The Loudest Street in the World

I am convinced I live there.  Reasons why?

1. We live directly above the Post Office.  This means that exactly at 8:00am (7:55, actually), the big yellow truck roars up right under our bedroom window and loads up.  Directly under us sits the warehouse, so for about 15 minutes each morning (and each afternoon at 2:30pm) there is all sorts of screeching, dragging, stacking, and general noisiness happening.  However, it is important to note that the truck used to roar up at 5:55am until we learned that it was illegal to make such noise before 8am and we filed a complaint with the town hall.  Amazingly, no one had done this before us as it took just one complaint for the truck to change its hours.

2. The obnoxious granddaughter.  Our building is filled with old people.  Directly above us live a set of grandparents (who ironically have complained about our dryer running too often).  They happen to be grandparents to a third-grade girl who finds it entirely appropriate to scream 'Iaia (pronounced Ya-Ya!)' repeatedly from the street instead of ringing her buzzer from downstairs.  Her parents apparently approve of this behavior, as they are often found standing next to their daughter as she bellows for her grandmother from the sidewalk.  When this lovely child does enter the building, she can be heard shouting and yelling up and down the stairs, and through our ceiling as she gallops around her grandparents' apartment.  Three years has done little to help her calm down, and she is just as noisy today as she was the day we moved in here.

3. The yappy dog across the street.  There is a little white puff ball that inhabits the apartment directly across from us.  He likes to show his dominance from two floors up by barking at every dog that happens to cross the street below him.  The other dogs rarely respond in kind, as mentioned before, this dog is no more threatening to them than a marshmallow.

4. Carpentry shop below and to the right.  Sawing.  Cutting. Noisy truck to transport things.

5. Scrap metal shop across the street.  Big noisy truck unloading noisy things.

6. Bar down and to the left.  It is a bar.  Enough said.

7. Moto and Motorcycle repair shop across the street.  Lots of motos roaring up and down our street all day  (and all night) long.  I am not sure why so many motos feel the need to have engines that roar louder than jet planes.  I imagine their drivers will have serious hearing problems someday.  The motos seem to have a knack to tear down the street exactly when I have just gotten Keane or Mati to sleep.  It's awesome.  And illegal, not that anything will be done about it.  After all, this is Spain.  Which brings me to my final point....

8.  This is Spain.  The general population is LOUD.  And seem to have a complete lack of respect for those around them that might be bothered by their prattling on at three in the morning on the street.  Teenagers, children, old people...they're all the same.  Noisy folk.

Maybe I am just grumpy because I have a headache.

Maybe I have a headache because it is too noisy on this street.

Chicken or egg, it is always so much more pleasant here when I can keep the windows shut.  Then I can hide in my apartment and pretend I am back in Germany where people are quiet and respectful.

Of course, there I would be getting complaints left and right about being too loud myself with my noisy dryer and whiny kids...

Heading home

The past few weeks we have been housesitting in Barcelona, and today we head back to our apartment about 20 minutes out of town.  While I have enjoyed being in the city, I will be happy to be back among my own things, in our own space, and on wood flooring again.  Such stress comes with these stone floors when you have a clumsy daughter and a crawling baby who likes to pull himself up on everything and try to cruise about on his tippy-toes.

Still a long stretch of the summer to go before school starts, and much to accomplish.  Matilda still shows little understanding of potty use, though she is going more often than not in the potty and communicating that she would like to sit there.  Once seated, however, she does not do much...often times, I think she uses the excuse to get out of eating dinner or going to bed.  She has us under her thumb a bit, as when she says "Ca-ca" we have no choice but to respond...tricky little monkey.

So all is packed up, and just waiting for the little man to awaken so I can run to the grocery and replenish the goods that we used up during our stay here.  Will be buying lots of wipeys, lots.  We go through those like gangbusters.

Trying to have a more positive outlook on life these days, and so my positive thought for the day is that I am happy to have the apartment that we live in.  It may be small and a bit tight for the four of us, but we have much space compared to most of the other people living on this overcrowded planet.  And again, we have wood floors.  With extra sponginess underneath for our little adventurers.

The Bait-and-Switch

Yesterday, I opened up a newly purchased package of cheese to find that it had gone moldy (mouldy, if you are reading from any other English-speaking country).  So, of course, being of the American persuasion, I decided to make a quick hop to the grocery store to return it.

Not an odd cultural observation?  While I am apt to return things that are legitimately broken, don't suit the purpose for which they were bought, or have gone moldy (mouldy), many people here seem to find this practice strange and perhaps, a bit 'pushy American' of me.

For the most part, when I have had to return things or ask for exchanges here in Spain, this has been done with a smile and quick accommodation on the part of the seller.  Though, the general population here still appears to be a bit resistant to the whole 'customer is always right' philosophy.  Am I always right?  Most certainly not.  But when I do choose to make a complaint or return something, I usually have put in the effort to solve the 'Should I return this or not?' equation.  Simply put, Value of item + Satisfaction of just outcome - Effort expended to get my inherently lazy self out the door and complete transaction in a foreign language = X.

X = Sit at home or Head out the door.

So when regarding the moldy cheese yesterday, X equaled go time, and so I went.

First transaction: the lady at the customer service desk spoke Catalan, so I was golden.  I speak much better Catalan than Spanish, as Jordi's family's home language is such, and I have very little time to practice my (pathetic) Spanish skills.  She told me to find a replacement cheese and direct the cashier in her direction when in line to pay.

Second transaction: After getting replacement cheese, picked a line with a Catalan-looking lady at the helm (and taking a peek at her name tag, deciding it was likely she would be able converse with me in my preferred language).  Still, I always prep my speech in my head prior to interaction, as going off the cuff often results in a tied tongue, sweaty forehead, and a confused conversation partner.  Person in front of me finishes paying, and I step in front of the cashier, ready to interact.

And a decidedly South American-looking woman slides in behind my Catalan cashier with her cash tray, ready to switch shifts.

It was all downhill from there.

I said something like: Woman. There. Change cheese. Me American.  Me good Spanish no.  No. No.  Bad cheese.  No good Spanish.  Me want cookies.  Om nom nom.  Cooookies!

She (rightly) said: ¿Que?

I needed to rework my equation.

Name Change

Like the new template design?  New title, new purpose, and even a new little armchair in the corner of the background picture.  Soon, in a few weeks, a domain name change...ditching the 'goes global' theme, as it doesn't look like there is much going on for us globally these days.

I've come to realize that I do a lot of random observations - much to the chagrin of my husband, who I am afraid has grown a bit weary of my constant and continual reflections and comments on the nature of humankind and its evolution.  Random, I know, but I think about these things...like why Germans are better at managing themselves than Spaniards (or Italians, or Greeks, or pretty much anyone else on this continent for that matter...regardless of how they conducted themselves in the past).  Hint: I think it can be attributed to the old adage about the Grasshopper and the Ant story.  I also armchair anthropologize my family rather frequently, and perhaps it is true that I should keep some of these thoughts to myself.

So I've come up with a new purpose for this blog, and a redirection might be what I need to keep more interested and focused on posting more frequently.  Random observations on peoplekind...sometimes short and sweet, sometimes probably a bit too lengthy and rambling.  But always based in some sort of true-to-life experience on my part.

I'm sure my husband will be happy that I have found an outlet for this sort of mind-meandering that I so frequently indulge in.

Tomorrow's topic: why men have such a hard time being sick.

Okay, maybe not...that's not so much of a unique observation as it is a factual truth.  At least according to most women...

Sick Bug

So after ten months of fantastic health, my little guy has caught his first nasty virus.  He, along with the rest of the family, did have a bout with the flu back in February, but he seemed to weather it better, and just had a wee bit of fever for a day or so and was done with it.  This, in contrast to Jordi and myself, who spent the better part of five days battling high fevers and exhaustion, along with chills and lots of moaning and groaning.

