If you ever find yourself in Brooklyn, craving wings, and can handle a proper hot sauce challenge then you'll want to stop by The Smoke Joint. I happened to be experiencing all 3 of the above mentioned prerequisites while the universe was puking 3 feet of snow down onto the city, and let's just say most cravings don't go untended to these days so it was off to The Smoke Joint we went. I mean trudged. I mean spent a solid hour bundling up for complete with hat/mittens/scarves/snowpants/snowboots to then slip and slide between icy unshoveled sidewalks and deep slushy pits of puddles. All for an order of Brooklyn Wings, an all-beef hot dog, and the worlds most delectable mac n cheese. Sure, delivery of anything else we could have possibly wanted was a mere phone call away from our warm comfy couch, but then Ash wouldn't have been able to climb and then roll down, climb and then roll down, and climb and then roll down every stinkin' pile of snow in Brooklyn. A deliciously spicy lunch date later along with one soggy pair of pants, two completely soaked through socks, and the only human in NYC actually excited about the snow (along with every other toddler child, perhaps), we said cheers to winter and headed in for naptime. TGIF.
February 26, 2010
The Smoke Joint
If you ever find yourself in Brooklyn, craving wings, and can handle a proper hot sauce challenge then you'll want to stop by The Smoke Joint. I happened to be experiencing all 3 of the above mentioned prerequisites while the universe was puking 3 feet of snow down onto the city, and let's just say most cravings don't go untended to these days so it was off to The Smoke Joint we went. I mean trudged. I mean spent a solid hour bundling up for complete with hat/mittens/scarves/snowpants/snowboots to then slip and slide between icy unshoveled sidewalks and deep slushy pits of puddles. All for an order of Brooklyn Wings, an all-beef hot dog, and the worlds most delectable mac n cheese. Sure, delivery of anything else we could have possibly wanted was a mere phone call away from our warm comfy couch, but then Ash wouldn't have been able to climb and then roll down, climb and then roll down, and climb and then roll down every stinkin' pile of snow in Brooklyn. A deliciously spicy lunch date later along with one soggy pair of pants, two completely soaked through socks, and the only human in NYC actually excited about the snow (along with every other toddler child, perhaps), we said cheers to winter and headed in for naptime. TGIF.
February 24, 2010
February 22, 2010
Health
Health is a very subjective term. Someone may post on Facebook that they spent the weekend lazily meandering between the kitchen, the couch, and the front door (to pay the sushi delivery guy) only to receive drastically different feedback ranging from "sounds lovely!" to "so the plan is to hit the gym hard Monday morning right?" While another may cheer loudly that their toddler awoke only 3 times during the night allowing them nearly 7 (albeit somewhat broken up) hours of sleep only to be tisk tisk'd by others insisting that the tot should surely be sleeping through the night by now, insinuating on many levels a lack of "health" in the household. Or perhaps a working woman (married or single, mother or not, don't know - don't care) posts at Midnight that her inbox has finally been widdled down to ZERO UNREAD MESSAGES and smiles to herself that a restful nights sleep can finally be had only to endure endless reminders from others about the dangers of being a workaholic. In each case one woman on one side of the fence boasting satisfaction with their real life version of health, and seemingly countless others on the other side ready and waiting to beat down any version of health not fully supported by their own perception of how it clearly should be.
Not that I've been on either side of that fence lately. Clearly not.
Lately the final words spoken to me after any social gathering have more often than not been, "now you take care of that baby in there, you here?" And more often than not I've had to restrain myself from replying with, "But I was REALLY looking forward to doing those belly shots after my combo skydiving-to-backcountry-mogul-skiing class!" Now, I know those words have been spoken with only the utmost love and sincere regard for my ability to keep myself and the unborn child inside of me "healthy" and would never in a million years think wicked witch of the west style thoughts about the deliverer. But, I'd be fibbing if I said I wasn't slightly entertained (perplexed/disturbed) each time I heard the words. And upon reflection of those very moments they still bring about a slight giggle. I mean seriously, thanks for the reminder to keep myself "healthy", I had almost forgotten...
