Rambling at the Conservatory

We are so fortunate to be part of a local homeschool group called the Ramblers. Every week, we get together and ramble about, learning about nature or exploring a new wildlife area.

A few weeks ago, Gabe and I decided to start the exploration early by rambling to one of our favorite places to eat, KBQ (Korean Bar-be-que). The spicy fried chicken is, in Gabe's words, "like dying, but worth it."

It's been awhile since I got to spend one-on-one time, with Gabe, so it was a nice afternoon. Gabe is the middle child, and exhibits many middle-child traits. Since I am also a middle-child, I can commiserate with some of his emotional struggles. 

"Wait," I can hear you saying. "Don't you have four kids? How can you have a middle child when you have four kids?"

Let me explain.

Peter is an only child. He has never acted like he has siblings, and does not acknowledge any familial relationship with them.

Bee is classic oldest child, and has a greater awareness of her siblings than their father does. (This is not a castigation against their father. She, however, knows everyone's birthdays . . .)

Ella is definitely the baby.

That leaves Gabe as 

The Man in the Middle.

Once our palates had cooled, we met up with the rest of the Ramblers at the Nicholas Conservatory and Gardens for a lovely perambulation (great word, isn't it?!) through their gorgeous facility. We've been there several times, but this was the first time to get a tour, and it was a treat. I'm so glad we went!

Poor Gabe!

Sometimes it's nice to have siblings.  Of course, there is the usual torture and mayhem and Lord-of-the-Flies hierarchy that goes with being in close contact with people that you didn't get to choose, but there are perks too.

The other day Gabe was playing outside barefoot (against the rules, but the silly Kanaka will take his shoes off to climb trees) and he cut his foot pretty badly on some loose piece of broken crockery.

(Don't ask me how the crockery came to be broken.  From what I understand, it had something to do with Peter's Viking spear and Miss Boo's failed cooking experiment.  I didn't inquire further than making them clean it up.)

Anyway, after rinsing off the little guy's foot so I could see where all the blood was coming from, I put him on the couch.  I came back from getting the antiseptic lotion to find him laid out like a little maharajah in all his bloody glory.

Peter and Miss Boo had propped his "cracked" foot up on pillows (thankfully they had pillowcases on the pillows), put another pillow under his head, and covered him with his favorite blanket.  While Peter tried consoling the happily crying Gabe, Miss Boo was dabbing at his foot with a wet washcloth. 

Gabe thoroughly enjoyed all the dramatic attention, and I am happy to announce that his "cracked" foot has healed up nicely.  For now.

3

My niece Michelle and my son Gabe have their birthdays only a few weeks apart.  Because we're going to be celebrating in a week with the rest of my family, we kept the excitement on the birth day down to a minimum.

(I wish I could completely claim this was true, but to be entirely honest, I was worn out and didn't feel like doing much.  Excuse me now while I wallow in guilt and feelings of total inadequacy.)

Not wanting to have nothing for my little man, I put together a quick quilt which I painstakingly pieced together from bits of fabric that I hand wove late into the night.

(Actually, no, I just purchased the top panel from JoAnn Fabrics and sewed fleece on the inside as batting and backed it with Gabe's favorite satin fabric in the color of his favorite "bwankie".)

Thankfully, he likes it.  Not as much as his regular "bwankie", but enough that if stanky bwankie needs a wash he can deal with the substitute without a total meltdown.

I also took a video of his birthday present from Oma and Opa, a neat little toy from the Cars movie.  (If you're viewing this post through Facebook, you need to click here to see the original post.  Also, you might want to pause the music on the right sidebar first before playing the two movie clips.)

Gabe: This Week in Review

Boys are so different from girls.  Aside from the obvious physical differences, there are the enormous psychological differences. 

For instance, can you imagine any scenario in which two girls on a whim decide to run headlong into the mesh netting at the playland just to "see what would happen"?!

 

Peter's little hexagonal mark was thankfully at his hairline, so it wasn't really noticeable.  Apparently, being older, he was slightly smarter and decided it was wiser to approach the netting with his head down.

Gabe was not quite so wise and went face first, ricocheting off the netting in a spectacular display of splayed and flailing limbs.

It's times like these that remind me why I am so thankful for Miss Boo.

Your Weekly Edition of the Gabe-isode

Gabe likes lots of things. He likes climbing. He likes escaping. He likes running away and terrifying his poor mother.

So, the other day, he was playing outside in the back yard (our fenced-in back yard), and I was nearby in the kitchen washing dishes.

Suddenly I hear a scream of rage from Gabe.

