Well, we survived. All of us. Saturday was a beautiful day – a perfect first ever bike-riding day. We took the kiddos, helmets and bike and tryke to the elementary school where there’s a nice flat courtyard (and cool playground). Matthew hopped up on that bike like he’d been doing it his whole life. He road around like a pro for…two minutes. And then he was done. He wanted to play on the playground. Thankfully, the bike hadn’t actually lost its novelty and he continued getting on, riding around for a bit and then taking a play break. All four of us went down into the soccer field where Mike found a flat recess ball that we kicked around. Talk about the difference in our boys’ personalities: after about five minutes of playing with the ball, Matthew had lost interest and had found a fantastic stick with which he dug in the dirt. Zachary, on the other hand, is a little soccer pro and zipped up and down the field, kicking the ball like I’ve never seen a not-yet-two-year-old kick a ball! I think he would’ve run and kicked for hours had daddy not gotten a little too excited and kicked the ball too hard…over the fence.

We’ve kept the bike/trykes in the trunk of the car, so yesterday after preschool I took the boys to a park that has a nice flat trail around it. Matthew was, again, riding like a champ – which was a good thing as I was busy helping Zach with the tricycle. (He can’t actually quite reach the pedals yet, so we have to push him along while he kicks back and sits in luxury and laziness). Matthew was riding towards the playground. I don’t know if he couldn’t/didn’t slow down due to the path being a slight decline or if he meant to do it, but he went straight over the curb down into the play area. It was definitely his first major nasty spill. Thankfully, he landed in the wood play chips, so it was a really soft landing considering. It freaked him out though. But we played for a while and when we started turning blue (it was SO cold and windy!), I announced that we were going to ride around the loop (the long way) back to our car. Matthew hopped right back on, no fear, and did awesome. There was an older gentleman walking along the trail as we neared our car and I looked back and saw Matthew grinning at him from ear to ear. When we were heading home, Matthew announced, “that man got to see my new bike. I think he really liked it ‘cuz it’s really cool.” I asked him if he was proud of himself for riding after falling off, etc. and he said, “Yep, I sure am. Yes, indeed.”

I’m turning (or have turned, I should say) into one of those people who comments on the weather and “how time flies.” But I really do have a hard time wrapping around the idea that spring has nearly sprung. We’ve even seen some more sun this past week. My flowers are starting to come up! But seriously, how is it almost March? And another question: we’re what? Half-way through Lent? How is it going to be Easter soon? We just had Christmas! Jesus was just born and now we’re going to turn around and crucify him already? That was the quickest 33 years ever! Give the guy a break already.

Back to the pleasant springtimey weather. Thankfully, we’ve managed to get out and enjoy it. We’ve been to the park a few times and I’ve taken the boys out in the double-jogging stroller twice on runs. It’s been a while (maybe since the last continuous time of sun) that I pushed the boys on a run. I’m out of shape…pushing 80 pounds of stroller and boy is WAY harder than it used to be. (Plus the boys have each gained a couple of pounds). If I took the boys out just once a week for a month, I would be SO ripped. Or at least my left arm muscles would be bulging! (Matthew always sits on the left side and that’s my weaker arm anyway). That’s a great image: huge, rippling, ginormous left arm muscles and wimpy little girly right arm. Would I walk a little lop-sided to make up for the difference in weight? (Yes, these are the questions that plague me and keep me up at night).

Anyway, on our run yesterday, we came upon another couple fellow runners. The first was another running mama with single kidlet jogging stroller and dog on leash. There’s something about that connection that can’t quite be explained. The way we looked at each other as we said “hi” was just…well, magical. It’s so much more than just “hi.” Did she feel it the way I did? Was she as impressed with me as I was with her? I feel, at least, that when you pass another running mama (or papa, for that matter), in your head you’re thinking, “You rock. I know how hard it is to get out the door, to keep these little people happy while you run, and therefore, how dedicated you are. You rock, man. You seriously rock.” (Yes, ALL of those sentiments are hidden behind that simple “hi” greeting).

Fellow runner #2 encounter was a hard-core running guy. (Like he had the running tights and everything). I had that tingly feeling of someone behind me on the sidewalk and seeing as our double-wide takes up nearly the entire width of the walkway I pulled aside to let him pass. (Yes, we’re so wide, in fact, that people have to step off the trail into the underbrush to allow us by). So, Running Guy goes flying past us and again I wondered, “Does he think I rock? He must be kind of impressed that I’m pushing this big thing even if it does mean that I move at a turtles’ creep?” Which reminded me of something else: The Tortoise and the Hare. I asked Matthew if he thought the guy was racing me and should I try to keep up. Matthew was totally into it. And I must say that that kid ROCKS in the stroller. I’ve trained him well to cheer me on, but he goes above and beyond my teachings saying things like, “faster, Mommy. Come on. Don’t let him get away. Move it! Feel the burn!! FASTER! You’re losing!!” My goal wasn’t to whoop the guy as I figured that was out of the question. I had two handicaps: my legs were half the length of his and I was pushing 80 pounds. My goal was, however, to not let him out of my sight. I managed that – for about a block I trailed not too, too far behind him. And then the magic of the Tortoise and Hare happened! He totally kicked it into gear and sped ahead. I could still see him hauling butt down the path, but then, oh but then! I saw him suddenly stop and start walking in slow circles doing that bending over/gasping thing that you do when you’ve exerted just a bit too much trying to be all macho and stuff. I excitedly reported to my Race Coach between gasps, “Matthew! We’ve totally got him! He pushed too hard. He’s just like the Hare. We were slow, but slow and steady, man. Haha! The Tortoise always wins. Suckuh!” (OK, I didn’t say Suckuh ‘cuz I don’t want my four year old to start saying it, but these are the words that pop into my head when I’m trying to self motivate during a run). As I passed Running Guy – I’ll admit, at an increased pace for show and jab – I realized something. Oh, he was waiting to cross the street in the other direction. He wasn’t going straight like me (and therefore had the walk sign). Right. He was waiting for his crosswalk sign to change. Oh well. It was a good ego burst for a while there. And I did keep him in my line of vision for a full block. That’s gotta count for something.

By the time I concluded my run at the big park near our house, the boys were ready to get out and run themselves. I unstrapped Matthew and he went flying up the hill towards the playground. Zach was so excited about his new found freedom that he went sprinting too – just a little too fast. He lost control and did a total face plant-scrape along the pavement of the path. Blood and scrapes under his nose, top lip, bottom lip and chin. Great. Mom of the year award. Why do I not keep him in a hockey face mask/helmet all the time?! Well, it’s not the first fat lip this not-yet-two-year-old has had… I’m fairly sure it’s not his last either.

And speaking of helmets, we’re looking at a big day here in the Martin household. It’s Saturday, it’s sunny and it’ll be Matthew’s FIRST EVER day riding a bike!!!! We bought him a little starter bike w/training wheels at Target, and Mike got it all put together last night. (I might add that the instructions indicated the bike would be put together in a snap – fifteen minutes! – it took Mike two hours and by no lack of skill. He can follow instructions like no one I know. So the 15 minute assembly time must mean that’s how long it would take a race track pit crew). We got Zach his own bike helmet for riding the tricycle now that Matthew will be moving on up to big boy bike world.

