Conversations with Three

Three:  Mommy, you go to potty?  In your bathroom?

Me: Yes, Three.  When are you going to go potty in the bathroom?

Three:  When I grow a pen*s.

Me:  I'm not sure that's going to happen without substantial effort and assistance. Maybe we can try the potty sooner?

Three:  Ok.

Me:  Ok.  (now yelling to Dan)  I KNOW WHEN THREE IS FINALLY GOING TO BE POTTY TRAINED!

Dan:  When?

Me:  (with a straight face) When she grows a pen*s.

Dan:  Well, I guess we have a definite time frame then. 

Me:  Really?

Dan:  Yeah, like never.

****

The big girls are doing super summer math workbooks.  They are due weekly, and somehow we end up doing the entire week's worth the night before they are due.  Again.  Dan is out for a run with the dog, and I'm bribing Three to give us a moment of quite with a leftover Re*ce's peanut butter egg from Easter-- one of the big ones.  My favorite candy on earth.  I was desperate.

I tell her to eat it slowly and that the big kids will be done in a few minutes.

Me:  Moo, you add up the sums in the bubbles. Color anything that has 7 as a total purp.....

Three:  (muffled)  muffmeee!

I look over and she has stuffed the entire giant egg in her mouth at once.  She is drooling chocolate spit and she looks like she has a tennis ball in her mouth.  I quickly start to walk her into the kitchen, where there isn't a rug, sensing that perhaps this isn't going to end well.

Me:  Spit it out, just spit it out. 

Three tries to spit it out, but the peanut butter appears to be stuck to the roof of her mouth. Chocolate is being drooled on my socks.  She gags once, and suddenly I'm covered in chocolate peanut butter vomit.

There is not a spot on her.  Not even that spittle string that sometimes hangs off of your mouth after a good barf.

Three:  (cheerfully) Well that was gross!

Me: (wiping vomit off my face) Yes, yes it was.

I strip in the kitchen and head off to the shower.  Doodle and Moo are instructed to stop math and put on a show to watch with their sister until their Dad comes home.  I've thrown the clothes in the washer and wiped up most of the puke.  All that is left is the wrapper and a smear of chocolate barf on the floor.

Doodle:  DON'T LET PRITZIE IN THE KITCHEN THERE IS CHOCOLATE BARF ON THE FLOOR AND SHE WILL GET SICK AND DIE!!! 

Dan:  What the?

Moo:  (nonchalantly) Oh, Three barfed chocolate on Mom. She's taking a shower.  It was gross.

Dan:  (from outside the shower curtain) I was gone for 30 minutes and there was barf and what????

Me:  Just give me 15 minutes.  Please.  I need to wash the barf out of my hair.  Just 15 minutes.  I will explain.  And then we will never speak of it again.

Dan:  (laughing) I wasn't gone that long......So just your average night, huh.....


Me:  GET. OUT.  BEFORE I HURT YOU.

Dan:  I'm sorry.

Pritzie Loves Bubbles!

Mommy's smile is broken-- a summer vacation with sun, sand, and a little facial paralysis

Friday was our last day of work before vacation.  My jaw hurt and I took some ibuprofen.  Didn't think anything of it, but it wasn't getting better.  My tongue also felt like it had coating on it.  I thought maybe my sinus infection was coming back.  I left work a little early and we headed to the beach.

After dinner with friends on Saturday, we took a group picture. At first I thought it was the chardonnay, but I couldn't fully smile.  We left soon after and as soon as we got in the car, I told Dan, "I think I have Bell's Palsy." Moo said, "Mom, your smile is broken."  Half of my face was paralyzed.

We went straight to the ER.  Although I was pretty sure I wasn't having a stroke, since I could move my limbs and think clearly, it was still scary.  Of course my blood pressure was through the roof, too-- because I was panicked.

My cousin, who had survived a brain aneurysm in December, met us at the hospital.  I'm glad she was there, but it didn't help my blood pressure.  She entertained the girls, and took them back to where we were staying. 

