Week of firsts

It has been a busy start to the school year chez Wells, and overall, it has been a good one.  Well, it has been a good one for the kids.  I'm not sure I have been the most stellar school parent, though.

Lottie's first day of Kindergarten was, to be expected, insanely exciting.  She was all ready with her backpack and her new dress, ready to conquer Flint Lake Elementary.  The whole family walked her in, gave her lots of hugs and kisses, and left.  No tears from anyone, not even me.  Does that make me cold-hearted?  I saw a squadzillion posts on Facebook of kids' first days of school and parents wiping away virtual tears.  No tears for me.  I didn't exactly do a happy dance, but after the crazy summer we all had, I was ready for routine...and quiet.  And frankly, I knew Lottie was ready to start Kindergarten.  She is a bright, friendly, sweet little girl, and I knew she was ready for something new and exciting.  No one loves an adventure more than my girl, and adventure is calling her.

To add to the excitement, Lottie lost her first tooth!  After a few days of wiggling and angst, the tooth fell out.  Man, she is cute with it gone.  Serious cuteness, no?

So, let's get to the non-stellar parenting.  I'm so used to the preschool way of doing things that I didn't realize that Kindy is a whole different ballgame.  For instance, kids in preschool have drinks provided to them; that doesn't happen in Kindergarten.  Lottie had lunch for the first two days of school without a drink of any kind.  Whoops.  The kids are also supposed to take a snack to school because it's a pretty long day for a bunch of five year olds.  I did, indeed, provide a snack for the first three days, but I didn't find out until the morning of day four that Lottie had no idea that the snack was in her lunchbox.  This despite the fact that I had told her specifically on the first day where her snack was in her bag.  Apparently, she assumed that I hadn't been packing her a snack, so she told her teacher she was snackless.  Miss J probably thinks I'm a total dolt: no beverages, no snacks.  And so begins my reign as WORST PARENT EVER.

Dallas has had a good first week as well.  He likes his school and his teacher, but he's far less effusive about it all than his sister.  His views on school are pretty monosyllabic, but that's just Dallas.  He occasionally gets loquacious about what he did on the playground, but most of his three hours a day of school is kept a closely guarded secret.  I suppose he'll share when he's ready to share.  And just so he's not left out, here's his cuteness, too.

I hope the good times at school continue for the kids because it sure makes my life easier when things are going smoothly for them.  And, you know, my happiness is paramount to everything.

Random doc a go-go

Last week, we headed back to Lexington for a few days.  Trevor had to work, and I had my next blood test to look forward to at the endocrinologist's office.  As I mentioned in a previous blog, my regular doc was out of town, so I was going to be seeing his partner.  I had never met the guy before, and I was worried that he wouldn't take my symptoms seriously.

The nurse drew my blood, and I waited in the packed waiting room for over an hour while the lab was getting my results.  There was not one free seat available, so I never got up once for fear of losing my comfy plastic chair.  I had my Kindle to keep me company, but I think I did a lot more people-watching and eavesdropping than reading.  I'm only human.

As soon as I was called in to see the doc, I could feel my heart start to race.  What if my levels were great and the exhaustion is from something else?  Worse, what if the exhaustion is all in my head?  Fortunately, sort of, my TSH levels were down significantly from my previous reading, but they were still no where near where they should be.  The doctor wants me between a 0.1 and a 0.2: I'm currently at a 22.  I was happy that the levels are dropping but frustrated that they're still so high.  The random doc said he would up my meds - again- and see if we could get the levels down.  I was a little taken aback because everyone who knows anything about thyroid meds is surprised by how much I am taking.  I asked the doc if I was a total freak for needing such a high dose.  After he stopped laughing, he assured me that I was not a freak at all.  Apparently some people metabolize the meds quicker than others, and my body needs what it needs.  Whew.  I'm not a total head case.  Well, not for that.