I’m afraid. Two boys on self-propelled transportation devices. Just to be on the safe side, I think I better stock up on bandaids, first aid kits and ice packs. And chocolate…for me.

We had a mega-huge event for Engaged Encounter on Saturday night. Mega-huge makes it sound like a car sale at a dealership or something, but it was actually a much classier extravaganza then that. We’ve needed to do a recruiting event for some time now, but no one has stepped up to plan it. Now, let me introduce to you the mastermind behind our stress: Michael Martin. The event was all his brainchild. The original idea was to have a Prom for married couples. He wanted to take me to Prom! That idea, however, was immediately shot down by some of our older team couples – they said there was no way they were going to get dressed up in formals and tuxes and it would, therefore, be a turn-off for perspective new couples as well. So, the idea morphed into a Valentine’s dinner and dance. We invited all the married couples who had attended the retreats in the last several years and had filled out a ‘yeah, we’d like to get involved someday’ volunteer form. Panic started to set in when we sent the evite out and realized we’d invited hundreds of people! In the end we had 84 people RSVPed to attend though we only had 64 actually show up. (I guess there are ten couples still driving around Issaquah trying to find St. Joe’s Catholic Church).

The evening was a HUGE success. Everything really did go off without a hitch. We spent four hours in the morning decorating the hall and totally transformed it, we came home for two hours, beautified ourselves (and man, do we clean up good!), and went back to St. Joe’s. We had a marvelous time and met some fantastic couples who all seem pumped to join our group. (Or married persons’ cult, if you will). I had the pleasure of MCing the event, and well, you know me and a mic. And Mike. I love ‘em.

Considering that we’d abandoned our boys pretty much all day on a Saturday, we thought that a family outing on Sunday (despite our fatigue) was in order. So, after church, we headed to the zoo. Ma and Pa Buckley got us a membership for Christmas and we’ve already put it to good use. The boys and I actually took them with us on Friday (so this was our 2nd trip to the zoo in three days)! On Friday, our trip was all about the gorillas. Sunday – it was the bats. Matthew was finally feeling brave enough to venture into the Nocturnal house for the first time. In the end, he decided that bats are really cool.

The gorillas have always been one of my favorite animals. There was a time – circa 6th grade – that when I grew up I was going to move to Africa to live with them in the jungle. I think dad provided me with the wake-up call that I would really miss the luxuries of home, but more than that was the mention of huge jungle-y spiders that sealed the deal. I do have a stuffed gorilla still, so between that and the zoo, I get my primate fix.

On Friday, shortly before we departed the zoo, we made a stop at the gorilla camp. We were watching them when a woman started walking by behind us on the zoo path. She had a poodle. A poodle?! Dogs aren’t allowed at the zoo! But this poodle was an in-training helper dog. (I didn’t know poodles did that, they always seem too high maintenance and froofy to me). As she hurried by she spoke out loud saying, “I know. I know. We’re getting out of here as fast as we can. Don’t worry. I know you don’t like dogs.” I think we were all wondering, “What the heck is up with this dog chica?” Within moments we had our answer.

The gorillas flipped out! They obviously watch us and are way more aware of what’s going on our side of the glass than we give them credit for. Several of them stood up and glared that dog all the way down the path. It looked as if one of them had been posted on guard, had alerted the others of the potentially dangerous predator (POODLE…what a killer!) and On-Guard Gorilla held a stick – ready to defend his turf should he need to. It was fascinating!

The next group of gorillas (the two groups are always kept separate) had a new baby to show off. The little four month old ape baby (would that be a bapey?) was clinging tight to his mama. Two of the bigger gorillas suddenly started to scuffle over some food and mama gorilla turned into protective mode, roaring and breaking the two apart while she ran to the other side of the glass. (Right in front of where my mom and I stood). We had a perfect view of the baby gorilla; unfortunately we also had a perfect view of the mama gorilla. She proceeded to turn around and answer a call of nature so to speak. Then she, uh, how to put this delicately? She was impatient for the call to conclude on its own, so she reached up and, um, pulled the remainder of the call out…OK, yeah, it was gross. And I’ll just stop there. I don’t know who said it, (could’ve been me) but someone said, “Wow. That’s Mother Nature at her finest.” When you gotta go, you gotta go.

While I do often refer to my children as “monkeys” and I do occasionally feel like I live in a zoo – watching the mama gorilla made me glad to live in a place with things often taken for granted: plumbing, toilet paper, privacy.

So, Happy Valentine’s Day to ya. We started the celebrations early – we had a really good day yesterday. The sun was out which is so rare these days, it makes all of us pasty-white Seattlites crawl out of hibernation. When the sun was first trying to break through a thick bank of clouds, Matthew said, “Look, Mom – the moon!” I had to correct him; sadly my children didn’t even remember what the sun was.

I was starting to worry that we would never get out of our cranky curse. Since last week, we – me and the kids especially – have been fighting the effects of “bijiggitiness.” That’s our word for feeling generally blah, cranky and stuck in a funk. We were losing the battle. Thankfully, yesterday, that really turned around. After preschool we went and played at the park for an hour. Matthew had some sugar to burn off from his “Celebration of Caring and Sharing” Party. (Is it no longer PC to say “Valentine’s Day”?). Plus, it was beautiful, so everyone and their mother, their dog and their long-lost cousin found their way outside. It’s really like we’re zombies or something – stumbling out of houses, blocking the light with your arm, completely disoriented in this new colorful and not just blah-gray world.

We had a fantastic time at the park and then came home for lunch and naptime/quiet time. Matthew and I were playing Legos in his room. I told him that I’m so impressed with the different vehicles that he can create; I said it makes me very proud to watch him. And he said, “You make me proud, Mommy.” Huh?! “I do? What do I do that makes you proud?” Without skipping a beat or breaking his Lego-building focus, Matthew responded, “You watch over me. Keep me from getting lost. Make sure that I don’t get into trouble.”

Oh my gosh, he gets it!

I was having a very weird dream at 1:30 this morning. It’s one of those where I can’t really remember the details; it’s all quite foggy. I know that there was a bunch of people in it. All of a sudden the people began speaking like Zachary – cute little baby voice with words mingled like “nigh-night” and “nums” and lots of “mama….nigh-night?” I woke with a start to wee little Zachy standing two inches from my face.

So, all in all, life without the crib has gone surprisingly well. We took down the crib and the changing table and generally emptied the room quite a bit. We put his mattress in the corner cozied up between the wall, his book case and a large bean bag dolphin (to limit the whole rolling out situation). The plan was to go twin bed shopping this past weekend, but he’s actually doing so well and loving his little “big boy bed” so much, that we’ve decided to wait a while. Why mess with a good thing?

