Oh..and...

I took Ian to the doctor this morning, because he’s been sick for 5 days with a high fever and cough. As always happens, his fever was down and he was coughing less by the time the doctor saw us. Typical!

The very nice doctor said Ian has a mild ear infection and a chest cold. Since Ian’s never had an ear infection, he went ahead and gave him a mild dose of antibiotics for a few days.

Then he informed me that we need to go back in two weeks for a weight check. Ian’s at 27lbs now, which is still on his 25% growth curve that he was on this time last year.

And before we left he handed me a slip of paper with “Child Find – speech evaluation” circled on it. He held my hand a second after I took the paper, looked me in the eye and said “Call them. It can only help.”

I knew it was coming. I’ve told several of you I wanted to take him in and have him evaluated. But having his doctor tell me this, out-right, was still a shock. I know he only spent 15 minutes with Ian, but he was very good and tried everything he could to get Ian to say anything at all. He got one shy “hi” and several “ow-k”’s when he examined Ian’s ears.

It can only help, but it still scares the hell out of me.

His perch for the past 5 days.

Happy Veteran’s Day, Katie

My friend Shannon’s husband called me Monday night to tell me that Shannon’s water had broken and they were on their way to the hospital. They needed someone to come over in the morning and put Gaby, their daughter, on the school bus. (Gaby’s great-grandmother was staying with her during the night.) That meant I would have to leave our house, Ian in tow, at 5:30am to drive to Montgomery County, but I was happy to help anyway I could.

This baby has been long-hoped for. Shannon and Ernie went through a great deal of pain and emotional trauma to get to this point. Considering that Shannon was in active labor for, literally, days, with Gaby, we all anticipated a long night. Imagine my shock when shortly after 1am a text message woke me up!

Katherine Olivia arrived after just 3 hours of labor, with no epidural, weighing 8lbs 1oz. Mom and baby are doing fine.

This day will be even more special for Shannon because, like me, she comes from a family of veterans. I know that she likes to take some time each Memorial and Veteran’s Day and visit her Poppi who is interred at Arlington Cemetery. I think Poppi will understand this year that she’ll be a bit late in stopping by.

Happy Birthday Katie.

Thank you to all the Veterans. We were happy this year to welcome Tom home from his final combat tour. In January my Dad, a 20 year Army officer himself, will know with pride that one of his former students, a man he’s proud to call “son” will be completing his own 20 years of service. Also, a decorated WWII veteran of the Pacific campaign, Granddaddy Joe is still with us. My boys are blessed to have such examples of heroism and dedication to country in their lives. I hope they will for many, many, years to come.

A Year Without Hugs

A year ago today I hugged my little brother for the last time. We’d just wrapped up a long weekend family reunion/mass birthday party. I know we probably traded insults, as we so often did, in those final moments, but I cannot recall what exactly I said. How sad that makes me: I cannot recall the last words I ever said to my little brother. I drove home to Virginia; he drove home to Georgia. We never spoke on the phone or saw each other again. I exchanged two emails with him in December and then he was gone.

Everyone said, and keeps saying, that time will make it hurt less. Well, it doesn’t. The hurt is just different. Some days it’s all I can do to get out of bed and get through the day. Curling up in a ball and sobbing for hours seems like a better solution. Other days, sometimes several days in a row, I will hardly think of him and then a careless comment made by someone will stab into my heart and slice away all the scar tissue. I’ll be open and bleeding and raw, choking back tears.

If Mark pulls me aside with a frown and says he needs to talk to me I have to fight the urge to flee. I don’t want to hear what he has to say, even though it’s often “the dog peed in the floor” or “What should we get the boys for Christmas?”. It’s this subconscious psychological fear, a hazy terrified sense of déjà vu that he’ll once again hold my hand and say “Honey your brother is dead.”

I can’t sleep or I can’t get enough sleep. Once, last summer sometime, I tried drinking until I passed out. All I did was make myself vilely ill. Not my finest moment and all I could hear was Adrian’s sarcastic voice saying “Nice going, moron.” Alcohol definitely not working as the drug of choice, I moved to food. I’ve gained 20lbs since he died and I hate myself for it.

I sit and play my music too loud and ignore the boys. Or I smother them and won’t let them out of my sight. I panic if the bus is a minute late or if Ian sleeps past 8am.

And it occurs to me, a year after I last hugged him, that if Adrian read this he’d be saying “Typical. It’s always about you. Your pain and your hurt and your loss.” I was selfish and uncaring to him in his life and now that he’s gone all I can do is live in a private bubble of pain, refusing to share this last horrible piece I have left of him.

Selfish and horrible as I am, I would live through a thousand more years of this if I could only have the chance to hold him one more time and tell him I love him.

