knits & plants

to the limit

2009-07-16T19:48:00.001-04:00

"Liam, put your penis back in your pants or I WILL take it away."

oh, the things I'll grow

2009-05-20T20:48:00.002-04:00

I thank my lucky stars for Carmelita. One of my first friends when I came to Vermont, Carmelita was the means by which I became a farmer. She talked about garlic scapes and open-pollinated seeds. She tasted dirt. And in the garden, she moved like a dancer. I was enchanted. I wanted to know everything about this strange world, and I pestered her through the years until she taught me. It was the only way she could shut me up.

Growing things has developed into one of my biggest passions, and one that defines the passage of my life from season to season. I'm delirious with anticipation as the seed catalogs come rolling in around the holidays, when the Vermont days are four hours long, and the temperatures plummet into the negatives. And then in March, when I've still got four feet of snow in the yard, I start sewing little seeds into flat of dirt. As the months progress, the emerging seedlings require more space, and my tiny house is slowly overwhelmed by baby tomatoes, eggplant, peppers, herbs, and lettuces.

Yellow Brandywine seedling. Brandywines are notable for their smooth and oval leaves, unlike the usual jagged leaves common to tomato plants.

Observe my four new raised beds! Hallelujah. Already planted, although not always yet visible, are three cultivars of peas, GARLIC, fingerling potatoes and purple potatoes, spinach, onions, arugula, beets, kale, radishes, carrots, and one lonely tomato seedlings test-driving the odd turquoise teepee on the right. That's a wall-o-water, and can apparently keep seedlings insulated from our changable spring weather patterns. We'll see.

By this time of the year, I'm pretty tired of seeing all these seedlings all over the kichen and living room. I'm tired of schlepping them in and out so that they can harden off in the real air, and learn to deal with wind and direct sunlight. I'm tired of planting seeds, only to transplant them a few weeks later into bigger containers. And most of all, I'm tired of catching whiffs of the liquid fish emulsion that I use to fertilize. I feel like the parent who can't wait to get the kids out of the house so they can take care of themselves for chrissakes.

When there was a job and a baby to take care of, my love of farming was sometimes in conflict with the real world. It was a struggle to keep up with, and harvest time brought me close to tears. However, there's an unexpected perk to being laid off right as the growing season commences.

Now, after I've finished the daily chores of feeding chickens, prepping compost, planting, weeding, watering and (hopefully) keeping track of what has gone in where all while minding Liam, I get to retire to my favorite spot under the crab apple tree.

Instead of sitting behind my desk, fretting about my workload and deadlines, early afternoon finds me here, sitting in my hammock (a prized keepsake from my time in South Carolina). Hearing nothing but cows and chickens and kids and dogs, I can survey the late spring scene in Goose Green and think about all the stuff I'm not missing anymore.

2009-05-19T12:31:00.005-04:00

tap tap tap This thing on?

ahem

Welcome back to knits and plants, returning from a year-long hiatus that I don't really have a terribly good excuse for. What I can tell you is that the energy required to resuscitate a dormant blog is tremendous. Obviously, the site needs a good dusting, but if I begin with that, you won't see any new content for another three months.

I'm writing from my porch at noon, while looking over the early garden and trying to figure where to begin bringing you up to date. Since I stopped updating this site, here's the short list of things that have changed:

We got another Springer Spaniel from Murphy's breeder. Zeke just turned one this week. He's cute, happy, adores Liam, and is as dumb as a post.
Liam turned two. Anything I write describing that will be hopelessly redundant.
Now that I am no longer pregnant or spending my summer in pediatric intensive care, I am back to gardening. The greenhouse is gone, but we built a number of new raised beds closer to the house (and a water source). I am stoked.
I lost my Lola cat. There are no words.
After walking on tenterhooks for seven months, I lost my job. I told you people you needed to buy more beautiful, insanely-priced, Vermont-made furniture!
The day before I lost said job, we adopted Eiby, a half-Springer, half-Setter 2-year-old who needed a better situation than she had. She and Zeke are made for each other, and the fact that she's a lovely sweetheart who adores me isn't too bad either.

So that's the rundown. At least it's a better list than 2007. Now I've got to figure out how to survive as an unemployed intellectual in a back-of-beyond corner of Vermont. Thank god summer is coming. And speaking of summer:

It's almost here!!

And this is where you can find us this summer. Boulder Beach in Groton State forest. A half-hour drive from my house, and heaven on earth.

Liam will come with if he has too, but he'd be just as happy on the tractor with a Budweiser.

Still here. Kinda.

2008-06-02T12:23:00.002-04:00

So, when you neglect to pay your internet bill for a couple of months, they turn off your service. Go figure.

I'm not finding the time to get to my blog at work; I'm just too swamped. I hope to return to your regularly scheduled programming before too much longer. But that's where I am, for those of you who were asking.

Cheers,
m

An elegy to nursing

2008-03-31T13:11:00.003-04:00

Ladies and gentlemen, I have been weaned. Can we please all observe a minute of silence.
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There.

Thank you all for you kind sympathies. I am still sorting through all the shock and mixed emotions. I keep thinking, "This can't be happening! He was so young!" and "What did I do wrong?" "Are my boobs not good enough?" And the sad truth is, we may never know. We sought a comment from the involved party. As of publishing time, he was not responding to inquiries.

All the nursing mamas I know tell essentially the same story. Babies having to be weaned at 24 months, or beyond. And not willingly. My baby? At 13 months. he's too busy for food that's not portable. I just...never expected him to wean me. I'm so depressed. What am I going to do now with all those hard-earned skills? Where does it fit on my resume that I can initiate and conclude a nursing session in a crowded restaurant without attracting notice or ever flashing the public? Le sigh.

This baby doesn't even want to nurse at night before bedtime. Not that he's relinquishing his grip on my boob though. He doesn't want it, he just wants to know that it's still there.

In lieu of flowers, donations can be sent to the Mothers Without Milk support group.

Letters to Liam - Months 12 & 13 (delayed due to a severe case of writer's block)

2008-03-25T15:22:00.000-04:00

Dear Liam,

At 5am morning, I woke up to a chorus of MAMAMAMAMA.MA.MA.MAMAs coming through the monitor. I poked your father. He didn't move. I pried my arm out from under a cat, shoved another cat off the blanket between my knees and climbed out of bed. I made my way upstairs, brushed my teeth, and opened up your bedroom door. You were sitting in your crib, talking to the stuffed doggie. You looked up when I entered and when you caught sight of me, your face became suffused with delight and you breathed, 'Mama'. I picked you up and you began the morning ritual of tucking every available part of your body into mine. I stood smelling your baby goodness, looking at all the new snow and thought, yes, this is what life is for.

Your job, it seems, is to teach me how little I really know about life. So much has been unexpected this year. Right from the start, you began to take apart THE PLAN and reshape it. It wasn't always fun, and I wasn't always willing to go along, but now that we've arrived on the other side and I'm getting a solid seven hours of sleep every night again, I can begin to regain perspective on the whole adventure.

It's not possible to prepare for an emergency birth. And no one can be prepared for the double whammy of finding out that your new peanut of a baby will need two major surgeries before he turns four months old. For a while, I simply walked around in a fog of incomprehension. What finally shook me out of it was realizing how little you were going to pay attention to any of it. You had more important things to do. For those of us who never left your side in those dark days after each surgery (your Daddy, Gigi and I) it was a remarkable, life-altering experience to watch you cope with pain, confusion, innumerable needles, bleeping machines, and the inability to see for four days. Your fortitude, and your stunningly quick recuperation are things that I will never, ever be able to forget. You are an inspiration to us. And we treasure you.

This month, you have discovered being naked. You are a born naked baby. But since you have not yet learned how to take off your own clothes, your favorite time of the day is the ten minutes you are allowed to run around stark before your bath.

You are your mother's child and you get very very angry when you pick out books to read, but we can't read them right away. This inevitably happens right before we have to leave for school. Your brand new bookcase is already full. This makes me happier than I can say. 'Goodnight Gorilla' is still the hands down favorite, but your handbound, one-of-a-kind 'Liam & Lulu' is coming in a close second.

Your favorite word? Cracker. Or more precisely 'cRACK-errr'. You know where they're kept and you're willing to wait. Also, because it was your birthday this month, you got to try ice cream. Which you liked vastly more than the Amazing Time Consuming and Complicated Birthday Cupcakes that took Lulu and I an entire day to whip up.

Oh wait, did I mention your birthday? We gave you a vintage 1975 Fisher Price Sesame Street Clubhouse complete with Little People. Your reaction was precisely what I was looking for. It's the first thing you head for every morning. God, I love that toy.

Your actual birthday party was postponed for a couple of weeks while Grandpa finished his chemotherapy. We knew that he would be finishing around your first birthday. The last few rounds were really tough, and I needed to celebrate you turning one along with his being done with it all. It felt right. Your party was riotous and so much fun. It felt really good to collect all those people together. And you know what? It was worth the wait. Because your Grandpa is ALL BETTER! YAHOO! I feel like I can take deep breaths for the first time since August.

This coming month is going to be busy. For starters, we might get to see the ground again. There's still over two feet of snow in our yard, but one can hope. Second, the wonderful Megan who takes care of you is going to have a baby sometime in the next 35 days. And once that happens, you'll be going to a new school. It's going to be tough kiddo. Hang in there. You're also going to your first Sheep & Wool Festival. I'm hoping that carrying you around will prevent me from buying mad yarn.

Last month, I entered you in a photo contest. Imagekind was inviting entries for the best baby firsts. I sent them this and this and this with this entry:

To: Imagekind Contests
Subject: First Moments Contest

Today, February 18th, 2008, our son Liam turns one-year-old. Being our first baby, we're a little camera-happy. We've taken a whopping 2094 shots of him this year! With so much raw ammunition, it wasn't easy to select our favorite 'firsts'. In addition to celebrating the first step, the first solid foods and the first bath, we have a lot of pictures that celebrate the fact that Liam underwent two major neurosurgeries before he was four months old...and came through them just fine. In the end, we decided that our favorite firsts were the ones that chronicled the huge experience life can be in your first year. They are: 'Liam's First Day at the Beach', 'Liam's First Experience Touching Grass', and 'Liam's First Funny Face'. Hope you enjoy them as much as we do!

It kind of sums up this whole year, the first year of your life. And guess what? We won! It's kind of proof that I am not the only one who thinks you are that most beautiful, most remarkable, most perfectly individual baby who ever was. I am so glad you are mine. Happy birthday, little bean.

Love,

Mama

Because we've been through enough already.

2008-03-25T13:13:00.002-04:00

My father is cancer-free. Clean CAT scan. I'm walking on air. That is all.

songs for bedtime

2008-03-11T09:53:00.004-04:00

If I have to listen to another inane CD of lullabies sung in an unsteady soprano, I'm going to lose my mind.

Love Minus Zero - Eliza Gilkyson
The Wind - Cat Stevens
Crazy Love - Bob Dylan
Under African Skies - Paul Simon
Blackbird - The Beatles
Wading in the Velvet Sea - Phish
Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters - Elton John
Sweet Baby - Macy Gray
Rue St. Vincent - Yves Montand
When You Wish Upon a Star - Joe Henry
Everybody Hurts - R.E.M.
Guyute (Orchestral) - Trey Anastasio
Takk... - Sigur Ros
Mockingbird - Peter, Paul & Mary
Sitting on the Dock of the Bay - Otis Redding
All the Tired Horses - Bob Dylan
Jamaica Farewell - Dan Zanes & Angelique Kidjo
Waiting on an Angel - Ben Harper
You Will Be My Ain True Love - Alison Krauss
Redemption Song - Bob Marley
Forever Young - Bob Dylan

I never thought it possible

2008-02-18T21:45:00.003-05:00

I never thought it possible to spend over ten hours making spaghetti sauce, meatballs, ziti and cupcakes...until I had a baby. Ain't no thing, though. I love being busy.

To Liam on his first birthday

2008-02-18T21:35:00.001-05:00

Happy Birthday my love. Your letter is in the works. By the time all the photos are processed, you might be two.

So, in the meantime, I'll post these snippets.

You are never, ever, going to eat sugar again. That is all.

mid-February reality check

2008-02-13T13:57:00.003-05:00

Every year around this time, I'm astonished to realize that I still have almost two more months of winter to slog through. It always seems like we've already had more than our share. I like winter, but man, you should see what it looks like around here. My four-foot tomato stakes are still up in the garden from last year, and last night the snow finally overtook them. That means there's 48 inches of snow cover in the backyard. And once it's here, it stays put until we get a really good thaw, say around July 1. 48 inches. I shudder to think of this year's mud season.

Anyway, for those of you who still labor under the supposition that it must be so idyllic to live in Vermont, I'll share the view that I wake up with every morning.

Think I'll go open another bottle of wine.

Yell Fire!

2008-02-04T21:04:00.000-05:00

I've been a devoted fan of Michael Franti & Spearhead for over five years now. Yes, I'm a technocratic hippie, and yes, I still listen to Phish. Whatever, people. The music that moves you is the music that moves you.

Michael Franti has the gift of gab. And by that, I mean that he has the rare ability to capture you attention in the middle of a concert by his words, and not just by the excellent music. It certainly helps that he's super cute. If you're even just a little cranky with the way the world is headed, download Everyone Deserves Music, and you'll begin to tap into the positive movement for change.

Something today caught my interest. There's a video posted on youtube of a two-year-old toddler rocking out to Michael Franti. Now some of his music is perfect for kids. He even turned one of his songs into a children's book which we own. However. Franti calls it like he sees it, and this particular song is a protest song, created after Franti's trip to Bagdhad a few years ago. (He made a movie called I Know I'm Not Alone. Go watch it.)

The song in this particular video, however, has a message. An adult message (read: Fire! Fire! The world's going to hell!). As I started watching it, I felt a little queasy. I don't agree with using babies as a vehicle for activism. Liam doesn't even own clothing that sports sentiments such as "I hate peas" or "Grandma's little angel" Blecch.

Anywhoo. As I watch the video, I get eerie flashbacks to the Santaland Diaries (you haven't heard of them?? Then I don't know you) where David Sedaris recounts the little boy who arrives at the North Pole with a special message for Santa. David writes:

You know? That is so wrong. And so is using your infant to further your own political agenda, whether the music is good or not. But then about a minute into the film, I changed my mind. I began to realize that this child was not being manipulated, he was rocking out! He knew the words! He was having a blast, and I decided that not everything had to have an agenda. Sometimes, it can just be about the music and having fun.

walk-o-rama

2008-01-24T09:29:00.000-05:00

My parents are having trouble watching the Quicktime videos I sent them of Liam walking, so I am posting them here so they can see. The video quality is pretty poor, but hey, it's what we got! Enjoy!

Letters to Liam - Month Eleven

2008-01-18T14:51:00.000-05:00

Dear Liam,

You're walking! Cheeky boy--I knew you would be. Three days before Christmas, you let go of the coffee table and planted that foot and stepped. And then you fell down hard. Ooof. Then you did it again. Then you took a two week hiatus from taking another step. All over the holidays I kept telling people that you have stepped, and then you set about to make me look like an overzealous fibber. I'd stand you up. You'd sit back down. I'd stand you up again, and you would lean forward and freefall, forcing us to grab you to avoid spectacular episodes of sobbing.

You're way more into food that you can eat yourself, and you've learned how to get it. You can now sign to eat, and you sign it A LOT. Especially if you catch sight of a banana. Or Cheerios. Or peanut butter. Signing is beginning to come in handy. This month, you've picked up EAT, MORE, BALL, and THANK YOU. Since all you could sign last month was LIGHT, it's a relief to finally have a bit of variety.

Of course, you're also terribly proud of yourself for talking. You're so happy to see me and have a reason to yell MAMA! Your father was not amused that MAMA came first. So for weeks, he walked around with you whispering DADDY in your ear. The result? DADA was your next work, but you would only whisper it for weeks. On Christmas day, Gigi finally got it that when you yelled OW, you were saying MEOW, which was totally neat because I never told you to call the cats MEOWS. I told you that they were KITTIES, but you must like their noise better, because OWS they are. OWS are also what you call small dogs that you can't yet distinguish from cats. And while we're talking about language, you also say HI. And something that sounds like GAO GAO GAO, but I have no clue what you mean.

One day last week, you came home from daycare. Daddy and I were both home with you. We played with you until dinnertime. You were your normal, happy, active self. I made you dinner, put you in your high chair, and you refused to take a bite. You shook your head no, then you performed the most spectacular vomiting episode I have ever witnessed. It was surreal in how long it lasted, nor could we figure out how so much stuff could have fitted in your little baby belly. Because apparently you hadn't digested anything all day. Diced grapes came back up, and cheerios and massive amounts of fluid. I was a little frightened. But once it was all over, the only frightening thing was tackling the cleanup. Ew.

This month was topped by the festival of Liam's First Christmas. You were AWEsome. It was so much fun to tell you all about what nut jobs are in your family. We were all ridiculously excited to give you presents, and watch you open the presents that Santa left for you. Note: You've got quite a market share for such a little guy. My goodness.

You sort-of figured out how to open things. And you were impressed with Christmas trees and cookies. We had such a blast watching you figure out your toys, but the poor doggies at Grandpa and Gigi's house were beside themselves. No one told them that bright fuzzy things that squeaked and rattled were not necessarily always dog toys.

But mostly, you just thought we had all lost our minds.

On Christmas Day, after all the presents were opened and appreciated, we took you outside for a holiday sledding event. I think you had fun. We sure did. You and Aunt Lulu sledded up and down, and you thought that having someone pull you around in the snow was pretty cool.

Then we made a snowman and ate snow.

Then you got cranky and we went inside. Later, after dinner, you and I packed up and headed to meet Daddy at the resort he works at. We had a special suite to make up for the fact that he had to work part of Christmas Day. We got room service and played with your toys. By the time you fell asleep, all I could do was think about how much fun you were, and how Christmases are just going to keep getting better.

Next month you'll be turning a year old. I mean good god, child, how can it already have been a whole year?? My life has been changed completely, and every day is overflowing with all the remarkable things that you do, and say, and see. You are the best thing ever, and I can say that as your totally impartial (and adoring) mother. I love you. I love you. I love you.

Did you know that I love you?

Love,

your Mama

pre-cisely

2008-01-10T15:12:00.000-05:00

Nora sent me this, and just love it.

all is not lost!

2008-01-05T20:28:00.000-05:00

Dudes! Okay, I know this is going to be hard to believe, but I actually finished something.

I present to you the Majestic Mohair Throw from Fiber Trends. This purple mohair boucle yarn was one of the first things I ever purchased, once I got beyond the basics. It cost $75 for a hank, and I was astounded that yarn could cost so much. A beautiful, local yarn. And I have been knitting at this dratted thing for, oh I don't know, decades. It is the most boring, boring patterns in the world. AND the yarn splits easily, so you have to pay attention. AND I had to knit it on metal needles (which I hate) because of said tendency to split.

Oh, but it is a cozy, cozy thing of beauty.

Good Riddance!

2007-12-31T23:59:00.000-05:00

This year is finally over. Can't say I'm sorry to see it go. Not that I would ever write one of those obnoxious yearly letters to family and friends, but if i did, I would have to send a strong shot of bourbon along with it.

This year:

I birthed a beautiful baby boy
I had a c-section in lieu of natural childbirth
We found out my son had a tethered spinal cord
My dog was attacked by a rabid skunk
My sister's heart was broken
My furnace broke and filled my house with carbon monoxide
Winter snows extended into mid-April
My company froze all salaries indefinitely
We found out our baby had saggital synostosis
My husband found a better paying job
Our dog suffered from renal failure and was put to sleep
My son endured two major surgeries
I got to take my son to work for six months
My sister's heart was broken again
My dad was diagnosed with cancer and had a tumor removed, then began chemotherapy
I got a new car
My grandfather died
I got a fantastic digital camera
We took a family vacation to the beach
I maxxed out two credit cards
I gained fifteen pounds postpartum
Our hospital debt load (four surgeries, seventeen days inpatient combined) got sent to collection
I lost fifteen pounds
However, no one in my family was maimed by wild dogs, so I guess we should consider ourselves lucky.

Heaven knows I'm no pessimist, but this year has GOT to go! Please please please let it be over, and please let next year just be normal. We need it. Vacation is close to a four-letter-word right now because every time we try to plan one, something calamitous happens.

