Quick recap

The children were hospitalized again last week. The boys this time. They were in the hospital at night, Hubby was at sea and I was at home with Toddler N.

I looked into their empty room with its empty beds. I thought about my brave little men, alone except for each other. I couldn't enter that empty room.

I sobbed for hours. I wanted my boys safe at home.

I raced into the hospital the next day, running through the halls to get to their room.

My boys were sitting up in their beds, groggy from sleep but looking much better than the night before.

"Wook, Mommy!" I. said. "There's bunnies out the window!"

Sure enough, two black bunnies were hopping about.

I never expected their first night outside the family would be in hospital beds.

They are fully recovered, but I just keep waiting for the next illness to hit. What a winter.

Day One: A new solo adventure

The Hubby left this morning for his first sail, a ten-day trip around Vancouver Island. He packed yesterday afternoon, alternately excited and worried, while I desperately tried to get the house in some kind of order. I won't have his help for the next two weeks, so I can't just leave supper and clean up to him in the late afternoons.

The fact he'll be gone for awhile made me think about how far we've come in a month on the whole division of labour in the home front. My husband is not a sexist, but he does hate housework, and he will take whatever action necessary to only do what absolutely must be done around here. What ends up happening is I pick up the slack, so he has had a false impression of how much must be done to keep a place borderline clean.

But now I am working, and he is the first adult in the door most evenings. He is learning dishes left in the sink or crumbs left on the floor in the morning metastasize into a full-out disaster in the eight hours we're away from the house each day.

"Can you believe the mess on the floor?" he'll grumble, fetching the broom. "That was never there before!"

No, honey, it wasn't. That's because I was here cleaning it up.

He cleaned the bathroom this weekend without reminding (i.e. nagging.) He just did it!

I am appreciative to him learning to haul his own weight. But now I am hauling it myself for a little while, plus working full-time.

I know I can handle the time with the kids, no sweat. Ten days is nothing compared to five months. But can I handle the housework and the job? We'll see.

As for the rest of life, things are still a bit insane here. A. is struggling with day care. He is angry a lot of the time, has developed a saucy mouth and has hit other children from time to time. All of this leads to time-outs and groundings, of course, but also lots of time with my big boy just sitting in my lap. He often says he wishes I wasn't working. It breaks my heart, but I need to work, both for the money and for my sanity.

Little I. is a bit clingy but is adjusting well to the new sitter. Toddler N. is very happy at K.'s place. That's great, but the child should have been named Typhoid Mary, because this is the third time she's been sick this month. First the hospitalization, then a head cold, then she got food poisoning this weekend from a supper out. At the hospital, the doctor discovered she also has an ear infection. We two are home today so she can start recovering.

The boys also caught that cold, and Little I. just finished a round of antibiotics for an ear infection. Since I started my new job six weeks ago, I have missed 4.5 days due to child illness. I'm starting to understand why some bosses are reluctant to hire mothers of young children. My boss has been great, but I still worry about the impression I'm making.

Off to catch a quick nap with the girlie.

The job and the babysitter

The job is great. I enjoy it. I like my co-workers. I like my boss. It's awesome to be working again.

I do miss the children, but not in the way I did when I returned to work before. I think about them often during the day, but I no longer feel like running out the office door to the day care centre and scooping them up at 11 in the morning.

I'm glad to be away from them for awhile each day. I'm even happier to see them when I get home.

There is one enormous wrinkle though, so enormous it qualifies as a fold. I am having massive problems with my child care.

Our live-in nanny is coming sometime in late April through May. She is currently working in Hong Kong, and that's just how long it takes to get the immigration paperwork done through the Live-in Caregiver Program.

I had one week to find temporary child care. I thought I found it another military mom here in the PMQs.

The kids were there less than two weeks when she quit. I'm trying very hard not to take it personally, since she is pregnant and bailed because she is concerned about her health. Her baby comes first. I support that. But she's left me in a terrible situation.

She quit on Thursday. Tomorrow is her last day with the kids. I had 4 days to find child care.

Hubby and I managed to do it. Toddler N. is going to be cared for by my best PMQ friend who runs a day home. The boys are going to another day home in the Qs, at least for now. We may move them to a day care centre and the day home is cool with that.

