The Rest in a Nutshell

January has come and gone in record time.  Usually it drags more than any month, but for some reason it just flew by this year.  I'm not complaining by any means.  I think it's great, in fact.  One month closer to spring.  Since I failed miserably at blogging this month, here are the highlights:

-  A change in routine in December has negatively impacted my ability to write.  I started enforcing bedtime, not just for Punky, but for me as well.  Instead of struggling to get her to sleep by eleven, and then staying up way past midnight to write and have time for myself, I've been starting her bedtime routine around nine.  She's been asleep just after ten most nights, and I've fallen asleep right behind her.  I've also been getting up about an hour earlier in the morning to regain some much needed "me" time, but writing first thing in the morning is too much of a struggle.  By the time I get rolling, I have to get ready for work.

-  Two days after our ER visit, Punky started coughing.  She had a cold that persisted all week, but by the following Sunday the cough was really nasty.  We took her to the doctor on Monday and, even though she sounded terrible, her chest was clear.  But, guess what?  She had an ear infection!  Score another point for mother's intuition.  So, sadly, our streak is officially over.  Hopefully it won't be a recurring event all spring like last year.

-  I got to enjoy yet another wonderful visit to the dentist.  No toothache this time, just the repair of some old fillings that were hanging on by a thread and ready to cause trouble at any moment, plus a routine cleaning afterward.  Even though I was there for over three hours, and I left completely numb from my eyebrows to my boobs, the visit was sweet since I actually managed to get some dental insurance that kicked in the first of the year.  Now to just pay off the outstanding balance I racked up previously.

-  Speaking of paying things off, I made my final car payment just before Christmas, about six months ahead of schedule.  Resisting the urge to trade it in on a new one is tough for me.  I know that buying a new car is about the stupidest mistake you can make financially, next to leasing one that is, but I just feel safer somehow with a new vehicle.  I drive about twenty-five thousand miles a year between work and frequent trips home, and a new car gives me peace of mind.  Yes, I know even a new car can break down, but the odds are definitely in my favor when it's new.  That's always been worth the car payment to me, but now that we are embracing this financial restructuring of sorts, a new car is a big no-no.  So, I will continue to drool over the new cars zipping by and cross my fingers that nothing goes to hell with mine.

-  I also made my scheduled six-month visit to the thyroid doc this month.  According to the blood test, my thyroid is running a bit overactive again.  According to the six pounds I gained over the holidays, the blood test is full of shit.  When I argued that I'm sleeping well and an overactive thyroid generally causes the exact opposite, she found another culprit to blame for my fatigue: vitamin D.  The blood test revealed that my level is dangerously low and she told me to start taking between 2,000 IU and 3,000 IU a day to build it back up, which will take at least three months based on her calculations.  In the meantime, she left my current thyroid prescription alone so long as I monitor it carefully, skip a dose or two a week, and call her if I experience heart palpitations. 

-  To add to the list of medically related bullshit we've dealt with this month, I've also come to the realization that I may be starting menopause.  My mom started around my age, and the doctor told me it's hereditary when I asked while pregnant with Punky.  The late period after Halloween was followed by another late one and two extremely short ones.  One month I actually ovulated on day 7 of my cycle, and faced a period on day 20.  It sucks, big time.  For one, I have absolutely no clue when I will ovulate.  This, if you remember, is our major means of birth control.  I could always feel it, and it was always somewhere between days 12-14.  The month I got pregnant with Punky, it happened on day 11.  Now my body is pulling stunts like day seven?  Talk about throwing a wrench in a perfectly good system.  The other gripe here is that I have absolutely no idea when to expect my period which caught me completely off guard these last two cycles.  Since I haven't had any cramps to speak of since Punky's birth, I have no warning whatsoever.  The flood gates suddenly open and there it is, full force gushing.  I guess I need to schedule an appointment with the doctor to get the official diagnosis, but it can wait a few more months.  I've had enough docs for now, and let's face it, it's not exactly curable.  It's simply inevitable.

