Backseat Back-Up Singer

We had an eight-track player when I was a kid.  With only a few 8-track cassette tapes to play in it.  One of them was the soundtrack for The Sound of Music.

So it was with a great deal of nostalgia that I put the cd in my car player on the commute home tonight.  I found myself singing with all the wholesome gusto of my ten-year-old self those classic tunes like Do-Re-Mi and Favorite Things. 

In between songs a little voice piped up from the back, "More sawns?" Landon was with me and I could hear additions of "Do!"  and "Ray!" being sung with such sweet, unsyncopated enthusiasm, I couldn't help but get caught up in a new wave of "Man-I-love-that-little-boy" : a sentence Bill and I pass back and forth like the baton of our shared parenthood.

A few of my favorite things?

It's a long, long list and Landon sparkles throughout. 

Little Monkey



Always worth investigating...














thoroughly!





Goin' Commando

My world shrinks when Landon is sick.  Though I know that he is not in grave danger, it still exacts a higher toll of emotional and physical energy to care for a toddler who suffers.  This week, it started with vomiting, and has carried on to dramatic exits from the other end.  For an extreme diaper rash that wasn't improving, the nurse prescribed a list of things to do to promote his recovery.

Most effective, but also perhaps most difficult to carry out, was the advice to let Landon go diaperless for as much as possible.  Now my little guy is reminding me of an untrained puppy, making little cleaning projects for us at irregular intervals.  The washing machine and dryer have been running for two days straight!

Landon was crabby, and clingy, and always uncertain about what would make him happy, but adamant that by crying and wordlessly pointing to something just beyond, relief would come.  There's only so long I can wander about my house looking for that elusive "something" that would make Landon stop crying in my ear.

In a last ditch effort for some peace, I rolled the tv out of the closet.  It is the second time we've used it this year, so I hoped its novelty would be enough for Landon.  It was.  And for me, too.  We snuggled on the couch and watched nothing in particular while pointing out nouns to each other.

But when I saw an ad for the season premiere of The Amazing Race starting Sunday, I made a plan.  I love how that show allows you to not only see all over the world, but is also an interesting study of people under tremendous pressure.  I've seen a few scattered seasons online.  I had no idea our tv could even get that channel.

We had an early dinner, I got Landon to bed on time, and had the icecream served up in bowls.  I was ready.  Bill rolled the tv out of the closet again.  At five til "showtime" I turned on the tv to begin flipping through channels since I had no idea where it would be.

I ended up seeing the last five minutes of the show.

What a goofball that I didn't even know how to translate "8/7 central" as the start time to mean 7:00.  I picked 8.

My first attempt at network television in years and I catch five minutes of the show.

I wanted to "travel" the world.  Instead, the biggest thought I ended up with was wondering if it would be worth changing Landon's diaper in the middle of the night.

Yes, my world truly does shrink when he is sick.

Oh, well....I have my own 12-hour race to run tomorrow.
No million dollar prize, but I'll have two boys very happy to see me when I check-in tomorrow evening.

And hopefully one of them will be back in diapers.

The 100 Pages Club

That's what these stacks of books on my dresser are likely to become members of.

It's new.  I just created it. I'm the president and the secret password to get in is: Uncompelling.

I mentioned that I'm working on creating a list of the best children/teen books for 2010/11.  It is a huge task (I'm actually on a large committee) and of course I'm behind schedule for how many books I would be proud to recommend.

So--new tactic.  I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner.  I'll give a chapter book 100 pages.  If, by then, I don't care enough about the story or characters to want to keep going, the book gets added to the club.

Unfinished.

Midthought, I will abandon these books to their own company and move on to the next hopeful.

The piles of unread books are tall, and some are precarious.  For my own safety I have got to make more headway on this project.

But still, it feels so strange to be tossing them out before they get to prove that they really redeem themselves with a great ending.   

I'm grateful this is not the approach we take with people.

I Never Know What I'll Hear

Random and I go way back.  I've loved Random for so long, I stopped noticing how random, Random is, sometimes.  But if I find myself unexpectedly smiling, it's often because of Random. 

I was giving a library tour to little cub scouts the other night, and they had the opportunity to earn one of their badges by raising and lowering our flag.

