Okay, okay; so it's been a long time since I've posted on this blog. We've had a busy summer, with lots of travel, lots of guests in our house, and (unfortunately) lots of computer problems, all of which I plan to write about eventually. These events have, however, reduced my internet time to only what is necessary to run my class and keep my inbox from overflowing. I have lots of ideas for blog posts in my head, though, and so I've finally decided to get one of them written down.
One thing we've done this summer is introduce Daniel to organized sports. We signed him up for t-ball at the beginning of the summer, and even though he was the one playing I think I also learned a few things. For instance, we showed up to the first game with no lawn chairs or blanket or water bottles or snacks, and quickly learned that we would probably need to invest in all of these things. We learned not to park in the spot closest to the fields unless we would like to wait for the entire parking lot to empty before we can pull out. And I finally started to understand why parents can run into problems getting their entire family to sit at the table together for dinners: six o'clock game times for just one kid really threw off our nightly schedule; I can only imagine trying to work around two or three different kids' sports schedules.
Also, I learned that the term "organized sports" should be applied very loosely to the four-six age range. Daniel's first turn at bat ended with him running straight across the field, toward second base, while all the parents and coaches yelled, "No! Go THAT way!!" Most runners on base forgot to advance to the next base until the runner behind them came up and gave them a tap. There were two fielding styles: the wearing-glove-on-head-facing-the-wrong-way camp, and the fight-other-members-of-your-team-for-every-ball group. There were no outs or scores, and though this was probably a good thing, it removed most of the structure from the activity.
I also learned a lot about expectations adults impose on youth sports. I was surprised to see that many players consistently had both parents, all their siblings, and some aunts, uncles, and grandparents at their games. Daniel's coach seemed really alarmed that Daniel would sometimes want to use the pink Barbie bat, and would run over to take it from him, saying, "Oh no, Pal. You don't want that bat. Try this one (handing him the Hot Wheels bat). This is the POWER bat. This is the one you want." All pretty amusing considering this coach was otherwise fairly hands-off. A kid on one team we played was very competitive and aggressive, sneering at other kids and repeatedly announcing things like how his team was going to "cream" them (a real feat considering the no-score thing). Kyle and I looked at each other, wondering aloud what that kid's parents were like, and what he'd be like by the time he gets to high school.
Let me not, though, exclude myself from this review of parental expectations. See, I enrolled Daniel in t-ball with the expectation that he would get some exercise, have fun, and learn how to play a team sport. Apparently I also had an expectation that he would pay some attention to the game, so I have to admit that I was fairly disappointed to see his lack of focus or enthusiasm during play. He was always excited to go to t-ball, and always said he had fun, but honestly spent nearly all of game time staring off into space and/or sitting down in the field. He almost never ran, neither after hitting nor during one of his very few attempts to field the ball. Frequently he missed the fact that his team had changed from the hitting team to the fielding team or vice versa, until his coach or Kyle or I specifically got his attention and instructed him to go to or come in from the field. In fact, Kyle and I (and the coach) spent a lot of time at games calling to Daniel to "Put your glove on your hand, Buddy!" or "Turn around!" or "Pick up that ball! The one that landed right in front of you!" as he stared off into space.
Daniel was also obsessed with snacks, specifically whether there would be any after the game and if so what they would be. Unfortunately we appeared to have been randomly placed on the only team in the league that did not organize some sort of snack-bringing turns system and therefore rarely had anything after the games. During the last game, Daniel was sauntering from third base to home to end the last "inning" for his team when he stopped dead in his tracks to peer into a bag on the ground that held juice boxes and fruit snacks. No encouraging yells from the coach or parents could break the spell as he stood there, transfixed by the snacks, while the whole game waited for him.
And here's where I come in. On this occasion we had driven five hours back from Nebraska and left all the unpacking undone at home in order to make this game on time. Despite the fact that we had gone out to eat immediately before the game, Daniel had spent most of his time in the field mooching the sunflower seeds the coach had in his pocket instead of playing the game. I was so frustrated when Daniel stopped running the bases that I got up and loudly chastised him in front of the whole field while roughly dragging him to home base by his arm. Nothing like ending the season with a bang, right? Now I could have imagined it, but it did seem like some other parents were averting their eyes from me on the way out of that game, probably because I had acted like a total LUNATIC over four year-old t-ball.
And this is uncomfortable to admit about myself, that I am more competitive or aggressive than I'd like to be, and that this extends to the kids' behavior as well. I'm not saying that I expected Daniel to whack home runs and make double plays at every game, but I did expect that he would care enough to try and to pay attention and listen to the coach. It was frustrating and embarrassing to me some days to have the kid who didn't DO anything. And I don't think that this will be the last time Daniel and I will struggle with this as he continues through childhood. His temperament is just slow-to-warm up and very cautious, something that I've had to work to be patient with. On the one hand, I appreciate and respect this about him, and know that when he's older I'll be able to give him more independence, knowing he will not do things that are reckless. But on the other hand, I worry so much that his fears and hesitancy will cause him to miss out on great experiences or to have problems relating socially to other kids.
