...a cyclist. I don't really know when I can officially call myself that. But, I did buy a bike (and a helmet) about a month ago and have pedaled 64 miles since then. I go out just about every day for at least a couple miles and I'm working my way up to a 10 mile trip. It all started on the way home from our annual camping trip with our college friends. So many of them are avid runners...and even on our camping trip, they went out for a run. While I know I'll never be a runner, I was inspired to start some sort of exercise addiction. Marcus was equally inspired and admired how so many of our friends had found something that they do together as couples. We really don't do anything together in that way...unless you count chasing after the kids or falling asleep on the couch watching TV. He really wanted to have something with me that was "ours"...and I heard him. So, after much discussion, we landed on biking. Now, we don't actually get to bike together...since someone has to watch the kids. But we do share a common activity and we track each other's progress. We bought mountain bikes, since we live in a rather rural area and many of the roads around us are unpaved and very hilly. Biking has become a fixture in my day...an automatic. Its gives me a chance to work my body and clear my mind. Now one of my favorite moments in the day is biking at dusk on one of the dirt roads surrounded by waving corn fields and the amber light of the setting sun. I love it and I love that I share it with Marcus.
...an ex-employee of the State of Michigan. I took a new job at a health insurance company, still in the field of epidemiology, but with a slightly different purpose and philosophy. While I think that this was a good decision most of the time, I tend to consider myself as the former asthma epidemiologist more than I think of myself as a new clinical epidemiologist. I held my job at the state health department for over 8 years and felt accomplished...successful and appreciated. I am now mourning the self-imposed loss of my old job...the day-to-day collaborations with my friends and colleagues...and my role at the health department and with our program. While I had many very good reasons to leave my job, I have to remind myself of them almost every day. In spite of the sadness I feel, am excited about the challenges ahead and the opportunity try something new. Its energizing to think about the possibilities of my new position and how it will help me grow as an epidemiologist. The duality of being lost and found is exhausting, however.
...the proud owner of Truffle-puff. We lost our Doppler and we feel utterly sad about it...there is a missing presence in our house. It was too early to buy another dog, but we faced a difficult decision. We knew the breed we wanted to buy - a Springer Doodle. Marcus and I have allergies and so our choice of dogs is rather limited. Doppler was a Cockapoo...half Cocker Spaniel, half Poodle. These Poodle mixes are charming...smart, non-shedding...and perfect for us. This time, we had our sights on another of these designer dogs - a mix between English Springer Spaniel and Poodle. We loved the spaniel in Doppler, but didn't want to get a dog that would constantly remind us of him. The Springer Doodle was perfect...bigger than Dop with different coloring. But...they are rare. We found a breeder in Michigan, but they only have about 1 litter of Springer Doodles per year and their puppies were available now. Marcus and I knew that we couldn't wait a whole entire year before getting another dog and that we likely would have settled for another breed while waiting for the next batch of Springer Doodles. So, we talked ourselves into buying one now. That's how we got our little Truffle. She is a sweet little girl, with the coloration of a typical Springer Spaniel...a beautiful chocolate brown with patches of creamy white. She's generally calm but has moments of crazed puppy antics. The kids all love her....and Marcus and I are growing to love her.
...a parent who is taking her kids to Disney World. For most of my adult life, I haven't been crazy about anything Disney. This mega-company seemed to have taken over the world...theme parks, merchandising, a monopoly on children's entertainment. Not to mention the common themes in their movies that I think are inappropriate for a child audience...chauvinism, racism, violence, sexually suggestive characters, etc. Of course, I do let my kids watch (some) Disney films, but I waited a long time before I introduced them...and I'm extremely picky about what they see. Well, now I've caved. I mean...according to my daughter, everyone has gone to Disney World and she's the only one who hasn't. Even though I still hold many of my beliefs about Disney, I want my kids to have the experience of going to Disney World...and I want them to know the characters from the movies so they can fit in with their friends. So, we're going...and I couldn't be more excited. I actually have the kids 'studying' by watching Disney films...even the ones I haven't let them see before. Oh my...its amazing what you will do for your kids, eh? One thing I will say, though...I do take advantage of every opportunity to explain my concerns with my kids in stories and language that they can understand. I haven't abandoned my convictions entirely....I've just tempered them with a bit of Disney magic.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Thursday, August 12, 2010
warmth
I said goodbye to my puppy, Doppler a few weeks ago. He wasn't really a puppy, actually...he was a nine year old cockapoo dog that Marcus and I got as a puppy when we were still living in New Orleans. What a heartbreaking thing it is to lose a dog that you love.
I had a dog when I was a kid (Amos), but he was my Dad's dog and I never really fell in love with him. I have dog allergies, and so I kept Amos at arm's length so I wouldn't start a sneezing fit or want to scratch my itchy eyes out. I remember saying goodbye to Amos...who was laying in the back of my Dad's station wagon. I remember getting a little choked up when I said goodbye, but didn't think about him much after he was gone.
Doppler Radar, on the other hand, was my dog. Mine and Marcus's. We bought him and brought him home to our apartment...before we had kids, jobs, or grown-up lives. We showered him with attention, trained him almost every day, and treated him like the child we longed to one day have. I know dog owners often say this...but he was a member of our family.
When I was on my way home from our recent girl scout camping trip, I called Marcus and he told me that Doppler hadn't eaten all weekend. I knew that he hadn't really eaten for the few days before we left either. He was shaking a lot and lethargic. This started a whirlwind of trips to various veterinarians and tests of almost every kind. I wish that I could say that we knew the reason for his rapidly failing health...but there were no answers and Dop seemed to just get worse and worse. We had to make the tough decision...but we knew we couldn't put him through any more. We knew it was the right thing to let him go, even though the scientists and parents in us desperately wanted to know why.
I volunteered to take him for the procedure, while Marcus stayed home with the kids. I drove him...he sat next to me in the passenger seat. He's always been anxious on car rides and this was no exception. I kept my hand on his side over his rib cage and tried to say reassuring things...I cried...I felt his warmth.