The first night that he slept in his new “room-bed,” he got up a few times. He would stand at the door trying to turn the kid locked-door handle. After a while he started calling, “honey??? Hon? HONEY!” (I’m still not sure if he was calling for Mike or me). But overall, he’s done quite well. The one big issue is that we had to remove the space heater from his room (lest he play with the dials in his new-found freedom). That room gets very cold with the door closed. So, after he’s asleep, we open his door, make sure the blankets are on him and call it good. Except for the few nights when I’ve woken to a Zach-dream and Little Man in my face, it’s gone fairly well.

I hosted book club last night, and told my girls that they should all go down and see Zach’s new room set-up. Zach immediately went flying down the hall and had to get in his bed and go “nigh-night” to demonstrate how it works. I think he likes it! Though I still really don’t like that my baby’s growing up.

Holy little stinkin’ Houdini, Batman! Zachary (aka the “Monkey”) is living up to his nickname. Our dexterous, agile wall-scaling, head-sticking-(and stucking)-through-stair-banister, jumping-into-bathtubs-fulling-clothed CHILD is now scaling up and out of his crib in three seconds flat. I guess I should be surprised that it’s taken him 21 months to figure out how to shimmy himself out. I miss the semi-freedom of the last 21 months already. I miss the days of being able to keep at least one of my monkey-offspring in legal-baby/child-captivity devices. It was nice while it lasted.

Last night after time-and-time-again of taking Zach back to his room, I finally decided to sit in the chair to a.) watch the magic in action and b.) return him to the crib every time he got out. I watched as Zach swung his leg WAY up over the side of the crib and lower himself to the floor with the stealthy agility of a cat burglar. He crept-scurried across the floor to the door where he stood twisting and rattling the handle until achieving victory. The door swung open. Zach looked back and flashed the biggest and most valiant smile I’ve ever seen. Dimples flashing at me in the dark, he paused, the thought bubble above his head reading, “Freedom, ahh sweet freedom. Let me just revel in this for a moment. Ha! Even more fun is the fact that, now if I run down the hall, she’s totally going to chase after me, and that’s just HILARIOUS! Muahh-ahhh-ahhh! [evil baby laugh] I hold all the power.”

This forces Mommy Me to face two very sad and difficult realities: a.) my baby is done with the crib (that I planned on keeping him in until he was 13…or 3 whichever came first) and b.) my baby can wander the house at night getting into all sorts of mayhem and keeping the household sleepless for…years. Crap.

Always brimming with support and advice, my friend Molly – who, by the way, I adore – suggested that I try the playard/porta-crib. A very ingenious idea, thought I. Zach laughed and spat in my face at this idea (figuratively though sometimes literally). He escaped the “play pen” (the non-P.C. term) in a little under a minute.

My afternoon now has a new plan: empty Zach’s room of all dangerous, life-threatening things and furniture to turn his room into his new “crib.” He’ll be sleeping on the floor on the crib mattress until we get around to buying him a real bed this weekend. Until he gets over the excitement, I will stumble after him at night as he explores his free reign – bumping off the walls with fatigue, mind you. (That’s me doing the bumping…he never tires. Ever).

Ahh, FACEBOOK, it’s like middle school and high school all over again. For those of you lacking the Facebook 4-1-1, it’s an on-line world of networking, connecting with friends – old and new. You can search for old classmates and do all kinds of legal, addictive crazy-fun, on-line stalking. It’s also a black hole/vortex/time-sucking procrastinating mechanism. I somehow just managed to spend two hours creating my profile and adding photos. It’s a lot of pressure. Just what kind of ME do I want to portray to my former classmates, and friends-of-friends?

Facebook really is teen-pressure for older folk. I even joined due to my inability to resist peer pressure. It was definitely the “all the cool kids are doing it” kind of a scenario. But man! The pressure! Once you’re on Facebook then it’s a race to see who can prove their coolness and popularity (and therefore, purpose and wholeness as a human being) by having the most friends. I’m happy to say that just after joining a little over an hour ago, I already have nine friends. I am SO cool.

It’s a good thing that I’m making/reconnecting with friends seeing as I’m having issues with one of my dear ones. So this friend – who shall remain nameless lest she…wait. Correction: I now have TEN friends. See, I told you I’m addicted…and cool. Anyway, so this friend and I were quite close. She also has kiddos and our offspring were good buddies. However, due to scheduling conflicts at this time, we rarely see one another. For the past several months, she and I have only spoken because I phoned her. Should I take the hint? We’re going on probably six months now and we’ve only talked because I initiated conversation.

At any rate, I was discussing with Matthew at breakfast this morning that I’m a bit sad to no longer be so close with this friend. I said that the fact that she never called me anymore made me wonder if maybe she didn’t really want to be my friend. Matthew said, “Well, mom, you are a-die-able.” “A-die-able?” I asked. “Do you mean adorable?” (Thinking, how sweet! You’re right, she SHOULD want to be my friend, I AM adorable.) Matthew continued, “No, Mom. A-DIE-able.” “Well, what does that mean?” I inquired. “It means that you’re going to die.”

So, like I said, it’s good that I’m making friends ‘cuz some of my old ones are dropping me since apparently I will be dying…and it sounds like soon. Maybe some of my new Facebook peeps will come to the funeral. I sure hope that my four-year-old does not have the gift of prophecy.

By the by, I just checked and I’m up to eleven. I rock. You might as well just go ahead and vote me Facebook Queen now.

I must admit I’ve been feeling quite BLAHG lately. (If you know me and my affinity for word creation – or if you’re just a bright one – you will immediately understand that my clever word “blahg” translates into: feeling quite blah about my BLOG). I wonder if I’m waiting for good material to Blog about. This worries me as I worry if I’m secretly asking for things to happen. Unfortunately, it seems that when the Blog gets slow, things always do pick up – like snot or puking in the Martin household – providing me with endless anecdotes to share.

So, sure enough I was feeling a bit Blahgish this morning when ahh! Lo-and-behold, Matthew stumbles out of his room with a new and nasty cough. (Yes, Blogging material, here we go). Matthew does something interesting when he has a cold, he hums – nearly constantly – it’s a monotone, non-melodious tune that just drones on and on and on…and on. And because I’m his mother, and I’m allowed to say stuff like this: it really kind of creeps me out. It starts to sound a little wacko and weird. Like maybe, along with the nasal congestion, come some psychotic tendencies. I don’t know. Just a thought.

Also, to assist with my Blogging, Zachary woke up on the cranky side of the crib today. One side of his crib is up against the wall, so we really only have one exit option, but for whatever reason, today it was SO the wrong side. He was eating breakfast and munching on some freakishly-not-naturally-bright-colored fruity cereal when I helped myself to one of the little lime-shaped green ones that had wandered off his placemat. I really didn’t think he would notice or if he did, he certainly wouldn’t care. Boy-oh-boy was I ever wrong. Zach looked at me completely taken aback. “What?” I mumbled guiltily. He shook his head and with eyes welling up in fury and disbelief, disgust and utter disappointment said (and then screamed) “MY NUMS!!!!! MY NUMS!!!!” [nums/nummy = food in this house]. He pointed his finger accusingly at me, shrieking about the injustice of it all. Mike came out wondering what was so wrong. Certainly there was something seriously bad occurring. I walked away from the table. I ate a lime! That’s it. One lime. I gave you LIFE, child. The least you can give me is some sugary-green-lime-shaped puff.

