From Doubts to Diagnosis

Over the past few days, my dear friend, Danielle, has released a Meal Train for us. That release has served as an announcement, of sorts. Rich was reluctant to share the news of his diagnosis until he had the full story... but this is a bit of the history of how we got to this point  

So how did we get here?

It all started on November 22nd. We were getting ready to go out to dinner to celebrate our 20th anniversary when Rich dropped a small bomb on me - though we didn't know it was a bomb at the time. He casually mentioned that his bloodwork results from his annual physical were in and showed elevated liver enzymes. I jokingly replied "well that's because you're an alcoholic. Your liver finally had enough. Lay off the sauce."

Admittedly, I didn't really believe this as I was saying it. There was a time when Rich was a heavy daily drinker. Though never a drunk or out of control, he found himself on the couch, unwinding with sports and 3-4 beers each night. It was his ritual and habit. However since he tore his knee up in October 2022, he had consumed far less alcohol than we were used to seeing. Beer was still a part of our day-to-day...can't make tacos without finishing a beer first. After all, you need an empty can for the grease... But it wasn't as prevalent for the year leading up to this bloodwork. 

The weeks between his initial bloodwork and the retest seemed to drag. But on 12/19, the news was back: liver enzymes were still elevated. Something was amiss. on 12/21, he went for an ultrasound of his abdominal cavity. Given the closeness to the holidays, he was warned that he wouldn't have results for a while - possibly until after Christmas. 

But we had results within two hours. His liver, spleen and lymph nodes were enlarged. Something was definitely amiss. 

Next step was a CT with contrast - which he had done on 12/26. Again, he was guided that we might not have results for a while because of the timing of the test. Within an hour, we had results that confirmed not only that his liver, spleen and lymph nodes were enlarged - but also found what appeared to be a mass in his liver. 

He called me with the news. I drove around and cried for about an hour. I stopped by to see a friend. I called my Mom. I surrounded myself with as much delusional positivity as I could get - knowing full well that something was very, very wrong here. 

When I think about the last week of 2023, I don't really remember much about what we did or didn't do. I know I worked. I know I had activities with kids. I know I went to my parents' house and my mom and I got matching tattoos. But it all feels very blurry - because everything I was doing was seen through a thick, gray cloud of worry and anxiety. 

It was decided on 12/29 that he was to have a PET scan before the biopsy. We had to wait 11 days from then until the actual PET scan...and another two days before we saw a doctor to get the results. 

This whole time, Rich's champion has been his primary care physician, Dr. Vincet DiPietro.Dr. DiPietro has been on top of every test, every lab result, and has reached out on Rich's behalf to more than one specialist. As we launch into this new, scary territory, I feel a sense of comfort knowing that Dr. DiPietro moved this along at a warp speed, especially since Rich didn't present with any symptoms at the time of the initial testing. It was Dr. DiPietro that first 

There is still so much unknown about what comes next. 

New Year, Same Old Me.

It's January 1, 2022. The first day of a brand new year. My Facebook newsfeed is filled with folks talking about Resolutions and promises - and just as many memes joking about how it's another year and you're just getting the same old salty bitch you had last year.

I like those memes. They make me chuckle. 

I never make resolutions. A resolution is defined as a "firm decision to do or to not do something." It has been my life experience that whenever I make a FIRM decision to do (or more likely, to NOT do something), life lets me know just how not in control I am. I could say "I am NOT going to drink caffeinated beverages anymore." That would probably work for a day or two...until the first night I'm up with a restless child...or working late...or trying to solve a cheer issue. Once that happens, if you want my ADHD brain to have a snowball's chance of functioning, there had better be some Diet Coke at the end of my straw!

One of my FB friends - who I have the pleasure and good fortune to know IRL, put up a question about resolutions - and my response was that I don't really make resolutions...but I'm just going to work on being a better version of me. 

A better Kris means a lot of things. I would like to be more patient. More kind. More giving. 

I would like to make more time for myself. Make sure I wash my face every morning and evening before bed...drink more water (in addition to the Diet Coke). 

I want to get the CLUTTER out of my house and be able to walk into my home and feel relaxed because I don't have 85 things to do before I rest for the night. (With seven of us in this house, I know that this is kind of a pipe dream...but I'm willing to take it one room at a time!)

I want to be a better friend. A better daughter. A more compassionate sister. A more patient mother. (Maybe only yelling on the fifth time I ask something...instead of the third?!) I want to do my part to make our crazy mornings peaceful.

I want to be a better boss. My team tells me that I'm a pretty good boss - but I'm totally prone to being overwhelmed with emails and my ever-growing list of things to do...it makes me easily distracted, and I know it. 

I want to get my basement cleaned. (That's a different story for a different day.) I want to get my room cleaned. (same) Don't even get me started about the damn garage. 

The list can go on and on. The Galasso Files have been filed with silly stories of my crazy crew and our adventures. It still will be - but it will also be my keeper of my journey - because it is important for my children to someday know that who I am is the never-ending journey to who I will be. At no point are we anything more than imperfect and flawed and beautiful humans. 

At the end of the day (which is quite literal - as I am about to fall over...), I will continue to practice:

love.

empathy.

compassion.

inclusion.

justice.

kindness.

And through that practice, I will build a better Kris with every passing day. (And if that better Kris is a few inches smaller around the middle because her ass made it to the gym, no one will be complaining!)

Day 169: Our Next Adventure Awaits

 

It's after 11. I just tiptoed to the rooms of each of my sweet, sleeping babes to give them one more kiss on this - our last official day of quarantine. 

169 days ago I picked up my children at school - we were almost jovial about our upcoming two week vacation from all of the things. No real school, no activities. Just each other. 