When we got there, they immediately put us in an exam room. After some discussion, they took Dop back to insert the IV port. During that time, which seemed like hours, I paced back and forth in the room...reading and re-reading the stupid poster on the wall describing how to know when your dog or cat is overweight. When they finally brought D back, they had a red blanket with them, which they laid on the floor. We coaxed him onto the blanket...and I put his favorite toy next to him...the one that he's had since we got him so many years ago...the one we named "Sleepy" because on the way home from getting him from the breeder, he laid his little head on top of it and fell asleep. Having it there was probably more for me than him, but somehow I thought it would put him at ease to have familiar things around him. The veterinarian gave him a sedative first, which relaxed him and he laid down on the blanket. Then she gave him the injection...I watched her slowly push the plunger and I held my breath...there was no going back.
I held his sweet head in one hand and kept my other hand on his side. I looked down at him...I felt his warmth. "He's gone" was all that they said....and I rested his head down on the blanket.
These weeks have been really hard on Marcus and I. Memories of Doppler are all around us and he's left such an impression on our hearts. We miss him. The kids have sort of dealt with it in their own way...Violet took it hard, Calvin asks questions as he tries to understand death, and Hazy even said what sounded like Dop's name when she heard a dog barking in the neighborhood. Marcus rid the house of tangible reminders...putting all Doppler's toys away and throwing away anything we didn't have a sentimental attachment to. He planted yellow flowers where we buried him...commemorating his love of this one particular yellow ball. We moved on to thoughts of getting a new dog...maybe to distract us or because we know, thanks to Doppler, how wonderful it is to have a dog in a young family. It will certainly be hard for any new dog in our family, though...Dop has left a legacy that will be hard to live up to.
I had a dog when I was a kid (Amos), but he was my Dad's dog and I never really fell in love with him. I have dog allergies, and so I kept Amos at arm's length so I wouldn't start a sneezing fit or want to scratch my itchy eyes out. I remember saying goodbye to Amos...who was laying in the back of my Dad's station wagon. I remember getting a little choked up when I said goodbye, but didn't think about him much after he was gone.
Doppler Radar, on the other hand, was my dog. Mine and Marcus's. We bought him and brought him home to our apartment...before we had kids, jobs, or grown-up lives. We showered him with attention, trained him almost every day, and treated him like the child we longed to one day have. I know dog owners often say this...but he was a member of our family.
When I was on my way home from our recent girl scout camping trip, I called Marcus and he told me that Doppler hadn't eaten all weekend. I knew that he hadn't really eaten for the few days before we left either. He was shaking a lot and lethargic. This started a whirlwind of trips to various veterinarians and tests of almost every kind. I wish that I could say that we knew the reason for his rapidly failing health...but there were no answers and Dop seemed to just get worse and worse. We had to make the tough decision...but we knew we couldn't put him through any more. We knew it was the right thing to let him go, even though the scientists and parents in us desperately wanted to know why.
I volunteered to take him for the procedure, while Marcus stayed home with the kids. I drove him...he sat next to me in the passenger seat. He's always been anxious on car rides and this was no exception. I kept my hand on his side over his rib cage and tried to say reassuring things...I cried...I felt his warmth.
When we got there, they immediately put us in an exam room. After some discussion, they took Dop back to insert the IV port. During that time, which seemed like hours, I paced back and forth in the room...reading and re-reading the stupid poster on the wall describing how to know when your dog or cat is overweight. When they finally brought D back, they had a red blanket with them, which they laid on the floor. We coaxed him onto the blanket...and I put his favorite toy next to him...the one that he's had since we got him so many years ago...the one we named "Sleepy" because on the way home from getting him from the breeder, he laid his little head on top of it and fell asleep. Having it there was probably more for me than him, but somehow I thought it would put him at ease to have familiar things around him. The veterinarian gave him a sedative first, which relaxed him and he laid down on the blanket. Then she gave him the injection...I watched her slowly push the plunger and I held my breath...there was no going back.
I held his sweet head in one hand and kept my other hand on his side. I looked down at him...I felt his warmth. "He's gone" was all that they said....and I rested his head down on the blanket.
These weeks have been really hard on Marcus and I. Memories of Doppler are all around us and he's left such an impression on our hearts. We miss him. The kids have sort of dealt with it in their own way...Violet took it hard, Calvin asks questions as he tries to understand death, and Hazy even said what sounded like Dop's name when she heard a dog barking in the neighborhood. Marcus rid the house of tangible reminders...putting all Doppler's toys away and throwing away anything we didn't have a sentimental attachment to. He planted yellow flowers where we buried him...commemorating his love of this one particular yellow ball. We moved on to thoughts of getting a new dog...maybe to distract us or because we know, thanks to Doppler, how wonderful it is to have a dog in a young family. It will certainly be hard for any new dog in our family, though...Dop has left a legacy that will be hard to live up to.
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| My Doppler Radar |
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
happy campers
I'm not what you call "outdoorsy". I prefer the comforts of being inside...away from the dirt, the elements, and the insects. My husband is the exact opposite. He seems to crave the outside environment, and looks for opportunities to spend long hours out there...gardening, working on outside projects, grilling, etc. Not me. I'll stay inside thanks. Much to the chagrin of my children, who have grown to share my husband's passion for the great outdoors.
Despite this, every year I look forward to going camping. Now, I'm not talking about strapping a tent on my back, hiking to the middle of nowhere, and "living off the land" type of camping. The type of camping I'm talking about is where there are fully functioning bathrooms, my car is only a 100 feet away, and I over pack the car with snacks, clothes, and amenities. For several years, Marcus and I have joined our good friends for a summer camping excursion in Northern Michigan. We stay at the Platte River Campground...located at the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore. It is gorgeous! While I'm there, I find myself taking deeper breaths and soaking up the outdoors. Sure, I douse myself in mosquito spray...and usually the most strenuous thing I do is walk around Glenn Arbor for an afternoon...but lazily sleeping in a tent and shared time with amazing friends around the campfire is just the recharge I need mid-way through the summer.
This year, in addition to this all adult excursion, I went camping with Violet. A "Mom and Me" Girl Scout camping trip at Camp Deer Trails in northern Michigan. This was the first time she had been camping and she was so excited to be going with me...her energy was contagious. I don't think we were well prepared for this trip, though. Our accommodations were platform tents. When I was told this, I didn't realize what it really meant...a platform tent is a wood platform with a canvas tent over it with tie closures. No zippers. When I was setting up our tent, it dawned on me that the lack of zippers meant free access for woodland creatures and winged insects. Luckily we were given mosquito nets before sleep on the first night...and I'm not aware of any 4-legged visitors to our tent during our stay...and I'd like to keep it that way.