-  In other news, we have really been enjoying Santa's bounty this month.  All the new toys, books, puzzles, and board games have brought some much needed variety to play time.  She is particularly taken with one game that focuses on letters, their sounds, and learning to read.  It's amazing how quickly she is learning through this game, and we play it almost every single day.  Also, when she was sick a few weeks ago, I put some games on my iPod for her to play while she relaxed on the couch.  Most of them revolve around the skills needed to read and the fundamentals of basic math.  I even put a Spanish flashcard program on there for her and she flips through them and repeats the vocabulary.  Her yearly evaluation at daycare will be in a few weeks and I'm looking forward to it.  I really want to know what she's learning there now, if anything.  I hope she's not as bored as I fear she may be.

So, that's about it.  January in a nutshell.  I'm going to try really hard to pick up the pace a bit and write more often.  I just need to make some time management adjustments.  I'll get right on that when I find the time. 

Hear No Evil, See No Evil...

Murphy has a nasty habit of sneaking up on me and biting me on the ass, which is exactly where he should shove that law.  Up his, not mine, just to be clear.

Thursday night, on the heels of Punky's well visit, we celebrated the fact that it was so wonderful to go months without a single trip to the doctor.  We toasted to the hope of another record-breaking stretch, and joked about the likelihood that she picked something up while there and that she'll probably have another ear infection next week.

We made a big bowl of popcorn, popped in a classic cartoon DVD, and snuggled up on the couch for some quality family time.  Just the three of us.  All happy, healthy, and in the same place at the same time.  Hey, it doesn't happen often.  Not nearly as often as it should.

An hour later the popcorn was about gone, her dad was about two seconds from snoring on the couch, and Punky's attention span had about reached its limit.  It was bedtime anyway.  And then, it happened.

"Mommy, I can't get this out of here."

The instant I looked her way, I knew exactly what she did and that bedtime would be delayed for hours. 

"Please tell me you didn't put a popcorn kernel in your ear!"

She did.

I will spare you the yelling that immediately followed this discovery.  Poor kid.  Mommy and Daddy were not a bit amused to say the least.  We made it through the infant/toddler stage when kids don't know any better; I truly thought we were in the clear.

For the next half hour, we tried everything we could think of to safely remove the kernel and spare us a trip to the ER that late at night.  We tried tweezers.  We tried toothpaste on a Q-tip thinking it would stick to it long enough to pull it out.  We even put the vacuum hose up to her ear and tried to suck it out.  But our efforts were all in vain.  It was stuck, pointy end down, and we were afraid we would bust her eardrum if we kept poking around in there.  So, a forty minute ride to the hospital it was. 

The nurses at the front desk had a good chuckle when we arrived.  While doing the routine paperwork, they entertained us with stories of other things they had seen lodged in kids' holes over the years.  And since we were hardly an emergency case, many more nurses, doctors, and even the janitor had ample time to hear the news and pop into our room to add their own something-stuck-in-an-orifice stories while we waited almost two hours for someone to remove the kernel. 

It took two tries to flood her ear with a syringe of warm water and safely wash it out, and thankfully there was no damage to her eardrum.  It was almost one in the morning when we got home, and I was awake until almost three.  

I felt like a zombie at work yesterday.  I've been lucky in the sleep department lately, no insomnia bouts for a while, so I was out of practice functioning on only three hours of sleep.  But not to worry, Murphy stepped in again to wake me up after lunch.

I was in the file room, minding my own business, making photocopies, and chatting with a co-worker.  Hardly a dangerous scenario, no?  I grabbed my copies from the paper tray and somehow they managed to slip through my fingers.  One single sheet spiraled through the air and got me.  A paper cut.  In my eye.

Yes, I said IN MY EYE.  

My eye instantly swelled and turned the color of a cherry tomato.  I returned to my office and watched a small lake form on my desk as my eye put its tear duct in overdrive in an attempt to flush out the intruder.  And since it was an actual cut on my eyeball, and not a loose, foreign object, the tears flowed frantically for hours.  Of course I was required to report it as an accident, so I got to look like an idiot while person after person, my boss included, paraded through my office to look at my bulging ball of fire.  

