The final straw

This was the end of a full week of horrific two-year-old behavior from my 4 year old.

Horrific.

I came upstairs to find, what appeared to be, an exploded baby chicken. Unfortunately, it was not a pile of poultry fuzz. I found him hiding in the bathroom.



(Tate's getting yelled at because, only 5 minutes earlier, I had specifically instructed him and Lucy to NOT make this "cool". Tate was in the process of telling Miles how much he resembles his favorite cartoon character now.)

Dinner table conversation

Lucy: Why do you guys call each other 'honey'?

Jake: I don't know. It's just a nice thing to call your husband or wife.

Lucy: Yeah, but why 'honey'? It's a food.

Me: What do you want me to call him? Peanut Butter? (to jake:) I'll be Peanut Butter, you be Guacamole.

Jake to me: So, would you say you're Chunky Peanut Butter?

Me: Are you Stupid Guacamole?

After a scathing dirty look from me, he followed up with,

"Don't worry. I only make fun of fat people who can't help that they're fat."

If I'm very very good. . .

This:



and this:



happen at the same time.

Squeaky Clean

Tate got a bath every day as a newborn. Sometimes, he'd get more than one, depending on what disgusting thing he did on himself.

Penelope, being the 5th child, got one really good wipe-off at about day 10, and then nothing much else until her belly button fell off at day 18. Phew!

Time for a dip.



Lucy had been waiting anxiously for this, so she was my number one helper and could hardly contain her enthusiasm.

Someone else was not very enthused.



He was pretty sure he needed to go swimming in the sink, not that smelly little gremlin.



We lathered and rinsed and repeated until she was shiny all over.



Calvin serenaded us with his lovely ballad, which reached ear-splitting levels at one point.



Baby P seemed to enjoy the whole thing. This girl likes to be pampered and lovely, meaning I have a new pedicure buddy in about 16 years.



Once we were almost done, I realized Calvin's song wasn't about the bath at all. It was a little ditty about needing some raisins. He really wanted Dad to open the bag and hand him a few.



I'm throwing this "bum shot" in just so her brothers have something to harass her about when she's a teenager.

Cutest little bum I ever did see.



Meanwhile, Calvin was shouting, "Put down the camera and get me some dang raisins!"



Penny wasn't quite ready to get out of the tub. Oh dear.



We're going to need another bathroom.

The cave

I have discovered the hardest part of having two babies.

It is not the 17 diaper changes in one day.

It is not the total lack of sleep from getting up with both of them.

It is not even feeding them both.

It is protecting the little one from the big one.

If I had twins, at least they'd be the same age and couldn't rip each other to bits. They'd get older together and at least be a little more sturdy before being mauled. I could lay one down somewhere without needing barbed wire around her. I could let her sleep in her car seat when we come in from the grocery store and she's blissfully unconscious in there.

Not here. No, I've decided this is harder than twins. (never having had twins, mind you.)

Already, Calvin has twice brought me his baby sister, once by her feet as her head dragged on the ground. He has tipped over the car seat while trying to get her out. He has climbed up on the table to get the car seat (no, she was not in it.)

So, what is to be done? Simple. Invest in a cave.

Something sturdy enough to keep the bigger baby out, while the smaller baby hides inside.

And if you're lucky, your cave will come with a cave troll, just like mine did.



Please remove the cave troll before placing smaller baby inside.



*This particular cave was a gift from my divinely inspired mother 9 years ago.

The good, the bad, and the ugly

The good news:

Penny's right eye is responding very well to the medicine and the drops. It looks totally normal and has ceased to resemble The Phantom of the Opera.

The bad news:

She has developed the same problem in the left eye, requiring another trip to the Eye Guy in New York for yet another painful procedure.

The ugly:

I don't have a picture of it, but she has constant green ooze coming from the left eye, and it's swollen like The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

Dacryocele

Well, it's been at least a week without a strange medical problem in the Parker household, so I should have seen this coming.



Penelope has some problems with the tear duct in her right eye. Not just normal clogged tear duct like we thought at first, but she has a huge nasty infection between her nose and eye because of a second blockage closer to the eye.

In the last 24 hours, we've had the pleasure of a visit to the e.r., the pediatrician, and the pediatric ophthalmologist. After a scream-worthy procedure in the latter, and an insane amount of green drainage, poor Baby P is developing a hearty dislike for doctor's offices.

