Gymnastics

Before the email gets lost in my inbox, I'm going to try to quickly write this post, before I dive back into my contracts.

Recently, our gymnastics place changed the time of Emmy's class from 6:30 to 6:00 pm.  Since changing jobs in January, I've been on a later schedule, which means that I can't make it home in time to get her to a 6:00 class.  So, our family routine of all driving to gymnastics together had to change.  The class lasts for 45 minutes.

From Tom:

So I had to take Emily to gymnastics by myself.  They changed the time on us and there really isn’t a way for Pam to make it home and make it to gymnastics on time. So because I work at home on Thursday, I picked her up at 5:00, got her home, changed clothes and we left for class about 5:30.  The class starts at 6:00 and we were 8 minutes late because of traffic.  We were at gymnastics and had been there about 20 minutes.  Emmy had already come over to me once to give me a kiss and had called out to me a few times to make sure that I was watching.  There was the required bathroom trip where I had to stand outside and make sure she could get out by herself.

They were at the part where they climb a pommel to a height of about 5 feet and then they jump into a pit of foam blocks.  Emmy was willing to do this if someone held her hand but refused to do it by herself even though she knows that she isn’t going to get hurt.  I was playing on my iPad when I hear her come over to me. 

“Daddy, I don’t want to do gymnastics anymore.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to go home?”

“Yes”

“Okay, go get your shoes.”

So Emmy goes and gets her crocs and puts them on and off we go.  We’re out the door and I ask her again if she is sure and once again she says yes.  So I figure I’m home free.  I’m only there because she wants to do this.  I buckle her into the car and as we are pulling out, I foolishly ask about the trampoline and it hits her…’I missed jumping on the trampoline!’ 

“Daddy, we have to go back!  I didn’t get to jump on the trampoline!”

I tell her that, it’s too late.  We’re on the road and we’re going home.  I asked her if she wanted to go home and she said yes so now we’re done for the week.  If she wants to jump on the trampoline she has to do all the activities. 

It’s right about here that she losing it.  Normally, she putters out after a period of time but after she realizes that she isn’t making any ground she kicks it into another gear.  We are in rare territory.  The land where crying to Daddy isn’t getting her what she wants.  And I mean she is losing it.  I actually put headphones in and listened to my phone until we get home…20 minutes later.

So I’m not upset but I’m not going to deal with this so I get out and open the garage door and put the trash can away (all the while Emmy wailing).  Pam comes out  and asks where the baby is but I think it was pretty apparent.  

And now, back to Pam:

I walk outside, ask Tom where our child is, and he just shrugs, so I look at the car, and I can see her in the back seat, losing her mind.  I ask Tom what happened, assuming she's either in trouble or got hurt.  He doesn't answer, so I go to the car and open the door and lean in to get her out. 

"What happened?" I say.

Emmy is sobbing and says that Daddy made her leave "'nastics." 

Tom and I have a long-standing policy of backing each other up, so I turn to him to verification.  If he made her leave, it was for misbehaving, so I'm looking to get the rest of the story.

But Tom says no-- he didn't make her leave.  She asked to leave.

So, damage done, I proceed to try and comfort her, because until she calms down, there's no point in trying to reason with her and explain Daddy's logic.  Or that Daddy was right.  Or that she made this situation herself.  

Spicy

This isn't a real post, and I won't even acknowledge the amount of time that's passed since I last posted, but this morning, the subject of a trip to the beach came up, and Emmy told us she likes swimming in the pool better than the ocean because the pool is a little spicy, but not as spicy as the ocean.

(In Emmy parlance, "spicy" means "salty," just so we're clear.  And to further clear it up, most pools at the beach (or at least "some" pools) salinate their water instead of chlorinating.)

Just a brief update.  I got a new job in January, which is keeping me much busier.  It's not an excuse, just the truth.

Tired of Croup

The week of October 21-25 was Emmy's fall break, so it was well-timed, since we had planned to keep her home anyway, but it was also her FOURTH bout of croup.  It seems that anytime she gets a respiratory virus, it's going to turn into croup (and it seems to happen every six months).  This time, the doctor didn't think she needed steroids, so we got through it with just fever/pain reducers, the humdifier and lots of icepops/suckers.

But I am really tired of croup.  I'm tired of the seal bark cough.  I'm tired of how uncomfortable it makes her. 

She's finally getting better now, and her cough is down to just a regular congested cough instead of the seal bark.  We'll see you again in July, croup.

Halloween Prep

Before the meltdown that was dropping her off at her new preschool this morning, Emmy informed me that everyone needed to dress up for Halloween. 

She was recalling last Halloween and said, "I don't remember what Mama and Daddy dressed up as."

And I said, "Well, I think we just dressed up as a Mama and Daddy."

"But everyone has to dress up at Halloween, mama!"  Pause.  "You can dress up as a princess.  Like me."

So, hooray.  I get to be a princess this Halloween.

The Little Parrot

While we were on vacation with Mom and Dad (and Mini-weez and JP), we went out to dinner.  I wanted sushi, so I searched on yelp and found a place with good reviews.  We headed out and put our name on the list for Sushimoto.  It was a tiny space, with only about 10 tables and a bar-- and there were 7 of us.  I knew we would have to wait.

