Friday, October 31, 2014
Tuesday, October 28, 2014
Captain America
Vivian, on the other hand, thinks her costume is the worst thing she has ever seen and screams, "no, no!" whenever I pull it out. She has yet to try it on (not the paper bag costume from below, a hand-me-down owl costume that really is cute!)
Friday, October 24, 2014
New Words
Vivian is learning language slowly. It might be a product of being in a Spanish speaking environment during the week, or just who she is, but she picks up a few words at a time, or some phrases, intermittently.
Recently Sam was playing with her, "Vivian, where is your nose? Here's your nose!"
"Where are your eyes? Ojos- oh-hooosss..." pointing at his eyes.
"Where is your bum? Bum-bum? Ha-ha-ha! There's your bum!"
"Where is your belly? That's right! Belly!"
"Where's your bum-bum? HAHAHAH!"
I walked in. Vivian's hands were on her head. She looked at me. "Bum-bum!" She patted her head. "Bum-bum!"
Sam was sitting on the couch laughing hysterically.
"No Vivi, that's your head!" I told her.
She laughed, "bum-bum!" and put her hands on her head. She touched Sam's head, "bum-bum!" Sam almost fell off the couch laughing.
I patted her butt, "bum-bum! Here's your bum-bum!"
Vivian laughed and put her hands on her head, "bum-bum!"
"Head! Cabesa! Not bum-bum!"
I spent about ten minutes trying to undo it, until I finally got her to say 'bum-bum,' when she touched both her head and bum.
When Chris came home and was sitting on the couch, Vivian put her hands on her head. "Bum-bum!" she exclaimed.
"No Vivi, head," he told her, "cabesa."
She reached over and patted his head, "bum-bum," she said affectionately."
Chris looked at me questioningly, "ask Sam," I told him.
Recently Sam was playing with her, "Vivian, where is your nose? Here's your nose!"
"Where are your eyes? Ojos- oh-hooosss..." pointing at his eyes.
"Where is your bum? Bum-bum? Ha-ha-ha! There's your bum!"
"Where is your belly? That's right! Belly!"
"Where's your bum-bum? HAHAHAH!"
I walked in. Vivian's hands were on her head. She looked at me. "Bum-bum!" She patted her head. "Bum-bum!"
Sam was sitting on the couch laughing hysterically.
"No Vivi, that's your head!" I told her.
She laughed, "bum-bum!" and put her hands on her head. She touched Sam's head, "bum-bum!" Sam almost fell off the couch laughing.
I patted her butt, "bum-bum! Here's your bum-bum!"
Vivian laughed and put her hands on her head, "bum-bum!"
"Head! Cabesa! Not bum-bum!"
I spent about ten minutes trying to undo it, until I finally got her to say 'bum-bum,' when she touched both her head and bum.
When Chris came home and was sitting on the couch, Vivian put her hands on her head. "Bum-bum!" she exclaimed.
"No Vivi, head," he told her, "cabesa."
She reached over and patted his head, "bum-bum," she said affectionately."
Chris looked at me questioningly, "ask Sam," I told him.
Monday, October 20, 2014
Vivian's Halloween Costume
This is what Sam made for Vivian to wear for Halloween- he thinks that she should be a paper bag. 
Wednesday, October 15, 2014
Pumpkin Patch
More attempts at taking photos of the two of them together. The only time they were in sync was when Vivian dropped her pumpkin and it rolled down the hill.
Sunday, October 12, 2014
More Grey Hairs
We had another exciting week with more medical adventures. Vivian (and I!) had our first ambulance ride. Not something I would necessarily recommend. I got a cell phone call at work mid-morning from her caregiver, saying, "please come now!" She is Spanish speaking and speaks wonderful English, but she was rapidly losing it because she was panicked. I managed to pick up, "she eat almond, no good, no good, I give her the medicine you give me," and something about her breathing. I only had two kids in my classroom and grabbed the Epi Pen I had in my purse and ran out the school and across the street. She met me on the street, white as a sheet, with Vivian who was still breathing irregularly, kind of a wheezing, gasping sound. Apparently she had one almond and started having difficulty breathing so her caregiver administered her Epi Pen. The one we had for dairy, that we never thought we'd need.
I grabbed Vivian and ran back up to school where my car was, calling the pediatrician's office on the way, who told me to "call 911 immediately." I didn't know whether to take her in my car to the hospital or not, so I figured the safest option was to take her into the school nurse.
The nurse immediately looked at her and called 911 (like I was supposed to do). In a public school setting, this sets a number of events into action, including putting the school on "shelter in place," which means children cannot be in the hall (transition anywhere) and everyone must stay in classrooms, as well as sending the crisis team into action. It took the firefighters about 6 minutes to get there and the ambulance about 8 minutes, which is a little scary. Meanwhile a coworker grabbed my purse from upstairs.
