Saga

I have been composing this blog post in my head over the past three days.  All the things I wanted to remember or vent about our experience with Eli this week. I started typing it out and it got really long.  I debated posting it here or not.  It might be a little overkill.  My friend Doni (who is reading this - hi Doni!) posts epic blog posts sometimes, especially after important things have happened to her family.  I always read them riveted and sometimes go back and re-read.  I like knowing all the details and hearing them told in the voice of my good friend.  I feel closer to her and to her family, who I love each and every one, even though I am physically far away.  I started reading Doni's blog when her son had just been born very prematurely.  Every single day in Ty's early life was an epic event, filled with highs and lows and steps forward and steps backward. I was one of many, many people who checked the blog every day to see how Ty's day went.  Now, I have had the wonderful chance to meet Ty in person and discuss his favorite topics with him (food is high on the list - a boy after my own heart) and watch him play video games (he specializes in finding new funny, bizarre and/or creative ways to kill off his own character) and to give him a big hug (Ty is definitely a hugger!).  All because of those blog posts.

If nothing else, I certainly found writing this cathartic, and it is something Eli can read for himself someday.

We took Eli to Urgent Care on Wednesday afternoon.  He has been struggling with constipation lately.  I think he starts out by holding it in, because he is potty training and 3 and stubborn and he doesn't want to go.  Then, everything backs up and it becomes hard and painful for him to go so the problem reinforces itself.  At Urgent Care the doctor explained how normal toddler bowel impaction is and said we would get it taken care of.  The x-rayed him and that's where the trouble began.  The x-ray showed large masses in his colon/abdomen and the Dr. was concerned.  She called a radiologist colleague and they discussed it.  They did more x-rays.  They showed us the x-rays and pointed out their concerns.  They were very grave.  The Dr. said many things, in one of those Dr monologues they do.  Of course the things that stuck out to me were blah, blah "tumors can present with constipation" blah, blah and blah, blah "the kind of tumors we would be concerned about would be malignant" blah, blah and blah, blah "then, we would be concerned about staging" blah, blah.  Derek and I still felt the most likely explanation was very impacted stool, but you cannot hear the words malignant and tumor in a conversation about your child and not freak out at least to some extent.

So, we went down to Children's ER.  Urgent Care told us we could drive our car, we did not have to take an ambulance.  This is the state in which we were suddenly operating.  It was about 8:00 pm.  They needed to do a CT scan to visualize the "masses" better.  They put in an IV. We needed to get Eli to drink about 10 fl oz of apple juice with the CT contrast stuff in it.  He didn't want it.  We used one of those baby droppers that hold 2 tsp at a time.  Every single sip of every single dropper was a battle to get in his mouth.  He fought and fought and fought.  If I ever doubted it before, I certainly learned that my son is STRONG.  There is no pushing this little guy around.  He was tired and had been examined and poked too much.  It was now 10 pm and past his bedtime.  He was pissed.  It took us 1.5 hours of fighting with him to get it down.  We essentially forced it down his throat one squirt at a time.  At one point he gagged badly and threw a little of it back up, but we didn't tell the nurse that.  It took about 20 droppers full.  Derek and I decided at one point that every time I filled the dropper up, the glass was actually getting fuller instead of emptying.  In that moment of dark, overstressed, adrenaline fueled humor we discussed the new religion that we will be founding centered around this miracle.  We couldn't decide definitively what our menorah-like symbol will be, but we have some first drafts.  I already warned Heidi in a text that the proselytizing will begin once we get a little more caught up on sleep.

The CT scan dispelled the tumor concern, so we were back to just a severely impacted bowel.  That was a huge relief.  They admitted us at 2:00 am and we went through that bullshit process.  I'm there with a nurse trying to get Eli to stand on a scale at 2:30 am with everything he has been through already.  He didn't want to do it or trust her one bit.  The nurse leans over and sternly corrects him, right up in his grill.  "Buddy, buddy, BUDDY.  You have to stand on the scale."  I wanted to punch her in the neck.  I didn't.  How badly does she need a weight at 2:30 am anyway?

