Setting a Better Example

Ah, the dreaded weight. Max and I have both gained back the weight we fought so hard to lose. A year ago, we were both 25 pounds lighter than we are today.

So you might start seeing some numbers here. Because I have to be accountable somewhere. And I'm still burnt out of tracking foods on WW. Max is going back to tracking.

I think I'm not going to fight as hard to lose the weight this time. Baby steps. Hopefully I won't burn out again.

For Moodle!

Western Olemets for Breakfast

I'm trying to eat a little better these days, which lately has meant cutting back on carb-heavy meals in favor of lean proteins and veggies.

This morning, I made western omelets for Max and I. Of course, we shared with Maggie, who kept asking for more 'olemets'. Cracked me up. Just wanted that down for posterity.

And I'll happily forget that the 20 minutes prior to that, she did nothing but say 'no' and cry.

Still Clinging To the Nap For Now

I guess I needn't have worried.  Are you seeing a pattern with my posts? Worry about something, calm down, and then report it's fine.

Same with the nap.  A review of her weekly nap sheet at school shows she only skipped one nap this week. Her naps this weekend were shorter, but they were still there.

We had a great weekend, and I think part of it was that she got the rest she needed. No meltdowns or tantrums. She was really tired at the end of each day, but a calm, controlled tired that succumbed to a little quiet time after dinner, instead of thrashing her way to an early bedtime.

That Nap

This is the post that every mom who blogs writes at some point. When her child begins to let go of their nap. When the toddler finds the strength to say, I think I can go all day without a break, thanks. And the mom screams, NOOOOOOOO! And then a car explodes behind her.

Moodle had a very successful ear tube surgery, and a week later we are seeing better language skills (she can suddenly say HIPPOPOTAMUS perfectly. and loudly). And we've gone a week without an ear infection, which is also a good sign. She's still adjusting to loud places and sudden noises. For a few days, she would cry whenever Max Powers would sneeze.

But in the week since the surgery, she has only napped 2 and a half times. Some days that's fine, other days she's cranky mess by the end of the day. On Sunday, she fell asleep crying in my arms 2 hours before her bedtime.

She's doing better napping at school than she did at home. But I don't know why the change. Did the change in volume in her world distract her so much she can't sleep? Is everything more interesting now that she can hear? Or did her ears just bother her so much that she was exhausted from the discomfort, and now they don't hurt?

All of those possibilities are positive, and I'm still glad we did the surgery. But man, I am going to miss that nap. That was MY nap, too, missy! Cue car explosion.

Syrup Ears

Moodle's surgery was yesterday, and it seemed like it went about the same as most ear tube surgeries do. The doctor met with us after the surgery but before she woke up. He said that they found that the fluid in her ears had thickened to the point where it looked like syrup or glue.

It broke my heart. It's her parents' jobs to make sure she gets what she needs. We were hesitant on ear surgery, because we heard so many stories of unnecessary surgery. Max Powers made the comparison that it was the braces of pediatric surgery, because they can be such a money maker. But in hindsight, we know that she needed it. The surgery seemed tailor-made for her problem.

I'm excited to see what happens to her language development. She wasn't behind, but she had the standard toddler-mangling of words happening. Maybe now she'll speak more clearly.

She's back at school today. At drop-off, the kids were being loud and rambunctious, and she seemed scared by all the noise. I know she'll adjust, but it was hard to leave her.

My Beautiful, Talented, Amazing Daycare Providers

To my beautiful, talented, amazing daycare providers;

Oh, how I love you. Let me count the ways. Wait, that's inaccurate, and plagiarism.

Oh, why I love you. Let me count the reasons.

