Brad and Claire

Big Brother... being nice.

2012-02-09T22:02:00.003-05:00

I took Aiden and Willow to the doctor's office this morning for Willow's 9 month check-up. It was the usual long wait which threw off my schedule, feeding and otherwise. I don't know why I even try to HAVE a schedule on days like this - the world conspires against me. The nurse called us back to wait in our own little examining room after weighing Willow in ( and that is a tale all of its own as Willow is not gaining weight as she should- rrrgh - I felt like the most miserable failure of a mother) and we proceeded to wait, wait and wait some more. Aiden popped his head out of the open door and saw another little boy down the hall, doing the exact same thing. He struck up a conversation with this boy, who was about eight years old. It is so funny to watch Aiden interact with people - especially with strangers. He asked this boy all sorts of things, including what color his house was, and divulged strange trivia about his own life, such as the fact that "Brad put a fire in our fireplace." (BRAD?!) Later as we left, he said to his new friend, "See you next year!"

When the doctor came in and began to poke and prod Willow, of course she cried. I did my best to comfort her, but Aiden stepped in between me and the doctor, as if neither of us were doing our jobs right, put his hand on Willow and poured forth a stream of compassion that amazed me. He was saying things like, "It's okay, baby girl. Aiden's right here..."

Then the doctor sent us to a lab down the street, to take some blood from Willow. Oh. Great. I told Aiden what we were doing, and he said, "They have to take her blood? Oh that's so sad!" I quickly explained that they weren't taking ALL her blood - just a little bit to do some tests...but that it would probably hurt her. He was quite adamant that he wanted to stay in the car, because he didn't want to hear her cry. And then when we were in the lab, and the woman was getting ready to draw blood, he turned his face to the wall because he didn't want "to see the blood." He would have hid under the chair if I'd let him. Precious boy. It was a tough morning for all of us.

Aiden's report to Brad later was, "She had blood on her!"

Swimming in new waters

2011-08-27T15:01:00.003-04:00

Went to the pool one evening this week. Aiden has been getting a little bolder about getting in the water, for which I've been grateful.

At the pool several weeks ago, we ran into his friend Joey, a couple years older than Aiden, and he proceeded to show off to Aiden how well he could jump into the water, and swim. I'm not sure if it was a male thing, or just a competitive thing, or a personality thing - maybe all three ( and maybe it is foolish to try to differentiate/separate these things)- but suddenly, Aiden's tentative movements in the water ( and pleas to get out and go in the kiddie pool) gave way to more daring ones, even going so far as to actually jump and submerge his head underwater. I was expecting more of the same this week as we trotted over to the steps that lead down into the pool...but shortly after his initial splashings were done, he got out and proceeded to launch himself, with radical abandon, from the edge of the pool...fearlessly flinging himself into the water over and over. He probably did this for over half an hour at least. Of course, he was wearing floaties and so every time he plunged in, he immediately popped up like a cork. But it left me totally incredulous and stunningly proud. At his age...well, I don't have many memories of my life at three and a half years old, but judging from my memories of a few years later, I know I was not this courageous. I liked playing in the water, but I hated "going under." I think I was 20 years old before I got up the courage to jump off a diving board. Even today, jumping into a pool takes some mental preparation. (Yes, I am a wimp.) Aiden wanted me to jump in with him, and if the pool had been just a little deeper, I don't think I would have. Being in water over my head just gives me the hibbly jibblies. But I did jump. Well, okay, not jump exactly...but allow myself to step into the water from the edge of the pool, next to my wildly flailing son.

Just thinking about it all now, I feel dazed...and a little breathless...but mostly grateful. Grateful that my child has already surpassed me in one aspect of courage. Grateful that he is already more comfortable in the water than I am.

It makes me realize in a fresh way that this child is not just an extension of myself. I once read something about child development that mentioned something about babies seeing their mothers as extensions of themselves...or maybe it was themselves as extensions of their mothers...I can't remember exactly now. But vitally connected as one entity, in any case. I don't know about him - but this experience revealed to me that I'm the one who unconsciously felt as if he was an extension or continuation of me. As I watched him repeatedly hurling himself into the water, I felt suddenly awakened to the fact that he is his own person - completely separate from me. He has strengths and abilities that I will never have. He will tackle challenges of which I never dreamed.

This has been a summer where his baby ties have been snapping left and right - from finally being successful at potty training to becoming a big brother. My heart simultaneously rejoices and breaks.

Putting Aiden to work

2011-08-20T23:29:00.005-04:00

Must document this milestone: today, Aiden uttered these words: " Mama, I'm bored." Oh horrors. I thought three year olds never got bored. Their brains are too fertile for that. It struck fear into my heart. Bored children get into trouble. Bored children need structure and challenges... and this at a time when my creativity seems to be at an all time low - just when I need it most! In desperation, I roped him into what I happened to be doing at the moment: washing dishes. The absolute NADIR of domestic chores. (No wait- that would be cleaning the hair out of the shower drain. Hmmm...how can I get him to do THAT?) I leaped on the idea that since playing in the sink or bathtub with toys is fun, that washing dishes is a close cousin to that enjoyable past-time. I feel like some sort of nefarious trickster. I taught him how to do wash dishes under the guise of FUN. Oh, I am a wicked woman.

This all comes on the heels of harnessing the capitalist/entrepreneurial spirit yesterday when I offered him a dime to clear the table after dinner. ( Oooo- I know. A dime. Wow. Sweat shop management, here I come. ) He was hankering after the bouncy ball collection of his friend and neighbor Joey, and I suggested that he could earn some money so that next time we go to Walmart, he could buy his own bouncy ball. I have never seen a table get cleared so fast. It was truly miraculous, but not without some hazards - falling silverware etc. It made me smile; I had thought he might be too young for this kind of incentive program, but lo, the capitalist spirit shows up strong at even this tender age. Well, really, it's more of the acquisitive spirit, and that knows no age barrier. This child is the most nakedly materialistic person I have met in my life - he wants almost EVERYTHING he sees that isn't already his. It's a little exhausting. ( Reminds me of this engraving by William Blake.) But anyway, he finished his chore with amazing speed and looked up at me eagerly and said, "Can I have my diamond now?" I had to laugh. From dimes to diamonds. If only! Good luck putting THAT in the bouncy ball machine at Walmart!

My poor baby

2011-01-14T12:53:00.003-05:00

We just returned from Aiden's first visit to the dentist. Brad can take him to every single appointment in the future.

It started out with normal issues of wriggling and not opening wide enough for the technician to cram the x-ray plates in his mouth... The cleaning went fine, but then when the main dentist arrived to address my concerns with one of his front teeth which was showing a gray discoloration, the real nightmare began.

Apparently, some time in the last couple months, Aiden fell and bonked his mouth on something - not too hard to believe, considering he is a three year old. Well, according to the 2 X-rays that the technician was able to take, his front two teeth were fractured, enough for one of them to sustain damage to the root...and an infection had set in, which could negatively affect the adult tooth behind it...so the dentist declared that we pull the infected tooth. WHAT?! He's barely three years old! After my initial shock, I arranged for the extraction to happen immediately. They said they couldn't sedate him because he had already eaten breakfast, but they would have to use a local anesthetic, with a "papoose board" for "behavior management." So basically, they were going to strap him down. Greeaat. It just gets better and better.

And then they told me that I had to wait in the waiting room. That reduced me to tears. I know it was probably all for the best, but still - it was hard. I don't know what would be worse - watching the necessary torture and not being able to do anything, or being separated from the situation, like I was. The people in the office were so nice. One of the back-room paperwork ladies let me hang out in her office and gave me tissues.

I am still recovering from being a little bit of a mess. I don't like pain much myself - but dealing with my child's pain - even the PROSPECT of his pain - is a whole new world of awfulness that I did not handle very well. I feel a little stupid - like I over-reacted. It was just a tooth pull, for Pete's sake. But, at the same time...my mother instincts tell me I'm NOT over-reacting. He's a three year old. It was a little traumatic.

Oh my poor baby. He had obviously shed a few tears, and was quite confused about his numb lips...And now he has a gaping hole in his mouth...which is sort of cute, and also sort of gives me punch in the gut whenever I glimpse it. Weird combination. The adult tooth won't grow in for quite a while...

The dentist has given us the option of a temporary fake tooth thingy - mostly for aesthetic reasons, (but he also mentioned speech development as a factor to consider) but because Aiden still sucks his thumb at night, it probably won't happen - at least not right now. So he'll be sporting a premature jack o'lantern look for a while.

We went to Wal-Mart and I let him pick out some ice-cream. He picked strawberry.
( Really? Strawberry? Okay. Whatever.) He fell asleep on the way home.

So we've had quite the stressful morning. Quite the week too- what with ice-storms and potty-training. And I thought January would be boring.

The Great Gender Revelation

2010-12-06T20:14:00.003-05:00

So...today was the great Gender Revelation - VERY eagerly anticipated in our household.

I had heard of this great idea of how to tell your family about the gender of the baby: make a cake - blue if it's a boy, pink if a girl - and frost it white. When the cake is cut, all is made known in the twinkling of an eye.

So I bought two cakes today - a white one to mix with blue food coloring, if required, and a strawberry cake mix.

Brad had today off and so he got to accompany us to the ultrasound. HURRAY! When we went in to the doctor's office, the nurse welcomed us and said to Aiden, "So...! A boy or a girl... Which do you want?" Aiden said with a big smile, "I want a lollipop!" He has always gotten lollipops there before, so it was perfectly logical to expect one today. The nurse was quite amused...and Aiden got his desired lollipop.

At one point in the ultrasound before the gender had been revealed, I squinted at the screen and said, " Oh... are they ( I don't know why I used THAT pronoun because it was clearly ONE person there) sucking their thumb?" And she said, "No... that shows...that you're having a girl." Okay! Talk about getting the WRONG end of things! I guess I will not try to take up being an ultrasound technician anytime soon! I really don't know how I got THAT from THAT. But you know ultrasounds - to the layperson, it's kind of anybody's guess most of the time.

It didn't seem like a great big deal to Aiden - whenever we've asked him in the past, he has always said, "A gol." ( Translation: a girl.) So he was very matter of fact about the news - it wasn't news to him.

So we came home and I mixed up the strawberry cake, feeling very, very happy.

Now comes the fun part of deciding on a name. We had decided on a boy's name but in the girl department, we are far from decided.

This evening when some of our family assembled for the cutting of the cake, we were joined via the miracle of video Skype by Liane and her kids...who had assembled with great big signs, voting for the gender of their choice; the majority leaned towards the male persuasion. Sorry, nephews - girls are making a comeback in the family!

So - there's our big news! Thanks for sharing our joy!

Lessons my Son Taught Me (about how wrong I can be)

2010-08-17T22:29:00.006-04:00

Sometimes I think I have amnesia. Like the time I awoke about one o'clock in the morning and heard sounds of crashing and running coming from downstairs. Brad was beside me, asleep. I instantly concluded it was ROBBERS. Of course! And then the robber started running upstairs...and in my half-wakeful, fully terrified, totally illogical state, I suddenly knew it was a dog. Yes, a dog had somehow broken in to our house. This was not my finest hour in the reasoning department. And then, I heard the dog open Aiden's door. So I went back to thinking it was a robber. Only it was about to become a kidnapper! All this happened in the space of about three seconds, it seemed, and I was shaking Brad's arm, trying to wake him up. He knew instantly that it was just Aiden. Why couldn't I have thought of that? Seriously, the thought had hardly even entered my head. Oh yeah. I have a child. Children do these things. The only thing is, when heard in the dead of night, the pitter-patter of little feet tend to transmogrify into the clump-clump of burglars.

Aiden came in all distressed and disoriented and I was still sort of in terrified/angry at the kidnapper/fight or flight mode...which weirdly and instantly turned into comforting, motherly mode as soon as I heard his voice. A wrenching and disconcerting transition for one o'clock a.m.

It turns out that Aiden had woken up, was thirsty, didn't have his drink beside his bed ( my fault), and so got up, opened his door, closed his door ( both of which should have woken me up), and went downstairs to forage. It's not quite been two months since he graduated from a crib to a big boy bed, and even though he has gotten up out of bed several times, this was the first time he had done it after I was asleep. That is all to say, in my defense, I'm still getting used to another person around the house who is potentially nocturnally mobile.

And then there was the time I found a small piece of plum sitting on a kitchen chair. I looked in the fruit bowl and lo and behold, there was a plum with a small bite missing. For some reason, my brain instantly condemned Brad. I formed this mental picture of him taking a bite and deciding it wasn't ripe enough and spitting it out. I don't know why I had this rush to judgment - it's not like he does this kind of thing often! And as I held the plum in my hand, I shook my head and said in a quiet, slightly exasperated tone, "Brad...!" Aiden looked up at me and said quite penitently, "I bite it, Mama." It reduced me to hysterical laughter on the spot. I just love that he owned up to it immediately, when he could have gotten away with it. When I told Brad, he thanked Aiden for not throwing him under the bus. ( Hmmm- a violent idiom for a two year old to puzzle over.)

I just felt like clonking myself over the head - DUH, CLAIRE! You have a two year old boy! Those are the kind of creatures who climb up on kitchen chairs and take big bites out of plums and spit them out. That's practically in their job description!

It's just funny how our brains are constantly trying to solve mini-mysteries, struggling to instantly make sense out of what we see, or hear ( as in the case of the midnight marauder who turned out to be my son), and in my case anyway, the conclusions are not always correct.

And on a totally unrelated note - we were reading a Dora the Explorer book tonight before bedtime. ( For the lucky few who are uninitiated in the ways of this fictional wunderkind, I will explain. Dora is a bilingual cartoon child who leads a shrill crusade to teach the Spanish language to young Anglo urchins everywhere.)(No un-politically correct comments from the peanut gallery, please. Yes, I agree, we shouldn't have to press 1 to hear something in English... but on the other hand, it really doesn't send our beloved country to the dogs to learn a little Spanish. Trust me. ) I was reading a Dora story to Aiden about how Dora says goodnight to a host of animals, bilingually, of course. "Goodnight snakes! Buenos Noches, culebras!"( What normal little girl says Goodnight to snakes? Well, at least now I will never forget the Spanish word for snakes. Oh goodie - another useless brain wrinkle.) Anyway- with each "goodnight" I would prompt Aiden to say, "Buenos noches!" And his utterance of the phrase was so cute, that I knew if I could bottle that cuteness and sell it, I would be an instant millionaire. As I wrote on my Facebook status: " I think the sound of Aiden saying "Buenos Noches" as I turn out the light is sweet enough to melt the stony heart of the cruelest despot."

Seven years with Brad

2010-07-25T13:49:00.005-04:00

Tomorrow ( July 26) we celebrate our seventh anniversary. Seven sounds like a big number to me, for some reason. I was looking at our wedding pictures this morning and shaking my head at the different world we were in back then...Serious and silly differences: in 2003 there were a few less pounds on both our frames, more hair on his head, fewer nieces and nephews, and a brother... to name but a few of the most glaring items. But, together we have weathered the changes that have come, have grown and changed together, and I am so grateful to have Brad with me. He is truly my best friend and understands me in a way that no one else does. And I don't think it's just because he's learned my quirks over seven years of tribulation; sometimes I believe he was born with an innate ability to "get me." I'm so lucky and thankful for that - it has saved so much wasted time. I have been spoiled.

It's not just that he understands me - although that is a huge virtue. He's a thoroughly good man - good in a way that I believe is rare. Funny, hardworking, considerate, having a decided opinion yet diplomatic, people skills coming out his ears, responsible with money, an encourager, unpretentious, honoring to my parents as well as his, gives grace and space to others to be different and yet still accepts them, a wonderful father who loves and has fun with his son and also is attentive to his child's behavior and consistently follows through with discipline and training, appreciates beauty, is not loud, annoying or smarmy, is faithful to the things he believes, has good boundaries with others, doesn't run with scissors...the list goes on and on. Yeah, I got a good one.

And it's funny because I used to think choleric people were borderline evil... and then I married one. I actually didn't even know he was choleric until I had already fallen in love with him. So the joke's on me, I guess.

Something New in the Way of Breakfast Food

2010-06-20T08:20:00.003-04:00

I know that Solomon said that there was "no new thing under the sun." Not to refute willy-nilly the wisest man who ever lived, but I beg to differ - and I have proof. I think that there is something new under the sun sitting on my kitchen table - a breakfast concoction that I am sure has never before existed.

I made Aiden's oatmeal and added a few typical toppings - yogurt, raisins, some sliced banana, some fresh peach slices... and then proceeded to prepare some green beans for the Father's Day family lunch we are going to attend later. Aiden spied the beans, and asked for one. So I picked a steaming green bean out of the mix, and laid it on the edge of his cereal bowl. He asked for it! He's a notoriously slow eater, so moments later, to speed his snail-like consumption, I added the piece de resistance to his oatmeal - a scattering of mini-marshmallows. Those disappeared pretty fast...but the bulk of the oatmeal remains.

I refuse to believe that there has ever before been a dish that contained oatmeal, green beans, and mini-marshmallows.

Treasure

2010-06-09T18:46:00.002-04:00

Now Aiden has started saying, "You're my special treasure" to me, which makes more sense (than just "You're special") because I actually say that to him. There is something about the word "treasure" coming out of his mouth that makes me want to scream for the cuteness of it.

Out of the mouths of babes... my babe in particular

2010-06-05T22:22:00.004-04:00

As a lover of words, it fascinates me to watch Aiden's vocabulary and language skills develop. He has been speaking fairly complete sentences for a few months now, but just in the last week, he has had a few firsts in his repertoire of speech. For instance, he came out with, "I miss Grampa" clear as a bell, the other day. Not "Where Grampa?" as he usually does; I had never heard him say, " I miss" before.

And he's picked up on the word "sweetie," which is not that surprising, as it is bandied about our house quite a lot. But to hear oneself referred to as "sweetie-Mama" or "sweetie-Daddy" is quite charming. As we were leaving a store the other day, he called out to the cashier, "Bye, sweetie!"

And the word "why" has suddenly appeared. Oh boy. I find myself going down all sorts of crazy rabbit trails in response to this word, trying to answer his "why" questions as much as I can. Veteran parents will probably chuckle in mild scorn at this statement. I know sooner or later, probably sooner, my ability and desire to answer the why questions will be exhausted. ( KJ, he was asking "why" in regards to rain the other day, and I thought to myself, "The water cycle! Condensation! Evaporation! Precipitation!" Perhaps not in that exact order, and perhaps I have left something out, but... I didn't go there.I think I took the cop out route, which was something about how plants need a drink...which didn't totally satisfy him.) I have a feeling that this word is here to stay for a while. It simultaneously brings me thrill and dread because the word "why" is a vehicle of mysterious origin that carries you through gates of curiosity, into all kinds of realms of knowledge of good and evil. And he's just boarded that vehicle.

But the most memorable one to me this week was, "I love you, Mama!" He has said the words, "love you" before, but always in response to when I said, "I love you" to him. And a lot of times, he used to just make a kissing noise after I told him I loved him, and I understood that was his way of saying it. This time, he said it out of the blue, joyfully, when I had not said anything to him. A moment and feeling I will never forget. And he has been following it up with, "You're special, Mama!" I just about DIE every time. I don't really know where he got that, because I don't really use that exact phrase, so he can't be copy-catting me. I'd always heard that it is a powerful moment in a parent's life, when they first hear their child say, "I love you." And all I can say is Yes, it certainly is.

It is good that his cuteness to me is on the increase, because these days, as he leaves babyhood farther behind and moves upward into the pre-schooler phase, his tendencies to whine, manipulate, throw tantrums and generally make mischief are steadily on the rise as well. I guess it is to be expected - he is two and a half, after all. ( Expected, but not accepted, of course. I will not bow to this stage. I am definitely opposed to brats.) Only this evening, he came to me, and calmly deposited a dirty diaper from the pail into my disbelieving hand. Thankfully, he had not opened it up or littered his room with the rest of the contents of said pail. I know more than one story of fecal malfeasance by children. (Knock on wood - he could still do it, I know.)( And I know that as of right now, this is more of an "exploring the world" thing, not a naughtiness thing. The diaper pail is right there in his room, after all. Hmmmm.) I still think he's not quite ready to tackle potty-training full force ( we have had a few fruitless sessions on the potty), but I think it's a sign that once the child goes dumpster diving in the diaper pail, that the plot is thickening in the potty chapter. But I digress...I WAS talking about vocabulary. How did this become a treatise on toilet training?

All this to say, as the stakes increase and the game becomes more complicated, it's nice to have certain compensations, like hearing, "I love you, Mama! You're special, Mama!"

The Beginning of Summer

2010-05-30T17:15:00.004-04:00

I saw a promotion by Ransomed Heart Ministry ( John Eldredge's ministry)where if you promised to read and blog about his new book about marriage, entitled "Love and War", that they would send you a free copy of the book. I was all "sign me up!" but when I signed up, they then informed me that the promotion was over. Wah. I'm a day late and a free book short. But I had to leave my blog address and check a box letting them know if I wanted any other promotional info in the future ( YES, PLEASE), and it made me think..."Hmmm... are they going to come over here and check out my blog to see if I am worthy of investment?" And that made me think I should be more faithful in updating, no matter how mundane the posts.

So - here's the latest from our world.

As most of you probably know from Facebook, we were on vacation last week in Savannah. I was a little nervous b/c the weather forecast showed thunderstorms for EVERY single day we were there, and there were a few scattered showers, but my fears of a hotel-bound vacation did not come true. We were able to do everything we had wanted. Huzzah! We went to Tybee Island and enjoyed the beach a couple times, went on a dolphin cruise, and explored the city on foot. We did a LOT of walking and LOVED it. Last time we were here, it was December of 08, and we didn't have a real chance to explore and take pictures to our hearts content, which we did this time. Wandering the quiet streets and squares, especially in the evening, enjoying the giant oak trees hung with Spanish moss and the beautiful architecture of the city, I could feel that my beauty hunger was being fed...and at the same time, making me more hungry. That's the thing about steeping yourself in beautiful surroundings - it makes you want more. It's like scratching a bad case of poison ivy on your arms - it feels so good, and yet, the more you scratch, the more you need to scratch. As I read in the book I got for my birthday ( Captivating - by John and Stasi Eldredge), "Every experience of beauty points to eternity." - Hans Urs von Balthasar

My parents have moved back north. I miss them. Aiden keeps asking where Grampa and Grandma M. are and saying he wants to hug them. We plan on going up this fall for a visit, and I know the time will fly between now and then, but still, September seems like a long time away right now.

That's it for now.

Reflections on my 32nd

2010-05-20T22:26:00.004-04:00

My birthday was last week. I turned 32. It sounds middle-aged and boring. Hmmph. I can't wait til next year - 33 is a much better number. But I digress; it was a great day, nonetheless. I was going to blog about it and then I got really busy and lost inspiration, blah, blah, blah. But a few little things happened that I want to remember for the ages, and plus, I also heard that Aunt Gladys recently fell and sprained her ankle, so I thought I would seize the day and write this out, partly for posterity, and partly for Aunt G, so she'll have something to read when she checks my blog.

On my birthday's morning walk, Aiden and I saw a turtle on the sidewalk, and I LOVE turtles. We stopped and conversed with it for a while. When we got home, I saw a long, black snake slithering off into the bushes in front of my house. I surprised myself and actually chased it - or tried to - just to see where it went, not from an overflowing love of all God's creatures ( sorry, the other Claire Pass - who DOES have an overflowing love of all God's creatures) but just from morbid curiosity. But it eluded me.

Then I got a call from a total stranger, wishing me a happy birthday. Well, really it was one of Brad's co-workers and I found it quite charming. There is some sort of tale, no doubt, behind this, but the details are fuzzy in my brain at this point.

