Did I say he was well?

Poor Stephen.  I feel like I cursed him by writing a post about his health, because wouldn't you know it, now he's so miserably sick he can hardly stand it.  And it's all my fault.  Me and my dumb post.

Here's a little timeline:

Last Sunday -- I write about how healthy my hubby is.
Three days later -- Stephen cleans up a bleach spill under our bathroom sink.
Next morning -- He wakes up feeling like he has a sinus infection
That day -- We drive into the mountains for three days of seriously chilly camping, through most of which Stephen is dripping, sniffling, and shivering.
Sunday morning (yes, Father's Day) -- Stephen wakes up with a killer fever and stays in bed for one of the lamest Fathers' Days in the history of Fathers' Days. 
Yesterday -- The sickie talks to his doctor and confirms what he'd suspected: he got a chemical burn in his sinus lining while cleaning up that bleach.  I did not know that was even possible.
Today -- Another sick day, due to sleepless night and some seriously bloody snot.  What is going on with those sinuses?

Moral of the story = I will never write another post that includes the word "well" and any other family member in my household, lest the curse return.

Wellness Man

When Stephen and I were first married, and even after the birth of Benito, we loved to get outside and get moving together.  We'd go hiking, we'd play tennis, we'd play soccer, we'd take walks rather religiously, we'd play basketball, we'd even walk to places we needed to go.  We'd hoof it to the library, the grocery store, the post office, the park (which with only one child around does feel like a must-do), and restaurants.  You name it, we walked there.

Then came baby #2.  Our exhaustion increased, our energy decreased, and our desire to do anything beyond take care of our children's immediate needs all but disappeared.  Weeknight or weekend family exercise made way for more sedentary activities, and before you knew it the habit had been completely lost.  We still took the occasional hike or small walk, but it was nowhere as regular as it once had been.

Being a woman who was in and out of pregnancy and post-partum body fluctuations, I had to take matters into my own hands.  Thus began my on-again, off-again relationship with running.  Stephen, however, had a harder time fitting something regular into his routine.  We moved, he changed jobs, the church neighbors decided to throw a hissy fit over Saturday soccer on the back lawn, I had a demanding young women's calling, we had another kid, then he got an even more demanding bishopric calling, and his free time is now at its highest premium.  Finding time to work out seems more difficult than ever.

And yet, the desire remains.  Stephen is a naturally healthy person.  He eats well, he sleeps a lot, he does what he should.  So I know that not having a regular exercise regimen for the past four years has been hard on him.  Now comes the good part of this lengthy post: every spring Stanford has a campus-wide wellness program.  You get your cholesterol tested, you go on campus walks, you take a nutrition class, you learn more about good health, and they give you a fun little check at the end.  Nothing big, mind you, but enough to motivate a man like my husband.

Stephen has really taken matters into his own hands this year, deciding to spearhead the weekly HR walks, which get him out moving during his lunch hour at least twice a week.  He also faithfully wears a pedometer, something I'm ashamed to say I teased him about at first, to track his daily steps.  I've noticed him parking the car a little further away in parking lots, suggesting we walk places together, and he's definitely been more willing to play soccer out back with the boys lately.  He'll do anything to try and reach that goal of 10,000.  Speaking of soccer, it looks like church soccer will start up again on Saturday mornings, and with summer gardening in full swing, I'd say Wellness Man is back in the saddle again.  It's good to see him happily making exercise a priority, and he's definitely seeing the benefits.

Look who's two

The birthday cake is baking, the birthday girl is napping, and the birthday party at the grandparents' house is approaching. Meanwhile, the birthday girl's parents can't believe how fast our baby is becoming less and less of a baby.

Can it really be two years since she entered the world in her surprisingly gigantic glory? Well, we weren't too surprised after two other big babies, but the doctors who were "positive" she wouldn't weigh more than seven pounds sure got a shock when out rolled our 9 lb. 8 oz. butterball. Or two years since her calm, newborn spirit made both of us feel like we should toss out the names we'd been considering and go back to one we'd picked five years earlier (when we were so sure Bennett would be a girl)? Or two years since she turned her little head away from nursing to hear the music on a TV commercial we were watching in the hospital?  Or two years since she met her two crazy older brothers, who were quite honestly more excited to eat Stan's donuts than do anything else in that hospital room, including see their baby sister or hug their exhausted mom?

Amelia Jane, please stop growing up.  Right now.  That's an order.

Half Moon Bay with Grandma Paula




Waiting for some fish and chips at the harbor

 



It's amazing how entertaining utensils can be for a kid desperate to play with something

 



Seals sunning on the rocks at Moss Beach

 




Some sand time with Grandma

 




Down by the tidepools

 



Throwing sand rocks!  (sorry, couldn't resist)

 



I'm having the best time

 



until now . . .

 

Who needs parents?

. . . when you can wake up on Saturday morning, take off your bike's training wheels all by yourself, and then start riding it without any help?  Yes, this is what transpired a few days ago.  The boys were playing out back, still in their 'jamas at eight-something a.m., and apparently decided they were done with training wheels once and for all, so they used their bare hands to remove the training wheels from Eli's bike.  (I'm assuming those on Bennett's bike were too rusty to even attempt sans tools.) 