I actually got invited to a party tonight, and guess what? My tummy is having a really bad day. Bad enough that I think I'm going to skip it. Figures. And since Glenn is working, it looks like Liam and I will be watching Battlestar Galactica and eating popcorn.

Okay, I am definitely feeling sorry for myself. Bah humbug. But it's a fitting way to end the year. It can only get better, right?

Happy New Year everybody. Tomorrow, I am going to sit down with the new Fedco seed catalog and order up my garden for next year. Then am going to do a stash inventory and find something to knit, goddammit. Then, I will drink wine or tea, depending on the tummy situation. Then Liam and I will attempt another snowshoe in the backyard. And with that, I will hopefully air out all the bad juju and get back to the stuff that really matters in life. Hope to see you there.

PS-Congratulations to the lovely JBQs for holding off on the birth of baby Harper for a full week so she could be a NYE baby. Way to go!! I miss you all. Send pictures ASAP!!

Letters to Liam - Month Ten

2007-12-28T14:34:00.000-05:00

Dear Liam,

When I sat down to collect my thoughts and remember all the things that have happened this month, I am astonished by all the things you have been doing. You are SO close to walking. I'm still betting we'll see a step by Christmas.

This month, you endured your very first cold. Nothing major, just a stuffy, runny nose. But man, were you ever cranky! Our plans for sleep training went up in smoke, since you went back to getting up twice a night, and I didn't have the heart to ignore you when you were so miserable.

Despite your cold, you went to visit Santa Claus. While I can say that you were much better behaved than many of the older children there, I have to admit that you were mostly just puzzled by the entire event. You went on Santa's lap, and sat quietly for the pictures, but I have just under a hundred pictures, and you're wearing the same bewildered expression in each one.

I needed some early cheer this year, so we went to get our Christmas tree right after Thanksgiving. It was fun. You'll be wanting to help Daddy cut down the tree next year, I imagine. Between the time we put the tree in the truck and the time we got it home, it had grown another three feet, and some judicious pruning was required before it would fit in the house.

The tree is gated. This does not deter you. You've discovered how to move the gate. I have sixteen new white hairs from the time I turned around from washing dishes to see you with a narrow glass icicle in your mouth. But you love the tree. You especially love my collection of silver bells and balls, that you tell me to ring so you can hear them.

You are totally at home in the cold and the snow. I love this about you. You are a child of Vermont, and your father couldn't be happier. It has snowed tons this month. Your cousins from Maryland came to visit, and they were not as impressed with the snow, or the cold. They must have thought I was practicing a particularly evil form of child abuse every time I took you outside to get in the car. Bulky outerwear makes you immensely cranky, and since the car is always warm before you get into it, I typically only make you wear a fleece pullover and a hat. No coat, no gloves.

It's a measure of how much I have become a Vermonter that I mentioned to your Aunt Brandy that our day trip to Burlington would be nice since it was pretty warm that day. It was 28 degrees out. There is a BIG difference between 28 degrees and 8. She was nice enough to stop laughing when she saw I was earnest, but she still thinks I'm insane.

You and your cousin Dylan are only two weeks apart. It was a real treat to see the two of you interact. Dylan is BIG. And he made you look like a peanut. You retaliated by trying to eat his head several times a day. Poor Dylan. He is so big, he's not crawling or standing yet. He was more or less helpless against your onslaughts.

One day, it snowed so much that it came up to my mid-thigh in the backyard. Being that sort of mother, I took you out of the sled and deposited you in the hold made by my leg. Anything for a picture! I thought I might get one or two off before you started screaming. Instead, you started eating snow.

Your cousins Dylan and Rachel came for a visit and left their coughy plague behind. With three rugrats sharing a small house for three days, it was inevitable that you'd catch it. My poor little Bean. You're a coughy, feverish mess, and I missed almost a whole week of work between snowstorms and sick baby. You are immensely cuddly, though. It's a good thing too, since you've got me up all night.

You've just said your first word. I couldn't be prouder every time you say, "uh-oh". Or "uh-uh-uhhhhh-oh." You're incredibly delighted with yourself. You still need to work on your timing though. Grabbing a handful of Cheerios from your high chair, you hold them over the side, pronounce "uh-oh" and then let them fall. Cheeky monkey. It's almost as hard not to laugh as when you grab onto the Christmas tree. I'll give you my sternest "no-noooo" and shake my head. You'll shake your head emphatically back at me, then produce the most mischevious grin and head right back to whatever trouble you were trying to accomplish.

Christmas is only a week away little man. Ready?

Love,

Mama

just great

2007-12-13T10:05:00.000-05:00

After an absence of a year and a half, it has returned. Today, I woke up with my period. AND a pimple. How's that for irony?

Sigh.

My cousins are here from Maryland with their little kids. Dylan is only three weeks older than Liam. They arrived at 5:00 this morning, so Liam hasn't even met them yet. I can't wait for this day to be over so we can go hang out with them. Will be so much fun! Rachel is 4, and on Saturday, we're taking them all to Santa's Village. She's the perfect age for it. I don't know who's more excited, her or me.

Rite of Passage

2007-12-03T12:10:00.000-05:00

Three weeks after starting daycare, Liam has come down with his first cold. We've been inducted into the neverending drippy-nose club. yecch. He's been mildly feverish since last Wednesday, so we stayed home on Friday to try to get it under control.

He's been pretty whingy and we haven't been able to put him down in five days. He's learned to avoid the handkerchief and knows all about the nose sucker, the poor wee wain. He's determined enough to keep nursing, but the noise he makes is enough to raise the hackles on my neck. It's like a cross between Darth Vader and the boy who sat next to me in third grade who unconsciously cleared his sinuses every five minutes.

When the warm steam humidifier seemed to give him relief, I replaced his nightly bath with a shower. I brought him in with me, much to his delight. He'll dabble his fingers in the spray, point to the blue and green spots on the shower curtain, then he'll tuck his little head under my chin and settle in. We stand there under the warm spray until we turn pruney. It's the perfect excuse to take incredibly long showers twice a day.

Liam enjoyed the shower so much that I've repeated it twice a day for the past three days. I can't help loving it too. Holding that snuggly little body to mine, while it's still little enough to hold. It's quite a sensation. And I get kisses! A little girl at daycare loves to kiss Liam, and he's catching on...slowly. He gets the mouth-to-face thing, but he's yet to learn that kissing involves puckered lips, and not so much a gaping lamprey mouth. Except on very rare occasions, Liam will not give kisses when asked, except I've discovered, when in the shower. Which is fine with me, because it cuts down on the amount of nasal seepage that comes along with the kiss. Hey, it's my kid! It's only gross to you.

Moving on, yesterday morning we had breakfast, and played a bit, and then I stripped him and we took a shower. He wasn't quite as excited as before, and didn't want to play in the spray. He just tucked his head under my chin, his hands under his belly and...hey, wait a second, is he sleeping??

Asleep after two minutes in the shower. While still in the shower. His mouth was closed and he was breathing through his sinuses. Not wanting to interrupt a good thing, I wandered around the shower for twenty minutes or so. When the water started to cool off, I got out, wrapped his towel around him. Bringing him into his bedroom, I laid him down in the crib, naked and damp. I slid a diaper on him, piled a heap of blankets on top of him, and he slept that way for a hour and a half.

Nighttime sleep has become a rare commodity again since Liam's been sick. Now when he wakes in the middle of the night, I have one more strategy to sooth him back to slumber.

Letters to Liam - Month Nine

2007-11-19T14:46:00.000-05:00

Dear Liam,

We've just concluded the Month of the Snuffy Face. It's a particularly fine combination of scrunched face and heavy breathing through your nose. Lulu taught it to you and you can't get within twenty yards of a camera without putting it on. Then we all laugh so much that you'll probably still be doing it in your graduation photos.

Halloween was fun, for us anyway. Your bear costume was built to ensure that if you were ever shipwrecked while looking for the Northwest Passage, you would be able to generate enough body heat to keep all your companions from freezing to death. You were a miniature Easy Bake oven. While I was giddily toting you around work, showing you off to all my coworkers, your lower half was beginning to liquify, and your nose broke out in actual sweat beads. So for most of the day, I just made you wear the hat.

We had no trick-or-treaters, as usual. You debuted your costume in the grocery store after work, and we stripped it off you as soon as we got home. No one wants to clean up a puddle of what was formerly your baby boy until you roasted him at 250 for a couple of hours.

As your mother, I feel compelled to point out that you eat tofu, and you love it. And because I'm your mother and you don't know any better, I'm also feeding you broccoli and Brewer's Yeast and powdered kelp. Mwahahahhhahaha!

You started Day Care this month, and I miss you so much! You, however, are so busy that I don't think you notice my absence for some time. You spend your days with two older women. Both are blond toddlers who dote on you and live to squeeze you. You get to play outside a lot, while I am stuck inside working on databases. Once we get to the weekend, I have trouble planning anything to do other than staying home and playing with you for two solid days.

I had to buy a storage bench to keep you from sticking every shoe and boot in the house in your mouth. You are currently fascinated with the remote control, rubber duckies, the toilet, and any available cats. You're surfing all the furniture, and you've begun freestanding for a few seconds before you plop down. You will totally be walking by Christmas. How on earth are we going to keep you from taking down the Christmas tree? Oy.

We've begun what I'm afraid will be a lifelong habit of being made to take pictures of you with dead game. Ugh. Your father is ecstatic. I find it morbid, but I'm smart enough to realize how little a chance I stand of being able to avoid it. See the glazed, beatific look on his face? That will last for days. So, I deal with it as best can. And insist that you need your hat with the fuzzy blue ears while you're out in the cold.

I might as well point out that you're already in love with everything your dad does. Yesterday, you insisted that I hold you up at the door so you could watch him cut and stack firewood for TWO WHOLE HOURS. Thrilling.

You've slept through a few nights, tantalizing me with thoughts of regular sleep that lasts more than three or four hours at a stretch. Then you'll get me up twice a night again. I'm pretty much living in loungewear, which is as close as I am going to come to a good rest, apparently.

The next time I write to you, it will be almost Christmas. Life will never, ever be the same. Think your Dad is pretty cool? Just wait until you see what Santa can do!

Love,

Mama

Letters to Liam - Months 7 + 8

2007-10-17T13:06:00.000-04:00

Dear Liam,

Methinks I might take too many pictures.

North Carolina was a success. You were fanTAStic on the plane rides, all four of them. I strapped you into the Bjorn, and we whisked through the airports (well, as much as one can whisk with all that baby gear and a stroller). On the flights, you either slept, or flirted shamelessly with all the other passengers. I had such wicked pleasure in boarding early because of you, and then watching the other passengers board. Their faces would pale or harden visibly when they caught sight of an infant of their flight. Then you'd stand on my lap and laugh and laugh at all the other people. They were charmed, the jaded travelers too. We were incredibly proud to be your parents, and we were so lucky to have Lulu traveling with us. She kept you entirely entertained. I'm thinking you're already in love with those blondes.

For a whole week, we got to play together and bask in you. You were game for just about everything. True to my predictions, you're showing every promise of being a beach baby. You loved the water.

You were awesome in the restaurants, when we were on our quest for some good raw bar offerings. You had a great time when we packed you up and took you to the beach in the high winds and the stinging sand. The ocean was too rough, even for us grownups, but you loved the pool. And as long as you had your surfing hippopotamus, you were delighted. You discovered splashing, much to your surprise.

As excellent as you were during the day, you were equally horrid during the night. Oy. Oy. Oy. You reverted back into the sleepless beast. You were up three times a night. And you were up for good by 5am. And I, my dear child, was practically comatose. Thank goodness for your Daddy, who was also up early in the mornings. He would take you out, either to watch cartoons, or out in the car to check out the fishing, leaving me to catch some precious sleep. But we loved keeping you entertained 24/7. Really. We'll have to teach you Garbage, the world's best card game soon. It's due to that addictive and highly contentious game that we were up so late every night.

How much fun are you having? Seems like plenty. In the past couple of months, you've developed your own laugh, and your own sense of humor. More on that later.

You are so full of life now, and so impatient unless you are on the go. Oh, did not mention the crawling? You are ALL OVER the place. Fast. You can catch a kitty, with differing results, depending on which kitty you catch. You are into everything. And you especially love shoes. Eating them, I mean. Even your dad's chef shoes. Eeew.

Halloween is approaching, and we've got you in pre-gaming mode, since you have a number of Halloween outfits. Next to Christmas, Halloween is where its at. Not that you get any candy. Feel free to add it to your list of topics needing therapy, but no way are you getting candy little man.

Around the end of September, I realized you had never crawled around in the grass. Well. You had such a good time! First, you accidentally rolled down the hill. The land wasn't level. Then you discovered that blades of grass could be picked and eaten. Oh joy!

You're sleeping better, but not great. At the end of seven months, I could wish you'd continue to sleep until 6, which you've done a couple of times. But you do have hair now, which is surprising to me when I look at pictures from two month ago. You were such a baldie! You are the superstar ant the main attraction at work. You're loved, even by the people who were wary of you at first. Still.

You are bored at work with me. Bored. Bored. Bored. By 3pm every day, you've had it. You need interaction with kids your own age, and a break from being in my office all day. So it is with conviction, but a heavy heart that I am looking for daycare for you. We're on two dozen waiting lists. There was one place with an opening, but the less said about that place, the better. So we wait.

You are standing and clapping and waving and altogether the bestest baby ever. I practically live for bathtime, funny little man. GO TO SLEEP!

love,
Mama

Losses

2007-09-17T11:35:00.000-04:00

We'll always love you, Grandpa.

still here

2007-09-05T16:14:00.000-04:00

Does anyone still read this for the knitting? Probably not. But anyhow, I need to make my dad a couple of chemo caps. I've checked out a couple good websites, but pattern and yarn recommendations are appreciated. My dad's the outdoorsy type, so no chenille! =)

Our trip to the Outer Banks was a welcome break. Liam did awesome. A total of four flights, and not a peep out of him. He was too busy flirting with the people in other seats.

Liam is completely obsessed with his Aunt Lulu after a week's cohabitation with her. It's hysterical. They're already in cahoots.

Liam spent a lot of time of time bonding with his Dad, who (joy!) took him for a couple of hours in the morning so Mama could sleep in.

We spent a lot of time in the pool.

The beaches were awesome, but the surf was really rough.

Oh, and Liam also started doing this:

Letters to Liam - Months 5 + 6

2007-07-24T16:05:00.000-04:00

Dear Beany-Weenie,

It's taken a long time to put this letter to you together. So much time, in fact, that I completely missed the target for your fifth month letter. And if I don't get this posted, you'll soon see your seventh month. I feel really bad about missing a month in these letters, but I'm still going to plead that we are so busy living life with you that there's small time left to write about it. And in two months, you have changed so much. Where to begin?

Well, let's get the big stuff over with first. On June 27th, you underwent another surgery to correct the saggital synostosis. Dr. Durham, the neurosurgeon warned us that this surgery would make the other one look like warm-up practice. And she was right. Although the surgery was a success, your recovery was hands down the worst time of my life. Daddy and I sat by your side and just prayed that you'd feel better soon. Your poor little noggin swelled up, and you couldn't see for three days, and you were hurting.

It made my heart hurt to see you in so much pain. The nurses left me get rid of your crib again and we put you in a hospital bed that I could get into too, and that's where I spent the next four days. You seemed to be calmer when you were held, and because the IVs were in your feet, you at least had the use of your hands this time. You spent a lot of time patting my face. I read to you a lot, and we rocked and rocked and rocked and rocked.

On Saturday, right around dawn, you pried one little eye open from sheer force of will, and then things really began to pick up speed. The minute you could see again, even just a little, you became much more like your old self. And by lunchtime, I got a smile out of you.

Babies bounce back with the most amazing speed. Friday night saw the height of your swelling, with your poor little eyelids all tight and shiny, and by dinnertime Saturday, I was packing you into the car to take you home. Remarkable. You were ecstatic to see again, and you were the happiest child to ever come out of major surgery a few days before. That in itself made your Daddy and I feel like we had come through everything all right.

So now you're a normal, healthy baby whose been making up for lost time. And you have the most spectacular scar--it looks exactly like the stripe on Charlie Brown's tee shirt.

Of course, you've already got a lot more hair than in this picture, and just like they promised, once it grows in, I don't think anyone will know about that scar unless you tell them.

You know what else you've got? Teeth! Two of them. You worked hard for that first tooth, and you made sure we all knew it. You chewed on everything. And you whinged. A lot. But then one weekend in August I took you to Boston to Aunt Lulu's house, and we met Mama's old friend Megan and her two boys in her beautiful beach town. We went to lunch, and then you went to the beach for the first time.

When we got home, you had another tooth! And you had been so busy, you didn't even notice! That's my guy!

You have a new way of soothing yourself:

And you needed a lot of soothing after your traumatic first foray into the world of fruits and vegetables. BANANAS!

That expression was short-lived. Like the rest of your family, you're a good eater. So far, you're eating sweet potatoes, peas, carrots, avocados, pears and yes, even bananas.

Lulu is teaching you the art of taking avant-garde photos:

I think she loves you. But she CAN'T have you!

You are a-movin'. You're all over the place on your belly and rolling back and forth. You're up on all fours, bouncing back and forth, getting ready to crawl. I love how happy this makes you, though I don't think my life will ever be the same after you get moving. I can't keep you still on the changing table...you're like a bendy straw. And when you bounce on all fours, you remind me of a toy car that you roll backwards, then let go to watch it shoot forward across the floor.

I'm pretty sure that my time as your favorite person is numbered. I think you might like that man in your life.

This month, we found out that your Grandpa is sick with cancer. He's got to have treatment, and it's making him pretty sick. But YOU are the best medicine for him, and it really cheers him up to see you. It cheers us all up, really. He's going to get better, and he'll be done with his medicine right around your first birthday. We'll have a big party. We just want him to get better real fast, so he can take you to your first Yankees game real soon.

So that's what's going on with you. I'm sure I've forgotten a bunch. Tomorrow, we leave on an airplane for North Carolina! Yay. At least, I hope yay. You're a pretty chill little guy. That whole thing about crying on airplanes, that's not a requirement.

You've got floaty toys and bathing suits, sunglasses, a ridiculously expensive pack and play that
comes to the beach. You are SET. I can't wait to watch you be the beach baby you know you are.

Fall is almost here. Keep blowing those raspberries. We're loving you, as always.

Love,

Mama

his newest thing

2007-07-17T14:41:00.000-04:00

I took Liam swimming for the first time this weekend. He loved it. It's going to be difficult to raise a beach baby is a state with no beach, but I'll manage it somehow.

One of the more unfortunate results of our swimming adventure is that Liam has apparently swallowed a live baby dolphin who is now living inside him and making a LOT of noise. The kind that shatters glass. If he is by himself, my lovely sweet baby now makes an unending series of shrieks and squeals as if to say, "This voice is mine, you say? And I control the volume knob? And it goes up to eleven?? Right on!!"

Sigh. It's a good thing he's cute.

nostalgia 101

2007-07-15T18:17:00.000-04:00

FOR CB

Tell me do you think it'd be all right
If I could just crash here tonight
You can see I'm in no shape for driving
And anyway I've got no place to go
And you know it might not be that bad
You were the best I'd ever had
If I hadn't blown the whole thing years ago
I might not be alone
Tomorrow we can drive around this town
And let the cops chase us around
The past is gone but something might be found
To take its place...hey jealousy
And you can trust me not to think
And not to sleep around
If you don't expect too much from me
You might not be let down
Cause all I really want is to be with you
Feeling like I matter too
If I hadn't blown the whole thing years ago
I might be here with you
Tomorrow we can drive around this town
And let the cops chase us around
The past is gone but something might be found
To take its place...hey jealousy

summertime

2007-07-06T20:49:00.000-04:00

At 8:51pm, I've just returned inside from the most delicious summer night out on the porch. The bebe is sleeping (!) and I've finished a couple glasses of wine and a few pages of "An American Romance".

