First, a couple of prayer requests... My step-grandmother is in the hospital fighting some infections and a fractured back. She's currently undergoing chemotherapy for non-Hodgkin's Lymphoma (and is battling that disease really well), so she's a bit weak and could use your kind thoughts and prayers. She was taken out of ICU yesterday, which is a big step, and we hope to see some big improvements over the next few days.

Also, the mother of a little girl in Patrick's class is currently in Hospice care. She has been fighting breast cancer for 4 years, and has been told she has between two and eight weeks left. She is a strong woman, and has had the incredible support of her mother throughout this whole experience. Her daughter is a sweet, polite, kind little girl, no doubt because of the strength she's seen in her mother as she has fought this disease. Please keep Jill, her mother Joy, and her daughter Ashley in your thoughts and prayers as they struggle through this time.

Third, one of my close friends has a mom who is very ill, and has been for about two years. My friend has dealt with the illness in a way I could never do, but I know that it continues to weigh on her, no matter how strong she is. Please keep her (and her family) in your prayers, as well.

And, finally, my good friend Maggie's little newborn niece just underwent some pretty amazing surgeries to correct some internal congenital abnormalities. Little Mia is doing well, but your prayers for her continued recovery would be appreciated.

I should stop now - I'm starting to sound less and less Catholic, and more and more Protestant! Not that there's anything wrong with Protestants, of course. They just pray louder...

Oh, and a new Baby Blog. I'll try to get some Easter pictures up soon.

Gracie is still too young to attend formal dance classes, but that doesn't mean she doesn't consider herself an accomplished ballerina. In fact, Gracie is such a good dancer that she needs to wear leotards to bed.

Last night, after putting on her leotard (she doesn't allow - nor require - help in getting dressed), I put Gracie to bed and gave her a kiss. A few minutes later, I heard her shuffling around the bathroom, and then heard Emma cleaning out Gracie's little potty (you remember Emma - my little helper child). I figured that Gracie had to go potty, so I didn't bother to head up and check on her, since she was already back in bed.

When we headed up for our nightly sleep wee-wee, Tom called me in to look at Gracie. She had put on tights over her leotard after she had finished her potty time earlier in the evening. She just had to be dressed properly for the performances in her dreams, I guess. Poor little dancing princess.

Baby Bob is a very special part of our family. We’ve had him for about two years now, and I really believe that our lives are more enriched because he’s a part of them.

Oh, by the way, Baby Bob is a doll.

Worse, Baby Bob is PATRICK’S doll. At least Baby Bob is a boy doll, right?

A couple of years ago, when we first moved to Minnesota, Patrick began to play with Emma’s dolls. No harm I that, of course, but I really didn’t enjoy watching him play with pink dolls. I figured that if he liked dolls so much, he should have his own, and it should be a little boy.

The first thing I did was search high and low for the My Buddy doll from my childhood. You remember! “My Buddy! My Buddy! My Buddy and me!” Hasbro introduced the My Buddy doll in 1985, and it was the model for the Chucky doll in the wonderful Child’s Play movies series. Okay, it’s creepy, but it was a good stand-in for a doll for little boys. In any case, Hasbro no longer makes the My Buddy doll, so I was out of luck. Plus, if we'd gotten the My Buddy doll, I would have named it Chucky, and then my sister Brigid wouldn't let us come visit because it would give her nightmares. She's a damn sissy.

Instead, we headed off to Target to pick out a doll. Patrick (thank goodness!) picked out a nice blue doll, and we headed off to the checkout line to buy it. While we were on our way to buy the doll, I asked Patrick what he was going to name his new friend. He said he wanted to name him Baby Gracie. I said that this was a boy doll, and that he had to have a boy name. Besides, wouldn’t it be confusing to have two Baby Gracies? Since Patrick wasn’t even two yet, the whole concept was confusing him. He couldn’t come up with a boy’s name. So, I said “What about Bob? You could call him something like Baby Bob.” That was it. It stuck. We handed over our $15.99 and left Target with a brand-spanking new boy doll called Baby Bob.

Over the years, Baby Bob has been completely assimilated into the family. He talks (in Patrick’s falsetto), and he thinks that I am his Grandmother and Tom is his Grandfather. Obviously, Patrick is his father, but, less obviously and somewhat disconcerting, Emma is his mother. Poor Gracie is just Gracie.

Baby Bob walks while his “father’ holds his hands. Baby Bob says grace at dinner. Baby Bob gets thrown in the air for fun. When Patrick has something to say to someone on the phone but doesn’t actually want to speak to that person, Baby Bob speaks in his place. Baby Bob joins us on road trips. Baby Bob has been to the beach.

Baby Bob also sleeps with Patrick. Last night, Tom came in and told me that he doesn’t understand what it is with Baby Bob. Every time he had checked on Patrick last night, Baby Bob was tucked tightly beneath Patrick’s arms, snuggled close. Maybe Baby Bob was cold.

A good way to punish Patrick is to send Baby Bob to the basement when Patrick misbehaves. Just the threat often nips poor behavior in the bud. Patrick would rather clean the playroom than risk losing Baby Bob for a day or two.

