It has become a Labor Day tradition for us to spend that last weekend of the summer at Aunt Mary and Uncle B's cabin in the UP. It is a weekend full of fishing, fair food and relaxing fun.
We try to go and eat at the Raber Bar when we are there, if you have never been there and are in the Eastern UP of Michigan it is worth the trip. Because of the number of people that were there (Grandparents, cousins, aunts, uncles, etc.) we had to shuffle cars to get everyone to dinner without having to take the entire fleet.
Erik and Katie wanted to ride with Aunt Mary and Uncle B, and it was a ride they will NEVER forget.
On the way to the bar Erik never stopped talking. He told Aunt Mary and Uncle B about all of the music he listened to. How he and Katie loved MegaDeath, Anthrax, Slash's Snakepit and especially Metallica. Now it is a 20 minute drive from their cabin to the bar, and you can imagine how tiring it can be to listen to a child tell you about all these 'new' bands he likes to listen to. Katie, in the mean time was just listening.
After dinner Aunt Mary and Uncle B were a little hesitant to have another 20 minute car ride with the constant chatter. Well, this time the car was not quiet, BUT it was much more entertaining. Erik continued to talk about his new favorite bands, but Katie had to add her little flair to the conversation.
The rest of the drive home she 'sang' some of her favorite songs from these bands. They continue to talk about how they listened to our then 5 year old Katie singing Metallica's 'Into the Fire'. ..............."Into the Fire-eh!!!"
The show did not end when we got back to the cabin. That evening we were sitting around one of Uncle B's famous bon fires and the smoke was pouring out over the river. This sight brought around another round of song from Katie. She started off sing Deep Purple's 'Smoke on the Water' ......."Smoke on the water, Fireh in da Sky-eee". From there we were treated to a concert that could only be put on by Katie.
Cousins, Grandparents, anyone would suggest a song and she would sing it 'Rock'in Style'. Let me tell you, after Katie has sung the song, "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star will never be the same. For all of you metal heads out there, your heart would just swell with pride and hope for the next generation of head bangers.
Saturday, January 28, 2012
Monday, January 23, 2012
Penguin style
One of the things that convinced me that we should buy our property was the large hill out back. The first time I stood at the top of that hill I said to Dave "That would be the PERFECT sledding hill." And so I let him convince me to live at the end o f a dirt road that you can only get to via a gravel road, e ended up but I digress...... We bought the property and built a house that we have turned into our home.
As the kids got older we were finally able to make use of the hill out back and have an annual sledding/chili party. We all grab our sleds, head out back and the one FIRM rule is that EVERYONE goes down the hill at least once. We get Grandma and Grandpa sledding down, even the dog has been convinced (all be it forcefully) to take a spin in the sled.
We have snow shoes and cross country skis, snow boards and saucers. There are toboggans and sled chains, kids running up the hill and us adults stopping halfway up trying to catch our breath. Over all it is just an all round fun afternoon.
One of our first sledding parties was on a warmish early March day. We had the aforementioned sledding paraphernalia and everyone was enjoying themselves. There were plenty of sleds for everyone to enjoy, however we only had 2 snowboards. This was a problem for Katie because she wanted to try to make it down the hill standing on that little slab of plastic. Because we would not make Erik abandon his snowboard that he just got for Christmas there was a HUGE meltdown.
No, she didn't want a sled, or a tube. or a saucer, or skis, or snowshoes. She wanted a snowboard or she wanted nothing! We decided that her fit was not worth stopping the party for, or ruining the afternoon for Erik so we just let her pout.
Before too long Katie decided that sitting on a snowbank crying watching everyone else was no fun at all and she came to join the rest of us. Still upset that she could not use the snowboard Katie refused to use any of the sleds offered. As she had said, she didn't want to use ANY of them.
Not wanting to make another scene I just decided to take my turn down the hill and let her cool off a little longer. When I got to the bottom of the hill I looked up and saw Katie sliding down the hill. She had said she did NOT want to use any kind of sled, and so she didn't. She spent the rest of the afternoon going down the hill 'penguin style'. Belly down, feet behind her with a grin on her face. After seeing how much fun she was having the rest of the kids began to copy.
Everyone (under 4 foot tall, that is) took their spin down the hill sans sled. By the end of the afternoon we had some tired, happy soaked kids, and a little girl thrilled because she 'invented' a new way to sled.
As the kids got older we were finally able to make use of the hill out back and have an annual sledding/chili party. We all grab our sleds, head out back and the one FIRM rule is that EVERYONE goes down the hill at least once. We get Grandma and Grandpa sledding down, even the dog has been convinced (all be it forcefully) to take a spin in the sled.
We have snow shoes and cross country skis, snow boards and saucers. There are toboggans and sled chains, kids running up the hill and us adults stopping halfway up trying to catch our breath. Over all it is just an all round fun afternoon.
One of our first sledding parties was on a warmish early March day. We had the aforementioned sledding paraphernalia and everyone was enjoying themselves. There were plenty of sleds for everyone to enjoy, however we only had 2 snowboards. This was a problem for Katie because she wanted to try to make it down the hill standing on that little slab of plastic. Because we would not make Erik abandon his snowboard that he just got for Christmas there was a HUGE meltdown.
No, she didn't want a sled, or a tube. or a saucer, or skis, or snowshoes. She wanted a snowboard or she wanted nothing! We decided that her fit was not worth stopping the party for, or ruining the afternoon for Erik so we just let her pout.
Before too long Katie decided that sitting on a snowbank crying watching everyone else was no fun at all and she came to join the rest of us. Still upset that she could not use the snowboard Katie refused to use any of the sleds offered. As she had said, she didn't want to use ANY of them.
Not wanting to make another scene I just decided to take my turn down the hill and let her cool off a little longer. When I got to the bottom of the hill I looked up and saw Katie sliding down the hill. She had said she did NOT want to use any kind of sled, and so she didn't. She spent the rest of the afternoon going down the hill 'penguin style'. Belly down, feet behind her with a grin on her face. After seeing how much fun she was having the rest of the kids began to copy.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Erik's prayer
I know this blog is titled 'Stories From Katie', and most of the posts will be about my daughter. She is creative and unashamed of who she is. My son Erik is a little more concerned about what people think of him but every once in a while he says things that take us by surprise. This is one of those times.
We took a family trip out to the badlands in North Dakota several years ago. We loaded up the truck, packed the camper and took off for 2 weeks out west.
It took us 3 days to get to the campground in the badlands. Three days of highway driving. Three days of billboards and exit signs. Three days of being stuck in a booster seat. Finally we drive north out of Dickinson and an hour later we start to see the badlands.
Driving into the campground we look out over a landscape of red, orange and gold. Towering spires, deep canyons and flat-topped plateaus formed over millions of years. If you have never seen it before, the views are absolutely breath taking. To Erik's young mind it looked like we were driving straight into Dinosaur Valley.
As we approached our final destination the kids got very quiet in the back seat. I looked back and he had his head bowed in prayer. When he was finished I asked "Erik, what were you doing?" "Praying" he replied. "So what did you pray for?" "Do you want me to pray it again?" "Sure." With that he quickly folded his hands, bowed his head once again and said
We took a family trip out to the badlands in North Dakota several years ago. We loaded up the truck, packed the camper and took off for 2 weeks out west.
It took us 3 days to get to the campground in the badlands. Three days of highway driving. Three days of billboards and exit signs. Three days of being stuck in a booster seat. Finally we drive north out of Dickinson and an hour later we start to see the badlands.
Driving into the campground we look out over a landscape of red, orange and gold. Towering spires, deep canyons and flat-topped plateaus formed over millions of years. If you have never seen it before, the views are absolutely breath taking. To Erik's young mind it looked like we were driving straight into Dinosaur Valley.
As we approached our final destination the kids got very quiet in the back seat. I looked back and he had his head bowed in prayer. When he was finished I asked "Erik, what were you doing?" "Praying" he replied. "So what did you pray for?" "Do you want me to pray it again?" "Sure." With that he quickly folded his hands, bowed his head once again and said
"Dear Jesus, Please make the dinosaurs of the valley come to life. And be nice to us."
I was VERY glad he added that last little bit to his prayer. After all, we did NOT like the idea of a mean dinosaur coming to life! I wasn't too thrilled with the idea of ANY dinosaur coming back to life.
The entire week we spent in the badlands Erik was VERY hopeful that God would fulfill his request. He even told the people at the Dickinson Dinosaur Museum about what he was planning to do with this dinosaur he was confident we'd be bringing home.
Alas, when it was time to pack up and head home the dinosaurs had yet to reanimate their fossilized bones. A disappointed little boy wen to say good bye to Aunt Lynn and Uncle Chuck (yes, the potato salad star) who were working in the campground for the summer. When he was saying his good byes he made a deal with Aunt Lynn.
Seeing how upset he was by the thought of not bringing a live dinosaur home as a souvenir from the North Dakota badlands Aunt Lynn made Erik a promise. They were staying on a few more weeks at the campground and she assured him that if the dinosaurs did come to live she would bring one back to Michigan for us. He was a little disappointed because she said it would have to be a small one (I think he had his heart set on a triceratops.) but it would be a dinosaur all his own.
When they made it back to Michigan Aunt Lynn and Uncle Chuck had to break the bad news to Erik, the dinosaurs had yet to come back to life. But for him all hope was not lost. They still go back to the Little Missouri State Park in Killdeer, ND every summer. Maybe one of these years when they make their trip back to Michigan they will have a surprise for Erik towed along behind.
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
A girl named Dennis
When the kids were young we found ourselves looking for a kitten. Because this cat was for the kids I took them with me to the shelter where we could see how the cats interacted with the kids. After spending some time petting and playing with all of the cats we found a pair who were very affectionate toward the kids. Of course, taking two kids to the shelter having them both agree on one cat is not likely. As a result we ended up with 2 kittens (much to my husband's dismay), one calico and one tortoise shell.
