Ruby Dooby Danders

Two.

Where did ONE go? 

This last year has been a blur.  An absolute up and down, whirl wind blur.

I've hardly chronicled Ruby's life at all.  Here I am, two years in and I feel like when I look back at this blog I'm going to wonder what in the hell happened after Ruby was born. 

Here's a brief glimpse of what I haven't written about:

Ruby is ALL. GIRL.  The child loves having her hair brushed and wearing copious amounts of shoes in a single day- whether they're hers or not makes no difference.  She still cherishes her bunny, loves her babies and fully insists on pampering them with her hand-me-down cloth diapers, swaddling them in her baby blankets and bouncing them in the infant bouncer all while laying on top of them, full weight, to shower them with kisses. 

Ruby is an absolute spit-fire through and through.  She reserves the right to stand her ground, no matter how shoddy the platform.  She also reserves the right to change her mind... and change it again...  and no, she is not going to tell you why she's changed her mind, just that she doesn't want whatever she had just pleaded for and you'd better get that shit out of her sight post haste!

I can't say where she gets this last character trait from...

The sweet, darling child is constantly complemented on about her beauty and cuteness.  A trait that, on some of her more difficult days, is her saving grace. 

She has no problems bossing around her older sisters and then rearing her hand back to smack the snot out of her unassuming victim when she doesn't get what she wants.  After a round of timeout and a stern correction, she whimpers the most sincerely pathetic apology before getting back to business as usual-- directing the world to circle around Ruby and Ruby alone.

Ruby sees Kyra as a means to help get things accomplished.  Kind, patient Kyra, who sits to play babies, reads a book or forty, lifts her up to reach objects on upper shelves or grabs her by the hands only to swing her around in a circle, feet lifting off the ground, broad smiles across both faces.  Kyra is attentive and sweet, and Ruby knows this.

Ruby sees Lydia as a partner in crime.  The two of them are often found in the throws of uproarious laughter, high energy games and are frequently found in the midst of trouble.  Lydia, who's mission in life is to make sure everyone around her is having a good time, is the perfect person to have around if you want to thoroughly enjoy life.  Lydia is our very own Patch Adams, and Ruby knows this, too.

As demanding and insistent as Ruby is, she's also observant and sweet.  She'll do anything for you to hold her and love her.  She sees the good people for who they are and shies away from those she hasn't had a chance to figure out, yet.

She loves animals of all shapes and sizes.  Ducks and birds are by far her favorite, but cats and dogs come in a very close second.

Animal loving, free spirited and a girl who knows how to use what she has on hand to get what she wants.  This is my Ruby.  My 2 year old Ruby.

Happy Birthday, Danders.

******************************

Something of note for me to remember when I'm 80 and forgetful:

Ruby Dooby Danders where shall I wander,
Upstairs, downstairs and in my lady's chamber
There I met an old man who wouldn't say his prayers,
I took him by the left leg and threw him down the stairs.

As a baby, and even today, I frequently sing this to Ruby while rocking her vigorously back in forth like a baby before tossing my giggling girl on a couch or bed.  It's the nursery rhyme Goosey, Goosey Gander made just for my girl.  This is where her nickname "Danders" comes from.

Catching Up on Life

Ruby is running around naked, back and forth from my room to the big girls' room showing me the latest toy she's playing with.  She's at that age and stage where she likes and feels very important playing in the same place as the big girls' without still quite knowing how to pretend along with them.  She calls Lydia, "Yeeh-ya", while referring to Kyra as "Dear-wa".  Both names are two syllables. 

Jeremy and I are expecting baby #4 this fall.  This time God decided to shake things up and give us a boy!  What to do with a boy?!  My first thought, and comment, when the ultrasound didn't show three lines but a protrusion instead was, "Nooo!  We don't make those!"  Now to come up with a name....

Three children in and we've never once agreed on a boys name. 

The girls are angling for us to call him Turkey Boy St Nicholas.  Of all the names Jeremy and I have tossed into the ring so far, we're still referring to him as Turkey Boy.

We're still living amongst the moose and other flannel wearing natives.  We still really, really like the area.  Our housing situation, on the other had, we completely despise.  The houses are all smacked together with nothing more than a 4x4 square of yard for the girls to play.  And although our neighbors no longer bang on Ruby's wall when she wakes up 30 times throughout the night screaming, we still feel a great deal of resentment towards them.  Turns out Ruby was suffering from a case of reflux.  For more than a month, now, she's been sleeping soundly and through the night. 

I'm pretty sure with Turkey Boy's arrival, I'm just going to ask for a two year supply of Zantac.  Just to save us all from having to play the all too familiar game of, "Who wants to guess why that baby's screaming for no reason, again?" 

Kyra and Lydia are spending their summer alternating between school work and riding their bikes outside with the neighborhood kids. 

