I am a Case Study in the Disadvantages of Google

Typical 2am, right?

My life right now is a lot more treading water than I would like it to be. It's a lot about keeping my head above water and a lot of questionably wasted energy going into the status quo. Apparently swimming against the current is my special, special art form. Why go with the flow when you can just fight the universe? *eyeroll*

When the hell will I learn, you guys?

Lately it's Kai. Gosh, and to my poor, amazing eldest son, it's probably always Kai. What can I say? Kai has just always been...Kai. Believe me, I know how horrible it is to compare your kids and blah blah blah, but this past two years has just been trying. But trying in ways that I practically predicted, and therefore [in the most neurotic part of my head] should have planned for better? I obviously always wish for things to be best case scenario though, so even saying out loud that they haven't, seems ungrateful. Because some kids have terminal illnesses and some kids never make it to see two, and some people are struggling with such unimaginable things and are still doing it better than me. 

Even before he was born, I worried about it. I worried about how we would deal with "starting all over" again. I had hyperbolic, tear-filled and pregnancy hormone related conversations with Sean where I guiltily questioned if we were doing the right thing. I mean, we were happy. We had one healthy, beautiful kid and we were lucky enough to know we were lucky. Why chance things? Why rock the boat? The answer then was the same that it is today though. Because our family wasn't complete, and because we had more to give.

Don't even start with the lecture on self fulfilling prophecies, but I always had a feeling that Kai was going to give us a run for our money. He was a high-maintenance fetus for crying out loud. With the first serious contractions at 31 weeks, with the weekly non-stress tests and multiple admissions just to "make sure" I wasn't going to go into labor early, I secretly knew this kid was something else. At 33 weeks, when I started really showing labor symptoms, I held my breath while staring at that ultrasound screen. Waiting for him to show that he was taking enough "practice breaths" to make the tech happy. While staring at the IV and hoping it could ease the contractions; When I was counting the kicks while hooked up to the monitors and hoping that he could just hold on awhile longer so there would be no NICU time. Each time I closed my eyes and prayed that his heartbeat would just do the right thing when I had those weeks of constant contractions, I knew he was different.   

It's been quite the road since then.  I can count the number of nights he's slept through on one hand. My days are measured in cups of coffee and I try my best to stay one step ahead of the constant motion, the constant demands, the silence that surely signifies trouble. I've been in the pediatricians office more in one month with him than I had in one year with Kelan. He's had 9 ear infections now, not to mention the milk allergy, sinus infections, eczema, influenza, you name it I've lost sleep to it.

Our biggest test comes this week. We heard the dreaded words, "delayed development" at his 18 month check and since then it's been a lot of worry, planning, and hoping with him. I find myself getting frustrated when communication is just not coming. We all are, Kai included. So on Thursday he's being evaluated again. Therapists will come in our apartment and check boxes on their sheets to see whether or not he is "delayed" enough for concern. I have no predictions. I have endless worries, fear of some inane diagnosis, but no answers.

So I Google. Then I take deep breaths, but I panic when I think of the future (really, what's new?) but at the end of the day, he's still Kai. I practice gratitude because I should. It will be okay. It will all be okay. I'll be okay too, just as long as I can remember to turn around and swim with the current for once.   

I Spend More Time Than I Should Being Pissed off at Bob Saget. subtitle: Happy Mother's day.

You know what? Full House really set me up to feel like a failure as parent.


That show was pretty much at the center of my television life from grades k-4 or 5, and maybe 6, who can remember. I swear though, that it wasn't just me. Without exception, each year on the first day of school when we did all that ice breaker/get to know your teacher stuff we would have to go around and say our favorite show. Now, this was back when TGIF was the height of the elementary-aged child's Friday night plans and Sunday's Casey's top 40 officially marked the end of my weekend so there really wasn't that much out there.  Also, now that I think of it, I did live in a very low income area and our playground was literally made out of old truck tires and wood logs (I promise you I'm not kidding)-- So maybe we all just bonded over that show because our home lives were pretty tragic anyway. I for one, took great comfort knowing that I could always rely on the worst problem of Stephanie Tanner's night being the lack of a ride home from the mall. That show was like my most comfy worn-in jeans.

