Friday, September 16, 2016

Mt. Vomitus

The Boy's first day of pre-k a few weeks ago was also BeYoYo's birthday, so we went out to eat to celebrate. We always take our kids out to eat on their birthdays. Mother-in-law and Niece met us at La Parilla, our local Mexican place. MIL was holding BeYoYo, and as we walked in she said to me casually "he just threw up." What?? I asked. I looked at the floor and saw vomit. I looked back at him just in time to see him projectile vomit all over a stranger who was walking out. She got caught in the vomital cross fire and stood there with her arms out like she was miming a zombie scarecrow, her face frozen in disgust looking at the vomit running down her shirt.

I grabbed BeYoYo from behind and started running out the door. I was like those action movies where people run from a volcano before it erupts. Only I was also carrying the volcano.

We made it to the sidewalk in time for him to throw up again and again. He spewed with great force and projection. MIL came out behind us and narrated "It looks like milk! It looks like water! What is going on??" At this point he'd thrown up all over the woman leaving the restaurant, created a trail on the floor, and now he and I were also covered in vomit, as was the sidewalk. But the eruption was over. 

I asked him if he was okay. He said no. We sat down on a bench outside amidst some onlookers. MIL said she'd go get something to clean us up with. I didn't know if we had any wipes in the car (classic) so she went inside. We waited. And waited. And waited. He was particularly concerned that my arm was dirty "clean it off, mama!", and that his brand new train had been barfed in. 

I texted the Husband, he didn't answer. I called him and asked where he was. "I'm still waiting on a table" he said. I told him I needed something to clean up with and his mom hadn't returned. He said she'd taken Niece to the bathroom, so he couldn't leave to go to the bathroom, because he NEEDED TO KEEP WAITING ON A TABLE. I told him that BeYoYo and I were vomitus. I thought this was clear based on the fact that everyone just saw him throw up, inside and out. So he continued waiting for a table, and we continued waiting outside. 

The lady he'd vomitted on came outside with her family. She was complaining to her husband "I got off as much as I could, but I'm still COVERED." There was a wet spot on her shirt approximately 3 cubic feet. She didn't realize we were sitting there. I called out to her that I was very sorry about that. She mumbled "tsokay" under her breath. It clearly was not. 

Maybe it had been 15 minutes, or maybe it had been 3 hours, I'm not sure. But hallelujah MIL came out with wet paper towels.  She said "I'm so sorry! I was helping that lady get cleaned off in the bathroom, and I forgot about you! Duh, you needed paper towels." The Husband and The Boy appeared behind her. She handed me the paper towels and continued "That lady was not very nice. She kept saying her shirt was RUINED. I told her she could put it in cold water, and she said 'I live an hour away!'And I know she has kids because she said they're going back to school shopping and now they can't go." I really was so sorry about that. Imagine you're walking out of a restaurant and bam! someone pukes on you. It's like getting slimed on Nickelodeon. 

The Boy, who had just emerged with the rest, asked if he could play with BeYoYo's train now. "No!" I said. "It's got throw up on it!" Then BeYoYo noticed that The Boy had had the other part of the train and he started to yell "My! MY! MY! I hold it!" Here we are, standing on the sidewalk, covered in vomit and arguing about a train, also covered in vomit. 

I started to wipe off BeYoYo's face, and he commented on MIL's horse earrings. She has three horses and he loves them. Then Niece piped up "I fell off Cowboy today." I started wiping vomit off my pants. "I fell off Cowboy today." I was wiping vomit off my arms. "Hey aunt Ruby?" (that's me) "I fell off Cowboy today." Clearly the child was not injured, based on the fact that she was here and upright and requesting steak quesadillas. "You're saying that a lot of times" was the most sympathetic response I could come up with. 

The Husband told The Boy we were leaving. So much for the table they had been waiting on. Then MIL said she and Niece were staying. I told them I'd take BeYoYo home and they could catch a ride with her. She said she hated for him to not get to eat for his birthday, and maybe we could eat outside. We declined, for our sake and everyone else's. They went inside and BeYoYo and I started to head for the car. He was none to happy about that, he wanted his BeBe and he wanted to eat. "I go in der!" he protested. I loaded him up in the car with his new train, which I had also wiped off. 

As soon as we got in the car he said "I crackas" so I gave him some cheez-its. He seemed to be doing okay with those, so we headed home. On the way home he talked and talked and talked. "See dat cow?....See dat bug.....My train.....Pig gon' ride it.....Lalalala......Singing......See dat der?....Mama's car.....I want Bebe.....more crackas......I eat......I MORE CRACKAS." He clearly seemed to be feeling okay. I got him out at home and he said "I more crackas?" I fixed him some more crackas, and he ate 3 servings of pasta. And he was fine as frog's hair. 