For those of you who weren't aware of this, cats with the calico or tortoise shell color are always female cats. Upon leaving the shelter Katie announced that her cat's name would be Dennis. After all, according to her Dennis is a girls name. So here we are with a girl cat named Dennis. As she grew so did her 'real name', it is Paddington Dennis Flower Gillette. Dennis for short.
This cat of Katie's is bizarre. Not just a little strange, not odd, full out bizarre. When Katie would play with her dolls in a baby stroller the cat would get upset. She would haul the dolls out of the stroller so SHE could ride in it. It got to the point that if Katie wanted to push her stroller around she would giggle it shaking the handles and the cat would come out from where ever she was hiding for a ride in the stroller. That little parlor trick kept her and her friends entertained for half a day sometimes.
As the kittens grew up so did their bonds with the kids. Katie's cat was VERY attached to our little girl. At bedtime Katie would call out "Dennis, time for bed!" and the cat would trot down the hall and follow her into her room. If she somehow got shut out of Katie's room the cat would yowl, cry and make the most pitiful sounds you could imagine until we opened the door so she could go sleep with Katie.
This behavior led to an addition on Katie's Christmas list. She asked Santa for a 'push button door for Dennis". When she shared her Christmas list with us I wasn't sure what a push button door was so I asked. As it turns out, Katie wanted a door like the handicap entrances at some businesses where you push a button on either side of the door and the door will open automatically. She figured that if she had a push button door Dennis could come and go from her bedroom whenever she liked, we would not have to open and close the door for her.
Now, I can imagine you are all thinking 'But a cat can't push a button.' Guess what, if Katie is teaching the cat it can. Katie had taught her cat many different things. She taught Dennis to climb up a ladder to the top bunk in her bedroom. She also taught her cat how to play fetch. (This lesson was not well appreciated by Erik because the fetch toys Katie used were parts of his nerf darts.) Katie spent an afternoon teaching Dennis how to push a Staples 'Easy' button. Yep, it only took her a few hours and she had that cat pushing a button.
As Christmas neared Katie made an announcement regarding her Christmas list. After spending all that time teaching her cat how to push a button so she could work that new door she had asked for Katie said she was not getting the door. Unsure of what caused her to come to this realization Katie explained her logic. She wasn't going to get the automatic push button door for Christmas because Santa's Elves can't use chain saws. Yep, those little elves just couldn't manage such a large piece of power equipment. Poor Dennis still has to wait for someone to come along and open the door to let her in or out.
For those of you who weren't aware of this, cats with the calico or tortoise shell color are always female cats. Upon leaving the shelter Katie announced that her cat's name would be Dennis. After all, according to her Dennis is a girls name. So here we are with a girl cat named Dennis. As she grew so did her 'real name', it is Paddington Dennis Flower Gillette. Dennis for short.
This cat of Katie's is bizarre. Not just a little strange, not odd, full out bizarre. When Katie would play with her dolls in a baby stroller the cat would get upset. She would haul the dolls out of the stroller so SHE could ride in it. It got to the point that if Katie wanted to push her stroller around she would giggle it shaking the handles and the cat would come out from where ever she was hiding for a ride in the stroller. That little parlor trick kept her and her friends entertained for half a day sometimes.
As the kittens grew up so did their bonds with the kids. Katie's cat was VERY attached to our little girl. At bedtime Katie would call out "Dennis, time for bed!" and the cat would trot down the hall and follow her into her room. If she somehow got shut out of Katie's room the cat would yowl, cry and make the most pitiful sounds you could imagine until we opened the door so she could go sleep with Katie.
This behavior led to an addition on Katie's Christmas list. She asked Santa for a 'push button door for Dennis". When she shared her Christmas list with us I wasn't sure what a push button door was so I asked. As it turns out, Katie wanted a door like the handicap entrances at some businesses where you push a button on either side of the door and the door will open automatically. She figured that if she had a push button door Dennis could come and go from her bedroom whenever she liked, we would not have to open and close the door for her.
Now, I can imagine you are all thinking 'But a cat can't push a button.' Guess what, if Katie is teaching the cat it can. Katie had taught her cat many different things. She taught Dennis to climb up a ladder to the top bunk in her bedroom. She also taught her cat how to play fetch. (This lesson was not well appreciated by Erik because the fetch toys Katie used were parts of his nerf darts.) Katie spent an afternoon teaching Dennis how to push a Staples 'Easy' button. Yep, it only took her a few hours and she had that cat pushing a button.
As Christmas neared Katie made an announcement regarding her Christmas list. After spending all that time teaching her cat how to push a button so she could work that new door she had asked for Katie said she was not getting the door. Unsure of what caused her to come to this realization Katie explained her logic. She wasn't going to get the automatic push button door for Christmas because Santa's Elves can't use chain saws. Yep, those little elves just couldn't manage such a large piece of power equipment. Poor Dennis still has to wait for someone to come along and open the door to let her in or out.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Sad day for LPS
Some of Katie's favorite toys were the Littlest Pet Shop (LPS) figures. For those of you who don't know, they are 2" tall bobble head animals. They have bikes, skate boards, homes complete with kitchens, bathrooms, even laundry. You name it, LPS has it.
One of Katie's favorite birthday toys one year was a LPS hamster. She took that hamster with her everywhere. It was pulled out of her pocket before it went through the wash several times, and even had a few spins in the washing machine unintentionally. She loved that little hamster and took great care of it until one unfortunate day.
After school one day I walked past Katie's room and I heard her and Erik holding a funeral. Poor LPS hamster had died. They held a nice service and buried the little guy under a pile of clothes.
When they were finished I asked Katie what happened. She informed me that when she checked on him after getting home from school she found him dead. What? That was the healthiest, most loved little plastic hamster I'd ever know. How could he have died? Katie informed me that her hamster had starved to death.
Now, this little hamster had come in the package complete with a little food bowl, a box of miniature plastic hamster food and miniature plastic hamster treats. I thought there was no reason he should have starved. I thought wrong.
I asked Katie how could he have starved to death, after all he did come with food. "Oh, that isn't what he eats." she told me. Now I was confused. What does a miniature plastic hamster eat if it is not miniature plastic hamster food?
Katie gave me a look of disbelief when I asked her that question. How could anyone not realize how just plain silly that sounded. Of course the LPS hamster didn't eat the food that came with it. That was food for one of the other LPS animals. But I didn't need to tell you that, did I? I'm sure I am the only person who didn't realize something so obvious.
"So what was he supposed to eat?" I ask Katie. Then, with a look of utter dismay she tells me "He ate chili, mom." Chili, how could I not know that? I mean, come on, isn't it common knowledge that miniature plastic hamster figures eat chili rather than miniature plastic hamster food. How did I manage to reach adulthood without ever learning such an important kernel of information?
Luckily, a few days latter the little hamster was resurrected, only to be saved from the brink of danger posed by the washing machine. Upon the realization that the little guy was once again alive and well I had Katie help me make chili for dinner that evening. Now, whenever her little friend gets hungry she knows how to prepare his meals.
One of Katie's favorite birthday toys one year was a LPS hamster. She took that hamster with her everywhere. It was pulled out of her pocket before it went through the wash several times, and even had a few spins in the washing machine unintentionally. She loved that little hamster and took great care of it until one unfortunate day.
After school one day I walked past Katie's room and I heard her and Erik holding a funeral. Poor LPS hamster had died. They held a nice service and buried the little guy under a pile of clothes.
When they were finished I asked Katie what happened. She informed me that when she checked on him after getting home from school she found him dead. What? That was the healthiest, most loved little plastic hamster I'd ever know. How could he have died? Katie informed me that her hamster had starved to death.
Now, this little hamster had come in the package complete with a little food bowl, a box of miniature plastic hamster food and miniature plastic hamster treats. I thought there was no reason he should have starved. I thought wrong.
I asked Katie how could he have starved to death, after all he did come with food. "Oh, that isn't what he eats." she told me. Now I was confused. What does a miniature plastic hamster eat if it is not miniature plastic hamster food?
Katie gave me a look of disbelief when I asked her that question. How could anyone not realize how just plain silly that sounded. Of course the LPS hamster didn't eat the food that came with it. That was food for one of the other LPS animals. But I didn't need to tell you that, did I? I'm sure I am the only person who didn't realize something so obvious.
"So what was he supposed to eat?" I ask Katie. Then, with a look of utter dismay she tells me "He ate chili, mom." Chili, how could I not know that? I mean, come on, isn't it common knowledge that miniature plastic hamster figures eat chili rather than miniature plastic hamster food. How did I manage to reach adulthood without ever learning such an important kernel of information?
Luckily, a few days latter the little hamster was resurrected, only to be saved from the brink of danger posed by the washing machine. Upon the realization that the little guy was once again alive and well I had Katie help me make chili for dinner that evening. Now, whenever her little friend gets hungry she knows how to prepare his meals.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Katie's comments
Katie has said many things throughout the years. A lot of those have stories attached, but there are some that she just announced for no apparent reason with no real attachment to a conversation that was held in her presence. There are also things that don't have a long story attached but are quite memorable. Here is just a short list of those off the walls, out of the blue kernels of wisdom Katie has shared with us.
"I don't know everything. I won't know everything until I'm in heaven with God. But I know ALMOST everything!" 3 years old
"I don't know everything. I won't know everything until I'm in heaven with God. But I know ALMOST everything!" 3 years old
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"When I'm swimming I don't have to worry about not breathing. If I start to run out of air I can just breathe through my ears." 4 years old
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"I can't sleep because the dinosaurs are having a party outside my window and they are too loud. And they won't stop looking in my window." 3 years old
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"I don't like Erik. He is like a gorilla. An icky, icky ape because he eats bananas." 5 years old
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"Cantaloupe and antelope are the same thing. Cantaloupe is Spanish for antelope." 4 years old.
