Batten Down the Hatches!

I need baby locks for my baby locks...Alessandro has figured out a lot this week. He can now open doorknobs and is constantly in the pantry (which used to be my "safeguard.") So, now, the breadth of this destruction is even larger. He moves chairs to reach things on the countertop, including the butcher block (which I had to move), uses furniture to climb to higher shelves (he loves to play with the TV and surround-sound equipment, sometimes startling himself into tears if he turns the volume up too high), and just this morning, he used a chair to climb into the refrigerator. Thankfully, this happened BEFORE the Costco run. But, the tomatoes, grapes and most of the eggs he launched onto the floor in search of apple juice were a total loss. (Anyone know how to get egg out of a kitchen carpet? Can you get salmonella from walking on a carpet?)
Sigh...and I thought he was a handful before.... When does pre-school start again?

Mila's Day Dreams

Would be so cool to convert these to note cards.... What creative imagination (and a sound sleeper) this woman has!
Click here to see Mila's Day Dreams

Ava's Adenoidectomy (or as Mommy says, the Pajama Party)

For the last couple of years, our pediatrician has asked the same question every time Ava comes to visit: "Does Ava have a cold?" "No," is my response, "she always sounds that way." It gets to the point that I start teasing the doctor and she realizes the pattern. "Well, if this is normal, then I'd like you to see an ENT (ear/nose/throat doctor). I'll bet she has enlarged adenoids. Is she a mouth-breather?" Well, yeah....
Sure enough, x-rays show that Ava's airway is 80% blocked by her adenoids and the ENT recommends that they be removed. Minuses: pain for up to a couple of days, general anesthesia risks, risk of bleeding. Pluses: improved airway & breathing, less ear/sinus infections, better/more normal development of the palate and jaw which can decrease chances in orthodontic work in the future. Paul and I weigh the facts and decide to get it done before school starts.
I worry about worrying Ava about the procedure. I don't tell her about it until the day before when she sees me packing some of her clothes and toothbrush into a bag. "Why are you packing my pajamas?" she asks. "Because, we're going to go to a pajama party at the doctor's very early tomorrow morning." I remind her about the visit to the doctor a few days back and explain that we get to visit him again. He is going to fix something in her throat and she gets to wear pajamas. I actually manage to get her a little bit excited about the event, detracting any nervousness, which was exactly my intent.
Ava and I arrive at the surgical center at the same time as another mother/daughter team, about 6:25am. Ava and the other little girl, Mia, hit it off in the waiting room and find out they are both 5-years old and having the same surgery. Mia is taken in a few minutes before Ava, but we see her in the bed opposite us in the pre-operation area. They wave to each other and make funny faces while doctors and nurses talk to the adults. Then, Mia is pushed down the hall, propped up by her unicorn pillow. I realize we didn't bring any of Ava's lovies and regret it instantly. The anesthesiologist is great and asks Ava to choose between the cherry-smelling mask or the bubble gum. Ava goes for cherry and shows him how she can breathe deeply and pretend she's eating cherry pie. This is when I realize I didn't need my cup of coffee. My adrenaline starts pumping; my sudden nervousness makes me jittery and hyper at the same time. I think I need my own cherry-mask. Soon, Ava is blowing me kisses as she's wheeled down the hall.
Although I brought a book, I choose to read the mindless tabloid articles in the waiting room for the half-hour procedure; I can't follow a plot right now. I keep watching the door for a familiar nurse or doctor. The surgeon comes out claiming Ava's the best patient ever and is ready to be seen. He also mentions that while he was in there, he noticed she also had a sinus infection, something neither Ava nor I were aware of. I wonder what percentage of her time she was so congested. She is just gaining awareness when I reach her and she crumbles into a pile of tears upon seeing me. I know this is normal, so I'm OK. The nurse sets up a wonderful large reclining chair in front of a TV of cartoons and puts Ava on my lap with a blanket and a towel over my clothes. She cries for 3-4 minutes, then settles into watching Phineas & Ferb. We soon learn she is much like her mother (sensitive to anesthesia) and we go through a couple of bed-bowls. However, Ava is a trooper! We can hear Mia in the room next to us. She hasn't stopped crying since she woke up. I remind Ava how brave she is. Ava is very sleepy and twice she nods off in my arms. I take this as the perfect opportunity to tell me she's ready to go home and take a nap. She's not sure her stomach is ready, so we wait one more cartoon program longer. She's still not very interested in her blue Otter Pop during the car ride back and it gets only half eaten.
We make it home and she takes a nap in a dark room. I celebrate with my mother that we didn't loose Ava's cute husky voice to the surgery (something Paul and I would have missed). One-hour later, Ava just pops out of bed and comes looking for her Popsicle. She downs three and asks Grandma if she can glue the sticks together to make an "A." While the glue is drying, she asks if she can draw and soon is busy engulfed in art. It's like nothing even happened. No complaints about pain...nothing! Tonight we went out for dinner to celebrate Ava's bravery. She ate like a horse with nothing bothering her throat. And, do you know what makes it all complete? While watching my angel fall asleep tonight I notice that for the first time, her mouth is closed; she's breathing through her nose! Amazing.