The firefighters who arrived first got the carseat out of my car, for the ride home from the hospital, while others tended to her, she was in my arms wisely refusing to be put down. Vivian was not a big fan of the oxygen mask they tried to put on her face and started to scream hysterically, which actually made me feel better because she had enough breath to scream and that is typical behavior from her.
When the ambulance finally arrived, I carried her outside and they raised the stretcher to a seated position and tried to strap her in. She escaped from the shoulder belts and would not stay on the stretcher. Since law says she has to be restrained when transporting, it meant they had to install the carseat to transport her. Which I understand, but seems counterintuitive if you really are racing against time. It took three of us to get her into the carseat and strapped in, during which she was obviously hysterical the whole time. They got a toe monitor on her which pissed her off even more and she screamed bloody murder. Finally the ambulance started moving and she quieted down. By the time we reached the Mass Pike she was pretty content to look out the window and wave to the second ambulance behind us. I'm still not entirely sure why there was a second ambulance…
Then she promptly passed out, pulling her "this sucks, I'm going to sleep to ignore it entirely" trick, but the EMTs kept trying to "revive her" though all of her numbers on the monitor were actually fine at that point, except her elevated heart rate. We arrived at the hospital with an escort of five medics and another gentlemen met us. It was quite a scene. Vivian was now awake and chatting away in her carseat on the stretcher as they wheeled her through the adult emergency room and into pediatrics. Her good humor ended the moment we reached her little area to be treated in.
Suddenly the room swarmed with people, two nurses, a life nurse (or some title like that), the registrant, and the medics who were slowly clearing out. They took Vivian out of her carseat and she looked around and yelled. Nurse Nancy was apparently in charge and Vivian and Nurse Nancy immediately went head-to-head. Nurse Nancy was a tall blond, perfectly put together, and made scrubs look like a power suit. She was a stickler for procedure and protocol and Vivian wanted nothing to do with hospital rules. Nurse Nancy began to demand Vivian's weight and had the other nurse bring in a baby scale.
"I don't think she's going to sit on that," I told Nancy.
"She has to. I need her weight," Nancy told me. Meanwhile, I was trying to finish paperwork with the EMTs for the ambulance, the life nurse was blowing bubbles to calm Vivian down, another EMT was blowing up a rubber glove to distract her, and Vivian was glued to me like a barnacle. I peeled her off and put her on the scale.
"Stay still!" Nurse Nancy barked. Vivian was a horrible shade of reddish-purple now from the reaction and she was not staying on that scale. She tried to scramble off the scale. I caught her.
"I need her weight!" Nancy told me.
"She's 24 pounds," I told her.
"Her exact weight. I have to have it." she said. She yelled at the male nurse to get the adult scale.
"I'm going to get her weight," she informed me.
The life nurse was now reading "Goodnight Moon" loudly while the EMTs started to clear out. The male nurse heaved a large adult scale in.
"Get on mom," Nurse Nancy ordered.
I got on.
"Now get off. Give someone the baby." I handed her screaming to the male nurse and I got back on the scale.
Nancy smiled with satisfaction. One point for Nancy. Now there were only four of us, plus screaming Viv.
Nurse Nancy managed to get the sticker monitor on Vivian's toe which royally pissed her off even more. Then she had to listen to her chest.
"I can't do this! I'm getting someone else." She stalked out and came back with a very good natured, pleasant doctor. He placed the stethoscope on Vivian's back and listened to hear, though how he heard her over her wails, and the life nurse banging on a plastic piano, I'm not sure.
Finally Vivian went to sleep on my chest while they poked her and watched the monitor. The pleasant doctor was pleasant, I explained the life nurse that just some quiet and calm would be good- no, not bubbles, and they retreated. The registering guy returned and registered us and printed out a bracelet for her. He looked at me, "she won't want to wear this will she?"
"No," I said, "probably not. Does she have to?"
"Well, yes," he said, "but it's not worth waking her up for and you're with her. Maybe try later."
On his way out, Nancy glared at him from her seat at the desk, "I'm registering them now," she told him, "they're not in the system yet!"
They had a quiet exchange and he went on his way.
She came in and looked at Vivian, "is she wearing her bracelet?" she said eyeing the bracelet lying on the table.
"No."
"Well it's hospital protocol!!!" she told me.
"I can wear it," I told her.
"The patient has to wear it! If she leaves this room she has to have it on!"
We looked at Vivian who was sound asleep. "She's leaving?" I inquired.
"If she gets an x-ray she has to have it on!"
"Is she getting an X-ray?" I asked.
Nurse Nancy sputtered, "No. But if she leaves this room it's hospital protocol!"
"Okay, I'll put it on her when she wakes up or if she leaves the room."
She glared at me.
"We'll be back to examine her," she told me.
They came back a few minutes later, luckily nice doctor was in charge. He listened to her again and said her airways sounded good and then had to look in her throat to see if it was swollen. He explained that what was done from here was to give her Benadryl and Dexamethasone, a steroid to open her airways and keep them open once the epinephrine had worn off.
