Never Again

Once again I find myself being the dutiful "Cat Wife": flying solo during the week while Cole is in Wyoming visiting a mine site. I shouldn't complain too much because while Cole's coworkers, through no fault of their own, were dropping like flies a couple of years ago when Cat was really struggling, Cole never lost his job. He we are two years later and Cole is still employed and is FINALLY going to settle into the position he was hired to fill four YEARS, yes YEARS, ago. So much for, "We just need you to fill in for three months."

Anyway, Cole had to leave on Tuesday which also happened to be the day Ian's 11 external stitches needed to be removed. So, as you can imagine, the stitches are still in Ian's eyebrow. KIDDING!!! As much as I did NOT want to take Ian to his doctor's appointment, I knew there was no avoiding it. I had been dreading the removal since he was sewn up last Wednesday night. We have several nurses in the family who were more than qualified to remove the stitches, but I didn't want Ian to have any negative associations with his family members so I scheduled his regular pediatrician to do the suture removal. Better.

Right after returning from the E.R.

Tuesday afternoon we waited, and waited, and waited to be called into the exam room. With every passing second I became more and more uneasy about what was to come. "I need to be drugged," kept running through my head. I wanted to march out declaring, "I have somewhere I need to be!", but I knew that wasn't a possibility. Finally, the nurse called us back. I was so jittery I was considering kicking Eli out of the stroller and sitting down myself. I know the boys could have pushed me. They are a couple of little brutes. But, I allowed Eli to keep his seat and led my little ducklings down an unfamiliar hallway. I have been taking the boys to Dr. Maranon since Ian was born. We have been to EVERY, SINGLE, well-baby check-up precisely as scheduled and not once had we trekked down this alternate corridor. I couldn't figure out where we were going, but when I turned the corner into the exam room, I suddenly realized, we weren't in Kansas anymore.

This room was not the inviting exam room of the well-baby variety. The first thing I laid eyes on was an oxygen tank standing prominently in the corner (oh, dear), large spotlights dangling from the ceiling (I don't particularly care for that), and two papoose boards hanging on the wall. (holy bleep). We were in foreign territory. This room was a torture chamber cleverly disguised as a pediatric exam room complete with hoses to cram down parents' throats to bring them back to life after seeing their children writhing in pain and terror. I immediately started to feel anxious. I had no time to get comfortable in the room because within seconds of the first nurse leaving, Dr. Maranon appeared along with another nurse. As soon as the door opened, my natural reaction to anything that induces anxiety (profuse sweating) was in full swing. And this particular incident was almost as horrible as the Chinese Acrobat Incident of 2007. Seriously........The Chinese Acrobat Incident!

Way back before Ian was a glimmer in our unsutured eyes, Cole and I went to see Chinese Acrobats. I was super jazzed from the time I heard about it on the radio until..........the chair stacking. At some point in the performance a man came onto the stage with an innocent looking chair. "Hmmmm. I wonder where this is going?", I thought. The man then took another chair, stacked it on the first, and stood proudly atop his small tower. "Fabulous!", I thought. "I know I would never stand on TWO chairs. That's terrifying!" Then, an assistant brought another chair. "What's this guy's deal?", I wondered. "Can't he see the trick is over?" But it wasn't over. It wasn't anywhere close to being over. The crazed lunatic standing on the top of the tower of chairs kept happily accepting each proffered chair and skillfully balancing them on top of each other. With each additional chair my heart would beat faster and my body temperature would rise. Eventually, Cole could see how horribly uncomfortable I was, and the tower was only half assembled. He was suspicious, though, and thought I was just being dramatic. He quickly realized I was not being dramatic I was FREAKING out and could not control what was going on. I started breathing deeply to keep myself from vomiting and couldn't even look at the stage. I could hear the gasps and cheers of the rest of the audience, so I knew the journey through my own personal hell was nowhere near being over. Before long I was actually crying and shaking, and by the time the last chair was stacked my sweating was so out of control that I could leave wet hand prints on my pant legs, my hair was actually dripping with sweat, and my shirt was sticking to me. I have not watched another Chinese acrobat climb chairs since this fateful night, and I plan to keep it that way.

While Ian didn't stand on a tower of chairs to have his stitches removed, I was no less uncomfortable. I had to leave the room the night the stitches went in, but I didn't have Cole to "tag in" so I had to figure out a way to be there for my brave little man. At first the nurse laid Ian on the table without the papoose board. He was okay with this until the spotlight began burning his retinas. Having that light in your face is like standing on the surface on the sun. Not to mention, it puts out enough heat to cook a Thanksgiving turkey in less than an hour. Ian asked to have his eyes covered, and the nurse gently laid a white washcloth across his beautiful blues eyes. She then took his head firmly in her hands and positioned his face so Dr. Maranon could begin her work. I took my place at the foot of the table and held both of his soft little hands in mine. Here we go.