The doc said he didn't need to see me again for six months, but that doesn't work for me.  I cannot and will not feel like this for six more months.  SIX months?  No way, no how.  I need my energy, I need to not be fat as Jabba the Hut, and I need some relief.  Word.  So I booked an appointment with a doc here in town so I could get the test done sooner.  Plus, even though I really like the practice down there, I don't want to do the six-plus hour drive every two months until this is all fixed.

The doc did an ultrasound while I was there to make certain that there had been no regrowth of my cancer since the surgery.  After making the obligatory "It's a boy!" joke, he said that the ultrasound was clear: no cancer.  Even though I'm still not feeling 100%, I was relieved to hear that I'm still cancer-free.

The moving plague

If you saw my last post, you'll know that Lottie was really sick the day we moved into the new house.  After a day on antibiotics, she was feeling back to her normal self.  I was happy that she felt better, but I was a little sad in a way because she was back to being loud, loud, loud.  I was particularly annoyed with her constant talking as I tried to unpack boxes, but I didn't know at the time it was because I was also getting sick.

On the Sunday after The Move, I started feeling a little under the weather.  I chalked it up to all the stress of dealing with the shiftless movers and the constant exhaustion from the thyroid issues.  But when I woke up Monday morning, my throat hurt and my ears were hurting.  I had to take Lottie back to the doctor for her follow-up appointment that morning, so I figured I could call and see the doctor myself while we were there.  Au contraire.  When I called to get an appointment for me, I was told that because I was a new patient, there was no way I could be seen that day.  I was already on the edge, and hearing that news didn't sit well with me.  I hung up the phone and promptly burst into tears.  I wasn't sixty seconds into my tantrum when my cell phone rang with a call from a Lexington number.  It was my endocrinologist's office calling to say that my next appointment had to be rescheduled because both my doctor and his assistant would be out of town.  Uh huh.  GREAT timing.  I had been waiting for this appointment because I know that my thyroid medication still isn't working, and I need some answers before I start Hulk-smashing everything in sight.  Already in tears, I explained to the nurse on the phone that I was driving six hours to get to the appointment, and there was no way I was going to give up my slot.  She was very kind and said I could keep the appointment and see another doctor in the practice.  Crisis averted.  But I was still sick and feeling worse by the minute.  I visited a Minute Clinic at a local CVS and was diagnosed with an ear infection.  I left with a prescription and the hope that I would be much better the next morning.  You know where this is going, right?

Credit: http://www.rolemommy.com/sore-throat1.jpg

Tuesday morning arrived, and I felt worse.  My best friend Tiffany was coming from Colorado that day with her daughter Frankie, and I was willing myself to be instantly well.  I ended up sending T to pick them up from O'Hare because I didn't trust myself to make the drive.  I was so happy to see them that afternoon that I think I psyched myself into thinking everything was okay.  I continued to take my antibiotics, but by Wednesday afternoon, I knew something was still wrong.  I went to an off-hours clinic here in town out of sheer desperation, and wow, that was an experience.  The nurses were mean, the exam room was dirty, and I'm pretty sure there was blood on the wall.  That doctor said that if the antibiotics weren't working, my problem was probably viral.  He did a strep test and a mono test, and he promised to call in THREE DAYS with the results.  Three days?  Was he kidding?  (And, by the way, I never heard back from him.)  He sent me on my way with a prescription for cortisone pills and the advice to gargle with watered down Benadryl to ease my throat pain.  There were more tears from me, though this time I waited until I was alone in the car to lose it.  I was, as always, exhausted, I was in pain, and nothing was helping.  The next morning, my mom called and told me to get up and get dressed: my dad was taking me to another doctor.  I guess even when you're almost 40 years old, you're still your parents' baby.  My dad drove me to Franciscan ExpressCare where I filled out more forms and waited for someone else to dismiss my pain.  I was pleasantly surprised to be greeted by a great nurse and seen by a very kind doctor.  The doctor did another strep test and mono test, and I had immediate results: both tests were negative.  The doc was at a bit of a loss since the other antibiotics hadn't worked, so she decided a shot of something from the penicillin family was the way to go.  I was skeptical but I also knew I had nothing to lose.  By that afternoon, my sore throat was 90% gone.  I was thrilled but also waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Friday morning dawned beautiful and pain-free.  Yippee ki yay!!  I was able to go to the fair that afternoon with my dad, Tiffany, and the three kids and FINALLY truly enjoy their visit.  I don't know what my ailment was or why the oral antibiotics didn't work, but I'm grateful that I finally found someone who knew what she was doing to help.  Thanks, Dr. Pumputis!

