Some new posts & photos

For the month of August, the bloggers at Midwest Parents are posting pictures of their summer adventures. Yesterday and today I posted a couple.

Hopefully I'll put up some more later this month. So far I've just been able to go through the literally hundreds of photographs we took while in Brazil. I still need to go through the literally hundreds of pictures we took on Stella's birthday and at her birthday party this past weekend.

Sometimes I think digital photography is a blessing, sometimes it's a curse. Remember when you used to spend time setting up your picture in the frame and worrying about whether the lighting was the best?

Our lousy house

The mystery of my health prevails. I was still having some symptoms up until yesterday. But today I seem to be back to my normal self. Just in time for our next big adventure.

The cat.

My dear, sweet, terminally ill cat.

Who always lives inside and yet somehow contracted heartworms. Maybe. Or maybe she just developed the antibodies and the worms never got a chance to reproduce. The story goes that she has antibodies and the vet insists that we have to have the aforementioned feline cardiac ultrasound to confirm or deny that she has heartworms. (But if she has them, there's nothing we can do about it. So, what's the point of the ultrasound?)

Which leads me to my next big mystery. How our cat, who always stays inside and never is in contact with other animals, managed to contract LICE while we were away for a month to Brazil. She's in the house, with no other animals, and has someone coming to check on her each day. When we come home, there are clumps of cat fur and little, tiny, grain-of-salt-looking white balls on every horizontal surface. We noticed yesterday that if you give it a day, you also get some black stuff. And that the black stuff moves.

FUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKKKKKK.

I've never had to deal with lice, whether the human or cat variety, before. Stella's birthday party is tomorrow afternoon. Children are coming to my house. And we can assume that there are little tiny bugs on every single textile in the house.

Let the de-lousing begin. Every bed, every couch, every sheet, every rug, every carpet, every surface, ugh. At least the house will be spanking clean for the party tomorrow, right?

Can someone out there please tell me whether I have to shampoo the cat? Because everything I've read seems to indicate that I do.

One of you out there will say, why don't you just take the cat to the vet and ask your questions there? Mostly because our vet costs a fortune. We take her there because she freaks out around other animals and this vet only treats cats. So we accept that it will be about $100 to walk in the door. But here's the ironic part: the only place I can think that the cat has been in contact with other animals in the last 2-3 months was at the vet's office! I wanna call them and tell them they need to pay for all my delousing paraphernalia plus give me our next visit free.

I think I'm never taking my cat to the vet again. All they do is tell me she's getting more ill and that I need to have really expensive tests done that we can't afford. And the trip to the office makes her freak out and that makes the heart condition worse. And now, she seems to have contracted lice at the office. What is the point?

Grace has to vacuum her room, sort all the laundry and then fold the clean laundry when it comes out of the dryer. Stella has to steer clear of lousy areas of the house. I have to go to the pet store and get lots of shampoo and powder and anything else I need to deal with this issue. And then keep sweeping, vacuuming, laundering, bleaching, and on and on. As for coping with this, I need to keep my head firmly attached to my shoulders. And I will visit my therapist this afternoon.

Sorting out the symptoms

I called our US pediatrician on Thursday afternoon. They told me the following: we don't worry about a fever in an infant unless (a) it goes over 105 degrees F and/or (b) it lasts for over 24 hours and is not accompanied with other symptoms. If it goes over 105, go to emergency; if it lasts over 24 hours without breaking at all and there are no other symptoms, go see a doctor.

The fever started Wednesday night. After taking tylenol and ibuprofen nonstop, Stella still had not broken a fever under 103 by Saturday morning. We decided to take the baby to see a pediatrician at a local private hospital through their emergency services. After seeing that doctor, there were blood and urine tests ordered, an adjustment of dosing of medicine due to her weight, and a conclusion that she was fighting some infection, most likely roseola or a South American strain of rotavirus. Within 12 hours, she broke her fever and now she is mostly herself again.

Here's the part that made me unexpectedly reflective and calm.

Remember, exactly three years ago our family was in the same city and I was pregnant. Or not. Well, that I was miscarrying was confirmed during our visit. The visit was a whirlwind of doctor visits, exams, international phone calls to my ob/gyn, and a tragic loss of the pregnancy, and me feeling like I had left a dead child behind when we returned to the US. In the end, our little family had a common experience that brought us together; it gave us a way to understand each other differently...and better.

Yesterday as we were driving to the private hospital, I remembered that this was exactly the same place my husband and I went to when a doctor showed us clearly on a sonogram image that I was hemorrhaging. Before my husband could the bill, I quickly walked out of the office and spontaneously burst into tears in the hallway.

Yesterday, after our visit with the pediatrician, we went to the public hospital to have lab work done. I knew this hospital. It is where my sister-in-law works as a nurse. As we parked and walked in, my mind was flooded with the memories of the images of being there three years ago. I had an exam with a doctor who wanted to do a D&C immediately. I was numb. I came to Brazil with good news of a coming child and the three short weeks later, I was facing a surgical procedure due to a spontaneous abortion. Again, I left holding my husband's hand, filled with sadness.

And yet...

Where was Grace during all this?

At home, with her aunts and cousins, mostly being sheltered from the impending bad news. I don't have any idea what it would be like to be her in that situation. I would be remiss to not say that Grace is remarkably mature and flexible in unusual situations. Once she understands what is going on, she often surprises me in her ability to adjust and cope with difficulty. When she finally did find out what had happened that summer three years ago, she responded with sensitivity and empathy. And with her own way of coping with things.

Yesterday as we were all in the car driving to the hospital, when my husband and I were discussing whether or not this was the hospital we had visited when I was miscarrying, Grace was in the back seat talking with Stella in her car seat. I overheard her saying something like, we were all here this summer but it wasn't time yet for you to be born. We had to wait for you. And now you're here.

My heart melted with love. For both of my daughters. Instead of continuing my downward spiral of worry about how much more could go bad with Stella, I became grateful that I had her. And that I had Grace. And that we were all there. And that no one was dying. Because that's what happened the last time we were all there together.

What next?

We've been in Brazil for 10 days now. It's a good break. We get to let go of connections and no one expects us to reply immediately. There's still this mystique associated with international travel (outside Europe, at least) that communication is difficult. In reality, it's an illusion we choose to uphold because it gives us a break from our regular life.

