Tracking Elephants

Every morning at breakfast, I'm on the computer.  I get about 2.5 chances a day to check e-mail and blogs (yes, I prefer a laptop to my phone because it's easier to read) and the morning is the only real chance because the kids are distracted by breakfast and cartoons.

Anyway, what's that saying that copying someone is the most sincere form of flattery?  I'm not sure that's what was going on with my boy yesterday, but he was definitely into his projects.

We bought him this little laptop learning toy 3 years ago but just barely gave it to him for his 5th birthday.  It's still a little too advanced for him - the math is too hard and the reading is too fast.  That however, hasn't stopped him from enjoying the imagination that the toy provides him with.

Yesterday was no exception, it was actually the rule.  The computer was carried around quite literally the entire day we were at home (I wouldn't let him bring it in the car).  He had a mission as an animal scientist to track elephants.  You see, he was tracking three herds, the largest had 80 cow and calf elephants (his words, not mine).  The problem with this particularly large herd?

Two elephants were missing.

Sheba, the mama and Ella the baby were no where to be found.

Thus the tracking emergency.  The radio tags on these two elephants were active, but they were out of tracking range and it was the job of my two sons, the animal scientists, to find the lost elephants.

Tracking, or an attempt to track, started at 7:30 am and did not officially end until about 30 minutes before that kid of mine went to bed.

The elephants are still missing so I'm sure we have some additional tracking to do today.

But right now he's watching the backyardigans and getting ready for school so the elephants are on the back burner.

In a nutshell

I found a new photo book and cool stuff website.  I also follow them on instagram and they post freebie codes.  awesome.

www.papercoterie.com

We started the never ending yard project list this weekend.  Two truckloads of beautiful new black dirt. The start of our perennial garden flower bed out front.  The concrete guy came and gave us an estimate on a pad for shavy jones and an extended patio out back.  The yard will be coming together soon.  Yeah!

My home is a disaster.  Or was a disaster.  Thank heavens the family came over for dinner yesterday and gave us an "excuse" to clean things up, put toys away, and clean off the island in the kitchen.  It won't last much past this afternoon but for now, the clutter is cleaned up.

The boys walking out of the grocery store after a quick food shopping trip.  I was pushing the cart and they were....wait for it....being nice to each other.  A rare scene these days and I was very proud.

THG?  Yes, please.  I'm a bit embarrassed to admit that I had to see the movie on opening weekend but it was well worth the crowded theater and the overly analytical husband.  I DO NOT do vampires.  Gag me with a spoon.  But, I do enjoy post-apocalyptic teenage fight to the death blood bath.

The camera was a bit jumpy for me and some key elements of the book (which I've read 2.5 times) were left out that I thought should have remained in the story line.  And, Peeta was just so poorly cast.  But, Katniss was awesome.  The intensity on the screen was the same I felt in the book and when sweet little Rue died I was very close to sobbing.

Well done and I cannot wait for the next installment.

What's in a ring?

In a little less than a month, I'll celebrate my 9th wedding anniversary.  Nine years is a long time to be married, let alone that we've known each other for a decade.  When we decided to get married, though I had no idea when the actual proposal would hit, we did go ring shopping.

I pretty much fell in love with the first ring I saw.  It was platinum.  It was brushed.  It was really pretty.  When the actual ring was bestowed upon me, I was so excited at the significance of it, and what that ring meant that I pretty much didn't take it off.  I loved the ring and the boy who got it for me.

Flash forward a couple years and that ring started to cause me trouble.  It started to leave what I could only call a burn mark on my finger.  We weren't sure what the problem was and after having it cleaned a couple times, chalked it up to something wrong with my finger and I quit wearing it for a while.  Then I got pregnant with Monkey #1 and there was no way it would fit.

Shortly after Elliott was born, I got my ring re-sized and we were reunited.  And then of course, I didn't wear it at all with Monkey #2 and wore it for about a year off and on after Wyatt was born.

Now fast forward again.  I haven't worn my wedding ring for almost 2 years.  It's a little tight, and it's very heavy and maybe it's a silly reason, but the weight of the ring that I loved years ago now weighs too heavy on my arthritic finger.  The last time I tried to wear it was to church, and I didn't even make it through the first hour because I'm a dork.

My kind husband has since then given me a couple of rings to replace it, when I want to look official (as if wandering the world with two little monsters isn't official enough). One of the rings is pretty fancy, and I save it for church and special occasions.  The other was a nice, simple little ring that he got for me that I wore nearly every single day.

Well, on our way home from San Diego in February, while I was driving my short leg of the trip I took my cute little flower off because it was sort of in the way and hooked it onto the straw of my drink for safe keeping.  We stopped in Scipio, Utah, because Elliott and I had to go to the bathroom and then continued on our journey.  Not until we were almost home did I realize that my husband had cleared the "garbage" out of the car at that pit stop, including my drink that I was not finished with and that was a safe keeping for my ring.

