Wednesday, April 30, 2014

L's commercial

Check out L's commercial from back in February.  We just saw it this morning.

Way to go, buddy!

Saturday, April 26, 2014

I don't need no stinking training wheels

L has the precious gift of a complete lack of self-doubt.  He decided that he was going to ride a two-wheeler, and in the 3 days it took to finally click, he never once wavered from the following conversation:

M:  Keep going, L. You can do it!
L:  I know! I can!

M: You're getting it!
L: Yeah, I am!  It's awesome!

M:  You're doing great, L!
L:  You're right, M!

It was ridiculous, except that suddenly, yesterday, he could do it, and he was doing great, and it was awesome.

Well, we've definitely got self-confidence covered.  Think it's time to start working on humility and graciousness, though?!

(Note: Despite crashes, bruises, bumps, and scratches, L didn't have a single bike-related seizure!  Hooray!  He did have one in the car the other day, boo.)

Wednesday, April 16, 2014

Record keeping, of little interest to fans of cute stories :(

Weird happening: L had a terrible RAS episode yesterday, but no seizure.

It was terrifying, and it wouldn't stop.  I was definitely wishing for the seizure by the end, just so it would be over.  L was much more disturbed by this episode than a normal short episode and seizure, and he cried afterward for much longer.

To remember: L had oatmeal for breakfast about an hour before, and though it was over a year ago, I know he had the same reponse the last time he ate it (recoded on GP):  major RAS episode, no seizure.

Oatmeal as possible RAS trigger?  Maybe.  

Plan:  Try oatmeal again on a day I'm feeling brave.

Question: But why no seizure?

Tuesday, April 15, 2014

I see you, L.

I think, sometimes, of the boys as ten-year-olds, looking through old posts for stories and pictures of themselves.

It's what I would have done if my mom had a blog.  As a kid, I loved leafing through my baby book.  I still would, I'm sure, if it was around.  In fact, my family has a website we have all used to keep in touch almost daily for the last 15 years, and I do search through its hundreds of pages of history from time to time, just to soak in the forgotten moments and reread old stories.

L, when you read this you're going to notice something.  Some of your stories aren't here.  I'm sorry.  It's not because you're TSO.  Not entirely. I was The Second One, too.  I know what you're thinking.  I see you.  I do see you.  But you're not always so easy to write about.

Take when M learned to read.  I wanted to shout it from the rooftops.  My son can read!  Isn't life amazing?! I think I blogged about it that very night, so eager I was to share my joy with the world and to document that special moment forever.

But when you started sounding words out just a few months later, it felt different.  You were so young.  I told myself that having an older brother meant picking up things a little sooner.  Or that it was probably just that little spelling bee game we played in the car on long drives.  You weren't really reading at 2-1/2... you were just decoding.  It's different.

In the months that followed, I kept playing the same game.  You must've heard me reading that to M earlier.  You're just clicking that spot because the game is intuitive, you didn't really know what it said.  You probably recognize those words because you've seen them often.  My three year old is not reading.  I'm not that insufferable mom.

Today I thought of you reading through old posts, one day, looking for your special moment and never finding it. I'd rather be insufferable than make you wonder where your stories are.

So... I see you. I see you reading.  Today you read to me about rabbits and caterpillars. 

I'm sorry I didn't celebrate you here sometimes.  You are remarkable.  

Finally, since -last I figured- my blog has about five readers plus my mom, I'm not sure who I was worried about annoying, but I will keep seeing you.  

Monday, April 14, 2014

A playhouse

Three rolls of colored duct tape, two enthusiastic helpers, and one enormous furniture box.

Last weekend's Saturday morning project.

So charming. So tidy.

So perfect.  Or so I thought.

Whim and the boys had another plan.


Saturday, April 12, 2014

Welcome to the world, Na-an!

For months, L's been reminding us that he's going to be a Goh-Goh (big brother/cousin) soon.

Yesterday, a few hours after Na-an was born, I called home to congratulate him.

