A Mother's broken promise

July 18th, 2012

"Emelina scraped toast corners into a blue enamel pail and ran a sinkful of water. 'I don't think I could stand to let Mason go off to Kindergarten next year if it wasn't for the baby. It kills you to see them grow up. But I guess it would kill you quicker if they didn't.'"

--excerpt from Animal Dreams by Barbara Kingsolver

From the moment I became pregnant, I made a promise to protect each of my children with every fiber of my being until the day I die. Feeling another human being growing inside of me; I can't explain how that feels, but it changes you. There is a special bond that connects us to our children, a love unlike any other. As a stay at home mom I have devoted my everyday to making sure my children get the best possible life. This includes: feeding them the right foods so they grow, teaching them the right things so they learn, playing with them so they have fun, and always, always keeping them as safe as I possibly can. Just as I promised them I would.

So when you fail to keep that promise you made to your children, it is the worst day of your life. You realize you are vulnerable, you are not Super Woman, and you don't have it all together. You do the best you can, but you will not be able to protect them from everything. It's a hard pill to swallow. Today I had to swallow that pill. After all the stuff we've had to deal with over the last few years you'd think we were done and get some reprieve. We would not be so lucky.

Today started off, just like any other. The kids watching t.v, me hoping to get a few more moments of much needed sleep, willing myself to not get another migraine. Late in the morning I paid some bills, took a shower, and made plans to take my car in for emissions testing after we ate lunch. As always, I asked the kids their preference. Mason asked for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It had been a while and I happily agreed it was a good idea. A simple and easy lunch as I was determined to get the day started. Realizing Sophie was now three, and could be given peanut butter, I made her one as well. At first she looked at it in the jar and was like, "ew, that's gross. I don't like that." But after cutting it into small star shapes she took her first bite and happily announced, "it's delicious! I like it!" And before I knew it she had devoured the rest, just like that.

A few minutes later she had to go potty and I rushed with her into the bathroom. As she sat there she started coughing and acting funny. "I choke Mommy," she told me. That usually means she's going to throw up. Then she started scratching at her neck and face and rubbing her eyes. I noticed the slight hint of a rash and my concern began to grow. Crap! Could she be allergic? Oh God, I hope not.

Me: "Are you feeling OK, Sweetie?"

Sophie: "I sick. I need to go to doctor."

Me: "You're sick? Like your stomach?" She had eaten three boxes of raisins earlier and I was thinking the horrible poop was on its way.

Sophie: "My heart."

Me: "Your heart?"

Sophie: "My heart," she repeats as she touches her chest.

Me: "Your heart, is it beating fast?"

Sophie: "Yes!" She is clearly upset now.

I try to check her heart, to find out if it is really beating fast; but I can't tell. She is looking kind of pale. I take her off the potty and run to get the phone. I call our pediatricians office, and after a few excruciating moments I talk with a nurse. Sophie is starting to act sleepy at this point and still itching--all over. It is determined that I should skip coming to see them and go straight to the ER, just to be safe. I'm not completely concerned at this point as she is breathing fine, no massive rash showing up all over her body, and no throwing up; she is just irritated and tired. Always erring on the side of caution, I do as I was instructed. I run downstairs to tell Fred what is happening, leave Mason at home with him and make the 10 minute trip up the road to the hospital; thankful we live so close.

Sophie looks like she might be trying to fall asleep. I urge her to stay awake. Despite this, she walks into the ER on her own accord; holding my hand, her baby bear and blankey in tow. And just like all the other times, she seemed to be pretty much fine by the time we enter the lobby. She was asking about stickers and toys as we made our way to the sign-in window. I had just finished filling out the form when I heard Sophie call my name and proceed to puke ALL OVER THE HALLWAY. Nothing was safe; her blankey, baby bear, my purse, our shoes, clothes, and anyone within our vicinity was covered in purple and brown vomit. I stood there trying to calm my daughter down, unsure of anything else to do, while she acted out a scene from the Exorcist. I see a puke pan on the counter and grabbed it just before a nurse came out with a bucket, ushering us out of the waiting room and into the Pediatric Emergency Department. I carried Sophia as fast as I could, listening to her attempts to grasp for air in between moments of vomiting. The next two hours will be the most chaotic, stressful, and horrifying moments of my life.

Immediately, there were 4 people in the room all doing something. Orders were being yelled, Sophie was crying, and then screaming, and then puking some more. The doctor ordered a shot of epinephrine, Benadryl, and a steroid. She confirmed Sophie's throat was closing and pointed out the now massive rash that covered her chin and throat. I felt the tears well up. I was doing my best to stay calm as things were being done but not exactly explained. I knew they were all there to help. The nurses struggled to get in the IV. Sophia was scared and her body, fighting off the allergy, were all causing her veins to constrict. They tried twice in one hand and then twice in the other before finally getting it in. Sophie's screams were more than my emotionally fragile state could handle. It was a sound a mother should never have to hear. Having to endure the fear and pain my daughter was experiencing, the room suddenly became like a sauna and I felt faint. I should have eaten lunch. I knew my vaso vagel was kicking in. It was the stress, the worry, and a lack of blood sugar in my body. In the midst of all this chaos, a nurse found the time to grab me a sandwich, juice, and a chair. I sat there holding Sophie's hand, unable to hold back my tears; the guilt overwhelming. I was the one who agreed to the peanut butter. I was the one who decided it was OK for Sophie to have. I was the one who fed it to her. How could I not feel guilty? I gave my child, my sweet, innocent little girl, food that ended up being almost fatal.

I've had many trips to the ER with both my children, and have always managed to remain calm and never cried. It must have been the knowledge that my daughter was experiencing full-blown anaphylaxis, or perhaps it was the knowledge of my best friend, who having gone into anaphylactic shock after eating a piece of candy, died from her peanut allergy in this very hospital almost 13 years ago to the date. She was only 20 years old. Possibly it was both, along with my guilt, that shook me to my core. The tears flowed and I tried to fight them back. I tried so hard to not show Sophie I was scared; to be that rock, that calm I know she so desperately needed in that moment. Holding her precious little hand in mine, all I could say through my sobs was, "I am so sorry, sweetie. I am so sorry." I kept repeating it, in between kisses, hoping she might turn to me and tell me it was OK; that she wasn't mad at me and that I was still a good Mom. She never did. She just kept screaming. It went on for at least and hour and a half. By the time she had finally calmed down, showing signs of the medicine kicking in and her health improving, it was mid afternoon and we were both exhausted.

As she slept on me, my thoughts drifted back to my friend. I wondered if this was what she went through in the moments before she left this world. How scared she must have been, the pain she must have felt. The tears welled up again and I quickly brushed them away; willing myself to think of anything else. Sophia slept on me for about 45 minutes, until Fred and Mason arrived. By 3:30pm she was feeling better. The doctor came by for a quick check. Sophie's vitals were normal, no more air restriction and the rash was gone; however, she needed to stay one more hour for observation to make sure her reaction didn't flare up again. By 4:30pm we were all restless and ready to go home. At this point, Sophie was playing with Mason and even laughing. It was like she was a whole new child. She had her spunk, her attitude, and her smile back. I even allowed myself to smile. Four hours after we arrived, she was finally discharged and we could all go home.

Within 24 hours of the whole ordeal, I sat down and wrote story you just ready above; my emotions still raw, but I knew I needed to get it out. In the days that followed I did the best I could to show a brave face while inside I was falling apart. When I could no longer keep it together, I hid in the pantry and sobbed. Terrified, overwhelmed, and feeling all alone I struggled with thoughts of where to start. When it came down to it I really knew nothing about food allergies. Then I remembered that I really wasn't alone, and reached out to those I knew with kids who suffered from food allergies. I have spent the last week immersing myself in websites, blogs and online support groups learning as much as I can about peanut allergies. I want to be as informed as possible, so I could then educate my daughter, our family, and our friends. This is our first and foremost line of defense. We cannot effectively protect her if we do not know how. As it turns out, I was right; I knew nothing.

