This is for Helen, whom I adore and who (evil, evil) had the temerity to call me "deep". Oh, my broken heart. I will thus endeavor to be as absolutely silly and shallow as I can for the rest of the week. This made possible because the quarterly review is OVER and DONE. Ding, dong the meeting's done! The meeting's done! The meeting's done! Bwa-double-HA for at least another 10 weeks! (Can you tell I've had twice as much coffee as I've had hours of sleep? Can you? WELL?)

Without further ado:

"Well, my tummy wants pocorn. And my mouth wants yoghurt. So I think I need chocolate."
- Bear, to Elia and I, on his choice of snack.

"No, Bear. No. Although, I like your thinking...."
- CD, To Bear, as he insisted that Elia didn't actually have to go home last night and could spend the night in the lower bunk of his bed.

"What are we supposed to do? Duck?"
- CD, to me and Bear, as we drove past a sign on our way home that said 'Beware Low Flying Planes'.

"Quack!"
-Bear, in response.

"*big sigh* Pajama Sam needs a time out."
- Bear, on being foiled at his computer game.

"That's OK, Mommy. This is a hard song."
- Bear, last night, on correcting my air guitar to Genisis' 'Follow You Follow Me' as we bounced on the daybed during a work break.

"Mommy! I love this song! Dance with me, baby!"
- Bear, to me, in response to the opening bars of "Carry on Wayward Son" by Kansas.

"Dance with me, baby, PLEASE!"
- Bear, to me, upon being told that the previous was unacceptable language.

"No more Doody Brothers, Mommy! I mean it!"
- Bear, on my choice of music.

"This is for Daddy, so he will get better."
-Bear, on giving me a cracker yesterday that he'd 'cooked' in his play kitchen, for CD who was sick in bed.

"Mommy! Don't yell at the squirrels! They aren't eating the flowers. They are sniffing the flowers. See? *SNIFF!* Be quiet to the squirrels, they don't like yelling."
"Bear, they are NOT sniffing. They are eating. They are eating our flowers and our tulip bulbs. That's naughty."
"Mommy, they are sniffing. They TOLD me."
- Bear, as we were outside this morning.

"Mommy, I think you need a nap now."
- Bear, interrupting my 4th chorus of "Ding Dong the Meeting's Dead"

Posted by: Elizabeth at 06:15 AM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
Post contains 421 words, total size 2 kb.

Dear Grandma,

Well, it's late September again. Fall is finally here, but you wouldn't know it - we have the air conditioner going. I know, I know.... a waste of money. Right?

Bear is 4 years old now. Grandma - you would be so proud of your great-grandson. He's such a good kid.

He's polite, and considerate, and bright, and loving. He likes to trace our faces with his hands and look into our eyes. He likes to help out around the house. He isn't into sports yet, but he loves to be at the park and ride his bike.

You won't be happy to know that he watches too much TV. But he's also a whiz with painting and crafts, and very advanced in the computer games we let him play. He recognizes letters, and speaks 2 languages and understands a smattering of 2 more.

You can see the me in him - in his cheeks and his eyes, and his articulate conversations. You can see the you in him, too - in his quirky humor and coppery freckles.

Grandma, it hurts so much that you aren't here to share him with us.

Do you get the news where you are? Your guy is running for reelection. He may just win, too. A 2-term Bush, who would have thunk it? The Dems put forward John Kerry. Oh, stop laughing Grandma. It's a tight race. Really.

What else?
more...

Posted by: Elizabeth at 07:19 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 462 words, total size 2 kb.

CD and I celebrated our wedding anniversary this week.

TV being a fairly universal reference point, let me say - CD reminds me of "Luka" on the TV show "E.R.".

There's the superficial likenesses. Foreigners living in Chicago. Big dark eyes and oozy sensuality that comes, in part, from intent listening skills. A great sense of humor and a razor dry wit.

Then there's the deeper things. Like the "Luka" character, CD has a gravitas that comes from tragic events in the past mixed with a brilliant mind and an honesty that makes him unable to "play politics".

That's probably why most people quickly trust and respect CD, even though he is slow to trust others and is a very private person.

Our love story isn't tidy. It was uncomfortable at times, and overlapped other lives. Too much drama.

When CD and I met, it was an explosion of chemistry. After the dust cleared, we agreed - looking at our goals and our situations - that it made sense to keep it casual. It was to be dinners and a movie. It was to be conversation and long walks. It was to be lighthearted. No hard feelings. No strings, no profound expectations, no exclusivity.

About 3 or 4 months into it, I rented my spare bedroom to a guy who was relocating to Chicago.

My new roommate, "Harry", was a co-worker of CD's . I'd met him about a month after I'd met CD. I'd had 2 or 3 dates with Harry and it had been "meh". He was more enchanted by my circle of friends than he was with me. So it was with a little relief that I stipulated that we would NOT date if he was living in my apartment. Completely platonic. He said he understood.