They offered to send me to a doctor but I decided to wait it out.  The only incident I had for comparison was when Punky poked me with the sidewalk chalk and, truth be told, that one hurt much worse.  By the end of the day my eye returned to its normal color, aside from the bright red line of the cut itself.  It was uncomfortable to blink, but not excruciating pain or anything.  From what I read, the only danger is if bacteria gets in and the eye gets infected.  I guess I'll know if my eye turns green and puss starts oozing.

Before Punky's dad left for work on third shift last night, I warned him to watch his holes.  We're having some serious orifice issues in this house.  I told him if he managed to knock a tooth out, he would be the third monkey.  Our injury collection would be complete: hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil.

I'm happy to report he survived the night without incident.

Checkup Time

Punky had her three-year well visit with the doctor today and I couldn't be happier.  First of all, we hadn't been there since the summer, which is absolutely unbelievable given the fact that we made almost weekly trips for months prior.  She's had a few colds and stomach bugs since, but no ear infections or inexplicable fevers whatsoever.

While the doctor updated the medical exam form required by daycare, Punky entertained her with an explanation of how the blue juice in her body turns red if it comes out when she makes a boo-boo.  And that if we have ten cookies, and add two more, we'll have twelve.  And that the word 'doctor' starts with a D.  And that she can finally say 'hospital' the right way instead of 'hostable' like she said when she was two.  

That, of course, made the doctor comment on both her intelligence and her ability to speak so clearly for her age.  And, in turn, made us smile with pride.  

The doctor rattled off a list of questions about her development to make sure she is meeting the milestones and we talked about the disappearance of the ear infections and high fevers.  I thanked her for not letting us rush into getting tubes in Punky's ears.  I'm glad we listened and waited out the storm.  She was relieved that fevers are gone and she chalked them up to viral infections that seemed to occur in a pattern by sheer coincidence.  She did a routine physical exam on the munchkin and declared her healthy.  The only vaccination Punky needed was the flu shot and, thankfully, they gave it to her as a nasal spray rather than a needle.

But the doctor did have some bad news for us: she's moving to Texas in two months so we had to name another doctor in the practice for Punky's future visits.  Dammit.  We had our differences in the beginning when I was struggling with nursing and Punky wasn't gaining weight fast enough in her opinion, but once we passed that initial hurdle I really came to like her.  So does Punky.  Most importantly, I trust her.  Now we have to start all over with a new doctor. 

So, at the ripe old age of three, Punky is a whopping twenty-seven pounds and thirty-six inches.  She only gained one pound since they last saw her almost six months ago, but she grew about two inches.  She is still dangling around the 20th percentile for kids her age.  Once a runt, always a runt.

How to Impress a Three-Year-Old

Put water in a plastic cup.

Let her take a sip.

Put the cup in the freezer.

Refrain from losing your shit when you spend the rest of the evening saying, "No, it's not done yet" a hundred times.  

Just before bedtime, remove cup from the freezer and hand it to her.

Tell her to take a sip. 

Smile when she says, "Mommy, the water is stuck in there!"

Tell her to stick her hand in and touch it.  Let her squeeze the cup to see how hard it is.  Watch as the chunk of ice pops out of the cup and smashes to pieces all over the kitchen floor.

Let her hold a piece and watch it melt in her hands.

"Wow, Mommy! That's amazing! It's turning into water again! I can't believe it!  It was water first, then it froze like a rock, and now it's water again!  How cool! Let's do it again!"

Tuck her into bed.

Return to the kitchen and collect the remaining ice chips on the floor.  Clean up all the little puddles of water.

All this because she asked what ice is and glared at me like I was a big, fat liar when I told her it's only really, really cold water.

Totally worth it though.  She thinks I'm magic now.

I Read A Book

Hey, don't laugh.  That's big news around here.  Cover to cover in under two days.  I haven't accomplished that since before Punky was born.  Aside from her books, that is.  Those I've read literally hundreds of times. They are burned in my brain for eternity, which comes in handy at bedtime when I'm exhausted.  I can close my eyes and recite the stories word for word and Punky is none the wiser.  I even know when to turn the page.

