Inconvenience

It's been more than a decade since I was last plagued with stinkin' migraine headaches, but...yesterday I was struck with the third migraine I have had in two weeks. I've never had three in succession like this, and it is SO irritating to know you're about to be down for the count for several hours...This one was by far the worst of the three, and lasted the rest of the day until I went to bed and slept it off. Yesterday morning I woke up feeling "not quite right" after a restless night of very little sleep. Shortly after lunch, as I was putting the children down for naps, I started having the familiar visual disturbances that herald an oncoming headache. I called Steve (again), took some ibuprofen and crawled under a blanket. Pretty much stayed there until bedtime. I feel twenty times better this morning. My plan is to do a "coffee detox" and stay away from caffeine for a while, just in case that's triggering something. I don't drink but one to one and one-half cups a day, but it could be that I've got an extreme sensitivity to it. To be honest, I don't know what's causing the headaches. I've read studies that link just about everything possible to migraines, from changes in weather, sleep patterns, caffeine, milk, juice, meats, vegetables, processed foods, spicy foods, bright lights, stress, happiness (okay, maybe not that last one). Good golly, do they think water causes it? Bottom line is, nobody knows. I'm going to call my doctor for advice and hopefully an Imitrex prescription. In the meantime, if you could just pray that this problem goes away, I'd be super grateful. It pretty much grinds my day to a halt when I get a migraine, since I can't see to do anything.

Rainbows in the Rain

Holy macaroni. What a weekend. How is it possible that the past 48 hours have included sunburn, a migraine headache, a chipped windshield (thanks I65. Love ya.), a flat tire (thanks, hwy 59. Love you.), a mischievous disaster*, and a 3am trip to the E.R.**, yet I still enjoyed myself in good old Alabammer?

Good friends are usually worth it.



*I'd love to know Connor's motivation for emptying the contents of a full can of spray sunblock all over the interior of my vehicle. I really would. So would he. He claims "I just wasn't thinkin'."

**I'm going to spare you the gross details of this story. Let's just say it began like a stomach virus and ended up like one of the Egyptian plagues. I'm still not entirely better. I'm going to see a regular doctor tomorrow to find out what the heck happened.

Boing.

The other day, at lunch:

Connor: "Don't cut up my grapes, Mom! My teeth need to bounce on them."

Going Buggy

Who can stay inside with all that gorgeous sunshine floating around?

I opened all the windows this morning to let in some fresh air, the Mini-Medlins and I went to run some errands, and when we got home, Connor's room was filled with red wasps! I shut the window (most of them were clinging to the screen) and trapped the majority between the window and the screen (yep, they're still there), then I went on a killing spree and I think I got the free-range ones. No idea how they got in--there must be a gap someplace in the screen. I yanked down his window blinds in my rampage; I'll fix that after we're sure we have found their point of entry. Connor's going to nap in our bed this afternoon.


This weekend we had our first family hiking excursion, at the state park in Guntersville! It was a wonderful day for it. Connor was so excited he couldn't sleep the night before, and when we got there, he was ecstatic, running up and down the trail and gathering sticks. Both the wee ones were troopers, really.
We did end up carrying them both a good bit (we didn't have a backpack carrier for Mia so I threw together a sling and hauled her on my hip, no prob), but they had fun, and I was relieved to discover that we don't have whiny "indoor kids." We have a camping trip scheduled for early July, around the weekend of Mia's birthday. I think they'll be into it.

Time "March"-es on.

I gave up Facebook for Lent. What was I thinking?

Actually, it's been fairly liberating. All these weeks I've been wondering where the time goes in my day... suddenly I've got time to fold laundry, do dishes, read to the kids, make more infernal to-do lists...it's like I have two extra hours every day! And since I'm no longer feverishly refreshing my FB homepage to gobble status updates and peruse photos, leave comments, scrawl on people's "walls," (resist, resist. Go outside and take a deep breath, Manders.), perhaps I'll squeeze in a couple extra blog entries. Not that anyone reads this goop.



As Spring creeps around the corner (I am told it's coming. It'd better hurry up if it knows what's good for it), I find myself waxing nostalgic, knowing my babies are approaching their birthdays. Connor has a smidge more than two months left to be a three-year-old. Soon enough, he'll be waist-deep in big-kid pursuits, anticipating the big troop-off to Kindergarten, whispering to his friends instead of begging me to listen to his jokes. In photos taken just last year, he still had that exquisite toddler pot-belly. Now his legs have gotten lean and his face has lost that cherub roundness. Already this year, we've had some doozy conversations, about outer space, death, God, respect and love. He's already looking forward to four. Not because he's planning a party. He's been told he'll be able to ride a scooter. "And when I'm five," he says, "we're going to Disney World!!" It's nice to have goals.

