Allan giggling and enjoying his thumb. Doesn't get much better.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Giggling Allan in the tub
We have had this little motorized bath toy for MONTHS but last night it was the funniest thing Allan had ever seen.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
There was troubling posting this weekend so I am late, late, late. Mea culpa.
We had a good weekend all around. Miss Miranda was supposed to come on Friday so that Mom and Dad could go to Momma's office party, but Miranda got the crud so Mom was solo.
Saturday Dad was The Single Parent while Mom went home for great aunt Evelyn's estate sale. (Funny side line: I bought a ring and then realized that the checkbook was at home. The limit on the debit card was too low for me to actually pay for what I bought. Uh-oh. Good thing that Uncle Tim is a banker and able to float me a loan. The interest rate for two days was exorbitant though!)
When I got home, Dad headed out for Uncle Monty's to play chess and watch the "big" game (which was an absolute, total, unmitigated disaster). Mom quit watching after the first half and listened to NPR news instead. bleh.bleh.bleh. It is going to be a long winter if the quality of play does not improve.
On the "up" side, though, the boys were most excellent. Griffith is learning to share (don't laugh -- he really, really is.) He has been wonderful.
"Griffith -- don't take that from Allan. Share, please."
(hands the bowl back)
"GOOD BOY, GRIFFITH !!!!!!!!!!!!! GOOD SHARING !!!!!!!!! GOOD LISTENING!!!!!"
Which generally resulted in him giving Allan whatever. On occasion it resulted in him (inadvertently -- we think) clunking Allan on the head with the truck or pig or whatever. But, usually, so long as you praised him to high heaven Griffith was happy enough to share. (Jay noted that Griffith is a lot like him: willing to do about anything so long as you give him "atta boys" long and loud.)
On Sunday not much was accomplished. The weather was foul, foul, foul. Rainy and gloomy and cold. Dad went in to work for awhile and then, when he came home (to a house with two sleeping babies!) I headed out to the grocery. What an absolute misery. Shopping pre-Xmas is impossible. Only by dint of sheer will did I stay in the store and get everything (nearly) that was on the list. And,where in the hell do they put raisins anyway? Not on the "snack" aisle with the nuts. Not on the baking aisle. I have no clue whatsoever and the boys may never have another raisin again. They look like nasty boogers anyway. So what. Big deal. Who cares?
Got home to find Allan asleep (again) and Dad and Griff "watching" football. At 2:30. Griff hadn't had lunch. At 2:30. He had slept through lunchtime and then really wasn't throwing a fit (probably too weak from not having lunch -- at 2:30). He was an absolute pain in the a-double-s for the rest of the afternoon.
Jay decided to make roast beef and Yorkshire puddings for dinner along with roast potatoes. All of which was delicious (except for the puddings which are, essentially, biscuits of undistinguished origin) but resulted in the absolute destruction of the entire kitchen. Instead of cleaning up after himself, Dad decided that it was time to add more lights to the holiday display. Whoever said the British were restrained about those sorts of things never met my husband. People are going to be stopping by thinking this is a casino if he doesn't stop stringing up lights. Carbon footprint be damned. The next thing you know we will have an inflatable Santa on the front lawn!
The boys enjoyed watching Dad put up more and more and more and more lights, though, so we had that going for us.
We had the best time with Allan and Griffith. Allan kept pulling up to standing and got to shaking his head 'no-no' which Griff thought was Hy.Ster.Ical. So Griff would laugh and Allan would shake his head and laugh. Then, if Allan didn't shake his head soon enough, Griff would shake HIS head 'no-no' and laugh and then Allan would do the same. It was so much fun to see them paying attention to each other and laughing at their own little jokes.
