Here's hoping

So, Asher has one more apnea/sleep study test he has to pass on Monday, and if all goes well, it looks like he'll be coming home on Tuesday. So keep you fingers crossed for us everyone. It will be wonderful if we can finally get our little family all together.

Rock Stars

Call me superficial, but when I knew Sam only from afar in college, there were a couple of major factors that made me decide that, 'hey, I think i'd like to get to know this guy a little better.'
1- He had an awesome jeep that I would constantly see cruising down the Rexburg streets with the top down, piled full of rowdy people. 2. He was in a band. And he was the singer. And he made smoldering eyes when he sang. And I liked it.

Anyway, probably not the two most reliable criteria that girls should use to decide they want to start dating someone, but hey, it worked for me.

This summer, I got to relive my fascination with Sam the Rock Star when his medical school buddies dragged their drums and guitars into our spare bedroom for the duration of their break from school.

It was good times, and lots of music that Riley, a boy who loves noise above all else, mysteriously thought was too loud. So I didn't actually get to hear Sam and his band much because Riley and I would go elsewhere during their rehearsals. If it was up to me, we totally would have stayed because even though I'm 26 now, I'm still totally hip and love being in a place where the music is so loud it knocks pictures off the walls. Really. I am.

The bits of their songs that I did hear were all fantastic though, and Sam's singing eyes are just as smoldering as ever. Too bad I ruined their public debut by landing myself in the hospital. But hey, it's good to know there's a backup plan if Sam decides the doctor route isn't for him.

NICU Blahs

For those of you who haven't heard, still no Asher home from the hospital yet. Apparently, my kid is a born puker.

The problem is that his little stomach just couldn't handle being stretched when we were feeding him every three hours. He was throwing up all of his food and losing more and more weight every day. So the doctor decided they needed to stick in a tube and start him on continuous feeding--where he's drip-fed teeny amounts of milk all day long.

That decision was made a week ago, and it was a sad, sad, day because we knew it meant that it was going to be awhile before our baby was coming home. I was in the room when the nurse came in with the orders to switch from bottle feeding to tube feeding. Asher was hungry because it was time for him to eat now. But instead of being given a bottle to drink in 30 minutes like he was used to, the nurse put him on a drip line that took four hours to feed him the same amount. All I could do was sit there and hold him while he squirmed and cried and his little stomach growled. It took about two hours for him to start feeling full, and it was awful.

It's also been hard having to prioritize my children. One child is chock full of endless amounts of energy, hates sleeping with a passion, and requires constant attention to avoid bodily damage to himself and others. The second child sleeps all day long and has his own team of qualified caregivers. I bet you can guess which kid gets most of my time.

I try to spend a couple of hours at the hospital a day. Some of the time, baby is awake, but most of the time he isn't. My biggest fear is that he's going to forget who I am. It's impossible not to dwell on the hundreds of hours of his little life that I've already missed being a part of. It's hard to hold him and breathe in that wonderful newborn scent and realize that I have absolutely no idea when he'll be coming home. It could be one or two or three weeks. Or, it could be more (though I refuse to think about that right now.)

But, before I put my hormonal little self in tears, it might be time to dwell on a few positives.
---There is nothing wrong with Asher that a few weeks of maturation won't cure.
---We are living off of student loans and a net income of, well, not very much. Why is this a positive? Because it means that good old Uncle Sam will be footing all of our medical bills. My week-long hospital stay alone was almost $14,000 and I don't even want to guess what Asher's will be.
---I am finally feeling completely well and back into my pre-prego jeans. Bye bye elastic waist bands, hello buttons!

And, thanks again to all of you who have been praying for us or who have called or left comments on the blog. It really does mean a lot.

This is funny, yes?

I'm not sure if I just needed a laugh or what last night, but I thought this was pretty funny. I will admit to liking the book, but I'm pretty sure the movie is going to be a total bust.

Updates

Still no Asher at home yet, but he is progressing all the time and we think he'll be able to leave the hospital by next Wednesday or so. Today, the nurses are hoping to take him off all of the oxygen and they have removed his iv because he has finished his antibiotics, so we'll see how he does with that.

