Moving Day

On Sunday afternoon, Camber moved out of the house. Since the arrival of a new chore chart a few weeks ago, life in the Mathews' house has become downright unbearable: not only are all of its five year-old occupants now required to hang up their bath towels after use (the horror!), they also must use utensils and chew with their mouths closed.

The straw that broke the camel's back was the announcement that lunch would not be served to individuals who did not pick their church clothes off of the floor and hang them in their closets.

"I'm leaving here and never coming back!" my daughter shouted as she lugged a pink plastic pet carrier stuffed with living essentials down the stairs.

"We'll miss you," said my husband as he took a bite out of his sandwich.
"Can I have her room?" Cortlen asked hopefully.

The soon-to-be emancipated minor let out a long angry howl. "That's it!" she screamed. "I'm leaving now!"

"I'm thinking about making some cookies later," I said. "Do you want to wait and take some for the road?"

The traveler weighed her options. Decisions, decisions. After successfully talking a poodle Webkin and Island Princess Barbie out of the pet carrier to make room for a Tupperware container of freshly baked treats, Camber decided that nothing would be lost by delaying her departure.

P.S. I have pictures of the event, but you'll have to wait until Cameron gets out of the hospital and I can get back to my computer at home!

Flu Shots

My kids love surprises, which is why I didn't tell my boys that they were getting flu shots until we were in the parking lot of the pediatrician's office.

"What are we doing here?" asked Cortlen nervously.

"Surprise!" I shouted as I threw a little bit of confetti into the air.

I was a little hurt by the response that I received.

"Oh no!!!" Kellen wailed.

"I'm not going in there!" screamed Cortlen, pointing at the primary-colored torture chamber.

A deluxe bribe package that included a Happy Meal, a Dollar Store light saber, and thirty minutes of uninterrupted play on the riding lawnmowers at Home Depot was unsuccessful in coaxing my sons out of the car.

"Let's go," I said, counting to three.

While I crawled in one side of the car after one bad listener, the other bad listener climbed out the other. I didn't realize how strong twin B was until I wrestled him to the ground. I looked up to find the entire population of our pediatrician's waiting room staring at me through the front window.

By the time that we entered the pediatrician's office (a good 10 minutes later), every patient under the age of 7 was crying hysterically. Thankfully, Cortlen was there to calm everyone down.

"I'll bet that I'm not the only one getting a flu shot today!" he shouted.

I apologized to the other moms for ruining their surprises.

I have no idea why our normal wait time of 30 minutes was cut down to 2 minutes. No clue at all. A nurse hastily ushered us into a room and, without delay, produced two syringes from her pocket.

"Let's get this over with real quick," she said.

"Let's get all of you out of here real quick," she said in her head.

I held the first victim down while the nurse poked his bicep.

"That didn't hurt at all!" shouted Cortlen the second that it was over.

"Mine didn't hurt either," chirped Kellen a minute later.

"I was very brave," Cortlen announced to the waiting room on our way out.

"I didn't even fuss or cry," shouted Kellen triumphantly.

"Good job guys," I said as sincerely as I could.

"Let's go to McDonald's," I suggested once we were all safely in the car. All of that exercise had made me very hungry.

My Day in Pictures (and Quotes)

I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that I'm not the only person who has had a day like this:

"I'm not eating dinner! Tortilla soup is disgusting. If you make me eat it, I'm going to throw up."

"Don't puke on my floor. Use this bucket instead."


"Please hold your skull goblet with two hands."

"I'm fine."

"Hold your skull goblet with two hands or I'm taking it away."

"Oops. Sorry. I should of held it with two hands. Instead of cleaning up the mess that I made because I didn't listen, I'm going to just sit here with a dumb look on my face and wait for you to hand me a paper towel."

"Mom, we need more toothpaste."

"I just bought you some."

"I didn't do it."

"Please hold the Santa bowl with two hands."

"I got it!"

"I'm sure you do, but please hold it with two hands anyway."

"Oops. I should have held it with two hands."

"Here's a picture that I made in school. It's of you."

"What's that circle with the dot in the middle that is between my legs?"

"Your breast."

CCD

Every Wednesday evening, my neighbor works as a waitress at a swanky Italian restaurant in town. I help her out by watching her two daughters (aged 5 & 10) for an hour until her husband gets home from work.

