Mommylu's World

It's Like "Dynasty" in Space

2012-01-16T10:48:00.000-08:00

Have you seen the revamp of, "Battlestar Galactica?" You haven't? Oh, you really must, but let me warn you, your life could turn out like this (thank you, "Portlandia," which you should also watch):

My hubby is a longtime sci-fi fan, and I am not. I have found occasional faves within sci-fi and fantasy, but in general I don't enjoy it. This dislike can be boiled down pretty simply into one idea:

Futuristic, sci-fi, fantasy worlds lack green grass, plants and trees. Living in these worlds would be a complete nightmare. Why spend more time than you need to contemplating them?

Okay, I know that is an overgeneralization, but think about it! It is often true, even with great stories. I like the movie, "Blade Runner" as much as the next gal, but how much time are those folks in a peaceful park? That's right, they are never in a peaceful park.

It has never ceased to amaze me that some of my most granola-crunchy, outdoorsy, "let's go for a six-hour hike" friends can spend hours devouring nature-less sci-fi novels, while I, a girl who is not afraid to say hates camping and considers a great outdoors day one in which I spend time in a climate-controlled environment with views of pretty scenery from big windows, can't tolerate the lack of nature for more than twenty-five pages.

The sci-fi books and movies that I love usually involve some sort of mystery---my favorite genre, by far---so I forgive them the grasslessness and go with the intrigue. That said, when "Battlestar" started years ago, I watched it with Mike, because---truth be told---over the years he has faithfully committed to learning to like my faves, like mysteries, crime stories, comedies, and period dramas, and I needed to throw him a bone. Had I realized that, in fact, this was going to be one of the most amazingly intriguing mysteries I had ever watched within the first five minutes of the show, I would have run to the couch and prepared for my eyes to happily glaze over.

You see, without giving much away to spoil the fun, the main gist of "Battlestar" is that, among the main characters, some are not human, but are actually cylons---robots created by man who, of course, became too powerful and rebelled against their creators---hidden in plain sight. That's good stuff, and along with smart storylines each week, the question of "Who could it be?" kept that show fascinating right to the end.

About a season and a half in to "Battlestar Galactica," I turned to Mike and said,

"You realize this is a soap opera, right? This is like 'Dynasty' in space. Guessing who is a cylon is a lot like trying to figure out who has an evil twin sister, or a nefarious secret past. This is really a chic show on spaceships."

Gulp. Blink. Gulp-again. He knew it was true.

Of course, chic-show, guy-show---what does any of that mean, anyway? Good writing is good writing. We hunkered in and watched that series through to the end, and even well after it had concluded have had endless discussions about it---what we would have changed, what made sense and didn't make sense, etc..

Fast forward to last year and our new obsession: "Downtown Abbey." Wait, you haven't seen that, either? Okay, the minute you finish this blog, please go directly to the PBS website and catch up on last season, so you can catch up with this season---you'll be busy for about 24 hours, so make no plans until tomorrow. Maggie Smith, alone, makes this series worth watching, but the whole thing is brilliant.

Mike and I love it, and often spontaneously exclaim (much like the characters in the "Battlestar" skit on "Portlandia,") "This is so good!" while watching it. At one point, mid-season last year, Mike turned to me and said, "I can't believe I like a show like this so much." His meaning? Likely that it was too many corsets and not enough spaceships for his usual taste. My response:

"Honey, this is just like 'Battlestar Galactica' in fancy dress at an English manor with upper-class and servant-class drama."

Guess what? "Downton Abbey" is not just for the ladies.

So, word of warning: if you catch up on our latest fave, and come to our house to watch it (all our welcome!), please be aware, you might here us say things like this:

"Thomas and Mrs. O'Brien are definitely cylons."

VBS, VBS, VBS, VBS

2011-07-11T11:01:00.001-07:00

This summer, EJ is getting her first tastes of different flavors of vacation bible school (VBS), a service provided by many churches that I believe was created in heaven specifically for moms whose kids are being particularly clingy this summer (ahem, I'm not naming any names, but I know one of these blue-eyed, long-haired kids very well) and sent down to earth to grant us peace. Dona nobis pacem, VBS, dona nobis pacem, at least for 2 1/2 to 3 hours each morning for a week.

These bible school programs, aside from being active, faith-inspiring and fun—full of songs, artwork, games and general running around—are kind on the family finances, too. My friend, aka, the intrepid and amazing Frugalista at the Trib, couldn't believe it when I said that for a $5-$30 suggested donation, depending on the church, I was getting great morning childcare for a week. Oh yes, it is a frugal Christian's dream come true, no coupons required.

This week, EJ is attending VBS 3 of 4 for this summer, this time at the local Catholic church. She will have to miss a few days of this week's programming for our family vacation, so I was hesitant to sign her up, but I had to give at least a few days to our home team, lest she leave the summer thinking that she was a Lutheran/Non-Denominational/Episcopalian just in time to start catechism in the fall. She has loved all of them in different ways, and each week has brought a new opportunity for us to talk to her about faith, what it is to believe in God, what it is to NOT believe in God, how we can all learn from each other, etc. Because she was in school this past year, and is used to hearing things presented in class as facts, it has been really interesting to talk to her about how what she learns in VBS may not be true for other people. Sure, we all agree that A comes first in the alphabet and 2 + 2 = 4, but no, we don't all believe in Jesus. The inevitable questions come after this explanation from us: "But is the story of Jesus a fact, then, Mom? Jesus is true, but if people don't believe in Jesus, he's still true, right? Also, do Jewish people believe in God but not in Jesus? How? Why? I went to Jewish preschool and I believe in Jesus." It is funny to me how going to church has not brought up these queries for her in the same way that VBS has—somehow I thought I had skated past the hard questions, but nope, I was wrong.

Heavy religious conversations aside, I had two quotable moments with EJ at VBS pick-up today, and they both made me laugh out loud. Enjoy:

Me: EJ, who was the leader of your group today at VBS?

EJ: She was a tall, pretty, very old, brown woman. She was not cranky at all. She was very, very nice. She was like my babysitter, Kate, since Kate is not cranky, either.

Me: (laughing) Wow, good description, but I was wondering her name.

EJ: Her name? Hmm. I have no idea. I don't remember that at all.

EJ: Mom, is Nana a Catholic?

Me: She is now, but she wasn't before she married Papa.

EJ: What was she then?

Me: A Methodist. That's another kind of Christian.

EJ: Methodist. That's sounds like another kind of doctor. "Mom, I'm not feeling well, I'm going to the Methodist."

(and a little bonus item, "Quotable Parents")

Me, to Mike: VBS ends at 11:30 today. All the other ones end at noon.

Mike: Huh. I wonder why.

Me: I'm guessing because we Catholics have less to say about the bible.

(rimshot, please)

Old Soul

2011-06-08T07:14:00.000-07:00

One of my mom's favorite stories to tell is about one of my younger brothers as a child. He is little, just barely walking or talking, and all of the sudden, he starts marching in a perfectly-straight line, knees up, posture-perfect, across our thick, goldenrod shag carpet. My mom, in shock, asks him what he is doing, and he answers, clear as a bell, "I was a general before this life."

As the story goes, my mom immediately dropped what she was doing and called my dad at the office, letting him know that they had Patton or MacArthur in the living room.

Years later, living just outside of Washington DC, I heard another story along these lines in our beloved prayer group. As told to me by one of the leaders of the group, friends of theirs had a toddler who would not stop climbing into the crib with his newborn sibling. Although the child meant to be sweet, it was a bit like Godzilla visiting the townspeople, so the parents had to listen to the baby monitor intently to keep it from happening. One night, they heard the oldest one thud into the crib, and as they scrambled to get to the baby, they heard the toddler ask him, "Tell me about it, I've almost forgotten it...it was so beautiful." When retrieved from the crib and asked what he was talking about, the boy simply stated, "heaven."

I can't vouch for the validity of the second story, but trust that my mom (and dad) are recounting their experience accurately. Despite the fact that what my brother was saying and doing was in direct conflict to what our faith told us was true about God and heaven and the afterlife, there he was, saying and doing it. My lesson: always understand that God is bigger than what we know, and we know very little.

When EJ was little, I watched for signs of things unknown, hoping to catch a glimpse of what little ones seem to come into the earth understanding from the start. There were a few little things, sure, but no big revelations. I thought the window to that kind of experience was closed, but at the end of May, she surprised me, once again.

Last week, when my parents came to visit, we were all sitting around the dining room table talking about the busy weekend we had had the week before. With a ballet dress rehearsal, ballet recital, daddy-daughter dance, and grad school alumni event all packed within a 16-hour period, we were crazed. At some point in the conversation, having heard me mention that I had to speak at the alumni event, EJ asked me if I had had stage fright. I said, "No, not really. I don't tend to get that too often. I was speaking about a friend and wanted to make sure I did a nice job for her, but I didn't have stage fright." It then occurred to me that I should ask her if she had had stage fright before her recital---maybe this is why she opened up this can of worms. I did, and here was her answer:

"I had a little bit of stage fright for the winter show, but I didn't have any this time. I practiced and practiced my dance, I focused, and then I believed in myself. That's all you need to do. I didn't have any stage fright because I practiced, focused, and believed in myself."

All four adults around the table sat with mouths gaping open, while EJ looked at us quite matter-of-factly, as if she couldn't understand at all why we were shocked. Writing about the moment really doesn't do it justice---she spoke so calmly and plainly, it was as if she had this font of knowledge springing up from deep inside her, and it was as easy to understand as 2 + 2 = 4. Of course all you need to do is practice, focus and believe in yourself. We all know that. It is hard-wired, right? How could all these adults be so surprised?

My dad jumped into the silence and said, "EJ, that sounds about right to me." I said, "Sounds like it would work for almost everything, actually, not just stage fright." EJ then asked if she could have dessert, and we popped back into the here and now, old and new souls just eating a dinner and enjoying the moment. I hope she never forgets her lesson to us---could you imagine how magnificent a life spent simply practicing, focusing, and believing in yourself could be? I think I'm going to take her advice and see what I can do with my next 37+ years.

Gentle

2011-05-25T07:41:00.000-07:00

It has happened before, so I should have seen it coming. Did I? No. Get out my Bridges, we are prepping for transition, and the naughty-behavior meter is beeping and lighting up and generally reacting as if there is nuclear material in the vicinity. Sigh.

This year has been wonderful for EJ and me---as she has grown and exercised her independence in kindergarten, her personality has really developed, and we have had so much fun together. Her behavior, on the whole, has been dreamy. I have really liked age five, and I think that she has, too.

Lately, though, she has been out-of-sorts. Lots of whining. Lots of crying at the end of playdates. Lots of begging for treats and goodies and privileges she can't have, even moments after receiving a treat or goody or privilege. Lots of getting out of bed over and over and over to try to stay up late. Lots of using a tone that can be described generously as "sassing." Lots of feelings, spilling all over the place.

What has been my reaction? Sadly, mostly annoyance. I am occasionally patient, occasionally easy-going, and occasionally that mom we all dream about having, but mostly...well, mostly, I have grown increasingly short with EJ as these behavioral episodes become more frequent.

Then yesterday, as we were having "Meltdown out of nowhere that is more characteristic of a three-year-old #256" as we were leaving the grocery store after school, it dawned on me: "Kori, kindgergarten is ending. Everyone is talking about it. Of course there are a lot of emotions bubbling up for EJ, and of course they are being directed at you and Mike. You are safe. She is transitioning. You need a different approach."

So, even though we've seen this happen at the beginning of preschool, at the close of preschool, around each birthday, at the beginning of kindergarten, and before/after each holiday break, it took me a full three weeks, at least, of beating my head up against the wall wondering why my child is being such a pill to recognize what is going on.

As soon as I figured this out, I felt a weight lifted off of me. After I made sure she had strapped herself into the car, I asked her to focus her tear-stained face on mine, took her head in my hands, looked her in the eye and said, "Honey, I know that kindergarten is ending soon, you have a lot of feelings coming up about that." Her body relaxed. She nodded and quietly said, "Yes." I went on, saying, "I understand, sweetheart, and I'm going to be gentle with your feelings, and with you, because I know that there is so much you might need to express. But I need you to be gentle with me, too, and your dad. You can't act poorly just because you are upset, but you can talk to us and ask for hugs and let us know that you are upset."

It didn't solve everything, but it solved my biggest problem: it changed my intention. Last night, when she whined for treats, I was calm. When she came out of bed three times, I was firm and kind. She didn't act up less, and I didn't suddenly become a push-over, but the whole thing really did feel more gentle. I also realized that my impatience, as much as it is a reaction to her behavior, is also my own experience of transition. I am worried about this safe, wonderful kindergarten experience ending. I'm trying to remember every date for end-of-year celebrations being sent my way. I'm trying to make plans for the long summer, hoping to fill in enough activities to keep both of us content. I have a lot of change, too, and if I'm gentle with her, I can be gentle with myself.

JUSTice

2011-05-16T14:41:00.000-07:00

It took me thirty-seven years to come to this conclusion: with rare exception, the word "just," when inserted into a seemingly innocuous question asked during casual conversation, will render the question completely annoying to me. The joy of just that can be found in a statement (i.e.. "You are just in time for dessert!" or "It's just a flesh wound.") is sapped right out when placed in a query, especially one about another individual's current status.

In the past few weeks I have heard the following justs, and they all are twinge-worthy---if reading them aloud to yourself, make sure to include the irritating "up-speak" that tends to happen at the end:

1) So....you've decided on just the one child, huh?*
2) What are you up to these days, just mommy stuff?**
3) Could you just try to make it, even if you are busy?***

At twenty-seven, I probably would have taken the justs personally, and never said a word. Ten years and thousands of justs later, I have these replies. Of course, I didn't use them at the time I was asked those questions---I'm still just a little too worried about manners and politeness, I suppose---but that is just where a blog comes in handy.

1) So....you've decided on just the one child, huh?

Yes, if infertility is a decision, but of course, you weren't looking for information so personal now, were you? Were you just curious? Just inappropriate? Just not expecting me to understand that the tone of your question implies that I didn't make a correct choice, even though you were too silly to realize that I may or may not have had a choice in the matter.

Should I just take a moment now that you've opened this can of worms to tell you more about where babies come from, just to make both of us squirm even more? Sorry, that's going overboard. Don't ask again, though, because I will go there. Yes...yes, I will, and millions of infertile couples around the globe will smile a simultaneous smile together, although they won't know why. They'll just enjoy the moment through some sort of infertility-jedi mindmeld.

Further point of fact: just one child this awesome is plenty for anyone. Also, please go away.

2) What are you up to these days, just mommy stuff?

Hmm...well, I guess it is just mommy stuff if it involves generally feeding, clothing, and caring for a household, supporting a husband in grad school, holding down part-time jobs, seeking even more employment, trying to manage all of our schedules, trying to plan for an uncertain future that may/may not start soon because we never know when grad school will be over, and making sure laundry-homework-carpool-meals-bills-etc. get attended to every day, then yes, I am just doing mommy stuff.

I wonder if I added "just" before asking you about your life if it would be hard to answer my question without feeling a bit like you have to justify your existence? Does this just make me seem defensive? Yeah, it probably does, but the thing is I'm on to how adding "just" to the mommy question basically negates the value of the time spent, effort expended, and talent used, and really, I don't buy it. Instead of privately not buying it, I want you to know you shouldn't buy it (or sell it, or trade it, or even peruse it in the shopping aisle because you've got a great coupon for it) either.

Further point of fact: even if I just had to do strictly parental stuff, I would be busier than I have been at any other time of my life. Also, please go away.

3) Could you just try to make it, even if you are busy?***

Well, if I was free, I would have said yes, but I'm not free, so I said no. I even said, "I'm busy, I'm so sorry." Have you been talking to my 5-year old, who negotiates endlessly for more candy/treats/playtime/etc., even after I have said no? "Mama, can I just have one more snack before dinner? Just one more game on the computer? Just 10 more minutes before bed?" Dude, no means no, and if I'm not backing down from the wee one who lives with me and really can make my life he%$ when she's ticked, I'm not going to get ruffled by another adult, right?

There's where you have me, though, and I think you just might know that, because I really want to be helpful. Just the gal for the job, all the time---just what the doctor ordered, just the person we need, just, just, just. Just + guilt = powerful elixir for mind-changing, so please, just don't do it! Don't ask me to overextend myself (please see the note on how I am "just doing mommy stuff") when I've said I can't. It is just not nice.

Further point of fact: any volunteer that is there under duress will likely just get the job done, but will not be there to do it ever again. Also, please watch me go away.

Just sayin'.

* If you are one of my friends who has opened up this discussion with me, thoughtfully asking how/why/if we decided to have only one child, or someone who would like to talk about this, you are always, always, always welcome. No justification needed, I swear. For the record, I feel no shame about experiencing infertility, and no worry about sharing my feelings about it, I just tire over child-based judgements, which can hit multiple-kid households (i.e. "Wow, you guys just decided to keep having kids, huh?") just as easily.

** If you are one of my friends who has opened up this discussion with me, thoughtfully expressing how "mommy stuff" can be overwhelming/all-consuming/boring/exhilarating/absolutely nothing like what any of us really expected, or someone who would like to find out my ever-changing, ever-evolving thoughts on this, don't hesitate to call. "Mommy stuff" is the one-part top-level executive, one-part rank-and-file-union worker with inadequate benefits job that needs a better support group, or at least a good 1-800 number, but in absence of those things, we'll just need to talk it out together.

*** Really, don't ask me to over-do. To quote Saturday Night Live, "Do not taunt Happy Fun Ball." I mean it.

Hair (Un)Cut

2011-05-06T06:08:00.000-07:00

This post could also be titled, "Why It's NOT About Me, the MOM," or "One More Reason I Know My Husband Is Brilliant,"---more on those topics, later.

EJ has never had a haircut. There, I said it. That probably puts me into some category of freak parent---the kind that covets the little darling's locks and can't bare to part with them. Maybe Kate Hudson has formed a support group for folks like us.

The truth is, I love a good haircut, especially on a cute kid, but EJ has never needed one. That's right, she has never, ever needed one---her hair has never been in her eyes in a troubling way, it has not gotten in the way of her activities, etc. At every stage, from birth onward, her hair has basically managed itself. Don't believe me? I can provide photographic evidence.

Sure, we've needed a pin or ponytail holder here or there, and of course, we have had a rare detangling session that left both of us grouchy, but on average this kid's hair has been the easiest thing in the universe to manage. Add to this fact the understanding that EJ has been terrified of loud noises since she was little, and as such, would run screaming from a hair dryer, and you'll see why a hair salon was not high on our "fun outings" list. Finally, she got it into her head, probably some time around the time she learned how (and how not) to use scissors, that getting a hair cut would hurt. For at least two years, there was simply no convincing her otherwise.

She's no little kid anymore, though, and over time, her fears have abated. She likes it, on occasion, when I blow dry her hair on the low setting, and she is now perfectly clear, thanks to testimonies from her peers, that haircutting does not hurt at all. She has been toying with the idea of getting her hair cut for a few months, saying, "Mom, maybe we could just trim it, okay?" She shocked me, though, yesterday, when she declared before school:

"Mom, I want to get my hair cut. Short. Like my friend's hair. It is really what I want."

I was nearly knocked over. At first I was proud of her for being so bold, but then, I started to panic. I realized just how attached to her hair I had become. As it has grown longer and she has grown more willing to cut it...well, I'll just admit it, I've grown to really love it. I can't imagine her without it. The problem: IT'S NOT MY HAIR.

I told her that it was fine, but we needed to wait until after her ballet recital, because I need to be able to put it up in a ballet bun.

"Okay, we can cut it the next day."

I gulped, then explained to her that if it is really short, it might not be able to go into a ponytail. She looked a little disappointed, then showed me how she could just pull the front sides up into a ponytail, and that would be fine. I explained how it might not be curly anymore---something she cried about at an earlier age when she overheard an adult say that they'd lost all their curls when they grew up and cut their hair. Her response:

"I've wanted it straight for a long time. It will be fine."

Double-gulp. I sent her to school and selfishly hoped she'd forget, but she brought it up again on the car ride to music class. Sigh.

Later last night, when all three of us were home and playing a board game together, I mentioned to Mike that EJ had said she wanted to cut her hair. SHORT. If my glare at him could have spoken, it would have said, "SHORT, MICHAEL, PLEASE, PLEASE, FIX THIS, I'M LOSING IT HERE."

He was smart. HE ASKED HER WHY.

Here is what she said.

"Well, I want to cut it off to give it someone, like a kid with no hair. My teacher did that. I would like to do that, too."

I'm tearing up just typing that. In that instant all my vanity about her hair just flew out of my body and I hugged her and thought, thank you, once again, for making me show up and realize what is really important in this world, kiddo. We told her we thought it was a great idea, and that she might need to grow it a little longer before she could cut it off, but we would find a place to get that done. She was delighted.

She can't have this long hair forever, of course, and the idea that another precious child who is sick could get to wear one of the most gorgeous heads of brunette hair I've ever seen makes me happier than just about anything else I can imagine.

My job is to learn, each day, to let her go, just like her job is to learn, each day, to make her own choices. My job is to grow her character, not her hair. So if letting go of that hair is her choice to learn about generosity, how can I be anything but thrilled?

Good Luck at the Party Supply Store

2011-05-02T10:07:00.000-07:00

This weekend, we attended a really fun birthday party along with EJ that had a pirate princess theme. I was told that the birthday girl could not decide between the two ideas, so she had both, and it was fantastic. EJ had a great time---so great, in fact, that she had this conversation with me on the way out:

EJ: That's the kind of birthday party I want to have this summer, except a castle pirate party, with queens, and kings, and pirates, and a castle, and we can make BIG SIGNS.

Me: Big signs, huh?

EJ: YES! One sign could say, "Guardians of Doom!"

Me: Guardians of Doom!?! Wow!

EJ: No, it could say, "Guardians of Doom Lake," or "The Clownfish Guardians of Doom Lake."

Me: Ah, the clownfish are the guardians of the lake. Cool.

EJ: Wait, I know what it should say, "CLOWNFISH OF DOOM!"

So, savvy party-planning parents out there, I have until July. How much do you want to bet that:

1) There are no clownfish of doom themed party supplies out there, not even with the new Duchess of Cambridge's family party-planning business.

2) Nemo will not cut it. NOT ENOUGH DOOM.

3) Because this is strictly do-it-yourself, this will be the theme she sticks with until at least the beginning of July, giving me heart palpitations.

4) At some point I will be up to my eyeballs in orange and black icing, probably with "pink highlights."

5) In future conversations with my kid about seemingly unrelated topics, questions of doom will arise, and additional doom-related themes will be requested for the party.

Quotable EJ

2011-04-19T10:43:00.000-07:00

This month's edition of quotable EJ includes skills and fortunes, scenario planning, and pink hair. Let's start with the hair, shall we?

1. Awesome highlights
EJ speaking to me and her dad, riding in the car on the way home from running errands:

EJ: When I get older, I'm going to get highlights in my hair.
Me: Really? What kind?
EJ: Well, I'm going to dye all my hair dark, dark pink. Magenta pink, you know?
Me: You are going to get magenta highlights?
EJ: No, I'm going to have light pink and purple highlights, to make the magenta pink hair really stand out.
Me: Got it. Sounds awesome.
EJ: Oh, yeah, it will be so so so so so so soooooooo awesome, you will not believe it!
Me: I probably won't.
EJ: But it will still be awesome, no matter who believes it.

2. Fortune-finding
EJ opening her fortune cookie at lunch today with her daddy and me:

EJ: [Reading] It says, "Now is a good time to start a new hobby or collection."
Mike: STAMPS!
Me: [As I fiddle with my wallet, getting out money to pay the bill] EJ, what kind of collection would you like to start?
EJ: Hmmm...how about four dollar bills? Yeah, you could just give me four dollars now, that would be a good collection.

[Later, after the chuckling died down and she proposed maybe just a two-dollar collection, if we thought four wouldn't work]:

EJ: I'm going to take your fortunes with me, Mom and Dad, because I care about you.
Me: Great. We've got to get your dad back to work.
EJ: Daddy, don't worry about your fortune at work, because I have it.
Mike: Don't worry about my fortunes, eh?
EJ: Nope, I've got them.

3. Skills
While climbing up the stairs in a the cold rain to our home:

EJ: I've got some really excellent skills.
Me: Yes, you do. Which skills are you thinking about now?
EJ: I can freeze really well.
Me: Are you cold?
EJ: No, I can freeze, not move, just be frozen, that's what I mean. I can do it so well people might think I am a wall. That is an excellent skill to have.

4. Grown-Up Dreams
At breakfast with Mike and me the other day:

EJ: Guys, when I grow up, I'm going to move to Kenosha.
Mike: You are?
EJ: And DON'T WORRY. You DO NOT have to move with me. You DO NOT have to live there. [We've explained to her that there aren't jobs in Mike's field there, so we won't be moving back]. I'm going to live there when I am independent. That is where I'm going to get married.
Me: You are going to get married in Kenosha? Who are you going to marry?
EJ: See, the first day I'll move there. Then, the next day I'll meet my husband. Then, the day after that, that's when I'll get married.
Me: What's that wedding going to be like, one day after you've met your husband?
EJ: Dark pink. Magenta pink.
Mike: Of course.
Me: Like Aunt Melissa and Uncle Joe's wedding.

EJ: Yes, except this wedding will have light pink and purple highlights. [I'm imagining this going with her hair, of course]. The highlights will really set off the magenta pink. ["Set off?" Too much HGTV-watching with me?] They will be the accent colors.
Me: So, a Kenosha wedding to a stranger in pink with highlights.
EJ: Yes, that is exactly it!

Kindergarten Conference

2011-04-06T17:39:00.001-07:00

What can I say? It is hard for me to blog about what is going on with EJ's school progress without feeling like I'm bragging. Boasting. Being "that parent," the one who is really jerky and spoken of as the one who "thinks her kid is SO SPECIAL."

I've hesitated this year to write down, in this place, so many of the amazing things going on with the kiddo, for fear that I will appear to be bragging. I don't feel like it IS bragging to tell the truth, especially when I feel so strongly that we, as EJ's parents, have very little to do with her current successes. We are just staying out of that little powerhouse's way, trying to keep things safe and fun and supportive. All that said, it feels wrong not to document in this place, where I have shared so many other ups (and downs) since she was born, a taste of the fun that is being her mom as she approaches the end of kindergarten.

Mike and I went to her kindergarten conference today, the second one of the year. EJ is one of the youngest kids in the class, but she is running fast and furious with the head of the pack. We didn't really need the conference to tell us that---intuition, plus the knowledge that her spelling group had "fortified" as one of their words last week, have really been enough to clue us in. For goodness sake, I brought her up to my cousin's fourth grade classroom a few weeks ago when she had a day off school to be the secret reader, and she picked two books off the shelf, did a quick "pre-read" to herself while waiting to go in front of the class, read them aloud beautifully to roughly 30 students from two classrooms, used inflection, added sound effects, pointed to funny pictures, gave hints, (i.e., "Okay, here come's a funny part!"), did quick page-count math (i.e., "only 11 pages left!") and then managed to do a question and answer session following her reading without missing a beat. Later on, she told me she was nervous before she started reading, and when I asked her why, expecting it to be stagefright or worries about the reading, itself, her reply was, "Mom, I've never spent time with FOURTH GRADERS before." Yeah, we had an idea she was doing well. All that said, it is really something for a teacher to look you in the eye with a test result form in hand and say, "Here's what we know. I most-recently tested her reading in January. When she started the school year this fall, she was already reading at the first-grade level, a "G" in our test, but by January, she was testing at level "L," which is where we'd like students to be at the end of second grade. She could be farther than that now, and likely is, but as soon as she reaches the "M" level, the testing becomes written and multi-layered, which is more than we do here in kindergarten."

So, there's that. Even though I think that the expectation that children be early, advanced readers at this age is developmentally ridiculous, it is wonderful to know that my kid is cruising along happily. Since we have a child who spontaneously started reading at age three, and is now reading to prep for third grade, I might as well get excited to cue up "Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing" and "Superfudge," right?

Once we all agreed that EJ's developmental needs are not going to be reading related, we cut to the chase and moved on to other areas. When we asked what we could do at this point to continue to support her, her teacher told us to "keep her loving what she's doing, because she really does love it." Apparently, even when concepts are being taught in class that EJ has already mastered, she doesn't disengage. She stays a part of the group, keeps interested, and is happy to be a part of it, even if it isn't challenging.

With all that love in the room, we came to our big question, "How is EJ doing socially? Does she have friends? Does she play well?"

Here's where I got a few healthy shutters in, particularly as I thought about what is to come for this clever, sweet kid in the next few years.

Apparently, the girls are "practicing being girls," as her teacher very diplomatically put it, and "we are having to help them out with that." Huh. She was then more blunt: "They are pairing off and cliquing up."

EJ plays well with all the kids in her class, but unlike many of the girls, she has not paired off with another particular girl as a best friend. This can lead her to be "sensitive," (also diplomatic) when she approaches girls and asks to play, and is told things like, "This is a game for only two, so you can't join." Her teacher let us know that, when these situations arise, they (she and her student teacher) encourage the girls to "find a game that is good for three, then."

Yes, the social drama is starting to unfold for EJ, just as sure as her reading began without any particular effort on our part. The complex society of girls on an elementary school playground is beginning to form, and our kid doesn't have a partner in crime. I'm pleased, on the one hand, that she gets along well with everyone, and isn't particularly prone to cliques, but I'm wise from experience, too---it hurts to be excluded, plain and simple, and it gets worse as social groups become more clearly differentiated. And to be a smart kid on the outs....my stomach just churns with the thought.

Sigh. Am I back at Jeffery School, hoping, just hoping, that I am finally running with the in-crowd? Wait, this isn't about me... and yet, I'd be a liar if I said that thinking of my kid having to navigate this social stuff doesn't take me back to those tender, wounded spots in my own memory, the ones that I think are healed, but don't spend much time poking around under the band-aids to check.

Having a daughter is not for the faint-of-heart.

The good news, happily, is that EJ has one very special friend at school, a well-liked, very kind boy who thinks the world of her, and she of him. They pal around, and she is happy. She also has her carpool buddy, a boy she has known since nursery school, who she proudly calls one of her best friends, and better yet, she loves this boy's parents and siblings, too. Then, there are the other special girls---the friends from preschool, our family friends whom she adores. As usual, she is fine, and we are worried, and we should just chill out and put down, "Queen Bees and Wannabes" and say over and over "SHE IS FINE."

Again, what can I say? This kid blows my mind, in more ways than I can count. Being her parent this year, in particular, is by far one of the most delightful experiences I have ever had. No, I don't want to brag, but I'm glad I've written this all down, because truthfully, it is the closest thing I know to bottling up a concoction of love, joy and pride to keep on hand for those days down the road when life is less breezy.

I don't know much...

2011-04-04T13:09:00.000-07:00

...but having parented my particular kid for these particular 5+ years, here are 10 things that I am sure of:

1) Thunderstorms (like last night's) will make her run to our room with her hands over her ears to crawl into bed with us.

2) Crawling into bed with us means no sleep for anyone.

3) EJ will not be any less full of energy despite this lack of sleep---in fact, she will be even more excited with life that she got to sleep in Mom and Dad's big bed---while we will be giant grumps, especially on a blurgy morning like today.

4) Every day, she will ask for cake, cookies, candy, etc., without fail.

5) Every day, I will say no, except on the rare day when I don't, and delight ensues.