One of the highlights of the day was a birthday lunch in the park where many friends gathered and shared superior vittles and gave me gifts and made me feel special. There was a playground right next to the picnic tables so all the kids could play, and I have to confess that for a few minutes, my attention was distracted from Aiden and I lost track of him. I suddenly couldn't find him anywhere. Dread in my stomach. And then, I remembered him ranting on about wanting to see the train, which was in another part of the park... and so I zoomed over there, and yelled his name, and sure enough, he was all alone, on the train. Oh my heart. Shudder, wilt, dissolve. Thankyou, God, and guardian angels, for keeping him safe.

Round about here, I got a text from Nicole who was with Philip. To understand this part, I must backtrack into last year or thereabouts. I had made a birthday page for Philip's Dynavox, with options of phrases like, "Did you get any cool gifts?" "How old are you now?" and "You're over the hill!" and then there's a button that is a recording of me singing Happy Birthday. ( At one point, there was a version of me singing it in my silly voice, but then that got really annoying when you heard it played seventeen times in a row. Well, really, it was annoying the second or third time. Also, fun fact to know and tell: Philip laughed so hard while I was recording it, that I had to go into another room to record. ) Anyway...somehow, Philip had realized in recent days that my birthday was coming up. So Nicole texted me that Philip was using the Happy Birthday song button and then clicking on my name. I thought that was so sweet.

(He also has been delighting in telling me that I'm "over the hill." Ha! My own creation comes back to bite me! )

Then I went to work and Philip serenaded me with my own voice, several times. I thought it was slightly amusing that I was singing Happy Birthday to myself from some point in time in the distant past.

And then after a trip to Lowe's with Philip, I went home and Brad took me out to dinner - while Aiden had a visit with Conner - thanks, Kristi!- at a marvelous Italian restaurant. Oh, their stuffed mushrooms are magnificent. Pretty much everything there is magnificent - all fresh, all made right there. The only slight shadow cast upon it was the super-annoying conversation from a couple of other diners whose inane, egotistical, abominational babble we could not help but overhear...( really, if you had been there, you would no doubt have wanted to wring their collective necks too, because they just epitomized what is sending this country, nay humanity in general, to heck in a handbasket!) but Brad did his level best to drown them out by telling me interesting work related stories. I shouldn't have ranted about those buffoonish diners, because I don't really want to remember them for the ages, and I really felt a little bad that I didn't feel more compassionate towards them - but I DO want to remember the fact that Brad was in total silent agreement with me about the situation the entire time (we did not utter one word about it until we were out of there but it was like there was an unspoken exchange between us of, "Oh my word." "Yeah, I know! What is with them?" "Make it stop, please!" "Can I go give them a spanking?" Okay. I just made that last one up and I don't really know who was who in that imagined conversation) and he was so nice to keep up a steady stream of talking to distract me...which is slightly unusual, because the other times we've gone to that restaurant, we are generally hushed into a blissful, reverent near-coma by the ecstasy of the fabulous food. So I recognized and appreciated his sacrifice.

We did our best to convince Aiden that it was MAMA'S birthday, NOT Uncle Brown's
( it seems that Nate's birthday made the initial birthday impression in his brain. Nate is now inextricably entwined with Aiden's own version of the Happy Birthday Song, which is not unlike some sort of martial Soviet anthem in its unique tune). I think we were partially successful in this because at one point, he did utter the words" Happy Birthday, Mama" in consecutive order, but I think it is going to take a long time to fully eradicate Uncle Brown from Aiden's association with birthdays. And just as he has disassociated the two, it will be March 1st ... and time to sing to Nate again ... which will throw Aiden into hopeless confusion once more. And Diabolous will rejoice. ( Sorry - I just got carried away by the spirit of Ethel Barrett there.) (And if you don't know who she is, just google her. You're at a computer right now anyway. What's stopping you? Yes, go down this rabbit trail. She's interesting.)( I love parentheses.) ( And ellipses....)

So anyway- for an un-interesting age, it was kind of an interesting day.

By the way - our vacation is fast approaching. Can't wait. May has truly lived up to its eye popping reputation for craziness again. I was right in my prediction. And what busy-ness I didn't have, I received by Facebook osmosis from others. So, I'm in need of a good vacation. Even if it rains the entire time ( which it is forecasted to do), we will have a GREAT time. ( Please pray that we will have good weather!)

MY TRASH DAY HAS CHANGED!

2010-04-21T22:51:00.004-04:00

A couple weeks ago, we got a card in the mail, saying that our trash pickup day was going to be changed from Monday to Wednesday. Why- I have no idea. The ways of the trash company cannot be fathomed. Anyway, I said, okay. No biggie. Then I got another notice in the mail from them, a few days later. Thanks, yep, I heard you the first time.

THEN, I got an automated PHONE CALL from them. OKAY. I GOT IT.

So I put out my trash last Wednesday. Good grief, people. What is the big deal?

And then, a couple days ago, I got yet another automated phone call. Hello!? The change has already occurred, people. I passed the test. You can stop treating me like an imbecile.

So guess who forgot to put out the trash this morning? And guess who heard the trash truck coming and was smitten with the awful realization that the trash was not out at the curb? And guess who punched the garage door opener, dashed outside, hauled the trashcan up the driveway, at the same time yelling pleadingly at the driver who was zipping past the driveway...and got him to back up and take the trash... all within the space of about fifteen seconds. Ha. Yes. That would be me. I love to provide entertainment for the neighborhood. Oh man. I wonder if the trash man has some sort of list in the truck on which he checked off my name for further remedial calls and cards in the mail.

After all that resentment over being treated like a four year old with the endless reminders...and I go and forget.

Oh the great, momentous dramas of my life.

Silly anecdotes - with a warning label

2010-04-17T13:40:00.004-04:00

Something I've been thinking about recently: I really do not want to be one of those parents who thinks that the universe revolves around their child, and talks to people ad nauseum about the most mundane minutia of their child's life, and expects EVERYONE to adore - or even just be mildly interested in- their offspring. I think this is a phenomena especially true with many first time parents. ( By the time the third child rolls around, it seems like most parents have mellowed out a good deal in their perspective.) I am fine with the fact that no one will ever love Aiden like Brad and I do. Okay- I know immediate family members love and may be sincerely interested in his progress, but beyond that, to the rest of the world, he's just another little kid. And that is as it should be. No one can be special to everyone. I think that's partly why the cult of celebrity is so unhealthy - it's based on unnatural specialness.

But I meander away from my point. Which is...No, I do not want to be one of those sickening people who goad you with silly anecdotes and heart-warming images into commenting on the preciousness of their tot...BUT...for those few who really WANT to hear stories about Aiden, you may continue reading. The vast majority of you are excused. This is TOTALLY optional. I am not foisting ANYTHING upon you. Void where prohibited. And really, the writing of this is largely for my own benefit, so I can remember certain scenes after time has discarded these small memories from my brain. Because it's not just a chronicle of Aiden - it's also a way for me to contemplate my own progress into motherhood. So...all that being said, here come the silly anecdotes.

We've had some gorgeous weather here in the last couple weeks. Well, gorgeous for those like me who do not suffer from pollen related allergies. Aiden and I have taken to going for walks almost every day, especially in the evenings because I think it helps him release a lot of energy and get ready for bed. So we toddle down the sidewalk to the park and back - which is probably about a half mile round trip. And we seem to have a lot of adventures along the way. Like meeting dogs the size of dust bunnies that tickle my ankles and jump up to Aiden's shoulders and scare him. It is funny that anyone could be afraid of such a tiny, harmless creature, but I guess it seems like a pretty good sized dog to him. We also met a girl who had three vibrant colored ducklings - one orange, one blue, and one green. I guess she got them for Easter; Aiden was quite charmed. Aiden greets any and all passersby, especially children, quite literally following in the footsteps of Buppa Charlie.

And then, there's the icecream truck. We've got two vans that regularly troll the neighborhood almost every day in search of children who are training in the sport of instant gratification, developing the habit of impulse buying, heedless of the economic folly in which they are engaging. These unscrupulous swindlers offer overpriced icecream products, and blare piercing, tinny Christmas tunes - and other non-Christmas music - and in spite of all these things which should prejudice me against this institution of summertime, I still thrill to the thought of buying from the icecream man. There's just something undeniably wonderful about the combination of the great outdoors, capitalism, and icecream. It overcomes all natural reason. I think it may be a holdover reaction from my childhood, where there was no icecream man because we lived in a place that just wasn't the kind of residential area that lends itself to such businesses...and so a mobile icecream service still seems like a fascinatingly novel concept to me. However, I have not indulged quite yet this season. It's April, for Pete's sake. The icecream man will be haunting our subdivision for a good five or six more months. If I give in now, Aiden will expect it every time. And so, Pandora's box remains closed for the time being.

I encountered another Pandora's box recently - at the outlet mall. Aiden and I went down to Tanger to get some summer sandals for him, and outside the shoe store there was one of those little kid rides where you put in the quarters and they jostle around, causing untold glee. It was a little fire truck, and Aiden was having a great time in it, even without the quarters. Oh foolish me - I wanted to up the ante and make it even MORE fabulous, because that's one of the great joys of parenthood- giving fun. So I stuck in the quarters...and there was great excitement...for about two minutes. I knew he probably would put up some show of resistance when it was time to go, but after the scene of wailing and martyrdom that followed, I thought it would be wise to post some sort of warning label above those little rides. Kind of like cigarette packs, except without the cancer and death part. "Use of this machine may cause short-term happiness, followed by excessive whining, general crankiness, and ruination of your shopping trip. Any thanks you may have expected for the outlay of your hard earned cash will most likely be forgotten in the flood of pleas for more money to buy more time on this machine. In short, this machine may cause you to claw your own eyeballs out."

( I have to say, he didn't really ruin the rest of the shopping trip. But he came close when he upset a small display of mini-skillets in the Harry and David store... but he made up for it by helping me choose a new pair of sunglasses later on. He dubbed them "Cute" so I bought them.)

So now you see why I'm wary of anything that has a Pandora-esque feel about it. Or maybe Pandora isn't the allusion that I want. Maybe anything that smells Trojan horsey...Anyway, I think my theoretical knowledge about parenting is giving way to experiential knowledge - and hence, I grow wiser. Hopefully.

P.S. And if you think that in the whole thing about first time parents adoring their children that I am writing about YOU, you are pretty much wrong. Oh yes, I'm fairly sure you are wrong. Do not sit on the fence of wondering whether you should be offended or not - you shouldn't be.

And P.P.S. I think I have been guilty of this very "everyone should adore my child" syndrome for a little while because I caught myself thinking, "Wow - He really IS wonderful and beautiful and special!" and then I realized that every parent thinks this about their children at one point or another. So I guess I'm sort of normal. And if you have thought this about your child, you are normal too...but only if you realize that your child's exceptionalism is probably all in your head.

The Manic, Manic Month of May

2010-04-05T22:19:00.005-04:00

I had this great idea for Thanksgiving in April. I was going to hold a big ol' dinner with all the trimmings and invite people from the highways and byways - figuratively speaking of course, really just family... There would be lamb or something sufficiently springy for the main course, instead of the autumnal turkey. And fancy green beans, and buttery crescent rolls and all manner of festive side dishes... And of course, pies. That was really my whole motivation - the pies. ( Not really, but almost.) But my great idea keeps running into snags. Sigh. Mostly just getting everyone together on the same day. 'Twas doomed from the start. Maybe I'll just end up eating a pie by myself at midnight one of these days. Or hold the grand fete for my guests on a Wednesday night. Which would be depressing and rushed. Just what every hostess wants.

You see, there is one thing that I don't like about spring - and that is this: once the pollen starts to fling itself far and wide, people suddenly get this strange urge to DO things. As if they have been in hibernation all winter. Suddenly the pace of life quickens and everyone just gets exponentially busier and starts rushing around like bees on drugs. Including me. It makes me ill. For instance, I've been trying to plan out the month of May and already it's stressing me out because May is a MONSTER month. I used to always LOVE May - it's my birth month. You have to love your birth month. And really, come on, it's Maaay; things are blooming and cooing their heads off. What more beautiful month could there be? ( I can hear Liane in my mind's ear, from the days of our youth, arguing that June, her birth month, is superior to May and quoting the poem, "What is so rare as a day in June?" Okay, if James Russell Lowell says it...then, it must be true. You win.)

But now I see May as a perfect storm of social gatherings, a dark time for one such as myself who has become less of a social butterfly over the years, and more of a..um...Benjamin Button butterfly who has crawled back into the cocoon and is metamorphasizing backwards into an ugly, lowly, stumpy caterpillar. ( I have not deigned to see that movie, ( Benjamin Button, not The Hungry Caterpillar) but I do know that the premise is that Brad Pitt's character ages backwards. And while I'm spoiling movies, soylent green is people, the Titanic sinks, and Old Yeller DIES.)

Every weekend in May, and on many days in between the weekends, there is some THING looming on the calendar...weddings, graduations, concerts, parties, birthdays, holidays, christenings, showers, funerals, pet adoption anniversary ceremonies...it just doesn't END! I think all of humanity should be put in strait-jackets ALL MONTH long and be told to SIMMER DOWN.

I think I'm going to block the whole month off my calendar. I'm going to put a giant post-it on the whole page of May, and write, "SAVE THE DATE - all these dates in this month - for my SANITY." Forget March madness - in my book, MAY is the maddest month. And really, Liane, what is so rare as a day in MAY?! That's what the poem SHOULD say! I know - it would throw the whole rhyming scheme off the rest of Mr. Lowell's poem, but really - the fifth month is all a frantic blur, you have to admit. And then you arrive, exhausted, at Memorial Day - a panting, ragged shell of yourself, barely able to take nourishment in the form of hamburgers and hotdogs at the holiday cookout... and you have to go on vacation to recover. That's why I think we're going to take our vacation in May this year - just to escape the madness. Too bad we can't take off the whole month. I think that's what we should do next year, Brad. Save up all your days off, take the month of May and fly to New Zealand or the Seychelles Islands.

Throwing Away Dead People's Gifts and Stuff

2010-04-03T13:50:00.009-04:00

I have a small pot/kettle/saucepan ( I really don't know what the correct name is) that has some problems. Among other things, the handle is really wobbly; it's a risky thing to carry it from sink to stove when it contains any amount of water. I wonder when I should end its life. But I don't really want to end its life. It was a wedding gift from Mrs. Eileen Sandford and I feel like throwing it away would somehow be losing a link to an amazing lady who I admired and loved. And at the same time, that pot/kettle/saucepan always makes me feel a little guilty, because she fell and hurt herself as she was getting ready for our wedding, ( I wonder if I am remembering correctly that it was as she was getting something to wrap this very gift) and passed away several days later. We didn't hear about it until the day we got home from our honeymoon, which was the day of her funeral. ( This was in the long ago dark ages before Facebook.)

I have always regretted missing her funeral and, truth be told, I've always felt partially responsible for her death, in a strange way. Which is really awful because that lady was a saint. I appreciated her genuineness. She was a woman without fear, without guile, and with plenty of feist. Okay, so maybe feist isn't a word - but why not - when feisty IS a word.

So, when we arrived home from our honeymoon and found that this pot/kettle/saucepan had somehow made its way onto our kitchen table, unwrapped, because she never got a chance to wrap it, with a note inside, from her, it was a startling discovery. An eerie, but useful, gift. For a long time, it was my only small pot/kettle/saucepan and I depended on it heavily. So, even though its working days are nearly over, I am hesitant to get rid of this thing. Who knew that such a small pot/kettle/saucepan could hold such memories?

And it's the same with my bathrobe that Andrew gave me for Christmas one year...This bathrobe is distinctly ratty now, but I don't think I could ever throw it away.

I am going through Grampa's things these days, throwing things away ( don't worry- nothing valuable - I don't think anyone really cares about long johns that are forty years old), sorting through other things, making a yardsale pile, and a keep- for-posterity pile. But mostly it's throwing things out. To tell the truth, there are certain items that I have fantasized about throwing away in recent years. But when it came down to throwing away some of his old shirts the other day, it was an odd, bittersweet moment. It just sort of felt a little wrong.

I know that things are just things - they're not the same as people. But I have a strong sentimental streak in me, and I do get very attached to things, especially when the person the thing is associated with is no longer alive.

So - to throw, or not to throw - that is the dilemma.

Thunder

2010-03-31T08:41:00.008-04:00

There was a bit of a thunder storm here on Sunday night and Aiden, who had never before seemed to notice thunder, was seriously freaked out by it. This occurred at bedtime, turning a usually simple event, and for me a joyous/anticipated/peaceful time of day, into a maelstrom of terror and tears. We did the best we could, trying to explain that the thunder was up in the sky, far away, it wasn't going to hurt him...pulling out all the tricks we could think of, including bringing in the "Special Bear" - the teddy bear made out of Buppa Charlie's fuzzy fleece- and eventually, he made it to the land of slumber.

But he has not forgotten the thunder. His pronunciation of it is "summer." It's now the first thing he talks about every morning...how loud it was, how scary it was, how it was up in the sky, how he cried...

And last night, even though there was not a hint of thunder in the atmosphere, he screamed in terror after I said Goodnight and left the room. He never cries at bedtime. I have been very spoiled, I know. After a few minutes of seeing if he would just cry himself to sleep, I went back in to talk to him. It turns out, he was of course, remembering the thunder...but this is what he said, "Scare...God." ( His use of the word scare can be interpreted "scared" "scary" or "scare." ) I don't remember equating God with the thunder in any of our earlier conversations. I didn't say that the thunder was God bowling, or God's voice, or anything. But he has been asking where Grampa ( Buppa Charlie) is a lot lately, and I always tell him that he went to see Jesus in heaven. Then he asks, "Where heaven?" and I have a hard time knowing how to answer that. How do you explain heaven to a two year old? Somehow, despite my trying to avoid the directional word, he has gotten the conventional idea that it is "UP." So perhaps he thought "Heaven/God = up. Thunder = up. God = thunder." Anyway- my impression when he said "Scare...God" was that he was scared of a mean, thundering God. Crucial moment! Impressionable, young mind alert!

Brad and I quickly did our best to explain what God is like in terms a two year old could grasp. God is like Joey... ( I felt on shaky ground comparing God to a five year old neighbor boy who wears camo and attaches a shoe box with string to the back of his bike to give his stuffed animals rides around the culdesac)because God is our friend. God is like Daddy because he's strong and protects us. God is like Grampa and Grandma because He is wise. And God is like Mama because He loves you. It seemed to help a little bit.

Transitioning to bed again was still a little struggle, but the worst was over. I loved this experience...the first time we really got a chance to communicate in words the tenderness and immensity of God's love to our son. It's easy to think, "Oh, he's two. What he thinks of God now doesn't really have a bearing on his life." And in some ways, that's true, but in another way, it is important. He is discovering the world right now and I want him to know, as early as he can, that there is a Love behind it all.

All that being said, I am trying not to dread the upcoming season of thunderstorms... I'm hoping against hope that our peaceful bedtime ritual will continue despite what the weather may bring.

Death and Taxes...for one more year.

2010-02-24T23:44:00.003-05:00

Tonight, we briefly watched a montage of some Olympic feats of wonderment, and then some commercials came on...and there was H & R Block, touting their tax expertise. I turned to Brad and said in a nostalgic tone of voice, "Awwww, this is the last year you'll be doing Grampa's taxes..." And he looked at me and said, "Nope. He lived three days into this year."

I don't know why that made me want to laugh hySTERically.

Alternate titles for this post: "Seize the cuteness" or "Higgledy Piggeldy News of the Day"

2010-02-11T10:40:00.003-05:00

I thought I would record something that just happened for posterity: We had invited some visiting Bibleschool students here last night for dinner and I had left the placemats on the dining room table overnight. Aiden swiped one off the table just now, brought it in the kitchen, dropped it on the floor, laid down on top of it and said, "Blankie. Night night." He looked like some sort of cute little Muslim with a prayer rug.

Speaking of Aiden, his latest thing is to name body parts...Mostly facial ones. I have to be very careful when dressing him, hugging him, or really any time I am within poking distance because I may find a small finger jabbing into my eyeball as he says, "Eyebrow!" ( He sometimes misses the exact location of certain anatomical parts.)

We have a guest staying with us these days - Dave Hansen. He's become Aiden's new hero, partly because he's a great guy, and partly because he has a great dog - Buffy. I thought Aiden was going to fly to the moon with joy when Buffy came along with Dave in our car last night to go to midweek meeting at church. Me - I was just ready to fly to the moon with joy because Buffy didn't throw up in the car. ( For a minute, it looked/sounded like she might.) I'm not a big dog person but Buffy is a model of good behavior. Very quiet and non-stinky. If all dogs were like her, maybe I would be a dog person.

The neighbor kids have been charmed with Dave too. He was doing some yard work around our house and apparently fell prey to Joey's visitations. Basically, if you are at our house, and outdoors, you are fair game. Be warned - Joey, approximately five years old- will descend and he has been known to talk hind legs off mules. Grampa LOVED him. Joey asked me later when I came home if Dave was my grandfather. Hmmm. In a word, "NO." For one thing, he's 23. I think. Anyway - too young to be anyone's Grampa! Maybe Joey thinks that to stay with us for any length of time - from one night up to three years - you have to be a Grampa and perhaps we were hosting interviews/auditions for a new Grampa position. That child is something else. He also said - Joey, that is, about Dave - "Thank the Lord! He found my ball that I'd lost for years! I LOVE that guy!" For some reason, all the lost balls in the neighborhood end up in our backyard down by the creek.

It's fun having Dave here. In some ways, he reminds me of Andrew a little. And that's always nice. He doesn't remind me of Grampa at all...except that he eats cold cereal.

Enough rambling for one day.

Remembering Grampa

2010-02-05T14:06:00.006-05:00

Most of you probably saw the picture and description of the Memory Bear that I posted on Facebook. If you did, skip the next paragraph ...

Volunteers from the hospice where Grampa spent his last days made what they call a "Memory Bear" for us. We gave them a couple of pieces of clothing that belonged to Grampa and they made teddy bears out of them. They made two - one for Aiden and one for Matthew, Rosanna's son. The one we got is made from Grampa's old orange fleece jacket. I love it. It's so Grampa.

The day we got it, Aiden was out in the driveway playing with some of the neighbor kids. I brought out the bear to show the kids and they thought it was wonderful. They all wanted to hold it and hug it. I thought it was a really neat way for them to remember Grampa.

And then they went about their games and I had a fabulous time watching them. There were four or five hanging around and they had this pogo stick and were timing each other to see who could stay up bouncing the longest. Then they got two pogo sticks and took turns going head to head with each other. The rest of us sat around on Grampa's swing, pretending to be Pogo-stick Olympic Judges ( or in Aiden's case, wandering around the cul-de-sac with a soccer ball). It was weird; I felt like I was one of them.

And then I thought, "Grampa should be here." And I really missed him in a way that I hadn't experienced before. This was a situation when, if he was in the house, I would have run down to tell him to come outside... because he loved this kind of thing. Just hanging out with the kids. He lived for it. If there was a cold or rainy spell, or the kids had too much homework to play outside and several days would pass without him seeing them, he'd start to get agitated and upset. If it was a nice day out, he was always hopeful that "this will bring them outside!" And as I sat there, feeling like a kid myself, I realized in a new way that was part of why Grampa enjoyed children so much - because they made him feel young. I guess I always sort of knew that, but living it myself made me know it in a new way. It made me think of how Grampa used to talk about why kids are so great. I'm putting what he would say into my own words: Kids are just real. You don't have to pretend to be anything other than who you really are with them. They talk about totally random, irrelevant things, they have no big responsibilities, they are uncomplicated, there are no hidden agendas or schemes to manipulate you ( at least, not with THESE kids...I know that's not true with all kids). It made me smile as I thought of what Grampa taught me by example; like Jesus, he knew that kids are important... and worthy of attention and investment.