I answered all the admitting questions for the night resident, barely concealing my vitriol over giving the same story for the fifth time to a doctor who I would probably never see again.  When did he last poop?  How often does he usually poop?  Was he complaining of a stomach ache?  He didn't tell you his stomach hurt specifically?  (Eli isn't a big talker)  Was he crying alot?  How did you know he was in pain?  Listen dude, a mother just knows, OK.  Then all the social history type questions.  Why does he get speech therapy?  What other therapies?  Was he a preemie or something?  No?  I didn't think a 3 year old boy with a speech delay was such a rarity.  All this time (and it's now 2:50 am), Eli was sitting on the hospital bed glaring at the doctors silently, only saying an emphatic "NO!" anytime anyone spoke to him or looked like they might possibly touch him.  The doctor at one point asked me, "Does he ever talk, like at all?"  Sure he does.  He talks all the time.  To me.  I wouldn't count on him talking to you right now, though.

While I'm on that subject, at one point during the night I mentally composed the following...

An open letter to the nurse who was so openly exasperated by my uncooperative toddler when she tried to check his vitals at 5:30 am.

Hello,

You asked (outloud) "What's the problem, honey?" but you clearly with your tone meant, "What's your problem, little brat?"  to my 3 year old son who was screaming while you tried to check his blood pressure.  Allow me to enumerate the problems that he had at that moment.

1.  He is 3 years old.
2.  He was awakened from a deep sleep to see you (a stranger) leaning over him and a big thing squeezing his arm tightly.
3.  It was 5:30 am and he had only been sleeping since 3:00 am for that whole night.
4.  He had spent the previous day being forcibly restrained while needles were poked in his veins, liquid was forced down his throat, and foreign objects were shoved up his butt (TMI maybe, but true).
5.  He is 3 years old.
6.  He hasn't pooped in a week, hasn't eaten in over a day and hasn't had anything to drink in over 12 hours (not counting the liquid forced down his throat) and he is really uncomfortable.
7.  He is in a strange and pretty scary place.
8.  He is 3 years old.

Lay off him if you know what's good for you,

Sincerely,
his Mom

Day 1 in the hospital was mostly waiting around.  Very typical for hospitals when you do not have an emergency.  We were told we would be seen by the GI rounds, but then they skipped us.  The resident said we would go ahead with the cleanout.  It's essentially the same thing they make you do before a colonoscopy.  You ingest large amounts of liquid and laxative and wait.  After making this plan at 8:00 am, the medicine didn't arrive from the pharmacy until 2:00 pm.  The process takes 6+ hours, so there was no way we were going home that day.  We were told that our pediatrician would come by to see him, but she never did.  I think she called in and left a note for the resident.  She never spoke with us.

A 3 year old can't drink enough liquid fast enough to do the cleanout on his own.  The first one was 32 fl. oz.  The second cleanout was even more than this (I calculated around 45 fl. oz.)  We were told by several people Eli would get an ng tube (up his nose, down his throat and into his stomach) for the liquid.  Our nurse when the time came (named Derek, actually) really seemed to want us to get Eli to drink it in a cup.  We tried to tell him it wouldn't work.  He couldn't understand why we would want to subject our son to a tube pushed up his nose.  We just knew it wouldn't work.  He tried several times over the course of an hour or so to convince us not to do the ng tube.  The resident pediatrician, on the other hand, seemed to assume that it would be the tube right off the bat.  We went several rounds between the resident coming in and Derek the nurse before building a consensus on the ng tube.  I did offer Eli the first 8 oz in a cup and he wouldn't touch it.  There was no way.

Two big strong nurses wrapped Eli up and Derek the Nurse put the tube in.  We unwrapped Eli and I picked him up and he reached up and ripped it right out.  So, he went back on the table and they put another tube up the other nostril.  During the kerfuffle over the second tube, Derek the Nurse partially ripped Eli's IV out which started bleeding all over the place.  So the IV came out (another was put in later in his other hand).   In between tube attempts, Derek (the Dad) arrived back at the hospital and came in to help.  I said something to him to the effect of "I really tried to get him to drink it," because Derek the Nurse had made me feel so guilty for subjecting my son to this ordeal because I couldn't get him to drink Gatorade out of a cup.  The other male nurse who was helping with the restraining said immediately, "oh, they all wind up here.  Parents always think they can get their kids to drink all of it, but they can't.  We always do the tube eventually."  I avoided making eye contact with Derek the Nurse, because I didn't think giving him the stink-eye would be helpful in this moment.