Thanks for the material, boys. Blahgishness has subsided.

Apparently I was gaining too much of a healthy self-confidence, maybe even an ego. So, God planted this little moment just to remind me what a nerd I really am.

Last week, I met the sister-in-law of a really good friend. I won’t go into details as it’s a long and confusing story of how I connected with this woman. Anyway, I had just gotten the boys strapped into their car seats and I thought, I should go introduce myself. So, I went up to her and explained who I was and that Mike and I are good friends with Kate and Kevin.

“Oh!” she says. “From that thing?”

“Engaged Encounter! Yep.” I supply the “thing” that she is looking for.

“They’ve met some really cool people through that,” she informs me.

Then somehow my brain quits functioning and I get stuck. All I can do is grin from ear-to-ear and say, “Yep, we’re really cool peeps.”

She laughs and kind of jokingly mocks what I say, “You’re like yeah! That’s us!”

And then for some unknown reason all I can do is repeat the exact same mind-blowing line again, “Yep, we’re REALLY cool peeps.”

We say our awkward goodbyes after a terribly awkward conversation, and I get in my car. I drive up the narrow street, turn around in the intersection and head back down in order to depart the neighborhood. She’s still standing outside, so we wave (Oh wow. There goes the really cool peeps again! She must be thinking). I feel like she looked at me kind of strangely as we drive by but think nothing of it because I am SO cool. Two seconds later I hear a weird sound on my car – coming from the roof. A moment later, my travel coffee mug goes rolling down the windshield, down the street and rests underneath a parked car. This is why you don’t put things on top of the car. (For the record, I don’t usually do this, but my hands were so full I didn’t have a choice).

I park my car in the middle of the road, hop out and get down on my hands and knees in search of Travel Mug. I can’t seem to find it anywhere and decide that lying on the ground in the road with my children sitting in the car in the middle of the street is probably not the best plan. So, much to Matthew’s distress, I decide to forego the coffee mug search and continue home.

At the first stop light, I decide – for whatever reason – to get a piece of gum. Before chewing it, however, I’m going to be really cool for the cars around me and check myself out in the visor mirror. Right. Two BIG BLACK poppyseeds stuck on either side of my top row of teeth. Of course I have big black objects in my teeth. As if I wasn’t making a great first impression all ready! Now I know that my “We’re really cool peeps” comment was thoroughly supported by my appearance…followed by the coffee mug rolling down my car. Reality check: we’re not cool peeps. We’re not even really cool. And I really shouldn’t be saying peeps.

Last Friday, I taught my first ever Dinosaur themed Little Ditties Academy music class. I did SO much research and found SO many great dinosaur songs, that I am forced to admit two things. First: I now consider myself somewhat of a dinosaur expert. Second: the class went so swimmingly well it may have been my best ever. The moms were particularly impressed with the version of Queen’s “We Will Rock You.” Help me out now:
stomp, stomp, clap. Stomp, stomp, clap. x2. I'm Ankylosaurus I'm big and strong; 10 feet tall and 30 feet long. Got a club on my tail, Armor on my back; Don't get too close or I'll give you a whack. I will, I will stomp you, stomp you. I will, I will stomp you, stomp you. I'm Tyrannosaurus Rex I'm big and mean. The meanest dinosaur that you've ever seen. I've got tiny little arms, Great big feet; I'll pick you up with my big sharp teeth. I will, I will, CHOMP you, CHOMP you!! I will, I will, CHOMP you, CHOMP you!!
Or how ‘bout “Doo Wah Ditty” sung to “Dino Ditty…” You can see the kind of quality musical education my students are walking away with.

My very favorite part of the class, however, was not something that I spent time planning/printing/taping/cutting out/preparing for. The best part had – of course – nothing to do with me what-so-ever. When asked what kind of dinosaur was his very favorite, Matthew – without skipping a beat – replied seriously, “a John Deerasaurus.”

It is ca-razy to me that 6:40AM feels like over-sleeping. That’s just nuts! But it’s true; I did let myself sleep in. I’ve been doing a fairly decent job of getting myself to bed earlyish so that getting up by 6 wouldn’t be torture. Yeah, it’s still torture. I have the utmost respect and empathy for those that do this everyday for a “real” job. (Like, grown-ups, I mean).

A couple Matthewisms for you:

A while back, we were getting out of the car and Matthew started whining. He said that his leg was “full of sand.” It took a while but eventually Mike deciphered that what he meant was that his leg had fallen asleep. This morning when I first woke up at 5:30 (and quickly decided to go the heck back to bed!), my arm was totally and completely asleep. I noticed that – while I’ve never actually had sand in my limbs – it really felt as if my arm was full of sand. The child is very bright.

The child is a little too bright. Yesterday, the boys were wrestling on the floor. Here is my recent observation: our boys get along swimmingly as long as there are no toys or inanimate objects what-so-ever involved. Throw in a toy or something random – say, a sock – and eventually they will fight over it. We may just sell all of our material possessions in order to live in peace and harmony. Their favorite brother-bonding activities are: running around and around and around the kitchen-dining room-living room loop (especially when chased by Mommy – that makes it way more fun), playing hide-n-seek (especially looking for Mommy together and then screaming shrilly when they find me), pulling all of the sofa cushions down and pole-vaulting themselves on to the floor or doing head-first somersaults on to the soft padded landing, and finally wrestling. It should come as no surprise that Zach is usually the initiator of a wrestling match. If anyone dares sit or lie down on the floor he/she will immediately be sat upon. So, half the time I glance at the boys, Zach has Matthew in some sort of choke-hug-hold.

Yesterday, to my surprise, Matthew was the wrestly one. Matthew was holding Zach around the middle and Zach was lying there going “hug…hug…hug…” probably wondering when the super-long hug-fest would conclude. After a bit Zachary started to whine – not cry (yet) – I saw that Matthew had maneuvered himself to be sitting/clinging/hugging on to Zach’s back. “Matthew,” I said, “that’s enough. You’re too big, and Zach’s starting to say he doesn’t like that. That’s what that noise means. Matthew! You’re squishing him! Get off please!” (OK, probably in real life the please didn’t happen, but we’ll pretend that I’m still a polite mother most of the time). Matthew – without moving a muscle – looks up at me and says, “But Mommmmm, Zachy’s is a turtle with a Matthew shell!”