Well, I suppose there was that one moment back when we were preparing our home study and I neglected to deep clean the toilet bowls in preparation for our social worker's visit (GASP!!!), and then that other time when we sent Ash to school in 3 pairs of socks because we couldn't find his shoes (GASP!!! GASP!!!), and then there was that recent event when at 4 months pregnant I toasted to the celebration of my sister's engagement with REAL champagne (GASP!!! GASP!!! GASP!!!). So perhaps the occasional reminder is necessary after all. And by occasional reminder I mean an every so often tap on the shoulder followed by the smile and nod from a friend that says, without speaking one single word:
"I love you. You rock. Keep it up. And if you need a hand, hire a babysitter then give me a call and I'll pick you up in 5 mins, destination your choice."
Now THATS health.
And this, this is health too:
Not that I've been on either side of that fence lately. Clearly not.
Lately the final words spoken to me after any social gathering have more often than not been, "now you take care of that baby in there, you here?" And more often than not I've had to restrain myself from replying with, "But I was REALLY looking forward to doing those belly shots after my combo skydiving-to-backcountry-mogul-skiing class!" Now, I know those words have been spoken with only the utmost love and sincere regard for my ability to keep myself and the unborn child inside of me "healthy" and would never in a million years think wicked witch of the west style thoughts about the deliverer. But, I'd be fibbing if I said I wasn't slightly entertained (perplexed/disturbed) each time I heard the words. And upon reflection of those very moments they still bring about a slight giggle. I mean seriously, thanks for the reminder to keep myself "healthy", I had almost forgotten...
Well, I suppose there was that one moment back when we were preparing our home study and I neglected to deep clean the toilet bowls in preparation for our social worker's visit (GASP!!!), and then that other time when we sent Ash to school in 3 pairs of socks because we couldn't find his shoes (GASP!!! GASP!!!), and then there was that recent event when at 4 months pregnant I toasted to the celebration of my sister's engagement with REAL champagne (GASP!!! GASP!!! GASP!!!). So perhaps the occasional reminder is necessary after all. And by occasional reminder I mean an every so often tap on the shoulder followed by the smile and nod from a friend that says, without speaking one single word:
"I love you. You rock. Keep it up. And if you need a hand, hire a babysitter then give me a call and I'll pick you up in 5 mins, destination your choice."
Now THATS health.
And this, this is health too:
February 18, 2010
February 16, 2010
Back To The Brown House
When we left NY it was snowing, and returning to NY a weekend later it's snowing again. BUT, given that the time in between those two snowfalls was spent in MN where there seems to be six feet of snow piled everywhere reminding us what "real" winter is, I suppose I'll be a bit more forgiving of our seemingly weaker Northeast version. To paint a slightly more solid picture, if you live in NY and guests come to visit during a snowfall the host's first gut reaction will likely be to call for delivery of hot cocoa and Thai food, whereas the MN host may drag out a box of snowpants and other sledding attire in every size humanly possible thus being able to dress every man woman and child head to toe in enough gear to sustain life in an igloo for at least a month.
Still, sooner rather than later I may be on board with Ash's coping technique of just dressing up and playing make believe till the sun decides to come out and stay out, or at least until we get that first splash of spring color in the local gardens. Ash's character of choice is his newly acquired Woody costume, but I'm thinking about heading in a different direction myself. Perhaps something a la Kirstie Alley in Look Who's Talking with giant bows in my hair and humongous butterfly print empire wastemoo-moo's dresses. Don't worry, I'll spare the internets any photo documented proof of that sure to be lovely image and stick to posting the tot's make believe sessions instead. Though if winter sticks around too much longer HE may be the one wearing the gigantic bows on his head...
And, a very heartfelt THANK YOU to all of the congrats sent our way over the last week. We're truly blessed to be surrounded by such amazing family and friends, via in person hugs as well as internet XXOO's. You're all so incredibly kind, thank you for all of the love.
