The days are JUST packed

I fired my neurologist

2012-01-27T14:09:00.002-06:00

Today I fired my neurologist, but he doesn’t know yet. He will when he gets the request for my medical records from my GP.

I’ve been frustrated with the doc pretty much since the beginning. He’s arrogant and has terrible bed-side manner, but I put up with him because he seemed to know what he was doing. After being his patient for four years, two events spurred the final break.

The first happened back in September. I called his office because I was in the grips of a blinding migraine that wasn’t reacting to any medications. At my previous appointment with him, he had told me to call in any time that happened. So I did. And got no response for 24 hours. By the time the nurse called back, I’d already gone to the ER and gotten the good stuff.

I went in to see him a few weeks later, and he had the ER report in my file. He asked why I hadn’t called in, and when I said that I had but had gotten no response, he just rolled his eyes and told me I should have just come to his office because they are always there. Except for when they’re not answering the phones or returning messages, that is.

At that same appointment, he also prescribed daily preventive medication that I’d taken in the past without result. He also referred me to a pain doctor to have nerve block injections. This was in the middle of living in the cute little rental house and trying to find a new house and dealing with B’s much more serious health issues, so I never had it done.

Last week I called the pharmacy to have my migraine meds refilled, and they called back to tell me the doctor had declined to authorize the refills because I hadn’t gone for the nerve block injections.

Final straw.

I’ve come to terms with the fact that I have migraines. I can do a great deal to avoid triggers, and I can take medicine when one starts, but there’s never going to be a magic cure.

Before you suggest something, or tell me that your friend’s cousin’s brother-in-law had great success with a treatment – yes, I know. I’ve tried it.

In the years since my diagnosis, I’ve gone to acupuncturists, massage therapists, chiropractors and physical therapists. I’ve done biofeedback and meditation. I’ve done yoga. I’ve taken preventive meds that dropped my blood pressure so much that I couldn’t walk across the room without getting dizzy. I’ve taken anti-seizure medications that came with a warning that if I got pregnant, the baby would have birth defects. I’ve taken stuff that suppressed my heart rate, which made it impossible for me to run. I’ve gotten Botox injections that were both hella expensive and painful. I’ve taken supplements and nutrients and enzymes.

And none of these thing has ever reduced my migraines. In fact, most of them made me feel worse, much, much worse. So when the neurologist suggested going back on medication that had made me sick in the past, I decided it was time to try something else.

I have come to peace with the fact that I have migraines. I know what can trigger them and do my utmost to avoid those things; I don’t drink wine or eat strawberries, for example. The medication I take when a migraine comes on works four times out of five. And when it doesn’t work, I can take a pain pill and go to bed. The times I’ve ended up in the ER with a migraine I can trace it back to not taking my medication in time or not having my medication (because the doctor is slow to call in refills) or to letting the migraine get away from me.

So, instead of taking more medications that make me feel terrible or having shots of neurotoxins injected into my neck, I’m going to work hard to manage the migraines I have. Today I saw my GP, and he has agreed to my plan and will handle my prescriptions from now on.

In the next year, if some magic cure comes along, I’ll give it a try. But for now, I’m done experimenting.

Moooooo

2012-01-24T09:21:00.001-06:00

When I say we have cows just past the fence . . .

I mean, we have cows just past the back fence. And even though we’ve lived here for 6 weeks now, I still get a kick out of seeing them every morning. They show up at 9:00, just like clockwork.

The thug life

2012-01-20T13:46:00.001-06:00

I really need to pay more attention to what my kids wear to school. All he’s missing is a trucker’s cap.

Oh, and the white patches on his butt? Holes in his shorts big enough that you could see the Wall-E on his underpants. I didn’t notice until we were already at school. Not one of my finer parenting days.

Going Dark

2012-01-18T08:29:00.001-06:00

Since I don’t actually know how to take my blog dark for 24 hours without losing all my content, I’m just going to link to this post from The Oatmeal.

Stop SOPA.

Nerve-wracking

2012-01-16T07:28:00.001-06:00

Ella and I made a quick trip to Atlanta so she could climb in Divisionals, which is the competition that decides who makes it to Nationals. Quite honestly, I didn’t have any great expectations about Ella’s climbing. She missed a lot of practices during the past month due to moving, illness, holidays and meltdowns. She is also in a new age group, which means she’s climbing against girls who are almost two years older than she is.

Saturday’s round got off to a rough start. Ella wasn’t able to finish her first route despite repeated attempts, and that seemed to throw her off her game. Her second and third routes were trainwrecks. I watched through my fingers. Before her fourth route, Ella sat in the waiting area with tears running down her face. I wanted to go get her and tell her she didn’t need to climb anymore. Instead, I promised hot chocolate when she finished, which got a teeny smile.

Apparently the promise of hot chocolate really works, because she climbed great and finished the route; one of the few girls to do it.

She finished convinced she was in last place and wouldn’t be climbing in finals on Sunday. When Ella asked what we’d do on Sunday instead of climbing in finals, I said we’d go hiking at Stone Mountain, which kept her quiet for a while.

I also talked to her about the fact that she’s in a new age group and is climbing against older girls and that Divisionals is supposed to be hard. She didn’t buy it.

Fortunately, she placed 7th, which moved her on to finals on Sunday with a clean slate. All of Saturday’s scores were erased and the kids started from scratch. At dinner Saturday night, Ella’s coach told her she needed to step it up for finals, and she just hid under the table.

Ella had a bit of meltdown while getting ready on Sunday when she discovered that I hadn’t packed the correct lucky socks. Fortunately she decided that wearing a mismatched pair of my hand-knit socks would be good enough.

And boy howdy was it.

She came out on the floor with her game face on and proceeded to climb like a rock star. She finished her first route on her second try and finished her second route on her first try. The girls before and after had trouble with both routes. On the third, she climbed to within one move of finishing and fell, but she kept trying. I was amazed at how calm she was considering the tears the day before.

Once Ella was finished, we just had to sit and wait for the scores, which was painful. She was convinced she was last. I figured her to be in the top five. But all we really cared about was that she was in the top 7 so she could go through to Nationals.

When the announcer called out that the results were posted, a stampede of excited kids and parents rushed the entry of the gym. Ella came back with a huge, kind of embarrassed smile. She got second place!

I was so relieved. But honestly, I gained a lot more gray hair this weekend.

I would have been happy with however Ella placed on Sunday, because I know she climbed her best and left nothing on the wall. But having her place so well is like icing on the cake.

So now we register for nationals and make preparations to go to Colorado Springs in March.

Phew.

I won an argument

2012-01-10T08:39:00.002-06:00

Since Ella learned to talk, she has fought me on just about everything. Her determination and stubbornness and willingness to debate will serve her well in later life. No one, least of all me, is going to talk her into doing something she doesn’t want to.

This makes being her mom very difficult sometimes, because “Oh my gah, quit talking and just put your shoes on already!” Nothing is easy.

To say that Ella has had a rough time with the transition to the new house and new school would be an understatement. Last Tuesday was her first day, and I pretty much had to drag her out of bed and to the car. Wednesday was just as bad. That afternoon she announced that she wasn’t going back to school and I couldn’t make her. When I explained that the law required her to go to school, we had this little exchange.

E: Why can’t I go back to Brentwood?

H: Because we don’t live in the district anymore.

E: You could just drive me there every day.

H: That would be really bad for the environment.

E: . . .

H: Seriously, there are no buses or carpools there, and it would be really polluting for me to drive to Brentwood twice a day just for you.

E: . . .

I have no idea where the environmental argument came from. It just popped out. But it turns out to have been exactly the right thing to say. Environmentalism has been so ingrained in Ella and her generation that she absolutely nothing to come back with in response.

I think it’s the first time in years I’ve won an argument with her without having to resort to “Because I’m the mom and I say so!”

Life in a small town

2012-01-05T15:44:00.001-06:00

So we live in Dripping Springs now. Actually, that’s not true. Our mailing address is still in Austin and we have a 787 prefix on our zip code. But we’re in Hays County, not Travis, and the kids are in the Dripping Springs school district. And, as the crow flies, our house is a lot closer to Driftwood than it is to Dripping. It turns out the Salt Lick is only a few miles away on the back roads. Yay.

One of the things I’ve always loved about Austin is how it’s retained its small-town feel despite masses of people moving there every week. I always run into people I know at the Saturday Farmers’ Market downtown, and I don’t think I’ve ever gone running on the Trail without seeing at least one friend. Last week at The Nutcracker, I saw five random friends. It’s nice to live somewhere where everybody knows your name.

But life in Dripping Springs is truly small town. I don’t see anyone I know when I’m out and about, mostly because I don’t know anyone yet. But everyone – EVERYONE – is so dang friendly. The baggers and cashiers at the grocery store, the ladies in the school office, the woman on the phone at the school district transportation office, the sheriff’s deputy who did not give me a ticket yesterday. The cashiers at Whole Foods seem absolutely surly compared to people out here.

If I happen to mention that I just moved to town, people get even friendlier. They want to know if I like living out here and where I came from and where our house is. Every encounter ends with “Welcome to Dripping Springs! I hope you like it here!”

While Runnerdude and Knittergran were visiting, I commented on the friendliness every time I came in from running errands. Knittergran’s comment was that you’d think I lived in a war zone before, not north-central Austin.

I’m learning to adjust and to not freak the heck out when the pharmacy tech starts an idle conversation. But it’s just not normal.

And I’ve never been called “Hon” so many times in my life.

Welcome 2012

2012-01-01T12:37:00.001-06:00

It’s no secret that 2011 was a rough one around Casa HOK, what with the depression and the 6 months of rental housing and the heat and B’s continuing health problems. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see a year end. It was our very own annus horribilis.

But now it’s over.

We’re in our new house. We made it through Christmas. Lily danced in The Nutcracker. The big girls start a new school on Tuesday.

2012 holds a lot of promise for us.

This year I vow to:

Unpack the remaining boxes
Get my running back on track
Kick the depression to the curb
Get my freelance business off the ground officially
Make friends in my new neighborhood

Nothing on the list is earthshattering or hugely life-changing. I should be able to accomplish most, if not all of them.

At the very least, I got the new year started on the right foot.

Or maybe the left. I wasn’t really paying attention.

It’s getting better

2011-12-28T14:08:00.001-06:00

Things are much better around Casa de HOK. The kids are bickering less. The Honey Badger isn’t quite as fierce. Campbell isn’t as whiny. I don’t have a constant kettle whistle of stress going off in my head. B has his office all set up, which means we don’t have to listen to him on the phone anymore.

The day after Christmas was the first one where I felt normal. The rush to unpack before my parents arrived was gone. The panic about whether I’d get Christmas done in time was gone. I could finally relax and enjoy being in the new house.

A lot of my being able to relax has to do with my parents’ being here. My mom got Lily’s entire room – furniture, closet, dresser – all set up and pretty. She has also been hanging artwork, which is something I’m horrible at. My dad is putting up blinds and installing dimmer switches and attaching hooks to doors. I think I may ask them to move in.

In addition to all the help with the house, having my parents means we have man-on-man defense against the kids. My dad has made a daily trek to the park with almost everyone in tow, and my mom has taken the big girls to Target to pick out room stuff.

In the meantime, I’ve been unpacking and sorting books – oh my dog we have so many books – and organizing our closet. And I am purging like my life depends on it. The pile of boxes in the garage that are filled with broken toys, destroyed shoes, incomplete puzzles, dried-out play dog and Happy Meal toys grows by the day. As does the pile of stuff to go to Goodwill and the lady who organizes our school’s used-book sale. It is so nice to get RID of clutter. I may never unpack the rest of the boxes in the garage because I don’t want to bring anything else in the house.

I’m going to go dark for the rest of 2011 to allow myself to get my bearings and prepare for 2012. I hope you all had a happy holiday season. Best wishes for the new year.

Getting Settled

2011-12-22T14:00:00.001-06:00

If you could hear the noise in my head, it would be a long, slow, high-pitched whistle, like a tea kettle, but more annoying. Thanks to help from dear friends, we are mostly unpacked. The only boxes left are the ones filled with books and the ones I look in and say, “I’ll think about it later.” All the important stuff, mostly, has been found. The kids’ rooms are mostly set up. The kitchen is functional – I have a pot of soup simmering away right now.

And yet. . .

There are no pictures on the walls.
We have no Christmas tree.
All of my books are piled in boxes in my room.
I haven’t bought a SINGLE.CHRISTMAS.PRESENT for the kids, or anyone else.
I have at least three knitting projects to finish before Sunday.
We are apparently hosting Christmas brunch.
Three of the four kids seem to be coming down with something.
When they aren’t acting sick, the kids drag out every single toy I just put away neatly.
I am so far behind on laundry I may resort to going to the Washateria.
My clothes are in piles on my closet floor because I no longer have a dresser.

I’m going to go hide in my closet and breathe into a bag now.

*****

And, yes, I realize these are all middle-class, white-girl problems, but I’m still overwhelmed.

We’re moved in

2011-12-19T11:00:00.001-06:00

And by moved in, I mean, 90 percent of our belongings are still crammed in cryptically labeled boxes stacked in the garage. I spend my time poking through boxes, looking for something specific, only to find it, set it aside, and never see it again. I swear whole boxes are picking themselves up and hiding. Or my family is trying to gaslight me, again.

Yesterday we did actually make a lot of progress thanks to my m-i-l, some friends of hers, and my divine neighbor L. The beds are all put together and made. My big bookshelf is up and ready for books. Boxes and boxes and boxes of china (“Just how many place settings did your grandmother have? The boxes just keep coming.”) have been unpacked. The TV is set up, but we don’t get cable or Internet until tomorrow.

The kids have had the best time digging through boxes, rediscovering all of their toys. Campbell found his Geo-Trax and spent hours playing with them. Lily is finding all of her American Girl doll stuff and getting Ginny settled in her new room. Quote of the weekend: “Yay! I found Ginny’s wheelchair!” Ella has been sorting through boxes of books and deciding which ones she wants in her room, rather than in the play room.

I’m now at the stage where I’m looking in boxes and thinking, “I don’t want any of this stuff.” In our old neighborhood, I could have put everything out in piles on the curb, and it all would have been taken within hours. Our new neighborhood doesn’t allow stuff on the curb, and there’s no one driving through picking up. I guess I’m going to be calling a charity group to come get a large donation.

If I’m quiet for the next week or two, it’s because I’m still digging through boxes and setting up the kitchen and trying to make Christmas happen for the kids. I did at least manage to get the stockings hung by the chimney with care.

Lockdown

2011-12-14T08:02:00.001-06:00

Yesterday afternoon, I was lying down trying to get over a killer migraine when B poked his head in the bedroom. Our landlady, whose office is behind our cute little rental house, had stopped by to tell him that she’d gotten a text from her son that the elementary school had gone into lockdown.

I flew out of bed and to the computer, hoping to find some sort of information on line. None of the news sites had anything, so I texted my friend L, who was in charge of carpool. She texted back immediately that she was with all our kids, safely in a classroom, and asked me to call the other mom in our carpool group.

When I’ve seen reports of lockdowns on the news, I’ve always looked at the parents standing outside the police line and wondered why they had shown up. What were they thinking to do? Stand in the line of fire? Push the police aside and storm the building?

Last fall, when I was at our preschool during the shooting on the UT campus, I was calm and collected the entire time. But I was there, with my kids, sure that they were safe.

Yesterday was completely different. I had no information, other than a few texts, on what was happening. The ONLY thing that stopped me from getting in the car and driving up to the school was the fact that L was with my kids. She’s like a second mother to them, and I knew she’d make sure they were safe.

So I stayed home and paced the floor, stopping to check the news sites and yelling at the Statesman on twitter for not having any information posted.

Finally L texted that it was all over and they were on the way home. I may have started crying. And I may have gotten weepy again when the girls got home and we talked about what happened. And again when I talked to Ella about Columbine and why reports of guns at school are so scary for adults.

In the end, according to the chatter on the school moms’ Facebook Group, the whole chain of events kicked off when someone saw a dad carrying a furled umbrella that looked like a gun and reported it to the office.

I’d like to take that umbrella and beat that dad within an inch of his life with it. Who the f*ck thinks it’s a good idea to take something that looks like a gun on to a school campus.

We never had lockdowns in quiet, little Sarasota, where I grew up. Our most exciting events were tornado warnings, in which we were told to lie down in the street right next to the curb or make a break for the YMCA across the street and hope for the best.

Ours wasn’t even the only school lockdown yesterday – a high school where a friend teaches was locked down because of shots fired nearby. And last Friday, a middle school in Lake Travis was locked down for four hours because someone said the saw a gun.

What is this world coming to?

I hugged all my kids extra tight last night and spent a long time lying in bed thinking of the what-ifs. All I could picture were the films of the injured student at Columbine climbing/falling out of a window. I didn’t get much sleep.

This morning the girls trooped off to school like nothing had ever happened. I gave them a hug and kiss as they left, even though I wanted to keep the home forever.

Religious education

2011-12-08T08:15:00.002-06:00

As I have mentioned before, we are not a religious family at all. My kids' only real religious instruction comes from attending a very liberal, tree hugging preschool housed in a Methodist church on the UT campus. We are far from the only family at the school to not attend church, but I’m thinking we may need to, just for the sake of cultural references.

Campbell’s class is doing a little Christmas pageant tonight, which includes a few songs and a re-enactment of a scene from “The Little Drummer Boy.” I got to watch rehearsal, and I spent an inappropriate amount of laughing, but in an affectionate, I love these kids, kind of way. (But maybe not this kid.)

The kids all have roles – angels, wise men, shepherd, Mary, Joseph, drummer boy - the usual cast of characters. Campbell has been assigned the role of Joseph, and as I was helping him into his costume, he asked who Joseph was.

The best I could come up with was, “Joseph was Jesus’s dad. Except not really. God was kind of Jesus’s dad. I guess Joseph adopted Jesus and raised him. He was married to Mary, who was Jesus’s mother.”

I sort of sputtered out about then, and the preschool teacher stepped in, adding, “Joseph was Jesus’s earthly father.”

Yeah, I’m going to hell for sure.

But at least I have a cute little Joseph.

Ouch, my ego

2011-12-07T13:31:00.001-06:00

This morning I worked my shift at our little co-operative preschool. I LOVED co-oping when Ella was little. I still liked it, mostly, when Lily was going through. But now that I’m on my 3rd and 4th kids in the school, I dread my work days. It’s not that I don’t have fun, because I do. But being in a classroom with nine 4 and 5 year olds makes me twitchy and tends to trigger a migraine.

Anyway.

While I was crammed into a little chair at lunchtime, I had this conversation with one of the kids in Campbell’s class, who shall remain nameless.

Boy: Are you someone’s mom?
Me: Yes. I’m Campbell’s mom.
Boy: How can you be a mom? You don’t look like a mom.
Me: I don’t? Why thank you.
Boy: No. You look like a grandma.

I think it may be time to turn my hair pink again.

And an update on our house nightmare – we’re still in the rental, still waiting to find out when we’ll close on the new one, still driving each other crazy.

The honey badger

2011-12-02T08:09:00.002-06:00

So I had planned to write about how we’ve finally sold our house and how hard it was to say good bye and all the good memories like bringing babies home from the hospital. But then Wendi went and posted this, and it’s pretty much perfect.