They say the grass is greener, and sometimes it definitely is. I often miss the places of my youth, the beach, the garden state, and all the hassles and crush that go with it. I miss Manasquan and I miss stores devoted entirely to one thing. Baked goods. Books. Vegetables. Shoes. Surfing gear. Ice cream. Party supplies. I miss Maryland. Crabs caught with chicken necks. Sweltering heat. Drunken swimming in the river. Moths the size of small aircraft. God help me, even cramming a dozen deep into a dorm room for bong hits and Bob Dylan. Computer games and Dungeons and Dragons in 110-degree heat in a mouldering house. Playing barmaid to rednecks in an actual bar-wench costume.

Despite all these things, tonight I am glad to be here in Vermont. Quiet Vermont. Buggy Vermont. Tonight, out on the porch, I've been reminded why this place is glorious, if only for 2 and a half months out of the year. The sun setting on the hills, the drone of a lawnmower competing with the cows grazing in the field below. Cars, louder than you would expect going by. Peace and grass smells and a kitty on your lap. And a book.

Since there's only one other person (darling BLB & Co.) who also gets to enjoy summer in Vermont, I thought it might be well to mention that we have extra beds, and there is nothing so pleasant as company, when it's people you haven't seen in Forever, or when they're kindred spirits. I have nothing going on until the last week in August (Hilton Head, yay!!!). Need a long weekend? A break from the city? A breath of fresh, if somewhat cow-ish air? There are airports. We're not far off the interstate. Drop a line. Take a day off work, and come visit!

xoxo,

melinda, Glenn, & Liam

fun at home

2007-07-06T17:09:00.001-04:00

Despite spending my days with a rather cross and cranky baby, I have really enjoyed this week off from work, getting Liam all better. He's tons better, but you would be cranky too, if someone had taken out chunks of your skull.

The past week has been like a return to early newborn-dom. Liam is up every hour and a half to two hours. But he's beginning to need less and less painkillers, and last night he slept for regular hours, so things are looking up.

I am seriously going to go crazy if I don't knit something. Soon. But I have no exciting yarn, and no inspirations. I could repeat my legwarmers (as I accidentally felted them. Again.). Except that K1P1 in the round might not be the best relief from tedium I could imagine. Or I could make another nifty sampler blanket, like the one I made for the Knitting Olympics (again, accidentally felted). I wish inspiration would bolt out of the sky, preferably with a big, fat bag of new wool.

Is anyone else as ridiculously excited about the last Harry Potter? Anyone?

Letters to Liam - Month 4

2007-06-18T14:04:00.000-04:00

Dear Super Bean,

You are so ridiculously cute as you turn four months old that I can hardly stand it.

This month has been very, very eventful. We've been having the best time watching your personality blossom, and trying to keep up with your advances. Sadly, not everything this month has been so wonderful. For starters, we lost our first "baby", Murph dog. We miss him so much. I'm heartbroken that you won't be growing up buds. He loved you so much. He was especially fond of passing you and taking a small lick of your foot or your head on the sly. Mmmm, baby. Your Daddy is lost without Murphy. It's been a couple weeks now, and he still can't help talking about him, or worse, to him all the time. I'm so grateful that you're around to occupy his time and thoughts. And can we please talk about the Daddy-worship?

Not only do you appear to have your Daddy's growth genes, but you have the most spectacular reaction when you catch sight of him. It's about on par with the way people react when they win Miss America or $350 million dollars. You positively scream with delight. It's the best. thing. ever. But let's not forget your Mama quite yet, eh?

I really had to strain to remember all the milestones you've reached this month. For starters, you've discovered the baby in the mirror. And you are in love. Also this month, you've found your toes, and your giggle. You can put everything you grab into your mouth (including your toes). You show unerring depth perception when going for my necklace or my hair. And you can now roll over front to back. Actually, based upon the last few days, I'd say that you can't not roll onto your tummy. On your mat at work, I put you down on your back. You flip onto your tummy. I put you back on your back. You immediately flip right back onto your tummy. And so goes our day.

This wouldn't be quite such an issue if you actually liked being on your tummy. But after a few seconds, once the novelty has worn off, you get cranky. And apparently, you've forgotten how to get from your tummy to your back. So I come rescue you, flip you back over, whereupon you turn right back over onto your belly. This has become your favorite game. Especially at night. So here's my advice: We'll all sleep better if you just stay on your back, okay??

This month, you have outgrown your cradle. Well, technically you still had a couple inches to go, but the cradle is wooden, and at night all we could hear was thunk thunk as you turned from side to side. We tried co-sleeping for a while, but no one was getting any rest, you included. So you're now up in your crib, which you seem to enjoy, except for the tummy problems mentioned before. Otherwise, you're golden. I can put you down while your awake but drowsy, and with the help of the incomparable Sleep Sheep, you're happy to nod off.

And even though you're supposed to be four months old first, this week I started you on rice cereal. You LOVE IT. I've never seen a baby not make faces and spit it everywhere. It's practically a rite of passage. But no. My baby loved cereal from the first mouthful. You get so excited. You demand more, faster. Gigi says you're going to be smoking cigars by the end of the summer.

This month, we've come through one of the most difficult things I hope you'll ever have to experience. You had an operation to fix your spinal cord. You were such a trooper! Despite the poking, the lack of food and the strange environs, you snuggled off to sleep in pre-op. I carried you into the O.R. and held you close as they gave you gas to put you to sleep. Then the surgeons went to work on you, and your parents aged ten years in the next four hours.

I had one of my first experiences as a parent coping with something bad happening to their child when you came out of surgery. You were so upset. And you hurt a lot. There isn't a thing in the world I wouldn't give up to have spared you that. Still, you're a resilient little baby, and you started to become yourself again after just a few hours. We spent three days in the Pediatric ICU and let me say that it made me grateful that your problems are all so solvable. When all this is over, you're going to be just a regular kid. Can's say the same for a lot of the children we met in the hospital. It really makes your appreciate the row you've got to hoe. As bad as it is, we can see it's end.

You flirted SHAMELESSLY with the ICU nurses. They were charmed. On your second night, when you were unhappy, one offered to take out your crib and replace it with a regular hospital bed that Mama could also climb into. That night we slept so well, I curled around you. Another nurse snagged you this awesome quilt made by some very caring grannies for all the sick kids. It's a great keepsake, and goes to show you how much everyone cared for you. Your surgery team was huge, and so talented. Thank god we had access to one of the best children's hospitals in the country. Thank god.

You've proceeded to recover with astonishing speed. We came back to work a week early, and you're already off all the pain meds. Your complicated 'poop drape' comes off soon, and I won't be sorry to never cut up another diaper or shellac fake skin product and plastic sheets to your bottom ever again.

Next week, we'll be completing your surgery needs when the same team of neurosurgeons who fixed your spine go in to make some adjustments to your noggin. I'm afraid this will be harder for you, although we're blessed that you won't remember. I'm taking deep breaths, and an occasional margarita. It's hard to know you're going to have to be in that kind of pain again. And your eyes are going to swell shut for a while. But just know that I'll be by your side every minute. Last time, I couldn't even bring myself to take ten minutes away to take a shower. So I mean it. Daddy and I will be there every step of the way. We'll help you through, and then we'll never have to think about any of this ever again. You've got a great family pulling for you.

And you better believe this means you don't get to do ANYTHING upsetting or stressful to us for a long, long time.

Love,

your Mama

hospital pics

2007-06-10T08:18:00.000-04:00

Pre-op

Feeling like himself again

With a little help from his friends

help

2007-06-09T17:32:00.000-04:00

When I was younger, so much younger than today,
I never needed anybody's help in any way.
But now these days are gone, I'm not so self assured,
Now I find I've changed my mind and opened up the doors.

Help me if you can, I'm feeling down
And I do appreciate you being round.
Help me, get my feet back on the ground,
Won't you please, please help me?

And now my life has changed in oh so many ways,
My independence seems to vanish in the haze.
But every now and then I feel so insecure,
I know that I just need you like I've never done before.

down the rabbit hole

2007-06-08T08:01:00.000-04:00

It's just after 8am on the third day of our hospital stay. Liam is sleeping, which is good. He had trouble settling down last night. Finally around 4am, we took out his crib and moved in a hospital bed. Mama climbed in too, and we both slept for a solid three hours. Bliss.

The funny thing about hospitals is that you lose all perspective about the outside world. The time of day doesn't seem to make sense, and weather has no correlation to either your mood or your comfort. Time goes in spirals.

My baby came through. His sinus tract was untethered from the spinal cord, and shows no signs of leaking or infection. We're still in pediatric intensive care, but it looks like we'll be going home at the end of today. Liam is very much himself again, just a little weepier. You would be too, if you saw how many times they tried to draw blood while he was under. Dozens. There are pricks on his feet, legs, arms, hands, even his head. Fat little babies with tiny veins are a tough case. His incision on his back is two inches long, and looks fine. No swelling, no leaks.

Poor little bean. Recovery was hell. Sheer hell. If you've never seen your child come out from anaesthesia, I hope you never do. He's scared and in a lot of pain. Besides the usual, changes in spinal fluid pressure apparently give you the world's worst migraine. AND on Tuesday, they discovered that his poor little penis had a little skin that had adhered to the tip. During surgery, they separated them, leaving a raw little peepee. Add a catheter, and you can just imagine.

The only way to manage post-op pain like that was morphine. It was a relief and a horror every time he needed more. He just got snowed under, but at least he was comfortable. He's been on nothing but ibuprofen now, and it seems to be managing the discomfort, although it tastes wicked bad, according to Liam.

It's now for certain that we'll be back in 2-4 weeks for surgery to correct Liam's craniosynostosis. The surgeon here showed us her powerpoint she uses for teaching with all the kinds of cases she's corrected. Very graphic. But at least we now know what to expect. The good part is they don't touch the brain tissue at all. The bad part is they take chunks of skull out, resulting in a tremendous amount of swelling post-op. My poor little bean. But once again, apparently once it's done, he'll look and be completely normal. But the experience will be sure to shave a few more minutes off the lives of Glenn and I.

I dread having to make the calls to all our family to tell them about the next surgery. Until we were certain he was saggital, we didn't tell anyone besides the grandparents. I shared it online because, you know, the anonymity of it all. Bizarre, huh? But now I have to explain it over and over again. Ugh.

I miss my poor pup horribly. I keep thinking about Tuesday. After the deed, we buried him, and then I had to take Liam to the hospital for preadmission testing. We were there for hours and it rained very hard. When I got back to the house there was the biggest, most intensely colored rainbow I have ever seen. A double, actually. I thought my heart would squeeze itself into my throat. Glenn still can't help talking to him. Unless you've met Glenn, that doesn't make much sense, but between them, they developed a private language.

Liam is awakening, and I feel the need to climb into bed with him. He's been kept flat for the past two days and it's only today I've been able to pick him up. There is NOTHING better than holding my little baby to my chest. Let the healing begin.

Goodnight, Sweet Prince

2007-06-05T14:00:00.000-04:00

Murphy Ferriot
September 16, 2003-June 5, 2007

"Now cracks a noble heart. Good night sweet prince:
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!"

Letters to Liam - Month 3

2007-05-18T21:15:00.000-04:00

Dear Super Bean,

Today, you turned three months old. We've learned a lot about you this month. Like, for example, your complete insistence upon being held after 6pm. And your infatuation with the changing table. We've learned, also, that you are not so tolerant of going unfed in lieu of a very cute picture.

I am incredibly impressed with your disposition, which to all accounts is placid and cheerful. You're in that delightful stage of life where everyone who looks upon you is graced with a huge, gummy smile. Who wouldn't be charmed? As your mother, I can't help but wish that all these people would SANITIZE THEIR HANDS before they reach out to grab yours. Which you continue to stuff into your mouth indiscriminately. Let's be clear here: you're not a thumb sucker (yet); you enjoy all your digits equally. And you continue to spurn the pacifier, despite my best efforts to tell you it's ok.

You are still definitely not sleeping through the night. You did once, sleeping from midnight until 5am, only to punish me the next night by waking up every two hours, from 10pm until 6 the next morning. You are still sleeping in your cradle, but you only have about 6 inches to grow before you hit both the top and the bottom. So it's to the Crib soon for you. I have to admit my little secret: once you wake at 4:30-6:30am, and I despair of ever beginning the day without the haze of sleep deprivation, I bundle you up and keep you in bed with me. And you fall blissfully, soundly asleep, virtually for as long as I desire to keep you there. It is a high, and the best sleep I get all day. And has more than once caused us to be late for work, because if you're still asleep at 8:30, then hey, who am I to disrupt the flow??

This month, you have discovered the world of play objects that hang tantalizingly withing your reach, and often play music or sound effects for you. You are enthralled. I bless these activity mats for keeping your attention while I work. You delight everyone within earshot with the eagerness and earnestness of your conversations. Also, it is due in no small part to these helpers that you are already rolling back and forth. Although when you get stuck upon your belly--watch out! You get very, very angry, with commensurate amounts of drool.

After being alone with me, all night and again at work all day, you sometimes appear desperate to GET AWAY, and broadcast your objections to your father, who generally takes over your care when we get home from work. Daddy is your man, deserving of your constant gaze, your smiles, and your total fascination with his beard. He also shows you his deer head, which I will not comment upon here.

It is with great relief and even greater pleasure the I report that all nursing obstacles seem to have disappeared. Good riddance. I love, love, love nursing you. Your pediatrician recommends that we keep to solely breast milk, despite your size. HOWEVER. Breasts are not detachable. If you wish to look at something behind you, you MUST LET GO FIRST.

Daddy calls you his Super Bean. At three months, you weigh almost 15 pounds. Today, someone mistaked you for a six-month-old. Please slow down! You need time to be a baby too!

I'm happy to say that all the creatures have embraced you. Including Oscar, although he still does not realize that you cannot be sat upon. Our first "baby" Murphy has had a bad time this month. He is in renal failure and we hope we can keep him through the end of the summer. We love him terribly, and although we do not want him to suffer, he seems fine thus far.

Let's talk about your sleeping habits. I can't stress how much in general you been such a great baby. BUT. You do have your moments. And they tend to include all the moments in which you decide to forego your naps during the day. On weekdays, at work, you essentially sleep from 10:30-3 or 4. And on weekends, you generally go down for two naps during the same space of time. However, lately, including today, you've been, ummm, resistant. I'm generally not at a loss for words, but in this situation, I believe the immortal words of Heather capture it all, and at the same life stage!:

"I have received a lot of advice concerning your screaming, people who think you might have reflux or an ear infection, people who think I need to stop breastfeeding you, people who think I need to start feeding you Cheerios already. And I think this may be the first instance where I take a stand as your mother, the one person who knows you best, and declare that the only reason you are screaming is because you are tired. Your little body needs rest, and when you take naps during the day you are glorious, the most precious and wonderful and awesome baby that ever came out of a womb. When you don’t take naps you are HORRIFYING and there isn’t a window in the world that I wouldn’t throw you out of."

AMEN.

And now we come to the crux of the matter. Your surgery is two weeks away, and I am terrified. I know, because you are a Super Bean, that all will be fine. But it's my job to worry, and I am good at my job.

Last week, we had another meeting with the pediatric neurologist, as we have every month since you were born, just to keep tabs on your tether, until your operation. I went alone this last, as your daddy had to work and it was just a status visit.

But it wasn't. She believes she seems evidence of another, unrelated condition that means that the plates in your skull have fused too early. And once she pointed out the skull growth related to it, it's hard to see where we missed it. I blame it on Zutano and Vermont. All those adorable little caps, and the frigid weather...your little head has been covered up mostly since birth. So. Either you have a narrow skull, or you have Sagittal Synostosis. I'm convinced they don't raise these sort of alarms lightly at Dartmouth. We've been told, pending a C/T scan, that you will need another surgery. We should confirm while you are in surgery for the spinal cord. I think my head might explode, if I didn't need to keep together for you, baby.

So we'll leave it at that. Breathlessly, we all await June 6. I've done a very Irresponsible thing and ordered the glider and ottoman of my dreams, in anticipation of the two weeks we must spend at home after you get discharged from the hospital. I don't care. You are my most precious bebe. And I am...

Your Mama.

interview

2007-05-09T22:28:00.000-04:00

The lovely Auntie Amanda offered this challenge, and I can't resist this kind of stuff. Plus it will help me refocus away from the more intense aspects of being a parent. Oh, and I'm totally jealous that her trees all have leaves. Here? No leaves. Some buds, but no leaves.

1. When you were a child what did you want to be when you grew up?

A sleuth. I was enthralled with Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys. I think I was only one of a dozen kids in the entire country that could slog through these dated novels (Cherry Ames, anyone?? The Bobsey Twins??) and still think they were cool. Still, they were some of my first experiences with literature that made a lasting and compelling impression.

I remember one Nancy Drew, unsure which one, with a line that has stuck with me as clear as day, since I last read it almost twenty years ago. Nancy has to dive underwater to investigate the contents of a suspiciously-sunk sailing vessel. She opens a vanity, still full of compacts and make-up. Picking up a lipstick, she pulls off the cap and the tubes were choked with glittering diamonds. That was the line and at eleven years old, it was one of the most sexy sentences I had ever read. Ah me.

2. What do you think your best and worst qualities are?

Ah, easy!
Best: I am incredibly loyal to my friends. Come high times or terrible, I will love you and cherish you. And if I complain to you, I will never complain about you.
Worst: I bear a grudge. Anger or worse, upset me or someone I love, and I'm not likely to forgive it anytime soon.

3. What three people –dead or alive- would you like to have over for coffee & conversation and why?

Ray Bradbury-He rocks my world, and his characters are always people after my own heart, even when they're bad. Where did he dream up all those people? Does he really spring out of bed in the middle of the night with a whole story? Who is Cicy? Has he been to the Veldt?
Bruce Springsteen-Grew up in my town, got kicked out of my catholic grade school, writes incredibly lyrical poems about my life and life in NJ. We used to fight like cats to serve him at Jersey Freeze. I wonder what it's like to be him. What's that lyric from Evita? "Sometimes it's very difficult to keep momentum if it's you that you are following." So how does he do it?
Lucille Clifton-Incredible poetess and lover of southern Maryland. Split her teaching tenure between St. Mary's and Duke. One of the most powerful black women I have ever met. I got to take a class with her, but never had the courage to ask her the important questions about what she believes.

4. What is the biggest surprise about motherhood?
That I'm still up typing when I'm so incredibly, incredibly tired.

5. What superpower ( flying, invisibility ,etc) would you like to have and why?
I would like to invent a new power. It's called Stripping the Undeserving of Their Power. Then I would proceed to take down governmental special interest groups devoted to making money, waging war, deceiving the public, and otherwise fucking up this country, which I love. This power would also have the ability to thwart shitty spouses/boyfriends and cause them to break out in boils.

Want to play? Here’s the scoop:
1. Leave me a comment saying ”Interview me” and give me your e-mail address so you can make it easier on me.
2. I will respond by e-mailing you five questions, I get to pick the questions.
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

I'm gonna live forever...

2007-04-30T13:28:00.000-04:00

I'm reasonably happy with my life. I have a great family and a happy new baby. I've got wonderful friends. I've been to college and I've been a full-time bartender, both of which impart truckloads of life experiences. I'm never at a loss for what to do with myself.

Still, my life today is rather low key. Gone are the days of going out every night, staying out all night, running off to Montreal for the weekend or deciding to up and move to a different state. And I'm ok with all that. I keep up with a lot of news and what's going on in the world, just from a distance. I know the hottest places to eat in New York...I've just never been to them.

So it's a bit of a shock still when someone you know is famous. Not like Paris Hilton famous, but a real person, only famous. Someone I'm reasonably sure still gets parking tickets and calls his parents of the weekends.

My high school friend Kal got famous. After slogging through high school in a specialized program with the rest of us, he went to college in California, became an actor and disappeared into the L.A. ether. His (well-deserved) fame has built up gradually, so it wasn't so much of a shocker at first.

Kal's been in a lot of movies. You've most likely seen him in National Lampoon's Van Wilder and it's sequel The Rise of Taj (he is Taj). He is ubiquitous as Kumar in Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle. Right now he's getting a lot of attention for his role in the movie adaptation of Jhumpa Lahiri's The Namesake. He starred in a Law & Order episode this spring. I could go on, but you get the idea.

Every once in a while, we'll look through photo albums of high school and we'll come across photos of Kal performing Like a Virgin at my surprise 16th birthday party. I wish I could post these. I really do. They're hilarious and you have no question but this kid is going to be famous someday. But I can't. If I were famous, the last thing I would want is some schmuck posting pictures of me from fifteen years ago on the internet.

