Ism of the Week

"Can you scratch my back, Mom?"

"I have been scratching your back for the last 10 minutes, Graham.  How about I get a back scratch?  Or better yet-- can I have a back rub?"

"Do you want me to walk on your back like I walk on Daddy's back?"

"No, but you can drive some cars on me or something.  You decide."

"Okay, Mom-- you're gonna like this.  I'm gonna rub you with my balls."

"On second thought, I think I have some cleaning to do, Graham..."

Come Hell or High Water

I've heard it said before that the definition of insanity is "doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result".  Well, Joel and I are finally sane.

Mother Nature?  Oh, she's off her rocker.  She dumped way too much water "up in here" in 1993, which flooded eastern Iowa and made Davenport look like a swamp, drenched us again in 2008 and nearly wiped Cedar Rapids off the map, and for the last two weeks has wrung out every drop of moisture in the sky in short bursts that made me finally understand the danger of a flash flood.

Cedar Rapids in 2008

We had company, of course, because when one's home floods for a record 12th time, one wants as many people to be displaced as possible.  As it turns out, however, having Joel's Dad at our house for a visit was a blessing in disguise.

"Psst... sorry to wake you, but what should I do with the foot of water in the basement?"

That made us jump to action.  We followed our original routine; we pulled back the (still not tacked down) carpet in the spare bedroom and closet, set up fans, and planned to regroup in the morning and see if a dehumidifier was in order.

Unfortunately, the rain was as heavy as I've ever seen it, and the storms continued into the following day.  It seemed that each time we checked the dampness of the floor, we found new spots that were wet and had to pull up the flooring in nearly every corner of the room.  By the time the smell hit three days later, it became clear that expecting a different result truly was insane.

And if the smell didn't do it, the fuzzy black mold did.

So here we are, one week post-flood and about three days into a dramatic cleaning venture that has left the entire lower level of our home bare and unused, much like my blog itself, which was abandoned when the computer first came unplugged and I lost my office to a sump pump tsunami.

So much for drying things out.  So much for fans and dehumidifiers.  So much for carpet itself-- we're on a waiting list for stained concrete which will certainly lead to a few more bumps and bruises but hopefully a few less penicillin colonies.  So much for all of the blog posts I had planned.  So much so that instead of back posting, I'll give you a brief run-down.

Bampa visited for two weeks and brought all of the rain from Seattle with him.

For one glorious day (pre-flood), there was backyard baseball, and Graham managed to avoid getting hit in the head.

With the lower level of our house completely inaccessible, we've all become much more creative with sources of entertainment.  A simple game of marbles went from an occasional distraction to a daily battle, a means of settling arguments, and a "Home Alone"-style booby trap at the top of the stairs. 

I played Marv.

Photo credit here.

We all shivered through lackluster fireworks while Joel made drywall arrangements and Adler slept soundly.  He woke up screaming later that night when I sneezed, but the sound of airborne explosives was no big thing.

Adler, who started life at a bit of a disadvantage, has made up for lost time and now tips the scales at around ten pounds.

So despite a very wet start, we're hopeful that July can still turn around, and you can expect more communication from me in the weeks to come.

And if you don't hear from me, we're probably just redefining insanity...

Things My Baby Looks Like

When Graham was born, he looked exactly like his big brother from the start.  Even for the first six months, he continued to be a carbon copy of Cael.  Adler, on the other hand, has a look all his own, and we haven't yet been able to decipher whether Joel or I won that genetic race.

So until his features begin to resemble someone in our family and I can stop making awkward jokes about the milkman, let's take a look at a few things Adler does resemble.


Like Nixon making his "V for Victory fingers"....

Photo credit here.

 ...Or peas in a pea pod...

Photo credit here.

 ...Rose being drawn nude in Titanic...

Photo credit here.

 ...Actor Wallace Shawn of Princess Bride fame...

Photo credit here.

...A teenager rolling their eyes at their parents...

Photo credit here.

 ...A sailor from the musical "Anything Goes"...

Photo credit here.

...Elvis Presley's lip curl...

Photo credit here.

 ...or even these dancers reenacting "Thriller".

Photo credit here.

Maybe I should spend this time enjoying his unique look.  Because I'm guessing that it's only a matter of time before this...

...gets confused with these.

Symptomatic

I'm still here.

Sometimes I feel like a bit of a zombie, but I've managed to keep all of the kids fed (and occasionally the dog) and even ventured out of the house away from my little barnacle who would much prefer a constant, steady stream of milk to settle his unhappy tummy.

After a few days of this nonstop cry/eat/don't sleep/cry more cycle, I came to the inevitable conclusion that his fussiness is not due to a simple upset stomach.

We have colic.  Cue "Carmina Burana".

I was lucky enough to avoid it with Graham and even Cael, who was trying in his own ways, so I took to the internet to make sure my at-home diagnosis matched the symptoms.

Baby colic (also known as infantile colic) is defined as episodes of crying for more than three hours a day for more than three days a week for three weeks in an otherwise healthy child between the ages of two weeks and four months.

We don't quite fit those parameters, since Adler's colic began right at two weeks old and hasn't lasted long enough to be classified as such, but he has met other less common criteria that must surely indicate he isn't the happy-go-lucky infant we'd hoped he'd be.

A look of constant suspicion.  During his (still brief) periods of lucidity, Adler sneers at me as though he knows of a great many crimes I've perpetrated, or like he questions my very ability to raise him through to adulthood.  Sure, I question that myself at times, but despite a history of blaring parental mistakes, I do have two happy and healthy boys to show for my efforts.

Incidentally, did everyone see Graham's head injury yesterday?