Six

My big boy was born six years ago today. He gets a holiday from school thanks to parent-teacher conferences and election day. We had his party on Saturday and it was a rousing success. All of his neighborhood friends, save Austin who came down with an ill-timed case of strep throat, attended. They had Nerf wars across the play area of Burke Lake Park, ate cake, played until exhausted on the playground, and enjoyed the beautiful Fall weather.

Ethan received many “awesome” gifts from his friends and family. As I type this he’s trying to teach his brother how to play “Connect Four” (it’s not going well, but they aren’t fighting so I’m happy). Our living room floor is covered by a massive train track/city/extravaganza thanks to Nana. The dog is confused by all of the new clutter. I sympathize with her, since I tripped over the monster truck three times last night.

Today Ethan and Ian will go visit with “Ms Amy” and her kids while I meet with Ethan’s teacher. Then Amy and I will switch off kids while she goes to her round of conferences. After that we’ll probably all have lunch followed by (hopefully) nap time. Later today Ethan and I have to go buy mix and frosting for the strawberry cupcakes he wants to take to his class.

Ethan is inquisitive. He’s sensitive. He’s tall and gangly. He still has huge cornflower blue eyes with disgustingly long lashes. He looks more like his cousin Dalton every day. He loves playing outside with sticks and balls and bats or just running. He loves playing WAR with his Daddy or showing his little brother how to play Noggin games. He’s learning to read and he’s mastering writing his name. He’s mostly left handed. He drives me crazy when he teases his brother and cracks me up with his wry sense of humour.

He’s my little boy and he’s 6 today.

Link for pictures: http://www.flickr.com/photos/redamy/sets/72157608615731310/

Pictures instead of words

I've been too busy (sick) to really write about all we've been up to this month. So, instead, you get pictures. That's all you really care about anyway!

Last Saturday Ethan participated in his first cross-coutry race. The Pyramid Challenge is organized by the local elementary schools in an effort to encourage kids to participate in physical activities. Kindergarteners run 1/2 mile. Of course, with 5 and 6 year olds, you can talk yourself blue in the face telling them not to run their hardest right at the start, but they'll all do it anyway. In the end, though, they all finished and they all had fun.


Ethan with Lena before the race.

Running hard towards the final turn.

And how better to celebrate a fall day than to play in the leaf pile with the other neighboorhood boys?

Ian willingly participated in the burying- so don't feel the least bit sorry for him.

See? Pure joy.

Mark decide to spend last Sunday celebrating the end of summer-time temperatures by taking Ethan for a canoe ride on Lake Accotink.

He's a natural. That water is also only 5 feet deep, but safety first!

The menfolk paddle home.

Pumpkin time again

pumpkin boys 08
Originally uploaded by redamy

This weekend we made our annual pilgrimage to the local pumpkin festival. Held right down the road at the Burke Garden and Nursery center, this event goes on until after Halloween. It is more kid-centric than other fall festivals we’ve attended, and thus is our favorite by far.

Ian immediately found the sand pile. Unlike his older brother, Ian loves sand, mud, and getting dirty. He had a blast. Then we climbed on top a wooden castle with a slide. It was shortly after that when Ian noticed the wooden train nearby. This train was perfectly designed for a train obsessed toddler. He was in rapture for nearly an hour climbing along all the cars and cheerily yelling “WOO WOO”! Ethan rediscovered the giant pirate ship, which he has talked about ever since we mentioned going to the festival. Apparently it made quite an impression on him last year.

There was a petting zoo, which Ethan ignored, and a giant bouncy room, which Ian refused to get in. There were giant slides that we all took turns riding, electronic kiddy-car rides, a tractor ride (thankfully for the allergy afflicted: no hay), face painting, snow cones and lots of running around.

Ethan told us his favorite part was the pirate ship. When we asked Ian what he liked, he grinned and said “CHOO CHOO!”. Mark loved watching the boys roll down the hill in tubes- together. My favorite part was the heart tearing joy of hearing Ian shout “Yay! Go fast choo choo!” when the tractor jolted us all at the beginning of the ride.

A good weekend. Bring on the Fall.

(click on the picture to see more photos of the fun)

Grrrrr

To the oblivious wretch who let his dog poop on the sidewalk and then failed to clean it up:

Thank you SO much for ruining a lovely evening walk. We had spent the better part of an hour enjoying the cool weather, the walk to the train bridge, and the meetings with kind strangers along the way. We'd watched the commuter train speed below us and gently toot its horn three times to say hello, but not scare, the boys. It was an awesome, decompressing, evening.

And then your carelessness led to an hour of scrubbing floors and shoes. I hope your dog pees on your pillow.