Once the tube was in and taped, Eli accepted it and probably forgot it was there.  At one point much later, I made the fatal mistake of walking past the mirror in our room while holding Eli.  He looked in the mirror and saw the tube and tape all over his face.  The look on his face was epic.  A combination of total shock and pure rage.  I quickly distracted him and at least he let it go.

It is funny to me some of the things ELi accepted that I never would have guessed.  He hated having the IVs put in, but once in he left the whole apparatus and tape and the big boards they strapped to his arm alone.  When he had the one on his hand, he accepted it like a modified appendage.  At one point he had my iPhone and was watching a show.  I looked over and he his hand with the IV board strapped to it draped across his chest and was using the board to prop up the phone so he could watch it. It made me laugh.

Around 7:00pm, it was obvious that the first cleanout had partially worked but was clearly not going to be enough.  This is when the combination of adrenaline which kicked in with the tumor scare and had never really died down coupled with the 1.5 hours of sleep and my annoyance with the hospital crap all sort of combusted.  I lost it a little bit.  We tried to understand what the next steps would be and what we would do if the cleanouts didn't work.  We got a variety of answers, but mostly we got totally brushed off.  The resident was clearly passing us off and telling us that it was our pediatrician who called the shots, but we had never heard anything from them.  We paged the ped. on call and he got to talk to a version of myself that I barely recognize.

Here's a few things about me.  1)  I am genuinely a fairly calm, rational person.  I am frequently described as "easy-going" by people, many of whom know me very well.  I think of myself as more a fretter, at least sometimes, but I guess at some point I realized that at the very least the fretting is obviously not on the outside.  2)  I come from a long, multigenerational line of professional under-reactors.  Emotional repression is my birthright, and I own it.  3)  I am pathologically non-confrontational.  These things make me the hospital's favorite kind of patient.  I am that person who sits quietly in my room all night, not making a peep or, god forbid, pressing the call button (perish the thought), and then in the morning finds myself nodding and making sympathetic noises while the nurse who neglected to bring me my pain medication for the entire shift vents to me about her troubles.  True story (she did bring in several bagfuls of free formula samples to take home with Eli to ease her guilt).  The person on the phone with Eli's pediatrician at 7:30 Thursday night was not this model patient.  Yelling through tears, especially at a semi-authority figure, is uncharted territory for me but there it is.

The pediatrician was very patient.  He shared my concerns about the hospital's non-responsiveness.  He sloughed off the fact that the other doctor from their practice blew us off, however.  He was the one who introduced the idea that Eli might need surgery (a manual disimpaction isn't major surgery, but it is done in the OR under anesthesia so it would come under the purview of surgical).  He expressed concern that it would be hard to react fast enough to get the surgery on the schedule Friday afternoon and there was no way it would be done over the weekend.  It just wasn't that serious.  So now we are thinking we might be stuck in the hospital all weekend, or faced with the choice to take Eli home (with or without the hospital's blessing) and try to set something up from there.

My fit throwing did get some results.  They decided to do the second cleanout overnight instead of waiting until morning.  They scheduled us for an xray at 6:00 am - we were the very first people there when radiology came in.  We were assured that we were on the GI rounds for the morning.  We were skeptical, but didn't have much leverage.

We settled in Eli around 11:00 for the night.  The second cleanout was to go from 10:00 until 2:30 am.  He basically slept through it, which was good.  The nurse and I did a complete pajama, bed sheet change twice during the night, but he hardly woke up for it.  Of course, we got the pediatric nurse with a poop-phobia for this night.  You're a pediatric nurse!  I would think poop is an occupational hazard.  She kept trying to convince me to essentially wrap the baby in layers of garbage bags head to toe, but I really wanted him comfortable enough to sleep so we compromised.

