Two years ago I went on vacation

On October 15th, 2004 I had the embryo later known as Ada implanted into my uterus. Actually, I had two embryos implanted, but the other one became twins (oh, I know, can you imagine three at once?) and neither of those two made it past about six weeks. But I digress.

The doctors said that I should take it easy for a day or two after the implantation. Despite knowing that people get pregnant on ski trips and while training for marathons, when you've gone to all the trouble to get pregnant, um, with assistance, it is hard not to want to do everything "right" to make the pregnancy stick. I wasn't up for a 26 mile run, but low-level activity seemed like a good distraction. I knew that I would not want to sit around the house too long, and going to work while I wondered whether the embryos would attach sounded like a recipe for disaster. ("Let's see, is there anyone in the building who hasn't already seen me cry?")

A vacation was in order, so Chris and I hopped into the car and headed south. We were headed to my sister's in Berkeley, but our first stop was my cousin's home on the coast. My cousin is a mostly retired geologist who still writes papers with younger researchers. At this point I think he does it to keep sharp, and because he enjoys interacting with younger people. [He also likes getting them in trouble. Once when he was in Iceland for a project, the team had brought flares in case anything went awry. On the last night he was on the site, he convinced the research assistants to set off a bunch of the flares for fun. The next day he left the country, so he wasn't there when the local authorities stopped by to let the grad students know how not ok it was to be shooting off flares in the middle of the night in Nowhere, Iceland.] My cousin is the kind of old man who wears a bolo tie and rakishly placed cap and looks eccentric and fun. Which he is. His wife is less flamboyant, but smart and lovely in her own right. She never wears bolo ties, but did agree to honeymoon in Japan in the 1950s. Plus she came to my graduation in a cap with a propellor.

Currently my cousin and his wife spend a good part of their time traveling the world so that he can give talks and collect awards. He's won the geology equivalent of the Nobel prize. When my cousins are not globe-trotting, they live in a small town on the Oregon coast. It is beautiful but, like much of Oregon outside of the Willamette Valley, kind of red state-y. My cousins love visitors, especially those with a liberal bent. We went to the one cafe in town that caters to Democrats, drove and wandered around the area on a sight-seeing attempt cut somewhat short by wet weather, went out to dinner at what passes for haute cuisine in those parts, and admired my cousin's collection of Chinese communist propaganda posters.

We had a good time with them, but I felt weird not telling them that I'd just had IVF. Superstitiously, I worried that if I told them or in any way suggested that I might be pregnant, the embryos would detatch themselves and flush themselves right out of my body. Crazy, I know, but investing so heavily in a chance to get pregnant will do that to a person. So after a short visit with my cousins, we got back in the car and headed south again. It was kind of nice to be in the car most of the day, sedentary yet hurtling forward. Chris drove while I read magazines and nibbled at snacks.

My sister and her man greeted up with a fabulous meal. (Did I mention how much my stomach enjoys having a restaurant guy in the family?). We wandered around the bay area eating, enjoying a science playground and wandering up and down streets around San Francisco and Berkeley.

My sister is brilliant and funny. As I have mentioned before, my in-person relationship with my sister changed forever when I met Chris. Although we have always been close and often use one another for support and cheerleading, once Chris and I got together my visits with my sister tended to include him. We've carved out some "sister time" but for the most part have included Chris in our adventures. And my sister has borne the brunt of that. After all, I'm in love with Chris, so having him along is no problem. My sister had to do the adjusting. She and Chris get along well and are both in-laws and friends, but I recognize that this latter relationship took energy on both their parts. And meeting my sister's then-boyfriend made me realize it was time for me to make such an adjustment. Spending time with my sister with her guy around was an adjustment. Pair that with my fears about whether the embryos would attach, what pregnancy would be like, whether I'd be a good parent, and well, it was somewhat of an odd vacation.

I am not normally a superstitious person, but on that trip two years ago, I was looking at everything for meaning, taking everything as a sign. Even as I hoped to be distracted, everything reminded me of my possible pregnancy. (It is a bit like buying a car that way. You start thinking about buying a honda and suddenly the streets are filled with them. You want to be pregnant and the sidewalks are choked with waddling, center-heavy women.)

Two years ago I was thinking a lot about family, about what I wanted out of life, about when my next shot in the ass would be. Everything in my life isn't perfect, but I did get what I most wanted two years (and three years, and...) ago. And life with Ada is still what I want. I am still thinking about many of the same things that preoccupied me two years ago (though the space taken up by shots is now filled with dirty diapers). Though I am thinking about the same things, I feel a lot more positive about them. I know I am a good parent, even on the days I have done a less than stellar job at it. Today feels like a world away from two years ago.

