What an Afternoon...

Carl's mom picked Cale up at the babysitter this afternoon so that she could have a little quality time with him. So, I didn't have to drive up Crow Mountain to get him, which was nice! At 4:30 after our faculty meeting, I rushed outside to find Cale waiting for me at the door with a fresh haircut. It was so nice to see him at school, and to show him off to my friends. So after walking through the building and getting my bags, we headed out to the car. As we were driving through town, I heard the sound. A sound I've come to recognize and dread. Coughing, followed by gagging and gurgling. I reluctantly looked up into my rearview mirror to see vomit pouring out of my son's mouth and nose. Then, the sound began again and the scenario was repeated. By this point, poor Cale, and the entire carseat, was covered with...stuff. Being stuck in Russellville traffic, there wasn't much I could do. He just sat there, holding it in his hands and crying while I sped to Arvest to enlist the help of my husband. Carl came outside, holding a roll of paper towels. I almost wanted to laugh, because no amount of paper towels was going to fix this mess. He held Cale while I stripped him down to his diaper...right in the middle of Arvest parking lot. You'd think Cale had some kind of disease the way Carl was holding him (he was still in his work clothes and still had 30 minutes of work left) As I wiped my son down, I tried to ignore the passersby that I'm sure were wondering what we were doing!

So, Cale in his diaper, sitting on a paper towel-covered carseat, and I in my partially vomit covered hands and clothes, drove home with the windows down hoping that the fresh air would mask the horrific odor. It didn't.

Because we're lucky like this, halfway home a wasp flew into the car while the windows were down and landed in the backseat by Cale. I tried and tried to carefully get it out without making it too angry, but it wouldn't budge. So, I prayed the whole way home that the wasp wouldn't sting my already tramautized, half-naked, smelly, screaming little boy. Luckily, it didn't.

Mom had the bathtub full when we got home and I bathed Cale while she, clad in yellow gloves, set to work on the carseat. Twenty minutes, and some serious scrubbing later, things were clean once again.

Some days are just like this, right? Nothing that a little breakfast-for-supper, warm coffee, and our favorite show Lost, can't fix! Some nights I'm thankful for early baby bedtimes...even though I usually end up missing the little guy.

What a great weekend!

It's almost time to say goodbye to spring break. I've been looking forward to it for so long it seems unreal that it can be coming to an end so quickly. Overall it's been pretty uneventful. Cale is finally beginning to feel better and he's almost completely rid of his allergy eyes. My parents' kitchen table looks like a small pharmacy with all Cale's different medications and drops. He's feeling well enough that I took him to the babysitter the past 2 days. Yesterday my mom and I went to Conway to pick up a few things for the house. I ended up finally finding some bedroom furniture that was in our price range. We are getting the fever to move into our new house. It's really starting to seem like our house now. The walls are painted, the outside is almost finished, lights and ceiling fans are being installed. But, we will most likely be waiting about 6 more weeks until everything is finished.

Today I decided to take Cale to the babysitter and I actually had nothing on my agenda. This is one of the first times I have done this. I usually feel a little guilty taking him when I don't really have to. But, today I just needed a break;some time to myself. I went to the gym with my husband on his lunch break, browsed casually through Hobby Lobby (instead of the usual grab-n-go style, speed shopping I must do with Cale in the cart), went to lunch, and shopped a little more. I came home to a quiet, empty house, which was very strange. I even tried to take a nap, but my mind races too much during the day to ever sleep a wink. That's why I end up going to bed at 9:30 most nights!

The inability to nap is a curse that I'm afraid my son suffers from, too. He's always been a terrible, random napper. I drove myself crazy when he was younger, trying to get him on that wonderful, life-altering "schedule" that all the books talked about. I started out with high hopes, but my bubble was deflated early on in the game. I don't know where people find these perfect babies, who adhere to routines and schedules with just a few days of practice! No matter how routine I made things, Cale would never take regular naps. He might nap 2 hours one day, and 30 minutes the next. He might wake at 5:30 one morning and 7:00 the next (even though at that time I put him down about 7:30 each night) Don't get me wrong, he has his good days from time to time, but overall he fights sleeping with all his might. And I must say, he's pretty good at it. His eyes will look so droopy, he'll be so cranky, his head will begin to nod on the ride home. Yet, most of the time he somehow manages to stay awake; as if he'll miss out on the greatest adventure while sleeping. Right now, he takes about 1 nap every day. This would be fine if he was a little older and needed less sleep, or if his one nap was really long. But, many times, his nap is under an hour and a half, which makes for an EXTREMELY long afternoon until bedtime.

So, that's life right now. Most days from about 4:30 on, Cale is very overtird, grumpy, and ready to throw a fit in seconds. Poor little guy! But, we manage to keep him up most nights until Dada and 'Bops' get home from working on the house. It kills Carl when he doesn't get to see Cale at night so we jump through hoops trying to keep him awake and somewhat happy until the men get home. I love to see Cale's face when they come in the door.

