Do as I say, not as I do

If you were to call me and say, "Hey Sara, I think my kid has croup, do you have any advice?", I'd have all sorts of things to say. I would ask about your child's color, whether or not they were having retractions while breathing, have you taken them outside in the cold air, have you given them a steam bath, and I would probably end by saying, "Croup is scary but it sounds like you are doing the right things and I'm sure they will be fine. Just keep an eye on them." I would say these things to you to because, let's be honest here, it's your baby, not mine. And while I love your kid I don't love them as much as I love mine. Plus, it is easy to be calm and collected from 100 miles away while your own children cheerfully, and healthily, scribble on your walls. Besides, you are probably just over reacting.

OR, I could ask myself all the reasons why I shouldn't panic with my own croupy kid. First of all Sara, you are a nurse and are supposed to have a clue about such things. Get it together and act educated for half a second. Secondly, this is your third child, you've been through this before, you know what to do, ACT LIKE IT. Or thirdly, go ahead and panic. After all, this is YOUR baby we are talking about and you are way to emotionally invested to be objective and he looks terrible and why aren't you in the car taking him to the ER already?!?!?!

Which is what I did. At 5:30 a.m. this morning. Because our sweet baby Dane went from healthy last night at bedtime to a struggling for air, feverish, baby this morning. It was when I laid him down to change him and his chest was sucking in with every breath that Greg looked at me and we both said, "We are going!"

He is fine now. By the time we made it to the ER the cold air and calming down had eased his laborious breathing. Which I knew it would because I know what makes croup better, and worse. But still, even if you know these things with your head your heart doesn't have a clue when your baby is struggling over each breath. Plus, I was surrounded by nurses and doctors and oximeters and delicious prescriptions for prednisone and that alone was worth the $100 co-pay. Which, again, I already knew.

Sins and not sins

While my brother-in-law disagrees (he is a purist), my sister KayLynn and I think the following may be a sin.  Greg has been eating for breakfast a bowl of oatmeal with a very runny egg and a banana smashed in it.  What do you think?  How bad is that crime?  (P.S.  He has also lost almost 20 pounds, got new glasses, grew a goatee, and is smoking hot.  It almost compensates for that horror of a breakfast.)

While one member of our home is committing sins against cuisine (KayLynn said that if God wouldn't eat it than it can't possibly be okay) another small member of this home is sitting in God's palm.  We always pray at night with the kids but Aubrey has started doing the praying herself.  Her prayers are one of the best parts of my day.  They are simple and truthful and beautiful.  It's mostly one thank you after another and she thinks of all the small conversations we have during the day.  Tonight she asked me if her friend Sarah would be at bible study tomorrow (she was home sick last week.)  I told her I thought so and that was the end of it.  Tonight at prayers though she said, unprompted, "Thank you for making my friend Sarah well so that I can see her tomorrow.  Thank you that she is my friend.  And thank you that I get to see Grandma Julie and Grandpa Wayne in FOUR DAYS!"

God, thank you for my kids.  

Things that make me want to write someone a letter

1. I bought Aubrey a cute pair of jeans from Old Navy called "The Girlfriend." Really?? The Girlfriend? Come one, they are a size 5 here and trust me, she ain't nobody's girlfriend.

2. Watching a BABY drink pop out of a bottle. If you have ever done this I don't apologize, it's horrendous. I thought about it from a non-judgmental stand point and couldn't come up with one good reason not to judge. There's no excuse other than ignorance. Give the kid water for heaven's sake. It's cheaper and far less damaging.

3. Emissions testing. Once you have spent a certain amount of money, whether or not you have fixed the problem, then you pass emissions. However, you get called up to be tested again the following year, where the original problem probably still hasn't been fixed. We have spent gobs of money on our car to not fix the problem. That's because no one can seem to identify the problem other than some random computer code. Plus, we must still be polluting the environment. Which I don't even think is the point. I think the emissions testers and Nissan are part of the same mafia.

Believe it or now, I'm actually in a good mood. I just kept running into things the past two days that made me think, "REALLY?!?!?!?!"

Why, I just did this yesterday!

When was the last time you got into bed and thought to yourself, "You know, what feels like a right decision to me is to strip off all my clothes and draw all over myself with a red pen. Yep, that seems good. Better get cracking on that."

