Bleh

Mo's finally feeling better, and now I'm sick again. Yuck.

Real winter

After enjoying several very mild winters in a row--this time last year we were at the playground in sweatshirts--we are being squeezed under the thumb an an extended period of real cold. The snow lingers on the ground long enough to become dirty looking around the edges. Quite astonishing after being essentially winter-free for a few years.

We had a lovely Christmas with family and then celebrated Mo's 3rd birthday in style. Amy and Mike came from Pittsburgh for the birthday weekend, which was a real treat. We played this game called Head's Up with them one evening and laughed until we nearly peed our pants. The main source of hilarity was Robb's ability to free associate answers that sometimes had little to do with the subject at hand.

Now we have a visit from Jenny to look forward to in two weeks, before she ships off to her next assignment in South Korea. What an adventure!

Robb is experiencing a winter of the soul, if you consider our refrigerator and pantry to be the vessels in which Robb's soul lives...and I do. Robb needs to lower his sodium and protein, and I need to eliminate saturated fat. I'm not exactly turning cartwheels over making these changes because it means more work in the kitchen from me. We are getting rid of most processed foods and cooking as much as possible from scratch, that way we control the contents of what we eat. But Robb is especially despondent over dietary changes. He will move toward better health kicking and screaming. I remind him that we are also modeling good habits for Mo. I don't think that makes it any easier for him.

We are still in computer limbo. The new tower (refurbished) had a power supply issue. It was still under warranty, so Robb swapped it out for another new (refurbished) tower. And it has a power supply issue too. Very frustrating. So it also needs to go back, this time we're thinking of swapping it out for a different brand/kind/whatever. This must be a problem specific to the one we purchased. Our old computer was a refurb, and it lasted about 4 years, so I still have faith in refurbs. Hopefully we will get this resolved by the end of the month and be on our merry computing way.

I also went with a friend to see the Van Gogh show at The Phillips Collection before it closes.  It was fascinating, especially the Rouin family portraits.

Happy New Year!

Some homemade is better than others

My recent knitting binge is finally slowing down because of the mixed success of this little number I'm calling Clown Puke. Slowing is a good thing because I really need to get going on Christmas and Mo's birthday plans. But back to Clown Puke. I improvised the pattern combining some details from recently made kid sweaters with some ideas I had while making several stocking caps. And the results are, well,...colorful. It's cropped and swingy which is good. Mo selected this yarn herself and then hugged and petted the skeins like  bunny rabbits for hours after purchase. Alas, she is less enthusiastic about the final product. We did a test fit, and she said, rather forcefully, "No, Mommy, take clown puke off me!” The heart is fickle. The sweater is definitely big on her and will fit better next winter. Maybe by then she will change her tune.



Last year Mo gave her cousins and friends a mix cd of some of her favorite songs. It was very well received. So we're releasing a new edition this season. Robb downloaded everything yesterday, and I designed the album cover. We might need to add What Does the Fox Say to the playlist though. Too trendy? Will it get old? No indeed, the Fox has a timeless quality: Gering-ding-ding-ding-dingeringeding! Wa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pow! Hatee-hatee-hatee-ho! Tchoff-tchoff-tchoffo-tchoffo-tchoff!



While we're on the topic of homemade, Robb made himself at least 3 kidney stones just in time for the holidays. One has passed, another will pass, but the behemoth pictured above is 10mm in diameter. That's 1cm. If you're rusty on your metric system, the stone is as wide as a dime (whoops, a dime is 18mm, so that was a wild exaggeration). Now before you start thinking that we have money coming out of our urethrae--that's the correct plural of urethra, I looked it up--let me just assure you that this bad boy ain't going anywhere on his own. I've named him Ebenezer because he's trying to ruin Christmas and also because Ebenezer means "stone." Okay, actually it means "stone of help," but this Ebenezer is only helping Robb to the hospital next week for some aggressive treatment called lithotripsy, which as I understand it feels akin to being beaten with a bag of oranges. Only much louder. Humbug, I tell you! Humbug!

