Rox and Roll

California real estate

The Guv returned from his first meeting with our Silicon Valley realtor this week with a thick folder of possible homes and even more optimism.  That's the good news.  The bad news is that, for many of them, our conversation sounds like this:

Rox: Are you kidding me?  This place is listed for millions of dollars, and it looks like a trailer!

Guv: It could be really nice inside.

Rox: Seriously dude, we could buy a single-wide and gold plate the whole thing, and THAT wouldn't cost millions of dollars.

Guv: You'd live in a single-wide?

Rox: How's the rental market?

Okay, so the market's not THAT bad, but sweet Jesus, real estate in CA is out of control.  It appears to have none of the slowdown that we're having back East.   Let's hope that someone in NJ snaps up our great deal of a beautiful home quickly so that we can score one of the cool places the Guv brought in his magic folder.  This is exciting, but nerve-wracking at the same time.  Oh well, if things don't work out, my aunt has a sweet little RV...

A rosy outlook

Months ago, I volunteered to lead one of my daughter's Brownie Girl Scouts troop meetings to work with the girls on their "hands-on science" badge.  As Petunia's deepest interest is any kind of science experiment, I was bound and determined to lead a terrific session that would convince each girl that science is very cool.  Encouraging kids to study science is keenly important to me, as I feel strongly that our great nation is failing to educate enough scientists.  (I can hear the Guv adding:  "And THAT is why China is eating our lunch!")

Of course, in the midst of preparing our home for sale, my usual extensive preparation for the task of leading a group of girls for an hour ended up squeezed into a Sunday afternoon.  With the Guv, I went through each of the science experiment books for kids that we own as well as a host of web sites.  Mess was out of the question since we use the school's art room and are expected to leave it in perfect form.  So I racked my brain to remember what Petunia enjoyed the most from our recent visits to science museums, and I remembered the fun that she had at Philly's Franklin Institute in the air show exhibit.  Thus, I embarked on a mission to show the girls how to use the scientific method to conduct a flight experiment.  In other words, we made paper airplanes!

Much to my pleasant surprise, as I am neither a teacher nor a scientist, the girls seemed to love the lesson and the experiment.  They listened patiently as I explained some basics of aerodynamics (lift, thrust, drag).  I walked through the scientific method with the girls asking questions of how airplanes fly, reviewing research that I provided, creating a paper airplane, testing it, adjusting it, retesting it, and then discussing the outcomes.  I was sure that they'd be interested in making a paper airplane, but would they follow the instructions on the template I provided?  Would they take their time to fine tune their aircraft?  Would anyone lose an eye from a wayward throw?  And, most importantly, would they remember that this was a science project and want to discuss it as such?

Every single one of these ten girls listened intently.  They asked questions of each other, and they watched patiently as others flew their airplanes, offering comments like "Too much thrust!" and "It's hitting the ceiling because your elevators are too upright!"  And the best little scientist of them all was the one who usually has the attention span of a gnat -- the troublemaker who, for this hour, payed closest attention, folded her aircraft with the greatest precision, and offered the most constructive criticism to her peers.  I made sure to pull her mom aside to mention the girl's great success in this endeavor and was pleased to hear that this little girl, like my own daughter, seems to have a deep interest and great aptitude in science. 

Tonight, I'm going to bed quite happy, because, for an hour, I held the attention of ten future great Americans, and their future looks quite rosy to me.  It's easy in this season of political mudslinging to lose sight of the potential of our youngest citizens.  You won't ever hear me lament today's youth, because every day, but especially today, I am convinced that they want achievement more than my generation ever did.  Some folks equate that to a lot of pressure on our kids, but, to me, a girl from humble roots in West-by-God-Virginia, there should be no aspirations too great for our kids.  If they believe that they can cure cancer, colonize space, reverse the effect of global warming, end hunger... then they stand a chance to do these great things.  I'll tell my daughter that she can if she tries, and I don't believe that it's arrogant: I believe that it's hope.

What every gambler knows

As The Prophet Kenny Rogers sings, "Every gambler knows/ that the secret to survival/ is knowing what to throw away/ and knowing what to keep."  Amen.

