RIP Tooth

So...remember Ben's monumental day? When he dove mouth-first into the marble end-table at Grammie's? Well.....

So...I started noticing the color change last week. I took him to the dentist on Monday. The tooth is dead; it was separated from its blood supply in the Great Fall. If it develops an infection, we have to get it taken out. Which means the gorgeous face above will be toothless until he's about seven when his new teeth start to come in. If no infection develops, he'll just have a smile that makes people go, "what a cute..wait, was there something weird in his mouth? is his tooth grey? and crooked?" until it falls out, as baby teeth do.

I'm not even pretending to be okay with this. I'm devastated, actually. I know that it's completely vain and so very Orange County to care so much, but I'm really really upset that his perfectly photogenic angel smile is at all marred. A friend of mine who does photography is super excited to take pictures of Ben--who could probably be a model, let's be honest--and use them on her website. I'm pretty sure that a grey-toothed (or toothless) little toddler will not bring in a lot of business.

I mean really, could I get more shallow and crazy about this???

In other news...Ben's dental insurance doesn't kick in until Oct. 1. It cost me an unholy amount of money to take him in and get an x-ray. Fortunately, we had it (not that this is how I wanted to spend it, but whatever). Also fortunately, as horrible as it looks, there's nothing we can do about it for a while. We just have to wait and see. So we shouldn't have any problems until the insurance kicks in.

So here's how we're praying, folks...

-that there's no infection and the Grey Goose can stay put until it falls out on its own when it's supposed to
-that I can get over myself and care about things that matter, not stupid baby teeth
-that anything that ends up needing to happen does so after Oct. 1

Sigh. Little Boys.

Poop Story

I have a couple of friends who have a mom blog--you know, one of the real blogs--the kind people actually read and whatnot. Anyway, a while back they were doing this "talk back" post for poop stories. I remember Ben was like a couple of months old, and the best I could do was when he was a newborn and he had like five huge poops within an hour.

Ha. Naive. I have a real one now.

Note: This post is not for the weak-stomached.

Today we went to Wild Rivers. Our friend had spent a pile of money or something on car repairs, and so he got four tickets to the water park. Um, score? Anyway, since it's one of those things we would never be able to do without a hook-up, we were in. Matt took an extra long lunch, I picked him up from work on the way there (he works nearby), and we had ourselves a water-rific day. The kids had a blast splashing in the many wading pools and sprinklers and sliding down the little slides. Matt left at about noon to go back to work while the rest of us stayed to play. Around 2:00 Brandi thought she saw something in the water that shouldn't have been there. Something brown, if you catch my drift. On a whim I checked my child's swim diaper. Crap. Literally. Crap. And not just a normal chunk of crap. Runny, sticky, diarrhea crap. Yep. My friends weren't really ready to leave, but clearly Ben was. So they went on the lazy river while Ben and I did the walk of shame back to our belongings. Which were kinda far. So I'm carrying him, awkwardly because I don't want poop to get everywhere, except that unbeknown-st to me it was getting everywhere anyway. We were leaving kind of a trail. Of poop. So I grabbed my backpack, and Ben was asking me to sing. So I started singing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," because it's Ben's favorite. He was singing with me, and so there we were, walking through the water park to the bathroom singing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" and leaving a trail of poop behind us. Of course in my mortification and quickness to get it all over with, I left our shoes behind. So we went into the bathroom area barefoot, leaving our trail of feces. The changing table was not in the bathroom, but right outside it, right there for the entire park to watch. Which they were all definitely doing. And all these parents were watching me and my little boy and his trail of poop, watching us with their judgmental eyes and dirty stares, and all I could think was a) this needs to end, and b) GOD WILL JUDGE YOU FOR JUDGING ME. You know, cause I made my kid poop in the pool. So we get to the very public changing table, all the while singing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star," over and over. I dug through the bag for the wipes, which of course I'd forgotten. So I just grabbed my towel and started wiping. It was everywhere. Down his legs, up his arms and back, on my arms. EVERYWHERE. I got him out of his suit the best I could without getting it in his hair--I mean, it's not like I could even take him over to the showers and rinse off the poop there. Because there were lifeguards standing by those showers, and at this point I'm pretty sure everyone there was giving me and my poop-covered child the evil-eye. So I just sang "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" and wiped the poop off of us with my blue towel. Then I had to wipe off the changing table with the poopy towel, still holding my butt-naked kid because I was afraid if I put him down he'd dart into the very nearby pool and really piss everyone off. I dug out a clean diaper, shirt, and shorts. I had to lay him directly down on the changing table, which had just been covered in poop, because my towel was covered in poop and I didn't have any disposable pads. I put his clothes on him, took off my tank and shorts (which I had thankfully worn over my swimsuit) right there in front of all the little boys who were going in and out of the bathroom because did I mention this changing area was not actually in the bathroom but next to it and right out in the open. I did a quick check for any missed poop, still singing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." We still smelled like poop, but there wasn't much I could do about that. So I collected our things and went back to our shoes and waited for our friends to get out of the lazy river, still singing and trying to control a 29 pound kid who was desperately trying to get free and get back into the pool. Eventually we managed to leave, but not before whispering to my sweet, tired, little boy that I didn't judge him or care that he pooped in the pool--he's still my favorite.