The best moment of the weekend, though, we didn't catch on film. I was in the kitchen and Dad was hanging a wreath on the garage (don't ask!) and I could hear the fellas playing in the living room. As Jay came through the back door I turned around to see that Allan had Griffith by the back of his sweatshirt, trying to fling him to the floor and giggling the whole time. We tried to get the camera in time, but didn't make it. (Instead of, you know, intervening or anything.) Of course, when Griffith knocked Allan to the floor 2 minutes later, he had to go to time out (the valuable lesson here is one that Cousin Thomas learned early on in pre-school - "they always catch the one who hits second.") We have started having to say "No, Allan!" and "Gentle, Allan!" Frankly he is going to be quite a little monster. When he got tired of shaking his head and laughing at his brother, he kept bending over and I couldn't figure out what he was doing. Until he almost bit me. Monsters. Two of them.
We had a good weekend all around. Miss Miranda was supposed to come on Friday so that Mom and Dad could go to Momma's office party, but Miranda got the crud so Mom was solo.
Saturday Dad was The Single Parent while Mom went home for great aunt Evelyn's estate sale. (Funny side line: I bought a ring and then realized that the checkbook was at home. The limit on the debit card was too low for me to actually pay for what I bought. Uh-oh. Good thing that Uncle Tim is a banker and able to float me a loan. The interest rate for two days was exorbitant though!)
When I got home, Dad headed out for Uncle Monty's to play chess and watch the "big" game (which was an absolute, total, unmitigated disaster). Mom quit watching after the first half and listened to NPR news instead. bleh.bleh.bleh. It is going to be a long winter if the quality of play does not improve.
On the "up" side, though, the boys were most excellent. Griffith is learning to share (don't laugh -- he really, really is.) He has been wonderful.
"Griffith -- don't take that from Allan. Share, please."
(hands the bowl back)
"GOOD BOY, GRIFFITH !!!!!!!!!!!!! GOOD SHARING !!!!!!!!! GOOD LISTENING!!!!!"
Which generally resulted in him giving Allan whatever. On occasion it resulted in him (inadvertently -- we think) clunking Allan on the head with the truck or pig or whatever. But, usually, so long as you praised him to high heaven Griffith was happy enough to share. (Jay noted that Griffith is a lot like him: willing to do about anything so long as you give him "atta boys" long and loud.)
On Sunday not much was accomplished. The weather was foul, foul, foul. Rainy and gloomy and cold. Dad went in to work for awhile and then, when he came home (to a house with two sleeping babies!) I headed out to the grocery. What an absolute misery. Shopping pre-Xmas is impossible. Only by dint of sheer will did I stay in the store and get everything (nearly) that was on the list. And,where in the hell do they put raisins anyway? Not on the "snack" aisle with the nuts. Not on the baking aisle. I have no clue whatsoever and the boys may never have another raisin again. They look like nasty boogers anyway. So what. Big deal. Who cares?
Got home to find Allan asleep (again) and Dad and Griff "watching" football. At 2:30. Griff hadn't had lunch. At 2:30. He had slept through lunchtime and then really wasn't throwing a fit (probably too weak from not having lunch -- at 2:30). He was an absolute pain in the a-double-s for the rest of the afternoon.
Jay decided to make roast beef and Yorkshire puddings for dinner along with roast potatoes. All of which was delicious (except for the puddings which are, essentially, biscuits of undistinguished origin) but resulted in the absolute destruction of the entire kitchen. Instead of cleaning up after himself, Dad decided that it was time to add more lights to the holiday display. Whoever said the British were restrained about those sorts of things never met my husband. People are going to be stopping by thinking this is a casino if he doesn't stop stringing up lights. Carbon footprint be damned. The next thing you know we will have an inflatable Santa on the front lawn!
The boys enjoyed watching Dad put up more and more and more and more lights, though, so we had that going for us.
We had the best time with Allan and Griffith. Allan kept pulling up to standing and got to shaking his head 'no-no' which Griff thought was Hy.Ster.Ical. So Griff would laugh and Allan would shake his head and laugh. Then, if Allan didn't shake his head soon enough, Griff would shake HIS head 'no-no' and laugh and then Allan would do the same. It was so much fun to see them paying attention to each other and laughing at their own little jokes.
