The Plague Vacation

I have all kinds of wonderful things to say about my trip to New Mexico. I want to tell you about Jack's birthday (5!), my sister and her partner's graduation from med school, seeing a whole slew of boy cousins playing together, and having fun with friends and relatives.

I want to tell you all about that, but not right now.

The days we spent in Albuquerque were fantastic. The nights? Not so much.

Our first night was mostly a harsh lesson in how to fit five people into two full-size beds. Especially when it turns out that your six year old is, like, human being sized. When did he get so big?

I was in a bed with Sam and Quinn and Alex slept with Jack. Partway through the night, I figured I would get more sleep if I moved so that my head was at the foot of the bed. Consequently I spent the rest of that night getting kicked in the face.

At some point I tossed Jack in with his brothers and tried to move into Alex's bed, but it didn't stick. Jack came back, leaving us with even less room.

It was kinda lame. Unfortunately, night number two had me wishing for the golden days of night number one.

Night number two started well. All three kids fell asleep in the same bed. Alex drifted off in the other bed. I was happily taking advantage of the free wi-fi when I noticed Sam gurgling and flailing his arms in the air.

Because what's a vacation without a little bit of vomit?

We cleaned the sad little dude up, piled the soiled comforter and his tainted blanket in the bathroom, and I sacrificed my sweater to keep him warm. I thought we were done. Little did I know.

Sam puked more times over the course of the next five hours than any of my kids have ever puked in a 24-hour period. We used every single towel and washcloth in that hotel room cleaning up puke. Every time we thought we were done, he would throw up again. It was incredibly sad.

I think it was about midnight when Sam wistfully looked at our clean bed and asked to sleep in it. Nicer parents might have let him. That's all I have to say about that.

We were up and down pretty regularly after that. Alex and my relatively spacious bed was invaded by Quinn, leading me to resort to head to toe sleeping again.

I think it might have been 4 a.m. when we realized that, although our chain lock was locked, our door had drifted open. Nice.

We never did figure out what caused Sam's episode. His head hurt for a while the next day, but then he fully recovered. We think maybe a mixture of the altitude change and dehydration took him down.

And, honestly, there were three or four other health crises/sicknesses/emergencies over the weekend that I haven't even bothered to mention. My sister and her son spent the night in the ER. I had to make an emergency call to one of my hometown doctors. Everyone had a cold. It was seriously The Plague Vacation for us.

So now it is 9:30 p.m. on night number three. Everyone seems to be asleep but me. There are three kids nestled into one bed, and there is a big empty space waiting for me in the grown-up bed. I'm wondering what the night will bring me...rest and relaxation so I'm ready to travel home tomorrow? Or some new and as yet unexperienced plague?

I'm not a praying gal, but seriously: Pray for me.

Happy Mother's Day!

I had a wonderful day full of moms, kids, grandparents, swimming, food, and the zoo. And Alex, who was the only male over age 7 that I talked to all day.

Happy Mother's Day to my mom. I couldn't ask for more from you. I'm very lucky to have you. Happy Mother's Day to my aunt M. I absolutely adore you and am thrilled to be able to spend a few days with you. Happy Mother's Day to my stepsister S and your adorable son Little E. I love having you as a sister. And watching you with Little E is not only fun, but has let me see what a wonderful mother you are.

Happy Mother's Day to my sister A, your partner S, and your lovely sons I and J. You're a beautiful family with clear love for each other. It's been tremendous to see your family grow over the past few years.

Happy Mother's Day to all you moms out there. Moms who are old(er) and moms who are young. Moms who gave birth through biologic means or by the adoption process. Moms whose children are with them and moms whose children have grown up and left. Moms who selflessly (or painfully) gave their babies to other families and moms who have lost their children.

To all moms, who take on the greatest responsibility known to humankind by having a child. To all moms, who open themselves up to the greatest hopes and scariest fears by caring for a child. To all moms, no matter who you are.

Happy Mother's Day. You rock.

Trains, Planes & Automobiles

Trains: The goddamn Thomas the Tank Engine book Quinn made me read 50 times on a three-hour flight this morning.

Planes: Two flights. One difficult. One totally awesome due to severe napitude.

Automobiles: Rental car, for which we had to wait with three kids who had been trapped in small spaces for many, many hours. For some reason, Jack tried to throttle a tree. True story.

*****

A Quiz:

1) If your husband says, "On the plane I'll take Sam and Jack and you take Quinn," do you:
a) Assume that one child is easier than two and agree without a second thought? After all, when he's strapped into his car seat in the car, he's not that big of a problem.
b) Realize that Quinn is far more likely to be a major nightmare than the other two and tell your husband, "Hell to the no!"

2) If you are on an airplane sitting between Quinn and a chatty 20-something, who do you talk to?
a) The oddly chatty 20-something who is going out of her way to let you know that she doesn't mind sitting next to a kid, but whose chattiness is keeping you from taking care of your child.
b) Quinn. You'll never see chatty gal again, and you should probably keep your toddler busy.

