Story 1:
On Tuesday, Michael didn't have to go to work, so we decided to go to lunch. While eating, as often happens, an older lady came up and asked about the kids. I told her we had four, one was just in school. Two boys, two girls. As she left, Z said we have 3 boys. I said, "No, we have two boys."
Three little Z fingers pop up. "We have three," he repeats. Then, pointing to each finger, speaking like it is so obvious he is right, "This is daddy, this is Z, and this is W."Michael starts laughing, turns to me, and says, "You just got schooled!"
Yes I did.
Story 2:
On Friday night, after dinner, Z wasn't feeling well and went to bed without really eating dinner. Soon after, Michael went to meet a guy I made a hat for (I have a little crochet business). Z came down stairs, and his face looked a bit red. As I got closer to him, I realized his face and ears were very swollen (think of the main character on Hitch) and his body was breaking out in an awful rash.
Immediately, I realize I need to get him to the hospital and decide what is important to do and what I am just not going to worry about (remember, I am home alone with all four kids; and, I don't really know my neighbors). I call Michael and tell him to turn around and come home right away.
I then ditch the diaper changing I was about to give W (he was ripe)! I grab Baby B (who happens to be in just a diaper) and Z (who is in pajamas and no shoes). Run them to car while yelling at S to put on her shoes without socks since her flip flops are not in plain sight. I put Z and Baby B in the car. Run back for Stinky W (who has not pants, by the way). Run back to buckle everyone in the van. S is right behind me, jumps in and puts on her seat belt (thank goodness at least one kid knows how to buckle up by herself). I run to the house debating whether to even take time to lock the door, lock the door, run back to the van (we don't have a garage, we park on the street), then turn on the van right as Michael pulls up. I quickly debate and decide that I will drive and let him be the passanger for once (I'm a little controlling in such situations, and I know it). He jumps in and I tell him to figure out where the hospital is on his phone. I head the direction I remember seeing the blue H signs on the way to church.
Of course, we hit a stop light and I am freaking out. Fortunately, Z was crying up to this point, so I knew his tongue and throat were not swollen and he was still able to breath. That stop light went on forever! I told Michael we needed to have a family prayer, and he needed to say it. (Bossy me again! Good thing my husband is so good natured). He prays, the light turns green, and we get to the hospital. Later I was asked how far it was to the hospital, and I really don't know. Probably not far, but it seemed like it took forever to get there, when in all reality it was probably under 10 minutes.
Anyway, we get to the hospital, I jump out, grab Z, and run into the ER while Michael parks the car. I interrupt the ladies being helped at the desk.
"My son is having an allergic reaction and I'm afraid he might stop breathing if he doesn't get help soon."
We are taken straight to a room at the back of the ER. They get things pulled out to get started. First they put a pulse monitor on his finger. Not okay with him. So it is moved to his toe. Still not okay, but he eventually forgets about it. Then they put five sticky monitors on his chest and stomach to monitor is heart after he gets an epinephrine shot. He is not happy to take his shirt off. Then he gets the epinephrine shot. He is not happy about that, but I'm relieved. His tongue never swelled.
By then, Michael and the other three kids are in the room with us. W stinks, but Michael scoured the van and found an unused, slightly haggard looking, one size too small diaper. He changes W in the bathroom while S holds Baby B (I love that she is big enough to help).
The nurses and some guy (I don't even know his title) came in to put in an I.V. Three of us hold Z down while the guy tries the first time.
Poke.
Wiggle I.V.
Much screaming and attempted thrashing.
Switch sides.
Repeat.
All the while I am checking his heart rate and it is getting very close to 200. That worries me a bit, but no one else seems concerned.
Babies are crying. I call a friend from church. She is shopping, but her kids are home. Her son can drive. They will pick up the three kids.
Michael takes kids out and waits.
Repeat I.V. attempt in arm (they have been trying in his hands).
Failure again.
I am assured he has really good veins, but he is just moving too much.
Of course he is! He's three and you are shoving needles in him and wiggling them around!!!
Repeat one more time in hand.
Success!!!
Finally!
They give him a steroid through the I.V. (which I am informed stings, so of course they guy administers is slowly, a little at a time). Then some Benadryl. And finally just fluids through the I.V. to help move the medicine through his body.
He's a bit hoarse from screaming, but calming slowly. I tell him we will let him watch Netflix on my phone when Daddy gets back from the car.
Daddy's back, but Netflix isn't working.
Fortunately the hospital has an acceptable substitute: Disney Junior.
The guy that did the I.V. brings in a funny looking frog with a flower in his mouth. Awesome!Princess Sophia.
Jake and the Neverland Pirates.
Mickey Mouse Club House.
Maybe he will sleep. Turn T.V. off.
We talk. Z names his frog Froggy (we love Froggy books).
Eventually the doctor comes in. Z is looking so much better. His ears are still thick and his body has a bit of a rash, but he still looks amazingly better than he did.
We get to go home!
In the car, Z tells Michael he didn't get any "supper." Of course that is his concern after hours at the hospital. Where he learned the word supper I have no idea!
Today, two days later, Z talked to my mom on the phone and told her about his experience. His first comments are about the shows he watched (priorities), then about the "hospital teacher doctor" that poked him, and finally about his frog.
Now, to find about what the reaction was too! At least the experience didn't seem to bother him after the fact. He's a pretty resilient kid.
Story 3:
Michael has meetings before church starting at 7:30, so I get all the kids up and ready by myself. It's no big deal, just routine. But some days I am running a little late and attempt to get kids to do things on their own. This morning was such a morning.
I brought clothes downstairs to the living room for W, Z, and Baby B to get dressed after W and Z eat breakfast
I get W dressed, then Baby B starts to cry in her crib upstairs. I go up to get her, but first tell Z that he needs to take his pajama pants off and put his church pants on before I get back downstairs.
As soon as I give these instructions, I assume they will be ignored. Z doesn't often like to get dressed without putting up a fight.
I am surprised to find him in his church pants when I come downstairs. Fabulous!!! Church shirt and bow tie on, and he's ready to go.
Fast forward 45 minutes or so.
We are sitting in the chapel with Michael. Z is bending over doing something. Michael asks, "Is he wearing his pajama pants?"
"No. He has his church pants on," I reply, a little confused about the question.
Then I look at Z. There is Mario fabric poking out of his pants. It takes me a minute to realize, Z does not own Mario underpants. But he did wear Mario pajama pants to bed last night.
Yes, indeed. Z does have his pajama pants on.
Later, during Sacrament Meeting, Z needs to go potty. So I take him to the restroom and he pulls down his church pants. With a surprised voice he says, "Oh!" Apparently the fact that he had pajama pants on under his church pants was as much a surprise to him as it was to me.
And to top it off, he still has them on as I write this post hours later.
