Fire in the hole!...er...wallet

So today I went into work a bit later than usual and after spending the morning and early afternoon with Iris, I hauled biscuits around town.

What completely sucked is that last night I spent copious amounts of time hassling T in order to figure out what needs to be done between Wednesday night and Thursday, now and Ezra's birthday on Friday, now and Ezra's party on Saturday, now and Tuesday before Iris comes home.

There were lists with little open boxes next to each line for checking off.

I lost this list and cursed a lot while shopping today.

Stop #1--Novelty store

• Pick up bubbles for Ezra to hand out for his birthday tomorrow
• Eyeball the inflatable monkey and palm tree
• Wonder where in our house I could put an inflatable monkey

Stop #2--Babies R Us

• Pick up a mattress for Iris' crib
• Pick out new blankets (current blankets are Manky Time due to hospital use and traveling)
• Wonder why size 1 diapers are so freakin' expensive
• Grab lotion so that Iris can smell fabulous and not like a hospital
• Hand sanitizer for everyone's paws when they come to visit Iris
• Waffle over coming home outfit
• Onesies
• Pants
• Put onesies back
• Pick out new onesies
• Waffle some more over coming home outfit (long sleeves? short sleeves? dress? pants? small sweater? eff.)
• Decide on a different one
• Balk at total upon check out

Stop #3--Target

• Disposable plates for Ezra's party
• Disposable silverware
• Gallon sized baggies
• Popcorn for me
• Iced slushee for me
• Bowl for fruit salad (previous bowl was left at a potluck two years ago)
• Platter for veggies and dip (see above)
• Soda for party
• Cookies to make for Ezra's classroom (T thought the bubbles were not as good as cookies. I'm still evaluating it.)
• New rug for Ezra's room (larger, cushier than his previous runner)
• Tricycle as birthday gift from T and I
• Detergent
• Fabric softener
• Bleach
• Febreeze (my GAWD, I love Febreeze)
• Balk once again at total due

Stop #4--grocery store

• New prescription for Ezra's ears (previous bottle that contained the remaining 8 doses was somehow left open at school, and spilled out)
• Iced mocha for me

In between all of the shopping and frittering away of hard earned money, I fielded calls from a bunch of Iris' nurses and doctors about follow-up appointments, equipment she'd need at home (oxygen mainly), getting her tested in her carseat to make sure she wouldn't tank in the new sitting arrangement, getting her meds ordered before the holiday, confirming when we'd be at the hospital so that we can learn how to do everything and updating T on what's what.

It's all coming together and, to be perfectly honest, I am so so Excited Like a Little Puppy Who Needs to Pee that tomorrow is my last day of work until the end of August. Like, it kind of feels like the day before summer vacation--that's how good.

Thumbs up.

Balls!

Well.

I was all kinds of ready to spend many words describing to you how I locked my keys in the car this morning while dropping Ezra off at daycare AND how I was so distracted by my own poor mascara job once in my car and whilst driving to work that I curbed it going about 40 mph and the poor VW looked a little like the General Lee AND how my pants today give me distinct lady pudge and it ain't cute.

All wasted words when in fact I get to tell you that Iris might be coming home on Wednesday and my last day of work will be this Friday.

Discharge.

From le hospital.

Home after a 10 minute drive.

Home to stay.

Holla.

A vast wasteland of boringness. Oh, and baby names.

Oh my sweet lands...I am so bored. I have nothing (nothing!, I tell you!) to do at work. I have worked ahead on the working ahead stuff. I have made notes upon notes for my return after maternity leave with Iris. I have disgusted even my librarian self with the organized nature of my office. I have harassed co-workers about helping them. I groaned when a meeting was cancelled for tomorrow because at least that would eat up some time on a wiiiiiddde ooooppen Wednesday.

Really.

It's that bleak.

T and I talked last night about me starting maternity leave early. The doctor yesterday (well, the resident...who isn't exactly a faux doctor but more a 3/4 Way Doctor) thought that if Iris continued on her current path of Accepting All Changes then maybe she'd come home mid- to late next week.

!!!

And! She was moved off the PICU floor at current hospital to the normal sick kids floor. As I put it to Sam last night, "Just the mamby pampy illnesses like appendicitis are on these floors..."

But...while I really, really want to think Iris will continue to chug along--the fact is that things could change. They could. Sure, she's more stable now and getting bigger and healing...but she's got jenky lungs and those mofos can get cranky. And while her heart and its blood isn't beating the holy hell out of them, the lungs are still what T and I call Special Needs. So, we're taking it one day at a time (and I'm chewing on my shoulder...).

Changing the topic...to baby names...

When we were pregnant with Ezra, we had a list of five girl names and never bothered narrowing it down. It was just too hard.