[Robb will most certainly mention my naming of his kidney stone in his application for sainthood.]

Chilly morning today

Every once in a while I come across a poem and think, "Mom would like this." (For example, the one I posted here.) She loves to play the just-a-dumb-PE-teacher card. But--and I know she would totally mind that I'm pulling back the curtain on her brain here--she double majored in Physical Education and English in college, then went on to complete her Masters in Education, and a significant amount of coursework beyond her Masters. When asked why she did not go for a PhD, she replied that it would rendered her fit for only administration or university work. And that wasn't her cup of tea.

"Waking on the Farm"
by Robert Bly

I can remember the early mornings—how the stubble,
A little proud with frost, snapped as we walked.

How the John Deere tractor hood pulled heat
Away from our hands when we filled it with gas.

And the way the sun brought light right out of the ground.
It turned on a whole hill of stubble as easily as a single stone.

Breathing seemed frail and daring in the morning.
To pull in air was like reading a whole novel.

The angleworms, turned up by the plow, looked
Uneasy like shy people trying to avoid praise.

For a while we had goats. They were like turkeys
Only more reckless. One butted a red Chevrolet.

When we washed up at noon, we were more ordinary.
But the water kept something in it of the early morning.

Quotations

Edwin Arlington Robinson: "Two kinds of gratitude: The sudden kind / we feel for what we take; the larger kind / we feel for what we give."

Jon Krakauer: "Heaven, for me, is one focused project — it's like a weird form of autism. And if it pans out, you get the royalties and you get to write the next one."

Beverly Cleary: "When I am writing a book I also enjoy ironing, an idiosyncrasy that probably makes me sound more domestic than I really am. Working with my hands frees my imagination."

Daniel Boone: "I have never been lost, but I will admit to being confused for several weeks."

Our little world

I sang "The Itsy Bitsy Spider" to Mo yesterday. At the end she said, "Waterspout scary." I asked her, "Why is the waterspout scary?" She said, "Spider on it." Makes perfect sense.



She knows the words to songs but won't sing them outright. Although I can play fill-in-the-blanks with her. I sing, "Twinkle twinkle little...," and she sings, "Star!" And so on.



We have been eating dinner on the deck. This reminds me of when I was little. We ate outside or on the screened porch as often as we could. And the sweet corn this summer is out of this world good.



The painter is starting work on the basement this morning. There is light at the end of the tunnel.

Playing catchup

I'm not sure where to start. Let's see. I took Mo to see Juan's paintings in DC in May. She liked riding the subway. We went on our vacation in June which included trips to the beach, the zoo, the aquarium, the MD grandparents, and then on to Pittsburgh. At the end of June we saw two lovely friends marry in a downpour of rain--5 inches that day. We came home from the wedding and found a fully flooded basement. Meanwhile all got bad colds in succession. First me, then Mo, and Robb's became walking pneumonia. During the sickies we had more record-setting rain followed by record-setting heat. Mo and I went dog-sitting at Mom's for a week and decided it was a good time to get serious about potty training. Results have been mixed. This week we finally rejoined the land of the living and saw some friends. Work on the basement should start in about 10 days. Luckily it was all covered by our homeowner's insurance. Maybe by the end of August we'll be getting back to normal. Hope your summer is going well!

Tri-terra cardigan

I finished this little sweater for Mo at the end of March, just in time for her to wear to an Easter egg hunt at the community center. I used the Tri-Terra Cardigan pattern by Cosette Cornelius-Bates and improvised a little fake fair-isle colorwork into the yoke. Mom asked when I will start making them in adult sizes. Maybe next winter. My knitting has fallen by the wayside--as it usually does once the weather warms up--and painting has taken its place. Incidentally I had a little free time this weekend and updated my art blog. Have a look-see. By the time I finally know what I'm doing with HTML it will be completely obsolete.

