 |
| The letter above each head tells you who is who. The heart is love. Alice and Robert didn't make the cut this time (I think he just ran out of room?? Maybe??). |
I laughed and laughed and laughed. Dude. That is James in a nutshell.
Wednesday, September 26, 2018
Fine Motor Skills
James suddenly decided that he likes to draw and color and now he does it almost daily. The other night, he took a pen and paper into his room and came out with this as a gift for me:
My heart swelled with love and joy for this little kid who could express such tender emotion. Then Bobby told me to look at the back...there was more...
I laughed and laughed and laughed. Dude. That is James in a nutshell.
I laughed and laughed and laughed. Dude. That is James in a nutshell.
Wednesday, September 12, 2018
Breakthrough
At dinner tonight, Alice is telling us a something about school and stops herself mid-sentence, "Wow. I'm talking really loud."
And then she softens her voice.
And finishes her story at a normal, adult volume.
My jaw drops to the floor.
Maybe this doesn't mean much to you, but WOWZERS that makes a difference at our house. Somewhere after the first few weeks of kindergarten, both Alice and Robert had developed what I call their "school voice." It's loud. It's all the time. It doesn't stop when they're home for the afternoon or all summer. It's ALL the time. James started louder than they did when he went into kindergarten, but we're a month into it now and his school voice has truly kicked in. Matthew is, not surprisingly, already at full school voice volume a couple years early. Sigh.
So. Loud. Just for talking about regular stuff every day. Happy, sad, angry, funny...doesn't matter.
Anyway, with Alice's moment tonight, it occurred to me that maybe the school voice thing doesn't have to be forever...maybe the shouting will eventually stop....maybe.
And then she softens her voice.
And finishes her story at a normal, adult volume.
My jaw drops to the floor.
Maybe this doesn't mean much to you, but WOWZERS that makes a difference at our house. Somewhere after the first few weeks of kindergarten, both Alice and Robert had developed what I call their "school voice." It's loud. It's all the time. It doesn't stop when they're home for the afternoon or all summer. It's ALL the time. James started louder than they did when he went into kindergarten, but we're a month into it now and his school voice has truly kicked in. Matthew is, not surprisingly, already at full school voice volume a couple years early. Sigh.
So. Loud. Just for talking about regular stuff every day. Happy, sad, angry, funny...doesn't matter.
Anyway, with Alice's moment tonight, it occurred to me that maybe the school voice thing doesn't have to be forever...maybe the shouting will eventually stop....maybe.
Saturday, September 8, 2018
Lessons From the Farm
A few more things I've learned...
...the right tool for the job makes a HUGE difference. I'm so used to making do with what's on-hand that taking the extra 60 seconds to find the right clippers for harvesting squash seems painfully inefficient. But, it turns out, using the right clippers makes each cut a little easier, which adds up to a LOT easier after an hour or two of harvesting squash. Little things can really add up!
...the uniform makes me better at my job. Every time I work at the farm, I wear a lightweight long-sleeved button-up shirt, lightweight pants, long socks, boots, and a wide-brimmed hat. I started with that setup to keep the sun and mosquitoes off of my skin, but it's a fantastic super suit! I am slightly resistant to prickly plants, mud, spiders, bees, and a myriad of gross and slightly scary things. I'm braver. More prepared to get dirty or haul brush. Sure, I'm also a little sweatier than my short-sleeved and short-pantsed co-workers in the humid heat, but I like the fearlessness.
...once you are soaked to the skin, head to toe, the rain can't bother you anymore. It's quite liberating. I had forgotten that from my childhood.
...harvesting is fun, but I really dig infrastructure stuff: irrigation, trellising, planting, pruning, weeding, hauling, putting in, tearing out. I love anything systematic, methodical, and orderly. I like seeing myself get better or more efficient at a new task, modifying my technique as I come across snags, developing a new system to maximize my effectiveness. That is the work that I am most proud of.
...social capital matters. I often find myself assigned a task with someone else and we're trying to figure out how to tackle it. My first impulse is to find the most efficient use of our time in completing the task. But when I work directly with my boss, he often chooses to work alongside me, even when I'm slower than he is. I've enjoyed getting to know many people on the farm (almost as much as learning how to farm itself). So, nowadays when I'm assigned a task, I try to strike a balance between efficiency and building relationships. Those are the best days.
...the right tool for the job makes a HUGE difference. I'm so used to making do with what's on-hand that taking the extra 60 seconds to find the right clippers for harvesting squash seems painfully inefficient. But, it turns out, using the right clippers makes each cut a little easier, which adds up to a LOT easier after an hour or two of harvesting squash. Little things can really add up!