The troop leader earnestly asks, "Why are there 13 stripes on the flag?"
And little guy pipes up, "For the 13 countries that were here before Columbus discovered the rest of them."

What?

 I can't help but smile because Random has popped his funny head up again, this time with a bit of convoluted non-history.  I'd want to talk to that kid all night, seeing as he and Random are probably pretty good friends, too.

Instead, they properly fold the flag.  They unfold the flag.  They raise it on the pole.  They sing a song.  And shivering, they all tumble back into the library.

 One thing I know and love about Random: his unpredictability is one of his best charms.  And he's been charming me my whole life. 

So chances are, I'll be smiling this way again soon.

More Than Just Donuts

She brought donuts for all of us at work.  Four big boxes of fresh, Krispy Creme donuts, still warm enough to weaken our resolve. 

The day ticked by, and I meant to thank her for the donuts, but kept forgetting. 
I fogot even after I decided to go ahead and have one.
I fogot after I figured I had spoiled one of my New Year's resolutions, so I might as well have a second.

And then it was too late.
A colleague came and told me that as the donut-giver had walked out the door midday, she said, "Well, today is my last day.  I put my notice in weeks ago, but asked our boss not to say anything."

I never got to say goodbye.  I was out on the floor when she left, probably helping someone find a book for their report. 

Worse, I never did say thanks. 
For the donuts.  For her work.  For being a great coworker with a consistent attitude and a great work ethic.
I'm sure I reasoned that I would have plenty of time when I saw her next.
But that was her last day and I didn't show even a little gratitude for her generosity.

Just another reminder to seize the day-- no seize the moment, because sometimes we don't get a second chance to get it right.

Bill's Poem

Well, I can't very well mention the poem and not share it, can I?  (Especially when it is about my favorite little boy) 

One Small Step for Landon

It was one small step for a boy—

one playful stride off the shoveled path,

a toddler’s shoe pressed in, pulled back,

a shoe’s imprint in light gray snow,

left to melt in the cold day’s sunshine.

He stared at it.

I stared at him staring at it.

He stepped again.

Because

unmarred surfaces call to his feet?

snow is fun to scrunch?

shoe bottoms leave intriguing patterns?

his legs have untried powers?

he loves to learn about  the world around him?

he could leave his mark?

It was one small step for a man—

one calculated hop off the ladder’s last rung,

a man’s footfall made far from home,

a boot’s gridiron in light gray lunar powder,

left to linger in the airless solar radiation.

We all stared at it.

We stared at him staring at the black and white vista.

Eleven others took that one small step.  

Because

we could finally grab the carrot from the stick?

moon dust might be as fun as snow to scrunch?

flying machines and dune buggies are a kick?

one country proved quicker than another?

we love to learn about the worlds around us?

we could leave our mark?

A little boy took a step today, close by.

A daring man took a step decades ago, far away.

I’ve stepped in snow countless times.

I’ve only dreamed of stepping in moon dust.

I wonder

Where else will Landon’s feet step?

Where will they leave their mark?

What, besides snow and moon dust, is fun to scrunch?

Creativity Sparks

Bill and I have recently wanted to allow room for creativity in our lives again.  For me, that translated to this blog.  For Bill, writing a poem.  I continue to write here; Bill is working on a short story.  Both of us notice that we really enjoy spending time on these endeavors.  Not that we have much to spare, but if we spend even a few minutes at the end of the day, we are happier. 

They say good writers must first be good readers.  I have always loved to read.  I like to read in bed, and before I was married, usually stayed up way too late reading.  Now, time to read feels like a luxury.  Or it feels a bit like homework because I am required to read so much for my job.  

If reading is like a fur coat and a glittering tiara, writing is like old-friend blue jeans and sneakers made for going somewhere.  Reading is rather passive.  I sit back and soak up a story someone else poured their heart and soul into.  Writing is more active.  It is a chance to pour a little of my own heart and soul into something.

Reading asks me to enjoy. 
Writing asks me to risk.
Reading is a guaranteed pleasure.
Writing is an uncertain venture.
Reading is a familiar escape.
Writing is a road untaken.
Reading is meeting new friends.
Writing is giving birth to them.

And so it is the comforts of reading and the challenges of writing that spark a desire for more creativity in my life. 

