The Gifts That Keep On Giving

It seems my suspicions have officially been validated. My plumber finally showed up yesterday while I was picking Ro up from school. Ate was home with the babysitter, so she let big ol' plumber M. in and he went right to work.

When I arrived home with Ro, I made a beeline for my powder room, and there it was - the stench. And also, the toilets tank cover sitting on the sink counter and on top of that, what used to be a pretty pink princess toothbrush. I hesitate to tell you what color it was now. Either way, an expensive toothbrush, as I was now 75 bucks poorer.

Now that I realize that Ate has undoubtedly moved on from just flushing the toilet for flushing sake, to taking pride in actually watching objects disappear with a swipe of this miraculous flushing handle, I need to either lock up every small object in the house, or lock up one little boy.

I remember my mother-in-law telling me that her five boys were toilet obsessed and it was only a nuisance until actual jewelry went missing. I blame my husband then - genetics.

And now to completely digress from this topic which I hope never has to be revisited,
the weirdest thing happened the other day. Well it wasn't so weird, but it teaches us a lesson about including cards in our gifts.

My husband came home from work Tuesday night and walked over to me with a beautiful shiny silver box with a light blue bow on it from Nordstrom.

"I brought you a gift Honey."

It's not my birthday, not my anniversary, so either this is not really for me or who the heck are you and what have you done with my husband. I'm going with, this is not really for me.

Apparently he found it on our doorstep. There was no card on the outside so I obviously had to open it. Inside was a baby keepsake book and a matching photo album in lovely shades of silver and pastel. It was the sort of thing I would give as a baby gift as well, only mine would come from Target, not Nordstrom. Also inside there was - no card.

Who leaves a gift like that on someones doorstep without a card? I could not imagine that this gift was intended for me, because my last baby was born over two years ago. I had to actually think about it, but then I realized I do have a neighbor who had a baby boy a month ago. So I called her and left a message which she returned the next day.

"Hi, Orah, I am returning your call."

"Oh yes Y. I called because the weirdest thing...I found this box on my doorstep..."

Immediately interrupted, "Oh I am so happy this is why you are calling because T. left a message on my machine that she left a gift on my doorstep, and when I looked there was nothing there, so I thought someone stole something off my doorstep and that is very disconcerting..."

Well I am happy we cleared that up. All I can say is T. has taught us a good lesson. Always include the card, because I was about to keep that really nice gift from Nordstrom.

And one other thing that occurred yesterday and made me very happy. My 35 battery operated water fountains for the centerpieces of the banquet I am working on have arrived. I can only connect this to the preceding story by the fact that when my neighbor came to pick up the gift and when the UPS guy arrived I was still wearing my "breath right" strip on my nose. It would be very nice if I could breathe right without it. Of course then I would be able to better smell the stench that my plumber so generously left behind. (like my connections of random stories?)

When Your Husband's Boss Is Also The Grandfather Of Your Kids

I notice that people have been visiting my blog, and I am very appreciative, however, where is the feedback I so obviously need? I don't bite, really. And today's blog really requires some feedback, because I am experiencing a dilemma, which I never knew existed, until I met my in-laws.

First, I love my in-laws (really, there was no sarcastic tone applied here). I actually do not take for granted that I get along with Hun's parents so well, because I have heard the horror stories that exist out there.

Second, I should mention that my father-in-law is also my husband's "boss". Although even my father-in-law will say that Hun does not work FOR him, but rather WITH him and they actually run two separate business lines.

My husband recently asked me if I want to come with him on his upcoming business trip to a food show in New York to help him out. (His line of business does fall into the food category.) I have done this before. We got married on September 4th and ten days later I was in Atlanta for a honeymoon food show. When I was almost 7 months pregnant with So, I went to Orlando for a food show, convincing Hun to stay an extra 3 days since he had never been to Disney World. Except for the fact that I had to ride "Pirates of the Caribbean" and "It's a Small World" 40 times because I was too pregnant for any other rides, and we walked 4 parks in June in 110 degree weather every day, it was a blast. I got free ice at the hotel to fill the tub, so I could ice what used to be feet and legs.

I told my husband I would go with him, because leaving the kids with a babysitter for four days would be great practice for when he is going to take me to Hawaii in January. (Oh, it's gonna happen this year!!!)