I thought of this again today when Daniel was riding his bike, another activity that we introduced this summer. For the most part he is perfectly content to ride in little circles, over and over, on our small driveway. After little crashes he needs to be coaxed or even bribed to get back on the bike rather than give it up "until he's five." Last week I was so excited when he asked to leave the driveway and go around the block, only to cringe as he forgot how to brake and wiped out in the first 50 feet, bumping his head and putting a nice deep scratch all down the driver's side of our neighbors' car.
Since this incident, Daniel has once again refused to leave the driveway, but today I was overcome with the sense that if I didn't make him go back out there he would never want to. So I asked him, then begged him, and then forced him to sit on the bike and walked him, screaming bloody murder, out into the street. Even writing that now makes me feel kind of like a jerk. But as I avoided our neighbors' questioning looks and pushed the bike down the street, I noticed that Daniel had started pedaling. And then he stopped screaming and followed my instructions to practice braking. Then he started smiling and even laughed when I said, "See? You're doing it!" And though there's no excuse for dragging him to home base at t-ball I wonder if sometimes looking like a totally deranged, aggressive parent will be necessary to get Daniel past whatever is holding him back.
The challenge for me is trying to figure out the difference between a constructive push and a destructive airing of my own frustration. And I wonder if all kids and all parents go through this kind of thing on the way to learning how to play baseball or ride a bike. I don't ever want to encourage Daniel to abandon his sensitivity or sweetness, but I also don't want him to lack courage. And though I am enjoying Daniel leaving babyhood and becoming a full-blown kid, I sometimes think of all the challenges ahead of us as parents and feel like I'm the one who is totally out of my league.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Saturday, June 19, 2010
Our Blueberry Haul
This morning we went to opening weekend at a blueberry farm just outside town. The kids were able to stay focused for a reasonable amount of time despite the warm weather conditions, and we came home with almost 7 pounds of blueberries (two big bags like the one pictured above)! Actually, let me rephrase that: we checked out with almost 7 pounds of blueberries. Quite a number of them were consumed in the car on the way home...
This is just one more perk of living in a rural area. When I was a kid I don't think I actually knew where blueberries came from (trees? plants?), much less had a chance to pick and eat them right off the bushes. And boy are they delicious this way; I can hardly blame the kids for wanting to eat them by the handful. In fact, I am planning a blueberry cobbler for dessert tonight and blueberry muffins for Father's Day breakfast tomorrow. I'm wondering if it is possible to actually turn into a blueberry, like Violet in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory ("I have a blueberry for a daughter!"). Gosh, let's hope not.
Today was a good indulgence of my recent Michael Pollan "know where your food comes from" kick. We're thinking about buying some grass-fed beef this fall from some friends who have a small farm and herd. I wonder if the kids will be as excited to eat burgers when they've actually previously met Bessie the Cow (actually, this family names all their cows Lord of the Rings names, so it would probably be more like Gimli the Cow or something). I can't imagine that going over as well as the berries. Then again, it's hard to imagine anything going over as well as the berries. I guess we'll see...
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Joy Joy Joy!
Today was a great day, and what I would like to consider the official start to the Sterup family summer. It started off early in the morning; as I was leaving to go jogging the dogs just looked so excited and hopeful to see me putting on my shoes that I couldn't resist letting them come along. And though my run in general was less than refreshing (it's HOT, even early in the morning, and I am SLOW, just now getting back to exercise after being sick), the sight of Barney and Bailey excitedly trotting down the street with their ears back and their tails wagging really made my morning.
We had homemade cherry almond scones leftover from the weekend (they'd been frozen, we weren't eating stale pastries), then Kyle emptied the dishwasher while I was in the shower (least favorite chore: completed for the day). After Kyle went in to work the kids and I went to the doctor to have Eva's leg looked at, and Dr. Bailey pronounced her healed enough to REMOVE HER CAST!!!
The saw was VERY loud, and Eva screamed bloody murder the whole time they cut the cast off. But Daniel was very sweet, standing with his hands over his ears in the furthest possible corner from us, yelling "It's okay, Eva! Don't cry! It's okay!" over and over. And the whole thing was very quick; we were out of the office in 20 minutes, and made it to the library program I had assumed we'd have to miss.
We had a great time at the library. The weather was good, so they held the show in a nice shady area outside instead of cramming us all into the building. At last week's event the librarian had billed this as a mime act, but there was a distinct absence of white grease paint and quite a bit of talking. It was very funny, though, with lots of juggling and magic tricks. Both the kids won super-cool stuff in the door prize drawing, and I wasn't fined for returning a book a day late, which is kind of like a prize for me.
After that we had a picnic in the park and played on the playground to celebrate Eva's two-legged freedom. When we got home the kids collapsed, sweaty and exhausted, for some glorious simultaneous naps. I saw an e-mail for a sale on children's clothing, but after a few minutes I realized there is really nothing we need. And THAT is a good feeling.
So energized was I by our fantastic morning that this afternoon I cleaned our bathrooms, sorted laundry, and swept, mopped, and vacuumed all our floors. We used gift certificates the kids earned through the summer reading program to go out for pizza for dinner, and then all went to Daniel's t-ball game. He actually fielded the ball twice, which he has never done before in a game, and he was so thrilled that he'd actually touched the ball.
