I turned my back for a minute and the boy's face was sucking on the ground.
Hoovering.
After I detached him from the floor, I spied a mashed craisin that he had been trying to maneuver into his mouth. His eagle eyes, wiggly little crawl, and fierce independence have morphed him into a lean, mean hoovering machine. That smidge of sweet potato tucked into the kitchen corner? He's on it.
You must know that pre-motherhood, I was a bit...how shall I frame it?...dirty. Not Christina Aguilea diiirty. Messy. Slobby. Post-motherhood? Let's just say I have not yet bought into the 1950s war on germs, but I do vacuum most every day.
Spence is just a hoovering pack rat. He squirrels away food in his crevices and hides them for future hoovering expeditions. Today I watched him lean over his booster seat and stick a few peas under his seat for a mid-afternoon snack.
Crafty little hoover.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Almost.
Just when we thought we could name the boy "healed," the phone rang.
Or rather, Dave instant messaged me. "Boy has a rash. I'll meet you at Allison's." I was at work. The third day out of the last eight that I had actually made it into work. I dutifully shut down my computer and hurried out of the building.
By the time I got there, Dave was rocking the boy and he informed me we had a doctor's appointment in 15 minutes. Spence seemed slightly subdued. (Come on, you love that every word in that sentence started with an 's.')
Team Snyder arrived at the Children's Clinic without actually laying an eye on the rash. Dave checked in and I tried to sneak a peak at the rash. I couldn't really see anything. My anxiety started to bubble up as I feared that we had morphed into over-anxious parents. Was there even a rash?
By the time we entered into the exam room, I was convinced it was fine and more focused on not looking like an idiot in front of our beloved Dr. Goel. I undressed Spence. I flitted between wanting to see bright red splotches to justify our third visit to the doctor and hoping his skin was pasty as ever. Small pink spots were visible...almost like an impressionist's rosebud smudges. Perhaps not enough to warrant a trek to the clinic.
Dr. Goel smiled, wrote a note that allowed us to return to daycare and we were on our way. Spence snoozed all the way home.
Or rather, Dave instant messaged me. "Boy has a rash. I'll meet you at Allison's." I was at work. The third day out of the last eight that I had actually made it into work. I dutifully shut down my computer and hurried out of the building.
By the time I got there, Dave was rocking the boy and he informed me we had a doctor's appointment in 15 minutes. Spence seemed slightly subdued. (Come on, you love that every word in that sentence started with an 's.')
Team Snyder arrived at the Children's Clinic without actually laying an eye on the rash. Dave checked in and I tried to sneak a peak at the rash. I couldn't really see anything. My anxiety started to bubble up as I feared that we had morphed into over-anxious parents. Was there even a rash?
By the time we entered into the exam room, I was convinced it was fine and more focused on not looking like an idiot in front of our beloved Dr. Goel. I undressed Spence. I flitted between wanting to see bright red splotches to justify our third visit to the doctor and hoping his skin was pasty as ever. Small pink spots were visible...almost like an impressionist's rosebud smudges. Perhaps not enough to warrant a trek to the clinic.
Dr. Goel smiled, wrote a note that allowed us to return to daycare and we were on our way. Spence snoozed all the way home.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Flu Watch: Day 6
Spence is still sick.
(I would like to say that accounts for my 18 voicemail messages piling up on my cell phone, but we all know that is not really the case...)
Dave and I wake up every morning full of hope that Spence is on the mend. We chatter back and forth that we think that he's "over the hump" or "turning the corner." We even flirt with the idea that he'll eat some solid food in the afternoon. Which letter of the BRAT diet will we start with? Toast? Bananas? Spence will nurse a little. Then comes the vomit baptism. And we're back to Pedialyte, one minute nursing sessions and repeated calls to the advice nurse, who assures us these stomach bugs can last 7 to 10 days. Our optimism fades completely. We are deflated. It feels like we are failing him.
(I would like to say that accounts for my 18 voicemail messages piling up on my cell phone, but we all know that is not really the case...)
Dave and I wake up every morning full of hope that Spence is on the mend. We chatter back and forth that we think that he's "over the hump" or "turning the corner." We even flirt with the idea that he'll eat some solid food in the afternoon. Which letter of the BRAT diet will we start with? Toast? Bananas? Spence will nurse a little. Then comes the vomit baptism. And we're back to Pedialyte, one minute nursing sessions and repeated calls to the advice nurse, who assures us these stomach bugs can last 7 to 10 days. Our optimism fades completely. We are deflated. It feels like we are failing him.