After he ate I put him in the bath. He was still bathing when the others returned. MIL and Niece came in the bathroom to sing happy birthday to him and he was majorly impressed. Kid was totally fine ever after. Just needed to throw up on someone and get on with his life. 

Thursday, September 1, 2016

Dress down

The Boy is full of personality. You may have noticed that before. He's funny and energetic and creative and dynamic. One might be worried that BeYoYo would get overshadowed by the largeness of his personality, and that would be a fair concern.

But hear ye, hear ye, BeYoYo shall not be underestimated. 

This child has just turned two, and the potential for his shenanigans is only starting to shine forth. Yesterday, at our house, was delivered one plus-size-stud-trimmed maxi dress. That BeYoYo ordered from Amazon. On my phone. On my work account. For $58. 

I realized the error the same day, and tried to cancel the order but it was too late, it was already on the way. It showed up today. I bet you're wondering how this happened. I found a really cool dress at a thrift store and I was looking it up on Amazon. It was the same brand as this "stud trim" number you see here, and he had the phone right after, so click click, here we are: 

You'll note the bag says "ready to ship"

I'm on a local buy/sell/trade group for parents, and I tried to list it there for resell before I have to pay for return shipping. 

So far, it's gotten plenty of likes but no one is interested in purchasing it. Can you believe? 
And the darn thing is SOLD OUT, meaning BeYoYo really has his finger on the pulse of women's fashion. They're flying off the shelves! So who needs a stud-trimmed dress? 

Maybe BeYoYo will help you find some accessories that match. 

Monday, August 29, 2016

Balancing Act

Yesterday at church our sermon was about balance. Not getting your life all balanced, but being spiritually balanced and being willing to give up some of the things we have an abundance of. Our preacher preached, and a mom of four talked about her own balancing act of having three kids and then having a fourth born with special needs. The pastor joked about an online article claiming the healing power of crystals that could help us find balance.

Yesterday I was signed up to be an usher. That means we greet people when they come in, give them a bulletin, and then pass the offering at the end of the service. Sometimes kids help with passing the offering, so I'd asked The Boy if he wanted to help. He did. I think it's great that our church allows kids to be involved in an important way, and I like the message they get that they're a valuable asset.

Near the end of the service I went to his class to get The Boy. Since our church is small, he and BeYoYo are in the same class. I cracked the door open to call The Boy to come, but he didn't hear me the first time. I opened it bigger and said his name a little louder, and he came. I waved to his teacher to let her know. Then BeYoYo spotted me and said "I go! I go!" I told him I'd be back for him, but he cried and cried and screamed, thinking I'd never come back for him and I'd take his brother home to live and he'd have to go live in an orphanage and eat slop. Big alligator tears overflowed from his eyes and dripped down his chubby cheeks and he wailed incoherently. Not wanting him to feel abandoned, and not having time to comfort him or clear up the situation, I told his teacher he could just come too. He stopped crying as soon as he was in my arms, but continued to do some sobbing breaths for good measure, so as not to let anyone think he was manipulative.

I went back to meet the other ushers. We were standing outside in the narthex, and someone was making announcements. Or maybe prayers, I don't know. I explained to The Boy what we were going to do. He had a storm trooper of sorts he'd brought from his class, and he sat on the floor to play with it while we waited. I held the offering plate, and BeYoYo gestured toward it and said "I eat!" I told him it wasn't food, and showed him the empty red felt bottom.
Then The Boy asked to hold it. I complied, handing it to him while I followed BeYoYo around the narthex asking him to use his inside voice. He has no idea what that means. The Boys rolled around on the carpet, hugging and not-quite-wrestling in the floor. The other ushers watched the boys' show of physical prowess, likely reflecting on the times when their own kids were younger and acted like fools at church. I smiled my apologetic smile. BeYoYo said "I go home." I asked if he wanted to go back to his class and play, and he said no. I asked him if he wanted to take his hat off before we went in the sanctuary, and he said no. Actually he said "NO!" in a way that let me know he'd have been fine with it if it were his idea, but since I suggested it, it wasn't going to happen. 

I asked The Boy to take his storm trooper out of the offering plate, and he said "Awww, it was hot lava! He was trying to escape." My apologies to you and the storm trooper and Jesus. 

