The Interview

Back in September I wrote about how Ella had sent an interview request to Neil deGrasse Tyson of the Hayden Planetarium and his office had said yes and then we never heard back. Uncle Ty decided he was a man on a mission, and put a link to my post on a lot of forums he frequents, including the Texas Concealed Handgun Forum. And it worked! We got a nice e-mail from the head of media at Star Talk Radio letting us know that they hadn't forgotten about Ella.

We did happy dances of joy around the house.

And then nothing again.

So Uncle Ty once again decided he was on a mission and started pestering the Star Talk folks.

Last Monday we received an e-mail from Dr. Tyson's office asking if Ella was available to do a 30-minute Skype session on Friday.

There was wild joy and celebration. Uncle Ty is now definitely Ella's favorite uncle (who is actually a cousin once removed, not an uncle).

As we counted down the minutes until our scheduled time, I was a nervous wreck. Ella was calm as could be, acting like interviewing world-famous astrophysicists was an every day thing.

We had some trouble connecting to his office. You would think Skype would be relatively glitch free, but no.

When we finally connected, I might have actually gasped out loud, "Oh my gosh, it's HIM." Maybe.

My biggest worry was that Dr. Tyson would be all "OK. Let's get this over with." I wanted Ella to finish the interview still thinking he was her hero.

Turns out I shouldn't have worried. Dr. Tyson was incredibly generous with his time - Ella's interview lasted about 45 minutes. He was funny and charming. He could tell that Ella was nervous, so he warmed her up with a few questions.

I sat off to the side, holding my phone up to record the interview because we hadn't been able to get the app that records Skype to work and grinning like an idiot. It's a good thing Dr. Tyson couldn't see me.

Ella asked him about string theory, the Large Hadron Collider, going to Mars, Harry Potter, living in Austin, and he answered every single question.

It was just awesome.

At the end of the call, he told Ella to take a screen shot of their faces together. She got a big kick out of it.

Ella has posted a transcript of part of the interview over at her website, The Magnolia Post. I have posted the full interview over on YouTube. The picture is lousy, but the audio is great. You can even hear me snort laugh when Ella tells Dr. Tyson an inappropriate joke about the Higgs-Boson. In her defense, she didn't realize why the joke was inappropriate.

Thank you to Dr. Tyson, Elizabeth Stachow, Jeff Simons and Uncle Ty. You all made a 12-year-old science nerd's dream come true.

Boston

I am still reeling about the explosions at the Boston Marathon yesterday. I know others have and will continue to write much more eloquently than I could ever hope to. But, still, here I am writing.

As I do every year, I watched the marathon online. It was a perfect day for the race, and I ignored my writing deadlines to spectate. I got all misty eyed watching the runners cross the finish. Having finished marathons, I know the feelings of joy and accomplishment and exhaustion the runners were experiencing. I will never be fast enough to qualify for Boston, but I can still celebrate with those who are. 

I turned off the feed after a while and got back to work. Two hours later I went back on line and was shocked at what was in my Twitter feed. It was incomprehensible. This is the Boston Marathon. Bombs don't go off at the Boston Marathon. Who blows up a marathon?

I ignored my work for the rest of the afternoon and watched for updates from running friends who had been there. At long last, everyone reported in. One friend was walking up Boylston Street to meet her husband at the finish. She was yards away when the first explosion went off. Fortunately, her physical injuries are limited to cuts from flying glass and ringing in her ears.

For more than 20 years, running has been a huge part of my life, part of who I am at my very core. When things aren't good, I go running. When things are good, I go running. I've met some of my best friends through running. I've run countless races and worked as a volunteer at dozens. This year I volunteered at the finish line of the Austin Marathon. Training for and running the New York City Marathon was one of the best experiences of my life.

And this is where I lapse into incoherent rambling.

I don't know what to do or what to say. So this morning I put on my NYC Finisher's shirt, laced up my shoes and did what I know how to do - I went running. 

Twinsies

This is my dad, runnerdude in the comments. Except he now rides his bike insanely long distances, too, so maybe he should change his name to i'm67andcankickyourassdude. 

Anyway. 

Runnerdude is tall and skinny. When he is not in business casual attire, he wears a pretty standard uniform: jeans or khaki shorts, a t-shirt from a 10k race, and running shoes. He also loves doing crossword puzzles.

