The wheel keeps on turning

I've been neglecting Toddler J on this blog, so here's an update:

J's language skills are finally progressing. I made audiology and speech pathology appointments for him for the first of December, and then, suddenly, he began using more words and mimicking the ends of our sentences and repeating words on command, all the important developmental steps. So I think he was just waiting for me to be really serious about getting him tested, and then he decided it might be time to start making some progress. Shades of interactions future, perhaps?? His language choices are still, umm, eclectic? For example, the first word he learned after I made the appointments was "cookie" in honor of Cookie Monster, his favorite Sesame Street character (tied with Elmo, of course). Or, when we ask him what we should call the new baby, he says "Blue!" loudly every single time. The new kid on the block may be cursed with this as an informal nickname!

Sadly, J's new language skills are flowering at the same time that his pleasant disposition is becoming a victim of the terrible twos, a bit early. Hooray..... So, we are spending large chunks of time each day getting frustrated with each other as he says...something...very emphatically...and I try...fruitlessly...to understand him. Then he has a meltdown, full tantrum on the floor, sobbing as if his life is over. Then I distract...or not...and we move on until the next time. Our only salvation, besides Sesame Street, is Caillou, our French Canadian imported cartoon that makes him giggle out loud. Caillou is a double-edge sword, though, because stopping the DVD is also cause for a tantrum. But then, what isn't? Or we can read Dr. Seuss books, his current favorites, but only if he decides he wants to, and he is very emphatic about when reading is an appropriate activity. Before naps and bedtime, fine. During the day? Only when he's ready, thank you very much!

J is obsessed with all things mechanical, but his special love is school busses. He still uses the sign for "bus" instead of speaking the , and his fist is raised in the air each and every time he sees one. He then asks after we see a few "many?" and I tell him how many we've seen so far. The other day we saw 34 on one trip to the store. It was nirvana for J! Counting is hard for J, of course, since he only knows the number two. Not one, just two. So he counts like this: "two, two, two, two, two." It's cute but doesn't get him very far! He is in love with our friend's 4 year old daughter, has learned her name and everything, and I'm pretty sure his love reached its zenith when he saw her get off a school bus!

He's also become very demonstrative lately. J wants to give lots of hugs, even to the new baby in Mommy's tummy. (We're teaching him already to be gentle so the hugs are subdued and careful, a good precedent.) His most recent hugging variation is to insist on hugging both of us at once if we happen to be close enough to touch the other when one of us (usually the husband--kid is HEAVY) is holding him. It's very endearing!

Perhaps because of his lagging language skills, perhaps because he is our child, J is VERY expressive with his face. His wealth of facial expressions is mind-boggling, but not as uncanny as the moments when he imitates the husband perfectly. Usually he does it unconsciously when he is around the husband, and seeing the two of them with the identical expression on is almost more than I can take some days! Heaven help me--what if I have yet another of the husband's mini-Me's?

Then where am I to go?

Ohmigosh, things have gotten so bad I am fantasizing about food. My body, now constantly hungry and never satisfied, what with my inability to eat fat, is making my brain crazy (yes, that statement is absolutely biologically and psychologically accurate. Move along; nothing to see here) and leaving me with food fantasies that occur at the most inopportune times (read: all the livelong day). Today's desires include Belgian waffles with strawberries, ice cream (I know, I couldn't have that anyway--I didn't say they were realistic visions but fantasies!), and whipped cream, samosas like they make at this dive of an Indian place in Delaware, a giant hamburger with lots of pickles and mustard, and chocolate pumpkin bread pudding (I've never even seen a recipe for this, let alone had it before but doesn't sound yummy?!). Then there are my general, everyday longings, most consistently for onion rings and a turkey Subway sandwich. Oh, and I could really go for some sweet potato soup made with lots of cream and brown sugar and some pie of any kind and some chocolate and desserts galore and and and and AND!!

Really, this "diet" is driving me crazy!!

Review me baby, one more time

It's review time again! We now have a whole new disclaimer, provided by the folks over at MotherTalk themselves, those lovely people who have asked me to do this review. There it is, below*, verbatim, so take that, FCC! (All this bravado is just for show. I am really quite in favor of the FCC's new rules for bloggers. Hear that, federal types? I love all that you do!)

Our book for this outing is Lakeshore Christmas by Susan Wiggs, the latest volume in the Lakeshore Chronicles, one of several series of Wiggs appears to have written. (Full disclosure: I've never read any other of Wiggs' works, though there appear to be quite a lot of them.) To be perfectly honest, at first glance, I was inclined to dislike this novel. Wiggs' other works, besides the Lakeshore Chronicles, are characterized at either "Contemporary" or "Historical" romances. I'm not really a reader of either of these, so I entered into this novel with great trepidation.

However, I was pleasantly surprised. I think I would characterize Lakeshore Christmas as the perfect airport or airplane read, and I mean that as a compliment, truly. In my opinion, a successful airport read needs a few key elements: it should be absorbing but not require too much close attention; it should move quickly toward resolution, the sort of book that can be finished in a few flights; and it should meet the reader's expectations. Lakeshore Christmas fits all three bills.

The story begins (and ends) exactly where one might expect, even if all one has read is the book jacket. On one side, we have Maureen Davenport, late 20's "prim librarian" who loves Christmas with a passion. On the other, we have Eddie Haven, "recovering former child star" who has, to put it mildly, issues with Christmas. A series of events lands the two of them side by side, co-directing the local Christmas pageant. Maureen is crushed and Eddie is ambivalent about this development, but both soldier on, more or less willingly, and hijinks ensue. Well, perhaps "hijinks" is a bit too peppy of a word. Don't get me wrong; the novel is snappily plotted and moves along rapidly, with just a few pacing hiccups (you know the sort: too slow here, too quick there). But what happens is a pretty standard story. Girl meets boy, girl dislikes boy (but, this being a romance, girl is nonetheless attracted to boy and vice versa), obstacles occur, obstacles are resolved, happy ending. I won't tell you the ending, but, as I said, this being a quintessential airport read, you can really guess the ending from the moment you start reading.

What is not standard about the novel are the odd references to angels sprinkled throughout the narrative. The angels are more literal than figurative, even more oddly, but the angel references, even the presence of actual angels, are never really fully resolved. This lack of resolution left me a bit unsettled, not enough to dismiss the novel out of hand, but it was still strange. In fact, I'm still not sure what the point was. Perhaps if I read more of the Lakeshore Chronicles, I might understand. Or, more likely, these angels were a special gift of the season just in time for Christmas!

So, the next time you're in the mood for a good airport read that asks nothing of you other than a willing suspension of disbelief, pick up Lakeshore Christmas. If you're disappointed, it will not be my fault!

*I wrote this review while participating in a blog tour campaign by MotherTalk on behalf of Lakeshore Christmas and received a copy of the book to facilitate my candid review. In addition, Mom Central sent me a gift card to thank me for taking the time to participate.

I'm a ghost to scare you

Finally, documenting Halloween....
Painting pumpkins: J turns out to be an abstract artist.
The first incarnation of J's costume at the church Halloween party: Danger Mouse minus the cape.

Being reverent, as usual.
Danger Mouse with cape and the husband, Captain Emulsion.
Trick or treating, with a little help.

When they come for you

And now for a big surprise...or not so much, actually. It's a boy!! Yay! We, of course, greeted the news with the fantastical, whimsical reactions for which we are generally known: the husband breathed a sigh of relief that he wouldn't have to learn how to wipe front to back, and I was ecstatic that I didn't have to buy a new wardrobe and enter the frightening world of barrettes and ponytails. I mean, we would have been happy with a girl, of course, but I feel much more confident with another boy. I haven't broken Toddler J yet, right?? (Let's just ignore that whole lack of speech thing, shall we?)

