Guide To Surviving Urgent Care and More Stuff They Say

We took yet another trip to Urgent Care a few weeks ago, and although it sucked as always, I'm, unfortunately, getting pretty good at this.

So I'm going to go ahead and claim it: I am now an expert on surviving Urgent Care with two toddler boys in tow.  Learn from my experience, won't you?
(But for gods sake... avoid Urgent Care like the plague.  Bubble wrap those kids if you have to.)

Take this guide and pack it away in your purse.  You're gonna need it.

Guide To Surviving Urgent Care: The Toddler Years

What to Bring:

• Food: They'll get hungry and complain incessantly and LOUDLY about how starving they are. People will start to stare.  Bring lots, though, because they will throw or drop have of it, and UGH, those floors.
• Books: They need something to look at or have read to them while you take part in the epic wait-fest that is Urgent Care.  Reading material is essential.  Bring lots, though, because they will drop or throw half of them and UGH, those floors.
• Toys: Anything that's not huge or loud will do.  Toy cars, little dolls, an abacus, whatever.  As long as it's portable and will keep them busy for more than 5 seconds, toss it in the bag.  But bring multiples- and don't bring anything deeply beloved- because they will throw or drop half of them and UGH, those floors.
• Proof of the responsible, loving relationship you have with your children: Let's face it.  The second you arrive in Urgent Care with your kid, you begin a CPS checklist.  You'll want to show that yes, in fact, you're an awesome parent and no, thanks, you were not being negligent when your kid split his head open/broke her arm/swallowed that thing.
• Patience: You'll need this in spades because, as I mentioned, the wait will be horribly long.  And people everywhere will look terrifying.  You'll have to keep your children (especially the hurt/sick one) entertained and distracted while that guy in the corner hacks up his intestines.
• Your insurance information.  Because Urgent Care = $$$$$$$$

What Not to Bring:

• Anything that matters to you: Lovies, favorite books, slaved-over meals, your sanity...  Anything that matters to you will be lost in the Urgent Care vortex.  Or it will be dropped on those floors.  And UGH, those floors.

You're welcome.  Now, get thee to the UPS store and get a jumbo roll of bubble wrap for your kids.
(Remember not to wrap it too tightly or cover their faces, though, because that will also send you Urgent Care and UGH, those floors.)

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Also, while the children weren't doing things that land them in Urgent Care, they were staying funny stuff.  Wanna hear it?

Big One

Big One: "Daddy!  We're making a new place for the fan!"
Daddy: "That scares me.  A lot."

Little One

Little One: "Mommy?  Why you have farts on your cup?"
Me: "WHAT?!?  OH.  Stars!  Stars on my cup!  They're there because they're pretty."
Little One: "Farts.  Farts on your cup.  Mommy?  Noooo...  farts outside!  Aw.  Is too dark.  Can't see farts outside."

Daddy: "You're starting to talk like a human being!"
Little One: "I not a bean!  You a bean.  You a big bean!"

After it snowed: "Mommy!  I foop the hfnow!!" (Translation: Mommy!  I scoop the snow!)

Upon seeing light reflected on the top of my coffee: "Frank the wite, Mommy!"  (Translation: Drink the light, Mommy!  My little poet.)

paterpillar = caterpillar

Since turning 3, the Little One has been SO excited about the possibility of going to school or a class.  Today, he talked randomly about going again and this was what he had to say:
Little One: "I go school!!  Teacher WUV me."

I'm Employed! (And More Stuff They Say)

Life has changed in the House of Squishy- yes, indeedy.  I just got a job writing (for money!!) and it is the perfect combination of my (former?) teacher life, and my writing life.  It's both!  At the same time!  But I can wear pajamas!  Because this gig, my friend, is a work-from-home gig.  Which is awesome!  And hard.  Because I have children.

We are now two parents working from home and learning the ropes of working at home AND learning the ropes of our new work-from-home gigs.  Which means, of course, that our two part time work-from-home jobs are actually two full time, work-any-spare-second jobs and WHOA.  This is a transition.