I am surprised at what a relief it is to have Eva's cast off, for her to be able to run in the mud or go to the pool or take a bath. I'm glad to be over being sick, and to have some energy. The weather forecast had predicted rain for today, so the sunshine we got feels like something sneaky we got away with. We are getting used to Kyle's and my more relaxed summer schedules, and the local blueberry farm opens for picking tomorrow. Today just seems like the first day of the rest of our summer, and it was a really good one.
At some point during the day while we were in the car, Daniel just started saying "Joy, joy, joy!" over and over in a sing-song kind of way in the back seat. As I sit here tonight, belly full of pizza, in our clean, air-conditioned house with my healthy family all sleeping peacefully, all I have to say is:
My thoughts exactly.
We had homemade cherry almond scones leftover from the weekend (they'd been frozen, we weren't eating stale pastries), then Kyle emptied the dishwasher while I was in the shower (least favorite chore: completed for the day). After Kyle went in to work the kids and I went to the doctor to have Eva's leg looked at, and Dr. Bailey pronounced her healed enough to REMOVE HER CAST!!!
The saw was VERY loud, and Eva screamed bloody murder the whole time they cut the cast off. But Daniel was very sweet, standing with his hands over his ears in the furthest possible corner from us, yelling "It's okay, Eva! Don't cry! It's okay!" over and over. And the whole thing was very quick; we were out of the office in 20 minutes, and made it to the library program I had assumed we'd have to miss.
We had a great time at the library. The weather was good, so they held the show in a nice shady area outside instead of cramming us all into the building. At last week's event the librarian had billed this as a mime act, but there was a distinct absence of white grease paint and quite a bit of talking. It was very funny, though, with lots of juggling and magic tricks. Both the kids won super-cool stuff in the door prize drawing, and I wasn't fined for returning a book a day late, which is kind of like a prize for me.
After that we had a picnic in the park and played on the playground to celebrate Eva's two-legged freedom. When we got home the kids collapsed, sweaty and exhausted, for some glorious simultaneous naps. I saw an e-mail for a sale on children's clothing, but after a few minutes I realized there is really nothing we need. And THAT is a good feeling.
So energized was I by our fantastic morning that this afternoon I cleaned our bathrooms, sorted laundry, and swept, mopped, and vacuumed all our floors. We used gift certificates the kids earned through the summer reading program to go out for pizza for dinner, and then all went to Daniel's t-ball game. He actually fielded the ball twice, which he has never done before in a game, and he was so thrilled that he'd actually touched the ball.
I am surprised at what a relief it is to have Eva's cast off, for her to be able to run in the mud or go to the pool or take a bath. I'm glad to be over being sick, and to have some energy. The weather forecast had predicted rain for today, so the sunshine we got feels like something sneaky we got away with. We are getting used to Kyle's and my more relaxed summer schedules, and the local blueberry farm opens for picking tomorrow. Today just seems like the first day of the rest of our summer, and it was a really good one.
At some point during the day while we were in the car, Daniel just started saying "Joy, joy, joy!" over and over in a sing-song kind of way in the back seat. As I sit here tonight, belly full of pizza, in our clean, air-conditioned house with my healthy family all sleeping peacefully, all I have to say is:
My thoughts exactly.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
C is for Coyly Threatening Your Mother
Today the kids and I finally got around to making the cutout cookies I'd planned on baking before I got sick a couple of weeks ago. It was rainy here today, so it was the perfect thing to keep the kids occupied. Eva and I made the dough this morning while Daniel was playing at a friend's house, then after lunch Daniel and I rolled out and cut out all the cookies while Eva napped. By the time Kyle got home from school we'd just finished baking and we all frosted them together (This really is an all-day thing; this recipe makes about 12 dozen cutout cookies. If they weren't amazingly delicious we'd never make them). Everybody had fun with the sprinkles, and when we were done we each had one cookie. Happy day, right?
Before we'd even eaten our "one cookie each," Daniel started working on me about being allowed a second one after dinner. I put him off with the classic parental "We'll see...," but really I knew I'd end up giving him one. After all, he's a four-year-old who spent the entire afternoon focused on this project; I thought he kind of deserved a second. So eventually we settled on one extra cookie to anyone who ate a good dinner. I should have seen it coming, what with all the dough-eating, the licking of dripped frosting, the sampling of sprinkles. Nobody ate dinner. Well, nobody under the age of 30, anyway.
I made a meal the kids like, we gave lots of warnings, we encouraged and cajoled and gave them way past the end of the meal until I'd cleaned up the kitchen, but still no dice. So we calmly announced there were no cookies and started bath time. And you would think these kids had never seen a consequence before in their lives. Eva spent her first 30 minutes in bed tonight wailing "YES COOOOKIEEEE!," while Daniel came to the kitchen to "help" me put the cookies into containers to be given away or frozen. Our conversation went something like this:
"You know, I am feeling very angry to you right now."
"Oh yeah, Bud?"
"Yeah. You know just now when I asked you for a cookie for dessert and you said 'NO!!' (scrunching his face and yelling wickedly); that made me really mad. Do you REALLY want me to be angry to you?"
"Well, actually I was willing to give you a cookie if you ate your dinner. You're the one who decided not to eat. Maybe you should be angry with yourself."
Silence, thinking... Now very calmly, in a kind of menacing tone...