Lydia's become the one all the kids her size flock to when she whips out her bug hotel contraption.  It's a series of bubbles and tubes all connecting that the kids all dump dirt and leaves into each afternoon and then run around looking for various, tiny life forms to torture by trapping then in the bug hotel.  Each night I require they release all the wildlife back into the bushes and grasses to find their way homes again. 

Kyra is trying to find her way, socially, around the neighborhood.  There was a period of a month or so where, right behind our house, there was a vacant house.  Kyra and several girls her age decided to make this their princess club where they, essentially, colored with chalk all over the brick walls and cement driveway while giggling incessantly.  When new people moved in, all the girls Kyra's age ran off to various other hidey-holes around the neighborhood.  Kyra, the poor child, is regulated to stay out of the road, on the sidewalk and within my sight while the other girls get free range to run three blocks in any direction at any time.  And so they do.  And Kyra watches with yearning eyes, hoping they might come back to play with her. 

This is the part in parenting where I continuously ask myself if I'm doing the right thing, keeping her within a boundary line where she can run free for a block but, past that, out of sight is out of bounds. 

Everyone here is still here.  A little older.  A little busier.  But we're here, as a family.  Some of us run around naked {yea for habits picked up during potty training!}, several of us collect and torture bugs in the name of learning, and others of us work and feed the masses.

All my love to all of you.

Literary Surprises

I'm still reading The Alchemyst.  I've now advanced to page 46.  I'm on a roll, I tell ya!

At what point do you look at something and decide to scrap it?  I can put a difficult book down and months later come back to finish it just so I can move on to something else.  Why I must finish one before moving on to another, I don't know.  Jer's also since informed me that this book is part of a series. 

Fabulous.

In other news, Lydia knows how to read.  Did you know this?  Because, I did not. 

She hopped up on the couch one morning and instead of pushing a book in my hands, asking if I'd read to her, she skipped over and asked if she could read me Dick and Jane. 

"WELL, OF COURSE!" I said, cheerily, waiting for her latest rendition of what's happening in each picture.  Instead of explaining the illustrations, she took her index finger and ran it along the words reading each word with accompanying dramatic pauses, exclamations and proper inflections to go along. 

I shit you not, I said, "When did you learn to read?" and she quipped back, "In my bed when I read with my flashlight."

....???

That's right. 

Kyra I've been dragging along, kicking, screaming and dramatically passing out while trying to climb brick walls made from compound words and multiple syllables.

Lydia gets the same 20 minutes a night her sister does, to sit in her bed, wind down and "read" books by flashlight.... and she teaches herself to read. 

Lydia's repeated this trick several more times with several more books.  Today, she even brought me a book I know beyond a shadow of a doubt neither Jeremy nor I have read this book to either of the kids before (because, yes, we have that many books), and the sweet child happily plodded along, reading the whole way. 

All her reading, so far, are of the basic nature.  Simple, sound out words.  Still.  It'll be nice to be blessed with a child who doesn't fight me the whole way with this reading business.  I know Kyra's difficulties are neither her fault nor of her own doing, but an easier path the second time around with the second kid will be a nice reprieve. 

So here I have Kyra tearing through all of the Spiderwick Cronicles, Lydia loving every Dick and Jane she can get her hands on, and I'm barely pawing through The Alchemyst. 

Even the kids are showing me up!

A Moment to Myself

I have two kids down for naps and one doing her school work at the kitchen table.  The dogs are snoozing beside me on their bed and the husband is working another tediously boring day on the boat. 

That last part is total assumption.  Only because I think his job must be boring.  He claims to enjoy what he does.  So, yaaa.

The rain outside is drizzly.  The mountains of snow are slowly dissipating.  What was a mountain of white, as high as the roof of my Suburban a couple of nights ago is now only up to the bottom of the windows.  We, along with the rest of this half of the country, are on a "warming trend" in which our temperatures raise to a balmy 40 degrees for a day or so and then we'll plummet back into the 20s and all that snow that didn't quite melt fast enough?  Now a deceptively slick sheet of snowy looking ice. 

I'm currently reading The Alchemyst because Jeremy stuck it into my hands a few days ago and said it might be something I'd enjoy for an easy read.  I've only made it to the 38th page.  I'm not sure if its entirely because its not my style or if its because I've wasted precious nap times on silly things like cleaning the kitchen, destroying the kitchen or piddling on this here computer. 

Hard to say. 

But I'm determined to trudge through it.  I have two book shelves worth of books I've gathered over the last couple of years and haven't had time nor motivation to read them.  We've run out of room for more books, for either the children or the adults in this house.  I've managed to read a good number in the last few months and either ship them back to their previous owners or donated them to the local library. 

My favorite, I can't put it down forthelifeofme book, so far, has been The Memoirs of a Geisha.  Aside from just being an incredible story on the whole, two quotes have stuck with me a month after having finished the book:

“Grief is a most peculiar thing; we’re so helpless in the face of it. It’s like a window that will simply open of its own accord. The room grows cold, and we can do nothing but shiver. But it opens a little less each time, and a little less; and one day we wonder what has become of it.”  

