Broken

It was a beautiful October Sunday. Warm, sunny and fleeting. I knew there wouldn't be many days left like this before we had to endure blistering cold, drifts of snow and house arrest. So even though I had worked the night before, I packed up my kids and took them to the park. I wanted to soak up some sun and let them run around a little.

And then came what turned into the single worst day of my life.

I was watching Patrick climb and swing, ensuring he wasn't doing anything that would endanger him. Grace was off running around with some of the neighborhood kids. I never worried about Grace doing anything dangerous. She was my cautious one, very self aware. She knew what she was capable of.

And yet, none of that mattered. It was a stupid fall off of a simple climbing structure. A fall in which she landed on one outstreched arm.

"Mama, I hurt my arm."

There were no tears. There was no screaming. She very calmly and matter of factly held her arm against her body and told me she hurt it. Just by the way she was holding it, I knew she had done something to it. But by her reaction, I did not anticipate the break she had suffered. She was wearing long sleeves.

Ok, let's fast forward...

I somehow got her and Patrick in my car and drove home. Still no tears from Grace. I am calmly talking to Pat. Explaining I think she may need an xray by the way she won't move her arm and is splinting it against her body. Grace is just sitting on the couch, wimpering.

"Mama, I think I want to put ice on it."

"Ok, baby. We can do that."

HOLYMOTHEROFGOD!!!!

This is the first time I have pulled her sleeve up. She is broken. I broke her. My knees go weak, my head feels fuzzy. What do I do next? Do you call an ambulance for this? Why in the world is she not FREAKING OUT???

I have never found it so difficult to look at something. Purple, swollen and very (very, very, very) obviously broken. Not because it was nasty, and indeed it was. But because it was my baby. And it was her arm, and it was broken in half.

I throw Grace in the car, we rush to the hopsital. She still doesnt cry. In fact, she is pale as a ghost, half asleep in the backseat. Ohhhhh, so this is what shock looks like. Not that I ever wanted to know first hand.

We arrive at Children's Hospital, and I am trying to remain calm. Based on earlier posts, you guys know just how calm and held together I am when it comes to my kids when they are sick or hurt. Not my strongest quality. But I am determined to hold it together and be a calm, rational human being and not have a psych emergency called in the middle of the emergency room.

"What seems to be the problem today, ma'am?"

"This is my daughter, she is four. She broke her arm."

"Ok, so let's fill out some paperwork."

"No, like she REALLY broke her arm."

"Ok, ma'am, well, this will just  take a minute."

"No, REALLY, you need to look under her sleeve."

I can feel my calm, rational self being beaten to death by the hysterical mother who is going to snap if someone doesn't fix this baby's broken arm NOW!

Maybe the nurse sensed this, saw my crazy eyes coming into focus. She heeds my warning and looks under her sleeve.

"Oh. Ok then. Come right on back here."

I have never been moved so quickly through an emergency room. Grace looks up at me, her eyes fill.

"Mama, I wish this never happened. I wish I never climbed on that thing."

Oh yeah, calm, rational mama just got knocked out in the last round. Here comes the hysterics.

I felt like I was having an outer body experience. I watched nurses and doctors poke, prod, and xray Grace. And then in walks the surgeon.

Fuuuuuuuck.

I know what he is going to tell us before he even says it.

"Mr. and Mrs. Bunker, this is a bad break. We are going to have to operate to restore blood flow to her hand."

And there she went. My baby, in a bed that made her look so tiny. Being fawned over my nurses who were giving her toys and tying balloons to her bed. Wheeled into a cold, sterile room where they would put her to sleep and breathe for her while they tried to put my broken baby girl back together. And I wouldn't be there with her.

It was too much. I cried until my chest hurt. I replayed the entire day through my head over and over. I should have been watching her closer. I should have never even gone to the park. I should have noticed how bad the break was earlier. I should have called an ambulance. It was all my fault.

What seemed like eternity went by (which was actually two hours). The OR nurse comes to get us.

"You can see her now. She did great."

And there she was. I felt my heart stop for a second. I couldn't breathe. I wanted to scoop her up and just get out of there. Run. Run away. Just leave, and go home to our safe home. This was all just a dream.