Thanks for being around to fan the flame with your interest and encouragement!

Sleep and Caffeine: A Surprise and a Smile

I woke up this morning in a hospital.
It wasn't a surprise, really.  But it was.
Because it was 8:00 am and I was waking up for the first time after shutting down the laptop and signing off from my last post.

The post in which I shared how I was dreading the long night.

I woke up disoriented because the "long night" passed me by while I slept sounder than I would have thought possible.

They came and blew vapors in Landon's face, pounded on his chest, administered drugs, and did all the things that kept me up the first night, without my ever knowing. 

Sleep is a gift.  It can add a lot to my reserves of patience.  With it, I can keep on truckin' down the road for a few more miles.  Bumpy miles, though they are.

There was another surprise waiting for me when I woke up.  A chai latte from Bill who said, "I thought you might like this. I thought about getting you a muffin, but wasn't sure."

"Oh, you read my blog. How sweet. Thanks."

The amazing thing is, he hadn't read either post (this or this one.)  He didn't know what I was talking about.

A good night's sleep.  A best friend who still does things just to make me happy.  A hot chai as soon as I opened my eyes this morning.  I have a lot to be grateful for.

But the gift I'm most grateful for is that none of us are going to bed in a hospital.  I'm grateful that this post isn't titled "Day 3."  We are home again.  Landon still has a ways to go to recover, but we are home.

Day 2

Everyone has been kind.  Everyone has been professional.  And everyone has come bearing drugs.

Landon may hate the stethoscope; get shrill with the nebulizer treatments, act tortured with the cpt (chest pounding) exercises,

but he loves the drugs.  Every nurse remarks on it.  In an effort to find something nice to say about my crusty-nosed, whiny, crabby, crying, clinging cherub, one even said, "Wow. I've never met a toddler take to the meds like he does."

What a talent.  Note for the baby book: you really loved prescription drugs.

Nobody said anything about the side effects. 

I came back from the dinner run to find my toddler running around this small hospital room with a crazed energy that at first relieved me, but quickly wore me out. With unprecedented frenzy, he was running around, trying to climb the outside of the crib, the back of the rocker, up the wall (literally) on the couch, and then on to something else.  He would play with a toy for five seconds, try to tell me something for ten, then move on. 

The doctor kept talking to us as though his behavior was not an annoying topper to end his already very long day. (He said he had been in NICU all day)

"What's wrong with him?" I asked.
The doctor didn't even ask what I meant.
"Oh, that's just the steroids.  They can make them a little hyper."

Understatement.  But the doctor was classy.  And kind.  And not praising what a good little steroid-induced tornado my child was, so I had to be grateful.

We have such high hopes that we won't have any chance to  write a "Day 3" post. 

I wouldn't mind another chai latte from their onsite coffee cart, though.  Surprisingly good; it seemed out of place.

But then, aren't we all? 
Out of place, I mean.  Probably not surprisingly good. 
At least, I haven't surprised myself here yet.  I'm working on a functional goodness that doesn't get too sharp with the man whose sleep was as interrupted as mine, whose eardrums have been equally pained, and whose nerves are undoubtedly as frayed as mine.

Actually, I better go to sleep now (since both my boys already are) or I might let myself off the hook with it tomorrow. I can just hear me now: "I got even less sleep than you so please don't mess with me!"

Yeah, less sleep because I was up blogging about how little sleep I got.  That's classic.

Then again, spending a few minutes to process this day on paper does more to relax me than  if I simply replayed it over and over in my head.

Landon in the Hospital

Landon was admitted to the hospital today.  Didn't see that coming.  Yesterday, he had a persistent cough.  Today, when he woke up at six, he was really struggling to breathe.  His chest was pinching down on itself in a motion I have since learned is "retractions".  He was breathing fast and shallow, though he had just gotten up.

I drove him to the ER.  We quickly got past the screener.  We quickly got a room, a pulse-ox? detector, and asked a series of questions that would get increasingly more familiar each time someone new would ask them all again.  (Sometimes it felt like we kept getting readmitted to this same hospital)

It is 9:30 pm and he is finally sleeping in the huge metal crib that is kind of a cross between a cage and something you would see in an asylum.  As soon as we walked into this room and I saw it, the day took on a strange quality about it.  Really?  My baby is going to be in that clanging, imposing contraption?  We're really at a hospital now, mama.  I just didn't expect it to feel a bit like a time-traveling moment, too.