“I dont think any of us can speak frankly about pain until we are no longer enduring it.”  

I have a friend and a sister having a baby on the Any-Minute-Now timeline and I can't help but think of the horrible, crippling postpartum depression I suffered after Ruby.  At the time I tried to rationalize and explain away every feeling I had but in the end, now that I'm no longer enduring it, I can see it for what it is.  What it was. 

Another book I'm anticipating picking up is The Outlander series.  My mother sent me the first of the series with a preface that she really enjoyed the fist and was headlong into the second and thought I would enjoy them, as well.  After The Alchemyst, I tell myself.  As it is, I have no room for Outlander on my bookshelf so it sits, stuck in the door in my truck, waiting for it's turn. 

I forget, sometimes, how much I enjoy books.  I read them to the kids all day.  Some of them wonderful, some of them not.  But a book that is for me is like a holy treasure, sometimes. 

That's typical of us mother's, though, isn't it?  Do for the kids, forgetting about yourself?

"All too soon," the older generations warn us young'uns, "the kids will want nothing to do with ya."  Then will be our time to ourselves.  Until then, I'll enjoy their naps for what they are, a small break in the mayhem, and I'll enjoy my bits of reading when can get them. 

Life right now seems all about the story.  Sometimes its an easy read, sometimes its thought provoking and sometimes you're too busy to notice the pictures on the page, right past the words you've just read. 

Life goes on.  And so do our stories.

Snow Days With Lydia

 

 

 

Braces. And She Couldn't Be More Excited.

When a dentist tells a parent their kid might be a contender for braces, the parent usually sees dollar signs flash before their eyes.

 

 

Kids see sparkly awesomeness being stuck to their teeth while reclining in a chair watching Rio play on the TV screen on the ceiling. 

 

 

Parents see repeated visits to orthodontist offices two and a half hours away.

 

 

Kids see regularly scheduled visits with their friends, two and a half hours away.

 

 

Parents see fun contraptions shoved into their children's mouths to shut them up for thirty solid seconds.

 

 

Kids see free movie time without having to ask Mom's permission.

 

 

Parents see food restrictions, broken wires and impending doom.

 

 

Kids can't stop licking their teeth for the cool new feeling in their mouths.

 

 

Parents see this helping two impacted teeth straitening themselves out, hoping to prevent further trouble down the road.

 

 

Kids see a mouth so full of awesome they can't wait to bounce up and down with glee, while screaming at unsuspecting friends and family, "LOOK!  I HAVE BRACES!  I JUST GOT BRACES!  DO YOU LIKE MY BRACES?  I LOVE MY BRACES!"

 

Happy, healthy kids.  Its all we're really after.  I guess teeth have a little something to do with that from time to time.  If they make her happy and help her mouth stay healthy, well...

This and That

Jeremy has managed to catch the Creeping Crud while I seem to remain untouched.  What cracks me up, though, is that while he was all, MMmmm.... I'd rather go to bed, lets wait until the morning, when Lydia was laying all pathetic and feverish in my bed... Jeremy sniffs and snuffs and sleeps and snores and then comes home with two different pills and a nose spray for his head congestion. 

I have to hand it to him, he hasn't whined that he's dying and he's not woe-is-me'ing his way all through the house, but the fact that he sought out his doc on the boat to get medicine for himself, yet was too tired to willingly take his kid to the doctor is a stark contrast.  Its a little hysterical. 

*****************

Ruby is using only four to five diapers a day.  The beginnings of potty training have started. 

We've pulled out the seat that sits on the toilet and let her spend one hour naked from the bottom down.  She managed to pee on the floor three or four different times in that hour but each time she stopped herself and allowed us to sweep her into the bathroom to finish her business. 

She certainly hasn't learned to do her thing on cue, yet, but that's why I do this prep work.  Soon enough she'll figure out how to make herself go, then its all a matter of spending a week or two training her how hold it... and then go on cue. 

So, every so often, when I have a couple extra dirty towels laying around, I'll probably also have a half naked baby running around for an hour at a time. 

Potty training.  It excites me.  Which might make me the weirdest person, ever.

Creeping Crud: The Aftermath

The Creeping Crud, for Ruby took its shape with lots of moaning, groaning and whining while simultaneously laying listlessly on my lap for 16 hours at a time.  Her fever and head congestion were relieved with both medicinal and aquatic approaches. 

Meaning: We drugged her and stuck her in the shower from time to time.

For Lydia, it took shape in head congestion, burning, watery eyes and extremely high fevers.  We combated her issues with the same medicinal and aquatic approaches we took with Ruby, while even throwing in full day movie marathons. 

This approach totally worked for a day and a half, until her fever was all, You can take your Motrin and playtime baths and suck it. 