And now for something completely different.

Remember the video of the honey badger making the rounds a few months ago? The one with the funny narration about how bad-ass the honey badger is? We’ve to taken to calling Elizabeth the honey badger, because she “just don’t give a sh*t.”

She is fearless and stubborn and determined and sometimes just plain mean. She doesn’t care that Campbell outweighs her by at least 20 pounds. If he has something she wants, she will.take.him.down.

Elizabeth has absolutely no fear of me and the consequences I offer. I’ll tell her not to do something, like throw a toy at my head, and she’ll immediately do it. I’ll put her in time out, only to have to sit on her as she kicks and flails and screams.

Friends and family who have not experienced Elizabeth in honey badger mode don’t believe me. Teachers and other parents at preschool don’t believe me. And why should they? I mean look at her . . .

How can someone who looks so cute – she was very proud of picking her own outfit – be such a monster?

Approach at your own risk. She might just rip your arm off. Honey badger don’t give a sh*t.

That didn’t go well at all

2011-11-29T08:33:00.001-06:00

Things are kind of rough around Casa de HOK these days. We are all tired of being on top of each other in our cute little rental house, especially knowing that our big, new house is waiting for us. But because of a mix-up with the mortgage company, we had to start the process from scratch with a new company, which set us back at least a week. I had been so focused on moving out of here this coming weekend, that when I realized it wasn’t going to happen, I slid into my dark hole.

If you could harness the combined stress in the house, you could probably power a small city. I keep telling myself and the kids it will get better when we move, but when they ask when that will be and I can’t answer, it just makes things worse. Then there’s the whole list of things I worry about at night. What if it doesn’t get better? What if we hate the house? What if the girls hate their new school? What if . . .? What if . . .? What if . . .?

Thank dog for pharmaceuticals. Otherwise I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed in the morning, even with four hungry kids peering at me over the edge of the covers.

Yesterday things got worse.

We close on the sale of our house on Wednesday, and from the beginning of this process, we’d promised the big girls a chance to say a formal good-bye to the house. Yesterday, I had to finish pulling our remaining possessions out of the house – mostly computers and routers and servers and whatnot – so I asked the girls if they wanted to come with me.

Lily burst into tears and said no because it would make her too sad. Which made me cry, too.

Ella went with me and spent her time in the top of her tree and taking pictures of every inch of the yard and house with my phone – 256 at last count. She was mostly fine while we were there, but when we got back to the cute little rental house, things took a decided turn for the worse

Seven years ago, about a month after our cat Badoop died, this little gray kitty showed up on our doorstep. She looked like a miniature version of Badoop, and the girls promptly fell in love with her and named her Gray Kitty. So we have been feeding and watering this cat ever since.

When we first started talking about moving, one of the big questions was what to do about Gray Kitty. She is NOT an indoor cat and barely tolerates people. B and I are very worried that if we move her out to the county, she’s either going to get lost or eaten by something, which would be awful. And there’s no way to turn her into an indoor cat at this stage of the game. She knows her little four-house radius and the people who live there, and everyone knows her. We think she’s attached to the area, not to us. Two neighbors have agreed to take on the feeding and watering of Gray Kitty, and I’ll pay cat support.

After we got back from the house, Lily asked when we were going to get Gray Kitty a collar and a box to move her to the new house. And that’s when I had to give her the bad news. Lily cried as though her heart was broken, which of course made me cry. When Ella heard the news, she started crying, too. She then fled to the tree fort in the back yard to sob about how everything in her life is terrible.

So, yeah, I felt like a spectacular mom.

This morning Lily had recovered from the trauma, mostly, although I’m sure we’ll have some more breakdowns. Ella, on the other hand, was a little cloud of doom, blaming everything on me – the right jeans weren’t clean, she had to take a practice test at school and I wouldn’t let her stay home, we didn’t have the snack she wanted, she couldn’t find her book to read after the practice test. Ella gave everyone the silent treatment on the way to school, and when she got out of the car and I told her I loved her, she fired back with, “No you don’t. Otherwise you wouldn’t make us move.”

Today’s off to great start, especially given that Elizabeth woke me up by projectile vomiting all over her bedroom.

I’m going to spend the day with a mug of hot tea, chanting “It will get better. It will get better. It will get better.”

Maybe if I say it enough, I’ll believe it.

Conversation with Ella

2011-11-22T08:03:00.001-06:00

While we were watching the weather report.

Ella: Maybe we’ll get snow.

Me: I doubt it.

Ella: But it’s snowing in the east, and we’re east of Florida.

Me: No. No we’re not.

Ella: OK. But we’re east of Louisiana.

Me: Again, no we’re not.

B: You almost had it. You were just 180 degrees wrong.

Ella stomps from the room.

B: What are they teaching them?

A change in lifestyle

2011-11-17T10:40:00.002-06:00

As it sinks in that we really are going to move, that this six-month long, slow motion nervous breakdown I’ve been having is close to an end, I’ve been thinking about how much our life is going to change.

B and I have lived in this neighborhood for more than 14 years. We bought our first house here months after we got married. I have always been committed to living an in-town lifestyle. We shop at the family owned, neighborhood Minimax and use the father-and-sons pharmacy. We eat at the local deli and get our hair cut at the neighborhood barber shop, the one where all the old men gather to talk about the war. Campbell loves hanging out in there with them, nodding wisely at their comments.

With the exception of ballet and climbing, nothing we do is more than five miles from the house. The big girls have never ridden a bus to school; they have always walked and carpooled. We hang out at the neighborhood pool and playground.

But when we move, it’s all going to change. The kids’ school is far enough away that they’ll take the bus. It will be a 20-minute drive into preschool instead of eight minutes. The nearest grocery store is 10 miles away, and the only pharmacy is a national chain one.

Every time I start getting upset about losing my in-town life, I think about the benefits of where we’re moving. Like closet space, lots and lots of closet space. And a huge kitchen with cupboards meant just for pots and pans. Then there’s the quiet. I’m used to the noise of being in town – we hear buses go by and the sounds of the freight trains at night. At the new house, there’s no traffic or train noise, just crickets and maybe some cows.

So I’ll adjust. I’ll buy six gallons of milk at a time since I won’t be able to just run to the Minimax when we’re out. The girls will have to get up earlier to catch the school bus. The littles may not stay at their preschool if it turns out to be too much of a commute.

And now I’m getting all verklempt again.

Time to think about closets, lots and lots of closets.

We have a house

2011-11-14T07:55:00.001-06:00

and baby jeebus sang Hallelujah.

We saw the house on Friday with all the kids and signed the paperwork last night. Our target closing date is November 30. Because the house is brand-stinkin new, we don’t have to wait for the sellers to close or move out. We only have to wait on our mortgage to go through.

This is not the first house we wanted. I’ve been on a strict online news embargo through the whole process. The first house was earlier this summer, and remains my dream house. Maybe when I win the lottery.

So now we have this house. It’s out in Dripping Springs, which is about 20 miles SW of Austin, kind of in the country. Even though we’re moving further out, our commuting times won’t change much because we’ll be going against traffic. We’ve already timed the drives to ballet and climbing practice.

The schools in Dripping are excellent, some of the best in the state. We’ll leave the big girls in their current school until the semester break and then make the switch. Ella says she wants her last day of school to be the day before the last day because people will pay more attention then. She’s also been advocating for letting her take a couple of weeks off school before switching.

And now about the house. It has FIVE bedrooms - each child will have his or her own room – and four full baths. The kitchen is immense, and there’s a butler’s pantry. I don’t currently have a butler, but when I get one, I’ll have a place to put him. There’s an upstairs playroom for the kids, with a giant closet that will be perfect for bins of Legos and trains and puzzles. The kids were thrilled to discover a huge cupboard under the stairs, and the big girls have Campbell convinced that it’s going to be his bedroom.

The kitchen is huge and has lots of storage. And we’ll finally have a microwave that’s younger than I am. Seriously. Brandon dug our old one out of the basement at his dad’s house 17 years ago when we moved into our first rental. It has a turn knob instead of buttons.

It’s a terrible picture because of the backlighting, but it does show the view out of the great room – nothing but trees. And cows. I can pretend I’m the Pioneer Woman with cows in my yard.

This is looking from the great room to the front of the house. On the left upstairs are Campbell’s and Elizabeth’s bedrooms and bathroom. The right is the playroom. We will probably drywall over that arch at some point for the sake of noise control. B’s office and the dining room are up front on the right.

The closet in the upstairs playroom is huge – that’s Elizabeth lying on the shelf. It will be perfect for storing bins of Legos and trains and puzzles and everything else.

There’s a nice view from the master bedroom, too. It’s not a huge room, but it is nice and bright.

And finally, the butler’s pantry. I’ll have someplace to store the good silver and china other than wedged on to the top shelf of the bedroom closet buried in sheets and towels.

Given how little storage space we’ve had in our houses – two closets in our first, four in our second – I’m absolutely giddy at how much room I’m going to have to stash stuff away. We may even have empty closets and cupboards!

As this was all coming together last night, I had very mixed emotions. On the one hand, it’s a great house in a great area with excellent schools. On the other, we’re leaving the neighborhood we’ve lived in since we got married. I’m going to miss my friends, and because I worry about things, I worry that I won’t make any new ones.

For now, I’m going to focus on the closet space and that we’ll be in before Christmas and we’ll have a mantel from which to hang stockings and that everything will work out.

I stand with Planned Parenthood

2011-11-07T15:56:00.002-06:00

I’ll say it here publicly, even if it costs me some of my 30-odd readers. Sunday night I went to Planned Parenthood Austin’s annual dinner, thanks to my divine neighbor Lisa. Texas State Senator Kirk Watson was the MC for the night, and the keynote speaker was author Anna Quindlen. Lots of other area politicians were there too, like Mayor Lee Leffingwell, who read a proclamation declaring November 6 to be “Planned Parenthood Day,” which is pretty remarkable. Sarah Weddington, the lawyer who argued Roe v. Wade was sitting two tables away from us. When Senator Watson called out her name, she got a very long, very loud standing ovation.

I left the event simultaneously fired up and concerned for the future. Fired up because it was the call to arms I needed to get involved; I’ve already registered in their system as a volunteer. Worried because the current political and societal trend right now is to deny women rights to health care and fertility services. if things continue on this path, what options will be available to my daughters when they’re of age?

Let’s get the elephant out in the open right away. Yes, Planned Parenthood provides ab*rtions, but they represent a tiny fraction of the services offered. Their primary goal is to help women take control of whether they have kids and when.

The founder of Planned Parenthood, Margaret Sanger, a nurse in New York City in the 1920s, saw the effects of lack of information and birth control on women and their families. Women died as a result of back-alley ab*rtions, leaving children without their mothers. She saw women die in while giving birth to their fifth, sixth, seventh child, leaving the remaining children without a mother. She saw babies die at birth and their mothers not mourn because they weren’t able to feed the kids they already had, let alone another one. Her motto became “Every child a wanted child.”

And some days, while watching the news, it feels like we’re heading back that direction. States are cutting Planned Parenthood funding even though not a dime of federal or state money goes to providing ab*rtions. Clinics in rural areas are being shuttered because of a lack of money, leaving women in low-income, outlying areas without access to health care of any kind.

Planned Parenthood primarily provides health care services, to both men and women. Women go there not only for birth control, but also for annual exams, cancer screenings and prenatal counseling. They also provide health services for men, including treatment for STDs. For many, many clients, Planned Parenthood is their sole source of health care.

And it’s getting harder for women to access it.

Our country seems to be bogged down in this puritanical idea that having s*x is bad and that if women don’t want children then they shouldn’t have s*x. Schools are more and more limited to teaching abstinence only, which has been shown to not work at all.

Studies of kids who have received education on s*x and birth control and AIDS and STDs and pregnancy show that the kids are either going to make damn sure they’re protected if they choose to have s*x or wait longer to start. Providing an education is never a bad thing.

Republican politicians preach about putting children first, yet they have no interest in actually providing them with things like shelter, health care or education. It’s like they like the idea of babies, but not the reality of them. And they seem to like women as long as we stay at home, cook, clean and make babies. And before you argue with me, think about this – until recently, insurance companies would pay for Vi*gra prescriptions but not birth control. Even today, pharmacists who object to the “morning after” pill, which does not terminate pregnancy, only prevent it, on religious or moral grounds are allowed to not fill prescriptions – women are told to come back another time when another pharmacist is on duty. I’m guessing a pharmacist who refused to fill a Vi*gra scrip would be unemployed within the hour.

At one point during the evening, a speaker asked everyone who had used Planned Parenthood for basic health care services in their high school and college years to raise their hands. More than half of the women in the room put their hands up. That spoke volumes.

Even though I never had to use Planned Parenthood for health care services, I always knew it was there and available to me – judgment free. I want my daughters, and my son for that matter, to have the same access if they need it.

So, I’ll be volunteering and donating time and money and writing politicians to tell them I support Planned Parenthood. I hope you will, too.

Running Dreams

2011-11-06T08:16:00.001-06:00

A year ago today, I was crowded in with 55,000 other runners on Staten Island, waiting to start running the ING NYC Marathon, something I’d dreamed of doing since I first watched Greta Waitz dominate the race in the 80s.

I would love to say that I enjoyed every minute of the run, but miles 13-19 were pretty miserable, probably the hardest six miles I’ve ever run. However, the overall experience was amazing.

After I finished, one my friends asked if I wanted to run it again, and I said no. Turns out I can’t be held accountable for anything I say in the two hours immediately after finishing a marathon.

On the day after the run, I was at the marathon store in Central Park, and there was a kiosk set up for entering in the lottery for the 2011 race. I briefly thought about signing up, but then I got distracted by legs screaming in protest at being asked to walk.

Throughout the winter I dithered over whether to put my name in, taking so long to decide that I missed the deadline. And honestly, the past nine months have been so difficult that there is no way I could have trained for the marathon. And having the stress of training for the marathon during the summer, which was miserable what with the heat and the housing chaos and overwhelming depression, would have just made things worse.

Even though I’m much better now and running regularly, there’s no way I could have gone to New York this weekend. We still don’t have a house to move into, and all of our belongings are in storage.

And yet, how I wish I was there this weekend. I’m watching all the tweets from the official INGMarathon feed and from participants waiting at the start, and I am dying with envy. I’m typing this as I watch a live stream of the race. It’s a perfect day for a marathon.

So I’m putting my name in the lottery for next year’s race. I want to go back and give the course another shot.

Besides, I need a better finisher’s photo, preferably one where I don’t look delirious.

One good side to an historic draught

2011-11-03T09:27:00.001-05:00

With everything going on right now, including house stuff that I’m not allowed to post about, I feel like we just can’t win. If it weren’t for bad luck, we’d have no luck at all.

Yesterday morning I had a work meeting downtown. The parking lot at the office is tiny and narrow and difficult to navigate, especially in a Suburban. I found one space at the far end, and carefully made me way to it, only to find that it was blocked with cones that I hadn’t seen. So I backed out, ever so slowly, making damn sure not to hit the cars behind and next to me. I concentrated so hard on not hitting the cars that I completely missed the tree that was growing at an odd angle.

Suddenly there was a bang and an explosion of glass. I had backed right into the tree, and it took out my back window.

Sonofabitch.

While shaking uncontrollably, I managed to edge myself into another space and go inside for my meeting. I’m pretty sure I was white and shaking for most of it.

Today we’re calling around to get the window replaced. And my project manager is looking into getting the company to reimburse my deductible, which is above and beyond awesome.

In the meantime, I’m glad we’re in no danger of getting any rain.

Hope Springs Eternal

2011-11-02T08:26:00.001-05:00

I have been working on the Unisono socks every chance I get. I finished the first while Ella and I were at Enchanted Rock, and I’m sure I confused the heck out of the other climbers by taking art shots of the sock on the rocks and in the bushes. I cast on the second during dinner at Enchanted Rock and started knitting away.

But the more I knit, the more I realized I have a problem.

There is absolutely no way there’s enough yarn left to finish the sock. And I am supremely pissed. I love this yarn – it’s the loveliest I’ve ever worked with. I love the striping and the colors, but my love of it is diminished by the fact that they don’t include enough yardage to knit a whole pair of socks.

I sent that picture to knittergran and several other knitting friends, asking for reassurance that I had enough to yarn to finish. Barb’s suggestion that I “KNIT FASTER” made me laugh out loud. I keep catching myself knitting as fast as possible in the hopes of making it to the toe of the sock before the end of the yarn. Kind of like when you drive faster in hopes of making it to the gas station before you run out of gas.

For now the sock is sitting in time out, and I’m working on Christmas gifts. I haven’t decided what to do about this revolting situation yet. Any suggestions?

Picking my battles

2011-10-28T17:07:00.002-05:00

Elizabeth is firmly in her “clothing optional” stage of life. It all started with potty training*. We’d let her run around without any bottoms to save on laundry, and she got a little too used to it.

We went through this with Ella when she was the same age. We eventually had enact strict rules about not being naked in the front yard and wearing panties at the dinner table. She outgrew the phase, so I’m confident Elizabeth will, too.

Requests to put on panties, let alone actual clothing, are usually met with shrieks. Then she runs away, making me chase her down, pin her, and forcibly dress her. All this makes getting out the door for preschool drop-off a real challenge, even on the days when Elizabeth doesn’t have preschool.

But then there are the days when we don’t have anyplace to be or anything special to do. On those rare days, I don’t even bother to try to get her dressed. I’m happy if she’ll agree to wear panties.

Yes, she does have three pigtails. She has to have exactly three of everything because she’s three. Even if I hand her five M&Ms, she’ll only eat three of them. Goofy girl.

Today I managed to get her dressed, which was good. Our weather has changed, and it was all of 60. Brrr. An added incentive was getting to wear her new hat from Knittergran.

*Blatant mommy-blog stuff – after a week of peeing everywhere except the potty – the floor, the porch, in her car seat, on the main square in Comfort, TX – it was like a switch suddenly flipped, and Elizabeth was potty trained overnight. And the baby angels sang hallelujah.

In her happy place

2011-10-26T07:46:00.001-05:00

This past Saturday, Ella and I woke up before dawn and drove out to Enchanted Rock so that she could climb in the Granite Gripper, her very first competition in the wild.

The climbers were released to climb at 9:00 am and told to report back with their score cards by 5:00 sharp. And off we went. Our coach, who was one of the event’s coordinators, rounded up a great climbing guide for our group since we had lots of younger kids and no adults who climbed. All the other climbers teamed up in groups of at least three.

It was such a good day. The weather was perfect. We hiked up and down and back and forth. I felt pretty good about being able to hike past a group of Boy Scouts who had collapsed in the middle of the path about halfway up.

The best part, though, was watching Ella. She smiled the entire time. She also climbed the entire time, even when she was supposed to sitting, waiting for her turn to climb. Ella climbed all of her routes, and some were tough, without falling.

When she was in the bouldering area, she pulled off a climb that had stumped a bunch of 20yo guys. The clapped politely and then started muttering something about Ella’s being able to climb the problem because of her muscle to weight ratio. That’s when our coach’s wife rounded on them and said, “I am so sick of guys like you claiming the only reason she climbed that problem was because of her muscle to weight ratio. You know that was a hard climb.” They had the good sense to look at their feet and kick rocks in an embarrassed manner.