Of course it was an exhausting, but wonderful trip. Here are a few of the high points:
Despite this, every year I look forward to going camping. Now, I'm not talking about strapping a tent on my back, hiking to the middle of nowhere, and "living off the land" type of camping. The type of camping I'm talking about is where there are fully functioning bathrooms, my car is only a 100 feet away, and I over pack the car with snacks, clothes, and amenities. For several years, Marcus and I have joined our good friends for a summer camping excursion in Northern Michigan. We stay at the Platte River Campground...located at the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore. It is gorgeous! While I'm there, I find myself taking deeper breaths and soaking up the outdoors. Sure, I douse myself in mosquito spray...and usually the most strenuous thing I do is walk around Glenn Arbor for an afternoon...but lazily sleeping in a tent and shared time with amazing friends around the campfire is just the recharge I need mid-way through the summer.
This year, in addition to this all adult excursion, I went camping with Violet. A "Mom and Me" Girl Scout camping trip at Camp Deer Trails in northern Michigan. This was the first time she had been camping and she was so excited to be going with me...her energy was contagious. I don't think we were well prepared for this trip, though. Our accommodations were platform tents. When I was told this, I didn't realize what it really meant...a platform tent is a wood platform with a canvas tent over it with tie closures. No zippers. When I was setting up our tent, it dawned on me that the lack of zippers meant free access for woodland creatures and winged insects. Luckily we were given mosquito nets before sleep on the first night...and I'm not aware of any 4-legged visitors to our tent during our stay...and I'd like to keep it that way.
Of course it was an exhausting, but wonderful trip. Here are a few of the high points:
- Watching Violet make and eat her S'more. It was a gooey mess by the campfire light.
- Playing elbow tag with the girls and moms. I made Violet pretty proud...she said I was so fast!
- During craft time, Violet sat down to make a butterfly with plastic twine and beads. This was a craft a bit too challenging for her...so I swooped in and took over. It took me the whole allotted time...and the finished product barely looked like a butterfly...but it made Violet happy, and the high point was finishing the darn thing. And when I finally finished it, Violet so lovingly said "Great job, Mommy...I was making it for you!"
- I didn't realize how much singing there is a Girl Scout Camp! I had so much fun watching Violet interact with the other girls and learn the songs, with accompanying motions. (We still sing "Rare Bog, Rattlin' Bog" around here.) She also had a speaking part in the skit performed at the talent show. It always amazes me how eager she is to join the fun.
- During the globally conscious lesson on oil spills and how to clean them up, the girls were tasked with making a boat out of tin foil. One girl in the group made one and put it in the water...a simple, but workable boat. Violet decided she wanted to do a more complicated boat...she took her time (while the lesson continued) and crafted a sail boat. I was proud of her creativity!
- Violet had found a tall stick early in the trip which she immediately dubbed her walking stick. She took it everywhere...and REALLY wanted to bring it home with us. Of course, she forgot it, which brought her to tears...but it made me smile that she had it with her the whole time. Just like her Daddy, who seems to find a walking stick every time we go camping.
- When we were getting ready for sleep on the 2nd night, I was busy digging out Violet's pajamas from the bag. She whispered ever so sweetly..."Mommy...you are my best friend." There's no words to describe how it warmed my heart.
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| The view of the lake next to Camp Deer Trails. Violet and I (and 2 other girls) took a row boat out on the lake...which I'm sure amuses my husband. |
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| Violet and I turn the camera on us during a morning hike. |
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| Violet enjoyed her swim in the lake, mostly spending her time looking for treasures... like this plant, snail shells, stones, and a zebra mussel. |
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| Violet with her walking stick. |
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| Licking her lips from a scrumptious campfire breakfast...chocolate chip pancakes and baked apples. |
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
reflections
Recently, I traveled to Chicago for a work conference. I don't travel frequently for work (or otherwise)...on average only once a year. This was one of the better conferences that I've attended since it dealt specifically with asthma and the work that I do every day. Even though I didn't learn very much or gather anything that was actionable upon my return, I used it as an opportunity to network with my epidemiology counterparts from other states which definitely made it worth the trip.
Anyway...
I stayed at The Palmer House hotel - a very old hotel (c. 1870) with an incredibly rich history in downtown Chicago. Famous entertainers have played it's Empire Room, like Sonny and Cher, Jack Benny, Dorothy Dandridge, and Tony Bennett. My walk to my hotel room was lined with photographs of historical Chicago and head shots of these famous faces. It was very charismatic...an Old Chicago feel, with heavy wood doors, small irregularly shaped rooms, a grand lobby, ornate carpeting, and mismatched antique door knobs...a nostalgic and fanciful atmosphere lifted from another time. I really enjoyed walking those halls...I seemed to pick up on the energy of the place and all the fashionable people that walked there before me.
My bathroom in the hotel room had one of those magnifying mirrors on an extending arm attached to the wall. They really should put warnings on those things! As I gazed upon my face in this little demon mirror, I saw every wrinkle that from far away didn't seem "that bad." I had dry patches on my forehead and around my eyebrows. And what's with my eyebrows? I've always felt like I'm still learning how to tweeze...I hadn't realized I needed a remedial course. The wrinkles were the most alarming - lines between my eyebrows from my scowling juxtaposed against arcs over my eyebrows from raising them...in interest or disbelief. I also have smile lines on either side of my mouth...parentheses punctuating my face.
I turned 34 this year and as I march toward 40, I realize how uncomfortable I am with aging. I know that it sounds vain, but I'm not ready to watch my body deteriorate. I don't consider myself to be a remarkably beautiful person and now I will be forced to watch the attributes I am proud of fade away. This mirror was showing me all of this...up close and personal...
To make it all worse, the full length mirror in the hotel room was a "fat mirror." You all know what I mean, right? So, after coming to terms with my wrinkly dry face with renegade eyebrow hairs, I got to witness my lingering baby weight exaggerated by the full length "fat mirror." UGH! I used to be...well...different. I used to be younger...fresher...thinner...flexible...in better shape...proportioned. It was a bitter reflection on my former self.