It was at this point I called a very good friend of mine to see if Jeremy was crazy or maybe it was me.  After all, Lydia was running a 104.4 fever, two hours away from her next scheduled dose of medicine and she lay there, woefully leaking water from her eyes and claiming she thinks they might be on fire.  I was all, Mmmmm..... I think it's time to take her to the ER.  Jer was all.... MMmmm.... I'd rather go to bed, lets wait until the morning.  Thank God for Joelle.  Her tie-braking opinion was to take her to the ER.

One hospital visit later, Lydia is doing fine and well.  She has neither an infection, nor the flu.  Her fever was high enough that Jer said they whisked her off to a room before they even had an ounce of information in the computer.  She was shivering, despite her high temperature, and was starting to break out in a heat rash to add to the fun. 

The new trick we learned this visit is when one medicine isn't working, to alternate Motrin with Tylenol.   Why this is more effective, I don't know.  But you can bet it'll be a trick I won't soon forget. 

As of today, Lydia's on the mend with nothing more than lingering congestion and cough.

Kyra started a low fever yesterday and I feared the worst for her in the coming days.  Turns out that's as bad as it's probably going to get for her.  Thank you, God.

This morning everyone woke up fever free, though all three had noses leaking like a loose pipe.  Kyra's cough is the worst, Lydia's intermediate and Ruby's hardly had a cough all day.

Its funny how one virus can cripple two children, hardly touch one and leave two parents completely unscathed.  All that's left now is the lingering aftermath.  Its not so bad.  Not welcomed, but not so bad.

The Creeping Crud, 2014

Ruby has brought home the first plague of the new year.  I'm not sure why she felt the need to lick a shopping cart or cover someone else's mouth and then insert her finger into her own nose, but she must have thought it necessary because now she's suffering from The Creeping Crud.

 

 Thanks to a fever, lots of sneezing, exploding snot and hacking coughs, she spent her day whining.  A lot.  Just listen to that scratch cry, she sounds awful.

 

 

She insists on sweet cuddles, to which I happily oblige.

 

 

She demands food, only to hold onto it.  Actually eating the food highly over rated.

 

And she spends her naps sleeping on Mommy's chest.

 

Ruby's lots of things, but a cuddle bug is not one of them.  She's spent more time in my arms and on my lap over the past two days than she has in the last 6 months.  Part of me is relishing in this sweetness.  The other part of me feels guilty for enjoying this side effect to her misery. 

 

She's pitiful.  There's no way around it. 

 

My nose is now starting to stuff up, there's a scratching tickle in my throat and as much as I've tried to keep the big girls occupied upstairs for the last two days, both of them are sniffling and sneezing in their beds tonight.  Both humidifiers are running full blast with menthol strips in the girls room.  I'm questioning why I don't have one for my own room.

 

These next two weeks will probably be some exceptionally fun ones. Which probably means I should stock up on tissue boxes to combat all the snot that's going to fly, and restock the fridge with lots of chicken and veggies to make soups. 

 

Jewish penicillin, its good stuff.  The Creeping Crud, not so much.



Stargazing

Through my careful scrutiny of the big girls' allergy symptoms versus the times of the year when asthma attacks seem to strike the most, the pediatrician and I have decided what the big girls have is a really fun roller coaster ride of seasonal allergies with an extra fun bodily response of asthma to go along with the invading pollen. 

All of that said.... Guess who was trying really, really hard to have a full on asthma attack all night long, last night.  Go on, guess.

Nooope.  Not Kyra.  Though Kyra's inhaler was put to good use!

Lydia was up three times last night, all wheezy and barking coughs and freaking the fuck out over the lack of oxygen movement going on in her lungs and the funny sounds coming from her throat.

We tried to do everything right.  Jeremy gave both girls their nightly doses of allergy medicines... Lydia got an extra shot of Nasonex up her nose... I turned the humidifier on in their bedroom....We took her outside to look at the stars in the 40 degree night air to both calm her down and open her airways....

By midnight I was having her puff on Kyra's inhaler and by 3:30 I was dosing her up with Benadryl to calm this allergic reaction because the last thing I needed was to be sitting in an emergency room while my lovely husband is leaving on a fishing trip aboard a submarine two hours later.

The timing!  Couldn't be better!

It all started with the girls spending a few hours, yesterday, playing in piles of leaves.  A fun, Fall pastime that as a southern kid, I never really came to appreciate.  Today?  I offered them the chance to go have fun outside.  I silently rejoiced when they both said they wanted to play in their room.

Lydia woke up from her three hour nap, this afternoon, coughing and sputtering, again.  But, so far, we've made it three hours into sleeping tonight with nary a sound. 

Kyra hasn't had a full asthma attack in, almost, a year.  Her pediatrician says we either have her on the right combination of allergy medicines to prevent it or she's starting to outgrow it.  Lydia, on the other hand....

There's nothing more fun, I can promise you, than waking up to the sound of your kid's barking coughs and rasping breaths in the dark of the night.  And the cold shock of sitting outside, stargazing, in ass-freezing temperatures with an arctic breeze for good measure.  It makes me appreciate having a furnace of a husband in the bed when I get to climb back under the covers.