What is it with Kara (my laptop) and caffeine? OK, the same can be asked of me. Yesterday, I watered her with my Diet Pepsi. I guess it’s just been way too long since Zach gave her the coffee bath, so it was high time for a caffeine fix. I think I’ll start using Zach’s no-spill sippy cups for my beverages too. It was almost a slow-motion, out-of-body situation as I watched my hand reach out and tip my glass over (I really did bump it in an strange, almost on-purpose sort of way). When I yelled something to the effect of, “Oh no!” or “Crud!” (one of the kid-friendly curses), Matthew said, “What’d you do, Mom?” As I frantically mopped off Diet Pepsi, I explained the obvious, “I spilled my Diet Pepsi and a little bit got on Kara.” Matthew sat there calmly and said, “Well, why’d you do that?” It’s a good question.

So, I finally got myself into the doctor to have this Strep Throat situation taken care of once and for all. Except that it wasn’t taken care of at all. The first Strep test came back negative – although I was reassured that that test does occasionally have false negative readings, so a second swab was taken to be sent to the big, fancy lab where the results are always 100% accurate. After looking at my throat and getting the negative reading, the doctor – who I’d never had before – sat down on the stool next to the table and said very seriously, “You have a very bad sore throat. There are some things that I want you to do to help this get better.” I was pleased that he was taking my lame throat epidemic so seriously and he was very intense about it. He got out his prescription pad and I thought, ooh! Yea! Even though the test came back negative he’ll still give me the magic drugs that will heal my weary throat. In doctor scrawl, he scribbled on the pad, and then handed the top paper to me. It said, “SALT + WARM WATER = gargle x3 x3days.” Wow. This is what I paid money for. And I’m so glad that he spent years and tens of thousands of dollars on medical school to write an in-depth explanation of how to do a salt water gargle. He also wrote “Advil/Ibuprofen = 3 tabs x3 x3 days.” He wants me popping nine pain killers a day for a sore throat?! Yeah, it’s lame. It hurts really bad in the morning and really bad at night, but nine pills a day?! I’d much rather have one little antibiotic pill to take each day that will take the bad sore throat germs away. In conclusion, he added, “If this does not work – three days of three times salt water gargling and three days of three times taking three tablets of pain killers, then call the office. After three more days, if your throat is still in pain, we may just call in the Antibiotics for you.” I’ve had the sore throat for nearly three weeks, but because I saw the doctor and got this magical cure, it’ll suddenly and finally be better? In three days? After THREE weeks? THREE days of gargling and supposedly THREE days of THREE times of THREE pain killers. Three. Three. Three. That word starts to look weird when you have to type it so many times. (It’s tree with an H in it, I might add).

Essentially I left the doctor’s office with the following, “It’s probably not Strep, it’s just a bad sore throat. You’re a wuss. Go home.” Maybe I should have told him how much the swallowing-daggers sore throat takes away from my morning coffee and dose of antioxidants. All I know is I liked it better when I had self-diagnosed with something that had a name. That sounded a lot more impressive and sympathy-worthy. I’ll just name it now, I have Swallowing Daggers Throat. The only cure is THREE extra dark chocolates xTHREE xTHREE days. There! See, I could be a doctor too!

This is Week Two of “The Plan.” The Plan where I get up early every morning to either run or write and I get to bed early so that The Plan is a little less painful. The Plan stinks. It hurts. Getting up before six every morning is pretty lame if you ask me. I have succeeded in getting to bed a little earlier at night – never early enough though – but I really don’t know if that makes the getting up in the morning any easier. My first thought EVERY SINGLE MORNING is, “Ooh, maybe I can get a nap today,” which is followed quickly by, “I can’t wait to go to bed tonight. I’m SO getting to bed early tonight.” Rarely do either of these thoughts – fantasies, really – come to fruition.

Friday night is a night that I’m not required to lay myself down to sleep early (as Saturday is not an early morning). For the most part though, I’m a total Friday night party pooper and am still ready to be in bed by 11. This past Friday, Mike went to a Guys’ Game Night and I had invited my friend Rachel to drive down from Bellingham to hang out. Her email said something like, “That would be great! My car’s been making a funny noise, but it should be fine.” Ahh, Rachel, a fellow writer – and a very talented one, at that – should have recognized that clear foreshadowing! But everything did work out fine, and actually quite splendidly for Matthew! He got to stay up late to see the tow truck pull up with Rachel’s car in front of our house.

Rachel’s misfortune was Matthew’s Christmas morning come late. Her tire totally blew out on 405 just an exit away from ours. She was all geared up to change to her spare on the side of the freeway when she discovered that the bolts were the wrong size for the tool she had. (Or the tool was the wrong size for those bolts. Whatever. There was a size mis-match issue). When Matthew and I watched the tow trucker driver doing his work, Matthew was full of questions; none of which I could answer. Finally, I suggested that he could direct one question to the driver when he was done and ready to leave. When asked what he wanted to ask him, Matthew thought about it and said, “Mm, what did Santa bring the tow truck driver for Christmas?” His one opportunity to speak to a tow truck driver and that’s the question!? In the end, no questions were asked of the driver just of me and Rachel…for hours…for days we’ve been discussing the tow truck that brought Auntie Rachel’s car to our house. Thrilling.

Not at ALL thrilling is the fact that I have Strep Throat. This has yet to be confirmed by medical personnel, but I’m fairly certain that I’ve got it. It feels as though I’m swallowing daggers. This dagger-swallowing has gone on for a couple of weeks now. I’ve ignored it until recently – assuming that it was just another cold that would eventually go away. It’s still here though. It’s annoying that I have to make an appointment, pay a $15 co-pay and have them stick a super long, gaggy, Q-Tip down my throat just so I can get the antibiotics that I know I need. I suppose I should try to get in to the office today. I’m tired of swallowing daggers. It takes away from my enjoyment of my morning dark chocolate and coffee.

There was a time when the start of my day – the coffee and chocolate part – was #1 on the list of favorite parts of the day. It’s still up there but I have a new one. It happens when I’m putting Zach to bed every night. When we’re done reading his story and saying prayers, he quickly turns around and throws his little arms around my neck, he gives a big squeeze and whispers “hug” in my ear. This can go on for minutes – just cuddling with the occasional squeeeeeze and “hug” said ever-so-softly. Then he’ll push his soft cheek up against my face until I give him butterfly kisses. The tickling of my eyelashes never ceases to amuse him and make him giggle. He’s also big on Eskimo kisses, though his nose-bumping kiss isn’t quite as gentle as some of the other moments. I often catch myself during this bedtime routine squeezing and holding on to him for just a little too long. I know that the days of bedtime cuddling will eventually – and most likely soon – be over. But in the meantime, I’ll just hold on to them – and him – as long as I can.

OK, Resolution #3. (I swear I haven’t made an official list of Resolutions, the numbering just happens by itself. Regardless of how much I resist it). So, #3: Just say no! I say yes to way too many people just because it’s easier – for them. It’s hard to say no when you’re a People Pleaser and worried about what others will think should you dare to say no. But enough! After vaguely deciding yesterday that this was something that I should work on (but not yet elevating it to Resolution status), I proceeded to say yes to two people for things that, while I would probably be fine with and enjoy doing, I just don’t need to add to my plate right now. Just say no!