...the uniform makes me better at my job. Every time I work at the farm, I wear a lightweight long-sleeved button-up shirt, lightweight pants, long socks, boots, and a wide-brimmed hat. I started with that setup to keep the sun and mosquitoes off of my skin, but it's a fantastic super suit! I am slightly resistant to prickly plants, mud, spiders, bees, and a myriad of gross and slightly scary things. I'm braver. More prepared to get dirty or haul brush. Sure, I'm also a little sweatier than my short-sleeved and short-pantsed co-workers in the humid heat, but I like the fearlessness.
...once you are soaked to the skin, head to toe, the rain can't bother you anymore. It's quite liberating. I had forgotten that from my childhood.
...harvesting is fun, but I really dig infrastructure stuff: irrigation, trellising, planting, pruning, weeding, hauling, putting in, tearing out. I love anything systematic, methodical, and orderly. I like seeing myself get better or more efficient at a new task, modifying my technique as I come across snags, developing a new system to maximize my effectiveness. That is the work that I am most proud of.
...social capital matters. I often find myself assigned a task with someone else and we're trying to figure out how to tackle it. My first impulse is to find the most efficient use of our time in completing the task. But when I work directly with my boss, he often chooses to work alongside me, even when I'm slower than he is. I've enjoyed getting to know many people on the farm (almost as much as learning how to farm itself). So, nowadays when I'm assigned a task, I try to strike a balance between efficiency and building relationships. Those are the best days.
Thursday, September 6, 2018
Robert's turn
Took Robert to the doctor for difficulty breathing yesterday *sigh*
Breathing treatment, chest x-ray, and sent home with 3 prescriptions:
--Albuterol (nebulizer version, administered every 4-6 hours to open airways immediately and frequently, meaning he has to stay home from school one day for these treatments)
--Oral steroids (truly bitter pills, to be taken twice a day to keep airways open through longer-term mechanisms)
--Antibiotic (liquid but not your typical pink goo, bitter as all getout, once daily to combat what looked like the beginnings of pneumonia in one of his lungs)
Robert cannot abide bitter medicine. It took him, me, and a very patient and firm Bobby an hour and a half to successfully get 2 pills and 8.5 mls of bitterness into Robert's gut. An hour later, he woke up in bed intensely nauseous and emptied his stomach contents onto his bedroom floor...including the 8 fl oz of bright red fruit punch he chugged to get the medicine taste out of his mouth. It reeked of the antibiotic syrup, but there was nothing to be done.
I'm not to the point of pulling my hair out yet, but I'm more than a little weary. I've caught the kids' cold, too, leaving energy for only the most essential tasks. The house is kinda falling apart around me. But, thanks to Robert being home and breathing better today, he's kept Matthew entertained while I oscillate between cleaning something up and staring off into space.
Days like these make the other days so much nicer :)
The pneumonia diagnosis was not 100% clear, so the APN we saw yesterday suggested I call in again this afternoon once an MD has had a chance to have a look. I'll let them know how the antibiotic went last night (ugh) and maybe they'll have another option/idea. Fingers crossed they nix it altogether.
[UPDATE: I called to follow up on the chest x-ray. It is absolutely pneumonia and the nurse was pretty distressed that Robert threw up his first dose. I explained the difficulty we were having getting Robert to take the medicine. She suggested ice cream. I think my bitter guffaw might have caught her off guard. After some discussion, she decided to investigate further and explore this with our pharmacist to see if she couldn't finagle some sort of pill form instead. Forty-five minutes later, the new prescription was sent to the pharmacy. Pills. Still a painful chore for Robert, but so much better than a liquid...or IV antibiotics. Ugh.]
Breathing treatment, chest x-ray, and sent home with 3 prescriptions:
--Albuterol (nebulizer version, administered every 4-6 hours to open airways immediately and frequently, meaning he has to stay home from school one day for these treatments)
--Oral steroids (truly bitter pills, to be taken twice a day to keep airways open through longer-term mechanisms)
--Antibiotic (liquid but not your typical pink goo, bitter as all getout, once daily to combat what looked like the beginnings of pneumonia in one of his lungs)
Robert cannot abide bitter medicine. It took him, me, and a very patient and firm Bobby an hour and a half to successfully get 2 pills and 8.5 mls of bitterness into Robert's gut. An hour later, he woke up in bed intensely nauseous and emptied his stomach contents onto his bedroom floor...including the 8 fl oz of bright red fruit punch he chugged to get the medicine taste out of his mouth. It reeked of the antibiotic syrup, but there was nothing to be done.
I'm not to the point of pulling my hair out yet, but I'm more than a little weary. I've caught the kids' cold, too, leaving energy for only the most essential tasks. The house is kinda falling apart around me. But, thanks to Robert being home and breathing better today, he's kept Matthew entertained while I oscillate between cleaning something up and staring off into space.