The best moment of the weekend, though, we didn't catch on film. I was in the kitchen and Dad was hanging a wreath on the garage (don't ask!) and I could hear the fellas playing in the living room. As Jay came through the back door I turned around to see that Allan had Griffith by the back of his sweatshirt, trying to fling him to the floor and giggling the whole time. We tried to get the camera in time, but didn't make it. (Instead of, you know, intervening or anything.) Of course, when Griffith knocked Allan to the floor 2 minutes later, he had to go to time out (the valuable lesson here is one that Cousin Thomas learned early on in pre-school - "they always catch the one who hits second.") We have started having to say "No, Allan!" and "Gentle, Allan!" Frankly he is going to be quite a little monster. When he got tired of shaking his head and laughing at his brother, he kept bending over and I couldn't figure out what he was doing. Until he almost bit me. Monsters. Two of them.
Thursday, December 06, 2007
It is blessedly most blissfully quiet.
Griff was a bit of a pill this evening, but went down with his Dad without too much of a fight (as far as I could tell, anyway.)
Allan needed to go back on the oxygen (3 days or so off) and was full of vinegar after his bath. So while Dad and Griff snuggled in the bedroom suite, Big Al and I worked on bench-sitting, standing and cruising. We also worked on the words to "I'm Getting Nothing for Christmas." Mom couldn't remember them (it has been about 30 years since she had to sing it for Ms. Adamson) and Dad never knew it (he was probably singing God, Bless Ye, Merry Gentlemen).
At any rate, Momma looked up the lyrics on-line and sang them over and over in an effort to commit them to memory. And then started modifying them: I broke a bat on Griffith's head. (That is what happens when you fall asleep first!) Somebody snitched on me. I put a frog in Bailey's bed. Somebody snitched on me. I spilled some ink on Jess's rug. I made Joseph eat a bug. Somebody snitched on me. I put a tack on Flora's chair. Somebody snitched on me. I tied a knot in Lottie's hair. Somebody snitched on me. I did a dance on Mommy's plants, I climbed a tree and tore my pants, I filled the sugar bowl with ants, somebody snitched on me. Allan did great with the sit, stand, transfer, cruise thing -- right up until he decided he had had enough. Then we watched Project Runway (can you believe they sent Chris home instead of Ricky? Ri.Dic.U.Lous.)
AnyWho.
Close to time to retire.
Sweet dreams.
Griff was a bit of a pill this evening, but went down with his Dad without too much of a fight (as far as I could tell, anyway.)
Allan needed to go back on the oxygen (3 days or so off) and was full of vinegar after his bath. So while Dad and Griff snuggled in the bedroom suite, Big Al and I worked on bench-sitting, standing and cruising. We also worked on the words to "I'm Getting Nothing for Christmas." Mom couldn't remember them (it has been about 30 years since she had to sing it for Ms. Adamson) and Dad never knew it (he was probably singing God, Bless Ye, Merry Gentlemen).
At any rate, Momma looked up the lyrics on-line and sang them over and over in an effort to commit them to memory. And then started modifying them: I broke a bat on Griffith's head. (That is what happens when you fall asleep first!) Somebody snitched on me. I put a frog in Bailey's bed. Somebody snitched on me. I spilled some ink on Jess's rug. I made Joseph eat a bug. Somebody snitched on me. I put a tack on Flora's chair. Somebody snitched on me. I tied a knot in Lottie's hair. Somebody snitched on me. I did a dance on Mommy's plants, I climbed a tree and tore my pants, I filled the sugar bowl with ants, somebody snitched on me. Allan did great with the sit, stand, transfer, cruise thing -- right up until he decided he had had enough. Then we watched Project Runway (can you believe they sent Chris home instead of Ricky? Ri.Dic.U.Lous.)
AnyWho.
Close to time to retire.
Sweet dreams.
Time Out
This is the chair that Flora brought. We had to put it to use tonight. I don't know what happened. I was doing dishes. The next thing I hear is "No!" (Jay) wailing (Allan), scampering and wailing, (Griffith).
I did not ask, but I believe that G knocked A over. Griff did sit in the chair and not move. Which seems to indicate that he knows what this is all about.
Open and shut
Griffith working on the drawers in the dining room. We are going to have to lock everything.