Sigmar's Blessings

And lo it came to pass that the final milestone was reached. The weary crew laid its three year’s burden at the altar of “Public Opinion” and stepped back, breath held. They had not long to wait before the cries of adulation and the prostrations of adoring fanatics did begin.

To mark this eventful day and pay homage to he who watches over the Empire, a hearty few emulated the priests of Sigmar and removed from their pates all manner of hair.




















Apparently the best way to celebrate three years worth of work on a project is to cut off all your hair when it finally “launches”.

Mark’s company, Mythic Entertainment (a division of EA Games), released Warhammer Online: Age of Reckoning this past week. It has been a wonderful success and we’re all exhausted from the emotional high we’ve been on.

One of the guys on the team, Randy, had not had a haircut since he got hired. They pruned him on launch day. (Hopefully the video of this will soon be made public.) Mark just decided he needed to remove all the gray hairs the last three years have given him.

The video of Ethan’s response to Daddy’s bald head is still uploading. I’ll send out the link when it is finished.

Silly Baby

You know you are in trouble when your 5 year old yells, from another room, “Mommy, Daddy, come look what this silly baby has done!”

The thing is, he was PROUD of himself.

Don't Blink

Someone please tell me when this little guy:


became this big guy:


He woke up this morning so excited he could barely sit still long enough to eat breakfast. He dressed himself in his new shirt (size 7!) and shorts and I helped him tie his new shoes. Then, before I could change my mind and keep him home with me forever, it was time for the backpack. Ian was "ready to go" with his backpack too.

While we were walking to school I realized I'd forgotten his paperwork and nametag. So, I rushed back home while the boys enjoyed the hazy humid morning.
The school was, predictably, a zoo, with parents and children going every direction. But Ethan said hi to his teachers, hugged his friend Garett from soccer, and was ready to dive into his day.

Mommy, Daddy, and brother, however, needed one more big hug:
Now Ian and I are home and staring at each other. I'm sure he's thinking "Oh great, NOW what am I supposed to do?" 3:40pm cannot come soon enough.

He's Home!

Mark at the "Eagles Nest"

Mark is home from his work trip to Leipzig and side, pleasure, trip to Berchtesgaden and Salzburg. He had many hair raising adventures that I’m sure he’d like to tell you about. So, feel free to email him or call him.

He won’t be responding right away, though. He’s buried under a mountain of small boys who are so happy to have him home that they’ve given up eating, sleeping, and watching TV.

Look.. over there!

Hi. What YOU doing?

The boys and I have been staying busy ( that being a relative term) in order to not miss Mark too much. He's been in Germany since the 17th and won't be back until Wednesday. To quote Ethan: "That is.. that is this many.. that is.. TOO MANY days!"

The Eating, or, Lack Thereof

Look, kid, I GET IT. You hate food. You were emotionally, permanently, scarred by the first year of your life where I forced a food you are horribly allergic to down your throat making you vilely ill for hours each day. I get that. I’m swimming in the guilt. See? Pruny fingers!

But kid, so help me God, if you throw that sippy cup against the freshly painted walls ONE MORE TIME…..

If you feed that perfectly edible bit of potato to the dog ONE MORE TIME……….

Oh who am I kidding? Here Ian, have another damn chicken nugget.

The Goats of George Washington

Please forgive the lack of chronological order in this entry. I feel it necessary, for the honor of the goat, to discuss the rumors flying around the internet.

Yes there are goats at Mt. Vernon. Yes I was commenting on the very placid goat who was busily munching the lawn and ignoring the four little boys traipsing by, when I fell. However, despite what Cheryl has told the world, via Twitter, the goat did NOT attack me. He might have possibly uttered a goat-like chuckle at my clumsiness, but that is all.

I was walking down one of the sloped gravel paths at Mt. Vernon when my right foot slipped. I was carrying my purse and the diaper-bag over my left shoulder, and holding Ian with my left arm, perched on my left hip. My left leg, as it is wont to do, betrayed me in my time of need. To wit, it crumpled like British at Saratoga. I collapsed downward, frantically juggling Ian. I failed at any attempt to prevent bodily harm to either of us. Ian’s body flung backwards as we landed and his head bounced off the path. My hands are skinned and the Benedict Arnold of legs didn’t fare so well either. My left knee is skinned and bruised and the left ankle has a mild sprain.

Now, that matter clarified, you might be asking who Cheryl is and why my menagerie of small men folk increased by two. Cheryl and I met in an on-line support group for expectant mothers way back in the summer of 2002. I was pregnant with Ethan; she with her second child. It was this same group that introduced me to Shannon. Unlike Shannon, however, Cheryl lives far away and we were only able to stay in touch via emails and blogs these past 6 years. Until, that is, Cheryl brought her eldest son Aaron to Washington DC. They were accompanied by Aaron’s former teacher Connie and her son Jack. Because both Aaron and Jack are fascinated with Presidential history, I at once volunteered to drive them all to Mt. Vernon for an afternoon of exploration.

