Weekend gone wrong!
I started this post a couple weeks ago:
I am so pleased! Yesterday I made some cupcakes as samples for the parents of the bride of a wedding I'm baking for this August. :D (Lifelong professional baking dreams slowly unfolding!)
I had tons of leftovers, so, rather than freeze them for a future tasting (knowing they'd be nibbled away by us instead) or throwing them out, I made it into a fundraiser: I put together a sample box, and the recipient gives a donation of any amount to be given to Shriners Hospitals for Children.
I made mini cupcakes, two each of carrot/salted caramel frosting, chocolate/vanilla frosting, vanilla/chocolate frosting, and chocolate/cookies & cream frosting. It was a good hit for a last-minute get-rid-of-my-leftovers fundraiser! I had five people request six sample boxes total, and the donations added up to $81. :) Not too shabby!
So... why Shriners Hospitals for Children? Allow me to complete this post I started a week or so ago to give the long version:
Aw man. I am so worn out from these past few days.
On Saturday morning, we piled into the car for the six-hour drive to Folsom, California. I only know of Folsom because Johnny Cash did a concert at the prison there and we have a recording of it, but -- gasp -- it's actually a city. Lol. We were going there because Ben's stepmother (Joy) wrote a ballet and it was being performed by the Folsom Ballet. We went for opening night to show our support and have a little meet-up with Ben's dad and Joy (and to have a fun little weekend getaway). Ben's dad keeps saying that Joy is stunned and really moved that we went all that way to see her ballet.
On the way there, we listened to "Wait, Wait... Don't Tell Me," my favorite radio show, on NPR. It's a news quiz show. Broadcast from Chicago (where we're from, roughly), the first caller was from... Folsom, California. Crazy! The second caller was from... Bend, Oregon, where Ben's dad and Joy live. Crazy again! A third caller listens to people's conversations in courtrooms for a living, and he couldn't understand the (exaggerated) Chicago accent in a limerick challenge, even when repeated -- too funny! (I could understand it easily, but to be fair, I thought the accent was supposed to be French!)
Is it true, the Chicago accent? Obviously I never think about it existing, though the paramedic I rode in an ambulance with later that weekend said he could tell loud and clear that I was from Chicago -- that he has friends from Boston and Chicago and both are very distinct. I know Boston has a distinct accent, but Chicago? Is there an accent besides just the way we pronounce the city's name? Am I just blind to it? I really want to know, here. [I've since been learning to hear it some. Someone mentioned that my in-laws have a "heavy" Chicago accent; I'd never noticed my father-in-law's, but my mother-in-law, WHOA. She definitely has some sort of accent going on. I'm a little ashamed to admit that I always assumed it was a Jewish thing. But referencing that as an extreme example, I can hear it when Ben talks, and... I'm still working on hearing it in myself and other people. I read an article detailing the Chicago accent which is definitely how I talk, but I am so busy reveling in what time I have with other adults that I forget to listen for how they pronounce words. All I've noticed is that they all say "play structure" instead of "playground/playground equipment." That alone speaks volumes about my daily life.]
ANYWAY.
Joy's ballet was delightful. It was my first live ballet, and little two-year-old Avigail's as well, naturally. Joy strongly encouraged us to sit near the front so Avigail could see it all up close, so we did. We ended up in the front corner, where there is an open space, which Avigail adopted as her own personal dance floor. People behind us at intermission told me that they spent much of the time watching Avigail instead of the professional dancers! Avigail tried to imitate everything the ballet dancers did. She tried to do a cartwheel. She hung on to me and lifted one leg up in the air. And so on. She'd also announce every new color she saw, heehee. :) She applauded wildly and called out "YAY!" between dances... and at hilariously inappropriate moments for all to hear. :D
She spent the first half of intermission practicing her dance moves with her daddy, and the second half back in the auditorium with me, clinging to the stage, pointing up at it, and crying, repeating, "Dance more! Dance more!"
Ben's dad was standing in the back of the auditorium this whole time, little baby William in his car seat, rocking him back and forth to keep him content. Near the beginning of the second act, I recognized his cry in the back and knew he'd had enough, so I crept out to attend to him. Avigail is my shadow so she followed me, even though she could have stayed with Ben, who had joined us up front to see her dancing.