Monday, January 14, 2008
Vomity
Do you count vomit by the actual times you heave?
Or do you count it by the number of times vomit spills onto your clothes?
If you count per heave, then Spence vomited 8 times before 10 a.m.
If you are a vomity clothes person, then I changed three times (complete with underwear) before 10 a.m.
More...much more followed all throughout the day.
Spence was really, really sick today. Dark circles colored under his eyes. The copious vomit. (It is now 8:09 p.m. and I did change four times today.) But, he started to show his personality in times of trial. And let's just say he takes after me.
He denies that he is sick. He vomits, but no whining, no listlessness. Constant desires to get up and move. Lots of happy screams. Giggles and demands for milk, followed by more vomit. I resorted to feeding the boy Pedialyte by the spoon. He bubbled up with anger as if to say, "Damn woman, go get me some sweet potato fries!"
It's hard finding the humor in a terrible, no good, very bad day.
Or do you count it by the number of times vomit spills onto your clothes?
If you count per heave, then Spence vomited 8 times before 10 a.m.
If you are a vomity clothes person, then I changed three times (complete with underwear) before 10 a.m.
More...much more followed all throughout the day.
Spence was really, really sick today. Dark circles colored under his eyes. The copious vomit. (It is now 8:09 p.m. and I did change four times today.) But, he started to show his personality in times of trial. And let's just say he takes after me.
He denies that he is sick. He vomits, but no whining, no listlessness. Constant desires to get up and move. Lots of happy screams. Giggles and demands for milk, followed by more vomit. I resorted to feeding the boy Pedialyte by the spoon. He bubbled up with anger as if to say, "Damn woman, go get me some sweet potato fries!"
It's hard finding the humor in a terrible, no good, very bad day.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Hairs Cut!
"Are you ready for a bald baby?" I hazily remember my midwife John asking in the final stages of pushing. "Just get the kid out," was all I could muster. A bald baby was not the fruit of my labor.Fast forward 9+ months.
He's gives Shaggy from Scooby Doo a run for the Scooby snacks. So we gathered Spence up on this balmy 32 degree day and took him to get his hair cut. He was a squirmy Spence, so we left a little cockeyed, but de-shagged.
Luckily, a visit to Grandma resulted in his second haircut of the day which straightened up the tilty cut. Somehow, it is still a big shaggy...
Ouija Magic: Babystyle
Tiffany Wong was one of my best friends in high school. She taught me a trick or two in riding the waves of teenage girl in-fighting, like always make a copy of your notes. A paper trail would provide ample evidence of the insanity of your "friends." Not surprisingly, she didn't do so well in the "Beverly Hills 90210"-esque drama of Acalanes High School in the early nineties. Whereas my family piled on the punishments, hers whisked her away to a new life in Maui at her request. Not for a visit. To live there.
Before she abandoned me, Tiffany introduced me to the magic of the Ouija board. She spun many eerie tales of the truth-revealing power of the Ouija....beloved boys who had routinely ignored us suddenly were revealed to be nurturing hidden crushes on us. I know she would never have moved the little truth-telling gadget. It was magical. I really should get one to aid in my day-to-day decision making.
Which leads me to this new truth-telling gadget...your necklace. I love this stuff. Before I tell you how to do it, you must know that I mostly read the Babycenter.com March 2007 birth board as a sociological thing. But, I discovered this little gem and it is all worth my while. Please do this immediately and post your results. It will foretell your offspring.
I made Dave do it too...we are having a boy (Spence)-girl-boy.
Direct from the source (colored text, conversational text and all):
What'd you get?
Before she abandoned me, Tiffany introduced me to the magic of the Ouija board. She spun many eerie tales of the truth-revealing power of the Ouija....beloved boys who had routinely ignored us suddenly were revealed to be nurturing hidden crushes on us. I know she would never have moved the little truth-telling gadget. It was magical. I really should get one to aid in my day-to-day decision making.
Which leads me to this new truth-telling gadget...your necklace. I love this stuff. Before I tell you how to do it, you must know that I mostly read the Babycenter.com March 2007 birth board as a sociological thing. But, I discovered this little gem and it is all worth my while. Please do this immediately and post your results. It will foretell your offspring.
