddenly, it all started coming together. Holy shit. Maybe it wasn't just me.

The Director was going to call me back to let me know why I was never informed of any problems you were having, which she never bothered to do. That didn't matter to me, since I wasn't going to bother putting you back into that preschool the next year, but more importantly it was the missing piece of the puzzle. And it spurred me into action.
We had you evaluated by the school system, which turned out nothing useful since you had no problems in congnitive areas. In fact you showed to be quite bright in several areas. They did think that you should be evaluated for a Sensory Processing Disorder.


Through a friend of a friend that had a Sensory kid, we found a private office that would evaluate you without a year long wait. During your first screening I was told that you obviously had sensory issues. I cried... from relief.
Yesterday, your Dad and I went for your full evaluation. They reported that you have a Sensory Processing Disorder (Sensory Seeking), Dyspraxia (Fine Motor Skill Delay) and difficulty sequencing actions. I'll get more into the details of it all later, but in short, after about 9 months of Occupational Therapy you'll be just fine. I can not tell you how relieved we are, not for our own sanity, although that's some of it, but because soon it will be easier to be "good".
Because it took a whole lot of me ignoring bad advice from other people and trusting my instincts. Because when I told you in another entry that we would always fight for you, I wasn't kidding.
I'm so glad your mine,
Mommy

Dear Tristan 2 Years, 8 Months

Dear Tristan,
Today was the last day of your first year of preschool. You loved going and playing with your friends, even if it took you the five months to stop crying when I dropped you off. Oh no, I don't think it was that you didn't like school... I think you just wanted me to stay and hang out with you while you were there.



A few weeks ago, we were walking into the school and a little girl that I've never met said, "THERE'S TRISTAN!" to her Mommy. Another little girl, quickly turned around and said, "Hiiii Triistaann!" with a look so coy I felt a pang of pity for her parents when she hits high school. You stopped and beamed at both girls and then went on about your business. Your business being project: chase brother to the classroom. The ladies love you. You loved your teacher and so did we. It makes me sad to know that we are finished for the Summer. Next year you are going to a different school, with a new set of teachers and I'm nervous already.


You and your brother are still fighting as always, but you still can not bear to be apart. When I put him into his room for time out, you inevitably end up closed up in yours because you keep trying to let him out. I try to explain that he's in there for beating on you and that he has to finish his time, but you don't understand crime and punishment yet.
You've gotten tall quickly and introduce yourself to perfect stangers as either Batman or Ironman. You are starting to speak so clearly that even people that don't hang out with 2 year olds all day can understand you. I'm very proud of your verbal skills.


Holy crap you are smart. I mean SMART. Now your brother is no dummy so I guess being the second child, you get that second child advantage. The other day your brother pulled a shirt out of his drawer and laid it across his chest so you couldn't see the picture on the front. "Guess what this shirt is, Tristan!", he exclaimed. You tossed him a look over your shoulder and said, "Clean." and went on your way. Glad to know you got the smart-ass gene.
We are going to have a fantastic Summer. With all of our beach trips and the Summer fun we've planned I'm almost sad that you probably won't have any memories of it. Not to worry, love. I'll take lots of pictures.
I love you,
Mommy

Easter Sunday

Yeah, they'll leave muddy footprints on your floor and eat your candy when you aren't looking... but aren't they cute in their sweaters?


I like in the above picture how you can see Connor "Accidently on Purpose" holding his brother by the neck.


And how all things blend into chaos.

Catching Up

One of the first things to go when I get busy is the blog. Writing should take precedence since it's "me" time and because it's cheaper than a therapist, but it starts to feel like a second, (or 6th) job to me. Because I've been busy getting my CNA (Certified Nursing Assistant) Certification, working and taking care of the boys, I've got some catching up to do. We'll go back to Easter and start from there. See my bunny cake?! Jorma says next year I should make it Red Velvet cake on the inside. ew.

Can You Hear Me Now?