So now begins the great name game. The seminary boys have started generating "helpful" lists of contenders. Today's list included Orangelo, Poindexter, Ivan, Chucko, and Han Solo. I told them to go ahead and brainstorm all they wanted and we would write them all down...so I could then burn their lists. They understood!

Meanwhile, the husband is embarking on his own list making, telling me which names Toddler J responds to while he's changing his diapers. So far, J seems to like Justin and Tyler. Are we having a Backstreet Boy? I am thinking Toddler J might be out of the decision-making process as well.

Not that I have any great ideas of my own. I think we used up all our brilliance with the first one. So now, the well is dry. Any suggestions??

Minor bathroom details ahead. Consider yourself warned.

Toddler J confounds me. His latest maneuver is baffling. A few weeks ago, he started to want to sit on the potty before his bath and at random other times during the day. Now, this was happening WAY ahead of my ideal schedule for potty training him. As you can imagine, I've got this all worked out, timed around the next baby's arrival, switching to a big boy bed, etc., etc., etc. There's a plan, people!

To which, Toddler J says a resounding "Phooey!" Within a few days, he was peeing in the potty fairly regularly before his bath. Okay, fine, it's a novelty. Whatever. Only then, a few nights ago, he started motioning wildly while in the tub, and when we gave in and got him onto the potty (which we now have to do two or three times per bath, because it's SO MUCH FUN!), he peed and pooped and was so dang proud of himself. As well he should be, of course, but what about my schedule?

No, really, if I have to trade language skills for independent potty training, it's a fair trade...for now. He's been keeping it up fairly regularly since then, so huzzah for him. And for us, sure, but, as I said, it's confounding.

And, you know, par for the course!

Feed me, Seymour

More cooking triumphs: this weekend, as I was searching around for a dish that would use up my GIANT eggplant, use only ingredients I had on hand, and, simultaneously, be appropriate for a church potluck during the Sunday sessions of conference, we stumbled upon moussaka, essentially Greek lasagna. After consulting many recipes online, we settled on this one (I know, from Martha Stewart, no less! Never thought I'd be using one of hers). But, this being me, we made some significant changes.

Whereas her recipe calls for one to peel, chop, boil, and then roast the eggplant (making a huge grey mass, I'd imagine), instead we sliced our eggplant thin, salted it with kosher salt, and then covered it with paper towels. We stacked the baking sheets full of eggplant and then loaded a piece of concrete on top of them to press out the excess juices. (Yes, we have a foil-wrapped piece of concrete in our kitchen for times just such as these.) After 20 minutes or so, we removed the paper towels (and the concrete), brushed the eggplant with olive oil, dusted off the majority of the salt, added some pepper, and then broiled it until brown on both sides. Then we layered the eggplant into the casseroles both under and on top of the meat mixture, making the dish even more lasagna-esque. We also added garlic powder and a little more cinnamon than called for (it came out fast!) and no fresh parsley (because we didn't have any). We also omitted the feta (because it's not good for the pregnant person), doubling the ricotta instead. Oh, and we added dried parsley to the ricotta for color. We should also have added salt, to make up for the missing feta, but live and learn. Finally, we treated ours like a make-ahead casserole, assembling it in the morning and then heating it at 350 degrees for 45 minutes. Yum yum yummy, people!

In addition, my new obsession is Mark Bittman, chef, NYT food columnist, PBS denizen (with Mario Batalli and Gwyneth Paltrow in tow, no less), current culinary hero. I just got one of his cookbooks (and now want to buy them all), Kitchen Express, which is filled with 404 seasonal recipes (101 for each season) that take 20 minutes or less. This week I made White Bean Stew, a tasty and fast concoction of garlic, white beans, ham, canned tomatoes, oregano, and spinach served over toasted slices of french bread. It was delicious, fast, easy, and great as leftovers. My kind of recipe! His recipes are all conversationally written (add "some" salt, a handful of this, a bit of that, etc.) so not really for the neophyte cook (though their brevity might persuade you otherwise) but if you've had some cooking experience, the freedom from restrictions he encourages (he even supplies a possible substitution list if you're missing ingredients) is a breath of fresh air in the often overly precise world of cookbooks.

The sound of silence

This pregnancy has been weird.

Okay, I don't have a lot of comparisons, but this one has been odd even by those standards. First, there's the sugar thing. I was compensating for the lack of fat by eating more sugar, until it occurred to me that the killer headaches I was getting kept coming after sugar, specifically candy. When I stopped eating candy, the headaches stopped. Seriously? Seriously?!! Can I have NO vices?

Then there's the weight thing. Last time around, with Toddler J, I didn't gain weight much until after 5 months, so I'm used to not putting on the pounds right away (don't worry, after that, I once gained 12 pounds in one week. It wasn't pretty). But this time, what with the lack of fatty foods and much food in general, things are even stranger. My tummy and, by extension, the baby are growing, but everything else is shrinking. My pre-pregnancy jeans no longer fit, not because I can't button them (which I can't), but because they won't stay up on my hips. It appears, lacking anything else to eat, the baby is eating my thighs. And my cheeks. Both sets. I'm not complaining, mind you, but it's a very bizarre development.

And don't get me started on the sensitivities. The food aversions are the usual though annoying, but on top of those I appear to have a heightened sensitivity to sound. This is saying something; I can't handle sounds usually so an increased inability to deal with noise is crippling. And while I can't have sugar, my body seems to LOVE the sour. That Del Monte red grapefruit that comes in the refrigerated section? Might as well be crack! I can't get enough. And I don't even really like grapefruit.

Like I said, weird.

Something to talk about

Every once in a blue moon (the husband would likely argue it's much less frequently than that, even), I get the urge to cook. Once upon a time, I cooked all the time, but moving to SC, working full time, and then mothering full time has almost zapped the urge right out of me. So it's big news when I finally get into the kitchen and make something more than hummus and pita or the occasional crock pot roast (which really doesn't count, it's so easy).

This week, perhaps because the husband is away most nights studying and I need to kill more time than usual with Toddler J, has been particularly fruitful in the kitchen. First, I made steak and mashed potatoes with a special (read: I made it up) apple cider gravy. The gravy was a bit too salty (the result of indecision) but still tasty. Even J ate it. And cooking steak for myself meant I got to cook it exactly as long as I wanted (read: done with NO PINK!) without having the husband hovering over me, complaining about how I'm "ruining" the meat. Huzzah!

First, I made chicken and black beans with rice. I had chicken that had to be used and with a little cumin and chili powder and a can of black beans, it became yummy. I also made guacamole, which J loved (though I think he really just likes to be able to eat tortilla chips dipped in anything), my signature recipe: avocado, tomato, red onion, lime juice, and salt. El fin!

Next, it was a blockbuster day: pumpkin apple and pumpkin chocolate chip cookies, no-dairy squash casserole (my CSA zucchini made FIVE cups chopped, people. And I added patty pan, which was great.), and beef broccoli. I've never made beef broccoli before, though I've had it lots, of course, and all the recipes wanted me to use sherry or oyster sauce or other exotic ingredients to marinate the beef, but I'm not fond of marinades for quick cooking. So I made up my own recipe which used soy sauce, tamari, beef broth, and cornstarch combined with thinly sliced beef, a teaspoon of chopped garlic, and a bag of frozen broccoli. Couldn't have been easier or tastier!

Tomorrow I've got leftovers galore to finish, so I'll take a break. But later in the week, I see jalapeno poppers and fresh green beans with lemon in my future!

Patty cake, patty cake

Saturday started our informal fall family self reliance plan. When you live in Hurricane Alley, suddenly having a year supply of food and water starts to seem much more urgent than it ever did living on the East Coast.

