(I’m listening to “Sometimes Always” by The Jesus and Mary Chain)

Our oldest daughter, Littles, has always been a talker.  She didn’t walk until she was 15 months, but she was talking at 10 months.  She had a few words early on, and it just exploded from there…and it has been hilarious ever since.  We never know what she’s going to say or when she’s going to say it.

For example, when the wife was pregnant with Tiny, her two and a half year-old sister decided to give birth in Costco’s cereal isle.  I’ll never forget the text the wife sent, but more importantly, I’ll never forget my reaction.  The text read, “Littles just gave birth in Costco.”  I wasn’t even surprised.  I just laughed, shook my head, and thought, “That’s Littles for ya.”  As the story goes, Littles stuffed her doll down the front of her princess dress, squatted, and proceeded to grunt and push the baby down her dress and onto the floor.  The, she yelled triumphantly, “Momma!  The baby just come out of my uterus and my vagina!”  Then she took the baby, held it skin to skin, and put it to her chest to feed it.  My wife was very proud.  The onlookers?  Well, to my understanding, there were mixed reactions.

At the time, the wife was pregnant and a birth doula on the side, so Littles was exposed to a lot of stuff.  She knows her parts.  She knows her momma’s parts and she knows her dadda’s parts.  We taught her.  Littles isn’t above telling people she’s on her period.  She’ll grab a pad from the bathroom and say, “My tummy hurts, I think I’m having my period.”  While the wife was pregnant, Littles told everyone who would listen that there’s a baby in her uterus.  When we asked her who was in mommy’s tummy, she’d give answers of, Justin Bieber, or Baby Levi (our friend’s new baby) or, our personal favorite, baby Jesus, before settling on BABY SISTER!

The point is, she says funny stuff and she says cute stuff, and I don’t want to forget any of it.   The wife and I were sitting around tonight watching some old videos, and we’d remember things that she said and we’d say to each other, “Ohhhhh, do you remember that?”  The truth was, we’d both refresh each other’s memory, and at some point those memories will fade.  So, without further ado, here’s a glossary of Littles greatest hits!

“Wubby!” = I love you.  This was one of the first “sentences” she said.  It is absolutely adorable.

“Pile” = Smile.  Little hasn’t put consonants together yet, so we get some cute stuff out of this.

“Pell” = Smell.  Same consonants, same cute result.  “Somefing pells dadda. Pell my bref!”

“Pill” = Spill.  “I pilled, dadda.”

“Nilk” = Milk.  “I pilled my nilk!”  Milk is her favorite beverage.  It can be 95 degrees out and the kid hydrates with milk.  She loves her milk.

“Fumbs Up” = Thumbs up.  If she likes something, she’ll give you a “Fumbs Up.”

“More-gan” = More again!  If we were playing and she’d want to do something again, she’d say, “More-gan daddy!  More-gan!”  The excitement she had need two words and she didn’t know the difference, so she just combined them.

“Tores” = Snores.  One of her favorite books is, “The Bear Snores On.”  So we’d let her read it and she’d say, “And the bear tores on.”

“Pie-cy Water” = Spicy water.  We have a carbonated water machine, and she calls it, “Pie-cy Water.”  “Can I have some pie-cy water, dad?”

“Pecial” = Special.  “I fink you’re pecial, dad.”  Or, “Can you hold my toy, it’s pecial to me.”

“Towboarding” = Snowboarding.  “You going towboarding, dadda?”  “Can I go towboardig wif you?”

“Towman” = Snowman.  “Do you want to build a towman?”  “Frozen” is one of her favorite movies.

“I see!  I see!”  When she was old enough to realize we were taking pictures and videos of her, she would do something funny or cute and IMMEDIATELY say, “I see? I see?”  She would say this while simultaneously trying to pull the phone out of our hand.

“Yemenaid” = Lemonade.  We’d have lemonade and the question of whether she could have some would soon follow.

“Ba-nain-a” = banana.  The middle syllable has a very hard “A.” We’ve wondered many times where that accent came from.

“Hosible” = Hospital.  “Momma has to go to the hosible to help a momma get a baby out of her uterus.”  This is funny, because I used to say “hosible” when I was little.

“Tuggle” = Snuggle.  “I want to tuggle wif you dadda.  Tuggle wif me!”

“Baby Yo-ey” = her baby sister’s name.