Two incredibly exciting things have happened 1-I got to hold him for the first time yesterday. YAY for that. Took look enough.
2-Riley puked everywhere in the NICU. For those of you not familiar with the NICU, it's the most sanitary, germaphobic place on earth. You scrub in before you even walk through the double doors. Then, you walk into the baby's room and they tell you to douse your arms and hands with sanitizer again.
Anyway, Riley has had a bit of a runny nose and we spent five minutes convincing the nurse it was okay to let him in. No, he hadn't been coughing. No, he wasn't going to be touching the baby. Yes, his snot had been clear, and no, of course, he hadn't been running a fever or anything like that.
Well, we walk into the room and the first thing he does is start coughing. Then, his mega gag reflex kicks in and he spews half-digested ravioli all over the room. The poor nurse had a look of pure horror on her face. "He can't be in here, he can't be in here," she kept saying over and over again. We cleaned him up and rushed him out as quickly as humanely possible. The next day, they left a love note for us on our sign-in sheet. "Riley CAN NOT visit again until he is symptom free for three days. There can not by any vomiting in the NICU."
Poor Riley. He would be the one kid in hospital history who gags and throws up in the most sterile environment on earth. Hopefully they've forgiven us for that by now.

Empty Hands

Babies do not belong in plastic incubator boxes and nondescript hospital rooms.

But, that's where my baby is right now, tucked away in a plastic box in the NICU with all kinds of wires and monitors taped to his little baby body.

Yep, you guessed it. It's been an eventful week on the Homefront.

Asher David McMurry was born on Sunday, Aug 31 at noon-ish. He weighed 5lbs 13 oz and made his big debut about a month and a half before his scheduled due date. It's been nearly a week now, and I haven't been able to hold him yet.

You want to know what's been the hardest thing for me to deal with? All of this is probably my own fault. I had been feeling really off for a couple of weeks and horribly ill for a couple of days. I waited until I had 104 degree temp to call my doctor and say, "Ummmmm.. My body feels like it's being drug through a burning pit of fire. Maybe I should come in for a checkup?" Because, heaven forbid, that I would call him when I wasn't really sick and be thought of as a wimp or something.

Anyway, my doctor pretty much took one look at me and decided I needed to be admitted. For the next two days, I had my own team of doctors and nurses poking their heads in and trying to figure out what the heck was wrong with me and why my white blood cell count was so freakishly high (I think they finally settled on an upper kidney infection and pneumonia).
But my pulse and heartrate kept dropping lower and lower and, apparently, according to rumor, I was doing quite a bit of hallucinating. Then the contractions started and the doctor made the decision that I wasn't going to get any better until they delivered the baby.

Sam and I had approximately ten minutes to prepare ourselves for the fact that the baby was coming now and I was wheeled into the operating room for an emergency c-section. Asher came out screaming and crying and bigger than anyone expected.

I'm glad I wasn't really around for what happened next. They had stitched me up and taken me to the ICU when Sam decided to run to the nursery to check on the baby. The nursery doors were slammed in his face by an aggravated nurse who muttered something about a procedure. But before they closed the doors, Sam caught a peek of a team of doctors rushing around a baby--our baby--whose lungs were crashing. The doctors were solving the problem by stuffing a breathing tube down his throat.

Luckily, Asher stabilized quickly and is now just on oxygen. He still isn't eating on his own so we don't know when he'll be able to come home. All of you out there who have been praying for us, thank you. I came home from the hospital yesterday, and really and truly have felt the power of your prayers in my quick recovery and the inspired decisions of doctors. But I'm going to ask you to keep praying for little Asher a while longer, if only so he can come home that much more quickly.

Poor Sam has had the weight of the world on his shoulders this week. He had to bare the brunt of having both a sick wife and a sick baby in the hospital, and I know it was one of the hardest things he has ever done. But watching his strength and seeing the love and concern written all over his face has reminded my all over again why I married him.

To all you friends and family out there who have done so much for us, I can't say thank you enough. My inlaws drove all the way up from Texas to keep Riley for the weekend when I was so sick. Then, they came right back again three days later to see the baby and drop Riley off. My mom bought a last minute airplane ticket to come in make everything better, like moms always do. And my friends all seemed to know exactly when to call or stop by when I was feeling my lowest and really needed a visit to cheer me up. Thank you guys so much!

I will try my hardest to follow up with some pics in the next day or two.

Faux Pas Galore

Now that Riley's English is intelligible to most discerning humans, we've been in for some awkward moments lately. I guess that all comes with the territory of having a kid with a mouth though, doesn't it?

I, for one, vividly remember telling my entire third grade class during show and tell that my family was traveling to Colorado for Christmas to spend the week in a condom. Condo, condom; one tiny letter, so much difference.

