My mother-in-law loves to tell a story of a Jewish woman who complained to the Rabbi that her house was too small for her family. No matter how many times I hear it, this one always touches me because my house is too small for my family. The Rabbi sends five more children to live in her house. After a week of this insanity, the five extra children return to the homes they came from and the kvetcher's house feels like a spacious mansion without all those extra bodies and mouths. She is so happy and stops complaining.
That same mother-in-law has just taken in three of my children for the week. I still have a baby and a toddler, but they are easily manipulated and easily pleased. I don't feel guilty if my three year old misses a reading lesson or eats an entire box of Andes creme de Menthes. The baby still has therapy several times a week. But I feel like I'm playing hooky. My responsibilities have diminished drastically. Today, I didn't make my bed until after midnight. I washed and dried the table once. I swept the floors once. I actually mopped the kitchen once. I washed chocolate off the flatscreen, keyboard and mouse only once. But I'm not having to repeat every action multiple times or supervise the repetition of any of these actions, or break up fights, or lose sight of Torpedo while he tears off on some deconstructionist jag. Everything feels so manageable that I don't want to disturb the calm by making a To Do list for myself which would only include more cooking, cleaning, editing and preparing for the future.
In a way, I'm rediscovering myself a little bit. Now, that I can do whatever I want, what am I doing? I'm reading, writing, visiting friends, calling friends and checking out my friend's blogs. I will do a little cleaning and add cooking, editing and preparing for the future next week after I've indulged in a good long Saturday afternoon nap. I miss my girls. It's spacious and simple without them, but I love the richness, texture and joy they bring to my life. I called my children and Sparkle asked, "Mom, could you call back when I have something interesting to tell you?" When they return, I will have fresh eyes and ears for all of the interesting things they have to tell me and Grandma will think she lives in a mansion. =)
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
First Fairy
This has been an exciting year of many firsts, not just for Mermaid, but for all of us. Thankfully, we have traditions to anchor us periodically. One of the oldest and most famous traditions in our family is the Birthday Fairy. The BF helps us celebrate the glorious golden age of earth life. Today, Mermaid got her first visit from the BF. We are so grateful to have Mermaid in our family and she's pretty happy about it, too! Or, she may just be happy because, from her point of view, the decorations look like gigantic rainbow breasts, a nursing baby's dream come true! (Her Dad gets credit for the rainbow comment.)
Sunday, November 23, 2008
More Love
Just putting a little love out there.
A lot has changed in the grown-up world since my last post: economic meltdown, new president, prop 8 fall-out...
In our kid's world there have been changes, too. We welcomed a sweet new niece, Camille, this week. All my girls insisted on sleeping in spongy rollers in preparation to sing for an apostle of the Lord at a special conference of our Stake today. Torpedo is even more in love with Mermaid than at first. He calls her "my baby," and wants to hold her, hug her and kiss her all the time...as do I. ;) Today, I held Angelfish while she wept for a full 15 minutes because (plot spoiler!) Old Dan died in Where the Red Fern Grows. I'm touched by the tenderness of their hearts and the love that multiplies in the world because of them. I have become a better person because there are children in my life. I hope you have some in yours.
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Story Problem
“Can we listen to Hannah Montana?” Already, I was dubious about the wisdom of this endeavor. One pregnant woman on a 30 hour road trip from New York City to St. Simons, Georgia, minus one busy husband, plus four children under ten stuffed shoulder to shoulder in a minivan; great idea or hormonally induced catastrophe?! I had avoided traveling alone with kids since a blizzard stranded me as the sole pair of arms to bear the baggage, car seats and collective tears of three small girls watching an empty luggage carousel make its pointless midnight rounds. Though my devoted husband, My Hero, wasn’t available for this new adventure, we had places to go; life to live! Besides, there are no blizzards in September. True, we had added a fourth child (a boy!) in the intervening years and I was well along in a new pregnancy. Still, I only planned to fill the van for one day each way. I would deposit Star, my type-A firstborn, and Angelfish, my wanderer, with their aunt in Maryland while I continued to Georgia with the clingy younger children, Sparkle and Torpedo. Once in Georgia they would be completely absorbed into the same-age children of my hosting friend. Essentially, it would be a kid-free vacation.
This paradisiacal plan sprouted from an humble intent to tour the White House. My Maryland sister had importuned her congressman and six short months later our extended family had been granted access. New York to D.C. had been the impetus upon which our “side trip” to Georgia embellished. This was also supposed to be the easy part of the journey. But the distance between point A and point B now stretched into a sharp, eternal ray. Near stand-still city traffic meant hours in the car, guzzling our allotment of bottled water, covering very little distance. Even with the aforementioned pop diva, once all that water raced through their little systems the typical whines took on a fevered urgency. Only ten miles outside of the city, I informed my belligerent brood that we could not possibly stop this close to home. Star voiced the growing consensus, “Mom, we’re hungry and we have to go!” Maybe the diaper days weren’t so bad after all. I envisioned unbuckling, entering, sticky fast-food fingers, tense whiny exits, and buckling four sweaty bodies back into the same seats now dusted in pretzel crumbs, all deviations from my plan. My shoulders dropped in defeat and I mildly resented the universal release of tension from my triumphant mutineers as we rounded the next exit.