Still, sooner rather than later I may be on board with Ash's coping technique of just dressing up and playing make believe till the sun decides to come out and stay out, or at least until we get that first splash of spring color in the local gardens. Ash's character of choice is his newly acquired Woody costume, but I'm thinking about heading in a different direction myself. Perhaps something a la Kirstie Alley in Look Who's Talking with giant bows in my hair and humongous butterfly print empire waste
And, a very heartfelt THANK YOU to all of the congrats sent our way over the last week. We're truly blessed to be surrounded by such amazing family and friends, via in person hugs as well as internet XXOO's. You're all so incredibly kind, thank you for all of the love.
February 12, 2010
Mu Shu
When Ash came into our lives almost two years ago he was announced to us first electronically via an email with photos that had traveled from Addis Ababa, and second via a white envelope containing some life details and more pictures shipped from St. Louis via the USPS. Those first two meetings, or introductions you might call them, were our first real glimpses of our first son. He was officially delivered into our arms less than two months later. Two months that began with his transition from his first mother to his extended Ethiopian family at the transition home, and ended with his transition to to his forever family and 24 hours of flights from Ethiopia to Dubai to New York.
Now nearly two years later the family grows again with the addition of a little one, who if were up to Ash we would name Mu Shu (or Moo Shoo, he's been a bit sketchy with the spelling details). This time the announcement came first via some pink lines on a plastic stick, then second by a woman in a white coat who insisted the lima bean shaped smudge on the screen would eventually sprout a head and various appendages. This time the culmination of several months of waiting will be capped with a visit to the birthing center and the arrival of a sister for Ash.
And two years from now when Ash is cuddling his baby sister or teaching her to eat her first cheerios or running to daddy yelling "DADDY! LENI (Helena) BROKE MY TRAIN!" we'll reminisce about both of their truly unique beginnings to life. Each very special, each very unique, each sure to continue to brighten and challenge and amaze us in ways we'd never thought possible. We're pregnant with child #2, potty training child #1, planning an escape to Ecuador and the Galapagos in a couple months, and currently visiting the frozen tundra of MN to spend some quality time with all the grandmas and papas and aunts and uncles and cousins and cats. It's 106 miles to Chicago, we got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark, and we're wearing sunglasses. Hit it.
And without further adieu, I introduce you to the newest McGregor who will be making her official debut sometime near the end of July/beginning of August, and with greater than 50% certainty (but not quite 100% yet) will arrive with the gender to match the name Helena (Leni) Addis McGregor.
Now nearly two years later the family grows again with the addition of a little one, who if were up to Ash we would name Mu Shu (or Moo Shoo, he's been a bit sketchy with the spelling details). This time the announcement came first via some pink lines on a plastic stick, then second by a woman in a white coat who insisted the lima bean shaped smudge on the screen would eventually sprout a head and various appendages. This time the culmination of several months of waiting will be capped with a visit to the birthing center and the arrival of a sister for Ash.
And two years from now when Ash is cuddling his baby sister or teaching her to eat her first cheerios or running to daddy yelling "DADDY! LENI (Helena) BROKE MY TRAIN!" we'll reminisce about both of their truly unique beginnings to life. Each very special, each very unique, each sure to continue to brighten and challenge and amaze us in ways we'd never thought possible. We're pregnant with child #2, potty training child #1, planning an escape to Ecuador and the Galapagos in a couple months, and currently visiting the frozen tundra of MN to spend some quality time with all the grandmas and papas and aunts and uncles and cousins and cats. It's 106 miles to Chicago, we got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it's dark, and we're wearing sunglasses. Hit it.
And without further adieu, I introduce you to the newest McGregor who will be making her official debut sometime near the end of July/beginning of August, and with greater than 50% certainty (but not quite 100% yet) will arrive with the gender to match the name Helena (Leni) Addis McGregor.