Bennnett came in the house to inform us of his proud handiwork, only to be followed by Eli's news that he could ride his bike like a big boy.  "Sure you can, Eli," I said, thinking he's got his legs down riding Fred Flinstone style or something.  He asked me to come watch and I figured I'd humor him--since it was early in the day and all--only to find him riding around the backyard like a pro.  No help needed.  Love it.  Seriously.     

Benito caught one glimpse of Eli's bike-riding and used his characteristically competitive spirit to prove he would not be outshone by his little brother.  There's nothing like a challenge to make Bennett Andrew rise to the occasion.  So it turns out both our boys can ride bikes.  Who knew?  Certainly not us, the parents who've been putting off our oldest child's "take off my training wheels" requests for months now.




A little unhappy that she doesn't get a turn riding the bike with only two wheels



Mr. Eli's highs and lows

Eli's been four for almost six months now, and while it's easy to take the kid for granted because he's so easy to have around, lately he's been reminding me he's there and won't be ignored.  Here's a run-down of our #2's extremes.

The highs:

One wacky sense of humor.  No one in our family cracks us up more than Eli.  The kid says some seriously off-the-wall remarks and some surprisingly clever quips, all of which keep us rolling.  After church today, Eli declared himself "top notch" for drying some of the rain off Lizzy's car.  So random.

Newfound love of the world of academia.  After resisting my efforts with his education, Eli has decided in his own time that he loves "reading" books, writing letters and stories, counting, and learning new things.  He spouted off something about evaporation today as we were driving home from church, something I assume he learned at preschool this week, that made me realize he's absorbing information even when I think he's not.  He adores Grandma Preschool with Stephen's mom, where for an hour or two a week he gets to learn about odd and even numbers, lowercase letters, science, seasons, animals, reading comprehension, and on and on.

The world of make-believe.  I love it when kids hit that age where they can pretend play all day long.  Eli loves to imagine he's a Star Wars character, or a Mario Cart driver, or a pirate, or a school kid, or a baby, or a Backyardigan.  You name it, he'll find a costume and a creative world to match it.

Playing with Bennett and Bennett's friends.  Boy, does Eli love his brother.  Yesterday, Stephen took Eli to the barber shop with him, and the first thing Eli said was, "Do you think I can bring a second lollipop home for Bennett?"  He's always thinking of his big brother, eagerly waiting for the school day to end so he can play with him.  Sometimes I feel kind of bad that so few of Eli's friends are his own age.  His sociality has always revolved around his brother's, and I'm afraid I haven't been very good about helping Eli make friends his own age. 

The lows:

Rebel without a cause.  He's always had that little streak of second child defiance, but lately the disobedience has reached new heights as he vehemently and persistently chooses not to do what we ask of him.  He loses almost every privilege--i.e. treats, video games, shows, outings, etc.--several times a week, if not every day.

Colossal cry sessions. Talk about crying stamina.  It always starts out so simple, being told he can't bring a toy on our walk to school (ever the rule), and then the neverending weeping and wimpering kick in.  He'll keep going the whole way there and the whole way home sometimes, which can be a good twenty to thirty minutes, and I don't think he'd stop if I didn't find a creative incentive or punishment to make it end.

Finger fixation.  Eli has a strange addiction to his hands.  He's always biting or sucking on his fingers, something we didn't realize he was doing for a long time until we started noticing the shocking amount of hangnails on the kid's hands.  He's sucked a few of them so hard a whole layer of skin, and the connected fingernail, has come off and/or bled. 

Physicality.  Eli throws his body around in soccer like it's a contact sport, karate-kicking the ball with his entire body rather than just kicking it.  That seems to be his style.  Why just sit on a couch when you can fling yourself into it?  Why just walk to my room when I can full-speed run and crash into a wall or two on the way?  It's not always a bad thing, but we're confident our E.R. trips with this child are nowhere near being over.

We love our Eli.  He makes us smile.  He makes us scratch our heads.  I can't wait to see what the future holds for this kid, or maybe better said, what he will bring to his own future.

Goalie in the house




I'm glad Stephen thought to get a shot of B in his goalie gear before the game

  Bennett's soccer team moved up to U-8 this spring.  I didn't realize it would mean anything other than playing with older kids, but there are a few changes worth mentioning.  Now they have goalies, throw-ins, and a bigger field for the whole team, whereas they used to split the teams and play on two different, smaller fields. 

Born-defender Benito has taken a liking to playing goalie.  No surprise there.  That kid has always done anything to stop the other team from making goals.  Now he can throw his whole body in front of the ball!  He has no fear of doing so, either, as he spent almost the entire first half of yesterday's game stopping goals, drop-kicking balls, making goal kicks, and giving his mom a few good scares.  I couldn't believe how aggressive and tough he was, even with an opposing forward running full-speed toward him.  Sheesh!  Assistant coach, a.k.a. Stephen, could not have been prouder that Bennett did not let one goal in, especially since the other team spent about ninety percent of the first half hovering around our team's goal. 



I was a little busy chasing Millie, but I promise to get some action shots next week