Well, hello June!

What was I thinking? I was excited for school to end until it ended and I realized that my beloved children would be home all the time, making messes and eating all the time.

Summer Curriculum:

Swimming

Gymnastics

Music

Reading

Mathematics

*Cleaning/Organization*

05.02.2014 -- A Little Lower

Two things:

Miss Swan is like a three year-old.

Lowered Expectations is a principle that can be applied across many disciplines. Dating AND blogging, for example!


With that in mind, here is today's blog entry...

Gabe has been having pretty heavy seasonal allergies recently. The last few weeks. This has left his eyes red and his nose runny most of the time. Last night, Brian noticed that his eyes (one eye especially) were worse. One was swelling up, and Gabe was rubbing it like he had no choice.

After running to the store to get some Benedryl for what we both thought was allergies that had run amok, and giving Gabe 1/4th of a tablet, I looked at his eye again and recognized a swelling that I've had before. Cellulitis.  I know that there are more accurate words to describe his condition, but I'm not going to worry about it right now (Lowered, see? This has to go both ways, Dear Readers).

Plans for the evening went out the window in favor of getting Gabe to the doctor. The doctor prescribed eye drops for pink eye, and an oral antibiotic for the cellulitis. The prescription was supposed to be called into our pharmacy, but didn't show up in the pharmacists computer when we finally made our way to the front of the line in the drive-up window.

It was the most eventful wait in a drive through that I've ever had! Brian heard a customer yelling at the pharmacist from her car.  She had been there for quite a while. He got out because he could hear her trying to start the car.  He and another guy pushed the dead minivan out of the line then got our jumper cables and helped her jump start her vehicle. It must have been a rough day for her.

Speaking of antibiotics and prescriptions...  I heard on the radio the other day how differently nations deal with antibiotics.  Apparently, France uses a lot of them, Sweden, not so many, and in China...  In China, apparently, antibiotics are available over the counter and are used a LOT. What does this mean? Apparently, friends, we are headed for a post-antibiotic era.

I put a lot of links in the above paragraph in case you are interested in learning more about antibiotic and antimicrobial resistance. Here's another one.

     

Now. Before you leave this page, watch this:

03.25.2014 -- Ch-Ch-Changes

If I were the type to hyperventilate, I would be hyperventilating, I think.

My niece is going to have a baby.

This bumps me back a generation!

I got about 60% of my hair cut off today, and colored.  It turns out I have a decent amount of gray hair.

I like change, or at least, I like to say that I like change.  In reality, change makes me nervous. It makes my mind race. It makes me reevaluate my life and my choices more than normal, and I find myself trying to evaluate my life and my choices a lot even on the most standard days.

I have two nephews on missions.  Three nieces have graduated high school. Gabe will be entering  kindergarten in a few months, and Charlie will be in preschool.

I like change, I do.

I just want to be able to do things perfectly, that's all. I just want to be a perfect mom and a perfect aunt, a perfect wife... You get the picture. Sadly, I routinely forget birthdays.  I forget important meetings. I neglect to follow through on things like daily violin practice. I don't do laundry every day or even every week.  I hardly ever iron.

Sigh.

I have worry wrinkles.  Or are those deep thought wrinkles?  Let's go with deep thoughts.

There are some big decisions that weigh heavy on my mind right now:  Lucy has asked to reenter the gymnastics program at her gym.  That is a big commitment of money and time, but a worthy pursuit. Gabe will be eligible to enter a Chinese Immersion program at the local elementary school.  I have him in a Chinese/English Preschool right now, and he often complains about having to go. For me, the gift of learning a second language so young is such a valuable one, that I am willing to push him into it.  I almost don't care if he likes Chinese. ...And what if he loves it?  What if he falls in love with the language and the culture and moves to China when he's an adult and I rarely see him or my grandchildren?

See what I'm working with?

No wonder I have wrinkles.

02.16.2014 -- Ode to Zoe

Our dog, Zoey, seems to be on her last legs.  This is the sweet, sweet, sweet dog that has been with us for nearly 15 years.