The rest of the second half I was stuck with the kids near concessions, 'cause the ballet started at Avigail's regular bedtime and both kids were having serious meltdowns.
The next morning, Ben found a breakfast place that made giant omelets, and Ben's dad called us as we were getting ready to go, looking for something to do (Joy had gone to the store to get stuff to mend a costume -- a dancer's skirt had fallen down in the middle of a dance!). We had a nice breakfast there, then loaded the kids into the car. (Avigail did the long walk to the car herself, in her long, meandering two-year-old way, while the three generations of males (Ben's dad, Ben, and William) waited patiently by the car for us.)
Then we drove across the parking lot to a Starbucks. We dawdled in the car for a while, pondering whether or not we should all go in or if Ben should just run in and order stuff for us. We decided to all go in because it feels good to do things as a family and I do hate waiting for him in the car.
That was all very stupid in hindsight, since we'd all loaded up on coffee at the restaurant.
Anyway. Ben ordered a grande black coffee, and it came pretty quickly -- much more quickly than my venti iced black tea. He asked me to watch the coffee for him while he used the restroom. As he carefully handed the hot cup to me, a few drops dripped painfully on each of our hands, and landed on the very edge of William's car seat canopy resting on the floor, just missing William.
The cup, even with a sleeve, was too hot for me to hold, so we set it carefully on a little table nearby, and Ben went to use the restroom. Avigail was there bouncing off the walls like any two year old, so I inched the coffee carefully toward the end of the table farthest from her to prevent her from knocking it over accidentally. It even crossed my mind to just set the coffee on the floor beneath the table, but I quickly dismissed that idea as "kind of gross."
And then Avigail launched herself onto the table.
She knocked over the coffee cup. It slam-dunked top-down into William's car seat, where he was sitting strapped in. The lid came off, and I sprang into action even before William began to scream.
(That woman who sued McDonald's over hot coffee was good for more than a laugh -- it taught me that coffee can be DANGEROUSLY hot!)
I unbuckled William's car seat and lifted him up from under his arms in about two seconds, then ran with him to the restrooms. I knew right where they were, for some reason, I had no trouble getting past the crowd of Starbucks customers, the room was vacant and, unlike some Starbucks I have visited, no key was necessary. (I'd quickly imagined how I could get the key asap if it had been locked; I completely forgot that Ben was in the men's room.)
I turned on the cold water and plunked William in the sink. I knew it might be germy, but figured we could deal with that later. Water slowly pooled in the sink as William's squishy diapered baby bottom covered the drain. And William screamed and screamed and screamed. And I bawled my eyes out, pulled out my iPhone, and googled what to do next.
A woman came in to use the restroom, then quickly excused herself.
Ben, having somehow heard what had happened, came in, and together we evaluated William's legs. He was wearing cute little shorts that day, and as I lifted him out of the sink for just a moment to look, I saw that his bright red skin was peeling. Ben left to get directions to the nearest emergency room.
Another woman came in -- an employee? I'm not sure. She had a clean washcloth filled with ice, and directions to the nearest ER. She dumped the ice in the sink so as not to hurt William's legs with the other extreme of temperature, and we wrapped his legs in the cold washcloth and whisked off to the hospital.
The hospital was less than two miles away, I think. Avigail just watched us with interest. I think she was pretty clueless about her part in it, and we'd like to keep it that way.
Ben pulled up to the emergency entrance, and I ran with William out of the running car inside the emergency room, William still screaming, me still bawling. Very soon after, my father-in-law, Matt, came in and helped by filling in the emergency room intake card. I had to shout information to him over and over because of William's screaming and Matt's less-than-perfect hearing. We barely had time to complete the intake card before we were invited into an exam room.
As I carried William into the exam room, I noticed a woman lying across her husband's shoulder, looking completely drained, agonized, scared. But William was more urgent.
The Physician Assistant and nurse were amazingly calm. They asked a few times what had happened, looked at William's legs, weighed him to know what dosage of morphine to give him.
They took us back to another room, where two nurses worked together to get an IV into my little two-month-old baby's arm, then into his hand. As the morphine was pushed into his bloodstream, his screaming got less and less frantic, until he was quiet, and fell asleep on me, utterly exhausted.
...and I am utterly exhausted reliving it right now. It was so distressing and has taken so many weeks to get this far. But it's important. And I will finish the story and tell you about wonderful Shriners Hospital sometime soon.
