November photos can be found here!

October Photos

October photos are up! Click here for more.

September 2012

You can find September's photos at this link.

July's photos, though late, are thorough. Click here for all of them.

May 2012 Photos

Sorry for the delay, but here is May! Click here.

April Photos

April was a busy month! Copious amounts of photos can be found here.

March Photos

For this month's photos, click here.

February Photos

February photos are up on the Smugmug site here.

Charity Case

This past weekend, Shawn, Mae, Rei and I went to Dunkin' Donuts for coffee and, well, you know, some donuts. A few bites into my first donut, Reilly decided that she didn't like her chocolate milk and asked if I would get her a water.

While I waited in line, two men came in the door. The older man, a white guy with the same color hair, told the younger man, a latino, that he could have whatever he wanted. In broken english, the younger man said that he didn't know what to get, that he had never been in a Dunkin' Donuts before.

The older man suggested that he pick out some donuts and a coffee. The younger man said that he didn't drink coffee and didn't really eat much sugar.

The older man, a bit crestfallen, said that maybe he should have picked McDonalds. The younger man, seeing he had hurt his benefactor, backpedaled and said, yes, a donut is okay. And an orange juice.

Up a link

We have a playset out back that has two blue vinyl swings -- one for each girl. Every afternoon after school I push the girls on the swings until the mosquitoes come out.

Under Reilly's swing is a black strip of dirt where she has worn away the grass over years. When the strip turns into a crater, I move Rei's swing up a link. She's moved through six links now.

Just recently I noted a spot where Maeve's feet nick the ground, a patch of grass crushed flush to the ground; her first mark in the earth. I was hesitant to move her swing up its first link, knowing that once I did, there would be no putting it back.

Dregs, Part II

Friends from work who also do Parent Coffee saw this sign when they went around today.

The dregs

At the hospital I participate in an employee-only volunteer group that puts on "Parent Coffee." Every two weeks, I show up at the hospital at 7:15am, walk through the cafeteria and down a back elevator that takes me to the basement. Once there, I meet up with my volunteer partners Allison and Alison. Together we load up the cart with coffee and danishes, and head up to the patient floors. We do 7 south, 7 north, 8 south, 8 north and 5 south (Cancer, Neuro, Medicine, PICU).

The job itself is simple: we knock on each door, poke our heads in, and and ask the parents inside if they would like a cup of coffee. We get a lot of gratitude from a lot of very tired and very worried parents.

Of course, there is always another person in the room -- the patient, and though I have an idea why the child is in the hospital based on what floor he or she is on, I never know what I am going to see when I walk in that room; bald heads, IV's, NG tubes, sad eyes, frightened eyes, vacant eyes.

Every week, some patient sticks with me, a face or a scene that I can't shake. Some are with me still. This week, that child was on the Neuro floor. I knocked on the door and asked the mother there if she wanted a coffee. She said, "Oh God, yes." I went to the cart, got her a coffee and danish, then went back to the room. As I walked by the bed, I let my eyes linger for a moment and saw maybe a 8 month old girl, her head connected to a seizure monitoring device with dozens of electrodes. She looked up at me with bright little brown eyes and gave me a brief, gummy smile. She was playing with a little toy that lit up and made sounds when she shook it.

I am used to seeing sick kids -- that is the line of work I am in, and I am always amazed at the fortitude with which our patients approach their illnesses. For this child, however, I felt something different. At her age, she doesn't know she is sick, and she doesn't know she is in a hospital. Her lack of understanding frees her from the burden of her sickness, though it is sad to think that she has not yet entered the realm of understanding, and that she might not have the opportunity.

Soft and Sweet

Sometimes I rock the baby, and sometimes I use the baby to rock myself.

H - E - double hockey sticks

Tonight we were watching the Super Bowl over at Donna's house when one of our fellow game watchers (a Giants fan) yelled out, "WHAT THE HELL!"

Maeve, who has become quite proficient at repeating every word she hears, echoed back in her little voice "HELL!"

I guess if there is any time to utter your first bad word, it might as well be right after Madonna was on stage.

January Photos

This month's photos include a homecoming, a scratch off contest, and buddha getting a bath. Click here for those and more.

A little white whale on the go

Maeve, just like her sister Reilly, appreciates routines. One such routine takes place when I take Maeve to her daycare in the morning. Maeve is usually upset for some reason or another, be it leaving her sister, leaving her mommy or just generally having the morning crabbies. As I get her into her seat, I ask her if she wants me to play Baby Beluga, and this always calms her down and refocuses her attention. After I clip her in, I fulfill my promise, and Raffi’s voice fills the car. This keeps her happy until we reach our destination.