We approached Day 2 under the active assumption that every single person involved was either lying to us or blowing us off.  We didn't make too many friends, I don't think.  We paged the pediatrician's service to make sure the doctor was coming to see us first thing.  We were told she would be the one who could make things happen if necessary.  She did come in around 8:30 and so did the pediatric resident.  GI skipped us again, despite everyone's assurance that they wouldn't.  Dr. London talked me off the ledge, somewhat patronizingly but I can sympathize with her viewpoint.  After another night of 1.5 hours of interrupted sleep, I wasn't that pleasant.  Everyone was really convinced that the second cleanout would work, or at least the hypothetical third cleanout would.  We didn't want to consider a third cleanout.  The xray showed he was really cleaned out, which was really good news.  It got better from there.

One reason Dr. London had to talk me off the ledge was that she gave us some information which finally made sense and which apparently everyone had known all along but no one had shared with us.  So I think they are partially to blame for how panicked we were and our possible over-reaction.  It's like, once they knew the patient was going to be okay they moved on to the next, more pressing patient, but they never bothered to explain to us what the process was going to look like.  Again, I imagine this would have been our pediatrician's role, and Dr. London was the third one of the doctors from our practice to have been consulted on Eli's case.  So while I appreciate why she took the "there, there" approach with me, I am somewhat defensive about the fact that I had been left in the dark on many factors up until then (and had a cancer scare and very little sleep on top of it).

GI finally came by and talked with us.  After being told over and over by everyone else that GI were the decision-makers, the nice GI resident kind of said, "oh, they can release you whenever.  We don't make that call."  Okaaaay.  We tried to keep the wheels moving and we were released early afternoon.  In the end, it was only a 48 hour ordeal, which is pretty short in hospital-time.  It was a very long 48 hours, is all I can say. In hindsight, it already looks like not that big of a deal, all things considered.  Eli is fine and in good spirits, which is what really matters.  We have a plan going forward to make sure he avoids this happening again.

To finish the saga, I just have to say that there is a special circle of hell that is being in a hospital with a non-emergency but highly unpleasant condition.  I have to check with Dante to see what one does in life in order to be consigned to this particular circle.  Whatever it is, I need to be sure that I don't do it.  I have always said that my own personal circle of hell would be eternal cross-country skiing and photocopying.  I have been saying that for about 20 years (probably since I had to read The Inferno in my freshman literature class).  At some point, they vastly improved the convenience and usability of copy machines, so I switched it to eternal cross-country skiing and bottle return.  Being in a hospital with a non-emergency is several circles below this.  And obviously when it is your child that is suffering, it is the worst feeling in the world.  There is the requisite, perspective-keeping observation here that of course there are many, many things that are so much worse than anything we came close to having to go through, and we were always so incredibly thankful, even at the lowest moment, that Eli was going to be okay.  We're just so glad to have our boy home.

I took some iPhone pictures throughout the hospital stay.  They are kind of sad to look at, but they definitely represent the experience to me.

Here is Eli in the ER.  I didn't mean to capture this expression.  The iPhone has a long shutter delay which I am not used to from shooting with an SLR most of the time.  With the delay, you get whatever expression you get, not the one that you saw right as you pressed the shutter.  Eli was pretty much making this face continually, however, so there wasn't a real good way to avoid it.

Eli with his IV in, waiting around.

Eli on day one of the hospital stay, playing in the hospital playroom.

Thursday night.  He is tucked into bed, hooked up to his IV in his hand and the tube in his nose.  He's not sleeping here, he's watching TV.  Very pathetically.

Eli sleeping on Friday morning, from my vantage point on the parent foldout bed.  There was killer light in our hospital room.  Under better circumstances I would have been thrilled.

Eli an hour or so after coming home.  You can see how his tummy is still pooched out from all the liquids they pumped into him.   He's got Thomas the Train, his Yo Gabba Gabba underwear and his knee pads.   He's a happy boy.  (You can also see his pink toenail polish.  He did that himself earlier in the week.)

An Update

I took these back in the beginning of March, but am just now getting around to processing and posting them.

Gracie lost her two front teeth earlier this month.  She was excited about it.  She consented to a few pictures.  I have been practicing braiding her hair, now that it is getting longer.  I am still learning.  I thought it would be a good model for her, showing her that it gets better and better the more I practice.  You don't get it perfect the first time (something that she finds endlessly frustrating in her own life).

 This is her model face.

The is her giggle.

My girl.

