Playing Life with Liam

Liam discovered the game of Life at school with his friends. We dusted off our box and what had been planned as a family game evening became Liam and Mom, playing with Liam’s rules. I must say this made the game much easier to learn. If Liam wasn’t sure of a rule, we read that one little section of the 25-page instructions for the game of Life; then Liam interpreted it and we played accordingly. This style of play would not have bode well for the Malcolm family of four. Did I gain insight or fear during the two rounds of Life with Liam?

First the babies were cute, but as they kept falling out of the car, he decided he wasn’t having any kids. They were too much of a hassle as he drove his car along the path. So, if we landed on “Twins!” or “New Baby!” we had the option of loading up the car or not.

On the first lawsuit square I landed on, I looked at Liam for guidance. He had about $50k, and I was supposed to sue him for $100k. Puzzled only momentarily, he cried out “I know!” and gave me $100k from the bank. We continued to sue the bank for hundreds of thousands of dollars throughout our game of Life.

Liam was adverse to the purchase of homes. “Well, where are you going to live?” He didn’t hesitate, “In my car on the hill.” I envisioned the loft over our barn being converted to an apartment in 15 years.

At the start of the game, there wasn’t a lot of organizing we had to do. We left all the cards face up in the lid and shook them so we could thoughtfully pick a career. A high salary career.

My favorite part was the careful planning on how he would move through Life. He looked ahead and counted the squares necessary to get to the spot where he wanted to land. Then with great finesse, he spun the spinner just so and 99% of the time landed exactly where he had planned. My spinning was a bit more haphazard. Which probably explains the end of both rounds, “I retired before you! TWICE!”

I'm sure his friends will set him straight on the rules when he plays Life with them again at school. But for today, atta boy, Liam!

Something for Every One

Sitting for a quiet half hour in the dentist's chair yesterday, I gathered these thoughts for this Hump Day. During February break, the boys and I went to a robotic dinosaur exhibit at the science museum in Manchester, NH. A caution sign hung outside a partially hidden exhibit: "Warning, Carnivore Scene." At the Currier Art Museum across town, the European art gallery with numerous vivid, bloody works depicting Christ on the cross should have had a similar warning. I did not find convincing Easter words to shatter those graphic images etched on a 7-yr-old's mind. The melancholy of Good Friday and the rejoicing of Easter all sat heavily with me this year. I resorted to Cadbury's chocolate eggs.

We went to Portland, Maine for Easter weekend. In the Children's Museum, my sons and I climbed into a life-sized blow-up humpback whale. The guide pointed out body parts from the inside and explained how whales and humans are both mammals: "Where did you grow? Inside your mommy's tummy, right?" Liam glanced at me, opened his mouth, then closed it. I think we both may have been thinking, "Ack, what the heck does she know?" Fleetingly, I thought 'biological birth whale mother?' I let it go.

The weekend started out with something for every one but nothing for everyone. Boutique shopping for me. A brewery for Bill. A swimming pool for Will & Liam. I even thought we all might enjoy a workshop in making tempura paints out of egg yolks. In reality, that was for me. Sunday morning we rose, packed up, and went to Mackworth Island to hike the circular cliff and see the fairy houses in the woods. However, we had a change of plans. A pleasant surprise: Low tide.

Finally, there was the something for everyone. Our first day at the beach this year. Rock climbing, shell seeking, playing football, rock collecting, rock throwing. Even a glance at a fisher cat, apparently a common but mean little creature in New England.

That good dose of sea air blew out the sticky cobwebs that were globbing up the transition between winter and spring. Today, the snowmen are going into the winter storage tub to make room for dafs on the mantel.

Happy Hump Day!

When Plans Change

Running a tight ship. Magically getting it all done. Type A personality. Everything has a place & everything in its place. A Pottery Barn house. Not me. So not me, particularly post-chemo with not a hormone in sight to glue it all together in the old memory bank. Consequently, I'm taking an Executive Functioning webinar, trying to re-train my brain in the ways of time management and using visible tools daily. It's helpful to have daily, weekly, monthly, and long-term planning pages in front of me -- as long as I remember to use them.

Early yesterday morning, I had created the perfect do-able list: take boys to school, meet workers at the house to get gas fire place working, write the Hump Day Short, grab lunch, buy humidfiers and toothbrushes, get home for webinar, pick up boys & take them to play dates, buy groceries, reverse pick up of boys, make quick taco dinner, have dinner together, get boys to bed at a decent hour.

Well, plans change in my non-Pottery Barn life. The best goof-up in my schedule was lunch. I stopped at a little restaurant that I had recently discovered; I'm usually there at odd times but yesterday I as there at noon. I sat down with my planning clipboard and a blank piece of paper (aka: grocery-list-in-the-making) as diners filtered in.

I recognized one woman as the mom of a Little Leaguer that played on Liam's team. And another as the mom of a little girl in my god-daughter's class. Long story short, we slid my table together with another and had lunch together. We chatted, laughed, joked, and poked. For not remembering either of their names nor ever having met the third woman, the conversation was lively. Enjoyable.

So if you felt the world brighten a bit around 12 Eastern time yesterday, it may have been the sparks from that lunch. Why won't you take your child bowling? Roller-skating? Should an inmate on death-row receive cancer treatment? When should you pay a contractor? Why was my Christmas wreath on the door until March 6th? (See the 1st and 2nd paragraph... and there WILL be new decor on my door TODAY! ...I'm putting it on my daily planner.)

Alas, much like the rest of the day's events, lunch went on longer than I had allowed in my planner. "Inhale lunch" then "Write Hump Day Short at library" then "Webinar at home." I skipped the middle task to get the next one done.

So, I'm writing the Hump Day Short at 5 a.m. And happily so. Lunch with these ladies and another surprise visit with old friends were the highlights of my day. Conversations when plans change.

I didn't have "Lunch with virtual strangers" nor "Unexpected chat with old friends" written in on my daily planning sheet.

Perhaps that's why I plan my day in pencil?

