Presenting Halloween in the Wenchverse
Sean is the Full Belly Alchemist. I mean, Ed Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist.
The gloves are a leeettle big, and hopefully he won’t end up in therapy over the it’s actually-a-girl’s-turtleneck thing.
So yes, his robe for this and next year? Has a little extra design on it.
As far as I know, he’s okay.
I say ‘as far as I know’ because I’m in VA, at my second biggest conference of the year.
Cause Sean has this MAD MAD SKILL YO for getting unbelievably ill right before I go out of town.
Thursday we kept him home, and he improved markedly through the day. Friday he was so spiffing he went to daycare and didn’t need a breathing treatment after his nap there nor did he get winded and wheezy running around on the playground. Meds seem to be helping. His doc has added one, and he sees her Tuesday. Lad didn’t seem too ready to crack under the strain of steroid addled monkeychild.
God do I owe him big right now.
God do I feel like a shitty parent for just handing him off and traipsing off on business trip.
I’m trying not to be melodramatic. Really, I’m not. But then you’re pillar to post with meetings- each and every one of them big, and important, and you call during a break to check on your kid because you know, something was just off about him today with his allergies, and they answer the phone with ‘We were just about to call you, because he woke up from nap with breathing difficulties’, it’s hard not to vault straight into melodrama territory.
I’d like to say ‘Sean is fine’. This morning, I can’t. Sean will be fine. It is nothing so bad that it can’t be handled, but show me a parent who remains sanguine when their child is laboring for breath and I’ll show you someone with access to far better drugs than I. Long time readers of Wiremonkeymother will know the kiddo is severely croup prone, with, as his pediatrician wonderingly put it, the fastest crash time in the west. We have not had to amp up to regular breathing treatments at home. Uuuuuuntil now.
He’s been diagnosed with the maddeningly vague and non-specific ‘Reactive Airway Disease’ (is it asthma? is it not? all depends on the literature you read!) plus croup on top of it, making for a festival of wheezing and barking and inability to move air, oh, at all. He’s on steroids out the yin yang, antihistamines, breathing treatments, you name it, he’s on it.
Yesterday, at the ER, he sat on the bed in the room quietly waiting for the doctor to come in. I knew, as a mom, Sean was in bad shape, but as a scientist it’s hard to say ‘I know he’s settled down now but rile him up and you’ll see how bad off he is a mother knows these things’. A rotating student was there, eagerly asking me questions as they rarely see peds in that ER. As the doc came in, she commented to him that Sean was such a nice, well behaved, sweet little boy.
The doctor looked at my boy, sitting there forlornly on the bed, and said, “Yes, and that means he’s very, very ill because no two year old should be just sitting like that.”
That would be when I really started to worry.
Yes. The shirt has a print of a viking helmet with ‘Wicked’ under it. And yet, he looks so innocent….
Or DOES HE?
The temperature has dropped 39 degrees since the beginning of the week. I am nearly dizzy with joy. Because I? Am in flare jeans (which when Sean nearly pantsed me, I discovered I have lost too much weight and they are now falling off my body. Whoops) and my Frye Harness Boots, baby! I thonked on into daycare and scared the crap out of one of the moms.
So. Happy.
Hi can you tell I finally slapped new batteries in the camera? Click below.
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We’ve hit the increasing independence phase. The want-to-be-like-the-big-people phase. The I-do-it-myself phase (thank god, this may make toilet training go more easily. I am currently reading a book which encourages setting a weekend aside for intensive training as the kickoff. It refers to it as the ‘potty mambo’, which leads to very unfortunate mental images of those Championship Ballroom Dance! competition shows on PBS. I don’t think Sean’s quite ready to grease his hair and chest, nor wear that much spandex. It also advocates doing silly fun things to celebrate each milestone, one of the suggestions being throw confetti the first time the kid uses the potty appropriately. I can really think of nothing I could do which would be more counterproductive than to throw brightly colored paper bits when my OCD child is enshrined on his throne, because Sean? Will want to stop what he is doing immediately, run to the laundry room, and grab the swiffer and dustpan and clean it all up.)
Erm, where were we? Independence, yes. I put my toothbrush away, I clean my toys, I put my leftovers in the fridge. We introduced him to showering while in DC, so now it’s a way to get him clean fast. Unless, of course, he doesn’t want to be bothered to wait for a parent to get into the shower with him. In which case, he shuts the door on us, grabs his johnson’s and johnson’s, and lathers himself up. My child has a self cleaning setting! WOOO FRIGGEN HOO!
And as some of you know, the stash grew, thanks to sales right when I posted the last stash pic, and going out of town and hitting Stitch DC. And, erm, the Studio in KC.
From the top, 12 o’clock. Bag of 2 tone brown Rowan Big Wool for a sweater. The reds, blue, and green skeins are all from the studio, for various projects (pics soon, all fast projects). The orange and moss green skeins are both Rowanspun DK on megasale, for a two tone sweater for Sean next year. Oatmeal and Grey donegal wool is Thaki Donegal homespun for a pocket sweater for Sean from Miss Bea’s Band. Bag of sage green is summer tweed Rowan on HOLY SHIT sale. 5 skeins in 2 colorways of Manos Del Uruguay for a pillow and a scarf. Sacks of rowan biggy print in savage (black) for a sweater.
Click below to see recent holy shit omgwtfbbq completed projects
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