A mama and her girls

When I was only a mama of boys, I thought there is nothing greater in the world than this.  

And there isn't anything greater, but there is something equally as great - 

Being a mama of girls.

And how lucky am I to get this experience.  Opposite gender, but similar ages.  Above Ryker was just shy of 4 years old, and Kip was 9 months and in this picture below Jovie had just turned 4, and Hartley is 9 months old.

This picture needs a description because the moment was just so, so good.  I was sitting in a sun spot, which felt much needed after a week of snow/ice, reading to Jovie.  A Biscuit book, one of the 20 she adores currently.  Hartley was just soaking me in.  Ryker was laying on his belly, 100 pages deep into his next Harry Potter book (the fourth one) that he just bought today.  Kip was busy with my camera taking in the world one shutter release at a time.  The usual busy-ness of our house was so calm and peaceful for about 25 whole minutes, which is practically a miracle.  Then Kip managed to capture this photo, while he had the camera upside down.  His belly giggles and his description of the picture - "all the girls are on their heads, and Hartley is gonna eat mom's face off"got the boys all rowdy.  The way I see this image though - mama of her two girls.  Such glory.

Two types of mothering, they are so different and yet so very much the same.  I feel so thankful that I get to be a mama of two boys and two girls.  

It stretches me, more than I ever knew I could be stretched.

Date day

I sent her a text a week ago, "can you watch our crew on Sunday from noon -5:30?"

She says "Of course!"

I feel a twinge of guilt.  Taking 4.5 hours out of our day we could be spending as a family of 6, to focus on time with my Mr.  

I had a week to cancel, but instead I just went with it - Date day was marked on the calendar.  He was so very excited.

I told him I felt guilty, he knew I felt guilty about it.  In typical Paul-like manner, "we don't have to go, honey.  I know you want to be here, with them."  I could see it in his eyes, the desire to have some solo, grown up conversation, but the empathy to know how hard it is for me to juggle this all.

Role overload is what it is called.  The deep desire to be amazing with every role I've been gifted with.  Somedays it is hard to find that perfect work-life, wife/mama/NP balance.  

I'm forced by the whole full time job thing to show up for work when I'm scheduled.  So on my days off, it is hard to pry myself away from home.  From them.  But almost 10 years ago this Mr. gave me a shiny married ring, and 15 years ago he crept forever into my heart, and just as much as I need to nurture and love on our littles - I need to focus on nurturing and loving my Mr even more.

And you know what, there is absolutely nothing selfish about that.    

So yesterday we enjoyed being P+K.  We deserved it, they deserve to grow up around parents who are over the moon in love, and you know what…when we were out I didn't feel one second of guilt.  At all.

Lunch at Newks - overpriced sandwiches, soda, and chips in a table squeezed between two other large groups.  Not an ideal setting for most out on a date, but for us, the calm of not feeding 4 littles, or telling them to use inside voices, or to sit up, or to stop the potty talk…yeah, this middle squeezed table was just fine.

Then a movie - Focus.  So good to snuggle up to my Mr. for the duration of the movie.

Finally, the best part of date day.  5 miles of trail exploring, puddle jumping, and rain running.  A very Paul and Kristina like adventure, just him and me, together.  Just like back home, but here.  In that soggy moment, I realized that maybe, just maybe Mississippi isn't so terrible.  Now it isn't Oregon, but it isn't terrible either.  And this is a good place to be at.

  

4 and feisty

She turned 4, our petite gal.  Truth be told, I stalled her birthday for a week.  I was in the middle of my seven nights on, and didn't want to miss out on celebrating her on her special day.  So we waited for my weekend off, so I could decorate, and do all things Jovie.  It was so worth it.