The boys have done some pretty darn cute things in the last few days that deserve a Bloggly mention. Yesterday, after being informed that yes! He would FINALLY get to go back to preschool, Matthew went running down the hall waving his arms in pajamed-glory yelling, “I’M SO EXCITED FOR PRESCHOOL!!!”

I will say that being locked in the house together for two straight weeks due to illness did force the boys to spend a lot of time playing together (not always nicely, mind you). I’ve discovered that they play excellently together if there are NO TOYS OR OBJECTS INVOLVED WHATSOEVER. If they are “playing chase” or wrestling (i.e. Zach tackling Matthew, sitting on him or just generally pinning his big brother down) they are usually getting along and in great spirits. Add in a toy or a random object and it immediately becomes a dispute and tears are soon to follow (usually Matthew…Zach has usually confiscated said-object and has run away). The other day, the boys had decided that the kitchen floor was the best place to wrestle for the moment. Zachary was on top-ish (there was a lot of movement), but they both simultaneously stopped and embraced in a big ‘ol brotherly bear hug. Matthew said, “Ahh, I love you, Zachy,” and kissed him on the ear. Then Zach’s hug got a little too tight and the next proclamation was a whine, “enough! Zachyyyyyy, stop. Your hug is choking me!”

At one point during the post-holidays vacation, we made the (crazy) decision to eat out. The destination? Chili’s. A fine family dining establishment, offering, among many things, excellent baby back ribs. (Now, the stupid commercial jingle is stuck in my head. You too?). For our dining experience, we were seated in a cozy booth. Zach sat next to me (until food arrived when we would strap him in the high chair), and Matthew sat across from him, next to Mike. The family at the booth behind us was thoroughly entertained by our boys, and thankfully, not annoyed by their shenanigans. Zach would turn around, face the other customers, and stand and squat, stand and squat, initiating half the restaurant in a game of peek-a-boo and occasional waves of hi. He wasn’t satisfied with my pre-meal snacky-spread and as soon as Other Family received their food, he started begging. (Albeit, politely – he said and signed pleeeaase, while pointing to their heaped plates). The mother of Other Family – who had commented on Zachary’s politeness and general adorableness to me – proceeded to narrate to her 8-year-oldish son the constant movements of the Martin boys. It was like listening to an announcer at a sporting match:

Oh look. There goes Big Brother under the table. And pop! He’s now next to the little guy. Poor Mom, she’s got both boys to contend with on her side. She’s outnumbered. Uh-Oh, looks like they’re starting to wrestle and ooh! That had to hurt. What move is Little Guy going to make next? Ahh, he goes for the classic neck-hold. But Big Brother is offering back a taste of Little Guys’ medicine. They’re locked in what looks like…it’s a Hug, people. They’re locked in a Hug. OK, Mom is trying to keep the Hug from slipping together under the table. Looks like both boys are trying to make a move to go UNDER the table, they nearly are wedged under… Ahh, Mom blocks and…wait. What’s this? Oh, wow, I haven’t seen a move like this since dinner at Red Robin back in ’98. Little Guy is being passed OVER the table. I repeat: Little Guy – ooh, watch the head so he doesn’t hit the big light fixture [that’s hung way too low over the table] – that was close. Now, Little Guy is on the other side of the table with Dad. And! Ouch. He goes for the classic throw-the-crayon-at-Big-Brother move. The parents are quickly gathering up the crayons before they can be put into use as a Weapon of Mass Destruction and nope! Not fast enough for Little Guy. He snagged the blue and managed to draw a quick line on the table before it was removed for good…

I’m telling ya, dining out with these little people IS a full-contact sport. (Helmets and elbow pads not included).

2008, here we are. Most years I’ve got a list of Resolutions longer than my around-the-house to-do list. This year? Not so much. I spent all of 2007 with resolutions, lists, things to change, finding myself, surviving myself, etc. So, 2008 is all about Maintenance. I’m fairly on top of things right now. Thanks to medication, red wine, caffeine, running and dark chocolate (not all at the same time, mind you…though that might be interesting) my children aren’t totally driving me mad and I feel relatively sane. For the moment. And thanks to six months of therapy last year, I, of course, now have ALL the answers, TOTALLY know who I am, and am good to go!

OK, so one Resolution I have (look, I said I wouldn’t make a LIST, I didn’t say that I wouldn’t have ANY) is to get to bed earlier. Easy enough, right? Should be. My job requires me to do things like get up at 5:30 in the morning and run in the rain, then come home, shower, get everyone dressed and fed and out the door to preschool, errands, play dates, ready for music class, ready to do loads of laundry, play Lego’s and John Deeres, etc. It isn’t a hard life, that’s for sure. But it is an at-times hard job and it does start early. I’m committing to my running routine with Andrea and my writing routine. Therefore, I – before all of you – vow to get up MWF at 5:30 (well, I hit the alarm…so 5:40, at the latest) to run and then TTH get up by 6am (gotta “sleep in” a little bit) to work on my award-winning literature. (It’s all about Visualization: if you believe it enough, your dreams CAN come true. Thank you, Oprah and The Secret).

My other Resolution is to ALWAYS trust my Mommy Instincts. So, if you’ll recall our boys were ooberly sick right before Christmas. Zachary had the whole not-being-able-to-catch-his-breath-and-breathe-normally thing going on. If you’ll also recall, I was not convinced that the doctors were really giving me answers and/or explaining clearly what the problem was and what the treatment plan would be. Also, remember, that on one Sunday evening, we called the nurse for help. She informed us that if his breathing was between 50-60 times per minute that we needed to get him to Emergency at Children’s Hospital. At that moment, we counted 44 breaths in a minute. The next morning, at the doctor’s office, however, their accurate machine-dealy counted 52 times in a minute. OK, now you’re refreshed on the details.

SO…this morning at preschool drop-off the one Mom-friend that I’ve made there (Angela) informed me that her little girl, Emma (two months older than Zachary), spent three days at Children’s Hospital because she just couldn’t get a breath, her little lungs and tummy were pumping all the time, she’d cough so hard she’d throw up, she had a fever for days…sound familiar?!!!! THE EXACT SAME THING. Angela, tired of getting the run-around from HER doctors, decided on that SAME Sunday night, to trust her Mommy Instinct and take Emma to the Emergency Room at Children’s. At the hospital, they counted little Emma breathing 45 times per minute (that EXACT same night, we’d counted Zach doing 44…I know I already provided you with the facts, I just need to reiterate, to stress how crazy this is). The doctors took one look at Emma and her stats and said, “She’s staying.” According to the doctor’s at Children’s Hospital, NO kiddo Zachary and Emma’s age should be breathing more than 30 times in one minute. Spending days breathing and working hard, like ZJ and Emma had been, is way too hard for their little bodies. The docs informed Angela, that pumping like that can exhaust their systems so much that they could just eventually up and quit. The lungs, heart, everything/anything could just plain old poop out.