Aaron and Jack are precocious, bright, exceedingly polite, and infinitely curious. They thoroughly enjoyed Mt. Vernon and that is all the reward I needed. An afternoon lugging Ian around in 90 degree heat, and twisting my leg, was well worth it to see children learn and LOVE to learn as much as those boys did. Even Ethan absorbed a bit of history and he definitely had a good time.

So, next time you’re in the area, please be sure to pay a visit to lovely Mt. Vernon. And, for the sake of your reputation, beware the goats.

An update on "The List"

Since I last spoke of the "The List" we've managed to cross off several items. But, as so often happens with home repair/improvement, we keep having to add items. Like, when I painted the hallway I removed the lightbulbs from the front entryway light fixture. After I finished painting I replaced the bulbs only to have the fuse blow everytime I turned on the light. So "fix short in fixture" has been added to the list.

An updated List (items in red have been completed):

Kitchen
1. paint ceiling
2. replace fridge
3. replace sink
4. paint utility room
5. touch up pantry paint
6. replace fuse-box

Dining Room
1. replace chandelier
2. touch-up paint
3. touch up trim
4. re-paint ceiling

Hallway/Entryway
1. fix chipped paint
2. paint walls
3. paint trim
4. fix short in light fixture

Living Room
1. touch up paint and trim
2. curtains

Office
1. fix ceiling
2. paint ceiling

Ethan’s room
1. curtains

Boy’s bath
1. finish wallpaper
2. fix tile
3. re-grout floors

Upstairs hall
1. paint walls
2. paint trim

Master bedroom
1. paint ceiling
2. paint trim
3. shades

Master bath
1. paint ceiling
2. paint walls
3. fix/clean molded tile
4. fix shower head

Front yard
1. trim bushes
2. mulch
3. plant flowers
4. remove dead azalea
5. plant bush to hide wires

Back yard
1. repair brick wall
2. dig up bush and replace at wall
3. dig up bush and replace at house
4. fix shed latch
5. replace gate
6. plant flowers

Loss - Again

It was my Uncle Eric who taught me how to cook eggs. It was my Uncle Eric who let Adrian and I stay up late and watch Texas Chainsaw Massacre. It was Eric who picked me up at the Nashville airport, nothing but a diaper bag and 5-week-old Ethan in my arms, so we could attend Pappa’s funeral. He hugged me and told me that he and Pappa had talked a lot about God in those final weeks and that he knew in his heart that Pappa had made peace with the Lord.

Eric was not there at Adrian’s funeral. In the past year Eric, a recovering alcoholic, had abandoned the responsibilities of fatherhood and marriage and fallen off the wagon. He’d returned to the wild, self-destructive ways of his youth, leaving his family confused, hurt and angry. Adrian was physically mad at Eric for his behavior. So, I understood why Eric was not there as we mourned Adrian and buried him beside Pappa, but the understanding didn’t make the sense that something was missing any easier.

On Friday night Eric died in a car accident. He was drunk. He leaves behind a son, a daughter, three foster children, and a wife who have worried about him these long months. They’ve hated him in the way that only people who deeply love and worry about someone can hate another person. He leaves behind a wider family of sisters, brothers, nieces and nephews, and various other relations. A wide panoply of people are in mourning right now, again.

I wish I had the words to help his family, especially his children, understand. I myself don’t have any greater understanding. Adults don’t have the answers to these hurtful questions- a painful part of growing up that I wish five teenagers weren’t having to learn quite so early.

We’re all at a loss – again. Once again we’re trying to understand why a man we loved, a man we needed in our lives, chose to leave us behind.

Mark's "Vacation"

Mark had a long weekend. He celebrated by making this trash pile:

That’s bags of yard clippings, and trash from the office, piled on top of an old, HEAVY, TV that is stacked in front of a full trash can full of even more garbage.

He trimmed this tree:
Yes, that is the trimmed version. Be very afraid. We are.

He hung this new light fixture:
Ok, truthfully, he replaced the chandelier over a month ago, but when he did, the cornice fell (totally not his fault, just another engineering marvel *cough* of our home). So this weekend he fixed the cornice. Now I have to repaint the ceiling:


Somewhere he also found time to buy new hubcaps for his car, get a kiddie pool for the boys, make dinner for me, go to the movies with friends, and light fireworks with Ethan watching.

I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted just typing all of that.

