Crashing the Fire Station

Our delightful friend, Meghan (shown with a breathing mask), invited us to the fire station for a tour. WOW! WOW! We had a blast poking around the station and getting Meghan's personal explanation of all the vehicles and gear.

• The fire trucks - "engines" is the proper lingo - have every last inch of space planned for maximum effectiveness on calls.
• Meghan told us all about the suits they wear, which is basically TONS of fire-resistant layers.
  
• Everything was spotless.
• We got to go inside the ambulances, inside the bucket of the tower truck, and crawl all over the cab of an engine.
• Donna, a career firefighter we've known since moving to Charles City, invited us to go for a spin in an engine. They did the siren and tooted the horn and everything. It was super super fun. The girls LOVED it and had questions about every single aspect of fire station workings.
• Meghan did an excellent job of preparing the girls for what firefighters look like when they're in gear.
  
• Finally, the girls escaped with tons of kids' loot: coloring books, hats, fold-up firehouses and engines, pencils, and stickers. What a day!
  

So Excited

I am getting REALLY excited about starting school. I can't wait to palpate abdomens and auscultate (doctor talk for "listen to") lungs! I can't wait to know the look of a healthy eardrum or the various "signs" that indicate certain maladies (i.e. Homan's Sign (Deep veinous thrombosis), McBurney's Sign (appendicitis), Straight Leg Raise (ruptured disc), Prehn's Sign (torsed testicle) etc.)

I've got a pre-study schedule worked out that I'm trying to stick to (I may have already mentioned that). Here it is:

Mornings: 6-6:30 Sun, Tues, Thurs; 6-7 M, W, F = 4:30
Naptimes: 1-2 Monday - Friday = 5:00
Vivi goes to play: 9:30 - 12 (one day per week) = 2:30
Evenings: 7:30p - 9:30p Sun, Mon, Tues, Sat = 8:00
Total................................................................................20:00!

See? You can (theoretically) squeeze a half-time study schedule out of the interstices of your day. Now that I've made it public, I'll have to stick to it. Kitchen egg timers really help me. I used the last one until it died, but it's the best four-dollar investment I've ever made.

As far as studying goes, I'm still on Thorax in the anatomy book. And I've decided to break it up a bit, combining phys and biochem as I go.

Also, I'm going to try to post more pictures of the little ones because I think that's the most entertaining thing I put on here.

Just some pictures

Inauguration!

I cried. I know that's nothing new. But I was in the VCU student lounge watching on a giant screen with about 10 other interviewees, so it was a little awkward.
This is a momentous day. Obama's presidency is in the process of reforming our collective subconscious agreement of the proper role of black men. I love Barack Obama for his intelligence, his commitment, his character, and his ability to level with the American public. But I am most excited about this day because of Willie, K.K., and Albert, three young black men I taught who need some "Yes you can." I tried to tell them, but somehow I think Mr. Obama will be more effective.

BTW, this day wasn't nearly as bad as I'd feared. I loved seeing the VCU campus and felt great about my ski gloves and parka despite the fact that everyone else was in high style. Then the dental school told me they'd give me a root canal and crown for free on the tooth they broke. It's a pain, but it's a lot better than living with a painful tooth OR paying the huge scary amount of money a root canal and crown cost.

Snow was in the forecast for today. Ordinarily I'd love snow, but not when I can't be there to pick up Mazie from school in the event of early dismissal or when I'm traveling to and from Richmond. It didn't snow!

Finally, I was terrified there'd be some horrific interruption of the inauguration today, despite attempts at airtight security. I am so relieved that the day has wound down as planned.

So...huge sigh of relief on all fronts. God is good all the time. It's easy to notice that God is good on a day like today.

obama inauguration slideshow

lamentable dearth of posts

Hi. I haven't posted much lately because I've been overwhelmed by the prospect of dealing with all the photos we've taken at the fire station, Virginia Living Museum, and in everyday life. I'd also love to scan in art the girls are doing. They've begun collaborating, which is fun to see.

Recent small events that have worked to shape January so far:

• Not having a 2009 daily planner. Vivian got sick last week so I had to rearrange my day. In so doing, I completely missed a tutoring appointment. I HATE doing that. In the five years I've been tutoring, it's happened twice. The other time I had a concussion and forgot all my responsibilities for the day for a legitimate reason.
  