Anyway, the book was something I wanted, so when Punky's dad asked for an idea for Christmas I took the opportunity to put a bug in his ear.  I eventually ended up writing it down for him as well after he asked me "What was the name of that book again?" for the third time.  I even told him where to buy it.  

It took a few years for me to truly catch on to the fact that he's a naturally terrible gift giver.  I know, it's the thought that counts, but his gifts generally leave me wondering what the hell that thought was exactly.  Trust me, I'd rather accept this fact (and forgo the element of surprise and romantic feelings that occur when your guy demonstrates he really gets you by choosing the perfect gift) and end up with something I actually want, than leave him to his own devices and risk another neon pink birdhouse kitchen decoration.  Enough said.

So, where was I?  Oh yeah, the book.  Dave Ramsey's The Total Money Makeover.  I actually read about it on several other blogs and decided I wanted to read it myself.  Punky's dad and I both make decent money, but we can certainly manage it better.  The bills are paid, we can afford the things we need without much struggle and have money left over here and there, but we aren't really saving much or getting ahead at all.  We both came into this relationship with financial baggage and I want to get rid of it as quickly as possible.  We need a bigger house, we need a better retirement plan, and we need to save for Punky's education. 

As I started reading, I was surprised to see that I already practice many of his suggestions.  I haven't used credit cards in almost a decade, I have an emergency fund, I fall into the 3% of people that actually pay additional on their mortgages every single month, and I've used his whole "debt snowball" concept in the past.  I've always considered myself good with money, and the book reinforced that belief to a degree, but it also helped me identify the root causes of some of our money problems and formulate a plan to fix them.  Now I just need her dad's cooperation.

When it comes to finances, we're polar opposites.  I'm not much of a shopper and I really spend very little money on myself.  I'm not into clothes, jewelry, spa treatments, or trips to the beauty parlor.  I don't buy purses, shoes, or even new underwear for that matter, until I truly need it.  I don't collect things for the sake of collecting them.  I rarely spend money on things like movies, music, or nights out with friends.  And when I want something that falls outside the necessity category, I plan ahead and save the money up front.  I do my research.  I'm not an impulse buyer.   

Her dad, on the other hand, likes stuff.  For every ounce of minimalist in me, he has two ounces of packrat.  The things he hoards are generally cheap when you look at them individually, but add them together and it's a whole new ball game.  This is where we seem to have the biggest breakdown in communication.  He sees a five-dollar T-shirt and buys it because it's only five bucks.  Why pay twenty later when you need one if you can pay five now and have it on hand?  In his mind, he's saving us fifteen dollars.  In my mind, he's wasting five on something he doesn't need and hogging valuable closet space in the process.  This same difference of opinion applies to everything from tools to canned goods in the pantry.  And don't even get me started on yard sale purchases of other people's junk.

Right now I'm in the process of analyzing our spending and creating a budget so we can hopefully pay off some of the debt that is limiting our options and causing riffs in our relationship.  He's not fully on board yet, but I definitely peaked his interest when a quick math job showed him we could potentially pay his truck off entirely in as little as nine months if we take control of our money.  It's worth a shot, right? 

Whatever the outcome, it will be a cold day in hell till he buys me another book.  That's for sure.

Party Time

My little drummer girl

Wednesday night, after her favorite dinner of macaroni and cheese, we braced ourselves for a night of noise and gave Punky her birthday present: a hot pink, electric drum set.  She loved it and entertained us the rest of the evening.  To our surprise, she hasn't really touched it much since.  I think she's just overwhelmed with all the new stuff she has to play with now.  She bounces from one thing to the next, five minutes per activity at most.

We had her actual party yesterday.  My sister and her family planned on coming to spend the night with us for New Year's Eve anyway, so I thought it would be a good idea to have her party while they were here instead of them making another trip this month.  And besides, when we made her wait over three weeks for her birthday party last year, she drove us nuts.

