Anatomy of a great weekend

March hasn't been my favorite month, but it sure went out on a nice note this weekend.

Of course, it started out with a few bumps. On Friday, after a fun visit to Picket Fence, we decided to go to the new Mexican restaurant in town for dinner. Bad, bad decision. The food and service were subpar; our food came out at such different times that the girls were done with their dinner before Josh and I had even been served ours, and when it came out, the beans and rice were cold. Womp womp. On the bright side, we discovered that Ellie likes spicy salsa and dipped her chips quite happily into it, so I suppose not all was lost.

On Saturday morning, we slept in a bit (anything past 5:45 is sleeping in!). The girls joined us around 6:00, and by about 7:30 Ellie had had enough. She crawled out of bed and said, "Mommy, I'ww be wiiight back." and off she went...for about two steps into the hall. Then she came back and said, "Mommy. Ged up." And so I did. We went into the living room and watched the news and read "A Fly Went By" from her Dr. Seuss collection, until Josh woke up. Then he made a pot of glorious 3030 coffee and we enjoyed Rescue 33 donuts we'd gotten the night before.

The rest of Saturday morning was relaxing. The girls watched their cartoons, Josh and I read, and we didn't really do much else. Before lunch, the girls and I went into Elaina's room to play. Ellie built a block castle, and Elaina rediscovered the menu board I made for her birthday. Who knew so many months later it would provide an entire weekend's worth of entertainment for her?

After lunch, we ran to Harbor Frieght and then re-upped our membership with Costco. Amazingly, neither Josh nor myself wanted to curl into a ball or cry or flee from the store...it's amazing what free samples can do to quell the beast that sometimes takes the form of otherwise (fairly) reasonable children. When we got home, Josh put on the Equestria Girls movie.

Getting cozy for their movie

I took the opportunity to go for a run and to call Sarah, my best friend from high school. It was great to talk to her--she had her third baby, Adam, last month, and it was so fun to hear his little squeaks and to compare notes. We laughed at each other because I, with two "older" preschoolers, have quite a bit more freedom, which she longs for, and she, with a new baby, has all the cuddles and squeaks and "new", which I think is so much (exhausting) fun. At the end of our conversation, we realized that we have been friends for nearly 20 years now. Crazy. But I wouldn't trade her for anything.

When I got off the phone, I showered and we went to Kroger for our "normal" groceries, which also went surprisingly well. Josh made pizza for dinner while the girls colored. We even tried Ellie in big girl undies for awhile, which was not a total success, but we're getting there. After they went to bed, we read AND watched Wisconsin beat Arizona in overtime. Mom and I texted throughout the game, and she told me Rachel was on the phone with Dad. What can I say? We grew up watching March Madness, we cheer for Big 10 teams, and we hate Arizona. It's a family affair :)

On Sunday morning, Josh got up early and thankfully, when Ellie told me she'd "be wiiight back", she stayed with him, letting me snooze a little longer. After breakfast and toons, Josh went outside to do some prep work on the garden while the girls and I played inside. Then it was time to get ready for church. Finally warm enough for more springy dresses!

In pictures like this, I am again dumbfounded by people who ask if they are twins...

The BEST part of the day was after church and after lunch, when we spent three glorious hours outside. Josh and the girls planted our cold frame box--carrots, broccoli, cauliflower, radishes, onions, chard, sugar snap peas, and lettuce. I cleaned up our flowerbeds and searched for hints of green poking up out of the soil, drew unicorns on the back patio (one of my many artistic talents, to be sure), and provided general entertainment to the two youngest members of the Serrano family. After the neverending winter, it was so, so, so nice to be outside, in the sun, without a coat. Fresh air, blue skies, and promises of many more afternoons like this to come.

poking holes for seeds

Showing her how it's done

Elaina plants peas

Ellie helps with chard

William Wallace, or Jem?

To cap off an already great weekend, Josh and I enjoyed the season finale of The Walking Dead, which was shocking and exciting and left me both thankful for the time away from the show and looking forward to next season. And before I knew it, it was time to pic out my clothes for the day and go to bed.

Ahh, Monday. You came too soon.