The first stitch came out without much trouble, but Ian didn't like it anyway. The second stitch was a bit more difficult. Ian started squirming while Dr. Maranon was cutting it loose, and by the time the third stitch was pulled free, he was clinging to me as tightly as he ever has. I did NOT want to let go of him. I couldn't believe what these monsters were doing to my baby. But, I knew they weren't monsters, and it just had to be done. I wasn't allowed to hold him long because his face had to remain sterilized, and shortly after he had jumped into my arms, he was being wrestled into the harsh, unloving embrace of the papoose board. He was terrified, and the more upset he became, the more my heart broke. He was sobbing uncontrollably and screaming, "Help me, mommy!" I managed to wiggle my oddly slim hand into one of the velcro restraints holding him still from his neck to his ankles. I couldn't grasp his hand so I had to settle for simply touching his outstretched fingers.

The stitches that HAD to come out

By this point I, too, was crying. I was also sweating so much I could feel my shirt sticking to my back. I wasn't the only one sweating. All of Ian's efforts to free himself from the papoose board were making him as sweaty as he's been in his entire life. I couldn't look at him because I couldn't bear to see the stitches being removed or the sadness in his face. I tried singing his favorite songs, but the stress of the situation turned my brain to mush, and I stumbled over the words and never made it through a single unaltered verse. I finally abandoned my singing attempts, which were getting us absolutely nowhere, and decided a sweet treat might be a better distraction. I suggested that after we were done we should go to Sonic to get a Cherry Limeade as cheerfully as my own tears would permit. Ian didn't want to hear my crappy ideas, he just wanted out of the spotlight and onto my lap.

The last two stitches were VERY difficult to remove. They were very small and very tight. Ian went bananas! He finally mustered enough energy to pull his head free of the papoose board and was on the loose from the neck up. It took quite a bit of effort from the nurse before Ian was once again held tightly enough that Dr. Maranon could finish the job that had my poor little boy so upset.

As soon as the last stitch was dropped into the pan I was ripping the velcro restraints open, freeing my Ian boy. He was soaking wet from his shoulders down, and could hardly catch his breath as I held him. He sobbed and wouldn't even look in the direction of Dr. Maranon and the nurse. Finally, there was a break through. Dr. Maranon asked if Ian would like a juice box. Ian's eyes were instantly sparkling again and he answered with a very enthusiastic, "YES!" This was a HUGE deal because my boys are not allowed to have juice. Why? Come over about 30 minutes after they drink a glass of juice and you'll know why. But, at that moment I didn't care if they pooped for 6 hours straight. As far as I was concerned, Ian could have WHATEVER he so desired.

The doctor left to get the goods, and Ian quickly relaxed. Secretly, I was hoping she was going to bring me a juice box (A.K.A. box of wine), too. That was absolutely gut wrenching. Soon, Ian was walking around, spinning the doctor's stools, and rapidly forgetting the most unpleasant procedure he had just been through. When Dr. Maranon reappeared with Mott's for Tots, Ian was ecstatic and so was Eli. Oh, yes. Eli had to sit in the stroller and experience the stitch removal as well. Some kids have a hard time with juice boxes. Not Eli. He immediately learned how to squeeze the hell out of it and spray himself with ultra sticky juice. I guess he's just advanced. I'm not sure what Ian was doing with the juice box. He was holding it gently and sucking the juice out through the straw. Huh. Weird concept.

By the time we walked to the car, Eli was SOAKED, and most likely parched since I don't think a single drop of juice graced his tongue, and Ian was laughing and smiling. I got the boys situated in their car seats and tucked the stroller into the trunk. When I got in the car I turned around to admire my lovely children. I asked Ian, "Are you okay, bud?" He just smiled and said, "My juice box making me so happy," and promptly returned to quenching his thirst.

Stitch Free Is the Way to Be!!

I've obviously given birth to two children, and child birth ain't painless. But, I definitely think that watching Ian in misery was far more painful than Eli's non-epiduraled birth, which was horrible. I am absolutely amazed at how quickly little kids move on from crappy situations and get on with life. I'm also incredibly glad that a few stitches were all that were required to return Ian to his old self. I know that being the mother of boys means learning to deal with injuries, especially since Eli, Wildman Extraordinaire, has another 17 years before he flies the coop, but I don't think this kind of thing will ever get easier. I'm just happy this particular wound is on the mend.

