Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Today I am thankful...
For the big things: our home, jobs, and cars, the health of our family (mental state excluded), and my understanding husband.But also for the little things, like: the peace and quiet (and glass of wine) I enjoyed while other family members entertained my girls today at Great-Grandma's house, the fact that Brian was willing drive to all three of us tryptophan-affected girls home after dinner, and for the fact that my girls are beginning to truly enjoy playing and spending time together, a little more each day.
Happy Thanksgiving!
Sunday, November 22, 2009
We are thankful for...
One of the things I am thankful for is our daycare/preschool situation. Let's face it, daycare choices for full time working families are limited, are extremely expensive, and many leave much to be desired. We were referred to this daycare before Camryn was even born, and have attended continuously since she was six months old. We are lucky to have found an amazing teacher who truly loves kids, and who teaches and cares for my girls every day in her own home, as if they were her own. So this Thanksgiving, I am thankful that:- My girls get to be together all day
- They have made good friends and want to go to school each day.
- I don't have to worry about their safety or happiness while I am working.
- They get exposure to extra activities during the school day, including dance and music class.
- They learn a TON! (Ex: Camryn can identify and write all upper and lowercase letters, and numbers through 10, and is sounding out words on her own. Aubrey is speaking in sentences at 22 months, can count to three, and can identify every body part and recently, most animal sounds too.)
- They have teachers that are not afraid to paint hand turkeys!
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Artwork and friends
Camryn has been spending a lot of time coloring, drawing, and writing lately, and her favorite picture to draw is a portrait of herself and her good friend, Grace. They are two peas in a pod, those two. They are nearly one year different in age (363 days, to be exact), but have very similar temperaments and senses of humor. They know how to push each other's buttons and make each other laugh equally as well. They are the only two girls on their basketball team, and together they handle the boys like nobody's business.
Both have little sisters, teacher moms, big opinions, a passion for dress up, and fiery personalities. Sometimes, in fact, the only way to tell them apart is their hair. Camryn's is stick straight, and Gracie's is nothing but curl, and they are adorable together.
I love that Gracie is such a very important person in Camryn's life, and I know Camryn does too, because it shows in her artwork. Somehow, she manages to capture both their friendship (and their hair) perfectly. :)
Buh-day you
Yesterday, Aubrey re-discovered the wonder of legos. Not the little, step-on-them-in-the-night-and-jump-around-to-avoid-the razor-sharp-corners type, but he big, hefty over-sized ones meant for little hands.
As I cooked dinner, and Camryn colored, I could hear the clicks and clacks of Aubrey fitting the pieces together in the living room, and the slight, breathy sound of her singing quietly. As I peeked around the corner, I could just make out what she was saying as she walked around her lego tower creation and muttered,
"Buh-day you. Buh-day you. Buh-day, Mama. Buh-day, you." Then she paused, smiled, and clapped as she celebrated with a "Yayyyy!" And I melted.
I can't wait until my next birthday... :)
As I cooked dinner, and Camryn colored, I could hear the clicks and clacks of Aubrey fitting the pieces together in the living room, and the slight, breathy sound of her singing quietly. As I peeked around the corner, I could just make out what she was saying as she walked around her lego tower creation and muttered,
"Buh-day you. Buh-day you. Buh-day, Mama. Buh-day, you." Then she paused, smiled, and clapped as she celebrated with a "Yayyyy!" And I melted.
I can't wait until my next birthday... :)
"Good morning, Poison Control, how may I help you?"
...is what I heard from the other end of the line at 6:30 a.m. last Thursday. Astonished that my day could go south so early, I politely explained to nice woman what had transpired in our household so far that day...
I had roused Camryn at 6:15 to get her dressed for school. Aubrey was still snoozing, so I left her alone, hoping I could get Camryn completely ready before the little one woke (a rare occurrence.) As Camryn slipped on her shoes, I prepped her toothbrush with her Pooh Bear berry-blue toothpaste and set it on the counter next to the sink.
By then, Princess Aubrey was awake and insisting that I come hither at once to fetch her from the confines of her royal crib. I became distracted, getting her royal highness ready for the day. So much so, that I forgot about the toothbrush. As I moved to the next room, to put the finishing touches on Camryn's hairdo, I heard a strange slurping sound. When I stopped to listen carefully, I noticed that the rest of the house was unnaturally quiet and still. Definitely not a good sign.
I ran into the bathroom, just as Aubrey was sucking the last bit of fluoridated toothpaste from her sister's brush. Great. Knowing it was not meant to be swallowed, I checked the toothpaste tube. Sure enough. "Keep out of reach of children under 6 years. If swallowed, contact a Poison Control Center immediately." Awesome.