• Making a slightly more nuanced church announcement about the prospect of medical school. I think I was at least able to convey that we will miss church immensely if we move to Georgia. Everybody prayed for us, which was wonderful.
• Life Aquatic Soundtrack arrived used from Amazon. It's on all the time at our house now.
• Richie hurt his achilles tendon and so is home in the a.m.'s instead of exercising. This means he's actually getting enough sleep and is much happier, if disappointed with his level of activity.
• It's COLD. The VW car hates the cold almost as much as I do, threatening to refuse to start each time we try.
• Tomorrow is my VCU interview. It's weird to have an interview after you've been accepted at some schools. I thought it might make me feel more confident, but no dice.
• Had dental work at the dental school on a tooth with a cavity that wasn't bothering me at all. During dental work, the clamp that holds the rubber dam got stuck on my tooth. In trying to pry the metal clamp off the tooth, they broke a little chunk of tooth off and made a lot of heavy-duty racket in my numb mouth. As soon as the numb wore off, it hurt to do anything to the tooth. Now, six days later, the tooth hurts sharply when I try to chew anything, no matter how soft. I just realized last night that it hurts for an hour after sipping hot tea. I'm upset about it because these symptoms mean the tooth is almost certainly badly fractured due to their whacking and prying tactic of getting the clamp off (it is possible to cut the clamps off if they get stuck). This means I'll probably lose the tooth. Who knows what expense will be incurred. I hope the dental school will admit their responsibility. I'm going back Tuesday to address this issue immediately after I finish my VCU interview.
• yesterday the girls wouldn't clean their room when Richie told them to, so he confiscated 75% their toys and put them in the closet. I should've gotten a picture of their bare room and the stuffed closet, but mainly I was just wondering how we would resolve this particular punishment. He let the girls clean out the closet and put all the toys away just before bedtime. I've done this on a smaller, more gradual scale. I take the toys they leave out and then they have to earn them back. Each time they clean their room properly with no fuss, they get to choose something that's been confiscated. Eventually, they forget about the remaining toys, which is interesting.

I hope to post some photos soon. Our fire station tour was AMAZING. And the VLM is great every time we go there. I have ambitions of posting a jellyfish drawing Vivi did after their visit.

Some ups, some downs, but I think I'll feel relieved by Wednesday morning.

Frijoles Negros

Best Cuban Black Beans Recipe Ever. This is our family's primary staple. The beans freeze well, combine with rice for leftovers, and can get put into quesidillas or wraps. It's my feeling these beans will add years onto your life and save you some money in the process. Thanks to Justin Moore's mom and Clarita's Cocina:

Step 1: Make sure beans have enough water to cover them plus about an inch. Bring these ingredients to boil, then , and lower to a simmer for about an hour or until beans are tender:

1 lb black beans, soaked overnight OR boiled 2 minutes and let to rest 2 hours.
2 tbsp. olive oil
1 medium ripe tomato
1 bay leaf
1/2 onion
1/2 green pepper
1 garlic clove, unpeeled, crushed

Step 2: While the above cooks, sautee the other halves of the onion and Green pepper, chopped, in 1 c. olive oil until tender then add the remainder of the ingredients below and sautee for a minute or two:

1 clove garlic, minced
1 level teaspoon oregano, crushed between your palms
1/4 tsp. cumin

Turn off the heat, then add to skillet:

2 tbsp. wine vinegar
1 tbsp. salt
(optional: 1/2 tsp hot sauce)

Step 3: Combine skillet ingredients with pot ingredients only after beans are tender. (The reason for this is that beans will refuse to tender up in the presence of acid. Who knew?) Then cook for another 45 minutes.

Step 4: enjoy with rice cooked with salt and oil. Brown and white are both delicious.

BTW: increasing both cooking times will only enhance the savoriness and increase the intermingling of flava. Just make sure beans are covered by water as water evaporates and they cook down. Don't cover them up by more than an inch because then your beans will be too watery. Finally, no batch of beans turns out exactly the same. This recipe can be used for riffing; I've adapted it to a satisfying version of refried pintos.

Cousins

Having been deprived of siblings (no offense, mom), my cousins were the closest things I had to siblings growing up. We spent weeks together in the summers. Those weeks are mostly lodged somewhere in my subconscious, but pieces of them have stuck where I can remember them.

Richmond Hill summers were swarthy and thick as you can imagine, but we seemed not to notice. Mimi and Pop-pop cared, though, and they let us know by shouting incessantly for us to close the doors to the house when we'd go in and out. I remember stepping out of the side of the cool house into a garage that smelled dankly of concrete, chemicals, shrimp, and dirt. The shrimpy smell presumably came from the ancient upright freezer where my grandparents kept all the excess haul of foods. I remember mornings in the sunny back yard, climbing low trees and dividing the whole yard into territories. There were afternoons of dressing ourselves in wigs of spanish moss, fanning one another with palmetto limbs, climbing trees. Then at the end of the day we'd compare the number of chigger bites we had while we treated ourselves with Calamine Lotion.

