Olivia has discovered the rush that comes from a good argument. Or rather, from any argument at all.
In the past couple of months my lovely, acquiescent child has turned into the girl who argues about everything. Everything. Seriously. If I tell her that her hair is blond, she’ll argue that no, it’s not blond, it’s lightest brown. If Tom tells her that he favorite television show, Cops, is on, she’ll yell that it’s not Cops, it’s Cops RELOADED.
I blame Tom for this. He started it over a year ago by saying things wrong deliberately so that O would correct him. He liked how adamant she got when she was doing the correcting and, he asserted, it made her talk that much more, which is good for her.
Alas, he’s created a monster who refuses to consider the idea that she might ever be wrong. She corrects us constantly and yet argues to the point of insanity when we gently let her know that her correction was not only not needed but also not correct. Seven year olds are really hard to convince they’re wrong.
I love that she has strong convictions but I sort of wish she didn’t have to use those convictions against me so often.
A mom, a dad and two daughters. We're living ordinary lives with a twist of 5p- (Cri du Chat) for spice. But we're about so much more than our younger daughter's genetic diagnosis.
Friday, January 31, 2014
Thursday, January 30, 2014
A Poo Post
Feel free to skip this is poo isn’t your thing. I mean, who does have a thing for poo? Not me. And yet if someone were outside looking into our house, they might think our entire family has a thing for poo.
We might even seem a little obsessed. See, one of the symptoms of 5p- syndrome is constipation so even though Olivia is seven years old, we keep a pretty close eye on her bowel movements, or, as the case may be, her lack of them.
If she goes more than three days without sitting on the toilet and forcing out a turd the size and consistency to make a grown man groan, we start to worry and we start to push apple juice and fiber and, as a last resort, milk of magnesia, her way.
Much celebration ensues on the days where O announces, “I think I need to poo.”
We make a production of putting her cushy tushy (a soft ring placed on the toilet to help her relax and not have to worry about falling in) on the toilet seat and setting up her step stool as a place to rest her feet. Then we make sure she had the latest issue of whatever magazine we have in the house. She sits and gets to work.
The past few days Olivia has produced excellent poo on at least three consecutive days. It’s been awesome. She hasn’t even had to strain to do this. We’re all very relieved.
Well, Alyssa probably doesn’t care as much about her sister bowel movements as Tom and I do but you know what I mean.
About a week ago, though, things didn’t move as easily as we might hope.
Olivia sat on the toilet in the downstairs half bath for probably twenty minutes with nary a turd in sight. She worked so hard and got no results.
I checked on her several times, asking if she was okay, if she need anything, if she was ready for me to wipe her.
Finally, she suggested maybe she should go upstairs and try to poo in the bathroom up there.
I figured, what the heck, maybe she and her poo needed a change of scenery. I gathered her cushy tushy, the step stool and her magazine and we headed up the stairs, her bare butt staring me in the face the entire way. I settled her on the toilet and started to leave the room (I mean, come on, who needs an audience when trying to take a poo?) when she stopped me and asked, “What about the heat?”
She wanted me plug in and turn on the space heater. Huh. Okay. If it helps her be more comfortable so be it.
Less than five minutes later she was shouting from her throne, “I’m done!!!”
The change of scenery, the heat and the magazine did the trick and she was poop free for another day. Yay!! Much celebration took place. But upon glancing into the toilet, I saw why this batch of poo had caused so much trouble. Poor baby, was all I could think.
But I wiped her, flushed and walked away.
Sigh. And for the next twenty four hours or so, the toilet refused to flush right. It took a couple of tries each time someone used that toilet. The toilet bowl would fill almost to the top and then everything would marinate while the water slowly, oh so slowly, drained out of the toilet. I know that disgustingly giant log Olivia had expelled was in the pipe, just taking up space and making the water drain so slowly.
Finally, after a day or more, the toilet went back to flushing normally. I’m guessing the gross thing had finally dislodged and made it way to the poop afterlife, also known as the septic tank. Yuck!