1. You love my daughter, and you show her that love every weekday from 8:30 to 5:30. That alone makes you family. You love my daughter, even though you have your own kids to love. It takes a special kind of person to give that much of themselves.
2. You make my daughter feel safe enough to be adventurous. I see this in the bumps and scrapes she gets, and that your facility diligently informs me of in a timely manner. And you make me feel safe enough that I do not worry about the bumps and scrapes, because I know they were iced and kissed, and that my daughter was cuddled as much as she needed to forget about it.
3. You let my daughter get messy, in so many ways I could never have thought of. I do not mind when she comes home covered in dirt or paint or glitter, for it is your floor and tables covered in those things, and not mine.
4. You display her art proudly. She notices, and excitedly points out her scribbles and handprints to me as I walk through the building with her.
5. You did not freak out when I nervously informed you that we were not Christian. Your respect for our family's values has gone a long way in making me comfortable admitting that to other people.
6. You teach my daughter what she is ready to know, no matter how old she is. Your whole class of 2 year olds knows the alphabet and numbers to almost to 10. My daughter knows to put things away when she is done with them, and regularly goes on the potty. You see my kid, and not just standard development milestones.
7. You remember to tell me the little things. You fill me in on how my little one's budding personality is showing. You tell me the silliest or coolest or sweetest thing she did all day, every day. And that is precious to me.
8. It's like you can smell the ear infections. You have never been wrong when you have informed me that she was acting off, and I should probably take her to get her ears checked out. You are 3-0 this year alone.
9. You take the time to protect her. Eight little faces and arms and legs get sunscreen in the spring and summer, and eight little bodies got bundled and hatted and mittened all winter. I can barely do that for my one child. How do you manage to do them all and get them outside to play? But you do, every day.
10.  You are masters of zone defense. Where I would be herding cats, you have an organized game of ring around the rosie or story time or dance party or art. My daughter and all the children listen to you and respect you, because you have earned their attention and respect. And mine.

Happy Young Childhood Education Week.

Jesus Christ, Otolaryngologist

While the Wizard of ENT seemed like a knowledgeable, experienced sort of fellow, there were a few things in his practice that threw me.

For example, in our exam room, there was a certificate showing that he was a member of the Christian Society of Otolarygology. And nothing else on the walls.

My first snarky thought was, I had no idea that a simple carpenter had any surgical experience. My second, scarier thought was, this guy is old enough that his medical knowledge may have been significantly influenced by religion. Does he really use the most modern methods? Does he use prayer as a substitute for knowledge of best practices?

Apparently, this exists, and the website is kind of scary. What I found most off-putting about the website was the distinct lack of medical resources. Plenty of spiritual ones, but no medical ones. In fact, you could use the same website, use a find and replace for Otolaryngology, and insert any surgical field, and no one would be confused.

Christian Society of Podiatrists. Christian Society of Orthopedics. Christian Society of Ophthalmologists. All of them could use this website for their ministry.

Is this enough to ask for another doctor? Could I find a doctor in that practice that wasn't a member of that society? The second thing that gave me pause were several conspicuously placed Bibles throughout the practice. My guess is, if you were a partner, you toed the spiritual line.

Like most things, I turned to the internet. Those two things made me worry that perhaps I wouldn't be getting the best medical care if my doctor was distracted by his faith, but I had other resources. I took some deep breaths, and tried not to let prejudice or fear get in the way of fact.

The practice's website was noticeably devoid of any spiritual references, as was my doctor's specific page. And I find that he went to top medical schools and residencies (even if it was in the 1960s), has acted as Director of Surgery for a local, well-renowned hospital, and has held official positions recently in the American Academy of Otolaryngology. Also, their website was a font of information about Moodle's surgery, including links to modern best practices.

Information has a way of calming me down. The more I know, the better I feel, with just about everything. And now I have information. I have good reason to believe that whatever the Wizard believes, he believes in modern medicine, too.

The Wizard Has Spoken

We visited the ENT on Friday, and he told us that the surgery option was a no-brainer for Moodle. Apparently, ear tubes were designed for her particular problem. And since she is otherwise completely healthy, the surgery should present almost no risk to her. It took him all of 10 seconds of looking in her ears and mouth to make the recommendation.

He spent plenty of time answering our questions about getting her ears wet, flying, risks of surgery, and everything else. And another nurse in the office followed up with us while we were scheduling the surgery about more specific things we thought of after the doctor had left.

I'm still a little scared for my baby. But on to surgery!

My Dog, Myself

We started training classes for Fat Dog yesterday. She's a good dog, but she's stubborn, and fanatical about food, and jumps on you to say hello. The food thing means that Moodle has gotten knocked over pretty regularly, and has had her food stolen from her hand almost daily. Fat Dog is smart enough to know an easy target when she sees one.

Fat Dog has never bitten or snapped or reacted in any way to Moodle's slapping, pinching, tail pulling, and ear investigating, other than to get up and leave when she has had enough. Apparently the trail of Cheerios and the occasional stolen morsel is payment enough to ignore those atrocities.