I don't really have an uplifting way to tie up this blog entry, except to say that I got to have dinner and wine with my dear friend Amy while I was in Chicago. She even said I was cool...something I needed to hear. Good conversation and a good wine with someone you love can let you forget selfish reflections...at least for a little while.
Anyway...
I stayed at The Palmer House hotel - a very old hotel (c. 1870) with an incredibly rich history in downtown Chicago. Famous entertainers have played it's Empire Room, like Sonny and Cher, Jack Benny, Dorothy Dandridge, and Tony Bennett. My walk to my hotel room was lined with photographs of historical Chicago and head shots of these famous faces. It was very charismatic...an Old Chicago feel, with heavy wood doors, small irregularly shaped rooms, a grand lobby, ornate carpeting, and mismatched antique door knobs...a nostalgic and fanciful atmosphere lifted from another time. I really enjoyed walking those halls...I seemed to pick up on the energy of the place and all the fashionable people that walked there before me.
My bathroom in the hotel room had one of those magnifying mirrors on an extending arm attached to the wall. They really should put warnings on those things! As I gazed upon my face in this little demon mirror, I saw every wrinkle that from far away didn't seem "that bad." I had dry patches on my forehead and around my eyebrows. And what's with my eyebrows? I've always felt like I'm still learning how to tweeze...I hadn't realized I needed a remedial course. The wrinkles were the most alarming - lines between my eyebrows from my scowling juxtaposed against arcs over my eyebrows from raising them...in interest or disbelief. I also have smile lines on either side of my mouth...parentheses punctuating my face.
I turned 34 this year and as I march toward 40, I realize how uncomfortable I am with aging. I know that it sounds vain, but I'm not ready to watch my body deteriorate. I don't consider myself to be a remarkably beautiful person and now I will be forced to watch the attributes I am proud of fade away. This mirror was showing me all of this...up close and personal...
To make it all worse, the full length mirror in the hotel room was a "fat mirror." You all know what I mean, right? So, after coming to terms with my wrinkly dry face with renegade eyebrow hairs, I got to witness my lingering baby weight exaggerated by the full length "fat mirror." UGH! I used to be...well...different. I used to be younger...fresher...thinner...flexible...in better shape...proportioned. It was a bitter reflection on my former self.
I don't really have an uplifting way to tie up this blog entry, except to say that I got to have dinner and wine with my dear friend Amy while I was in Chicago. She even said I was cool...something I needed to hear. Good conversation and a good wine with someone you love can let you forget selfish reflections...at least for a little while.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Brighter Moments
In these last few months I've become stretched thinner than ever before. I've taken on more responsibilities at work...more than I should and still be able to feel proud and confident in the work that I do. It's become a game of which fire to put out first in the time I have between meetings, which isn't much. On average, I am in about 10 meetings a week. It's an insane schedule with an increasing number of deadlines and responsibilities. I've also made the not-so-smart choice to instruct 2 online courses simultaneously. I really enjoy teaching and so I jump at the chance to do so. These courses are not credit based, but rather continuing education for public health professionals. You would think that this would ease up the pressure a bit, but it really doesn't. My students are working professionals in need of instruction that is applicable to their daily work. That means that I want to be as responsive as possible to their questions, assignments, and discussion postings...it's a lot of work. So, I do all of this while trying to manage an increasingly busy household. The worst part is that I'm starting to feel a bit whiny about it. I don't consider myself to be a whiny person...but lately, I've been thinking how stressful my life is and that I want others to notice, too. I've got a case of the oh-poor-me's. It's not very pretty. I really need to pull myself out of this and focus on what's important.
There have been some bright moments...especially with my 3 amazing children. Just look at these beautiful pictures from Easter. Despite all the craziness that is my life, it's easy for me to feel good about it when I get to share it with these little people...inspiring, guiding, and loving them.
There have been some bright moments...especially with my 3 amazing children. Just look at these beautiful pictures from Easter. Despite all the craziness that is my life, it's easy for me to feel good about it when I get to share it with these little people...inspiring, guiding, and loving them.
Hazel couldn't keep from grabbing her shoes.
Doesn't she look lovely in these pink tulips?
My Calvin and Violet hamming it up for the camera.
Violet and Calvin out on the egg hunt.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
hodgepodge
There have been quite a few things happening over the last month that have kept me from my blog. Its been incredibly taxing on the body, mind, and spirit. I thought it would be better to deal with them in little snipits in this hodgepodge entry, so that I can catch up to current day.
Daddy-Daughter Dance
My husband had a date with a very special little lady. He escorted Violet to the Daddy-Daughter dance. She got dressed up in her favorite semi-casual knit dress adorned with buttons...and as I look back on the pictures from that night, it looks like it's a bit short on her. Marcus was excited when I told him he didn't have to wear a suit. The two of them posed for a couple of quick pictures before they headed out into the blustery February evening. I was excited to hear the reports of their very special date...I envisioned those adorable moments when Marcus would ask Violet to dance and maybe Marcus would even have her stand on his toes...or lift her up. I played out just about every Rockwell-type moment in my head. The reality was a bit less magical. Apparently, when they got there, Violet found some of her little friends and spent most of the evening running around and dancing with them. She ate an a plethora of candy and sweets. Sadly, Marcus only got to dance with her once...the rest of the time, he stood on the sidelines of the child frenzy... making conversation with the other dateless dads. They had a wonderful time, but I had wished for something a little more enchanting.
The same week of the Daddy-Daughter dance...my Dad died. Every time I say or think that phrase, I have to repeat it to myself...its still hard to believe. He died. I had a very complicated relationship with my Dad...he had such a troubled past and struggled every day with the resulting demons...he never overcame them. He was a sentimental person, hanging on to the smallest treasures...a matchbook from a friends wedding...a Valentine I made him when I was 7...an old kelly green sweater vest that my mom had given him in the '70's to match his golf bag. He cared deeply about a great many things and people, but never really knew how to express it. He was incredibly smart...a business savvy person who understood the art of sales and the woes of management. Golfing was his passion and had been since he was a boy...and he was good at that, too. He was also a jerk a lot of the time...tormenting restaurant waiters and sales clerks...embarrassing me at basketball games...and creating angry scenes when things didn't go his way. There were dark times, which I think I remember the most...those times when he caused irreparable damage to the people closest to him...my mom, sister, and I. Since I learned of his death, I've spent quiet moments sorting out the memories and my feelings for him. I know he loved me...I know he was proud of me. I think he knew I loved him...and how sad I was that he knew such sadness in his life and experienced such injustices...and how happy I was to share the big moments and decisions of my life with him. I hope that he understood why I was the way I was in our relationship...that past disappointments have shaped who I am and how I dealt with him. And, I hope he knew that I thought he was a loving Grandpa...and that I wish life had given him longer to know his grandchildren. Although I've put much of my reactions to his death into perspective, I know I'll be processing it for a long time...
