Just A Number

To some people numbers mean everything. It can mean the difference between success or failure. They can be used to define young milestones in life...like the Terrible Two's or the Trying Threes. They can be used to define older milestones in life...like Over The Hill or The Golden Years. Numbers are used everyday in our lives to help mark the beginning or end of something.

To a teenager the numbers 16, 18 and 21 mean the beginning of EVERYTHING, and to those in their early 20's the numbers 30, 40 and so on, can mean the end of EVERYTHING as they know it.

I've been very fortunate. My age has never really meant anything to me...okay, okay so maybe 21 did, but I'm not going to get into THAT part of past right now!! :) What I mean is, age doesn't bother me. I remember turning 30 and not feeling that dread that everyone leads you to believe you'll feel so that you'll forever tell everyone your 29. I celebrated the day with an awesome surprise party and loved every minute of it, but didn't shed a tear because I left my 20's behind.

I remember a conversation I had with a friend in college about our future...you know the one...who are we going to marry, how many kids are we going to have, where are we going to live, what is it we will be doing "x" amount of years from now. I can honestly say that none of what I thought was going to happen actually happened the way I thought it would. It has become something even better.

I had said that I wanted to be married in my 20's to the man who would be my best friend through every thing...and I have.

I had said that regardless of how many children I had, I wanted to be done by the age of 35...and technically I have conceived all 6 of my kids before the age of 35.

I had said that I wanted to remain in New Hampshire or at least New England...and although Manchester isn't exactly where I wanted to be IN the state, I'm happy to call it my home.

And I had said that in "x" amount of years I wanted to be able to look back on my 20's and smile with fond memories, not sadness for youth lost. I'm happy to say I can.

I am happy to say that I will be 35 years old tomorrow and even though my first 35 years have had their shares of trials and tribulations I wouldn't trade any of it because without them I wouldn't be where I am today...happily married 10 years to my best friend, raising 5 little ones while expecting our 6th, and experiencing all the joys that only a 3o-something year old can enjoy!

First Time For Everything

So seven years and five kids later, we had our first ER visit. Yes, you read that right. We've never been to the ER for any of our kids until now. You may say to yourself, "they've had kids up in the hospital right?" and the answer is yes. However, they were all admitted to the hospital through the pediatric office. Never once from us going to the ER and then being admitted.

I knew it was bound to happen at some point, I just didn't know what the details of it would be. You know, the who or the why. As a matter of fact on the morning of said incident, which was last Thursday I recall saying to Eli, that he would be the first one to end up in the ER because of his ability to stand on any edge of anything at anytime! And he's fast too. Without hesitation, he ends up on the chair within moments of someone vacating it. In any case, that wasn't the reason or the child that ended up in the ER.

Nope it wasn't Ethan or Joshua or Rebekah...so that leaves Caleb. Yes, our resident garbage picker. (Eli tends to help in the quest to pull out the most disgusting bit of trash they can find) In any case I had just finished up a snack with the kids and noticed that Eli needed a diaper change. When I was finished with Eli's diaper change I brought it into the bathroom to be rinsed and thrown into the diaper pail. (We use cloth diapers) As I was in the bathroom I heard Rebekah yell out that Caleb had a can in his hand. Which I interpreted to mean that he had been in the garbage can again. So, I didn't rush to check on him. When I came out of the bathroom, much to my surprise, I actually saw a tin can attached to Caleb's right hand!

Let me back up a moment. We used to recycle everything. However, over the last several months our garbage men have been less than consistent about remembering to pick it up on trash day. I think it's because we are on a dead end. Needless to say, trying to convince my husband, who already thinks recycling is a waste of time, to continue this senseless act when he repeatedly has to bring it back in and try again the next week, was becoming more and more difficult. It came to the point that he just began putting it in with the regular trash anyway, so we just stopped separating it and throwing it back into the regular trash. Forward to Thursday...I had opened a can of garbanzo beans, (chickpeas) to toast up for the kids snack. They absolutely devour them and it's so easy to do. I didn't detach the lid from the can as I used the lid to help drain the liquid out so I could rinse them before putting them in the toasting pan. After I emptied the beans, I pushed the lid down into the can and tossed it into the trash. Well, when Caleb found the can he attempted to lift the lid up and caught his finger between the lid and the wall of the can...ouch...so when I attempted to remove the can his finger got sliced open.

At the ER, they put some dermabond on it to try and help stop the bleeding as they really didn't want to put a stitch in it. You try keeping a band aid on a very active 18 month old. Every time it came off, either by him or one of his siblings it would reopen and bleed heavily. So, we went back to the ER on Monday, and he had 3 or 4 stitches put in. He was AMAZING. They numbed it topically first and then gave him an injection and he didn't flinch. Didn't make a peep until the very end because she had to do it twice. The stitches wouldn't stay in the first time around. He just sat in my lap with his blue bear lovey, a pacifier in his mouth and just watched. The nurses couldn't believe how well behaved he was. I laughed as I thought to myself how different things would be had it been Joshua in my lap instead...he probably would have needed a tranquilizer and some restraints!

In any case, we go back in a week to have the stitches removed. He seems no worse for having gone through it, and only gets clingy and whiny when it has been touched or bumped...understandably! The kids get a kick out of the fact that his stitches are blue and wanted to know if Eli would get green ones should he need stitches at some point. Funny how ingrained the whole color coding thing has become for them. Anyway, that's now our first ER story...