Farewell, sweet Phoebe

This weekend, my sister and her family had to say goodbye to their 13 year old black lab, Phoebe. She was also known as the miracle dog in their household. Three years ago, she was diagnosed with cancer. At that point, my sister and her husband made a decision not to treat the cancer, instead letting her live out what were thought to be her final few days at home with her family. Somehow, she bounced back. Time and again, she rallied after each and every complication. Every time I saw her I figured it was our last time together. But then she kept surprising me! She had certainly slowed over the last three years, and started to look like an old dog with her gray beard and stiff joints. But she was always up for chasing a ball, and even when we were at our cabin last summer she somehow found enough energy she to spend the day jumping off the dock into the lake chasing sticks.

I'm feeling especially sad for my niece and my nephews. I remember so clearly what it was like to lose a pet as a child. They don't know life without Phoebe. She was like one of their siblings.

Farewell, sweet Phoebe. I'll miss you!

Radioactive

Have you ever been told to bring two pieces of buttered toast to a doctor's appointment? Well, neither had I...until today, that is. Have you ever had to eat a radioactive egg? Me either...until today. See, I've had problems with my stomach since, well...pretty much always, and I finally decided that maybe I could see a doctor about it (novel idea, I know). So now I have to have a bunch of tests (although I don't expect it's anything serious), most of which I'll not elaborate on, but today's was so unique I couldn't let it pass without saying something.

As directed, I didn't eat or drink anything this morning, and brought my two pieces of buttered toast to the clinic. I was then given a hard-boiled egg that somehow had isotopes in it (I don't understand, and I'm not sure I want to), and instructed to eat all of the toast and egg (I made a nice little sandwich) and drink a can of orange juice. I then spent the next hour-and-a-half periodically standing in front of some sort of machine that tracked the radioactive food going through my stomach. It was actually quite easy and wasn't the least bit uncomfortable, but I still can't believe I ate toast and a radioactive egg at a doctor's office. Part of me feels like I'm going to glow in the dark when I turn out the light tonight.

GRETCHEN MEDICAL UPDATE

It was a day of clinics for us...following last night's little knife mishap, Gretchen decided that maybe a trip to the urgent care clinic would be in order. (It didn't help that she's much too squeamish to clean her own wound, plus she had no idea when she had her last tetanus shot.) Luckily she doesn't have to get any stitches, her wound is healing, and now she doesn't have to worry about another tetanus shot for 10 more years...

Don't give me no mess

Have you ever wondered what would happen when your wife hosts a happy hour for the other moms (and their kids) on our block? Well, tonight when I got home from work I found out:





They've actually been doing this monthly for quite a while now, taking turns at different folks' houses; it's great that we have a bunch of other young families on our block who we get along with really well. But I don't think I was quite prepared to come home and find that between toys, books, and dropped snacks, you really couldn't see the floor in either our family room or living room (and I'm not exactly a stickler for neatness). The truly amazing thing is that at some point when everyone was getting ready to go, some of the moms quietly and anonymously cleaned all of the toys off the floors (and Grady handled the snacks).

That was especially helpful because Gretchen only has use of one hand. I was feeding Mädchen when Gretchen told me she cut herself and needed to go upstairs...and was followed by one of our neighbors, who happens to be a nurse. When they finally came back downstairs, Gretchen was sporting his lovely number on her ring finger:



Her lesson learned? Always invite a nurse to your happy hours. So far, knock on wood, we haven't had to go to the emergency room...so we're keeping our (bandaged) fingers crossed that all is well in the morning.

ADDENDUM:

Whenever she has gone to these things at the other neighbors' houses, Gretchen has been in awe of the fancy drinks they would serve, so she was quite anxious about what she would be able to come up with, especially since we tend to drink wine and not much else. Finally she settled on an old classic, and one of our favorite aperitifs when we lived in Europe: kir and kir royale. The only problem was finding good creme de cassis...she got some at a liquor store, but when buying wine the clerk suggested using Chambord instead because the cassis you get here is nothing like what you get in France (duh!). Neither of us remember ever having Chambord, but when we saw the names of the drinks it's used in, and the ever-so-classy bottle it comes in--well, somehow that crappy creme de cassis didn't seem so bad after all...

I still miss it

March 25, 2007, we left Basel. Here we are, one year later.

