Standing up

I sent the kids in to brush their teeth last night.  You'd think I'd learn by now to send them in one at a time, or suffer the consequences of listening to them bicker and argue their way through who stole the toothpaste.

I heard Ben telling Audrey, "Sit DOWN on the toilet!" and I sighed, because I figured she was doing her usual "oh, look at me" admiring gaze while she stood there.  I should just mount a full length mirror in the house for her, because if she's not standing on the toilet, she's standing on my bed to look at herself in the mirror on the dresser.

A couple of seconds later, Ben walks into my bedroom, looking grave.  "Mom,"  he said, "you really need to have a talk with Audrey about sitting on the toilet when she pees.  She was standing in front of it, aiming,"  he pauses, imitating her, horrified.

I'm opening my mouth to reply when, not skipping a beat, Nolan says:  "Geez, Ben, she's more manly than you are."

Ben leapt at Nolan, and I had to peel them apart, reminding Ben that Nolan weighs less than he does at the moment, and I didn't want him to snap any of his twiggy limbs.

First of all, I'm surprised that she was going to use the bathroom with all the kids in there, but I guess if you gotta go, you gotta go. 

Secondly, I've been yelling at the wrong kids, apparently, for missing their mark.  I wonder how many times it was the girl, and not the boys?  Eww.

Thirdly, I can't help but laugh.  Who among us women hasn't wanted to take aim at one point or another?

I had a little chat with her about acting like a lady and using the restroom alone.

Sitting down.

Sharp edges

Monday afternoon, I walked into my room to tell Mr W I was heading out and who was coming with me.  It helps us both to do an occasional head count.

"Ben and Ryan are coming along, and I'm running by Costco first, Ben's wants a hot dog--he's wasting away."  I added.

"Tell Ben to shut up,"  Nolan said, "this..." he pulls down his waistband, exposing a jutting hip bone "..is wasting away."   Mr W and I cracked up, and exchanged a little look of relief, that the boy must be feeling more like himself if he can crack jokes.

Later that evening, I heard the three boys laughing as they came down the hall.  Ben says to me, "Mom, I'm gonna play my trombone and Nolan's gonna play his bass clarinet," he said, pausing for a giggle, "and in the middle of it, Nolan will pull up his shirt and play a xylophone solo," he gestured, pretend mallets playing his ribs.

You can always count on your family.....

It is difficult to see Nolan laying around the house like an emaciated stray cat.  I've started taking him out on little jaunts, mainly to get him to walk around a bit and hopefully, stimulate his appetite some.

He does get tired, but not in the "I'm sleepy" sense, more like the "I just ran a marathon" sense.  We wandered around in Barnes and Noble yesterday so he could get a book for school, and met his Dad for lunch; after that, we had to come home.  I figure I'll take him out a little each day, because he is understandably stir crazy and needs the exercise. 

He shuffles like an old man, but we manage. 

I get nervous that he's walking behind me, and he tries not to roll his eyes at my hovering. 

He's eaten more today than he has all week, and I find that reassuring.  I think he's feeling better.

Which means I feel better, too.

In the spirit

The first Christmas we had in our house, lo those many years ago, Nolan was not quite two, and I was pregnant with Ben.

Mr W was craaaazy that year, giant tree, loads of lights, he was practically bursting with good cheer.  I remember being a little overwhelmed with his zeal, but it was so cute I couldn't rein him in.

Over the years, he continued to put up the lights, but his enthusiasm has waned recently, much in the way my enthusiasm for all things pizza-parlor-birthday-party-stop-those-screaming-kids has waned.  I gently remind him two weeks before Christmas that maybe he should put some lights up, he does it, and we just ooh and ahh over whatever he puts up.

I wasn't sure why he'd gotten so 'eh' about his displays when he'd been so Griswold all those years ago.  Last year he finally let on that he is tired of doing it all by himself and wanted us to help.

Granted, this was not an unreasonable request.  However...he's a little...he can be...kinda  militant about ordering us all around.  I was out there playing peacemaker amidst all the cords.

He even went so far as to let Ben get up on the ladder.  I told Mr W that if an ER trip came out of that, he was going to take it, and I held my breath.  Ben did a great job, and he was so proud of himself that I stopped praying and patted him on the back.

And here we are again, it's the light time of year.