Duh!

2010-02-03T10:51:00.003-05:00

Yesterday, I sat down to work with Philip and it quickly became apparent that something was wrong.

To understand the story, let me take you on a quick detour into a technological explanation. ( Ha! Me! Explaining technology!) Usually, the Dynavox scans a number of options on a page, and as they scan on the screen, there's a little speaker behind Philip's head that speaks whatever's on the screen. When he hears what he wants, he hits the button by his head to select the word/phrase or open a new page. Anyway- that is just a brief and very incomplete description of an auditory scanning device.

So, the little speaker behind his head that usually gives him cues was not working. So I went into the setup menu and tried to figure out what was wrong. The usual suspects did not pan out, so I decided to call Tech Support. This made Philip's day - he LOVES calling Tech Support. He goes into raptures of bliss if I even mention it.

As I talked to the Tech Support guy, I suddenly noticed that the little tiny cord that runs from the speaker, under the wheelchair, and comes up the side to plug into the Dynavox... was... unplugged...hanging out in space like limp spaghetti. Duh, Claire! I was so embarrassed that such a simple thing had escaped my notice. I faced a choice, and I chose the cowardly path. After the next thing that the guy told me to do, I plugged the speaker back in and said, "It works now!" I instantly regretted it because I realized the thing he told me to do should not have fixed the problem - it was more a peripheral issue. He was a little mystified that it had been fixed in that way. I just couldn't bring myself to admit to him that it was all due to an unplugged cord. I felt too idiotic. He seemed to verbally shrug his shoulders over the mysteries of computers and why they do what they do and I pretended to join him in the shrugging ( Ah, yes, what a temperamental droid. 'Tis beyond our ken, Mr. Tech Support Man) while inwardly stifling my chortles. I hung up as quickly as I could.

Immediately, I told Philip what I had done and we laughed. We howled. We almost screamed with laughter. And then, there was no changing the subject. We had to use this experience as "The Thing That We Write About Today." This is what Philip wrote: "We don't hear thin little speaker. That stinks. We call technical support man. Claire see Dynavox speaker unplugged. She was scared embarrassed." He did a great job, did he not? It took him the best part of an hour to write this, with my help. People, do not take the ease with which you can communicate for granted. If you can speak, you have it very, very good. This cannot be overstated.

And then we wrote a song about it. Well, not exactly about me being an idiot - but about Tech Support in general. I had brought my new guitar with me to show Philip so we brainstormed together and came up with a song in praise of Tech Support. He gave me a lot of the words - Dynavox, bugs, email, man, idea, internet, stranger, cell phone, cool, etc. so I could weave them into the lyrics. Here is the song we came up with. It's to the tune of "You are My Sunshine." And just so you know the "V" refers to the model/name of the Dynavox.

When there's a problem with my V
We try to fix it as best we can
Sometimes we research on the website
But we like to call the tech support man

When there's a bug in the email
And no one here can figure out why
We pick up Philip's little cell phone
To call Dynavox - we hope it's a guy*

When we listen to this stranger
They give ideas that are cool
They check out problems and help us clean up
So Claire won't throw the V in the pool

* Philip was adamant that I mention that we prefer talking to the MAN at Tech Support. Apparently the men there are better than the women. Okay!

Anyway, it was a fun day and quite refreshing. Recently I feel like I've been stuck in a rut, running out of ideas of different things to motivate and try with Philip... This definitely got us OUT of the rut.

For You, Aunt Gladys!

2010-01-31T22:24:00.005-05:00

When we visited Aunt Gladys in California recently, she encouraged me in the strongest terms to keep updating my blog...because apparently she checks it EVERY DAY...and I have been letting her down! I know I have been writing far less on the blog these days... for a number of reasons. But I know I just need to take whatever comes along and just put it out there. It doesn't need to be great. So, it's not much, but here are some little things. Mostly for you, Aunt Glady!

Aiden has been putting more words together in simple, incomplete sentences. It's exciting to watch his language skills develop. I was watching something sad the other day and I just gave up, surrendered to the bittersweetness of it and started bawling out loud and Aiden, who was playing nearby, looked up at me with wide eyes and I SWEAR he said, "I don't want you to cry!" Of course, it wasn't clear, and probably most people might not have gotten that out of it, but the sounds he uttered all added up to that. I hastened to assure him that I was fine. Oh dear, this child is going to have to get used to the sight of his mother crying. I don't know - maybe he shouldn't have to get used to it. I hope it doesn't damage him. I hope he can accept it. My name is Claire, and I'm a crier.

He also saw a Rice Krispy bar cookie on the same thing that I was watching - no I was not crying at the sight of cookies - and once he saw that, he shouted out, "COOKIE!" and turned to me as if I could magically produce one in that instant. I agreed with him that it would be nice to have a cookie now, but we didn't have any right now. So what? "COOKIE!" I said maybe we could make some later. "Okay! Cookie?" As if, " Is it later yet?"

It's hard to explain to a two year old that cookies take time to make...especially when your oven doesn't work and you have to use a toaster oven to bake...because you are waiting for your W2 tax form to come so you can get your refund money and go buy a new oven. And the toaster oven takes twice as long to bake your cookies as a normal oven...but I love him so much - and also happen to be very fond of peanut butter cookies too - that I made a batch anyway. And by the time the first batch was done, Aiden had almost forgotten about the cookies! That's good because it was a puny amount to begin with, and was even punier after I had consumed a suitable amount of quality assurance samples. I gave up and put the dough in the fridge for when the new oven comes.

(It's been over a month since the oven gave up the ghost. ( Yes- two days before Christmas- I had to use my neighbor's oven to bake Aiden's birthday cake!) There has been a lot of crockpot usage, and pasta, and microwaving. I miss baking - it's not the same with the toaster oven. Anyway, blah diddy blah blah blah.)

And I am constantly amazed at his memory. A week or two ago, some of the neighbor kids were playing in our driveway. One of the girls fell down and hurt her hand. I had her come in to wash the blood off her hand and she was crying, and apparently, this tragedy made quite an impression on Aiden. Every once in a while, out of the blue, he will pull out this string of words, with a few variations. But it always goes something like this, "Anna. Bike. Boom. Ow! Cry. Hand. Driveway." It's interesting to see how sensitive he is to others' pain. Maybe all kids his age are like this. I don't really know. My Childhood Growth and Development class in college was a complete waste of time, taught by an incompetent hippie. ( I must hasten to add that it was the ONLY class at Saint A's that was a waste of time. I loved all my other classes. Yes, even Economics.)

Anyway, that's enough for now. I'll try to do better but don't hold your breath for the next installment!

Ode to Benedictine Bliss

2010-01-21T09:50:00.006-05:00

As those who follow me on Facebook know, I've been thinking about Eggs Benedict recently. Up until last week, I don't recall that I have ever eaten this dish before. But at a charming and fantastic restaurant in Monterey named Rosine's, my 31 year stint of not eating E.B. came to a happy end.

I guess I'd been a little intimidated by said dish for a couple reasons. The last time I had a poached egg was probably when my age numbered in the single digits, back when I preferred my eggs runny. I have since turned my back on eggs "over easy." Yech. The thought of the poached egg white brought up the same revulsion as if I had been offered a platter of ghostly, jiggling jellyfish. That, and Hollandaise sauce was a mysterious substance that I was not willing to risk getting to know better. I don't know. Egg yolks? On a poached egg? Too much yellow. It was just a weird, mental block. When we all go out to breakfast together, Eggs Benedict was something that Nate would order and I would look at with a slightly raised eyebrow. Nate, the food adventurer.

And I don't know what it was that broke this mental block. Maybe it was the adventure of vacation in a Californian coastal town. When you're driving along next to the gloriously turbulent Pacific Ocean, taking in the luxurious, charming seaside cottages of Carmel, and falling in love with the Tolkienesque trees of that region, there's a kind of atmosphere makes you feel that anything is possible. It's a heady, transformative feeling.

On Tuesday morning, as we were getting ready for the day, Brad went online and looked up the menu of Rosine's, ( I can't remember how he heard about this place) and pointed out that he thought I might like the Eggs Benedict. Here is the description, straight from the menu: An English muffin topped with freshly roasted sliced turkey breast, avocado, three poached eggs,fresh sauteed mushrooms and our homemade hollandaise sauce.

I decided to try it.

It was overwhelmingly good. Love at first bite. The poached eggs were not too runny, as I had feared. The whites were far from ghostly. They were solid mounds of miraculous goodness. The turkey was truly fresh. It wasn't really sliced - it was pulled... like someone had been picking their Thanksgiving turkey and given me the best pieces. And of course, you can't go wrong with sauteed mushrooms and avocado. But the best part, the thing that made this dish a culinary masterpiece, was the magnificent Hollandaise sauce. I was smitten. When I somehow permitted others at the table to take a taste, ( or did someone else at the table have the same thing? I don't remember. I was in such a trance of self-absorbed, food exultation) they remarked that it was unusually good Hollandaise sauce, perhaps one of the best they had ever eaten. ( It must have been Nate who said this.) The only shadow that was cast upon the experience was knowing that I had started out at the Hollandaise pinnacle. When you start out at the top, there's no where to go but down. I am afraid that no other version of this sauce will compare. Trust me to find the pessimistic angle to heaven on earth.

Here is a link to the restaurant. Under the breakfast heading, you will see a picture of the Turkey, Avocado, Mushroom Benedict that I ordered. Click on it to enlarge it. ( This is an order.) And I defy you not to drool and swoon with jealousy.

Everyone's food was very good. The atmosphere was happy. The place was not just a restaurant but also a bakery, and at one point, two employees walked out, apparently on their way to a delivery, bearing an enormous cake between them. It was roughly the size of a Chevy Suburban, covered with strawberries. All eyes in the room followed them out the front door, disbelief and longing on every face.

We were so impressed with the quality of our experience that we came back the next day for breakfast and I ordered something similar - the Veggie Eggs Benedict. Basically, it was the same thing except for instead of turkey, there was tomato. And I ordered a half size, with only one egg, because I hadn't been able to finish my portion yesterday. Ah, bliss.

Now I am obsessed with re-creating this dish. This task could take a lifetime and could potentially wreak havoc with my body. I already have a tendency towards elevated cholesterol. And over the past month with all its chaos, I have gained at least five pounds. Imagine what years of experimentation with Eggs Benedict could do to me. It even SOUNDS bad for you - with the word "Benedict" in the title - as if it will betray you. Okay, that's weird, coming from a graduate of a Benedictine Catholic college. Why is it that Benedict Arnold springs to mind first, and not Saint Benedict? Whatever. Wikipedia tells me that neither of these famous Benedicts has anything to do with this dish.

Perhaps as I embark upon this culinary quest, I should invest in egg stocks. Kind of like how I used to think when Grampa lived with us, we should invest in salad dressing stocks; he used so much salad dressing that I think we made those companies obscenely rich. And then my handsome returns on my egg investments could finance the expensive cholesterol medication I would need.

I find it ironic that in January, the month when most people resolve to LOSE weight...I seem set on gaining.

Sigh.

I must urge you all to go to Monterey. Go, not just for the famous aquarium or Cannery Row or the views of the ocean. Go for Rosine's Eggs Benedict.

Dial B for Booking

2009-12-14T11:18:00.003-05:00

This morning I set Aiden in his crib for a few minutes to contain his early morning wildness while I was in the bathroom. I leaned over to ascertain the contents - if any- of his diaper...and groaned. My olfactory senses delivered bad news. But it had to wait for a few minutes.

I was gone for maybe three or four minutes and when I returned, there stood Aiden in his crib, playing with MY CELLPHONE! I stood there aghast. How had he gotten my phone? Then I realized I had it in my shirt pocket and when I leaned over to sniff his pants, he must have PICKPOCKETED ME! There is NO OTHER explanation. ( Brad maintains that the phone simply fell out of my pocket. That is too prosaic and I do not accept it.)

About an hour or so later, I got a call from Nicole, asking if I'd called her earlier. I said no....but then realized that Aiden must have called her. That kid! Using up my...um... unlimited minutes. Whatever. Wait- we DO have unlimited minutes, right?

Then I got home from my grocery shopping to Brad's story: He was talking to someone at the jail this morning who said they had just had a couple minute conversation...with AIDEN! Oh my WORD! He called the Booking Department at the JAIL! He is Trouble - and notice I capitalized it! And here I thought I had corralled his mischievous ways by putting him in the crib... First he pickpockets me, then he makes calls on my phone....!

Not cooking like a Pilgrim? Priceless.

2009-11-22T21:37:00.003-05:00

As Penny and I waited through the last few minutes of 60 minutes so we could watch the latest installment of "The Amazing Race," we actually listened to some of what older-than-dirt Andy Rooney was gabbling about. His main point seemed to be that we should cast off modern conveniences, do without pre-packaged foods, and cook authentic Thanksgiving meals like the Pilgrims. Penny and I looked at each other with the same "has-he-lost-his-ever-loving-mind?" expression on our faces. What- go out and shoot a turkey with a blunderbuss? A bow and arrow? I think he was suggesting cooking from scratch more than turning us all into hunters...but it got me thinking about how life would be different, very, very different, if we were living, even just culinarily, like the Pilgrims.

No Kroger. No Walmart. No ovens or stove tops. No meat thermometers. No roasting bags. No electric knives. No boxed stuffing. No ergonomically correct peelers. No freezers or fridges. No cooking spray. No Dawn dish soap. No dishwashers - except the human kind. No graham cracker crust. No sweetened condensed milk( GASP - that is the worst part of all!) No canned pumpkin. No canned ANYTHING - unless you canned it yourself. No Pillsbury crescent rolls. NO MARSHMALLOWS! ( probably. Unless you watched Alton Brown and learned how to make them yourself. But no - no Food Network or internet either!) Now that's the worst - forget sweetened condensed milk. No internet? Unthinkable! I can go online and in seconds have THOUSANDS of recipes and advice at my fingertips. The Pilgrims? All they had was...Squanto.

This is the first Thanksgiving that I am hostessing. We will have eleven plus Aiden at our table and I have delegated a lot of the side dishes to my guests, so it's not like I will be doing it all by myself... In fact - I received this charming message via Facebook recently from one who will be at my festive table come Thursday:

What shall I bring you, poor as I am?
If I were a swineherd I'd bring you a ham.
If I were Mcdonald's I'd bring some fries.
What shall I bring you?
Maybe some pies?
by CHRISTINA BROWNETTI ('s) Mom

Now isn't that the cleverest, funniest thing you've seen all day?! ( I got her permission to use it here. This material is copyrighted.)

But in spite of all the help, I do feel some amount of um...what's the word I want...stress? Angst? Pressure? Nerves? The fact weighing in upon me that this is a rite of passage into womanhood? Those are all a little weightier than the truth of how I feel. What I want to know is - WILL THE TURKEY BE MOIST?! Will it be done in time so we can eat before Brad has to leave for work?! Oh, the suspense is killing me. But this is something I've wanted to do for quite some time. Something I must conquer.

In addition, we are moving Grampa into his new home the day before T-Day. Well, the moving process will take place in the next couple days because we want to get it all nice and set up before he gets there... So yeah. There are a lot of components that need to come together that I haven't even mentioned. It's looking like a big week. I have mapped out/earmarked what seems like the majority of the hours between now and Thursday. God forbid any unforeseen monkey wrenches should be thrown into our midst. Like getting sick. No! I didn't say it! Not jinxing myself!

But at least I can number among my blessings that I don't have to cook like a Pilgrim. I don't have to go through the ordeal of killing a turkey and plucking it, harvesting my wheat so I can flog it into flour to make bread to make stuffing with, picking the cranberries from the bog, churning butter, digging potatoes out of the ground, chopping the wood to stoke the fires that I will use to "cook" over, and hauling home a pumpkin to cut up and cook down for my pie. Not cooking like a Pilgrim? Now, THAT is something for which to give thanks INDEED.

Simple Gifts

2009-11-20T21:05:00.004-05:00

Philip and I had a great time at Lowe's the other day. From the start, I had been encouraging him to use his Dynavox more. Well, maybe "encouraging" is slightly deceptive - I told him he had to use it more! I think sometimes it is intimidating to him to use it in public with people who aren't familiar with how it works. Also, I think it seems sort of laborious to him in a setting that, in his mind, is supposed to be all play and no work, simply devoted to the pure joy of forklift spotting. And I don't blame him a bit for being hesitant. I understand. But I have had to crack down on him; from my perspective, going out in the community and interacting with people is the whole goal of my training with him. Having experience communicating with people who aren't completely familiar with the Dynavox is so valuable. Most of his friends at Lowe's know a little bit about it, but there is enough "foreign-ness" about it so that it's almost like being with strangers. If that makes any sense. In a lot of ways, it's a perfect situation - the people care about him and will talk to him but they don't always understand how it all works and about the fact that you often have to wait a minute or two to get an answer. So it's a little challenging because it can be awkward, but it's very good experience for him. And for the other people too.

So, yesterday, I emphasized several times on the way to Lowe's that I was expecting him to use the Dynavox in more than one conversation. And he did! Oh me of little faith.

My favorite interaction happened like this: We followed a forklift from flooring out to the front where the driver and spotter were going to deposit some boxes into a customer's vehicle. There was some sort of minor delay and we had to wait a bit, and while we waited, I struck up a conversation with the forklift spotter girl who, for those of you who know who this is, reminds me of Queen Latifah. Only a slightly toned down version. With a small amount of prompting, I got Philip involved in the conversation. He asked her, "How was your day?" and after she told him, she asked how his day was. I quickly moved over to the adjectives page, and Philip replied, "fast" and "beautiful." I was so thrilled! This is what I had been wanting to happen - real interaction - back and forth... Oh, I was so excited, but pretty much kept it all inside, just acting like this happened all the time, not wanting to embarrass Philip. Then, Queen Latifah had to go back inside, and she raised her hands like she was parting the Red Sea so the automatic doors would open...kind of making a big joke out of it... and walked inside. The adjectives page was still scanning and suddenly Philip clicked on the word "open" and then almost immediately afterward "funny." I said, "Yes!" and laughed aloud and wanted to jump up and down point and tell everyone what just happened. I pictured myself doing just that: "He said, Open! He said, Funny!" and how, to people who don't understand what a momentous thing this was, it would sound so silly and simple...like I was spelling out the punchline to a totally obvious joke. She opened the door in a funny way. So what? But to have the right word - not to mention wordS- available at exactly the right moment is so rare for him that I was just practically falling on the ground with joy! Instead of simply laughing about it, he got to comment on it, and thereby participated in it. To participate in a joke is such a basic event for most of us that we hardly consider what a privilege it is to communicate about humor.

I've thought since then about how there are moments going on like that in all corners of the world - moments of something small but wonderful happening, and somebody noticing, and wanting to shout it triumphantly to the whole world...but most of the world doesn't understand or appreciate the deep joy and satisfaction connected with it. And it made me even happier to think about that. For all the sorrow, disconnectedness, mis-communication, limitations and suffering in the world, there is a vast amount of unheralded good. Boy, I feel like Andrea, with all her philosophy about the connectedness of man. :)

And even if most of the world doesn't understand or appreciate the significance of this small but illuminating event, I'm going to tell it anyway...because I know at least a few people will have the imagination and insight to understand and smile about it.

November News

2009-11-11T13:55:00.002-05:00

I remembered again the other day, after getting a note from Aunt Gladys, that this blog is for some people the sole news source from our family. So here's an update.

About two weeks after Brad got sick, I succumbed to a similar fate. I guess it was some form of the flu - fever, cough, aches, etc. I'm just praying that Aiden doesn't catch it. But this is quite the slippery character - you think you're over it and boom- it hits you again. I have had it for about four days now and one thing I will say is, I am SO THANKFUL for DRUGS! Even with drugs, I have had a hard time sleeping very much but I am hopeful every night that THIS will be the night that I will get to sleep before two o'clock. I have tried to keep my distance as much as is motherly possible from Aiden to shield him from this evil stuff, which simply means that everything is the same except I cut out the best part - the hugs etc. And I can tell he misses the closeness because he comes up to me and lays his head on my lap and tries to be close to me. And it kills me! I feel neglectful and cold! I do forget sometimes and hold him and then try to remember which sleeve I have hacked into most recently...Augh.

Aiden's talking a lot more these days and it is SO FUN to listen to him. A lot of babble, but it's forming into sentence structure, with an intelligible word or two thrown in.

Grampa is chomping at the bit to be out of the rehab place and thankfully, we have found a really nice assisted living place that has an opening. I say "really nice" but what I mean is so impressively unlike a nursing home in any way and so beautiful and with such great amenities that I think I want to live there someday when I'm old. Or possibly before I'm old! Basically, it's like living in a nice hotel with all your stuff. Brad, Penny, Aiden and I went to tour/visit the place after Dad and Mom Pass told us they had checked it out for Grampa and liked it. We picked out a room/suite and the ball is rolling. We're not sure when the actual moving day will be but probably within a week, I would guess. Grampa seems excited about the new place; he's just so done with where he is that any place would be a welcome change, and he seems to be accepting - at least somewhat - the fact that he's not coming home, at least not right away. The new place is considerably closer to us and that is a huge bonus for me.

Last week, I noticed that Aiden had another little sore mark/scabbish looking thing on his right foot where the brace had started to wear on him. ( A month or two ago he had one on the left foot and we took him in to make adjustments to the braces.) This time, I made the executive decision to keep the braces off until I could talk to either the physical therapist or the braces people. I was going to bring Aiden to the braces people but then I got sick...and yeah...that's lasted a while. But today the physical therapist came (yes, he comes to the house which is WONDERFUL...no packing up and hauling self and child to the ends of the earth) and gave the official okay for him to be done with the braces! He has outgrown them and also has progressed with his balance and strength to the point where he doesn't need them any more. Hurray! The PT was very impressed and pleased with all his progress - not just walking but stair climbing, jumping, squatting, speech, fine motor skills, socialization stuff, all those developmental markers...

Brad's news? He works long hours and harder than he should, but I guess that is preferable to him being a slacker. He does it all to support my lavish lifestyle, so I'm thankful.

So there's the news from our end of the world.

My rant about "The Good Lord"

2009-10-29T20:57:00.007-04:00

It's been a long time since I've had a deadline on something, and now that I do, I find myself procrastinating like it's going out of style. And so what do I do, instead of doing this project? I sit down and write a blog. It reminds me of studying for exams in college. "Oh, this is a good time to organize my closet! Declare war on clutter!" "Oh, I must redecorate the room this very instant! Hang new pictures!" " Now is the logical time to put all my journals in chronological order from fourth grade through the present."

Today's random deep thought, brought to you by procrastination, is this: God probably doesn't mind any name for Himself, provided it is said in reverence, but if he DID have a pet peeve of a title, I bet it would be this appellation: " The Good Lord." It just dawned on me how ridiculously redundant, and also remote, it sounds. It's like the speaker is trying to butter Him up. Either that, or the speaker doesn't know him very well. I mean, you don't really hear theologians or Bible teachers or people on deep, meaningful spiritual pilgrimages referring to God this way. It's kind of like, " I knew Him once, when I was a kid. He was an okay guy." A tepid endorsement. I think it might be a generational, codgery thing. I mean, it's something that geezers call God: The Good Lord. No offense, all you geezers, but it's just not a young person thing. It strikes me as basic and flat. Might as well call him the Nice Lord. Ooo- let's find the smallest, blandest adjective for the biggest, most vibrant, powerful being in the universe!

I can just imagine God cringing.

This is my opinion. You can call Him "The Good Lord" all you want. Just don't let me hear it.