Assassin Bees

I dug up the dead azalea and threw it in the pile of broken branches and twigs that have been accumulating for over a week. (So much for the lovely landscapers that we pay so much for- I think they’ve been mowing AROUND the branch pile) In the process of laying down mulch to cover the hole, I got stung by a bee.

I have to hand it to the folks at the HOA; I had no idea they had the fey powers required to consort with insects, much less turn them into assassins. Sad news, though. The bee failed. I lived.

Note to HOA: next time, send wasps.

HOA=Haven of Asses

Last weekend I exchanged a series of emails with the Homeowners Association regarding our broken garden gate. The week before that I had a frustrating phone call with the same people about a dead azalea. The bush is right in front of our house. I want to dig it up and replace it with another azalea. I received this mind boggling response:
“Well, you have to get written permission and it has to be the same color.”

Right.

While you ponder that bit of idiocy, get this: on Saturday we had a note shoved under our door saying that we were in violation of HOA standards.

1. house numbers missing from back gate
2. need to plant bush to hide cable wires in front of house

Yes, that would be the gate that is shattered right where the numbers hang. Yes, they want me to plant a bush to hide wires but won't let me dig up the dead one without written permission.

Seriously, someone needs to be punched. Hard.

Tom

The boys Godfather, “Uncle" Tom, came to visit us last week. He was in town for a very important conference but had to take time out to come be tickled, deafened by screeching, hugged, kissed, chased, and beaten at Wii games.

We had a nice visit, though it was far too short and far too long in coming. Ethan keeps asking when we can go to Texas and see Uncle Tom again. I tell him that Tom is probably still recovering from the beating he took at Wii cow races.

The Work-ethic of Amy's Muscles....

It used to be that if I over-did a work out or spent too much time lugging mulch around the yard, my muscles would be sore and perhaps a bit tense. They were kind and gentle about it; a very subtle twinge was all it took to get my attention.

These days my muscles have been seduced into some counter-culture demonic cult where pain is only another way of saying: “Wassup? How you been? Oh, you were sleeping? Sucks-to-be-YOU!”

I woke up at 4:30am crying out in pain. All I wanted to do was sit up. The problem was: my rebellious back, neck, and shoulder muscles were staging a sit-in. Such protests are much more effective when you put large amounts of people, or muscle cells, in one place. Therefore, the back and shoulder muscle cells crawled right on up and knotted together in my neck. I’m sure they were quite cozy. I was crying.

The details of the rest of the morning are a bit fuzzy due to some darvocet (which made me queasy and itchy for the next 4 hours. Try dry-heaving without moving your head. Yeah, it’s that much fun) and a whole lot bleaching my brain of the misery I put Mark through.

Anyway, I haven’t done much of anything today. I can now move my head so that my chin is halfway between the midline and my right shoulder. I can almost lift that same right arm completely over my head. Moving my chin towards my chest, however, incites a level of pain that should only occur during childbirth or amputation performed with a rusty pocketknife.

Stupid damn old-people muscles.

The List

Because I am horrible about doing things without a firm deadline and a great deal of nagging, I give you "the List". This is the list of things I need to do to the house before it goes on the market. Items in red have been completed.

The List

Kitchen
1. paint ceiling
2. replace fridge
3. replace sink
4. paint utility room
5. touch up pantry paint
6. replace fuse-box

Dining Room
1. replace chandelier
2. touch-up paint
3. touch up trim

Hallway/Entryway
1. fix chipped paint

2. paint walls
3. paint trim

Living Room
1. touch up paint and trim
2. curtains

Office
1. fix ceiling
2. paint ceiling

Ethan’s room
1. curtains

Boy’s bath
1. finish wallpaper
2. fix tile

Upstairs hall
1. paint walls
2. paint trim

Master bedroom
1. paint ceiling
2. paint trim
3. shades

Master bath
1. paint ceiling
2. paint walls
3. fix/clean molded tile
4. fix shower head

Back yard
1. repair brick wall
2. dig up bush and replace at wall
3. dig up bush and replace at house
4. fix shed latch
5. replace gate (thanks stupid tornado)

6. plant flowers

Front yard
1. trim bushes
2. mulch
3. plant flowers
4. remove dead azalea

Hot

It’s so hot that our cactus has decided to bloom. This thing is a hold-over from the previous owners and despite my horrid track-record with most plants, it has survived and flourished. This, however, is the first time it’s ever bloomed.

Also, little boys are cute, even when dripping with sweat.

Grumble Grumble Yawn

I didn't take a nap yesterday, choosing instead to play Candyland with Ethan. Then I stayed up late last night reading. So, I was very tired when a not-so-little boy came stumbling into our room at 2am wanting to sleep in our bed. Usually when this happens I can convince him to go back to his own bed. This time my loving husband sabotaged me.