On this October 15th, we are hopping once again in the car and heading south. This year we are only going on a day trip to see Ada's grandparents. Just in case Chris starts feeling nostalgic for the days when he acted as my syringe-wielding nurse, I'll be wearing double padding and keeping him away from sharp objects.

The best day ever

A day at the pumpkin patch.

Or, the post of a thousand photos.


This weekend I was alone with Ada while Chris was at a conference. Despite my worry about whether we'd get tired of staring at one another for four days, I had a near perfect weekend with the girl. On Saturday we had a best-day-ever kind of day. This was the best day ever for me because not only did Ada have a great time on our excursion, not only did I skillfully handle day 3 of solo-parenting (now, with more outings!), but the girl had a long nap in the middle of the day. That Ada's naps are either long or in the middle of the day is not ever to be counted on. Getting both in one day was so great, so the rest of the day being good was just gravy.

Luckily, this was also the best day ever for Ada. First, we went on two, count 'em TWO bridges to get to the pumpkin patch. Ada, like her parents, is a sucker for a good bridge. If I fail to point out that we are on a bridge, she emphatically reminds me "bridge!" (which sounds more like "bige"). On this trip, Ada got to exclaim twice, and while she wasn't occupied with shrieking gleefully, she was busy hugging the horse her grandmother bought her. (This being-a-baby thing is a total racket. Ada's grandma visited for grandma's birthday, and brought gifts for Ada.)

Ada and I were meeting my brother-in-law, his girlfriend and her son. I wasn't sure how far behind us they'd be, so I took Ada to the barn to see the animals. Let the best day ever fun begin! Ada's joy was, as we say in my family, standing beside her. She did not know what to make of all the real live animals that were just like those in the books, but moving! and making noise! and moving! I should have predicted this, given how she reacts to the cats and dogs she meets in our neighborhood. It was definitely one of those moments parents talk about. You know, the "having kids is so great because you get to see things for the first time all over again!" moments. Ada loved the animals. Loved them in a run-back-and-forth-between-the-pens-gawping-and-smiling-and-pointing-and-then-running-back-to-see-the-pigs-oh-the-ducks-no-the-llama-wait... frenzy. She made all the animal noises.

Well, except for the llama. What exactly DOES a llama say?











And when I asked her what the goat says she responded "llama! llama! llama!" I didn't actually hear it say that, but they are pen mates, so they are bound to be tight.

Ada was a little skeptical about the hay ride but was thrilled to see all the pumpkins in the field. She toddled off into the field, alternating between trying to pick up pumpkins weighing more than half her body weight and grabbing at vines in order to take the "sticks" with her. D (the kid in the orange shirt) was great with Ada. He brought her pumpkins, carried her between the rows, carved a face into a small pumpkin and otherwise entertained the short girl.



After an extended discussion of which pumpkins were the "right" pumpkins, the "best" pumpkins, we hopped back on the hay cart, paid for the pumpkins and made a beeline for the elephant ear booth. My brother-in-law's gal is a connoisseur of the elephant ear, and guided me through this new experience. Looking at the size of those monsters, I talked her son into sharing one with Ada and me. Sadly, my camera battery died before we got our hands on this fried dough deliciousness. It is probably just as well, since between shoveling in the stuff into my own mouth and parceling out bits for Ada, I got a little greasy/sugar-and-butter coated.


Mid-snack I realized that almost all the sugar-bomb, dinner-thwarting treats Ada has experienced have come without Chris. My husband loves sugar and late at night often asks if I've got any cookies. So I feel a bit guilty about dosing Ada with sugary snacks while Chris was out of town. But not guilty enough not to buy a second elephant ear to share with the kids. Mmmm, greasy...


I take care of Ada by myself all the time. Spending so much time with her this weekend was nothing new. But it felt different because with Chris out of town for four days, it was just me. Before he left I'd been worried about what I would do at the end of the day when she was whiny and I was tired and minutes stretched to hours. When Ada was tiny and colicky I could swear that she'd ramp up into special fits when she knew I was going to be alone with her for an extended period. But this weekend Ada was on her best, most adorable, sweetest behavior. She's too young to understand how it feels to be in charge alone, but she managed to give me the lovely gift of a wonderful weekend nonetheless. And writing this days after the elephant ears are only a pleasant memory, I know it isn't just the sugar talking.

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

Photo Credit: Janeen

Destiny is not a matter of chance,
it is a matter of choice;
it is not a thing to be waited for,
it is a thing to be achieved.