Happy things

As far as 2014 goes, March hasn't been my favorite month. First, we've had the winter that will not end, and every time we get a small reprieve (temperatures above 45, for example), it's always followed by yet another arctic blast. Take this past weekend. Friday was lovely, with highs in the low 60s. Here, a scant three days later, snow is in the forecast. Again. Second, though we've been fortunate enough to remain healthy through most of the winter, our luck finally ran out, and we all got the flu. Ellie got it the worst, poor baby, and that was hard. Third, Winston ran away and I thought he was lost for good. When we went to bed Friday night, and I didn't know he was coming back, I told Josh that March could officially kiss my rear.

Luckily, I am finding plenty of things to be happy about. Here is my list of 5 things March got right.

1. Iced caramel macchiatto.

Source

Wanting something different from my normal cafe mocha, I ordered this for the first time on Saturday night, and wow, where has this been all my life? Refreshing, sweet-but-not-too-sweet, and good to the last drop. I have a feeling it will be a staple this summer.

2. X-tra short jeans from Maurices

Source

I am 4'11, so even regular short jeans, made for 5'4 and under, are too long (and, annoyingly, are often stacked on the highest rack at the store. What sense does that make???). I finally broke down and bought some kids jeans from Old Navy last fall, mostly because they make jeans for "bigger" kids that allow for the hips I have, and I needed skinny jeans to go with my boots. But I really don't have much of a desire to shop in the same section that my daughters will be in a few years, and as much as I like Old Navy's price point, the quality isn't always there for jeans.

And then, hallelujah, amen, I found out that Maurices sells extra-short jeans. The hem fits perfectly, the wash is nice, and they look a heck of a lot more snazzy than the too-long jeans I've been wearing. And, they're the same price as Old Navy jeans. Winner winner, chicken dinner.

3. Season finale of The Walking Dead.


Walking Dead is by far our favorite show--it's the only show we never miss. I love the writing, I love the story line, and I love seeing the depth each character is given. It's actually quite literary, and I really appreciate that. But it stresses me out, wondering who will be the next to go, or how the story line will resolve (which it never does). After 8 weeks last fall and another 7 this spring, I'm starting to feel a little drained. (Yes, I realize how ridiculous that sounds.) So while I'm excited to see how this season ends next Sunday, I'd be lying if I said I'm not going to feel just a little relieved to get some emotional rest until October.

4. Planning a little something-something for our anniversary.
This June, Josh and I will celebrate our 8th anniversary, and now that the girls have successfully had two sleepovers with Gramma, we have a little more freedom to do something outside of Peoria county. We had talked about going to Chicago to spend the day and eat at one of Rick Bayless's restaurants, but neither of us are very keen on navigating the city. And we talked about going to Galena, which we did three years ago when I was about 8 months pregnant with Ellie, but it's quite a drive, too...though I suppose the coffee roasting shop may make it worth it. Right now we're throwing around the idea of going to Starved Rock, to stay overnight, do some hiking at nearby Mattheson, and have a nice dinner. I don't know what we'll end up doing, but it sure is fun to consider the options. (Pics from our trip there in 2009.)

5. Welcoming the 21st Century into the Serrano house.
Because the local cable company hates us, they never dropped cable lines when our neighborhood was going up roughly 15 years before we moved here. What this means is a) we have to have satellite for tv (no biggie, as I've found DirecTV to be better than Comcast was, anyway), and b) we have no Internet. This is particularly annoying because a house that I could literally hit with a rock from our yard can get cable internet, but we can't. We made due for a year by using an air card, and then, once we got our smartphones, we started hotspotting, which is a great way to suck up data with spotty coverage. But Danielle went through the trouble to research this conundrum, and found out that we could indeed get service from Frontier. So back in December, Josh called and confirmed what Danielle had learned, and said, "Sign us up!" And we found out they had to drill beneath the road to connect us, and then we had the winter that would not end, so for three long months we've lived with the promise yet unfulfilled. Finally, finally, this week things seem to be moving. When we came home from church on Sunday, little flags were in our yard, marking the gas and electric lines. When we came home today, more flags marked the water way. All these flags mean that in the next few days, drilling will be done, and hallelujah amen we will have internet at our house. We're even thinking of buying an Ipad. I'm not sure what we'll do with this sudden onslaught of technology, but I'm pretty excited to find out.