"She can take it all orally," he told me and off he went.
I was left with Nurse Nancy.
"So, Vivian doesn't like to take medicine orally," I told her.
"What do you mean?" she demanded.
"I mean we hold her down and she spits it out, moves her head, we get very little in. The best luck we've had is giving it to her in suppository form."
At this point Vivian was crying again, because she'd woken up to find herself being examined and while she was awake, realized her foot monitor was still on.
I swear Nurse Nancy was about to roll her eyes. "Is this your first?" she asked me.
"No. It's not." I told her.
"Well, we can inject her with them. Is that what you want?"
No it was not what I wanted, but it would be easier and less dramatic for all of us.
"Yes, let's do that."
"So you'd rather she had three shots then take them orally?"
Okay, was she now making me out to be a horrible mom? Had she ever held this child down repeatedly only to be covered in medicine and have her actually take none?
"I think that's the best thing. Wait, three shots?"
She ignored me. "Wouldn't you like to try one orally at least?"
"Fine, let's try one orally." Let's prove to you that she won't swallow it.
She glared at the hospital bracelet (which I was under no circumstances now putting on my daughter) and left.
She returned with one syringe for the oral medication and the syringe to inject her with. Of course Vivian had just gone back to sleep. We woke her up and as she was just coming to, I (apparently this was now my responsibility), stuck the syringe in her mouth and got the majority of the medicine in before she flipped out, gagging, and spitting it back at me.
"Well, she is a firecracker." Nancy told me. "I've really never seen anything like it."
Yes, I'm sure unruly, pissed off toddlers never cross your path in this line of work. My god. Really?
Another nurse approached with the syringe and the three of us held her down and they administered it. Naturally this set off another round of screaming, now she'd had the Epi Pen in one leg and the steroid in the other. Poor kid.
From here it was mostly just Vivian falling asleep on and off, occasionally being prodded and monitored. Nurse Nancy insisted on turning on the lights every time she entered while muttering about Vivian's temper. I called my family, touched base with Chris a few times, and happily snuggled Viv. Tessa brought me a sandwich and hung out for a while as she works down the street from the hospital. Vivian looked good all things considered. Her heart rate was normal, it had been like 280 in the ambulance after the Epi Pen, now it was back in the 90s. Tessa kept me company for a while and then went back to work.
They monitored Vivian for four hours and then we were discharged. The problem with the discharge is that coming in, I had had five extra pairs of hands for the carseat and my purse and bag. Now it was me, a carseat that weights like 50 pounds, a 24 lb (yes, I was right) toddler I had to carry, and my bags. Vivian was barefoot as in the chaos of the morning her shoes were left at her baby-sitter's. And naturally, during this whole adventure I was wearing a black maxi skirt that would slide down and make it impossible to walk (let alone climb on and off of stretchers, run in, and climb in and out of ambulances in). So now I was struggling through the hospital out to the main entrance where my mom was picking us up. Nurse Nancy smiled at me, "good-bye now!"
I gritted my teeth and managed a smile, "bye."
Roz and Vivian and I retrieved my car from work and were home before dinner. I even managed to get a call into her pediatrician and book an allergist appointment before the offices closed. Sam played with Nana and I took Vivian outside to play for a little while.
Through everything I was calm and felt like I had my head on. I don't know how I would have reacted if I had seen her truly laboring to breath or god forbid, worse than she was. I was exhausted at the end and the next day too, but I felt okay with everything. I think I came to terms with her having a food allergy when we were testing her for dairy allergies. It wasn't until Saturday when I went to Whole Foods with her to pick up some groceries that I found myself crying. We were in the rice aisle and Vivian was pushing the cart around while I quickly grabbed things. I inadvertently took a Toasted Almond Rice Pilaf off the shelf in my haste. When I realized what I was holding, I discovered I was crying, in the middle of the grocery store. We must have been quite a sight, Vivian wildly pushing the cart into shelves while I cried over a box of rice mix. I just realized how easily she could have a nut and how close we had come. We have a series of steps to go through now, but all in all, we are really lucky.
Chris and Sam went away for a few days, so I have had some quiet time with Vivian, which perhaps we both needed. She came down with a fever on Friday night, which I cannot separate from everything that happened on Thursday, partly, because I don't want her to have a severe food allergy, I know. But it all seems so coincidental, though she really probably just picked up a virus at the ER. She is clingy and tearful, whether from having a virus or being traumatized, it's unclear. I'm just enjoying her holding onto me and taking it for what it is, but I hope she is herself soon. Sam and Chris will be back soon and I think that will make her feel better too.
I grabbed Vivian and ran back up to school where my car was, calling the pediatrician's office on the way, who told me to "call 911 immediately." I didn't know whether to take her in my car to the hospital or not, so I figured the safest option was to take her into the school nurse.