February 7, 2010
February 4, 2010
2010 Winter Olympics: Ethiopian Skier
Vancouver Now - Ethiopian cross-country skier laying down tracks
(Click link above or image below for full article)
(Click link above or image below for full article)
February 3, 2010
Nerves
We all get them. Whether they're brought on by sheer overwhelming circumstances at work or the vision soaked in while standing in the middle of your laundry/toy/coat/shoe/etc/etc/etc strewn home or the simple anticipation of something exciting lurking right around that little corner over there, all have the ability to spark pesky nervous twinges from deep within. And of course they're not just reserved for adults, even something as full of complete adorableness as a school play can bring on a giant wave of the shakes with little to no notice. Just picture the view of your happily cheering almost 3 year old as he walks across the stage only to somewhat instantaneously give way to a full force launch of a lip quivering tear filled rendition of Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. It was his first class performance, and though not without a bit of nerves and a few tears, he made it through like a true champ.
It didn't help that we were out of town the evening that his class was scheduled to perform so he had to perform on a different night, with a different class, full of kids he does not interact with on a daily basis and are on average 1-3 years older than him. But like I said, he faced it like a champ. He strutted his way across the room with the other children and began their performance of 15 songs/poems all of the theme "Seasons" and we smiled on from the audience, hearts warmed and butts snug in the child sized chairs provided for some not so child sized parents. And then he saw us, and what must've been our gigantically horrifying grins and waving camera phones trying to catch a snap of HIM we were looking at HIM we were staring at HIM and he was all "OMG WHY IS EVERYONE STARING AT ME WHAT DID I DOOO?" And about 30 seconds later the lip quiver gave way to the eye rubbing gave way to a whimper gave way to a "DADDY SAVE ME!" And thank GOD for Daddy.
The three of us sat in the audience, Ash singing and acting along with the next few songs and poems, tears long gone and eyes turned to a more longing look of "I wonder if I should tell them that I kind of want to go back up there..." And then their teacher started handing out the dreidels and I asked if he'd like to rejoin his friends, and about a half-second before I finished my question he was on his way back up to the front to claim his dreidel and toot his horn to the Happy New Year song. Nerves be gone.
So now we know. Next time work presents us with a seemingly insurmountable challenge or the laundry piles up so high you begin hoping plastic trash bags are the next "in" look or that super exciting yet not quite completely public announcement you've been holding your breath on feels like it's going to rip through your ribcage a la Sigourney Weaver in Alien just do what Ash did. Let yourself break down just a little and call out for Daddy. If you're really lucky it may even score you pizza and meatballs for dinner.
It didn't help that we were out of town the evening that his class was scheduled to perform so he had to perform on a different night, with a different class, full of kids he does not interact with on a daily basis and are on average 1-3 years older than him. But like I said, he faced it like a champ. He strutted his way across the room with the other children and began their performance of 15 songs/poems all of the theme "Seasons" and we smiled on from the audience, hearts warmed and butts snug in the child sized chairs provided for some not so child sized parents. And then he saw us, and what must've been our gigantically horrifying grins and waving camera phones trying to catch a snap of HIM we were looking at HIM we were staring at HIM and he was all "OMG WHY IS EVERYONE STARING AT ME WHAT DID I DOOO?" And about 30 seconds later the lip quiver gave way to the eye rubbing gave way to a whimper gave way to a "DADDY SAVE ME!" And thank GOD for Daddy.
The three of us sat in the audience, Ash singing and acting along with the next few songs and poems, tears long gone and eyes turned to a more longing look of "I wonder if I should tell them that I kind of want to go back up there..." And then their teacher started handing out the dreidels and I asked if he'd like to rejoin his friends, and about a half-second before I finished my question he was on his way back up to the front to claim his dreidel and toot his horn to the Happy New Year song. Nerves be gone.
So now we know. Next time work presents us with a seemingly insurmountable challenge or the laundry piles up so high you begin hoping plastic trash bags are the next "in" look or that super exciting yet not quite completely public announcement you've been holding your breath on feels like it's going to rip through your ribcage a la Sigourney Weaver in Alien just do what Ash did. Let yourself break down just a little and call out for Daddy. If you're really lucky it may even score you pizza and meatballs for dinner.
February 1, 2010
Chimamanda Adichie: The Danger Of A Single Story
Pour yourself another cup of coffee, tea, or whatever your mid-morning beverage of choice and take a 19 minute listen to this. Well worth the moments.