I still don’t understand how someone so tiny (but wait, she finally broke the 50 pound mark!) creates such massive poop. It’s unfathomable. And gross. And, poor kid, obviously sometimes painful.
We might even seem a little obsessed. See, one of the symptoms of 5p- syndrome is constipation so even though Olivia is seven years old, we keep a pretty close eye on her bowel movements, or, as the case may be, her lack of them.
If she goes more than three days without sitting on the toilet and forcing out a turd the size and consistency to make a grown man groan, we start to worry and we start to push apple juice and fiber and, as a last resort, milk of magnesia, her way.
Much celebration ensues on the days where O announces, “I think I need to poo.”
We make a production of putting her cushy tushy (a soft ring placed on the toilet to help her relax and not have to worry about falling in) on the toilet seat and setting up her step stool as a place to rest her feet. Then we make sure she had the latest issue of whatever magazine we have in the house. She sits and gets to work.
The past few days Olivia has produced excellent poo on at least three consecutive days. It’s been awesome. She hasn’t even had to strain to do this. We’re all very relieved.
Well, Alyssa probably doesn’t care as much about her sister bowel movements as Tom and I do but you know what I mean.
About a week ago, though, things didn’t move as easily as we might hope.
Olivia sat on the toilet in the downstairs half bath for probably twenty minutes with nary a turd in sight. She worked so hard and got no results.
I checked on her several times, asking if she was okay, if she need anything, if she was ready for me to wipe her.
Finally, she suggested maybe she should go upstairs and try to poo in the bathroom up there.
I figured, what the heck, maybe she and her poo needed a change of scenery. I gathered her cushy tushy, the step stool and her magazine and we headed up the stairs, her bare butt staring me in the face the entire way. I settled her on the toilet and started to leave the room (I mean, come on, who needs an audience when trying to take a poo?) when she stopped me and asked, “What about the heat?”
She wanted me plug in and turn on the space heater. Huh. Okay. If it helps her be more comfortable so be it.
Less than five minutes later she was shouting from her throne, “I’m done!!!”
The change of scenery, the heat and the magazine did the trick and she was poop free for another day. Yay!! Much celebration took place. But upon glancing into the toilet, I saw why this batch of poo had caused so much trouble. Poor baby, was all I could think.
But I wiped her, flushed and walked away.
Sigh. And for the next twenty four hours or so, the toilet refused to flush right. It took a couple of tries each time someone used that toilet. The toilet bowl would fill almost to the top and then everything would marinate while the water slowly, oh so slowly, drained out of the toilet. I know that disgustingly giant log Olivia had expelled was in the pipe, just taking up space and making the water drain so slowly.
Finally, after a day or more, the toilet went back to flushing normally. I’m guessing the gross thing had finally dislodged and made it way to the poop afterlife, also known as the septic tank. Yuck!
I still don’t understand how someone so tiny (but wait, she finally broke the 50 pound mark!) creates such massive poop. It’s unfathomable. And gross. And, poor kid, obviously sometimes painful.
Wednesday, January 29, 2014
Deep Freeze
Here in the Midwest, we’re experiencing sub-zero cold temperatures and if we get even a tenth of an inch more of snow in the next two days we will beat the existing record for the snowiest January on record.
And…the girls have gone to school all of eight days, give or take (but just take, you can’t give because they have not gone more than eight days) this month. It’s been rough.
Well, to be honest, if it’s been rough on anyone, it’s been rough on Tom, he is, after all, the parent who has to care for children when school has been cancelled for the seven hundredth time this month.
I think he’s handling it pretty well, mostly by letting them OD on technology and all that good stuff. The girls certainly aren’t complaining. In fact, they still celebrate each evening when the phones ring and the school is calling to let us know that school is closed again. I don’t think they’ll be celebrating when they’re still in school in the third week of June. But right now, all is grand when you’re seven and eleven and don’t have to go to school for days and days on end.