Once the climbing finished, everyone gathered back at the Pavilion for a group dinner, raffle, and silent auction. Ella won a great messenger bag in the raffle that B and I keep trying to steal. We also won a Metolius Hang Board in the silent auction. Ella plans to hang it over the door in her new bedroom.

Ella ended up winning her division, which meant she got a cool trophy and $100 in cash. I could see the smoke coming out her ears when people asked her what she was going to spend it on. She thinks she might buy a slackline, because what else would an 11 yo girl buy with her loot?

As we drove home at 8:00 pm, Ella declared it “the best day ever” in her life and made me promise she could go again next year.

I am beyond grateful that B and I have found, with the help of a neighbor, what Ella loves to do and that we are able to support her doing it.

Pictures like this one taken by one of the team moms, make it all worth while.

She was truly in her happy place.

House News

2011-10-24T07:40:00.001-05:00

We’ve sold our house! We actually accepted the offer two weeks ago, but B put an embargo on any online discussion of the sale until we got through the 10-day option period. He knows of people who have had house deals go south because the seller said something like, “I can’t believe they didn’t notice all the mold in the shower!" and the buyer found the comment online.

Accepting the offer was very bittersweet. On the one hand, we were very glad to have a decent offer and to have the house sold. On the other, we loved living there, and we love our neighborhood and neighbors. We’ve lived in this area since we got married. Three of my babies came home to that house and slept in the cradle in the closet. We’ve spent years building amazing friendships with the neighbors, people we could call on in an emergency, even at 2 in the morning, and vice versa. I’m worried we won’t find that sense of community again.

We’ll close on the sale of the house on November 30. Which means we need to get our rears in gear finding a new one for us. B spent yesterday sorting through hundreds of possibilities and narrowing the candidates. We have a couple of areas we’re focusing on, based on the neighborhood, schools and styles of houses.

We’ll be spending every child-free moment we can manage this week looking at house. Our goal is to find a house this week. Yikes.

The good news is that it looks like the months-long nightmare of uncertainty and worry may be coming to a close. If things go well for us, we’ll be in a new house at the beginning of December and be able to celebrate Christmas there.

Keep your fingers crossed, light a candle, say a prayer, dance in the moonlight – whatever you believe in – that everything goes according to plan.

Oh yeah, knitting

2011-10-18T10:33:00.001-05:00

It’s been a long time since I’ve bored my non-knitting followers with pictures of my finished projects. But I’m going to do it anyway.

Two weekends ago was the annual Hill Country Yarn Crawl. I made it to six of the nine stores on Crawl, skipping those in San Antonio and Marble Falls. The highlight of the trip was driving out to Comfort to visit The Tinsmith’s Wife. It’s a great little store, even if it does take two hours to get there. I went out there with Elizabeth and Ella, and we made a fun day of it, eating lunch on the main square in town, where Elizabeth left a puddle on the sidewalk. I don’t know that I’ll ever make the trip out there again just to go to the yarn shop, but if I’m ever within 30 miles, I’ll make a detour.

I also drove over to Paige, which is between here and Houston. I stop in at Yarnorama pretty much every time I have to make the Houston run. It’s a nice pit stop. Plus they have angora bunnies in the store, and they are so soft and sweet.

I drove back from Paige through Bastrop, and I was stunned speechless at the devastation from the fires. I was on the phone with Knittergran, and I honestly couldn’t come up with the words to describe how bad it was. I knew it would be bad; I had no idea it would be THAT bad.

But now back to yarn.

This is some of my haul from the Yarn Crawl. There’s some Dizzy Lettuce, Noro, Rasta, Unisono, and Ella Rae in there, along with some skeins of indie dyer yarns. Yum.

Going to all the yarn stores inspired me to just finish Elizabeth’s dang sweater already. I had gotten stuck with 25 rows to knit on a sleeve, and I just couldn’t make myself sit down and knit. I even tried not allowing myself to knit anything else until I finished, but it turns out I don’t follow my own directions.

Finally, though, I sat down and knocked out the last sleeve. Just in time, too. Today’s high is in the mid—70s. Positively frigid.

Last Wednesday, I carefully packed a bag of stuff to take to keep everyone entertained during Lily’s ballet class. I included snacks, spare clothes for Puddles, and a new skein of sock yarn for me. My swift and ball winder are both in storage, so I had hand wound the ball the previous night, and it took forever. At the last moment, I also threw a bottle of water in the bag.

When we got to ballet, I pulled the bag out of the car, and water came flooding out of it. The water bottle had leaked and emptied itself all over the bag, its contents and the car floor. Including my precious ball of Unisono sock yarn.

I fired off a few frantic e-mails to knitting friends, asking if they had any tricks for drying the yarn without unwinding the whole skein. Unfortunately, they didn’t. So I spent half an hour unwinding the yarn around the back of a chair on the porch. It turns out the thing was soaked to the very core. Waiting for it to dry in ball form might have taken years.

And then the next day, I wound it all back up again. But the results have been worth the effort. I am totally in love with this yarn and the way it’s knitting up. I was expecting stripey socks, not color blocks.

I am having so much fun watching how the stripes turn out. I’ve already ordered two more skeins of the stuff in different colorways.

Finally, during the past month or so, I’ve kept myself knitting washcloths. One of the local yarn stores was collecting them for Bastrop fire evacuees, so I went to Hobby Lobby and bought way too much cotton yarn. I knit four for the collection and then another three that I gave to friends. I’ve discovered they’re the perfect project to carry around.

I’ve also cast on a Clapotis shawl, but it’s sitting in timeout right now. I tend to get resentful of any project that requires four pages of spreadsheets with instructions like “Knit rows 1-12 another 12 times.”

Now I need to get busy on Christmas presents. I think it’ll be washcloths and locally made soap for everyone.

11 years

2011-10-13T08:05:00.002-05:00

Today, as is tradition, I’m going to bore Ella by telling her the story of her birthday. Of how my water broke at 1:00 am and then it took another 21 hours for her arrive. Of how the on-call OB, the third of the day, had light-up skeleton earrings and a scrub cap with pumpkins. Of how Liz came and hung out with me two different times because things were taking so long. Of how her granddaddy was so thrilled that she arrived on his birthday. Of how her great-grandmother drove all the way to San Antonio to buy her a special doll. Of how technology was so slow then that we had to take film from the camera to the store to be developed and then overnight the pictures to Knittergran and Runnderdude so they could see what their first grandchild looked like.

But most of all, I’ll tell her story of how she made me a mom – the most terrifying and amazing experience of my life.

And I’ll tell her how I still feel like she is connected to me and that everything is right in the world when she sits in my lap even though she no longer fits there.

Happy birthday my Ella-bella.

May 11 be a wonderful year for you.

You’d think I’d be a pro by now

2011-10-11T15:00:00.001-05:00

Warning, this is a blatantly mommy-blogging post about potty training. My apologies in advance.

At the beginning of the summer, I made a few half-hearted attempts at getting Elizabeth to use the potty. She didn’t seem ready, so I didn’t push. I learned with Ella that turning the process into a power struggle just makes it take longer.

Then we went to my parents’ house, and I wasn’t willing to let Elizabeth run around naked and pee on the Oriental rugs (You’re welcome, knittergran). After three weeks there, we came home to absolute chaos, what with the moving from house to house for a month, and I decided not to add to mess by trying to potty train Elizabeth then.

We’ve been in our cute little rental house since the end of August, and we’ve all settled into some semblance of routine and order. That, coupled with the fact that Elizabeth turned three last week, made realize it’s time to get her out of diapers. Her preschool teacher, who is an angel, was completely on board. Elizabeth is the only one in the class who still wears diapers.

So, on her third birthday, we took away the diapers. And it did not go well. She wore panties all morning at school, and held her pee the whole time. She must have a bladder made of steel. Despite my sitting her on the potty every fifteen minutes and offering lots of bribes, she didn’t do anything. But she did pee on the floor three times. Our floors are really clean now, thanks to all the bleach wipes I’ve been using.

It’s been a week, and things haven’t gotten much better. When she’s not at school, Elizabeth runs around bare-butt naked, refusing to put on underpants. Yesterday she was outside playing with Ella and her friends, naked as a jaybird.

She’ll sit on the potty without a problem. We have it in the middle of the living room like a throne. We let her watch TV or play on our iPhones while she sits on it. And the rare times she does actually do something in the potty, she gets happy dances and cheers and M&Ms.

Most of the time, though, she’ll sit on the potty for 20 pointless minutes, get up, walk across the room and pee on the floor. Each time she has the nerve to look surprised – “Mama, I peed?!”

I am running out of ideas. Bribes of M&Ms don’t work. Sticker rewards don’t work. Doing happy pee in the potty dances with her doesn’t work either.

People have suggested we take a break and go back to diapers, but I hate to go that route now that we’ve already started. I don’t want to use pull-ups because Elizabeth thinks they are just fancy diapers.

So I continue to let her run around naked and to mop up the puddles she leaves behind. You’d think that on the fourth kid, I have this whole potty training thing down cold.

A Rodent in the Kitchen

2011-10-07T17:16:00.001-05:00

From the first time Ella asked for a pet, I have sworn up and down and backwards that we would never, ever have a rodent in the house. That meant no hamsters, no gerbils, no guinea pigs, no rats. I loathe rodents, even “cute” domesticated ones. There’s just something about their rodent feet and their rodent tails that gives me the heebie-jeebies.

So you can imagine how thrilled I was when Lily made this announcement last night at dinner: “Guess what! I have the best news! I won the gerbil lottery!!!!” My heart fell, and I understood how a townsperson in Shirley Jackson’s “The Lottery” must have felt drawing the black stone.

Instead of death, winning the gerbil lottery means that Lily gets to bring home the class pet, Fluffy, for the weekend, the long-extra-day-off-school weekend.

Lily is beyond thrilled. She loves, loves, loves animals of all shapes and sizes. Fluffy is in definite danger of having Lily hug her and squeeze her and call her George.

I, however, am not so thrilled. I will spend the weekend making sure the kids don’t let Fluffy escape and make a break for the sofa cushions. The creature could live the rest of its life in there quite comfortably.

My other fear is that it will get into the sofa and have babies. When Lily heard me say that, she rolled her eyes and said, “Fluffy needs to have been around a boy gerbil for that to happen.”

Fluffy got sent home with an exercise ball that allows her to roam the house. Having a rodent roll past my feet while I’m working is not my idea of a good thing.

If you need me, I’ll be sitting on top of my desk to work until Tuesday when Fluffy goes back to school.

Not a baby anymore

2011-10-05T13:58:00.001-05:00

The weeping you hear is me, facing the sad truth that my last baby isn’t a baby anymore. This is the first time I’ve had one of my kids turn three without already having another baby or having one on the way. It’s sort of a rude awakening. Not only is she not a baby, my baby days are done. No more babies for me.

Sob.

Elizabeth is really not a baby or even a toddler. She’s a little person with her own definite personality, and boy is it a doozy. She’s got a temper that can peel paint; a giggle that can melt hearts; and a smile that can light up a room.

Even though she was very much our surprise baby, I wouldn’t trade her for anything in the world (although right now I might be willing to loan her out to anyone who can get her to use the damn potty already).

Here she is, five weeks early and a whopping four pounds, nine ounces.

And here she is today, full of sass.

Happy birthday Teenie Beanie. I love you more than cake.

And now I’m going to go sob while I clean up puddles of pee.

How did this happen?

2011-09-27T15:59:00.001-05:00

Campbell turned five on Saturday. It seemed like just yesterday we brought this little guy home from the hospital.

And now I have this big guy.

Time moves entirely too quickly.

My Dream Job

2011-09-25T08:15:00.001-05:00

Since posting last week that I’m looking to up my work hours, either with a full-time job or full-time freelancing, I’ve had several wise friends suggest that I sit down and think about what kind of job I really want and then work for that job.

Of course, this has be within reason. My real dream job of being Neil Patrick Harris’s super-secret girlfriend is never going to happen. (sob) And my daily hope that I’ll open the mail to find a large check from a long-lost, fabulously wealthy relative probably isn’t going to happen either.

So what do I really want to do?

I want to be an editor. I love reading other people's words and helping make them better. I live for finding errors in grammar, spelling and punctuation – it’s like a constant treasure quest. I read The New Yorker each week and learn from their editing style. I read Strunk & White at least once a year, just for fun.

So I’ve decided I want to set up shop as an editorial consultant, offering my services to freelance writers, academics, bloggers (ahem), companies that don’t want to hire a full-time editor – pretty much anyone who wants help making their writing more polished and professional.

My concern, though, is whether enough companies and writers place enough value on editorial services. So many people call themselves writers, and have great ideas to get out there, yet haven’t got the first idea of proper punctuation or grammar. I cringe every time I see someone write “her and I.”

Has today’s language become so informal, so texting based, that no one even notices improper grammar? I hope not.

I know this won’t be an overnight career change for me, and I’ll keep on with my regular writing gigs in the meantime, but I’m going to work on getting the word out. I’ll be posting on Craig’s list and on UT’s job boards. I’ll be spreading the word among my freelance writer friends and folks who run their own consulting shops. Basically, I’m going to go against my basic nature and become an outgoing, glad-handing self promoter.

So if you want some help making your writing better, or know of someone who does – like another writer or consultant – please pass my name along. References and rates available upon request.

My little angel

2011-09-22T15:20:00.001-05:00

Last Saturday, Lily auditioned for the Ballet Austin production of “The Nutcracker” for the very first time. She has been looking forward to this ever since I took her to see the show as an almost-four-year-old. She’s kept going through all her creative movement, pre-ballet and, now, ballet 1 classes with the goal of making it into the cast. This is a big, professional production, complete with live music by the Austin Symphony

The auditions were an exercise in controlled chaos – 85 girls in purple leotards with their hair in buns milled around the big studio talking and giggling, while nervous moms, dads and grandparents hovered on the periphery.

Parents were absolutely NOT allowed into the theater during the audition, and during that time, the ballet school’s director came in to tell us about the process. She explained that there are four rotating casts of angels, and our packets will have all of our performance dates.

She also made it very clear that parents are absolutely NOT allowed backstage before, during or after performances. There will be a drop-off lane outside the Long Center, and we will pull up and push our kids out the door. Ballet Austin staff will escort them inside and chaperone for the rest of the time they’re there. Many moms, myself included, did a little cheer at not having to hang around through every performance. And even better, we don’t have to find a parking place. But there were more than a few moms who looked very concerned at the idea of leaving their girls. I wonder if their parents will let them participate.

The casting lists were posted today, precisely at noon, on the door of Ballet Austin. They warned us many times not to call or e-mail to ask about casting. The only ways to find out were to check the cast list on the door or wait for the cast package to arrive in the mail.

I headed down there at 12:30, hoping to avoid the crush. I checked the list very carefully and was relieved to see Lily’s name on it.

To be honest, there wasn’t much doubt about whether she’d make it. The program director said that they had four rotating casts of 15-22 angels, so there was plenty of room for everyone auditioning. And Lily’s teacher said that the girls knew all the steps that the director would be asking of them. She said that the audition was mostly to make sure the girls could follow directions and not act crazy while standing around waiting.

Even knowing that . . . when I got back in the car, I burst into tears, so relieved that she had made the cast. I guess I was more worried than I realized. When I called my mother to tell her, I got all choked up again. Sheesh.

When Lily got home from school, I showed her the picture of her name on the cast list, and she screamed and did a happy dance from one end of the house to the other. She is beyond thrilled. All of her years of dance class finally have a tangible payoff.

I can’t wait to sit in the audience and see my baby girl on stage. I’ll probably start crying all over again. And I’m just fine with that.

Polishing up my resume

2011-09-20T10:27:00.001-05:00

I am seriously considering returning to work full time or upping my freelance hours to equal full time work. There are a lot of reasons why, including the fact that I’m getting closer and closer to having no kids in the house for most of the day.

My dream job is as a proofreader at a publishing house. I dream of reading all day, looking for mistakes in texts. But then again, I am a nerd.

It’s been more than a decade since I’ve had to actually look for a job, and I’m not even sure where to start. Yesterday I began with putting the word out to friends and former co-workers and freelance clients that I was open for business. I spent this morning updating my LinkedIn profile.

Ideally, I’d like to find something that would allow me to put my researching, writing and editing skills to good use. I have experience writing for a text book publisher, writing continuing education modules for medical professionals, and writing for government agencies. I’ve done everything from chatty newsletters to dry legal briefs to letters to angry constituents.

I’m an excellent copyeditor. I live for grammar and punctuation. I even have a whole shelf of style and grammar guides that I refer to on a regular basis. Don’t even get me started on the whole Oxford comma debate.

Research was often my downfall in college and grad school. I’d get so wrapped up in resources that I’d run out of time to actually write. Getting paid to sit and learn new things is a great way to spend the day.

So, I’m looking. If you know of anyone who needs to hire a writer/researcher/editor, either full time or freelance, let me know. I’ll knit you a pair of socks if I get the job.

The boy ain’t right, part 427

2011-09-12T08:20:00.001-05:00

Thursday afternoon, B had to work, so I was stuck dragging the whole crew along to Ella’s climbing practice. I bribed them with dinner from P. Terry’s if they behaved, and it turns out, my kids will do just about anything for P. Terry’s.

When we finished dinner, the little three and I went back to the gym to hang out while Ella finished climbing. I had fun chit-chatting with some of the other parents. Things were good.

Then Campbell announced that he needed to go to the bathroom. For the first time ever, I told him he could go in the men’s room all by himself. After a few minutes, I noticed he hadn’t come back, so I sent Lily to investigate.

She came back immediately and told me she could hear Campbell crying in the bathroom. My heart sank. All I could think was that the first time I let him go to the bathroom by himself, a child molester walked in.

One of the dads volunteered to go in after Campbell, but when they didn’t come right back out, I barged in to investigate.

I found Campbell standing at the sink, shirt tucked into his backwards underpants, which were pulled up to his ribs, sobbing hysterically while the poor dad tried to wipe off all the tears.

Me: Campbell, what happened????

Campbell: I locked myself in the locker.

Me: (trying not to laugh) But why would you do that?

Campbell: I wanted to see if I could fit. And I did. But I couldn’t get out.

Other dad: I couldn’t tell which locker the crying was coming from so I had to open all of them to find him.

When I called B to tell him about the incident, he roared and said, “That is the perfect illustration of the difference between boys and girls. A girl might climb in a locker, but she’s not going to lock herself in.”

At bedtime I asked Campbell what he’d learned that afternoon. I was pleased that his answer was, “Not to lock myself in lockers.”

But that doesn’t mean I’m betting he won’t ever do it again.

For Sale–Cheap

2011-09-08T11:39:00.001-05:00

One almost three year old

Curly hair
Green eyes
Incredibly long eye lashes
Dimple in her right cheek
28 pounds
Fully fluent in English
Knows her ABCs
Can count to 14
Knows how to take pictures with an iPhone
Loves to snuggle
Loves to sing and dance
Very good at drawing people who look like turtles
Favorite words are “I don’t want to”
Has a mean right hook
Has incredible grip strength, especially on hair
Can chuck a sippy cup record distances
Skilled in throwing tantrums
Very demanding
Extremely bossy
Likes to lie on the floor at Target
Refuses to be potty trained

Any takers? Please? I’d even be willing to pay someone to take her.

