Videos of Baby Kelly

Zoo and Snow Day

After our visit to St. Luke's to give mommy a little moral boost on Saturday, Rhys, Kelly and I spent a few hours at the zoo hanging with the elephants, taking a lap on the lame train and a spin on the marvelous carousel, Kelly joyously bounding atop a leopard, while Rhys grinned a mile on a rhino.

Mother nature made snow for us to romp in today. I towed Rhys up to the little park. Kelly walked at my side making foot prints in the fresh 3 or 4 inches of frigid, light powder. Our initial sledding adventure was a success.

Rhys made pee in the potty.

Beckett's Stay-cation

Oft overshadowed by the smart-mouthed monkey one and the antics of big, bruiser Boo Boo, Beckett is relegated to minor blog footnotes and photos of his smiling basketball head with a standard caption referring to his congenital cuteness. To give little B the column inches he rightly deserves, I've been planning to write a post dedicated to Beckett. This week, on the day marking his sixth month of life on our spinning, green world, Beckett earned the spotlight the hard way: he was hospitalized with RSV, a common viral respiratory infection that can be serious for babies, especially preemies with delayed lung development, like Mr. B.

Taking him to the docs office almost as an afterthought - Kelly and Rhys both had bad coughs and green ropes of mucus spurting from their noses and needed to go - Beckett was diagnosed with RSV by our pediatrician on Tuesday morning. After the doc mined through two ear wax plugs, he added double ear infection to the notes on his chart. He was rechecked on Wednesday morning. His blood oxygen level was OK, 91%, just above the 90% level when therapeutic intervention is recommended. Later on Wednesday afternoon, Catherine had a feeling Beckett wasn't right - he seemed lethargic and was belly breathing. After a quick phone consult with Dr. Prina, we took Beckett to the ER for a chest X-ray and a check of his blood oxygen level.

The ER's pulse oximeter, displaying a range of 86-90%, said B's blood oxygen percentage had dropped and his tiny lungs needed some help to perform at optimal levels. After an hour of administering O2 and nebulizer treatments, the manic, bug-eye nurse who initially checked us in, but we hadn't seen for over an hour, breezed into room #4 and blurted out that Beckett needed to be admitted to another hospital - no open beds at Rose - and that Flight for Life was on the way. At this point, she lost her train of thought and started asking if we needed anything, "Some water for you, sir?"
No. You were saying....
"Well just let me know if you need anything. Something for you mom?"
How about finishing your thought, bubble head, and telling us where Beckett is going and why "Flight for Life" is involved. Apparently, to ensure continuous care, protocol states transfers to other hospitals must be done by ambulance and in Beckett's case, a "level 1" ambulance crew with special pediatric training. Beck's transfer was being handled by a Flight for Life's regular surface ambulance, the medical equivalent of FedEx ground, I guess (see photo).

Following the national trend of taking local "Stay-cations", Beckett and Catherine checked in and camped out at the spa like St. Luke's hospital in the exclusive Uptown neighborhood, settling into their deluxe, five-star accommodations for three nights and four days of relaxing, romping fun. Dad, on the D.L. with pink-eye and a raspy cough, couldn't take part in daily activities at the pool/fitness center or enjoy the fine, fare served by the notable chef at St. L dinning room (the cook at the cafeteria had the same number of teeth as Beckett and served Catherine horrible scrambled eggs and tasteless oatmeal the morning I visited).

Catherine, a chummy lass who makes girl-friends faster than a belch at a boat race, bonded with St Luke's seasoned, competent, empathetic, hard working RN's. It's just a rumor kept alive by the tabloids trying to sell their trash, but this is what sources close to the Goodwillie's say: On a Benadril and bottled water - the harsh generic stuff - bender, Catherine exploded on a well-meaning nurse in a late night, F-bomb laced tantrum. The nurse's alleged offense: merely forgetting to administer ibuprofen to Catherine's selfish, negative attention seeking baby, "Whaaa, Whaaa, cough, cough, I have a fever of a 102. Give me medicine!" It hadn't been the first time that the nurses had not administered medication at the proper time, had not responded when Beckett's oxygen meter went haywire, or had not suctioned out his nose as needed, but, whatever. Sources also say, Jen, a St. Luke's world ambassador, had a falling out with Cat over the incident. The nurse, apparently, smitten Cath with boil-in-toil curse or cat-spitting hex: she broke out in itchy hives the next day and still endures them to this day.