The worst thing about these memories is that I distinctly remember being bossy to all my cousins. There's no getting around this. I was older than everyone else by at least a year. Besides, I lived with my grandparents for a couple of crucial years and acted like I owned the place. I tied one cousin to a tree with a jump rope. My favorite game was royal kingdom with a role carved out just for me - the queen. Alan, by dint of being the only boy, got to be king. I think poor Sherri had to be cowering princess a lot. This made those weeks in the summer hugely gratifying for me, prolonged power trips as they were.

Cousins, I'm sorry for being bossy. I wouldn't have enjoyed a domineering, bossy older cousin - and I'm sure you didn't either. I'm much less bossy now. I think. Will you please forgive me?

Only you five know what it was like to ride to the movies in the trunk back of the station wagon, pretending that we knew foreign languages on the way. Only you know can identify with the privilege of sleeping in the living room at Christmas so we could gaze at the tree and get in trouble for making the slightest noise. Only you remember running to feed the fish and playing with something bizarre called a camel saddle (what's with those, anyway?). Only you remember incurring Mimi's wrath (sorry Mimi) and Pop-pop's quiet, cheerful, stubborn routines.

One summer, Mimi, Pop-pop and I stopped at my Nebraska cousins' house for a week layover. I will never forget that time we spent with them because it was on their terms. They knew the lay of the land. It was an awesome week. You guys took me to mass for the first time. We went out for pizza. We went to a July fourth fireworks celebration on base. My personal favorite was playing hide-and-seek in the corn field near your house. The twins were still short enough that they could run through the corn without bending over and still be completely hidden; I towered over it. I remember going downstairs after bedtime and you guys were all three on the couch watching Puff Daddy on MTV. I sat and watched with you until late. I had such a great week. Those trips were so long and so solitary. I got to see a lot of the country from the car window, but I was constantly antsy to get out and run around. I'll never forget my week in Nebraska. I'm a little sad that my understanding of who you are now has to reach back that far because we haven't really done anything together for such a long time...but I figure you're as much who you were then as I am who I was then. (Does that make sense?) And that's a lot.

I spent more time with my NC cousins. We always had a blast with their recording equipment and playing in their pool. I stepped on a bee at your house; we danced around the living room to loud music. I also remember returning to the East in a minivan after a family reunion in OK. We stopped at the Wichita Mountain Wildlife Preserve and your dad led us on an amazing hike. I think we all learned a thing or two walking across miles of shrubby, rocky terrain. Then Sherri and I slept in the van (whose decision was that?) that night and it was SOOO cold. And Sherri had to watch me fill a 24-oz soda cup with pee because I couldn't hold it any more. THAT was a bad night.

Good times, bad times, you know we've had our share. That's the thing - it wasn't always good. Some parts were and some parts weren't, but that's how life is. It strikes me that family knows how you REALLY are. And that's okay with me.

Every time I'm around my cousins, I'm struck by the bizarre similarities we share that can't be accounted for in any other way than "We're family." Alan and I share an aversion to certain numbers. I'm pretty sure I walk like my uncles, who walk identically to one another. I remember noting this detail about them when I was about 10 and we were all together in Savannah for Pop-pop's second heart surgery. They left together to get some food. Watching the two of them walk away down the hall exactly alike was eerie. Jenny and Lisa and Lindsay have eyes like my oldest daughter - and they all favor the Estes clan in their own way. I don't know. I miss all my family a lot. All my cousins, aunts, uncles, neices, second cousins, etc. are dear to me. But these first cousins on my mom's side are special because we were all kids together and share some of these earliest good/bad memories.

Nervous System

jittery social servants?
worried computer processor?
uncertain cladistics?
A band?

No! It's the system of nerves, ganglia, axa, myelinated sheaths, gray and white matter that lets your body communicate with itself! It does the quick control and leaves the slow-acting, long-lasting control to hormones. I read through the nervous system section of the anatomy book and so far it seems that I have a shot at remembering all the details if only I can get the groupings straight:

• central nervous system versus peripheral nervous system
• Somatic (roughly conscious control) nervous system vs. Autonomic nervous system
• Sympathetic nervous system vs. parasympathetic nervous system
• preganglionic nerves vs. postganglionic nerves...etc.

The structure of the nervous system is like a road that keeps forking. My goal with pre-studying is simply to expose myself to the vocabulary and broad concepts. I'm trying to cover ground on my first pass, not memorize.

Book order

I ordered books for Mazie today. The first book order sheets that came a couple of months ago got my attention, but I dallied past the deadline on getting our check in to Ms. Vallone. So Mazie came home one day and said, without a trace of sadness, "The kids got their books today." Knife in my heart. She had brought home a library book and so didn't really care that she didn't get any keepers that time around, but I felt terrible.

I figure if we can afford anything, we can afford a couple of inexpensive books for our children now and then. I remember everyone who ever loved me buying books for me unstintingly. If you can be rich in one way, I recommend book rich.