This is a major lifestyle change for us and I would be lying if I said it was going to be easy. I now carry an Epi Pen with me wherever we go, another one stays at our house, while yet two more are slated for my parents home, and Sophie's preschool. We have been advised to avoid not only peanuts, but also tree nuts until we can get her tested by an allergist. My biggest fear is not that we can no longer have peanut butter. Yes, it sucks. I love me some PB&J and Mason's favorite was PB and Fluff. However, its not like we ate them on a daily basis. Quite the contrary. PB was almost like a treat in the house, something we only ate every so often. Mac n Cheese, Chicken Nuggets, and such are more of a staple in our house. Besides, I don't like foods with nuts it them anyway. I've never been a huge fan, so that part is not a big deal. At least for me. Fred, well he likes himself some nuts (I mean he lives with us right?). Seriously though, he loves nuts. Still, we rarely have a can of nuts, or a bag of peanuts in our house. Again, a non issue. Done. No nuts. We're over it. Move on. Except that's not all of it. What terrifies me the most are all those foods out there with the hidden danger. The ones that have possibly been exposed or might have traces of peanuts in them. Foods that would never have crossed my mind as being life threatening to my child. It is astounding the number of foods we have eaten on a regular basis that have "manufactured in a facility,"or "manufactured on equipment" that also process peanuts written in the nutrition section. Something I never noticed, or rather never even attempted to look for because there wasn't a need. These are all now on the don't even think about it, no seriously just forget you even knew this food existed list. No more chocolate chip pancakes; no more M&M's with our popcorn on movie nights; no more going out for ice cream or frozen yogurt; no more Twix for me, Snickers for Fred, or any candy bar for that matter (I can Halloween is going to be a hurdle); no more running up the road to Harvest Bread Co. for their delicious homemade breads and rolls; no more cake or cupcakes from the bakery (birthday parties are going to be a bitch); no more cookies from the snack bar, or treats from the sample booth; and good lord, going to a restaurant now puts me in a panic. And when I think of how the kids get excited for haircuts just so they can get their packaged cookies from Ms. Holly it breaks my heart, because they can't have that anymore. The threat of cross-contamintion on any single food is extremely real and down right terrifying. Even those who mean well and try to make nut-free cookies, treats, or other foods for my child could potentially be putting her life at risk if they didn't properly wash their equipment, hands, utensils, and surrounding area. How can this not be a parent's worst nightmare?

Right now we are waiting for her appointment with the Allergist to arrive and crossing my fingers we have no more allergic reactions between now and then (and well never again. But I figured that was a given). In the days and weeks to come I am hoping to have the answers to my questions and at least some of my fear subsided before Sophia starts school in the fall. At least I have the small comfort of knowing her preschool is a nut-free facility and that allergy notices are posted in the classroom as well as the kitchen. Yet still, I freeze in fear at the thought of her not being under my supervision, or rather at the mercy of others, for three hours every day. As if I wasn't already the neurotic, paranoid Mom about ticks and Lyme Disease, a peanut allergy HAD to be thrown in the mix. How am I going to get through this? How am I going to not freak out and worry every second of the day that she is not in my presence? I was so excited and ready for her to go off to school, to spend that time away from me, and now I can't find the strength to let her go. Does it get easier? Will I always worry? Am I going to become that Helicopter Mom my husband warns me I am turning into? Will I die of a heart attack, or ulcer from worry before she comes close to ever having a reaction again?

I suppose the answers to those questions will come in time. For now, I am going to pour myself a glass of wine, sit down with my favorite TV show, and will myself to relax. If only for a few fleeting moments. Stay tuned for more posts about this peanut allergy as we navigate our way through this challenging diagnosis.

Moments

Every once in a while you have those moments when you feel like the recipient of the worst parent of the year award. My most recent experience with this feeling went a little something like this.

My daughter has tested and tested me over the last few weeks. You see she has horrible eczema. I don’t mean the kind where they get red, scaly, itchy patches here and there in the folds of skin where there is still lingering baby fat. Mason had that, on his ankles behind his knees and inside his elbows, but was pretty much grown out of it by the age of two. No, Sophie has the kind where we are seriously contemplating taking her to a dermatologist. These raised, red, scaly patches are not only on her ankles, but all over her stomach, her back, her arms, legs, EVERYWHERE, and ever so itchy. I can just feel how itchy it is when she is sitting there scratching and scratching at her belly, and I am doing everything I can to help her. I can feel how itchy it is when every night while putting lotion on her delicate skin, I see nothing but bright red all over her little body. I can feel how itchy it is when she’s crying, and there is blood soaked into her pants or pajamas and under her fingernails from having scratched too much. It’s all too painful to see her in this state. The steroid cream works for a certain amount of time, but we don’t want to over use that. Other creams and ointments keep the irritation to a minimum until the next major flair up, but nothing works on a permanent or very long-term basis. My heart breaks for her, causing me to just break down and cry with her.

So I guess it should have been no surprise when Sophie decided to take matters into her own hands, literally, by getting into the medicine and treating herself. Normally we have the diaper changing creams, ointments, and eczema medicines sitting in the side container of our diaper holder on the changing table. In the past two and a half years we have never had an issue with just leaving them there. That was until our little girl got smart. I can’t tell you the exact number of times, but at least 4 or 5, I would find her sitting in her room rubbing her ankles and legs. As I would get closer, I’d see the tubes of A&D ointment and hydrocortisone squeezed to death on her bed, and everything from her hands, to her sheets and her clothes, glistening with the now greasy, sticky ointment. There was one time it was so bad; she had it all in her hair and on her face and oh god, the brand new sweater I just bought that morning. Or, there was the time in the morning when she couldn’t open the door to her bedroom, so she started to yell for me at the god awful hour of before I’m ready to get out of bed, only to find out the reason was that her hands were so slimy from the ointment she rubbed all over everywhere--again. I don’t know about you, but I found out quickly that greasy ointments DO NOT COME OUT OF CLOTHES. So as the days progressed, and she was still, somehow getting into this stuff even after many trips to time out, and both Fred and I drilling it into her, YOU DO NOT PLAY WITH MEDICINE, I was seriously losing my cool with the amount of laundry that now lay in front of me. That, and the fact that she just didn’t seem to get it, or did she? Each time we went through the time out routine (thank you Supernanny) I would ask, “Why did Mommy put you in time out?” She’d respond, “cause medicine.” Then I’d ask, “Do we touch or play with medicine?” and she would immediately say, “NO.” Only later in the day she'd be doing it again. Ugh, this is so frustrating!

Now I have all the medicines; diaper cream, A&D ointment, eczema steroid, Vaseline, hydrocortisone, and whatever other medicine we usually keep handy, stored in the tallest cabinet of our master bathroom, because she has managed to get into them by pushing a chair, stool, or toy over to the area in order to climb upon and reach them everywhere else we have tried to hide these medicines from her. Not as convenient, but at least not where she can reach them. Hopefully.

It has been a few days and no more incidents of finding medicine smeared all over my daughter, or her belongings. I have managed to almost catch up on the laundry, and getting around to some much needed household chores. It is Tuesday, so I need to make sure the floor is mopped before my Parent Group meeting tonight. While I am busy downstairs, Sophie is upstairs slamming doors. I look at my watch. It is just about time to pick Mason up from school. This is when I notice that the slamming of doors as actually stopped, but not only that, it is incredibly quiet upstairs. Too quiet. I dash up the stairs, calling her name as I open doors, trying to figure out where she is and what she is getting into. I find the light on in the bathroom. She is not in there, but the medicine cabinet is open and the box of medicine gone. S*#t! I run now, screaming, desperate to find her. Finally she answers, a small voice, muffled from behind my bedroom door. I open it to find her over by my nightstand, not with the various ointments as expected, but with a bottle of Excedrin Migraine in her hand--open.

I have no idea for the life of me how she got that bottle open, I just know I freaked and started yelling, “Did you eat these?” She immediately said, “no.” However, I don’t know if that was because she didn’t, or that she just didn’t want to get in trouble because she did. She kept calling them candy and then said, “candy yucky,” and grabbed my hand, bringing me over to the trash can where she pointed out a throat lozenge she threw in there. I kept trying to get a real answer out of her about the Excedrin, but trying to have a serious conversation with a 2 year old is a bit like trying to understand a foreign language. I mean, toddler speak might as well be one. Either way, I couldn’t freak out for too long because I was going to be late for car pool. After picking Mason up from school, he reminded me I promised to buy him new shoes that day. So, off to Target we went.

