Confessions of a Parenting Book Junkie

It's the worst blogger ever, Charlie Brown!

2009-11-01T06:07:00.003-05:00

Or rather, it's the worst digital scrapbooker ever, because y'all know I'm not doing this for any other reason (um, unless there's no one out there anymore and in that case, kids... when you read this years from now... I did my best!).

So, when we last left 'Confessions of a Parenting Book Junkie', you'll recall that it was Clay's birthday, and I was kvetching over the R2D2 cake from hell. Drew's birthday was in September, and because I'm the 'WDSE' (see first paragraph), I failed to create a post about it. I'm sorry Drew!!! Here's what we did: we went to a Pirates game on a Sunday and the kids ran the bases (SHOCK!). The base running started out poorly because a random bee decided to randomly sting my random kid that happened to be my older son (not the birthday boy) for some random but clearly hostile reason. Clay then proceeded to scream and go into hysterics all the way onto the ball field, where he started to run through his tears, and then get tripped by some other kid thus renewing his commitment to the freak-out while he walked the rest of the bases. While we tried to commandeer some ice for him, Drew took the opportunity to lap the bases 4 or 5 times. I don't remember how many. I do remember a PNC Staffer trying to tackle him with each cross of home plate but the kid (now a big-boy 3 year old) was just too fast for her. I had to actually STAND on the HOME PLATE of PNC PARK home of the 17 SEASON LOSING PITTSBURGH PIRATES to get the birthday boy to knock it off. And then we went home and had leftover birthday cake.

Drew's cake was a bizarre last minute choice of his... Transformers. This was okay, because as you'll remember, I wasn't baking it.

This was taken at the moment Drew finished his first lap, and you can see he's thinking no one is watching and is deciding to take off for another one. Rascal.

Super Six!!

2009-06-27T23:24:00.006-04:00

Today is Clay's 6th birthday, which is a fact that blows my mind because I'm certain that Mike and I just got married day before yesterday and I graduated from high school just last year. But, it's true. He's six. And in case you were counting, I'm not eighteen.

That last sentence was painfully obvious to me at 12:36 this morning as I finally finished the R2D2 cake that Clay didn't really ask for, but since he wanted a Star Wars cake, I figured let's do R2D2. He would have been happy with his action figures on a sheet cake. Maybe a "May the Force Be With You" written on it. But I found a blog post describing an "easy" R2 comprised of 2 sheet cakes and half a 9" round cake. The author swore she put it together while nursing her umpteenth child and homeschooling the others. "Heck, I can do this!" Yeah, right.

Mike said that for the time and cost I spent working on the darn thing, this cake represents a total expenditure of $160. At least that's when he stopped tallying. And then he told me that it looked pretty good, although it wasn't a technically accurate representation of R2D2. Had I not just spent 6 hours working on it, I would have chucked the cake at him.

But it turned out pretty well, and Clay was pleased. Drew couldn't take his eyes off of it, but he's got a sweet tooth as bad as mine. At one point this morning I caught him licking one of R2's feet. I'm pretty sure the neighbors heard my scream.

After cake and presents, we went downtown to the Pirates game. It was a GORGEOUS evening, and afterwards there were fireworks. Pittsburgh's a town mad for fireworks, and the show was spectacular.

It's 11:48 and there's 12 minutes left in Clay's birthday #6. He's playing with his new Nintendo DS. I'm letting him stay up until 12:01, and then Birthdaypalooza is officially over.

And in the future, I'm leaving the cake decorating to the local bakery.

Happy Birthday Sweetheart. You were and still are worth all the effort.

Does the one in my other pants count?

2009-06-17T23:26:00.002-04:00

Since my birthday, I've become good friends with my insurance company. It changed in January, and I thought I was on top of those changes, but sadly not so much.

Around my birthday, I faithfully have a well woman exam. "Happy Birthday", said my doctor, "here's a slip for a mammogram". I dutifully accepted it and made an appointment right away. I'm not messing around with cancer if I can help it. Sign me up for any and every screening available, that's my motto.

While there, I asked about this patch of eczema that I've had for six years. Yes, since before Clay was born. And the only reason I asked is because Drew has eczema, and so I wondered if maybe I had an allergy that he also had (he's been tested, but only peanut had a reaction), and my doctor said "sure, why not" and referred me to an allergist.

The allergist said "see a dermatologist. You're a grown woman for cryin' out loud! Allergies don't manifest like this in adults." I may have paraphrased that last part, but I'm pretty sure she kicked me out of her office with a 30 second comment such as this after a 90 minute wait on my part.

And that is how I found myself at a HUGE dermatology practice. The doctor/resident looked at my spot and said: "Do you still have your uterus?" Confused, I explained that I was 40 and had my two kids and further children were unlikely and what the heck kind of phrasing was that anyway? She said she specifically asks female patients if we still have a uterus because if so, we could still get pregnant and the medicine she was going to recommend was SO POTENT that you couldn't even think about getting pregnant for 3 years after your last dose.

"Oh. Well, does the one in my other pants count?", I asked.

Dermatologists have no sense of humor.

"Of course we'd have to test you weekly because there are other side effects like liver damage and kidney failure. So are you interested?"

Less interested in my uterus but more so in my kidneys and liver, I asked if she had anything else. She shrugged. "Just some of the same stuff you have been taking, although there is this new cream that might not be covered by your insurance. I'll write you a scrip anyway. If it's not covered, I'll write you two others. Get those filled, mix them and it'll be almost as good."

I dropped off the three prescriptions and sent Mike the next day to pick them up. He called afterwards. "Did you know that one prescription was $500? So I asked about the next one and they said it was $100. So then I asked them what else they had and they said the third was a generic for $15. I picked that up for you." I thanked him, but reminded him that I needed BOTH for it to be "almost as good" as the $500 cream.

A few days later I went to the pharmacist. "Exactly how big is this $100 tube anyway?" She brought it out, and I inspected the merchandise. It would probably last me a long time. Was I worth it? Could I just continue to live with the scratchy patch? Ultimately I made the decision to buy it, not because I thought it would help me, but because I couldn't stand the thought of losing the $15 bucks on the one prescription I already had. Plus I considered it a 40th birthday present to myself.

It's helped, and I'm supposed to go back to the dermatologist in a month for a follow up. But I think I'll skip it. I could save the co-pay. But if I do go, I'm going to take my uterus. I might lock up the liver and kidneys, though.

Our Disney Trip

2009-06-17T23:15:00.003-04:00

Way back at the beginning of March, we spent my precious annual leave hours for 2009 and drove to Orlando. We had to pay our respects to Double M, the Head Cheese himself... Mickey Mouse.

And so it was on an early Saturday morning we left the house and travelled 8 hours to Charlotte, where my college roommate Rhonda and her family hosted us for the evening. I could have stayed the week there, but no, there was Magic to be had and so we left Sunday morning.

Did you know that Disney World has a car care center? Well it does. We know because our front left tire nearly fell off. Fortunately, Disney replaced the wheel bearing for us (for a fee, of course. Nothing's free at Disney). But they did drop Mike back at the hotel, and pick him up at the Magic Kingdom when it was done. Service with a smile, for $500.

Did you know that Disney World has a medical service where a doctor will come to your room if you're sick? Well it does. We know this because Mike developed a kidney stone the night before we left. Here's how my phone conversation with the front desk went:

Me: Can you recommend a 24 hour urgent care center?
Them: Would you like a doctor to come to your room?
Me: (Pause) How much does THAT cost?

Turns out, it costs about $350. But they'll give you a receipt for insurance, who will happily tell you it's part of your deductible!

And that is how our cheap Disney vacation (a drive, Dad's Disney points, and only 2 parks) turned into a regularly priced Disney vacation.

Well, hello stranger!

2009-06-17T23:09:00.003-04:00

While I wait for the iPhone 3.0 software to download, I thought I'd drop by and say hullo. Hullo!

It's 11:00, and I really should be heading to bed, but things have been preventing reasonable bedtimes, and blog posts, for several weeks now.

Here's a quick catch up...

I turned 40!

Mike and I celebrated our 11th wedding anniversary!

A dermatologist asked me if I still had my uterus! (My response: does the one back home in my other pants count?) More on that next...

I've been a gardening fool! But not so much a good one.

It seems I've done nothing but work, work, work!

The school year's over, and Clay's no longer a kindergartener!

The Penguins won the Stanley Cup!

I'd like a summer vacation, please.

Easter Perspectives

2009-04-12T07:14:00.006-04:00

While opening china cabinet drawers to see if the Easter Bunny left him an egg amongst my napkins, candle snuffer and cake knife, Clay wonders if the Easter Bunny would hide something inside our furniture. We tell him no.

Me: "Because it's an invasion of privacy"
Mike: "Because the Easter Bunny has paws and can't open the drawers".

Drew, meanwhile, has abandoned the hunt, preferring the easy prey of marshmallow Peeps. The boys' baskets were light on candy this year since we knew the Easter Bunny (or E.B. as we know him) would bring them lots of jelly bean filled eggs. And Baba & Gigi and various relatives will probably ply them with sweets. Instead there were Dr. Seuss books, activity pads, some gardening tools and a little basil pot, bubbles and Bakugan. Basically, whatever I could pick up from the Target dollar bins, plus one toy. Later there will be dinner with Baba & Gigi, Uncle Nick and Aunt Marilyn, Nikia, Ryan, Nicholas, with loads of kielbasa, Ukrainian cheese, ham, deviled eggs, hreen (horseradish and beets) and Paska (Easter Bread), that the boys will turn their noses up to... in favor of marshmallow Peeps.

When I was growing up, Easter was a Sunday where you had to get up early to go to a sunrise service, and were rewarded with a stunning basket of treats. Then we went to grandma's for dinner. But we usually went to dinner there every Sunday. For Mike, Easter was a solemn occasion marked by fasting, basket blessing, church services and then finally the joyous day when you could dig into all of the stuff his mom and baba had been working so hard on for a week. Today, we dig into the kielbasa as soon as the basket is blessed. Baba reminds us that HER mother would have had a fit to see it. But she cuts us another slice.

For my mother-in-law, Easter was an EVENT. The basket was not touched until after Easter morning mass. She told me yesterday that her father and uncle would build a tomb for their church where a shroud was placed on Good Friday, after it had been carried outside and around the church three times. (Not to be outdone by the Ukrainians, the Italian Church in her neighborhood had a special crucifix where during the Good Friday mass the priest would remove nails from, and one by one the arms and legs of Jesus would fall off the cross.) On Holy Saturday, baskets were blessed and before evening mass, the shroud was removed from the tomb and was carried outside around the church three times again before returned to the altar so that it would be out of the tomb by Sunday morning. And on Easter Sunday, the most joyous day of the year for them, the church bells were open for anyone and everyone to ring. Parishioners shouted 'Christos Voskres!' (Christ is Risen!) over and over. For Baba as a girl, she didn't have to look far for Easter imagery.

Last Saturday we attended Palm Sunday mass with Baba & Gigi. Morning mass is hard for Gigi now, so they go in the evening. The service is Byzantine and beautiful, although my mother-in-law knows that I could do without the incense and especially holy oil... too fragrant for me. "Sorry Nance", she whispered as we go up for the blessing "... there's 'goop' today." We receive palms and pussy willows... a Ukrainian tradition. Ukraine's climate isn't compatible to palms... and so worshippers received pussy willow branches in the Old Country. We bring our branches home and stick them in water. With any luck, they'll root and we can plant them in our yard. Last night was Holy Saturday services, where the Plaschenytsia (Ukrainian Holy Shroud) is removed and walked around the church three times. I stayed home with Drew because we knew a two hour service would be too much for him. But as the crew came home, with the Sheleheda family tradition of double cheese pizza, I could smell the incense in Clay's hair.

Musings

2009-02-05T04:11:00.003-05:00

Did anyone do anything exciting over the weekend? No? I suppose it was just a simple, quiet winter weekend... especially here in Pittsburgh. Nope, nothing special at all happened.

What? What's that you say? A football game? No.... no one here's interested at all in football. Why, Sunday was mom's birthday and I had planned months ago to take her to see Jersey Boys. A 6:30 curtain too, so it could even be an early night for both of us! I did think it was odd that everyone in the theater was wearing lots of black and gold colors. And for some reason, every now and then you could hear whispers of 'Steelers up...' and then mumbled numbers. But truthfully, I was just trying to focus on Frankie Valli's story. I mean, who really thinks about football... even championship football... especially if your city's team is in the game... when there's outstanding musical theater to be enjoyed?

Of course, I did find it slightly odd at intermission when a woman shouted out "17-7!!!" in the ladies room. Not as odd as the collective squeals that erupted from all the stalls, though. I wonder what that was about?

But then it dawned on me during the curtain call that people were focused on more than "a good night at the theater" when two of the Four Seasons ran on stage wearing 'Luv Ya Black and Gold' tee-shirts and twirling a Terrible Towel. Imagine!

Go Tell Aunt Rhody

2009-01-11T20:47:00.002-05:00

From Clay's Christmas Recital (pardon if the quality is bad. I haven't figured out the maze of Google Video or You Tube compression yet. So I just uploaded this video directly to Blogger.

One year ago today...

2009-01-11T17:09:00.004-05:00

We moved into this house. In one year we've...

Replaced the carpets and painted the joint
Bought a refrigerator and washer/dryer
Installed a swingset
Rebuilt the bowing retaining walls
Started one little boy in kindergarten and another in preschool
Planted 20 shrubs, countless flowers and 300 bulbs

I suppose that's a start... happy anniversary to us!

Here we go Steelers!

2009-01-11T16:43:00.004-05:00

First playoff game and Pittsburgh is EXCITED... here are pics from Friday's Terrible Tree event.

I love that I work in a city with sponsored grown up pep rallies!

Order

2009-01-06T23:11:00.003-05:00

Happy New Year! I'm slowly digging out from under my life. Between Christmas and work, I haven't had much time to myself. I'm in the middle of a wicked software upgrade that's still not neat and pretty. Sadly, this little project was supposed to be done by mid-December and here we are 3 weeks later... going and going and going. It's the Energizer Bunny of software upgrades.

I have Christmas pictures and a violin video to post... I promise I'll get to it soon!