There is no way I would have made it through the last few weeks without my family and friends.  My parents have been indispensable: they have helped with the kids, the house, and meals.  My brother and sister-in-law have moved furniture, watched the kids, and made us laugh and feel at home.  My buddy Jim Long came from Indianapolis to help unpack boxes and kick-start the organization process.  And Tiffany watched the kids while I napped during all of the sick, organized my kitchen, and kept me company while I was super-crabby and miserable.  T knows when to make me laugh, when to hug me,  and when to buy me chocolate. It can't get much better than that.  Thanks to all of you who have helped make the last few weeks bearable.

Now would be the perfect time to rest and get into a routine, right?  Negatory.  We're leaving for Lexington tomorrow morning for four days.  Trevor has some work to do there, and I have the appointment with the random endocrinologist Monday morning.  All I really want to do is finish putting things on the walls in my house and get fully settled-in, but I suppose that can wait until next week.  All that AND kindergarten registration.  Should be a typical few weeks to come.  :)

I'm back!

Holy cannoli, has it been a long, long, LOOOOOOOONG few weeks.  We closed on the house in Valpo, stayed at my parents' condo in Lexington while I packed up the rest of the house, and moved to Valpo all within less than four weeks.  So it should be no surprise that I have been offline for a little while.  I'm tired.  Really tired.

Overall, things on the Lexington side went well with The Move.  The movers showed up when they were supposed to at all three locations: the condo, T's office, and our house.  It was a crazy-long day for the movers, but luckily it had cooled down to the low-90's after having been 100 degrees just days before.  The guys all worked really hard all day and into the evening.  I was with them most of the day until it was time to get the kids from T's parents and get them ready for bed.  T stayed at our house to supervise the last few hours of the move, and at 6:59 PM that evening, I got a text from him that said, "They might not be able to get everything into one truck."  At that moment, I wished I had some smelling salts because I felt some true Victorian vapors coming on.  The movers ended up taking everything to their headquarters in Louisville to do some rearranging, and somehow, we only ended up needing one truck.  One enormous, tightly packed truck.

All of our earthly possessions were piled on the front lawn.  Classy.

We drove up to Valpo on Thursday: Trevor took Judy in his car and I took the kids.  I think he made it in 5.5 hours, but it took my crew about 8 hours.  We had more potty breaks, obvi.  The kids were great, though, and the trip was pretty smooth.  Lottie didn't seem to be quite herself, but I figured the excitement of the whole process was too much to handle.  I was wrong.

Friday morning, the driver from Lexington, Mike, showed up with the ginormous truck.  I was hoping to see the rest of the crew from Lexington with him, but I was sorely disappointed.  Instead, we had three guys hired from a random day-labor company who were supposed to help Mike unload the truck and move all our stuff.  I have nothing against day-labor workers, but these three guys didn't know the definition of the word labor.  Poor Mike was the only one who knew what to do and how to do it.  We had AJ, a friend of my niece's there to help us, but he couldn't do as much as he wanted to do because the truck just wasn't getting unloaded.  My brother, who has experience in the moving business, texted all morning to see how things were going.  I texted him at noon with the news that the truck was maybe 25% unloaded.  Plus, one of the three stooges left before noon, mumbling something vague about needing insulin, and never came back.  So we were down to Mike and two doofuses, and backup promised by the company was nowhere in sight.  About 45 minutes later, my brother, my knight in shining armor, showed up to show the guys how things were supposed to be done.  He got right in the truck, clapped his hands, and told the guys to get things moving.  With Matt's help, things finally got unloaded.  I guarantee that without Matt, we would have been unloading that truck for days afterwards.  Not a lot was where it was supposed to be, the house was an insane maze of boxes, and everyone was tired and sweaty and peckish.  But it was done.

