E.R.

5 Years, 7 Months, 4 days.  

That is how long it took, in spite of the rough-housing that is considered normal in our home, for us to land in the E.R. with a bloody kid.


It is astonishing, really, that it took so long. In those 2044 days my shelves have been used as climbing walls; my living room a dojo; my basement an alternating arena for the Stanley Cup and the World Cup.  My yard has been Gotham City; Metropolis; New York City; and, there, evil villains have been slain by immortal superheroes.

Wrestling matches have been won and lost, as have boxing bouts.  And, my little princes have leapt from the bed to the bean bag, over a bedroom-sized, dragon filled swamp.   My stairs, with help of a quilt, have become the world's fastest luge, and each and every bed in this house is, apparently, a trampoline. My sons have turned games of tag into tackle tag, games of hide-n-seek into wrestling matches, and, somehow, heads and bodies land, crashingly, on walls and floors even from a seated position.

In addition to the (temporary) tattoos and stamps that adorn the boys bodies, there's a scattering of black and blue bruises. None of which the boys can recall how they got. 

So, yes, I do feel a mild sense of accomplishment, pride, LUCK, that it took over five rotations around the sun before staples were needed to seal a 2 inch gap in Turner's head.  Sigh!  The good news is, it was just staples in the back of the head.  No obvious scars, no casts needing to be signed, no plastic surgeon required. 

What Happened?  It's silly, really, any of what is listed above should have, could have, caused much worse injury.  The boys were chasing each other around the circle of kitchen, living room, dining room, as they do every day.  They were laughing.  Turner slipped on some water in front of the fridge and hit the wall with his feet.  This itself was not harmful, at all, and he was still laughing.  But, when he hit the wall, the picture hanging on it fell off and the corner of the frame landed, squarely, on the back of his head slashing it an inch wide.  Lots of blood, fewer cries, and a shocked mommy had us in a moment of disarray.  Todd handled the blood and Turner calmed down.  I took him to St. Mary's, where he managed to charm the nurses and the doctors and not even flinch as they stapled his head.


But, still, I suppose they would be safest encased in bubble wrap.   If only they would sit still long enough to get swaddled.  Hell, perhaps that would protect my walls, as well.

Chase M. Tovsky, Esquire

Lately, it is next to impossible to win an argument with Chase.

I hear you snickering.  "Come on, Wend, you're the parent.  Toughen up!"  I have heard it all before and though I won't argue with you that I can be a bit of a softy with my guys, Chase's skill is beyond my level of toughness, or lack there of.

Since he was in the 3's program at school the teachers have claimed he would grow up to be a lawyer.  Or, a politician.  Aren't they the same, really?  considering MOST people's opinions of both, I wasn't sure I this was actually a compliment, though I think it was said in flattery.

Lately, however, he has proven that, though he may travel down a road of sports super-stardom, he could likely end up near a courtroom.  That boy can argue.  And,  negotiate.  And, charm.  It is an interesting combination.

He is quite capable of not only citing precedence, by remembering, with detail, every prior incident that is closely related to a situation, but also of negotiating a settlement by stating arguments so valid that one is forced to concede.  It is because of my keen awareness that I am, indeed, the parent (see first paragraph) that I refuse such a concession, even if I know he is right.

Don't believe me?  I challenge you to try argue with him why it isn't fair that he only had 3 minutes use of my phone while his brothers, on more than one occasion, have had 5 minutes each.  Or, why I should not have gotten a white car because, in fact, ever since he has known me I have driven a white car, and therefore, I should have let him pick the color.  He can persuade you to play soccer, even if you want to sit on the couch, because we should want him to improve his skills and therefore we should want to work out with him.  And, without a doubt, he should be able to do homework later because he needs time to rest his mind and refresh his brain.

OK, I am off to study torts now so I can try to out lawyer my son.

Tooth Fairy

I had noticed that Ryder looked different. Older.  Something in his face had changed.   Other people were noticing, too.  But we couldn't quite pinpoint what it was.  Then, his tooth fell out.  And, I realized he was just growing up.

It wasn't out of nowhere.  It had been loose for a while.  Much longer than I had expected, actually.  But, as we pulled into the library parking lot yesterday, there it was. Tooth in his hand, blood on his shirt.   He was happy that it didn't hurt.

That night the tooth fairy gave him $5, which was disappointing since he asked for a Power Rangers toy.  He also got money from his grandparents making it a $10 tooth.  He is saving it for said toy.

When he noticed his tooth was loose, months before

The tooth

The letter to the Tooth Fairy!

That's Just What Friends do!