We really had a low key day, filled with the things that she wanted to do - to make a cake with me that  looked like her "favorite 'aminal' cat, Star."  She wished for a Star mommy, a wedding barbie, and a doll stroller.  Snow cramped my shopping plans, so I was left to pick and choose from my least favorite place ever - Walmart.  I came home with a doll stroller and wedding barbie, and because I didn't have a big, elaborate Souther style birthday party planned for her I was feeling guilty.  Paul rallied and went out to Walmart and came back with a few perfect-for Jovie gifts to lighten my feelings of failure at this lack of an elaborate party for her.

 She played barbies with her daddy, got temporary tattoos, and a purse she got to color on…and she was just in 4 year bliss.

 Girlfriend was strutting her stuff as she pushed her kitty in the stroller.

 Then she goofed off with Kip and the camera, and the results cracked me up.  I overheard Kip coaching her "Jovie make a cute face" -

 "Jovie make crazy eyes" -

 "Jovie give me a mega mad face" -

 This girl :).  What a gem.

Anyway, her star kitty cake.

The last part of the day, she wanted a trip to the park.  A 53 degree day that melted the snow came at just the right time to grant her request.  And my girl, my first little lady, all the sudden looks tall (for her anyway) and so very lanky.  Sheesh, four happened too quickly.

Truth be told, her day was filled with whiny kids - the oldest being the ring leader.  This caused tired parents, and all around bad attitudes by all.  But an afternoon, outdoor adventure was the perfect remedy.  Winter has seemed like endless sickness, and snow/ice, and feelings of being trapped in a house with tight corners for our family of 6.  But this beautiful day, 53 sunshiny degrees, came rolling in at the perfect time.  Two hours outdoors was perfection.  This picture captures the 6 of us so perfectly that day; Jovie's facial expression, Ryker's stripped outfit, Kip and his hood, Paul riding Jovie's pink scooter, and mama and her little koala bear…

 My middle littles, such tiny humans.  They were reading a sign about poison ivy, and became super concerned.  Both are so inquisitive lately, about everything.

To finish the day, she wanted to do arts and crafts.  This little girl, so easy to please.  Give her some scissors, glue and paper and she'll be busy for a while.  Happy, HAPPY birthday my feisty, fabulous four year old.  So excited to see how she changes this year.

4 kids and the sporting good store:

Jovie just NEEDS rainbow shoes.  She asks politely.  I say yes.  They are…ugly, but make her smile, so worth the money I suppose.

Hartley is sitting on the floor, blowing raspberries and tearing apart the paper that comes in shoe boxes.

The shoe guy is trying to find soccer cleats, in the right size, for the boys.  Kip want stye black and white ones, Ryker the bright yellow.  Kip keeps asking 22, 5,000 times "what are cleats, why do I need cleats," despite my repeated description of them.  He puts them on and says "hey these shoes feel like they have crazy humps on em."  Honest description.

Ryk laughs.  Then finds himself embarrassed because he still can't tie his shoes.  I tell him we'll practice this weekend.  Over.and.over.and.over.again.  Until he gets it.  His stinking fingers are just soooo uncoordinated.  

Kip notices the scantly dressed mannequin, who someone clearly stole the shorts off of.  Rather loudly says "Mom that plastic, headless guy has a tiny wiener."  I look around, beet red faced, smile in agreement of his perfect description of the strange object.  Then I suddenly notice just how busy and instantly noisy the store becomes.  Laughter erupts.  I quickly skim the store, trying to decide to stay and pay for our slew of soccer gear and those unnecessary but adorably cute rainbow shoes for my #1 little girl, or to grab my 4 hooligans and run out of there never to return.  But then I see the college students over there, the old couple over there, the store employees bending down to help me gather everything, and I ease up a bit.  My kid gives other people reason to smile.

But then there was that one mother.  The mother who had on her skirt and heels, with hair done all Mississippi mama like.  Giving me the stare down.  She didn't need to say anything, her evil eyes glaring spoke every word she wasn't saying but making it so clearly obvious.  If her eyes could talk, they'd say, - hey you, lady in green converse dressed in clothes that were probably cool like 6 years ago, with the baby slung to her chest, and the 3 other hooligans running a muck.  Yeah, you, get, it together.  Yep, she was hovered in an aisle,  covering her young daughter's ears.  As if the word wiener might ruin her forever.  I almost felt bad.  Almost.  Instead I tell Kip, use an inside voice and please don't say wiener in public.