Physical abuse.  I don't mean child abuse either-- there's no excuse for that no matter how much crying one endures.  No, I'm talking about parental abuse here, and the constant kicks to the face and/or baby-nail-razor-cuts that mark my neck and chest.  When coupled with that look above, I just know that he is using his innocent visage to manipulate and connive his way into extra food and extra snuggles.

Vulgarity.  Lastly, in what seems to be a last ditch effort to scare me off, Adler is constantly giving me the finger.  Even in the womb his hands were always in front of his face and ruining the potential for any 4D ultrasound photos.  During the rare moments when he isn't flipping me the "bird", his tongue is proudly displayed in a childish "take that".  I have chosen to interpret this resourcefulness as a sign of genius-level intelligence in a baby that lacks verbal skills beyond "ahhhhhh!".

But unfortunately for Adler, and unfortunately for colic itself, I can't be pushed away.  Because for every cry or look, kick, or finger, there is a glimpse of a smile- of the little boy he'll be after we survive "the ages of two weeks to four months".

Or maybe it was just poop.

One Strike and He's Out

With t-ball in full "swing" this summer, there has been a lot of baseball practice taking place in our backyard.  Nearly every afternoon or evening, Joel is outside pitching balls to the boys as I watch from my nearly constant nursing vigil by my bedroom window.

And I know that baseball is "America's Game", and I know that there's "no crying in baseball", but I think a different adage fits best today.

It's all fun and games until someone gets hurt.

...Or until someone takes a metal baseball bat to the side of the head.

You're out, Graham.

Party of Five

By this time, you've probably heard the news that our third son was born last week. But in case we aren't connected on social media, allow me to introduce Adler James Foreman, our tiny little bundle!  Adler was born Saturday, May 24th at 10:36am, weighing 5lbs, 10oz and 19.3 inches long.

We're completely in love.

Adler has already proved to be very different from his brothers.  I hadn't shared the details of my pregnancy on this blog, but from the very beginning there were complications.  From a persistent spot appearing on his heart in ultrasounds to the gestational diabetes that kept me from eating anything good to soothe my nerves, I was already bundle of anxiety when my ultrasounds began to show that his growth was restricted.  Each time he was measured, we noticed a four to five week discrepancy between his actual age and his estimated size.  For a few months, the doctors assured me that unreliable ultrasounds were to blame, but when he dipped below the 10th percentile at his 37 week growth scan, everyone agreed that it was time to evict while he was still healthy enough to handle the induction.

 No labor is "easy", so I'll skip the details of how I endured three unsuccessful epidurals, or how Adler developed a bizarre irregular heartbeat (that seems to have dissipated after birth) or how the doctor was "off site" when I needed to push and, instead, we will focus on this face.

I didn't get many photos of this sweet face in the hospital, because his dramatic arrival kept Joel from his photographer duties, and after his arrival we were preoccupied with a rigorous feeding schedule due to his birth weight and low blood sugar.  Unfortunately, many of the hospital photos I did get showcase the less-than-attractive feeding tube that was inserted on day two.

But by Memorial Day, my tiny little love was doing well and ready to come home.  I've spent the last week in a nursing/diapering/NOT sleeping stupor which has reminded me that I'm not twenty four anymore, but I am grateful for every moment I get to spend with him.  Even those that smell like sour milk or are sound-tracked by late night infomercials. 

Incidentally, I think I must have the Pocket Hose Ultra. 

Cael and Graham are adjusting well, and enjoying the prestige of being big brothers together.  I enjoy grossing them out with diaper disposal duty and after being informed repeatedly that all of my boys are of equal importance to me, they enjoy playing "What's More Important" during every free moment. 

"What's more important, Mom?  The baby, or the dog?"

"Well, Cael, Oscar is important to us and he is a member of the family, but Adler is a person, so he is more important."

"What's more important... me or the iPad?"

"You, of course."

Graham voted for the iPad.

Huge thanks go out to everyone who stopped by to visit, bring meals or flowers, send prayers during my labor or in the the sometimes scary months that preceded it.  We appreciate all of you and know that Adler will love you just as much!

Double Header

Last year, Cael was beyond excited to begin his first year of parks and rec t-ball, and I was just as enthusiastic about showing off his surprising level of skill rather than exhibiting his strangeness for once.

Cael, ready for the ball in May 2013.

The month flew by quickly, filled with practices and games and hours of trying desperately to entertain Graham, and before we knew it, it was time to sign up for t-ball once again.

A little persuading later, and Graham was allowed to join the same league as Cael despite being 8 days short of the age cut-off, but a little bit of backyard practice over the last few weeks vastly improved his technique.

 So did holding the bat right side up.

With the baby coming very soon, this arrangement allowed both boys to be on the same team, thus eliminating the need for both Joel and I to attend practices twice each week.  This also eliminated the need to run from one field to another, scolding boys or signing waivers in the event that they do inappropriate things with balls, bats, helmets, teammates and/or any other accessories that may accompany this or any sport my children may play.  (Is that legally binding?)

For once, however, things went really smoothly, and the boys both fell effortlessly into their traditional roles, Graham picking flowers and smiling kindly at everyone rather than watching the ball...

...and Cael taking every available opportunity to share his awesomeness with the world.

Here's to another summer of baseball and barbecues with two (soon three!) very active boys, and hopefully not sending my six year-old to t-ball in an NRA hat anymore. 

Hey, we all have dreams.


(Baby Foreman will be making his arrival sometime in the next two weeks, depending on the results up upcoming ultrasounds!  I will be updating as much as possible, but bear with me as we become a family of five!  Thanks so much for your patience!)