The nurse immediately looked at her and called 911 (like I was supposed to do). In a public school setting, this sets a number of events into action, including putting the school on "shelter in place," which means children cannot be in the hall (transition anywhere) and everyone must stay in classrooms, as well as sending the crisis team into action. It took the firefighters about 6 minutes to get there and the ambulance about 8 minutes, which is a little scary. Meanwhile a coworker grabbed my purse from upstairs.
The firefighters who arrived first got the carseat out of my car, for the ride home from the hospital, while others tended to her, she was in my arms wisely refusing to be put down. Vivian was not a big fan of the oxygen mask they tried to put on her face and started to scream hysterically, which actually made me feel better because she had enough breath to scream and that is typical behavior from her.
When the ambulance finally arrived, I carried her outside and they raised the stretcher to a seated position and tried to strap her in. She escaped from the shoulder belts and would not stay on the stretcher. Since law says she has to be restrained when transporting, it meant they had to install the carseat to transport her. Which I understand, but seems counterintuitive if you really are racing against time. It took three of us to get her into the carseat and strapped in, during which she was obviously hysterical the whole time. They got a toe monitor on her which pissed her off even more and she screamed bloody murder. Finally the ambulance started moving and she quieted down. By the time we reached the Mass Pike she was pretty content to look out the window and wave to the second ambulance behind us. I'm still not entirely sure why there was a second ambulance…
Then she promptly passed out, pulling her "this sucks, I'm going to sleep to ignore it entirely" trick, but the EMTs kept trying to "revive her" though all of her numbers on the monitor were actually fine at that point, except her elevated heart rate. We arrived at the hospital with an escort of five medics and another gentlemen met us. It was quite a scene. Vivian was now awake and chatting away in her carseat on the stretcher as they wheeled her through the adult emergency room and into pediatrics. Her good humor ended the moment we reached her little area to be treated in.
Suddenly the room swarmed with people, two nurses, a life nurse (or some title like that), the registrant, and the medics who were slowly clearing out. They took Vivian out of her carseat and she looked around and yelled. Nurse Nancy was apparently in charge and Vivian and Nurse Nancy immediately went head-to-head. Nurse Nancy was a tall blond, perfectly put together, and made scrubs look like a power suit. She was a stickler for procedure and protocol and Vivian wanted nothing to do with hospital rules. Nurse Nancy began to demand Vivian's weight and had the other nurse bring in a baby scale.
"I don't think she's going to sit on that," I told Nancy.
"She has to. I need her weight," Nancy told me. Meanwhile, I was trying to finish paperwork with the EMTs for the ambulance, the life nurse was blowing bubbles to calm Vivian down, another EMT was blowing up a rubber glove to distract her, and Vivian was glued to me like a barnacle. I peeled her off and put her on the scale.
"Stay still!" Nurse Nancy barked. Vivian was a horrible shade of reddish-purple now from the reaction and she was not staying on that scale. She tried to scramble off the scale. I caught her.
"I need her weight!" Nancy told me.
"She's 24 pounds," I told her.
"Her exact weight. I have to have it." she said. She yelled at the male nurse to get the adult scale.
"I'm going to get her weight," she informed me.
The life nurse was now reading "Goodnight Moon" loudly while the EMTs started to clear out. The male nurse heaved a large adult scale in.
"Get on mom," Nurse Nancy ordered.
I got on.
"Now get off. Give someone the baby." I handed her screaming to the male nurse and I got back on the scale.
Nancy smiled with satisfaction. One point for Nancy. Now there were only four of us, plus screaming Viv.
Nurse Nancy managed to get the sticker monitor on Vivian's toe which royally pissed her off even more. Then she had to listen to her chest.
"I can't do this! I'm getting someone else." She stalked out and came back with a very good natured, pleasant doctor. He placed the stethoscope on Vivian's back and listened to hear, though how he heard her over her wails, and the life nurse banging on a plastic piano, I'm not sure.
Finally Vivian went to sleep on my chest while they poked her and watched the monitor. The pleasant doctor was pleasant, I explained the life nurse that just some quiet and calm would be good- no, not bubbles, and they retreated. The registering guy returned and registered us and printed out a bracelet for her. He looked at me, "she won't want to wear this will she?"
"No," I said, "probably not. Does she have to?"
"Well, yes," he said, "but it's not worth waking her up for and you're with her. Maybe try later."
On his way out, Nancy glared at him from her seat at the desk, "I'm registering them now," she told him, "they're not in the system yet!"
They had a quiet exchange and he went on his way.
She came in and looked at Vivian, "is she wearing her bracelet?" she said eyeing the bracelet lying on the table.
"No."
"Well it's hospital protocol!!!" she told me.
"I can wear it," I told her.
"The patient has to wear it! If she leaves this room she has to have it on!"
We looked at Vivian who was sound asleep. "She's leaving?" I inquired.
"If she gets an x-ray she has to have it on!"
"Is she getting an X-ray?" I asked.
Nurse Nancy sputtered, "No. But if she leaves this room it's hospital protocol!"