Yesterday morning, as I picked him up out of his chair after a less than successful breakfast (which is unusual for our champion eater), he felt a bit warmer than usual.  After a quick thermometer up the bum, it was confirmed that he did have a bit of a fever at 37.7 C (99.8 F for those of you playing at home).  Not a biggie, though with all of our issues with Mati and fever seizures it is still hard for me to adjust to the fact that life can carry on a bit better when Keane falls ill.  We went on with our plans for the day, but around lunchtime, I discovered that along with the low-grade fever, he had also developed a bit of a rash.

So, off to the doctor we went, to find that due to the holiday schedule of the doctors, there was only a pediatrician in the mornings, and we would have to see one of the doctors that catered to adults.  She gave him an exam and pronounced that he just had a heat rash.  Really?, I thought, thinking that the body temp was a bit higher than normal to be considered a heat rash, but both she and the pediatric nurse on duty did not seem terribly concerned, and so kept my thoughts to myself.

Fast forward to last night, after the temperature shot up to 39.3 C (102.2 F), Keane throwing up his dinner, and being generally much crankier than usual (as he is the sunniest, most content little guy you are likely to meet - why else do you think I flew twice to the US, by myself, with him) and the heat rash theory seemed to be obviously inaccurate.

The fever raged through the night, and unlike his sister, it has been discovered that Keane does not enjoy the taste of orange-flavored Dalsy, the brand of children's ibuprofen available here.  When trying to administer it at around 5am, he promptly vomited all over my jammies, his diaper, and our pillows.  Nice.  So had to dilute it with water and drip it on his pacifier (and on the bed, new jammies, and self).  He was not pleased, but the fever did start to drop.

Upon awakening for the day, I sent Jordi in search of suppository Ibuprofen and Paracetamol (Tylenol, for those of you still playing along from the States).  He returned with just the Paracetamol, saying that the pharmacist was flummoxed that he didn't like the flavor of Dalsy, and that it didn't come in an up the bum version.  Paracetamol doesn't seem to do much for this fever, and Keane was again most displeased with the bum method, so we did battle once again with the Dalsy, along with some wet cloths, and the fever has been gone for a few hours now.  Let's hope another fever spike is not part of this evening's agenda.

The rash is persisting, and I can't quite figure out what he has, though Jordi reminded me that Matilda had something very similar a few years ago.  Most bugs that come with a rash (Roseola, Fifth disease, Measles) typically have the rash appearing after the fever, not on the same day the fever starts.

Who knows?  It will be nice to have my baby boy all better again, eating well, and filling back out to his normal chubby self.  It will also be nice not to have to stick things up his bum and hope that he doesn't shower me with vomit after every meal as well.  Joys of parenting, right?

I love this metaphor.

WELCOME TO HOLLAND

by
Emily Perl Kingsley.

c1987 by Emily Perl Kingsley. All rights reserved

I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this......

When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting.

After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, "Welcome to Holland."

"Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy. All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy."

But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay.

The important thing is that they haven't taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine and disease. It's just a different place.

So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would never have met.

It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around.... and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills....and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.

But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy... and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned."

And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away... because the loss of that dream is a very very significant loss.

But... if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things ... about Holland.

Mati, you are my Holland...love you, you big crazy goofball.  Maybe you're just speaking Dutch, and that's why sometimes we have a tough time figuring out what you are trying to tell us!

Saint Martin

That is the name of a lovely canal in Paris, near to where I spent one summer six years ago.

It is also the name of our daughter's neurologist.  Of course, his name is not Saint Martin exactly, but the Catalan translation of this name.  We had yet another meeting with him this past week to discuss Matilda's condition, progress, medication, and seizure control.  It must be said, before updating on our most recent visit, that Dr. SM and I do not have the best relationship.  I think he finds me to be an outspoken American, and he does not like when his patients' parents ask questions.  And I ask questions.  What mother doesn't?  Apparently, all of the other mothers he deals with, as he tends to get quite argumentative with me when I ask him to look at our daughter's case on an individual basis, and not to just pump her full of drugs because that is 'how you treat Dravet Syndrome.' (Said with a stern look, and a cursory glance at Jordi as if to say: 'Why on Earth did you marry this pushy American woman?')  Matilda does have the genetic mutation that is associated with Dravet Syndrome, and she certainly does have many of the characteristics - but her mutation is in a different position (whatever that means, though apparently it is a good thing in this case), and therefore she is not presenting as severe as many of the other children who have this diagnosis.  She has far fewer seizures, always associated with a fever, and though she does have some difficulty with motor control as well as speech and cognitive delays, she is progressing with the aid of her speech therapist, psychologist, and physical therapist.  We had to fight for those things, however, as when I first questioned this doctor of the possibility of getting her started with physical therapy about a year-and-a-half ago, his response was: 'Motor skill issues are part of the syndrome.'  As if this means that she is hopeless, and there is no way to improve her coordination.  Dick.  (Sorry for the expletive.)  Anyway, he really hates it when I ask about different medications or lowering certain ones (especially when I suggest that the reason our daughter has stopped eating/sleeping/walking well/etc. has something to do with one of his precious prescriptions that still has yet to get our daughter's seizures under control).  Again, dick. (Apologies.)

So on to last week's appointment.  I had encountered another mother whose daughter has the same diagnosis, and she has been seizure-free for 15 months.  Her medication is different than Matilda's, so we wanted to ask about this med for Mati.  However, knowing the doc's love and respect for yours truly, I made Jordi ask him.  Man, the response was off the charts.  He got really pissed off, pounded the table, looked directly at me (recall that I did not utter a word!) and said 'It is always the same with you, you want to change everything.  If you don't have confidence in your doctor, you should change.  It wouldn't bother me. (Note: I actually think he would prefer it - maybe he was being mean to me in the vein of how guys are mean to girls when they want the girl to break it off with them.) There are just two ways to treat this syndrome, with this, this, and this, or what you are currently using.  You didn't like the previous three medications (Note: Matilda woke up EVERY night from 2 to 5 am, hyper and ready to party - would you like that medication?  Maybe she could have bunked with Dr. SM for the six months of sleepless hell that was Stiripentol.) Switch doctors, it wouldn't bother me.'  Again, this was all directed at me!  There were two student doctors in the room, both looking baffled and a bit wary of their 'mentor' doctor.

What shall we do?  To find a new neurologist would be difficult, as he is the chief of the neuro crew there. Maybe with Obamacare being upheld by the Supreme Court, it is a signal to us to make the move to the US where most doctors seem to have a better handle on bedside manner.

Vila Olimpica

This week, we have become squatters.  Sort of, anyway.  A parent from school offered his apartment to us for a week this summer, while he is out of town, as kind of a housesitting gig.  The place is in Vila Olimpica, the former olympic village for athletes during the 1992 Olympics in Barcelona.

About a 10-minute walk from the city beach, and steps from the movie theatre that plays movies in English (not that we can actually go, with two small people taking up most of our time and energy, but still nice to have it nearby!).  We've enjoyed being here, however, not due to the apartment's location, but more so because we just have a bit more space to move around.  The apartment is just 10-15 square meters bigger than our own, it is also a three-bedroom with a balcony, but that extra bit of space makes a big difference.  The kitchen is eat-in, the bedrooms are suitable for double beds, not just twins, and there are TWO bathrooms!  Which, of course, leads us to the continuous discussion: how can we get more space?

Right now, we live in Jordi's grandmother's old apartment, which we have refurbished for the most part, and due to this, we don't pay any rent.  This is a godsend, as our salaries are painfully low (though I feel a bit bad complaining about that, considering that 25% of people in this country have no salary at all to speak of).  Regardless, free is about as inexpensive as it gets.

But we need a place with a bit more room for two growing people (one of which has extreme hyperactivity) to move around, and to have something like yard would be amazing.  That is impossible in our current location, as houses with yards go for around 1.5 million euros.

What to do?

So I started this blog...