My beautiful, sweet sleeping girl. She was hooked up to monitors. She had a full length purple cast on her left arm. Her lovey blankey MooMoo was snuggled up to her chest. I lean in and kiss her face, touch her curly hair. She's OK. She'll be OK.

We spend a night in the hospital recovering and another three weeks in the cast. It was the longest three weeks of my life. Lots of couch snuggling, pain medicine, ice cream for dinner and sponge baths. She was a trooper throguhout the entire thing.

The cast is off, her arm is getting stronger. Kids break, they heal. This is just a bump in her road. A little blip on the radar of her life.

It rocked my world. Imprinted on me forever. I will never be the same. I will carry that memory around with me and feel lucky every day that it ended up being treatable, but I will remember that things can change in an instant.

Just to add a little spice to our life...

Because it was so bland and boring before, right? Let's get a puppy!

Oh yes we did!

Meet Brody. The cutest little black lab you ever did see! Our newest addition to the madness. Poor little guy didn't even know what he was getting himself into. Nor did we.

Brody was a Christmas gift for the whole family. He sort of fell in our laps and we felt as though he was meant to be. After a particularly tough fall/winter, especially for poor Gracie, we decided we needed a little joy, a little cheer.

And we got joy and cheer...and poop and pee and chewed furniture and kids who didn't necessarily feel the love for the dog as quickly as we had hoped.

It was a tough transition, I will say that. After the first week, I thought..."there is no way we are all going to survive this. Someone is going down." And it was probably going to be me.

The first day I was home alone with the pup and the kids I found myself carrying a crying and petrified Patrick on one hip with a dog nipping at my heels while trying to cook dinner. Here is the text that my husband got that night...

"if you don't come home now, this dog will not be here when you do come home"

Subtle, no?

As with anything the dust settles. And out little Brody is settling in quite nicely. The kids loooooove him now. Love him to the point of smothering him.

And yes having a new puppy is a lot like having another baby...

Except, you guys...you can lock him in a crate when he's annoying you. And put him outside by himself. And leave him in the car to do errands. All of which I believe is frowned upon with real human children. Last time I checked anyway.

So our house is feeling fuller and busier and all full of love and squishiness! Just as it should be.

Gone, Baby, Gone

I feel as though I am sitting at a serious crossroads here, guys.

More babies...or no more babies??

So lately, I have had the baby bug (big time). Just ask my husband who has been tormented by me. He is holding strong at a firm "HELL TO THE NO" at the request for another baby. He's done. Even when I told him it could just be my babyand he wouldn't have to do anything. :-)

 I have been feeling this sense of urgency about having another baby. I can't really explain why. I am happy and content with my two beautiful children. And God knows I am plenty busy! A four year old and an almost two year old keep my days plenty full and overly exciting.

While both Pat and I are working, we are also working hard at running our house, keeping our marriage afloat and giving the very best of ourselves to our kids who deserve only the very best of everything.

Oh, and then there's the cooking, laundry, cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping, laundry, paying bills, laundry, and laundry and laundry and laundry.

And Facebook. But that's just between you and me.

Actually, now that I think about it...how do I even have any down time to think about having another baby?!

So could I add even more work to this mix? In truth, I feel like I have finally mastered caring for Grace and Patrick together. I have a routine. We are scheduled. And for those of you who know me...I am a girl who loves her organization and routine.  I know what each day is going to bring, where will be and at what time. Some may call this boring.

And to you I say "NAH NAH NAH NAH POO POO"

So now that I am in the point of my life where things are easier, a baby would rock our world. And we would be back to being up all night, being at the mercy of a baby's schedule, feeding and diapers and crying.

But I am wanting it...and kinda desperately.

Am I just a "baby person"? Ummmm...DUH! I LOVE babies. I love holding them, and the smell of them, their little coos,  their cute little hands and feet.

Oh yeah...have I not mentioned that before? I have a thing for baby hands and feet. I have pictures of just my kid's little baby feet and hands hanging up in my house.

Don't you judge me.

For the past 5 years, I have been wrapped up in babies. I have either been pregnant or taking care of babies. Being a mother was all I ever wanted. And now I have done it (twice!). I don't really know what do without having a baby to take care of. It's who I am, and what I associate myself with. Patrick is getting so big so fast. And he seems to be so independant already.