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"I just planted pennies in the driveway. I can't wait for them to grow into penny trees." 3 years old.
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One morning Katie was grumpy when she came out to the living room. Dave asked her if she woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Upon hearing that question her whole body melted into a defeated stance "I did it AGAIN?" I can only imagine she had purposely gotten out of the opposite side of the bed she had the last morning when told she must have gotten out of the wrong side of the bed. 3 years
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While shopping with a 1 1/2 year old Katie one day we turned the corner of a children's clothing display and saw directly in front of us a display of little girl's dress shoes, all at her level. She stopped dead in her tracks with a look of awe on her face and uttered just one word. "Shoes...." I knew then we'd be in trouble when she got older.
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"Today at school I learned we can do more with our hands than other animals because we have explodable thumbs." 8 years old
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"When I grow up I am going to be a toilet fixer." 5 years old
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After spending an afternoon painting a scrap piece of 2x4, pounding nails in it and gluing plastic gems on it she proudly displayed her creation. "It's a fly bed!" she announced. 3 years old.Thursday, January 12, 2012
Bad Santa
When Katie was in preschool she had an imaginary friend. Not out of the ordinary for a child, but what was a little odd was who this friend was. Katie's imaginary friend was Santa.
Yes, you heard me right. "Ho, ho, ho!" Wearing a red suit Santa. Katie and Santa did everything together. We had a special red plate we'd set at the table for Santa at dinner time. Katie would play all day long with Santa. Most disturbing, however, was the fact that Santa took baths and slept in the same bed as Katie. Dave and I were not particularly thrilled with an old man dressed head to toe in red velveteen having such a close relationship with our little girl, but being as he was imaginary we decided to give him a little leeway.
Katie's preschool was on an every other day schedule. She didn't go to school on Wednesdays and I had every Wednesday off from work. Because of this schedule we spent Wednesdays running errands and as a treat for being good I'd take Katie out to lunch.
One of those Wednesday lunchtimes Katie and I were seated in a booth at one of our favorite restaurants. After placing our order Katie colored while we waited for our food to arrive. Our waitress stopped by to refill our drinks and ask if we needed anything.
At this time Katie took a big breath. Anyone who had been with Katie out in public knows the fear a deep breath from our precious little girl can bring. We never knew what would come out of her mouth, and this is one of those time I had wished she had come with a mute button.
Not even looking up from the picture she was coloring Katie made a statement. "My Santa is in jail." What?!?!? Wait a minute, your Santa is in jail? Why had we not heard any of this before a clueless waitress from the local restaurant asked if we need more tea? Now, if that wasn't bad enough, she continues her little declaration. "He is in jail because he has been hitting me." Flat delivery. No drama, no excitement, just a matter-of-fact statement. "My Santa is in jail because he has been hitting me." All without looking up from the little dot-to-dot coloring page our waitress had placed in front of Katie when we sat down.
Unsure what to make of that comment our waitress quickly turned and walked away. She kept her visits to our table short after Katie's declaration. As for Santa, he was never not-seen by us again. No longer ate dinner at our table. Didn't take baths or sleep with Katie anymore. He was just gone.
Yes, you heard me right. "Ho, ho, ho!" Wearing a red suit Santa. Katie and Santa did everything together. We had a special red plate we'd set at the table for Santa at dinner time. Katie would play all day long with Santa. Most disturbing, however, was the fact that Santa took baths and slept in the same bed as Katie. Dave and I were not particularly thrilled with an old man dressed head to toe in red velveteen having such a close relationship with our little girl, but being as he was imaginary we decided to give him a little leeway.
Katie's preschool was on an every other day schedule. She didn't go to school on Wednesdays and I had every Wednesday off from work. Because of this schedule we spent Wednesdays running errands and as a treat for being good I'd take Katie out to lunch.
One of those Wednesday lunchtimes Katie and I were seated in a booth at one of our favorite restaurants. After placing our order Katie colored while we waited for our food to arrive. Our waitress stopped by to refill our drinks and ask if we needed anything.
At this time Katie took a big breath. Anyone who had been with Katie out in public knows the fear a deep breath from our precious little girl can bring. We never knew what would come out of her mouth, and this is one of those time I had wished she had come with a mute button.
Not even looking up from the picture she was coloring Katie made a statement. "My Santa is in jail." What?!?!? Wait a minute, your Santa is in jail? Why had we not heard any of this before a clueless waitress from the local restaurant asked if we need more tea? Now, if that wasn't bad enough, she continues her little declaration. "He is in jail because he has been hitting me." Flat delivery. No drama, no excitement, just a matter-of-fact statement. "My Santa is in jail because he has been hitting me." All without looking up from the little dot-to-dot coloring page our waitress had placed in front of Katie when we sat down.
Unsure what to make of that comment our waitress quickly turned and walked away. She kept her visits to our table short after Katie's declaration. As for Santa, he was never not-seen by us again. No longer ate dinner at our table. Didn't take baths or sleep with Katie anymore. He was just gone.
A great gas
Katie has many talents. One of those she is the most proud is her ability to pass gas. The noise and smell, she has it all. Here is one little girl who could hold her own against any beer drinking, chili eating frat boy you would ever meet. And she would so so without shame.
It is not a normal thing you would expect for such a little bundle. My husband would be holding her and feel that familiar rumble on his forearm. Looking at her he'd ask "What was that?". Such a simple question, yet it would result in a round of giggles that would force out more 'bubbles' from our very bubbly little girl.
As she grew up I tried my best to teach her the socially appropriate response to an accidental slip "Excuse me". However when it is not accidental is it really proper to offer a social apology? Apparently for Katie it is not. As a result, her normal response to the not-so-accidental passing of gas came compliments of her dad. "What was that?" she'd exclaim, midst giggles and gasses.
As she grew her awareness of different responses to the passage of gas deepened and as a result so did her post-bomb declaration. One morning I was getting her dressed. As she is stepping in to her pants she lets one rip. Imagine the sound from an elephant who has consumed nothing but broccoli and beans for a week. Now amplify that by 10 times. That is the kind of wind that breaks from my little princess. Amidst the normal post-pass giggles she gives a response far from socially appropriate but quite amusing. "That one shook the walls!" exclaimed my pint sized methane factory.
While Katie's understanding of bathroom humor grew, Erik was developing a deep love of space. He wanted to learn everything he could about planets, stars, moons. You name it, if it was out of this world he wanted to know about it.
We are lucky enough to live withing 30 minutes of a large telescope that is open to public viewing. We would head out on Friday evenings to the public viewings. The kids saw stars, star clusters, nebulae, galaxies and of course planets. Being young kids, their favorite was the perennial Saturn. With the rings, the moons and the ease to locate it in the night sky the kids fell in love with our neighboring giant.
During one visit to the eye doctor during this fascination with space Erik began to tell the doctor all about the planets and stars. Impressed with the knowledge such a little person has gained about such a deep subject our eye doctor shares a little kernel of information he has about the planets.
"What is your favorite planet?" the doctor asked Erik. "Saturn." my little guy responds. "Did you know that Saturn is considered a gas giant?" That last question brings a round of giggles from Katie, who is sitting on my lap. Unsure of the reason such a question is so funny the doctor turns to her and asks "Why are you laughing?"
Now, I am prepared for just about any response that comes out of that little girl, but I'd have to say even this surprised me. That question brought on another round of more forceful giggles (that I'm sure you'd never guess resulted in) and an answer that made us all chuckle. "I'm a gas giant!" Katie declared.
After that eventful appointment Katie developed a new introduction for herself. For the next few months when meeting someone new she would respond with "I'm Katie. I'm like Saturn, I'm a GAS GIANT!" Yep, my demure, delicate, precious little girl was announcing to the world the depth of her great talent.
It is not a normal thing you would expect for such a little bundle. My husband would be holding her and feel that familiar rumble on his forearm. Looking at her he'd ask "What was that?". Such a simple question, yet it would result in a round of giggles that would force out more 'bubbles' from our very bubbly little girl.
As she grew up I tried my best to teach her the socially appropriate response to an accidental slip "Excuse me". However when it is not accidental is it really proper to offer a social apology? Apparently for Katie it is not. As a result, her normal response to the not-so-accidental passing of gas came compliments of her dad. "What was that?" she'd exclaim, midst giggles and gasses.
As she grew her awareness of different responses to the passage of gas deepened and as a result so did her post-bomb declaration. One morning I was getting her dressed. As she is stepping in to her pants she lets one rip. Imagine the sound from an elephant who has consumed nothing but broccoli and beans for a week. Now amplify that by 10 times. That is the kind of wind that breaks from my little princess. Amidst the normal post-pass giggles she gives a response far from socially appropriate but quite amusing. "That one shook the walls!" exclaimed my pint sized methane factory.
While Katie's understanding of bathroom humor grew, Erik was developing a deep love of space. He wanted to learn everything he could about planets, stars, moons. You name it, if it was out of this world he wanted to know about it.
We are lucky enough to live withing 30 minutes of a large telescope that is open to public viewing. We would head out on Friday evenings to the public viewings. The kids saw stars, star clusters, nebulae, galaxies and of course planets. Being young kids, their favorite was the perennial Saturn. With the rings, the moons and the ease to locate it in the night sky the kids fell in love with our neighboring giant.
During one visit to the eye doctor during this fascination with space Erik began to tell the doctor all about the planets and stars. Impressed with the knowledge such a little person has gained about such a deep subject our eye doctor shares a little kernel of information he has about the planets.
"What is your favorite planet?" the doctor asked Erik. "Saturn." my little guy responds. "Did you know that Saturn is considered a gas giant?" That last question brings a round of giggles from Katie, who is sitting on my lap. Unsure of the reason such a question is so funny the doctor turns to her and asks "Why are you laughing?"