The whole drive over I couldn’t get the Excedrin out of my head, and while Sophie seemed to be acting just fine, I knew I needed that peace of mind. After sitting the kids down in the café for their lunch, I called our pediatricians office thinking they might have information to help me if she had eaten the pills. They told me to call poison control. Great, that was just what I needed. Poison control already has me on their radar from Mason. When he was the same age, I came out of the shower to find he had eaten a few Tums from the bottle sitting on my nightstand. Being the nervous first time Mom, naturally I called poison control. Only a few months later I wrote this blog post about his incident with the bug spray. Shortly after that phone call I received a pamphlet of information in the mail from the poison control center, including a magnet with their phone number on it. I think they were subtly trying to send me a message, which as it turns out I didn’t exactly get, because after the phone call with them this week about my 2. 5 year old daughter maybe eating some Excedrin; I’m pretty sure I will be receiving another packet of information in the mail.

But, I'm not ready yet

Mason is having his first drop-off play date tomorrow and I am having a minor, ok, Major panic attack over it.

Mason has had a bunch of play dates over the years, and even a few with new families we have met through preschool. They have always been with me present, mostly because me and the other Mom want to chat and get to know one another. But seriously, I have never had a Mom ask me to drop off my child at their house. Until now. And well actually, she never really asked, but more assumed.

For about a week we had been playing phone tag in trying to set up a play date with our sons. Finally we met up at a school function. This was where she said, "so do you want me to just take him to my house after school or would you prefer to drop him off?" I'm pretty sure my mouth dropped to the floor and my eyes bugged out. I felt blindsided as I struggled to regain my composure. We had already agreed to the play date and even though I am not at all ready to let my son run off without me, how could I back out now? I feel really uncomfortable sending my son to the home of someone I barely know. He is only five years old. I know most of the parents in Mason's class have multiple kids and the ones in his class are usually their second or third so they have been there and done that. But he is my first, my baby, and this is a HUGE step for me. I'm sure they are a wonderful family and from the brief moments I have talked with her, I've determined she is very nice. The fact remains, we've only had a few brief encounters, so I don't know her all that well yet. I don't know any of the parents in his class very well for that matter. At least not well enough to let my son go to their house alone.

Mason, of course, is thrilled about going to this house because he says they have Legos and he is really into building with Legos right now. I explained to him that I will not be there and it would be a long time without Mom (2 hours, and that was me cutting it down). Still he doesn't seem to be apprehensive about it at all. I seem to be the only one with reservations and suffering from fear, panic and worry. What if he gets hurt and I am not there? What if they allow him to do things that I find inappropriate? What do I do if their discipline methods are completely different than ours? Will she let them play outside unattended? What if he gets uncomfortable or upset or bored and wants to go home, will she call me and let me know? I told him that he should tell the Mom if he wants to leave and have her call me and I'll come pick him up but still, I have all these horrors running through my head. I've never been to their house, I've never seen my son and her son interact or play with one another, so I have no idea how well they get along. This is all so new and uncharted territory for me and for him. I have no idea what to expect, nor do I know what is the protocol in these situations.

I mentioned this on Mason's birthday, with all the parents wanting to drop off their 4 and 5 year old children at my house for his party, and this wasn't the first time I ran into this. At what age is it appropriate to expect other parents to watch our kids for two hours while we run off? Even more, is 5 too young for a drop off play date? Especially if you do not know them that well? I want my son to feel independent and confidence in not having me around but at the same time, he is only in preschool. I have such anxiety and feel so uncomfortable about the whole situation, yet I feel I can't insist I be there or back out for fear of being seen as rude or over protective. I'm almost trying to find any excuse, like bad behavior, to call up and cancel. Ahh! Please tell me I am not the only one who feels this way?

So how do I deal with this anxiety? I'm not sure. I could very well be that Mom who sits in her car for two hours, parked across the street.

Just like that

I tell you. I make plans, have great ideas and then just like that, it's almost a month before I get the chance to post to my blog again. Ugh. I feel like such a slacker.

Blame it on my inner overachiever who feels the need to be SuperMom at all times. If you remember, at the end of the school year, I became the Vice Chair for the Parent Connection Committee at Mason's preschool. Well, plans kinda changed a bit. So, um, yeah, now I have stepped up and become the Chairperson for the PCC instead. Gulp. Yeah I just had a minor panic attack too. It's a long story, but basically the PCC is struggling a lot with parent involvement this year and no one came forth interested in being the leader. I pretty much said, well I'm kinda doing it anyway, and so there you go.

I haven't exactly told Fred just yet. Mostly because of his less than enthusiastic and not so supportive response when I told him I wanted to be Vice Chair. Imagine how he would react if I said, "Honey. Guess what? I am now running the whole thing." Yeah that would not go over well. So I am kinda taking my time to ease him into this knowledge. That, and well, it's a hell of a lot of work.

I was not prepared to take on this role, so naturally I was not prepared for the responsibilities and duties that have all of a sudden slapped me hard in the face. I've only been in this role, in official capacity, for a week now. Mostly, I am trying to play catch up. I have been reading through the previous Chair's binder she put together. Getting myself familiar with how she ran things, what worked and what didn't. Studying up on her notes, past agendas and meeting minutes. Working hard to come up with a strategy or plan for how to make this year successful. I'm not gonna lie, its A LOT OF WORK and I find myself struggling with it all. I really don't want to admit this, but I think I might have bitten off a bit more than I could chew.

It's not like I was really keeping up with all my domestic duties as a SAHM anyway. I'll get into my opinion on domestic duties another day. As I was saying, I already wasn't keeping up with my massive laundry list of duties as it was, but now it's all gone to the wayside.

I haven't washed my floors in months. I know, disgusting isn't it? The only time I remember to do the laundry is when there is a lack of clothes to wear and by then the piles have gotten so huge it takes me two weeks just to get through it and by then it's piled up all over again. *sigh* I don't have a dinner plan and it's 5pm and Fred is super annoyed. My kids have watched way more television that I would normally allow, and eaten way more junk food than I am completely comfortable with them having, and whined far above my tolerance level due to boredom and wanting Mommy to pay attention to them. I feel so incredibly guilty. As if I haven't been feeling guilty enough since becoming a Mom. But, in turn, I need to have some time to get non-child related work done. Not just for school, even though we have three events that are coming up and no one to chair two of those committee's and a serious lack in parents stepping up to run stations at our Safety Day event at the end of the month, but to be able to have the time to nourish myself as well.

I joined the PCC, yes to help out with my son's school, but mostly to meet other Mom's. I felt so alone at the beginning of school last year. It was Mason's first year, I was new to the whole school thing. Unsure of what to expect, not really knowing anyone but one friend. I hated that disconnected feeling, especially when everyone around me seemed to be so in tune with one another. So I signed up for Room Parent and I met Nancy. I think I spent the most time with her than any other Mom at the school, between planning classroom events and chit chatting about life in carpool line. I got to know the other parents in the classroom and play dates were made as well as friendships. I then signed on to co-chair the Art to Remember event. I met Aimee, who's children swim on my neighborhood swim team and got a background of the school from one whose children have attended for nearly 10 years. I got to know the teachers and some staff where we would exchange hello's and how is you daughter in the hallway. One day, I ran into a fellow PCC member at Wegmans, than another one at Target, and then waves started exchanging in carpool line and I no longer felt alone. I felt part of a community and that was really the point.

I want to take my experience and bring it to the Parent Connection Committee this year. The whole idea is to connect. To enlighten parents on how the PCC makes school life better. I know we all have felt at some point in our lives as if we were alone, but we really aren't and we shouldn't have to feel this way. There is whole community out there waiting for you! As our children attend school, developing their minds, they are also establishing friendships, so why shouldn't we?

That said, I am struggling with the business side of it all, sitting here putting together my own agenda as I prepare for our first official social meeting of the year. I almost already feel like a failure, having not established committee heads for the majority of our events/fundraisers. Nor do we have the officer positions fully staffed. Psst, I am going to let you in on a little secret. I don't like talking in front of groups of people, it makes me so uncomfortable and self conscious. I too, shy away from leadership roles for lack of confidence in myself that I know enough to hold such a high power position and do it effectively, because I am not much of a confrontational person. My personality is anything but tough and I'm not sure I could be stern enough to someone when they aren't getting the job done. However, I hosted an extremely successful Room Parent Coffee Talk forum last week, where I discussed the role and responsibilities of the Room Parent and shared a few tips and tricks that I learned from being a Room Parent myself. There were many new parents and I had more than a few come up to me afterwards and thank me. I admit, it felt really good. My ego was boosted a little bit and I had some more confidence in myself that I might actually be able to pull this whole thing off.

So after that long explanation, what I was really trying to say is that if you don't see me posting as often, it's because I'm either desperately trying to catch up on laundry, planning the latest party for my son's classroom, actively getting parents involved, or just spending time with my kids.