About an hour later, I decided to check back in with the hostess/owner, especially since I had noticed that smaller parties who had arrived after us had been seated.  This is when I realized that she had skipped over us (THREE times) and that she was going to wait until she had seven seats open rather than hold four until a 3 top opened up. 

Needless to say, I was not pleased.  I walked back outside and explained the situation to my family.  I may have been... emphatic, but mindful of the presence of my child, I refrained from using any language stronger than "stupid," (though that one is still technically a forbidden word).

I quickly searched again, found another sushi restaurant, called them to ensure they could seat us, and we headed out.  As soon as we got in the car, Emmy said, "Mama, that restaurant was stupid.  That was a bad restaurant!"

And though I sighed inwardly, it's impossible not to be amused by her precociousness.  "Yes, honey," I said.  "That's right." 

"Now we're going to a good restaurant."

"I certainly hope so."  (It did, in fact, turn out to be a good restaurant-- a hibachi place, and our chef, who had a four-year-old at home, was amazing-- he spent the entire time entertaining Emmy.  I'll have to do another post on the "joke" he pulled on Mama, which made Emmy laugh and laugh.)

After we got back from vacation, we expected to have Emmy start her new preschool on Monday, but they scheduled her start on Thursday instead (giving the kids more time to adjust by splitting the class in half for the week) so Emmy stayed with Grandma for a couple of days.

Yesterday, Tom told me that Emmy told Susan the following:

"Dammit.  Grandma, that car cut you off.  We should go catch them."

I'll give you a couple guesses as to who she might have gotten that from.  Mama's going to be putting a lot of pennies in the swear jar.

I'll see your baby brother, and raise you two kitties.

On Friday, when I went to pick Emmy up from daycare, her friend McKenzie was there.  Emmy told her, "My mama's here!"

Usually, McKenzie isn't there when I pick up Emmy, so I made sure to say hi to her.  I asked how her mom was doing (I knew that her mom was pregnant).

Mackenzie said, "She had a baby.  Maddox."

So I said, "Oh, that's exciting.  Is it a boy or a girl?"

"A boy."

"So you have a little brother?"

"Yeah."

At which point, my child chimed in.  "Well, I have two kitties named Maddie and Lily and I'm going to go see them now."


I tried not to laugh and told Emmy to say goodbye.

When we got home, we went straight upstairs to tell Tom what she had said.  Tom did laugh, and then gave his daughter a high five.  I don't think it's the best idea to praise Emmy's clear display of petty jealousy, but it was hilarious.

"Can you do me a favor?"

For the 11 years that I have known Tom, we have been mindful of how we ask each other for help.  I can't even remember how long we've been doing it, but to maintain respect of each other's time and efforts, I have always asked, "Can you do me a favor?" before asking Tom to do something for me-- particularly when it's something I could fairly easily do myself (but which is more convenient for him).  Like getting a new bar of soap when I'm already in the shower (because I always forget to check the soap status beforehand).

So, when my daughter started prefacing her requests with the same statement-- "Hey mama.  Can you do me a favor?" (It sounds like "fever" when she says it)-- I found it very difficult to contain my amusement.

She is so perceptive.  And she's a little parrot.  If you ask her what her mama's name is, she won't say Pam.  She says "Ham."  Because that's what she's always heard her daddy call me.  And the day she told me to "calm it down, mama," I almost lost it.  (Tom's been saying that to me for years-- minus the mama part.)

These phrases and statements are part of the fabric of our marriage.  We're so used to them, we don't even hear them anymore.  It's just the pattern, it's just what we say.  Until we hear them coming out of Emmy's mouth.  Then I hear it.  And it's surprising, and amusing, and sometimes a little bit jarring to hear these things anew.  It reminds me how much of us will be in her forever and ever.  It reminds me how much of my parents I carry around, without even knowing that I'm doing it.

So, when I get in the car with my little girl and say "home again, home again," and my husband chimes in and says, "jiggety jig," I think of my mom.  And when we pull in the driveway and Emmy says, "now home," we think of Tom's mom.  And hopefully, someday, when Emmy's driving her own daughter around, she'll find herself saying some little phrase and think of me and her Dad.

In Anticipation

Emmy is very excited about our upcoming trip to the beach.  Everyday, she asks, "Are we going to the beach, tomorrow?"  And we've been trying to contain her eagerness-- saying, "No, honey, not yet."  Unfortunately, since Emmy doesn't really understand time-- ("tomorrow" is all future events and "yesterday" is all past events) it's been difficult to explain that we're going "next month," or "later this summer," or even in "two more weeks."  But, now we're finally under 7 days, so I think we might actually be in small enough units that Emmy has some understanding.

Last night, when she asked if we're going to beach yet, I told her, "Five more days, sweetie.  You go to school for five days, then we go to Grandma's house Friday night, then we go to the beach on Saturday."  I paused, holding up five fingers.  "Can you count to five?" 

To which she responded, "I don't want to count to five, mama."  As if she just couldn't understand what I was thinking.  She's asking about the beach (the beach! mama) and her mom wants her to practice numbers.