Stella turned 11 months old yesterday.

This morning, at 5a, she woke up crying. This is weird for Stella; she almost always sleeps through the night. As soon as we picked her up out of her crib, we realized she had a fever. We took off her pajamas and put her in a short-sleeved onesie. Then we gave her tylenol (don't worry, the generic kind; we know about the recall). Then I nursed her and hoped she went back to sleep. She slept for another two hours and then was up again. I tried to comfort myself by deciding that this readily apparent illness explained her lack of appetite yesterday.

It's almost lunchtime now and she's slept on and off, nursed on and off, and her fever hasn't broken yet. She still doesn't want to eat real food.

How worried would you be?

It's not so much worry that's getting to me; it's the seemingly never-ending string of inconvenient things happening. Three weeks ago, the baby had hand-foot-mouth disease. Not fun at all. She broke out in hives everywhere, including a lovely patch of red sores on the back of her throat. It was only once Stella was correctly diagnosed that we realized Grace had also had the virus a week earlier. Poor kid took Benadryl for days for no good reason.

Before that it was a bizarre episode of damage to the front door of our house because a candidate for state congress had left a slick, colored flyer in the door jamb over a weekend while we were gone out of town. One night and one rainstorm later, the flyer had nicely adhered to the door paint and upon removal, took the paint right off the door. The candidate, understandably, took measures to have the situation rectified. But the work is still not finished.

Before that it was a roller coaster ride about what to do with the cat while we were out of town. She's at high risk for congestive heart failure, as per her veterinarian visit in May. It wasn't until I found myself on the phone with a feline cardiologist that I realized, this is messed up. Our family is leaving for a month; what is the likelihood that the cat will not survive this length of time? No one could tell me without a feline cardiac ultrasound. The veterinarian finally told me I should put the cat in the care of someone who would be calm in case of an emergency. I calmly hung up the phone and cried a bit by myself.

And then just three days before we left on our trip to Brazil, 4:15p on a Friday, car accident. We were the middle car in a three-car rear-ending collision. It wouldn't have been bad except our car is a compact and the other two cars were a minivan and an SUV. Did I mention everyone was in the car? Including Stella in her car seat? Brand new car seat, now rendered worthless because it was in a car collision. So I found myself not just trying to find a body shop on Friday afternoon, but also a vendor where I could buy a new car seat asap. The body shop stayed open for us to drop the car off and told us it wouldn't be a problem to leave it there for a month. The insurance adjuster said he was sure it would all be fine. I keep having the sick feeling the car is totaled.

Lordy.

Back to the feverish sleepy baby. As a mom, I've always been a believer in letting the kid sweat it out. The fever is doing its work killing the bug. Provided it stays within normal limits, it's not hurting the kid at all. But now that it's happening to Stella for the first time, I'm having flashbacks to being with Grace in Russia when she was about the same age as Stella is now, when she first showed signs of motion sickness and abdominal migraines. I felt just a tad helpless. Granted, I'm in a much better situation now. I'm older and more experienced, I can actually communicate in the language of the country I'm in, and, oh yeah, my husband is a national of the country. Needless to say, the situation is better. But still, today I find myself not so confident in letting the fever run its natural course.

On the positive side, it's the middle of winter here and the highs are in the mid-70s. And everyone in our family got their flu vaccinations. I think I'm trying to find the balance in the whole thing. Life, that is.

It's a pity Freud and I never met.

I didn't sleep well last night. It could have been due to the summer solstice and that I woke up much too early. It could be that I have WAY too much on my mind because we're leaving for Brazil in a week and won't be back until August. But after hearing me relate the narrative of my most memorable dream of last night, my husband thinks I didn't sleep well because I'm taking on the pains of my daughters.

I was in college again. It was parents' weekend and as usual, everything was in disarray. There was some amorphous something on my mind that I needed to do, like some assignment for a class, but I was obliged to visit with family. Then suddenly I found myself at the dentist for my scheduled appointment to have my wisdom teeth extracted. I could feel the dread in my stomach at the procedure. I confirmed for the staff that I hadn't eaten anything since the night before. Then they did anesthesia, and waited, and I waited, and they left the room, and I waited some more...

After a couple of hours, I asked them what the hold up was. They told me the dentist had decided not to removed the teeth. See, I had already had them extracted when I was 14 and I had 11 more sets of wisdom teeth. If they kept taking them out, new ones would only keep coming in. Rather than put me through all this, they told me it was better to just keep the current set of wisdom teeth and catch up with my parents for the end of the weekend festivities.

Which was having pulled pork at the dining hall and then kissing them goodbye as they left for the airport.

Back to real life.

Am I spending time thinking about Grace's future? Like, what she will do once she graduates from high school? Ya, ya, ya. Mostly emphatically, yes. I try to let go, but really it's on my mind a lot. Apparently. I'm sure she knows this and that makes it even worse because I'm sure she thinks about it anyhow and the idea that she knows that I think about it puts a little too much emphasis the whole situation. Get it?

Grace also has an appointment to meet with an oral surgeon in two days, on Wednesday morning. Her wisdom teeth have already broken through and her dentist said act on this now before pain sets in. So we scheduled a consult this week, we'll leave for Brazil for a month, and then as soon as we get back, she'll most likely have surgery.

Surgery? That's a big deal. It's bad enough when it's you, but your kid? She's never had surgery of any kind before. I'm not sure how to breathe through this experience.

And then there's Stella who's also breaking teeth. Since she cut her first bottom two teeth three months ago, they just keep erupting. Her typical routine goes something like: cry, rub, chew, bite, get medicated, fall asleep, repeat. She's got six teeth in now. And in one week we're facing our first air travel with her. Nine hours on a red-eye flight to Brazil. A week from today. Imagine how the other 200 passengers will cope with cry, rub, chew, bite, get medicated, fall asleep, repeat. Oh, I'm sure they will notice her big, beautiful eyes and her precious little smile. Really. Did I include the bit about how I'm sure she'll get excruciating ear pain during this flight as well?

This past week I've started noticing yoga centers in town. I think I need to spend some time doing deep breathing today. After I go to the bank to pick up new debit cards and to the mall to pay a credit card bill and to the library to drop Grace off.

