Crafty Guest Post

Such a flurry of activity today, here on Whispers and Shouts! I wrote a guest post on my new friend Nikki's mom blog and she posted it today. It's about my attempt at being crafty and it only resulted in one blister. Enjoy, and think twice about the power of glue guns, especially when used late at night.

Thursday Thesicle

Don't forget about the bread you stuck in the cupboard to feed to the ducks.

Vision News

Two weeks before Christmas we got the second best news we've ever heard concerning Cal's eye. The best news was when the specialist in Long Island told us that Cal's retina was not detached and that he could fix it. A couple weeks before that we had been told that his retina was detached, that he would never see, and that most likely his eye would die and have to be extracted, resulting in problems with his skull developing correctly as he grew. You can imagine the mercurial emotions Brian and I felt during that time. I wanted to punch the retina specialist in Washington in the face for his misdiagnosis and I wanted to make out with the one in New York.

It turned out that the doctors knew each other and the New York doctor made a call to the Washington doctor and in the end, despite my anger at him, we still see the first doctor, who has since proven to be apologetic about his mistake and awesome in general. He's actually one of the best retina guys in Washington. I again cannot stress enough the importance of getting a second opinion. Cal's PHPV is so rare that only a handful of doctors in the entire country specialize in it and the one we found in New York has done extensive research on the condition. Let me tell you, that man will get a Christmas card from here on out, and all of our referrals. He assured us that the Washington doctor's mistake was an honest one, and one many doctors would make.

Fast forward through more surgeries and contacts and patching and eye drops. In July of this year Cal's pediatric ophthalmologist tested his vision and said he couldn't see well at all and was grim about his chances of ever seeing better. She's the one who originally prescribed his contact strength when he was five months old. We weren't happy about that news and her lack of curiosity for what he actually could see, and so we saw yet another ophthalmologist in August, who found that Cal was farsighted in his good eye and he prescribed Cal's glasses. 

We saw yet another pediatric ophthalmologist simply for convenience sake because this guy didn't operate in the same hospital as our retina guy and we didn't want to have to put Cal under anesthesia twice when both investigative exams could be done at one time by two doctors. She is the wife of Cal’s retina specialist-- the guy who misdiagnosed him. She is awesome. When he was under anesthesia she found that Cal needed a much weaker contact prescription than what he had. So, two weeks before Christmas she did a vision test on Cal with the new strength. Usually they use images instead of letters to test young children's sight. She covered his good eye, turned on a screen across the room with a letter on it, and reached for the button to turn on the images instead of letters. Cal immediately blurted out, "T." She was surprised and said, "You know your letters!" Yep.

She switched screens to smaller and smaller letters and we both looked at each other in amazement as he kept saying them correctly. This screen was ten feet across the room! With his stronger prescription he couldn't see nearly that far-- it must have blurred his vision at longer distances. Of course I got goose bumps and the doctor, who knew of her husband's misdiagnosis and of Cal's amazing tale thus far, made me like her even more with her excitement. She said she couldn't wait to tell her husband and that he would be so happy to hear it. It kind of made me want to invite them both to our gingerbread party, but maybe I'll wait until next year for that.

So that's the happy update on Cal's vision. Yay!

Lookin' good. Seein' well!

The Short Life of My Nose Finger

I'm not street smart by any means, but I know that some drug users grow out a fingernail or two so they can snort their drugs easier and more conveniently. A drug finger, I guess you would say. Well, I had a nose finger. That's right. When I was cutting my fingernails, which I keep very short, about a week ago, I accidentally missed the nail on my left index finger. I meant to go back to the clippers and finish it off, but of course I kept getting interrupted and forgetting. 

It just so happened that the boys were in the middle of giant booger-dom. They've had these lingering colds that don't seem to make them feel bad, they just produce a disturbing amount of boogers that crust all over their noses and make me feel like an incompetent mother. I remember being grossed out by kids' boogers before I was a mom and wondering, judgmentally, how the parents could just be out in public with a kid whose boogers were visibly crustified and nasty. Now I know.

It is ridiculously difficult to reach and wrangle up the crusty boogers from inside a squirming child's nostrils. You can try being civilized and using a tissue or a wipe, but when it comes down to it, that won't get the crusty parts that trap the slimy danglers up in the nostrils that hang there to be seen and grimaced at.  Sorry, I had to say it. Slimy danglers.

Well, I accidentally found the answer. Serendipity! My nose finger! With my index finger longer than my other fingers, I found myself using it to extract the boogers that first day. At the end of the day when I finally pulled out the clippers, I made eye contact with myself in the bathroom mirror and smirked. I put the clippers back in the drawer.