Luckily, the woman on the line that morning was very a polite and understanding. She assured me that Aubrey would be fine, but noted that I should give her lots of milk, which inhibits the absorption of the fluoride, and also to call back if she refused food or drink, or if she started vomiting. Super! Just the message I wanted to pass along to my daycare provider when I dropped the girls off...
But that's just what I did. The girls and I went about the rest of our morning routine (albeit one sippy cup of milk richer), and trudged off to school and work like any other day. Knowing Aubrey was fine, my coworkers got a laugh out of my unfortunate morning, and thanks to our family, that nice Poison Control lady now has job security. Just doing our part to boost morale and the economy, you know?
I had roused Camryn at 6:15 to get her dressed for school. Aubrey was still snoozing, so I left her alone, hoping I could get Camryn completely ready before the little one woke (a rare occurrence.) As Camryn slipped on her shoes, I prepped her toothbrush with her Pooh Bear berry-blue toothpaste and set it on the counter next to the sink.
By then, Princess Aubrey was awake and insisting that I come hither at once to fetch her from the confines of her royal crib. I became distracted, getting her royal highness ready for the day. So much so, that I forgot about the toothbrush. As I moved to the next room, to put the finishing touches on Camryn's hairdo, I heard a strange slurping sound. When I stopped to listen carefully, I noticed that the rest of the house was unnaturally quiet and still. Definitely not a good sign.
I ran into the bathroom, just as Aubrey was sucking the last bit of fluoridated toothpaste from her sister's brush. Great. Knowing it was not meant to be swallowed, I checked the toothpaste tube. Sure enough. "Keep out of reach of children under 6 years. If swallowed, contact a Poison Control Center immediately." Awesome.
Luckily, the woman on the line that morning was very a polite and understanding. She assured me that Aubrey would be fine, but noted that I should give her lots of milk, which inhibits the absorption of the fluoride, and also to call back if she refused food or drink, or if she started vomiting. Super! Just the message I wanted to pass along to my daycare provider when I dropped the girls off...
But that's just what I did. The girls and I went about the rest of our morning routine (albeit one sippy cup of milk richer), and trudged off to school and work like any other day. Knowing Aubrey was fine, my coworkers got a laugh out of my unfortunate morning, and thanks to our family, that nice Poison Control lady now has job security. Just doing our part to boost morale and the economy, you know?
Saturday, November 7, 2009
The lesser of two evils
Swine flu. H1N1. Whatever you want to call it, it's become the newest great parental debate. To immunize or not to immunize? That is the question.
Never before have I questioned my pediatrician's advice on immunizations. To me, a quick poke and a low grade fever was always the better choice when compared to measles, mumps, rubella, or chicken pox. To me, it's always been a no-brainer. Why would I risk putting my girls through a serious illness like that?
But this one...this one has been different. Ask your neighbor, coworker, or grocery store clerk about it, and you're more likely than not to get a passionate reaction. Research everything you can online, and you'll probably have an anxiety attack before you find an answer about what to do.
At first I waffled a great deal. I leaned very heavily towards not getting the vaccine for my girls. Swayed mostly by friends' opinions, lack of information, and scary stories, I thought for sure I wouldn't put this "unknown" into my children's bodies. But then I spoke to our pediatrician, the nurse, the parents of children in my class who came down with it. And I realized that this was not something I wanted them exposed to.
I guess maybe it would be different if I were a stay-at-home mom. Though not ideal, I could weather a winter indoors, avoiding crowds, sick kids, and other people's germs. But I'm a teacher. My husband is an assistant principal. My girls go to preschool all day, five days a week. We're all exposed to other kids and their germs all day long. I felt like we were sitting ducks, or ticking time bombs...like it was only a matter of time before one of us brought it home and we all got ill.
Of course, by the time I made up my mind, the vaccine had become next to impossible to get. The students in my class and my school were dropping like flies. At one count, we had over 20% of our school's population absent, mostly with flu-like symptoms, and most who were down for 5-7 days. My mama bear instinct took over. I had to get those shots.
By now, our pediatrician couldn't help. They just didn't have enough for everyone. So this morning, at 5:45 a.m., a few other teacher/mommy friends and I pulled up our boot straps and took one for the team.
We got in line at one of the public health clinics being held in our area. We arrived at 6 a.m. and were approximately 70 people back. It was dark, it was cold, and it was raining. Even as we stood there, I had mixed feelings. I felt strongly that I didn't want to feed into the panic that has gripped our society in the wake of this "pandemic." But at the same time, I just wanted my girls to be healthy and safe.