...with the intention of writing if not every day, at least every few days.  And then suddenly over a month and a half has gone by, and I've not written a word except for my weekly grocery list and notes to and from my daughter's preschool.  Time slips away too easily, and making time to digitally journal my life has gotten shoved onto the back burner.  As has cooking (though that may have more to do with the fact that it is blisteringly hot here in Barcelona, and I have zero desire to turn on the stove in our tiny, unairconditioned apartment), cleaning (though to be honest, I've never been too spectacular at that anyway), and reading books made out of paper (no excuse there, I can chalk that one up to wasting time on Facebook and reading celebrity gossip rags...can you believe that Tomkat has come to an end???).

What have I been up to?  Well, potty-training my daughter, which is quite the challenge, and has been going on for the better part of a year.  Her developmental disorder throws a wrench in all of that, and so we're trying a method using picture cues and a schedule, as she seems not to be terribly bothered by diapers and is quite content to wear them for the foreseeable future.  However, we have to get this accomplished by September, as our school requires children to be trained, and if she is not ready then we'll have to look for an alternative option.  Cross that bridge when we get there - I'm still hopeful.

Also, Keane and I have been quite the travelers.  Last weekend we headed to Paris with a dear friend and my former teaching partner.  I love that city, and was excited to see it again - will dedicate a post to the trip in the next few days.  Also we went back to the US for a week for family reasons.  Good to see the family, but under sad circumstances.  We miss you, Paul.

Finally, we are out of our house for a couple of weeks, living as gypsies in the city while a former teaching colleague and his family take up residence in our apartment.  We promised him that he could stay there back when we were still planning on making a trip to the US in the summer.  When that got shelved, we really couldn't back out, as he had paid for a day camp for his boys, so we asked around school to see who needed their plants watered while they were away for the summer, and scored a couple of housesitting gigs to cover the two weeks.  Right now we are staying in the Vila Olympica, near the beach.  These are the former apartments of the Olympic athletes from the '92 games.  Sort of cool, but I'm a bit shocked that they didn't all have central air.  The breeze is nice, but on a night like tonight it gets a bit sticky for sleeping.

Next week we move to a great place behind my favorite shopping mall, which has Jordi excessively worried.  I wouldn't be surprised to find that my bankcard has mysteriously disappeared come Thursday when we change apartments.

So there you have it, a new entry.  July resolution: write more often.  And learn Spanish.  And improve Catalan.  And eat more salads.  Read more books.

Oh right.  I have small children.  Perhaps I'll just cross the salad bit off of the resolution list to free up some time.  I usually just eat the leftovers off of Matilda's plate anyways.  And she is most definitely not into salads.

Good morning, America, how are you?

I woke up on Thursday morning in Barcelona.  I went to bed Thursday night in Denver.  It still amazes me that this is humanly possible.  Even more so, that Keane and I managed to make it through the entire traveling experience with minimal meltdown moments, and jet lag induced freak-outs during our stay here.

Upon landing in Atlanta for our connecting flight to Denver, I was amazed (as always) at the friendliness of everyone around us.  Maybe it was partially because I was toting the cutest baby in the world, as well as dragging an enormous red suitcase behind me while simultaneously pushing a stroller teetering with my diaper bag and purse.  But I tend to think that Americans are just pretty much friendly and helpful people for the most part, and as we made our way through customs, finding our new gate, and boarding the second plane, everyone we encountered seemed to want to lend a hand to help us out.  Same upon our arrival in Denver.  For some odd reason, in this airport, you must take a train three stops to collect your baggage.  Odd.  Anyway, people were quick to make sure we were able to enter and exit the train with a minimum of discomfort, and a myriad of folk smiled at my sweetly sleeping infant snugly strapped to his mama.

Our time here in Denver has been short on quantity but full on quality.  We came for my cousin's wedding on Saturday, and were able to see relatives from California and Colorado that I had not seen since my own wedding.  My mother is one of seven children, and most of my many cousins managed to be here, and we tore up the dance floor until they loaded us on the buses to head home.  The ceremony was beautiful, at a gorgeous farm outside of Denver, the food fabulous, and every single detail perfect.  And to wrap up the night, some Bon Jovi and Def Leppard dance time while my parents thoughtfully kept an eye on a lightly sleeping Keane so I could have a little free time.  Of course, alcohol was not on the menu for me this time around, so I was a bit more reserved on the dance floor at first...but 'Pour Some Sugar on Me' has the tendency to loosen up the moves, and it was a fabulous evening.

Shopping was another key highlight of our time here, as nothing quite beats Walgreens, and I am not embarrassed to say I made my parents take me there three times during our stay.  Which pretty much means I made a Walgreens run every single day.  Bless you, Walgreens, you have everything I need, and you are not enormously exhausting like Wal-Mart.  I wish we had you in Spain.

Tomorrow, we will be back on the plane to NYC and on to BCN.  Hopefully, my little man will give a repeat performance of total awesomeness on the flights home.  I can't wait to give my little Monkey Lou a big hug.  And sleep.  Lots.

Dress disaster

So I have this perfect go-to dress for weddings, black with this cute kimono sash.  Great length, can wear a normal bra, and has a v in front so I can feed Keane without having to retreat to a bathroom and haul my whole outfit over my head.

And it has disappeared.

It is not to be found in any of our closets, nor in Jordi's parent's house, where we store a lot of our clothing during the off season.

Keane and I are heading to Denver next week for a wedding and I was really counting on this dress to be my outfit of choice...seeing as this was not to be, however, the only other alternative was to go shopping.  Despite trips to three different shopping malls, I did not find one single item that fit the bill.  I managed to purchase something at a Mango store, but upon trying it on at home, I found the length far too short to be appropriate for a family wedding, and this problem was only compounded when I added heels to the ensemble.  Much more appropriate for working the pole, if you know what I mean.

So I reached out to a few teachers at school, and have managed to find a few suitable options for  next week, thank goodness.

With a nice pair of Spanx, I might just manage to look respectable...even while whipping the gals out so that Keane can have his evening meal (though it might actually be his breakfast since I plan to try to keep him on Barcelona time while we are away, since it is just four short days...we'll see how that turns out!).

Correfoc

So last night was the 'Correfoc' in our little town.  This is when drum squads, dancing demons with giant sparklers, and plaster dragons with exorcist-type spinning heads spewing flames and  parade down the streets.  All neighborhood residents are encouraged to move their cars, close their windows, and wear non-synthetic clothing, in case a rogue sparkler gets away from one of the demons.  I imagine the correfocs in the bigger towns are much livelier, but last night's display was quite enough for me and my two sleeping children.  Mati slept through the whole thing, while Keane seemed a bit concerned with all of the noise...i.e. he freaked out.  I tried to take a video of what you could see from the balcony...

Here is more info, courtesy of our friends at Wikipedia:

Correfocs (Catalan pronunciation: [ˌkorəˈfɔks], Western Catalan: [ˌkoreˈfɔks]); literally inEnglish "fire-runs") are among the most striking features present in Catalan festivals. In the correfoc, a group of individuals will dress as devils and light fireworks. While dancing to the drums of a traditional gralla, they will set off their fireworks among crowds of spectators.

Correfoc in Valencia

The correfoc can come in many forms. Some are simple parades using fireworks and effigies of the devil. In Sitges, it is common for a crowd to line a street, while participants run through a tunnel of fireworks. In Barcelona and Tarragona, the correfocis run during the Festival of La Mercè, in September.

Another typical Catalan folkloric expression of this sort takes place in L'Arboç. The highlight of the village's feast is the Carretillada. In the evening of the feast day, the town square is made to look like Hell. For nearly half an hour, "devils" burn theircarretilles (carts), jumping around ceaselessly, while a large "sceptre of Lucifer" and the "pitchfork of the Diablessa (she-devil)" shoot fire-jets and other pyrotechnics. Every year, the carretillada is a bit different, because the 'colla' (group) does not give up novelties that are added each year to add to the spectacle.

Back to work...