I have more confidence in my ability to choose good books than I have in Mazie's, so I'm not consulting her. It will be a surprise! Mazie and Vivian will receive:

Three Snow Bears
Owl Moon
Sylvester and the Magic Pebble
My Body series
When Sophie gets Really, Really Mad
Children's Atlas

And many more that I can't remember as I edit this post on 6/10/09. But I did just purchase about 40 books at 10 cents apiece from the thrift store this morning. We're about to move, so this is the opposite of ballasting, which is what I intended to do...but in my defense, 10 cents apiece!!!

1. 
   

GRATITUDE!

1. We eat great food
2. We have two cars that work
3. We love each other
4. The kids are healthy

et cetera.

Mortality Dreams

One thing about parenthood I never anticipated is how much I dwell on the possibility of something awful happening to one of my kids. There's no logic behind this. I am not thinking that if I think about it enough, that it won't happen. I am not thinking, period. I'm feeling.

Every once in a while I wake up breathless and sometimes crying from a bad dream. Since I've had my kids, my bad dreams stick closely to the theme of one of my kids doing one of the following:

• getting hit by a car
• dying suddenly of unknown causes
• falling from a height

I know it's awful - that's the point. It stinks to even type it out. It stinks to read about it.

The night after I had Mazie, the nurses took her to get her newborn workup. She had to be poked and prodded and bathed and tested and retested, apparently. I was a very high-strung, particular new mother who felt the baby should be on or near me 24-7. (I still basically think that, but my perspective has broadened somewhat.) The nurse who came to get Mazie told me she'd be gone for about 40 minutes. Perfect, I remember thinking, she'll be back just in time for her next feeding!

Being utterly exhausted, I fell asleep as soon as the bassinet trundled out the door. Three hours later, I woke up and there was no baby. I shuffled down to the nursery in my hospital gown and peered at the nursery attendants through the narrow strip of reinforced glass in the door. No nurses seemed to care that I was there or that they had kept my baby well beyond her feeding time. I could hear babies' cries filtering out into the hallway. I began to get upset, fearing one of those crying babies was mine. Other nurses arrived from far away and tried to dissuade me from dissolving in the hallway.

I was so 1) afraid of emotional trauma befalling my day-old baby 2) irate that I was ready to fight anybody, even the caring professionals who were just doing their jobs. Mazie and I both survived, but this was my very first Mother Bear Experience. I was completely unprepared for the imperative of motherhood to protect and provide for an infant. The imperative subverted the natural order of my life. Up to that point, I had served mainly myself (I'd made sacrifices of marginal significance). After having a baby, I directed most of my efforts towards her.

The picture I've attached to this shows a chart I made that recorded all of Mazie's states of being, 24 hours a day. The labyrinthine thought process that resulted in this ridiculously anal-retentive product is almost impossible to trace, but it goes something like this: Baby is not happy. Unhappy Baby makes me feel sad. When is Baby happy? Is there any cause? Let's track it and find out. Voila, hand-drawn anal-retentive chart. I was simply trying to read the tea leaves of daily routine to discern some hint of causation.

On another level, the chart was a desperate attempt at control over a fundamentally uncontrollable force - a newborn infant. I craved order; I craved understanding. I wanted to make an A, dammit! But every parent knows there are no A's, not ever. Every day of parenting reminds me to be humbler than the one before. If there's something you can't have control over, it's another person. I knew that already, but the little ones are more erratic, and I am tied to them inextricably, so I'm finding lack of control harder to swallow. I care too much to be out of control.

Oh, I was trying sooooo hard to do a good job in those early months. This was a desolate, confusing, desperate time for me. I don't think I had actual post-partum depression, but I was really close. Poor Richie. Not only was he sleep deprived from his share of taking care of Mazie, he also had a basket case for a wife. I would love to look back on new motherhood fondly. Frankly, the only good thing about it was Mazie. I was in pitiful shape.

Whew!

The reason I went into all of that is to give some background on the intensity of this overwhelming need to protect my kids. And I am explaining that because I've been having my aforementioned death dreams frequently. Last night, I dreamed that one of Mazie's classmates died. I know, awful! I am wrestling with mortality, plain and simple. As a parent, there's just so much you can do. There's a point where you have to let go, for your sanity and for your kids' development. You can be as cautious as reasonably possible (to exclude keeping your child in a bubble, but including keeping them in a car seat until age 8 and not letting them roller skate). You can read Eat healthy, feel great and teach them to brush their teeth and avoid hazards, but you cannot absolutely ensure your kids' survival.