So we started making plans for our trip, including discussion about the flights, when Hun's father called. Hun gets off the phone and says "my father has one problem, he does not want us traveling together on the same plane".

Huh??? (this is where I need feedback, how many follow this same edict?)

My in-laws never travelled together on the same plane while the kids were young. Ok, I get it, If the plane goes down, the kids are orphans. I respect it, but not how I grew up. My parents left us a lot (that could be its own blog) and always flew together.

I am a very spiritual person and believe, when your time is up, its up. So if you avoid the traveling in one airplane together, it would really suck if each airplane the spouses were on took off and collided with one another. Maybe we should not travel in the same car without are kids, lest there G-d forbid be an accident. Maybe we should not sleep in the same room, because an airplane flying overhead will surely lose its engine and it will land right where we sleep. Maybe we should not sleep in the same room because my husband snores.

I joke, but I really respect my father-in-law and his opinions, I just don't live my life that way. This is what happens when your husband's boss is also your children's grandfather.

I actually called him and we had a reasonable discussion, but had to agree to disagree. He thought because this was related to business, being a business trip, he could offer his concerns. And I thought, being that I was the one married to his son, it should be a decision between us. And I was already on a plane that almost crashed when it lost one of its two engines (a whole other blog) and I decided then, that I could not die that way. Are you listening G-d?

I could say we split the difference, since on the way there we are travelling separate and the way home, together. But that was done for logistical reasons. I waited until I was 25 to get married, (which in my circles is considered way past due). And I did not get married so that when I finally have the opportunity to get away with him without the kids, we sit on two different planes next to strangers who undoubtedly will have some unpleasant body odor. My husband smells nice.

I don't know! Am I making the right decision? Help!!!

Toilets, Tonsils and Tuesdays

I don't care too much for Tuesdays. I don't care for Tuesday even more, when on top of my already busy Tuesday schedule, I have to find time to vote and throw in a trip to the ENT with So. If that isn't enough, when So's morning toothbrush, (the one kept in the downstairs bathroom) goes missing, "coincidentally" the same time that bathroom's toilet finds itself inoperable, I have one toilet obsessed little boy to thank.

Tuesday is my carpool day, and for some reason, that gives me heart palpitations every week. I don't know why. Maybe it's that I am not a morning person in the first place (to put it mildly). Maybe it's the idea of trying to get five kids under the age of six strapped into booster seats. This first requires finding the seat belt buckles that are stuck UNDER the booster seats. Maybe it's the latest fight over proper terminology use between two six year olds that requires my intervening.

Today's topic:
Is it "much later" or "much more later"?
Well are you referring to something that takes place later, or later than later...?

When I drop off So to her school 20 minutes away, I am not done. I then return home and pick up Ro and Ate to take them to their school. I have to also remember that Tuesday is swim day for Ro.

Swimsuit on? check.
Towel and change of underwear in her bag? check.
Oh crap!!! Did I remember to send So with her gymnastics clothing, Tuesday is also gymnastics day for So.

Tuesdays usually finds me at So's school once (thank G-d she has busing back home) and Ro's school four times. This Tuesday, because of So's Dr. appointment, I was at So's school three times and Ro's school three times (thanks mom - in - law for picking Ate up at 12). BUT, and here is the clincher, today's Tuesday went really great.

I was surprisingly calm this morning, even when So began to cry over the fact that her princess toothbrush is probably in the toilet toothbrush heaven. The kids worked out their much/much more later dilemma on their own. Ate did not have his usual pouting session when I dropped him off at school. The 73 degree temperature in November in Chicago, is not to be taken for granted. Gas cost me twenty dollars less to fill my Sienna today since the price came down. I did not have to wait long to vote. And Dr M. the ENT was GREAT!!!

He was just as a pediatric ENT should be. He made So feel comfortable and more importantly, he made me feel comfortable. He was very impressed by the tonsils, giving it a rating of 4 on a scale of 0 to 4. He speaks in total detail about tonsils, adenoids and their removal. And after five minutes of talking to So, he said, "I bet you are really popular". Which means, HE understands that So has a social life independent of kissing boys. (reference to previous tonsil post). So in your face Dr. G.

So's tonsillectomy is scheduled for December 18. And although this Tuesday was not too bad, I made sure to schedule the surgery for a Thursday. I am not taking any chances.