3) If you are a father and your six-year-old starts to puke on an airplane, do you:
a) Gesture frantically to your wife who is sitting three seats to your left on the other side of a chatty lady.
b) Take care of your child.
EDITED TO ADD: Alex strenuously objected to this quiz question. He did some frantic gesturing and used words like "total" and "bullshit." So in the interest of fairness, I will change (a) to: "Gesture frantically at your wife who is sitting three seats to your left on the other side of a chatty lady. Then take care of your child. Then fold barf bag up and place it on your tray table without complaint, where it will sit, looking politely like a sack lunch, until a flight attendant wanders by twenty minutes later to take it."

4) If you are on your second flight of the day and the plane hasn't taken off yet, but your toddler already seems to be asleep, do you:
a) Wake him up in an ill-fated effort to make him more comfy.
b) Follow the cardinal rule of "Never wake a sleeping child on an airplane, even if you lose a limb due to lack of circulation because he is leaning on an important artery."

5) If your child is snoring loudly and is clearly having trouble breathing around the gigantic boogers you can SEE in his nose, do you:
a) Forget any lesson learned from Question 4 and try to scrape out said boogers with your fingernail.
b) Let the kid snore.

If you answered a) to more than one of these questions, we could use you on Team Stimey. If you answered b) to more than one of these questions, what are you doing here? Do you just come here to make fun of me?


*****

My high point:
My brief moments of brilliance in the Houston airport where I led the kids in a rousing game of Simon Says and laid out a blanket on which we had a "picnic." Kudos to Alex for packing such an excellent lunch.

My low point:
Although I packed everything I might possibly need for myself for the next six months, including two kind of hair brushes and three pairs of shoes, I forgot to pack toothbrushes for my children. Well, it's not like they're permanent teeth, right?

Celebrating Stimey

Mother's Day will last for almost a week around these parts.

Quinn's class held its annual tea to honor mothers on Tuesday. Jack's class celebrated on Thursday. Both Jack and Sam each brought home a mother's day gift or card from school today. And on Sunday, I get to celebrate the actual day with no less than seven mothers. (And seven boys under the age of 7, but that's a whole other story.)

I've said it before, but I love Mother's Day. Maybe the card companies made the holiday up (Fun fact: they didn't), but when your card is handmade by your child, there is nothing better.

And what does Christmas have on watching your child hold gifts he made for you as he introduces his class before they sing songs about how much they love you?

You Know You Love Her...

Kelley. You know you love Kelley. You know that if there's anyone in blogland that would be a whole hell of a lot of fun to hang out with, it's probably Kelley. Especially if you got some wine into her, and gave her a full night's sleep ahead of time.

Unfortunately Kelley is too hoity toity for North America and has chosen to be located in Australia. Well, that has finally bitten her in the butt, because guess where BlogHer '08 is being held?

(Hint: Not in the Southern Hemisphere.)

But why should she suffer because there is an ocean betwixt she and thee?

That's why some of us who (to use a Kelley word) LURVE Kelley are bringing her to BlogHer with us.

If you want some good blogging, go visit Magneto Bold Too. If you want to learn how to bring Kelley to BlogHer, go to this post.

Spring Photos, Now With More Beach

You know how the school picture companies do individual photos in the fall? And then they do class photos in the spring? And then they take even more individual photos after that in a blatant effort to make you buy them because you can't let perfectly good photos of your child go to waste?

Whatever happened to the days of one damn photo a year? That's what I got all through school. Then all those individual pictures were put together on one sheet and that qualified as a class photo. Clearly, this is how it should be.

Anyway, I am a shameless school photo buyer. I know it's a total scam, but the sentimental fool in me (and I stress "fool") needs to have them.

But the spring photos? No way, no day. One. Photo. A. Year.

Dammit.

Although I'm almost tempted to buy this one because of the sheer damn awesomeness of it:


Goofy ghost Sam on a beach? I think this might be my favorite school picture yet.

Okay, I'm not really going to buy it. ONE PHOTO A YEAR!

Terrible Twos, My ASS!

This is common knowledge to many, but age two is totally fun. Age three sucks ass.

At least I think it does. Or will. Quinn turns three in a couple weeks and he has turned into a complete nightmare. Somehow I expected that my sweet, chatty, fun two-year-old would stay that way.

Instead, he's turned into a freaky, strident, obnoxious almost three-year-old.

I mean, I guess there are good things about him, but he's always bossing us around and getting mad at us when we don't follow his directions, and holding grudges and stuff. It totally sucks.

I could itemize his lameness, but then this would be a really long post and Quinn would grow up to hate me. (I guess there's like a 50/50 chance of that anyway, but lets try to keep the balance in my favor.)

I have either blocked out the three year old years of Sam and Jack, or the two of them were were not as completely insane as Quinn.

I decided to see if what I am enduring is normal by taking an informal straw poll.

My straw poll consisted of this: At a park playdate, I asked a friend of mine if her three-year-old is insane. She said no, but her older child apparently was. And then a passing mother overheard our conversation and stopped to tell us that three is the worst. Especially if you have a newborn. (I have vague memories of having a newborn and a three year old. And a two year old.)

What I learned from this is that (1) I am very thorough with my straw polls, and (2) age three is sooooooo bad that desperate mothers are willing to interrupt complete strangers to complain about their children.

I really wish that the "terribles" would be over when the Q-ball turns three, but I'm a little bit afraid that Quinn's "terribles" will last until he's twenty-three.