So, after hemming and hawing for a year or so, I'm definitely going back to work full time next year as a classroom teacher.  I was desperately holding out for a part-time position, or even a move to ELL or Reading Support teacher (as not having a classroom offers more flexibility, even if it is full time), but the director said both options were not going to happen, and that he really hoped I'd consider coming back to grade 2.  So...I am.  I like teaching classroom, and enjoy the special bond that a teacher creates with their group of kids...but it was a real struggle last year with Mati getting sick fairly often, and fitting in the many doctor's appointments that she has.  Add in my pregnancy appointments (here we are on the Catalan health care program, and you really don't get much of a say with your appointment times!), and I was constantly rearranging my schedule so the specialists would be teaching my classes while I or Matilda was off having medical fun times.

The thing I am very excited about is my teaching partner!  She seems like a good fit, and moved down from grade 3 to grade 2 last year.  She is really into collaborating, which is great for the kids and also great for cutting down the work load.  I had a fantastic partnership in Bonn with another mother who knew the value of getting in and getting it done, as well as a couple of amazing collaborators I was partnered with in Chicago (you know who you are, ladies!).  My most recent year of teaching was not filled with much collaboration, as that was not the style of my teammates, and I often found myself quite isolated and a bit lonely in my classroom with my 16 students.  Next year should prove to be much different, as we have already started talking about writing a year long curriculum plan, and trying to be on the same page as much as possible.  Happy times are ahead.

Now, just have to go to the public daycare next door, and hope for the best with the lottery.  That way the little man will be well taken care of while his mama, papa, and sister are all at school together.  But the first step is the open house ('open doors' it is called here) next week.  Here's hoping my Catalan is up to snuff, and there are plenty of spots available!

And we have our answer.

Well, turns out that Monkey was being a right pain in the ass the past few days because she was getting sick.  And around here, getting sick usually means a seizure, so...

It happened as we were on our way back from the coast towards home.  I've often reflected on how she never has had a fit while we were driving in the car.  Can cross that off the list now.  We were about 25 minutes from home, and both little ones were napping in the back seat.  I periodically turn around to check up on our girl out of habit every couple of minutes.  One minute I look back and she is sleeping peacefully in her car seat, a couple of minutes later, looking back reveals that she has gone rigid, head fully turned to the left and tensed, eyes open but not seeing out the window.  I jumped to the back, Jordi stopped the car, and we gave her a valium to stop the fit.  I sat in the back holding her, while Jordi jumped back into the driver's seat to speed us towards the children's hospital about 15 minutes away in case the seizure didn't stop.  It did stop, finally, after about 15 minutes (an eternity compared to the fact that for the past couple of years they've only been lasting about 30 seconds to one minute).  She has a fever, and is now resting on the big bed next to me while I hold her wiggly younger brother (who is 7 months old today!!).

Here's hoping the fever drops in the next few hours and we remain fit-free for the next few days...

Not so much holiday...

So we've rented a 'Casa de Pages' or country house in the town of Begur, which has lovely proximity to several small beaches and coves.  It is a bit to chilly to hit the surf, however, so we've been letting Monkey Lou run amok in the sand, attempting to keep her out of the ocean (no easy feat), and going on walks about the town.

The past two days it has been a bit rainy, so we've been taking drives around the area.  I find that driving with both children securely strapped down in the back seat to be oftentimes the most relaxing way to spend an hour.  It is really the only time one of us isn't chasing after our daughter or holding the little guy, who is not terribly fond of spending time on his own.  Quite the opposites, these two - one runs as fast as she can away from us, while the other holds on as tightly as possible.

Monkey has been very difficult to deal with these past days.  Granted, as I've mentioned before, she has a rare type of epilepsy that manifests itself in various ways.  While she does not seem to have the same amount of seizures as other children with this diagnosis, she is increasingly showing greater signs of developmental delay, language delay, cognitive issues, and attention difficulties.  I've read that the hyperactivity should start to wane at about age 5 or 6, but that is still a good two years off, and I wonder sometimes if we will all survive until then.  She is very difficult to control, and has absolutely no awareness of the dangers that surround her.  We are trying not to be helicopter parents, but it is difficult when your child will happily run in front of a semi-truck or off the edge of a cliff with nary a look back.  So, 'vacationing' with her can be quite stressful.  In a new place, she seems to have double the hyperactivity levels as she explores, grabs, chews, and tosses anything she can get her hands on.  Today she threw several temper tantrums, and at one point we both just sort of gave up and left her to her own devices for a short while which resulted in her grabbing a drying sweatshirt from the line and dunking it into a mud puddle on the porch repeatedly.  She had great fun, and had no understanding as to why perhaps this was not the best plan, given the chilly temperatures.

At home, we can put her in her soundly Monkey-proofed room, with a spy camera so we can keep an eye on things, and go about having some semblance of alone time.  Here in our country house, this is not an option.  This has actually resulted in us having more stress that what is typical, and has essentially made our relaxing week on the coast a bit less than idyll.  Our house is near the center of town, an ideal location, but is on three floors, with rather wobbly stone steps (just great for our kid with motor skill issues), hard tile uneven floors, and a rather musty odor.  Each morning, Jordi bleaches the hell out of the floors, and each evening they are covered by a layer of grit that we can't seem to get in front of.  It really is a country house, and the lovely photos in the ad left out quite a bit of information.  No stairs were pictured, and I suppose one of us should have noticed that the kitchen also was not photographed.  In fact, there are two kitchens, and they aren't terrible...after a good attack by my husband the bleachmaster.

Well, one more day here, and we head back home.  Easter festivities await, and Jordi's mom has been working all week on creating the Monas (easter cakes) for her grandchildren.  Great fancy confections they are, with loads of chocolate decorations.  A diet will be a must following this week of indulgence (there is an Indian restaurant in the town we are in, and I managed to satisfy my cravings with an approximately 5,000 calorie meal this evening, topped of by a bag of dark chocolate almond clusters from the local Xocolateria).

For now, all three of my family members are asleep and I should probably hit the hay as well.  Another day of Monkey wrangling ahead of me tomorrow - here's hoping whatever bug has been up her backside these past couple of days takes a rest tomorrow.  Vacation is almost over, and I think I can safely say that Papa and I are more exhausted than when we got here!

FInally!

Finally we are headed out of our poblet and up the coast!  We tried to escape once, back during February break...but if you recall, our German-engineered wonder decided to go kaput, and we were back home in a little under two hours from our departure.

But hopefully, today we will truly escape for the week.  We have a little house in the town center, there are lovely beaches and coves within a twenty-minute walk, castles and windy streets, and local crafty things to spend money on.  And it is Semana Santa, which means all of the holy stuff will be happening as well as everyone prepares for Easter.

Here, Palm Sunday is quite the festa, as children are given elaborately woven palms to take to church (which they wield a bit like weapons), and some of the adult palms can get a bit out of control.

Jordi's mother already gave Monkey her palm, and she promptly tried to 'pat' her brother on the head with it, mistaking it for a giant hairbrush.  Though he nearly lost an eye in the conflict, he didn't seem to fussed about it.

As for the American portion of our Easter celebrations, I contracted my mother to send over some old school Paas egg dyeing kits, malted eggs (which are already gone, eaten entirely by yours truly), chocolate bunnies, and some easter grass.  We'll be doing the egg hunt next Sunday when we have returned home. The real challenge is to find white eggs to dye.  Last year we had to go to a specialty egg shop to find them.  The plain white chicken eggs were housed right next to what was advertised to be a pair of ostrich eggs, but what to me seemed to be large enough to house a baby T-rex.  Exotic, they are, white chicken eggs.  But the color just doesn't really work on the brown...looks a bit depressing.

Well, off to pack.  A much different experience with a baby and toddler in tow...chairs, toys, books, art supplies, tricycle, baby carriers, and the list goes on and on. The car will be so packed, I'm not entirely sure we'll actually have enough room for the children.

Bona Pasqua!

Seriously OMG WTF?