When the prayernouncements were finally over we opened the door to walk into the sanctuary. The usher on my side and I made eyes that said who was going on which side. BeYoYo became nervous and suddenly wanted to be held. "Up pease!" he shrieked. I have a sling on my left arm, but held him in my right.  His hat perched upon his head. The Boy held the offering plate and walked beside me as we processed down the aisle. Feeling hot eyes on us, I made a note to myself not to invite these people to help with this again unless I have two working arms. 

The Boy and BeYoYo and I walked around the front of the church to the right side by the windows. I showed The Boy where to start passing the plate, and receiving the one that was being passed in our direction. He was intent and engaged with his mission, and BeYoYo clung to me like a baby monkey. Then BeYoYo saw our friend Jill sitting near the front and he said "I get down! I sit Ji-ull." I released him, as he was sliding down my body like a firehall pole. He ran toward Jill. You'll remember her from this post. I had to assume he'd be okay. The Boy and I had to turn slightly to get a few rows of people in the side alcove. That's when things went awry. The Boy passed the plate to the first row of congregants, and then he noticed something shiny in the window and ran off, abandoning his mission. 

I received the plate and passed it on to the next row. I whisper-yelled to the child in the window to come with me, and he ignored that as he looked at some small flags placed in a vase there. Who was he standing beside but the mom of four who had just spoken about balance. Then BeYoYo appeared beside him, apparently distracted and lost on his way to find Jill three feet away. The two of them were enamored by these flags. Even a mother spider with her eight arms could not keep up with these children who went off in one direction, and the offering plate that was going off in another. In a split second I had to decide whether to abandon the offering or the children. They were no longer on the same path to the back of the sanctuary where I could juggle them all. Knowing Jesus said "Let the children come to me" but unsure where Jesus stood on the passage of offering plates, I decided to ignore the children dismantling the centerpiece in the window, and to continue with the offering. The show must go on and whatnot. 

As I continued walking I saw Jill get out of her seat and go attend to my children. Holy God in heaven IT TAKES A VILLAGE and there are SAINTS AMONG US. I made a note to myself to not invite these people to help with this again until they are grown. Now I'm passing the plate to my friend E.J., who also loves my children. She was also starting to get up to help, but saw that Jill had beaten her to the punch. She whispered to me "We're talking back here and we can't believe you're doing this in heels too!" Once I'd made it to the back of the sanctuary, I scanned up front to see if I could see The Boy. He was standing in the outside aisle, clearly looking for me. And he was holding a small Mexican flag. I do not know why. 

I motioned for him to come back and join me, and he broke into a full sprint down the outside aisle, waving his flag the whole way. I tried to sign to him to slow down, but he was all Cinco de Mayo  and he was too thrilled. By this point people in the back of the church were unable to hide their laughter. They had the joy, joy, joy, joy down in their hearts, I suppose. So The Boy gets to me, and presents the flag he's stolen from the centerpiece, as well as one of those clear marble things that are flat on one side that people use as vase fillers. And then BeYoYo appears, I'm not even sure where from. Surely Jill brought him to me, but it's all a blur. 

So at our church once the offering is collected, the ushers carry it back down to the front of the sanctuary and deliver it to the pastor for a ceremonial prayer.  I had one arm in a sling, a child on the opposite hip, and I whispered to The Boy that it was time to take the offering to Mr. Joel. He balanced the plate in one hand as he withdrew his marble from his other hand and placed it in the offering plate. All the parallels to theology came through my head- that offering is our way of giving back to God what is already his, that we bring what's important to us to offer, that we lay down the crystals the world tells us will help us balance. I was proud of him and basked in the teachable moment. 

We waited for the music's cue and headed back down the aisle again. He nearly spilled the plate a few times, but we made it back down to the alter, and he thrust the offering plate at Joel. Joel took it graciously, said his words, and we ushered back out. The ushers all ushed back to the back office where we turn the money in. Before one of the other ushers put it in an envelope, The Boy said "Wait!" and reached back in and grabbed the marble out. So much for laying it all down. It IS really hard to give things up permanently, even if you know they weren't yours to start with. I confirmed that he didn't remove any change or bills from the plate, and everyone witnessed. 

I sent the Boys back to their class as I went back in the sanctuary for the last of worship. I was already tired from that offering adventure. I slid into my seat beside Jill and she didn't even say anything. No laughter, no anger, no looking for an apology, not even a smile. It was business as usual. Because that's what a village does. If I hadn't shown up with my chaos and my deficits in patience and organization (and arms), these friends of mine wouldn't have been able to share their excess of patience and kindness and I wouldn't have felt their love. And suddenly I understood that message of balance. 