I rush outside to see . . .
He was thoroughly ticked off because he was unable to get over the fence because his diaper got hung up on the top rung of fencing. (We will ignore the fact that I made him wait there while I grabbed my camera. I need ammunition for when he's in high school.)

*Sigh*

I wish I could think of him as sleeping, instead of recharging.

Another Minor Gabe-isode

I'm so glad that Gabe is my third child.

(If he had been my first child, there would have been no second or third child following.)

The other day I was out shopping, and Handyman was home with the kids.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Handyman: "I can't find Gabe. Did you take him with you?"

Me: "No. You know I didn't take him with me, because you put him down for a nap yourself."

Handyman: "Well, I can't find him anywhere. You have to come home and help me find him."

Me: (Dead silence.)

Handyman, in increasing tones of panic: "Seriously, I've looked everywhere! I've looked under the beds, in the other kids' beds, I can't find . . . .

. . . oh, I just found him."

Me: "Where?"
Handyman: "He's in Miss Boo's baby doll bed."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~ ~ ~

Yes, that's my Gabe. He's my third (and last) child.

Gabe: "Mawwwww-meee! MU-cus!"

Me: "What baby? Need me to wipe your nose?" I wipe his nose.

Gabe: "Mawwwwww-mee. MU-cus. Mu-cus Mawwww-meee!"

Me: (thinking hard and trying to get my mommy braincells to quit thinking about possible knitting patterns and start translating) "Hmmm, 'mucus'. What is mucus?"

Oh. Yeah.

Music.

I wonder if he was giving his assessment of my talents as a music teacher or inquiring after a particular hard-rock band that he wants to start up in the garage as soon as he can figure out how to escape from home and carry Handyman's guitar.

Every time I look at his cute and mischievous little face I can feel white hairs start sprouting all over my scalp.

Out on the Lam

What a horrible Friday the 13th I've had.

The day started with a first-class migraine of epic proportions; the kind that involves seeing spots and flares of light accompanied by clashes of cymbols boxing the eardrums.

It got even worse from there.

Peter, hoping that his Ebay legos had arrived in the mail, went outside to check the mailbox, but when he came back inside he shut the door only partially, and it didn't latch all the way shut. The door looked shut, but wasn't.

My other son Gabe the Runner somehow noticed this slight crack in his prison and made a bid for freedom. (Meanwhile, in my migraine-induced haze I'm still thinking he's watching TV with his brother and sisters.)


Imagine my shock when a policewoman knocks on the front door. I had to hastily get some matching clothes on (because I was still in my nightie) and stumbled down the stairs. "Excuse me, ma'am, but are you missing a child?"

Of course I'm missing a child. If any woman on the block is missing a child, it's most likely me, and it's definitely going to be Gabe the Runner.

Horror of horrors, I find out that he not only got out of the house without my knowing, he also had gotten four blocks down the street to a very busy intersection. To add to my sense of impending hysteria, it was also raining.

My two-year old cherubic looking son was happily running down the street (past sex offenders and pshychos, no doubt) in the rain heading for a busy intersection with speeding cars.

The policewoman wants to talk.

After the very well-deserved stern talk and shake down, during which she is no doubt thinking I'm hung over, despite the fact that I told her I have a migraine ("sure it's a headache. Right.") She informs me that she is coming back on Wednesday to ensure that we've installed door alarms, and that she has to file a report with DCFS.

Great. My Friday just can't get any worse. I'm now a felon with a record.

It did.

An hour later (with the migraine dancing the conga on my cranium), the DCFS lady shows up on my doorstep, reeking of cigarette smoke. She took a statement from me about what happened, and then questioned the kids. Peter happily informed her that, "Yes, Mommy sleeps all the time, and I have to babysit my brother and sister while Mommy is sleeping all the time."

The DCFS lady then inspected my house, something about which I still feel creepily violated. It's a horrible feeling knowing that someone with the potential power to take away your kids is walking through your home looking for something amiss. It's a good thing she didn't find the chains and manacles in the basement.

(Just kidding.)

After her inspection, she told me that I had to install a gate at the top of the stairs, install door alarms (which I do agree is a good idea), cannot let the kids play in our fenced-in back yard unless I am physically out there as well (being in the kitchen five feet away is too far, apparently), and not to sleep until the kids are 12. (She seriously said all those things.) She asked for references to call, said she might speak to my new neighbors (great, talk about giving me a good reputation in the neighborhood), and that her report will be on file with DCFS for FIVE YEARS.

Along with the policewoman, the DCFS woman is also coming back on Wednesday to inspect that her recommendations were followed and to interview Handyman (no doubt to ascertain how frequently and to what degree he beats his children. If she asks Miss Boo, I can only dread the answer; "Yes, my Mommy beats me all the time.") She will also let me know whether or not I'm going to be indicted for neglect and if I'm going to be put on the DCFS watch list, meaning that a DCFS employee can drop by unannounced whenever they want.