Of course, he immediately began acting as though we were married.

He wasn't in my place an hour before I noticed that every other freaking word out of this guy's mouth was "us".

With sinking anger, I realized that I had gotten myself into one of those sticky interpersonal situations that are so agonizing for me. I was going to have an honest "come to Jesus" with Harry. A serious confrontation. Just thinking about it made me want to cry. I started hiding from my own apartment. more...

Posted by: Elizabeth at 10:54 AM | Comments (5) | Add Comment
Post contains 759 words, total size 4 kb.

".... it was like having a giant thudding vibrator strapped to our heads. The only relief would come on the open upward stretches, when the van simply buzzed around us"

This is the worst of the trip, the part we were awake for... Boston to Pennsylvania, the longest 580 miles. Ever.

Massachusetts
Start time: 6AM, Sunday Morning
Route: Mass Pike - 134 miles
Time: 5 hours 15 minutes

Our alarms were set for 5:30AM and it was still dusky dark when we pulled out of my mom's driveway. We hit Dunkin Donuts (CD - "Can we get going already?") and then put our backs to the sunrise and hopped the highway towards the Mass Pike.

As soon as we hit 50 mph, the antique door that we had bought at New England Salvage and strapped to the roof rack started making a horrible noise; "thwacka thwacka THWACKATHWACKA!"

We pulled over and rearranged the door. Bear, almost asleep in the back, groaned.

20 more miles. 30 more minutes of "THWACKA thwacka THWACKA!"

Holy crap, we were barely to Worcester and we couldn't go over 50mph without rendering ourselves senseless with the noise. We stopped to readjust that ^(*&*$#@! door about a dozen times. We came thisclose to hucking it into a drainage ditch.

There are some serious hills on the Mass Pike. The road is forcibly wedged into rock cliffs, the striations from the dynamite blasts still visible. As the road narrowed, the 'thwacka' noise would increase - it was like having a giant thudding vibrator strapped to our heads. The only relief would come on the open upward stretches, when the van simply buzzed around us, quietly.

By Sturbridge, we were all bonkers. We pulled into the service center and had breakfast, got gas, and ran like banshees in circles. Bear's backseat nest was rearranged and his new Digimon DVD restarted. CD battled the door (again).

"Thwacka! ThwackThwackThwackTHWACKA!" for another hour as we gritted our teeth and made for the New York border.

New York
Hit the border on: Sunday Morning, 11:15AM
Route: NY State Thruway - 442 miles
Time: 11 hours 45 minutes

The first 125 miles of New York state passed in stupor. We were 3 numb bunnies, staring with glassy eyes at the miles of asphalt.

We'd passed through miles of construction, beautiful scenery, and glorious weather and never noticed a thing.

Thwacka. Thwacka.

By Utica, CD had passed back into anger and defiantly pulled off the thruway looking for a Target or something and some kind of solution.

What we found instead was a place called Big Lots. We'd never been to a Big Lots before. Oh. My. Stars. Have you ever been to a Big Lots? This is like a nice clean flea market.

We found a bunch of Rescue Heroes action figures and stuff for Bear's birthday! We found snacks! We found a bra! We found a cheap, streamlined boombox for Bear! We found a garden sprinkler thing! And best of all? We found a foam egg crate mattress liner!

All this, for like 5 bucks.

Out in the parking lot, CD and I pulled the %^#@@! door off the van roof, wrapped it in egg crate, and put it back on. We got back on the road.

Silence.

Oh, the blessing this was. I can't begin to explain. Nirvana.

I stuck the cruise control on 72mph and we tried to make up some of our lost time.

The next 200 miles spun by in a blur. Other than some bathroom and gas breaks, we sailed into the sunset on wings.

In Buffalo, we asked the toll booth guy for directions to his favorite hot wings joint. He sent us to Duffs. Wowza. CD, who is a hot wings gourmand of the highest caliber, purred like a kitten. Bear and I played in the grass with his new action figures.

Then we decided, what the heck?! Let's go to Canada.

After about 15 minutes waiting about a mile from the border in traffic, we decided that Canada? Not so much.

We turned around and headed to Niagara Falls. We pulled into the park just about sunset.

The lookout tower over Niagara

It was a 3-hour detour, give or take. We were all physically exerted, fed, and awed by the time we clambered back into the car. The plan was to drive to Erie and spend the night at a hotel.

40 miles later, we pulled into the Angola rest area - which actually sits in the grassy thruway median, accessible via a walking bridge from either side of the highway.

We took over the family bathroom (I love family bathrooms) to wash up, brush teeth, change into soft clothes/pajamas, and whatnot. Then we made a family decision - we were feeling strong, it was only around 10 PM. Erie was about an hour or so away - but did we really need to stop? Why not just keep driving until we got tired?

