Month: September 2009

Making a change?

I've been thinking about the blogs people have that are all about their perfect lives. "Today I wove rose petals into my daughter's hair and she loved it so much that she rewarded me by staring lovingly into my eyes for five minutes and then cleaning the kitchen. I know she's only three, but she just loves to clean the kitchen! After that, my oldest son went with a friend to cook meals for the homeless, while my youngest son was honored at banquet for gifted infants. My husband and I were able to steal away for a few moments to experience glorious sex in our spotless bedroom. I'm so happy to be able to cook this pan-seared pork tenderloin with chipotle cranberry chutney for my family tonight. It's such a quickie recipe, it leaves me time to bake that fat-free cake and knit a sweater for my elderly neighbor."

You know those blogs.

Maybe I should change mine into one like that. Only write about the amazing things, never talk about things like how, when I shower, 2/3 of my hair falls out and then seems to instantaneously grow back silver.

The problem is, if I converted the blog to All Awesome, All the Time, it would sound like, "Today I… uh… didn't have to go to the WIC office because my husband went for me." or "Today I was only shat on once." or "Today I suctioned a trach and didn't get any secretions on my hand."

Just not the same.

But that's OK.  One day the kids of the people who have the perfect blogs will write tell-all books and we'll finally find out the truth. My kids will never have to write a tell-all book because I blab everything already.

Actually, I'm not sure if that is OK or not. But it makes blogging a lot less annoying.

Pooperstar!

come on ride the train
might want to hold your breath, though
in a polite way

The
wee-er one has been potty-trained for a while now. It's still new
enough, though, that she marvels at it from time to time. "You know,
mommy, I poop in the potty now," she'll remind me. "I am a potty train."

"A
potty train?" I reply. "Does that mean you go chugga chugga chugga
chugga pooooo pooooo!" I laugh, but am only rewarded with a roll of the
eyes.

"You are a superstar pooper," I say, trying again. She
smiles. "A Pooperstar, if you will," I say, pushing it too far (so to
speak). Again I get the eye roll.

I guess even when you're three your mom's puns are lame.

The finger trach trick

the finger trach trick
good for causing heart attacks
in other people

Ike-a-saurus is ALL OVER this talking thing. He squeaks and chirps
all day. He has learned that even though he can vocalize without
wearing his speaking valve, he can be a lot louder with it. He has also
learned that when mean Mommy, or the mean nurse decide that it's time
to give the valve a rest (it has no humidification, so he can only wear
it for short bursts of time), he has another option. This option is
to remove the HME he wears over his trach (also called a "nose," it's a
barrel-shaped plastic thing with paper or foam on its ends, and it acts
as a fake nose, moistening and warming the air that is breathed into
the trach).

Note: You are not supposed to remove the HME unless you are hooked
up to a mist collar (like he wears when he sleeps) or unless you're
wearing the speaking valve.

Lost yet? Sorry.

Anyway, we take the valve off so that Ike-a-saurus' trach doesn't
get too dry. This does not make him happy, because it's harder to chirp loudly without the valve. So to circumvent us, he
yanks off the nose we put on him and proceeds to put his finger in his
trach.

Plugs it right up like a finger in the Hoover Dam.

Except instead of preventing a water leak, he is PREVENTING BREATHING.

Well, he might be preventing himself from breathing, but with a
finger in his trach he can make the loudest noises of all. This pleases
him immensely – until he starts gagging for breath. How many times can
I have a heart attack in one day? Infinite, it turns out.

But he loves it. As soon as the nose goes on, he yanks it off to
either eat it, or to stick his finger in his trach and yell "AH! AH!
AH! [horrible gagging choking noise]"

Between this ruckus and the potty train, our days are not boring around here. Not boring at all.