We filled those first two weeks with games of Rummy and household projects. We did our school work in the morning and then relaxed throughout the afternoon. Four children who were used to having Mom work from home and be at their general disposal now had both parents working in the house. Lunch and dinner became events for all of us. 

Two weeks stretched to two months and longer. Taco Tuesdays stretched well beyond its limits and we seemed to have leftover tacos on Wednesday...Thursday...Friday... Meat was made with mashed potatoes. Dinner was the first part of our endless family nights together and our days were monotonous. Breakfast - work - lunch - work - dinner - cleanup - Rummy & NCIS (with RJ asking for "just one round" and Ange begging for two...) - then off to bed we went. We would sleep off that darling monotony and wake up refreshed the next day and do it all again.

In March, Nicky would wake up every morning and say "is it Mommy Nicky day?" And I would smile and tell him "it sure is!" In April, he said "I not go to school today?" And I said "you're sure not!" Then we would get a few more snuggles in before we started our day. In May, my sweet little buddy would wake up and ask to see his friends - friends that he will never see again, as the year ended before adult relationships could be made and a tuition increase forced us to move on. 

We now close out August - and that same little guy has asked me if he can go to school every day for the past three weeks. He isn't the only one who is excited. 

I joke. A lot. I talk about how my kids need a break from me and I need a break from them. I will say that I'm ready to drop kick them to school and if the AOB closed our school down, I was leaving them at those front doors on August 31st anyway! I joke and I kid and there is some truth to all of it. They need a break from me - and I need a break from them. 

But I am terrified.

We have far from isolated ourselves over the past two months. After three months of shutting ourselves in and locking the door, we opened the blinds and shielded our eyes to the sun, soaking up the rays with a new love of freedom. Our initial steps were timid and suddenly we were thrust into something that felt a little like life as we used to know. While we were so ready for life to resume, the process still felt more rushed than I wanted. We did more and more. We saw more people. We went more places. We wore our masks and washed our hands and our distances got a little less each time. 

But I am still scared. And as I sit here, thinking about what will happen in less than 9 hours, I am more than just a little sad. 

Five months and 19 nights of togetherness - and it is all about to come to an end. It is all going to end with a hard dose of normal that is packaged in navy blue shorts and goldenrod t-shirts. As much as the logical person in me knows that they need this - they need some normalcy - the helicopter mom in me wants to keep them home so that I can look at their sweet little faces just a little bit longer. 

I have had this conversation more than once over the past two months. There is no right answer here. There is no wrong answer. The conversation isn't easy and prevents more questions than solutions. I am continually grateful that I am not the person who is making these tough decision for our teachers and our children.

There is confusion and fear and anxiety for so many of us. Each of my four children have handled this whole situation differently - but they have all demonstrated strength beyond imagination. 

I'm about to close my eyes on our last night of the strangeness of the past 169 days. Tomorrow restarts the clock. Tomorrow is a new Day 1. Tomorrow is a new beginning.

Pandemic: 128 days and counting

The announcement came from Baltimore County Schools yesterday: Online distance learning to start the year. Likely to continue through the end of this calendar year, possibly longer.

My heart aches for my teacher friends who are separated from their students and classrooms and from doing what they love.

My heart aches for the children I know in BCPS schools - as we want nothing more than to give them some sense of normal and with a continuation of online learning, they will not have that at all.

We are 128 days into this mess - and there is no end in sight. While there is "hope" for my children to actually go back into the classroom this fall (yay, Catholic school), I'm truthfully conflicted regarding that reality. Is the classroom best given the circumstances? The world is crumbling around us and I'm going to send them off without acknowledging the pieces at my feet?

But then there is the matter of keeping them home. Is that best? Is that healthiest? Is it realistic for me to keep them in a bubble and far away from any threats?

128 days and I have more questions than answers.

128 days of learning that some people are reprehensible hemorrhoids (an asshole has a purpose and a function) who bring nothing to the communal table but hate and anger and intolerance and impatience.

128 days...and we are no closer to a solution.

I hope to God that I can look back at this time at laugh. Right now, there is no bubble of laughter that builds in my chest. Instead - it is a void and an ache with whispers of fear that bounce off of cavernous walls.

I have seen several memes about the importance of being positive. Letting children see you happy so that they will be happy with the circumstance. While I completely subscribe to that notion, there is an issue with that train of thought: this sucks. It sucks for them as much as it sucks for us.

128 days of faking it in the hopes of making it...how many more?

These 40 days...

We have completed 40 days of quarantine...something that I never believed I would see in my lifetime. Something I never even considered before - and I hope to never need to think about again!

No doubt, these past 40 days haven't been the easiest. I've had my share of meltdowns. I have shed my share of tears. I have sat in awe of this country's true heroes. (Really, the heroes of the world).

There have been days when time seemed to stand still. There have been days that rushed by so fast, we found ourselves wide awake and ready to live a full day...at 9:45pm.

We have no rules. We have no schedule. We stay up late and sleep in. We sometimes get dressed in the morning. But we also sometimes get dressed at 4 in the afternoon. It's ok! Quarantine rules are different than regular rules.

Here are some of the other things that I have learned or noticed during the past 40 days...

1. Rosie is morphing into my little best friend. We talk to each other - really talk - all of the time. She reminds me of me at 13 - and our relationship reminds me of my relationship with my own Mom. And it is amazing and beautiful and I want to grab it with both hands and never let go.

2. I will buy as many watermelons, strawberries and pineapples as Nick wants - as long as he keeps asking for "Foofies" everyday. (smoothies...he substitutes an F for any S-blends)

3. I have the laziest dog in the history of dogs. She plays for 10 minutes and needs a four hour nap. She puts herself in the crate to get away from us all.

4. 6 people use an obscene amount of toilet paper.