I think one of the best days of his life was when he was finally old enough to qualify for the senior discout at McDonald's. He will drive past Starbucks to get his "senior coffee" at McDonald's. Also, he usually has exact change.

Last week, Lily had a dentist's appointment, and after she was finished we went to McDonald's for a "yay! no cavities" treat. (I know. I know.) As we were waiting for a our food, a man walked up to the register next to ours to place his order. I would not have paid the least bit of attention to him had he not ordered a "senior coffee" and then handed the cashier exactly 54 cents.

I turned and looked, and it was like runnerdude was standing right there. The guy was tall and skinny, wearing khaki shorts, a race shirt and running shoes. He took his senior coffee to a table, sat down, and whipped a crossword puzzle out of his pocket.

I nearly died.

But it makes me wonder which of them is the evil twin. 

Continuing the Conversation

I wrote the following post four years ago when Prop 8 was enacted in California. It still says everything I believe about the issue. Since I wrote that post, we've continued the conversation with all the kids in small ways here and there about how any person should be able to marry the person he or she loves.

*****
Today I'm going to talk politics, which I don't usually do, because this isn't that kind of blog. I don't know exactly what kind of blog this is, but it isn't a political one. Also, if you're going to leave a hateful comment or send me an e-mail telling me I'm going to hell, don't bother. You're not going to change my mind, and I don't believe in hell, anyway. I'm open to polite discussion, though.

******

This morning I was listening to NPR while driving the girls to the bus for camp. Of course, the lead story was about the overturning of Prop 8 in California. This led to an interesting and encouraging discussion with Ella about the issue. Lily didn't say much, but I could tell she was listening intently.

Me: Do you understand what the news is about?

Ella: Yes. It's about whether two girls or two boys can get married to each other, like Aunt P and Aunt S.

Me: Right. The law right now says that only a boy and girl can marry each other, not two girls or two boys.

Ella: Why can't two girls or two boys marry each other?

Me: That's a good question. Some people think that it's wrong. Some people say that it shouldn't be allowed because of the bible.

Ella: What do you think?

Me: I think that two people, boy-girl, girl-girl, boy-boy, if they love each other and aren't married to anyone else already should be allowed to get married.

Ella: And they can't be brothers or sisters.

Me: Right, they can't be related.

Ella: So Aunt P and Aunt S should be able to get married if they want to?

Me: Yes, if they want to.

Ella: The only problem I see is that if too many boys get married to boys or too many girls get married to girls, there won't be as many babies born. But I don't think that's going to be a big problem.

Me: No, probably not. There are lots more straight people than gay people. And gay couples can have children.

Ella: What do you mean "straight"?

Me: Well, when a boy likes girls and a girl likes boys, that's called being straight. When a boy likes boys, that's called being gay. There are some people who think that gay people choose to be gay and that they should just choose not to be. But scientists who study the brain say that whether you like boys or girls is part of how your brain works. You don't choose to be gay or straight any more than you choose to have brown hair. 

Ella: Gay also means really, really happy. Like SpongeBob.

Me (trying not to laugh): Yes, SpongeBob is totally gay.

The discussion ended there, but I was pleased with how it went. I answered her questions as she asked them and put things in terms she could understand. My hope is that my kids' generation will grow up believing that of course any two adults can get married if they want to.

Push and Pull

I haven't been writing about Ella much, not because I don't love her, which I do, but because she's 12 and I'm very conscious of respecting her privacy. She's had a tough year, but that's her story to tell someday, when she's ready.

Today I'm breaking my promise.

Now that Ella is 12, we are getting the full pre-teen treatment. Doors are slammed, eyes are rolled, sighs are heaved. For the most part, we just roll with it, grateful that it's not anything worse. But we definitely see her pushing for more independence and freedom.

Her teen-age-ness is popping up in some unexpected places. Last Wednesday I picked Ella up from school. As I had done every day for six weeks when she was in the wheelchair, I walked across the school driveway and met her on the sidewalk. She was mortified. Like hand covering her face so her friends wouldn't see her mortified.

She marched to the car 10 paces ahead of me the whole way.