I made Dave do it too...we are having a boy (Spence)-girl-boy.
Direct from the source (colored text, conversational text and all):
So I want to see if this form of sex prediction works for everyone. So far, it is working for me and a few others that have tried it. I haven't heard anyone say it doesn't work. It will tell you, in order, what sex and how many kids you have had/will have, including miscarriages and deaths.
What you need:
A pendant on a chain(heart, cross, etc)
Two hands
What you do:
Hold the chain with your right hand with the pendant hanging down. Hold it very steady over your left palm. It will start to swing in either a circle or back and forth. Between children, it will come to a stop and start moving again on its own. When it stops completely, it's done. It will even predict future children so don't stop even if you think your done having kids, cuz it might predict differently.
Circular motion means girl.
Back and forth means boy.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
French Potage with Pistou
I am a lover of the Vegetarian Times. I made their French Potage with Pistou last night and have not stopped eating it since. It is damn good. And it gets better the next day.
Here's the recipe.
Potage
2 Tbs butter
2 medium leeks (white and pale green parts chopped up to equal about 4 cups)
1/4 c. white wine (I naturally added a bit more)
4 cloves garlic (Again, I am a bit heavy handed with the garlic)
1 large russet potato, peeled and diced (I used the russet, but I am tempted to use a sweet potato next time...)
4 medium carrots, chopped
4 sprigs fresh thyme (I used dried...it's winter and herbs are pricey)
1 bay leaf
4 cups veggie broth
Pistou--this is the topping...optional, but yummy.
1 cup firmly backed basil leaves
1/4 c. toasted walnuts
1 clove garlic
1/4 c. olive oil
1. To make the Portage: Melt butter in large saucepan over medium heat. Add leeks and pinch of salt; cover and cook 5 to 7 minutes, or until leeks are softened, stirring often. Stir in wine and garlic and cook, uncovered, 1 to 2 minutes, or until most liquid has evaporated.
2. Add potato, carrots, thyme, bay leaf, broth and 2 cups of water. Season with salt and pepper; cover and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to medium-low, and simmer 30 minutes, or until potato and carrots are soft.
3. Remove the thyme sprigs and bay leaf. Puree soup until smooth.
4. To make the Pistou: Place basil, walnuts and garlic in blender. Pulse to combine. Pour in oil, and blend until smooth. Add water if necessary to form smooth paste. Serve dollop on top of Portage.
FYI: This soup was in the section on healing soups...apparently it is typically served in hospitals throughout France. I didn't actually think that was a motivating factor to make this soup, but hey at least you know.
Let me know what you thought...
Here's the recipe.
Potage
2 Tbs butter
2 medium leeks (white and pale green parts chopped up to equal about 4 cups)
1/4 c. white wine (I naturally added a bit more)
4 cloves garlic (Again, I am a bit heavy handed with the garlic)
1 large russet potato, peeled and diced (I used the russet, but I am tempted to use a sweet potato next time...)
4 medium carrots, chopped
4 sprigs fresh thyme (I used dried...it's winter and herbs are pricey)
1 bay leaf
4 cups veggie broth
Pistou--this is the topping...optional, but yummy.
1 cup firmly backed basil leaves
1/4 c. toasted walnuts
1 clove garlic
1/4 c. olive oil
1. To make the Portage: Melt butter in large saucepan over medium heat. Add leeks and pinch of salt; cover and cook 5 to 7 minutes, or until leeks are softened, stirring often. Stir in wine and garlic and cook, uncovered, 1 to 2 minutes, or until most liquid has evaporated.
2. Add potato, carrots, thyme, bay leaf, broth and 2 cups of water. Season with salt and pepper; cover and bring to a boil. Reduce heat to medium-low, and simmer 30 minutes, or until potato and carrots are soft.
3. Remove the thyme sprigs and bay leaf. Puree soup until smooth.
4. To make the Pistou: Place basil, walnuts and garlic in blender. Pulse to combine. Pour in oil, and blend until smooth. Add water if necessary to form smooth paste. Serve dollop on top of Portage.
FYI: This soup was in the section on healing soups...apparently it is typically served in hospitals throughout France. I didn't actually think that was a motivating factor to make this soup, but hey at least you know.