My boy set a New Jersey Turnpike record for the most items attacked by a single toddler at a single rest stop. I grimaced and supported my pregnant belly with one hand while sprinting past indecisive travelers, blankly thumbing artless postcards, to save the Sunglass Hut from Torpedo's disastrous touch. I did not get there first. Star did. Her steady hand deftly caught his chubby wrists before he even grazed the expensive eyewear. Where did she come from? Still in the astonished moment, I spun chasing Torpedo with my eyes. He was headed for the arcade, but Star and Angelfish were racing after him unasked and with surprising success. His small stature enabled him to dart through travelers, but he couldn’t shake them. My husband calls the addition of each new child a “promotion” to which I respond by rolling my eyes, but maybe he had a point after all. I couldn’t safeguard four children at a busy rest stop by myself, but maybe I could delegate. I had to delegate. Angelfish supervised Sparkle at the food court table. Star shadowed our two-year-old Tasmanian. I shouted directions from my position in a slow line for fast food. A well timed rest stop always lightens the mood. For me it was something more, more than a high fructose corn syrup haze. It was the revelation that I could count on my children for meaningful help. We were becoming a team.
Traveling hours are like dog years, especially when listening to “tween” music. I snuck in a few lectures regarding lyrical subtext, but I also memorized many of their favorite songs as we perfected our stereo time-share. Confession: I actually liked most of it. Star's shot-gun seat gave her the most freedom of movement for car dancing, but Angelfish shook her abundant copper hair to great effect. Miraculously, Torpedo slept soundly despite Sparkle “dancing” in the back of his chair. My short legs didn’t allow much room between my belly and the steering wheel, but I caught some of their standout moves in the rearview mirror. Their car dancing choreography all seemed to fit together coglike until it suddenly didn’t. We were only 90 minutes from our nighttime destination when Armageddon rumbled behind me. “She’s leaning on me!” Push. “Well, she hit me!” Glare. “We already listened to her song five times.” Smirk. Shove. “WuuuaaaahhhHHH.” Torpedo wasn’t sleeping anymore. No debates. We veered onto the exit ramp for another micro-managed rest stop. Well past bedtime I finally pushed in the parking brake at Grandma’s house. We could boast an enviable collection of free local maps from the last rest stop, but that would have to wait till morning. We quietly sank into the deep slumber of those who sit too long and stretch too little.
We had two excursions planned for our time in D.C. The White House tour was obviously the jewel at the center of this chain of events. But first we squeezed in a big kids visit to Mount Vernon while Grandma babysat. We had annual membership passes and a systematic approach. We had already viewed the welcome center, the main house, the herb gardens and slave quarters on previous visits. We determined that an indoor expedition would be wise as the mercury was pushing 100. So we kept a steady, if somewhat limp, march over the few hundred sweltering yards to the education center. Beads of sweat were already forming on Angelfish's brow and Star's cheeks were pink with the heat. We had nearly reached our turn off when a free shuttle bus parked at the stop immediately in front of us. Maybe Torpedo's absence made me adventurous. One glance toward my matted girls raised the question. Our deliberate plan included air conditioning and educational opportunities, but this bus shuttled to a boat waiting on the Potomac River only a mile or so away. They resisted. “We need air conditioning.” Nevertheless, they loyally followed me through the open doors where we joined several elderly women in pastel pant suits and name-tags. I smiled, “Hey! The bus has A/C.”
The half-sized bland colored bus bumped along steep forest trails like some ancient roller-coaster ride. We braced ourselves. More than once, I expected to hit a tree. How many pacemakers had been activated on this pilgrimage? We lived to behold to the lazy Potomac river. Other sweaty tourists who had survived the shuttle bus sat under a pavilion fanning themselves with glossy brochures awaiting the next boat. Dust from the departing shuttle bus had settled before we realized that no boat rides were included in our membership. Bummer. We instinctively felt the miles separating us from the air conditioning so precious in southern climates. The unusually calm river did nothing to abate the humidity and supported an abundant mosquito population. I had gambled and lost.
Trudging up the return path, we discovered a four-acre living museum plantation on our left. We hadn’t seen it in shuttle bus blur and I had never heard of it. No other tourists were there. In fact, it almost seemed we had stepped through a time warp to find farmers planting cabbage, touching tobacco plants and carding cotton. An encouraging breeze picked up and carried the cool of the river just across our cheeks and shoulders. My delighted daughters spent the next two hours receiving private training in the horticulture techniques of the 18th century. Watching Angelfish converse with an elderly farmer and plant cabbages in the dust, dripping in costume jewelry rhinestones and sweat, it struck me that my children were between times. They were between fashionista and farmer, between city and country, but also between childhood and the adult world. They were between following and leading. I realized that ‘between’ was a wide open space full of surprising opportunities.
Emboldened by our Mt. Vernon successes, I felt ready for the White House. My childhood dream was coming true. Background checks and security measures which stripped us of water bottles and cell phones only added to the prestige. We were prompted at every turn of our self-guided tour not to sit, not to touch, and not to breathe too freely in the historic halls. My children complied. They didn’t sit on or touch anything. In fact, I had to catch my breath just to keep up with them. They raced past photographs. They barely registered paintings, décor or the craftsmanship of custom cast doorknobs, molding, fire places, etc. They whizzed through so quickly that I wasn’t sure if they’d seen more than an historical blur which probably looked much like any other blur. After the fact, they did recall “sparkly chandeliers” as the standout feature of the famous building. This 25 minute jog through the big white house with “sparkly chandeliers” had been the premise for my entire adventure. I was flabbergasted.
Nevertheless, a pattern for success began to emerge: if the kids were willing to try new things and I was willing to be flexible we all had fun. I enjoyed being with my children. They enjoyed being with each other. They enjoyed being with me. In this miraculous moment I did not want to leave them behind. Given the choice, I wanted to spend 20 more hours crammed in the car and two more days unbuckling, buckling and spreading Georgian sand everywhere with my children. I invited Star and Angelfish to join us. They weren’t impressed by my palm tree appeal, but to my amazement, their proclivity for sleeping in won them over. Evidently, waking up for the seminary class Auntie was teaching that week was less desirable than squishing in the mini-van for 20 hours where you can, after all, sleep.