Me: So am I not supposed to cross the driveway anymore?
Ella: Eye roll.
Me: I should just wait for you over on the grass?
Ella: Huge sigh
Me: How about I stand over on the grass and yell "Ella, sweetie! Over here baby!"
Ella: You wouldn't dare.

What she doesn't know is that I absolutely would dare.

The next morning I had to drop Ella off at school early for a field trip. It was still dark when we arrived, and I didn't see any teachers out supervising, so I parked, intending to get out of the car.

Ella: You don't need to get out of the car.
Me: I just want to make sure you're in the right place.
Ella: I know where I'm supposed to be.
Me: But I just want to confirm with your teachers.
Ella: You don't need to get out of the car and talk to my teachers.
Me: I don't see anyone here. How do you know it's the right place?
Ella: MOM! I see other kids who are going on the field trip. You don't need to get out of the car.
Me: So what you're saying is that you don't want me to get out of car?
Ella: Uggghhhhhhhhh

So that's fun. Ella's siblings are not pleased with her attitude, either. She has this need to prove that she is the smartest person in the house. And her sense of righteous indignation about any perceived slights or injustices is tiring.

But then there are times when Ella reminds me just how awesome a kid she really is.

On Friday, the middle school was shut down due to a broken water main, and all the students were sent home at 9:00. Ella came home with grand plans to ride her bike to meet friends and go to the playground. I told her she could, and then came the surprising part - she offered to hook the trailer to the bike and take Elizabeth with her.

Elizabeth was thrilled to go on an adventure with the big girls, and I was thrilled to have an empty house.

Maybe we will all survive her teen years, after all.

Campbell's True Love

I had been feeling very much like a neglectful and unloving parent the past few months. Any time another mom asked me what sports my kids did, I'd talk about Ella's climbing and Lily's ballet, and then I'd trail off. I had never enrolled Campbell in any kind of sports or classes or anything.

So when the e-mail from the Dripping Springs Youth Sport Association arrived announcing registration for spring soccer, I signed Campbell right up. When I told him, he protested that he didn't know how to play soccer, and he wasn't comforted by my suggestions that maybe no one else on the team would either.

 But then we went to get his soccer gear. He wore his shorts, shin guards and cleats everywhere and carried his soccer ball with him. 

On the day of his first practice, he asked me approximately eleventy-mabillion times how long it was until we left. During the practice he ran and laughed the entire time. I'm not sure he had any idea of what was actually going on, but he had so much fun. 

The night before Campbell's first game, B gave the kids the option of staying up late and watching a movie. Campbell announced, in all seriousness, "I should go to bed on time. I do have a soccer game in the morning." And then he went to bed. 

Unfortunately, he poked me awake at 5:15 whispering, "Mom! Mom! Don't forget! I have a soccer game this morning." He was not happy when I told he we still had four hours before we needed to leave. 

B took Campbell to the soccer game while I was at ballet with Lily. About halfway through I got a text that said, "This is what Muppets would look like if Muppets could play soccer." 

That afternoon, Campbell and I talked about his game.

Me: Did you score any goals?

C: I don't know.

Me: Which team won?

C: I don't know.

Me: Did you at least have fun?

C: Yes! And we got popsicles!

I think soccer's a success. 

Flashback Tuesday

The kids are all supposed to have their rooms cleaned and ready for inspection by 11:00 am each Sunday. Campbell, Lily and Ella had finished their chores at about 10:55, but Elizabeth was screaming that there was just too much to clean and she needed help. I tried the trick of having her just pick up clothing or just pick up dolls or just pick up five things, and none of them worked.

So I got mean and told her she had to stay in her room until she had picked up enough things that I could tell the difference.

Instead, she emptied the entire contents of her dresser on the floor. The other side of the room was even worse. FeeBee likes to sleep in Elizabeth's room next to the bed, but she couldn't even get to her spot.

This morning Elizabeth and I worked on getting her room under control. At one point, while standing on her rocking chair with her hands on her hips, Elizabeth told me, "This is the upstairs. Kids can do whatever them wants upstairs."

As I was convincing Elizabeth that she really didn't need to keep bent wire hangers and wadded-up stickers,  I remembered this post. And its thrilling conclusion.

Some things never change.