We sing a song in church that pierces me every time we sing it. I'm not sure of the name, but the basic point is "Blessed be the Name of the Lord." It's a simple song of worship, praising God for being there in the hardest times. The bridge is, "You give and take away." Isn't that the truth? I can't get through those lines because every time I start to sing them I am struck in my middle by the people who have been taken away - from me, but mostly from those I love. I don't want to name names, but if I love you and you've lost someone dear to you, I think about you and pray for you when I'm sitting out this part of the song. The song also reminds me to take nothing for granted. But I've just been describing in great detail, it's no less difficult to think of something happening to one of my kids.

I've been ciphering on my difficulty dealing with my kids' mortality for a long while - basically since Mazie was born. Today at church was our pastor's day to preach through the part of the Apostle's Creed that reads, "He suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died and was buried. He descended into hell." One reason I love my religion is that the person of Christ touches every aspect of human experience - especially the really bad times when you have done something you desperately need forgiveness for or when something awful happens due to external circumstances. There is a deep, deep reason behind the sacrifice of Christ being God's only son. God volunteered to experience the absolute worst that human existence can throw at a person: not just death, but also losing someone beloved. Why is this part of it? Because God had to be there - in both places, the dying and the losing, to be here with us. I have to trust that when worst happens, God is there.

It's one thing to understand that God is there in the worst of times, but it's another to allow myself to rest in that fact every day. At this point, it's unclear how much more processing I'll have to do before the low-level terror is gone and the dreams stop. My conscious brain knows where I'm headed, so eventually my subconscious brain should catch up.

Hello, 2009!

Today was lovely. Most notably, we went to the Woods to get the girls outside and to get Richie and I jogging a little.

We go to some woods I've known well since college. We wind between the tennis courts and meet the trail near some antiquated and broken-down fitness equipment that I suppose is the reason the trail is called "The Fit Trail." The girls can be happy playing with sticks, rocks, and leaves with minimal supervision while one parent goes to run. Richie ran first. The girls and I played, "Is it alive or is it dead" with sticks, all of which looked dead upon first inspection. Many were alive. They bounced on low trees and climbed a little and dug in the dirt a little. Richie came huffing back, and we traded off.

When I got back, there were happy voices coming from down in the hollow beside the trail. I came around to see where they had gone, exactly, and Vivian coached me down to join them. "It's okay, Mama, you just climb down like that." It turns out they had been collecting trash since I left. They had a huge pile accumulated in less than 20 minutes. Joy shone on their faces. Mazie and Vivian really do have industrious spirits. The girls were wearing mittens - perfect for trash collecting. We collected trash together for about 10 minutes more, then photographed our pile and went home. We'll go back tomorrow or Saturday with a bag. And for those of you worried about sanitation (I had to keep reminding myself not to balk because outerwear is washable, after all) we did a load of outerwear laundry after we got home.

But by the time we got home, I had cold finger again. I took the opportunity to photograph it so you can all see why I felt the need to investigate it the first time I got it. Striking, is it not?

Bye Bye 2008

It's not every year that you can have a day this sweet. Our family went to our local free tourist attraction with another family of three girls. We all had a delightful time, despite wild wind that whipped dust and sand into everybody's eyes. We saw horses, ate snack in the sunny lee of a building and then climbed a tree (not shown). Our family always seems happiest outside.

I also ordered seeds. I may not be able to have a garden this year, at least not of any great size, but I can order the $25 of free seeds you can get from your certificate on the back of the Gurney's Seed Catalog. Then I can dream about lettuces and radishes and squash and kale and tomatoes and more. It's cheap fun. I don't understand why Gurney's keeps sending me the catalog with the certificate because every year I redeem it and buy no more. I guess there's a reason in the land of marketing. I'm probably a statistical outlier.

Little Junk Bird

The girls are playing a game they've named "Little Junk Bird." It's a cross between playing crow and playing Oscar the Grouch. They've gathered all the things they like into their new Dora Hut (thank you for the Dora Hut, Grandma!). The game has a dress-up component (thanks for the new dress-up clothes, Nana and Grandma!): they have different sets of "wings" (skirts) that they take on and off depending on the circumstance.

Yesterday we went to the Virginia Living Museum for the day. Last time we went, the girls got really wound up and the visit ended in tears. Yesterday, though, we had a fantastic time. I think we hit every exhibit, including the outdoor animals (which we skipped last visit), and there were NO tears.

Favorite animals? Mazie: red wolves. Vivian: red and gray foxes. I wish I had photos to share. But I did learn that Red Foxes and Gray Foxes can be many different colors, but the Red Fox has a white-tipped tail and the Gray fox has a black-tipped tail. The museum does a great job of explaining why certain animals are there. They put up plaques explaining that the eagles have wing injuries or that the loggerhead sea turtle has a missing flipper.