Let me know what you thought...
Stomach Flu Spence
Scratch that last entry.
It wasn't the rocks. It is the stomach flu.
He's still giggly and now has vomited a few more times on mama and once on dad.
At least every member of Team Snyder has been vomited on so far in 2008.
It wasn't the rocks. It is the stomach flu.
He's still giggly and now has vomited a few more times on mama and once on dad.
At least every member of Team Snyder has been vomited on so far in 2008.
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Spewing Spencer
There was a Spencer who swallowed round rocks,
I don't know why he swallowed those rocks.
I guess he'll...
projectile vomit all over his mama.
I should have known that I could not escape 2007 without being vomited on.
In a bizarre and irrational twist, I blame Anastasia. She nudged me to give the boy some raisins. Soft candy rocks. He gobbled them up like his dad does expensive dark chocolate truffles. Suddenly, visions of raisins danced in his head. Whereas before he would have cruised by the random piece of trash on the floor, he now does the raisin roulette with all found objects. This time he lost.
But, the two round rocks that he apparently categorized as "raisin" had not yet been discovered in the rivers of vomit that drenched me, the bed and the floor. (The boy was mostly unscathed.) I just watched in complete terror as my child had morphed in to a vomiting Garbage Pail Kid. I shrieked for Dave.
He came running.
We were not at home, but in a odd hexagon-shaped cabin apparently owned by fundamentalist Christians. Most of the other rooms in this home were normal. The room that our friends stuck us in was distinctly not. There was a large stained glass window of a cross and crown commemorating a guy who died in World War I. This was flanked by a tacky 'painting' of Jesus surrounded by lambs on one side of the window and three different versions of the Bible on the other. Ha, ha. Stick the religiously confused interfaith family in the Christian room for New Years. Watch the hijinx ensue.
So when Dave found us, the rosy light from the Christian soldier gravestone window was illuminating the vomit. I was near tears as Dave assessed the situation. Spencer was now giggling and babbling to his "Dada." Just like his Mama, the post-vomit feeling is usually a serene relief. Dave dragged us into the bathroom.
He found a towel and started to wipe the chunks of vomit off me. I howled at him and told him to stay focused on the (clean) boy. Spence cooed. I grabbed the thermometer and the Vaseline and got a reading. No fever. Spence commenced his favorite pastime...pulling himself up. More snickers from the boy.
He's fine. It has taken me three days to finally catch my breath.
I don't know why he swallowed those rocks.
I guess he'll...
projectile vomit all over his mama.
I should have known that I could not escape 2007 without being vomited on.
In a bizarre and irrational twist, I blame Anastasia. She nudged me to give the boy some raisins. Soft candy rocks. He gobbled them up like his dad does expensive dark chocolate truffles. Suddenly, visions of raisins danced in his head. Whereas before he would have cruised by the random piece of trash on the floor, he now does the raisin roulette with all found objects. This time he lost.
But, the two round rocks that he apparently categorized as "raisin" had not yet been discovered in the rivers of vomit that drenched me, the bed and the floor. (The boy was mostly unscathed.) I just watched in complete terror as my child had morphed in to a vomiting Garbage Pail Kid. I shrieked for Dave.
He came running.
We were not at home, but in a odd hexagon-shaped cabin apparently owned by fundamentalist Christians. Most of the other rooms in this home were normal. The room that our friends stuck us in was distinctly not. There was a large stained glass window of a cross and crown commemorating a guy who died in World War I. This was flanked by a tacky 'painting' of Jesus surrounded by lambs on one side of the window and three different versions of the Bible on the other. Ha, ha. Stick the religiously confused interfaith family in the Christian room for New Years. Watch the hijinx ensue.
So when Dave found us, the rosy light from the Christian soldier gravestone window was illuminating the vomit. I was near tears as Dave assessed the situation. Spencer was now giggling and babbling to his "Dada." Just like his Mama, the post-vomit feeling is usually a serene relief. Dave dragged us into the bathroom.
He found a towel and started to wipe the chunks of vomit off me. I howled at him and told him to stay focused on the (clean) boy. Spence cooed. I grabbed the thermometer and the Vaseline and got a reading. No fever. Spence commenced his favorite pastime...pulling himself up. More snickers from the boy.
He's fine. It has taken me three days to finally catch my breath.
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