Thankfully, we're both delighted about our new gigs.  And, thankfully, we're both feeling pleasantly challenged ( I DO still have a brain!  Who knew?!?) and happy to be getting paid to do what we each paid 29872384234 gazillion dollars to learn to do.  So that helps.  But currently one or both of us is ALWAYS WORKING and that is a pain in the ass.  Also, the kids are not enjoying that aspect.  The following sentence is common around these parts: "I know.  Mommy/Daddy's working."  Following by a HEAVY sigh and seven thousand tiny violins.

Poor kiddos.  Change is hard.  I get it.  It's hard on us, it's hard on them, it's hard on the whole family unit.  Honestly, I'm a little confused about how to do it right because these 1am jaunts are kicking my ass.  And Mr. Squishy's, too.  We're figuring it out, though, and slowly but surely I feel like there's a light at the end of this damn tunnel we've been living in.  This tunnel that still manages to have asshole neighbors.

It's exciting to be on the road to stability and to feel that we're BOTH taking part in everything again. We have been all along, of course, but now it's easy to see from an outside perspective, and that brings relief.  Now, we both have to take on the kids, we both have to do stuff around the house, and we both have to work.  I've loved being a stay-at-home parent (and technically, i still am a SAHM), but hot-damn is it nice to know that I'm not going to have to respond to this anymore: "Oh, you're a stay-at-home mom!  So... what do you DO all day, anyway?"  Oy.

So here's to stay-at-home moms!  And stay-at-home dads!  And here's to working parents!  And to work-from-home parents!  And to every possible variation in between!  We're all working our heinies off and, shit people, we all deserve a drink and a night off.  ONE DAY.  Cheers to all of you.  (And our kiddos, too.)

*       *       *So, even though I'm working now, I'm still also home with my kids.  So I still hear the delightfully ridiculous things that come out of their mouths.  Wanna hear?  I THOUGHT SO.

Big One

Daddy (while reading The Grinch Who Stole Christmas): " And the one speck of food that he left in the house was a crumb that was even too small for a mouse."
Big One: "Well... the microbes will eat it."

Daddy: "Thank you for sharing with your brother."
Big One: "But I hate sharing."
Daddy: "Don't hate sharing."
Big One: "But I have to hate something."

"And then this song came on, and I was like, 'YEAH.  That's my jam!"
"glitter" = litter; as in, "Mommy?  Why do people glitter?"


Little One
"flumber" = slumber; as in, "Flumber!  I flumbing!  Brudder?  I fleep.  I fleeping."
"fleep" = sleep
"telesgoat" = telescope
"microfope" or "microsgoat" = microscope
"pisspeer" = disappear
"hair rawr-oo" = where are you
"shrank" = drink
"freet" = treat
The above 3 just resulted in the following sentence: "Hair rawr-ooooo, Brudder?  I get a shrank and a freet!"

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AND, I'm still happily contributing to Rattle & Pen, where I recently wrote a little something about the balancing act women live through every day.  Which I now relate to on multiple levels.  I'm dropping a lot of stuff.  Go check it out here.

Definitions: Nap Time & Quiet Time

Dear Boys,

Clearly you need some clarification about what "nap time" and "quiet time" mean.  I know this because everything you are doing is the exact opposite of what you are supposed to be doing.

Let me elucidate.

"Nap time" means sleeping.  It does not mean jumping, singing, banging blocks together, faux crying or walking out of the room every 5 minutes to tell me you love me.  I love you, too, but I will feel that love much more heartily if you STAY IN YOUR ROOM.  "Sleeping" means you lie down on your bed and you close your eyes and you stay there for an extended period of time.  You do not sing, you do not play with your toys, you do not throw books all over the floor and "ice skate" on them.  Sleeping requires stillness, so when you get up after 30 seconds and tell me you can't sleep, THAT is why you can't sleep.  STOP. MOVING.