So there you have it. March has been pretty stinky...but things are looking up.

In which I suffered a broken heart

One thing I didn't account for when I made my big plans to move to Nashville following college graduation was how lonely life in "the big city" could be. It wasn't at first. I knew a handful of people and worked with nice people, and I assumed that friendship would following naturally out of those relationships. But it didn't, and when I moved out of my first apartment four months after moving to the city (my roommate was getting married, and I knew going into it that the arrangement would be temporary), I found myself alone. After two months of that, I had had enough of coming home to an empty, lifeless apartment. So I made the best decision of my entire 14 month stint in the city: I decided to get a cat.

On a sunny day in February, Margaret Dixon, our company CFO and fellow animal lover, drove me to the Davidson County Animal Shelter. My only stipulations were that I wanted a kitten, and I wanted it to be male. There were five kittens in the "fishbowl" room where kittens were kept: 3 grey-striped tabby males, a quiet female Siamese, and a little white tiger male with a grey striped tail and blue eyes. I wanted him immediately. He wasn't as playful as the other kittens, which concerned me a bit, but when I picked him up and he fell asleep purring in my lap, that was it. After we had been there awhile, another woman came in and began loving on the kittens. She picked up the white tiger kitten, who had woken up and started to play. Margaret must have seen the panic in my eyes, because she said, "Are you interested in that kitten? Because she wants him." (Bless her for saying what I did not have the courage to say.) Thankfully, the woman smiled and explained she just liked to come hold the kittens and wasn't interested in adopting any of them. I exhaled, and then I made it official: that afternoon, Winston became mine.

And he has been with me ever since.

He was by my side during the darkest stretch of adulthood I have been through, and he kept the loneliness from being altogether suffocating. He ran to greet me at the door every single day, including the day I came home in tears because I had been fired from my job. He was with me the night my apartment builing was set on fire in Dekalb, obediently climbing into his carrier when I decided to see what all the commotion in the hall had been about. (When I opened the door to a wall of smoke, I remember panicking because he didn't know how to hold his breath while I locked my door.) He was the reason I called Josh, my friend from Giles' class, to come pick me up at 3:30 in the morning, because I couldn't take my cat with me to a Red Cross shelter. Josh loved Winston, and before too long, he loved me, too. When we got married, Winston came with us to our brick oven duplex in Rockford. A few months later, he got to go on his very first (and to this date, only) boat ride when our neighborhood was flooded with six feet of urban runoff. (When it happened again 11 months later, Winston was lucky enough to stay home while the water receded.) He hated us briefly when we decided to get another kitten, a tiny black thing we named Chappu. He has been a part of my life for a decade now: seven moves, two floods, a fire, a wedding, a graduate degree, another kitten, and two babies later. He owns a ridiculous amount of nicknames and gets away with a ridiculous amount of silly cat behavior (namely begging unashamedly for water while I am showering and yowling at all hours of the night with one of his toys), because now he's a little old, and we've been through a lot, so he deserves some spoiling. I like to say that we have an agreement, that he will never die, and so far, he's lived up to his end of the agreement.

On Friday night, I thought that changed.

I took my shower after the girls went to bed, making sure to shut the bathroom door before starting the water so Winston wouldn't come in. (His begging for water can be rather obnoxious, particularly when I just want a moment with my thoughts.) But when I opened the door when I was done, he didn't come darting in. I started to realize that it'd been quite a long time since I'd seen him. I asked Josh if he had seen him; he hadn't, and the panic started to rise. We checked the house, shook the catfood, and he didn't come. I realized I hadn't seen him since we'd come inside with the girls, around 5:00. I went outside and called and called and called; he didn't come, but the sobbing did, along with the realization that he had gotten out while we were coming in, and he was gone.