I'm sad to see spring break go, but I'm anticipating what the next few weeks will bring. Living with my parents has been great, but we are so excited to have our own house again. I miss living near Russellville; the convenience of running to Sonic or Wal-Mart on a whim. Building a house has been a lot of work (well, I can't really say that from experience but my dad and husband have put in too many hours to count), but it's all going to be worth it in the end. Six weeks and counting...Crow Mountain here we come!

E-N-T

Who knew three letters, which might seem so insignificant to many, could cause me to shutter with fear. The feelings of dread worsen with each visit, because each visit seems to become more painful. For those lucky ones of you who may not even know what ENT stands for it's a code used to mask a terrible, awful place. They say it stands for Ear, Nose, and Throat...but I'm not buying it. I think it stands for: Extreme, Neverending, Torture. Cale got tubes a few months back and has been dealing with clogging of the tubes ever since. A few days ago he woke up with what looked like pink eye; crusty, swollen, little pitiful eyes. But, after our first doctor visit this morning, it's apparently some kind of viral infection and Cale has some bad allergy issues. After the morning doctor visit, we headed home for a few hours and then headed back for our ENT visit. As we pulled into the parking lot, my heart sank as I spotted only a few empty spots. This couldn't be a good sign. I reluctantly got Cale out of the carseat and lifted his, obnoxiously over-packed diaper bag (This wasn't my first ENT rodeo, so I knew to bring plenty of ammunition...actually I don't think there is such a thing as plenty). As we walked into the door of the torture chamb...ahem, I mean "clinic", my heart sank even more. I think it sank all the way down to my feet. There was not an empty chair in the place and as I gazed around I saw at least 6 other squirming babies, screaming as their mothers glanced up at me with a look of desperation that said, "Run while you can!".

An hour later, and a once-full bag of tricks now empty, I understood the looks on those mothers' faces. I remember thinking, "How embarrassing! I could never do that", when I would see mom's singing, reading to, or dancing with their babies in the doctor's office. Never say never. That was me. I read in silly voices, bounced Cale around, held many "pretend" phone conversations that always ended in me giving Cale the phone because OF COURSE the person on the other end always wanted to talk to him. I must give Cale credit. To be feeling bad, going on barely more than a power nap, and being forced to sit in my lap for over an hour, he behaved very well. Finally, after listening to name after name that wasn't Cale's, it was our turn. I was so relieved to finally get out of that crowded, noisy lobby. But, what I didn't know was that the real torture was about to begin. The torture we had just endured for over an hour was merely the preview to the finale. After looking in my son's ear, the doctor said in a solemn voice, "We're going to have to go in the other room to get a better look with the microscope. Have you ever been to the...other room?" I didn't like the way he said, "other". He explained to me that Cale would be put on a mat, and he would use a noisy tool to suction the fluid out. He prepared me for tears and even mentioned that I would stand by him to keep him calm. What I didn't realize is that the nurse would hold his head (and she had to hold tightly), while I flung my upper body over Cale's entire body to keep him from kicking/jumping/rolling. He screamed and and cried, and screamed and cried. After several minutes of this, the doctor said we were finished. Cale and I both emerged sweaty and tired and drained. I never cried, but I felt like it. It was much worse than holding his legs for a 2-second shot. This lasted about 4 minutes that felt like forever. I felt so guilty after we left that I let Cale have a sucker all to himself, to get who knows what, all sticky. I even got him his own little Sonic drink. Yes, I guess I buy my kid's forgiveness. It's shameful, right?

Even though my stomach aches to think about going back (in 2 weeks) our ENT and his nurses are extremely nice. The visits are simply a necessary evil that we must deal with right now. My husband doesn't know it, but he's in line to take Cale this next time.

Anniversary Numero Tres

This weekend, Carl and I spent a night in Little Rock to celebrate our 3-year anniversary. I know, I know, Little Rock isn't exactly somewhere tropical or exotic, but it was fun to get away. We shopped, ate, and went to a small Blues concert. (Carl endured shopping for my sake, so I went to a Blues show for him) It's all about give and take, right? As we were walking down to the show that night, we saw many "suspicous looking" characters. I was prepared because after riding down the elevator of our hotel with some strange guys, I stopped by the car to get my mase. I kept that bottle in hand the whole walk. You can tell I don't get out much at night. So Carl and I, hand-in-hand (my other hand was firmly gripping my mase) trucked through the chilly rain, umbrella-less, all the way from the Doubletree to the end of the Rivermarket to see our show. One or two blocks in and I was regretting my decision to wear heels. The show started at 9:00, which was already a red flag for me. I'm a girl who is used to having make-up off and jammies on by this time each night. So, I wasn't so sure how long I would make it. We had to sit right next to the speakers, which was...loud, and right across from a 50 + year old roadie who follows the band everywhere they go. He kept giving them the "Your number 1" hand symbol every few seconds and yelling and nodding "yeah, yeah..." the entire time. The music was actually really good, but by about 11:00 it was past my bedtime. Carl knew I was sleepy so we made the long, rainy walk back to our hotel. On our way back we came upon many weirdos and even witnessed the aftermath of what must have been some kind of fight because a store window was shattered and a guy's arm was a bloody mess. See, I knew it was smart to have my mase in hand...even though my husband felt a little offended that I thought he couldn't protect me! I was so glad to get inside our safe, warm hotel. Even though I like to think I am a wannabe city girl and that I would love to live somewhere with lights and excitement like New York, I must face reality: I am a small town girl who feels out of place with anything very much out of the ordinary and loves the comfort of home.