January 31, 2010
January 29, 2010
January 28, 2010
Lead. It's Not What's For Breakfast.
I try to stay on top of things, which for the most part means I sort of know what's kind of going on most of the time, with the remaining minutes just bringing out your standard "deer in headlights" look. If there was any way to bring a deer into my home, have it somehow answer the phone and have a conversation with the person on the other end, all while staring at bright beaming headlights shining in through the window then that would have been exactly what you would have seen from a birds eye view of our living room recently. Despite all of my best efforts to follow a program and maintain compliance with our state and county health department requirements, I somehow found myself yet again on the line being given "the talking to" for having somehow missed an appointment I was never made aware of in the first place. Let me explain...
Approximately 1 year 7.5 months ago when we arrived home with Ash we had several health concerns that we wanted addressed immediately. So, prior to even boarding the plane in Addis Ababa we had contacted Dr. Jane Aronson to schedule an appointment for within the week when we would arrive back in NY. Blood was drawn, x-rays snapped, test upon test upon test completed and as the results came in we were thoroughly guided through options and treatment plans all while enjoying true love, attention, and incredible expertise from arguably the world's best pediatrician.
Now, because these tests were all done less than a week after arriving in NY anything and everything showed up on the results, including high levels of lead. I'm just going to put it out there that when his lead level was again checked two weeks later it came in below the number used to flag any sort of concern, however since the first test came in above we were still added to the health department's files as an official case. And I'll also put it out there that the first test is still the only one that has ever come back with a lead level rating above the concern line, every single test since then has come in within the "safe zone", dropping lower and lower and lower and lower with each test. You get the idea. Of course there's absolutely zero regretting on our end for having brought him in so early for the first visit as there were other potentially serious issues to deal with, but there is that ounce of "ugh had they just waited two weeks to do the lead test NONE of this would have been an issue..." that rolls through my mind every now and then along with a slight scowl I try to keep mostly to myself.
Anyhow.
It's not the follow up that we had to do (occasional lead tests of the kind where the doc sticks a needle into Ash's arm for about a minute and draws A LOT of blood), or the work on the house we were required to do which included replacing all 26 windows (regardless of the fact that the order and results of the tests clearly point to his environment in Ethiopia having caused the lead levels in the first place, not our home), it's the other parts that have bothered me through this nearly 2 year process. The part where the health department speaks to us as though we're intentionally harming our child and must be feeding him lead for breakfast bothers me. The part where they (seriously) recommended in home parenting counselors to educate us on the dangers of lead bothered me (and FYI, the only reason we weren't required to participate in the in-home parenting education was because Dr. Aronson came to our rescue and called the health department directly to clarify the insanity. I mean honestly, would they like the 200+ page dossier we compiled that was notarized and certified by multiple levels of government resulting in approval by USCIS for us to be parents?). The part where we were never given any direct warning or follow up to when we needed to take him to his next test (even though we requested this repeatedly), and then were scolded over the phone for not having "just known" we needed to bring him in. That bothered me. And then the part where last year we were told that Ash had tested within the safe zone sufficient times to be removed from their "watch list" only to be called A YEAR LATER and instructed to bring him in yet another time, again with the tone of a scolding Catholic piano teacher, that too really bothered me.
But what bothered me possibly the most was this portion of our most recent conversation:
Health Department: Yes, I know the current regulations state that your son has tested within the "safe zone" sufficient amount of times, but when your son first entered the system 2 years ago we required an additional "safe" result so he needs another test by next week.
Me: OK, I'll take care of it. Is there ANYTHING else I need to be mindful of in order to ensure that this is the final step that needs to be taken to close our family file with the health department?
Health Department: No. That is it.
Me: OK, I'll bring Ashton in next week.
Health Department: No, you need to bring Wondemu in next week.
Me: Um, we finalized the adoption a year ago and his legal name is now Ashton.
Health Department: Well, the test prescription and results need to be under the name Wondemu or an entirely NEW file will be created and you'll need to start from scratch.