Several of you have heard about the ear problem I was having and asked me if I tried this or that. I want you all to know that I tried everything. And to display proof of my desperation, here’s the list of what I tried.
Externally; the ENT, Chiropractor, Full Body Massage with lymphatic drainage, steam, hot packs, cold packs, ice packs and heating pad (dry heat). I even turned on the Sonic Toothbrush and held it to my ear to try to vibrate the stuff out of it, (this sounds strange, but it sort of helped).
In the ear I tried; garlic oil, steroid drops, sweet oil, vinegar, wax removal drops, hot water.
In the nose I tried; neti pot with a squirt of nasal decongestant (this probably helped the most out of anything but OMG it hurt like a Mother$%&#$@!), neti pot with salt water, saline nose spray.

Internally I tried; Sudafed, antibiotics, steroids, Omega 3, 4000 mg of Vit C daily, Ibuprofen, Red Algae, Echinacea/Goldenseal, Hot Tea
Just to feel better I tried; Smoking, Milkshakes, Hot baths and Chocolate
Ultimately I think the thing that worked the best was the Neti Pot… and time.

Breaking the Surface

Ok, so my ear is finally on the mend and I’m starting to feel like I’m functional again. I feel like I've been underwater and I'm breaking the surface. I know it sounds crazy that something as simple as fluid in the ear can be so debilitating, but it was. It was so distracting to not be able to hear that I didn’t want to go anywhere or do anything. It’s difficult to carry on a conversation with someone when you hear your own voice so clearly in your head. It’s sort of like when you hear yourself on the answering machine and say, “Do I REALLY sound like that?” It’s also difficult to focus on what someone else is saying when you hear everything in stereo. So if you have talked to me in the past month and it seemed like I wasn’t really paying attention. I wasn’t. Just so we are clear.
In the meantime, I’ve got some catching up to do.
During the past few weeks I did get one major thing accomplished. I completed my CNA (Certified Nursing Assistant) Class. Now I just have to study like crazy and take the state test in a couple of weeks. In case you are wondering what in the hell I’m doing taking a CNA class, let me enlighten you. I’ve decided to go back to school for nursing. Some of you will be astounded by this, being that I have such a cool career as a graphic designer going for me. However, it’s not so cool to watch your field dry up before your very eyes as soon as someone even thinks the word recession. Plus, now that the online templates and design programs have become “idiot proof” the mainstream of start up companies that utilized graphic designers to get their corporate presence situated are now doing it themselves. Not to mention websites that offer design bids, where the average joe can get a logo for $50.00. Why don’t I hop on one of these websites and get some work there you might ask? Because in the end you are still competing with people in other countries, (you know, the countries that hold our talk centers), that will do the design for a quarter of the price I would charge. I’m just not willing to do the work if I’m only making $5.00 an hour. But I digress.
When Jorma was unemployed two years ago, I realized one thing. If had a degree in nursing I could have walked out the door and gotten a full time job with benefits. Hell, I probably could have gotten a full time job AND a part time job, just to glue us together until he found something else. Instead I searched for six months before finally landing a fantastic design gig with a company that I still do side work for. But now that he’s working and I’m not, I know one thing for sure. If he gets laid off… we are screwed. So, I’m going to step up to the plate.
Now, please don’t make the mistake of thinking that when I say I’m stepping up to the plate it means that currently I’m lying on the sofa eating bon bons all day while the children play quietly in the corner. I stay pretty busy. Managing the house, the kids, the laundry, (OMG the laundry), going to the gym and working part time is more than a full time job in itself. So much so that when I was working a temp part time design gig last fall I savored each Friday because I could go and pee without a child in the bathroom with me. And lunch with the girls. In a restaurant. A restaurant that doesn’t have a giant mouse for a mascot! Oh the glory.So, I'm going back to school. I'm not quite sure what I'm going to do with the kids when I get into nursing school, since it's a full time gig. But I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.
Until then, I've got some studying to do... and some laundry. Always the laundry.