Business with Daddy

Paul told me a funny story tonight. While at the restaurant, Paul took Alessandro to the bathroom to wash his sticky hands. While there, Paul decided to use the urinal. Alessandro stood there and watched Daddy, then picked up his shirt to look what he should do. "You want to go pee-pee?" Daddy asked. "Yeah," answered his little voice, so Paul pulled down Alessandro's pants and took off his diaper.
Alessandro looked down again and waited. He pushed, but didn't have any pee-pee ready. He pushed harder, but all that came out was a big fart.
"Good job," says Daddy. Nothing like doing business with Daddy.

A Summer's Goal Realized

Darned it if we weren't going to make sure the girls were water safe this summer! With Little Man being as mobile as he is, I wasn't going to have 3 non-swimmers and attempt to go to the pool! So, last April, we started swim lessons with our gym's swim coach in an effort for them to be safe enough to join the Jr-Jr swim team... the pre-school of swim teams, per say, which was set to start in June.
In April, it didn't look good. The girls screamed, protested, writhed in emotional pain that we would force them into the pool to try doing anything other than cling to someone's neck. The coach, a veteran teacher of 20+ years, was dumbfounded. Never, she told me, had she seen a student which such a "strong foundation" for swimming fight so hard. And, there were two of them!
Well, we decided that Mom had to stay away from the pool, lest the kids think I'd be swayed by their protests. In addition, each time they tried what the teacher asked, without crying (Tina would sometimes hyperventilate she'd be so upset), we'd take a trip to Powell's Candy Store for their choice of candy. Bribery and lack of a sympathetic eye was our strategy. Two months later, they could kick on a kick board by themselves (no one touching the board) and were ready for the big pool.
Today was their last day of swim team. After 2 more months, Bettina can swim the length of the 25-meter pool freestyle, back stroke 4-5 arm movements before spinning on her tummy to see what's ahead, then starting on her back again, and can side stroke and butterfly kick with the kick board. Last week, she swam 18-laps in 20-minutes. Pretty awesome! Ava is a bit more like a princess. The stars have to be aligned or she stops to rest (or adjust her goggles, swim cap, etc). She can side stroke and free style, but blows off the backstroke (unless she's hugging her kick board) and doesn't quite "get" the butterfly kick. Last week, she swam 10-laps in 20-minutes. Hey, she's water safe. I figure next summer she can start perfecting all the technicalities!! Below is a video I took today in the last 2-minutes of their 20-minute workout. I wish I'd thought to do it earlier because they weren't as tired and were swimming a whole lot better. However, it's clear that, as far as our Goal for the Summer of 2010: Mission Accomplished!