How blogging can save your grandmother's life: A true story

The idea of traveling south to see family for Grace's mid-winter break didn't seem so out of the ordinary. We thought about it, tried on a few sample itineraries for size, and finally decided upon the vacation we had been waiting for. Our little family of four in our little Honda Civic, driving the over 1000 miles south to my grandma's house. The weather would be getting better the farther south we went. We really weren't looking to be entertained by some spectacular spectacle, just get a chance to get away from it all.

Little Miss Sunshine State and I are facebook friends. Since we're bloggy friends too, that makes us about as connected as two people who have never met each other could be. I mentioned the trip to her on facebook. She replied immediately, CAN WE MEET? THAT WOULD BE GREAT!!

She lives a mere 70 miles or so from our southernmost destination. I told her, I would love to meet up with her. It would be GREAT! Yeah, I had a little bit of that feeling of, 'what am I doing meeting up with someone I know only through the words on my electronic screen?' And then there's the whole anonymity of my blog, you know, the one my mother doesn't know about? My mother, who's facebook friends with me merely so she can cyberstalk me in order to speculate every single thing I'm up to? How would I do this? How could I meet up with Little Miss Sunshine State, with the girls, while visiting family, and make sure everything went off without a hitch?

My therapist told me not to worry about things so much, about how they would work out. My husband told me, 'we've got a lot going on during this trip. Are you sure you want to throw in one more person you want to see in 9 total days?' We already had five days of driving in the trips and four different stops. Indeed, it seemed busy. Ok, then. I told Little Miss Sunshine State, 'we'd see.'

Grandma broke her hip a couple weeks before our scheduled departure. After surgery to replace the broken hip, she spent 10 days in ICU. That gave us enough reason to cut out the Alabama leg of the trip to see extended family. It would have been a lot of run-around and, though we would have enjoyed visiting the homestead, it was a better idea to visit with grandma while she was (somewhat) immobile. Fine then, five days in Ocala visiting with Grandma and my parents, my parents who had come up 300 miles from Fort Lauderdale to be with her while she recovered. My little family would enjoy the break. The girls could visit with grandparents and great-grandma, Grace could indulge in long walks and sleeping in. My husband and I could do the same and my husband could even go to the public library for free time reading. All in all, it sounded like a perfect vacation.

In the back of my mind, Little Miss Sunshine State.

By the time we arrived, Grandma had been discharged from the hospital and entered into a nursing/rehab facility. She lives on her own, so she couldn't just go home and become more mobile. It turned out to be perfect. The girls wouldn't have been able to visit with her at all if she had been in the hospital, flu epidemic and all. At the rehab center, we could make ourselves at home while a nursing and therapy staff helped grandma with all her medical needs. Things seemed perfect.

Tuesday, Wednesday. Little Miss Sunshine State and I are exchanging messages while I'm pirating internet off some unsuspecting neighbor in my grandma's neighborhood. I've got her cell phone number but I haven't gotten up the nerve (due to emotions and logistics) to call her. Finally, I decide to just do it.

Voicemail. I leave her a message to call back.

And call back she does. It's like talking to an old friend! Well, an old friend if I had grown up in Cape Cod, that is. She's got vowels I can't even recognize, like Cape COAWD. That's one vowel, not two as a southerner would do it (Cape Caw-uhd!). And it just so happens that the day we talked on the phone was the day that killer whale at Sea World killed a trainer. That seemed like a crazy story to be happening right when we get to talk for the first time. I mean, killer whale killing someone at a water entertainment park? This led us to alligator shows in Florida and snake trainers sapping the venom out of their fangs in front of an audience.

While we're talking my mother comes in and asks, "Are you talking to someone I know?" Little Miss Sunshine State tells me, "Say you're talking to someone you've never met in your life who very well could be a serial killer." I realize this woman is a good, good, woman.

OK, but the point is, we decided to meet up. At the mall. In Ocala, Florida on Friday afternoon. Really. We met at the mall. (gah, I am lame.) I figured it would give us girls a break from the rest of the family and that my little family could visit Grandma that evening.

Friday morning comes and I get everyone ready. Everyone has their requisite serving of grits and eggs, along with orange juice and then I clean up the dishes with Grace's help. Grace reluctantly changes out out of a tank top with holes in it and puts on a purple top from American Eagle instead. She plays stupid with my mom on who we're going to meet. "Some friend of mom's, I'm not sure." Very good, my young child. I have taught you well. I pile the whole family in the car and drop my husband off at the library. He told me to have fun with my mystery friend. And then we girls cut back across town to the mall.

A little bit later, after guiding Little Miss Sunshine State to the mall via cell phone directions, she finds us at Kirkland's. Thank goodness, because Grace had just said it smelled awful in there from too many scented candles.

We visited, we talked, we walked, we ate, we laughed. I heard all about her new training at work. We talked about the kids. We even judged a few outfits Grace had picked out at a local Brazilian shop there. (btw, LMSS, not even in Brazil could she have gotten away with those picks!) And then, the time for us to part came too quickly. She needed to get home and we needed to visit my Grandma before the day got too late. We reluctantly parted with hugs and smiles and said we'd have to do it again before too much time passed.

Back to Grandma. We arrived expecting the time to pass too quickly. It was the last time we'd get to visit with her before beginning the long trek home the next morning. It was getting late, almost dinner time for her (5p), but we wanted to visit even if just for a few minutes. My parents hadn't been able to come over that day due to other details that had to be taken care of before they left two days later. The day before she had been a little tired because she had left the rehab center for an appointment with her surgeon. Good news, but she was exhausted. Before we arrived that Friday afternoon, we had heard she didn't do physical therapy that day at all. When we arrived, she was asleep in bed.

The rest of the family slipped quietly out so as not to disturb her. I sat with her a few minutes before she woke up. She was having difficulty breathing and very tired. She wanted to sit up in her wheelchair.

Within a few minutes, it was clear that something was not right. She told me so and asked me to call the nurse and get her to listen. It took some urging. One nurse didn't think there was any cause for alarm. Grace came back and stood next to grandma. She held her head next to her chest, supporting her. I quickly slipped out into the hallway and called my dad. He said he'd come up in about 10 minutes.

One nurse took two minutes finding her pulse. Her heart rate was slowing. She was having trouble staying awake.

The end of the story? About 7p, she was transported to the hospital via ambulance because her heart rate was dropping far too low. By midnight, she had been stabilized and was in ICU. Dangerous interaction between drugs, her cardiologist said. Through the night via phone calls from my parents at the hospital, it became clear: if we had not been at the rehab center when we were, she would not have made it to the hospital. Had she not made it to the hospital, she would not have survived the night.