“Pee-NUS” = Penis.  “Daddy has a pee-NUS!”  Huge emphasis on the “NUS.”

“Woman Woman” = Wonder Woman.  That’s her hero.  I can’t tell you how much Littles loves Wonder Woman.  In Littles mind, the wife and Wonder Woman are the same person.  She can think that, because the wife is pretty amazing.

“It’s for you, Bob!”  This is the last line in the book, “Giggle, Giggle, Quack!”  It’s one of Littles’ favorites.  She says, “It’s for you, Bob,” in the lowest possible tone she can.

Here’s the last one.  Littles has a song she sings to her sister when Littles thinks her sister is being naughty.  It goes like this, “Baaaaad baby, you always cry, baaaaaad baby, I never know why, you never ever do the things that you should (voice cracking), oh baaaaad baby, why can’t you be good?”  The funny part, besides her singing this song, is that the word “baby” is interchangeable with “momma” or “dadda,” so at any moment, any one of us could be the target of her song.

I write these so I won’t forget, because I already know there’s more I’m missing.

Oh, in case you’re wondering, the 3-year-old and her “baby” are doing just fine.  Wubby, Littles. Wubby.

 

 

 

 

 

(I’m listening to Primitive Radio Gods – Standing Outside A Broken Phone Booth With Money In My Hand)

“You guys gonna try for a boy?”  As a father of two girls, I get that question a lot.  I thought about that question today when our family was on the way home from REI.

We bought Littles a snowboard.  We didn’t really mean to, it just happened.  It was an uncharacteristically cloudy day in the Denver metro area, we were sitting around at 3 in the afternoon, and we were wasting the day.  The wife and I didn’t feel like doing anything, but we couldn’t just keep sitting around, so I suggested going to REI because they have an indoor play area for which the girls could get out their energy.  Plus, I always have a coupon, a dividend, or a gift card to REI.  I’m kind of frugal like that.  The wife said, “Perfect, Littles needs a water bottle for school.  Let’s go!”  We loaded up the girls, and we were off.

We get to REI and did our water bottle shopping.  Littles could barely contain herself.  She knows about the play area at REI.  If I’m planning on taking her to REI to shop for an hour, forget about it.  Here’s what an hour at REI looks like with Littles.  I’ll have 2 minutes to shop, the next 10 will be spent telling her that we’re not done shopping yet, the next 42 will be spent in the play area, and the last 6 minutes will be used convincing her to leave.  Every visit is like that.  What can I say?  She loves the slides there.

So we’re at the play area, and as it turns out, this isn’t an original idea on a dreary day.  There are lots of kids and lots of parents.  Littles isn’t shy and we hear her say, “Can I play with you?”  It melts my heart when I hear stuff like that.  Littles is such a kindhearted kid.  We hear the other child say, “Sure!”  We know she’ll be fine, so the wife and I decide to look around in the kids area. (By the way, aren’t kids awesome?  I learn a lot from watching them.  They just accept each other and don’t ask questions. There are no judgments.  All it takes is a, “Can I play with you?” And they’re best friends for the next 42 minutes.)

Anyway, I had been to REI a couple of weeks before and saw a snowboard that was Littles size.  I want to get her started in it.  We’ve been up a couple of times and she rides on my board with me on the bunny hill.  From the, “Again daddy,” and the, “Faster, daddy,” she seems to like it.  Plus, it’s something we can do together.  The wife has given it her best shot, but I just don’t think it’s in the cards for her.  My little ladies will be my best shot for companionship on the hill.

Littles is 3 and she’ll be 4 by the start of next season, so I bring the wife over, just to have a look.  She says, “Well, it is something we’re going to have to invest in, it’s a great deal, so yeah, let’s do it.”  I don’t know who will be more excited at the point, me or Littles.  We call Littles over from the play area and say, “Hey Littles!  Do you like this snowboard?”  Here’s our answer!

We’re both excited!  Littles first “towboard!” (She says “towboard” instead of “snowboard.”  It’s really cute.)  We grab the snowboard, spend our 6 minutes convincing Littles to leave the play area, pay for the snowboard, and head home.

On the drive home, Littles is tired from the play area, but she asks if we can go “towboarding.”  When we tell her we’re going home, she’s disappointed.  She thought we were going snowboarding now!  The wife and I reassure her that we’ll go soon and we start talking about our schedules and how we’ll be able to make it work and how much fun we’re going to have.  I start thinking about Littles and me on the hill, having the time of our lives.  Me passing down one of my passions to her.  That’s when I think about the question, “You guys gonna try for a boy?”

