Baby's first . . . .

Monday was such a DAY! You know what I mean, right?
Uneventful. Nothing super exciting. And then it became a day of infamy! A day that will live in memory, and be dredged up over and over again throughout the years.
It was 2:45ish when Boober got a little whiny. Nap time! So I took him upstairs and started the process of attempting to get the little bugger to sleep. Boober hates sleeping, so after about a half hour of fighting him, I gave up and took him downstairs. Sweet Pea had fallen asleep on the floor of the livingroom. When Boober saw this, he went charging toward her, giggling and shreiking. He jumped on top of her and gave her a big snuggly hug . . . and then went on his way. Over the next 15 minutes or so, he returned to his sister over and over again to hug, prod, and poke at her. It was on one of these trips that he climbed on her back. He must have startled her, because Sweet Pea tossed him. He landed with a very loud WHACK! and spent approximately 75 seconds crying. There was no bump, no lump, no real mark except for some lines on his forehead.

Honestly, is this the face of a child watching his favourite TV show? (20 minutes before the issue became known)

 Since he was so easy to console, I put it out of my mind. Clearly, he was just fine. I turned on some Yo Gabba Gabba and let the kids watch while I started tidying up the kitchen. Less than half an hour later, Boober was tugging at my pant legs and whining again. It was just about 4 - traditionally his witching hour. I picked him up and sat on the couch to console him. He gave a mighty heave and barfed all over me and the couch. I had just barely cleaned myself and the couch off while Boober dozed on my shoulder when he went for round 2. It was about then that I made the connection -- when he was tossed, Boober had landed on his head. And now he was vomiting, and passing out, and acting all wrong. He hadn't been dancing to the tunes on his show. He was refusing to eat or drink anything. This was all very, very wrong.
Boober had a concussion.
Of course, due to Murphy's law, my car keys were in Mr. Wonderful's car. In Guelph. 45 minutes away. In retrospect, I should have called an ambulance - but it didn't seem all that dire at first. He was drowsy, yes, but he was concious -- and then suddenly he wasn't anymore, and it was almost impossible to wake him, and even when I could, he couldn't stay awake for more than a few seconds at a time. And he just kept barfing and barfing - everytime I changed his shirt (and mine) he would go again. I was absolutely terrified. Was my baby dying? Mr. Wonderful was only minutes away from home by now -- should I call an ambulance anyway?
So as soon as Wonderful came through the door (early and in a rush, since I had called him) I packed Boober into his car seat and drove like hell for the ER.
We sat in the waiting room for 6 hours. At first, Boober would only lay on my shoulder. He barfed a few more times. Then little by little, he started returning to himself. He sat up on my lap and observed the others in the waiting room. He walked over to the vending machines and pushed the buttons. He did a little colouring. He asked for yogurt and ate the whole thing himself. He did some more colouring. He started being friendly with the other people in the waiting room. He ate another yogurt. He ran for the door over and over. Just when he started loudly demanding chocolate bars, we got an exam room.

Long story short, by the time they got to him, Boober was completely back to his old mischievous self again. He was diagnosed with a minor concussion and we were sent home.

 Why will today be dredged up over and over? Because Sweet Pea gave Boober his first concussion. And because Mr. Wonderful was the concussion king as a child. He got one every year . . . and now it looks like Boober may be trying to keep up. So while I'd just like to forget about it and move on, that's very unlikely.

She's crafty.

The days are getting warmer, sunnier, and definitely rainier around here. We've been spending as much time as we can out in the yard. Letting the kids run like puppies and get as dirty as they want is advantageous when it rolls around to time to go in again.
This year, the kids are both loving bikes, scooters, and the make-shift sandbox I put together for them. It's essentially a plastic tote the size of 2 shoe boxes side by side, with a few inches of sand in the bottom. It's good for them because they have a sandbox, and good for me because it can be put in the shed in case of rain, or cats full of pee/poop.

There's still much going on in the crafty realms . . .











And I finished my really colourful socks, but there was great disappointment there as the colour on the yarn was not fixed, and bled all over the place when they were washed. BOOOOOO! The dyer was contacted and offered replacement, which is great. I'll have to make something that will not be washed with it this time. Any suggestions? It's a light fingering weight.

My new-found skill: crochet. What is up with crochet patterns? If it's not amigurumi or a blanket square, it's just fugly. This is a gross generalization, of course, but . . . seriously! I'm having a hard time finding anything I want to make. Maybe this is why crochet hasn't come together for me in the past. I did find a hat pattern this morning, so I'll try my hand at that one, but after that?? I dunno.

And then there's this: this morning I logged on to Facebook and saw the status update of a friend. Her friend's 2 year old is fighting with leukemia and having a very difficult go of it. The little girl is losing her hair, so my friend is looking for donations of hats for the wee one. The call was quickly answered by LOTS of others. I didn't offer to make a hat. But all morning long, the thought of this poor little kid just ate at me. 2 years old and fighting a difficult, uphill battle. And apparently not doing so well with it. So I did something. I offered to make the little one a doll. Not a Waldorf doll - those are too expensive (time and materials) for me to be giving away like it's nothing . . . just a cloth doll. Every kid should have a cuddly buddy to hold their hand while they face challenges and frightening events, right?
But I really wish I could send her a Waldorf doll. There is something about the weight and sturdiness of those dolls that just makes them extra comforting.

I can't help everyone. But I wish I could.