William Jennings Bryan

So why does she wake up if I sneeze on the other side of the house?

Cooking dinner one night last week, I heard a double beep. It sounded like a smoke detector, but less insistent. That's it, a polite smoke detector. I looked around, heard two more beeps. After a moment, two more. I kept cooking, and Chris headed upstairs.

Chris heard the beeps, and thought they must be coming from our bedroom. But no. Beep Beep. Chris realized the sound was coming from Ada's room. Beep Beep. Turns out that putting a humidifier directly under the smoke detector isn't a great idea.

Ada's room is pretty dark at night, so Chris turned on the light to get at the ceiling mounted smoke detector. Amazingly, Ada did not stir. She didn't move at all, not with the beeping, not with the lights on, not with Chris moving around making noise. This from a child who wakes up from a nap if I just think about walking past her room while she's sleeping. Chris said he knew she was alive because of the snoring. Now if only she could sleep this deeply when she's not sick, I could learn to clog dance during her naps.

She's bitching about stealth ads again

Mayberry Mom and Chaos Theory both took on blog ads on Wednesday.* I'm personally not bothered by the ads and have an easy time tuning them out. I can't see putting them on my site, given the low volume traffic.

So ads, whatever. But what IS bothering me is the emails and comments I am getting from bloggers wanting to increase traffic to their sites by suggesting I do a "swap" with them - if I put their site on my blogroll, they'll add me. The emails always start with some version of "I love your blog" "I really enjoy reading your blog" "great blog."

Um, if you are such a big fan, how come you've never commented before? I know there are people out there who read my and other blogs and never comment. (My husband is like that. He loves you all and reads religiously, but almost never leaves a message. Except at Sweet Juniper.) Fine, lurking is cool. But really, if you have a blog and are chatty that way, seems like you might have offered a comment or two at a blog you think is so great. And that comment might have come before you so enthusiastically gushed about how great my blog is and oh-yeah-do-you-want-to-pimp-my-site-for-free. Especially if I have never seen or heard of your ad-encrusted site. Especially if it is a site featuring "cute" photos of people's kids. Why do I need to go to a random site to see pictures of children I don't know? At least with the blogs I already visit, I know something about the kid before seeing them wearing a goofy hat or smiling through a chocolate ice cream facial. I am guessing that you don't know anything about my site, other than that it is written by a mom. 'Cause really, my own child notwithstanding, I fucking hate cute.

I am sure I was not the only recipient of this "offer." And I know I've complained about this kind of marketing before. But it just bugs me, and bugs me in a way that ads that are clearly ads just don't. Oh, and this is where I wish I could borrow Metrodad's brain for a minute. If he was writing this post, it would be really funny and cutting, yet inclusive and loving. I'd force that guy to be my new best friend if he didn't live across the country and if I didn't think my current closest pal would threaten to cut him if I told her that. (But really, she'd love him too, if she read him regularly.)




*They swapped blogs for their paired posts, so the links posted take you to the posts they've written, but not to their blogs.

Random quote and unrelated photo(s) of the week

(This beauty has been for sale for months, but so far, no takers.)



I am grateful to those who are keepers of the groove. The babies and the grandmas who hang on to it and help us remember when we forget that any kind of dancing is better than no dancing at all.

Lynda Barry
One Hundred Demons

The Milk Bar is Closing

I am one of those women for whom nursing was the easy part of being a new mom. As Ellen tells it, just after Ada was born the girl practically commando-crawled up my belly to reach my breast, latching on immediately and vigorously. I never had mastitis, plugged ducts or other routine but painful problems that commonly plague nursing mothers. (Ok, I did get thrush, but that was when I was pregnant, not breastfeeding.) Ada has always been an avid nurser. She took well to solids too, and at 15 months only nurses a few times a day. At this point it sound be easy to just cut her off. Who knows, maybe it will be easy for her. But it isn't easy for me.

I enjoy the quiet time with Ada, the chance to hold her warm body and hum or sing to her. Especially now that she's walking, the girl is all about movement, making those cuddle moments rare And though I don't have a problem with so-called "extended nursing." I am facing a deadline: Thanksgiving.

Every year since college, a group of my friends have gotten together for Thanksgiving. We rent a house and barely leave all weekend. If we are someplace scenic, we take walks, but mostly we sit around playing cards, cooking, eating, drinking and trash-talking. Usually the weather encourages this sloth. We've gathered in Wisconsin, on Cape Cod, the Oregon coast and upstate New York. One of my Thanksgiving friends has been living in Mexico for the past several years, and has been advocating for a warmer destination for long before that. This is the year that the group has agreed. So we are headed to Mexico for Thanksgiving. This is great, and Chris and I decided that it will be more fun without Ada than with her. As much as I love her, she's not yet a great traveling companion. So Ada will stay home with her grandparents while we flee the country.