Happy Hump Day.

Children's Dictionaries

I’m not God. He made 24 hours in a day. He made us with the intent that we sleep for a good chunk of that time so as not to get grumpy. Well, probably many other reasons, but that’s certainly how he built me. Those are the parameters within which homework needs to get done: fit it into the 24-hour wheel of time, at home before you go to school the next day. Some days are busier than others; still the homework needs to be done. And truly, the word HOMEWORK that occupies Will’s mind takes much more time than the actual amount of homework to be done.

When the phrase, “You need to give me more time!” slipped from Will’s tongue for days; I tried the white board approach, with the evening laid-out in half-hour slots. I marked in dinner and bedtime then left all the other half-hour slots white. “Honey, that’s it right there. All that blank space is up to you to work out. I can’t give you any more time. That’s it. You need to get your homework done in that time.” It worked beautifully. A visual that said time is finite.

Then come the Tuesday evenings when I hear, “I don’t have much homework, Mom. It won’t take me too long.” I do the math: “It won’t take me too long” + Tuesday = definitions and sentences for 10 spelling words are due tomorrow = The Children’s Dictionary. I cringe. I skip the white board for it is powerless over the Children’s Dictionary…

Five minutes ago, I opened the Children's Dictionary to find periscope, one of Will’s words. I landed at the end of the P’s. Py. Pyramid. Wow. The most amazing diagram of a pyramid. All the chambers, corridors, and galleries are illustrated in detail. Half the page is the Great Pyramid, Giza, Egypt. But, wait, I need periscope! With a backward flip of a few pages, past clear, color pictures of portcullis (very cool!), pole vault, platypus (my favorite animal), planets, piano, pheasant, and penknife, I skip right over the small diagram of the periscope. Fortunately, when I go forward to the periscope page, it is the only drawing on the two-page spread.

This is how the Children’s Dictionary works. The Children Dictionary opens the spigot of imagination time after time. This is why ten definitions and sentences take two hours. Which is fine if you want to make an evening of it.

I can only give you more time, Will, with a 6-inch thick, good, solid Webster’s.

Happy Hump Day -- and for those of you with Children's Dictionaries at home, we only have around 12 more Hump Days this school year.

Live Free or Die

While Bill is in England visiting his family, the boys and I are in New Hampshire for a little getaway.  This afternoon we went snow shoeing for the first time on a trail around America's Stonehenge in Salem, NH.  We mistakenly left the orange trail.  At the intersection of the blue and green trails -- and a half hour before the trail closed -- I called the trail office and asked for advice on which way to go.  We handed our snow shoes in just before dusk. I had arranged to stay at a hotel with a big pool.  Unfortunately, the configuration of the hotel room is exactly the same as that of the The Black Bra Inn.  Will noted, "It's not as luxurious as some."  But not as bad as others -- no lingerie was tucked under the bed legs.

To the pool we went.  We were there with 25 other boys.  First, I thought, "Great, kids for the boys to play with!"  That was a short-lived thought.  Boys were cannon-balling into the hot tub and grabbing each other around the neck to dunk and hold under water in the pool  They were taking cups of water and tossing them at each other, and me.  I could see bewilderment in my boys' eyes.  A parent asked me if I was doing OK with the raucous.  I asked if it was a bunch of boys from the same class.  No.  It's a hockey team. 9-year-olds

The icing on the cake was when a half dozen of them decided to treat the tiled pool deck as a slip'n'slide.  Getting a good running start, they threw themselves headfirst down the pool deck.  Surely, now, a parent will say something.  Oh indeed.  The video camera came out and a mom said, "Do it again!"  Is this how hockey players really lose their teeth?

As the slip'n'slide was in full tilt, the hotel front desk clerk kicked them out of the pool, telling them there was a private party coming in.  There was no private party.  I'm pretty sure the clerk was just scared to kick out a hockey team and hockey parents carrying red plastic cups.  Anyway, as they were kicked out of the pool, one of the dads handed me a small "Personal Bible: Verses of comfort, assurance, and salvation" as he explained, "I give them to everyone I meet.

Honest to Pete, I wanted to tell him to save his kid's teeth and chin before trying to save me..

Did I mention that New Hampshire's state motto is "Live Free or Die"?

Now, would you believe that at 11 p.m. the fire alarm went off in the hotel?  And following the beeps, a woman said, "A fire has been reported in the building.  Please leave the building."  Apparently, all fire alarms are now armed with a motherly voice. One 50-pound child woke up and looked at me wide-eyed.  The other 50-pound child did not hear it.  So we put clothes on him and opened our door.  The neighbors were just returning to their room.  Seems there had been a fire in a microwave.

Did I mention there are three hockey teams staying at this hotel tonight?

Call Me Carol

After two and a half days in the house and at least one more ahead of me, I had to take a breather late Sunday afternoon.  I took Liam to the doctor then administered a round of Advil to keep his fever in check; then I told Bill I had to get out for a while.  I said I was going shopping – because I didn't know what else a mother does spur of the moment on a Sunday afternoon when she proclaims, “Enough!  You shall all survive without me for a couple hours!”  (I had showered that morning, so exercise was out of the question.) I went to the new Container Store, taking with me measurements of our three new bathroom drawers.  Their contents were chaos.  In the bathroom storage aisle, I perused the robust inventory for just the right stackable trays.  Voices of a man and a woman in front of me were getting louder.  “You want to talk about all your shit now?  You think I’ve got a lot!” decried a husband, too loudly, to his wife who was walking away from him.  Couples together over five years do not belong in an organizing store together.

As I tried to add tray widths together that would get close to the overall drawer width, a sweet lady picked up a piece of plastic with 24 holes in it.  “Oh, this would be nice on my vanity.”  I ignored her.  I was trying to add 8 + 8 + 3 1/2  – was that more than 19 ¼?  Or, maybe 6 + 9 +….  “Hmmm, do you think round ones would fit in the square holes?”  Well, you probably know that  saying as well as I do.  “I really don’t know.”  We were talking about lipstick.  She had a pretty shade of red on her lips.  “I wish I had one with me to test it out.”  Oh dear...  I felt that Carol Burnett glowering eye twitch and lip pucker setting in as I again loss track of my addition.