A couple weeks ago, while having dinner with some friends, I was mentioning something about a friend of mine in Basel who just had a baby, and how much I wish I could be there. "So you still miss it?", I was asked. The truth is, I don't think I could ever NOT miss it. Not just Basel, but the overall experience of being an expat and living overseas.

This doesn't mean that I'm not happy to be here. There are certainly are advantages to living in our home country. And I've settled in quite nicely to my suburban-American-stay-at-home-Mom lifestyle (after some trying months a year ago during which I felt a bit isolated and lonely). But in some ways, the grass is always greener. Isn't there always something you want from that other way of life? As time goes by, it's easy to glorify everything from "where we used to live" and forget any of the negative stuff that went along with it. In fact, right now I'm having a hard time even remembering what the negative stuff was (other than being far away from our American friends and family and not being able to find good Thai food).

One thing is for sure... our daughter is no longer the little baby she was when we flew home a year ago. That was then (at 9 months)...



...and this is now (at 21 months). She will always be our reminder of how quickly time passes.

Namaste

I'm trying to find new ways to relax and de-stress, so tonight I started taking a yoga class (which should have added benefits in terms of flexibility, since I'm lucky if I can bend down and touch my knees). Gretchen offered the use of an old yoga mat that she had, which was great, but there was just one small problem...blazoned across the mat were these words: LADY FOOT LOCKER. So I had a choice between using that or using the mats they provide there that are used by other people all day long. Let's just say I'm guessing I was the first student in the history of the studio to show up for class with both a Lady Foot Locker mat and a Green Bay Packers t-shirt...

Things we learned this Easter

(1) That a mother's desire to dress her daughter in a cute, Eastery outfit can be very strong indeed...



...and (2) That while two Easter egg hunts can be a blast, a third Easter egg hunt may actually elicit a cynical reaction that you don't usually expect from a child who isn't even two years old yet.

Egging Her On

It was quite an exciting morning around here, as Mädchen participated in not one, but TWO Easter egg hunts. Not only that, but her Grandma was here to help...

One Step Ahead

After posting this on Monday, I saw this article in the Washington Post on Friday. Coincidence? I wonder...

How times change

Last night, my husband actually gave in to my daughter's request and turned off the Duke game so she could watch her favorite show, Teletubbies, before going to bed. I never thought I'd see the day...

Stuff White People Like

Thanks to Dave (a gay friend) for bringing this website to our attention a while back (although it really seems focused not on white people broadly, but more narrowly on the urban variant). Anyway, I've only poked around a little bit, but the first post I happened to see was #85...shortly after finishing watching season 2 of The Wire (which we got from Netflix on our Mac), while zealously trying to avoid any spoilers from the finale of the series, which just ended in the past week or two...

[NOTE: Just in case it's not abundantly clear and anyone mistakenly thinks I'm trying to make any kind of statement whatsoever, the site is tongue-in-cheek and I'm posting it solely for its entertainment value.]

Wunderkind

Mädchen attempting to eat blueberries with chopsticks:



(Actually, I suppose she would only be Wunderkind if she was actually successful...which she most definitely was not.)

Hope

I may still have to bundle up because it's chilly when I walk Grady in the morning, but daylight savings time has begun, and more importantly these appeared in our backyard last week:



Oh, sure, I'll be bitching and moaning soon when the oppressive heat and humidity of DC summer sets in, but in the meantime PLEASE LET IT BE SPRING SOON!

Preschool madness

I don't know what it's like where you live, but around here, parents are absolutely nuts about getting their kids into preschool. Last year, not long after we moved back, people started asking me if I had started looking at preschools. I thought they were kidding, considering Baby was just 10 months old at the time, and beyond that, I was staying home with her (as opposed to returning to work), so why would I be looking to enroll in a school?

Well, people weren't kidding. Most of my friends (including those who are stay-at-home Moms) have already been touring preschools, getting on waiting lists, and enrolling their toddlers (most of whom are now around Baby's age of 20 months) into part-time programs just to ensure a preschool spot later in their life. Up until now, I have been in a bit of denial about the whole thing. It just seems crazy to pay someone else to take care of Baby when we're making a financial sacrifice in order for me to be her full-time caregiver. Then again, I sure would LOVE to have some free-time, and I know how important it is for Baby to start feeling comfortable in settings without me being there.