Clearly our out in public manners are a work in progress.

Five month funk

We've done this relocation thing twice now.  All for good reason, but good reason doesn't make it any easier for me.

This second time around is going pretty similar to the first.  I've hit the tough transition phase.  The point where you don't have anybody else aside from your own Mr. to rely on, and with 4 littles that is tough.

The first few months are busy.  Figuring out where to grocery shop, finding things to do, checking out all the new parks, getting kids signed up in school/activities, finding childcare, getting into the groove of a new job.  But then 5 months hit.

The 5 month funk.

The point after a move where you aren't the new girl in town.  This isn't just a vacation.  Nope.  You are here, in the middle of no-where Mississippi, and staying.  This isn't a rental house, it is your home.  Your mortgage, and you aren't leaving.  And peeking back through old photos of there, or there, and especially there just tears at your heart a bit.  That point in time when you yearn to be anywhere but here.  Yeah, the 5 month funk.

But this 5 month funk was further compounded because I let a job application get me excited.  Too excited.  OSU had two openings, one in Paul's field, and one in mine.  We applied.  Then when they extended the interview to me, I got even more excited - looking online for houses, dreaming about running on those trails, or playing at that park - you know that sort of excited.  So, so stupid.

So I think it goes without saying, the phone interview with OSU today - a total doozy.

I use the term "interview" very loosely.

It was 10 minutes long.  Seriously.  They didn't even ask me anything about myself, just two very structured HR type of questions about diversity, and how I work with difficult team members.  Basically a formality.  I was most likely one of the required phone interviews the search committee has to conduct before beginning the campus interviews.  I hung up, cried, and let the brutal reality set in... that clearly I'm not one of the campus interview choices.  

Disappointment crept in.

Hope of returning to Oregon this fall, gone.

I know it isn't up to me, where we end up.  I've tried to keep the whole bloom where you land mindset. But I'm tired of landing temporarily.  I'm ready to be settled, you know.  Ready to raise my kids, create a home, build a solid support system of people, make friends - good friends. 

Create stability.

So, in an effort to create stability, I am claiming an end to the five month funk.  

So here is to moving forward.  To finding happiness, here, in Mississippi.  And damn it, if I can't find it, then I'll create it.  

happiness, here:

First step - finding a different job that allows me more time at home.  One that ISN'T night shift, and isn't 7 days straight of working.  I'm a wife/mama first, and the past 3 months I've felt so far removed from these rolls, and I just cannot take another minute of it.  So, if I can't be there then I'll make here, the best here that I can.  

Step two - find a home more suited for these crazy Loprinzi kiddos.  Less fancy, more kid focused - back yard, swing set, open floor plan.  If I'm gonna dream, then dream big - right?!  

Step three - book a ticket to Oregon.  Because after 4 years, I'm ready to squeeze my dad and baby sister.  

So that is that.

Croup

I set up camp for the night on the living room couch with a RSV+, ear infected, tight chested baby propped up in a bouncy seat next to me, sleeping for the moment.  It has been a rough two weeks.  Well, really a rough cold/flu season since October around here, and I'm so.very.ready for health for these littles.  I try to close my eyes, given it is midnight and sleep has been minimal the past week, but the sound of chest rattling croup cough coming from big sister's bedroom door prevents that.

She's approaching 4 years old, but I still have her door propped open tonight.  Listening, worrying, wondering, praying.  That relentless spastic barking cough has overtaken her body.  Two weeks of sickness has left this already petite gal just so very gaunt looking.

She cries because the coughing hurts her chest, which further exacerbates this viscous cycle.

She hates this, she says.  I hate it too.  Sleep deprivation paired with a love so fierce has us both in tears.

