Decisions, Decisions

I am not a great decision maker.  

For even the smallest decisions, I tend to pour over 'pros' and 'cons'.  I solicit advice and consider every possible detail.  I finally make a decision and then the second-guessing begins and the process begins all over again.  

Being a mom, however, has forced me to speed the process up quite a bit.  After all, many of the decisions required in the course of my day are split-second choices-- leaving no time for extensive deliberation.

Do I push my crying three-year-old through his swim lesson?  Do I whack him on the tush when ten time-outs in a two hour period aren't doing the trick?  When I discover a stinky diaper 15 minutes from home, do I stop for a change or wait?  When it's 3 am and Liam hasn't slept for more than one hour at a time, do I bring him into our bed?

I was forced to make one such decision at the gym last week.

It was Liam's first time in the childcare room.  The woman in charge seemed nice enough and there were only a few children in the room.  I only planned on a 45-minute workout, so I wasn't too nervous about leaving him.  After dropping him off, I headed to the locker room to get changed.  Before hopping on a treadmill, I went to take a quick peek from a distance.

The childcare woman was in the corner on her cell phone.  A boy (he seemed about 3 years old) was kneeling in front of Liam and pushing him on his forehead.  Liam was smiling broadly, probably thinking this was some sort of game.   The boy, equally entertained, pushed harder and harder until Liam fell backwards and began crying.  This caught the woman's attention and she hung up the phone and picked Liam up.

I could have gone into the room at that moment, but I decided to take a lap around the gym and then take another look.  A minute or two later, Liam was playing in an Exersaucer and he seemed content.  So, I decided to workout as planned.

For the entire 3 miles, I was wondering if I had done the right thing.  How many decisions do you suppose a parent makes in their lifetime?  It's hard to believe that this is only the beginning.

Storybook Land 2009

The pre-nursery and nursery school classes at Will's school take a trip to Storybook Land every spring.  Will had a great time last year (first photo) and he's been looking forward to this trip (second photo, same kids) for the last twelve months.  

This year, some of his favorite moments included riding on the big yellow bus, running through the Alice in Wonderland Tunnel, peering into all of the Storybook houses and riding the train.  From the enormous selection of souvenirs in the gift shop, he selected a squishy octopus (which has absolutely nothing to do with the trip).  And some of my favorite moments included watching Will participate in all of the above activities. 

Will conquered some fears, mainly due to peer pressure, and he rode the Tilt-a-Whirl and Roller Coaster.  As the ride operator buckled us in, he listened intently as I assured him.  He clenched my arm and buried his head in the side of my chest.  As each ride came to a stop he smiled and he danced off the ride yelling, "I was brave... I was brave... I was braaaaave..."  This was a favorite moment.

.

As we were riding the balloons with Ryan, we had some interesting conversation...

Me:  Whoa.  What planet do you want to go to, guys?

Will:  Earth!

Ryan:  Atlantic City!

Me:  This ride makes my belly feel funny!

Will:  This ride makes my penis feel funny!

Ryan:  Me too!

Another favorite moment.

.

But above all, I enjoyed the bus ride home.  It was sunny and quiet, as most of the kids were exhausted and parents were chatting quietly.  The bus windows were partially opened, letting in a warm breeze.  In a nostalgic, sort of comforting way, the bus bumped, rocked and swayed along the parkway.  Will played with his stretchy octopus and we talked about the day.  He leaned against me and I watched as he slowly drifted off to sleep, eventually falling into my lap.  I brushed his hair with my fingers and memorized the feel of his hand in mine.  All the while, I was thinking about how much he had changed in the last twelve months and how quickly he's growing up.  A little bittersweet, but above all, my most favorite moment.

(You wouldn't believe how difficult it was to get this photo.)

Mother's Day 2009

Solo Skater

Last week, Will had his first solo skating lesson-- no more "Parent & Me" classes!

Getting dressed in the lobby went as usual-- with Will jumping around and unable to sit still while Bill tried his best to get the equipment on without losing his mind.  (Thankfully, my job is to supervise Liam during this time.)