6) EJ cares as much about the research on healthy eating as she did about the research on breastfeeding as a newborn (what, you didn't try to convince your reluctant newborn to latch-on because of all those research studies?), but that won't stop me from waxing poetic about eating broccoli when she asks for fruit snacks.

7) Homework can be done quickly after school on Monday, but becomes slower and slower to complete as the week goes on.

8) EJ's love of brokering a good deal is particularly heightened when she decides to capitalize on her homework malaise for the prospect of treats, (i.e., "Mom, here's a deal: I'll finish my spelling and then I can have a cookie, okay?")

9) I don't negotiate about homework or treats, but will give her a millions choices in almost any other regard, as long as it is not a "good behavior = sugary yum yum" proposition.

10) I enjoy her bartering almost more than anything, particularly given her ever expanding vocabulary, her flair for drama, her earnestness of purpose, and probably best of all, her genuine enjoyment in using good manners (i.e., "Mom, people really like it when I use my politeness.")

Why Health Insurance Is Killing Me

2011-01-12T17:25:00.001-08:00

This blog post could also be titled:

"Health Insurance: America's #1 Shell Game"
"Health Insurance: The House Always Wins"
"Health Insurance: Your Kid Is Sick, That Must Be Terrible, Blah, Blah, Blah..."

At around 2:00 p.m. today, I got off the phone with a customer service agent at our health care insurance provider who chided me (multiple times!) for being rude. I can certainly guess that my voice was not ringing with sunshine tones, as I had a small child screaming about how much her ear hurt while I was sitting there on the phone with the FIFTH person in two hours, all to get a simple urgent-care visit. That was it. Once again, we were put through a ridiculous ringer of health care coverage madness while our sick kid suffered, and no, I'm not feeling particularly polite about it.

Here was today's scenario:

1) Wee hours of the morning: EJ wakes up with a terrible, hacking cough. She is sobbing. I take her into the bathroom and run the shower until the steam helps her to relax. I give her the tiniest bit of Benadryl. She goes back to sleep.

2) Morning: We wake up and ask EJ how she is feeling. She says she's great, she wants to go to school, etc. Unfortunately, her loud, dry, scary-sounded cough is in full force. No fever, energy up, but our guts say keep her home. We do.

3) Mid-morning: Mike stays home so I can go to a doctor's appointment I've had on the books for awhile. We ask ourselves, "Why does our kid always get sick on the only days that we have plans?" EJ keeps Mike more than occupied, as she is squirrelly and full of energy, but coughing in full force. We start to regret our morning choice.

4) Noon: All regrets are set aside as EJ becomes very cranky, then starts screaming every time she swallows or coughs. "MY EAR HURTS!" Time to call the doctor.

5) 12:30 p.m.: We call our doctor of 5 years. While on hold, they play a message that states that they no longer accept our insurance. We received no notice of this. Once we talk to an agent, they let us know that it is likely we would need to pay out of pocket, so they will not give us an appointment. It becomes clear that they are worried we won't pay what, at minimum, will be a $300-400 bill. They ask us to call our insurer for names of new doctors. They also suggest we just "take [our] daughter to the ER, because they have to see her." Fun!

6) 12:45 p.m.: Insurance call #1. The very kind lady explains to us that, although she can find our provider on her list of preferred, in-network providers, it appears that in all of our claims from the last year, she has used a different tax ID than our insurer has on file for her. Because of this, we have been billed out-of-network. I tell her that I have repeatedly contested those bills, and she states that they have all be individually reviewed, and if the doctor "chooses to use the wrong ID," they have no choice but to bill me out-of-network. She also has the incorrect address for our doctor---it is the address for the main hospital, not the clinic---which explains what our insurance told us last year (during a dispute): if the doctor is covered, but the clinic in which she works is not, you will receive no in-network coverage. EJ is still screaming loudly, so we give her Tylenol and a heating pad. The representative gives me the name of a family practice (and three docs) who should be able to see our child.

7) Moments before 1:00 p.m.: I comfort EJ and field a work call that I had been expecting ("Can we postpone? Thank you, so much!") while Mike now calls the practice. He gets transferred once, twice, three times before getting through to someone. They can't see us anytime soon, nor do they like to see patients for urgent care first. No kidding---wouldn't be our ideal scenario, either. Mike is transferred to pediatrics, which we hope has a doc that would cover us, but all he can do is leave a message for the nurse to see if anyone will see us. He is then transferred to internal medicine---if you are following this, our child's care has now been transferred from family medicine to peds to internal medicine---and we get a hesitant, "Yes, I think we take that PPO" response, and an appointment for tomorrow morning with a resident.

8) 1:45 p.m. (notice how long the previous call took): I call the insurer back for call #2. I want to confirm that this resident will, in fact, be in-network. I also want to find out if the attending physician, who we have never heard of before, is covered. During this call, several things happen:

--I am told that I am rude for interrupting (when she begins talking to me about past bill disputes, not addressing the question that I put forth at the beginning of my call), and if I would just listen I could understand what is going on.
--I am told that it is the consumer (i.e., me) who must confirm that the tax ID number that the physician uses to bill service is the same one that they have provided to the health insurance---when I ask how many consumers think about tax ID numbers when they are sick and going to the doctor, I am "ma'amed" and called rude again
--I am told that checking the website or calling the insurer to find a covered doctor is futile, because, and I quote, "That information can change daily. It isn't up-to-date." I ask if she has an up-to-date list, and am told that they see the same information I do. So, to review: the website that lists in-network providers is out-of-date, and when you call an agent, they use the website to help you.
--I am never asked how my kid is feeling, but I am told, "I understand that you are frustrated." Sadly, this is not said in an empathetic way, but rather, in a "sorry you can't make my day easier, crazy rude lady" way.

So, at the end of the day, here is what we have:

1) A child in pain---not enough pain or problem to go to the ER, but enough to be completely miserable
2) No pediatrician, and no real hope that we can find one in network
3) An appointment tomorrow with a doc who may or may not be covered, and who may or may not regularly see kids
4) Another missed day of school for this kiddo, or at least a missed morning
5) More missed work for Mike, who will have to take EJ to the doc because the only appointment we can get is while I am teaching
6) The knowledge that the sheer frustration of the health care situation has probably taken a few hours off of my life and my husband's---thank you stress, raised blood pressure, etc.

Is this the precious system we don't want to lose? Honestly? Because if it is, it sure isn't doing right by my kid, and I have no problem letting it go.

Carols

2010-12-22T13:34:00.001-08:00

I'm not a "Christmas carols all year round" kind of gal. Truthfully, any Christmas music before Thanksgiving gives me agita, and even the first week of December can seem a little too soon for me. Once I get in the spirit, though, really nothing else can make me smile the way certain Christmas carols do.

In the past few years, I've been compiling a mix of Christmas songs on iTunes, a few more good finds each holiday, and now I have a Christmas playlist that really makes me smile.

There are still some holes to fill---I've heard a kickin' version of "Bring a Torch, Jeanette Isabella" in French and English with oboe featured, but have yet to find it, for example. I might also try to track down a nice version of "Silent Night" to add, but I'm still on the fence. Up until this year, for some reason, that song hasn't spoken to me, but a few weeks ago, EJ began requesting it as her lullaby, and I have to admit that I am loving singing it with her in the stillness before bedtime. Hearing it sung to me, though, isn't the same as singing it with my daughter, so it remains off the list.

This year some songs have been swapped out for, in my opinion, better versions. Take, for example, Michael Bublé's version of "The Christmas Song," which I nixed today. I purchased this a few years ago when some friends of mine were attending one of his concerts, and I thought I'd check him out. I don't dislike Michael Bublé, but lets just say, sometimes I think he is a little TOO Michael Bublé, if you know what I mean. I realized this year that what I really wanted was a version of the song from my childhood, by the original crooner with an accent on his last e, Mel Tormé, so I made the switch.

The truth is, a lot of what draws me to each carol on my playlist is its connection to my memories of childhood Christmases. Some put me in my parents' living room, listening to the record player and dancing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, which at night, reflected like a mirror back to me, making it my little dance studio. Others make me think of the years I spent in the local theater company's production of "A Christmas Carol," and of all the fun that I had with my contemporaries caroling for the theater-goers (this was integrated into our version of the play) in Dickens-style costumes. Whatever the case, carols for me equal memories. While it takes an act of faith for me to believe in Christmas, it requires no such leap for me to believe in Christmas carols.

I've never done this before, so if this is the world's most boring, self-indulgent post, please excuse me, but I'm going to publish my list of carols here, in the order that I play them, along with the artists and albums, and a little blurb about why they made the list. If they appeal to you, they are all available on iTunes. With that, here's wishing everyone the happiest of holidays.

1. Deck the Halls---Mannheim Steamroller---Christmas
We played this in symphonic band my sophomore year of high school, and I liked that we were the lucky group that didn't have to play a traditionally-styled Christmas song for our holiday concert. It makes me think of my oboe teacher/band director and his family, with whom I spent so many happy times growing up, babysitting for his girls, helping build their Christmas dollhouse, visiting his wife at a local store where she worked that was always completely decked out for the holiday, etc.

2. It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year---Andy Williams---The Andy Williams Christmas Album
This was on one of my parents' albums, and the minute I found it and played it as an adult, I was transported to about the age of 8. The splashy beginning makes you think that you are in the middle of a 1960s holiday special (and I wasn't even born until 1973).

3. Winter Wonderland---Bing Crosby---Bing Crosby's Christmas Classics
Can you really have a Christmas compilation without Bing? I don't think so. I love the muted horns in this one.

4. It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas---Johnny Mathis---The Christmas Music of Johnny Mathis: A Personal Collection
I know, I know. Johnny Mathis. Probably not the hippest choice, but bear with me. I love this version of the song, in no small part because my mom, throughout my childhood, loved Johnny Mathis enough to have a Johnny Mathis Christmas album, to play that album regularly while baking Christmas cookies, and to sing this song along with the album in a really goofy way, encouraging us to sing along, too.

5. Caroling, Caroling---Nat King Cole---The Christmas Song
Truth be told, I could just buy a Nat King Cole Christmas album and pretty much be set across the board, but if I have to pick just one of his songs, this is it. I love his voice. LOVE IT. Always have. The easiness of it, especially when set over the rich choral arrangement and orchestration in this song---well, it is genius arranging. Nothing compares to Nat.

6. Baby, It's Cold Outside---Dean Martin---Christmas with Dino
Oh, Dean. I would stay at your house as long as you'd like. Whether Dean or Dino, this guy is the charming leader of the pack when it comes to versions of this Christmas tease. Just try not to sing along. (His duet partner is no slouch either, by the way).

7. Feliz Navidad---José Feliciano---Feliz Navidad
This is a smile on the face, dance around the room carol for me, and one that makes me think of my dad. So many songs make me think of my dad, actually, but when it comes to Christmas carols, whenever I hear this I can picture in a flash this scene: my mom, dad, brothers and I are in the car, defroster cranking, windows icy and all of us trying to warm up, as we drive from house to house for our family's round robin progressive Christmas Eve dinner; while we kids peer out the windows trying to spot Santa, this song comes on the radio, and my dad starts tapping his hands on the steering wheel and dancing in his seat. He's the best car dancer in the world, my dad, even in bad weather, he can tap that steering wheel like a master and still keep everyone safe and sound.

8. Carol of the Bells---Mormon Tabernacle---Joy to the World
I sang this in a choir for the first time in high school, and I remember being so excited to get to do it, because I'd always loved it. Once we started practicing it, of course, I realized that the soprano part is actual quite a pain in the neck. I'll leave it to the Mormon Tabernacle choir, who sings the heck out of this driving, slightly haunting, but still very joyful song (and don't get me started on the brass).

9. Breathe of Heaven (Mary's Song)---Amy Grant---Home for Christmas
I first heard this in my 20s when the amazing pianist for the 5:30 choir at Holy Trinity in Georgetown played me a tape of it (that's right, a cassette tape, circa 1998) and asked if I'd like to sing it before mass with him the next week. My performance was one of my worst ever, I must say---the song was way too low for my voice, and I just didn't pull it off---but the song really stuck with me. At the very same time, our little prayer group was meeting each week of Advent, talking about what it might have been like for Mary, so young, to bear her responsibility. I brought the tape into prayer group one night and we played it before we started our session, and it was one of the loveliest moments I remember with that very special group of people.

10. The Christmas Song---Mel Tormé---20th Center Masters-The Millenium Collection: The Best of Mel Tormé
Judge Harry from "Night Court" had it right: Mel Tormé is fabulous. Listen to the way he says "tonight" and "Santa." Dreamy and smooth, Mel. And if you are reading this and remember watching Mel on "Night Court," all the better.

11. The Little Drummer Boy---Harry Simeone Chorale---The Little Drummer Boy
The classic recording from 1959 made it to CD in the 1990s, and here is where you can find it. I remember absolutely adoring this song when I was a little kid. Bump buh buh bummmm....

12. Once in Royal David City---The Galway Christmas Singers---The 50 Greatest Christmas Carols
Truth be told, this version isn't the greatest---it is slightly precious and is missing the last, triumphant verse (my favorite)---but it was the best I could find. Yes, there are a lot of recordings of it by famous choruses out there, but their versions, in my opinion, are too slow. The song isn't a dirge, for goodness sake. I first sang this song as a kid along with with the rest of the chorus of "A Christmas Carol," from the balcony, during one of the dark scene changes of the play. I find the melody and accompanying lyrics very soothing.

13. All I Want for Christmas Is You---Mariah Carey---Merry Christmas
I've loved this song since seeing the little girl belt it out like a pro in "Love, Actually." Loved the movie, loved the song. Can't help but like the jingle bells on the microbeat to keep you dancing around the room, which is exactly what EJ does every time she hears this song.

14. Frosty the Snowman---Jimmy Durante---20th Century Masters-The Millennium Collection: Season's Greetings (Box Set)
This is a kid favorite, and since I have a kid, it is on the mix. Do you remember singing this in school holiday concerts? I can take myself right back to the Jeffery Elementary School gym, parents and kids everywhere, each grade shuffling up to the stage set up under the basketball hoop in succession, and undoubtedly, there would be a Frosty moment. I like Jimmy Durante's version best, for sheer nostalgia.

15. Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer---Gene Autry---Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer and Other Christmas Classics
This is the holiday song Gene Autry was born to sing. I find it nearly impossible not to join along with "The Singing Cowboy," which only makes sense---the man is a cowboy, and if you are sitting around a campfire with a cowboy and he wants you to sing, you sing.

16. Silver Bells---Bing Crosby & Carole Richards---20th Century Masters-The Christmas Collection: The Best of Bing Crosby
A great duet version of a lovely song. Bing is, well, the Bingiest. Carole's voice has a curious quality about it that I find intriguing. The call-and-response sections, as well as the close, where they sing the refrain and verse simultaneously, are what make this version fun.

17.The Carol of the Birds---Joan Baez---Noel
When I was in seventh grade, and was first cast in "A Christmas Carol," I was given this song to sing as a solo, a capella. I remember this as the first moment that I began to feel nervous about what others might think of my performance, even though I had already been in two musicals as a kid, along with countless recitals, without experiencing a twinge of stage fright. Singing this, though, I was so exposed---all alone on stage, one spotlight on me, the notes higher than anything I'd ever sung, no accompaniment---and when compounded with my self-conscious age, I remember being terrified. Making it worse, I realized that in rehearsals, when I would sing, people would stop and sit down and watch me, and some would shut their eyes, as if they were sleeping or ignoring me. I finally asked the director about it, because I was so worried I was doing a terrible job---people weren't clapping, they just seemed in a trance, so it must be awful. She told me that they weren't in a trance---they were entranced, because it was so beautiful, and they couldn't believe that such a bright, big, beautiful sound could come out of such a little person. She told me I had a unique voice that I should treasure, because it could help to take people to their own sacred space, which is a compliment higher than any amount of applause. I burst into tears of relief. And with that, this sweet, ethereal Spanish carol about the birds of the manger humbly preparing for the birth of Jesus changed my life forever.

18. In dulci jubilo---The Cambridge Singers, City Of London Sinfonia & John Rutter---Various: Christmas Night
The Rutter arrangement of this Christmas classic is magical. Sure, you can't sing along as easily as if it were in English (as "Good Christian Men, Rejoice"), but this one is so majestic, listening is all that is required.

19. The Holly Bears a Berry---Lisa Neustadt & the Angel Band & Jean Redpath---Shout for Joy: An Unusual Collection of Traditional Carols
With no offense given to the perfectly lovely "The Holly and the Ivy," I'll take "The Holly Bears a Berry" (also called "The Sans Day Carol") first every day. This song was also a part of "A Christmas Carol," sung by four girls walking around the audience, each with a verse as a solo, then in harmony for the verses. I got to sing in it one year (I believe my verse was "black as coal"), and it was the highlight of the whole show in my eyes. This version is the closest I have found to the unaccompanied version we sang as middle schoolers, and it makes me warm and fuzzy each time I hear it. Give it a try, and you might knock the ivy, too.

20. Jingle Bell Rock---Bobby Helms & The Anita Kerr Singers---20th Century Masters-The Millennium Collection: Season's Greetings (Box Set)
Classic, sock-hop happy, required listening for Christmas. Enough said.

21. Mary's Little Boy Child---John Denver---Christmas Like a Lullaby
In my experience, you are either a John Denver lover, or a John Denver hater. There is little in between. I am a lover. I make no apologies. He was one of the last, truly Western singer-songwriters, and he is never better than when he is singing in the Western story-telling tradition. This song was one that my mom (also a Denver lover, and a native of Denver...coincidence?) played a lot as a kid, and I like it just as much now. For those who don't like John, feel free to skip it, but may I remind you before you pass him over that he was beloved by God (as played by George Burns) and the Muppets (especially Kermit), and those are some pretty solid fans.

22. The Cherry Tree Carol---Peter, Paul, and Mary---A Holiday Celebration with the New York Choral Society
My mom's favorite group is Peter, Paul and Mary. Hands down, no contest. As such, as her child, I know the entire PP&M canon. I've attended live concerts, both with Mom (and without her). I was raised on this stuff. The Cherry Tree Carol is a really sweet song, in the truest sense, and a break from the strictly traditional stuff. In my own experience, singing "The Cherry Tree Carol" as cantor of the 8:30 a.m. Christmas mass my senior of high school resulted in me receiving the most beautiful note of praise from a parishioner that I have ever gotten from anyone (save maybe from the comment previously mentioned about "The Carol of the Birds,"), a note that is still in my mom's possession. I chose to sing this song for the communion reflection that day especially for my mom, and I think that all of that love must have shown through.

23. Hard Candy Christmas---Dolly Parton---Once upon a Christmas
Oh, Dolly. How many ways do I love you? Too many to write here, clearly. This is one of my favorite Dolly songs, and another nice non-traditional Christmas song for the mix. If you are having hard times, this song is certainly a great Christmas anthem. Let's not dwell on the fact that I first saw this performed by her in the movie version of the musical, "Best Little Whorehouse in Texas." Sure, I was likely way too young to see that movie, but I was so naive, I really had no idea what was going on.

24. Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree---Brenda Lee---20th Century Masters-The Christmas Collection: The Best of Brenda Lee
Remember everything I said about #7, Feliz Navidad? My dad, the steering wheel percussionist and front-seat dancer? Repeat that here for Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree. I've heard a lot of versions of this, and I've liked many, but for me, Brenda Lee's is the best.

25. Christmas Is Coming (Vocal)---Vince Guaraldi Trio---A Charlie Brown Christmas (Remastered)
One of the best things about being a parent is that you get reintroduced to things that you loved when you were a kid all over again. Case in point: The Charlie Brown Christmas Special. When you hear this song, can you see all those Peanuts dancing on stage, waiting for the sad little Christmas tree to arrive? Can you remember Lucy proclaiming that she really wants real estate for Christmas? This song brings it all home to me, and I can say without hesitation that our daughter loves it as much as Mike and I do.

26. Christmastime Is Here (Vocal)---Vince Guaraldi Trio---A Charlie Brown Christmas (Remastered)
More Charlie Brown here, I just couldn't help myself. This song smoothly downshifts from the upbeat dance number that proceeds it, and soothes even the most hectic holiday. Glide along with it and think ice skating, just like the Peanuts do, when you hear this one.

27. Holy, Holy, Holy---Sufjan Stevens---Songs for Christmas
How many times have I sung this song at church, whether as a cantor, or part of a choir, or in the pews? Thousands, maybe? I found this version of it this year completely by accident while searching for another song, and was charmed instantly. The beautiful, understated duet is powerful because it is both uplifting and reflective. This, to me, is a slice of what the folk mass sounds like at its best.

28. Happy XMas (War Is Over)---John Lennon---Lennon Legend
The subtitle of the album on which I found this recording says, "The very best of John Lennon," and I have to agree. Lennon + kids chorus + thoughts of peace + happy Christmas = magic. On a side note, I'm also a fan of McCartney's upbeat, "Wonderful Christmastime," but you can't purchase it without getting a whole album of other stuff, too, so only one Beatle wins entry on to my mix. Maybe next year...

29. Sleigh Ride---Leroy Anderson---Traditional Christmas Classics
Sleigh Ride was the last song played at my high school Christmas concert each year with a giant combined band, and some psychological switch gets flipped in my brain each time I hear it that says, "Okay, job well done, now where are we going for sundaes?" It's only fitting that I start with a high school band song and end with one, too. Shout out to the percussion on this one---they get to use all the bells and whistles, literally. So, with a muted trumpet horse to neigh farewell, MERRY CHRISTMAS!

Heartburn

2010-11-03T13:45:00.000-07:00

When I was pregnant with EJ, for the last trimester and some change, I had terrible heartburn, heartburn so bad that it would wake me from my sleep and warranted keeping a discount warehouse-sized bottle of Tums on my bedside table. I can't say that the Tums would get rid of the heartburn completely, but if I was lucky, it would turn down the heat of the burning enough so that I could eventually fall back asleep, propped up on a stack of pillows to get the acid moving back in the right direction.

As I've written about before, EJ's birth was pretty dramatic and traumatic, and in the end involved all of the following:

1) A full day of unremitting back labor
2) A completely failed epidural
3) Roughly 4 hours of pushing
4) A c-section
5) A poorly-placed IV that made my whole left hand swell up like a balloon
6) Post-op separation from EJ from roughly 7:30 p.m. until the wee hours of the morning, when I was finally brought to my maternity room

So, with this in mind, I can not overstate in what bad shape I was in as I moved in and out of a morphine stupor that first night in the hospital, trying to figure out where I was, where my baby was, where my husband was, why I felt like I'd been in a street fight, etc. I was so sore, I could barely move, and when I startled awake and uncomfortable, I found myself in real trouble, as trying to shift around meant taking my swollen, painful hand with the IV and using it to support the weight of my tired, cut-in-half then sewed back together body. The whole thing (which was repeated over and over) was worse than just lying still in an awkward position, so I remained restless at a time that I probably needed sleep more than ever.

All that said, even in the worst of it, I remember having this incredible, crystal-clear revelation in that hospital bed in the dark: THE HEARTBURN WAS GONE. That fact alone seemed so miraculous that I had a few moments of relaxation whenever I remembered it, and tried across the next few days to remind myself of it whenever I was feeling particularly crummy.

So, fast forward to last night's midterm elections. From my point of view, there was not a lot of good news. As I was thinking about it this morning, though, I had a realization that is as close to taking a dose of political Tums as I can get in the moment: THE POLITICAL ATTACK ADS ARE GONE.

It's not everything, but it is something, and I'm taking it and rejoicing in it with all my fellow voters, left, right, and middle. We can all celebrate the end of political advertisement overload, robocalls, and a general atmosphere thick with blame for blame's sake.

What I Know For Something

2010-10-28T21:43:00.000-07:00

Oh, Oprah. You get me every time, with your lists of favorite things, your amazing audience gifts, and your knack for always sounding both curious and "ready to learn" while simultaneously allowing your voice to resonate like Mother Earth giving audience to her creation. You are so, well, Oprahtastic.

This morning, when I got home from teaching music, I fired up the television (strictly forbidden during the day by self-imposed rules, lest I fail to accomplish anything) to watch Oprah's reunion of the cast of the movie, "The Sound of Music." I just couldn't help myself. Julie Andrews. Christopher Plummer. ALL THE KIDS. Heaven, heaven, heaven.

When I was nine, I got my first big taste of stage-rush---that slightly terrifying, mostly euphoric feeling of performing in front of an audience---as Marta in the local production of "The Sound of Music." While a lot of my childhood is now hazy, so many moments of that production are etched in my brain. The rehearsal party that we had with Gail, the woman playing Maria, and her sister, Linda, the rehearsal pianist. Going to Milwaukee to a professional theatre costume shop to try on and pick up our naval uniforms, curtain dresses, and lederhosen. Being jealous that "Re" only came up once during the little "Do-Re-Mi" song, while my friend, Liz, who played Brigitta got to sing "Mi" three times (i.e., Do-Mi-Mi, Mi-So-So, RE-Fa-Fa, La-Ti-Ti...) Taking breaks with the other kids and getting to buy soda from a vending machine---real soda, in a can, not even on a holiday or special occasion! Practicing, and practicing, and agonizing over, then practicing some more the complicated festival version of "Do-Re-Mi" on the little stage in the rehearsal hall (i.e., tea with jam, jam and bread). Watching Jim, the man who both played Franz and worked stage crew, create the sound of thunder backstage by shaking a piece of metal. Running onstage after that thunder and trying to not to crash into Jim and the "thunder maker" before jumping under the covers (it happened once in rehearsals). Sitting in the dressing room while my patient mom braided my hair, then sitting some more while she tried to "fix" the braid on the left or the right that her picky, dramatic daughter didn't think matched the other (I'm getting ample payback for this now, of course, with EJ). Getting to wear make-up. Getting to sing in front of people. Getting to do quick costume changes in a frenzy and jump back on stage. Getting to stay up late and go to cast parties at the Elks' Club. Getting carnations with sweet notes of encouragement. Getting to be a part of the whole thing.

For years, Oprah has used an interview question that was originally Gene Siskel's, asking guests, "What do you know for sure?" I don't know that I know much for sure, except, maybe, that I don't think I can handle another political call before the upcoming midterm election, and much to my chagrin, drinking red wine now gives me terrible heartburn. I do know something, though. This something lives deep down in the core of myself, and I don't risk saying it out loud, because the stark truth of it makes me wonder what I would do if this something is "for sure," as I'm guessing Oprah would suggest. At the risk of sounding absolutely ludicrous or self-indulgently maudlin, here is what I know:

I believe that I have spent the better part of my life chasing after the remarkable feeling that was being Marta in "The Sound of Music."

Watching today's Oprah show, I was reminded of the magic that is "The Sound of Music" story and score, especially the score. Wow, the songs, they just pull you to a different place, and when you can hear them sung by the genius who is Julie Andrews, what could be better? That said, I was equally moved today by hearing Julie speak of losing her incredible voice, and how, while she misses singing, she has found new joy in writing children's books. The best of the best in her field is no one-trick pony, and has shown up and kept finding new things to express her creativity.

I've been lucky enough to be in a lot of musicals, plays, productions, etc., since "The Sound of Music," but nothing really ever topped it. As I became an adult and turned to other pursuits for fulfillment, no work or hobby experience---even the very best---has matched it, either. Does this mean that I peaked at nine? That would certainly be depressing, but I'm pretty confidant that is not the case. I appreciate that memory has allowed me to let the bad stuff go that may have surrounded staging that musical, and to remember only what a nine-year old would choose to remember moving forward. I recognize my Marta experience for what is was: extraordinary, like nothing else, uniquely special. Truly, a "favorite thing," to quote the Von Trapps.

All that said, it is interesting to look back on something so singular in my life and wonder how---a mere 28 years later (gasp!)---I can examine those childhood moments and link them to what still energizes me now. Examining my experience in this way seems especially key at this point in time, as I am shifting to a place where I have more critical resources (and more need) to figure out what I want to do with myself professionally.

What did I really learn in my short, local turn as Marta? I know that I love to work in a community. I know that I need to be creative. I know that I love to be performing, or at the least, that I don't mind being the one to stand up in front of the room and give a presentation. I know that when I'm working on something challenging where my talent intersects with the talents of others in a meaningful way, time feels like it stands still and work seems to become effortless. I know that, even if I only contribute one little note while others put in three, if my note is unique, and if it is needed for the whole and appreciated by my peers, I will bring it to the table with gusto and feel incredibly rewarded.

Absolutely all of this is applicable to being on stage, but happily, it is also applicable to almost any kind of job I might pursue. It is funny to think that, as I walk out of a job interview, I might ask myself, "Sure, the pay is great and the job seems like a fit, but do I think that, at least for some part of everyday, this job will make me feel like Marta?"

I also know that, no matter my day job, I need to find more venues to do actual performing, as when I am on stage singing I get the kind of endorphin high I imagine an athlete gets when they have completed a big race. My pipes are old and not as lovely as they were when I was 18, but I can still knock it out and make people smile, and that's a privilege I shouldn't take for granted.

Obviously, today's feel-good Oprah show left me with quite a lot to think about, and I just realized that I do know one more thing FOR SURE, as sure as anyone can. As I close in on my 37th birthday in less than two weeks, I know that, no matter what, I am still not too old to fantasize about growing up to be Julie Andrews.

Author in the House

2010-10-22T07:35:00.001-07:00

So, yes, EJ started kindergarten. It was great. It was hard. It was so many things. I could create a list a mile long with entries like this:

1) EJ loves school. (HURRAY!)
2) EJ is afraid of the loud noises in the bathrooms at school, so she won't use them all day. (BOO!)
3) EJ's teacher is amazing. (HURRAY!)
4) EJ has lots of homework every week. (BOO!)
5) EJ voluntarily (and enthusiastically) does 90% of the week's homework on Monday after school. (HURRAY!)
6) EJ still won't use the bathrooms, despite all kinds of support from her teacher, us, etc. (BOO!)

Still, even with this back-and-forth, there is a lot more good than bad, and I think that EJ is really loving kindergarten. We lucked out, especially given how easy it is in Chicago NOT to have good school options, to have her in this classroom with this teacher. We are extremely grateful.

Of course, if I was a good blogger, the kind that posts pithy and informative tidbits in a timely manner, and does not leave her site hanging on the precipice of a great life change with no resolution, you'd already know all this information. I am not that blogger. Her name is Heather, her updates are great, she takes awesome pictures (especially of her dogs doing parlor tricks), she wrote a poignant book, she's now on HGTV, you may have heard of her. Seriously, go check her out. She's fabulous.

As it turns out, I am not just being bested by the blogosphere these days. Plain and simple, I am no longer the most prolific writer in the house. The Chicago Public Schools hosted a writer's workshop as a part of the curriculum this fall, so EJ spent a good amount of time at school creating her own book, as well as studying what makes a book. Fiction vs. non-fiction, plot and setting, main character vs. secondary character---these were all concepts that EJ's kindergarten class worked through. Week two, as they were starting to learn about reference books, I peeked through the window of her classroom during pick-up to find "FACT vs. OPINION" written on the blackboard. When I asked EJ on the ride home if she knew the difference between the two, she sighed heavily and told me she did not. "Really?" I asked. Another big sigh, then this, "Mom, fact is something that is true for everyone, but opinion is something that may be true for me or for you, but not for everyone. That's it, okay?" This was followed by another exasperated sigh, as if to say, "Geez, do you really not know this stuff?"