He’ll kill me for posting this

2011-09-06T09:52:00.001-05:00

But it is so worth it.

Last night, as I was pulling off Campbell’s shorts and underpants to put on a pull-up (he stays dry nine nights out of ten, but that tenth is a doozy), he covered his crotch with his hands and wouldn’t move them for me. When I asked why, he said, “I don’t want god to see my p*nis.”

I was stumped and ended up gasping trying not to laugh. Those who know me, know I am not at all a god-fearing, church-going person, and aside from sending my kids to a very liberal Methodist preschool, religion doesn’t play a role in our family. So I have no idea where this whole “god is going to see me” stuff is coming from.

After a minute or two, I collected myself enough to be able to tell Campbell that there are billions of p*nises in the world, and god has too much to do to look at his.

That seemed to make him happy.

In the meantime, Elizabeth was bouncing around the room chanting, “goddammit, goddammit, goddammit.”

I’ve one kid who believes god is watching him all the time, and one who loves using his name in vain.

Yeah, I’m going to hell.

Seventeen Years

2011-09-05T08:28:00.001-05:00

Today marks the seventeenth anniversary of my moving to Austin. I had actually been here already, visiting for two weeks, but it was Labor Day weekend that I made the official move.

At 4:00 Friday evening, B and I attached a trailer to the car and headed eastward. We drove through the night, which was miserable, and rolled into Gainesville at about 3:00 in the afternoon. B and I got all my stuff out of the storage facility, and then spent the night at my former roommate’s apartment.

Sunday morning we got an early start and made it to New Orleans early enough in the afternoon to be able to have some fun. We slept in a little on Monday before getting back in the dreaded car. Finally, we made it to Austin in the early evening and unloaded everything.

Seventeen years, and I’ve never questioned my choice to just pick up everything, drop out of grad school, and move here. At the time I had been coaching swimming at UF, but I’d let my contract expire and had declined the chance to be the head age group coach. Despite applying for several other coaching jobs, I had no other prospects lined up, so my plan was to move to Atlanta and live with my parents.

So after visiting Austin for two weeks and falling in love with the city, I figured it was time to make a leap of faith. I had money saved up and no other responsibilities. If I was going to do something completely unplanned and unexpected, this was the time.

I did temp work to start off, and volunteered as a coach for the local swim team. It wasn’t easy going, especially as I watched my savings dwindle, but things eventually worked out for the best.

Everything good in my life – my husband, our kids, our friends, my work – comes from my decision to move here. It’s been a great 17 years, and I look forward to many, many more.

My assistants

2011-08-31T14:47:00.001-05:00

Now that school is back in session (thank the baby jeebus), I’ve had high hopes of being more productive in terms of the paying-kind of work

Turns out I was wildly, overly optimistic about getting anything done around here.

Friday Lily woke up with a headache and sore throat, so I let her go back to bed with the intention of taking her to school a little later in the morning. I got the littles up and dressed and ready for school and went looking for my car keys.

Uh oh.

B walked out with my set of car keys. He was on his way to a closing and couldn’t come back to return my keys. So I was trapped in our cute little rental house with three kids.

Shockingly, I didn’t get a whole lot accomplished.

Which one’s Pink?

2011-08-26T12:04:00.001-05:00

Every once in a while, I get the urge to either get another tattoo or to do something radical to my hair. I always end up doing something to my hair, mostly because I can’t decided what or where I’d get for a tattoo.

Last summer I tried to turn my hair red and ended up with a purpley, magenta mess. In November, I lopped 10 inches off my hair and donated it to Locks of Love. I am totally of the opinion that “it’s just hair, and it will grow back.” My husband, however, wishes I’d just let it grow long and leave it alone.

While Ella and I were at climbing nationals, I noticed that all the girls on one team had bright striped of color in their hair, and I decided I wanted to copy them. I asked two of the “big girls” on our team if, given that I’m a 41yo mother of four, I could rock a hot pink stripe. They both told me to rock on.

I dithered for weeks and then finally took the plunge. I’m not totally happy with how it looks, mostly because it’s kind of subtle. Next time, and there will be a next time, I’ll put the dye in closer to the front so that it’s more visible. The one downside is that the dye doesn’t seem to work on gray hair, so I have some noticeable streaks of white in the middle of the pink. The contrast doesn’t show up well in the picture, but in person, it’s more visible.

Ignore the fact that I’m not wearing make-up and that I’m running on about four hours of sleep.

Once this stripe fades or grows out, I’ll be experimenting again. Perhaps next time with purple.

It’s always something

2011-08-24T15:08:00.001-05:00

We’re settling into life in our cute little rental house and back into the routine of school/ballet/rock climbing, and I couldn’t be happier. I thrive on routine, much like a toddler.

Even though things are somewhat “normal,” life is by no means dull.

Sunday night brought this exchange.

Campbell: Mom, can we play in the tree fort?

Me: No!

B: Why not? Why can’t they go out in the yard?

Me: Because it’s too frikken hot out.

Campbell: Mom, I just felt outside, and it’s not frikken hot. It’s warm.

B: You are SO busted.

Monday afternoon, Elizabeth managed to lock one of the bedroom doors and pull it shut as she left the room. Ella and I spent ages monkeying with the knob, trying to pop the lock. We even experimented with the other door knobs and were able to successfully unlock them. B got home and gave it try, muttering under his breath the whole time.

He wasn’t successful either.

So I called in the local locksmith, who showed up two hours later. And really, there are not many more discouraging things for a locksmith to say than, “Wow. I’ve never seen one like this before.”

After 15 minutes of messing with the knob, practicing on the other knobs, and lots of muttering, the locksmith finally popped the lock open. The mechanism inside the knob was warped, which is why it was so hard to open.

We have now removed all the little screws that lock the doors shut and stored them someplace out of Elizabeth’s reach. And the $80 locksmith fee is so coming out of her allowance.

All in a Row

2011-08-22T13:32:00.001-05:00

This morning I packed four lunches and sent all four kids off to school. And the baby angels sang Hallelujah.

Ella started 5th grade. Notice the stripes.

And Lily started 3rd grade. She chose long pants for her first-day outfit, despite the heat.

I was a bad mom and didn’t take pictures of the little kids before they went back to preschool, mostly because I was desperate to just get them out of the car and into their classrooms already.

I had four child-free hours to myself this morning, and it was divine. I read, I dozed, I did some paying work. I can’t wait for Wednesday, when I get to do it all over again.

Today it finally happened

2011-08-18T20:55:00.001-05:00

The wheels officially came off of the Gardner Family whatsit today. Everyone pretty much collectively lost their sh*t at least once during the course of the day, myself included.

The kids are tired of not having a schedule or a settled home or a routine of any type, and their behavior is reflecting it. Ella is being meaner and meaner to Lily and very rude to me. Lily bursts into tears anytime someone looks at her funny, which just makes Ella more prone to picking on her. Campbell has stopped listening to me at all. Today I told him not to do something, and he immediately did the very thing I’d just told him not to. When he’s not being blatantly disobedient, he is whinging almost nonstop. This afternoon was Meet the Teacher day at the big girls’ school, and I couldn’t talk to Ella’s teacher because Campbell kept pulling on my arm and whimpering. Elizabeth is just a mess. She veers wildly between clinging to me and crying and fighting with her brother.

And with the unending heat, the stress of six weeks of living out of suitcases, the lack of a routine, and continued depression, I’m not exactly equipped to deal with the kids and their misbehavior and bad attitudes. I’m far more short-tempered and cranky with the kids than I should be, and every time I lose my cool, I feel even worse about the job I’m doing as a mother.

B’s been working undogly hours and is now in a bad place with his neck pain, so he’s cranky too. The house still isn’t ready to be put on the market, which makes me very, very nervous.

It’s nothing shy of a miracle that I didn’t cook and eat the registrar at the girls’ school today when she informed me that they didn’t have Lily enrolled for the coming year. Her life was even more in danger when she told me that she’d put Lily in the one class I DID NOT WANT her to have. I pitched a very small, amazingly polite fit in the office, and the registrar reversed course, putting Lily with a different teacher, pending approval by the principal. Which means anything can happen between now and Monday.

So yeah, things aren’t good right now. If it weren’t for my prozac, I wouldn’t be able to get out of bed in the morning.

We move into our cute rental house on Saturday, and I’m hoping against hope that things will get easier once we’re there. School starts on Monday, and we’ll be back in the school/rock climbing/ballet routine. We’ll be able to sit down for regular meals. The kids will have places to put their stuff other than suitcases. B will be able to get his home office set up and get his work schedule under control.

Life will return to some semblance of normal.

I hope.

The Phantom

2011-08-17T10:09:00.003-05:00

Yesterday afternoon, the kids disappeared with my iPhone for about an hour. Every once in a while, I’d hear screams of laughter or an evil cackle, but since the kids were leaving me the heck alone, I didn’t investigate.

Turns out, if you give my kids a camera and an hour, they’ll make a pretty funny little movie.

Hell. I wanted to embed the video, but YouTube isn’t letting me. Or my blogging program isn’t letting me. Whatever.

Click here for a few minutes of silliness.

Please ignore the mess in the background. We are camped out at my father-in-law’s house, which is always neat as a pin when not filled with our crud.

Crushed

2011-08-16T09:47:00.001-05:00

On Saturday, it felt like things were finally going right for us. We rented an adorable little house in our neighborhood, walking distance to the school, for at least a month. We move in this coming Saturday. I can’t even express how much stress finding the house lifted off me. Just knowing we will have one place to live, where we can put things in closets and dressers, where I can make lunches for kids, where I can cook normal dinners, is such a relief.

On Sunday, I kept my cheerful mood as B, Ella and I braved 100+ degree weather to look at more houses. The three little kids had spent the night with B’s mother, but Ella had opted to stay with us and go house hunting.

We saw some good houses and some not-so-good houses. And then we saw THE house. It had dormer windows, a laundry room to die for, custom pecan cabinets throughout, and a great playroom for the kids. It was on more than an acre in the neighborhood I’ve dreamed of moving to. Ella and I did happy dances around the living room while B walked the property line.

After B dragged us out, we looked at two other houses, both of which were great, but neither of which compared to THE house.

That night B ran all the financials and figured out that our mortgage would essentially stay the same even though we were buying a house with more than double the square footage. I sent out an e-mail to friends asking them to say prayers or light candles or dance under the moon – whatever they believed in – that everything would work out with this house.

Yesterday afternoon, B delivered the bad news: the house was under contract to other buyers, and there were several others lined up in the wings. Negotiations had started before we even saw the place.

Sob.

I should have known better than to get all worked up about the house. Ours still isn’t on the market – end of the week says B – and we can’t even think about making an offer on a house until ours is under contract.

Double sob.

Even though I’m not at all religious, I am fairly superstitious, in some strange ways. So on the advice of several friends, I buried a statue-ette of St. Joseph of Arimethea upside-down in the garden. He is the patron saint of real estate because he gave up his family tomb for Jesus to be buried in. I had always thought he was a saint because he was Jesus’s dad. Whoops.

So, if you pray or light candles or dance under the moon, will you do it on our behalf once in a while to help us? I’d really appreciate it. And when we move, we’re having one heck of a house warming party, and you’re all invited.

House hunting, Round 1

2011-08-10T09:57:00.001-05:00

Sunday at noon, B and I bravely ventured forth, with all the kids in tow, to look at houses. We need to get going with finding a place to live – the neighbors whose house we are borrowing return Friday night, and I think they’d like to have their beds to themselves.

I packed a ton of snacks for the kids, and they rounded up DVDs to watch, and we hit the road. Considering that they spent four hours being loaded in and out of the car and in and out of houses where they weren’t allowed to touch anything and it was 100+ degrees, they all did amazingly well. We got barbecue for dinner as a reward.

B will kill me if I give out any specifics on the houses we saw. But here’s a very general rundown.

House 1

Perfect house! It has everything we want. It even has a media room. And look at the view from the back windows. Awesome.

But the location isn’t the best. And the yard is small.

If we buy this house, I want the green room.

No! I get the green room. I’m oldest.

OK, moving on.

House 2

Who designed this place? The layout is terrible.

Back in the car.

House 3

Yes, Campbell, I know it has a pool, but you may not go swimming. Because I said so.

Get back in the car now, we aren’t going swimming.

House 4

Well, it’s definitely not on the main road.

There’s no office or second living space, I don’t care what the listing says.

Get off the swing and into the car, NOW!

House 5

This could work, especially with the garage. But, the lot across the way is zoned multi-family. And do we want to be on the main road?

Maybe not after all.

House 6

I love, love, love the location. The kids could ride on the cul-de-sac without worrying about cars. You can’t really see the neighbors.

But the house doesn’t work. There’s no office and no second living space.

Yes, but did you see the master closet?????

It’s not going to work. Everyone back in the car.

House 7

I don’t like it. I’m not even getting out of the car.

You have to at least go in. I have to register my key in the lock.

I don’t care. I don’t like it.

At least look so you have an idea of what houses are like on the inside around here.

Fine, but I’m not going upstairs.

******

I must say, it was interesting seeing people’s taste in home decorations. We saw some houses that looked like a design store exploded and others that looked barely a step above frat house living. One place was fully furnished by a stager, down to fake popcorn on the poker table and plastic cheerios on the kitchen counter. Ella and Lily thought the fake foods were particularly funny.

In all seriousness, the first house had everything we wanted, and then some. But the tax rate and the location worry B a bit. I still covet the one cul-de-sac lot, but the house really wasn’t what we need, especially at the price.

So we’re back to square one, pulling more possibilities each day, hoping the one perfect place will come on the market soon.

In the meantime, all our possessions are in storage we’re looking at renting a furnished house in our current neighborhood to make it easy for the girls to start the school year with their friends.

The kids are handling all the transition and uncertainty about as well as can be expected. The big girls alternate between excited about having their own rooms and distraught at moving away from their friends. Campbell thinks the whole thing is a great adventure, especially visiting all the houses. He explored every cupboard and closet in the empty houses. Elizabeth is just confused.

I, on the other hand, am having a nervous breakdown in slow motion.

Sleeping is for suckers

2011-08-05T18:21:00.001-05:00

While we were in Atlanta, Elizabeth decided that she wanted to be an all-night party person. Most nights, I was lucky if I got her to fall asleep by 11:00. Part of the problem is that she discovered, on our first night there, that she could climb out of the pack’n’play crib. She appeared in the upstairs hall, looking quite pleased with herself, about 15 minutes after I put her in bed.

Thus began our nightly struggles.

Some nights, I’d start her out in my bed, but she’d wander around, and I’d have to put her back in bed repeatedly. Other nights I tried putting her in one of her sisters’ beds or on Campbell’s blow-up mattress, thinking it would be a treat for her to sleep in them. She thought it was great each time I put her in bed, but she quickly popped out and wandered around.

I took to sitting on the floor in the upstairs hall, outside of whatever room she was in, and keeping a stern eye on Elizabeth, which she did not appreciate.

Most nights I ended up with her in my bed, which was not a good solution for me, so I moved her into her little crib once she fell asleep. It was a long three weeks, and I dreaded bedtime each night.

Some nights Elizabeth gave me a break and wore herself out so much that she fell asleep in my lap or as soon as her head hit the pillow. But those nights were few and far between.

Now that we’re at our neighbors’ house, I’m trying to get Elizabeth back into a good sleep routine. They have a son who’s about a year older than Elizabeth, and he has an adorable little toddler bed in his room, which is where Elizabeth is sleeping. I had hoped that she’d be so thrilled to be in her friend’s little bed that she’d stay put. Ha.

B and I have been taking turns putting her back in bed and closing her door, while ignoring her insulted screams. Each night gets a little easier.

Last night we let her have some books in bed while she fell asleep.

That’s my girl! Asleep with a book open on top of her. I checked on her again before I went to bed, and cracked up. Even though the little bed has rails on the sides, Elizabeth still managed to wriggle out of it.

At least she doesn’t have far to fall. I can’t believe she didn’t wake herself up doing it. I popped her back in bed, and then placed a chair backwards next to the gap in the railing. I was going to buy her a little bed like this for the new house, whenever we manage to move, but I think I may go for a big bed with a cage over it.

Dogsitting

2011-08-03T16:21:00.001-05:00

Our divine neighbors kindly offered us their house for the two weeks that they are in the cool north. Staying here has been a huge help. We’re in our neighborhood, so the kids can see their friends, and B can keep an eye on the work going on at our house much more easily.

Along with taking care of the house, we’re watching their two dogs. Lily, who loves, loves, loves animals, is in absolute heaven having two dogs right here for her to hug and squeeze and call George.

Duncan is a West Highland Terrier and is still a puppy. He cracks me up in the mornings, running out the back door and leaping off the porch after the squirrels and birds that dared enter his yard. Who knew that such short little legs could jump so far.

Rugby is a Scottish Terrier and not so much a puppy anymore. He’s much more dignified than Duncan and lets us know it. He follows Duncan out the door in the morning with a look that says, “We both know he’s never going to catch a squirrel, but what can you do?”

The dogs love Lily as much as she loves them. Any time she sits on the sofa, at least one dog hops up next to her. When I sent Knittergran the picture of Lily with Rugby, her response was, “You’re going to end up with a puppy.” I think she’s right.

One-point-seven miles

2011-08-01T08:17:00.001-05:00

My parents have a new hospital just up the road from their house – 1.7 miles away. They know this because they had a house guest get frighteningly ill during a visit, and she ended up riding in an ambulance to the hospital, with my parents following behind.

When the kids and I arrived in Atlanta, mom became convinced that someone was going to end up in the ER. And, quite frankly, with kids’ knack for getting hurt, a trip to the ER was a distinct possibility.

Mom may have gone a bit overboard, though, to the point of creating a self-fulfilling prophecy. When I said I had a migraine during my first weekend there, her response was, “The ER is 1.7 miles away.” When my sister had a migraine, she got the same answer.

One night, while my dad was out of town for work and my mom was at knitting, Elizabeth took a tumble off a kitchen chair and came running to me, screaming, with her face covered in blood. My first thought was, “The ER is only 1.7 miles away.” Fortunately, it was just a flesh wound, and I didn’t have to cram all four kids into my parents’ two-seater convertible for the ride.

My dad, Runnerdude in the comments, has been talking about buying a road bike for years – decades even. This year, to celebrate his 65th birthday, he finally put us all out of our misery of listening to him agonize over bikes, and he bought a nice one. His goal was to do an Olympic Distance tri at the end of the summer.

On our last Sunday in Atlanta, he headed out for a ride, intending to scope out a state park at Lake Lanier along the way. About an hour later, he called for a ride home; while tooling through the parking lot at the park, he’d hit a parking bumper and gone over the handle bars. I drove out to rescue him, and found dad bleeding with road rash and nursing a very swollen right hand.

After he got cleaned up and some food in him, he drove the 1.7 miles to the ER to have his hand looked at. The bad news is that it’s broken. The even worse news is that he has to have two surgeries to repair it. He’ll be off the bike for at least two months.

On Monday, I spent most of the day fighting off a migraine. Two doses of imitrex finally knocked it back a little, but I was still in pain. Tuesday morning I woke up feeling even worse. After a few hours, I cried uncle and asked my mom to drive me the 1.7 miles to the ER.