Still Crazy After All This Ear

The ear is still clogged. I can’t tell if it’s getting better or if I’m just getting used to it. At any rate, because it’s not seeming to improve on it’s own, I guess I just have to figure out how to work around it and assume life as normal. The problem is, working around it. I hate large groups or crowded places because I can’t hear and I really am not as chatty as before, because everything I say is repeated in stereo inside of my ear. It’s driving me nuts.

Physician Heal Thyself

Monday, after an excruciating day of clock watching, counting the seconds until I could go to the ENT, I finally went. I fully expected him to look into my ear and mumble about how it was completely blocked with wax, put in a suction thingy and pull the space alien out of my ear canal. Instead, he looked into my ear, said it was clean and promptly sent me to the audiologist (in the same building) so I could have a hearing test and they could test the pressure on my ear. After spending almost $400.00 for the visit, I expected magic. What I got was a hurry up and wait diagnosis. The ear is full of fluid from the infection, (the infection is probably gone) and it may take a couple of weeks to clear up. A couple of weeks.
Jorma’s right that its better just because I know there isn’t a huge tumor pressing on the ear canal and the fluid in the ear diagnosis is a good problem to have, if I have to have a problem with my ear at all. The problem is that the fluid is still putting pressure on the ear drum, which means I can’t hear and I’m in pain still. And I’m dizzy.
The Dr. didn’t put me back on steroids, mainly because of the uncontrollable crying that was going on in his office. Apparently with some people, steroids cause hormonal type mood swings, (think CRAZY INTENSE PMS - think first trimester pregnancy) and I am one of those people. He said that it would take longer but he didn’t think I should go back onto the steroids. He did not use the term “bat shit crazy” although I’m quite certain he was thinking it.
Yesterday I went to the Chiropractor, hoping that he could provide a little bit of relief by straightening out my jaw which was killing me and possibly cleaning the path for ear to drain. I mean, after you’ve spent $400.00 on an ear dr. what’s another $40.00, right? The Chiro did tell me that I might start feeling some drainage an hour or so after my adjustment. I did, but it was all in the sinuses… I didn’t even realize I HAD anything left in my sinuses. But the ear didn’t drain. So. Still in pain. Still can’t hear.  
I guess that means I’m going to have to work on speeding up the healing myself. You know, onion poultices, and garlic oil in the ear. Vampires beware.

No good deed goes unpunished

I first have to take a minute to brag about the auction that we put on for one of the Moms in my MOMS Club who is fighting breast cancer. I’ve been absorbed in auction details, spending most of my preschool free time, collecting donations and organizing the event. The auction was held last Saturday and we raised over $4600.00 for our friend. It was a lot of work but now that it’s over, I couldn’t be prouder, (or happier to have my life back!). We had 18 volunteers from the club, women that selflessly gave up time and money and things to help in any way they could. I’ve never been so impressed by a group of women. I’m going to get them all to run for Congress next election.

I was so busy running around and worrying about the auction, during the auction that I lost out on several good deals. Things that I really wanted to purchase, but didn’t get a chance to. Well, I was worrying, blowing my nose and trying not to breathe on anyone, because the day of the auction. I had the flu.
I told Jorma two months ago that the day of the auction I would have the flu. I said this because of my experience with May Race at the track which I worked for several years in a row with the flu each time. It’s just the way it works for me.

The night after the auction, I was exhausted. I was too sick to really be happy about my (our) accomplishment and all I wanted to do was sleep. This ensured that I stayed up all night with my left ear which started throbbing about 10pm. By morning I was damn near hysterical from lack of sleep and pain and Jorma took me into the Urgent Care where I was diagnosed with Swimmers Ear, Inner Ear Infection, Flu and Pink Eye. Because I don’t do anything half-assed.