So for about a week I've depended on my nose finger to reach those hard-to-reach places in the boys' noses, much to their dismay. I'm sure it's unpleasant to experience my surprise-attacks as I swiftly slide my right hand on their necks and my nose finger up their noses, but I don't care because it makes them much more presentable and grosses me out less. I mean, I find it hard to be by them when they have those crusted danglers because I zero in on them and don't pay attention to what the boys are saying to me. "Mommy! Clark stepped in the toilet!" “Cal fell off the bunk bed!” Smile and nod, and shamelessly attack with my nose finger. Victory!

Anyway, this morning I clipped my nose finger off. I realized that, regardless of how practical it was, it was getting to be over-the-top disgusting and besides that it made typing difficult. Farewell, nose finger. Stand guard, though. I may call on you again, however. Maybe next cold season. 

Outside boogers are hard to reach when it's cold. The answer? Nose finger!

Top Pictures

I flat out stole this idea from several other mom bloggers. It was easy to do because I put together a calendar for my grandparents and parents every year and so have been wading through pictures for the best ones. Here are thirteen pictures--one from each month of the year, and two from August. It's fun to see how the boys have changed.

January kisses

February Valentines

March snuggles

April birthday!

May Twins

June ocean

July sparklers

August sand

September glasses

October fans

November ties

December surprises

Best of 2011

Here we are, awaiting the end of 2011 at my in-law's lakehouse somewhere in southern Virginia. Calvin has only fallen into the freezing cold lake once today. Brian somehow lost a metal wedge while cutting firewood. Clark had an epic booger experience that I hope I never see the likes of again. I went "running," which is a misrepresentation of the way I was moving my body along the hilly terrain, but at least I did something. The best part was when I ran by a deserted old house with a tiny fenced-in graveyard and ancient lace curtains in the windows. I could practically hear the Confederate (or would it have been Union?) soldiers hiding under the planks on the deck.

I thought I'd take this peaceful time, as the sun sets on the glass-smooth lake and the boys nap, to share with you my favorite and the most popular posts from this past year. Here they are in the order in which they appeared. Enjoy and Happy New Year!

first one on epilepsy

on oatmeal

inappropriate old man

on words

Terrible Shark Twos

the boys meet the ocean!

white person!

ceiling fans

more ceiling fans

goat milk and canning and Costco

pool wars

baseball games

creating shelf-topia

Cal's eye

cutting hair

pretend words

water wars

Mommy, you had a seizure

walking off the pounds

ceiling fan costumes

our pretenders

100th post!

how I eat scraps

the Santa question

Thursday Thesicle

Baking Christmas cookies is serious business.

Is Santa Coming?

I don’t know what to do about Santa. Who knew that the fat guy in red would ever pose a problem for me? I grew up not believing for a moment that Santa was real. My parents didn’t want to lie to my siblings and me, or to substitute the man in the red suit for the baby in the manger. I don't feel scarred by never believing. Brian grew up believing in Santa for awhile, but eventually caught on. He doesn’t even remember when he realized that Santa was his parents, so he clearly was not traumatized by the revelation like some kids are. He remembers that the magic of it was exciting for awhile, but is inclined, as I am, not to lie to our boys about Santa. A friendly man in line at the coffee shop the other day asked the boys who was coming soon (they didn't answer, just kept counting the chocolate milks) and then asked me slyly, "Well Mom, is Santa coming?" I didn't mean to, but I basically unloaded on him what Brian and I have been talking about when it comes to Santa. He had no idea the answer to his question would take so long.

Things to consider:

Enchantment: The magic of it does seem like it could be fun. Looking into the sky and searching for a sleigh and a really nice old man using flying reindeer to bring you what you want must be amazing. I don't want to cheat my kids of childhood fantasies, but on the other hand, I remember being completely enchanted by books I read as a child even though I knew they were fiction. I mean, knowing that Gilbert Blythe wasn't real didn't stop me from wanting to kiss him. I simply can’t bear the thought of having 10 year-olds who still believe in Santa and to whom we will have to one day admit we’ve been lying their entire lives. I’ve read what other parents have written about being in that exact position and how paralyzing it is. What else might we be lying about to them? 

Cookies and Carrots and Elves: I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t tell my boys to leave cookies for Santa and carrots for his reindeer. I couldn’t tell them that an elf is watching to see if they are good and report to Santa. It would eat at my conscience. No way. It was nothing that my parents told me and so it seems so unnatural and silly to me. For me, it would be like telling them with a straight face that Curious George is sitting on the toilet taking a poop in front of them even though they can’t see him. Which would probably make them want to beat me up, by the way.