I am so pleased! Yesterday I made some cupcakes as samples for the parents of the bride of a wedding I'm baking for this August. :D (Lifelong professional baking dreams slowly unfolding!)
I had tons of leftovers, so, rather than freeze them for a future tasting (knowing they'd be nibbled away by us instead) or throwing them out, I made it into a fundraiser: I put together a sample box, and the recipient gives a donation of any amount to be given to Shriners Hospitals for Children.
I made mini cupcakes, two each of carrot/salted caramel frosting, chocolate/vanilla frosting, vanilla/chocolate frosting, and chocolate/cookies & cream frosting. It was a good hit for a last-minute get-rid-of-my-leftovers fundraiser! I had five people request six sample boxes total, and the donations added up to $81. :) Not too shabby!
So... why Shriners Hospitals for Children? Allow me to complete this post I started a week or so ago to give the long version:
Aw man. I am so worn out from these past few days.
On Saturday morning, we piled into the car for the six-hour drive to Folsom, California. I only know of Folsom because Johnny Cash did a concert at the prison there and we have a recording of it, but -- gasp -- it's actually a city. Lol. We were going there because Ben's stepmother (Joy) wrote a ballet and it was being performed by the Folsom Ballet. We went for opening night to show our support and have a little meet-up with Ben's dad and Joy (and to have a fun little weekend getaway). Ben's dad keeps saying that Joy is stunned and really moved that we went all that way to see her ballet.
On the way there, we listened to "Wait, Wait... Don't Tell Me," my favorite radio show, on NPR. It's a news quiz show. Broadcast from Chicago (where we're from, roughly), the first caller was from... Folsom, California. Crazy! The second caller was from... Bend, Oregon, where Ben's dad and Joy live. Crazy again! A third caller listens to people's conversations in courtrooms for a living, and he couldn't understand the (exaggerated) Chicago accent in a limerick challenge, even when repeated -- too funny! (I could understand it easily, but to be fair, I thought the accent was supposed to be French!)
Is it true, the Chicago accent? Obviously I never think about it existing, though the paramedic I rode in an ambulance with later that weekend said he could tell loud and clear that I was from Chicago -- that he has friends from Boston and Chicago and both are very distinct. I know Boston has a distinct accent, but Chicago? Is there an accent besides just the way we pronounce the city's name? Am I just blind to it? I really want to know, here. [I've since been learning to hear it some. Someone mentioned that my in-laws have a "heavy" Chicago accent; I'd never noticed my father-in-law's, but my mother-in-law, WHOA. She definitely has some sort of accent going on. I'm a little ashamed to admit that I always assumed it was a Jewish thing. But referencing that as an extreme example, I can hear it when Ben talks, and... I'm still working on hearing it in myself and other people. I read an article detailing the Chicago accent which is definitely how I talk, but I am so busy reveling in what time I have with other adults that I forget to listen for how they pronounce words. All I've noticed is that they all say "play structure" instead of "playground/playground equipment." That alone speaks volumes about my daily life.]
ANYWAY.
Joy's ballet was delightful. It was my first live ballet, and little two-year-old Avigail's as well, naturally. Joy strongly encouraged us to sit near the front so Avigail could see it all up close, so we did. We ended up in the front corner, where there is an open space, which Avigail adopted as her own personal dance floor. People behind us at intermission told me that they spent much of the time watching Avigail instead of the professional dancers! Avigail tried to imitate everything the ballet dancers did. She tried to do a cartwheel. She hung on to me and lifted one leg up in the air. And so on. She'd also announce every new color she saw, heehee. :) She applauded wildly and called out "YAY!" between dances... and at hilariously inappropriate moments for all to hear. :D
She spent the first half of intermission practicing her dance moves with her daddy, and the second half back in the auditorium with me, clinging to the stage, pointing up at it, and crying, repeating, "Dance more! Dance more!"
Ben's dad was standing in the back of the auditorium this whole time, little baby William in his car seat, rocking him back and forth to keep him content. Near the beginning of the second act, I recognized his cry in the back and knew he'd had enough, so I crept out to attend to him. Avigail is my shadow so she followed me, even though she could have stayed with Ben, who had joined us up front to see her dancing.
The rest of the second half I was stuck with the kids near concessions, 'cause the ballet started at Avigail's regular bedtime and both kids were having serious meltdowns.