And speaking of parties, I have a 5 year old Transformers birthday party to plan. *bangs her head on the table* Yeah, I'll get on that one first thing in the morning.

That Mom

Today my heart about leaped out of my chest as I came so close to having an absolute break down. Right there in the women's section of Target. I hate to admit, but this is not the first time I have experienced this kind of sheer panic. Sophie has run off in the store many times before; at Kohls, Target, Walmart, etc. You know, only the really big stores where its easy for the kids to hide under clothes racks and in store displays, and equally easy enough for sometime to just walk away with your precious child and no one notice.

This is the scenario playing out in my mind as I am running up and down the aisles calling her name, "Sophie!" Each look around a corner or behind a rack I hope to see her pop out, that mischievous smile on her face and say, here I am! But there is nothing. This continues for some time, longer than I am comfortable with, and I suddenly realize, I am THAT MOM. We all know her. The one who didn't pay close enough attention and lost her child. She is the one in shear panic, running all crazy like and screaming at the top of her lungs, turning the store upside down, sobbing and calling out her child's name. The Mom who we all stare at and judge and secretly pray we never become. For some, our heart goes out to her and others swear that will never be us, because we are way better parents.

I really try hard not to fully embody that mom. I calmly walk up to the associate in the fitting room, "have you seen my daughter run by here?" I try not to sound too concerned. "She is wearing a cupcake shirt," I tell her as we walk the aisles together. She must have sensed my panic rising, or maybe saw the fear and tears I was fighting hard to suppress. "Would you like me to call it in," she asks. "Yes, please." I hate to admit that my daughter isn't just going to appear any second like she always does, and give in, accepting my failure.

The call goes out over the radios to all the associates. Amongst my fear, I feel embarrassed too. How could I have let this happen? Why do I let her play in areas where I don't have a direct eyesight with her? How could I have been so engrossed in looking at clothes that I didn't notice she was gone? Ultimately what I was really thinking was, I am a terrible mother.

I'm sure we have all been in this mindset before, for something we perceived as the ultimate betrayal to the trust of our children. It may be just an over reaction or it might be rightfully justified. All I know, is that today, in that moment, I had never felt so undeserving of my children. These precious lives that are at the mercy of my hand each and every day deserve better, better than me as their Mom. I wanted to turn to all those people who praised me for my mothering skills and snap at them, "See, I told you I suck at this."

Just as I was settling into this doom of self hate, a lady walks my daughter, who is donning adult sunglasses being held upside down, to her face, over to wear we stand. My heart skips a beat, my fear fades and I grab her and hold her as tight as I possibly can. "She was just trying on sunglasses," the lady reveals to me. I cannot thank her enough as she explains she has a son who does the same thing. So many feelings rush over me as I carry my daughter back to our cart and place her safely inside. "You are staying in here," I tell her, as I explain how terrified I was that I could not find her and it was very important that she NEVER DO THAT AGAIN!!

The rest of our shopping excursion goes without a hitch. Thankful and feeling as though I narrowly escaped what could have turned out to be THE ABSOLUTE WORST DAY OF MY LIFE, I buckle her into the car seat, steal a sweet kiss and drive off to pick up my son from school.

The training wheels are off

When we first got Mason his 16" inch bike because he was seriously outgrowing his 12", it was a struggle, and hit my fear nerve trying to get him to ride on both training wheels. He tended to favor one training wheel over the other and I was certain he was going to bite it when he sped through the turns on our cul-de-sac. So much, that my body would temporary seize in fear each time.

This was only back in April or May. So when Fred and Mason came running in the door this morning insisting they had a surprise, Mason was riding without training wheels, I was shocked. You mean the training wheels are off the bike? Oh, yes they were indeed.

Doesn't he just look so cool?

Occasionally, he'd fall down. But he'd get right back up.

but not before Sophie ran to his side to see if he was o.k.

Right now this is our fourth time outside to ride bikes. Clearly he is proud of himself, as he should be. Taking the training wheels off is a big step, and at only four years old no less. He never fails to amaze me. His courage and determination alone are inspiration for my own life.

As I sit here watching him, picking up speed with each passing lap around the cul-de-sac, maneuvering turns with precision, it is hard to believe that just a short week ago he was practicing how to just balance on the bike. Now he looks as if he's been riding this way for years, instead of 5 hours. Our neighbors son, who is around 7 years, sees Mason and joins him. They ride together in a, we're part of the same club, sort of silence. Then,"I really like your bike." "Yeah, it's Transformers." "I know, and your helmet is Bumblebee." "He's my favorite Transformer." "Mine too." "Really?" And their off again, riding side by side. He looks so different on two wheels.

I still cannot believe my four year old is riding his bike without training wheels and doing such an awesome job! I am beyond proud. Practically speechless. It is odd for a four year old to have mastered riding a bike without training wheels already, isn't it?

It must be the energon seeping into his veins.

Running on Empty

The last 48 hours have been a little trying. This morning my husband left for a 6 day trip to California to help catch and tag birds with his brother for study. The big event of this trip is to test out the GPS tracking units he designed, programmed and built himself from scratch on the birds they catch. This trip just may make or break us, especially since my husband has been out of work since around March when he and his partner decided to close the doors of their telecom business. It was a hard decision but one that was necessary, cutting losses rather than losing it all. We are hoping that he can build a new business from these GPS units.

This morning around 6am, shortly after my husband left for the airport, I was awoken by a sound and rushed out of my bedroom to find my son, head over the toilet again. Yesterday he awoke and climbed into our bed like usual. However, after a few moments of rest he complained that his head hurt. This continued for a while until he began to puke, and continued to do so the whole rest of the day. His was scalding hot, extremely tired and running a fever of 101 degrees. I tried to get Tylenol in him but he couldn't keep anything down. So we were battling this sickness on top of getting my husband ready to leave for his trip. I did some last minute grocery shopping, knowing I might not be able to get another chance once it was just me and the kids, with Mason being sick and all. It's not like I can just leave him at home and say, "hey sweetie, you stay here for a bit while I go run some errands." By the time I got home he was feeling better. Fever was down and he was playing Mario Kart with daddy, laughing and smiling and seeming like his old self. I thought we had it beat and it was a 24 hour thing. Not the case. He's been struggling to keep anything down all day and his fever keeps spiking to a 101 degrees. I dug deep and tried to remember all the things my mom and would do when I was sick with the flu so many times.

I've been wetting paper towels with cold water and placing them on his forehead and neck. Letting him sleep on the couch and watch all the movie, t.v. shows he wants. Having him sip ginger ale, this always helps with my upset stomachs when I'm sick, and water. Letting him have a few Saltine crackers and remembering the BRAT diet. Continue to monitor his temperature and dose fever reducing medicine accordingly. Hold his hand, rub his back, and be there when he is head down in the toilet.

After two days of no relief from his fever I am left at a loss as to how to get this fever in check. Desperate I called the doctor for advice. They said to continue what I have been doing and to alternate between ibuprofen and acetaminophen.

I only had liquid ibuprofen in the house and even though Walgreens is only up the street I knew I couldn't leave Mason alone in the house. My neighbor, and college sorority big sister, came to my rescue. She picked up the medicine along with some cookies and a Family Fun magazine for me. All of this while her son too was running a fever. I swear it is these moments that I truly realize how blessed I am to have such wonderful people, friends, in my life and in my neighborhood. I owe you one Susie, thanks.

UPDATE: So I hadn't finished this post when I put the kids to bed last night. Exhausted, I left it sitting on my computer to finish in the morning, ready to just have some time to relax. However, that did not last long and here is the story of what happened next.

The kids are in bed asleep. I figured it would be nice to pop some popcorn and watch a movie Fred had no interest in. You know, try and relax from the hectic day and rejuvenate my spirit or something along those lines. In hind sight, Shutter Island, was probably not the best choice but I like horror films, even though they scare me and Fred doesn't. So the perfect time to watch is when he is not here. However I got interrupted numerous times from the phone ringing and doing laundry. But it wasn't until after I noticed the peculiar rash that appeared out of nowhere on my leg that I lost total interest in the movie.

In case you are curious, this is the best picture out of the few I took of the rash. It's not very clear but in the center is a red/purplish dot. This is how I react to mosquito bites. I have a few of them on my legs. I get at least 20 each summer. What can I say? I must have sweet blood. Around that dot is a large red circle.

At first I thought it was an impression of something I was laying on, but when it didn't go away after a significant amount of time...