I don’t know why I thought of that question.  Is it a social norm?  Do I subconsciously want to raise a boy since I’m a man?  Is it subliminal advertising?  I don’t really have a good answer.  What I do know is I don’t mind answering that question; I actually enjoy it.  It seems natural to ask that question to a dad with two girls.  It makes for good conversation.  I can understand where the questions comes from, even if I can’t explain it.  The truth is, the wife and I always thought we were going to have a boy, but we didn’t.  We were blessed with two little ladies.

So, “You guys going to try for a boy?”  Nope.  I’m perfectly happy with a family full of ladies.  I’m fulfilled.  I love my girls and they are amazing.  I can do anything with my girls that I would do with a boy; and I do!  Can I teach them to snowboard? Yep!   Can I teach them to throw a baseball?  Yep!  Can I help them with their homework? Yep!  Can they be super heroes?  Littles already thinks she’s Wonder Woman (or “Woman Woman” as she says).  I’ll play princesses with them, I’ll play cars with them, I’ll jump on the trampoline with them, I’ll teach them to ride a bike, and I’ll teach them about the greatest musical era of all-time…the 1990’s.  My girls can be anything they want to be, and that’s how I’ll raise them.

In college, I dated a girl from a family of two girls.  The dad loved me!  He’d call me to play golf with him, he let me drive his farm equipment, we had coffee together, we’d talk man to man.  He appreciated me.  I think he actually took it harder than his daughter did when she broke up with me.  He called me to make sure I was okay.  We played golf a couple of more times.  Maybe he saw the son he never had in me.  I don’t know.

I’m sure I’ll feel that way if my girls get married to a couple of nice men, but it won’t be because I wanted a son.  I’ll feel that way because those boys parents will have taught them that girls can be anything they want to be.  Those boys will treat my girls as I do.  My girls will expect that, and those boys will have some stiff competition with this daddy.  My girls will know what it’s like to be loved, they’ll know what it’s like to be respected, and they won’t need to go anywhere else to get affection because they’ll get if from me.  They’ll eventually seek the affection of another man; but when they do, it won’t be because they need to.  They’ll make that decision because they want to and they’ll have someone that’s worthy of their decision.

Aside from being a faithful follower of Christ and a great husband, I can’t think of a greater responsibility and joy than raising two amazing ladies.  They’re my girls and I’ll love them the rest of my life.

In the end, we did get a water bottle.  The wife ordered it on Amazon, from the 3rd story of REI.  Mission accomplished.

(I’m listening to “Bittersweet Symphony” by The Verve)

“What the heck is a doula?”  That’s the question I asked the wife when she suggested hiring a doula for the birth of Littles.  Was the wife planning on giving birth under a tree in the backyard or something?  Was this the medieval times?  Was the doula going to cast a spell over our child?  My mind was racing, only it didn’t know what to race about because I didn’t know what a doula was.  I had no idea.  I just had misconceptions.  I just thought we were going to do this 1960’s style.  You know, they’d wheel the wife into a room, I’d stand in a waiting room smoking cigarettes, the nurse would bring the baby out, and then we’d all have cigars and an old-fashioned.  That sounds pretty legit, right?

Today kicked off World Doula Week, and after two births of our two wonderful little ladies, I know what a doula is, thank goodness.  Technically speaking, a doula is someone who assists women during labor and after childbirth, but, that definition doesn’t do the term justice, like at all.  Our doulas were amazing.  I remember the wife saying, “A doula isn’t just for the mom, dads need doulas too!  You’ll see…you’re going to love it.”

And that’s why the wife is smart.  I did love having a doula…both times.  Having a doula was like having Wonder Woman in the room with you.  Doulas are for the dads too!  I didn’t know what to expect when it came to the birth of our first child.  I had never been in the situation before, and frankly, nothing can completely prepare you for it.  Sure, we took some classes, learned to breathe, and watched some videos; and I was like, “This is going to be a magical time!”  And it is!  It’s also crazy scary!  The wife was making sounds I had never heard before, she’s in unbearable pain, and I just felt helpless.  Here I was, watching the woman I love in such pain, and I was in tears because I couldn’t fix it.