Again I'm presented with an opportunity to learn from my children. When we got home I noticed BeYoYo had a sticker on his back of a picture of Jesus. And he was upside down. He totally gets us. 

Thursday, August 25, 2016


I have always been sensitive. When I was three I told my mom that I wasn't going back to the babysitter's house because she'd snapped her fingers at me. Reportedly, I said "I can't handle it." For me, sensitivity is not just getting my feelings hurt easily. It's also about having feelings come to the surface easily, whether it's hurt or anger or sadness or joy.

BeYoYo has been doing a funny eye roll thing for probably about a year. At first we thought he was being a punk in response to something he didn't like, but then he'd do it at other times when that didn't make sense. We realized it wasn't voluntary. Google told us it looked like a Benign Paroxysmal Tonic Upgaze, a rare but harmless thing he'd grow out of. It has the word benign right in the title, so I read about it and didn't worry about it. At his two year check up a few weeks ago I mentioned it to our pediatrician, and I showed her where we'd accidentally caught it on video. She wasn't worried, but she said she'd like to get a pediatric neurologist to see him just to be safe.

Today was our neuro appointment. BeYoYo was pleasant, flirting with the staff and telling everyone about his horses he brought. (Their names are Bucker, Cowboy, and Latigo. He's a classic 90s Garth Brooks fan). They ate him up.

The first doctor came in, and we showed her his video.


She wasn't quite sure what it was, but thought it was likely a childhood steri-OT-o-pee. I'm guessing this comes from the word stereotype. The Husband asked about a Benign Paroxysmal Tonic Upgaze, and we apologized for googling medical conditions. She said the BPTU would be an example of a steri-OT-o-pee. Then she had her student intern watch the video, and after she examined BeYoYo, listened to his heart, checked his eyes and reflexes, and watched his gait as he chased bubbles, they had an additional neuro come in to watch it. He agreed that it could be a BPTU, or that it could be an immature nervous system, and he also suggested that it looked consistent with seizures. They all agreed that they'd like BeYoYo to get an EEG so they could have more information.

I use my mom's best friend as our personal nurse call when my kids have as much as a hiccup. She's a nurse practitioner, and I consider us continuing ed for her, always making sure she's up to date on childhood illnesses. I texted her throughout the morning to update her that we were getting an EEG and what the doctors thought. She looked up steri-OT-o-pee and sent me information.

We were able to get the EEG today as well, with just a minimal wait. They called us into a separate room for the test. BeYoYo only gets his pacie, which he calls his "boppie", at night and nap time. When we walked in to the EEG room and there was a full size bed he immediately asked for a boppie. Luckily I had a spare in the car. They needed my active two year old to lie still with electrodes on his head for 30 minutes, plus they'd need him to cooperate getting the electrodes on and off.  Kid could have anything he wanted.

I wasn't really worried about him. The neuro told us the fact that this eye roll happens infrequently was a good sign. But something about seeing the tech putting electrodes on his head was hard for me.  I settled down on the bed beside him and found an Elmo horse video on YouTube on my phone. We had told him they were going to put stickers on his head to take some pictures of his head, and when the tech placed the electrode gel on his scalp he said a quiet "ouchie" through his boppie. I moved the phone to the left and to the right so he would look in the direction she needed him to so she could place the electrodes. "Yeehaw!" said Elmo.

She proceeded to place about two dozen electrodes on him, and tape them down with medical tape. Then she placed a wrap around them, and a medical hair net/skull cap contraption around his head and chin to keep it all on. She told him it was a special hat. He used his pudgy little hand to reach up and gently pat the hat to see what it was about, and he didn't bother it again. He settled down with me in the bed to watch Elmo.

He looked worse than he was. He reminded me of the Shirley Temple's dad in The Little Princess when he had amnesia in the hospital after the war.

There he was watching Elmo with his boppie, looking very much like a baby, yet he was being much braver than I would have expected considering he couldn't have understood what was going on. Maybe that's why he was brave. I cuddled up beside him and kissed his cheek. And then I cried.

Tears spilled out of my eyes to see this child hooked up to a machine. Not sobbing, weeping, worried tears. Just a few rolling, escaping, silent tears that are hard to explain. I knew this was minor and precautionary, but suddenly I was sad for every child who has to go through medical tests, and every parent who has to watch them. No kid deserves a life like that. I thought of all the kids for whom this is a normal part of life, and thought of their parents who held their phones up with no concern for their numbing arm or their data usage. In my head I wondered about what my own parents went through when I had heart surgery as a child and stayed for a week at Egleston. A tear rolled out for St. Jude commercials and families that need them, for kids with cancer who might not have another birthday, and for those who will make the most of the second chance they've been given. I thanked God for the opportunities my kids have to play ball and argue and run in the grass, to go to birthday parties and play dates and preschool. I sent positive thoughts to all the parents, who through no fault of their own, worry about blood counts and tumors and failing organs instead of snack calendars and bug bites and carpools.