I tried not to panic, really I did. I swear. But with the recent incident with Mason and the tick and being on high alert for rashes and what not, this was the first thought that came to my mind; Oh crap, I have Lyme disease. I started pacing the room, trying to occupy myself with anything other than the rash and of course that didn't work at all.

Suddenly, I felt really alone. Alone and scared and desperate to talk to someone. Look up at the clock, 11:30pm. Well that rules out calling any of my friends. I really needed some to calm me down and reassure me that I would be fine. I realize that it is only 8:30pm in California and Fred would still be up so I call him. No answer. Leave a tear filled, panicked voicemail and hang up. Pace the room some more. Go check on Mason, he is still asleep. Good. Try to watch the movie again, but at this point I am not following the story line and my mind is on something else anyway. Phone rings. It's Fred. We talk, he calms me a bit. I agree to send him the pictures I took of the rash so he can better give his opinion. Next I talk to my soon to be sister-in-law in Reno. We decide to find a way for me to go to the doctor tomorrow if the rash is still there in the morning and get tested for Lyme. After I hang up I look at the clock, it is around midnight at this point. I decide I should go to bed as Mason might need me in the middle of the night and I will need to get some sleep before then.

Just as I am crawling into bed, around 12:30am, I hear Mason rush into the bathroom. I quickly join him. Check his forehead, but he is not hot like before so I send him back to bed. 1:30am, he's back in the bathroom and again at 2:30am, and 4:30am, and 5:30am, and 6:30am and finally again at 7:30am. Each time, I groggily but hurriedly join him to make sure he is not alone, scared or running a fever again. Ready to dose if he is. Each time I look down at my leg and no, I didn't imagine the rash, it is still there. By around 5am I stopped checking, so tired and just wanting to crawl back in bed once Mason was back in his. During the trip to the bathroom at 7:30am he started to feel warm again and despite the fact that his fever was down I gave him some acetaminophen anyway, as it seemed his fever was on the rise and Mason was so desperate for sleep. It worked. He fell right asleep and slept till around 11am. I was not so lucky.

The phone rang at around 8:30am, it was Fred checking in. I recalled the nights festivities and how at one point Mason looked up at me, pale and upset from his millionth horrendous vomit session and heart breakingly said, "I wish Daddy was here." At that point, I did too. Fred had looked at the rash photos I sent and told me they all agreed that I should go to the doctor and get put on antibiotics right away. That was not reassuring, but I was too tired at this point to think too much about it, besides, I had forgotten to check it recently. I tried to go back to sleep but that was moment Sophie decided she couldn't amuse herself in her crib anymore and wanted out, NOW.

I managed to drag myself out of bed and start a pot of coffee while giving Sophie a banana for breakfast. I checked my leg for the first time in hours and ironically the rash had faded, to the point that I could barely see it. Very weird, I thought. But, I figured better to be safe than sorry. Mason still asleep and unsure of his current state I knew I couldn't make a doctors appointment to be seen. Instead I sent the photos I took to our pediatrician and family doctor in an email. He has today off so I thought I'd get his opinion first. He is also a family friend and I try not to take advantage of that fact, so I was hesitant about it at first but decided it was ultimately the best thing to do. His wife and I are good friends, as mentioned before our sons are best friends, so I called her later that morning just to chat and get things off my mind. She said she'd make sure her husband checked his email and would give me a call. At this point Mason had awoken and was feeling better, asking for something to eat and some water. He was acting a little more like himself.

A few hours later our doctor called. Checked on Mason. Said a bug was going around, probably what Mason has, but glad to hear he was feeling better. He also said that Mason could eat yogurt as well. Of course Mason jumped at hearing this and proceeded to have two servings of yogurt. Then the inevitable was discussed, my rash. He told me I didn't need to come in to be seen, based on the photos it looked like classic Lyme. In this area, where Lyme is prevalent, you don't take chances. So he is putting me on a 3 week course of antibiotics, Doxycycline, or something like that. Even if it turns out not to be Lyme it's better to take the treatment as a precaution. I agree, though it wasn't what I wanted to hear. I wanted him to say that it was nothing to worry about and I would be fine. I should be grateful that it sounds hopeful we caught it in the earliest stages and I should develop no complications. However, these antibiotics are rough on the stomach and make your skin extra photosensitive. I suppose though, it is a small price to pay compared to the many horrible symptoms of Lyme disease I could experience if not treated right away. I do, however, worry that for the rest of my life I will second guess every cramp, pain, fatigued feeling, headache, or nausea experience as a possible Lyme flair up. As if I wasn't paranoid enough already.

And now Mason's fever is starting to creep up again as he starts to complain, once again, about his head hurting and not feeling well. Another dose of Ibuprofen as he curls up on the couch to watch Max and Ruby. Sophie is down for a nap, and I, I am finally finishing this post and getting some lunch while I wait for my prescription of antibiotics to be faxed and filled. It is only 3pm on day two of being single mom for a week, and my tank is seriously empty.

I've decided, if Fred tells me he is headed on another week long trip, cross country or not, I will duct tape him to his suitcase and lock him in the closet.

Ticked off

On the first day of summer things went totally wrong.

After a morning of dealing with no school and wondering what to do, I left Mason downstairs to watch Backyardigans while Sophie and I went upstairs to take a shower so I could get my head awake.

Sophie and I were giggling up a storm, sitting on the shower floor. I was teaching her the wheels on the bus song. Mason came walking in and announced very happily, "we have our first watermelons." Moments later he came back in and asked if he could take a shower too. I hesitated and then after seeing his disappointment, I caved. He undressed and walked into the shower. I told him to get his hair wet and wash up and that's when I noticed a black spot under his arm. I told him to hold up and come outside. Glasses off I couldn't really see but I knew it was some sort of bug and wanted to get a tissue or something and get it off before Mason freaked out. I tried to flick it a bit with toilet paper and that's when I stopped to get a closer look. Squinting my eyes hard I stared at it and that's when I thought, oh crap. I think this is a tick.

Shower still running, Sophie quietly playing in it, I left Mason standing in the bathroom holding his arm up. Soaking wet and naked I ran to the top of the stairs and yelled for Fred. No answer. That's when I screamed as loud as I could so he could hear where ever he was and he came running in from outside. I hurriedly told him that I think Mason has a tick on him and I am not sure what to do, I don't have my glasses. He confirmed it was a tick and said he just saw our neighbor and ran out to talk with her. Our neighbor's daughter has Lyme disease. Has since she was about Mason's age. It's been a horrible disease and we've spent the last three years listening to the stories from our neighbor. I immediately thought about this and tried to stay calm, but all I could think was my poor little boy standing naked in the bathroom with this tick stuck to his armpit. How he had his whole life ahead of him and how this moment could possibly take all that away.

It felt like forever. Waiting there for Fred to come back. I didn't know what to do. Was there something I should be doing right now? My mind was going a mile a minute and I couldn't turn it off. My hands were shaking so bad and Mason started crying. I tried to calm him but I wasn't sure myself and Fred was taking forever. Mason kept crying and saying he wanted daddy and I felt helpless and scared and I started crying too. I couldn't just leave both the kids in the house and search for Fred outside, I knew he was getting information on how to properly take the tick off and what to do afterward, but my god the two of us were just standing there with no idea what was going on or what to do. And the seconds went by so slowly. IT WAS TERRIFYING.

Finally Fred came back but he wouldn't tell me what he was doing or what needed to be done and I was freaking out. I just wanted to know. It was killing me not having this knowledge and my son's health in danger. He tried to kick me out but Mason really started to freak when Fred got the tweezers so I ran back in and held Mason as tight as I could while Fred removed the tick (and some of Mason's skin with it) and placed it in a Ziplock bag. Mason was in tears, Sophie was trying to figure out what was going on, still in the shower, and I was sobbing. My whole body shaking in horrid sobs. I didn't know if my little boy was going to be OK or not.

Moments later our neighbor came knocking on the door to check the situation. We all quickly got some clothes on Mason and myself and went downstairs. She talked to us for like 3o minutes, giving us the website of a lab we can send the tick off to in order to test for Lyme disease. Arming us with what to look out for in the next days, weeks, etc. The bulls-eye rash, any fatigue, or irritability, etc. It was a bit comforting to have her there talking with us. Looking back she can see the warning signs she missed with her daughter. I hope her experience helped us.

