Random post for a busy week.

Luke and Jules on their first morning of camp. One annoying feature of camp ~ they have to wear the same t-shirt every day, and only got one t-shirt. Really, daily laundry? They seem to be enjoying it, however, so I guess it is worth it.

Nothing screams "KLASSY" like a diaper clad baby playing in mulch while his sister loses her drawers on the sidewalk. This is how we roll at 7 am.

Sunshine, on his shoulder, makes me happy.

King Jake in his lawn chair throne.

Alyssa Nicole entered the world on Sunday AM ~ bringing our niece/nephew count to 8! Welcome, sweet girl!

Just ask.

Hey, more me stuff! This blog is for my kids, it is their baby book....yet my story of my kids is incomplete without my stories of my/our selves. Kids ~ I fervently hope that some day you are three relatively normal, overtly happy people.....and that you enjoy reading about your old (probably annoying to you), Mom. Because while I am your Mom, and nothing in life brings me greater joy than watching you turn into the people who you are meant to be, I am also still a woman, and a wife, and an athlete, and myriad other things. I hope that I live well and relatively sanely till a ripe old age, but in case I don't, maybe this blog will help you know me or understand me more.

It had been a tough week. There were bright spots. I was feeling down, however. Call it a job, call it a vocation, call it a calling, call it "unemployed" for all I care....but being a stay at home Mom is no joke. It is a full on physical and mental test of strength, like, extreme sport style.

Friday was my shining beacon of hope. I had to make it till Friday. We went to the gym. We went to camp orientation. I threw some lunch out and ran off to the course at 12:30, leaving the kids ever so happily in Brooke's hands.

Our paired twosome was a no show. We got there four minutes before our tee, playing with no warm up. The front was slow, as we were following foursomes. We killed time talking and playing "poison" on the tee box. It is hard to focus on golf when you are waiting between shots.

At the turn I asked Nate if he thought that we could ask to play through the foursome ahead of us as. The guy at the clubhouse said ~ of course!

We pulled up to the 10th tee and realized that his buddies were already at the tee. We opted to not be pushy and to stay silent, but they saw us and waved us on.

Nate stepped up to the tee and nailed on, from 170 yards out, to two feet. That ball just SAT. It was beautiful and the closest (by far) either one of us had ever been to the hole from the tee.

We raced right down to my tee, where the men were parked. I quickly pulled three clubs out of my bad, slightly intimidated (as often happens) to be quick and to "not play like a girl".

I was annoyed that there was no yardage at the tee. I grumbled about no yardage (assuming that I would hit a bad shot but have an excuse!), picked my pitching wedge, and swung away.

I thought that it was an okay shot ~ left of the pin.

I started to pick up my tee ~ and then watched the ball land...right on the top of the crest....and then roll, to the right, to the right and into the hole.

It just dropped in, silently and sweetly, to the hole.

I don't have any idea what I did. I really don't. I just remember looking over at the 5 people on the cart path, and noticing that they were all running directly towards me, and being unsure about what the heck to do. I hugged them, and shook a little.

We drove down to the hole. Thank goodness Nate has a phone with a good camera, as he snapped this picture of me right after I lifted my ball from the hole. People around us were yelling. I had chills. It was so super weird!

I went on to shoot the lowest 9 of my life (37) for my new low score (shot like the minute before I got pregnant 5+ years ago) of an 85. Nate was insane on the back, shooting a 35 for a day of 78. Our low rounds of the season/ever. I felt like I was having an out of body experience.

It was so much fun. It was so much luck! It was so kind. It was just so kind of that ball to find the cup. It was so kind of the universe to give little old Melissa a shout out.

I have had a smile on my face since that moment. We had friends over last night, spent the morning at the pool, took a three hour family nap, I ran 8 miles, we picked fresh raspberries at Buddy's which we ate over ice cream after a delicious dinner, and we are tucking in for the evening in great spirits.

June of Doom

I'm a little glum.