  The day dragged on with a series of pokes, and prods, looks and listens, thumping on his chest with a rubber mallet, and blowing vaporized drugs into Landon's face.  It ended with a cocktail of six different drugs administered by syringe that Landon took to like a little bird. 

Did I just say, "the day ended..."?  Who am I kidding?  Landon just awoke.  He will be woken numerous times tonight for more drugs, more vapors, more pounding.  I predict that none of us will get a good night's sleep.  Bill and I will wake up crabby, it will be nostalgic of his infancy, and both will have to extend grace to the other for our prickliness.  Add a crying, screaming, whining, writhing love of our lives whom we hate to see suffer, and all I can say is, I hope they have chocolate muffins on the breakfast menu.

I have one cd in the player my mom brought me from the house.  I have the last song on repeat.  It is Michael Card's beautiful rendition of "The Lord Bless You and Keep You."  An acapella version with overlapping voices.  I love it.  I can hear another child screaming down the hall.  I can see my husband's tired brow as he rocks Landon.  I can see Landon holding onto peace with such a tenuous grasp.

And over and over I hear this:

The Lord bless you and keep you
The Lord make His face shine upon you
And give you peace
And give you peace
And give you peace forever

The Lord be gracious to you
The Lord turn His face toward you
And give you peace
And give you peace
And give you peace forever


I am most grateful that "forever" can start right now.
With the hiss of machines my son is hooked up to,
With our family praying for us,
With a blessing being sung over all of us,

Peace forever.

Can You Pass This Simple Little Test?

I found this elsewhere, but thought it interesting enough to put here.  Without giving too much away, can I suggest you click on the link below and see if you pass?  It leads to some interesting observations either way:



HERE YOU GO


How'd you do?
I don't want to say about me unless a few of you chime in.

Collections

What do you collect?  Oh, and don't say nothing, because everyone collects something, even if it is just awesome memories.  I've never been a fan of collecting anything that takes up too much room.  I noticed as a kid that collections quickly digress into clutter before too long.  (At least on a kid-size budget)  But I still enjoy collecting.

I usually go for list-related items, like a license plate from every state in the country if we're on a road trip.  (Rhode Island is worth pulling over at the next food-exit to celebrate.)  Reading all the Newbery Award winners (gave that one up when the award went weird), or reading a book set in every country of the world.  When I was ten, I started coloring in a map of the United States every time I visited a new state.  Aiprort layovers counted.  Fly-overs did not.  I still have that map somewhere.  

So I've stumbled across the next little random thing I want to collect: blog hits from around the world.  Blogger gives stats about what countries the page visits come from, and in this first month, I have been surprised to see some international places on the list.

Now I know and you know that there is nobody in the Ukraine who went looking for my blog and even read one word of it.  But the stats said that someone, even briefly, stumbled onto my page in the Ukraine.

And I feel ten again, wanting a map to color. What a cheap and easy diversion!  What a silly little pleasure.  It's like virtual stamp-collecting.  Somehow, these international visitors left a digital calling card, and I say if it brightens my day that it is from a country I probably will never get to visit in person, then bravo.  A few of my words crossed the ocean, crossed language and culture and found themselves on a screen in Poland.  Or Germany.  Or Hong Kong.  By mistake.  For a second.

I don't mind.  It makes for a beautifully speckled little map.

No Leaving Without Landon

It was time to go.  And we needed to not be late.  I had work at the other end of the commute. 

But Landon doesn't know when we need to hurry and when he can take his sweet time.  In reality, all of Landon's time is sweet.  A slow, stumbling, exploring kind of time that makes no distinctions for work days.

We got outside the house and Landon just went the other way. Toward the house and the decorative rocks that were much more interesting than loading up into a car.

"Ok, Landon, I'll just load the car first, and then you can meet me," I say.  I pack up his diaper bag, and food bag, and my bag of books going back to the library, and my purse, and my work bag....and I'm finally ready for Landon--who has no intention of walking down the concrete path to the car and getting in.  He's kind of on a "choose your own adventure" and the plot doesn't involve the car.