In the beginning, she was velvety soft and incredibly destructive.  She chewed up hundreds of dollars worth of shoe leather and furniture.  Crate training was incredibly painful; she would cry when she was left alone.  We took her everywhere with us.

Then there were the years of boundless (truly boundless) energy.  She almost bounced around the house.  She was an amazing partner on long hikes and bike rides.  Although she could never be called an aggressive dog, she did start barking once at a man standing on the street in the dark while Zoey and I were out for a run.  It was the only time I have ever changed my running route because of fear.

There was a lot of destruction in these years, too, but by this time, we were used to it, even resigned.  It was toward the end of this era when we started bringing babies home.

Brian and I both not-so-secretly believe that we are Zoey's favorite, and the "alpha dog."  I can't speak for Brian, but Zoey seemed to act differently toward me when I was pregnant.  She wanted to snuggle more.  She liked to smell me more.  She was more gentle with me.  I am aware, of course, that this change in attitude that I seem to remember observing could be all in my mind, but that's what I remember.

She was intrigued by Lucy when we brought her home in the car seat.  We had tried to follow all the best practices of incorporating a baby into a dog's home: bringing a blanket home from the hospital first that smelled like baby, and giving her lots of love.  By this time, Zoey was 7 years old and had calmed down so that she wasn't jumping all over every person who came in the door.

We brought Lucy into the master bedroom, beside the gargantuan log bed made of Idaho pine that Brian and I had finished together.  We were sitting on a black floral love seat borrowed from Brian's mom.  Brian held our tiny Lucy, hair the color of honey, and I held Zoey by the collar.  Zoey started sniffing like crazy and almost started to quiver a little.  She snuffled Lucy through the pink blanket and I started to relax.  Then Zoey nibbled one of Lucy's tiny, perfect fingers, and Lucy began to cry.  In retrospect, I am sure I over-reacted, but instincts kicked in and I felt like I was on auto pilot when I pulled Zoey back fast and gave her a *very* stern lecture on not biting (nibbling) the baby.

She has been such a good dog.

Although we have called her Zo-dog here and there since she was a puppy, we switched to using mainly Zo-dog for a few years when the house next door became home to a cute little girl named Zoey.  It just didn't feel right to stand at the door and yell, "Zoey, come!"  when Zoey Burgess was doing nothing wrong.  Gabe differentiated them best by calling them Zoey-the-dog, and Zoey-the-human.

Zoey-the-dog is very patient with kids, although she does have her limits. She will not endure painful yanking or poking.  If kids are too rough with her, she snaps right out of her sweet, complacent state and gives them good, close look at her long, pointed teeth, and demonstrates a vicious snarl.  There are often marks left on kids faces.   This can mostly be avoided by explaining to kids that Zoey really doesn't like to be hurt and that she will never hurt you if you don't hurt her.

These days, I have put away the pills that are supposed to fix Zoey's incontinence, I have stuffed the dog diapers away in my laundry cabinet, and we just deal with dog pee spots.  The places Zoey likes to lounge (couch, ottoman and chaise lounge) are covered with blankets that get washed when they're compromised and I have become very skilled at cleaning carpets with our shop vac, dishwasher detergent, and copious amounts of hot water.

We're watching Zoey's lipoma lumps grow.  Watching her sometimes lose her footing as she wobbles around on the tile.  Watching to see if she's still breathing as she naps on clean blankets in her favorite spots.

These days, she either ignores most sounds or can't hear them.  She does respond to clapping.  Her eyes are the color of silver from cataracts.  She really seems to be content, happy even.

I don't want to think about our family without her.

Love that dog.

02.02.2014 -- Day in the Life

Lucy has curlers in her hair this morning.

For a while there, she wanted nothing to do with me as her personal hair stylist.  However, she has since come to the conclusion that maybe I actually can do her hair in a flattering way.  Of course, she hasn't said as much, but she has started asking me to do it for her again.  That's good for me.  I like doing Lucy's hair a lot.  It's one of those things in my day where I get to be creative.  I heart being creative.