Do you ever have one of those experiences when so many things had to align for it to even happen?  I had one of these today on the tiny commuter bus that traipses around our little town: the Just Tram.  Sometimes I take this wee little shuttle up the big hills to get to the preschool to pick up Monkey Lou.  Sometimes I schlep up these big hills with my double stroller and grab another bus for the final stretch (it is very steep, and I don't like to get all sweaty...Spain is toasty in March).  But, today I opted for the JT.

The JT is full of retirees (jubilats, as they call them here), and rarely does one see someone under the age of 65 aboard.  But today, on the stop after mine, a woman boarded and asked the bus driver which stop she needed to get off at for the Escola Canigó (a local elementary school).  I recognized that she had an accent, and she looked to be an extranjer, like me, so I told her, in English, that I was also getting off at that stop, and I'd be happy to show her.  We chatted a bit, and I found out she was going for a job interview to teach English at the private Catalan school at the top of Sant Just, our town.  The conversation evolved somehow to how we plan to educate our own children, being of bilingual English-Catalan families, and I mentioned that Monkey has some language delay issues.  She responded that her daughter is also behind in language.  We realized that both of our daughters are about the same age, and then chatted about speech therapy.

We got off the bus, and I said something along the lines of the fact that Monkey's language delay is due to her epileptic issues.  She turned and looked at me, stating that her daughter also has epilepsy.  In fact, that she has a very similar, if not the same, type of epilepsy as Monkey Lou.

The strange bit of this is, and we were both a bit shell-shocked, is that their type of epilepsy is rare.  Very rare.  As in one in 150,000 rare.  As in, in the entire world, a population of 7 billion, only about 45,000 people have this kind of epilepsy.  As in, in the city of Barcelona, a population of 1.5 million, only about 10 people have this kind of epilepsy.

Now you see why I was freaking out a bit.  In this city, there is a little girl, about the same age as Monkey Lou, who has basically the same struggles as she does, and her mother speaks ENGLISH!!!!!!!!!

And had I not decided to be lazy and take the JT, and instead hauled myself up the hills today, I never would have met this woman.  Had she grabbed the JT twenty minutes earlier or twenty minutes later, we never would have crossed paths.

I got her email before she headed into her interview.  Are we destined to be great friends?  Who knows.  But I am hoping it will help my mental state somewhat to have someone to talk to (IN ENGLISH!!!!!) that has the vaguest idea of what I go through every day.

I'm not a big spiritual person (my poor, frustrated mother can attest heartily to this), but sometimes, something makes you believe that there are things on this Earth a workin' that are much bigger than your own small self.

Alone Time

I never seem to be alone.  The other day, my in-laws came over to watch Monkey Lou while I ran to the pharmacy to pick up some medication for whatever virus she happened to be battling at that particular moment.  Mr. Bean was passed out on the bed, and my father-in-law told me to just run along, head off to the pharmacy on my own, and he and the Iaia (grandma) could handle the two (really one, as the baby was sleeping).  However, just as the moment to depart arrived, guess who woke up?  That was the end of my solo venture, and I never even made it out the door.  Monkey Lou's particular issues make her quite the handful, so I understand why the grandparents wanted to have all hands on deck when watching her, even though it was for about a 30-minute spell.  So I strapped Mr. Bean up into the baby carrier and away we went.  Together.  As always.

Lately, I've found myself staying up later than my husband, watching random things on the computer or reading equally random information on various sites.  Last night I found myself learning all about Amigurimi, the Japanese art of crocheting little animals.  And yes, it was interesting, but no, I do not plan to learn how to do it.  Not now, anyway.  I've got hats to make!

It is at this time when I am as most alone during the day, with Jordi sleeping next to me and Mr. Bean snoozing on my lap (yes, I know, I should try to get him to sleep on his own, but we have a tiny apartment, grouchy neighbors, and he tends to raise holy hell when he is asked to be more than a meter away from his mama...and God forbid he should wake up Monkey Lou...then the whole house would be in uproar...so yes, my lap is where he sleeps for now, and my lap is where he shall stay).  I keep telling myself that I need to go to bed, yet I stay up...I think mostly because I need this time 'by myself.'

It's as close as I am going to get for the time being.  At least until the Bean gets mobile and starts running away from me like his big sister does on a daily basis.

Pinterest

I've been sucked in.  Man, it is addictive.  And fun.  And, well, I need to get back to pinning random things that I would like to some day try to accomplish, but will likely never attempt as I will be spending all of my time finding other projects I would one day like to accomplish, but will likely never attempt because....

And so on.

Hats and Fits

Well, it's been a spell since I've written anything...not because I've been otherwise occupied with anything terribly exciting.  I've been making hats.  Five hats to be exact.  A rather wonky green hat that Monkey Lou likes to sport around the house, despite the fact that it's been about 60 degrees in Barcelona these past days.

A red hat that was intended for Mr. Bean, but I made it too small and it looks kind of like a Yarmulke.

A blue hat that turned out much better and has a snazzy zigzag pattern.

A purple hat with a cool checkerboard pattern that was also intended for Monkey Lou, but realistically looks much finer on my own head, so too bad Monkey Lou!

And finally, a gray hat with a rather challenging pattern including cables and something called a seed stitch...took a lot of concentration, and due to my unfortunate choice of a rather slippery wool, a lot of grabbing of slipped stitches and some fudging of the pattern where I screwed up because one or the other child demanded my attention and I lost track of what I was doing.

In other news, we had a rather unfortunate episode with our little girl on Monday.  When she does have seizures, they are usually quite short and of the general herky-jerky variety.  On Monday, when Jordi pulled her out of her bath and was brushing her hair, he noticed she was not protesting loudly as is her usual M.O..  When he looked at her, he noticed she was not quite all there and yelled to me to come and check it out...and indeed, something was amiss.  We laid her on the bed, and basically it seemed as if she was stoned.  Her pupils were completely blown out, and she was kind of looking back and forth slowly as if she'd dropped a bit too much acid at a cheesy laser show from the 80s.  She held my hand, and wasn't convulsing, but something was definitely going on.  We checked her temp, which was 99.4 (37.9) which isn't much, but is still something.  She started to tense up a bit, and so we grabbed her and Mr. Bean and ran to the CAP (town clinic - thank you socialized medicine!) which is open until 8pm.  All of the doctors and nurses rushed in, as she was going a bit blue by this point, and hooked up oxygen to her little face.  The pediatric nurse kept noting how calm Jordi and I were during this experience, but I suppose having been through this and worse several times before, you just kind of give in to a quiet, but concerned, observation while letting the doctors do their thing.  Anyway, after a bit they decided to take her in the ambulance to the children's hospital, and after a few hours there, they sent her home.  They said they'd usually keep her overnight, as the seizure was long...but her medication was on the low end, and since we are 'experienced' parents, they didn't see why she needed the night there.  She woke up Tuesday morning, and all is normal.  So...the medication has been raised, and hopefully that's the last of that kind of seizure we'll see for a while.  Don't let the door hit you on the way out, seizure!

We told her preschool teachers what happened when she went back to school yesterday, and just to keep an eye on her if she didn't respond when they called her name or seemed like she was in a bit of a daze.  Their response: 'None of the children respond to us when we call their name!'  Oh well.  I guess they got freaked out, as they called an hour before her pick-up time to see if she could get picked up early.  She was a bit less energetic than normal, and I suppose they were nervous.  She did go down for her nap a bit earlier, but nothing else was amis.  Day by day.

As for me, I'm going to keep working on my hat-making skills.  With my lap baby who has a meltdown when he is less than three centimeters from his mama (and has just spit up his breakfast on my arm, thanks) I need some sort of project that will keep me busy with a minimum of equipment and required space!

Veggies

My little guy turns six months next week.  I remember when Monkey Lou turned six months. and I was so anxious to start her on rice cereal.  This time around, I am a bit sad to get him going on solids because it marks the point at which he is no longer solely dependent on me for his nourishment.  I'll still keep nursing him for several months yet, but he is slowly but surely, growing up.