My favorite animals were the bobcat - so slinky and purposeful in its movement with such an amazing face, and the loggerhead turtle. The loggerhead won me over with its gaze. It seemed to acknowledge people outside the tank. That could be my imagination - I have no idea what they can see and what they're aware of, but I'm sure it looked right at me.

Today I'm going to try to Get A Lot Done.

First She Said Some Hurtful Things...

...And then she pushed me down the stairs.

This is quote from a comic routine that my stepdad likes to quote. It's funny when he says it, but it wasn't funny when it happened today at our house.

Mazie had used some of Vivian's stickers that went to her December calendar. Mazie applied them to their desktop. Vivian felt upset and angry when she found out. I heard a fray developing - no injuries, and then Vivian started down the stairs exactly as she should if they can't work it out on their own.

Well, Mazie was in hot pursuit and shoved Vivian down the last two steps. Vivian rolled right into the boom box and landed funny on her left foot.

Now, what would you do? I really want to know because I am a little lost. I was so mad at Mazie I knew I couldn't do anything yet besides sweep her up and put her in solitary confinement, which I did. Then I returned downstairs to check out Vivian, who was totally fine despite her awkward landing.

Here's what I thought: People can get seriously injured - even killed - by being pushed down steps. Heck, Mazie herself had an ER visit after rolling down half a flight of stairs. Mazie absolutely has to know that this is one of the most dire offenses ever. But, she's never done it before. She's only pushed Vivian a few times that I know of, and I'm pretty sure she doesn't beat up on anyone else. So she may have been unaware of the effect her pushing on the stairs would have.

Mazie had just told me that her favorite Christmas gift had been the Barbie (whose influence we have fastidiously kept out of our house until now) that Aunt Melinda gave her. Plus, she was anticipating a big dessert of leftover Christmas candy. So I went upstairs and explained to Mazie how dangerous a push down the stairs could be, that she may NEVER EVER do that and that to remind her, she was going to lose Barbie for a while and dessert for tonight.

Surprisingly, it was the dessert part that really smarted. She forgot about Barbie in short order but when dinner time rolled around, Mazie asked about dessert with big cow eyes and a soft voice. "What are we having for dessert tonight?" "Mazie, you lost your dessert privilege when you pushed Vivian down the stairs." Commence sobbing. She sobbed through most of dinner. We made her leave the table because she was interfering with conversation and digestion, so she wailed on the couch.

Finally, the fuss was over. I guess we'll watch to see if she pushes somebody else down the stairs. I'm lost on this one. But we're discussing stair etiquette again tomorrow. It'll be an in-service that nobody can get out of.

Anatomy and Predator

I'm starting to study anatomy. I'm just getting familiar with the basics and exposing myself to the vocabulary - saving the memorization for later. A first year med student I know recommended the anatomy book I've started with.

The book has sidebars that relate anatomy topics to clinical issues. So far it's covered atherosclerosis, nerve damage, and lymphadenopathy. I find it hard to explain how rewarding I find these brief straightforward explanations. I spent a year scribing. For the entire year, I made loose conjectures about the why of what I was writing down. Some things should have been easy for me to figure out, but weren't. For instance, while scribing, I observed and even assisted with (held vials for) several lumbar punctures. I always wanted to know how the doctor knew where to stop the needle insertion. There's little opportunity to ask questions - particularly when someone needs a lumbar puncture because that's time-consuming to begin with. So the best answer I got was that the doctor could feel the right place.

Well, tonight I found out that one of the maters, the dura mater, is strong - presumably strong enough to provide the resistance that the physician "feels" as she inserts the needle. I can't wait to find out! Suddenly, I have a handful of answers. I'm just beginning to wrap my brain around the possibility of having a credible bundle of medical knowledge I can eventually use to help actual real live people.

I loved scribing most of the time. Sometimes quirks of the physicians' personalities made the job difficult...but that happens anywhere. The biggest frustration was what I described above: not yet fully understanding much of what I observed. I'd love to know exactly when physicians need to don gloves because sometimes they would feel a skin malady barehanded and sometimes they used gloves. I'd love to know how to execute the different types of suture stitch (that one can't be too hard). I'd love to know all the steps of running a code and why they all happen. I can't wait to read X-rays or CT scans and have an idea what I'm looking at. Right now the only abnormalities I can identify with certainty are: lung consolidation (these come in many varieties, the distinctions between which I'm ignorant of), kidney stone (this one's super easy), and a blowout fracture. I got a chance to ask a few questions, but not that many.

Anyway, I'm excited right now. And I'd better go to bed.

