Spinning Yellow

Eight and Five

It is Birthday Week here.  Jane turned 5 on Sunday and Scott turned 8 today.  I am officially a mom to two school-aged kids.  It is always a busy time with family gatherings and friend parties, cakes and treats to make for school.  I both dread and look forward to the celebrating, trying to be fair to both children while also not going overboard.  We are right in the thick of it with two events down and three to go. 

This year, I am struck by how grown up both kids seem.  Jane is so self possessed, a happy princess, announcing proudly that she is five now!  Ready for anything, exuding self-confidence.

I look at Scott and I realize what a turning point this is.  Eight, for me, was when I stopped being a little kid.  I have some memories from being five and six, and a few more at seven, but by eight, I really remember stuff.  Not just what happened, but how I felt.  It was the year that I realized there wasn't a Santa Claus, that I couldn't do everything and anything I wanted, that my mom and dad weren't always right.  I had my first crush, took my first trip without my parents, and got in trouble at school for not listening.  Big things.

Jane is coming into the wonderful time of Kindergarten and forever friends.  She still gets to be the little kid who can sing the days of the week, but also is part of the bigger kid world, getting on the bus, able to attend summer camps, and play with the older children.

Scott is entering the time when you learn that being a kid is often difficult.  You might still get to play a lot, but you have hard work to do at school, chores at home, and responsibilities.  You realize that many kids aren't all that nice.  That your mom can't fix everything.  That life is complex.

Eight and Five.

It is hard to believe.

I'm Done

The last day of NaBloPoMo!  Yay!  I am made it!  I was planning on doing a recap, or a what I learned this year, or a reader appreciation thing, but, guess what?  I'm tired.

There's the theme for this year's NaBloPoMo: I'm tired.

The latest?  Jane is sick.  She's been sick for awhile now but it got worse on Wednesday when she spiked a fever and lay around in her pajamas all day (and just for the record, I checked with Grammar Girl's lay/lie rules for the correct form to use and even though it doesn't sound right, "lay" is right in that sentence).  We've been giving her Motrin and nebulizer treatments since then.  Today she would not stop coughing so I took her to the on-call doctor.  

I was hoping to avoid a trip to the ER by taking her to the doctor during the daylight.  But she was fine at the doctor's and didn't get really bad until she was trying to go to sleep.  Calls to the doctor, multiple medicines, and a big fight about trying to have her sleep propped up on pillows later and she is finally sleeping.  This does not guarantee she will stay asleep.

Also?  Scott freaks out when Jane is sick or throwing a fit.  He keeps asking, "what's going on? will she be alright? am I going to get sick? are you going to the ER?"  Last spring, when Jane went through a horrible phase where she pitched a huge fit every night before going to sleep, Scott had a breakdown.  He curled up in a ball and rocked back and forth muttering, "please make her stop".  Yeah, that was helpful.  Now we had two out of control kids.

So, I am going to bed, in case I spend some time up with the little one.  Or the big one.

Thanks so much for reading along this year.  I truly appreciate anyone who stops by, reads, or comments here.  It means the world to me.

I Promise

This is a follow-up to my Revoking Her Dr. License post.  Go read that first, if you haven't, or else this won't make any sense.

I had to sneak out of the house while Jane was watching TV in order to talk to Q's mom.  I didn't want to betray Jane's confidence in telling me about the situation.  Like I said before, I know Q's mom fairly well and I felt comfortable letting her know what Jane had told me.  Right away she said she believed Jane and was not really surprised about Q's behavior.  You see, she thinks Q is quite a handful herself and often is exasperated by both her and her older sister.  Of course she was also embarrassed and felt badly that Jane was upset.  She said she would talk with Q about being a good friend and also about private parts being private.  She understood the significance of the situation but also didn't overact.

I want to be clear that I do not think there is any kind of sexual molestation going on next door.