When we were pregnant with Iris and Noah, we didn't choose her name...

(Okay a co-worked just walked in and I went all Weird Creepy Office Neighbor on her..."Hey! How are you doing? What'd you have for breakfast? Great shirt!" Sigh. I need some work...)

...until five minutes after T and I were told that I was going to have a c-section in 20 minutes. Eff.

To be honest, though, I knew in early days that I wanted to name her Iris. It was what I always called her in my head.

Anyway, since then I have a list of girl names that I love but T considers too off the wall. And, frankly, I'm not sure I have enough balls to give a baby girl one of these monikers because we neither live in a cosmopolitan city (which is a guaranteed ticket to having your daughter's name slaughtered) nor do I want hassle on how they are spelled. I have had to live with that my entire life and it's Suckville.

The names:

• Gigi
• Aida
• Fleur

Do you have any imaginary names for imaginary babies?

Because I'm probably the only one who cares

T is out of town until Thursday and E is in bed, so in lieu of having anyone to chat with--I started flipping through old pictures on our computer.







From a wedding we attended in 2006. One of T's friends from college got married in Syracuse so we drove there. I'm not a huge fan of the road trip (why the hell would you spend 14 hours in the car if you could fly there in 3?), but tickets were outrageous and T offered as many stops as I wanted. And that he would do all the driving. And I could nap. SOLD! That trip was actually pretty enjoyable and it involved stopping at Niagra Falls and deciding it's just a freakin' waterfall. Really. The American side of Niagra Falls is so boring it's no wonder few countries like Americans. The Canadian side?--it's a swinging party. The two sides are kind of like the hot girl who does beer stands who comes to a party with her boring cousin tagging along.




Our trip to Barcelona in 2006. In retrospect, 2006 is lookin' like a pretty awesome year. I think T and I were knee deep in not being able to get pregnant, so we supplemented it with nice trips. It kinda worked, actually. Not that we got pregnant that year--but at least we were having fun. This was, of course, before Dr. EBFS took all of our disposable income. Whatevs. Our skin while in the Mediterranean is something I have not been able to replicate with potions since. I'm not sure if it was the light balmy breezes, it neither being too dry or too humid or the fact that T and I discovered the pastries of your wildest dreams--but things were lovely.




Same trip, this time in Rome. There are a lot of these self-portraits floating around our computer. Some decidedly better than others. T was a damn fool with the camera while on this trip. He would take a crapton of pictures and I would spend an equal amount of time deleting duplicates or just junk shots. "You better not delete any of my pictures," he would yell. "I'm not!" deletedeletedelete. Come to think of it--that kind of sums up our relationship. Shouts of warning with reassuring responses of disregard.

Cruise with the fam in Christmas 2007. We had what is quite literally a last hurrah before Ezra was born that spring. I'm about three months pregnant here and was distressed the entire time that the bottoms to my maternity swimsuit were already uber pinchy. T galavanted with my two brothers much of the week. My dad and I cooked our skins like we worked at a leather tannery. My mom sat in the shade, shrouded in a hat and a caftan. The best part of this trip? The outdoor movie theater that projected movies above the swimming pool near the pizza buffet. God better have a set-up much like this in Heaven.

Summer vacation with the fam in 2008. Ezra was maybe two months old here and hanging out in his bouncy chair in his cabana on the beach. Loving on the paci. So, at least that hasn't changed. Homeboy was the tannest of us all. I think he was still getting up twice a night, and screw me I was tired. In fact, I kept all of his "schedule" sheets that the hospital gave us (even going as far to make my own after the first two weeks were filled in) to track his feeding times and lengths. Everytime I look at them, I go to a place that isn't holy. That alone is a strong birth control. Getting up five times a night? Balls.

Ezra's birthday is this week and our anniversay is early next week. I'm going to try and find some wedding pictures to post...again, probably because I'm the only one interested in going through them. Ah well.

Bacon and babies

Am sitting here in my office, eating potato soup and pretty sure hypothermia is going to set in. I believe Workplace has turned into Assface Landlord and turned off the heat. As a result if it's not sunny out--then my office turns frigid and I go home with cold paws and a husband who shrieks like a girl if I touch him. His loss.

Why is that bacon makes everything so much better especially soup? Potato soup?--kind of like paste unless you add bacon. Pea soup?--kind of mostly grody unless you add ham. And I understand that bacon and ham are different but they come from the same animal and basically need an alter to worship at due to their delectable-ness. Bean soup?--also a Blech Fest unless you toss in bits of ham. You get the theme.