My parents spent the day tag-teaming between helping at our house and watching the kids at their house.  By Friday morning, it was obvious that Lottie's ennui was more than just The Move: she was sick.  My mom took Lottie to the doctor and had to hold her arms down while the nurse did a throat swab.  Serious gaggage.  Lottie didn't have strep throat, but she did have an ear infection and tonsillitis on the remnants of the tonsils that were removed three years ago.  She had a temperature of 103.5 and fell asleep in the doctor's waiting room, and if you know Lottie, you know that the last time she napped was at the end of the Bush era.

My poor girl mid-yawn.  

With some meds and a lot of rest, she was back on track pretty fast.  The same couldn't be said for me.
That will have to be the next blog post, though.  There's only so much drama one can handle in a single report.  But I'm back and I'm home.  It feels good.

Boxes, tape, and a Sharpie

I have been spending an awful lot of time lately with my BFFs: boxes, packing tape, and a Sharpie marker.  The sound of ripping tape has become music to my ears because it means things continue to move (pun intended) along.

It has been a crazy couple of weeks for all of us.  We drove up to Valpo for my niece's graduation open house on June 16.  After staying a couple of days, we came back to Lexington and moved into my parents' condo so I could pack up the house without living full-time in the chaos. We went back to Valpo on June 27 and returned to the condo in Lexington on July 2.  It has been fantastic to have another place to stay, and I'm grateful to my parents for letting us take over their place.  But, man, it's exhausting running around town all day, every day.  Two days a week, I drop the kids off at summer camp at their preschool then go straight to the house to work.  At 1:00, I pick up the kids, hang out with them for a while at the condo, then take them to their grandparents' condo, conveniently located in the same subdivision as my parents' condo, for the afternoon.  The other days of the week, Nicole has the kids until noon, and then from 2:00 on, the kids go to their grandparents' condo again.  My in-laws must be exhausted from all the kid-time, and I'm so appreciative of their help.  Without them, I would have never gotten as much done as I have at this point in the process. 

I would say I'm about 75% finished packing up the house.  Then again, I tend to be hard on myself, so the percentage might be a little higher.  I am throwing things out and donating other things like mad, but we still have an insane amount of boxes.  Make a box, pack the box, tape the box closed, label the box, make an "x" with the appropriate color designation -red, white, or blue- for which floor it will go to in the new house, and repeat.  My mind is starting to go a little numb.  (And, yes, I am being that kind of packer, the kind who has color coding for each floor of the new house.  You know why?  Because the day the truck is unloaded, things are going to be crazy enough without me having to look at every single box and tell the movers where they go.  If that happens, I. Will. Lose. My. Mind.  So mock the big X's of red, white, and blue tape if you will, but I think it's pretty awesome.)

We returned this week from closing on the new house in Valpo.  Woohoo!  We got the keys on Thursday, and we immediately noticed that it was a little warm inside.  At first, no one was worried because it was 100 degrees outside, but when it was still warm on Friday, we knew there was a problem. My dad called an HVAC guy, and indeed, the air-conditioner was broken.  Kaput.  Gone.  Done.  Buh-bye.  At least we're starting our Hoosier adventure with a bang!  And did I mention that during the majority of the most recent trip to Valpo, Trevor was in Vegas for work?  Uh huh.  That's how he rolls.  And it was either raining or a squadzillion degrees? Thankfully, the new AC is scheduled to go in tomorrow, and I know that the guys who have been painting every room in that house will be grateful when it's finally less than 85 degrees inside. 