Days like these make the other days so much nicer :)
The pneumonia diagnosis was not 100% clear, so the APN we saw yesterday suggested I call in again this afternoon once an MD has had a chance to have a look. I'll let them know how the antibiotic went last night (ugh) and maybe they'll have another option/idea. Fingers crossed they nix it altogether.
[UPDATE: I called to follow up on the chest x-ray. It is absolutely pneumonia and the nurse was pretty distressed that Robert threw up his first dose. I explained the difficulty we were having getting Robert to take the medicine. She suggested ice cream. I think my bitter guffaw might have caught her off guard. After some discussion, she decided to investigate further and explore this with our pharmacist to see if she couldn't finagle some sort of pill form instead. Forty-five minutes later, the new prescription was sent to the pharmacy. Pills. Still a painful chore for Robert, but so much better than a liquid...or IV antibiotics. Ugh.]
 |
| Robert snuggling a toad they found in our vegetable garden yesterday. Alice was the one who caught it, Robert and Matthew found it fun, but James was the one who claimed it as his own dear love. |
Sunday, September 2, 2018
Reactive Airway Disease
The kids all picked up a nasty cold from the first week of school. Yesterday afternoon, Alice and Robert were mostly over it but James and Matthew were wheezing and phlegm-coughing and a little short of breath. Wheezing is a big red flag in this house, so I debated whether we take them in. We decided to give them one more night and see how things went.
Well, James slept great and woke up 80% better. Wheeze gone, cough almost gone.
Matthew, not so lucky. He woke up every 60-90 minutes with a coughing fit or screaming bloody murder about some abdominal pain I couldn't diagnose. I took him to the bathroom twice, offered him pain meds every time, but all he wanted was to scream in pain for a couple minutes and then pass out once the worst was over. His breathing got a little worse as the night wore on, but I attributed it to all the screaming excitement.
Well, I kept him home from church today and continued to give him breathing treatments (albuterol, like an inhaler) which would help for only a little while. He was panting and out of breath just from rolling over on my lap. Not cool. I took him to convenient care where they administered a bigger dose breathing treatment, but they immediately sent us to the ER when it did very little to relax his airways.
Three more high-dose breathing treatments, a mega dose of oral steroids, one cherry popsicle, 3 stickers, and five hours of Cartoon Network later, he was discharged from the ER with a diagnosis of Reactive Airway Disease (RAD). It's just like asthma. In fact, it COULD actually be asthma, but we won't know until he's old enough to take the official breathing test (about 5 years old). Remind me to have Robert take the official test, by the way.
What does this mean? It means that his airways are sensitive to certain triggers that initiate a swelling cascade in his lungs. So far, his triggers have been viral/respiratory infections. That's why Matthew got worse and James got better last night, even though James sounded a lot worse yesterday. It also means the albuterol has worked well enough to almost eliminate the wheezing, but he's still panting and easily out of breath. Our job now is to keep the treatments coming, monitor him, and take him to his doctor in a couple days for follow up.
As far as chronic childhood medical issues go, this one is super mild. I can't really complain. But let me catch up on sleep first.
[UPDATE 9/3/18: Matthew still has the cold. Still wheezing, but he's not panting anymore and the abdominal pain hasn't returned. We've been giving him regular breathing treatments as prescribed. He's better today, but not as "better" as I had hoped :( We'll see what the pediatrician thinks as soon as I can make an appointment.]
[UPDATE 9/4/18: Matthew got the thumbs-up from the doctor today. His lungs are still working on this respiratory infection, but there's plenty of air moving around in there and we can space out the breathing treatments to every 6 hours as needed. Matthew is a funny kid. As we walked into the clinic, he was not only talking constantly, but loudly. Practically shouting every little thing he was thinking, "Wow, what's this? Look at this, Mom. I like this. I wish we had one at our house. Then I could be like "wuzshhhhhhhh" and "whoaaaaaaaa" and that would be funny. Hey! Look at those chairs. There's a TV. Ooo, a hotel on the TV. I like hotels. What if our house was a hotel? That's like what we saw when we were here before. I'm glad I brought my plane. Look! Submarine mode "bzshhhh" "pshhh" "and the submarine guys are like "aaaaaaaaaa!" and it flies like a plane *giggle*"
Fortunately for me, the other folks in the waiting room seemed to find him amusing. Then the moment we're called back by the nurse, Matthew zips his lips. He refuses to speak, make eye contact, or even crack a smile at the very friendly nurse. As soon as the nurse is done and out the door, Matthew is jabbering on again, though much quieter now. We wait just long enough for Matthew to start getting very talkative cold feet. The doctor walks in and tries to engage him but he's suddenly a stone wall that doesn't walk or talk or look up. Sheesh! I've come to expect the silence from my less-than-outgoing kids, but Matthew is a VERY social guy who generally likes other people...well, maybe just other kids. Even when the doctor says we are all done and can go select a sticker from the nurse's outstretched hand, Matthew only points to me and looks up with puppy dog eyes begging for me to choose one for him. I select Spider Man. We turn the corner to leave the room and Matthew instantly starts yelling his thoughts about this really awesome Spider-Man sticker that's nothing like the other one from the ER and look how his legs have so many muscles and he's shooting a web out of the bottom of his wrist like this "psh-tchooooo" and wouldn't that be cool to have spider powers, but spiders actually shoot webs out of their bums, but not Spider-Man...]