Calvin 4.0
My little man is 4 years old...and we celebrated. On the night of his birthday, he picked the local hibachi restaurant (Ukai) for his special meal. . Marcus and I desperately love hibachi...so we are excited every year when he picks this restaurant...and wholeheartedly support it. Calvin loves to think about how the chef cooks the food, how he flips those egg shells into his hat, and how he flips the knife on his spatula. He is mesmerized. This time, though, he actually covered his eyes for the ceremonial flames at the beginning of the show. After dinner, we headed home (stuffed) and opened presents. Calvin loved his new Leapster, Bakugans, Hot Wheels racing set, and Geotrax dynamite mountain. Then we had our ice cream cake - one that he's had his heart set on for months...the cake batter cake with sprinkles from Cold Stone Creamery. Its not my favorite, but he really enjoyed every bite. Of course, we had a party with guests, too. We had three little people over to our house for a chef-themed party...with lots of cooking activities, including decorating chef hats, playing a food pyramid game, spice container bowling, and making a lasagna dinner to take home to their families. I've been told that I go overboard for birthday parties...but I can't imagine anything more fun that planning an over-the-top party for my babies. Plus, with the themes I choose, it gets my creative juices flowing. Everything from the chef pot invitations to the goodie bags chock full of kitchen gadgets and gummy food...it's stress laden fun for me, beginning to end. Marcus generously gives in to my craziness on this...and every time vows that the next party will be at Chuck-e-Cheese. We'll see about that...
Lost and Found
There isn't much of a story here...just an announcement. Violet has lost her quintessential two front teeth. Just look at my little baby...so grown up, with no teeth. I get a bit squeamish looking at wiggly teeth and Violet had fun watching me squirm. Now that they're gone, I think she looks adorable. Of course, I promptly took pictures.
My little Hazy has found two teeth...her bottom two. She is learning to use them with all her finger food, but thankfully, she's stopped biting when I nurse her. We've been celebrating her accomplishments left and right these days...why just last week she lumbered into Marc's lap to hear a story. And when Marcus got to the page with the puppy, Hazel leaned in to give it a kiss. Just yesterday, she clapped all by herself. We all cheered "Yay!" and, she, of course, did it again. And, she's showing the first signs of mobility, crouching on her hands and knees to lunge toward a toy she wants. What a darling...I love being a mom!
Daddy-Daughter Dance
My husband had a date with a very special little lady. He escorted Violet to the Daddy-Daughter dance. She got dressed up in her favorite semi-casual knit dress adorned with buttons...and as I look back on the pictures from that night, it looks like it's a bit short on her. Marcus was excited when I told him he didn't have to wear a suit. The two of them posed for a couple of quick pictures before they headed out into the blustery February evening. I was excited to hear the reports of their very special date...I envisioned those adorable moments when Marcus would ask Violet to dance and maybe Marcus would even have her stand on his toes...or lift her up. I played out just about every Rockwell-type moment in my head. The reality was a bit less magical. Apparently, when they got there, Violet found some of her little friends and spent most of the evening running around and dancing with them. She ate an a plethora of candy and sweets. Sadly, Marcus only got to dance with her once...the rest of the time, he stood on the sidelines of the child frenzy... making conversation with the other dateless dads. They had a wonderful time, but I had wished for something a little more enchanting.
Marcus and Violet just before heading out to
the Daddy-Daugher dance.
The same week of the Daddy-Daughter dance...my Dad died. Every time I say or think that phrase, I have to repeat it to myself...its still hard to believe. He died. I had a very complicated relationship with my Dad...he had such a troubled past and struggled every day with the resulting demons...he never overcame them. He was a sentimental person, hanging on to the smallest treasures...a matchbook from a friends wedding...a Valentine I made him when I was 7...an old kelly green sweater vest that my mom had given him in the '70's to match his golf bag. He cared deeply about a great many things and people, but never really knew how to express it. He was incredibly smart...a business savvy person who understood the art of sales and the woes of management. Golfing was his passion and had been since he was a boy...and he was good at that, too. He was also a jerk a lot of the time...tormenting restaurant waiters and sales clerks...embarrassing me at basketball games...and creating angry scenes when things didn't go his way. There were dark times, which I think I remember the most...those times when he caused irreparable damage to the people closest to him...my mom, sister, and I. Since I learned of his death, I've spent quiet moments sorting out the memories and my feelings for him. I know he loved me...I know he was proud of me. I think he knew I loved him...and how sad I was that he knew such sadness in his life and experienced such injustices...and how happy I was to share the big moments and decisions of my life with him. I hope that he understood why I was the way I was in our relationship...that past disappointments have shaped who I am and how I dealt with him. And, I hope he knew that I thought he was a loving Grandpa...and that I wish life had given him longer to know his grandchildren. Although I've put much of my reactions to his death into perspective, I know I'll be processing it for a long time...
My dad and I when I was about 1 1/2 years. He always loved to garden...
and here he's showing me the sunflowers.