I'm Twittering now

2009-01-06T23:10:00.003-05:00

I don't know why... but if you Twitter too feel free to follow. I've got updates on the sidebar. We'll see how long this lasts. I'm not sure I understand the point.

Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade

2008-11-27T09:37:00.004-05:00

A Thanksgiving scene from my living room. The Macy's parade is just starting, and this is the first float:

My boys observed the following:

Clay: "A car float! Sweet!"

Drew: "Happy Lego Star Wars Day!"

A Sentimental Moment

2008-11-09T20:50:00.003-05:00

Yesterday during one of our breaks between violin lessons, Clay and I found ourselves at the campus Starbucks. We've got 3 classes with a 45 minute break in between each (clearly I don't know the correct people to bribe) so thank goodness for modern campus conveniences. Duquesne just renovated it's student union, which Mike will grumpily complain if asked that it was a dump when he went, but do keep in mind that he can be prone to hyperbole. Now, it's a centrally located building with many comfy sofas and chairs, a bank, a bookstore and a Starbucks.

We arrived in the middle of a very gray, blustery day. Pittsburgh is getting ready for winter, and the leaves where a' swirlin'. Juggling a violin case, my purse, and a tote bag, along with my five year old, I scurry to the counter and order a 'not so hot chocolate' for Clay and a venti Eggnot latte for me. Since I love the eggnog latte, I refrain from my usual comment of 'what does Venti mean, anyway?' I suspect the collegiate baristas are not in the mood. Clay skips to a corner sofa, I grab our drinks and after testing his for the appropriate level of 'not so hotness', I sip my latte and rejoice. I plop into a green velour chair next to him and check my watch... 25 minutes until we need to leave for class. Outside the glass windows a big gust of wind is pushing leaves along on their merry route, and I'm able to survey the scene.

Interestingly, for a Saturday afternoon the place is practically empty. There's a student in a hoodie sweatshirt across the room, iPod buds in ears, hairband in place, a couple of binders and books on the table. Another couple by the window, and us. "Kids today", I mutter. When I was in college, a place like this would probably have been teeming with activity. Then I look down at my $4 drink and realize that I'm wrong. My friends and I wouldn't have had the money needed to hang out in a Starbucks.

Clay's grabbed my iPhone and is playing a puzzle game, so I have nothing to occupy my brain except my thoughts. And the coffee shop music, which was very, very good. Etta James* followed by James Taylor, and then as if God was trying to yank me back 20 years, Debussy's Clair de Lune. Not that this song is significant to my college years, although that was when I first read Terrence McNally's fabulous play. No, the song itself is better than a time machine. No matter where I am, if it's playing I'm always reminded of something. It's such a beautiful piece of music. When I was pregnant with Clay I mentioned to my buddy Ed that I wanted to play that song over and over again to my belly because I had read that you should pick a calming piece of music to play to the baby in utero, and then after it's born you could play it whenever the baby was freaking out, and he would calm down. I loved this idea, and was sure that I had discovered the secret to parenthood. What foe is cholic against beautiful music? Right. The next day, thoughtful Ed gave me a cd he burned with several different versions of Clair de Lune. I spent a few nights with headphones on my belly until one of the many baby books I was reading slapped me back to reality.

The song has ended and I look up and notice that hoodie sweatshirt girl now has her head on her table. And in those few quiet moments of reflections I realized something. I am so glad I am not her. All night studying and all night socializing are long gone for me. Those problems have been replaced with far greater worries (a mortgage, a paycheck, a family). I should yearn for the days where the next paper or exam or boy occupied my thoughts. But now I have more interesting and more important considerations, as well as a consistent eight hours of sleep.

At Last!*

Hallelujah

2008-11-05T20:35:00.003-05:00

It's over. Amen. We have a president-elect and took a huge step forward as a country.

This is for Clay and Drew. Years from now you will be old enough to vote, and there are a few things you must do.

First, VOTE. Don't cop out and say it doesn't matter and your opinion doesn't count. It counts. Vote. Do it.

Second, have an educated opinion. Read up on the candidates and the issues, and seek out many different sources for this information. Read the New York Times AND the Washington Times. Watch CNN and Fox News. Even if it makes you want to roll your eyes. Then when you make a decision, put it aside and take a few days to embrace the other side's views. After that, if your original decision still rings true to you, it's a good one.

And hopefully you will learn this in either a high school civics class or a college ethics course, but just in case... we need only two things in our leaders. And they are intelligence and integrity. And just like them, you also must be smart and you must be kind. If you have the brains but not the compassion so what? You have no empathy, and no soul. If you don't work hard to learn all that you can but are exceptionally nice, then people will walk all over you.

Participate. You really can do whatever you set your mind to.

'Twas the Night Before Halloween

2008-11-01T20:45:00.003-04:00

A couple of years ago we were at Disney World's Magic Kingdom a few weeks before Halloween and we got to attend Mickey's Not So Scary Halloween Party. That was loads of fun, and Clay really had a good time. He was a little older than 2, and I made an informal promise to myself that every year we'd do something special just before Halloween.

I say 'informal', because we haven't really done anything special ever since. When Clay was three (pumpkin costume year), we had just started our massive home renovation and the yard was completely torn up and we were beginning to wonder what we had gotten ourselves into. We just went trick or treating and called it a Halloween.

When Clay was four (last year... Batman), we had just left Fairfax for Pittsburgh. In fact, Mike and Clay were travelling to Pittsburgh that afternoon. We decided to let Clay enjoy his last day at his lovely little preschool. We couldn't bear to pull him out before the big party. Thank goodness they arrived on Halloween because trick or treating in a new neighborhood gave us something else to focus on. I think we were all a little sad that day.

This year, I was determined to find a fun party to take the kids to. The Pittsburgh Zoo is supposed to be wonderful, and they have trick or treat events for the two weeks before Halloween. We've been meaning to go to the zoo all year, but haven't made it yet. What with violin and t-ball, I wasn't about to schedule anything else on the weekend. Ditto for pumpkin patches. I hear there are some great ones, but we didn't make it. HOWEVER, we are members of the Pittsburgh Children's Museum, which is fantastic and I was delighted to discover that they were having a 'Spooktacular' on October 30th. Not a weekend event! We could go after work and the kids could get in their costumes and we'd all have a grand few hours at a Halloween party at the Children's Museum. Plus it was free because we were members. Great!

Except that there really wasn't a party after all. It was just extended museum hours. And please don't misunderstand... the museum's a blast and there's much to do. But when it's the night before Halloween and you're calling it a 'Spooktacular', don't you think you could have a cookie and some apple cider ready for the kids? After an hour Mike mumbled 'You know, mom & dad said they're trick or treating tonight in Ambridge and they were disappointed they weren't going to get to see the kids.' Hello! Why didn't you say something sooner? We were gone before you could say 'BOO'.

And the search for pre-Halloween fun continues. Perhaps I'm expecting too much, because I am holding everything up to the Disney bar.

Oh, and as for Halloween itself? Mike and the boys (Clay went as Batman Returns, Drew as Bob the Builder) went out with next door neighbor Darth Vader and his dad. Mike said DV's dad handed him a beer and off they went. They caught up with a group of 7 mom's escorting their children, and all the ladies had wine coolers. Then they ran into a large group of kids escorted by their parents. One of the dads had a rolling cooler he was pulling behind him. Clearly Halloween's fun for the whole family in our neighborhood! And here I was worried about the lack of progressive dinners....

I joke, but truly, they all had a lot of fun, and even though we live on a busy residential street, all of the parents worked the road and forced the cars to slow down and kept an eye on everyone's kid. It was really a nice evening, and who needs a 'planned community' to get to know your neighbors? Hooray for our new neighborhood!

Something fishy's going on

2008-10-12T21:31:00.002-04:00

Remember Blue Blue? You'd think we would have learned, but we're attempting fish experiment # 2 (Electric Boogaloo!)

Clay wanted a dog, and when we told him no, he shifted focus and again asked for a fish. We agreed, figuring that if we got a proper aquarium, a couple of fish could be peaceful and an interesting science project for the kids. But, we wanted it to be something Clay had to work for, and so we told him that we'd get an aquarium after he learned his next violin song, Lightly Row, well enough to perform in a recital. I figured it would take him until Christmas. Of course, I overestimated. Clay worked on it for one month, and he's performing it in next weekend's recital. So, we've started preparing for a fish house.

All in all, I think we should have okay'ed the dog instead. We went to the pet store on Monday and bought a tank, filter, gravel and conditioner. This cost us $80. I balked at the stand b/c it was only a 15 gallon tank, and I figured we could find a nice flat surface for it. As we left the store, the sales clerk called helpfully: "Don't forget to make sure the tank is perfectly level. One gallon of water weighs 8 pounds, and a 15 gallon tank that isn't perfectly level will have too much stress on the joints."

Okay, so the quick math meant we had to find a spot for 130 pounds of weight contained in a footprint of 24 inches by 12 inches. We had nothing.

Tuesday, Mike went out to find a stand. He found one for $90, and tried to put it together before I got home. Half of the cam connectors broke, and somehow he got one of the dowels in the wrong hole and couldn't get it out. By the time I got home he was wild eyed and tousled, looking like the wild man of Borneo. I sent him out for more cam connectors and tried to get the dowel out. Clay hopped up and down eager to set up the tank. He helpfully went and put on his play tool belt, and offered us his plastic hammer for dowel dislodging. By 9 p.m., we had the tank set up, and an overtired little boy who didn't understand why we still had no fish.

Wednesday night, we went to a pet store recommended by a colleague. Goldmine! These folks were GREAT. We looked at all their freshwater tropicals, helpfully color coded by temperament and ease of care. We were focusing on the black and yellow labeled fish. "Peaceful" and "Easy" said the legend, and I started humming the Eagles. We grabbed a heater (because it was clear that freshwater tropicals instead of goldfish were the way to go) and some plastic plants. I had originally thought live plants were what I wanted, but the sales woman suggested I stick with plastic until we knew what we were doing. Clay grabbed a sunken ship and two pirate skeleton figurines. The sales woman said we needed a bacteria conditioner. Total with a 10% "new customer" discount: $75.

Have you been doing the math? We're now into this simpler-than-a-dog pet project for nearly $200. And we have yet to buy any fish.

Saturday after violin, Mike and Clay went back to the pet store. We were going to get some fish! Upon everyone's advice, we were only going to get 3 little fish. We would add two or three fish for the next several weeks until we had about 10-12 fish total. An hour after they left, Mike and Clay returned witb 3 neon tetras named Roger, Pete and Keith. We introduced them to the tank per the store's instructions and then we spent the rest of the afternoon just looking at the tank. It was all worth it! Last night we turned off the light and said goodnight to the band.

This morning the boys and I said good morning to the fish and had some toast. A little later we checked on the tank and strangely, the trio was now a duet. Mike took a look but the third, which we figured was Keith going on a bender, was still MIA. We figured he was enjoying the sunken ship, and I went off for a shower so we could get to church. As I was drying my hair, Mike came in the bathroom and said he'd found Keith in the filter. Dead. We put him in a little cup to return to the store, which was closed today. However, Mike went to PetsMart this afternoon to replace him. We didn't want to upset Clay.

Neon tetra #4, "John" was introduced to the tank at 2 pm this afternoon. At 3:30, another tetra bit the dust, for lack of an aquatically appropriate metaphor. Perhaps little Pete, for lack of his namesake's guitar, used a pirate skeleton instead and little John couldn't handle the stress? I dunno, but Clay noticed this time, and much wailing and teeth gnashing ensued.

I was concerned that we were really doing something wrong, but I couldn't figure out what. We had the water tested, and it was fine. We were introducing fish slowly. We chose easy fish. Finally a couple of comments on an aquarist's bulletin board told us the ugly truth: "Tetras: they'll either last forever or will die on you in a couple of days".

Indeed. Statistically speaking, that's about right. We bought 3 + 1 tetras and now have two. Both tetras and rock stars could use an intervention.

True Confessions

2008-10-12T21:27:00.002-04:00

Tonight at dinner Clay had to get something off his chest.

"Mommy, do you remember a few weeks ago when I told you that my favorite color was blue and not red? Well... I was wrong. It's really red. Sorry."

Glad we got that straight!

We interrupt this crisis for a momentary diversion

2008-10-10T21:37:00.003-04:00

Never mind that the world's economy is on the verge of collapsing...

Or that this presidential election is getting uglier and uglier...

Or that my diet is completely derailed and I'm a little depressed...

I give you a boy and his bubble mower!

Something to Celebrate

2008-10-02T23:09:00.003-04:00

Ooh! But here's hope for our future.... Clay's READING! He's recognizing so many words, and I just couldn't be prouder. Every night he goes through his library book and sounds out new words. This week he's reading Red Fox and His Canoe.

And Drew! Drew's doing so well in preschool. Mike says that now when he drops him off, Drew says 'Bye Bye Daddy', and if Mike doesn't leave immediately, Drew comes back and says 'Daddy, kiss. Bye bye!'.

Plus we moved him to a big boy bed tonight. And just like that, I'm out of babies...

My head hurts

2008-10-02T22:45:00.003-04:00

I just finished watching the VP debates, and now I need to crack open a great big bottle of Advil. I'm just so sad that I can't get excited about any candidate. And I have to wonder if this is a sign of the times? Are the days gone when the average person (Joe Sixpack as Sarah Palin says ad nauseum... ugh) can't get excited about a candidate? Has the media killed our enthusiasm with constant overexposure? CNN had a 'special' for HD viewers... in the side bars you could watch SIX pie charts with analysts 'scoring' the candidates during the whole shebang. I'm a little cross eyed now... and my head hurts from trying to count the score cards. Washingtonpost.com, I had thought, would have an online discussion going. Nope, they've moved into 'tweets', which I just can't take seriously. CBS had a little game where you could pick which state would go to which candidate and watch the electoral votes build. ABC and NBC had live blogs, but they weren't refreshed all that often. I should know. I clicked 'Refresh' so much my index finger is a little sprained.

We are on the verge of something truly historic... for the first time we will NOT have two white guys running this country. So why am I all 'Meh' about these choices? Electing a president should be about voting for competence and intelligence. Instead it's a popularity contest. Our parties have embraced mediocrity, and that's all I see whenever I listen to the radio, watch TV, read the paper, surf the 'net. Disappointing.

