Steel City, Here We Come

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

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?

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

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

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...

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

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

Farewell Friend

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?

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?

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!

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

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?

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!

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...

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

My thoughts exactly

"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

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!

"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.