anyway because

I smell the rose in her hair

2012-01-17T21:00:00.003-05:00

Just because SOPA is off the agenda in the House doesn't mean it's off the radar, and PIPA is still in committee in the Senate. These bills are about greed in the entertainment industry. There may be entertaining things on the internet, but the internet itself is so much more than entertainment.

because you can't, you won't, and you don't stop

2011-11-11T21:42:00.003-05:00

I know, this post is long overdue. Most of you already know, but Emma is okay. Penelope, Dan and I just hung on for the ride, because what else can you do, really?

We waved goodbye to her as she was wheeled off to surgery, and then we waited. Too tired to knit, I tried to read a little. We were fine, really; just waiting, waiting, waiting. It wasn't until Dr. Z, the cardiologist, came out to talk to us, insistent that we find a room, that we got nervous.

During the surgery, while Dr. W was scooping out enough surrounding tissue to ensure that the membrane would not grow back, he created a small hole between the aorta and the left ventricle. He stitched it up but the stitching didn't hold when they restarted Emma's heart; the hole reopened. Dr. W put her back on bypass was patching the hole with Teflon as we spoke. The thing that Dr. Z was actually concerned about, though, was Emma's rhythm -- her heart was beating too slowly, and Dr. Z was worried that the heart's electrical system had been damaged by the surgery (this is called "heart block"). There was nothing to do for this but wait and see, while keeping her hooked up to an external pacemaker

They gave it about seven days before they concluded that her heart was not returning to a normal rhythm, so now Emma has an internal pacemaker.

That's the quick version. The long one?

After Dr. Z left us, I emailed, then called my mom (she and my dad were here to take care of Penelope while Emma was in Boston). She answered the phone and I said, "How scared do we need to be?" My mom, my wonderful mom, Nurse Grandma, told me "Honestly, not very," and Dan and I both started breathing again. We filtered everything through her; she translated it for us, then we told Dan's parents and put it up on Facebook.

That first night, I stayed in the parent room down the hall, and checked in on her a few times; knowing they would come and get me if something was wrong didn't make it any easier to sleep; I wanted desperately to be with her, but there's just not room enough for the patient, the parent, and the respirator. Necessarily, it's the parent that gets kicked out. She was hooked up to the external pacemaker, so she had several wires just sticking out of her chest and belly in unexpected places; an IV line in her right hand, as well as one in her neck, both of which were in use; two chest tubes in her belly to drain fluid from her chest cavity; the catheter (everyone's favorite!); the pulse-ox monitor; and the nasal tube. Even though she was doped up, she wanted to sit up. Dr. D, the anesthesiologist, was amazed (pleased, really) at how many times she tried to sit up on her own, even on the morphine. (That's not to say that the doctors and nurses were pleased, but to Dr. D it was confirmation that Emma had tolerated the anesthesia well.)

The next morning (June 16), Emma was extubated about two hours ahead of schedule (another good thing); the gastric tube was removed early that afternoon, and she began with Jello and Popsicles, in spite of the fact that what she really wanted was potato chips. She also watched a video message from Penelope and recorded a short response.

That night, the nurse and I had to change Emma's dressings several times; one of the leads to the external pacemaker was acting as an extra chest tube. Although this was ultimately okay (better out than in!), the dressings were completely soaked every 60 minutes or so.

I got almost no sleep; each dressing change took about an hour, because Emma had to be cleaned up and the bedding and hospital johnny had to be changed in addition to the dressing. The whole time, Emma was incredibly patient, but by the time each change was done, Emma and I were both wide awake and it took quite a while for us to settle back down and fall asleep. By the time we were asleep, it was nearly time for the dressing to be changed again. As it was, the nurse let it go a little longer than she would have during the day, but it was still grueling.

The next morning, they took her off the morphine (which made her very nauseated) and started her on Toradol with Tylenol as needed; her appetite picked up and she had some real food (chicken salad) for dinner. We also got the okay (from the PICU's head nurse) for Penelope to visit the following day. Seeing her sister was an enormous boon to Emma's spirits! Before I arrived with Penelope and my parents, Emma was de-lined: the catheter and arterial lines were removed, as were both chest tubes. The seepage around the one pacemaker lead was slowing down a bit.

Penelope visited again on Father's Day. A nurse caught sight of Emma's smile as Pen entered the room and declared Penelope "the only one who can make Emma smile!"

Later in the day, Emma had a visit with A, a social worker from the ChildLife program; A and her coworker, L, would keep us informed about how Emma is handling everything emotionally. So far, she is right where they would expect her to be.

The doctors have decided that she's definitely getting a pacemaker; at this point, it's a matter of getting on the OR schedule. From this point, I'll let my Facebook posts take over.

June 19, 8:50 pm: There's my Emma's infectious giggle! Thank you, Disney Channel's So Random!

June 20, 7:43 pm: Emma's pacemaker will go in on Tuesday . . . no, Wednesday . . . no, Tuesday. Okay, Tuesday afternoon officially.

June 21, 2:36 pm: . . . and we're baaaaaaaaaack! To Wednesday! We're perfectly willing to be bumped, however. Heart-transplant trumps still-kinda-working-heart. Emma was just relieved to be able to eat.

June 22, 9:31 am: Dr W's just been sent home to sleep. Emma had a bowl of Cheerios at 6:30 and is now on No Food or Water. She'll go in for her pacemaker this afternoon.

June 22, 9:42 am: The echo team is in, now. Still haven't had rounds come our way yet today. Gnomeo and Juliet is on . . . again!!! ;-) Aunt Reeb wonders (via comment field) if Emma has memorized it, yet, and Emma responds "Basically, almost the whole thing!"

June 22, 10:06 am: Rounds have been by, now; surgery will likely start between 12 and 2 this afternoon.

June 22, 2:12 pm: Bumped AGAIN! It's Transplant Week! Tufts has a kidney transplant inserting itself into the midst of the logjam created by yesterday's (okay, last night's!) heart transplant. The PA says Emma will definitely go tomorrow; they don't want her wait another day.

June 22, 4:26 pm: Dr W. is hoping to get her in as first case on Thursday. He spent half the afternoon skulking around, trying to snag an OR today to no avail.

June 22, 7:30 pm: We're officially on the schedule for 7:30 am Thursday! NPO (Again!) from midnight, tonight. Third time lucky?

June 23, 8:01 am: Dan called at 7:40 & Emma is in surgery!

June 23, 12:03 pm: Emma ROCKS!!! She was out & awake by 10:30. She's currently back in the PICU, resting and watching her dance recital DVD.

June 23, 2:02 pm: Emma has had some strawberries & some applesauce, & is currently FaceTiming w/ Penelope. Earlier, Dr. D was in & laughed at the fact that Emma was already sitting up & playing games on Webkinz.

June 23, 6:14 pm: According to Nurse K, Emma is amazing. Nurse K says she's going to tell all her cardiac patients now to "Be strong; be an Emma!"

June 24, 12:14 pm: When I got off the elevator this morning, Emma and Dan were in the hallway, waiting for me! The girl kicking butt and taking names? That's my daughter!!

June 14, 6:06 pm: Took a walk all the way down to the 1st floor gift shop with Emma & bought a few small things. Then we wandered over to Au Bon Pain & she ordered a tuna salad sandwich, chips, lemonade, & a chocolate chip cookie for dinner.

June 25, 11:48 am: Thank you, thank you, thank you, everyone who kept Emma and our whole family in their thoughts this past 10 days! Emma is home, the beagle has calmed down, and my twins are being normal, 8-year-old twins once again!

Yes, she has a medic-alert bracelet, now. The pacemaker is for life, and she's not allowed to do backbends or the Worm. Certain amusement-park rides are verboten, blows to the belly are cause for concern, and she will forever be the Pat-Down Princess in airports. I'm trying to help her find a response that she's comfortable using when strangers ask her about her scar (which is visible when she wears a v-neck shirt or a swimsuit). But she's been on her bike again since the beginning of August, and she's back in ballet/tap/jazz and Hip-Hop. She's thrown herself back into roller skating Fridays with gusto. We even had a Harry Potter Film Festival in July, because the girls wanted to see the movie in the theater with us! People who don't know what happened would never be able to guess.