The morning of Beckett's fourth day in the hospital his fever broke and seemed like his old, young, happy-baby self. He came home with a nifty oxygen rig. Kelly was so excited to have his brother back in the fold he projectile vomited four times all over the couch, himself and, further smitten, his mother. My sources overheard additional F-bombs dropped by mom in earshot of at least one of the boys, among other utterances common only in ship galleys and jail yards.

Today is Valentines Day. Catherine and I, feeling romantic, are going out dancing, of course. Not. We did both take a shower today (neither of us shaved, Cath needs to more than I), but certainly we will not slumber in the same bed. Maybe, we can cuddle and I can give her a rub down with her hydrocortisone cream. Special times.

Thanks to a few friendly cupids bringing Catherine flowers and a romantic V-day dinner for us to enjoy after the kids go down (knock, knock on my hollow, empty scull) it might not be the worst Valentine's day ever, after all.

Fun Photos and Rhys Relaxing on the Potty

All the boys have snot and goo and other fluids leaking from various orifices. Kelly freaked at nap time because his girlfriend was coming over later in the afternoon. Beckett was wailing at 2:34 am and seems to be regressing, like Kelly's potty training and Rhys's mellow, easy baby persona.

Speaking of potty training, I've got my money on Rhys to be the first of our monkey troop out of diaps. Rhys seems to have fun sitting on his talking, musical potty. Upon squatting on his high-tech, dwarf-size throne, a woman's voice warmly greets Rhys, "Welcome back!" and launches into an motivational verse about pissing and pooing at ones one pace and on ones own terms. Good stuff - not at all annoying. Rhys, a music guy but still trying to feel the beat, tries to clap along for for a while then starts paging through his reading material, as streams of drool drip off his chubby chin, forming multiple, parallel saliva flows down his bulbous belly. These slick streams merge at a confluence above his penis and then drip, finally, down his miniature member into the potty's liquid sensing collector pan. After five minutes reading, drooling and dripping - no peeing - the potty woman's voice announces, "You did it! Great job! You're right on track"

Good Dog, Good Bye.

Bella, our beloved yellow lab, past away on January 15th. Our Valentine puppy was exactly one month shy of her 12th birthday.

She was a 10-year old pup, full of energetic tail wagging, greeting all who entered our home with more excitement and playfulness than was comfortable for most. When she reach a decade of age life's rigors finally began to show. A puppy turned suddenly into a gimpy old maid. She had been slowly falling apart for the past several years, suffering from the normal creaking joints of old age, then more recently and seriously from nerve degeneration causing tracheal paralysis and other complications. A tumor erupting at the back of her tongue a few weeks ago was her final endurance.

I've still been in the habit of walking with the boys in the early evening, before supper, as Pebe says. It's strange to turn and look for Bella as we make the final turn for home on our usual neighborhood circuit. With stiff legs and a wandering nose, stopping to sniffing sweet pee on a bush or munching on a petrified bit of garbage at the sidewalk's edge - yum - she was our tail gunner on most walks, lagging me, the waddling Rhys and Kelly speeding expertly on his Like-a-bike. I look but she's not back there, no need to urge her forward and around the corner toward home, a home now missing a long-loved member of our joyous family.

Bella was loved by all the boys. Rhys, who's language was busting into full bloom as Bella spark waned, liked to order Bella around. With an animated hand gesture and thick, halting tongue Rhys would command her, "Bell-ha nooo! Bell-ha nooo!" or "Bell-ha maat, Bell-ha maat!"

She was a good sport and put up well with the occasional harassment of the little humans. Fair deal in her mind, I bet. The little humans dropped previously unknown food and flavors on the floor for her enjoyment during the final, difficult phase of her life.

A few days after Bella was missing from the house, Kelly hadn't asked about her, so we had a talk. I asked if he noticed if anyone was missing from the house. He being the logical minded 3-year old he is started listing off all our family members not in the room: Grandma Mary, Pebe, mama, Rhys, Beanie, Uncle Pat.

"Yes, all those people aren't here in the house right now, but who's not here that normally licks up food that Rhys drops on the floor?"

"Oh, Bella. Where is she?"

"Well, you know how we tell you and Rhys to be gentle with Bella because she's old and she's been having trouble eating? What happens if you don't eat?"

"You're not healthy."

"Yes, exactly. Bella hasn't been eating and she hasn't been healthy. She's been sick."