P.S. The above may totally make no sense. It's all due to the fulminations of procrastination in my mind. Pay me no mind.

P.P.S. As I have "gwunted and stwuggled" through this project tonight ( which I am not nearly finished), I thought of how Grampa M. used to say the following, which I thought was a quote from himself, but I googled it and it turns out that it's attributed to Francis Bacon... ( ha ha, Grampa M. and Francis Bacon...birds of a feather...): "Reading maketh a full man... and writing an exact man." I have had to stop and really think what I am trying to say, and what I really believe. It's hard work, my friends.

Sick day

2009-10-23T22:53:00.003-04:00

Last night I jokingly said that I wished I could just get swine flu and get it over with. All this hype and hysteria over said flu - and the vaccine dilemma- is driving me mildly batty at times. And then Brad got home and I could tell right away that the hoarseness and achiness he'd been experiencing the last time I saw him - late Wednesday night- was more than just normal exhaustion. He looked like a Halloween haggard version of his normal self. At first, we thought it was just because he had been working something like 48 hours in the last three days. But last night, as he coughed deep, juicy coughs and shuddered with chills, it became quickly obvious that something more sinister was afoot. I thought about going to sleep in the other room but I was too tired to move. I wondered if I was about to get my wish, and face the piggy influenza once and for all.

About four this morning, I told him that he really shouldn't go in to work today. But he did. I fell asleep again, as he got ready to leave, and prayed that someone at the jail would send him home. And thankfully, his lieutenant sent him to the doctor, who sent him home. Once again, Lt. Lynn comes to the rescue. My prayuhs were ansud. ( That's my best written imitation of a certain southern gentleman, who shall remain nameless.)

Did I mention that Brad's worked like a bazillion hours recently? I missed him so much. So when he came home today, I almost didn't care that he was sick. Okay, yes, I did care. I felt sorry for him and wanted to take care of him. But part of me was just jumping up and down, just glad to SEE him. Glad that he was home and able to rest. They say he has bronchitis and sinusitis, and that he's pretty contagious so he wasn't really supposed to be near Aiden - or me...but I figure, hey, I spent the better part of the night lying inches from a sputum spewing sufferer so I'm sure my immune system is already engaged in hand to hand combat with the invader. Brad played peekaboo and keep-away with Aiden but I know Aiden was glad to at least get a glimpse of his pater familias, which is more than he has had since Sunday- which might as well be nigh unto forever to a child.

I was glad that I had cleared my day so I didn't have any big responsibilities to involve me and the things I had thought I might do were easily postponed. I went out to fill his prescriptions and pick up some things but most of the day was spent puttering at home. I made chicken soup from scratch - something I don't think I've ever done before. I felt quite nurturing and wifely. Well, I went way overboard on the pepper so it was a bit overpowering. My ascension to domestic goddesshood will have to wait.

It was raining outside. The comforting, warm smell of carrots and onions and celery and garlic and chicken filled the house. And I felt positively cozy inside. Just happy to have him home. Almost like I was getting a sick day myself - that gleeful pleasure of staying home from school and treating yourself delicately. I needed a low key day; we all did. It was quite delicious.

Now I need to go to bed, to aid my immune system in its battle against the bad guys which I am sure are there (as Brad would say: "lurking in the inky shadows"), despite my incessant hand washing and repeated applications of hand sanitizer.

Reflections on October 3rd

2009-10-03T09:13:00.005-04:00

Aaaand, here it is again. This anniversary that I'm not quite sure what to do with. I wanted to go out and do something special, like go to the monastery in Conyers and look at bonzai trees and have a picnic to celebrate Andrew...because I think this day should be all about reflecting on the beauties and joy of being alive. I'm always skeptical when people do things and say, "This is what the departed person would have wanted..." But I'm pretty sure that it IS what Andrew would have wanted people to do to remember him- have a day of being fully alive. Of good times. Of appreciating autumn.

But this whole Grampa being in the hospital thing has made the day a little uncertain. Which maybe is a good thing. I don't know that I really want to concentrate my full powers of memory on this day. It's enough to have a low level of gut gnawing sadness.

Five years is a strange amount of time. It sounds like such a solid, rounded block. It seems like a long time - there have been a lot of changes since 2004- but it's not a long time.

Part of me really misses being in New Hampshire on this day. It feels wrong not to be there. We've talked about moving back someday. Georgia doesn't really feel like home in a lot of ways. But whenever we do go back to NH to visit, there's this odd feeling of being off kilter. When we were there for Grandma Sweet's funeral this summer, we took an hour to drive our dear old back roads and visit our favorite cemetery in Harrisville...and it was a beautiful day...the light streaming through the trees, but the light was sad. And it didn't have anything to do with Grandma's funeral that day. Honestly, I know it sounds strange, but I thought the light looked old and sad... and my gut told me that I'd never feel like this was home again either. I realize I am not missing a place but a time in my life when the world was all right, when I felt at home in a number of places. Because being at home means being with your family. And we haven't been all together in a long time. And it will be quite a while, I imagine, before we are all together again. But I believe that someday we will be together again. I'm not just saying that because it sounds nice; I really, truly believe it. Sadness, loss, absence...there is just something in me that cannot believe that these will go on and on, unresolved forever. My heart does not accept that possibility as ringing true. I believe to my very core that there is a God and that He is good, that human suffering matters to Him, and that He is, in His very essence, love. And that He will ultimately right all wrongs, heal all wounds, wipe away all tears. So while right now I am living in the present, acknowledging today's sadness, being grateful for the fact that it doesn't feel as bad as it once did, there is a part of me that will never get used to it and cannot accept it, that longs for home, and that part looks forward to the future and reminds me that this life is not all there is. I can't say I really look forward to October 3rd, but I am grateful for the perspective it always gives me.

So to all the people who remember us and send their love today, it is enough for me that you just remember Andrew and celebrate the profoundly wonderful fact that you have a great and precious opportunity- the chance to live- and beyond that, the chance to live eternally. Make it a good life.

My Hero

2009-09-08T08:56:00.003-04:00

( This was written late last night.)

Living with a 20 month old - you just never know what to expect. This evening Aiden, Brad and I were relaxing in the Family room after an enjoyable Labor Day, watching a DVD. I had just set Aiden in Brad's lap and the next moment we were experiencing the vomit fountain.

Everyone was stunned for a moment. No one said anything. We just watched as the contents of Aiden's stomach poured forth over his clothes and onto Brad's clothes and the couch. I was amazed at how much stuff there was, and it just seemed to keep coming and coming! Clotty, stinky, chunky, slimy - kind of like a visible food diary - a record of what he had eaten today. There was a lot of cantalope. And partially digested milk. And other things. I ran off to try to find some suitable ratty towels to help contain the horror but could only come up with a measly hand towel. That didn't really do much good. ( What does it say about me that I couldn't bring myself to use one of the " good towels"?) I really wanted to take a picture of the two of them. ( What does it say about me that in the midst of this carnage, the thought came into my head to take a picture? " Oh, and remember the first time that Aiden threw up...? Good times, good times." ) It was really an unbelievable sight. But it seemed wise to continue in the cleanup mode with all possible speed so the photograph was never taken. ( I did find out later that Brad took a picture of himself before changing his clothes as I was attending to Aiden in the other room. This proves the saying: Great minds think alike. )

We transferred ourselves to the bathroom - the bathtub to be more precise- where Aiden was stripped and cleaned, and refused to be consoled. Poor thing, it was a pretty traumatic incident - his first real bout of vomiting. It took him a while to realize it wasn't the end of the world.

Clothes were strewn about from certain members of the family trying to rid themselves of nastiness or prevent their clothes from becoming more soiled. So here we had three individuals, in partial or complete stages of disrobe, running around the house, cleaning up the couch- that was Brad- cleaning up Aiden and the bathroom- that was me- and trying to figure out what was going on and why he was naked but wasn't actually taking a conventional bath- that was Aiden- and cleaning up the random deposits of guck on the Vomit Trail all through the upstairs - that was both Brad and myself. It was a surreal experience. And the whole time, Brad was practically in hysterics because he thought the whole thing was so funny. Which did help to lighten the mood. Heroic fortitude in the face of utter yuckiness. Gotta hand it to you, Brad- you are my hero. Another reason I love my husband: the man laughs at vomit. I hope in the years to come, throwing up will always be an event of such hilarity. Eventually everyone got cleaned up and re-dressed, and now almost everyone is asleep.

I saved the laundering of the clothes until the men folk were abed. As I cleaned the "chunky bits" - as Andrew would have said- off their clothing, I thought of the fortuitous timing of the whole thing. The appearance of the Vomit Comet took place mere moments after I put Aiden in Brad's lap. Almost as if my guardian angel were orchestrating the whole thing. I don't know where Brad's guardian angel was, but MINE was certainly on the job.

Today, Aiden was wearing a shirt that I bought for him at a yard sale. It says, "My Dad is The Man." How apt. If it wasn't one of my favorite shirts, I would not even try to salvage it from the ravages of vomit. But I love it, and therefore it is in the process of restoration. Yes, Aiden, your Dad IS The Man. From serenely facing down the possibility of a dead grandfather in his basement in the morning, to calmly comforting his vomit saturated son in the evening...and accepting it all with a smile - laughter, even!- there is very little, if anything, that can faze this man. It's all in a day's work for him. What am I saying- this was his day OFF! Tomorrow he goes back to working with nitwits and criminals!

False Alarm

2009-09-07T11:32:00.003-04:00

Living with an 86 year old - you just never know what to expect. Like today. Usually Grampa comes up and joins us in the kitchen for breakfast around 8:15 or 8:30. Today he was an hour late. Well, I heard a movie going so at first I wasn't too concerned. I figured he just lost track of time. But then the movie stopped and he still didn't come up. It was silent downstairs for quite a while. I was convinced that he had died while watching the movie. I was already mentally planning our trip to California for the funeral. I was SO grateful Brad had the day off today so I could send him down to check to see if Grampa was still among the land of the living. When I told Brad that I thought maybe Grampa had died, he said calmly , " Well, today would be a good day for it." ( as in, Brad has the day off and we have a fairly flexible schedule today so we could easily deal with the county coroner's arrival etc.) But I just LOVE that about Brad, that he says things like that. He even asked Aiden if he wanted to go to California, right before he headed downstairs. I thought, "Is this really how it's going to be? Am I ready for this?" But Grampa's alive and kicking. Well, alive anyway. Phew. I wasn't too keen on meeting the coroner today, to tell you the truth. Brad reported seeing a big container of trailmix sitting next to him on the couch, so perhaps that was why he didn't feel the need for cereal. Trailmix for breakfast? Whatever floats your boat, Grampa. But he did come up a little later and eat some fruit I'd cut up for him.

There's a little bit of this every morning - wondering if he will come up for breakfast or if he's sitting down to a heavenly breakfast instead. He's in fairly good health but with his history of strokes etc, you just never know. Being confronted on a daily basis with the very real possibility that each day might be the last we spend with him helps my perspective and renews my supply of grace. When the day comes when he doesn't come up for breakfast, I don't want to look back and regret my attitude. That doesn't mean I'm never irritated or impatient, but it helps to bring me back to seeing the big picture and to think about the fact that Grampa is someone else's little boy. Of course, I never met Grampa's mother, but we have some things in common. For one, she cut up his fruit at the beginning of his life, and I'm cutting up his fruit now.

"Bones" on the brain

2009-08-31T23:17:00.004-04:00

Sometimes I kill an ant or two on the counter - I'm not as scrupulous as I should be when it comes to crumbs- and I hope that I'm getting the scout ant. The one who forages for food, leaving a scent trail for his confederates to follow. I can kill the ant and clean up the food and hopefully disrupt whatever strange path of ant markers that have been laid down, but as I do so, I wonder about the ant's friends. Do they send out search parties and detectives? Do they have forensic ants, CSI ants? Do they discover trace amounts of the remains of their fallen colleague and reconstruct the events that led to his tragic demise? "He discovered the banana bread crumbs, temptingly buttered...here. Sigh. Carbs were always his weakness, the greedy wretch. He was carrying a sample past the sink...here...when he was crushed by a giant hand and swept over the edge into the garbage disposal..." Here the detective ant pauses, struggles to keep his emotions in check, fighting the overwhelming ghastliness of it all. The detective ants' assistant pats his thorax sympathetically, as they continue with the gruesome post-mortem report.

Credit

2009-08-17T08:43:00.005-04:00

I guess I got caught up in all the minutia and mechanics of writing last night ( or this morning? Note to self: do not drink caffeinated beverages after the stroke of noon as it leads to nights of several hours less sleep...), because it seems to me now, in the light of morning, that I didn't give proper credit where credit was due.

Each day on my drive to work with Philip, I ask God for his help. Whenever there is light brought out of darkness, whenever there is truth brought out of confusion, whenever there is a breakthrough, I believe that is His doing. He is the author of the "Aha!" moment. It is one of the best feelings in the world to work with Him.

And then there is Philip. Some might think that in this line of work, the therapist is the patient one. Not true. Philip is incredibly patient with me and very good humored. He endures me repeatedly "missing the mark" of what he is trying to say with indefatigable grace. I cannot imagine the utter frustration of being so often misunderstood, but it doesn't seem to get him down. He is an example to me.

My breakthrough moment - teaching myself to think like a speech therapist

2009-08-17T00:00:00.003-04:00

Can't sleep so I'm just going to write.

I had somewhat of a breakthrough with Philip last Friday. He wanted to email his mom, which was great because sometimes it's like pulling teeth to get him to write. But once he started, I couldn't figure out what he was trying to say. He started out with some weather related words like Sunshine and dry but then had all these other adjectives mixed in like dirty, smooth, hard...I couldn't see where he was going with it. Everything I guessed or asked him was a dead end. For a while it seemed like he was just playing with me - throwing random words out there to fill time. I was getting a little frustrated because part of me knew that he was trying to say something and that it was meaningful to him and I just couldn't get it but the other part of me was like, what if he's just being lazy and running out the clock until you leave...? So there was this internal argument going on inside me. Fiiiinally, something clicked - I can't remember what it was- and I realized the general gist of what he was trying to communicate...that his mom had a lot of things going on this weekend and he hoped the weather would cooperate for her. So sweet.

The thing was, he had a lot to say. He was telling his mom to "splurge" ( really! His word, not mine! He used it from his school vocab page) on a blender at a yardsale. And he wanted it to be purple. And he wanted to talk about the tupperware party she was going to be holding. The problem was, ( and it was a good problem!) he would throw out words all over the place about things ( yardsaling, weather, tupperware party) and I'd be jumping back and forth, trying to sort out which thing he was talking about. Hard to form grammatically correct sentences when you're playing hopscotch amongst ideas.

And then, I had an "Aha!" moment. I'm not sure I'm computer savvy enough to make this analogy work but I'll try: because his brain is wired a little differently than most people's and he doesn't really think in sentences, I think writing for him is like trying to convert a certain kind of file into a program for which it hasn't been formatted. It doesn't work. Error messages pop up all over the place. The communication is blocked.

Suddenly, I had this mental image of what must be going on in his brain. I pictured a tangled skein of ideas, kind of like the cloud that follows the Peanuts character, Pigpen. Philip tries to grab hold of one of those threads of thought and disengage it from the rest, but it breaks off and he comes away with a single word. He goes back to get the rest of the first thought but instead he ends up coming away with a piece of another thought. And that's what we see on the Dynavox - words representing whole complex thoughts that are sometimes somewhat related, sometimes completely unrelated, sitting next to each other. I told Philip about this mental image I had of his writing process- not exactly in these words but basically the same idea- and said, "Is this what it's like for you?" His face lit up and he indicated a strong Yes. I said, " Does it help you to have me sorting out the different thoughts and helping you organize them?" Because, even though it might seem like a dumb question or even a leading question, I didn't want to assume and I needed to know. Again, he indicated an instant, strong Yes. I practically cried. To see the joy on his face - the joy of being understood - that made me realize that my life counts for something good.

It's so obvious now that I've had that mental breakthrough...like I've known it all along but now I understand it in a different way. Maybe I would have known it a lot sooner if I'd gone to school for speech therapy. Makes me want to go back to school again...

This kind of breakthrough doesn't happen often, and it doesn't really need to happen often - some days the mundane is fine- but when it does, it makes my heart sing and makes all the frustration melt away and EVERYTHING is worth that moment.

Walking Day

2009-07-22T21:27:00.005-04:00

I would just plunge into the news of the day but it requires some background. I started writing about this a couple months ago, but never posted...

So here is part of what I wrote back in May.

Aiden is almost 17 months old now, and I am starting to really worry about the fact that he's not walking. Well, part of me is starting to worry. I know, I know. Lots of people assure me that it's okay, that he'll walk when he's ready. And I'm one of them. I have this weird dualistic nature where one part of me is okay with it and the other is wracked with a gnawing fear. I tell myself that it's because of his contented personality, because of the fact that he doesn't have older siblings to show him the way. Or maybe it's because he has a mother who is blogging about it, instead of leading him around the house with her index fingers.

I think it's also because he is an extremely cautious child. He gets this in strong doses from both his parents. I can't decide if that's a blessing or a curse. I think the blessing and the curse cancel each other out and just leave it a plain old thing. But I can't help but think, poor Aiden- doomed to a life of slow, methodical, careful circumspection. So, back to the walking thing: he navigates things very carefully. He's only had about three big boo-boos in his life. I think that, like his mother, any sort of change comes difficult to him. But it does worry me, this not walking thing. I hear about these wunderkind babes who leap from their parents arms at four months old and never look back, and my brow furrows. I resist my pediatricians suggestions to saddle him in a physical therapy program. Oh, please, says the common sense that I inherited from ALL my forebears. He can walk. He just doesn't want to. One of these days the walking gene will overtake him and he won't be able to escape. Right now he's slow developmentally ( he can crawl like a speed demon, so I wouldn't say he's really slow physically), but at least he's happy, and I don't want to foist my angsty timetable on him.

Now - here I am- in July again. I finally got the ball rolling looking into this program that my pediatrician recommended. It turns out that there is a real reason why he wasn't walking.
( Duh!) The physical therapist gave this diagnosis: "bilateral forefoot pronation with calcaneal valgus and tibial internal rotation." Which is, in layman's terms, the arches on his feet sort of slope and don't support his weight right and so he's unstable, which makes him hesitant to walk. The physical therapist recommended that he be fitted for leg braces which he will wear for a few months to help correct this problem. I am just so relieved to know the reason WHY he wasn't walking. We go to get him measured for his leg braces on Friday - coincidentally when he turns 19 months- and they should take a couple weeks to come. Then he will start physical therapy.

He did take his first steps on Father's Day about a month ago, but since then, I could count on one hand the number of times he has walked by himself...and that was only with much coaxing.... until today. This afternoon, I turned around and he was walking. All by himself, with no prompting. I was stunned! Thrilled! Flabbergasted in disbelief! And again, later, I caught him walking! It happened several times - seemed like every time I turned around, he was walking somewhere! It just makes me almost roll my eyes because I knew as soon as I addressed the problem and got him into the physical therapy program, he would just start walking on his own. Sure enough. Go figure! We will still get the braces to correct his feet and we'll do some physical therapy, but this has relieved me no end.

He gets up and toddles off and I follow him, just laughing. So many people have said, " Once he starts walking, you'll wish he wasn't!" Maybe, but I don't think so. I'm so, SO thankful. It's going to take some getting used to - seeing him walk upright!

Our vacation

2009-06-29T16:07:00.005-04:00

As some of you saw by Brad's pictures on Facebook, we just had a very nice little vacation in North Georgia. And I have to say right now, thankyou Lieutenant Lynn, for encouraging Brad to take some time off. Without you, this vacation probably would not have happened. It was GREAT!

The vacation really started on Friday when we went to a Red Sox game with Nate and Penny. That was a whole ton of fun, despite the withering heat. The Red Sox won, of course. 4-1, including a homerun by Ortiz. A row of Braves fans behind us was commenting about his recent hitting slump and how since Manny's been gone, Ortiz is nothing b/c it's all about how the people around you are doing, and basically concluding that he's a has-been... and then he hits this beautiful home run and I just wanted to turn around and be like, "So, yeah...um...what were you just saying?" In your face, people! But I didn't. This game was made possible Aiden-free ( as much fun as having his sweaty, squirmy little 22 pounds on our laps would have been) by my parents who spent a very long evening with him at our house. Thanks, folks!

After a leisurely Saturday morning, we set out for the north country. We were a little like Abraham, going out not knowing exactly where we were going...( just the general direction) ... flying by the seats of our respective pants and skirts. We did a lot of exploring and scouting of scenic vistas in such places as the Chattahoochee National Forest before settling in a nice little town close to the North Carolina border.

Over the course of this vacation we spent a few hours in the charming but tourist trappy town of Helen - a.k.a. "Alpine Helen"- in various Bavarian wannabe shops and such...including a charming model train place, where Aiden was captivated by all the choo-choos. We also consumed some fine German comestibles and found that Aiden likes sauerkraut. At least, he didn't spit it out.

But my favorite spots were natural ones such as "Brasstown Bald" - the highest point in Georgia. On our way up, we saw a bobcat crossing the road. No kidding. From the observation deck at the top of the mountain you can see four different states. Well, at least you can when it isn't so hazy. But the weather was gorgeous! It felt positively New England-ish, which was a welcome change from the hotter-than-Hades temperatures in the valley and we were told that, in fact, because of its elevation, the mountain has its own unique weather system which resembles Massachusetts rather than Georgia. We even did a little hiking.

Another favorite spot, on the other side of the Chattahoochie National Forest, was the Anna Ruby Falls. Ah, waterfall mist. Phew. Very refreshing on a humid day after the little hike it took to get up there.

And we just loved driving around on back roads and eating up the Appalachian mountain scenery and exploring little podunk towns. This is what we like to do. It feeds our souls.

We even drove by Lake Burton and I gave a shout-out to Laura Brown's mother.

Also, many thanks to Penny and Nate and Mom and Dad P., for their management of the Grampa aspect of things which allowed us to get away. In our case, it takes a village to get a vacation!

Now we are home again, home again, jiggety jog.

The Conspiracy of Eye Doctors

2009-06-17T11:31:00.004-04:00

Yesterday I had my annual eye exam. I dread this appointment every year but this time I held out a carrot to tempt myself through the ordeal - the promise of new glasses. I wear contacts most of the time but I do wear glasses in the evenings and sometimes for part of the day. I've tired of my old glasses, even though they're only a couple years old and since I slept on them once in the desperate sleep of the first few months of Aiden-hood, they have been slightly deformed and don't fit me quite right. Brad thinks its ridiculous that I didn't go get them re-fitted. Ah. Whatever. I figured that maybe I'd give my eyes a rest from contacts more if I could put them behind fresh, new glasses.

So I went in to see the eye doctor as soon as my insurance would allow. I made it through the horrid, suspenseful torture of the airpuffing machine and the stinging eye drops to dilate my eyes...both callously administered by a youth who looked as if he was young enough for this to be a summer job between his sophomore and junior years of highschool and had all the charm of a delinquent. Not confidence inspiring for someone like me who likes to be coddled through this dreadful experience. But I suppose it was good because it sort of threw me off balance and I didn't have time to dwell upon my palsied optometric past. I have a history of being so nervous at eye doctors that I make myself sick. I have thrown up or almost fainted in eye doctor's offices more times than I care to remember.