We have some awesome drifts of snow in our yard but it’s too cold to even go play in them. I know there are those in the northern states and even Canada (ha! As if anyone in Canada reads this) will laugh at that but it’s true. With sub-zero temperature without even calculating in the wind chill factor, we have weather that is no conducive to playing outside, even for a few minutes while bundled up.
So the house is stifling with inactivity. We haven’t even made it to gymnastics all month because of crappy roads, cold winds and too damned much snow.
Why yes, here I am, blogging about the weather. Look at me go.
Alas, there is nothing else more important in our world right this second. I guess I should consider myself lucky.
And…the girls have gone to school all of eight days, give or take (but just take, you can’t give because they have not gone more than eight days) this month. It’s been rough.
Well, to be honest, if it’s been rough on anyone, it’s been rough on Tom, he is, after all, the parent who has to care for children when school has been cancelled for the seven hundredth time this month.
I think he’s handling it pretty well, mostly by letting them OD on technology and all that good stuff. The girls certainly aren’t complaining. In fact, they still celebrate each evening when the phones ring and the school is calling to let us know that school is closed again. I don’t think they’ll be celebrating when they’re still in school in the third week of June. But right now, all is grand when you’re seven and eleven and don’t have to go to school for days and days on end.
We have some awesome drifts of snow in our yard but it’s too cold to even go play in them. I know there are those in the northern states and even Canada (ha! As if anyone in Canada reads this) will laugh at that but it’s true. With sub-zero temperature without even calculating in the wind chill factor, we have weather that is no conducive to playing outside, even for a few minutes while bundled up.
So the house is stifling with inactivity. We haven’t even made it to gymnastics all month because of crappy roads, cold winds and too damned much snow.
Why yes, here I am, blogging about the weather. Look at me go.
Alas, there is nothing else more important in our world right this second. I guess I should consider myself lucky.
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Come On Over
When I was about twelve years old I told my mom that when I was a grown up, I’d never, ever have people over to my house for a party.
My mom, the friendliest, most gracious hostess in the history of hostessing, asked why I felt that way.
I muttered that I wouldn’t know what to feed people and I wouldn’t know how to get people to talk to each other and I wouldn’t know what to have them do and what if everyone had a horrible time?
She laughed at me kindly and told me that I’d probably feel differently when I was an adult.
At twelve, I thought the equivalent of, “Like hell!”
But you know what?
She was right. I feel differently about hosting parties now as compared to when I was twelve.
And, get this, I’ve hosted more than a few parties in the past few years. And they’ve been fun. Sure, several have been kid birthday parties. Which, duh, how can you go wrong with cake, presents and letting the kids run wild?
But seriously, I was such a tense, uptight little twelve year old. I’m so glad I outgrew that and realized how much fun it can be to have people come to my house to eat and visit and relax.
My mom, the friendliest, most gracious hostess in the history of hostessing, asked why I felt that way.
I muttered that I wouldn’t know what to feed people and I wouldn’t know how to get people to talk to each other and I wouldn’t know what to have them do and what if everyone had a horrible time?
She laughed at me kindly and told me that I’d probably feel differently when I was an adult.
At twelve, I thought the equivalent of, “Like hell!”
But you know what?
She was right. I feel differently about hosting parties now as compared to when I was twelve.
And, get this, I’ve hosted more than a few parties in the past few years. And they’ve been fun. Sure, several have been kid birthday parties. Which, duh, how can you go wrong with cake, presents and letting the kids run wild?
But seriously, I was such a tense, uptight little twelve year old. I’m so glad I outgrew that and realized how much fun it can be to have people come to my house to eat and visit and relax.
Friday, January 24, 2014
I Win
Okay, so I’m not sure I did win. Except, if someone had taken me up the bet I offered yesterday, the one where I said she’d wake up several times last night, well, I’d win because she did.
She woke up at least three times last night.
But see, I think maybe it wasn’t all her fault.
We used our last Pull Up the night before last. I had some bigger ones but when Olivia put one on, it was obviously very uncomfortable so we decided to she’d just go Pull Up free last night.