So why this long post about fame and friends? Well, because sometimes you come across something that totally makes you reexamine your life and what you do with it. Say, for example when someone you know is featured in an article with a former Vice President of the United States and your (second) favorite author of all time.

Al Gore. Salman Rushdie. And Kal.

He's not just a movie star, he's a college prof too. And what did I do today? Today, I got up, played with a baby, nursed a baby, drove to work, worked on some databases, printed some banners, ate lunch and am preparing to load some new products onto a website. Later, we'll stop at the market, drive home, nurse some more, watch an episode of The Wire and go to bed. These are all good things. They're fine, really. But sometimes I wonder about the way life works out. I'm happy for him. I think he's a really good person. I'm a good person too, but somehow, I just don't think anyone's going to be writing an article about cooking, and decide to feature me, Alton Brown and Anthony Bourdain. Dem's the breaks, I guess!

curse of the irish

2007-04-27T21:19:00.000-04:00

I'm no teetotaler...heaven knows. My boss would regularly mockingly invite me over for a martini while I was pregnant. And I, through gritted teeth, would decline. In his baby gift, amongst the bibs and booties was a bottle of Grey Goose.

But perhaps we're starting off a bit young?

oy vey.

wtf

2007-04-26T23:34:00.000-04:00

It just, and I mean just got out of the twenties and thirties during the day here. People are still boiling maple syrup, which means night temps below freezing. I have packed up all the scarves, hats, mittens, and full body armor, but haven't yet put the box away. Because in Vermont you never know.

So why the fuck am I killing mosquitoes in the house?

It's seriously enough to make me twitchy. Also, it's quarter to midnight and I am still awake. This used to be par for the course. Now I'm living in mortal dread of the wake-up call that will be coming in the next two hours. I love the nighttime nursing. I worked damn hard for this privilege. However. When you're nodding off over the baby...not so good.

And just because it's my blog, I'm going to make y'all emerge from your dark little lurky corners. You can thank JH and RB. And the super nice people I've never met nor heard from until I went to have a baby and disappeared into the ether for a few weeks, who left me messages welcoming me back.

You're tagged.

If you're reading this post, you've now been compelled to leave a comment acknowledging your presence. Even if you're a strict wallflower. Enquiring minds want to know how many people actually frequent this little blog. We'll consider it a census, shall we? How many people will be here over the next week? Ten? Fifteen? It'll be a small community, but an interesting one. And just for fun, why don't you leave word on how you know me, if you know me. This'll be almost as much fun as Megan's annual surveys!

I feel the need to knit...something. The carpal tunnel is gone, and I accidentally (slightly) felted my Knitting Olympics blanket. Any good patterns out there?

"hard at work" or "fun with photoshop"

2007-04-25T14:29:00.000-04:00

Letters to Liam - Month Two

2007-04-18T14:44:00.000-04:00

Dear Beanster,

You turned two months old today. Congratulations! You are an exceptionally cute two months, although in size, you are closer to three months. Already, I have begun to put away clothes that you have outgrown. I find this hard to accept, which means I'll be a regular basket case by the time you're needing new shoes every two months.

In the past four weeks, it has become apparent that you will not keep your blue eyes. They've not settled on a color yet, but they're mesmerizing. They change all the time. You've also learned to smile, and you love love love to smile. As your mom, I'm blessed to be on the receiving end of most of these smiles. Even when you wake up crying in the middle of the night, when I come to get you, you immediately stop and smile up at me. You smile at the dog, and your dad a lot too.

I can't figure out if you're going to suck your thumb. Presently, you are trying to stuff your entire fist, or both fists, in your mouth and suck at them loudly. But you refuse to learn how to use a pacifier. I am mystified by this.

This month, Carmelita and I took you on your first shopping expedition. We drove two hours to the nearest Target, in Concord, NH. You did fantastic. You were totally enthralled by the bug toy I hung over your carrier and it kept you quiet and happy all the way through the women's clothes department. C and I learned a few valuable lessons. One is that there is no such thing as a marathon shop with an infant. Another is that having a baby present is great for the finances. I spent waaaaay less than usual. I tried to breastfeed you in a restaurant, which was a complete disaster. You screamed under the apron/coverall thingee I bought. Turned out you were just so tired, all you needed was a nap on my shoulder. Bebe.

Your affection for me has been (temporarily) suspended by your discovery of the crib mobile. I bear you no grudge. It's a very cute mobile. I only wish I was technologically savvy enough to rig it to play longer than 2 minutes. Your follow the creatures, you coo, and you pedal your feet furiously to nowhere.

I have great hopes for your future as a water baby, given your delight at baths. You're totally entertained and content. Much more so than last month when giving you a bath generally resulted in you pooping in the water. We're going to the beach for a week in August, and I can't wait to show you all about waves and the deep end of the pool.

The big news this month is that we went back to work this week. I have been very nervous about this. But, if you can judge from the first three days, I believe we're going to make it work. I have an office with (blessedly) a door I can shut when you whinge and where we can nurse in peace. You seem relatively accepting of our mini-schedule where you will go to sleep in your swing for the majority of the day.

That combined with an excellent bouncy seat and a sling makes the day fly by, with a minimum of fuss from you. I had joked (half in earnest) that I wished you were developed enough to listen to reason. Because I want this to work, and so should you. Because if not, I have to give you up to a stranger's care for nine hours a day. That seems immense to me right now. It will be great when you're a little older, and you need the stimulation. But for right now, I really need to be with you all day long. So PLEASE continue to be a good work baby.

You were born with a spinal birth defect that needs to be corrected, a dermal sinus tract that is tethering your spinal cord. We met with the pediatric neurologist this month who assures us that once you have the surgery next month, you will never even know you had a problem. It presents with no symptoms right now, but I'm still nervous. You're strong and you are vibrant, so I have no reason to think you won't bounce right back from this, but I'm your Mama, and worrying is something I've become very good at. We have to stay at the hospital again for about 4 days. Thankfully, I'm sure my coping skills have dramatically improved since you were born and I was so exhausted. We're going to be just fine. You can even nurse! So I'll try to relax. You, however, are totally relaxed, so just keep it up.

Who loves you like your Mama loves you?

oh, and

2007-04-12T14:10:00.000-04:00

for all those mamas out there...how to get rid of the Belly?

I gained 35 pounds during this pregnancy. 10 was baby and other stuff, and 25 was fluid. The great thing about that was, I had already lost it by the time I left the hospital.

However.

I alrady had a belly pre-baby. Now I have an "I could be five months pregnant" belly. I've hauled my early maternity pants back out of storage. That hurt.

So, ummm, how do I get rid of it??

i heart snow

2007-04-12T13:42:00.000-04:00

no really. I do. And I really love it when it keeps me from my last mommy/baby group and a much needed tooth-cleaning appointment.

Snow is supposed to come in November. Maybe even October. Definitely in December. Clearly in January and February. But mid-April?? NON!

Still, it's a fitting end to my time at home with the bebe. And it makes me kind-of, well, ready to go back to work. I have so much to thank my coworkers and my boss for. They're allowing me to take Liam back to work with me. And get this: we've only got four offices in a space that holds eleven people. One of those four just gave me her office (with a door!) while Liam comes to work with me. I mean, wow. She heads an entire department, and she's going to hang out in my space while I encamp in her office. She just made me way, way more certain that I can make this thing work. How cool is that??

I've been preparing my list of things I need to bring back to work with me. It's long. I bought a travel swing, only to find out that Liam will only go to sleep (or zone out) in the full-size cradle swing. The one that weighs 60 pounds. So that has to come. Plus a bouncy seat, a carrier, a sling, backup clothes for me and Liam, a diaper station, and goodness knows what else I can come up with. Ummm, anything else I need? I wish I had a mentor for this kind of arrangement.

In the meantime, have I mentioned how fiercely I love this little creature?

don't know why/there's no sun up in the sky

2007-04-06T22:40:00.000-04:00

stormy weather

Once upon a time, Glenn and I lived in sunny South Carolina. Our condo was half a mile from the ocean. (Remember those pictures from vacation a year ago? That's where we lived.)

Sometimes, I can't remember why the hell we left and came back here. This is APRIL. Sheesh.

Yesterday, the day these photos were taken, I got the car stuck in the driveway for over an hour. After a tearful call to Glenn at work, the guy who owns the local general store came and pulled me out. Liam fell asleep in the car, so I didn't want to take him out. I drove for an hour to attend a gathering of mothers and little babies. They meet from 10-12 every Thursday. I got there at 11:30. You might say I'm desperate for company.

While we were still in the hospital, and for the week after we got home, I had the ringer on the phone shut off. It was hard enough to get through each day without completely falling apart. The incredible hormone crash, the lack of sleep, and the worries over Liam's medical condition made me pretty much a mess. And I do not get messy. I'm a Coper (sic?). My mama was pretty much the only person I could bear to talk to, and thank goodness for her helping hand. She's good with babies, and her daughters too.

Once we were home, settled, and chemically stable again, I began to realize like never before how incredible isolated our little patch of turf is. Need to go to the doctor? It's an hour away. Ditto for the hospital. And a gallon of organic milk.

I grew up in suburban New Jersey. And say what you like, there were some definite perks. Like sidewalks. And libraries. And bagels. I don't want my child to grow up ignorant of all these things. I want to be able to say, "go out and play" and he have the opportunity to play with other children, not just pretty scenery.

It's a crisis of the highest magnitude, brought on by an April snowstorm. We don't to live in Corinth anymore; we can't afford to live anyplace much better right now. I'm not talking about moving out of state, just closer to people and amenities that I'm used to. Burlington is a vibrant, totally cool community, and I miss it. It's time to plan our getaway. Get-rich-quick schemes welcome.

your regularly scheduled programming

2007-04-01T22:20:00.000-04:00

...and we're back! Thanks to the installation of high-speed internet at my house and internal adjustments to the lack of sleeping in my life. Thanks especially to everyone who checked in with me over the past weeks. You concern and support meant so much.

I feel I ought to warn you that I'm contemplating changing the title of the blog to the Blog Formerly Known as Knits and Plants, as I see very little of either in my immediate future. You cannot knit when you need a third hard just to attend to a newborn's needs. And gardening? Hah. I've got no seeds started, and I'm not going to start any. I value the remnants of my sanity just that much. I even sold my greenhouse. More on that another time. We'll raise some salad stuff in the raised beds I built right next to the house but the garden itself can take a year off.

Liam is not sleeping as well any more, due to some unspecified tummy troubles. I'm dealing as best I can. I don't look as bad as this anymore:

but it's close.

Letters to Liam - Month One

2007-03-18T11:43:00.000-04:00

Dear Liam,

Hello, my baby boy. You're here, and it's more than I expected, in almost every way. You've already filled our lives, creeping into all those spaces where I never even realized anything was missing.

You came one month ago. One month and three days ago (Friday), your Daddy and I arrived at the hospital fully expecting that you'd be born by that evening. Boy, were we wrong! In a nutshell, you are as stubborn as your Mama, and didn't want to come out. So we coaxed and threatened for three whole days. Gigi was there to help, and Auntie Lulu came, expecting you to be born already, only to end up waiting along with us for the entire weekend.

By Sunday night, you and I had both had enough. We were tired and weary of being prodded and monitored. So when your little heart began to beat funny, we decided that we wanted you born right away, and half an hour later, you were here!

In the delivery room, you were welcomed by your Daddy and Gigi. We've got some excellent pictures. I can still hear your totally indignant cry as the attendants checked you out. But you were soothed by Daddy soon enough. You were so bright-eyed and taking it all in. Too bad that all that intervention in the past three days resulted in both you and I having fever after you were born. Wah!

We had a week's stay in the hospital, and then Daddy and I got to take you home! You were so small and already you were a good baby. You hardly ever cried unless you were hungry. Which is good because I felt (like most new Mamas) like my eyeballs were going to fall out. I couldn't sleep for more than 20 minutes without waking up in a panic to check that you were still there and breathing. For a few days, I feared for my sanity. But one learns to cope quickly, and so I did.

A word on breastfeeding. No one mentioned that it might be hard. And by hard I mean damn near impossible. I didn't have any milk for you for almost a week. It was terrible. You were hungry, and screaming, and I had nothing to give. Thank god for the lactation consultant at the hospital who worked with me for hours. So for a week or so, we gave you formula. I was devastated. Emergency C-section? No biggie. But not being able to nurse you almost put me over the edge. Go figure. But with perseverance, a thousand dollar breast pump and pumping every two hours around the clock, we finally got it down. And it makes me so happy. So, so happy. You're an audible nurser, swallowing noisily and making little cooing noises when you're taking a break. It makes me weak in the knees.

You're a good baby, and I hope that keeps up. We sleep at night, mostly. You wake, you eat, and an hour later, we're both back asleep. You can follow things with your eyes and seem most interested in Murphy who, owing to his black-and-whiteness, you can see easily. For now, your eyes are blue and you hair has a real reddish tint in the daylight. You're already your own person, and I can't wait to get to know you.

Welcome to the world, little one.

Love,

your Mama

this is getting old

2007-02-13T21:17:00.000-05:00

I still do not have a baby. I have a cold, I have a severe case of the boredoms, and I have three very anxious pets who want to know why the hell I haven't left the house since last Friday.

Liam is very active, and it makes it much harder to figure out whether these are early contractions or just jumpin-jive. I am SO ready to have this kid...why do I get no say in the timing?

It's a popular belief that Liam will be born tomorrow, on Valentine's Day and/or during the imminent super-big snowstorm headed our way. Either would be okay with me, but for a V-day baby, shouldn't we get a move on now?? sigh

I am, however, so so so much more comfortable here in my jammies than struggling at work. I'm glad I gave up the fight.

In other news, three of the most important women in my life are all falling apart in the most spectacular way. All three crises are being driven by horrible, cruel, unforgivably bad behavior on the part of their menfolk. Perhaps I'm not at the best point in my life to be giving emotional support right now, given my own biological need to take care of the little person, but I find myself occasionally unable to understand their plights. Where have all the strong women gone?? It not being my story, and this not being an adolescent ennui-type of blog, I'm not going to go into details. Let's just say, that as much as I love my husband, if he ever, EVER acted half so badly and so callously and so not caring, he would be out on his ass that very day.

I love these women so much, and it makes me just crazy that they are taking all this (totally undeserved) shit from men who have made a commitment to love and honor them. Where is the anger? Why would you mourn for someone whose intention it is to cause you pain and suffering? Why are they afraid to stand up for themselves? How could it possibly be better than being alone? What is wrong with being alone? And really, what is wrong with starting over? Scary? Yes. Overwhelming? Hell, yes. But life is about starting over, again and again and again. Nothing stays the same, and we live in a culture where there are newer, better, more compatible models evolving all the time.

I feel like a failure to them, because I fail to see what they're afraid to lose. Having someone love you is terribly important, but not as important as your self-respect and your sense of worth, neither of which should be tied to your lover's actions or opinions of you. If you're willing to put up with cruel and demeaning behavior just in order to keep someone from leaving you, then you've already lost something much, much more important. In the most loving way, I just wish I could shake them all into righteous indignation instead of this self-flagellating behavior that exposes their weaknesses to the people who hurt them so much in the first place.

Harsh, I know. It's a well-known character flaw of mine. I am Mrs. Lynde, and not sweet Diana. But I call it like I see it, and I'm harsh in direct proportion to how much I love these people. I can't heap more stuff on them, and my heart is too full when I'm talking to them, but I'll close here with something I hear often in my head when we are talking. Here goes, and thanks Mimi, for putting it so right:

Life's too short babe
Time is flying
I'm looking for baggage that goes with mine.

So don't settle. Keep your expectations high. They will be met, but only by the right person.

Letters to Liam - Week 40

2007-02-10T19:46:00.000-05:00

Dear LL,

We're here. We've arrived at the (approximate) end of this journey. With every passing hour, we expect this next part to begin. You were due yesterday, and although I'm still at home, waiting for something to happen, I know you're not far away.

It's been difficult to concentrate on anything but you this past week. I stopped working last Monday, much to the relief of my boss and coworkers. They're were all dreading the day I went into labor with you while at work. It was a relief to me too, as I'm getting too big to do anything comfortably, especially drag myself to work and get stuff done. Stopping work, though, also meant that I had much, much less to concentrate on, besides waiting for you. So that's mostly what I've been doing this week. Waiting.

Your dad is waiting too. He keeps planning little outings to keep himself from going crazy in the house. He'll go ice fishing, or for a ride on the snowmobile, but he keeps showing up back at the house much earlier than expected. He'll look sheepishly around, and explain that he can't think about anything else while he's out except that you and I might need him then. It's sweet.

Yesterday, the day you were due, I woke up with the cold I've been trying to avoid catching. It's a pretty yucky one...all sinus pressure and sneezies and sore throat. It keeps me up at night, shaving off another few hours from the sleep I'm already not getting. If I must be up, then I wish you were here to at least make me feel like I was accomplishing something. I hate the television, I've got no movies to watch; thank goodness for the stack of books I bought on Thursday. It's so nice to have new reading material. I started with a biography of Beatrix Potter, and it's quite interesting.

The pets have been behaving quite funny this week. They all know something is up. Lola hasn't left my side in four days, quite literally. She's my constant companion in bed, tunneling under the blankets, or on my lap, on on the side of the bathtub, or underfoot in the kitchen. Oscar refuses to give up his perch on my belly, no matter how hard and rounded it has become. He balances well, and I don't think you'll be a stranger the the sensations of a purring cat next to you once you are born. Murphy is his usual sweet self, anxiously splitting his night time between your dad in our bed downstairs and me in the spare room where I've retreated to. The bed there is much easier to get in and out of a dozen times a night, being much higher off the ground, and is conveniently located directly next to the bathroom. Plus, when we wake at three and can't get back to sleep, we don't wake your dad by reading upstairs or listening to an audiobook.

It might interest you to know that if you haven't decided to arrive by next Friday, then I'll be induced that day, which means you'll have to come out like it or not. Better to make that decision on your own, I'm thinking. So for heaven's sake, let's get this party started. I've begun screening our calls, out of sheer necessity. Our phone rings constantly, and everyone wants to know where you are. You might be a Valentine's baby after all, I'm thinking. That, I suppose, is up to you.

Come out, Little Lentil. It's your birthday and we want to celebrate.

Love,

Your mama

desperately seeking sound advice

2007-01-30T13:50:00.000-05:00

Dear friends of this blog,

Help! I just don't know what to do. I need advice and direction, and I'm hoping that you all, being such kindred spirits, will know what to do.

It's my mother-in-law. She's driving me batty. And I'm really questioning my ability to cope with her once Liam arrives on the scene. Unless you adore your MIL, then you've probably nominated her at least once for the C(raziest)MIL award. Well, I'm no different. In fact, I've got a fair amount of cred to establish that she is in the Lifetime Achievement category.

First, let's begin with the good. My MIL is not mean or cruel. She is not an unhappy person. She is not condescending or holier-than-thou. She is generous. She is eager to please. She loves her family.

That being said, here are my stumbling blocks. My MIL is tactless. She is hyperactive. She is high-maintenance. She is attention-seeking and impulsive. She must relate things directly to herself in order to digest them. She is Loud. She is single-minded and determined to get her way. She often gets her way by talking louder and longer than the other person. She lacks that filter that make most people keep inappropriate comments to themselves. She has the same reaction to a Happy Meal toy that she has to a one-of-a-kind, handmade keepsake from FAO Schwartz. Her enthusiasm often borders on frenzy and consequently inhibits the quieter reactions of those around her. She fishes for compliments. She talks and talks and talks and talks and talks.

I see my MIL every day at work. This is challenging, but not insurmountable. I have a good pair of noise-cancelling headphones. It wasn't much of a problem, at least, until I got pregnant. She told my coworkers I was pregnant before I could. She has been in raptures for nine months. She told people Liam's name before I had the chance. She relates everything about my pregnancy to her own thirty years before. Liam is always her grandson, and not my baby. She talks about me and Liam on the telephone in volumes loud enough to hear two rooms away. She is excited. She is going to drive me to drink. I feel like she is going to consume this poor baby, and quite possibly myself as well.

