It's No Wonder...
**12/4/15 - Apparently I never posted this lovely episode of my life in the past. I must have written this in the spring of 2011.
...my nerves are so frazzled these days. It takes some kind of superhero woman to operate under the conditions in which we currently find ourselves (hee hee - coworkers of mine may recognize that phrase). One moment I am experiencing the high of all highs - lounging in a canvas folding chair, on a beautiful, warm, bug-free early evening, chatting with a newfound friend/neighbor/mother of Max's best buddy and watching both buddies play baseball with all their Kindergarten might:
The next minute, I find myself with Adam at a scheduled eye checkup at the U of M being told that his most recently operated eye is still exhibiting some inflammation and we can't wean him off of prednisolone eye drops as quickly as we'd hoped. Additionally, his brain is hardly using his left eye at all. As such, we got a prescription for a lens for the left side of his glasses, knowing full well that his prescription will likely change in the near future. But it doesn't matter, because we need to start patching his right eye ASAP and as much as possible to force his brain to use that left eye before irreversible vision impairment occurs. And it's just not fair to patch his right eye without giving Adam a bit of a leg up by providing him with some vision assistance in the form of a corrective lens in his glasses.
So, we had a busy day today - running to the eye glass store the moment it opened, to order Adam's new lens and then hustling to Byerly's to grab some sort of nourishment for Max since the boys had a haircut appointment at 10:00 and Max needed to catch the bus to school at 11:05 - there would have been no way for us to get home and make lunch after the haircuts and before the bus arrived. After the haircuts and getting Max to the bus, Ryann and Adam and I went home to eat some more and play a little. We got the call that his lens was ready so we hustled back to the eye glass store to have new lenses placed in Adam's frames before hustling Ryann to preschool. Adam pretended to try to take a nap until Max got home from school and then that was all over. It was at this point, that I told Adam is was time to put the patch over his right eye. He was amenable to the idea until the patch was actually on and then the trauma began. Poor Adam wailed and begged, screaming at me that he couldn't see, that he couldn't see his snack to eat it, that he couldn't see the TV, asking if he was going to have to wear the patch when he played outside, asking again and again why he had to wear it and if he could take it off. I held firm and explained again and again that he could not take off his patch, that he needed to leave it on so that his eye could get really strong. I tried to explain in three-year-old terms that I understood how frustrating it was but that he would see better soon, as long as he kept that pesky patch on. He finally gave in after about an hour and reluctantly wore it for four hours today. While he was reluctantly wearing the patch, he, Max, and I hustled to preschool to pick Ryann back up and also to pick up the flower orders for our loving family and friends who purchased flowers and plants as a fundraiser for Ryann's (soon to be Adam's) preschool. Then we hustled to drop off said plants before Sheri, the anti-green-thumb gal could somehow murder them all. Then we hustled home to eat dinner, administer eye drops, take medication, play in the yard, weed the yet-to-be-planted garden, prepare for baseball practice, give baths, and tuck some kids in bed while others stayed up too late having a wonderful time at the ball field. Are you tired from all the hustling yet? I sure am.
Another emotional swing - Ryann, Adam, and I were in the van the other day when a funeral procession passed by. The kids asked what was going on and I explained. Ryann pondered aloud that the dead person's family was probably sad but that the dead person was probably happy since they were now in Heaven. Then Adam, always wanted to be a part of the conversation, piped up with, "Mom, I'd be a wittle sad if you died, but a wittle happy cuz you'd be in Heaven." Well, thank you dear one.
And who can be sad, mad, frustrated, stressed, or panicked when this sweet face is grinning at you?
Or when this handsome hunk is hanging around the homestead?
