Cleanliness is next to Speechlessness

Quint’s room was a fantastic mess, to be sure.  We’d had a long day of indoor play.  Games, bubbles, cars, music, stories, and five-star “meals” cooked up one right after the other on plastic-ware and pretend stoves. 

As we tucked him in for bed, Anton made a sweeping gesture over the room and noted what disarray it was in, adding “it’s a BOY room…it’s supposed to be messy!”  We laughed and gave kisses and hugs and  gently closed the door, flipping out the light as we left.

Moments later, Anton called to me. 

“He’s up, I think.  In his room.  His light is on.  I think he’s playing.”

I made haste. Frustrated that he was out of bed.  A little miffed that he would be up and “playing”.  I could hear him clanking around. 

My signature “move” is to thrust open the door to gain the element of surprise.  And I did so with GUSTO, causing him to turn with wild eyes and yelp audibly. 

Red-handed and caught – he held three plates in one hand and some plastic strawberries in the other. 

I might have said “WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUT OF BED, WITH THE LIGHTS ON?!?!” a little too loudly.  I might have. 

But as my eyes began to settle on the room at large, I walked out.  I needed back-up.

“You need to come in here”, I motioned to Anton, already in bed himself.

We walked back, where Quint had resumed his project.

“Me clean my room, Daddy!”  He said with exuberant smiles and genuine happiness. 

“I see that, son.  I can see that”.

The once COVERED floor was completely clean.  And he was still busy.  Oh yes.

We sat down.  Anton in the rocking chair and I on the wooden chest. 

We were, in a way…speechless.

Quint bustled around us, placing things exactly where they belonged and making short order of what was once a mess into a very clean and organized little space.

His sheer delight to be cleaning his room was more than we could find words to respond to.  Our well-intentioned speeches about getting out of bed and breaking the rules went out the window and we sat somewhat dumbfounded watching him take great joy in clearing his mess.

I wanted to find fault in the late night project he had undertaken, but he was so thorough and cute and well-intentioned, all I could do was shrug my shoulders and hide smiles and stare bewildered at Anton as we exchanged confused and bemused glances.

We offered him occasional praise and he beamed.

The clothes were put in the hamper

The toys were put in their respective “spots”

The shoes were placed in the shoe basket

The books, placed back on the bookshelf

The room was spotless.

And so after about ten minutes, give or take, the boy was placed back in bed.  Fresh kisses.  Fresh hugs.  And tucked in.  Again.

And I reminded him that though he had done a wonderful job cleaning up his room, and that as much as I appreciated all his hard work, this time he would need to stay in bed and leave the light out.

He agreed and was off to sleep in minutes.  Must have been tired from working the night-shift.

I’m still savoring the moment, however.  I think I might be for a while…just remembering the way his little face was lit up “me clean my room!” and the way he took so much happiness in making us proud of him, (despite the, ahem, hour of the day).

Who says a boy’s room is supposed to be messy anyway?

He’s only three for a blink…

A Year Ago

Every once in a while, I like to reflect on a post written exactly one year ago. 

Still reeling from becoming a mother to two children, and only home from China for two short months, I “penned” this honest post about what we tell our adopted children about their past.

“On Painting A Pretty Picture”

I have re-read it, and I was gasping anew at what lies ahead.  Frankly, most days I am not prepared to see the pain in my children’s eyes when they start coming to terms with their humble beginnings. 

On the other hand, God doesn’t make mistakes.  They are right where they should be.  He took what was sadly, so broken and made something beautiful.

May we strive to be worthy of that blessing, and each of us – my children, myself, and AB…do truly good things with it…

There’s tremendous comfort there, I believe.

I’m still trying to figure out…

how to say “no” to this face…

and this one…(sob)

or definitely this one…(help me!)

this one (which makes me melt into a drippy heap)…

and this one…(precious boy)

and save me! - this one too…

by all means – if you’ve got some wonder-magic-poof-fairy dust-little dab’l do ya-fixit stuff

then you can send it my way to help me to harness the power of “no”….

send it on over.

meanwhile…SOS on the cute factor.

SOS, my good people.

Stridor

Some things, you can’t prepare for.  No matter how hard you try.  No matter how much you think you’re ready.  You’re not. 

When Quint woke us up Saturday night – it was a scream.  From his room.  A panicked scream.  And he called for his Daddy.  And when I think about the way it sounded now, it makes me shudder. 

In our sleepy state, we assumed he was having a bad dream.  But there was something different…something wrong about it.

