Happy Barfday To You

Poor Gabby. She has yet to make it through a birthday without someone throwing up.


It started the day she was born. Right before I went to the OR for the c-section, they gave me some medicine that was supposed to settle my stomach and keep everything down. Let's just say the medicine did not have the intended effect. So much so that one of the labor and delivery nurses, who have surely seen everything, actually said, "wow."

When Gabby turned one, we were in Santa Fe with family. The morning of her birthday, I picked her up and she launched herself over my shoulder, landing on her head on a stone floor. She screamed until she threw up, and because she had thrown up the advice nurse said we'd best go to the emergency room, so off we went in a blizzard to have her checked out. She was fine, thank goodness, but the whole thing kind of put a damper on the day.

Last year, we scheduled Gabby's birthday party for a Sunday. The night before, Atomic started running a fever, and by morning he was barely able to move from the bathroom. Charming. We cancelled the party.

This year, we scheduled a party almost two weeks before her actual birthday so she could celebrate with her friends. Out of an abundance of courage, or a dearth of good sense, we agreed that she could have a slumber party and let her invite three little girls. She's been out of her mind with excitement for weeks, planning the menu (peanut butter and jelly sandwiches), the cake (strawberry and princess-themed, of course, with sprinkles), and the guest list (ever changing until the moment I pressed "send" on the evite).

The night before the Big Event, she looked a little pale and had dark circles under her eyes. I noticed that her nose was running. Her head felt a bit warm. We gave her some Tylenol, put her to bed, and hoped for the best.

This morning she had no fever and her energy level was fine, so despite her still-running nose we proceeded as planned. By noon she was sounding congested, so we decided to scale it back from a slumber party to just a regular party. We called all the parents and told them what was up, and gave them the option to back out if they wanted to spare their own household from whatever crud was rampaging through Gabby's system.

Bless their hearts, they all showed up anyway. And then, midway through pizza and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, Gabby barfed.

The amazing part is that after some tears and a quick bath, she managed to blow out the candles, have a bite of cake, open her presents AND thank everyone for coming before crashing out on the living room floor in her new sleeping bag.

My poor sweetheart. I hope the Birthday Party Curse is now past us. Otherwise things are not looking so good for Dylan next year.

Update: Nope, the birthday curse continues, and expands. We were supposed to celebrate Dylan's birthday tomorrow. Sure enough, Gabby came home from school tonight and promptly barfed. WTF? The kid never barfs. Except when it's someone's birthday.

Mommy's Xmas List

Dear Santa,

I have been a very nice mommy this year. I only swore under my breath, and only when the occasion really really warranted it, like when the brand new Snow White underwear got pooped in five minutes after an epic and unproductive potty session. And I hardly ever pretended to be asleep when the kids woke up and started crying or pulled the covers over my head and waited for Atomic to deal with it. Really, I swear.

So here is what this very very nice mommy would like for Christmas this year:

1. Two hours during the day to get a mani/pedi
2. A nice dinner out with my girlfriends
3. A lock for the bathroom door

That's it. I don't need a Wii or an iPad or whatever fancy gizmo is in fashion this year. Just a little bit of time, and a little bit of privacy.

Sincerely,
Binky

Gabby's Bedtime Story

Last night at dinner, Gabby said "Mommy, Daddy, I want to tell you a story." I happened to have my laptop on the kitchen table, so I took dictation as she spoke and asked a couple of questions along the way. Here's the story:

"Once upon a time, there was a princess named Daddy, and his name was Michael. And the Mommy-King was named Gina."

"And what did the King and the Princess do?"

"They hang out together."

"What else? Did they have an adventure?"

"They had some pancakes at the beach. The prince and the princess went on the beach and they got to fly away and a wolf came, and they put on the wings and they fly away from the wolf!

That's how it goes."