The doc set me up with an IV drug cocktail that was supposed to break the migraine. Instead, it made the pain and the nausea even worse. The nurse told me I had to give the meds time to work, so I curled up in pain for another 15 minutes, convinced there was nothing they could give me that would ever make me feel better.

Turns out morphine is really, really good at killing pain. Two doses later, I was feeling much better, if a bit slow and stupid, and they sent me home.

The final ER score: kids, 0; grown-ups, 2.

My parents may never invite us back.

Difference of Opinion

2011-07-25T15:24:00.001-05:00

Elizabeth thinks you should feed your Little People dinner.

Campbell thinks you should cook your Little People as dinner.

Living out of suitcases

2011-07-23T08:59:00.001-05:00

So, we’re still here in Atlanta at my parents’ house, which is still standing, miracle of miracles. We were supposed to go home on Tuesday, but our plans changed.

Why?

Let me see if I can even begin to explain.

The night before the kids and I left, B casually mentioned that he’d scheduled contractors to work on the house while we were gone. I didn’t give it much thought because he’s been talking about contractors for weeks. When he dropped us off at the airport, B asked if it was possible for me and the kids to stay at my parents’ house longer than the two weeks we’d already scheduled.

Little did I know what I was in for.

That afternoon, as we were driving from the airport to my parents’ house, B sent a picture of the house. And oh my gosh. B has asked that I not go into specifics on the work done, so I’ll just say that it was a good thing the kids and I were out of the way.

B also surprised me with the news that he had hired people to pack the entire contents of our house – something I was really looking forward to doing so that I could purge the kids’ belongings. Now I’ll just have to do it on the other end of the process. In the meantime, all our belongings are stacked in boxes in the house, waiting to be moved out.

All of this means that we won’t be living in our house again. Once the work is done, B doesn’t want the kids in the house to mess things up, and he doesn’t want to have to worry about getting everything cleaned up on short notice when someone (fingers crossed) wants to see the house.

The kids and I aren’t so sure about all of this, especially Ella, who has been in tears more than once. She wants to sleep in her bedroom and climb her favorite tree again.

When we leave Atlanta on Wednesday, we’ll be heading out to B’s dad’s house to stay for a few days. Then we’ll be moving back into town to stay in our neighbors’ house for two weeks while they’re out of town – they were kind enough to offer their house, which is a huge help.

But after that, I just don’t know. We may go back to B’s dad’s house; we may rent a house. It all depends on how quickly our house sells and how fast we can buy a new one. Until we move, though, we’ll be wearing the clothes we brought with us to Atlanta – everything else is packed.

B’s been sending me listings for potential houses, and I’ve been going through leaving notes about each house. After spending the better part of two hours looking at houses, I can say that some people have very odd ideas on home decoration. Yee gods. The good news is that I’ve found more than one house in our price range that I like.

So I’m hunkered down here in Atlanta for a few more days, trying to keep the kids under control. Given that I handle change about as well as a tired two-year-old, this whole process has been extremely stressful for me. When Ella starts crying that she wants to go home and sleep in her own bed, it’s hard for me not to join right in, because that’s all I want to do, too.

If you don’t hear from me for the next few weeks, it’s because I’m packing and unpacking suitcases and wandering from house to house, children in tow. Keep your fingers crossed that we all survive.

Well Played

2011-07-19T09:32:00.001-05:00

The kids and I are still camped out at my parents’ house in Atlanta, which, remarkably, is still standing, even if there are a frightening number of crushed goldfish crackers under the breakfast table.

Somehow, the other day, the topic of getting my big girls’ ears pierced came up, and I told Knittergran and my sister how Lily had tried to talk me into letting her get her ears done when she turned eight. Lily’s argument that “all the girls” in her class got their ears pierced didn’t sway me.

Last night, we all went out to dinner so that my sister, Keeffer in the comments, could have real barbecue, not the stuff they serve in Los Angeles. Because there are too many of us to fit in one car, we took two, and the big girls rode with Knittergran and Aunt Sarah to and from the restaurant. After dinner Knittergran and Aunt Sarah decided to head to the nearby mall for some shopping, and they took the big girls with them.

They got back about an hour after Runnerdude, Campbell, Elizabeth and I did, and when they arrived, we were all upstairs watching Rocky and Bullwinkle. Lily came into the room, looking slightly abashed. She sidled up to me with one ear exposed. And I saw this:

An earring! In my daughter’s ear!

I gasped out loud and put my hands over my mouth, while Lily stood there, looking terrified. I was just in shock. I couldn’t believe that my mother and sister would go against my wishes and get my 8-year-old daughter’s ears pierced without asking me first.

They all let me twist for a few minutes, trying to figure out how I was going to explain this to B and what I could possibly say to my mom and sister, before everyone started laughing. The earrings are held on with magnets, and Knittergran and Aunt Sarah bought Lily a whole pack of them.

I was so relieved that Lily didn’t actually have pierced ears. And Lily was so proud of herself for pulling off such a great prank – it was all she talked about for the rest of the evening. And, honestly, she did a frighteningly good job of looking like she was truly scared of what my reaction would be.

Once I recovered, I sent a picture of Lily with her earrings to B with a note that said, “I had nothing to do with this.” But Ella ruined the joke by telling him right away that they were magnets.

I hate to ask what the next prank will be.

Girly, Twirly Fun

2011-07-18T08:13:00.001-05:00

We are still in Atlanta – our trip has been extended by a week, which is a story for another day.

The kids are having a grand time being spoiled by their grandparents. My dad takes the kids to the pool every day, and they have all made huge strides in their swimming abilities. My sister took the big girls to see Harry Potter 7.2, which they all loved.

Grampa also took Campbell to a train store and a train museum, where they got to ride a real train.

While they were doing that, my sister and I took the girls to the American Girl Doll store – twice.

The first time was so that Ginny (Lily’s doll) and Hermione (Ella’s doll) could get their hairs did. Ginny’s hair was a dog-awful mess, with rats nests and dreadlocks thanks to Lily’s enthusiastic hair styling. The hair dresser had her work cut out for her.

While the nice hair dresser was able to work magic on Ginny’s hair, she wasn’t as successful with the ink all over Ginny’s face and legs (thanks to Elizabeth).

After the hair appointments, we went upstairs to ride the carousel. It was Elizabeth’s first time, and she’s now a fan.

Lily and Ginny had a lovely time, too.

After the ride, we all had lunch while the girls’ dolls watched. Elizabeth’s new baby, named Baby Doll, joined her big sisters and babysitters.

On Sunday, the big girls, Aunt Sarah and I headed BACK to the American Girl store for dessert at the Bistro. If you’ve never been, it’s quite a production. They have special booster seats for the dolls, who get their own cups and saucers. If a girl arrives without her own doll, the Bistro kindly provides a loaner.

Fortunately, Ginny and Hermione were able to join the fun.

Lily and Ella each had an ice cream sundae as big as their head, and neither of them was able to finish it. They both made a valiant effort, though.

It’s been a treat to spend some time with my big girls while Campbell’s been occupied with Grampa. As much as I love that little guy, the boy energy level can be tough to handle. There’s no way he would have sat through lunch at a girly store.

A dream come true

2011-07-14T08:21:00.001-05:00

Back in the fall of 2005, Lily and I became obsessed with watching the National Zoo’s Pandacam. The zoo had a squeeably cute baby panda named Tai Shan, and Lily and I spent hours watching his antics online.

In the spring of 2006, we visited my parents in Atlanta, and one of our excursions was a trip to Zoo Atlanta, which has a pair of pandas. Lily got to sit just on the other side of the glass from a panda, and she could have cared less. She was far more interested in reading her map.

Ella, on the other hand, was fascinated. After seeing the pandas, Knittergran got suckered into buying the girls stuffed pandas, and Lily’s collection was begun. Our house is now filled with stuffed pandas of all shapes and sizes along with books on pandas and a DVD all about Tai Shan’s first year at the National Zoo.

Last summer, we went to Zoo Atlanta again, and Lily was far more interested in the pandas. If she could have taken one home with her, she would have.

This fall, a baby panda was born at Zoo Atlanta, and we began watching him online through the Zoo’s Pandacam. Lily wanted to hug him and squeeze him and call him George.

On Monday, the kids and I went to Zoo Atlanta, and Lily got to see a real live baby Panda. I think she can die happy now.

Baby Panda Po was at his cutest, hanging upside-down, falling off logs, ignoring his mother. I think we all could have spent hours watching him, except Campbell was hungry and whiny.

If you’re ever in Atlanta, I highly recommend a trip to the Zoo. Seeing Po is worth the price of admission alone.

I’ll admit it, I cried

2011-07-11T17:38:00.001-05:00

One reason we’re in Atlanta, other than reducing my parents’ house to a pile of rubble, is for Ella to compete at US Climbing Youth Nationals, which were held this past weekend.

Ella qualified for Nationals at the competition in Boulder last month, and she joined the best brightest young climbers in the country in Atlanta. She qualified for both Sport and Speed events. In Sport climbing, scores are based on how high you climb. The goal is to finish a route without falling, which is called flashing. Speed climbing is exactly what it sounds like – see who can get to the top the fastest.

The event started on Thursday, and all 31 girls in Ella’s division climbed – 21 of them, including Ella, flashed the route, so there was a huge tie. All 31 climbed again on Friday, and Ella didn’t climb as well as she had the day before. She rushed a move and fell much lower than she should have. Fortunately, she squeaked into semi-finals as part of a four-way tie for 16th place.

Ella started Saturday by climbing in the Sport semi-finals, and she did well enough that she made it to finals. She also climbed in the Speed finals Saturday night. She had had her heart set on placing in the top four and earning an invitation to join the US Climbing Team. Unfortunately, she had two bad climbs, mostly because the girl climbing next to her fell both times, ruining her concentration. Ella ended up in 7th place, meaning she is the 7th fastest 10 and under climber in the country, which I thought was quite cool. She didn’t. She viewed it as losing and was in a snit the whole way home. She perked up after being bribed with some ice cream and brownies, though.

I was very nervous about finals on Sunday, worried that her bad mood Saturday night would affect her climbing. I should have known better than to worry. When I woke her up to go to the gym, Ella announced that she had decided she was going to flash the route. I told her I’d love to see her do it. But, privately, I had my doubts. This was finals at Nationals – you don’t just flash routes at finals.

One of the many things I love about the climbing world is watching the climbers interacting with each other. When they brought Ella’s group out for route preview, the 10 girls worked together to draw a map of the route and its holds. Then they chattered away, discussing strategies for different parts of the climb.

All the climbers are kept in isolation before their climbs, so they don’t get extra time to study the route. And when they are brought out, one at a time, they have to sit in a chair facing away from the wall. I was fortunate to grab a seat right in front of Ella, so I could smile at, but not talk to, her.

I almost wished that I hadn’t sat so close. She looked so small and so nervous while she was waiting. I was sure that Ella was going to barf right there and then. But once the belayer got her started on tying in, Ella put on her game face.

And she climbed better than I have ever seen her climb. I had my hands over my mouth, willing her up the wall the entire time. She didn’t flash, but she came damn close, climbing higher on the wall than anyone else had at that point, by a long way.

When she was finished climbing, Ella came over to me for a congratulatory hug. I told her that no matter how she placed, she should be proud of how well she climbed. Ella didn’t say much – she just gave me her small, quiet, very happy smile. Then she bopped off to sit with the other girls in her division to watch the rest of the climbers.

And it was so stressful. Ella climbed third in her group, so we had to sit through seven more climbers. And as each climber fell off the wall far lower than Ella had, Betsy and I ticked off Ella’s possible place on our fingers. In the end, two girls touched exactly the same hold as Ella did, putting them in a three-way tie for first place. To break the tie, they added girls’ scores from their previous climbs.

Ella placed THIRD at Nationals. Holy cow! I got all teary-eye seeing her up on the podium with the other girls, giving them fist bumps and smiling for pictures.

But then there was even more exciting news – Ella received an invitation to be on the US Climbing National Team. Right now, it means that she gets a cool team jacket and automatically qualifies for Nationals next summer. But if she keeps placing on the team, once she’s 13, she’ll get to go to the World Cup, which is held all over the world. This year it’s in Austria. Three big kids from our team are headed to Worlds, the lucky ducks.

They brought out all the National Team members for pictures, and that’s when I really started crying from pride and joy and everything else. There’s my daughter, my baby girl, right there on the front row.

Nope, not tired at all

2011-07-08T07:35:00.001-05:00

We are safely installed at my parents house, which the kids are doing their level best to reduce to a pile of sticky rubble. The whole trip went very well – from getting through security to navigating the Atlanta airport on the other end. The kids traveled like the seasoned pros they actually are.

We’ve been busy, busy, busy since we got here. Yesterday’s adventures included not one, but two trips to the pool. By dinner time, Campbell was an absolute mess. I finally carried him to my room, dropped him in the bed and closed the door. He protested the whole time that he was not tired at all.

Five minutes later, he was silence, and I found him like this.

Nope. He wasn’t tired at all. He didn’t even wake up when I carried him to his bed.

This morning he’s back to his usual cheerful, enthusiastic little self.

And away we go

2011-07-06T07:33:00.001-05:00

In two hours, I’ll be loading everyone into the car, including a tired husband, and heading down to the San Antonio airport for our trip to Atlanta. With any luck, the kids and I will be seated near each other.

I’d like to say I’ve been calm and collected during the past few days as I’ve gotten us ready to go, but that would be a lie. Part of it is that I always get panicky before a trip; part of it is that my new anti-anxiety medication is NOT working. I never realized how much my old medication kept my anxiety levels manageable until I stopped taking it.

Unfortunately, the kids have picked up on and have been feeding on my stress. The Bicker Twins were going full tilt yesterday. I ended up sending them to separate rooms to read for an hour yesterday morning just so that I didn’t have to hear them pick at each other. Campbell’s been extra clingy, and Elizabeth has been a monster. I have spent much of the past two days saying “Campbell, stop crying!” and “Elizabeth, stop doing that!”

Yesterday was so bad that it really is nothing shy of a miracle that I didn’t cook and eat one of my kids.

It’s not like I’m not ready. The suitcases are 98 percent packed. The kids’ carry-ons are set to go. I’ve got plans to entertain the littles on the plane. But I’m still really amped up because so much of today’s success depends on things that are entirely out of control – the airlines, my kids’ moods, traffic.

Right now everyone in the house is sound asleep, and I’m enjoying the silence by reading the paper and drinking coffee. I know I need to get the kids up and moving, but I’m not quite ready for the commotion yet.

Keep your fingers crossed that I arrive in Atlanta with my sanity intact and all four children still with me.

Catch you on the flip side.

Rocky Mountain High

2011-07-04T08:48:00.001-05:00

We have another day of 100+ degree weather, so I figured I’d cool things off with some pictures from my trip to Colorado last month. I’d be willing to sell a child to be back there right now.

Ella and I got to Boulder on Thursday, which meant we had two full days to play before her climbing competition on Saturday. It rained pretty much all of the first day, so we contented ourselves with brunch at Lucile’s and some meandering on the Pearl Street Mall before checking into what is quite possibly the worst hotel I’ve ever stayed in. If you ever go to Boulder, do NOT stay at the Rodeway near campus.

This was our lovely bedroom. The canopies were covered in dust. The carpet was icky – I didn’t let Ella walk barefoot in the room. It’s like the place is deliberately not doing any updating. The lobby looked like a bordello, and the “Cabaret” was apparently built OVER the old indoor pool.

Friday was gorgeous, so we escaped the hotel and headed up to Estes Park and Rocky Mountain National Park. The Trail Ridge road had just opened two days before, and there was still a lot of snow at the top.

There were chipmunks hiding in the rocks. Ella was desperate to feed one, despite the signs that said doing so was against the rules.

I kept making Ella get out of the car to look at scenery, which she declared was boring.

But then we got up to the snow, and she was much happier. In the picture on the left, that’s not a snowbank left by plows, that’s how much snow was actually on the ground. In the picture on the right, the snow field was huge and several feet deep. You could see holes where people had broken through the ice.

The back end of a marmot. He was too busy rooting around in the rocks to let me get a good picture of him.

Some other tourists had built the snow man up on the top, but Ella decided she needed to do some repairs – at least until her fingers got too cold. Being above the tree line at more than 12,000 feet was pretty amazing.

Back down to a mere 8,000 feet above sea level. Ella thinks that she may want to work at Rocky Mountain National Park when she gets older, especially when she saw that the staff lives in cabins in the park itself. Given that she wants to go to college in Boulder, I can see her possibly spending summers working at RMNP.

Next up, pictures of our trip over to Rifle on the western side of the mountains.

Because I have to worry about something

2011-06-30T10:08:00.001-05:00

Next Wednesday I am flying with the four kids to Atlanta for a two-week visit – without B. His work schedule is insane, and he can’t get away. He may fly up for a weekend if possible, but it will be just me and four kids each way.

I’m not worried about the big girls – they are traveling pros. And Campbell will be so thrilled to be on a plane that he’ll be fine. Elizabeth, on the other hand, is the wild card. Last summer she screamed during the entire flight home – not crying, top-of-her-lungs screaming. This year I’m packing every treat I can think of to keep her happy. Sure she’ll be hopped up on sugar by the time we get to my parents’ house, but at least I won’t be in danger of being stoned to death by irate passengers.

But.

The one thing I’m really worried about is our seats. Currently, the five of us are assigned seats in five different rows. The idea of not being able to sit with at least Campbell and Elizabeth is giving me panic attacks (which isn’t actually that hard to do these days).

I called Delta earlier this week and spoke with a woman who, based on her accent, was in India. I explained the situation, and she assured me that “Delta places family first” and that they’d take care of the situation at the airport. I told her that if they didn’t, when I got on the plane I’d hand the screaming toddler to the nicely dressed businessman sitting next to her and wish him luck. The lady didn’t laugh. Maybe my humor didn’t translate to her customer-service level of English.

The lady repeated several times that “Delta places family first” and that we’d be sitting together on the plane.

I posted about it on Facebook and had lots of people reassure me that they’d had the same thing happen and the airlines took care of it.

But because I am a world-class worrier, especially now that I’m not on my anti-anxiety meds (more on that another day), I’m still worried about this. I’m worried that we’ll get to the airport and all the seats on the plane will already be assigned and they won’t be able to move at least Campbell and Elizabeth next to me. I’m worried that Delta’s solution will be to tell me to ask other passengers to switch and none of them will. I’m worried that our only options will be to sit apart or take a different flight, with lots of extra fees attached.

It’s a good thing my parents will be meeting us at baggage claim in Atlanta. I think I may be too drunk and frazzled to manage without their help.

Two new knitters

2011-06-27T10:00:00.002-05:00

Last week, just when the Bicker Twins were getting on my very last nerve, I saw a post on FaceBook that the knitting store near our house still had slots in Wednesday afternoon’s class for kids. The girls gave me an enthusiastic thumb’s up about going, so I called and signed them up.

On Wednesday, I happily delivered them to the store, leaving the girls with warnings of dire consequences if they bickered with each other during the class.

Now, both girls can knit; Knittergran taught them. But they’ve never made anything beyond lumpy bits of stuff – their attention span hasn’t been good enough for them to actually finish anything. Given this, I was interested to see how the class would go.