Of course, I could be just completely pissed off that my retirement accounts have lost 10% of their value in September. Oy vey. Forget the Advil. Somebody hand me a drink.

Egad!... School's started!

2008-09-25T21:46:00.004-04:00

I'm the worst mom blogger in the world... Clay started kindergarten a month ago and I haven't posted one word about it.

You know what's weird about kindergarten? We have yet to talk with his teacher in any meaningful way. By the first day of preschool, I was on a first name basis with his teacher and I had her email address. With kindergarten, I've only managed a 'Hi, I'm Clay's mom' at the ice cream social. I didn't even get to shake her hand since she was on duty and her arm was up to its elbow in an ice cream carton.

I'm looking forward to November just so I can attend a conference and find out how my kid's doing in public school.

Oh! And on top of all that, Drew started preschool. We were quite worried because he's the youngest in the class, and he's a handful. But you know, he's surprised us all. He's doing really well, and he hasn't had any separation issues. His teacher mentioned that he was hitting, but we've pretty much gotten that under control with 'keep your hands to yourself.' The kindergarten could take some cues from the preschool on parental communication.

Randomnicity

2008-09-25T21:40:00.002-04:00

My brother's requested more posting... I shall comply!

We've been enjoying a nice visit from Gran. She always makes the trek for birthdays, and in September we celebrate both Drew's and Mike's. It's a birthday extravaganza! Drew turned two, and he got a cowboy hat, Playdough, and a trampoline. That last one is more a gift for me than him. I'm tired of kids jumping on our couch! Mike at first was quite enthusiastic about the trampoline. That is, until it arrived and he had to put it together. Three hours, a quart of sweat and four people later, it was done. And we're never taking it apart.

In other news... who's ready for the presidential election to be over? Can I get an AMEN?!?

Scream

2008-09-10T20:55:00.004-04:00

Do not be fooled by this boy.

He looks like a mild mannered blue eyed angel

But in truth, he is precocious. And his lungs have tremendous capacity.

Heaven

2008-08-13T21:34:00.003-04:00

'Tis the season for yummy tomato sandwiches!

Speedy Delivery!

2008-08-10T09:44:00.000-04:00

Violin

2008-08-09T23:41:00.001-04:00

While I wait for Google Video to process the Speedy Delivery video, it occurs to me that I don't think I posted this video from Clay's June recital. He's a Twinkle master now!

Not necessarily the sum of its parts

2008-08-09T22:30:00.004-04:00

Today we took the boys back to the Children's Museum for the "Welcome to Kindergarten" event. And what a pile o' loot we came away with! Clay got a 'Class of 2021' tee-shirt, I picked up a bunch of info about PA's 529 plan, Mr. McFeely from Mr. Roger's Neighborhood was there signing autographs and he graciously let us take so many pictures and Mike got tons of video of Clay talking to him ("Speedy Delivery!") Loads of scholastic books (free!), and other tchotchkes changed hands. After a quick snack, we headed over to the local health system's "nutrition" table where they gave the boys each a toothbrush, and Clay got to spin the "kid food" quiz wheel. He landed on a PB & J sandwich, and his question was: what's the healthiest part of a peanut butter & jelly sandwich?

"The JELLY!" he said so proudly. The woman shook her head and said it was the OTHER ingredient.

"Oooh! The BREAD!" Um, no... the very amused woman told him it was still the OTHER sandwich ingredient.

Clay thought a moment, and then I could tell he'd figured it out. "Oh right... It's the OTHER piece of bread!"

Previously on Parenting Book Junkie

2008-08-01T20:34:00.002-04:00

Well... that was an exhilarating round of posting wasn't it? What? What's that you say? You didn't SEE any posts? Didn't you get the secret code that told you where to find the treasure map that led you to the stash of invisible ink I had prepared especially for my blog? No? Well that IS a shame...

'Tude

2008-07-20T08:47:00.002-04:00

One of my biggest parenting worries is whether or not I'm a good steward of my kids' psyches. Let me 'splain...

Clay's now five (wow!), and he is and has always been just the most wonderfully sweet, happy, thoughtful kid. A model little boy. Just lovely. Not that he's perfect, no one is, but man, this kid comes close. He's got the mechanics down (please, thank you, hand shaking, "I love you mom" whenever I need it and often when I don't), and the good nature to go along with it. Everyone who meets him is so in love with him. He's only had two tantrums in his short lifetime, and he's a great sleeper. Not that those are the most important descriptors of his little person, but as a mother, I gotta give him props for those. Easy child to raise.*

But now that he's five (wow again), I've started noticing a little attitude. It started as a smidgen of sass "all RIGHT already, I KNOW." I ignored it. Then it moved into experimentation with slang and/or swearing "SHOOT!" (not to be confused with his swearing of a few years ago... that was just repetition without understanding. Now, he knows what he's trying to say.) I told him there were far more interesting words to use, but really, how bad is saying "SHOOT" anyway? It's one little vowel sound away from the big kahuna. But maybe I should worry about that once it's said?

Here's my point (and I do have one): lately, he's turned into the master of manipulation. Of the Eddie Haskell variety.

Anytime he does something that he knows we won't like, like tripping his little brother on purpose, or throwing something, or flopping on the floor, he'll start immediately into a barrage of "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. I'm really, really, REALLY sorry." Except that he isn't. Or at least his tone indicates that he's not. I've tried talking to him about sincerity, and how I don't believe his apologies, especially since they're over the top, but I'm either not conveying the concept well, or it's a concept he's too young to grasp, which I doubt.

Lately, he's pretty good at whining and/or crying fits that border hysteria whenever he's asked to do something he doesn't want (like clean up the toy room). "It's too hard for me. I can't do it" is a common refrain.

And so I'm getting a little frustrated with my sweet boy. I fluctuate between insisting that he bend to my will and cuddling/comforting my baby boy. Mixed messages abound. Which is why I say I worry about his little psyche. I want him to "toughen up", but I also don't want him to lose that wonderful sensitivity he has.

Wow... this is much longer than I anticipated. Let me sum up: I think he's just exercising his independence and learning his boundaries. I've got to figure out what they are so he can grow up into a well adjusted person with a good balance of selflessness/selfishness.

No pressure.

*Don't worry Drew... I've got a post about you coming up later. You're a great kid too.

Quantity, not quality

2008-07-20T08:41:00.002-04:00

One of my favorite bloggers is trying to blog once a day for a week, and I thought "I can do that." Or more accurately, I thought "I should do that." Since I'm lucky to post once a month, and she started this a few weeks ago, it remained "just a thought." Until now.

But now I'm ready! Starting today, I'm going to post once a day. Whether I have something to say or not. Don't say you weren't warned...

Dog Days

2008-07-17T21:56:00.006-04:00

I'd like to say that I have a good reason for not writing. But, no.

Hours after my last post I found out that a close relative was killed in a car accident, and then another had a serious health issue. Later that day a huge problem happened at work, and my phone was off and I missed it. By the end of Father's day, I sent Mike and the boys off to his mother's for dinner, and I just laid on the couch feeling blue.

So.

It's been a month, and we've had a lovely vacation, and except for all that, it's been a pretty good summer. I'll try to be more faithful to this. Until next time, here's a picture of Clay with his summer hair cut. It's pretty short, and I still catch myself staring. I'm calling him 'Spike'.

Dear Mike

2008-06-15T01:14:00.002-04:00

Just last week we had our first child, and you cried.

Day before yesterday we had our second child, and you laughed.

This morning amidst the chaos of toaster waffles, sippy cups, violin cases and lost tennis shoes chased by 'where are my keys?', surrounded by the clutter of Matchbox cars and permission slips and unfolded laundry and junk mail needing filing you were there making sure everyone was headed to where they needed to go with the stuff they needed to have with them. And you had a smile on your face.

Our boys are really lucky to have you. So am I.

Happy Father's Day.

Dear Dad

2008-06-15T00:48:00.003-04:00

A million and a half years ago, you used to take me to your store on Sunday afternoons. I probably complained a bit, but it was nifty being the only one of the neighborhood kids who got free roam of an empty paint store. Wallpaper rolls make cool swords.

A million years ago, we would walk home from church on Sunday afternoons, and you taught me to run and click my heels. I never could get as high as you. And I suspect that my ankles made contact more often than my heels.

A half million years ago, you would bug me to make my bed in the mornings. One Sunday I forgot and you had me make it three times after church. You stripped it each time and then told me to go make it again. When I was done, I short sheeted your bed. You never said a thing, and I don't recall you ever saying anything about my bed after that. Suspiciously, the door to my room would be closed more often than not, though. Anyway, thanks for receiving as good as you gave. No hard feelings?

A quarter million years ago you dropped me off at college, and in the awkward goodbye on the dormitory steps, you gave me a hug and handed me some money and told me to be good. I went up to my room eager to embrace my new independence, but worried about being more on my own than ever before. I was too old for wallpaper swords and hadn't the courage for heel clicking on campus. No one cared if I made my bed anymore, or to close my door so they wouldn't have to look at the mess. But then your letters started to arrive, and I knew that no matter how independent I became, I'd always have roots.

Happy Father's Day.

Cheektowaga White!

2008-05-20T21:00:00.002-04:00

My how half a score will just fly by! Last Friday was our 10th anniversary, so to celebrate we called in the grandparents and took off for a weekend at Lake Chautauqua (a town that surely was the inspiration for Gary, Indiana a la The Music Man). Good weekend, although it was off to a rocky start (see Magnus Patris for blown tire story). Our goal? Celebrate us, take a golf lesson, and sample some wine, not necessarily in that order. Last summer I did a day trip wine tour with some preschool moms, and had such a good time I wanted to go again but with Mike.

Unlike the wineries in Leesburg, the Lake Erie wine samplings are FREE.... and much tastier than those in Virginia (but I'm a sweet wine drinker, and the Niagara grape seems to be the thing to grow in this region). We came home with 16 (yes 16) bottles, and since I'm a one glass a week wine drinker this should keep us stocked for quite a while. So far my favorite is Penn Shore Vineyard's Lambruscano because it's so fragrant. But our stop at Schloss Doepken takes the cake just for sheer amusement's sake. After following the directions, we pull up not in front of a store, but a farm house. The sign told us to come on in, so we did, calling out b/c it didn't appear anyone was home. "I'm a'comin' said this voice, and around the corner is J. Simon Watso, vintner and proprieter. He's wearing red suspenders, leaning on a cane, and was 85 if he's a day. We spend 15 minutes just listening to him gripe about a double hip replacement, reading a 'recent' article (published in 1993... "read the first page and the first column", said he) about his winery, and patiently waiting to taste one of the 12 bottles he had lined up on the counter. He handed me a bottle and told me to read the label aloud. I got about halfway through, finishing with the winery's history, and moving onto the wine's description when he yanked it out of my hand and said "that's for me!" OKAY! Next, he pulled out a stack of little plastic cups (Mike thinks they were Nyquil cups, but I maintain they were little communion cups), and he said "These are the rules of the house: We don't dump. We don't gargle. We don't spit, or any of those affectations." And we were off. For each wine, he had a precise description which he re-enacted with gusto:

This is an exceptional oak aged Chardonnay. It's perfect for any special occasion such as Thanksgiving, or even just with grilled .....SWORDFISHHHHH.

This is CHEEKtowaga WHITE. CHEEKtowaga is a little town outside of Buffalo, where I used to fly out of, and I figured if we named a wine CHEEKtowaga WHITE, and everyone from CHEEKtowage bought a bottle, we'd be SOLVENT.

This is September Rouge. On a late summer evening if you drive down Route 20 with the windows down, this is what you'll SMELL.

At the end (we were there 30 minutes, when mercifully another couple entered), we felt like we had to buy some of his wine. And actually, Mike really liked his Apple Crisp wine (meant to be served warm). Two bottles of that, a bottle of the house wine, September Rouge (my favorite), and CHEEKtowaga WHITE. Just because there was a pink flamingo on the front. On our way down the gravel path Mike wondered which of us would be blogging about him first. I guess I win!

Fare thee well, Mrs. Greenthumbs

2008-05-08T21:37:00.002-04:00

Now that we have a new house, and I'm done having babies, and life seems to be settling down, I'm turning my attention to yard work. Knowing that a green thumb is cultivated, not created, I pulled out my one and only gardening book: Cassandra Danz' Mrs. Greenthumbs: How I turned a Boring Yard Into a Glorious Garden and How You Can Too. Perhaps you remember her? Mrs. Greenthumbs had a regular appearance on Regis and Kathie Lee as well as the Today show. Her wacky sense of humor (really OUT there) was just so much fun. Her book is hilarious, and I've had it for years, which is about how long it's been since I've read it. But I wanted to mentally prepare myself for a FUN experience (gardening is not really my idea of fun. Work, yes. Fun, not so much. I'd much rather have the garden without the gardening.) And I ask you: what's a new project without a new purchase? Off to Amazon I went to get another one of her books, where I discovered that they're OUT OF PRINT! Heavens to murgatroid... get me to Google ASAP! And this is what brought me to a very sad revelation... Mrs. Greenthumbs died six years ago of cancer! She was 55 years old. And I'm just so sad about that. Of course I didn't know her personally, but I felt like I did (she wrote in a stream of consciousness style that made you feel like she was talking to you). I guess with the kids and the old house renovation, I missed that news (it was in the New York Times for heavens' sake!) I'm sad that this gifted gardener, hilarious woman and all around happy sounding person is no longer around. Tragic.

So in tribute to Mrs. Greenthumbs, I did make a purchase tonight. Spring Hill Nursery had a coupon (she would have appreciated the thriftiness), and there's a lilac bush, a butterfly bush, two Shasta daisies, six daylilies, two Sedum and a jumbo perennial grab bag headed my way. I'm pulling out the graph paper and am starting to plan.

Things I Learned Today

2008-05-04T21:48:00.003-04:00

1. Sam's Club photos really stink.
2. Wet evening grass in an early Pittsburgh May is REALLY COLD on bare feet.
3. My patio is 12 feet deep by 24 feet wide.
4. I'm a glutton for punishment.