The nurses thought Dan and I were freaks.  He's doing a bit of his own exam in triage, and the nurse kept asking me where I had heard of Bell's Palsy.  When I explained that Dan was a doctor, my cousin a nurse, and my mother-in-law had it once, she calmed down a bit.  I felt better when they didn't take blood or put in an IV.  I figured if they didn't do any of those things,  that they weren't too worried. 

An ear exam, a head CT scan, some lower blood pressures, and four hours later (there was a boating accident ahead of us), we discovered I have Ramsay-Hunt Syndrome.  Well, Dan did.  The ER doc was like, "It's a Bell's Palsy, nothing serious," and when Dan mentioned Ramsay-Hunt, asked Dan if he wanted antibiotic drops for my ear (you med people will understand that means the er guy was a bit of a doofus).

Basically Ramsay-Hunt Syndrome means I have shingles in my ear, which has aggravated my facial nerve.  I can't fully close my left eye, and half of my face doesn't move when I talk.  Literally, I'm talking out of the side of my mouth.  The left side of my face droops a bit.  Since my eye doesn't close, I'm sleeping with an eye patch on.  I sometimes dribble food or beverages out of the side of my mouth. 

Let me tell you, it's been *super*.  The pharmacist at the 24 hour pharmacy kept looking at Dan when we dropped off the scripts.  They gave me meds to help with the shingles virus that they use to treat herpes and some steroids, and the eye patch.  Her look said, "First of all, this woman is no prize, and I'm not sure what kinky games you're going to play with that eye patch."

I'm relieved that this is treatable, and that the paralysis will likely completely resolve (in several weeks).  So far, the pain isn't too bad. I can't really pronounce my "fs" so swearing is quite amusing. I never really appreciated how much I used the F-word.  Or tell the girls to "Freeze."

I'm used to being on display, what with having Three and all.  We often get looks because we are a transracial family.  Now, we get even more looks.  I'm thinking of getting a t-shirt that says, "I know my face is paralyzed, please stare at my boobs instead."

I'm trying to have a good attitude about it, and not be too impatient for improvement.  The running joke with my family is that you can't take my cousin and I anywhere without a head CT first.

I'm just relieved it isn't anything worse.  And I even more sensitive to the experience of others who have an obvious disability.  I'm not ready to share pictures yet, but I will post some later.

Did I make myself clear?

At the allergist yesterday:

Three:  "What's your name?"

Dr:  "Kelly!  What's your name?"

Three:  "Diva.  DEE.  VA."

It was as if she were speaking slowly and loudly to alert the stupid people to her true identity.

Recommendations from our dog whisperer

We met for our dog consult today, including a home visit.  Our Dog Whisperer (DW) recommended that we start with a puppy and work to socialize it with lots of kids/activity.  She said it would be much more work in the short run, but we would have a much better chance of ending up with a great dog.  With a puppy, we would have a much greater chance of shaping its environment so that it would be comfortable with our family and our busy lifestyle and home.  Also important, according to the DW, was that even if the dog grew to be large, the girls wouldn't develop fear as it would obviously start out small and gradually get bigger. 

While the DW didn't say we shouldn't adopt from a shelter, she recommended a breeder or rescue so we would know what the dog's history was-- foster shelters would be ok, provided that the puppy spent 8 weeks with its mom, and then was fostered.  Apparently sheltering is very stressful to puppies and can change their behavior in the long run.  Puppies that traveled in planes to get to us were strictly prohibited--because of the stress on the puppy and because we would not be able to pick the puppy-it would be chosen for us.

One interesting thing the DW mentioned was that if we wanted to try to find shelters with puppies, we should seek out shelters in rural areas.  In urban areas, she said, since there is a much higher percentage of spaying/neutering, the animals in shelters are more likely to have been bred from street dogs or dogs raised for fighting (i.e. pit bulls) and were not as well suited to be family pets (speaking VERY generally).  Apparently, farm dogs or their offspring are a better bet, even if sheltered and there are more of them, because of less awareness/support for spaying and neutering in rural areas. 