I prepped Mr W right before Thanksgiving:  "Lights.  I want my lights, and I want a lot of them.  No haphazard, will-this-stay-on-through-Christmas strings, will-this-one-short-out-and-burn-the-bush ones, either.  I want...I want you to be just as enthused about it as you were our first Christmas here."  Without me prompting them, the kids started in on him too.

We have awakened the sleeping beast. 

Mr W, who will not set foot in Target without a substantial bribe, especially this time of year, went and looked at lights.  I think he started looking into them when I sent him out for some stuff for Nolan last week.

I tried to explain to him that Costco has better deals on them at lunch yesterday, but he was steadfast, told me to go into Target, what aisle I needed, and to check them out.  Fine.  "Look at the ornaments, too,"  he said.  "Why?"  "Well, I thought that maybe you might want to try something new."  "But ours are fine, and I have all the ones the kids make every year."  I am horrible when it comes to change--they're not broke.  Why fix it?

Last night I dragged him to Costco and showed him my side of the story.   Then he drove me to Target anyway, and showed me his.  "Hey, you were right,"  he said, as he looked at the light boxes and mentally compared the two. 

We started planning right there.  Right as we were leaving, I remembered.

"What was that about the ornaments?"

He took me to the aisle, and after we contemplated tree skirts (I use an old red tablecloth, usually, I'm breaking down, no cats in the house anymore, I want a tree skirt this year), I asked him to show me what he wanted.  "What is that you have in mind?  Are you wanting like, department store tree, or just new ornaments?"

That man surprises me sometimes, he really does.

He went and started pulling out a box.  "I like these."

They're rich red colors, magenta, ruby, darker; with gold on them.  Pretty.  We started matching up different sets to see what we liked, and I was impressed.

"Um, new ornaments?  New lights? I'm sensing a pattern here, next thing you know, you'll be wanting to replace me, it's a matter of time,"  I joked.

He screwed up his face in an expression I've never seen before.  I think it's a face I see on Audrey all the time--the little girl nose wrinkle/head shake, no small feat for a guy.

"Nooo, you're crazy,"  he said.  I know he would've swooped on me, but we were in public, and he is a gentleman...

We started heading out and suddenly he turned and started looking for something else.  I found myself in front of the extension cords and outlet extenders, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't start to worry.  Clark is baa-aack.

There was a man standing with a cart and his wife right in front of where Mr W needed to be.

"Excuse me, sir,"  he said.  They didn't move.  He said it again, a little more barky, but still, "Excuse me, sir."

The man looked at Mr W blankly, but it changed to irritation once the words sunk in.  I couldn't understand why, other than that the guy was right around the same age as Mr W, maybe he was offended by 'sir' the way some women are about 'ma'am', and I'd be lying if I said my heart didn't skip a beat, a little swoony with Mr W's manner.

On our way home, Mr W shook his head, "Did you see that guy look at me all irritated?"  he asked.  "I was surprised, considering that I wasn't trying to be rude." 

I mentally recontemplated the man, who spoke like his head was full of syrup, had horrible feet (if you're wearing flip-flops, for the love of god, take care of your toes) and was accompanied by a woman in a black bra.  How did I know this?  Because she had on a thin pink tshirt.  (A little bitchy there, Anna.) 

I was about to share this with him, but instead, I found myself blurting out:  "Honey.  "Excuse me, sir" is not something people really say all the time anymore. No one really says that, except you!  It's so Southern, so like your Dad!  I think it's adorable that you are so unfailingly polite, but not everyone appreciates that." 

I was grinning.

He might surprise me sometimes, but it's also nice that some things are constant.

Since last night, sugarplum ornaments dance through my head...maybe some change is good.

My "Family"

I know my kids look out for each other.  There have been plenty of times where I come upon them or overhear conversations that are about how "we'll take care of that" or "Who?  Who said/did that to you?  Oh, I know that kid.  I'm gonna have a word with him/her."  Usually, it is Ben acting as protector, but they all do it.  Nolan's approach is as laid back as his father--"don't let it get to you, man."  Ryan's vacillates between both.  Audrey's is straight up 'I'm gonna get them!' (with requisite closed fist)

I am glad that they feel so strongly about maintaining each other's psyches, but I have to wonder if it's truly an altruistic maneuver or just along the lines of 'no-one-else-can-tease/beat-you-except-me'.

Yesterday afternoon, the kids had running club.  Ryan was upset when they got home, even though he'd gone another lap since last time, because one of the his classmates "said I was fat."