And my lip pucker was void of color.  And my purse was void of Elizabeth Arden, Clinique, and Estee Lauder tubes of color – round or square.  My dear, I don’t even have my Avon Care Deeply lip balm on me.  I gave it to my son as I left the house.  His lips are so dry from fever -- he thought the dead skin flaps were little wings sprouting on his lips.

Despite my annoyance at not being able to concentrate on simple addition while half-participating in this conversation, I stood up a little straighter.  This woman was asking my opinion about a lipstick tray.  I had succeeded.  The shower, blow-dry, and simple make-up application made me look more like a woman shopping and less like a tired Mom.  For a couple hours.

Until I went home and flopped down onto the couch.  Too tired to glower, twitch, or pucker.

Two ear tugs to Moms.

Sitting and Watching

Day 1 - Friday, Jan. 25th Ribbons of pink sunrise surround our house this morning.  Horizontal pinks line the sky and grow in intensity before giving way to the full glare of the morning sun.

That’s the background view out the window as I sit on the couch watching Liam.  At sunrise, he woke up screaming with a fever and a headache.  When I explained he had a bug, Liam wondered if it was a hot bug that landed on the top of his head.  When I explained he had a fever, Liam decided it was because he I had too many dreams in his head.

After giving him a dose of Tylenol, I sit and watch Liam.  Feeling his hot head.  Moving covers on and off.  Looking for any sign of a febrile seizure.  Realistic or not, that’s where my mind goes when fever comes into our house.

Will had a febrile seizure 6 years and 11 months ago when he was two, but I didn’t know that until we got to the hospital by ambulance.  I was at the kitchen counter, chatting away with my back to him.  When all was quiet behind me, I turned to see him slumped over in his chair.  I dialed 911.  I took him out of his chair and watched his lips turn blue.  His body was limp and I couldn’t feel his breath.  The quiet words “This is it?  I’ve lost him?” laced through my numb mind.

Then, I heard a firm voice say aloud, “No!  This is not going to happen!”  I did the Heimlich maneuver thinking perhaps he had choked on a grape.  I gave him a couple puffs mouth-to-mouth to make him breathe.  By that time, a police officer was at my door.  I opened the door from the floor where I was crouched holding Will, waiting to give him to somebody who could do more than I.  My neighbor arrived and arranged to get Bill from work to the hospital to meet me.  The ambulance arrived.  The paramedics were so calm, saying that he was responsive and coming around.  I didn’t see it.  I wanted them to whisk him out of my arms and make him better.

I sat in the front seat of the ambulance on the way to the hospital.  My body pulled taut, emotional armor.  My mind pleading with God.  I heard the paramedics calm again, saying he was still coming around.  I don’t remember much between that ride and the point where Will from the hospital bed hugged me and asked for the “fuzzy” oxygen monitor to be taken out from between his toes.  My body, emotions, and mind went limp.  Over the hump.  On our way to normal.

With a rotating 3-hour pattern of Tylenol then Advil, Will was fine a few days later.  However, I sat looking at the shadow of his blue lips for days.  Then the phone rang a week later and the voice of our adoption social worker was on the other end.  Linda... Will has a little brother, and Korea is willing to waive the age restriction for parents if you and Bill will raise the boys together.  My sobbing must have been confusing to her.

The call brought me out of a funk and left me with a feeling of ubiquitous webbing between Will’s seizure and bringing home his little brother Liam.  Had we passed a universal test?  Were there underpinnings of a gracious hand at work?

Day 4 – Monday, Jan. 28th

Blue gray sky puts a drab coating over the morning, sitting day 4 with Liam – still fighting a fever with alternating Tylenol and Advil every three hours.  Liam asks if I’m writing a story.

Yes.

Is it a mystery?

I smile, Yes.

Liam's Forever Family Day 2012

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We moved out of our house for the renovation May 26th.  We moved back into our house, and slept in our own beds, last Saturday, September 22nd.  During the summer months, we slept in a couple dozen beds.  Now, we are living simply until construction is completely done inside.   With just mattresses on the floor that we are calling beds, we are sleeping at home.  With a quilt that floats from unfinished room to unfinished room, we are picnicking at home.  With a flurry of activity around the house and construction, it’s alarming how special days are slipping through the cracks. So it’s time to put a pin on the calendar for this week: Liam’s Forever Family Day is Thursday, September 27th.  Six years ago we brought 9-month-old Liam home from South Korea.  And now he’s 48 inches tall.

Liam is the man with a view.  He sees the whole playing field in soccer and in hockey.  He sees the whole chess board.  He sees the whole maze.  To me and my wacky, challenged sense of depth perception, this is amazing.  He sees the whole picture.

Desperate for the hand-held Nintendo DS, which I removed from the house three years ago, Liam has been reading like a trooper since school started.  I told him when he wanted to read as much as he wanted the DS, we would talk about its return but not until fall.  Since August 22nd, I have been reminded that fall is on September 22nd.  Forgetting momentarily about the DS, he looked out the window September 22nd and somberly noted that there weren’t any leaf piles to jump in.

Liam is strong.  Strong.  Strong. Strong.  Strong-willed.  Strong-tempered.  Strong thinker.  Sometimes in my attempt with the “removal of privilege” system, which I KNOW works equally as poorly as the “reward system” with this child, we butt heads.  “Yeah, Mom, I don’t care about that.”  After a conversation this summer with a mom of a similarly wired kid, it clicked: I am Liam's greatest commodity.  And I can’t take me away from him.