As we walked into the rink (about 2 minutes after the above pics were taken), Will began complaining that he was 'too tired' and that 'his belly hurt' (which is slightly hilarious considering the above photos).  Bill helped him onto the ice and about 5 seconds later he had his first wipe-out... taking down an innocent 6 year-old on the way.  As the instructors helped Will to his feet, I could see that anxiety was getting the better of him.

However, unlike the 'socially retarded ass wipe' we met earlier in the week, his skating instructor was kind, patient and encouraging.  Within 10 minutes time, he was skating faster and more skillfully than he had ever skated with Bill or me.  

There are only two students in the class.  

Fortunately, Will has always done well with older women.

At the end of the lesson, Bill and I were waiting to congratulate him on a great job.  Will, however, was more concerned with our usual Sunday morning post-skating ritual...

... french fries and hot chocolate.

Incidentally, the best french fries are almost always found in ice rinks and bowling alleys.  We're teaching this kid the important things in life, for sure.

Thank You General Mills!

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Liam sprouted not one, but FOUR teeth last week.  

At his well-visit, I remarked to the pediatrician how odd it was that his side teeth were growing in before his front teeth.  She replied, "Those ARE his front teeth.  He'll have a gap for sure."

While this news was a bit concerning, I was too overcome with excitement to worry.  Excited because we could now embark on some General Mills whole grain goodness known as Cheerios.

Good-bye to five AM fumbling with plastic bottle liners and measuring cups in one hand, while trying to quiet a hungry baby in the other-- eyes half-open and desperately needing to pee, but unable to delay the feeding for even a few moments at the risk of a screamfest.  

Now, I can simply flip open a canister and drop a handful of cereal onto Liam's tray.  He eagerly stretches himself towards the high chair, begging to be set down.  It's amazing how much better your morning gets when you can open your eyes, empty your bladder and fill your coffee maker first thing.  Not to mention the ease of preparing a bottle with not one, but two hands.  

Swimming (continued) or How to Make My Shit List

We returned to swim lessons on Tuesday.  I thought we should give it one more try.  I should have known better.

For the last week, while we were sitting together over breakfast or as I was pulling his shirt over his head, Will would ask, "Are we going swimming today?"  I would say no and tell him just how many days there were until the next class.  Then I would praise him and try to build his confidence.  

On Tuesday morning, Will knew we were headed back to class.  

At breakfast, Will complained that he was too tired.  As I helped him get dressed, he whined that he didn't want to go.  As I buckled him into the car, his eyes were filled with tears.  As we turned into the parking lot, he was sobbing.  The more upset he became, the more horrible I felt.  But at the same time, I felt that not going could send some message about quitting or facing up to fears.  So we went.

It was pouring out.  I fumbled with a stroller, an infant, a diaper bag, and an inconsolable 3-year-old.  He kept saying that he didn't want to go and as we entered the pool area he was crying.  I kept telling him that everything would be okay... he would be fine.  I think I was trying to convince the both of us.

I spoke to the teacher before class, explaining that Will had always loved the water and been a strong swimmer for his age/ability group.  I explained that his confidence had been shaken and that he could use some encouragement and extra attention this week.  I suggested that we speak at the end of the class, and if Will continued to struggle, we could switch him to a more appropriate class.  She looked at Will, who had regained his composure-- but still appeared visibly upset, and asked me, "So, he's swimming today?"  When I told her that he would swim, she took his hand and lead him to the pool-- without so much as a word or smile to him.

In the pool, he looked scared and shaken.  He was trying to keep up, but he was just too upset.  I watched as the instructor strapped a bubble to him.  He looked at me and began sobbing.  A few minutes later, she sat him on the edge of the pool to calm down.  At this point, I was motioning to him to come to me, but he was still.  I think he was afraid to move.  He rejoined the class and she would intermittently sit him off to the side when he wasn't keeping up.  At the end of the class, the students moved to a more shallow part of the pool where they dove for rings-- this is always Will's favorite part of class.  He eagerly dove below the water to retrieve a ring and he carried it to her.  She slid it up her arm, adding it to her collection without saying a word or even nodding.  I watched as this happened three more times-- Will eagerly finding a ring and seeking out her approval-- she ignoring him.  