As for breeds, because we are on the go and Dan would like to run with a dog, she recommended the German Shorthaired Pointer and the English Springer Spaniel.  Another option, depending on the dog itself, and its temperament would be a Whippet. Other breeds which would be great with the kids but less energetic (still recommended) were the Basset Hound and the Corgi.  Also the Poodle, which we all vetoed immediately.  She also mentioned the Golden Retrievers, but they were out because of the shedding.  My dream of a Dachshund was dashed immediately, as we were told that doxies were responsible for more bites than any other breed in the US.  Terriers were also vetoed as notoriously difficult to train.

So we're on the lookout for puppies in these breeds. Starting over, but are MUCH more confident that we'll end up with a great new member of the family.

Unfortunately, the neighbor dogs weren't out today, so our DW didn't get a chance to meet them but it is clear that we're going to have to have a difficult conversation with our neighbors about socializing our new dog and theirs.  We're committed to a greeting with our dog, a trainer and their dog (provided our neighbors will work with us on this). The DW seems to think that the relationship will be better starting out with a puppy from the get-go rather than a full grown dog.  Thankfully,  all of the dogs she suggested would be unable to jump the fence and would be more easy going with the kids than a shelter dog would likely be. 

All in all, a great home visit and we are looking forward to next steps.

The dog that almost was.

So we fell in love with a dog.  And we can’t keep her.

 I guess I should start at the beginning… About a year ago, Doodle started asking for a dog.  She has a pretend vet clinic at home and wants to be an animal rescuer when she grows up.  We asked her to show us that she could take care of a dog.  Doodle read books, we surfed the internet, amassed a collection of stuffed dogs, and put up dog posters all over her bedroom.  She took care of my sister-in-law’s puppy at Easter and even picked up the poop from the puppy-- that was the turning point for us--several months after we started the discussions.  We did research.  We checked allergy tests.  We talked to dog owners.  We found a vet and a trainer.  We weren’t really interested in a puppy.  So last weekend we visited some shelters.

We fell in love with a dog.  A big dog.  A big, calm dog.  We visited the dog over the course of a day at the shelter.  We knew that we were taking a risk adopting a dog from a shelter where we might not know about any background issues, but felt strongly about it.  

At the shelter, the kids spent a few hours with the dog.  The kids pulled the dog’s tail, put their fingers in her mouth.  Took it for walks.  Jogged with it.  All was well--she behaved perfectly.  We left and came back several hours later.  The dog had clearly been trained-- she would sit and give you her paw.  

We had family members with dog experience come and look at the dog.   We talked to three employees of the shelter and the director--they said great things--plays well with other dogs, great with kids--even little ones, no signs whatsoever of aggression, very calm, quiet dog.  We slept on it. We talked to our neighbors who had dogs.  We warned them we were getting a dog.  We talked to the dog trainer.  We brought the dog home on Monday.

To make a long story short, our environment was not right for her.  Our dog had a terrible introduction to the big dog next door and they agitated each other (and that is putting it VERY mildly). Early on, it became difficult to imagine a time where our girls and their neighbor friend could go from one yard to another safely with these two dogs involved.  Because of their size, jumping the fence was a very real and very dangerous possibility.  The dogs would even “communicate” while they were both inside their respective houses.

As the dog got more familiar with us, and/or spent more time in our home, she became very excitable.  Most of her actions were play, but it was VERY rough play-- which at times ended up with Moobear standing on top of the couch and Three being body slammed into cabinets.

 In the end, Moobear was terrified, the dog was miserable and we were heartbroken.  Despite her calm (in hindsight probably depressed) demeanor at the shelter, the dog became difficult for us to handle, particularly around the kids.  Minimizing her freedom in the house, tethering with her, attachment dog parenting, didn’t seem to be working.  One might say that we did not give it enough time, but unfortunately, we have a small margin of error with the safety of the kids involved.