Riley's social faux pas are only worsened by the fact that he never says anything within the normal human decibel range. Pretty much everything is uttered ten times louder than it needs to be, unless of course on the rare occasion that all of the pre-existing loudness has forced him into a hoarse whisper.

Anyway, here are some fun situations we've dealt with lately.

Scenario #1: In church, listening to a great talk from a man who was, shall we say, folically challenged.
Riley: MOMMY WHAT HAPPENED TO DAT MANS HAIR????
Me: Sssshhhhhhhhh.
I might have just imagined it, but I'm pretty sure the speaker paused at this point and totally lost his train of thought because he heard us.
Riley: BUT MOMMY, WHY IS DAT MAN"S HAIR ALL GONE?

Scenario #2: At Sea World, passing by a boy who had an obvious birth mark.
Riley: MOMMY, WHATSA MATTER WITH DAT BOY'S FACE?

Scenario #3: At our neighbor's house for dinner. These are the same neighbors who have a small house and three big indoor dogs.
Riley: MOMMY, DADDY, WHATS DAT SMELL.
SAM: It's a candle bub. A cinnamon candle. It smells yummy.
Riley: Sniffs loudly. NO, NOT A CANDLE. SMELLS YUCKY, LIKE DIRTY PUPPIES.

Sam and I coped by abruptly changing the subject and hoping our neighbors who were sitting five feet away from us somehow did not hear that remark.

And this is why my head hurts.

Growing Pains

The signs that Riley is growing up are coming fast and feriously lately.

Like this morning, when I tried to walk into his bedroom and I heard, "No mommy, don't come in here 'til I done changing." At least he walked out of his room wearing a purple windbreaker pants and his shirt inside out with the tag sticking up under his chin. If he would have paraded out in a perfectly coordinated ensemble, I may have just started crying (I'm hormonal like that these days.)

Then, there was the day when I was out in the front yard weeding and Riley waltzed out, handed me the phone and said, "Tata's (grandpa) on the phone for you." And he really was. I didn't even know Riley knew how to answer the phone, though I guess it's time to stop underestimating him.

And, at three-years-old, he's already telling me exactly how he wants his hair combed: "NO mommy, not dat way. I want it stickin straight up in the air like daddy's." Which, on a side note, is easy enough to do these days now that Riley is sporting a new and much shorter do. And why, you may ask, is he sporting a new and shorter do? Sam and I were refinishing a desk and Riley wanted to help. So we gave him his own little board to paint with and all was well until we heard, "Yook mommy. I cowored my hair."

Let me give you another glance to make sure you caught the full effect.


Anyway, enough digression. Let me get back to the point of this post. Give me just a second to remember what it was. Oh, yeah. With a new baby almost here and Riley well on his way to mini-adulthood, I've been fretting. I'm just not sure how I'm going to handle the fact that while Riley will always be my baby, he just isn't a baby anymore. And that fact will be glaringly obvious once the new 7 or 8 pound something ounces McMurry makes his way into the world.

So any of you out there with wise advice to help me handle this transition, I want to hear it now. How did you handle changing the status of your first born from one-and-only baby to big brother?

Lessons in party planning

We celebrated Riley's third birthday a couple of weeks ago, and I decided this was going to be the year when I finally threw him a real party. Like, with non-imaginary friends and a cutesy, theme and maybe even some decorations here and there. We rounded up an assortment of slip-n-slides and kiddie pools and threw all the kids in the backyard. It turned out to be pretty fun, though I'm willing to bet the urine-to-water ratio in the big kiddie pool was a little iffy by the end of the night.

If I ever throw a huge party like this again (and that's a pretty big if) I have the benefit of this year's experience. Here are some nuggets of wisdom I picked up:

# 1- Cutesy-themed parties don't so much have a discernible theme if you forget to get out all the fish plates and cups that you spent way too much on at that party store and if you let your husband talk you out of buying some cute fish balloons because hey, 'We have to draw the line somewhere.' They also don't work out very well if you run out of time because you have procrastinated and instead of decorating your back patio, it just ends up looking like this:


#2--You should not expect your friends and family to sit on your un-airconditioned back porch for two hours in 105 degree Oklahom heat and be happy about it. Though, to their credit, I didn't hear anyone complain (you guys are the best). and we all had the added benefit of losing at least a couple of pounds from all the sweating we did.