Missed Updates from One Year Ago

I found a post-it note on my desk last week with several notes about posts I wanted to write-- and thankfully, I dated it.  The date was May 23, 2012.  There's a post from May 23 on the blog, where I hit the first few bullet points, but I never got around to the rest.

Even though they're a year old, I think they're still valuable memories, especially in light of the differences between then and now.

One day last year when I picked her up, she told me that she had gotten in trouble, and when I asked her why, she told me she had hit another little girl.  This was the first time she self-reported bad behavior.  I remember thinking how remarkable it was that with her limited vocabulary she was able to tell me what happened, and I thought it was a mark of our good relationship and developing moral system that she told me about it.

Also, around this time last year, she started talking about Grandma, Grandma and Grandpa, and Patty and JP.  (I think she might have still been calling her Pat-Pat, which I was really hoping would stick, but alas, it's just "Aunt Patty" (and JP).)  This was the point at which she understood that they had titles, were separate people, and that Grandma (Tom's mom) was separate from Grandma and Grandpa (my parents), and that Patty was associated with Grandma and Grandpa-- AND that JP was associated with Patty.  Very complicated for a 2 and 1/2 year old.

She also had just learned what a siren was, and every vehicle that passed us with a siren blaring was automatically a "fire truck."  (Still is.)

Lastly, about a year ago, she had just started playing with the ipad.  She started with a simple coloring program that allowed her to swipe colors across the screen.  Now, barely a year later, she is, I think it's safe to say, an advanced user.

Lost and Found at the Science Museum

Everything they’ve told me about parenting so far has been true.  They said I’d love her the instant I met her, and they were right.  They said, when she was ready, potty-training would just happen—and it did.  And they said that at some point, every kid gets lost.

And yesterday, mine did.

It was the worst ten minutes of my life.

We took Emmy to the children’s science museum, which has a pretty open-plan format, and tried to keep up with her.  She’s fast, and her attention span is fairly short, so by the time we had figured out what she was supposed to be doing/learning at a specific exhibit, she’d already moved on, and we had to scramble to catch up.  She was so excited to “play.”

And then, in the side room on the second floor, she just ran off.  I turned to follow her, and I couldn’t see her anymore.  I figured Tom had kept an eye on her, so I didn’t panic, but I moved to catch up, and then I saw that Tom wasn’t with her.

We made eye contact, and realized neither of us had the kid in sight, so we both started checking the room.  We searched for about two minutes, and didn’t see her.  I went back to a couple of places she had already been to, and he checked the side room.

We met back, and then searched for about one more minute, and I said, “I think it’s time to ask for help.”   

So I went to the front desk and told them that my daughter had walked away from me.  They initiated a staff search, asking me for details about her outfit and hair color.  They asked me to stay at the desk, which I absolutely didn’t want to do, but knowing that Tom was looking for her, I agreed and stood there, wringing my hands and worrying.

I listened to the traffic on the walkie-talkie at the desk, and I tried to tamp down my panic.  Where on earth could she have gone to?

Finally, after what felt like an extremely long time (but couldn’t have been more than 10-15 minutes) someone squawked on the radio that they’d found her.  I waved Tom down to the front desk and, finally, she appeared at the top of the stairs, in a staff member’s arms, sobbing.

They found her in the bathroom.  The bathroom doors all push in, but pull out.  So, Emmy was able to get into the bathroom, but couldn’t reach the handle to get herself out.  She told us later that she had to wait for a big one to get her out (big person?). 

I don’t know if she left me and went straight to the bathroom.  I don’t know if she wandered off and just happened upon a bathroom and decided she had to go.  I don’t know what happened to the necklaces she was wearing (they were gone when we found her), and I don’t know why she pulled her hair down out of the ponytail.  I don’t know when she started crying.

And I don’t know why we didn’t check the damn bathrooms.

It turned out fine.  No lasting damage.  But during that terrible time, while I stood at the front desk, literally wringing my hands, I didn’t know that would be the case, and it was terrifying.  I hated being out of control.  I hated not knowing where she was or what might be happening to her. 

The Discovery Center staff did a great job.  I could see in the faces of the few staff members who crossed my line of sight that they were taking it seriously, and they found her quickly, without having to disrupt any of the other guests.  I can't emphasize enough how much I appreciate them.  We won't be going back to the Discovery Center for awhile, but it's not because the staff didn't do a great job-- it's just that I don't think Emmy is quite old enough to run around by herself in such a large space.

Every time I think about it, I get upset again, but I just don't think we could have done anything differently.  I will always kick myself for not keeping up with her better, and for not checking the bathrooms right away.  Tom and I both said later that we each thought about the possibility of her being in the bathroom, but we both shrugged it off.  I didn't think that enough time had passed for her to have decided to go to the bathroom.  I thought she was off playing, totally unaware that neither Mama nor Daddy knew where she was.  I didn't think she could be stuck in the bathroom crying because she couldn't get out.  The image that my brain produces of what that must have looked like will haunt me for a long time.  I failed her.  I wasn't there to get her out of that jam.  I didn't check the bathroom.