Since the time Turner was old enough to speak we knew he had a special empathetic trait.  He would say things like "don't cry" while rubbing the back of a crying baby, or a "pretending to be sad while playing"me.   He would immediately ask, with a concerned voice and sympathetic eyes, "are you ok?" if we tripped over a rug, or a stubbed or toe, or any other clumsy move that, yes, happens a lot in my house.   Turner would always, always ask, "how are you feeling?" if anyone he knew was sick, or has an ailment they had complained of recently.  His concern was always sincere, and right on target.  
So, the other day, when I learned he played "protector"  I was not surprised, though I was very, very proud.

Turner has been best buddies with Jagger since they were little babies.   Perhaps the friendship was forced upon him, as many are, but their affection for each other is real.  And, mutual.  The bond the boys shared has always been touching to me.  Chase and Ryder, though they had tons of friends at a young age, did not have a friendship like this because they had each other.  Jagger is the other half for Turner.

When he started school last year Turner and Jagger added a 3rd boy, Bram, to their posse making for an absolutely adorable trio of buddies.    But, as most 3 year old boys, they have their moments.  Moments of frustration because they can't communicate.  Moments of rough-housing, because that is what boys do.  Moments of aggression, because even though they don't realize it yet, they are fueled by testosterone like all other makes.

Turner, Jagger, and Bram caught stealing the lollipop right from the pantry!  

They make look quiet and innocent (if not messy) but together they are an adorable trio of trouble

The other day at school there was one of those moments.   A beloved train became the catalyst of some rough play between Jagger and Bram.  Ultimately, it led to Jagger's finger being clamped on by Bram's teeth.   I was not there for any of this but imagine that Jagger shed a few tears over that one.  The situation was handled by the teachers and the boys were separated.

Later when Bram's mom insisted he apologize to Jagger and go give him a hug, Bram obliged.  He walked over to where Jagger was, which was ultimately next to Turner.   His intentions were good and sweet, but Turner was not so sure.  He jumped in front of Jagger with his arms extended and said "I will protect you, Jagger!"  A moment that stopped everyone in their tracks.

I would like to say I taught him that.  I would like to take some sort of credit.  But I can't and I won't.  That was all Turner, protecting his friend, being that empathetic and caring boy that, well, he is.

When we talked about it later, I told him how proud I was.  That, in a way, he was a hero.   He smiled with delight that I was proud.  He doesn't know what a hero is, exactly, but he told me he was happy to help Jagger.  That's just what friends do!

No, You are Just Mommy.

Sometimes I call Ryder Rooster.  He hates that name.  I do it anyway.  It started a long time ago when I would call him Ryder-roo.  Then I got lazy and started calling him Roo.  From there it became Rooster.  He would argue "My name is not Rooster"  to which I would ask, "What does a Rooster say?" and he would respond, "Cock-a-doodle doo!"  And, I would say, "See, you are a rooster!"  He would laugh, but still, never liked the name.  I still call him that sometimes.  I think it is cute.

Chase, being Chase, got upset one day that I didn't have a nickname like that for him.  I understood and so we decided to come up with one.  He sat there for a moment and then our conversation went like this:
CMT:  Well, if he is Rooster then I should be Chicken.
ME:  Chicken?
CMT:  Yeah, it makes sense.  Since Rooster and Ryder both have R's.  And Chase and Chicken both have Ch's.  And, both Chickens and Roosters are birds.
ME:  Ah, I see.  You are right, Chase.  I mean, Chicken.  Good point.

Then he paused.  And Continued:
CMT:  And, Turner.  Turner should be Turkey.  Ya know, because of the T's.  And the bird thing.
ME: Yeah, I know.  The T. And, the bird thing.

Pause for more thought.

ME: So, is that it?  Chicken, and Turkey, and Rooster.
CMT:  No, maybe Daddy should be Duck.
ME:  Ok.  What about me?  Do I get a nickname?
CMT:  You?  No.  You're just mommy.

I admit I was impressed by all of his reasoning and found his thought pattern to be quite interesting.  But, still, I felt a little slighted.  I mean couldn't he come up mockingbird? Or, meadowlark?  Or, mallard?  I guess, in t he end, mommies are always, just mommies.

A Monkey in Monkey Underwear!

There were times, before this one, that I thought Turner was going to potty train.  Like eight months ago.  Or, back in September when I dropped the last diaper I had with me in the toilet.  But, neither time was Turner really interested in spite of his having good control of his bladder.  He told me this, whole heartedly, as he would shout "I am not ready to wear underwear!"  It did not matter that Jagger wore underpants.  Nor his brothers.  He liked his diapers and rarely gave me a hard time to change him.  So, I let him be.