This is where I run into a problem. I need to (at least mostly) wean her in the next two months. Ada is not looking very interested in weaning. I have heard that waiting too much past a year makes it a bit harder to wean, as the child gets more "attached" to the breast. Ada's only 15 months old, so I think we are still fine as far as that goes. And truthfully, I probably wouldn't have been in a hurry to make a change if we didn't have this trip coming up.

Right now Ada is only nursing when she wakes up in the morning, before nap(s) and before bed. When I am not home with her, she goes without (ok, she gets milk, but without the breast). She survives just fine, as she does when someone else puts her to bed. But when I'm there, nothing but the real thing is good enough. I want to wean her down to the before-bedtime before we leave. Being apart from both Chris and me for four days is going to be a big enough change for her without cold turkey weaning.

So, help a brother (ok, a mother) out? What have you done? What worked? How can I get on the plane without being racked with guilt, clutching my engorged breasts?

A Monkey Boy Story

The other day Ellen and Monkey Boy stopped by for a bit. Ada may not know how to turn the television on, but Monkey Boy does. (He's older and wiser, but I'm hoping she doesn't catch on to this trick too soon.) Monkey Boy sauntered up to the tv and flipped it on. The Tyra Banks show was on, featuring transvestites. Looking briefly at the curvey, ultra-femmed out trannie on the screen, Monkey Boy declared "Da Da."

Apparently there is something Ellen has been keeping from me.

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

Look, as for Hulk Hogan, do not mention his name ever again! He will be referred to, if we even need to refer to him, which I doubt, as "Blond Blondie, Big Blondie!" In this way, we will disrespect him! In this way, he will be driven from my dreams! No more sneaking up behind me, "Blond Blondie, Big Blondie!,"and putting me in a headlock, and I am naked, and have forgotten to study for all my exams!

George Saunders
Proclamation

Open letter to my daughter

Ada -

As you become increasingly active and engaged with the world, I want you to know I am paying attention (and riveted by it all). Some things I am noticing and wondering:

• It would be nice if, when I pick you up at 6am in order to nurse you, the first word out of your mouth was occasionally "mama," instead of "papa" or "book." Though really, I'd settle for "hi."


• I know that you love me intensely (and thank you for that, I do revel in your slobbery, sweet love), but is it necessary to show your desire to be with me by cutting your naps short (or refuse them outright) when I am home? I know you nap better when Juniper is with you. Not only does she tell me about it, but this week when I was working at home I witnessed it first-hand.


• Thank you for - when you tumbled head-first down four steps, doing a complete somersault and landing on your bum - not getting all bruised and banged up. The fall alone scared the crap out of me, and reminded me that your desire to hold on to the railing while descending stairs, while charming in a "I can do this the big person style" kind of way, in no way indicates that you are actually ready to take on certain physical maneuvers. The upset (to your parents) caused by the spill you took later in the day, when you face planted after tripping off a single step, bruising both your forehead and your cheekbone, was only somewhat mediated by the fact that your papa was the one witnessing that fall, allowing me to not feel like I am the "bad" parent in this family.


• I am amazed that a full month after I abandoned my attempts to get you to say or sign "please," you suddenly started doing both. Were you just working on this as a special equinox surprise?


• Can you please explain why the previously enchanting bath no longer holds your rapt attention? You used to love every moment of the bath (ok, except for the moment where papa or I rinsed the soap out of your hair). When you sensed the end of the bath was near, you'd scootch as far as possible from our arms, responding to "are you ready to get out?" with a firm "no." Now you don't want to sit down in the water and after 45 seconds are declaring yourself "done, done, done" with the bath. How can it be that something that has amused and soothed you from your very earliest days is now annoying and even possibly a bit frightening? Have you been talking to Paul, who we know is a bit sensitive, and afraid of both fountains and the shiny floors of large chain grocery stores?


• You were so amazingly mature at bedtime on Sunday, allowing your papa and me to put you to bed at Avery's house. When you were done nursing I asked you if you were done. "Done" you said, pointing to the portable crib. I lay you in the bed and you were quiet and sweet. Although you cried after I left the room, it only lasted for 9 minutes, much less than the hour I had steeled myself to hear. And how nice it was to pick you up from the crib in order to take you home later that night. I volunteered to pick you up while your Papa grabbed the bags, knowing that I would get to enjoy your warmth and sweet smell for an extra moment late that night. Nursing you a bit before returning you to bed, I felt sad about how soon such moments will be over. Soon you will be weaned, and later you'll spurn my arms in favor of books and sticks and bongo drums. But not yet, thankfully not quite yet.
  