Anyone have any ideas for what I can do to spruce up this yard? Consider that most of our yard is being torn up in a few weeks to rebuild a retaining wall, and that I have two small children who will want to help.

And while you're thinking on that... what colors should we paint the door, front porch and trim? That's going to need repainting soon, and the beigy beige beige-icity that is my house leaves me so drowsy I can barely stay awake. It's a swell house, we're enjoying it but GOSH... can you say VANILLA??? You get points for creativity. And by points I mean I won't hit you up to babysit the boys.

Thanks Chuck!

2008-04-10T20:36:00.003-04:00

Every couple of years I go on a fruitless quest. I do not seek knowledge or wealth or wisdom, but nostalgia. Which is why I thank God for eBay. What did people do before online auctions? I want to know. Scratch that, I don't really care because my search is over.

Ah Charlie Brown, how I missed thee! I have no idea how many hours I spent going through this book as a kid, but I do know that I should have saved it because it's taken me YEARS to find it again. My Grandma Askew also had these huge Peanuts anthologies that I would read over and over again, and I have no idea where they are. But thanks to eBay, I think I've found one of them. Can't wait to share these with the boys in a few years. Until then, they're all mine!

Skinned noses and soccer balls

2008-04-02T20:44:00.002-04:00

Where did March go? Could someone please call lost and found because I seem to have misplaced it. Oh never mind, I won't complain. Especially since it means spring is finally here, a concept that is still mainly theoretical since I drove through a brief flurry on my way to work.

We have spent this week, regardless of today's chilly weather, enjoying our new neighborhood. We knew that a little boy Clay's age lived next door and we finally got to meet him on Sunday. And then, hooray! Our neighbors on the other side have a little boy Drew's age. It's as if this house was meant for us because it's perfectly sandwiched between built in playmates for my boys.

And for some reason, serendipity smiled on us once again because I remembered JUST IN THE NICK OF TIME that Clay wanted to play soccer this spring. I had no idea where he would do this, since there are many jurisdictions here, but I let my fingers do the walking and lo and behold, I found a website for the local soccer club, and online registration was closing in two hours!

It's scary how quickly I can drop $80. And how easily I'm guilted, for of course, they wanted parent volunteers.

It's even scarier how quickly I volunteer my husband for these things.

So I'm not sure why I was surprised when the team roster came out, and there near the top was Mike's name. As assistant coach. Funny, I could swear I signed him up for website duty. My normally good natured husband was less than amused. "I know nothing about this sport... the best I can do is say: 'Don't use your hands..... Don't use your hands.... DON'T USE YOUR HANDS!'" I tried to assure him that a 4 year old soccer team coaching job is probably more akin to herding cats than building skill sets. He wasn't convinced. "Would you please volunteer yourself next time?" Um...sure?

Clay is thrilled, though. We went up to the local soccer store tonight and picked up his jersey, his soccer ball, socks and shin guards. He wanted to carry it all to the car. Even as he dropped his parcels in the parking lot, the most he would acquiesce to letting me carry was the socks. When I told him I really thought he should let me carry something else he handed me the receipt.

So we made soccer registration by the skin of our nose. Drew has not been so fortunate. The other day we went for a walk, and he took off down our driveway. Before I could catch him, he took a nose dive right on the concrete. The poor little boy now has a healing wound on his nose and upper lip in the shape of Florida. Mike commented that if it was only a little higher, he'd at least look like Gorbachev. I wish I saw the humor in it because it's just painful to look at (not that he seems to mind). I can't quite take my eyes off of it, and by the stares and flinches from the neighbors and the other people at the store, neither can they.

Scenes from our winter

2008-03-02T09:03:00.009-05:00

We finally downloaded the pictures off the camera, and that, coupled with yesterday's trip to the Pittsburgh Children's Museum (we have a two year membership now... thanks Mom!), lit the proverbial fire that I needed to post some photos!

Here's some of the boys enjoying their new playroom (also known as our furniture-less living room):

May the force be with you!

Sundays is when Baba and Gigi usually visit. We'll have lunch and then Clay and Baba will dance to Ukrainian Radio hosted by Komichak (Gigi's favorite program):

On Mondays and Fridays, Drew enjoys his play gym at the YMCA. His favorite activity is the slide, where he always says "Whee! Happy!" on his way down.

Not that it's all play and dancing around here. There's also a healthy dose of art appreciation.

Gran always has good composition, but I think she could have been bolder with the indigo in her shadows here.

And we have had a bit of snow, which means Clay could finally go sledding!

Of course, the day of the snow a 3 year old in a neighboring county was killed while sledding. His older brother was watching out for cars, but didn't see the car until after his brother had started down the hill. So now I can add that to my list of paranoias.

And last but certainly not least... the children's museum! Pittsburgh was home to Fred Rogers of Mr. Rogers Neighborhood, and the children's museum has an entire exhibit called 'The Neighborhood' with the trolley, tv cameras, a puppet theater like the one from the Neighborhood of Make Believe with replicas of King Friday and Lady Elaine. The actual puppets were also on display (behind glass of course). I actually got a little teary when I saw Henrietta Pussycat.

The museum is housed in the old Buhl Planetarium, and the actual planetarium is where the car garage exhibit is. The kids had fun climbing though the doorless mini Cooper. Because the ceiling is the former planetarium, it was extra tall so the kids can climb up and throw down toy parachutes. Then, they slid down a chrome slide.

But it was in the fabulous water play area, which is where I suddenly remembered that I HAD A CAMERA!, and then sadly realized that the camera's battery HAD VERY LITTLE JUICE LEFT, which is why we really only have pictures of the waterplay area. They were soaked, and had so much fun that Drew pitched a fit when it was time to leave.

Happy March! May Spring not be far away...

Speaking of my musical kid

2008-02-18T20:46:00.003-05:00

Clay likes to sing, which he'll do a lot, usually to some tune that we've just heard on the radio. I'm happy to report that usually it's something worthwhile. Something from the Suzuki lesson, perhaps. Or Tom Chapin, or even the Who (with the appropriate word substitution, a la "Who's that duck with you?")

Tonight, he couldn't stop singing "Free credit report DOT COM!"

I think it's time to cut back on his TV time.

A violin update

2008-02-18T20:39:00.003-05:00

One thing that I haven't mentioned recently which I've been meaning to, is how much we're enjoying Clay's new violin school. It's just amazing what one year and an organized program makes! He goes to City Music Center at Duquesne University, and he takes three classes each Saturday: group violin, a Dalcroze Eurhythmics class, and then a private lesson. We have about an hour between two of the classes, which is just enough time for us to have a bag lunch, and then hit the computer lab. He's really enjoying the Music Ace software, he knows what an octave is, and the kid can recognize A, B and C# on the treble staff. I don't know why that impresses me, but it does. Plus, he's learned his first scale (A Major), and in a few weeks he'll perform his first solo piece in a recital -- a complete Twinkle rhythm. Last year, he could only play small parts of the rhythm, and only with a lot of coaching. Now, he's just a big kid with a beautiful violin posture, going through the notes of his very first song.

I love you, Monopoly Jr.

2008-02-18T20:35:00.003-05:00

Remember my post about Family Game Night? Well, now it's a blast thanks to our recent acquisition of Monopoly Jr. (Thank you Tricia and Marty!) It's too advanced for Drew, but it's just right for Clay, and it's perfect for the adults who enjoy the game, but don't want a huge time commitment. Highly recommended!

Mucho Magnus

2008-02-11T22:14:00.000-05:00

If you haven't been to Magnus Patris lately, please head on over. Mike's started a top 10 of Pittsburgh that I'm enjoying. Even if he did out my Oram's habit

It's not all about the weather

2008-02-11T22:01:00.000-05:00

An update: 3 degrees this morning. THREE DEGREES! The high is going to a balmy 17. And all of the area schools were on a two hour delay because of the temperatures. That’s right, PITTSBURGH has delayed school due to extreme COLD.

All of this would be fine, except that we have two boys under the age of five, and we were really, really, REALLY looking forward to taking Clay to preschool, and getting Drew some YMCA KidsGym time. But since school was delayed, preschool was closed, and the program was off at the Y. And we (or rather, Mike) had another cold day at home cooped up with the boys. I, however, sprinted to work. Because yesterday was nothing but a cacophony of “Stop that!” “Get off!” “Well, what did you think would happen?” “I’m counting to 3, and then it’s time out!” And truly, I hate it when we get impatient with the kids. They are boys after all, and they can’t help the testosterone surges (Clay’s preschool teacher once told me that 4 year old boys have up to 100 testosterone surges every 15 minutes). We really need to get them to an indoor play area whenever we can’t get them outside.

Sorry kids.

It's not all chaos, though. Clay and I have recently gotten into a very sweet Sudoku habit. It started when I found a glass Sudoku kit at Tuesday Morning. (Which, it turns out, is completely silly. What do you need the glass for? Just put the tiles directly on the grid!) Anyhoo, Clay pestered me for a few days to play it, and I would try to not roll my eyes at the thought of a 4 year old playing Sudoku with me. (Have I mentioned what a wonderfully relaxing, SOLITARY, game Sudoku is? Well it is. I even have a game for my phone so that I can play it in those rare moments when I am not at work and sans children.) But Clay's persistent, and he no longer forgets about things even if I conveniently 'misplace' them. He didn't want to do the kids' Sudoku that we found on a children's placemat. "I don't want the baby Sudoku. I want yours." So I relented. And truly, it's been a very nice way to end the day. We put Drew to bed at about 7:30, and then we'll pull out the Sudoku set. He sorts the tiles. I tell him where to place them. He'll say things like "Mommy, I'm afraid I'm out of sixes." So, I'll hand him some more sixes. I try to point out the logic in the game, and to remind him that he shouldn't guess, but those concepts are still a little too advanced. He's my little Sudoku helper. And I've found that it can be a relaxing game for two too.

We interrupt this previously scheduled season to bring you...

2008-02-10T20:15:00.000-05:00

Sixty degree temperatures! Because of course, when you move to Pittsburgh and you purchase an entire preschool/toddler wardrobe of snow hats, boots, mittens, ski bibs, a couple of sleds and oh, what the hell... throw in some long underwear for Mom, it would naturally follow that Mother Nature has a freakish sense of humor. At least in my life, it does. So I'm really not sure why I was so surprised. Oh winter, where are you??

This is what I was thinking at the beginning of this week. Although it was warm, it sadly wasn't a "nyah nyah groundhog pbthbhthb!" sunny oasis kind of day. It was dreary and wet. So gray, in fact, that I resurrected my light box from last year's bought of pregnancy depression, and basked in the blue LED goodness at my desk. And then this morning... BAM! Winter returned. With 60 mph winds, and a high temp of 20 degrees. A few snow flurries, but still nothing we're able to bring out the sleds for.

Harumph!

Sweet FiOS

2008-01-21T21:05:00.000-05:00

It took the Verizon guy SIX and a HALF hours, but we have FiOS! Can you smell it? That's the sweet scent of high definition cable channels. We just finished watching American Gladiators in high def (yes, I LOVE AG... that Wolf is crazy!), and now we can do cool things like look up the gladiators' real names because... wait for it... we also have an internet connection! Oh internet, how I missed thee...

Now I'm off to watch something that I couldn't see previously with our rabbit ears.

Clayton Millard Frank, 1911 - 2008

2008-01-18T12:16:00.000-05:00

Tough weekend. We officially moved into our house last Friday, and then my grandfather died on Sunday. He had been in and out of the hospital for about 10 days, and he was in some pain. For some reason, I was convinced that he wasn’t going to die now. I thought he was too ornery. But after receiving a three day pain patch, he went peacefully that morning. Although I am tremendously sad to have lost him, and that I didn’t get to see him once more, I am relieved that he is no longer in pain and that he can be the kid at the family table again. Several years ago, before his sister died, he commented that he was running out of relatives. I’m now grandparent-less and I understand. Here’s what I said at his funeral:

Someone once told me that the reason there is a special bond between grandparents and grandchildren is because they are each closer to another life. It’s a reincarnationist’s theory, for sure. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I follow that particular philosophy, but I do believe that the people who are special to us, those that really matter and have a tremendous impact on who we become, couldn’t be in our lives via random happenstance. Somewhere in the grand plan, the people who belong together find each other. This is why I believe that this man, Clayton Frank, was the perfect grandfather for me because he had the qualities that I needed to learn in order to become the person I am today.

Papa liked to work with his hands. He had a very nice workshop that he liked toodling around in. Many didn’t know that he owned a patent, on a clamp he developed while working at the Defense General Supply. Even though the clamp never went into production, I don’t think he cared. He just liked being inventive. He built a desk for me for school, and a wheelbarrow for my son Clay. Some projects turned out better than others. He seemed to always be working on a lawn mower. In college I rented a house with some friends, and he gave us a lawnmower to use. Unfortunately, to get it to start you’d have to do something crazy, like stand on one foot, stick out your tongue, lean WAYYYY over, and then pull the cord. It would cut half the lawn, die, and then we’d call him and he’d drive an hour to bring up another. He was always generous, with his time as well as his things. If you needed anything, you’d only have to ask. He taught me that being loyal and generous were better than anything else, and I’m grateful to him for many things, but for that especially.

Definitely not the most eloquent eulogy, and it certainly doesn't do justice to the man that he was, but I found myself speaking unexpectedly. The day before I had drafted something for the minister to read (also not the best thing I’d ever written, but hey, I was not in the best place emotionally), but it became clear at the gravesite that he couldn’t read what I wrote. He was also having a bad day, and the service he had just led was evidence to it. I didn’t want his bad day to turn my grandfather’s final day into crap. So Mike (bless him) asked the minister right then and there if he’d mind if I read what I wrote. He didn't. And I did.

I knew they served some purpose

2008-01-08T21:09:00.000-05:00

Well, of course.

h/t Mopsy

Onward!

2008-01-08T21:05:00.000-05:00

I’m pleasantly surprised that a few of you have missed me! How sweet! It’s very gratifying to hear from friends who enjoy these pedestrian musings of mine… thank you!!