So, to remind you, (yet, again) the morning after we counted 44, at the doc’s office, they counted Zach’s breaths-per-minute at 52. They gave Zach steroids and sent us home, and it just didn’t sit right with me. I just didn’t feel like they were doing enough or…at the very least, not communicating what the problem really was. And now to find out, that Zach was in WORSE shape that morning than Emma had been when they checked into the hospital, that he’d been going through the EXACT same thing and doctors at Children’s Hospital kept her for THREE days to help her with her breathing so that her organs wouldn’t shut down…that we would have seen Angela with Emma in the ER on the SAME night going through the SAME thing (RSV, it turns out/Reactive Airway Disease, etc.)…it’s just nuts to me. To think that we just watched Zach working that hard for days to breathe…thank God he’s a little fighter. Obviously, I’m VERY thankful that we didn’t have to go through the hospital thing, and thankfully, the treatments that we did receive from the doctors worked and Zachary was fine and IS fine. But still!!! Now, I know to ALWAYS trust that Mommy Instinct. And if I’m worried that people are thinking that I’m just One of Those Moms…well, I’ll except that title with pride.

Confession: we have not sent out a Christmas picture/letter. I have some guilt about it, but mostly I try to shove the guilt away. I push it down to the guilt about not getting to the dentist enough or that time when I decided to rebel as a child and the worst thing that I came up with was sticking a piece of gum in a library book. Actually no, the gum incident’s guilt is a lot stronger; that’s pretty bad. I LOVE the library. I love books. I love reading. Why would I do that?!!! Anyway, the no-Martin Christmas picture/letter guilt is still there but I’m trying to ignore it. It’s not that we don’t plan on sending one…eventually…we just decided after our big Christmas party to a.) sit back and enjoy the holidays and b.) care for our very sick children (who, thankfully, are now all better) and c.) we didn’t take a good family picture, so we’ll need to either take one or just find a good one from the last few months. We’ll do it. Eventually.

I could work on the Christmas picture/letter now, but the keyword there is COULD. And I am SO not going to. I have the house completely and thoroughly to myself. I don’t remember the last time that I got to be home alone. I came up with the marvelous and ingenious idea that after I got back from my run, Mike should go to the gym and that he should take the boys with him to play in the Kids’ Club. This is a marvelous and ingenious idea and a win-win situation for everyone involved. Mike needs to go the gym because, well, it’s good for him, and he hasn’t been in quite a while (probably three weeks, maybe even a month). The boys now love the Kids’ Club, have been asking to go, and haven’t been in a long while due to sickness and then Christmas. And it is SO a win-win situation for me because I get to be home…by myself! Sure, I could spend the time doing the dishes in the sink or the laundry that’s piled up, but why? I could even start taking Christmas stuff down or clean this post-Holidays messy house. But why, pray-tell, would I do that?! I’m sipping coffee and spending time on my laptop – planning for music class, researching hotels for our trip to San Fran in August (for Mo’s wedding), catching up on News (cnn.com), reading emails, oh, and currently writing this. I might even sit on the couch and read in a bit. I don’t remember the last time that I did that. What’s a little bit sad is how easily Matthew picked up on my excitement for this morning. I got the boys all ready to go – they were practically in coats waiting for Mike. “Are you ready yet, Honey? The boys are ready and rarin’ to go! Yea Kids’ Club! Yea Gym! Are you ready? Mike?” I kept calling. I practically shoved them out the door. As they headed down the stairs Matthew called, “Have fun being home by yourself, Mommy!” Ahhh, I will. I am.

Christmas has come and gone and therefore I am thoroughly and totally devastated. The post-Christmas season is just so lame. But what’s most lame is the fact that Santa doesn’t come for another 362 days now or something.

Santa treated the Martin family very well. He brought me some very nice coffee, the movie Hairspray, mascara that I was in need of, and gift cards delight for post-holiday retail therapy. Santa loves me. Matthew was thrilled with his small, monster truck John Deeres and his Lego City fire truck pickup truck. Zach got a little steering wheel toy that makes all sorts of loud, obnoxious educational, genius-inducing noises. Matthew got a fantastic John Deere blanket from Nana and Uncle Harry, a fireman Mr. Potato Head from Aunt Jamie and Uncle Dan and an amazing construction crane Lego from my parental units…just to name a few highlights. Zachary’s favorite part of the day was “opo! Opo!” – opening presents. But perhaps most magically magical of all was that it snowed! On Christmas Day. In Seattle! It snowed! Not enough to stick but definite flurries for most of the day. That’s as White Christmas as it gets here, and I’ll take it!

READER DISCRETION ADVISED: Do not read the following on a full stomach, an empty stomach and/or a particularly squeamish, squirmy, or churny stomach.

The Martin boys (the younger ones) were feeling much improved yesterday. We were even able to leave the house for an outing that did not include the doctor! (Hooray for Staples and Target.) The boys even bickered over toys and more than once (MANY times more than once), Matthew screamed and cried because Zach had knocked over his Lego “crane truck.” (Meanwhile Zach ran away with a big grin on his face). Yes, they were definitely feeling a bit better.

After the boys had finished dinner we let them down to play so that we could finish our meal in relative peace. Matthew and Zach started chasing each other around the loop – dining room, kitchen, living room. They were having a ball and laughing. And then t the same time they both started coughing, and coughing. And then t the same time Mike and I both started saying, “OK, OK. Settle down. You boys aren’t ready for that much running around.” And then at the same time they both started vomiting.

Mike got to them first, realizing there wasn’t time to get down the hall to the Puke Bucket in Matthew’s room, he grabbed the next best thing – dumped the remaining toys out of a plastic toy box and stuck that under Matthew’s face. Matthew shook his head and started to protest. He would not puke into the Lego box, he would only puke into the Pu— oh whatever. I just need to puke. I had jumped up to hold the impromptu Puke Receptacle under Matthew, while Mike (and I) realized that Zach was about to lose it. Mike stuck his hand under Zach’s mouth and started running him down the hall towards the bathroom. Blecgh! Zach threw up by the top of the stairs where his vomit hit the floor and splashed all the way – even splattering the lower level of carpeted stairs. Mike got to the bathroom and realized that the door was closed. Crap! He couldn’t open it because one hand was full of Zachary and the other was full of Vomir de Zachary. So, I yelled for him to take Zach to the kitchen sink where Zach immediately got sick all over the sink-full of dirty dishes.