First, I went to pick up my order from a bulk food distributor out West. An intrepid woman in the South has worked out a deal with these folks whereby once a year we get a discounted price and discounted shipping because we order by the container load and unload it ourselves. I'm using my order to augment the basics I get from the church cannery, so I picked up several kinds of dehydrated vegetables and dehydrated oils, the kinds of things that will hopefully turn my rice, pasta, and beans into something resembling meals.

Next, our community supported agriculture (CSA) harvest begins on Tuesday. This week, our haul could include the following: Arugula, Radishes, Eggplant, Yellow Squash, Zucchini Squash, Patty Pan Squash, Green Beans, Popping Corn, and White Sweet Corn. I see a squash casserole in our future, the first and perhaps only one this season (we ate too many last year!) and I will once again start my quest to find ways to cook eggplant that I like. The husband (and perhaps Toddler J) will eat any radishes raw, the arugula is easy to use up, and fresh green beans are fabulous. I never really did much with our popping corn last time around, but perhaps I will feel intrepid this time (there is some method involving a microwave and a paper bag and corn on the cob but I was always too chicken to try it in the past). And, of course, nothing beats fresh corn on the cob!

Finally, next month I will head back to the cannery in hopes of rounding out my year supply. I need to calculate exactly how much I need, particularly of things like milk that heretofore have not been part of our diet much but now we will need to keep Toddler J and Baby X alive. I've got a handy dandy estimate for necessary servings (thanks Becca!), so most of the legwork has been done for me. Now all I need to do is learn to make bread successfully, and I will be all set!

I'll get my coat and bumbershoot

Updates in brief

Health: still nauseated, though not as often, though I have exchanged the frequency for more violent vomiting sessions that come upon me unawares, not a very equitable trade. I also picked up some virus the husband must have brought home from the hospital, a flu-like illness (but no fever so no swine flu) that has wiped me out to the point that the husband had to take a day off from work to take care of Toddler J while I slept. I met with the surgeon to decide about gall bladder surgery, which, for various reasons, we have now decided to delay until after the baby comes. Umm, yay?

Toddler J: he has a new tricycle, a Radio Flyer model that comes with a detachable handle for parents to steer until he can learn to pedal, which he can't do yet. If we are not outside, he rolls around the house all day, pushing with his feet and learning to steer until someone hears his pleas and takes him out for a walk. He is learning signs more and more rapidly and learning spoken words much more slowly, painstakingly so. But the increase in signs mean our communication becomes more nuanced every day. On a recent Sunday, for instance, halfway through the first hour of a two hour meeting, he turned to the husband, made the sign for "all done," and then marched for the door. Clearly, the child knows what he wants! He has also discovered a picture song book popular in both my house and the husband's when we were children, and all Toddler J wants us to do is sing certain songs over and over again. He particularly likes one about rain that mentions a "bumbershoot" because really, who doesn't think that word is funny?

Church: seminary continues early and apace. Our students this year have discovered new ways to aggravate us, and we've shared those with their parents, resulting in some harsh words all around, but I think things have finally calmed down a little. It still seems awfully early to be getting up at 5:30am, especially now that J can sleep until 6:30 if given his druthers, but what can we do? Relief Society is moving into the busy season, as I call the time between the start of school and Christmas. I sent out an email listing all the activities/meetings between now and the end of October, and there were eight, almost all of which I will be attending, not to mention presidency meetings every week. Sigh! Luckily, November is less busy, because December is full, full, full!

Busy little bees we are!

We have heard on high

So, now that the cat's out of the bag about the bun in the oven, regular blogging can begin again. Commence!

It has finally, FINALLY cooled down here in the sultry South and none too soon. Today, Toddler J and I ate yogurt out on the back porch because it was so lovely out, and he finished it all, a record consumption for the last month or so. He's in a strange food period: he has a big appetite but only wants to eat at certain times, most often NOT meal times, which is inconvenient, to say the least. And probably unhealthy. BUT, I'm not feeling the mealtime love much either, so we both end up snacking all day long. A clementine here, apple slices there, raisins over here, assorted crackers and cheese in this place, fluids all the live long day, some bites of pasta, some toast, etc. etc. etc. All of which makes monitoring his overall intake somewhat sketchy. Of course, as anyone can see, he LOOKS healthy, robust even, so no one is really worried about nutrition, but I would kind of like to stop the grazing in favor of establishing better meal habits. I'd also like to, you know, stop being sick and eat like a normal person myself, but it seems as if both these things have an equal likelihood of happening!

I once had a friend who had a son about the age J is now. One day, as he was cavorting around in the grass, she noted that she was finally becoming friends with her son and it was so much fun. I thought the comment was odd at the time, but, looking back now, I'm not sure why. Did I think it was odd that she wasn't already friends with her toddler? Did I think it was odd that she was becoming friends with a toddler? I honestly can't remember, but, now, I'm pretty sure I get what she meant. Toddler J, at 19 months old, has been developing quite the personality for some time now, but it's only recently that I've started to see that we are actually becoming friends. It's a bit one-sided, of course, but a little nascent friendliness is definitely there.




And it's because J is quite the little character. He is less independent than he once was and has developed the habit of grabbing my hand to lead me where he wants to go during the day (most likely because he's figured out that getting me to move lately takes physical force most times!). His favorite places to go are the back porch (so he can run around me in circles, his latest activity of choice out there), the guest bedroom (where we read a certain dinosaur book with which he's obsessed, the only kid's book in that room for some unknown reason), and the front room couch (where boxes stored behind the couch make a perfect launching pad for him from which to jump on to the pillows piled on the couch below). He has a new "surprise face" that he pulls out when he wants to make me laugh, along with his signature crinkled nose and closed eyes of anger and/or distaste, a delightful expression I refer to as his vampire look (it's just like Angel or Spike when they turn into vampires on Buffy). We are still negotiating about discipline since J feels like he should get his way whenever he flashes this face, but at least now it's (usually) a friendly negotiation!

While washing the clouds away

Woe is my blog, ya'll! I'm lagging far, far behind in blogging and have come to the point where other peoples' lives (which I read about in their frequently updated blogs, emails, picasa albums, facebook updates, even good ole letters) are becoming more real to me than my own. I am that starved for narrative!

And it's not like nothing has been going on here! Only, it's just like that. Nothing has been happening. A big, fat pile of nothing. Or at least, nothing good. No, wait, that's not exactly true, there is something good but with a lot of bad side effects....perhaps I should just cut to the chase, hmmm?

I'm pregnant. We're more than 3 months along and due in early March. Yay!? No, really, we're very happy about the new addition, promise! Well, we're happy. Based on Toddler J's reaction at church yesterday while I was holding another baby (lo the screeching and wailing), he may be less than enthused about a new addition, but I'm sure he'll adapt quickly. What we're all not happy about are the immediate results of the blessed event.

We found out we were expecting the day I was supposed to be scheduling surgery for my gall bladder. So they quickly nixed the surgery and sent me on my way. Then I scheduled a visit with my OB and sat back to wait for the sickness to begin. I was hoping it wouldn't, of course, but my history told me it would come, inevitably. What I hadn't bargained on was the complication of the gall bladder. Turns out, my already pretty substantial morning sickness is being aggravated by the gall bladder nausea, to such an extent that right now we are all thinking second trimester gall bladder surgery might be our best bet.

So, to sum up, here's what's been going on during blog silence:

--Vomiting. Copious amounts.
--Sleeping. Not nearly enough.
--Lying on the couch. Often. All day long, actually.
--Bemoaning my firstborn's lack of stimulation. From me.
--Ignoring guilt and my dirty house. Again and again.

Wash, rinse, repeat. It's so bad that my acupuncturist, the earth mother herself, delicately asked me "are you planning on getting pregnant again?" and then showed obvious relief when I said "Heck NO!" Some people are born to be pregnant. I am not one of them. Any additional children will have to come from someone else's womb. And that is perfectly fine with me!