"Okay, I'll put it on her when she wakes up or if she leaves the room."
She glared at me.
"We'll be back to examine her," she told me.
They came back a few minutes later, luckily nice doctor was in charge. He listened to her again and said her airways sounded good and then had to look in her throat to see if it was swollen. He explained that what was done from here was to give her Benadryl and Dexamethasone, a steroid to open her airways and keep them open once the epinephrine had worn off.
"She can take it all orally," he told me and off he went.
I was left with Nurse Nancy.
"So, Vivian doesn't like to take medicine orally," I told her.
"What do you mean?" she demanded.
"I mean we hold her down and she spits it out, moves her head, we get very little in. The best luck we've had is giving it to her in suppository form."
At this point Vivian was crying again, because she'd woken up to find herself being examined and while she was awake, realized her foot monitor was still on.
I swear Nurse Nancy was about to roll her eyes. "Is this your first?" she asked me.
"No. It's not." I told her.
"Well, we can inject her with them. Is that what you want?"
No it was not what I wanted, but it would be easier and less dramatic for all of us.
"Yes, let's do that."
"So you'd rather she had three shots then take them orally?"
Okay, was she now making me out to be a horrible mom? Had she ever held this child down repeatedly only to be covered in medicine and have her actually take none?
"I think that's the best thing. Wait, three shots?"
She ignored me. "Wouldn't you like to try one orally at least?"
"Fine, let's try one orally." Let's prove to you that she won't swallow it.
She glared at the hospital bracelet (which I was under no circumstances now putting on my daughter) and left.
She returned with one syringe for the oral medication and the syringe to inject her with. Of course Vivian had just gone back to sleep. We woke her up and as she was just coming to, I (apparently this was now my responsibility), stuck the syringe in her mouth and got the majority of the medicine in before she flipped out, gagging, and spitting it back at me.
"Well, she is a firecracker." Nancy told me. "I've really never seen anything like it."
Yes, I'm sure unruly, pissed off toddlers never cross your path in this line of work. My god. Really?
Another nurse approached with the syringe and the three of us held her down and they administered it. Naturally this set off another round of screaming, now she'd had the Epi Pen in one leg and the steroid in the other. Poor kid.
From here it was mostly just Vivian falling asleep on and off, occasionally being prodded and monitored. Nurse Nancy insisted on turning on the lights every time she entered while muttering about Vivian's temper. I called my family, touched base with Chris a few times, and happily snuggled Viv. Tessa brought me a sandwich and hung out for a while as she works down the street from the hospital. Vivian looked good all things considered. Her heart rate was normal, it had been like 280 in the ambulance after the Epi Pen, now it was back in the 90s. Tessa kept me company for a while and then went back to work.
They monitored Vivian for four hours and then we were discharged. The problem with the discharge is that coming in, I had had five extra pairs of hands for the carseat and my purse and bag. Now it was me, a carseat that weights like 50 pounds, a 24 lb (yes, I was right) toddler I had to carry, and my bags. Vivian was barefoot as in the chaos of the morning her shoes were left at her baby-sitter's. And naturally, during this whole adventure I was wearing a black maxi skirt that would slide down and make it impossible to walk (let alone climb on and off of stretchers, run in, and climb in and out of ambulances in). So now I was struggling through the hospital out to the main entrance where my mom was picking us up. Nurse Nancy smiled at me, "good-bye now!"
I gritted my teeth and managed a smile, "bye."
Roz and Vivian and I retrieved my car from work and were home before dinner. I even managed to get a call into her pediatrician and book an allergist appointment before the offices closed. Sam played with Nana and I took Vivian outside to play for a little while.
Through everything I was calm and felt like I had my head on. I don't know how I would have reacted if I had seen her truly laboring to breath or god forbid, worse than she was. I was exhausted at the end and the next day too, but I felt okay with everything. I think I came to terms with her having a food allergy when we were testing her for dairy allergies. It wasn't until Saturday when I went to Whole Foods with her to pick up some groceries that I found myself crying. We were in the rice aisle and Vivian was pushing the cart around while I quickly grabbed things. I inadvertently took a Toasted Almond Rice Pilaf off the shelf in my haste. When I realized what I was holding, I discovered I was crying, in the middle of the grocery store. We must have been quite a sight, Vivian wildly pushing the cart into shelves while I cried over a box of rice mix. I just realized how easily she could have a nut and how close we had come. We have a series of steps to go through now, but all in all, we are really lucky.
Chris and Sam went away for a few days, so I have had some quiet time with Vivian, which perhaps we both needed. She came down with a fever on Friday night, which I cannot separate from everything that happened on Thursday, partly, because I don't want her to have a severe food allergy, I know. But it all seems so coincidental, though she really probably just picked up a virus at the ER. She is clingy and tearful, whether from having a virus or being traumatized, it's unclear. I'm just enjoying her holding onto me and taking it for what it is, but I hope she is herself soon. Sam and Chris will be back soon and I think that will make her feel better too.
 |
| precious girl |
Wednesday, October 8, 2014
Sam's Rocket Ship
He made this very cool rocket ship and decided to wear it for Halloween. However, there is a design flaw- so mobility is limited. It doesn't fly and he can't walk in it (refuses to cut leg holes, it apparently can't blast off with leg holes ).