Admittedly, Ryan is on the portly end of things right now, the summer spread really got him this year, but we are watching him.  We've been encouraging him to be more active and not letting him eat so much crap.  I know he'll stretch up soon and things should even out, if we can keep his weight constant.  It's not been a huge issue, because lord knows I don't want to start him down that path, the weight shame spiral that carries over from childhood and hangs over your head forever. 

Besides, I know the kid who made the comment, and he's a little round, too. Ryan said he said it to him when he took a break to catch his breath and couldn't run just then.  (Running club is funny that way.  There are kids who pace themselves, and kids who run full bore the first few laps, have nothing left, then walk.  I figure they're moving, it's all good.)

It must've bothered him more than I thought, despite my assurances and encouragement to let it go and keep it up with running club.  I didn't realize it until we were on our way home from school today and we made the turn towards our house.

"Hey, that's where 'Billy' lives!"  he exclaimed.

"I thought you knew that,"  I replied.

"He better not say anything to me next time,"  he mumbled under his breath, "because now I know where he lives."

I stifled a giggle, as Ben asked, "What?  Why is that important, Ryan?"

I explained, "'Billy' said Ryan was fat yesterday at running club, and it upset Ryan."

"Oooh.  I'll come with you, Ryan.  We'll get <video game weapon> and take care of him."

"Cool it, you guys.  There's no need for that." 

I thought for a minute and then told them that while I knew they were kidding, they weren't allowed to say anything like that at school, or they'd get in trouble because the schools have to take them seriously, no matter what.  (Which really made me sigh, inwardly, that I had to add that warning at all, the world being what it is these days that something like that could get them in trouble.)

As Ben carried his trombone into the house, I was amused.

I couldn't help but think of him as my mini-mafioso, with Audrey as his tiny henchman, standing guard over Ryan at running club.

Things that go bump in the night

About a month ago, as we sat in the ENT's office and he went over all the scenarios that were possible for Nolan's procedure and recovery, I nodded as I took it all in, thinking that it was good to know all this stuff, but, really, as the worst-case scenarios were rare, I shouldn't focus on them.

Nolan, on the other hand, giggled as he said to me, "Mom, watch.  I'm gonna be in that one percent."  I told him to knock it off.  He was joking with me because he has this funky skin condition on his palms that I'd finally gotten him to a dermatologist to see--and while it is treatable, it is rare, and exceedingly rare in boys.  We have been teasing him about being a freakshow, and he decided to head me off at the pass, I guess.

Or tempt fate.

Friday night, well I guess, Saturday morning, Nolan shook me awake at 4 am.  I felt bad, as I did the Vulcan death reach at him, something new in my wake-up repertoire that makes even Mr W take a step back after he starts trying to wake me up, but as he said "Mom!"  I opened my eyes and saw him.

I thought that maybe he needed some pain medicine (we'd been cutting back and not sure if he'd make it through the night).  There was just enough light from the hallway bathroom coming into my room for me to notice he looked scared, and a little pale.  "Mom, I threw up blood,"  he said.  I sat straight up, weighing the possibilities, my mind still a little fuzzy.  "A lot or a little?  Into your washcloth or in the bathroom?"

"A lot.  In the bathroom."

I reached next to me, to wake up Mr W, only to find Audrey there and Mr W gone.  I got up and patted Nolan on the back, and went to the bathroom to investigate.  He was breathing rapidly, and wide-eyed, I made him sit down as I comforted him and tried to assess the situation.

"Hang on,"  I told him, as I went in search of Mr W, who I was sure vacated the bed once our little hockey player came into it.  She pretty much pummels him when she comes in, so I winced as I realized he was probably in the recliner.   I filled him in, and he followed me back down the hall to Nolan.

We'd been in there for maybe a minute when Nolan started throwing up again.  Bright red blood.  I patted his back as soothingly has I could as all the alarms in my head went off.  I looked at Mr W, who mouthed "I don't like this" over Nolan's back and I traded him places so I could go out and get our post-op instruction sheet.

I read it as I pointed out the relevant section to Mr W.  I was about to get the phone to call the on call doc when common sense took over and we both said at the same time, "He needs the hospital."

Hurriedly, I dressed myself, while Mr W got Nolan cleaned up a bit and explained to him what we were about to do.  Good god, I thought, it's 4:15.  Mr W would have to stay behind for the other kids.  I steeled myself to keep it together and grabbed a plastic shopping bag and a book as we headed to the van.  