Life is chugging along here in Pittsburgh. We’ve purchased a house, a 10 year old colonial in a good, but HUGE school district that is only 20 minutes from my work. We couldn’t be happier with a house even if we’d built it ourselves. Closing on the place was, of course, full of awkwardness. But so what else is new? Home sales and purchases for us always seem full of drama. No exceptions this time. Our seller’s husband died 5 years ago and for some reason even though the house was paid off, she took out a line of credit on it 2 years ago to build a smaller place in the neighborhood. Then, she put our house on the market, where it SAT for two years and four realtors. We’re not sure if she never got the price she expected for it, or what, but I guess when our offer came through in November, she took it. And from what we hear, it was much lower than the original asking price from two years ago. Fast forward a few weeks to closing, and I guess the sentimentality, regret, whatever all kicked in, and that coupled with the realization that she was getting hit with lots of fees for closing out her credit line, and she was one angry, sad woman. Tears were shed at the table, and she commented that she wanted her old life back. Awkward, awkward stuff. I was pretty depressed for her the rest of the evening (because I’m sure I’d be one ticked off, angry woman if something happened to Mike). I hope she’s doing better, and maybe selling this house will help her close a chapter in her life.

On to the schools… North Allegheny has really good schools, but it’s a monstrously huge district. So big, in fact, that they’ve split the high school in half. Ninth and Tenth graders go to an intermediate high school, and eleventh and twelfth graders attend a senior high school. We must have seen 50 houses between this district and the next one over that is much smaller, but ultimately the house materialized in North Allegheny. So, we’re going to have the most well adjusted average kids, and that’s just fine with us. Mike pondered the shock kids who are “big fish swimming in small ponds” must have when they go off to college, and I agree. Plus, in big schools there are always smaller groups in which Clay and Drew will find their niche.

We’ve spent the last two weeks having carpets replaced and rooms painted, and our officially move in is fast approaching. We’re all very excited!

Photo Ketchup

2007-12-10T22:08:00.001-05:00

Pittsburgh's Light Up Night (yes it was very cold!)

Harry Potter Wanna Be

Let's get all of the snow shoveling out of him that we can. Before he figures out it's NO FUN!

We're homeless!

2007-12-03T21:37:00.000-05:00

One month later, and here's the news: we're officially homeless. We dealt with probably the MOST difficult buyers ever, but fortunately the house has closed. Off to find a new place.

Extremely cold and windy here in P'burgh, but I suspect that I haven't seen nearly the worst of it yet!

In case you were wondering...

2007-11-06T22:11:00.000-05:00

We're still here! Clay's been enrolled in a preschool; I've got a downtown parking lease; the kids went trick or treating. And we have an offer on the house. And a closing date. I guess that means there's no turning back now.

Cheese!

2007-10-24T18:38:00.000-04:00

This made me smile. Thanks for sending it honey! I miss you guys!

Ack! I'm Behind!

2007-10-16T22:56:00.001-04:00

You can always tell when life gets a little crazy around here: my blog entries decrease dramatically. Sorry kids.

We're quickly trying to get the house on the market (isn't it funny how you never do any of those little home improvement projects until you're ready to sell? Then you practically break your back getting it all done for SOMEONE ELSE!) I have two days left at work because for some reason I can't fully explain now, I didn't think I'd need a whole week between jobs. Note to self: next time allow more than 72 hours to prepare for interstate relocation. Sadly, I find myself killing time at work, knowing that time is killing me at home.

But other than the "deer in the headlights" feeling I can't seem to shake, I'm very excited about the upcoming changes.

Steel City, Here We Come

2007-10-04T23:35:00.001-04:00

Ack! We're moving! 10 days ago I accepted an offer for a job in Pittsburgh, and then we flew to Vegas (no, not because of the job. College pal Meg was getting married, and we couldn't pass up the opportunity to see her get hitched. Plus it was a Rat Pack theme, and I knew it would be a good party. It was.) Hence, I have been out of touch for two whole weeks. Apologies, but what can you do? There were slots to play and shows to see, then realtors to interview and boxes to collect, etc, etc.

Now for what I believe is going to be the least favorite part of this adventure: packing, moving, and selling the house. Oh for the market of two years ago. Oh to turn back the clock two years and not to have renovated this house. But that's hindsight, and whatnot.

Speaking of hindsight: if any of you are thinking about doing a budget Vegas trip, please do a little better planning than we did. We opted not to rent a car, figuring that parking would be astronomical and everything walkable. Turns out parking is free, and the Strip is loooooong. The blisters on my feet say this is true.

Here's a picture of Meg and John right after the I dos. Of course, all of the women in the bridal party were wearing custom dresses, crafted by the talented bride and her friends.

A Year Ago

2007-09-20T20:05:00.000-04:00

Your father and I took Clay to preschool, and then we ran home to gather a few things. "Do we have time to stop at the bank?" he asked. I laughed and said "Sure, and while we're at it, let's pick up some milk and bread." In the end, we decided to forgo all errands except for the most important one.

We arrived a little early, and had to wait for about a half hour. It was a lovely bright day, and the lobby had big windows that were understandably, but most unfortunately, bordering a covered driveway. Up the elevator to another waiting area, where we answered tedious questions. No, nothing to eat at all. Yes, I need to use the restroom. Yes to saving cord blood. Breast if possible.

And here's the doctor! She had just arrived from mass, which she attends before every surgery. I find this comforting, and refreshing to find a surgeon so humble. She squeezes my arm and goes off to change. I've already changed, and am laying in a most uncomfortable position listening to the swish swish of your heartbeat.

In comes the anesthesiologist with his questions. In goes the IV, which I do not look forward to but realize is not the worst part of this procedure.

And before we know it, it's time to go! They take your dad to change, and I'm wheeled into a cold room full of metal. Between the bright lights and the clinking noises, I'm told to step onto the table. My back is swabbed, and although they won't let your dad in for this, fortunately in comes the surgeon. She embraces me in a tight bear hug and whispers comforting words into my ear while I wait for the needle. A cold wash of iodine. A burning prick. Nothing. The anesthesiologist can't find a good spot. Swell. He withdraws and moves lower. Another burning prick, and I really REALLY hope this is it. It is, and now for the most amusing part. I'm instructed to lie down as quickly as possible, to allow the anesthesia to travel down my spine. Right. I'm 4 feet off the floor on a narrow table in a gown tucked under me and I'm supposed to move in one fell swoop, or else all of this has been useless. I manage it somehow, and my legs begin to feel the warm fingers of the spinal move to my toes.

In comes your dad! While my arms are pulled out to each side and all of the machines are hooked up, he is seated right by my head. Up goes my gown, and it serves as a little drape so we can't see the business end of this transaction. A nurse notices I'm cold, and gives me a toasty warm blanket for the half of me that can still feel. The room is really moving now. There must be 8 people here, none of whom we recognize. There's a man with a thick Russian accent, and I later learn that he was a surgeon in Russia, but immigrated here and now works as a surgical assistant. He certainly knew his way around the room.

Strangely, a white rope is tossed over my head and a technician grabs it and ties it off by my head. "What was that?" I whisper? Your dad stands a little and says "um, it's just an extra pair of hands." I wonder with eight people, how many hands do they need? Later the pictures show that the rope was tied to a clamp, which was attached to one side of my incision and held me open. Our doctor warns me that I'm going to feel a lot of tugging, and I remind her that she should hold you up! (The doctor who delivered your brother didn't do that!)

And next thing we knew, you were here! Red hair and hollering, with a patch of white on the side of your head ("How cool!" said one of the nurses). I cried and your dad jumped up to follow you to the bassinet.

Happy Birthday Drew. We love you!

Er, isn't that what I said?

2007-09-17T20:23:00.000-04:00

I was a spelling bee champ in elementary school. In 5th grade, I even made it to the final round in the all county spelling bee. I remember stepping up to the microphone, being given a really complicated word (triskaidekaphobia!), and looking at my mom in the audience as she closed her eyes and held her breath. "Don't blow it", my fifth grade self would say. "But don't take too long or Mom will pass out". Mom was usually the one to go through my spelling drills with me. I'll never forget "assassinate" because I would always screw it up with her. That is until she, full of exasperation that I finally understand (now having two kids of my own) yelled "Think Nancy, THINK! ASS ASS IN ATE!!!"

Although, I may be mixing this up with another incident close to that time when I put off memorizing a passage from Luke for the Christmas pageant. I had weeks and weeks to do it, and of course put it off. When I finally confessed to mom that I had one day to get it down, she pulled me into my bedroom, where I sat on the blue shag rug behind the door. Mom leaned against my dresser, and repeating after her phrase by phrase I finally memorized:

And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be taxed. (And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria.) And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; (because he was of the house and lineage of David:) To be taxed with Mary his espoused wife, being great with child. And so it was, that, while they were there, the days were accomplished that she should be delivered. And she brought forth her firstborn son, and wrapped him in swaddling clothes, and laid him in a manger; because there was no room for them in the inn.

It took us HOURS. The next night at the pageant, I recited those lines, watching her face in the audience. Again, she closed her eyes and held her breath. She has amazing lung capacity.

But I digress.

Today I have a dangerous vocabulary. I know a lot of words, and I know OF a lot more words. This just means that I sort of understand their meaning, but usually screw up the context. Just this morning, for example, I learned from Dictionary.com's word of the day that 'having moral turpitude' is not a positive trait. Oops.

I'm not sure on what I blame my lazy vocabulary. After elementary school, I never really enjoyed spelling any more. I still read quite a bit, but words were never again all consuming. Maybe it was the new found freedom I found in a daily school bus ride. Or, from other interests. I started violin lessons in 6th grade (wisely NOT telling my mother when I was soloing until we were driving to the concert. Fortunately, I had to focus on the music and could no longer watch her eyes close.) I really wanted to be a cheerleader (never happened). In high school, I was fully ensconced in the theater offerings, as well as marching band. And those dreaded PSAT vocabulary lists were probably the final nail in the coffin.

Postscript: Last night we were driving home from dinner at a local barbecue restaurant. I rarely eat ribs b/c they're just so darn messy. However, I had the 'rib tips' because... I dunno... they SOUNDED less messy. They weren't. They were less appetizing in front of me, though. I was trying to explain why I thought they would be good, so I said to Mike "You know the Applebee's riblets? They were much less messy. You could enjoy the ribs, and would be left with a clean little scapular piece of bone."

"THAT's a descriptive way to describe it. Scapular." Mike explains what a scapular is. Hazards of growing up Southern Baptist, I am unfamiliar with most of the mechanical devices of religious discomfort used in Catholicism. We just had good, old fashioned guilt.

So now, I wonder if scapular is the right word. Isn't it a bone? Did I somehow confuse the word I meant with scapular? Did I mean clavicle? No... that's the collar bone. I mean something that looks like a teeny weeny shoulder blade. I look it up, and there it is: Scapula. The shoulder blade. I was right!

Except that I was talking about ribs.

Angels we have heard on high

2007-09-11T20:44:00.000-04:00

A little over 6 years ago, I interviewed a woman for one of two jobs that were available in my department. The positions were in member services, and she was a flight attendant who volunteered as a docent at a local art museum. I figured anyone who worked regularly with a couple of hundred people crammed into a tight space was worth interviewing. Plus, as a docent she must have an interest in the arts. Ultimately, I didn't hire her. There were two other candidates who were better fits, and they accepted the jobs. But, I was struck by two things. First, she had the most incredible voice. It was almost angelic, kind of high in pitch and very whispery. Second, I could tell she wanted out of her current situation. I didn't inquire why... it was none of my business... but I could imagine that the glamour and excitement of a job in travel would wear thin pretty quickly.

Five weeks later was 9/11, when life changed considerably. Mike and I were lucky. Although he used to work at the Pentagon, he had relocated to the next building over six months earlier. Still, his new building was right in the plane's flight path, and a 30 foot antenna on the roof was a casualty that morning. We both made it home safely, and did the mental tallying of friends and family and were relieved that we knew no one who worked close to the World Trade Center. Since Mike's colleagues had made the move with him, he didn't really know anyone at the Pentagon anymore.

Fast forward a few weeks, and the Washington Post published a roster of the people who died at the Pentagon. I was scanning the list, just to make sure that there wasn't anyone I knew, when I came across her name. It was the flight attendant who wanted the job I had to offer. The one I didn't hire, and who went to work that morning, got on her flight, and died.

To this day, I am haunted by her voice.

BMOC

2007-09-11T20:37:00.000-04:00

Just two short years ago, Clay started preschool as a tiny two year old, dwarfed by the four year old big kids. Today he arrived a "big kid" himself, comfortable and sure, with his trusty sidekick Josh. Here they are playing '911 Center'.

How we spent $2200...

2007-08-26T09:04:00.000-04:00

If you've been following Magnus Patris, you know about our recent tree woes. Here's a link for you to catch up: Tree House

The arborist who arrived last Friday confirmed our fear. The tree had to come down. It was at least 100 feet tall, had been crowned poorly years ago, there was a nest of Japanese Hornets about 40 feet up, and it was probably hollow in the center. One good storm, and that puppy would crack in half, and the half following the law of gravity would land either on our house or our neighbors. He'd get rid of it for $2500, but first we had to get rid of the hornets.

Our pest service is always very responsive, and this time was no exception. They were johnny-on-the-spot, and dropped by an hour after the call. Yep, we had a hornets nest. A pretty big one (why we never noticed it before, I have no idea... except that it was 40 feet up the tree). He didn't have a tall enough ladder, but could get one the next day and dispatch the hornets for us. For $455.

That night, we kept hearing 'plink, plinks' against our french doors. We flicked on the deck lights and underneath the soffit were a handful of HUGE hornets (2 inches long, I think. I swear, they were THIS BIG). They must have known their number was almost up.

A few days later, our contractor came by to look at the deck steps. We still have some leftover Trex material, and we were hoping that he could fix them for little $$. Brian's a great guy, and not only did he recommend we call his tree guy (who saved us $700), but he's going to fix the steps gratis. Mike's going to build him a web page in exchange. Whew! (Or at least, as much of a 'whew' as I can muster for being $2200 lighter in the pocket).