Calvin 4.0
My little man is 4 years old...and we celebrated. On the night of his birthday, he picked the local hibachi restaurant (Ukai) for his special meal. . Marcus and I desperately love hibachi...so we are excited every year when he picks this restaurant...and wholeheartedly support it. Calvin loves to think about how the chef cooks the food, how he flips those egg shells into his hat, and how he flips the knife on his spatula. He is mesmerized. This time, though, he actually covered his eyes for the ceremonial flames at the beginning of the show. After dinner, we headed home (stuffed) and opened presents. Calvin loved his new Leapster, Bakugans, Hot Wheels racing set, and Geotrax dynamite mountain. Then we had our ice cream cake - one that he's had his heart set on for months...the cake batter cake with sprinkles from Cold Stone Creamery. Its not my favorite, but he really enjoyed every bite. Of course, we had a party with guests, too. We had three little people over to our house for a chef-themed party...with lots of cooking activities, including decorating chef hats, playing a food pyramid game, spice container bowling, and making a lasagna dinner to take home to their families. I've been told that I go overboard for birthday parties...but I can't imagine anything more fun that planning an over-the-top party for my babies. Plus, with the themes I choose, it gets my creative juices flowing. Everything from the chef pot invitations to the goodie bags chock full of kitchen gadgets and gummy food...it's stress laden fun for me, beginning to end. Marcus generously gives in to my craziness on this...and every time vows that the next party will be at Chuck-e-Cheese. We'll see about that...
Calvin next to his birthday cake before his big chef-themed birthday party.
(His favorite colors are green and black.)
Lost and Found
There isn't much of a story here...just an announcement. Violet has lost her quintessential two front teeth. Just look at my little baby...so grown up, with no teeth. I get a bit squeamish looking at wiggly teeth and Violet had fun watching me squirm. Now that they're gone, I think she looks adorable. Of course, I promptly took pictures.
Violet sans her two front teeth.
My little Hazy has found two teeth...her bottom two. She is learning to use them with all her finger food, but thankfully, she's stopped biting when I nurse her. We've been celebrating her accomplishments left and right these days...why just last week she lumbered into Marc's lap to hear a story. And when Marcus got to the page with the puppy, Hazel leaned in to give it a kiss. Just yesterday, she clapped all by herself. We all cheered "Yay!" and, she, of course, did it again. And, she's showing the first signs of mobility, crouching on her hands and knees to lunge toward a toy she wants. What a darling...I love being a mom!
Hazel making an adorable squinched face during
playtime on the floor. Check out those teeth!
Saturday, February 13, 2010
vacation
Have you ever wanted to vacation in your past? Spend some time as your former self...in your former life? I do. Now, don't take this to mean that I'm "living in the past", unable/unwilling to move on with my life, or wish to change any of the decisions I made to arrive at a different outcome. I love the "now" of my life and I wouldn't change a thing. In fact, I love my life so much that I want to revisit times along the way and just enjoy them.
With the big Superbowl win for the New Orleans Saints...and Mardi Gras coming up next week...its got me thinking about a vacation to the time Marcus and I were in New Orleans, just after we were married. That was such a wonderfully simple time, full of love and discovery. We really set the foundation for our lives now - if we had never lived that time in that way, I don't think we would handle the pressures we face now as well as we do. So indulge me a bit in my vacation fantasy...as I visit myself on a very ordinary Friday when we we're living in New Orleans.
It was so good to finish a hectic day at class and work thinking about my special Friday evening with Marcus. We only had one car, so Marcus would pick me up from the school of public health building downtown. The building was on the fringe of the city, near to the hospitals...and away from all the tourist hot spots. I had always wished that it was closer to the French Quarter, although it may have been too tempting to go out to lunch more often, which was not in the grad school budget. We were so broke then, living on a pretty small stipend and part-time student level salary. We did a lot with a little and took pleasure in the everyday things; we considered trips to the Save-A-Center grocery store our dates. On Friday's, we would indulge our affinity for wine at tastings held at the wine shop very near our apartment, The Cellars of River Ridge. This family owned shop had a diverse selection of wines, some gourmet treats, and accessories for entertaining with wine. Every Friday the owner would choose to feature 3 or 4 wines for a free tasting. We would meander in at about 6:00 pm, and carefully evaluate the tasting selection...pretending, really, that we knew what we were looking at. We'd make our choice, usually a red, and the owner would pour a generous portion in a small plastic cup for our enjoyment. Marcus and I would then sip the wine and form our opinions. The owner was always so helpful, telling us about the wine, the vineyard, and what we should be looking for when we tasted...the oaky overtones, the jammy, robust palate, the crisp, lemony finish. We listened and learned. With our little cups, we would then walk the aisles of the store, admiring all the labels and coveting the contents. Many of them were too expensive for us, but we liked to pretend. We would each pick one that we would buy, if we could. The back wall was a cooler full of a variety of beer that always drew Marc's attention. We even liked looking at the wall of liquors, checking out the bottle styles...we admired the majesty of the vodka bottles, especially. I think we knew their inventory as well as they did. Of course, we would try all the wines featured for the tasting...and some of them we would even have a second cup. We weren't the only ones; the store really took on a community party atmosphere on Friday's, with many "regulars" doing the same thing as us. We stayed for about 2 hours in this little shop, drinking, browsing, and chatting with the owner or his son. Sometimes we would actually buy something...it made us feel better about crashing the party every week, so to speak. When it was time to go, I would look up at Marcus and say "Taqueria?" When I was lucky enough to hear him say "ok" (after some cajoling), we would walk around the corner to a small Mexican restaurant, Taqueria Corona, for take out. It must have been hard for Marcus to always be the finance police...I put him in a position to have to deny me things quite frequently, especially dinners out. Anyway, I would order the California burrito, an oversize charred chicken burrito with avocado, and Marcus would get this combination meal...I remember it came with a fish taco, which at the time I thought was just weird. (Don't worry, I've been cured of my Midwestern palate.) We'd bring our meal home, set it up on the coffee table in front of the futon, pour ourselves a glass of box wine and beer to keep the buzz going, and flip on the TV and watch whatever. After finishing our extravagant meal, we'd cuddle on the futon and eventually fall asleep there, waking up in the wee hours of the morning and shuffling to the back bedroom to fall into bed. It was perfect...perfectly simple.
With the big Superbowl win for the New Orleans Saints...and Mardi Gras coming up next week...its got me thinking about a vacation to the time Marcus and I were in New Orleans, just after we were married. That was such a wonderfully simple time, full of love and discovery. We really set the foundation for our lives now - if we had never lived that time in that way, I don't think we would handle the pressures we face now as well as we do. So indulge me a bit in my vacation fantasy...as I visit myself on a very ordinary Friday when we we're living in New Orleans.