I remember when my friend and neighbor Adrienne moved a year and a half ago, she talked about picture frames -- how she felt that she may have bought a new one almost every time she went to Target, and how, when she was moving, she was getting rid of them, unused.  I could relate to that; I have a couple of boxes full myself.  I'm going to use them someday!  They have moved with me from Boston to New Haven to Princeton to Pennington, and, damn it, they'll move with me to California!  Or, NOT.

I sit here blogging tonight because I dare not lay down and close my eyes, else the panic will set in.  And anyone who knows me well will tell you that, of all the irritating things I do, I DO NOT PANIC.  (Okay, Guv, in all fairness, I did panic when that mouse ran across our floor once, but that was the only time!)  But now, I am on the verge of hyperventilating.  Why? 

My children's stuff is killing me.  There are, to the number, 83 unsharpened pencils in my kitchen drawer, most of which are imprinted with either Disney princesses or Ivy League colleges, illustrating how much Petunia's taste has changed since she started this, umm, collection.  These pencils were not all together at the start of my ongoing cleaning journey.  There are pencils everywhere in my house.  They were hiding in my closet, my bathroom, the never-empty laundry bin, and in many of Petunia's 65 purses.  There were 2 in my most private of drawers.  WTF?  There are about 50 Westin hotel mini writing tablets laying around that the Guv thought Petunia would enjoy.   Stickers?  EVERYWHERE.  And don't even get me started on the host of craft supplies.  Sequins?  In every color.  Ribbon?  Enough to lay a trail from here to California.  An the Matchbox cars?  Vroom, vroom, vroom.

The Guv and I, we are weak-willed people.  He would like to blame me for a lot of this mess, and I would like to blame him, when, in reality, it's both of our faults for not setting limits regarding what we buy for the kids and what we allow others to give them.  When Dash is screaming at Target, it's really easy to appease him with a 97-cent Matchbox car.  From now on, those will be replaced with chocolate bars: consumables that I don't have to move.  And the next time that the Guv's aunt gives Petunia SIX Barbie dolls for Christmas, I think someone needs to say, "NO!"  Or perhaps we should do what I wanted to do three years ago and write a nice letter saying "Please, ONE gift per child."  Rude?  Maybe.  But not as rude as adding six Barbies to an already-huge (like 40+) collection.

I will have a shot or three of Goldschlager, and I will calm down, and I will sleep, perchance to dream of pencils Sequoia trees.  I will know what to throw away, and I will know what to keep.  I just wish my back would stop hurting from the three hours of tennis I mistakenly thought myself up to playing last Thursday.  It is going to be very hard to reach the Matchbox cars and pencils under my bed with this kink in my back and the Guv too far away to do it for me.  Sigh.

Finally, a snow day!

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Here's a picture (from my cell phone, so the quality's not great) of our unplowed, snow-covered cul-de-sac.  The kids have their first snow day of the year and are about to go sledding down our little front hill.

Will I miss this snow when we're in California next year?

I'm thinking not, especially because we'll have our fill of snow each Christmastime in Vermont, but I will miss our quiet little street and the neighborhood kids coming together to sled down our hill. 

A good manifesto for our Westward relocation

LovethisLife manifesto by david culiner

LovethisLife...
is about celebrating the moment
and that we're not guaranteed or owed another day
and how cool it is that what we hide
can actually be the fuel towards our glory
and that it's not so bad being proven wrong

LovethisLife...
is about welcoming the blind turn
and the possibility that
there's no such thing as coincidence
and that empathy is incredibly sexy
and that it's never too late to
pick up a guitar or a paintbrush
or to make an amend or to make a new friend

LovethisLife...
could be about rekindling a past flame
or igniting a new one
or shapeshifting from a dreamer into a doer
or savouring the caress of a love long gone

LovethisLife...
means whatever it is you want it to mean because

LovethisLife...
is a celebration of you and your path

LovethisLife...
'cuz it could go at any second

you rock.

Even the guinea pig is on antibiotics!