So I ask him to come. And I call to him.  He just stares at me.  Not moving.  I get in the car.  I roll down the window and say, "I'm leaving.  I need you to come now."  And still he stares.  I start the car. 

I have backed myself into a corner and my son is totally going to call my bluff!  I told him I was leaving and yet here I sit, cajoling him to get a move on and join me for the load up.  In this battle of the wills, I simply can't leave him there to prove that when mama says, "come on," she really means it. 

It is only when I start to roll the car down the driveway that Landon's eyes get big, and he starts hightailing it my way...cutting across the grass to take the fastest route.

I put it in park.  Set the emergency brake.  "Oh?  You're coming?  Great.  Because I really didn't want to leave without you, you know."

Next time, we'll just have to go back to my carrying a kicking, crying, writhing sweet love of my life to the car if we need to.  None of these misguided negotiations where I'm in danger of losing my credibility. 

That look on his face was pretty classic, though!

Smiling Over Silverware

I knew I would stumble across a 2010 book that would make me smile.  (And hopefully you, too, if you read it.)

by Kyo Maclear

 His mom is a spoon and his dad is a fork.  Where does this little spork fit in?

by Amy Krouse Rosenthal

Better yet, read Spoon, a funny book about being grateful for who you are. I love this one.

If I ever create a list of my favorite books that personify inanimate objects, these two would make that list!  I assigned "life" to nearly everything in my world when I was a kid, from the shampoo bottles to my playing cards.  They all had personalities, and back stories, and thoughts and wishes.

So why not eating utensils?  

Can't All be Something to Write Home About

It is not even 9:00 and I can feel my last scrap of energy circling the drain even as I write this.

I can't be the only one whose job satisfaction sometimes swings on a wild pendulum.  I can't decide what  wears me out more: the hard, bad days or the swinging back and forth itself.

But one less-than-stellar day at work can't even make me this tired.

Maybe it was Landon choking in a restaurant, and as adrenaline shot through me, not a single solitary person even acknowledged our plight.  Not while I was shaking him, hitting his back or pressing on his chest.  Not when he finally dislodged whatever it was that had caused him to stop breathing and eyes to start watering.  Not when the fright of it caused him to cry pretty loudly after he could breathe again. And not when I struggled to balance the tray of our food, and him, back to the pick-up counter so they could box it up to-go.

Really, people?  Nobody has even a nod in my direction with a sympathetic smile?  I teared up a little in the car--which isn't really like me. 

 But watching Landon play in the tub, demonstrate his new-found zipper skills on his pjs, and point out all the nouns he knows in our bedtime story soothed me a bit.  He snuggled into my lap like he knew I could use a hug.

Bill will be back from his class camping trip tomorrow.  And I'll be glad.  Realizing how glad hurts, because I am never too many thoughts away from my friend whose husband died last month.  Bill has only been gone a day.  And already I've used the phrase "circling the drain."  I really must be tired.



Bright Spot

Each day brings its own surprises.  Some of my favorite ones come right from the mouths of the guests of the library.  Like tonight.

I'm giving a tour to seven-year-old cub scouts and pointing out some of the ways the library earned a gold award for being energy efficient. I show them the solar tubes, which provide such incredible light during the day that the electric lights dim to compensate.

One little guy raises his hand to add, "I like to think the sun reaches down and gets married in that tube and lights it up.  And when he goes to sleep at night he tells all these light bulbs in here that it's their turn to shine."

I stop to look at him.  The parents chatting stop for a moment in a little bit of surprise, too.  Did I really just hear a seven-year-old personify the sun?

Later, they would all be like little puppies again--jostling for the best spots around our show-stopping book sorting machine.  But for a moment, a little poet raised his voice and asked me to see the world through his own flickering kaleidoscope.

He's got such an interesting view.

Quirks: Little Freckles of Craziness--Beautiful and Unique

I came home at a 9:45 tonight and was relieved that the deadbolt was not locked.
In the past, I have gotten unreasonably frustrated when I was required to unlock both the door and the deadbolt to enter my house.  Alone.  After dark.  I have felt forgotten and hassled in the cold, with a sticky key to contend with.  Regrettably, I have let this seemingly small encounter with a DOOR really dent an otherwise good mood, so that by the time I got past it, I was grouchy and unpleasant. Niiiice.  A woman who can let an extra lock completely derail her. 