Love,
mama

For My Grandmother

HBM suggested people write about causes they believe in that are really doing something. I have chosen two organizations that may seem small and unimportant, what with war, poverty, disease and violence to worry about. But I want to highlight organizations that provided concrete and very needed help to someone I loved. But first some background (otherwise known as the "why we should give a shit" part of the post):

When my grandmother was 85, she was diagnosed with Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS, often called "Lou Gehrig's disease"). ALS is a progressive neurodegenerative disease that affects nerve cells in the brain and the spinal cord. Essentially, it stops motor neurons from stimulating muscles, thus paralyzing the body bit by bit. My grandmother had always been an active, athletic woman. She was on a basketball team in the 1930s and was an avid golfer who liked to keep her handicap lower than her age. Suddenly she found it hard to move as she once had.

My grandmother had a form of ALS that starts by attacking the motor neurons controlling the muscles in the throat. The disease was very hard on my grandmother, as it progressively robbed her of the things she loved to do and the social connections she'd spent a lifetime nurturing. Initially she found it difficult to swallow. This meant she started to drool, which scared off some of her friends. They acted as if being around a person with ALS could somehow "infect" them with its unsightly symptoms. Problems swallowing also made it hard for my grandmother to eat. Like all members of my family, my grandmother loved food and loved to eat. The loss of mealtime was also hard because it kept her from social meals with friends.

As her muscles atrophied and died, my grandmother began slurring her words. This was again both a physical annoyance and a social loss. People in her social circle started to treat her as if she was mentally deteriorating, rather than just physically ill.

ALS does not affect a person's mental capability, something that is both good and a bit horrifying to contemplate. Being trapped in one's body, progressively less able to move or communicate but still completely aware of one's surroundings - it sounds like an episode of The Twilight Zone, doesn't it? My grandmother, always a good humored and lively woman, found herself unable to keep up in conversations. Either she struggled to get words understood, or resorted to writing her thoughts out. On numerous occasions I witnessed her friends get impatient with waiting for her written notes. They would ask a question, but not wait for the answer, moving on with the conversation as if she wasn't there. It was so hard to witness on my regular weekend visits. I could tell it was very dispiriting to my grandmother. But being my grandmother, she did not complain.

My grandmother did not complain about what she was losing to ALS, but she was clear about what she wanted; she wanted to stay in her home. Luckily, she lived in a one story house that she and my grandfather had bought in the early seventies. There was one step from the garage to the house, and the rest was flat. With a few changes (grab bars in the bathroom, removal of some rugs, rearranged shelves and drawers in the kitchen) she was able to stay in the home she loved. Being near the mementos of her life with my grandfather and surrounded by their books, art and photographs meant a lot to her. Eventually she agreed to have some help and hired a woman to assist with bathing, shopping and household cleaning.

My grandmother was also clear about what she did not want. As her form of ALS impacted her throat muscles first, she knew it would be only a matter of time before her difficulty swallowing and talking was compounded by breathing problems. Once she could not breathe on her own, a respiration would be required to keep her alive. This would limit my grandmother's world in a way that her other symptoms had not fully managed to. Although she did not want to die, my grandmother did not want to live constrained to her bed or the couch. Without leaving the house, she would have to rely on visitors who would surely dwindle once she could not speak at all. Talking on the phone would be out too. Without stimulation, was life worth living? For my grandmother, the answer was no. She decided that when she needed a ventilator, she would refuse it, even though that meant she would die.

When her breathing got increasingly labored, my mother was summoned to her mother's bedside. Within about a day of my mother's arrival, my grandmother passed away. It was not the horrible, gasping death we associate with asphyxiation. According to my mother it was much more peaceful, with my grandmother slipping away, her breathing and pulse stopping while my mother held her hand.

I loved my grandmother, her sense of humor and her sense of fashion. In her later years she favored the rhinestone-heavy shirts and bright colors many older women seem inexplicably attracted to. Lucky for me, she'd always been a clothes horse, and something of a packrat. When my family cleaned out her house, I found some gems. The brilliant blue chinese silk dress she'd had made to her measurements while on an around-the-world trip. A black three-quarter length coat with fur trim from the 50s. A brown knit cap of the style that just came back into fashion a few years ago. Plus boxes and boxes of hats. Her basement was filled with hat boxes. Amazing, beautiful hats that probably last saw the light of day in the 60s. I crammed as many as I could into my luggage, and now display them in the entrance to my house, along with a photo of my grandmother in her wedding gown and another of her, my mother and me on my wedding day.