Stuck again.
Allan got himself stuck under the coffee table. This crawling backwards stuff really doesn't work that well.
Patches
Well, we are patching Big Al's good eye again. For now.
No one can tell us what kind of vision Allan has or will have in his left eye. We really haven't done a whole lot of patching of his good eye since shortly after his surgery because, well, because it is really, really hard to keep a patch on his eye. He doesn't like it. It irritates him and he pulls it off. And all he really has is time, energy and opportunity.
So we end up getting referred through the system to yet another ophthamologist who is going to make his recommendations about patching. Fine. Unfortunately for him, Momma was full of energy. The appointment was first thing Monday morning and we had all had a good night's sleep.
First of all, we march in and are told to take a seat. Nope. Not going to do it. Put us in a room. Nasty filthy sniffling dirty people are in the waiting room and we are not going to contract Ebola waiting for the eye doctor.
Then we have the assistant who comes in to take the history. Why don't you consult the eight three-ring binders at the hospital? Or, perhaps, the three inch folder that I know you have just right here at the eye clinic. Then we spend a fair amount of time pestering Allan trying to do some sort of gross evaluation of his eyes. And trying to get the iris that has been stretched to contract. I'm pretty sure it isn't going to, but give it your best shot, sport.
Finally, Dr. H comes in. Very nice guy in a retro forest green corduroy blazer. He pesters Allan for a bit. Then decides that pestering me will be more effective.
Dr. H: Are you patching?
Me: (Only in my head: Well, if you check any of the file notes, you will see that the answer is 'no') No.
(Disapproving Look.) (Him, not me.)
Dr. H: Well, it is important to establish the neural pathways by forcing him to use that eye.
Me: Um-hm. Well, the patches don't work because he rips them off. Do you have any suggestions for what we can do to keep him from tearing them off? Reasoning doesn't seem to work. (In a pleasant and inquisitive tone, I swear to God.)
Dr. H: What have you tried?
Me: Well, the patches and extra tape, but it really doesn't work. He just pulls them off.
Dr. H: Have you trying splinting? There are splints that keep children from being able to reach up and pull patches off.
Me: (Disapproving Look. Actually, Look of Are You Batshit Crazy??????) No. No. We haven't tried that and I am not going to. Please explain to me what actual, concrete benefit this child is going to receive from patching. Can you tell me that his vision will improve at all? Incrementally? Considerably? Do you have any idea at all?
Dr. H: Ummmm ... it really has to be done prior to his turning six or the good eye will have taken over entirely. It is only for 2 hours a day.
Me: (In my head: Move to strike as nonresponsive. You have no effing clue as to whether there will be any improvement.) Two hours is about 20 percent of Allan's waking hours. And you can not tell me what, if any, benefit will result, is that correct?
Dr. H: Oh.
Me: On a gross motor level, Allan is at about 12 month level. He is learning to pull up, cruise. He is finally figuring out why he would want to crawl. And you want me to cut, by twenty percent, the time that he has to do that?
(Silence.)
Me: How will we know if patching is helping at all?
Dr. H: Well, as he tolerates the patch more, you will know that the vision has improved.
Me: Or that he has just decided that it isn't worth fighting anymore?
Dr. H: (Silence.) Maybe. I realize it is easy for us to say what you should do and much harder to actually implement it.
Amen. Amen.
(End of scene.)
Please do not get me wrong: Dr. H seems like a nice enough sort of guy. They all do. And every one seems to have the right idea: doing the best they can by Big Al.. Still and all, it is incredibly frustrating to be the nonexperts and yet Jay and I have to be the ones to balance all of this advice. If we did every thing every doctor and therapist recommended, Allan would never have time to be a baby. Which he is. A lively, sweet, beautiful, most excellent baby. He isn't a medical condition. He is Allan.
So -- we have taken to patching again while he is eating. At least part of the time. We have to balance: if his eye isn't ever going to have any significant vision, then why slow him down on crawling and standing and developing those skills?