So many things I am trying to stay hopeful about. Hoping the test the lab does on the tick comes back negative. Hoping no rash develops. The ticks head was not imbedded in Mason's skin, nor was it engorged so I am hoping that is a good sign. Trying to stay hopeful that this tick was not on Mason longer than the few moments yesterday morning before spotting it. We didn't notice anything before then, but then again we weren't looking either and it had been quite a while since the kids had bathed; I hate admitting that.

In the meantime we are observing the bite everyday, checking the kids for ticks on a regular basis after playing in the yard. I called our pest service about getting the yard sprayed for ticks. And emailed our pediatrician about the whole situation and thought I'd mention it to him at Sophie's check up on Monday.

I don't normally pray, but last night I found myself knelt beside my bed, head bowed, hands crossed and through my tears I spoke; "Dear Heavenly Father..." I prayed, and I've been doing that a lot since yesterday. I know, we as parents, can't protect our children from everything. There will always be dangers out there. As a mother, I find it is the hardest thing to accept that harm will come to my childen in some form or another. Be it a broken heart, broken bone, or an illness. I know that I can't keep them in a bubble, locked in the house, but I feel like I want to do that sometimes. To hold them, protect them and promise nothing will ever happen to them. It is these moments that I recall that scene in Finding Nemo when Marlin, Nemo's father, says that he promised he would never let anything happen to his son and Dory replies, "well that's a silly thing to promise. You can't never let anything happen to him. Then nothing would ever happen to him." Dory was right. I see that. But, how do I ease the fear, the pain, the constant worry, the guilt? How do I let go? How do I go on with life knowing the dangers yet still find comfort and peace? I need to know that it is all going to be OK. I need to have reassurance and knowledge. I know all to well how fragile and short life really is. I have seen and experienced my share of loss.

So as I sit here, my family in bed asleep, I think about how I wish I could go back to Thursday. Before any of this happened and prevent it, but know I can't. I think of how much I have prayed for the health of my son. I think, I need to say one more prayer. A prayer for strength. To find my strength to get through this no matter the outcome, and to learn from it all.

I may sound like one neurotic mother right now, I know my husband thinks I am, but I just needed to get this out. I needed to talk and have someone listen. So if you read all of this, I say, Thanks.

With that, I am off to bed with the hope I can get some sleep tonight.

Everything is going to be alright...

in the end.

In light of all that has happened in the last eight days, I haven't had a moment to just take it all in and breathe.

Thursday afternoon, feeling a bit rundown, I needed to just veg on the couch while the kids played. Mason had me coloring some Cars coloring pages that he was then hanging up on his wall of art in our family room. In the process of it all it somehow he slipped, or lost his balance, or as he tells it-got dizzy, and fell off the stool. I didn't really see it. I just saw him disappear out of the corner of my eye and heard a really loud sickening bang, like his tiny head smacking something really hard.

He lay there on the floor between the train table and wall, not moving, not making a sound. In the time it took me to jump off the couch and run over (a matter of seconds) he was having some sort of an episode that I can only describe and assume was a Vasovagal syncope. Something I thought he had outgrown due to it having been almost two years since his last episode. But I saw him on the ground, eyes freakishly wide, tense and almost convulsing as he was emitting a groan like he was struggling. I got down to his level, touched his face and tried to get him to respond. Nothing. I tried so hard not to panic, screamed for Fred, and tried to get to him better but the train table was in the way. I struggled to move it, screamed for Fred again, sat back down at his head and called his name over and over till he finally came to. I asked him simple questions I knew he could answer to gage his mental state and if there was any damage. I could tell he was scared and in pain, full out crying at this point. I screamed for Fred one more time as I rushed to the other side of the train table and yanked with all my might. Mason tried to get up but I made him lay down for a little longer till Fred finally came upstairs and picked him up. At this point Mason was fine, saying his head hurt but no visible bruise and even making jokes. We gave him some ice cream to get his blood sugar up. Being a Vasovagal sufferer my whole life, I know that you need something like a cookie or juice after an episode and then you are perfectly fine.

As he sat at the table eating his ice cream, I slipped away to sit on the stairs, take a breather and cry. I cried and cried because I was scared, because I was tired, because I thought I was a failure, because I felt sick to my stomach. I heard Fred suggest Mason come over and give me a hug. Here was this little boy, only four years old, reassuring his mother that he was OK and me, a grown 31 year old woman, crying on my little boys shoulder, holding him so tight, unwilling to let go. I needed to release a little of my worry and my guilt. Mason kept telling me it was enough hugging, you know how boys are, and then as I tried to get my crying under control I hear him say, very matter of factly, "don't get any tears on my BumbleBee shirt, momma."

I had to laugh. He always knows just what to say. I bought him two Transformer t-shirts yesterday and he was super excited to wear them to school as soon as possible. He had already been very upset when I picked him up. Having gotten orange paint all over his other BumbleBee shirt while painting shirts for Spring Sing, and his teacher told him the paint wasn't washable. But, he didn't take into account my super mom powers which of course got the job done. So it was no surprise that he was focused on not getting this one ruined either.

Seriously, I must learn to focus on the truly important things in life, not that other frivolous stuff . Well, according to a four year old anyway.

Growing Pains

Sophie decided she wanted to be a Zebra today.

I walked Mason in for drop off and as soon as we saw the front doors to the school Sophie squirmed out of my arms. "Down. Walk," she demanded. And leading the two of us, she paraded down the halls of Mason's preschool. All the way into his class room and right up to the teacher. I made small chit chat as I always do with Mason's teachers as he hangs up his backpack, signs in and acclimates himself. One teacher is expecting so we chatted about ultrasounds, due dates and the difference between boys and girls while Sophie explored the dramatic play area. Having showed up later than usual, by the end of our conversation it was time for school to start.

Ms. Regehr turned on the music while the zebras (Mason's class) cleaned up their free centers and one by one sat down for the morning meeting. This was just fine with miss Sophia. She walked right over and joined them for circle time, choosing sit upon after sit upon until settling on one sandwiched between her big brother, Mason, and his classmate, Caprice. She looked over at each child, a satisfied look on her face, then turned to Ms. Regehr and pointed, nodding her head as if to say OK, I'm ready. You may start class now. This amused not only the teachers but the students as well. "Oh jeez." I heard a few say. "I think we have a new student," Mrs. Aviles said to Ms. Regehr. To which she replied, "Sophie, are you joining our class today?" And my little girl, 21 months old, nodded her head. "Yeah," she said, "sit." Observing this whole scene and smiling, the only thing I could think was, where is my camera? Why did I leave it in the car this morning? Of all mornings!

Honestly, I was not prepared for this. For the sudden desire to be a big girl. With her independence growing each day; her persistence to sleep in Mason's toddler bed, her I do it attitude when it comes to brushing teeth and walking down stairs, and climbing onto Mason's chair for meal/snack time. I was caught off guard. Maybe it was because he didn't know there was anything better because there was no one to look up to, but Mason was content in his booster chair, crib and holding mommy's hand. She isn't even two yet and my little girl already wants to cut the strings. She sees her big brother doing it and that's it, it's all over, she HAS to do it too.

Though I really have enjoyed seeing her come into her own these last few months. Working so hard to say words we understand; milk, cookie, itchy, car, Thomas (as in choo-choo). And attempt phrases; there you go, I did it, thank you. But even if I'm not quite ready for her to fly solo I can check one worry off my list. When it comes to preschool, not only is it clear she is ready, but I think she'll do just fine.

A mothers worst fear

The scene yesterday morning. Two kids under the weather, watching Tinkerbell and looking all to adorable doing it.

There are moments in every parents life when they truly get scared, I mean down to the core. I've experienced these moments twice. Once with each child. Mason's you can read about here, which thankfully ended with us figuring out he has my illness, Vaso Vagal Syncope. Sophie's turn was around 4am this morning.

This household has been going through the terrible icky sickies once again. It seems that every winter (or as I perused through my old posts, every January) we go through this. It starts off as a few coughs and stuffy/runny noses. Then it becomes all night coughing fits, followed by lethargic children and a Mom with a really sore throat, that sounds "funny" and is about to lose her voice all together.

So last night it was another sleepless night of coughing, body aches, and little children crying. I was quietly praying to myself that everyone get back to sleep when I heard it. A faint sound of choking and vomit coming from the monitor. I immediately went into mommy mode, jumping out of bed and running to her room. Standing in her crib and looking pathetic was my little girl. I gently picked her up and walked into the bathroom to clean her up. Seemingly better, but tired, I walked back into the nursery and put her down so I could grab the aspirator and suck out the nasty boogers that were clearly making it hard to breathe. Partway through she stumbled backward. Immediately I reached out and caught her just as she fell backward, eyes glassy, limp in my arms and proceeded to shake. That's when I panicked. Looking down at her pale, unresponsive face I screamed. As loud as I could with my loss of voice, "FRED! FRED!"