Had I not visited with Little Miss Sunshine State on Friday midday, I would have never visited my Grandma so late in the evening.

Follow the logic?

Meeting fellow bloggers can save your grandmother's life. No lie.

Tune in here tomorrow for a fresh, new episode!

I'm coming back tomorrow with a story that will knock your socks off. A trip to Florida, meeting another blogger face-to-face for the first time, and how the moment by moment decisions we make can make the biggest difference in the world.

Sorry I took such a long leave of absence. I hope you all have been well!

"Grace, there's a big chore you have to do."

Grace just came in the door from school at about 3:30p. It's Friday afternoon and she's ready to kick off her shoes for the weekend and relax. Frankly, I think she's already bummed that she had to go to school today since I think she and all her classmates were hoping for more snow overnight. They didn't get enough for the district to call a snow day, but there was enough to make our already snow covered driveway unable to be traversed by our little Honda Civic. My husband left town yesterday (in the middle of the storm) and thus clearing said driveway is left to us women of the house.

As Grace was pulling off her newly acquired varsity letterman's jacket, I told her I guessed she realized there was a big chore to do before the sun went down. She said yeah, she would get right on it after she got a snack.

Wow, that was easy.

I told her to remember to clear the front and back walks, too.

Huh? she asked. What do you mean the front and back walks?

She thought the big chore was cleaning the cat litter. Oh my. Imagine her reaction to understanding that in addition to her regular afternoon chore of cleaning the cat litter, she would have to clear our driveway.

Nevertheless, after a bowl of popcorn, she pulled her boots and jacket right back on and went at it.

Here's the view from my bedroom window:



Just so you can get some perspective of how long the driveway really is, here's two views from the first floor. I include the picture of the school bus going by for the full effect.



I stayed safely inside the garage to take these pictures. I didn't even put on shoes, I just slipped on my slippers. I snapped the pictures quickly before my arms got too cold since I was only wearing a short-sleeved t-shirt.

Imagine the joyous reaction I got when I snapped this last one out the back door:


By the time she was finished and came in, she called to me, "I know you took more pictures of me." Thrilled, she was, I tell you.

God, I love that kid. She's the greatest.

A story of a boy torn between two worlds

It's that nine-year-old boy, Sean Goldman, who's living in Rio with his stepfather and his mother's family. His dead mother. I'm not sure whether this current event has caught the attention of others as much as it has ours here at my household. (For those of you who don't know, my husband is Brazilian and our younger daughter has dual citizenship.) If you don't know about the story, here's the latest on the story as reported by cnn.com.

I started thinking, what's my take on this? Do I go with the biological mother (who's now dead) and her family since I'm a biomom myself? I go with her because she's someone like me who braved the storm of being a single mother because her spouse was doing things she thought were bad for her child? Or do I take the side of the biodad, thinking that a biological parent should always have custody before a stepparent? But then it gets complicated, see, because I would want my husband, my oldest daughter's stepfather, to have some say-so in her life should (God-forbid) anything ever happen to me.

(Don't even tempt me for a second to go into the issues of international affairs between the US and Brazil because I will not go there.)

So. Lots of you out there have been a single mom. Or you're a biomom who's been remarried and have watched your spouse and your child have to navigate the treacherous waters of establishing their relationship. Or you're the stepparent to a child you care deeply for, and maybe your bio-counterpart isn't so happy to have you in the picture. I want to know what you think about this whole thing.

My deep hunch, from the beginning, is that this American father will regain sole physical and legal custody of his son, leave Brazil for the US immediately upon gaining that physical custody, and never travel south of the border again. So the kid loses the relationship he has with his now-deceased mother's family. And the stepfather will be left way out in the cold. Because legally...whether you're in the US or in Brazil or in China or wherever...stepparents don't have the right to step over the wishes of biological parents.

Think long and hard about it before you answer. As you can tell, I'm torn. If something happens to my ex-husband, I would never be obligated to explain my actions as a parent to anyone ever again. I could tell Grace's stepmother to kiss off and that would be the end of the story. The down side to this, of course, is that my ex-husband could legally do the same to Grace's stepfather in a similar circumstance. So I'm finding myself back to the Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

I'm not sure how the Golden Rule applies in the case of Sean Goldman's parents.

As a last word, I'm going to check out the Brazilian news sources when I get a chance today. I'm curious to see how this whole story is being reported there. If I find out anything, I'll include more here. But until then, chew on this and give me your comments to chew on as well.

And yet, it happened again

Grace was away for the weekend. She spent it with her father and his family.

Her younger sister, her father's daughter, turned three years old last Tuesday. Grace spent that evening with her father's family to celebrate. Then this weekend her father and stepmother decided to travel north, 150 miles, to her stepmother's parent's home to celebrate again. They left on Saturday morning around 10a and returned Sunday by 8p.

When Grace came in the front door last night and said hello, it was apparent she was sick. Not only did her voice sound like a frog's, she was coughing and then said her nose was stuffed up.

Over the weekend, she had taken cough drops from Friday night until she came home and she took an allergy medicine (given to her by her stepmother) on Sunday morning. Then she rode home in the car for 3 hours in a t-shirt and short shorts...when the temperatures were dropping and well into the low 50s already.

Once I had assessed the situation, I gave her a cough suppressant and a mild decongestant. Then I told her if she felt sick in the middle of the night to come tell me so she could take more medicine. This morning at 5a when she woke up for swim practice, she asked for more medicine. I told her that if she felt sick when it wore off to call me from school and that I would come get her. At 11a, she called from school. I went to school immediately and picked her up. She came home, put on her pajamas, and got in bed. She's sick.

The last four times Grace has been sick, this has occurred immediately upon her return from her father's house. In fact, I can't remember the last time she fell ill while being at home. Neither can she. In longer than the past two years, since she started eighth grade, I can't remember a time she was sick and missed school or anything else due to illness when she was home with me. But I can remember many times she missed school in that time period. Each one of these times immediately followed a visit with her father.

I spent the entire hour I met with my therapist this afternoon unloading all my frustration about this. Now that I am finished with that, I have only one question left. What is her father doing in the 48 hours she spends with him that gets her so sick so fast? I mean, this is a kid who never gets sick in any other situation. My God, how oblivious do you have to be as an adult in order for a teenager to get sick so often when she is in your care?