She seriously made my shit list.  Big time.  For life.

It figures that she didn't say a word to us at the end of class.

I ended up switching Will to a different time, day and teacher.  I also lowered him back to his previous level, just to build his confidence.  I told him that we were switching to a class that's more fun and he asked me if he was moving 'backwards'.  Then, my once confident, bubble-free, little swimmer told me that he couldn't go into the water... without his bubble.

This was a mistake.  Big one.  I am an ass.  Big one.

Family Photos from March & April 2009

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Liam's Eight Month Well Visit

This was Liam at his 8-week well visit...

And this was Liam today, at his 8-month well visit...

21 pounds 2 ounces, 28.5 inches

Liam's First Tooth!

This isn't the best picture, because it's barely broken through. 

(You'd never see it without an extreme, drooly close-up.)

Enough Already

As I've already mentioned, Will had the stomach virus last week.  Five days of vomiting and diarrhea.  Then, on the first day that Will started to hold down some food, Liam got sick.  Today is Liam's fifth day and thankfully, he just (about a half-hour ago) kept down his first bottle since Friday evening of last week.  If you do the math, that's 10 consecutive days of blaaah.  The last few, especially, have been rough because Liam is not sleeping well at night.  Instead, he cat naps on-and-off, all day and all night.  Sleep, whine, cry, whine, sleep, whine, cry, whine, eat, vomit, whine, sleep, cry... 

This morning, I came downstairs with Liam at around 5 am.  He was fussy and couldn't sleep, so I made him a bottle of Pedialyte.  He calmed down a bit, but didn't fall back to sleep until around 6 am-- just in time for Will to come bounding down the stairs.  Will asked for fruit snacks and then television-- and I would've nodded my head 'yes' to just about anything to keep things quiet.  I kept motioning to Will to be quiet, pointing at Liam, who was lightly snoozing next to me.  "Mommy", Will whispered, "I want to sit there.  That's my spot."  (Of course, 'there' was where Liam lay sleeping.)  I tried to reason quietly with Will and felt my patience slipping away as he got louder and louder.  Finally, he jumped off the couch and flipped the television off as he loudly protested.  Liam's eyes bolted open as he gazed around the room.  I was so frustrated that, without saying a word, I tossed threw the remote to the floor.  The back of the remote flew off and the batteries scattered across the hardwood floor.  Liam started crying immediately and Will, watching from across the room, was the first to speak...

"GREAT!  Now look what you did-- you woke up Liam... and you're not supposed to throw things when you're angry."

You know you've had it when you look like the three-year-old and your three-year-old sounds like the adult.  I'm so ready for everyone to be healthy again and for a few good nights of sleep.  Hopefully, we're on the road to recovery.

Thanks to everyone for the comments and e-mails from the last few posts.  You guys are the best!

When the Going Gets Tough...

Will has been taking swimming lessons since he was 9 months old.  I had wanted to take a Mommy & Me class when he was a baby and we continued each season afterwards.  Last session, he was a 'Blue Fish' and the class focused on practicing basic skills like kicking, paddling, going underwater, etc.  The kids dove for rings, kicked across half the pool and swam through hula hoops.  At the end of the last session, his instructor recommended that I move him up to the next level-- 'Sea Lion'.

Today was our first Sea Lion class.  We arrived at the pool and I accompanied Will to the steps to introduce him to his teacher.  Without smiling, she instructed him to get in the pool and told me that the parents were to stand behind the gate.  There were two other kids in his class-- both of them were about five years old-- and they seemed to tower over Will.  I watched as he swam (with flotation devices) the length of the pool, back and forth, over and over again.  She had them doing various exercises-- putting their heads in the water, swimming on their backs, paddling their arms, etc.  I was amazed at how well Will was doing, but I could tell he was struggling and half-way through, I could tell he was exhausted.  His teacher wasn't mean, but not exactly nice either.  She was down-to-business, working these kids like they were future olympians.  