Do you expect me to write?

2011-11-09T21:00:00.012-05:00

Even though I hate large portions of the story I wrote last year (that story will remain forever hidden in the deepest of archives on my computer), I couldn't wait to sign up for another 30 days of NaNoWriMo insanity. Last year -- you remember! -- I signed up to do NaNo, then I broke my wrist. Yeah. That wasn't among the brightest of strategies, I'll admit. BUT! I didn't just manage to win NaNoWriMo, I met my goal with four days to spare!

This year, I have a new tool in my arsenal: Write or Die.

Write or Die (Putting the "Prod" in Productivity) is basically a motivational tool using negative reinforcement to keep you writing. The link above will take you to the main screen, and if you click the Web App button on the left, it jumps you to a small box where you can get started. I recommend fiddling around with it for five minutes to get a feel for the different grace periods and how effective you find the different levels of consequence. I'm not too fond of Kamikaze level consequences (which deletes your work one word at a time if you stop writing for too long), but I do prefer the Evil grace period (Don't even think about taking a sip of that tea! Write!). The idea is to get that inner editor silenced, after all.

I've even sucked Penelope and Emma into using it for their own NaNo stories. While Penelope has thrown herself into the NaNo experience with gusto, Emma has a particularly persistent internal editor. Couple that with her natural tendency towards perfectionism, and you have a recipe for disaster. (Why are you hitting yourself? Why are you hitting yourself? Why are you hitting yourself?) I set both girls up with the Normal consequence (they especially like hearing Banana Phone) and the Forgiving grace period, set them an attainable goal and time limit, and turn them loose.

While there are downloadable versions available for a reasonable fee, the Web App works just fine for me. (Ask me again, though, after I've been stuck for a while with my own internal editor and no internet connection.)

Give it a try, and Happy NaNoing!

be still my beating heart

2011-06-03T13:27:00.025-04:00

People we see on a fairly regular basis, as well as most family members, already know that Emma has several congenital defects in her heart. To everyone else: Emma has several congenital defects in her heart. (Surprise!)

The worst of the defects, called Coarctation of the Aorta, was repaired when she was just 17 days old. Basically, it was a very narrow section of her aorta, and prevented adequate blood flow to her extremities. Since we were still brand-new parents wrestling with the reality of actually having two real crying, hungry, pooping, helpless babies, the whole thing was kind-of a blur. It wasn't until Emma was back in the PICU, puffed up on IV fluids and hooked up to every machine in the hospital (including the most expensive one and the one that goes "ping!") that we really felt scared.

Since infancy, Emma has had annual visits with a pediatric cardiologist to keep tabs on the next most serious defect, called Subaortic Stenosis. This defect is basically a membrane growing across the aortic valve, between the left ventricle and the valve itself. The membrane affects the bloodflow into her aorta; instead of flowing straight through the valve like it's supposed to, the blood swirls around and hits the valve itself. The effect of the blood hitting the valve day after day, heartbeat after heartbeat, eventually causes it to start leaking. In Emma's case, her aortic valve is also bicuspid instead of tricuspid. (For the record, Emma's fourth and final heart defect is a stenotic (narrow) mitral valve.)

This year, after reviewing her echocardiogram (ultrasound of her heart) Emma's cardiologist and surgeon agreed that the leak is starting to get worse. In the past year, it has gone from holding steady at "trivial" to deteriorating to "mild-to-moderate." In order to (we hope) slow or possibly halt the deterioration of her aortic valve, the doctors want to remove the membrane now, before the leak progresses to "severe."

Removing the membrane will require open-heart surgery. On my Emma.

This past Tuesday we met with her cardiologist again, had all her pre-op work done, and had a brief visit to the PICU at Tufts Floating Hospital for Children in Boston. Emma got to see a room similar to the one she'll be in, and was reassured to know that she'll have me either in-room with her or right down the hall (while she's still on a ventilator & sedated). She also got to meet her surgeon, Dr. Warner; he's the Chief of Cardiothoracic Surgery and the same surgeon who repaired her coarc eight years ago.

It's bizarre to consider the reproductive future of your eight-year-old daughter, but we want to keep Emma's factory-original parts in and working for as long as possible. If she ends up with a mechanical valve, it will complicate any future plans for pregnancy. Likewise, biologic valves come with their own risk of rejection. The longer Emma's own valve -- defective and misshapen though it may be -- can remain in her heart and working well, the more control Emma will have over her adult life.

Right now, we're trying to strike a balance between quarantining Emma completely (thus scaring the piss out of her) and maintaining the status-quo. Some of the things we would normally only be bugged about (like playing with a neighborhood kid whose nose is running like a soak-hose) are things we need to prohibit until after her surgery. We feel a little paranoid, but this is one of those times when paranoia is a good thing. According to the surgeon, once Emma is home, she can "resume normal activities" with the temporary exceptions of roughhousing and contact sports.

It's a good thing she's been considering taking a break from wrestling. See? It all works out!

let's take the car and save the fare

2011-05-26T20:53:00.003-04:00

As of this afternoon, we are back to being a two-car family. We made it work with one car for just shy of eleven months, and could have gone a bit longer if our lives weren't about to hit a speed bump in the next few weeks. We'll need a second car for the upcoming drives in & out (and in & out, and in & out) of Boston next month. More on that another day.

After looking at and driving both the Toyota Prius and the Hyundai Elantra, we went with an Elantra. At this point, we just can't argue with the attractiveness of coming in nicely equipped but under 20K. Still, I really liked the Prius and we will be looking at the hybrid Highlander (or whatever it is by then) when it's time to replace the CX-9, even if it's just to drool on one for a little while.

One thing I have to explain is that we could not have made one car work nearly as easily if Dan had to commute every day; it was annoying enough with one car when he just worked in Burlington and didn't need to be in the office every single day.

This past fall, we arranged our schedule so that the girls' activities were mostly clustered around two days each week -- Thursdays and Saturdays. On Thursdays, karate ended at 5:45 (but in reality more like 5:55) and dance began at 6:00; on Saturdays, dance ran from 10:30 until noon, but Penelope's soccer game times varied from week to week. The Activities Dance got complicated a few times, but we never needed to call in a friend for a ride anywhere; usually, one parent-child team would simply sit around and wait.

The fact that we are relatively unscheduled homeschooling freaks was helpful, too: the additional stress of shlepping the girls to and from school every day (or fuming over that one carpool member who is never ready on time!) simply wasn't there. The girls still made it to most of their Fun Fridays, most of their rollerskating evenings, and a bunch of other stuff, as well. Plus, we had all of those speech and physical therapy appointments thrown in there this fall.

Would we do it again if we needed to? Without a doubt. Nobody ever complained (including me and Dan). We paid the CX-9 off two years early. Penelope and Emma got to observe (and sometimes help) Dan and I grapple with some pretty complex scheduling issues. We always managed to find a solution that got everyone where they needed to go.

Would we *want* to do it again? Honestly? I enjoyed it most of the time. We made a responsible decision that was difficult to live with at times, but we had a little extra time together several times a week and we came out of the whole adventure a little more confident in our ability to think outside the box.

Almost impercebtible . . .

2011-02-04T21:57:00.004-05:00

So this evening, while Penelope & Emma were blowing out the candles on their birthday cake, Emma's hair caught on fire. Talk about surreal! I was manning the light switch & the beagle, Dan was on the living-room floor, across the coffee table from the girls. From my position, I could tell that Emma's hair was going to catch about an instant before it did. Instinctively, Emma looked at her dad, and carefully backed away from the candles just as Dan was telling her to carefully back away from the candles. Then Dan reached over and pinched the flame out.