So, long story short, Baby will be going to "school" next year. I've registered her for a Parents' Day Out program, which means it's just one morning a week. Lots of local churches house preschools that have these PDO programs, and once you're in, you're in. Meaning if I want to keep Baby at this preschool as she gets older I am guaranteed a spot. I suppose I could have done a bit more research into choosing the very best program and put my name on all sorts of waiting lists, but I decided, based on conversations with friends who've spent countless hours touring places and going to open houses and interviewing teachers, that I had found a good program that is very close to my house and there was no reason to look any further. I didn't want to stress over this decision. Lots of my neighbors take their kids to this place and are very happy with it. I don't HAVE to enroll Baby in a program, so I figured if I didn't get in, it was no big deal.

Thankfully, the registration process was fairly easy. After giving all the "in-house" families first choice at registering for classes, registration was opened to the public. On registration day, I put my name on a sheet of paper hung on the preschool's front door at 7:00 AM. Note: When I arrived at 7:00 AM, I was #25 in line. I wonder what time the 24 people before me arrived? Then I had to return to the preschool at 10:00 AM, and wait for my name to be called (in order of sign-up). Thankfully I was called at 11:00, so Baby and I only had to keep ourselves occupied in this church's chapel (where registration was being held) for an hour. And, thankfully, they still had slots available for the "Tuesday Twos", so long as I agree to co-op, meaning I have to volunteer in the classrooms about once a month. It was stress-free, and ended with a good result. Still, I had to register her in February, and "school" doesn't start until September!

When I was a little kid, on the days that my Mom worked, I went to preschool at Miss Betty's (at least that's what I called it, it was basically a woman's house, so probably more like a daycare than a preschool), and I can't imagine it was stressful for my Mom to get me "in" to this program. What has happened over the past 30 years making it necessary for one of my friends to be #85 on a waiting list-- just for a one-morning a week PDO program for a 2-year old? Is that crazy or what?!

Kitschmas

We don't necessarily have a lot of kitsch in our house, but not because I'm necessarily opposed to it (I obsessed for years about finding an authentic Swiss cowbell, for example...the purchase of which, by the way, was an outstanding decision, as was the ensuing decision NOT to buy a cuckoo clock in the Black Forest because that would be overkill). A little bit of well-placed kitsch, ironic or otherwise, can lend character to a house.

Which brings me to one of my purchases in Mexico:



Upon seeing this, Gretchen's immediate reaction was "we're not putting that in our house--we're not Catholic!" I tried to explain that it isn't necessarily a Catholic thing at all, and that of course it shouldn't be hung prominently but can rather be hung somewhere unobtrusive, but she's not having it. (Actually, I think the spray-painted gold frame, which was putting off some strong fumes when I opened it up, might have had something to do with her visceral reaction.)

The way I see it, there is probably nothing more iconic in Mexico (which I've already made clear I have a soft spot for) than La Virgen de Guadalupe (the Virgin of Guadalupe). It's not just a religious thing, either--there are social, political, and cultural dimensions that go far beyond religion. And her image is equally ubiquitous in Los Angeles, where I lived for several years and taught a large number of students whose families came from Mexico. On top of all that--and this is the real kicker--El Dia de la Virgen, or the Day of the Virgin, just happens to be celebrated every year...on my birthday! So it's obvious to me that she'll fit nicely somewhere in our house, Catholic or not. Now, if I only convince Gretchen...

Oh, #&*@!

Chances are the whole world has already seen these, but if not, they're worth a laugh. Evidently Jimmy Kimmel has a running gag on his show involving Matt Damon. So his girlfriend, comedian Sarah Silverman, put together this clever little video as a surprise:



To which he put together this star-studded response:

Dream House

Not that it is ever likely to happen seeing as how we can't even afford to expand our own tiny house, but this would be my absolute dream someday...

Losing that baby weight

This afternoon, a random woman at the playground asked me if I was pregnant. The answer is no, that's just my tummy. Seriously, has no one ever told this woman that asking about a pregnancy that doesn't actually exist is perhaps the most insulting thing you can say to a woman? I realize that our "baby" is now 20 months old, and that by now I probably should lost all my baby weight, but it's just never that easy. The worst part of it is that this woman had two young children of her own. You'd think she'd know the "never ask a woman if she's pregnant" rule...

At least I now have some added motivation to go to the gym.