My Never Ending Weekend

I just had, what felt like the longest weekend ever. And this never ending weekend had nothing to do with the fact that we gained an hour. Besides for the fact that Friday sundown to Saturday sundown is a Sabbath full of gluttonous eating and the age old question of what to do with the kids, Saturday night through Monday morning felt like an eternity. And it all started with my husbands "bright" idea.

Hun recently purchased a projector to use for training purposes at work. It's the kind of projector that can be used for power point seminars and to project computer images and video onto a screen. These projectors typically cost a fortune (although my savvy husband did his research had his assistant do some research and he got it for a great price). The only other people I know who purchase projectors, have a home theater and an extraneous amount of money to spend (and that is not us).

However, Hun thought it would be a great idea to bring the projector home and rent a DVD and create our own personal theater on the wall. Well goodbye four loads of dirty laundry that need a good washing and hello movie night.

We were hoping to get an early night's start on the movie thing, only Ate was not cooperating. His adamant "I not ready yet" and "I wanna play foo minutes" when I broached the bedtime subject turned a 7 pm movie showtime into the midnight showing. I figured, at least we gain an hour tonight.

The movie seats were GREAT. It felt like we were laying in bed. Oh wait, we were laying in bed. And across from us, "Indiana Jones" projected on five feet by six feet of white wall. Who needs a 50 inch plasma?

The movie itself, predictable, watching it in bed in my pajamas on six feet of wall, priceless. The fact that I forgot that I needed to be in my daughter's school Sunday morning at 9am to do lice check... who am I kidding, I still would have watched the stupid movie.

I did lice check from 9 to 12. I will take this opportunity to recognize ant thank the parents who actually have their children bathe before lice check. And to the other parents, thanks for giving my olfactory nerves a good workout. At this time, my husband took the three kids to swim lessons and we were all to get home sometime after 12.

Usually after swim lessons, my kids eat lunch and then nap. Yes, ALL three of them. I am pretty sure my six year old still naps because those golf balls in her throat keep her up half the night (previous post). This Sunday I hopped into the minivan when the kids came back from swimming and we drove off to an event benefiting children with special needs and their families. The event took place at a bowling alley/arcades/laser tag/batting cages/inflatables/ heavenly place for family with kids who need more stimulation when they should be napping. And I didn't mention the doughnuts and never ending supply of caffeinated soda. And yet, it was so much fun.

We ate, we bowled, my six year old played laser tag with other six year olds. So weighs 47 pounds, and the laser tag vest and gun she was wearing must have weighed at least half her weight. It was no surprise when she came out and said, "Mommy, my shoulders and arms hurt".

By the way, if you have never seen six year olds playing laser tag, it is the cutest thing ever. I snuck in the exit door and watched them play. While adults know to strategically run around so you can hit without being hit, six year olds play somewhat differently. At one point I saw five six year olds come together in a tight circle and they just stood there aiming their guns at each other's vests, watching the lights change, no one running for cover.

At 4 pm the party was over and my 2 year old was doing somersaults across the floor, literally. The kids fell asleep on the way home, but it was too early for bedtime. So, we had to wake them, bathe them, stuff more food into them and then convince them that 6 pm is the old 7 pm and it's ok to get in bed now. The girls went, but once again, Ate was not having it.

As I tried to convince Ate that playtime was over and his eyes needed to close their windows for rest time, I remembered that four baskets of laundry still sat, unwashed in my hallway upstairs. So I did what any caring, loving, structured ok, tired mother would do. I put him in his crib and let him cry himself to sleep. (Before you call child services, he was out in less than five minutes).

I spent the next four hours pre-treating stains with my handy dandy "shout" and completing load after load, including separating out all that does NOT go in the dryer, at which point I am pretty sure I heard my bed actually calling my name. And so I went happily.

While writing this blog, I had to actually think hard about what it was that kept me so busy this weekend. But when I was drifting off to sleep last night, all I could think about were the smiles on my children's faces as they watched a bowling pin finally fall, after waiting two minutes for their bowling ball to roll down that never ending lane. And the picture in my mind of those smiles was a perfect way to finally END this weekend.

A Ball Is Not Just A Ball

My beautiful Ro has a strange obsession, which I hesitate to share because of its subject matter. She has an overwhelming desire to be older than she is. (This is not the strange part.) But while some kids just role play the part of "Mommy", Ro is a method actor. She gets into the role by taking on the look of a Mommy. And I am not just referring to the high heels she has perfected walking in by the time she was two. I am not surprised about the insurmountable amount of clothing that seems to go missing from my closet and drawers that I continuously need to sift out of the dress up pile. I know just where to go if my purse is not in its regular dumping spot.