I got up and started to tell Ethan to come with me and I'd tuck him back in. Mark rolled over at that point and said "Sure buddy, hop up here." Then he patted the spot in the bed I'd just vacated. Folks, our bed isn't that big. There isn't a bed big enough to accommodate Mark and Ethan AND me. Mark's a bed hog as it is and sleeping with Ethan is a little like sleeping with one of those huge skeletons from high school biology classrooms. Only, some goth teenager has taken the opportunity to file sharp edges on ever single bone in that skeleton. Sleeping with a bag of pointy edges that flail about at random intervals isn't my idea of sleeping at all.

Too late, though. Ethan was snuggled down on my side of the bed. He even appropriated both my pillows. When I tried to move him he started whimpering. Mark was already snoring again. I gave up. There's not much fight in me at 2am. I trudged to Ethan's room and tried to doze in his bed.

We need to buy that kid a new mattress.

At 4am I'd had enough. I went back in our room, picked up all 40lbs of floppy legs and arms and carried him back to his bed. He didn't so much as open his eyes.

This morning when I was trying to hide under the covers, I reminded Mark of how he betrayed me and gave up my bed to his son. Both he and Ethan stared at me like I was crazy. Mark said I had dreamed it all. Ethan grinned like the Cheshire Cat that he is and said "Yup, Mamma, you dreamed it all up. Silly Mamma."

Grumble.

No Warning

I don’t like severe thunderstorms. I hate tornadoes. I had this traumatic experience as a teenager. I won’t bore you with the details, but let me just say that the movie Twister made me cry.

Yesterday, after Ian’s nap, I was taking a break from housework and playing on my computer. (Yes it really was just a break. Yesterday morning I shaved the dog, paid bills, and helped Shannon figure out an html code. So: back off!) The power flickered. Now I just got my computer up and running after a semi-serious meltdown. I wasn’t taking any chances. I turned off the power in the office and went to check the weather the old fashioned way. When I opened the door Katya sprinted inside and cowered behind my legs. Not a good sign.

One look at the sky had me concerned. I told Ethan to come in the kitchen. Ian, thank goodness, was already nearby. Less than 2 minutes after the first flicker of the power the trees suddenly bent double. I grabbed the boys and ran to the utility closet. Katya, who abhors that closet, was right on my heels. The flashlight was already in the closet, which is good because I didn’t have time to think about anything beyond shutting the door and trying not to scare the boys. That was hard, considering that I was scared out of my wits. Ethan was asking tons of questions and Katya was whining and trying to crawl into my arms. My arms were full of Ian - sorry doggy. The power went out and didn’t come back on.

We could hear the rain and the roaring of the wind. I never heard the stereotypical train noise. The weatherman said there was a possible tornado about 5 miles north of us. What we got was probably just severe straight line winds. I don’t care, the wind was terrifying. Our house is surrounded by huge oak trees. I wasn’t taking any chances.

Within 10 minutes the wind had calmed enough for me to crack open the door and look out the kitchen windows. Five minutes after that the sky was starting to clear. It was over that fast.

Sadly, there was a person killed just a few miles away when a huge tree crushed the car he/she was riding in. There are two homes on our street with big trees through their roofs. Our back garden gate wasn’t latched, so when the wind caught it, it slammed against the door and broke in pieces. The grapevines were pulled off the trellis and several medium sized branches fell in the yard. Across the parking lot there are huge branches down on the playground.

Our power was only out for four hours. It came back on in time for me to watch the news and see the warnings of another round of storms coming in. A massive cell spawned several tornadoes south of us but we only got heavy rain and some wind. Typical thunderstorm wind, not scary-run-for-the-shelter wind.

There wasn’t time for the sirens to go off. Schools were letting out and children were in the middle of cross walks. There was time to grab the kids and scurry to shelter. That’s all we had. I can’t make you appreciate the speed of the storms. I’ve been through dozens of tornado warnings and scary storm situations but this one still astounds me with the suddenness with which it was upon us.

We’re ok. Our friends are ok and our neighbors are ok. I’ll never again underestimate the severity of DC weather.

Reading Partner

One of the best things about having Lena visit? She hasn’t had to read the “ahhgh ahhgh” (Ian’s weird name for trains) books one billion times. She is, in fact, quite happy to snuggle on the couch and read the same book twenty times in a row.

The Big Lena

Ethan has been driving me crazy all week, wanting to know how long until “the big Lena” (so named because she’s taller than he is and because he has a playmate with the same name) comes to visit. At this point the answer can only be: “not soon enough”.