It's Kind of Like Rats...

Wouldn't you know it....the morning we have a doctor's appointment for Ava, Alessandro wakes up incredibly early: 5:45am, about 1.5 hours before he usually does. Now my timing for the day is totally off. Yet, we have the doctor's appointment, a pretty important one at the ENT as Ava is slated to have a abenoidectomy next week. So, off we go, three kids and a mom.
There is a large waiting room at this office and it's is really nice. Ava remembered that there is a television that plays cartoons ("Ice Age" was playing last time, she reminds me) and a toy box when we're all finished. It's big enough for a bunch of toddler toys and a Montessori-style wooden table with 4 chairs (the kind that has the colored beads on wire tracks all twisted up like parallel roller coasters) to sit on one side, a small library of children's books in the middle and the flat screen TV (currently playing the news) on the other. Bettina goes for the kids' books; Ava sits on one side of the wooden table and starts pushing beads from one end to the other; Alessandro copies Ava from the other side.
After watching them, I say aloud "I think we're going to stay here all day," to the receptionist. "It's the quietest they've been all day!" I drink my cup of coffee and think that perhaps we can make it through this appointment despite Alessandro being overly tired and just primed for a melt-down.
Soon (too, soon), Ava's name is called and we're crammed into a small exam room with only 2 chairs and a ton of expensive doctor equipment just about eye level for kids. Now, it's about here that I should have turned around and said, "Is it OK for us to wait in the larger room until the doctor is REALLY ready?", but, I assume (stupidly) that the doctor must be close to being ready to see us because we were escorted here to begin with.
The first 3-minutes were spent trying to fairly figure out just who, out of the 4 of us, get to sit in the 2 chairs. The kids all try various combinations of cramming together, pushing and shoving ensues and Alessandro shrieks in protest when he can't have one to himself. After I create a system of "fairness," Alessandro leaves the game, walking over instead to the doctor's tools. He somehow manages to turn a light on one of the instruments and smiles with pleasure. Picking him up, I try to distract him pointing out the posters on the wall asking them to find their ear (nose and mouth). Bettina then discovers (accidentally) the lever that makes the patient's chair recline and Ava falls back suddenly. The room explodes in kiddie laughter. I start to realize I'm losing control and wonder when this doctor is coming into the room.
Twenty-minutes later, I'm angry and talking to my kids through clenched teeth, just trying to keep them from playing with all these expensive gadgets and tools. Finally, the door opens and in comes the doctor.
Now, Ava's ENT doctor is a tiny man with a meek disposition who's completely calm, organized and speaks in a whisper - essentially the exact opposite of the crowd he has waiting for him in his exam room. He does a good job of pretending he can talk to me and ignore all the chaos of the kids around me, however, I can hardly hear him and it takes all my concentration to focus on what he's saying. Frustration wells up inside me as I try to bat away the noisy kids who ask me questions, crawl on me or attempt to take something off the doctor's cart. I'm a little conscience of what this quiet doctor thinks of me and my crazy kids as they were the same way last time we came. Then I wonder if he even has any at home with whom he could be comparing mine.
He opens the door, releasing my kids who wildly run down the hall without me in search of the toy box. As I trot to catch up to them, he says, "You are sure a busy mom!" I feel like I need an excuse for the ruckus.
Driving back, I reflect back on the visit and wonder how to have a decent conversation with a doctor. Why is this doctor's office so difficult all the time? And, then it dawns on me....the exam room is just too darned small!! Kids, given a small space to wait, become like rats. They were happy enough in the large waiting room where they had individual space to work on their own activity. But, bound in a small closet for an extended amount of time, they back-bite, trample and become loud. Perhaps, then, doctors could create a special "large-families" room, sort of like the handicapped stall in the bathrooms; a room that's just a little bit larger to accommodate our special needs. Or, perhaps, the next time we're there, I'll just ask to have the conference in the waiting room where there's enough room for my rats to roam.