Glad he's himself again :)
Well, James slept great and woke up 80% better. Wheeze gone, cough almost gone.
Matthew, not so lucky. He woke up every 60-90 minutes with a coughing fit or screaming bloody murder about some abdominal pain I couldn't diagnose. I took him to the bathroom twice, offered him pain meds every time, but all he wanted was to scream in pain for a couple minutes and then pass out once the worst was over. His breathing got a little worse as the night wore on, but I attributed it to all the screaming excitement.
Well, I kept him home from church today and continued to give him breathing treatments (albuterol, like an inhaler) which would help for only a little while. He was panting and out of breath just from rolling over on my lap. Not cool. I took him to convenient care where they administered a bigger dose breathing treatment, but they immediately sent us to the ER when it did very little to relax his airways.
Three more high-dose breathing treatments, a mega dose of oral steroids, one cherry popsicle, 3 stickers, and five hours of Cartoon Network later, he was discharged from the ER with a diagnosis of Reactive Airway Disease (RAD). It's just like asthma. In fact, it COULD actually be asthma, but we won't know until he's old enough to take the official breathing test (about 5 years old). Remind me to have Robert take the official test, by the way.
 |
| With a TV in every room...the ER is so...so...hypnotic. He was a model patient, especially for the chest x-ray technicians who were expecting a wiggly, fussy, resistant little 3 yo. |
What does this mean? It means that his airways are sensitive to certain triggers that initiate a swelling cascade in his lungs. So far, his triggers have been viral/respiratory infections. That's why Matthew got worse and James got better last night, even though James sounded a lot worse yesterday. It also means the albuterol has worked well enough to almost eliminate the wheezing, but he's still panting and easily out of breath. Our job now is to keep the treatments coming, monitor him, and take him to his doctor in a couple days for follow up.
As far as chronic childhood medical issues go, this one is super mild. I can't really complain. But let me catch up on sleep first.
[UPDATE 9/3/18: Matthew still has the cold. Still wheezing, but he's not panting anymore and the abdominal pain hasn't returned. We've been giving him regular breathing treatments as prescribed. He's better today, but not as "better" as I had hoped :( We'll see what the pediatrician thinks as soon as I can make an appointment.]
[UPDATE 9/4/18: Matthew got the thumbs-up from the doctor today. His lungs are still working on this respiratory infection, but there's plenty of air moving around in there and we can space out the breathing treatments to every 6 hours as needed. Matthew is a funny kid. As we walked into the clinic, he was not only talking constantly, but loudly. Practically shouting every little thing he was thinking, "Wow, what's this? Look at this, Mom. I like this. I wish we had one at our house. Then I could be like "wuzshhhhhhhh" and "whoaaaaaaaa" and that would be funny. Hey! Look at those chairs. There's a TV. Ooo, a hotel on the TV. I like hotels. What if our house was a hotel? That's like what we saw when we were here before. I'm glad I brought my plane. Look! Submarine mode "bzshhhh" "pshhh" "and the submarine guys are like "aaaaaaaaaa!" and it flies like a plane *giggle*"
Fortunately for me, the other folks in the waiting room seemed to find him amusing. Then the moment we're called back by the nurse, Matthew zips his lips. He refuses to speak, make eye contact, or even crack a smile at the very friendly nurse. As soon as the nurse is done and out the door, Matthew is jabbering on again, though much quieter now. We wait just long enough for Matthew to start getting very talkative cold feet. The doctor walks in and tries to engage him but he's suddenly a stone wall that doesn't walk or talk or look up. Sheesh! I've come to expect the silence from my less-than-outgoing kids, but Matthew is a VERY social guy who generally likes other people...well, maybe just other kids. Even when the doctor says we are all done and can go select a sticker from the nurse's outstretched hand, Matthew only points to me and looks up with puppy dog eyes begging for me to choose one for him. I select Spider Man. We turn the corner to leave the room and Matthew instantly starts yelling his thoughts about this really awesome Spider-Man sticker that's nothing like the other one from the ER and look how his legs have so many muscles and he's shooting a web out of the bottom of his wrist like this "psh-tchooooo" and wouldn't that be cool to have spider powers, but spiders actually shoot webs out of their bums, but not Spider-Man...]
Glad he's himself again :)
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