A view of the braids.  It has been a full year (I think) since her last hair cut.  Grace has the slowest growing hair ever, it seems.  She likes it long.

Eli likes to build a "house" on the couch.  He instructs you how to build it, telling you where to put the walls and the roof and the door.  He was sitting in there one day and I lifted up the roof to peek in.  I still have the mental image of the little boy sitting cross-legged in that tiny space, looking straight up out of the opening in the pillows, beaming from ear to ear.  He thinks it is very funny.

This is Charlotte working at her desk on evening.  She loves to make cards and signs and write stories.  She is better at starting projects than at finishing them, but she really is very creative with what she comes up with.  

Finally, here is a video of Eli playing with the word magnets on the girls' white board.  It is a full 10 minutes long, which I realize may be overboard for a kid video.  It seems like the standard attention span for watching videos of other people's kids probably maxes out around 1:30.  But I couldn't figure out how to trim it.  I could watch him all day.  He starts to get frustrated with me around 7:30 and I even find that endearing.  I am just crazy about this kid.

Home Improvement

Over Christmas break, the girls and I spent a good deal of time going through toys and stuff in their room and getting rid of/donating quite a bit of it.  I loved it.  They weren't thrilled at the beginning, but I think I brought Charlotte around to embracing the catharsis by the end of the project.  We had a vision of a long, two-person desk for the one wall and Derek made it happen.  I am usually terrible at taking snapshots, but I made an effort to document the process.

Here is everybody helping paint the desk.  Yes, we paint in the family room.  Doesn't everyone?

Here are a few before shots.  They had a sort of pale lavender color and pinkish, flowery wallpaper.  The previous owners of our house loved their wallpaper borders, that's for sure.

Our paint color choice was a long process and the color palette changed a couple of times.  Then, we narrowed it down to four colors - a deep purple, a bright blue/turquoise, lime green and hot pink.  Then I looked around and realized these four colors are everywhere.  I always think it is funny how your taste is informed by trends without you even realizing it.  Heidi also painted Kat's room these four colors a few months ago, so the cousins coordinate with each other. :)

This girls got tents for their beds out of the deal, too. The carpet is the big thing that still needs to be replaced. Someday we'll get the whole upstairs done.  For now, every time someone spills juice or ketchup or something, I take some quiet solace in the fact that nothing could really make me hate the carpet any more than I already do.

The desks Derek built.

I found this image on iStockphoto and fell in love with it.  I bought it and manipulated it in Photoshop to make a mural for the girls wall.  Debbie Pisacreta helped me over Christmas put the colors into it.  It all sort of came together.  Grace took one look at the mock up and burst into tears.  Apparently, she didn't share my vision.  It took a while, but it grew on her.  She helped me paint some of the parts and she did the birds with stencils.

This was the original image for the mural




This is my PS mock-up (i did my own tree)




Here is the finished product.

From the other end of the room (excuse the bad flash photography)

I enjoyed the painting project.  As full as my days are the past few months, I looked forward to working on it.  I painted, like, 15 leaves a day for the most of the month of January.  It reminded me of painting the mural on Charlotte's wall before she was born.  All those evenings after work, listening to music and painting while I waited for February 1 to finally come around so we could meet her, our first baby.  

When we put up the tents for the girls, we had to move Grace's bed frame so that her mattress would still fit under the top bunk.  So, we finally got around to taking down Eli's crib and he inherited Grace's bed frame, with a new mattress and a set of Thomas sheets.  He was totally cool about it.  He didn't even glance at his crib, where he had slept every night for 3.5 years, sitting in the corner.  He just walked in and climbed up on the bed and beamed, "Eli's bed!"  

Here's the before of his room (which I hope to be next to redo).

Eli has the worst wallpaper of all.  He also has pink carpeting and a little half-bath inside his room that has a pink sink and a pink toilet.  Nice!  He also has my grandfather's pinball machine in his room.  Pretty cool.

Eli's bathroom is that door on the left. I figure for a boy with 2 older sisters, having your own bathroom may be a really good thing.

Charlotte made Eli this picture and hung it up for him.

