Rox and Roll

Happy New Year!

As I sit here drinking a cup of kindness, I offer a quick "happy new year" post alongside apologies for my sporadic and slow posting over this vacation.  While we do have cable internet atop our mountain, it has been rather testy, and most days we've had to call the company at least twice to be "reset."  We'll work on a more permanent solution to that when we're back for spring break.

Meanwhile, our vacation has been everything we'd hoped it would be -- that is, if we overlook Petunia's nocturnal asthma attack two nights ago that scared us all half to death.  But it wouldn't be a Douvos family vacation with at least one sickness derailment (reference ER visits in December '04, Petunia's pneumonia in WV; April '06, Dash's pneumonia, also in WV; summer '06, Petunia's head-to-toe mystery rash in MD; etc.) and weather issues (reference every trip that the Guv and I have ever taken together, as it's always cold and raining, even in Hawaii '04).  We're getting out of here a full day early because we just received eight inches of snow this morning, and at least five more will dump on us tomorrow, then five more Wednesday.  So... we'll probably be ringing in the New Year from our beds in NJ, driving conditions willing.

On our way out, as I look at this winter wonderland, I find my eyes glossing over; it's so very beautiful, and I really don't want to leave.  Even with my still-going-strong tail-end bruise, which has oddly morphed into the shape of Africa, lending it a good nickname, I'm crying a little inside because it'd be great to get in a little last-minute snowboarding this afternoon instead of loading the car.  The arcs of snow produced as I carved down the mountain would look really cool... and, well, my falls would be so much softer on this glorious powder.

Oh well, we're outta here... and already praying for a good Easter snowfall, since that's when we'll be back!

Happy New Year!

Age and Fear vs. Desire and Pride: Which Team Will Win?

Yesterday, my second day of snowboarding class, was not as good as my first lesson.  In this lesson, I was learning to connect toe-edge and heel-edge turns to make S-turns all the way down the hill.  These moves are essential to learning how to carve on a board.  For beginners riding a normal boarding stance, riding on the heel edge is usually easiest, and I took to it like a fish to water the first day, hardly falling at all.  I didn’t work a lot on the toe edge because it’s harder and a bit scary – you’re basically riding backward down the hill, facing the top of the mountain instead of the bottom, plus, the toe edge on this specific hill goes a lot faster because of the grade.  So yesterday, riding on my toe edge as much of my heel edge presented quite a challenge, and I didn’t quite rise to meet it.

One might not realize how punny that statement is.  Bluntly, I spent most of the day on my ass, and it hurt.  A lot.  I have a bruise so large on my left buttcheek that the Guv, a seasoned athlete, declared it to be the worst, largest bruise he’s ever seen on anyone ever.  It is black, blue, purple, green, and yellow and even a bit red, and it’s the size of a super-large grapefruit.  In other words, it covers my whole left side.  Looking at yesterday made me nauseous, but that may be because I also hit my head (helmet!) pretty hard several times while trying not to fall on my butt yet again.  (My head's fine today.)  My left knee sported a nice shiner this morning as well.   Yesterday was not a good day.

And why, why did this happen to me yesterday?  I was afraid.  Every single – EVERY SINGLE – fall was purposeful on my part, and it was because I was afraid that I was going too fast and would end up falling harder later on down the hill.  I did the S-turns – quite a few of them, actually – but never made it the whole way down the terrain because of my fear of speed.  Quite frankly, I don’t know that I’ve ever been afraid in my life, except briefly after 9-11 those first few times when the Guv boarded a plane.  There are times that I should be afraid and am not because I am naïve.  Snowboarding may be one of these times.

I’m not quite sure how I’m going to come out on this one, especially as my mother’s coming to visit and probably won’t take well to seeing me obviously damaged.  To boot, my butt really does need a few days of R&R.  But the fact is, I’m not going to get seriously injured – just seriously banged up – and I want to do this badly enough because, in the end, it is very, very fun, even with the falls.  Until I biff, I feel like I’m flying, and that feeling, along with loads of Motrin and sangria, counteracts this bruise and my headaches quite nicely.

Just call me Betty

Rox and instructor

The pic on the left is me walking with my instructor to my first snowboarding lesson.  I am pleased to report that I not only did it: I LOVED IT!  It is totally fun, much more like skateboarding or surfing than skiing.  I felt like I was flying.  I learned to toe traverse, heel traverse, j-turn, and stop.  And yes, I fell -- you actually have to learn to fall well and get back up -- but, actually, I biffed a lot less while traversing down the hill on my board and a lot more while going back up on the rope tow.  Rope tows are not friendly to snowboarders, and falls from that thing are much worse than falling while boarding.  But, after another lesson, I'll be ready for the next size hill and accompanying t-bar. 