She's starting Augmentin today as well as new eye drop antibiotics and we have to go in tomorrow and again the next day to see if she'll need surgery on that eye.

Some prayers on her behalf would be appreciated by her mommy.

Grandma and Grandpa

All of my sanity is on an airplane, flying west right now. My mom and dad came for almost 2 weeks, including the week of Spring Break.



Grandpa kept Calvin in the backyard anytime the little booger started to get to wild. He made a pinewood derby car with Tate. He also made one with Miles and one with Lucy. He fixed every squeaky hinge and stuck door in our house. He braved Stew Leonard's with far too many children. He helped us sort out some major car problems. He told stories in the backyard.



Stories that Lucy LOVED.



He trimmed trees and hauled fallen branches. He pretended to be a couch.





He dismantled and hauled away the broken "mommy swing". He took Miles to Home Depot more times in a week than he's ever been. And most importantly, he bought a piece of rope and taught my kids how to tie each other up. (an important skill he taught me as a child.)



My mom made bread, held baby, fended off Calvin from lovin' on baby too much, made bran muffins, took kids to Costco, made dinner, read countless books to children at bedtime, cleaned my house, picked up kids from school, folded laundry, chased Calvin around, helped me sort through all Lucy's old clothes, and most importantly, played Pokemon cards with Tate.



My dad let Miles join in on all his handyman projects.



He let him hold tools, explained what he was doing, and let him "help."



This was one happy boy all week!



We all cried after they left. Probably me most of all. This visit may have been the last straw to get us to move closer to family. Besides, Calvin misses his new best friend.



Grandpa's phone.

So tired...

You know that feeling after a really really hard day? The one where you just want to go to bed at 7:45, right after you put the kids down? I have that feeling.

Only, it's 6:01 a.m.

This one:



got up in the night 4 times to be fed, burped, changed, fed, burped, bundled and rocked.

This one:



had leg cramps that needed to be rubbed out in order to get him to stop crying.

And this one:



who sleeps in the same room as the three older kids, decided at 4:58 this morning that he'd had enough sleep and needed to work on his fire truck siren noises.

He's getting pretty good at those.

Easter

Because Miles was sick at home, Jake and the nurses all talked me into staying in the hospital for the full two days, meaning I wasn't coming home until Easter Sunday. We usually hold all the "fun stuff" on Saturday, leaving Sunday for the real Easter traditions.

I didn't want to miss any of it, so I had some friendly helper bunnies arrange an egg hunt and basket finding for Sunday afternoon.



We closed the blinds before eating lunch, and when we opened them again, Holy Cow! The Easter Bunny had been here!



Boy, can those kids hustle when chocolate is involved!



They were scurrying around the yard in a panic, afraid they might not get enough eggs. Little did they know that there were 11 dozen eggs out there.



This guy was the most fun to watch.



He was so excited every time he found an egg, he'd bring it to show me,



and then clap and cheer like he'd won the lottery.



He spent so much time clapping, he had to have a little help from Tate.



Oh, and he fell over 5 or 6 times, spilling everything in his bucket each time. On the last fall-down, he discovered a foil-wrapped chocolate bunny in the fake grass.



"Huh? What's this?"



"Oh, this has got to be food."



"Wait, I can't get this purple wrapper off!"



"Surely somebody could help me get to the food inside."



"Hey, you! The lady with the camera and the newborn. Help me with this, wouldja?"

After most of the eggs had been gathered, they all had enough plastic eggs and chocolate to last until the 4th of July.



Miles was the most excited about the whole thing. He kept screaming, "The Easter Bunny was here!"



Not wanting to miss an opportunity to complain, Lucy was whining about the weight of her bucket until I offered to lighten her load. She stopped very quickly.



Even Tate got excited about the "finding". I'm sure he was curious about how it all got out there, since we've recently had the "holiday magic talk", but he was smart enough not to ask. He knows only believers get to participate.



I couldn't have done any of this without wonderful neighbors. Everyone should have some"bunny" like Karen.



So, while Martha Stewart may not have approved of the timing, or lack of refreshment, or the wearing of stretchy pants, we had fun and I got to see it all!



Oh, and for anyone wondering about the no-sweets contest, I didn't touch a single piece of candy.



Only 55 days to go!