It only lasted a few seconds, long enough for me to be scared out of my mind and Fred to make it from our bedroom to the nursery. The tears were flowing and I struggled to catch my breath. Shortly after, Mason came walking in, my screams surely having woken him up. Of course he was concerned about Sophie, who at this point began to vomit. Thick, yellow, disgusting mucus. She was burning up and we made the decision to take her to the ER. So I threw some clothes on as fast as I could, packed the diaper bag, and grabbed our coats before rushing out the door, my little baby in arms. Luckily the Hospital is just up the road so it only took a few minutes before I was un-buckleing her from her car seat and running into the empty ER waiting room sometime shortly after 4am.

Sophie is nothing like her brother when it comes to doctor visits. She freaks out over everything. So I had to lay on the bed, holding her as they checked her vitals, took her temperature (102+), and put on the ID bracelet (which she hated worst of all). I tried to show her I had a matching one to calm her down but it was no use. They tested her for RSV, Flu and Strep. After what felt like forever waiting in the small room, t.v. on mute, the results came in. Negative on everything. So it's just a simple virus. The doctor then sat and discussed what he concluded as her having what they refer to as a simple febrile seizure. It was explained that a febrile seizure affects kids between ages 6 months and 3 years and is usually brought on by a high fever, 100.4 or higher and can last up to 15 minutes. It is the bodies way of protecting the brain when a virus hits. He reassured me that she has no brain damage and is not more likely to have epilepsy when she gets older. She does however, have a 25% chance of it happening again.

So around 6:30am, both of us tired out of our minds, we arrive back home and go back to sleep. We are to spend the day monitoring her fever, and making sure her fluid intake (water or pedialyte) is sufficient and she doesn't get dehydrated.

This truly was one of the scariest moments for me and I don't wish it upon anyone. To see your children suffering or in distress and feeling helpless and unknowing what to do to help is a tough place to be as a parent. We all want to believe that we have super powers and can fix any boo-boo and we all want to believe our children will be perfect. As I have learned and seen around me, this is never the case. Things happen that are beyond our control. All we can do is handle them the best way we possibly can, with maturity and composure. And don't forget to embrace the comfort of your family and friends as they only feed our strength in these moments.

For now, Sophia is doing fine. Her fever is down and she is currently napping. My fear has dissipated as I got the chance to sleep it off thanks to my hubby. My voice is worse, though talking with doctors all morning surely didn't help. Mason, well, he still has a fever in the 100's. So yes, he stayed home from school again today. Another week of only having school two days. He is currently napping as well though, can you imagine how hard it is to get a rambunctious little boy to just rest when he is sick? The resilience of these kids astounds me. Their ability to bounce back in the blink of an eye, jus amazing. I pray this is the worst of it for the year and we can all move forward and be healthy. That this weekend will bring with it, much needed rest and family time, to comfort and love and heal. So we can go back to peaceful nights and days filled with tiny laughter and a full week of school becomes the norm once more.

Well there you have it. Just another adventure in icky sicky land at the Briggs household. I think I'll head back to bed now.

Mirror image

I love how my son's idea of cleaning up mirrors my own from childhood.

A lesson learned. Hopefully.

The last day of school before winter break. Snow still on the ground from the few inches of snowfall the day before. Two hour delay had carpool starting an hour later than normal and our day a little out of sorts. Luckily we got a phone call for a play date from Mason's best friend. After a quick lunch and a phone call to the doctors (who ironically is the father of our play date friend) we had Sophia dosed up with Benadryl for her stomach rash and headed out the door.

Met with uber excitement the kids threw off their winter gear and ran off to play. As usual they eventually wanted a snack so we made chocolate ice cream from a recipe in High Five magazine. With just some soy milk, ice, sugar, salt and 10 minutes of shaking we had our ice cream. I thought it was pretty cool, but like all new things we try there is a margin of error. And unfortunately the plastic bags broke and our ice cream ended up quite salty. Now we know for next time. Double bag.

A few hours later, kids still playing and Sophia asleep on my shoulder; it was after all about 4:30pm, the boys were upstairs playing and we sat on the couch for some girl talk and downtime. Then it happened.

My son started to scream. Blood curdling screams that let us know something was terribly wrong. He comes running down the stairs and very clearly upset and in pain. The reason? His best friend had bit him.

WHAT?!

Yeah, that was our reaction too. Totally in disbelief. But sure enough I lifted up Mason's shirt and there there perfectly aligned teeth marks on his upper back. Seriously, neither of us knew quite how to handle the situation. Mostly we were both stunned and in shock. Totally mortified, my friend went into action with discipline as any Mom would do. She called her husband, a.k.a. my son's doctor, and it was decided we would stick around till he got home to have him take a look. I swear Mason cried for like 45 minutes. My heart was breaking for my poor little boy and I kinda panicked inside, unsure of how to make it better. All I could do was hold him and assure him that his best friend still liked him and that Daddy would not be mad that he got bit. Though I have to say my heart broke the worst when Mason cried, "I don't want to come over here anymore." That's when his best friend erupted into tears and ran into the other room. My friend and I, the Mom's we are, just looked at each other with sad eyes. We knew better but still did not want to see this end their long time friendship of 3 years.

Honestly for me, I understand that these things happen. Boys will be boys. They play rough, they disagree. They are after all only four years old. The biggest issues at this age are sharing and learning to control their emotions. It probably didn't help that neither one had a nap and were clearly at that tired but totally wound up stage. I'm not sure how I would have handled it if our roles were reversed. I thank God that they weren't. I was still in shock. I had never seen my friend's son act out like that. Though inside I was saying to myself, "what a relief her son acts this way too." I know we always think our kids are the only ones that turn into terrors the moment they are alone with us in the house and no one believes they can act so different than the sweet, easy chid they see at school, or gym class. It was a bit of comfort to see evidence that my friends, who I feel are so perfect, go through the same thing. Maybe the one good thing that comes out of all of this will be my son never becoming a biter.

As I am writing this, I am still befuddled about how it all went down. I'm not sure we will ever know. I only know this; Mason calmed down, we had another snack, played a few games of sword fight on Wii. Smiles came back and by the time it was time to head home, we had a prescription of antibiotics, instructions on how to clean the wound, and as I suspected, my son declaring, "I want to come back tomorrow."

The gravity of a cavity

It went a little something like this.

Me asking anyone and everyone, when is the right time you are supposed to take your child to the dentist? And like most things, getting a variety of answers. Then inquiring upon my dental hygenist friends about the stains that showed up on Mason's two front teeth. Followed by me pleading with my husband to put our kids back on dental insurance because I was certain Mason was getting to that age. However it wasn't until I was filling out the many forms required for my son's preschool, and the question asking for his dentist being left empty, that I seriously decided that I needed to get on the ball.

So yesterday I did a lot of research, phone call inquires and debating in order to find the right dentist for my child. About an hour later I had an appointment scheduled with Little Pearls Dentistry for Children. I chose them mostly because they are in-network for our insurance but also because they seemed to really have the children's comfort and interests in the forefront.

That night, I prepped Mason for what to expect. To help ease any anxiety that I was sure he might have. This is where I really love the internet. Mason in my lap, I pointed out the picture of the dentist, he is going to count your teeth. And if you have any questions or concerns you can ask him, just like your teacher. O.K.? I also pointed out the pediatric dental assistants to which Mason asked, Do you think the girl in green will clean my teeth? I read him the many testimonials from patients. Yes, the children. Things like: ...they give you a puppet to hold and let you watch your favorite t.v. show! Dude I don't get to watch my favorite t.v. show at my dentist. That is sooooo cool! And off to bed he went with a promise to bring whatever car he wanted, to hold instead of the puppet.

I woke up today having high hopes. Later in the afternoon, I left to pick up Mason from school. Getting my running hug, as always, I asked if he was ready for the dentist. Unfortunately we hadn't grabbed a car before we left and he pleaded to stop at home to get one. Being located just up the road from our neighborhood, always a plus when appointments are close to home, I didn't see a problem. Car now in hand and Mason in high spirits, we were off to the dentist.