So, just a few short days and my Mr. Bean will join the ranks of veggie lovers everywhere.  I bought a boatload of pureed baby veggies at a grocery store across the border in France.  They oddly don't sell strained veggies here in Barcelona - most mothers either cook their veggies and puree them with a wand blender, or they have a BabyCook machine.  I got my BabyCook for a Christmas present this year, and I have to say, it is a nifty little invention.  Steams and purees in one go, but a bit of a pain to clean.  I've already put it to use quite a bit, since Monkey Lou refuses veggies unless they are pureed into absolute velvet and even then it is a bit of a chore.  The only way to get her to eat broccoli is to hide it in a breakfast bread (as in substituting the pureed pumpkin in the recipe with pureed broccoli).  It tastes a bit like a falafel.

Even though I have my fancy baby food machine, I like the little glass baby jars for storing things, and honestly, convenience.  Once I run out of Mr. Bean's fancy French baby food (not fancy, actually, just Nestle brand) he'll be getting his veg from the BabyCook as well.  I've got about a month's supply though, so he'll be ready for a wee bit of texture by then.

Before you know it, he'll have moved past strained carrots to Cheerios, hot dog bits to animal crackers, then on to french fries and pizza.  I suppose he'll come full circle again and be back to strained carrots in about 80 years, but that point really is a long way off.  Though I have a feeling that way time is passing lately, that the days of french fries and pizza will be here in a blink of an eye.

One week later...

So my sister-in-law was a bit off in her estimate of a 24-hour bug.  It's been a week since we got hit, and we're all still dealing with the after-effects of a rather dreadful bout with the flu. Was it the actual flu?  Well, I think so, as I can't recall the last time I had a 39 (103) degree fever, that came out of nowhere, with a cold.  However, our rather odd physician, assigned by the town clinic (where everyone has to go for treatment, if they are a carrier of the public insurance) disagreed.

The doctors at the CAP (clinic) all have their own private practices as well, and do hours at the CAP on a regular schedule each week.  I'd never met our doctor before, but have been pretty happy with the medical treatment our children have received at the hands of the pediatricians and nurses there.  My husband said that he's known this doctor since he was little, and that he was great, 'really knows his stuff,' etc.

Upon meeting our doc, I was a bit taken aback by his general appearance...he had those wacky bifocals that make one's eyes look like dinner plates, and can be altogether disconcerting when making eye contact. He also had a rather gruff way about him which made it clear he was not open to questions.  Since my husband and I had the same bug, we just went in together.  He looked at both of our throats, listened to both of us breathe, and pronounced that we did not in fact have the flu, but a cold.  I, still convinced it was the flu, bit my tongue to ask how he could possibly know this for sure, and waited for his treatment plan.  Regardless of whether it is the flu or a cold, there really isn't much you can do but ride it out...  He prescribed lots of ibuprofen and paracetamol (acetaminophen), and Jordi got a cough syrup (me no, as am still making food for Mr. Bean) and that was it.  No biggie that I disagreed with his diagnosis...what he said to Jordi during the appointment was much, much worse.  When examining our throats he said:

'Yours is worse than your wife's.'

This, of course, opened a giant door for my husband to lay claim that he was, in fact, feeling more poorly than me.  A door which most definitely did not need to be opened.  I never get to be sick by myself, because he always gets the virus of the week as well.  Then I feel the need to take care of him as well as the kids, as he just seems much sicker than me.  Men are not the best patients, and sometimes I honestly think that they just have a far lower tolerance for pain than we do.  We do give birth after all.

Luckily, by the time the mass quantities of painkillers had kicked in, he was more up and able to help out with the children's needs as well as general house stuff that needed doing.  He went back to work yesterday, stating that he was able to get more rest working as a PE teacher with small children than he was  able to get at  home.  An accurate assessment, I suppose.

We're all pretty much better now, Monkey Lou is still spewing incredibly gross amounts of goop from her nose and Mr. Bean has an altogether adorable cough, but we're all on the mend.

Thank goodness, because now that we're all over this illness, I can finally sit down and take a rest.

Sicky sicky sicky not sicky

Well, the whole family caught the bug, with the exception of Mr. Bean.  Hope those antibodies in my milk are kicking the ass of whatever virus is going around.  Apparently it is a quick bug, with most symptoms hitting the pavement within 24-hours.  Monkey Lou has been much better today, chipper with loads of boogers coming out of her nose.  Last night her fever was up to 39.4 (103) and would not go down despite ibuprofen, paracetamol, and wet towels.  And two more seizures to boot.  The second one was more of an absence seizure, not a jerky tonic-clonic, and she started to get a bit blue in the face, so we called an ambulance, thinking they would arrive with oxygen supply quickly.  It took 25 minutes, by when the seizure had stopped and Monkey Lou was quite lumpy and not really responding except for looking all around.  Papa had to take her to the hospital while I stayed back with Mr. Bean, marking the first time that I'd not traveled in the ambulance with my little girl.  I teared up a bit as the medic carried her down the stairs, but the frequent text messages and updates helped me relax.  Oddly, they didn't take her blood to check for infection, per usual our visits there.  Instead, they did a blood prick to check her blood sugar (having a diabetic sister and father, this is a good idea), and then wanted to check her pee for some reason.  But she wouldn't go, so they finally released her at 1am.  I was so happy when her Papa carried her in and she started saying 'Mama, Mama, where are you?'  Monkey Lou was more her normal self.  Unfortunately, our battle with this virus was not quite over yet.

 I started having a bit of a tight chest last night, woke up a bit achy this morning, had the shakes around 11am, 38.9 (102) degree fever by 1pm, and am now slightly lower but feeling loads better.  Hubby on the other hand is about three hours behind me in the evolution of the disease, starting to shiver around 2pm and now huddled in Monkey Lou's bed with the covers and a 38.3 (101) temp.  He was reluctant to call in reinforcements, but I finally made him call his mama about an hour ago.  She arrived with his sister in tow, and now Mr. Bean and Monkey Lou are being taken care of in the other room while the husband sleeps it off and I write this post.  Technically I am supposed to be sleeping, but I find it difficult to sleep when I have a fever.  Everything hurts and I just can't get to the point where I pass out.

Sitting in a room on my own (for the first time in months, I think) is rest enough.  And I hear the distinct clatter of my dishes being washed.  Plus, the MIL and SIL brought over soup and get-better food which makes me want to hurl right now, but perhaps later.

Right now all I want is my big jug of water and to watch the new episode of Project Runway All-Stars.

By the way, this week was a vacation week, and here is the breakdown of what we were supposed to do, and what we ended up doing....

Monday: Trip to Lleida - car breaks down on the way - sat around at home
Tuesday: Trip to La Roca Outlets - car has another issue, goes back to the mechanic - sat around at home
Wednesday: Ear, Nose, and Throat doctor, trip to La Roca Outlets - waited for almost two hours for appointment, car was still not ready, Monkey Lou ended up having a seizure
Thursday: Trip to La Roca Outlets - cancelled due to Monkey's illness, two more seizures, trip to ER
Friday: Monkey all better - Mama and Papa down for the count
Saturday: Hubby is supposed to meet up with is friends, go out to dinner, 'party, party'...we'll see if he rallies.  Probably not the best play, but it is up to him, I'm not saying anything...

Unless he is completely useless on Sunday morning...then I might really have to work on holding my tongue.

The Apple Hat

I found the cutest knitting pattern today and I think I'm going to give it a go.  This, despite only having knitted scarves and an ill-fitting sock (read: not plural as in socks, but simply sock, as I grew discouraged and gave up...something that happens all too often when I become enthused by a craft project).

But, Mr. Bean needs a hat, and I do know how to knit and purl, and with the help of Youtube and Google, I am sure I can pull this nifty little hat off.  I will post results when finished.

It will probably get done sometime around July.

0 days and counting...