5. I really do drink too much soda...

6. I am OK being high maintenance.

7.  I love sleeping in.

8. RJ hibernates in his room a lot less.

9. I love that Ange will say "are you mad with me" instead of "are you mad at me." I don't know why that's so important - but it feels very important.

10. I love that I can answer her honestly and say no - I'm not mad. (Even when she cuts HUGE clumps of hair off the CENTER FRONT of her head...)

11. We could eat tater tots for breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks. Every day.

12. Apparently, all of the Whitemarsh/Nottingham/Perry Hall area feels the same way because tater tots are hard to come by these days.

13. People can be real hemorrhoids. Assholes have a purpose and a function. Asshole is too nice of a term for some folks.

14. Watching Rosie and Nick makes me happy. I could watch them all day, every day. The adoration is mutual and beautiful.

15. Everyone needs a Rosie. She is magical. I'm not just saying that because I'm biased. She is a calming force in a storm and a voice of reason. She cuts tension with sarcasm and lightens the heaviness of life. Everyone needs someone like that in their life.

16. I'm never going to get sockpocolypse sorted out. I should throw them out and start over.

17. There is, however, hope for Glovegeddon

18. Beuke and I have reached an understanding and he is far less obnoxious now than he was 41 days ago. He spends large quantities of time outdoors and comes home to eat and sleep.

19.  My hair color is crazy important to me. When it was faded out, I was self-conscious...even though I didn't see anyone but me.

20. I am truly my biggest critic.

21. Everyone loves a good meme.

22. Some people just don't have a sense of humor, no matter how silly you want to be.

23. "Foofie" means smoothie and "Poop-si-clay" means popsicles. Foofie is provided by the 3 year old. Poopsiclay is provided by the 13-year-old.

24. Silliness is always more fun than sadness. Choose silly whenever possible.

25. Nick likes McGee and Abby from NCIS. He is unsure of Gibbs.

26. We watch a crap ton of NCIS

27. I am going to need to rewatch NCIS because I have the attention span of a gnat and have barely paid attention to at least 2 of the 4 seasons we have watched.

30. I dodged the bullet of being a teacher. I lack the patience to help children with their education. The thought that I actually tried going to school for that and was more than halfway to my degree makes my heart race a little. Cause I hate this.

31. I've always know that teachers were underpaid and under appreciated. I am shocked and appalled by the number of people who are angry and annoyed with teachers right now. This isn't part of any training. No one is equipped for this.

32. Humans truly aren't meant to be isolated.

33. Humans aren't meant to be "on" all of the time either. I am looking forward to that day when Rich goes back to work and the kids go back to school and I sit in complete silence - just me and my laptop.

34. Rich thinks that he will be the last man standing. I say he will be the first man buried in the backyard under my beautiful new patio.

35. When you want tater tots and don't have tater tots, nothing but tater tots will do.

36. Threenagers have really low tolerance levels for change and really, really shitty coping skills.

37. Almost six weeks of exposure to threenager tantrums makes you immune. You barely notice.

38. You CAN see people smile under their masks. And people can see you smile. If you really want to make sure your greeting is felt - from 6' away - nodding helps.

39. Those little OMG Facebook games are silly and fun...and have made predictions for my hair color, career, next vacation and 2021 plans. I saved them all - predictions.

40. People seem to think complaining is a bad thing. Complaining can really just be a method of venting and commiserating over what is a (hopefully) unique and stressful time.

The Real Life Struggle of the NWG

Nicky Green Eyes.
Nicky Wills.
The NWG.
Nick Knack.
The Pickle.
Little Buddy.
Bubby.
Bubba.
Bud.

My little guy "answers" to all of these names and more. I say "answers" because it's a crapshoot as to whether the adorably ornery threenager is actually going to answer you at all. While he is sometimes as unbearable as a toddler can be - he is also the sweetest little charmer you ever did meet. And he is funny. So funny. Without even trying or realizing he is being funny.

Nick, who is just 4 months shy of turning four, has struggled the most out of all of us during this time of shelter in place. Young kids need and crave a schedule. A routine. For all of his little life, Nicky and I have had a routine. Even if the routine changed from day-to-day, his week-to-week routine was planned out and similar. Since September, when he started pre-school, he has had a consistent routine. Wake up, quiet time with Mom while lunches are made, drive big kids to school, drive to his school. We developed routines even in drop off that were repeated every day. As we pull into the lot at school, Nicky would have me make the same promise every day. He would say "if the door is locked, Mom, I come home with you?" "Yes, buddy. If the door is locked, I will bring you home with me."

Of course, the door was never locked. We always walked in. I would carry his coat and bag to his hook. While he removed his shoes, I would take his lunch box out, hang his coat and bag, and offer to put his lunch box where it belonged for him. He would take it from me, put it in the lunch box bin and we would walk into the classroom together. In the nearly seven months that I have been dropping him off, I have never seen another parent in that room with me. But I walk in with Nicky every day. I walk him in and walk him to the sink. He washes his hands using "just one pump" of soap. Once his hands are clean and his paper towel disposed of, he gets himself a small cup of water. While he pours his water, he asks me to help him get a work "from up above." Of course, I agree to getting him the work "from up above" (the higher shelves of the before care work). We walk to the circle mat and he pulls out his rug while I walk over to the shelves. Once his mat is spread out, he ponders the work - the same works that have been there every day since his first day in September. He finally selects one and I take it off the higher shelf and hand it to him. He places it on the mat then comes to say goodbye. I pick him up and he gives me a kiss and then a hug and then another kiss. Then I put him down and we high five...and fist bump...and head bonk... and the last piece of our parting ritual is Nick's parting message: "Have a good day, Mom."

To which I always reply, "you have a good day too, bud."

And then I leave to start my day.

We have a routine for our pick up too. He asks the same questions every day and we have the same reunion every afternoon at 2:55. We are creatures of habit...but the past three weeks have completely shot every habit in our arsenal. And he is struggling.