"You know, tomorrow, we will go somewhere and I will see someone and I will tell them that you did not give me ANY dessert, and they will say 'YOUR MOMMY DID NOT GIVE YOU ANY DESSERT?!?!,' and I will say, "Yes."
End of conversation.
Well, let's hope we don't run into any law enforcement officers or DFS workers tomorrow. Maybe they'll let me off the hook if I give them a cookie. :)
Before we'd even eaten our "one cookie each," Daniel started working on me about being allowed a second one after dinner. I put him off with the classic parental "We'll see...," but really I knew I'd end up giving him one. After all, he's a four-year-old who spent the entire afternoon focused on this project; I thought he kind of deserved a second. So eventually we settled on one extra cookie to anyone who ate a good dinner. I should have seen it coming, what with all the dough-eating, the licking of dripped frosting, the sampling of sprinkles. Nobody ate dinner. Well, nobody under the age of 30, anyway.
I made a meal the kids like, we gave lots of warnings, we encouraged and cajoled and gave them way past the end of the meal until I'd cleaned up the kitchen, but still no dice. So we calmly announced there were no cookies and started bath time. And you would think these kids had never seen a consequence before in their lives. Eva spent her first 30 minutes in bed tonight wailing "YES COOOOKIEEEE!," while Daniel came to the kitchen to "help" me put the cookies into containers to be given away or frozen. Our conversation went something like this:
"You know, I am feeling very angry to you right now."
"Oh yeah, Bud?"
"Yeah. You know just now when I asked you for a cookie for dessert and you said 'NO!!' (scrunching his face and yelling wickedly); that made me really mad. Do you REALLY want me to be angry to you?"
"Well, actually I was willing to give you a cookie if you ate your dinner. You're the one who decided not to eat. Maybe you should be angry with yourself."
Silence, thinking... Now very calmly, in a kind of menacing tone...
"You know, tomorrow, we will go somewhere and I will see someone and I will tell them that you did not give me ANY dessert, and they will say 'YOUR MOMMY DID NOT GIVE YOU ANY DESSERT?!?!,' and I will say, "Yes."
End of conversation.
Well, let's hope we don't run into any law enforcement officers or DFS workers tomorrow. Maybe they'll let me off the hook if I give them a cookie. :)
Monday, May 31, 2010
Two Heads Are Better Than One
This past week was our son Daniel's birthday, and this weekend was the long-awaited birthday party. I'd mentioned to him sometime in March or so that we might think about inviting some friends over, and have subsequently been asked on a weekly basis to calculate the number of days remaining until the party. Yes, it was quite an anticipated event, with the extra excitement of a dinosaur theme and a visit from Grandma Jan thrown in for good measure.
And, as many kids' birthday parties seem to be, this started out as a simple idea that got more complicated as time went on. Now, I am not implying that we had an extravagant party or anything; there were no ponies or bouncy houses or ice sculptures. Just that, as these kinds of things go, it's hard to pick just two or three friends to invite knowing we're leaving out others. And once you buy the dinosaur plates you might as well get the matching cups and invitations. And, well, if our friends are bringing Daniel presents the least we can do is make up some games and send them home with some party favors. We were happy to do these things, but they turn a little get-together into a formal event, and while this seemed like a fine idea two months ago our family's recent health surprises (see previous two posts) put a kink in my advance planning.
And so my mother arrived on Thursday to find me miserably sick, Kyle tired and stuffed up as well, Eva in need of extra attention, and our house not exactly dirty but certainly not clean. Now, like many women, usually I have a love/hate relationship with visits from my mother. On the one hand, she brings too many toys, fruit snacks, and cereal I would never buy. She buys restaurant food for every meal and lies to the kids to get compliance (like telling Eva her nose will fall off if she picks it instead of just saying it's bad manners). On the other hand, she is great with the kids, and they LOVE to play with her. I do like doing things with her and talking to her in the evenings, and she is a good sport about going along with whatever stuff we've got planned for the week. She is as generous with Kyle and me as she is with the kids, and after all who doesn't enjoy getting out of cooking for a few days?
This week, though, a visit from my mom was just what the doctor ordered. She had good ideas for things to put in the goody bags for the party, bought me cold medicine and a patio umbrella, gave the kids the extra attention they needed, and let Kyle and me use her convertible to go out to eat without the kids Saturday night. I was more than happy to just order out all weekend, and to have extra help preparing for the party.
The other major thing that my mom did was design and help make the cake. Daniel had mentioned when we first started planning the party that he really wanted a dinosaur cake. So my mother went on a search for something that would be doable, but also really cool for Daniel. She happened to be taking a cake decorating class this winter and spring, so she arrived this weekend with a fully stocked arsenal of cake decorating supplies and knowledge. When I first saw the design for the cake I was a little intimidated: I had never made a 3D cake before, and I wasn't sure about all the little frosting stars and something that required a dowel rod. But she said she could do it and I agreed that the cake might be achievable with her help.
So Friday afternoon we baked the cakes, and after the kids went to bed Friday night we began assembling and frosting this thing. It really was easy enough, though it was time-consuming and the three batches of buttercream frosting made a big greasy mess all over the kitchen. Finally, at 1:00 in the morning the cake was complete. We dyed and toasted some coconut for "grass" to put around it, put it up where the kids couldn't mess with it, and took some pictures. We'd had some problems getting the head to stay together, but had finally gotten enough frosting to stick everything together fairly well. We crossed our fingers and went to get ready for bed.