It started with a sucky Memorial Day weekend. It continued with a sick baby that entire first week, culminating in our Hospital stay/cancelled birthday party weekend. Last weekend the stomach bug came to the house ~ causing us to miss a night out, a birthday party, and two days of planned family time at the pool.

Nate is starting school in like 6 weeks and I feel like we are running out of time to have these carefree family filled weekends.......and I feel horribly anxious about it all. I feel like I'm constantly one step behind, like I'm not managing my time all that well, and like I am running in circles just trying to stay caught up.

I keep feeling guilty for feeling slightly glum.....but I think that the bottom line is that my anxiety about Nate's school starting is causing me to ruin some of this precious time BEFORE school starts. Nate is my best friend. I'm worried about missing my best friend, and our relationship changing from being fun filled and easy to more of a business relationship as we navigate full time work, nearly full time school, the rigors of three young children.

I need to snap out of this. I'm anxiously awaiting July and hopefully a release from the craptastic and bizarre illness that hit our home in June.

The kids are in camp all morning next week........I need to do whatever it is I have to do to cheer the hell up.

For those that requested it :)

My SIL still has my video camera, but Nate got it on his iPhone :)

Look who's back!

Happy at Elizabeths birthday party on Monday.

Doing his Frankenstein walk across the driveway this afternoon.

Daredevil. Third children have all the fun, let me tell you.

In party mode with his tongue sticking out as it always is when he is excited.

El Cheeks return!!

Walking again and everything.

I forgot how chubby his cheeks were supposed to be! Welcome back, smiley and sweet baby boy. You were so, so missed.

Estrogen.

Tiny, perfect, cute.

She never skipped a beat.

On the way to get them done. So happy.

So, Jules has been asking to get her ears pierced for about 6 months. Between school and dance, it seems that about 1/3 of her friends have earrings, and of course Julia (our social detective) noticed.

I had no strong feelings on this one. I know some people love tiny babies with pierced ears....others are grossed out by it. I think that earrings are pretty cute, though I rarely wear them. I remember being so excited to get my ears pierced (I was 6). I've never regretted it, and everyone I know has their ears pierced........so I was a little "whatever" on this issue.

Anyway. Yesterday after a long conversation at the pool with a friend (with two young daughters with pierced ears), I was convinced that it was okay for our family to just make this fun, not some bribe laden or adolescent rite of passage.

Jules asked to get her ears pierced again this morning, and because it sounded like a ton more fun than mopping the floor, I said "sure!". Lets do this thing.

The best part was when Nate was about to leave to take the boys to the gym. I dropped a hint that he might want to say something to Jules about being brave......he walked in from the garage, sat down, stared into her eyes, and delivered this awesome verbal missive talking about bravery and citing the historical bravery of Grandma, Mom Mom, Me, and cousin Jenna. It was pure awesome. Watching a big "guys guy" talk to a little girl who owns his heart is seriously fantastic. I was laughing so hard I had to immediately call Grandma and Mom Mom and tell them that they had been entered into the stuff of oral legend for passing along their lineage of brave piercing to my 3 year old.

The one thing that my friend had told me was to make sure to go to a place that could pierce both ears at the same time. She cited stories of horror and one earringed children. I called my Mom and told her, and our friend got on the phone and told me a story about one ear at a time piercing that ended up with an uncle sporting an ear piercing. I was all "OMG I have to find a double piercing place". I made 400 calls. To tattoo parlors (the piercing place of the elitist perfect ear piercing mommy purists who insist that piercing guns are virtually immoral and wrong). I called spas. And salons. I gave it the old college try.

And in the same way that college was meaningless to me, finding a double piercing place produced about the same luck as matriculation did. Jules sobbed every time I hung up the phone with another "no" place. So. So I thought about my ears, and the good luck that I have had with my piercings that I got on my 6th birthday. I asked Jules if she was ready to have it done twice. She said yes.

Did the prep. Talked about pain. Took her. Let her pick out the earrings. She picked her birthstone (some blue fake gem? Am I terrible for not knowing her "birthstone"? Such a weird concept in general). Talked more about how it will hurt.