Since Petunia's second ski lesson (she's loving it!) started an hour before mine, I hung out in the ski lodge with some other parents watching their kids.  One woman was knitting as she waited and asked me if I was going to join Petunia on the slopes.  I told her, "No, actually, I'm taking my first snowboarding lesson this morning."  She gasped and asked, "Really?  Aren't you afraid you'll get hurt?"  I laughed, shook my head "not at all" and held my tongue, because I really wanted to say, "Actually, I'm more afraid of becoming a mom who sits on her butt and knits."

'Tis the night before school vacation

‘Tis the night before school vacation, and all through the house,
Chaos has taken over, and it’s ticking off my spouse.
But the suitcases are packed and waiting at the door,
In hopes that we escape early tomorrow morn.
The kids are asleep, and their gifts are all wrapped;
I’m hoping and praying that I have them all packed.
Then the Guv in his sleigh, and I in my van,
Will drive to the Green Mountains with our little clan.

When in Vermont, crazy times will commence,
With Petunia in ski school, things could get tense.
Away to the mountain we’ll drive like a flash,
Strapping on skis and hoping not to crash.
Nearly four feet of snow lies just ahead
Will we glide? will we fall? will we shred?
Our wondering eyes will be guarded by goggles
Our helmets strapped tightly; this is no boondoggle.

But then, our little guy, so lively and quick,
Will beg us to join in and do some aerial tricks.
More rapid than eagles, Dash’s skis, they will fly
The Guv will chase after, yelling “What’s gotten into this guy?
Stop Petunia!  Stop Mama!  Stop Dash!  Stop right quick!
If I ski any faster, I am going to get sick!
To the bottom of the hill!  To the ski lodge we go!
Next year, Hawaii!  I don’t like all this snow!”

***

I think I'll put this rhyme out of its misery and return to my packing.  Next post from Vermont!  'Til then, merry, merry Christmas! - Rox

Dash Jekyll and Dash High, I mean, Hyde

When Dash is sick, he turns from my kinetic, lovey little boy into a Dementor.  For those of you who haven't read Harry Potter book 3, a Dementor is an soulless, foul being that sucks all of the happy out of you and can even suck out your very soul with its kiss.  Example:

Mama: Dash, please stop kicking Mama.  That hurts me.
Dash kicks harder.
Mama: Ouch!  Dash, stop hurting me!  I asked you please to stop kicking me!
Dash kicks harder and multiple times.
Mama: YOU STOP KICKING ME RIGHT NOW!
Dash: No, Mama, YOU stop it.  (Kick.)

Now, no one understands more than me how much it sucks to be sick.  It really, really sucks big hairy toe knuckles.  But I woke up with Dash the Dementor every hour of the night for the last two nights, held him while he heaved and dry heaved, changed my sheets, changed his jammies and wiped his tears.  About the last thing I deserve is to be kicked like one of Michael Vick's dogs.  But this Dementor, he's age two.  Of course, I made him sit on the step (our version of time-out), but he really doesn't get it.  And it makes him meaner, not only when he's sick.  With Petunia, we never had the terrible twos.  We had one -- ONE -- terrible day when she was three, but that was about it.  So today, I'm about to explode and keep repeating in my head "What the eff is this?  This is NOT happy!  NOT HAPPY!"

So I do thank Dash for interjecting one brief moment of laughter into my day.  When I put his favorite fifi medi on a high shelf where he couldn't reach it to suck on its cap all day, he reached his little arms up and said, "Mama, can you get me high?"

Oh, but if I could, Dash, then maybe we'd both find the happy in this, 'cause I'm just not seeing it, mon.

More boot from Dash

When Dash came down with another high fever and started throwing up again yesterday afternoon, I vowed to take him to the doctor first thing this morning.  Lo and behold, somehow, he either has another double-ear infection or, more likely, the first one never went away.  So, he's on his favorite fifi medi, known to mankind as the very expensive yet good tasting antibiotic Omnicef, again.  Again, again, again.  This family has too much illness, and I'm sick of it.  Is our house built on an undisclosed Superfund site?  Because I know that kids get sick, but not this sick, not this often.  One chirpy acquaintance bragged to me today that her kids have never had a vomiting-type illness.  While I'm pretty sure she's lying, if she's not, then obviously the cosmos is out of balance, because she's not getting her fair share of this crap.