#3--It may not be the best idea to offer to rent an 8-foot inflatable slide from someone you have never met on Craig's list, tell them you will have cash on hand for the rental and the deposit, and then give them your address and directions to your house. Especially when they show up looking like someone you might see on a wanted poster. Although in this case, I have to admit it really worked out for me (and no, I won't do it again.) I got a great deal and the slide was a hit.

Need some proof? Just look at that smile:



#4: Even if your husband spends two hours in the backyard filling up a cooler full of water balloons, they will still all be gone in just under two minutes.



Here's my fish cake, the one lonely remnant of the fish themed party that was sadly not meant to be.


Look at that determined look on Riley's face...the cake never stood a chance.





After the party when everyone went home, Riley stopped playing with his new toys for a few seconds to look up at me and say, "Tanks sooooo much for my burday party mommy." It was totally worth it.

Birthday madness

Thanks to a variety of private donors (mostly my mom and dad) Riley got a brand spankin' new power wheels for his birthday. Lucky kid. He has been begging to ride the thing non stop for the past few days, 110 degree heat and all.

Now that he's all practiced up, he has some major skills. He can whip that thing in reverse, maneuver through tight squeezes, and power slide on the pavement. We've even progressed to letting him ride it through some of the less-busy neighborhood streets while I walk beside him. On our walk last night, we discovered our neighborhood already has a resident motorcycle gang of kids who have electric motorcycles or fourwheelers. They had a drag race down the street last night.

I haven't talked to the other mothers about it yet, but i'm thinking we should get them all some bandannas, orange flags, black leather and let them roam the streets at will. They already doubtlessly know how to stop at stop signs and stay on the right side of the road.

Getting Fancy

Riley's toolbox, supplied with lots of tools courtesy of Gmom and Pop. He's been "fixing" things all over the house.

Great Expectations

Items that Riley has requested for his birthday:

1- A waterfall
2- A "weel wive" tiger
3- A space ship to the moon

Locations Riley insists he would like his party to be at:

1- Target
2- That's it. There's no suitable alternative in his mind. I think he envisions himself and his little friends running free and filling their carts up with all of the toys they can possibly handle.

Needless to say, I don't think I can live up to his expectations. Especially since his party is in one week and I have no idea what we're going to do to keep the childrens entertained. On a side note, anyone know how to throw together an absolutely magnificent birthday party in, oh, say a week?

South Padre

As promised, here are our month-plus old pics of Sea World and South Padre Island.

Let's start with Sea World. We saw the dolphins and the whales and paid $8 bucks for a glass of frozen lemonade. Why is it that frozen drinks always taste so delicious when you pay exorbitant amounts for them?

We hiked up the water slide tower and managed to convince Riley to ride down all by himself, as he wasn't allowed to ride on our laps. He actually loved it, and we made a total of 8 trips before the baby-faced lifegaurd--the same one who had been watching us the whole time---suddenly and arbitrarily decided that Riley was too little to be going down the slide by himself. Sam had already slid on down to wait for us at the bottom, so it was up to me to pry Riley's death grip off the slide railing and drag him, kicking and screaming the entire way, down the 500 million sets of stairs.


Highlights from South Padre Island:
--Our first sighting of real, live (i.e. wild dolphins). In fact, a few of them jumped only feet away from Sam when he was surfing. He got good and freaked out when he saw those dorsal fins coming towards him.
--Fresh seafood. Ummmmm.
--Fresh seafood. Oh, did I already mention that one?

Sporting the baby bump.

Then, we crossed the border and made the hour-long drive into Matamoros Mexico just to satisfy Sam's authentic food craving.

Ummm...It was probably worth it, even though I got a four-day stomach ache from drinking the horchata---which, as it turns out, is made with that water they tell you not to drink when you go to Mexico.

Yummy Mexican food=a very happy Sam

Riles wasn't so much a fan of Mexico. He was hot and tired and threw approximately 100 tantrums. All the natives were looking at me like I was the bad parent of a very spoiled American child (sooooo far from the truth) so I did what every parenting book I've read thus far told me to do.....Buy your child the first toy in sight to make him stop crying.

We ended up with the most ghetto toys I have ever seen in my life. Need some proof? Just take a look at this picture taken by my friend, Fig. Be sure and click on the photo for the extra-large version so you can catch the "Ambukance" in all its glory.

Fun with Glue

Tomorrow we head off for a week at Lake Powell, and I meant to post my South Padre Island pics before we left. But instead of doing it, I didn't. I know how much all of you are just dying for another McMurry family travelogue, but you'll have to be in suspense for a week longer.