Yesterday being Saturday, Brian and I decided we would try to get out skiing.  He went early to do some "big boy" skiing with the expectation that I would bring up the kids later.  Lucy didn't want to go.  She found even the idea of having to wait for Gabe tiring, I think.   She has turned into a really good skier.  Gabe is good, too, and can actually keep up pretty well with Lucy, but doing straight shots (no turns) doesn't build good habits, so Brian and I "make" him turn, turn, and turn.  This takes a lot longer.  He gets tired faster than Lucy does, too.

I ended up dropping Lucy off to play with cousins for the afternoon and took the boys up to Snowbasin.  Brian's phone had died from the cold, so it wasn't as straightforward a connection as we had hoped, but it turned out great.  I skied behind Gabe, and Brian skied down backwards with Charlie straddling one of his skis.  I don't know if there are times I feel more love toward Brian than when he does stuff like that.  He is incredibly patient and good.

After a few runs, Charlie was knackered,  so I left Gabe to ski with Brian and took Charlie down the mountain with me so we could get Lucy to her Suzuki Graduation.  It's a sweet thing to see dozens of kids performing together, knowing how much time has gone into building the skills they're displaying. And they're young enough that they haven't taken control of their faces yet, some of them.  Their frustration, concentration and excitement comes across loud and clear in their expressions.

Pretty cute!

01.24.2014 -- Learning Curve

A few days ago, the kids and I decided to make a maiden voyage to Brian's "new" office.  "New" in parentheses because they've been in this new building for more than a year.  Can it be more than 2?  It probably is.

The drive went much faster than I had anticipated.  Gabe started falling asleep, but we started a round of "The Storytellying Game" and it kept him awake.  The Storytelling Game is sort of like a live MadLibs/improvisational storybuilding game.  Most of the time I am "it," but Lucy will take a turn once in a while and even Gabe will if his mood is right.  I was happy that when I stopped the story and got Gabe to fill in the blanks, nothing had to do with poop or farting.  (It's the small things.)  No, this story was about a boy and his giant (as big as a building) wolf.  Charlie added a tiger to the story.  I forget how the story unfolded exactly, but there were mice involved and magical shrinking.

The kids were beyond excited to see Brian's office.  He joked that he had to have them come so they wouldn't wonder any more if he actually does leave for work every day.

After the grand tour, we all piled into Brian's truck and headed south to a favorite burger joint of his.  Lunch went reasonably well.  There was that episode of a cup full of Powerade spilling all over, but it mostly ended up on the floor.  Eight years into this parenting thing has left both Brian and me very skilled with paper towels and/or napkins, so it was no big deal.  I was even able to lure a company guy over with his mop and bucket to get the job done right.

On the way back to Brian's office, Gabe said something in the back and I didn't really focus on it well enough to "get it" until he had said it a couple of times.  What did he say?  "Boy, I'm going to have to take a bath when I get home..."  Zero urgency.  I looked back at him to see what he was talking about and saw that there was something on his arm.  It kind of looked like a bandage, like he had found something funky in Brian's truck and wrapped it around the upper part of his wrist.  (This is very unlikely, due to Brian's extreme car/truck cleanliness.)

While I was still twisting around in my seat, trying to figure out what Gabe was talking about, Gabe started to send his chin forward a little.  That's when I realized what he was talking about and alerted Brian.  "Gabe is throwing up."

Silly kid.

While we cleaned up on the side of the road as best we could, I told Gabe that no matter what, if he is ever in a car (or truck) and feels like he has to throw up, he can and should yell it out and we wouldn't care.

When I was young, I was with a friend and her family on a ride somewhere fun.  I had been screwing around with the power windows right when we got in her dad's car, and I was quiet until he parked at our destination and turned off the car.

"Excuse me," I said.  Mr. Stanford turned around after I said this a couple of times.  "Could you please roll down the window?"  He looked at my hand, which had been up at the top of the rear window the entire drive.

"Why?" he asked.

"My finger's stuck in the window."  This episode isn't incredibly clear in my mind, but I'm pretty sure that's pretty much how it went down that day.  When he asked me why I didn't say anything, I said, "My dad told me that we shouldn't disturb the driver."  And that was true, but I think that mostly I just felt dumb for having been messing around with the windows (which led to my friend's dad locking them).