I am not taken aback by the frequent questions that begin, "When I am a mommy..." I already know that everything I own, everything I wear, every tube of lipstick I have, every piece of jewelry I frequent will undoubtedly be claimed for proprietary by Ro for her future Mommyhood. She also seems to know which other four year old will be her husband. She has it all planned out. But there is one thing, no make that two things she can not seem to wait for.

Here is the strange part. For the past year or so, Ro has spent countless hours of playtime, endowing herself - with balls. Sometimes they are small super balls. Sometimes they are tennis ball size. Sometimes the balls are not even the same size. She does not discriminate. If she finds balls, they will end up in her shirt. It never gets tiring. I laugh every time. And when she is asked why she likes to place balls in her shirt, she very simply replies, "I want to be a Mommy".

I believe her curiosity with "balls" began when Ate was born and she noticed that this baby was not drinking out of a sippy cup like she did. She pointed to my chest one day and asked "What's that?" Although I am typically the Mom who shares the appropriate anatomical words with my children, I gave her a more generic reference this time, to save me from any possible future embarrassing moments. (And a good thing I did. When on an airplane a couple months later, infant crying, Ro yelled out, "He wants a drink from your body.") So it was smart on my part, to just tell her, "That is my body."

Although, now at age four, she still refers to her "balls" as her bodies, which is kind of weird.

"When I grow up, will I have bodies like you Mommy?"

"Well Ro, you most probably will have bodies, but whether it's like mine or not, depends on which family genes you got."

Of course, this incredible desire of hers, to grow into a Mommy, can come in handy when trying to raise a healthy child.

"Take your vitamin Ro, so you can grow bodies."
"Eat your broccoli Ro, so you can grow bodies."
"Get a good nights sleep Ro, so you can grow bodies."
"Brush your teeth Ro."

"Why, will it help me grow bodies."

"Ummm, yeah, I am sure in some way the two are connected, so brush your teeth."

I know that someday this phase will pass and I will only have the memories of Ro sifting through a bin of balls, trying to find just the right ones to fit her mood, or to fit her shirt. I actually have some great pictures of this phase of Ro's. Only I could never publicly publish them for fear of being arrested for promoting some strange child exploitation. So I will keep it to myself and relish every last moment of these incredibly imaginative years.

Check Out The Tonsils!!!

So has chronically enlarged tonsils. Could be she was born with them, but I noticed them when she was just 1. I love pointing them out to people, because they are the size of golf balls, and when she has a virus, they grow to racquetball size. I could be having a conversation with someone about how to best utilize your Linen's N' Things and Bed Bath and Beyond coupons, and then totally digress just for the fun of it. "Hey, wanna see some big tonsils, So open your mouth, go on..." And then I hear it, the "OHHH MY G-D!!!" And then I feel oddly satisfied.

When So was three and 1/2, I finally took her to a Pediatric ENT (ear nose throat). I did not care for him too much. I was waiting in his office for over two hours before he made himself available. Have you ever waited that long for yourself, much less with a three year old. I was taken to the little cubicle room where I saw a dentist office looking chair in the middle of the room and a more standard chair against the wall. I chose the chair by the wall and settled in with So on my lap. We had to wait another ten minutes here when the Dr. finally made his grand entrance with his entourage medical students. He looked about 35 years old and sat himself in the big leather dentist looking chair across from me and said, "What seems to be the problem?"

Well it's not a problem with her toe, Dr. ENT. Just take a looksie and I think all your years of Medical School might just pay off with a diagnosis. Something told me he didn't really take my daughter seriously as a patient the minute he walked in the room sat in the chair that she was obviously supposed to be sitting in. Seriously, he was sitting like a King in his thrown with his two medical students standing guard over both his shoulders.

After he took a minute to look and seemed genuinely unimpressed with the size of tonsils that I knew should be listed in the "Guinness Book of World Records" under human oddities, he then asked me how she is affected by them.

"Huh?"

"Does she snore? Does she have apnea? Does she wake up at night? Does she eat well?" etc. etc.

"Well, I don't know, I don't sleep with her. But I do know this, they are friggin huge."