We now have a Valkyrie screeching door alarm that goes off whenever the door is open, three bolts on each door, and combination locks on the fence gates.

Our house is now battened down like Fort Knox, minus the gold bullion.

(This is a video of Gabe the Runner climbing the apple tree in our back yard. You might want to pause the music player on the right sidebar first.)

Pajamas

Although it's currently very warm here right now, I know that Winter is looming over my shoulder with icy breath of impending horror.

(Plus, JoAnn's had a great sale on fleece).

So, I sewed a pair of pajamas for Gabe.
He likes cars, trucks, trains, and wiggling. Trying to take his photo was nearly impossible until I bribed him with some of Handyman's chocolate stash.
This worked well.
Gabe has a massive head (I'm still shuddering when I remember trying to give birth to him), and as usual his baseketball head wouldn't fit through the neck opening.
It wasn't a very good seamstress fix, but I cut a small dark into the neckline so that I can wedge his head through.

Oh well, at least they're comfy and warm!

Curls and Mud

This is my baby. I love his curly hair. He will always be my baby, even when he's old and balding and has no hair.
I do not appreciate his love of mud.
"No dear one, I do not wish to share your bottle with you, but thank you for the kind offer."
"Really, baby, I DO NOT want it."
"I prefer a bottle laced with something stronger than milk."

My Little Photographer

I'm sure every mother has come across strange, UFO images like these in her camera.
How did the little stinker know that if he took a picture of his cute little toes he wouldn't get in trouble?
How in the world am I supposed to get mad at a face like this?!

Happy Feet!

My little Baby Gabe is generally such a happy soul. He doesn't really run so much as prance, and any opportunity to use a little boogie-woogie footwork is never lost! With those floppy red pants (wonderfully made courtesy of my Aunt Sue), he could do a pretty good imitation of M.C. Hammer!

(You might wish to pause the music player on the right sidebar before playing the video clip, and if you're viewing this post through Facebook you'll need to view the post on my actual blog site here.)

Vroom Vroom!

My baby Gabe loves cars and anything else that chugs, spits gasoline, and pollutes the earth. Anyway, I was running low on bibs and decided to remedy that shocking situation by making a few car bibs for my automotive maniac - um- mechanic.

First, I placed an old bib that was the correct size for Gabe onto my fabric (double thickness) and traced around it with a pencil giving the new bib a 1/2" seam allowance, except for the neck area where I used the actual bib size.
From there, I cut out some cars from car fabric that I already had on hand, and used an applique stitch on my sewing machine to sew the cars onto the top part of the bib.
Using a leftover blue sheet, I made some bias tape and sewed the bias around the edge, being sure to catch both the front embroidered bib and the back plain bib.
Finally, I sewed a quick little velcro closure onto both neck edges for easy off and on.
That was it! Surprisingly, it was the bias edging that took the longest to make. I think in the future I'd choose a more square bib style as opposed to the violin-shaped bib, as it would make the bias easier to sew on. Still, I'm glad I was able to make these, as Gabe thinks they're the coolest thing ever. It's worth the work to see him poke his fat tummy and say delightedly, "Cawr, cawr!"
(I am very annoyed to have to say that the next few posts might have very blurry photos. Apparently some little fingers found their way onto my camera lens and smudged it up, unbeknownst to me.)

A Climber

Some women have kids have kids who are Biters, or Whiners.

I have a Climber.
Climber - noun: meaning one who climbs everything in sight, no matter how practical or stupid it might be for that individual to attempt doing so.
I swear I'm going to put bricks in that boy's diapers.

*Sigh*. Excuse me. I have to get him off of the book shelf now.

Annnnnd He's OFF!!!

(You might want to pause the music player on the sidebar before playing the video clip)

Never Turn Your Back . . .

. . . on a three-year-old eating pancakes with syrup.
She might decide to share (for once in her life) with her little brother.

A Good Day

You know the saying, "Outlook determines outcome"? To some respect, I really believe that's true. Oh, not necessarily in the direct sense that "if I wish for a pile of cashmere yarn, a cashmere goat will wander into my back yard", but in the notion that if I have a positive outlook, my day will seem positive.

That's why I'm calling Saturday a good day.

To start off with, in the morning, our little clan drove to Bob and Rachel's house to join up with the rest of Handyman's clan.
They're a horrifying bunch, let me assure you. Absolutely frightening. Look at those maniacal grins of naughtiness and mischief!

Baby Gabe was above such silliness, mostly because he wasn't feeling well and too miserable to participate.

