Waiting for the other shoe to drop

Our family has been in a self-imposed quarantine state since this morning.

Last night Jackson handily returned his half-eaten dinner into his plate. He quite literally tossed his crackers. At first we thought he had just gagged after overstuffing his mouth with goldfish. Then we wondered if maybe he had eaten something bad during the day since the remnants had a sour milk stench to it. But by the time midnight rolled around, we were wondering if he had the nastiest of all viruses - the stomach flu. What evidence would suggest that, you ask? More signs of dinner (and the after-purge replacement snack we gave him) making its reappearance on his bed, his pajamas, and the bucket we rushed next to his bed. Twice more.

So we decided that we would play it safe and not go to church and run the risk of potentially infecting others if it was viral in origin. I emailed the hosts of our Sunday evening small group to let them know not to expect us, moved Kiran out of Jackson's room, and climbed into bed with Ian nervously awaiting more of the same.

The night was blissfully uninterrupted, causing us to lean toward a diagnosis of food poisoning, but we still planned to stay home the rest of the day. Then I checked my email. It turned out that some friends Jackson had visited with on Thursday night were similarly affected - both adults had taken ill. With that information we felt safe in diagnosing him with the stomach flu. But we didn't feel safe at all. That meant we had most likely been exposed to the same virus.

It's been a rather surreal day. It was quite enjoyable not having an agenda. We watched "Cars", which Jackson finally earned after going to the potty 24 times. And we cleaned a bit, since we had an incentive to get the carpet under the dinner table clean. But the entire day was undergirded by a sense of doom. We were just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Wondering if and when one or all of the rest of us would succumb to the stomach flu. Every time Ian would move toward the bathroom, I would wonder if the time had come. And as I took my Sunday afternoon nap, he heard the gurgles of my stomach and wondered if I was the next victim.

So far so good. Another 24 hours or so and we'll know if we're all clear. In the meantime, we're here waiting for the other shoe to drop and sincerely, earnestly hoping that it doesn't and that we make it out of this most recent infectious episode unscathed.

Ah the joys of children and the viral farmer's market to which they avail us!

Clarice

Kiran's Big Brother

Kiran's big brother loves her.

He kisses her.



He hugs her.




He makes her laugh like nobody else can.



And yesterday, he started "reading" to her.



I heard him before I saw them. I had left her in our big papasan chair for a moment. I had just changed her diaper and went to wash my hands. I heard him squeaking away in the "baby voice" he reserves for her. Then I heard him say "This is cheese. This is apple. This is bwoccoli." When I went in the room, I found them cuddled up together with a book. He specifically picked out the "Babys' First 100 Words" picture book and climbed up in the chair to show her the pictures. It was very sweet. She's a very blessed little girl to have such an attentive big brother.

Clarice

Conflict Resolution

This past Monday, Ian and I had our quarterly meeting with Jackson's preschool teachers (yep, he's considered a preschooler now). They started off by telling us how he is such a happy boy, full of energy, and a delight to have in the class. Then they started telling us that the newest arrivals (which included Jackson and 7 of his little friends) were currently working on understanding conflict resolution (aren't we all?). They diplomatically proceeded to tell us that Jackson was making great improvements, but that his primary method of conflict resolution involved hands and tears. They were working on helping him to use his words instead of pushing, hitting, or crying. I asked how they taught conflict resolution. They said they had several steps involving identifying the problem, telling both sides of the story, coming up with a potential solution, determining if the solution was acceptable to both parties, and if not, proposing alternate solutions. I got overwhelmed at the idea that these teachers spent all day doing this with 2.5 to 4.5 year olds.

On Thursday, I went to pick up Jackson. He was over by the bookshelf, deciding on which book to "read" next. After he gave me his perfunctory hello kiss, he told me he wanted to read one more book. Just as he picked up a book, Z (whose name will remain anonymous to protect his identity) swooped in and grabbed it out of his hands. Jackson immediately started crying (see post below for an example of the type of cry). I started sweating a bit. The teacher was on the other side of the room talking to one of the other parents. I reminded Jackson to tell Z that he was using it. Despite two vehement declarations of "I was using that", Z continued reading through Jackson's desired book in a rather unfazed manner. The teacher was still not available. Jackson was still crying loudly. So I asked the two boys (yep, the perpetrator was another boy...who will remain anonymous) if they could think of a solution to the problem. From a few yards away, JJ ran over and picked up a random book and tried to shove it in Jackson's hand. "He-ah, Jasson. Read this," she implored. M also left his books and ran over, giving Jackson a brief pat on the back. "Don't cry. It's okay," he suggested. Z looked up then and suggested, "We could share it." He moved his body slightly to make room for Jackson to sit down next to him. "Share it, Jackson, share it," M agreed, jumping up and down excitedly. Z looked up at Jackson, who was not making any moves to sit next to him. He then speed-read the rest of the book and handed it over with a sweet expression and his trademark cocked head. "Oh, sank you!" Jackson declared. Tears stopped, smile returned, and all was well in the world. If only adult conflict resolution efforts were so successful.

Clarice

Quoted at CNN.com

The reporter was looking for an "expert" in children's dentistry. She got my take on Halloween candy.

Clarice

Fake Crying

By the time Jackson was just a couple of months old we had gotten pretty good at the art of determining what his cries meant. He had a specific cry for hungry, for gas, for just a little tired, and a real distinct one for too tired to try to fall asleep. Around one year of age a new cry entered into the lexicon. We were pretty sure it was an angry cry because we would hear it at lights out time when we left him alone in his darkened room to sleep. And it would stop as soon as we reentered the room. However, at around two years of age, the newest one entered in - the fake cry.

It happens several times a day, usually when Jackson doesn't get what he wants or when he has to do something he doesn't want to do. We know it's a fake cry because it is seldom accompanied by tears and he can turn it off in a nanosecond. Well last week, I asked him to go wash his hands for dinner and (as always) he launched into his fake cry with gusto. I followed him into the bathroom to monitor his handwashing progress and caught him watching himself cry in the mirror. He would occasionally stop and change facial expressions or sounds. When he saw me, he stopped crying for a second or two, then launched right back into it. So I joined him in fake crying and before long we were both laughing. It was then that I decided that I must capture the fake cry on video.

I only had to wait two days for this.



You know it can't be a real traumatic situation if you can keep washing your hands and say "I wanna see, Mommy" while maintaining the pretense of crying.

Clarice

Family Zerberts