Here are some photos:

About 6 feet above the nest:

At the nest:

20 feet below the nest:

I shudder when I think about what could have happened had we left that tree much longer. Last weekend was spent anxiously looking to the skies, praying for good weather. This weekend, we had massive thunderstorms last night, but without that tree I actually enjoyed them. Before the rain, Clay and Drew went out on the deck with Mike, counting the time between lightning and thunder. It was a beautiful storm.

p.s. We've gotten a lot of helpful suggestions about less expensive ways of removal. Insurance? Well, they only pay for damage to the house. And we had a $5,000 deductible. Plus, in our experience, calling homeowner's insurance for small repairs can flag you as a problem client, and we didn't want to get cancelled. Which is why our deductible was so high. We've since asked for the a lower one.

Wait until the first frost and the hornets would be leave: we're not that lucky. Sure, the hornets would be gone, but there's still 2 months before the first frost. The tree had already dropped a massive branch. We weren't willing to gamble that it would stay intact (and our property undamaged) for the next few months. In my opinion, that branch was God's way of sending us a big ole' message. We listened.

Candyland Diaries, or How I Learned to Tolerate Game Night

2007-08-25T21:04:00.001-04:00

For Christmas 2005 Clay received, at my request, both Candyland and Chutes and Ladders. We wanted to establish a “Family Game Night”, and couldn’t wait until Clay was old enough to make it so (if it were just the two of us, it would be “Couples Game Night”, which has an entirely different connotation, in my opinion).

Clay delighted in his new games, and drawing cards and flipping the little spinning arrow were the coolest things to him. For me, Family Game Night turned into The MOST Boring Night of the Week because we were playing the MOST boring games on the planet. It's amazing how a 30 year time span will really color your perspective about an experience's entertainment value. I quickly hid the offending items, and Family Game Night was no more.

For his birthday this year, I was determined to find something age appropriate for him, but still interesting to me. If it was interesting to Mike, then that was a bonus as well. Not a requirement, mind you. I was more than happy to throw Mike into the black hole of Candyland with Clay, as long as I was safely out of its reach.

So I did some research. I like research, especially if it involves the internet. Fortunately for sites such as Amazon and Epinions, there was some good information out there. Scrabble Jr., Boggle Jr., and a particularly simple and fun game called ‘Zingo’ that was recommended by Clay’s preschool teacher, were all dispatched via Visa. And so far, they’re not uninteresting at all. Boggle Jr. is a little dull, but fortunately Clay likes to play it by himself. Scrabble Jr., I must say, is a lot of fun. I was never a big Scrabble player, so I was a little confused about how a 4 year old was going to do with it, but it’s been great! The board is already covered in simple words, and you draw tiles and take turns covering the letters on the words. The trick is, you have to cover the letters in word order. So for example, “FRUIT” has to have the “F” and “R” tiles covered before you can put the “U” down. Once he gets older, we can flip the board over and play the traditional way. It’s a veritable hat trick, a trifecta of fun, education and versatility. I approve.

Clay’s latest favorite is a Finding Nemo Go Fish card set, that for me is starting to border on the boring again. However, I am finding entertainment value in beating the pants off both Clay and his dad. Poor boys. Clay doesn’t quite get the strategy of Go Fish, and Mike desperately tries to give him a helping hand. “Don’t show us your cards, Clay!”, and he’ll quickly pick them up while saying, “Two Nemos, 1 Gill, and 3 Peaches.” Mike rolls his eyes, and I just know he’s got the fourth Peach in his hand, and is going to save it for Clay. At Mike’s round, he’ll ask me if I have any Peaches, hoping that Clay will pick up on the clue. At Clay’s turn, he’ll ask me if I have any Nemos instead. I’ll tell him to go fish, and he’ll draw a card exclaiming, “Just what I wanted! A Dory!” Ay yi yi. The next round I take his Dory. At the end of the game, I’ll have 9 sets, Mike will have 1 and Clay will have 2. I’m ruthless.

Bat Boys

2007-08-22T21:08:00.001-04:00

Farewell Friend

2007-08-17T21:08:00.001-04:00

Tonight I found out that a neighbor of Pop's back at the Virginian has died. A favorite of ours, Mrs. Goodman just loved Clay. And I suspect the feeling was mutual, and not just for the treats she always had for him. Mrs. G had a thick German accent, and fabulous, and horrifying stories to go with it. See, she was an Auschwitz survivor, and was the only one of her family to make it out alive. She and the rest of her camp mates were taken on a death march, and she said that at the end she collapsed, sure she was about to die, when an American soldier came up to her and asked, "Are you a boy or a girl? Are you 15 or 50?" She was 18 at the time.

She married an American, and moved to this country as a young woman. She never thought she could have children, because of her time in the concentration camps. But, she did eventually have a daughter. Mrs. G always had a smile and a laugh, but she was also quite savvy. Behind her eyes, you could tell that she had seen things that still gave her nightmares.

Although our lives could not be more different, we found out that the world was still small. On one of in-laws' visits with Pop, Mike's dad struck up a conversation with Mrs. G. They discovered that not only had they both lived in Stuttgart at the same time post WWII, but they rode the same streetcar. They probably shared more than one ride, but didn't meet officially until 60 years later in Fairfax, Virginia.

Trying to explain this all to Clay tonight, I thought he understood. He heard me on the phone with Pop and based on my tone of voice, he asked who died. At bedtime we remembered Mrs. G in our prayers, and Clay wanted to know why she died. I explained that she was sick and her body just wore out. He wanted to know when she was coming back. Was she in the "hospipal?" My explanations of "a better place" and being with her husband and family now just confused him. And, in a few months, he may forget. So, I wanted to type this up because years from now, I want him to know about this lovely lady who showered him with candy, and dreidels, and kisses, even though she had every reason in the world to be angry and sad and distrustful.

Shalom, Mrs. Goodman.

You think I'm FAKING?

2007-08-08T22:20:00.000-04:00

Years from now, Clay will read yesterday's post, and then this one, and he'll smugly say 'I TOLD you so.' For today, after Vacation Bible School, he threw up in the back seat of the van.

He was fine immediately thereafter. I'm chalking it up to heat. It was 103 degrees here today, after all. But still, it makes me wonder if yesterday's antics weren't the foolishness I thought they were.

And then, as if that wasn't enough, I read an article tonight about growing pains. Who knew they were real? That may have been why his knees were bothering him.

This incident has done nothing to boost my confidence in my parenting skills. Could someone loan me the manual? I never got mine...

Preschooler Arthritis. Or Preschooler-itis?

2007-08-07T23:12:00.000-04:00

We've had quite a... day here in Sheleheda-ville. I am too weary to come up with an adjective. Sorry. It's Vacation Bible School week, which we thought Clay would really enjoy (and for a 5 day morning camp at a mere $30 tuition rate, mom and dad were looking forward to it too!). Yesterday, I dropped Clay off and after an initial apprehensive moment which dissipated after Clay declared that he was 'comfortable now' and I could 'go have fun at work', I left. Mike arrived a little early, and reported that Clay seemed to have fun (I'm sure Mike will update you all on the funny little mix up at pick up time...)

Fast forward to today, and Clay wakes us up with the phrase 'my knee hurts'. But, he's walking on it, and he says he didn't hurt it at VBS. Then, the pained knee mysteriously switched from one leg to the other, and we concluded that he was probably okay.

And so it's time to get dressed! Time for Vacation Bible School! But, still no go. Clay's hungry. His knee still hurts. He's not feeling well. He has no fever, and we suspect that he's just grumpy. We've noticed that ever since he turned four, he's been acting like he's fourteen. We decided to call his bluff, and offered to take him right to the doctor... where a SHOT may be required. (This was not wise... he just got 4 shots at his 4 year physical, and he was still freaked out. Plus, what nimrod parents are we to remind our kid that a doctor gives shots? HELLOOOO????? Do we ever want him to go to the doctor again without freaking out?)

He (of course) said 'NO' ... with wide-eyed panic. We again suggested getting dressed for VBS. He said 'No'. So, we told him to go to his room to 'rest' until he felt better. This caused tears to flow, and left me wondering if we should have taken him to the doctor anyway. Or Vacation Bible School (which he didn't attend today). Or maybe a therapist. Come to think of it, maybe I need some parental counseling because I don't think I handled this morning very well.

Oh well... I was heartened to hear that he later asked Mike if they could go to the pool. When he was told that he wasn't feeling well, so no, Clay perked right up! (Funny how that happened). So, Mike said they should go to VBS.

And suddenly, Clay's knee hurt. Perhaps I should have checked for ticks.

Scary!

2007-07-30T19:57:00.000-04:00

Ran across this while reading my favorite Washington Post weekly online discussion: Chatological Humor, hosted by Gene Weingarten.

"Of course the people don't want war. But after all, it's the leaders of the country who determine the policy, and it's always a simple matter to drag the people along whether it's a democracy, a fascist dictatorship, or a parliament, or a communist dictatorship. Voice or no voice, the people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked, and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism, and exposing the country to greater danger."

-- Herman Goering at the Nuremberg trials

I thought this was just too apt to be true, but it is verified by Snopes.

Did anyone else get the shivers, or was that just me??

Kid Lit

2007-07-24T20:50:00.000-04:00

What with the Potter-palooza (and since I was at my local bookstore at 11:50 Friday night, it's safe to say that I was swept up in the hoopla), Clay has taken an interest in Harry's world. And although I'm not prepared to introduce him to those stories yet, I have been thinking that it would be good idea to start reading chapter books with him.

There's been a Barnes & Noble gift card riding in our car's change drawer since Christmas (and really, where do you keep YOUR holiday gift cards?), so I decided to take Clay in to pick out a book. I was thinking along the lines of Roald Dahl, or E.B. White. Once we got to the children's section, it was clear that Clay was interested in the pretty covers.

"Ooooh! High School Musical!" This, I attribute to his cousin Alyssa's affection for the Disney tween show, and I deftly steer him towards the, ahem, classics.

"Look, here's James and the Giant Peach!" Unimpressed, Clay spots Beverly Cleary's The Mouse and the Motorcycle because there's a (wait for it) MOTORCYCLE on the cover. I find this much more acceptable than High School Musical though, but in the interest of ~~getting my way~~ compromise, I suggest we get two books. He runs toward other contemporary drivel. I maneuver to Charlotte's Web and Stuart Little. I also throw James and the Giant Peach (oh please please please) into the mix, and tell him to pick one more. He picks Stuart Little.

And that is how we brought home three books.

Slow Month?

2007-07-24T03:21:00.000-04:00

I'm behind... sorry! I would say that it's just a slow month, and it has been from the writing perspective. But from the LIFE point-of-view it's been lightning-fast, although sadly I'm not sure with what, exactly.

It began with a pseudo-vacation (no beach week this year, but some time off). I have little scraps of paper from a very funny bathroom conversation I had with Clay. Somehow that hasn't gelled into anything I want to post yet, though. A visit from relatives, the release of Harry Potter Book 7, and YIKES, it's the end of July!

And to my friends and family who are following this blog... thanks for you kind words! I hope to be a little more active in August.

I swear the fish I threw back was THIS BIG!

2007-07-15T15:48:00.000-04:00

Today Drew crawled over and gave me a very sweet kiss. I said 'Thank you', and as he put his pacifier back in his mouth he said, and I swear this is true, "You're welcome."

The battle has begun...

2007-07-10T20:58:00.000-04:00

Drew's discovered that Clay's cars are WAY cooler than his lame-o infant toys. Especially the nifty Disney Cars Clay got for his birthday. Drew thinks they're just ripe for tasting... and inevitably they can be found in his mouth. This causes Clay much consternation, and his new mantra is "No no, Drew...".

The Dynamic Duo

2007-07-08T23:05:00.000-04:00

My thoughts exactly

2007-07-06T09:50:00.001-04:00

"I know that you believe that you understood what you think I said, but I am not sure you realize that what you heard is not what I meant." Robert McCloskey

Here's another good one

2007-07-06T09:46:00.000-04:00

Oscar Wilde said:

"It is absurd to divide people into good and bad. People are either charming or tedious."

Does that mean that my 15 attempts at a blog post indicates tedious, but not bad, writing??

Oh, for this kind of optimism!

2007-07-06T09:37:00.000-04:00

"I have not failed. I've just found 10,000 ways that won't work." Thomas Edison

More posts are on the way. Promise! We've just returned from vacation, and I'm mulling them over, waiting for inspiration. As Tommy boy has reminded me, the 15 different versions I've composed and discarded aren't failures, just bad writing... or something.

Happy Birthday Clay!

2007-06-27T21:46:00.000-04:00

A few years ago I was at a gathering of preschool moms who were discussing establishing traditions for their children. The speaker suggested writing a letter on your child's birthday, saving all of the letters, and then beginning 18 days before their 18th birthday, mail a letter a day (in order) to the child. I thought it was a great idea. And every year I've meant to do it. But never remember.

This year, I still didn't get it together. But then I remembered... I have a blog! Who needs the US Postal Service?

And so... Happy Birthday Clay! For your birthday, we had all of your preschool friends over on Saturday for an afternoon party. We turned on the sprinkler, hung a pinata, and played 'Pin the Hood on Mater', which was our version of 'Pin the Tail on the Donkey'. Daddy spent an hour coloring a Mater mural for it, and I spent the time cutting out paper hoods. You had a great time, and got tons of Car toys. But I think your favorite is 'Whack A Mole'.

Today you asked for doughnuts for breakfast, and Chuck E Cheese for supper. If you ever doubt my love for you, remember that I went to Chuck E. Cheese. And, it wasn't so bad. The place was relatively clean. (Do you remember your cousin Ryan's birthday party at Safari Sam's last year? You kept calling it 'Farty Sams'. All I remember is that the place boasted a healthy menu, but when we actually looked at it, the only thing I saw was cheese fries and pizza. Well, Chuck E Cheese has a salad bar. And, it was okay. I've seen worse.)

After supper we came home, had a piece of cake, and you opened our presents. We gave you lots and lots of board games and puzzles, and a cool gyroscope that Daddy picked out for you. He loved them as a kid, and couldn't wait to show it to you. We let you stay up late an extra hour, and we played Scrabble, Jr.

All in all, I had fun. I hope you did too.

Love,

Mama

The estrogen runneth over

2007-06-22T23:34:00.000-04:00

In addition to the nuns, and the bitch (female dog, people!), that VERY SAME day, two neighbor girls came over for an extended play date. It was chaotic, but fun. Clay had a blast, but let this be a warning to all parents I know: if you bring me your clean children, I cannot guarantee they will stay that way.