I couldn’t have been more thrilled. The instructor taught them both the proper way to hold the yarn (not like I hold it) and how to purl. Then she got them started on a simple project – fingerless gloves. The pattern was dead simple – four rows of garter, stockinette for a few inches, four more rows of garter, then cast off and stitch up the seam, leaving a hole for the thumb.

When we got home from class, both girls immediately sat down and began knitting. Ella finished her first glove after dinner and immediately cast on a second. I went to bed early, and when I did, both girls were still on the sofa knitting away.

Each has now completed a pair of gloves and has started on another pair. Lily will go back to knitting class this Wednesday while Ella is at newspaper camp. But it will be good for Lily to spend some time away from her bossy big sister.

Lily with her first finished glove. It fit perfectly.

Campbell wearing the “Super Hero gloves” Ella made for him. Notice the contrast stitching around the edges.

I am thrilled that the girls seem to love knitting. B’s not so sure about it, though. He’s worried about ending up buried under yarn and knitting bags.

Dancing Lily

2011-06-23T09:20:00.001-05:00

Just as Ella seems to have been born to climb, Lily was born to dance. From the time she could walk she has twirled her way through life.

When she was three, I enrolled her in Creative Movement with the divine Ms. Joan at Ballet Austin, and Lily found her home.

She moved up through the Creative Movement classes and eventually donned the blue leotard of Pre-Ballet.

(notice the very serious ballet face)

Last month, Lily graduated from Pre-Ballet and left the blue leotards behind.

She’s now officially in Ballet 1, and she goes to class twice a week. She also gets to wear a purple leotard and HAS to have her hair in a bun.

This year she also gets to audition to be a mouse or an angel in Ballet Austin’s annual production of “The Nutcracker.”

I have had so much fun watching Lily change from the roly-poly little girl pretending to be a sea horse during Creative Movement into a ballerina with perfect posture practicing at the barre.

Maybe some day she’ll be prima ballerina of a major company.

Total Confusion

2011-06-21T14:24:00.001-05:00

I have two neighbors, who are both all kinds of awesome, and who both have the same name. For the sake of maintaining their privacy, I’ll call them both Lucy: Lucy F and Lucy S. And I’ll call Lucy F’s husband Fred.

This morning I sent Lucy F a text asking to borrow a sippy cup of milk, which kicked off the following text exchange.

Me: Can I borrow a sippy cup of milk?

Lucy F: I’m in Beijing right now. What time should I expect you? Can you call Lucy to ask her?

Me: WHAT? When did you go to Beijing? Where are the boys?

Lucy F: I left last Friday. The boys are home but have been gone a lot, I think. Off to Shanghai tomorrow. Hong Kong on Saturday and back on Wednesday. This summer is nuts.

Me: So does that mean you’re not home for the splash party on Friday? Who is with the boys?

Lucy F: I won’t be there. Lucy is with the boys (unless I am missing something?).

Me: Lucy S?

Lucy F: This is Fred, Heather. Did you think you were texting Lucy F?

Me: Yes. D’oh.

Fred: OK. I’m looking back and the chain and am laughing my butt off. Too funny. You thought I was asking you to call Lucy S. You and both Lucys will have a good laugh over this.

*****

I was simultaneously horribly embarrassed and cracking up. I’m sure Fred was wondering why the heck I was asking him for milk instead of his wife and thinking I was pretty dim. Both Lucys and I did indeed have a good laugh.

Modern communication isn’t so wonderful sometimes.

Super Finals

2011-06-15T16:07:00.001-05:00

The reason Ella and I went to Boulder was a climbing competition – divisionals, specifically. The best climbers from Texas, Colorado, Arizona, Nevada and California were there. And there were a lot of really good climbers in Ella’s group. There’s a team based in Boulder that seems to breed these tiny little girls who can climb like spider monkeys. I dubbed them the Sprites and resisted the temptation to kick them in the shins, mostly because they were so damn cute and friendly.

There were 21 girls in Ella’s division, and they all climbed two routes on Saturday. Their scores were based on how high they got on each route. In theory, the top ten girls were supposed to go on to finals on Sunday. But . . . 13 girls finished both of Saturday’s routes, which meant they all got the same score and all tied for first.

Sunday morning the 13 girls climbed again. The route was pretty tough. It’s the orange one in the picture. Ella said it seemed like the route setters made things too easy on Saturday so they went the other direction on Sunday and made the route too hard.

Not one of the 13 girls finished it, but two girls clearly placed first and second. Then two girls tied for third, and four girls, including Ella, tied for 5th. Only the top six can get invites to nationals in July, which meant that all the girls who were tied for position had to compete in Super Finals.

The six girls got whisked off to a holding room while the route setters tweaked a route that was already on the wall.

The two girls who were tied for third clearly separated themselves, which left the four girls tied for fifth. Ella and another girl, Chloe, climbed the highest out of their group and tied again. We were all hoping the officials would just leave them tied for fifth and not make them climb again.

But no, Ella and Chloe got whisked away again to wait for another route to be set up. When the girls came out to climb, they had become fast friends and were laughing and giggling about how they kept tying with each other.

Chloe went first and finished the climb. Ella went second and came so, so close to tying again. She was briefly disappointed, but she recovered quickly and bounced off with Chloe to play and celebrate that they were both going to Nationals.

One of the things I love about climbing competitions is that everyone cheers for good climbs, no matter what team the climber is on. They all recognize and applaud tough climbs, and you can hear the groans in the background when Ella finally falls off the wall.

In the end, Ella placed 6th in sport climbing and 3rd in speed climbing, which means she received an invite to Nationals in both events. We’re heading to Atlanta in a few weeks for the competition. Ella’s mostly excited that she’ll get to see her new buddy Chloe while she’s there.

I’m home

2011-06-14T12:05:00.001-05:00

Just a quick post to let everyone know Ella and I survived our trip to Colorado. I have lots to write about, but I’m going to have to save it for another day because I have a work deadline this afternoon, mountains of laundry, and a kitchen floor that my feet keep sticking to.

Here are some highlights:

Ella climbed really strong at a tough competition. There were a ton of very good climbers in her division, and she finally placed 6th in sport climbing after having to do two tie-breaker “super finals.” She also placed 3rd in speed climbing, so she has an invite to nationals in Atlanta in both events.
The weather in Colorado was perfect the entire time. It rained the first day, but even that felt good after months of drought here.
We drove the Trail Ridge in Rocky Mountain National Park and got to play in the snow. Ella declared it a most excellent day.
On Sunday we drove over the Rockies to Rifle, which is on the western range. The drive was spectacular, if a bit long.
Ella got to climb in the wild with six of the big kids from her team and the coach. The group is staying through the week, but Ella and I had to come home.
Lily managed to get really, really sick while I was gone. There’s nothing like being thousands of miles from home and getting a call that your child is on her way to the ER. She’s on the mend now, and the doctors’ best guess is that she has mono, of all things.

Finally – I’ve been wanting someone to take a picture of me that I actually liked for a while now. I figured I’d have to bribe one of my photographer friends to do it. Instead, Ella managed to get a picture I love while goofing around with my camera at Boulder Falls.

I know my hair’s a wreck and I’m not wearing any make up and my nose is red from the cold, but I like the picture because I just look happy, which I was.

I may never come back

2011-06-08T09:24:00.001-05:00

First things first – I have a winner for my sock giveaway. I am so glad that I made this a random drawing because I would never have been able to pick a winner on my own. You are all so wonderful that I want to knit socks for all of you, but that would take me years. This was so much fun that I’ll do another knitting giveaway of something later this summer – maybe a hat or scarf for the coming winter.

To make sure things were fair, I went old school. First I wrote everyone’s names on pieces of paper and put them in my favorite knitting bag.

Then I recruited one of my minions – a very perplexed Campbell – to draw a piece of paper.

And the winner is . . .

Betsy!

Betsy is a friend in real life. Her son is one of the “big boys” on the climbing team, and she is an amazing person. I want to be like her when I grow up. But the best part is that I’ll be seeing Betsy this weekend in Boulder and can give her the socks in person – no trip to the post office needed.

And speaking of Boulder . . .

Ella and I leave tomorrow at 6:05 am for Colorado. She has another climbing comp there – her third. B took the girls on their trip back in February, so it’s my turn to go. It should be a fantastic trip. We’ll have all day tomorrow and Friday to play before Ella climbs on Saturday and Sunday. Sunday afternoon, the coach is taking some of the big kids over to a town called Rifle to climb in the wild for a week. Ella’s not big enough to stay without me, and I can’t be away for a whole week, so we’re going to drive over with the team on Sunday, and she’ll get to climb most of the day on Monday before we head back to Denver for our 8:00 pm flight home.

Some of our free-day plans include breakfast at Lucile’s, which has beignets and eggs benedict to die for, a trip up to Estes Park to take the tramway up the mountain to feed chipmunks (Ella’s very special request), a trip into Rocky Mountain National Park, and wandering Pearl Street.

Mostly, though, I’m looking forward to the cool air. Here’s Austin’s forecast for the week

and here’s Boulder’s.

This is pretty much my dream weather, even if it ends up raining while we’re there. It’s been so long since I’ve seen rain that the change will be nice. As a bonus, I’ll get to wear my NYC Marathon jacket again. And jeans. And hand-knit socks.

Yep. I may not come home.

Bedtime conversations

2011-06-06T14:45:00.001-05:00

I don’t go in for big bedtime routines. I have too many kids, and I am too tired to do a whole song and dance each night. The kids brush their teeth and go potty, and the big kids read the littles stories. And then they all get in bed. End of discussion. Even that minimalist routine can take an hour when the kids are in particularly contrary moods. But once they are in bed, they are to STAY IN BED and BE QUIET. Nothing raises my blood pressure faster than having to endure repeated requests from the bedroom or having kids popping out of bed for whatever reason.

Some nights, Campbell climbs into bed and passes out cold within minutes. Other nights, he bounces around in his bed, calling out every few minutes for attention. Friday was one of those nights.

I tucked him like a caterpillar, gave him a kiss and a hug and left the room. Within minutes, he was yelling that he needed help. I went in to find him halfway out of the bed – legs on the bed, hands and head on the floor. “I fell out and got stuck,” he said. I unstuck him and left the room.

Ten minutes later he said, “Mom, if you don’t come in here, I’m going to have a nightmare!” I told him he’d be fine but didn’t go in. After a mere two minutes of silence, I heard “OK! I just had a nightmare!” Stifling my laughter I reminded him that he has to actually go to sleep to have a nightmare.

He went mostly quiet for a while, and during that time I heard muffled thuds as he climbed in and out of bed and played with toys. I decided to ignore the playtime as long as he was being quiet.

After about 30 minutes of playing, Campbell noticed that Lily wasn’t in her bed – she was asleep on the sofa thanks to a bout of strep throat – and he didn’t like it. He called out, “Mom! I’m alone, I’m scared, and I’m thirsty.”

That’s when I lost it and started laughing. But I didn’t cave and let him out of bed. He fell asleep a few minutes later, I guess after realizing that further requests for company were pointless.

Don’t forget to enter to win a pair of hand-knit socks. All you have to do is leave a comment on the post.

Thank you–and a giveaway

2011-06-02T09:51:00.001-05:00

First off, thank you to everyone who sent me messages of support and encouragement last week. I was blown away by the e-mails and comments and messages I received. They all helped me a great deal.

I saw a psychiatric nurse practitioner last week, and he’s taken me off my anti-anxiety medication and has started me on good old Prozac, which has helped a great deal. I’m able to get out of bed in the morning and not count the hours until I can climb back in again. And I actually left the house twice in the past week for social events, another good sign.

In the meantime, I’m taking things one day at a time and focusing on small goals. And I’m counting the hours until Ella and I leave next week for five days in Colorado. Time in the cool mountain air, away from the 100 degree temps we’ve been having here, will do me a world of good.

And now, for a giveaway.

I am going to give away this pair of hand-knit socks to one lucky reader. I wear a size 9.5/10, and the socks are snug on me, which means you shouldn’t enter if you wear a size 11. Or if you do have large feet, you can enter and win them for a friend or family member and claim you knit them yourself. Whatever works.

If you’ve never worn hand-knit socks, you’re missing out. Except for when I go running, I hate wearing socks. It has to be below freezing to get me to wear socks, but I make an exception for hand-knit ones. I spend most of the winter with fluffy bits of love on my feet.

All you have to do to win is leave a comment on this post by next Tuesday. That’s it. You don’t have to tweet about it or like me on Facebook or blog about it with a link back. Just leave a comment. It doesn’t even have to be witty.

Next Wednesday, I’ll recruit one of my minions to pull a name out of a hat and notify the winner.

Everyone’s a critic

2011-05-31T09:55:00.001-05:00

Ella: You know, mom, I think you have to do more than just put the ingredients in the pot.

Strange things were afoot

2011-05-28T10:54:00.001-05:00

at the local Walgreens. We don’t have any Circle K stores around here.

We have a Walgreens right on the outer edge of our neighborhood. Several no-tell motels and halfway houses are on the outer edge of our neighborhood, too. And the residents of our ‘hood and of the shadier establishments seem to only meet at the Walgreens, which means it’s always good people watching there. I can’t count how many times I’ve been there when a shoplifter has been busted or someone’s been stopped for buying beer for an under-aged kid pacing outside. I’ve seen cops in the parking lot there many, many times. And I’ve come across what I can only assume, based on attire and purchases, is a lady of the evening picking up some items with her prospective client. Which is the main reason I no longer go there after dark.

Even though there were no incidents involving police or hookers, this morning was plenty entertaining. I ran up there for a pack of swim diapers for Elizabeth, who was out, because I don’t want us banned from the local pool. I figured it would be a quick trip – run in, grab the diapers, pay, run out. Instead, it took me a good 15 minutes.

There only appeared to be two staff members on duty – John the assistant manager and Kevin, the assistant to the assistant manager. John was wandering around the store looking sweaty, while Kevin was managing the cash register looking red-faced and panicked at the length of the line forming.

The woman at the head of the line was trying to buy two packs of cigarettes with some sort of manufacturer’s coupon that didn’t have a bar code on it, so Kevin had no idea how to redeem it. After much consideration and complaining, the woman decided not to buy the cigarettes after all, so poor Kevin had to start from scratch with the rest of her purchases.

After her came a woman who looked to be buying a week’s worth of cup ‘noodles, diet Gatorade, and candy, all with coupons. Then she decided she wanted to pay for other things in her cart with another credit card, which meant a separate transaction. While Kevin was apologizing to her for the wait, she told him, and everyone else in line, that it was OK because she worked in a store too. I wanted to point out that if she worked in a store she should know better than to jam up the whole check-out process by using a zillion coupons and doing separate transactions.

While all of this was happening, the heavily pierced and tattooed and very smelly young guy behind me was pacing, sighing, shuffling his feet, and fidgeting nonstop. He and a friend had already bought two bags of stuff – his friend was waiting outside with them – but this guy apparently HAD to have the bag of generic funions. My guess is that he was either completely whacked out on meth or speed or was jonesing for one of them.

Finally John the assistant manager, after spending some time pacing outside on the sidewalk, looking for missing staff maybe, came in and opened a second register. Fortunately, everyone in line behind me, including the tweaker, was too out of it, and I beat them all to the punch in switching lines. In all fairness, I was next after the coupon lady.

John was so flustered that he managed to send my package of swimmy diapers flying across the counter, almost hitting the tweaker in the face. And I threw him for a loop when I told him I didn’t need a bad for my diapers and package of mints.

Walgreens should charge for admission. It’s the best show in town.

Another difficult post

2011-05-23T11:15:00.001-05:00

In the past week I’ve admitted to myself, my husband and a handful of friends that I’m still not doing well, depression-wise. After a grim March and part of April, I had started to feel more like myself at the end of April. I had done up on the dosage of my anti-anxiety meds; the weather was wonderful; I was getting back into the swing of things with running. One day I even caught myself singing aloud in the car. B and the kids had even noticed a difference.

But a few weeks ago I cratered again, and now I’m barely holding it together. Most days the only reason I get out of bed is because there are four short people relying on me to feed them and dress them and get them out the door.

My energy level is zero. I have no interest in things I usually love – like knitting and reading and running. And I find myself again counting the hours until I can go back to bed. I barely leave the house – I missed the preschool carnival because I couldn’t handle the idea of making small talk with people. Yesterday I went to a runners’ group event and had a hard time not crying while trying to talk to people. Then I went home feeling like a complete and total failure.

There’s nothing major that has spurred this. The kids have all been relatively healthy (knock on wood), and work has been going well. B’s business has picked back up to the point that he is slammed, but he’s still been really helpful the past few weeks. I’m still going to counseling with a therapist I like, even if she is a little tree-hugging at times.

We do have the stress of the whole moving process. One of the ducks that we needed to get in a row wandered off and got blown up two weeks ago, so we’re in limbo with that again. But I’ve been able to largely put that aside. Being in limbo means I don’t actually have to do anything.

All I can come up with at this point is that my medication needs adjusting – I either need to go up in my dose or try something else. I’m calling today with for an appointment with a doctor (I can never remember whether it’s psychologist or psychiatrist) who can hopefully get me on something that will help.

In the meantime, if you don’t hear from me, it’s because I’m hunkered down, trying to keep myself together.

Formal attire

2011-05-20T11:41:00.001-05:00

He found an old clip-on tie that his grandmother bought him years ago and insisted on wearing it to preschool today.

When you’re two

2011-05-18T10:15:00.001-05:00

It’s ok to wear your new bathing suit with flowers and a twirly skirt everywhere, even to the library.

Pure Joy

2011-05-13T13:20:00.001-05:00

If only I could bottle his belly laughs.

We saw the president–kind of

2011-05-11T08:29:00.001-05:00

President Obama was in town yesterday to give a speech at the ACL theater downtown and to attend a dinner out in Westlake. I knew traffic was going to be bad as a result, so I carefully planned my route to take Ella to climbing practice in the hopes that I’d avoid the worst of it.

At first, I thought I’d succeeded. I blew down MoPac in record time, confident we’d actually be on time. But when I turned on to 290 east, otherwise known as Ben White Blvd., traffic came to a dead stop at S. First.

cars as far as the eye can see

At first it didn’t occur to me that this jam was related to the president’s visit – all the news stations had advised drivers to stay away from downtown and I35, which I had done. After sitting for 15 minutes, with Ella quietly freaking out about being late and the little three whining about being tired of sitting still, I turned on one of the AM talk radio stations just in time to hear that the president’s plane had landed a few minutes earlier and that the motorcade was underway.

Obviously, Ben White had been shut down in both directions to let the motorcade through at some point. So I tried to get off Ben White, but all the access roads were at a standstill, too. We were stuck.

As soon as the talk turned to people calling in to bitch about being trapped in traffic with gas prices being too high, I turned back to music. Then I practiced deep, calming yoga breaths while the kids whined and cried and wiggled. And I posted something on Twitter about how I supported the president but didn’t think landing at 5:00 was cool.

Finally traffic got moving again, and we were a mere 30 minutes late to practice. Ella started to panic, but when she saw three other teammates arriving at the same time, she calmed down.

On the way home from practice, I tempted the fates by getting on I35 north. I figured there was no way I could get stuck again. Ha. Just south of the river, I realized that southbound I35 had no cars on it other than police cruisers. Then all the cars on our side slowed to a crawl.