A few weeks ago, the husband got stuck in a meeting and called to say that he wouldn't be home in time to take Christina, his older daughter, to her first CCD class at the local Catholic church. When I told Christina that it was her lucky day--I was going to drive her!!!!--the blood drained out of the fifth grader's face. I didn't have the slightest idea why until I looked in the hallway mirror and saw a bloated whale wearing a cowboy hat and socks with sandals.

The outfit was non-negotiable, as were the four five year-olds dressed in Lightening McQueen and Sleeping Beauty pajamas. Still, I felt bad for the poor girl, so I cut her a deal.

"I'll tell you what," I said t0 Christina as I pulled into the church parking lot, "Why don't you walk 10 steps ahead of us and pretend like you don't know us."

"Christina?"

I found the girl curled in the fetal position in the back of my car.

After I agreed to repark the car down the street and around the corner, Christina mustered enough courage to get out of the vehicle. Very slowly, she began to slink toward the building.

The pajama train followed 100 yards behind singing "This Little Light of Mine" at the top of their lungs. I like the song, so I sang too.

By the time that we entered the church gymnasium, Christina was already sitting at a table with a group of her friends.

"Let's go," I told the children's choir, "Our work here is done."

We turned and exited the building in an orderly fashion, but not before the choir broke into loud, exuberant song again.

"So long! Farewell! It's time to say good-bye!" they screamed.

I tried to stop them...unsuccessfully.

Christina is still not speaking to me. As if there would be any question.

Being Clean is Good

The doctors and nurses at Penn constantly wash their hands, which is a good thing. Since the invention of hand sanitizer, a thorough hand scrubbing is, more often than not, followed by a generous squirt of Purell.

As someone who has trouble remembering to wash their hands at critical times (like after chopping onions), I am fascinated--to the point of unhealthy obsession--by those who wash their hands unconsciously. Yesterday, I dedicated a whole hour to counting how many times one specific NICU nurse dispensed Purell into her left palm. At the end of the hour, I told the unwitting object of my curious gaze that she had sanitized her hands an amazing 52 times.

"That's almost one squirt per minute," I added, patting myself on the back for solving such a complex mathematical equation in my head.

The nurse thanked me for providing such a valuable public service.

Another nurse overheard my conversation with nurse # 1 and failed to avert eye contact fast enough.

"If you want, I can count how many...."

"That's o.k.," nurse # 2 interrupted, turning her back to me.

Nurse # 1 suggested that I find something else to do in the NICU to occupy my mind...and fill the time.

Any suggestions... other than honing my skills in eavesdropping and making infant-sized pirate eye patches out of bilirubin goggles? I'm pretty good at both already.


P.S. Cameron continues to improve, albeit slowly. We're waiting for the results of several blood tests, which should give us a better idea of where his bone marrow is at right now. We'll take whatever we can get at this point... and are grateful for it.

Yellow Card

Camber's kindergarten teacher's discipline system is very simple: if you behave, you get a green card for the day and if you don't, you get a yellow. One can earn a dreaded yellow card by committing any of the following infractions:
* Not listening
* Not cooperating
* Not doing one's work
* Not staying in one's seat

I for one am very glad that I am not in kindergarten because some of these rules are very hard to follow...for some people anyway.

The day that my husband and I knew was coming came earlier than we expected. I knew something was up yesterday when Camber came flying off the school bus and straight into my arms.
"What's wrong?" I asked her.
"I think I know," said Kellen right away.
"Mind your own business," I told him.
"Camber got a yellow card!!!" sang Cortlen.

Camber started to cry.

"It's a good thing that I got a million green cards at preschool today," continued Cortlen.
"Me too," chirped Kellen.
"You don't have green cards at preschool," I reminded the star students, "And I'm not kidding about minding your own business."

I had to wait for the perfect angels--with their zillion green cards between them--to be distracted by a squirrel who was stuck in a storm drain to get the scoop about what happened at school that day. The details are little fuzzy, but from what I can gather, it involved a box of jumbo crayons, some snatching, and two lonely nostrils.

Of course I was not happy about the yellow card, so I made Camber write an apology note to her teacher. I figured that that, plus having to spend the rest of the afternoon being not so tactfully reminded of one's mistake by two heavenly creatures was punishment enough.