So today sucks.  I have changed my own clothes three times because of getting barfed on, including once right down my v-neck shirt.  I still feel like crap myself, my Christmas cards aren't done, my friends' packages aren't mailed, I have not baked a single morsel and I have not packed a thing for Vermont.  And since Dash boots about once every twenty minutes, progress will not be made on any of these fronts today.  I feel bad for Dash, as he's obviously miserable and suffering.  I feel bad for Petunia, as I can pay next to no attention to her while her brother's so needy.  I feel bad for the Guv, because Dash screams for him to come home, and, of course, he has to work.  But I also feel bad for me, because I haven't gotten a break at all.  There must be a lesson, a message in all of this, but all I keep thinking is that in twelve years, Dash will be in boarding school, and he'll probably still be puking his guts out all of the time... so all of this clean up will be replaced by far-away worry, as I'll surely be sitting on a beach in Hawaii, sipping a Lava Flow and wondering how my kids grew up so fast.

Good news for my spleen!

Though some days have been better than others, I feel like I've been under the weather since early November.  Last Friday, I waved the white flag and went to the doctor because, while I didn't have a fever, every gland in my body was swollen.  It felt lumpy and funny in my ears when I swallowed.  I was sure that something must be infected.  Compounding all of this, I've been exhausted -- way overexhausted, considering that Dash is sleeping better than usual.  So, I went to see the sports medicine doctor that drew me to this regional family practice to begin with when I pulled my intracostal muscles last year.

And this quack young doc proceeded to scare the bejeezus out of me.  He felt all of my glands, and they were all swollen -- front and back of my neck, under my arms, around my groin.  The fun was just starting though.  He started tapping on my stomach, and he offered up some "hmmms."  His diagnosis?  Mono.  My spleen didn't feel enlarged at the time, but he drew two huge vials of blood nonetheless to rule out everything from suspected mono to strep to The Dread Disease and everything in between. 

If one has mono, one life sucks a lot more than being tired, as one's spleen is in danger of rupture.  This would mean no snowboarding, no tennis, no gym, no fun for at least six weeks.  This would mean limited physical contact with Dash, who is a fan of kicking, headbutting and general violence horseplay.

The call just came in, and, of course, I do NOT have mono.  The doc still thinks I don't need antibiotics.  Just rest, rest, rest.  Rest with a drive to Vermont and Santa coming for two kids.  Rest with my snowboarding clinic starting a week from today.  In all fairness, the Guv has been taking excellent care of me and letting me rest as much as I need, and au pair Maria cares for Petunia while I nap with Dash.  But something just doesn't feel right, still, because I had a similar thing last year at this time when I was sick for two months straight.  When I do everything right -- eat well, sleep well, exercise, take vitamins -- this just shouldn't happen.  So, I figure, I'll do the opposite when next November rolls around.  I'll pop some champagne and sustain myself on chocolates.  I think that'd help.  Heck, might as well start now...!  

Skunk Bags

Today, our high school suffered from a bomb threat.  Of course, thank God, there was no bomb.  Instead, the high schoolers spent the day -- the whole day -- in the middle school gym.  Apparently they were cooperative and in good spirits despite receiving only a PB&J and a water for lunch.  Questions abound, of course: why weren't they just sent home?  And, needless to ask, who's idea of funny is a bomb threat -- the same person who disrupted the first day of high school this year by leaving a pellet gun case in the dumpster?

I told Petunia what had happened after school, as I'd rather she hears the truth from me than an embellished story on the playground.  She took it well, much better than I expected.  And then, she offered up the quote of the day:

"Can I say something, Mom?  I mean, I know it's not nice, and its probably a really bad word, but these guys, they deserve bad words.  So you know what I say?  I say, whoever called and said there was a bomb, they are real skunk bags.  SKUNK BAGS!"  and she shook her fist in the air.  Hear, hear.

A post by Petunia, with postscript

(Note: Petunia's school teaches "phonetic spelling" -- and I'm keeping her story true to form.  This story was not a school assignment; she crafted it during free time.)