Somehow, though, while I was brushing my teeth, I had a feeling that we were not home free. I only noticed it when I looked at the cake through the lens of the camera, but it seemed like the neck was pulling away a bit. I prayed that God would let the cake stay together until the party, then chastised myself for praying for something so completely frivolous. I revised it as a prayer for appropriate perspective on a silly dinosaur cake. Which was good, because when I finished brushing my teeth and went in to shut the lights off, the head had come completely unattached, fallen down, and broken into several pieces on the coconut grass. I went downstairs to tell my mom, and after examining the cake and bellyaching for a few minutes we decided to just go to bed and redo the head in the morning.
And so, about an hour before the party, we fashioned a different head (one that did NOT stand up) out of a store-bought angel food cake and covered it in a tub of premade Wilton frosting. Mom was dyeing and piping that frosting on like the Cake Boss himself. And in the end, I think it looked better than the original. We had a fun party, and Daniel has claimed the head as his own special piece of cake leftovers.
So Grandma Jan saved the day, for the cake and also for our tired little family. Thanks, Mom! We love you!
And, as many kids' birthday parties seem to be, this started out as a simple idea that got more complicated as time went on. Now, I am not implying that we had an extravagant party or anything; there were no ponies or bouncy houses or ice sculptures. Just that, as these kinds of things go, it's hard to pick just two or three friends to invite knowing we're leaving out others. And once you buy the dinosaur plates you might as well get the matching cups and invitations. And, well, if our friends are bringing Daniel presents the least we can do is make up some games and send them home with some party favors. We were happy to do these things, but they turn a little get-together into a formal event, and while this seemed like a fine idea two months ago our family's recent health surprises (see previous two posts) put a kink in my advance planning.
And so my mother arrived on Thursday to find me miserably sick, Kyle tired and stuffed up as well, Eva in need of extra attention, and our house not exactly dirty but certainly not clean. Now, like many women, usually I have a love/hate relationship with visits from my mother. On the one hand, she brings too many toys, fruit snacks, and cereal I would never buy. She buys restaurant food for every meal and lies to the kids to get compliance (like telling Eva her nose will fall off if she picks it instead of just saying it's bad manners). On the other hand, she is great with the kids, and they LOVE to play with her. I do like doing things with her and talking to her in the evenings, and she is a good sport about going along with whatever stuff we've got planned for the week. She is as generous with Kyle and me as she is with the kids, and after all who doesn't enjoy getting out of cooking for a few days?
This week, though, a visit from my mom was just what the doctor ordered. She had good ideas for things to put in the goody bags for the party, bought me cold medicine and a patio umbrella, gave the kids the extra attention they needed, and let Kyle and me use her convertible to go out to eat without the kids Saturday night. I was more than happy to just order out all weekend, and to have extra help preparing for the party.
The other major thing that my mom did was design and help make the cake. Daniel had mentioned when we first started planning the party that he really wanted a dinosaur cake. So my mother went on a search for something that would be doable, but also really cool for Daniel. She happened to be taking a cake decorating class this winter and spring, so she arrived this weekend with a fully stocked arsenal of cake decorating supplies and knowledge. When I first saw the design for the cake I was a little intimidated: I had never made a 3D cake before, and I wasn't sure about all the little frosting stars and something that required a dowel rod. But she said she could do it and I agreed that the cake might be achievable with her help.
So Friday afternoon we baked the cakes, and after the kids went to bed Friday night we began assembling and frosting this thing. It really was easy enough, though it was time-consuming and the three batches of buttercream frosting made a big greasy mess all over the kitchen. Finally, at 1:00 in the morning the cake was complete. We dyed and toasted some coconut for "grass" to put around it, put it up where the kids couldn't mess with it, and took some pictures. We'd had some problems getting the head to stay together, but had finally gotten enough frosting to stick everything together fairly well. We crossed our fingers and went to get ready for bed.
Somehow, though, while I was brushing my teeth, I had a feeling that we were not home free. I only noticed it when I looked at the cake through the lens of the camera, but it seemed like the neck was pulling away a bit. I prayed that God would let the cake stay together until the party, then chastised myself for praying for something so completely frivolous. I revised it as a prayer for appropriate perspective on a silly dinosaur cake. Which was good, because when I finished brushing my teeth and went in to shut the lights off, the head had come completely unattached, fallen down, and broken into several pieces on the coconut grass. I went downstairs to tell my mom, and after examining the cake and bellyaching for a few minutes we decided to just go to bed and redo the head in the morning.
And so, about an hour before the party, we fashioned a different head (one that did NOT stand up) out of a store-bought angel food cake and covered it in a tub of premade Wilton frosting. Mom was dyeing and piping that frosting on like the Cake Boss himself. And in the end, I think it looked better than the original. We had a fun party, and Daniel has claimed the head as his own special piece of cake leftovers.
So Grandma Jan saved the day, for the cake and also for our tired little family. Thanks, Mom! We love you!