This year I took the easy way out and ordered all the supplies online.  Deciding the theme for the party was a grueling process.  I told Punky it was her decision, and she changed her mind daily for weeks.  We sat in front of the computer three evenings in a row, looking at the same sets of decorations over and over again, and she only reached a decision when I had enough and threatened to cancel her party if she didn't pick something already.  I hope she puts that much thought into choosing a college, career, and boyfriends down the road.  Her choice? Ni Hao Kai-lan.

Of course, I couldn't find a local grocery store that made Kai-lan cakes.  My mom ordered it from a bakery down home, and my sister held it on her lap for over two hours on their ride up so it wouldn't get smushed.  It was a beautiful cake though, and tasty, too.  

The party went well.  We had more food than we knew what to do with, and the same could be said for Punky's present pile.  The highlight of the party was the pinata full of candy and other miscellaneous junk.  No, I wasn't crazy enough to actually blindfold them and give them a stick to swing around aimlessly.  This pinata had pull strings, so they all grabbed a handful and yanked away until it finally burst open.

Everyone was gone well before five, except for my mom who is staying a few days, and we spent the evening cleaning up the mess and assembling new toys.  Just like other years, I put some stuff away for a rainy day.  It's a lot to handle all at once with Christmas and her birthday only three days apart.  She opened enough to keep her busy for quite a while, and it's nice to have some new toys on the side for when boredom strikes.  It worked well in the past, but now she's old enough to remember the things she got and wonder what happened to them.  I think.  Time will tell.

Today You Are Three

Dear Punky,

I can hardly believe how quickly the last three years have gone.  It seems like we brought you home from the hospital just yesterday.  If I close my eyes, I can still feel the tiny baby curled up in my arms.  I can still hear the hungry newborn cry.  I can still smell the baby powder in the air.  I can still see the beautiful, little face that changed my world forever.

I can think of no better use for the term "mixed emotions" than to describe motherhood.  It's amazing how every single step on this journey makes me equally happy and sad at the same time.  Both excited and nervous.  Proud, yet fearful.  Watching you grow and learn has been an incredible experience.  And this year brought many great firsts in your young life.

Out of necessity, you started daycare in January and faced the world without us for the first time.  Soon after, I came to realize that you truly are your own little person.  Suddenly you had a life all your own that existed outside the safety of our home and miles away from the two people who love you most.  You had a new world of friends, teachers, and experiences.  Until that point, I told your story; now you had your own tales to tell.  

Dinner time on school days is one of my favorite things.  You are so eager to tell me about your day and you spare no details.  I know that Derek always yells at the table, Gavin spits too much, Lily pees on the potty only after nap time, sometimes you cry at the library, Miss Courtney is your favorite teacher, and you broke Miss Diane's red crayon, but it was an accident and you are very, very sorry.  I know that Jackson said a bad word, Alex hit Storm because she took his toy, music class is your favorite part of the day, you don't like the rice they have at lunch some days, and, thanks to your demonstration, I know the exact way Miss Betty holds the book when reading a story so everyone can see the pictures.  I love your stories and never tire of them, no matter how many times I've heard about the letter of the week, the name of the school's pet rabbit, or all the different bikes in the gym.  Keep telling me your stories, little girl.  I'm always listening.  Now and forever.

In February, you had your first and only opportunity thus far to play in the snow.  Starting daycare unfortunately unleashed a a firestorm on your immune system and you were constantly sick until summer.  You battled virus after virus, and ear infection after ear infection.  With all the neon pink antibiotics you downed in those months, I'm surprised you didn't glow.  Mother nature has been kind to us this season, no snow to speak of, but don't worry.  It's coming.  I can guarantee it.  And you'll have the chance to romp in the snow once again.

You reached a major milestone in March when we bid farewell to your crib and transitioned to your big girl bed.  While it was hard for me to adjust to that change, you had no problem whatsoever.  I anticipated a struggle.  I thought you'd never stay in it long enough to fall asleep.  I thought you'd be playing with toys or roaming the house at two in the morning.  But, none of that happened.  And while you still prefer to sleep with me, and do so fairly often, you give us no trouble at all sleeping in your bed when you need to.  Well, except for your irrational fear of your curtains.  We'll continue to work on that.