If you have made it all the way to the bottom of this very long post, I have a question.  We have been playing around with ideas for Eli's room.  He has a cool roof line in his room, so I think we are going to do white walls and a colorful ceiling.  He likes animals alot.  I came up with this design, with animals going all around the room and I bought some sets of silhouettes online..  Derek and the girls all contributed ideas.  We are down to three color palettes.  What do you all think?  The background color is for the ceiling (and the grays are the doors and windows).  I like the quilt for #2 best and I think I lean towards that one, but I think the overall favorite in the house is #3.  You can click on the image to see it bigger if you feel like it.

Kind of a boring post.  Thanks for reading!

Year of the Dragon

I missed it by a week now, but I wanted to post on the Chinese New Year.  This is the Year of the Dragon.  This is my favorite because Derek and I were both born in the Year of the Dragon (different dragon, Derek likes to joke) and we met in the Year of the Dragon.   It's been a wonderful 12 years.  I look forward to seeing what the next 12 bring, and the next 12 after that.

It's a little before Derek's birthday, but I thought I would also use this post to add to my running list of reasons why I married the man of the century.

#48.  You think big.  I never know exactly what new plan for world domination you are going to start hatching next, but I always sincerely look forward to finding out.  Whether it's big in the figurative sense of ambitious, far flung, ballsy or high concept (or perhaps all of the above) or big in the literal sense of the 2200 square foot addition you are designing for our (already 3700 square foot) house, it's go big or go home.  I'm with you, babe.

We took these last night and I was really looking forward to editing them.

The loves of my life

This one is actually my favorite.  So typical.  Something didn't go Grace's way.  No idea what.

Tomorrow my oldest baby turns 8 years old.  Holy cow.

 I remember so clearly taking this picture from across the room in the hospital bed.  It seems more recently than 8 years ago.

 I also found this one while poking around.  There's a little more gray in the beard now.
Derek has no real wistfulness for the tiny baby years.  But he was really, really good at them.

 A portrait of two middle children.  I think Derek and Grace share the bond of being the middle child in their family, and the contrarian streak that seems to go with it.

 This one looks to me like an actor's head shot or something, with a 6 year old photo-bombing it.

Another Daddy and Grace shot that I love.

I didn't shoot just Derek and Eli last night.  But I still wanted to post this old one of them together.

Two Mohr men regard each other.

What more can I say.  My favorite part of every day is you, Derek.

Gracie

I looked out the window the other day and the snow was coming down in big fluffy chunks the size of a fist.  It was really pretty.  I quickly lobbied Grace to come outside for a picture.  She is wearing a sleeveless dress under the coat and has bare legs.  By the time we got out there, the snow was back to the normal, fluffy stuff. We still shot a few frames.  She wouldn't put her tongue back in for me.





Grace still gets so frustrated when something doesn't live up to her expectations.  Sometimes it is something like her facepainting at the winter festival wasn't what she expected, so she cries and I get mad because it is rude to the nice teenage girl who painted it.  I don't want to invalidate disappointment.  It's an authentic emotion.  But how to teach her how to also be polite and grateful?  Sometimes she is edgy and her expectations are so completely unreasonable that nothing will make her happy.  Again, I feel for her and her levels of anxiety and frustration.  But the net effect on her behavior is not at all acceptable.

It is becoming a problem for her at school.  She hates to get answers wrong.  She had a timed math test where she was supposed to do 30 simple addition problems in 2 minutes.  She can do the addition problems.  Everyone she did at home was right - no errors.  When I set the timer so she could practice the timed test, she had an honest to goodness panic attack right in front of me.  Picture my little 6 year old still scratching away with her pencil at this page full of addition problems with big, fat tears streaming down her face and her chest heaving faster and faster until she sort of started hyperventilating.  This is not good.  Then, she gets mad and turns the bad feelings outward, and comes at me for distracting her or yells that the chair is too low at the table or the pencil is not sharp enough.  It's not pretty.  In fact, it's downright ugly sometimes and I lose patience more than I'd like to.  The heart of it, though, is a very small girl who is having some very big feelings. I remind myself of this when she's screaming at me.  Not screaming, exactly, to be fair.  More like loud, vehement but also sort of pathetic whining.