And when Anton got to Quint – when the door to his room was opened and I could hear from my bed the sounds he was making – my mind jumped alert and I raced out of the bed hearing myself say loudly and too frantically “Honey!?  What’s wrong?! What is it?!”  Knowing there was an urgency deep down.  Knowing somehow that something with my son was not right.

He was struggling to breathe.  And oh, the sounds he was making.  Friends, I would not wish it on anyone.  It was horrifying.  His throat sounds as if it was closing off.  Worse and worse as the seconds and minutes ticked by.  He was gasping for air.  Trying to cry and not able to – not really.  Trying to speak, and not able to .  And the reality and panic of it had woken him up and created a whirlwind of anxious decision making. 

I wracked my mind – my heart beating rapidly and my adrenaline propelling me into frantic pacing and crying.  No, I was not calm.  I was hysterical.  My three year old son was gasping for air and I could not think.  All I could say was “what did he eat?”  and “what did we do?” and then “please, God – no…don’t let this be happening…please!  What do I do!?  Help us!?” 

We called 911 and what seemed like 30-minutes was truly only about four,  before they were at our door and racing in to help our boy.  When he saw them – he knew it was bad.  That is to say – our three year old knew it was far worse than even he – in his limited understanding – could grasp.  He tried to cry – but was struggling so much to breath, he couldn’t do his normal volume any justice at all.  Only tears – slipping down his face and some panicked eye darting and hand flailing. 

They gave him oxygen.  That seemed to calm him down.  But just a bit.  Soon there were six of them – Fire Department, Medics, God bless them.  Truly.  Each one gentle.  Each one kind, considerate. 

It was evident to all that Quint’s airway had shut significantly – but whether it would continue to close remained to be seen and he needed treatment fast.

He was taken via ambulance to our local Children’s Hospital – again, God bless them for being there.  I’m so grateful we have such a wonderful hospital so close by. 

After examination, he was diagnosed.  Croup.  He was given oxygen, steroids to decrease the swelling in his airway, and an additional liquid medicine to help with the irritation in his throat. 

For those mothers reading this that have experienced Croup – you can attest to how scary it is.  But for those who haven’t, and maybe like me thought of Croup as some strange loud cough…and nothing more?  I will tell you what the nurse told us:  “Croup is the one thing parents never seem to have any idea about…and it’s the scariest thing they’ve never thought of”.

I can echo that.  It truly is the scariest thing I never, ever gave a thought to. 

It’s a virus.  It’s like the Flu.  But it’s based in the throat.  Near the vocal chords. Hence the “barking” cough.  But friends? There is an element to Croup that I was not aware of – and it’s terrifying.  It’s called “stridor”.  And that is where the vocal chords become so inflamed, they swell and cause the airway to close.  As in potentially all the way.

And we are so GRATEFUL that Quint was old enough to call for his Daddy.  That he was present enough to know to scream out as best he could, when he realized something was terribly wrong.  I shudder to think what might have happened had he not done those things.  I can’t even go there.

Children are prone to it – because their vocal chords and throats are much smaller than adults. 

And it’s just as contagious as a cold, we were told.

There is nothing they can do for it – it’s a virus. 

I have never felt so helpless in my life.

Needless to say, we are home and recovering and still reeling, in a way, from our way-too-close-call.  There is nothing worse than a sick child.

Or seeing your child gasping for air…

If your child has a barking cough, consider putting them in your room for the night so you can monitor their breathing.  Quint had a slight barking cough (think seal) for most of the day – but we didn’t think anything of it – because he also has allergies like every human being living in Texas this time of year.  They might have rolling fevers or runny nose.  They might have decreased appetite.  Much like the flu!  Take whatever precautions you need to, to keep your babies safe.  You might not be able to prevent it, but you can be prepared if it does happen.  If your child wakes up struggling to breath, open your freezer and let them stick their face in and breathe the cold.  It can relax the throat and decrease swelling.  Call 911 – don’t try to drive your child to the hospital.  You can’t make a decision to pull over or keep driving should the situation deteriorate.  Most of all – try to stay calm.  I was so upset, I think I made Quint panic more than he already was.  And panic, it turns out?  Makes the vocal chords swell.  Yes.  Yes it does.  I’ve got to work on that.

We are thanking God for His mercy and grace – and I’m asking all of you with small children – be aware of Croup!  We were totally ignorant of it. 

Waiting for his medicine to work

Relaxing ~ now that he can breath again

After 2:30 AM and completely wiped out from his ordeal

The next morning ~ recovering in Mom and Dad's bed.  Still wearing all the medical monitor pads on his arms and legs.