Okay, soup is gone and I've just hit the vending machine hoping for something sweet and kind of sour and kind of chewy. My only options were Skittles which I don't like because they make my jaw hurt. Those muthas are chewy. Went with Twizzlers which is the poor man's Red Vine--but oh well.

Today's lunchtime visit at the hospital was spectacular. Visits fall into three categories:

1) Spectacular. This involves Iris looking great, feeling great and being amenable. It means her nurse is pleasant, communicative and available. It means Iris had a good night the evening prior. It means she and I got to snuggle and spend time together without too many interruptions by hospital staff. I get to leave when she is sleeping and tucked in. A visit that is great on lots of levels and I feel leaving like she's in excellent care and will definitely come home soon.

Then there is 2) Meh. This involves me being happy to spend time with Iris but we don't get to snuggle much because of things she needs (meds, food, new diaper). Her nurse is okay, but not around much. Iris is looking good but maybe a little squirrely and hard to get settled in when I leave. No new news of any kind. Overall, a visit where it is nice to spend time with her but clouded by the fact that she is a hospital patient with needs.

Lastly, there is 3) Boo hiss with touches of despondence and perhaps tears. These visits come on the heels of a rough night or a rough morning for Iris. Very little progress and possible icky conversations with the doctors (trachtrachtrach). A nurse is that is curt or not at all available or just not terribly communicative. A day where Iris is feeling out of sorts and hard to get comfortable. A day where I'm feeling horribly overwhelmed and mostly wanting to make a break for it with her in my arms. A visit that ends with me feeling guilty for leaving her.

Back to today?--it was a #1. She was hanging out in a swing when I got there. The swing was on a mat with lots of toys and clearly she'd been playing a little while earlier. She was awake and content and looking great. She smiled when I arrived. She had a fabulous night and morning and they turned down her liters of oxygen again. We got her a new bed that's more like a crib so that her toys can be attached to the side, along with a new mirror I bought at Target yesterday. The nurses have been super attentive about putting her only her tummy or her left side to sleep since she seems to be favoring her right side (...all of the nurses that cared for Iris in the NICU were right handed and always did her care on the right, so as a result Iris looks more to the right...) and we're trying to avoid a flat spot and neck/shoulder tightness. Occupational therapy saw her and they played a lot this morning and did some stretching and already noticed that her neck is much more back to where it should be. Her nurse today we've had before and she is phenomenal. We talked about daily goals for Iris and possibly going home in two weeks. Iris conked out within minutes of being snuggled on my chest. I was able to tuck her in before I left and she continued to sleep.

And...there was also hot, hot poo.

Due to the antibiotic she's on, she's had some...er...loose stools. They're also giving her a probiotic to help her guts, so--DUDE!--I'd hate to see what would've happened because oh my holy moses.

I was talking to one of the physicians and holding Iris when I felt her diaper rumble.

Then it felt warm on my hand.

Then it felt warm on my shirt.

Then it felt wet on my hand.

Then I investigated.

Then I recoiled in horror.

By then it was wet on my shirt.

It was the blow out of all blow outs. Pooled in the foot of her jammies. Destroyed everything in its wake. It took two adults, a bath, new jammies, new sheets, new blankets and a fair number of wipes to get things under control.

Surprise of all surprises, I was able to get it out of my shirt and didn't have to go home and change before heading back to work. I used some of the industrial antibacterials wipes available and they worked like charm. Who knows what they're made of, but I'm not complaining for I am poo-free.

Tenspot

1. Ezra has two ear infections.
2. There was talk of adenoids coming out if infections continue to crop up.
3. I have my third headache of the week.
4. Every day that Iris is in the hospital I become more and more worried about her stalling developmentally. Worried with jumpy tummy and anxiousness and handwringing and stalking of professionals.
5. I mentioned today to T that maybe I should start my maternity leave now.
6. My friend Sam had a horrific plane ride that involved many bodily fluids (hers) and recalling the horror has made me snicker throughout the day whenever I think about it. (Love you, Sam!)
7. Red Door is moving to Chicago on Monday. Boo. And loneliness.
8. Grandma and Grandpa are firmly in place for babysitting on Sunday so that T and I can crack a lack on putting down woodchips and planting some flowers.
9. We clearly chose the better day as it is supposed to rain on Saturday.
10. All next week? The weather here? In the upper 80s. Holla!

What do you have ten of?

Lots of whatnot

So Ezra turns two next week and while he'll respond with a hearty "TWOOOO!" if you ask him how old he's going to be, the act of getting his fingers to cooperate is much harder and he asks for help.

We're going with a Go, Diego, Go theme which all that really means is that I bought some invitations, thank you notes, party hats, balloons and a Pin the Rescue Badge On Diego game. I'm especially looking forward to seeing the older party attendants get into that. Note to self: add "blindfold" to Buy list. Heh.