If you truly, actually, sincerely try to sleep (remember: that means NOT MOVING) and cannot fall asleep, then it is still quiet time.  Does that mean you should jump on your bed and make siren sounds?  No, it does not.  Does it mean you should pretend to have to pee or poop (or both!) once every 15 minutes and inform me of your attempts?  No, it does not.  Does that mean you should come out of your room repeatedly and ask for new toys?  NO. IT. DOES. NOT.

"Quiet time" means that you must be quiet.  As in, not noisy.  As in, a lack of sound.  As in, SSSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.  Stop yelling, stop singing loudly, stop practicing gymnastics on  your bed.  Just quietly read your books, or quietly play with the toys in your room.  Twiddle your thumbs.  I don't actually care.  Just do it quietly.  That is all I ask.

Quiet time is not the time to decide that you HAVE to have the giraffe you gave to your brother a year ago.  I'm sorry you miss him.  It's been a year.  It's time to move on.

Quiet time is not the time to decide that, in spite of the mass quantities of milk and water you downed at lunchtime, you are parched.  Because you are not.  So quit it.

Quiet time is the time for quiet.  Not necessarily because you need it- although, trust me, you do- but because without a brief moment of quiet in an otherwise "Mom, mommy, mom, MOOOOOM!" filled day, I will lose my mind.  That's right, sweetie, this isn't about you.

Mommy needs this time to rebuild the energy it takes to feed and wipe and chase and feed and calm and wipe and entertain and wash and help two boys under five.  You are tiny energy vampires, and without the time to recharge, I can't play trucks with you the way you like.  If I don't have quiet time to eat my own lunch at 2pm, I don't eat and then I am cranky.  If I don't have nap time to load the dishwasher and answer emails and attempt to breathe for 30 seconds, I have a hard time keeping my cool when you ignore my instructions for the seven bazillionth time.

Mommy needs nap time- or at least quiet time- so that I can be a better Mommy.  It will help us all, my little squishies.  So, please.  Stay in your room.  Stop coming out and asking asinine questions.  Stop flying around your room like a broken toy airplane.  Stop pretending to cry.  Stop making those ear-splitting noises.  Just. Stay. Quiet.  Please.  And thank you.

All my love,
xoxo Mama


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p.s. If you missed my latest post over at Rattle and Pen, you can read it here.

The Sick Post & Still More Things They Say

This isn't a real post.  This is me being overwhelmed and, therefore, WAY behind on everything.  Hi! How ya doin'?

The past month has been one long sick-fest in this house.  (Hence the month-long break in any sort of posting or writing 'round here.)  The Big One caught a nasty case of 90-year-old-emphysema-hack at preschool, and then he brought it home.  And he shared.  He shared with all of us.  So kind to share.

So then the Little One caught it, and it turned quickly into croup.  Goddamn, croup is the worst.  It's terrifying and sad and means that the croupy kid gets zero sleep.  Which means that one or both parents get zero sleep.  Which usually means that one or both parents get the thing that started the croup.  Which is exactly what happened.  Sonofabitch.

Thankfully, this round of croup only lasted about three days, but the hack and runny nose and generally shittyness lasted well beyond that.  All told, we were stuck at home because of one kid or another for two weeks.  TWO WEEKS.  Have you ever been stuck in house with two sick kids and a sick you for two godawful weeks?  Let me give you some ground-breaking information: It sucks.

We watched so much PBS Kids and Sprout and Disney Jr. that I thought all of our brains were going to explode.  Even the KIDS got tired of T.V.  That does not happen.  There was water, and tea and juice and soup and no one wanted any of it.  There were blankets and kleenex and snot smears on everything.  And whining.  So. Much. Whining.  The kids were whiny, too.

And then, just when everyone started to get better and feel human again, the Big One got nauseous on the swings during a park date with his dad, and puked all over the car.  And you know what sucks even more than two weeks of house arrest?  Puke in a car.  And trying to get puke OUT of a car.  It's no small feat, my friends.  Booster seat covers- not washable.  Actual seats in the car?  Spot clean, only.  Seat belts?  IMPOSSIBLE TO CLEAN.  Even the end-all, be-all of puke cleaning- the MAGICAL Nature's Miracle (no seriously, it is amazing, and they didn't even pay me to say that)- couldn't get the puke smell out of the seat belt.  That little bugger got soaked 3 times AND wiped down with soap and water AND got a good Febreezing... and it still smells a bit vomity.