Me: Hmm. I have a feeling that our doctor and local lab techs are going to have a problem writing a script and test results for a name they know is not legally correct. Can I fax you his readoption paperwork, Ethiopian & US Passports, or any other documentation to have your file corrected?
Health Department: No. Just have your doctor write "AKA: Wondemu" on the script. Hopefully our guys upstairs will catch it when it comes in.
Me: For the love of all things holy you have GOT to be kidding me...
OK, so maybe I didn't say that last part but you get what I mean. The following week I took Ash in to have the big scary needle poked into his arm and draw what felt like hours worth of blood. And you know what? He smiled through the whole thing. We chatted about how he was going to share all of the stickers the doc was going to give him with his friends at school, and how he was being a brave big boy for being such a trooper and how INSANELY PROUD we (me and the doc) were of him. Needless to say the doc gave him nearly an entire roll of stickers and Ash high-fived everyone in the waiting room on our way out, skipping merrily and humming to the tune of Lellow Subarine.
And that, folks, is hopefully where the lead saga ends. My doctor nearly dropped to the floor when I told him of their "AKA: Wondemu" instructions, and the lab tech just rolled her eyes when writing up the lab sheet as if to say, "may the force be with you". And all said and "done" (dear master of the universe, please let this be done), I should clarify that I have nothing against lead testing or the health department insisting on proper follow up and care plans - absolutely not the case. I respect their responsibility to follow procedure and keep the best interest of the child in mind and I'm appreciative of their dedication to ensuring that unsafe situations are made safe as quickly as humanly possible. I'm just also a big fan of educating yourself before making presumptions, not blanketing an entire population with the same level of disrespectful tone simply because of the one situation that may have warranted it (and even then, does anyone ever deserve to be spoken to disrespectfully?). I support doing your research, being knowledgeable and respectful of varying scenarios, and finally, and call me crazy for this one, but I think that a world with fewer people with large unfortunate sticks up their arses would be a better world. Just my two cents.
And with that, I leave you these. Precious images of the rock star trooper himself, mister "have I finally tested in the "safe" zone enough times for them to stop bludgeoning me with that damn needle already?" And to that I reply with utmost certainty, "Honey, I think so."
Approximately 1 year 7.5 months ago when we arrived home with Ash we had several health concerns that we wanted addressed immediately. So, prior to even boarding the plane in Addis Ababa we had contacted Dr. Jane Aronson to schedule an appointment for within the week when we would arrive back in NY. Blood was drawn, x-rays snapped, test upon test upon test completed and as the results came in we were thoroughly guided through options and treatment plans all while enjoying true love, attention, and incredible expertise from arguably the world's best pediatrician.
Now, because these tests were all done less than a week after arriving in NY anything and everything showed up on the results, including high levels of lead. I'm just going to put it out there that when his lead level was again checked two weeks later it came in below the number used to flag any sort of concern, however since the first test came in above we were still added to the health department's files as an official case. And I'll also put it out there that the first test is still the only one that has ever come back with a lead level rating above the concern line, every single test since then has come in within the "safe zone", dropping lower and lower and lower and lower with each test. You get the idea. Of course there's absolutely zero regretting on our end for having brought him in so early for the first visit as there were other potentially serious issues to deal with, but there is that ounce of "ugh had they just waited two weeks to do the lead test NONE of this would have been an issue..." that rolls through my mind every now and then along with a slight scowl I try to keep mostly to myself.
Anyhow.