The ring was now in a trash can in Scipio.

Oh bother!

When we got home it was decided (by me of course) that I needed a reasonable replacement because unlike my husband who does not wear his wedding band, I like to at least pretend that I'm married.

I found a beautiful fill-in on etsy.  It came yesterday.  I really like it.  Not too fancy, but fancy enough.  Makes me feel official, at least until the day we get around to getting me a new band (much lighter weight) for my "real" wedding ring.

I thought it was funny

We're thinking about toilet training the Chick.  It's not something that I'm ready to tackle and not something I think he's ready for mentally.  Why do I think this?  Because the conversation usually goes this way:

Mama:  Wyatt, do you want to go pee-pee in the toilet?

Wyatt:  No!

Mama:  Why not?  Big boys go pee in the toilet.

Wyatt:  No sanks.  I like to pee in my pants.

Or like this:

Mama:  Hey Wyatt, are you ready to wear Phineas and Ferb big boy pants and use the toilet?

Wyatt:  Not today.

Mama:  Okay, when?

Wyatt:  How about in 7 days, like next Tuesday?

Then the other boy?  The older one who is super observant, he makes us laugh.  Last night we were getting ready to watch our Dad FREAK OUT while the BYU Cougars tried to lose a basketball game. Before the game started, the commentators were doing a BYU video flash back to when Danny Ainge was on the team and did this super cool full court dribble layup thing to win a game.

Elliott turned to his dad and said, "Dad, why aren't those basketball guys wearing shorts?"

Apparently the shorts of 25 years ago were so short, my son couldn't tell that they were even on.

Weighing in...

Most of the time I honestly don't mind being a diabetic.  It's a bit of a hassle but compared to all the other health problems an individual could have, it's not too bad.  It's not cancer.  It's not the loss of a limb.  It's not a tragedy.  It's just something that I have and I have to treat every single hour of the day.

I handle the highs and lows.  I'm being literal mind you - these are not figurative highs and lows.  I went to dinner and a concert on Saturday night with my sister (her husband) and brother.  Of course, I didn't want to bottom out at the concert so I decided to do less insulin than was necessary for my meal so that three hours later I'd still be alive.  Mind you, I came home with a blood sugar of 292 (should have been around 120) but I didn't end up low, which is scary when you're trying to drive home at 11:30 at night by yourself.

Or the opposite of course, one of those awful crazy low numbers.  You should try having your blood sugar drop into the 30's in the middle of the night and see if you can wake up, walk down stairs, fix yourself a snack and eat it all while being sweaty and shaking and dizzy and feeling like you are going to die and pass out at the same time.  Then just being stuck at the kitchen table for what feels like an eternity until you muster up enough energy to walk back upstairs and climb into bed freezing cold and shivering because low blood sugars and the sweats make you so cold you might as well be sleeping in an igloo.  

Dealing with the hangover of extremes takes hours and sometimes days to correct and feel better.  And I am an "in control" diabetic with a really great A1C number who monitors and regulates and checks in with the office pretty regularly.  I schedule and go to my appointments.  I count my carbs.  I make modifications to my medication as necessary.

But sometimes....just sometimes it stresses me out so much I want to explode.

Parts of my left arm sometimes feel numb from too many shots.  My hips are bruised.  My feet go numb and my vision isn't as good as I wish it was.  It's enough to get a girl down I tell you.  My new office thinks that I've been misdiagnosed and incorrectly medicated for years as a type 2 diabetic and that I'm really a type 1.  That would make sense. That would explain a lot.  I am so glad that I sucked it up and found a new doctor.  Even though it drives me batty, I am glad that I go to an office that is so involved in my diabetes, down to the mere unit of insulin.

Every once in a while I really really really really don't like being a diabetic.

But, it's not a brain tumor.   It's not a death sentence.  It's just this huge bump in my road that sometimes feels too stressful and too much to handle on top of the rest of life.

I quit exercising for a while because I was just too tired and guess what!  Everything sort of fell apart.  But last week, before I got hit by the flu, I got back on the band wagon and hooked up with my frienemy, the treadmill.  It sucks that in order to generate energy you have to do something that requires the energy you don't feel you have.  That's a vicious cycle in my life sometimes - that in order to not need the nap I have to skip the nap that I feel I so desperately need.

Oh well, right?  The TV is off.  The apple has been eaten.  The carbs have been documented.  no crap has been consumed.  The exercise has been charted.  Today alone, as I sit and type, I am finishing off my 128th ounce of water for the day. That's healthy to the point of flooding, right?

Blah!

All I really want is a cherry coke with crushed ice a greasy hamburger with bacon and haystack onions and some french fries for dinner.  Instead, I'll settle for a diet coke with a spritz of lime and a salad that may or may not have tortilla strips on it.