You know how they have those counters at worksites, '28 days since our last accident' etc.?  Well, we sort of feel that way about Monkey's seizures.  She only has them with fevers, and as she's gotten older, the fevers haven't been as frequent, therefore giving us a larger space of time between fever seizures.  The last one was on November 24th, American Thanksgiving.

Until this evening.

She was cranky all day, and threw a massive temper tantrum at the Children's hospital where we had an appointment with the ear, nose, and throat doctor.  In addition to epilepsy, she has big adenoids which caused her to be sick constantly last year.  The one kid that really doesn't need extra chances at illness lucks out with her mother's gargantuan adenoids (I had them out when I was seven - and no, the ice cream didn't make up for the discomfort.  If I recall, the idea of ice cream was completely unappetizing, and I stuck with Flintstones popsicles.  Barney was lemon.  As he should be.).  She didn't want to eat much at lunch, and woke up from her nap (again, sans xumet) a right grump.  So, I took her temperature.  Since it was only 37.3 (99.2 for the Americans out there), ibuprofen was not in order, so I plunked her down with a 'Wonder Pets' and she cheered up.

We headed over to the grandparents' house for an afternoon visit, as Iaia (grandma) has been feeling a bit poorly (stomach bug, and some sort of cyst on her head which is supposedly not serious, but irritating just the same).  Monkey ate some cookies and milk, and was playing with her toys in the living room, when BAM, she toppled over, luckily hit the floor backside first before seizing for 45 seconds.  We have been through this many a time at this point, and while it is not a walk in the park, we get through it.  Remembering that when this all started when she was just a week shy of six months old (and on an airplane halfway between Australia and Japan, no less - another story for another day), and that her seizures used to last upwards of 35 minutes and require a trip via ambulance to the hospital, IV drugs, and a team of doctors surrounding her in the emergency room, I'd say we've come quite far.  Even last year, she was having seizures about every three to four weeks, always coinciding with a fever, and her last one was back in November, and prior to that, June.  Our life is slowly, but surely gaining normalcy.

She takes three medications each morning and night to help prevent these seizures, and the doctors say that they are having an effect as seen by the duration of the seizures having dramatically lessened.  I have my doubts, as I have also read it is very difficult to control fever seizures, and that as children mature and start to grow out of them, they shorten up and are fewer and far between.

I do hope the day comes when our girl is both seizure and medication free, but until then it is what it is, and this is just part of our life

That being said...again, our trip to the outlet mall to bargain hunt has been put on the back burner.  Car is healed (to a tune of about 400 smackers), but our little girl needs her rest now.  Poor hubby gets to camp out in her room for the next few nights, as we want to keep the kids separate while she is ill, and someone needs to stay close in case she has another crisis during the night.

Fingers crossed she heals quickly.  Off to beg for antibiotics tomorrow!

Success!

Well, she made it through the entire night, only appearing in our bed around 5:30am.  Which is pretty typical, actually.  No mention of 'Pa,' no asking for it, nothing. Let's see how naptime goes.

As for the car, still waiting on the finishing time and the estimate.  Sent Papa off to the psychologist with the Monkey today, which leaves me an exciting morning free for laundry and dishes.  Wheeeeee!

Of course, first, a cup of coffee and last night's episode of "The Daily Show" which featured a segment on new Republican frontrunner Rick Santorum.  This man frightens me, not only because of his ideological beliefs, but because he just looks smarmy and like he has a personality of an asshat.  And I fundamentally disagree with everything that comes out of his mouth for the most part.

Sometimes I think that moving back to the US would be a good idea, more space, cheaper housing, we could have a yard and two cars, etc...but seeing the dysfunction of the government and the mainstream support for people with such non-secular views on how to run a country and by extension, the lives of the people living in that country, makes me want to build an igloo in Finland and learn how to make snowshoes.  Okay, maybe not to that extreme, but...

We live in Spain right now, and though the economy is in the dumpster, and we are also being run by a ship of fools, at least they're progressive enough to support gay marriage, public health insurance, and recognize that Socialism is not a four-letter-word.  Though it is becoming increasingly so, as the employment rate inches (how do you say that in metric...centimeters?) its way towards 30%.

All this from a super-Catholic (less so than before, but still pretty Catholic) country that only legalized divorce in 1981.  1981!!!

First night down...

Okay, we cut the end of the pacifier.  But in the end didn't give it to her...have to give props to my husband, who put her down and didn't cave.  She finally passed out after some tears.  Her exhaustion probably added to her short tantrum, today our trip to the town of Lleida in the western part of Catalunya was stymied by an electrical short in the engine, causing a new warning light to appear in the dashboard.  Since the symbol was unfamiliar (sort of a curlique...curli-que...curly-q?), we had to look it up in the owner's manual.  This, however, is unfortunately in German as we bought the car (a VW, natch) while living there.  So...we had to call a friend whose girlfriend is German, hoping that they were together.  They were, and luckily for us, she was able to translate for us...unluckily the translation was: stop driving immediately and get a tow truck.

This we did, and our VW is now sitting at the Werkstatt (workshop) getting fixed. Not too pricey, hopefully, because if we get the car back by tomorrow, we will be going to the La Roca Outlets.  I got two killer pairs of Camper boots there last year and am hoping for a repeat of luck.

But if the bill from the mechanic is too high, I imagine my spending spree will also be stymied.

Fingers crossed that Monkey stays in her bed tonight, fast asleep...

Xumet Delay

Okay, we have to wait one more day for the ditching of the pacifier.  Monkey has an evaluation tomorrow morning at 8:30am, and would be a dreadful bear if she is sleep-deprived.

We'll see how she does.  Last time (six months ago) they were very impressed with her progress.  The evaluation is all in Catalan, which she understands for the most part, though she 'speaks' almost entirely in English.  I put the word 'speaks' in quotes, as she is about a year behind in her speech development and does not quite make sentences yet.  She is progressing, and certainly wants to talk...but understanding exactly what she is saying is sometimes quite the challenge!

Well, it is Sunday morning, and since Mr. Bean is peacefully sleeping on my lap, I'm going to make the attempt to transfer him to a solo sleeping place (no easy feat) and spend a bit of fingerpainting time with the other one.  We got these cool Magic Color Wonder finger paints from the US for Christmas...no mess!  The US is so creative in their endeavors to save my walls from certain fingerpainting destruction.  Fingers crossed that Monkey is on her best behavior tomorrow morning, and understands what is being asked of her in her other mother tongue.  I guess it would be called Father Tongue?

That sounds a bit creepy - like a pervy version of Father Christmas.

Naps interrupted.

When Monkey was a baby, she rested in a peaceful household where I carefully tiptoed around, taking care not to disturb her as I went about my daily chores.  Our Mr. Bean does not have that luxury, as he has to share space with the aforementioned Monkey who seems to reserve her noisiest play for when he is finally snoozing on his own.  

Once I have gingerly placed him aside (he's been an in-the-arms addict since birth, and is never happier than when being held), Monkey can be counted on to shout 'Mail!' or 'Wow!' or issue some sort of complaint or grumble at top volume.  I get why she says 'Wow!' often, as she is quite self-congratulatory when tower building or figurine arranging.  The 'Mail!' exclamation I believe comes from 'Blue's Clues,' though she seems to just randomly shout it out during the day.  I suppose this is one of the reasons we go to speech therapy each week.

It is not only Mr. Bean's naps she has a habit of interrupting, however.  It seems each afternoon, once she is happily passed out in her bed, and I've managed to scarf away a bowl of soup and an Activia and am just about to snuggle in with Mr. Bean for a 15-minute power nap, I hear a rustling in her room.  Dread fills my soul as I peer at the video monitor, repeating 'Lay back down, come on, lay back down, please, go back to sleep.'  Typically my mutterings are to no avail, as she invariably tumbles out of her bed, bangs open her door and stumbles into my bedroom.

Waking up Mr. Bean in the process, of course.  