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Rash Thinking
My last post was about our daughter Eva's trip to the hospital, and our family's general not-healthiness last week. This post is not entirely about that, though I'm afraid things around here have only gotten worse.
Eva woke up yesterday morning with a rash from head to toe (I took these pictures this morning at breakfast, and they really don't do it much justice). We spent the morning getting her new cast put on and the afternoon at the family doctor for the ear infection follow-up and rash inspection. The medical opinion is that the rash is due to a virus, and that the same virus has caused the wheezy breathing and cough that Daniel had last week, and that Eva, Kyle, and I all have this week. In Eva's case, though, the doctors got a good listen to her lungs and started talking pneumonia. She is quite a mess; between the bright purple cast, the bright red rash, and the Darth Vader breathing we certainly turned some heads at Daniel's preschool drop-off this morning.
In the long term, I'm sure Eva is going to be fine. She, of course, is totally unfazed by all of this. She may look and sound sick, but is not acting the part at all. She has revived the monkey crawl from her younger days, and is destroying our house at, well, roughly the rate of any other two year-old on steroids. We had to rent a nebulizer to give her breathing treatments, and even for these she sits cheerfully in her booster seat, looking around while the steam puffs out of her little mask.
What really is going to be hurt the most by these recent happenings is the way I think of myself as a mother. Last night I was giving Polka-Dot-Eva a sponge bath and thinking to myself, "Now, how did I let all of this happen again?" This morning it was difficult to miss the moms and teachers at Daniel's school visibly cringing at the sight of Eva. Yesterday at the doctor's office and pharmacy Daniel (tired, I think, of seeing Eva get all the attention) made himself such a bratty nuisance that I could barely have a conversation with the doctor and pharmacist. I think it's easy to allow myself to think that I can always control what happens to my family, or the way my children behave, and to even take credit for them when they're being good.
Along with this comes a pressure (from myself) to uphold a certain imaginary parenting standard. And we are NOT meeting it this week. Last night Kyle was drinking the Blue Death-flavored nighttime cough medicine right out of the bottle. We are both tired, phlegm-y, and "itchy" (Daniel's word for "achy"). I have done zero housework this week, despite the fact that I am not teaching right now and my mother is coming to visit later this week. Daniel's birthday is the day after tomorrow, and we have not bought him a present yet. But nobody seems as upset about this as I am.
I had planned to spend the day today making birthday cookies for Daniel to take to school tomorrow, but the recipe (from my friend Jennifer for literally the BEST cutout cookies in the universe) requires lots of time to make, chill, roll, cutout, bake, and frost the cookies. Sometime late this morning it occurred to me that I could just buy some cookies at the store. Though I could feel the relief just at the THOUGHT of not spending my whole day on this project, I went back and forth about it for a full hour or so. Why? Do I think Daniel's teacher will think I'm a better mother for sending homemade cookies? Do I think Daniel will care, so long as there is a quarter-inch of frosting on his cookie?
I think the bottom line is that somehow I've fooled myself into thinking that store-bought cookies would be fine for other mothers, but that I should just do BETTER. That somehow, saving my kids from red dye number five and high-fructose corn syrup means that I love them more than if I don't. That having a cleaner house makes me a better person, and that I really must be the perfect from-scratch cook and mother and housekeeper. And now I sound like the latest flavor-of-the-month author on what's wrong with modern mothers (and NOBODY wants to hear about that again).
So here it is, America. My daughter looks like a contagious train wreck and I am taking her to my son's t-ball practice anyway (we'll just keep our distance). We will probably eat take-out tonight for dinner. Tomorrow I will send bought cookies to school because I took a nap today instead of baking. There are large tufts of dog hair on the floor under my dining room table, and the sheets in the guest room are not clean (okay, maybe we'll remedy that one before Thursday, Mom). We will probably be up late the night before Daniel's birthday purchasing and assembling a big-boy bicycle. And at the end of this week, at least we will have plenty of material to have a big, long, laugh at ourselves. And hopefully for everyone else's sake, this will be the last you'll have to read about the Sterup health saga.
Eva woke up yesterday morning with a rash from head to toe (I took these pictures this morning at breakfast, and they really don't do it much justice). We spent the morning getting her new cast put on and the afternoon at the family doctor for the ear infection follow-up and rash inspection. The medical opinion is that the rash is due to a virus, and that the same virus has caused the wheezy breathing and cough that Daniel had last week, and that Eva, Kyle, and I all have this week. In Eva's case, though, the doctors got a good listen to her lungs and started talking pneumonia. She is quite a mess; between the bright purple cast, the bright red rash, and the Darth Vader breathing we certainly turned some heads at Daniel's preschool drop-off this morning.
In the long term, I'm sure Eva is going to be fine. She, of course, is totally unfazed by all of this. She may look and sound sick, but is not acting the part at all. She has revived the monkey crawl from her younger days, and is destroying our house at, well, roughly the rate of any other two year-old on steroids. We had to rent a nebulizer to give her breathing treatments, and even for these she sits cheerfully in her booster seat, looking around while the steam puffs out of her little mask.