"So, you took her to the doctor?"

"Yes, we took her to the doctor yesterday (Kelly refers to any time in the past as "yesterday").

"Oh, wait, I want to show you something," Kelly interrupts and trots off to grab something off the kitchen island. Prancing back to our conversation spot at the round, walnut kitchen table, Kelly struggles back up in the chair and exclaims, beaming, "Stickers!"

"Do you do a sticker project at school today?"

"No, I just found these in the playroom."

"O.k., well let's put these down for now. I want to finish talking to you about Bella."

"So, Bella's been sick. So, we took her to the dog doctor, the vet. The vet found something in her mouth that wasn't letting her eat called a tumor. You know how you have teeth in your mouth, and tongue and lips, all things that help you eat and are supposes to be there?"

"Yes," Kelly replied smiling and showing me his teeth.

"Well, the tumor is not supposes to be in her mouth and isn't letting her eat. Like you said when you can't eat, you can't be healthy and Bell couldn't eat, so she died. That's why Bella isn't here anymore, she died."

"Where is she?"

"Well, she died, so that means she's not living anymore and that's why she's not in the house."

"Oh. So, Bella won't be living with us anymore."

Not convinced Kelly was understanding this talk entirely, I asked, "Do you have any questions?"

"Yes, can I play with my stickers now?"

Kelly is a sharp, scary smart 3-year old, but death is a concept, apparently, just beyond his understanding.

We love you and miss you, little Bella.

Good dog, good bye.

Three Little Willies: Where are they now?

It's been a few weeks since my blogger muse tickled my writer bone. So, what are those little Willies up to now?

Beckett:
Santa brought us the gift of a full nights sleep. Beckett slept through the night on Christmas Eve and Christmas day, giving weary ma and light sleeping pop a glimmer of hope that our four-month stretch of interrupted sleep was now over. Well, the little hellion spoiled our Yuletide joy yanking our chain and drawing us (and by us I mean Catherine most nights) out of bed for 3 am feeds for the next two weeks. Beckett is now sleeping from about 6pm to 6am. Yes!

What else? Beckett's baby tricks include: rolling over, smiling and laughing at anyone, and withholding bowel movements for up to four days. Ayyyy! And speaking of parts below the waist, he recently discovered he has feet! Who knew of such wonders!

Beckett is still generally a happy little baby and at 17 lbs. not as sprightly as he once was. We believe, he's currently going through the black to blond hair molting process that happened with both Kelly and Rhys. Sloughing off clumps of fine, wispy hair daily, Beckett now has a monk-like hairline.

Rhys:
Rhys' (18 months) vocabulary is exploding in both English and, with the assistance of his high-energy nanny, Spanish.

"Be beck, k?"
We just thought he was saying "Baby Beckett", which he says often, but he would say this phrase while leaving the room and we figured out it's, "I'll be right back OK?"

"Mas" See photo.

"Jamas" = Pajamas

"No!" = Yes, despite having his ears done last week (tubes), Rhys has found a new level of assertiveness, loudly expressing his displeasure when whatever glass, valuable, or otherwise not-for-babies object is forcibly removed from his possession.

That's not an explosion of examples, but I must move on.

Kelly:
Kelly loves ice cream, his mommy, his baby bros, riding his like-a-bike with dad, and, like a mother bear protecting her suckling cubs, his diaps. Kelly still loves reading, too. We've been reading for hours at a time the classic work of poetry by Shel Silverstein, "Where the Sidewalk Ends." He enjoys the rhyming and word play, and seems to understand much of Shel's inventive humor. Another interesting and different book we've been reading before bed is a chapter-type book written in the '40's with illustrations every other page, or so, to keep Kelly interested, "The Little Prince."

New Year's Bash with Cole & Beanie

Pat, Lig, Nora, and Cole jetted in from Chicago on New Years Eve to celebrate 2010 with us, meet Beckett in person, and give the big cousins 72 hours of non-stop, romping fun.



















Kelly was Nora's shadow for most of the visit. Cole, a cute high-energy little fellow, is already a ladies man at age 3. In the photo below, Cole is winking while saying, "Hey baby, Hey baby."

Rhys, the drool soaked reindeer, had a very shiny chin. And if you ever saw him you would even say he slobbered. All of the other reindeer use to laugh and call him "Raindeer".
He's cute but has had some hard days with throbbing ears and erupting teeth.