In a heated discussion on our way to floor hockey, we were going at it.  When I should bite my tongue, I engage.  It’s like two mountain goats butting heads over a single blade of grass.  With a snarl thrown in my direction – and my return motherly-snarl saying “don’t-snarl-at-me” – Liam runs onto the gym floor.  I stay to watch; Liam has said he doesn’t want me to run errands.  Today, I could use an errand or two to recover from the head butt.

Fifteen minutes into the practice, they start a game using hockey sticks and whiffle balls.  With no protective barriers, the ball flies off walls, benches, and parents.  The ball and six boys come charging toward me.  From the pack, I hear a loud and clear and slightly ferocious warning, “HEY!!  Be careful of my mom!!”

Ahhhh…  Glad I didn’t run errands.

Much is the same, yet much has changed since Liam's 2010 Forever Family Day.

Hello from The Black Bra Inn

Good Morning from the lobby (aka: our living room) at the Black Bra Inn... Liam & I have been here since 5 a.m.  Liam and our next door neighbor were having coughing fits.  Liam's was from allergies.  Thank goodness for Netflix on my computer... That leaves me pecking away on.my phone.

We are only days away from sleeping in our house!  Yesterday l saw trash cans along a street.  They made me homesick; soon we will be putting our own trash out.

Hotel staffers know my name.  To my face they call me "Linda.". I have to wonder if privately they use a qualifier:  "You know, the black-bra woman who's usually in the lobby at the 5 a.m. Shift change?"

meanwhile at the house, our mattress and bed springs have returned to our bedroom.  The stacked pair looks like a squatter holding firm for our imminent return.  We are waiting for the floor finishes to be completed and for the smell to go away.

Once in the house, we will probably leave the bathroom light on as we have in every place that we have slept this summer.  It's a comforting beacon at 2 a.m. in a place that isn't home.

Once in the house, we may not venture out for anything other than school and work... And meetings, gymnastics, floor hockey, soccer, Boy Scouts, trumpet lessons.  Looks like penciling in AT HOME on the calendar needs to happen for us to do some serious nesting.

Yes, I must get out of here... I just helped a British couple operate the coffee brewer in the lobby and then provided travel tips for Boston.

Sometimes dusty, dirty, and demanding... Here's to home.

Happy Hump Day...

Confused by the name of the inn?  Read Finders Keepers for clarification. :)

Finders Keepers

Wednesday morning I was herding the boys, trying to leave the hotel room and get to school.  Liam, putting on his shoes between the two beds, said, "Hey, Mom!  What's this?  I want it!"  Frazzled, I acquiesced and had a look.  It was a black bra.  Not mine.  Stuck under the leg of the bed.  "No you can't have that!  It's not mine!"  Thinking he had really hit a jackpot, "What is it?  I want it!  Finder's keepers, ya know, Mom!"  Bent over laughing, I told him not to touch it and to get shoes on and get out the door.  My response to the surreal is apparently belly laughing. I scooted the boys out of the room and stopped at the front desk.  Speaking in shorthand to the woman at the front desk, I conveyed what needed to happen.  "My son found a black bra under the bed.  Not mine.  Stuck under the leg.  He's playing 'finder's keepers.'  There are clothes all over the room, but that is not mine.  It needs to disappear before I get back."  She was mortified.  "I'm so sorry."  Across the lobby I said, "Maybe you can think about something you can give me in return for what you take out of the room today."  The response, "We will come up with something."

After school I returned with the boys to pick up the laundry and go to the laundromat.  I subtley peeked under the bed.  It was gone.  I snatched all the dirty laundry and opened the suitcase (aka: dirty clothes hamper) to add these last bits.  And there it was.  Neatly folded... the black bra.  Still not mine.

What got lost in translation?  "The woman in room 123 can't get her bra out from under the bed" v.s. "The woman in room 123 wants the bra that's not hers out from under the bed."  Knowing there was a seeker in the room playing finders keepers, I whisked it out of the suitcase, opened the door, and threw it into the hallway.  There are housekeeping carts right outside my door.  Someone will now get the message.

A half hour later, Will opened the door as I wheeled the suitcase right behind him.  "Mom, why is there a black bra out here?"  "I... I threw it out here because it's not mine and..."  Hells bells.  I threw it out into the hallway.  Do the housekeepers think I'm in a rage because I found a bra in the room, not mine, and slung it out because my husband is having an affair?  (He's not... read this clearly... it's what I thought the housekeeping staff thought...)   I grabbed a plastic bag, picked the black bra up again and delivered it to the front desk.  Different woman at the front desk.  I shorthanded her the story.  She too is equally as mortified as the first woman.

The only ones I cannot explain the situation to is the housekeeping staff.  There I am with two little boys, throwing another woman's black bra out the door.  I am left wondering how they are telling the story.

God forbid, I hope I didn't grab the hotel laundering bag to get rid of the thing.  It may come back neatly folded... and clean.

(Want to read more about my "finder's keepers" guy?  Liam's Forever Family Day 2012.)

This Morning's Office

We are just a few days away from moving back into our house.  So close.  Life is more than a little jumbled living from a small hotel room, a POD, and the back of my van.  And this morning, from the hotel bathroom as my morning office.  I didn't feeling like putting clothes on at 6 a.m. and sitting in the lobby.  This morning, I brought my purse into the office.  I have become a bag lady.  Holy smokes, that thing must weigh 20 pounds.  This morning I'm cleaning it out... A hard cover address book stuffed with social invites needing replies or gifts... three passports, one  needs to be renewed... the boys' Easter money from Grandma & Grandpa - three ziplocs filled with coins... Will's heavy wallet, what does he have in that thing? ahhh, it has a coin pocket --filled with quarters... my envelope of cash... two driver's licenses -- I lost my original at the beginning of summer... my camera... Advil... 2 ziplocs filled with receipts... 2 hotel bills... a mysterious bill in my side pocket, probably from Mom, she has a quiet-money-tucking way about her... one duplicate checkbook, no cover & paint sample paint strips with kitchen color possibilities marking where the next unused check is... hmmm... there is also a reorder note on the top edge and the color of the basement carpet written on the back...