Looking back at what I have written, I miss my grandmother and wish she had not missed meeting Ada. But I am also happy that her death was of her choosing. After several years of finding herself increasingly at the mercy of her body, my grandmother's death was the last thing she got to decide. My grandmother's life with ALS was not easy and I would not wish that fate on anyone. It was, however, better than it could have been, and this is thanks to the ALS Association and specifically my grandmother's local chapter. In addition to providing information and support, through the ALS Association my grandmother had access to an ALS-knowledgable nurse who acted as a case manager, following her care and ensuring that the physicians knew what care she was receiving, heard about drugs and treatments that can slow the disease's progress and were otherwise able to provide the best care to my grandmother. This nurse knew my grandmother and checked in with her regularly. With most of her family across the country, my grandmother relied on this nurse for so much, and she delivered. With my grandmother's consent, the nurse also kept in contact with my mother so that my mom knew what was going on with my grandmother's treatment and condition. And all of this was provided free to my grandmother.

When my grandmother was told she had six months to live, I doubted it could be true. But her deterioration in those last months was rapid, and I am so glad that I was able to fly out to visit her one last time before starting a new job in Oregon. Two weeks after I left, she died. Those last six months my grandmother had some additional help, in the form of hospice nurses. On frequent visits, those nurses made sure my grandmother was comfortable and safe. They checked on her physical and emotional health, and were the ones to alert my mother that she should come to Pennsylvania when the end looked imminent. In her final months, my grandmother was comforted and cared for by these nurses. Knowing people were checking on her and waiting to hear her out meant a lot to me.

You may never know someone with ALS, and I can't ask you to financially support an organization just because it helped someone I loved. But I can ask you to support this type of organization, that not only funds research on a disease, but supports and cares for individuals with a deadly condition. We all know someone in our life who has died from cancer, heart disease, alzheimer's. Support, with your time or your money, organizations that care for people who are sick. Without these organizations, the burden of illness is that much heavier on people who lose not only their physical autonomy and capability, but many of the social connections and joys of their previous lives.

As for hospice, this is something I support for both personal and political reasons. Yes, my grandmother was directly impacted by hospice. But hospice is also good public policy. Particularly in the United States, where we spend a disproportionate amount of money on care in the final months of a person's life, something must change. Just because we have technology does not mean it should be used in all cases. As my grandmother knew, technology can keep people alive for months and years. But the costs are both financial and surviving with greatly reduced quality of life. Allowing people to choose not to live under those conditions is both fiscally sound - using scarce resources on prevention and chronic care management can help many more people maintain health and quality of life over much longer periods - and allows people to more fully control their lives and their deaths.

Thanks for making it this far. As a granddaughter and a health policy nerd, I thank you.

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

I cannot be alone in thinking it significant that models - whose job description might read: paragon - have somehow stopped being beautiful.

Guy Trebay
Fashion Diary: Look At Me, Look at Me. Please Look at Me.

oh, and speaking of look at me, some housekeeping: nonlineargirl.minti.com

Avast ye blog readers!

Dr. Stephanie reminded me that today is TALK LIKE A PIRATE DAY! How could I forget? Oh sorry, International Talk Like A Pirate Day.

In honor of this important occasion, I offer this bad joke:

A pirate walks into a bar with a steering wheel shoved down his pants.

The bartender asks: What's with the steering wheel?

The Pirate replies: Augh! It's driving me nuts!


I'm looking forward to this "holiday" a few years from now, when I can teach Ada the ever-pliable joke about the Pirate's favorite (insert item here). Pirate's favorite salad green? Arrrugula. Pirate's favorite vegetable? Arrrtichoke. Pirate's favorite holiday (besides this one)? Arrrbor day. You get the idea.

Oh, and how I know about Talk Like A Pirate Day? Stephanie (who knows all) sent me this photo:

My sister, my confidant?

My sister was in town recently. My sister is very important to me, and her visits can feel emotionally charged. It's weird how a sibling relationship can be both more and less intense than a "normal" friend relationship. There can be a closeness and history that is more intense than what is experienced with most friends. But there is also a tendency to treat a sibling with less care than one would another friend. As with a romantic relationship of long standing, so much is assumed.