But, on the other hand, I know I have to let it go.  It's over, it ended fine, and we all learned from it.  And that's the most positive thought I can muster about it today.

Emmy's First Story

It was raining yesterday when I went to pick Emmy up from daycare.  As we walked out to the car, Emmy told me that God made the rain.  I agreed with her, and asked her if she knew why God made the rain.  Why is kind of a difficult concept still (she often answers the same thing for why, when, and where), so I plowed ahead and told her that God made the rain so that the trees, flowers and vegetables could grow.

Then we talked a bit about vegetables and people who eat vegetables.  Emmy is familiar with vegetables because during the spring and summer months (and often into the fall, bless you Tennessee's long growing season) we go to the farmer's market on Saturday mornings to "get vegetables."

Then, as we drove home, Emmy told me a story.  I'm paraphrasing here, because I can't remember it exactly, and I didn't realize she was telling a story until she got to the end. (It's hard to tell the difference between toddler rambling and more concrete communication attempts)

When she finished, I told her I loved her story and that we should write it down.  Emmy said, "Write it down?"  I promised I would, so here goes:

Emmy's story:

God made the rain.  God made the vegetables.  I (Emmy) broke the vegetables.  God made more vegetables.  "That's all the pages."

(That last part is a direct quote, and it's how I knew that Emmy had just told me a story.  She's just started saying "that's all the pages," whenever she gets to the end of a book, movie, or TV show.)

How's that for a solid understanding of God's love and forgiveness?  God made the vegetables.  Emmy broke the vegetables, but it's okay, because God made more vegetables.  (Maybe I'm reading WAY too much into it.  But I think I can be forgiven for that.  Probably.)

Also, clearly, Emmy is another in a long line of Rollins-Smith-Watson (and probably Schleicher and Eggenberger) story-tellers.

Hit the Road, Jack.

I'm still working on my post for Emmy's birthday, which, hopefully, I'll complete sometime before her next birthday, but in the meantime, I wanted to post this:

Grandma Susan taught her the hook to "Hit the Road, Jack," and she's been singing it for a couple of weeks.

This weekend, she made up her own lyrics.

She was eating lunch with Grandma Susan, and singing:

"Hit the road, Jack,
and don't you come back,
I'm eating my mac and cheese."

Tom missed it, so later in the car on the drive home, I was telling him that she had started making up her own songs, so I asked her to sing her lunch song for Tom, and she did.

I almost collapsed from the cuteness.

Whoops, I forgot to publish this one.

Emmy's going through a phase where she likes to take off her pants and then her diaper.

The other night, she spilled water on her pants, so of course, she had to take them off.  Then after dinner, off comes the diaper because "it's wet, mama."

It was almost bath time, so I suggested to her that she needed pants, but didn't pursue it further.  I did ask her not to pee pee on the carpet.

A few minutes later, I smelled a familiar odor.  "Tom, is that you?" I asked.  He shook his head.  I checked Emmy, and she was clean, so I shrugged and ignored it.

Then, a few more minutes later, Emmy gets a horrified look on her face.  "Oh, oh, oh!" she cries.  I look down, and my baby is pooping on the carpet.  She's struggling to look over her shoulder and see what's happening.

"Honey," I say.  "Don't just stand there.  Go sit on your potty!"

So, she runs over to her potty and plops down.

Shaking my head, I walk over to get a paper towel to pick up the poops.  As I walk back into the living room, I see my daughter stand up, pick up the bowl of her potty and dump the pee out on the wood floor.

At least she got it in the potty in the first place.  Right?

So, Tom and I are trying desperately not to laugh uproariously-- and failing miserably.  We pick her up and cart her upstairs for bath time.

We also want to encourage the potty use, so after she's in the bath, I ask if she remembers what happens when she pee pees in the potty.  She looks up at me and says, "I get m&m's, mommy."

She got her m&ms, even though it wasn't a perfect potty experience.

Brief Emmy Updates (It ended up not being very brief)

Emmy is so adorable right now!  Every single day, I think to myself, she can't possibly top this level of cute.  But then she does. 

And then she throws a fit and sobs for 20 minutes.  Because we can't watch another episode of Mickey's Clubhouse.  So it balances out.

Emmy is very excited about our plans to buy our Christmas tree and decorate this weekend.  Last night I told her we would be decorating, and Emmy said, "What we going to dec-or-ate, mama?"  I suppose she'd never heard the word decorate before, so she spoke very slowly and deliberately to get it out correctly.  I was so amused, I couldn't even answer her because I was grinning and trying to contain my laughter.

I told her we would get a Christmas tree and she said, "With lights?"

We tried to go see Santa two weeks ago.  It was an unmitigated disaster.  She refused to sit on Santa's lap, and when we finally decided to just have her stand beside him, the store made the decision to dump the photos before I could decide if any of them were usable.  I complained to the store manager, who essentially told me that it wasn't feasible to allow parents to review all the photos and pick the best one.  So, instead the 17 year old who is running the camera "decides" which is the best/most saleable photo.  Which means that the photo they chose for us was the first of 5 shots.  Rage doesn't even begin to describe my feelings.  I was so mad, I was shaking.  I was shaking so hard I wasn't sure I could say, "I'd like to speak to a manager," clearly. 