Dino's

Dinos are gigondor lizirds.  my fafrot is the Apatosurus.  the Apatosurus had a strong tail and a strong hart.  so sometime's thay one agyenst meat eaters.  was that dino smart?  yes it was!  that's yhi it one somtimes agyenst meat eaters.  thay where nice to.  thay ate grass and trees.  thay would be kind to pepol to.  thay lived on the grownd.

***

This neatly printed story came home on Tuesday, and I shared it with the Guv on Wednesday evening.  The Guv then said what is perhaps the nicest thing I've ever heard him say: "Sometimes, I just want to tell her to climb on my back, and just stay there, stay there for the rest of her life."

And I say that sometimes, one can spend nearly two decades in love with someone and still find reasons to love that person just a little bit more.  Sometimes, I realize just how lucky, and how happy, I am with my family.  Sometimes I need that reminder.

Hi, I'm a Suburban Mom!

That's how I feel I should go around introducing myself during this ridiculous week.  Here's my schedule (above and beyond the get to/from school, prepare three square meals a day, nap, homework, bath etc. routine):

Monday eve: Take Petunia to the Girl Scout Christmas party.  Also take cookies and $20 exchange gift.  Help with craft that involves tying two pieces of fleece together to make a pillow.  Become amazed that a lot of 7 and 8 year olds can't tie a knot.  (Fortunately, Petunia could!)

Tuesday: Attend holiday jewelry party in the morning.  Pull a Guv and buy myself some earrings for Christmas.  Lunch with June Cleaver (who is so awesome, so what a nice break!).  Take Petunia to tennis at 5.  Pick up the Guv from the train at 7.

Wednesday: Go to Dash's parent-teacher conference in the morning.   Pray he's not getting kicked out of preschool.  Meet briefly with Petunia's teacher after school to discuss end-of-year party.  Print pictures for family night crafts.  Take Petunia to her school's "family night" at 7.  Help kids build gingerbread houses out of graham crackers and frosting.  Can you say g-e-r-m-s?  Somewhere in there, help Petunia to learn some of "'Twas the Night Before Christmas" for her "holiday sharing" tomorrow.

Thursday: Spiff up to attend private school parent interview with the Guv in the morning.  Lunch with his colleague/my friend.   Take kids to advent service at church at 4:30.  Attend the library board meeting (I'm a trustee, how strange is that) at 7:30.

Friday: Take Petunia to the dentist at 8 am.  Volunteer at the town library in the morning.  Volunteer at the school library in the afternoon.

Saturday: Take Petunia to tap dance in the morning.  Bake Christmas cookies and wrap gifts for the Guv's family.  Squeeze in the writing of some of our 150 (literally) cards. 

Sunday: Leave on a 7 am train to start the day with Petunia and au pair Maria at the Radio City Christmas Spectacular at 9.  Go to Brooklyn afterward for Christmas with the Guv's family.  Return to NJ for a 4:00 birthday party.

What's missing?  Tennis.  The gym.  Almost everything that I want to do (ME ME ME!).  Mailing seven packages to my family and friends.  Preparing our "sleigh" full of kids' stuff for Vermont. 

And the new Maple Clove drink some friends poured into me at their jewelry party last month.  Or two.  Or three.  Did I mention that I should really start looking for a paying, outside-the-home job, because I'm really not cut out for this?

A world away

One day back in October, Petunia decided that she had to do her math homework with her father.  I usually require homework to be finished as soon as Petunia gets home from school, because otherwise we have a huge battle over it, making it take twice as long.  But on this night, something on her math worksheet piqued her interest, and she wanted the Guv to participate -- so we set it aside. 

Meanwhile, the Guv works over an hour's commute away, on the far side of Philly from where we live in NJ.  On a good day, his commute to work is under an hour, though his commute home is always well north of that.  Recently, there have been a lot more bad days than good days, and it's frequent that he's walking in minutes before bedtime.  This is problematic for several reasons, most notably that daddy's arrival home is Very Exciting!  This makes children want to Play!  Not Sleep!  But, of course, it also means that we didn't all have dinner together followed by some family time and Christmas story reading.  The situation is frustrating us all.  The Guv is a fantastic father who participates in all aspects of the kids' lives -- but this participation is limited by geography.

When 7:45 rolled around on the night of Petunia's saved math homework, I announced to her that we had to do her math homework right now, because Daddy wasn't home and bedtime was nigh.  She had a total and complete meltdown.  She screamed "WHY IS DADDY NEVER HOME?" at me.  While I was tempted to defend the Guv, I offered up a response that I thought would stop the tantrum: "Petunia, he would be home, if we lived in Pennsylvania near his office.  But we live here in NJ, and sometimes it takes Daddy a long time to drive home."  She didn't respond.  She did her homework quickly and went to bed with not another word.