Quick Playfulness Update: The girls and I went outside to the grassy section outside our apartment and were delighted to find that most of the dogpoop that once dotted the grass had dissappeared! Yay! We played king and queen for fifteen minutes and "predator" for half an hour. Predator is basically like chase only the predator has to wear a Ukrop's bag. This particular bag has a giant friendly vampire face printed on it (for Halloween). The girls can fit the handles over their heads so when they run they look like giant vampire faces on legs. The other cool part of predator is that you get to name the type of predator you are. Red-tailed hawk? Tiger? Shark? It's all good. Then the prey animals get to announce what they are. We were mostly bunnies and mice.

Finally, Vivian is FAST.

Christmas eve shenanagins

The next order of business was Doing Christmas Eve with Richie's mom's sister's family in Chamblee.

We all got dolled up. I wore rollers for the first time since early childhood. Mazie and Vivian were all dolled up in the lovely dresses their Nana helped them pick out. Richie and Poppy were freshly shaven and smelled nice.

Aunt Faye and Uncle Billy's house was packed with her kids and their kids and their kids until you couldn't turn around without bumping into a Hood or a Gunn. Our girls immediately sensed the party atmosphere and proceeded to go haywire. There were other haywire kids present, so we didn't feel as bad as we ordinarily would have.

About ten minutes after we arrived the other little girls changed into their new leotards. We didn't have a leotard for Mazie or Vivian, who desperately wanted to be wearing something black and skintight, but we had providentially put them in black tights. We thought it best to let them do as the Romans do and strip down to their undershirts and black tights. (Not that the Romans did that particular thing.) That explains why Mazie is dressed like a homeless elf in the picture where she's hugging the indoor blowup Santa.

We got back to Nana and Poppy's around 9:45 and hastily performed the pre-Santa rituals. We hung our stockings and put out cookies and milk for Santa and some celery for the reindeer. Do reindeer eat celery? Of course they do; they're vegetarians. Besides, we're out of carrots.

It was a sweet Christmas Eve.

Scoping Files

Okay, so Richie and I took Tuesday the 23rd to go peek around the Emory area to see what it was all about. On the way we encountered Darth Building, pictured here. Can you find it?


Next we looked very cool. Can you find the pictures of us looking very cool?

Then we swung by Emory's campus and peeked around the inside of the deserted School of Medicine. Almost deserted, that is. There was one solitary student studying in one of the lounges, sipping soup as he pored over a book. I felt a little badly for him, but I was a little bit jealous also.

The SOM is absolutely beautiful inside and out. I couldn't believe how nicely the school has catered to the needs of students: lockers with names on them, two fridges and a full kitchen...there are amazing labs and facilities I couldn't go into, but I know they didn't play when they built that building.

Then we went on foot to the apartment complex we found online. It's about a 20-minute walk from the med school. It's called Emory Woods and the online reviews say it's great for the money (cheap!) but it has roaches (blech!). So we decided to take a look. The fact that EW was built in the fifties means that they didn't skimp on windows. The place had a homey, run-down feel. It's surrounded by some of the nicest neighborhoods in Atlanta and is populated mainly by Emory students.

Foremost, it feeds to an excellent school, Fernbank Elementary School . We stopped by and gave its playground a test drive. The girls loved it. There are no photos because it was so stinking cold the day we went we practically froze to death so we didn't think of preserving the moment in pictures.

That's all! Over and out!

Heavy Post Regret

I've been stewing on some heavy posts, but I keep remembering how stupid and negative I feel after I publish something half-baked about the world's problems.

So I'll just tell you all about our trip to the Atlanta area for the holidays.

These photos depict:

1. the floorboard where my feet should fit but which seems chronically filled up with junk that I think I may need on the trip. Any other mommies have this problem? Solutions?
   
2. Anna (the doll) on the dashboard. This cracked me up for some reason. But now that I upload it I can see it's a tiny bit disturbing.
3. Mazie with Gigi
4. Vivian with Blue blue

...safe in Georgia. This trip was mainly to spend Christmas with family and to check out the area around Emory. We were able to do both!

Vehicles Whizzing By

I composed the following post while in the ATL area over the holidays:

ZWAM! ZWISH! ZWOWWW!

Anybody familiar with the Atlanta area can immediately recognize these onomatopoeias as the collective sound of cars whizzing by at speeds that don't care for pedestrians. I mean, I admit that we're on their turf just by virtue of being within a thirty - no, fifty - mile radius of ATL. We seem to have been on foot but near fast cars a lot this trip.

That's probably because we spent a lot of time exploring Decatur and Druid Hills on foot. Now I have enough familiarity to see a location on a map and relate it to my sparse Atlanta knowledge. The area right around Emory is amazing. For those unfamiliar with Druid Hills, Candler Park, Inman Park, and Decatur - they're full of immaculately-maintained homes that are as well proportioned and often as well maintained now as they were in their heyday. The scale seems intentional as opposed to slap-dash. It's close to the culture centers in Atlanta. The Emory area seems like a great place to live if you can afford it.

