The Winter of Our Discontent

I noticed the daffodils starting to bloom about two weeks ago, and I thought to myself, "it's about damn time." Daffodils in bloom surely mean that Spring is on its way. It's not just that I hate cold weather and that I sure could use a little sun on my pasty-white legs. Frankly, this winter has been a bitch for the WBs.

From mid-November until the day I noticed the flowers sprouting up toward the sun the WBs had endured, in no particular order:

8 cases of strep throat (1 for me, 3 for A-Train, and 4 for Big D)
1 case of croup (Mr Butler)
1 ER visit (Mr Butler)
3 trips to Urgent Care (1 for A-Train, 2 for me)
1 fight with our pediatrician's on-call nurse (by me, about Big D)
1 fever of 105.3 (Big D)
2 types of allergy testing for 2 kids (blood and skin- for A-Train and Big D, respectively)
1 trip to the ENT for bizarro ear pain (me)
1 trip to the ENT for a surgery consult (Big D)
1 trip to a pediatric GI (A-Train)
various and sundry coughs, colds, runny noses, sore throats
enough antibiotics to fell a whole family of horses

So when I saw those lemon-colored blossoms, I knew that the end of illness season was upon us. Just knew it. Sure, we'd have to endure some seasonal allergies and probably a few of the kind of bumps and bruises that come with outdoor warm-weather fun, but the worst was surely behind us as we headed into last Thursday.

That's the day that Cap'n, slowly recovering from the cold we've all been sharing for the past four months, coughed himself into unconsciousness. Yep, you read that right. Apparently, it happens all.the.damn.time. At least that's what the lovely doctor in the ER (you know the ER they took him to in the ambulance after I called 911 because the man was unconscious on the couch) told us.

She told us that after Cap'n had been there overnight, had a chest X-ray, submitted to three rounds of bloodwork, been threatened with a stress test, had I-don't-even-know-how-many EKGs, and been poked and prodded by a whole slew of people. Oh, and it was definitely after they had come to his "room" in the ER to get my credit card. (So, here's a head's up, if you're going to the Duke ER, even by ambulance, don't forget your purse!)

And that wasn't it for the evening. When I finally came home late that night, Mr Butler was rocking a temp of 105.3. Two weeks ago, when Big D had that temp, I was out of my mind with worry. Having had one kid survive that fever, I was much less worried about Mr Butler, but good god, can't a girl catch a break?

I am happy to announce that Cap'n is home and fine and well-medicated. And thank FSM for good health insurance. Mr Butler is also nearly recovered. I'm also thrilled that I have such awesome friends and relatives (the two Melissas and my dear sister, Laura) to look after my kids during this whole ordeal!

And, appropos of nothing at all, I'd like to thank the roll of the genetic dice for giving me The Incredible Hulk as a son. Here's what he did during his "nap" today.


Sometimes all you can do is laugh to keep the tears away.

The Over-Indulged Youngest Child

Here it is, the post you've all been waiting for!

Mr Butler, Cap'n and I are all the youngest members of our respective natal families, and trust us, it sucks!

Top Ten Reasons Why it Sucks to Be the Youngest:

10) Being the smallest- though not for long in Mr. Butler's case

9) Never being able to get a word in

8) Having parents who have seen it all before and are non-plussed by anything I can come up with

7) Mama will forever refer to me as her baby. Even when she is 100 and I am 66, she'll still be calling me the baby.

6) I will never, if I live to be 100, be considered an adult by my older brothers.

5) Getting the smallest portions at the dinner table

4) Everything I do is compared to how my brothers did it

3) Being my parents' last hope

2) Watching the big boys do things that I know I could do if Mama would let me

1) Always being last


But the number one best thing about being the youngest child is knowing in your heart that you are Mama's favorite!

So Long, Suckers!

Tomorrow is the first day of school! I love, love, love my boys, but I am so excited for tomorrow that I can hardly contain myself!