The next morning, Ben found a breakfast place that made giant omelets, and Ben's dad called us as we were getting ready to go, looking for something to do (Joy had gone to the store to get stuff to mend a costume -- a dancer's skirt had fallen down in the middle of a dance!). We had a nice breakfast there, then loaded the kids into the car. (Avigail did the long walk to the car herself, in her long, meandering two-year-old way, while the three generations of males (Ben's dad, Ben, and William) waited patiently by the car for us.)
Then we drove across the parking lot to a Starbucks. We dawdled in the car for a while, pondering whether or not we should all go in or if Ben should just run in and order stuff for us. We decided to all go in because it feels good to do things as a family and I do hate waiting for him in the car.
That was all very stupid in hindsight, since we'd all loaded up on coffee at the restaurant.
Anyway. Ben ordered a grande black coffee, and it came pretty quickly -- much more quickly than my venti iced black tea. He asked me to watch the coffee for him while he used the restroom. As he carefully handed the hot cup to me, a few drops dripped painfully on each of our hands, and landed on the very edge of William's car seat canopy resting on the floor, just missing William.
The cup, even with a sleeve, was too hot for me to hold, so we set it carefully on a little table nearby, and Ben went to use the restroom. Avigail was there bouncing off the walls like any two year old, so I inched the coffee carefully toward the end of the table farthest from her to prevent her from knocking it over accidentally. It even crossed my mind to just set the coffee on the floor beneath the table, but I quickly dismissed that idea as "kind of gross."
And then Avigail launched herself onto the table.
She knocked over the coffee cup. It slam-dunked top-down into William's car seat, where he was sitting strapped in. The lid came off, and I sprang into action even before William began to scream.
(That woman who sued McDonald's over hot coffee was good for more than a laugh -- it taught me that coffee can be DANGEROUSLY hot!)
I unbuckled William's car seat and lifted him up from under his arms in about two seconds, then ran with him to the restrooms. I knew right where they were, for some reason, I had no trouble getting past the crowd of Starbucks customers, the room was vacant and, unlike some Starbucks I have visited, no key was necessary. (I'd quickly imagined how I could get the key asap if it had been locked; I completely forgot that Ben was in the men's room.)
I turned on the cold water and plunked William in the sink. I knew it might be germy, but figured we could deal with that later. Water slowly pooled in the sink as William's squishy diapered baby bottom covered the drain. And William screamed and screamed and screamed. And I bawled my eyes out, pulled out my iPhone, and googled what to do next.
A woman came in to use the restroom, then quickly excused herself.
Ben, having somehow heard what had happened, came in, and together we evaluated William's legs. He was wearing cute little shorts that day, and as I lifted him out of the sink for just a moment to look, I saw that his bright red skin was peeling. Ben left to get directions to the nearest emergency room.
Another woman came in -- an employee? I'm not sure. She had a clean washcloth filled with ice, and directions to the nearest ER. She dumped the ice in the sink so as not to hurt William's legs with the other extreme of temperature, and we wrapped his legs in the cold washcloth and whisked off to the hospital.
The hospital was less than two miles away, I think. Avigail just watched us with interest. I think she was pretty clueless about her part in it, and we'd like to keep it that way.
Ben pulled up to the emergency entrance, and I ran with William out of the running car inside the emergency room, William still screaming, me still bawling. Very soon after, my father-in-law, Matt, came in and helped by filling in the emergency room intake card. I had to shout information to him over and over because of William's screaming and Matt's less-than-perfect hearing. We barely had time to complete the intake card before we were invited into an exam room.
As I carried William into the exam room, I noticed a woman lying across her husband's shoulder, looking completely drained, agonized, scared. But William was more urgent.
The Physician Assistant and nurse were amazingly calm. They asked a few times what had happened, looked at William's legs, weighed him to know what dosage of morphine to give him.
They took us back to another room, where two nurses worked together to get an IV into my little two-month-old baby's arm, then into his hand. As the morphine was pushed into his bloodstream, his screaming got less and less frantic, until he was quiet, and fell asleep on me, utterly exhausted.
...and I am utterly exhausted reliving it right now. It was so distressing and has taken so many weeks to get this far. But it's important. And I will finish the story and tell you about wonderful Shriners Hospital sometime soon.