During the second half of the class, she had the kids jumping into the water, surfacing and then swimming the width of the pool.  Will was following her instructions and keeping up okay, but he started looking more and more uncomfortable.  He swallowed water a few times, was coughing, and I thought he might give up and come over to me.  But ultimately, he made it through.

When the lesson was over, the teacher gave each student a high-five a sent them to find their parents.  Will came over and I greeted him with a big hug and a warm towel and I told him how proud I was of him.  He began bawling immediately.  I kept praising him and telling him how great he did.  Normally 'sailing though' swim class, he wasn't used to putting forth such an effort.  He also wasn't used to such a cranky-ass no-nonsense teacher.  All of his former teachers have been smiley, happy and encouraging and his previous lessons were more like playing and less like work.  

Driving home, I was reflecting on the lesson and my options.  I could leave Will in this class, return next week (after building him up and encouraging him for the next six days) and finish out the session OR I could transfer him into another class with a different instructor.  While I think he might have more fun in a different class, I honestly believe that his skills will improve so much more quickly in his current class.  I also think an experience like this could help 'toughen him up' a little.  But then again, we signed him up for swimming so that he could become competent in the water and have fun.  His competency would increase with any instructor, is it necessary to push him so hard?

I'm thinking it over.  What do you think?

Ew, I know.

Yesterday morning, around 6 am, Liam was cooing and gargling in his crib.  As usual, he was giving me my 1-minute warning before screaming to be picked up.  As I entered the room, I instantly detected a gross yet familiar smell.  I looked into the crib to find him lying on his back and smiling as if nothing were wrong.  The sheet beneath him had a large, dry circular stain and when I picked him up, I found that his back and head were similarly covered.  He must have thrown up during the night and then fell back to sleep.  Ew, I know.

Strangely though, it was a happy sight for me.

If you've been reading, you know that Will had a stomach virus less than 2 months ago.  Last week, he got sick again-- same thing-- except the duration.  He wasn't able to keep anything (besides some dry Cheerios and Gatorade) down for five days and he was so lethargic.  Each day, he spent the entire morning on the couch, dozing on and off, and then at around 1 pm he would announce that he was ready for his nap.  His toys hadn't moved in a week and he barely had any interest in what was on television.  He was visibly losing weight and had absolutely no energy.  Although the pediatrician told me that this could happen, five days of this had me worried...

I can't even begin to put my deepest fears in writing... What if it wasn't a stomach virus?  What could it be?  He washes his hands at least 30 times a day, how could he have this again!?  Google, WebMd, Google, WebMd.... Aaaahhhhh....

And then came that beautiful sight on Saturday morning.  Liam was sick-- not usually a good thing-- but in this case, it meant that Will probably did have a virus and he had passed it on.  Yesterday Will ate some toast and banana for breakfast, played Legos on the couch all morning, then had a plain cheese quesadilla for lunch and ran an errand with Bill.  He took a nap around 4 pm and woke up the next morning at 7:30 am.  This was a significant improvement and today has been even better.  

Hopefully, Liam's recovery will happen a little faster.  Unlike his brother, he seems to really love that Pedialyte.  I took a swig and can't say that I agree-- yuck.

Back to Normal

Okay.  I'm back.  From where, you ask?  Here goes...

From the beginning, March was busy, but good.  Our undesired house guest (stomach virus) had been sent packing.  Jillian was kicking my butt on a regular basis and I was eating and sleeping better.  Tutoring was going well.  The kids were doing great.  The weather was improving.  Things were good.

Around the middle of the month, I started feeling exhausted-- got a cold and then couldn't shake a fever for a few days.  My parents came over to watch the kids so I could go to the local clinic.  On the drive over, I was doing the math.  1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7... Seven days late.  Could I be pregnant?  It took us months to get pregnant with Will and Liam.  I hadn't gone back on the pill, but we had been careful... kind of.  I pondered whether to ask for a test at the clinic or to buy one at the drugstore on the way home.  By the time I reached the clinic, I convinced myself there was no way I could be pregnant.  It was the change in my lifestyle- new diet and exercise routine... or maybe the fever/virus that I had been fighting lately.  Definitely no baby.