For Aubrey, she was struck by that wave of genius today during "nap" time. Also note, in an effort to keep this blog's PG rating I made her put on undies but I found her naked as the day she was born. I couldn't stop laughing.

For your viewing pleasure

I bring you a little tacky, dusty rose background, circa 1998, to make you feel love during Valentine's Day.

A man and his shoes are soon parted

At least Dane wishes they were. Let me summarize.

Dane was born with club feet.

Feet doing much better.

Must wear orthodics in shoes to keep feet doing well.

Dane hates his orthodics.

Dane hates his shoes.

Two things:

1. We did get him different shoes that he is much happier with.

2. As a mother, is it bad that I took pictures of the above situation and thought it was hilarious?

Dance like no one is watching

Greg and I have been participating in a family Biggest Loser/Get Fit/Stop Your Whining and Do Something About It contest. Three weeks in we are feeling good, eating better, and working out a lot. Which brings me to my point. You know. Because I try to make one.

I was getting ready for bed the other night and Greg said, with true amazement, "Your abs look great!" This is flattering for many reason. One, my husband thinks I look good. Enough said. Second, I have had three kids over the course of the last 4 1/2 years and my stomach has taken a beating. Weight lost? Yes. Abdominal muscles taunt with no flabby skin over the top and not a trace of a stretch mark or a really weird looking belly button? Uh, no. Thirdly, I have been beating my abs to a bloody pulp the last few weeks and DESERVED a compliment on them.

But it continued. "What have you been doing for them?" he asked.

"Well, I've been using the yoga ball at the gym, crunches, and my ballet video."

It's true. I have a workout video, two part series, called "The New York City Ballet" and I love it. In a former, juvenile life, I took six years of ballet lessons. The video brings me back, makes me think that I have grace and a swan like neck, and kicks the tar out of my abs, thighs, and rear. (Which, by the way, may or may not be a good thing. I think the flab is going down but there seems to be even more junk in my trunk. I do not think I need a ghetto booty. But I digress.)

"Really? Your ballet video, huh?"

"Yeah, it's really good. You should do it with me sometime."

Do you know where I'm going with this?

The man, my man, Greg Jones, Mr. Basketball, has done my ballet video with me not once, but twice now. Start to finish. Every plie, every front attitude, every stretch, and every miserable ab exercise on there. By the end he is sweating, begging for water, and acknowledging my studliness.

He says he is sore and more sore the day after we do the videos. For him, a lot of it is about the intense stretching and flexibility components of it. I think looking at the physiques on the male dancers doesn't hurt either. These guys look like they've been carved from marble and then lacquered into a luxurious shine. I'm not sure if a few grande plies in our family room will get you there but the dream is alive and well. And for now I'm loving having an exercise partner, some validation that my work out is hard too, and pride in knowing that MY MAN is man enough to dance.

Pictures of Dane, take two

I recommend one year old boys to anyone. They are awesome.

(p.s. I rotated my pictures before posting them. Blogger took it upon itself to put them on their side. Not awesome.)

Dane also had his one year appointment. He was 21 lbs. 1 oz. (15th percentile) and 32.5 inches long (90th percentile). He also had his appointment at Shriners this morning and his foot was scored 0. That's as good as it gets folks! They made him a new splint and some orthodics for his shoes but we are in the clear now. A year ago today I was hauling all three babies to Shriners EVERY DAY for training on how to tape and splint his foot and when they told me we had to do it until he walkd I nearly cried. Yet here we are, on the other side of that year and what do you know, it didn't kill us after all. Besides, our little Dane is so worth it.

7 a.m.

So far today I have been puked and pooped on. What have you done?

This is what one looks like

It happened. Our baby baby turned one. He walks everywhere. He has a temper. He gives the best snuggles. We no longer have to tape his foot. He seems so big and still so small. He is our ever precious, ever loving, Danish Doodle. Happy 1st Birthday baby boy!



...twenty minutes later. Blogger is having an aneurysm and is refusing to let me post any more pictures. I am in turn also having an aneurysm. Trust me, it's not pretty.

Consider this picture your teaser. Dane, on his real birthday, chowing down on his first chocolate chip cookie. He loved it, good man. Any child of mine will find peace and comfort in the warm embrace of chocolate.