Baby Bob also tells knock-knock jokes. This morning while I was in the shower, Baby Bob came in and knocked on the shower door. I looked over and saw Baby Bob there with a cup on his head. “Knock-knock!” Baby Bob called. “Who’s there?” “Baby Bob!” “Baby Bob who?” “Baby Bob Cup On A Head!” Then Baby Bob and Patrick laughed and ran out of the room.

It’s so strange when you consider an inanimate object to be a part of the family. I really don’t know what we’d do without Baby Bob. I know it’s not really Baby Bob who makes his jokes and acts silly, but it’s fun to see Patrick’s personality shine through this little bit of cloth and vinyl. Baby Bob fun, and we're lucky to have him.

When Patrick is 25 and I pull this essay out to show his wife, I wonder if Baby Bob will still be around. I hope he will. He’ll always make us smile.

... and you know what that means, don't you? Yes! That's right! The kids will get sick! This time, it starts with Patrick!

After spending a few hours finishing the window treatments for our bedroom (so that Tom and I can put them up this weekend), Tom and I had just settled in bed for a nice sleep. We were both exhausted, and I had planned to swim this morning with my friend Emily, and he was headed off to Orange County, so we were looking forward to dropping off to sleep like a cement-booted gangster in the East River.

We had both just dozed off when we heard crying. Loud crying. Sad crying. We got up and ran into Patrick’s room, only to find him covered with the remnants of not only his dinner, but his lunch, too. He was still coughing and gagging, so Tom brought him into the bathroom while I changed his sheets. We both figured that he had eaten a bunch of Emma’s candy (from her TWO birthday parties this weekend), and that he just had an upset stomach. He said he was okay, so we changed his clothes and then he climbed into bed and went back to sleep.

About an hour later, we heard it again. We went back into Patrick’s room, and found him once again covered with puke. This time, he didn’t have quite as much in his stomach, and got it on the comforter and blanket, but saved his sheets. This was good, since we only seem to own two sets of twin sheets, and would have had a problem if he had ruined the second set. We brought him to the bathroom and changed his clothes again, and he went back to sleep.

Another two hours passed, and he was up again. This time, the poor kid was just dry heaving. He had nothing in his stomach to let out. Dry heaving is awful because it’s painful on the ribs and tummy. He just kept standing over the toilet, heaving away. After about 5 minutes of this, he headed back to bed again.

At this point, Tom wanted me to let him come to bed with us. I said that I would sleep with Patrick in his room, instead. I have a silk duvet cover, for goodness’ sake, and the last thing I wanted was regurgitated chicken nuggets all over it. That may make me a horrible mother, but have you ever tried to clean vomit off of Duponi silk? Yeah. Well, then.

After a few minutes of squishing my big baby-filled belly into Patrick’s twin bed, I finally gave up and went back to my own bed. I am simply far too old for this.

I finally wised up at around 6:30 (when I knew that there was nothing in the poor kid’s stomach to come back up and ruin my duvet), and let him lay in our bed. I wanted to make sure I got a chance to take a shower before Tom left, because I didn’t want to leave Patrick all alone in the bed while I showered if he was still feeling bad. So, I turned on SpongeBob Squarepants and got myself ready for the day.

At about 8:00, Patrick was ready to try to eat breakfast. He begged for milk, but I would only give him water because I didn’t want to upset his stomach anymore. He ate about half of his Eggo Cinnamon Toast waffle and went to lay down on the couch. It’s now 12:31 PM, and he’s been there all day. I did get him dressed (because he wanted to get dressed), but other than that, the poor kid has lain like a slug all day, waiting to feel better.

All morning, I have been working on laundry. I had to wash two sets of sheets (well, three, because Gracie wet her bed last night), a mattress cover, a comforter, two pillows and a blanket. It took me five loads. I’ve finally got the last bit in the dryer, and then I am off to make Patrick’s bed so that the poor kid can nap.

A few minutes ago, I decided to take his temperature because he felt warm. It was 101.5, which is cue to give him some Motrin. Of course, we were out of chewable Motrin, so he got Tylenol, instead. I think Tylenol works fine, it just doesn’t work for as long as Motrin, so I’ll be giving him another Tylenol at 4:30. Fun, fun, fun!

Of course, as Tom headed out the door this morning, he said “I don’t know if it’s psychosomatic, but my stomach is really upset.” Oh dear. I hope the flight attendants don’t mind him puking all over the airplane seats.

Ew! Ew! EWWWW!!!!

This morning, while driving to pick Emma up from school, Gracie said to me: “Mommy, pwease put this in your cupholder.” I reached back, assuming it was some trash, and held out my hand. She claimed to have dropped something into my hand, and then said “Okay!” I didn’t actually feel anything hit my palm, and I am pretty sure that I still have feeling in my hands, so I asked her what she gave me.

“I gave you my boogie!”

ACK! ACK! ACK!

I quickly dropped the “present” and grabbed blindly for the wipes package in the back of the car to get the Gracie Boogie Juice off my hand. Gracie laughed and laughed. She thought it was funny that her mother was grossed out.

When I got home, I scrubbed thoroughly.

ICK.

(Oh, there's a new Baby Blog, too.)