I am not one who believes in forcing the situation.   It is much easier just to wait until they are ready rather than stay house bound for three days and take the kid to the bathroom every 20 minutes.  That way of training is just not for me, I didn't think.  I did, admittedly, work the bribery angle a bit, as it was already decided, by him, that when he trained he, similarly to Ryder's potty present of a guitar strap, would get a case for his guitar.  But, he could wait for it. Instead he pretended he had a case and would tell me, with a pointed finger, to "watch out for my case right there" as I would approach him while he was strumming his favorite instrument.

Then, on Martin Luther King day, ten days after his 3rd birthday, Ryder was sick.  We were going to be in the house all day, anyway.  With nothing to do.  And, Turner is a kid who has control.  A bit of obsessive control, sometimes, but that is another story.  So, I had a lot of faith in him and decided that MLK day, a day of service, would be the day.   We discussed it the night before and he jumped on Ryder's bed, with delight, chanting "I'm ready now, I am ready now!"  And, when we woke up Monday morning we put him in underwear.

I became someone new for that particular Monday and did things that I think I may have said I would never do.  Like move the Elmo potty down to the first floor and set a timer to take him to the bathroom every 30 minutes.  Ew.  And, we had a great day.  After the second timer went off and I told him it was time to go he looked at me and said "I don't feel it yet.  I don't have to go."  And, being instantly reminded of Chase training, I believed him.  And, I didn't set another timer and he spent the rest of the day telling me when "I feel it, mommy" and we would run to the potty and he would go.  There was never an accident.  Never an almost.  Never an issue.

Until he had to poop.  Then he pooped in his underwear.  He told me he was going to.   He even asked for privacy.  But, when I grabbed him and put him on the potty he wouldn't go, he refused.   We read, we sang, we played guitar and all the while he kept his bung hole shut!  Then we got up and he pooped in his underwear.

The next day we went to the guitar store to "look" for  case.  He found the one he wants but knows he can't get it until he poops in the potty.  At least once.  He seems to be ok with waiting.  I also went and bought him a fresh pack of Paul Frank monkey underwear because he didn't seem to think his brothers hand me down Superhero pants were good enough. Plus, it looks cute to have a little monkey in monkey underwear.

It's been a bit over a week now.  Turner is 100% pee trained and has been since day 3.   He has great control, can hold it for hours, and despite insisting on using only the Elmo potty at home (which is now ONLY in the bathroom) he will use a regular toilet when out of the house.  He always tells me "I feel it" when he needs to go, and sometimes enjoys aiming for the cheerio (or the goldfish) when he stands.  He even wakes up with dry diapers.

As for the pooping.  I have tried to get him to go on the potty but he won't.  He does, however, always ask for diapers, promises it is just to poop in, and then lets me change him and put his underwear right back on.   It took Chase about 3 months before he put he pooped in the proper receptacle, so perhaps it will be the same for Turner.    When he decides he wants a case, I suppose he will use the toilet.  I still have almost a full case of diapers left so until they start to run out, I guess I can wait too.

It is a bittersweet moment as another milestone is achieved.  A bittersweet moment as my baby boy grows up before me.

Short and Spikey

We've got lots of hair in our family.  Both sides of the family have A LOT of hair, and all types of hair.  We've got straight, curly, frizzy, thick, thin, light, dark, darker, long, short, shorter.    We pretty much have it all.  Even the boys have 3 different color, types, and style hair.

Todd and I often always disagree on hair cuts, hair styles, hair lengths, etc.   It is an interesting situation.  We've been disagreeing about the boys hair since they're first few haircuts.  He likes it short to show off their faces.  I like it longer, with style, and a little of bit their personality represented in their locks.   Every 4 weeks we argued over it as I took them (or not) for yet another hair cut.

Around the time that Chase and Ryder turned 3 they started having their own opinions about their hair and every time we went for haircuts they directed Sarah Jane themself.     Last year Ryder started getting even more passionate about his hair and would spend a good amount of time in front of the mirror, styling, gelling, combing.   It became his thing, so much so that it even led to this hairy situation.

So, last week when Ryder (after only a little prompting from me) decided to cut his hair, everyone was surprised.  Especially Todd.  And, we no longer had to disagree about how their cuts look.

After 4 years of long and shaggy, Ryder cut his hair into a short and spikey do.  A style that allows him to still use his gel and combs.  A style that makes him look older, but no less in handsome!  A style that, now, makes me think I have identical triplets.

Before

During.....though I think this could be Turner

After

A handsome and happy short haired Ryder

They all look alike, now

I won't be surprised if he, eventually, lets it grow again, but for now we love the way his hair looks short.