Category: Family

Somnus Relinquo

This winter, I wrote about my epic battle against the germs. I’m happy to report that they are (at least for now) GONE!  [germs are trolls and I am winning!]

Just when I was beginning to picture peace breaking out and rest/relaxation on the maternal horizon, there has in the last couple weeks been a fast and furious attack on another front.

The “WAR OF THE 2 YEAR OLD BED GETTER OUTTER“.

This is a technical* term: see also “Somnus Relinquo” – literally “the abandoner of sleep” (thank you, Google!)
*technical in that I made it up right now and decided to call it technical.

Commence the wracking of brains:

Counselors have been employed…

Positive reinforcements have been offered…

Negative reinforcements have on occasion been instituted…

[Is this starting to sound like the friend of Sam I Am who wouldn’t eat Green Eggs and Ham?  By the way, does that guy even have a name?  I mean, other than “The Ham Guy”?  I digress …]   

 

Back to the Bed Getter Outer … alias: Aidan Russell Gray Ewoldt, age 2 …

Overall, there has been mild progress made on the parental front at large, but this last week there were significant set backs due to advancement in the opposition’s technology.

There was the strategic battle of “Get Out of Bed and Climb The Bookshelf” – the terrain being six feet tall and only 12 inches wide, this was a particular blow to the circulatory system (heart region especially) of the maternal forces.   An immediate extrication was instituted.

There was also the day of the “Early Surprise Attack with Hostages” – in which the civil defense system (otherwise known as his 5 year old sister over the baby monitor) went off at 6:15 AM with the news that the enemy had not only abandoned camp, but had stormed the fortress across the room. (also known as baby brother’s crib)   He had somehow passed the alligator-infested moat (or, yesterday’s toys with pointed edges that hadn’t gotten cleaned up and still lay on the floor) and had taken the bed …er, castle itself.   However, he had made the strategic error of being unable to exit the castle once inside. This knowledge proved fatal to his morale and he opted to wage hard and fast war on the inhabitants (his one year old brother) during his incarceration.
He was duly captured and questioned, maintaining that since he had been in A bed (though not his own), he was innocent of all accused crimes.

Oy.

As of today, I’m … wait … what was that? [shouts from the other room] … he’s WHERE?! … I’ll be right there!!

More later …

If You’re Lucky, You Get a Phone Call

My mom’s voice on the other end of the phone was heavy with emotion and exhaustion. “It’s time. Your dad and I want each of you to talk to her tonight and say goodbye.”

Valentine’s Day …

My mom’s voice on the other end of the phone was heavy with emotion and exhaustion.   “It’s time. Your dad and I want each of you to talk to her tonight and say goodbye.”  

There was a sick feeling as the logic of her words hit my heart … How ridiculous!   I couldn’t say goodbye because Grandma wasn’t going to die.   She couldn’t!  She had been doing so much better, and she was so close–literally just a few weeks–from seeing her first great-grandchild!

I remember very little of my final conversation with my grandmother. She couldn’t speak at all, so it could hardly even be called a conversation. I spoke to her about the baby, and told her I loved her. I think I might have even talked to her about how soon the baby would be born.  As I consider it now, I wish I hadn’t done that.   I can’t imagine being in the final hours of your life and having someone else bring up some of the things you’ll miss in the near future.

Within 24 hours, she was gone.

Another loved one, another death, another moment when I pleaded for her to not go … but there was a vast difference this time. I wasn’t bitter or resentful. My heart, while sad, was ultimately peaceful because, rather than blaming God, I was trusting Him.

I would add only this in closing – if you have someone you should have talked to by now, a relationship you need to restore, a person you need to forgive, even someone you’ve been meaning to catch up with and you haven’t … do it. Do it today.  Because you’re almost never lucky enough to get a phone call.

My War On Germs

Is it Spring yet?

Sickness, be gone!  BE GONE, I say!  …hmm, this isn’t working as well as I thought it would.

I’m stymied as to how the last several weeks have turned green (in a snotty, not Spring-y or environmental-y way).  Are my children licking each other?  I’m seriously considering renaming one child “The Nose”.  Seriously.

I can handle the noses, and the coughs, and the sneezes, wheezes, hacking, fussing, fevers, …you get the picture? … there is one thing I absolutely can’t handle.

What I absolutely can’t stand in this house (or anywhere else for that matter) is the STOMACH FLU.

This last week, the cheeky germ decided to appear despite my sternest warnings that it should not.

[tangent alert]

On this topic, have you ever noticed that kids only seem to throw up in public or at 3:30 in the morning? I’ve always wondered about that … it’s like some twisted flu protocol that throwing up must occur at the worst possible moment for all individuals involved.  Come to think of it, I’m not really aware of a good time, to get the flu, but I still don’t get why it can’t suddenly come upon you at say, 7:30 PM while you happen to in the bathroom already.

I once had the flu onslaught in a moving car …on the way home from a babysitting job … being driven by the person who’d hired me to babysit … True Story. (but I’ll save my gross embarrassments for another post)

[phew, back on track…]

The “stats” on the germ warfare in the Ewoldt household currently include: one trip to the ER for rehydration, 15 gallons of electrolyte-infused beverage (perhaps a slight exaggeration), and so many loads of laundry that I’ve lost count and my washer and I are no longer on speaking terms.