The nurse came in to take my vitals.  I gave her the info... cold, fever, new routine... oh and no period.  She handed me the cup.  I peed and waited. 

The doctor came in.  I gave him the same story as he checked my ears, eyes, throat and heart.  He leaned back on the counter, told me I had an upper respiratory infection and paused for what seemed like days.  Then he told me I was pregnant.  It was a little like the scene from Knocked Up-- except no Seth Rogen.  I started crying immediately-- the kind of crying where you don't want to cry, so you keep talking and ignoring the buckets of water pouring down your face.  We were discussing antibiotics and prescriptions when he asked me if I had any children.  I replied 'yes', telling him I had a 3 1/2 year-old and a 7-month old.  Then he made this sound: "Ooooohhhhhhh...."  In my head, the translation was: 'You are so screwed'.  And then I started bawling.  He must have thought more carefully about his initial response, thinking it would make me feel better by telling me that 'the test was only 99% accurate'.  

I drove around for a while, wallowing in self-pity and selfishness.  I would get huge again.  There would be heartburn, gas pain, back aches and swollen ankles.  There would be no roller coasters, water slides, trampolines or rollerblading-- all things I was looking forward to doing with Will this summer.  I wouldn't be able to go back to work in the Fall of 2010 as planned.  My non-pregnancy clothes would be packed away for another summer.  I would have two kids under the age of two next November. I stressed about Will adjusting to another baby and Liam getting so little 1-on-1 time next year. With Bill's coaching schedule, I would be home by myself most of the time. How would I ever get out of my house?  How would I survive? 

My funk continued for the next week or so.  I made a conscious decision not to blog, Facebook, email or even return friends' phone calls until I was feeling better-- mentally and physically.  

By April, things were turning around.  I was finding the positives in my situation.  The kids would be close in age, so they would be able to play together.  All the baby clothes and toys were set up and ready to go.  Will adjusted well to Liam, why not another baby?  Liam would be walking by November and probably using a cup-- he'd be much more independent.  Taking a few more years off from work would be okay-- I could still tutor.  I was making a mental checklist-- we'd pack up the things in the den to make way for a nursery, Will would move to a booster and that would free up a carseat, we'd need another crib.  I started to picture life at home with three little kids.  It would be difficult at times, but it was doable.  We would make it work.  I thought to myself, that a few years from now, I would feel so stupid about my initial reaction that day in the doctors office.

Fast forward to my 8-week sonogram.  I had the last appointment of the evening.  Bill had coaching, so I was by myself.  I watched as women in their first trimester left the office with their little black and white tadpole photos.  Then it was my turn and I was excited to get my first glimpse.  I laid on the table and the technician positioned the monitor so that we could both see.  As she swept the transducer over my belly and found my uterus, I could tell instantly that there was no baby.  She told me that my uterus was measuring almost seven weeks and she confirmed that there was nothing there.  She suggested that I had my dates wrong.  Maybe I was only 6-weeks and the baby was not yet detectable.  The last doctor had left for the evening, so the technician instructed me to call the office in the morning.  I knew that I had the dates right and something was wrong.

After some blood work, it was a confirmed miscarriage.  Medically, this is what happened. (You can click the link.)  There was no bleeding or cramping.  No indication of any problems. My OB told me that my body would complete the miscarriage naturally and on it's own-- or I could opt for surgery and get a D&C.  Who would opt for surgery, I wondered.  She said it would happen within two weeks, as my hormone levels decreased.   So I waited.

While I waited, I was feeling sad and disappointed... and a little relieved... and then massively guilty for feeling that way.  I thought about my initial reaction to the news of the pregnancy and really hated myself for all of it.  And I waited.