Just read the book

I have had a lot of favorite books through the decades. In elementary school, Anne of Green Gables and Little Women were at the top of my list. In high school, I was obsessed with Jane Eyre  and A Room With a View. During college, I focussed on Jane Austen's rather large catalog. In grad school, I was all about Edith Wharton. I still maintain that Age of Innocence  is the best American novel ever written. As a grad school dropout, my favorite books were those that didn't require any thought or analysis. I seem to remember a lot of John Grisham.

These days, I don't have a favorite. I'm kind of all over the map with what I read. According to Ella, though, my Kindle is filled with nothing but "books about mass murderers, serial killers and assassinated presidents." I'd protest that she was being unfair, but she does have a point.

Over the years, the books I have always, always come back to, though, are Anne of Green Gables and Little Women. I have read them so many times that my paperback editions disintegrated and are now held together with rubber bands. I swear I could identify my copies by how they smell. I knew passages of each by heart because I had read and reread them.

I wanted to be Anne. I wanted to be brave and stubborn and willing to crack a slate over someone's head. But as my sister once pointed out, I'm much more of a Marilla. I also wanted to be Jo - free spirited and creative and willing to sell her hair to help her family. There were also times I wanted to be Beth. I envied her patience and kindness and beautiful death scene. I never wanted to be the know-it-all Meg or spoiled-rotten Amy, though. Never.

After Ella was born, I started picking up copies of my favorite childhood books as I saw them. In addition to Anne of Green Gables and Little Women, I couldn't wait to introduce her to Little House on the Prairie, The Phantom Tollbooth, James and the Giant Peach, From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler, and Through the Looking Glass, just to name a few.

When Ella learned to read, I counted the days until she'd be ready for chapter books, stacking my favorites in her room.

To my everlasting delight, Ella loves reading as much, if not more than, I do. She always has her nose buried in a book.

So what's the problem?

She won't read the books I want her to. Absolutely refuses.

Each time she complains that she is out of books, I helpfully and hopefully hand her one of my favorites. She just rolls her eyes and wanders off to browse the book closet on her own. She has read all of the Harry Potter books many times over, wanting to be Hermione and hoping that her invitation to Hogwarts would arrive on her 11th birthday. She's read all of CS Lewis, which I couldn't stand, and The Hunger Games trilogy, which I have no interest in.

She's also discovered some cool series like the Mysterious Benedict Society and You Have to Stop This. I've enjoyed reading these books along with her.

But she still won't read my favorites.

She finally read Anne of Green Gables last year as part of a school project. When she told me she had been assigned it, I did a happy dance around the room. I knew, just knew, that once she met Anne, she'd want to read the rest of the books.

Yeah, no.

When Lily started reading chapter books, I figured I had a second chance to introduce my favorites. I moved all of them into Lily's book shelf and offered them to her each time she asked for something to read. She is most decidedly not interested, and refuses all my suggestions as stubbornly as Ella does.

Lily's been home all week sick, and I've been suggesting that she go read instead of beg to watch movies. She came in the other day to tell me she didn't have anything on her Kindle that she hadn't read yet. I did a happy dance and loaded Anne of Green Gables on to it. She sighed and rolled her eyes.

"I don't understand," I said. "This is my favorite book. And it was Aunt Sarah's, too."

"Yes, but that was you and Aunt Sarah," she replied. "I'm Lily, and I like different things."

I hate it when my kids are smarter than I am.

So I have resolved to back off and stop pushing books on the girls. But I still feel like a bit of a failure as a mother, English major, writer and avid reader. Some day, someone is going to look at Ella and Lily with the same shocked look I have, and say, "What do you mean you've NEVER read Anne of Green Gables? How is that possible?"

Campbell is now reading, but I know better than to try my favorites with him. He came home from the library this week proudly clutching some Star Wars book. Elizabeth is my final chance. Her middle name is Anne-with-an-E. Maybe she'll want to read about her namesake.

But probably not.

****
Here are the books I will never, ever try to get my children to read.
Where the Red Fern Grows (honestly, I think I have PTSD from that damn book)
Sounder
The Yearling
The Summer of My German Soldier
Rumble Fish
The Outsiders
Pollyanna

Someone talk me out of this

(photo)

This is Robin Wright on House of Cards. I love her haircut. B and I have been rationing our viewings of the show, but each time we watch, I sigh about how much I want to cut my hair short.