So we picked up some coffee and juice, cleaned up the car some and rearranged Bear's nest back into optimal sleeping position. The cool night air was good for a few stretches.

50 miles to the the Pennsylvania border, 550 miles home, a full tank of gas, a sleeping (wait - what time is it here?) 3 year old, a cooler full of juice and snacks, and a quiet door strapped to the roof.

Hit it. more...

Posted by: Elizabeth at 02:33 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 1089 words, total size 7 kb.

This is the story we tell every year on this day. The picture (yes! a Bear picture!) is from his 3rd day of life.

Once upon a time....

After 120 days of bedrest, we went in for a second Level 2 sonogram. 30 days earlier, we'd discovered you were a boy and that you were not thriving quite the way all those nice people in white coats would have liked.

The same technician again, measuring and computing. Finally, we asked "How is he?" She told us you were "Perfect. And very adorable." (well, of course!)

"How are his lungs and his weight?" I wanted to know. Your lungs were hard to measure, but your weight was about 1lb, 13 oz.

"Is that good?" we asked.

The technician smiled and told us that you were now in the 53rd percentile - 3% larger than the average fetus of your gestational age. She was telling us that you had come from behind to the middle of the pack.

She could have told us you also had won a special congressional medal of honor for kicking so good and we wouldn't have been happier.

At 128 days of bedrest, we were back in the emergency room. They triaged me pretty quickly - after all, we were frequent fliers - and did a fast sonogram. Your heart rate was fine.

I was the sick one.

I had a virus, and like everything else - moving, eating, filing my nails - it had set off a spike of high blood pressure and contractions.

Another visit to Labor and Delivery. We were really scared this time, because they started saying that it might be time to let you finish your great escape.

How would you ever survive?

Your dad and I sat in silence, and Bear - we prayed. We prayed so awfully hard.

And they dripped me full of stuff, and after a few days your dad sprung us - you still safe and sound in your mommy-shaped home.

By 236 days of bedrest, the nice people in the white coats decided that it was time, really time, for you to be born.

So we called everyone, packed up the car, and then dawdled at home for a long hour discussing the day ahead. It was our last moments as a family of two.

They induced at 5PM and from then on the Pitocin contractions never let up.

By 9PM, the gang was in place - your dad was excited, your nana arrived from Boston, your Aunt Dee was there, and even El. They were cheering, I was huffing through the pain and walking in circles, and you were tucked in for the long haul.

At 1AM, we took a long hot shower. It didn't help. But it was worth it to see your dad looking silly in wet clothes.

At 3AM, I was given a narcotic and it knocked me out. Your dad and Aunt Dee would giggle as I would wake up and shout "ow ow ow" with each contraction and then fall back asleep.

At 9AM I got an epidural. I turned human again just as it was time to push.

At 11AM, I was told I was pushing wrong.

At 11:15AM the doctor told us your head was turned the wrong way to be born and manually worked you around to the right position. Your dad was able to see the head the next time I pushed.

At 1PM the doctor said "great pushing but Bear hasn't turned all the way and was well and truly stuck."

2PM, and you were jammed in my pelvis. In case you've forgotten, let me remind you: Neither of us liked you there.

At 3PM, the emergency C-section began. It took 52 more minutes to free you. That epidural? Not so effective. I would slurringly announce things like "Gee that knife is sharp. Could you stop hurting my right side like that?"

That didn't make the doctors very happy. Didn't make my body happy either. My blood pressure was 220/160 despite the medication.

Almost simultaneously, you were born and they knocked me out.

As they took you out of my tummy by your feet, you stretched out into the world. The doctor turned you right side up and you surprised her by lifting your head. Then you reached out and grabbed her around the neck. (Yes, Bear, like a hug) She had your handprint there for hours.

Your dad cut your cord and they harvested your stem cells to be donated for someone who needed them - because you didn't anymore. (You see? From the very start, your birth was a blessing.)

The people in white coats rubbed you, measured you, and wrapped you cozy in a blanket. Then your dad grabbed you up. I was almost able to register your birth before falling into the black place. Your dad held you militantly at my side.

The hovering white coats, eager to finish their protocols, just had to wait until I was stable before your dad consented to leave my side. Because, he was never about to leave yours.

Hours later, when I woke up in Recovery, your dad brought you to me again.

Finally, we met.

I smelled you and touched you and memorized your face. It was primal, instinct, necessary. We imprinted on each other. For a long, long time the three of us rested on that bed together quietly, the way we still do so often, as a family.

It was the beginning.

Happy 4th Birthday, Bear more...

Posted by: Elizabeth at 07:12 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 1048 words, total size 8 kb.