If this doesn't work out, I will lose my job. I'm freaking.

Plus, all these changes are very hard on my kids, especially A. He has been moody and lashing out at Little I. I. is a terrible tease and A. just can't handle that this week.

There really is no winning. I stay home and go batty. I go to work and worry about the kids' child care.

There is no perfect way to mother, it seems. I'm screwing up both choices.

The story of the stomach bug

About three and a half weeks ago, Little I. started complaining his tummy hurt. He started eating less and less. Then he had the diarrhea. Then he started puking.

On the Saturday, five days before I started my new job, we took him to the ER. We were there 12 hours for IV rehydration. I took him in again on Sunday. He seemed to perk up and got over the illness.

Toddler N. had mild diarrhea this whole time.

On Wednesday night, Super A. started throwing up. He seemed better Thursday, but by Friday, my first day of work, he was very ill.

Hubby stayed home with him Friday so I could start my new job. On Friday night, N. started puking too.

By Sunday my oldest and youngest were so dehydrated the nurse who lives next door said they needed the ER right away.

It took five sticks to get an IV needle into A., his veins were so small from dehydration. He was listless, vomiting bile and passing out between vomits.

They had to put N.'s IV into her external jugular vein. She was poked six times before that. Her kidneys stopped working properly and she didn't pee in three days.

They were in the hospital four days. They were the worst four days of my life, camped out on a cot, praying their organs wouldn't shut down.

The kids were released a week ago. They looked terribly thin. Hubby has been feeding them up ever since.

I've been watching them sleep at night this week, looking at the bloom of health on their cheeks again and thanking God I didn't lose them.

And I've been thinking about the mothers who do. Mothers in the Third World who lose children to vomiting and diarrhea.

There are millions of them every year, dead for the want of IV fluids and simple medications.

Even in my children's illness and suffering, I am blessed and fortunate. It's not fair and I am not deserving.

"You want million dollar?"

For those of you who have never met my Hubby, he has a fairly zany sense of humour. It's one of the reasons I fell in love with him, and one of the things that helps us through tough times.

Hubby has an obsession with YouTube, especially when he can find episodes of the show Robot Chicken there. And unfortunately, he has a bad habit of showing these (admittedly side-splitting) clips to the boys.

The other day, he found this on the Net:

http://www.dumpalink.com/videos/Robot-Chicken-Who-Poop-Last-5a15.html

The boys, being boys, thought this is the funniest thing they had ever witnessed. For two days, our happy PMQ has rung with shouts of: "You want million dollars? Who Poop Rast!!!!"

It was all very funny until this morning. Super A. woke up at 6:30 a.m. and the first thing that came out of his mouth was the triumphant shout, "Who Poop Rast!!!!"

He woke everyone in the house. Soon his brother and sister were also shouting, "Who Poop Rast!!!" (Baby N.'s version was just the word "POOP" over and over.)

I sent Hubby to put them back to bed. His "poop"y mess, not mine.

You want million dollar?

Little I. gets water shy

I had to stand next to the side of the pool for Little I.'s swimming lesson today.

When he got in the water, his eyes darkened. He got out, climbed into my lap and said, "I want you, Momma."

I want you too, baby boy.

So I held Baby N. and stood next to the pool, occasionally rubbing his little back and hugging him when he cried.

He stayed in the water and finished the lesson. By the end he was giggling.

The lifeguard manager stood next to me throughout the lesson, watching the toddler class closely. She apologized the moment I entered the pool deck and said the instructor and lifeguard on duty last Thursday have been disciplined.

Now I must pretend I have confidence in the lifeguards. If not, Little I. might be afraid of the water for the rest of his life.

Big lungs, little lungs

Note: I've been composing blog posts in my head for the past few weeks, but have had no time to write until tonight. Please bear with me while I play catch up!

Over the past six years, I've been mothering my kids to the best of my ability, pouring the talent and hard work I used in school and work into my parenting. But in the end, all the extra work I've done has only added niceties and frills to the essential role of mother I play.

Last week, I met the most basic challenge parents face. Last week, I saved Little I.'s life.

Both of the boys have been taking swimming lessons throughout September. A. goes in the evening, but Little I. takes his lessons two mornings a week. I sit in the roped off parents' area next to the pool, towel and juice box ready, Baby N. in my lap or in the stroller. I try to make conversation with the other mommies and not look bored. I smile when he waves at me.