Anyway, it'll be nice and mellow and just the fam. We decided to order an ice cream cake for dessert and have pizza for dinner. Ezra will cut a bitch for some pizza, so it seems fitting to have it as his birthday meal. I initially wanted to include a pinata, but couldn't find any Diego-themed or 2-themed pinatas--only a Cookie Monster one. And, in reality, isn't beating Cookie Monster to death for some internal treats a little horrifying? Or is it just good Chinese fun? Either way, T and I decided to nix it.

In other more depressing news, the realization that as Ezra gets older the more assertive and aware of situations he needs to be is not lost on T and I. For awhile now, we've been coaching him to say "Stop!" or "No!" with a firmly thrown up hand if we're tickling him or wrestling with him and he wants us to stop. We then stop instantly so that he knows we respect him and his body and anyone that doesn't stop is not listening to him and this is not okay. This may sound very Free to Be You and Me, but I refuse to put my head in the sand.

Awhile ago I read something that put it this way: Secrets are for good things like parties and gifts and surprise visits. Secrets are never things that make you feel bad or yucky or unsure whether to tell an adult. I think Ezra is too small to understand secrets, but I figure this might be our next step in trying our darndest to keep him safe and assertive.

With our lovely daughter, Iris continues to truck right along and basically she's in the hospital for two reasons:

1) She's still on high flow of oxygen (7 Liters) and this isn't terribly manageable at home. Her very fabulous intensivist doctor who has taken Iris under her wing, is addressing her lungs and breathing needs like a Supastar. Dr. M is turning down Iris' oxygen by one liter every three days. Once she's at 1 or .5, they'll switch her to a low flow and see if Iris even needs that. We're thinking she'll go home on the cannula for a bit, but in the course of this weaning she may not. Tomorrow she'll get turned down to 6 Liters. She's tolerating all of the changes really well.

2) Her peripheral IV that was being used became infected last week when a nurse forgot to put the end cap back on one of the two ports. The line was no longer being used because Iris had been weaned off the drugs, so they pulled the line and did a blood culture. It doesn't look like the infection filtered into her blood, so it means that really just the IV hardwear became contaminated. T wanted to go postal on the staff, but thankfully he was at work 30 minutes away. The infectious diseases physician was consulted and he decided to start a new IV in her arm (poor bunny) to give her a 10 day course of antibiotics. If infection were to reach her heart and its new patch--it would be serious Bad News Bears. An echo of her heart showed nothing but greatness, so we're relieved there. Nothing continues to develop in her blood infection-wise in the lab petri dish and she shows no sign of fever or whatnot, so we're not terribly worried about that. She'll be done with the drugs next Wednesday.

And that's really why she's still there. I go for a few hours every day and play with her and rock her. She has physical therapy, occupational therapy, speech/feeding therapy and a host of nurses that hold her when we're not there--so all is well. Her assessments by the therapists don't show anything of alarm and she's on track for essentially being two and a half months old corrected.

What else...

birthday, ezra, iris...

I think that might be it. The weather here has turned ridiculously beautiful and tonight we're going to a restaurant where we can eat outside. In the past month or so Ezra has mastered being able to sit at a restaurant and not be too terribly squirrely. Don't get me wrong--we still choose dining establishments that don't mind if there's a random screach at a high pitch, mad crumbies on the floor, have highchairs and are rather speedy with the food delivery. Other than that, though, we do pretty well. I keep a stash of bibs, wipes and a sippy cup in my car just in case we decided to pop out for a "clean bite" (as my grandma would say).

I was prepared to write a whole post on how much I am enjoying Ezra these past few months and how the enjoyment is at the complete opposite end of the spectrum from when he was a few months old. These days I can understand why parents make the decision to stay home.

I'm even okay with admitting that when he was a baby I was mildly sad when it was time to go home on a Friday evening. My weekends were nothing like what they were pre-baby and I mourned that change. It probably took me a year to get over that absence of fun and well-restedness and willy-nilly plan making. Babies, while lovely and cute and nomnom-worthy, are kind of boring in a lumpus type of way. Two year olds are anything but boring. Ezra and I have conversations. He makes me laugh. We do things together and are one another's companions. I adore it. I get excited now on a Friday evening because spending time with him playing or doing errands or going to Gymboree is the best possible life for me right now. It makes me feel full of happiness and love and promise and joy.

And getting to explore Iris as she is more alert and aware and healthy and peppy, fills my heart like none other.

I kind of get why people have a crapton of kids.

Reason #563 Why I Married Him

On Saturday morning, Ezra and I shuffled downstairs and blocked our eyes and exposed flesh from the sun (people in the Midwest tend to shrivel up like Gollum if it gets too sunny, too early in the day).