One Man's Trash, Is Another Man's Treasure

What's the best part of buying a house?

A. Having a home to call your own

B. Building your net worth

C. No longer sharing a yard or common wall(s) with your neighbors

D. Inheriting things from the prior owner

That's right! D. Inheriting things from the prior owner.

Not everything left in our house was of value to us. In fact, the microwave that shocked the $#!% out of me while we were painting before we moved in was quite the opposite of valuable. However, we were lucky enough to inherit an actual treasure. We've waited a long time to put it to use, but yesterday the time had come.

We bought our house from a elderly couple. They had lived here for only 10 years or so, and in that time they had a grandson. They did what any good grandparents would do and bought fabulous toys for him to keep and Grandma and Grandpa's house, ensuring their spots at the top of the "preferred adult" pyramid. The day that I came to do the final walk-through before closing on the house, I had 10-month-old Ian on my hip and a realtor in my wake. The elderly couple's son was cleaning out the last of the couple's belongings while we were there, and we exchanged pleasant hellos in passing, but nothing more. I couldn't wait for the house to be ours!

The day of the closing we all gathered around the glossy, wooden conference table at Summit Financial, and there was the son who had loving taken care of moving his parents' things from their former home. I had expected to see the actual owners, but his mother had passed away a year earlier and his father had very advanced Alzheimer's Disease, so he had the heartbreaking task of being his father's full-time care giver as well as his Power of Attorney. The man was quiet throughout the closing. He made a couple of comments that he was having an extremely difficult time having to sell his father's house without his father knowing, but his father's disease was so progressed that the poor man didn't have a clue about what was going on around him. However, he also expressed much relief to no longer worry about the upkeep of his father's home as well as his own and the needs of his family on top of the 24 hour care his father required.

As we were finishing signing our $$$ way for the next 30 years, the man told us he had noticed Ian on the day of the walk-through and had left a couple of toys in the basement that had belonged to his son. The owners' grandson was now 8 years old and had outgrown the toys years ago, but his grandparents had never gotten rid of the toys. I could only remember seeing one toy in the basement, as the basement was unfinished and very basementesque so I had mainly just kept my eyes on the floor and hoped nothing weird dashed across in front of me, so I assumed that HAD to be what he was talking about. I couldn't wait to see Ian playing with it! He then said, "It's been a long time since little feet went running through that house. I hope you enjoy it."

A little while later, we stepped out into the beautiful June 26th sunshine with a pep in our step and house keys in our pockets. We were the owners of a beautiful all-brick, one story ranch with HUGE picture windows, a GIGANTIC yard, two car garage, asphalt driveway, mature landscaping, a great neighbor called "Monk", and .....................a POWER WHEELS JEEP WRANGLER, at no extra cost!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The house quickly became our home, and the jeep, even more quickly, became a dust collector in the basement. Don't worry, the original plastic was protected by the 637 address labels affixed to the Jeep. Don't even think about trying to steal our Power Wheels; you can see from space that it belongs to Jean Ingram at our address. But, if you are dumb enough to attempt a theft, as soon as one of the other 5,000 residents of our town catches a glimpse of just one of those address labels, you will get to hear an hour long history of "the house that used to have a flat roof" and you will be BEGGING us to take the Jeep back so people will leave you alone and stop asking, "Now, were you the ones who put the gabled roof on the house? That was in 2008, right?" Please note that I am NOT kidding or exaggerating at all. Our house is infamous! Instead of giving our address to anyone familiar with our town, we simply say, "It's the house that used to have the flat roof." and EVERYONE knows EXACTLY where we live. Ah, small town life.

Last weekend we decided it was time to get the Jeep out of storage and see if it was up to "The Anderson Sons Challenge." So, Saturday evening after Cole had gracefully recovered from running his 1:50:35 half-marathon and I had puked my guts out and then "slept it off" for 2 1/2 hours in an attempt to recover from my 1:17 10K, we headed to Toys 'R Us in order to buy a replacement battery and charger for the purple, yes purple, Jeep Wrangler that was soon to become the boys' primary transportation.