It’s been a week now and the ear is still not back to normal. I called the Dr. on Tuesday and was prescribed a stronger antibiotic and a steroid. The antibiotic caused Oral Thrush which I had last time I was sick and Thursday I was medicated for that as well. The steroids are making me a little bit loopy and I can’t say I like that at all. The bonus of 10 lbs of water weight and extreme nervousness isn’t helping me either. But worse of all, I can barely hear out of my left ear. I have an appointment with an ENT on Monday. This is scaring me for several reasons, not the least of which is that I can’t keep up with the children because I watch them with my ears as much with my eyes. I never realized this until I started suffering from this, how I know what they are up to by each little sound I hear. The other morning I let Tristan go downstairs before Connor and I but wasn’t able to hear him open the freezer and get out the ice cream. When we came downstairs five minutes later he was sitting on the floor of the kitchen with a half gallon of ice cream and a spoon munching away. Connor immediately shrieked, “WHY DOES TRISTAN GET ICE CREAM FOR BREAKFAST?!” and it was on.
You’d think that I’d appreciate the lack of hearing just a little bit because it would block out some of the noise from the kids. The problem is because the hearing that I have is so robotic that when the kids get loud and shrill, it actually starts hurting my ears. And it’s loud a lot around here.
So add the kids’ noise causing me pain, to not being able to taste from the oral thrush, not being able to sleep and the mood swings from the steroids, to the ten lbs of water weight, the balance problems and giving up cheese for lent… well… it’s just happy happy around here. I’ll post my ENT results on Monday. Wish me luck.

FW: Your blog.....

Because I knew that giving up cheese would be shocking to some… Here's a peek from my Inbox:

From: Pattie
Sent: Wednesday, March 11, 2009 5:30 PM
To: Janice
Subject: Your blog.....

YOU GAVE UP CHEESE?????!!!!!! ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME????!!!!! THE ORIGINAL MISS I NEED A CHEESE PATCH GAVE UP CHEESE???!!!!

ALRIGHT, JUST WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH JANICE???????

Dear Connor - 4 Years, 4 Months

Dear Connor,
Better late than never with your letter this month. Between cleaning up after you and your brother and managing this silent auction, I've been quiet busy. One of the girls that's in my MOMS Club has breast cancer and we've been putting together an auction to help her with the medical bills. Before I had children I would have been sympathetic, but now after having children I realize that all children are my children. All the children that are starving, lonely or hurting are my children. All of the children whose Mommy's are sick are my children. Because I can look at you and your brother and see how fortunate we are. Because I can look at your and your brother and see how fickle fortune can be and if something ever happened to me or your Dad, I would want someone to help you and your brother the same way. Because I look at those children and think, what if they were mine. You and your brother have changed my life in more ways than sleep deprevation and extra loads of laundry. You've made this world, our world. And I want to help change it for you.

But oh, let's move on to happier things... like how much you torture the cat and how he loves you so. Maybe somewhere in his little cat brain, he knew he was in a shelter. And he feels like any love is good love, even if it means that he's carried around from room to room in the house and plopped down on the floor, so that you can fall on the floor next to him and pet him. You tell him about your swimming lessons and how your day at school went. You tell him about your monsters at night and assure him you will protect him from them. In the morning when you wake up, he materializes out of thin air waiting to undergo the morning routine of playing fetch with his mouse.

Oh! I remember what I was going to write. Your memory is coming online. You are suddenly remembering things from last summer, like the frosted animal crackers that I packed into our beach bag. They completely melted and you and your brother ate them anyway. Apparently that was quite memorable for you because the other day you said, "MOMMY! I REMEMBER SOMETHING IN MY BRAIN!" and reminded me about those animal crackers. That means that you might be storing away some memories from your childhood that you will be able to recall in the next few years. Maybe you'll remember how yesterday when I was outside raking leaves, you came running up to me to tell me that you had broken the toliet seat.