We opened the curtains and opened the front door (we both had pants on) to let even more light in. After looking through our glass front door, I spotted a little bird crouched down on the front stoop.

Ezra: "What a birdie DOIN', Mama?" (While also continuously pounding on the glass door.)

Me: "I don't know, baby. Maybe he's sick." (The bird had pooed a little and was sitting in it.)

"Birdie sick? YOU SICK, BIRDIE?! SICK BIRDIE?! BIRDIE POO-POO?!"

Lord almighty. That poor bird. Ezra was shouting at him (her?). Pounding on the door. Shouting at me. I'd crap too.

Meanwhile, T is upstairs trying to rest from some wicked cold. We'd (meaning me) tried to be quiet, but were kind of failing to do so.

"PAPA! PAPA! BIRDIE SICK, PAPA!"

"K, did you tell him to say that?" T shouted from upstairs.

"Uh, no, Crankpot. I didn't. There's a sick bird on the front stoop and he won't fly away."

Heavy sigh. Shuffle shuffle shuffle. T comes downstairs. He puts on his heavy wool dresscoat that's long (thus negating the need for pants). Rustles around in the back closet for a bit. Heads outside.

He then scooped up the bird in a small box (not after yelling, "SHIT!" when it flapped its wings a little and almost went Tippi Hedren on him) and took it around to the back of the house.

Ezra and I ran through the house to watch him through the kitchen window. T placed the box on top of the garbage can and gave the bird a little bit of water.

"In case he gets thirsty," he said.

He then explained, "I put it out of the reach of the neighborhood cats so they don't snaggle the bird; in case he can't fly."

A good day

Random useless tidbits

Iris is doing well off the vent and I was able to hold her today. Hold! Her! She slept. I hummed. We watched the Today show and marveled at Hoda and Kathie Lee without their makeup (I pretty much always wear makeup) on national television. Later on, Iris got a bath and I went to work.

Apparently, many nurses think Iris is the cat's pajamas so she's getting a lot of holding time when we're not there. T is sick with some raunchy cold so he won't be able to go to the hospital this weekend and I'll be going instead. He is feeling majorly bummed since Iris can finally be out and about.

They haven't made many other changes to her schtick since extubation is a major deal and if that goes down the toilet (KNOCKING ON THE WOOD), then they'll know it's not because of another change that was made.

****

Ezra turns 2 in a few weeks and I'm trying to figure out what he should bring to his daycare classroom. It's a Nut Free Zone (which always makes me laugh because I either think of no testicles or no crazy people) and one little boy in the room is lactose intolerant. Combine that with not much time to bake...and I might be ordering some bubbles from the Oriental Trading Company.

Everyone likes bubbles, right?

****

Speaking of Oriental, that's pretty not okay to say, right? With regards to someone's origin or race or culture?

My boss referred to someone as oriental awhile back and I visibly balked. She's well-educated but not terribly "with it"--if that can even be used as an explanation.

Thoughts?

****

I need to cool it with the buying of little girl clothes. I'm not sure if it's because Holy Moses Little Girl Clothes Are So Much Better or if I'm just itchin' to get Iris home to play dress up or what, but I've officially gone off the reservation and no longer tell T (hi!) when I buy her new things.

One justification is that I might as well outfit her now, right? When I'm working and getting a paycheck versus when I'm off? Riiigght?

Anyway, today I went to BabyGap to buy a gift and managed to get this, this and this.

****

I'm hauling biscuits at work and trying to get things done for when our term starts in September. I figure if I'm off June, July and August--and come back right when things are getting into gear for the new students after being out for so long...well...I don't want to be screwed and left scrambling.

We'll see if any of what I'm working ahead on or any of the notes I'm making for my September Self make sense at that time.

****

So, I'm working late ("working" being used loosely as I write this here post) and Ezra just called me from home.

Me: "Blah Blah Library, Reference Desk. K, speaking."

Ezra (shouting): "I YUV YOUU!"

melting...

****

I pitched this idea to loveball the other day, but I think there should be a TMI Twitter. A Twitter where you can feel free to post things about your period or wonky body stuff or pregnancy weirdness and you won't be judged because you'll be among friends.

****

I only have four pairs of underwear at home. I'm not sure where all of my undies went, but this is concerning to me on many levels.

I don't count in those four, the many evil thongs I own. For no good comes out of wearing thongs.

****

My mom is having a garage sale this weekend and I full intended to cull the crap from our many belongings, but I didn't. I still want to, like, make money from the garage sale, so if anyone is interested in weeding through nonsense--let me know.

Puff, puff, pass

Lords and ladies...