Now, I am prepared for just about any response that comes out of that little girl, but I'd have to say even this surprised me. That question brought on another round of more forceful giggles (that I'm sure you'd never guess resulted in) and an answer that made us all chuckle. "I'm a gas giant!" Katie declared.
After that eventful appointment Katie developed a new introduction for herself. For the next few months when meeting someone new she would respond with "I'm Katie. I'm like Saturn, I'm a GAS GIANT!" Yep, my demure, delicate, precious little girl was announcing to the world the depth of her great talent.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
A day with Grandma and Grandpa
For one reason or another, I don't remember the circumstances that lead to it, but our daycare was closed on a day I had to work. On the rare occasion that happened I'd drop the kids off at my parents' house. My mom would take Erik to school with her (where she is a 1st grade teacher) and my dad had the pleasure of spending the day with Katie. This happened to be one of those days.
Because we'd have to leave a little earlier than usual to get everyone settled at Grandma and Grandpa's house I just let the kids stay sleeping while I got ready for work. Just before leaving I'd haul them out of bed and we walked out the door. We'd have a bag packed with clothes, toothbrushes, toothpaste and all the other sundry needed to get ready for the day.
I dropped the kids off, gave them each a hug and a kiss then headed off to work. It wasn't until I got out of work and arrived at my parents' house that I heard all the stories of the day.
After breakfast and a little relaxing time dad was getting Katie dressed for the day. Pealing off her PJ's Katie makes a declaration that makes my dad take a double take. "I don't like it when my mom puts spiders in my jammies! Especially the pink ones." Hmmm, is that pink spiders? or is it spiders in her pink jammies? Either way, I assure you that I have NEVER put spiders in anything Katie wears. Not even pink spiders.
Later that day my mom and Erik got home from school and settled in for the afternoon. While Grandma was getting dinner ready Katie came in to the kitchen and made another one of her declarations.
"I remember the day I was born." She says. Upon saying that she rolls herself into a little ball on the floor and starts moving her head in a 'pecking' manner. She says "I first had to break a crack in my shell." Hmmmm, maybe that is why her birth was so difficult.
Once she got that 'crack in her shell' she started pushing on an imaginary wall. She had to make that small crack a hole large enough for her to climb out. Finally she managed to get an arm broken through the imaginary shell. From there she could squeeze her other arm out. As she pushed her arms through the shell the hole grew large enough for her head to pop through that hole in her imaginary shell.
Just imagine the joy you'd feel, you have been trapped in a tight ball for your entire existence and you can finally move your arms. That is the joy expressed in the grin Katie gave Grandma and Grandpa. But while hatching, if you stop at getting your arms out of that shell you have only gone half way. And Katie does nothing halfway.
After a brief pause (after all, she did need to take a rest after all the work she had already done, making a hole in that imaginary shell large enough to get both her arms and head through) Katie continued on her task of emerging from her shell.
She pushed the shell down her legs far enough she could step out with one foot. Once she got on leg out of her shell she was able to get a firm footing on the kitchen floor. Almost there! Grasping the back of one of the kitchen chairs Katie gave a few good kicks of her still egg entrapped leg. Finally she was free of the confines of her shell, born to take on the world that spread out before her eyes.
"That is how I was born." she announces. "But it was really hard to break out of my shell."
As you can tell, a day with Katie is rarely uneventful. Between spiders in her jammies, hatching from an egg and many of the other off the wall things she shares, a day with Katie can be an adventure without ever leaving the house.
Because we'd have to leave a little earlier than usual to get everyone settled at Grandma and Grandpa's house I just let the kids stay sleeping while I got ready for work. Just before leaving I'd haul them out of bed and we walked out the door. We'd have a bag packed with clothes, toothbrushes, toothpaste and all the other sundry needed to get ready for the day.
I dropped the kids off, gave them each a hug and a kiss then headed off to work. It wasn't until I got out of work and arrived at my parents' house that I heard all the stories of the day.
After breakfast and a little relaxing time dad was getting Katie dressed for the day. Pealing off her PJ's Katie makes a declaration that makes my dad take a double take. "I don't like it when my mom puts spiders in my jammies! Especially the pink ones." Hmmm, is that pink spiders? or is it spiders in her pink jammies? Either way, I assure you that I have NEVER put spiders in anything Katie wears. Not even pink spiders.
Later that day my mom and Erik got home from school and settled in for the afternoon. While Grandma was getting dinner ready Katie came in to the kitchen and made another one of her declarations.
"I remember the day I was born." She says. Upon saying that she rolls herself into a little ball on the floor and starts moving her head in a 'pecking' manner. She says "I first had to break a crack in my shell." Hmmmm, maybe that is why her birth was so difficult.
Once she got that 'crack in her shell' she started pushing on an imaginary wall. She had to make that small crack a hole large enough for her to climb out. Finally she managed to get an arm broken through the imaginary shell. From there she could squeeze her other arm out. As she pushed her arms through the shell the hole grew large enough for her head to pop through that hole in her imaginary shell.
Just imagine the joy you'd feel, you have been trapped in a tight ball for your entire existence and you can finally move your arms. That is the joy expressed in the grin Katie gave Grandma and Grandpa. But while hatching, if you stop at getting your arms out of that shell you have only gone half way. And Katie does nothing halfway.
After a brief pause (after all, she did need to take a rest after all the work she had already done, making a hole in that imaginary shell large enough to get both her arms and head through) Katie continued on her task of emerging from her shell.
She pushed the shell down her legs far enough she could step out with one foot. Once she got on leg out of her shell she was able to get a firm footing on the kitchen floor. Almost there! Grasping the back of one of the kitchen chairs Katie gave a few good kicks of her still egg entrapped leg. Finally she was free of the confines of her shell, born to take on the world that spread out before her eyes.
"That is how I was born." she announces. "But it was really hard to break out of my shell."
As you can tell, a day with Katie is rarely uneventful. Between spiders in her jammies, hatching from an egg and many of the other off the wall things she shares, a day with Katie can be an adventure without ever leaving the house.
Can't get a band-aid to stick there
Those of you with kids can relate to the power held in a band-aid. It just a little bit of tape with a gauze square attached but it has the power to heal almost any wound, whether visible or not.
You also know, if you have more than one child, about the fighting. Just the act of breathing in the same room with a sibling is enough sometimes to start a war. Those of you who don't have kids would never believe how early this fighting can begin. If they can walk and talk, they can fight.
One afternoon the kids were out playing in the backyard. Katie in the sandbox and Erik on the slide. They were playing nicely, most likely because they were not playing together. The phone rang so checking that the kids were okay I ran in the house to grab it.
A few minutes after I went in to the house I was just finishing up the phone call. That is when I heard it. The blood curdling scream that is usually followed by a trip to the ER. I hang up the phone and run out the door, expecting to see a pool of blood, a broken bone, something that would indicate a major injury requiring medical treatment.
As I scan the backyard I see Erik still playing on the slide and Katie climbing up the hill to the back door. Katie's face was red, indignant and streaked with tears, Erik looked a little worried but otherwise fine. Seeing no sign of major injury I calmed my nerves and asked Katie what happened.
After a few heaving sobs she caught her breath enough to tell me what happened. "E..Er....Erik (huge breath), Erik h.hh..hhh..hurt m..mmm.mm.me. Erik hurt me" Okay, we are getting somewhere. "How did he hurt you?"
At that time I expected her to show me her finger, point to somewhere on her arm, show me somewhere on her body where she had been hit, tripped, pinched or somehow subject to injury from typical brother/sister rivalry. But she said something that warmed my heart and made me laugh all at the same time.
She settled herself down a little and exclaimed "He hurt mee!" "Where did he hurt you?" "ON MY FEELINGS!!!!" Katie exclaims, starting off another round of crying.
Now, even the magical healing power of band-aids have their limit. No matter how hard you try you can not get a band-aid to stick to your feelings. I guess the only way to heal such a devastating injury is with time.
You also know, if you have more than one child, about the fighting. Just the act of breathing in the same room with a sibling is enough sometimes to start a war. Those of you who don't have kids would never believe how early this fighting can begin. If they can walk and talk, they can fight.
One afternoon the kids were out playing in the backyard. Katie in the sandbox and Erik on the slide. They were playing nicely, most likely because they were not playing together. The phone rang so checking that the kids were okay I ran in the house to grab it.
A few minutes after I went in to the house I was just finishing up the phone call. That is when I heard it. The blood curdling scream that is usually followed by a trip to the ER. I hang up the phone and run out the door, expecting to see a pool of blood, a broken bone, something that would indicate a major injury requiring medical treatment.
As I scan the backyard I see Erik still playing on the slide and Katie climbing up the hill to the back door. Katie's face was red, indignant and streaked with tears, Erik looked a little worried but otherwise fine. Seeing no sign of major injury I calmed my nerves and asked Katie what happened.
After a few heaving sobs she caught her breath enough to tell me what happened. "E..Er....Erik (huge breath), Erik h.hh..hhh..hurt m..mmm.mm.me. Erik hurt me" Okay, we are getting somewhere. "How did he hurt you?"
At that time I expected her to show me her finger, point to somewhere on her arm, show me somewhere on her body where she had been hit, tripped, pinched or somehow subject to injury from typical brother/sister rivalry. But she said something that warmed my heart and made me laugh all at the same time.
She settled herself down a little and exclaimed "He hurt mee!" "Where did he hurt you?" "ON MY FEELINGS!!!!" Katie exclaims, starting off another round of crying.
Now, even the magical healing power of band-aids have their limit. No matter how hard you try you can not get a band-aid to stick to your feelings. I guess the only way to heal such a devastating injury is with time.