As we approach the birth, her proprietary behavior is escalating. I love that word, don't you? Once of my nicest, and least snarky friends recently used it to describe my MIL's attitutude towards Liam:

Proprietary: one that possesses, owns, or holds exclusive right to something

That's the rub. This baby, our son's birth, it's still really all about her. Sigh.

I'm desperately afraid of what is going to happen. Either I continue to bottle all this angst up inside and simmer while I should be celebrating, or I speak up and risk a confrontation. Blecch. Neither is very appealing.

To complicate matters, she keeps talking about being at the hospital with me. I would rather put toothpicks in my eyes than go through birthing a baby in her company. I've made my decision about who will be there with me: Glenn and my mother. My mom is soothing, quiet, knowlegable, and most importantly, she's attended births before, for my aunts. My MIL knows my wishes, but keeps dropping hints. She's already planning her schedule at the hospital, and I don't know what to do. She just about drove me nuts while Glenn was having back surgery and recovering, and I wasn't even in pain then. I cannot, cannot, cannot be around her and have a baby at the same time.

Someone please help me figure this out. Just discussing my feelings with her, emmm, is not going to do it. She isn't capable of understanding that this baby is about me, and has nothing to do with her. She'll say she understands; she'll nod, and then she'll promptly forget it all and I might as well not have wasted my breath.

Mostly, I want this time to be about Glenn and Liam and me. I want us to be a family first. I don't want my emotions and joys overshadowed by her all-consuming three-ring-circus of behavior and emotional wackiness. I want peace.

So how the hell do I get it?

Email me with anything you feel might be constructive.
ferriotvtATgmail.com

love,
m

there are no words

2007-01-30T13:25:00.000-05:00

One of the main reasons for starting this blog was to exercise my powers of description. I'm rusty and I could use the challenge. But for three days I've been unable to come up with a sufficient narrative of the past weeknd. There are no words.

(Many of) My nearest and dearest came to Liam's baby shower on Saturday, and I'm still kind of reeling from the outrageous amount of love and generosity shown to myself and this child. It goes beyond my powers to describe. You are all so wonderful. My heart is full.

And then there were the travellers. Thank you all for driving so far for this. I'm not sure I'll ever be able to repay the favor. The best-in-show award absolutely goes to Patti, who will be forever in our hearts. Not only did she drive six hours up from New Jersey, but she arrived with fresh bread, fresh pies, four trays of homemade Italian Eggplant Parmesean, meatballs, sausage and sauce, and a bottle of this wine (for after the birth, of course!):
Be still my heart.

The shower was lovely, and I had a wonderful time, despite being as pregnant and puffy as possible. I have two chins in almost every picture. There was a small mountain of gifts which is hard for me because I want to focus on them all, but I'm not allowed to let the shower extend to five hours long. Later, at home, I spent the better part of the weekend giving every gift its fair amount of attention and putting things to right in Liam's room. Still not quite there, but close.
And then there were the clothes. Holy Moses, the clothes. This child is going to be so well put-together, I'm almost ashamed to be seen with him. I'm going to look like a total ragamuffin in comparison. I love the clothes. I have a high-capacity front-loading washing machine, and it took me four (!) loads to get everything laundered. Think we'll have enough?
All in all, it was a great weekend, and I thank all my lovely women for getting there. I'm feeling ready for this baby, so much more now that we have all your fabulous gifts.

Hugs.

Letters to Liam - Week 38

2007-01-26T14:50:00.000-05:00

Dear Sweet Pea,

We're almost there. We've got to be. Have pretty much given up on sleeping or movement without waddling. I'm still showing up for work every day, but I'm not so sure how much longer I'll be keeping that up! I never, never thought it would be so tiring to carry you around with me!

The midwife thinks you're about 6 and a half or 7 pounds. Remember our deal, right? No 10 pound babies and I won't deliberately dress you in pinafores.

Your car seat arrived. It's very cool and silver. I can't believe how complicated the installation instructions are. I'm hoping your Grandpa Murphy shows up before you do so he can install it. He's a much better direction-follower than your dad or I. Having the car seat was the last thing I was fretting over obtaining on time. Can't tell you how much better I feel now. Well, except for the fact that my work still cannot come to a decision about whether you can come to work with me. And they don't see why I'm in such a state over their inability to make a decision. Boo hiss.

I've essentially stopped sleeping again. I just wake up, and there's no chance of getting back to sleep, which is an odd thing for your mama. I can always sleep. Last night, for example, I was up at 2am. I had recorded Masterpiece Theater's Jane Eyre, so we watched that and kept the wood stove cranking, since it was 12 degrees below zero last night. The kitties were happy to join us. They're practicing their pyramid building skills, as at least one always, always claims a space right on top of you. I wonder if you can hear their purring, or if they can hear your heartbeat. Regardless, you appear to provide an acceptable perch for napping.

Your cradle is ready in our room. Your dad is installing the last of the moulding in your room today. I've been washing the clothes I have for you. I think we're about as ready as can be expected.

Ooh, and speaking of being ready...tomorrow is your baby shower! For various reasons, it's an all-in-one shower. There are going to be so many people who love you there. I've been valiantly trying to stay off the registry, but it's so hard! Being only two weeks away from your due date means that I'll have to destroy the majority of pictures, so you don't think your Mama was an enormous, puffy sloth with bad hair.

I'm busy waiting for the arrival of the out-of-staters who are staying with us. The Best in Show award definitely goes to my Aunt Patti who is driving up today from New Jersey. That in itself is a pretty excellent thing to do. But what makes her a superstar is the fact that she is also transporting tonight's dinner: homemade Eggplant Parm, Italian Gravy, Meatballs, Sausages all made yesterday. Yum. And what makes her my personal hero is that she is ALSO transporting up stocks of NJ's finest baked rolls, and assorted yummies from Delicious Orchards, including pie shells and apple cider donuts. Be still my heart.

I'm glad for the company, because it gives me something to dwell on besides your imminent arrival. I can't think about much else. We're 14 days away, which means you can come any time. Annny time now. Yup. I say let's get this whole pregnancy thing over with and get on with meeting you. Thanks for getting out of my ribcage area. That was not fun. Just take the plunge and decide to exit entirely. It will be just fine. I promise.

Please please come soon. I can't take the waiting any more. We're so anxious to see you and hold you and even to change your diapers.

Love,

Mama

i give up

2007-01-18T17:05:00.000-05:00

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrgh.

AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRGHHHHHHHHHH.

that is all.

Still here.

2007-01-18T14:57:00.000-05:00

And still with child. le sigh. I just know I'm setting myself up for weeks of this waiting. C'mon baby! If he comes now, then I can bring him with me to the baby shower on the 27th! That would be grand.

I've been blogging now for over a year. Happy birthblog to me. I wish my camera batteries weren't dead.

So, onto my present crisis. Two weeks ago, Consumer Reports published findings that failed ALL the infant car seats on the market, except for two. Baby Trend Flex-Loc and Graco Snugride with EPS. That morning, I changed my registry to the Baby Trend one, which looks cool. It's kinda hard to find without buying a whole stroller apparatus too. Overnight, I had a small panic attack, envisioning a nation of hypervigilant parents and parents to be immediately buying up all the available models. So I decided to just buy it. I came to work armed with my credit card, and guess what? Sold out. Everywhere.

In less than 24 hours, every internet storefront offering either safe model was out of stock. I went ahead and placed an order through Target, one of the only stores that would still even allow me to place a backorder. So I'll get one as soon as they're in stock. Which they anticipate as being sometime in early March. Ummm, yeah, I'm sure the hospital will just LOVE that one.

I eventually found another vendor through Amazon that was selling the Snugride (at an immense price) and said they have them in stock. After calling the company directly to verify, I placed another order. If they weren't lying to me, then the car seat should ship tomorrow. IF.

Am having kittens over this. Why must life be so damn complicated?? What happens to parents who show up at the hospital without the most essential piece of baby gear? Will Liam become the hospital mascot? Will we have to live there until the damn car seat ships? Can I bring him home if we walk the 54 miles back to our house?

Waaaaah.

Is this it? Take One

2007-01-17T13:05:00.000-05:00

I've been candidly encouraging Liam to arrive early for a while now. I might be getting my wish. Or I could just be beginning a long round of, "Is this it? Or this? How about now?"

For the past 24 hours, I've been experiencing cramps. Justs like I'm getting my period. They're mostly mild, but they're constant and not showing any signs of going away. Every time I got to sleep last night, they'd wake me up within the hour.

They don't feel like contractions, but what the hell do I know about birthing a baby? I do know that I'm not experiencing any other symptoms of being in labor. Not one. So something makes me think I'm going to be having this same conversation with myself next week. And then again the week after that.

The midwife says that if this is real labor, then they won't stop it. I'm so torn. Am I ready for this? Yes. And hell no. Aaargh.

What I do know is that I didn't think it could be any more uncomfortable to be at work all day, and now I know better.

Wish me luck peeps. Or, if you've been through this before, send comforting messages with tips on how to make it another three weeks, if I'm not in labor. le sigh

Letters to my Baby Boy - Week 36

2007-01-12T13:48:00.000-05:00

Dear Sweet Pea,

We're rounding the corner into the ninth month, and although I'm trying to do it with a modicum of grace, most of the time I feel like I'm not succeeding. Your mama is cranky. Crankycrankycranky. I can't knit, and I can't sit comfortably, and the only thing that makes me feel any better is your dad. Who is SO excited for you. He talks to my belly constantly. He gives you raspberries. I love him.

So onto more important matters, like your name. You've had one for a while, but we were keeping it a secret. I was kind of superstitious about telling people ahead of your birthday. And we all know people who can't respond tactfully to a name choice that they don't like. I just didn't want the bother. Also, it was a nice secret to keep. Like when you know you've chosen a really excellent present for your loved one, but Christmas is still four weeks away. I love that feeling.

Then right before Christmas, I find out that your dad has been telling people! Coworkers. Friends. His hair stylist! (Did I mention how excited he is??) Basically everyone but our families. Which isn't fair, so over the holidays we shared your name, which of course is Liam Robert Ferriot. Yay! I love your name.

For the past few weeks, you've been getting the hiccups in the evenings. I think it might be the best feeling ever. Your whole head and chest rhythmically get these tiny spasms that just make us laugh. It's much, much more entertaining than your feet which are wedged up under my right rib. And let me tell you...you are not at all fun. I've really nudged you. Hard. But you're not giving up that spot.

Your room is kinda ready. I put together your furniture, and the floor is installed and the walls are painted. Your grandma Murphy and I are going to get it set up, soon hopefully. My sense of urgency is rapidly escalating as we get closer to your birthday. The past two weekends have both seen tearful episodes when I just can't take the dust and the still-unfinished areas of the house. Your dad is bewildered, but trying to make it better.

We're going to have a shower for you in a couple weeks, at which time I should be the size of a small whale. That should make for totally awful pictures which I'll have to hide somewhere. It's such a great excuse to see all my family and friends, though. You'll learn how much that means when you grow up here, a million and a half miles away from civilization of any sort that doesn't revolve around lawnmower races and ice fishing. I give you my word now that, despite our geographic handicap, you will not grow up unfamiliar with any of the following:

libraries
museums
Jersey Freeze
real bagels
the beach
NYC
seafood
Boston
live theatre
the Yankees
real pizza
aquariums
live music

That's just a small sampling, but you've got my promise that, no matter how poor it makes us, you will be a cosmopolitan child who just happened to be raised in the country. Just please please don't ask me to take you to a mall or to Chuck E Cheese's. I mean, we've all got our breaking points.

I was beginning to get a little worried this week when you decided to take a nap for 36 hours and you stopped moving altogether. You've since resumed your normal squirming level of activity, but goodness child, don't do that to me. I would be thrilled if you came early, but not under duress.

Am trying to continue to keep your nourished in utero, despite my compulsion this week to eat nothing but ice cream. That should become somewhat less difficult now that we have our new refrigerator! You'll never know how exciting this is, because you will never have known our old fridge, which belongs in a hunting camp somewhere run off a generator. It's tiny, probably manufactued in 1956 and the only source of cold is a metal grate on the top. There is no fan to circulate the cold air, so any vegetable matter stored in it turns to mush within 48 hours. Therefore, we keep very little in the way of fresh produce. Plus, there was only ever room for six carrots and a head of lettuce. But now you're the proud owner of a 22.4 cu ft. Kenmore Elite bottom-freezer refrigerator that just makes your dad and I as insanely happy as can be. You, of course, were the ultimate justification for this acquisition. Can't have our baby fed spoiling food, can we?

I can't wait to meet you, baby boy. Keep cozy and keep safe, and start to think about making that long trip to the outside, okay?

Love,

Your mama

file under: valid reasons to crawl into a hole for the next month

2007-01-08T17:06:00.000-05:00

at work

"You're really starting to look different."

"Hmmm. It could be because I'm pregnant."

"No, what I mean is your face is starting to change. Like you're putting on weight in your face."

a knitter's worst nightmare

2007-01-04T12:03:00.000-05:00

what could be worse than pregnancy-induced carpal tunnel?

christmastime in the city

2006-12-21T12:45:00.000-05:00

For 29 years, I've celebrated the Christmas season with a full heart. It has never lost its sense of hushed anticipation, of quiet delight for me. When the lights start to appear in houses and in yards on my dark drive home, it makes me happy. It lightens the sense of isolation one feels, living in such a remote area of the country. My own warm house sits waiting for me, with all my creatures and my husband cozily inside, lit up on the hillside.

This will be, for us, the last Christmas of its kind. With the arrival of this child, next year's Christmas will be so different. I cannot wait. I'd like to acknowledge all the work and spirit that my parents put into infusing this time of year with enough wonder to last my sister and I a lifetime. I can only hope that Glenn and I can succeed to such a degree with this child.

Our childhood Christmases had little to with the holiday elements that so many people dread. It never seemed to be about shopping or fighting families or enforced merriness. While we didn't have a lot of money, we still seemed to be imbued with Christmas experiences that could be remembered for years. For us, a lot of the holidays were connected with being in New York City, a place which will always be special to me. My father worked in the City, and took us each year to the Bell Atlantic/Nynex/Verizon Christmas Party in the World Trade Center. We'd not go to school that day. Before dawn, Nora and I would be woken, stuffed into tights, velvet party dresses and patent leather shoes. We would ride the bus from New Jersey into the City, awake and thrilling to see the sun rise over the skyline. We'd navigate the rushing streets of the financial district with our father, who knew exactly where to go and how to get around. Commuting to New York is never a picnic. I never realized what efforts that day probably took for him to get us there and keep us under control all day, and how many lesser dads would have panned the entire outing.

On the 20-something-story of the Trade Center, my dad's office seemed like the biggest place. Full of cubicles, phones ringing, and busy people, his office was a part of his life we never otherwise got to see. We were allowed to play on computers and eat as many Christmas cookies as we liked. I would stand on the heating registers and press my nose to the floor-to-ceiling windows to stare down at the street below, where bright yellow cabs moved impossibly slowly and people on the streets were barely discernible. There was a Santa who arrived to distribute presents the parents had previously provided, and took pictures with you. Nora inevitable spilled something on her dress and lost her hair bows.

On other Christmases, we were taken to see Radio City Music Hall and see the Christmas Spectacular. The tree in Rockerfeller Center isn't the same unless seen as a child does, from the mobbed streets amid the cacophony of midtown, with the skaters below on the tiny rink. My parents bravely shuffled us around all day in that impossible sea of humanity and took us to eat in Chinatown where they served real ducks that were an improbable shade of bronze. And delicious.

When I was older, a planned Christmas in the City outing almost ended in disaster. We woke in the morning to find almost four feet of snow had fallen, wreaking havoc with all forms of mass transportation. But that day had been planned for months, and god bless my mom totally dismissing the idea that we would have to scrap our Christmas visit to New York. Sure, it took our bus three times as long to get into Manhattan, but once we were there, nothing could take the place of witnessing the strange change that comes over everything after a heavy snowfall.

New Yorkers are a hardbitten bunch, but that day everyone we met seemed caught up in the childlike glee of a snow day. Snow muffled the blaring of traffic, and people wandered the streets on foot with shit-eating grins on their faces. It was magical.

Midday, we took a break from slogging the snowy streets to visit Tavern on the Green in Central Park. Practically hidden away under the snowy trees, we found ourselves wandering among the snow-laden topiary lit from within by thousands of tiny white lights. Inside, the Tavern was in full Christmas glory. I didn't know it was possibly to place so many ornaments on a tree. I don't remember what we ate, but I do remember that I had the most delicious cup of tea that $6 could get you.

As evening fell, we made our way to the midtown holiday hub. The whole reason for the day's trip was still before us: tickets to see the New York City Ballet perform the Nutcracker at Lincoln Center. I'd seen the Nutcracker before, but as a much smaller child. We found our seats, anxiously awaiting my father who made it from work just in time.

The lights dimmed, and as the fifteen-foot tree on stage grew to twenty, thirty, now forty feet tall, we were reduced to the size of mice. That sensation, so powerful that I start to cry if I think too hard about it, is exactly why I love this time of year. I hope I never lose the ability to enter the willing suspension of disbelief. And I hope you never do, either. The opportunity to practice it lies everywhere at this time of year, especially if there are small people in your life. Thanks, Mom & Dad, for doing such a darn good job of it for us. Merry Christmas to all, duckies.

2006-12-13T16:10:00.000-05:00

Seriously, this is the type of thing for which one needs to exert constant vigilance. This man has no business being on the cover of a Christmas album. He's frightening the children.

However, he does produce a surprisingly kicky calypso version of "Baby, It's Cold Outside."

Letters to my Baby Boy - Week 30

2006-12-06T13:37:00.000-05:00

Congratulations bebe, we are now officially in our third trimester! Yeehaw. Only ten more weeks to go, not that I'm counting.

There's been so much going on that I'm having a hard time determining where to begin this letter.

It's finally beginning to feel like winter around here. Which is a good thing. We've got the woodstove going, and the house in nice and cozy. Correction. The ambient temperature is nice and cozy. The house itself is not nice and cozy because we are still renovating. Your mama is a few steps away from breaking out in hives as a result.

Your dad had back surgery a few weeks ago, and he's doing well now, but the recovery was a bit rockier than we anticipated. He's not allowed to go back to work yet. Nor can he be doing renovations. So we're dependant on the mercy of your grandfathers to help us finish up. This has made things...complicated. From materials to work ethic, they're as different as night and day. Kinda like Bob Villa and Homer Simpson building a house together. I won't insult your intuition by telling you who is who...you'll know firsthand soon enough!

That brings us to your room. Your great-grandmother sent you money for baby presents, and you got the coolest dresser and wardrobe. Like it?

Even before we bought these, I didn't want you to have a boring baby room. I ripped up the gross carpet and put down laminate flooring that looks like fake hardwood, but can take a beating. And I didn't want to paint the walls blue. Again, too boring! So I bought paint that is actually close to the green in the photo here. But...that's where the resemblance ends. It is HORRIBLE. It's fluorescent, and the finish makes it look different colors in different areas. Your grandpa Murphy said some things you are not allowed to hear while he was painting it on. That was before what he had applied began to peel back off the walls. Don't ask. Your mom totally cannot play the paint game. So your grandpa has to come back again to fix it this weekend. We're thinking a nice, neutral light blue.

I would really like your room to come out nice. If the paint doesn't melt the camera, I'll try to take some pictures before we paint over it.

So...Christmas. It's my favorite. Your auntie Nora and I were in Boston this weekend, and we had a Christmas song soundtrack. I'm finding it really, really hard not to buy you Christmas stuff. I can, however, feed you Christmas cookies, and I fully intend to. That's another thing about the house not being done. I can't get my decorations out yet, or get our tree, and it's making me VERY CRANKY. VERY. We did light the porch, but it's not the same. I wonder if you can hear me singing "Baby it's Cold Outside" in the shower. It'll be a constant for a while. It's my favorite holiday song, and my boss Rob's too. Between us, we've got 36 different versions of it. It's good stuff.

This letter is really disjointed, and it's time to get back to work. Lots is happening, not least of which is imagining your activities and your entrance into the world. We've got our baby class this Sunday. I'm getting a little apprehensive, and your dad is NOT helping! He keeps calling you his Giant Baby Boy. Please don't be a giant, kay? That would hurt.