And while there are lots of things that I wish we had managed to pack into our summer, we did a whole lot together (more posts on that coming soon) and had a whole lot of togetherness. We all laughed, we all cried, we all ate way more snoballs than any human should.

I will not miss the fighting, the whining, the complaints of boredom and brotherly abuse. I will not miss that stretch between 4 and 7PM when the lose their minds and run around like crazy people. I will not miss bedtimes that come after 8PM. And I will not miss my children.

I'll think about them lots, but I will not miss them one bit.

He's starting first grade tomorrow.

He's starting his second year of preschool.

And he's stuck at home with me for at least another year.

Quickie Science Experiment and a Dud

As summer has started to wind down, we've been overwhelmed with a list of things that have to be done before school starts- haircuts, doctor appointments, trips to the zoo- and haven't had a solid week to do another Science Camp. But we've managed to fit in a few experiments here and there.

The first of the two I'll show you here was super simple and the kids really liked it. The second was, um, well, you'll see.

Today's experiments both come from this book. A-Train has had this book for a couple of years and occasionally gets a little obsessed with it. Now that he's old enough to read and actually help out with the experiments, rather than watch me do them, it's become a lot of fun to get ideas from the book.

Here's what you need for our first experiment. We actually ended up using a second can of Sprite, but I don't think that's absolutely necessary.

First, have your minion pour the clear carbonated drink (I'm guessing seltzer or tonic would work as well as soda) into a tall clear glass. Then put in a few raisins.

If, like me, you are working with a heavy-handed preschooler, you may end up with a few more than a few raisins in your glass.

And then you watch! I used my phone to make a video of what we were watching, but for the life of me can't get it to upload to this blog, so you'll have to make do with a few pictures. Just scroll through them really fast and it will seem like video!

The science here is that the raisins sink to the bottom of the glass where the bubbles of carbonation attach to the them and they begin to rise. At the top of the glass, the bubbles burst and the raisins sink and the whole process starts again.

This was pretty mesmerizing to A-Train and me. Big D was all done watching after about 12 seconds. After 10 minutes or so we put the glass aside, but when I checked back an hour later they were still rising and falling. And when I checked back about six hours after that, it was still happening. By the time we got up the next morning, all the raisins were still- no more free rides!


Experiment #2 was not nearly as successful. But, in case you want to try it for yourselves and prove me wrong, here's what you need:

That's a couple of balloons, some sharpies and a sweater.

The first step is blowing up the balloons. If you've got little kids, you know the amount of spit that one kid can get inside a balloon before he hands it to you so you can tie it for him. If you don't have little kids, let the idea of a handful of someone else's spit serve as birth control for you.

Next, decorate the balloons with the Sharpies. (This part is optional, but if your experiment turns out like ours did, it may be the highlight of the whole affair.) Big D and I drew faces on ours.

Great picture of me, huh?

A-Train drew a Yeti.

I know, I didn't think so either, but that's what he said it was.

Next, have an unwitting assistant don a hand-me-down sweater.

Then, commence rubbing your decorated balloons on the sweater for one minute.

Now, according to The Big Book of Science Things to Make and Do, you can put your balloon against the wall and it will be held in place by the magic scientific powers of static electricity!

Because it's hard to hold a balloon up to a wall and take a picture of yourself doing it at the same time, I only got pictures of what happened when I let go of the balloons.

Yeah, that's my floor.

We tried again, but instead of rubbing the balloons on the sweater, we went with A-Train's idea.

I don't even want to talk about the tangles that had to be combed out after 180 seconds of rubbing latex orbs on The Boy's head.

And there's the result. On the floor again.

This experiment was a dud!

Now, I'm no sciencetitian, but if I had to guess, I'd say this experiment didn't work in August in the South because it's so darn humid. If memory serves, dry weather makes for better static cling.

Now you'll excuse my while I go wash A-Train's hair with Downy.

Fluffy Kitty or Silent Assassin?

When you're expecting a baby, everyone tells you how having a newborn changes your life. Most of this wisdom revolves around sleep and the lack of sleep.