But she does jump on Moodle to say hello. Fat Dog is getting skinnier, but is still a 30 pound beagle. And Moodle is getting bigger, but is still a 23 pound shrimpy toddler. You don't have to have my kind of physics credentials to see what happens.

We're getting better with both of their behavior, but training will help. It also provides needed focus and impetus on she and I taking daily walks (which we both need). And it gives me an hour a week with just the dog, for Daddy and Moodle to have some fun by themselves.

Crossing Our Fingers For All Our Butts

Max Powers has been having tummy issues since yesterday. Today, I have taken one more trip to the bathroom than I am comfortable with. And we all know what's happening with Moodle's nether-regions. 

But we have guests coming this weekend! And fun plans for those guests! And none of those plans involve staying tethered to a bathroom or flaming red diaper rash. In fact, even our backup plans are dependent on not having raw bottoms. These folks are not exactly family, but they are about as close as you can get without DNA, and we're really excited they are coming.

So, Mommy is stepping up the bland food diet for everyone, and trying to catch up on all the stuff I had to do this week to prepare, since Moodle was home for a day and a half nursing her bum bum.

Fingers crossed we do more than have our friends watch us take turns pooping.

Minty Butt Fire

Poor, poor Moodle.

I mentioned that we are in the middle of another course of antibiotics for Moodle, and trying to stem the tide of poop that usually comes with it. And we have failed. Augmentin has won, and has claimed by daughter's butt.

Moodle has been blowing out her diapers since Sunday, despite several servings of yogurt and bananas every day. And yesterday, her butt was so red and inflamed that she couldn't sit down. She actually penguin walked for most of the morning.

I called the doctor's office, and spoke to the nurse. She told me to put Maalox on her butt, let it dry, and then put on a barrier layer like I had never constructed before. A fortress of petroleum jelly so thick, we would not be touching her skin the next time we wiped.

I had never heard of this Maalox trick. And the internet seems divided on it. But I figured it couldn't hurt, so we ran out to the store to get some. She did great at the store, and I managed to grab some other things we needed while we were out. But Walmart was out of Maalox. With the pharmacist's help, I found the off-brand equivalent, but they only had it in mint flavor. Close enough, I reasoned.

I don't know if this trick is supposed to burn, or if it's the mint additive, but Moodle screamed like the devil as I put it on her. And then ran away the next time she saw me get the bottle. She was cool with sitting on an inch thick pillow of Desitin and Vaseline, though.

By the end of the day, she had stopped penguin walking, but was still sitting down very gingerly. Like, old lady slow. I actually saw her walk up to her bouncy toy, put a hand on it for a moment, regard it with a tinge of sorrow, and then walk away.

I took her back to school today, with butt paste barrier in place, and instructions to use the whole damn tube of diaper cream today, and that I would bring another tomorrow. It was a rough, slow drop off, effectively erasing all the progress we've made on getting me out quickly. But I guess minty butt fire is as good of an excuse as any to start over.

Leaving Day Care Has Become a 20 Minute Ordeal

Why has it gotten so hard for me to do daycare drop off? I find myself coaxing Moodle into the room, and then sitting with her until she agrees to get off my lap and go to the breakfast table at school. It takes about 20 minutes for me to get out of there. I know I can go in, bring her into the room, give her a kiss and a hug, and go. I know she will cry, and that our lovely teachers can handle that.

I know kids have some separation anxiety at this age (we turn 22 months this weekend!). It's not that I can't bear to see her cry. It sucks, but at least I know why she's crying, and that it's developmentally appropriate, so it doesn't haunt me. And I know she's probably done with it before I even make it out of the building.

What bugs me is that I know she will need the attention of her caregiver as soon as I leave. And so if I show up when the kids are having breakfast, I feel guilty leaving her to deal with Moodle's tears while also juggling three or four kids who are eating or just starting to eat, or cleaning up, or making sure the resident spitfire doesn't draw on the walls with his breakfast burrito.

I need to get over it. Or I need to get to school 10 minutes earlier so I'm not in the middle of breakfast prep. I think I also need to talk about this with our teachers, so they can work their teacher-y magic, and we can work together to get me over it.

Any suggestions for streamlining our morning?

ps...Moodle eats like a Hobbit, so we call her school breakfast "second breakfast". Lunch is "elevensies".