When I ran to the bathroom, I was glad you had broken the toliet seat, because it made me hurry into the bathroom and see that you had also shoved a watering can underneath the sink faucet, left it running and then forgotten about it in your haste to tell me about the toliet seat. The watering can had filled and because the spout was hanging out of the sink over the counter, maybe you'll remember the water pouring out of the spout onto the countertop and down the cabinets. Maybe you'll remember the look on Mommy's face when she saw the countertop, the broken toliet seat and the trival fact that the toliet was so full of poop and paper that it needed to be plunged.
Although it's more likely, you'll remember that you went to the bathroom and then Mommy came in and started yelling at you. I'm sure your therapist will tell you it wasn't your fault at all.
I love you,
Mommy

A Fast Decision

I’ve given up all sorts of stuff for Lent. Alcohol, chocolate, soft drinks, fast food and one year I even gave up sex. Giving up sex was relatively easy since I was single and not seeing anyone, but let me tell you… if you are single and looking, give up sex for lent and see what happens. Suddenly men will start crawling out of the woodwork. Give up chocolate and you’ll be faced with a Speedway buffet of nothing but delicious chocolate delicacies. Give up fast food and find that you have to starve until you get home to make a sandwich.
There’s no need to remind me that I’m not Catholic, but I really like the idea of sacrifice for spirituality. And if I’m going to give something up, what better time than when everyone else is doing it too? You know, just to be part of the “in crowd”, (since I’m so into that sort of thing).
This year I debated what the sacrifice should be. I considered sugar, which is in everything. I thought about high fructose corn syrup. I thought about fast food. But in the end, I settled on giving up cheese. You read that right. Cheese. Even Jorma, doubted my ability to stop with the cheese lovin’, since he lives with me and knows it’s my main staple. In fact, I think he might have used the words, “No. Way.” Is that a challenge?
So far it’s been over a week and I’m doing quite well. It does make me stop and think before I put anything into my mouth because I have to take that momentary pause to ask myself if it has cheese in it. I also didn’t realize how often I grab a pinch of cheese while cooking dinner and pop it into my mouth or how often I finish the pimento cheese sandwich that the kids didn’t eat. It’s a reflex that’s probably costing me a whole lot of calories each day, not to mention the fat grams. I have discovered though, that there are foods that I’ve never eaten without cheese. Turkey Reuben, Turkey Sandwich, Pasta Primavera, Spaghetti. All taste pretty good with out the cheese. I was disappointed to find that the croutons I usually put on our salads have cheese in them and had to pick them off and move them to the kids’ plates. And do you know? That cheese-free salad wasn’t bad at all.
All I know is I can’t wait until after Easter. There is fondue waiting for me.

Almost Famous

Recently, I was contacted by wefeelfine.org about having an blurb from my blog and a picture of Tristan published in a book that's been put together by the creators of the site. The site gathers emotions that have been written with the words,"I feel" randomly from the web and puts them into an applet that allows you to click and see what people in the world are feeling at that present moment. It's a neat idea and I'm glad to be a part of it. My blurb will appear in the section on mothers who blog. The quote is,"I feel our baby days slipping away". You may remember the picture from this post. It's the image at the very bottom with the tractor in the background. Not the best shot, right? They wouldn't allow me to send a better one from the same age.
Although I've requested a plug for my site, they aren't publishing that information, instead they will just publish my name and give me credit as writer and photographer. And just like that. Almost famous.

All Hail the Dustbuster

It's 3:15 pm on Thursday and I hear Tristan calling me, the way he does when he wakes up from his nap. It's been quiet upstairs so I know he's been sleeping. I mean, what else could he be doing for that long and be that quiet? I open the door to his room and am hit by the pungent smell of fresh baby bottoms. I flip on the light and see that Tristan is not in his crib. As I turn to look on top of the changing table, Tristan holds his arms out to me and says, "TADA!". I wish the pictures showed the light coating of all of the baby powder on everything in the room. I wish they showed you the smell. I wish they showed you how I just went completely numb and said, "Don't move", as I walked to our room to get the camera, the call to poison control, or the 45 minutes it took to clean it all up. But mostly I wish they showed you how pleased Tristan was for the hour that he was partying in his room instead of napping. All hail the dustbuster. And the Swiffer wet jet, the vacuum and half a container of baby wipes.