I hope your dreaming of us, cause we're dreaming of you!

Love,

Mama

doing their part to assist in the recuperation

2006-11-14T15:09:00.000-05:00

or, more likely, perfectly aware that he's immobilized and helpless to remove them

get down with OCD, yeah you know me!

2006-10-27T12:31:00.000-04:00

Lately I've been feeling that, should I be so inclined, I could totally get my health insurance to spring for a good psychotherapist. In layman's terms, I've gone a little bit batshit. Seriously. Explanations would take us a little too far into the realm of my actual, non-chronicled life, so they'll stay omitted. But for your vicarious pleasure, I'll submit the following example of life with the loony.

I've been crying over everything. My eyes feel like sandpaper and my makeup has been tissued off by 11am, tops. I choose to blame the pregnancy hormones, but who knows?

Anyway, here's the story. I don't have a whole lot of memories of my childhood. The ones that I do have tend to be pretty vivid, if not very relevant. One thing I do remember well is the distinct pleasures that I had when my mother would buy us new Beatrix Potter soap figurines made by Crabtree & Evelyn. Nora and I were huge Beatrix Potter fans, and the soap was so wonderful. French milled, smelling like jojoba, and pressed into the shapes of Peter Rabbit, Jemima Puddleduck, Jeremy Fisher, and Tom Kitten. Oh, and Alice in Wonderland. Don't know how she fit in, actually. The stuff lasted forever. I loved it.

So naturally, I began to think about buying some for my baby. So what if he's over three months away from entering the world? So what if you don't use actual soap on babies right away? Better to be prepared! I dug up my credit card and headed over to Crabtree & Evelyn where the website promptly informed me that the only children's products currently manufactured by said company was something called 'nursery tales', a brightly packaged collection of balms, soaps, and creams that were NOT TOM KITTEN. I sat at my desk, trying to absorb the fact that the beloved soaps had been discontinued, goodness only knows how long ago. Then I promptly burst into tears.

I mourned the staggering loss for a day or two before admitting my woe to a coworker, who suggested that I look for them on eBay. I've never bought or bid on anything on eBay. And I was highly sceptical that anyone would really be trafficking in baby soaps made over a decade ago. But what the hell.

I was wrong.

One week and eight dollars later, I was the proud posessor of this:
And a few days later, I decided to get him a companion:

Then, there was the deal I couldn't refuse:

And then, things just started to get out of hand:
I was finally able to admit I had a problem when I emailed someone in Great Britian to ask about shipping charges for a Jeremy Fisher soap. Must. Get. A. Grip.

But this baby will be so very, very clean!

yes, I'm still a knitter

2006-10-06T11:52:00.000-04:00

recently completed:

It's a baby, stupid!

2006-10-05T10:13:00.000-04:00

There's a new gourmet deli/bakery in town that we're real happy to have. They've just opened, so a lot of items aren't available yet. Still, we want to give them lots of support so they'll stick around. It would be nice to have a Boar's Head option instead of only Shur-Fine, you know?

I happened to be in town this morning, so I stopped in before work to see if their antique hot cocoa machine was operational yet. Imported chocolate and all...mmmm! The owner/barista was sorry to report that it wasn't. I patted my (very protruding) belly and said, "Well, I'm kind of limited in what I can have, but I suppose a single latte will be okay."

He starts to makes it, and then pauses to look at me. Then he says, "You know, those hot chocolates aren't low-calories or anything."

Ouch. I've never identified with James Carville so much in my life when I stared at him and said icily, "It's a baby, stupid!" Okay, I didn't say that, exactly. I only said the stupid part to myself.

How humiliating in a tv-sitcom kind of way.

Letters to my Baby Boy - Week 21

2006-10-04T15:22:00.000-04:00

Hello Sweet Potato,

Yup, we're back to the wonderful world of edible euphemisms for your size! But that's ok, I like sweet potatoes.

Your dad is off in Pennsylvania this week on his annual deer hunting trip. He keeps saying it's the last one, but I doubt it. Truth be told, I'm really enjoying the solitude. I played hookey from work yesterday to get some much-needed house cleaning done. There was so much to be done in preparation for winter, especially outside. So we hauled and put away and cleaned up and organized, and by two o'clock, I was totally out of steam. It's hard to remember sometimes that I can't just go and go and go like before. So we took a nap with the Woobie and LolaÂwell, I took a nap. You did gymnastics. It's nice having the bed all to myself. I've been experimenting with all those pillows I'm supposed to sleep on, and it's doing nothing.Nadaa. I'm not more comfortable at all.

How are we physically? Pretty darn good. The insomnia has let up, and I'm a lot more used to getting up frequently without really waking up...a good training habit, I'd think. I still have two complaints. My feet are KILLING me. My poor arches have collapsed again and it's really hard to spend more than an hour on my feet without pain. But that nothing compared to thesciaticc nerve pinch from Hell. Thank god it's not all the time. Like right now, at my desk at three in the afternoon? I'm just fine. It's only when I get up from sitting on the couch, or, worse, get up out of bed. Then I look like a crone hobbling towards her gingerbread oven. Owweeee. So, I'm going to try some prenatal massage therapy. Doesn't that sound good? Mmmm-mmmm.

Let's see. I've decided to decorate your room in "Starry Night" which is a really cool ark full of animals on a nighttime sea. It's made out of denim and I really like it. So naturally, it's on closeout, and I have to scramble to get all the pieces I want. There's this small-person-sized rocker that makes me want to weep, it's so cute. But at least it's forcing us to get a move on with your room. That will be so much fun. Except I can't paint, grrr. I bought a bunch of pieces and registered for the rest. Fingers crossed.

You and I went to have dinner Monday with the excellent Briggs/Heffernans. We talked garlic and babies and books. Nora and Briggs are feet taller than last time I saw them. They were very excited about you, and they've given you most of their baby furniture collection, which I could not be more grateful for. I'm most excited about the Pack'n'Play with a bag full of accessories, and a really nice swing and a crib! And that was only half the booty. Hurrah for Barbara and company. We love them.

I'm going to fess up to one of the more bizarre things I've done with regards to your upcoming arrival. I'm really wanting you and Murphy to be friends right off. Around small people, Murphy seems to be happy, but he got pretty anxious when he heard a friend's infant start to cry. So today I went online and downloaded a couple mp3s of babies crying to get him used to the sound. You might as well know right off that your mother tends to think too much.

Bringing you to work with me is still under discussion. The word is that people are 'getting used to the idea.' Apart from an outright go-ahead, this is about as good as we can hope for. I'm still very committed to the idea, and so I'm going to get back to work now. Besides, it's too hard to concentrate on this letter with you beginning your afternoon stroll.

Love you to pieces,

Mama

fingers crossed

2006-09-28T14:02:00.000-04:00

I like my job. It's a good place to work, and they let me take on whatever projects I have an interest in learning. It's pretty laid back. However, it is not particularly family-friendly. By that, I mean that not many people here have children, and if they do, they're all grown up.

So it was with some hesitation that I began looking into my maternity leave options, and more importantly, my return. Turns out child care is really, really short around here, and waiting lists are placing children for next summer. Yikes. Time to get a move on.

Whatever I decide, there are a couple things I know: 1.) We cannot afford for me to stay at home beyond what my maternity benefits will cover, which is precious little and 2.) I would go stark raving mad if I stayed home full time. So back to work it is! The question is...how?

I put together a maternity leave proposal that outlined my plans for covering my work while I'm away. But I spent most of the time concentrating on my return-to-work plan. I came up with four proposals, in order of preference to me. Plan #1 was to return to work quickly, fell-time, along with the baby. Revolutionary, non? I did my homework and came up with supporting articles from CNN and small business groups. I also was able to lay my hands on the baby-to-work policies from another small company in Vermont. My basic defense was that everybody wins. I get to spend thousands less a year on child care. I wouldn't be so emotionally torn about placing a six-week old infant in day care. Pompy gets me back as soon as possible, and I could continue to work as I do now...staying until the job is done, and not being constrained by day care hours and sick children being sent home. I don't have to suffer through an eight-hour separation every day. I don't have to pump. It goes on and on. All I really need to move my area from one end of the room to a much more private spot across the way.

Naturally, the plan relies on the support of my coworkers and their willingness to put up with having a small person around. Also, somehow I'll need to keep my mother-in-law from camping out in my office and causing a general disruption. This is a bigger concern than it might seem. I'd also need to learn how to juggle caring for him and getting some actual work done. Baby boy would come to work with me until he was too mobile to stay in one place or Pompy got tired of the arrangement, whichever came first.

Plan #2 was to work from home two days a week and do day care for the other three. Less expensive, less separation, but not completely ideal. Not sure I could work from home. I'd end up sweeping the floors and doing laundry, I think.

Other plans were a gradual return to work using up all my leave time, but not benefiting me at all in the long run. Still full time day care, and the most work interruption possible.

My boss Rob and I had a meeting last week to discuss. Although I really, really want to try bringing the baby to work, I was really not expecting the plan to fly. Imagine an office full of predominantly gay men willing to put up with the presence of a small infant? I mean, we allow dogs, but this is something else altogether. Anyway, Rob and I brainstormed as if this was not a huge obstacle. And imagine my surprise and pleasure when he told me he was not opposed to the idea of "Pompy Day Care." Dude, that's half the battle! Now all that remains is for him to win the support of the rest of the VIPs and we're in business. Easier said than done, but I really am hopeful. It would mean so much, as I know Rob realizes.

That was a week ago, and I'm still waiting to hear on a decision. Rob can be a procrastinator, so I'm not even sure that it has been discussed yet. And I'm trying not to read too much into a little chat I had with Mark, another coworker.

Mark: Wow. You cleaned. And took all that shit off the wall.

Me: Yeah, I had a germophobe moment, and I was sick of looking at the mess everywhere.

Mark: I like the artwork. Still, you're going to have to take it all down again when you move into David's space.

Helll-ooo? Move? Why would I be moving into that secluded little nook if it weren't for the need for more privacy? Say, like if I had a baby with me??? And why would Mark have let that slip if they hadn't had a discussion? And agreed, at least in principle to give it a try?

I am on the most outrageous pins and needles. Am trying to be cool. Am trying to wait until Rob is ready to talk to me. Am trying not to get my hopes up, lest it all come to nothing and they are, collectively, unwilling to give this a try. Finding it very hard not to give into hallucinations about the joys of being with my baby every moment. Oh, I am mad with anticipation and suspense. Please oh please oh please...

baby blitz

2006-09-27T15:10:00.000-04:00

Dear oh dear. Thanks Jess, for recommending the world's most addictive reading for parents-to-be. Baby Bargains has been keeping me up waaay past my bedtime for two nights running. (You're supposed to read it cover to cover, right??)

First, a dilemma. My parents still have my baby crib. That makes it 29 years old. They are gently suggesting that we use it. I keep going back and forth, back and forth. Do I use it? Do I run screaming?

Pros: It is FREE. It has successfully raised four children, all of whom lived to tell the tale. It's kinda heirloom-y. Did I mention it was free?

Cons: Well, duh. It's thirty years behind in safety standards. There are wide spaces between slats AND it had corner posts. Everything I read rants about not using a crib even a few years out of date.

So, Do I become super-safety paranoid mama, or laid-back possibly-put-my-child-in-jepoardy mama? Gaargh.

Moving on, it is supremely difficult to get in a full day's work after reading the baby bedding section. The siren call of the internet is very hard to avoid. But I'm sharing because I'd like some help. The nursery. I found so many bedding sets I love that I think my head is about to come spinning off. So, vote for your favorite and help me make a decision. Because I simply cannot on my own.

Caveat: I have no intention of creating the matchy-matchy nursery haven shown below. Diaper bags? Please. I'm not even going to get a changing table. My wicker dresser with glass top will work juuust fine, thank you! But still...they're so freakin cute!! So without further ado, and in no particular order...once y'all have weighed in, I'll let you know what way we go!

Whales Tale

Turtle Bay

Starry Night

Oh, and I've finished both the Farmyard Baby Wrap and the Baby Hoodie Sweater. Can't show em to you, though, because Glenn misplaced the camera.

UPDATED: After sleeping on it, and discussing with Glenn, we've narrowed our choices somewhat, so I've deleted the losers.

deciding to delete

2006-09-21T10:58:00.000-04:00

Thanks to everybody for their thoughts and prayers. Upon reflection, I have decided that it would be inappropriate to discuss Rachel any more within this blog. So I've deleted the entry.

When this first began to unfold, I stupidly anticipated that the scare would be just that...a scare. However, as we find out more (and none of it good) it feels wrong to use this blog to share information here. She's not even my child.

For those of you wo have emailed me or left comments, thanks so much. I'll be happy to answer individual inquiries about Rachel, but I'll not be posting anymore about her. I know you'll all understand.

So it's with a profoundly new appreciation for this little life inside me that I go about my life today. Love and good thoughts to you all.

m

Letters to my Baby Boy - Week 19

2006-09-15T12:33:00.000-04:00

That's right, you're not just 'someone' anymore! Yesterday, we went in for your ultrasound, and there is very little doubt that you are a boy. Our baby boy. It feels so good to know more about you! I'm delighted to find out. You father is, needless to say, beside himself with excitement. I think he's already planning your first trip into the woods together. If he comes home with a camouflage onesie, I will have to kill him.

The ultrasound tech was decidedly unimpressed with your reticence to be scanned. She called you names like 'stinker'. In order to get all the shots she needed, she kept poking me in the stomach. Hard. Not sure you liked that either, but it did get you to turn around. Seeing all your little parts rise out of the deep was an amazing experience. And when she finally began calling you a 'he', I didn't even catch on right away. Wasn't even aware until she typed 'male' in this shot at first. And then, just to cover all the bases, she provided this helpful little arrow to point out your...oh shit. Here we go. I'm entering the great arena of genital euphemisms. Gad. I am not ready for this!

I love this shot. What a pose. Are you sleeping? Praying? Sucking your thumb?

Here's your head, as she notes, in profile.

This shot we have to talk about. This supposedly, is your face. Not, as I hoped, as interpreted by Edvard Munch, but your real face.

The tech says this is exactly what you're supposed to look like, and I'm going to take her word for it. Still, you're kind of giving me the wiggins. I'm really hoping that this is not a shot of you strenuously objecting to your living quarters. I promise to send you in whatever you want, just don't look so much like Jack Skellington, ok?

Okay, just gotta love your feet. Quite possibly my favorite shot. Can't think of anything else to say about that.

Baby Boy, I am so impatient to meet you. Keep growing bigger (but not too big). We've still got a long way to go. I know you probably can't hear much yet, but I've been playing music for you. Might as well get you up to speed on the Boss and Bob Dylan right away. Please consider letting me get some sleep. Hope you're liking the walks with Murphy. He is going to be your biggest fan.

Love,

your mama

yup, so going to hell

2006-09-13T16:11:00.000-04:00

I've been trying really, really hard all day to wish my mother in law out of existence (my existence, not out of being entirely). She can stay, as long as I don't have to hear her or talk to her, especially when I AM WORKING OF THE EFFING DATABASE AND TROUBLESHOOTING THE BAZILLION SNAFUS THAT HAVE COME INTO BEING SINCE WE UPGRADED FILEMAKER.

It's not working. Am considering more drastic action. Intervention requested. Otherwise, I am going to lose my temper and very few people who read this blog have been fortunate enough not to witness the devestation that ensues. help meeeeeeee

winter's here!

2006-09-11T13:56:00.000-04:00

Just kidding. Mostly. We had a hard frost last night. I was not expecting it, but I didn't listen to the radio all day either. Glenn woke me up at 5:30am to tell me. You'd have thought it was Christmas. For Glenn, frost means the official start to hunting season. Hence the twitterpations. I, however, was not so excited.

Everything is just about over in the garden. Tomatoes, beans, cukes...they're all little piles on browny-greeny mush. I can pick the tomatoes before tonight, and they'll mostly be ok, but just like last year, then I'll have 75 pounds of green tomatoes sitting in the kitchen and hosting the world's largest fruit fly convention. Bummer. What's more, now we have no reason to begin the projects we truly dread...putting the garden to bed. It's tiller time, which will be no small feat with the amount of weedage to be chopped up.

Although fall is my favorite season, there is always an element of melancholy to it. I think it makes me sad because here in Vermont, fall might last until Thanksgiving, or we might have snow in two weeks. You just never know. The days are already getting shorter. The glorious summer nights are over. Fog fills the Connecticut Valley, sometimes not burning off until noon. Mornings are in the thirties, but it's 75 degrees by the end of the work day. It's a incomprehensible season, erratic whenever possible, and I love it.

Because where else can you get a hard frost within thirty-six hours of swimming in the lake?

what I do instead of sleeping

2006-09-05T12:09:00.001-04:00

I am getting very cranky with the Farmyard Baby Wrap. Well, no, I am getting cranky with my knitting ineptitude. This is my first foray into color knitting and I am just not getting the hang of stranding. The tension is all f***ed up! It looks like the eqivalent of knitting with fingerpaint. Gaargh. Just because it's for a baby doesn't mean it should look like it was knit by a baby. Advice appreciated! I have three rows of blocks to go, and then I have to embroider the outlines, feet, eyes, and such, so there's definitely time for improvement!

Onto something I am marginally more experienced at...canning! Even with a disaster of a garden year, I have more tomatoes and peppers than I can keep up with. This is one of our favorites: Mixed Pepper Jam. Yum! It's spicy and tangy and a little sweet. And it's so pretty! This year's is especially alluring due to the Black Czech hot peppers (purple) and the Carrot chiles (bright orange) I grew. Tonight it's onto either homemade ketchup or homemade V8 juice. Both are new recipes, so wish me luck. Nothing worse than all this prep and work and boiling water and sanitizing to come up with something inedible.

And, lastly, there's the bed issue. I've broken down and gotten a prescription for Ambien, so there is a remote chance I might get some sleep. Except that I am the last to bed, and get only whatever space is still unclaimed by husband, dog, or cats. You'd think this wouldn't be much of a problem in a king-sized bed! Glenn is un-wakeable, especially when it comes to giving up space. And Murphy, well, he usually pulls the poor, pitiful amputee card, giving me such a woeful expression that I cave and give up trying to manever him to a corner of the bed. Plus, you know how little kids go all limp and add fifty pounds to their dead weight when they don't want to be moved? Well, Murphy has learned that particular trick. Thank god Lola only weighs seven pounds.

Lastly, I think, I think I feel movement. So hard to tell! It's such a funny sensation of pressure. And what's really weird is that I don't notice it build and build until all of a sudden it's gone! Only a week and two days until the ultrasound! Trying to keep my mind occupied, but it's so hard!

Oh, and the leaves are changing here. Welcome fall. At least it didn't frost in August. I hate that.

insomnia haiku

2006-09-01T11:46:00.000-04:00

i.
look, i'd really like
to sleep tonight. maybe more
than twenty minutes.

ii.
not stressed, not worried,
not caffinated. and yet
not able to sleep.

iii.
sweet bebe, i'll be
up with you all night for months,
so let's sleep now, yeah?

iv.
on the couch. with cat,
blanket, and clicker, dreading
work at 9am.

Letters to Someone - Week 15

2006-08-23T13:46:00.000-04:00

Dear Little Lentil,

Congratulations baby! You are now big enough to warrant a description that has nothing to do with comparisons to fruit, vegetables or other edibles. You're 4 inches long and your Mama now has a tummy.

Last night, I packed up all my summer pre-pregnancy clothes. It was a little sad. I have about 900 cami/tankini things and they're all looking more like bras now. Or they would, if my bosom fit in them. Thank goodness for Moria Fahey, who donated all her maternity clothes to me. Even though she's inches taller and 20 pounds lighter, I am optimistic. And today, I am wearing bona fide maternity clothes for the first time. The jeans won't exactly stay up, but they're loads more comfortable than my own.