I weighed in my head the quickest way to the ER even as I autopiloted to the freeway.   I broke a few traffic laws along the way, but I figured if anyone stopped me, I'd have a good excuse.  As I got closer to the hospital, I felt Nolan fighting the urge, so I sped up as I explained to him that holding it in was not going to work.  When you have blood going down like that, I explained to him, it's gonna come back up because your stomach doesn't want it, so use the bag.

As I pulled into the parking lot, I grabbed the first spot I could find, and before I was out of the car, Nolan had his head in the bag and he proceeded to just let it go.  He was on his third wave as I opened his door, trying to get the seatbelt off of him and get him out; my mind racing as he asked me "Mommy, why is it so hot?  Why is it so hot?"

"It's blood, baby."   I half dragged him out of the van, and tried to hurry him along when I realized this wouldn't work.  We were too far from the door.  He was in no shape to go anywhere fast and while I didn't want to leave him, we needed help.  Of course, there was no one outside to yell at...  "Can you prop yourself on this car?  I'll run in and get a wheelchair and some help.  I'll be right back,"  I said, almost losing my resolve as he slumped across the trunk of the car we stood next to. 

I never knew I could run that fast.  Adrenaline does that to you, I guess.  I sprinted through the doors and ran up to the desk.  I was clear in what I said, but the girl there looked at me, and to me, was moving in slow motion.  I repeated myself, threw my stuff on the counter, ran back out, grabbed the first wheelchair I could, sprinted to Nolan, "Get in,"  I ordered, and was back inside the doors before anyone had their gloves on. 

As he sat there, bag of blood on his lap, the receptionist asked me a few questions, while the nurse next to her assessed him.  We were back in a room in a couple of minutes, and he was throwing up again by the time they got his vitals.  

I thought that once we got there, and the IV was in, he might slow down, that it might stop. 

Wrong.

I spent my time answering questions, alternately holding his puke bag, his hand, and wiping his face while I tried to maintain calm for him.  This was no small feat, because when your kid is puking that much blood, and the staff is doing the best they can and it's still not good enough, all you want to do is yell at someone.  This coupled with an ER doctor who not only failed to let me know he was the doctor and freaked me out as he examined Nolan with nails that brought Nosferatu to mind was making me anxious. 

Nolan was terrified at this point, and I knew the only thing that would make us both feel better was reinforcement in the form of Mr W.  "Would you feel better if your Dad was here?"  I asked him, as this was the only thing I could offer at this point.  (*Although, joking with him in Urgent Care earlier in the week, I'd offered a car, a cell phone, a new video game...just to crack him up.)  He nodded yes.  Then no.  I knew he was hesitating because he knew the kids needed someone at home.  "Son, this is an urgent situation.  I can call Remo, I can call Jane, we can get someone to the house for the kids.  Do you want your Dad?"  He nodded yes, eyes full of tears. 

I called Mr W and told him my plan.  "I'll see if I can get Remo to come for a little while,"  --knowing that he'd worked the night before and probably had not been asleep for long, and that Mr W would only agree to this if I had relief coming soon--"until Jane can get there; that way you can come right away."  I called Jane first, and while she is an early riser, I woke her, and filled her in, trying to remember to breathe, willing myself not to start bawling at the sound of her voice.  She said she'd come, and it would be about forty minutes.  Then I called Remo, and while I knew I might not get him on the first ring, I knew he'd answer, as it was the wee hours of the morning...and no one calls at that time for just a chat.  I stammered out what I needed to with him, but again, I had to will myself not to cry, and just speak.  I mean, really, it would have alarmed both of them more if I was a wreck, and as hard as it was, I managed it, my voice cracking just as I finished talking to him.

And here is the beautiful part.  I didn't worry about the kids at home anymore.  I knew they would be in good hands.  I wiped my eyes, before I turned around, and I just concentrated on Nolan while I waited for Mr W to come.

Once he arrived, I brought him up-to-date.  I was mainly concerned with keeping Nolan from freaking out because he would not stop puking.  I have never seen anything like it, over, and over, bright red, sometimes clotty, he'd jerk upright and we'd comfort him through another bout.  The thing is, I was so focused on him, I didn't realize we hadn't had an update at all other than the nurses coming in to draw his blood for typing.  Instinctively, I knew that his bleeding wasn't stopping on it's own; I knew that he was probably headed for surgery, but it was like that was in a separate thought bubble from the task at hand.  Wipe face-new bag-comfort him-throw washcloth out.  I looked up at Mr W, spotting him shooting a murderous glance into the hallway at the nurses' station.  I caught his eye, as I knew what he was thinking.  Ipounced on the first person to come into our room next.  "What's going on?  Where are we (with this)?" I asked, as politely as I could without shaking her silly.