The knowledge I had gained in those classes and videos could only take me so far.  I was tapped out.  That’s when our doula said, “Take a break.  Get something to eat.  I’ll take over for a while.  She’ll be fine.”  And that’s what I did.  While the wife was going through one of the toughest things she would ever do, I got to take a break.  I collected myself.  I pulled myself together.  I watched the doula work.  I watched her talk the wife through contractions.  I watched her have my wife change positions.  After doing this for about a half hour, I was ready to get back into the game.  Now I was doing the hip compressions, I was talking my wife through contractions.  When the wife said, “Just give me the drugs,” I was the one telling her there would only be a few more.  She could do this!  I was the one talking her off the ledge.  I felt empowered.  I felt like I knew what I was doing.  I could do this!  And I owed that all to our doula.

The wife gave birth to Littles, I cut the cord.  But, as I was holding Littles, even I could tell something was wrong with the wife.  There was blood, lots of it.  The midwife pushed the panic button and instantly, 20 doctors and nurses were in the room.  I swear, people even dropped down from the ceiling like paratroopers.  As I was holding our new, sweet baby girl, I was thinking, “Please God, don’t leave me alone with this baby, please.  I can’t do this by myself.”  I was laying on a cot, holding our little miracle to my chest, and pleading and praying.

Secretly, this possibility was my biggest fear of the process.  Our doula took the baby and said, “Watch, she’s going to be alright.” She was right.  I don’t know what the doctors did, but the bleeding stopped.  The wife was going to be just fine.  We would be a family of three.

We gave Littles to mom, skin to skin.  We took pictures.  We breathed breaths of relief.  We were going to start our lives as a family of three, but first, we needed to sleep!  Our doula took the baby, and told us to take a nap.  I don’t know about the wife, but I know that was the best nap of my life.  The sleep of a new dad who had just helped his bride through the most amazing and terrifying experience of our lives, and I had our doula to thank.

The wife became a doula after the birth of our first child.  She helped many clients through their child birthing experience and I’ve heard stories of how amazing she was.  It doesn’t surprise me at all. The wife is amazing and can do anything she sets her mind to.  When it came time to have our second child, I knew what the heck a doula was, and I knew we were going to have one.

Looking back at Littles’ birth, I don’t know if I could have made it through without the help of our doula.  I’d like to think I could have.  What I do know, is I’m very thankful I didn’t have to try.

(I’m listening to “Everyday” by Phil Collins as I write this.)

It was the first day of spring.  It was a great day with the kids.  The weather was in the mid 70’s, which meant a lot of time outside.  The wife finished her work early, and we were able to take advantage of some family time.

When I say it was a “great day with the kids,” that’s an understatement.  What I really mean is, today was one of those days where everything clicked.  It was great being a dad.  The kids ate on time, they napped on time, no timeouts, they were good listeners, they played well together, and they were a complete joy to be around.  We played, we jumped on the trampoline, we rode bikes, we skateboarded, we did everything.  Today made me feel like a great dad.  Then, to top it off, the wife got home during nap time.  After naps, we loaded up the kids in the bike trailer, went to the ice cream shop on the corner, and had a treat (Tiny had Cheetos, but no ice cream). Then, we played some more.  It was a great first day of spring.  This picture says it all.

I’m must confess, the dad in me loves spring, but the human in me doesn’t look forward to the change in seasons.  The dad in me loves spring because of the picture above.  The weather is warmer, the days are longer, we play outside, there’s more to do, and it’s great.  The human in me doesn’t look forward to spring.  The human in me knows the beginning of spring means it’s the end of winter.  The wife jokes and says I have Reverse Seasonal Affective Disorder and this is why.

Anyone that knows me, knows I love to snowboard.  Snowboarding is my release; it’s my reset button.  Some people run, some people bike, some people read, some people go to the gym; I go to the mountain.  There’s just something about standing on the top of a peak, looking down, and taking the plunge.  It’s just me and the mountain, me and the elements, me and the challenge, me and God.  Everything else just melts away and for a brief moment, I look inside, see what’s there, and let it out.  The adrenaline pumps, the focus gets locked in, and I just feel so small in a huge world.  It’s humbling, spiritual, and exhilarating at the same time.  I run a gauntlet of emotions.  It’s controlled chaos.  In short, I feel like a human.  It’s also hard to snowboard in the summer.

The wife and I both agree we need activities in our lives like these and we both encourage each other to do them.  It allows us time to be ourselves, recharge our batteries, and hit the reset button.  This makes us better people, better spouses, better parents, and I am so thankful we understand that about each other.