She got in the chair. She said "Mama, will you hold my hand?" I did. We did the dots, talked, corrected, etc. Gina approached with the *gasp* gun. BANG! I got tears. Julia blinked. She said, "Now the other side?" and Gina did it. (BANG!)

Done. Not a single tear. Like, not only not a tear, but not even a quivery little lip.

Jules knows her mind. My tough little girly girl. I will say that I love the earrings. I don't know if it my inner DiLullo Dego, or what, but I love them. The saleslady tried to upsell us saying "Maybe Mommy wants to buy some pretty earings like YOU?"....and I laughed. I was wearing a tank top, shorts, chacos, a running watch and no make up or shower.........and I was getting my 3 year olds ears pierced. And you know what? It was awesome.

The best thing about having a daughter who is like me yet very different than me is learning how very very much I can love someone for exactly who they are. I delight in our differences. And I will say, she looks damn cute.

When my daughter hugs me and says "Oh MAMA! We are going to be girlfriends FOREVAH!"......well, I hope so, babe. I hope so.

Dress Rehearsal

I was worried that she might be shy. Uh, no. She was standing on stage yelling "HI LUKE! HI LUKIE! JAKER! JAKE, LOOK AT ME! and blowing kisses. Hilarious.

I put her costume and got tears in my eyes. For someone who is SO not a girlie girl, this is a shocking development. With her hair all pulled up I felt like I barely recognized this big eyed little lady.....where did my "Baby Jules" go???

Hospital.

So heres the deal.

The Hospital sucked. I mean, it was wonderful, but it sucked. They took fantastic care of Jake, but it is an adventure I hope to never experience again.

It was the suck. And when I say "the suck" I mean it pretty literally. I have never, ever been more grateful to be nursing my son. For a week, that is all that Jake did. Nurse. And then nurse again. And then a topper.

In the hospital it was how we survived. I climbed into his crib with him at night. I am glad to be short and little, for serious. I was in.the.crib. Getting out of the crib was a 20 minute process.

Get nipple out of mouth. Freeze.

Remove his arm from my body. Freeze.

Remove his leg from my body. Freeze.

Remove his IV tubes and his pulse ox wires from my body. Freeze.

Hang one leg out of crib. Freeze.

Realize that the crib is way high and I am way small. Freeze.

Do some sort of 007 move to swing my body down from crib silently. Freeze.

Raise side bar of crib. It was metal (think jail cell). It was loud. do it. Jake wakes up with a scream.

Restart entire process.

It was really rough. Not like cancer or he might die rough, but really the roughest thing that we have done yet sort of rough.

I am a planner. I let my kids determine their own schedules, but once they do I adhere to them like it is a religion. I admit to throwing a freak out fit in the hospital on Friday night.

I had gone to the nurses desk at 6. I told them that Jake was going to bed at 6:45 and asked if we could do whatever we needed to do either prior to that or after 9 pm or so once he was solidly asleep.

"Sure!". We did vitals. Seeing ones baby become stoic about getting poked and prodded produces a weird miasma of shame and pride, by the way. I was told that we were "done". I put him to bed, doing the crib/nurse/freeze routine.

At 7:15 two nurses came into the room. They flushed his IV, they took off his "no no" (new personal favorite term, it was what they called the brace that covered his IV) they TALKED. He woke up. He not only woke up, he woke up PISSED OFF. He was angry baby. Super angry baby.

One nurse said to me "Oh jeez, so sorry I bet you want to kill me" and I said.................."lets not talk about killing but how about you get out of the room right now. " She was all "does he want a bottle" and I was all "Seriously I'm avoiding eye contact with you for a reason get out of the room right now kthanksbye".