Another Example of Excellent Parenting

Sooo.....

Yesterday I finally determined that it was probably her 4 molars causing all the woeful trouble with Ruby.  After all, 4 erupting molars would explain the extra special scream sessions she's bestowed upon us all day and throughout the night, with regular intervals.  Four erupting molars should also explain the extra fun, open sore rash she's sporting on her hind quarters even though she's not eaten anything new and her poop looks entirely normal.  Four erupting molars would also explain why all thought Mass, yesterday, I noticed the way she was cramming her thumb to the very back regions of her pie hole and chomping on it. 

"IT'S HER TEETH!" I ecstatically told Jeremy, as if I were solving a prize winning puzzle. 

Enter barrette, stage left.

I found a barrette in Ruby's poop today.  I was completely unaware we were even missing a barrette. 

This new find leads me to question how much of Ruby's extra efforts exerted in the cranky and crying department has to do with having eaten a barrette. 

Hmm...

In Through the Nose, Out Through the Mouth

I'm cranky, stressed and disappointed.  All at the same time. 

How's that for a follow-up to Perfection?

I'm cranky because Ruby STILL is not sleeping through the night.  For no reason whatsoever.  She's waking two to three times a night just so I can walk into her room, saying nothing while laying her screaming head back onto the mattress only to turn around and leave.  She cries just long enough as she maneuvers Bunny-Bunny's bow back into her mouth before quickly falling back to sleep. 

Letting her cry it out doesn't work because The Huz will either (A) ignore her entirely and return to snoring or (B) go into her room, pick her up, and rock her back to sleep.  So instead I run in, two to three times a night, to lay her back down. 

When I brought it up to The Huz tonight that, "Hey!  Remember that email I sent you underway that explained how I was going to try to let her cry it out and if you'd jump on the same train with me THAT WOULD BE FABULOUS!"  That attempted, Lets Work This Out, conversation went over like lead weight over a cliff because, "Pfft... Fine.  Whatever.  You yell at me when I go in there, you yell at me when I don't." 

He's right.  For only a millimeter.  I've asked him to, you know, HELP OUT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING NIGHT ONCE IN A FUCKING WHILE.  To which, he has.  All of thrice.  Twice he rocked her back to sleep.  The third time he plucked her out of her crib and was on his way to shower with her.  {She loves the shower.  You wash.  She plays.  Win-win.  Except..} It was 5:30 in the morning.  What was his plan after the shower?  After he's left for work...? 

Exactly.

There has been another couple of occasions in which he rolled over and said, "Want me to go get her?"  I replied, "No.  See if she'll cry it out."  And then he rolls over and starts snoring, leaving me to do the dirty work.  Alone.  Again.  Because clearly I am the only one who can try to wait these things out even when we both know it. will. fail.  She cries.  He snores.  I pray. 

Usually for the strength NOT to smother my husband because I truly do love the motherfucker.

I'm stressed because we're moving in about a month.  We're moving to somewhere we've yet to live and comes with nothing but glorious compliments to describe the place. 

The fact that we're moving, though.  Ugh.

Now I'm purging, organizing, rethinking and reorganizing again.  The worst thing, for me, is to have the movers come in and be all, What the fuck is wrong with these disorganized hoarders? 

In all of our moves, none of them have actually ever said those words to me, but that doesn't take away my fear that one day they will.  Until then, I purge what we haven't used, organize what we do use and then head to the kitchen to cook the shit out of whatever's in the fridge or cupboards.  The less food we have to move, the better. 

Purge.  Organize.  Rethink.  Reorganize.  Cook.  Stress.

Who wants to take a peek in my head?

I'm disappointed because Jeremy FINALLY had some leave time approved to dance off to The Land of the CornHusker to baptize our third Godson... and this move has put the very quick kibosh on that idea.  We pick up the keys to our new house in the middle of what was going to be our trip.  If we turned the house down, we didn't know when a new unit would open up.  Since we accepted the house, we can't take leave. 

Sigh.

I desperately want to hold the new baby.  Coo and cuddle and fawn over another sweet being in this world.  I want to bat my eyelashes at Jeremy and playfully wish for another one.  But, as of tonight, that doesn't look like it's going to happen until 2014.  And that disappoints me.  A lot.

I miss my best friend.  I miss being there to fuss over her, cook her meals, vacuum her floors and help tend to her kids when she's fresh from the hospital.  She may not need me.  She may be able to do it all on her own.  But someone needs to look her square in the eyes and tell her she's insane for taking a newborn to the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade and really, wholeheartedly mean it. 

She has a Mama who comes to help out.  But I've met her Mama.  She's a very lovely and sweet woman who is just too nice.  I've never once seen an ounce of mean in that woman.  She might very well be a Saint, I'm convinced. 