Until then, feast your eyes on this: The Great Glue-splosion of 2008




I was busy getting some crafty supplies together to help Riley make a collage, and I made the mistake of handing him the glue before I was ready to supervise. I just assumed the childproof plug and lid would be enough to stop him from doing any damage. Wrong. Apparantly, if you squeeze those things hard enough, you can pop the lid right off and send a flume of glue up to the ceiling.

I made Riley sit with the glue dripping down his face while I went and hunted for the camera. Then, I managed to snap a quick pic before he accidentally snorted some of the glue up his nose and started wailing. Oh, the price we make our children pay for our photo ops.

The Reunion

Riley and I have now returned from our month-long sojourn of vehicular togetherness. Over the past two and a half weeks, we have spent approximately 62 hours in a car together. First, we rode with my aunt to Utah for a week-long reunion at my Grandmas house (which Sam managed to weasel out of coming to). Then, we were home for an entire three days before we packed up again and took a family vacation to South Padre Island. ANd the best news of all??---we are doing the Utah trip one more time in just one short week for Lake Powell. Fun times, eh?

Anyway, here are a few pics from the family reunion. Stay tuned for the South Padre Island pics. I'll post them tomorrow (or whenever I get around to it).

The Guitar Heroes


Riding in Gramps' convertible
Construction Workers


After a Hard Day's Work
Playing with the relatives

The Traditional Eating of the Smores

On the way home, my aunt and my cousin decided we were going to stop off at one of the random prairie dog towns you can buy your way into on the Great Plains. We paid $9 for admission, and our money bought us a chance to:

1- Step in lots of prairie dog poo.
2-Feed the goats
3-Take a gander at the only living, six-legged cow in the world. I feel sorry for her, don't you? Look how she's hanging her head in shame. "Stop looking at me already. I know I'm a freak, you know I'm a freak, why can't you people just leave me alone??"
4- See the biggest prairie dog in the world. I hate to bust your bubble, but it's a statue.

And while I was muttering under my breath the whole time about the ridiculous admission prices, Riley seemed to be having quite the grand ol' time. And I guess that's all that matters.

More of the Same

We went camping again last week, because let's face it: When you're poor and desperate to go somewhere, there just aren't that many options, especially in Oklahoma.

But lest those of you out there are thinking, "Great, another lame camping post," don't worry. Apparently, weird things happen to us when we go camping, and I plan to tell you all about it. Last camping trip, we drove all the way to our spot, unpacked our tent and discovered our poles were missing. Sam also got a ticket for wearing his seatbelt "improperly" and then we ended up in the middle of some sort of escaped convict manhunt.

This time, the campground where we stayed was pretty much empty. On our second night there, around 11 p.m. a truck load of teenagers pulled up and camped in the spot RIGHT next to ours. They immediately started hacking on every tree in sight with their axes. Around 2 a.m., we woke up to their music blaring and Sam decided he was going to go over there and tell them to be quiet.

When he came back, he looked a little flustered, so I asked him what was wrong. Turns out they were naked. And, well, doing the sorts of things that drunken naked teenagers do on camping trips. Anyway, I'll spare you the details but needless to say it freaked me out and the rest of the night I didn't sleep because I kept imagining they were going to come and murder us in our tent.
Other than some sort of hour-long, break-up brawl, the rest of the night was pretty uneventful and we took secret delight in letting Riley's hoarse yet still unbelievably loud little voice wake them from their drunken stupor at 7 o'clock in the morning.

This trip taught me two important things.

1- When it comes to camping, I'm in it for the food. Why is it everything tastes so much better when it's cooked outside? I made the best shiskabobs I have ever made, out of the two total times I've cooked those things during my lifetime.

2-I have let the TV become a surrogate parent to my child. All Riley wanted to do the whole time we were there was watch TV. Luckily, I managed to find some dangerously-sharp shiskabob sticks for him to play with. Do you think I kid? Here's the picture to prove it.
Riley kept trying (unsuccessfully) to bore holes in the rocks with those sticks. And then we used them to fashion a "Tower of Power" for the Backyardigans, so he could re-enact his favorite video, which we both have memorized. Then, he conveniently left the stick right under our tire, successfully puncturing it and necessitating the purchase of a new one. Who knew shiskabob sticks had so many uses?

More random pics of our adventure:







P.S. Oklahoma is pretty. I'm not kidding.