Now before I have to hear a lecture...I know my two that I have already will continue to keep me plenty busy in other ways. I can already see how much emotional support and nurturing Grace is going to require. She is so sweet and intelligent...and sensitive. She's a little bit of a drama queen (wonder where she gets that from??)

And Patrick...well for now I spend most of my days protecting him from himself, ensuring he stays in one piece and convincing him that not every piece of food he encounters will scald him. He must have been a burn victim in another life or something, cuz that kid is scared shitless of heat.

So I guess the question remains...will I know when I'm really "done"?

Oh well...poor me. I guess I have to ponder this while sitting by the pool sipping margaritas this summer...cuz I won't be pregnant, SUCKAS!!!!

Sweet baby Jesus, I just remembered...I HATE being pregnant. There you have it...stay tuned, folks. This story ain't over. But don't worry, I'll keep you updated.

Baby Boot Camp

Alright folks, I am writing to tell you all about my new hobby. You aren't even going to believe me when I tell you. Get ready...

Is the anticipation killing you??

It's EXERCISE!!!

I know, right?!?! You can all stop giggling now. I am serious. Let's discuss.

So my BFF Antoinette started this new workout regimen last spring. It is called Baby Boot Camp. It is basically exactly how it sounds...bootcamp (as one would expect it, with pushups and running and squats and situps, etc.) while you push your baby around in a stroller.

Genius, or disaster?

Well I will be the first to admit I was skeptical. Not only was I skeptical, but I mocked the BFF. She packed up her kids every day, threw on her running shoes and went at it. She kept telling me I should come try it with her. Telling me how fun it was.

And all I could think was, I hate exercise and I hate listening to whining kids....not only does it NOT sound fun, it sounds like the equivalent of getting a root canal.

But, I really like hanging with Antoinette. We have two kids the same exact ages, like weeks apart from each other. And before you ask, "Did we plan it like that?" I will answer you the same way I answer everyone else...

The world may never know.

So anyway, I was feeling a little lost without the bestie to hang out with. And frankly, doing kids activities without another adult is just plain boring. So I decided to give the Baby Boot Camp thing a go. I mean, how hard could it be?

OH

MY

GOD

It was freaking HARD.

But after that first class, where I dragged my sorry ass around huffing and puffing all the while, I actually felt good. I noticed I had more energy. So I decided to go back and give it another try. And I went again and again and then I realized it was becoming routine and I actually enjoyed going.

Now, I have never been the exercising type of girl. I do not have an athletic bone in my body. I am not a runner. And I am not very strong. But for the first time in my life, something has clicked. I can't quite put my finger on what it is. Maybe it is the group mentatlity. Being with a group of other women, other mothers who are all in the same place in their life is very motivating. Maybe it is the amazing instructors who know just the right thing to say at just the right time. Also, the fact that they all have children and are rocking smokin' hot bodies makes you want to do whatever it is they do to look like that. Whatever it is, it is amazing. And I am for the first time in my life experiencing a "runner's high" as they put it.

And who knew kids could be so motivating? They say the darndest things, those little angels. Some of my favorite words of encouragement from the little cherubs: "Run faster, mama! We're always losing!" or how about "Wow, Mama, your bum is shaking a lot when you run."

Yeah, that one stung a little.

I also love, love, love that I feel like this is instilling good habits in my kids (especially Grace). She sees me working out, and being healthy. And she loves to run around and mimic the boot camp moves. I have mentioned before how scared I am of not being able to do the right things to ensure that Grace has a healthy body image...sadly something I have (and continue to) struggle with. The fact that she can look up to her own mother (me!) as a role model is so empowering.

Warning: I will say, baby boot camp is as much of a mental workout as a physical workout. Patrick doesn't necessarily love being strapped in the carriage for an hour. And, as we all know, Patrick is not shy about letting his feelings be known. But I have gotten very skilled at throwing various snacks and toys into the stroller, while running and trying not to die.

Multi-tasking at its finest.

Sniffles and Coughs and Sneezes...OH MY!

Ahhh, here it is. The season we all treasure: Flu/cold season...

Balls.