On departure morning there was little eagerness. Fearing mal de mer, Angelfish nearly escaped without eating breakfast. Sparkle couldn’t find her shoes because she wouldn’t look for them. And Torpedo arched his back in opposition to the car seat. Only my ten year old gem, Star, sparkled with cooperation. Of course, she was riding shotgun and felt the pleasure of her new privileges and responsibilities; not the least of which was controlling the radio. Before the first CD ended, Angelfish did lose her breakfast in the backseat. Armed with a container of wet wipes, Star bravely released her seatbelt and shimmied into the backseat to minister to her suffering sister. With all of the windows opened, our noses eventually adapted to the offense. I empathized with Star. Responsibility was sometimes overrated. Only nine driving hours left for the day.
As we trekked further south of the Mason-Dixon line an odd pattern emerged. We had to make multiple stops for every break. One stop would provide public lavatories, grassy spaces, picnic tables and huge civil war plaques; another stop to fuel the car and a third stop for food. That meant fumbling with seatbelts at least 20 times and finding eight pairs of shoes. Growl. They were clean and well stocked, but in a region famous for its hospitality, the rest stops were unexpectedly inconvenient. Star chased squealing Torpedo in a game called “Don’t die in the parking lot.” Luckily, she was mostly winning because I was too tired to play. I merely watched from the little nest my crossed arms made for my head on a rough hewn picnic table. Angelfish and Sparkle entertained themselves by balancing on the raised gardens ledges around civil war plaques. They found fun at a rest stop with nothing more than a public lavatory, historical plaques and some picnic tables. Surely I could pick myself up by my sandal straps and exhibit a little enthusiasm as well. I corralled my sticky, smiling family around a huge sign boldly declaring “Georgia” and took a picture to prove to my children, lest any of us forget, that I did take them somewhere…once.
Then, I almost took them nowhere. We arrived on St. Simons island after dark. Even a small island can hold infinite wrong turns. Star instinctively understood “Are we lost?” was taboo and transmitted the message to the backseaters who stopped rumbling about the lack of travel tunes, food, space, light, etc. She shifted calmly into navigator mode and maintained constant cell phone communication with my girlfriend as I repeatedly traversed the same few blocks in the last uncertain minutes of our drive. Thanks to her, we finally parked in front of the correct house and stumbled onto the spongy southern grass. “You made it!” my friend cheered. “What’s that smell?”
We had a singularly happy time with our friends against the gorgeous and varied setting of St. Simons, Georgia. Serendipity netted us 19 live sand dollars, an amazing chocolate bread pudding and countless tender memories. Our return trip was smooth. We functioned in concert; little cogs fitted tightly together in a watch. If the cogs were separate, they wouldn’t bump into each other, but the watch would stop. We bumped into each other constantly, but we could soften the blow by working in rhythm and responding to each other’s needs. Yes, we made more unplanned rest stops. We bought greasy, sticky food to make our blood sugar soar. We buckled on shoes and seatbelts ad naseum. We got lost again. And we may never get all the crumbs from the secret crevices all minivans hide, but we will never forget our journey. Based on this proof, my hopeful hypothesis is that the odd family in this story problem can continue at the speed of happiness from point A forever.
This paradisiacal plan sprouted from an humble intent to tour the White House. My Maryland sister had importuned her congressman and six short months later our extended family had been granted access. New York to D.C. had been the impetus upon which our “side trip” to Georgia embellished. This was also supposed to be the easy part of the journey. But the distance between point A and point B now stretched into a sharp, eternal ray. Near stand-still city traffic meant hours in the car, guzzling our allotment of bottled water, covering very little distance. Even with the aforementioned pop diva, once all that water raced through their little systems the typical whines took on a fevered urgency. Only ten miles outside of the city, I informed my belligerent brood that we could not possibly stop this close to home. Star voiced the growing consensus, “Mom, we’re hungry and we have to go!” Maybe the diaper days weren’t so bad after all. I envisioned unbuckling, entering, sticky fast-food fingers, tense whiny exits, and buckling four sweaty bodies back into the same seats now dusted in pretzel crumbs, all deviations from my plan. My shoulders dropped in defeat and I mildly resented the universal release of tension from my triumphant mutineers as we rounded the next exit.
My boy set a New Jersey Turnpike record for the most items attacked by a single toddler at a single rest stop. I grimaced and supported my pregnant belly with one hand while sprinting past indecisive travelers, blankly thumbing artless postcards, to save the Sunglass Hut from Torpedo's disastrous touch. I did not get there first. Star did. Her steady hand deftly caught his chubby wrists before he even grazed the expensive eyewear. Where did she come from? Still in the astonished moment, I spun chasing Torpedo with my eyes. He was headed for the arcade, but Star and Angelfish were racing after him unasked and with surprising success. His small stature enabled him to dart through travelers, but he couldn’t shake them. My husband calls the addition of each new child a “promotion” to which I respond by rolling my eyes, but maybe he had a point after all. I couldn’t safeguard four children at a busy rest stop by myself, but maybe I could delegate. I had to delegate. Angelfish supervised Sparkle at the food court table. Star shadowed our two-year-old Tasmanian. I shouted directions from my position in a slow line for fast food. A well timed rest stop always lightens the mood. For me it was something more, more than a high fructose corn syrup haze. It was the revelation that I could count on my children for meaningful help. We were becoming a team.
