My Alligator Purse

Alexander is 17 months old and seems to be taking after William rather than Lainy Ann in the speech department.

His words are:
“cheese” – when taking a picture, not the food
“kitty”/”cookie” – they sound the same
“mama”
“dada”
“tetetete” – his word for eat, which is really just the t-sound

The rest of his communication tools include a series of whines and screeches. The pitch tells me what he means and pointing tells me what he wants. He will also nod and shake his head.

But he is no where near average for children his age. Spending time with his cousins recently really reminded me of how delayed he really is. His receptive language is fabulous though. In fact, this morning he threw a plate to the ground and spilled food. I told him to pick it up and he did. He even picked up all the food bits.

Regardless I have called Lanterman Regional Center and we are beginning the process of evaluating for speech. It can take up to 45 days so I am glad we called when he was 17 months rather than 18 months.

There is something going on with kitty. I don’t want to bore you with all the details, but it includes vomiting on my brand new rug. My husband decided that kitty needed to see the doctor and we all know what that means. It means that *I* need to take kitty (and 4 kids) to the doctor.

So I called the vet to get an appointment and the helpful receptionist says, “We have time this afternoon.” This seems like a less than ideal situation. Not only will I be taking 4 children and a cat to the vet right after school, which in our house is cranky/hungry time. But we are having a huge thunderstorm complete with hail and winds. So I reply to the receptionist, “Sure, we will be there in 30 minutes”.

I grabbed the kitty and grabbed some granola bars and we head out in the rain. All the way there I get to answer questions about why the kitty is crying and why he doesn’t understand English. So then the kids decide to meow at him to tell kitty that we are going to the vet and to not worry.

We get to the vet and into a room and are (semi) patiently waiting. The doctor starts to ask me about symptoms while the kids are, well, being kids. The baby wants to be held so he can see, Lainy Ann is doing homework, but must stand next to me to do it, and Connor is playing with the kitty, while the doctor is trying to keep him still. William is in his own little world bouncing around, but whenever he gets too close to Connor, Connor lets out a scream. Yet I am trying to talk to the doctor through all this mess.

At this point the doctor is telling me that my cat is ruling the roost. His symptoms are behavioral and I am a bad kitty-mommy. The low-roar in the room is cresting and I remember the granola bars in my purse. I quickly dole them out and . . . . . SILENCE. Now I can talk to the doctor. But he wants to do the talking. He says, “Do you see what just happened? The kids were bothering you and you fed them and now they are quiet. I bet that’s what is happening with kitty too.”

Fabulous! Even the vet is telling me I’m a bad parent.

Ssssshhhh . . . . . . I have a secret. Don’t tell my husband. For years the kids have been putting toys in his boots; balls, cars, paperclips, blocks, small little odds and ends. He usually finds them as he gets ready for work in the morning, but not until he puts his foot in the boot. At which point he grumble about “these kids” and dumps out his boot. He rarely checks his boot first.

In the last few months I have decided to leave my own little reminders of his children and how much he is loved. I, too, have been adding things to his boots. Not all the time, just often enough so he can be reminded about how wonderful it is to be a family man.

Four kids and they all have some striking similarities. Like all kids they adore electronics, remotes, basically anything they aren’t supposed to have. The Holy Grail of all this is untouchable is Daddy’s Office. It is his sanctuary, as it should be, he works from home occasionally and he revives my dead camera, cell phone or Nintendo DS, because the kids played with it. I can only imagine that it is beautiful to a child; 3 huge landscape flat screen monitors, tons of tiny screwdrivers, which seem to be the perfect size for tiny hands.

Alexander has discovered this magical place. He is only *allowed* back there under supervision in the arms of an adult. At which point he wiggles and squirms and gives out adorable smiles until he gets what he wants – to be put on the ground where he can reach everything. But even better than that is to sneak back to the office undetected so he has a few minutes alone to explore to his hearts content. But short-stuff has gotten too smart for his own good. Now when he sneaks down the stairs he closes the gate behind him. That way when I panic and can’t find him I immediately dismiss the office because, well, the gate is closed.

He hasn’t figured out how to cover his tracks yet. Just yesterday he left a tell-tale half eaten granola bar next to the mouse. He must have discarded it in glee ready to start using the computer. I think he may have accidentally discarded my husbands emails too . . . . .

I know I have posted time and time again that the yard is the kids domain. They “steal” the recycling trash and make inventions. Every few weeks I have to scour the castle and other hidey spots in my yard for the trash. They even take stuff out of the trashcans to create lemonade stands, garage sales, or play house. I think they were in hog heaven when we remodeled the kitchen last summer and they got to color and draw all over 30+ cabinet boxes.

Box-Fort out of boxes that held kitchen cabinets

We recently found an old Halloween skeleton. It was tossed onto the porch to await the next trip out to the trash. But as I just looked outside I discovered the castle decorated with bones. Its like a warning to the rest of the neighborhood; don’t trespass or we will maim you. It looks so much like the castles in those movies where they put skulls on the top of the turrets to warn passer-byers.

Don’t worry neighbors. The only fear you have is a bunch of kids yelling hi and waving. Oh and they might steal your trash and decorate my yard with it.