Yesterday was EJ's final day of the writer's workshop, which means that they had an author's party during her class. She was so excited to share her book and see all of her classmates' work. What her teacher and classmates do not know, though, is that she has written volumes of books since school started. Every day, I am asked to staple together at least 3 booklets. Most of them are cut into shaped pages (i.e., hearts, circles, etc.), although some are simple folded 8x11 pages, which EJ calls, "real booklet books, like the booklets you get places with rectangle pages." Some of these books end up with elaborate drawings, and as she flips through the book each time, she makes up elaborate stories to go with these pictures---repeated readings yield totally new stories, all with the stable set of characters and settings she has created with her markers. Other books are very informational, almost like scientific observation journals, with the names and pictures of things she has seen for her "collections." Then, there are the songbooks. These are my favorites.

After four years of Music Together, EJ is taking a music class for older kids this year, and it seems as if all of the reading and writing she is learning in school is merging with the solfege and song-building she is discovering in class in the form of songbook creation. She takes the tunes to songs she knows, layers on her own words, then writes these down into her books, singing them for us and her music class. Her best work is an ode to her favorite babysitter (ours, too), Kate. The song is called, "How I Love Kate," and is sung to the tune of "May There Always Be Sunshine." Seriously, her song makes me chuckle and get misty every time I hear it, with sweet notes like "Kate loves to play with me, I know she loves me, oh how I love Kate, she is so great." She's also recently written one called, "I Love New York," a song that has less to do with New York than the fact that her friend Phoebe lives there, and she loves Phoebe. In the song (set to "Hey, Lolly, Lolly"), she describes how she loves New York the state, but there is a city called New York in New York state, and isn't that silly? She then clarifies that Phoebe does not live in the city and state, just the state, and sings "I Love New York" roughly 25 times to close it out.

While I can't say that I love the 25 thousand pieces of scrap paper that I now find everywhere from her book cut-outs---on the floor, on the tables, in the halls, etc.---or being woken at 6:07 in the morning with a stapler in my face and the request to assemble another book, the look of joy and pride and excitement on her face as she works on these books is unmatched. When she told me last week that she is the author of songs, and I replied by saying that, actually, when you write the words for music that someone else has created, you are called a lyricist, her eyes widened like saucers, and she just beamed. "YES, that is what I am now. A LYRICIST. That just sounds GREAT. I'm an author of books and a lyricist of songs." That is worth a million scraps of paper for pick-up.

School is out today, and as I type, she is alternating between two works: a Halloween songbook she'd like to finish in time for next week's music class (best line: "The bats are asleep during the day, because they are nocturnal, but they wake up for Halloween"---she hasn't quite figured out how to write that all out yet), and a new book that she started today, which she is calling her face book. Hilarious. To quote her, "It's not like your Facebook, mom, because it is a real book, not just a computer thing, and it is just going to have faces in it---faces, and the title 'Face Book,' and then a line that says, AUTHOR and MY NAME in all capital letters."

By all accounts, I'm happy to be eclipsed by the new writer in the family. Maybe she can keep this blog updated soon, too.

Deliciousness

2010-09-06T12:52:00.000-07:00

T minus one day and counting until the big launch to kindergarten, and while the pangs of "oh my goodness, this little person is such a grown-up kid and is going to kindergarten already and wowser, this is going so fast I can't hang on tightly enough to avoid feeling a little motion sick as moment after moment of my daughter's childhood whips past my eyes," I'm also feeling a lot of excitement about the opportunity that is awaiting the two of us with the start of school.

For her, I see greater chances to grow, to learn, to socialize, to develop her already strong curiosity, to mature, to live her destiny/fight her battles/find her strengths---in short, to become more deeply and fully the person she is.

For me, the schedule now opens up, and the time I have to dedicate to things other than my daughter's immediate needs spills out in front of me with a soft, uncertain emptiness that I would call, for lack of a better term, delicious. I'm not fretting about that emptiness---I have scads of work, projects, ideas, classes, etc. that can fill it, and will, before I blink an eye. I'm fully aware that, within a few weeks, I will be as busy and as scheduled as ever, so I'm taking a little time this week just to savor all the opportunity in front of me, to reflect and to plan, to set out some new goals (for myself, for our house, for my professional development, and even [gasp!] for my own enjoyment).

In this strange moment of anticipation, I literally feel both a lump in my throat (with tears welling up frequently) and a bright, open, airy feeling in my chest (with a lightness and gratitude for all that is coming our way). It is a strange mix, but it feels right, not melancholy in the slightest. I'd guess the recipe for this feeling starts with a tried-and-true, sturdy base of parental unconditional love (this would be the butter creamed with sugar, I imagine), mixes in a heaping tablespoon of responsibility and (likely unnecessary) first-time-kindergarten-mom worry, but then folds in a light-as-meringue, healthy portion of newfound personal freedom (for both me and my daughter), which takes the heavy mixture and transforms into something more ethereal and sweet. I guess we'll see what happens this fall once this concoction starts baking, but today, before it goes into the oven, I have a good, warm feeling about our dish.

Parallel to Shore

2010-09-03T08:52:00.000-07:00

There is a rip current warning for Lake Michigan today, and as I read it, it occurred to me that I should follow this advice given by the National Weather Service for saving oneself when caught up in a current as I approach the launch of my kiddo to kindergarten:

"IF YOU DO ENTER THE WATER AND BECOME CAUGHT IN A RIP CURRENT...DO NOT PANIC. REMAIN CALM AND BEGIN TO SWIM PARALLEL TO SHORE. ONCE YOU ARE AWAY FROM THE FORCE OF THE RIP CURRENT...BEGIN TO SWIM BACK TO THE BEACH. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO SWIM DIRECTLY AGAINST A RIP CURRENT. EVEN A STRONG SWIMMER CAN BECOME EXHAUSTED QUICKLY."

We're in the current, but I won't be swept away---I just won't exhaust myself fighting it, either. Parallel to shore, baby, parallel to shore.

Prelaunch Countdown

2010-09-02T13:27:00.000-07:00

Today, as I type, my hands are stinging a bit from detergent, and I can hear the hum of the washing machine in the room next to me. I just put all the navy parts (i.e., jumpers, pants, shorts, skirts, gym clothes) of EJ's school uniform into their first wash cycle, and I'm going over a checklist once again of everything I need to have ready for the kiddo next Tuesday when she begins kindergarten.

There are the forms: doctor/immunization, eye appointment, dental exam. The first two were easy enough to get done once I could get appointments on the books, while yesterday's dental exam ended with a sobbing child, an empathetic hygienist, and a gruff pediatric dentist schooling me on how bossy my kid is, telling me that six months of kindergarten will do her some good so she learns to do what she is told. Sigh. Yeah, she has a five-year old bossy streak, that is true, and I'm sure that adjusting to school will be a great thing in helping her to mature. All that said, what a scummy moment that was in the office, child looking on, dentist chastising us both. What eased the blow a little bit was the hygienist's lovely comment to me after the doc left, "I think she was just scared, and I have to say, I just loved her, because even when she was crying and yelling, she used manners: 'Please stop," and 'No thank you, I don't want the x-ray." Hopefully those manners will be a gift to her in kindergarten, too.

Then there are the supplies: Pencils need to be sharpened, and heaps and heaps of requests from the school so that we can restock the kindergarten room are piled in bags in the dining room. I have no clue what things are just for EJ (I'm guessing the notebooks and folders?) and what are for everyone (must be the multiple boxes of crayons, markers, and 20 glue sticks---I'm quite certain my kid can find many uses for 20 glue sticks, but I'm not sure that it would be a wise idea to give her that challenge).

There's the uniform to have ready: I've cleaned out the bottom drawer of her dresser, and all uniform items will go there, so EJ can dress herself every morning. Fingers crossed.

The girl has to eat (within a 20-minute lunch period, of course), so there are lunch supplies to prep and buy, since we will be out of town this weekend. She is going to a no-nut, no-candy, no-sweet treat/junk food school, which I absolutely love. I didn't notice until recently, however, how many nuts (and occasional sweeteners) we have floating around this place. I might set aside a place in our pantry just for EJ's school food, much like the dresser for her uniforms in her room.

Once everything is sorted, there is the labeling: clothes, backpack, shoes, lunch materials, etc.

Finally there are the procedures to learn and dates to remember: the drop-off zone, the pick-up area at the branch where she will receive some after-school extracurriculars (the kindergarteners are housed in their own school about a mile from the main school due to overcrowding), etc. Orientation is tomorrow, and then there's an open-house next week, but of course, I'd like to be there after school on Tuesday to make sure she makes it on the bus to the other school building, and also gets transferred from the after care to the on-site Irish dancing class that she may (or may not) be signed up to take (because I can only get the flimsiest of responses from the Irish dancing school and DON'T THEY KNOW this is MY BABY'S FIRST DAY and I NEED SOME ASSURANCE OF THE SCHEDULE because I AM HER MOM AND AM FREAKING OUT?)

Clearly, more than anything I need to get done, I really just need to breathe...breathe...breathe...

I didn't anticipate being this overwhelmed, not just logistically, but emotionally, by the start of kindergarten. While all of the above items distract me ("We haven't sharpened all 70 pencils yet!!), I realize that the things that I can't control are really making me crazy. Will she be afraid of the hand dryers in the bathroom, not use it when she needs to, and then have an accident (causing her to cry or be teased?) Will she like the after-school program, or will it be too long of a day? Will she get along with her teacher? Her new friends? Her environment in general? Will she be more mannered than bossy, more kind than particular, more loving and enthusiastic than sensitive and dramatic? I love all of her, even the rough edges, and this prelaunch countdown of boxes to check and things to consider is making me more and more aware that I WILL NOT BE THERE TO SHOWER THIS LOVE ON HER ONCE I GET IN MY CAR AND DRIVE AWAY ON TUESDAY, at least for a few hours.

I didn't really fret when she was a baby and we left her with a relative or a sitter. I just didn't. Because of our tough birth and recovery together, some of the natural attachment magic that seems to happen for mommies didn't take hold in me to the same degree, and those deep pangs of "I need to get back to my baby," or "I'm missing all her smiles/hugs/snuggles/cute moments" that so many moms have just didn't overtake me.

As she got older, and her extraversion really began to show, I worried even less: she was the kind of the kid that arrived at babysitting co-ops and preschool with a giant smile on her face, and never even looked back when I would say goodbye, simply launching an "I love you!" over her shoulder and getting about the business of play with her friends.

But now, as the beginning of her real school career has a date and a time and a location so close that they feel on top of us, I find myself hoping and praying that this job that I have done for the past five years---this time spent investing in this lovely, little person---will be sufficient, and my girl will love school the way that her daddy and I always did.

The swishing sound has ended---time to start the whites.

Eleven

2010-07-31T09:24:00.000-07:00

Today is our eleventh wedding anniversary, and according to tradition, this is apparently our steel anniversary. Yes, steel, as in, "give your sweetie the gift of steel, and tell him/her that you are forged together stainlessly for life...or at least another eleven years."

While I wouldn't mind a good piece of All-Clad on any occasion, I have to go against tradition, and call this our Spinal Tap anniversary. Why? Here you go:

That's right. We go to eleven.

Happy anniversary, my darling. I hope that you enjoy your gift, in honor of our special Spinal Tap year. I hope that it always makes you think of me, and, well, maybe this, too:

Oh, and this, if you subscribe to the Duncan theory:

Five Years Old

2010-07-21T18:27:00.000-07:00

The happiness of today hit us like a mack truck at about quarter to seven this morning, when EJ woke us up so that she could officially attack the pile of presents we had left out for her to discover.

I have such found memories of waking up on my birthday to find a stack of presents on our kitchen table---it always felt like Christmas morning just for me---and it is fun to know that EJ is getting old enough to appreciate the anticipation the night before, the sneaking out of the room to see, and the running to her parents' room to get the party started.

It was while EJ was opening her gifts that her 5-year old maturity really hit me. It was the way she looked for the seam in the wrapping paper, as well as the way she examined each option to determine which one she wanted to open next, that really struck me---everything about her is shifting from little one to school-aged one, and as she declared, "Now that I'm five, I'm not a big, little-girl, I'm just a big girl," I couldn't really disagree.

She is my little one, though, and there are a million little things to love about her.

Take for example, this:

EJ, upon opening this make-it-yourself** doll, declared, "I'm going to make it look just like the picture on the box. That is the way that I think it is supposed to be." What is so charming about this is that, a few months ago, she gave this exact doll to her good friend for her sixth birthday, and they assembled it together. Her friend took a more creative approach, making her doll look a lot different from the example, and EJ protested. Her friend stood firm---this is a "do it yourself" kit and her doll and she could make it look however she liked, and EJ listened, thought for a moment, and then agreed. "You are right!" she said at the time. She didn't stop there, though. EJ let her friend know that, when EJ had her birthday, she could get the same kit, and she could make the doll look identical to the box picture.

She has asked for that doll almost every other day since then, always stating (as if I could forget), "...and when I make it, it will look like the picture, because that is how I think it is supposed to be." That kid has a memory like a steel trap and a focused determination like nothing I have ever seen.

She's also just plain funny. Like yesterday, when she told me that she was "so sorry that [I] had holes in [my] ears, but it is nice that [I] can use them for earrings." Or here, as she dances with what is arguably one of her absolute favorite gifts:

Yes, it is a kid-sized broom and dustbin that she has been eyeing lovingly for awhile at our local toy store. Bless that child's heart, upon opening it, she literally squealed, "Now I can sweep and brush with you, Mom!" She's already picking up on how desperately I need housekeeping help!

EJ is a kid who makes a note of everything, and usually knows what to expect because of this. This morning, as I was getting her ready for camp, she told me that she would be wearing a birthday crown when I came to bring a birthday treat to the class. I asked her how she knew this, and she launched into a detailed description of the birthday procedure for every child---what had been done, what they had been able to chose (i.e., "I'm going to pick Cinderella and Aurora colors for my crown, because I can pick that part."), what the whole thing would look like. I didn't want her to be disappointed, though, so I said, "Well, we'll see. It will be a great birthday no matter what."

She was right. This is how I found her at camp today:

For those not living in princess-town like we currently are, the band is Cinderella color (blue) and the number is Aurora (pink).

For all her attention to order, she is still thrilled to be surprised. Take, for example, her reaction to opening the singing birthday card she got tonight from her grandparents:

Because EJ is the only grandchild on both sides of the family, she gets showered with these sorts of fun moments, and while I used to worry about all the attention, I now just sit back and revel at how she manages to bring everyone together, especially to try and do things that they wouldn't normally do just because she is interested. Tonight, for example, she wanted Indian food for her birthday. Actually, she originally wanted sushi, but this wasn't workable logistically, so she thought that eating samosas and curry sauce on rice might be nice, instead. Indian food is Mike's favorite and one of mine, too (it is edged out by Korean food, but only by a slim margin), but for all the grandparents, it is hardly the norm. My food-adventurous dad and mother-in-law will launch into any cuisine with gusto, but I am happy to report that all four of EJ's grandparents and her uncle loved the food tonight, and I don't know how we could have assembled that crew at that place if it wasn't for her.

Just looking at even one picture from our dinner this evening brings up so many little memory moments:

Within the picture above I see:

1) The papadum that EJ munched and prompted others to try (who hadn't already become familiar with their deliciousness) describing how yummy it was in detail, and encouraging them simply by her example (i.e., if a five year old will try it...)
2) The pen she borrowed from her Uncle John to show him that, at restaurants with paper on the table, you are allowed to draw if you'd like
3) The birthday crown she'd saved to show the grandparents that hadn't seen it yet (Nana and Papa came to camp for her treat today)
4) The snuggle she is just about to give to her grandfather as she tells him how much she loves him
5) Just out of frame, the flowers she picked (clover) to give a bouquet to her Grandma

Of all the things, though, that I saw today that made me just smile and feel weepy with joy was her heartfelt gratitude. With all of this attention, one worries about selfishness developing. She certainly has inherited our occasionally outspoken decisiveness (the polite way to say that sometimes we are vocal and stubborn). But more times than I could snap a picture today, I saw her with her hand over her heart saying thank you. "Awh, thank you so much!" "Oh, thank you, I just love it!" "Awh, this is a really nice thing to share with me. Thank you!" It really was like this all day. To the waitress who gave her a free chocolate-covered marshmallow to the people who simply wished her, "Happy Birthday," there were so many sweet gestures of thankfulness---genuine, unprompted by an adult, not simply polite thankfulness---that I found myself overwhelmed by this beautiful person in my life.

Here are just a few:

When do we become afraid to be this demonstrative about our joy? Our appreciation? Our gratitude? I don't know, but I'm taking a lesson from my very wise five-year old big girl---show the love!

Five years old. Here's hoping the next year will be equally:

Smiley, even early in the morning

Silly, especially with friend

Active outdoors (and with a helmet!)

Girly, even if it involves living in princess-town awhile longer

Creative, particularly with percussion from Uncle Joe

Full of wishes come true

Happy Birthday, sweet EJ.

**Strictly speaking, this is not a make-it-yourself doll if you are five, because it involves insanely hard to operate double-sided tape, directions to do things like "make pleats" in tiny pieces of fabric, necklace and bracelet creation dependent upon beading teensy-weensy transparent "jewels" on to fishing wire, and all kinds of craziness that can only be done by an adult. The harsh reality: that adult is likely to be a mom, and if that mom is like me, she won't care nearly as much as her kid if the doll looks like the picture provided in the example. So, mom friends, if you don't want to spend an hour and twenty minutes pre-coffee making a doll look "just like the picture" like I did this morning, I recommend either a) not buying this or b) only buying it for a kid like EJ's friend, who is willing to decorate "out of the box," and better yet, with another kid friend.

Birth Story

2010-07-20T11:17:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is EJ's birthday, and despite my excitement to celebrate with her, and the distraction created by planning a party for her, I always feel a malaise leading up to this day. It isn't something that I think about, it is something that I feel, that bubbles up from my insides seemingly spontaneously and feels like a dense, soupy heaviness in my chest. It isn't new. On July 28th, 2005, I wrote this entry on my blog, a blog that (at the time) was dedicated to my experience as an expectant mother, about the birth of my daughter one week before:

I had anticipated writing a detailed description of Babylu's birth on this site before I moved over, but I have reconsidered. I am still getting over the birth, physically and emotionally. I'm not going to lie---it was really hard. My relaxation and hypnosis worked really well, but unfortunately, we had mitigating factors (baby's size and position) which made it impossible for me to deliver without a c-section. I am grieving right now, and need a little time to get over the experience. Obviously, having our daughter is thrilling. It will just take time for the physical and emotional vestiges of the birth to be integrated into my memory in a healing way. To that end, I am not going to write out the full story. I want to make the choice to handle the experience now, move on, and remember it in a positive way. While I know that I could certainly win or place in the "wait until you hear my birth story" competitions that take place at baby showers all around the country, I am making the choice not to enter that sport. That is not the legacy I want to foster about the most miraculous day to take place in the lives of myself and my husband. Someday, Babylu will know that yes, it was hard, and yes, it was long, and yes, it was painful, but oh, yes yes yes, her arrival was the most wonderful moment I could possibly imagine, and everything else has faded away.

What I know now, and I didn't know then, is that while I could choose not to dwell in the pain, simply focusing on the positive would not be enough to stop the freight train that was about to really hit me. That it would take me until January of 2010 to get an adequate diagnosis of what I was experiencing. That when I finally had that diagnosis, there would be a wave of immediate relief, but then the hard work of healing, not just surviving, would start. That when that hard work began, it would be in a physical body that I barely recognized anymore, much less acknowledged. That when I looked to the future, I couldn't imagine having a daughter as amazing as I do now, and a family I love as much, and along with that love, a grief so palpable at times about the start of our time together as a family of three that it can literally take my breath away.

It was this winter, during the gray doldrums, that I would reach my breaking point. The holidays passed, and once things settled down, I found myself awake until all hours of night, and almost unable to get out of bed in the morning. My husband would wake up, find me asleep like the dead, and get our daughter ready for school, only waking me when it was absolutely necessary for him to get going and me to take over. I would put on clothes, brush my hair and teeth, brush her hair and teeth, bundle up and walk in the cold the one block to her school, hoping to muster enough energy to be awake and alive once we arrived. I don't think that my sunny disposition failed me in these moments, as no one seemed to notice that I was barely there. I'd smile and talk and give my kid kisses, then come home, do the bare minimum necessary to keep us afloat, and go back to bed until I had to pick Ellerie up again. In the afternoon, I found myself fighting off sleep again by two or three o'clock, and feeling horrible that my kid was getting the short end of the stick in the deal, as I drank cups of coffee and tried to rouse myself.

This went on for roughly 2 weeks, at which point I called the counseling center on campus and begged to come in as soon as I could. They understood. I thought it was depression. The psychiatrist thought it might be something else:

Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) from my daughter's 2005 (yes, you read that right, 2005) birth, with a side of seasonal affective disorder triggering the mood swing. Her recommendation: a light therapy light and some PTSD counseling. Within a week of getting the light, I was close to myself again, but it was the counseling with the monitrice/counselor who had attended our birth that cracked me right open. The therapy, which involves tapping points on the body, moving your eyes in circles and from side-to-side, deep breathing, counting, and humming, affirmations, and all sorts of non-traditional things while telling your traumatic story piece-by-piece, was a revelation to me.

For example, soon after the birth, I told some friends about how, in the worst of my experience, I had a moment when I really thought that I could get up and leave the room, and in turn, leave my laboring body. Leave the pain and the anxiety and the anesthesiologist who was shaming me for my epidural failing and the nurse who kept telling me to not push even though I had to bear down and constantly rotating group of the chattering interns/residents who were making bets on when, not if, I would be getting my c-section. Mostly, I wanted to leave that constant pain---the pain that never let up, even between contractions, because of the position of my daughter pressing against my spine. The pain I had experienced for over 18 straight hours, only increasing in intensity, with no time to relax, right up to and past transition. When I thought I could leave, I really believed it---it was a desperate hope my mind concocted to give my body a chance to believe it would be okay. When I told the story, my friends laughed, and there was a comment to the effect of, "yeah, wouldn't we all like to leave, that's hilarious, birth is hard." Now, I'm a funny girl, I wanted to fit in, and so I adopted that line as my hilarious birth story. My, "Birth is so crazy, I thought I could leave the delivery room in the middle to get out of it! HA HA HA!" story.

It wasn't funny, though. It wasn't funny at all. It was, in fact, the moment that I first disassociated with my body, that my mind and body broke away from each other, and the blame and shame that I would carry for my body began. It was the epicenter of the trauma, and I had turned it into a funny tag line.

When this came out during counseling, I started to weep so hard my head began to pound and my shirt became wet. All I could choke out to say was, "This actually happened to me. This is real. I really felt this." Then the relief. The immediate sense that I wasn't a victim, that I was someone who could survive this.

There were other moments like this during the counseling, like when I talked about the extended triage (hours instead of minutes, because the new residents couldn't get 20 straight minutes of baby monitoring in a row), the extended separation from my baby after a brief "nice to meet you, little one" after surgery (six hours, because the people on the maternity floor couldn't send someone down to get me from recovery, with the recovery techs pitying me and bringing me up there themselves in the middle of the night to find my room completely ready and no one taking responsibility for why I wasn't picked up hours before), and of course, the torture that kept giving, breastfeeding (the milk that didn't come in for over 9 days, the baby who didn't latch, the lactation consultant at the hospital who told me it was "like the baby is rejecting you," the feelings of guilt and shame because of how strongly I believe in breastfeeding every time I had to pull out a bottle of formula in front of other breastfeeding mothers...this one goes on and on.)

People have asked me why breastfeeding was such a really painful thing for me, why I couldn't just put it into perspective. The counseling helped me to see that, by the time that struggle hit me, I was so out-of-myself and so hurt and scared and guilt-ridden, everything I couldn't do well as a mom became just one more stake to the heart, and every problem with nursing became one more way I couldn't trust my broken, messed-up body. How could that not be so horrible?

I've talked to friends about PTSD, and what I've experienced, and have gotten all kinds of reactions. Some say, "Yes, this makes perfect sense, thank goodness you can get some help." Others say, "I don't believe you can have PTSD from childbirth." No matter what, I point to this insightful article that I found right in the thick of my counseling, and to the quote within it from a doctor right here at University of Chicago that will likely stick with me for the rest of my life:

"Fifty years ago, women were anesthetized for childbirth," says Dr. Benjamin Van Voohrees, a pediatrician, internist, and medical researcher at the University of Chicago. But now we have a whole new awareness of what is going on in the delivery room. And while advanced medicine has made the experience safer than ever, it has also shifted expectations. "Now, if there's a misadventure in the delivery room, it's traumatic. Our culture is not accustomed to those outcomes anymore, whether it's the mother's life at risk or the baby's. These events are very rare. When you have an unanticipated event, and against the social expectations, you are going to intensify the risk of PTSD."

"Ninety-eight percent of births are uncomplicated," he continues. "When you're in the other 2 percent, you have very few people to turn to and share the experience. When you have a baby, you're opting into an experience that is normative. When you find it's totally different from what you were told it would be, it's traumatic."

Yes, it is. It's very traumatic, and very hard to explain to anyone who hasn't experienced it. Counseling allowed me to open up about it in a whole new way, and to begin to reconnect my body and mind again in a healing way. Case in point, after my second session, as I was getting into my car to leave, I said, out loud, from mind to body, "Thank you for taking care of me when I couldn't. Thank you for keeping me alive and able to care for my husband and daughter, even when I wasn't taking care of you. I did the best that I could, and now I can do even better." Then I smiled, and started to cry, and started to laugh all at once. I literally made a spontaneous declaration of gratitude to my body, a body that I have cursed while expanding it beyond its limits since my kid's birth.

When I crawled into bed last night, I started to cry a bit. The heaviness had begun to descend as the busy day had gotten quieter, and I said to my sweet husband, the one who has stuck through all of this with me, "Birthday weeks are hard for me. It's hard to remember." Tomorrow, there will presents placed on the table for EJ to find when she wakes up, then popsicles at camp, an afternoon with my folks, and a dinner with all four grandparents, an uncle, and our little family. There will be fun and cake and fanfare, and probably some sugar-induced naughtiness. It will be enough to break the hold of the heaviness. For now, though, I'm taking the time to feel all of this, and to recognize it for what it is, without shame or worry or apology. I'm getting better, and although it is slow, it is steady, and I know that a little sadness every once in awhile is nothing to fight.

All of the blog entries I created when expecting are housed at a different blog address, and while I thought it might be silly at the time to migrate to a new URL when I became a mom, I'm glad that I did. Reading them now is not something I relish, since they are all "before" experiences. "Before the birth." "Before the shift." "Before the trauma." They leave me feeling wistful for the version of me that wrote them, a person who didn't know that she could be part of the 2%. Maybe with a few more birthdays behind me, I will weave her back into the story, too.

Introducing...the Princess Mullet!

2010-07-19T14:33:00.001-07:00

Ta da!

It's Cinderella in front, Ariel in back, and everything you need for a hot summer's day if you...

...are a downtrodden scullery maid for your dad's new family
...are a mermaid with an operatic voice
...are a mermaid formerly with an operatic voice, but now cursed to be a mute
...are a friend to tailoring mice and the dogs and horses who love them
...are a friend to fish and crustaceans who like to sing reggae
...are willing to ride in a gourd to a big dance
...are willing to make a desperate deal to drop your fins for legs
...are awaiting a prince to sweep you off your feet, or if you just happen to find one during a magical misadventure
...are a four-year old girl with long, curly hair, a head full of imagination, and a mom with limited hair-styling skills and bobby pins.

Nursery School Ending (In Pictures)

2010-06-28T17:11:00.000-07:00

Last year, I wrote about the transition that we were facing at the close of the school year, and the inherent melancholy that comes with an ending. This year was a repeat of last, except with higher stakes---EJ is heading to kindergarten next year, and it was time for her to leave the safe, wonderful (not to mention, oh-so-close to our home) nest that was her nursery school. Thankfully, she is attending camp there this summer, and it is helping to ease the big transition for her....and for me, too.

So, in lieu of flowery language about feelings and misty-eyed notes about how these years with her as a little one seem to be flying by, here is a pictorial of her recent accomplishment: nursery school completion.

One of EJ's drawings, found by her heart-tugged parents a few days before the end, created and taped to her wall entirely on her own.

Early that last week, Nana was a mystery reader at school...

...and Papa was, too! It was a huge surprise.

The whole class after the double-header of Mo Willems' "Elephant and Piggie" books.

EJ with her beloved teacher, Tiauna.

"Graduation" day for preschool, complete with child-selected headpiece from the dress-up bin.

She kept turning around to see her fan club, and was generally squirrelly with excitement.

Posing with her good friend and her picture prompt for her solo verse in the big performance---she sang about the daddies on the bus.

This picture cracks me up. She's crossing her legs and leaning back like she's at least thirty years old.

Best friends.

EJ's favorite sitter in the whole-wide world, the much-loved Kate, came especially for the big day, along with her mom, despite having her own graduation festivities to attend.

The two graduates pose with the 2010 balloons---EJ from preschool, Kate from University of Chicago!

EJ and the adorable, sweet boy she repeatedly tells us is her future husband.

One last playtime on the jungle-gym bridge.

Thanks, KAM, for the great two years!

Nana and Papa whisking her off for a sleep-over at their house later that day---EJ was in heaven!

It's not over until it's really over...first day of camp, ready to go!

Jupe-Culotte

2010-06-24T07:20:00.000-07:00

Did you study French in the 80s? Did you have a textbook that was from AT LEAST the 1970s, probably the '60s, that featured an assortment of francophone teenagers around the world from whom you were supposed to learn important phrases? Do you remember that Denise was from Montreal, for example, that she wore a goofy hat because she liked to "fait du ski," and that she liked to eat a "sandwich au jambon," while the gal from Martinique (Marie-"something French") preferred a camembert sandwich or some other such snack?

Do you remember that, in that book, among the basic clothing vocabulary included for memorization in an early chapter (along with the most out-of fashion, crazy looking photo examples) were the "jupe-culotte" (culottes) and the "robe chasuble" (jumper)?

I DO, and that fact was confirmed again this morning when I put on my new capri pants and looked in the mirror. All I could think as I examined my outfit was, "I think this is a actually a jupe-culotte. Oh my goodness, the jupe-culotte book, circa 1986 eighth-grade French."

I ended up majoring in French, and was lucky enough to live in France for a year of college, where I got to attend the Institut d'Etudes Politiques d'Aix-en-Provence (my other major was political science) with really amazing French (and other European) students. There, I studied economics, political art and cinema, French international relations, and constitutional law, and even had to memorize the UN charter in French, then take oral exams (gulp!) about all of these topics, among others. I travelled, met people, read French books and saw French films, and learned how to call a plumber to fix a "chauffe-eau" (gaslit sink water heater), then call them again with saltier language to actually finish the work. While I always loved French, I became the complete francophile I am today in Provence when I was 20 years old. I still love the way French feels when I have an occasion to speak it. And yet...

...now, 16+ years later, I find myself struggling to find even the most basic words in French. I can still carry on conversations, seemingly fluent, but then there are these weird vacuums in my memory---places where common words that I've used hundreds of times have disappeared. I usually remember them later, but it is the strangest feeling to know that, halfway through a conversation, I might forget the word spoon. Yes, spoon. "Cuiller". That one is just gone, and I have to look it up repeatedly. I grope around in my brain, finding "couteau" (knife) in its place, and while I should get points for at least finding a utensil that starts with the same letter, I don't want to ask for a knife to stir the cream in my coffee.

What is up with that? Isn't the brain the most deliciously nutty thing ever?