He then gave me his advice. I should keep watching them. (That is going to be hard, because they are just so hard to notice). As long as her sleep is not affected and there is no apnea, I should wait. Because sometimes these things shrink with age.

"Oh" I said, "there is one other thing, I am concerned how this affects her socially."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, I know that the tonsils have pockets that can collect food and when it decays it causes halitosis." (I do my research)

"And....."

"And I don't want people to think she is unhygienic and not want to be around her. Because she will pick up on it and it may cause her self-esteem issues."

He then replied with, "I wouldn't worry about that, after all, it's not like she's kissing any boys."

First of all, you don't know that. And secondly, don't determine my three year old daughter's social status by whether or not she has a boyfriend. She is extremely social and loves to hang out with adults. So please don't minimize my concern for her social welfare. (were all the thoughts running through my mind) I think I would have actually said these things if I was certain at the time that this man would NEVER have a scalpel anywhere near my child's throat.

Since then, So's tonsils have not shrunk even a fraction of a millimeter. I once called the on call pediatrician in middle of the night when So woke up out of the blue. I took one look in her throat, actually, I could no longer see her throat. It was all just tonsils. I thought she would stop breathing any second.

He let me know that these are called "kissing tonsils" and in no way do they obstruct her airway. Either way, I knew So had another virus and I would get no sleep for the foreseeable future next few days.

Well, we are at that time of year again. Between Ate's no pooping phase and So's 2:00, 3:00 and 4:00 in the morning wake-up calls due to mutant viruses, I am a walking zombie. I don't even know if anything I am writing makes any sense.

Today I made an appointment for So to see a new Pediatric ENT specialist. This time, after he was already referred to me by a friend whose child had her tonsils removed, I also discovered he is listed in "Chicago" magazine's annual "Top Doctors" edition. He is listed as a top Doctor, of course.

Next Tuesday, after I take precious time out of my day to make a VOTE that will probably not make a difference anyway, I will have So meet with a man who I pray can make a difference. I think these babies are coming out.

It's Inevitable

I knew this day would come. I knew this day would come, four years ago when I was pushing a then, two year old So in the stroller down the alley on the way to synagogue. I was walking with a neighbor and her seven year old son. As we passed one of the myriad of alley located garages, our meaningful conversation gossip was interrupted by this very loud inquiry, "Mom, what does F$!@ mean?" We both stopped cold in our tracks. As we looked towards my neighbors son, we noticed the very tastefully decorated garage, screaming out a very unique spray painted slogan, that I am sure the owners of such garage did not invite willingly. My neighbor simply replied, "That is a bad word, we do not say that word, please don't say that word again, EVER."

No matter how we try to shield our children, we can't win. We can put all the parental controls on our televisions and computers that we want, but ultimately, our child will end up hanging out with THAT kid. You know the one, the kid who knows just way to much for his own good, and all things that are quite age inappropriate. The kid, whose parents are clueless to what their child is exposed to, or they are just negligent altogether. And if our child is not influenced enough by THAT child, they will undoubtedly become exposed to some form of schmutz or another, just by living in this world.

The other day, my six year old who likes to read the "Tribune" (which has just been totally dumbed down to appeal to people who would never read a newspaper anyway) noticed an ad for an upcoming movie. It might have been the stick figures that make up the illustration of this movie ad that drew her attention, but it's the title that got my attention. When my six year old asked me, "Mommy, what's a porno?"

The movie "Zack and Miri Make a Porno" (great, and the character's names are so obviously Jewish), is actually not a porn. It is a mainstream comedy about two cash strapped roommates who make a porn movie for some quick cash. Either way, I had some explaining to do.

"Well", I said. "Porno is Spanish, as in Por no, meaning for no."

"For no what, Mommy?"

"For no one under the age of 18, especially if their name is So."

"Why, Mommy?"

(AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!)

Now I try the, almost, straight forward approach. "So, there are just things in this world that are not appropriate for a six year old to know about, and when you are old enough to know about it, you should still not know about it."

"Huh? Never mind Mommy, can I have a treat?"

Awesome, my new approach in the future - just confuse the heck out of her. And then give her a dum-dum.

I think I thwarted this one, this time. But ultimately, that day will come when she will not give up that easily. That's usually the "where do babies come from" scenario. I can handle that one. In the meantime, no more "Tribune" for So.