Let Us Mourn

I've said farewell to my share of adorable babytalk. I strongly believe in talking to children like adults and avoiding saying to them things like "do you want your ba-ba?" (Sometimes I just can't help myself though and repeat their words back to them. This is generally met with a blank stare of the why are you speaking so strangely? variety).

This belief of course means that sooner rather than later, these terribly cute words must depart. I still fondly recall our move from Cowowado to Sout Carodina and Ethan's blanket inexplicably named Dewey.

There was also the brief period Elliot referred to himeslf as Ot. But I have to say one of my favorites has been Elliot calling his brother Eenah. I've sadly watched his father patiently coax him in the pronunciatin of th, and the first time Eenah became Eessan. Still, all was not lost. More often than not, Eenah was still Eenah, and Eeessan was merely present for coaching.

No longer. Tonight we witnessed Elliot, of his own accord (perhaps encouraged by a brother tired of answering to Eenah) repeatedly saying Eessan. I was horrified. For weeks I've intended to record him saying Eenah, but, as per usual, have failed miserably. So this evening, under much duress, and with much counter-coaching, I managed to get a short clip. It went something like this:

Elliot, what's your brother's name?

Eeessan!

Good job! :( What did you use to call him?

Eeessan!

No, before that. Did you call him Eenah?

No, Eessan!

Will you say Eenah for me?

Eessan!

Say: Not Eenah! Eessan!

Not Eenah! Eessan!

Good Job!

It was terribly contrived, but somewhat successful. I at least have it recorded.

Hot Cross Buns

This morning was a bit chilly when I took Ethan to school. Normally I scoff at vehicle extras such as cd changers, power doors and windows and the very silly seat warmers. I mean really, I'm riding around in the car and suddenly I feel as if I've wet my pants--nope, someone just flipped the seat warmer switch (probably a small child who begins to frantically press buttons once released from his car seat on his way out of the car).

But this morning I thought I'm cold, I neglected to properly warm up the car and we're running too late to wait, so perhaps I'll use the silly seat warmer. So I did.

About halfway to school my nether regions were very toasty. Yet, my fingers were still nearly numb. I'm alternating driving with one hand while the free hand seeks warmth under my rear end. Really, who's idea was this?

I mean, who sat around and thought let's warm up everyone's butt! This region of my body is generally already the warmest given my generous layer of insulating blubber from knees to bust. But even on folk without such a gift of warmth, is your rear end really what you need warmed?

When I rule the world, I will put truly useful extras in vehicles such as a STEERING WHEEL WARMER, thank you. Oh and child proof seat belts that will not come unlatched while the vehicle is moving, and perhaps even a retractable wall--like they have in police cars, but soundproof instead of bulletproof and instead of running behind the front seat, it would come up between the seats in the back preventing the occupants from hitting, kicking, biting, or throwing things at the other. On second thought, let's put one up behind the drivers' seat as well--thick and absolutely sound proof.

In the spirit of Hot Cross Buns, I must share with you my favorite recipe title EVER. It was from a ward cookbook created in my old ward some yeas ago: Bishop Keller's Husky Buns. I've never tried the recipe, but I always smile when I leaf through the pages of the book.

Primary Colors

Clara is the computer that calls me from my son's school. She's very helpful--most of the time. Sometimes she calls at 5 am to tell me that County-Schools-are-under-a-two-hour-weather-delay and other important pieces of information.

I'm always a little nervous when she calls because my caller id doesn't recognize Clara and just informs me that I'm receiving a phone call from a toll free number. I've been known to ignore Clara before, and I felt a little bad afterward.

Today Clara's call was intended to be reassuring, though I hardly found it to be so. I reluctantly answered the toll-free call this afternoon and Clara announced:

Your student's school has been placed in a Code Yellow alert. There is no cause for alarm. Thank you.

Well, now I'm alarmed Clara, thank you too. Could you possibly give me any further information, such as why are they under alert, and what the heck does Code Yellow mean anyway?

So I promptly located my student handbook and was reassured by the following:

It is necessary from time to time to lock and secure the campus to ensure the security of all staff and students. Our school will follow two procedures. In case of Code Yellow, students and staff should do the following:

1) Go into the classroom or nearest secure room and lock the door
2) Make sure that all exterior doors and windows are closed and locked.
3) Remain in the secure location until the all-clear announcement is given

Teachers and students are to continue with normal classroom activities and should not be alarmed during a Code Yellow. [Of course not, who would be alarmed in such a situation?] In case of a severe emergency, Code Red will be used to communicate the presence of an immediate threat to the school. [I suppose this is where you should become alarmed] In this procedure, students should report immediately to the nearest secure room and follow the directions of the staff member in charge.