I can remember 2 years ago, Carl and I went to California for our one-year anniversary. We made it a long road trip and drove to San Diego, Los Angelos, and San Francisco. San Francisco was the scariest, nastiest place I've ever been. We pricelined our hotel and ended up with one right in downtown which is probably the worst place in the whole city. Our hotel didn't even have parking so we had to walk several blocks from a parking garage, at night, with all our luggage, to get there. The hotel was straight out of a horror movie complete with weird wallpaper, old-school oscillating fan, musty smell, oval mirror on the wall, and creaky floors. I barely slept a wink. I didn't even want to put my feet under the covers. We got up bright and early the next morning because we were ready to get out of that Norman Bates-ish hotel. We trudged with our bags all the way to the parking garage, passing homeless person after homeless person, asking for money. Some even just muttering strange slurs under their breath. We got to the garage and found that the gates didn't open for another hour. The entrance was in sort of a "shady" looking alley, so we decided it wasn't the best place to stand. So, again with all our luggage, we trudged back down the street until we came to a gas station. I went in to get coffee while Carl guarded our luggage. I say "guarded" because it would've been snatched in 2 seconds flat if we'd left it. We stood there outside, drinking our coffee and clenching our bags, as several people dug through the trash right beside us. You haven't lived until you've stood with a bright pink suitcase drinking coffee and eating breakfast next to people digging through the trash. It was an eye-opening experience and it made me appreciate our cozy little town of Russellville.

Our overnight anniversary stay was fun but one of the best parts was getting home to our sweet, sick, little baby. We got home to find that Cale has the signs of pinkeye,and possibly an ear infection. As I write this at 9:23 pm, he's already woken up crying three times (since 7:30). This is going to be one long night.

One of those mornings..

Today was just one of those mornings. Mornings that make you want to stick your head under the covers and hide out all day. Mornings that make you drive to work in complete silence because even a good song can't get you out of your mood. Mornings that make you drive the entire way to work with a snarl on your face. It was definitely one of those mornings. Cale woke up at 5:45, which isn't too out of the ordinary...unfortunately. But, my little early riser woke up on the wrong side of the crib this morning. He was extra grumpy, strong-willed, and discontent the entire time we were trying to get ready. He got all my make up out and covered his pants in an array of blush, powder, and eyeshadow. So after cleaning him up, I carried (dragged is more like it) him away from the bathroom, screaming the entire way. This exact same scenario occurs at least 10 times a day right now. Ten is probably being conservative! Well, when one thing is taken away from Cale, he is exceptional at finding something even worse to get into. I walked into his room to find that, somehow, he had opened a container of vaseline and, you can imagine what that looked like. I think it's still on his hands.

After managing to get myself ready, and Cale cleaned up, it was almost time to go. Right now Cale is having to take Zyrtec for allergies, medicine for his 2nd round of thrush, and eardrops for his clogged tubes. So, it's like a doctor's office in our kitchen several times a day. The eardrops are the worst. I try to hold him down to get the drops in his ears but he's a master at maneuvering his way out and can always manage to get away, or to at least get at an angle where I can't get the drops in. By the time I had wrestled 2 drops in each ear (suppossed to be 4, but I'll settle for 2) I was about to pull my hair out. I was running late, my car was on empty, and I was in a "mood". I hurried out the door with barely a kiss or goodbye for my boys. I went to open the door to my backseat, when I remembered that my back door won't open. (Neither will my gas tank unless I jam something down into it and then lift the handle...yeah, I need a new car) So, I made a fist, hit the door (no it didn't help but it made me feel better), and threw my stuff in the front seat. As I got in my car I realized I didn't have my purse. I should've stayed home.

So, after a long, silent drive to work I slowly trudged into school with my bag, purse, lunch, coffee mug, and coffee thermos. I turned on the light, dreading what the rest of the day would bring. After unloading all my stuff as I do each morning, I noticed a small, white bag on my desk: To Mrs. Kirtley, Love, Abby. Donuts. Glazed and a chocolate covered donuts from a sweet little student in my class. That was the turning point in my day. My kids went to science first thing in the morning, so I sat and had my donut with coffee and thought about how Cale would be a teenager before I know it. I will look back and long for these baby days, crazy mornings and all. As I thought about that I realized that maybe today wouldn't be so bad after all.

And it wasn't.