Iris is off the ventilator and breathing like a champ. She's on the nasal cannula. Being held by her nurse. And more than a little happy to no longer be flat on her back. Sweet Jesus, it's all coming together.

Let us hope that this is her new norm and that there will be no regressing breathing-wise.

Kind of makes me want to kick that trach-talking doctor in the nads...

Kablammo

Multiple times last week I woke up, dragged buns to the bathroom, stuffed in my eyeballs and stepped in the shower. I then kind of stood under like a sad sack of bones in a skin suit. Tired, but mostly just feeling exhausted--for I'm finding there is a distinction. "Tired" means sheets and sleep for a night would be lovely. "Exhausted" means sheets and sleep and a vacay from life would be lovely for about a week.

But it was the first week of the term for new law students at work, Iris was trying to get into a flow of who knows what, T was traveling a lot and Ezra was being mostly cute as usual (He will now, upon asking, inform us that he is turning two. Exclamation point. Although, holding up two fingers is rather tricky so we get four instead.). Overall, it was not a good week for opting out of stuff like life.

This morning, however, I opted out not so much out of life but out of my 7am-6pm life. I called into work. I spent the morning at the hospital. Had lunch with loveball. Grocery shopped. Folded laundry. Tidied up the house. Picked Ezra up at 3:30pm. Took him to the park and met up with Red Door. Came home for leisurely dinner. And am now in jammies ready for sheets.

I told T that I might call in tomorrow and he merely raised his eyebrows. I wouldn't fault him for protesting more because for every day that I'm out it is unpaid as well as then paying my employer for my benefits for the day at the tune of $90.00 a day. It adds up. But I'm feeling the burn, people, and I need a 48 hour breather.

Also (TMI approaching...), this post-baby period stuff is a force to be reckoned with. It's like a murder scene up in here. It's keeping me on my toes and the cramps hurt like a mutha. A hearty thumbs down and, frankly, I think requires the adult equivalent of a note to get out of gym class. Maybe I'll have T forge one for me tomorrow so I don't have to work.

Crack Shack pony

Because I had a hankering for ham and sweet tea and we live in the North, we were left going to the local Cracker Barrel on Saturday night for dinner. It actually was a perfect storm because even though we had to wait awhile for dinner, holy crap on a stick, there isn't anything under the sun that isn't for sale in that joint. So the three of us just walked around and looked at stuff--pink John Deere t-shirts for little girls (horror), appliqued sweatshirts that said "I (heart) Mom," Yankee Candles galore (I've never smelled clean cotton like that before). It was a visual assault on the senses in more ways than one.

But far be it for me to judge, for the K family walked out with a pony.

Ezra spotted it before we sat down and I gave it to him to play with. T rolled his eyes and was all, "Nice one, slick. Good luck getting that away from him." But then Ezra saw a little boy with a pint-sized guitar and the pony was dead to him.

After dinner and while I was paying the bill and weighing my need for sour cherries, T came over holding Ezra. And the pony. Now it was my turn to be all, "Wtf, mate. He doesn't need that." T: "It's only eight dollars. And he's got a death grip on it." Me: "Fine."

Lord almighty if the pony isn't the Chosen One. He grabs it the first thing in the morning. Lays it down on the pillow in his tent so that the pony can take a nap--he even kissed it goodnight before naptime. The pony came with us to the grocery store and grandma's house. School tomorrow should be interesting.

Crack a lackin'

Due to Iris--again, really, her lungs--needing to make crazy progress in the next few weeks on the ventilator in order to: 1) avoid more invasive surgery 2) keep me out of the crazy bin and 3) come home--I have added a ticker to the side.

I had to jerryrig a money ticker, but it's like this: Last Monday Iris' ventilator was set at 30. Today it is 20. It needs to be 0. As she is turned down, I will change the ticker to reflect the new number. The lower the better.

"Slow and steady wins the race" seems to be her mantra and let's hope that remains true...

Pics of lounging, jammies, Kleenexes and homegrown golf/lacrosse

Son of a gun

Summabitch if yesterday wasn't absolutely the most craptastic of days I've had in a long time. And if anyone is keeping track at home it would be the universe's way of balancing out the wonderfulness that was Monday.

All of this related to Iris' jenky lungs. Iris=So Not Jenky. Lungs=Mucho Jenky. To be far, though, it's hardly their fault. You're born 14 weeks early and things are going to be a bit screwed up.

The short story being that the doctors continue to talk about doing a trach because of possible longer needs on the ventilator. Her doctors here think there's a 50-50 chance she'll need one.

With all of that discussion, I broke down a lot. With the ugly crying and heaving. And I was in the sheet at 7:30pm to watch Shag. And I didn't feel like being nice to anyone.