But – this time there was at least a reward for being stuck.

That’s the president’s Suburban. The big girls were beyond thrilled that we got to see the motorcade, and I have to admit, I thought it was pretty cool, too. It’s quite a procession they have going – lots of big SUVs with radio antennas all over them, passenger vans with the press pool, police motorcycles and cars, ambulances, etc.

Fortunately, once the motorcade passed, cars on our side started moving again, and that was the end of our traffic woes for the day.

But the next time the president comes to town, I’m staying home.

Stubborn, thy name is Ella

2011-05-06T08:55:00.001-05:00

Ella has dreadful allergies, especially in the spring when everything is in bloom. Last month she missed multiple days of school because she felt so miserable. So I dragged her off to an allergist, for which she still hasn’t forgiven me. Every time someone mentions something that happened at school last Friday, she says, with a huff, "I wouldn’t know. My MOM made me to go a boring old doctor for no reason at all.” At one point when she was giving her patented not-so-silent treatment, I said, “I’m sorry I love you so much that I took you to the doctor to make you feel better.” Huge eye roll.

The doctor prescribed a steroidal nose spray for Ella, which just made the whole day even worse in Ella’s opinion. She has NEVER liked having any kind of lotion or spray or anything on her. She won’t let me put moisturizer on the dry patches on her face or use detangling spray on her hair. Getting her to sit still for sunblock is a real chore, especially when I get to her face. And to put drops for pink eye in her eyes I have to sit on her and pin her arms to her side, which is getting harder and harder because the child is freakishly strong due to all her climbing. Seriously, she could probably take me in arm wrestling. The only reason I can pin her is because she weighs next to nothing, and I (ahem) weigh a lot more.

I knew that getting the spray in her nose was going to be a challenge. I just wasn’t prepared for how much of a challenge. She really, really doesn’t like the stuff. The first night I managed to wrestle it into her without too much of a problem. But now that she knows how bad it smells and that it leaves a bad taste in her mouth, she wants nothing to do with it.

On the second night, I had to pin Ella to the floor and sit on her with my knees on either side of her head. We both ended up in tears.

We’ve tried appealing to her logic by explaining that once she takes this stuff for a week she’ll feel lots better. We’ve talked about how she can get sick from not treating her allergies. And we’ve explained allergy shots and asked whether two sprays in her nose was worse than getting a shot once a week. It hasn’t worked.

The other night, instead of fighting with her, B told Ella that she was now responsible for using the spray by herself and that she would be grounded until she did it. That meant she’d come home from school and go straight to her room – no climbing, no playing with friends.

Yesterday morning, I calmly explained to Ella the terms one more time, and played out all of the consequences – if she didn’t do the spray, she wouldn’t go to practice. If she didn’t do the spray next week, there’d still be no practice. And then there’d be no going to regionals next Saturday. And if she missed regionals, she wouldn’t qualify for divisionals in Boulder, and then there would be no way to go to nationals in Atlanta. I told her she needed to spend the day thinking about whether she was really willing to give up all of those competitions and trips just to be stubborn about using her nose spray. And then I walked away before Ella could argue with me.

When she got home from school, she dithered for a while and then used the spray while crying and gagging; it was a very dramatic performance.

But when she gets home today, we’ll have to go through the same routine – she doesn’t get to go outside to play until the nose spray is in. I’m hoping she’ll get over this quickly. I’m not sure how much more patience I have for this particular brand of Ella’s stubborness.

He’s a real boy now

2011-05-04T10:12:00.002-05:00

Yesterday afternoon I took Campbell for his fourth trip to the Emergency room. First there was the gash on his forehead. Then there was the pill-swallowing experiment. And who can forget the great Penis Incident? And then there were the injuries that were bad, but not bad enough to warrant a trip to the hospital, like the time he almost bit his tongue in half (our pediatrician handled that one) and the gash B superglued shut while on a recent camping trip.

This time, his ER trip was for a huge gash on his chin. He was running around the living room and slipped and fell, hitting his chin on the corner of the coffee table. Of course, he did it while we were getting ready to walk out the door to take Knittergran to the airport. I convinced B that superglue was not going to work this time and loaded Campbell into the car. B ended up doing the airport run with Knittergran, who was a bit worried about leaving amidst such chaos.

Unlike previous injuries, this one required stitches, which I think makes Campbell a REAL boy now. It’s like a badge of honor and true boyhood.

I was really impressed with the Dell Children’s Medical Center ER, once we got through the interminable wait to be seen. We’ve had some not-so-good experiences there in the past, but this time the staff was wonderful. The nurse and doctor couldn’t have been more gentle or patient with Campbell. They didn’t start working on his chin until they were sure he wasn’t going to feel any pain. I was holding Campbell’s hands while the doctor worked, and he didn’t flinch a single time. I’m not sure I could have been as still.

Poor Campbell was so funny after the meds – fentanyl and versed – kicked in. I had to laugh at him staggering around, insisting he could walk. Then he’d tip over (don’t worry, I caught him before he actually fell), say he was dizzy, and then ask me to carry him. When we got home, the big girls took their job of keeping him still on the sofa very seriously – including sitting on him when he tried to get up.

I decided to keep Campbell home from preschool this morning, worried that he’d crash around and pop the stitches open. Additionally, I wasn’t sure how he’d feel after his narcotics cocktail last night or whether his stitches would bother him. Now, I’m regretting that decision. He’s tearing around the house and annoying his little sister, just like normal.

Sigh. He’s such a boy.

I can’t move my eyebrows

2011-05-02T19:20:00.001-05:00

Last Friday, I went in for Botox injections in the hopes that they would get my migraines under control. The doctor initially said that the treatment would include 31 shots into my forehead, my scalp and the base of my skull.

I was dreading the pain of the injections. When I had six shots last spring, they hurt like hell. But the neurotoxin she used that time was slightly different than Botox. This time, she used Botox, and it turns out that the stuff doesn’t burn and sting nearly as much. Plus, she decided not to do the whole course of injections; I had 18 shots instead of 31.

It was still an extremely unpleasant experience, though. The shots in my forehead and my scalp hurt, but they were tolerable. The four shots in the base of my skull, however, nearly did me in. The doctor had me sit on her little rolling stool and then rest my head on my arms on the exam table. It was very good I was sitting like that, because I might have passed out, otherwise. I don’t know why those four shots hurt as much as they did, but holy hell. They hurt so much I thought I was going to throw up. And when the doctor was finished, I had to sit there for a few minutes and pull myself together.

Yesterday afternoon the Botox really kicked in, and my eyebrows stopped moving. I can raise them – just a little – but I can’t furrow them. I make very funny faces each time I try. The kids think it’s hysterical.

I’ve been worried about whether this would work. Last spring I didn’t see enough of a reduction in migraines to justify the expense. This time, I didn’t want to get my hopes up too much, but I was hopeful that having three times as much Botox would make a difference.

And I think it has. This afternoon I could tell I was having a migraine. The back of my neck felt tight, I had visual distortions, and I was slightly nauseated. But I didn’t feel any pain. Amazing. I’ll take feeling slightly icky over blinding pain any day.

I hope that this continues to work. Having daily migraines has worn me out, and I’m tired of spending every day dreading the inevitable onset.

So I’m keeping my fingers crossed that my migraines are under control. And I’m enjoying my nice smooth forehead, even if I can’t move my eyebrows.

The big day

2011-04-28T13:48:00.001-05:00

Tomorrow is the big day, the day I’m going in for Botox injections for my migraines. Miracle of miracles, the insurance company approved the procedure, and there’s not even a co-pay for the Botox itself, which means I’ll have to pay the $50 office visit fee and not the $400 meds and visit fee that I had to last time.

I was so relieved when I got the call from the doctor’s office that I just about cried. My migraines have gotten worse since the last time I wrote. I’ve had them pretty much daily for the past two weeks, and it’s been hard to function some days.

Tomorrow’s procedure involves 31 injections into my forehead, scalp and back of the neck. I asked my sister, who’s had it done, how bad it was, and she said, “I’m not going to lie – it hurts a lot.” Great.

But I’m willing to undergo that many injections in the hopes of cutting back on the migraines even a little bit. Something has to change.

Of course, I may have to self medicate with wine or Xanax before going – probably Xanax given that my appointment is at 8:00 am. That’s a little too early for wine.

Don’t ask me, I just live here

2011-04-26T10:34:00.001-05:00

Art installation?

Science experiment?

Your guess is as good as mine.

Looking for Houses

2011-04-25T09:54:00.001-05:00

So way back last August, I wrote about how we need to move. In the intervening months, we have talked and talked and talked some more about moving. Whenever the subject comes up, I want to poke knitting needles in my ears just so I don’t have to listen any more. B set me up to receive e-mail notices every time a house meeting our criteria comes on the market and every time a house that’s already on the market has its price lowered. I get dozens of house-related e-mails each week, which I promptly delete without looking at them. I figure that B will let me know if something good comes up.

Mostly, though, the reason we haven’t moved yet is because we had to get a bunch of ducks in a row in terms of arranging finances and rental properties and such. Two weeks ago we got the first ducked kicked into line, which means that next month we’ll begin the hell of getting our house ready to sell. We’re going to gut our outdated kitchen and put down new flooring in several parts of the house and re-tile our bathroom. Plus we need to work on landscaping outside. I think that we should just repaint everything and sell the house as-is, but B, being the professional Realtor and all, insists that we need to do all the work to get the best possible price for our house.

Sigh.

Because we’re getting ready to go to market in the next six to eight weeks, we went out to look at houses this weekend. First, we started up in Wendi’s neighborhood, which is very nice and has excellent schools. I liked the house we looked at, which had great views and a pool, but B, the professional Realtor, found lots of flaws. So we moved on.

We headed out towards Hamilton Pool, which will mean something to Austinites, and looked at two houses out there. The first I would have moved into in a heartbeat. I liked the way it was laid out, plus it was on an acre of land and had a pool. But B, the professional Realtor, found flaws like drainage issues and wood rot. The second house was pure-d awful. Just awful. I can’t even describe how awful. So we left quickly. It’s a shame, because the lot was huge and it was two blocks from my cousin’s spread.

After that, we headed out to a development in Dripping Springs proper called Bellterra. It’s one of those massive subdivisions with so many houses that it now has its own elementary school. The house we looked at was huge and gorgeous – too huge and gorgeous for my taste. It was 4,000 sq/ft with five bedrooms, a play room and a separate office. It had two staircases and 4.5 baths. If we bought it, I’d spend all my time feeling like I was in someone else’s house, someone much fancier than I am.

From there we headed down to Driftwood, again, Austinites will know where that is, with me protesting the whole way that we were too far south. Then I saw the development B had in mind, and I fell in love with the area. The neighborhood is situated on a hilltop with gorgeous views of the surrounding areas. There’s lots of wild, untouched prairie areas. All the lots are a minimum of one acre, and the houses start at 3,000 sq/ft. We’ll be able to double the size of our house and triple the size of yard for roughly the cost of our house here in town. Most of all, it felt like a real neighborhood. There were people out riding bikes and talking in the street. I’d feel very safe turning the kids loose to explore. We could also have a dog (or two) if we lived out there. The area is technically in Dripping Springs, which has excellent schools. And the Salt Lick is five minutes down the road. Yum.

B was stunned that I liked the area. He said it’s the most surprised he’s been in 14 years of marriage. I don’t know why – I have always said I didn’t want to move to a cookie-cutter development. He’s just astonished that I’d be willing to live somewhere that the neighbors aren’t right next door.

So he’s going to start looking for houses in that area in earnest, and I’m going to reconcile myself to the changes in my lifestyle that moving to the country will bring. First off, while Driftwood SEEMS far away, it takes only 18 minutes to get there from Town Lake, which isn’t that far at all. But there aren’t any grocery stores immediately close by, so no running out for a gallon of milk or eggs. However, the closest Costco and Target are only ten minutes away. There are other things I’ll miss, though, like being able to walk to the neighborhood school – the kids will have to ride the bus. And it won’t take me eight minutes to get to preschool. But it will take less time to drive Ella to climbing practice twice a week, and it will be an easy drive in for Lily’s ballet classes and Saturday running. And I’ll be in excellent hill running shape from training out there.

There’s a lot to consider and a lot to worry about. And I’m working on remembering the positive aspects of all this every time I start getting worked up. It’s a good thing I’ve already upped my anti-depressants and started therapy, because I’m going to need it all for this whole process. The good news is that we seem to be moving in the right direction, literally and figuratively.

Not dead yet

2011-04-21T14:15:00.001-05:00

Campbell has a little friend, whom I’ll call Jake, and he has been begging to have a playdate with him for ages. I’m seriously horrible about setting up playdates for my kids. It’s like I’m missing some sort of chip in my mommy-circuitry. I just can’t manage to arrange for them. And then when another mom asks if my kids can visit, I always feel awful for not returning the favor. Of course, that guilt doesn’t translate into scheduling any playdates.

Anyway. . .

The other day in the car, out of the blue, Campbell and I had this chat.

C: Mom, is Jake dead?

H: Good heavens! No. He’s not dead. He’s just fine.

C: Can I have a playdate with him then?

As soon as I got home, I e-mailed Jake’s mom, who is all kinds of awesome, to see if he was available, telling her about Campbell’s question. She invited him over for some play time.

Yesterday was the big day. As soon as Campbell popped out of bed, his first words were, “Today is the day I’m going to Jake’s house.” Then he scampered off to get dressed. He returned to the living room holding his underpants and announced, “I’m wearing my Wall-E underpants because Jake loves Wall-E.” Except he still can’t pronounce his Ls, so it sounded extra cute.

I took him to Jake’s house after preschool, and I had barely parked the car before Campbell was pinging around the back of the car in excitement – picture a superball in boy form. As soon as I opened the door, Campbell and Jake were off and running.

He came home later in the day, already asking when his next playdate with Jake is going to be. I’d better schedule it before he becomes convinced Jake is dead again.

Why I’m running another marathon

2011-04-18T11:56:00.001-05:00

This morning was the 115th running of the Boston Marathon – Happy Patriots’ Day to all my fellow Yankees. I watched the race online, and it was a great event. There were down-to-the-wire sprints for the men’s wheelchair, men’s and women’s races. When the women were racing for the finish, I was actually on my feet cheering Desiree Davilla as she tried to hold on for first.

Some of my non-running friends (and my husband) don’t understand how I can spend almost three hours glued to my laptop watching other people run, but I have always loved watching marathons. Watching the NYC marathon as a child is what spurred me to finally run it myself.

A few weeks ago I posted on Facebook my intention to run the 2012 Austin Marathon, and after watching today’s Boston, I’m ready to declare my goal more publically.

I have really been struggling with running for the past few months. My illness this winter, a month on steroids and ongoing depression have hindered my efforts to get back into running shape. I am at the lowest point I’ve been in years in terms of my love of running. Last week I even considered giving it up all together.

But watching this morning’s race reminded me of why I love running, and why I love marathons (if love is the right word). Seeing the runners lined up the start, smiling in anticipation, gave me goosebumps. Watching them leave everything they had on the course made me think about how finishing a marathon gives me a sense of accomplishment that no other race distance does.

Training for a marathon is a marathon in and of itself, as I rediscovered this past summer. It means long hours on the Trail before dawn. It means exhaustion and time away from my family. But during the months that I was training for New York, I felt stronger physically than I had in months. And the sense of strength lasted for weeks afterwards, not just because I had finished the race, but because I had survived the months and months of training that went into it.

Running is the only thing I do that is purely for me; the time I spend running is often the only time I spend on my own, without kids clinging to me and asking for something. I can forget about the vacuuming and laundry and dishes that need to be done and concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other.

I need to lace up my shoes and get myself back out there. The first few weeks will suck, but the end result is worth it.

Next February, look for me at the start of the Austin Marathon. I’ll be there. You can count on it.

A letter to Hoover Vacuums

2011-04-15T10:57:00.001-05:00

In the spirit of Lazlo Toth, I’m sending a letter out in hopes of getting a letter back.

Dear Hoover Vacuums -

Two summers ago, I visited my parents’ house and had the chance to use their Hoover Cordless LiNX vacuum. And I fell in love with it. Six months later, my mother came for a visit and bought me one of your vacuums.

At first, I was thrilled and raved about the vacuum to anyone who would listen. I could vacuum from one end of the house without having to mess with cords and plugs, and I could switch from carpet to floors with the flip of a switch.

But the more I used your vacuum, the more its little “quirks” began to bother me. Mainly, the thing jams constantly. I can’t vacuum for more than 10 minutes without having to unjam the hole between the base of the vacuum and the chute to the canister. I can’t vacuum even small things like Cheerios or goldfish crackers without having the vacuum get clogged. So now I either have to crush the Cheerios and goldfish into dust before vacuuming them or pick them all up before cleaning – which kind of defeats the purpose of having a vacuum. Don’t even get me started to what the little plastic sleeves from juice box straws do to it.

Lest you think I’m abusing the vacuum or asking it to do more than it was meant for – I live in a 1500 sq ft house with carpet in only one room, and we don’t have any pets. This place should be easy peasey for any vacuum. My 12-year-old Eureka vac gets along just fine.

For the 18 months that I’ve owned the thing, I’ve struggled along with it, dealing with the constant jams and messes that come from unjamming it. But last week was the final straw. The charger for the battery has taken on a life of its own. It refuses to charge the battery, and it blinks its cheerful blue light regardless of whether the battery is in its slot.

So now my vacuum sits idle and unloved, banished to the garage.

Why am I writing this letter? To let you know how disappointed I am in your product. I expect a cheap vacuum to function like yours has. Your vacuum, while not in the Dyson range, was far from cheap. It should be able to, at the very least, vacuum my house. And the battery charger shouldn’t break.

I am requesting a replacement vacuum that doesn’t jam every five minutes and a battery charger or a refund of the purchase price so that I can go buy a vacuum that actually works.

I look forward to hearing from you.

hokgardner

Redneck or Texan?

2011-04-11T08:29:00.001-05:00

Ella’s fourth grade class recently finished its module on Texas history (what? your kids don’t do modules on state history?), and to wrap it up, she had to write a report on either the Battle of the Alamo (we lost) or the Battle of San Jacinto (we won) and then make a model or diorama of the scene. Ella chose the Battle of San Jacinto and then worked with one of her friends to build a model of the San Jacinto Monument. I never thought to get a picture of their model, but you can see a picture of the actual thing here. Proof that we do things bigger here in Texas – the Monument is taller than the Washington Monument.

The girls built their model out of hundreds of popsicle sticks and lots of hot glue. It was pretty impressive. But it was also big, very big.

When the model got sent home, the other mom asked me if we wanted to keep it. I immediately said “Hell NO!” We don’t have that kind of room in our house.

Neither girl would agree to throw it away, but the other dad came up with a brilliant plan that both girls agreed to immediately – they’d set it on fire.

This weekend was the bonfire, and the girls had a great time watching their hard work burn and roasting marshmallows in the flames. The other mom and I are now wondering how many other treasured school projects we can get away with burning.

When I was telling Liz about the bonfire, I said that setting a model of the San Jacinto Monument on fire seemed to be a very quintessentially Texas thing to do. She responded, “No, it’s not redneck at ALL!”

