The Kids

The Kids

Tuesday, April 7, 2015

Drunk Noah

Why do my boys have pooping issues?

Caleb has definitely had his issues in the past and now it is Noah's turn.  He usually does okay if he stays on Miralax, but, like any "oops, we were too busy to remember" family, if he happened to miss a day or two, he would immediately stop going.

I have no idea why.  How can one hold in poop and be happy about it?  Seriously?

Recently, Noah got to the point where he had not gone in over two weeks.  Yep-two weeks.  Can you imagine the size of the poor boy's stomach?!  I was even encouraging him to go in his diaper that he wears when he sleeps, just to put him at ease, but nope.  He still kept it all in.  Miralax was not working, prune juice had no affect-the boy would not go.

I finally called the pediatrician and without even seeing him, they sent me to Children's.  (Something tells me that there is a note on file with our boys' charts that says "bathroom issues" so that they do not even bother to see us when it comes to these matters.)

Gotta hand it to the doctors and nurses who took our case-that poor nurse eventually saw much more poo than she ever needed to see in her life.

After exams and x-rays, they decided they would need to stick something up there and "get him going."  To make this procedure nicer (I mean, can it ever be "nicer?"), they gave him some medicine to help him relax.

Oh my goodness, did this kid relax.  I had the joy of watching my four year old ramble on like a drunk man.  He was playing Minecraft on my Ipad and kept blowing things up without thinking.  While he did that, he slurred his words together and kept talking nonsense to me.  The best part was that every time he felt more poo coming, he would stand up on the bed to push (because we all stand up to push out poop?) and would need me for balance.  At one point, I would holding on to him, while he pushed into the gigantic pull-up that they had put on him, and he started talking in a slow, sing songing type of voice...

"Mom, what's your favorite color?"
"Um, I would say blue."
" favorite color is blue...and green...and yellow..."

Again-this conversation happened while he pushed out poop that may or may not have stayed contained to the pull-up.

I found myself gagging from the smell, while laughing at my drunk child.  I think the fumes were getting to me.

Eventually, they got him to the point where he had pushed enough out for their liking (or they simply were sick of us being there and wanted to cleanse the entire floor of the stench), and we were able to go home.  Drunk Noah stayed with me, even to the point of picking up the kids from school, who found him hilarious.  I mean, they have heard him sing songs in the car before, but not quite in that manner of loopiness.

Now he is so much better and our family knows to stop everything to make sure he gets his Miralax every day.  We have also made it a competition to see who can get the bigger poop out at night-Caleb or Noah.  They both HAVE to go before bedtime so that these issues do not occur again. 

Yep-it's a party in the Rosenfeldt household every night. "Quick boys!  Who's gonna go poop first tonight?  How big will it be?"

Hey, as long as they are going, I will talk about poop every day with my boys.

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

The Absence Of Molly

If you know our family well, you know our dog, Molly.  For those who do not know her story, she was found in a neighborhood about 15 minutes from our house in October 2013.  A friend of a friend of a friend found her and thanks to the wonder of social media, we found out about her and took her in.

You can read past posts about her to see the gory details of her first few days (farts, pooping in the house, wild escapes and runs through the neighborhood after slipping out of her collar), but she eventually calmed down and became a member of the family.

Over the past year and a half, however, we have come to realize that even though we love Molly, she really needs to be in a better home.  She NEEDS to run and we do not have the space nor fenced in yard for her to do so.  And we are a family always on the go and we felt like we were always leaving her behind. 

After MUCH thought and discussion as a family, we decided to see if we could find her a new home.  I could not just offer her up to facebook friends (because they had seen my posts from her misbehaving days so there was no way she would be in high demand there), but we found an local agency that helps to find homes for dogs.  They do not have a shelter, but they display the dogs every weekend at Petsmart.  If someone wants to foster or adopt the dog, then they go home with the animal that day.  If not, then we pick her up and bring her home until the following weekend, where we start the process all over again.

No one told me how hard this would be.

I dropped her off a couple of weeks ago for the first time, having no idea if I would see her again.  I literally sobbed on my way out of the store and just sat in the car, crying until I had no more tears. 

No worries, because even though she had "lots of interest," she came back home to us that day.