...an IPASS from IL that works in MA...  1 set of keys with all those little store tags... deoderant... empty prescription bottle, don't want to throw it in the hotel trash... "Wet Ones" package about half-way down in the bag... box of band-aids with a tube of antibiotic salve inside... big green Mentos gum bottle...crumpled receipts distributed evenly throughout like confetti... ziploc of hair bands and clips... phone charger cord for the car... a key... a receipt for granite sealer...big tube of Cortizone... little tube of Aquaphor...  I can see the bottom of the bag! ... my prayer bracelet... a note from Will's teacher... a note from the landlord who owned the house we rented this summer, there's a drawing of the house on the front of the card, she would love to have us back next summer -- the deposit check is tucked inside... another baggie full of coins... another key...

...an origami Yoda I'm supposed to be mailing to a friend for Will...tic tacs... Premier 1k Mileage plus card from United with my name on it... another car key... and two more...my business card holder -- empty... LEGOS flier from the garden in Ames, IA...rental car agreement... a banana key chain with a single key, either to the POD in our drive or to our steel case containing important stuff... package of gum... more confetti receipts...Liam's bracelet that a friend made for him... leftover tape from Bill's wound this summer... band-aid wrappers... a car rental receipt from Iowa...tweezers... plumbing supplier business card... lipstick...another key... more leftover tape

I've always been fascinated by inventories.  Lists can tell a story and each item has its own story.  Just wait...there are three pens and a pencil in the bottom of the bag as well.

Happy Hump Day...

Homemade Mac'n'Cheese

A recipe never  before written down... A tribute to moms and dads whose children have been dubbed "picky eaters," have sensory integration issues, or just have a plain old stubborn streak when it comes to food.

With thanks to families who so often let me bring Will's mac'n'cheese to dinner.  Your hospitality toward my pan of mac permanently seals our friendship.

With apologies to moms whose children beg for "Linda's Mac'n'Cheese" and turn their noses up at their plates of "real food."

And for Annie, who Will and Liam love, perhaps more than my mac'n'cheese...

Here's Will's favorite: Homemade Mac'n'Cheese

Bring water to a boil.  Dump in 1 cup of Prince Elbows.  While that cooks, gather 2 T. real unsalted butter; 4 slices of Kraft Singles orange prepared cheese product; and 1 1/2 T. of 2% milk and 1 1/2 T. of half & half.  I usually get a 1/4 measuring cup out and just dump in equal parts of these two.

Put colander in sink and dump cooked mac into it.  Put pan back on low heat and add, in order, butter, milk/half&half, and cheese slices.  Turn heat up a little bit and stir constantly until individual ingredients combine into cheese sauce.  Remove from heat.  Stir in macaroni.   Cover with lid.  Let set about 5 minutes (while you finish preparing everyone else's dinner...) then stir again and serve.  In a bowl with a spoon = ultimate comfort.

After years of perfecting this, I rarely veer from these ingredients.  The one addition I do of our "at-home Will & Liam-only version" is a little Benefiber in the cheese sauce.  I also occasionally substitute real Kraft orange deli cheese.  Also, microwaved leftovers just aren't the same as the fresh stuff.

Construction Magic

Mars and Pluto are out of alignment. MadMimi, the newsletter program I use to send you these fancy letters, does not want to talk to me if I say, "Hey, let's send out some pictures!"  She was fine earlier... today she has a bug.

A cool cloud called "Dropbox" -- where you can add files and share with others "easily" -- must be caught in a thunderstorm.

Recent pictures I took of construction on the house are stuck on my cell phone.  My cell provider does not recognize my location.  And I forget to forward pictures to my email when I'm running errands in town and have coverage.

Yesterday morning, after my computer participated in an "origami yoda" session with Will, it lost contact with the mouse.  (Finally, last night Bill said, "Did you try taking the battery out to shut it down and reboot?"  Obviously, it worked because here I am...)

Amidst this technology rubble, Bill's hand is recovering nicely and construction is going as scheduled.

The house.

Well, it's amazing... absolutely amazing.  Interior walls are framed; electrical and plumbing are done.  The builders are in a holding pattern waiting for all the building inspectors to give the thumbs-up so the insulation crew can start.

Pictures of the interior might make sense to a construction crew, but to the naked eye without a set of plans, it looks as thought I've taken a shot of vertical 2x4's lined up evenly like dominoes, ready for someone to push over the first one.

On the other hand, exterior shots are all about obvious progress.

Side of house before:

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Side of house after -- from a different angle:

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Back of house before:

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Back of house during:

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Back of house after:

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What a facelift, huh?

Liquid Farming: Fishing & Problem-solving

We’ve been throwing lines into the Annisquam River to fish.    From the beach or the 12x15 dock, there is a lot of ducking, casting, and reeling.  Plus mid-air swinging of lead hooks.  And plunked down rods when “I’ve-got-to-jump-in-now!” hits.  Leaving baited hooks and bare feet and a griping mother on the dock.  And giggles and swimmers in the water. For the perfectionists in our house, fishing is a test of patience.  Like golf, it’s not a matter of simply swinging a club or casting a line and getting the ball in the hole or a fish on the hook.  Both are games of variables.  Of problem-solving.  Of remaining calm when the perfect cast doesn’t land 10 yards in front of you in the middle of the river channel, but 20 yards to the right of you.  Over three people and a walkway to the dock next to you.   And anchors on the seaweed-covered lines holding that dock in place.  The look of horror brought to the face of a perfectionist in this event… predictable.

Then the diagnosis of the problem.  First, good job not hooking any of the three people.  Now, gently reel in the line following it as you go.  Yank, yank, yank at the scene of the stuck bobber, weight, and hook.  And… we yanked in the direction that pulled that tooth even deeper into the line.  Looks like we need to cut the fishing line.  But it’s the hand-chosen neon yellow bobber!

What next?  I could jump in and get it.  But I don’t have trunks and the water is pretty cold.  Hey, I could cut the line and wait for the tide to go out… then get my bobber!  Yes!  And, in the meantime you get to learn how to string your own fishing line.