Lately, Maeve has been communicating fairly well with us, and this morning, when Baby Beluga ended she started fussing, and I heard her say “Baby! More!” I asked her if she wanted me to play Baby Beluga again, and she said, “Yes!”

I clicked the CD back a track, Baby beluga began, and Maeve, quite satisfied with the transaction, clapped her hands.

Can you please get your PJ's on?

One thing I have learned since becoming a parent: I really, really hate to repeat myself.

The King

Today I called the bank and was put on hold. The usual, “Your call is important to us and we will be with you in a minute” spiel came on every minute or so. About 13 minutes in, I was getting frustrated. Around 15 minutes, I came to a critical decision point: I could admit defeat and hang up, or hang on till the bitter end. I decided to stick it out. I wasn’t letting some bank queue outlast me.

At about the 25-minute mark, I abruptly hung up.

It’s Martin Luther King Day.

The bank is closed.

Co-pilot

This afternoon I got in my car and since it was warm from the sun, I rolled down the windows as I pulled away. It was the end of the workday so I was distracted and mentally tired and very ready to get home. As I pulled onto 4th street I hit the radio and hit the gas, and the cool afternoon air flooded the car and with a gust picked up a bougainvillea flower that Reilly has placed on my dash. The flower circled the cabin a few times before resting in the passenger seat next to me, and it was as if she was there with me, a little paper heart fluttering down by my side.

If you give a Maeve a cookie

This evening I was summoned to the kitchen by Maeve, who was standing in front of the pantry. She was pointing up at the shelves and whining for something to eat. Reilly used to do this when she was the same age, and it drives me as crazy now as it did then.

Since Maeve can’t tell me what she wants, I pick up item after item and say, “Do you want this?” until my increasingly irritated child acquiesces. In this case, I hit on the magic item after passing over the goldfish and veggie booty—it was the cookies.

I said, “Do you want a cookie?” and Maeve said, “Yes.” (I already miss Maeve’s old way of saying yes, which was a Jersey-ish “Shyeah.”)

I gave Maeve a cookie, and then she said, “Reiree?”

And I said, “You want a cookie for Reilly too?”

And she said, “Yes.”

I gave her the cookie and she dutifully walked it into the living room and handed it over to her sister.

Shawn, from the other room—overhearing it all—said, Aww!

A Christmas Story

When I was in elementary school, the administration would host a little holiday fair every December where the kids could shop for presents for their parents and siblings. Most items were under $5 and included a mishmash of inexpensive and mostly useless knickknacks.

I don’t remember anything I bought for my family, but I do remember feeling very smart and independent as I carefully chose the gifts for my family.

This year, as a first grader, Reilly went "shopping" at her school holiday “store,” where they had gifts for the K-2 graders to purchase for their parents and family. Here's what Reilly bought this year, along with her explanation for each gift:

- Mommy: a packet of chocolate and coffee - "Her favorite food with her favorite drink."

- Daddy: a tool that even has pliers! - "So that daddy can take it with him fishing."

- Grandpa: peanut butter crackers - "So that when he's done building something, he can sit down and have a snack."

- Grandma: strawberry scented bath soap - "Because you know how grandma likes to be clean and healthy."

- Maeve: a towel - "Because she is always pulling down the towels, so now she'll have one of her own so she won't have to pull them down."

Imprint

The other day I met with a supporter of our organization at a local bistro. She’s a very passionate woman; a proud grandmother who takes care of her granddaughter every Tuesday and Thursday. The granddaughter has a rare disease which is very serious but under control.

The woman lives in an extraordinary home in a lavish neighborhood, a home that she carefully laid out and built over a decade ago. The foyer, she said, is full of large panes of glass that let in the sunlight from the coast, where the house rests.

She said when she has the granddaughter over to her house, the girl inevitably places her grubby palms on the glass and presses her nose and forehead against it to look outside at the water.

She said that the other day the granddaughter had misappropriated a yellow crayon and wrote faint waxy loops over a section of glass.

I said that kids sure can make a mess.

She said that a day or so later she looked at the glass and started laughing. She didn’t see the crayon or a mess, but rather happy remnants of a granddaughter who she loves with all her might, a granddaughter who might live until she is in her twenties, or might not.

Her husband went to wipe off the crayon and fingerprints, but she said, no, just leave them there a little longer.

December, Christmas, and all that Jazz

Happy New Year everyone! Christmas photos are finally up here.