And, on that note, Allan is doing great. He is really putting it together these days: he can totally see why he needs to roll over and pull up and he spends a lot of time crawling. Backwards, but crawling none-the-less. Miss Julie thinks that the next 2-4 weeks will be a big watershed for Allan and that he will be walking (or cruising) all over the place.
We can't imagine a better Christmas gift.
No one can tell us what kind of vision Allan has or will have in his left eye. We really haven't done a whole lot of patching of his good eye since shortly after his surgery because, well, because it is really, really hard to keep a patch on his eye. He doesn't like it. It irritates him and he pulls it off. And all he really has is time, energy and opportunity.
So we end up getting referred through the system to yet another ophthamologist who is going to make his recommendations about patching. Fine. Unfortunately for him, Momma was full of energy. The appointment was first thing Monday morning and we had all had a good night's sleep.
First of all, we march in and are told to take a seat. Nope. Not going to do it. Put us in a room. Nasty filthy sniffling dirty people are in the waiting room and we are not going to contract Ebola waiting for the eye doctor.
Then we have the assistant who comes in to take the history. Why don't you consult the eight three-ring binders at the hospital? Or, perhaps, the three inch folder that I know you have just right here at the eye clinic. Then we spend a fair amount of time pestering Allan trying to do some sort of gross evaluation of his eyes. And trying to get the iris that has been stretched to contract. I'm pretty sure it isn't going to, but give it your best shot, sport.
Finally, Dr. H comes in. Very nice guy in a retro forest green corduroy blazer. He pesters Allan for a bit. Then decides that pestering me will be more effective.
Dr. H: Are you patching?
Me: (Only in my head: Well, if you check any of the file notes, you will see that the answer is 'no') No.
(Disapproving Look.) (Him, not me.)
Dr. H: Well, it is important to establish the neural pathways by forcing him to use that eye.
Me: Um-hm. Well, the patches don't work because he rips them off. Do you have any suggestions for what we can do to keep him from tearing them off? Reasoning doesn't seem to work. (In a pleasant and inquisitive tone, I swear to God.)
Dr. H: What have you tried?
Me: Well, the patches and extra tape, but it really doesn't work. He just pulls them off.
Dr. H: Have you trying splinting? There are splints that keep children from being able to reach up and pull patches off.
Me: (Disapproving Look. Actually, Look of Are You Batshit Crazy??????) No. No. We haven't tried that and I am not going to. Please explain to me what actual, concrete benefit this child is going to receive from patching. Can you tell me that his vision will improve at all? Incrementally? Considerably? Do you have any idea at all?
Dr. H: Ummmm ... it really has to be done prior to his turning six or the good eye will have taken over entirely. It is only for 2 hours a day.
Me: (In my head: Move to strike as nonresponsive. You have no effing clue as to whether there will be any improvement.) Two hours is about 20 percent of Allan's waking hours. And you can not tell me what, if any, benefit will result, is that correct?
Dr. H: Oh.
Me: On a gross motor level, Allan is at about 12 month level. He is learning to pull up, cruise. He is finally figuring out why he would want to crawl. And you want me to cut, by twenty percent, the time that he has to do that?
(Silence.)
Me: How will we know if patching is helping at all?
Dr. H: Well, as he tolerates the patch more, you will know that the vision has improved.
Me: Or that he has just decided that it isn't worth fighting anymore?
Dr. H: (Silence.) Maybe. I realize it is easy for us to say what you should do and much harder to actually implement it.
Amen. Amen.
(End of scene.)
Please do not get me wrong: Dr. H seems like a nice enough sort of guy. They all do. And every one seems to have the right idea: doing the best they can by Big Al.. Still and all, it is incredibly frustrating to be the nonexperts and yet Jay and I have to be the ones to balance all of this advice. If we did every thing every doctor and therapist recommended, Allan would never have time to be a baby. Which he is. A lively, sweet, beautiful, most excellent baby. He isn't a medical condition. He is Allan.
So -- we have taken to patching again while he is eating. At least part of the time. We have to balance: if his eye isn't ever going to have any significant vision, then why slow him down on crawling and standing and developing those skills?