About a week and a half later, after watching some late night tv on the couch, I stood up to head upstairs to bed.  There was an incredible rush of blood and a surge of cramping.  After three hours of intense pain and a bathroom that could have doubled for a crime scene, we were headed to the ER.  Then, after some serious pain meds, three internal exams and two more ultrasounds, I was headed home the next day, exhausted and thinking I should have opted for the surgery.  Figures.

It's almost a week later and I'm slowly but surely getting back to normal.  

Looking forward and glad to be back.

 

Instead of Writing Posts

I have no idea where the last two weeks have gone.  Nearly every night I grab the laptop, sit down on the couch and fight to stay awake.  And I lose.  And that is why this blog has been so quiet.

Bill is now coaching lacrosse six days per week.  I'm doing 10 -12 tutoring appointments in four or five nights per week.  I've resumed teaching SAT classes twice a week.  Will is still swimming and skating.  Liam turned seven months old and is starting to sit up on his own.  Things around here are busy and time is flying.

Here are 25 things (in no particular order) that I've done in the last 2 weeks instead of writing posts.

1)  Playing in the snow.

2)  Falling asleep on the couch.

3)  Reteaching myself the calculus/precalculus that I need for tutoring.  

4)  Getting up at 5 am to do The 30-Day Shred before the kids wake up. 

5)  Cooking, dishes, laundry... and repeat.

6)  Making transformers out of Legos, out of K'nex, out of TinkerToys, out of blocks, out of Play-doh...

7)  Ice skating with Will and Bill.

8)  Checking Facebook and email.

9)  Watching way too much television.

10)  Getting into one of my old pairs of jeans... finally.

11)  Drinking coffee.

12)  Taking pictures.

13)  Requesting an additional year of maternity leave from teaching.

14)  Daydreaming about summer vacation.

15)  Missing Bill.

16)  Reminding Will to wash his hands and to stop picking his nose.

17)  Changing diapers.

18)  Protecting Liam from Will's 'hugs' and 'kisses'.

19)  Coughing.

20)  Battling Will's mystery fever.

21)  Debating whether or not to call the pediatrician.

22)  Singing to Liam in an effort to quell the whining.

23)  Struggling to eat better and succumbing to Peanut M&Ms.

24)  Searching for a new haircut.

25)  Teaching Will to brush his teeth and spit with real toothpaste.

I'm OK

Well, I did end up getting that stomach bug.

I woke up on Monday morning at about 3 am and was sick all day.  Bill stayed home from work to watch the kids and I had to cancel all of my tutoring appointments for that evening.  Tuesday was kind of a blur.  I was super-low on energy, but feeling okay otherwise.  

The rest of the week was spent cleaning up the house, taking care of the kids and trying to squeeze in all of the appointments that I had canceled earlier in the week.  

The kids have had many highs and lows this week. At least a thousand a day.  So many, in fact, that I'm way too exhausted to write a post about them.

Now I have a cold, or maybe allergies.  I'm not sure.  I'm coughing and sneezing and I have a low, hoarse voice-- which I think is super-sexy, but I think my husband finds annoying.  

I hope to write more this week, but for now, here are some photos from the last two months. Many were meant for posts that went unwritten.

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My Bad

Yesterday evening, as I was weaving through the crowd at the ice arena, I was thinking of all the mistakes that I have made as a parent.  There was the time I brought Will to Great Adventure on a sunny, 95 degree day, while 8 months pregnant.  Then there was the time I fed Will an entire bottle of milk less than a half-hour after Mommy & Me swim class.  There was also the time I was halfway down our street when Will reminded me that I hadn't fastened his seat belt.   Also, the time when I was so frustrated with Will picking his nose that I told him that his brains were going to fall out.  (Each of those stories could have made for some interesting posts.)  However, as I was weaving through the crowd last night, one hand holding onto Will's and the other carrying a plastic bag full of his vomit, I was pretty much thinking that tonight was my biggest screw up to date. .

.