And we haven’t even gotten to bait  type or to depth of bait in the water, never mind the true want of catching a fish.  Every seasoned fisherman and woman creates one solely designed path for a particular spot or fish species.  The trick is weaving the path through trial and err, not as the crow flies.  Not as the perfectionists will it.

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(Our first fishing expedition was on the 4th of July.  This way of life, Liquid Farming, takes some getting used to.)

Liquid Farming

Six years ago when Will and I made the 16-hour drive from Chicago to Boston to join Bill, who had already started his new job, I wondered how or if people in Mass. made a living off the land. There were acres and acres of trees in western Mass. Forestry? As the trees dispersed, cities built up. Commerce on paper. After finding our house and trying to dig a new flower garden, I was soon convinced there was no money coming from the dirt. The land is full of ledge that I have so often bemoaned. Moving from the Midwest to Northeast, I fought hard trying to think what I glued to the map in 4^th grade when we were studying states and main resources.  I’m sure I found corn for Iowa, and I remember using cotton for the South.  However, I have no recollection of the Northeast.

But now, I’m sitting on the north-eastern edge of the U.S. -- on a liquid farm called the Atlantic.

4th of July. Fireworks. Reading. Fishing.

Last night in Gloucester, we took in the traditional fireworks display.  Driving around the loud and crazy festivities at Gloucester Harbor, we found a small, quiet park on the opposite of the harbor.  Space for the boys to run around while we waited for the first bang.   Far enough away that the bangs, swizzles, whistles, and chasers didn’t force the guys to watch with hands over their ears.  We named the fireworks: gold waterfalls, pyrite rocks, spiders, and whistlers. This morning, giving ourselves permission to simply sit and read.  (OK, there is one Leapster whispering beside me…)  Only fidgeting enough to scratch the combined 50 no-see-um bites we have from early evenings outside.  No-see-ums are flying teeth.  Tiny, tiny bugs that you can’t see or feel until they bite.  The choice is go inside or spray on a thick coating of Off at 6 p.m.  I prefer nightly baths to feeding flying teeth.

With threatening clouds overhead, the river is quiet and the tide is in.  After meeting a retired commercial fisherman earlier this week on the beach, Liam was ready to throw in a hook.  Liam didn’t flinch as he watched Ed work the hook through the eyes of an 8-inch herring he was using as bait.  Ed missed a couple good bites while chatting with us, so we didn’t actually see a fish from the river.

The next day, we had a lesson from a very knowledgeable and patient Dick’s Sporting Goods manager on rigging up a fishing pole and what bait to use.  The Malcolms now own four fishing rods.  The boys cast their first lines later that same day.

Apparently, there are 28-inch striped bass – “stripers” – and blue fish in the Annisquam River.  I fear catching a fish, particularly since I can only identify Caribbean reef fish and Iowa bull-heads.  According to Ed, blue fish are swimming teeth – they should be easy to ID.  Ed showed me the needle-nosed pliers he uses to remove hooks from the mouths of blue fish.  Consequently, we bought a multi-purpose tool at Dick’s: needle-nose pliers/line cutters.

On the first visit to the dock, it was soon apparent that nothing would be hauled in: it was a casting, reeling, and untangling session.  I was relieved.  While this practice was going on, a small boat pulled up to the dock and we met the neighbors across the street.  Rich information was gathered during this brief introduction:  the woman who has lived here 50+ years knows how to clean and fillet fish.  So…

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On the second visit, Bill and I lugged a big blue bucket with us.  I also took a heavy beach towel to use as a lid, should we catch a big fish.  With a cast on one hand and a pick-line-low-weight-lifting restriction on the other, Bill was not going to be the one to haul it in or take it off the hook.  (Actually even if he had two fully-operating hands, there’s a good chance I would still be the one to fight the fish.)  On the walk to the dock, I checked out the shade tree where I could leave the bucket of fish as I dashed up to the neighbor’s house to plead for help.  All for naught.  Yet again, a practice session with a lot of boat traffic.

Today, with a quiet river and high tide, I’ll take the bucket again.  And hope there is movement across the street at our neighbor’s house.

Fireworks.  Reading.  Fishing.

A quiet 4th of July.

Unless we catch a fish…

(More about Liquid Farming: Fishing & Problem-solving.)

Fireworks. Reading. Fishing.

Last night in Gloucester, we took-in the traditional fireworks display.  Driving around the loud and crazy festivities at Gloucester Harbor, we found a small, quiet park on the opposite of the harbor.  Space for the boys to run around while we waited for the first bang.   Far enough away that the bangs, swizzles, whistles, and chasers didn’t force the guys to watch with hands over their ears.  We named the fireworks: gold waterfalls, pyrite rocks, spiders, and whistlers. This morning, giving ourselves permission to simply sit and read.  (OK, there is one Leapster whispering beside me…)  Only fidgeting enough to scratch the combined 50 no-see-um bites we have from early evenings outside.  No-see-ums are flying teeth.  Tiny, tiny bugs that you can’t see or feel until they bite.  The choice is go inside or spray on a thick coating of Off at 6 p.m.  I prefer nightly baths to feeding flying teeth.

This morning, with threatening clouds overhead, the river is quiet and the tide is in.  After meeting a retired commercial fisherman earlier this week on the beach, Liam was ready to throw in a hook.  Liam didn’t flinch as he watched Ed work the hook through the eyes of an 8-inch herring he was using as bait.  Ed missed a couple good bites while chatting with us, so we didn’t actually see a fish from the river.

The next day, we had a lesson from a very knowledgeable and patient Dick’s Sporting Goods manager on rigging up a fishing pole and what bait to use.  The Malcolms now own four fishing rods.  The boys cast their first lines later that same day.