Verbiage

We have quite a history with words in our family. Family lore has it that when I was three, I used to strut around informing anyone who would listen that I had "an extensive vocabulary." I also received a dictionary -- not a child's dictionary, mind you, a Merriam Webster Collegiate Dictionary -- and once I had learned to read I used to sit and read it as if it were Little Red Riding Hood.

What is it they say about apples and trees and such?

Anyway, Gabby informed me the other day that "When I was little, my favorite color was pink, but now that I'm a big girl my favorite color is fuchsia."

She has also started imitating our habit of spelling out words we don't want to say in front of her. Right now, her strings of letters don't actually spell anything, but I imagine we're going to have to learn Latvian pretty soon if we want to stay a step ahead of her.

And Dylan, being no slouch in the word department himself, grabbed Gabby's bottle of milk from her hands this morning[1], held it up in the air, and proudly said, "Bobble!"

Poor Mike will be lucky to get a word in edgewise around here.

[1] Yes, yes, she's using multisyllabic words correctly in sentences but she still likes her bottle of milk in the a.m. What can I say? She's not potty trained, either. Too focused on learning new words, obviously.

Torah! Dora! Torah!

Gabby is a huge fan of Dora the Explorer. I'm not sure exactly how she came to be such a fan, since I'm pretty sure she doesn't watch the TV show (I'm not even sure we have that channel). It must be something in the air, kind of like the Princess virus that infects girls of preschool age.

Gabby also started going to a Jewish preschool, which she (and we) love.

So I suppose it was just a matter of time before she put those two things together and came up with ---- Dora Torah!

I have no idea whether Dora is Jewish (my guess is no), but nonetheless, I kind of like the idea of Dora having adventures in ancient Palestine: "Vamonos, Moses! Salimos de Egypt ahorita!"

I think she could be on to something there.

Cousins, Ice Cream, and Poems

Gabby's cousins came for a visit a couple of weeks ago. She had a wonderful time showing them her room and her toys, her ice cream store on the corner and her friend, the poet.

Here's Lynn's take on the theme of "cousins":

My friends have come to get lost inside of yards
that disappear in the imagined lands we seek together
as it gets bigger with the company and all the
more fun as we run to places only we can see
as I wait for all these times with these cousins
of mine who arrive to make more memories

Lynn Gentry
myspace.com/lynngentry
Cousins
Haight & Ashbury
June 26, 2010
reprinted with permission

More Wit And Wisdom From Gabby

I have a feeling my "Gabbycisms" posts are going to become like Jon Carroll's infamous cat columns, albeit not as charming or well-written. Those of you who like to read cutesy-wootsy stories about other people's children and the oh-so-funny (in the totally unbiased opinion of their mothers) little things they say, read on.

If not, tune in another time and maybe there'll be something here of interest to you.

*****
A few weeks ago, Dylan (who has now acquired the nickname "Dill Pickle") caught some sort of a bug and spiked a fever in the middle of the night, because it is apparently against the law for children to spike fevers during daylight hours. Atomic and I must have been discussing it in somewhat concerned tones in front of Gabby, because the next evening before bed she announced, "Mommy, I'm sick. I think I have a beaver."

Ahem. (Oh, try try try not to bust out laughing, no, don't look at Atomic, you'll lose it, c'mon now, stop that)

"Oh, really, honey? You feel sick?"

"Yeah. I have a little beaver."

Aaaaaand give up all hope, bust out laughing and then spend several minutes trying to convince a skeptical preschooler that you are taking her concerns seriously.

*****
On our road trip to Ashland last weekend, Gabby asked what the tall metal towers with wires were.

"Those are towers to hold the power lines, sweetie."

"Oooh. I want to see the Power Lions."

"Um, me too!"

*****
"Mommy, is Grandpa Grandma Birdie's daddy?"

"No, Grandpa is Grandma Birdie's husband."

"Husband?"

"Yes, the same way that daddy is mommy's husband."

Pause.

"Mommy? Mickey Mouse is Minnie Mouse's husband!"