Traveling hours are like dog years, especially when listening to “tween” music. I snuck in a few lectures regarding lyrical subtext, but I also memorized many of their favorite songs as we perfected our stereo time-share. Confession: I actually liked most of it. Star's shot-gun seat gave her the most freedom of movement for car dancing, but Angelfish shook her abundant copper hair to great effect. Miraculously, Torpedo slept soundly despite Sparkle “dancing” in the back of his chair. My short legs didn’t allow much room between my belly and the steering wheel, but I caught some of their standout moves in the rearview mirror. Their car dancing choreography all seemed to fit together coglike until it suddenly didn’t. We were only 90 minutes from our nighttime destination when Armageddon rumbled behind me. “She’s leaning on me!” Push. “Well, she hit me!” Glare. “We already listened to her song five times.” Smirk. Shove. “WuuuaaaahhhHHH.” Torpedo wasn’t sleeping anymore. No debates. We veered onto the exit ramp for another micro-managed rest stop. Well past bedtime I finally pushed in the parking brake at Grandma’s house. We could boast an enviable collection of free local maps from the last rest stop, but that would have to wait till morning. We quietly sank into the deep slumber of those who sit too long and stretch too little.
We had two excursions planned for our time in D.C. The White House tour was obviously the jewel at the center of this chain of events. But first we squeezed in a big kids visit to Mount Vernon while Grandma babysat. We had annual membership passes and a systematic approach. We had already viewed the welcome center, the main house, the herb gardens and slave quarters on previous visits. We determined that an indoor expedition would be wise as the mercury was pushing 100. So we kept a steady, if somewhat limp, march over the few hundred sweltering yards to the education center. Beads of sweat were already forming on Angelfish's brow and Star's cheeks were pink with the heat. We had nearly reached our turn off when a free shuttle bus parked at the stop immediately in front of us. Maybe Torpedo's absence made me adventurous. One glance toward my matted girls raised the question. Our deliberate plan included air conditioning and educational opportunities, but this bus shuttled to a boat waiting on the Potomac River only a mile or so away. They resisted. “We need air conditioning.” Nevertheless, they loyally followed me through the open doors where we joined several elderly women in pastel pant suits and name-tags. I smiled, “Hey! The bus has A/C.”
The half-sized bland colored bus bumped along steep forest trails like some ancient roller-coaster ride. We braced ourselves. More than once, I expected to hit a tree. How many pacemakers had been activated on this pilgrimage? We lived to behold to the lazy Potomac river. Other sweaty tourists who had survived the shuttle bus sat under a pavilion fanning themselves with glossy brochures awaiting the next boat. Dust from the departing shuttle bus had settled before we realized that no boat rides were included in our membership. Bummer. We instinctively felt the miles separating us from the air conditioning so precious in southern climates. The unusually calm river did nothing to abate the humidity and supported an abundant mosquito population. I had gambled and lost.
Trudging up the return path, we discovered a four-acre living museum plantation on our left. We hadn’t seen it in shuttle bus blur and I had never heard of it. No other tourists were there. In fact, it almost seemed we had stepped through a time warp to find farmers planting cabbage, touching tobacco plants and carding cotton. An encouraging breeze picked up and carried the cool of the river just across our cheeks and shoulders. My delighted daughters spent the next two hours receiving private training in the horticulture techniques of the 18th century. Watching Angelfish converse with an elderly farmer and plant cabbages in the dust, dripping in costume jewelry rhinestones and sweat, it struck me that my children were between times. They were between fashionista and farmer, between city and country, but also between childhood and the adult world. They were between following and leading. I realized that ‘between’ was a wide open space full of surprising opportunities.
Emboldened by our Mt. Vernon successes, I felt ready for the White House. My childhood dream was coming true. Background checks and security measures which stripped us of water bottles and cell phones only added to the prestige. We were prompted at every turn of our self-guided tour not to sit, not to touch, and not to breathe too freely in the historic halls. My children complied. They didn’t sit on or touch anything. In fact, I had to catch my breath just to keep up with them. They raced past photographs. They barely registered paintings, décor or the craftsmanship of custom cast doorknobs, molding, fire places, etc. They whizzed through so quickly that I wasn’t sure if they’d seen more than an historical blur which probably looked much like any other blur. After the fact, they did recall “sparkly chandeliers” as the standout feature of the famous building. This 25 minute jog through the big white house with “sparkly chandeliers” had been the premise for my entire adventure. I was flabbergasted.
Nevertheless, a pattern for success began to emerge: if the kids were willing to try new things and I was willing to be flexible we all had fun. I enjoyed being with my children. They enjoyed being with each other. They enjoyed being with me. In this miraculous moment I did not want to leave them behind. Given the choice, I wanted to spend 20 more hours crammed in the car and two more days unbuckling, buckling and spreading Georgian sand everywhere with my children. I invited Star and Angelfish to join us. They weren’t impressed by my palm tree appeal, but to my amazement, their proclivity for sleeping in won them over. Evidently, waking up for the seminary class Auntie was teaching that week was less desirable than squishing in the mini-van for 20 hours where you can, after all, sleep.
On departure morning there was little eagerness. Fearing mal de mer, Angelfish nearly escaped without eating breakfast. Sparkle couldn’t find her shoes because she wouldn’t look for them. And Torpedo arched his back in opposition to the car seat. Only my ten year old gem, Star, sparkled with cooperation. Of course, she was riding shotgun and felt the pleasure of her new privileges and responsibilities; not the least of which was controlling the radio. Before the first CD ended, Angelfish did lose her breakfast in the backseat. Armed with a container of wet wipes, Star bravely released her seatbelt and shimmied into the backseat to minister to her suffering sister. With all of the windows opened, our noses eventually adapted to the offense. I empathized with Star. Responsibility was sometimes overrated. Only nine driving hours left for the day.
