Okay, I have been remiss in updating the blog recently. I've been suffering with a dysfunctional Eustachian tube for the last three months which has caused 3 ear and sinus infections requiring multiple rounds of antibiotics, hives due to an allergic reaction to amoxicillin which required multiple rounds of prednisone, nausea and vomiting due to vertigo, lack of sleep due to constant pain. At worst, I need Mike to come pick the kids and I up, and want to drive ice picks in my ears to alleviate the pressure. At best, I take mass quantities of ibuprofen to dull the pain so I can sleep. In between, I am trying to keep up with work, raising two kids, and helping out with the regular household maintenance. Sadly, this leaves blogging low on the priority list.
However, it's Opening Day for Red Sox Nation, leaving me sitting in front of the TV for at least another hour. Perfect time to update any remaining readers on life in the Trahan household.
TROUBLE #1:Mikie is surviving kindergarten. I say "surviving" because, while he is doing well and everyone I have spoken to agrees he was too bright to do a third year of preschool, he is far from the top of his class. The most frustrating thing (probably for his teacher even more than Mike and I) is that he doesn't care. For example, at the last parent teacher conference, his teacher told me he has been improving, but that she isn't sure that he is doing his "best work". She specifically mentioned asking him one day "Is that your best work?" a question which would cause most kids to quake and spend hours toiling over their next paper. Mikie replied nonchalantly, "I don't know" and proceeded to continue without a care in the world. It isn't that he isn't getting the concepts, it's that he doesn't seem to appreciate the methods. Writing: the kid had no problem writing Valentines (he even colored a heart on his girlfriend Olivia's). But, getting him to write the letter "D" ten times for homework, and it would drag on for hours. He would draw a "D" that spanned half the line, and, giggling, ask Mike if he did a good job. Even Mike, the epitome of patient, looks like he is going to lose all of his hair some evenings. The school work makes me laugh: papers come home with directions "Color the picture that begins with the letter 'Z'." On Mikie's paper, their is a yellow line (no joke, one slash of color) through the zipper and zebra. Not exactly what the teacher had in mind.
He is clearly the side effect of two left-brained parents. The kid can tackle math and science concepts like nobody's business. The kid who makes patterns with his food at dinner has no trouble finishing the pattern. He is counting close to 100 with little help (he frequently forgets 13). He's doing simple addition. And, critical to his future desire to help Grumpy and Grandma Kerrie at the snack bar, he is learning about money. I promised to get coin wrappers to help him wrap all the money in his piggy bank, so he can get a better understanding for the value of coins versus dollars.
On weekends, he still loves his hockey. We signed him up for another 10 weeks of skills classes. He's getting much more confident on the ice. Mike took some video of him at class a few weeks ago. He made a couple of goals from pretty far back (which Mike bragged about since the other kids shot from right in front of the goal). Worst case, he can go to RPI on a hockey scholarship, major in management, and "make sure everyone is doing their job right" which his astute explanation of what Mike does for a living.
Here's a picture of Trouble helping make "elephant toothpaste" during a lab they did with one of the first grade teachers. According to the teacher, he got to measure out and add the hydrogen peroxide. According to Mikie, he got to wear goggles like a scuba diver and the teacher used a squirter to squirt water at him.
And, proud of the progress he's made reading, I'm including a
short clip of Mikie reading one of his WEB books. WEB = We're Excited about Books or something like that. Each kid gets a book to bring home. When they can read it, they bring it back, read it to the teacher or parent volunteer, and get a new one. When they've returned 20 books, they get a prize. Mikie just got his 3rd prize last Friday.
TROUBLE #2:I think it is safe to say that Hannah is a force to be reckoned with. Most people who meet her comment how pleasant she is. To which Mike and I reply, almost in unison, "when she gets her way." She may be small, but she is feisty. Most mornings, Hannah thankfully sleeps until right before we leave the house. She eats a snack at home (or in the car) and has breakfast at daycare. Mostly because she refuses to eat baby food if the rest of us are eating people food. She will sit in her high chair, scope out the selection at the table, glare at me, pound her fist on the table and yell "Maw". To the untrained ear, you would think she is yelling "Mom". But, I have learned to differentiate. "Mom" is typically "Ma-ma". "Maw" is Hannah's attempt to say "more". I fear this one will have a horrible Massachusetts accent, given that she is already dropping her r's at one.
She now has five teeth: her two bottom front teeth along with three on the top. Although, not the three you would think. She is missing her right front tooth, but has the right incisor already. This causes me frequent angst that she has inherited my dental issues. If it doesn't come in soon, I suspect the pediatrician will do an x-ray to see if she has a tooth there. Sadly, this would not be her first x-ray. In her effort to keep up with her brother (who has caused us numerous trips to the ER over his five years of life), Hannah came home from daycare a couple of weeks ago with, what looked like a broken toe. It was a creepy shade of gray, extremely swollen, and, she wouldn't put any weight on it. Upon inspection by the doctor, they informed me that there wasn't much they could do if it was broken. However, being that the bruise was where her toe met her foot, they were concerned that a bone in her foot might be broken. Hence, the x-rays. Fortunately, it was early enough in the evening that we avoided going to the ER. And, thankfully, her foot was not broken. A fact I deduced prior to getting the results, since the little troublemaker decided to take her first steps in the waiting room.
Yes, Nibbles is now walking without assistance. It took her long enough. She has been cruising for the last five months. Her teacher told me she had recently taken to holding on to her boyfriend, Robert, like a mini conga line so that she could walk and still hold onto someone. Granted, no one believed me when I said she started walking at the hospital, because she refused to give an encore performance for Mike and Mikie when we got home. We managed to capture a few steps on film
here.
You may notice the potty in the video. While I would love to say that Hannah is potty trained at age one, I cannot. Nor am I crazy enough to attempt trying. The child is obsessed with the toilet. If the door is closed, she will bang on the bathroom door until you let her in, regardless of who is in there. She bangs on the door when any of us are using the bathroom. If the door is open, she will either unroll all the toilet paper, push the step stool over to the sink and climb up to attempt to wash her hands. God forbid the toilet seat is open, she will splash around in the water. If someone happens to be sitting on the toilet when she finds her way in, she will try and close the lid on you and/or attempt to push you off the seat so she can see what is inside. Very ladylike. So, in my effort to demystify the toilet, I brought out the potty (which Mikie never used) for Hannah to play with. She loves it. She pushes it around the house, sits on it, stands IN it (yes, feet in the bowl), hides toys in it. Needless to say, I spend a lot of time trying to correct the bad behaviors ("No toys in the potty", "No standing in the potty", etc.) before I find a doll in the toilet.
That completes my update. Perfect timing: the Red Sox just beat the Yankees 9 to 7.
Happy Easter. Go Sox!
Love, The Trahans
I have to say, my lies started out innocently enough, same as most parents. Santa is a kind old man who lives at the North Pole (please, Mikie, don't look at a map and realize that their is no land mass in the Arctic Ocean). The whole point of my lie being to bring some magic into my child's life. . .
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