Friday, October 26, 2007
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
I've seen this a number of time in my Inbox, as I am sure most of you have as well. But it's worth the post, for a good laugh and a little bit of perspective.
Mom, Mommy, Mama, Ma
Dad, Daddy, Dada, Pa, Pop
JOB DESCRIPTION :
Long term, team players needed, for challenging permanent work in an, often chaotic environment. Candidates must possess excellent communication and organizational skills and be willing to work variable hours, which will include evenings and weekends and frequent 24 hour shifts on call. Some overnight travel required, including trips to primitive camping sites on rainy weekends and endless sports tournaments in far away cities! Travel expenses not reimbursed. Extensive courier duties also required.
The rest of your life. Must be willing to be hated, at least temporarily, until someone needs $5. Must be willing to bite tongue repeatedly. Also, must possess the physical stamina of a pack mule and be able to go from zero to 60 mph in three seconds flat in case, this time, the screams from the backyard are not someone just crying wolf.
POSSIBILITY FOR ADVANCEMENT & PROMOTION :
Your job is to remain in the same position for years, without complaining, constantly retraining and updating your skills, so that those in your charge can ultimately surpass you
PREVIOUS EXPERIENCE :
None required unfortunately. On-the-job training offered on a continually exhausting basis.
WAGES AND COMPENSATION :
Get this! You pay them! Offering frequent raises and bonuses. A balloon payment is due when they turn 18 because of the assumption that college will help them become financially independent. When you die, you give them whatever is left. The oddest thing about this reverse-salary scheme is that you actually enjoy it and wish you could only do more.
While no health or dental insurance, no pension, no tuition reimbursement, no paid holidays and no stock options are offered; this job supplies limitless opportunities for personal growth and free hugs and kisses for life if you play your cards right.
Monday, October 22, 2007
It just never stops when it comes to Devin. I guess it's just a part of having a boy.
Last Friday was "Flu Shot Day" for the Pruetz kids. I packed all three of them into the family truckster (the minivan) and headed down to the pediatrician's office.
Not surprisingly, Devin opted to go last as the recipient of the shot. So each girl was duly poked, snuggled by me, given a cup of warm milk and were fine from that point on.
But it was a different story when Dev's turn came around.
First, I sat in a chair to hold him in my lap. As I was getting situated, though, a four-year-old panic attack ensued and my son decided that he wanted nothing to do with this whole "getting a shot" thing.
He wriggled from my arms, headed for the exit, threw open the door and bolted down the hall. Luckily, our pediatrician has a new office that has quite a few side hallways and twists and turns and Devin took a wrong turn and ended up at a dead-end.
As I approached him, he screamed. I lunged and he kicked, but I managed to get a hold of him anyhow and drag him back into the exam room. The whole way, he was yelling, "Get me out of here!" I am sure he impressed quite a few people in the office.
So I sat back down into the chair, put his legs between mine, wrapped mine around his, held his arms down and squeezed as tightly as I could as the nurse gave him the injection.
Screams. Screams. A few more screams. A little more screaming.
Then the babies cried. More crying. Continued screaming.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, we left. We went to Krispy Kreme to get our customary after-a-shot doughnut and went home for a good, long nap -- for all of us.
End of story, right?
Well, if you know me and my family, then you know that there is no way that is the end of the story.
The Doodlebug woke up on Saturday morning complaining that his arm still hurt. Knowing that flu shots often leave the injection site sore, I wasn't worried until I lifted up the arm of his shirt. His poor little bicept was all swollen up, about the size of an egg. It was red and hot to the touch and I could immediately see why Devin was so uncomfortable.
I called the 24-hour nurse line and explained the situation to them. They told me to just watch it and make sure that the redness didn't swell or accompany a fever.
So we watched and Devin seemed to do fine. Sunday morning rolled around and once again, I lifted the arm of his size four shirt and there was the red patch -- twice the size of what it was the day before. The swelling had subsided almost completely, but the site was still hot to the touch.
Another call to the nurse line and the advice to give Benadryl and keep an eye on it once again. I did just what they said to do, but started thinking back to May, when Devin's foot got so infected that he ended up needed IV antibiotics. I got scared and decided to go ahead and take him to Good Night Pediatrics, the after-hours pediatrics office just around the corner.
Turns out there are a lot of sick kids in our neighborhood, because we had a nearly two-hour wait as the doctors in the practice tried hard to keep up with the demand.
Finally, we were called back and the doctor entered the room. She examined all of the things that doctors examine -- listened to Devin's heart and lungs, checked his ears, eyes, nose and mouth and tested his reflexes. Finally, we rolled up the sleever of his shirt to reveal....
Apparently, the Benadryl had done its job and the swelling and redness had completely gone away. If I had just looked at my son's arm in the waiting room, I could have saved us a lot of time and money. Instead, we missed Mass and our church Fall Extravaganza and spent the whole day in a doctor's office for a problem that didn't exist.
But I have to laugh, because what else can I do? The whole thing is just so ridiculous and so indicative of the futility that comes with motherhood. It's a part of my every day.
How was your weekend? ;)
Friday, October 19, 2007
After eating a cup of yoghurt this morning, Devin ran over to me and gave me a big tackle-style hug, but promptly ruined the moment by saying:
"Mommy -- I wiped my face on your shirt so I wouldn't have to use a napkin."