It's review time again!* This time, we're covering a young adult book, Daniel X: Watch the Skies by James Patterson. You know him, right? The author behind the Alex Cross books and the recently made into a (failed) television series The Women's Murder Club books? Patterson has recently shifted from adults to teens and entered into the world of young adult sci-fi. Indeed, this is the second book in the Daniel X series, following The Dangerous Days of Daniel X (2008). I've been able to read both volumes and since they're virtually indistinguishable, I'll be talking about what happens in both in this review.

Let me explain. In brief, Daniel X is an alien alien hunter, a 15 year old sent to protect humans from all the evil aliens out there intent on destroying or conquering Earth. In addition, he is especially concerned with a constantly updating "List" of the baddest alien baddies, particularly number one on that list, "The Prayer," who killed his parents, also alien hunters. As an alien, Daniel has special capabilities, mostly having to do with his mental powers of projection. He can create and maintain substantial seeming visions of his parents as well as his four best friends, each of whom, while projected, operates like a real being with powers of his or her own. In short, he comes equipped with his own small army of helpers, all perfectly designed to complete particular tasks. And, because Daniel is just masquerading as a normal high schooler, he also gets to play with his classmates' minds occasionally and convince them that they really want to read Silas Marner. (Patterson seems to get some sort of special glee from making obscure literary references most likely not appreciated by his primary audience members.)

The books are billed as "page turners" and the fact that they are filled with super short chapters, most less than a page long, helps create the illusion, perhaps convincing if you are a teen-aged boy, that you are cruising through this book at a rapid pace. In addition, the language is certainly accessible to a young reader, though I wondered if Patterson's attempts to be "hip" were, in fact, limiting the shelf life of these books. Slang that is au courant today is often woefully outdated tomorrow, and teen readers are most discriminating when it comes to declaring things decidedly UN-hip. In fact, at times I found the author's use of slangy interjections distracting; it seemed as if Patterson were working overtime to assure that his readers don't forget how "cool" this character is. Most of the 15 year old guys I know, including the five I see every morning at class, would be quick in real life to dismiss someone who was trying so hard, and I wonder if their reading preferences might not work in exactly the same way. In addition, the plots are a bit thin; both novels seemed essentially the same to me. However, all that being said, I do see this book as being a good fit for someone who has had trouble with reading for pleasure (or for school, for that matter) in the past. Even a slower reader could finish both these volumes in no time at all and feel a sense of accomplishment.

Patterson is nothing if not a workhorse, and he churns out books with abandon. Sadly, the Daniel X books, at least so far, show some signs of having been written in a flurry. On the one hand, Patterson's goals are noble: he has started ReadKiddoRead, a website designed to help parents and educators encourage reading in children and teens. The easy to navigate site is filled with book recommendations divided by ages and subjects, along with author interviews, a newsletter, and changes to win t-shirts. However, it seems, again, as if Patterson is trying a bit too hard to make his latest series be a part of the "almost can't-miss sure shot book for boys" list (and yes, his books are included in the list, though the recommedations come from someone else). While reading, I kept thinking Patterson was writing more of a screenplay than a novel, with passages that seemed expressly designed for making into an action sequence in a movie as opposed to developing plot or character. On the other hand, these qualities contribute to making these books both zippy, entertaining reads for the younger, more reluctant reader set, and, ultimately, these are the readers Patterson is trying to reach. On that level, at least, I would say he succeeds.

*As usual (particularly given the new FCC rules in the works), full disclosure: I received a free copy of this book for reviewing and will receive a $20 Amazon gift card from Mothertalk once my review is posted. I have not been given any parameters or restrictions regarding the content of my review, and any opinions expressed here are my own.

Bottom feeder insincere

Forsooth, Delta, though I have loved thee in the past, today I do not love thee; let me count the ways:

--Thy decision to delay our flight on the tarmac in Florence for 45 minutes for "flow control" in Atlanta and then, after our 42 minute flight, to delay us in the air for another 40 minutes did not fill my heart with joy.

--Even though thou madest a good decision to hire Steve, the gay (as in chatty and, well, gay) flight attendant for the trip from Florence and even though he slew the mighty wasp inside the cabin armed with nothing more than a SkyMall magazine, his heroics alone were not enough to compensate us for all the delays.

--The speed, or should I say lack of speed with which you returned our gate checked stroller tried my patience, particularly given that our connection was now boarding even as we waited, because of all the afore lamented delays.

--The employee who met us after we raced to our gate and told us the gate was closed even though the plane was sitting there and the pilot had his window open and we could see our very own luggage making the flight that we were prevented from reaching added insult to our injury.

--The information that we had been rebooked for another flight at 7:00am, 12 hours later, made me want to throw down more than a proverbial gauntlet and call thee to arms post haste.

--The pitiful offer of the chance to get on the stand-by list of a flight leaving in three hours was, again, most insulting.

--Let me not even discuss the anxious waiting to be assigned a seat on a flight that had 31 people on the standby list...it is too painful.

--There does exist a special kind of hell on the last row of a 44 row plane, when the seats do not recline, the air conditioner is not working for the entire flight, the galley light stays on the entire time, and the captain is in a chatty and VERY LOUD mood.

--And, finally, when we arrived in SLC, we knew our bags were already there, having seen them loaded onto the flight we were not allowed to board, and, yet, when we asked at baggage claim, no one knew if they had been unloaded or not. Sending the husband off to check, then confirming with another agent that, in fact, the bags were most likely NOT unloaded, then sitting there, doing nothing, and responding with "well, I'm waiting for your husband to come back to make sure" may have SEEMED efficient, but really, it was just lazy.

--Subsequently letting me and my stroller and baby into the baggage room and then leaving us there alone necessitated my leaving my child in the room alone while I hauled a bag out in hopes of finding my husband walking by all unawares. I did pass two other agents, one who glanced up at me and then ignore me entirely, another who tried to close the exit door on my while I was in the doorway, which I found to be most rude.

In short, or long, as the case may be, whilst Delta was once my most beloved of all the airlines, you have now slipped precipitously in my esteem. The rift between us may be permanent, I'm afraid. But then, clearly, you don't care about that at all, now do you?

If I ever lose my faith in you

We're on our way to the husband's motherland today, ready or not. And actually, we are pretty much not ready. At all.

You see, I've been really sick the past few weeks, and so my normally crack planning and packing have been missing. Which means that we leave here in two hours and we are not packed and the house is not even close to being ready to leave and I'm having a bit of an anxiety attack about it all. (And so I'm blogging, of course!)

Luckily, it's not like we're going to Timbuktu. They have almost everything we need somewhere in Utah, if (when) we do forget something. All we really need to have are the essentials: Toddler J, snacks and activities for the plane, car seat, stroller, and our various medications. Everything else is replaceable, more or less. And I vow as of this minute not to worry about it at all once we get in the car and take off.

In the meantime, the husband is having an anxiety attack of his own as he contemplates getting not just Toddler J through the flights but me as well. So wish us all luck!! And bon voyage...or something like that.

Kiss them, love them, hug them

We've created a monster.

Our pediatrician left us with some not so thinly veiled threats at J's 18 month well baby visit. She decided, given J's limited expressive language abilities, that if he wasn't learning and saying a new word per day by October, we would be forced to take steps, such as hearing testing and screening for the dreaded autism. All this despite the fact that he completely passed autism checklist we filled out during that visit showed zero warning signs. All this despite the fact that J's comprehension of words is vast and his ability to respond to language, both verbal and physical, shows no problem areas. All this despite the fact that J can hear an airplane far overhead, a dog barking three blocks away, and distinguish between the sounds of the garbage truck, the husband's motorcycle, and every other car on the street. I think she is trying to drive me crazy!