We were greeted by a waterfall and fish tank as soon we walked in and were surprised with a Thomas train table around the corner. So while I filled out the necessary paperwork, Mason played with the train table while Sophie watched from the stroller. Once done, Mason got to choose a movie from a long list, he chose Aladdin, and holding on to my hand for comfort we headed to the back.

Holding tight to my hand, I placed Mason into the chair and the dental assistant promptly put on the movie. She was so great with Mason. Showing him the toothbrush she was going to use, how it worked and letting him touch it. Helping him put on sunglasses to shield his eyes from the light she needed to use to see in his mouth. I'm Dana by the way. I don't think I told you that. She worked as I stood in the background. The only issue Mason had was with the flavor we chose for him, raspberry. I don't like that, he said. The feeling? Does it tickle? Or the flavor? The flavor. Second time around he chose orange and liked it much better. I want orange every time o.k. mommy? Duly noted buddy.

He sat there so still, listening to her and following her directions when asked to open wider or chomp on the saliva ejector (yeah, I had to look that one up). I was so very proud of him. Do you mind if I take pictures? Camera at the ready. Go ahead. SWEET! Click. Click. Click. Enter Dr. Mike. He sat down, asked if there were any concerns on our end and started counting Mason's teeth. I turned my attention to Sophie, who was modeling excellent behavior herself. One of the nurses had given her a plush dolphin and she was showing it off, all smiles. So he is missing a tooth on the bottom. My attention shot back to the doctor. What? From what I was told this is not uncommon. Turns out instead of the normal four he only has three, missing an incisor. Sometimes the baby tooth just doesn't erupt. Nothing to do at this point but later on an x-ray will be necessary to see if an adult tooth is there or not.

Still trying to absorb the realization of my son missing a tooth (and the fact that I had no idea) I was hit with the news of a cavity. Crap. Really? No I didn't say that out loud but it's what I thought. And felt. The stain in between his two front teeth on the top, yup it's a cavity. And now I feel like such a failure as mother. While I have not taken very good care of my own teeth I really wanted to do better for my children. Still it is what it is, and I have to just accept it and move on. So I was told that we need to use a fluoride toothpaste and place a dab on the front and back on his teeth before bedtime. They said we could choose to separate the teeth to loosen the space between them to help. Not sure if I am comfortable with that. I'm not sure what it all entails, maybe sedation or numbing with a needle. Both of which would not go over well with Mason and cause him to fear the dentist in the future. So I guess we'll try the fluoride and see in six months how that goes. There was no mention of a filling or anything, so I guess it's not that bad but still it is a cavity. It was mentioned to stay away from foods with carbohydrates like goldfish and I seriously looked at the doctor like he was insane. He wants me to keep carbohydrates away from a three year old? Or he said to make sure to brush after he eats those foods. Realistically, I'm not thinking about brushing his teeth that many times a day and quite honestly he isn't in my presence for a whole three hours where he gets snacks. So honestly I don't see that happening too much.

I'm sure I'll be thought of as a horrible mother now because I don't brush my child's teeth more than just at bedtime but seriously I'm doing the best I can with strong personalities. I barely have enough time to get my son out of bed, fight with him to eat breakfast and then get dressed before heading out the door for carpool. And be on time. So to add tooth brushing on top of it is like, OH MY GOD, adding fuel to the fire. My daughter, I try to brush her teeth with the gum brush thing but, HELLO, she BITES MY FINGER and bites it hard. So bad that I have cried, certain she drew blood. You can bet I think twice before sticking any finger back in that death trap. But still I find myself so distraught over their heath, and now especially their teeth.

I went into this dental visit feeling hopeful that Mason would once again impress me with his coping skills, which in true fashion he did, but I left feeling depressed and concerned and a complete failure as a mother over a simple cavity and non-existent tooth.

*sigh*

Motherhood.

just a note: my husband so proudly came up with the title and I just had to give him credit. (Bet you didn't think you'd see me write that did you, babe?)

New Beginnings

With the first week of school now under our belt, I can look back upon the myriad of emotions and thoughts I experienced leading up to this moment that has turned me into a parent of a preschooler. I am officially the mother of a preschooler. Yeah, it still doesn't feel normal for me to make that statement. It seemed like just yesterday he was my baby boy, learning to walk and uttering simple phrases. Today he is strapping on his backpack and excitedly thinking about what he might do during his time at school. But, for sure this is our life.

We had previously met his teacher two weeks earlier during a scheduled home visit. This is something I love about this school. Taking the time and making the extra effort to meet each student individually before the start of the school year. It really helped put some of my anxiety and fears to rest and I think for Mason as well. To have that chance to get acquainted with his teacher in a comfortable, familiar setting. So things aren't totally new the moment he walked in the first day. They discussed cars and our impending trip to the beach. His class are the Zebras, so she brought him a mask to color and then took his picture with it on. Gave him an assignment to decorate a place mat to bring in on his first day and generally left us all with a good feeling and high hopes for the year. We liked her.

Tuesday morning arrived all too early. In reality it was 7am and I'm sure most people would have been up for a few hours already. Woke up the kids, served breakfast, got everyone ready and headed out the door. I thought I'd be a ball of nerves this first day, ending with me in tears as I drove off without him. Having been through orientation the previous day I felt pretty confident things would be O.K.

We toured his classroom, found the picture his teacher took during the home visit, handed in his place mat full of everything he likes including photos of all of us. Even his teacher was impressed with his work. She was also impressed with Mason's brilliant memory when he commented to her, "I didn't see your car. The red Toyota corolla." That was because she parked somewhere else. Oh he makes me proud sometimes, that smart son of mine.

It ended with the parents heading out to the playground pavilion to be welcomed into the 2010-2011 school year and regaled with the schools awesome achievements, while Mason and his classmates spent some time with their teacher. I was pleasantly surprised and quite relieved when his teacher told us he did great.

I can't say that I didn't feel a little twinge or have some tears creep up as I watched my almost four year old, without fear or trepidation, walk hand in hand with the administrator and disappear into the school. Instead, I drove away feeling optimistic and grateful for holding it together in front of Mason. Eyes still dry, I rewarded myself with a Pumpkin Spice Latte and spent the rest of the morning catching up with an old friend and taking a much needed shower.

It was definitely a different dynamic in the house with Mason gone. A slower pace and A LOT quieter. Though I found my mind wandering to questions of how he was adapting to his new environment. Did he miss me? Is he playing well with his classmates? Is he following directions? Is he happy? Is he making friends? When I pick him up will he tell me he had fun and likes school? I didn't have to wait long for my answers.

Three hours isn't much time in the grand scheme and before I knew it I was in the car headed back to car pool. Highly anticipating what I would find. I wasn't excited about the massive line of cars that stretched out into the street (especially compared to the fast drop off that morning). However, finding Mason amongst the crowd of kids was well worth that wait. And seriously, I almost lost it for real. Feeling the tears well up and the cry rise up into my throat, sitting there in the car pool line waiting my turn, watching my son holding and swinging hands with his teacher. It was the pride I felt, for my son, for myself as his mother, knowing how much he has changed in just a short amount of time. Thinking, how grown up he looks with back pack on.

He never ceases to amaze me, this little man of mine. How well he adapts to situations I panic over and how calm and easy he finds solutions to everything. The rest of the week I parked my car and walked up to his school to get him. Per his request, but after the long line I sat in the first day, I was happy to do it. And the big running hug (usually reserved for daddy) I was guaranteed, yeah I really enjoy that.

Tomorrow night is Back to School night and I really can't wait to hear all about the things they do in class, see things Mason has created and hear how well he is performing. Now matter what I hear tomorrow though, it can't beat the sweet little voice tell me when I ask, "Did you have a good time at school today?"

"I have a good time every day, mommy." Yeah I think we made the right choice.

1. Standing in front of the school sign, 2. Orientation Day, 3. Reading his name tag, 4. Walking to class with daddy, 5. hanging up backpack on his very own hook, 6. pointing out his name for attendance, 7. Discovering the rice box, 8. His classroom, 9. The helping hands and weather board -he is the door holder, 10. showing us the potty, 11. Pose with Mommy before leaving, 12. ready for school, 13. Pose with little sister on first day, 14. Car pool, 15. Waiting in carpool for drop off, 16. drop off, 17. My brave big boy headed off to first day of preschool, 18. Pick up, 19. Walk up pick up, 20. Waiting to be picked up, 21. He caught my eye, 22. after the running hug, walking back to the car, 23. getting in the car, 24. end of week one