Three more weeks until your ultrasound. Don't know how I'm gonna make it until then. The suspense is killing me. Some people seem to have an idea what they're carrying, but I have no clue. I can't wait to know about you. We're close to deciding on your name. We've got our own list, which we're keeping a secret, but we've also solicited from our nearest and dearest. It's a pretty good list. Without adding in any of our own choices, as of today, you could be named any of the following:

If you're a girl,
Claire
Cara
Quinn
Oona
Stella
Caroline
Julia
Maeve
Maria
Alanna
Kathryn

If you're a boy,
Daniel
Robert
Liam (3)
Aidan (2)
Quinn
Rory
Ben
Craig
Ashling
Christian
Niall

Quite a mix! One day when you're older, we'll show you this and you can think about how different your life would have been if we'd named you Ashling. I, for one, was almost named Duane in honor of the death of Duane Allman. He's part of the Allman....oh nevermind. Thank god your grandfather sobered up in time.

We've been busy finishing off the basement which will double our living space. It's quite a project and your father has been a trooper. Let's hope that it's finished well before your arrival and that you don't have to know anything about it.

We watched this amazing National Geographic show called "In the Womb." Amazing. It was astounding how much they know now about your development and what it looks like. And even though I can't feel you, I know you're doing the most crazy backflips and rockette kicks right now. You go, baby. Get it all out of your system now before you come in contact with my ribcage. Your dad was really interested in the whole thing. Well, except for the birth part. We're watching the delivery sequence, and the poor mother is howling, and your father says, "It can't hurt that bad, can it?" It's an awfully good thing that he was sitting far away from me, and that my reaction times are slowed. In retaliation, he gets diaper duty for the first month straight. Make 'em stinky.

I hope you're growing well and dreaming well too. And moving those little baby limbs! I'm trying to get you outside as much as possible before it gets cold. We picked blackberries last Saturday and made a pie. Hope you liked it.

Love,

Your mama

losing my convictions

2006-08-03T16:13:00.000-04:00

I've more than willing to acknowledge that one of my biggest character flaws is a tendency to apply equal weight to all of my beliefs, from the silly to the substantial. In daily life, this often means that I will defend my love of all-things-Mac/Apple with the same fervor that I will expound upon my opposition to the Bush Administration and other Masters of War. Wearing socks with sandals? Putting relish in your tuna fish? Country music? Clearly as heinous as those sickos (sic?) that set their pets on fire. I am not kidding. I just seem to have been born without the little importance-o-meter that all people should have implanted in their brains somewhere.

I mention this because I want to convey to you the full meaning of my distress when I say that I have given up, caved in to what were some of my most closely-held beliefs. I have sold-out, and put aside my convictions for sheer peace of mind and comfort of body. I am so ashamed.

So, what have I done to bring on this remorse, this true disappointment in myself? Here are the cardinal Murphy/Ferriot rules which I have violated:

I. Thou shalt not watch television.
How, oh how did I let this happen? I have lived happily, blissfully free of American Idol, Cops, The OC, and even Buffy for the last six years. I have not seen a single commercial or music video. I haven't seen South Park since Season One. I have never seen The Daily Show. And you know what? I never missed it.

Okay, that's a lie. I miss the Sopranos. I hate having to wait until shows that actually have some redeeming quality get to DVD before I can see them. I hate having to avoid all media that discusses what's already happened until I can catch up. (As in, I found out Adriana gets whacked by lowering my vigilance and reading a feature on Drea in Vogue. Vogue! Why the hell do they care about her character? Don't they just care about her legs??)

But on the good side, I wasted a lot less time watching things that might be good, but turn out to be complete drivel. Once a show is to DVD, the verdict is pretty much in. I can live with that. We had Netflix. I mean, we're not completely off the grid. So I learned patience and the art of bulking up a sizable queue.

So what happened? The DH happened. I couldn't take the whinging anymore. About how I am depriving him of his basic human rights and such. And my entire family sided with him when the subject came up at the reunion. So I caved. Got a satellite (with a DVR, natch.)

Sadness. So, so sad. Especially when I learned that there are not one, but two channels entirely devoted to game hunting and the idiots who film themselves game hunting. From what I can discern, God is very happy with his devotees and their animal sacrifices in his name in central Missouri. The DH is delighted.

Okay, so there is always the balm of neverending reruns of Law & Order. But still, the sting of my failure will rankle for a long, long time.

I. Thou shalt not own or operate an air conditioner north of the Mason-Dixon line.
If I can live in extreme southern Maryland for four years, sandwiched between two humid waterways in a house that had to be 98% water, all through the summer, without mechanical coolant of any kind, I can damn well live out a few sweltering weeks in Vermont. Vermont! for chrissakes. BZZZZT! Wrong again!

Reader, I bought an a/c unit.

I'm sorrreeee, I am such a wus! It's just, what with the digital indoor thermometer that mocks me with its 91 degree heat inside and 86% relative humidity, and the fact that I've had to wear my hair shellacked to my head for the past three weeks in order not to frighten the co-workers, I just couldn't take it anymore!! I haven't slept in DAYS. It's bad enough that my bladder is the size of a walnut and I'm getting up to pee every hour, but when the sheets come with you to the bathroom because they're glued to your back? Just, ew.

I live in Vermont because for 9 months out of the year, you can go ice skating on your driveway. Because snow is never a reason not to get in your car and go somewhere. NOT BECAUSE IT REMINDS ME OF A TROPICAL PARADISE. I swear, I'm going to hock the damn air conditioner and move to Newfoundland. I hear they make good yarn there.

ps- i have no idea what is wrong with the font sizes in this post. they won't do what I tell them to.

i'm here!

2006-07-24T15:02:00.000-04:00

don't fret, mon chers, all is well! I'm fine, LL is fine (and the size of a fig!)

Trouble is, since my house is located in an area where we still use tin cans attached with string to communicate, I blog at work. And at times, like the past weeks and for the foreseeable future, I am so busy that I just can't take out time to write a post.

I suppose I could write at home, and then just post at work, but let's face it: I'm lucky if I can get out of the car after work before I begin dozing off.

So, until the albatross of a catalog is done, I won't be posting much. Not to fear, all is well.

In the meantime, I charge you to leave comments with other fun and amusing and time-sucking places to visit on the web to keep each other entertained. I volunteer:

whedonesque: Joss the way we like it
Admittedly, of niche interest, but at least Lizzie will understand!

HE LOOKS LIKE.... The Morbid Game of Psychoanalyzing Strangers in Pictures

Or, go download something by my new favorite, Arcade Fire. Or something by my old favorite, David Byrne. Or (again with the niche) this amazing Phish show.

file under: miscellaneous

2006-07-19T16:46:00.000-04:00

I've been ruminating all day on how to describe hearing the baby's heartbeat yesterday. And what I've come up with is that it's just not possible. Well, not possible for me, anyway. My powers of description just utterly fail. Or maybe it's like trying to describe the first time you ride a bike without training wheels, or what a heart attack feels like. Words just fail. So, I heard my baby's heartbeat. And I can't wait to hear it again.

In other news, Pompyland has been notified of the imminent arrival. Hurrah for the end of secrecy!

Today is the third day in a row where I don't feel like throwing up every other minute. Please oh please oh please let this be the end.

Mosquitoes can indeed penetrate the bottom of one's foot.

Flintstones chewable vitamins are a perfectly acceptable substitute for nasty prenatal vitamins until such time as my stomach can accept them again.

JBQ are leaving on Friday. I am saddened.

When stepped upon on a dark porch, fresh peach cores feel very much like rodent insides. But they're not. The rodents are left on the bedroom carpet, windowsill, or comforter, and not on the porch.

It's time to pick raspberries.

I am giving up on maintaining the following vegetables: parsley, chard, parsnips, soybeans, bush beans, potatoes and carrots. It's just not possible to keep up with the weed removal.

And last but not least, I give you an excerpt from today most memorable conversation:

me: Everything went great yesterday, so I'll going to start telling people at work about the baby today.

MIL: oh, oh, how wonderful. Then everyone will be swarming me.

lola, aglow

2006-07-12T13:00:00.000-04:00

here, a baby, there, a baby

2006-07-11T13:24:00.000-04:00

Apparently, pregnancies can be mildly contagious! That, or practically every married person I know shares my biological clock timing.

I've just found out that my cousin Lorraine in Ireland is pregnant with her first, and due two months before I am! This is good. I really love her and her husband Paul. They'll make fantastic parents. I have to admit, though, that I am more than a little jealous of her maternity allowances on the Emerald Isle. Lorraine is a teacher in Dublin, and she'll work until her delivery. Then she gets nine months of leave, not having to return until the following September. Geez. I'll be lucky to get a full 12 weeks. Yay for Lorraine!

And then this morning, I got word that my dear friend mmphh is going to have her second baby a month after me! I am so happy for her and mmphh. It will be so much fun to compare notes and since she's already gone through this once, I'm going to pepper her with questions. The only thing is, she lives in mmphh which is far away from me. Grrr. Also, she's one of my best friends from mmphh and that brings our foursome's baby tally to a whopping SIX. Incredible. Whooee! Since I'm not positive I should be blogging about it until she tells me its ok, I've muffled the joyful news in order to protect the parties involved.

It's happening already. I'm becoming baby-obsessed. Must. keep. control. It helps that I haven't yet told the people at work. Although I can't wait to stop pretending that I feel fine. I just wanna go to bed.

I keep forgetting to bring my camera out to the garden, and for this, I apologize. Things are going a little wild, but tomatoes and peppers and most beans will be a success. I have, however, discovered about a bajillion Colorado Potato beetle larvae feasting on my potato plants. They need to be controlled, but organically, which means I concoct some weird tea or hand pick the little buggers off. With bucket in hand, I went down yesterday to begin the picking, but there I discovered that the local birds are having a kegger in the potato patch and beetles are the hors d'oeuvre. I love nature! I think, in a few days, I'll have considerably less beetles to worry over.

Also, I discovered that thin yoga pants are no match for voracious mosquitoes. They, ummm, attacked my bottom, which is making it considerably less pleasant to sit in my chair at work today.

bonfire of the daddies

2006-07-10T11:45:00.000-04:00

raves and rants

2006-07-07T12:06:00.000-04:00

Last night, Glenn and I braved the hordes of mosquitoes to harvest half a bushel basket of basil. This is one of my favorite moments as a gardener. The basil is rocking out, and now all those nights of starting seeds in the late winter begin to seem worth it. We only take the top half of the plants, in order to encourage larger, bushier plants further down the road.
Basil and tomato salad
Basil PESTO!
Grilled chicken with basil
dried basil
basil foccaccia
Of course, my sensitive tummy doesn't want any of these things at the moment. But I'm going on the assumption that someday, it will.

So, onto the next topic of discussion. Yesterday, I had my first experience with irrational, mind-bending cravings. It was brutal. The result? Erm, 4 dozen bagels from H&H Bagels in NYC are being overnighted to me via Fedex. I thought it was a reasonable reaction. You don't agree? So here I am, patiently waiting for my Priority Overnight package to arrive. As of 12:21 pm, it still ain't here. So, I succumb to the siren call of the tracking number. I knew I should just wait it out, but...bagels!!!

Let's take a look at the results.

So, ummm, you're telling me that my package left the Tri-State area to take a quick jaunt to Tennessee? What the hell for??? Fine, I understand this whole hub setup, so whatev. I'll get over it.

Then, my bagels are sent to Londonderry, NH, and then onto Lebanon, NH. Fine so far. Lebanon is only 21 miles from me.

Then, apparently, my bagels were quashed from the delivery run they were out on and went back to Londonderry WHICH IS 110 MILES FROM HERE. THIS IS NOT ACCEPTABLE FOR THE CRANKY PREGNANT WOMAN. I WANT A BAGEL. PRONTO. And not some piece of bread shaped into a ring and foisted upon the uneducated masses of New England by the local bagel shop or grocery store. These are not bagels. They are not even designer imposters. They are rolls. They are bread with toppings. They are not bagels.

pant pant

If you do not recognize a difference between actual bagels and the things called bagels in the other 95% of the country, or if you simply don't care, please disregard this post and go about your business. And if you think I'm just nuts, then please do not ever bring up the subject of crab cakes in my presence. That is all.

Happy 5th of July

2006-07-05T13:51:00.000-04:00

Editor's Note: This post was delayed due to Blogger upload snafus.

I love the Fourth. It's my dad's birthday, so we usually wind up having a big ole party, which my mother does really well. This year, fourteen family members and four dogs spent the weekend at their house, and (mostly) had a blast. We got to announce about the baby, which was so exciting, and I got lots of sympathy for feeling so yuck. We went swimming in the Resevoir, rode the Alpine slide in Stowe, went to the farmers' market, and barbecued every night. We watched the fireworks in Burlington from the roof of the building where my dad works. They're getting pretty spiffy. I love the sparkly ones.

Some dipshit brought his dog out onto the roof, and the poor creature went bananas when the fireworks started. It had a complete breakdown, broke away, looked like it was going to run off the roof at any second. Ugh. So when he finally caught the dog, does he take it away? No! He tries to wrestle it into calmness and watch the fireworks. After twenty minutes, when he finally left, all the people on the roof applauded. It reminded me of all those poor creatures whose people dragged them to Phish shows and tied them to cars or who let them roam or run away. There were dozens of dogs roaming the fields during Coventry. It made me so mad.

Here I am showing off the afghan to the Knitting Grandmother. All her children (my mother included) think I am out of my skull to actually want to knit. They don't understand the addiction, but everyone wants a (bag, blanket, fill-in-the-project here).

I'll leave you now with this last picture. That's my husband under there, who valiantly tried to stay awake past 9pm every night. I found him asleep like this a couple hours later. That is Nora's giant reindeer. Discuss amongst yourselves.

Letters to Someone - Week 8

2006-06-30T13:34:00.000-04:00

Dear LL,

Today, I am eight weeks pregnant with you. Remember how I just said you weren't making your presence very well known? Well bollocks to that, because I am sick. Sicksicksick. Called in pregnant to work yesterday. Murphy and I laid in bed all day, in between trips to the bathroom, and moaned piteously. And we napped. Until the power went out and killed the fan in the bedroom, at which point we went back to moaning. I finished Julia Child's autobiography of how she began her culinary career in France, because, you know, what better way to keep your mind off food and its nasty effects on my tummy than to read all about one woman's five-decade foray into French cuisine? Actually, it was a lovely book.

So this week you are the size of a kidney bean. I'm too sick to come up with a clever nickname incorporating kidney beans, so you are still Little Lentil. Every time I get a really strong wave of nausea, your dad and I joke that it's because you're growing a toe. Which is ok with me. They tell me this yuckky stage will pass, and I really hope it happens soon. I am v. cranky. Ooh, except that I've discovered that Megan is right, and crayola ice pops are indeed very delicious!

Also, I want to be not-sick for this weekend, because we're going to be spending the whole holiday at your Grandparents Murphy's house. In honor of your Grandad, whose birthday is on the 4th, the entire family is assembling from NJ, ME, MA, NH, and VT. Yay! And we get to tell everyone about you! I am so excited. My grandparents are going to become great-grandparents, and Nora is about to become an auntie. Am devising clever ways of inserting the news into conversations. I get a kick out of the double-takes. Since you're the first baby of this next generation, you should prepare to get continuous attention (and happy surprises, hopefully) from this point forward. I do hope you're more of an extrovert than I am.

I'm going to visit my favorite yarn shop tomorrow and buy yarn for your first project. Blanket? Sweater? Booties? Don't know yet, but am a little afraid of the tiny ply of baby yarn. And of the gigantic price tags on cashmere. Last time I was there, I saw this baby sweater knitted in lime green, 100% cashmere. Oooh, it was heavenly. At the time, I thanked my stars that I was a.) childless and b.) poor. Well, now I'm with child, and I've just made a payment on my credit card. Watch out world!

I should probably go back to looking like I am busy, and waiting for 5:00 to come around. I hate being non-productive, but this sitting-at-a-desk thing while trying not to vomit is for the birds. I need a popsicle.

Sleep tight. We're loving you!

Love,

Your Mama

finish line!

2006-06-28T09:48:00.000-04:00

It what must be the most ridiculously late finish ever, I humbly announce that I have completed my Knitting Olympics project, the Galway Sampler Afghan:"I finished!"

"Finished what?"

"This effing blanket."

"Weren't you supposed to to have that done in, ummm, February?"

"Nevermind that. It's done!"

"I don't think you'll get a medal. They tore down the Olympic Village months ago."

"Shut up, and hand me my celebratory glass of seltzer."

anatomy of a pregnant lunch

2006-06-27T13:57:00.000-04:00

I've been alternately relieved and annoyed that I haven't experienced any food cravings. I'm not really interested in food, full stop. But I've quickly learned that the only way to control the nausea is to keep something in my belly, all the time. So, out come the usual crackers, graham crackers, dried fruit and fresh fruit. Fruit seems to be the only acceptable food, no matter what condition my tummy is in.

Funny, then, how strange my chosen lunch seems to be. If these aren't cravings, what on earth will I be eating when they do manifest?

so long, farewell...

2006-06-26T13:19:00.000-04:00

In honor of Jess, Bri, and baby Quinn leaving the Upper Valley, I'm titling this post in honor one of the worst musicals known to humankind. (And since Jess doesn't drive, she can't come hit me!!)

The farewell party at Casa del Ferriot went off well, although I was sorry that the Little People Heffernans couldn't attend. What on earth am I to do with a freezer full of ice pops shaped like Crayolas? Hmmm. Murphy, too, was downcast about it, until he discovered that seven-month-old Quinn adores puppies. She actually put up with having her face kissed, and squealed loudly every time Murphy's attention span sent him wandering off to someone else.

The original UPNE young whippersnappers club met together for most likely the last time for a long time. All original founding members were there: BLB, MF, RB, JH, and JS. Also present was BNSG, honorary member by virtue of being so laid back about our constant chatter regarding knitting, politics, books, and terribly cheesy movies featuring treacly moutaintop song and dance numbers, improbable plot twists and big, bad Nazis...where was I? Oh yes. For putting up with us for all these years. And we weren't shushed once, despite clearly being happy and enjoying the company of one another!

Will you just look at this child? I mean, really. RB, JH and I spent all afternoon scheming to steal her from one another. Except when she wanted to chew on a body part with her two adorable toofs. Then we gave her to Brian. All the same, I kept finding myself wanting to stick her ears, elbows and toes in my mouth. She must be eaten.

This is a great picture. Also, it is amusing, because I was telling Quinn to smile in time for the flash, and JH thought I was commanding her to smile. Kudos to her for not looking like someone was forcing her to smile, dammit. Had it been me, the picture would probably have looked like I was secretly suffering from raging nausea. Oh wait, I am secretly suffering from raging nausea. Damn this secrecy-at-work thing.

Jess, I will miss you soooo much. Promise to not fall off the end of the earth at that school, ok? The Upper Valley Kindred Spirit Club has been losing ~~traitorous, escapist,~~ valuable members in droves lately. BLB and I are going to have to resort to mail-order bosom friends. Or I'll have to develop a window friend a la Anne of Green Gables. And if you actually get that reference, welcome to the seventh level of geekdom.

It was great to see you all. I was v. sad to think of you all returning to your respective states of residence. None of which are VT. Sigh. Miss you and love you!

ps...Any pictures of adults in this post are entirely coincidental and do not reflect the intentions of this author, which were to take as many pictures of the babette as humanly possible in a six-hour period.

fin

Letters to Someone - Week 6

2006-06-21T13:51:00.000-04:00

Dear LL,

Today, I am six and a half weeks pregnant with you. It's been really hard to keep from announcing your presence to everyone in the whole world, but it won't be long now before your presence can't be concealed.

So far, you haven't really made your arrival known. My boobs are really sore. And I'm queasy, although thankfully not sick. You seem to appreciate bread and cold butter. And I'm really grateful you allow me to get home and still have some energy left to get out to the garden. You're going to be a veggie baby. All the plants are growing. I hope you like beans; we're going to have tons. And please let me continue to eat garlic. I think that's a fair trade for having to give up wine, don't you?

Your dad and I are so excited to meet you, but we'll have to wait until February. That seems like an eternity. Each week, we've been reading about what you look like, and what you're doing. Right now, at week six, we're told you're about the size of a lentil. Your dad went rummaging through the pantry for the lentils, and got one out. He placed it in the palm of my hand, and we stood in the kitchen, staring at the lentil. So tiny. I hope you get bigger soon. Big enough that we can't lose you in a jar of legumes.

And ever since that moment, we've been referring to you as "Little Lentil." Sorry about that; it just stuck. Once we can tell who you're going to be, I promise we'll switch to your name. But until then, you're still with LL.