Sleep now, you won't be getting any rest when the baby comes.
Sleep when the baby sleeps.
You'll never get another good night's sleep until the baby goes off to college.

And it's true, raising infants, babies, toddlers, and even preschoolers is a physically exhausting job. The parent's body is rarely at rest in those early years. But, demanding as it may be, parenting of such small people isn't exactly rocket science. Child is hungry, parent feeds child. Diaper is dirty, parent changes diaper. Cup is empty, parent fills cup. And on and on in an endless list of baby minutia.

What no one ever mentions is how hard it will be to parent an older child. Once a child can meet most of his or her physical needs, the parent's body gets to rest. But the parent's mind and heart are just beginning a gut-wrenching journey.

And that brings us to last Saturday afternoon.

A-Train had recently received the list of school supplies he'll need when he starts first grade in a few weeks. Most of the items are very specific and pretty boring- not a lot of room to express one's six-year-old individuality. But, on the list was a pencil bag or box, and I wanted to let A-Train choose something that he liked and would be excited to bring to school.

We entered a large office supply store whose name rhymes with an Italian city. After getting the boring supplies: scissors, pencil sharpener, erasers- it was time to move on to the pencil bag/box. The first few we saw were fine, but nothing special. So we headed to the seasonal school supply section, and that's where A-Train spotted this:

And quickly declared that this was the pencil bag for him.

I should tell you that I wasn't all together surprised by this. Since A-Train's birth Cap'n and I have made a concerted effort to not impose gender roles and stereotypes on him. (Except for washing dishes. Washing dishes is man's work.) He has always had dolls and play kitchens as well as balls and trucks. When he's asked, I've happily painted his finger nails the shade of pink typically reserved for the lips of Barbie dolls. And he can throw a baseball with startling strength and accuracy. As for hairstyles, here he was a few months ago awaiting his first big haircut.

All of this is to say that A-Train couldn't see any reason why this would not be the pencil bag for him.



Standing there with him, my heart started to ache. This is first grade he's going into, not preschool where things are fun and kids are quirky and no one really seems to care, but FIRST GRADE-where kids are aware of differences and exclusionary and sometimes downright mean!

And this mama had to make a quick decision: hurt him with the truth right now or let him hear the truth at school from someone who doesn't love him like I do. The conversation went something like this:

Me: Are you sure that's the one you want?

A-Train: Yeah!

Me: OK, if you really want it, you can have it.

A-Train: OK! I really want it!

Me: But first I have to tell you something.

A-Train: (Looking wide-eyed and expectant) What is it?

Me: (Trying to lead him to the conclusion) Who usually has pink stuff with kitties on it?

A-Train: I dunno.

Me: Usually it's girls, right?

A-Train: Umm, I guess so.

Me: Yeah, usually it's girls. I don't care about that at all and it's great if you don't care either. But other people do care. So if you chose to have that bag, some of the kids might think it's weird that a boy has a pink, kitty pencil bag and they might make fun of you and tease you.

A-Train: (The joy having escaped his eyes) Oh, OK.

Me: So let's look at all the choices they have here and if you still want this one, I'll get it for you.

A-Train: OK.

And as I turned to lead him away, the tears started streaming down my face. Tears of doubt in myself, not knowing if I'd said and done the right thing- afraid that I'd persuaded my sweet, innocent six-year-old to give up a piece of himself in order to please his peers and escape their taunts. Tears of pride in myself for having raised a boy who doesn't see gender the way his peers do. And tears of sadness that we live in a society that doesn't allow people, even the littlest ones, to be themselves.

And then it happened, the tears dried up when we both spotted this:

It was perfect! (OK,it was actually a little on the small side and it may well violate the classroom rule about not having any characters on your school supplies, but in that moment, it didn't matter.) My boy was happy, the pink kitty pencil bag fading from memory as he opened and closed the clasps on his LEGO Ninjago pencil box.

And while I was happy in that moment, I carry with me the knowledge that more moments just like it, and some that will be much, much more challenging, lie ahead of us.