For those of you who (rightfully) give me the following advice every time I broach this issue, I talked with Grace last night about how she can take care of herself. I told her that since she is the only person looking out for her health when she visits with her father, she needs to start paying attention when I teach her about monitoring her own symptoms and about over-the-counter medicines. And I told her that whenever she feels sick, she should call me and ask me what she should do. The last thing I told her was to try and figure out what the factor is that causes her to get sick when she visits with her father (some ideas: not wearing warm enough apparel? not eating well? not getting enough sleep? sleeping on the floor? inhaling second-hand smoke nonstop?)

I wish the courts would mandate that non-custodial parents parent during visitation, not just visit. Maybe they should rename visitation 'parenting time.' Just an idea.

Honest Scrap Award

ONE MONTH AGO, Crys at Modifying Motherhood gave me an award. I thanked her right away and thought, 'thank goodness I have an idea for an upcoming post.' Um, yeah, right. I don't think "upcoming" translates into ONE MONTH LATER. But Crys is a great sort of person, or, rather, I imagine she is face to face since she seems to be a great sort of person as I see her through her writing. So I'm sure she understands that I don't mean any offense by taking ONE WHOLE MONTH to accept this award and pass it on.

Here goes.

Crys gave me the Honest Scrap Award. Sounds nice, eh? I'm supposed to list ten things that you probably didn't know about me. Then I pass the award along. Easy 'nuff. Here is my list:

1. When I was in high school, I was in love with England. I wanted to travel there. I wanted to move there. I thought everything about England was amazing. I knew every single fact about the British royal family and the Beatles that there was to be known.
2. When I was in middle school, around 1984, I thought Michael J. Fox was about the most amazing thing in the entire world. I would have done anything to see him in person. I couldn't imagine that anyone was more fantastic. Then the crush waned. Then about 1998 I told someone how much I liked him as an actor. And that person said, 'yeah, but what has he done lately?' Oh. My. And now? More than ten years later? I respect him and love him even more. He is, in the language that Mrs. G would use, my secret boyfriend.
3. I was a cheerleader in middle school. I would have done anything to be a cheerleader forever and be an 'it' girl. When I tried out in high school I was cut for the squad because I couldn't do a split.
4. I tried yoga for the first time when I was 24. I was really good at it. I apparently am very flexible. I never really did yoga after that. I should.
5. I bite my fingernails. And my toenails.
6. I love Project Runway. I find those designers very talented.
7. I don't understand poetry at all. It's not that I dislike it, I just don't have the ability to understand it.
8. For reasons I cannot explain, I don't like U2. I can't think of any song by the band that I like. I saw them once in concert during their Pop tour and I was bored. And I was completely burned that I had paid so much for the tickets and driven 100 miles to see the concert.
9. In middle school I made up my mind that I was going to go to college at Florida State. There I would major in music and minor in mathematics. I planned on becoming a piano teacher.
10. The only beer I enjoy drinking is Bell's Oberon, only available during the summer.
    

There you go. Now, to the passing onward. I, Heather at Comparative Childhood, do hereby bestow the Honest Scrap Award to:

CDP, aka Aunt Dahlia, at (parenthetical)

Amy at Welcome to Amy's World

Melissa at Buddha Mama

Go visit their blogs! They are very entertaining!

Being a baby is hard to do

We've finally gotten Stella's social security card and copies of her birth certificate. Now we have to get a US passport. We also have to go to the Brazilian consulate and do all sorts of paperwork to get her citizenship there too. And she needs a Brazilian passport too so she can legally enter the country. All this leads to...

Baby Passport Photos

And you thought it was a pain to get a decent passport picture for yourself...

How to score a new wardrobe - don't tell Grace

Stella gets to change her clothing every few hours without fail. This is a big no-no for Grace. Why the inequality? Well, Stella has this habit of peeing and pooping all over herself. I really hope that Grace won't go to such drastic measures to score more wardrobe changes during the day.

Grace left for camp today with her high school orchestra. She was cranky when she came into my bedroom to tell me goodbye at 7a. I barely got a hug or a kiss. I'm not sure what was vexing her. I mean, I could take guesses, but I'll hold off on that. She said to me yesterday that she really wished she could take Stella with her to camp. She wasn't serious, but we both told each other that it would be a long week away. I told her it would feel weird for us to have our family together and for her to be gone. She said it would be strange to be away from Stella for so long.

During the same conversation together, she and I and Stella spent time alone. Grace wanted to hold Stella so much, and I was trying to find times when Stella was fed and would take to just being held and played with. We got three chances yesterday. Up until yesterday, Grace's priming on babies has been pretty typical of most people which is to hold babies like big bags of flour and if they fuss, they must need to eat or have a diaper changed. I'm a little different in my approach to babies. Babies are people and when you hold them or care for them, you should treat them like people. So Stella spends a lot of time just laying next to someone and being spoken to or getting to relax on her own terms. So far she's been a pretty good baby, not full of angst without a source, so it helps us be able to let her relax and be close to us. Yesterday when Grace first took Stella, she knew only how to hold her like a bag of flour. She wasn't taking any advice that she could hold her differently and insisted this was the only way. Stella was pitching a fit, crying and yowling. After realizing this wasn't working, Grace insisted that Stella needed to eat and was handing her back to me. I finally told her just to sit down and I would show her what would work better. After an hour passed, she was much more comfortable with Stella and Stella had calmed down completely.

I'm beginning to get the handle of this whole thing, I think. I miss my older girl, even though she's only been gone mere hours.

The Weekly Slug: 34 weeks, almost 35, but who's counting anymore because we're going to have a baby in not more than 11 days.

I thought I'd give you guys some fun stuff to savor since events have been a bit on the heavy side around here.

First, a picture that my husband took of me right before I was taken to triage at labor and delivery last Wednesday night.


I look terrific, don't I? Like it's really not 11 o'clock at night and that I'm contemplating a delivery at 34 weeks? Like I'm not sitting there having contraction after contraction thinking, 'hm, these are starting to hurt a bit'? You guys are too kind. Thank you for reassuring me that I look just fine.