I have always been willing to experiment with my hair. I've turned all of it pink, I've turned parts of it pink. I've cut off 10 inches for charity. I've cut bangs on a whim. I've bleached it almost white blond and I've turned it deep auburn.

My philosophy is that it's just hair and it will grow back.

But I just can't quite talk myself into getting this haircut. I know better. I know it won't work, no matter how much I love it. And I know I will spend the next year wishing I had never cut my hair short.

How do I know?

Because this is what happened the last time I cut my hair short. It just sticks up in a lumpy mess. It won't matter how much product I put in it and how much time I spend with a blow dryer or a flat iron. My hair will be a sticky-upy, lumpy mess.

I've been polling family and friends about whether I should try it. Knittergran says yes. Liz @Peace, Love & Guacamole says I should talk to a professional first.

B says I should get another tattoo.

What to do? What to do?

A piece of my childhood is gone

Have you seen the news? It turns out that Mary Ingalls, of Little House on the Prairie fame, probably did not go blind from scarlet fever. A new article in the journal Pediatrics proposes that, instead, Mary suffered from meningitis or encephalitis. The article's author, Dr. Beth Tarini, looked through medical records from the era and studied Laura Ingalls Wilder's memoir Pioneer Girl, which was the basis for the Little House books. She also looked at the records from the school for the blind, which Mary attended as a teenager. According to the records, Mary went blind due to a "brain fever." 

This has turned my world upside down. It also reminded me of one of my favorite posts ever. I wrote it back in 2010 for a now-defunct site called Deep South Moms. 

***

My youngest daughter recently had croup (which I call THE CROUP, complete with jazz hands). When I posted on Facebook that the baby had croup, my sister's immediate comment was "get the ipecac." I laughed out loud, because I knew exactly what she was talking about.

In Anne of Green Gables, which was our favorite book growing up, Anne saves Diana's little sister from the croup by dosing her with ipecac.

Elizabeth was sick enough that we ended up at the doctor's office. After he had finished the exam and confirmed my diagnosis, I asked him about the whole ipecac thing. He laughed when I told him about Anne of Green Gables and said that he had seen that particular episode while watching the mini-series with his daughters. Then he told me that giving kids ipecac really was standard treatment for the time. When he was in medical school, he went to a Q&A session with an old pediatrician, and one of the other med students asked the doctor how he would treat croup. The doctor's immediate answer was ipecac. Go figure.

My doctor said that there are two theories on why it worked. First, it's chemically similar to an opiate, so the baby probably gets good and relaxed, which stops the coughing fits. Second, it may just make the baby throw up enough that the coughing stops. Either way, it's not recommended by anyone anymore.

But all of this reminded me of the time I diagnosed my oldest with scarlet fever, which I told the doctor about. Ella, who was three at the time, had already been in to see him and had tested positive for strep and started antibiotics. But that night she broke out in a rash all over her chest. I pulled out my trusty Dr. Spock and decided that it looked like scarlet fever, and I freaked the heck out.

I immediately phoned the on-call pediatrician, who explained that there are several types of strep and a few of them produce a scarlatina rash, which is commonly called scarlet fever. This is the rest of our conversation.

Me: But Beth in Little Women  DIED from scarlet fever.

Doc: (long pause) Yes, but that was before they had antibiotics. Ella has already started taking hers. She'll be fine.

Me: But Mary in Little House went BLIND from scarlet fever.

Doc: (another long pause) Again, that was before antibiotics. Ella will be fine. I promise.

My doctor laughed at the story, but he also made me promise to stop diagnosing my kids through children's literature.

***

When my sister first read Little Women she got to the end and asked what had happened to Beth. When we told her that Beth died, she looked perplexed and said, "The book said she went to a better place. I assumed that meant the beach or something."

I fully expect the next literary medical discovery to be that Beth did, indeed, go to the beach and lived quite happily in a better place. 

And speaking of beloved children's classics, have you seen what a publisher has done to Anne Shirley? Just.No. 
****
Updated to include a note from my sister: This totally leaves out that I was seven or eight and the copy of Little Women I had was abridged and the fact that Beth died was NOT well explained. Mom immediately bought me the full version. I feel like my reading comprehension skills are under attack when you tell the story without all the details