A few hours earlier, I was rushing to make dinner.  Bill was upstairs, getting ready to coach his hockey game. Will and I had plans to take Liam to grandma's, so that we could go to the game, just the two of us.  This was the semi-final round for conference hockey and it was a pretty big deal.  In addition to making dinner, I had to get both kids ready, pack Liam's diaper bag, drop Liam off at grandma's and drive to the arena-- hopefully making it there early enough to get two seats.  Will was complaining, on-and-off, that his stomach was bothering him-- but he was still running around and playing as usual.  I had my back to him when he entered the kitchen, announced that he didn't feel so good and then threw up all over the floor and his sock-covered feet.  I drained the pasta, threw a roll of paper towels at the mess and then carried him upstairs to clean him up.  

It was decided that we weren't going to the game.  Then, as Bill and I were eating dinner, Will was running around and back to his old self-- telling us his belly felt better and that he wanted to go to the game.  And the truth of the matter is that I wanted to go to the game.  

So we went to the game.  We were there for 1 1/2 periods before Will got sick.  

I cleaned him up, carried him back to the car and we headed home.  I gave him a bath, put him in his pjs and introduced him to the 'puke bucket'.  We cuddled in my bed (photos above) until Will fell asleep-- but not before the bucket was put to good use a few more times.

Tonight, the good news is that Will is feeling 100% better and Bill won his game and is on to the finals.  Now, I'm just hoping that karma doesn't wack me with this stomach bug as a payback for dragging my poor, sick kid to the game.  

Playing... finally.

As we prepared to bring Liam home from the hospital, we weren't sure how a baby brother would affect Will.  Would he be jealous?  Would he regress?  Would he harm (intentionally or unintentionally) the baby?  We weren't sure.

As usual, all of that worrying was for nothing.  When we brought Liam home, only one thing changed.  After months of trying, Will was potty trained within two weeks.  (He didn't want to wear diapers like the baby.)  And that was it.

He didn't want to help bathe, change or feed Liam.  It would take tons of convincing for him to get close enough to pose with him in a picture.  He went on with things as usual, completely ignoring the new addition to our family.  No jealousy, no hostility, no interest-- whatsoever. 

Here it is, six months later, and the two have definitely warmed up to each other.  They compliment each other naturally-- Will gets to be the center of attention and Liam gets tons of entertainment.  As a matter of fact, Liam's fussiest time of day is when his big brother is napping.

The other day, after finishing breakfast, I went into the kitchen to clean up a little.  Liam and Will were still at the table.  I could overhear Will and I sensed that he was up to something.

"What are you doing to Liam?", I asked.

"Anything....", Will replied.

(He confuses the words 'anything' and 'nothing'.)

"We're just playing, mom."

.

So... they're finally "playing"... well, sort of.

"Are we being punked?"

Visiting public places with an infant is always an adventure.  One thing that I've noticed, in particular, is how different people react to a baby.  

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Some people seem annoyed.  When Will was a baby, we were at a men's league hockey game.  I was on my own, as Bill was playing in the game.  I needed to keep getting up and down for various reasons-- going into the diaper bag, picking up a dropped toy, adjusting the baby seat.  A guy sitting behind me, yelled at me to sit down.  I was pretty proud of myself for turning around and telling the guy to go park his ass somewhere else.  The arena was practically deserted-- there were hundreds of empty seats all around and the tickets were without seat numbers.

Some people seem indifferent.  A few months ago, I was on a long line at Target.  Liam was hungry and screaming.  Will was tired and getting into all kinds of trouble.  We didn't have too many items and I was hoping someone might be nice enough to let us skip ahead in line.  No such luck.  Not even a sympathetic glance.

Some people seem delighted.  Before Peapod, when I would visit the grocery store, some people would take the time to smile and talk to the baby.  Sometimes this exchange would be quick and pleasant, but at other times it would get rather uncomfortable.  Some people-- complete strangers-- would hold the baby's hand or rub the baby's cheek.  Although I never said anything, this would always make me feel a little uneasy.  

However, none of these experiences quite prepared me for yesterday's encounter.