Have a great weekend!
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Ugh...I just got back from what may be one of the ten worst of experiences of my life. Nearly six weeks in the hospital tops the list...
As you may recall, about a month ago, I took the girls to see their doctor for their 15 month check ups. Because of their small sizes, Dr. T. wanted to have some blood work done on them. Well, it's taken me a little longer than it should have to actually get it done, but today was the day.
Needless to say, it was horrible. I mean, you never like having to have your kid pricked and prodded with needles, but when you have to put one down while she is still crying so you can do the same to the other one is especially awful.
To make matters worse, I had to actually lay on the table with the girls and hold them down. I hate the thought of being a restraint system for my own kids.
Luckily, we had two of the nicest, most patient phlebotomists you could ever hope for. They were kind and doting and simply wonderful. The experience could have been far worse if we'd had two women who didn't care.
I expected to only have a vile of blood taken from each baby, but when they brought out three for Gracie and four for Faith, I had to ask: What kinds of tests are they having done? I thought it was just a Complete Blood Count (CBC).
Turns out, they're getting CBCs, chem panels for heart disease and thyroid issues and a number of other things.
It makes me nervous. I'm sure they're fine, but I just want them to have the opportunity to live normally. Yes, they are small (at 16 months, they are wearing six-to-nine month clothes), but maybe they're just meant to be little. I'm okay with that.
If they are sick, I'd want to know so I can help them, but I just can't shake the thought that it's not their faults that they were born so early. I just want normal lives for them, free from health issues and disease. It's every mommy's hope for her children.
So it'll be a week or so before we hear back on the results. If you have prayers to spare, please say one for my girls, in the hopes that there will be no major problems found.
Monday, October 08, 2007
Isn't that a song? Or something similar?
Anyway, the computer is back, this time with a new logic board. Fabulous! It's nice to be connected again.
The past week has been a good one for the Pruetz family, albeit a little boring (boring by our standards may not be boring by yours, by the way).
Last week, Todd worked like a mad man all week long on a number of different projects. Most nights he wasn't home until 7:30 or 8:00, long after beddy-bye time for the girls. He would get a few moments with Devin, but the Doodlebug goes to bed at 8:00, so the two didn't have a whole lot of time together.
I guess I never realized how much I miss Todd when he's not around. Of course, it was hard feeding all three kids, getting them all bathed and jammied (yes, it's a verb in our house) and into bed all by myself, only to have to go and tackle cleaning the kitchen afterwards.
But really, that stuff didn't bother me as much as just not having Todd around bothered me. I missed him. I missed watching TV with him at night, or having a glass of wine with him on the front porch. It was sad, but I did get a good appreciation for not just Todd, but for our marriage as well.
Friday, though, Todd took a half day off. He took Devin to his 3:30 gymnastics class and after that, the two of them went on their Father-Son campout at the San Antonio Zoo!
Our zoo is so cool (as you've heard from previous posts) and they have so many neato programs. This particular one is called the "Family Campout." It's designed for families with kiddos 3 years - 5 years (hence the absence of the twins and me) and is a one-night adventure that includes roasting hot dogs over a fire, up-close animal experiences, a nighttime tour of the zoo, s'mores, a morning tour of the zoo (apparently, this is when the animals are at their friskiest!) and a breakfast. The two were home by 9:00 on Saturday morning, regaling me with tales of their fabulous trip.
Here are a few pictures from the camping trip of all camping trips
The rest of the Pruetz family is doing very well. The girls are masters at walking now and toddle around the house like old pros. It's easily the cutest thing I've ever seen. I just love that they are upright now.
It's always been that Gracie was the dominant personality, while Faith was a little more reserved and quiet. Gracie would topple Faith in an effort to get what she wanted, while Faith was pretty content sitting in my lap, watching the action.
Well I don't know what happened, but it seems that those personalities have been switched.
Now I know what you're thinking, but no, I have not mixed the two up. How do I know? Because I am the mom, that's how. The girls look different to me. Also, Faith has always been smaller than Grace and has a freckle on her left leg that Grace doesn't have.
Anyway, it seems that Faith will no longer stand for being the "little, quiet one." She's decided that she will not be stereotyped and is doing everything in her power to make sure everyone knows that she's the boss.
She talks ("What's that?" and "Kitty cat!" are her favorite sayings), she screetches (usually during meals) and she bites.
The latter of those three personality traits is something that comes unprompted and seemingly randomly. She'll just see Grace (who is the sole recipient of Faith's oral imprint) from across the room, walk over to her and CHOMP! Two weeks ago, she drew blood on Gracie's left arm. Just as that bruise was going away, she took a chunck out of Gracie's right cheek. We are now calling Faith, "Hannibal Lector."
And poor Gracie. She's become so quiet and retiring. She's now my lap baby who just follows me around, hoping to be picked up and cuddled. I have to admit that I love the snugglieness that is coming with this new personality. Since she wasn't a cuddler for the first 15 months of her life, I feel like I missed out on some good Mommy-Gracie bonding time. I'm making it up now, though. :)
Peace from the Pruetz Pound. More to come...