Done. Over. Crisis averted. Both girls pulled their hair back and finished the candle-extinguishing ritual. Cake was had by all (including the beagle).

Granted, Emma needed a shampoo and deep-conditioning treatment, and will probably get a haircut on Sunday -- but once again, she has shown a natural instinct to not freak out when she is in the midst of a dangerous situation. The first happened a few years ago, when their a/c unit fell out of the window they were trying to open. Instead of trying to grab the unit & keep it in place, Emma actually leapt backwards, away from the window.

Not that Penelope is any less emergency-savvy -- after all, she did slice her pinky finger open (she was aiming for an apple core) -- but I'm not cataloging, here. Just sharing the amazement I always experience whenever my kids do something beyond their years. I shouldn't (be amazed), but I can't help it. I'm not sure I would have had the same instincts, at eight. I'm grateful that my daughters do.

this is what 1155 words looks like

2010-11-08T17:58:00.027-05:00

"If I don't go to school, how will I learn?"

Oh, dear.

I hereby promise that I won't feel insulted if I catch flack or become the subject of side conversations for saying so, but questions like the one above leave me feeling sad.

My kids have never been to school, and they're learning quite a lot -- in spite of life's recent efforts to ensure otherwise. Since we've been dealing with my wrist, the past two months have seen a massive decrease in the frequency of formal lessons. There are days where we feel like we're living in the car. With the girls' speech therapy, my twice-weekly OT appointments, the girls' fortnightly Wednesday ruckusing-for-homeschoolers group, the dog's fortnightly Wednesday playgroup, soccer, karate, hip-hop, and ballet-tap-jazz each week, I'm glad we bought the audiobook version of our history text.

We're also reading several other books in audiobook form -- Meet Josephina (for next Wednesday) and the entire Unfortunate Events series. In science, we have unexpectedly focused on biology -- we're watching the Life series and the Becoming Human series; I think there's a show about Darwin somewhere on the queue, as well. Spelling has been hijacked by their speech lists and grammar has been shoved aside in favor of their NaNoWriMo stories. (For several days, now, the girls have heard me bemoaning the fact that none of my characters are cooperating. I started out writing a Young Adult novel, and now it's a mainstream mystery. Nothing in my novel is where I put it in October. Today, Penny met me at the door as I entered, bearing the sushi for our book club (we read Mr. Popper's Penguins); she was ecstatic because a new character for her story had appeared out of thin air. She hadn't planned for him, but there he was, and she wrote so much that she filled up 75% of an 8.5 x 11 sheet!)

We started this school year as eclectic school-at-homers, and I don't know what we are now -- except maybe seat-of-the-pantsers -- but the learning hasn't slowed down. They certainly don't need textbooks, an overworked teacher, and twenty other kids around them in order for learning to happen.

Humans are a driven species, and we can't easily be stopped. (Just think about the last time you really wanted your kid to fall asleep a little early. It didn't happen, did it?) We didn't need to go to school so we could learn how to walk or talk -- walking and talking were things that we learned naturally. Babies see a toddler walking, and they try to pull up on the edge of the table and make their feet do the right thing. Toddlers see a four-year-old running or jumping, and they mimic these motions, trying to run as fast or jump as high. Five-year-olds see their parents or older siblings writing, and they grab a crayon and paper, and try to write something that makes a word they know. Learning is a process that happens naturally, and it's something that we are intuitively drawn to; it is not something that's done to us, but something that we initiate and control as individuals.

Although I am weary at the things I hear from my non-homeschooling friends (It's okay for you, you were a teacher! I would never have the patience! My kids and I would probably strangle each other! How do you know what to teach them?), the last thing I expect from any of them is some sort of conversion. Admittedly, I would break into song if only a few of them realized that our decision to homeschool was simply a decision to do what was best for our kids -- just like seeking out various therapies were their decisions to do what was best for their kids. When a child needs something, a parent will do whatever she can to meet that need. The solutions Dan and I found just happened to include homeschooling, and that's the solution we liked best.

I have a very hard time believing that my non-homeschooling friends could even begin to think that learning is some mysterious thing that only happens in that town-owned building. They're all intelligent women and fantastic moms, and I know they love and respect their children as deeply as I do my children. I know they help their kids follow their passions and explore life with gusto. I've seen them in action, and they're lacking nothing.

So, why does the question above make me feel sad? It's a damn cute thing for a five-year-old to say. This little boy loves school, and can't wait to get there, because learning is important to him. He's a sponge, and that's something to crow about.

I feel sad because for me, that question is also a boundary. I don't know if it's okay for me to joke that my kids have never been to school, but they've learned quite a lot. As a left-leaning, attachment-parenting, homeschooling freak in a sea (no! in a school! hahahaha!) of normal individuals, I often wish I could see a few buoys or even a lighthouse in the distance. I really don't want to run aground.

When I'm part of a conversation about one friend's frustrations at dealing with thoughtless individuals, lip service, and a Shelob's Lair of red tape just to get her child the help he needs, I don't know what sort of reaction is palatable from me. If I just commiserate, and hope things get better, am I being callous? If I try to reassure her that homeschooling isn't as hard as it sounds (knowing that she has often thought, "Oh, I should just teach him myself!"), am I pressuring her to do something that she's not sure is best? If I encourage her to keep fighting and share what little information I know from my own time as a high-school teacher, am I brushing her off and sending the message that I think she'd suck at homeschooling her son? (She'd totally rock, btw.)

I want to support my friends, not push a homeschooling agenda. Other times, I want to be the goofball that I am, not insinuate that Homeschooling Is Better. But sometimes I do want to say something that could provide some food for thought -- especially if that friend seems frustrated with the solutions she has already been offered.

I suppose my wariness and frequent censorship in such situations is really no different from the tendency of my non-homeschooling friends to inadvertently cause me to wince as one of them says, for the twelfth time, that she would never have the patience to homeschool her kids. Both reactions stem from the desires to connect, to disregard unimportant differences, and to enjoy and celebrate our friendships, knowing that we're with people whose struggles are similar enough to our own that they've drawn us together.

Shit. I just learned something!

It was a dark and stormy night.

2010-10-31T23:35:00.004-04:00

Here I am, on the verge of my first NaNoWriMo and the excitement is truly contagious. HOW contagious? Penny & Emma have each signed up on the YWP site to write 500-word stories. They've been working on their characters' backgrounds, and thinking about their plots, and are looking forward to telling their stories. They've even got more writing buddies than I have! (More than a few local homeschoolers are doing NaNo with their kids, and on one of my lists, we all exchanged our kids' usernames.)

As for me, I think I'm ready. I certainly don't have any more time for preparation, in any case. The most frustrating thing about my preparation efforts is the fact that my characters and plot kept morphing into things I didn't expect. Yeah, I know that's the way it works, but it's still confusing when the characters who were born in my head become virtually unrecognizable, yet I must still work with them.

In other news, my wrist is recovering well. According to my surgeon, I'm right in the middle of the progress curve. My OT therapist disagrees somewhat, using the word "gangbusters" to describe my progress. (I'm inclined to agree with my therapist, though, since by the time I saw the surgeon, I'd had almost a whole week with far more splint time than usual. Dan was out of town, and we had more appointments each day than I care to remember. "While out and about" was my primary Splint-Required activity.) Either way, I'm free of the splint, and I've been given clearance to do whatever the hell I want to, as long as my wrist can handle the activity or weight. All this bodes quite well for my November plans.

Now, it's time to sign off so I can get Chewbone upstairs and plugged in before midnight. Yes, I'm going to write tonight. Seriously? You doubted that?

it's up to you, yeah you

2010-09-17T23:52:00.007-04:00

bwa-hahahahahahahaha!

Here I have all these knitting projects I want to do, and NaNoWriMo, and massive amounts of attic wallboard that still need to be mudded, and meals for Debbie & Barry I want to make . . . and I go and get my wrist broken.