But it brings me to the topic of quirks.  One of Bill's happens to be double-locking his front door, day and night.  But we all have them.  And most times, it takes a live-in situation with someone you didn't grow up with to really cast light on them.  Roommates help with this.  Kibbutzes, communes, collectives or cooperatives could do the trick, too.

In our case, marriage brought a whole host of quirks to light for both of us.
Our perception of another's quirks/idiosyncrasies/neurosis follows a pattern that repeats itself.

Since one of my particular quirks is that I'm an incurable list maker, I've included for further illumination:

The Perception of Quirks: in 5 Stages

1.  A curiosity: As in, "Oh, that's so interesting.  I didn't know someone had a way that they prefer to ______ (fill in blank with just about anything)

2. Exasperating: As in "Seriously?!  There are rules about how one must properly store a toothbrush?"

3.  Alternating between plain Annoying and Endearing--as in: Sometimes I finding it annoying that you must have the blankets exactly equidistant on the bed with no wrinkles or untucked parts, (thus sometimes requiring their total removal to correct their chaos) and other times, when I slip between two perfectly smooth sheets with blankets as ready to pull up around my chin as any hotel bed, I find it endearing that your quirk of wanting perfect blankets before you sleep made that small serene moment possible.

4. Accommodation: As in, "Though I don't understand your particular need for spoons specific to the task of eating grapefruit, we will add them to the wedding registry anyway." (They are perfect, btw)

5.  Acceptance: As in, "Whether I find your quirky insistence that I unplug my car charger because you read somewhere, sometime, that it could start a car fire in some cars, (with certain car chargers made in Taiwan between the years of 1999-2001) annoying OR endearing: I accept it. 

I accept your quirks without having to argue about just how quirky they are.

I accept your quirks because I know you have to contend with a whole host of mine....along with my unspoken assumption that my way was so perfectly reasonable-- how could anyone do it otherwise?
 
And we both have learned, countless times, that there was an "otherwise" way to do it: unimagined before we met the other.  A thousand little things we never realized, or really ever thought about, that could be done another way.

You could slice cheese or prefer it in chunky wedges with a knife.
You could be a receipt tosser or hold onto them with an urgency that suggests they have winning lottery numbers on them.
You could stick the soup-stirring spoon on the counter or you could assign it a sacred spot on the spoon trivet.
You could think toenail trimming is kind of an anyplace home activity or you could fervently believe it should be done in private only.
You could close up your dry goods with little protection from the elements or you could use binder clips of various sizes to maximize the shelf life of all your food.

Or you could do something else altogether. 

But chances are, if you live with someone, they are working toward a peaceful acceptance of the beautifully quirky you, and you're moving toward that end with them.

Lucky for me, I've always been a sucker for a good quirk.

I am DAZZLED by this free online photo editor!

You just never know what gem the internet is going to offer up for the polishing.  So much nothing is on there, that I usually don't bother digging around at all.  (That or my computer runs so slowly that my patience runs out before a page completely loads)

My short-attention span troubles aside, I found a link to this free online photo editor with a youtube video to explain how to get started and wah-lah!

fotoflexer.com

I'm officially using layers!  And obvious captions.

Well, it's a start.

My Brush With Fame

She came in wearing a Belle costume.  Shimmery yellow, floor-length dress, puffy sleeves and a plastic brooch of Belle in the middle in case there was any doubt. 

"Belle!" I exclaimed, louder than you would expect in a library.  "I had no idea I would see you here today.  Do you mind giving me an autograph?!"  I ran over with my post-it note pad and a pen.

She looked up at her mom with question-mark eyebrows, and her mom said yes, she could give her autograph.  And while she awkwardly clutched the little pad and pen I saw her trying not to smile as she etched out "lily"*.  

I thanked her profusely, asked her to call on me if she needed help finding any of her books, and can I just say one more time that  I was so pleased and delighted to actually meet her? 

As she walked away I saw the smile she was holding back come popping out all over her face, and jeans peeking out from under her dress.

I turned back to my desk to find my boss standing behind me; she had seen the whole thing.  "You are a crazy nut," she said, "But the smile on that kid's face is priceless."

I had to agree.

*name changed