While I type, my husband is off studying brains. Since he began pursuing a PhD in neuroscience in 2004, we have had some of the most interesting discussions about the brainy things he is finding out, as well as everything that is NOT KNOWN about how our brains work. Every "we do this because our brains work this way" pop-psychology article that we encounter or that I was assigned in my graduate program (sorry, colleagues, but those fMRI references weren't always so useful, after all) comes under Mike's critical eye, and I always learn something in the process.

I think I have a new challenge for the hubby. Sure, I know he's deep in his own line of research, but when he has a free moment, I'd like for him to help me figure out how to repurpose the space in my noggin to solidify "cuiller" and eliminate "jupe-culotte", not to mention robe chasuble (my jumper-wearing days are over, in English and in French). I'll keep all the vocab for French wine, though, thank you, very much.

**For the French geeks, I do realize that the nouns I used in French technically should have been presented with their accompanying articles, but when I'm writing in mixed Franglais, the articles just sound weird. Weird trumps.

I Double-Dare You Right Back!

2010-06-23T11:16:00.001-07:00

Writing a blog post about trying to accentuate the positive is basically a dare to the universe to test your new-found disposition in ways that you couldn't even dream up before you started typing. Case in point, since my post last night:

1) My husband has come down with food poisoning or a stomach bug, was up all night, and is sick enough to STAY HOME from work (which happens once every 4-5 years)

2) We awoke to thunderstorms and power outages, and by awoke, I mean to say that we were cajoled to a standing position, bleary-eyed and lacking sleep (see item #1) out of our dark, cozy room by a very-awake four-year old

3) During a phone meeting this morning for my current consulting gig, the dining room air conditioner in our sweltering condo began leaking all over the floor

4) The main bathroom shower will not shut off entirely unless I use all of my force pushing on the knob while twisting it back and forth

5) I just discovered that the wall in our dining room was also damaged during the bathroom repair---the wall against which we have stacked oodles of things to "keep them protected" during construction

6) Our dryer stopped drying things thoroughly

7) Running the A/C in our car makes the interior smell strongly of gasoline

8) At the grocery store, my newly activated debit card was denied, repeatedly

9) The computer had to be shut down during my business meeting this morning because the fuse kept being tripped

10) I slammed my hand in the trunk trying to shut it with a heavy grocery bag in tow.

SO...what am I focusing on that will keep me sane? So far, I've noted that my kid is well, my hand is better with some ice, a great friend of mine just got a great job, I was able to go to the bank right away to fix the card problem and had an emergency card on hand to pay for the groceries, I bought Mike soup at the store that should make him feel better, I had a good meeting (despite the craziness of a leaking air conditioner and a shut-down computer), we have a really great condo board president who was kind when I let him know about additional construction-related problems here, I found a pair of capris that I bought on sale this winter and couldn't locate once the weather got warm, our cleaning lady came (the best Christmas present I ever got from my parents was money for a cleaning service) and made the portions of our house that are not torn up look like palaces, the sun just may be peeking through a bit as I type....yeah, I've got my positive groove going, despite the funk surrounding our house.

In the poker game between me and universe, I'm all in.

Can't See the Garden for the Weeds

2010-06-22T19:27:00.000-07:00

Our little plot at the community garden is just lovely, but as plots go, it is weedy. So weedy, in fact, that I would call it the weediest of all the plots there. It is even weedier than spaces that have been left untended, in fact. As much as I enjoyed the first ripe tomato of the season last night in a BLT, and as much as I'm delighting in the tall Brussels sprouts and the beautiful ruby chard and the thick bands of carrots, and as thrilled as I am to have have peppers and squash and (hopefully) bushels of tomatoes on the way, each time I visit the garden, my overriding inner monologue is, "WEEDS! WHY ARE YOU HERE? WE JUST PULLED YOU OUT! WHY ARE YOU FLOURISHING THE MOST IN OUR PLOT? WHAT ARE WE DOING WRONG?"

And once again, as it seems to happen so often in the garden (all those poets were on to something), here I find myself confronted with a life lesson---a metaphor in the making, a mantra to be unearthed. Isn't this diatribe against the wretched weediness of our space how I'm feeling about a lot of stuff, these days?

We have so many good things growing and ripening in our life---a happy marriage, an amazing kid, kind and loving family and friends, exciting part-time work, a roof over our heads (and family that has generously pitched in when student loans have given out to keep us under that roof)---but the FIRST thing I see most days is the patch of worries surrounding us, seemingly encroaching upon all of our precious space. The battle to get EJ a good kindergarten. The constant questions of how and when Mike will complete his PhD, and the pressure that comes from all sides (including from our own insides, out) to make that finish happen, leave this experience without complete financial disaster, and find a new home that can be just that---a home. The annoyance of the current renovation that our condo association is undertaking---while necessary, getting the building's vertical pipes/stacks replaced is no fun. Case in point: as I sit here in our dining room typing, I am surrounded by a toilet, a disassembled sink, a makeshift kitchen, and all of our laundry supplies, not to mention other random items.

In the most immediate and the longest-range terms, I see weeds everywhere.

I had a revelation, though, at the garden a few weeks ago. I thought to myself, "What if I stop focusing on the weeds entirely? What if I just let them grow until they are big enough to pluck out easily, but not so big that they jeopardize our plants? What if, when I look at our garden, I see all the beautiful crops, and instead of cursing the weeds, I look at how green our ground is, and how fertile it is, and how lovely some of those little weeds actually look when going to flower?"

At the garden this afternoon, just as the weedy thoughts started to surface, I made a conscious stop, simply telling that voice to back off, as I wasn't going to hear one bad word about our garden today. I plucked out a bunch of big weeds, quite easily, just as I had hoped. Sure, they had time to really grow, and yet, I didn't have to fight them when it was clear that they needed to leave. I didn't berate our tiny plot in frustration, as I wasn't hunched over picking out tiny, hard-to-grab "weedlings," and better still, I didn't berate myself for not understanding how to keep the weeds at bay in the first place. I remembered how one of our garden neighbors, on our first community day at the garden together, said to the weeds in her plot as she pulled them, "Listen, guys, I know you are doing well and you are quite lovely, but I just can't have you in here anymore." It made me smile at the time, and I took note of it enough to recount that sweet approach to friends, later.

Today as I weeded in the heat, and made way for some new plantings, I just enjoyed what we had growing, left the tiny weeds alone, and made peace with the large ones as I pulled them out. Tomorrow, I will make a delicious dinner with some chard that I will pick minutes before I cook it, and more space will be freed up in our garden. More weeds will likely spring in the chard's place, and that's just how it has to be. More time will be needed to weed when we decide what to plant in the empty space next, and that extra work just has to be, too. The main difference between now and a few weeks ago will simply be this: there will be less angst from me in the whole process.

In a day full of errands that took too long, items to purchase that cost too much, and running about that left me bone-tired, I am focusing my attention tonight on the beauty of our weedy, crazy, full day's work. The kind people at the hardware store. A new faucet waiting for installation in our kitchen and a beautiful, light-lime green gallon of paint for our second bathroom. A meeting for my current part-time gig scheduled for tomorrow and a wealth of interesting things to discuss at that meeting. A tasty salad for dinner that I didn't have to make myself, and time spent together as a family to eat that salad. A kid who announced to me this evening that she gave away her extra, brand-new swimsuit to a friend at school today (without my knowledge) because, well, let me just give you her quote: "Hey, Mom! Guess what? I gave my Tinkerbell swimsuit to [my friend]. I wanted her to have it, because I know she will love it so much." She will love it, since she loves Tinkerbell a lot right now, and I love that EJ just gave it to her with such heart and spirit, because I know it was a prized thing to her, too. (We did explain, however, that from now on, she should probably check with us before giving away her clothing.)

Yeah, good stuff is growing everywhere, and I'm practicing the art of remembering to look for it first, without getting too easily distracted by the weeds. I'm also working on blessing all of my current worries and hassles even as I uproot them, much like my neighbor blessed her weeds---that one might take a little longer to get into gear. No matter how much practice I need before I firm up these new habits, I'm up to my elbows in the dirt, enjoying the work, and gobbling up the fruits of my labor a little more every day.

Rabbit Fools!

2010-06-02T21:30:00.001-07:00

If you are a mature four-year old ("almost five!), extremely verbal, and you want to worm your way out of being "corrected" for making a request that did not get a favorable response from your mother (i.e., repeatedly whining, "PLEASE, may I have some candy?" right before a meal is served), how would you do it?

I'll tell you where you might start. You might start by adding "Just kidding!" after the mother's initial response, which for a lot of moms might be described simply as, "giving the look." That said, your mom might start to catch on, and one day, she might sit you down and ask, "Were you kidding? If you were kidding, that means that if I said, 'Sure, take the candy!' you wouldn't really want it, because you would know that we don't have candy for snacks and we certainly don't have candy 5 minutes before dinner." A new plan would need to take shape.

Now, if you are EJ, after trying out---and burning out---the "just kidding" approach, you would get ingenious. You'd catalog through your brain, searching for memories of abhorrent occurrences in which it is socially acceptable, maybe even encouraged, to be joking. Without much delay, you would settle in on the chestnut of all goofiness, April Fool's Day.

While a four(ALMOST FIVE!)-year old's jokes are not typically sequential, logical, or even, well, jokes, they are almost always three things:

1) Delivered by someone with a lot of cuteness working in their favor

2) Told repeatedly so that all the cuteness of a baby koala tenderly hugging a kitten would not be enough to make them fun for the listener anymore ("Knock, knock, who's there, someone who wishes she could find the person who developed the knock-knock joke and throttle him, thank you very much)

3) Enjoyed so greatly by the teller of the joke that the laughter and squealing that takes place by the teller makes it hard to hear the joke at all.

The reality is, if I had a paper cut-out of my body that I could just tack up when EJ gets into stand-up mode, we'd both be winners, because she really is her own exuberant, appreciative audience, laughing as she goes. I'd say I'd be an inattentive mom for using this cut-out, but remember, I HAVE HEARD THESE JOKES BEFORE. TRUST ME.

All this is to say that, this year, April Fool's Day started to mean something to EJ, something really good. If it is good one day a year, it must be good ALL THE TIME. So, if "just kidding" was not a get-out-of-jail free card, "April Fool's" was bound to work.

Sort of.

I thought it was funny for awhile---I probably laughed harder at her use of "April Fool's" in mid-May more than I have chuckled in awhile. Pretty soon, though, the rubber was meeting the road once again, and she was the recipient of this fine, "Honey, saying 'April Fool's' only works on April Fool's Day, aside from which, it is really just the same as saying 'just kidding,' and you know what I told you about that...." speech.

Now, faced with these two rebukes from your clearly stoic, comedically-challenged mother, would you give up?

Not if you are EJ! No, no, no! Why work with traditional holidays alone? Why not fashion a holiday tradition out of the existing template, and make it work for you?

Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce, the pride of my daughter's "you are not going to pin this discipline on me, because I'm going to claim I never meant what I said" arsenal, a phrase I believe may be sweeping pre-K crowds soon:

Rabbit Fools!

That's right! By simply crying, "Rabbit Fools!" with a giggle and a big hug, you say to your mother, "No, of course I would never want to do that rotten thing I just asked to do, I am your child, I understand your loving boundaries for me and would never step over them! I was just celebrating Rabbit Fools, which is like April Fool's Day, but for every day in June, every day in July, every day in August...I just needed to tell you a Rabbit Fools joke, and that was what I was really doing!"

I'm not entirely sure how she settled on rabbit for the name---she was kicking around "May 30 Fools" for a day in the middle of her quest for something new, and realized always claiming the date might become cumbersome. Also, I just flat out said, "There is no May 30 Fools Day, sweetie. I love your creativity, but there's only one day on the calendar specifically for foolishness, the rest of the days we are just foolish on our own."

I'm guessing rabbit springs from our recent conversations about the naughty rabbits in our community garden, eating up all of our food. We've caught several glimpses of them, and even took some pictures.

To him we sang "John the Rabbit"

She's thinks those naughty rabbits are hysterical, but of course, she isn't a big veggie fan these days, so their destruction is all silly high jinx to her. Bunnies! Fun! Eating things they shouldn't, being naughty! HA HA HA HA HA! That's just like asking for candy all day long, every chance I get! HA HA HA HA HA!

Unlike the rabbit, when EJ wants a treat that she knows she shouldn't have, at least she asks for it. For that, I am grateful, and for the cleverness and delight of "Rabbit Fools!" I'm going to let her new phrase slide...for awhile.

My plate runneth over...

2010-06-01T08:25:00.001-07:00

...and so does my nose.

A few things catch us by surprise each spring here at Team Lusignan headquarters: schedule explosion and allergies. You'd figure we'd learn, but I think the winter dulls our senses adequately enough that, in the spring, we are like little baby birds cracking out of our shells, all bug-eyed and discombobulated. Even when our wings are dry and we're chirping and flapping, ready to go, we still feel the shock of that shove out of the nest, and for us, that shove comes as a schedule that suddenly won't quit and noses that won't stop running. The fact that they come together is the real bummer, since one makes the other so much less fun.

I don't know what it is about spring in Chicago, but EVERYTHING seems to be happening now. We have more birthday parties to attend than you could imagine---a few every weekend, with some even overlapping---so much so that the folks at our local toy store have started chuckling when we come in the door, asking, "Did you forget someone else the last time you were here, weren't you shopping for 3 parties already?" or "Who is it, this time?" The rise in parties may have more to say about the late summer and fall, when all these munchkins are being created in the first place, but whatever the case, EJ is in heaven, because her spring dance card is full, full, full, and that is how she likes it.

We also have the end of preschool around the corner, and it is yet another ending that makes me (not surprisingly) have to take a big gulp and sigh. I just got over last year, and here we go again. To cap off her preschool career, EJ's Nana is coming down to be the final "mystery reader" of the year for her class, and then a few days later, she and Dad will be back for EJ's graduation. Cuteness will abound. On the other side of that, kindergarten prep is starting, as we already have a kindergarten picnic to attend, doctor's appointments to schedule, etc.

Then there is the condo association-wide vertical pipe replacement project, which began in April, but arrived at our tier at 8:37 this morning. Can you hear the drilling as you read this? I can as I type! This project could last 2 weeks, or it could last 8 weeks, we just don't know, but if the experience of my neighbors speaks to ours, we have at least 6 weeks to go. The project involves packing up everything we need from the kitchen/bathrooms/laundry room and placing them in accessible (remote) spots, then removing and finding a home for everything else that is in the way, too. This means emptying all the cabinets, shelving, etc., and finding a place for everything, as the walls are cut open and the gigantic original cast iron pipes are removed and replaced. By the time we are done, we will have played host to teams of plumbers, patchers, and painters, leaving us the gift of new pipes and mountains of dust (great for allergies, right?). I will be very grateful for the water supply, though, as well as a replaced bathoom sink. Excuse me as I hum to myself as a mantra, "You have to accentuate the positive, eliminate the negative..."

In addition to celebration, graduation, and renovation, I have secured some amazing consulting work, for which I need to conduct interviews via phone during the day while the pipework is being done. I'm also hoping to take some time to further investigate conferences at which I could present my master's research, with the hope of getting it published. Sound busy enough? No! I'm also wrapping up a fun year as TA for a class that I took my first year of grad school. Drilling and dust aren't the best work companions, but I'm grateful for friends who have offered quiet places for me to work.

Then there are the little things, like negotiating more medical bill nightmares, finding a state vehicle form that has gone missing, ordering our Chicago vehicle sticker, setting up additional babysitting around the new camp schedule, finding fun family August activities and signing up ahead of time when necessary, and of course, finding clothes for my brother's wedding...

...did I mention that my brother's wedding will be here before we know it? EJ will have some dress fittings coming up (a flower girl's work is never done!), and I'm going to have to find out what my brother and future sister-in-law want sung at church sometime before the big day, otherwise I will make for a pretty crummy (and quiet) wedding singer. We don't mind a bit of the prep-work, though, as we are so excited for the happy couple, and know that the wedding is going to be tons of fun. From what I can currently predict, their wedding will occur right around the time the pipe work is finally complete. By then, I'm sure that I'll be grateful to see family and dance my cares away!!

Days after the wedding, EJ will turn five, and we will help cap off the super birthday season that began a few weeks ago. Five. Wow. No time to think about that now, but we've got to get a save-the-date out soon. Wow.

As for the allergies, well, who knows when they will subside? That's if the sniffles we have are allergies, of course---I am alone in my allergy opinion in this house. My sweet husband---you know, the guy studying neuroscience, the really, really smart guy---is feeling crummy. He's absolutely convinced that he has a cold, a cold that he caught from our daughter. I don't think it is a cold, because year after year, at right around this time, he gets the same symptoms. He's the man who cries, "Cold!" It always takes at least 3 weeks to convince him to take some allergy medicine, and when he finally does, he can't believe how much better he feels.

I would say my diagnosis of "allergies" is based on the longitudinal data I have compiled over several years. Now who's the scientist?

Of course, you can never eliminate all outlying factors, and what Mike has certainly could be a cold. We get more than our fair share, and the shifting spring temperatures would certainly make it easy to catch a bug. To be fair, my hubby is right---EJ has been "sick" lately. I believe, though, that this year we are seeing our kiddo develop the same kind of allergies that the two of us get. Poor thing. I don't know how she could have dodged that bullet---I think that I had allergy shots for 10 years as a kid, and still routinely broke out in hives and had to bring boxes of kleenex with me when I played in the woods with friends---but I'm sad for her, nonetheless. She has a cough that isn't going away and a runny nose, but no fever, no malaise, no discomfort---I'm voting allergies, all the way.

So with everything to keep track of, "coldergy" (I'll compromise and meet him halfway) medicine running through me, and loud metal drilling in my ear, is it so surprising that I made it two-thirds of the way to preschool and right past the secret service checkpoint before I realized that I had my shirt on inside-out?

May the Lord grant me patience and a sense of humor this June.

An Open Letter to Our Long-Lost Neighbors

2010-05-25T08:55:00.000-07:00

Dear Obama Family,

My name is Kori. I'm your neighbor. I live down your street, just a half-block away. Not on the fancy house side (Kenwood), I'm afraid, but on the not-quite-as-fancy condo side (Hyde Park). My daughter goes to the KAM preschool directly across the street from your home, and has throughout the past two years. I know that you have been particularly busy during this time, so you probably haven't noticed us walking in front of your place.

You know who has noticed us, though? Your Secret Service team. They have been very friendly, and I must admit, I found it pretty charming that my child learned early that step #1 in the "going to preschool" daily routine is "getting through the Secret Service checkpoint." When you moved to DC, and your security staff was pared down, she missed her daily chats with the agents. She's very chatty.

You know what I DIDN'T miss, though? The barricades blocking access to our one-way street. The barricades blocking access to our alley on one side. The security detail asking for my ID when I come to my own home, and the need to email all friends and family visiting with an official invitation so that, if they were stopped by security, they could make a case for coming through.

Should you think that I'm not a big supporter---an Obama-backer, if you will---from this note, let me clarify: I am a BIG fan. I voted for Mr. Obama for president. I've continued to support him throughout the challenging months of trying to create big change in the slow-moving, often-deadlocked culture that is the US Congress. Believe me, if you were coming home and wanted to do a meet and greet with the neighbors, I'd be there, with a giant smile on my face.

I understand, though, that with only one weekend to spend back home, there isn't time for such a meet and greet. I also understand that, for those of us here, our holiday plans will likely be more restricted because of your holiday plans to return. I know you know this, too: as Ms. Obama (also a big fan of the Mrs., by the way) stated, when you come, you "shut down [y]our neighbors."

I understand how homesick you must be. Hyde Park is beautiful this time of year, and you have so many friends that love you and miss you in your neighborhood. I'm glad that you'll be able to have a good time for your Memorial Day weekend. I'm really not a sourpuss---if anything, I tend to resemble Glinda, the Good Witch in my demeanor. You don't know me, so I'll go ahead and tell you that, if I could pick out the one word that I think best describes my interpersonal interactions, it's "bubbly." Seriously, my bubbly self hopes that you have a FANTASTIC time.

Please understand, though, speaking as a neighbor who really likes you but got a little panicky on election day when I was told that I was not allowed back in my home because I needed to carry more proof of residence (yes, I managed to get in eventually), that I hope that you soak up all that Chicago can offer in your short stay, and you create enough Chicago-time memories to sustain you through many, many, many months in DC, making it possible to forgo any additional visits here for a good, long while. I'm so sorry, as I know that's not particularly neighborly or hospitable of me to say. Obviously, you can come visit your own home whenever you want. I'm just asking---kindly, nicely, politely, meekly, with all due respect---that you continue to rely on the White House and Camp David as primary residences for awhile.

We lived and worked in the DC metropolitan area for nine years. We love it there. We'd love to move back. How about we strike a deal, okay? While we are finishing graduate school, could you enjoy DC for us, and in return, we'll soak in Hyde Park for you? We could compare notes at your convenience, and share favorite hot-spots as suggestions. For instance, have you visited the Dairy Godmother recently with the girls? It's fantastic, and a perfect way to beat the heat. If you go, please give Liz our best.

Thank you, for your consideration.

All our best,

Your friendly Greenwood neighbors, The Lusignan Family

Zoe

2010-05-10T07:36:00.000-07:00

Friends and family reading this entry, please know, there is no need to send me sympathy messages or notes of concern. I'm okay, I'm just worried about my friend's kids, and have been reminded about how important it is to make plans for our kids, especially for times in which we can't be there to protect them. We are now on a mission to get all of our affairs in order.

It was a real Mother's Day yesterday. No greeting card, no brunch, no special plans, but a whole lot of time thinking about and digesting what motherhood is. Earlier in the week, I offered to postpone any mommy-related fanfare, as Mike has his big, annual student talk to give today, and I knew that he would need every moment he could get over the weekend to finish his presentation and practice it. He was very grateful, and I was happy to help. Who wants to have a day of fun and relaxation if you know that your spouse is anxiously looking at the clock, watching precious minutes for time-sensitive work pass by? Not this mama.

So I knew it would be a casual day, but basically, a normal day, when I woke up. EJ gave me a great present (a hand-drawn picture) and a card, and I decided that I would make the family crepes, because, why not? We had the time. For a non-celebratory Mother's Day, it felt like I was getting all the fun, anyway.

I made coffee, then the crepe batter, which needed to rest in the fridge for awhile before we could use it. I got EJ a little cereal to eat and some milk, since she was too hungry to wait for the "fancy breakfast" (her words). I knew that she would chow down on crepes once they were done even if she'd had a box of cereal, since she is in a growth spurt these days. As Mike got the dog out on a walk, I grabbed some computer time, knowing that he would need the laptop the rest of the day.

As I checked my email, I got a notice that a mom-friend of mine, Zoe---a lady I'd met here in Hyde Park through our Parent Support Network---had passed away, suddenly. I couldn't even believe it. We had emailed just a few days prior. I had just read a funny post of hers on Facebook. I had smiled when I saw that she had scored a discounted Kitchen Aid Mixer for herself as a Mother's Day present. What was happening? This couldn't be right.

Zoe had moved to Madison, Wisconsin, a few years back, but had stayed connected to the Hyde Park parents' group through our email list. She and I liked to compare favorite Madison notes, having first really bonded over our devotion to the handmade glycerine soap from The Soap Opera. She was really funny, really interesting, and really resilient. A single mom by choice, she had two beautiful children, aged 8 and 4. She homeschooled, grew her own food, had chickens for fresh eggs, and was very active in the raw milk movement. She is the only person I know who would make whole batches of kale for her kids and have them begging for more. She was a super-mom, by every measure. They were a tight unit, the three of them bonded together, and it is impossible to imagine the impact of the fracture that has taken place with her loss.

More details soon followed as I was called by one of Zoe's friends, who had found my number in Zoe's cell phone. Apparently, Zoe had a stomach ache on Friday evening, and told friends that she was hoping to wait until the next morning to go to urgent care instead of going to the ER that night. I could relate to that---how many times have I had that debate with myself, especially given the cost and hassle of the ER? The next morning, unfortunately, her children tried to wake her, and she was unresponsive. They ran to the neighbor's house for help, and it was soon discovered that Zoe was gone. Child-protective services stepped in, making sure that the kids stayed at the neighbor's house. Good friends arrived who had plans with Zoe for that morning, and were stunned. They tried to see the kids, but they were not allowed to---apparently, if the kids were to see family friends, they would be less likely to go with the authorities later. The friends offered to take the family dog, Emma, but this was also refused, and the dog has ended up at the Humane Society. The family's chickens were also removed. Since Friday, the children have been with social workers, with no contact with anyone that they know, in large part because they do not have any idea what legal provision Zoe made for them.

She was so meticulous, so organized, so responsible for those kids, I cannot imagine any scenario in which she did not have a legal guardian chosen for these precious children. Hopefully today, now that the weekend is over, attorneys who have been contacted will get the messages that were left, and access to Zoe's home (which has been blocked off except for Child Protective Services) will reveal paperwork that states her intentions. In the meantime, my heart is full of prayer for those little ones, who have had trauma piled on trauma in just a few days time.

Mike and I are now talking seriously about our will in a way we haven't ever before. We had let it lapse when the discussions got sticky and hard, when we had to really figure out who we would want to take care of EJ if we were to pass away, and how we would ask. Hearing of Zoe's passing, the veil of fear surrounding the completion of our will seemed foolish, and as a result, we have already started making steps to get things signed, sealed, and delivered.

It also occurred to us, though, that having the paperwork is not enough. It hasn't been in Zoe's case. As tricky as it is, we need to have age-appropriate talks with EJ, so that she knows that a) she has a whole army of people who love her and would protect her if anything were to ever happen to us, b) if ever she were to find us incapacitated, she should contact a neighbor and/or police, and she would be okay, and c) if she gives the people helping her the names (and phone numbers, since we know she can memorize them) of her grandparents, uncles and aunts, and our close friends, she will be able to help them to help her.

The practicality of giving her the nuts and bolts of self-protection---just as Zoe's daughter knew that going to the neighbor's house was the right idea---seems so clear. The deeper spiritual message, however, is also there, and is what I've been thinking about as my heart was cracked open imagining the current situation of my friend's kids. It's the messages we, as EJ's parents, must pass on to her, repeated as many ways as possible, so that they are written indelibly in the mind when needed.

No matter what, you will be okay, that God is always there with you, and God's love and protection is infinite and complete.

We would never, ever leave you by choice, but no matter what, our love is with you in your heart forever, and our love is demonstrated in the care and attention we put into making sure that you have a loving, wonderful place to grow-up, with or without us.

Yes, we are here, but even more importantly, you are able to care for yourself in your life's journey, with the help of those that love you, no matter the circumstances. That is our gift to you, an understanding that you are capable of wholeness from childhood to adulthood, with God's help.

I think Zoe was doing that work, and I am following her example, committed to do it, too. I've been rereading Zoe's messages to the parent support network, and don't think she would mind if I shared this, a query she posted just last fall. Aside from the very sweet main content, take a look, also, at the quote she used for her sign-off:

This is at the request of my 7.5yo dd. ;-)

I cook quite a bit making up my own recipes as I go along or heavily modifying recipes that I come across and my daughter has asked that I make a keepsake of the recipes that I make up so that she can have them when she's a grown up. I never write anything down and have picked things up along the way from watching people in my family when I was a kid and wayyy too many cooking shows (:::blush::: ). I do cook quite a bit with the kids and I think that those things in particular are things they'd like to have but... how? I never inherited any recipe books or recipe cards or even recipes on scraps of paper. I do recall things like "pound cake has 5 ingredients and you go from there" and that's about it.

Are there any methods or materials that others have found particularly helpful or memorable for receiving or passing along or otherwise preserving family recipes? I do spend hours a day cooking so I would love to be able to make this a memory making activity for my kids.

TIA for any ideas and suggestions! !

Best,
Zoe
mom to 7.5yo [girl] and 3yo [boy]

"Circumstances are beyond the control of man; but his conduct is in his own power." - Benjamin Disraeli, English statesman and novelist (1804-81)

This is just one of many posts from Zoe documenting how she and the kids were working on memory-making, spending time enjoying the present, and savoring the best of what their life together had to offer, no matter her circumstances. I know that Zoe's daughter will carry the recipes Zoe began cataloging with her throughout her life, and will not soon forget the tender care her mom took in thoughtfully preparing healthy, delicious meals for her. I pray that the time that she and her brother spend away from friends and family will end soon, and Zoe's spirit can rest easy knowing that her children are in loving care.

As for me, I'm thinking about the limits of motherhood---how the time I have is so very, very precious, and how, with faith and hard work, I can try to break past the limits of time and space to give my daughter the gift of knowing that, even on our most frustrating day together, she has a mother that loves her deeply and and completely, and that this will never, ever, disappear.

Sense Memory

2010-05-04T15:56:00.000-07:00

Today, I stopped at a favorite cafe to get an iced coffee after I dropped off EJ. I don't normally indulge in expensive coffees given our financial constraints, but I was feeling just a little bit sorry for myself.

The day was absolutely beautiful, and I had no real reason to be down, but I had just battled a four-year old for what seemed like eternity (and was likely 20 minutes) about whether or not she had to wear a sweatshirt on the playground at preschool. It is as warm as summer today---glorious, in fact---but this morning, it was still cool, especially in the shady area where the kids play. She started asking, "Can I take this sweatshirt off?" before we left the house---over, and over, and over---and after I had answered her, "I don't know yet, honey, we'll have to check the weather," enough times to ensure that she wasn't simply forgetting what I said, I did the exasperated-mom thing, saying, "That's it, I've answered you, take a minute to think about what I've already said---you have the answer---and DON'T ASK AGAIN." I didn't yell, I was simply, well, emphatic. Sigh. Not a best moment for either of us.

See, the fights over warm clothes aren't new, and they are just plain tiring. She has been coat-averse since the fall, and this morning, I thought I was tricking the system by putting a sweatshirt on her--a sweatshirt doesn't have a zipper, or buttons, or even look like a coat. She was not falling for my not-so-slight of hand, though---a warm layer is a warm layer, whether it be coat or jacket or sweater or sweatshirt. Suffice it to say, great frustration ensued for both of us, and while she did refrain from asking me again in our own home if she could take her sweatshirt off, before we even got out of the car at school, the barrage began again. It took a deft preschool teacher stepping in as EJ stomped and huffed and generally played up the downtrodden-drama as much as she could to turn the situation around with the promise that, in ten minutes, EJ could take that hateful sweatshirt off. What the teacher omitted, of course, was that they were going back inside in 10 minutes. Genius. I walked away having not really won the battle, but at least escaped it. Bless that teacher.

So there I was, feeling a little weary and more than a little silly about actually getting worked up about a sweatshirt, when I drove the car over to the cafe, ordered an iced coffee, and tried to turn the ship around. I chatted with the kind staff, many of whom remember me from the hours I spent at that cafe working on my master's capstone. I felt a little cheerier.

Before I could leave, I heard a familiar sound---a helicopter almost directly overhead. My first thought was that it must be Flight for Life, given that I was near tall buildings and a big open park, both of which might be good for emergency helicopter landings. I stepped outside, and I could see the large, open-bottomed, orange helicopter with a rope and hook hanging from it moving about, definitely not a medical helicopter. I found out later from a friend who also witnessed this that the helicopter, an S-63 Skycrane, to be exact, was delivering a chiller to the top of a building. Even without knowing this at the scene, though, I realized thankfully that this must be something far less life-threatening than a critical injury.