We had lunch at a local hibachi restaurant for Valentine's Day.  We arrived at around 2 pm and the restaurant was pretty empty.  We had purposely chosen a time after lunch, but before dinner.  After the food was prepared and while we were eating, one of the servers approached.  I was balancing Liam on my knee and she asked, in broken English, how old he was.  Then, without saying a word, she stretched out her arms to hold him.  I guess that I was completely caught off guard, because in retrospect, I don't think I would have handed him over.  But I did.  I handed my six month old to this complete stranger.  

He was smiling and content and she stood in front of me holding him.  It was a little awkward, but it seemed fine.  Then she turned her back to us and started walking away.  She started weaving in and out of the tables and heading towards the back of the restaurant.  I looked at Bill and the people dining across from us looked at me.   I let out a nervous laugh and asked Bill if he thought we were being 'punked'.  She kept going.  I was on the edge of my seat.  Should I get up?  Go get him?  They were now in the back of the restaurant and I wasn't sure if she was going to head through the doors into the kitchen.

Just then, she turned around and came back.  Flooded with relief, I grabbed the camera and took this picture.  As I snapped the photo, Bill said, "You're totally going to put this in your blog, right?"

Right.  

Now how about leaving a comment?  What would you have done?  

(You can just fill-in your name where the form says "Name/URL"... You don't need an account!)

Valentine's Day 2009

We made these hearts a few weeks ago, when we were decorating for Valentine's Day.  We all made our own, except for Liam, of course.  I finally realized that 'Liam' is 'mail' spelled backwards.  Should I have noticed that before?  

We started off this morning with a 'treasure hunt' of sorts.  We had bought Will a few gifts and we hid them in the upstairs bathtub.  We hid 10 clues around the house and he followed them, one-by-one, in order to find the 'treasure'.  The first one read... "This is the first of many clues.  Go to where you keep your shoes."  He ran to the coat closet and found another... "You don't need to run very far, the next clue lies in Liam's car."  Will had a great time-- we followed him around the house as he ran from room to room.  I was worried that 10 clues might be too much,  but he could have easily handled twice as many.  

After the treasure hunt, we had breakfast-- chocolate chip pancakes with bananas and scrambled eggs-- and then headed to swimming lessons.  When we arrived home, a package was waiting on the doorstep.  Bill had ordered a Woody doll (from Toy Story) through Ebay.  Although we hadn't planned on using it as a Valentine's gift, we decided to let Will open it.  He was thrilled and the two were inseparable throughout the day.

He even accompanied us to our lunch at a local hibachi restaurant.  The restaurant has a 'wishing fountain', where people can toss coins.  On the way out, I handed Will some change.  Before he threw the coins, Bill reminded him to make a wish.

"I love mom", he said, as he threw the coins into the water.

And that was my favorite Valentine's gift this year.

Be Mine, Valentine.

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Today, Will and I put together Valentines for his classmates.  His party is Friday and that puts us... 1, 2, 3... THREE days ahead of schedule.  This is a new record.

Last year, I was four months pregnant and working full-time.  I had picked up some Valentines on the day before the party, on my way home from work.  Minimal time and energy left me sitting at the dining room table, late that evening, putting them together on my own.  I had wanted Valentine-making to be a special memory for Will and I promised myself that this year would be different.

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We started working as soon as Liam went down for his morning nap.

Will was excited to pick out a special Valentine for each classmate.

His BF, Russell, got the first one.

Will insisted on signing his name and decorating the package just so.

If you haven't figured it out, there's a volcano in the bottom corner and lava everywhere.

And blue hearts... "because Russell is a boy".

After Russell's was finished, Will decided he didn't want to make any more Valentines.

Especially when he learned that he would be writing his name 14 more times.

He streamlined the design process in order to speed things up a bit.

The finished 15, although we might add more stickers tomorrow.

Notice that Natasha has plenty of stickers.

When I asked Will why, he replied, "Because I love her."

Simple and sweet.

Next on the agenda, cookies for the class party... still deciding whether to bake or buy.