But we were cowed enough to try something, and we decided to go with Baby Signing Time. I argued that even if he didn't come up with more words verbally on her time line, perhaps that fact that he communicated in sign would mollify her a bit. Assuming, of course, that he learned to communicate using signs.

Well, the results were dramatic. The day after watching the first DVD, J learned the sign for "time." Subsequently, he learned "eat," "more," "bird," "book," "wash hands," "soap," and "clothes" in rapid succession. Suddenly, he was able to ask for more chocolate milk, tell me when his shirt was wet, and point out birds on the porch. It helped that right about this time he also learned to nod yes. Our whole world of communication has expanded in a flash.

Unfortunately, there has been one unintended side effect of our methods. Heretofore, J watched little to no television, the occasional 5 minute episode of The Pink Panther on Hulu or bits and pieces of Burn Notice while we ate notwithstanding. However, now that he has realized that there are kid-oriented shows out there, all he wants to do is watch DVDs. He uses the sign for "time" exclusively to request the signing time videos, and he starts requesting them as soon as he wakes up. And he keeps requesting them...ALL DAY LONG! At night, in my nightmares, I hear the songs over and over and over again. It's almost more than I can bear. But hey, he's communicating, so it's worth it, right? RIGHT????

Return to Sullivan's Island Review

It's review time again, ladies and gentlemen! This time we're going to be talking about Return to Sullivan's Island by Dorothy Benton Frank. As always, full disclosure first: I received a free copy of this book and a $20 Amazon gift certificate (which I assume comes after I actually post this review!).

Here in the Lowcountry, the island and coastal communities surrounding Charleston, SC, "Dottie" Frank, as she's known more familiarly, is a bit of a local legend. Her first novel, Sullivan's Island, talked about a family who lived and loved on the real Sullivan's Island, sandwiched between the coastal community of Mt. Pleasant and the Isle of Palms, all just up the coast from my own James Island. Subsequent novels were set on other nearby islands and have been hugely popular around here. Frank herself inspires both adulation (local SC historian and radio personality Walter Edgar could hardly contain his adoration when he interviewed her on his show) and hatred (some of the local bookstore employees where she does periodic readings can't stand her), the kinds of strong feelings one might expect to swirl around a local girl made good. As for me, I've never met her, but I have heard lots about her and was excited to read Return to Sullivan's Island, a sequel of sorts to her first novel. Sadly, this book was a disappointment, in more ways than one.

When I was in grad school, learning to be a literary critic, one of my professors decided my colleagues and I were taking the idea of "critic" a bit too far when we never had anything positive to say about anyone we read, no matter who they were or what they'd written. She introduced us to the idea of the sympathetic read (her words) and challenged us to find the admirable, the worthwhile in what we were reading before we tore it apart. In that spirit, I will say that Frank does an excellent job of evoking local color in her novel. She refers to actual people and places, weaving them seamlessly into her narrative, creating a verisimilitude that must be the hallmark of all her novels, given their popularity with the locals. Her acknowledgments revealed even more real people than I had suspected were mentioned in the novel. In addition, she refers repeatedly to local customs and peculiarities, island quirks only a native would know or appreciate. Some of these references Frank explains for the uninitiated, but many she simply mentions as an aside, a kind of covert message to the faithful.

However, the novel is uneven in many places, particularly with regards to character and story development. The main character, Beth, a recent college grad, continually used anachronistic terms. In one moment, she would refer to her "Tina Fey glasses" and someone being as cute as Robert Pattison. In another moment, Beth would make observations that could perhaps make her seem wise beyond her years but really made her seem as if she was channelling a retiree in unnatural ways. It's clear that Frank is trying, a bit too hard, to create a "young" character, but Beth comes off less as hip and more as unnervingly inconsistent. The only consistent element of Beth's character is her tendency to flip flop disconcertingly between commonsensical actions and wildly ill-considered decisions. Perhaps this is what Franks herself thinks of the young?

The story itself suffers from this same kind of schizophrenia. Beth is forced to return to watch over the family home while her mother goes away to Paris for a year. (This island abode, by the way, is called The Island Gamble, with the "the" capitalized 80% of the time, oddly.) The novel chronicles her time there, during which she encounters, in no particular order, love, friendship, career development, swindling, murder, ghosts, the FBI, fraud, drunkenness, and a makeover. Yes, you read that list right. Frank is nothing if not ambitious as far as plot goes, but the narrative seems forced, particularly at the end, when fantastic events pile onto each other at an ever increasing and increasingly implausible pace. The ghost story interwoven throughout the narrative is one of the most forced of all the story elements. I believe this plot point is another of Frank's attempts to weave in local color, but she never explores the ghost(s) or their messages enough to justify their presence.

I had been looking forward to doing this review and perhaps reading more of Frank's works, but now I think I have had just about enough of Sullivan's and all the rest of her islands. They clearly have an appeal for a certain (I would argue, older) segment of the populous, but they're really not my type.

When the one you leave

I've been having a yucky sort of week. Here are the highlights....such as they are.

The husband shanghaied me into playing on his work kick ball team. I started this blog after our last kick ball, umm, adventure, but let me sum up: while he was a resident, he played kick ball with his fellow residents. Basically, everyone else drank A LOT and played abysmally and got stuff stolen out of their cars (we didn't play in the best neighborhood). It wasn't my favorite time. This time around, things are at once slightly better and slightly more aggravating. This time, we WON our first game (color me shocked!), though I was the abysmal player this time around because, well, I'm not all that athletic, people! In between fielding, I tried to keep J from drinking from the cold shiny blue cans of beer left on the ground and stealing drinks and snacks from the other little spectators, all girls. Luckily, one of their mothers watched him while we were on the field, because my services were so necessary I was only able to sit out one inning. All in all, it still wasn't the best time one could imagine. Go figure!

I've also been feeling kind of yucky. Chills in the evenings and hot at night. It's disconcerting, particularly the chills part. I mean, it's a million degrees here, and I'm shivering, putting on sweaters and piling on blankets. I'm lucky we have a thermometer in J's room, or I would be convinced he's also cold, when, in reality, his room is usually a toasty 75 degrees.

I braved the water park again today with J, after a short hiatus after he freaked me out so much with his baby death wishes. And things went relatively well, until he went through the blasted partially submerged tunnel, jumped out the other end, and ran away from me. As I sprinted up and down the steps that separated us, he fell down in the water and by the time I got to him, a seemingly never ending 20 seconds later, pushing small children out of my way, he was sitting on the bottom of the pool looking up at me and gulping in water. I scooped him up and helped him cough out the considerable water he'd inhaled, and then we both sat quietly on the side of the pool while he recovered and I got my heart rate back to normal. Then we went to get a life jacket, not that they help much since he hasn't yet learned to keep himself upright. SIGH!

Blah, blah, BLAH!

I think I'm in left field

We're going to Utah this summer, a trip to let J see both sets of grandparents more than once in a year. And, since the recession has hit the travel industry especially hard, we are also going for the Christmas holidays. (We got an awesome fare for that second trip, even better than the first, but we have to travel on Christmas Eve--Fa la la la la!) J will see some of his relatives three times in one year! He won't know what to do with all the love!

So, right now I'm planning for our first trip, because that's what I do. Plan. A lot. In advance. (Regular readers of this blog are nodding sagely at this point.) This trip will not require the mammoth planning that London entailed, of course, but there are still details to be worked out.