Not just broken, mind, but spectacularly broken, borderline shattered.

I'm not terribly upset about the forced rearrangement of my to-do list -- at least I've gotten 98% of the critical knitting done, and I can do NaNo in longhand. I'm not even terribly upset about the injury itself. I get that accidents happen. I get that I would have been better off wearing wristguards with my rollerblades. I'm beyond grateful that I only broke my wrist, and my left one, at that.

What I'm most upset about is the behavior of the girl who caused my fall. I'm talking to you, Girl in the Blue Shirt. Yes, it was by accident that you fell, then slid into me from behind and knocked my legs out from under me. But as you got back to your feet, as your eyes met mine, and as you heard me say, "Ohhhhh, that's broken!" -- why did you feel the best thing to do was to just get up and skate away?

Shame on you for leaving me there on the floor, and shame on your parents for raising you to cover your own ass instead of attending to the person you've hurt. When my daughters were four, they had more integrity and compassion than you do as a teenager. They saw what you did, and it scared them. It was an accident, but you were still responsible, and you chose to shirk that responsibility. We were at the rink for a solid 5 minutes longer, getting everyone's skates off and shoes on. One man who saw the accident got me a bag of ice from the snack bar. You never came around to apologize or check on me. I don't care if you were scared -- you hurt someone and walked away.

everyday, everyday, everyday . . .

2010-09-15T00:05:00.026-04:00

Now I've gone ahead and done it . . . signed up for NaNoWriMo 2010.

Those who've known me since high school will have no trouble remembering me with my open journal in my lap as I sat cross-legged in one of those clunky metal and "wood" chair-desks, head down, blissfully unaware of the activity around me, working on yet another poem. (What's that? Wendy, please solve for X? Wait, I'm in Algebra? I thought this was World History . . . )

Most of those who've met me since college will have no trouble scratching their heads, looking puzzled, and mumbling, "Huh?"

Yeah . . . I Used To Write, and I miss it like I'd miss breathing. I've been wanting to get back to writing for almost two decades, but in spite of how out-of-sorts I feel as a Former Writer, I kept letting everything else get in the way. I mean, I'm not avant-garde enough to be a poet, anymore. I don't have enough cool ideas to be a freelance writer. I don't have enough time to be a novelist. I don't think blogging counts. I don'tdon'tdon'tdon'tdon't . . . I don't want to miss that part of who I am, anymore.

Last year, I found out about NaNoWriMo over Thanksgiving weekend and I promised myself I would do it this year. Now that September 2010 has rolled around I *almost* passed on it because "I have too much knitting to do." (Seriously!! That's what I told myself!! Do you see how easy it is to cheat yourself and keep from doing something you love??? Learn from me, people. Learn from me.) Fortunately, a new friend pshawed my excuse and rather pointedly informed me that even if I don't complete the challenge (50,000 words in one month), I'll have written more than I would have otherwise. See, that just can't be argued with in any sort of logical fashion. There's nothing but truth in that statement. Even sitting here trying to come up with a sample argument for the sake of showing you how ludicrous it would sound makes my eyes get stuck in Glazed Over Mode. So, I did the only logical thing I could do -- I kept my promise, and signed up!

[singsong] I'm writing a novel! [/singsong] (Yeah, I know it's supposed to be <> but you try and get <> to show up as text if you're using them to write a pretend html code -- for a few minutes, it looks like everything will stick, but once your work autosaves, BOOM! the fake code only shows up in the html editor. I'm sure Dan could fix it, but I would rather leave this little rant in place, instead.)

Yes, 50,000 is a blasted short novel, but I don't have to stop at 50,000. I just have to get at least that far. My novel won't go (49,994) Susan smiled, reached towards Carl and (50,000)

In fact, I don't have either a Susan or a Carl. So there!

I'm excited and twitchy and I so want to get started, but the trick is that you're not allowed to begin actually writing until November 1st. Until then, I can fill my mind and my journal with all sorts of outlines, character sketches, background information, story arcs, and research. I can't start writing, yet. But in the meantime, I can get all that knitting done.

baby, you can drive my car

2010-07-09T10:38:00.007-04:00

Wow. We've just made a decision (and acted upon it!) that I never would have expected from either of us a year or two ago. We've sold Dan's car and become a one-car family. Even though our plan is to only stay this way for about a year, I'm still pleased (though a little surprised) that we're doing it. We're both excited about it, though, and I know I'm looking forward to the adventure. I'm also glad for the opportunity to show the girls that there are creative ways to solve problems, and that even adults share!

The backstory is pretty simple: Dan's Audi has not had the track record we expected of an Audi. The year before the girls were born (so, 8 years ago), he sold his Single Guy Car, the Mitsubishi Eclipse, and bought a Audi A4. (I wanted him to get a car with four real seats, and he wanted a car that went Vroom.) The first few years were all well and good, except for the recall on the coil packs. Of course, in the interests of Audi's bottom line, owners could only get their coil packs replaced once they had actually failed. Ours were eventually replaced (twice!); we've also had issues with the timing belt and, most recently, the catalytic converters. See, the car has been failing to pass the state inspection for the past 2 months, after having the O2 sensors replaced. The computer just wouldn't reset, and eventually the Mass RMV Dude was able to clear out a few error messages and get the computer to reset . . . at which point the computer told us that the catalytic converters were blown. Frustrated, Dan took the car up to Audi for an official, manufacturer-provided diagnosis (over the phone, Audi claimed it was "probably just a sensor"). It turns out that in addition to the cats being blown (which is very possibly a result of the multiple coil pack failures), there are several other things wrong with the car . . . at least some of which may also be the result of the coil pack failures. (Can you say Domino Effect??) So we took it to a used-car dealer who looked it over and said he'd buy it (most likely to auction off).

In the meantime, though, we are officially a one-car household. We're squirreling away the proceeds from the Audi until Dan goes car-shopping next summer, and until then, we're going to get even better at scheduling. (Anyone who has seen my desk-blotter-size, color-coded family calendar knows that that is nearly impossible, but I'm sure I'll find a way.)

I love a good adventure!

on secular homeschooling . . .

2010-03-11T22:12:00.008-05:00

Sigh. We homeschool our children for many reasons, but religion is not among them. Articles like this one are hugely misleading. See, what happens is that people see bits like, "the majority of home-schoolers self-identify as evangelical Christians," and then they find out that we homeschool. They reel back in shock and surprise, often commenting that they didn't know we were Religious.

"We're not," we reply, and then it begins. We must help dispel the myth that most homeschoolers are religious, or that every homeschooler's idea of a fun evening is a high-stakes spelling bee, or that as homeschoolers we don't allow our children to associate with other kids.

Most of the homeschoolers we know are not evangelical Christians; some are not even Christians. Never mind the diversity of my own circle of friends; people should know (and so I'm saying it now) that the HSLDA does not speak for all homeschoolers. It doesn't even speak for all Christian homeschoolers. Most homeschoolers, quite frankly, are perfectly capable of speaking for themselves . . . we do it often, and loudly when necessary.

The truth is that homeschooling is growing nationwide not because there are more evangelical Christians removing their children from the clutches of the God-hating leftist heathens who are in charge of public schools but because parents in general are increasingly dissatisfied with the environment of public schools.

So yeah, we're secular homeschoolers. We embrace a science curriculum which recognizes evolution as the well-observed scientific phenomenon that it is. We also teach our kids that there are people who don't "believe" in evolution because they think God just poofed us all into existence one day when he was bored because there was nothing on tv. (Well, there wasn't!) We haven't told them yet about the people who don't "believe" in gravity.

Crazy for Maisie

2010-01-22T14:22:00.002-05:00

Well, we've reserved our new puppy, a 3-day old beagle we've named Maisie. Our breeder is a little over an hour away from us, in central MA, and just a wonderful woman to speak with. We met Maisie this morning and although we couldn't hold her yet, we were able to take a few pictures of her markings. We'll visit again close to Valentine's Day -- at which point we'll be able to hold and play with her for a while. Right now, though, it's more important for her to bond well with her biological mommy.