The poor thing sat in his stroller, moaning softly to himself and weeping fluids out of every orifice on his face. He was teething, which led to a small ear infection, which led to a low fever, which led to . . . other things. But I'll get to those "other" things later.The food was great. Rachel provided the barbecue, and the rest of us brought side dishes and I made bread rolls. Considering the fact that I can't have wheat, I thought this very valiant of me. I only nibbled on a roll once. Or twice. I can't remember. I deny everything.
Miss Boo loved playing with her "bestest-buddy-in-the-whole-world" Mariah (a.k.a. "Riah"). Although she doesn't like peppermint, she insisted on eating this pie, simply because it was pink. I couldn't really fault her, as I will wear shoes that are painful as long as they're cute. We don't change much as we age.
Super Josh was home from College. He'd just gotten off work as a security guard, so he proudly wore his new duds for us. We found it amusing that he even wore his "security" outfit while he went trespassing through the woods looking for Morels. (Please take a moment to marvel at my self-control, in passing up any number of depressingly bad puns).
I enjoyed catching up with my in-laws, especially my sisters-in-law. The menfolk are tolerable, I suppose.
See my hair? I didn't fix it that way on purpose. It was cooooooold that day and very, very windy.

The boys got together for the requisite game of touch football. They weren't very good; even I could see that. It was rather like watching a flock of geese run around after a beetle.They insisted their butter fingers was due to the wind. Sissies.

Handyman found interesting ways to amuse himself while dropping the ball. (That's his dad to the back right. Big man, is Pops. He had to be in order to handle all those boys. His wife isn't big at all though. She's a tiny woman. Of course, women can handle more than men.)

Speaking of women, here's Miss Boo picking dandelions with her bestest-buddy Riah. My mother-in-law, knowing Miss Boo's personality, told my daughter, "Breanna, don't pick dandelions, because you might not be able to pick enough for us. We'll just let Mariah do it by herself."

Reverse psychology is a powerful thing for the snarky-minded.
Handyman and Gabe decided to take a time out from all the chaos and snatch a nap in the van. When I found this picture on my camera later, I was slightly horrified and had trouble holding back tears.
Remember that mild fever Gabe had? Well, the combination of that, plus his coat, plus being on his warm daddy, plus being out of the wind, caused his temperature to spike quickly, and he started having a febrile seizure.

I watched in horror as he convulsed violently for almost 2-3 minutes, turned blue around the lips, and started foaming at the mouth. When he finally stopped seizing, he lay in his daddy's arms completely "boneless" and limp, something I never ever wish to see again.

In what felt like hours later, the ambulance pulled up, and Baby Gabe and I got in and rushed to the ER. In the ambulance they stripped off his clothes to cool him down and gave him oxygen to stabilize his breathing. I was astonished to feel how hot he was under those clothes. His face wasn't red, and he wasn't sweating, but his back was so warm I could barely stand to touch his skin.

When we got to the ER, they gave him tylenol and checked his temperature again. I think it was around 101 degrees, which was better than the 104 degrees it was a few minutes/eons earlier.

The poor little thing was so exhausted from his ordeal, that as soon as the tylenol kicked in, he kicked out.Thankfully, the febrile seizure, while terrifying to watch, didn't cause any long term damage (except to my psyche. I now have a permanent twitch over my right eye). Since the ER was backed up and Gabe was stable, we weren't able to leave until 9:00 PM, having been either in transit or in the ER since 4:00.

It was a long day, but a good day.

Here's a few of the things that I've been thanking the Lord for; first of all, obviously, Gabe's health. No long term health problems.

Secondly, the fact that his seizure happened when and where it did. I was surrounded by family and had my husband there during the whole ordeal. If I were home alone, Gabe would have had to go in the ambulance alone while I found someone to watch the other two. Just the thought of possibly having to send my baby off alone while in that state gives me inner convulsions.

Thirdly, I'm so thankful for my friends and family. My sister in law Kerissa watched Peter and Miss Boo at the house so Handyman could come to the ER, my mother-in-law and brother-in-law Bob came to the ER right away to be with me until Handyman could get there (despite the fact that Bob gets twitchy around needles and sterile white rooms). I knew that they were all praying for me, and was beseiged (in a good way) by well-wishes and prayers via text. Finally, when we stumbled home after a long and tiring day, we found a delicious homemade chicken pot pie waiting for us in the freezer, ready to be cooked, courtesy of Flip Flopping Mama. Another friend kindly dropped off a tasty casserole for us for the next day, so I wouldn't have to feel rushed about getting food on the table.

So, despite some of the moments of horror and stress, it was indeed a good day;

A very good day.

Now please excuse me while I go smooch my baby until he's 23.