I’m not sure what she meant by that.

Bring on the Botox

2011-04-06T08:26:00.001-05:00

Part of why I haven’t been writing much, part of what has me feeling particularly blue, is that I have been suffering from a particularly bad stretch of migraines. For the past few weeks, I’ve had migraines that have lasted for days on end. On a pain scale of 1-10, they rank at about a five: bad enough to make me feel miserable, but not bad enough to take a vicodin and go to bed. It’s gotten so bad that I wake up each day in fear of getting a migraine. And the slightest twinge over my right eye or pinch in the back of my neck makes me panic. I spend my days being careful not to do or eat any of the things that can trigger a migraine. It’s not a fun way to live.

A week ago, a four-day, middle-of-the-road migraine exploded into one where the pain went all the way to 11. It lasted for 36 hours and included bouts of vomiting and pain so bad that I considered having B take me to the ER in the middle of the night for stronger meds than what I had at the house. I spent two days in bed in a vicodin haze with an ice pack on my head. Once the migraine ended, I felt hung over for a full two days afterwards. It was awful.

I recently had an appointment with my very odd neurologist, and we discussed some preventative medications. Unfortunately, I’ve taken lots and have yet to find one that controls migraine without making me feel lousy in the process. There was the stuff that made me throw up lots. There was the stuff that lowered my blood pressure to the point that I couldn’t stand up without blacking out. There was the stuff that made me lose a dangerous amount of weight. There was the stuff that raised my heart rate so much that I couldn’t run. And then there was the stuff that made me gain tons of weight AND put me at risk for having babies with terrible birth defects.

So now I’m exploring having Botox injections again. Last year I went through two rounds of injections – one with four shots, one with six. Because using Botox for migraines was then considered an “off label” use of the stuff, my insurance wouldn’t pay for it. Each round of injections cost several hundred dollars, out of pocket. Unfortunately, I didn’t see enough of a benefit to justify the expense, and I didn’t go back for any more injections after the second round wore off.

Now, however, Botox for migraines has been approved by the FDA. They are for people who have at least 16 migraines a month lasting four hours or more. I can do that, easy peasy. The approved protocol calls for 31 injections to the forehead, scalp, back of the neck and jaw. You read that right – 31 shots.

It’s a sign of just how bad things have gotten, migraine-wise, that I am considering doing this, especially given my fear of needles.

My doctor’s office is in the process of confirming that insurance will cover the injections. And if they do (please dog, let them cover it), I will be making my appointment. With any luck, I’ll end up with a very smooth forehead and fewer migraines.

Keep your fingers crossed for me.

Nice Try

2011-04-05T07:23:00.001-05:00

I posted about this on Facebook yesterday, but it’s so funny that I thought I’d share it with everyone.

I take a fairly hands’ off approach to my kids’ homework. I make sure they sit and do it every day, but I don’t stand over them checking their work. My reasoning is that if they don’t understand something in their homework, their teacher needs to know about it. And if they are slacking off on it and being careless or sloppy, then they need to suffer the consequences of their poor work.

Most days, but definitely not all, I’ll give their homework a quick scan, just to make sure that they have actually finished. And I will certainly answer any questions they have about it – to the best of my ability. Once they get above fractions and long division, I’m in trouble.

Yesterday, Lily brought me her homework with a question on one of the problems. I looked at it and knew that she could figure it out if she’d sit and look at it for more than 2 seconds. So I told Lily I didn’t know what she should do and suggested that she read the directions again.

Less than a minute later, she was cramming her homework in her backpack and claiming she was finished. I suspected shenanigans, so I asked to see her worksheet.

I was mortified to see that for the problem she had asked me about, Lily had written, “My mom couldn’t figure this out.”

While stifling laughter, I managed to gasp out that her response wasn’t a good one and that she needed to go back and actually do the problem instead of blaming me.

I am so glad that I decided to look at her homework. As awesome as Lily’s teacher is, and as good a sense of humor as he has, I would have died of embarrassment if she had turned in her homework with that written on it. I would have been the talk of the teachers’ lounge, I’m sure.

Reading Blog

2011-04-04T07:54:00.002-05:00

I'm still not up for writing anything, but I have updated my reading blog - Plenty More Books Inside. Head on over and take a look at what I've been reading.

Blogger’s Block

2011-03-29T15:56:00.001-05:00

I’m suffering a bit of blogger’s block these days. Everything I start to write turns out whiny and cranky and mean. So I’m going to opt to not write anything until I can mange to be a little more upbeat, or at the very least, not so cranky.

See you soon. I hope.

Marking his territory

2011-03-24T14:50:00.001-05:00

I guess we all know who lives here.

14 Years Ago

2011-03-22T07:08:00.001-05:00

Goodness, we were such babies.

The only child

2011-03-18T09:24:00.001-05:00

On Wednesday, B loaded the big three into the car and headed out for a camping trip, leaving me and Elizabeth at home to fend for ourselves. And this was absolutely fine with me.

First, Elizabeth is still a bit young for camping. Chasing her around a state park for four days, trying to keep her out of the fire, other campers’ tents and the river wouldn’t be fun for anyone, least of all me. Additionally, these days it’s hard to keep her in crib at bedtime, crib tent notwithstanding, so I can’t even imagine how tough it would be to get her to sleep in a real tent.

Second, I don’t like to camp. Actually, that’s not entirely true. There are lots of parts of camping that I do like – sitting by the fire, eating food cooked outside, roasting marshmallows, drinking campfire coffee – but I do not like sleeping on the ground in a tent. I think the fact that I’ve been chronically sleep deprived for the last 10 1/2 years may have something to do with it. Planning to sleep badly for three nights just isn’t appealing.

For one camping trip when Ella was small, I borrowed a friend’s sleeping bag, which turned out to be one of those dreadful mummy-style deals. I spent the night fighting with the damn thing every time I tried to roll over or even scratch my nose. The last time I went camping, we managed to set up our tent on a very slight, unnoticeable hill. During the night, Ella, Lily and I gradually slid to the far end of the tent, ending up in a big pile. I kept scootching back into place, but I left Ella and Lily alone. They never even noticed.

So Elizabeth and I are happily hanging out at home, sleeping in our own beds and using indoor plumbing.

It turns out that being home with one kid is easy peasy. It’s a breeze to drag her along on errands when I don’t have to worry about getting everything done in time to pick up other kids from school or deliver them to activities. So if Elizabeth wants to take her time, poking along on the sidewalk, jumping over every crack, I can let her. I also let her walk next to the shopping cart in the store instead of wrestling her into the seat so that I can sprint down the aisles to get shopping done as quickly as possible.

It also turns out that being home with one kid is kind of, um, boring.

I realized last night that I’ve never been home full time with just one kid. When Ella was little, I still worked full time. I’d go in to the office from 7:00 – 12:00, leaving her at home with B. When I got home, we’d have lunch together before B headed off to the pool – he was still coaching diving at that time. I’d get more work done while Ella napped, and then we’d have the rest of the afternoon to play.

I didn’t switch to being home full time until Lily was born. In fact, my last day of work was on a Friday, and Lily was born the following Monday. I dove right into the chaos of being a SAHM of two.

This week Elizabeth and I have had lots of hours to fill, even with running lots of errands. Without all of her siblings here, Elizabeth expects me to entertain her nonstop. And there are only so many times I can sing “Baby Bumble Bee” before I start getting a little punchy. And if I keep letting Elizabeth “do” my hair, I’m going to be bald by the time everyone gets home tomorrow night.

The high point of our day is walking around the block to feed our friends’ cat – the friends are on the camping trip, too. Every time we run out of things to do, or I get tired of having my hair yanked out by the roots, I suggest a walk to see Midge. That cat is going to be well fed and well loved by the time her owners get home.

I miss the constant chaos and mayhem that comes with having a house full of kids. As much as I love Elizabeth, I’m looking forward to having the rest of my monkeys home. I can’t wait to hear all the stories about their adventures and mishaps.

Of course, after 48 hours, I’ll probably be longing for the quiet that I’ve had this week.

What comes around goes around

2011-03-17T08:57:00.002-05:00

At some point during my childhood, my dad got a book called The Lazlo Letters by Lazlo Toth, whose real name was Don Novello, better known as Father Guido Sarduci on “Saturday Night Live.” The premise of the book was that if you send letters out, you get letters back. The whole book was filled with letters Novello sent out to various companies and people and their subsequent replies. It’s a wonderfully silly little book.

I’ve kind of been living that with my knitting lately – I send knitting out, and I get yarn back.

As a result of my meditative knitting, I’ve had a lot of things to send out into the world. In the past month I’ve given one of my best friends a knitted kerchief, my childhood best friend a scarf, Becky of Princess Mikkimoto a scarf (she’s getting married this weekend!), and Becca in Alaska a warm wooly hat.

In return I’ve received some lovely random wooly goodness from friends. First, a box addressed to “Heather O’Keeffe Gardner’s Home for Wayward Yarn” arrived from Meanlouise. The box was filled with lots of Malabrigo worsted weight yarns. One skein turned into the kerchief I gave to my friend. A partial skein is being turned into a hat. The final skein is now residing comfortably in my stash until I figure out what to do with it.

One night my mom called from her knitting night and asked if I wanted some more Malabrigo Rasta, which is unbelievably soft and lovely and unbelievably hard to find, and, of course, I said yes. A few days later, it arrived. It’s on my projects table, waiting to be turned into a cowl for a Christmas present next year.

Yesterday another surprise box of yarn arrived from a high school friend who is a knitter and whose daughter works in a yarn store AND spins her own yarn. The box contained a skein of her daughter’s hand spun lace weight yarn and a skein of sock yarn. My friend said the sock yarn reminded her of our school colors – blue and gold – and when she saw the name of the colourway – Rock Climber – she knew she had to send it to me. I’m going to have to learn to knit lace so that I can do the handspun justice, and I’m going to knit my little climber socks out of the other yarn. But I won’t let her climb in them – climbing shoes are death to socks.

In the meantime, I’m going to continue to knit and send my projects out into the world. Because, apparently, if you send yarn out, you get yarn back.

Q R Yes

2011-03-16T13:54:00.003-05:00

No reason for posting this other than it makes me giggle every time I watch it.

Brunch with Conan

2011-03-14T09:30:00.002-05:00

OK, not really, but I did see him in the lobby of the Four Seasons as I was on my way to the PBSKids brunch.

Last year, I was invited to brunch with the PBSKids crew, and it was less than impressive. So when I received an invite to this year’s event, I wavered on whether to accept. Finally, the thought of spending a few hours with grown-ups at the Four Seasons, which is lovely, won out.

Yesterday morning I put on my best skinny jeans and cool top and headed downtown. I left the house early and spent a while just noodling around, people watching. South by Southwest (SXSW or South by, for short) is a HUGE event here each March. It draws tens of thousands during its two-week run, everyone from celebrities – Jake Gyllenhal, PeeWee Herman, Rene Zellweger, and my new BFF Conan, just to name a few – to bands, filmmakers and tech insiders. I have no real desire to fight the crowds and attend SXSW proper, so getting invited to an event like this brunch is great. I can experience a little bit of the fun without having to shell out for a wristband or have anxiety attacks.

This year’s brunch was world’s better than last year. A lot more people were in attendance, and the PBSKids crew gave an excellent presentation on their programs and how their online stuff ties in. The presenters talked about the research they do on how kids learn at different ages and whether the games online appeal to kids AND teach them at the same time. The data they’ve gathered are pretty impressive. They also gave us previews of upcoming web-only programs that look totally awesome. One, called “CHUCK VANDERCHUCK’S something something EXPLOSION” looks like it’s going to be a great show. All in all, I feel a lot better about letting my kids watch PBSKids shows and play on their site, and I’ll be downloading some of their game aps for the kids.

Wendi, Bejewell and I sat at a table with Linda Simenski, who is the VP of programming for PBSKids, and I totally geeked out while talking to her. She used to work at Cartoon Network and NickToons and was responsible for some of my favorite shows – namely “Rocko’s Modern Life” and “The Rugrats.” She also knows Dan Povenmire and Jeff “Swampy” Marsh, who worked on “Rocko’s” and who created my current favorite kids’ show, “Phineas and Ferb.” In her time at PBSKids, she has shepherded great shows like “Dinosaur Train,” “Word Girl,” and “The Wild Kratts.” When I told her that the first time Ella saw “Dinosaur Train” she said, “Dinosaurs and trains – I’m surprised no one thought of that before,” Linda laughed. She said that was the exact pitch the creator of the show used at PBS.

In addition to the time spent talking to the PBSKids folks, I did some great networking. I’m very proud of how I did at the event. Normally, walking into a room full of strangers is enough to cause a panic attack, but I just made up my mind to act like a big, important blogger, not the 30 hits a day blogger than I really am. When I arrived, I saw down in the first empty seat I found and immediately introduced myself to everyone sitting there and handed them all my card. In fact, I handed just about everyone I talked to my card. When I told B about it, he was so proud he almost cried.

As a result of my bravery, I met some cool Austin bloggers like Gigi of KludgyMom, Catherine of LiveMom, Cristina of The Ramblings of a Closet Writer, and Carol from GrowingUpAustin. I know I’m leaving out some women, but I didn’t get their cards, and my memory for names is shaky on a good day.

All in all, it was an excellent event, and I look forward to next year’s. Plus, they gave out what are quite possibly the best swag bags EVER.

The kids are trying to claim Cookie, but he’s mine ALL MINE.

Signs of Spring

2011-03-11T17:27:00.001-06:00

March really is the best time of year in Austin. The mornings start out cool enough for a jacket, but by the afternoon it’s warm enough for shorts and bare feet. I feel obligated to spend as much time as possible outside while I can before the miserable heat of summer sets in – usually around mid-May.

The plants and trees seem to agree that this is the best time, too.

The Red Bud trees are covered in purple blossoms.

The Bradford Pear trees are in full bloom.

Bulbs have finally poked their heads out of the ground.

And my Christmas cactus is covered in flowers.

Cakely Wisdom

2011-03-10T08:29:00.001-06:00

Yesterday was a not very good day for me. I was feeling pretty dark blue thanks to two straight weeks of sick kids, several days of migraines, and lack of exercise. Plus B and I are having all sorts of serious grown-up talks about finances and house shopping and moving, which ratcheted up my anxiety level even higher than usual.

By the time bedtime rolled around, I was huddled under a blanket on the sofa, feeling sorry for myself.

Ella sat down next to me and asked what was wrong. When I told her it had been a bad day, she said, “I think you need cake. Because then it would be a bad day with cake, which is much better than a bad day without cake.”

I laughed and told her she was exactly right but that we didn’t have any cake. That’s when she offered to ride her bike up to the neighborhood store to buy some cake for me. I had to veto her plan because I’m not ready for her to ride that far solo yet, and because it was dark out.

But today, I think I’m buying a cake.

Climbing Report

2011-03-07T08:20:00.002-06:00

Yesterday I realized that it’s been a while since I’ve posted anything about Ella’s climbing. I guess I’ve been distracted by broken teeth, dental surgery, Campbell’s exploits, and our odd use of Lily’s doll.

B took both of the big girls to Boulder a few weeks ago for Ella to climb at Nationals. She climbed like a rock star the first day, placing 9th and qualifying for semi-finals. The second day didn’t go as well, and she ended up 15th overall in her division. Regardless of how she placed, we’re proud of her climbing and thrilled as can be that she has found a sport she loved so much.

Because Ella didn’t go through to finals, B and the girls had all day Sunday to play. He found a nearby ski resort that had a tubing run set up, and they set off for a grand adventure.

Ella and Lily spent hours sliding down the hill. They figured out that they would go faster if they linked their tubes together, which was a good incentive to get along with each other.

The place had a big fire at the bottom of the hill, which is where B spent most of the time. The girls would slide until they got cold, sit by the fire until they warmed up, and then head off for more sliding. B mostly froze.

B said they passed out asleep as soon as their heads hit the pillows.

We’ve now moved on to sport climbing season, which means Ella is climbing in a harness on belay. This weekend was the first comp of the season, so Ella and I headed to Grapevine, just outside of Dallas, Friday night.

The comp was a good one – about 150 kids from Oklahoma and Texas competed. Ella flashed her four routes, which means she finished each route without falling. One other girl did the same, so they ended up in a climb-off. In the words of one of the team parents, Ella “boofed” her climb. She got her hands tangled on a hold and fell off about halfway up. The other girl climbed higher, so she placed first and Ella got second. The comp also had a speed climbing event, and Ella placed second, behind the same girl. Best of all, Ella and the other girl hit it off and spent the rest of the day playing with each other, talking a mile a minute the whole time.

When Ella first started climbing, she never talked to anyone – not her teammates, not her coaches, not her competitors. Now, she runs off as soon as we arrive, looking for her climbing buddies from other teams. And she willingly talks to her coaches about her climbs and what she needs to do. It makes me so happy to see how she has blossomed in the past year. Even if she never placed at another event, climbing will have been worth it for the self confidence Ella has gained from it.

I forgot to take my camera to the comp, but I did manage to get one video of a climb. It was her first of the day, and the easiest of the bunch. But it still gives you a good idea of what she's doing.

Her next comp will be in Houston at the end of the month.

Vague Threats

2011-03-04T11:19:00.001-06:00

For Christmas, Ella got a little greenhouse thing to sprout seeds in. It’s been on the ledge next to the big window in our bathroom ever since, with little plants growing inside. Ella and her siblings are endlessly fascinated with the whole process, which means they all pop the lid off the greenhouse to look at the sprouts.

This week Ella decided that she’d had enough with everyone messing with her plants. I found this note propped up on the greenhouse.

In case you can’t read it, the sign says (sic all):

for their saftey, and yours! Do not open, it squishes the leaves, 3 of my plants have died because of you. They have enough water.

When I asked what “for their saftey and yours” meant, she just giggled. But now I’m afraid to check on the plants. I don’t want to find out what she might do to me if I mess with the greenhouse.

The Doll in the Wheelchair

2011-03-02T08:51:00.001-06:00

Last fall, when Christmas catalogs started arriving, Lily got one from the American Girl Doll company. Featured in it was a wheelchair for the dolls. Given that she already had the set with crutches and a cast for her doll, Lily squealed at the thought of having a wheelchair for Ginny. (This whole thing started the now-famous Anne of Green Gables literary smackdown between me and my sister.)

My sister gave Lily the wheelchair for Christmas, and she was beyond thrilled.

When Liz from Peace, Love & Guacamole showed this picture to her husband, his comment was that at the rate Lily is going, Ginny’s dog would have a seeing-eye dog harness strapped on her soon.

Little did I know that having Ginny in a wheelchair would come in handy.

On Monday I took Elizabeth to the doctor because she was coughing and wheezing. The doc diagnosed her with RSV and prescribed nebulizer treatments. The first few treatments went just fine because Elizabeth felt too miserable to protest. But now that she’s feeling better, it’s getting harder and harder to get her to sit still.

That’s when B came up with a brilliant idea. He had Lily go get Ginny in her wheelchair, and I held the mask in front of the doll’s face for a few seconds before putting it in front of Elizabeth’s. It worked like a charm.

Now we start each treatment session by giving Ginny some breathing medicine. If Lily is home, she even makes breathing sounds for the doll. Elizabeth loves it.

Whatever works.