This is getting ridiculous.  Oreo has been a bit lethargic, felt a bit swollen in the anterior to me, has a patch of fur missing under his chin, and is sporting a scab on the side of his little left front paw, so I called the local vet.  We decided to take both Cinnamon and Oreo in for a check-up since, to our knowledge, they'd never been examined by a vet.  Petunia was very excited that we scored an appointment on a day she has off from school.  So, off we went.

Upon thorough examination, the vet declared the sore on Oreo's foot to be a healing wound, but, because of discoloration on the skin around his wound, she felt that he might have a little bacteria in there, too.  He wasn't running a fever (and, might I add, now I know how to take a guinea pig's temperature... just imagine...).  But, since he's not himself, he's on antibiotics for a week.  I can use a "pet pill plunger" to feed him the pill or can dissolve it in a syringe and give it to him that way.  He sucked it down, perhaps because it was beef-flavored.  Until today, Oreo was a vegetarian.

In any event, we learned a lot about our furry companions today.  It costs $35 per pet for an annual check-up, which includes trimming their nails, which I will have to do every month or so.  I learned how to clean their ears (a weekly task) as well.  Oreo's missing fur is probably due to rubbing on his wood house; it was good to hear that Cinnamon hadn't taken a chunk out of him.  Much to Petunia's giggling surprise, Oreo (the baby of the two) weighs more than Cinnamon and has bigger "equipment" -- which means that Oreo will be bigger than his big brother.   So, what I thought was swelling in his nether-regions was just, ahem, nuts.

I've fallen, and I can't get up

This is the long weekend from hell.  Dash has been fighting his umpteenth ear infection, and then he contracted a flu or some type of gastroenteritis on top of that.  Yesterday morning, he had thrown up so much that he was totally still, totally quiet, and staring off into space.  I think he was actually happy when we got to the ER (conveniently located in the most God-awful part of Trenton), where he had five hours' worth of fluids drained into his little arm.  He didn't scream once, not even when they were trying desperately to take blood from him (he was too dry, so they had to wait).  When the nurse finally removed the IV, he didn't cry at all; he just looked at her and asked, "May I please have some apple juice now?"  By evening, he was totally and completely fine, just a bit quieter than normal because he beat up his esophagus with all of the booting. 

Needless to say, I've been fighting the same thing.  This is the Worst Case Scenario, as Dash sleeps right next to me, still.  So if he's sick and up all night, and I'm sick and need sleep, I get sicker from lack of sleep.  The only blessing of the long weekend is that the Guv and au pair Maria cobbled together a schedule so that everyone left me alone and in bed this morning.

But then there's tomorrow.  Tomorrow morning, our realtor and a team from his office are coming to examine our home with the end-goal of pricing it for sale.  For a while now, I've been spending a lot of my free time cleaning out clutter, bagging clothes to give away and throwing out fast-food toys behind the kids' backs.  My bedroom and closet are now in total order, as are the kids' rooms, the TV room (which should be a dining room), and the formal living room.  The Guv has done a masterful job of tidying the garage and basement storage area.  Maria has put the playroom in order.  Meanwhile, both of our office spaces are buried under odds and ends, and our den -- that the Guv swears is "fine" -- looks like a storage space.   No one has cleaned (or cleaned out) the laundry room since we moved in four years ago.  And the kitchen floor is only slightly less dirty than the guinea pigs' cage, and both need to be cleaned before 9:30 a.m.  And I have a fever of 102, should be throwing up but can't (I have this thing against throwing up) -- so instead, I'm sitting on the couch with Dash on my left knee, and my laptop on my right, watching The Incredibles (which is one of my very favorite movies, so that's a score). 

In a few days, this too shall pass, and I'll return to spending my time surfing for houses in California.  That's right: California!  We're moving to Silicon Valley, where it's always 74 and sunny.  If thoughts of that won't get me well, nothing will.

Funny is in short supply today

We've had a run of two whole weeks without anyone being on antibiotics or sick.  Whoo-hoo!  That run ended Wednesday when Dash's preschool teacher reported that he was "not himself" that day, acting out a lot.  He was getting over a cold, but I instantly knew that he had an ear infection, for that is the only condition under which he behaves seriously badly.  (I'm not just referring to boy antics; he can hurt people when he's in pain... can't we all?!).