I should have been reassured, but I felt panicky, and my stomach started to twist. I regretted having the acidic coffee, and wanted to get home to drink a big glass of water and eat something very bland. I couldn't put my finger on it---I think helicopters are cool, I had seen how particularly cool this one was, and I was on my way home on a sunny day. I couldn't shake that tense feeling though, especially in my gut.

About two minutes into my five minute ride home, it hit me. 9/11. That was it. Not 9/11, specifically, but the early mornings/late nights for weeks following 9/11, being awoken in our little townhouse in Arlington less than a mile from the Pentagon by the sounds of helicopters almost directly overhead. Or jets. Or some manner of military flying machines. What I remember about them was that they were loud, they were close, and the presence of them, instead of saying "you are safe," seemed to say "something could be out there." Having not lost a family member or close friend in the bombing, our trauma was nothing compared to others, but in an odd turn of events, I had received the call that my uncle had died unexpectedly that morning in Denver only minutes before the first building was hit, and was on the phone trying to make plans with my mom when we heard (and I felt) the Pentagon strike. It was certainly enough personal and national tragedy to leave a lasting memory.

It was the days following that, though, with the ominous overhead flying, that I remember as being particularly terrifying, especially as we sat stuck on the East Coast, unable to join the rest of my family for the funeral. Waking to the sound of something right above you, circling, patroling, policing...but maybe, what if it isn't a US helicopter? What if it is...no, go back to sleep, it is just precaution. Yeah, that is what my body felt today when I heard that helicopter, and that was the memory my poor stomach was chewing on when I couldn't get sips of my coffee down.

As soon as I'd identified this memory, I could let the physical feelings of it go. That was done, I was fine. I pondered how the body is such an amazing thing, as it tells us (especially when we can't quite figure it out through thinking, alone) that the balance has been upset, but also, when it has been reset and restored. I thought about how far we'd come as a family since 2001---how 9/11 was before we had EJ at all, before we were in grad school, before we imagined we'd be here enjoying sunny days in Hyde Park. I thought about how much I know my uncle would have loved my daughter, and that made me happy, not sad. As quickly as I had felt anxious, I suddenly felt calmer than I had all morning, and started to chuckle to myself about the sweatshirt debacle. "So much nothing to worry about," I said aloud, then laughed at how strange a phrase that was.

When I picked up the kiddo from school, it was short-sleeve weather. I grabbed her discarded sweatshirt, handed her a snack and we headed to our little garden. We then went out for a little lunch, then after that, walked under the warm sun with the breeze in our faces to get some ice cream. We indulged together, and I thanked God for every moment of the day, sweatshirt and all.

Quotable Parents

2010-04-29T06:42:00.000-07:00

Every once and awhile, we say something almost as funny as EJ. Take this morning, for instance:

EJ: Mommy, what is the weather like today?

Me: Ask your daddy---he just walked the dog, so he'll know.

EJ: Daddy, what is the weather like today?

Mike: It's warmer today than yesterday.

EJ: It's a warm day?

Mike: It's warmer than yesterday, that's why I didn't dress you in hot, hot pants.

Me: I'm glad you didn't dress her in hot pants, regardless.

And....scene.

Pendulum Swing

2010-04-27T07:02:00.000-07:00

Last night, EJ made dinner with her Daddy for me. It was such a delightful night, I took pictures and posted about the evening right away. She was full of energy and so excited to be a chef, despite having the touch of a runny nose, which I figured was allergies, nothing serious.

Sigh.

Last night, she developed that yucky, dry, hacking cough that the kiddos get when their "seems like allergies" symptoms turn out to be a cold virus. She's staying home this morning, with the hope that a little rest will turn this around quickly.

I was so high on our nice evening last night, I made even more mental plans than normal for today. Finish up some writing I've been working on. Clean out the pantry. Start laying in the content pieces of my updated resume into the design I created for it. Good stuff, that based on today's turn of events, will have to remain good intention for a short while longer.

Sigh.

Every time I watch a daytime program or read a women's magazine that purports, "Make time for yourself first---you can't help others if you don't help yourself, Mom!" I think of days like today. Days when, I was riding up on one side if a pendulum ride a few hours ago, and before I knew what was happening, I was free-falling and swinging to the other side. It's not that I'm not ever taking time for myself, it is simply that I can't reliably tell when that time will swing away from me, or swing back, for that matter. Even on the pendulum, I can hit work deadlines, take care of sick kids, and manage to fill in the gaps created by my husband's often unpredictable lab schedule, but there is a cost to the ride, and the cost is simply having a sense of time to reliably schedule my own stuff.

I'm not disillusioned---my time was not simply my own before I had a child, or even before I was married. I guess the pendulum has gotten bigger with each added responsibility---the highs are higher, the swings are more thrilling, and the key to staying on safely is always keeping one hand securely fastened, because anything could happen. I'm not complaining---I like the ride---I just forget sometimes that I am on it, then when my stomach comes creeping into my chest as we start to swing, I think, "oh, right, here we go!"

For now, it is back to my kid on the couch in her pink snuggie. Yeah, that's right. Her snuggie. I've got coffee in hand, a smile on my sleepy face, and despite the sickness, no where else I'd rather be.

My Sweeties Made Me Dinner!

2010-04-26T18:57:00.000-07:00

Tonight, Mike and EJ cooked dinner for me, and it was delicious! It was so nice to have a break from my normal routine, get a little time to chill out, etc. Even better---Mike did the dishes, too! I should state, he does the dishes every night, but I do the cooking, so it evens out a little nicer. Tonight, I was just plain spoiled. I'm practically a queen around here right now.

EJ was so excited to pick out a recipe from her new cookbook and make something with her Daddy---she threw her arms around him when he got home and said, "I haven't spent enough time with you today!"

Here are some snapshots of my favorite chefs and their handiwork, le dîner accompli:

EJ's eyes say, "Look what we made!" Mike's say, "Please don't touch this scalding hot pot!"

Yes, this came from a princess cookbook. The recipe: Cal's Chicken and Biscuits.

Heart shaped biscuits instead of round = even more princessy.

Ready to eat as EJ's request for background music plays in the dining room, a song she calls the "Can't Explain, Dum, Dum, Dum Song"

Parking Meters, Dr. Spock and the Proletariat

2010-04-22T09:58:00.000-07:00

I had to pay for parking today on 57th street while teaching music class, something I manage to avoid (thankfully) 99% of the time. I didn't use to mind paying the old meters as much---they were cheaper, to begin with, and if you knew you were running out of time, you could just run down and plunk more quarters in whenever you had a free moment. When the city privatized the meters, though, and installed new machines, parking became a real aggravation. You have to leave your car, walk down the street to the machine (not so fun in the cold carting a preschooler, might I add), estimate how long you will need to be there, pay for a ticket, return to your car, and put the ticket in the window. The machines break down a lot (again, the cold), and your only recourse if the nearest one has been wind-chilled to death is to haul yourself to a neighboring machine, usually another half-block away. If you pay for 2 hours, but realize after one hour that you will need more time, you can't just go add quarters any time you are free. No, no, no! You have to wait until the specific time on your ticket is about to expire (or as near to it as you can make it), then go get another ticket, so as to not pay twice for the same time.

The new parking meters = epic fail.

Today, wanting to make sure that I had enough time to talk with parents, clean-up, etc., I paid for too much time, and even though it was a scant 20 minutes extra, I was going to find something to do before pulling out of that space because I will not give Morgan Stanley the satisfaction.

I used the time to walk down to Powell's Books, one of the many great bookstores in Hyde Park. Yes, I am a kindle-nut, but a great bookstore is a great bookstore, and in Hyde Park, we have an embarrassment of riches in that regard, despite the current economic pressures on bookstores everywhere. I chuckled immediately when I walked in and saw this book, which I must admit made me laugh out loud hard enough to cause a bit of a scene.

The bookstore, itself, gave me a better laugh, though. In three adjoining bookcases---giant bookcases that were at least six feet wide and 10-12 feet high), there were the following sections: Family/Health, Marxism, and Art History. Take a minute, drink that in---one bookcase had everything on family and on health in the entire store, splitting the space, the next bookcase was filled to the brim JUST ON MARXISM, the next was art history. You know, for communist parents who are interested in sleep tips for children and have a love of post-modern art. I saw a book by Dr. Spock within a foot of a biography of Marx. After those two reads, something about Botticelli must feel like a breather.

So, to review, if you are interested in perusing roughly 800+ titles just on Marxism, right in the middle of Family/Health and Art History, you know where to go. Just one more interesting reflection of the intellectual, granola, sometimes conservative, sometimes progressive, arts-loving, president-claiming, grad-student impoverished, tenure-securing, south side, super-smarty-pants, family-centric, casual, elite, think-out-of-the box mix that is Hyde Park.

When we first moved here, I wasn't sure I would fit in. I mean, I consider myself an intellectual as much as the next Hyde Parker, but my worries all came down to this: as I was struggling to get our cable set up in our almost 100-year old building, I asked around for tips, and I couldn't find anyone with cable. No one. All I could think was, "How can I belong in a place that doesn't watch Bravo?" I mean, Queer Eye for the Straight Guy was must-see TV. The longer I live here, the more I find my way, and meet many, many more people who, like me, can appreciate a book about bad news delivered by baby animals, and have solidarity against the one thing that no Hyde Parker (or Chicagoan, for that matter) seems to like: the parking meters.

Together, We Garden

2010-04-20T13:15:00.000-07:00

For the past few years, we have been members of the Hyde Park Neighborhood Club Community Garden. For city dwellers like us who like to have tomatoes that actually taste like tomatoes at least a few weeks every year, this garden has been a real treasure. After a year of attempting to grow produce on our back porch, only to find that our fourth-story location makes our deck more of a squirrel brunch buffet, with our potted plants their main meal before jumping to the adjacent tree and making a run for it without even tipping their servers, we were lucky enough to become community gardeners, and had the satisfaction of renting a little spot of land to make our zucchini dreams come true. We also had the joy of walking to and from that garden---just far enough away that it is exercise, but close enough to make it fun---and the delight in seeing what everyone else was planting, seeding, pruning, etc. We learned a lot by just looking at all the items in our neighbors' plots, but rarely saw those neighbors---we all traveled a bit like ghosts into the space, only catching glimpses of each other, relying almost entirely on the changes in the plants to remind us that, yes, other people tend this space, too.

This year, though, thanks in large part to the efforts of our enthusiastic manager/liaison at the neighborhood club, we started our season of gardening as a community---all in a room, talking to one another, trying to figure out how we could self-manage, self-fund, self-promote, etc. Several of us knew each other from other local venues, but had no clue that we had been gardening side-by-side in past summers. Many of us came in to the discussion, myself included, with concerns about space---keeping past space, getting more space, making use of sunny space and letting go of shady space. This made sense, as in the past, we had all been neighborly renters working our own individual plots, not really vested in the larger garden as a whole. As we talked, though, you could feel the mood among the group of us start to shift, as we laughed and brainstormed and collectively started to sense that, yes, this could be something bigger than any of our individual gardens could be on their own. People started volunteering to work in different areas---I volunteered to set-up communication for the gardeners, and the blog is a part of that effort---and the collective energy about the upcoming gardening season was higher than I think many of us could have imagined.

This past Saturday, for the first time in as long as we have been gardeners at the neighborhood club, there was a call out from the gardeners, to the gardeners to volunteer to come clean up the common space, divide up communal resources, etc. Almost everyone was there, kids were running around happily, things got done quickly, seeds were shared, plants were shared, two children's areas were designated and prepped, an herb garden for all began to be planted, the raspberry plants were tended, the water supply was reestablished from broken pipes---the list goes on and on. The bigger accomplishment, though, was that our community began to really solidify. People chatted. Laughed. Shared. Helped each other. Admired each other's work. Comforted each other about hardships. Learned each other's names. For a social gal like me, it was a piece of heaven.

Every year, I enjoy gardening more and more, and I notice that the individual tasks of tending a garden, even the arduous ones that leave me sore for days, are more satisfying. This year, for example, chopping up and ripping out the pervasive weed that spreads across our plot each year as strongly as the last was exhilarating. It didn't matter that, no matter how hard we worked, we kept finding more. Pulling it out felt great. I enjoyed prepping the soil---spreading the fresh dirt and fertilizer, raking it through, finding more weeds and plucking them out, raking through again...it had the kind of methodical rhythm that I love when I'm knitting, only with more full-body pay-off from the hard work. Planning the space, placing the pavers, planting the seeds, placing the plants---it was all good.

It wasn't just good for me, though---Mike loves the garden, too, which is a wonderful thing for both of us. Somewhere in our weed-eradication efforts this past weekend, even with the crowd of other gardeners around us and the kids running past us playing "bug spy," I looked over at him, working alongside me, and said, "This is good for us. It's good that we share this hobby, that we love it more every year and are learning more about it every year. It will be good for us as---" and before I could finish my sentence, he said, "---we grow old together." There it was. The beauty of this sweet little garden of ours amplified in that one statement, that one moment of the two of us acknowledging that our time spent together here and now was an investment in our future joy together. For old-marrieds like us, what could be better?

When I think about our future, I always imagine a house with a garden. When I imagine moving back to Northern Virginia, where we had our first fledgling garden together, I think of the garden we could have, with begonias and holly bushes and maybe even a magnolia tree in the yard for good measure, and heaps of warm weather vegetables to share with friends. When I fell in love with Arizona this fall, and began daydreaming of moving there, one of the first things I did upon returning home was look up "gardening in the desert." Since then, I have happily brainstormed what the growing season for tomatoes would be (harvesting in spring, not summer), how we could use rockscape and multicolored lantanas to brighten up our yard, what types of citrus trees would be best to have, etc.

No matter what I imagine, though, I long for a home with some land and some space for our gardening adventures. Up until this year, as much as I have enjoyed our garden plot, I have thought of it primarily as a substitute for having a yard. This year, though, I see it in a whole new way---as a community of gardening friends from whom we can learn, share, and enjoy the activity in a completely enhanced way. It is also a place for Mike and I, co-owners of this family hobby, to experiment with planting new things, to ask questions of experienced gardeners, and most importantly, to make friends with a common interest, all things that will make our time together in the garden richer and more enjoyable in the present and in the future. When our time in Hyde Park ends---and it will end, because Mike simply will not be in graduate school forever, unless the end of the world is sometime soon---I will miss this community, and the garden we are sharing.

Yesterday, we got a lot of seeds into the ground at our plot at the community garden, and added to the existing lettuce and other cruciferous veggie plants that we started a week ago. Today, EJ and I planted the beginnings of our porch herb garden---while I have long-since abandoned planting vegetables and fruit there, as long as we don't have any juicy produce to munch on, herbs seem to be ignored by the squirrels. Across both days, I felt as content as if I had opened my door to a giant yard of our own with gardens all around. Here in Hyde Park, we garden together, and that is a privilege.

The beginnings of something good---something very, very good

Parsley, sage, [a place for rosemary but none planted, yet], and thyme (plus basil, tarragon, chives, mint, and dill, for good measure)

Quotable EJ

2010-04-12T06:00:00.000-07:00

Here are three great quotes from the last three days. Enjoy.

Quote #1: Our family headed out to lunch on Saturday after I had finished work in the morning. On Lakeshore Drive, EJ asked to listen to one of her favorite music CDs. As we were trying to figure out which CD slot that music was in, we came upon the soundtrack to Garden State.

Me: EJ, I'd like to listen to this music. I hope you like it. I know it is not what you asked for, but I think you might like it.

EJ: [Pause] Mom, this sounds good. What is this music called?

Me: The CD is called "Garden State."

EJ: I LOVE STATE MUSIC! This song is really cute.

Quote #2: After lunch, my stomach was not very well, not from the food, but from nerves. I found out earlier in the day that my aunt had passed away, and my tummy is always the first thing to go sour when I'm feeling sad or down. EJ wanted to visit her favorite store, The Land of Nod, on the way home, but I wasn't feeling up to it.

EJ: PLEEAASE, can we just go The Land of Nod?

Me: Sweetie, I'm sorry, but my tummy just isn't feeling well. I thought it would feel better after I ate, but it doesn't.

EJ: For a little bit, I think your tummy would be okay.

Me: EJ, I feel like I might throw up. I need to go home.

EJ: Oh, that's okay, Mom! You can just throw up in The Land of Nod, that would be fine. They have a nice bathroom. It is NO PROBLEM. Can we go now?

Quote #3: Moments ago, after EJ finished her breakfast. She hadn't wanted a drink with her toast, but toast w/peanut butter + no drink = no fun.

EJ: Mom, I'm thirsty now.

Me: Okay, what do you think we should do about it?

EJ: Well, I'd like you to get me a drink, please.

Me: That sounds reasonable.

EJ: Yes, when your kid is thirsty, you can get them a nice drink. That's the true spirit of nature.

Me (giggling): The true spirit of nature? Where did you hear that?

EJ: I made it up in my brain. Nature knows everything, Mom!

Betty

2010-04-10T15:18:00.000-07:00

Here in our neighborhood, there is a little girl EJ's age who goes by the name Betty. She has been a member of my music classes, and has attended school and camp with EJ. She is a delightful kid, with dark, wavy curls, big brown eyes, and an imagination that just won't quit. Because of her striking features and her quick mind, she has always reminded me of the only other Betty I have ever known and loved, my dad's older sister, my aunt.

Presently, another mom in our music class is expecting a baby in a few weeks, and this little one will also go by Betty. We sometimes sing hello to "Betty in the belly," and I think about my aunt a little more.

Finally, this quarter in Music Together, the Tambourine Collection features one of my favorite songs to play with, "Betty Martin." When I first taught Tambourine three years ago, and was beginning to learn how to make music fun for kids and teach them well, I also thought of my aunt during this song. A lifelong teacher like so many of my aunts and uncles, I remember her stories about her school, the kids she taught (gym, to be exact), and her big personality. Furthering my thoughts of her at the time was the fact that EJ, all of a year and some change in age, wore a beautiful sweater very often that spring that Aunt Betty had knit for her. Our kiddo has never been a fan of coats, but wow, she loved that sweater.

Today, a few moments before I left the house to teach my first session of music for the quarter, and to do "Betty Martin" with both families who have Bettys in them, I got the call from my mom and dad that my Aunt Betty, who had battled cancer (a kind that can linger for years and does not remiss), passed away peacefully this morning surrounded by my uncle, cousins and her sister. I didn't really have time to take it in, as I was rushing to leave, but I couldn't help but think of her throughout the two hours I was teaching. I thought of her toughness, of how she would probably say, "well, kiddo, you have to go to work, you'll be fine, I love ya." I didn't even cry, although I must admit, I almost lost it when I asked the families what we should sing hello to, and one mother said, "Life!" She didn't know how right she was.

When we sang "Betty Martin"---both times---I fixed myself on a grade-school memory of trick-or-treating with my dad, my brothers, my cousin, and Aunt Betty. She and my cousin, a girl only 11 months older than me and in my mind, cooler than cool, had driven down from their home in Clintonville to trick-or-treat with us. Aunt Betty brought with her a cheerleading outfit from the school where she worked, which just happened to be orange and black, their school colors. I wore that outfit with complete glee as my costume---it was fantastic. Singing, "Hey, Betty Martin, tiptoe, tiptoe...Hey, Betty Martin, tiptoe fine..." I imagined us going from house to house in the darkness sneaking up to doors for treats, and I remember how Aunt Betty and my dad were totally game to go to as many houses as we could hit---it was a blast. How could I not smile during that song with that in my mind?

Of all my dad's siblings, Aunt Betty reminded me the most of my grandmother, her mom. In so many ways, I imagine Aunt Betty's life and successes seemed to realize what Nana could have been, had she had the benefit of a real education, and not been married off in the old-world style (despite being in America) at age 14. They were both smart, they were both bold, and they were both very kind and very concerned about others.

Now they are together again, and I'm sure it is quite a reunion. Goodbye, Aunt Betty. Thanks for all of your love and kindness. I keep it with me, and I think of you all the time.

Quotable EJ: Church Reform for Preschoolers

2010-04-02T16:51:00.000-07:00

With Easter this weekend, our conversation this evening (while making a bunny cake, pictures to follow) was all about church. Would we go to church even if we weren't in Hyde Park? How would that work, exactly? She loves God, loves to pray, etc., but the "sitting in church" part of worship isn't her fave. In fact, EJ wants none of it, here or there, and here is her exact quote---a whole paragraph about what she thinks is wrong about church.

"Mom, I don't like church. It is so crazy and so loud. Everyone is talking, and then I want to ask questions, but when I say 'Excuse me' no one even listens to me. And Mom, that is SO RUDE, because I say excuse me, and I really need to know what is going on, and my brain wants to know the answers to my questions and my brain is really saying 'please tell me' and then I just have to listen to adults and they won't listen to me being polite. That is not good manners. I think other kids like church, and I am the only one who maybe doesn't like it, but it is just too crazy for my brain."

Enough said.

Hey, Easter Bunny! We have a cute date for you!

This cake is guaranteed not to make your brain too crazy.

Quotable EJ: School Update and Physics Lesson

2010-04-01T17:56:00.000-07:00

Today, on my walk to pick EJ up from school in the unseasonably, fantastically-warm 80 degrees, two girls at the neighborhood playground yelled out to me, "Where's EJ? She's not with you!" This surprised me---I hadn't realized that they had learned her name in the few visits we have made there since the weather turned fair. When I told them that I was about to pick her up, they begged for her to come to the park. EJ happily obliged.

One of these girls is in the fourth grade, the other in the first, but it was clear that they wanted to play with my preschooler, which again, was somewhat of a surprise. "She's fun!" they said. They like her "imagination games." They weren't done there, though, noting, "We had fun when she came with that really tall guy---I think he's her dad. Is that your husband?" It was an interesting discussion for all of us.

EJ wanted to know where these ladies went to school---Horace Mann, for the record, which is currently on spring break---and then she told them her big news: she will likely be going to South Loop Elementary for kindergarten next year. She tested into the gifted program at the school, which is great, because it means smaller class size, and academics that will suit a kid like her who is a fluent reader and curious about EVERYTHING. Basically, she's a giant intellectual sponge on top of a wiggly, recess-loving body (did I mention South Loop has regular recess, unlike many public schools? Yes, it does!)

What follows is a transcript of the kiddos' pursuant conversation, which I wrote down there, since I didn't want to lose a word. As you will see: sponge with wiggliness.

Fourth grader: You'll go to South Loop?

EJ: YES! For kindergarten. It is a great school for me. It is a no candy and no peanut school, though, since some kids get sick from peanuts and candy is unhealthy for kids' bodies.

Fourth grader: Do you have a bookbag?

EJ looked up at me, with an "I don't know" face.

Me: Yes, EJ has a brand new backpack that she got for her plane trip. EJ, your bookbag is your Hello Kitty backpack, with straps and a pulley.

EJ: Mom, that isn't a pulley. A pulley is a simple machine, with an axle and a rope. The axle on a pulley is round, and you put a hole in the middle of it to hang it, then the rope goes over it, on top of the axle. You can use it to lift heavy things if you want.

Me: Well, you got me there. Your backpack has a pull handle, sound good?

EJ (to the girls): I have a backpack bookbag with a pull handle, and it is SO PINK and SO HELLO KITTY.

A PULLEY IS A SIMPLE MACHINE!?! For real? This came out of my four-year old kid's mouth on the swings today, as easily and as matter-of-factly as "the swings are hot" and "I'd like to swing higher, please!" I'd love to say that I did physics flashcards with her, but I have to put the credit where it is due: Sid, the Science Kid. Thank you, Jim Henson's company, for creating a show that has taught my daughter about simple machines, but more importantly, how fun science is. She's told me what the seesaw really is (a lever) and the slide, too (an inclined plane). I know that television for kids gets a bad rap, but it isn't all cutesy garbage. Or frilly, fancy garbage. Or whiney, obnoxious garbage that will make you sad you own a television, and ready to throw it out the window.

What do I love the most about this story? Aside from her excitement about school, and the fact that she very tenderly explained what a pulley was, without a hint of sassiness in her voice, I love that she wasn't sure what a bookbag was, but did understand the composition and use of a pulley. Let's hope that doesn't get her picked on too much in the future---maybe her love of Hello Kitty and pink, pink, pink will be her saving graces, even if she is as geeky as her two parents.

Quotable EJ and So Much More

2010-03-14T11:27:00.000-07:00

It has been awhile since I have taken the time to blog. Shame, shame, shame, on me, I suppose, but I don't think that my hiatus was avoidable. Before the holidays, I posted about Shawn's death, which threw me out of a "let's write about funny things around the house vibe," then within days of his passing, EJ got sicker than she'd ever been, which made things decidedly unfunny around here. It was a perfect storm for blog avoidance---lack to time, lack of will, lack of subject.

At one point in my blogging history, EJ's bout with seven days of fever, two visits to the doctor, and one trip to ER sandwiched in the middle of that, would have been an entry I would have written up, if for no other reason than for the catharsis of documenting it. It was so unfun, though, and I was so exhausted in the midst of it, the best I could do was Facebook updates (i.e., Day six of fever) and occasional tearful calls (mostly from fatigue) to close friends. It may sound amazing, especially given how much we have to pay for the most basic of health care, but it took seven days and one great doctor (in the end) to figure out that our very articulate child complaining of sharp pain in her ear was actually on to something, and taking out the earwax that obstructed the view of the nasty ear infection she had was really all that was necessary to get her on the road to recovery. It would have been lovely had that discovery been made before six additional days of pain, $1,000 in medical bills, and a "bonus prize" of pneumonia been added to the mix, but I quibble.

To make it all more fun, we discovered that EJ is allergic to amoxicillin, although her reaction to that drug happened (thankfully) on her last day of treatment, and after she had made an amazing recovery. Hives, swelling hands and feet, etc.---those were just a fun "extra" so we could remember the whole experience even more fondly, I'm sure.

SO. No blogging before the holidays, for obvious reasons, then Christmas and New Year's hit, and I was just out of habit, plain and simple. She lost her first tooth in January, which is totally and completely blog-worthy, but even then, I didn't make the time. I want to make up for that lost time now, though, with five quotable moments.

1) What are we, anyway?
a.k.a., "Mom, are you sure you know what you are talking about?"

The time: The last day before EJ got sick, a few days before the Hannukah party at her temple-based preschool, just home from school. It was an extremely bitter cold day that day, so we were little frozen nuggets by the time we got to our building.
The place: In the foyer at the bottom of the three flights of stairs we needed to climb to get to our condo.
The situation: A good friend called my cell from Washington, and I asked her if I could call her back, since we had just gotten home, were weighed down with winter gear, and needed to climb up all the stairs. She replied that she'd be out and about, and I asked her if she was preparing for Hannukah.

The conversation:

EJ: Who's getting ready for Hannukah, Mom?
Me: What?
EJ: Who was on the phone getting ready for Hannukah?
Me: Oh, that was Auntie Tasha. She's getting ready for Hannukah.
EJ: Are we getting ready for Hannukah?
Me: Well, I know you are at school, honey, but at our house, we are getting ready for Christmas. Remember, that's why we put up the tree, and have the advent calendar, and the advent wreath, and are talking so much about baby Jesus being born. That's Christmas.
EJ: It is Hannukah at school, Mom, but not at our house?
Me: We can do some things at home for Hannukah, too, sweetie, but we are Catholic. Catholic people celebrate Christmas, because we believe in Christ. Jewish people celebrate Hannukah. And remember, Jesus was a Jew, so he studied what you study at school.
EJ: Mom....[long pause for a flight of stairs]
Me: Uh huh?
EJ: I'm pretty sure we're Jewish. Yep. We are. With a Christmas tree.

Moral of the story: Take a more serious look at the neighborhood Catholic kindergarten.

2) Please, do not alert the authorities.
a.k.a., Before you panic about what your child says, consider alternative meanings.

The time: Getting ready for school one morning in February.
The place: My bedroom.
The situation: EJ came in to my room as I was getting dressed, wanting to get dressed alongside me. Monkey see, monkey do.

The conversation:

EJ: You know what?
Me: What?
EJ: I won't cry, even if you beat me.
Me: WHAT? WHAT DID YOU SAY?
EJ: Mom, I promise I won't cry, even if you beat me.
Me: EJ, I would never, ever beat you. Where did you hear about beating?
EJ: Mom, you can finish getting dressed first, if you beat me at the dress-up game, I won't even cry.
Me: Oh, my goodness. EJ, "beating" has a few meanings, and one of them is for games. Do you think we are playing a dress-up game now?
EJ: YES! You and I are getting dressed, and if you finish first, I won't cry.
Me: Please do not say that you "don't cry when mommy beats me" at school, okay, and you can win the "getting dressed" game. Deal?

Upon further reflection, I thought about how one week prior, EJ had had a total meltdown at school dismissal because her friend was able to get her winter clothes on faster than she did. EJ is usually the one to finish first, and then they walk out together, but when the tables were turned, my kiddo just freaked. We had to do a time-out, and had lengthy discussions about how "you can't always win" and "it is okay for others to beat you at games, you can't have a tantrum when you are beaten."

Uh huh. Beating. At games. Deep mommy sigh of relief.

Moral of the story: Your kid will repeat everything you say, so choose your words wisely.

3) Nationality.
a.k.a., When you are Italian, Swedish, Irish, Lithuanian, German, Norwegian, and English, it might be easier to "think local."

The time: Lunch, the first Friday of Lent.
The place: The sushi counter seating area at our local Whole Foods.
The situation: EJ and I were sharing a lunch---pizza for her, sushi for me---and people watching.

The conversation:

EJ: [Reading the sign over the pizza counter] That says PIZ(rhymes with "whiz")-ZA, Mom, but we say "PEET-ZA." That's silly.
Me: That's because it is an Italian word, and in Italian, the "I" makes the "EE" sound. Do you know whose family is Italian?
EJ: Papa's!
Me: That's right! Papa's mom and dad came from Italy, so they are Italian. Nana's mom came from Sweden, so she is Swedish. Grandpa's Mom's family is from Lithuania...etc."
EJ: You know what I am?
Me: Well, you are all of those things, sweetie. In America, you get to be some of everything!
EJ: I'm a Hyde Parker. That's it. Because I'm from Hyde Park.
Me: You and the president, baby.

Moral of the story: This kid is so south-side.

4) Why God Made Winter
a.k.a., I may want to move to the south, but I don't speak for everyone.

The time: The morning walk to school, on one of the snowiest, coldest days of the winter.
The place: Between home and school.
The situation: I'm freezing, EJ is throwing herself into fresh piles of snow to make angels at every turn.

The conversation:

Me: EJ, we have to get going. It is freezing.
EJ: I love the snow, Mom! I just love it! Snow is PERFECT for four-year olds. JUST PERFECT.

Moral of the story: I used to love snow, too. I should improve my attitude, and wear an extra layer.

5) So this is why she likes to watch us work!
a.k.a., Time to get those parental controls up and running.

The time: Yesterday morning, March 13th, while I was at work and Mike was home with the kiddo.
The place: At the laptop.
The situation: EJ was playing on the computer at her usual haunts (pbskids.org and starfall.com) while Mike did some work around the house.

The conversation (approximated from Mike's description):

EJ: Daddy, I went to Jungle Junction! I'm on the Jungle Junction game.
Daddy: Really?
EJ: Yeah, I found it on Google!

Moral of the story: Baby books may need to include an entry for "Baby's first successful search engine use."

So that's what's up here. We are waiting to hear what kindergarten options will be available for this bright, sassy, fantastic kid of ours, and should know within the month. We're heading to Florida soon, too, where EJ will have an appointment at the Bibbidi Bobbidi Boutique, and further her recent Cinderella obsession. The sun is finally shining more regularly, and the temps here are starting to climb. We even got our first "spring" day at the park next to our house this week, and we went with friends, which made it even more fun. We hadn't been there, except to make some of those infamous snow angels, since November. It felt glorious.