The actual exam itself went well, and then the eye doctor tried to explain what my insurance would cover for glasses. Confusion. I smiled and nodded as if I followed him perfectly through the convoluted percentages of frames, lenses, coatings, blah, blah, blah. We went out to the little room where all the frames are displayed. I picked out a pair in a style that I had my eye on ( no pun intended) while browsing before I was called in for the exam. I call them T.S. Eliot glasses. But here is the problem. It's really hard to see up close when your eyes are dilated. I couldn't figure out the price! And all the time, the eye doctor was pushing all these other frames at me, which I didn't like, and shouting their praises. I thought this was highly suspicious. A deliberate ruse carried out by the optometrist community. Dilate the patient's eyes and then force them into the most expensive pair of glasses while they can't see what's going on. My eye doctor is a strong minded individual who understandably enough seems to fancy himself an expert on the subject, but as Dave Ramsey says, " You are the expert on your opinion." I was almost tempted by a pair of Sarah Palin-esque glasses that he recommended for me but when I later showed Brad a cell phone picture of me wearing them, he deemed them a thumbs-down. Apparently, they oldened me. And I see what he means. And what's more, I have no idea how much they cost.

( I did think, amidst the maelstrom of advice and frames, to at least ask about the price of the T.S. Eliot glasses, having given up trying to make out the little sticker on the side through my fuzzy, dilated vision and apparently the frames are totally covered by my insurance, but I got the feeling that the eye doctor was slightly disparaging of them. Which secretly makes me want to buy them even more. I am a strange creature, wanting to vex an almost total stranger. Perhaps this is a dangerous indication of a latent desire to defy authority. On the other hand, perhaps it's a sign of a healthy shaking off of co-dependent shackles. Let the analyzation begin...)

Sigh, that's life. You go in to the office all excited, thinking you want T.S. Eliot glasses and then someone tries to convince you that Sarah Palin glasses are the way to go. And indecision grips you. And you go out with NO glasses.

Brad has an appointment there next week. We are going to go in together beforehand to look at frames and try to ignore the eye doctor and help each other decide what to get. Because we are going to be the ones looking at the other person's glasses most of the time!

As I checked out at the receptionist desk and mentioned my indecision, one of the ladies behind the counter said that she always lets the eye doctor choose her glasses. That just seems wrong. It's one thing to be a slow waffler; it's another to abdicate your decision to someone else altogether.

I wanted to scream at her.

Confessions of a Money Launderer

2009-05-24T23:09:00.004-04:00

Remember how I posted about finding hidden treasure recently? ( Um, recently, as in like... three or four months ago...?) The jars of change that were hidden in our midst? Well, let's just say for the sake of giggles that you do remember. ( Although I haven't really written for so long that I'd be surprised if anyone actually reads this!) One of the jars was all gross and dirty. Not merely dusty but truly grubby and gunky. You see, the change was leftover from Brad's bachelor days. This change had accumulated around his sink, for some odd reason. Toothpaste plus Comet plus years of moldering in a jar = a disgusting crust that seemed to defy all my efforts. I put the change in a basin of water and left it in a bathtub for a long time. Um...months. It evaporated. ( The water, that is.) I put in more. And left it.

The other day, Brad again dangled the possibility of using that money towards a netbook... IF I finished cleaning it. Ah! I sprang - in a languid sort of way- into action.

( You see, far be it from me to complain, but let's just say that I really want a different computer. You'd understand if you could see my set up here. I have a laptop whose screen is very ill, and so we hooked it up to a giant monitor in the family room...which clearly defeats the purpose of having a laptop. I hanker to be set free from this munga monitor. Imagine me with a huge, flickering albatross around my neck and you get the picture. Something ultra-portable would be nice. A hummingbird of a computer. I told myself that this was only a temporary situation so I refused to even bring the desk chair up here...so I've been sitting on one of those papasan foot stool thingies...for months. Not even approaching ergonomically correct. It's amazing how I can get used to uncomfortable situations. The proverbial frog in a boiling pot. This is a strange thing about me. Yes, I am Foolish. So, in short, I am hungry for this netbook.)

I went back to my bathtub and hauled out the cash. ( For some reason, I just laughed aloud at that last sentence. You know it's getting late when I amuse myself to that degree.) I tried soaking the change in vinegar. I even poured in some baking soda to entertain myself with the fizzing and give myself the illusion that I was accomplishing something...and remembered Pastor Neil Sandford using the reaction of baking soda and vinegar as an object lesson one Sunday morning. But I think I can safely say that he was not using it to launder money.

I used dishwasher detergent too. Didn't really help much. But this weekend we had a church cookout. ( No I didn't just completely go off on a tangent. This does relate.) And there was some Diet Coke left over that we ended up taking home. Thanks, Bryan and Sarah!) Well, this evening, we were in need of some Nate and Penny time. Penny's been so busy with work that we haven't had time to see her much lately and I just needed my Penny fix. When they arrived and saw me in a Scrooge McDuck posture, scrubbing and sorting my cache of cash, Nate had a brilliant idea...What better solution to clean the filthy lucre with than Coca-Colaaaa!

If we have robbers tonight, I doubt they will look in the sink, in the pyrex measuring cup full of cola for the mother lode. Further bulletins as events warrant. But given recent habits of writing, or non-writing I should say, don't hold your breath.

News from Lake Woebegone

2009-05-10T16:24:00.003-04:00

I received this in email form yesterday from my father and thought it was too good NOT to share. I have his permish to re-broadcast it. I laughed so hard that I cried at the same time, and as I read it aloud to Brad, I had to stop and re-read certain parts because he couldn't understand what I was saying, due to excessive mirth. Read this; I bet you'll think he should start his own blog.

Maybe you noticed the phrase "senseless random curve balls" in my Friday e-mail that I sent out yesterday. Well sir I'm here to tell you that one came to this house last night. It was seemingly senseless and hopefully random as in seldom.

Mama and I got to bed about 11. I was not tired so I laid there in relative peace and listened to the night sounds inside and out. Gradually I became aware of divers noises that I did not recognize. One noise seemed reminiscent of the patter of small feet. Another was like a purposeful and insistent tapping on wood with your knuckles. Another was a sound of metal clanging in the bathroom. These came on and off until I could feel my body tensing in preparation for some action. Occasionally a cold chill would break out in my body as I fought back wild imaginations of future doom. Then it happened. Some small creature from the pit leaped in the air and landed on by bare shoulder as I lay there partially covered in the hot room. In a mighty spasm of twitching indignation I thrust him from me with a wild alarm that was wholly primeval. I kid you not, I saw a furry form arcing through the air over Mama and landing on the far edge of the room. Well sir, that startled me a bit. I awoke Ma and we set bout to engage in predatory behavior of a most primitive kind. In the dim light of midnight we saw the creature zip out the bed room door into unknown regions. Then I descended to the
bottom floor to rummage through some stuff in an attempt to find a rat trap which I set with bread and peanut butter. Once more I saw the creature now in the lower apartment so I left the trap where any wayfarer would have to travel if he wanted to ascend to our quarters. During this whole process the trap slipped in my hands only to find a finger of mine that shouldn't have been there. Thankfully it didn't light with full force. One half hour later Ma heard a whap! I smiled inwardly to myself realizing the ultimate fate that must have overtaken our friendly
neighbor. But alas when I went down this morng to check my trap, it was sprung but there was no animal in sight. Groansville! Now what?

So we lounge nonchalantly in our quarters this sabbath with no certain knowledge of the means of access or exit that this guy might have. Will we get a re run tonight? I know not, oh, I know not. We did set the trap again and are hoping for permanent results before bed time tonight. Any
ideas? By the way, we don't really know whether it was a squirrel, a chipmunk, or a rat. It looked like a flying squirrel but I haven't seen any around the house. Maybe that's because they are all inside the house.

That's the news form Lake Woebegone.

Not much to relate...

2009-03-26T21:19:00.005-04:00

...just that since last time I posted, we drove a couple thousand miles with a small child, and lived to tell the tale.

Yes, we drove northwards aproximately two weeks ago to attend the Feast of Passover celebration in NH and to visit many a friend and family member. I am happy to report that Aiden did extraordinarily well in the car and really seemed to enjoy meeting and interacting with new people. It did my heart a great deal of good to introduce him to the world of Fairwood. And it did my soul and spirit no end of good just to be there again. It had been a staggering two and a half years since I'd set foot on the premises, and I could feel it in my bones. Fairwood is not the prettiest in March, especially sporting the post-ice storm carnage, but I was thrilled to be there.

Among other notable events, we visited Mrs. B - the elderly lady I used to live with the last two years I was at St. A's. We also visited Grandma Sweet - Great Grandma to Aiden- and that was a lot of fun because of course, they had never met each other before. We also had lunch in Keene at one of our favorite old haunts - Kristen's bakery- with Brad's former boss at Ritz. We also visited with many other friends and enjoyed marvelous weather while we were there. The spiritual aspect of things was also quite refreshing, but I guess I will save that for another day. I really did not want to come home but sleeping in the same room with Aiden was getting old. ( He starts groaning/whining in his sleep around 6:30 every morning.) Driving home was like driving through Narnia as the winter turned to spring in a few hours. We left piles of dirty snow behind us and came home to leaves on ( some of) the trees! We listened to "All Creatures Great and Small" on audiobook in the car and that helped the hours to pass a little more quickly. Oddly enough, the only time we hit any serious traffic we were only a few miles from home. What should have taken us fifteen minutes took us an hour. It was absolutely maddening.

We got home to find that Grampa had apparently overfed the cat ( I had left plenty of food for Stan) and when he saw he was running low on cat food, he picked up a box of what he must have thought was cat food and mixed it in with the dwindling supply of um...real cat food. Yes, he mixed the kitty-litter in with the cat food. I was horrified to say the least. At least it was clean - but Stan wasn't eating it. I wanted to get in the car and drive right back to New Hampshire. But thankfully, our cat woes are behind us for good, I think. I took Stan to his new home on Wednesday morning. Homes in the country are no longer euphemisms for putting an animal down. He should have an interesting life from now on with five dogs, one other cat, and two birds in the house. Um yes. It will take him some time to acclimate from our boring abode, I'm sure. Anyway- I'm veering off into another subject completely...Another topic for another day.

HIDDEN TREASURE!

2009-03-03T14:22:00.005-05:00

So, Stan has yet to make his departure. His new mom couldn't make it last night. I hate long goodbyes. Sigh. Cat-givers can't be complainers. ( A new spin on "beggars can't be choosers.")

The other day, Brad opened up the old trunk that we use as a coffee table in our upstairs family room. I guess it had not been opened in a very long time because inside it he found...two large jars of change. We hit the jackpot in our own home! We have yet to count it but we hope that it will mostly finance the purchase of a new laptop because mine ( the first one we ever bought) is rather sickly. You can't see anything on the whole left side of the screen. Which is unfortunate because that's where most of the icons are, and the Start menu. We're thinking about getting a Netbook rather than a full fledged laptop b/c that may suit our needs a little better. We shall see. Any Netbook users out there who want to weigh in and give us your opinions?

ANYWAY... I thought about making a little Biblical joke and rebuking him for not putting that money in the bank so it could have at least earned interest instead of just hiding it away in a trunk... like the parable of the stupid steward.( Or whatever it's called.) After all, I am a hard person, reaping where I do not sow...etc...

So anyway- rejoice with us! That which we didn't even know we had has been found!

Farewell, Stanne with an E.

2009-03-02T19:33:00.005-05:00

Tonight our cat Stan is, in the vernacular of these days, " going bye-bye." I have finally gotten my soul around the hard truth that he is not suited for co-habitation with a small child. Most of the time, he is a fairly mellow fellow, but he has fits of... for lack of a better word, "bitey-ness." Which is fine if you are an adult and you are expecting it... although it's pretty hard to expect b/c it's usually like an attack from Special Forces - swift and fierce and out of the blue. And with Aiden getting more mobile, the time has come to be more proactive about babyproofing our environment. So Stan is a victim of babyproofing cutbacks.

Fortunately, I have found him a good home with a former co-worker of mine. I am so happy that I didn't have to take him to a shelter and that I know he will be going to a good home where there are even other animals! I am hoping he will acclimate well - making friends and influencing fellow pets. I can't quite believe this situation has worked out...it's almost too good to be true. I'm afraid this wonderful former coworker, who I hadn't talked to for over six months, and who I randomly emailed, asking if she wanted to take Stan in, will change her mind or something and bring him back. I won't really believe it has worked until a few weeks go by.

I am trying hard not to be sad. I am reminding myself that the list of reasons why we should give him away is far longer than the list of reasons to keep him. Basically, there are two reasons why we should keep him: 1) Because I am insanely loyal and 2) Because sometimes he sits in my lap and makes me feel warm and cozy. The reasons we should say goodbye to him are so long that I won't even start. Anyway, the most important reason is Aiden's safety and so I know I am doing the right thing.

So I am deliberately refraining from a long and sentimentally nostalgic post about how we brought him home as a kitten from a yardsale...and all the cute things he did...and...how he was a part of our lives for almost two and a half years....aaauuugh!

A Post about Two Unrelated Things

2009-03-01T15:50:00.006-05:00

I know some of you - okay, just Liane, as far as I know- don't like hearing what other people think heaven will be like, but just indulge me for a minute. ( And Liane, you can skip this paragraph. Or not read the entire post, if you wish. But there is a charming story you may enjoy further down.) You know what I'm reeeeeally looking forward to - among other things- about the hereafter? Lack of pettiness. Whatever heaven looks like, whatever form paradise assumes, I highly doubt we're going to be irritated with other souls. But just in case, to guard against even a tiny chance that heaven may be slightly vexing, my heaven will most likely be a hermitage for the first ten thousand years, bright shining as the sun.... When I want to encounter another soul, I will walk/fly/balloon to the part of heaven where everyone else lives, visit who I choose, go back to my chosen place of blissful exile and thus, I will acclimate myself to a happy eternity. After ten thousand years, I may move to a celestial small town ( I don't know about a celestial city- that's a bit much, even for heaven), but at first, I believe I will inhabit an island in the universe, my own little Monticello. ( Did you know that Thomas Jefferson was a bit of a homebody and hermit? It's true! Why does that make me feel vindicated?) So in case you're wondering where I am for a few millennia, I'm just letting you know ahead of time. Yep, that's what I'm looking forward to. That and not having to cook every day. I think I would be a much better cook if hunger did not exist and I only had to cook when I wanted, just for the sheer joy of culinary creation. This would probably happen only about two or three times a week.

Now, for something COMPLETELY different, the other day, Grandpa came upstairs for breakfast looking like he'd had a less-than-friendly run-in with Mike Tyson. There was blood on his nose. Not under his nose but on the bridge. I questioned him about it and he didn't know what had happened. When the subject came up later, he seemed a bit embarrassed but apparently he'd figured out what happened. It seems that he had a dream that Aiden had fallen down and Grandpa was trying to rescue him; in so doing, he fell out of bed. Poor Grandpa! But isn't that sweet? Even in his sleep, he's watching out for Aiden. The scabs of heroism remain apparent and I just hope the neighbors don't think I'm abusing him!

2009: The Year of the Selfish Valentine

2009-02-15T19:15:00.004-05:00

For Valentine's Day, I surprised Brad with a grill. I can NEVER surprise Brad so I'm quite pleased with myself for pulling this off. But I felt a bit shady. I thought to myself, as I purchased the grill and the grill accessories ( that's kind of a girly word...um...is tools better?) that it's kind of a selfish gift. Happy Valentine's Day, darling: you may now cook for me! But he's actually been wanting a grill for a while - and I knew this. So I was happy to oblige. Plus, now, we can have people over for barbeques and the like. Yay! Suddenly our world will explode into an exciting whirl of social-butterflyness. Um, no. Sorry to disappoint, but I doubt that either one of us will ever emerge from our comfortable, introverted cocoons to become social butterflies. But whatever. I digress.

I went to Lowe's to purchase the grill... and I told Philip ahead of time that I was going. I think he was a little miffed that I wasn't taking him but handling Aiden, a cart, and a wheelchair would have been a bit much. It was weird being at Lowe's without Philip; I would hear the beep-beep of the forklift and have to stop myself from instinctively running toward it. Like a moth to a flame...( Boy, winged creatures are popping up all over this post. Butterflies, moths...I suppose bats are next. ) I saw a few of Philip's employee friends and they were astonished to see me without Philip but happy to meet Aiden. A couple of the forklift guys said to him, "I knew you before you were born!" It made me smile.

I came home from buying the grill and guess who came to the door? The neighbor boy...with steaks! What timing! Yes, these foody neighbors are going in the Hall of Neighborly Fame!
( THEN...yesterday...they sent their daughter over with...wait for it...a WHOLE CHICKEN...which we cooked all day Sunday in the crockpot. It made for a sumptuous dinner. It's all we can do to keep up with eating the glorious food that gets thrown at us by our neighbors!) We didn't actually grill the steaks yet b/c we haven't assembled the grill - ahem, HE hasn't assembled the grill yet, there will be no WE about it.

Further bulletins as events warrant.

Scrabble-tastic! or "How Scrabble, far from ruining our relationship, has improved it!"

2009-02-06T13:11:00.007-05:00

You know you've been playing online Scrabble too much when you find yourself in traffic rearranging the letters of the license plate in front of you, trying to make a word out of them.

As iron sharpeneth iron, so playing against better Scrabble players ( Brad and Julie - a friend from high-school- hurray for Facebook!) is slowly improving my game. But two games at once is about the max for my brain. I get into a game and think, "Where is that letter "G"? Oh, it was in the other game I'm playing...Rats!"

The old stereotype of a husband coming home and sitting down behind his newspaper has been replaced with a new stereotype in these modern days: the husband sits behind his laptop. But the thing is, in the old days, wives usually couldn't get INTO the newspaper to speak to their husband. ( But that would be pretty funny... Now I'm envisioning this scenario where a husband finds an article written by his wife telling him all about her day...) Poor things - the wives of yesteryear were reduced to standing behind the newspaper wall and shouting. ( Now I'm envisioning another scenario where the wife is taking a Reaganesque stance and demanding of her husband that he "...tear down this newspaper." ) ( I think my creative juices have been spiked or something. Yes, this is weird.)

ANYWAY... my point is... the wives of today CAN get on the computer and harass their husbands. It's called "online chatting." BLOOP! Up pops a window and there is the wife, invading the cyber-sanctum. Of course, husbands are still free to ignore them. But whatever.

DISCLAIMER: Brad does not ignore me and rarely tunes me out. ( At least, that's what I think. Who knows...? If he does, it's done very intelligently.) But whatever tuning out happens, it can go both ways. Sometimes the un-computered spouse will mumble something passive-agressive about wishing that he/she was the computer so that the spouse would pay attention to him/her. And it's a little joke that both of us understand and at which neither takes offense. We take it as a little wake-up call, jolting us from our cyber-trance, informing us that the other wants to spend time with us. Computers make the heart grow fonder. At least, sometimes. With us.

ALL THIS TO SAY...the other day, I found great joy when I discovered that I COULD be the computer. When we started playing online Scrabble, sometimes he would be upstairs on his laptop, I'd be downstairs on mine, and we'd be chatting away like lovers separated by many miles...It was SO much fun! The best of both worlds! On the computer, and yet with each other too!

Now all we need is a laptop for Aiden and life will be complete.

I am kidding.

Thanks, Gretchen, for encouraging me to get back to my therapy!

Grandpa: Music Video Connaisseur... Extraordinaire

2009-01-25T19:26:00.004-05:00

Recently, I took Grandpa to get his hair cut. I sat in the waiting area, absorbed in brain training on Brad's Nintendo DS. ( It's this little program where you do all these little exercises to keep your brain sharp. Gotta keep that old gray matter in shape, even if the rest of me is one big flabby noodle. ) I started to falter a bit in this endeavor; I lost my concentration, listening to Grandpa's interaction with the girl cutting his hair.

She was asking him if he liked watching sports, and he gave a rather noncommittal reply, and added that he watches videos. "Oh! Like music videos?" said the slightly airheaded young thing. "Yeah!" said Grandpa. I grinned to myself as I pictured what each was thinking, as if they had those little cartoon thought bubbles over their heads. The girl was thinking, "MTV music videos" and Grandpa was thinking, "Mary Poppins, The Sound of Music, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, and Charlie and the Chocolate Factory."

Girl, what kind of 85 year old man watches MTV?!

I don't know WHAT Grandpa was thinking when she started talking about You-Tube.

Cryptic Babblings Which You Can Skip If You Wish and I Will be None the Wiser, Nor Offended... But I felt the Need to Declare This Publically.

2009-01-20T10:39:00.006-05:00

I've always been somewhat of a sensitive person. I remember in Kindergarten, when they handed out awards at the end of the year - and it was the type of thing where everyone got an award for SOMEthing, no matter how lame or exalted. And my award said, "Sensitive to other's needs" or something like that. Which, at the time, I was rather ashamed of because it made me sound like a lily-livered baby pansy. ( The mind of a six year old, who can fathom? I don't think I had any secret aspirations to be tough or anything, so what was the big deal?)

ANYWAY... My thinking on the matter has evolved to a more complicated plane. I realize that this capacity to sympathize and empathize can be a great strength, but it can also be a trap. Yes, it's a gift to comfort and help others, but it also tends to get me into trouble because I can "take up a cause" and get all upset FOR SOMEONE ELSE... often in ways that are unnecessary. I think it's a quality that can be exploited by the devil: "Why just get one person upset? I'll make sure Claire hears about it and then TWO people can have a miserable day!" And in that way it's also an invitation for DRAMA.

And guess what?! I'm burned out on drama! I think if one more drama happens, I will quit! Seriously! I will move to Australia and become an ostrich farmer!

I think I'm a codependent person. Wikipedia delves into the subject thusly:

Codependence (or codependency) is a popular psychology concept popularized by Twelve-Step program advocates.^[1]^[2] A "codependent" can be loosely defined as someone who exhibits too much, and often inappropriate, caring for persons who depend on him or her. A "codependent" is one side of a relationship between mutually needy people. The dependent, or obviously needy party(s) may have emotional, physical, financial difficulties, or addictions they seemingly are unable to surmount. The "codependent" party exhibits behaviour which controls, makes excuses for, pities, and takes other actions to perpetuate the obviously needy party's condition, because of their desire to be needed and fear of doing anything that would change the relationship.^{[citation needed]}

A common usage of the term is that codependency occurs when enabling addiction, taking care of another person in a way that is not healthy in the long run to either that person or themselves, or both.^[3] Codependency is loss of self for the codependent.^[4]

Did you catch that? A LOSS OF SELF? More and more, I think I'm coming to a deeper realization that this is true of me. I know it sounds like a bunch of Dr. Phil mumbo-jumbo, but there is a kernel of truth in there. Disturbing truth. And a kernel may not sound big or important but when you're eating popcorn and suddenly you crunch down on a kernel, it can cause a heap of pain. Sometimes truth can bring pain, but that's no reason to avoid it. I believe the truth, however awful, eventually always leads to something good.

So here's the deal: I'm going to work on not caring as much. It's not a New Year's Resolution. It's a new LIFE resolution. If someone has a problem and I'm not the cause or the solution, please don't tell me about it. Please don't involve me. And if you do, don't be surprised if I don't JUMP into worried/caring/sensitive mode. ( Disclaimer: this does not include making me aware of legitimate prayer requests. I'm all fine with that. Disguising drama as a prayer request...gossip with a tacked on mention of prayer at the end: not fine with it. ) I may have to swing to the opposite end of the pendulum for a while and appear callous and uncaring...I think to end up in a good, healthy, middle of the road place, I might have to go to an opposite extreme for a while, just to extricate myself from this codependent ditch.

I hereby resign from drama, and from being a codependent person. If you want to be all upset about something, go ahead. I am not joining you. Sorry! Oh, wait. No, I'm not sorry. Unless I am at fault. Then I'll feel bad like nobody's business.