Do you know you were conceived on the first try? Goodness. I hope everything you aim for is this easy. You can thank your mother's genetics for that one. We Irish peasant stock sure know how to populate. You Grandmother Ferriot has been torturing me with stories of twins in the family. And how she gained 100 pounds with your father. And how your father was so big at birth that the hospital didn't have any clothes that would fit him.

So, look, here's the deal. If you promise to be born singly, in the 6-8 pound range, and are happy with me gaining the optimum amount of weight, which is less than 25 pounds, I promise to never, ever make you look like Little Lord Fauntleroy. Which I can do. Because I'm the mom. Deal?

In all seriousness, please get strong and healthy and develop all your little insides. We're all getting ready for you. Oh, except that you might not be able to sleep in the bed with us. I've had a talk with Murphy, and he is unwilling to consider that he should remove from his accustomed spot between us, and on my pillow. We're working on it, though. Maybe you can switch off?

Take care of yourself; we're taking care of you. Sleep tight.

Love,

Your Mama

2006-06-02T11:40:00.000-04:00

Chronic Renal Failure

Renal failure (kidney failure) occurs when kidney function has deteriorated to such a degree that the kidneys can no longer perform their normal functions of excreting wastes, maintaining water and electrolyte balance, and producing hormones. Renal failure occurs in acute or chronic forms.

Acute renal failure is of recent onset and is potentially reversible. In contrast, chronic renal failure has been present for months to years at the time of diagnosis and is irreversible. Dogs and cats with chronic renal failure cannot be cured, but their clinical signs can often be managed successfully.

Kidneys are composed of many small functional units called nephrons (approximately 190,000 in cats and approximately 400,000 in dogs). Dogs, cats, and humans are normally born with such an abundance of nephrons that signs of kidney failure do not become apparent until more than two thirds of the nephrons have been damaged. Because of this redundant kidney tissue, it is possible to donate a kidney for transplantation and survive. On the other hand, surplus nephrons make it difficult to detect chronic kidney diseases until they are well advanced. As a consequence, chronic kidney failure is often an insidious condition that remains unrecognized until it is severe.

Because kidney disease is often quite advanced at the time of initial diagnosis, the initiating cause of chronic renal failure can rarely be established. Although chronic renal failure occurs most often in older dogs and cats, renal failure is not simply a result of aging.

The earliest signs of renal failure are typically thirst (polydipsia) and increased urine volume (polyuria). These signs result from inability of the diseased kidneys to form concentrated urine. Other common early signs include weight loss, poor haircoat, and an increasingly selective appetite. Further decline in kidney function result in progressive inability to excrete waste products, leading to retention of toxic wastes in blood and tissues in the body. This is called uremia (literally, urine in the blood).

Prominent clinical signs of uremia include loss of appetite, vomiting, ulcers in the mouth, "uremic" (foul ammonia smelling) breath, weakness, and lethargy. Other important effects of renal failure include anemia (caused by inability of failing kidneys to produce erythropoietin, the hormone responsible for making red blood cells) and high blood pressure. Anemia worsens the weakness, lethargy, and loss of appetite of dogs and cats with chronic renal failure, and high blood pressure may cause sudden blindness, strokelike signs (such as mental dullness, sudden behavioral changes, coma, or seizures), or injury to the kidneys and heart. Diagnosis of chronic renal failure is confirmed by laboratory evaluation of your pet's blood and urine. A urine test can help determine whether the kidneys can form concentrated urine and provide evidence of other urinary tract problems such as urinary tract infections.

Blood tests used to evaluate kidney function include blood urea nitrogen (BUN) and serum creatinine concentrations. Because the kidneys excrete urea and creatinine, increases in urine and creatinine concentrations in blood indicate decreased kidney function. These tests are usually done together because they provide different information. The serum creatinine concentration is the more specific test for kidney function, and treatment and other factors may influence the BUN.

Fortunately, most dogs and cats can be treated, providing a good quality of life for months or years. Treatment for chronic renal failure is tailored to the unique clinical requirements of each pet but may include a special diet (e.g., limiting protein, phosphorus, and salt intake); hydration therapy; and medications designed to control clinical signs (such as poor appetite, nausea and vomiting), acid-base and electrolyte disturbances, anemia, and hypertension.

Consumption of excess protein may make some pets ill because the waste products of protein metabolism are excreted by the kidneys and are retained in renal failure. Dehydration (abnormal depletion of body fluids) is a special threat to pets with renal failure, and they may deteriorate if episodes of vomiting, diarrhea, or inadequate water intake are not dealt with promptly. Water should never be withheld from dogs and cats with renal failure.

In humans, renal failure is most often managed by dialysis (hemodialysis or peritoneal dialysis) or renal transplantation. Chronic hemodialysis and peritoneal dialysis have thus far not proved to be satisfactory options for dogs and cats with chronic renal failure because they are expensive and fail to provide an acceptable quality of life. Renal transplantation is an expensive but potentially useful option for selected cats but has not met with similar success in dogs. Renal transplantation is best reserved for cats that can no longer be managed by standard medical therapy.

-David J. Polzin

crankypants

2006-06-01T14:15:00.000-04:00

I'm having a bear of a day.

For starters, work. My poster printer has ended it's championship Tent Sale run with a tortuous series of misfires, broken equipment, and general failure to print things the way I want them. Oh, and I have a day and a half to get out a print run that generally takes 4-5 days. Yay.

Secondly, it's hot. I got little sleep due to the humidity and the warming presence of a dog on my feet and a cat on my head. AND the a/c is broken at work. I work over a machine shop. It's at least 10 degrees hotter in here than outside. I'm wearing as little as I can reasonably get away with at work. Am considering sticking my head under the water fountain.

Thirdly, Murphy is in today for his final accident-related surgury. They're removing all the teeth that were broken when he got hit. That is actually good news (apart from the bill). What's not so good is the testing on his kidney functions. I have to leave early to consult with Dr. Christine over what to do. More meds and a prescription diet, I'm guessing. Also, she told me, "We want this dog to have as good of a remaining life, for as long as we can." Ouch.

Finally, I've got potatoes, garlic, onions and basil in the ground. This leaves about fifty items that should be in the ground, but aren't. I need a, whatsitcalled, a doppleganger? Or a personal assistant.

Wah.

attack of the seedlings

2006-05-22T11:17:00.000-04:00

Every blinkin' surface in my house looks like this:

From what I understand, Spring will be here someday. Any day now. Yup. Any day.

the vacation endeth

2006-05-19T11:34:00.000-04:00

Well, I've put it off just as long as possible. But I have to come back to the real world. Here's my vacation, the photo essay.

The vaca actually began in Boston the weekend before. I needed new clothes, and some citylife. We met Nora in Dorchester and the kids she works with. What a bunch! They're shelter kids with lots to overcome. Its clear that Nora is adored and vice versa. I mean, she's short enough to be one of the crowd, dontcha think? The classroom facilities were really impressive. Funded by the kind of people with money that don't choose to buy a Hummer instead.

I met Megan for lunch and met her two boys for the first time. Alex was a peach. I love kids who clearly have been treated like little people, and not babies. They're bright, inquisitive, and opinionated. Meeting up with someone you've not seen in six years can be a bit overwhelming. Fortunately, this wasn't one of those meetings. I really missed having Megan in my life. I tried to keep the nervous babble to a minimum, but you know...

Now, vacation. Wowee. It was just about perfect. The group was a good mix and I still can't believe we could have afforded a beachfront house in such a great setting. The beach was all beachy and you could hear the surf all throughout the house. We saw dolphins every day, fortunately not as close-up as Lizzie and I saw them once!

This is the general tenor of our vacation: Wake up, brush teeth, get sunblocked, get on the beach. Nap, swim, eat lunch, have a float, read a book. Check the crab trap, de-sand, shower, have dinner. Have after-dinner fun. Sleep. Repeat.

One night, we augmented the crab trap with more crabs from the store and had an all-out crabfeast. One of the bags broke open on the porch, and we had to capture two dozen very pissed-off crabs with kitchen tongs. Sometimes, these make for the best moments. Five people, screeching like little girls, laughing our asses off.

Our beach house has notebooks filled with the experiences of other renters. One family was approaching their 30th year in our beach house. More than one person recommended a float in the creek, where the ocean meets the march. It's tidal, and one day, Brendan, Nora and I tied some beverages to our floaties about an hour before high tide, and set off. It was excellent.

We're actually in this picture, but we're moving pretty quickly away, and Glenn didn't have that much time to take a picture. It was all fun and games until the sun set before the tide took us back out of the creek. We had to paddle for it, heading for the nearest dock about 4 miles from our house, where we met a semi-hysterical Glenn who had visions of us disappearing forever into the marsh. The voyagers, however, thought it was great fun.

Here are Nora and Brendan, doing their patented day-of-departure sulking on the dock. It's tradition.

What kind of vacation would it be if you didn't stop for a cone at Jersey Freeze on the way home?

Murphy was not at all impressed with our disappearing act. He spent all day Sunday as you see. Can't say I blame him.

Already planning next year...

the things people come up with

2006-04-26T16:05:00.000-04:00

These are wicked cool. Glow-in-the-dark knitting needles. Equally at home in a darkened movie theatre or at a rave. Get 'em here. Oh, no, wait. You can't order them yet. I hate it when they launch products that you can't actually get. Yet.

chernobyl photo essay

2006-04-25T14:35:00.000-04:00

Still think nuclear power is a good idea?

http://www.slate.com/

2006-04-25T10:04:00.000-04:00

Welcome back. Next, it's time for our favorite segment, "Never a dull moment."

In today's feature, we join the Ferriot family as they deal with the aftermath of an encounter between the logger's dog, Lennox, and favorite family feline, Lola.

(sound of pre-recorded audience gasp) Yup. There she is. That, my friends, is a fifty-foot ladder and a dead, eighty-foot poplar tree.

Glenn did his best to coax her down. No joy.

Let me tell you, ladies and gentlemen, once you've witnessed your husband clinging to a dead tree, dodging hysteria-induced poop bombs from your high-strung Abyssinian, you've seen it all.

So, we didn't get her out. As night fell, it began to rain and the temperature was around 40 degrees. Oscar, the other cat, refused to leave the bottom of Lola's tree. It was touching, really. Mom stared out the window until dark, watching for owls, and caculating how cold a seven pound cat can get before she gets hyperthermia and falls out of the tree.

At 11pm, Mom succumbs to the urge to go back outside. She grabs a raincoat and a flashlight. At the bottom of the tree, she finds two shivering, soaked cats. She scoops them up, brings them inside, towels them off, feeds Lola the Voracious, and the whole family goes to bed.

The End.

weekend wrapup

2006-04-24T13:14:00.000-04:00

I am very sleepy today. Was up until 2am transplanting tomato babies out of their flats and into peat pots. It didn't all need to get done, but it's kind of hypnotic once you get on a roll.

Transplanting tomatoes can sometimes seems like plant cruelty. If you bury them right up to their little necks, then all the buried stem area will put out roots, making the plants stronger and stockier. They look so helpless in their new pots.

Sunday was so awfully cold and rainy that Carmelita and I consoled ourselves with a trip to Mecca, otherwise known as Arcana. Those people know how to grow some damn fine plants. It's too early yet for their superb tomato and peppers, but they have boatloads of awesome perennials, which I know nothing about. Here's what I came home with:

I'm very excited about the eucalyptus. And this very viney, trumpet-like thing that had bright orange blooms. I'll try to keep it all alive. Carmelita bought a tea tree. I wish her luck. The lady at the greenhouse said they're very, very difficult.

We rounded out the day with dim sum in Burlington. Not a bad way to spend a rainy Sunday afternoon.

The Daily Veggie (1.06)

2006-04-20T13:09:00.000-04:00

Green Arrow Shell Pea

Arrow is right on the mark for commercial growers who prefer it to all others. We sell more than 1,000 lb. every year. This heavy yielder sets the standard for midseason varieties. Long pods with up to 10 peas per pod (average 7-8) on vines up to 3'. Easy to pick because pods tend to set in pairs at the top. Tolerant to F, DM, CTV, W. -FED

2 oz packet sows 30 ft, 1 lb. sows 240 ft. All peas are open-pollinated. Peas were among the earliest crops to be domesticated, perhaps as long as 10,000 years ago. Very old seeds have been found near the Burmese border of Thailand, in the Languedoc region of southern France, and in Switzerland. When it comes to picking peas, Tom Stock says he’s “learned to slow down and approach the problem from different points of view.” Young plants very hardy but frost stops production at the blossom or pod stage.

Like cool moist weather; dislike heat. Sow as early as ground can be worked for best yields. All peas produce more when staked; varieties (except AFILA types) over 2 1/2' must be supported. Plant 8-10 seeds/ft. in rows 3' apart (5' if very tall varieties). Early morning picking retards spread of powdery mildew disease and ensures best flavor.

The August 2003 edition of the Avant Gardener suggests milk diluted with water sprayed twice weekly kills the fungus and stimulates the plants’ protective systems. If you love peas as much as we do, you may want to try for a fall crop. Timing is crucial, as peas ripen slowly in the cool of September, and frost will halt production.

We recommend 1st week July planting for fall crop in central Maine. Warmer areas try mid-July. Smooth-seeded peas germinate better in colder soils than wrinkle-seeded peas, but are not as sweet.

encounters of the greatest kind

2006-04-19T15:21:00.000-04:00

I've always felt a little ashamed for the people who broadcast their opinions, turn-ons, and turn-offs on the back of their cars. These are the people who never get asked, "So, how are you really?" But with a bumper sticker, you can just bypass that whole area of tact and good manners. People are going to know how you feel, like it or not. Kind of like the drunken uncle who holds court at family occasions by talking louder and more incessantly than anyone else cares to.

Then my dad left his job at Verizon to go work for a company called Efficiency Vermont. It's exactly like you'd expect. He gets paid to go around the state and convince people to switch out appliances and energy-consuming stuff for better, more efficient stuff. He gets to wear jeans. The company kitchen has a composting system. I love it.

Then he bought a Prius. It is the coolest. I don't know how Prius drivers aren't continually driving off the road because they're paying tooo much attention to the computer screen thingee.

Then we, as a family, decided that we had had enough of the state of the nation. We were always Bush dissidents, but things had gone far enough. We got, heh heh, a little more vocal. And a little more aware. Dad visits the Peace & Justice Center. We all podcast Amy Goodman's War & Peace Report every day on DemocracyNow.org. Never heard it? Go listen today. Independent, liberal media at it's best. And some damn interesting guests. We saw Michael Franti's film on a musician's journey to the Middle East. I have a copy, and foist it on as many people as want to see it.

My dad got a couple of anti-Bush stickers and put them on his car. Bush's last day, no to war, that kind of stuff. I'm so proud of him. My dad isn't, you know, political. Or, he wasn't. But he says that he just can't bear to silently witness this anymore. In thirty years I've never seen this side of him. You go Dad.

So he starts driving around, and the funniest things start happening. People start driving really aggressively, like tailgating on the Interstate. Or cutting him off and giving him the finger. A lot. I just find this all hilarious. This is Vermont, people, the liberal capital of the nation. And I just love that there are enough people out there who are upset enough about my dad's bumper stickers to respond. In traffic. This is democracy. This. is. so. excellent.

I began to see bumper stickers in a whole different light. I never thought they had such a high entertainment value. I wanted in. I did my research and came up with the Unemployed Democrats Company. heehee. I got myself and my dad the same one. See there, on the right, first link under "good stuff?" That's the one. I also got Glenn one that says, "Bush made me a Democrat" which is fun, and also true.

I put my sticker on my little Accord and off I went. Nada. Not one response in a month. Until this morning. I stop at my local Citgo for gas this morning. There are actually a lot of Citgo stations around here. Neat. There's already a large, red, older model pickup at the pump, with a gun rack and deer lights. A Nascar air freshener. And a bumper sticker. It reads:
Yikes. So I'm standing there, and the owner comes out of the store. He's about my age, and wearing a cammo baseball cap. As I watch him, he stops, reads my bumper sticker, and slowly looks up at me. Now nothing happens, really. Like the adults we are, used to living in a civil society, we smile at each other and shake our heads as if to say, "Oh you silly person. I'm not even going to spare the time to get upset at you or try to convince you to change your mind, because you and all your kind are so definitely going to be taken care of by natural selection." He fires up his truck and leaves the gas station.

I finish filling up and spend the remainder of my drive to work engrossed in speculating as to where a person like that comes from. And where he's going. A logger, I think, or a bike mechanic. There's a lot of people here who live a pretty rough life. People who don't have steady employment, and like it that way. At any rate, I think, I'm glad to be going to work in a place where everyone thinks more like me. Where they're hardworking, skilled laborers and white collar people who work very hard at running this place. Where 90% of the cars are tuned into National Public Radio when you start the engine. As I pull into the employee parking lot in the back, I think with satisfaction about how very cool my job is, and how neat it is that I get to work with such kindred spirits every day. It's a good thought, and I'm still thinking about it as I pull into a spot right next to the pickup that I just saw at the gas station.

true love

2006-04-19T10:09:00.000-04:00

How much do I love this guy? The human one, I mean. We've bought a house together while spending every free minute at the animal hospital trying to convince our doped up, pinned-together dog to eat something. And if two people can get through that, I'm pretty confident we can get through anything. He's happy, crazy funny and totally unafraid to act spastic in front of strangers. And the boy can dance. It must be love.

But the fact that yesterday I came home to freshly swept and scrubbed floors, a clean bathroom and a sinkful of clean dishes? That's why I adore him. Even when he's running around the house doing turkey calls. Even when he goes to bed at 7:30. And yes, even when I'm woken at 5am by a marathon Murphy-Glenn makeout session. In my bed. With both participants talking at the top of their lungs. In their private canine-human hybrid language. Eskimos have thirty different words for snow. Glenn and Murphy have thirty different words for kisses.

The Daily Veggie (1.05)

2006-04-18T16:33:00.000-04:00

Bulgarian Carrot Chile
Vibrant orange, 2-3 in. carrot-shaped fruit satisfies the chile aficionado with consistent heat and fine flavor. Extremely productive variety with dense foliage to protect the fruit from sun scald. -SOC

monday monday

2006-04-17T11:09:00.000-04:00

Reader, I bought the dress. I loooove it. It's green and all swishy, and it fits, it hides all the things it need to, and accentuates all the stuff it should. Glenn says he not sure he wants me to wear it out of the house. Silly.

The garden is tilled, and the peas are all snug in their beds. I cannot wait for peas. And arugula. My back is letting me know just how much it resents my breaking in a new bed with the tiller on Saturday. Tough cookies though, because today Mark & I ride. Day 1 of the 2006 cycling season is upon us. I've been training at the gym, but being on the road is a lot, lot different. Pass the Advil.

So. About Friday's post. I've been thinking about St. Mary's recently. Why? Well, not entirely sure but it most likely has to do with the following:

1.) Vacation. Apart from the honeymoon, I haven't had one since college. And they 're going to share a lot of features. It's a beach vacation. We're driving an impossibly long way to get there. We're taking two cars down, caravan-like. When we get there, we're going to live on Corona and fish. Ring a bell to anyone? I'm awful glad to be sleeping in a bed this time.

2.) Music. I'm an addict. I come from the Bob Murphy School of Musicology and Appreciation. Am slowly replacing my completely destroyed CD collection with digital. So much of it is evocative of those days. You know how sometimes you smell something and get a totally visceral memory--like you're reliving something for a split second? That's music for me.

3.) People. I like those people. Saying hi to Megan again was terrific. Looking up Porter was hard, but I'm so glad I did. I'm always going to love Lizzie to death. 'Nuff said.

I've always steered clear on the angst-driven journalling world, and have NO intention of becoming that sort of blogger. There's too much good stuff to write about. That being said, I totally agree with Lizzzie's feeling concerning the SMC years. So, so many mistakes. So many lost opprotunities of doing things right. It took so long to heal, to look inside, to change, and to never be that person again. So why do I want to open it all back up? Because I do. We lived that life, loved, fought, and we should take as much good from it as we possibly can. There was a lot of good, a lot of love too. It's seems such a shame to relinquish all that along with all the stuff we'd rather forget. A slippery slope indeed.

We all have about a gazillion things going on at once, I know. So how to go about this? I've got an idea...