We alternate steam, and then the freezing arctic chill overtaking the south this early February morning.  l throw in an albuterol nebulizer treatment for good measure because she has asthma on top of this croupy hell.  The albuterol leaves her feeling jittery and "crazy," so the night is filled with wide eyes and little rest neither a great combination for health and restoration.

Respiratory stuff is no joke.  Even as a nurse practitioner I get panicked trying to make sure I am not being too cautious by sitting home with her like this.  But living here, and experiencing the ERs first hand, I know they are not the place to be unless absolutely necessary.  And even when absolutely necessary, I really question our local ER and their ability to provide quality, proficient healthcare for pediatrics.  

The night is long, and sleepless.

It is hard to see her this way.

I remember these nights when I was little too.  Now I know the stress I put my own mom through and have a newfound appreciation for her.

While I sit here, so thankful that it is "just" croup and not some untreatable condition.  I also know the reality of respiratory stuff in kids.  They are fine, until they aren't, and then when they aren't it goes bad fast.  Really fast.   And "just" croup can turn into a really big deal.  The fear of knowing that the closest Children's hospital is also a 3 hour drive further compounds this feeling.

Man this state leaves much to be desired in terms of health care.  So I text my trusty NP friends who give me reassurance.  Things I know to look for, and think about, but always good to hear from someone else too.

Motherhood, the hardest, most stressful, fierce kind of love ever.

Holding her close tonight, and praying for rest for this febrile little girl of mine.

She needs it.

Sick, sad, baby

She spiked a fever of 104.6, her eyes rolled back in her head, she shook for a minute,  and just went limp and was pretty lethargic afterward.

I quickly took her to our local ER, where it was very apparent the ER nurses could use some further education.  I was quick to realize just how unprepared this local hospital is for pediatric emergencies.  This RN, who smells strongly of cigarettes, is squeezing an adult sized pulse oximeter on my baby's foot for thirty two minutes trying to get a reading.  Yes, 32 minutes, yielding an 82% reading at best.  I know this is not an accurate reading as Hart's color and mentation report otherwise, I calmly suggest - maybe just chart it as unable to obtain, and go see what the physician wants to do.  After all, if the physician is concerned about her oxygenation status, they can order an ABG - lingo I hate to throw around because then it all changes.  Then my healthcare background is showing, and I'm no longer the concerned mother at the bedside, but instead labeled the know it all, healthcare provider parent at the bedside by these ER workers.

The ER physician comes in, said she likely had a febrile seizure and told me that febrile seizures are often a one time thing.  He recommended to alternate Motrin and Tylenol, and give her a bath at home to help keep the temperature down - I was doing all of this already.  He orders a flu swab (it was negative), chest X-ray and said it is questionable for new developing infiltrates (pneumonia) vs bronchiolitis.  Of note Hart was diagnosed by her pediatrician, who we adore, last week with bilateral ear infection and bronchiolitis…finished a course of antibiotics and then the next day spiked this high fever.  He sends us home with orders to give her nebulizer treatments, alternate Tylenol/Motrin every 3 hours for fever, started her on an antibiotic, and instructed to follow up with her pediatrician in one day.

After three doses of antibiotics, Hartley starts vomiting.  Excessively.  It is a Saturday so I can't follow up with her pediatrician, and after the last ER experience I'm not going back there unless absolutely necessary.  So I figure it is some other stomach bug she must have picked up while in the ER.  Then I look at the antibiotic.  I calculate her dose to be double what she should be getting - but hesitant to trust my drug calculation skills after almost 48 hours of being up without sleep.  I call the pharmacy to make sure of her dose.  They assure me that dose is appropriate for a 16lb baby.  So I text my NP friends - and sure enough, they say that IS double the dose she should have been given.  I know it isn't the end of the world, but this seriously frustrated me.  Healthcare is an imperfect world, it just is a bummer to have a baby deal with the imperfection.  

and now, I'm a firm believer that the healthcare in Mississippi has a LOT of room for improvement.