When my sister visits I want to get as much focused time with her as possible, but know that other things will intervene. Ada takes a lot of energy and attention, my sister has friends in town she'd like to see, and this time much of the visit was taken up with a wedding that she, her fiance, my parents, Chris, Ada and I were attending. (Oh right, and that I officiated.) I recently wrote about feeling insecure about the ceremony, which I crafted for my close friends based on our conversations and my knowledge of them from many years of friendship. My sister's positive feedback was very important to me, in no small part because she is so smart and incisive. Knowing she liked the ceremony made me feel good about it in a way that, until we talked, I did not know I needed.

Despite my closeness with my sister, I held off on sharing the blog with her. I've been wanting to tell my sister about the blog but have been too big a weenie to do it. Really, how was I supposed to tell my younger, brilliant grad student, excellent writer sister that I'm writing publicly about my daughter's poop and my own petty frustrations? I can't believe I kept this a secret so long, but my fear of what she will think has kept me silent. I don't worry that she'll mock the blog to me, or even to our shared friends. I do worry that she'll mock it, that she'll think it is boring, or that the writing is bad. I already have this fear with other people. A college friend and his wife apparently check in once in a while. Both smart, funny people, those two. So I worry that they think I am ridiculous, but mostly I can deal with that. (It helps that I have incriminating photos of my friend from his less suave periods.) Another woman I know recently found the blog while searching for my friends' wedding site. Instead of worrying, I am just thrilled that she checks in once in a while. (Hi Kath!) I think it helps that I don't know her very well. Also, I can't wait for her next film to get finished, so I can tell you about it here.

But back to my sister. At first I thought I would tell her after I'd be writing here for six months. Then I thought I'd tell her when she came to visit for the wedding. But she came and left and I didn't mention the site. And now I have another reason to want to hold off, but it is the same reason I want to share with her. I decided I wanted to write about her, or really about our relationship. It feels wrong to get into that without telling her that I am writing about it, in public no less.

There are so many things I've want to talk to her about lately, including what for me is a difficult transition to knowing her partnered. I have always been able to command her time more fully during visits. Now she has a partner, soon to be spouse. Understandably, she loves him more than anyone. Although I barely know him, I can see how crazy she is for him, the extent to which her universe has shifted to accommodate his move to its center. I don't love him yet (how could I after only three visits?) but I love how much she loves him. But I am jealous, too. I am coming to terms with the fact that I things have changed, and not in a way that soothes my need for her attention and approval.

My sister had to face such a change when Chris and I got involved. Fifteen years ago, when she was 14, my sister met Chris. It was not an immediate bond. Now they get along well and even have an independent friendship of sorts, but I am sure it was an effort to deal with a changed relationship with her older sister.

I talked to my sister this weekend. After what feels like months of conversations about nothing, we talked about her visit and getting to know her with her guy. After an hour of talking, I finally admitted to the blog. (And I didn't even get to have 3 beers first) She asked a couple of polite questions. And we moved on.

It was a little anti-climactic, and a little disappointing that she didn't seem very interested. But that's ok, because I finally told her. The thing that had bothered me the most was feeling I was keeping something from her. Now that I've told her, I don't feel like I'm holding out on her. Much better for the relationship, and probably for the blog.

I ate what?

Big day on Tuesday. After sleeping through the first part of her new playgroup, Ada made an appearance and thoroughly enjoyed herself. Thrilling for both mama and baby was the handoff of FIVE bags of kid clothes and shoes. I'm fairly sure that Super Sugar Star's girls will be running around naked all winter, because we took So. Many. Clothes. (Thank you to such a generous mom!)

Photos from the aftermath of my attempts to organize the clothes while Ada ran around scattering tights, shoes and shirts around the living room.

Later in the day, Ada and I met Monkey Boy and Ellen for snacks and a walk in Forest Park. Ellen and I put the kids on our backs and walked up the trail for a ways before letting the short ones out to wander the path. Monkey Boy immediately saw his chance to escape his captors. After a couple of half-hearted glances at some rocks and twigs, he practically bolted.

Ada stuck her toes in the stream, got her pants muddy, and then tottered after Monkey Boy. She called his name the whole way, breathlessly laughing as she found herself further and further behind him on the rocky path. Recognizing that Ada's one year old legs would never help her catch Monkey Boy, I scooped her up and hustled her down the path towards the boy. (It really is amazing to me how much Ada loves Monkey Boy. I haven't had the heart to tell her that Monkey Boy has been seen hugging another girl at his preschool.)

Back at the car, I stripped off Ada's muddy pants and shoes and strapped her into the car. As we headed home, the girl devoured a peanut butter sandwich. Still hungry, Ada asked for crackers. I handed her a small bag of them and assumed all was well. When I turned around, I saw her working on a little project.


