So of course after reading the handbook, my mind was much eased and I remained unalarmed as instructed.

Having received no further enlightening phone calls from Clara, I assumed my child would arrive home with some more information. I picked him up at the bus stop and immediately checked his folder--no letter of explanation. I then tried casually to discuss the days events with my kindergartener.

So, anything exciting happen at school today?

No.

Did you have any kind of drill?

No.

Did they close the doors on your classroom?

They just made an announcement to lock our door, but we just stayed inside and had class.

Proper Code Yellow procedure I see. I'm sure glad Clara called, otherwise I would not have known not to become alarmed.

All I Want For Christmas

When my husband asked what I want for Christmas, I drew a blank. I'm not some altruistic person who never thinks about my own needs. It's just that, I don't want to be disappointed.

Of course I could have asked for some grand, expensive something or other. But, considering my first hand knowledge of our finances and the desire I have to remain out of debt and to travel some day and retire well, I know that money spent on frivolity now, would disappoint me later.

So, I said I'd like some bubble bath. And not Lightening McQueen, nor Elmo, nor Bubble Gum scented bubble bath. I would like some relaxing, grown-up, high-quality bubble bath. I'm pretty sure I'll get what I want.

However, as I've put more thought into it, I've realized there are at least two more things I would like for Christmas, both of which would probably cost little in the way of cash, yet are probably far too costly to request. And both harbor huge risk of utter disappointment.

First of all, I would like to never concern myself with garbage, compost, or recycling again. I want it to magically disappear before I can even think "Gee, the garbage is getting kinda full." Same goes for the recycling and compost bins. I don't want to have to think "Boy, it's pretty full, I should do something about that." Then, two days later, "I don't think I can stuff another thing in there". Nor arrive at the point where "if I trip over another empty bottle, I'm going to scream!" or even "Where are all those fruit flies coming from?" And especially, I don't want to ever have to utter, or even think the phrase "Could you please take that out?"

I just want it to magically disappear.

Secondly, caulk. I never, ever, ever, ever want to concern myself with caulk again. I don't want to think "Boy, that caulking is starting to look a bit shabby and moldy, I should really do something about it." No, I want the caulk redone before that. I don't want to have to calculate the next time we're going out of town exactly when to strip the old caulk (in the midst of packing everyone's suitcases and cleaning the entire house) so I have maximum drying time before applying the new caulk as we're walking out the door, in order to allow maximum drying time whilst we're gone. Nope, I don't want to even get to the calculating point. And I especially don't want to ever scrape the moldy old caulk from the tub, nor apply the new caulk in a "simple, narrow bead, smoothing it with my finger". Yeah, right. I never want to Google "caulk bathtub" again. And I certainly don't want to ever feel compelled to utter the phrase "Will you please re-caulk the tub?"

I just want it magically done.

See what I mean? Way too costly, and surely to be disappointing. But a girl can dream.

Tomorrow I'm taking a luxurious bubble bath in my newly caulked tub, after I take out the trash.

Language of Love

I've rediscovered some old italian cds I purchased when I was in Italy some 12 years ago. It seemed like only yesterday however as I listened to and sang the heart-wrenching lyrics of Claudio Baglioni's Piccolo Grande Amore.

You may say that cheese is cheese in any language, but in Italian, cheese is poetry. Let me share some of my favorite phrases and a loose translation:

Quella sua maglietta fina
tanto stretta al punto che m'immaginavo tutto

(Her thin t-shirt was so tight, I could imagine everything)

ti amo davvero, ti amo, ti giuro, ti amo, ti amo davvero

(I love you truly, I love you I swear, I love you, I love you truly)

E lunghe corse affannate incontro a stelle cadute
e mani sempre più ansiose di cose proibite

(Long walks under falling stars, and hands always more anxious for prohibited things)

non sono sicuro se ti amo davvero
non sono, non sono sicuro

(I'm not sure if I love you truly, I'm not, I'm not sure.)

che lei
lei era
un piccolo grande amore
solo un piccolo grande amore
niente più di questo... niente più

(and she, she was a big little love, just a big little love, nothing more than this, nothing more)

adesso che saprei cosa dire
adesso che saprei cosa fare
adesso che voglio
un piccolo grande amore

(now that I'd know what to say, now that I'd know what to do, now that I want a big little love.)