Guacamole Moodle

This is the post where I brag because we are finally seeing some payoff in Moodle's eating habits. We've been struggling for more than a year now to strike the balance between offering her new, different foods and offering her foods we know she will eat, while simultaneously tricking her into eating vegetables and meat. And making sure she doesn't get bored with her food choices.

Eating is a requirement for living. Why is it so complicated when there is a toddler involved?

Anyway, we've been plugging away at it for a long time now, and we are at the point where we try not to make a big deal out of anything. We just put it in front of her, and then show her that Mommy and Daddy are enjoying it. Works maybe half the time. If I'm worried she didn't eat enough, I throw some fruit on her plate at the end of the meal. Parenting is about compromise, or so I'm told.

Yesterday, Moodle and I went out for our first dinner at a sit-down restaurant with just the two of us. Usually when it is just the two of us and we go out, it's more like McD's. But I really didn't want fast food, and I had a long day, and didn't want to cook either, even something easy. Max Powers and I had discovered a local Mexican joint, and it seemed like a pretty relaxed place. And nachos sounded delicious. Plus, they give you warm chips and mild salsa while you wait for your food, which Moodle would love.

I let her play on the bench next to me while we waited for our food and ate chips and salsa. And when they brought out the guacamole I ordered, Moodle dug in with a chip without waiting to be invited. Score! She's rejected avacado in the past, but seemed to enjoy this, especially when she realized she could dip the chip in both guac and salsa. She was enjoying it so much, I started to worry that she was going to fill up on chips before our dinner even got there.

It turns out I needn't have worried (which is usually true). When dinner came she ignored my crazy nachos (so delicious! amazing queso) and dove into her wet bean burrito. They were considerate to put it on a cool plate (they usually serve on hot plates to keep the food warm longer), and once I cut it up she ate half a huge burrito with her hands. She even settled into her booster seat with no complaints.

When the server came by to ask how our food was, he just laughed. "She doesn't need to tell me she likes the food. You can tell from her face!" Which was, of course, adorably covered in beans and red sauce. As was her sweatshirt, my sleeve, and the table. She grinned at the waiter through a mouthful of burrito. When we were done, I cleaned up as best as I could, and left a good tip.

As we left, I was feeling like parent of the year. Dinner out with no behavior problems, great eating, and new foods. But apparently Moodle REALLY liked this place, because she started kicking and screaming as we were leaving. Certainly loud enough to disturb other customers, and so I hastened my exit as best as I could.

Sigh. Bubble was burst. But as Meatloaf said, two outta three ain't bad.

Moodle's First Act of Kindness - Age 21 months

It isn't that Moodle isn't kind. She's just a toddler. And she does do kind things, like give kisses and hugs and share her toys. But today, she designed and executed her first act of kindness. And it was wonderful.

She was up early with a cold, and fussed through breakfast preparations. Daddy had returned from a trip late the night before. Once she had calmed down to eat her breakfast (cold cereal and warm decaf milk-tea), I let her know that Daddy was home, and sleeping in our room. We talked about this for a little while, and she seemed happy at the prospect of getting to see him after she had finished eating.

We both finished our cereal and tea, I got her down from her chair, and I took the breakfast dishes into the kitchen. As I finished, she asked to be picked up, and started exploring a cabinet. I told her this is where we keep the dishes, and she asked for a bowl. A Daddy bowl. I didn't know what that meant, but I handed her a small plastic bowl that Daddy sometimes uses for ice cream. She laughed the little laugh that means that she had successfully communicated her wants, and had received them.

Then she asked for cereal. Confused, I told her she had just eaten cereal, and didn't need any more. Daddy cereal, she explained. Daddy doesn't eat cereal normally, so I was still confused. But I got down the Cheerios. Once again, happy laugh.

And then the toddler babble revealed that she knew Daddy was asleep, and she wanted to take him a bowl of cereal when she went in to say good morning. We go in to say good morning to Daddy every morning, and I guess she had missed it while he was away. It was clear she wanted to make it special today.

We put a few handfuls of cereal in the bowl, and she carefully walked back to our bedroom, and screamed "DADDY!". She was barely tall enough to put the bowl on the bed before I lifted her up to snuggle with Daddy. She presented him with his bowl, and I explained what had happened to a confused and groggy husband.

There were some spilled Cheerios. That's what DustBusters are for.