And then, Petunia went to school the next day and told everyone we were moving to Pennsylvania.  One of her little friends came up to me after school in tears, asking: "Is it true?  Is it true that you're moving far away?"  Teachers called me to ask "when?"

The problem is that I like it here very much, maybe even love it here, where we live in this Norman Rockwell American town.  We can walk to school and to get pizza, the kids ride their bikes safely along the sidewalks, and we know all of the faces.  It's far from perfect -- but it's small and safe.  But who am I to dig in my heels when my second grader wants to move?  I want Daddy home earlier too.  It'd be nice to be able to pop in and have lunch with him, or to drop Petunia off at his office to do her homework in an adjacent office that already bears her homemade nameplate.

So, we're thinking about crossing the border, which might as well be a world away.  I'm floundering in a sea of towns and schools and preschools, all of which I know nothing about.  Petunia has applied to a couple of private schools, but I just started looking for preschools for Dash today and am finding some to be full already for fall 2008.  For the Guv, this move shortens his commute.  For me, this affects my entire enterprise as CEO of the household.  I have to find the school, the preschool, the church, the doctors, the dentist, and definitely the closest liquor store.  This is exciting and exasperating.  This is why I'm not in the holiday spirit: I'm too busy with the possibility of having to put my house on the market in the new year, searching for another one, and calling around to figure out where to land this ship.  We're going to Vermont in eleven days, and I couldn't be more glad to escape all of the planning, because I'm leaving it all behind, strapping on a snowboard and a devil-may-care attitude, and escaping, if only for ten days.  That'll either put me in the holiday spirit or in the hospital...

Remembering the reason for the season

My family and close friends know that I love shopping for them.  I will try very hard to gift people with items that they want or need, and, if they prefer to be surprised (or if they hate to be surprised as much as the Guv does), I'll work very hard to find just the right special thing.

Today, though, my holiday shopping buzz ended.  Do you know what killed it?  My daughter, my sweet Petunia, is expected to take a $20 gift to exchange to her Girl Scout Christmas party. 

Twenty.  Dollar.  Gift. 

When the troop leader, who is a total sweetheart (so don't read this is a criticism of her), mentioned that the girls would have a gift swap, it went in one ear and out another.  But today, when I came across the item on my to-do list, I realized that I have a problem with the whole idea.  Isn't Scouts supposed to be a service organization?  Shouldn't they be buying Toys for Tots or something?  The kids wouldn't know that they were missing out if they had a party without a gift swap.  In fact, the kids would be excited if they had a party that involved packing lunchbags for TASK.  I am sure of this, as Petunia recently participated in that activity at church and enjoyed fundraising for it, purchasing the most healthful items, drawing on the bags, and packing them.  She was joyful for days when she realized that 36 kids in Trenton were eating dinner that night because of her efforts.  We had long discussions about homelessness and hunger and how it is real and exists ten minutes from our house.  While it's my job as Petunia's parent to teach her these things, it's also why I sign her up for things like Girl Scouts.  I don't sign her up to give and get $20 gifts for no reason.  This season, it's about more than stuff, and life should be, too.  In my faith, we celebrate the birth, long ago, of our Savior in a stable.  Kings brought gifts to him as he lay in an animal's manger.  My belief makes me all the more certain that the Barbie that my daughter will bring home on Monday night is ridiculous when people ten miles away aren't eating tonight.

Really, I'm beating myself up because I should have objected to the gift swap right off the bat, and now it's too late.  So, to right this wrong a little bit, I'm going to have Petunia make Christmas cards for her teachers that announce donations to some appropriate place... Teach for America maybe?  And Doctors without Borders for the pediatrician, dentist, and school nurse?  Anybody have an idea for tennis coaches?  Or anyone else?

Fun with YouTube

Thanks to the Guv for forwarding these two riotously funny videos to me!

First, the best first wedding dance ever:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aeoi16lScf4

Second, has anyone NOT parodied Billy Joel's "We Didn't Start the Fire" yet?  Regardless, this one regarding the "internet bubble" is the best I've seen:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fi4fzvQ6I-o

Enjoy!