Warning - Chai Berry Latte is EVIL

2009-01-16T23:07:00.004-05:00

Words to the wise: When you go to Starbucks to indulge yourself and redeem your Christmas stocking gift card, don't be tempted by the strange reddish tea. Don't tell yourself, "You should try something new. Be adventurous. Go out on a limb. Order the Chai Berry Latte." Give me your ears, you simpletons. I beg of you: Do not do it. Be safe. Stay with the good old standbys...the cappuccino. The Caramel Macchiato. The White Chocolate Mocha. Do not associate with a strange new beverage; it is folly in liquid form.

This drink is loathsome. Be warned.

Do not look on the Chai Berry Latte when it is red, when it sparkles in the cup, when it goes down smoothly. At the last it bites like a serpent and stings like a viper...and just generally tastes horrible.

And above all, DON'T get a grande size of something you've never tried before! Stupid, stupid, stupid. *smacks forehead in disgust*

Fortunately, I did not spend all of the gift card. I went back today and got my old favorite - the white chocolate mocha- to reassure myself that Starbucks is still my friend. And it was gooood.

Rejoice with me

2009-01-14T23:24:00.006-05:00

I just need to vent some joy here.

A week or two before Thanksgiving, one of Grandpa's front teeth came out. Long story. Actually, it was a crown that fell out. So he needed to get it replaced. Enter Nanston Dental and Dr. Magurski.

At first there was a temporary crown. But it kept falling out. Oh the tales and painful minutia I could share with you. Tales of days of soups and soft food. He lost weight; I felt bad. Tales of dental adhesive and Brad putting the tooth BACK IN HIS MOUTH FOR HIM! I kid you not. I lost track of how many times we went back to the dentist. With Aiden. Without Aiden. Carrying the temporary crown in a little baggie. And then there was the time it took five hours to re-attach it. Oh, look! I did share all the tales and painful minutia with you. Sort of. In nutshell form.

And then, the piece de resistance. The creme de la creme. The cherry on... okay you get the picture. Dad took him to the dentist to get the permanent crown put on. I think it was the week before Christmas. I was at work. It turns out that the dentist, poor man, dropped the crown into Grandpa's mouth. And Grandpa's mouth did what mouths usually do when you put things in them: swallow. I'm really not kidding. When Dad told me over the phone, I laughed. It was just too crazy. I met him in the ER after I left work. There were X-rays taken to make sure the crown hadn't gone into his lungs. Poor Grandpa. Poor everyone! What a bizarre adventure in this dental saga.

He did have a temporary crown in though. Which fell out about one day later. As I said, it was a few days before Christmas and I just gave up at that point and decided not to go back to the dentist until the permanent crown was ready. Grandpa looked a little bit like a jack o' lantern but he didn't seem to mind a whole lot.

I got a call last week- from Mistress Martha of Nanston Dental, you recall from my last post. The new permanent crown had arrived. So this morning, we went in. I have to admit, I was plain and simple braced for catastrophe. What fresh calamity would befall us today? Well, this time I was ready. Aiden was with Brad, I had my fabulous nail file/buffer thing that I got in my Christmas stocking and cuticle cream so I could indulge myself in a little nail pampering. Also, I had Brad's Nintendo DS with the Brain Age game, so I could challenge the good old grey matter while I waited. We got there early, Grampa got called in early, and the whole thing took about an hour. I was stunned. I think everyone was stunned. That's IT? We can just... walk out?

The tech who escorted him out did half-heartedly mention that he should probably have a cleaning sometime...I stepped toward the elevator and said, "We'll call you." As in, Don't call us, we'll call you. Meaning, It will be a LONG time before we voluntarily darken this door again! Let's let sleeping dogs LIE, woman! We just got this puppy installed, and already you want to barge in that mouth again? Have we not been in here enough times in the last two and a half months to satisfy you?!

So yes. Please share in my joy. To quote Strongbad ( associated with Trogdor and all things Homestarrunner, for those of you who are squinting and saying, "HUH?!"), "It's OVER!"

But is it? Knock on...something. I'm still waiting for the other...tooth to drop.

Maaaaarthaaaaa!

2009-01-12T22:25:00.002-05:00

I have decided that blog-writing is a kind of therapy for me and that the main reason I've been so cranky lately has nothing to do with it being January - which is usually enough to reduce me to a miserable, hopeless blob- and it has nothing to do with the world going to heck in a handbasket...financially, politically, socially, spiritually...No, it's solely due to the fact that I've let blogging rust by the wayside. So now, in the glorious pursuit of my own selfish happiness, I shall subject any and all readers to the minutia of my life once again.

I was working with Philip today, and my phone rang. I answered it, said, "Hello, this is Claire..." and the person on the other end said, " This is Martha." Silence. Blank. Martha? Hmmm... Martha, Martha, Martha...

Now, I have only known one Martha in my life, and I haven't spoken to her for years. Not that we had a falling out or anything; she was a good friend from college and we just lost touch. But this was the kind of thing she would do - call me up out of the blue after years of silence and just say, "This is Martha." I was floored! I was bewildered! How had she gotten my cell number?! I could picture her - her smiling face, her dark eyes behind glasses, her dramatic hair, her feet in open sandals traversing the Saint A's campus, even in the snowy dead of winter, her kind, intelligent, accident-prone self, somewhere in Vermont on the other end of the phone. I said, "MARTHA R-----?!" And she said, "No, Martha from Nanston Dental, calling to confirm Charles' dental appointment on Wednesday." Blaaagh. So matter of factly. As if we spoke all the time and were great old, first-name-basis friends. I felt mentally whiplashed. How dare she sound so familiar! Suddenly, there was this great excitement- here was my dear friend Martha... and then she was snatched away by a stranger. Now I feel a great Martha shaped void in my life and I cannot find her on Facebook. So I am sending out a great Martharic yawp into the cosmic void: MARTHA! How have you been? What are you up to? Do you still live in Vermont among the heathen liberals? I must hear from you!

Trogdor Comes On a Bib!

2009-01-11T14:05:00.004-05:00

As we drove home from church today, and I watched Aiden fall asleep, wearing his meat-head hat from Aunt Liane, I was seized with an inspiration. I whipped out my cell phone, got a picture of him and sent it to her. She texted back a moment later, saying that we should be getting a package from her soon. And then I wondered if perhaps it had already come and was waiting for us at home; it occurred to me that we had not gotten the mail yesterday. When we got home, I sprinted up the driveway and lo, there was a package in the mailbox! It was mostly full of something else, but the other thing inside was...a new, knitted bib for Aiden...and yes that is a Trogdor patch on the front! HA HA! ( For the uninitiated, Trogdor is a fearsome, fire-breathing dragon who wreaks havoc and destruction upon feudal countrysides in a faux-videogame within an online cartoon-ish...type...thing. Um, yeah. It's a sort of "guess you had to be there" kind of thing. ) It has just made my day.

The big blurry swath on the left is his hand. He's flailing his arms with exceptionally vigorous joy. And who wouldn't, after all, with a cool, new bib and the green tissue paper it came in to play with!

I apologize for the poor quality picture here. This was taken with a cell phone after all. And I know it looks like I cut Aiden's hair with a weed-whacker, but it actually looks a tad better in real life. Have you ever tried to cut the hair of a small person who won't sit still and who violently resists your bescissored hand's advances? If you haven't, you can't judge me. If you have, and have succeeded better than I, I hereby officially invite you to my house to cut Aiden's hair. Not to discourage you or anything, but I'd liken it to trying to apply lipstick to an eel. Except in this case, you're using sharp instruments. Which renders this task infinitely more dangerous.

And in case anyone cares to know the current video sound emerging from the basement: bagpipes.

"Very Punny" - A Post in Which Your Assistance Is Required

2008-12-12T19:29:00.004-05:00

The other day I went to Lowe's with Philip and we were haunting the Lawn and Garden section, waiting for someone to jump on the forklift and drive it around. One of the employees came by and apologized that there wasn't a whole lot going on. He said, "The rain has put a damper on things." I laughed in that painful way you do when someone delivers a pun... and then said I appreciated his pun.

Later, as I tried to explain to Philip what a pun was, my brain went BLANK for examples. How can this BE? I love puns! I kept coming up with Tom Swifties, which is a whole different kettle of worms. ( Ew! A kettle of worms! There's another thing I love - mixing metaphors.) I know I could probably just google up a billion different puns, but I said to Philip, "Should I put a post on my blog, asking people to give me examples?" And he said yes. SO! If your brain doesn't go blank like mine, please leave a pun in the comment box so I can give Philip a better idea of the wonderful world of puns. ( Better yet, you can leave the comment on his blog if you want. We enjoy checking his comment box every so often and he LOVES getting comments.)

Grandpa the Poet

2008-12-11T22:33:00.005-05:00

Sometimes Grandpa doesn't quite get the right word. I don't hold it against him; he's eighty five years old, for Pete's sake, and has had TIA's, after all. ( Transcient Ischemic Attacks...or if you like, strokes.) And very often the slip twixt the brain and the lip can be quite comical.

The other day I was sleepily eating breakfast to the mellifluous sound of a chainsaw somewhere in the neighborhood. I commented on its dulcet tones to the other occupants of the breakfast table- Grandpa and Aiden. However, Grandpa was not convinced that it was a chainsaw. He thought it might be one of those things that "...sweeps...clouds... or seeds." Strangely enough, I knew instantly that he was talking about a leafblower. I don't know what was funnier - his words, or the fact that I understood them perfectly.

It was a much more interesting way to say it, rather than just "leafblower." Sounded kind of poetic.

VACATION!

2008-12-06T10:37:00.004-05:00

For a long time, we have wanted to go on vacation. This year it's been hard to find the time. But suddenly, on Monday morning, the possibility of getting away for a few days presented itself and we grabbed it. We left for Savannah on Wednesday morning and I can't remember the last time I was so excited and happy to go somewhere. ANYWHERE. But especially Savannah. We've wanted to go to Savannah for just about as long as we've lived in Georgia. And I have to say, it did not disappoint.

First, we drove through the city and beyond it to Tybee Island, where we snagged some lunch, walked on the beach and introduced Aiden to the ocean. It was a little chilly but spectacular. Then we drove over to the lighthouse, huffed and puffed to the top, and enjoyed the view. After all that, Aiden was pretty ready to have a nap and so we went to the Hyatt and checked in...
( thankyou Brad, the fearless Priceline Negotiator) and were totally stunned when we opened the window drapes. We had a fantastic eastern view of the river and River Street. (See Flickr pictures.) There was a trumpeter down below on the street who was playing Christmas tunes for the tourists. And City Hall was right next door, with a bell chiming the hours.

The next day we payed a small fortune to go on a trolley tour of the city. And all I can say is, thank God for Cheerios, because we probably would have gotten thrown off the trolley bus in the first five minutes without them. They kept Aiden reasonably quiet...until we really got moving, and then the jolting and bumping kind of lulled him into a happy stupor. We really enjoyed the tour; we learned a lot and were completely overwhelmed with beauty. I was afraid that going to Savannah in the winter would mean we wouldn't get to enjoy the trees in all their glory, but they still had all their leaves! I mean, to look at them, you'd think it was August or something. I am a great fan of trees in general, but these trees were magnificent. I wanted to eat them. Beautiful trees, beautiful houses, and history...What better combination could there possibly be?

That tour was one of the fastest ninety minutes ever, and we wanted to get back on the trolley bus later and jump off and on at different stops so we could walk around and take pictures etc. - b/c we'd paid extra to be able to use it all day- but it didn't really work out with Aiden's schedule. ( We learned a lot about what it means to travel with a not quite one year old. Not quite the same as vacationing as a couple. But we couldn't imagine leaving him behind.) It was a little hard to take pictures from a moving trolley bus, and the next day when we went out walking, it was cold and rainy and we didn't have a lot of time...So we need to go back in the spring and take a baby back-pack ( Brad abhors strollers) so we can walk everywhere, and take really excessive amounts of pictures of trees and houses and fountains...now that we know what's out there.

We daydreamed about buying a townhouse and moving to Savannah someday. We really didn't want to come home.

We were watching TV in the hotel and I can't even remember what we were watching but suddenly a phone rang... and it sounded like our phone at home... and instantly, my stomach just tightened. Then I realized it was just on the TV, and I turned to Brad and told him what my instant reaction was, and he said the exact same thing had happened with him. I guess we really needed this vacation!

The Autumn Blahs.

2008-11-22T15:21:00.004-05:00

You know how some days you go to the fridge and just stare inside, hoping that something interesting will appear so you can eat it...? It's kind of become like that with this blog. My mother said something the other day about checking to see if I'd written anything... and then I found myself coming here, for no apparent reason, and wondering why I haven't written anything... and getting SICK of looking at Aiden squawking at the Red Sox in helpless fury.

I guess I've been in a bit of a slump since late October. Or busy. Or uninspired. Or something. But whatever. The blog must go on. I guess. I don't know why, but it must.

I went to Sam's Club yesterday with Aiden. They were having this special Holiday event where they had all these booths with samples of food... I mean, this is Sam's Club where that kind of thing happens every day, but this was more than usual. And it was no coincidence that I was there on this special day. I needed to buy eggs. And salad dressing. And toilet paper. Which I could have gotten very well at some other store, but I knew that this event was happening. Free samples of delectable food? Wild horses couldn't keep me away! ( When have wild horses ever tried to drag you away from something? I mean, really! Why do we say this?) I was not disappointed. The thing was, Aiden was not content to be left out. He was reaching for everything I got and insisting vociferously that I share. So I did, a little bit, with a couple things. And you give that kid an inch, he will take a whole shhhhmorgasboard. Probably because the thing that I let him taste, an apple crisp type of thing, had barely touched a little bit of vanilla icecream... (Aiden's first taste of icecream! At Sam's! How prosaic.) He strongly approved. Don't worry - it wasn't much. A toothpickful, perhaps.

It is the opinion of some that Aiden is not fat enough, and I tend to agree, somewhat. I mean, I'm not terribly worried about his relative leanness, ( his fat is just well distributed, shall we say) but I wouldn't be sad to see more chubbiness on his bones. Maybe I ought to take him to Sam's for free samples every day.

So... it's not War and Peace, but I'm back on the blogging wagon again.

Good Old Red Sox...

2008-10-16T21:52:00.006-04:00

...stinkin' their hardest.

( Aiden gave up in frustration in the second inning and went to bed. I, however, stayed up til what I pessimistically thought would be the bitter end...but it turned out sweet after all! Unbelievable...)

Little bits of news from our corner of the woild

2008-10-12T22:30:00.007-04:00

* Brad's been doing training in different departments of the Sheriff's office. For instance, for a day or two, he got to work with people who serve warrants... and one of the things they do is evict people. Sounds interesting, eh? Not fun, I imagine, but at least interesting. One time, they were standing out on the lawn with a pile of stuff that had just been brought out of the evicted house, and this lady stopped and asked, "Ya'll having a yardsale?" ( And I thought I was queen of the yardsales. ) I thought this anecdote was classic and highly amusing.

*Aiden is aaaaaalmost crawling. He is soooo close. I think he may have actually sort of crawled, but I don't know if "sort of" counts. Every day I think, this is it, and we have several minutes on video of him lying on his belly, contemplating the phone or whatever we've placed in front of him to tempt him forwards, and me gasping in the background. I want him to crawl so bad but I know as soon as he does, it's the end of the world as I know it.

* It's October and the Red Sox are at it again. I stayed up way too late last night watching them... Sigh. Hope springs infernal.

*Went to Stone Mountain a couple weekends ago with Nate and Penny. Good times! The last time I'd been there was in 1999 with the Bibleschool. Cahrazy. Can't believe that's almost ten years ago. This time, I got to ride up instead of climb up - my first time in a cable car. We got some pictures which shall... hopefully...eventually make their way onto the world-wide-interweb. My favorite part: the carillon. We serendipitously arrived as the lady was playing the...um...organ...bells...instrument...thingy. ( I mean - is it correct to say she was playing the carillon? Or is that the structure itself?) It was so beautiful and peaceful to walk down by the lake amid the sights of fall and the sound of the bells. I love bells. I used to try to be outside on campus at St. A's at the top of an hour if I could manage it, just so I could hear the bells ringing.

Baby Chewbacca

2008-10-09T18:56:00.004-04:00

Aiden has taken to gurgling and burbling - sometimes with the front of his tongue and sometimes in the back of his mouth. Grampa came up for dinner and was making warbling gurgles at him and Aiden was giving them right back to him. "Sounds like a Wookie family reunion," murmured Brad.

Citius, Altius, Fortius

2008-10-08T09:47:00.002-04:00

Aiden likes to screech. Sometimes - when he's happy. His new nickname is "Nazgul boy." We've recently developed a saying that reflects this penchant for noise making. You know how the Olympics have their little motto of "citius, altius, fortius" for "faster, higher, stronger"? Well, I'm not sure what the Latin equivalent would be but this is Aiden's motto: " Louder, shriller, screechier."

Hearing News

2008-10-05T14:02:00.004-04:00

October 3rd came and went, and I did not feel any sort of urge or need to write. So I didn't. However, I enjoyed other people's remembrances of Andrew. And I made a comment on some blogs and thought I might turn it into my own little post. I feel like writing now. So I will.

Whenever I hear other people's memories and stories of Andrew, in some strange way, it's like hearing news of him again. Even if some of the things they say are things I already knew about. When Liane mentioned the little voice that whispers, " That's enough now. No one wants to hear this stuff again", I knew what she was talking about. I think everyone deals with that at one time or other, regarding the loss of someone who was so dear that the loss has become a defining part of ones' life. You don't want people to sigh, be tired of it, treat as trite something that is so painfully precious. But, at the same time, I am also certain that anyone who ever knew Andrew will want to hear news of him. Remembering these things among each other is how we do that.

Brad and I were talking recently and he mentioned an interesting phenomenon about dates. For instance, he might hear about something in the news with a date attached to it, like the war in Iraq starting in 2003. Or maybe he thinks, when did this book come out? Oh, 2002. Or, when did I work there? 2004? When did I fly there? 2001? When was this movie made? 2005? He was saying that whenever he hears a recent date, within the past seven or eight years or so, he always automatically thinks, "Was Andrew alive then?" It's not a big deal. Not that it makes anything good or bad. I guess it's just a mental habit, this Andrew timeline. But it amazed me to hear him say that because I do exactly the same thing when I hear dates. It's like everything gets sorted into two piles - before October 3rd, 2004 and after that day. I guess it's my frame of reference for this decade, and perhaps for the rest of my life.

I have my own odd little kitchen memory too. I can't remember whether it was the day before he died or about six weeks before, but he was at our apartment for a family gathering, and he had a paper cup he was using. Instead of writing his own name on it to distinguish it from the crowd, he wrote a weird joke name. I just went and looked at it in my cupboard. I keep it with the candles and the mugs I don't use, and I have a little note in it saying, "Please don't throw this cup away." I was just showing it to Brad and we cannot remember how the joke was started or really what it was about. I just keep the cup with his writing on it.

Nothing earthshattering. Just wanted to write.

"The Irony" or " The Best Laid Seat Covers..."

2008-10-02T10:58:00.003-04:00

I got a marvelous gift from Penny at my baby shower, about a year ago. It's a grocery cart seat cover so that Aiden can sit in the front part of the cart when I shop, and be protected from all the nasty germs/bacteria/viruses that generally inhabit those things. My germaphobic heart rejoiced to receive such a gift. It covers pretty much every surface of the front of the cart and it's beautiful. I just recently started using it because he can now sit up by himself ( Hurray!) which is great because I was getting pretty tired of putting his carseat in the back of the cart, and thereby having very little room in the cart to put groceries.

So yesterday I went to Sam's Club to pick up a couple items and I used the cart cover...except the carts at Sam's are just like everything else at that esteemed establishment - sized for Jabba the Hutt. So the cover didn't exactly fit. But, no matter. I'm flexible. I can deal with these little discrepancies. I put Aiden in the cart, did my shopping, paid, and left. As I walked out into the parking lot and looked around to make sure we weren't walking into the path of any oncoming vehicles, my attention was distracted from Aiden for a few seconds. When I looked down at him, I could not believe my eyes. He was leaning over, almost prone in the seat, SUCKING on the exposed part of the side of the cart, not covered by the too-small seat cover. AAAAUGH! I was horrified and amused at the same time.

Figures.

Aiden, 1. Control Freak Mother Claire, 0.

This and That

2008-09-28T18:24:00.003-04:00

I haven't really written much for a while so I'm just going to throw out some flotsam and jetsam paragraphs about what's been going on of late.

Right now, Brad is driving around looking for a gas station with some gas. He's been to several and can't find any. He had to come home and put the lawnmower gas in the vehicle and then go back out to look for more because he was so low on gas. Ayeyeyaye!

I cut my hair. Short. My hair has been falling out for awhile - which I hear is a normal postpartum thing. I thought it would have stopped by now - he was born nine months ago, for Pete's sake, how long will I keep losing hair?!- and for a while I was worried that my thyroid meds needed adjustment. I consulted my doctor, got the bloodwork done, and lo, the thyroid was fine... so I guess it was just good old weird hormones or whatever. It seems like with hair falling out, and thus less hair to deal with, it would have been an easier thing to handle... but instead, it was just turning into a big hassle and a worse scraggly mess than usual and I wanted to hack it OFF. So I did. Well- I didn't, but a woman in a salon did. Over ten inches of it. I've never had it this short before. And I donated it to Locks Of Love - an organization that makes wigs for people - and so the whole haircut was FREE! ( except for the tip, of course.) Woohoo! . Penny and Aiden came with me; Penny to get her hair cut too, and Aiden to charm everyone's socks off in the salon. I kept on bursting out into laughter afterwards because it just felt so different and every time I passed a mirror it was startling. Brad is not too thrilled with my shorn look, and I am sorry for that... but I just feel like a calf released from the stall. And of course, it will grow back. Never fear. I know some people feel sad and regretful after cutting their hair. Not me. I'm SO happy with it.

You can see pictures on Flickr. I don't really have a true "after" picture up yet. The one I do have, my hair is all straight and un-me. They blowdry it flat afterwards and I don't look right. I'll have to put up a real one asap.

The other day, I had Aiden with me when I went to work with Philip. Aiden very regretfully went down for a nap and when he woke up a while later, I went in to get him and held him on my lap while I read to Philip. A couple minutes later, I suddenly noticed that both of Aiden's legs were stuck in one pant leg. I can't believe how unobservant I was! I don't know how long it was like that - or how it happened. Did he do that himself? Or did I do it the last time I changed his diaper? I started laughing, and picked him up to show Philip, who started laughing too. We both laughed so hard that Aiden got a little scared, I think.

Blue, blue, blue

2008-09-28T16:14:00.004-04:00

Dianne Sandford sent this jacket for Aiden several months ago. I love it! Thanks, Dianne! Couldn't resist taking his picture wearing the blue camo on the blue couch, next to the blue lamp...Can you tell what our favorite color is? I love how it make his blue eyes jump out at you.

Derrick, I told you I'd post a picture of him wearing this jacket!

Mo' on Flickr.

Prey

2008-09-13T16:47:00.002-04:00

It kind of feels like someone - someTHING - is out to get you when one sunny morning, you see that a gigantic, glorious, glistening spiderweb has been set in place... right outside your back door, as close as a screen. And you feel a little threatened, and then, a little foolish to be so intimidated by something the size of... wait... that spider is HUGE! Okay- its body is probably no bigger than your big toenail. Perspective, perspective, please. But...I guess I'll wait... a few days...until it's gone to go out on the back porch.

Yesterday afternoon, we watched the spider roll up some poor anonymous creature who had the misfortune to wander into the web. Brad exclaimed about how cool it was; I could hardly watch. He thought it looked remarkably like Shelob wrapping up Frodo. A very small, fly-like, un-hobbitish Frodo. Poor Frodo. There was no Sam bug to come rescue him.