Monday, January 9, 2012
The pink bus
When Katie was born I avoided the color pink like the plague. Her room was painted lavender and green, we bought yellow and purple outfits, her blankets had bears and duckies, there was nothing pink we bought for her. She did have a few pink outfits that family and friends had given us but that was about as pink as we got, at least for a little while.
As she got older and was more able to assert her opinion on things (and boy does she have opinions), Katie made it very clear that PINK was the color for her. If given the choice she'd pick something pink over any other color in the rainbow. We tried to fight genetics, but apparently those two X chromosomes she was born with pushed pink all the way.
When Katie was 2 her brother got to go to preschool. Oh the injustice, how was HE able to climb on that mysterious bus and travel the great distance to the exciting place called 'school'. Oh, she got to visit Erik at school, and when Mrs. Shev came for her bi-yearly visits Katie got to show just how ready she was to go to school. But no matter how hard she tried to prove she was ready she was just not allowed to climb on that bus and head off to school.
That did not sit well with Katie, it didn't sit well at all. So she started planning........
The next year on her birthday she got a backpack. A PINK backpack at that! She also got notebooks, pencils, crayons, glue (all pink, of course) - all the things she'd need for school! When Erik climbed on that bus to head off to kindergarten she was ready.
The first day of kindergarten comes for Erik. We take him in to school and Katie gets to see this wonderful new world. Preschool was nice, but there were a a lot of toys there. Baby toys. And clearly at 3 years old she was NOT a baby. This kindergarten classroom was different. Sure, there were toys there, the normal blocks and the sand table, the cars and the dinosaurs. But there were other things, too. Where were desks and journals. There were books (not baby books but REAL books), and scissors and glue at every table. They had workbooks and homework! Boy did she want to go to school, and she had a way to make that happen.
One morning as we were getting ready to head out the door Katie was busy getting ready for her 'big day'. I wasn't sure at that time what her 'big day' was, but she was determined about how she was to prepare. She insisted on wearing her favorite pink outfit with the cute little pink corduroy skirt and pink ribbons in her hair. She wore her pretty pink shoes and had her new pink backpack loaded. She was ready.
This happened to be on a morning I had to go to work. On those mornings I'd drop the kids off at Katrina's daycare and Erik would climb on the bus and head off for school.
That morning as we shuffled our way into the house she refused to take her coat (her pink coat) off. As we watched Erik climb on the bus and head off to school Katie made her announcement. She told us that she was going to go to school for the first time that day.
Staring out the window she informed us that her teacher had called the night before (guess what color phone she called from...yep, pink). She told Katie the plan for the day. Apparently, that morning a pink bus was going to come and pick Katie up. That bus would take her to her pink school where she would sit at a pink desk and read pink books. Feeling confident in the plans Katie and her 'teacher' had discussed I told Katrina if that pink bus did make an appearance she was fine to let my little princess climb on board.
I'm sure you would be very surprised to hear that the pink bus never came. She waited all day and the driver never showed up. She was sure that the driver just didn't know she had to pick Katie up at Katrina's. She'd have to talk to her teacher, make sure that driver knew. So the routine continued. Every day she went to Katrina's she'd pack, ready to head off to her pink school on her pink bus. She just knew it would come for her one day.
Luckily the next school year came around and she was able to go to the regular school. If she hadn't been able to go to preschool and eventually on to elementary school she would still be sitting at Katrina's house, looking out the window waiting for her pink bus.
As she got older and was more able to assert her opinion on things (and boy does she have opinions), Katie made it very clear that PINK was the color for her. If given the choice she'd pick something pink over any other color in the rainbow. We tried to fight genetics, but apparently those two X chromosomes she was born with pushed pink all the way.
When Katie was 2 her brother got to go to preschool. Oh the injustice, how was HE able to climb on that mysterious bus and travel the great distance to the exciting place called 'school'. Oh, she got to visit Erik at school, and when Mrs. Shev came for her bi-yearly visits Katie got to show just how ready she was to go to school. But no matter how hard she tried to prove she was ready she was just not allowed to climb on that bus and head off to school.
That did not sit well with Katie, it didn't sit well at all. So she started planning........
The next year on her birthday she got a backpack. A PINK backpack at that! She also got notebooks, pencils, crayons, glue (all pink, of course) - all the things she'd need for school! When Erik climbed on that bus to head off to kindergarten she was ready.
The first day of kindergarten comes for Erik. We take him in to school and Katie gets to see this wonderful new world. Preschool was nice, but there were a a lot of toys there. Baby toys. And clearly at 3 years old she was NOT a baby. This kindergarten classroom was different. Sure, there were toys there, the normal blocks and the sand table, the cars and the dinosaurs. But there were other things, too. Where were desks and journals. There were books (not baby books but REAL books), and scissors and glue at every table. They had workbooks and homework! Boy did she want to go to school, and she had a way to make that happen.
One morning as we were getting ready to head out the door Katie was busy getting ready for her 'big day'. I wasn't sure at that time what her 'big day' was, but she was determined about how she was to prepare. She insisted on wearing her favorite pink outfit with the cute little pink corduroy skirt and pink ribbons in her hair. She wore her pretty pink shoes and had her new pink backpack loaded. She was ready.
This happened to be on a morning I had to go to work. On those mornings I'd drop the kids off at Katrina's daycare and Erik would climb on the bus and head off for school.
That morning as we shuffled our way into the house she refused to take her coat (her pink coat) off. As we watched Erik climb on the bus and head off to school Katie made her announcement. She told us that she was going to go to school for the first time that day.
Staring out the window she informed us that her teacher had called the night before (guess what color phone she called from...yep, pink). She told Katie the plan for the day. Apparently, that morning a pink bus was going to come and pick Katie up. That bus would take her to her pink school where she would sit at a pink desk and read pink books. Feeling confident in the plans Katie and her 'teacher' had discussed I told Katrina if that pink bus did make an appearance she was fine to let my little princess climb on board.
I'm sure you would be very surprised to hear that the pink bus never came. She waited all day and the driver never showed up. She was sure that the driver just didn't know she had to pick Katie up at Katrina's. She'd have to talk to her teacher, make sure that driver knew. So the routine continued. Every day she went to Katrina's she'd pack, ready to head off to her pink school on her pink bus. She just knew it would come for her one day.
Luckily the next school year came around and she was able to go to the regular school. If she hadn't been able to go to preschool and eventually on to elementary school she would still be sitting at Katrina's house, looking out the window waiting for her pink bus.
Sunday, January 8, 2012
Grandma's stairs
The stairs at my parents' house are steep and have very narrow treads. They would make a mountain goat feel at home but for us humans, with our feet instead of hooves and lacking the innate sense of balance these animals are born with, these stairs can be very intimidating.
At the top of the stairs is a small landing. This landing, as it sits at the top of such a dangerous precipice, has a gate barring entrance to the thrill ride at my parents' house called the stairs. Normally this gate is closed. Latched and only able to open if an adult is there to act as a gatekeeper, ensuring that those who are admitted to this ride can follow all of the safety rules set forth by the establishment.
At 2 years old, Katie was not tall enough or mature enough to meet all of the safety requirements for climbing Grandma's stairs so when we were visiting a gatekeeper would be put in place. Well, normally a gatekeeper would be in place.
During one afternoon visit at my parent's house there were a large number of people present, and someone forgot to tend their position as gatekeeper. This is a dangerous situation when a very determined and observant little girl is around. For some reason Katie was determined to go down the stairs. She didn't really need anything from downstairs. Everyone was up in the living room, her sippy-cup was full so she didn't need a drink from the kitchen, there was a plate of snacks for her if she was hungry. Just the mere existence of those stairs called to her, a challenge that needed to be tackled.
After several thwarted attempts to sneak past the gate while a gatekeeper was on duty Katie kept a diligent eye on the position. Finally she saw that someone had abandoned their post. With the burst of speed only a determined toddler can muster she ran to answer the call of adventure those stairs offered up.
We noticed the abandoned gatekeeper post just moments after Katie had. Seeing that this little thrill seeker was headed to the stairs Dave (my husband) set off at a dead run, attempting to at least match the speed Katie's chubby little legs could move. And he almost did. With a fearless dive he managed to get a hold of a chubby little hand just as her feet slipped off the first step.
Katie found herself hanging by her arm, lying belly first near the top of the stairs. Held captive by her dad, who was still clutching that little hand. Katie let out a cry of fear and frustration. She just wanted to go downstairs! Grabbing her up and making sure she was fine we carted her down to the kitchen then went back to check on Dave who's body did not adapt as well to such a dive as it had when he was younger. Slowly he pulled himself up off the floor, bruised and sore from his heroic save.
A few days later the kids and I were visiting Grandma and Katie heard the siren song of the stairs once again. This time from the bottom. There is a gate near the bottom of the stairs, but because of the way the walls are built the first two steps are available for the kids to climb on. And climb she did.
Now, remember, she is a kid but not of the mountain goat variety. Like the rest of humanity she lacks the innate mountain climbing abilities of said goats. One unsure step and she found herself thrown from the side of the steps, falling the great distance (about 14") to the ground. Upon landing she let out a shriek that echoed through the world, cursing the stairs for their existence.
These two experiences had a great impact on Katie. She saw these stairs as the sole reason pain and injury exist in the world today. For the next year, if someone was hurt she insisted that it must have happened on Grandma's stairs. Erik got a bruise on his legs learning to ride his bike??? It happened on Grandma's stairs. Dad's hip was stiff and he had a little limp? Again, Grandma's stairs. Mom has a scratch on her arm that she 'claims' happened at work. Did Katie believe that? Nope. You guessed it, happened on Grandma's stairs.
It took a LONG time before she felt confident enough to climb up and down those stairs alone, but I don't think she has ever lost the deep seated fear she has for those narrow, steep, dark, scary stairs.