And I even went to the ugly place of my heart where it is hard to think of and look at friends who have healthy babies. I don't go there very often, but on those the Spectacular of All Bad Days--I do. It's yucky and makes me feel bad, not better. So for those of you, my good friends, who have healthy babies please don't think I feel this way all the time and suddenly stop bringing your children around me. Because despite the weird little hair I tend to get on my chin every now and then, I really am not a witch.

Anyway, as I walked into the hospital yesterday I had a ComeToJesus with, well, Jesus. Telling him, "Listen, if you think this trach is what Iris needs then you really need to work on my head and soften my heart because I am not there. If you think Iris is going to dodge this bullet, then keep giving me signs because I need them."

Well, with the news that University Hospital wants to wait until 6 weeks post heart surgery, that gives Iris' Jenky Lungs two weeks to get crack a lackin' and prove to the doctors that they can continue to turn down the ventilator settings and prevent homegirl from receiving a hole in her throat. I think lots of other things are coming into play--like unbalanced electrolytes as a result of the diuretics she's one--which are throwing up misleading red flags that are being read as a need for the ventilator. But that's for us to be obnoxious about as parents and for the doctors to eventually figure out.

So is God working on my heart? Maybe. But I think he's also given Iris some more time. By giving her two more weeks to work and grow. By allowing her cardiologists to turn down her diuretics even more so that important minerals aren't flushed from her body and send mixed signals as to her need for the ventilator. By finally having the doctors in the PICU get hip to her idiosyncrasies. And by having Iris beat a host of other odds (Chance of survival of a baby at 23 weeks? 53% Chance of brain bleed occuring in a 23 week baby? 60% Chance of ROP needing laser surgery? 40%), maybe she'll beat this one too?

Maybe?

Ed. note

So that Olay cream (creme, if you're fancy) was really the Olay Definity Intense Hydrating Cream. It still does all that I listed yesterday--and more!--but I felt bad that I gave props to the wrong potion.

Incidentally, do you know how long I stood in that aisle of Target? If "A long ass time..." was your guess, you'd be right. I wish that potions--kind of like cable television--would let me pick my needs a la carte and then dump them into a pot for me. I wanted something to make my skin look brighter, something to hydrate, something that was for nighttime, something that was a creme/cream not a serum since serums don't really act as a moisturizer, something that could be used all over my face and not just on my eyes, something under $50...what else...I think that's it. I didn't care about lifting and tightening or whatever because I figure that can't be bought on the shelves of Target despite company claims. Anyway, this Olay is what's what.

Other "Love's" I forgot to include...

In the past week, I've contracted out mowing and edging our lawn and trimming this massive hedge we have that, frankly, has gotten rather unwieldy. They were each kind of one-off jobs since the hedge needs to be regulated on so we can maintain it and our lawn and edging came while we were knee deep in Iris' transfer back to town and T couldn't get to it. Anyway, I can see how people get a lawn boy because it's pretty damn great to show up and have everything lovely and tidy without so much as breaking a sweat to have it looking that way.

T tried to pitch himself as my lawn boy complete with "perks" (ahem) but I was hip to his game and refused to hire him.

Speaking of T and his pitches, check this out. Scene: Ezra is finishing up dinner and I'm putting things away while T wipes Ezra's hands/hoses him down (ravioli for dinner. Holy mess, Batman.)

T: "Do you mind if I just sit down for a bit and you handle bath time? I need a break. I'm tired."

Me: "Uh, okay. But did you think I was just going to watch tv while you did bath? Because I was going to do the dishes, put the food away, switch out the laundry, put the clean sheets on our bed, get his room ready for bedtime and iron my clothes for tomorrow. So, if you want to do all that instead, that's cool--I'll do bath. I'm not just lounging while you wrangle him in the tub--things still have to get done, Mister Man. I can't do everything because then I'll be going to bed mucho late. So what do you want to do?"

T: (staring at me)

T: Bath.

Me: Okay then.

So, maybe that was all harsh and whatnot because, shoot, T deserves a break. He did travel for work and then cracked can to get home to mow the lawn, play with Ezra while I got dinner ready and lots of other things but I stand by the fact that there is no rest for weary between 5:00pm and bedtime. If he'd been sick?--totally. Rest away, sir. I get it. Headache?--that too. Super (more than usual) stressed?--chaise lounge for you! Under deadline?--hit it. But just tuckered out?--yeah, that'd be a negatory on that one.

What else did I want to tell you....?

Oh! Our neighbors. Awhile ago, when they first moved in, I tweeted that I thought they might be running some sort of Nudist Operation given that they covered every single window with heavy drapery. Really. Every window. Now granted, we live in the city and our houses are about 10 feet from each other and we also have a lot of windows that face their house. So, picture a diorama complete with T not usually wearing pants. Come to think of it, maybe that's why they have heavy drapes. Nah--they put those bad boys up instantly upon moving in. Too soon to evaluate T's aversion to pants.