We looked for two hours. Josh took the car and drove around the neighborhood, slowly shining the headlights into the woods and calling for him. I called my family and blabbered incoherently between sobs that he's gone, he's gone, he got outside and he's gone. We dinged a catfood can until it was dented and peered desperately into the darkness to see a little flash of white running towards us. I took a flashlight and walked up and down our road, calling his name and crying. My hand turned red in the cold, and the air swirled in the beam's dim light, but there was no Winston. No familiar meow, no quick padding of feet in my direction--nothing but darkness and silence. Josh took the car out again, and I sat at the back door, willing Winston to just show up. I tried praying, but mostly I cried. An hour later, Josh came home with nothing more than a headache to show for his searching. With nothing more to do, we sat a bowl of food on the back porch and, for the first time in 10 years, I went to bed without my cat by my side, devastated.

Ellie came skipping into our room around 5:00am the next morning, and as I pulled her into bed, I thought about how we would look for Winston after breakfast. And then, as she settled back to sleep, we heard a sound at the back door. It was the sound Chappu makes when a stray wanders into "his" yard--headbutting the glass, and hissing--so Josh got up and I held my breath. I heard him whisper, "Winston! Get in here!" and then the door shut, and Josh came back into the bedroom. I sat up in a hopeful panic. "Was that him?!?" And Josh smiled and said, "Yeah. Little a-hole is home."

He's sleeping on the other end of the couch as I write this, his little head tucked underneath him. He has had a ridiculous amount of shower water to quench his thirst, and almost an entire can of wet catfood all to himself. And I don't regret any of the spoiling he's gotten, because on Friday night, my heart was broken, and now it's whole again.

Reason to hope

For the last four months, our yard has looked something like this:

Beautiful, right?

And it is, really. 

Or was, until we seemed to get stuck in an endless cycle of snow followed by arctic temperatures, a minor reprieve, and more snow, and more cold.

Thankfully, we have sloooooowly started to thaw. More grass is now visible than snow, and even though it's the ugly grass of early spring--sort of a grey-brown color that is but a shadow of the vibrant green of summer--the fact that we can see it at all is reason to celebrate.

On Monday, when the temperature finally got above 50 (thank you, God, and hallelujah amen), I decided to venture out to see if any of my daffodils had braved the thawing ground. In my head, I was half hoping that they had miraculously sprouted from the ground and were in full bloom, like they were last April (apparently I expected them to skip ahead a month while they were at it...but what is hope, after all, if not optimistic?)

I was hoping to see this:

 No such luck.

But I did find something encouraging, something to keep me hoping for the warmer days where we can spend evenings outside, where I can clean out the flower beds that were woefully neglected last fall when it got cold like whoa fast, where the sun that brightens the day a little longer also finally feels warm.

I present to you, the hope of March:

Grow, babies, grow!!

And something else gave me hope today, too:

Someone was feeling sooooo much better today. She laughed and bounced and ate mostly junk, and I couldn't care less because it is just so nice to see her smile.

Sweet baby and sweet flowers. And lots of reason to hope.

The Worst First

I had looked forward to Monday for weeks. Or, at least 10 days, when I saw the forecast for sunny, above average temperatures. To celebrate, I declared that Monday would be the "First Dairy Queen of the Season". I announced it to family, to co-workers, and that morning, to the girls. And so, even though the day was decidedly less sunny than advertised, and a little bit cooler, we piled into the car and headed into town after dinner Monday night.



It was just as lovely as I had imagined.



Both girls had a strawberry sundae (this born out of Elaina's request for "pink ice cream"), and Josh and I split a Georgia Mud Fudge blizzard. The girls had such fun, and it was everything I had hoped it would be, even the drive down to the river, where we often go to eat our Dairy Queen in the summer. The river itself was chunks of ice, and more snow was in the forecast, but snow and ice be damned--we got our Dairy Queen.

The rest of the evening passed without excitment. We walked around the yard when we got home to see if any more brave bulbs had started to make an appearance (yay, tulips, for giving me hope of spring!), and then the girls took baths and went to bed, and Josh and I spent the evening watching Talking Dead, reading, and relaxing.

And then, around 10:30, I heard a cough from the girls' room. When I got there, Ellie was half-standing, half-crying. An unfortunate reminder of her evening treat was on her pillow, on her jammies, and on the care bear she had been hugging in her sleep. I picked her up, cleaned her and changed her, and got her settled back into bed. Ten minutes later, she was sick again.