After quite a bit of soul searching and many, many tears, the dog went back to the shelter.  You can imagine on a personal level, after falling in love with this dog, how difficult a decision this was.    It’s no life for a dog not to be able to roam the backyard freely-- or to be locked up in a room every time people come to the house. . And let me be clear--it wasn’t the dog’s fault or her breed.  She is great-- she would be great for a family with older children in a more remote location.  We made the right decision for her and our family.  It just sucks.

We are devastated.  Many tears were shed and continue to be shed.  It is a loss for us.  Doodle, in particular, is a wreck.  She blames Moobear’s fear, even though it was a family decision.

The folks whom we consulted about dog training have agreed to work with us to do a pre-pet consultation.  We’re going to have them come out to our house and scope things out and hopefully meet the neighbor dogs. They will make recommendations for us as to breed, size and temperament and recommend sources (another shelter, rescue or puppy).  We’ve agreed as a family to go with their recommendations--as we clearly screwed it up when left to our own devices.

So please, no flaming.  We’re low enough as it is.

Leashed!

I admit it.  Before Three, I was one of those silent judgers.  You know, the ones who look at other parents with their kids on a leash and wonder, "How difficult is it to keep track of a toddler?"  I smugly looked at my two girls riding in the double stroller and patted myself on the back for my excellent parenting skills.

Turns out, the bigger girls were just a tad bit lazy.  And a bit timid when they were young.  Three is a whole new ballgame.  She. Has. No. Fear.  None.  We once had a standoff at the zoo where she stood in place while I slowly walked away.  I never did figure out how far away she'd let me walk--my brother freaked out at 40 paces and scooped her up.

Three's also very physical. She doesn't fear the water.  She's not that into the stroller.  She asked to go on the biggest roller coasters and rides. She is curious.  Three hasn't met a barrier she hasn't touched, tried to climb or licked.  Seriously.  I often find myself saying, "Please don't lick that fence.  Please don't taste that fire hydrant! Please don't taste that handrail.  No licking the slide! Please keep your tongue in your mouth." Yikes.

Three is not content to hold my hand and walk beside me.  Three likes to bolt.  Eventually, she'll look up and try to locate us.  If she doesn't see us right away, she cries and freaks out.  Unfortunately, this hasn't stopped her from zooming away.

She engages complete strangers in conversation.  No stranger danger at all.  Case in point on the rental car bus where she told a lady, "You have BIG Boobies."  Another case in point, she lifted up her arms to be picked up by Darth Maul in the Jedi Training Show ("Pick me evil man!  I will be your partner in crime!  Can you please provide me with a weapon, preferably a sword or lightsaber?")  But I digress.

In preparation for our trip to San Diego and Disneyland, I bought a leash.  I bought the leash that looked most functional and cool. I was not going to buy one of those stuffed animal deals.  How humiliating and hot--who wants a hairy stuffed animal on their back in California's heat?

Well, we got looks.  Dirty looks.  In addition to the normal silent judgers about the leash were the folks who I'm sure were horrified that we only leashed the black child.  Once the strangers started in with  the weird remarks ("You have such a unique family!"), I was feeling pretty embarrassed. But then I started exchanging looks with the other leasher parents.  We smiled and nodded as if to say, "Oh, yes, I feel your pain.  Mine likes to run out into traffic, too!" "I've had to call poison control three times.  And you?"  "Welcome to the crappy parenting club-- might I offer you a sip of wine?"

I found myself explaining to complete strangers, "She's a bolter!  No fear. Ha ha."  But then I thought about it.  I stopped apologizing for keeping my child safe.  Allowing Three some independence while keeping her close was the right thing to to.  Three loved her "backpack" and the freedom it gave her to walk and explore apart from us. She keeps asking to wear it at home.

In the end, I'm comfortable with our choice and I think Three is, too.

** I also bought these great temporary tattoos with our phone number on them.  They gave me peace of mind that if she did get away, people could locate us quickly.