Sigh.  We won't be going back to that store.  Even if they do have the best looking Santa.

I decided that we won't be going to see Santa again until either a) Emmy actually wants to go see him or b) one of the grandmas decides to take the task on herself.  It's just not worth the hassle and rage.  Emmy doesn't get anything out of it, because she's just scared of this weird man in red.  And Tom and I just get to exercise our anger management.  A skill that neither of us is particularly good at when shopping malls are involved.  My rage meter tends to max out MUCH more quickly in a mall than in any other location.  Except the DMV.  And my polling place.  Oh, nevermind, my rage meter maxes out a lot.

Emmy has also gotten interested in cooking and baking.  She loves to help cook.  She's made cookies with both grandmas, and she helps me make dinner fairly often.  We also made a "pumpkin pie" for Thanksgiving.  She likes to stir, pour things into the mixing bowl, and she loves to crack the eggs.  Her egg cracking is a little, ahem, inelegant at the moment, but she'll improve.

I also want to mention her vocabulary and speaking.  It seems to have happened overnight, but my little girl is now speaking in full complex sentences.  It's an amazing transformation.  She uses the word because.  Correctly.  Most of her sentences have a comma in them.  There are still times when I have no idea what she's talking about, but for the most part, her communication has just taken off and she talks non-stop.  I don't even think I could count all the words in her vocabulary at this point.

For Christmas, she's asking Santa for a jack in the box, a dollhouse, and (according to the letter she "wrote" at school) for "Grandma to see Santa."

The Beach

We took Emmy to the beach in the middle of August and she had a wonderful time.  This was the second time we've taken her to the beach, and this was a much more successful trip.

The last time we went to the beach, as I think I mentioned in the post about the xray, Emmy sometimes seems to be afraid of elevators and the ocean (enclosed spaces and infinite spaces, I suppose), so we were nervous about how she would react to the ocean.  And, at first, she was apprehensive.

As soon as we arrived and unloaded the perishable groceries, we headed straight down to the water.  She saw the ocean and started whining, clinging to my legs.  But after about 5 minutes, she got her feet wet, and realized it was just like the bath and the swimming pool.  After that, she had no problem with the ocean.  And it only took about an hour for her to feel comfortable enough to let go of Daddy.

She wore her swim vest, a speedo vest designed for swimming (but not boating! warns the label).  And though she was happy to play with Daddy, she was also determined to swim by herself.  "Leave me 'lone, mama!" quickly became her most frequent ocean phrase.  She also adored "flying" with Daddy, where Tom threw her up in the air, letting her splash in the water.  She liked bobbing up and down in the waves (which hopefully means she won't suffer from my inner ear problems, because that motion makes me seasick).

She got ice pops almost every day.  And a lot of mac and cheese.  And everyday, the only way to convince her to go back to the condo, or to go to bed, was the promise that in the morning we would go back to the beach.  First thing every morning (after the requisite cartoon watching and breakfast) her first question would be, "We go beach now?"

And she would submit to putting on sunscreen and getting her hair put in a ponytail, all the while asking, "We go beach now?"

She loved hanging out with Grandma (Susan).  She loved putting on her princess swimsuit.  She loved snoozing on the lounger, on the couch, on the sand.  "I take a snooze. (Like Daddy)."  I have a great picture of the two snoozing together after a particularly long day at the beach.  Tom got stuck with the short couch.

Emmy Loves the Beach!

 This picture is my favorite from the beach, just for the way it accurately depicts Emmy's sheer joy at the beach.  It's a little washed out, and I caught her at the edge of the frame, instead of the center.  You can see my shadow, and there's a kid up there photobombing.  I can fix all those things, but I don't know that I will.  I love everything about this picture.  Emmy was having too good of a time for anything but pulling out my iphone and snapping this shot.  I got lots of garbage shots too, I just kept hitting the shutter hoping that one would turn out.  And this one did.

Tom and I bought an intervalometer before the trip, so we played around with that some.  I set it up on our balcony to take time lapse shots of the beachfront.  Tom edited them into a video, which you can watch here: Time Lapse Video of Beach.

Emmy's First ER trip (or Emmy and the Croup)

This weekend was frustrating.  Exhausting.  But it was also indicative of many of the things that I think Tom and I are doing right in our parenting.  Or maybe it's indicative of how lucky we are to have the support that we do.  Regardless, I am very tired, and I can't guarantee that any of this will make any sense.  Or be coherent.  That sentence and sentence fragment mean the same thing, Pamela.  Yes, I know.

(I also clearly can't guarantee that I'll refrain from conversing with myself within the post.)

On Thursday night, Tom and I went out for my birthday dinner.  Patricia came over to babysit, and took Emmy for a walk up the hill behind the house.  Somewhere in the tall grass, they encountered some nettles (or so we assume).  Emmy got some welts on her legs, but Patricia dealt with it admirably, washing her off and applying some cortisone for the itching. 