The pediatrician confirmed it, and this is ear infection number... six? seven? of the school year... I don't know, I've lost track.  We have an appointment with an ENT doc at CHOP on April 30, but that seems many moons away, especially as we are planning to travel a bit with the Guv in the upcoming months.  Flights are out of the question when your kid's ears aren't right. 

Meanwhile, Petunia asked to stay home from school today, claiming she didn't feel well -- and looking exhausted, as Dash was up screaming bloody murder and vomiting every 20 minutes all night.  So, I'm fighting a cold and got zero sleep, Petunia began having a fever mid-morning, and Dash is still booting.  When our au pair Maria came up to go on-duty this morning, Dash ran up to her and said, "Maria, I'm freakin' booting all day."  The sad thing is that even she is used to his frequent vomiting by now. 

At least we decided to stay home for the long weekend instead of heading up to Vermont.  All of the preparatory work would've been for nothing.  So instead, I'm hiding out in my room, cleaning out my closet as Maria manages the sick kids (and, clearly, I'm taking a chai-and-blogging break).  I figured that this clean-up is not a bad thing to do when I'm too stuffed up to smell the dust anyway!

A Day for Love

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day, my very favorite holiday.  Yes, I know about Christmas and Easter and that, as a Christian, those are probably supposed to be higher on my holiday scale.  But Christmas and Easter involve a lot of work for me, especially now that I'm a mom, whereas Valentine's Day is a day on which I can just celebrate the people I love.  And there's nothing more that I love -- except maybe smashing overheads in tennis -- than celebrating the people I love.  So here's my tribute to my brood:

To the Guv: I have loved you for 17 years, 9 months and 1 day, or thereabouts.  I am sure of very little in this life, especially right now, but the one thing that I have never and will never question is that I am with exactly the right person for me (and vice versa).  You are way too much fun, and I imagine you making me laugh just as much on a park bench when I'm 70 or even 90.  When it comes to you, that's what I appreciate the most: the smile you put on my face every single day.  I love you for that, and for much more.

To Petunia and Dash: Yes, I've lumped you two together, because you are two halves of a whole.  It is nice to know that I am finished having children, because you are a lot of work, but you've also made it easy by completing each other.  Where Petunia's sweetness ends, Dash's antics begin.  You make me tired, but, most days, you make me as tired from the stitches of laughter you induce as from the sheer work of raising you.  You both got that skill from your father: the skill of making me laugh when I'm trying to discipline you.  Oh well; you're good kids (well, Petunia anyway -- Dash, the jury's still out).  In any event, Petunia, you are growing so beautifully -- and too quickly, as we're only a couple of years away from sharing clothes, and that freaks me out.  But seriously, there's not a single thing that I'd change about you -- especially the way you put up with your brother.  I'm worried that you may have six kids because you have way too much patience.  As for Dash, you are nothing but all-boy-trouble, and I'm hoping that my strong heart will cast some sort of protective shield around you (like Violet in the Incredibles).  You'll need it, as you seem to have no fear.  I am trying to learn from that devil-may-care attitude, when it comes to snowboarding, moving away from New Jersey, and much else.  I'm not sure from whom you inherited this recklessness, but, if it works out, I'll take the credit.  I should get something after cleaning up all of your vomitblood messes.

As for the rest of my family and friends: You rock, non-stop.  I am lucky to have parents who still "go," siblings who still reach for the stars, an aunt brave enough to work in places like Iraq and Afghanistan, and friends who put up with my antics.  Tomorrow, on Valentine's Day, I'll be celebrating all of you, and I am looking forward to another great year of love and friendship.  Cheers!

Brothers

I just can't stop watching this video.  From this moment on, my children are only permitted to speak with British accents.  (Thanks, Dooce, for discovering this.)

Updates on Dash

1. The Boy Stunt: The fissure in his gum is nearly gone, though he does have some bruising on his cheek.  He has stopped pulling the pillows off of the couch and stopped jumping off of it of his own accord -- this week, anyway...