My poor little guy doesn't have his routine anymore. Unlike Rich, myself and the older kids, he can't process what is happening. He doesn't understand dates and lengths of time. He just wants to see his friends and his beloved teachers. Three weeks ago, before normal was upended, he would ask me "is today Mommy Nicky Day?" Mommy Nicky Day is what we call Fridays around here - because he goes to school Monday - Thursday, so Friday is a day for him & me, while the big kids are in school. For the first few days of the COVID Social Distancing Project, he asked me if today was Mommy Nicky Day. By the start of the second week, he was no longer asking for Mommy Nicky Day...he instead started asking "am I going to school today?" When he heard my "no," his initial response was "Phew." (which sounds a bit like "foo" coming from him.) A few days of that and "phew" changed to "aww." Now, the "aww" has turned into rapid fire questions about his friends from school and when he will see them next.

He wants to have a sleepover. Rockwell will sleep in his crib next to him. Amelia will sleep next to Rockwell's socks and Jacob will sleep next to his socks, next to Amelia. When he walked into his sister's ceiling fan and gave himself a knot on the forehead and a bit of black eye, he asked me to let his teachers know for him. It was big news in his life - and they are big people when it comes to telling the news!

His lack of a routine includes a lack of a nap. I'm not sure how well or how long he naps during his school day...but No Nap Nick is No FUN! He gets to 3pm and he is completely miserable with a super short fuse. But to go down for a nap at 1 means he is missing out on so much with his siblings, and he just can't miss out on the fun! (Fun couldn't be any number of things...from lunch to watching TV to doing homework...it doesn't matter.)

My heart breaks for Nick. There is no reasoning with a toddler - and he is still too little to have any understanding of what is happening in our world. Beyond helping him cope with the now - I also worry about what will happen once the world is regulated again. He is now growing used to the adjusted schedule around here. He is accustomed to sleeping with in Rosie's room - either with Rosie or in "Angie's bed." He doesn't need to be anywhere. Frankly, the learning process with Nick is on hold - because the process of helping the three older kids is more than I can handle and that needs to take priority for now.

Ultimately, I know my little guy will be ok. I don't know that he will remember this time, but through the stories we tell him and the memories we share. For most of us, this is a scarier time. Not for Nicky. He misses his teachers and his friends and his routine - but it is clear that he is loving being home with his family. He is happy having all of us at his beck and call throughout the day.

My sweet little boy has had some struggles during this COVD crisis, that is for sure. While he may need a few extra snuggles and a bit more patience, through it all, he is the sunshine that brightens my day.

How I found Nicky today...he wasn't sleeping. He was watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. 

Keeping a social distance

I am not a social distancing kind of person. I'm a hugger-on-our-first-meeting kind of person. I am a "let's pile as many people into this room as we can and laugh as loud as possible" kind of person. My kids? They also suck at social distancing.

Saturday morning, I woke up feeling very on edge. I had difficulty falling asleep...I've made a fairly successful transition to working nights and sleeping mornings, but when there isn't work to do, my brain still wants to stay up. By 2pm, I was ready to string a child up by her toenails and just needed to get out of the house.

I announced to Rich that I was leaving - and I loaded up my car with Pete's tools and LuLaRoe deliveries in the hopes of getting some peace and quiet and social distance from my favorite people. Of course, my car wouldn't start. (Apparently 3 days of inactivity was too much for her...). So in I went...grabbed Rich's keys, moved everything over and took off.  It only took me a few minutes to set up my music and it wasn't long before I was cruising down the road, singing along and starting to unwind.

It was just a few minutes into my journey that I was faced with a dilemma...what should I do when I actually get to the door for these deliveries? Leave it in the mailbox? Knock on the door and run? Text ahead? Would I maintain social distance? 6' between me and the person I wanted to hug?

Door #1: Kelly and I stayed 6' apart...with the exception of when I handed her the LLR bag with her new dress. It was awkward to not hug her hello - but we both handled it, joked about it and then I went on my way. There was no inviting me in - but the invitation wasn't expected.

Door #2: A more difficult visit... more awkward. This time, I was pulling up to someone who is like family. A family with whom hugs are standard...not just at hello and goodbye, but at varying moments in between. I unloaded the car into the open and waiting garage. "Did you disinfect this already?" Maybe... but I won't be insulted if it is disinfected again! There was a recently disinfected seat set up for me in the corner of Pete's garage. He invited me to stay...and I politely declined, saying I needed to get home. We chatted for another minute and he offered me a seat again...I again politely declined...but as I gave another logical reason for my departure, I realized that Pete had been locked in his house for two weeks too...and was probably craving interaction as much as I had been.

So I sat. I sat in a chair - a good 10' away. And we chatted. Just chatted and chatted and chatted. About nothing. About Trump. About his general botching of this whole situation. It felt SO good to just relax and chat with my friend...as much as I knew I needed to get home, needed to get to my next stop...I just didn't want to leave. Eventually, after maybe the best 20 minutes I had in a while, I stood at the edge of the garage and wrapped my arms around my own shoulders in a gesture of a hug to send his way. It felt so strange not to hug my friend.

But I moved on to Door #3: where Liz met me outside and I stayed in my car and she stayed outside my car...I handed her the bag of LuLa Goodies...and she stuck my crock pots in the back seat. And again - we didn't hug...didn't exchange anything more than a few words and saddened glances - but just as quickly as I got there, I was backing down the driveway to get to Door #4.

Door #4 was Katie. Katie met me at the front door and gave me the option to come in, which I declined - even though I wanted nothing more than to sit on her couch for an hour and just chat about our children and what we missed about our normal lives. Instead, we stood on her side porch, sheltered from the chilly mist that rained on us. I stood by the door to the outside - she stood by the door to the inside. I was there for two little nightstands. Or at least that was my excuse for being there. But in actuality, I was there to see my friend and spend time with her - a person that I see often in "normal" life.

