You're Original, Cannot Be Replaced

Yesterday, Griffin turned nine. Nine!

Which means he's old. And I'm freaking old.

It's harder to write about my boys as they get older; it's a respect thing, I get it. And I share what I'm told is okay to share.

Being an SPD kid is not fun, everything is bigger. Disappointment is harder, hurt feelings are more tender and the bests of days is joyously awesome. It's a roller coaster for all of us, and overall it's an amazing ride.

Soccer is still awesome and you're excited to try out a kids' curling class.

You like to be busy (heh, I think you get that from me) and want every moment of every day planned. You also get quite upset if plans fall through (again, from me) and we commiserate together.

We're more alike than you care to admit, being a Daddy's boy now. Beyond the eyebrows (which you ask for me to trim, but tweezing and waxing are not allowed), we both have problems finding our Nerds (it gets easier as you get older, I promise!), we're tenderhearted and heart on our shirt-sleeves kind of people. We're both sarcastic and "love" to use air quotes.

You love art and architecture, and you got a couple of books to inspire and get your creativity going. You create games, characters and stories. You should really write them down more - the oral histories you are coming up with will be lost if you're not a bit more careful.

You're an amazing big brother and love your little brothers so much. Although, you openly hope Emerson will pester Darwin, to give him a taste of how he pesters you. And no, I don't plan on having another baby so Emerson can get a taste of that medicine. Crazy kid.

Happy ninth birthday Griffin! Our family wouldn't be right without you here!

'Cause the Boys in the Hood are Always Hard

The plan was to write about Valentine's day. Just let the record show, that I had a plan. And it fell through. 'Cause that's what life does: it jumps up and bites me in the ass.

My overly-rosey cheeked babe got a little too rosey last week, his cheeks started to flake on Friday. Got worse on Saturday, which is when Aaron got home. Started to ooze on Sunday and by Monday morning was just... too much. Too, too much.

Called in, got an appointment, took him to the doctor. They started a round of antibiotics.

Not good enough.

The oozing got worse. Thick. Yellow-ish. Beading like an ice-cold drink on a warm summer day.

Trust me, this is not for the faint of heart:


That's not lotion. That's ooze. Think, crusty, stick to everything ooze.

I wanted to call the doctor yesterday, but knew we should ideally have 48 hours of antibiotics in him.

He was even worse this morning. Of course, he spent his night screaming.

Called, got an appointment, took him back today. Swabbed his cheeks for testing (results hopefully Friday). New antibiotic, new steroid, new antihistamine. Aaron worked overtime, is headed to pick them up now. Constant nursing and car rides are the only thing that calm him down. He doesn't like acetaminophen nor ibuprofen and spits them up.

Sigh.

Then, this evening Darwin didn't have his glasses on 'cause he's been wearing them so tightly, he's cracked the skin above his nose and it won't heal.

At dinner, he thought it would be "funny" to put the fork up to his one good eye and pretend to be in jail. I calmly moved it and took it away and then gave A VERY LOUD DISCUSSION ON WHY WE DO NOT PUT ANYTHING CLOSE TO OUR EYES.

(Short story: Darwin lost vision in his left eye after an accident when he was 15 months old. Long story here.)

This caused Darwin to cry a lot, but for Griffin to completely lose it.

Between the two boys, and the baby not being held, it was a round robin of crying over here.

'Till the Princess is Annoyed

What the frack apple jack? Mama's bloggin'? NO WAY!

Yes, way. 'Cause I FINALLY GAVE UP and went to the doctor. Who was all "Giiiiirrrrrlll, you got a sinus infection." And then they swabbed my nose and made me hang around and BAM, I got a great big prescription for antibiotics.

Forty-eight hours later and I'm magically feeling better. IMAGINE THAT.

Other than being sick around here (and let's be honest, very little else has been happening so just amuse me, mkay?), we've been working on getting Emerson to sit. Above, yes. That's how he "sits." Not upright, hunched over like an old man. An old man I surround with pillows.

Also, hello gluten-, dairy-, soy-, nut-free certified organic brown rice cereal! (Say that three times fast.) Baby likes to EAT.

And thanks to the cereal, Mama has rediscovered her mastery of getting poo out of clothes. Hello, blowouts. You can go away now.

Emerson makes Wookiee sounds. This rocks for two reasons:

1. Wookiee sounds. From a baby. Awesome.

and

B. We call my dad "Wookiee." Good to know the Capello genes are alive and well in my light-headed, light-skinned babes that look nothing like their Mama EXCEPT FOR THE EYEBROWS, I KNOW.

In fact, the Wookieeness is so strong, when he watches this he communicates back:



(Fast forward to the two minute mark if you're impatient.) (But if you don't like that song, I don't think we can be friends.)

In other news, I would like to announce that not only did we have a full week of school (no! snow! days!), Griffin and Darwin were also healthy enough to attend school all week. To have both boys at school five days this week is a first since.... December? (I'm ignoring the fact that Tuesday was a half-day.)


On my agenda this weekend?

- make handmade Valentines for my four boys

- continue to feel better

- sleep!

- celebrate Aaron coming home from a business trip tomorrow afternoon

- kick Aaron out of the house if he's still sick

- watch the snow melt!