Happy Birthday to me

Robb and Mo made me a birthday cake on Saturday. Mo was not really interested in helping until helping meant licking chocolate frosting off the spatula. We celebrated at Urban Barbeque in Ashton and returned to Mom's house for singing, candles, and cake. I'm still basking in the heap of lovely gifts: books, a cd, a picnic set, assorted food treats, and half a cake left over. What a nice birthday!

I dubbed last week the Week of Nagging Tasks. Robb and I scurried around taking care of things we've been putting off like renewing both our drivers licenses, stacking wood, getting blood drawn, calling the exterminator, and pricing truckloads of mulch. All things not so fun at the time but certainly nice to have in the rear view mirror.

Making freezer waffles

One of our cooking projects with Mo was waffles. While I pre-measured the ingredients and lined everything up on the counter, Robb rounded up our little chef.



First, we all washed our hands and donned our aprons. I think the donning of aprons is Mo's favorite part of cooking. Robb wore a Valentine apron made by Great Aunt Sissy, Mo wore a green checked apron that was made for me as a child by Barbara Streaker (my namesake), and I wore a white and pink apron made by Theresa.



Sukey could feel the excitement buzzing in the kitchen and came to see what was going on.



Up on the step stool, Mo's first task was to mix the dry ingredients together in the big bowl. At first she was tentative, but then she gained confidence and enthusiasm.



Robb tried to deflect everything that was flying out of the bowl. But you know what they say: you can't make a dozen waffles without spilling a cup of flour...



Mo was really concentrating.



Then we added the wet ingredients. Robb assisted with the mixing.



The batter looked good. So just when Mo's attention was fading, Robb got her cleaned up, and I took over cooking the waffles.



Fast forward a bit, and we have a bag of Mo-made waffles ready for the freezer.



And the next morning I warmed them up in the toaster, and Mo enjoyed a breakfast that she made herself!

Little little

On Valentine's Day we welcomed a new niece to the family. Meet Quinn. Mo cannot quite say Quinn, but she can say "Q." So she might become known as Baby Q (or "bay-be-que"). Congratulations Gary, Kate & Jack on the new little one!

Lenten list

1. Only on days I wear khaki pants my black dog twines around my legs like a cat. This morning was a double dose as I also had a white shirt on. The shirt I managed to salvage with some masking tape. But the pants went into the hamper. It looked like I rolled around in the vacuum canister.

2. "Uppidah!" I don't want to forget this current Mo-ism. Although she knows and uses the words "up" and "down," uppidah is her aloha of directional instructions. It means "pick me up," "put me down," "lift me up and over," "move that obstacle out of my way," and "help me climb up and/or down."

3. I used the words el cheapo to describe something when I was talking to my artist friend Juan who is from Honduras. This was about five years ago, and it's still intermittently on my mind. He asked if I had some expensive piece of art equipment, and I replied no, that I use an el cheapo version. Then I paused and asked, "That's not real Spanish?" He laughed and shook his head. But upon reflection it strikes me as racist to imply that goods produced in Spanish-speaking countries are low quality or inferior. If I'm uncomfortable using a phrase in speaking to Juan, I probably shouldn't use it at all, right?

4. Two current projects are underway for the duration of Lent (and hopefully beyond). First, I am going to update my family history blog at least once a week. I have posted twice there so far. Second, I am going to have Mo assist me in the kitchen at least once a week. I think of this goal as "Cooking with Sasquatch." Although I'm not sure if she's the sasquatch or if I am. We made mini-pizzas this week. Hilarity ensued. I got pictures.

5. My friends are attending a workshop seminar thing about potty training in two weeks, and they are encouraging me to go with them. I'm not going. We've been working on it since October, and I feel comfortable with the progress and our methods. It's a war of attrition that I will win because I have greater resources and infinite patience. We introduced a bribe into the mix: when Mo successfully uses the potty, she gets an M&M as a reward. She will do just about anything for "emmy-emms." End of seminar. [Edited to add: after a grumpy day (on my part) and very little success on the pot (on Mo's part) I might be reconsidering my stance here. Not feeling like such a winner right now.]