Anyway, CurlyGirl and Starrfish alluded to some sort of grow house operation and told me to be on the lookout for mold on the outside of the house. And as preoccupied as I may be with Iris and Ezra, oh, I've been looking for the mold. None so far.

So the drapes are still up and I'm really perplexed by it. Why buy a beautiful older home with a crapton of windows if you're just going to cover them all up? Unless you're nudie. Or growing funtime drugs. Thoughts?

They've been pleasant enough, although, I've never run into them; T has. They do have this crazy barking dog that they put outside once they get home in the evening. One night last week it barked from 5:30pm until I got frustrated enough to ask T to go over there and say something (note: I am a wienie). He did. They apologized. No more barking dog since. So, again, pleasant and respectful. But what's up with the window coverings?

Love/hate Monday

Love: Iris has had a really good day. Lowered ventilator settings, seemingly doing well on those settings, good report from the physical therapist, lots of alert times, less drugs.

Hate: This is our make-it-or-break-it week. The doctor today said that he will really be looking at how much Iris can be weaned off the ventilator before deciding to further discuss doing a tracheostomy. Her lungs have to deliver it this week.

Love: Just called to talk to Iris' nurse and they lowered her settings even more and she's still doing well!

Hate: The persistent feeling that the other shoe is going to drop at any minute

Love: I was a bit of a mess Saturday night that resulted in a twitchy Sunday afternoon, so I channeled into (after wigging out on T) cleaning out the garage, trimming our bushes, edging our garden beds and weeding. Everything now looks mucho tidy.

Hate: Planning meals for the week and cooking. I have zero energy for this. I have zero desire. If I didn't need to think about feeding Ezra, we'd barely have food in the house.

Love: T might grill this evening.

Hate: He decided to clean the grill's components in our kitchen sink and then didn't understand why I was put out that there were meaty chunks and toasted carcinogens sprayed around the sink and surrounding counter.

Love: On Saturday, Ezra and I took a two hour bike ride with him in our newly procured Burley courtesy of a nice woman off of Craigslist.

Hate: My parents decided to stop by right after and due to the humidity I was a bit manky.

Love: Now that I'm no longer pumping, I have a whole host of clothes--dresses that zip up the back, blouses that are fitted and tricky--that I can wear.

Hate: My underarms are kind of jiggly. I need to get on those arm dips.

Love: I just found out that our public library carries Wii games.

Hate: Raffi. But Ezra loves him.

Love: Singing "Wheels on the Bus" and "This Little Light of Mine" over and over and over on the way to school. With hand motions.

Hate: I'm so pale I really kind of glow in the dark.

Love: That hopefully this means I won't look like a saddlebag when I'm older

Hate: Since turning mid-thirties (and so, so stressed), my skin has become special needs

Love: Loving (!!!) Olay's Regenerist Night Recovery Moisturizing Treatment. The dry lines under my eyes/on the top of my cheeks have disappeared. The few brown spots I have, have lightened up. It's light. It doesn't make me break-out. It smells good. They carry it at Target.

Hate: I am so very hungry.

Love: The crazy ass sun outside. So bright! So springy!


What are you loving/hating today?

Perspective

This morning Ezra and I picked up the drycleaning, went to the bank, grabbed a coffee and headed to Gymboree.

He was able to see a favorite little friend of his, Mikey, and they ran like mad men around the waiting area.

His mom and I chatted a bit. Where she works, where Mikey goes to daycare, where Ezra goes to daycare, where I work, how long they've been doing Gymboree classes, how much the boys seem to absolutely love it.

I mentioned we live in town and asked where they live, thinking it might be nice to have Mikey over some time.

"Oh, we live in Nearby Town but they don't have a Gymboree there, so we drive in. I used to do it more during the week--go pick up Mikey after work, come back and do a class, head home. My husband used to sometimes take him too, but after he died in October--well that made it all harder."

Holy Moses. Her husband died. Mikey's father died. Barely six months ago.

Her partner is gone. He will never get to see Mikey grow up. Any memories Mikey has of him will fade with time. She does every day on her own.

My own mom died when I was eight after being sick for a long, long time and now, as a parent older than my dad was when he was left with my brother and I--I sometimes wonder how he did it. He apologizes for lots of things, but I've never felt like he needed to. I'm not sure I would've done as well.

All of this put the day I had yesterday into perspective. For while yesterday was hard and the month before it even harder and November 12th the worst, a year from now will be better.

I hope it will be for Mikey and his mom too.