One of those are our outfits for a family photo. We're doing jeans and a different color on top for every family. I chose green for us because, hello, duh! The husband and I wore green in the other family's pics a while back, and though we both no longer fit in those particular shirts, we both have green shirts a plenty because I am me and he is married to me. So I thought this would be a piece of cake.Enter (bigger and bigger) J. When I pulled out all our various green options and compared them with J's various green options, I realized one sad fact: baby green is a whole heck of a lot brighter than adult green. It's like our two sets of clothes were on a completely different end of the green spectrum from his. Everything that matched for us clashed with him miserably.

But I felt for sure this could be done and relatively cheaply, too, so I hit the kids consignment store and bought three green polos that surely would match something we had. And they were all cheap and adorable...and didn't match a thing. So then I decided I needed to do this in reverse: have us match J rather than the other way around. I got serious and employed one of my favorite tactics: overbuying and mass returning. It's a simple plan, really. One, buy all the seemingly suitable green clothes you can find in one mad dash around an outlet mall (or shopping spree online, as the case may be, or, you know, both). Two, bring/ship them all home. Three, lay everything out in the best natural light I can find. Four, compare colors and hope for synergy. Five, return everything that doesn't work. Done and done!
Right now, we're at step two. I'm waiting on an Old Navy package to add to my other purchases. Things are looking good so far, but we're not quite there. It turns out that clothes for men and clothes for little boys have less in common than you'd think or at least than I would think. J and I have some pretty close matches, but similarly outfitting the husband is proving to be my sticking point right now. But you know me; I'll keep you posted!

I can see all the obstacles in my way

I have finally faced facts: I need glasses. Not some of the time, not just prescription sunglasses (which I have had forever, thankfully), but all of the time. So I can, you know, see clearly in crucial situations like while behind the wheel of a car at night. Ahem.

Ever the alert shopper, I accosted a woman in a store months ago and asked her where she got her very cute frames. She laughed and then said she got them online at Googles4u.com. Intrigued, I visited the site later on, when I remembered the address, and found that they are a mail order glasses site that charges, get this, $29.99 for a pair of lenses and frames, SHIPPED. Ever the bargain shopper, I quickly began filling my shopping basket with frames I liked.

Eventually, I got my eyes retested, the husband took a digital photo of my prescription and uploaded it to the site, and I moved from virtual shopper to actual shopper. I ended up getting multiple pairs of glasses at first and, then, two days later, I ordered some sunglasses as well when Destructicon J demolished my prescription pair without which I cannot live in the sunny South. The glasses arrived today, and my seemingly frivolous overordering proved to be a boon when TooTall J reached up and destroyed one pair while my back was turned trying on another. (At that point, we had some strong words--NO! NOOOOOO! NONONONONONONO YOU DO NOT TOUCH MOMMY'S GLASSES--and some tears on both sides.) Fortunately, the other pair fits perfectly, though J did manage to ruin the green ones (OF COURSE), much to my chagrin.

Indeed, I'm pleased as can be with the glasses all around. The prescription is accurate, the frames are light and stylish, and they fit well. I have every expectation that the sunglasses will be just as successful. The husband came home the first night I was wearing them and said to J "The part of Mommy will now be played by Tina Fey," which is a compliment of the highest order! Now all I have to do is break myself of the habit of removing my glasses when I go inside (because heretofore I have only worn sunglasses, you see) and find a new way keeping my hair out of my eyes since I can't just push my sunglasses up on my head any more!

As the men made of stone

I went to see the gall bladder surgeon this week and, for multiple reasons we won't get into today (such as past and present medical history and the like), we are opting to control my gall bladder disease with diet for the time being. If things get really, really really bad, then we will revisit surgery sooner rather than later, but, in the meantime, it's all about a new and improved diet. Sort of.
You see, for the uninitiated, the gall bladder goes crazy with bile when you eat fatty foods. So, to limit the (over)storage of bile and the subsequent stones created from that bile and a lot of other nasty stuff, you need to avoid fat. Sounds easy, right? Oh, silly silly goose!

Yes, you need to eat a low fat diet, and, first, you should avoid greasy, fried food like the plague. This is a slightly easier task if you're not Mormon and don't live in the South, but whatever. I can persevere here. Oh, and especially no Chinese food. The doctor said 75% of the attacks she sees are triggered by eating Chinese food. Yikes! Second, you need to watch the fat in your dairy. Check. I hardly eat any dairy, of course, and what I do eat is always fat free and lactose free for good measure. Third, you need to watch your saturated fats, such as those found in red meat. Again, not too many problems here. We eat red meat about twice a month, if that. I'm all about the chicken and vegetables, people. So far, so good, right?
Unfortunately, there are lots (and I mean LOTS) of other foods that trigger attacks for many people. Among these (and the list is shockingly long) are pork, eggs, beans, onions, corn, carbonated beverages, artificial sweeteners, oranges, and nuts. Wait, what?! Hold on a second, eliminating these foods seriously hampers my default meals, which are hummus and pita with oranges, scrambled eggs with onions, lemon berry slushes from Sonic, and Crystal Light (at times, this is a meal, 'cause it's really hot here, my friends, and sometimes you just don't feel like eating in that kind of weather).

So, my plan is to try out eating these foods alone and check which ones cause problems. (I'm already suspicious that I may not be able to do beans, after a church function where we had a tasting menu made of recipes featuring beans. The dishes were great, but I felt some ominous twinges whilst eating that stopped as soon as I did, thankfully.) I'm most likely going to avoid talking about my experiments, except when they fail, and then only because I have to keep track. Fun fun fun for everyone!

So lost without you

The key to summer with (should I really be referring to him now as Toddler?) J has become supplies.

In my trunk, I now carry (or should be carrying: some of these items are in a pile ready to go to the car again) an extra package of diapers and and of swim pants, a stroller, a beach chair, an extra towel, a swimsuit for me, a cover-up for me, and assorted beach toys.

In the back seat, I now carry J's suit with built-in swimming vest (I just take it off and leave it on the back of the seat to dry when we're through), assorted back-up sippy cups, bags of heatproof snacks (we're fond of goldfish, pretzels, and animal crackers), a change of clothes for J, and light jackets for both of us (in the vain hope that it might be cool enough to wear them ever again).

In my bag (which was sold as a purse at Land's End but is HUGE and great for my purposes), I carry my stuff (wallet, calendar, phone, meds), a ziploc bag with diapers (and wipes, diaper cream, benadryl pen, and neosporin), sunscreen, all natural insect repellant (because while I am afraid of hosing J down with DEET regularly, we live in the South, people, and I am not afraid at all to hose him down with a mixture of geranium, cedarwood, and citronella oils when necessary), a filled sippy, more snacks (including applesauce and/or sweet potatoes in plastic containers and a spoon for meal-time emergencies), an extra pacifier, and retractable crayons. For church, I just switch the ziploc over and add toys and books and more snacks for keeping somewhat quiet in Sacrament.

With these provisions in hand, J and I are ready for anything. Sadly, we're missing a camera right now; mine died an untimely death. A new one is on the way, but here are some shots to tide you over until we can document all of our well-supplied summer adventures:

Wind, wind, wind the thread

It's been a while since we've had a (less and less of a) Baby J quirks update, so here goes:

Whereas once we despaired of ever discovering J's verbal ability, in the past month or so he has increased his vocabulary by 75%. Of course, don't get too excited: this means he has progressed from one word to FOUR WHOLE WORDS! Yes, yes, yes, let the celebrations begin. Once all we had was "Daddy." Now we have expanded to "Oh oh," "no," and "yum yum." Beyond these paltry pieces of communication, J is still quite verbal, but his preferred method of communication is an expressive series of emphatic grunts, sparing use of high pitched squeals, and a range of imperious hand gestures. As one acquaintance put it, "He really talks with body language, doesn't he?"