I was going to now add an adorable picture of Adam....but as I write this blog post, he provided me with much better fodder. I am in the living room, tapping away on the keyboard and I hear, "Mo-om.....mo-om?" So I go to the boys' room to see what is up (I'm proud of Adam that he's calling for me, rather than getting out of bed and coming out here because we're working on him staying in bed at night and not getting up 85 times and coming up with 85 different reasons for why he is not in bed). I open the door and see this:
All of the clothes I'd neatly put away in a dresser drawer earlier in the day, flung upon the floor. Then I heard, "Mom? I'm sorry but I can't get out of hewe." For just a split second, I wondered (because the boys' room is not so very big), 'get out of where?' Then I realized and crouched down for a better look:
And instead of immediately coming to my exasperatingly creative son's aid, I told him to "hang on" and I ran for the camera.
This child just may be the stinker of all stinkers.
...my nerves are so frazzled these days. It takes some kind of superhero woman to operate under the conditions in which we currently find ourselves (hee hee - coworkers of mine may recognize that phrase). One moment I am experiencing the high of all highs - lounging in a canvas folding chair, on a beautiful, warm, bug-free early evening, chatting with a newfound friend/neighbor/mother of Max's best buddy and watching both buddies play baseball with all their Kindergarten might:
The next minute, I find myself with Adam at a scheduled eye checkup at the U of M being told that his most recently operated eye is still exhibiting some inflammation and we can't wean him off of prednisolone eye drops as quickly as we'd hoped. Additionally, his brain is hardly using his left eye at all. As such, we got a prescription for a lens for the left side of his glasses, knowing full well that his prescription will likely change in the near future. But it doesn't matter, because we need to start patching his right eye ASAP and as much as possible to force his brain to use that left eye before irreversible vision impairment occurs. And it's just not fair to patch his right eye without giving Adam a bit of a leg up by providing him with some vision assistance in the form of a corrective lens in his glasses.
So, we had a busy day today - running to the eye glass store the moment it opened, to order Adam's new lens and then hustling to Byerly's to grab some sort of nourishment for Max since the boys had a haircut appointment at 10:00 and Max needed to catch the bus to school at 11:05 - there would have been no way for us to get home and make lunch after the haircuts and before the bus arrived. After the haircuts and getting Max to the bus, Ryann and Adam and I went home to eat some more and play a little. We got the call that his lens was ready so we hustled back to the eye glass store to have new lenses placed in Adam's frames before hustling Ryann to preschool. Adam pretended to try to take a nap until Max got home from school and then that was all over. It was at this point, that I told Adam is was time to put the patch over his right eye. He was amenable to the idea until the patch was actually on and then the trauma began. Poor Adam wailed and begged, screaming at me that he couldn't see, that he couldn't see his snack to eat it, that he couldn't see the TV, asking if he was going to have to wear the patch when he played outside, asking again and again why he had to wear it and if he could take it off. I held firm and explained again and again that he could not take off his patch, that he needed to leave it on so that his eye could get really strong. I tried to explain in three-year-old terms that I understood how frustrating it was but that he would see better soon, as long as he kept that pesky patch on. He finally gave in after about an hour and reluctantly wore it for four hours today. While he was reluctantly wearing the patch, he, Max, and I hustled to preschool to pick Ryann back up and also to pick up the flower orders for our loving family and friends who purchased flowers and plants as a fundraiser for Ryann's (soon to be Adam's) preschool. Then we hustled to drop off said plants before Sheri, the anti-green-thumb gal could somehow murder them all. Then we hustled home to eat dinner, administer eye drops, take medication, play in the yard, weed the yet-to-be-planted garden, prepare for baseball practice, give baths, and tuck some kids in bed while others stayed up too late having a wonderful time at the ball field. Are you tired from all the hustling yet? I sure am.
Another emotional swing - Ryann, Adam, and I were in the van the other day when a funeral procession passed by. The kids asked what was going on and I explained. Ryann pondered aloud that the dead person's family was probably sad but that the dead person was probably happy since they were now in Heaven. Then Adam, always wanted to be a part of the conversation, piped up with, "Mom, I'd be a wittle sad if you died, but a wittle happy cuz you'd be in Heaven." Well, thank you dear one.
And who can be sad, mad, frustrated, stressed, or panicked when this sweet face is grinning at you?
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