It was near the end of the lesson, and Little I.'s class was in a part of the pool that is over his head. There is a ledge under the water for the pre-schoolers to stand on and wait their turn as the instructor works with each child individually. Little I. was standing there, waist-deep in water, wiggling and giggling. The instructor turned her back for a moment and Little I. wiggled right off the ledge and into the water.

At first, all I saw were his little eyes poking above the water, looking very surprised. In an instant, he was completely under, arms waving above his head.

She still didn't see him.

I stood up, holding the nursing baby in my arms, and yelled with as much force and projection as my lungs allowed.

"He's underwater! I. IS UNDERWATER!"

The instructor spun, child in her arm, and grabbed my precious boy with her other hand, whooshing him out of the pool. She sat him on the lip of the pool, checking his breathing, asking if he had swallowed water. He shook his head no.

The little trooper had held his breath, just as he's been instructed to do whenever his face was wet.

I sat down, heart racing, breathing in little gasps. Forcing myself to take deep breaths, I tried to calm down. I watched the instructor hold Little I. as he put his face in the water and kicked.

"I must NOT go over there," I thought desperately. "He's okay, and if I go rushing over he will be afraid of the water."

"But I want to hold my baby boy NOW," my entire body answered back.

I held Baby N. I watched Little I. kick his legs in the instructors grasp. I did not move.

Little I. couldn't wait to tell Daddy he "went all the way under water!" The Hubby had to hold me for ten minutes later that night. I was trembling after retelling the story.

I did call the pool the next day and and had a chat with the manager about bringing three-year-olds out that deep without a lifeguard right next to them.

Thank God I was never one to go quiet when frightened.

Happy Third Birthday, Little I.!

A hard day's potty training

Potty update

I think Little I. finally has the hang of this potty training thing. He went potty 4 times yesterday. He stayed dry all last night with no diaper, and the first thing he did this morning was pee in the potty.

Hooray! He's on the right track now!

Woman vs. Toddler

You already know who won this battle.

Little I. will soon be three years old. In September, he starts attending pre-school two days a week. Both he and I are very excited about this.

There's a catch, however. He has to be completely potty-trained before his first day. That's five weeks away.

So I started training him today. He went once in the potty (hooray!!!!). He's had 10 accidents.

Accidents my butt.

He requested a pull up for bedtime, but made me promise I'd get out his "big boy underwear" in the morning.

At least the dining room floor got mopped again today because of it. Five times.

Woman 1, Toddler 10.

Fun in Baby N.'s room

The boys decided Baby N.'s nap was finished.

M5 W1 D5: Thoughts on my last night alone

I have been alone with my three children for four full months and five days.

Tonight is the last night I will put them to bed on my own in a very long time. The Hubby returns tomorrow.

My feelings are a stew right now, but the stock is certainly gratitude. I'm so grateful to the friends who watched my kids and cooked me meals and cleaned my house. Grateful to my parents for listening to me moan and complain. Grateful to my in-laws (both sets!) who helped me during a tight financial squeeze. And to the staff at the MFRC, who were an unfailing help and support through this, the longest, hardest and most accomplished winter of my parenting life.

To all of you, thank you a million times over. Please give me a chance to return the favour; call me anytime you need a hand.

And thank you, God, for giving all these beautiful people to me as my family and friends.

As for the other feelings floating in that stock? Excitement, certainly, and elation. But also some nervousness and fear. Will we fit back together as a family easily, or will we squabble and fight? How has he changed? How have we? Can I let go? Will the kids be royally ticked off and show it? I'm expecting the worst, but hoping for better; after all, we have a very long drive ahead of us.

If you're the praying type, drop one for us tomorrow, will ya?

M4 W1 D1: Give it to Little I., he'll eat anything!

I can't believe I just typed month 4 up there. Whoa.

Anyway, on with the show...

Little I. is an adventurous eater. This we've known for a long time. But I have to admit I was surprised when he insisted on having an entire dynamite roll (that's a type of sushi with egg and shrimp) at supper tonight. That's what I was having, and it seemed more interesting than his meal.

For his reaction, see the picture above. "Nummy," he exclaimed.