Apparently, there are 28-inch striped bass – “stripers” – and blue fish in the Annisquam River.  I fear catching a fish, particularly since I can only identify Caribbean reef fish and Iowa bull-heads.  According to Ed, blue fish are swimming teeth – they should be easy to ID.  Ed showed me the needle-nosed pliers he uses to remove hooks from the mouths of blue fish.  Consequently, we bought a multi-purpose tool at Dick’s: needle-nose pliers/line cutters.

On the first visit to the dock, it was soon apparent that nothing would be hauled in: it was a casting, reeling, and untangling session.  I was relieved.  While this practice was going on, a small boat pulled up to the dock and we met the neighbors across the street.  Rich information was gathered during this brief introduction:  the woman who has lived here 50+ years knows how to clean and fillet fish.  So…

On the second visit, Bill and I lugged a big blue bucket with us.  I also took a heavy beach towel to use as a lid, should we catch a big fish.  With a cast on one hand and a pick-line-low-weight-lifting restriction on the other, Bill was not going to be the one to haul it in or take it off the hook.  (Actually even if he had two fully-operating hands, there’s a good chance I would still be the one to fight the fish.)  On the walk to the dock, I checked out the shade tree where I could leave the bucket of fish as I dashed up to the neighbor’s house to plead for help.  All for naught.  Yet again, a practice session with a lot of boat traffic.

Today, with a quiet river and high tide, I’ll take the bucket again.  And hope there is movement across the street at our neighbor’s house.

Fireworks.  Reading.  Fishing.

A quiet 4^th of July.

Unless we catch a fish…

I Crashed the Gate Doing 98

Leaving the hospital (MGH) in Boston Friday, after my monthly visit, I plugged my paid ticket into the machine inside the garage.  Then I drove to the exit 100 yards away.  The barrier lifted as I slowly drove up to it. From there we went down the road to the Museum of Science.  I was chatting with the boys about where to park.  We like parking on the roof for the view of the city, but it was 98 degrees.  During the decision-making discussion, I rolled up to the barrier.   We talked about the impact of the sun on the heat index in the van.  Knowing full well the bright yellow barrier would open, I kept moving – right through the loud popping noise.  In my peripheral, I saw a long, yellow bar tumbling off the hood of my van.

Popped it off the hinges.   I didn’t scream.  I gently braked, muttering the line “…crashed the gate doing 98, saying ‘Let those truckers roll, 10-4…’ from the old “Convoy” song.

We were not doing 98 mph.  We were doing 98+ wpm.  Words per minute.

Subconsciously, I was waiting for the barrier to rise like the one at MGH.  I got out of the van and looked around.  The gentlemen cashiering came toward me, saying nothing.  “I’m so sorry!  I was talking to my kids and drove right through the barrier.”  Still nothing as he picked up the barrier from the ground.  “I’m sorry.”

Finally, “You’re not the first.  Pull ahead and I’ll get the ticket for you.”  It was that Nemo character’s voice – the one that has to go deflate the puffer fish, AGAIN.

By the time we left four hours later, it had been reattached and was functioning properly.  No damage done.

We have a membership at the museum.  We get to take a few friends in with us; we have discounts on the store and cafeteria and the Butterfly Garden, etc.  And at least one free “bust the barrier” day?

I imagine any mini-van full of kids gets that perk – without being a member.

Have a Happy Barrier-free Hump Day!

Computers and Clouds

Sigh. I’m writing from a strange computer. At my 10th request to close out of Cool Math 4 Kids , Liam did so with an abrupt closing of my laptop. Accompanied by a strange sound of something breaking. Alas, the computer I have been meaning to replace for a few months – the one I talk to and convince to continue on – broke. Unable to resuscitate it, my mood dampened.

Nothing backed up for six or more months. Stories not quite ready to be told. Stories about to be published – including Friday’s “Crash the gate doing 98.” Photos from January through the last day of school. Photos and in-process articles for the school's website.  All now in question.

Commence one trip to the big store with a yellow and blue logo. Give me a cavity filling and a mammogram in one day over a trip to this store. I struck out early Saturday morning and there was no wait in the meet-the-geek line. I picked out another computer like my old steadfast, but three years younger. I entered the modern age with a hotspot, big hard-drive back-up, and a new Microsoft Office package. I said, “I want to turn it on and use it when I get home.” I had great service from the sales guys, particularly when I said I was a blogger. That really seemed to speed things up. Particularly when I mentioned the appointments I would rather go to than to come here.

Easily, my computer would be ready that afternoon. But no call yesterday from the geek who would be transferring all my data from the old to the new.  I’m thinking no news is not good news.

When I go in to pick up the new computer, I’m getting advice on how to set-up automatic back-ups to the hard drive. 

I’m thinking, ‘Why didn’t I learn my lesson when my 3rd grader lost his whole outline in May after not saving it?’

I’m thinking, ‘Never again.”

I’m thinking, ‘I’ve said that before.’

 Is a cloud the answer?  Is there an automatic  back up to some memory cloud in the sky?

Maybe for the next computer. 

Ahhh, I just noticed that this draft was automatically saved.  I did not know that my blog entry point is a memory cloud!

Hoping for a silver lining later today... filled with all left undone on my old computer.

My Warrior Prince

Journal from yesterday, June 14th... I’ve been keeping small, tidy, realistic lists this week.

Today, meet with builder at 7 a.m.  Go with Bill to follow-up hand appt. at 9 a.m.  Go to Lowes to find light fixtures at 11 a.m.  Get Will to gymnastics at 4:30 p.m.  Go with Bill at 6 p.m. to finalize plumbing fixture selection.  Get Will from gymnastics at 7:30 p.m.

A famous person once said the only thing you can plan for is a picnic.  Insinuating everything else will be rearranged.  He was right. Today’s juggle started at 7 a.m.  Get plumbing valves before the lights.  Clean out LEGO structure closet by Monday so drain pipe can be built in.