After leaving Door #4, I made my way home, with a brief stop at 7-eleven. I boldly walked in with my two 50 ounce cups, ready to present my argument over how my reusable cups, fresh from my dishwasher and recently cleaned and sterilized, were less of a risk to me and everyone around me than the "fresh" cups at the soda fountain that were able to be touched by many people, other than me. Of course, since my argument was ready, no one questioned my cups and I marched through Door #5, straight to my beloved caffeine dispensing machine and filled both of those cups as I read the sign about no reusable cups...

As I paid, my buddy behind the checkout was more chatty than normal. I stayed for a minute, indulging his conversation, fighting the panic within me that just wanted to be back in the safe air of my car. Once I was safely back in my car, I had a moment to reflect on my afternoon and my "errands." They all answered a craving: normalcy.

I find myself in a weird funk - a depression of sorts without being like any depression I have known before. I attacked this time at home with verve and enthusiasm - a want and need to do as much as possible and make the most of this time in the house.

I find myself looking for that energy - longing for the person who felt hopeful and full of that enthusiasm from two weeks ago. The person I see has a sadness in her soul. She is resigned and lacking the hope required to make it through this time. She smiles and is peaceful but is missing the intense enjoyment that the living of life brings.

This time is unlike any other we have ever known - and hopefully unlike anything our future will bring. Safety and the need to socially distance is critical - but humans are not meant to be alone. We need each other. We need to balance our physical well-being with our emotional and mental health.

COVID-19: Day 12

Today was a bit of a rough day for me. I have been extremely productive for most of the first two weeks of this forced staycation...but today was a rough one.

It was day 3 of my "working overnight" plan - and it was the easiest night so far. I was super productive and I barrelled through loads of work. I went to bed with a smile on my face and slept hard for about 5 hours. From 9am-11, it was a series of wake up, fall asleep, wake up, fall asleep. Couldn't get comfortable. Couldn't fall back to sleep. I finally gave in, got up and took a shower. Which, by the way, felt amazing.

I'm not sure if it was the lack of sleep or this persistent, dull sinus headache that I'm sure is seasonally-induced...but making the kids lunch took all of the energy I had. Not long after lunch, I found myself back in bed and napping the afternoon away. I slept until 5:30 - and I am sitting here, just 6 hours later, so exhausted, I can barely keep my eyes open. 

So Mama had an off day. Guess what that means? Kids had an off day too!

I got up at 5:30, made dinner, did dishes, did some laundry...sent the kids outside to play for a little bit (played with chalk...and Rosie colored Angelina's face completely blue...) and then got ready to help Ange with her homework. I have been saying since before she could walk that parenting Ange is a full time job. Never has that job consumed so much of me than it does during this coronacation. We don't have a set schedule for her - and that doesn't help. Her work, which I know isn't difficult for her, takes her far longer than it would if she was in the classroom with her teacher and peers. 

Tonight's work for Ange didn't take as long as normal though...a fact for which I was

thankful. Especially since a casual question during dinner exposed that RJ hadn't started any of his!

Fast forward to 10pm...RJ was STILL working on his work. Why? Because my charming and adorable little asshat spent the entire afternoon chatting up the ladies from school. I learned yesterday that the little girls in fifth grade are quite enamored with my boy. They all talk about him nonstop, per one of their moms. So earlier today, I gave RJ messenger for kids so that he could connect with his assorted girlfriends from school...and he connected for HOURS today.

His social needs took over his day, so at 8:30, when we should have been playing Rummy 500 and watching Harry Potter, we were sitting at the island, working on his fifth grade ELA assignment. It's a shame, really - because No-Nap Nicky conked the heck out a little after 8...and he is usually particularly deft at destroying card games.

Given that I am in charge of most academic things around here, it was particularly amusing for me to watch Rich try and work with him on what should have been an easy assignment. Not for Captain Procrastination! Despite turning off all distraction and sitting right next to him to keep in on task, the boy struggled with some basics - like "end of sentence punctuation." it was making Rich completely nuts.

Since I had entrusted him to stay on top of his own work and this was proving to be a mistake, I took a moment to review his google classroom to make sure he had submitted everything for the week. It was a good thing I did! Clearly, my lesson has been learned and the boy is not to be trusted with his own time management. We were clearly in for the long haul with him and suggested to Angelina and Rosie that they head up to bed. 

A: how am I going to sleep with no device?

Rich: like most of the free world does. Like every kid in Ethiopia does.

Is this the new “there are starving children in Africa, so eat all your food?” Since we don't do a "clean plate" club in 2020, we need to find a new comparison.

Needless to say, I started snort laughing and couldn’t get my shit under control. Which caused Sir Stallings to stop watching his f*cking video and throw some commentary my way...

Me: watch your video.

Rich: like the Ethiopians can't

Rosie: is Ethiopia really a place?

Done. Just done. Rich is throwing all blunt objects in Rosie’s general direction and I am searching the internet for some sort of educational tool to teach my ding dong about the continent of Africa and its countries.

Aside from this general tomfoolery, I did loads of laundry. Loads and loads and loads of laundry. I showered today - and took the time to blow dry my hair. I even got dressed! I am a little ashamed to admit that today's shower *might* have been the first of the week...this whole thing is definitely taking a toll on our household hygiene habits. I have been operating out of my PJs and sweatpants - jumping out of bed to start the day at noon...climbing back into bed to work at 10pm...with nonstop activity in between. The shower felt amazing. I am going to make more of an effort to take care of myself on a more regular basis. My practices in self-care were the first to go!