However, there are some issues, primarily with Q's older sister that could be part of the problem.  Without going into great detail, because they are my next door neighbors, people I see daily, where our children run between our houses, I have had concerns about Q's sister for a long time.  The bottom line is that she is a huge sensory seeker, extremely volatile, emotional, basically difficult.  She doesn't have any friends.  She talks at you and doesn't maintain proper personal space.  She becomes disengaged with other kids and will get fixated on a toy or the tv to the point where you cannot get her to respond to anyone. 

Q's mom and I have discussed the issues she has with Q's sister many times over the years.  Although she is aware of Scott's SPD diagnosis and really gets him, she doesn't exactly buy into the "disorder" part.  I think she feels her daughter is quirky and perhaps not the most popular, but unfortunately, hasn't ever considered that she might need outside help.

There are some other things going on too, like a history of mental illness in the family, but it is not my place to draw conclusions about another person's situation (although, obviously I have).  So, I can provide my perspective, really, and nothing more.  After that, it is up to me to worry about my own family.

We both think that the reason Q used the words "you have to promise" is because her older sister says it.  Scott says this too, as in "You promised me you'd read a story" or "You have to promise that I can play my Wii tomorrow."  It is their way of coercing someone into something and making them accountable.

I've been mulling over the word "promise" ever since this happened.  Children use this word a lot and feel it is the law.  As adults, we know that promises are broken all the time.  But we do try to teach our children to be true to their word and by example, we should also only promise what we can truly deliver.

I feel that this incident has been a wake up call for me to pay closer attention.  Because Scott didn't play well with other children, he wasn't really ever out of my direct supervision.  I realize now that I never had to worry about the same things I do with Jane.  As the second child she is, naturally, not watched as closely.  But she is also so much easier that I don't have to be as vigilant.  At least I didn't think so.

When I first found out that I was having a girl I had a bit of a panic attack.  There are a ton of things to be worried about as far as having a daughter is concerned.  I still don't feel like I am as good of a girl mom as I am a boy mom.  But I am getting better.  I can see how my relationship with Jane is evolving.  And I know how I want it to be as a mother-daughter ideal.

So I've decided to make a few promises to my dear, sweet, daughter in light of this recent event:

I promise to pay more attention.  To listen more closely.  To spend more time with you.

I promise to answer any questions you have about being a girl, even if it means I have to tell you things I wish I didn't know.

I promise to never be angry or punish you for telling me the truth.

I promise to teach you, as best I can, how to keep yourself safe, how to avoid trouble, how to get out of a bad situation.

I promise to respect your decisions even if I don't agree with them.

I promise to be honest with you about the challenges you will face simply because you are a girl.

I promise not to perpetuate the myth that a man will make you happy, solve your problems and take care of you; instead, I will teach you that you can and will do all those things for yourself.

I promise to pick you up, no questions asked, if you ever find yourself in a situation where you need me.

I promise to be sensitive to your feelings, to encourage your dreams, to do my best to like your boyfriends.

I promise to always be there for you, no matter what.

And of course, above all else, I promise to love you, more than my heart can hold. 

Revoking Her Dr. License

My next door neighbor has 3 kids, twins, a boy and a girl, that are almost 7 and a younger girl, who is almost 4.  Q, the younger girl, always wants to play with Jane.  At first this seemed sweet and since Jane is typically the youngest, it was nice for her to have someone look up to her for a change (Q is 7 months younger).  This school year the twins are in first grade, and therefore, not around during the day anymore.  Q is lonely and wants someone to play with. 

Q knocks on our door several times a day looking for Jane.  She is often disappointed to learn that Jane is at school, dance class, her Grammy's, or with a friend.  In the beginning of the school year a full week went by where they did not get to play together.  My neighbor begged me to find time in Jane's schedule for her daughter.  "She only wants to play with Jane.  She just cries when she can't.  She's driving me crazy."

This sort of annoyed me.  Sure, I want them to be friends and all, but I started to feel like Jane was being stalked.  It is not my responsibility to entertain her child with mine.  We would pull up into the driveway and as soon as we got inside, the knock would come.  Most of the time Jane goes over to their house, because I figure, it is her kid who is doing the asking, I didn't decide for Jane to have her over here. 