I'll close with a photo of our girl on the swings, welcoming park season. Here comes the sun.

Felt

2009-12-14T05:45:00.000-08:00

I lost a 39-year old friend to colon cancer this weekend. He was an extraordinary man, who for two years fought stage-four colon cancer with wit and pluck and determination. I am still in shock about losing him, his attitude was so positive and his outlook so steady on complete recovery, it is hard to believe (even given the tremendous odds he was facing) that he could be gone.

One of my improv buddies from my earliest classes out at Wit in DC, I met Shawn "Felt" Felty shortly after experiencing several family traumas in a matter of a few short years, as well as 9/11 (and all that came with living within a mile of the Pentagon). Everything felt topsy-turvy---the world that I thought I understood was not clear anymore---but going to improv classes and getting a chance to just play and to explore and be emotional and be silly and just be in the present was exactly what I needed to put myself right again.

When my work friends and I decided to start participating in the 48-Hour Film Project and we needed actors, I immediately contacted my two favorite guys from class, Shawn and Stuart, and not surprisingly, they became the featured characters in our first movie attempt. After I moved to Chicago with Mike for graduate school, Shawn continued to make these annual films, and as experience shaped the films into better and better final products, Shawn starred in one, "Screening Process," that went on to win awards. I smile every time I watch it, as it details the misadventures in dating of Felt's character, and in real life, Shawn was always armed with a new and interesting dating story, tales that we "old marrieds" enjoyed immensely.

Felt simply attacked life and got the most out of it. He loved his alma mater, University of Pittsburgh, with intensity, and was their number one sports fan. He attended more Pitt games than you could imagine, and proudly played on the Pitt alumni softball team in DC. A longtime sufferer of Crohn's disease, Shawn worked hard to stay fit and healthy. Even after his cancer diagnosis and while on chemo, he trained for a 5K, and completed more than one. When the doctors told him that there was nothing more that they could do for him except keep him comfortable, he wasn't phased, and when a doctor from his tumor panel at Johns Hopkins suggested a new kind of liver surgery to help remove tumors that had spread there, he went for it. When the opportunity came to share his story in the 2010 Colondar, a calendar featuring the stories (and scars) of colon cancer survivors, he became Mr. May.

One of the first precepts you learn in improv is this idea of "Yes, and..."---that when someone suggests something on stage, go with it, don't negate or dismiss it, because all the fun and adventure in a scene is on the other side of the "Yes." Being far away from Shawn while he was sick, relying only on his amazing blog, his Facebook status, and his emails for updates, it was easy for me to believe that he was absolutely going to be healthy in the end, as he faced cancer with a "Yes, and..." approach. Yes, he was more emotional, crying at things all the time, but he felt like he was learning from the experience. Yes, he was going through sometimes awful procedures and even more awful side effects, but he was still playing softball. Yes, the prognosis was bleak, but he was just going to take it one day after the other, and end up well. It just feels inconceivable that this journey ended the way that it did.

A few weeks ago, Felt let us know that he was getting a catheter inserted in his lung to help drain fluid, as his lungs had been filling often, and repeated trips to drain them at the hospital were becoming cumbersome. This was to be an outpatient procedure. Emails from him stopped after he went in, and I became worried. As it turns out, he was in and out of the hospital from that point on, and it was this inability to breath that became his final struggle.

Now, I feel all topsy-turvy again. I can understand a lot of things, but this...this is one for which I just can't make one bit of sense. I wish I could have been there to see him again, and I wish that I could go to his memorial, but since wishing can't make those things so, I'm posting here, and sharing his life a little more with my circle, so that his infectious zest for life can spark the same in even more people. I am so grateful---grateful beyond all words---that years ago, I thought to ask him to be in our films, and that he thought it would fun to do so. Knowing that there is a treasure-trove of movies that we can turn on to hear, see, and remember Felt makes this awful loss just a tiny bit more bearable.

The Cold, Hard Truth

2009-12-10T09:27:00.000-08:00

Yesterday, we had EJ's last music class of the quarter. When we arrived, it was lightly snowing and 36 degrees. When we left an hour later, it was snowing much harder, the roads were slick, and the temp had fallen to 24 degrees. As we were driving slowly and carefully home, EJ asked if Santa was going to come today, because it was so cold. According to her, "Santa needs it to be cold---that's what he likes for Christmas." I explained to her that in some parts of the world in December, it is not cold---for some people December is summer and July is winter, so they can have a picnic for Christmas. She took that information in, thoughtfully, but then let me know, "Santa LIVES in the cold, Mom. It is what HE likes."

Well, I couldn't argue with her there. I replied, "Yes, Santa lives in the coldest place, the North Pole."

Her response?

"Mom, the SOUTH Pole is colder than the the North Pole. Animals live in a colder place than him. He lives in the second-coldest place."

As soon as she said it, I knew she was right. Even the interweb agrees.

So, I was honest. "You know, EJ, I think you are right. I said that Santa lives in the coldest place without thinking about it. The South Pole is colder."

Her answer. "That's okay, Mom. Do you know what the third coldest place in the world is? HYDE PARK, CHICAGO."

I'd contest this, but this morning we awoke to what the weather men and women are calling a 24-hour "arctic blast"---the high today may reach 14 degrees, but when her Daddy walked her to school it was only 2 degrees outside, with a windchill dropping the temperature even further. Our thermometer is now reading 4 degrees, which is not much of a warm-up since 8:00 a.m. Yikes-a-moley.

I love you Chicago, but I don't love your climate. I won't dwell, though. I think I'm going to spend my time today focusing on how grateful I am that I'm not an elf or a penguin. Maybe I'll buy myself one of these, so I can stay warm, Skywalker-style.

Sick, Not Sick, Sick, Not Sick

2009-11-19T11:54:00.001-08:00

Roughly three weeks ago, EJ got a bad cough and a mild fever. After 48 hours, I called our doctor's office, and managed to get an appointment with our own doctor for the next morning. Of course, when we woke EJ up that day, she seemed fantastic---no lethargy (even at 6:45 a.m.), no fever, no cough, totally bonny and bright.

I almost cancelled the appointment, thinking that it wasn't necessary, but since it is very hard to get in, and since the flu is going around (Have you heard? You haven't? Maybe it's just on the running scroll on every news screen I see.), I figured a check-up wouldn't hurt.

Even though all of my mommy-instincts said, "This kid is a-okay," the doc took a look at her, and within 30 seconds, declared, "Pneumonia."

Wowser.

EJ took her first course of antibiotics like a champ, and by the end of 10 days, the cough was almost gone. That's right, almost.

Unfortunately, it never did completely go away, and it became drier, stronger, and less efficient.

I would not be fooled this time---I made another appointment with the doctor. Mike brought EJ in last Friday morning, much sicker in body and spirit than the first time (although let's be honest, she's a bundle of energy even while coughing her brains out), and we got our result: pneumonia gone, nothing serious, just the dregs of a cold hanging on. Keep her hydrated, but feel free to let her go out into the big, big world for adventures.

Okay. Doctor: 2. Instincts: 0.

With this in mind, we attended a previously scheduled playdate later that day, and didn't hesitate to pack up the kiddo on the weekend for a trip up to Wisconsin to see her Uncle John play some quad rugby. We also let some dear Milwaukee-based friends of ours know that yes, we were officially healthy, and yes, we would be in their neighborhood, and yes, we could come see them and get a peek at their sweet new baby and shower them with the love and cooing and attention that they so richly deserve, especially in their sleep-deprived state. I mean, the doctor told us it would be okay. What could possibly go wrong?

Saturday night, EJ woke up in the middle of the night, coughing and coughing....and coughing and coughing...and coughing and coughing....let's just say, things ramped up considerably. My mom, sweet angel that she is, got up with EJ, and actually went and laid down with her for the bulk of the night (at EJ's request) to help her get some rest. When Mike and I woke up, our throats were fiery and scratchy, and we had that "we didn't sleep at all" feeling that accompanies the beginning of a cold.

We agonized about what to do---skip the rugby tournament or drive to Oconomowoc for the big event---but in the end, EJ was so energetic and ready to go, we decided to give it a go. Photo documentation shows that the kid looks healthy.

If you could have heard her though, the glowing picture of health would have looked more dim. Between the three of us, we were a bundle of burgeoning sickness. We called our friends to cancel the baby visit, because we are not evil germ-spreaders, and headed back home to my folks' place to rest. When we got there, I checked my email, and discovered that the little girl that EJ had played with on Friday afternoon was running a 102 degree fever.

How's that for nutty? EJ was hacking and coughing, but had been declared healthy, while her playmate was completely healthy in appearance, but was moments away from a high fever and big-time illness. I feel like that would qualify for an Alanis Morrisette song.

Fast forward to Tuesday. The kid was better, again. Still a cough, but really, so much better. I sent her to school, because there was (and had been) no fever, there was just a little cough, and frankly, I was no longer able to reliably determine what constituted healthy from sick. I rolled with the doctor's call, and just said, "lingering cold, good enough for school." Mike and I felt generally yucky, but not so terrible that we couldn't keep going.

If there was soundtrack accompanying our life, yesterday (Wednesday) is when the "Dum....dum....dummmmm" moment would happen, that sound-trigger that lets us all know that bad things are about to brew. While EJ woke up healthy enough to go to school, she was just miserable to be around. Grumpy. Gripey. Cranky. Crabby. Crying about everything and nothing all at once.

Maybe I don't know pneumonia from a cold. Maybe I don't know a sick playmate from a healthy one. I do know my kid, though, and I should have known that the shoe...was...going...to...drop. For goodness sake, we even had a tantrum about shoes yesterday---a fall-on-the-floor, dissolve-into-tears tantrum about leaving a pair of sparkly-silver shoes at preschool for the season to be worn when wet and/or snowy boots are taken off---one tantrum among many that made the day feel roughly 487 hours long. My patience was so worn by the time my head hit the pillow, I simply said a prayer of thanksgiving that the day was mercifully done, and fell asleep thinking, "tomorrow will be better."

This morning, our child climbed into bed with me, after Mike had gotten up to start his day (feeling lousy) and I was still trying to rouse myself (feeling less lousy, but really tired). She felt warm. Really warm.

She was warm. 101-degree warm. Fever warm.

Mike very kindly stayed home with her this morning while I went to work for a few hours, but now we are at home, eating chicken soup, taking Tylenol, doing Color Wonder drawings, and watching too much television. Sick, not sick, sick, not sick...I'm getting whiplash, and we are officially not making any more predictions on health for the season.

She Leaves Me Notes: YES

2009-11-13T20:08:00.000-08:00

I found this note by the computer this evening after putting EJ to bed. It was written in orange marker---my favorite color---so I can only imagine it was meant for me, since she tends to be pretty deliberate about those kinds of choices, and had roughly eight-bazillion marker colors from which to choose.

There's nothing like a four-year old child preparing the evening before to be awake the next morning before her parents. I think she's hoping that we'll go to that site after she's snoozing and leave it open on the laptop so she won't have to do her normal 6:00 a.m. routine, which involves running to our room to make sure we are still asleep, turning on the laptop, logging in, finding Safari, and typing the URL in herself. Leave a note, save some work. She's nothing if not efficient.

It actually looks more like one of those ballot mock-up flyers to me, the kind that you receive at some legally-prescribed distance away from the entrance of your polling place before voting. "Vote 'YES' on pbskids.org!" When I read it like that, it cracks me up even more---less imperative, more like a written statement of endorsement, just so we all understand her position on this crucial matter. "You can bookmark what you want, but as for me, here's my site of choice...won't you consider it?"

We went to her preschool conference today, and they gave the kind of report that makes parents beam: EJ loves her friends, but is not cliquey (and yes, there is a clique in her school already...sigh). She is open to all kinds of new friends, and invites kids to play with her easily, talks to everyone, etc. While dramatic when upset, she is learning to express herself, and then calms down quickly. She loves to focus in on tasks and projects, and she isn't fidgety and unable to sit still like last year (the topic of every previous conference, and yes, she was only three and being fidgety is part of the job description). The one area on which they said that they are continuing to work with her is fine motor skill---cutting, writing, refining the size and accuracy of letters, doing detailed work. This kind of startled me, because fine motor has always been her strongest suit, even as a baby.

Maybe I should bring this note to school. I'd have to say, "Fine Motor: YES."

Of course, maybe I shouldn't assume this note is for me, and therefore, mine to share. It could have been made in a burst of make-believe play for her new stuffed animal, a small pink pig (she LOVES pink pigs, after all) sent to her in the mail from her Grandma and Grandpa (a.k.a., smart cookies) with her very own name on the package (note to the US Post: if you want to ensure your survival forever, figure out a way for preschoolers to vote, because they would literally storm the capital to keep snail mail arriving addressed "just for them.") She was chattering up a storm to this little beanie baby pig today, telling her the day's schedule, explaining the rules and the things we like to eat for lunch, and generally teaching her the ways of the world chez nous. The best part: she's named the pig, Panana, which is, in my mind, the hilarious linguistic merging of a pig and a banana. It also fits in nicely to Van Halen's "Panama" when you are rambling through the house trying to find the lost pig (who has been lost at least three times in two days of ownership)---singing always helps find lost stuffed animals, it is a universal rule. However she came up with the hog moniker, I have one thing to say:

"Panana, YES."

Desert Surprise

2009-11-04T09:43:00.000-08:00

You thought I said, "dessert surprise," didn't you? Usually I would be talking about chocolate, I swear, but not today.

Last week, our family took a short trip to Arizona thanks to my in-laws, who graciously bought us the plane tickets, and Mike's aunt and uncle, who kindly put us up and drove us around and generally acted as amazing hosts. The main impetus for the trip was to visit Mike's great-grandparents, who had not yet met EJ. Having had a similar trip with EJ to Denver before my grandparents passed away (thanks to my parents' generosity), I was happy to have this opportunity, and understood how important it would be for all of us.

In the weeks preceding our trip, when we would speak to our in-laws, they would enthusiastically say how our vacation was coming up soon, then ask us if we were as excited as they were. The truth was, as happy as we were for the trip, we were also cognizant of the work of it---packing and unpacking, flying almost four hours both ways with a four-year old, being there only a few days without much time to adjust to the time difference, figuring out how to keep a little kid occupied in an older couple's home without toys (but with plenty of breakables), etc. It wasn't so much that we didn't think we'd have fun, especially sharing time with family, it was just that we didn't think of it particularly as a vacation, per se.

As the date approached, we had a further complication: EJ got pneumonia. Thankfully, we had a week of antibiotics (her first dose, ever) before the departure date, and it worked itself out. Even more amazingly, Mike and I didn't catch it!

Then, with a few days to go, we checked the weather report, and sure enough, a cold front was hitting Arizona the day we were arriving. Without swimming as an activity for EJ (at the least the first 3 days of our trip), we had to get even more creative about keeping her occupied.

Finally, the night before our trip, after staying up until 1:30 a.m. to pack, Mike and I were repeatedly awoken by EJ, who would run to our room and tell us about the things she needed to pack ("Don't forget my pink medicine, Mom!") or how the hooks that hold the butterflies that hang from her ceiling are "too shiny and scary." Needless to say, we got about 3 hours of sleeps, and that was fairly interrupted.

With all this going on, we boarded our plane last Wednesday morning, and set out for our adventure. When we arrived, Uncle Jim met us at the airport, and as tired as we were, as cool as it was (5 degrees cooler than Chicago, to be exact), and as long as our journey had been already, we immediately felt captivated by this place. Uncle Jim and Aunt Terri's kindness and welcoming spirit certainly played a big part in this---having wonderful relatives is such a blessing---but the truth is, we were surprised by how much we liked the Phoenix area. In a million years, a city in the desert would never occur to me as a place I would want to set up house. But within a few hours of being there---a few hours of feeling the sunshine, seeing the landscape, taking in the dusty yellow and rusty reds and sagey greens---I found myself having this conversation with my husband:

Me: "I could live here. I can't believe this, but I could really live here."

Mike: "I could live here, too."

Me: "We could live here!"

Mike: "This place is beautiful, isn't it?"

Me: "Yes, it is. If they have even one great Korean restaurant, we can put this on our list of post-grad school options."

Mike: "Right, Korean food. An Indian restaurant, too."

As the weather got warmer, and we got more time in the dry sunshine, time for a trip to the breathtaking Sedona, and time to trick-or-treat in the 75 degree weather with other families in the neighborhood, we kept repeating the refrain, "Can you believe it? We love this place!"

Should we visit in the summer to test it out? Of course. Should we strongly weigh the pros and cons before moving? Definitely. Should we establish that, yes, there are good Korean and Indian restaurants (priorities, priorities)? Certainly. But despite everything---despite our love of the East coast, our homesickness for Virginia, and our fondness for green trees and the changing of the seasons---will we be thinking through a move to the Phoenix area as a potential option? Surprise, surprise, the answer is yes.

Of course, it is possible that our attraction to Phoenix is in part a reaction to the impending winter here in Chicago. Just thinking about the dry, sunny warmth of the place---even the warmth we experienced on one of their coldest October days on record---is bolstering my spirit as it becomes colder and grayer around me. Even if we need to test out our new southwestern love a little more before we commit, I must say this: I'm turning 36 next week, and I love being reminded that I can still be thoroughly surprised by something, especially something as foreign to me as the desert. Just when I think I have it all figured out, life throws me a curveball, and it takes me to a delightful place that was never even on my radar.

Future Arizonans? Maybe!

Mom and Dad with EJ

Our Fearless Hosts, Aunt Terri and Uncle Jim

Stunning Sedona

Radiant Color for Miles

EJ as Cinderella, with Cousin, Jason, as her Prince Charming

The Whole Family, Minus Cousin Sara (Who Will be Photoshop-Added)

Quotable EJ, Now in Writing

2009-09-29T20:10:00.000-07:00

EJ has been reading for awhile now, which continues to startle us at times, even though we should be used to it. What is new, however, is her pen-to-paper writing of letters and words. As she became more excited about letters and words, she would type them out on the computer (yes, really, I even blogged about it), or would dictate notes to us to write for her. While our days as scribes are not over yet, they may be soon, as evidenced by her recent foray into signs and cards.

The first thing that she wrote by hand, aside from her name or those of family members, was a sign that said, "Keep Out Ada"---I kid you not, the little girl put a sign up on her door to keep our dog, Ada, from getting in to eat her toys. It was so "Little Rascals" clubhouse, I laughed out loud when I saw it. I should have snapped a picture of it right away, but I didn't, and now that sign has either been destroyed or lost or repurposed---things tend to resurface in four-year old land, so it may not be gone for good.

If I find it, I will document it, but in lieu of that, here are some recent favorites:

Card for me, Outside:

Card for me, Inside:

How can you not love a card with your kid's self-portrait inside? Especially when it comes from a kid who now professes that she loves you more than Lovey (her blankie) and Spot (her little stuffed dalmatian)?

Letter for her Nana and Papa:

My parents left for their place in Florida last week, and EJ woke up absolutely inconsolable about missing them a few days later. She woke me up to ask me what their address was, and I told her it was on a magnet on the fridge. By the time I had crawled out of bed, she had completed this letter for them (and their dog, Wilbur, of course), along with all the numbers from the magnet---house number, zip code, and phone numbers, all mushed together.

Imaginary friend birthday party decorations:

Throwing imaginary parties for her imaginary friends is a big deal to her, and after she made a list of all the decorations she would need, she made these balloons and sign, then hung them on the wall. I did help her on this one---I spelled balloon aloud, then she wrote it out, I gave her tape, and I told her that, no, I would not blow up actual balloons, so she should just draw some and it would work out just fine.

Directions for the microwave:

We've got a nasty cold here, and I had the worst of it today. To feel better, I pulled out a wonderful heat wrap that I bought from my yoga instructor ages ago and warmed it up in the microwave. EJ was intrigued when she saw me wearing it, but concerned later when she saw me go to reheat it. Exact quote: "Mom, you can't put hats in the microwave to dry them!" Hmmm....interesting. Within the two minutes it took for my flannel heat wrap to get cozy warm, the kiddo ran to her table, crafted this sign, grabbed a sticker (since I wasn't free to give her tape), and posted this under the microwave. "See, Mom, this microwave is for FOOD. FOOD ONLE (i.e., ONLY). You can put your clothes in the oven if you need to heat them, okay?"

Dry Run-Away

2009-09-20T11:24:00.000-07:00

On behalf of all the mommies and daddies and grandparents and caregivers out there---all those folks who love and watch over little children and enjoy taking them out and about to child-friendly destinations---I make the following appeal to the decision makers at said places:

Stop Installing Earth-Saving, BUT CHILD-TERRIFYING, Hand Dryers in Your Restrooms

It feels like every season, the restrooms at yet another of our favorite places is refurbished into what my daughter would call, through her sobs and her wailing and her tugging away trying to run away as fast as she can, "a very, scary, too-loud bathroom."

Yes, I've read the wall signs that describe how we are reducing paper waste and saving energy by sticking our hands into your hand dryer that a) is never placed, shaped, or configured in a way that is convenient for a small child to use and b) makes a jet engine sound soft (case in point: my daughter is not afraid of the sound of jet engines), and finally, c) will not allow the user to cover their ears to avoid being deafened because they have to stick those hands into this crazy, loud machine. No, I don't want the earth depleted of its natural resources, and I bet that once my kid gets a little older, she won't either. Unfortunately, environmental guilt will not comfort my child as she is shaking like a leaf---a leaf we are NOT saving---and too terrified to use the bathroom.

Adult offices, knock yourself out. Install hand dryers that require those noise-reducing headsets that folks on the tarmac use while guiding in planes. But at the aquarium? The grocery store? The park? The movie theater? Really, cut us a small break.

Now, I will concede, EJ has always been afraid of loud noises, and she isn't keen on the regular, quieter hand dryers either. Her first question when we go somewhere new is, "Do the bathrooms here have dryers, or quiet paper towels?" She may be more sensitive than most, I grant you. But when I am 30 feet from the door of a bathroom at a child-centered venue, and I can hear the dryers screaming and whooshing from there, I'll tell you what else I notice---small huddles comprised of reluctant, terrified children and exasperated, cajoling parents in a struggle to see if the kiddos can make it into the restroom, past the evil dryers, and to a stall before an inevitable accident occurs.

I have had folks say, "Well, kids have to get used to scary things, to work through their fears, to face what is difficult, blah blah blah..." Yep, that is true. We do a lot of that. But I think that I can safely say, and many other parents will agree, that there is a difference between a worry or anxiety that you can help a child to work through by "toughing it out," and something that invokes terror in a child. I'm talking about terror, no exaggeration necessary. I don't think it is my job, as EJ's mom, to do terror-aversion therapy in a public bathroom, but I am given no choice when she has gone hours and hours without a bathroom break. It is just awful for all of us.

I believe even Mother Earth, who we are trying to save, thinks that these dryers are ridiculous.

So for those places out there who cater to children and are considering this change, I beg you, please think it through. You really don't want kids to remember your venue as the place with "cool exhibits, tantrum-inducing bathrooms." You REALLY don't want parents to think that, either. Trust me.

And for those that have already installed them, let me say this: don't expect us to stay more than two hours, and don't expect us to pay an admission that might be reasonable for a longer stay, but makes two hours seem like a complete waste. Sorry about that. Earth saved, admission price, not so much.

Now, don't even get me started on the automatic sinks and soap dispensers...

Bagel, Ooh-La-La

2009-09-01T07:09:00.001-07:00

I am feeling a bit under the weather today---either bad allergies or a cold---so my sweet husband took care of EJ while I slept in. He wakes up very early in order to get to the lab, and often, the kiddo wakes up with him. Many days he lets me sleep while he gets EJ breakfast, finds clothes, answers her 150 questions, etc. It's very nice, but especially nice on days like today when I'm not feeling 100%

I got this email from Mike this morning, with a report from breakfast. I told him it was going straight to the blog, since this little anecdote is a keeper. Here it is, in Mike's words:

This morning, as with many mornings, I asked EJ what she wanted
for breakfast.

She said, "I want this, with Nu-tell-a!", pulling the English muffins
out of the fridge.

For fun, I asked her what the English muffins were, thinking she'd be
able to read them off the package. In hindsight, the labeling is not
very good on the English muffins package.

After thinking for a few minutes, she said, "French bagels."

August, the Longest Month

2009-08-27T10:05:00.000-07:00

August, formerly classified in my brain as "hot/humid month, lots of angry yellow jackets" has now been moved to a new file, marked "warmish month, long days of no camp/no preschool, not one moment of continuous thought without interruption from small child, fun nonetheless."

Oh, and there are still angry yellow jackets. They were swarming our car the other day when we went peach picking (sure, we WERE at an orchard, but I don't like being an active part of the "sweet-to-meat" transition for these little stingers.)

My Achilles heal as a parent is making daily plans---figuring out activities, getting us out of the house, contacting people for playdates, etc. I am just AWFUL at it. I'm getting better, sure, but really, this is not my forte. This weakness has made August with a very precocious four-year old at times, well, LONG. We've cobbled together some fun, though, at least enough to ward off boredom and keep us sane. I consider that great success.

Our month kicked off with the anniversary triad on "August Eve"---Mike and I celebrated 10 years of marriage on July 31st, my parents celebrated 39 on August 1st, and Mike's parents had their 40th on the 2nd. Three days, 89 years of marriage among us. Mom and Dad watched EJ on our anniversary so Mike and I could have the whole day together, and it was great---we went to a matinee, had frozen yogurt at the hip place we'd never tried, enjoyed an early dinner of Korean food at one of our favorite restaurants---simply perfect. On their anniversary, we met them in Beloit for an Andreoli family reunion, where EJ promptly fell in love with my cousin's son, and the two of them began planning their wedding sometime between the playground and their paddle boat ride. Must have been all that anniversary mojo in the air. The next day, we headed up to dinner in Evanston to celebrate with Mike's parents.

Then (July 31, 1999)...

...and now (wearing the same pearls he gave me on the eve of our wedding)

Our Wedding Covenant (Must be working---check out Mike's calligraphy, and signatures from everyone who attended our ceremony and reception)

Young Love, Family Picnic-Style

Happy 40th Anniversary, Grandma and Grandpa

The family reunion wasn't our only weekend away this month---we have been out of town every weekend of August. Two weekends in a row, we traveled up to Kenosha to have a rummage sale at my parents' place, hoping to sell off all the baby clothes and items that we sorted through and hauled out of our condo earlier this summer. The sale was a bust, really, but we packed everything up, and will try again in the spring. Our second weekend up in K-town, we checked out their dinosaur museum, which is housed in the old Kenosha Museum building, where I spent many happy childhood moments when my aunt was active there. Even though we now live in a big city with big, fabulous museums, I think that the dinosaur dig, puzzle, and drawing area in this museum's basement charmed EJ as much as anything we've seen in Chicago.

Pink Goggles On, Brush in Hand

Uncovering the Fossil

Proud of her Pieced-Together Dinosaurs

It hasn't been a particularly beachy August, but we did manage to make it to Lake Michigan as a family one sunny afternoon. EJ had a great time running through the fountain at the 63rd Street Beach, but as there was a red flag at that location that afternoon (lesson learned: the Chicago Parks internet site is not up-to-date on beach closings), she couldn't enjoy the waves until we packed up and moved to South Shore Beach, just a few minutes away.

Skipping Through the Fountains

Sunny Smiles

Who Cares About the Swim Ban? (aka, This Fountain Is Awesome)

Building Sandcastles with Daddy

Finally, this past weekend, we were able to visit our cousins in Ann Arbor, and just had a fantastic time. On Sunday, my cousin's daughter turned three, so everyone came over for a party. EJ loved playing with her, and it was such a treat to see everyone and their kids. Our whole time there was filled with great company, great conversation, great food---our family is amazing, plain and simple. We spent Monday at Greenfield Village, where EJ got to ride on the historic carousel. On our way home, Tuesday, we stopped at an orchard (aka, Yellow Jacket Central), and picked some peaches.

Carousel Ride with the Cousins

Catch the Brass Ring

There is Cobbler in My Future

I'm so grateful that we have had things to do and relatives to visit to keep this month moving along, because without them, I wouldn't have enough recharge to tackle the two+ weeks left until preschool begins again. As long as the days seem, though, EJ certainly comes up with things to do when I run out of inspiration. Check out her present for me yesterday:

Blue Band-Aid on Head, Smiley Face on Floor

The band-aid was purely decorative. The smiley face was pure sweetness, made by a kid who said, "I made if for you, because you make me so happy."

Maybe August isn't that long of a month...

Awake

2009-08-14T08:02:00.001-07:00

Long time, no updates. We've had some wonky DSL issues at the house which have made posting challenging, but more importantly, we have been out soaking in the summer and enjoying ourselves. I'm more awake and ready-to-go than I have been in years, and I have one thing to thank for this remarkable change: thyroid medicine.

As I posted previously, after years of testing low-normal, my body finally launched a full-scale assault on my thyroid that put my blood test results into the danger zone. I was told that it would take at least six weeks of medication to really feel any difference, but I would say that two weeks in I was waking up a little easier, three weeks in I could tell that my mood was much more steady and my body was less achy, and by one month, I was feeling like a new person. I'm six weeks out now, and I barely recognize the person I was before the medication. It is some kind of miracle---there is no other word for it.

A lot of people told me that, after I finished my masters, the time I used for studying would fill in with home stuff, and I'd wonder how I ever got through school in the first place. I guess I have felt some of that, but truthfully, the bigger question I now ask is, "How did I ever function with that sluggish thyroid?" To describe the level of fatigue, soreness, moodiness, dry skin---I could go on and on---would be impossible, because I didn't even realize how out-of-whack that state of being was until it finally ended. Really, how did I function? My poor family---I must have been a gem to be around sometimes, walking around like a zombie. Bless them for sticking it out.

Mike and I celebrated our tenth anniversary on July 31st, and as we talked about my new, awake, steadier self, my husband said, "I feel like I just got back the person I married. You are yourself again." I don't think there is better testimony than that for the power of thyroid medication, except to say that I feel like that person, too, and I really missed her.

Broken Feelings

2009-07-23T09:26:00.001-07:00

As EJ told her teacher at camp this morning, "I had a rough morning already, Miss Laura." I didn't disagree. Sometimes, it is just tough being four, which means it is also tough being a four year old's mom.

Despite my status as hero last night when I let her go to bed in her new Tinkerbell dress-up outfit (snuggled with her Build-a-Bear bunny rabbit dressed in a matching Tinkerbell outfit, of course), I quickly fell from grace this morning when I insisted that she wear an adorable blue swimsuit to school instead of her adorable pink swimsuit. Maybe I'm just unreasonable, but when a suit has been worn two days in a row to camp, and has come home so dirty with sand and mud that it is no longer technically pink, I think it is time to pick a new suit for the day.

Did I not realize that she LOVES PINK and now HATES BLUE? Yes, she HATES it. She's been playing with the word "hate" a lot, and I have been spending a good amount of time trying to extinguish it. It is exhausting, and if I could say "I HATE trying to teach you not to say HATE!" without modeling that word, I would.

Then, to add to her dissatisfaction with my mothering---have I mentioned that when she gets upset she calls me MOTHER, as in "Yes, MOTHER, I will put on my pajamas."---I made her pick up all of her brand new Barbie clothes and accessories before she was allowed to leave for camp. She went from zero Barbies to three this birthday, and we now spend hours every day dressing and redressing these dolls. So, as she picked up tiny, tiny boots and tiny, tiny swimsuits and tiny, tiny purses, she muttered to herself how frustrated she was at her MOTHER.