The move

O snail
Climb Mount Fuji,
But slowly, slowly!
(Kobayashi Issa) 

The unpacking and settling in is going. Slowly. Each day there are fewer piles of boxes, so that is tangible progress. The new house is shockingly bright compared to the Fig Point rental. I knew the old place was a little gloomy and cavernous, but it was a peripheral knowledge. The light here is astonishing and conspicuous, wonderful. It looks the way our family feels. Or it looks the way I want our family to feel. Cheerful, expansive, optimistic, open, neat. Tomorrow I finish cleaning at Fig Point and turn in the keys. Then our full attention can be here. Putting things in order. Editing. It feels really nice to finally be home.

Ten years

 "Shifting the Sun"
by Diana Der-Hovanessian

When your father dies, say the Irish,
you lose your umbrella against bad weather.
May his sun be your light, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the Welsh,
you sink a foot deeper into the earth.
May you inherit his light, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the Canadians,
you run out of excuses. May you inherit
his sun, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the French,
you become your own father.
May you stand up in his light, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the Indians,
he comes back as the thunder.
May you inherit his light, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the Russians,
he takes your childhood with him.
May you inherit his light, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the English,
you join his club you vowed you wouldn't.
May you inherit his sun, say the Armenians.

When your father dies, say the Armenians,
your sun shifts forever.
And you walk in his light.

Please please please let me get what I want

Earlier this year I wrote about doing yard work at the rental house, that I wanted to leave it nicer than we found it, that I wanted us to be out by the end of the year but didn't have a concrete plan. Well, the wheels are now in motion, and, while we won't make it out by the end of the year, we will come pretty darn close.

Part one: We are selling the old abandoned apartment. That part feels like the snuffing of a dream. As long as we still had the old abandoned apartment there could exist a remote glimmer of hope of living in Ocean City again. It was a fantasy. An expensive fantasy. We've been living backwards owning a place we don't live in and renting the place we do live in. It could not go on forever. With my cousin and his wife as the buyers it's not as much like lemon juice in the eye as it could be. It's staying in the family--I think that makes it easier on my mom, too. It's just the end of a chapter, not the closing of a book. We can go back for a visit. We can stay there again sometime for a vacation. All mitigating circumstances considered I'll probably blubber at the settlement table anyway.

Part two: Our landlord is selling the rental house, the house I call Fig Point. Although it needs a lot, A LOT of work, Robb and I kept revisiting the idea of taking on the challenges and expense and making it officially our home. What's the worst she can say--no--right? We made our landlord an offer factoring in four years of rental and all the repairs. She liked our number. Yay! And said she would have to get her lender to approve the short sale. Boo! Our landlord has zero equity in the house. And no matter what sales price she likes, the decision to accept or reject an offer is out of her hands once her bank is involved. The bank won't be sentimental about our time here or consider all the rent money we've thrown away. The bank will lowball the cost of repairs to minimize their losses. Very disappointing. Our landlord's realtor comes this afternoon to take photographs and put a lock box on the front door just in time for Christmas. This part to me feels like the end of the world. So the Mayans were right after all.

Part three: We are buying a house nearby. We should be fully moved by the end of January. It has a detached two car garage for Robb's workshop. It has a fenced yard for Mo and Sukey to play in. It has a fourth bedroom for my studio. It has two closets in the master bedroom which will breed domestic tranquility. It has a terrible kitchen but not worse than the Fig Point kitchen, but we can fix it in a few years. It has several of Mo's tot friends right around the corner. And without the expenses of the old abandoned apartment, without our rent, and without a car payment, it has a lot less financial stress. It has vacations without me having panic attacks about money. This part feels like the sun breaking through clouds after a hurricane. Now we'll have to think of something to call our new home. We'll have to plant a fig tree. We'll have to paint the deck and hang curtains and gather our family and friends around the fireplace. I can't wait!

(*Post title refers to, of course, The Smiths.)