So, it has been a little overwhelming, and I know it's not going to get better anytime soon.  I'm still exhausted from the thyroid issues.  I'm not great at waiting under normal circumstances, but waiting for the Synthroid to kick in while I'm trying to get The Move underway is almost impossible.  The doc won't do another blood test to check my levels until the first week of August, so we'll be trekking back to Lexington then.  My poor car has had enough of the 6+ hour drive and being covered in Skittles, M&Ms, and the cries of "Why does it take so long?"  But the Flex has to suck it up and return me to the doc so I can try to get my groove back. 

But when I really look at it, things have gone pretty smoothly so far.  The kids have adjusted well to the constant travel, the new living situation, and the general schedule upheaval.  (Hey, Karma gods, don't feel the need to punish me now by making them go crazy, okay?  I'm teetering on the edge as it is.)  I hate that I'm not spending as much time with them as I'm used to doing, but the house has to get packed.  The truck is coming in less than a week, and I want to be ready.  I think we're all ready to start the new chapter. 

Rules, schmules

It has been around since the beginning of time, but I'm not sure I ever gave too much thought about it until now.  I wasn't raised with the idea; I guess it never occurred to me to think twice about it.  But since becoming a mother, I have finally realized that the world is wrought with double standards.

Men are tough; women are shrews.  Women are sensitive; men are weak.  Girls can play with cars; boy shouldn't play with dolls.  Seriously?  Utter nonsense.

I have been thinking about this a lot lately because of something that happened this week.  Lottie and Dallas were playing dress-up one afternoon, and they decided to play a hilarious trick on me.  They dressed up like each other; in other words, Lottie dressed like a fireman and Dallas dressed like a princess.   They both thought it would be funny to make me think they had traded places, and I did get a good laugh out of it.  I took a picture of the end result, of course, and I thought it was beyond adorable.  I shared the picture with some other people, though, and I was surprised by the response.

Everyone thought it was weird.  A few people thought it was cute and weird, and a few people thought it was bizarre and weird.  The undertone of the second group was that there was something inherently wrong with it.  As a parent, I don't think anything is wrong with my kids; they're absolutely perfect.  Lottie is a daredevil who isn't afraid of anything.  She'll climb a tree, jump into a pool with wild abandon, pick up a worm after a rainstorm, and cover herself in dirt from head to toe.  She also has a heart of gold and worries about everyone and everything.  Dallas is afraid to try new things, likes to play by himself, hates to be dirty, and loves to spend time with his mama more than anything in the world.  He also loves pirates, pretend weapons, and wrestling with Daddy.  They both love things that are usually reserved for the opposite gender, and neither one of them seems to notice or care.  Lottie is just as comfortable wearing a princess dress as she is wearing a pirate costume.  Dallas loves to be Captain Hook, but he also spends time with Lottie's dollhouse.  Trevor and I bought Dallas a play kitchen for his big Christmas gift, and he loves to cook in it, especially for me.  I refuse to see any of that as weird or wrong; that's just who my kids are.  So my three year old son dressed up like a girl on a lark one day.  So what?  Lottie was dressed like a boy, and no one seemed to care about that.  Sure, there are women firefighters, so that's perfectly acceptable, but she was dressed like a male firefighter, a fact she was quick to clarify.