If you teach your children nothing else, teach them to vomit AWAY from the seat belt.

Or, better yet, teach them to TELL YOU when they're going to vomit.

But you guys, in spite of all those bodily fluids and all the whining and the general ick, something amazing happened.  Some good came out of this darkness.

And here it is: The Little One learned to use his Coughing Corner.  It's a whole new world, people.

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And here are some cute things my kids are saying lately:

Little One
-fweet = sweet
-pupcakes = cupcakes
-fweeszers = scissors
-schrank = drink

While eating a salami sandwich: "Lawmi!  Deeeeewishus!"

Big One
- mackin = napkin

-Explaining digestion: "When you eat something, if it's too hot, you spit it out.  If it's too cold, you spit it out.  If it's just right, you swallow it and it goes down your mouth, into your froat, and into your belly.  Then it goes around your belly, to your pooper section."

Your pooper section.  The more you know, people!

Department of Redundancy Department

I spend all day every day saying the same things over and over and over.

"Stop running."
"Quiet feet."
"No jumping off of the furniture."
"No screaming."
"No bashing."
"No hitting."
"Stop taking your brother's toys."
"No pushing."
"No kicking."
"No bonking."
"No screaming."
"Flush the toilet."
"Use your words."
"STOP RUNNING."

I am losing my mind, people.  We are living in an apartment with a cranky downstairs neighbor, and my kids just have to alter their behavior.  It's not fair, but they have to.  They just do.  But they will not.  AND I AM GOING FUCKING CRAZY.  I am repeating myself so often that I'm annoying even myself, and I'm starting to feel like the teacher in Charlie Brown cartoons.  Wah, wah, wah, wah, wah, wah.

I can't.  I cannot repeat myself anymore.  They're not listening and I've said everything so many times that it's beyond redundant.  It's too much.  It's too much for them to listen to, it's too much for me, it's too much for everyone.  We're all gonna end up in the loony bin if this continues.

So.  We're trying something new.  We're going to try a book that a number of people have recommended and hope like hell that it does the trick.  And if it does work, I will sing the name of said book loud and clear for all to hear.  

It's time.  We all need to shut the hell up and get along.  Or else... they're coming to take me away, ha ha!

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Yesterday, I came across a picture of myself holding the Little One under a rainbow.  I'd forgotten about that day.

We'd spent the afternoon at a friend's house, enjoying ourselves, but also realizing that we've ended up a bit on the periphery these days.  Not by anyone's intention, just circumstantially.  We don't go out much- we can't because money (none) and kids (two)- and we don't socialize nearly as much as we used to.  Not nearly as much as we'd like to.  We've gotten wrapped up in our own lives- in the ups and downs- and have forgotten to reach outside of our own little bubble.  We've almost forgotten how.

So anyway, we were on our way home from a lovely day that was both wonderful and bittersweet, because we realized how much we missed our friends, and we realized what hermits we've become.  We were driving quietly along and then there in the stormy clouds ahead of us, a rainbow appeared.  And not just any rainbow.  This was a big, bright, huge rainbow.

We were both struck by how giant this thing was.  I told my husband to pull over.  He looked at me like I was crazy- it was bedtime and we had two sleepy, cranky kids in the car- but then he got that sparkly look and pulled over anyway.  We jumped out of the car, unbuckling the kids, and we gazed at that big beautiful rainbow for a while.  Danced underneath it as it started to rain.  We took pictures of each other standing under that grand arch and just reveled in the beauty for a minute.  We stopped and looked.  We took it in.  We did the wildly illogical thing and enjoyed for a moment.

And it was glorious.  We weren't in the prettiest place in the world- just pulled over on the side of a busy road next to strip malls and chain restaurants- but it was perfect for a moment.  Because we stopped.  We looked.  We saw.  And we were together.