I am happy to hose them off, however.

I wasn't kidding about the nuns

2007-06-22T23:26:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, we really did have three nuns at the house. And a priest. Sister Anne, Sister Olga, Sister Monica, and Father Jim stopped in because they needed to have a meeting with Mike, who's been doing some freelance work for them. They were on their way home from a convention, or maybe it was just a meeting. (Fun distraction: what would be involved with a nun convention? Would there be an exhibition hall with aisles of rosary and prayer card vendors? Would the seminars offer styling tips to prevent "habit hair", or advice on rapping your students' knuckles with just the right force to cause excrutiating pain, but not enough to break the skin?)

Move over Momma, there's a new bitch in town...

2007-06-22T23:03:00.001-04:00

... of the female dog variety (get your minds out of the gutter, people).

I'm not ashamed to admit that I enjoy being the only female in the house. Sure, there are times when I see a little velvet dress and I think that it might be nice to have a daughter, but then I remember that when it comes to my gender, I'm not a fantastic example of all things feminine, and I'd hate to handicap a little girl that way.

Case in point: I HATE lotions. Hate 'em. They're greasy and yucky and I've spurned them all my life. Back in high school, I recall my mother saying I needed to moisturize my elbows because they were looking dry, and I just laughed at her. Who's going to look at my elbows? They were covered up by my favorite faded black rugby shirt, which I wore every other day because it went so comfortably with my faded blue jeans and worn keds. Mini skirts? No thanks. Make up? You've got to be kidding. (If I won't moisturize my elbows, do you think my knees and face stand a chance?)

So, I think it's fitting that I have two sons. They don't care that I rotate the same three pairs of shoes, or that my wardrobe consists of knit tees and bermuda shorts. Toss 'em a Matchbox car, and they'll love you all day. I'm their "best girl". Sons. They love their mommas.

It may be time to face facts, though. Clearly, I'm not enough woman for the Sheleheda boys. And already, they're turning their attentions to another. Her name's Daisy, and she's got long hair, big brown eyes, and a wigglin' walk that makes the world go round...

Say hello to Daisy, our temporary pet. We're dog sitting for friends, but they might not get her back. She's the sweetest little shih tzu around, and Clay and Drew can't get enough of her. Mike thinks she's pretty special too. I'm hopeful that when she goes back to her parents, things will return to normal around here and I can go back to being the adored, LONE, woman. I'm not sure if that's really what God has in plan, though. Just yesterday He sent three nuns to the house.

Quotabilities

2007-06-17T22:18:00.000-04:00

I love good quotes. Actually, I collect them. I have a little notebook of my favorite lines from literature, celebrities, sitcoms, which was mostly compiled during college. Occasionally I'll open it and chuckle over the things I found so profound then, or marvel at the items that are still relevant to me today.

But in this electronic age, I'm giving up the notebook. Instead, I'll post them here. This is the first, and as a data person, it's a good one for me to remember:

"Not everything that counts can be counted.
And not everything that can be counted counts."
--Albert Einstein

To One in a Million

2007-06-17T06:57:00.000-04:00

Here's to one in a million... my best friend, my soul mate, my handsome, funny fall guy. The one who loves me even though I don't know why, and who takes care of me and our boys with no (okay, minimal) griping.

Here's to the guy who does our laundry, cooks our meals, cleans our dishes, and takes out our garbage. The one who cuts the grass. Who lets me sleep late whenever I want.

Here's to the comedian who always keeps us laughing. Who picks us all up when we're feeling down. Who makes us feel happy, and worthy, and loved.

Happy Father's Day honey!

Harumph!

2007-06-13T20:54:00.000-04:00

Remember that writing class I was taking? Well, I'm not taking it after all. On Monday evening I stayed late at work, made my way to Bethesda, paid for parking, and sashayed into The Writers Center, only to be told that my class had been cancelled due to low registration. And they forgot to call me. Sorry.

I'm not sure which is worse... the fact that this is the second class I've tried to take from them, and the second that they've cancelled, or that I had to drive to Maryland to find out! I'm a Virginia girl, after all. I only go to the M state when absolutely necessary...

Clay's First Solo

2007-06-13T20:42:00.000-04:00

Clay performed his first solo on Sunday! His repertoire was the illustrious Twinkle rhythm "Stop Pony", Bread movement.

Apologies...

2007-06-11T18:14:00.001-04:00

Ack! Has it really been 11 days since my last post? I'm a slacker. Sorry kids!

Here's a few snippets of posts yet to come: Drew's crawling, Clay had his first violin solo, my in-laws are visiting, laundry's backed up, and Clay started summer camp today.

And now, I'm off to enjoy my birthday gift to myself: a writing class!

Check out Mike's Blog!

2007-06-03T20:36:00.000-04:00

He's a funny guy... you won't be disappointed!

Magnus Patris

Jay Jay Gets Washed Up

2007-06-03T20:19:00.000-04:00

Our bedtime ritual hasn't included reading in a long time, save for the usual evening recital of 'Goodnight Moon'. But, Clay hasn't heard it in a while. Drew gets it every night, though. It's part of our 'here's your routine, now GO TO SLEEP' for the baby.

Tonight, Clay wanted to me to read to him, and then he grabbed a little water book for bed. It's called 'Jay Jay Washes Up', and it's based on the PBS series 'Jay Jay the Jet Plane', which I HATE. Jay Jay and Brenda Blue are so saccharinely sweet it's nauseating. Whenever possible, I try to steer Clay towards something cooler, like 'Jakers' or 'Thomas' or anything else. But tonight, I agreed to read Jay Jay because, primarily, it was short. And I know that sounds bad... I should want to read to my children as much as possible. And truly, I do. Reading is extremely important to me, and I want it to be important to them too. But tonight, I also wanted the kids in bed so I could have a quiet evening. So I sacrificed literature for short twaddle.

The book has Jay Jay getting washed down, his face, under his wings, and then the final page has him taking a flight once around the field, and then back to the hangar for bed. Clay wants it read TWICE. Which is fine with me, because did I mention it's short? After the encore presentation, Clay asks what a hangar is. "It's a house for the plane. People live in a house, but airplanes like Jay Jay live in a hangar." Clay asks if it's a big building, and I tell him usually, but it really depends on the size of the airplane. He asks if helicopters also live in a hangar. And when I say they do, he wants to know if the helicopters and airplanes live in the same hangar. That's when the old standby of 'Sometimes' came into play. Love the 'Somtimes' response. Very handy indeed!

"What spells hangar"?, he asks. "H-A-N-G-A-R." I consider telling him that a clothes hanger is spelled differently, but decide it's too advanced a concept for him. That's when he asks me:

"What spells hanger for clothes?" And after chuckling and spelling the word (emphasizing E), I chide myself for doubting his capabilities. Thanks, Jay Jay!

Oh how he goes!

2007-06-03T08:08:00.000-04:00

Drew's been making tremendous strides in locomotion lately. He's quite determined to be in the middle of the action. And to be fair, he might have made this progress sooner if we'd been a bit more vigilant about tummy time. But he's just too darn cute to not hold, ya know?

Right now, he SO wants to crawl. We'll put him on the floor next to a little bin of toys, and he'll pull a few out, playing and gumming them for a bit. But soon, he'll spy an interesting object under the rocking chair (yes, I know this is a hazard, and yes, we're going to move the rocker... and yes the house is cluttered, so there are many objects to be discovered. But, I prefer to think of it as a smaller scaled obstacle course, thank you very much!)

So, back to the newly discovered shiny something under the rocker... Drew's intent to have it. But how to get it? To his credit, he doesn't holler to one of us to bring it to him. He wants it under his own power. So he flops on his belly. Now what?

First, he'd push off with this hands. And yes! He's somewhere he wasn't... but the problem is the somewhere is further away from what he wants. He's spent a few weeks doing this, and he's gotten good at it. I'll look up and find him across the room, under a chair. Strangely, he hasn't discovered that if he just spins around, he can get himself wherever he wants, but just backward.

For the past week, he's been experimenting with sticking his butt in the air. This is better, but now he's like an inverted 'V' with his butt as the peak of a little mountain whose base is formed by chubby baby toes and hands. It's a precarious position, and even my 8 month old knows this. Back to the belly...

Next, he discovered that if he goes on his 'knees'.... ah ha! He can rock back and forth. But rocking will only propel him a few inches closer to his toy, and then he rocks back. What sort of cruel existence is this??

Lately he's discovered that if he sits Indian style (or Native American style, for you politically correct types, or Aboriginal American style if you're my husband since he insists that anyone born in this country, IS a native American), he can 'hop' his way across the room. Case in point: yesterday at dinner-making time. Mike, Clay and I were in the kitchen, and Drew was in the family room. Next thing we know, Drew has hopped his way over to the kitchen-family room threshhold. Bless him, he wants to be with us!

Guess I'd better start cleaning the floors...

Summer Daze

2007-05-29T20:50:00.000-04:00

I remember delightful childhood summers. My family would spend many weekends at my uncle's river cottage where FUN was the main agenda. There was a nice sandy beach, a huge raft, a pier perfect for jumping off of. The water was warm, and never got too deep. It was perfect for playing our favorite game, 'chicken', where each team consisted of two, one on top of the other's shoulders. The object was to knock the other team's top person off the bottom person's shoulders. We'd ride in Uncle Buzzy's speed boat, watching our cousins water ski. My brother and I were always envious of their skill, but too afraid to try it ourselves. Early mornings were spent wading with a minnow net, catching our bait for fishing later in the day. After supper, there'd be homemade ice cream and fireworks, a screened porch with a creaky porch swing.

When we weren't visiting our relatives, we'd be riding our bikes through the neighborhood. Down to the elementary school where we could whack a tennis ball against the brick wall. Over to the little league fields where, if we were lucky, there'd be a ball game and we could grab a Chick a Stick from the concession stand. Endless trips to the library racking up an enormous cadre of borrowed books. Mom and Dad nagging me to 'get some color', but truthfully, I enjoyed the summer shade more than the summer sun. (Looking back, I'm grateful I held my position on that, considering the cause and effect of sun and skin cancer).

Now that I have kids, I have a better appreciation for how much WORK it takes to achieve a lazy summer day. No doubt those fun river weekends weren't as much for my mom and Aunt Rosa, who were charged with shopping, packing, unpacking, cooking and cleaning. Coaxing suntan lotion on the kids. Policing the water to make sure no one put a toe in the river until 30 minutes after meal time. Yelling at us to go to sleep already, for heavens' sake! Not exactly their idea of a relaxing time on the water.

We don't have the river cottage any longer. It was used less and less as we got older. Summers evolved from catching fireflies and scratching mosquito bites to choosing 'just the right' bathing suit for the beach with your friends. Two decades later, and I have children myself who LOVE the pool. On opening weekend, Clay had his suit and goggles on before I had time to think about where a swim diaper for Drew might be hiding. He spent the next hour asking WHEN we'd actually GO to the pool. We might have already been on the wayl, but I was still trying to locate a damn swim diaper. And, because our pool requires that babies have a swim diaper AND plastic pants, I was keeping an eye out for Clay's old swim suits. I figured no one would strip search my baby to make sure he was wearing a swim diaper and plastic pants. Herein lies the next problem: where did I pack the 12 month summer clothes? It was three years ago, and I can't remember where I last put the Easter baskets, so I knew I was in for a quest. Eventually, I found EVERY piece of summer baby clothing I remember, save a swimsuit. I did manage to locate a 2T swim trunk, and considered safety pinning it around Drew's waist. Fortunately, he's a big kid and pulled it off beautifully without the extra, and sharp, hardware. Here's hoping I haven't set him up for a dreadful adolescent baggy, saggy pants phase...

After getting Drew's dressed, it occured to me that I still needed something to wear. Unlike the past years, I couldn't get away reading a book while Mike and Clay swam. After all, he can't very well handle BOTH kids in the pool. I had to don a swimsuit. Not that it was traumatic, or anything. At this point in my life, I'm immune to how I look in a swimsuit. And I didn't really care what people thought of my unshorn body... I'll find the razor tomorrow.

Now that everyone's dressed, we grabbed a bottle of suntan lotion, and set off. We were a mama, a daddy, a big boy and a baby. A stroller, three towels, $5 for the snack bar, a bag with spare clothes for the boys, and a partridge in a pear tree. We packed for a day at the beach, and were only headed to our neighborhood pool.

And two blocks later, we arrived!

That's when the teenager at the front gate told us... the baby pool was closed. For mechanical issues. She wasn't sure when it would open.

So I said to my husband, "Let's hurry up and get this fun over with." The women of my youth, I'm sure, would understand.

Mike's Day

2007-05-29T20:42:00.001-04:00

It started with two unhappy children, and one unhappy daddy...

Then things got a little better....

Then they got CRAZY!

I beg your pardon?

2007-05-25T20:06:00.000-04:00

You never know what Clay’s going to come up with these days. He’s getting a good grasp of multisyllabic words, and their appropriate uses, but his pronunciation usually needs some work. For example, he frequently says ‘I’m bezausted.’ Ah, then how about a nap? ‘Actually, no. I’m just bezausted.’ His bezaustion typically coincides with undesirable activities. Picking up toys, say. Or the occasional violin lesson.

Rhyming is his favorite trick right now. And, I heartily encourage that because it helps him learn words and sounds and such. Of course, I’ve mentioned before that some unfortunate phrases come forth. “Juicy Poosy”, for example. Pronounced loudly at the local diner during a preschool fundraiser. It’s hard to decide what to say during moments like that. We opted for “he’ll have milk.”

When he isn’t rhyming, he’s singing. Clay’s a very musical kid, and his repertoire is vast and sophisticated. He’s fond of Mozart’s Eine Kleine Nacht Music, the Clash and the Who. He’s doing really well in Suzuki violin, and can name all of his rhythms, the upcoming tunes, and understands the concept of musical dynamics (pianissimo, piano, mezzo piano, forte, mezzo forte, and fortissimo).

So, it didn’t surprise me when Mike reported on Clay’s latest tune. He debuted it at the doctor’s office, and it went something like ‘…friendly pile of s**t... ROCKING on the sea…’!