Sigh.

I had to discipline her for talking back. I had to discipline her for not doing what she was told. I had to discipline her for acting out. It was a rotten start for both of us.

By the end, she was just sobbing. She threw herself into my arms and said, "Mom, you have broken my feelings! They are just breaking, I am so sad and mad at you." As frustrated as I was with all of her behavior, I was so glad that she could tell me how she was feeling, and come to me for comfort. I hugged her and held her, we did some big, deep breaths together, and as she calmed down, she declared what I always remind her: "Even when I'm mad, I still love you." I told her I always love her, too, and we packed up for camp, 30 minutes late, but no longer teetering on the edge of an emotional cliff.

When I took her out of the car, she said, "Mom, I am still a little upset, but I love you a lot." Good enough.

I can't say I'm not stealing myself for our afternoon together---I leave in a few minutes to pick her up from camp---but a plan to make zucchini muffins together will hopefully be enough to sail us through peacefully, at least until her daddy gets home from work. "Four years old" is going to be an interesting year.

Four Years Old

2009-07-21T20:23:00.000-07:00

Today, EJ turned four. I'd say that I can't believe that four years have gone by so quickly, but when I look at this kid of ours---this kid that attacks the world like a mini-adult---I can't believe she isn't ten. The difference between age three and age four is particularly significant: last year, potty training was still in the trenches, this year she is a pro, last year she had a few playground friends, this year she has a year of preschool under her belt and a slew of favorite friends in her life, last year, she was flipping through the alphabet and spelling her name, and this year, she is reading so well that you can hand her greeting cards and chapter books and menus and she will plow right through. She's such a joy, such a challenge, such an experience...we are very lucky.

When I think of my start as EJ's mom four years ago...the bad, bad birth, the months of lingering melancholy that never got treated appropriately as post-partum depression (but sure knocked me out), the terrible nursing struggle, the feelings of loneliness and failure and worst of all, fear, I just want to wrap that poor new mommy up and and hold her tight and say,

"Oh, my goodness, it will get so much better. You will bond with this baby---you don't think it will happen, but I promise, it really will. You will love her more than you can imagine. You will learn from her everyday. You will feel hopeful and happy and will even laugh at the hysterical process that is parenting an imaginative, expressive child. Before you know it, you will be delighting in your daughter's request for an 'all-girls, drop-off, movie birthday party' and a dinner at 'the dipping restaurant' (aka fondue). You will love this, and you will forget so much of the painful birth and first year. You won't forget it all, but you won't need to, because it will really, really be okay. You will be better than okay---you will be her mom."

Then I'd pull out the online photo album, and show that gal this:

Birth

First Birthday

Second Birthday

Third Birthday

Fourth Birthday

Three Going on Thirteen

2009-07-10T11:05:00.000-07:00

Early this morning, starting at around 4:00 a.m., I was woken by my very awake daughter. Apparently, she had seen flashing lights outside her window (entirely plausible with her view of the alley that leads right to the President's house), and she wanted to come sleep in our bed. My sleep hasn't been so great lately, so I said that coming into bed with us wasn't an option. For a thunderstorm or a cold or something actually disturbing, she is welcome, but for early-morning "let's see if I can get Mom up to play with me," I don't think so.

She did not want to go back to her bed, so I said she was welcome to camp out on our floor until "wake-up" time. We went to her room, grabbed a pillow and blanket, got her set-up on the rug at the foot of our bed, and I fell back asleep, thinking that we might have a winning plan.

HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!

She woke me again at 4:37 a.m., then at 5:16 a.m. Was that all? NO! "Mama, can we get up now?" was heard at 6:09 a.m., followed by an impatient, "Are you getting out of bed to stay up soon?" at 6:30 a.m. She managed to try to cajole me out of bed one more time at 7:17 a.m. before my husband rose for the day and got her out of the room for some cereal and an episode of some show on PBS Kids. As soon as he was up, I fell into a deep sleep---the kind that comes only when your subconscious mind believes that you won't be woken again because your dear, sweet spouse is sparing you the agony---but was startled out of a dream roughly 20 minutes later, when he was kissing me goodbye for the day and I was on the clock.

Grrr. Not. Enough. Coffee. In. This. World. Grrr.

I'm not going to lie, I got her settled with another television show in the background, took my thyroid medicine (trying to get used to taking it every morning first thing as directed, as you aren't supposed to eat for 30 minutes afterward), then conked out on the couch, half in and half out of consciousness, for the next 25 minutes. Who wins the gold medal for parenting? Oh, yeah, it is me, big time. If I have one word of hope to parents of newborns, it is this---when they get bigger, you might be able to take a catnap in front of them without them burning down the house---maybe. Having Martha Speaks on in the background won't hurt.

While we both survived the morning, we are certainly a tired crew here, and EJ's behavior is becoming more and more indicative of a kid that has been up for eight hours+ before lunch (and for what it's worth, I've been acting like a tired kid from the get-go.) So, when I told the wee one at noon that, yes, we are going to take a much-needed nap on this rainy afternoon and no, I would not be listening to any whining or hysterics or protestations about it, it was a done deal, she seemed to take it in stride. It was a few moments later, though, when the reality of a nap had sunk in for her as I was grilling her ham and cheese sandwich, that I was treated to this exchange.

EJ: "Mom, you are ruining my life."

Me: "WHAT? Could you repeat that?"

EJ: "I think that you are ruining my life, Mom."

Me: "Really? That is not a very nice thing to say, kiddo. Do you know what that means?"

EJ: "Yes."

Me: "Okay, fill me in. How am I ruining your life?"

EJ: "You are saying, 'We are taking a nap and you can't say no,' and I think that is sad and horrible. That is how you are ruining my life, with that nap."

Me: "Ah. Well, good to know."

EJ: "Is that sandwich getting grilly?"

Me: "Yep. Should be done soon...at least before I ruin your life."

EJ: "Oh, Mama, you aren't really ruining my life. Can I have some more delicious lemonade? It is SO DELICIOUS, really, Mama, it just is."

I just can't make this stuff up. I guess when you are eleven days shy of your fourth birthday, your life can be easily ruined (by naps) and easily rescued (by grilled ham and cheese and lemonade). Three going on thirteen is probably more apt, given her expressive vocabulary, and I've already given her some fodder for future therapy. Good thing I'm writing it all down---should be easier for her therapist to connect the dots, if nothing else. EJ's connecting the dots, too, or at least making some. While I was writing this post, she made me this picture, which she says is "All the candy for YOU, Mama, because I love you!"

Not the Mama

2009-07-02T15:28:00.000-07:00

Today, one of EJ's campmates had a birthday party at camp, which included pizza and cupcakes for all the kiddos, as well as nifty favors---new sand shovels and pails, candy (always a favorite), mini-coloring books and crayons, mini-bubble containers, and best of all, a superball.

EJ wanted to beeline straight to the park to test out her new bucket as soon as we left school, but I was starving and wanted to eat some lunch. Selfish, selfish mama, always thinking of herself, I know. She managed to keep herself occupied for a little over an hour while I ate, checked messages, did some chores, etc., only asking me if we could go to the park fourteen times. Yes, only fourteen. When we "finally" made it out the door, she was ready with her ball, shovel, and pail, and I had my little Tervis Tumbler of freshly-brewed coffee (despite her pleading, "Do we have to make your coffee, Mom? Can't we get it when we come home and leave right now?") and a book, just in case she got occupied and I could get a few pages of fiction in.

When we arrived, there was only one other child there with his nanny, a little baby, probably no older than 9 months old. EJ exclaimed, "Oh, a BAAABBBYYYY!" but was disappointed that there weren't any other kids to play with that were a little more, well, active. Even so, when I asked her where she was setting up shop in the sandbox so I could sit and play with her, she said, "No, thank you, you can sit over there on the bench...that's where people sit." Fair enough.

Within twenty minutes, though, she was tired of all that "self-directed play," the baby had left, and we had the whole park to ourselves. It was cool and cloudy, and felt on the brink of rain. We had no raincoats or umbrellas, and although we didn't have far to walk home if we were caught up in a storm, I usually wouldn't stay out in weather like that. For whatever reason, though---maybe the lack of stress in my day, or the glint in EJ's eyes when she said that "It's okay if it rains, I have my long-sleeved McQueen shirt on, so I'll feel great even if I'm wet!"---I decided to stay and really enjoy the moment. EJ took out her new superball, and within seconds, the two of us had started our own rousing game of bounce ball, making it up as we went. It was kind of like catch, but there was some chasing, too---my main job was to bounce it as I high as I could so that it would fly above EJ's head and land somewhere in the woodchips nearby, while her main job was to catch the balls that she threw at me before I could get to them. It was so great. I found myself really laughing---laughing like I did when I was a kid, just happy to be playing some made up bouncing ball game in the middle of the afternoon.

We played this for almost an hour, with no one else coming into the park the whole time, and just had a blast. I noticed, moments before we left, that the sign at the park said, "no ball playing," but I think the caveat to that should read, "unless you are all alone and you have an awesome, brand-new superball to test out."

It may seem like a small thing, but it was really revolutionary to not act like the mama for a few hours. I didn't worry about the potential rain, I didn't think of the eight million other things I needed to be doing, I didn't rush home to get dinner made...I was just completely present with my kid. I don't want to stereotype, but I think that dads tend to do this better---they just get in there and have fun, then often have wives (like me) on the sidelines saying things like, "Hey, it probably isn't a good idea for her to pour that gallon of water into the sand while she's wearing her nice, clean sundress and we're on the way to a party," or "This is fun, but if I don't get the chicken into the oven in the next fifteen minutes, we aren't going to eat until 9:00 p.m."

When both of us were properly worn out, we walked home---it never rained, by the way, so it was good not to have wasted any energy worrying about it---and after we cleaned up, we whipped up a recently-rediscovered recipe for strawberry yogurt cake that I used to make all the time when I studied abroad. I didn't go through the fridge looking for dinner ingredients or vegetables or anything mom-like, we just made the cake and ate it, too.

Update: Operation Clean-Out, Day #1

2009-07-01T12:25:00.001-07:00

Wow, I think I have hit on some kind of nerve with this clean-out, because I have gotten more messages from folks about this than almost anything I have ever written about, save for my health* and my experience with post-partum "blech" (yes, that is a technical term). It seems that everyone, even the most organized out there, may be feeling the desire to let go of things, make room, clear out clutter, etc. I'm certainly learning to love less as I get older (and especially as my kiddo accumulates more stuff), but I think that there is something bigger going on in the culture to spur on this collective paring down. Maybe it's the recession, at least in part?

Philosophizing aside, I wanted to post an update of how the first stage of clean-out went yesterday. Within a matter of hours, we got through most of EJ's closet, sifting through boxes of clothing, infant toys and accessories, and other random items that got collected over time. I found EJ's teddy bear mobile for my friend, Carrie, who mentioned that she'd like one for the imminent arrival of her third kiddo, and also set aside a cute Packers crawler and a UW-Madison rattle for the little guy. I was also able to set aside some big ticket items for my friend, Christina, who is due with her first in early fall, including two baby gates (still in the box) and a bouncer/soother seat. While I'm sure those would have sold quickly at a rummage sale, it is nicer to know that they'll go to good use with a friend, and in the crazy event that either myself or one of our siblings finds themselves expecting, she said she'd be happy to return them. What I won't need back, though, are the scads of adorable baby clothes we cleared out---again, some of them with tags still on---that are Christina's for the grabbing before we have a sale at all.

It was amazing to me, as I looked at the outfits, how little sentimentality I had for so many of them, given the fact that these were the clothes I simply could not part with the first time I sorted through all of EJ's baby things. At this point, all we have left from her 0-18 month wardrobe is one small crate of special items, and I easily could fit more clothing in there. I have no doubt that, in a year or two, I'll be able to pare down even more. My fading memory is actually my friend in this regard.

Another big accomplishment was the assembling and filling of a bookcase I purchased for EJ a few months ago, but could not fit in her room until her old crib had been taken apart and moved out. We discovered, when we bought her "big girl bed" this fall, that her crib would not fit through the door assembled---it would have been a good moment for a home movie, as it was a very Chaplinesque exercise in trying to fit something where it would not go. In the end, we put the crib in the corner to get out of the way until we had time to take it apart, where it fell off the urgent to-do list while things here were so busy. Last weekend, when Mike and I went to see Mary Poppins, my folks came down to spend the day with EJ, and my Dad surprised us by taking it apart and loading it out to go to their basement for storage. It was wonderful to see all that extra space, and started a chain of events that allowed us to move EJ's dresser to a better location, create a reading nook for EJ's room, assemble the bookcase, and load up the many, many, many books she has neatly into one spot.

While my mom helped me sort through the closet, my mother-in-law and EJ put together the bookcase. After assembly, which was basically a game for the kiddo, who was lining up bolts and turning screws into place with glee, my mother-in-law used her super-sorting-HGTV mind to fit all the books into the case in a neat and artful way. EJ was so proud of her work in the construction and organizing that she was very careful last night as she pulled out and put away her Olivia books for bedtime stories. Between the closet and the bookcase, the room is already so much neater, and it really feels like a kid room, not a nursery.

We didn't go through many toys together yesterday, as I had planned, because EJ got so involved in the bookcase project, but that is on deck next. I'm actually excited about it, because I know that she was so happy with the way her room was changing, I think she might have more incentive to sort. She is really starting to understand that there are some kids that don't have toys and books, and that she could help those kids to have more fun if she gives some things away.

On a side note, we had to go to the hospital pharmacy today to pick up a new prescription (more on that below), and while walking from the car to the building, we passed by the children's hospital playlot. EJ wanted to go in, but I showed her the sign that said it was for children at the hospital, only, along with their families. When I told her that some kids get very sick, and need to stay in the hospital, she said she thought it was great that they could have a place to play. When we met up with EJ's daddy a few moments later for a quick hello, she described the playground to him, and said, "It's just for kids that are sick, Daddy, at the hospital, and it is a GREAT playground for them, with a bridge, and a slide, and...etc." While I can't say that I think her "me, me, me, mine, mine, me" stage is over, a social conscience might just be forming, after all. It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy, I must admit.

------

*After years and years of low-grade symptoms and testing that came back normal or "low normal," I have officially developed an autoimmune thyroid disorder, and am beginning medication for hypothyroidism today. I have mixed feelings about being on medication for the rest of my life, as I'm sure everyone does when they have a chronic condition diagnosed, but mostly, I feel relieved that within a few weeks, I might start feeling better, and that this can be managed effectively. The doc told me that, leading up to thyroid failure, a lot of people can feel really hopeless and depressed, and when their labs come back normal, they don't know what to do. I felt grateful that I have had such a wonderful support group of family and friends to help me come through the last few months as well as I have, especially given my huge workload in completing my graduate degree. What a blessing.

Operation Clean-Out, Day #1

2009-06-30T07:28:00.000-07:00

Operation Clean-Out, aka, the time when I systematically go through all of our things and sell off/give away/throw away as many as possible, begins today. As I noted in yesterday's post, both moms (mine and my hubby's) are coming to help me out today, and to load up stuff to sell at a rummage sale we are going to have later this summer at my folks' house.

I am not naturally inclined when it comes to cleaning and organizing my home, but I'm hoping this purge will help me to keep things more manageable in the future. Interestingly enough, as cluttered as my dining room table can become, I have always been meticulous when it comes to my school and work spaces---nothing out of place, everything stacked at a straight angle, every file named in a precise fashion with a particular folder awaiting it, everything easy to find, etc. Sadly, I haven't been able to transfer that somewhat fanatical organization to my house. Maybe it is a matter of scale? I'm not sure, although I certainly know that the advantage I have in keeping school and work areas tidy is that I do not have a husband and a three-year old's stuff mixed in to make it more complicated.

And speaking of complicated, today is the day that we are going to have EJ start boxing up toys/clothes to sell or give away. There has been a lot of talk about it---a lot of prepping and story-telling to get her ready---and I hope that it has helped. On the walk to camp this morning, when I reminded her that Grandma and Nana were going to help her sort her things, she seemed quite excited by the prospect of "putting tags on all of my stuff with numbers for money, then putting those things on tables at Nana's house." What she didn't like talking about were her toys, however. She kept insisting, "I don't wear my baby clothes anymore...THAT'S what we can sell, because I don't need those." I suppose I could take the tactic of simply boxing up toys that she hasn't used in ages without her seeing me do it, but honestly, my gut says that there is a lesson in this for her about not holding on too things to closely, so she can make way for new things to come her way. Aside from that, I think it might be more traumatic if, on the day of the sale, she saw toys stacked up that she had forgotten she had, only to be reacquainted with them as strangers were taking them away. Zoinks. That's a tantrum I don't want to be around.

Mommified

2009-06-29T07:02:00.000-07:00

A few months ago, I read a great quote from Tina Fey*, one of my favorite writer/actresses, about how you know you are a mom. Here it is, reprinted from this source:

“There are so many things now that I do where I’ll be like, ‘Oh, now I’m a mom. Like when your kid hands you their boogers, and you take it. You’re like, ‘Okay, I’m a mom.’ Or when I find myself getting mad because I’m trying to put underpants on someone who is dancing.”

I certainly felt like I'd officially joined the "Okay, I'm a mom" club when, in May, EJ projectile vomited all over me in a restaurant.** In between the first and second rounds of spew (separated only by seconds, of course), I came to the realization that, yes, it was good that I was acting as a human shield, because I am the mom, that is what we do. Before she got sick, should I have been suspicious when she wanted to get on my lap, bury her head in my chest, and "cuddle" after her meal? Well, maybe. She's your typical squirrelly three-year old, and although she gives a great hug, a restaurant usually provides her with too much stimulation to want to hang out snuggling her parents. No, I wasn't quite up to snuff with my Mom instincts preceding the puke, but once it was flying, I gave it a full body block. Like I said...I'm a mom. That's what we do.

For what it is worth, now when we dine out, I am that mom asking her kid "are you feeling okay?" every time she sets her fork down. I know I'm annoying her, and I'm probably annoying patrons around us, too, but once bitten, twice shy. I may be a fully-initiated mom, but I'm not going to volunteer to wear vomit again soon if I can help it.

If appearance is everything, I had another "gosh, I'm really a mom" moment last night, a moment that nearly shocked me straight to Bloomingdale's at 1:30 in the morning. I had some trouble falling asleep, so I stayed up well past my husband. I didn't want to disturb him fumbling around for my pajamas, so I just slid into bed with my regular clothes on. Within seconds, I was having this dialogue in my head: "Did I put on my pajamas? I swear I didn't. These ARE my clothes, I'm sure of it. Wow, these are as comfortable as pajamas!"

ACK! I'm all for comfort---you won't see me in pointy-toed heels*** any time soon, I don't care what they say on, "What Not To Wear"---but that was ridiculous. I bolted out of bed, quietly scrambled around for jammies, and went to the bathroom to change. I have to draw the "comfortable mom clothes" line somewhere, for goodness sake. I cannot accept the fact that, even though I can dress them up with funky-cool jewelry and fancy accessories, I now walk around in modified pajamas.

The reality is, a lot of being a mom is about the outward stuff---the "mommification" experience. It's not nearly as dramatic (or terminal!) a process as mummification, but it will wrap you up, all the same. In my case, I have found that the layering of material around me---pajama material, mixed with vomit, apparently, not to mention the million assorted items EJ asks me to "hold for [her]" every day---has left me a gauzy shadow of what I used to look like. This may be particularly acute because I do not work in an office setting anymore, and rarely have occasion to dress in an outfit that won't easily allow me to get down on the floor to wipe up spills or play blocks. That said, even with the wrappings of motherhood completely covering me, I am preserved inside. That is the point of mummification, right? To leave the person intact and preserved for their journey to the next plane of existence? That seems about right for mommification, too---it may cover you up for a spell, but it also seems to preserve what is essential to you, so you can journey to the next adventure.

My goals for the summer are three-pronged: relax, organize, and beautify, in that order. My main focus has been on our condo, a home that is literally swimming in piles of clutter due to lack of focus on my part while finishing up graduate school. My mom and mother-in-law**** are coming tomorrow to help me start sorting things for a big rummage sale we hope to have in my hometown later this season. It feels great to have traction in this area of my plan, but until last night, I hadn't thought about taking the time to work that three-pronged attack on my own appearance. Sorting through old clothes to prep for the sale will help, but beyond that, looking for work again may provide a natural shift back to the 9-to-5 office garb I had become accustomed to during my pre-mommification days. I'm keeping some of the comfy clothes though---no one at the park cares if my pants have a drawstring waist, and besides, I need those giant, comfy pockets to house the sunscreen, sand toys, juice boxes, snacks (sometimes sticky and half-eaten), "cannot leave the house without" attachment objects of the moment, found treasures like leaves and rocks and general bramble....the list goes on and on.

--------

*Tina was also one of the writers, during her time at Saturday Night Live, of the "Mom Jeans" commercial. How apropos. I'm not quite there, but I'm retreating from mom-wear just in time, I think.

**We returned to the scene of EJ's vomiting episode rather sheepishly a few weeks later, suspecting they wouldn't be happy to see us. As it turns out, the whole episode helped the restaurant to get a good review on Yelp from Paul, the guy next to us whose jacket was caught up in some of the spray, despite my best efforts to keep all the puke to myself. We paid for his meal, and apparently became southside ambassadors, in the process!

***During my year abroad in Aix-en-Provence, I wore through a few pairs of shoes that I had brought from home. My parents let me splurge in the spring for some new pairs, and I chose a beautiful pair of cherry-brown Italian woven sandals (I still dream of those shoes) and an equally beautiful pair of honey-colored suede, pointy-toed heels. I felt so French in those heels, and they were quite comfortable in the store, but I wore them all of one time in real life. I walked across Aix one afternoon, to head to the Fac d'Economie's computer lab, where they (gasp!) had computers that (gasp!) could send messages to other computers back home (yes, this was my introduction to email back in spring 1994), and I proudly wore my heels for the first time. Fifteen minutes of cobblestone sidewalks later, the backs of my shoes were completely stained with blood---blood gushing from the lacerations at the backs of my ankles, where the cute shoes had done damage on my narrow heels as they clicked in and out of the footwear. I took the shoes off, only to see blood in the toes, as well---that was that warm feeling---with blisters to top it off. I typed my messages home shoeless, and when I went to put the shoes back on, I couldn't jam them onto my swollen, bloodied feet. I walked back barefoot---a terrifying prospect in a town where picking up after your dog is a mild suggestion---and despite many attempts, never got the blood off those shoes. I learned my lesson at twenty---these feet are not made for fashion. The sandals paid off, though---I had them resoled three times before having to let them go around age 27.

****My mom and mother-in-law get along well, and it is as awesome as you might imagine. I am a lucky gal. It should be a great day.

Since Last We Spoke

2009-06-25T11:36:00.000-07:00

Summer is here, with sweaty, sticky, sun-drenched days suddenly upon us, after what seemed like the dreariest start of June in a long time. Maybe it was the particularly hard winter this year that made the spring-like feeling of June such a bummer for so many Chicagoans. Whatever the case, that time is over---a switch has been flipped, and the heat is on.

I wasn't too disappointed in the rainy, cool weather, as I was working hard to finish my capstone project, and spending most of my time indoors. The weather seemed to match my mood, actually. On convocation day this Saturday, though, the rain had disappeared, and the warm sun had us sweating under our giant purple, polyester robes. No complaints, though---the day was simply fantastic, and I wouldn't have changed a thing, even with beads of sweat running down my back.

I actually had a sense-memory moment that morning, once I was all dressed up. The heat, the scratchy feel of the fabric, the hat...I had felt these things before. No, it wasn't for my undergraduate convocation at the UW-Madison, although I remember that day being warm, too. I wracked my brain for awhile, then it hit me---MARCHING BAND! Yes, the fabric was an unmistakable match, used not for comfort but for ease of washing and longevity. The hat was the icing on the cake, reminding me of the always-interesting hats (can you say, shako?) we had to wear---hats that, once removed after a parade, always revealed heads of fully-drenched hair. This was not a pretty sight in the eighties, with all our hairspray/mousse/styling gel coiffed heads put into what amounted to little plastic kilns while marching. Sure, our hair looked like we'd just stepped out of the shower when the hat was first taken off, but once dried (usually on the bus ride home), we all looked like we'd styled our hair with a hatchet and a jet-engine.

Yes, a graduation gown is a lot like a loose-fitting marching band outfit, and with the number of years I marched, I felt oddly at home. As we walked over from the library to the auditorium where convocation was to be held, two-by-two, I half-expected to be put into parade rest, then to have chaperones run up with bottles of water to spray on our faces and into our mouths.

It feels almost surreal to be finished with school. Finished. Completely, totally finished. Wow. Everyone keeps telling me that, once I'm done for awhile, I'll wonder how I ever did it in the first place. That hasn't hit me yet, but I wouldn't be surprised. So much has happened in a such a short time, I haven't had time to adjust.

Since we last spoke:

1) I graduated, as mentioned already. Here is some proof. Go, Team Lusignan!

Our Family

I couldn't have done it without my folks---thanks, Mom and Dad!

Me and my sweetie---next in line for the pomp and circumstance, and deserving of a medal for all the support he gave me.

EJ kept asking, "When are you taking pictures with the graduates AND A KID?" She got her wish.

Future Graduate

2) We got rid of the minivan, and replaced it with a blue Honda CR-V, thanks to my generous parents. I am SO MUCH HAPPIER tooling around the city in this smaller, more maneuverable, zippy little ride. I'm also happy to report that the car has four-wheel drive, which was hard to live without last winter. The final awesome feature---a remote starter! That's right, in the cold, nasty winter, I can step out onto my porch four stories above our parking lot (provided I snag a space, of course), turn on the car, and let the defrost work its magic. EJ has named the car for us: Bluebell Woodlawn Sally Lightning McQueen Lusignan. Bluebell = our idea. Woodlawn = a street near our house, which EJ likes to read off the road sign. Sally = Lightning McQueen's blue, female friend. Lightning McQueen = Need I say more? When I told EJ that our car wouldn't be red like our old CR-V, hence, she might not want to name it Lightning McQueen after a red car, she said, "Mom, Lightning McQueen is a name, it can be for any color car. It is JUST A NAME, MOM!" (Insert teenage-like look of disgust, plus three-year old exaggerated eye roll.)

3) EJ is going to camp every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday morning. It is fantastic. She goes every day in a swimsuit, plays in the kiddie pools with her school friends, and returns home happy and tired. She also reminds me every day that she wants a SCHOOL party for her birthday, i.e., she wants me to bring cupcakes to camp. Deal.

4) For the first time in 15+ years of testing, I had a clearly elevated TSH (thyroid-stimulating hormone) level in a blood test taken last week. The interesting part: the tests were for a seemingly-unrelated problem, some numbness/cold feeling I've been having in my face. More tests were done following this result, and we'll see what happens. Since every single person on my mom's side of the family has hypothyroidism, and I have had symptoms since my late teens (with blood tests always showing my result to be normal or low-normal function---bad enough to be irritating, but not bad enough to be treatable), I was actually PLEASED to have this test come back with a red flag this time. I've asked for years, what makes this hormone range NORMAL for me, if I am exhibiting so many of the symptoms? Now, with what might be a swollen thyroid causing nerve problems in my neck/face, I may finally qualify for some help.

5) More on health---I have referrals all set up to visit an obesity clinic at Northwestern, as well as to see a GI specialist at U of C who apparently treats obesity for those not seeking bariatric surgery. I also have a referral for the sleep lab, if that ends up being a part of my disease make-up. On deck for next week: get appointments. I also started attending an exercise class last week that meets 3 times a week and has free childcare. Can't beat it. It nearly killed me, but it will get better every time. Thanks to all who have been inquiring about this journey since March. I tried to juggle appointments and follow-up while I was working on my master's project, and I just couldn't do it. I let myself off the hook until I was done, and now am on a mission. As I discovered in my capstone project, all the outside support I can get will help me to see success---it's statistically validated, so it must be true!

6) I discovered sparkling shiraz at our graduation party. Who knew? Is it worth drinking? Oh, yes...yes it is.

Transition

2009-06-09T14:39:00.000-07:00

It was a big week last week---EJ finished up her first year of preschool, I handed in my capstone, and the whole family took a collective sigh of relief as the beginning of a less stressful summer than we've had in years spread out in front of us.

That sense of relief was not instantaneous, though. Ending school was hard for EJ, who was very cognizant of the fact that she would soon be missing her friends. The whole week before the end, as her teachers talked to the class about kindergarten so the older kids would be more ready, EJ became more and more resolute that she, too, should go to kindergarten with them next year. She was not happy when we told her that she had to wait an entire year.

Then there was the tantrumming, about everything and nothing, both at home and at school. For example, after a few nice, sunny, warm days, we had a bit of a cold snap. Unfortunately, EJ had gotten attached to wearing sundresses to school, and did not like my insistence one morning that she wear a long-sleeved dress with matching leggings. She threw a really nice fit, which I ignored, so she escalated her tactics. When finally faced with the reality that wearing a long-sleeved dress=go to school, while not wearing long-sleeves=stay home, watch Mommy work, she relented. Of course, getting out the door dressed appropriately wasn't the end of the story. All the way to school, she scowled at me, saying things like, "I'm going to tell everyone that you hurted my feelings!" and "You like this dress but my friends WILL NOT like it and I will not talk to them about it AT ALL." The final charmer: "I am not going to smile ALL DAY." I told her that if she wasn't going to smile, I might as well drop her off at some boring queue, like at the bank or the cable company. I still have nightmares about having to wait in line for a new cable box with her as a toddler---shutter, shutter, no smiles there. Even in long sleeves, though, utility companies did not interest her. Her response: an eye roll and a loud, "I DO NOT WANT TO GO TO THE CABLE COMPANY! NO!" Good choice.

Her teachers told me that she was getting wrangled about all kinds of things, but that all the kids were wound up, so it was par for the course. They sent out a lovely note about how kids may act differently, sometimes horribly, during big changes, and that we should just watch for it and try to talk them through their feelings. We kept our eyes open for emotional flare-ups, and all made it through the week, which capped off with a party/"goodbye ceremony" at nursery school on Friday. My folks came down for the event, which made EJ so happy she could barely contain herself. She was sitting in the front row, and kept turning around to smile and explain things to Nana and Papa.

Interestingly enough, though, at the ceremony, the director of the program spoke about how hard change is, but how it is just part of life and we all have to just learn to go with it and smile/be happy/get over it/etc. Fair enough, I guess, although I really don't buy that.

Sure, change happens, and we have to accept it. Sometimes embracing it is the way to go right from the start. But change isn't what gets everyone upset, per se. According to William Bridges, it is transition, the psychological reaction to change, that takes time to work through. Grad school friends know how much I "heart" Bridges---all of us seem to have found models or concepts that resonated the most for us during school, and for me, Bridges' transition model is way at the top of the list. According to Bridges, while change may happen in a more finite way---you move, you finish a school year, you have a baby---transition evolves from that change---you learn your new neighborhood, you make a summer schedule, you get used to the daily work and identity shift of being a parent.

Transition always starts with an ending---a grieving period, a time to make note of what is now over, and to honor that past. So many people don't take time to feel these feelings when change comes, because they want to get on with it, deal with the change, etc. This is particularly true when change is positive---who would suspect that getting a promotion, for example, would come with some loss, but ask most people who have been moved up the ladder, and they'll tell you they miss things like coffee with colleagues, autonomy without responsibility for others, even details like the place that they used to sit in the office.