Friday, when she got home from school, Emmy was hoarse, but she seemed fine, no fever, and Grandma Susan was in town for my birthday, so Tom and I went out to a movie.  (The Dark Knight Rises was fantastic, by the way).  Later that night, Emmy woke us up (I think) and her breathing sounded a little rough.  We gave her some medication for congestion and set up the humidifier.  After getting her back in the bed, I started looking up her symptoms (breathing difficulty, dry cough, hives) on the ol' iPad.  I decided that her hoarseness, cough and the hives on her legs meant she was having a delayed allergic reaction to the nettles.  Mayoclinic agreed with my assessment.  I told Tom my hypothesis, and he was... dismissive.  To put it mildly.  He believed she was experiencing drainage from a summer cold.

When we got up around 8:30-ish, Emmy was still having some problems.  Convinced that it was an allergic reaction, I gave her benadryl and put some caladryl on her hives.  We went about the business of the day, which involved some shopping and prep for my birthday dinner (with my parents, Susan, Patricia and JP). 

In hindsight, we should have taken advantage of our pediatrician's Saturday hours and taken her in.  But, again, she didn't seem that bad, and I was convinced it would get better.

Everyone came over around 4:30, and besides her lack of voice, Emmy was in a good mood, and we had a nice time.  Emmy was allowed to stay up a little late, but we got her into bed around 8:30 or 9:00.  Then Tom, Patricia, JP and I headed out to watch Batman again.  (It was really good, you guys.)

About halfway through the almost three hour movie, I got a text message from Susan.  She asked me where Emmy's medications were and what she could give her for a fever.  Her temperature was 101.8.  I told Susan where the meds were and the proper dosages, and I decided that I didn't need to ask everyone to leave because I trusted Susan to take care of Emmy.

When the movie was over, we all headed home.  I called Susan to see how Emmy was doing.  She told me that Emmy was awake, and very uncomfortable.  We got home and Emmy was clearly breathing hard.  I decided it was time to call the after hours nurse at the pediatrician.  I called the office and had to wait through the nearly five minute messages before getting routed to the answering service.  I left my number and waited for the nurse to call.  After describing what Emmy sounded like to the nurse, she said it sounded like stridor, and I needed to have Emmy sit in the bathroom while the shower steamed the room up for thirty minutes.  Emmy and I watched the care bears movie while the room filled up with steam.

After that, she sounded much better, so I put her back in bed and called the answering service again and told the nurse that she sounded better.  It was now somewhere between 2 and 2:30 am, and I was exhausted.  I hadn't slept well Friday because Emmy had woken us up in the wee hours, and I hadn't yet been able to sleep on Saturday (in large part because we had gone to the movie, yes, but did I mention how good it was?)  So, the nurse told me to monitor her breathing and if she experienced the stridor again, to repeat the steam treatment.

I made the decision that a) she wouldn't sleep if I was lying on the floor by her bed and b) I would be useless on Sunday if I didn't at least get some sleep, so I went to bed.

On Sunday, she sounded okay, but was still breathing hard.  So, I called the answering service again and talked to my second on-call nurse.  I tried to describe Emmy's breathing, but apparently, the sound I was making was "gasping" even though I thought it sounded like wheezing and that phone call was pretty much useless.  This nurse suggested another steam treatment and then I could call back.

So, I took her into the bathroom (but I used the larger bathroom, and I don't think the steam was able to accumulate as well), and it didn't help.  I didn't think the situation was urgent enough for the emergency room, because Emmy was able to talk in full sentences (despite the hoarseness, which just meant you couldn't hear her very well) and not blue, or pale, or anything else that would indicate that she wasn't getting enough oxygen.  Her breathing was just loud and rapid.  By now, obviously, I had heard the seal bark cough and looked up croup along with a helpful youtube video, and was fairly convinced that she had croup.  But nothing I read, and neither of the nurses had given me any indication that her situation was emergent or dangerous.  Everything and everyone just said to watch her, which we were definitely doing.

Since her pediatrician wasn't open and the Vanderbilt clinic didn't have any hours, Tom suggested a minute clinic, and I thought that was a wonderful idea, because then, at least, I could have a real nurse listen to her breathing and tell us how serious it was.  We took her to a CVS minute clinic, and by the time we got there, she was sounding pretty rough.  Her breathing was very loud and she was coughing occasionally (that harsh seal bark).

The minute clinic nurse listened to her chest, asked a few questions and stuck a pulse oxygen meter on her finger.  I watched the digital readout and asked (what I thought was a perfectly reasonable question), "Is that acceptable?" (Meaning, is that an acceptable pulse-ox reading).

The nurse just stared at me.  (And this is a thing you definitely want to do with concerned parents who are just trying to make the right treatment decision and not clog up the ER unless they have to-- *sarcasm*)

Then she told us she was going to close out the record and send us to the ER.  Or we could go to a clinic depending on what our insurance would cover, but I had pretty much stopped listening.  Since I had no idea where a clinic (urgent care, I guess) was, but I knew exactly how to get to the ER (which is on the campus where I WORK) we decided to go to the ER. 

So, after an interminable amount of time where the nurse was closing out the stupid record that I didn't care about, we loaded Emmy up in her seat and drove across town to the ER.  Did I mention that the interstate is closed every weekend this summer and I had to take a non-interstate route to avoid the traffic as people unfamiliar with the detour try to figure out the route?  No? Well, there was that to deal with too.