We did get to spend a few minutes playing with some of the grow-up beagles today -- Sugar, Jessie and Rebel. Jessie is old and mellow, just the way Penny & Emma remember Masha, but Sugar likes to give kisses and was actually a little annoyed when we had to leave! Rebel, the proud papa, traveled back and forth between us and the door to the puppies' den; his face reminds me a bit of Masha's face (one of her more beagle-ish characteristics).

We're looking forward to getting to know Maisie, and will have to start planning our puppy-proofing strategies.

Made with Real Girl Scouts

2010-01-20T22:16:00.017-05:00

Penny & Emma are Daisy Scouts. They look so cute in their weird blue aprons, which are sporadically and asymmetrically growing petals as their troop works on various service patches. Yes, aprons. Weird, permeable aprons which have not once kept paint, frosting with sprinkles, or glitter glue off my daughters' clothing.

The un-apron-like aprons are not the issue, though. The issue is that the Girl Scouts of America as an organization doesn't really seem interested in serving its Girl Scouts.

Whenever I contact the Girl Scouts of Eastern Massachusetts about pretty much anything, it is a slow torturous process to get a helpful response, or a proper phone extension, or a return call, or any sort of timely action. I had to beg to get Penny & Emma into a troop in Chelmsford (when we lived there). When we relocated, they didn't really feel like reassigning us to a troop in Tyngsboro, even though I called and called and called. Eventually I gave up and kept the girls in their Chelmsford troop. So I'm again begging to get contact information for the neighborhood Tyngsboro troop, the theory being that we can cultivate a relationship and get the girls joined up for next school year. Maybe I'll just have to wander the neighborhood and see if anyone is willing to put me in contact with the troop leader.

Begging sometimes works. When I became Cookie Mom for Penny & Emma's troop, I was told to attend a 90-minute training session . . . scheduled 2 days before Thanksgiving. When I arrived (in spite of all the cooking I had yet to do), I was told that since they didn't know how many girls were in the troop, I could have 9 cookie packets. I begged, and they relinquished 2 more. It turns out there are 12 girls in the troop. My daughters actually had to share a cookie packet.

So here I am, a few days before the cookie orders are due, still waiting for those last straggling orders. I check out the GSEM website to get a preview of the cookie entry process -- maybe I'll go ahead and enter the orders for the girls whose forms I've already received. But, wait . . . what's this? A note stating, "There are features of this system that work only with the Internet Explorer browser. You should not be using Firefox, Safari, Netscape, or any other browser."

That can't be right. It makes no sense! Maybe it works best with Explorer, but *only* with Explorer? Nobody does that anymore!

But wait . . . the Cookie Advisor Book states otherwise. There's a little grey box on page 5 letting me know that unless I use Explorer 6.0, I will be "unable to adjust nor [sic] assign boxes to girls using any other browser." In the brief Introduction to the 2010 . . . Web Cookie System, I learn that the GSA has chosen to use a program which is "designed to work with Windows and Internet Explorer 6.0, SP1 or higher" and that there is no Mac support.

Do you know why there is no Mac support? That would be because there are no versions of Explorer for the Mac after Explorer 5.x -- because Mac users now have Safari. Even before Safari, I never used Explorer because quite frankly, it's so bulky that even I can tell the difference.

So anyway, the Cookie Lords attempt to encourage me by letting me know that I can do the data entry a little at a time over the duration of the cookie sale. (How am I supposed to know how many boxes each girl has sold? I'm still missing 3 girls' orders, and it's 2 days before the deadline. All the other girls' orders came in today, and I consider myself lucky to only be waiting on 3 orders. Clearly the Cookie Lords have never met a procrastinator, or been held hostage by one.) There is a further attempt to mollify me by suggesting that I use "any (non-Mac) computer at home or at work or at the local library." Really!? Any (non-Mac) computer? How about my husband's company-issued computer? It runs OpenSolaris.

I thought not.

We're a happily Windows-free household, and have been since we became a household (that's 11+ years ago, for those who don't know). While some people might say that we get what we deserve, I beg to differ (See? I'm begging again!) and must point out that I've never before encountered a situation that couldn't somehow be resolved without resorting to invading the library and using their Windows machines or downloading VirtualBox and using Dan's work-copy of Windows.

Come on, Girl Scouts of America. Get a clue.

Chewbones roasting on an open fire

2009-12-23T10:01:00.005-05:00

Squirrels begging for their lives
Tasty morsels hiding in the kitchen trash
And shoes scattered on the floor.

. . . . Although it's been said many times, many ways,
A very Puppy Christmas for you.

We still miss you, Masha! Even though we're getting ready to adopt a new puppy this spring, we will never forget you. Our hearts are full of warm memories from so many happy years with you.

the lamb lies down in my knitting bag

2009-12-15T18:53:00.007-05:00

Well, we've moved into the new home, we're mostly unpacked, and we've worked it out with Mike to finish the attic starting late in January. We're also officially approved homeschoolers in Tyngsboro (a Massachusetts town that actually sends an approval letter!). The town does have a rather obnoxious, over-reaching form, but they backed down with just a politely worded letter (explaining why it would be an exercise in poor judgment for us to give them information to which they were not legally entitled) and a printout of AHEM's "Info for Superintendents" brochure. I'm thrilled with Tyngsboro's library, too; they have an excellent children's section -- I swear it's more comprehensive than Chelmsford's children's library, in spite of the cramped space.

Our neighborhood is a very young one, since all the homes are new construction. The girls have made several friends, and Dan & I definitely don't miss that sense of entitlement that had us constantly rolling our eyes. Just in time, too -- I'd have hated for my eyes to stick that way!

Most interesting of all is the fact that I've taken up knitting. I used to see people knitting and think to myself, "Oh, how quaint!" Now? I take my knitting projects everywhere, in the hopes that I get stuck with a long wait. I've made a few obligatory dishcloths, then moved on to a baby cap for my nephew-to-be. Now, I'm working on ponchos for the girls. So call me quaint, but I'm loving knitting!

Hotel Massachusetts

2009-08-01T19:26:00.003-04:00

Well, 1 Prancing is no longer ours! I drove by yesterday with the girls, so they could wave goodbye and remind the house that we loved it and made lots of awesome memories there. I really hope the new owners made it to the block party -- it was a really fun way for us to meet the neighbors, our first year there.

We, however, are technically homeless (thank goodness for PO Boxes!). We found a moderately priced extended-stay hotel with 1 bedroom, a pull-out sofa, a little kitchenette, and free laundry. So far, we've been putting the girls to bed in the bedroom, so Dan & I can work on the usual Grownup Stuff in the evenings, and then switching them to the pullout when we are ready for bed. They really like sleeping on the pullout!

I've got activities all over the calendar, as well as the previously-scheduled trips to Wisconsin (Hooray for grandparents and state fairs!) and Disney World (Yay, Carolina Homeschoolers!) peppered in for good measure, so it's my steadfast hope that the girls (and we) do not go stir-crazy. Plus, Voyagers and first grade start after we get back from Disney World.

What can I dooooo? All I want is to be next to you!

2009-07-24T13:12:00.002-04:00

It's been a hard week, with Dan in California on business and the girls down in Virginia with my parents so they're not bored out of their minds while I pack up the house. A few times this week, I've had to go pick up Masha's urn and hug it. Twice I thought the throw pillow in the center of the bed was her, snuggled up to me. It doesn't help, either, that the packing is going more slowly than I'd like it. Everything I pick up seems to be something that needs to be dismantled, wrapped in paper, encased in bubble-wrap or some combination of the above. I think I've finally gotten through most of that (except the dishes), so now it's on to the part where I can just fill boxes with clothing and toiletries and home-improvement stuff. I miss my husband, I miss my girls, and I miss my dog.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

2009-07-04T19:24:00.006-04:00

So the girls had their first campout ever on Thursday night. They didn't just survive -- they had a blast! I guess we've officially entered the Land of Sleepovers. They've also made it clear that next summer, they want to go to more than one week of Girl Scout camp. They are full of all sorts of camp songs -- one or two of which I even remember from my own Girl Scout camp days. Hermy the Worm, however, is a new one. "Hermy, baby! WHAT HAPPENED!?""I ate my Mom."