Parenting can be a tough gig.  Every day isn’t filled with naps and ice cream.  Some days, I need to feel like a human instead of a dad, but today was not one of them.  Today was the first day of spring and it was awesome to be dad.

(“Moonlight Kiss” by Bap Kennedy is the song I’m listening to at the moment)

Monday marks the beginning of the workweek for a lot of people.  People complain about Monday.  People post unflattering memes on social media about Monday.  Jokes are made about Monday.  People might get “a case of the Mondays.”  Monday might be the most dreaded day of the week, but not for me.

Due to the day job, I have Monday’s off.  Sometimes it’s kind of weird for me; people will be complaining on Sunday about having to go back to work and I’m thinking to myself, “Yeah, I don’t feel that way.”  It’s not that I’ve never felt that way, I just don’t feel that way now, and I haven’t for a while.

Monday is my day with my kids, and I’ll get to that in a little bit; but first, I want to talk about work.  In church today, the person delivering the message said, “Do you ever notice that when you meet someone new, one of the first questions you ask them is, what do they do for a living?”  It made me think, “Yeah, why do I do that?”  It is important to know where someone works, and it’s good to show that interest in another person, but I’m going to try something different the next time I meet someone new.  Instead of, “Where do you work,” I’m going to ask, “What do you do for fun?”  I think that would tell me more about a person.

Monday is fun for me because I get to spend the day with my kids, Littles and Tiny.  They’re at such a fun age right now.  Littles talks and talks and talks.  I love her imagination.  She’s only 3, but she’ll say things like, “Okay daddy.  You’re the king and I’m the princess.  This (pointing to the couch) is our castle, and we need to hide and watch out for the dragons and the troublemakers!”  Where do she get this stuff?  Today we played hard.  Since it was a gorgeous day outside, I rode my skateboard, while she chased me on her strider-bike in our cul-de-sac. “I’m going to catch you daddy!  Look how fast I can go daddy!”  We jumped on our trampoline, “Look how high I can jump daddy!”  Then we had friends over for a BBQ.  Our friends are awesome and we all have kids that are roughly the same age, so they all play together.  It’s great.

Tiny, well, she’s about 10 months old, and I joke about her being a bowling ball.  She just can’t wait to do everything her big sister does, and she’s into everything!  She crawls around, rolls around, stands against things, and tries to eat everything.  We found her eating dirt out of the wife’s flower pots the other day. Today, we caught her trying to munch on grass and pine needles. You could put 10 toys on the floor, and a knife, and she would find the knife 100 out of 100 times.  It’s like she thinks, “Hmmmm.  What’s the most dangerous thing in this room I could play with?  Oh!  There it is!  I’m on it!”  And, she smiles the whole time!  To make a long story short, you really need to keep an eye on Tiny.

That’s not to say it’s all amazing.  Anyone with kids knows that’s not the truth.  Littles got a timeout today because she wouldn’t listen, and Tiny, well, she sunk her teeth into the wife’s shoulder that left a pretty good mark.  It’s all part of the process.  I’m just so happy to see our kids have so much joy.  They’re really fun to be around and that’s why it’s never Monday for me.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(I’m listening to Pearl Jam’s “Off He Goes” from their “Live On Two Legs” album)

I’m ridin’ solo again tonight.  The wife has another business meeting.  Before you think, “Wow!  That’s two out of the last four nights he’s been home alone with the kids,” it’s really not a big deal.  This doesn’t happen that much, and I really don’t mind.  Besides, the wife and I are a team.  The wife works hard, and I appreciate that, a lot.  If that means I get a couple of  bedtimes here and there with both kids on my lap, reading books, well that’s just fine by me.  After the wife left for the evening, Littles and I ordered Chinese food. When the delivery person knocked at the door, Littles yelled, “Chineeeeeeeeese!”  It was hilarious.  Tiny even had some too.  She liked the noodles.  Dad throws a great party.

What’s not a party is laundry.  I do quite a few chores around the house, but my specialties are dishes and laundry.  I really don’t like doing laundry, but hey, if the chores are done, I have a better excuse to spend some time with Mr. Jones (that’s what I call my snowboard). Yep, now that song is in my head.  “Mister Jooooooones and me!”