So, it is not surprising, the night before I go to defend my capstone, during the week between EJ's nursery school end and the beginning of her summer camp, when the days are long and unscheduled and ambiguous, that I feel like I'm in that ending stage. Of course, I am relieved about moving forward, and especially happy to be done with late-night homework and juggling of school and parenting. That said, I will miss the built-in intellectual stimulation to my day. I'll miss the feeling of expertise that comes with working on a project for this long---I'll still know my stuff, but I certainly won't be thinking about it often. Most of all, I'll miss the friends. This change has already been felt, as my last year of school, working on my capstone without many classes to attend, has been largely solitary. I miss having a built-in reason to see smart, funny, interesting people who care about many of the same things I care about. Sure, we'll keep in touch online, and some of us will get together socially on occasion, but it just isn't the same, there is no getting around it.

I'll miss the friends at preschool, too---the other moms and dads and caregivers and teachers I've gotten to know and enjoy so much. If I'm going to miss adults I see only a few minutes a day, I can't imagine how much EJ is going to miss her friends. Thankfully, with the extra time I'll have this summer, I can be more diligent about planning playdates, something I typically fail at, miserably. Also a plus: camp is at her school, and a handful of her favorite girls will be in it, too, so both of us will have more of our routine returned, at least for a few weeks.

With transition, not change, in mind, all of the three-year old acting out makes perfect sense. Without the conceptual understanding of an ending (i.e., she will not go to school with this group of kids ever again), the ending stage of transition must be particularly hard for EJ to work out. I'm privileged to get the opportunity to navigate through it with her, to help her put words to her feelings, and to figure out some activities that honor the happy memories she has from this year.

There are only two more stages of transition, according to Bridges---the neutral zone, and the new beginning. I'm not jumping ahead, though. I've learned from experience that, if I work on this ending, I'll be in the neutral zone before I know it, sorting out what our new patterns and routines will be, and testing out what works and what doesn't. Until then, we're just living in the moment, taking the feelings (and tantrums) as they come, and thoughtfully letting go of school to make way for new adventures.

They Call It R-E-A-D-I-N-G

2009-05-21T15:30:00.000-07:00

There is simply no denying it anymore. Beyond the bedtime stories and hours spent on our laps with her books, there are so many other markers. The road signs. The take-out menus. The TV guide as we scroll looking for shows. Her requests for us to leave some books out for her after we put her to bed, so she "can read them as soon as [we] are gone." EJ, exactly two months shy of her fourth birthday, is a proficient reader. We had just begun to believe it in March, but now, there is no doubt.

She has attended several birthday parties lately, and has loved them all. Since her friend, Nutmeg, turned five and she received a thank you note in the mail, she has looked forward to her note almost as much as the party itself. I remember thinking mail addressed just for me was magical as a kid, and the fact that EJ can (in general) read the mail that comes for her makes it all the more exciting.

In the past week, she has received two thank you notes in her cubby at school for back-to-back birthday parties she attended last Saturday. As soon as I arrived to pick her up, she asked me to open the notes up, and she tore through them with great delight. With the exception of one or two words (i.e., Tonka, would), EJ read the following notes completely by herself.

Dearest EJ,

Thank you so much for coming to Antonio's birthday party and for the AWESOME Tonka Trucks! We loved them, and we loved your home made birthday card too!

With love,
Antonio and Family

Dear EJ -

I loved the glitter kit you got me for my birthday. Thank you for coming to my party & making my birthday so special! It would not have been a great party without you.

Love,
Belle

I can't make this stuff up. Of course, I'm proud of her, but really, I'm more flabbergasted than anything. We have always told her about letters and phonics and such when she has asked or it has been part of some fun game we are playing, but really, truly, we have not "prompted" reading or worked on it in any deliberate way. She's just picking this stuff up, which I guess was also the case for her dad, a very early reader.

It falls in line with other milestones she has hit lately, including an ability to solve line mazes on her own (two today while at lunch at Leona's), or the way she can now conceptualize her own thinking about things. The other day, for example, while we were up in Kenosha visiting my folks, I told her that if she took a nap, it would seem like her daddy's train arrived even faster, because she wouldn't be paying attention to the clock while she slept. She asked me if her sleeping would make the train move faster, and when I explained that it wouldn't actually go faster, it would just feel like the time went quicker to her, like magic, she replied, knowingly, "Oh, I've got it. The magic is in my head. I will think it goes faster in my own head."

As I've heard stories about my childhood or Mike's, I've often wondered how much of the developmental stuff is on target, not because my mom or my mother-in-law would fabricate details, but primarily because things move so fast, it is really hard to keep track of it all. I'm making note of this reading feat now, in this blog, for all to read, so someday, I will believe myself when people ask when EJ started really reading well and I say, "Three."

Read It and Weep

2009-05-08T08:43:00.001-07:00

One of the best parts about parenting is that, despite the stress and the responsibility and the messiness and the chaos, there are also many overwhelmingly wonderful moments---times that you can't predict and that come to you right when you need them, seemingly out of nowhere.

Tuesday was a brutal day with regard to my graduate work. I have been working hard across the past two months to learn statistics---that's right, to learn it, from scratch, with the help of a terrific friend, books, and web searches---so that I can run statistical analysis for my capstone project. It has been like walking blind into a crowded room---I bump into something, scream about stubbing a toe, then grope around and figure out what I've got in front of me. Each time I bump something, the picture becomes clearer, but the lights never come on, and I can't really conceptualize my territory---I can only describe the discreet items I've run across. Because of this, I have run into a common knowledge management problem---I don't know what I don't know, so I can't always ask the right questions to make heads-or-tails of my situation.

Learning this way is exhausting and incomplete. So, by Tuesday, when I discovered that the analysis that I had done was not appropriate a mere week before a draft of my paper was due, I felt overwhelmed. As it turns out, my analysis technique was much more complex than it needed to be, and I had to refocus in another direction. It was devastating. After all the late nights, the tutoring, the searching, I'm not ashamed to admit that it made me cry. I had just hit the wall, and gotten knocked out.

Unfortunately, I found this out about ten minutes before I had to pick EJ up from preschool. I had the joy of showing up at her school with big, puffy, eyes, a tear-streaked face, and that fuzzy-headed feeling that makes you feel like you are floating in an uncomfortable way. EJ's teachers looked so worried for me---I think I was moments away from them offering me a snack or some paints to make me feel better. I told them what had happened, and that I would be fine, I was just in for a long couple of weeks.

The next morning, with some fresh perspective and my wits back about me, I headed into preschool with EJ for drop-off. One of her teachers met me the hall, and told me that they had gone through stacks of stories that the kids had written across the past few months, and she thought EJ's might cheer me up. They were waiting for me in her cubby. They were just what I needed, and I teared up for the second time in two days, not because I was sad, but because I was so grateful that I have such a wonderful kid and a wonderful life, challenges and all.

Here are her tales, dictated to her teachers:

1) "Elizabeth Letter"---EJ and I turned on the television the other day, and before I could change the channel to one of her shows, she caught a clip of Elizabeth Edwards on the news. She wanted to know who the lady was, and why she looked sad. I told her that her name was Elizabeth Edwards, and she was sad because she was sick, and she was having some trouble with her family, but that EJ shouldn't worry. Apparently, she was quite insistent the next day that she needed to write a letter to Elizabeth.

Dear Elizabeth,

I hope you are safe. Sorry. I am thinking about you.

EJ

2) Halloween Redux---When I first read this, I assumed it was from this fall, as the teachers had said that the stories had been collected throughout the year. The hiccup? EJ didn't start calling us by our first names until a couple of months ago. If she really wrote this in the winter/spring, she has one heck of a memory.

Once upon a time, a little girl named EJ went trick-or-treating in her pink piggy costume. It was a beautiful night for trick-or-treating. After trick-or-treating, EJ went to Istria Cafe with Kori and Mike. She got strawberry and lemon ice cream. Then, EJ wanted to go back home.

The End.

3) Halloween Discipline---Sure, we bought her gelato after trick-or-treating, but apparently, we were big meanies when we got home. For the record, she uses the computer all the time.

One day I went trick or treating with my mommy and daddy. Then I went back home and played Wii. But my parents didn't want me to touch the computer. But I wanted to touch the gray computer. I wanted to compute on it. But when I'm four they said I can touch it. Then I wanted to play with my toys but my mom and dad said, "No, no, no!"

By: EJ

4) Birds---The kids wrote stories on a sheet of paper with a bird image, and here was EJ's take on the theme.

There were two little girl birds named Kori and EJ, and one little boy bird named Mike. There was one dog bird named Ada. They ordered a pepperoni pizza. That was good. They ate it all up for lunch. Soon it was night time and the three little birds went home to have dinner at Kathy and Ed bird's house. They had pasketti and meatballs. Mmmm, my favorite! It was all the way in Kenosha.

The End.

By: EJ

5) Easter---EJ gave another shout-out to her grandparents (Kathy and Ed) and meatballs (hurray, Italian genes!) in her account of Easter.

Easter is my favorite holiday. I had Easter dinner at Kathy and Ed's house in Kenosha. My favorite thing to eat was meatballs.

If she keeps writing, I can certainly keep writing, at least for two more weeks.

Our Power Ballad

2009-05-04T18:48:00.001-07:00

Every night, I carve out a little time to sing a lullaby to EJ. On nights like tonight, when I am overwhelmed with the sheer amount of work I have remaining on my capstone (i.e., thesis) project and the ever-nearing deadline, I think that lullaby time does more to calm and fortify me than it does my daughter. This has been especially true this week, as EJ has begun to sing back to me the lullaby that I made up for her when she was just an infant.

Singing lullabies to my child is something I do because I love it, but it is also something I advocate at my job. Music Together teachers receive an incredible amount of music development training from the national "mothership" (as my employer calls it), and part of our mission is to pass this information on to parents during class without turning the class into a talkfest. One of the primary things we share is that a parent's voice is the most important one in a child's life---kids don't come to music class to hear the teacher sing, they come to model their moms, dads, and caregivers. For those parents that aren't in the habit of spontaneously singing with their kid while making lunch or waiting in a bank line (yes, I have done those things, among others), lullabies are often the best way to begin incorporating music-making into daily life. To this end, Music Together includes at least two lullabies into every song collection, and a lullaby is sung in class each week.

If I sound like an apologist for this program, I happily admit that I am. Not only do I love the research underpinnings and the pedagogic wisdom behind it, the fun that I have teaching, and the joy I see in my daughter as she participates, but I really think that getting involved in a Music Together class was instrumental in helping me break free of the deep melancholy that I felt after I had EJ. Struggling to nurse while recovering from the scary, painful birth would have been enough to depress anyone. Add to this the fact that I was living in a fourth-story walk-up with a newborn in a snow-locked city I'd only moved to a year prior, and it made perfect sense that I felt disconnected to the world, and more unfortunately, to my baby. Once I attended Music Together, though, I found my bridge back---almost instantly, I knew that I could reach the child in my arms, care for her, teach her, and learn about her while sharing myself in the process. It was a miracle wrapped in a songbook.

During those same early months, when I was sleep deprived and getting up several times a night to try to nurse, then bottle-feed, then pump (while either handing EJ off to Mike or trying to calm her), then rock her to sleep, I started to make up a lullaby for her. It was never something I set out to do, it just happened organically as we rocked, and I struggled to stay awake to soothe her. It wasn't until a few days of singing that I realized where I had stolen the melody---"Hello, Dolly." It is an unlikely source for a sleepy song, but sung slowly and softly, it did the job.

As EJ has gotten older and has learned more lullabies, she requests a variety, and sometimes her original song falls out of fashion. She always comes back to it, though, and when she does, she requests, "My Song," or "The EJ Lullaby." Recently, she has begun to sing it back to me, and knows almost the whole song by heart. Today, as we walked home from school, she broke out into it spontaneously.

I have to say, every time I hear it, my heart warms. I remember those first few months of parenting as a relatively dark time---a time when I didn't have any confidence that I could take care of my daughter, much less ever share moments together that were joyful or peaceful. Our midnight song broke through, though---it broke through all that worry and sadness and hooked my child and I together, and now that there is joy and there is peace, there is also the special thrill of knowing that, even then, we connected.

Here are the words to her song. It won't win a Grammy, but it is sweet and heartfelt. For those who know EJ's "real" name, please imagine it where "EJ" is inserted, and you'll get the full sense of it. And for my folks, when you read this---thanks for all the songs you shared with me, too. I haven't forgotten them.

The EJ Lullaby
Sung to the tune of "Hello, Dolly"

Goodnight, EJ
Oh, goodnight, EJ
It's so nice to know that you will get some rest.
Your eyes are red, EJ
Time for bed, EJ
With a little bit of shut-eye you will feel your best.
You're doing swell, EJ
I can tell, EJ
That sweet dreams will be floating through your head.
Oh, say goodnight, EJ
And then sleep tight, EJ.
EJ, you know we love you
There is nothing we won't do
For you to get a good night's rest.

More Fine Comedy Knocking About

2009-05-03T19:10:00.000-07:00

EJ has taken to the knock-knock joke like a fish to water. Is there a knock-knock joke about fishes and water? If so, she will soon learn it and tell it repeatedly, probably 10 times a minute, minimum.

Since her introduction to them last week, she has become so smitten with a particular knock-knock joke that we have had to ration her use of it, just to protect our sanity. For example, tonight, on our way home from dinner on the north side, Mike found himself in a knock-knock joke negotiation---he would say, "No more while Mommy is driving in this crowded neighborhood" and she would ask, "How about on the highway?" resulting in the "Yes, you can tell the joke again five times (and five times only) once we're on Lakeshore Drive."

The joke she now lives to tell is the classic "interrupting cow," suggested to me by my dear friend, Christina, and memorized in about 10 seconds flat and adopted as her own original material by my daughter. Here it is, for those who don't know it:

EJ: Knock, knock!
Me: Who's there?
EJ: Interrupting Cow!
Me: Interrupting C-
EJ: MOO!

I can't tell you how many times I've been interrupted by this cow, as well as this cow's menagerie of rude, impatient friends, the interrupting duck, the interrupting bird, the interrupting sheep, etc.

Tonight, though, she interrupted her regular pattern and had us in utter amazement and laughing until our sides hurt. After a few rounds of giggly cow jokes, she started saying, "Moo, moo!" I would repeat her, saying, "Moo, moo!" as closely as I could to her expression. She would then say, "No, Mommy, I'm the cow!" I thought this was the game for awhile---figure out which one of us would play the cow in the next telling of her favorite joke---but when I repeated her for the third time and she protested, even more insistently, I finally asked, "EJ, what do you want me to say?" She said, "Who's there! I'm a cow mommy." What happened next was the interrupting cow joke, with me speaking English, and EJ speaking cow.

EJ: Moo, moo!
Me: Who's there?
EJ: Moo moo moo moo moo!
Me: Moo moo mo-
EJ: MOO!

She was speaking cow. COW. Now I'm really regretful we didn't send her to the Lycée Français for preschool.

JOKE, JOKE

2009-04-26T17:34:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, EJ attended the butterfly-themed birthday of one of her favorite friends, "Nutmeg." Aside from the five-year old birthday girl's two-year old sister, EJ was the youngest one there, and while we weren't sure if we should stay or go when we first got there, she made it immediately clear (by running into the fun and not looking back) that she would be just fine for a "drop-off" with the 4-5 year old set.

I have a feeling that the older ones were telling some knock-knock jokes at the event, because this morning, EJ and I had this exchange, out of the blue:

EJ: Mom, I'm telling you a joke, okay?
Me: Okay!
EJ: Knock, knock---now you say, "Who's there?"
Me: Who's there?
EJ: Piggy.
Me: Piggy, who? (At this point she squeals with delight, because she realizes that I "get it"---I must have learned this knock-knock business, too, and she doesn't have to explain it.)
EJ: JOKE JOKE! Knock, knock!
Me: Who's there?
EJ: Orange.
Me: Orange, who?
EJ: JOKE JOKE!!! Knock, knock!
Me: Who's there?
EJ: Banana.
Me: Banana, who?
EJ: JOKE JOKE!!!!! Knock, knock!
Me: Who's there?
EJ: People.
Me. People, who?
EJ: JOKE JOKE!!!!!
Me: I love your jokes, kiddo, but you better go get ready if you are going to go on an adventure with Daddy today.
EJ: Okay. (trailing out of the room) Knock, knock! Knock, Knock! JOKE, JOKE!!!

I really can't do this rapid-fire exchange justice by writing it down, and like so many all-too-priceless child development moments, I was not armed and ready with my Flip camera to catch it on video. I hadn't even had my morning coffee yet, for goodness sake, and I was sitting in my jammies staring at my capstone data wondering where the day would take me (for those keeping track, my capstone, aka thesis, is due May 22nd, and my defense is May 27th---gulp.) Someday soon, I'm sure, someone will invent a tiny camera we all just wear around our necks, armed and ready for moments like these.

While she was telling her jokes, her entire body was laughing, giggling, and bouncing with delight. She could barely spit out the words without breaking into total glee, with every syllable mixed with chuckles and smiles. I defy anyone to find anything funnier than a three-year old cracking themselves up, except, maybe, a three-year old cracking themselves up by cracking her parents up, too.

Mike then took EJ on a daddy-daughter date so I could get some work done, but on her return, I was treated to round two of knock-knock joke fun. By then, I had figured out that the "orange you glad I wasn't a banana" joke must have been her original template, so when she launched in again, I thought I might model the punchline for her, to see if it jogged her memory.

EJ: Mommy, knock, knock!
Me: Who's there?
EJ: Orange!
Me: Orange, who?
EJ: KNOCK KNOCK!
Me: EJ, let me try one. Knock, knock!
EJ: Who's there?
Me: Orange!
EJ: Orange, who?
Me: Orange you glad I didn't say banana?
EJ: Mommy, that is SO FUNNY! I'm going to do it! Knock, knock!
Me: Who's there?
EJ: Piggy!
Me: Piggy, who?
EJ: Piggy you glad I didn't say lemon? Knock, knock!
Me: Who's there?
EJ: Orange!
Me: Orange, who?
EJ: Orange you glad I didn't say anything? (Throwing her hands in the air and screaming with laughs.)

I should have seen this coming, of course. A few days ago, while my mom was visiting, we were on our way to music class, and the car in front of us stopped in the middle of a crowded road. A few moments passed, then it pulled forward, at which point, I followed suit. All of the sudden, though, the confused driver threw her car into reverse, and we had to stop/swerve to avoid getting hit, or hitting the parked cars on both sides of the narrow road. I said something not-so-nice---I didn't swear, thankfully, but still, I wasn't very generous with my words. Upon yelling, "Come on, XYZ lady!" (insert colorful adjective), EJ started to laugh. I quickly said, "I'm sorry, kiddo, I shouldn't have said that. It wasn't nice, and it wasn't funny."

Her reply: "Well, it was a little funny, Mom."

Equal Opportunity Holiday Eater

2009-04-07T15:26:00.000-07:00

EJ goes to nursery school at a temple, and as such, is getting a wonderful knowledge of Jewish holidays and customs, as well as a weekly Shabbat service with the rabbi, complete with stories, songs and snacks (a.k.a., the perfect Friday activity for any three-year old).

I couldn't be more thrilled about this, because as my Jewish friends know, I love Jewish culture. When we lived out in DC, we very happily attended holidays hosted by our friends, Tasha and Aaron, and for gentiles, we sang those prayers with gusto (I'm proud to say I can break into Dayenu with the best of them!) We also belonged to a prayer group at our church that had a yearly Passover Seder, which, next to our group's Mardi Gras party, was one of the highlights of the year. This meant that, for at least four years, Mike and I celebrated TWO Seders and ONE Easter every spring. If Passover was good enough for Jesus, why would we pass on prayer, brisket, good wine, and excellent company?

When we moved to Chicago in 2004, our Passover attendance abruptly ended, and I was really sad about it. I love the holiday. Last year, though, my friend from grad school, Carolyn, invited several of us to her home to celebrate, and it was as wonderful as I remembered. She's not in Chicago at the present time---interestingly enough, she is in DC, so all our Passover hosts are in one place at the moment---but with EJ bringing home drawings of the Seder plate, and asking questions like "when are we having our Seder?" I'm still feeling the spirit.

Today she composed this story at school, a little holiday post from EJ, with a shout-out to her favorite babysitter, Kate:

On Passover, I eat special food like apples, matzah brownies, carrots, Kate broccoli, and Kate comes! I like her, she's my best babysitter who makes me mac and cheese.

On Easter, I collect eggs from the Easter bunny. He hops. Hop hop hop.

By, EJ

"Kate broccoli," for those not in-the-know, is just regular ol'steamed broccoli. A few months ago, out of the blue, EJ decided she didn't like all green vegetables. It happened practically overnight. We would make her favorites, and she would barely touch them. If she did eat them, she would declare, "Hey, I like these!" but sadly, wouldn't touch them the next time they were served. All this changed one night, though, when I left some steamed broccoli for Kate to make while Mike and I went on date. Apparently, when broccoli is made by Kate, it is magically delicious, because she ate it all up, and asked for more "Kate broccoli" the next day. I grabbed on to this idea, and started regularly serving "Kate beans," and "Kate peas," too---whatever works! Mike almost sabotaged this newfound eating without realizing---one evening, just was we were about to serve dinner, EJ walked in as Mike was pouring steamed broccoli into a bowl. She asked, "Is that Kate broccoli, Daddy?" and because he didn't know the story (shame on me), he said, "No, Honey! Mommy just made this!" Crying and whining ensued, something like. "But...but...but I don't want to eat MOMMY BROCCOLI, I only want KATE BROCCOLI." At this point, I jumped in and yelled, "Oh, It's fresh Kate broccoli, EJ! Daddy just didn't know." Once again, all was right with the world.

As for her hopes for a Passover meal, I have a brisket cooking in the oven right now, and I can make some nice charoset in a flash. It's no Seder, but it will have to do. Mac and cheese isn't very Passover-friendly, but I suppose exceptions can be made for a Catholic three-year old.

As for the Easter eggs, EJ was lucky enough to go to our neighbor's house last Sunday for an early Easter egg hunt. Jill, our neighbor's daughter and EJ's friend, had her grandparents visiting for the weekend, so the bunny made a special trip so all the grown-ups could enjoy the fun. As much as I'd like to say that I have effectively talked to her about the religious importance of Easter, there is simply no competing with finding matchbox cars in pretty plastic eggs and playing with friends when it comes to memory-making. Afterward, we made deviled eggs with some of her dyed finds (most of which the kids had cracked during the hunt and needed to be eaten right away), and she declared, "I JUST LOVE THESE---PLEASE MAKE ME MORE!"

Now, if I can just work "Kate broccoli" into deviled eggs...I'm sure that's in my "veggie-hiding" mommy cookbook, somewhere.

Hey, Sista, Go, Sista

2009-04-06T10:39:00.000-07:00

Do you have that song in your head now? You can thank me later.

You know who else should be thanking me? My brothers. That's right---a recent study now suggests that individuals with sisters "are happier, more optimistic, less stressed, and better at coping with life's problems."

Uh, huh. Just as I suspected.

Feel free to call, email, or send cards my way, guys. YOU ARE WELCOME.

Handbasket Ready

2009-04-05T11:15:00.000-07:00

I live in a cluttered house. A messy house. A "bursting at capacity with stuff that has no place to be put away because we just don't have a place, we are maxed out, at capacity, and ready for a giant purge of old things" house. According to Peter Walsh, professional organizer and current decluttering guru darling of Oprah, keeping a cluttered home and an overweight body often go hand-in-hand (oh, Oprah, what don't you know about me?). I'm guessing that also attempting to be a good wife, raise a three-year old, finish graduate school, work-part time, support a husband's grad school completion, and be a kind daughter/sister/niece/cousin/neighbor/friend could contribute to the high level of "scattery brain" that makes finding places for random things that have no place that much harder. That's just a guess, though.

This week was the topper. I have succumbed to the fact that I have toys and knick-knacks in every room in my house, including the bathroom, my bedroom, our office, etc. When I'm feeling particularly motivated, I try to at least arrange these pits of clutter into neat piles---sure they shouldn't be where they are, but at least they are neatly stacked. I've also become more and more accustomed to falling behind in laundry duty, and since our hamper is in our main bathroom, I know that when I'm tripping on boxer shorts on my way to wash my face, I have to drop everything and try to beat back the piles of dirty clothes.

Friends, if you are wondering why you haven't been invited for some impromptu playdates or dinners lately, I think the boxer shorts say it all.

Yes, this bothers me (especially feeling like I can't invite people over without notice), and no, it isn't always fun dealing with the clutter. Truthfully, though, in the short-term, it is survivable, and it will most certainly change in time. I simply cannot devote my extra time right now to boxing up old toys, clothes, etc., to make room for the stuff we actually need easily accessible, which means that the jumble of random stuff everywhere will continue for a bit (at least as long as we own our kid, who finds things that I have packed away routinely and brings them back into the mix.) When it gets overwhelming and I need a boast, I go through one small area, sort out stuff I don't need, post those things on Freecycle, then get that happy natural high when someone comes to my building, climbs the three flights of stairs to our door, and picks the stuff up, usually with a giant smile on his or her face.

This week, though, I made a discovery that stunned me. While roasting a chicken for dinner on Friday night, I reached up to a very high shelf inside one of our kitchen cabinets to retrieve a ramekin that I was planning to use to soften a few tablespoons of butter. It was a real stretch---at just over five foot, three inches, I can't access our top shelves very easily. I often say a little prayer as I reach for our tower of ramekins on this shelf, hoping they don't all topple over and shatter on the kitchen counter in front of me. The smart thing to do would be to pull out our kitchen step-stool to bring them down without peril, but because I'm just tall enough, I rarely make that effort. On Friday, though, I was in luck---there was only one ramekin left, which meant a counter full of shattered white porcelain was probably avoidable.

Oh, I avoided that. What I did not avoid, however, was the retrieval of a toddler-sized sock that had been stuffed into this ramekin. That's right, a sock. Somehow, a clean dish was stuffed with a children's sock, then placed on a high shelf. I have no idea how long it was there, but it could have been awhile, especially since this ramekin was at the bottom of the pile.

That was too much. When the laundry starts ending up with the dishes, we have reached full-tilt. The house is officially heading to hell in a handbasket, as the phrase goes. All aboard! Ramekins, cereal bowls, and tumblers will be available to pack all of your clothing---please enjoy your ride.

At least it will be warmer.

Gratitude

2009-04-01T16:47:00.000-07:00

When I hit "publish" on my last blog post, I took a big gulp. It was scary to tell the truth like that, especially in such a public way. I knew, though, that I was in a unique position to describe the obesity struggle, and that it was important for me to tell the truth. More critical though, at least in the short term, was that I needed to get that anger and sadness out. In the equation that weighs the fear I have of exposure versus the fear I have of keeping all of this in and not getting the help and support that I need, the latter won out.

And support is what I have gotten, in ways I could not even imagine. Your prayers, blog comments, emails, instant messages, texts, facebook notes, phone calls, and even a lunch date today have overwhelmed me. I have been brought to tears, I have laughed, and I have felt connected to innate human goodness in a way that I have not in a long time.

Some friends shared how hard their own struggle with obesity has been, and how my experience was not unique---they, too, have turned to the medical establishment, hat in hand, asking for help, and have not gotten the answers they were seeking. Others let me know about similar struggles---with eating disorders, chronic illnesses, and addictions. I was humbled as I read about their struggles, knowing that even though my own personal disease is easy to spot, I cannot forget that all around me, people have their own battles. Others let me know that it is this sort of struggle to end suffering---the kind of suffering that all of us must bear in some form or another but that manifests in different ways for each individual---that is what makes us uniquely human, and uniquely able to empathize and love each other. Friends that know of and share my faith reminded me that God is with me in my suffering, and that there is a plan and purpose for my life.

There were also those who told me what it feels like to be a family member or friend of someone struggling with obesity. While I know that I can't conquer this disease for anyone else but myself, knowing what the effects of an obese parent or an obese spouse or an obese friend can be only convicts me to stay in the fight longer, and to do whatever it takes to get my hope back. I was so grateful for their candor.

Then there were the strokes. I certainly hope that my post did not read as a solicitation for compliments, but I am not going to lie---it felt great to know that others recognize good character and talents in me. You are right, friends---I'm pretty hard on myself to begin with, and when my "encroaching fat thoughts" kick in, it can be even harder to see the good. No, I wasn't asking for those kind words, but I will save them and wrap myself up in them and write them out in my journal when I need a lift.

Finally, there was tactical help offered. Names of doctors. Ideas for residential treatment possibilities. Articles and books shared. Offers of phone and email support. This list goes on and on.

In my research on behavior change, one crucial factor for success comes up again and again---group support. This is the genius behind a program like Alcoholics Anonymous (AA), where addicts are able to provide each other with wisdom, guidance, accountability, and emotional support. Relapse, a part of any addictive disease, is more likely to be nipped in the bud with people around to catch the fall. As I said in my last post, I usually feel lonely in my disease, lonely with food addiction. That wasn't true today, though. I felt that support coming in ways I never imagined, and it is giving me the courage to look for more.

As my friend, Carrie, so eloquently stated in her comment to my post, "why is it when I've sent [a loved one] off to the doctor to talk about his weight problem, he gets the, 'well, eat less, exercise more' and a shrug? If he was a heroin addict, the doctor wouldn't have dismissed him with a 'well, take less drugs' shrug." I have thought about that a lot, and talked it over with a friend today at our lunch date. If I were a drug addict, and I turned a doctor and said, "I think I have a life-threatening drug addiction, and I am powerless to it," if he or she was worth the physician's fee, I would get a "you've made the first of twelve steps" message, and could leave the office with a variety of resources available to me (inpatient, outpatient, and clinical) to begin my journey to recovery. For goodness sake, loved ones stage interventions every day to help addicted individuals face this first step, and get to the professional help they need to be well.

Yesterday, I got angry and sad because, by all accounts, I had this conversation with my doctor, and the response I got was not what I needed. In fact, what I got was a piling on---a sense that, not only was I powerless to this disease, but that the medical establishment is, too.

What I didn't know then, but do know now, is that the response from the doctor would be far outweighed in importance to the incredibly kind and supportive response I received from loved ones, friends, and even casual readers of this blog. I say, with profound gratitude, that the gift I received from this experience far outweighs my frustration, and has helped me regroup and start looking for bariatric specialists (not surgeons, but specialists), holistic medicine programs, and any other resource I can get my hands on to pull myself out of this place. Better yet, I was reminded that I have a group of people surrounding me that know I need to climb out, and are willing to help me hold the rope ladder.

I have often joked, when asked what my ideal job would be, that I would make a great professional cocktail party guest, should that career open up. I like to meet and mingle, to bring groups of people together, and to tell funny stories that (hopefully) put people at ease. My humor is generally self-depricating, something that I think may be common among heavy people, and coupled with my bubbly personality (first described as such on elementary-school report cards), I think that I can make people feel good about themselves.

I'm proud of being that person, but it comes at a cost, too. If I am the entertainment---the smiling support, the funny friend, the lady that makes you feel great about yourself---what happens when I don't feel happy? When I tell the truth, and let people know how really terrible it feels inside this body, especially when I can't stop feeling hungry and can't do the things I know I need to do to heal myself?

What a relief to know that I can tell the truth. I'll still be a great cocktail guest, I promise---I like that lady, a lot---but don't be surprised if more updates on my fledgling recovery make their way to this blog. Telling the truth, even the terrible truth, feels much more satisfying than telling a good story.

Many thanks.