By the time we got to the hospital, Emmy's latest bout of stridor had stopped.  When we checked in, she sounded pretty normal, but the nurse was able to hear it with the stethoscope, so we got checked in and assigned a room.

The doctor (who legitimately looked younger than both Tom and myself), listened to her, and then Emmy experienced a well-timed cough and he said, "Yup, it's definitely croup.  We'll give her a dose of steroids and she should be fine."

And about an hour later, we were able to go home.  I would like to mention one additional thing.  The doctor asked if her immunizations were up to date, and I proudly told him that, yes, they were indeed up to date.  And he told us that if they weren't, they would have had to admit her because one of the underlying infections that causes croup is bacterial (covered by immunizations) and they would have to monitor to determine which infection was the cause and if it was the bacteria, treat it with antibiotics.

This morning, Emmy is much better.  She had two bowls of cereal, and her hoarseness is mostly gone.  Susan is staying with her today, and I will stay home with her tomorrow and until she can go back to daycare.

One other note.  I have been very careful not to refer to Emmy's hoarseness as laryngitis.  This is because the first nurse informed me (as I had been describing her loss of voice as laryngitis) that babies don't get laryngitis.  Small children's larynxes (I don't know the plural of larynx obviously) are softer, or something, and what is laryngitis in an adult, is a narrowed throat in a baby.  That's why they need to be monitored closely, because it's much harder for them to breathe.  Like I said, I'm tired, and I don't actually remember what the nurse said except that "Babies don't get laryngitis."

I don't know what we could have done differently.  Yes, it was kind of dumb to think it was an allergic reaction, especially since I googled allergic reaction and looked for an entry that matched what I was looking for.  But she didn't have a fever until late Saturday night, and nothing else indicated that it was viral.  I was also influenced by the fact that we had just finished a round of antibiotics for strep, so she couldn't possibly be sick again.  It's extremely difficult to try to determine when it's serious and on the weekend, it's even worse, because while I would have gone straight to the doctor for these symptoms, it was hard to make the decision to go to the emergency room.  It never felt like an emergency, even after the nurse at the minute clinic tried to scare the crap out of us (and yes, I'm super pissed about that).  I'm also upset at the thought that the on-call nurses at my pediatrician's office were trying to put us off until we could come in Monday morning, instead of telling us to go to the ER and get it checked and get the steroid treatment.  Maybe that's not why they advised us the way they did, but that's the reason that makes the most business sense and it's the standard practice I would dictate if I ran a pediatrician's office.

That was a long post, and I apologize, but it was a long weekend.  I'm trying not to feel like I ignored my daughter's illness because I had birthday plans, but every time I say that in my head, there's a mean voice that tells me that's exactly what happened.  So, Em, I'm sorry.  We should have taken you to the doctor on Saturday, but at least with the ER trip, you got an extra ice-pop.  Mommy loves you.

   

Toast!?!

My daughter really loves toast.  Like, a lot.  In the morning, she is occasionally grouchy, as she tells us that she doesn't want to "go schoo,'" she doesn't want us to "go work," and she would rather sit and watch "monkey george," all day.  Some days, we just have to remind her that she is going to see her friends at daycare.  "Do you want to go see Ms. Debbie?  What about 'Kenzie?"  Sometimes, that's enough.  Sometimes, to coax her downstairs, we have to offer her breakfast.  "Emmy, would you like some toast?"

And no matter what mood she is in, cinnamon toast (cinnamon and raisin swirled bread, toasted with a light spread of butter) cheers her right up.  "Okay, daddy."

After one particularly rough morning, where she wrestled me as I got her dressed, then again while I put her hair in a ponytail, I was beseeching Tom to take over (he makes breakfast while I get Emmy dressed and ready), because Emmy was wailing at me about how she didn't want a ponytail, or shoes, or that shirt (Want pink, mama!)-- and he asked her if she wanted toast.

And just like that, the tears disappeared.  "Toast?" she asked, her interest peaked.  So, she took her seat at the table and Daddy handed her the toast, which she exclaimed over and started eating.  Then, she looked at Tom and said, "I happy, Daddy."

And Tom, in his ever-present wisdom, sighed.  "I wish there was something in this world I loved enough that it could turn my mornings around like that."

Me too, honey.  Me too.

It must be her age, but when Emmy loves something, she LOVES it.  There are certain activities that we really have to gear ourselves up for because Emmy loves them so much that she doesn't ever want to stop doing them.  And when she is forced to stop, there will be tears.  There will be SOBS.  (And for mom and dad?  There will be guilt.)

Here is the list of things that my daughter LOVES:

Winnie the Pooh (the movie is only 62 minutes long, and as soon as the credits roll, she bursts into tears until you start it over)
Elmo and "Grober" ("Another monster at the end of the book" interactive storybook on the iPad, which she has read over and over and over)
Painting (finger paints, tempera paints, watercolors, etc)
Riding horses/ponies
Toast
Chocolate milk
Watermelon, blueberries, tomatoes, strawberries (she can eat her weight in each of these foods)

In fact, she loves watermelon so much, that when we bring it home from the store (wrapped in plastic) she can't wait to get at it.  You can see in the photo above, she took two bites while it was in the shopping bag, before I could get it put away after the shopping trip.