I started the nurse to sleep routine again. It took me an hour and a half..........then the metal crib side noise woke him up again. I can take a lot. I really can. I could not take that. I was spent. I was nursed out. Jake probably nursed for about 8 or 9 hours that day (not exaggerating) and was held by me or slept on me for the reminder of our daylight hours. My body ached. My back hurt. My breasts hurt. My personality was lagging. Everything was effed up. I left the room. I left my angry mad cast armed Napoleon yelling like a banshee in his crib and I walked up to the nurses station. I used big girl words. I did not curse. I only cried a little bit. I conveyed my frustration. I told them that I was so frustrated, that I felt as though my baby was being so disrespected (a sick child needs SLEEP! This is not a teaching moment for a new nurse! ((Which is what happened)). I was proactive!). I then told them that that was my baby crying, he was safe, and I needed to walk away.

I walked out of the unit, into the bathroom, fell to my knees in tears, sobbed big loud sick cries, and promptly threw up about a million times.

I was spent. I was nursed out. I was PISSED.

I truly believe that we as mothers can lift cars when we need to. We can stop fires. We can and do do whatever our babies need us to do.

I also believe that having that power stripped from us is very very difficult. I know my baby. I know what he needs. I was usurped by "teaching" ~ And it made me a freak.

I am the first in line to be compliant when it helps me or my child. I am also the first to speak up at what is nothing short of anti-health policy. While I was and remain grateful for the care we received, I channeled my inner MAMA BEAR in that hospital.

The line between vulnerable patient and in charge Mother was never more clear to me than it was that night.

Jake, playing for the first time on Friday Morning. This was the first time I saw my boy smile in a couple of days and it made me cry with happiness.

Eating pancakes on Saturday morning.

Sleeping by my side in my cot early Friday morning.

So yeah, the pictures are all wonky. Sorry.

So here is how it all went down. Luke had strep two weeks ago. We got the culture results on a Tuesday. On WEd, I took Jules and Jakers in to get tested. Because I am all proactive and stuff. They didn't have it. Great! We went to the beach. Jake was miserable. Whiney. Unhappy. Sad baby. Not eating baby. Nursing like a newborn baby.

It culminated in a Saturday night nurse all night fever fest. We decided to come home Sunday morning.

Sunday and Monday and Tuesday he seemed like he was better. Still fussy, but I attributed it to the two teeth he was cutting. No fever. Eating. Sleeping better.

Thought that we were in the clear.

Wednesday night. Super fever. Out of nowhere.

Thursday. 106 fever.

Pedi. Talk of spinal tap and meningitis and pneumonia.

Sent to do x-ray and bloodwork and urine stuff that involved taping a sticky bag to my poor sweet boys ball parts. Had to restrain Jake a lot during these tests. Restraining your baby while people hurt him is not for the feint of heart.

Dr Kienzle called me while we were still at the hospital trying to eek urine out of my poor baby.. Told me that Jake had Pneumonia based on x rays. Says we can handle it with ABX outside of the hospital.

Still in car. Doc calls again. Tells me to drive immediately to hospital based on bloodwork. Tells me that we are pre admitted.

I am sure that Jake has leukemia. Doc laughs at me.

Throw clothes in car. Kiss Nate a lot. Cry.

Walk my baby into the hospital. Think about last time, and how we parked our car in the same lot, and walked in there, in the pain of a difficult, prolonged labor. Thought about how I would do that for a thousand years before I would do this walking in for my sick baby kid thing.

Fast forward to Thursday night. Hospital crib. IV. BABY IV! Like me holding him down for the xray and the blood draw and the whole ball bag thing wasn't torture enough.

More later.

Home.

We are home.

Exhausted. Literally sucked dry. More on this later.

So happy to be home.

Jake

Is in the hospital with pneumonia. I am here with him, Nate home with Luke and Jules. It has been a very long day filled with raging fever, x-rays, blood draws, urine draws (this is very interesting on a baby, by the way). Xray revealed pneumonia and blood work revealed very elevated white blood cell count and some other wonky things, so our Ped had Jake admitted ASAP.

My heart is breaking for my tough and oh so sweet little man.

I miss Nate terribly. I miss Luke and Jules. I just want my little guy to be better, and back to his usual happy self. I feel like a bad Mom for letting this happen.

Please keep this handsome little guy in your thoughts. Thanks.