Truth is, Q bugs me.  I know she is only three and I feel super guilty saying this (well, I did feel guilty, until today), but she pisses me off.  She doesn't like to talk to me, except when she wants something.  Then she seems perfectly capable of asking for a snack or a toy.  My initial concerns that she might have some sort of language processing problem or selective mutism have proven to be unfounded.  She simply chooses to stare at me if I ask her something she doesn't want to answer. 

Anyway, on Saturday she arrived at our door, per usually, just standing there, not asking to come in or anything.  When she does play at our house in the basement she tends to make a huge mess and not cleanup.  Then my kids get upset that they have to pick up after someone else.  So I decided to be better about making all visitors straighten up before they leave. 

I told Q that we had a new rule about cleaning up and that she couldn't play at our house unless she agreed to abide by it.  She stared at me.  "Say yes, Q," Jane prompted her.  Q locked eyes with me, not moving.  Now what was she going to do?  She wants to play with Jane but she doesn't want to have to talk to me.

It was a showdown.  I finally said, "I am sorry you can't agree to our rules, if you change your mind, you can come back, but for now you'll have to go home." 

I am so not the KoolAid mom.

I figured Jane would be all upset, but she didn't seem to care and went back to playing.

Today while I was trying to put some cream on the eczema patches on Jane's bottom, I found out why.  I told her to take off her pants so I could do it and she started crying, "I don't like when I have to show someone my private parts."

What?  The room started to spin.  I tried to stay calm and in a casual voice, asked, "did someone tell you to show them your private parts?"

"Q always tells me to pull down my pants and I tell her I don't want to but she makes me promise I will show her my private parts and I don't want to!"  

OK, I didn't want to overreact.  I know that kids play doctor and all that, but the thing was Jane was upset about this.  If she had said, "Q and I pull down our pants, isn't that silly?" it would be one thing, but she felt like she was being forced to do something she didn't want to.

"Did this happen once or more times?"

"She does it all the time, Mommy!  That's why I don't want to play with her anymore."

Wow.  Maybe she was blowing this out of proportion.  Was she just being dramatic because I seemed to be interested in what she was saying?

"Do you and Annie play like that?"

"No, we just take our clothes off to play dress up and doctor but we keep our underpants on and we don't show each other our private parts."

I knew I was treading in delicate waters.  I wanted her to know that she did the right thing by telling me, that she should always tell me things like this.  But I didn't want to freak her out, either.  We talked for awhile about how she never has to do something that she doesn't want to and that if she ever feels uncomfortable she can come right home or call me.  I told her she did the right thing by saying no to Q.  I also went over the whole concept of private parts being private.  At home there is a lot of running around naked and penis and vagina talk, but that's here (and we are trying to curb that anyway).

"How about I talk to Q's mom and make sure she doesn't do it anymore."

"No!  Then Q will be mad at me and make mean faces at me."

Nice.  A three year old bully lives next door.

And now I have to tell her mom without Jane knowing because I don't want her to be afraid to tell me things in the future.  I know her mom will be mortified, we are certainly friendly, and I am sure the whole thing will blow over soon enough.

But for now, I am kind of glad Q won't talk to me.  It makes it easy for me to send her home.

The follow up to this post is here, I promise.

Preschool Firecrackers

Today was Black and Blue Day at Jane's school.  It was the last day in the color series where each Friday a parent comes in with a color-coordinated snack and helps out in the classroom.  It was my first time seeing Jane's classmates in action.

Jane has been eagerly anticipating this day.  She and I baked mini blueberry muffins yesterday to share.  And this morning we made sure we had on matching blue shirts with black pants.

Although it has been awhile since I spent time in a prekindergarten class, I knew what to expect.  Remember that I worked at my mom's day care for several years and often had to jump in to cover for an absent aide.  Plus, Jane has been singing the songs, like the Month-arana and the Good Morning song, for the past two months.

Jane was so happy I was there.  She kept looking at me and giggling and encouraging me to participate in every activity.  So I sang and danced.  I helped the kids paint blue trains on t-shirts.  I watched her teacher put "fairy sprinkles" on the leader of the day's head.  I laid down on the rug.  And I joined in as the whole class pretended to be a train, chugging and blowing our whistles as loud as we could.

I tried not to notice the other things that were going on.  The boy who sat in the phone both for over half an hour.  The girl that couldn't stop touching her friend.  The one child that absently blotted at his painting without being able to finish the picture.  Little, subtle things, that may mean nothing like the nose and wedgie picking that is typical for this age.  But could mean something more.

When the director saw that I was there, she came over to talk about the conversation we had the other day.  She said I really opened her eyes to some things.  That she felt like she had attended a graduate class on Sensory Disorders and Misunderstood Children.  She confided that a family with a three year old was going through the process of having their child evaluated, per her recommendation, and that she was worried about them.  "They are afraid of what they will find out," she said sadly.

I wished I could have stayed longer, that I could come back.  I'd like to observe those children who seemed a tiny bit off.  Was it a bad day?  Or typical behavior?  I wanted to ask their parents if they had any concerns. 

I thought back to how Scott acted at this age.  I remembered some of the "problem" children from my mom's day care.

At one point during the lesson the kids got a little wound up and the teacher clapped her hands to do a Preschool Firecracker.  The children played along, putting their hands up and letting out a big, yoga-like sigh.  The children seemed completely at ease, comfortable going from active and silly to calm listeners with two Firecrackers.

I wanted to talk to the family that the director was concerned about.  I wanted to tell them that this is the time to help their child.  That their child needs them to be strong and not afraid.  I wanted to offer them hope and understanding. 

I glanced around as I was leaving thinking about what an opportunity preschool is for these children.  For them to have a place to go to play and learn.  But it is also a time for parents and teachers to uncover issues and start their children off with services, if necessary. 

The sooner the better before their little firecrackers lose their spark.

I Guess You Never Know

This morning I unexpectedly had to go to Jane's preschool and help prepare for an upcoming event.  I had signed up to do this, but there was a mix up with the date and the director kept apologizing for her mistake.  I decided to just get it over with since all I really had to do was mix up some stuff and chat with a couple of other moms and the director (we weren't with the kids).

Within minutes of arriving, we got into a conversation about the Parenting Consultant that Matt and I had seen over three years ago, during the summer of 2005. Before I realized it, I was telling the director the whole sorted story of Scott's SPD diagnosis and his terrible year in pre-Kindergarten (at a different preschool).

Turns out her son, who is now 28, had developmental delays and learning disabilities, including severe auditory processing problems.  She wanted to know how we got through it, how he was doing now.  She had such kind words for his struggles and the difficult road we had traveled.

The preschool that Jane attends has a reputation for being a perfect place.  One where parents never complain and the director constantly touts how awesome all her teachers and programs are.  In order to secure a spot for your child, you have to put their name on the waiting list before the child is even born.  It is both wonderful and a bit over-the-top.  In the beginning I would sit in meetings and roll my eyes listening to the sappy drivel.

But Jane is as happy as can be.  She loves school, adores her teachers and is learning.  The school is superior to the one Scott attended, of this I am sure.  But I've often wondered if he would have fit in at Jane's school.  The kids all seem so well behaved; absent are the type of children with issues. 

The idea did cross my mind that the director had weeded those children out so as to preserve her Utopian environment.  And I always suspected that she would have judged me just as the director and teachers had at Scott's school.  As a mother who was looking for excuses for her child's poor behavior.  As a failure.

But today, as I fixed up bags of reindeer food, this director and I talked mom to mom.  About how hard it is to be a parent.  About what it was like to discover that your child has problems.  How alone and confused we both felt.  About some of the challenges she faced and some of the issues we are currently dealing with.

She said her son was her second child, the one that had to follow the perfect first born.  She knew there were issues when he was barely two and they had been through the wringer.  But he was, "the one that made me a good mom.  That taught me how to be patient, compassionate, a better person."  I nodded in agreement, understanding what she was saying, thinking of an e-mail I had sent a friend recently where I wrote:

Jane loves school and Scott, well, is Scott. He finds issues with everything.  But is doing well.  And he just continues to be such a unique, interesting kid.  My heart and my inspiration.  Jane is lovely.  Scott is a lot of work but in that "the hardest job you'll ever love" kind of way.

I was glad for the scheduling mix up and the opportunity to see this woman differently.  And to be reminded that I shouldn't be judging or jumping to conclusions, either.  That you just never know when the person who seems to be the least likely to understand turns out to be the complete opposite.

Your Help Is Not the Kind I Want

To the lady at Wegman's today:

I realize you thought my daughter was cute, she really is darling, but I will discipline her as I see fit.  I was not yelling, nor was I scolding her harshly.  I was simply telling her that it was not okay to scribble on the advertisement circulars that were stacked on the counter.  She is four years old and knows that grabbing a pen and writing on things that she is not supposed to is not allowed.  When I tried to correct her you told her she "was fine".  It did not appear that you work at the store.  What authority do you have to tell my child that she can deface someone else's property?  I was not fluster, nor was I rude, or loud.  When my daughter heard you say she could continue, you put me in an awkward position.

As a mom, I've been criticized for not being strict enough with my children, but I can't recall ever feeling chastised for doing the right thing.  When my daughter looked up as I took the pen from her and repeated that she was not allowed to color on the flyers, she said, "but I want to."  And then she looked at you for the go-ahead.  You glared at me as if I was the meanest mommy in the world.  How dare I not let her do what she wants to!

My husband thinks I should have told you to mind your own business.  Perhaps he is right.  I am still surprised by our encounter.

I hope that you are not raising any children to believe that they can do anything they want to because they may turn out just like you.

Sincerely,

The woman with the super adorable little girl who will be taught right from wrong by her responsible parent, thankyouverymuch.

And the Star-Dazzle Award Goes to ....

*** Fair warning that there is going to be some serious mommy bragging in this post.

I might have been complaining in my last post about the monotony of raising kids, but truth be told, I love being a mom.  And more specifically, I love being a mom of two kids.  These two kids.  Two very different children.  They can be quite frustrating and they both have their individual issues.  Well, Scott much more so than Jane, but she's been having some tantrums (and will not, for the love of God, go to sleep tonight) and being a girl does present some inherent challenges.

So, while I have been somewhat discontented lately, this past weekend was really what all parents look forward to.  The good stuff.  The things that our parents think of when they say, "when you kids were young was the best time of our lives."  The things that we look back on as kids and feel proud of.  The stuff of happy memories.

I should now turn the award ceremony over to someone else, not their mom, who might be able to be a little more objective, but it is my blog, so you get my proud momma version:

The Tiny Dancer

First up for her Star-Dazzle award is Jane.  Jane performed in her first dance recital this weekend.  She went to dance lessons all year for this and mom and dad forked over huge amounts of money.  Delilah covered it well in her post yesterday.

I was a bit concerned about the recital after Jane turned into a diva-in-training before the rehearsal, demanding that her hair be done a certain way and that she wear her favorite bright purple, shimmering lipstick.  But she was all business (show business that is) for the recital.  She was prepared and she ate it up like any small girl who gets to dress-up in a tutu should.  She even donned her purple, polka dot sunglasses while strutting into the building as if she was entering her dressing room; posing for photos and asking for her make-up to be reapplied.

As I dropped her off in the cafeteria, which was the holding room for all the performers, she smiled brightly and blew me a kiss.  "Have fun, sweetie!"  "I will mom!" 

My mind raced:  Is she nervous?  Will she cry?  Be overwhelmed?  Pee her pants?  Isn't this developmentally inappropriate to ask a just turned 4 year old child to get up on a high school auditorium stage in front of a packed audience?

But I forgot all of that as the curtain opened and group after group of girls, from 3 year olds all the way up to high school age, danced their numbers.  Many of the children I knew.  And I really started to cry when I saw Kate, clearly enjoying herself doing her routine just like the other girls, as happy as can be.

These kids were super stars!  What a great chance to have the memory of performing in front of an audience.  And Jane?  She was simply perfect.  As cute as a button, following along, twirling in her elaborate get-up.  Smiling, waving and blowing kisses to her fans.  I wanted to run right up on stage with her and hug her to pieces.

I'll be signing her up for next year, when she gets to wear tap shoes and make a lot of noise.  I can't wait.

The All Star Player

Second up, to share the award, is her brother, Scott.  Scott is finishing up his baseball season which completes his second rotation of soccer/basketball/baseball playing team sports.  Even though Scott takes these games very seriously, the idea is to get the children's feet wet in the world of sports.  Basketball this year was the first time that an official score was kept although the coaches still played down winning or losing trying to get the kids to learn how to play and have fun.

But for Scott it is about winning.  And this has been an issue as far as these junior leagues are concerned.  When the basketball league decided to have an all star game, Scott was sure he'd be selected to play, but he wasn't.  Not because he wasn't one of the better players but because it was his first year in the league and the coaches decided to have the older kids participate.

This made Scott's head explode.  The injustice!  Why should he bother to play?  When would he ever be recognized for his talent?

Well, the time has come because he was just offered a spot on the All Star baseball team!  And he gets to play with some of his best buddies from class.  His group.  The ones that he is now asking for play dates with.  My boy!  Is finding his group.  I might start crying again.

Scott has really struggled this spring with anxiety and OCD.  He can be volatile and downright sullen.  But this world of sports?  It is his thing.  His place.  He needs it and he deserves it.

There will be "scouts" there for the 8 year old travel team which he could be invited to play on next spring.  A real, competitive, every game matters type of opportunity.  I know many people think that that is not appropriate for his age.  But I defy them to see him in action and question whose motive it is to play.  He wants this and has been waiting. 

Is it any different than having your little girl perform in a recital?

Scott is the youngest member of his team and he is going to represent them in an All Star game.  He is thrilled.

Rising to the occasion

Scott was not happy about having to attend Jane's recital, but we felt that he should support his sister.  Earlier in the day as he was teasing her, I scolded him saying, "this is her one day, don't ruin it for her."  So, of course, he had to pout and be mad at me.  Matt and I exchanged glances thinking he better not make this moment about him.  It is always about him.  Typical first child.

But he sat through the whole recital without any complaints.  And when it was all over and Jane came off the stage she was so happy to see him there.  He gave her a big hug and congratulated her on her performance.   "Thanks, brother!" she beamed.

Can you see my heart bursting?

For a closing note, your proud momma MC would like to also share this little story:

Matt came home from work late today and was going to mow the lawn.  I had already planned to have dinner at my mom's and the kids were not expecting to see their dad until after they got home.  But he surprised them by coming over as they were eating.

Matt brought over his and Scott's baseball gloves and, in a teasing tone, asked Scott, "Now that you are a big shot All Star player, do you still have time to have a catch with your dad?"

Scott smiled and responded, "I'll always have time for you, Daddy.  Always."

That moment. 

These moments. 

The good stuff.

A New Variety of Wine

Jane and I went on a few errands yesterday, including a trip to the liquor store.  In Pennsylvania, if you want to buy wine or other liquor you need to go to a special place called The State Store.  Beer is purchased somewhere else entirely.  It is a complete hassle.  One of the inconveniences of being a PA resident.

I usually don't go to the liquor store with my children because there is way too much opportunity for them to knock over a bottle of something.  But Jane is pretty good these days in stores and actually quite helpful.  I just wanted to pick up a few bottles of wine, so I headed in.

Jane pushed the cart with me and I searched for specials and known favorites.  I spotted a Chardonnay in a brand of wine we like, but I really needed the Pinot Noir (pronounced pee-no new-are, which is relevant, you'll see).

We continued to walk around and then went up to the checkout.  I held up the wine, with a very distinctive sun logo on it, and asked, "Do you have this in a Pinot Noir?"

We followed the store clerk to the back of the building where some of the red wines were hiding.  As we looked at the shelves, Jane recognized the logo and pointed, "Look Mommy, there's the penis wine you wanted!"

Pinot, penis, whatever.

Even funnier is that nobody seemed to understand what she said but me, who burst out laughing.  I wonder what they would have thought had they heard her!

 

My Last Post About Puke, I Promise

This morning while I was in our downstairs office on the computer, Jane came running in saying she didn't feel good.  A few minutes before she had been happily watching TV and seemed perfectly fine to me.  I glanced over, distracted, "oh? what's wrong?"

"I feel like I'm going to throw up."

"What?  Really?"

We rushed into the bathroom, she lifted the toilet seat, and proceeded to vomit several times.  I sat there incredulously.  She couldn't possibly be sick again.  It wasn't the violent retching of last week, but puke all the same.

When she was done, she stood up, smiled a little and said, "I am all done now.  I'm not sick anymore."

I stared at her.  What the hell was going on in my house?

I feel like I need to call in those Hazmat guys in the suits to detox the place.

Now, although we haven't had the throw up virus in our home until recently, Jane has, on occasion, been sick to her stomach.  Over the holidays, she threw up after our annual Hanukkah party.  We suspected that she ate too many chocolate coins which prompted her to say, "I'm sick from the guilt," when she really meant "gelt," but it was so funny and appropriate that we didn't correct her.

It hit me that perhaps Jane is a Puker.  You know the type.  I had a friend in college who would get super drunk, feel sick, throw-up in the bushes outside a fraternity, wipe her mouth off with the bottom of her shirt, and grab a beer to wash down the taste.

My sister and her kids are also Pukers.  My sister used to get car sick when we were kids.  We'd pull over, she'd toss her cookies, and we'd get back on the road.  My nephew was so good at it, that by age 3, he barely needed a grown-up to help him (girls always need someone to hold their hair back).

Even Matt is a Puker.  Sometimes he gets sick from drinking or eating certain things.  The next day, it is as if it never happened.

I am not a Puker.  I am more like an anti-Puker.  The exact opposite of a Puker.  The last time I threw up was when Matt and I first started dating, 9 years ago.  I had mild food poisoning from some deli chicken salad.  I thought I might be dying.  Matt, non phased, still wanted to kiss me (after I brushed my teeth, of course).  I remember thinking, wow, he must really like me.

I am the type of person who can be nauseous for days (weeks, when pregnant) but cannot get myself to vomit.  I am terrified of throwing up, actually.  I can literally count on one hand how many times I've thrown up in my lifetime, and that includes two times when I was so drunk I don't even remember them.

Sure enough, Jane was completely fine all day long.  Her usual silly, fun, self.  I've been trying to figure out what her sudden throw up incident was all about.  Was it what she ate for breakfast?  Did she stick something in her mouth and gag?  Matt told me to just get over it.  Clearly it is my issue, not theirs.

A little while ago I called my mom to see what she was up to for the weekend and to check if she might be able to watch the kids at all.

"hello?"  I heard on the other end of the line.

"Mom?  Is that you?  You sound terrible."

"I'm sick."  The pathetic voice barely managed to get out.

"Oh, that's too bad, do you need anything?"

"No.  I tried to eat something and I threw it up."

"Oh, okay, well, sorry again, get some rest."  Oh, the guilt!

No more, I said!  Now you are picking on Grammy?  That is just wrong!

How the hell am I going to get away from all these sick people, if my babysitter is ill?