It was so good to finish a hectic day at class and work thinking about my special Friday evening with Marcus. We only had one car, so Marcus would pick me up from the school of public health building downtown. The building was on the fringe of the city, near to the hospitals...and away from all the tourist hot spots. I had always wished that it was closer to the French Quarter, although it may have been too tempting to go out to lunch more often, which was not in the grad school budget. We were so broke then, living on a pretty small stipend and part-time student level salary. We did a lot with a little and took pleasure in the everyday things; we considered trips to the Save-A-Center grocery store our dates. On Friday's, we would indulge our affinity for wine at tastings held at the wine shop very near our apartment, The Cellars of River Ridge. This family owned shop had a diverse selection of wines, some gourmet treats, and accessories for entertaining with wine. Every Friday the owner would choose to feature 3 or 4 wines for a free tasting. We would meander in at about 6:00 pm, and carefully evaluate the tasting selection...pretending, really, that we knew what we were looking at. We'd make our choice, usually a red, and the owner would pour a generous portion in a small plastic cup for our enjoyment. Marcus and I would then sip the wine and form our opinions. The owner was always so helpful, telling us about the wine, the vineyard, and what we should be looking for when we tasted...the oaky overtones, the jammy, robust palate, the crisp, lemony finish. We listened and learned. With our little cups, we would then walk the aisles of the store, admiring all the labels and coveting the contents. Many of them were too expensive for us, but we liked to pretend. We would each pick one that we would buy, if we could. The back wall was a cooler full of a variety of beer that always drew Marc's attention. We even liked looking at the wall of liquors, checking out the bottle styles...we admired the majesty of the vodka bottles, especially. I think we knew their inventory as well as they did. Of course, we would try all the wines featured for the tasting...and some of them we would even have a second cup. We weren't the only ones; the store really took on a community party atmosphere on Friday's, with many "regulars" doing the same thing as us. We stayed for about 2 hours in this little shop, drinking, browsing, and chatting with the owner or his son. Sometimes we would actually buy something...it made us feel better about crashing the party every week, so to speak. When it was time to go, I would look up at Marcus and say "Taqueria?" When I was lucky enough to hear him say "ok" (after some cajoling), we would walk around the corner to a small Mexican restaurant, Taqueria Corona, for take out. It must have been hard for Marcus to always be the finance police...I put him in a position to have to deny me things quite frequently, especially dinners out. Anyway, I would order the California burrito, an oversize charred chicken burrito with avocado, and Marcus would get this combination meal...I remember it came with a fish taco, which at the time I thought was just weird. (Don't worry, I've been cured of my Midwestern palate.) We'd bring our meal home, set it up on the coffee table in front of the futon, pour ourselves a glass of box wine and beer to keep the buzz going, and flip on the TV and watch whatever. After finishing our extravagant meal, we'd cuddle on the futon and eventually fall asleep there, waking up in the wee hours of the morning and shuffling to the back bedroom to fall into bed. It was perfect...perfectly simple.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
the plague
First it was Calvin...then Marcus...now Violet. My home has been hit with a stomach bug marked by shivers, vomiting, and lethargy. I've been playing nursemaid all weekend, precluding any progress on the multitude of unfinished projects that keep piling up around me or the house cleaning that so desperately needs to be done.
It always amazes me how my husband, who generally can handle most things, gets incredibly needy when he gets sick. He's always been a bit of a hypochondriac, finding the littlest symptom and worrying that it is indicative of cancer. And whenever it's a bona fide illness, he just succumbs. He's been fighting this stomach thing since Friday afternoon...was nauseous all night...and spent most of Saturday combating a headache and extreme tiredness. I don't begrudge him any of the attention he needs and deserves while he is sick, and in fact, I like that I can take care of him when he needs me. However, I wonder sometimes if his symptoms are exaggerated a bit. Not on purpose to get attention or anything...just exaggerated in his own mind due to his constant worrying. Regardless, I certainly owe him as much TLC as I can generate - he was my savior during all my pregnancies, and especially with this last one when I was nauseous with morning sickness for about 6 months. I just hope that tomorrow doesn't bring symptoms of this for Hazy and I, making this weekend a total bust.
It always amazes me how my husband, who generally can handle most things, gets incredibly needy when he gets sick. He's always been a bit of a hypochondriac, finding the littlest symptom and worrying that it is indicative of cancer. And whenever it's a bona fide illness, he just succumbs. He's been fighting this stomach thing since Friday afternoon...was nauseous all night...and spent most of Saturday combating a headache and extreme tiredness. I don't begrudge him any of the attention he needs and deserves while he is sick, and in fact, I like that I can take care of him when he needs me. However, I wonder sometimes if his symptoms are exaggerated a bit. Not on purpose to get attention or anything...just exaggerated in his own mind due to his constant worrying. Regardless, I certainly owe him as much TLC as I can generate - he was my savior during all my pregnancies, and especially with this last one when I was nauseous with morning sickness for about 6 months. I just hope that tomorrow doesn't bring symptoms of this for Hazy and I, making this weekend a total bust.
Friday, January 22, 2010
uninspired
I've started a few unfinished blog entries, but have been uninspired to finish any of them. It has something to do with the whirlwind that these weeks since Christmas have been. I'm behind in just about everything. Work especially seems to have gotten away from me. My usually neat cubicle has fallen into severe disarray...cluttered with unfinished projects, emails I have yet to respond to, and documents still to be read. I am overwhelmed.
On top of everything, my house is a complete mess. We successfully got the Christmas decor stashed away until next year, thanks in large part to the diligency of my husband. But, in his frenzy to rid our living space of the boughs of holly, he unearthed the crates upon crates of children's clothes that we've accumulated. All of it was scattered around the upstairs...and he reorganized it by gender and age. There must have been 10 bins of clothes!
"Betsy, we have to consider getting rid of the baby clothes...especially Calvin's stuff."
"Betsy, here's the clothes Hazy has grown out of already...can we get rid of it now."