300 Flushes - part III

You’ll never believe this… but Tristan had the stomach bug again on Saturday evening. Connor had it Tuesday night and if the good Lord’s willin’ and the creek don’t rise Jorma and I won’t get it. The problem with not getting it is that it makes me live in fear. Each time I burp or have indigestion, I think I’m getting it. Each time I’m tired, cranky or my hair doesn’t fix quite right, I think I’m getting it. And so far the only thing that I’m getting is Emetophobia, which is the fear of vomiting. I mean, if I get it again, it will be the third time that I’ve had it. I’ve already explained to the universe that I REALLY WAS just kidding about that 8 more stomach flus to my goal weight thing. I mean really. If the universe wants to help me out it could just see to it that I suddenly lose interest in chocolate peanut butter ice cream, right?

It’s easy for the kids when they get it. They throw up. They continue their day as if it never happened. There may be an extra cartoon or two involved, but that’s more because Mommy is certain that rest is needed, more than rest being actually needed.

In fact, Connor woke up in the middle of the night Tuesday and threw up on his floor and went right back to sleep. I found out that he had thrown up because he casually mentioned it the next morning after he had been awake for about half an hour. He said, “Mommy. There is throw up in my room.” To which I froze and immediately assessed the situation. Vomit? In his room? Has he touched me? I went to look and sure enough, it looked like he just sat up, spewed and went right back to sleep. While I was cleaning it up, I explained to him that I really wanted him to call Mommy or Daddy if he’s sick in the night. He responded, “That’s ok Mommy. I was just so tired I wanted to go back to sleep. I didn’t get it on me or anything.” At any case I made him strip down and put his pjs in the washing machine where I had loaded the sheets and blankets that also saw their share of this midnight Rendezvous.

You aren’t going to believe this, but I hope if I’m going to get it, I go ahead and get it. This paranoia thing sucks.

Dear Tristan - 2 Years, 5 Months

Dear Tristan,
You are exceptional, child. I'm not just saying that because you put your dishes in the sink without me having to tell you to, or pick up trash that you find on the floor and put it into the trashcan without being told. I'm not saying it because you jump right into bed when we ask, without a fight or a whimper, (most nights) or because you know some of your alphabet, how to hold a pencil or how to lock and unlock doors. All of this is the second child advantage. You are exceptional because your smile lights up a room and because you seem to know just when to say your sorry or when to give a hug. I have to admit after I've swept the kitchen floor and you come up to me and say, "Fank you, Mommy" my heart swells just a little bit. Mostly though, I say that you are exceptional because we are all so in love with you.

Your favorite part of the day is when Daddy comes home. Sometimes you hear a noise that sounds like the door unlocking and you freeze and gasp, "Daddy home!" and look up at me with hope. When I tell you that it's just Pippin knocking his mouse around downstairs you always look disappointed and ask if Daddy will be home soon. You cry for Daddy sometimes during the day, when I put you down for nap or have put you in time out. I've thought about teaching you the phrase, "Where is the good cop?" just so it will amuse me when you pretend I'm tormenting you by making you sit on the kitchen floor in the corner for kicking the cat.
You still scare the bajesus out of the cat and with good reason. You are obsessed with looking at his teeth. You always want to show them to me or to your brother or to anyone else that will watch you lift his lips and look at them. That cat deserves every cat treat he gets.

Finally you are independent enough that we can take you and your brother to museums without you having to be strapped into a stroller. You still try to run off, but listen to reason and the threat of the monkey leash and you fall into step. It's still difficult for us however, if your brother decides that he wants to run about a place, because you decide that's what you are also supposed to be doing and we have two children running in two different directions.