I took a fun “what does your name say about you” quiz which was largely accurate..and answered a fun Facebook post asking you to compare a picture of you from when you were little to now. I like to think I haven't changed much. The original poster on FB thought Rosie looked like me from this picture. I showed Ro - and she said she saw it too. There's a first time for everything! Fun on Facebook. So. You know. Totally productive. Whatever. I’m allowed an off day!

Also - Using the last square of toilet paper made me laugh. Uncontrollably. Like - laughed until I peed. Fortunately, I was in a good seat for that to happen! 

I think this whole social distancing thing is getting to me a bit. It's hard to always be chipped. It's hard to not constantly think about the things we are going to miss. I miss cheer. A lot. I miss my cheer babies. We should have had our second competition last weekend and be working on getting ready for our third. I miss dance. I miss the rigormorall of our day-to-day lives. I even miss making lunches. 

I am trying as hard as I can to focus on the positive and just enjoy being with my children. My kids are totally amazing - but I do miss my friends. When we get out of here, and hugging is ok again, I'm just going to hug as many people as I can. 

But, for now, I'm just going to enjoy this time as much as possible. For right now - that means not stressing about all of the things that I *need* to do and instead spending time recording my feelings while my Rosalicious practices her french braiding technique. (Which turned out to be dutch braiding...but I think her first and second attempt went super well!)

Times, they are a changin'...

Ah. My girl. Our Button. Rosalicious. Ro Ro. Rosie Baby.

I love this child more than words can express. Of course, she is my kid - so I love her the way a mother loves a child. My love for Rosie is deeper than that. It goes beyond parent-child. I love her personality.

She is silly and fun with a serious side. She treats school like it is her job and rocks those A's like nobody's business.

I hate that she is growing up. Hate. It.

12 years ago right now, we would be snuggled up, napping together. Well - she would be napping. I would be unable to move because if I lifted my arm away from her head, she would be awake and ready to go again. I would have ER on the TV and would stay awake, breathing in every little moment of my time with her. She is perfect.

She is racing, full-speed ahead, towards those teenaged years. She wants to be grown. She no longer likes hugs and kisses and doesn't want to be snuggled or held.

So on Saturday night, when she said "Mommy? Would you hate me if I wanted to sit with you?" I wanted to squeal with delight. I didn't, of course, I kept my cool - like it was no big deal - and said "I could never hate you, love bug. I will happily share my chair with you!"

For the next hour, I didn't pay much attention to Captain America: The First Avenger. I paid attention to the rate of her breathing. The feeling of her spine pressed into my side. I tried to memorize the texture of her hair - the individual strands and how they go in different directions, just like mine. (Though her hair is so much lighter than mine...) Her profile - and how much she looks like her dad. Her lashes - that frame this amazingly huge eyes that take up her whole face (that she got from me).

For that hour - I just enjoyed every moment of my baby girl - who is so not a baby anymore. I enjoyed those moments, just in case she doesn't ask to cuddle again.

Last night, awakened from a scary dream, Rosie came in and asked to sleep with me. This is the third time in the last month or so, and I made room right away. I know that as we grow, we need our moms in different ways. For now - I just want her to need me as much as possible and when she does, I will welcome it with open arms.

Dear Angelina...

Dear Angelina -

My sweet girl. I hate raising my voice. Especially with you. I feel like my voice is loud, it is like razors through your heart. And I hate it. I'm not always sure how to parent you without that voice.

I'm watching you sleep now, in the wake of yet another "why did this happen, Ange" conversation. "And don't tell me you don't know." But you never know. And neither do I. So I weep for us both while you sleep.

Tonight's episode occurred at 11pm - after a family movie (during which just you & I stayed awake). You yelled from the foyer - though two of your siblings were upstairs asleep and one was in bed, on her way to sleep. The yelling was because you saw "a strange animal" on our porch. I promised to investigate and sent you to brush your teeth. After seeing the harmless white cat on our lawn, I noticed my ring on the steps.

The year you were born, I tapped my way across the stage to Beyonce's "Single Ladies." I wore a cheesy, plastic, light-up ring - which has safely been on display in our sunroom ever since. It has been taken down three times. Once to be worn in a reprise of the original routine, once by a curious Angelina right after that reprise and then tonight.

This comes on the heels of a series of somewhat destructive behaviors that have me headed straight for the nuthouse. I'm at a bit of a loss as to how to help you - but there are some things that I need you to know...

I love you. More than anything in the world. You are absolutely one of my favorite people on the planet.

I often think we are soulmates - connected by threads that no one can see but we both feel.

I get lost in the depth of your eyes.

I know you hate taking medicine (because you would rather eat lunch), but I love your ADHD brain. That brain of yours is beautiful and creative. It is strong and powerful. You, my sweet little girl, are going to change the world and make it a better place. Your brain sees through fences and defenses and easily identifies that weaknesses within others. The beauty of our heart is that you only use that knowledge for good.

You are a helper - and you are proud to be a helper. It comes easily to you - and you don't even know how much of a gift that is to everyone else around you.

I think back to my very first parent teacher conference with your amazing teachers at Bridges. You were not yet 4 - the second youngest child in your class. Your teacher looked at me and said "your greatest difficulty as a parent will be figuring out how to help her harness her many talents to use them for good."

And you are so very, very talented.

I told you, my sweet 8-year-old girl, that I am afraid that your choices will land you in prison. That you will someday touch the wrong belonging of the wrong person and end up with your back against the wall and scared. You cried. I cried. You are sound asleep - and I am wide awake and searching ADHD blogs for different ways and techniques to help my beautiful Angel.

I'll do whatever it takes, baby girl. We were destined for each other - and I am learning so much from you. I love seeing the world through your eyes - and I never want that view to change.