Its hard for me to wag my finger over the phone, trying to tell her to sit her ass down she has a husband MAKE HIM DO IT! Its hard for me to know she has five birds in her nest who all need a home cooked meal and that's right up my alley and WHY DID YOU MOVE SO FAR AWAY?  Its hard for me to know that my only talent in life is cooking for families and caring for children in times of need and I can't be there to do either one.

My best friend finds and sends perfect gifts from afar to let you know she's thinking of you. Or your kids.  And, frankly, my vacuum cord doesn't reach that far to let her know I'm here for her, I'm thinking of her. 

I'm disappointed I can't be there with her.  For her.

Life is good.  But I'm still cranky, stressed and disappointed.  I'm sure once the move is finished, I'll level out again.  We'll be back to a waking toddler and trying to plan another leave schedule and I'll quit snapping at my husband and kids.  Until then...

Breathe.  Just breathe.

Perfection

I have never, in my life, seen three siblings get along as well together as these three do.

 

Okay, I've seen it once. And they were homeschooled, too. It was their mom who told me that it was a common thing for homeschooled siblings to get along this well.

I'm glad she was right.  At least, so far...

If Not for Sunday...

We arrived just in time for supper, Saturday evening, and left before lunch Monday morn.  Twenty four hours earlier than planned.  I sighted safety reasons.

The Rubies is known, to me, for her often shitty and unpredictably-predictable sleeping habits.  Most of the time, now, she sleeps through the night.  But if she does wake up, its always between 11 and 1.... or after 3..... or anywhere between the hours of 5:30-9.  For some reason, she's never up at the 2AM and 4AM time frames, which is about the only prediction I can make with sound confidence. 

What I can also confidently predict is that anytime she is not asleep in her own bed, in her own room, all by herself, she will let you know her severe displeasure.  All. Fucking. Night. Long.

She was not happy in the pack-n-play.  She was not happy in the bed, snuggled with me.  Or in the bed, on her own side.  Or in my arms sitting up, rocking.  Standing up, swaying.  She was not a happy camper, Sam-I-Am.

By 8AM, Monday morning, I called ENOUGH! and had the bedroom picked up, folded up and placed by the front door, ready to leave.  With Kyra sobbing through her tears, Lydia looking sullen and distressed, I had to tell our hosts we were leaving.  They didn't ask why.  They'd heard all the wails and frustration from both the Rubies and myself.  They understood, as I tearfully apologized while saying, "I just can't do this anymore!  She's not happy [pointing to The Rubies], I'm not happy and we're disrupting everyone else's nights."

The nights were rough.  Absolutely.  But Sunday, the one full day we were in the Arctic Tundra, it was a perfect day.  Mass in the morning.  Lunch with friends.  Home for naps... which Lydia easily took and The Rubies refused.  [Kyra spend nap time climbing the pear tree, fetching fresh fruit to share.] And, just before supper, the big girls got to ride and feed horses before taking turns mucking out stalls. The Rubies pranced around, acting like she owned the joint. 

The two awful, no good, horrible nights were worth the single, full day we got to spend with friends we so very much miss.  I'm glad we went.  But I'm also not so eager to repeat it any time in the immediate future. 

I left, reassuring George, Ruby and myself that The Rubies will get better.  One day she'll figure out we're not making her sleep atop the fires of hell.  One day we'll get to spend a decent amount of time enjoying each other's company.   

But when all I can think of, night 2 of no sleep, is to cover her mouth with my hand and force her face into my chest to muffle the screams... its time to go home.  Its time to call it a good.  Tried and failed.

Sunday.  Sunday was worth the effort.  Thank you, Sunday.

I am pleased to report, though, that last night The Rubies slept peacefully through the night.  And tonight she's on par for a repeat.  Sweet Ruby.  My homebody.

Age Old Question:

Am I doing enough?

I remember, what seems so long ago, when Lydia was still a baby, I used to walk through my day, observing the unfolding of each and every new blog post that was my life.  Sometimes comical, sometimes frustrating, sometimes typical.  It was there, all laid before me to type, write and document most days of the week. 

Now I seem to find it harder and harder to write.  I take pictures on my cameras, intending to tell the story to compliment the snapshot later on that night.  And then it never gets done.  I intend to document all the crazy words that come out of Lydia's mouth.  And then it never gets written.  I intend to tell you all about Kyra starting dance class this week and her favorite thing was learning how to do Jazz Hands, or how Ruby thinks its HI-larious to get caught trying to climb something, swipe something, sneak somewhere she's not supposed to be only to squinch her nose and giggle incessantly, all with that twinkle in her eye that only draws me to swoop her up while simultaneously pretending to nibble parts of her neck and belly as a form of punishment.  And then it never gets told. 

I want to say what wonderful things we're doing on the homeschooling front, but all I can think is I'm not doing enough.  Lots of things I want to do and accomplish with the girls, though I never seem to get past the thought phase.  Maybe I'm asking too much of myself?  Maybe I'm not trying hard enough?