I would like to report that Gabe learned to speak up when he felt sick, but a few days after this, he launched barf all over the floor at the gym where he and Lucy take tumbling classes.  After I cleaned up that mess, on the way home, he gave me a glimpse into his mind.  "Mom," he said, "When I was on my way to the bathroom and I was throwing up, there was a girl texting and she saw me throw up and she said, "Ew! Gross."  He was so embarrassed, he left the building.  We found him standing beside the door outside.

Maybe next time he will make it to a can.

01.19.2014 -- People Lover

I'm not really good at answers...unless they're in essay form.  I can get a "yes" or "no" out, but it's still painful, despite a lot of years trying to train myself to "just pick one." It's much less stressful for me to practice thinking and talking and exploring ideas.  (And that leads me to my post today!)

People are like art.  Don't you think so?  Or music...  People are like art and like music.

Here's what I was thinking.  People are fascinating to me.  I love them.  The problem with a statement like that is that it has no oomph.  It's way too general: "I love people."  It could mean a lot of different things, really.

First, what does it mean, to "love people?"  Does that mean that I... like humanity?  Really?  You LOVE every individual in the world?  That's a hard sell, frankly.

I guess appreciate might be closer to what I mean.  Even with a word like appreciate (that allows for the inevitable distance between me and nearly all of the rest of the human race) it still rings a little false.  How can I appreciate what I don't know?  Even what I do get a chance to observe is only a fraction of a fraction of everything human that could be observed...  No, appreciate doesn't really work, either.

But what about art?  What about music?  It's not too strange to call yourself an art lover or a music lover, right?  What fits under the art umbrella?  Cave painting, impressionist daubs of hand mixed paint, simple pen and ink, sculpture, installation art, photo realism...  Art is something that we can experience with our eyes (and sometimes other senses) that is made to evoke a response from us or tell a story.  (Yes, that definition is mine.  Here is a much better qualified definition. ) Art is an effort to capture beauty, initiate change, make us curious, frighten us, terrify us, or educate us.  And music is just as broad.

Music... At Thanksgiving dinner this year, a brother-in-law of mine said he was thankful for music.  When you stop to consider how music enriches your life, you might find that you become more consciously grateful for music, like I did.  A parent's lullaby, a soaring movie soundtrack, deathmetal scream fest, the latest top pop song, the unfamiliar rhythms from someone else's continent...  Music is amazing.  Music, for me, gives my soul room to spread when it connects with my own emotions.

I'm fascinated by the difference in what people connect with, too.  I've heard from a lot of people that deathmetal is relaxing.  For me, it's the opposite.  To some people, though, music that makes me angry, lets them feel peace.  That's what I've been told.  But I'm not trying to talk about art or music.

I want to talk about people.

No, I don't know every individual incredibly well.  Obviously.  I probably only know a handful of people really, really well.

But I love watching people live their lives.  I love trying to be aware of what secret histories may motivate him or her.  I love seeing similarities and how they combine differently with different character traits or lifestyle choices.  Maybe I can draw a comparison with music and Pandora here.  Put the name of a song into Pandora, and a complex decision procedure will search out similar songs using nearly 400 different attributes.

Here's a bit from the wikipedia description of the Music Genome Project: each 

 "gene corresponds to a characteristic of the 

 music, for example, gender of lead vocalist, level of distortion on the electric guitar, type of background vocals, etc. Rock and pop songs have 150 genes, rap songs have 350, and jazz songs have approximately 400. Other genres of music, such as world and classical music, have 300–500 genes. The system depends on a sufficient number of genes to render useful results." 

In art, of course, you have hundreds of attributes as well.  Has anyone done an art genome project?

(Well, I'll be darned.  Look here.  Then look here.  And here.  Amazing.)

See?  I love people.  I love trying to become aware of an individual's unique collection of not-so-unique attributes.  I love seeing those unique personalities react with a person's past and present story, and their environment (macro and micro).  (This is as good a place as any to add that if I've ever told you that you remind me of someone, it's just that I've noticed some attributes that I think you have in common.  It doesn't mean I think you've somehow been cloned.)

I love people. 

(Incidentally, being a parent is a pretty good position to hold as a people lover. Lucky me!)