I feared most for Aubrey, who seems to catch absolutely every virus she comes in contact with. She's constantly got a cough, a runny nose, an ear infection, or a fever. I knew that this flu could be really bad for her. But still, I couldn't shake the feeling of desperation in the halls of the high school, where the line snaked back and forth, like we were waiting for a ride at Disneyland. But there was no magical elephant at the end of this line. There was only a painful shot, and the hope that this was the right thing to do to protect my kids.
When we finally reached the immunization point, we mommies had waited in line for nearly 4 hours. The daddies and kids had been there for over 2. It was definitely not fun, and the whole time, it felt somewhat surreal. When we eventually left, we were tired, tear-streaked, and two vaccines "richer," even though that's not quite what it felt like.
I kept hoping that when it was all said and done, that a sense of relief would wash over me. It never did. Instead, I left still hoping that my trust in my pediatrician was well founded. That this was the right thing to do. And I left with the knowledge that in another 28 days, we're going to have to do it all over again, to get second doses in order to make sure they're 100% protected. And I just hope. I hope I chose the right "door." The one with the big prize behind it. Not a car, or a vacation, or a huge sum of money, but instead, the lesser of two evils.
Never before have I questioned my pediatrician's advice on immunizations. To me, a quick poke and a low grade fever was always the better choice when compared to measles, mumps, rubella, or chicken pox. To me, it's always been a no-brainer. Why would I risk putting my girls through a serious illness like that?
But this one...this one has been different. Ask your neighbor, coworker, or grocery store clerk about it, and you're more likely than not to get a passionate reaction. Research everything you can online, and you'll probably have an anxiety attack before you find an answer about what to do.
At first I waffled a great deal. I leaned very heavily towards not getting the vaccine for my girls. Swayed mostly by friends' opinions, lack of information, and scary stories, I thought for sure I wouldn't put this "unknown" into my children's bodies. But then I spoke to our pediatrician, the nurse, the parents of children in my class who came down with it. And I realized that this was not something I wanted them exposed to.
I guess maybe it would be different if I were a stay-at-home mom. Though not ideal, I could weather a winter indoors, avoiding crowds, sick kids, and other people's germs. But I'm a teacher. My husband is an assistant principal. My girls go to preschool all day, five days a week. We're all exposed to other kids and their germs all day long. I felt like we were sitting ducks, or ticking time bombs...like it was only a matter of time before one of us brought it home and we all got ill.
Of course, by the time I made up my mind, the vaccine had become next to impossible to get. The students in my class and my school were dropping like flies. At one count, we had over 20% of our school's population absent, mostly with flu-like symptoms, and most who were down for 5-7 days. My mama bear instinct took over. I had to get those shots.
By now, our pediatrician couldn't help. They just didn't have enough for everyone. So this morning, at 5:45 a.m., a few other teacher/mommy friends and I pulled up our boot straps and took one for the team.
We got in line at one of the public health clinics being held in our area. We arrived at 6 a.m. and were approximately 70 people back. It was dark, it was cold, and it was raining. Even as we stood there, I had mixed feelings. I felt strongly that I didn't want to feed into the panic that has gripped our society in the wake of this "pandemic." But at the same time, I just wanted my girls to be healthy and safe.
I feared most for Aubrey, who seems to catch absolutely every virus she comes in contact with. She's constantly got a cough, a runny nose, an ear infection, or a fever. I knew that this flu could be really bad for her. But still, I couldn't shake the feeling of desperation in the halls of the high school, where the line snaked back and forth, like we were waiting for a ride at Disneyland. But there was no magical elephant at the end of this line. There was only a painful shot, and the hope that this was the right thing to do to protect my kids.
When we finally reached the immunization point, we mommies had waited in line for nearly 4 hours. The daddies and kids had been there for over 2. It was definitely not fun, and the whole time, it felt somewhat surreal. When we eventually left, we were tired, tear-streaked, and two vaccines "richer," even though that's not quite what it felt like.
I kept hoping that when it was all said and done, that a sense of relief would wash over me. It never did. Instead, I left still hoping that my trust in my pediatrician was well founded. That this was the right thing to do. And I left with the knowledge that in another 28 days, we're going to have to do it all over again, to get second doses in order to make sure they're 100% protected. And I just hope. I hope I chose the right "door." The one with the big prize behind it. Not a car, or a vacation, or a huge sum of money, but instead, the lesser of two evils.
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