I find I want to sit down and sew, cross stitch and learn to knit or crochet with Kyra.  I've promised her sewing lessons for a while, fully intending to teach her the basic of the basic, since that's all I know, and watch her practice, invent and create her own works of art, far better than I could have ever dreamed.... and then the table is always aclutter.  Her cross stitch we started is somewhere, lost, for the time being, in the land of the forgotten.  I'm sure its sitting close to the hope of taking up a new yarning skill. 

I'd love to sit with Lydia and read all day.  That girl loves to read.  She also loves to play board games, card games, pretend games.  She's a lover of all things fun and togetherness.  She is a glue to this family, much like her father.  Lydia and Jeremy both force my loner tendencies to be a part of this family. Still, I want to make myself do more for her, with her.

Ruby has turned into a little tyrant.  A tiny dictator.  She tells me where to be and when.  Sometimes she's off in her own world, exploring and finding trouble the way only a toddler would, sometimes she's pulling at my skirt for attention, demanding I hold her just for the sake of holding her.  Its hard not to indulge.  She's working on perfecting the art of her tantrum; the slow, intentional set down of her forehead to the floor, butt still raised in the air.  She then manipulates herself on to her side, then her back, whining the whole time.  Then she uses her feet to slide herself up as her gaze catches my smiling face.  Honestly, how could anyone not think that tantrum is the cutest. thing. ever? 

Sweet Ruby is about the only one in this family I feel like I'm not cheating out of my full attention.  Probably because she's the most forceful in demanding everyone's attention. 

Someone sent me an article this spring or summer that read something like, "Having three children is found to be the most stressful number."  I don't know how much truth is behind that, but what I do know is three children is kicking my butt.  That fact, alone, baffles me since Ruby is such an easy kid... sans the current Tiny Tyrant phase we're in, right now. 

For Kyra's school work, I bought her a journal and told her I wanted her to try to write in it, every day.  Partly for a writing exercise to practice penmanship, partly as practice in writing out a complete thought.  Mostly, though, to give her the chance to start writing her life; give her something to look back on when she's old and gray.

Maybe I should try the same tactic, myself, in internet form.  Get myself back in the habit of documenting our days.  My thoughts.  My life.  It'll have to start next week, though.  We've got a busy weekend ahead of us that is to include a quick trip away. 

Until then, enjoy these pictures.  They were all taken a month or so ago, when Kyra and Lydia decided to dress Ruby up in a "Queen Costume!"  The pictures are all courtesy of my iPhone.  Another form of technology I suck at, sigh.  Still, its the memory that resonates when I look at those pictures, and that's what counts. 

ONE

 

It absolutely happened.  And without my written, notarized, permission.

Are golfers the only ones allowed a mulligan?

This Week.... At Soccer Camp...

This week is Soccer Camp. Neither of the girls play soccer.  Both would love to but, for whatever reason (I know neither when soccer seasons begins nor who and where to sign them up) they have never been a part of a league. 

I confess, I am totally the one dropping the ball, here, and I'm okay with that. 

Last year, I signed them up through the Park and Rec for a week long camp as a means to keep them busy so my severely pregnant self wouldn't have to be the one proving the fun and entertainment for that week.  As an added bonus: Guaranteed Naps!  Myself, included!  It worked out swell. 

So....  I signed them up again this year.  Last year, Jeremy and I hit up the local GoodWill to find their cleats.  This year, we did the same since they'd both grown without my specifically requested, written permission.  Lydia grew TWO SIZES this past year, while Kyra had grown one.  I thank the sweet, good Lord above for providing GoodWill for bum parents like me who only sign their kids up for soccer one week a year.  I'm all about not investing in the expensive when I don't have to. 

Lydia is, by far, a much better participant than last year.  Last year she sat on the ground throwing tantrums when she didn't move the ball they way the coaches did or when she couldn't figure out you could stop the ball with one foot without simultaneously standing on the ball with that same foot only to have the ball roll under her weight and she hit the ground.  (every time!)  The difference a year makes...

Her coach is a girl, this year, and bless her sweet, patient heart, Lydia won't stop talking to her for a moment during each and every break.  She's told her all about our two dogs, our trip to the Smokey Mountains this spring, seeing Santa during that trip and how she has "a baby sister named Ruby and Ruby has SIX! TEETH! and if you put your finger in her mouth SHE! WILL! BITE! YOU!  Mmmm Hmmm...."

Kyra's group was too far away to get any decent shot of her, so you'll just have to trust me that she's the figure smack in the middle of the picture.  That girl makes up for what she lacks in skill with pure determination.  She doesn't know she's not a natural talent, and I'm not going to be the one to tell her, but she runs, kicks, and tries her damnedest to do exactly what is asked of her.