Yesterday was pretty crazy-busy. Dan & I did a few more drive-bys (the real estate kind, people!), then zipped over to pick up the girls, get Emma changed into her hip-hop costume, and rushed over to the Chemlsford town common. She did her performance, we hung around for dinner, and then rushed off to Bear Hill Farm. At least, since we were 10 minutes late, we caught Anne in the fields, picking snap peas. Penny & Emma were thrilled to see her! Then off to do a few more drive-bys, while the girls ate ice cream (oh, the torture!). We did two more drive-bys today, and have one more tomorrow; then Monday we start looking. So much for 5-year plans, huh?

camp rocks

2009-06-30T00:08:00.003-04:00

Well, Monday's been an eventful day. But I'm not discussing that. Instead, I'll talk about my kids.

Being the unsocalized homeschoolers that we are, this morning we packed the girls' new backpacks, fed them a proper breakfast, stocked their lunch bags, filled their sport bottles and thermoses, and sent them off to their first day of Girl Scout Camp. It's an all-day camp, and they even got to ride a school bus (so cool). In spite of the on-again, off-again rain, they had a blast, and when I met the bus at 5 o'clock they emerged almost triumphantly, awash in smiles and information. There is stuff to buy (of course!) and they got t-shirts today, and there is a sleepover night on Thursday, and and and . . . They're very geeked about the sleepover night, so since the camp director said I can pick Emma up for her hip-hop rehearsal then bring her back for the campout, we're going to sign them up. Oh. My. God. This means slumber parties are looming in my near future. Nooooooooooooooo!

post without a witty title

2009-02-06T22:57:00.013-05:00

Have you seen the commercial for Rosetta Stone? I know the software is popular, and I've heard it's effective, but the commercial gets me every time.

An attractive woman strolls casually through an immaculate home that just happens to have the Rosetta Stone package sitting all alone on a lovely glass-topped table, nowhere near a computer. She delivers her lines with a look on her face that tells you she doesn't buy any of your excuses. "Are you one of those people who think you just can't learn a new language? It's not that you can't learn . . . "

Now, tell me, don't you just hear your parents finishing that sentence over and over again, regarding algebra, world history, geography, spelling, chemistry, or whatever subject it was in school that tortured you day in, day out? And they never finished that sentence in a way that made your mental block someone else's fault, did they? It was never the teacher, or the text book, was it? Nope, it was always your fault you couldn't learn That Subject.

Of course, the Attractive Woman Selling Rosetta Stone goes on to assure you that if you just tried this software, you could dance linguistic circles around Dr. Daniel Jackson ("I speak twenty-four languages. Pick one.").

But let's insert some reality, shall we? After all, she's probably somebody's mother. "It's not that you can't learn, it's that you won't learn." If you would just turn off the radio and crack those books . . . If you would shut off the tv and get started, already . . . If you would quit wasting time on the internet and do something productive, for a change . . . If you would just buckle down and apply yourself . . . you would finally master Spanish/French/German/Mandarin/Russian/Japanese/Swahili once and for all.

Hmmm. Then again, I'm the kid that got in trouble for reading in school.

You Say it's Your Birthday . . .

2009-02-04T00:33:00.002-05:00

Well, it's my birthday, too! (Okay, not mine, but . . .)

Yep, Penny and Emma are six today. Before they went to bed, they spent a fair amount of time ruckusing around in their room because, in Penny's words, "that way, we'll be tired and fall asleep so the night won't be as long." (You may think that the longest night of the year is December 21st, but it's actually February 3rd. Now you know.) They've also agreed to wake each other up in the morning. According to Emma, whichever one of them wakes up first will go over to the other girl and say, "Hey, [that girl's name], open presents!"

We've left their gifts for each other in the dining room, so they have something to tear into first thing. Oh, and there will be their big pink banner in the living room and two giant "6" balloons. The rest of the loot will have to wait until the evening. Oh, and dinner at the Moose Place (Bugaboo Creek) about which we've already said we'll be okay -- we promised to not die of embarassment -- if they want to have the staff come out with the giant moose puppet and a dessert and sing to them. Which, being 6, they want. So.

Happy birthday, Munchkins! Being your mom is the coolest, most perpetually satisfying thing I've ever done. I love you.

Masha Moments

2009-01-06T00:06:00.000-05:00

It's been a few weeks, now, since Masha died, and we are all still stumbling upon Masha Moments quite often. There was no doggie clumsily wading through the wrapping paper on Christmas morning in search of more chewbones; no furry, wagging body hovering beside me as I cut up the leftover rib roast; no warm snoring lump to keep the blanket from falling off the bed; no need to leave the lights on before we left home for an afternoon and evening of shopping . . . .

When I woke up on Christmas Eve morning, my eyes were still stinging and red from crying the day before. I still sometimes burst into tears. Emma made a Christmas card for Masha which said, "Merry Christmas Masha. I sure miss you." She left it with Santa's cookies.

I finally picked up her dog bowls and doggie placemat as we packed for our trip to DC. There was too much room in the car, this trip -- no need to bring the crate or coax a little water into her at each potty break. I called Asia "Masha" a few times our first night with my parents.

Of course both girls are already looking forward, somewhat, to whatever new dog we will eventually adopt; they do understand, though, that Dan and I need quite a bit more time to be ready for another dog. They understand that there will never be another Masha. In the meantime, we've decided to start visiting NEADS for Puppy Petting -- because we do miss the smell of puppy paws, wet fur, dog slobber . . . .

Masha Baby

2008-12-24T01:13:00.004-05:00

Stick a chewbone under the tree, for me
I've been an awful good dog . . . .

Goodbye, Masha. We'll miss you.

Vorpal Bunny? Not Quite.

2008-08-28T20:52:00.009-04:00

Remember the garden I started up for the summer? Well, almost immediately, the rabbit in our yard ate all the celery. (Okay, I wasn't heartbroken about that because Anne, one of our CSA owners, told me that celery can be very demanding to grow.) We've actually done okay for the summer, with the rabbit eating various plants around the yard, and tending to only express mild curiosity in the garden. Until about 3 nights ago. I went out for my daily reality-check and lo! The carrot-greens were leafless! So I told the rabbit, who sat about 20 feet away from me -- pretending to be a rock with sharp eyes and a cute, twitching nose -- that he was lucky I couldn't catch him. (Because of course I would have put him in a hutch and fed him even more of what he liked until I could figure out what came next, with Penny and Emma likely pestering me with CanWeKeepHims.) The next day I dug up the carrots themselves before they withered in the dirt, and I threw them into a stir-fry. Yes, I washed them first. The largest two or three (carrots, not stir-fries) were about the size of those small baby carrots that the grocery stores sell. The rest of them were . . . well, we dubbed them Preemie Carrots. But damn, were they good. And I grew them. Pretty cool.

You can check out any time you like

2008-07-11T14:05:00.013-04:00

It all started when we traded in our Subaru Outback and bought a new Mazda CX9. To their credit, the folks at our Mazda dealership have been amazingly patient through most of this as-yet-unfinished ordeal.

Apparently, when we paid the Subaru off, the bank never gave us the title. They sent us something that looked like a title (turns out it was an MA-1 Form, which masquerades quite convincingly as a real title). When we signed this impostor and left all Outback-related accoutrements with the Mazda dealer, the dealer had to call us back and inform us that we didn't give them the real title. I triple- and quadruple-checked our fire-safe box. Nope, no title. No problem, right? Simple oversight. I'll call the bank and they'll send it right out. Except for the part when the bank said they lost it.