Sometimes I forget how important together is.  Not just as a family, but as people.  As friends, as loved ones, as lovers, as parents, as humans.  Together.  We all crave that intimacy, that understanding that we are in this together, and we get it.  Someone gets it.  That we are not alone.

I'm realizing quickly how much I cherish the people in my life and how often I forget to tell them- to show them- how important they are to me.  To just stop and enjoy them.  The people that tell me their stories and listen to mine.  The people that laugh with me, and cry with me.  The people that grin at my kids as they leap about the room, or the people that shake their heads with me as they screech and act like tiny monkeys.  The people that bring me joy, that encourage me, that bolster me, that support me.  My people.  They do a lot for me, and hopefully I do the same for them.

So, Squishy readers, don't forget: You are not alone.  You have people- even if it's just me and these words on a page.  Even if it's a text telling someone you love them.  Even if it's a voice on the end of a phone line.  Even if it's the person sitting next to you.  You have people.  Don't forget.  Stop.  And enjoy.

Growing Up & A Great Article

So much is changing with my little people every day.  They are artists and musicians, actors and detectives, scientists and mathematicians.  They want to see and learn and hear everything.  They bounce all over, soaking it all up.  And they are becoming the slightest bit more trustworthy and independent.  They are finally (FINALLY!!!) starting to play together for short periods without screeching, so from time to time, I get a moment to myself.  Sometimes I can pee without an audience, you guys!  It's a miracle!

And I can talk to them.  I can talk with them, and it is such a pleasure it catches me off guard sometimes.

The Little One's speech is growing by the day and he's able to tell me so much more about what he thinks about and observes around him.  He can tell me what "fwaired" him in the shadows behind the door.  He can explain his nightmares to me (in simple terms, but still).  He can tell me when and where he's hurt.  And he tell me when he's excited about something.  He can tell me me loves me, or wants a kiss, or wants to "cwimb on yap and wead a book."  He surprises me on a daily basis with his new tricks, and though he also surprises me with the depth of his stubbornness and willingness to test me, I adore that little boy to pieces.

The Big One.  So big!  He is so expressive now.  He's picking up words left and right and- to my delight- is using them.  Correctly!  His context is spot on, and he gets it.  My English teacher heart soars with every new word.  He's picked up gorgeous, humongous, enormous, and glum.  And he's used them all.  I cannot tell you how much I love it when he asks what a word means, and I watch him absorb the meaning as I explain.  My wonderful little word sponge.

They are so big already.  It happens so quickly.  I've found myself drawn to pictures of them both as babies, as though I can preserve that tiny part of them if I just remember.  If I only remember.  But they're no different.  They are bigger, more capable, naughtier... but they are still the same babies that I held and cuddled back then.  I look at the pictures and I see the same expressions, the same mischievous grins, the same goofiness, the same heart-breaking quiver when they'd begin to cry.  They are the same.  My babies.  Always my babies.

Here's a bit of their latest adorableness.  Enjoy and swoon with me at their preciousness, won't you?

Little One:
Thomas = hummus (this may tell you where his loyalties lie...)
Frinkle far = Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star (That one took a while to figure out.  I kept thinking about Farkles the Unicorn.)
Fwaired = scared
Fweep = either sleep or sweep, depending on context

Big One:
After seeing a picture of me at my wedding, the Big One said, "Mommy, why are you wearing a blanket on your head?"  Touche, little dude.

"Mommy, you're a real superhero."  Damn skippy.

"I feel glum."  Well, then.


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Also, in case you don't follow me on Facebook (HEY!  YOU SHOULD FOLLOW ME ON FACEBOOK!!!), here is an article that is in beautiful opposition to all the "lean in" and "opt out" articles popping up all over the place.  It rings true for me, and likely rings true for many of you, too.

"For the average married mother of small children, it is often cheaper to stay home - even if she would prefer to be in the workforce. It is hard to "lean in" when you are priced out."