The End.

A Series of Unfortunate Events

Yesterday was rough for B. You'd think Saturday would have been the rough day--little sleep, recovering from facial injuries and the stomach flu. And he certainly wasn't himself. But yesterday was just not good. He slept in pretty late, woke up crabby, and wanted nothing to do with anything that wasn't on TV. Didn't want to play, didn't want to go anywhere, didn't want to eat. He had barely any energy and it seemed as though he could fall asleep on the floor at any moment.

Despite the rough morning, my uncle was in town from South Carolina, and I rarely get to see him. He's an army man, and for most of my life he's been running around the world. He settled Stateside many years ago, but it was the wrong side of the states--Hawaii for a while, and now the east coast. Okay, so maybe it was just wrong for me, right for him.The great thing about my army uncle is that we've managed to have a special relationship from afar. He used to send me money from all the countries he'd go to, and I had a pretty sweet collection. And for some reason, out of all my uncles (and I have quite a few), I've always felt closest to him. So when he visits, it's a real treat. He has an amazing wife and two incredible kids, whom I haven't seen since I spent a week with them in West Point several years ago. Maybe 2002? When were the winter Olympics before last? Anyway, he was out for a very short visit, and despite the travel fatigue and the cranky toddler we trekked out to Fontana to see him (and, of course, the many other family members that were there). It was actually quite the gathering. The Cobbs aren't really known to party too hard. But I was impressed. I got to see a couple of cousins I haven't seen in ages, and four of the six kids were there (one uncle is in Nor Cal and my aunt is in Arkansas). It took Ben a while to get acclimated since he'd had a tough morning and had slept all the way there (which was a God-send, because he clearly needed it). But he warmed up because there were a few little dogs running around. Ben just spent a week with two dogs, one of whom he cuddled with every five minutes. So he was pretty excited. And the dogs were pretty excited, too, to have a little guy just their size to play with. And then it happened--Ben was across the room with the dogs, one of them got excited, and he nipped Ben twice in the upper thigh. It happened so fast. I didn't even really see it; I thought I saw the dog jump up on him, but I had no idea he'd actually bitten Ben. Ben came crying to me, sobbing and shaking. I took him upstairs to see what had actually happened--sure enough, two little purple pinches. Fortunately they were pinches, and no teeth or blood. But that was it for him. He was done for the day, firmly planted in my arms for the remainder of our stay.

My cousin, Megan

another cousin, Daniel

sweet grandparents

four cousins and two kiddos

four cousins, four kiddos, and a grandma

B with a dog--not the one that bit him

tired little B

B and his Great Grandpa

Grandpa, Grandma, and Uncle John (the army man)

weary travelers

my dad, grandma, and uncle Greg

me 'n my uncle John's obligatory facebook pic

John, Mike, Greg, Mark, Del, and Bob

The Stacker

We only stayed for a couple of hours, and we left pretty early. Ben was done, Matt had a headache, and we were all travel-worn and injured. (Oh, did I mention that Ben accidentally scratched my gums? He was running to me to hug me, arms outstretched, and somehow a fingernail ended up in my mouth.) Drama aside, it was nice to see everyone. But it was also nice to be home, in our jammies. Ben went to bed early after watching half a movie, half-heartedly playing with his trains, barely touching his dinner, and having another diarrhea diaper. Poor little guy.

exhausted mama

Ben took this one

and this one

So please pray for my little man. Maybe God could stick him in a bubble for a while, just so he can take a breather?