On the other hand, J is quite adept at listening and understanding now. I have really felt for the first time in the last few months that we are actually understanding each other most of the time. When I tell him to go find his shoes and I think they are in his room, he usually beats me there and has already located at least one. When I tell him to clean up his toys and put them in their baskets, he quickly starts to do so. When I tell him it's time to put on sunscreen on bug spray, he obediently holds out his arms. Having a responsive toddler makes a world of difference in our interactions! For example, here is J playing on the stationary coin-operated car:


Here he is after he saw some other child get to ride a moving vehicle and insisted he be able to do the same: (We're still working on dealing with the unexpected consequences of our actions! The moving vehicle turned out to be not nearly as fun as he had anticipated.)

J has also become quite the routine lover. For example, every morning at a time set by him alone, J walks over to one set of our floor length curtains in the great room, tugs on them, and grunts in my direction. He wants me to tie them up, and as soon as I do that window, he walks over to the next one, tugs and grunts, and waits for me to arrive. He the proceeds to the next window, always in the same order, always with the same routine. Peril to the person who wants to upset his routines! You want to close the laundry room door without lifting him up to turn off the light? Silly, silly you! You want to go through the front door into the house without letting him ring the doorbell? Are you crazy?! You want to get him out of bed in the morning without tracking down every one of his pacifiers that have fallen during the night? What kind of hotel is this?! He is also quite insistent on your turning on or off stand alone fans when he passes them, bringing his own high chair into the kitchen if you plan on being in there for any length of time doing something he can't see on the counter, his sitting on one particular rug when you put on his shoes, and your helping him put anything he deems trash in the trash can immediately.

Discipline has become a big experiment around our house as well lately. For the longest time, J just laughed when we said no. Now, he instantly sticks out his lip and cries, the strength of which episodes usually increases in direct proportion to the strength of the admonishment. While the crying is annoying, I'm considering it progress, because at least he has realized that we are not kidding around any more. We have also implemented time outs, following Nanny 911's strict guidelines. J only has to stay in time out for a minute and a half, in accordance with his age, and the acts that most often get him sent there are pinching, biting, and pulling hair (we are raising a demon some days). At first, time out were a total failure, then, all of the sudden, all on his own he stayed put in the arbitrary corner to which we sent him, wailing the whole time, but quite contrite when we came to get him. I'm not sure he is connecting his actions with his imprisonment, but we're baby stepping, people!

It was always burning

We are starring in our own suspense thriller over here. It's called "Attack of the Gall Bladder!"

Scene 1: Young wife and mother returns from the chiropractor wondering why her stomach hurts. Assuming it must be gas, she takes steps to alleviate the symptoms and puts toddler to bed.

Scenes 2-20: A montage of shots of wife succumbing to increasingly severe pain, writhing on the bed, couch, floor, in the shower, where ever, trying to seek relief. Somewhere in here, toddler wakes up from nap and many shots include him staring quizzically at crying, supine mother while eating fruit snacks and playing with his toys.

Scene 21: Wife calls husband at work, saying something is wrong, two hours have passed with no relief.

Scene 22: Action shot of husband flying home on motorcycle. Husband walks in door, assesses wife's condition, brings her clothes to get dressed in (she hadn't managed to get redressed after the useless shower), picks up toddler, and rushes everyone to the emergency room.

Scenes 22-25: Loooong wait in the emergency room for wife, loooong attempts at amusing toddler outside for husband (luckily, there was a clown and snow cones outside, randomly, which helped immensely). Wife gets increasingly sick as the emergency room fills up with three people elderly people in wheel chairs, four large women with invisible ailments, one woman talking loudly about how her fiance was showing too much concern about her visit to the ER for diabetic reasons, because it wasn't like they were married yet or anything, one blind man, and several upset young men, relatives of other patients, who cursed out the receptionist several times.

Scene 26: Wife finally admitted to a bed. Husband comes in with toddler then leaves again to have him run through the halls after toddler calls the nurses several times inadvertently and disconnects wife's monitors. Various nurses and PA's arrive, all asking the same questions. Blood is drawn (by the more experienced nurse, after the less experienced tried multiple times and got scared). Finally, the one in charge, Crispin, decides we will have an ultrasound. But first, pain meds and anti-nausea medicine.

Scene 27: The pain meds work wonders! Wife is finally calm, though she forgets to breathe and is put on oxygen. Husband arrives just as toddler throws up (too much snow cone). Wife suggests dad call a friend to come get toddler since it appears they are here for a while. Wonderful friend comes and takes toddler away (and keeps him the WHOLE night--Thanks, Becca!).

Scene 28: Wheelchair arrives to take wife to ultrasound while dad is gone sending toddler away. Wife stands up and in promptly overcome with nausea and dizziness. Wife is not happy.

Scene 29: Darkened ultrasound room with wife fighting nausea and student tech fighting to read the monitor. Long scene.

Scene 30: Wife returns to ER, very nauseous and strangely hot. Crispin arrives and says wife has a gall stone. Gall bladder should be removed, not immediately but soon. Sets her up for a surgical consult.

Scene 31: Crispin and husband argue over meds to prescribe wife. Husband succeeds in getting Crispin to change all his prescriptions to drugs the wife tolerates better.

Scene 32: Husband and wife decide she needs more pain and nausea meds via IV before leaving. Nice nurse obliges rapidly.

Scene 33: Husband goes to get the car. Nurse talks to wife about discharge instructions (already given to husband). Wife falls asleep in the middle of nurse talking (pain meds are VERY effective). Husband comes to get wife and they all go home, some five hours after arrival.

Scene 34: Much improved wife blogs about it all.

All along the water, baby

For once I haven't been posting because we've been having all sorts of fun adventures, so let me give some updates.

Earlier this week, we went to Bee City, an exotic animal farm and apiary about an hour from here. On the one hand, the trip was great: lemurs ate cheerios out of Baby J's hands; there were wallabies, cavies, assorted monkeys, alpaca, llamas, foxes, and ferrets (mysteriously either hiding or escaped), not to mention assorted donkeys, shetland ponies, goats, turkeys, chickens, ducks, koi, goldfish, pheasants, turtles, snakes, and, of course, bees; many of our friends joined us (or we joined them) for the adventure; and we ate some good road side food in their little cafe (cheeseburgers, grilled cheese, and South Carolina bbq--yum!). On the other hand, the bees of Bee City were disappointing, with only one glass hive to inspect and not a lot of educational materials in evidence; the animals' pens were extremely muddy, making us wonder if the owners had permits for all these creatures; and even though they host school groups, the owner was extremely nervous about the 15 or so kids we had with us, ranging in age from a year to 13, which was alarming for everyone involved. It was a fun trip, not something we'll do again but worth one trip.

Later on (that same day, actually, because we're so cool), we went to watch the Charleston Battery play, our local semi-pro (?) soccer team. The stadium is on Daniel Island, a chic resort island with a manufactured downtown that is only semi-populated, as is the island as a whole. It's an odd scenario; makes you think you're in some sort of Twilight Zone episode. But the stadium itself is very nice, intimate, you're right on top of the field. Not that I really care all that much about soccer. I spent most of the night talking to friends and, after a few minutes of interest, J spent the rest of the night running all over the bleachers. But we all had fun and ended the evening exhausted.

The rest of the week, J and I have been crowning ourselves king and queen of the water park. J loves the fountain features best of all, tolerates the lazy river about twice per visit to humor his mommy, is fearless about walking right up to and into the water regardless of depth, and wants, in theory, to go down the water slides but wasn't able to until when we went recently with his beloved friend Becca. He was all smiles going down both the open and closed slides like a big boy. The lifeguard declared him "a natural." (The lifeguard also said he never measured to see if children were above the 30" height minimum--J was, of course--saying "if they want to go down and they can walk, I just let them go." Perhaps someone should let Brock the lifeguard know there is no direct correlation between walking and swimming abilities...)