We attended church in Druid Hills and went to lunch afterward with friends. We Did Christmas Eve with Richie's extended family, which was A Hoot. What a sweet crowd! Highlights include seeing that Richie's Uncle Billy, who has recently begun chemo for lung cancer, remains spunky and sweet as ever and seeing Cousin ("Uncle" according to Mazie and Vivian) Randy who visited from Indiana.

Additionally, Richie and I got to celebrate the 8th anniversary of our first date at a Waffle House (American Hibachi) near the one we actually ate at on that first date. And, wouldn't you know it, Waffle House seems to be exempt from GA's smoking ordinance! No patrons were smoking, but copious smoke wafted from the "bunker" (since the food prep area is right out front, there's no other explanation for the enclave in back). Some institutions will never change. It's slightly comforting in a persistence-of-culture-over-ordinance sort of way. But I hate smoke and I happened to welcome the ordinance.

Today we went to Pigeon Hill to visit with some old friends and get into the outdoors. On the way back we got turned around and ended up at the infamous Barrett Parkway exit, home to every chain restaurant and mega store imaginable. When I moved to Kennesaw in 1991, Town Center Mall had just been built. Now it's grimy and gray and has had to be terraced to accomodate the explosion of Chili's and Jared Galleria and grownup playgrounds that has mushroomed since then. At first it was amazing, then it got irritating. Now it's dirty and difficult to navigate. One of the difficult things about Metro Atlanta is that its economy is retail-based. I realize that Atlanta proper is a seat of government, of media, and of commerce. However, it seems the chief product of this place is the amalgam of retail cornucopias that devastate a landscape and, I would argue, add little lasting value to the people who patronize them. Then people need houses with extra space for stuff that people got at Jared and Haverty's and Bed Bath & Beyond (and, in my case, REI and Barnes and Noble and (most embarrassing and I'm really biting the bullet and being honest here) J.Crew)).

Now I want to go ahead and confess that there are things I want - embarrassing things like new lip gloss and a certain cut of jeans. I'd love one of those Kitchen Aid mixers that come in rockin' colors and mix your stuff while you scurry around the kitchen doing other things. I have to wage inner battles with myself to snap back to awareness that stuff doesn't matter and my good old mixer and same old jeans will be fine. Having had these conversations with myself, having protected myself from many types of advertising, I feel wary about shopping. Nevertheless, I totally swung by KB Toys and got some sweet deals on plastic horse sets and plush dinosaurs this week. Heck, Richie and I got as close as we get to a spending spree at Hobby Lobby - so in ecstasy were we over the types of paints, yarns, fabrics, and doo dads - all 30% off.

I forget what it's like here until I come back. There's more shaking here than in Williamsburg. Anybody surprised?

More importantly, I can't afford to wag my finger at retail culture when I participate. However, I would welcome and would gladly participate in a shift in America's economy toward lasting products that create lasting value. A widespread public rail system, initiatives to relocalize food production, and old-fashioned American manufacturing come to mind. Green energy production and infrastucture also seem like excellent places to spend our effort.

I have been devoutly, if not vocally, anti-consumer for a long time. This has meant trying to squeeze the most ethical purchasing choices possible out of a modest income. So we do the green cleaning product thing, we buy in bulk, we try to make Christmas gifts, we used cloth diapers, and we buy 80% of our clothing from the thrift stores in town. (BTW, If you don't do these things, that's okay; I point no fingers. The choices we've made against the mainstream have been difficult to varying degrees. Conversely, if there's something you'd like to see on that little list, then I'm sorry, but we may get to it later. Please don't judge us and we won't judge you). Unfortunately, my anti-consumerism has manifested primarily as feeling guilty. And for a long time I've wished that we Americans would suddenly realize that spending more than we earn on non-durable goods doesn't make much sense for anyone.

It has only been since the economy has turned south that I realized that the vast momentum of the economy requires massive restructuring in order to turn any corners at all, let alone execute the U-turn I imagine. Furthermore, I hadn't realized the economic spasm financial institutions, retailers, and chains of support would be thrown into by such profound shifts. I'm not suggesting that curtailed shopping is responsible for the economic downturn; I know it's only a symptom of the larger mess. I'm only saying that even a healthy economy would have a difficult time shifting from producing a million apparel choices to producing state-of-the-art grain mills.

I am well aware that practically everyone else on earth besides me would prefer apparel over grain mills. Consumer choice is the blindfolded mechanic that's built the colicky juggernaut that is our economy. That's way too much awkward metaphor for one sentence, so I'll quit before I commit any more crimes of composition. Just know that these things are on my mind. I consider purchases carefully (partly in thanks to the ever-honest PearBudget.com). Finally, one challenge of Atlanta culture is its half-crazed embrace of the consumer economy.