He did really great for the whole EEG. Once he sat up and asked for a snack, and the tech said we could appease him with two cheez-its. Other than that he laid still the whole time, and The Husband and I told him he was doing so great. He winced when she took off the electrodes, and said it hurt. He also got some of the gel on his hand and asked "mommy clean it?" Even though I knew he wasn't in much pain, I wished I could have done it in his place.

When we were done we checked out and loaded in the car. BeYoYo immediately asked for his barn for his horses, and we gladly complied. The Husband asked him if he wanted something for lunch and he replied "chicken nunnets!" so we headed to the Chick-fil-a drive through. I sat looking at this boy, with his barn in his hand, his boppie in his mouth, and electrode gel in his hair, and I was overcome with emotion. Thanksgiving that this is not our norm, compassion for the kids and parents who have to do this all the time, and gratitude that there's likely nothing serious wrong. I was so grateful that we get to take him home, and that we get to get him chicken nunnets. So grateful that he gets to hold his barn, and that I get to hold him. I wiped tears away.

Sometimes The Boy's slow pokiness makes me want to pull my hair out. And I'm wearing a sling on my arm because I dislocated my shoulder pulling BeYoYo from playing in the toilet. But Lord, today I was so grateful for all the messy, tiring life that I too often take for granted. And tonight when I got home from work I loved on my kids and listened to what they had to say, and really appreciated getting to sit with them at dinner and tuck them into bed. I paused this moment in my head and held it with gratitude, before sitting to have a drink with The Husband on the porch. I may not remember it tomorrow, but today I am drunk with gratitude for the life which I have done nothing to deserve. And sometimes that's what it's like to be sensitive.

Wednesday, August 3, 2016

An Almost 2 Year Old

Today is BeYoYo's second birthday, and The Boy started pre-k. Today I have all the feels.

This child. He is sweet and sensitive and stocky. He loves all food, except guacamole. He says "sorry" to people when he walks by them on a sidewalk, and he waits for a hand to hold before he goes down steps. He gets worried when there's conflict in cartoons and needs to be assured everything will be okay. He sings songs and dances, and he's the happiest child.

He loves his brother with everything he has, and he always wants to do what his brother is doing, say what his brother is saying, and play with what his brother is playing. He calls The Boy "Hussy", and The Boy calls him "Roo". I'm not making that up. This is the way he looks at his brother:

Don't be mistaken: he's sweet but thou shalt not cross him. He's come into his own this year, and he has no qualms about hitting his brother or showing his annoyance. He even bit him on the butt this week.

He's proud of himself when he does something big, and he does not like thunder "nunder" because it is "woud". He loves his pacie, which he calls a "bop". He's only supposed to have it at nap and nighttime, but he sneaks into his room and gets one and grins and runs with it, enjoying a few minutes of it the way smokers enjoy a cigarette.

He jumps into the pool with no fear, yelling "cannonball!" even though he has no idea what that means.

He likes trains and loves horses. He doesn't like to get his hands dirty, and he can ride a scooter a little bit by himself. He doesn't like heights, as evidenced by the fact that he loved the rides at Dollywood until they went up in the air, and then he cried. He loves to wear a hat, and asks for one regularly.

He eats an ice cream cone like this: 

And this is how he feels about chocolate cake: 

He likes to read books and he enjoys going to school. He will speak to everyone he sees, and wants to know strangers' names. If a stranger speaks to him, though, he'll get embarrassed and pretend to fall asleep. I took him with me to try on clothes one day, and I had him in the dressing room with me. He peered under the divider and into the next stall, where there must've been someone else trying on clothes. He looked back and me and said "I see 'body!" I acknowledged that I understood he saw somebody, and just as I was about to ask him not to do that again, he peered back under and yelled "hey 'body!" Luckily the woman on the other side laughed.

When he falls down he says "I okay!" to no one in particular. 

He is determined and strong. When something is difficult he says it's "heavy", and he calls dinosaurs "hi-whores" with a hard H, and he now says chocolate instead of "chock-shit". When he wants me to hold him he says "I hold mama." We keep telling him he's two but he insists he's four-five.

When I think about this guy's birthday I am filled with joy. My mom's best friend summed it up best when she said "it just seems like he has been here always." Amen. And we're so glad he is. Happy birthday, BeYoYo!