2. Ear Tubes: Dash is getting another cold, which almost certainly means another ear infection; that's how he rolls.  The ENT doc with whom we consulted -- who, as I've mentioned before, is old as dirt -- suggested that Dash did not need ear tubes since a course of antibiotics cleared up his ear infection.  But when I've talked to various pediatricians about this, repeated use of antibiotics for ear infections over the course of a few months is one of the chief reasons to get ear tubes. As well, with many children, sleep and behavior issues -- AND EATING -- improve with ear tubes.  Dash has significant issues in all of these areas.  If you want to learn more about ear tubes, click here for one of the better sites I've found.  Because I've come to believe that Dash needs tubes (and his pediatrician agrees), I made an appointment with an ENT doc at CHOP -- for April 30.  At least I'll believe we're in good hands then, even if I'm not too happy about the wait.

3. Eating: This subject is on hold until either the feeding program at CHOP lets us back in, until we consult another nutritionist or, better yet, until Dash gets ear tubes.  He has -- finally -- grown out of his 2T pants in time for his 3rd birthday, so that's news, even if his 3T pants fall right off more often than not.  I'm looking at the up-side: he'll be able to pull his pants down for potty breaks more easily!

So, that's the news that I'll share for now... we have lots else going on, and posts have been slow because I haven't wanted to write about any of it.  Suffice it to say that change is a-comin' -- and not just in the Presidency.  But it's all good, and we're having a blast making attempts to plan our life, which never follows a plan no matter how hard we try to draft one.  For me, that's the fun of it all, and that's especially what I enjoy about being with the Guv -- we just sort of go where the tide carries us.  Even with the stress of kids and guinea pigs and a 3300+ square foot house full of "stuff", it's lots of fun.  More on that front soon...

Raising a Boy 101

(Note to readers: This ends totally fine, so don't freak out!)

On raising a boy: I consider it a formidable accomplishment to have made it 2 years, 11 months and 5 days without an ER trip because of a boy stunt.  Friends with boys warned me that one would be forthcoming, and, with Dash's antics, I was just biding time.

Then, last night, since the kids were playing "fort" nicely together, I was loading the dishwasher when I heard the thud -- and the cry that meant something was really wrong.  Petunia dramatically reported that Dash had decided to jump off of the couch onto his face.  Had he hit the hardwood floor, he would be missing his front teeth.  As it was, he hit the area rug hard enough that he opened a fissure in his gums that bled like I've never seen anything bleed.  Soon, there were blood spots all over my shirt.  When I discerned from where the blood was running, I ran him over to the sink for a rinse.  His teeth were intact and not loose at all, but the blood continued long enough that I thought it wise to take him to the ER in case he needed stitches.  Before leaving, I tried both doctor's and dentist's offices and emergency lines to no avail.  So, the blood having slowed to a trickle, we left, looking like gunshot victims.

We arrived at Princeton's hospital to find the place overflowing at 5:30 pm (did I mention that Dash pulled this stunt JUST after the dentist's and doctor's offices had closed?).  We checked in, but after waiting around twenty minutes -- with Dash screaming to go home the ENTIRE time -- not one person had left the waiting room, and many were looking like they were about to turn us into real gunshot vics.  We stepped outside, and I paged both doctor and dentist again; finally, the pediatrician called me back, having never received my first page.  She indicated that gum injuries aren't usually sutured, and, that if the bleeding had stopped (it had), I could probably go home without being seen and just take him to a dentist first thing in the morning.  Since our dentist is (blessedly, thankfully) open on Saturday, we agreed with that plan (else we would have been in that waiting room until... actually, we'd probably still be there).  En route home, I stopped at a friend's house and asked her to take a look; she has three kids who have had such injuries, and she agreed that it was probably nothing major. 

The Guv took Dash to the dentist first thing this morning, and x-rays and an examination showed that nothing significant was amiss.  The fissure is significantly healed today, too.  And what did Dash do to celebrate?  He jumped off of the couch again, bloodying his other lip.  Damn kid is never going to learn, and, try as I might, I just can't sit on him (take that literally, because that's what's required) every minute.  So, we made him wear a ski helmet all day.  Seriously.