That trip to the hospital did have one good effect. It woke us up to the reality that we were completely unprepared for a baby to come into the house. Or even into our lives. Here's a picture of every first-time dad's nightmare:


That car seat wasn't even out of the box last Wednesday night, much less in the car when we left for the hospital. I guess we figured that if the girl was born at 34 weeks, it was highly unlikely she'd leave the hospital right away with us. Still, the stroller has no wheels and we still really have no idea how to put the car seat in the car safely. I am POSITIVE that when Grace was a baby I was one of those 4 out of 5 people who had the car seat installed incorrectly. Positive.

I still don't have a bag packed for the hospital. For myself or for the Slug. Oh my.

One good thing about Papai going to Brazil just a few weeks before his Slug's birth is that he brought back gifts and gifts and gifts and, oh, did I mention? Some gifts. Here is one of my favorites.


This is from one of my sisters-in-law. It is one bottle of shampoo and one bottle of lotion specially formulated for both mommy and baby. They both smell amazing. She sells products from the entire line of this company. It is like a woman's dream-come-true to have someone in the family constantly supplying green-friendly beauty and health products. She is fabulous.

Even better as a dream-come-true is that I got these babies all prettied up this afternoon, while also having my feet scrubbed and massaged and pampered:


I can't keep my toes from looking like little sausages skewered onto the end of a pot roast, but I can at least get them to be cute. And feel cute. I cannot tell you how amazing of a treat this was. I haven't been able to reach my feet for weeks now, consequently my podiatric hygiene and care has been less than acceptable. Given that I only wear flip-flops now, it was grossing me out a lot that everyone could see them. So I got myself to the mall, went to one of those nail-only places, made good use of the back massager in the treatment chair and relaxed for about an hour. At the very least, by the time this picture was taken my ankle bones were showing a bit. That's a distinct improvement over their normal appearance of late.

And now for my confessions of guilty pleasures. The entire bottom drawers of my nightstand is filled with my stash. Witness it in all its decadent glory:


I wish I could tell you that this is just a symptom of pregnancy but alas, I am a big wimp when it comes to resisting sweets. So there you go. The caramels were just purchased last night on a distinct pregnancy craving. The juicy fruit is going with us to the hospital. When I get around to packing a bag. Assuming that is before the Slug is actually born.

Enough for now about the Slug. I've been neglecting discussion of Grace. Also of The Cat. They will get some good dedicated posts soon. Because they are both pretty awesome.

Where were we? Ah yes, I remember.

My husband was gone to Brazil from the 12-21st. If you'll recall, before leaving he told his (soon-to-be-born) daughter just not to try any funny business until he got back on the 21st. She complied perfectly. However, yesterday in the evening of the 22nd, a little over 24 hours after he got back...

I started having contractions that wouldn't stop. Every 3 minutes. By the time I called triage at the hospital, they said 'Come in NOW.' And that we did.

We came home this morning at 3 or 4 am after quite an adventure which included among other things: one botched IV that left a huge bruise on my right hand, one good breathing treatment due to a sudden onset of asthma and a baby girl still in utero who decided those few hours in the hospital were the moments to REALLY practice her soccer skills (what, with dad back from Brazil and all). Finally the contractions lessened in frequency and there seemed to be no other immediate health risks to attend to. During the whole time I just kept thinking, 'I can't be having this baby now. I mean, look at my husband....'

...who was barely able to keep his eyes open. His past week consisted of crazy travel itineraries, the death of his father, working all the funeral arrangements out with some help from our newly adult nephew, mourning, and trying to make sure everything was ok here in the US with me. When we got to the hospital last night, he phoned his sister from the triage room because he hadn't even gotten the opportunity yet to call her and tell her he had arrived home safely. It had been a long week, what with his father passing away and all....

Yesterday, we went to mass in the evening in honor of my father-in-law. Seven day mass. It's a cultural tradition in Brazil -- have the funeral the day after the death, mourn for a week and go to mass seven days later. When we arrived home from mass, me still wearing my black, the contractions kicked into overdrive. And thus we found ourselves at the hospital all night. However, before all this ensued...

While my husband was gone, my bestest best friend came in town for a week. She was great. She took care of everything. It was great to see her and visit. I was grateful for her to be here. She even indulged me in a haircut and coloring, a photography session done by her at my house and many lovely dinners. I indulged her in one home-baked cherry pie. Which reminds me...

A couple weeks ago I promised a post on the paucity of cherry crops in Michigan, the state where the annual National Cherry Festival takes place. That post never came. Ah, well, what am I going to do? I think I'm going to make another pie this weekend, so if you're lucky I'll remember to take pictures and post them here. But until then...

Pics of a very pregnant lady with a fabulous new hairdo:



34 weeks yesterday. Still with baby inside. Just stay put, little girl, ok?

The Weekly Slug: 32 weeks, or T minus 4 weeks and counting

Here we go.

My husband is leaving for Brazil on Sunday. He is quite insistent that the only thing his daughter needs to do is stay put. Just be happy. Don't try any funny business and all will be fine. I assured him nothing will happen until he's back on the 21st. I'm not dilated, my cervix is high, my blood pressure is fine, everything looks typical for a woman at my stage of pregnancy NOT ready to go into preterm labor. So just don't worry. The only thing he'll miss is my appointment next week with the obstetrician who will be performing my cesarean. We'll be discussing our hopes and dreams for this birth. Or rather, I'll be discussing my husband's and my hopes and dreams on behalf of the two of us.

Last night we took a tour of the hospital maternity ward where our girl will be delivered. That was a little surreal. We had been there before about a month ago for monitoring because my contractions were not happy about calming down. At the time I thought, I'm never coming back here to this triage unit. Since I wasn't in need of actual care last night, we got the tour this time. All the other couples seemed happy and wanted to know about birth plans and such. Our hospital prefers that natural birth be the default and that women triage, labor, deliver and recover in the same room. Baby stays with Mom always. Baby never leaves Mom. I was wishing I could do birth like that at least once. When Grace was born, I labored in a labor room, delivered in a delivery room (read: OR), recovered in a recovery room, and she was whisked away immediately after birth for a couple hours to sob in misery in a nursery while being poked and prodded by latex fingers and lay in a bassinet alone.

On the tour last night, I just asked quietly if they could point out the location of the ORs to us. I just didn't want to disrupt the normal flow of discussion among other expectant parents in the tour about natural childbirth and all.