Translation: it was the Wiggles’ Captain Feathersword song. And the lyric goes: “The friendly pirate ship was rocking on the sea!”

Ringbearer Pictures

2007-05-21T23:03:00.000-04:00

Sorry, no time to write! Here are some pics from our weekend wedding trip. Enjoy!

Giving Our Eye Teeth

2007-05-15T23:07:00.000-04:00

The men in my house have had a few rough days. We spent a fun Saturday at a colleague’s for a crab feast. Mike very carefully prepared items for the diaper bag (Formula – check! Nipples and Rings – check! Bottle liners – check!) We were secure in the knowledge that we had our baby bases covered. You know where this is headed, right? We forgot the actual bottle. Off Mike goes to the local grocery store and returns with one. All set! And then we realize that the carefully packed formula, the one Mike took special care to prepare, was still at home on our kitchen counter. Drew had a supper of water and jarred sweet potatoes.

Nevertheless, Drew fared better than his big brother. Because although Clay wasn’t into the shellfish, he had great fun rough housing with the other boys (and strangely, there were no little girls at this event). And, since boys will be boys, Clay’s front tooth made a very forceful contact with another little boy’s head. How did this happen? We’re still not sure. Something about a slide, and a ‘head butting’ game. Fortunately, his tooth is still in place, although the gum was quite bruised. An emergency call to the dentist was slightly reassuring. He suggested soft foods, Motrin, and an office visit a few days later. And indeed, by the time we rolled Clay into the dentist’s office this morning, the tooth looked much better. The boy even got the excitement of an x-ray! And a plastic police car! (No candy from the dentist, doncha know.) Dr. D pointed to the x-ray and showed me the GINORMOUS adult teeth that are already in place, and offered his prediction that orthodontia is in Clay’s future.

Great news, right? (Except for the expensive braces, but hey, you can’t have everything.) Little did Mike realize that his turn was fast approaching.

After the dentist, he and the boys headed down 95 to Stafford. Traffic conditions were as congested as usual, and he rolled into the parking lot at Pop’s assisted living facility a little after noon. Now, Mike’s quite the multitasker, but dealing with a 95 year old incontinent geriatric in a wheelchair, a precocious almost four-year old, and an 8 month old pushes him to the limits. He’s only had to negotiate situation twice, and both times he says that the only one who listens to him is Drew. Good news for today, though. It was discovered that Clay’s pretty good at pushing Pop’s wheelchair, although his steering leaves much to be desired.

Fast forward to this evening, and Mike’s pretty much ready to call it a day, when I come home with other plans. We must go to my friend T’s house directly after supper! We mustn’t delay! See, T and I work together at a well known performing arts center that just so happens to be at the beginning of a massive theater renovation. And there were pieces of history to be had. Big, heavy, awkward pieces of history in the form of crushed red velvet theater seats. T very kindly brought her pair and my pair home in her minivan, and we needed to retrieve them. Which of course meant that Mike needed to retrieve them. The boys and I came along to “help”. Drew helped by pooping stankily (yes, there is no other word for this) as soon as we arrived. And we had nothing with us, because this was to be a short trip. Fortunately, T is very resourceful and happened to have a diaper, wipes and EVEN a diaper mat, even though her youngest is older than my oldest! I helped by holding the now naked-except-a-diaper Drew while Mike and T unloaded my seats and reloaded them in our van. Then, I helped even more as I continued to hold Drew while Mike and T unloaded her seats and carried them into her basement. Past the really large forsythia bush that was blocking the door. While a forsythia branch lashed out and poked Mike in his only good eye.

I won’t go into any more details (because really, isn’t this post long enough?), but he’s fine now. Thank goodness. It was a pretty scary couple of moments there, because this really is Mike’s ONLY good eye. The other’s practically useless, and frightening thoughts of blindness bubbled a little too close to the surface.

Which is why, as I was driving my men home this evening, and I was thinking about the not-so-comic-events of the past few days, I realized that there were few things I’d give my eye teeth for. But Clay’s tooth and Mike’s eye were two of them.

Parenting Unpleasantries

2007-05-09T22:29:00.000-04:00

A few days ago, we got the following e-mail from the Health and Safety parent at Clay’s preschool:

Tick Season Is Here

It can be a real pain if you have dark haired children, but it's time to check your children daily for ticks if they've been outside at all. We just had our first reported case of a child who was on the playground today getting a tick on them. I don't know if it was a deer tick or not though, I forgot to ask. It doesn't really matter though, because other ticks can transmit other illnesses. But you should know that Lyme Disease has reached our area. And ticks just love 70 degree temperatures! Ticks tend to be in (tall especially) grass, the undersides of leaves of bushes or low trees. When they sense a warm body going by, they just latch on to it and go for a good spot for lunch. Unfortunately, that's often in the crotch or the head; though I've gotten them on my abdomen and arms, etc.

One way to minimize your child's risk of getting them is to dress them in long white pants and shirts and tuck their pants into their white socks and spray the clothes with DEET. Honestly, I think I'd pass out in clothes like that if it was one of those hot days in July. And I hate DEET. I'd rather just check for the ticks. They take 24 hours to infect someone, so if you get them off in say, 12 hours, you don't have to worry (about Lyme Disease anyway).

Having pulled deer ticks off myself and my kids, here's what I know about them:

They can be as small as the head of a pin. They can be black, but not necessarily.

When removing them, DON'T SQUEEZE THEIR MIDDLES!!!! This causes the bacteria to go from their stomachs into the victim. Get a pair of needle nose tweezers (or much better yet go to a pet store and get a pair of tick removers, they work really well!) and go on either side of the tick's neck pulling upward so that the skin 'tents' until the tick lets go. That way you get the head out too. Then apply rubbing alcohol or other disinfectant.

I have TWELVE hours??? Lyme Disease?? Deer Ticks? Don’t squeeze the middles??

AAAAAAAGGGHHH.

This is the part of parenting that I’m not sure I’m up for, and it bugs me (pun intended). If I can’t handle the pressure of checking my kids for ticks, what the heck am I going to do if they bring home (I feel faint just typing this) head lice??

Clay’s a pretty squirmy kid. He goes into hysterics if we come at him with nail clippers, so his manicures are few and far between. He still has leftover cradle cap, and is pretty sensitive to having me work on his scalp. I’ve already tried to surreptitiously look for ticks, but he’s wise to my ways. It’s not going to be a fun summer if I have to hold him down every day.

As if that wasn’t enough, Clay’s been (forgive me son, but it fits the theme), pulling on his pants for a few days. We’ve been asking him the usual questions: “Do you need to go potty?” “Is a tag scratching you?” No to both queries. He has admitted that he’s feeling ‘itchy’, so we inspect the, um, area, for a rash. Of the previously worn diaper kind. Nothing.

Of course, this provided us with the perfect, but really uncomfortable, opportunity to have the ‘good touch/bad touch’ conversation with him. (“This is your private area. No one is allowed to touch your private area except Mommy or Daddy or a doctor who is with Mommy or Daddy.”) Oh, how I dreaded this! But, I knew it was time because Clay’s teacher told us at our conference that she was going to introduce the subject. And, as important as I KNOW it is to arm my child with this safety information, I really HATE admitting to him that there are bad people in this world who want to do unseemly thing to innocents. Nevertheless (and like I said), it was time. When Mike asked Clay what he’d say to a stranger who offered him candy, he good naturedly responded “Thank you very much!”

Clay said he understood. But he’s only three, so the conversation isn’t over. Not by a long shot. And then it will be time to talk to Drew. As their parents, we’re going to have to find the delicate balance between empowering them against evil, and scaring the bejeezes out of them.

And about Clay’s itchy tuckus? Mike asked his teacher if she’d noticed. She had. And she suggested we check for pinworms.

Excuse me, I have to go lie down now.

Yay for Amazon!

2007-05-08T21:43:00.000-04:00

Here’s what I love about this online site: guilt free shopping. Clay’s birthday is in six weeks, and I can put toy after toy into my shopping cart for him. I buy nothing. A few days later, when I’ve come to my senses, I can go back and delete, delete, delete… suddenly it’s a much more manageable, and reasonable list.

After all, how many building sets can one boy use??

The Quotable Clay

2007-05-07T22:02:00.000-04:00

From Sunday's Washington Post:

We have plans to keep our children safe and prepared. We have fire drills. We have tornado and hurricane drills. We even have a protocol with a "to-go bag," in case of any emergency lockdown. Our Annandale preschool is vigilant. The explanations, with age-appropriate information, reassure and calm the children.

After this latest tornado drill, the all-clear sounded. Everyone did a good job listening and following directions. Mission accomplished. Thumbs up and high-fives all around!

Three-year-old Clay asked one important question. "When it comes, how big will the tomato be?"

by Elizabeth Maguder (Clay's preschool teacher)

How cool is that? Mrs. M said she typed it up a few weeks ago and the paper called her back right away. I guess this was a more appropriate quote for the paper than one of Clay's other gems. In this age of providing our kids with the correct names for our body parts, a girl in Clay's class referenced her vagina. Clay's response? "I live in Virginia too!"

Why I love my work

2007-05-03T19:46:00.000-04:00

This afternoon I was walking up the grand staircase, enjoying the beautiful weather, the sparkling river, and the drifting cherry blossoms. As I approached the stage door, out came an actor costumed in ancient Roman peasant garb. He was smoking a cigarette and talking on a cell phone. From the sublime to the absurd...

These moments don't happen as often as I'd like, but I suppose if they did they wouldn't be as special.

What's Past is Prologue

2007-05-01T20:09:00.000-04:00

Clay's favorite toy... remember these?

Can you say smart aleck?

2007-04-30T20:02:00.000-04:00

"Is this what you're looking for?" I hold up the spongy baseball that Clay likes.

"Yes! Thank you!" And then a sly smile crosses his face.

"...or should I say 'No thank you!' Because in opposite world, that means 'Thank you!'"

Clay is obsessed with Disney's Cars and all things Lightning McQueen and Mater. Every night at prayer time, right after 'Amen', and with a virtual slap to the forehead he'll say "I forgot Lightning McQueen and Mater!! 'GaBleLiteMckwnMater. AMEN'"

He can sing all of the words to Route 66, and will correct us if we get the towns out of order. In case you were wondering, it goes through St. Louie, Joplin Missouri, Oklahoma City (which looks 'oh so pretty'), Amarillo, Gallup New Mexico, Flagstaff Arizona (don't forget!) Wynona, Kingman, Barstow, San Bernadino...

But I digress. The 'opposite world' sarcasm, as referenced above, is (naturally) what Lightning McQueen says to Doc after he loses his Radiator Springs race.

And I knew this immediately because I, too, have seen this movie TOO MANY TIMES. Sha-boom!

Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious

2007-04-25T20:10:00.000-04:00

At dinner, Mike started the conversation with "tell Mama what you learned at school today."

Proudly, Clay yelled "Messatorfamus!"

I looked to Mike for an explanation, and he said "metamorphosis." Of course.

"Yah... it's when you CHANGE! Like a butterfly!" (Clay flaps his arms).

And so it begins...

For all of my life, I've taken good natured ribbing about my vocabulary. As a child our neighbor, Mrs. Linton, would comment about the words I'd come up with, and as a teenager, my mom would joke that I was '14 going on 40'. Later in high school, I distinctly remember being teased mercilessly by my friends when I said something was 'trivial'. Oh the peals of laughter! They all thought it such a very big, 50 cent word, and couldn't believe that I would use it. Embarrassed and a little ashamed, I questioned whether I was using my words to puff up my self importance. My friends certainly made me feel so, and I took the laughter as an attempt to take me down a peg or two. Fortunately, we were out for pizza, so I could take comfort in food. Don't like my words? Screw you, and pass the pepperoni. I traded my 50 cent words for 50 dollar hips.

Although I marvel now at how much that innocent incident affected me (I truly believe my friends meant no harm), I recognize that it did so in a profound way. After that, I remember just wanting to fit in, and so the pendulum swung in the other direction. I avoided lofty language. I may have been on the debate and forensic team, but it was just a cover. I found solace in my prepared notes. And without them, I quickly found myself grasping for the right words. By the time I made it to college, I convinced myself that my words and writing were inferior. Can't win for losing, eh?

So today, I have two little boys, and I refuse to talk down to them, often with comical results. Clay's in the 'Why?' phase (will the questions ever stop?), and I will beat my head against the proverbial wall to give him a sensible answer, long after Mike has given in with a 'just because!'. Case in point, this morning's explanation about the phrase 'Spring has sprung', which I FULLY admit is a path I stumbled down. Clay wanted to know what the phrase meant. Here's what I told him:

"It's a play on words."

(Confused look from 3 year old.)

Trying again, I said: "You know how some words have two meanings?"

Gamely, the boy nodded tentatively. I could see he had no idea, so I tried to elaborate.

"Like, spring means the season with all the flowers, but it also means a curly wire that goes 'boing'!"

I'd lost him. I tried again.

"Like Drew's exersaucer? The legs have springs in them so he can bounce up and down?"

I'd better wrap this up. I'm losing him fast.

"So when we say 'spring has sprung', we mean the season SPRING has popped out, like a SPRING popping. Get it?"

He said he did, but I think he was just humoring his old mom. Either that, or he just wanted to get back to his cars. But at least I tried, and to be fair to me (and hey, we HAVE to be fair to me), this is the boy who told his classmate that her throwing her jacket in anger wasn't appropriate. So, it was fairly logical that I thought he could grasp the concept of a double entendre. Right?

Right?!?

C-O-O-L

2007-04-23T20:53:00.000-04:00

Not to be outdown by his little brother, Clay is really starting to put letters and words together. You may have heard of the (sometimes unfortunate) rhymes he'll put together. He's been able to spell, and write, his name for some time now. Lately, he's been asking us to spell everything. "What spell stop?" We'll always oblige. Tonight at bedtime, he wanted to know how to spell 'cool'. 'C-O-O-l'.

"What spell 'sign'?". "That's a hard one. 'S-I-G-N'."

"What spells 'stickers'?" "S-T-I-C-K-E-R-S."

Next, smarty pants asks: "What spells 'small stickers'?"