As we trekked further south of the Mason-Dixon line an odd pattern emerged. We had to make multiple stops for every break. One stop would provide public lavatories, grassy spaces, picnic tables and huge civil war plaques; another stop to fuel the car and a third stop for food. That meant fumbling with seatbelts at least 20 times and finding eight pairs of shoes. Growl. They were clean and well stocked, but in a region famous for its hospitality, the rest stops were unexpectedly inconvenient. Star chased squealing Torpedo in a game called “Don’t die in the parking lot.” Luckily, she was mostly winning because I was too tired to play. I merely watched from the little nest my crossed arms made for my head on a rough hewn picnic table. Angelfish and Sparkle entertained themselves by balancing on the raised gardens ledges around civil war plaques. They found fun at a rest stop with nothing more than a public lavatory, historical plaques and some picnic tables. Surely I could pick myself up by my sandal straps and exhibit a little enthusiasm as well. I corralled my sticky, smiling family around a huge sign boldly declaring “Georgia” and took a picture to prove to my children, lest any of us forget, that I did take them somewhere…once.
Then, I almost took them nowhere. We arrived on St. Simons island after dark. Even a small island can hold infinite wrong turns. Star instinctively understood “Are we lost?” was taboo and transmitted the message to the backseaters who stopped rumbling about the lack of travel tunes, food, space, light, etc. She shifted calmly into navigator mode and maintained constant cell phone communication with my girlfriend as I repeatedly traversed the same few blocks in the last uncertain minutes of our drive. Thanks to her, we finally parked in front of the correct house and stumbled onto the spongy southern grass. “You made it!” my friend cheered. “What’s that smell?”
We had a singularly happy time with our friends against the gorgeous and varied setting of St. Simons, Georgia. Serendipity netted us 19 live sand dollars, an amazing chocolate bread pudding and countless tender memories. Our return trip was smooth. We functioned in concert; little cogs fitted tightly together in a watch. If the cogs were separate, they wouldn’t bump into each other, but the watch would stop. We bumped into each other constantly, but we could soften the blow by working in rhythm and responding to each other’s needs. Yes, we made more unplanned rest stops. We bought greasy, sticky food to make our blood sugar soar. We buckled on shoes and seatbelts ad naseum. We got lost again. And we may never get all the crumbs from the secret crevices all minivans hide, but we will never forget our journey. Based on this proof, my hopeful hypothesis is that the odd family in this story problem can continue at the speed of happiness from point A forever.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
Olympic moment
I ran a marathon today!
I know. If I didn't do it myself, I wouldn't believe it either.
I just want to leave you with my favorite quote from Angelfish:
"Mom, do you feel like an Olympic champion even though you didn't get to stand on a podium and you had to put your medal on yourself?"
Yes, Angelfish. I do. =)
Monday, September 29, 2008
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Mermaid Update
Some of my sisters and I have started a blog to chronicle our adventures with Down Syndrome.
You can find the latest here: imdownwithdowns.blogspot.com
The upshot is that Mermaid is currently being treated for seizures called infantile spasms. I cry more than usual and have a hard time focusing, but we've had lots and lots and lots of blessings.
We love you!
You can find the latest here: imdownwithdowns.blogspot.com
The upshot is that Mermaid is currently being treated for seizures called infantile spasms. I cry more than usual and have a hard time focusing, but we've had lots and lots and lots of blessings.
We love you!
Chocolate Tour NYC
For my dear friend's birthday myself and several ladies were instructed to dress spring flirty and meet for a limo tour of New York's sweetest chocolate spots. We didn't make it everywhere and I must admit that being with friends was absolutely the sweetest part, but if you get a chance you may want to check out some of the following locations.
p.s.
I'll upload a picture when iPhoto stops crashing.
New York Chocolate Tour
Martine’s Chocolates 82nd and 1st
These exceptionally rich Belgian creations can take up to three days to make.
What to try: Chocolate “Butterfly” filled with hazelnut praline and fresh whipped cream.
Maison du Chocolat 1018 Madison Ave., nr. 78th St.; 212-744-7117
Long worshipped as one of the premier Paris chocolatiers, thanks to its combination of luxe ingredients.
What to try: Tennis ball size, just-crunchy-enough Rocher pralines.
Teuscher 25 E. 61st St., nr. Madison Ave.: 800-554-0624
The ne plus ultra of Swiss chocolate companies, thanks to its simple but rich and incredibly smooth creations.
What to try: World-famous champagne truffles.
Jacques Torres Chocolates 250 Hudson (at King Street)
Redefines decadent with everything from delicate bonbons to giant kid-friendly bars.
What to try: Pistachio marzipan dark-chocolate bonbons; “Mom’s” peanut brittle
Li-Lac 120 Christopher St., nr. Hudson St.; 212-242-7374
This West Village institution has been turning out small batches of handmade confections for more than 80 years.
What to try: Scrumptious dark-chocolate almond bark, butter crunch almond toffee. Pecan almond chews
MarieBelle Fine Treats and Chocolates 25 Prince St., nr. Mott St.; 212-925-8800
Maribel Lieberman owns two cute shops, supplying them (and Bergdorf’s) with whimsically painted bonbons packed with exotic flavors like chipotle and cardamom.
What to try: Decadent, thick “Azteck Hot Chocolate
Chistopher Norman Chocolates 60 New St., nr. Beaver St.; 212-402-1243
Paris old-world methods with a modern aesthetic to create unexpected tastes that never seem forced.