At the top of the stairs is a small landing. This landing, as it sits at the top of such a dangerous precipice, has a gate barring entrance to the thrill ride at my parents' house called the stairs. Normally this gate is closed. Latched and only able to open if an adult is there to act as a gatekeeper, ensuring that those who are admitted to this ride can follow all of the safety rules set forth by the establishment.
At 2 years old, Katie was not tall enough or mature enough to meet all of the safety requirements for climbing Grandma's stairs so when we were visiting a gatekeeper would be put in place. Well, normally a gatekeeper would be in place.
During one afternoon visit at my parent's house there were a large number of people present, and someone forgot to tend their position as gatekeeper. This is a dangerous situation when a very determined and observant little girl is around. For some reason Katie was determined to go down the stairs. She didn't really need anything from downstairs. Everyone was up in the living room, her sippy-cup was full so she didn't need a drink from the kitchen, there was a plate of snacks for her if she was hungry. Just the mere existence of those stairs called to her, a challenge that needed to be tackled.
After several thwarted attempts to sneak past the gate while a gatekeeper was on duty Katie kept a diligent eye on the position. Finally she saw that someone had abandoned their post. With the burst of speed only a determined toddler can muster she ran to answer the call of adventure those stairs offered up.
We noticed the abandoned gatekeeper post just moments after Katie had. Seeing that this little thrill seeker was headed to the stairs Dave (my husband) set off at a dead run, attempting to at least match the speed Katie's chubby little legs could move. And he almost did. With a fearless dive he managed to get a hold of a chubby little hand just as her feet slipped off the first step.
Katie found herself hanging by her arm, lying belly first near the top of the stairs. Held captive by her dad, who was still clutching that little hand. Katie let out a cry of fear and frustration. She just wanted to go downstairs! Grabbing her up and making sure she was fine we carted her down to the kitchen then went back to check on Dave who's body did not adapt as well to such a dive as it had when he was younger. Slowly he pulled himself up off the floor, bruised and sore from his heroic save.
A few days later the kids and I were visiting Grandma and Katie heard the siren song of the stairs once again. This time from the bottom. There is a gate near the bottom of the stairs, but because of the way the walls are built the first two steps are available for the kids to climb on. And climb she did.
Now, remember, she is a kid but not of the mountain goat variety. Like the rest of humanity she lacks the innate mountain climbing abilities of said goats. One unsure step and she found herself thrown from the side of the steps, falling the great distance (about 14") to the ground. Upon landing she let out a shriek that echoed through the world, cursing the stairs for their existence.
These two experiences had a great impact on Katie. She saw these stairs as the sole reason pain and injury exist in the world today. For the next year, if someone was hurt she insisted that it must have happened on Grandma's stairs. Erik got a bruise on his legs learning to ride his bike??? It happened on Grandma's stairs. Dad's hip was stiff and he had a little limp? Again, Grandma's stairs. Mom has a scratch on her arm that she 'claims' happened at work. Did Katie believe that? Nope. You guessed it, happened on Grandma's stairs.
It took a LONG time before she felt confident enough to climb up and down those stairs alone, but I don't think she has ever lost the deep seated fear she has for those narrow, steep, dark, scary stairs.
Saturday, January 7, 2012
Growling babies, Papa Chuck and potato salad
Katie didn't cry FOREVER. No, eventually we found the magic formula (expensive but magic) that settled her little tummy down and took care of the colicy crying. The attitude was still there so we weren't completely tear free but at least we were going in the right direction.
Now, if you don't have a cranky sound you must develop a happy sound. For Katie it was a growl. Yep, we had a growling baby. Yours' may laugh, coo, giggle. Not mine. She would growl. Of course we were very accepting of this non-crying sound and every time she would growl we'd growl back. Grrrrr..... So the growling continued.
There is no one better in my family at growling than Uncle Chuck, who the kids called Papa Chuck. Big, gruff and scary to most small children. Of course Katie is NOT most children. She and Uncle Chuck took to each other like a duck to water, or more fittingly like a parrot to it's pirate. Quite a site, if I do say so myself. Bald, cantankerous Big Uncle Chuck and bald, cantankerous Little Katie growling at each other.
As Katie grew so did her fondness of Papa Chuck, and his of her. When ever we got together for family gatherings the two would gravitate to each other. In Katie's eyes the sun rose and set on Papa Chuck. Eventually the growling came to an end (at least on Katie's part) but that didn't diminish their relationship.
If you've ever been with my family for the 4th of July you'd know it is a HUGE thing. Growing up in a small Mid-West town of course we had our own celebration. Complete with a parade, live bands in the park and of course fireworks. Having family living right on the parade route and perfect places to watch the fireworks a large annual barbecue was in order.
No family barbecue would be complete without our family's special potato salad. I guarantee you it is a potato salad like no one else makes. And it is usually only made for large family gatherings because the recipe starts with 10 lbs of potatoes.
So here we are at the annual 4th of July picnic and I'll bet you'd never guess where Katie (now 2 years old) was. You're right, with Uncle Chuck. And of course they are eating (like with most any family, eating is VERY important to us). Katie was enjoying watermelon, pasta and bits of hot dog and hamburger from Papa Chuck's plate. Papa Chuck would growl every time she'd steal a bite.
Seeing how much Papa Chuck was enjoying the potato salad (something that we wait MONTHS for a reason to make) along with his other barbecue fare Katie decides she would like to try a bite. Papa Chuck gets a little fork full and shovels it into her little mouth. Once that fork full hit Katie's little mouth her face went from excited anticipation to something of sheer horror and disgust. "What is this stuff he seems to be enjoying so much?" As foul as it appeared to taste to Katie, if Papa Chuck ate it then it MUST be good. After all, he's Papa Chuck!!! He offers another bite and reluctantly she takes it. When she finally gulps the third bite the poor little girl starts to gag a little, forcing herself to swallow the disgusting concoction.
Katie hesitates but comes back up to Papa Chuck and looks at his plate. Seeing her eye the contents of his plate (most likely looking at the bits of hot dog or brownie just waiting to be eaten) Papa Chuck offers Katie yet another bite of his potato salad. With a look of defeated resignation and a hesitant sigh Katie prepares to take that next bite of potato salad. After all, this is Papa Chuck who is offering it to her. How could Papa Chuck be wrong? With trepidation she opens her little mouth, her little lip quivering and look of fear in her eye as the fork draws near. Just before Katie had to take that last bite of potato salad she was saved when Aunt Lynn swooped in with a brownie just for her. I'm sure that as many bites of that potato salad Papa Chuck fed her, Katie would have eaten it. It would have been a huge feat for the little girl, eating something so foul, but for Papa Chuck she would have done anything.
The name Papa Chuck eventually faded away as the kids grew up and they started to call him Uncle Chuck just like the the rest of the family. He still holds a special place in Katie's heart, but after that fateful Independence Day Picnic she was not as trusting of his food choices as she once had been.
Now, if you don't have a cranky sound you must develop a happy sound. For Katie it was a growl. Yep, we had a growling baby. Yours' may laugh, coo, giggle. Not mine. She would growl. Of course we were very accepting of this non-crying sound and every time she would growl we'd growl back. Grrrrr..... So the growling continued.
There is no one better in my family at growling than Uncle Chuck, who the kids called Papa Chuck. Big, gruff and scary to most small children. Of course Katie is NOT most children. She and Uncle Chuck took to each other like a duck to water, or more fittingly like a parrot to it's pirate. Quite a site, if I do say so myself. Bald, cantankerous Big Uncle Chuck and bald, cantankerous Little Katie growling at each other.
As Katie grew so did her fondness of Papa Chuck, and his of her. When ever we got together for family gatherings the two would gravitate to each other. In Katie's eyes the sun rose and set on Papa Chuck. Eventually the growling came to an end (at least on Katie's part) but that didn't diminish their relationship.
If you've ever been with my family for the 4th of July you'd know it is a HUGE thing. Growing up in a small Mid-West town of course we had our own celebration. Complete with a parade, live bands in the park and of course fireworks. Having family living right on the parade route and perfect places to watch the fireworks a large annual barbecue was in order.
No family barbecue would be complete without our family's special potato salad. I guarantee you it is a potato salad like no one else makes. And it is usually only made for large family gatherings because the recipe starts with 10 lbs of potatoes.
So here we are at the annual 4th of July picnic and I'll bet you'd never guess where Katie (now 2 years old) was. You're right, with Uncle Chuck. And of course they are eating (like with most any family, eating is VERY important to us). Katie was enjoying watermelon, pasta and bits of hot dog and hamburger from Papa Chuck's plate. Papa Chuck would growl every time she'd steal a bite.
Seeing how much Papa Chuck was enjoying the potato salad (something that we wait MONTHS for a reason to make) along with his other barbecue fare Katie decides she would like to try a bite. Papa Chuck gets a little fork full and shovels it into her little mouth. Once that fork full hit Katie's little mouth her face went from excited anticipation to something of sheer horror and disgust. "What is this stuff he seems to be enjoying so much?" As foul as it appeared to taste to Katie, if Papa Chuck ate it then it MUST be good. After all, he's Papa Chuck!!! He offers another bite and reluctantly she takes it. When she finally gulps the third bite the poor little girl starts to gag a little, forcing herself to swallow the disgusting concoction.
Katie hesitates but comes back up to Papa Chuck and looks at his plate. Seeing her eye the contents of his plate (most likely looking at the bits of hot dog or brownie just waiting to be eaten) Papa Chuck offers Katie yet another bite of his potato salad. With a look of defeated resignation and a hesitant sigh Katie prepares to take that next bite of potato salad. After all, this is Papa Chuck who is offering it to her. How could Papa Chuck be wrong? With trepidation she opens her little mouth, her little lip quivering and look of fear in her eye as the fork draws near. Just before Katie had to take that last bite of potato salad she was saved when Aunt Lynn swooped in with a brownie just for her. I'm sure that as many bites of that potato salad Papa Chuck fed her, Katie would have eaten it. It would have been a huge feat for the little girl, eating something so foul, but for Papa Chuck she would have done anything.