Tune in next time for more thrilling exploits! OMG, it's so exciting!

Life has new meaning to me

Over the last few months, I've been on a bit of a self-improvement kick. It all began around the time J's first birthday came and went and I still, STILL hadn't lost most of the baby weight. The child was walking, for crying out loud, so it seemed like my "he's still a baby" cover was blown.

To be honest, I've had mixed results across the board. As far as weight loss goes, that has been mostly successful, thanks to Weight Watchers and the Destructicon's vigorous schedule of running headlong into danger. I have been a bit perplexed by the fact that as the number on the scale goes down, my clothes don't seem to fit all that much better, since the new and improved post-baby body may weigh the same as the pre-baby body, but all the weight seems to have migrated to new places. And, I'm sort of regretting my heady days of tossing too-small clothes a while ago when I was frustrated with my weight, since now most of them would fit. But whatever, that's a small matter. The larger matter is that all the weight is gone! Huzzah!

Next, I cut my hair. The intent was just to get it shorter, but then I chopped off a TON. I was getting excited! But I really like it now and may, in fact, get my hair trimmed more regularly to keep it this length. A whole new world after my "cut my hair every 8 months or so" past.

Then, I was on to my teeth. Ever since high school, my front teeth have broken and been repaired more times than I can count. Essentially, all but the roots were fake and done by multiple dentists at many different times. As my current dentist pointed out in his oh-so-subtle way, my two front teeth were, consequently, "not very aesthetically pleasing." So he suggested bleaching and then reshaping the front teeth. Bleaching was fun...ish. Trays, gooey bleach, a yucky half hour process over the course of weeks, yadda yadda yadda. Then the tooth reshaping was...not fun. When we were done, the result was all about the aesthetics (it took my perfectionist dentish two and half hours to get it perfect, including redoing them half way through because he wasn't happy with the "asymmetrical midline." Umm, sure.). However, I felt and talked like Bugs Bunny. I'm convinced the teeth are slightly too long for my mouth, causing me to lisp just a little bit and making me feel like a rabbit. But I'm working through my issues to see if I can adjust or do need a bit taken off the bottom and the back. I go back and forth about this but since only a week has passed, I'm going to grin and bear it a bit longer and see. However, as everyone has said, the teeth LOOK great! My singing career is over, however, natch!

We've only just begun

Summer is officially here, ya'll. The temperature has reached into the 80's and decided to stay awhile and then climb higher. The humidity is still toying with us but appears to be deciding it might like the looks of the 80's and above as well. Hurricane season has begun. Baby J's black car seat is always toasty warm, even hot and we've begun to play a fun little game with dire consequences called "don't touch the metal fasteners!" And J has started to find all sorts of new ways to make me sweat.

We ventured into our first pool with the new flotation suit today, and I have no pictures because I didn't have a free hand. After two tentative steps into the pool, looking confused and cold, J decided he thought the water was fun and virtually threw himself in. Thereafter, I spent the rest of our short visit trying to save his life. His suit is great, but his muscle control is lacking, so when he tips forward, he starts to drown, pretty much immediately. He enjoys tipping backwards and semi floating on his back, but most of all he wants to be upright, though his limbs won't quite cooperate with him. Our friends at the pool had all sorts of inflatable pool toys with which to experiment and doing so has told us that water wings are useless at this stage for him while a small inner tube/ring wedged around his flotation suit makes him remarkably stable. We also learned that J needs water toys of his own or else he melts down into a LOUD pile of quivering, crying goo if he can't have everyone else's. The pool was lovely and mostly shaded in the shallow end, so neither of us got sunburned, which was great. Just in time, I purchased my summer waterpark pass last night, so once we get a ring of our own, we will be ready to while away many hours in the water, him floating around lazily, me practicing baby CPR in my head.

For we have raised a child who is unafraid of anything. Ever. Even the vacuum, which comes the closest to scaring him, he treats like an obstacle he just has to learn to overcome, almost daring himself to get ever closer to it each time we turn it on. But everything else, like giant pools of water, for instance, is just thrilling. For example, we went to the husband's work party on Saturday, at which they had a jump castle for kids and adults. We all went in together at first, and after maybe three bounces during which he looked a little concerned, J bolted away from us and began bouncing all around all by himself. In fact, we literally had to pry him out of the castle every 20 minutes or so to force him to drink and cool down inside. Even when one of the pharmacists turned the castle into his own private trampoline, using his full body weight and all his jumping skills to toss everyone around, J rode the wave in the middle of the castle, acting like he was a professional surfer or skateboarder, shifting his weight to counterbalance himself like a pro. At one point, he also climbed all the way up the 12 foot slide, wedging his fingers into the crevices on the side of the slide like a free climbing mountaineer. We thought for sure he wouldn't make it, but he was like Spider Baby, suctioning himself to the basically vertical slope while hanging from his little hand holds. The other kid his age at the party was very timid, sticking close to his parents and remaining leery of the jump castle, particularly the slide. Lucky, lucky parents. My child, on the other hand, also figured out how to climb up the soft ladder leading up to the slide on his own, because that's just the kind of groovy explorer he is!

And it's only June 1st!!

The things I should have said

Dear City Sanitation Department,

Thank you for making trash day, already exciting because of the big blue garbage trucks, even more special by following the garbage trucks with an orange front loader picking up oversized garbage and depositing it into yet a third big truck. My child's cup runneth o'er. Now, if you could just explain to me why a child being raised by me seems to have developed, all on his own, a fixation with large-wheeled construction vehicles, I'd appreciate it.

Sincerely,

Happy but Confused
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Dear Manufacturers of Flotation Suits for Toddlers,

How is it that your market research did not tell you that putting an easy access zipper in the front of your life jacket was a bad idea? It took Baby J all of 10 seconds to figure out how to unzip his, thereby making the entire device completely useless, not to mention dangerous.

Incredulously,

Water Baby's Mama
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Dear Kitchen Cabinet Designers,

Why don't you just go ahead and put handles on the inside of lower cabinets so little boys who like to climb in them and shut the doors after themselves won't have to squish their fingers?

Gratefully,

Future Secret Annex Mother
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Dear Child Protective Services,

Please disregard the state of my child. He got attacked by mosquitoes and is allergic to them, just like me. Hence the welts on his legs. And he falls down a lot, honest. Hence the bruises below the knees. And he falls on concrete sometimes, as well as on our brick steps. Hence the scrapes on his shins and elbows. And he doesn't look down, ever. And he's really into running right now but not so into stopping. And he may have inherited my inability to navigate my way through space successfully, the only thing he has inherited from me so far besides my hands. And that gash on his face? Umm, would you believe he fell into the door frame and found a jagged, unsanded edge and ripped open his cheek? Because that's actually what happened. I swear!

Fearfully,

Anonymous

I feel a little bit terrible

The husband has a new post up you should go check out before you continue reading. Go ahead; I'll wait....

I was feeling all sympathetic for my poor husband, who was feeling so sad that he made Baby J sick...until I saw the pictures. And then I thought, "How could anyone not look at those faces and think, 'man, this child doesn't look like he's doing so well!'" Especially that second one! J is practically SCREAMING I am about to throw up all over you! Sheesh!!

I mean, I guess we've been somewhat spoiled. J was not a child who ever spit up. I mean, I think it happened a handful of times early on and then that was that. And he hasn't had the flu or food sickness or anything yet (where is that wood so I can knock it!). So, one could argue that the husband is simply not familiar with a child who gets ill. One COULD make that argument, that is, until one saw the photographic evidence.

And why is there even photographic evidence to begin with? This is perhaps the worst piece of the story. "Umm, honey, I made the baby sick. It was so sad. But I got PICTURES, so it's all good!"

Ahem.