Wow. Everything's better in Italian.

I bet you know someone that could use some italian lessons.

Law Vs. Theory

I have a theory as to why my kitchen floor is rarely fully mopped. You see, I seem to think I can only mop if my kitchen itself is completely cleaned. My mother taught me to clean the floor last because what sense does it make to clean the floor, then wipe down the counters, do the dishes and drop crumbs and dishwater everywhere right? I realized, that I never seem to have a large enough block of uninterrupted time in which to clean and mop. So, I clean the kitchen, move on to something else that is pressing, and before I can return to the floor, the kitchen is filthy again. My theory therefore is that, my imaginary rules are just that--imaginary. I think that if I break that rule, and mop the floor of a filthy kitchen, my floor will still be cleaner, and my kitchen will be as clean as usual.

So today, I tested my theory. I shoved the kitchen table, with a few remaining breakfast dishes and all, over in the corner, rolled my full, clean dishwasher out of the way, cleared one half of my sink and filled it with mop water. I swept and mopped my floor. I did it! I no longer have to clean before mopping (reminds me of the moment I discovered that as an adult, I can turn on the A/C and roll my window down if I so choose). It felt good to have just gotten it done . . . until Murphy showed up.

Not 5 minutes after finishing drying my clean floor, I walked past that kitchen table in the corner and accidentally knocked a half-full cup of apple juice off the table, spilling it all over my clean floor.

My Theory, zip; Murphy's Law, point and game.

Is there a Doctor in the House?

I'm so glad my son received the Flu mist this year. Don't get me wrong, I'm all about flu vaccines. Ethan had influenza A a couple of years ago and it was the most miserable experience for all of us in recent memory and I vowed to get my children vaccinated from that point forward. The flu mist is apparently a kinder, gentler vaccination. No shots, no bandaids . . . oh and no dead virus. Yeah, the flu mist contains a weakened LIVE virus I've since been informed. So pardon my skepticism if the flu mist (that they give out for free in the elementary school to keep kids healthy and in school) is a prime suspect in my household. One to four members of my household have been ill since November 10th. That is just three days after Ethan received the mist. He has subsequently missed 4 days of school and we have paid over $100 in office visit copays and I'd guess about that much in prescription and OTC medication, not to mention the $200 we'll likely be billed for Matt's chest X-ray to rule out pneumonia. Some free vaccine.

This morning we had another man down. Elliot, who appeared on the upswing the past week, suddenly came down with a fever. As Ethan had developed a secondary infection (ear) and Matt as well (bronchitis), I knew the routine. I called our family practice. Being Friday, they were unable to get me in until very late in the day. I took the appointment, but called the pediatrician who couldn't do much better. So, I decided to try our former family practice which we left last year when the doctor we liked left. Little did I know I was about to be scolded.

He already has an appointment with the family practice.

Yes, I know, I was hoping to get one sooner with you. How do you know he has an appointment?

Our practices are both owned by the hospital and the records are shared. I show you have an appointment this afternoon. You can't just jump around to different doctors.

So I'd have to have my records transferred back if I wanted him seen this morning?

That would be the only way to do it.

Okay, is there an urgent care clinic near by?

Yes.

So, I could take him to a doctor at the urgent care clinic who's never seen him before and has no records, but not to your practice where he has been seen before and obviously has some records on file?

That's up to you.

You're kidding. We saw a doctor there last year. It's not like he's seen the new doctor a whole lot.

I show he's been in 4 times this year.

Big brother now aren't we? So he had a diaper rash, it's not like he's chronically ill. So, if I wanted to transfer his records, do you even have an appointment available?

With the nurse practicioner.

Thank you, I think I'll call the urgent care clinic.

I knew there was a reason we left that clinic.

Perhaps someone could explain to me the difference between seeing a doctor within a practice who is not my doctor, because he is available, and seeing a doctor in a clinic owned by the same people that obviously has my records in their system? And who is working for whom here anyway? Isn't it my (and my insurance company's) money that pays these bozos? Why can't I just switch doctors lady? You still get paid, Miz Gatekeeper--NO DOCTOR FOR YOU!!!

So, I spent a couple of hours at the urgent care clinic, with a feverish child asleep on my lap, so they could tell me he has an ear infection and give me a prescription for an antibiotic. I could have told you that and saved everyone the trouble.

I was the last one to fall victim to the initial virus, and am the only one not yet in round two. Knock on something will ya?