The name Papa Chuck eventually faded away as the kids grew up and they started to call him Uncle Chuck just like the the rest of the family. He still holds a special place in Katie's heart, but after that fateful Independence Day Picnic she was not as trusting of his food choices as she once had been.
Meeting Uncle B
For those of you who knew us when Katie was a baby, you remember the crying. The ear piercing, 18 hours a day unrelenting crying. The frustrated, upset belly, hungry but it hurts to eat crying. To put it simply, Katie cried A LOT. And poor Uncle B had no idea what he was in for when he was invited home for Christmas.....
A few days before Christmas we were hit by 'The Joy of the Season'. You know that stomach bug that everyone so willingly shares around the holidays. We got it, we ALL got it. But Katie got the worst of it. And of course being the generously giving little bundle she was, she made sure we ALL shared in the worst of it.
After a night of feeling less than great we load the car up and prepare for the 3 hour drive down to Grandma and Grandpa's. Of course Katie, as we strap her in the car seat, is crying. Poor Erik looks at us from his car seat next to her, his eyes imploring us to 'Please, just make the crying stop!'. Believe me Erik, if we could we would.
About 10 minutes before we reach Grandma's house we hear Katie. Yep, she is awake and you guessed it - crying. But even more than the crying we hear THE EXPLOSION. Then we smell the explosion. Looks like our precious little girl isn't completely over her bout with the bug. Dave and I look at each other, wondering if it is worth finding a place to stop and change her diaper or if we should just keep going. Deciding that we'd be reaching our destination in about the same amount of time as it would take us to find a place to stop we kept on going. Guess what, we made the WRONG choice. That being said, I'm not sure there would have been a right choice.
So we arrive and make the mad dash into the house with the diaper bag and the screaming banshee that once was Katie. In the process of changing her diaper we realized just how sensitive our poor little baby's skin was. Just a few minutes of contact with that horrible substance that exploded from our little bundle (I hesitate to call it poop because it seemed to take on a life of it's own) caused red, blistered sores on that poor little bottom.
Here we are faced with a screaming banshee that has a blistered butt. Anything we put on that little bottom seems to cause pain. The 'gentle soothing' baby wipes, the healing protecting diaper balm, even the diaper itself brings on a new round of gut wrenching cries. If putting anything on that little butt hurts we decide to leave it bare! Let the fresh air get to that little bum and hopefully help clear up those horrible sores that developed so quickly.
After the whole diaper ordeal we get everything from the car unloaded and shuffled up the stairs getting us all situated. For those of you who have never had kids, you will never understand the amount of packing and unpacking that is involved in taking a child under the age of 2 along for a week at Grandma and Grandpa's. As we are upstairs getting us and Erik settled Grandma was downstairs in the living room with Katie who was naked on a waterproof mat, screaming at the top of her little 5 month old lungs. This is the first time any of us meet Uncle B.
Hearing the new arrivals at the house we all come downstairs and get a glimpse of Uncle B's face wearing a look of utter dismay. What kind of a family is he joining?
As the afternoon progresses so does Katie's diarrhea and her diaper rash. Feeling frustrated and unable to soothe our poor little girl we make a call to our pediatrician (who is now 3 hours away) and tell them about the screaming banshee and her red, blistered butt. Aaahhh, they have a medicine that just may help. Prescription called in and arrangements made for it to be picked up. Relief is on it's way!!
Lucky for us, we have a pharmacist in the family. After an hour or so here comes Aunt Jackie, our super hero of the day! She has the medicine - MAGIC BUTT CREAM! No, that is not our name for it although it did work magic. The actual name on the vial of cream that Aunt Jackie brought was called 'Magic Butt Cream'.
After a few applications that poor little bottom was beginning to look better and our screaming banshee was slowly changing back to our crying baby. You can't imaging how good simple crying can sound after a few hours of screaming. I'm not sure Uncle B was as impressed with the change as the rest of us were.
We finally make it to nighttime and bedtime. Dave the kids and I are all sleeping upstairs and Aunt Mary and Uncle B are sleeping in the basement. A full 2 stories below our now crying, not screaming little bundle. Katie does sleep at least a little that night, but still dealing with the stomach bug she has a few bouts of diarrhea. Every time she fills her diaper she fills the house with her cries.
Christmas morning brings a bleary eyed Uncle B up from the basement drawn by the sounds of an excited 2 year old looking at all the presents Santa left under the tree and the rest of the household filling coffee cups. Christmas day and night were fairly uneventful, with Katie's little butt healing nicely and the rest of the family settling in to the normal routine of trying to console the frequent crying of Katie.
The following morning, as we were all beginning our day we hear the sound of packing suitcases in the basement. Aunt Mary and Uncle B had decided to cut their stay a little short. They used the excuse of 'getting the dogs from the kennel a little early' as a reason to leave a day early. After good-bye hugs and Christmas wishes we watch Uncle B back their truck out the driveway and wave as they head off home, basking in the silence of a quiet, crying free ride.
We've often wondered if this first time meeting with our little bundle of joy is the reason Aunt Mary and Uncle B never started a family of their own.
A few days before Christmas we were hit by 'The Joy of the Season'. You know that stomach bug that everyone so willingly shares around the holidays. We got it, we ALL got it. But Katie got the worst of it. And of course being the generously giving little bundle she was, she made sure we ALL shared in the worst of it.
After a night of feeling less than great we load the car up and prepare for the 3 hour drive down to Grandma and Grandpa's. Of course Katie, as we strap her in the car seat, is crying. Poor Erik looks at us from his car seat next to her, his eyes imploring us to 'Please, just make the crying stop!'. Believe me Erik, if we could we would.
About 10 minutes before we reach Grandma's house we hear Katie. Yep, she is awake and you guessed it - crying. But even more than the crying we hear THE EXPLOSION. Then we smell the explosion. Looks like our precious little girl isn't completely over her bout with the bug. Dave and I look at each other, wondering if it is worth finding a place to stop and change her diaper or if we should just keep going. Deciding that we'd be reaching our destination in about the same amount of time as it would take us to find a place to stop we kept on going. Guess what, we made the WRONG choice. That being said, I'm not sure there would have been a right choice.
So we arrive and make the mad dash into the house with the diaper bag and the screaming banshee that once was Katie. In the process of changing her diaper we realized just how sensitive our poor little baby's skin was. Just a few minutes of contact with that horrible substance that exploded from our little bundle (I hesitate to call it poop because it seemed to take on a life of it's own) caused red, blistered sores on that poor little bottom.
Here we are faced with a screaming banshee that has a blistered butt. Anything we put on that little bottom seems to cause pain. The 'gentle soothing' baby wipes, the healing protecting diaper balm, even the diaper itself brings on a new round of gut wrenching cries. If putting anything on that little butt hurts we decide to leave it bare! Let the fresh air get to that little bum and hopefully help clear up those horrible sores that developed so quickly.
After the whole diaper ordeal we get everything from the car unloaded and shuffled up the stairs getting us all situated. For those of you who have never had kids, you will never understand the amount of packing and unpacking that is involved in taking a child under the age of 2 along for a week at Grandma and Grandpa's. As we are upstairs getting us and Erik settled Grandma was downstairs in the living room with Katie who was naked on a waterproof mat, screaming at the top of her little 5 month old lungs. This is the first time any of us meet Uncle B.
Hearing the new arrivals at the house we all come downstairs and get a glimpse of Uncle B's face wearing a look of utter dismay. What kind of a family is he joining?
As the afternoon progresses so does Katie's diarrhea and her diaper rash. Feeling frustrated and unable to soothe our poor little girl we make a call to our pediatrician (who is now 3 hours away) and tell them about the screaming banshee and her red, blistered butt. Aaahhh, they have a medicine that just may help. Prescription called in and arrangements made for it to be picked up. Relief is on it's way!!
Lucky for us, we have a pharmacist in the family. After an hour or so here comes Aunt Jackie, our super hero of the day! She has the medicine - MAGIC BUTT CREAM! No, that is not our name for it although it did work magic. The actual name on the vial of cream that Aunt Jackie brought was called 'Magic Butt Cream'.
After a few applications that poor little bottom was beginning to look better and our screaming banshee was slowly changing back to our crying baby. You can't imaging how good simple crying can sound after a few hours of screaming. I'm not sure Uncle B was as impressed with the change as the rest of us were.
We finally make it to nighttime and bedtime. Dave the kids and I are all sleeping upstairs and Aunt Mary and Uncle B are sleeping in the basement. A full 2 stories below our now crying, not screaming little bundle. Katie does sleep at least a little that night, but still dealing with the stomach bug she has a few bouts of diarrhea. Every time she fills her diaper she fills the house with her cries.
Christmas morning brings a bleary eyed Uncle B up from the basement drawn by the sounds of an excited 2 year old looking at all the presents Santa left under the tree and the rest of the household filling coffee cups. Christmas day and night were fairly uneventful, with Katie's little butt healing nicely and the rest of the family settling in to the normal routine of trying to console the frequent crying of Katie.
The following morning, as we were all beginning our day we hear the sound of packing suitcases in the basement. Aunt Mary and Uncle B had decided to cut their stay a little short. They used the excuse of 'getting the dogs from the kennel a little early' as a reason to leave a day early. After good-bye hugs and Christmas wishes we watch Uncle B back their truck out the driveway and wave as they head off home, basking in the silence of a quiet, crying free ride.
We've often wondered if this first time meeting with our little bundle of joy is the reason Aunt Mary and Uncle B never started a family of their own.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Where it began
My daughter has been, shall we say.......an individual starting before she was even born. As she grows the stories she tells are very entertaining and many of my friends and family have said I need to write things she has said and done down. Well, here it is....