And, on that note, Allan is doing great. He is really putting it together these days: he can totally see why he needs to roll over and pull up and he spends a lot of time crawling. Backwards, but crawling none-the-less. Miss Julie thinks that the next 2-4 weeks will be a big watershed for Allan and that he will be walking (or cruising) all over the place.
We can't imagine a better Christmas gift.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Big Al Update
Allan is doing very well again. We've lost track of how many days he has been off the oxygen -- at least three and, possibly, four. He's getting to be such a professional that we are starting to take it for granted.
And he is doing a lot of rolling over and getting up in to crawling position. He keeps going backward more than forward, but is determined to get it right.
He and Griffith are starting to play together more, too (when Griffith isn't assaulting him!). Yesterday Allan was laying on the couch, shaking his head "no, no." Griff thought this was very funny and was laughing at him. Allan realized that he was amusing Griffith and so would stop and then shake his head vigorously and laugh at Griffith laughing at him. Ah, the simple things.....
And he is doing a lot of rolling over and getting up in to crawling position. He keeps going backward more than forward, but is determined to get it right.
He and Griffith are starting to play together more, too (when Griffith isn't assaulting him!). Yesterday Allan was laying on the couch, shaking his head "no, no." Griff thought this was very funny and was laughing at him. Allan realized that he was amusing Griffith and so would stop and then shake his head vigorously and laugh at Griffith laughing at him. Ah, the simple things.....
The Naughty Chair
Dad was threatening to use Griffith's Christmas budget to buy a "naughty chair" for him, but Flora saved the day. Maybe.
Griffith has taken to pushing Allan. A lot. And he's pretty quiet and sneaky about it, too. He'll come up behind Allan and take his hand and slowly push Allan's head down until he is on the floor. Our first inkling that something is amiss is usually either a thud (Allan hitting the floor) or a wail (Allan finally deciding that someone had better do something). This is generally followed by Griffith running as fast as he can. Which just goes to show that he KNOWS that he isn't supposed to be doing it. The other night, he just kept coming back for Allan. We tried 'no' and explaining that it was 'not nice.' Yeah? So what? Back again. 'Stop.' and 'Time out.' Back again. We didn't really have a good place for time out. We didn't like using the nursery or his crib because we didn't want them to be associated with punishment. As you can see from the photo below, we were using one of our arm chairs. Then Dad thought of spending Griff's holiday money on a 'naughty chair.' Sort of akin to Santa bringing bad boys and girls lumps of coal and switches, I suppose.
But, this morning, Flora brought in a little chair that she had at her house that says "Time Out" on the back. Something she had from babysitting the triplets. No word on whether it has been used today or not, but Griffith was giving it a real looking over this morning. Flora swears that he wouldn't have any thing to do with her today. She is convinced he was mad at her for taking our side with this whole Time Out nonsense.
Griffith has taken to pushing Allan. A lot. And he's pretty quiet and sneaky about it, too. He'll come up behind Allan and take his hand and slowly push Allan's head down until he is on the floor. Our first inkling that something is amiss is usually either a thud (Allan hitting the floor) or a wail (Allan finally deciding that someone had better do something). This is generally followed by Griffith running as fast as he can. Which just goes to show that he KNOWS that he isn't supposed to be doing it. The other night, he just kept coming back for Allan. We tried 'no' and explaining that it was 'not nice.' Yeah? So what? Back again. 'Stop.' and 'Time out.' Back again. We didn't really have a good place for time out. We didn't like using the nursery or his crib because we didn't want them to be associated with punishment. As you can see from the photo below, we were using one of our arm chairs. Then Dad thought of spending Griff's holiday money on a 'naughty chair.' Sort of akin to Santa bringing bad boys and girls lumps of coal and switches, I suppose.
But, this morning, Flora brought in a little chair that she had at her house that says "Time Out" on the back. Something she had from babysitting the triplets. No word on whether it has been used today or not, but Griffith was giving it a real looking over this morning. Flora swears that he wouldn't have any thing to do with her today. She is convinced he was mad at her for taking our side with this whole Time Out nonsense.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