The cherry on the top of the Kyra Shea sundae, she has a heart of gold.  After class was finished, today, and I did the typical, "How's your class?" questioning, the only thing she told me about was this girl in her class who didn't have a snack (her clinic is 3 hours long) and since Kyra still had two muffins she didn't finish eating for breakfast plus her apple I packed for snack, she shared her muffins with the girl.  THAT is why I love that kid.  She may be a royal snot at times with a budding attitude to boot, but when it comes to a kid who's parent didn't know about a snack break, Kyra never hesitates to hand her goods over.  And not just a  hand her goods over kind of handover, she gave the girl a chocolate pumpkin muffin and ate the apple. 

Who does that?  Kyra does.

Moments to Remember

Dear Ruby,

Your bunny is a far more superior toy or stuffed whatnot in your growing collection of useless things.  We've learned that Bunny-Bunny, as the big girls refer to it, is your most treasured object and there is no sense in ever trying to put you to bed without it.  Which also makes it a bitch when you're tired, and Bunny is in the washer or dryer, in which case, timing is everything.

Each night for bed, and at every nap, we place you in your crib with Bunny on your chest.  You immediately wrap your arms around its neck while your mouth searches for its bows.  You suck one of the bows like other babies suck pacifiers.  With one bow firmly secured in your mouth, you then take one hand from Bunny's neck and search out the other bow.  Your mouth sucks one bow, your fingers caress and play with the other.

Each waking, it is your first go-to thing you grab.  Sometimes to toss it out of the crib only to scream about such an atrocity milliseconds later, other times to squeeze its neck as you maneuver a bow back into your mouth in between fusses. 

Bunny-Bunny is, by far, a much cuter addiction to have than Kyra's pacifier or Lydia's thumb.  Which seems wholly unfair to the other two girls, but that's the way it is.  Even when the top of Bunny's head is a disgusting and dingy color and reeking of yuck, it never fails to bring a smile to my soul each time I check on you while you sleep and see you haven't released your death grip on that damned doll. 

The Sky is Falling! The Sky is Falling!

And just like that, July disappeared. 

BOOM! 

Gone.

Welcome, August! 

Though, we did have ourselves the TINIEST wedding in the history of the Catholic church.  And as an added bonus, my maid of honor surprised me by calling on a Thursday night, asking if I could pick her up from the airport that Saturday. 

Um.  Oh-Hell-Yes-I-Can!

And she brought with her that lovely and beautiful baby bump that will soon by my THIRD Godson, Theodore!  {Babies just make me squeal with delight, in utero or out!}

Other than that tiny little detail, July was rather.... hot. 

And now we're fully into August.  What better way to begin the month than to find out Jeremy didn't make Chief!  Again! 

There's nothing like watching your husband come home for three consecutive years, bragging and boasting with confidence, over all the qualifications he's accomplished and how many jobs he's doing that are far above his rank and all this ass busting he's doing is only going to help him make Chief. 

And there are these people out there who don't know him, have never met him, and refuse to promote him despite that fact that he's been doing the work of a Chief at two commands over the past three years.

Promotions in the Navy are all about a combination of a numbers game plus an ass kissing contest.  And let me tell you, one thing Jeremy does very poorly in his job skills is right there under the "ass kissing" column.   Which, on one had, I fully applaud him.  You should be promoted because your a fucktastic worker and not how brown your nose is.  On the other hand, seriously?  Can you not kiss ass just a little bit?  Especially if you know it's part of the game?

That's not to say that Jeremy's a total asshole at work.  From what others come back to tell me, both friends and coworkers I meet, he's actually one of the nicest guys there.  And apparently, he knows his shit. 

Anyhow, so now there's serious talk on his end about getting out of the Navy in the very near future, moving to a tiny town, working a tiny job and coming home to his not-so-tiny family.  Every night.  Which is a lovely plan to have.  I am all for his coming home.  Every night. 

While trying to encourage him to THINK BIG and look, not only for this tiny job, but look for bigger jobs as well.  Like, maybe, in Oregon, Montana or, I don't know, EUROPE.  Somewhere where we can find food that isn't mixed with the genes of both an azalea and cheetah that someone is trying to call it an ear of corn, or a sward fish mixed with koala poop and is fondly referred to as a tomato.  But Jeremy got all emotional on me during what I was trying to present as an encouraging pep talk, snapping that if he fails.... no.... IF! HE! FAILS!, ITS HIS FAULT THE CHILDREN ARE GOING TO GO HUNGRY!

Whoa whOA WHOA!  Hold up Chicken Little! 

I'm just asking that you THINK big.  LOOK.  SEE WHAT LIFE HAS TO OFFER.  I'm trying to tell him, you may want the tiny job in the tiny town where your best friend lives.  Or you may find you want the tiny job in the tiny town outside of tornado alley and next to the Canadian boarder.  Or the big job in the big town across the ocean where food regulations are set to much higher standards. 

WHOS TO SAY WHAT WILL TICKLE YOUR FANCY IF YOU'D. JUST. LOOK!

Sooo...  Yeah. 

Welcome, August!  Good to see you've entered with a bang.  Now, if you'll please tell Chicken Little that the sky isn't falling, that would be fantastic.  M'kay?