I'm Not Fine

At 2am on Wednesday, March 6, 2019, I was awakened by Rich and the sound of my baby screaming downstairs. Nick had fallen asleep on Rich's lap and was now awake with a vengeance. He was wailing from downstairs, and without really focusing on Rich's words, I hopped out of bed and ran to him.

He was in the foyer, my sweet little baby, his face red and tear-stained. I scooped him into my arms and as I whispered soothing words into his ear, my mind was jolted into a heightened level of awareness - I was instantly aware of the heat radiating off of my baby's little body.

I brought him to the couch and rocked him. A few minutes later, my pulse was racing nearly as quickly as his - Nick's temperature was 103.

I have been consistently calm throughout illnesses and injuries. It typically isn't until after the cookie has crumbled and been mended that I allow myself to fall to pieces...in a quiet, dark room where I have nothing by my own thoughts. This moment in time was different.

We gave him a dose of Motrin and I rocked him to sleep. His little body began to cool - but it wasn't until he was clammy and his heart rate was back to normal that I allowed my eyes to close. I didn't sleep well - I tossed and turned and awakened repeatedly throughout the night. I couldn't relax knowing that my little Pickle was fighting a fever. I couldn't sleep soundly while as I feared whatever illness raged inside his little body.

A quick description of his symptoms - high fever, green boogies and body aches - and his pediatrician wanted to see him right away. So off to GBMC we went.

My poor little buddy barely had the energy to the open his eyes after I laid him down on the examination table. The nurses took pity on him - he didn't even need to go get a weight check. His temp was still up there - 101.9 - and they did a flu test right away. Within 10 minutes, our pediatrician confirmed what I had feared - Nicky had the flu.

Last winter was a terrible flu year. Everything I knew had the flu - friends. Pregnant friends. Babies of friends. Children of friends. But, thankfully, not my little family. We were spared by the Flu last year. It had devastated us enough the year before. This year, however, was going to be a different story.

I heard the doctor's voice as she talked about Tamiflu and the side effects and why she didn't want to prescribe it to Nick. She was under water in my ears as she discussed keeping him hydrated. I stared through her as she told me about how many of her patients who tested positive but had their vaccines were quick to rebound. The more she spoke, the louder my blood raged in my head and the tighter my chest felt. I told her I would keep her posted. I told her I knew what to do. I wrapped my sweet boy in a blanket and placed him in his stroller and wheeled him down to the car. 

I strapped him in his car seat and kissed his sweet face and promised him whatever his little heart desired. "You snuggle me in you bed?" Yes, sweet boy. Of course I will. 

And then I phoned a friend. I allowed my heart to explode and as the tears flowed down my cheeks, I told Teresa all about my sick buddy and the big, bad flu. 

Fear is a powerful thing. And I was very very afraid. My heart continued to race as it did on January 31, 2017. Teresa reminded me of all the reasons why this moment in time was so very different than that dark day two years ago. She was right, of course, but there wouldn't be sleep for me until I knew for sure that my baby was going to be just fine.

A week has gone by - and he is more than on the mend. Our pediatrician was correct: the flu vaccine limited so many of the flu symptoms. He rebounded within two days and aside from a very brief relapse over the weekend he was essentially back to being our normal, wonderful, sweet and crazy toddler. But I'm still not really ok. Fear still grips me - and I don't know if I will ever return to my mindset of pre-01/31/2017...that headspace that called the Flu the Flu and didn't see it as a serial killer, armed and dangerous. 

While The Cat Is Away...

This is a picture of my Rosie girl. My beautiful, amazing, strong, bold and daring Rosalicious. She is incredible. She was basically fresh from dance class, recently changed from her tights and leotard into her PJs - and she was so excited about her class that she took a flying leap off of the ottoman - and was promptly chastised by her father for standing on the furniture.

...

I totally rolled my eyes as soon as he said it.

I often feel like a kid trapped in an adult body. Yes, we need to get things done - but I genuinely am unfazed by children climbing on countertops or jumping on furniture. It's just stuff, right? So as long as they are being safe, I am usually pretty comfortable letting the kids be kids (and sometimes being the adult kid) and having lots of laughs in the process.

Rich, however, does not share my views. He is perfectly content shirking all responsibility whenever the opportunity presents itself, but he is usually looking to play countless hours of video games and pass out on the couch while ignoring the sink full of dishes. He is constantly telling the kids to be careful with our already broken and ripped 12-year old couch...and not jump on or off of the furniture...and not to climb.

Here is my secret...

In addition to rolling my eyes when he silences the crazy, I totally encourage the behavior as soon as his back is turned!

I know! It is totally shitty of me - but I do! I really believe that kids should be kids and stuff is just...stuff...and I would rather have the laughter and giggles and the uncontrolled, unbridled chaos than order and calm.

So last night, when he left the room, Rosie asked me if she could jump again and if I would take a picture of her mid-flight. My response? "Did Daddy leave yet? No? Wait until he goes..."

Once the door was closed and the car was down the driveway, my leaping ballerina was back up on that ottoman, showing off her jumping skills...and there I was, capturing each and every one on my phone, encouraging her every step of the way. We have video. We have live photos. We have still photos. We have memories because we had fun.

I'm sure Rich would be less than thrilled if he knew that the kids and I are co-conspirators in our occasional rule-defiance...but what he doesn't know, isn't going to hurt us!

Baby Got Back

See that little face? The cute little blondie poking his head out from behind my right shoulder? Yeah - that's the adorable monkey on my back!

Nick and I are close - and in many ways, inseparable. He is the first of my children that I have actually actively worn around. My little buddy goes everywhere with me - and he usually does so happily.

We spent some time at Funland at Rehoboth Beach with Rosie, Angelina and the Wetzelberger girls. The first chunk of time was basically dedicated to his sisters and friends. They picked the rides and activities (including a bathroom run and cheap carnival games). Finally - while we waited for some of the girls, he got to hop out of his Tula and into a boat...