It’s Still Magical: I loved Christmas growing up. For my family though, the magic and mystery of the season did not come from Santa and his elves, but from the gifts that we bought each other in secret and whispered about together, the kind things we did and made for others around us, the baking we did together, and of course celebrating the miracle of Christ’s birth all those years ago. We always got boxes of gifts and baked goods from my grandparents in Minnesota, and gifts from other distant family members. My grandparents who lived near us always gave us great gifts and came over for dinner. I remember lying underneath our thin, probably crooked Christmas trees (cut from the woods behind our house) every year looking up at the lights and ornaments and wondering about the gifts under the tree. Wondering who had given me what. Wondering how my brother would react when he saw what I bought him. Wondering what it might have been like all those years ago for the shepherds keeping watch over their sheep and that little couple in the stable. My sister and I hung snowflakes from our ceiling with fishing line and put lights up in our room. We fell asleep every night for a month listening to Christmas carols and plotting how we were going to pull off surprising Mom and Dad with something nice. Christmas Eve was always exciting. After our extended family left, we tried to fall asleep. We would hear Mom and Dad whispering and giggling as they filled our stockings, and we would squeeze our eyes tight as we willed ourselves to sleep, wondering what little things Mom had been hiding all year (and where?!) would appear in our stockings. It was a magical season, just not elf and reindeer powered.

Please Don’t Hate Us: I know that this decision would have social repercussions. How many of our friends and relatives will Cal or Clark offend if they blurt out to their children that Santa is not real? I don’t remember that my siblings or I ever did that. We knew Santa was pretend, but we didn’t shout it from the rooftops. I just don’t quite know how to delicately handle the situation.

Finding Middle Ground: The boys just a few weeks ago discovered Santa. “Who is that silly man?” Clark asked me. I told him it was Santa and he didn’t ask any questions. I don’t think we will actively tell them Santa isn’t real, but we aren’t going to make a big deal of it. As for now, they know that people give each other Christmas gifts—we’ve had a few gift exchanges with friends and with my brother. They have helped make Christmas gifts for friends and relatives. They know that the gifts under the tree are from us and Grandma and Papa and Gammy and Poppy. They know that Christmas is Jesus’ birthday. Why complicate things and create what could be a problem down the road? Instead I guess we’re basically ignoring the jolly old fellow for now and hoping that other elements of Christmas prove more memorable for the boys. 

As the man at the coffee shop said, while grasping for his double cappuccino on the way out the door and undoubtedly regretting having engaged me in conversation, "It's a big decision." 

Thoughts? I would love any input and/or advice you might have. Leave a comment! What is your experience as a child and/or parent? What have you told your kids? What do you plan to tell your kids? Why? Will you disown us if our boys tell your kids that Santa is pretend? I’d really love to know.

Santa-killer out.

Talk about seasonal magic: The boys eat their first-ever candy canes.

This is me one toothless Christmas before we moved to the woods
and cut our own trees.
I seem pretty well-adjusted, right?

Thursday Thesicle

Boys are often fond of boogers, yelling, and drinking naked.

Gingerworld

I want to provide some pictures of our gingerbread extravaganza this year. First of all, I baked all the gingerbread for the party a week in advance, which was an unprecedented display of maturity and organization that I have not shown for quite some time. This meant that I did not stay up late every night of the week with Delilah and my rolling pin, covering the house in a fine layer of flour, the spicy smell of gingerbread, and stacks of gingerbread house pieces. I just did normal people things and some Christmasy projects. It was odd. I kind of missed Delilah.

Instead I stood on my feet for what felt like 48 hours the weekend before at my in-laws' house baking. The picture below shows what I baked. You can't exactly tell, but those gingerbread men are huge. I put the (regular-sized) toothpaste tube in for scale, because it's more impressive that way.

The7th annual gingerbready party was another smashing success. Here are some pictures.

A weekend's work (toothpaste tube for scale)

Gingerbread cowboy!

Candyland!

Nativity scene

Margo made a ceiling fan with her gingerbread couple.

Calvin ate Margo's gingerbread ceiling fan.

Ava and Ethan showed their parents how to build a house.

The Korins completed their annual masterpiece.

Andrew expertly decorated his gingerbread man and tree.

The Cupolo family's townhouse

The boys put blue pajamas on their gingerbread boys...and candy in their mouths.

Aunt Julie and John fashioned the first-ever Crosson gingerbread grand piano.

Masterpiece of the year, I'd say.

National's minor gingerbread league ballpark which I constructed days after the party.

If that gingerbread explosion doesn't put you in the Christmas spirit, I don't know what will, people. Now if only Virginia could get a white Christmas this year instead of a white Valentine's Day...