The same thing happened the next day, then the next weekend, with it either being me, or Nick, or the whole family leaving her there.  It was emotionally draining.  Every time we left her there, we had to wonder if this was it.  What made it worse is that she knew.  As we got near the store, she knew exactly where she was going and not only whimpered, but rested her head on our arms and cuddled as much as a lab mix can cuddle.

This past Saturday, I dropped her off without tears or lots of emotions because I figured we would be back again later that day.  When I actually got the call mid day, saying that someone decided to foster her, I was in shock.  A young woman "loved her even though she was being Molly" (guess she developed quite a reputation among the volunteers) and decided to foster her for a week to see how she would fit in her home.

After I hung up, I started thinking of so many things that this young woman needed to know.  I actually called the volunteer back and left a voicemail that said something like, "Molly has some quirks that she should know about...her first night with us she pooped everywhere and farted for gets better and she doesn't do that anymore...she's super strong and loves to run and will slip out of her harness if you aren't watching...she never uses a crate, but is good in the house all day, but will eat or chew certain things if she has the chance...she is used to sleeping on the couch...if she has any questions or concerns she can call me...will we have a chance to say good-bye?"

I have no idea why the volunteer never called me back.  Hmm.

I never realized how much her absence would affect us.  When someone knocks on the door, she is not here to bark.  When I am cooking dinner, she is not at my feet, pleading for me to drop something.  Nick and I no longer have to play "not it" for who takes her out at night before we head up to bed.  I can bring groceries into the house without worrying she will escape out the front door.

Okay, so those are things I can easily live without.

She is not here to cuddle up next to on the couch.  She is not here to stare at the door at the same time every day, when she knows the kids will walk in the door from school.  My kitchen floor is a mess because she is not here to lick up the crumbs. 

I find myself thinking about her all the time.  I wonder what she is thinking.  Is she mad at us?  Does she feel deserted?  Betrayed?  Lonely?  Who is this stranger who is taking care of our dog?  Is she nice?  Caring?  Patient?  Is Molly waiting every day for us to come back to her?  Has she escaped and is lost somewhere?  What kind of food is she eating?  This stranger doesn't know her routine. 

My heart hurts.

I know.  I know.  We decided to do this-for HER benefit.  We want her to be happy.  I just want to know that she IS happy or will be someday soon.  I want to explain to her that it is not something she did wrong (well, she could have avoided ruining my bathroom door frame, but that is for another discussion), but that we love her so much that we want her to have a better place to run free.

Who knows?  Perhaps she will show her true colors and frighten this young woman into thinking she was crazy for even considering taking in Molly.  If that happens, then we are at a crossroads.  Do we continue this routine and submit her to more change?  Or do we change our minds and keep her?

I miss her.  

Wednesday, January 7, 2015


Another new year and another pile of resolutions and goals to set for the year.

I'm thinking that "writing more" should probably be at the top of the list, eh?

Okay, so #1-Be more consistent with writing.  Which means less Netflix and less excuses.  Which means I should go turn the tv off now while I am typing this.

#2-Eat healthy.  So perhaps eating candy from the kids' stash while they are at school might not be the best idea?  Hmm.

My mind is often scattered and overwhelmed with what I need to accomplish so #3-Make a scheduled to do list and actually do it when it's scheduled.  So that does mean I should schedule when to watch Netflix and eat candy?

#4-Go the gym more often.  Done-I go all the time.  Oh wait-not just for socialization?  I am wearing yoga pants while chatting with friends so that counts, right?

#5 Have more patience with my kids.  So, raising my voice at Caleb this morning because he was complaining about his coat being "too thick to throw a football in" was not the best way to send him out into the world of learning?  But, surely rolling my eyes at Abby's latest emotional breakdown and getting frustrated with Noah pooping in his underwear was justified.

Hmm...only five resolutions in and it looks like 2015 is going to be a delightful year.  By this time next year, I will have my college body back and my kids will be perfectly behaved and loved.

Or maybe I should just do what most people do-make a resolution to not make any more resolutions.

Saturday, November 15, 2014

My 8 Year Old Caleb

So, this kid is now eight years old.  And this is how he spent his 8th birthday.  Because all eight-year old boys want to spend their birthday in a tux.  Walking down the aisle with a bunch of people staring at him. 

See why he looks so thrilled?

Perhaps this picture does not reflect a happy kid, but Caleb actually is pretty happy.  He laughs a lot, loves his friends and usually us, and has grown up a lot this past year.

I suppose having the "summer of Caleb" with time at the hospital and a surgery will do that to anyone.