I was a little nervous - he is a bit of an escape artist and that loosely fitted strap would be absolutely no match for him! He was a little anxious until the ride started, but once those boats were moving in that circle of water, he was a happy little clam! 

Of course, once he had a taste of rides, his patience for waiting on everyone else was thin! So we picked a ride that everyone could do - the helicopters. He was in heaven both because of the ride and because he had both Rosie's and Elise's undivided attention the whole time! 

Finally - while we waited for the big kids to finish up their "must ride" list, my Nicky went on the firetrucks. Again...and again... and would have been happy to stay there all night long!

So - after a few hours of fun, I strapped my guy onto my back and went strolling down the boardwalk in search of Thrasher's fries and Fisher's Popcorn. As I accepted the bag with two tubs of popcorn from the dude serving it up at Fisher's, he apologized and said "sorry - it doesn't fit well. It is kind of awkward." 

"Dude - nothing is as awkward as this 35 pound monkey on my back!"

To a degree - it's true. Carrying your child around on your person can be completely exhausting and more than just a little inconvenient. But it also only happens for a painfully brief period of time. I might blink too much, and he will suddenly be grown and not need his mama for everything. I might turn my head, and he will suddenly be too big to be carried. It is just a matter of moments before I pack the stroller away and hand my toddler Tula on to someone who will need it. 

But I'm not at that moment. I'm not at that time. I still get to enjoy my littles while they are little - and for that I will be forever grateful. 

My Little Firework

 My girl. My sweet Angelina.

Angelina is a work of art - a ginormous personality wrapped in sass and cloaked in a smile - armed with a heart full of passion and a head full of righteousness.

Being her parent is sometimes difficult, sometimes frustrating and always rewarding.

July 4th happens to be Angelina's half birthday - and our nation celebrates its independence with fireworks and parties, so my girl has it in her head that these parties are really just for her - to celebrate her half birthday. (Because who wouldn't want fireworks and BBQ on their half birthday?) This year, we had just gotten back from vacation a few days prior and had some major house changes happening, so a party was just not in the cards. From a few minutes after waking, Angelina had declared her half birthday to be "a disaster."

My girl wanted to do ALL of the things that our day just wouldn't allow. She wanted to play card games while her toddler brother was milling about. She wanted to invite people over - who would literally need to sit on our piles of laundry. She wanted to party - when all I could realistically do was survive a summer headache and try to make our mess more manageable.

But, despite feeling lousy, I promised my girl fireworks and fireworks she got!

Her mood was iffy at best until the fireworks started - then her sense of wonder took over and she didn't blink. She begged for a phone to video the display so that she could watch it over and over again.

I want to bottle her energy and enthusiasm. She has a way of seeing the light in every dark tunnel - and every dark heart. She loves completely and fully, and I worry about her tender heart and the fools that will come along and break it.

She is my baby girl and my mini me. Always & forever.

Papou's Pancakes

When I was little, my Mom did 99.8% of the cooking in our household. Breakfast, lunch and dinner, my Mom was in charge of it. In fairness, my Dad was out of the house long before we woke up each morning and was often walking in the door after we had gone to bed. As a result of his schedule (and ours) Dad was usually in charge of grilling on the weekends during the summer - but he was also in charge of pancakes.

My Dad makes the best pancakes. While I'm sure it is part him and part Aunt Jemima, his pancakes are always light and fluffy - and I could eat them every morning, topped with cream cheese and sometimes mini chocolate chips.(Never butter and syrup!)

The secret to the World's Best Pancakes isn't the mix - or the topping. It is the man behind the spatula. You see, my Dad makes our pancakes into shapes. 

For a pretty stoic guy who doesn't often show a silly side, he takes the time to shape that pancake batter into everything from Mickey Mouse ears to hearts to flowers and dinosaurs. It is one of my favorite childhood memories with my Dad - and it is one of my favorite things about him as a grandparent. 

His pancakes are now famous - at least with the 7-11-year-olds that hang out with my kids! In fact - I think two of those friends were a little disappointed yesterday when they didn't get pancakes for breakfast.  

He made up for it this morning, though - pancakes all around - and when Claire requested a cat AND a flower - she got just that!

A "C" for Claire and a Cat

"E" for Elise and two flowers

Little Skater Boy

Woodloch Pines has an ice rink.

Well - it isn't real ice. It is some sort of plant-based plastic, which is why we were able to skate on it at the end of June during 90 heat. 

Since he could walk, Nick has shown a love for any and all sports - but hockey is most particularly his favorite. My little buddy gets so excited when "HA" comes on the TV. He has his very own stick, and we often catch him stick handling in the family room, setting up "goals" with two toy cars and shooting one of his rubber balls through. He even celebrates and yells "goal" when he shoots one through successfully.

It just so happened that our hockey-loving baby and an ice rink were in the same place at the same time, so we did what any hockey parents would do - we put our Bubs on skates! 

I wish I had been able to capture his excitement when he saw me walk towards him with a pair of skates. "Kate! Kate!" My little guy, who struggles with so many of his words, found the words to express his excitement. 

We took all four of them skating at young age. Rosie went for the first time on her second birthday. RJ and Angelina for their third. All three of them struggled with even walking on skates. Not Nicky Blue Eyes. He got those skates on his feet and confidently strode in the direction of the door. He was ready! 

Unlike his siblings before him, Nick took to the ice like a natural. He had no problem staying upright and moving around with confidence. In fact, he was so capable in the skates themselves, we handed him his stick:

He was in heaven!

Nick needed hardly any coaching - and was even able stop a puck with his stick and shoot it at Uncle Billy.

I'm so grateful to have shared this moment with my parents, brother and sister-in-law!