I want them to grow up in a world where they can do whatever they want to do and be whomever they want to be without fear of repercussions.  Of course, I want them first and foremost to be kind, loving, productive human beings.  Other than that, I don't care if they dye their hair purple or wear their underwear outside of their clothes.  I don't care if Lottie brings home girlfriends or Dallas brings home boyfriends.  What I do care about it not who they turn out to be, though.  I worry about what other people's reactions to them could be, and that scares me.  I don't want my kids to be hurt or maligned because, let's face it, some people are cruel.  There was a story online last year about a photograph of a little boy wearing nail polish in a J. Crew advertisement.  Some people said the thought of a little boy wearing pink polish was "disgusting" as were the boy's parents for allowing it.  There were others who were more accepting and believed that kids should be allowed to explore.  I hope that my kids meet people from the latter group and not the former. I hope that as Lottie and Dallas grow and mature, the world grows and matures as well.

Packing and dragging

I have been just the teensiest bit busy lately.  Go figure.

The kids are out of school (boo!) but summer school starts a week from Monday (yay!).  Don't get me wrong: I love them and love spending time with them.  However, trying to get the house packed with them around is a Sisyphean task, and the time is drawing closer to The Move.  Things have to get done, and they need to be done soon.  I want to pack as much as I can now so I can have at least a little bit of time before The Move to have fun in Lexington with the kids and see some friends as well.

All of this is made more difficult by my own fatigue.  Since I had the total thyroidectomy a couple of months ago, I have been really tired.  I don't mean the normal end-of-the-day tired; I mean I-can't-make-it-through-the-day-with-a-clear-thought-or-without-a-nap kind of tired.  Having two little kids running around makes the nap situation impossible, and loads of caffeine haven't helped, either.  I wake up after a full night's sleep feeling utterly unrefreshed and unwilling to start the day.  I have never been a morning person, but it's really getting ridiculous.  My follow-up appointment with my endocrinologist was scheduled for the first week of July, but I knew I couldn't make it that long without seeing him.  I was able to get an appointment to see his Physician's Assistant, and when I got off the phone, I wept with relief.

As soon as I got to the office the day of my appointment, the nurse took a blood sample and sent it off to the lab.  I had to wait an hour for my results before I could see the PA, so I was glad I had my Kindle with me.  (And, by the way, what's up with that scheduling?  My appointment was at 1:00: shouldn't I have arrived at noon for the blood test so my appointment could really be at 1:00 instead of 2-ish?  Call me crazy, but that just might have worked!)  As soon as I finally saw the PA, she asked me to describe my symptoms.  That wasn't difficult because there were almost too many to list.   After my litany of complaints, she told me that a normal TSH (thyroid-stimulating hormone) level is 0.4 to 6.0.  The doctor is actually trying to keep my level to the lower side, around 0.4, because too much TSH in my system could trigger regrowth of the cancer.  The PA studied my lab results and let me know that my TSH level was at a 42.  So, yeah, things were pretty out of whack.  I cried then, too, because I was relieved that the fatigue wasn't just in my head.  The PA upped my dose of Synthroid immediately, but the meds take a long time to work.  She said it could be months or even over a year before I feel like myself again.  Hey, thanks, PA.  (There may have been more tears at that point, but I don't want to embarrass myself further.)

Synthroid, cruel mistress of my fate

I totally understand that my body has been through a lot, and as my awesome hairstylist Justin said this morning, apparently the thyroid just isn't something to mess around with.  Logically, I know it's going to take time and adjustment to get me to the level where I need to be.  Emotionally, though, I am totally OVER it.  I don't have time to be exhausted: Mama has a house to pack.  I want to see my friends before we move, get pumped up for my niece's graduation party (and have I mentioned she's going to play volleyball at Purdue next year?  Squeeeeee!), finish packing, play with my kids, and not feel like I'm living in a dense fog every moment of every day.  This isn't who I am.  I do everything at warp speed, and I love crossing things off my daily to-do list.  I do not love feeling sub-par at best.  I had faith before that everything would turn out okay after the surgery, and I have faith now that I'll return to normal again someday.  But, man, I really wish that someday could be today.

Okay, I'm done whinging.  (That's a little Harry Potter reference for y'all.)

By the way, does anyone out there want to buy my house?  Please?  :)