>sigh<
I'm not a hoarder, but "getting rid" of my babies' clothes? I'm just not ready. It's like saying goodbye to my newborn babies all over again...those little footed sleepers, the tiny overalls, the adorably small dresses and rompers. I can't do it. Even while I celebrate each passing milestone of all three of their lives...I mourn them at the same time. I wonder...will this be the last time Violet wants to kiss me goodbye on her way to meet her friends...or the last time Calvin tells me he's my "fella"...or the last time Hazy chews on her toes. It's downright depressing, actually. So, I hang on to their clothes as tangible keepsakes of these memories....at least for a little while longer. Marcus graciously carried all the bins back down the stairs and packed them in the crawlspace. He's labeled them "To Donate"...a reminder to me that I won't be able to recapture their babyhood, but at least I can delay thinking about it for awhile.
On top of everything, my house is a complete mess. We successfully got the Christmas decor stashed away until next year, thanks in large part to the diligency of my husband. But, in his frenzy to rid our living space of the boughs of holly, he unearthed the crates upon crates of children's clothes that we've accumulated. All of it was scattered around the upstairs...and he reorganized it by gender and age. There must have been 10 bins of clothes!
"Betsy, we have to consider getting rid of the baby clothes...especially Calvin's stuff."
"Betsy, here's the clothes Hazy has grown out of already...can we get rid of it now."
>sigh<
I'm not a hoarder, but "getting rid" of my babies' clothes? I'm just not ready. It's like saying goodbye to my newborn babies all over again...those little footed sleepers, the tiny overalls, the adorably small dresses and rompers. I can't do it. Even while I celebrate each passing milestone of all three of their lives...I mourn them at the same time. I wonder...will this be the last time Violet wants to kiss me goodbye on her way to meet her friends...or the last time Calvin tells me he's my "fella"...or the last time Hazy chews on her toes. It's downright depressing, actually. So, I hang on to their clothes as tangible keepsakes of these memories....at least for a little while longer. Marcus graciously carried all the bins back down the stairs and packed them in the crawlspace. He's labeled them "To Donate"...a reminder to me that I won't be able to recapture their babyhood, but at least I can delay thinking about it for awhile.
Saturday, January 9, 2010
not the cookie mom
My little Violet is a Daisy Scout. I was happy to have her join...I couldn't think of a better venue for camaraderie with her school chums and involvement in some fun activities...plus, I certainly didn't want her to be left out. Years ago, I was a Brownie, and then a Girl Scout. Back when I did it, there was no such thing as Daisy Scout...this newfangled pre-Brownie stage for the kindergartners and first graders is a new concept for me. So far, they've made a fleece quilt and donated it to a local shelter, baked Christmas cookies and had a cookie exchange, and had a manners tea party...all VERY good stuff for little 5 and 6 year olds to do. And Violet truly enjoys it. She especially loves that on days her troop has their meeting, she gets to wear her Daisy Scout smock over her uniform jumper and display all the patches she's earned.
The next big thing, however, on her troop's agenda is the annual sale of Girl Scout cookies. I'm a bit perplexed as to why little girls, especially of this age, are being asked to sell cookies. I'm told by thepropaganda informational handouts that selling cookies builds confidence and teaches responsibility, skills in handling money, and how to run a business. Hmmmm. Right now, I'd just be happy if Violet could tie her shoes...and as for the confidence building, I can think of a few better ways to accomplish this than having her sell confections. Can you believe that the troop only profits 60 cents for every box sold? Marcus said that he'd happily donate $30 to the troop (the equivalent of 50 boxes of cookies!) just so we didn't have to deal with this cookie selling hassle.
The troop moms got together and made a few decisions on behalf of the girls, since they are so young. (Typically, older girl scouts are involved in every step of the decision-making process.) After a little negotiation, the troop cookie selling goal is 700 boxes...and each girl can set their own personal goal. We have 14 girls in the troop, so on average, they expect each girl to sell 50 boxes. That seems like a lot to me...but what do I know. I'm just glad we collectively agreed to lower the expectation from 100 boxes per girl to 50. (e-gads!)
I've started talking about this process with Violet a bit...why she's selling cookies, her troop's 700 box sales goal, and of course descriptions of all the cookies that she will be selling. I asked her what she thinks her personal sales goal should be...and bless her little heart...she optimistically announced "100 boxes". !!!! Oh my. I don't want to crush her enthusiasm, but I can barely think of 10 people for her to sell to. I don't really think its appropriate for me to try to sell cookies at work...and we will NOT be selling door-to-door...so that leaves family and friends. After some cajoling, she settled on a 50 box goal...and so our sales and marketing campaign begins this week. She can't wait! Tonight she told me she wants to build a stand out of a cardboard box so that she can properly take my cookie order.
Despite my confusion and disagreement with having children sell products to raise money...and my negative attitude about how valuable this experience really is...I desperately love Girl Scout cookies. I mean...come'on...everyone has a favorite, right? Mine is the Samoa...that coconut carmel chocolatey delight. And now, it seems that I have my own personal supplier.
The next big thing, however, on her troop's agenda is the annual sale of Girl Scout cookies. I'm a bit perplexed as to why little girls, especially of this age, are being asked to sell cookies. I'm told by the
The troop moms got together and made a few decisions on behalf of the girls, since they are so young. (Typically, older girl scouts are involved in every step of the decision-making process.) After a little negotiation, the troop cookie selling goal is 700 boxes...and each girl can set their own personal goal. We have 14 girls in the troop, so on average, they expect each girl to sell 50 boxes. That seems like a lot to me...but what do I know. I'm just glad we collectively agreed to lower the expectation from 100 boxes per girl to 50. (e-gads!)
I've started talking about this process with Violet a bit...why she's selling cookies, her troop's 700 box sales goal, and of course descriptions of all the cookies that she will be selling. I asked her what she thinks her personal sales goal should be...and bless her little heart...she optimistically announced "100 boxes". !!!! Oh my. I don't want to crush her enthusiasm, but I can barely think of 10 people for her to sell to. I don't really think its appropriate for me to try to sell cookies at work...and we will NOT be selling door-to-door...so that leaves family and friends. After some cajoling, she settled on a 50 box goal...and so our sales and marketing campaign begins this week. She can't wait! Tonight she told me she wants to build a stand out of a cardboard box so that she can properly take my cookie order.
Despite my confusion and disagreement with having children sell products to raise money...and my negative attitude about how valuable this experience really is...I desperately love Girl Scout cookies. I mean...come'on...everyone has a favorite, right? Mine is the Samoa...that coconut carmel chocolatey delight. And now, it seems that I have my own personal supplier.
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