Shake shake shake

We had to do a bit of re-arranging in our office to fit our new printer, one result of which was moving our stereo speaker woofer/tweeter from the floor to a shelf. This had one pleasant and unexpected side effect: if the music is loud and bass-heavy enough, my Padre bobble-head starts to bob his head to the music...

Book

I'm still reading at a snail's pace these days, but just got through a book I really enjoyed and recommend: A Long Long Way by Sebastian Barry. It's basically about Irish soldiers, and one in particular, fighting in World War I (I know all wars are horrific, but at least in print there seems to be something about WWI that makes it uniquely awful). At times it was hard to keep up not only some of the Irish expressions, but also the tangled history of unionists vs. nationalists (central to the story) in Ireland at the time. The book was often brutal and sad, but sometimes quite funny, and in any event beautifully written (which sounds strange to say for such a bleak topic).

Gol!

I don't know what's more impressive: this bicycle kick taken at full-speed (unlike the goal I posted a while back that didn't require such amazing timing), or that someone took the time and effort to set it to the music of Cher...

Oh, so true...

World According to Americans

This is just too funny...

Uh-oh

Ummm...that thing I said about my vigilance about health in Mexico paying off? Never mind...

Mexikanischer

Possibly the least likely place I saw in Mexico City:

Don't Drink the Water

I read a recent post by Global Librarian that mentioned what a hassle it is to brush your teeth with bottled water, and at the time I read it, I thought to myself that I didn't really remember it being that big of a deal when I've traveled places where using the local water was a bad idea.

Now, having spent a few days in Mexico City and trying to be vigilant about using bottled water...it really is a bigger pain in the rear than I remembered (even it if prevents a rather different pain in the rear...maybe I should just stop there). Luckily the hotel I stayed in actually provide a couple of small bottles of water for that purpose so I didn't have to worry about trying to run out and buy water, but it's still amazing how much water you go through each time you brush your teeth. Probably the hardest thing was just remembering. Brushing my teeth isn't something I usually give much thought to, but I found myself having to consciously think about not rinsing my toothbrush in the sink, which was oddly exhausting. It was probably made more difficult by staying in a nice hotel where it certainly didn't look like you had to worry about the water...at least in a fleabag hotel there wouldn't have been the temptation. At least, knock on wood, my vigilance has so far paid off...

Down Mexico Way

Despite having a hacking cough and no voice, and being in meetings most of the time, what little time I had in Mexico City wasn't too bad. I guess I sort of have a soft spot for Mexico...I grew up 30-45 minutes from the border, what little Spanish I can speak was the result of spending a couple of weeks at a language school in Guanajuato, I've vacationed there several times, I managed to drive myself safely through the chaos of Merida to Chichen Itza, etc. Despite the high levels of poverty, the corruption, the constant worry about getting ill (i.e., Montezuma's revenge), concerns about safety, etc., for me it has a certain shabby charm.

So, at least I had one afternoon when I was able to get out and explore a little bit. A few things make Mexico City difficult. For one thing, it's huge, so it's seldom easy to walk from Point A to Point B. Making this more complicated is that since every travel resource seems to warn you in bold letters that no one should ever hail a taxi on the street if they want to keep their money and/or their life, you have to give a lot of thought in advance as to how you're going to get around. Then, of course, there's the altitude and air pollution, which isn't helped by the crushing traffic...after walking for 15 minutes my throat was searing, my lungs were gasping, and my eyes were burning. Most of the few pictures I took on the trip ended up being lame, but this was what it looked like from the hotel:



On top of all that, when asking some of the locals at the meeting about ideas I had for the afternoon, they sternly warned that a number of areas were much too dangerous for me to walk around. In the end I took a hotel taxi to the Alameda park (which was nice), walked through the crowds to the Zocalo (which was actually a bit of a disappointment) and the cathedral (which was large and cathedralish), then walked through more of a working-class shopping district to the Metro, which I took back in the direction of the hotel. I never once felt the least bit unsafe, and while I don't doubt that lots of bad things happen, to a certain extent I think 90% of staying safe is just not acting like a stereotypical tourist with shorts, socks/sandals, camera around the neck, map in hand, etc. And probably the most interesting part was the shopping area because one of the things that's most interesting is seeing how people actually live their lives in any given city. If I were to return, I think I'd probably be a bit bolder.

Overall, it's not someplace I would say people should go out of their way to visit, but by the same token I'd say it's worth a few days if you have the option and you're feeling up to the challenge.