"L, you're a Goh-Goh now!" I told him.

"I know, I can't believe it!" he screamed.  

We visited them last night, and Na-an did not disappoint.  He is gorgeous.  Every movement, every snuffle captivated them.  

M, who has been curious about sign language lately, first raised his eyebrows then ran for the bottle when he saw Na-an clenching and reclenching his tiny fist. L was entranced with his perfect little face.

In the excitement, we ending up snuggling a little too much, chatting a little too long, and got home late, way after the boys' bedtime.  They fell asleep on the ride home, and as I was reaching to unbuckle the first seatbelt, I heard L's sleepy voice: "You don't have to carry me upstairs.  I'm a Goh-Goh now.  I can walk."   

And he did.

Monday, April 7, 2014


This morning M asked me if I ever worry that Nostradamus' predictions will come true.

Hmm... No, I can't say that I do.

But clearly I worry about all the wrong things, since I spent countless nights worrying if this child would ever stop bouncing and whirling and crashing and moving.  Now, more often than not, he's curled up with a book.  

M learning to love reading is one of the best things that has ever happened to me.  Not only can I enjoy seeing him engaged and happy, the energy/noise level in our house has scaled back about 200% and bonus! when the end of the world comes along, I've got someone to keep me up to speed!

Saturday, April 5, 2014

I love cars!

L loves cars- always has.  He has undoubtedly held a car in his hand for more (waking) hours of his life than not.  When he was barely talking, he used to wake up in the morning and ask for a car with his very first breath, and he has taken a matchbox car to bed with him in each hand every night for at least 2 years.

I can only compare him to M (aka Mr. I love Toy Story! No wait, dinosaurs! No space! No, I love presidents! I mean superheros! No, space again! No, actually sign language!) so maybe I don't have a good perspective, but L's unwavering love for cars seems unique.

We laugh that when when he was little, he wanted to grow up to be a car.  Now that he's older, he says he wants to be a racecar driver, or "an actor with a car." 

About a week ago, when he was talking for the tenth time that morning about the car he'd have when he grew up,  I was hit with a sudden, gut-sinking realization.  Some countries' laws prohibit people with epilepsy and people who suffer seizures from driving.  I had no clue what kind of laws Thailand has in place, but the general misunderstanding of the condition and the pervasive cultural stigma didn't leave me feeling very hopeful.

The doctor who diagnosed L with RAS described it as a condition that affects children under six.  We took that to mean that he would outgrow them by age six, but we came to learn later that when adults or teenagers suffer from the same condition, it is given a different name. So we don't know if L's seizures will ever completely disappear.  They might!  Or they might always be a small part of his life.

But cars... cars are no small part!  I couldn't even bring myself to search Thailand's law.  It was like a musician being struck deaf or a runner losing his leg.  I couldn't stand it. Cars are his joy.  I learned that in the US, the law varies from state to state but generally one can drive after a period of no seizures (normally 6 months, 9 months, a year.)

I learned that some countries forbid people who have ever had a seizure from driving. Ever.  Full stop. After a week of worrying, I started thinking that maybe those people who hide their children's conditions aren't ashamed, but they just don't want doors closing on them all their lives.  I even considered whether I should keep this blog, or whether I should take the boys' names and pictures down, so L could decide for himself who he would share the information with in the future.  But of course, I knew I couldn't teach him to withhold it, or allow him to get a license illegally, no matter how much he wanted one.

I finally broke down and looked it up, reassuring myself while I resolutely hit the keystrokes: L might grow out of them and it could all be moot, he could make the decision to get a pacemaker as an adult if it was important to him, he might decide to live in the states anyway...

No regulation.

What?! Thai law has no mandate.  It is entirely up to the individual to decide whether they should be on the road.  How wonderfully reasonable! Since L's seizures have triggers and build up over a period of several seconds before they start, he could safely pull over.

All that anguish for no reason!  How silly of me.

L, just please promise me you won't want to be an astronaut like your brother!