I know this level of loving things won't last forever, but I wish it could. 

Swimming

Emmy seems to really enjoy water, though when we took her to the beach at 8 months, she also seemed utterly terrified of the ocean.  She loved the sand, but she wasn't fond of the ocean.  She didn't want me to hold her in the waves, and she certainly didn't want to let the water wash over her at the edge. 

So, remembering that, we were concerned that she would fear the ocean again when we go to the beach in August this year.  Well... are concerned, would probably be more correct, I suppose.

So, we've been playing in the wading pool, practicing putting our faces in the water, and trying to blow bubbles.  So far, we've not had a lot of success with that.  She'll drop her face really really close to the water, but not really in.  And the bubble blowing is not happening at all.  She just blows at the surface of the water, the same way she blows to cool off hot food.

But we also wanted to get some experience in a real pool, with water that would be over her head.  Tom and I are having some fundamental disagreements about floatation devices, but I finally agreed to a speedo swim vest (NOT FOR USE IN BOATS, says the label). 

Vandy offers swim lessons for toddlers, but they are... inconveniently scheduled (weekdays? weeknights?!? Come on, guys.)  But, of course, Grandma and Grandpa Smith have a community pool in their subdivision, so this weekend, we headed down and gave it a try.

Emmy loved the pool!  She desperately wanted to try it by herself... not to mention the deep end.  "Lea' me 'lone, mama!"  She called out as I held her in my arms.  We compromised with me holding on to her swimsuit as she flopped and paddled around the shallow end.  Whenever she got a couple mouthfuls of water, I would pick her up and put her back on my hip and let her breathe for a moment.  She's absolutely fearless. 

She was jumping off the side of the pool into Tom's arms, which was clearly resulting in full submersion head dunking, and she kept climbing out of the pool and going right back to jump in again.  Fearless.

When she saw some older kids jump off the diving board into the deep end, she decided she wanted to do that too.  But, alas, that dream could not be achieved on this trip.  She was also obsessed with getting to the "other side" (the other side of the blue rope that separates the shallow and deep ends of the pool) but refused to hold onto a parent when she got to go on the other side of the rope, so that foray didn't last long.

We're definitely looking forward to another trip to the big pool.

Mother's Day (Late and out of order, whoops)

The week of Mother's Day, I went to pick Emmy up at daycare on Friday, as usual, and was pleased to see a bag on the counter labeled "To Mama."  I picked up the bag and the rest of Emmy's things and then went to get her from the playground.  I showed her the bag and asked her who it was for.  She told me it was her present.  I asked if maybe it wasn't for mama, and she said, "No, mama, it's Emmy's present."

Then she told me she wanted to show it to Daddy, so we got in the car and went home.  I had to work pretty hard to keep her from ripping the bag open to get to "her" gift.

Once we got home, we went up to Tom's office and showed him the present.  Tom told her how nice it was that she brought Mama a present, and Emmy informed him that, no, it was Emmy's present.  Tom tried to convince her that it was for Mama, and asked her if they had talked about mother's day at school.  "No, Daddy.  This Emmy's present."  As she started to open it, poor Tom had to take it away from her (I wouldn't have cared if she had opened it, but, c'est la vie) and that lead to tears. 

By Sunday, however, she had forgotten all about it, and I was able to open my gift and see what I got.  (A potholder with a handprint).

Toddler Bed

This post was originally started on 5/23, but I guess I got busy.  Emmy switched to a toddler bed.  I wasn't sure we were ready, but Tom wanted to transition well before our scheduled trip to the beach in August, so that we didn't have to take the pack and play with us.

The first week was a little rough.  Emmy seemed to have some trouble adjusting.  She kept waking up in the middle of the night and crying until we came and talked to her.  She would stick out her tongue and tell us her "mouf hurts," and ask for medicine.  Since this coincided with a sinus/eye infection and antibiotics, I'll admit that we fell for it for the first couple of nights.  But it became clear rather quickly that the tears would stop long before any medicine could have kicked in.  This will also mark the second time I've been convinced that her second molars were coming in, and as yet, we have seen no additional teeth beyond the first set.  (One might think that I actually have no idea what I'm talking about...)

Before I agreed to the switch, we had to install a gate at the top of the stairs, which, so far, has been great.  We actually put it in the hallway perpendicular to the stairs, and it's working really well.  We only use it at night, when we leave her door open, so she can come visit us if she needs to, but can't get to the stairs. 

Since she can get to us now, she comes to see us every morning on the weekends, as soon as she wakes up.  Then she climbs into bed and we watch Sesame Street or whatever other show she requests.  So far, (and knock wood) she hasn't come to visit us during the night.  She will occasionally wake up and cry, but she hasn't ventured out of bed yet.  We know that she has gotten up because we'll often find her in the morning with toys and books she didn't have when she went to bed, but, so far, no night time visits.

I have lots more things to post, but if I tried to put them all in one post, it would run dangerously close to novella length, so....