You are so full of wonder and enchantment! There is nothing like seeing the world anew through a childs eyes. There is nothing like seeing through a child's eyes a second time. I finally understand why people have 5 children. Although, my sanity is too precious to me to grant you that many siblings.

You are still quite attached to your blanket, which has been promoted from Ganky to Blankie. You'd take it everywhere if we let you, but we have you convinced that Blankie needs sleep so you are content to tuck it into bed and tell it night night when you leave the room. Now that we've taken the gate down from the bottom of the steps you still sneak upstairs and rescue Blankie from nap. You like to snuggle on the couch with it while you feed your Go, Diego Go! obsession.

Your brother won't admit it, (probably now or ever) but when you aren't around all he wants to do is know when you are going to be home again and if you are doing something that he's not getting to do. You love a laugh, a tickle, a cuddle but only for a second. You have things to do and a cat to chase, after all.

I love you so much,
Mommy

Burial at Sea

For Christmas the boys received a Triops kit. A Triops is a Triassic creature that's related to the shrimp. Think Seamonkey. You put the eggs and the peat moss into distilled water and eventually the eggs hatch and you can watch your Triops grow. And grow they do. We thought that the kids might be into it, but we never guessed that Jorma and I would enjoy the Triops so. The growth rate is impressive, with a visable difference each day. Our Triops lived for about 6 weeks, after which Pippin began to take an interest in "fishing". Because the Triops lived in a bowl with no cover, it was pretty easy for Pippin to dip his paw into the bowl, which we believe brought the life of the Triops to an untimely end.

Instead of "sending the Triops to the hospital through the toliet" like we did with our last fish I decided that Connor was ready for his first experience with death. I told him that the Triops died and that we were going to have a burial at sea. It was about that time that I realized by the look on Connor's face that maybe I should have just flushed it and told Connor we were sending it to the ocean so it could be with it's friends. But it was too late. There was nothing left to do but continue. We put the Triops in the toliet and we all said something nice about the Triops. I said how much we enjoyed watching the Triops grow, Tristan said, "Triops!" and Connor said, "TRIOPS, I LOVE YOU!!!" and burst into tears.

I took pictures of the event, pictures I would have been happy to share with the internet had my toliet been in any condition for public viewing, (I'm just keepin it real). It wasn't. So you'll just have to take my word for it and look at the two pictures that I can post.

Here's how Connor felt about the Triops funeral.

Here's how Tristan felt about the Triops funeral.

May our Triops rest in peace.

Sick and Tired

The auction planning is well underway and we are humming right along. If you haven’t heard from me yet to beg for a contribution it’s because I’m slowing dying from the common cold. Tristan brought it home from preschool and of course Mommy got it. You know you can’t get rid of a cold until you give it to someone else, so now that Jorma has it, I’m sure to be feeling better soon.

I suffered with congestion and cough for almost two weeks until I went to the Dr. and was given Zpack to stop the sinus infection I had acquired. The antibiotic doesn’t do anything for the upper respiratory infection that I’m also carrying because that’s viral in nature and just has to be waited out. Because nothing is simple I also was blessed with oral thrush from the antibiotic requiring a call to the Dr and a Rx. I don’t know if you’ve ever had oral thrush but if you’d like to see what it’s like, try drinking battery acid. My throat, mouth and esophagus feel like they are on fire which means, eating just does not work for me. While the thrush is probably more effective than stomach reduction surgery it’s not a good exercise program which is probably what I really need and would be undertaking if I was not needlessly suffering from this virus.

I’ve gotten more sleep over the past two weeks than I’ve probably gotten in the last two years which has been beneficial to everyone in keeping me on an even keel. During this time, I’m keeping myself from boredom while in quarantine by painting a mural in our foyer hallway and chasing the children. I’m tired and I’m tired of being sick and tired. I guess a Jagermeister binge may be in order, sure to be a good time on the empty stomach I’ve been carrying around.