After the typical fashion of my genetic material, I’ve spent most of the week in circles … “Where’s the disinfectant?!”, “Somebody grab the wipes!”, “Can I get more paper towel?” … until yesterday morning, when I had a breakthrough which  must be akin to the discovery of fire or some other equally ground-breaking scientific discovery.

Behold, THE BOX!  Yes, I’m aware that I need a much better name for a survival kit of this magnitude, but at this moment, it alludes me.

Equipped with handles for quick carrying action and stuffed with everything you need in case of a projectile emergency on the part of your two year old (who is currently eschewing the whole “vomit into a receptacle” theory as antiquated and below him), I thought it was so cool, I had to take a picture! Just for you!

I also had to include the picture of my other survival kit. Though not neatly ensconced in a box (candles and boxes not mixing well, etc), this is … what can I say?   Again, just had to help you picture it:

Ah, I’m feeling more relaxed already!

 

What’s in YOUR household “survival kit”?

 

A Festive Holiday Tale (Or, Of Magic Trains and Nazgul)

There are moments in life when I have a slight out-of-body experience. My brain floats above my body in a bubble and points and laughs maniacally.

There are moments in life when I have a slight out-of-body experience.  My brain floats above my body in a bubble and points and laughs maniacally. 

These are usually the times when I’m yelling bizarre parental instructions such as “No! We don’t put carrots up our noses!” or “Don’t hit your brother over the head with a potato masher!”. 

This also happens occasionally when our situation is so way out crazy that there isn’t anything else to do BUT laugh at ourselves … such as our Thursday of last week.

Our intention was to take the Metra downtown to the ChristKindlMarket.  Technically, we completed our intended goal – but oh, how different it looked. 

We made the afternoon train at a run [Sidenote: running while holding a 4 year old and pushing a double stroller = quite the sight to see] and sat down to enjoy the ride.  This being the boys’ first train ride, the anticipation was epic.  Also, the almost daily watching of “The Polar Express” through the month of December led them to believe that trains are synonymous with heaven.  However, there were a few marked differences … Chicago is nothing like the North Pole [I will maturely side-step references to a production-oriented city with minions who do the bidding of “The Big Man”]  The train car smelled like feet, beer, and exhaust, not like hot chocolate.  Our ex-con look-alike conductor was decidedly NOT Tom Hanks, and there were no golden tickets on which letters and destiny-laden words were punched .. oh well…

Those few disappointments aside … we moved forward with our family fun.

Train ride … check.

Walk through downtown Chicago … check.  [stories of the massive search for Daley Plaza omitted]

Christkindlmarket … check.

And at that point … [sound of wheels falling off the wagon]

Chase decided that he had had enough of the cold and staged a one man sit-in by refusing his bottle, his snack, and also screaming at the top of his lungs.

Gearing up for his rebellion...

Aidan, not to be outdone by a younger (ie: supposedly less intelligent, strong, and decisive) sibling decided to join in the wailing; his goal was only to stay louder and and cry longer than Chase.

At this point, I should mention, the boys have lungs.  Big ones.  Mac truck sized organs loaded into their chest cavities … really.  Having trouble picturing this?  Chase asking for his dinner is a little like listening to the nazgul in the LOTR trilogy.

With the boys screaming beyond placation, threatening, holding, or just about anything else we could think of, we decided to vacate the city.

Leaving Darcy [who was wonderful and good and NOT screaming] with her grandmother and aunt who planned to continue exploring the city, Bob and I [briefly encouraged in the improvement of one-on-one odds with the nazgul … ah, I mean, boys] started out at a brisk walk/run for the station.

A parental trick [as old as the hills] to stop crying is to keep a sobbing baby moving [in a car, on a train, in a stroller … is this sounding like “Green Eggs and Ham” to anyone else?].  While Bob and I are highly aware of this trick and utilize at all possible junctures, our boys never got the memo.  In fact, were totally unaware of their expected response.

Hence, despite a briskly moving stroller, the boys cried … louder! 

They cried solidly from Daley Plaza all the way back to Union Station.  [Note: this distance was not enhanced for blogging purposes … I will say though, that it was definitely a four-hour walk and it was uphill the whole way.]  This was the out-of-body experience I referenced at the beginning of this post.  What on earth do you do when you’re waiting to cross State Street and every young professional in the crowd is turning up their iPod and glaring at you while mentally giving you the “Worst Parents Ever” award? 

The tears finally stopped in the station [the boys stopped crying too] … but the respite was short lived and happiness on the train was only maintained by Chase and Aidan repeatedly tackling each other on the train seat … the whole way back home [thank the Lord for express trains!].

Breathing incredible sighs of relief and vowing not to take the boys out for at least the next ten years, we finally got them home, at which point we were kindly greeted by a new neighbor who patted me on the shoulder and said “Oh Honey, don’t worry! I had twins too, and it’ll get better!”

 That’s it.  I’m done.

Good Night.

Get all the latest news and info sent to your inbox.