What really is going to be hurt the most by these recent happenings is the way I think of myself as a mother. Last night I was giving Polka-Dot-Eva a sponge bath and thinking to myself, "Now, how did I let all of this happen again?" This morning it was difficult to miss the moms and teachers at Daniel's school visibly cringing at the sight of Eva. Yesterday at the doctor's office and pharmacy Daniel (tired, I think, of seeing Eva get all the attention) made himself such a bratty nuisance that I could barely have a conversation with the doctor and pharmacist. I think it's easy to allow myself to think that I can always control what happens to my family, or the way my children behave, and to even take credit for them when they're being good.
Along with this comes a pressure (from myself) to uphold a certain imaginary parenting standard. And we are NOT meeting it this week. Last night Kyle was drinking the Blue Death-flavored nighttime cough medicine right out of the bottle. We are both tired, phlegm-y, and "itchy" (Daniel's word for "achy"). I have done zero housework this week, despite the fact that I am not teaching right now and my mother is coming to visit later this week. Daniel's birthday is the day after tomorrow, and we have not bought him a present yet. But nobody seems as upset about this as I am.
I had planned to spend the day today making birthday cookies for Daniel to take to school tomorrow, but the recipe (from my friend Jennifer for literally the BEST cutout cookies in the universe) requires lots of time to make, chill, roll, cutout, bake, and frost the cookies. Sometime late this morning it occurred to me that I could just buy some cookies at the store. Though I could feel the relief just at the THOUGHT of not spending my whole day on this project, I went back and forth about it for a full hour or so. Why? Do I think Daniel's teacher will think I'm a better mother for sending homemade cookies? Do I think Daniel will care, so long as there is a quarter-inch of frosting on his cookie?
I think the bottom line is that somehow I've fooled myself into thinking that store-bought cookies would be fine for other mothers, but that I should just do BETTER. That somehow, saving my kids from red dye number five and high-fructose corn syrup means that I love them more than if I don't. That having a cleaner house makes me a better person, and that I really must be the perfect from-scratch cook and mother and housekeeper. And now I sound like the latest flavor-of-the-month author on what's wrong with modern mothers (and NOBODY wants to hear about that again).
So here it is, America. My daughter looks like a contagious train wreck and I am taking her to my son's t-ball practice anyway (we'll just keep our distance). We will probably eat take-out tonight for dinner. Tomorrow I will send bought cookies to school because I took a nap today instead of baking. There are large tufts of dog hair on the floor under my dining room table, and the sheets in the guest room are not clean (okay, maybe we'll remedy that one before Thursday, Mom). We will probably be up late the night before Daniel's birthday purchasing and assembling a big-boy bicycle. And at the end of this week, at least we will have plenty of material to have a big, long, laugh at ourselves. And hopefully for everyone else's sake, this will be the last you'll have to read about the Sterup health saga.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Curious Eva Goes to the Hospital
When thinking of a title for this post, I considered many alternatives. First was "Well, I Guess We've Met Our Deductible," then "Sickly Sterups" and "...Had a Great Fall," followed by "Of Course There's a Recall on Children's Tylenol Right Now" and finally "Just Forward Our Paychecks Right to Pfizer." Let's just say we've had a less-than-healthy week, starting with Eva's ear infection and Kyle's allergies (both requiring visits to the doctor on Monday), continuing with Daniel's wicked cough and my equally wicked migraine headache, and culminating in Eva's broken leg yesterday afternoon.
Neither Kyle nor I was in the room when it happened, but we think that Eva climbed on either her stepstool or her toybox to get a book off her shelf and fell (was pushed?) down. Funny that she would get so injured on a short fall that has happened a hundred times before. Kyle came downstairs to find her crying and unable to stand up. I was on my way to Moberly to attend graduation for the community college where I work, and had to make my carpool turn around when Kyle called me.
The thing about having a barely-2-year-old with an injury is that they're not very specific about where exactly it hurts. "Leg hurts" was all we could get out of her, and the doctors couldn't find anywhere that was bruised or swollen, so we had to have 8 X-rays done of her pelvis, hips, legs, and ankles in order to find the problem. As I helped the tech get Eva arranged on the X-ray table, all I could think of was Curious George Goes to the Hospital:
It didn't take long after the X-ray for the doctors to find the problem (lower left leg), measure and apply a splint, and give us our discharge papers. Which was good, because from the second they applied the wet, plaster-y splint, Eva started screaming, "Off! Off! OFF!" As Kyle carried her out, I heard nearly everyone we passed do the "Aww... Poor baby!" face and corresponding noise. If you've not seen a tiny child with a cast on, it IS a fairly pathetic sight:
Since last night, I've had a number of thoughts regarding our little situation, and the first is this:
Yesterday, on the way home from a program at Daniel's preschool, Eva took her shoes off in the car. Daniel pointed out that she had a hole in her sock and suggested we throw it away and put new socks on her. I pointed out that she also had pink punch spilled down the front of her dress, and said that we were just going to ride out the rest of the day with the dirty shirt and holey sock and start again tomorrow. If I'd known that we'd be taking her to the Emergency Room later in the day, and that half the staff of Northeast Regional Medical Center would get a good look at that punch dress and holey sock, I'd have just gone ahead and changed her. I'm sure nobody was judging us, but I'd have felt more confident filling out the DFS form recounting EXACTLY how it was my child broke her leg if she looked like we took better care of her. I guess it's kind of like that motherly admonition to always wear clean underwear in case you're in an accident.