Aunt Lindsay and Aiden

2008-09-07T13:24:00.005-04:00

Friday afternoon I got a phone call from Lindsay. She, Amy, and Andrea were flying out to DJ's wedding in California and had a four hour layover in Atlanta and she wondered if I'd be able to pop up to the airport for a visit. Wild horses couldn't keep me away! I haven't seen Lindsay or Amy in about two years and it was so much fun to see them - AND Andrea, who I had the good fortune to see this summer for a few days- and to watch them interact with Aiden. They seemed to genuinely like him, even though he spit up a large amount of peas and oatmeal on Aunt Lindsay...which is generally not a good way to win friends and influence newly introduced aunts. But she was very forgiving, having other nieces and nephews, of the blood-relation variety, who have done much worse to her. ( I couldn't resist linking to that... Just thinking about that story cracks me up.)

I thought perhaps he might rip one of her earrings out - which made me feel not a little queasy- because he was fascinated with them and was playing with them almost like a monkey swinging on a chandelier, but Saint-Aunt Lindsay tolerated his tuggings and all ear flesh remained intact. PHEW.

So, yes, the whole thing was a very bright spot in my week. Hurray for surprises!

Oh, and by the way, happy wedding day, DJ and Crystal!

( Picture taken with my cell phone.)

I never thought I'd be a hair stylist

2008-08-30T18:51:00.001-04:00

The other day I gave Aiden his first haircut because his little mohawky-Tintin-tuft was getting a little unruly. I took some pictures and I just have to share a few of them.

The urge to cut his hair kind of just came on me in the middle of feeding him his first avocado.

Doesn't it look like he has green teeth? EW!

I've never cut anyone's hair before, but I figured that beginning on him couldn't be all that terrible - he doesn't have that much hair to start with. Most of it is in his little mohawk in the front. It's not like he'd get mad at me if I did a bad job. So I guess he's my guinea pig. I'll learn on him as he grows.

I put a dish towel around his neck, got the scissors, wet his hair down, and went to work. Poor thing- I think he was a little perturbed that his mealtime was getting interrupted. And he was having a hard time sitting still because he was trying to figure out what I was doing, which did nothing to make my job easier. "I'm supposed to sit quietly while you are wielding scissors over my head?"

In the middle of it all, I had to stop and laugh and laugh because he looked so funny with his hair combed down flat. I guess I scared him with my hysterical laughter because his lower lip started to pooch out and he began to cry. For after pictures, see Flickr.

A small, weird mystery

2008-08-22T15:25:00.002-04:00

Why Stan likes to lick the underside of the kitchen table, I will never, ever understand.

I just learned that I'm ignorant.

2008-08-19T11:37:00.003-04:00

I just returned from a meeting of the local chapter of La Leche League. I've been once before, but that was back when Aiden was only a few weeks old. There were more people there this time, and the circle of mothers was surrounded by a screaming vortex of children...so I got a chance to practice my lip-reading skills as the mothers discussed such issues as weaning and solid foods. ( It's amazing how much I COULD lip read!) I learned a lot and was grateful that I went but I thought on the way home how thankful I was for the leaders' opening little spiel about taking what works for you and not feeling pressured by anyone else's opinion. Because I did feel a little... um... I don't even know what the word is for this feeling. Ignorant? Put off? Stupid? Lemming-like? Mainstream? Like my insecure neuroses were expanding like yeast being fed with sugar?

For instance, some people were talking about why you shouldn't feed your baby cereal. And we're not talking Cheerios or whatever. They meant like basic stuff - rice cereal, oatmeal etc. It was interesting hearing their theories and ideas and not everyone gave off this vibe of " if you don't do this, you are a bad mother, brainwashed by our culture of convenience." It just made me think: I love learning but I don't love feeling ignorant. When you think about it, they're inevitably linked - learning eradicates ignorance, but some people have a gift of teaching without making others aware of their ignorance. And some people's way of imparting wisdom leaves you staring at the void of ignorance in yourself. Weird. ( And that makes me think, "Which am I?" )

How can I say this better? Learning should be a positive thing: Cool! I just learned something new! I can't wait to do this new thing. I want to research more about it. It shouldn't be a negative thing- Hey- why didn't I know that before - it seems like such an obvious basic to that person- oh, I feel bad because I've been doing this and that wrong...I probably harmed Aiden's digestive system by feeding him that... The Holy Spirit's way is the first way - the excitement of learning. The devil's way is the second way - CONDEMNATION!

Maybe it's partly a pride issue. I know that humility is essential to being a healthy Christian - a healthy PERSON for that matter- but there is a line - somewhere - between humility (a teachable spirit) and feeling DUMB. "There is now no dumb-demnation..."

I'm torn; I want to go back to this group because both times I have gone, I've learned valuable things but A.) the horde of wild children was almost enough to make me institute mandatory quiet story time - led by me - but then I wouldn't be able to learn anything and B.) I have enough insecurities that I come up with on my own to conquer thankyouverymuch.

I'll probably go back. But maybe not next month.

Thanks for the inspiration, SJ!

2008-08-13T23:01:00.004-04:00

I was just reading on one of my favorite blogs: "Keeping Up." Sara's latest post alludes to the trend of over-scheduling children; I started writing a comment on her blog, and realized that I was writing a blog post of my own. So...I came over to my own blog and kept writing. So, for what it's worth...my comment to Sara has blossomed and is now my rant to the world:

YES! Resist busyness! ( I think I'm going to adopt this as my new motto.) This is true for adults as well as children.

It's odd, and a little unsettling, how I already feel a vague sort of pressure with a baby - just seven months old - to make sure I provide the right stimuli for learning, the right toys, etc. It's a good thing to be aware of these things, I guess, but I tend to get a little too angsty about it. I find myself thinking, "Am I doing this right? Am I not playing and"ENGAGING" him enough? ( You know when you start using vapid, meaningless buzzwords like "engaging" that you're in trouble.) Should I buy loud, annoying toys and force him to play with them? Are there studies that prove that infants are positively affected by those irritating toys? If I just DO more, will he get better SAT scores???" Not really - not that last one anyway...but I have to keep giving myself reality checks, resisting the weird temptation to constantly second guess myself or somehow feel guilty and instead, just RELAX, for Pete's sake. It's like I'm comparing myself to some non-existant, perfect mother. But sometimes I just want someone to TELL me what to do. Get this toy, do this three times a day, read this book. This will ensure a better future for your child. Voila. A formula. Too bad that's not how life works. ( And besides- " better?" Better than what? Better than perfectly fine? Better than happy? Yeah- makes no sense.)

The pioneers and founding fathers are a great solace to me. They didn't have scads of cool toys with flashing lights and seventy two different tunes built into microchips. They didn't have mobiles that play lullabys hanging over their cribs. They didn't do baby yoga. They did not have Gerber foods or Huggies Sensitive Skin Wipes. ( GASP - how did they SURVIVE?) And look what they did: they wrote the Declaration of Independence. They created the Constitution. They crossed the continent. They built the transcontinental railroad...to name but a few accomplishments. Nice work! Not too shabby, as Nate would say. They were incredible inventors, thinkers, writers, and scholars. Even as children, they could run circles, intellectually speaking, around the smarty-pants college students of today.

George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, John and Abigail Adams, Daniel Webster, Thomas Edison and Alexander Graham Bell did not have Baby Einstein DVD's. For that matter, EINSTEIN didn't have Baby Einstein DVD's. So there, busybody moms of today. Take that.

Disclaimer: this is not to say that from now on I am going to use leaves or woolen wipes on Aiden's poor little bottom, tear down and stomp on the mobile over his crib, give him muddy, pointy sticks to play with, forbid him from ever leaving our property, and teach him that Baby Einstein is the essence of evil. Nope. I may actually play those DVDs for him someday. I LIKE the cute little toys he has. I want him to find interests and pursue them. I just don't want to be obsessed with keeping up with the culture around me that ceaselessly chants, "Do More! Buy More! Experience more! Go more! Not enough! Not enough! Not enough!"

I may be pursued by the Diaper Police

2008-08-04T17:18:00.007-04:00

Today was Aiden's first time swimming. Penny and I took him down to the neighborhood pool and he seemed a little perplexed at first, but I think he decided that he liked it. He didn't cry and seemed to enjoy splashing anyway! Penny took this picture on her cell phone -isn't it fantabulous?!

We found out later that no diapers are allowed in the pool. Oops. Well, would wearing NO diaper have been better?! Okay- that's why they have a little kiddie pool... but it was all weird looking and even when I cleaned out the leaves, it still looked... palsied, brackish, and altogether less than wholesome. There was no one else there, but we still could get in trouble because... big brother was watching. Yes, our pool has a surveillance camera so that if any crimes occur there, they will have tapes to use for evidence. I can see the newscast now: "DIAPER IN POOL! Footage at 11:00!"

July 24 - Seven Months

2008-07-24T21:23:00.001-04:00

Seven Months
Originally uploaded by claire.pass

Aiden is seven months old today. Another reason that I wanted him born on the 24th and not on Christmas ( when I realized he wasn't going to come weeks or days EARLY like I initially wanted), was because Andrew's birthday is July 24th and 24 was always his favorite number. Kind of silly for it to matter to me, I know, but it makes me happy in a small way. I am wondering about this idea: when Aiden is older, and birthday parties with friends are important, in order to make his birthday special and not overshadowed by Christmas, maybe we should adopt Andrew's birthday and celebrate a sort of half-birthday. To be truly "half" it would need to be in June... so maybe I'll just call it his summer birthday.

Fingers Crossed: I think we're out of the woods

2008-07-23T15:19:00.003-04:00

Many thanks to those who prayed for Brad last week. I'm glad to say he is feeling much better now that the fever is gone. I think having a couple days of weekend recuperation helped a lot. He got some blood taken for testing but the results haven't come back yet so we're not sure what the whole story is.

And Stan is on the mend too. I realize I haven't really gotten into his whole story... I'm still trying to decide if I should even go there. Ooog.

Brad

2008-07-18T08:22:00.003-04:00

Just to update anyone who's interested...

Brad's fever has continued and fluctuated through the week but every morning, he stubbornly forced himself out the door. He's on some prescription strength Motrin and is doing pretty much everything he can... except what he really NEEDS to do - and that is REST for DAYS. Fortunately, he has Saturday and Sunday off - although he has a mandatory study group on Sunday afternoons. But I think at least twenty four hours of doing NOTHING at all will be very helpful. He has had papers every night this week which has not really allowed him to relax much in the evenings but it has been kind of fun for me to help him craft them.

I am hoping to set up an appointment for him to get some bloodwork done this afternoon so that we can find out if there is something more sinister afoot - like Lyme's Disease or something. Gulp.

Thanks to all of you who prayed - it made a difference. Brad said he could tell people were praying for him.

In the midst of all this, Stan had a health crisis of his own that necessitated a visit to his primary care physician. But that is another story for another day. But, suffice it to say that we have had enough drama around here to last us for a long, LONG time.

If I wrote blog posts like my Facebook status

2008-07-15T15:54:00.003-04:00

Claire should be putting away laundry but she isn't.

Claire thinks that this day of work was FABULOUS and that everyone should go check out what Philip wrote on his blog this morning. ( see my links section.)

Claire hopes that Brad is feeling better and wants everyone to pray for him. Okay- have to stop this Facebook talk and expound a little here. Sunday night, Brad came down with a fever, and thrashed and moaned all night long, hardly sleeping, only to get up around 4:00 in the morning to take off for his very first day of police academy. What timing. He came home pretty exhausted last night and his fever spiked way up to an ungodly number...between 102 and 103. Poor man. Chills, headache, sweats... the works. And he had to write a three page essay about himself. So as he huddled under the covers, he dictated his life story to me. Thank goodness for laptops is all I can say. Well, at 5:15 this morning, he didn't seem much improved but he dragged himself out of bed and took off for the academy again. I do not know how he did it. He was the picture of pure misery. He should be home some time in the next hour and I can't wait to hear about his day. Please pray for a miraculously quick recovery.

Claire is heading back to laundry land.

Aiden makes a new friend

2008-07-05T12:32:00.003-04:00

On Thursday, our friends Jeff and Fritha visited, with their 6 week old daughter Dani. It was so fun to meet her - she has ten times more hair than Aiden! - and hold her. Aiden was quite captivated by her. We had a wonderful day together.

Food, glorious food! Or, Please, mama, may I have some more?

2008-06-28T20:36:00.003-04:00

A combination of several different factors caused me to take a momentous step today: I gave Aiden his first solid food! Well, if you had seen it, I doubt the word "solid" would have been the first adjective to spring to mind. It was rice cereal... So...glop, really. He looked a little confused at first, like, "Why are you feeding me what appears to be spit-up?" But by the end, he was licking the tray for any stray smidgens. Good to the last drop! It was hilarious! Yes- I say "tray" because he had another first - he sat in the highchair for the first time today too! He seems to be quite smitten with this exciting new world of quasi-solid food and a chair to go with it. And I got it all on the videocamera...Um, unfortunately, I didn't set up the camera very well and most of the time, you just see my hand in front of his mouth. Duh. Oh well - be it ever so clumsily executed, the event was recorded for posterity.

Aiden's six month pictures

2008-06-27T12:11:00.005-04:00

Here's the latest crop of Aiden pictures...

Pretty incredible how six months has flown by...

Diaper Service

2008-06-24T19:06:00.002-04:00

Aiden turns six months old tonight at 11:59. Party at our house @ midnight! Mmmm- hopefully not.

( Pictures to follow soon, hopefully.)

He has reached the status of magician: this evening he somehow got more icky on the outside of his diaper than the inside. I'm still not sure how that happened.

The doorbell rang a few minutes ago and it was the little girl from next door and she wanted to buy some diapers from me. Really! She had fifty cents in her hand as well as a Cabbage Patch baby doll. She wanted some diapers for him/her because apparently, this is the type of doll who you can really feed and who actually "goes."

I had a doll kind of like that once - not a Cabbage Patch baby but the kind who really "went" and I swore an oath - or affirmed, I can't remember which, but I may have been ignorant at the time of the verse in James that tells us "let your yea be yea and your nay be nay" - that I would take this doll with me wherever I went in life. I think I still have that doll somewhere. Maybe. Hmmmm.

Anyway- I was tha-RILLED to be of assistance and happily, I had half a dozen small diapers of a size that Aiden has outgrown already that I had cluttering up his bookcase. I didn't know what to do with them anyway so I was glad to be rid of them! They will probably be a tad bit big on this doll, but better than nothing!

I refused remuneration.

Update on Grampa

2008-06-22T18:27:00.002-04:00

Well, Grampa came home from the hospital this afternoon. He's moving slower and still hard to understand, but it's getting a tad bit easier to figure out what he's saying. He may have to have surgery at some point to clear his veins ( or arteries?) of further blockage but it can wait for now, according to the doctor. Surprisingly, his doctors seem to think that Grandpa and Dad's month-long cross country trip in July is a great idea and are encouraging him to go. We'll see. We're letting the dust settle for a few days. Letting the dust settle happens around here a lot anyway.

I've got to lay in a supply of straws when I go grocery shopping tomorrow; he seemed to be having a hard time drinking from the glass at dinner, so I hope having a straw will make that a little easier.

Yes, as I have heard many an elder say, " Growing old aint for sissies." That's for sure. Too bad there's not a whole lot of training and personal preparation on how to deal with ones own failing body. Not that you'd really WANT a lot of education in that department, but the crash course most people get just seems a bit sad and cruel. Life is baffling. Wonderful, yes. But baffling at the same time. Grandpa and Aiden make happy noises at each other and the juxtaposition of the two - one who hasn't learned to talk yet, the other who is trying to remember how to talk- makes me feel something that's a bit like laughing and crying at the same time.

Thankyou for your prayers. We appreciate them.

The Unexpected

2008-06-20T17:19:00.007-04:00

Please pray for Grampa. This morning, I came down to make his birthday breakfast - guess what? His favorite: waffles!- and found that he was already up, getting his cereal out... When I said Good morning, he turned around and looked at me a little funny, like he was upset, and then opened his mouth to say something but his words were so slurred, I couldn't understand what he was saying. Right away, I knew he must have had a stroke - or something like it- and my heart sank.

He had another mini stroke last month and spent almost a week in the hospital, getting tests and eventually a pacemaker put in. ( I don't think I wrote anything about that.) But the only thing we had noticed wrong that time was that he was having trouble swallowing food. Other than that, he seemed totally normal. But when we took him to the doctor, they said he'd had a little stroke and told us to go to the hospital.

Anyway, that was last month. This morning, as soon as I realized what was going on, I told Grandpa to sit down, went upstairs and told Brad who scurried around, gathering up the right paperwork to take with him to the hospital. Meanwhile, I went back down to the kitchen to talk to Grandpa. Fortunately, he was able to walk, and could sort of write. So that was encouraging. It was a little hard to understand his writing, but he could basically get his point across. I read him a birthday card from Aunt Gladys, and afterwards, Grandpa sort of sang, "Happy Birthday To Me...." - just the first line. It was so sweet and funny and sad. I could only really understand the tune, and the "to me" part, but it conveyed that he hadn't lost his sense of humor. Poor guy- Happy 85th Birthday! Let's go to the hospital to celebrate! Man. Not how I'd want to spend my birthday. A few minutes after that, Brad and Grandpa left for the hospital.

Many thanks to Penny who came over to calm my jitters b/c I was pretty freaked out and loaned me her car for the day so I could go do stuff to keep busy and visit Grandpa this evening. I'm just waiting for Aiden to wake up ( his schedule has been pretty disrupted today) so I can feed him and then we can go.

Please pray for Grampa. One thing to pray for specifically is that he will recover his speech fully. I think losing the ability to talk would probably be a pretty frustrating thing to endure, and not to sound totally self-centered or anything, but it would make living with him and caring for him pretty challenging.

Four Generations

2008-06-15T15:36:00.004-04:00

Happy Father's Day to all the dads in this picture! And to my own dear father!

The Answer

2008-06-15T15:10:00.003-04:00

It came to my attention that some might appreciate my posting the solution to my hinkety-hinkety riddle. Ahem, yes. I have been remiss in leaving it up in the ether. For those who saw this on Facebook, I know that someone solved it in a comment, but for those who just saw it on the blog, I have left you in the dark!

The answer is....

carrion carry-on.

Ta-daaaaa!!!

Tuna Showdown

2008-06-11T20:49:00.002-04:00

Today was a first for me. Brad and I went to a car dealership and took a large SUV out for a test drive. I drove. It was a beast of a vehicle. A very safe, high, leathery, full of nifty storage compartments beast. Yes, I know- you are thinking: What? Gas prices are so high and they're test- driving SUV'S? All I have to say to you is: Whatever, Trevor. Go ask Brad. I trust him with the financial/car decisions around here. Plus, it feels safe. I like safe. Especially when it's for him. ( The vehicle is primarily going to be for him. Unless I fall in love with it and decide to purloin it.) )( Ooo- purloin is such a luscious word.)

A woman from the dealership came with us and told me where to drive. I felt like I was in Driver's Ed again.

And in conclusion: I have two things to say.

First, only on the show "Iron Chef" could you find this show description: Tuna Showdown. The juxtaposition of these words is the funniest thing I've seen all day.

Secondly, everyone needs to go right out and get - and EAT - a new flavor from Ben and Jerry's - Cinnamon Bun! SO GOO-OO-OO-OO-OOD.

More of Aiden

2008-06-10T21:45:00.005-04:00

These pictures are a couple that I put on Flickr recently. I know many of you have already seen them but I'm posting them especially for Aunt Gladys who can't get them off Flickr but can get them if I put them in the blog! Enjoy, Aunt Gladys!

...My posse's not the only thing gettin' laughed at...

2008-06-09T20:05:00.002-04:00

Today's Funny Thing of The Day That Made Aiden Laugh:

Me singing the Free Credit Report Dot Com ad about buying a new car.

Is it stuck in your head too? Oy vey.

Perhaps the world's first hinkety-hinkety

2008-06-03T14:42:00.005-04:00

Two new posts in as many days?! The skies will surely fall.

This post is for those who know how to play hinkey-pinkies. This should include everyone who's ever made applesauce at Fairwood. (Hmmm- a large group, I should think.) At least, it was played during the time I was there. (Hmmm- smaller group, I should think.) I don't know if they still play it on A-Sauce Day. I didn't see it on CKS's recent docudrama...( The rest of you: sorry. I don't feel like explaining hinkey-pinkies. Try googling it.)

I don't know if this has been done before, but I propose a "hinkety-hinkety." See if you can figure it out:

Unchecked duffel bag belonging to a carcass.

Funny Manna

2008-06-02T21:43:00.003-04:00

Recently, I've noticed a new phenomenon with Aiden. There comes a certain time of day that I am calling The Laughing Hour. It started a while ago when I noticed around 8 or 9:00 in the evening that he was particularly susceptible to chortling. I would do something - making a certain noise or doing a certain kind of tickle - and he'd take it into his head that it was the funniest thing he had seen all day and laugh. And of course, I'd do it again, just to hear that beautiful little chuckle... and again, and again... The next day, it's not funny. The noise or tickle doesn't work. It has to be something completely different. And I'll go through all sorts of contortions and noises until he decides on The Next Funny Thing. As Cherilyn would say- there's a spiritual analogy here! It's like the children of Israel and their manna- it's fresh every morning...or in our case, evening. ( And the old stuff rots...becomes foul...is no good...You get the idea.)

Aiden's been having some pretty fussy episodes recently- due to teething. I was fussy too when my wisdom teeth were coming in, so I can empathize. But the Laughing Hour still works, in spite of the fussies. When the funny thing is discovered, he will switch, mid-whine, into a wide grin and giggle. This bodes very well in my sight. And tonight, I hit the jackpot. EVERYTHING that I did made him laugh! I felt like the most hilarious comedienne! ( I wish I could have recorded it, but of course, as luck would have it, we don't have any blank tapes for the videocamera right now... But he doesn't seem to really be himself when the camera is around anyway.)

It's a good thing that children don't realize the power they wield. I don't think they would, as Strong-Bad says, use it "for good or for awesome." I think they would make slaves of us all if they only knew. Well, I guess they really DO make slaves of us. For years, we feed them, carry them, change their dirty diapers, wash their clothes, do innumerable things to ensure their health and safety... and, for a while anyway, our biggest reward is the joy of experiencing their smiles and laughter.

Abandon Hope, Ye Lizards

2008-05-25T20:57:00.003-04:00

This morning, as we were leaving for church, Brad stepped out the door, made a noise of consternation and said, "Do you want to see something disgusting?" I said no. Most definitely not. What kind of a question is THAT? ( Although, I suppose I should steel myself for such events, now that I am the mother of a boy. Furthermore, a boy is apt to thrust the Disgusting Something under my nose, rather than ask, as his father did, if I'd like to come see it.) I went out the door quickly, hoping that whatever it was would stay out of my line of vision...which it did. We left for church and I forgot about it.

When I returned home, I happened to catch a glimpse of The Disgusting Something as I came in the door. Apparently, sometime in the recent past - perhaps when my neighbor came over the other day to give me the contents of her fridge - including several steaks, pork tenderloin, coleslaw, green beans, asparagus, two lemons, a cucumber, ground turkey and a huge bag of shrimp- when our front door was open, a small lizard decided to poke his head in the door. Literally. Not on the side of the doorknob, but on the other side - near the hinges, to be more exact. Have you guessed what's coming? Well, I did not see this small reptilian visitor, and... yes... I...quite literally... closed the door on him. The portion of his body with his head attached was inside the door. I have no idea how long he was there before Brad spied him...but it had to have been at least overnight. Siiiiiiiiick.