I always tell myself that I need to get to the power nap more quickly, and not push it to the back of what is typically her 90-minute nap period.  But I always find something to distract me and keep me from my napping goal.  So I guess I can't really blame her for my lack of daily naptime.

Shortening her little brother's snoozefests however...we really need to work on more quiet play and less random exclamations.  Sleep deprivation is not pretty on a 5-month old.

Or me either, for that matter...yesterday, I was walking around with a black marker in my back pocket.  I had been searching for said black marker for 10 minutes around the house while my tutoring students watched with amusement. 

Should really make sure to fit in that nap on tutoring days.  

Xumet

That is what a pacifier is called here.  Monkey calls her 'Pa' for some unknown reason.  She is now three and a half (almost) and we have yet to get rid of it.  Why so reluctant?  Well...it is the only way we can get her to stay in her bed.

We know that Pa's days are numbered, but when the number will finally be up...well, not so sure about that.  What if she doesn't stay in bed?  What if it takes hours and hours to get her to finally pass out?

We get little enough sleep as it is...

A friend told us that we should cut the ends off of her pacifiers and she won't like them any more.  I think that is the method we're going to try.  Monkey isn't quite at the reasoning stage, and I'm afraid that the binky fairy wouldn't make much of an impression.

We plan to try next week, when my husband has a week off from school.  That way we can sleep in shifts.

That is if I don't cave...which is a very likely possibility if sleep makes a more compelling case.  Braces will  probably be cheaper in 10 years, right?

Transitions

Having kids is a lot of stress, isn't it?  Having one was manageable, because when one parent was taking care of the baby, the other one had a bit of free time.  Now, it seems, that we each have the responsibility for one of these little monkeys all of the time.  Except, of course, during the day, when I have responsibility for both of them continuously.

This transition has been difficult for our family, as my husband has taken on extra responsibilities at work, and comes home very tired and stressed out already.  I know he would like to put his feet up and rest a bit, but I'm still working on how to make that happen.  I do think, even with two kids, that my day is a bit less stressful than his own...but I NEED him when he gets home.  I wish the garbage could walk itself out to the containers, but that doesn't seem to be part of the town recycling program quite yet.  I also wish that Mr. Bean was capable of being on his own for more than 2.5 minutes, but he is a bit of a clingy fellow and enjoys the company of others (read: he CAN NOT ever be alone).

So...what to do?  Keep on keeping on, I guess.  I realize that many couples struggle a bit when there are small ones running the house.  I wish this wouldn't happen, but it seems to have.  Just hoping it is a passing phase, and once they are a bit more self-reliant we can get back to having more of a focus on the 'us' part of our family as well.

I suppose it is normal, but that doesn't mean I like it.

Five Months Gone

Five months ago today, I gave birth to my little man, Mr. Bean.  I'm not quite sure how the time passed so quickly.  I don't remember my Monkey's first five months flying by in such a blur, but perhaps that is because I was able to laze away the days with her, visit friends here and there, nip about to shops and whatnot in Tokyo, only needing to try to get home by the time my husband was finished with work.  Or not.

This time, poor Mr. Bean has been wheeled here, there, and everywhere in attempts to keep up with his sister's packed schedule.  Preschool on Monday, Wednesday, Friday...psychologist (to work on attention problems due to her epilepsy issues) on Tuesdays, speech therapist (again, due to the epilepsy issues) on Thursdays.  Appointments with the neurologist, ENT, and regular pediatrician on a fairly regular basis.  Is this why second children tend to be more relax and chilled out?  I would think it would make them more tense and high-strung.  The schedule has certainly had that effect on me!

All is for Monkey's benefit, though, and we're starting to see it pay off a bit.  She is still a handful...but today she asked (as in used an 'up' inflection) for 'More cake?'  This is good progress, being that she is about a year behind in her speech development and until two months ago, was only a one-word-user.  Funnily, she started using the word 'please' to indicate that she wants something.  As in 'Please milk.'  I love this, but apparently this is taboo in the world of speech therapy, as 'please' can encompass too many useful words she needs to start using to differentiate what she wants and needs.  Baby steps.

How terrible.  This should be a post about my son turning five months old today, and yet it has turned into a post about his big sister who will likely demand a bit more than her share of parental attention.  Be patient my little man, I'll always make time for you too.  As in right now, while your sister is busy occupying herself with trying on various hats in front of a mirror, you are entitled to a big snuggle from mama.

Of course, you ARE sleeping, so maybe I can take just a few minutes to sneak in some laundry folding and dinner planning.  Terrible...

Can you believe it???

Since I last posted over a week ago, my little monkey is still sick.  However, her cold has turned into a rather raging case of the runs.  This is not the first time we have battled this particular illness, but it is the first time since we've had Mr. Bean join our family, and to say that I have been lathering on the antibacterial hand sanitizer is to put it mildly.

My husband is away at a sports tournament for his school, leaving me with lots of diarrhea-affected laundry and drinking battles to face on my own.  Good timing, Monkey.  Since she has the additional complication of epilepsy, I've been enjoying force-feeding her yogurt with her morning and afternoon doses of medicine.  Good times.

I'm a bit stressed because she has very little interest in eating and just a bit more interest in drinking fluids...I'm not sure she's hydrated enough, and they don't sell Pedialyte here - just this gross 'strawberry-flavored' powder to mix with water.  I tried to sneak it past her, but no dice.  If she had, in fact, had dice in her hands she would have thrown them squarely in my face.

Hopefully it will all pass in the next couple of days...and not pass on to me or Mr. Bean.  Or my husband either...he'll be of no help to me then!

Sick Monkey

Well, the Monkey came down with a rough sounding cough last night, and will therefore not be heading to preschool this morning.  Best to keep her at home for her own health, as well as to keep the other monkeys in her class from getting whatever she had.  Don't love going to the preschool and seeing little ones hacking up a lung and spreading their germs around, and since I am at home I have the option to minimize the spread of this particular bug, at least through my child.

Of course, this likely means a trip to the doctor later - with the Catalan public health system, you go to one of these clinics called a CAP, and see the pediatrician there.  Luckily, ours is just a three minute walk from our house.  I hope we get the morning doctor though, the afternoon one is grumpy and insists on speaking Spanish all the time.  My Spanish = dreadful.  My Catalan = passable.  Therefore, I prefer morning doctor.

Hope she improves soon and a fever is not on the horizon.  Fingers crossed.

Half-Mornings

On Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, my three-year-old hyperactive Monkey goes to preschool.  On Tuesdays and Thursdays she has appointments with her psychologist and speech therapist, respectively.  That means that on M, W, and F I have something of a 'free' morning, as I am only caring for one child, our four-month-old son, Mr. Bean.  Of course, these are not their real names, but tend to be the monikers I use on a daily basis.  Lucky children, as they actually do have proper names, and I have no doubt there are actual children out there in this world that have the names Monkey and Mr. Bean listed on their birth certificates.

On Mondays, our lovely cleaner comes to the house for two hours to do the tidying I can't ever seem to get motivated to get around to.  At this time, I usually wander down to the vegetable and fruit store, as well as the grocery to pick up odds and ends that we didn't grab on the big Saturday grocery run.  I have only a double stroller, and feel a bit silly dragging it out with only Mr. Bean occupying the back seat (and we have big hills, and I don't particularly enjoy pushing that monster up the hill back home when it is fully loaded with produce).  I love the fruit and veggie store, as it is full of fresh, cheap options and friendly South Americans.  They couldn't quite get the Visa machine to work today, and allowed me to carry my veggies home and return with cash.  That is one of the nice things about living in a small town.

Not so nice is that fact that there are absolutely ZERO ethnic restaurants within the city limits.  Catalan cuisine as far as the eye can see.  Of course, we do have a Wok restaurant.  But that fine dining experience deserves its own post.  Maybe tomorrow.

Right now, I must get to eating my golden kiwi and Activia and squeezing in a nap before the Monkey wakes up and my Half-Morning 'free' comes to a close.