All I could think was how lucky we were to have a Power Wheels for FREE! These are expensive toys for most people, but ours didn't cost a penny! All we had to buy was the battery and charger. I glanced at the prices of the various vehicles. Some were as low as $150, but some were as high as $350! Holy cow! I thought it would be great for the boys to have a Power Wheels, but I quickly realized I was WAY too cheap to actually buy one brand new and my gratitude to the previous home owners swelled in my wallet. Cole grabbed the battery and charger while I checked that one battery was all we needed. Cole said, "Man, this crap is expensive.", but I didn't think much of it. I know we are both pretty frugral; we think everything is expensive. We made our way to the register while I smugly thought how my kids had a Power Wheels and all it cost me was a battery and charger. In my head I was basically Dave Ramsey's Mom-of-the-Year. I was already mentally writing the answers to the interview questions I would answer on the air the day I was named Mom-of-the-Year. "Well, Dave, it seems many parents think they have to spend, spend, spend to instantly give their children what they want. My husband and I have always taken a much different approach......"

"Ninety-seven, Eight-five." What? Who is she talking to? Wait a minute, she's talking to us? What the hell did she just say? $97.85!!!!!! The battery and charger were how much?!?!?! What is Cole doing? He's just paying her? He didn't even ask for a price check! She isn't even questioning the register! What is wrong with this woman? She clearly doesn't care that we are being overcharged! I should complain about her. Am I sweating? Oh, my gosh, I am! I can't remember my own name! I have to sit down; no I had better lie down and elevate my feet. Does anybody have a paper bag I can breathe in?!

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, we paid 67% of the 2011 model price just to replace the battery and charger of an eight or nine-year-old Power Wheels. I felt like I had just lost my mind when we walked to the car with our purchases. But, we had still saved 33% on a toy that is just as nice, even though it is in fact covered in address labels.

We both carefully read the battery charging instructions. There is NO way we were screwing up this thing that cost a small fortune. I also saved the receipt just in case the darn thing didn't work due to issues with the Jeep itself. I was definitely going to get my $97.85 back! The battery charged for the full 18 hours, and I couldn't wait for the boys to get to drive their Jeep.

Tuesday I decided the time had come for the boys to discover the need for speed. Both of the boys had runny noses and coughs, but their bad moods had filled the house to the point the walls were bowing. We HAD to get out so they could cleanse their auras before I went insane. I put the child gate across the basement stairs and went to recover the treasure that was to become Ian's and Eli's. I realized Cole had stashed the Jeep in a very small closet in the basement with an even smaller doorway. I twisted, turned, pivoted, rotated, shimmied, shifted, lifted, and ultimately shoved the Jeep through the doorway in a mere 18 minutes. I would have given up sooner, but the boys had never left the top of the stairs and had been encouraging me the entire time. By "encouraging" I obviously mean fighting like cats and dogs which just confirmed that we HAD to get outside and get some air before someone ended up being committed.

Once the Jeep was freed of the closet's snare, it was time to drag it up the stairs. The Jeep is approximately 30 inches wide and the width of the staircase was a generous 30.0001 inches. In other words, plenty of room to maneuver freely. It took about another 10 minutes to get up the stairs, all the while Ian and Eli were "encouraging" my decision to go outside. I have no idea how this Jeep made it into our basement in the first place unless Fisher Price had a manufacturing facility down there that was promptly torn down after ONE vehicle rolled off the assembly line.

When I finally pulled the Jeep out of the stairwell into the laundry room I felt like I had just climbed Mt. Everest. I even considered planting an American flag in the top stair. Instead, I was overwhelmed by the enthusiasm of two little boys getting their first car, and I had to soak in the moment. Ian LOVED it! It was a Jeep Wrangler just like future Uncle Jeremy's! And, let's be honest here, future Uncle Jeremy is a policeman so he is obviously the coolest, most admirable man on the planet. Who was I to argue with that? I took a small break to let my lumbago recover from the 30 minute Jeep vs. Mom Submission Wrestling Match and let the boys climb inside. Instantly, a fight broke out over who was most worthy of driving the Jeep first, so I quickly decided break time was over. Besides, I only had to make it through two more doorways before we would finally be outside.

The doorway out of the laundry room and into the side entryway of the house was a tight squeeze, and it definitely didn't help to have children hanging from the wheels as I tried to carry it sideways through the jamb. Only one door to go! Getting through the exterior door and into the yard was a nightmare. First of all, it's a big step down onto the concrete landing, and the storm door will not prop open on its own. And, not only was I trying my best to not throw myself to the ground and end up pinned under a Power Wheels, I was also trying to prevent Ian, Eli, and the dog from darting out into the yard before me.