So last winter was pretty brutal for sickness in our house. Grace was spared mostly. But any little sniffle she picked up turned into a full fledge crazy nastiness that took up residence in poor little PBunk. That boy was sick more than he was well for probably the first year of his life. And we all paid dearly. ALL of us...like, including my neighbors.

So turns out, that whole theory about men being big fat BABIES when they are sick is true even when they are, in fact, babies. Let me ellaborate:

When Gracie is sick, she is totally mellow. I mean, yeah sure, she whines and is a little crabby. But for the most part, she lays on the couch, watches TV and really just wants to be left the eff alone (which is totally OK with me). Throw her a popsicle and fill her sippy cup now and then and you hardly know she's there. I never even knew when she was getting her teeth as an infant. One day I would just discover a new tooth in her mouth. That girl is tough. She is a hard core gangsta beatch...

And then there's Patrick...oh my sweet little Patrick. Now when Patrick is sick, in true male fashion, he is about to bring the pain to everyone around him. If he is miserable, you best believe you will be too. That boy basically crawls around wailing, whining, screaming and carrying on. Dear Lord...the carrying on!!! Now of course, if the midst of it all, I feel terrible. I HATE when my kids are sick (as I have mentioned a million times before). I feel awful and helpless and want to take away all their pain.

But in P man's case, I want to take away his pain, partly to relieve my own pain.

And when he was cutting teeth...literally people in the town over were well aware of the apparent torture that was happening inside his mouth. I am sure it pretty low on the fun scale to have a sharp object erupt through your gums. You would think evolution would have taken care of this predicament after gazillions of mothers have ranted and raved about being tortured by their teething babies. Come on, science. Or God...whoever is in charge of this stuff. What the hell??? Throw us a bone, would ya??

But I digress.

So today when I picked up Grace from school and the teacher told me she was complaining about a sore throat you can just imagine my reaction...

AAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Then I proceeded to talk myself down off the ledge. Here is the brainstrom that took place in my head :

"SHIT, FUCK, GODDAMNITALLTOHELL!!! Ok, maybe she just had a dry throat. Juice will help. I will have her lay low today and load her up with Tylenol and cure her. I wonder if it is safe to make her take 25 Flinstone vitamins? Would it be wrong to quarantine her? Her room is fun! And I would bring her food (obviously). She'd be fiiinnnne!"

Then I realized that with this being Grace's first year of preschool, I am pretty sure it is safe to predict that we are all going to be sick A LOT this winter.  It's no use. We are doomed.

So I did what any rational person would do. I bought bulk of Purell and Clorox wipes. This momma isn't going down without a fight. Be warned.

Dear Gracie,

Tonight is the night before your first day of preschool. Right now, you are laying in bed next to me. You are such a beautiful girl. But, I cannot believe you are the same baby I had only three years ago. You are looking so grown up to me these days. You are getting so long and lean. Your beautiful curly hair is getting long. And yet, there are traces of that baby I held. I can still see her in there behind that grown up face, that independent will of yours. 

I always think back to the night you were born. How long I labored, how much I had to fight for you. But you were worth any battle. I looked into your eyes and fell madly in love. Heaven and Earth moved when you arrived. I would never be the same. I loved you more than words could ever describe and there aren't enough moments in this lifetime to show you. 

So I hope you'll just believe me. You are so special, so smart, so sweet. You make me so proud every day. You and I...we were made for each other. 

This is a day I have dreaded since you were born. Selfishly, I want to keep you all to myself. But you have to go, my dear. You will learn so much. Have so many new experiences. And you deserve all the happiness and fun this world can offer you. I know there will bumps along the road, and some tears are inevitable. And this kills me. I have spent every day of your life trying to shield you from any pain, discomfort, hurt feelings that may come your way. And even though I can't be by your side every second, I am always standing right beside you, and I will always be there to catch you. 

So, my love, now I have to share you with the world. Have fun. Learn new things. Be kind. Try your best. 

I love you, 

Mama

Summertime and the living was easy...

well...as easy as it could be with a preschooler and a toddler.