What to try: A whimsical chocolate walnut shell filled with banana-nut-cream truffles, butter crunch almond toffee.
Vosques Haut Chocolat 132 Spring St., nr. Greene St.; 212-625-2929
Just over a year old, Vosges specializes in exquisite truffles infused with odd ingredients: Jamaican beer, wasabi and wild-fennel pollen
What to try: The “Rooster Truffle” –dark chocolate with Taleggio cheese, Naga Truffle, Red Fire Truffle and Balsamico.
Kee’s Chocolates 80 Thompson St., nr. Spring St.; 212-334-3284
Chocoholics swear by the exceptionally creamy truffles made daily at this Soho boutique, inspired by flavors like green tea and ginger
What to try: Vanilla custard-filled Crème Brulee Truffle”, Passion Fruit Truffle and Ginger Truffel
p.s.
I'll upload a picture when iPhoto stops crashing.
New York Chocolate Tour
Martine’s Chocolates 82nd and 1st
These exceptionally rich Belgian creations can take up to three days to make.
What to try: Chocolate “Butterfly” filled with hazelnut praline and fresh whipped cream.
Maison du Chocolat 1018 Madison Ave., nr. 78th St.; 212-744-7117
Long worshipped as one of the premier Paris chocolatiers, thanks to its combination of luxe ingredients.
What to try: Tennis ball size, just-crunchy-enough Rocher pralines.
Teuscher 25 E. 61st St., nr. Madison Ave.: 800-554-0624
The ne plus ultra of Swiss chocolate companies, thanks to its simple but rich and incredibly smooth creations.
What to try: World-famous champagne truffles.
Jacques Torres Chocolates 250 Hudson (at King Street)
Redefines decadent with everything from delicate bonbons to giant kid-friendly bars.
What to try: Pistachio marzipan dark-chocolate bonbons; “Mom’s” peanut brittle
Li-Lac 120 Christopher St., nr. Hudson St.; 212-242-7374
This West Village institution has been turning out small batches of handmade confections for more than 80 years.
What to try: Scrumptious dark-chocolate almond bark, butter crunch almond toffee. Pecan almond chews
MarieBelle Fine Treats and Chocolates 25 Prince St., nr. Mott St.; 212-925-8800
Maribel Lieberman owns two cute shops, supplying them (and Bergdorf’s) with whimsically painted bonbons packed with exotic flavors like chipotle and cardamom.
What to try: Decadent, thick “Azteck Hot Chocolate
Chistopher Norman Chocolates 60 New St., nr. Beaver St.; 212-402-1243
Paris old-world methods with a modern aesthetic to create unexpected tastes that never seem forced.
What to try: A whimsical chocolate walnut shell filled with banana-nut-cream truffles, butter crunch almond toffee.
Vosques Haut Chocolat 132 Spring St., nr. Greene St.; 212-625-2929
Just over a year old, Vosges specializes in exquisite truffles infused with odd ingredients: Jamaican beer, wasabi and wild-fennel pollen
What to try: The “Rooster Truffle” –dark chocolate with Taleggio cheese, Naga Truffle, Red Fire Truffle and Balsamico.
Kee’s Chocolates 80 Thompson St., nr. Spring St.; 212-334-3284
Chocoholics swear by the exceptionally creamy truffles made daily at this Soho boutique, inspired by flavors like green tea and ginger
What to try: Vanilla custard-filled Crème Brulee Truffle”, Passion Fruit Truffle and Ginger Truffel
Saturday, August 16, 2008
The Oy! in Ahoy!
We had our first solo family sailing trip. Yep! Everyone came. All the kids including Mermaid. After a 3 hour drive to Tom's River, NJ (yeesh!) we finally got our boat and hit the water. Torpedo hated the idea from the get go, Sparkle was inclined to be bored and Mermaid was just along for the ride. The rest of us had at least done the classes previously.
It was a new boat, new waters and 3 new sailors, so there was a bit of mayhem (and screaming from a very scared Torpedo). We dropped one sail-tie in the water straight off, ran into one of the channel posts trying to recover it and then lost Angelfish's hat into the water. It was a freebee from a conference, so we decided to let it sink to the bottom.
After the initial turmoil, we regained our bearings, remembered some of what we had learned in our class and managed to make our way up and down the river without running into anyone/thing, not running aground and keeping all the O's in the boat. BL (Bottom Line): we ended successfully!
Post-sailing allowed time to throw rocks of various and sundry sizes into the water from the pier, a chance to use the bathroom and eat, then over to the ocean for an hour or two of watching the sun set behind us and watching the moon rise in front of us. Truly glorious.
Some bad traffic on the way home. We arrived at 11:30pm (12 hours round-trip) but we did it! Gosh darn it. And we're proud of it.
Outcome: Sparkle changed her mind and decided sailing wasn't boring at all, but rather liked it. Torpedo decided screaming his head off wasn't helping him or anyone else around him and settled into it gradually, and Mermaid managed to stay upright in the boat thanks to her "Bumbo" seat. Star, Angelfish & Tangerine managed the sails beautifully and My Hero got some much needed skipper practice time. (Tangerine even managed trimming the sails while nursing! Amazing.) We left with 2 adults, 5 kids and we returned with 2 adults, 5 kids. Success! Ahoy matey!
Friday, August 15, 2008
No more tears
This really works! The goggles keep onion fumes from getting into your eyes. Try this at home.
No TV
Here is what happens when our kids aren't watching TV:
photo shoot
making a movie
learning the herringbone braid
photo shoot
making a movie
learning the herringbone braid
Beautiful Bella
We're so thrilled to welcome another niece into our family.