By the time I got the damn Jeep (yes, by this time, in my head, it was no longer "the Jeep" it was "the damn Jeep") into the yard I was ready to put it by the road with a big FREE sign on it. I was going to take the battery out first, of course, and get my $97.85 back. But, I couldn't do that to the boys. They were both way too excited for me to ruin the fun. So, I grabbed their little hands and led them into the yard. I was excited to see them delight in the freedom of the open, well yard, not road. Ian was SO pumped! He jumped right in, and I scooped up Eli, unsure of Ian's steering abilities. He stomped on the accelerator and.................nothing.

What the heck?!?! I walked over to make sure that he was fully pushing the pedal, making sure to stand to the side so I didn't get run over once he actually pushed the accelerator. While I carefully assisted, I had Ian push the accelerator. Still nothing. I pushed the forward/backward buttons in the floorboard. Still nothing. I had Ian crawl out of the Jeep and into the yard to wait while I ran my eyes over every square inch of that thing looking for ANYTHING out of the ordinary that would indicate a problem. After a VERY thorough examination that left me no closer to a solution than I was before Ian got out, I was ready to fly into a Clark Griswold rage! You know, at the end of "Christmas Vacation" when Clark finds out he has been enrolled in the Jelly of the Month Club instead of receiving a bonus to pay for the in-ground pool. It took every ounce of energy I had to not unleash a very animated and colorful verbal assault on the, once again, "damn Jeep."

I sent Cole a text, complete with a sad face, that the Jeep didn't work. While waiting for a sympathetic response, I pulled every outside toy out of the garage and into the driveway. Ian was still pretty bummed about not getting to drive, but Eli couldn't have cared less about the dead Power Wheels. Within a few minutes my phone was ringing, and it was Cole. I didn't even say, "Hello."; I just answered the phone with, "The Jeep doesn't work." Cole told me it did. He knew it did. As it turned out, I had accidentally swapped the new battery with the old battery. I was EXTREMELY glad it was a simple fix.

So, I quickly switched batteries and the Jeep came to life! Ian leaped into the driver seat and off he went. I figured that he might not be the greatest at steering since he was still a novice, but I was really surprised by how the maiden voyage went. I stood, with Eli on my hip, watching my little Ian boy drive off into the great blue yonder. He headed west through the side yard toward the driveway. Last summer we dug some stepping stones out of the yard, but we didn't have enough top-soil to fill all of the holes so there are still some significant dips in the yard. Ian hit the craters at full speed. The Jeep's shocks were put to the test as well as Ian's bony little heiny on the hard plastic seat. He held the wheel nice and steady and never lost control of the machine. As soon as he had reached smooth terrain again, he was already flying down a small hill and into the driveway. He started screaming like a maniac, and not because he was having fun but because he was terrified. I started sprinting through the yard as fast as my flip-flop clad feet would allow while yelling, "Take your foot off of the pedal! Take your foot off of the pedal!!!!"

Then Ian had his first automotive collision. First he hit his metal, police cruiser pedal car. The police car got caught on the front wheel of the Jeep and was now along for the ride, too. Next, he got hung up on two bubble lawn mowers. One was stuck to the Jeep, while the other had attached itself to the police car. I was fairly confident that the power of the sound waves leaving his mouth would knock the unwanted passengers free of the Jeep. They didn't. They weren't even powerful enough to get the lawn chair out of the way before he was dragging it in circles through the driveway as well, screaming the entire time. He just went round and round and round while I stood watching, laughing way too hard to be of any help.

The whole mess of events happened so incredibly fast I couldn't believe it. One second I was watching Ian's blonde head, glistening in the sun, bob across the yard in his Power Wheels, and the next I was laughing so hard I was afraid I was going to drop Eli. I ultimately sat Eli on the ground and ran in circles around Ian, who was stongly resembling Pig Pen but with a cloud of toys instead of dirt. Eventually, I was able to rush the Jeep and knock his foot off of the accelerator and the Power Wheels was powerful no more. I must say I'm very impressed with the power of that little 6-volt battery. It was able to power a Jeep hauling a 32 lb little boy, a 40 lb. metal police car, 2 bubble mowers, and a lawn chair.

It took quite a while before I was composed enough to pull all of the toys free of the Jeep's grasp. The accident didn't phase Ian at all. As soon as I gave him the green flag, he was back to driving. And his driving didn't get any better. He ran into the house more than once and generally had NO ability to steer in any direction other than the wrong direction. But, he had a blast and so did I just watching him.

The summer is still young, and hopefully, by the time the summer is over he will be an old pro. It's hard to believe that in 13 years we will be teaching him to drive an actual car. My hope for the future includes avoiding police cruisers, lawn mowers, and lawn chairs. I just don't see that I will find these things nearly as funny once he's behind the wheel for real.