Secondly, this event has reinforced for me what horrible eyewitnesses children are. The first time Kyle asked Daniel what happened, he insisted that he and Eva had been innocently standing on the floor in the middle of the room when she just fell over (hard enough to break her leg). As we pressed him more, and the doctors asked him about it, he wavered back and forth between Eva being on her stool and on her toybox when it happened. Sometimes the fall involved both he and Eva on top of each other, and sometimes it was just her that fell. Either way, let's hope that my children are never the only witnesses to some heinous crime.
Thirdly, I am not sure what a visit to the ER, 8 X-rays, a temporary cast, a couple visits to the orthopedic surgeon, a permanent cast, and whatever other accessories come with that costs, but I'm pretty sure it will be at least as much as our insurance deductible. This will end the debate over what we will spend Kyle's summer school earnings on, but will also free the rest of us up to go to the doctor whenever we need to the rest of the year. It's kind of nice to know I might actually be able to consider seeing someone about my migraines or some funny-looking mole instead of putting it off.
Finally, I have concluded that the author of the helpful ER brochure on fractures does not have children, as it suggests things like "not tampering with the splint or dressings" and "keeping the fracture elevated" while "avoiding unnecessary movement." I am wondering how VERY many times Eva will try to get up and walk, then cry "Leg hurts!" until she's picked up and rearranged, only to get back up immediately to try again.
Let's all pray for a speedy recovery, shall we?
Neither Kyle nor I was in the room when it happened, but we think that Eva climbed on either her stepstool or her toybox to get a book off her shelf and fell (was pushed?) down. Funny that she would get so injured on a short fall that has happened a hundred times before. Kyle came downstairs to find her crying and unable to stand up. I was on my way to Moberly to attend graduation for the community college where I work, and had to make my carpool turn around when Kyle called me.
The thing about having a barely-2-year-old with an injury is that they're not very specific about where exactly it hurts. "Leg hurts" was all we could get out of her, and the doctors couldn't find anywhere that was bruised or swollen, so we had to have 8 X-rays done of her pelvis, hips, legs, and ankles in order to find the problem. As I helped the tech get Eva arranged on the X-ray table, all I could think of was Curious George Goes to the Hospital:
In the next room stood a big table, and a doctor was just putting on a heavy apron. Then he gave the man one just like it. George was curious: Would he get one too? No, he did not.
"You get on that table, George," the doctor said. "I am going to take some X-ray pictures of your insides." He pushed a button and there was a funny noise.
It didn't take long after the X-ray for the doctors to find the problem (lower left leg), measure and apply a splint, and give us our discharge papers. Which was good, because from the second they applied the wet, plaster-y splint, Eva started screaming, "Off! Off! OFF!" As Kyle carried her out, I heard nearly everyone we passed do the "Aww... Poor baby!" face and corresponding noise. If you've not seen a tiny child with a cast on, it IS a fairly pathetic sight:
Since last night, I've had a number of thoughts regarding our little situation, and the first is this:
Yesterday, on the way home from a program at Daniel's preschool, Eva took her shoes off in the car. Daniel pointed out that she had a hole in her sock and suggested we throw it away and put new socks on her. I pointed out that she also had pink punch spilled down the front of her dress, and said that we were just going to ride out the rest of the day with the dirty shirt and holey sock and start again tomorrow. If I'd known that we'd be taking her to the Emergency Room later in the day, and that half the staff of Northeast Regional Medical Center would get a good look at that punch dress and holey sock, I'd have just gone ahead and changed her. I'm sure nobody was judging us, but I'd have felt more confident filling out the DFS form recounting EXACTLY how it was my child broke her leg if she looked like we took better care of her. I guess it's kind of like that motherly admonition to always wear clean underwear in case you're in an accident.
Secondly, this event has reinforced for me what horrible eyewitnesses children are. The first time Kyle asked Daniel what happened, he insisted that he and Eva had been innocently standing on the floor in the middle of the room when she just fell over (hard enough to break her leg). As we pressed him more, and the doctors asked him about it, he wavered back and forth between Eva being on her stool and on her toybox when it happened. Sometimes the fall involved both he and Eva on top of each other, and sometimes it was just her that fell. Either way, let's hope that my children are never the only witnesses to some heinous crime.
Thirdly, I am not sure what a visit to the ER, 8 X-rays, a temporary cast, a couple visits to the orthopedic surgeon, a permanent cast, and whatever other accessories come with that costs, but I'm pretty sure it will be at least as much as our insurance deductible. This will end the debate over what we will spend Kyle's summer school earnings on, but will also free the rest of us up to go to the doctor whenever we need to the rest of the year. It's kind of nice to know I might actually be able to consider seeing someone about my migraines or some funny-looking mole instead of putting it off.
Finally, I have concluded that the author of the helpful ER brochure on fractures does not have children, as it suggests things like "not tampering with the splint or dressings" and "keeping the fracture elevated" while "avoiding unnecessary movement." I am wondering how VERY many times Eva will try to get up and walk, then cry "Leg hurts!" until she's picked up and rearranged, only to get back up immediately to try again.
Let's all pray for a speedy recovery, shall we?
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