Bookends: Another 24 Hours

Family Vacation 2010 is coming to a close much as it started: dramatically.

The last few days (well, until yesterday), have been fun. Ben is having the time of his life with his cousin Fynley. He has three other cousins up here, but until yesterday all three have been sick at one time or another, so we've hardly seen them. We've hit the mall (and cleaned it out), gone swimming in the backyard, and Ben has watched more movies, stayed up later, and eaten more crap than in the last two years combined. His Grammie is spoiling him like crazy (as she should--that's what grammies are for).

Then yesterday came. (Times below are approximate)

9:30am: I'm in the shower shaving. The last time I shaved I forgot my knees, so this was important. I was halfway down the first leg when Matthew comes in with a sobbing, bloody Benjamin. Apparently he and Fynley were running in the living room and his face met the marble end-table. As far as we could tell, the damage was minimal:  a fat, bloody lip and what looked to be a bruise forming on his cheek. But he was clearly in a good deal of pain. I rinsed the shaving cream off my leg and got out. Ben, myself, and my half-shaved legs curled up on the couch to watch Toy Story.

10:15: Matt cuddles with Ben while I finish shaving my legs.

11:00: Four adults and two kids pile into the CRV and head to the other cousins' house, maybe to hit the pool. Ben is grumpy.

11:30: Play with the cousins at their house. Loads of fun--Ben and his cousin Sean are very close in age and love the same things. So there are oodles of Cars and Toy Story and Thomas things to play with. The three older girls loved on Ben. So cute.

1:00pm: Pile back into the CRV and head back to Grammie's

1:20: Stop at In 'n Out for lunch

1:25: Ben completely loses his mind and screams bloody murder all the way home

1:35: Arrive at the house, curl up in bed with a hysterical Ben, give him some Tylenol for the pain, and sing him to sleep.

2:45: Ben wakes up in hysterics and feels warm. Temp is 100.4. We curl up on the couch and watch Toy Story

3:30: Fynley wants to go for a swim, Ben wants to join. We change his diaper: diarrhea. Temp is 101.6. Let him take a short swim in the cool pool.

4:30: Start watching Cars; temp is 102.6

5:30: Time for dinner. Temp is 103.9

5:40: Ben can barely hold his head up and refuses to eat or drink. Temp is 104.3. Strip him down, wet a washcloth, give him Tylenol. He gets hysterical, throws up the Tylenol. We retreat to the couch, turn on Madagascar, and just rest.

6:30: Ben crawls slowly off the couch and gestures to the coffee table covered in toys. Temp is 102.6. He starts to play.

7:00: Fynley goes home; bath time. Temp is 101.4.

7:30: Bed time. Temp is 98.6. We read, he goes down like a champ.

11:00: Temp is 101.4. Give him Tylenol and put him back down.

7:00am: Ben wakes up, temp 101.3. Tylenol. Madagascar.

8:00: Change diaper. Notice front tooth has moved a little and there's something wrong with his gums.

8:10: Start calling Kaisers. Yes, plural. Apparently one's medical number is only valid in your home region. Any time you need to see a doctor outside your region (for us, Southern California) you have to be assigned a new regional medical record number. The fine people at Kaiser don't know how to do it, even though it's their rule. They also can't tell me who I'm supposed to call to find out.

8:40: Get a Northern California medical record number, make an appointment for 9:30.

9:15: Arrive at Kaiser and wait while the receptionist calls everyone she knows in an attempt to figure out how to check us alien Southern California folk in.

9:35: The lady next to her leans over, pushes a couple of keys on the computer keyboard, and we're checked in.

9:45: Dr. Huey makes his appearance and checks out the little man. Diagnosis: busted lip, bruised cheek, loose tooth, bruised gums (but no lacerations, which is good), completely unrelated nasty stomach virus, and possible Roseola (we have to wait and see on the rash for that one). Treatment: Tylenol, Pedialyte, fluids, light foods if he'll eat them, and rest. Call the dentist on Monday.