"We're waiting on the labs from the blood we drew."  I saw Mr W stifle a snort.  He was not impressed with how that went at all, and I know was about to take the guy trying by his scrubs and throw him out into the hall had the other nurse in the room not intervened before he could.

Shortly thereafter, Nosferatu returned and looked in Nolan's throat, "I need to see if he is still bleeding."  Are you kidding me?  I pointed to the bags in the trash and the one in Nolan's hand, "I think he is."  I figured he must've concurred, as he turned and left the room without saying anything.

A bit later, a well-dressed man, my god, I thought, noticing the crispness of his clothes, it's not even 6:30 am and he's so polished; came in.  "I'm Dr. G,"  he said, "covering for Dr M." He gestured towards Nolan. "Has he stopped at all?  What's been going on?"  Mr W told him that he had not stopped, that he'd been at it since 4 am, and it was now after six; Dr G told us they were planning on taking him up to the OR once anesthesia got there, and he'd go in and see what was up and hopefully get it stopped. 

The room was a flurry of activity as they readied Nolan for his trip upstairs.  It was hard to do, as he kept puking.  On his way up, Mr W walked right beside him, and even the transport guy was amazed when he had to stop a couple of times so Nolan could hurl. 

We finally made it to preop, and it was more prep, and questions, but they were really wonderful about reassuring us and explaining everything.  Of all the indignities he suffered that morning, the one that bothered him the most was when the nurse said he had to take his sleeping pants and his underwear off.  He shook his head, pleading with his eyes, "no".   "Sweetie," said, "it's okay.  It's just a requirement when you are having surgery at the hospital, it's not like at the surgicenter.  We'll keep you covered up, no one will see anything."  Is there anything like the modesty of an adolescent?  The nurse furthered his perceived shame when she handed him the pitcher-urinal.  "We need you to pee, honey, if you can.  I don't want you to have to get up, so do you think you can go in this?"  I looked at Mr W.  "You're up,"  I said, as I bowed out of the curtain surrounding his bed.

I stood outside and the staff talked to me, as we were the only people there at that time of day.  I snuck away and gave Jane an update, again managing to not lose it.  Barely.  Mr W said to me, "Geez, Anna, you didn't ask her about the other kids."  "I don't have to,"  I replied.  "They're fine.  Besides, they're probably sleeping,"  I added.

It seemed like the longest 30 minutes of my life, sitting in the waiting room.  Finally, Dr G came out and told us that he'd patched the boy up.  He'd had an arterial bleed on one side, probably brought on by the scabs in his throat  falling off.  He assured us that it wasn't due to anything we did or didn't do, that about 2 percent of tonsils bleed. Nolan was right, when he was joking around with me about his ability to be the freakshow patient.  (I'll have to ask him to pick some lottery numbers.)  

We sat with him in recovery as soon as they let us in.  Once we were comfortable with the situation, Mr W went out to move the van from the ER to closer to where we would make our exit; naturally, Nolan started coming around.  He looked confused, so I held his hand and told him where he was and reminded him what happened.  "Where's Dad?"  he asked.  "Moving the van," I explained.  "Just a second,"  I said, as I called Mr W.  "He's asking for you,"  I relayed.

All in all, we were on our way back home by 10:45 am or so.  We made it into the house and Nolan headed straight for our room.  I squeezed Jane immediately, I was so relieved that we were home; so relieved to see her, that this part was over.  The kids were all milling about, Ryan enthralled with Guitar Hero, it was like I'd just stepped out to the store or something.

Like I said, they were in good hands.  I decided to wait to fill them in at Casa de Remo, as I limit my wake up calls to once a day.

Nolan is pretty weak, the doc says he's anemic for the time being, but he is on the mend.  It hasn't been as bad as it was right after his initial surgery, but he does have some more recovering to do before I will feel okay about sending him back to school.  He's lost ten pounds, he gets tired easier, and he's a little too frail-looking for my taste, but he's talking and acting like himself, and I definately will take that.

Maybe this week will be our week of ice cream and Halo.

But if not, hugs and naps are okay too.