Where shall we start? How about when she was born, or was supposed to be born more accurately. Time warp back 9 years.......
So here I am, VERY pregnant with an almost 2 year old running around attending those ever so convenient weekly and bi-weekly OB appointments. At 34 weeks I waddle my way in to the doctor's office stopping at every bathroom along the way. As instructed I climb up on the table and swing my feet up in the stirrups (really not an easy thing to do when you are vaguely aware that your feet are actually still there, after all they haven't been seen in months) and after a few minutes the doctor declares 'If you make it to your due date I'll be amazed.' Dilated 3cm and 25% effaced he said most the work in the first part of labor has been completed. Such wonderful words for a 9 month pregnant woman to hear, yet words that can carry such a curse....
Fast forward one week and here we are again. Frustrated, cranky and feeling like if I sneeze standing up someone better be ready with a catcher's mitt. And guess what, he said it AGAIN! "You will never make it to your due date."
Now, those of you who are unsure if a baby can hear while still in the womb, I guarantee you THEY CAN!!! This little creature was listening to every word that doctor said. Not only was she listening, she was PLANNING. "So, he doesn't think I can wait?? Just watch....." Yep, the challenge was presented and matched. I curse you highly educated doctor of reproductive medicine. You will NEVER match the will of a little girl who is determined to be right no matter the cost or the education of the person who challenges her.
My due date nears, appointments increase in frequency and as I leave every appointment the doctor says "We'll schedule you back in 3 days, but I'm sure you won't make it to the next appointment." 3 days later I waddle my way back into that office and curse the doctor every time he repeats that challenge to my stubborn little bundle.
Finally that last appointment comes, lets schedule an induction.....Appointment is made, registration completed, preparations made. But guess who was listening? Yep, another challenge presented.
We have to be up early the next day, we are due at the hospital by 8am. We are ready for this. Tucking my son in bed I feel the first twinge in my back. That tightening sensation I had been waiting weeks for. Well, we are already registered at the hospital the next day, if we just can wait until midnight to go in we have the paperwork completed. Guess who was listening, again.......
The contractions were getting closer and by 9pm they were 5 minutes apart. Guess what, we need to go in. When I went in to labor with my son the whole process took only 3 hours so we need to go NOW!! So...phone calls made, car packed and we make the 30 minute drive into the hospital. We get to the hospital by 10pm, and after sitting for about 30 minutes in pre-admissions they decide I need to be admitted. Okay, now this child has thrown a wrench in EVERYONE's plan. I was pre-registered and ready for admission the following day (1 1/2 hours from now) but with contractions coming every 4 minutes, 4 cm dilation and fully effaced they need to admit me now.
Should be easy, right? Nope. They have to cancel my admission paperwork for the next day (that will start in 1 1/2 hours) and start the whole process again. Those questions I answered 2 days ago, those papers I filled out and signed? Void, all because someone decided to start her entrance earlier than we had scheduled.
45 minutes later, admissions came up with the forms that had to be signed AGAIN, the questions that I need to answer AGAIN (no, my name has not changed in the last 48 hours, I have not moved to another residence and yes, I am STILL PREGNANT!). Finally we finish all the readmission paperwork and have everything set to get settled into a room at 11:45pm. Hmmm, if they had waited 15 minutes more we could have saved half the trees in Northern Michigan.
So here we are, settled in the room and the doctor finally shows up. Guess what, it is not our normal doctor and she announces that our regular doctor will not be in until the morning. He can check in on me when he gets there but in the meantime she will be caring for us. Did you really have to say that out loud? You'll never guess was listening.....
By midnight the contractions were coming stronger and were more painful. I was in back labor. Come on kid, can't you make anything easy? The doctor came in and checked me I was still sitting at a 4 and my water hadn't broken so she recommended an epidural so I could get some rest that night. Ahhhh, relief.
At 8 am I feel a gentle pat on my arm. Our regular doctor has made it. "Well, I'm surprised to see you." Yes I know, I was going to make him famous - the first documented pregnancy that really did last forever. When he checks on my 'progress' he announces "You've made it to 5cm" like that was progress. A whole cm overnight. Yeah, progress. He decides that maybe he should break my water, speed things a little. Sure, lets do it!
So out comes the crochet hook and suddenly the pain REALLY starts. By 10am my legs start shaking and the nurse says 'great, almost there, must be the 7cm shakes!' So she proceeds to check on me, STILL AT 5 CM!!! What was happening??? So here we are, contractions continuing at at about 12 noon I feel a strange flutter/flip. This little devil FINALLY decides to turn over into proper position. I mention something to the nurse. "Oh, I didn't even think to check if she was facing the right way before. If I knew I could have helped her turn." Thanks. A little late now.
From there things went FAST. By 12:45 we had a beautiful, stubborn perfect (sometimes) little girl. She made sure she entered this world in her own sweet time, and on her own terms. We should have known then that life with Katie would be interesting, to say the least.
Where shall we start? How about when she was born, or was supposed to be born more accurately. Time warp back 9 years.......
So here I am, VERY pregnant with an almost 2 year old running around attending those ever so convenient weekly and bi-weekly OB appointments. At 34 weeks I waddle my way in to the doctor's office stopping at every bathroom along the way. As instructed I climb up on the table and swing my feet up in the stirrups (really not an easy thing to do when you are vaguely aware that your feet are actually still there, after all they haven't been seen in months) and after a few minutes the doctor declares 'If you make it to your due date I'll be amazed.' Dilated 3cm and 25% effaced he said most the work in the first part of labor has been completed. Such wonderful words for a 9 month pregnant woman to hear, yet words that can carry such a curse....
Fast forward one week and here we are again. Frustrated, cranky and feeling like if I sneeze standing up someone better be ready with a catcher's mitt. And guess what, he said it AGAIN! "You will never make it to your due date."
Now, those of you who are unsure if a baby can hear while still in the womb, I guarantee you THEY CAN!!! This little creature was listening to every word that doctor said. Not only was she listening, she was PLANNING. "So, he doesn't think I can wait?? Just watch....." Yep, the challenge was presented and matched. I curse you highly educated doctor of reproductive medicine. You will NEVER match the will of a little girl who is determined to be right no matter the cost or the education of the person who challenges her.
My due date nears, appointments increase in frequency and as I leave every appointment the doctor says "We'll schedule you back in 3 days, but I'm sure you won't make it to the next appointment." 3 days later I waddle my way back into that office and curse the doctor every time he repeats that challenge to my stubborn little bundle.
Finally that last appointment comes, lets schedule an induction.....Appointment is made, registration completed, preparations made. But guess who was listening? Yep, another challenge presented.
We have to be up early the next day, we are due at the hospital by 8am. We are ready for this. Tucking my son in bed I feel the first twinge in my back. That tightening sensation I had been waiting weeks for. Well, we are already registered at the hospital the next day, if we just can wait until midnight to go in we have the paperwork completed. Guess who was listening, again.......
The contractions were getting closer and by 9pm they were 5 minutes apart. Guess what, we need to go in. When I went in to labor with my son the whole process took only 3 hours so we need to go NOW!! So...phone calls made, car packed and we make the 30 minute drive into the hospital. We get to the hospital by 10pm, and after sitting for about 30 minutes in pre-admissions they decide I need to be admitted. Okay, now this child has thrown a wrench in EVERYONE's plan. I was pre-registered and ready for admission the following day (1 1/2 hours from now) but with contractions coming every 4 minutes, 4 cm dilation and fully effaced they need to admit me now.
Should be easy, right? Nope. They have to cancel my admission paperwork for the next day (that will start in 1 1/2 hours) and start the whole process again. Those questions I answered 2 days ago, those papers I filled out and signed? Void, all because someone decided to start her entrance earlier than we had scheduled.
45 minutes later, admissions came up with the forms that had to be signed AGAIN, the questions that I need to answer AGAIN (no, my name has not changed in the last 48 hours, I have not moved to another residence and yes, I am STILL PREGNANT!). Finally we finish all the readmission paperwork and have everything set to get settled into a room at 11:45pm. Hmmm, if they had waited 15 minutes more we could have saved half the trees in Northern Michigan.
So here we are, settled in the room and the doctor finally shows up. Guess what, it is not our normal doctor and she announces that our regular doctor will not be in until the morning. He can check in on me when he gets there but in the meantime she will be caring for us. Did you really have to say that out loud? You'll never guess was listening.....
By midnight the contractions were coming stronger and were more painful. I was in back labor. Come on kid, can't you make anything easy? The doctor came in and checked me I was still sitting at a 4 and my water hadn't broken so she recommended an epidural so I could get some rest that night. Ahhhh, relief.
At 8 am I feel a gentle pat on my arm. Our regular doctor has made it. "Well, I'm surprised to see you." Yes I know, I was going to make him famous - the first documented pregnancy that really did last forever. When he checks on my 'progress' he announces "You've made it to 5cm" like that was progress. A whole cm overnight. Yeah, progress. He decides that maybe he should break my water, speed things a little. Sure, lets do it!
So out comes the crochet hook and suddenly the pain REALLY starts. By 10am my legs start shaking and the nurse says 'great, almost there, must be the 7cm shakes!' So she proceeds to check on me, STILL AT 5 CM!!! What was happening??? So here we are, contractions continuing at at about 12 noon I feel a strange flutter/flip. This little devil FINALLY decides to turn over into proper position. I mention something to the nurse. "Oh, I didn't even think to check if she was facing the right way before. If I knew I could have helped her turn." Thanks. A little late now.
From there things went FAST. By 12:45 we had a beautiful, stubborn perfect (sometimes) little girl. She made sure she entered this world in her own sweet time, and on her own terms. We should have known then that life with Katie would be interesting, to say the least.
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