I can hear again.  I ran 2 miles on the treadmill tonight (I know, I know, that’s not very far) for the first time in months.  We had a good visit from my Mom.  Holden enjoyed his Christmas.  And Rob and I came to some decisions about some things.  A lot has happened over the past week, so I will try to focus here on what’s up with Holden.  This blog is supposed to be about him, but lately it’s been about me, me, me.  So I will dedicate this post to my favorite little guy.  I will post later about the other stuff.

Holden has been back and forth to the pediatrician over the past several months for chronic ear infections.  Since October, he has had recurring ear infections.  He finishes his antibiotics, and he is sick with another ear infection within 48 hours.  He ruptured his eardrum last month (a pain with which I was recently re-acquainted), and after going through three different oral antibiotics, they finally gave him an injection that they usually give for treating meningitis.  He seems better, but only moderately.  We were told that the next stop would be the ENT if this last treatment did not work.  I had tubes twice as a child, and while I know that they  are helpful for allowing fluid to drain from the ear, I really don’t like the idea of my little guy going under general anesthesia.  Nevertheless, if it comes to it, I will take him in to get the tubes.  I think it’s preferable to going through the agony of ear infection after ear infection, the daycare calling me every week to come get him, all of us losing sleep for hours every night because Holden is screaming, etc.  This sickness needs to end.

A few days before Christmas, things felt like they were going to fall apart completely.  I was sick (again), Holden was sick (again), our dishwasher broke, and our roof started leaking.  My mother was en route to VT from WV via train, and her train was delayed.  I was worried that our visit would be strained by sickness and my messy house.  Despite all of the craziness of the previous weeks, my mother’s middle-of-the-night arrival brought a calm to our house.  H and I seemed to be feeling better once my mother got into town, plus we had the amazing luck of finding a roofer who agreed to fix our roof for a very reasonable price.  Things started looking up:  we ordered a new dishwasher, we picked out new shingles for our new roof, I was able to hear again.  I think there were a couple nights where H slept through the night.  And Holden really, really enjoyed spending time with my mom.  He didn’t want her to stray very far—if she was in another room, he’d go looking for her, saying “Ah-ma” (his word for Grandma).   We even got around to baking gingerbread men:

Holden was a pretty good helper:

Except when he would tear off a helpless gingerbread limb and stuff it in his mouth.  Rob and I would assume our best gingerbread falsettos, pleading with Holden to consider leaving us with our remaining limbs, as being a gingerbread amputee is wrought with peril and unrelenting doom.  Holden would stop chewing, briefly, almost as if he were wondering how we had hitherto gone through life without getting hit by a bus.  Rob and I would at this point be doubled over in laughter.  I blame lack of sleep entirely.

On Christmas Eve we indulged in our annual tradition of having pizza for dinner.  I made homemade crust and topped one of them with sauteed red cabbage, spinach, carrots, and scallions (sounds weird, but it was really good), and the other with onion and green pepper.  After dinner, we took a drive around town to look at everyone’s Christmas lights.  Holden would go “Wow!!!” and “Woah!!” with each successive house.  Passing unadorned houses would elicit whining and pleading:  “More?” Holden would demand, as if we had the power to make brightly lit houses instantly materialize before him.  Once in bed, Holden tossed and turned during the night, so I was too exhausted to get up in time to see Holden’s reaction when he ran out to the living room at 6AM on Christmas morning.  I am told, however, that his reaction was unremarkable.  He merely glanced at the tree and its gifts and proceeded directly into the kitchen, asking for water.

Gift opening lasted all day for us.  It started not long after H woke up, and he finally opened his last gift at 4PM.  I don’t think we went overboard with gifts, but I do think there were moments where H was seriously overwhelmed.  We made the mistake of choosing for his very first gift to open, a small yellow school bus.  Once that gift was opened, nothing else mattered.  But I have to say, his reaction was priceless.  He peeled back the candy cane gift wrap to reveal a smooth yellow surface—he pointed at it and said “Wellwoah!”  As he peeled back more of the gift wrap, it dawned on him that he was unwrapping a small, yellow school bus.  This is the exact moment that he realized what he was in the midst of unwrapping:

He then shouted “A bus!!!!!”  The bus thus appeared in every subsequent picture taken the rest of Christmas Day.  Holden received some wonderful gifts—a beautiful handmade quilt and knit socks from his Oma, and some puzzles and a very prized book from Grandma.  Holden received Legos for Christmas as well.  We really couldn’t have anticipated how much frustration this would engender:

Holden wants to do so many things on his own, and when he can’t do it, he gets very upset.  I’m the same way—but I don’t cry about it.  I just bitch about it on here. Ha!

Holden also got a bunch of musical instruments for Christmas.  He wasn’t as jazzed about those as I would have expected.  Perhaps their allure was diminished by the yellow school bus.  Only Holden knows.  That said, Holden is amused by the noises he can make with his new instrument:

Our good friends A&S came over for Christmas Day brunch.  We ate berry muffins, omelettes, bacon, and fruit.  We challenged Holden to build a very tall Lego skyscraper:

We watched Lost, read books, listened to music, and ate a simple dinner of pork chops with parsnips and apples.  The day after Christmas we went to the local aquarium/science center.  Holden loves it there and even got to see a special BABY TURTLE exhibit.  The following day we took a trip to Cold Hollow Cider Mill where we got to see apples pressed into cider.  It was really cool!  Holden was fascinated by it!  We sampled their cider donuts, and decided that we really need to try all of the cider donuts that the great state of VT has to offer.  They appear to vary widely from place to place, so we are determined to embark on a mission where we sample sugary deliciousness at all of the different orchards and cider mills in VT.  It’s sort of like having a goal of going to all of the national parks in the U.S.  Except replace “U.S.” with “VT.”  And replace “national parks” with “donuts.”  Mmmmmm.

This morning we dropped Mom off at the train station.  I am hoping she had an uneventful train ride back to the South.  We took Holden for a sorely-needed haircut, which elicited crying and struggling, until he was offered a lollipop.  Choking hazard, I know.  But believe me, we were in for a choking hazard of an altogether different type if he didn’t stop carrying on.  After the haircut, I decided that I am finally feeling well enough to attempt painting H’s room.  H picked out his favorite color: “Wellwoah.”  I started preparing his room today—I dismantled the hideous shelving that was (to my horror and irritation) not very well-secured  above H’s bed.  I patched the millions of tiny holes in the walls—the previous owners treated the walls in that room (actually, all of the rooms) like a giant bulletin board.  I’m going to have nightmares about those tiny little thumbtack holes—I feel like Eric Carle’s very hungry caterpillar has been munching on our drywall.  Tomorrow I am going into work for a few hours to do some spike sorting (oh most menial of tasks), then I’m coming home to get cracking on H’s room.  I hope to be done by the end of the week, including painting the trim, the ceiling, and getting everything cleaned up and put back in place.  Holden will have the first re-painted room in our house.  He  needs to know that this is his real (and permanent) home more than we do.