She used the bathroom just before she fell asleep. I had her sleep-pee on the toilet before putting her in bed, probably about two hours after she fell asleep.
The first time she woke up, I should have taken her to the bathroom but she mumbled that she didn’t have to go and I hate to wake a sleeping child. So I didn’t.
She woke up again about an hour later and I went back to rub her back again. Again, she said she didn’t have to pee. My own fault, I tell you.
An hour after that, she woke up and declared, “I am so wet!”
Yes, she was so grossly wet. She’d peed. All over the bed, all over her pajamas, all over her sister, who, poor kid, managed to sleep through the grossness of it all. Alyssa will kill me someday for this, I’m sure.
Olivia climbed over Alyssa, stripped out of her wet, nasty pajamas and climbed into my warm, pee-free bed. Sigh…
I did buy more Pull Ups today so this will not be a problem tonight.
Live and learn, I tell you. Live and learn.
She woke up at least three times last night.
But see, I think maybe it wasn’t all her fault.
We used our last Pull Up the night before last. I had some bigger ones but when Olivia put one on, it was obviously very uncomfortable so we decided to she’d just go Pull Up free last night.
She used the bathroom just before she fell asleep. I had her sleep-pee on the toilet before putting her in bed, probably about two hours after she fell asleep.
The first time she woke up, I should have taken her to the bathroom but she mumbled that she didn’t have to go and I hate to wake a sleeping child. So I didn’t.
She woke up again about an hour later and I went back to rub her back again. Again, she said she didn’t have to pee. My own fault, I tell you.
An hour after that, she woke up and declared, “I am so wet!”
Yes, she was so grossly wet. She’d peed. All over the bed, all over her pajamas, all over her sister, who, poor kid, managed to sleep through the grossness of it all. Alyssa will kill me someday for this, I’m sure.
Olivia climbed over Alyssa, stripped out of her wet, nasty pajamas and climbed into my warm, pee-free bed. Sigh…
I did buy more Pull Ups today so this will not be a problem tonight.
Live and learn, I tell you. Live and learn.
Thursday, January 23, 2014
How We Rock a Two-Hour Delay
I was up at 5:25 this morning, stunned to realize that Olivia had slept all night long with nary a peep. I didn’t have to get up once to go over and rub her back. Wow. Now that I’ve mentioned this, though, she’ll wake me up five times tonight. Wanna bet?
So yes, we were up and dressed and everyone was gathered for breakfast when Alyssa announced, “We have a two-hour delay!”
Wait. What? My phone hadn’t rung. What was up with that?
She’d checked the school website and there it was, a two-hour delay.
I sighed. If I’d known that was happening, I’d have given Livie a bath. She’d had a bath at my mom’s on Monday but I’m not sure she got her hair washed. To look at it, I’d have to say no. I’d been trying to figure out when I’d be able to squeeze in a bath and a shampoo for her this week and it was looking rough, sort of like her hair. Poor kid.
Then I looked at the time and realized that I could still give her a bath. Sure, it would mean taking off the clothes she’d just put on but who cares about that?
So I suggested, “Hey, Liv, wanna take a bath this morning?”
She was up those stairs before I even finished the question.
And forty minutes later, she was traipsing back down the stairs with a clean body, clean dry hair and reclothed, feeling relaxed and refreshed.
I still had time to pack my lunch, warm my car and head to work six minutes early, which was necessary considering the condition of the roads. Yikes, slippery.
Best use of a two-hour delay in recent history.
So yes, we were up and dressed and everyone was gathered for breakfast when Alyssa announced, “We have a two-hour delay!”
Wait. What? My phone hadn’t rung. What was up with that?
She’d checked the school website and there it was, a two-hour delay.
I sighed. If I’d known that was happening, I’d have given Livie a bath. She’d had a bath at my mom’s on Monday but I’m not sure she got her hair washed. To look at it, I’d have to say no. I’d been trying to figure out when I’d be able to squeeze in a bath and a shampoo for her this week and it was looking rough, sort of like her hair. Poor kid.