Monday, October 6, 2014
This Face- How She Feels About Cuts
This is how Vivian feels about my scraped knee. They are both totally squeamish (I fell running with Sam on his scooter the other day when I was wearing rain boots- so dumb). She had also just woken up so was tired, but her face is priceless. Usually she points at it and says, "why?" and frowns.
Sunday, October 5, 2014
"Reading" with Vivian
Ever since Sam was a baby I have read with him. Chris and Joe both thought I was insane, but I literally read books with him before he probably knew that I was his mother. We still read to him every night at bedtime and he genuinely loves books. It's a punishment to him if we take his stories away at night.
I have not been as good as reading with Vivian. She was always exposed to Sam's stories, but I never made the same commitment to sitting down and reading to her on a daily basis. Every few months we make a concerted effort to designate a story time with her. We do try to read to her every night before bed, but because she doesn't love it, it doesn't always happen. I'm feeling exceedingly neglectful and guilty because she is a late talker and I'm sure that reading to her more would have had a positive impact on her language development.
I had a extra twenty minutes or so the other day when everything felt quasi-orderly and Sam was occupied with something. I came into the living room with Vivian and got out a book.
"Let's read a book Vivian!" I said. She obediently took the book and sat on the ground looking excited. I felt even guiltier. We looked at a couple of pages. She took the book and lay on her belly to look at it. I could no longer see it. It was super cute though watching her lie on her stomach imitating Sam. Then she put her head on the book and pretended to rest. Then she got up and got a different book. I tried to read it with her. She closed it and got another book. We looked at a page. She skipped five or six pages. I quickly tried to read the words on that page. She flipped back to the beginning. Then she got up to get the entire basket of board books, which was too heavy and she dropped it. Then she took a book and went in the kitchen. She ran back with the book and gave it to me. I opened it and started reading it. She ran back to the kitchen. I kept reading trying to entice her to come back and so she was still hearing it the language. (I will improve her vocabulary). She came back in and righted the basket the books had been in and stood in it. I ignored her and continued to read. Vivian then took the basket and turned in upside down and stood on top of it. Then she started to jump off it. I finished the book and closed it.
"All done reading," I told her. "Time to clean up!" I stacked the books and she got off the basket and put them away. Reading attempt fail.
Not to be deterred, I got out a flap book that night at bedtime. She likes interactive books (only) and particularly ones where you can lift the flap. This one was a Karen Katz hand-me-down, something where you lift baby's winter clothing to reveal a body part- (under baby's hat is his head! Under baby's coat is her belly button!) Some of the flaps had been taped back on. We got a couple of pages in and the ear muffs on the baby had been taped back onto the baby's head. Vivian peeled the tape off and stuck the earmuff on her belly. She patted it and smiled proudly. She thought it was a sticker. I took it and stuck it back over the baby's ear.
"No!" she said. (She learned how to say no while she was sick and says it in a whiny kind of teenager attitude voice). She took the ear muff flap back and slid off the couch and ran into the kitchen to show Chris.
"Oh a sticker! Nice Vivian," I heard him say.
"No, it's not a sticker! A part of a book." I showed him the baby, minus one ear muff piece, as I retrieved Vivian and sat her back down. She tried to remove the flaps from the next few pages. I closed the book and put her to bed, ear muff flap and all.
I'll be sad if she doesn't learn to love reading. It's always been such a big part of my life and I try to instill it my students at school. The irony is how often I tell parents to read to their children and I feel like I am not following my own advice. There's so much research to support reading to kids at a young age, for language development, vocabulary, school readiness, love of literacy- the list goes on. Hopefully at some point she'll decide she likes books. Hopefully at some point she'll decide to try to talk…
I have not been as good as reading with Vivian. She was always exposed to Sam's stories, but I never made the same commitment to sitting down and reading to her on a daily basis. Every few months we make a concerted effort to designate a story time with her. We do try to read to her every night before bed, but because she doesn't love it, it doesn't always happen. I'm feeling exceedingly neglectful and guilty because she is a late talker and I'm sure that reading to her more would have had a positive impact on her language development.
I had a extra twenty minutes or so the other day when everything felt quasi-orderly and Sam was occupied with something. I came into the living room with Vivian and got out a book.