The rest of the night was long. Poor baby was sick every hour, almost to the minute, until around 8:00 yesterday morning, when she was finally so exhausted she fell asleep in my arms.

Her day ebbed and flowed, and she was most content to lay on the couch and either nap or watch cartoons. She cried relentlessly for water, but any time she got more than a few sips, it came right back up. Around 3:30, she fell asleep again, and when we roused her an hour later, she was burning up.

I called Mom, who recommended I call the after-hours nurse hotline. Because she had had so little fluid throughout the day, and because she hadn't been wet and was now listless, feverish, and not easily roused, the nurse recommended that we bring her in to the emergency room. So around 5:45, I loaded her up and off we went.

Definitely the worst first of parenthood so far.

For Ellie, most of her first trip to the emergency room was spent asleep. She drifted off while we waited to be called to a triage room. After triage, where it's safe to say getting her temperature taken rectally was a wakeup call she did not appreciate, we were put back in a private room, and she promptly fell asleep again. She slept until I had to put her in a hospital gown, and right then I decided few things are more pathetic than a baby in a hospital gown, especially when it's clear how pathetic she felt.

She slept through the first nurses' visit, and through the first doctor's examination. He was concerned that her heartrate was high for her state (asleep), and, after waiting forever for him to come back, he said they'd give her an anti-nausea medication and see how she'd tolerate water. Which would have been fine, if she would have stayed awake long enough to drink anything.


She slept, and I waited and texted family with updates. And ate the cherry poptart I'd thrown in my purse for "dinner". And waited. And watched Chopped, once the nurse showed me how to turn on the television. And stared at my sweet baby and wondered what it would take to make her better. And waited, and waited, and waited.

Dr. S. finally came back. He sat next to Ellie and held her little hand in his, and said, "Well, Mom, what would you think of putting in an i.v. to make sure she's getting her fluids?" And as much as I hated the thought of that experience, I looked at him and said, "If that's what we have to do to make her better, let's do it." As he got up to leave, he hesitated and said he'd check with the senior doctor, that maybe since her diaper had been wet when we arrived, she wouldn't need an i.v.

And so I waited again.

Dr. S. came back and said the wet diaper had saved Ellie from the i.v., but he was still concerned that her heartrate was elevated and that she hadn't woken up really at all since we'd arrived. He asked what she had eaten that day (nothing, really, except for a couple oyster crackers), and when she'd eaten last, and then decided to take her blood sugar. When the nurse came in with the meter, I stroked Ellie's hair and told her I was glad she was sleeping so she wouldn't know what was coming. Dr. S. looked me in the eye and said, "Okay, if she doesn't flinch when we do this, we're putting the i.v. in." So as they prepped her finger, I thought, "Flinch, baby, flinch!" And thankfully, she did. Her blood sugar was 62, but the stick to the finger roused her enough to get to pick out her own juice. She drank some apple juice and ate a couple teddy grahams (and fed me one or two too). And then we waited a while more, and she fell back asleep, and then we got to go home.

We got to the hospital around 6:00 and left right before 11:00. As we were walking out, I noticed the emergency room waiting room was full. I was thankful we had come when we did, that Ellie had gotten the care that she did, and mostly, that we got to go home.

Today was markedly better than yesterday. Ellie came out to see Josh while he got ready for work, and when he and Elaina left, we fell back asleep until close to 9:00. When we got up, she smiled and chatted and seemed so much more herself. Ellie asked me to dance the Hot Dog dance with her at the end of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. She drank juice and held it down, and ate a couple goldfish crackers and two tiiiiiiiiny bites of jello. In the afternoon, we watched The Aristocats, for which she provided a complete running commentary until her little body had had enough and she fell asleep again.

Like yesterday, she succumbed to a slight fever after her nap, and took another when Josh got home. As she began to wake up, we started talking about our plans for the evening, and whether I would just stay home with her while Josh and Elaina went to the store and to the library. I said, "I'll stay here," to which a half-awake Ellie protested, "No, I don't wanna stay!"

So, we went.

She seemed to be doing better tonight. Ate a tiny bit for supper. And enjoyed part of an orange popsicle when we got home.

The last two days have been the worst first of parenthood so far.

But I am hopeful the days will only get better from here.