This is Halloween... This is Halloween

This past week, we've all had a chance to come together and celebrate the true meaning of Halloween (which is, of course, candy).

Chris got super optimistic about the pumpkin carving this year. We made a deal. He would carve up the squashes and I would make some pumpkin pancakes for dinner. It started off looking like a fair deal. 

But long after the pancakes were eaten and being digested in the bellies of our sleeping children, Chris was dremmel-ing away on the jack-o-lanterns. 

The end result (not witnessed by the kids until the following day) was well worth it. At least from my perspective. Darth Vader was Emily's choice. Puss in boots was Jane's.

This year may be one of the last that Emily wants us to attend her school party, so attend we did. It was everything that a first grade party should be.

Later that night, Emily and Jane both dressed up as Rapunzel (Jane idolizes Emily and wants to be just like her. Once again, this year may be one of the last that happens).  Now, all kids love trick-or-treating, but if you watch my kids do it, you'd think their next meal depends on those little bags of Skittles. They stayed out for two and a half hours. (Mommy switched off with Daddy mid-evening. Neither of us have the dedication or the stamina to make it the whole night.)

They were rewarded richly.

It will be interesting to see how their loot increases in the years to come as their legs get longer and their speed increases. This year, we were only able to cover about four blocks. Next year, come what may, we'll make it five.

One From the Bloopers Reel

Recently we decided Emily was old enough to be trusted with her own eczema medication. Every night, we instructed her to put on her cream and then asked her where she had applied it. It turns out 6 year olds don't always give it to you straight. That's where this whole saga starts.

This past summer we discovered that eczema can develop under fingernails. A couple weeks ago our eczema knowledge base expanded even more. It turns out that, if not treated, eczema can become infected. So, you can imagine that this is what happened after Emily stretched the truth when we asked her if she had applied her cream.

The doctor prescribed a medicine that combined an antibiotic with a sulfa medication. The taste was, apparently, unacceptable to Emily's fine palate. After cleaning up the milk and dissolved pill mixture she so considerately spat upon the floor, we decided a carrot and stick measure was appropriate. The stick was conveniently provided by the internet in the form of gangrene pictures. I won't share them here, but needless to say, she was quite frightened after we told her her infected thumb would look like that if not treated. The carrot was a gallon of chocolate milk, which is normally forbidden in our house. If she took her pill, she could drink a glass of chocolate milk with it.

This all worked fantastically, until she took her final pill last Saturday. Sunday morning, she woke up covered  head to toe in a rash. The doctor identified it as a reaction due to a sulfa allergy. We would have to wait three or four days for the medicine to clear her system.

The next few days passed in a Benadryl haze for Emily. We had to tell everyone she came into contact with that she did not have chicken pox, measles or the like. She became an after school special for drug allergies. "You, see class I can't get sick from touching Emily or from breathing the same air as she does." Finally, the drug cleared, Emily was able to come off Benadryl and life resumed as normal.

I guess the moral of the story is - Never trust a six year old. Rookie mistake. I won't make it again.

Gimme a Hand

Several weeks ago (I know, I'm fantastic at keeping my blog up to date) Jane got a new helper hand. So far she loves it. 

As you can see, her new hand is quite a bit larger than her old one. We may be a bit overdue on this transition... 

Some of the many fantastic uses of Jane's new arm include:

• Trike riding (without having to twist her back in a weird position)

• Pinching indiscriminately (we're working on her not doing this)
• Holding her blanket, leaving her hand free for other uses.
• Better accuracy on xbox Kinect bowling.

I'm sure we'll figure out more uses for helper hand 3.0 as she goes, but she is loving it so far.

It closes via a cable that goes across her back and  loops around her right shoulder. If you ask her how it works, she can't tell you, but she will be happy to show you. She is getting quite accurate at picking up toys and squeezing glue bottles. 

Oh... and just in case you're wondering how supafly Jane is, here is a picture of Aron Ralston wearing the a the same terminal in an adult, slightly more rugged version... oh and for some reason he decided against the ladybug print. Now all Jane needs is a corporate sponsor... and her own feature length film. 

How to Get a Free Frosty

They say that you're most likely to cut yourself while cooking if you're using an unfamiliar knife. Last week, this proved true for running in unfamiliar footwear as well. Wednesday night, Jane and I went shopping for new shoes. Her old shoes were seriously small and I thought she would be so much more comfortable in her brand new well-fitting shoes.

The next morning, we received a call to come get Jane. She had been running, tripped and had embedded a rock into her forehead.

We went to our local urgent care and discovered that a preschooler with a head wound gets moved straight to the front of the line. Fortunately, the other patients were very understanding.

I will spare you the photos of the open wound because they still make me a little queasy, but I will say that Jane felt much better after she was stitched up and she was thrilled with how her stitches looked.

(Jane seeing her stitches for the first time after we removed the bandage in preparation for bath)

After urgent care, we decided Jane deserved a treat so we took her to Wendy's for lunch, where we discovered that a preschooler with a head wound gets a free Frosty.

Although the free Frosty almost made the whole thing worth it, I think I will have Jane break in her next pair of new shoes around the house for a few days before they make their playground debut.

A Scoop of Leftovers Casserole

There have been a few things this summer/early fall that I meant to blog about, but never got around to it. Welcome to the leftovers casserole edition of my blog.

This past summer, Jane took swim lessons for the first time. Emily also took swim lessons, but I can't seem to find pictorial evidence. This is most likely because their swim lessons were back to back, Jane went first and I spent the vast majority of Emily's lesson time in the bathroom with Jane.

I'm not sure how much either of them progressed this summer, but we have very good intentions of visiting the pool this winter to gear up for next summer. Will it happen? Stay tuned...