"Let's read a book Vivian!" I said. She obediently took the book and sat on the ground looking excited. I felt even guiltier. We looked at a couple of pages. She took the book and lay on her belly to look at it. I could no longer see it. It was super cute though watching her lie on her stomach imitating Sam. Then she put her head on the book and pretended to rest. Then she got up and got a different book. I tried to read it with her. She closed it and got another book. We looked at a page. She skipped five or six pages. I quickly tried to read the words on that page. She flipped back to the beginning. Then she got up to get the entire basket of board books, which was too heavy and she dropped it. Then she took a book and went in the kitchen. She ran back with the book and gave it to me. I opened it and started reading it. She ran back to the kitchen. I kept reading trying to entice her to come back and so she was still hearing it the language. (I will improve her vocabulary). She came back in and righted the basket the books had been in and stood in it. I ignored her and continued to read. Vivian then took the basket and turned in upside down and stood on top of it. Then she started to jump off it. I finished the book and closed it.
"All done reading," I told her. "Time to clean up!" I stacked the books and she got off the basket and put them away. Reading attempt fail.
Not to be deterred, I got out a flap book that night at bedtime. She likes interactive books (only) and particularly ones where you can lift the flap. This one was a Karen Katz hand-me-down, something where you lift baby's winter clothing to reveal a body part- (under baby's hat is his head! Under baby's coat is her belly button!) Some of the flaps had been taped back on. We got a couple of pages in and the ear muffs on the baby had been taped back onto the baby's head. Vivian peeled the tape off and stuck the earmuff on her belly. She patted it and smiled proudly. She thought it was a sticker. I took it and stuck it back over the baby's ear.
"No!" she said. (She learned how to say no while she was sick and says it in a whiny kind of teenager attitude voice). She took the ear muff flap back and slid off the couch and ran into the kitchen to show Chris.
"Oh a sticker! Nice Vivian," I heard him say.
"No, it's not a sticker! A part of a book." I showed him the baby, minus one ear muff piece, as I retrieved Vivian and sat her back down. She tried to remove the flaps from the next few pages. I closed the book and put her to bed, ear muff flap and all.
I'll be sad if she doesn't learn to love reading. It's always been such a big part of my life and I try to instill it my students at school. The irony is how often I tell parents to read to their children and I feel like I am not following my own advice. There's so much research to support reading to kids at a young age, for language development, vocabulary, school readiness, love of literacy- the list goes on. Hopefully at some point she'll decide she likes books. Hopefully at some point she'll decide to try to talk…
Saturday, October 4, 2014
Backseat Drivers
So now both my children help me drive from their carseats in the back. Because they are still in carseats but monitor my driving, and honestly, I'm not a bad driver.
Today we attempted an apple picking trip and we were driving down Main Street when I stopped behind a car at a red light.
"Go!" Vivian told me.
"She can't go, Viv." Sam informed her. "It's a red light!"
"Mama, go!" Vivian told me again.
We drive up the entrance ramp to the highway.
"Oh, you're going 40 miles an hour," Sam observed.
"Mama go," Vivian stated contentedly.
"You're still going forty," Sam continued. "Good, now 60 miles an hour. That's getting at little close to 80. Okay mom. Just remember to watch for the police. You don't want to get a ticket." (That actually has not happened to me with the children in the car. Or not in the car in my recent memory. That would be with their father).
We continue along.
"Actually," Sam reconsiders, "I'll watch for the police. You focus on driving." (Where does this stuff come from??? It better not be their father). After checking with Chris as I type, he told me it's considered teamwork. He totally has the kids watch for police.
Today we attempted an apple picking trip and we were driving down Main Street when I stopped behind a car at a red light.
"Go!" Vivian told me.
"She can't go, Viv." Sam informed her. "It's a red light!"
"Mama, go!" Vivian told me again.
We drive up the entrance ramp to the highway.
"Oh, you're going 40 miles an hour," Sam observed.
"Mama go," Vivian stated contentedly.
"You're still going forty," Sam continued. "Good, now 60 miles an hour. That's getting at little close to 80. Okay mom. Just remember to watch for the police. You don't want to get a ticket." (That actually has not happened to me with the children in the car. Or not in the car in my recent memory. That would be with their father).
We continue along.
"Actually," Sam reconsiders, "I'll watch for the police. You focus on driving." (Where does this stuff come from??? It better not be their father). After checking with Chris as I type, he told me it's considered teamwork. He totally has the kids watch for police.
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| Vivian in her carseat, doning sunglasses they won somewhere. |
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| Sam in his carseat after school the other day showing me a pipe cleaner creation. |
Thursday, October 2, 2014
Locked In/Out
Sam had a few weeks where he would go into the playroom and slam the door behind him, despite repeated warnings. Eventually the doorknob got loose and was hard to open. The first time he couldn't open it, he stood on the other side of the door, inside the playroom and wailed.
"I'm locked out!" he cried. I tried not to laugh as I opened the door from the kitchen and let him in.
"Well, it broke because you slammed the door so many times," I told him.
I thought he just couldn't manipulate the doorknob from the inside. Until last night. Sam and I were in the playroom, he was crying because he had fallen off a balance ball and I was trying to comfort him. Vivian was in the kitchen and closed the playroom door. Then she cried (that's what she does right now because she can open doors but not close them, so she immediately decides she does not like the door closed and being on the outside of it). I got up to open the door. I couldn't get the doorknob to catch to open it. So Sam and I were stuck in the playroom and Vivian was in the kitchen(/the rest of the apartment) by herself. And both kids were crying on each side of the door.