The cousins are destined to be great mischief at future family gatherings.
pre season
Our first beach trip this year lasted about 15 minutes, but we met our goals of getting out of town and seeing the ocean.
myPod Nano: a photo essay
After 8 months of dog walking the great day finally arrived.
Angelfish walked up to the first employee she saw, "Are you a genius?"
"No...I'm a specialist" Still, the specialist was qualified to point her in the right direction.
No buyer's remorse here!
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Happy Birthday, Star!
This post is dedicated to Star, the brave girl who first joined our family and made us parents. We've probably made it too hard on her. She has probably made it too easy on us. Star is delightful. She is aware, thoughtful (as in, thinks things through), responsive, funny, kind, appreciative and very fashionable (see above). We Love you!!!!
Angelfish says, "Star is a good sister!"
Sparkle says "Star is smooth as a shell. Like her hair is smooth as a shell. Get it? Like hair is smooth."
"Torpedo, do you like Star?"
"Yes."
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Wonder
I am a fan of Natalie Merchant. I went to see Natalie Merchant in the 10,000 Maniacs, Blind Man's Zoo tour and I even bought a T-shirt. For obvious reasons (see "Mermaid" post), this song is tender to me.
Song-Wonder
Album-Tigerlily
Artist-Natalie Merchant
Doctors have come
from distant cities
just to see me
stand over my bed
disbelieving what they're seeing
They say I must be one of the wonders
of God's own creation
and as far as they can see they can offer
no explanation
Newspapers ask
intimate questions
want confessions
they reach into my head
to steal the glory
of my story
They say I must be one of the wonders
of God's own creation
and as far as they as they see they can offer
no explanation
I believe
fate smiled & destiny
laughed as she came to my cradle
"know this child will be able"
laughed as my body she lifted
"know this child will be gifted
with love, with patience
and with faith
she'll make her way"
People see me
I'm a challenge
to your balance
I'm over your heads
how I confound you
and astound you
to know I must be one of the wonders
of God's own creation
and as far as you can see you can offer me
no explanation
I believe
fate smiled & destiny
laughed as she came to my cradle
"know this child will be able"
laughed as she came to my mother
"know this child will not suffer "
laughed as my body she lifted
"know this child will be gifted
with love, with patience
and with faith
she'll make her way"
Song-Wonder
Album-Tigerlily
Artist-Natalie Merchant
Doctors have come
from distant cities
just to see me
stand over my bed
disbelieving what they're seeing
They say I must be one of the wonders
of God's own creation
and as far as they can see they can offer
no explanation
Newspapers ask
intimate questions
want confessions
they reach into my head
to steal the glory
of my story
They say I must be one of the wonders
of God's own creation
and as far as they as they see they can offer
no explanation
I believe
fate smiled & destiny
laughed as she came to my cradle
"know this child will be able"
laughed as my body she lifted
"know this child will be gifted
with love, with patience
and with faith
she'll make her way"
People see me
I'm a challenge
to your balance
I'm over your heads
how I confound you
and astound you
to know I must be one of the wonders
of God's own creation
and as far as you can see you can offer me
no explanation
I believe
fate smiled & destiny
laughed as she came to my cradle
"know this child will be able"
laughed as she came to my mother
"know this child will not suffer "
laughed as my body she lifted
"know this child will be gifted
with love, with patience
and with faith
she'll make her way"
Mermaid
Hi Everyone,
It's a gorgeous day! Many of you know that we've been concerned that Mermaid may have Downs Syndrome. Today, we had an excellent visit with a pediatric geneticist. Get this name, Kawame Anyane-Yeboa. Wow! Our genetic counselor was Edwin Guzman. That was a little easier to say. Anyway, after filling out our family medical history chart and discussing our concerns about Mermaid, they examined her. She was a total charmer, of course! I've been reading up on this so I was listening for clues. They noted slanted eyes, depressed nasal bridge, tendency to stick out her tongue, thin silky hair (What?! I never read about that sign. I guess that's a benefit), shorter curved pinky and hypotonia (low muscle tone).
Then came the big talk. They said, many of the classic markers for Downs Syndrome are not found in Mermaid and though her muscle tone is on the low end of the spectrum she's actually doing really well (she rolls over, brings her feet to her face, stands and bears her body weight, etc.). She also gurgles and hums to me. She makes signs to me about what noises to make for her (I'm the dolphin, she's the trainer). She smiles, laughs, etc. So.... They ordered a blood test for Downs Syndrome and a "Fish 21" that's industry-speak for checking for Mosiac Downs. http://www.mosaicdownsyndrome.com/faqs.ht
They're also running a thyroid check. I didn't really get that part. The upshot is that they feel certain that Mermaid is out of the ordinary. We already knew she was extraordinary. But they're not sure exactly what type of Downs Syndrome it is yet, so we're gathering information. It will be 2-3 weeks before we have results and get to discuss them.
I've been learning about this for some time. Sometimes a little paranoia is a good thing. ;) My Hero prefers to wait for facts and then get a life perspective. Once we know what we're dealing with, we'll seek out other families in similar situations and learn from them. He says we'll all get matching T-shirts that say "We're down with Downs!" He's so fantastic and ready to embrace whatever life has in store. I'm sure we'll meet several medical professionals along the way as well.
For now, our family is pretty much the same. It's a relief to know a little more and digest this new information incrementally. I know Mermaid is important to you and I wanted you to have a chance to digest the information incrementally, too. Sure, we wish Mermaid laughed more often and had stronger muscles, but hey! she's got that silky hair ;) We're really so happy to have her in our family and we just couldn't do without her. We feel especially grateful to have enjoyed such a remarkable home birth experience which allowed all of us to fall completely in love with her before worrying about labels and secondary (and I might add, *temporary) issues. We have already been so richly blessed by her presence and we're sure the future holds more of the same.