Tis the season, I guess

Last Saturday we ran errands.  About 6 hours worth of errands.  The errands ended with one kid asleep and the other helping his dad clean out the garage.

Well, by Saturday night, the helper wasn't feeling well.  I chalked it up cold air causing the asthma lungs trouble and didn't think much of it.  Elliott woke up Sunday morning with a terrible croup like cough and a very high fever.

Blah, blah, blah, right?  Like you want a story of a kid being sick.

Well, by Wednesday, the croup symptoms and the fever were gone and they traded places with the flu. When I took him back to the doctor, our wonderful pediatrician told us he had a rare strain of flu she jokingly called the "bed rest flu" because she said that a lot of parents actually like this flu because their kids are sick and achy, but there is no puking and lots of sleeping involved.  But after a few doses of steroids for his lungs, antibiotics, and tamiflu, the kid is starting to perk up.

The only problem was, that my sick little fart gave it to me and I've spent the last few days miserable out of my head and pretty much horizontal on the couch wrapped in blankets.

It's times like this when you really have sympathy for your kids and learn a few lessons about life, the boy that lives in your house, and yourself.  I knew that Elliott was sick and that he didn't feel well and that I was trying my best to take good care of him.  But not until I got zapped with the bug myself did I realize how absolutely miserable this little guy has been for 6 days.  My heart just poured out for the kid.  

I also realized that my little boy is getting so much older and more mature - he is, at 5 years old, so much more self aware than he was even a few months ago.  He knows when he doesn't feel well, he can tell me specifically what's wrong with him, and when he asks to go to bed and lay down I know that he's really growing up because that is nothing a little fart like him ever wants to do.

It's been a tough season trying to protect my kids from all the sickness that generally falls upon them in the winter time.  Having a mild fear of their asthma has led me to keep them inside more often than I probably should, and be much more nervous than I need to be. But, (knock on wood) we made it through the whole winter without something terrible that usually befalls us (them and me indirectly) and a few sick days in the last 4 weeks is really pretty good for both of my little squirts.

Now....I just need to get some weight back onto my skinny 5 year old.  He lost 4 pounds this week and needs to eat milk shakes 24 hours a day for the next 6 months.

The Zoo!

Finally, the last of the San Diego Vacation Posts....two weeks after we got home from the trip.

Then last day in San Diego we went to the zoo to see the Panda Bears.  Zoo day, for our family of four, was what I refer to as "Geneva Day" for our vacation.  You see, in our world, on every vacation there is a bad day.  I day you are done vacationing, ready to head home, tired of walking and strolling and crowds and fast food.

When my sister and I went to Europe for the first time in 1998, while in Geneva, Switzerland we had our first, Geneva Day.

Anyway, the zoo was so crowded because it was presidents day and all of San Diego and their dads were at the zoo.

We saw one panda, ate gross zoo food, and then bailed on the rest of our party early because Wyatt could no longer walk or ride in the stroller and Elliott was crying in the stroller that he wanted to go home.  So, we left, loaded in the mini van and drove out to Coronado to get the little people to chill and have a no stimulation rest.

It worked and we met up with everyone else for dinner that night.

The next day, we drove home.

The end of our vacation.

The Ocean

On Sunday night of our trip, after our half day at Sea World and our yummy linner at Ruby's Diner we headed to the ocean.  Of course, I complained because I wasn't happy with the beach Ross selected  - mostly because I had to use the bathroom and all they had were a bunch of port-o-toilets.  But, when a girls gotta go, she's gotta go.  I picked the one whose door was flung open, figuring that it would be the least stinky, being aired out and all.  The experience was a bit traumatic, as all experiences in bright blue chemical toilet coffin's can be but I survived.  And, my survival was met by a beautiful message scrolled at my eye level on the door.

"Jesus loves you!" it said.  That was nice.  Especially on a Sunday.  A Sunday I chose not to attend church in a foreign state.

Anyway, the beach ended up being just perfect for the four of us.  It was sunset.  It was cold.  The little Chickadee was terrified of the water and the sand and the seagulls, and the kelp and the other people.  One of his parents was holding him the entire 40 minutes we stared out and watched the sunset.

The other child however, the 5 year old was completely enamored by the ocean - he always has been.  He got as close to stripping down and jumping in as we'd let him...which was just a quick roll of the pant legs and jacket sleeves.  He cavorted.  He giggled.  He splashed.  He got knocked over.  He had maybe the best time of the whole trip - except for when he saw Shamu.

Yes, there is something magical about the ocean isn't there?  The sounds, the smell, the sense of calm it can bring to your inner soul with the high tide waves crashing in and rolling out.  One day, I'm determined to spend some time in a house where the only sounds I hear all day long are the sounds of those waves crashing.

Until then, I'll just play the ocean button on my alarm clock that makes nature sounds.