Speaking of Grace's birth, is it me or has this recession resulted in a severe cutback on the amount of freebies handed out at hospitals and mailed to expectant moms? When I was pregnant with Grace, we raked in the goods. I remember thinking a few weeks before she was born that I could probably go a month without having to go to the store for any supplies. I got a case of formula ready made, two more huge containers of formula powder (mind you, I nursed her, so I didn't even need the stuff), shampoo, lotion, baby powder, baby oil, diaper cream, silverware, OTC medicine samples, diaper bags, samples diaper wipes in cute little containers that fit perfectly in the diaper bag, books, videos, you name it. I was stocked. But for this pregnancy? Nada, nothing, zip, zilch. I even intentionally put in one of our email addresses into one of those "free stuff for your baby" sites that get advertised all over the pregnancy and baby websites? Then I entered our home address, our home phone, selected free magazines, and on and on. All I got for it was spam in my inbox. What is up? What did I miss? How do you get the freebies these days? Do they still exist?

I did something a little unexpected this week. I talked to a photographer about doing a maternity session. She has this awesome website and people give her rave reviews. I just feel like time is slipping away from us and I want to remember this pregnancy for being something good. My husband has told me over and over that he loves to see me pregnant, that I look healthy and beautiful. It's good to hear. So one week before delivery, in the evening of July 31st, me and my husband and Grace will go have a photography session together. We've never (and I mean NEVER) done this before. Had a photography session together, that is. The photographer promises she won't make Grace feel goofy and make her do things that are sappy and insincere just because her mother is pregnant. She even said that she would take a couple of head shots of Grace so she'd have a few decent pictures of herself instead of settling for her school pictures this year. All in all, I'm looking forward to it.

My bestest best friend is coming in town on Sunday, arriving just after my husband takes off for Brazil. She promises him she will take care of me.

I think that covers all the news that is the slug this week. Things are getting hectic and more immediate. I might move to the bi-weekly slug or something like that if things speed up more. Then again...that might be overkill ;-)

A bit melancholy

I'll tell you friends, it's been a long week. A lot of things that have gone on are things that would normally have sent me spinning and carping, but right now these are causing me just to have a short temper with people and write them off, tell them to grow up and get a real problem.

My father-in-law is dying.

We've spent the last 2-3 days trying to get a reasonably priced fare between Michigan and Brazil for my husband, while both of us deal with the oscillating emotions of whether he should go while I'm this close to delivery. But the truth is, if he doesn't go, he'll miss it all, whatever "it" is, that is. Holding his father's hand while he's doped up on morphine and comatose, holding a sister while she cries, getting to attend a funeral, who knows.

And so it is that I find myself before 6a in the morning, unable to sleep any longer despite the first persistent migraine in two months accompanied by severe pelvic pain and one reluctant dose of vicodin, watching the sun creep slowly into the horizon.

I'm realizing that dealing with all this is another way in which I have discovered how much I love my husband.

I want my daughter, the one that's not born yet, to at least be heard by her grandfather, even if that's only over the phone. But I'm afraid it's far too late for that.

The fender bender that happened to our car a couple weeks ago and the ensuing repairs that are taking over a week, that seems unimportant. That I repeated that fender bender almost perfectly with the other car two days ago also seemed like a dream, like it was life passing before me. Everything seems trite and banal. My sister's jealousy over my pregnancy, my ex-mother-in-law dissing me to Grace day by day, the cat suddenly staging a protest over using her litter box and using the carpet in the den instead...all this was really important a week ago. Today? Not so much so.

I'm wondering if being in the midst of clinical depression is making me more melancholy about the whole circumstance. But maybe it's also allowing me to be more in touch with my feelings and be more sensitive. Maybe it's making it possible for me to feel my emotions more accurately than if I was busily distracting myself with the normal overstimulation and hyperactivity I regularly feel.

We saw Grace at a swim meet yesterday afternoon. It was the first time she'd seen my husband since she learned of his father being ill. When she was done with her first event, she came to us and gave him a hug. It's the first time she's ever done this spontaneously, without someone telling her she should (like on Christmas after receiving a gift or sometime like that). The gesture was not unnoticed.

I suppose life is like this. You live, you experience, you feel, you learn. Somewhere along the way you realize, this is what living is. I guess right now I'm wishing that living didn't include the dying part, the dying of people around you and of yourself as well.

Aaaaah, summer.....visitation.

I got a call last night at 10:30p from Grace's father. She has been with him since last Saturday, the 13th. Today is the first day of "normal" summer schedule [read: not on vacation out of town]. He called to ask if I could pick up Grace to accompany her to a hair appointment she scheduled at 4p and then bring her to his house, 20 miles out of town.

There is such a long and convoluted story that leads up to this late night phone call, you would either be snoozing or checking your email in another window before getting through half of it. I won't torture you. Many questions ran through my head after his phone call.

• Is it really so hard to keep up with your child's schedule that during the mere four weeks she visits with you during the summer, you can't figure out a way to make the schedule work?
• Why didn't he tell Grace that this time wouldn't work and tell her to reschedule the hair cut appointment for a more convenient time?
• Why did the guy wait until 10:30p at night to call and ask me about this? Who calls their ex that late at night?

I think this comes down to a personality difference between Grace's father and me, or maybe just a skill difference. It's that ability to problem solve, or the ability to see the plan that you are formulating is a poor one and you need to rethink the whole thing. I've written here before about how much this guy is really poorly skilled in this area. It's why his plans fall apart and why problems seem to always be landing in his lap and why he can never seem to show up on time. Everyone around him picks up the slack. Or everyone doesn't pick up the slack and just accepts that the chaos that may ensue is just part of the normal ebb and flow of life.

So, there we are. Ten days into summer break and I realize that this guy is lacking in an essential skill for parenting. He's so lacking that at some point calling his ex-wife at 10:30p to get her to pick up the slack seemed like the best option. My thought is, if he can't take care of the kid and her schedule, a schedule he enthusiastically embraced and assured everyone that would work, why not just let Grace come home and see him when he can work it out? Is it really necessary for Grace to live with him for four consecutive weeks during the summer, what the courts awarded him seven years ago, if he's really not up to the task?