This used to happen when I was growing up (perhaps slamming doors runs in families?), and my parents would eventually remove, or the doorknob would fall out, and you could open the door with a pair of scissors or a screwdriver. None of which were readily available, plus the doorknob was still in the door, which I would have to remove.
I assessed my limited options (a set of plastic tools in the playroom with me) and thought about what Vivian could potentially get up to by herself and unsupervised. Luckily the playroom opens up onto the deck, so I opened the window, took out the screen and climbed out onto the porch. The deck door was also luckily unlocked, so I was able to open it and enter the kitchen where Vivian was very surprised to see me. The playroom door easily opened from the kitchen side. Sam had forgotten he was crying by the time I opened it. Watching your mom climb out a window is a good distraction.
Whew. So now it was time to get pajamas on and get the tired kids into bed. I got their pajamas out and was helping Sam get his pants off (his foot is peeling from last week's virus, and skin is literally coming off in layers which is just gross and a little painful). Vivian took this opportunity to shut the playroom door again. This time we were all inside the playroom. So I got to climb out the window again. Which was very funny for both kids. Which now Vivian probably thinks is a great activity to do herself.
I taped over the latch on the door, so it will no longer catch and get stuck, as much as I enjoy climbing out the window.
So interestingly, this happened in my childhood too. When Tessa was around 3 or 4, she closed the door to my bedroom and for some reason my doorknob didn't work- she locked herself in. And despite my mom's repeated attempts to talk Tessa through opening the door from the inside, she couldn't do it. Eventually, my father had to go and borrow a ladder from a neighbor, set it up on the deck, and climb up and in through the bedroom window. What I remember distinctly at the beginning of the ordeal, was being mad at Tessa for being locked in my room and playing in there in the first place. I was such a sympathetic sister. Once she was in there for a little while I did feel badly though.
When Chris got home last night I had to explain that no one tried to break in, I was just too tired to put the screen back in, let alone finish the other nightly chores. I'm also adding changing the doorknob to the to do list.
"I'm locked out!" he cried. I tried not to laugh as I opened the door from the kitchen and let him in.
"Well, it broke because you slammed the door so many times," I told him.
I thought he just couldn't manipulate the doorknob from the inside. Until last night. Sam and I were in the playroom, he was crying because he had fallen off a balance ball and I was trying to comfort him. Vivian was in the kitchen and closed the playroom door. Then she cried (that's what she does right now because she can open doors but not close them, so she immediately decides she does not like the door closed and being on the outside of it). I got up to open the door. I couldn't get the doorknob to catch to open it. So Sam and I were stuck in the playroom and Vivian was in the kitchen(/the rest of the apartment) by herself. And both kids were crying on each side of the door.
This used to happen when I was growing up (perhaps slamming doors runs in families?), and my parents would eventually remove, or the doorknob would fall out, and you could open the door with a pair of scissors or a screwdriver. None of which were readily available, plus the doorknob was still in the door, which I would have to remove.
I assessed my limited options (a set of plastic tools in the playroom with me) and thought about what Vivian could potentially get up to by herself and unsupervised. Luckily the playroom opens up onto the deck, so I opened the window, took out the screen and climbed out onto the porch. The deck door was also luckily unlocked, so I was able to open it and enter the kitchen where Vivian was very surprised to see me. The playroom door easily opened from the kitchen side. Sam had forgotten he was crying by the time I opened it. Watching your mom climb out a window is a good distraction.
Whew. So now it was time to get pajamas on and get the tired kids into bed. I got their pajamas out and was helping Sam get his pants off (his foot is peeling from last week's virus, and skin is literally coming off in layers which is just gross and a little painful). Vivian took this opportunity to shut the playroom door again. This time we were all inside the playroom. So I got to climb out the window again. Which was very funny for both kids. Which now Vivian probably thinks is a great activity to do herself.
I taped over the latch on the door, so it will no longer catch and get stuck, as much as I enjoy climbing out the window.
So interestingly, this happened in my childhood too. When Tessa was around 3 or 4, she closed the door to my bedroom and for some reason my doorknob didn't work- she locked herself in. And despite my mom's repeated attempts to talk Tessa through opening the door from the inside, she couldn't do it. Eventually, my father had to go and borrow a ladder from a neighbor, set it up on the deck, and climb up and in through the bedroom window. What I remember distinctly at the beginning of the ordeal, was being mad at Tessa for being locked in my room and playing in there in the first place. I was such a sympathetic sister. Once she was in there for a little while I did feel badly though.
When Chris got home last night I had to explain that no one tried to break in, I was just too tired to put the screen back in, let alone finish the other nightly chores. I'm also adding changing the doorknob to the to do list.
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