My cousin Lena is 16 years younger than I am. When she was a baby I spent part of one summer helping her Mom out and spending time with my family in Western Kentucky. Now, 16 years later, she's coming to help me out with my boys and spend time with me. We’ve always lived six or more hours away from each other and, thus, haven’t been as close as I would like. I’m looking forward to getting to know the young lady she is so quickly becoming.

Of course I’m not really sure what to do while Lena is here. It’s been a long time, if ever, since I understood what was cool for a teenager to do. I can only hope that shopping trips in the city, a night out in Old Town, and a trip or two to the movies will make up for all of the playing trains and sword fighting she will have to endure.

But before Lena gets here, I have to clean the house and finish a thousand little home improvement projects. I don’t think she’ll mind if the house isn’t in immaculate condition, but since we’re getting ready to put the house on the market, I will take advantage of any excuse for a good deep cleaning!

The Best of Two Holidays

Today I got a double treat. Today was Mother’s Day and Ian’s 2nd birthday. It has been a day of presents, cake, ice cream, good friends, singing, Wii games, rainy-day naps, and lots of hugs.

Ethan helped me make Ian’s cake. Ethan also made a very special present for me:


Isn’t it beautiful? He picked the colors and painted them on the heart. Then his teacher fired the heart in a kiln. I have to tell you I’m a weepy sap; I cried when he gave it to me. The boys also gave me, via their Daddy, a new computer game to play.


While the cake was baking Ian and I took a nap. After our nap we all got dressed and cleaned up for Ian’s party. Amy, Steve, Tyler, Alec and Lena came over for Ian’s party. We had cake, ice cream, singing ( which Ian found embarrassing) and lots of laughs.

Ian loves all his gifts. His big brother likes all Ian’s gifts too! Thank you to Nana, Granny, Granddaddy, Aunt Holly and everyone else who sent gifts. A big thanks to Uncle Tom and Aunt Gel who sent Ethan a cool Liverpool soccer- er, football- uniform.

Follow this link for more pictures: http://www.flickr.com/photos/redamy/2483793483/

Ssso Proud!

Most of you will read this and think “Eh? She’s all proud because he got his face painted? Huh? It’s not liked he painted it himself. He didn’t DO anything!”

But some of you will understand because you know what Ethan is like. This is the boy who plays soccer and refuses to put his hands down on the grass; this is the child who still insists upon wearing shoes and sock in the sandbox. Ethan flips out if you don’t give him a napkin with dinner and refuses to finger paint. So the idea that he sat still and let someone get his face “dirty” is just so COOL.

He came home and proudly ran right up in Ian’s face and growled (yeah so much for all those hours of Diego teaching him about animals). Rather than scream in fear, as Ethan was clearly hoping for, Ian grinned and said “Hey!” (And when you say that, you have to be able to drawl it out with the twang and lilt of a 16 year old Kentucky girl flirting with her boyfriend). Ethan’s face, paint and all, fell. “Daddy! He’s not afraid of me!”

It was all ok, though. Mamma summoned an appropriate girly scream.

Take 2 Zyrtec and shove them you know where…

Ethan came down with a high fever, runny nose, cough and vomiting last Wednesday. After two miserable days the fever and vomiting finally eased but the headache and cough continue. Ethan has what pediatricians like to refer to as a “productive, wet, cough”. I like to refer to it as “Makes his rib cage cave in to make him look even more anorexic than he did before” cough.

So I took him to the pediatrician. Not our normal, understanding, informative, intelligent pediatrician. No, instead we got Dr. Oblivious.

Dr. Oblivious: “Is it a barking cough or a wet cough?”

Me: “Wet. Though I don’t know if he’s coughing up anything, why don’t you ask him? He’s five. He talks.”

Dr. Oblivious: “His nose is runny and swollen and he’s scratching his eyes. He has allergies. He should take Zyrtec.”

Meanwhile I’m wrangling a squirming, irritated, Ian and giving the doctor a look of complete disbelief. Since when do allergies cause a fever and a cough like that? But, ok, whatever. There is the distinct possibility that I was over reacting to Ethan being sick, since it’s happened all of three times in his whole 5 ½ years of life.

Now the regular pediatrician would have glanced at the squirming younger brother and said “Has he shown any symptoms?” Dr. Oblivious couldn’t wait to be out the door.

Fast forward 5 days. Ian has a nice barking cough, a constant low-grade fever, refuses to eat (though that’s normal) and is generally fussier than normal. (Imagine a rabid howler monkey with a festering thorn stuck in his foot. That *might* come close to the level of irritation.) Also, because allergies are contagious, *I* have a barking cough, sneezing, runny nose, low grade fever and general malaise.