Did I over-react to the whole incident?  Possibly.  But, having had a girl first, we've never had a bloody injury, so I had no idea.  I probably should have asked a friend's opinion first, or tried to re-page the doctor, or just waited a bit to see what happened.  I fear, though, that this incident portends worse things to come, which, friends tell me, is life with an over-active boy.  He's freakin' crazy.  God help us all!

Punxsutawney punk'd us

It was around 70 degrees today.  In New Jersey.  WTF???  The Guv is in Palo Alto, CA; it was as warm here as it is there.  And it is the middle of winter.  Something is very wrong with the global climate when I can wear shirtsleeves outdoors in February and not even catch a chill.

My former neighbor Adrienne has been posting pictures on her blog about the huge amount of snowfalls hitting the greater Chicago area.  We have had zero, zip, zilch, nada.  We have seen snowflakes falling, but they do not stay on the ground long enough even to don one's boots for a frolic.

The truth is, I used to say that I could do without the winter season, but that is until I learned how to snowboard -- and until I saw how beautiful multiple feet of snow looks in Vermont.  I've been on the fence about heading up North for the upcoming long weekend, but I'm already halfway there in my mind, for this winter has been one big mind-f&#k weather-wise... not that New Jersey isn't usually like that, but anyway...

Because democracy is run by those who show up

Mom, Dad, Guv: Sit down for this one.

When I moved to New Jersey in 2001, I registered to vote as an Independent.  In the last Presidential primary, this meant that I simply had to choose in which primary to vote, and my political affiliation remained Independent.  However, a year or two ago, my state took away my right to be a registered Independent.  My designation became "unaffiliated," a designation that allowed me to vote in elections but not in primaries. 

I have lost sleep over this in the last few days, because I really, really cared about the Democratic primary.  And caring about the Democratic primary made me lose even more sleep, because it's pretty much my own worst nightmare to have Democrats controlling both the White House and Congress.  I do not believe that tax-and-spend works.  I do not believe that large social programs work.  I believe that over-taxing the wealthy discourages entrepreneurship, of which this country needs a lot more.   So I should care more about voting Republican, right?  For the purposes of this primary election, at least, I just couldn't bring myself to do it.  Too much is at stake, and if I have to hear a certain Demo-rat candidate yapping until November, I'll have to claim political asylum in Canada (or insane asylum in Bellevue!). 

After dragging my feet all day, at 6:19 p.m., I signed a form that turned me into a jackass Democrat.  And I cast the vote that I found important -- and I will carry that name to my grave. 

Tomorrow morning, I will mail my paperwork to Trenton requesting my reversion to "unaffiliated" status.  My hippie-liberal parents should open a good bottle of wine and have some laughs, though, over their much-more-moderate daughter having been a Democrat for a day.  And the Guv?  He's in California, so he can drown his tears in some sunshine.  Don't worry, honey.  Tomorrow, I'll be under-the-radar again.

Celebratory flashback

Congratulations to our friend Wesley and her family, who are expecting their second child this summer.  In celebration, I offer my funniest second pregnancy story:

Petunia told her preschool class: "My mommy has a new baby growing in her belly, and guess what?  When it comes out, it is going to be a girl, or a boy, or a dragon!"

Most days, I'm sure she was right on with "dragon"!!!

Introducing our new pets

Introducing: The Brothers Pookerton, Cinnamon and Oreo:

Guinea pigs

They are American short-haired guinea pigs, and they are sweet and gentle brothers.  Oreo is five months, and Cinnamon is nine months.  We adopted them from Have-A-Heart Guinea Pig Rescue.  They love parsley, carrots and kale in addition to their regular timothy hay and feed.  They seem to know that I am Mom and will keep them safe from Dash, who is terrorizing them a bit, of course, and from Petunia, who is over-loving them.   Fortunately, they can communicate their fears and wishes.  Click here to hear guinea pigs speaking!  We're on day three, and they're not biting, making a lot of noise, or stinking up the place.  Perfect pets!