In April, you had your first attempt at roller skating.  It did not go well.  You cried, and screamed, and begged to go home, partly because you were exhausted and frustrated that you couldn't do it, and partly because I was stupid enough to take you to a loud, dark, crowded, roller rink after a day already packed to the gills with physical activity during which you managed to eat only a few bites of pizza and a pretzel.  While I accept full responsibility for that bad experience, I haven't attempted it again.  And you haven't asked to go either.  Maybe we'll try again someday soon.

In May, you managed to blow my mind and take me back to my own childhood when you attempted to jump into a story book.  For the first time, I truly saw myself in your eyes.  And I felt an even deeper connection to my beautiful, little girl than I ever thought possible.  In that instant, I understood you on a whole new level.  

June brought the excitement of your first real vacation and I couldn't be happier with the result.  I had some hesitations taking a trip like that when you were only two, but if it really exhausted and overwhelmed you, no one was the wiser.  The extremely long car ride, the blazing heat, the constant on-the-go days, the total change in routine, all the different rides and attractions...and you handled it all with ease.  You were so happy, so brave, and so full of wonder on that trip.  It was worth every penny and I'm so glad we didn't wait until you were older.  As long as I live, I will never forget the moment you met Goofy.  

You learned to pedal your tricycle in July, and while that was a fantastic milestone moment, the month brought an even better one, even if we didn't know it at the time.  As it turned out, July was the very last time you had an ear infection.  It was the last time you drank antibiotic chasers after dinner.  You've had your share of colds since then, but none have resulted in the nasty ear infections that plagued you for months.  We suspected one the very next month, but no.  And the doctor's theories were far worse.

August.  I still shudder when I think about August.  "Something's wrong," the doctor said.  I've relived that doctor visit a hundred times in my nightmares.  My world was shattered, my heart was broken, and I experienced a fear unlike any I had ever known.  The possibilities were terrifying.  How could something be wrong with my perfect, little girl? 

While our visit to the children's hospital in September left us both relieved and frustrated, you stepped up to the plate and provided us with the perfect distraction.  The biggest milestone of the year by far.  All of a sudden, out of the blue, you were potty trained.  Something just clicked on that cool, fall morning, and there was no turning back.  You were ready, and so were we.  I can honestly say that of all the things I so desperately miss about having a sweet little baby, changing diapers is not one of them.  And I'm so very proud of you.

In October, you got to experience real door-to-door trick or treating for the first time.  You didn't mind the dark, you didn't mind the cold, you didn't mind all the strange people asking you questions.  And I was reminded that for as many ways as you are like your mother, there are just as many ways you are not.  My feelings for Halloween aside, there has never been a more adorable lion in the history of the silly tradition.

With the holidays approaching, in November we wrote your very first letter to Santa Clause.  Those are fifteen minutes your dad and I will surely never forget.  Every time we are arrogant enough to think we know you inside and out, you manage to throw us a curve ball.  Full of surprises, that's our girl.  And we wouldn't have it any other way.  

This month brought your very first real train ride and more encounters with Santa than any kid needs in one year.  You were so caught up in the magic of the season, decorating the tree, the music, the lights, the shows, and the anticipation of Christmas morning.  I have more great Christmas memories than I can count, but the memories of this year with you trump them all.

So, we made it.  We survived the infamous terrible two's.  I already know that three will be a challenging year for all of us as you continue to exert your independence and discover your place in the world.  The only thing I ask of you this year is more of the same.

Keep giving me the best hugs and kisses I've ever had.  Keep singing with the most beautiful voice I've ever heard.  Keep smiling with a twinkle in your eye bright enough to light my entire world.  Keep dancing like no one is watching.  Keep learning with an insatiable hunger for knowledge.  Keep challenging your world. 

Never stop telling your story.

Happy birthday, Julia Allyn.  Today, you are three.

I love you.