Alligator wrestling

Our family is going through a rough patch illness-wise.  Someone has been sick since November 8, when both kids and mom caught a cold.  (The Guv avoided it by being in California.)  The week before Thanksgiving, Petunia contracted strep throat.  The day after Thanksgiving, Dash started throwing up because of a double ear infection.  He's just finishing the antibiotics for that one.

And now, both kids have pinkeye.

Pinkeye is a stupid contagious illness (as opposed to the intelligent ones) because it's really pretty harmless -- just highly contagious.  The only way to get rid of it is by placing an eyedrop in each eye three times per day.

Drama queen Petunia cooperates but moans "this really stinks, mom" for each drop, so six times per day.

Dash, however, is... Dash.  I have to use both arms, both hands and yes, both feet to effectively sit on him and pry his eyelids open to place a drop in each.  It is not pretty.  The Guv attempted an assist on this procedure last night and was rather impressed at my ability to use a big toe to open an eye.  (Yeah, eww, I know, but desperate times call for desperate measures.)  Getting Dash to cooperate with anything is like wrestling a 28.6 pound alligator.  It may be a little alligator, but it is vicious when cornered.  It attempts head butts and on rare occasion snaps its jaws.  Its legs kick, hard.  It is not my good, sweet little boy who demanded "more gross kisses" at bedtime last night.  It really stinks.  And after I get the eyedrops into the alligator, I get cried at for a looongg time, and reminded repeatedly at bedtime that "you really hurt me, mama."  He is a stubborn little alligator, and we get to have this fun until next Tuesday.

All of this sickness over the past month MUST mean that we'll have a healthy, merry Christmas, no...?

Let it snow!

Vermont House

The Guv just told me that our home in Vermont received about a foot of snow today.  Yippee!  Petunia and I will be in ski/board school together in seventeen days, so I'm rooting for lots more fresh, white powder.

Meanwhile, I'm still going back and forth in my mind on whether or not to take up boarding instead of trying to ski again.  (Petunia will learn to ski first.)  I found an on-line snowboarding lesson that makes the sport seem fun and not neck-breaking.  Friends who've tried boarding seem to love it and stick with it, but most of them report sore backsides and lots of falling down.  Petunia and I will be wearing helmets, but that won't help my "bahookie," as Petunia calls it.  We're also still debating whether or not to plunk Dash down on some sticks.  He'd be doing moguls on day three, I'm quite sure.  The problem is not his safety, but, rather, our certain inability to keep up with him.   Of course, that's not much different from any other day...

A night on the town

Last night, the Guv and I drove into NYC for a 9:30 dinner with some dear friends who recently relocated from NYC to Long Island.  While many of the Guv's friends are real men's men -- you know, raunchy, foul and drunk -- this golf buddy of the Guv's is a class act, and his wife is terrific, too.  Spending some time in their company made the four hours of sleep bearable.   And, might I add, the meal and the wine were out of this world.

Fortunately, au pair Maria was able to get Dash to sleep.  Surprisingly, it was Petunia who made trouble.  My cell phone didn't ring in the restaurant, but, when we left at midnight, I had a voice mail from home, left at ten p.m.  It was Petunia, whispering in Deep Throat fashion that she couldn't sleep.  I am not a worrier, but, of course, I became a wee bit stressed out over this message: where was Maria?  why was Petunia calling me about this?  was everything okay at home?  Also, I didn't know that Petunia knew how to call my cell phone.  I knew she had a general idea of how to use the phone to call 9-1-1, but I have never taught her how to call using 1-area code-number.  She had retrieved an "emergency" card from her school bag and figured it out.  So, I texted Maria right away to ask: "Is everything okay?  Petunia left me a strange message at 10.  Why did she call me?"  I received a quick reply indicating that everything was fine, both kids were asleep and that Maria had no idea that Petunia called me.

I don't want to make Petunia feel like she can't ring us when we're out, because, God forbid, there's a real emergency sometime and she really does need to call us.  But this morning when we woke up, I calmly asked her why she called me last night.  She said that Maria wasn't understanding that she couldn't fall asleep.  When I asked Petunia what I was supposed to do about that from New York City, she giggled.  I asked again.  "Petunia, you have been to New York City many, many times.  You know that it's almost two hours from here.  Tell me, how was I supposed to get you, at age seven, to sleep, from NEW YORK CITY?"  More giggles.  "Sorry, mama, I didn't think about that.  I think I fell asleep right after I left you that message, though."