At Bill’s doctor’s appointment, Lowes, plumbing valves, and the LEGOS closet got pushed to back burner.  Bill has a staph infection in his hand.  Based on the x-ray, the ortho doctor/surgeon thought it was deeper than the pin entry points.  (Pins were removed Tuesday.  At that point, she saw the infection and booked an operating room for today on the very, very outside chance she might need to clean up Bill’s hand.)  Bill’s surgery was on for 1:30.

As Bill sat with the open wound, she reviewed the possible scenarios, including two or three days in the hospital with intravenous antibiotics – at which point a bit of blood spouted from Bill’s hand.  The doctor and nurse gave a little scream. Bill didn’t know what was going on.  I thought, “Wow, the thought of a hospital stay pushed his blood pressure up a few points and blood shot right out of the hole in his hand!”  Cool science.

The doctor explained that it was only a drop of blood.  “It’s a girl thing.  You’re OK, it’s just a drop of blood, but we don’t want it to drop on your pants.”  Bless them, murmured the Laundry Maven.

Pre-op at 12:00 p.m. through post-op endpoint at 7:20 p.m. felt a bit like a Saturday Night Live skit.  Nurse Betty came in talking about installation of a “pick-line” while the infectious disease (ID) doctor – with a pocket protector and a stack of binder-clipped 3x5 note cards – explained, numerous times, how infection works, how a nurse would be coming to our house once a day for four weeks to administer IV antibiotics and change dressings, how Bill wouldn’t be working for a few days.

Bill and I are throwing looks back and forth.  Finally, I said, “This is all a bit of a surprise to us as this wasn’t the conversation we had with the ortho doctor this morning.  This is the first we are hearing about any of this as definite.”

Backpedalling a little – yet continuing in the vein of intravenous antibiotics, the ID doctor asked where we lived in case we had to up daily visiting nurse visits.  Bill answered.  To Bill, I said, “No, we don’t live there.  We don’t have a house right now.”  To the ID doc I said, “We are putting an addition on our house and have moved out for the summer.  We are in a hotel for two weeks then living in a house in Gloucester for the summer.”

That crazy scenario threw him, so he went back to defining infection.  With three nurses, the surgeon, and an anesthesiologist present, no one could turn him off.  Finally, in my most assertive voice I started saying, “Thank you, doctor.  You’ve BEEN very helpful.  Thanks for coming BYE.”  Finally, he waved and said, “Good luck with the addition!” which put an awkward silence in the air amongst us strangers.  “That would be a house addition, not a baby addition,” I added.  It took a while for Bill to catch it; through laughter he said, “I feel a blog post coming on!”  Oh yeah.

When the 4th medical professional asked if I would be staying here while Bill was in surgery, I replied, “No.  I’m going to the Caribbean.”

Enter capable, trustworthy, bright surgeon who explained she would flush the area during surgery, Bill would have a pick line put in after surgery, and then he would have daily antibiotics administered by the Nurse Maiden.  Said Nurse Maiden – me – would also need to change bandages three times a day after we bathed the area in Hydrogen Peroxide and water.

Hmmm… I have a compromised lymph node system.  If my doctors are afraid of the dirt in my flower gardens, I probably shouldn’t be dabbling in staph infection.  The purple rubber gloves on the wall fit me, so I added a couple pairs to the pile of take-home gauze.

Bill to surgery.  Arrival of very nice man to explain at-home IV system.  The conversation moved along quickly as chemo déjà vu proved helpful.  I understood it all and suggested adding the step of giving patients gum before the saline push.

Bill out of surgery.  Surgeon’s speculations were correct: infection is in the bone and tendon.  She has flushed it, it’s super clean, and it’s deep, so the Nurse Maiden shouldn’t be surprised when changing the dressings.  Bill sees the surgeon again next Tuesday for a follow-up.

Bill’s in recovery, waiting for pick-line set up.  I was just asked if I had the original prescriptions.  No, I haven’t been given any paperwork.  Oh dear.  I just told the nurse this feels like a Saturday Night Live skit.

Please pick-line my husband, give him a big dose of antibiotics, and let me take him home.  Er, to the hotel.

At 3:30 I mentioned that I have to pick up the boys from school by 6:00 p.m.  It was field day, so I knew a longer day at school would be more than OK with a bouncy castle sitting outside the building.  “Oh, you will be out of here long before then.  They are nearly done with the pick-line and then they will just take an x-ray to make sure it’s placed correctly.”

At 4:30 I finally see Bill, who hadn’t been given any food.  “I feel funny.  My head has been on a folded up blanket, not a pillow, and my feet are hanging off the edge of the bed.”  And you haven’t eaten since 6 p.m. yesterday.  And one paw is in a huge gauze bandage and the other has an IV in the bend in your arm and a pick-line on the inside of your upper arm.  And your arm is orange.  And I see the wheels spinning, “&*(^% two-handed catch.”

Yes, it all started with a two-handed catch on a beautiful spring evening playing softball under the lights.  The ball hit a finger on the ungloved hand and broke a bone in that hand.  I recognized the look.  Today Bill joined the rank of Warrior.   The Warrior Princess’s Warrior Prince.

At 5:15 and four x-rays later, I decide to get the boys from school.  The radiologist couldn’t see the 52 cm of tubing that had been fished into his vein.  “Just call us when you get back and we will bring him down.”   At 6:00 we returned with a Dunkin’ Donuts bagel for Bill.  It was an evening of Dunkin’ Donuts and potato chip appetizers for the boys.

After waiting in the van for a half hour, the pick-line picture still hadn’t come through.  The boys were given permission to come into the recovery room, where kids are “never allowed.”  They were given this-will-make-it-better popsicles that the nurse stole from the OR.

At 7:00, a 5th x-ray was taken.  Finally, “It’s satisfactory.”  We closed the place down at 7:20 and got home at 7:36.

It’s now 12:00 a.m. tomorrow.  All are bedded down, but the Nurse Maiden is contemplating all that is ahead in the coming weeks – yet knowing that this day will make a quick IV and thrice daily hydrogen peroxide baths seem like a piece of cake.

We are given these Warrior days for a reason.