And my really really baby, the youngest of our household, is buzzing toward "two" with tremendous speed herself. 20 months old yesterday. She's never considered herself "the baby." I'll warrant when she's old enough to express it, she'll demand we never call her that. She is every bit as grown as Brother in her estimation, and entitled to all the rights and privileges thereunto affixed. I absolutely love this age. She is so entertaining. She dances, she sings, she tries so admirably to communicate verbally, and we just never know what she's going to say. I've kept a journal of both the kids' "baby babbles" so I can taunt them in later years. Here's a handful of some of the things we've overheard Miss Mimi say this week:

“Wook! I did it! I buckle!”

“Uh-ohh, fall down *cookie.” (*or insert dropped object here)

“Meeka” Mickey Mouse. As in Meeska Mooska.

“Tickle me. Tickle toes, tickle foot.”

“I'm sticky.”

“Beers, Udder Beers, and Money” = Bear, Other Bear, and Bunny (her loveys! I adore those nicknames!!)

“How do you do, Bubber?”

“Cah gah go?” Where'd Connor go?

“Hi, Daddy! I eatin' seawall (cereal)!”

“Dankoowelcome.” Thank you/welcome. This is one word.

When she's mad, she'll kick her feet and say “keek!.” This is usually accompanied by a prone position, her little nose in the carpet, and a giant wail. She doesn't lose her temper excessively, but it happens. Usually when she's denied a treat.

She's very creative about naming her toys. She received a stuffed dog as a Valentine gift and named it “Silly.” Her favorite baby doll (which she got for Christmas) is named “Circle.” Cracks me up.

Bitten by the theatre bug.

I remember the very first time I went to see a live play. I was five. It was The Wizard of Oz. From the magical moment the house lights dimmed and the overture began, it was as if something inside me awakened and wanted to burst out. My eyes never left the stage, my ears drank every word uttered by those green little community theatre players, and my heart danced whenever they did. "Hooked" doesn't begin to describe my state of mind. After the play, the cast assembled in the lobby and endulged the audience with autographs and small talk. When the cute little fourteen-year-old girl playing Dorothy shook my hand, I thought I'd pass out. This shy little wallflower had suddenly found her muse. I wanted to be just like her.

Wednesday I was perusing the Chattanooga Theatre Center's website, intending to scan for audition notices, to check and see if they'd announced next year's season, etc. Instead I found myself examining the performance schedule for the youth theatre's current production of Go Dog, Go. In my head, I weighed the possible scenarios for my three-year-old's behavior, which ran the gamut from "polite young man" to "Ma'am, please follow us to the exit." Finally, I decided to risk it. After all, the book upon which the play is based has been one of his favorites since infancy. It was one of the first he was able to read by himself. He loves every silly illustration, and knows the whole book by heart.

Friday night Connor and I piled into the family van and drove downtown, just the two of us, for a bona fide date. He was fairly trembling with anticipation. For two days we had reviewed the rules of theatre etiquette and read and re-read the dog book, all in preparation. He had been so excited that afternoon, he hadn't been able to nap (this alone could have counted as a strike against a decent evening...). Inside the little black box performance space, the first four or five rows of seats weren't seats at all. They were carpet squares. Connor wasn't quite confident enough to nab a ringside rug, but chose a spot about five feet from the action. I settled down next to him and waited to gauge his reaction.

The house lights faded and the pianist began plinking out a tune reminiscent of the silent film era. Onto the stage strode a boy of about seventeen or eighteen, dressed in a clownish ensemble that included a waggly tail and a painter's hat adorned with floppy brown ears. He launched into a slapstick routine, juggling unsuccessfully and wobbling around on roller skates. I looked over at my son. He was laughing so hard he couldn't breathe. From that moment on, I barely glanced at the actors (sorry, guys.). My eyes were trained on my son, who I could tell was fairly falling in love. Connor hardly gave me a glance in return, although he occasionally scooted up close to my side, cupped his hand around my ear and whispered "this is just like in my book!" When it was all over, he begged to be allowed to go onto the stage and look around it. The cast hung around in the lobby to greet the audience, and Connor had his picture made with a few of them. He didn't want to leave. All the way home, he chattered about the play, detailing his favorite parts, favorite dogs, and insisting that I make him a hat with ears. He had already determined which color he wanted and which color his sister was going to wear. He planned to teach her her part before bed that night. We're already making plans to attend the next children's production.

The joy that filled my heart that night when I was five has swelled a hundred-fold.

Coats off!

How delightful is that first warm day after a blustery winter? The sunshine has begun tickling our noses. Here are my favorites from yesterday's playtime: