I think I’m still on Island Time. Two weeks ago I was packing for our trip to Ocracoke Island to attend my cousin’s wedding. Now (seemingly five minutes later) I’m packing us up to tag along with Brian on his business trip. But, first trips first.

We took 2 days to get to the island to keep it fun. The first night, we stayed in Wilmington, NC, and the next day, took the Cedar Island ferry to Ocracoke. The island is very small, and littered with various artisans and souvenir shops. We stayed at Blackbeard’s Lodge and opted to rent bikes (we brought the kids bikes). The boys had a blast riding all over. It was great to finally visit Ocracoke and see family from all over, and got some decent visiting time in during the beach day and dinners.

We took a different route home, so we could tour Kitty Hawk, and the boys loved that experience. I think it is cool that they now recognize and have a context for pictures of the Wright Brothers plane. The also enjoyed visiting a couple light houses and “bumping into” the home of the monster truck Grave Digger.

My big “stress-out” about the trip was to not lose all the fitness progress I had made since March. I managed to pack enough groceries that we did not have to eat out the entire way to Ocracoke (allowing most of our stops to involve play and exercise instead of eating), and we had a crock pot meal that satisfied several meals at the lodge. There wasn’t a whole lot I could do with the options at the wedding party meals, but there were healthier parts to focus on and controllable portions. The biking helped offset the calorie load a lot. Additionally, I brought my carpet furniture sliders (a recently-discovered fitness tool) so I could do my quick workouts in the hotel. My efforts and strategies paid off, because I maintained (or even slightly decreased) my weight that week, even with a trip to the ice cream shop.

Here is a list of the types of foods I’ve found helpful to travel with, to avoid “carbing out” and to get more satiety for the fewest calories. I still get most of the sensation of “crunchy” and “sweet/salty” that I crave when driving. Some foods require the ability to reheat or cook in a crock pot, and much of it requires a cooler (ours plugs into the a/c or d/c outlets). Smaller items, I like to portion out in snack baggies or 3oz containers for ease of access.

Beef Roast (or turkey sausage) and veggies
Pre-scrambled eggs
Pre-cooked turkey bacon
Pre-baked biscuits
Pre-made egg/tuna/chicken salad
Pre-popped popcorn
Jerky
Deli meat
String cheese, slice cheese, squirt cheese
Nut and seed varieties (usually flavored)
Applesauce pouches
Yogurt tubes
Apples, bananas, cherries, grapes, strawberries, blueberries
Carrot & celery sticks
Mini sweet peppers
Cherry tomatoes
Bread/pita pockets/Triscuits
Hummus
Lunchables & store-packed salads (we just them get one each for a “special treat”)
Individual packs or small jar of peanut butter (same with jelly, mayo)

I may have forgotten some. For this upcoming trip, I have put a selection of pre-portioned dry snacks in small bags (specifically, the kids meal bags from Subway), and will hang them in front of the boys’ seats with those delightful Mommy Hooks. Our stops will be centered around fuel/bathroom/run-your-brains-out activites & can then access the cold stuff for other snacks & meals. Honestly, I fight the urge to rebel and “grease out,” since I have the near-perfect excuse. I want nasty burgers and fries, chips and soda, and Twizzlers, for badness’ sake…but I’m choosing to want victory more. After all, it is my middle name (thanks mom and dad!).

My over-active imagination never seems to miss an appointment. I tire of writing about this, now that Elijah’s chemo treatment is 2 years behind us, but apparently I need to work it out some more, or there’s some reason I’m not supposed to “get over it.” Last night, as I was trying to sleep, I kept getting old images in my mind of Elijah’s LCH days in the hospital. Today, he had a dentist appointment scheduled — the one in which his two “bad” teeth are being monitored, so my brain jumped on the opportunity, the night before, to trudge into memoryville.

It makes sense. It was a big deal, and there’s always a sliver of fear of something returning. Often, when I’m forced to confront the memories with upcoming checkups, I startle awake at night with a tight chest and a lump in my throat from a vivid recollection.

However, the difficult memories are not all a bad thing. They are also a reminder of the unfathomable goodness of God, and of the treasure He has given our family. I put a high priority on holding my boys tightly day and night and letting them grow into the warriors for good that they were made to be. I don’t want to lose track of those priorities and blessings, so if it takes occasional nightmares, so be it.

As expected, Elijah’s dental checkup went well, as did his recent oncology check up (The oncologist is transferring him to annual appointments at the survivor clinic). The dentist says we are doing well keeping his teeth clean, and they are not bothering him or getting worse. For a surgeon, he expressed great sensitivity to the number of doctors and procedures Elijah has experienced in his life time, and wants to give him some distance from more trauma, if there’s not a pressing need. We certainly appreciate that sentiment.

Elijah seemed to actually enjoy his checkup. He was jealous last week when his older brothers had their teeth cleaned, so he popped up in the chair and smiled away when it came his turn. Of course, the highlight was getting to pick a new toothbrush. Spending most of the day driving to and from and attending appointments are a drag, but it’s nice to get some one-on-one time with the little guy, and I’m thrilled knowing his brothers got to enjoy a day playing with a good friend. Mom-friends are a treasure of their own!

[For the whole Langerhan's Cell Histiocytosis shebang, check out my blog posts from January 2010 on into early 2011, and/or check out "LCH" in the side-bar tag cloud.]

[Insert sibling spat here.] This calmly-stated conversation followed:

Ian: Elijah, I’m sorry for hurting you. I should have used self-control.

Elijah: It okay, Ian. You don’t have to use self-control. If you want to hurt me, you just have to ack me if is okay to hurt me.

Ian: All right…but next time I feel angry, you’d better prepare yourself to get hurt, or else say something to stop me and then I will go play on the pillow [our giant bean bag chair].

It’s a work in progress, but certainly preferable to the more-frequent crying-tattling-mommy-please-destroy-him episodes.

Waiting for a giant bubble.

Elijah is a different character. He’s 3, and has been wiping himself for some time now. Sometimes, he still requests “full service.” He recently hollered for his “pampering,” and I was starting on my way to him, when I heard Isaac at the bathroom door, proudly telling Elijah that he would wipe him. Elijah deliberated out loud: Mom..? Isyick…? Mom…? Isyick! And, you bet I let him.

Since we’re topically floating around the gaseous state of matter, I’ll mention that today we had a fun, scampering discussion that hopped through how lighters work, do all candles float, how do hot air balloons work, and how do parachutes work. Then we got out hammers to smash “dragon eggs” again. We’ve also been recently enjoying Beakman’s World on Netflix – a science show from the ’90s, and it’s had a lot of fun experiments to try.

“Official” home schooling in our family is approaching this fall, and although we already do a lot of learning, the real deal is exciting and intimidating. There’s so much to consider — almost too many options. Fortunately, I am acquainted with many who are current or former teachers, have home schooled kids, been home schooled, or are currently home schooling. A good friend has been an amazing role model, guide and encourager. I have the complete support and confidence of my husband (as well as other friends and family), and the enthusiasm of our kids. We have registered for a great home school convention in town this summer. I think ours is going to be a great, albeit challenging, experience!

*Yes, this is excitement to me these days.

Yesterday unexpectedly became a “free” day — one of those lovely days that we don’t have to be anywhere in particular. So, I thought it would be a good day to try a little experiment I’ve been thinking about. However, we ended up deciding to go to Legoland Discovery Center in the middle of the day, which kept them more distracted than usual, so my results are inaccurate, but telling, nonetheless.

The plan was to record *every* question and action item (spoken or implied) I received in one day, and on a fairly accurate schedule. It turns out that the requests and questions are so common that I’ve grown to receive them with a certain level of automation and with this “camouflage,” I know I missed some. Simply the act of documenting throws the flow off a bit, buy my stenographer was off yesterday. Between documented items, there was plenty of standard conversation and interaction. I chose to record only “demands” for response or action.

Here it goes:

1. 1:00  (yes, a.m.) I need to go potty!

2. 4:30 Mooom! I need your phone light to see my underwear drawer!

3. 7:00 Milky!

4. 8:30 Mom, do I have sperm in my body?

5. 8:45 Milky mommy!

6. 9:00 [First one out of bed. Yes, we sleep late.] I’m hungry, mommy.

7. 9:05 Mom, can I look at pictures of dolphins on your phone?

8. 9:08-9:15 Look at this!….Look at this dolphin! (repeatedly)

9. 9:10 Can you open this for me?

10. 9:15 Can you put this in the microwave for me, pease, mommy?

11. 10:15 When will I have sperm in my body?

12. 10:20 Can I have a peppermint?

13. 10:28 How long is a second?

14. 10:30 I want a peppermint! (other two boys)

15. 10:35 Can I have rice and cheese??

16. 10:36 Ian’s on my yiddol table!

17. 10:39 (Hug)

18. 10:39 Put this on me, mommy. Why soon?

19. 10:42 [Epic playroom adventure, mom gets to do stuff]

20. 11:20 Mom! Ian scratched me with his nails on purpose!

21. 11:23 [Adventures continue]

22. 11:30 [Let's go to "little" Legoland] Help me put on my shoes.

23. 11:35 [Make everyone a drink to go]

24. 11:45 [off to Legoland]

25. 11:48 Mom do you have Opsy Clean stain fighter?

26. 11:50 What does autograph mean?

27. 11:52 What is a famous car?

28. 11:53 Can I see a picture of Herbie?

29. 11:54 Why are some cars famous?

30. 11:56 Is Bumblebee real?

31. 12:03 Can we go to Grammy’s house in 10 days? How about in 40 days?

32. 12:15 Why are there holes in my car chair?

33. 12:20 I’m thirsty

34. 12:30 Are we here? Go up higher!
35. 12:31 Go up another level!
36. 12: 38 Help me!
37. 12:40 Can I push the button?

38. 12:45-16:30 [At Legoland, not so much tracking time of requests.]

39. I’m hungry.

40. I need to go potty.

41. I want to to go play on the playground.

42. Can we go in there?

43. “Attention guests. Amy, please come to the exit.” [Explanation: LDC is basically one giant room. On a slow day, one can see her kids in any part of the room from any other part. On one side is a play area, fenced and guarded by an employee. Kids don't get out unless the parent provides a matching DNA sample from their kid [obvious exaggeration]. Unless the kid — in this case my 3 y/o — does a random status check while mom has dashed across the room to get a pizza order started, doesn’t see her, and manages to get the notion in the employee’s head that he needs to be escorted to the exit to page his [probably idiot] mom to come get him, while said mom is back at the play place, looking for him in the jungle and hears aforementioned page. Being sure that her kid is deeply enthralled in a giant-Lego-toting adventure, safe in his cage, “Amy” saunters over to the exit to see if, in fact, the page refers to her own name, and perhaps her pizza order is ready or some obscure object with her name on it was dropped. To her astonishment/fear/confusion/amusement, “Amy” sees her happy (no, not frightened and crying) preschooler dashing to her from an “impressed with you son’s astuteness” employee’s side. “Amy” still hasn’t put together that the child had not escaped, but was escorted, from the play area, and returns with her child to the play area to fetch the older siblings and speak to the “guard.” Whilst mentioning to the [apparently ineffective] “guard” how odd it is that he “must have escaped,” she replied that “we were trying to find you.” For the two minutes I was across the room. I finally put together that she had not been lax on her job, rather hyper-vigilant (I still think they could have paged me without relocating my child). And, I was pleased to know my 3 y/o could stay calm, find an employee, and tell her my name. And, yes, I understand that I just risked having my child enslaved in a diamond mine. Note the other 107 action items to see why it was worth it. Kidding. Sort of.)

44. I need to go potty.

45. I’m thirsty.

46. Can we go build with big blocks?

47. I want more pizza.

48. Can we get a muffin?

49. I need a napkin.

50. Can we ride the ride?

51. I need to go potty.

52. Can we go in there now?

53. Can we get a toy?

54. Can we get these windows?

55. Can we get these?

56. 16:32  [In car heading home]

57. 16:33 I need to go potty.

58. 16:37 Can I have more pizza?

59. 16:39 Can I have my blocks?

60. 16:40 Why are we going so slow?
61. 16:41 Let me tell you why we are going so slow.

62. 16:45 When will we drive under the bank?

63. 16:48 Can we play “Sky Rockets in Flight” again?

64. 16:51 Why didn’t they finish that building?

65. 17:15 Are you talking to Dad?

66. 17:40 Where is my round piece?

67. 17:48 Can I used these boxes to make something?

68. 18:00 Can I help you cook?

69. 18:04 Do you have an invisible ‘gina?

70. 18:15 Why did you throw away the bags?

71. 18:18 Why do you call it a ladle?

72. 18:30 What do you use the grill for?

73. 18:34 Can I see inside the grill?

74. 18:39 How do you fix the grill?

75. 18:42 Can you have dad fix it? Dad kind of knows how to build. Maybe it will be easy for him to fix one tiny problem.

76. 18:45 Can you cut my apple pease?

77. 18:47 Where’s Elijah’s teeth from his doctors appointment?

78. 18:51 Can I see my hair from my first hair cut?

79. 18:52 Do I have any first fings?

80. 18:53 Did I have dark hair when I was born?

81. 18:55 What color eyes does Elijah have?

82. 18:56 Can we watch a movie?

83. 18:57 When is dad coming home?

84. 19;00 What are you doing?

85. 19:01 What are those pokey things?

86. 19:02 Where are they?

87. 19:05 Can I help?

88. 19:06 Are those twirly things for Isaac’s birthday?

89. 19:09 Why do grown ups stand on tables?

90. 19:12 Can I hand you the pokey things too?

91. 19:15 Is it nice to have a helper?

92. 19:16 Take mine!

93. 19:18 Why are you hanging only Optimus Prime and Bumblebee?

94. 19:22 Where are my shoes?

95. 19:45 [dinner] What is this?

96. 19:46 I’m firsty.

97. 19:47 Can I have milk? Me too!

98. 19:48 I need a straw.

99. 19:48 I want a straw too. And me!

100. 19:51 Can I have ketchup for my vegetables?

101. 19:58 I don’t like almond milk. I want cow milk.

102. 19:59 Blow on this for me!

103. 20:00 Do people like lemon on potatoes?

104. 20:01 Can I have ketchup on my potatoes?

105. 20:08 I’m done.

106. 20:10 Can I be excused?

107. 20:11 Can I watch a movie?

108. 20:12 Where’s dad?

I quit. Insert painfully off-schedule bedtime routine here.

As a Stay At Home Mom, I struggle with not doing certain chores often enough because they are too disgusting, because I don’t do them often enough — namely, showers, toilets and floors. One day, determination sets in, and I grab my Magic Erasers, scrubbers and cleaners, and attack the nasty grime and it takes me too long. Too long, because it gives my crew of short people enough time to destroy the rest of the house. But, my shower is gorgeous. Then, I get mad at it two weeks later for not still being clean…because it took so much work last time, that I couldn’t bear to do it again sooner.

I won’t mention the odor emanating from the area where the three little aimless pee-standers congregate. I keep trying to give that job to my husband, since he is of that particular clan, and I’d like to put him in charge of aiming school. He’s willing to clean, but it’s hard to nudge him in there with a bucket of supplies when he gets something like five minutes at home before it’s time to go to bed again.

Some time between breakfast and dinner, and most certainly by the night of the second day, my kitchen floor starts experiencing elevation changes, due to table droppings and meandering munchers. I’ve tried promptly sweeping after breakfast, but it’s already lunch time by the time I get everyone and every thing situated from the breakfast mess, and I’d hate to delay another pointless cooking episode. Not to mention, there are about 17 toddler snacks between meals. Actually, roughly 1-3 of my boys don’t seem to eat meals. My youngest, especially, has tantrumed a number of times because he left food on the table that I cleaned up. He wants to come back to it every 20 minutes until he’s *actually* done. So, due to the futility of sweeping, I’m thinking instead about installing belaying hardware to navigate the cereal cliffs.

I’m generally great at organizing, but, friend, there are parts of my house that may very well be gross. I hope you brave a visit anyway. Feel free to bring along any coping accessories you may require.

Here is a conversation from this morning.

Ian: Can I split a quesadilla with Elijah and that way we can have a romantic lunch?

Me: Um…sure. What does “romantic” mean to you?

Ian: It means…love. And everything is perfect.

Hmm, I think he may have nailed it. He covered the kid table with a blanket, and set places for himself and his little brother, and there they shared their quesadilla.

And, here is the Isaac quote of the day. He had been spending quality time in the bathroom, close to sunset. He walked out of the bathroom, stood at the back door, analyzing the sky, and said, “Wow. I pooped all day.”

Alas, he is more accomplished than I.

Ian, if you are older, or have invented time travel, and are reading this, the tooth truth of the following story may sting a bit, but hopefully not too much.

Last Saturday morning, we were at the breakfast table eating waffles, when Ian started spitting and sputtering and expelled something from his mouth. “My toof cabe out,” he explained through a wad of Eggo. Sure enough, it was a little, peanut butter-slathered tooth on the napkin. I don’t recall ever letting teeth get that loose, that they could be displaced by a waffle. I worked at mine. He prefers to leave his intact as long as they remain.

Being a veteran of these things — this was his second loose tooth, after all — he explained to his brothers that he would get to put his tooth under his pillow and the Tooth Fairy would bring him money or a prize. Brian (Why, Brian? Why?) asked him which he’d prefer and Ian chose a prize over money.

Then, Ian made me nervous by popping some Rise of the Guardians movie-inspired questions. “Is Jack Frost real? Is the Sandman real?” Brian answered honestly. I guess Ian didn’t want an answer about Toothie.

Later on, when Brian was birthday shopping for our youngest, he came across some clearance Lego sets and picked one up on behalf of our fabled flying friend. That night, in our family bedroom, Brian and I whispered about who was going to do the deed, and I, grasping Brian’s ability to keep himself awake, volunteered. Most nights, I huddle under the blanket with my cellular Glow Worm anyway, catching up on some me time. A couple hours passed, and from what I could tell, our little toothless sleep fighter had given in. I got up, used the restroom, and sneaked the prize out of hiding. I crept toward the head of his bunk, and began to fish for the tooth, when I heard Ian’s head shift suddenly. I panicked and skitter-toed back to my side of the bed, tripping on Brian’s leg, which was thoughtlessly dangling off the bed and across the walkway. I crammed the prize inside a nearby pillow and slid into bed, holding my breath. Ian shifted around for another two hours before I heard his sleepy breathing pattern set in.

At this point, Brian stirs and begins to inquire in a less-than-whispery voice about the mission. I interrupt that Ian has been fighting it, but may be out. NOW, he volunteers to do it, and I hand him the prize-laden pillow. I couldn’t see what happened next, due to blackout curtains and severe Myopia, but he was not at all light on his wings. Fortunately Ian slept through the commotion. We awaken the next morning, and of COURSE Ian is still sleeping. Had we waited until morning, he would have been the first one up, and sorely disappointed.

I see that Ian’s head is bizarrely propped up, like he was tucked in by ogres. I had intended for Brian to remove the Lego box from the extra pillow and set it near Ian’s head, instead of the whole contraption being smooshed under his head, but okay, it worked. I asked where the tooth was. The reply was, “…Oh,” as he retrieved the tooth. Fairy Dad needs a little more training. (And thanks, Mr. Tooth, for letting me giggle at your expense.) Needless to say, Ian awoke, hunted around his pillow stack, and spent a bewildered moment trying to make sense of the lump in his pillow. When he pulled out his prize, he very excitedly pronounced, “I STILL believe the Tooth Fairy leaves a prize under my pillow!”

The next day, as Isaac was saddened with fairy envy, Ian offered that he next time he had a loose tooth, he could put it under Isaac’s pillow. I adore the brother love, and I fear we have set for ourselves a most inconvenient precedent with the tooth prize. Perhaps we could approach it like a toothiversary. First tooth: cotton paper. Second tooth: ABS plastic (Lego). Third tooth: nickel-copper alloy, and so forth. Think it would work?

I’ve had a blast observing the boys today, in spite of it feeling a little hectic. We had enough time to do the morning routine at a steady, but fairly leisurely pace, before going to an appointment. I was on track for an on-time departure by the time I had the boys dressed…in their shorts (?!). I was hesitant when the boys dashed out back to play on their new play set, but thought it might actually be wise to allow them to burn some energy.

I was assembling a row of snacks when Isaac burst in the back door with uncharacteristic enthusiasm, saying, “I need a towel. I went down a water slide and it was AWESOME!!” My frustration reflex was stifled by repressed giggles at his unrestrained joy of having survived the dewy slide. I acknowledged that we would now be driving across town on our wet little bottom, and a towel to sit on may, in fact, be wise.

On the drive, I had intended to rock out to some Fun. songs. However, a great chat ensued. Isaac asked if there was ever a time with no grown ups. Lately it’s come as a revelation that all the adults he sees started out as babies. This took us to Adam and Eve, whereupon Ian asked if Eve killed Adam. I said no and asked what made him think that. He vaguely remembered a story where someone killed someone, and it turned out he was thinking of Cain and Abel. Then he remembered a story about someone touching some water with a stick and making a path. Isaac filled in that it was Moses and the “Red Seas.” Next thing I know, Isaac is rattling off Bible names and stories left and right that I didn’t know he remembered, and filling in details of spiritual concepts I’d start to discuss. He’s so academic. Ian, in this case was remembering concepts. In some things he’s very much a detail guy. It was a very fun chat that lasted the entire hour-long drive.

Speaking of details, in the waiting room, I asked Ian to draw me a picture of himself. He came over a bit later and handed me his pen and paper and asked me to add the letters. I saw that he’d drawn a solid figure, complete with all it’s little boxy fingers and full attire, but to my amusement, there was only the outline of a head because he was focusing on his T-shirt. He was wearing his souvenir shirt from Florida that had race cars overlaid with a shuttle, and on top of all that was the word, “Florida.” He replicated it in impressive detail, but was hoping I’d do the text. Not wanting to mar the drawing, I wrote in the space on the shirt above his drawing. He said, “Nooo, it’s supposed to go over top!” So I started writing it on top, but clearly incorrectly again, so he huffed and took the picture back to his seat and proceeded to black it out. I try hard to encourage mistakes as valuable, but he simply won’t have a drawing that veers off his plotted course. I’m so disappointed that I didn’t get to see how it turned out.

When we got back home, Ian started pushing Elijah around the house on a little ride-on car. They stopped and Elijah lamented to me that he wanted to “rocket blast” more. Ian, in a surprisingly calm and mature tone, called from the stairs, “Elijah, if you continue to crash, I will stop pushing.” They worked it out and started playing again. In fact, on one turn, they came around the corner, and Ian stopped to pick up toys in the path and put them away. I felt like he woke up as age 34 this morning (Maybe my strained attempts at modeling communication and responsibility are sinking in!?). He remained particularly helpful and communicative, until this evening, when he tried a really poorly-acted rendition of Elijah’s mind-changing tantrum-tossing spiel. But I wrapped my arms around him and clung tightly as he thrashed and lurched his way to the top of Joy Mountain (our fluffy pillow chair), trying desperately not to laugh as I narrated. He then flung himself into the Swamp of Despair, but by then he was too out of character to make much of it.

Meanwhile, Isaac, who keeps telling us he loves the nickname, “Ike,” sat at the table, eating a sandwich and singing the Spider Man song, with an uncontrollable urge to correct it, “Spider Man, Spider Man, does whatever a spider can…do,” and then wonders aloud what the Spanish word for “Spanish” is.

Yes, random person in every store I go to, I do have my hands full.

Before Christmas, we let him set up our old Christmas tree in his play room because he sobbed all afternoon about the idea of us donating it. After all, he had so many memories with it and he practically is Mr. Christmas. It takes up a tremendous amount of space, and I’ve checked many times to see if he was ready to say goodbye. Today he said we could take a picture of it and then donate it. I told him I’d do one better. We put together a little album of memories called “Ian and Tree.” Enjoy.

Ahh, those lazy days of sleeping in and watching cartoons.

Playing hide & seek

Trying out exciting new recipes together

Endless hours on the playground

Even bonding over some hard work

And after every big job, relaxing in the sun with a cool lemonade.

Those were the days!