In addition to her swimming, Emily has been working hard on her Lego skilz which, I assure you, are mad. She apparently gets this interest from her dad, who kept all the pieces and instructions from his childhood Lego sets. He and his brother had saved up a giant tub of bricks and kept them safe in an outdoor spider infested playhouse for (cough cough) years.

Uncle Brian was kind enough to sign over rights to his half of the Lego collection so it came home with us. The only obstacle to Emily's Star-Wars-fighter-ship-bliss were the few unwelcome six-and-eight legged creatures who had taken up residence. Don't tell her (because she would never touch them again), but that's why we pulled out the jug of Clorox and gave all the Legos a bath in the tub. There were a few unintended casualties (such as the batteries that somehow made their way in) but all told, they came out quite well. Here they are drying after being disinfected and de-bugged. Thanks, Grandma Carol and Grandpa Walter for buying your children such a vast assortment of Legos. They are a wonderful heirloom.

Last, but not least, Emily has finally learned to ride a bike without training wheels!

I worked with her a bit and Chris worked with her a LOT. Finally, yesterday, she got it. You may notice that the bike is a bit small. It was good for learning because she didn't have far to fall, but we do have a bike buying expedition planned for the near future.

Great job, Emily!

First and Foremost

Last week, Emily started first grade (I know - my blogging is a bit delayed, but this has been quite the week). I really believed that this year would be easier than Kindergarten. After all, she was used to being at school all day and we were even able to get Emily in the classroom she went to for reading last year so she already knew her teacher. Still, the night before school started held tears, hysterics and an extensive list of fears. The tantrum ended in a declaration, "I won't go to school! I'm staying home!". Needless to say, we were dreading the next morning.

Eventually, Emily calmed down enough to get a blessing from daddy.

After an abbreviated night's sleep, Emily seemed more amenable to receiving some book learnin', which is fortunate because a Kindergarten education doesn't do much for your resume.

She was in good spirits as we walked to school.

And when she had found her chair and her supplies, she seemed ready to go. (As you can see, Mrs. Smith is an enthusiastic Pokes fan.)

In the afternoon, Emily was exhausted but happy. It's good to be getting back in the groove. We'll see if that holds true next week when Emily starts back to ballet. Whoever decided to give the kids a grace week the first week of school must have been a mom. Smart thinking, Ballerina Bob's. (Okay, so her dance studio isn't named Ballerina Bob's, but there are lots of creeps out there and this isn't a private blog).

Good job on your first week of first grade, Emily! You are indeed #1!

What I Wanted to Write

Anyone who knows me knows that holding in my temper is just about as easy for me as it is for most people to hold in a sneeze. But today I managed to do it... for awhile. I was working on a delicate operation with the mom of the grown woman who rear ended my car while my family and I were stopped in traffic. She was trying to take care of the damages out of pocket, so her daughter's insurance rates wouldn't rise. The repair costs were $600, but she offered me $400. I decided to do unto others and all that jazz, so I gave her one last offer (via email) to pay me the full $600 before I turned it in to insurance. She accepted. But for the last couple days, these angry, sarcastic words have been welled up in my throat. They must get out. So I'll jot them down here in the form of the letter I wished I could write. 

Dear Julie,

Last week, when I saw your daughter in my rear view mirror at the wheel of the brand new car you bought her, texting like mad and not paying any attention to the stopped line of traffic in front of her, I was thrilled out of my mind. You can only imagine how disappointed I have been since January, when I purchased my first new car in 11 years, that my plan hadn't yet worked. The plan seemed simple enough: stop at all red lights and wait for a scantily clad 20-something girl to rear end me. And then (this is the really devious part of my plan), I collect the $600 for repairs and run away with the money to a tropical island where I will live in luxury for the rest of my days. Finally, last Tuesday, it seemed as if those tropical island dreams were about to come true. 

Following the impact, everything continued to go according to plan. When Amanda stepped out in her cheek-bearing shorts and announced that she was in a rush to get to Victoria's Secret before her social event, I thought I'd be extra devious and not call the cops. She thought she was just getting out of a ticket. I knew better. I didn't want any coppers getting in my way of that cold, hard cash. 

When she requested that we handle the situation out of pocket so that her insurance rates wouldn't rise, I was thrilled. The quicker I got my check, the better. The plan was working perfectly. But there was one complication I couldn't foresee. That complication was you, Julie - truly my match in the art of mastermindery. You see, I had thought that any woman in  her mid-twenties and who was obviously old enough to purchase her unmentionables at Victoria's Secret, had also reached the age of financial independence from her mom. That's where I was wrong. Dead wrong.  

When you called me and questioned the estimates that cost my husband precious vacation time to obtain, I was literally shaking in my boots. Of course, the car repair guys were in on it too. Who wouldn't be for such a spectacular sum as $600? Still, I held firm. I wanted the full amount or nothing. When you requested that we call and "touch bases", I acted like there was nothing to touch bases about, but in reality, I was just afraid that my kids would blurt out something about moving to paradise while I was on the phone with you. 

Today, when I got your offer to pay me $400, I admit that I was almost beat. After all, it would have been way too hard to pick up the phone and call your insurance, who would have given me the full amount plus money for a rental car, no questions asked. You seemed to instinctively know about my fear of telephones, you clever dame. 

So, as a last-ditch effort, I'm begging you to give me $600. If you decide not to, I think maybe I'll have my mom call your insurance. Bet you didn't see that coming. 

Check. Mate.

-Rachael

So, the check is in the mail, which it wouldn't have been if the email would have read like that. In the meantime, I have decided that no, I can't have anything nice. My ride won't be fixed for another month. Until then, every time I load groceries into the back, the wound feels fresh again.