I just KNEW that when I had kids, it was going to be all soft piano music and the quiet passing on of parental wisdom to a ready, listening ear. Then we'd all go out for ice cream and laugh about that time  someone's pet monkey snuck in the house and climbed in bed with another someone who mistook the monkey for a significant other. (Canned laughter Ad friggen nauseum).

Fast forward to reality. Did you know that in real life you can't just get down on one knee and endlessly lecture a five year old? Shocking! As it turns out, not enjoying criticism is kind of a universal human trait. Who knew? Not this girl. Danny Tanner LIED to me.

I try to gently reason with my kids all the time, and guess what? Eye rolling is not just for teenagers. It starts early, people. Not for the first time, earlier this week while I was trying to sweetly drop some serious wisdom to my seven-year-old he turned to me and said, "Mom. Please. STAHHHHP."

And this is exactly what pops in my head. 

So I'm dropping my wisdom here. The trick to lecturing your kids is just to flat out trick them, ninja-like. Ply them with something sweet. Get them into the car and don't start until it's running (I realize this sounds a lot like kidnapping and that's because it almost is, which is actually the brilliance of it). Then, condense your entire life's worth of awesome advice into maaaaybe five words and spit them out quickly, because it's the digital age and the average attention span is like two seconds. Boom. Parenting.

You know what's heartbreaking though? Bob Saget might be a hilarious comedian but I will never know, because the second I started watching that Netflix stand up special all I could think was, Omigod, Danny Tanner! What a terrible potty mouth you have!!! I turned it off five minutes in. My childhood was built on lies. Cheesy, piano music laced lies.

And then I Just Stared at him and Blinked a lot

I'm scared.  It's not even February and we are all suffering from severe case of cabin fever here. It's not the bad kind though. Yet. The bad kind is when you find yourself just staring out the windows with crazy hair, still in your pajamas, digging into a box of dry cereal and giving handfuls of it to the toddler just to keep the whining at bay for another 5 seconds. I'm not there yet. I mean, I totally got dressed today.

We're at orange level cabin fever. Orange involves my poor, poor seven year old being forced to watch youtube videos with me and before I know it I'm laughing way too hard for the situation and he starts looking at me funny like I might be patronizing him, but I'm really just trying to keep hysteria at bay. I miss the outdoors. I miss when my youngest wasn't either on antibiotics or on his way to needing them because leaving the house happened more often.

Today, when we were looking for awesome youtube videos, I was reminded of an amazing experience we had last year at this very time doing this very same thing.  I've always wanted to share it with the world, so here is what happened...

One boring afternoon I had the idea of Spotifying (screw you, autocorrect, that is totally a word) the Macarena so that Kelan and I could dance to it because if I had to suffer through the 90's, I think he should get a taste too. But when I busted into the Macarena he had a very surprising reaction.  He told me I was doing it wrong (!?).

Hold up. No. I went to my seventh grade dances thankyouverymuch.

But I decided to take the bait. "What do you mean?" I asked. "This isn't how the song goes, I listen to this in Kindergarten all the time. This is the song where you count."

And then I just stared at him and blinked a lot.

Then I just started interrogating him, Law and Order style.  Tell me about this "counting song", I demanded.

After much confusion I just decided to google "counting Macarena song" and it led me to THIS AWESOME PIECE OF AMERICAN HISTORY. *writing side bar* I would have totally just put the video here but embedding is not an option on the iPad version, so please just click the link, it will be worth it, I swear.

After I watched it, I didn't even have words.  "You watch this in school?" I finally asked.  "We do all the time" he said.

And then I just stared at him an blinked a lot.

We probably watched it ten times that day because I just couldn't stop myself. It's just so...bizarre.

May your winter be short and your ear infections far between, my friends.