Back to laundry.  With two little kids in the house, laundry is kind of a non-stop exercise in futility.  I’m never done with laundry.  Now, I don’t mind putting it in the machine, switching it over from the washer to the dryer, and stuff like that.  What kills me is the folding.  The kids’ laundry is so small!  You know that scene in “Stand By Me” where Gordie says, “Wagon Train is a really cool show, but have you ever noticed they don’t really get anywhere?  They just keep on wagon-training?”  That’s me folding kids clothes.  I feel like I never get anywhere.  The basket just never seems to empty.  I just keep folding, folding, folding, WHAT?  Yep, I just sang Limp Bizkit to myself.

Back to laundry.  I always love it, LOVE IT, when I’m folding the kids’ clothes, and there’s like a grown up sized towel hiding in the basket.  “Yeah, now we’re cooking with gas!  A good quarter of the pile just disappeared!”  Tonight, the wife’s bathrobe was buried in kids clothes.  It was awesome!  I pulled that sucker out, folded it, and thought to myself, “This must be what a marathon runner feels like at the 13.1 mile mark!   Then I proceeded to fold 3,000 pairs of Littles’ underwear.

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy pitching in.  You don’t want me cooking dinner, unless we’re having cereal or toast.  In fact, you really don’t want me near a kitchen, but, I can do dishes and laundry with the best of them.  I stick to my strengths, they’re pretty darn good, and I think the wife would agree.  Alright, it’s time to go.  There’s laundry somewhere in this house that needs to be done.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(I’m listening to a song called “The Listening” by Lights, in one ear, and listening to our monitor in the other).

The text from the wife said, “Buckle up.  Our childcare provider says Littles is really sick. Headache, nose running, cough.  I’ll go get her.”

My response was, “Poor Littles.  Okay.  Crap.”

When our kids are sick, we refer to it as “The Sickness.”  We call it that, because Littles will say, “Daddy (or mommy), I have the thickness (sickness).”  It’s pretty cute, you know, except for the fact that she’s sick.  Sick kids don’t sleep very well, and in turn, we don’t sleep well. I already feel myself turning into a zombie.

Sick kids aren’t all bad, at least that’s what I think when my kids are sick.  When other kids are sick, I’m like, “Dude, Dustin Hoffman will have to roll in with the E-1101 before our kids can hang around them.” But Littles is pretty cute when she’s sick, you know, except for the fact she’s a walking snot factory that happily spreads slime all over the house.  Usually, she will want to watch cartoons or movies all day.  It’s a practice we don’t do on a regular basis, but when she has “the sickness,” we bend the rules a little.  Plus, she’s 3 years old.  She doesn’t cuddle much anymore, but when she’s sick, she could win a gold medal in cuddling.

As cute as Littles is during the day, that coin has another side.  It’s called the night.  The long dreaded night.  Littles goes to bed around 8pm.  We gave her medicine.  We gave her a cough drop.  We gave her chest rub.  We turned on her humidifier.  We put on her Elsa and Anna blanket.  She has her stuffed animals.  She went to sleep.   When you have a sleeping sick kid, you walk around the house like it’s a minefield; trying avoid every crack in the hardwood floor and every toy that was lying around, in fear of stepping on one and waking up “the sickness.”    The cat gets banished to the basement because the slightest meow can start the avalanche.  You sit on the couch staring at the monitor while holding your breath.  None of it matters.  You could walk around with pillows on your feet, but you’re still guaranteed a wake up before 10pm.  That happened tonight.  It wasn’t even a “momma?” or “daddy?”  It was just crying.  The miserable crying of a sick kid.  Poor Littles.

The wife is sleeping, so I’m on duty.  I walk into Little’s room and ask what’s wrong.  Crying.  I ask what she needs.  More crying.  I ask if she needs more blankets.  Crying.  I ask if she needs juice.  Crying.  I ask if she needs medicine. Crying.  I finally get her to blow her nose.  The crying stops!  I take everything out of her bed.  I get her a wedge pillow.  I give her a drink.  I put two blankets back on.  I tuck her in. I give her more rubs. Finally, I hear a yawn, and…sleep.  I tip-toe out of there like a soldier behind enemy lines.  Success!

I just hope she sleeps through the night, and I pray she doesn’t give “the sickness” to Tiny, but that’s like praying to win the lottery.  It’s one thing to have a sick kid, it goes to a whole other level with a sick baby.  Goodnight and good health…I hope.