So...after the doctor we went to Target for the Pedialyte and a sick toy from Grammie. Then we met Fynley and Becki for lunch and headed back to the house. His fever hasn't spiked again, but that typically happens in the evenings. Dr. Huey said it would probably hang around for a few days, so take it easy and keep pumping fluids, Tylenol as needed, and food when he's up for it (but no dairy). Ben played when we got back to the house, which is a good sign. And as of this moment, he's been asleep for an hour and a half, which is also very good. Later this evening we'll meet everyone for dinner, change Sicky McNugget into his jammies, and start the long journey home.

In many ways it has been a great week. We've been able to spend a lot of time with family, and we've even managed to sneak out twice in the evenings with other adults for a movie and some drinks. We will miss everyone when we go, but I have to be honest and say that I'm looking forward to my king-size bed and some quiet time.

Note: I'm not on my own computer and I can't find the camera cord. So I'll have to upload pictures later.

The 2nd Birthday

I realize there have been a few posts about Ben turning two, all of varying themes. Today's theme is the actual birthday, the actual party--the facts. And it's the last one, I promise.

Ben woke up around 6:00 (because that's apparently his new M.O.--or at least it was for a couple of weeks). This made me nervous because it would mean that he would start to get tired and crabby right in time for his party to start. Oh well--what are you going to do? We watched Cars, had oatmeal (his favorite), and opened a few presents at home. He tore into them with alacrity and played with vigor and abandon for the rest of the morning.

 

When I had to leave with my mom, though, to set up at the park, well...I may has well have been abandoning him forever with all the drama (I wasn't). Sadly, all the gazebos were reserved, so we didn't get the tables and the covers. But we did find a picnic table in a shady spot in the middle of three trees. It was perfect. While in the sun it was a balmy 92 degrees, where we were you needed a sweatshirt. It was the first time I'd stopped sweating in a week. Glory Hallelujah. Anyway, as usual, most of my decorative plans Failed with a capital F. I have this friend who puts every other party on the planet to shame. She doesn't know this, but she inspires me to be one of those crafty and artistically creative moms, which is a huge bummer because, as we all know, I don't craft. I'm actually not allowed at this point. And yet, like a dog that returns to its own vomit, I continue to try. Well no more, folks. This was the last birthday party until we hit some kind of major milestone, like 16. Then I'll just hire Justin Bieber and call MTV.

In my head, you should know it was beautiful. Simple, but awe-inspiring. The tables had tablecloths held down by dump trucks with drinks, silverware, paintbrushes, etc. A train set ran the length of the table. Paints in old baby food jars, a few balloons on the trees, bubbles...seriously, Martha Stewart could have put it on the cover of her magazine. Or maybe even Oprah.

None of it happened. The table clothes could not be held down by the dump trucks, partly because our perfect shady spot was perfect because it had a hefty breeze and the wheels (duh) just made the trucks roll away. Also, we only had the one table, and my dad didn't come until the party started with the fold-up (which we couldn't get a tablecloth on anyway). A splenda box full of old baby food jars held down the table cloth on the "craft" table on one side while a dump truck filled with goody bags (not the plan, but whatever--kind of better than the original plan?) held down the other. The paint (which was purchased by a friend for me at the last minute, along with candles, which I also forgot) stayed in its containers in the center of the table (too bad my brother the photographer didn't come before the kids attacked those--it was kind of cute). I left the train set at home because Ben was playing with it; he was throwing a conniption already, and I didn't want to make it worse. Since we only had one table, it became multipurpose, so my Martha Stuart cover article was out the window. The food was all piled in boxes and reusable grocery bags on the ground by a tree (including the warm drinks, because we didn't have ice yet), the presents were at first placed on a blanket on the ground, but when the kids got there the babies tried to get into them, so they ended up on the bench of the craft table, which hid the craft (which was the ONE "activity" I planned--I don't do organized fun), which I thought was awesome--painting wooden trains. An activity AND a party favor. Genius.

Matt eventually came with a very cranky Ben and some ice for the ice chest. Ben was frustrated that I was trying to set up when he clearly needed a cuddle. My mom was able to distract him for a brief time by the AWESOME new bike she and my grandma had gotten him. The distraction didn't last long on account of his crabbiness and the fact that the bike was just a smidge to big and, consequently, a smidge too difficult to ride. But I was able to get a few things done during those few beautiful minutes, and I stole a few moments of enjoying the moment with my little man before I returned to setting up.