Lost it? (So, I can lose my next twenty credit-card payments with no penalty, right?) We still have yet to get a satisfactory resolution with the bank on how they can lose the title for a car in which they had a vested interest. (Though, that's probably the point right there -- once we paid it off, they didn't give a crap, right? Not their problem anymore. Delete! Delete! cacklecackle)

Okay, annoying, but since the bank was able to provide a notarized letter stating that we did in fact pay the car off quite some time ago, we can call the California DMV and request a duplicate title. So, no problem.

Except for the part where the California FTB (Franchise Tax Board) claims that we owe seven years of back taxes on the car. Sooooo, we provide proof of registration in Massachusetts, effective seven years ago. Thank you, that will be 4 - 6 weeks for processing.

Six weeks later, we call the DMV. It seems that they've just moved our piece of paper from one desk to the other a few days earlier, and we will be called within the next 5 business days.

Six days later, we call the DMV. Our paperwork is being held up because the FTB says we owe back taxes on the car. (!?!?!?!?!?) So we call the FTB (again) and remind them about the paperwork we provided seven weeks earlier proving that we don't owe them the time of day, let alone any money.

It takes five additional days for this information to filter through the rat maze that is governmental bureaucracy and reach someone at the DMV. Great! Except for the part where nobody at the DMV seems to know what to do with this information (or, more precisely, how to hit the Print button).

Today, we get The Phone Call we're surprised we haven't received some time ago . . . Mazda really can't hang on to the Outback any longer without being able to sell it. We need to buy it back. Today.

look--over there--greener grass!

2008-06-15T22:32:00.005-04:00

Dissatisfied again. This time, I'm leaning towards moving closer to the city. Where I'm coming from now is that I've realized I'm taking on too much again. It's not the homeschooling; it's my propensity to jump from hobby to hobby. Do I really need to sew large amounts of the girls' clothing? Do I really want a huge yard to take care of? I can't stand lawn care, I can't wrap my brain around landscaping. Why am I taking it all on? All I want is room for a garden, a swing set, and a well-built shed.

It's not in the cards, of course, but at least I feel a little more centered about this discontent than I did about the other. (Isn't that an odd concept?) What I think it boils down to is that I grew up in a different sort of suburb. I like the suburbs, but I think I prefer them with a little more urban flavor. I'm starting to realize that I miss being close to things, I miss being able to walk or bike to the store or the library. I miss proximity to good food.

I wonder if it's a realizable goal? Start by talking to Dan, and see if he even agrees with me. Maybe we can implement some sort of five-year plan.

Pocket full of posies . . .

2008-06-11T21:31:00.013-04:00

Sigh. Many Mothers of Multiples (or MOMs, as we call ourselves) cringe at the comments we receive -- "Better you than me!" "Uh-oh! Double Trouble!" "Which one is the bad one?" "Which one is older?" "Are you sure they aren't (are) identical?" And let's not forget the big offender, "Are they Natural?" (No, they're synthetic! Bwahahahahaha!)

Most people don't realize how obnoxious they are being with these questions, especially the last one. Never mind that my twins were conceived all on their own; what business is it to a total stranger how my children were conceived? All the business in the world, apparently. You see, journalist and Massachusetts mom of twins Julie Suratt is bothered by what she terms the epidemic of twins -- in particular, those twins conceived with assistance (hers were not). Even worse than the news that medical intervention is Not Fair is the news that having twins is as personally devastating as contracting the bubonic plague. Yep, that's right -- having twins is akin to the Black Death.

Needless to say, several of the local Moms of Multiples clubs are a little riled up, including my own. Now, Suratt is completely within her rights to write a negatively slanted article regarding twins and triplets -- but, in all honesty, I don't understand why she would want to, nor do I care to, if it involves such a downward emotional spiral. Doesn't she know that it takes more energy, and is more emotionally draining, to behave negatively? Did she think that most other MOMs felt the same way? I guess we run in vastly different circles, because most of the MOMs I get together with -- while recognizing the unique challenges that multiples do often present -- do not feel that having multiples has cramped their style. In fact there's only one woman in our group of eighty-plus members who, though she hasn't admitted it (probably not even to herself), doesn't seem to have wanted motherhood. Sadly, I see a similar attitude in Suratt, who is upset that she had to "give up" her cute walk-up, or believes that if she had only one baby, her life would go back to the way it was.

Once you become a mom, life will never go back to the way it was. That's a fairy tale, just like the knight in shining armor. Parenthood, like marriage and everything else involving love, is a choice and a commitment -- one that you make over and over again. While I was pregnant with my twins, I lived happily under the delusion that, once they were six months old, I would be able to de-wallpaper, prime, and paint the walls of the guest bedroom during the girls' naptime. My mom, who had three kids but no twins, just smiled and nodded. Four years later, my sister, while pregnant with her son, lived happily under the delusion that she would be able to gut and renovate the second-floor bathroom during her infant son's naptime. My mother -- and I -- just smiled and nodded. It's a part of the rite-of-passage, I guess. No matter what anyone tried to tell me while I was pregnant, I just couldn't understand how all-encompassing parenthood is. As a fiercely independent Gen-Xer, I had planned to go back to work as a teacher by the time my kids were five. Instead, I've decided to stay home indefinitely and homeschool them. Having kids changes you, changes your priorities. If you can't meet that challenge, then I guess you spend the rest of your years whining and bemoaning how "needy" your children are, or how nobody understands how tough you have it.

Suratt would have readers believe that having twins opens mothers and babies up to a host of issues that other families do not have to deal with. In reality, she raised only a single parenting issue that truly only affects twins. Asthma? Not twin-related. Reflux? Not twin-related. Pneumonia? Not twin-related. Bedrest? Food allergies? Premature delivery? Lengthy NICU stays? Emergency C-section? PPD? Developmental delays? Breastfeeding difficulties? Wrangling more than one child while shopping? Balancing career and home responsibilities? Nope, none of these are twin-related. Mothers from all demographics -- in all geographical areas, of all ages, sizes, races, financial situations and marital statuses can and do find themselves dealing with these issues. The one genuine twin-related issue she mentions? Trying to decide whether or not to wake both babies up at the same time to keep them on the same schedule for feedings. Oh, the humanity!

moving forward

2008-06-03T00:06:00.005-04:00

You know what's cool? It's cool, it's totally sweet, when your traditionally-minded husband quotes John Holt during a conversation on possessions and children. See, today I received this Daily Groove through my inbox, and it resonated with me because I happened to be halfway there on my own. My old laptop, Snow White, suddenly went kerplooey right before Dan's last trip out of town. It was the second time Snow White had had a heat failure; the first happened while she was under warranty. This time, we decided the best course of action was a new computer. So, off to the Apple store we dashed, and the girls were so excited when I asked them for help naming the new computer. They decided on Chewbone, since it was also a white computer, and roughly the color of a rawhide chewbone. (Chewbone, welcome to the family. Now, get to work.)

Well, the girls have recently been clamoring to visit Build-A-Bear. Emma wants about a dozen different stuffed animals. They want these foamy water-gun things for using in the pool. Penny wants us to upgrade to a paid Pirates account. They both want more Captain Underpants books, and more Magic Treehouse books. And books about Pirates. And books about Rabbits. Emma wants to build another -- a better -- kite, one that will actually fly. (You get the idea.)

So, because of Chewbone, we had to have one of those mostly one-way discussions today -- I tried desperately to get across the idea that we have to cut back on the Wanty-spending for a while. As I began to explain that Mommy Got A New Computer, a few things occurred to me. (1) I was essentially telling them that I was allowed to have this very expensive thing and that as a result they were not allowed to have any of the little, less expensive things that they wanted for a few months (which of course can seem like forever to a 5-year-old). (2) It really wasn't my computer, anyway -- both the computers in this house are shared by us all, and although I am the primary adult who uses Chewbone, both girls know they are allowed to use it pretty much whenever they want. So, I shifted my perception right there -- it wasn't MY computer, it was OUR computer. Mommy didn't get a new computer -- We did.