I’m not quite sure at what point in all of this I realized what I was doing. Yes, I was holding the Puke Bucket – Receptacle and generally cheering Matthew on offering all sorts of support and Motherly concern. However, I was also eating a cookie. Just the day before we had received the INFAMOUS box from Mike’s sister Jamie and husband Dan. Every year at Christmas I loath-slash-love when that box arrives. It’s full of our wrapped Christmas presents and also a box brimming full of Jamie’s Christmas Cookies. They make thousands of cookies every year (literally, thousands), adding a new kind nearly every baking season too. I counted 16 different varieties this year. Mike and I are very systematic about the cookies. We eat them slowly (well, try to) and enjoy discussing each kind, rating them, deciding which is our favorite each year, etc. Now, Matthew has become a part of our Christmas cookie consumption fun. He had just finished one before the running and then the coughing and then the vomiting commenced, and I had been in mid-bite when we got to the vomiting part of the evening. Apparently through all the drama I hadn’t thought to put the cookie down and even in the midst of it – holding a puke bucket, comforting Matthew, instructing Mike – I still managed to eat a delicious cookie. Now that, my friends, is multitasking.

Doctor Benda reassured me that I was not being a totally and completely paranoid Mommy. (Although I did mumble that she was the fourth doctor we’d seen in a week). Basically, Zach came down with the same Bronchitis virus that Matthew had, however, Zach’s version went deeper into the lungs where it manifested in the form of “Reactive Airway Disease” – the symptoms are basically the same as Asthma (and treated similarly). So, Dr. Benda did give Zach one more dose of steroids to get his airways open sooner (as he was still breathing rapidly and wheezing a bit at our appointment). She also gave me a clearer plan on when/how often/how many/how long to use the inhaler. I did feel like my concerns were validated and the visit worthwhile; even if it did mean that Zachary had to get more nasty medicine. Dr. Benda said that if I hadn’t brought him in, his fever probably would have come back eventually and we would have had to get the steroids. It was good to get them sooner rather than later. The poor child has still been miserable. At least he’s feverless, but he spent all day yesterday just lying around, sucking his thumb, holding Blankie and wanting to be held. I, of course, am now showing cold-like symptoms (I still won’t outright admit that I’m sick), so a day of rest was fine with me…thought that’s all we’ve done for about TEN DAYS now! I just pray that all this sickness will have dissipated by Christmas next week.

In other news, I dropped my cell phone into a bowl of chili. Well, a mostly empty, dirty-in-the-sink, bowl of chili, but still. I was in the process of calling Rachel when the phone slipped from my shoulder into said-bowl. I could see that it was still ringing and calling her. “Ahhh!” I screamed. Rachel? Rachel! You’re in the chili! Hold tight. I’ll get you out. I’m coming in! Unfortunately, my phone was sufficiently chilified and did not work for the rest of the evening. Just like my laptop Kara after her coffee bath, my [nameless] cell phone apparently needed to make me feel guilty and concerned for a bit before working again. Yesterday morning it worked again and I managed to speak with Mike’s stepmom, Oma Annalice. I couldn’t hear her all that well and thought that perhaps the bean residue was causing interference. At least the phone still functions. Maybe 2008 can be the year of not soaking appliances in random food/beverages.

I can’t believe it’s already Tuesday! The last few days have been a blur of fevers, medicine, puke buckets and doctors. We ended up taking both boys to the Urgent Care Clinic on Saturday. They both had high fevers through the day. Zach was so miserable – he was practically comatose. All he could do was lie around and even when he was awake he couldn’t open his eyes all the way. It was scary. Matthew complained that his ears hurt and we saw Zach tugging on his ear. We figured that at the least they had ear infections and we needed to get them in to see the doctor.

Matthew has double ear infections and Bronchitis. Zachary has one ear infection and was having difficulty breathing. His poor little tummy and ribs are constantly working hard and he just can’t seem to get a deep breath. On Saturday, the doctor had us give him an inhaler and told us that if his fever wasn’t down and he wasn’t drastically better on Sunday morning, then we’d need to bring him in right away. Thankfully, Zach woke up feverless and was actually playing a little bit. He’d have a burst of energy, rip around and then collapse in exhaustion. He was definitely a heck of a lot better though.

We brought the kiddos to stay with my dad and brother Chris while Mike, my mom and I went Christmas Caroling at a nursing home in Seattle with some friends from Engaged Encounter. Yeah, try getting through O Holy Night, knowing your kids are sick at home and there’s a little old lady holding your hand, looking at you with tears in her eyes. Right after that heapy-weepy moment, we started walking down the hall but stopped when the door to a room opened; the family was literally gathered around the person in the bed – as in saying goodbye. We’re singing Silent Night and I’m trying to not even look in the room. Yeah, just a little emotional. I felt terrible about abandoning the boys (all the while knowing they were fine and in perfectly capable hands), but it was great to get to go Caroling.

By the time we got the boys home, however, Zachary did not seem quite so fine. His temperature was back up to 101 and he was breathing pretty hard. We called the nurse and she had us count how many breaths he took in a minute. 44. She informed us, “Well, OK. He should be fine through the night, but if it gets up to 50-60 a minute and he looks anxious, then you’ll need to get him to Emergency at Children’s Hospital.” Very reassuring (actually, not really). Monday morning, Zach’s temperature was back down but he was still breathing pretty quickly. I took him back to the doctor (a different one at our office). The nurse counted his breaths and came up with 52. Right, so that was in that “get him to the hospital” range. But all they did (maybe it’s all they could do) was give him an extra couple of pumps of the inhaler. They also gave him a dose of steroids to bring down the potential fever and help with the whole breathing situation. The steroids have made him miserable – no fever miserableness now, just a different kind – he’s really irritable, shaky and jittery.

I left the doctor feeling frustrated. I still don’t understand what exactly the problem is because all we’ve done is treat the symptoms (which I know is important, but still…). I feel like I’ve gotten mixed messages. The nurse says if he gets that high, he needs to go to the hospital. So, he is that high at the doctor’s office and they ask if we have a history of Asthma in the family. Does that mean he has Asthma (or they’re just checking)? They tell me to give him more pumps of the inhaler, and if that doesn’t seem to work then bring him back for more steroids because it’s obviously not working. But, I’m confused. What is the problem?! Why are we going to keep pumping the same miserable drug into him if it didn’t work the first time? The doc told me that once I think the inhaler is working we can start tapering off, but, “Oh,” she says, “you probably won’t know if it’s working or ready to be tapered down…” Huh?!

In conclusion, I’m listening to my Mommy-Gut (or maybe just being a paranoid Mom), and I’m bringing him back in today to see our actual pediatrician, Dr. Benda who we know and love. I just want a doctor – one that we really trust and who knows us – to explain what is going on and what exactly the plan is and how long we’ll likely stick with this plan. I don’t even mind if all I get is, “well, we don’t actually know what is going on, why he’s having difficulty breathing or what the plan is.” As long as I get some more communication and that they aren’t just jumping to temporarily treat the symptom without knowing what the problem is.

When I called yesterday to schedule to see Dr. Benda today and had to explain to the Appointment desk chica why I wanted to be seen AGAIN, after going through my shpeal, she says, “Oh. So, you’re not hearing the answers that you want?” Yeah, OK, so maybe she does think that I’m one of THOSE or maybe I AM one of THOSE paranoid parental units. But I’d like some answers and not just what sounds like a temporary fix. Am I just being defensive or does this make sense?