My dad eventually came with an extra table and the barbecue, and my step-dad eventually came with an extra table. Right when all the guests started coming. So we hastily erected the tables and I tried to hold a brand new 2-year-old who refused to leave my arms or stop whining, greet guests, invite them to paint on the one bench behind the presents or play on the playground, keep the presents from the one-year-olds, help set up the new tables and the food, visit with my grandparents who came a long way and whom I rarely see, keep the cars from rolling off the tables, and try to keep track of my camera and phone so I could take pictures of the visual disaster and help people find the obscure park in the corner.

What's funny is that I was not at all stressed about this party. I started planning it months ago, partly because I was excited, partly to make up for the very last-minute 1st birthday party last year. At first it was a lot more detailed and organized and elaborate. In my head. The closer we got to the actual party, it got simpler, and I was good with that. Instead of train ticket invitations from Etsy, we sent an evite. Instead of play-doh, coloring, bubbles, and painting, just painting. And all along I was calm. At the end of the day, I knew that the important parts we were make sure Ben had fun and to enjoy the company of our friends and family. I'm not crazy--I know a second birthday party is not entirely for the birthday boy. He will never remember. But I'm big on birthdays and celebrating people. I'm also a big fan of getting together with friends and family for a nice barbecue. So we had a big party for those reasons. And when my plans started to unravel, I was okay. Because the important parts were kept intact. And then my child started to unravel. That's when I felt the challenge. He wasn't having fun (not because he was overwhelmed by the party, as a few people noted. I know my kid--it was from waking up before God and from being two). While I wasn't that married to my decor, I was, admittedly, a little sad. I know that no one but me noticed or cared, but I did. And it's not that I feel like I disappointed my son or my guests or whatever--I just really wanted to make a pretty party, probably for me.

Eventually we found an out-of-the-way spot on a blanket on the ground for the presents, and eventually kids started painting trains. They had a great time on the playground. We barbecued, it was delicious. We'd brought plenty of blankets knowing there was a chance we wouldn't get the gazebo, so everyone had a place to sit. The kids had fun playing, the adults had fun catching up with one another and meeting new people. Ben eventually de-clawed and played when his friends got there. I waited to frost the cupcakes because last year my cupcake display was gross and melty by the time people got there. As a result the cupcakes were not at all melty, but they sat in a brown cardboard box for most of the party, and my mom, brother, friend, and I frosted them hastily with plastic knives instead of the pretty decorating set I bought, while everyone watched and waited, then they all picked their ugly cupcakes out of the ugly box. But, obviously, probably no one cared but me. And while I frosted, Ben ate. I spent maybe 5 minutes with him the entire party. I didn't take one picture (fortunately I had foreseen that possibility and asked my photographer brother to take pics). Sadly, I gave my brother no instructions. While he took A-MA-ZING pictures, he didn't shoot everyone there, which I was bummed about later when I saw the photos.

So...to sum up...most of my plans went out the window...BUT...in all the busyness, it was wonderful to spend time with my friends and family. The kids had a great time playing, painting, and eating. We celebrated Ben, who did, for the most part, have fun playing with his friends, painting, eating, and opening gifts. It was a really nice little afternoon.

After everyone left and we cleaned and packed up, Ben wailed because he didn't want to part with his new cars, and he wanted to eat all the leftover cupcakes. He was a terror to put down for a nap, and he only slept for an hour. He woke up wailing some more. He was grumpy for the later afternoon. We then took him to the mall (one of his favorite places) for some Wahoo's (rice and beans--more favorites) and playtime in the free AC. We ran into some friends, so he got to play with three of his favorite girls in Pottery Barn. Then we went home, cuddled up with his new pals and his new books, and ended the birthday. Which was for the best--because truth be told, Ben clearly did not know that he was supposed to be happy that day. All he knew was that he was tired and hot and grumpy, and that he never wanted to part with his new belongings ever.

A huge THANK  YOU to my mom for helping with everything, to my brother for taking beautiful photographs and making my ugly party look pretty, to my dad for being grill-master and bringing a table, to my step-dad for bringing a table, to my grandparents for making the trip, to Matthew for being the best husband and daddy ever, to those who came, who partied, who played, and generously gave. And to those who couldn't make it, we missed you. And to sweet Ben, happy day, little man.

And to myself, just let it go, mama. Let it go.