Basically, we all have spring colds. A betting man would place money right now that the boys will recover within a week and I’ll piss and moan until I have a good case of bronchitis before finally going to the doctor. Where, I’ll be informed I have asthma and should take Zyrtec on a regular basis.

I should have gone to med school…

Soccer Monster!

Ethan started soccer on Tuesday evening. He loves running around with his new friends. He thinks kicking the ball is loads of fun. He really enjoyed the team-building game they played while knocking over traffic cones. Basically, every other word that comes out of his mouth right now relates to soccer.

We really love that he’s exhausted on Tuesday nights! His first game is Saturday April 5th.

A belated Ian update

Ian had his VERY belated check-up today. He is 21 months now. He weighs 26lbs (31%), has 51cm head (95%) and is 33inches long (26%). The length measurement is a rather large drop from his usual growth curve but everything else is right on his "curve".

I did get a stern lecture about not giving-in to Ian’s picky eating habits. Ian will only eat the following foods: strawberries, bread, apples, chips, cranberries, bananas, chicken nuggets, hot dogs, waffles/pancakes, cookies, and plain pasta. As you can see: no vegetables, very unhealthy protein choices, and a decided lack of fiber. She suggested I only make him the foods that Ethan is eating for dinner and if Ian doesn’t eat for a meal or two then he just doesn’t eat.

Of course that is easier said than done because Ethan eats a lot of cheese and other items with a high dairy content. Ian’s dairy allergy is so severe he can’t even have breads or pastas with a certain percentage of milk in them. The doctor recommended keeping him on the strict no-dairy diet until he’s around 5 and then trying slowly reintroducing some dairy products. At this point, because Ian doesn’t show signs of pet allergies, skin irritation allergies, or any other food allergies, she thinks we can hold off on allergy testing. I’m even allowed to give him peanut butter, in small doses.

In happier news, Ian has now officially “caught up” in the gross motor skills category. In fact, his legendary climbing skills put him a bit ahead of the curve. While I’ve been concerned about his lack of coherent language, Dr. Hamilton said he’s fine and that his ability to gesture, use intonation, and string together what words he does use (“see it” and “what’s that”) show that his mental faculties work just fine. Apparently his huge head isn’t completely empty!

Both boys have nasty head colds. While big brother Ethan was diagnosed with a double ear infection (only the second he’s ever had), Ian’s ears and lungs were clear. Ian got three shots and will go back this summer for another check-up. Oh, and Ethan passed a milestone of his own today: he officially weighs over 40lbs! He’s now all the way up to 41lbs and the 50% for weight.

Oh yeah, and...

Several weekends ago (after my birthday but before Mamma came to visit) I decided that I needed to paint the kitchen. I’m not sure what precisely inspired this “need” after four years of dingy white walls in various stages of drywall repair. Once I finished the painting Mark and I were both so happy with it we commented to each other several times a day how much we loved our “new” kitchen.

And then I sort of forgot to tell anyone the crazy thing I did. So, without further babbling… the kitchen:

They said it was my Birthday

Amy and boys
Originally uploaded by redamy

I had a nice birthday. I got phone calls from friends and family. Ethan and I made a cake that had no dairy in it so Ian got to eat some too! We had a nice party when Mark got home from work. Then Mark made me an awesome steak dinner and we watched TV.

Click on the photo to see all the party pictures (and one random shot of Ian.)

Ninjas Have Scurvy?

So my ears have been bothering me of late, making my hearing even worse than it normally is. A side effect of this has been trying to teach Ethan to look at me when he's speaking. That hasn't been working so well. Last night was a case in point.

I asked him what he had for snack at school. I was facing one way and he was facing the complete opposite way. I turned around and asked him again, but he still wasn't facing me. Whatever it was he said sounded like the teacher on Charlie Brown. So I said "Ethan, look at me, please, and tell me what you had for snack.

This time he was looking at me and I at him, but, his mouth was full. His response sounded like "Mhhhm ninja mumble fruit". Try as I might, this made no sense.

"You had ninja fruit for snack, honey?"

The most frustrated and disgusted look possible for a 5 year old to summon crossed his face. He swallowed and looked at me while enunciating very slowly:
"Mamma. Ninjas. Do. Not. Eat. Fruit. I SAID we had meat and fruit."

Oh.

Everything Hurts

Every song that pops up in my playlist has a memory attached.
Little jokes rub a raw chord
The first name in my email address book is his.
Mamma sent me some of his stuff today
Ethan called himself a “lollygagger” yesterday and I cried for ten minutes straight.
Ian tore up half a box of Kleenex two days ago. I needed those.

Today’s been a particularly bad day. I though yesterday was bad. I thought that first night was as bad as it could get.

But as much as I try to move on and get on with life, my little brother’s still gone and it still REALLY HURTS.