I wish I'd gotten a really clear shot of her sticking crackers between her toes, but it is hard to watch your child and watch the road. When we got home I scooped up the strewn crackers and stuffed them back in the bag. I left Ada with Chris and headed out to grab our farm share. Realizing I was hungry, without thinking I dug into the little bag on the seat next to me. Halfway through my third cracker I realized what I was eating. Mmm, crackers with toe jam.

Random quote and unrelated photo of the week

Maybe in order to understand mankind, we have to look at the word itself. Mankind. Basically it's made up of two separate words - "mank" and "ind." What do these words mean? It's a mystery, and that's why so is mankind.

Jack Handey
Deeper Thoughts

The post in which insecurity almost gets the best of me

On Saturday I performed a wedding ceremony. Although I am an ordained minister, this ceremony did not require the blessing of the state. My friends Ellen and Jiro are already married (I performed their legal ceremony two years ago), but this was their wedding, their family and friends, white dress and black suit ceremony.

To prepare for the wedding, Ellen, Jiro, Chris and I did the obvious; we had dinner. We sat on their patio and talked about what Ellen and Jiro wanted in a wedding. I wrote the ceremony, practiced and prepared. When the processional music swelled, I welled up. (And under my breath, swore at myself. I thought I could last longer before I started to cry.) I read my part, prompted Ellen and Jiro for theirs, smiled, cried and and laughed.

During the ceremony, I felt good about what I was saying. I've had the experience, when giving talks and briefings, of hearing myself speak. You know that feeling where you hear yourself as if you are standing outside yourself? Usually when this happens I see myself and think that I am not making sense, that my words sound like gibberish. On Saturday I heard myself speak and felt thrilled - the sentences I'd worried over were coming out right, the meanings emphasized as I hoped, ideas clear and alive. It was one of those perfect moments, radiant and full of joy. The joy was for Ellen and Jiro, and for myself, for my ability to give them such a moment.

After the wedding I was a huge unsheathed nerve. I wanted to laugh and cry and drink gallons of water. I felt wonderful, but as more and more of the wedding guests approached me to say the ceremony was beautiful, that I'd done a good job, I started to lose my high. Instead of absorbing the praise and allowing it to further elevate my mood, it made me doubt how good the ceremony had actually been. Once the jangles wore off (and I'd had a gallon or two of water) I stopped thinking about the ceremony and got into the fun of the reception. The nagging worry held on a little over the next day or so, until my sister told me what she thought of the ceremony.

My sister is very analytic and smart. She's also a great writer whose opinion I value greatly. She said that she thought the ceremony was the most emotional one she'd ever attended. She said that my wedding had been more personally affecting, but as a ceremony this one had been the top. Her comments did for me what everyone else's had not. They brought me back to the joy. I hope I can keep it with me, because it feels wonderful right now.

You know a party is going well when people start fan-dancing

Headless Chicken, that's me

At work today I took a wee break to read I Obsess (the current Mother Of The Week over at Crazy Hip Blog Mamas) and noticed she had a perfect post. So I jumped over to Petroville to see who else I should check out this month. Um, apparently ME. The thoughtful and ceaselessly positive Mother-Woman nominated my post about my concerns that my human fountain status will scar my child. My heart skipped a beat. Thank you, Mo-Wo. From you that means a lot.

After a moment of shock, I turned into the proverbial headless chicken, clicking insanely as I thought: "I've got to email Mo-Wo to say thank you" "wait, I'll post something on my blog" "no, email, no..."

Deep breath. "Go back to work" was my eventual decision. But now at home I can smile and say: Thanks! It is nice to be thought well of. And check out this month's Perfect Post awards - I'm in amazing company.

Random Quote and Unrelated Photo of the Week

One student, taking a break, elaborated on the problem of holding on to traditions. "The trees," he said. "No one really agrees which one's which. The Tree of Sorrow was introduced to me as the Bodhisattva Tree. The tree at the end of field three is alternately called the Tree of Woe and the Tree of Sorrow. I'm in the Tree of Woe camp. The Tree of Sorrow and the Tree of Woe seem like names that could have been given because of the general loneliness factor, but I don't know."

Dana Goodyear
The Searchers: The fate of progressive education at Deep Springs College

Blog Epitaph

On a recent walk in the neighborhood I saw that I am not alone in being pushed to the open letter format to air grievances:



It is so my neighborhood to start a haiku blog to memorialize a dead hammock.


Oh, and as long as we are talking neighborhood signs, anyone seen Andy?