What I am most proud of these days has been his attitude on the soccer field.  He played on a team full of interesting boys-some were older (like him) and knew what was going on, but most of them were younger and kind of clueless.  It's just how rec soccer works-you take boys between the age of "just turning six" and then Caleb's age, put them together and hope for the best.

Well, for a season of mostly losses, Caleb never cried or complained.  He was frustrated, but kept up a good attitude for his team.  I watched him "coach" some of the younger guys, reminding them where to go.  He did not yell when they made mistakes.  He just kept working hard and played better than I have ever seen him play. 

Some of the other parents saw this and gave him a special trophy for being such a good leader and player on the team.  Yes, I teared up when they gave him this. To see my boy who cried with every loss when he was four years old go to this little man who is a leader-well, I am tearing up again.

Caleb, I love you and am so proud of who you are growing up to be.  You are smart and talented, but most importantly, you are kind.  Not just to your friends, but to those who are not always the easiest to be kind to. 

Thursday, September 11, 2014

The Freedom started.

Noah is now in preschool five mornings a week.  Everyone told me that I would feel sad and would cry at the first drop off.

Um, I must be an awful mom considering I have yet to feel sad or cry.  Instead, I have felt freedom.

Yes, I admit, it was kind of strange to leave him the first day, but considering he just went in and could not care less that I was leaving, that kind of made it easier.  Apparently, I have raised a confident boy who feels safe and trusts that I will return, so that's something.

I think my feeling of freedom is bigger than my feeling of sadness because I have not experienced this freedom in TEN years.  Ten.  Years.  I am now going to the gym-alone.  To the post office-alone.  To the grocery store-alone. 

Oh, the grocery store.  I can now walk in, buy only what is on my list (including chocolate that NO ONE will know exists in the house but me) and not stop at the bakery for a cookie or ask the cashier for a sticker.  Do I want to use a regular cart?  A small cart?  Carry a basket?  Sure-does not matter because I am not pushing a huge cart that has a car at the front, that takes out customers left and right.

As someone who works from home, I am able to call customers and team members without a little (and loud) voice interrupting with comments like, "I pooped in my underwear, Mom."  I am finding myself more organized and doing things like cleaning the house and actually putting away a basket of clean laundry. 

While I am enjoying this new found freedom, I have to admit-the best part of my day is when I pick him up and he gives me that smile and runs into my arms.  I know it is a very short time when he thinks of me as his hero and runs to me with joy.  Perhaps the freedom we are both having is making us appreciate each other just a little bit more. 

Tuesday, September 9, 2014

The Summer Of Caleb

Um, yes-I am still here, raising my three crazy children.  I have all sorts of stories and thoughts to share with you all, but somehow never seemed to find the time to write it all down.  I could blame my lack of time on a busy summer, school starting up, and sports galore, but since I somehow found the time to watch the entire series of Chuck (love that show, by the way), my excuses are just not legit.

So, lots of fun stories from the summer, but a lot of it was all about Caleb.

It started in June, when he was complaining of side pain.  I took him to the pediatrician, concerned that it might be his appendix.  She thought it might be that, but was also worried about his kidneys and sent us to the ER at Children's.  HOURS later, they still could not figure out what was going on and admitted us at 1:00 a.m.

Yes-a.m.  Hours of being in the ER with a boy who felt terrible, with no idea of the cause.

Days and numerous tests later, they found out that he had a kidney infection.  The proper meds starting helping and he was finally able to go home.  We eventually learned that he had a blockage in his urethra, which caused the infection and which explained a lot of symptoms that he has had for years.  Apparently, he was born with the blockage and we are lucky to find it-some babies die before birth or right after because of this, so we are considering ourselves blessed to catch it when we did.

Flash forward to July and Caleb had his surgery to remove the blockage.  We were told it was an in and out procedure and that he would go home the same day.

Um, never believe that line.

His surgery went well, but then they decided to keep him overnight and take the tube out in the morning.

Sure-it's not like I was leaving the next morning for a conference or anything.  Oh wait-I was.

Thankfully, Nick was awesome and spent the night with him, family and friends came to the rescue with childcare and as I drove to Columbus for the conference, I received the best phone call ever-I was informed that Caleb peed and pooped and was allowed to leave the hospital.

If you are not a parent, let me explain that so much good news depends on your child's ability to have bowel movements.