I know, I know...no posts for a while. But honestly, I was off having one of the best summers I can remember in a long time. I think that maybe I was just so happy to not be pregnant or recovering from a C-section this summer, that frankly, my standards were pretty low. But, nontheless, it was a fantastic summer filled with long sunny days by the pool, a few lazy weeks at the beach, fresh dinners hot off the grill with icy cold margaritas to wash it down (remember, I was pregnant last summer. I was due for a few beverages by the pool this summer). Here are few highlights from Bunker Summer 2011:

1.) OK...let's get the negative stuff out of the way first. So as I have said before, my little Patrick can have, how do you say... a tough personality (see previous blog "Our First Family Vacation"). Well, his little quirks became glaringly obvious this summer. So this may not be a popular statement, but Patrick has earned himself a nickname as of late. Since some days he is an absolute terrorist, we call him Osama. I didn't say it was tasteful, but you sure do get the idea don't you? There are some days that kid gets into everything humanly possible. He actually emptied out a cabinet, threw a box of Cheerios on the floor making a nice crunchy carpet in my kitchen and crawled INTO the cabinet, giggling all the while. Other days he literally crawls around the house holding onto my leg and crying. For what, you ask? Is he hungry, is he tired, does he want me to play with him? No, mostly he just wants me to pick him up so he can slap me and squirm out of my arms. So, yes sometimes I call him Osama. One morning I am pretty certain I am going to walk into his room to find him crouched in front of a video camera, holding a severed Barbie head, addressing his followers as to how to make their mother's twitch, punctuated with screams of "PRAISE ELMO!" Now most days, we sign a peace treaty and all is right in Dedham. But you can never let your guard down.

2.) There was a brief period in early summer where, unfortunately, my car air conditioning broke. Now you all know I already consider my car a torture chamber on wheels. Add 110 degree stagnant air to the incessant talking, whining, screaming, and requests for food from the back seat and I was pretty sure I found a new interrogation method for the government.

3.) So our Cape vacation was a success! I know you all were a little nervous after our mini vacation in the spring. But it was fun and relaxing and we made some awesome memories. My secret weapon ("the troops" aka Nana, Papa, Nana B., Grampa and all the aunties and uncles) made the vacation possible. Do you really need 25 people to take care of two kids? Yes...yes you do.

OK, guys...funny story...so the first night there all four of us were in the same bedroom (me, Pat, Grace and Patrick). We had Grace on a cot, P man in the Pack and Play, and Pat and I in the bed. So, you can see where this is going, right? Inevitably, Patrick wakes up, realizes we are all in the room and proceeds to scream his little lungs out. We try to bring him in the bed with us, try giving him a bottle, promised him a pony...nothing. It went on for about a half hour, until Gracie finally whimpers from her cot, eyes still closed "Mama, he's never gonna stop!" I hear ya, sister.  Don't worry..Gracie's aunties took mercy on her poor little soul and let her sleep with them.

Aside from some minor bumps in the road, my kids had the time of their lives! They were true little beach bums and I cried crossing the bridge back to Boston.

4.) I realized that there is nothing better than dirty, tired kids at the end of of a long summer day. It just means they had a great day. Diapers full of sand, muddy feet, chlorine streaked hair - bring it all on! Feed them, give them baths and everyone is asleep by 7pm.

5.) Grace also earned herself a new nickname this summer. She is now Dr. Doolittle around these parts. That girl freaking loves her an animal. Or insect. She won't discriminate. She made friends with some ants that took over my kitchen. I found her crouched down on the floor whispering to the ants "Oh, hi little fellas. You know you're not supposed to be in here. You belong outside, sillies!" We spent many an hour at the zoo or stalking neighborhood animals (because you bet your ass there is not an animal joining the chaos in this house. Hell to the no!).

6.) Popsicles solve all the world's problems...this is a fact.

7.) Something miraculous also happened this summer. Grace started to actually LIKE Patrick. She, like, PLAYS with him. Without me begging her. She actually seeks him out. You have no idea how much easier this makes my life. To hear them giggling together, see them playing and loving each other is literally my reason for exisiting.

And now...summer is coming to an end. The days are shorter, the nights are chillier. I am pretty sure I still have post traumatic stress from our last winter. It was like living in a goddamn snow globe. So for now I am hanging on to these last few weeks where I am not a prisoner in my home and can soak up just a little more sun with my kiddos. Our days are getting busier and we are all getting back to routine. But, alas, the summer cannot last forever.


There you have it! Bunker Summer 2011 - the highlights!