Love Ocean's 7,
My Hero, Urban Tangerine
Star, Angelfish, Sparkle
Torpedo & Mermiad
*Because of the Fall of Adam and Eve, we are subject to physical death, which is the separation of the spirit from the body. Through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, all people will be resurrected and saved from physical death (see 1 Corinthians 15:22). Resurrection is the reuniting of the spirit with the body in an immortal state, no longer subject to disease or death.
Friday, May 9, 2008
Angelfish is the Bomb
This is just a shout out to Angelfish on her Golden Birthday. I wanted to share a favorite picture of Angelfish that captures her attitude on life and the feeling that she brings into our family.
Love you, Angelfish!!!
Monday, May 5, 2008
Ole'
My little Mexican Hat Dancers wish you all a very Happy Cinco de May-O My!
P.S. He brought me the dress and said, "I wan play Ole'"
God's Children
Sitting in traffic in Times Square for the first time in months I realized one of the reasons I love living in New York City: so many of God's children gather here. I see His hand in oceans, mountains, forests and flowers, but we are the crowning creation. Above are a few of our neighborhood favorites.
Insight
Torpedo busted the down volume button out of our T.V. and our remotes don't work, so the volume has been up around 60 since before our trip. We've decided that we're through stuffing pillows around the speakers of our T.V. and holding them in place with table chairs. (Do you have that picture in your mind?) Star made us a new T.V. and DVD player each with remotes. The experience led Angelfish to conclude, "It's more fun to be on TV than to watch TV"
I still think we get too many commercial breaks.
Base
We had a couple of days at home in NY before one last spurt of traveling. Actually,the hum of our home in the city was calming. Deciding to leave again (solo with the kids) was a difficult decision, but I had a new niece to meet and a car top carrier to return. My Hero had a couple of business trips that he squished into one. It's hard to say who had the most fun.
Us?
Or My Hero?
Us?
Or My Hero?
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Slam edition-Des Moines
We saw two deer dart into the two lane interstate. I looked at the speedometer and noted that My Hero was able to slow 10 mph to 60 before we collided with one of the deer. He didn't swerve, just came to a stop. I remember saying, "You did a good job. You did the right thing." This was later verified by Geico and Iowans alike. Swerving usually exacerbates the problem. We were unscathed, but shaken. The kids were especially scared and we wouldn't let them get out of the car. There was glass everywhere, but we showed them the pictures that we took. Four cars (including one Semi) pulled over behind us and they say the deer flew 40 feet in the air before landing beside the road. The deer did not fare so well. We used our magic phones to call our insurance company. Meanwhile a police officer pulled over, walked up to my window and said, "Welcome to Iowa." He got an accident report for us pronto.
Then we used our magic phones to google for repair shops near Des Moines (at this point I'll stop being shy about it; I'm completely in love with my iPhone) and there weren't so many shops open after noon on a Saturday, but we found one only 30 miles backwards. The engine was fine, so I put on some ski goggles to protect myself from flying shards of glass and held a map over the windshield hole with my feet. My Hero took it nice and easy. After we settled into the waiting room at the repair shop, I started to get the shakes and tears. People started telling us stories of untimely death and destruction in similar scenarios. The inside of our car looked as if it had been sprinkled with pixie-dust, there was so much glass, but no one had been cut. Finally, the air bags did not deploy. For short people like me, that can often cause the most damage so I thought that was a miracle, too. It was basically a three hour delay in our journey and some hotel juggling to get us on track again. I'm feeling tender about life.
We didn't see the deer as we passed the collision spot. We have two theories. 1. The deer was merely stunned and eventually scrambled to it's feet and continued on it's way as well. 2. There is a list in Iowa for people who want to haul away fresh road kill as cheap, delicious wild game (this part is not theory), so we think somebody took the deer home for dinner. Maybe someone from the list or maybe one of the four cars that pulled over to make sure we were okay.
Hug somebody
Glam edition-Vegas
Now for something completely different... We went down to Vegas to see a Cirque show ("O" of course!) and visit the incomparable Skouson family. The "O" show was a no go ;) but I had never been to Vegas so Erik indulged me with a walking tour of the strip. Nothing compared with the Virgin River Gorge (no pictures because I was busy jaw dropping the entire ride), but my favorite parts of the pleasure town were all at the Bellagio: Conservatory Garden, Baccarat glass, Cirque sculpture gallery and the fountain show. I'll have to go back for that Cirque show and a cheap steak dinner...oh yeah, and the world's largest chocolate fountain (also at the Bellagio).
Zion 2
Our second day in St. George, I stayed home with our super sleepy canyon hikers and worked on an article about traveling with children. ErikMy Hero and the "big kids" returned to Zion's for horseback riding lessons. Another gorgeous day for my gorgeous cowgirls and their maverick papito. Take home lesson: riding horses is not glamorous.
All's Well in Zion
P.S. visit St. George in the spring because I think the 102 degree days dehydrates some of the fun out of it.
Friday, April 18, 2008
Springtime in Zion
Six days prior to these shots, we were skiing at Sundance! It's a little trippy to travel through seasons so quickly. I've never seen anything like Zion National park or the Virgin River Gorge (on our way to Vegas).
Special Day
I just loaded these pictures of a special day shortly before we left the Wasatch Mountains. We visited my Aunt Evie in Kaysville. She took us to my grandmother's gravesite. Grandma passed away on Christmas Day 2007. That felt very appropriate to me since she had such a strong testimony of our Savior and she always brought joy to my life.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)