It made me think of a verse in the book of Hebrews and my mind wandered to strange paths...like what if there was an animalia "Faith Chapter"... which talks about lizards who have undergone persecutions and torture... and been severed in doors...I TOLD you I was thinking strangely.

But, on a more serious note, can you believe my neighbor? I think she wins some sort of award. She was going out of town for the weekend, quite unexpectedly, because her father was dying in Louisiana... and she had all this food thawing - or thawed- in her fridge- and in the midst of getting ready to go, and in spite of her own personal distress, she thought to call me and offer me this food that would probably be bad by the time she got home again. Who is that thoughtful? I think I need to buy her flowers or SOMEthing.

Vultures, tipping, and The Obsessive Germ Radar

2008-05-19T19:04:00.002-04:00

Today I interrupted a vulture feast. The nasty creatures were feeding on some roadkill in the middle of the country lane I was driving on... and I shouted, "VULTURES!" feeling distinctly Captain Haddock-esque. Actually, I can't remember if I shouted aloud or just thought it - as Lindsay would say, using my inside voice or outside voice. Anyway- vultures. Ew. I don't think I had ever seen real live vultures before.

In other news, last night I was feeling rather like a soggy dishrag and the thought of making dinner was not to be borne: I picked up the phone and ordered pizza. When the guy came to deliver, my mind was a bit pre-occupied and after he left, I realized I had not tipped him. Guilt smote me big time. I wondered what dark imprecations he was calling down on me as he drove away. I pictured him coming back under cover of darkness and toilet papering my house. So to ward off any curses or acts of revenge, and to assuage my injured conscience, I called the establishment, ( which rhymes with Fominoes, to use a Brandon trick) after dinner, and asked who my delivery guy was. They told me his name and I explained the situation and asked them to tell him how sorry I was and that I would bring his tip in tomorrow. So this morning, along with my other errands, I zoomed into the pizza place and lo, there was the gentleman - or scrub, depending on how charitable you feel- himself, and I was able to deliver my belated tip into his paws with much groveling. He seemed a little stunned to see me. I bet that was probably the first ( and probably last time) anyone ever chased him down the DAY AFTER A DELIVERY to give him a tip.

And in still other news: I think I should wrap Aiden in plastic wrap ( with holes for breathing of course) or encase him in a giant hamster ball ( again, with holes) when I take him to the grocery store. It's funny how people seem to think that babies are public domain. It's almost like I can see a bubble over their heads that reads, "Oh! I see a baby! I must touch the baby!" This is a logical fallacy, ( is that the term I want? All I can remember from my ethics class is the phrase "there is no ought from is". Thankyou, Professor Monty Brown) but logical or illogical, people think it and act upon it all the time. They grasp his hand or pinch his toes... all of which are things that go straight into his mouth. ( Yes, he's gnawing his toes these days - it's hilarious. ) My obsessive germ radar goes wild. I know they can't really help touching him - I am drawn like a magnet to him too... I KNOW from firsthand experience that he's irresistible. So now, instead of just me using the hand sanitizer, I want to slather it upon anyone within a six foot radius of Aiden. Maybe I should hang a little sign from the handle of his carseat - "Please do not touch the baby. He is for display purposes only." I know this is probably all due to being a first-time mother. With my next child, I'll probably be so laid back that I'll drag him/her along in the gutter and think nothing of it. (Mmmm - probably not.)( And no, I'm not pregnant.)( Yes- back to that little disclaimer again!)

Ranch Dressing a Religion for Some

2008-05-13T20:48:00.004-04:00

I have been having a decidedly dry spell with writing recently, but today gives me a good excuse to break my involuntary silence. Today I am thirty. Think upon it. How it boggles the mind.

I decided to mark the occasion this morning by making waffles - something which, if you read this blog, it seems like I'm doing all the time, but really, it's quite a rare event. Because of Aiden, my morning routine usually does not include having breakfast with Grampa anymore so he was quite startled to see me up and about in the kitchen this morning. Grampa is quite punctual with his breakfast whereas my morning meal sometimes is so late that it becomes a brunchish sort of thing. Yes, I KNOW, breakfast is the most important meal of the day. I do my best.

Anyway, Grampa offered to help me set the table, since I was busy making the waffles; I asked him to get out the syrup. He rummaged around in the fridge and a moment later came out with ... Ranch dressing. I successfully repressed wild laughter. ( This is a sure sign that I needed to clean out my fridge, something that I did this evening.) Ranch dressing is practically one of the essential blocks of the food pyramid for Grampa. You've got your carbs, your protein, your dairy, your fruits and vegetables, your sweets and oils... and then you have your Ranch. I have considered writing a whole post just about his love of the stuff. ( I think we should invest in Ranch Dressing stocks - it would be nice to have some return on the investment). I have seen him pour it on just about everything, but waffles was a bit of a stretch, even for him. I think it was just a case of condiment confusion because he didn't actually put any on his waffles. ( I surreptitiously snuck the syrup onto the table a few minutes later.) From that moment on, I knew it was going to be a good birthday.

And it has been.

Aiden even got me some roses and a card - don't know HOW he managed that!

George Clooney and Isaac Demme; separated at birth.

2008-04-29T10:26:00.004-04:00

On a whim, I decided to search Facebook for famous people. A name popped into my mind and I typed in George Clooney, just for giggles. Several pages popped up, mostly with the actor's picture. ( One side of me says, Foolish imposters. The other side says, How unfortunate to be named the same name as a celebrity.) As I looked at the page, I was STUNNED. There, amidst half a dozen George Clooneys, was ISAAC DEMME'S name and likeness.

*shocked silence gives way to sputterings*

WHAT?!

I have no idea how you showed up on a search for George Clooney, Isaac, but it made my day! Now, can anyone tell me why this happened? Is there some obvious link that I'm missing? Like Isaac's nearest and dearest use "George Clooney" as his nickname? If I search for Oprah, will I find Fritha's page?

Oh. False alarm. I figured it out. I just looked at his page and under his musical interests he has "George Handel" and later on, "Rosemary Clooney." Sigh. Rats. It's all due to eclectic taste.

Facebook weirds me out.

But, even though the mystery is solved, I still want to post this. Just for giggles.

In other news this week...

2008-04-26T19:25:00.002-04:00

...I went to Philip's I.E.P. meeting on Thursday. ( Individualized Education Plan, for those of you who are not up on the latest alphabet soup of the Special Ed world. It's a meeting for parents and teachers to evaluate progress and set goals for the next year.) I did not have anyone to take care of Aiden for me as Brad had to work overtime that day, and my mother, mother-in-law, and Penny were all out of town, so I told Philip's mom about my dilemma and she was fine with me bringing Aiden with me... I told her that as soon as he started to fuss, I would leave. There were six or eight people there besides Philip and his parents, and all of them were women; you should have seen the commotion that Aiden caused. Everyone had to see him and coo over him and touch his toes and make him smile and they all wanted to sit next to him. He put everyone in a good mood from the get-go, and someone said, "We should bring babies to every I.E.P. meeting!" We didn't last the whole meeting, but I got to stay for a good part of it anyway.

Changing the subject completely... The other day I was thinking, What are we going to do when Aiden gets too big for his cradle swing? It's his primary residence when we're downstairs and he's not being held by someone, but he's fast outgrowing it. I saw this picture in Liane's Flickr account of Adam in this thing called an exersaucer - kind of like a walker but without wheels. It's pretty much a seat in the midst of a big, round plastic play station type of thing. I thought, hey, I should look for one of those when I go yardsaling.

The next morning was Friday and I had a couple errands to do... and I knew of a few yardsales in the area. At the first one I went to, there was an exersaucer. YES! I hit the jackpot! It was a little more money than I wanted to spend but I figured it was too early in the day to start seriously haggling. Plus, as I thought about it, I realized I was being stingy. Here I'd just said I wanted one of these, and I knew that it would cost three times as much to get a brand new one, and now I'm complaining that this one, right in front of me in great condition, is too expensive? There is a line between wise frugality and pinchy miserliness... and I dance on that line on a regular basis. ( I pictured God heaving an exasperated sigh if I passed it up- Hello! You asked, and I provided, even if it isn't a rock bottom price... it's still a pretty good deal. ) So I decided to throw stinginess to the winds and cheerfully forked over the cash and bought the thing. And proceeded to douse it with Lysol and wash the cloth seat. I'm very happy with it. He probably won't be able to really use it for another month or two, until he has better trunk control etc.

I was a little stunned at my good fortune. I was hoping to find this very specific thing and I found it right away! Okay, I'm going to have to set my mind on something else and try this on next week's foray. I really want to find a nice big mirror for my dining room wall. It has been bare of any wall decoration for nigh onto three years. Mirror, mirror, mirror. I need a mirror. I'll let you know how my bargain hunting goes. ( Don't I always?)

Wash your hands, people!

2008-04-25T22:28:00.007-04:00

The other day I went to a required training session for my company. (That sounds weird - like I own my own company, but I couldn't very well say "the company I work for" because that would end the sentence with a preposition, which, as we all know, is wrong. Oh, the quandaries of trying to be grammatically correct.)

I had to get up early and drive up through the city, both things of which I am not fond.

I got there and found that it was a session on "Universal Precautions." My heart sank. Just thinking about the words 'bloodborne pathogens' is enough to make me feel weak. I found temporary salvation in the annoying jaw clicking noise coming from the girl sitting to my left. I was so close to telling her to stop chewing her gum but I realized that the distraction and irritation was saving me from thinking too much about the grossness of bloodborne pathogens.

Basically, the class was an OCD person's worst nightmare, confirming the need to be paranoid about the unseen perils lurking in our midst. There was a long lecture on the dangers that we all face as we live in this germy world... and what is the thing that will save us all? Handwashing! Regular, thorough, extended washing of the hands. Under the nails, up the wrists, for as long as it takes to sing Happy Birthday...

The lecturer reminded us that germs, bacteria and viruses are everywhere. "When was the last time you cleaned your lightswitches? Doorknobs? Cell phone? TV remote?" Now I knew she could find no fault with my handwashing; I'm really crazy when it comes to that. But cleaning my lightswitches...? She had me there. Guilt assailed me. I've really let my housekeeping slip - especially after Aiden's birth. In fact, I think the only reason my kitchen floor is as clean as it is, lies largely to my mother's credit. Today I bought some Lysol and cleaned every lightswitch I could find. And more. A NEW outlet for my blossoming obsession with cleanliness! ( I say that with a fair degree of sarcasm because if you could see my house, you would know that my obsession with cleanliness is pretty selective. There are certain zones in the house that have been settled exclusively with clutter. In fact, this clutter thinks it has squatter's rights.)

Now, whenever I touch anything, I envision little squirmy, evil looking germs transferring themselves from the item I have touched and clinging to my hands. I feel like I'm living in an ad for Purell.

She also mentioned another thing I already knew - that the bacteria, germs and viruses that survive all this manic cleaning will become freakishly strong and resistant to cleansing. So we must remain vigilant and continue to take the battle to these evil baddies. "This Present Darkness" meets Flylady. ( I was going to put links up to both those things but this computer's being weird... and if you don't know what either of those things are, Wikipedia has EVERYTHING you EVER need to know about ANYthing. Trust me. The internet is a brilliant miracle.)

So pretty much, all this stuff was stuff I already knew. Stuff EVERYONE already knows, if they had a halfway decent mother. But hey, I got paid for listening. I got paid to have someone tell me to wash my hands. I got paid to have someone validate my OCDness. So I'm not complaining too much.

I wonder what kind of nastiness lives on this keyboard? On this mouse? Ew! I'm off to go wash my hands! You should too! Right Now!

Poor Stan

2008-04-22T19:48:00.004-04:00

This evening, Aiden and I were returning home from the neighbor's house where we had gone to deliver a big pile of their mail which the mailman left in our box. ( Either that or we have mail-elves in the neighborhood who are making mischief.) We spied Stan on the front lawn as we returned... and as we watched, a horrifying little scene unfolded. Stan heard something and stood up on his hind legs, meerkat style. ( Not exactly like this meerkat, but pretty close.)

Suddenly, up from the back yard, the (other) neighbor's dog rushed at Stan and they both raced toward me. In a split second, I thought, " I hope I can get to the front door in time to let Stan in and get in myself and keep the dog outside..." It was like I was moving in slow motion...There was no way I could get there in time. Stan and the dog plunged into the underbrush amid frightening noises. I zoomed in the house, put Aiden down in his swing and went outside to see if I could rescue my poor kitty. There were no more noises...the neighbors, who had been walking through the backyard with their dog, had removed their offending creature...I called Stan from the front door and the back porch... but there was no sign of him.

And then I heard an odd sound. A scritching, scraping sound. I looked across the back yard and there was Stan, slowly letting himself down the trunk of one of the larger trees. It's a good thing we didn't declaw him, that's all I can say. I don't know how far he had made it up that tree but when I saw him on the way down, he was probably a good eight feet off the ground...When he got down to the ground, I went over almost to where he was and he was just frozen in place- I think he was afraid that the dog might come back, because he could still hear him, barking from the neighbor's porch. I finally convinced him to come through the weeds to me - I didn't want to risk any poison ivy- and I carried him up to the house; I could feel his poor little heart beating like mad. He has definitely lost weight since we converted him to an outdoor/indoor kitty. Poor thing.

He had another wound. Sadness.

I don't think I would do very well making any nature documentaries. The harsh realities of nature, including seeing animals fight and/or chase each other, and/or, heaven forbid, EAT each other, are not my cup of tea.

Daddy, My Hero

2008-04-21T21:46:00.014-04:00

I've been meditating recently on the verse in Philippians that says, " Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honorable, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things." I keep coming back to it because my thoughts tend to wander off track into negative paths.

This morning, my "whatsoever things" filter brought my father into my thoughts. I thought about his lifelong process of pouring out his life for others in the ministry, following Jesus to the ends of the earth along a difficult, and darkening path. He has faced setbacks, wounds, and discouragements; some of these trials have been apparent to all, such as the loss of my brother, but many more sadnesses have been borne without outward indication to the world. Without indication to me, even. I have seen the circumstances of these sorrows play out before my eyes, but I have not heard my father complain about them. I thought this morning, Daddy is the personification of the poem "If" by Rudyard Kipling. For those who may be unfamiliar with this poem, I've pasted it below. For those of you who ARE familiar with it, and also familiar with my father, don't you agree? And the last few lines which say, "...yours is the earth and everything in it..." reminded me of the verse in the Sermon on the Mount, where Jesus says that the meek shall inherit the earth. So, get ready, Daddy. You're going to inherit the earth.

And then a strange word picture popped into my head. Daddy is like those little packets of silica pellets that you find in new shoes that are put there to absorb moisture. Daddy absorbs discouragement. Now, wait a minute- I know that probably sounds terrible. Hear me out. I'm not saying what you THINK I'm saying. ( He's certainly not Tigger, but he's not Eeyore, either. Or Rabbit. Maybe more of a Piglet or a Pooh. ) He encounters PLENTY of discouragement, possibly more than a typical person because of his sensitive soul. And it may make him sad, but it does not make him bitter. But even more importantly, and really the whole point of this bizarre analogy ( HERE IT IS, PEOPLE! THE WHOLE PAYOFF OF THE PACKETS IN THE SHOE ANALOGY), he does not let discouragement seep out of him and poison other people. Even legitimate discouragement! ( As opposed to just " in-your-head-discouragement.") Instead of Harry Truman's motto of "the buck stops here", he could have a plaque on his desk that says: "The discouragement stops here."

( Me, I'm more of a discouragement aqueduct; it comes in and I let it spill over and pass it along to the next person, under the guise of "venting.")

( Speaking of discouragement, today has been a doozy and I'm afraid I haven't handled it very well. It's 10:30 and I'm just now recovering my equilibrium thanks to baking therapy. Gingersnaps were the order of the day and I had none. So I made them. I figure, what's the point of being an adult if you can't drop everything and bake up a batch of cookies at 9:30 at night? And I just want you to know, I did not eat them all in one fell swoop. No, not even half.)

BACK ON TRACK HERE. In perhaps an even more incongruous analogy, he might be compared to a wastewater treatment center; yucky, negative gray water of dingy circumstances goes in- the sweet, positive, clear water of faithfulness comes out. What a testimony to the power of the Spirit of God working within the yielded human heart. ( I TOLD you it was incongruous. Proverbs talks about the worthy woman's children rising up and calling her blessed. Here we have a child rising up and calling her father a waste water treatment center. All for the glory of God.)

For those of you familiar with the Old Testament, Daddy's the anti-Gehazi. For those of you familiar with J.R.R. Tolkien, he's the anti-Denethor. ( For those of you not familiar with the Old Testament OR J.R.R. Tolkien... GET familiar, you cultural barbarians! I can't paste the Old Testament or the Ring Trilogy at the bottom of this entry, you know...) ( For those of you who ARE familiar with the O.T. and are still scratching your heads trying to remember Gehazi: think...Elisha's servant... Or was it Elijah? Hmmmm. Who's the cultural barbarian now?) Yes, he sees darkness and gloom, but he also sees the glorious end that will eventually shatter the darkness.

He inspires me.

I thought about storing this away for his eulogy, or Father's Day, whichever comes first. ( JUST KIDDING!) But then I thought, there's no time like the present. I love you, Daddy!

Here's the poem "If" by Rudyard Kipling.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you
But make allowance for their doubting too,
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master,
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it all on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breath a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much,
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

Spring Evening

2008-04-17T19:23:00.003-04:00

Spring has sprung...

2008-04-11T21:14:00.008-04:00

...and the little frogs in the neighbors' fountain pond have started to raise a ruckus. Most of the time I don't hear them because in the summer I usually have all the doors and windows closed against the oppressive heat. But we have not turned on the AC yet... and it's VERY warm today... and so I have my windows open towards... the neighbors... and their screeching froglets. Really! These are not your typical friendly neighborhood peepers. These are not the melodious, cute-sounding little froggies of the Fairwood swamp. These are the terrorists, the divas, the rock stars, the gangsters, the nasty brats of the frog world. When I hear them, all I picture is a big mouth, Charlie Brown style, opened wide in a raspy roar, little tears spouting from eyes that are squeezed shut. The sound they make leads me to believe there is a baby somewhere in the neighborhood who has been left on someone's front doorstep and is howling in dire distress. Or a wailing little child whose malicious older sibling is repeatedly pulling their hair... for hours. I keep doing a double take thinking that Aiden is upstairs awaking from a nap, and calling me to come feed him, but then I see him in his swing, sleeping peacefully.

In other spring news... yardsale season has officially begun. Today was not the first day I went to a yardsale this year - that happened over a month ago- but today was the day of the annual big neighborhood yardsale in my in-law's subdivision. I heard it might rain in the afternoon and I was pathetically afraid that it might mean the cancellation of the event, but the day dawned bright and it turned out VERY WARM... It's raining now, but so what? My yardsaling hunger has been, temporarily, quenched. Until next week.

This is the third year in a row that I have gone to this particular subdivision yardsale and it proved to be another fun success in the chronicles of The Friday Morning Treasure Hunt. Although less fun because my good old yardsaling buddy, Penny, had to work today. ( MASSIVE POUT and General Protests of Outrage.) I didn't get any hugely spectacular finds, but I did get a modest haul of various delightful and useful objects, and all for under $15. CHEAP FUN and THE THRILL OF THE HUNT! It doesn't get any better than that.

So glad we bought a station wagon!

I am adding to my list of yardsale weaknesses. Besides books, blue glass objects, and black T-shirts, I have come to realize that straw purses/bags are also among the things I cannot resist. ( Well, purses and handbags of all kinds, to be honest. I think this is the natural result of resisting carrying a purse for the better part of my life. Now, it's suddenly all catching up with me. The womanly purse fetish, so long dormant, is making up for lost time!) This is... I think... my third straw bag that I've bought in the last few years. But it's WONDERFUL! It's not a purse. It's not a diaper bag. It's both! At the same time! My weird little heart rejoices. Stan almost lost his life when I caught him scratching The New Bag this afternoon.

Last year at this time, I had just discovered that I was pregnant but hadn't told anyone -except Brad, of course. And the produce man. And I was yardsaling at the same big annual subdivision-wide yardsale with Katie and Penny, and found all these nice baby clothes... and wondered how I could buy them in a casual, yet surreptitious manner, so as not to arouse suspicion. This year, I was carrying Aiden outside of me. Still slightly awkwardly, as he was in his carseat the whole time... but it was fun to bring him around with me and initiate him in the exciting ritual of yardsaling. He has already definitely influenced how I do yardsaling: I look much faster. So many yardsales - so little time between feedings. But it all went...mostly smoothly. Everyone cooed over him and tried to get him to smile and asked how old he was and what his name was and how much he weighed when he was born and how long his toenails were....Okay- I just made up that last part. You get the picture. I like to talk about him, naturally; it's fun! But at one point, I thought it might be easier to make and wear one of those sandwich message boards, listing his vital statistics. It's just funny how babies make everyone all soft and squishy and smiley and nosy and generally lose their inhibitions. In fact, I think babies are like alcohol in that regard - they make people out-going and happy. ( I don't think there are any "mean drunks" in the world of my baby-alcohol analogy. ) I mean, normal, sober adults would never just smile idiotically at another passing adult stranger and make babbling noises and inquire how old they are and what their name is and how much they WEIGH! Can you imagine?! I think the world would be a more interesting place if that DID happen.

Overheard in phone conversations at the jail:

2008-04-11T13:35:00.005-04:00

"Yes ma'am; pot is marijuana."

"Yes ma'am; p.m. means the evening."

"Yes, ma'm; your letter was returned because you put the return address in the middle and the recipient's address in the top left."

"Yes, ma'am, even though your nephew goes to church and prays, he still was caught doing drugs and is in our jail."

"No, you're not a bad mother to not bond out your daughter. Sometimes people need to be punished."

Not all the same person, thankfully.

Who has wounds without cause?

2008-04-09T11:34:00.004-04:00

Recently, we decided to make Stan an outside cat. Well, more precisely speaking, we decided to make him an outside AND inside cat. Call me paranoid, but I was getting a little nervous about his relationship with Aiden. So if I have to put Aiden down for a nap and know that I'm not going to be in the same room for a while, I make sure Stan is outside.

I think it was quite the culture shock for Stan at first. We had made such a big deal of keeping him inside for so long that I think our about-face on this issue weirded him out. ( Wait- first you told me I couldn't go outside? Now you're telling me I can't come INSIDE?) He used to sit at the front door and look out the little side-window... now he sits on the doorstep looking in. I think he has made some friends in the neighborhood, but he's also made some enemies. Or maybe they're just friends with poor boundaries and odd ways of showing affection; he came home the other day bearing the scars of battle. There was this big ol' chunk of fur missing and a wound in his side. Oh my word, my stomach felt weak just looking at it. My innards quiver. I felt SO BAD. It was as if my child had returned home from school with a black eye. Here I had dumped this poor, innocent creature out into the wild and now he's been persecuted.

I feel like it's my fault. When I told this to Brad, he agreed with me. Yes- it is your fault, he said serenely. It's as if YOU had attacked him and gouged his flesh. Sigh. I know he meant this to illustrate the absurdity of my thoughts, but the mental image of me being in a snarling, biting altercation with my own pet was unsettling.

Brad grew up having outdoor cats and didn't think that the wound was anything serious. The only cat we ever had growing up wasn't mine- it was Liane's- and I think he had some fights too, but I don't remember much besides one ear being sort of bedraggled.

So now I face a dilemma. Should I keep tossing Stan out to face unknown, cruel beasts...? I think it has sort of mellowed him out, so he's not so hyper when he is inside...Maybe these wilderness ( and I use the word lightly because our subdivision is hardly a wildlife preserve) experiences will toughen him up and be the making of him...