We are very confident that Grace has dyslexia.  Her reading tutor (who is wonderful) totally agrees.  The word dyslexia seems to be not always in vogue, but it's clear to me from reading up about it that it fits Grace to a tee.  So this compounds the frustration for her, I think.  She has to work extra hard to do things that are obviously coming naturally to so many of the other kids.  She really tries so hard (even though she sometimes masks it with outbursts).  It's tough to watch.

This is her spelling test.  She got two wrong.  Not because she spelled the word wrong, but because she had two letter reversals.  She told Derek that she can't remember which way the s goes.  But notice she had it right other places on the test.  She says she always feels the d looks wrong to her (when it is written correctly).  She was so upset this morning that she got two wrong. I didn't know why at the time, but I came into the room when she was vigorously and violently brushing her own hair while sobbing about how, "it doesn't feel straight!!!  It doesn't feel STRAIGHT!!! Why doesn't it FEEL STRAIGHT?!?"  Grace's hair is poker straight, i have always marvelled at it's ability to fall back into it's flat shape no matter what.   Derek just looked at me over her head and said, "she's upset about the spelling test."  Enough said.

What I notice about the test is this - see on the word 'dish'.  She first wrote a q and erased it, then she wrote a b and erased it, then she got it correct by writing 'dish'.  Same on 'pen'.  You can see where she erased both a q and a b before she put the p down.  She fixed 'best' once, from initially writing 'pest'.  In my head I can see her sitting there agonizing over not wanting to get it wrong and writing letters and erasing them and still not being sure that they "look right".  She knows it's supposed to be a 'd'.  She doesn't think the word is spelled pish, with a 'p' sound at the front.  She just gets it backwards when she tries to write it.  There are a total of 13 p's, d's, and b's on that test.  Imagine having to work so hard one each one of them.

Gracie will learn just like we all do how to deal with the challenges in her path.  I'm sure this won't be the biggest one she finds in her life.  She's got so much going for her.  She'll do great.  It is much more heartbreaking to watch them struggle then I ever would have guessed it would be, though.

Happy 2012

This is Eli outside with one of his favorite possessions, our Kindle Fire.  He watches Thomas movies on it and plays games and sometimes pages through books.  Our guilty confession:  we sometimes let him take it to bed with him and watch in his crib before he falls asleep.  When I go in to cover him up he is sleeping with the Kindle still in his hands, cuddling it.



If you happen to be using it when he comes in the room, he usually tries to acquire it immediately.  He sometimes says, "Eli's turn!" when he wants something.  It's more of a statement than a request.  He also will sometimes take something (usually the Kindle or my phone) right out of my hands.  When he does this he always says without fail (and it's the only time I have ever heard him say this), "thanks for helping!"  He says it pitch-perfect, with that lilting, fake-bright tone that teachers sometimes use.  I wonder who in his life takes things from him while using this ironic phrase.  It is a funny example to me of kids giving back what they get.  I do not find Eli taking things from me by force funny, however.  We're working on it.

This is Eli after I told him that we couldn't take the Kindle to the playground with us.  When he throws a fit (which happens unfortunately more frequently lately), he makes this really sad face, more than a mad face.  He puts and frowns and protests.

It's really quite pathetic.

He also sometimes hurts himself, or pretends to hurt himself.  He used to bang his head on the floor when he was mad, which makes everybody uncomfortable and is hard to watch.  Not repeatedly over and over (thank goodness).  Usually he would pout, walk purposefully to a spot, kneel down and bump his head on the floor.  Sometimes harder than others, but there was obviously some control to how hard he let his noggin contact the floor.  Now, he sometimes will just touch his head and tell you it hurts when he is mad.  Or, he'll purposefully bump his knee on the wall, and then present it to you with a frown.  Most common recently, he wipes his finger along his pants or the wall or something and then holds it up to you, as if he just got a splinter.  I don't quite understand the point of this.  It goes something like...Me:  No, Eli.  Don't touch that!.  Eli:  Bumps finger and then holds it out frowning.  "Ow!  Hurt!  Hand hurt!"  Is he trying to deflect the situation from my hollering at him to his "injury"?  Is he trying to communicate his pain and upset over being yelled at and over not being able to do what he wants?  Maybe a way to ask for comforting?  It eludes me.

Here is Eli on a happier occasion.  Kid loves his junk food.  He takes it really seriously, too.