Maaaaaaaaa

Happy Mother's Day!

Happy very belated Birthday Angie!

With practice I'm getting better at this sewing thing. Sorry about the lousy late night photos, but I was burning the midnight oil on this project. One funny note: as I started sewing Robb was confused. He thought the gift was already finished and that I was going to send Angie a pile of little fabric squares. :) It's hard to believe that Angie's visit was a year ago!

Housekeeping

1. Yes, this photo kills me. The sunglasses. The walking around. The terrible job I did trimming her bangs. Kills me.

2. Yes, Mo was a little old to have a serious case of RSV. The main reason for the hospital stay was the combination of her high fever and dehydration. She couldn't keep down the oral ibuprofen and acetaminophen--or anything else she ate or drank--at home.

3. No, there's usually not a sea of vomit with RSV. It's generally a lung infection that causes breathing trouble. But Mo's lungs sounded and looked good throughout. The hospital's pediatrician said she had seen a number of RSV cases this season with gastrointestinal symptoms. She suspects the virus is changing.

4. No, I am not eating gluten free anymore. My new year's resolution was to stop listening to my doctor because avoiding gluten is a pain in my butt. And if I don't need to do it I'm not. Tomorrow I go in for bloodwork, so I will know soon how that's working out for me.

5. And while we're on the subject of resolutions I saw someone on the internets wrote something like, "If you don't have enough time to do what you want to do, turn off the tv." So true. I have enough time (baby permitting), just too much screen time and mindless distractions eating it up. So first I quit the moms meetup group. Then I pared down the blogroll I follow. And I saw that Theresa ditched FaceBook--very tempting! And in a fit of mental housekeeping I considered deleting my blog but stopped short. So I'm trying to stay away from the computer during the day. Success is mixed.

6. No, I won't be joining Pinterest anytime soon. I'm concerned that I will spend more time bookmarking than actually doing/making, and in the end it will make me less creative and productive.

Huge sigh of relief

I want to write about this while it's still raw. Our little one was hospitalized with (not a stomach bug but) RSV. Horror washed over us late Friday afternoon when we woke her up from a nap only to realize that her fever had spiked, she could barely keep her eyes open, and we were going back to the ER. I could not imagine putting her through Thursday night's tortures again. But then I found out the answer to 'What's worse than holding down your baby while she fights the nurses trying to give her an IV catheter?'--when she's so sick she stops fighting back and just lays there. Her veins were flat, and the nurses were on their third stick before they got a line in. Awful. It was awful. These were the worst days of my life. And I write that even as I held my father's hand when he died and evacuated DC on foot on September 11th. Maureen is usually so funny and opinionated and feisty and busy, and she looms very large in my imagination, that it is easy to forget what a fragile little person she really is. Since we returned home she has learned how to use a tissue to wipe Mommy's nose (and thinks this is hilarious) and Crinkle's nose (that's her stuffed dog) and her own nose (but not very effectively). And she's trying to walk all the time, taking 5 steps here, 8 steps there. Crazy baby. Lucky baby. Lucky all of us.

There is nothing like a health crisis to reveal whether or not you really like your doctor. We will be looking for a new pediatrician. 1) While the pediatricians on staff at CMH did a fine job looking after our little one, I would appreciate a doctor who visits his/her patients when they are hospitalized. God forbid Maureen has another hospital stay, but we would prefer this for continuity of care. 2) An office who promptly returns telephone calls even if my questions are ridiculous. And by promptly I mean within a few hours. Claiming that there is "a problem with the phone system" is only a single use get-out-of-jail-free card. 3) Also would it kill them to place a follow up call to see how our recently hospitalized child is doing?

PS - A little while ago a registered nurse from BCBS called to see how Maureen is doing and answer any questions I had. We talked for about 15 minutes. She is going to call back in a couple weeks to make sure things are going well with Mo's recovery but made sure I had her direct line in case anything came up. It's sad when the insurance company does a better job than the pediatrician's office.

Two words

Stomach bug.