Then I looked at the time and realized that I could still give her a bath. Sure, it would mean taking off the clothes she’d just put on but who cares about that?
So I suggested, “Hey, Liv, wanna take a bath this morning?”
She was up those stairs before I even finished the question.
And forty minutes later, she was traipsing back down the stairs with a clean body, clean dry hair and reclothed, feeling relaxed and refreshed.
I still had time to pack my lunch, warm my car and head to work six minutes early, which was necessary considering the condition of the roads. Yikes, slippery.
Best use of a two-hour delay in recent history.
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
The Post that Wasn't
Last night at 11:30, I was composing a post in my head with the title, “And one night screws it all up.”
I was composing this because Olivia was sitting up on bed for the second time, calling out to me, asking me to scratch her back. She was also asking to come over and lay in my bed.
I was sure this was going to be the pattern for the night, me settling her down, going back to sleep for a half hour and then her waking up again for a back scratch and/or to come lay with me.
Instead of that happening, she laid back down at my gentle urging (she’s feeling better, by the way. I wasn’t being cruel to my child by making her sleep in a bed with her sister while she (the youngest, not the sister) didn’t feel good.) and didn’t wake up again until 6 this morning. Success!
She slept so well that she felt good enough to go to school today, after a two-hour delay. Sigh. We’re three weeks into January and have not yet had a full week of school.
Speaking of sleep, Alyssa, at eleven, sleeps all night long, never once calling out to me or needing to lay with me or wanting me to rub her back. So…this gives me hope that Olivia, at eleven, could be at that wonderful stage.
All my bitching about Olivia’s sleep habits makes me feel kind of bad because, you know, as compared to some of the people with her syndrome I read about on Facebook and other blogs, she’s pretty much awesome in the sleep department. She falls asleep easily, as long as I’m rubbing her back or scratching her knee or rubbing her back with my right hand while scratching her right knee, wait, her left knee, no, the right one but only on the back of it, with my left hand.
She also stays asleep relatively well. Not as well as Alyssa does but I’m not, at this point, considering medicating her.
Other parents have it so much worse than I do. I know this and know that I’m very lucky. But this luckiness doesn’t take away the tiredness I feel on a pretty regular basis.
So, guiltiness aside, I’m glad she’s sleeping better than ever and so, so grateful that I am too.
I was composing this because Olivia was sitting up on bed for the second time, calling out to me, asking me to scratch her back. She was also asking to come over and lay in my bed.
I was sure this was going to be the pattern for the night, me settling her down, going back to sleep for a half hour and then her waking up again for a back scratch and/or to come lay with me.
Instead of that happening, she laid back down at my gentle urging (she’s feeling better, by the way. I wasn’t being cruel to my child by making her sleep in a bed with her sister while she (the youngest, not the sister) didn’t feel good.) and didn’t wake up again until 6 this morning. Success!
She slept so well that she felt good enough to go to school today, after a two-hour delay. Sigh. We’re three weeks into January and have not yet had a full week of school.
Speaking of sleep, Alyssa, at eleven, sleeps all night long, never once calling out to me or needing to lay with me or wanting me to rub her back. So…this gives me hope that Olivia, at eleven, could be at that wonderful stage.
All my bitching about Olivia’s sleep habits makes me feel kind of bad because, you know, as compared to some of the people with her syndrome I read about on Facebook and other blogs, she’s pretty much awesome in the sleep department. She falls asleep easily, as long as I’m rubbing her back or scratching her knee or rubbing her back with my right hand while scratching her right knee, wait, her left knee, no, the right one but only on the back of it, with my left hand.
She also stays asleep relatively well. Not as well as Alyssa does but I’m not, at this point, considering medicating her.
Other parents have it so much worse than I do. I know this and know that I’m very lucky. But this luckiness doesn’t take away the tiredness I feel on a pretty regular basis.
So, guiltiness aside, I’m glad she’s sleeping better than ever and so, so grateful that I am too.
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