By coincidence, I read through our divorce and custody settlement a few weeks ago, which states explicitly that arrangements for this four week summer stay are to be settled no later than January 1 before the summer. I couldn't help but laugh out loud when I read that; he's never made that deadline. It has been four years since Grace spent this allotted four summer weeks with her father, mostly due to a fantastically awful situation that arose during the summer of 2005 when Grace's father left town with her and didn't tell me where he was or how to reach him. I called Grace's cell phone, no answer. I called his cell phone, no answer. Two days passed and I heard nothing. I got panicked. I called his parents and asked them how I could get in touch with them because no one would return my phone calls. His mother assured me that even though she had no idea where they were and had not heard anything from them in days, nor had anyone else, they were perfectly fine and there was no reason to worry. When he finally did meet up with his parents in Colorado at a mountain cabin resort (remember, he lives in Michigan and we lived on the East Coast at the time), he took the time to telephone me and to yell at me, saying I had no right to try and find him like that.

Um, well, actually I do. It's clearly spelled out in a court order that I do have that right, as does he, and it's a right of his that I had never violated. Oops. He was never very good at understanding legal documents. Ah, well, what are you going to do...

Since that time, I really haven't trusted him to take care of Grace for four consecutive weeks, nor have I trusted him to take care of her while I wasn't local to both of them. He never got his act together to come up with a plan for her to visit during the summer for that long, consequently, this is the first time that we've tried four weeks since the "Summer of 2005 Fiasco." For last summer's tale, you can read a brief recap here.

Grace is coming home this next weekend for a couple days. I worked that into the schedule because I wanted to give her 48 hours of recuperation time in the middle of this four week marathon of living with her father and his family. I also am, indeed, meeting her at the hair dresser this afternoon to see her for that brief hour and pay for her hair cut. July 10th, the day she is expected home for the rest of the summer, can't come soon enough. I'm so never agreeing to this again. He can sue me, but he won't. And frankly, I don't think he really wants the opportunity to parent for this extended time. I think he's always been relieved that I take care of all the difficult needs of this girl.

The Weekly Slug: 28 weeks and I'm impatient

My swimsuit is not here. It is coming UPS. GROUND. Why on earth did I decide to do that? It started its journey somewhere on the west coast and last Monday evening (the 8th) it was in San Francisco. UPS updated their tracking today and it says that as of 1:05a Saturday morning it was in Cheyenne, Wyoming. Now I don't mean to be rude, but doesn't that seem a little slow? I mean, San Fran to Cheyenne in 5 days? At this rate, the Slug will be born before I get my swimsuit.

I WANT MY SWIMSUIT!!!!!! The daring one, that is.

What's in Cheyenne besides a UPS tracking station? I've only been to Wyoming once, and that was when I was 3 or 4. I don't remember what cities I went to. I know we went to the Grand Tetons because there's a great picture of me with my sisters and the mountains in the background. Yeah, Florida girls in the 70s in Wyoming. It's quite a shot. But back to the point, what's in Cheyenne? Is it sort of like Mobile, Alabama except with mountains? Or like Topeka?

I saw a moose in Wyoming, I remember that really well. He was about 30 yards from the cabin we stayed in, across the street. He was big with enormous moosey antlers. Maybe that was Cheyenne and I just didn't know it at the time.

OK, enough. Get my swimsuit to Michigan already, where no one would come for a summer holiday apparently.

Update on homeschooling

When I was a sophomore in high school, while studying the Renaissance as part of World History, I was assigned to write a short report on the Italian architect Brunelleschi. I remember little else about the architect except that he designed the dome for Santa Maria del Fiore in Florence, Italy. It never occurred to me at that point in my life that I might get to actually see the dome.

As if our family life did not involve enough ups and down and turnabouts, my husband and I decided the last couple weeks to do something a little unexpected. Not crazy, just unexpected. We thought we'd take the family to Italy for a semester. My husband had been pursuing teaching abroad for the winter and spring of next year. I encouraged him to do this, since he hasn't gotten the chance to travel for a sabbatical. The one snag of course was that going would mean he would leave our family behind. Me, Grace, and our new baby. Not the end of the world, but not what we really wanted either. So we started working on the unexpected plan -- taking the whole family to Italy for a semester.

No problem for me. No problem for the baby. But Grace. How do you work in a semester away when a kid is in high school and still make sure she stays on track to graduate? People do these sorts of things, there must be a way to do it. I contacted her guidance counselor and asked what we could do. He was more than enthusiastic and helpful. He said, no problem, he'd contact one of his colleagues at one of the other high schools in the city. The solution? Grace could do her studies at home using online resources already approved by the district, and while she was here in the states, she could still participate in swim team, orchestra, sit in on classes that would be good (like language classes and an AP course). Once we went abroad, she could continue her homeschooling using these resources and supplement using anything we wanted that seemed of use abroad (hello, AP World History).

We didn't tell Grace. We wanted to wait until we knew everything was a go. I was pretty sure she would go for it because she had been begging us for weeks to let her do an exchange program abroad during her sophomore year. That was out of the question because, oh my god, do you know how much those programs cost? But still...Italy...in the spring...I didn't think it would take too much convincing.

I started thinking about all the amazing benefits and possibilities. Our family, by that point the full four of us, could travel together and live away together. We could spend 4-5 months together. Grace with a new little sister, me with my two daughters, my husband with his daughter and his stepdaughter together, my husband and I, away from the hub bub of our typical American life. We'd get the chance to be in a new place for longer than a few days or a few weeks...we could actually get the chance to settle into a place and get to know it, a place that presents new perspectives and new experiences.

Under these conditions could I take up the task of homeschooling? Oh, yes. Sure, it would be a change of pace and something I'd have to begin planning for. But the chance to have one year just to give it a shot, spend time together, do learning in a way that Grace wanted to rather than how a teacher wanted to...that is irreplaceable.

Just about the time everything was settling down and the guidance counselor was pulling together all the information, we hit a glitch. The project abroad had been downsized and we no longer had the opportunity. Some other year in the future, maybe, but not now. But at that moment I realized what I had lost. It occurred to me that my family, one that is still in the making, has precious short years before the oldest child becomes an adult. The chance to sweep the whole family up and go on a venture together is slipping away from us.

So now I'm trying to figure out how to have that experience without the actual act of going away physically. I'm realizing that it's very important for me to have the family bond. I'm trying to figure out how to make the most of every day, every holiday, every birthday, every moment.

Ciao, Italia.