And so, the girls both accepted that other Wanty spending would have to cut back, but that they would still get some Wants. Just not Everything they Want. So, the girls wandered off to get ready for bed; Dan read them a few more chapters from Captain Underpants. They chatted for a while, until they were too tired to stay awake. I sat down to check my email, saw the Daily Groove, and shared it with Dan. Who chimed in with John Holt.

And I thought he hadn't been paying attention.

i can't get no

2008-05-08T00:54:00.003-04:00

I've been feeling oddly dissatisfied lately. By "lately," I mean in the past 6 weeks or so. I don't know if this dissatisfaction was triggered by the latest proposed budget override hoopla (in town), or if it just happened to begin during said hoopla. Probably the latter, but I can't completely rule out the former as an influencing factor.

I'm feeling as if I want to sell the house, buy a large but more rural plot somewhere, and build my dream home. I don't like all the walls, here. I don't like the division and seclusion and closeting away of everything and everyone. I don't like the wasted space, or the distance, or the idea of separate rooms for each activity. I want a wide-open area, very few (if any!) hallways, and a better flow of light. I want fewer rooms. Not necessarily less space, though if you plan a house properly, that can happen, too -- but less space between us.

I know it won't happen anytime soon -- there are many things currently in the way -- but I just wanted to go on record and say that I'm feeling restless, wasteful, disconnected . . . and I need to find a way to address that.

Brita . . . Forever

2008-04-01T23:13:00.002-04:00

I may just have to return the Brita tank and filters I purchased a few days ago. They're still in the box, and nothing is apparently wrong with them, but it's the principle, you see . . . . I was watching tv this evening, and saw the new Brita commercial about the plastic bottle that's "forever in a landfill." It seems blatantly obvious to me that, while the plastic bottle would actually be recycled, and NOT "forever in a landfill," the Brita filter is actually not recyclable, and therefore WOULD be "forever in a landfill." Just a suggestion to Brita . . . someone in marketing needs to be fired. And Brita needs a commercial that makes sense.

Crawlie

2008-03-22T13:39:00.004-04:00

During the Appendix Incident, I was able to find thirty minutes to dash up to Toys R Us and buy the bug habitat we've had on our list for a while. See, we've been finding ladybugs in the house (as many do), and the girls are concerned about them. While Dan was in California, we even rescued one ladybug from drowning in the toilet. After his wings dried out, and he had rested up a bit, he crawled off and found a safe place to sleep. After rescuing him, Penny decided we should offer him a safer way to find water, and she began putting a damp washcloth in the bottom of the sink every morning. But both girls were worried about what the ladybug was going to eat, and whether or not he would die before the weather warmed up enough for him to go back outside. Hence, the bug habitat. And magnifying glasses.

So we readied the habitat and left it on my sewing table, near the bathroom. Yesterday afternoon, the girls noticed the ladybug crawling along the baseboard, dangerously near the toilet. I carefully scooped him up and introduced him to his new home. We added a moist cottonball and a plump raisin (thanks to The Ladybug Lady for advice on what to feed him). The girls have named him Crawlie and we've placed the habitat on the dining room table, so I can remember to give him a fresh raisin and a fresh moist cottonball every day. Welcome, Crawlie.

Gimmie an "A" . . .

2008-03-21T13:55:00.009-04:00

Gimmie a "P"

Gimmie a "P," "E," "N," "D," "I," "X!"

Last week, Dan was in California for work; only two days after his return home, his gut started aching. A Tuesday visit to the doctor resulted in a CT scan of his abdomen, which resulted in admittance to the hospital for an appendectomy. During the course of the Diagnosis Day, my Outback was in the shop and Dan's stick shift Audi was in the hospital's parking lot. Fortunately, the CT scan was late enough in the day that Dan was able to come home and take me to pick up the Outback (it was the rear brakes). Then, I loaded everyone into the Outback, dropped Dan off (by this time he had gone close to 24 hours since his last meal. Ugh.), and took the girls to the bookstore, then dinner, then to the hospital to check on Dan. Of course, they were running late, and he finally came out around 7 pm . . . except nobody told him we were there, or what waiting room we'd been directed to use. Sooo, around 7:30, he wandered past us by chance. About 15 minutes later, the doctor called him and sent him down to the ER for admittance; I took the girls home and explained what would happen, that Daddy wouldn't be able to roughhouse for a while, showed them Emma's scar from her chest tube, and shortly afterwards they fell asleep. Dan was wheeled in to surgery (laproscopic) around 7:30 Wednesday morning; the girls spent the day at Debbie's (thank heaven for Debbie!), I spent some time with Dan, who was sent home in time for the girls' bedtime that day. I guess the fact that he had the nurses in stitches most of the day was a big clue as to how he was doing. Oh, and the girls came down with a cold, too, which is really knocking Penny for a loop. Whew! I feel like I just competed in an Olympic Multitasking Event.

I want to note, here, that Dan has an exceptional bunch of coworkers. I sent an email out, letting them know what was up, and three of them stopped by the hospital to visit him briefly while he was recovering. When the girls were born, and in the NICU for 3 and 5 weeks, two of his coworkers took the time to drive all the way into Boston to visit us and see the girls. I was just so (pleasantly!) surprised, both times, but I really shouldn't be.

Anyway, Dan is home, camping out in the guest room (on the main floor) for a few days, and our Easter will be shockingly low-key, and the Ikea furniture purchases will be put off until sometime next week, when Dan anticipates being comfortable enough to keep an eye on the girls while I take care of the lugging.

Easter Eggs

2008-03-07T12:19:00.002-05:00

Today, Dan let me sleep in (the board meeting ran until midnight last night!), and when he came in to wake me, he did so with the news that Penny and Emma were playing a DVD game on Penny's Mickey Mouse DVD; Penny had discovered the game by finding an Easter Egg. As I looked at Dan and wrapped my brain around this accomplishment, he laughed and said, "Should we really be surprised?" Penny has an intuitive sense with electronics. She has figured out every remote control she encounters, knows how to record programs and even remove deleted programs from the TiVo trash can. It's cool.

Blankie Duty

2008-03-01T00:51:00.008-05:00

We're up late, again. Dan is up because he's waiting for me. I'm up because I'm waiting for Penny's blankies to dry. Stripey and Shiney got peed on, and Penny, who was already upset enough about the accident, really needs them. So, I got her dressed in fresh jammies (warmed them up with the hairdryer), and she fell back asleep temporarily wrapped up in her soccer blanket and cuddling little Rae while I wait for the dryer's buzzer. I think she is still nervous enough about going all night that it might be worth it -- she might feel more comfortable -- in backing up a bit for a few weeks.

Finally read The Jane Austen Book Club. Eh. I feel like it ended almost without warning. Still, it enticed me to pick Persuasion off the shelf next, so that is what I will start, tonight.

I've been on a sewing tear, lately -- I repaired almost everything that needed repair (still need to get to Dan's robe), hemmed everything that needed hemming, tucked everything that needed tucking, and finished the blasted Roman shades that have been a source of friction between me and my mom. I'm still not thrilled with the results, but at least they are up, and I can start working on some clothing for the girls.

Speaking of ending abruptly . . . there's the buzzer. Goodnight.

Front Yard Vegetable Garden

2008-01-12T21:58:00.000-05:00

The girls have decided that even though we are going to sign up with our CSA again this summer, they would like to have a garden at home, too. They want to grow corn, carrots, broccoli, and celery. Sooooo, now I'm researching gardening. Emma is especially excited -- for the past two summers, she's created rock and mud gardens in the backyard. I've already chosen a spot in the front yard that gets nice sun, and is at least partially hit by the sprinklers; we may be able to tweak the sprinkler heads to hit the area completely.