Had the follow up in August and everything looks good.  He still has to follow up with the urologist for, well, forever, but thankfully all is well for now.

I learned three things from the summer of Caleb...

1-Child Life Specialists are the most amazing people in the world.  I love that job.  The specialist that we had was wonderful and kept Caleb at ease during the most awkward and uncomfortable procedures for a little boy.

2-The Ronald McDonald House is a huge blessing.  We did not stay there (as Children's was a half hour from our house), but after staying numerous nights in the hospital and paying for hospital food, I realized how awful that would be for people coming in from out of town.  I am so thankful to work for a company who supports the RM House.

3-We are not promised the next day.  My kids might all be healthy right now, but there is no guarantee that it will always be that way.  There is no "whew, we made it through the crucial time" with kids.  Every day that my kids wake up and live a healthy day is a blessing.

More to come on our summer that was not about Caleb (but, honestly, most of it did revolve around him) and what is going on this fall.  I promise to keep you all entertained with stories of my three crazy blessings.

Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Molly's Easter Feast

It started with the Easter candy.

Abby had her basket in her room, but wisely shut the door before we left for church on Sunday morning.  We came home, changed and left again for dinner with the family.  The door was left open.

Molly, being the wise dog that she is, found the basket while we were away.  We came home to discover the basket empty-which means she ate about 8 little eggs, a chocolate bunny, 2 marshmallow bunnies, and a pack of gum.  An entire pack of gum.

Fine, Molly.  Good luck with that.

Oh, but wait.  It gets better.

The next day, we went out for a few hours to see a movie with the kids.  I specifically moved the little bags of candy that the kids got from the family dinner further up on the counter, high enough away that she would never reach them.

Or so I thought.

We came home, saw wrappers all over the house and saw Molly hiding in shame.  I walked into the kitchen and found even more horror.

Two plastic containers were turned upside down on the kitchen floor, lids popped open, completely empty.  The contents that were missing?  Pepperoni puffs and chocolate chip cookies.

So, let us take a final count.  Easter chocolate, more Easter chocolate, pepperoni puffs, and chocolate chip cookies.  All within two days.

Molly acted fine. She had boundless amounts of energy (who wouldn't, after that much sugar?) and was having normal bathroom breaks.

Well, last night it finally caught up with her.

It started with the smelly farts.  We kept taking her out and she finally had diarrhea (yes, I am sure that you all want to know that).  I went to bed, but as I was falling asleep, I heard Nick express concern (that is my polite way of saying it) that he found poo in the loft.

I love how she never just has an accident.  It is multiple accidents.  Sprinkled all over the place with love.  So kind of her.

I cleaned it up the best that I could, considering that we were out of carpet cleaner.  Then we discovered another accident.  A lot of her special treats all through the downstairs bathroom.  Thankfully it is tile.  Except for the small cream colored rug.  Which is where she decided to leave the biggest deposits.

Finally cleaned everything up, took Molly out where she threw up and went again (oh, and slipped out of her collar and took off until we cornered her a few houses down), finally went to bed and Molly eventually followed us.  After the second fart woke us from our sleep, we took her out.  While walking back upstairs, I thought I noticed something on the living room floor.  I turned on the light and low and behold-more poop.  Lots of it.  On my cream colored carpet.

FYI-when you have kids and a dog, never have cream colored carpet.  Never.  Just don't do it.  Please.

So, around midnight, Nick drove to Kroger to get carpet cleaner and we attacked the floor the best that we could.  Then we put Molly in the downstairs bathroom and attempted to go to sleep.

Apparently, Molly did not agree with our decision.  She barked.  And barked.  And barked.

There was not kind language coming from our mouths last night.  There was discussion of how smart Molly's former owners were by letting her run away and how it would not be the worst thing in the world if the chocolate did her in.

I am not proud of it, but I challenge anyone to have a positive attitude at this point in the story.

Many attempts were made to sleep last night.  Every time we thought it was over, she would start again.  I think at some point she stopped.  Either that, or I just gave up and was in denial and slept through her yapping.

So, here we are this morning.  Constant trips outside for her, while the carpet cleaners are coming this afternoon.  The carpet guy was laughing at me on the phone.  You are hilarious, carpet guy.  Hilarious.

Oh, and just to clarify-Molly devoured her breakfast and is still following Noah around for possible crumbs.  Unbelievable.