It's not the follow up that we had to do (occasional lead tests of the kind where the doc sticks a needle into Ash's arm for about a minute and draws A LOT of blood), or the work on the house we were required to do which included replacing all 26 windows (regardless of the fact that the order and results of the tests clearly point to his environment in Ethiopia having caused the lead levels in the first place, not our home), it's the other parts that have bothered me through this nearly 2 year process. The part where the health department speaks to us as though we're intentionally harming our child and must be feeding him lead for breakfast bothers me. The part where they (seriously) recommended in home parenting counselors to educate us on the dangers of lead bothered me (and FYI, the only reason we weren't required to participate in the in-home parenting education was because Dr. Aronson came to our rescue and called the health department directly to clarify the insanity. I mean honestly, would they like the 200+ page dossier we compiled that was notarized and certified by multiple levels of government resulting in approval by USCIS for us to be parents?). The part where we were never given any direct warning or follow up to when we needed to take him to his next test (even though we requested this repeatedly), and then were scolded over the phone for not having "just known" we needed to bring him in. That bothered me. And then the part where last year we were told that Ash had tested within the safe zone sufficient times to be removed from their "watch list" only to be called A YEAR LATER and instructed to bring him in yet another time, again with the tone of a scolding Catholic piano teacher, that too really bothered me.
But what bothered me possibly the most was this portion of our most recent conversation:
Health Department: Yes, I know the current regulations state that your son has tested within the "safe zone" sufficient amount of times, but when your son first entered the system 2 years ago we required an additional "safe" result so he needs another test by next week.
Me: OK, I'll take care of it. Is there ANYTHING else I need to be mindful of in order to ensure that this is the final step that needs to be taken to close our family file with the health department?
Health Department: No. That is it.
Me: OK, I'll bring Ashton in next week.
Health Department: No, you need to bring Wondemu in next week.
Me: Um, we finalized the adoption a year ago and his legal name is now Ashton.
Health Department: Well, the test prescription and results need to be under the name Wondemu or an entirely NEW file will be created and you'll need to start from scratch.
Me: Hmm. I have a feeling that our doctor and local lab techs are going to have a problem writing a script and test results for a name they know is not legally correct. Can I fax you his readoption paperwork, Ethiopian & US Passports, or any other documentation to have your file corrected?
Health Department: No. Just have your doctor write "AKA: Wondemu" on the script. Hopefully our guys upstairs will catch it when it comes in.
Me: For the love of all things holy you have GOT to be kidding me...
OK, so maybe I didn't say that last part but you get what I mean. The following week I took Ash in to have the big scary needle poked into his arm and draw what felt like hours worth of blood. And you know what? He smiled through the whole thing. We chatted about how he was going to share all of the stickers the doc was going to give him with his friends at school, and how he was being a brave big boy for being such a trooper and how INSANELY PROUD we (me and the doc) were of him. Needless to say the doc gave him nearly an entire roll of stickers and Ash high-fived everyone in the waiting room on our way out, skipping merrily and humming to the tune of Lellow Subarine.
And that, folks, is hopefully where the lead saga ends. My doctor nearly dropped to the floor when I told him of their "AKA: Wondemu" instructions, and the lab tech just rolled her eyes when writing up the lab sheet as if to say, "may the force be with you". And all said and "done" (dear master of the universe, please let this be done), I should clarify that I have nothing against lead testing or the health department insisting on proper follow up and care plans - absolutely not the case. I respect their responsibility to follow procedure and keep the best interest of the child in mind and I'm appreciative of their dedication to ensuring that unsafe situations are made safe as quickly as humanly possible. I'm just also a big fan of educating yourself before making presumptions, not blanketing an entire population with the same level of disrespectful tone simply because of the one situation that may have warranted it (and even then, does anyone ever deserve to be spoken to disrespectfully?). I support doing your research, being knowledgeable and respectful of varying scenarios, and finally, and call me crazy for this one, but I think that a world with fewer people with large unfortunate sticks up their arses would be a better world. Just my two cents.
And with that, I leave you these. Precious images of the rock star trooper himself, mister "have I finally tested in the "safe" zone enough times for them to stop bludgeoning me with that damn needle already?" And to that I reply with utmost certainty, "Honey, I think so."
January 25, 2010
Back At The Window
Obviously as we continue to celebrate birthdays, new years, family expansions, yadda yadda, the feeling of being a "grown up" becomes that much more embedded in our being. We expected that. But that's not to discount all those years we spent being one year less than grown up, or one month before having taken a huge life step, or one day ignorant to how it really feels to do X, Y, or Z. All those moments prior have culminated in all those moments present and lately those prior moments have been popping to mind like a slide show of random "oh yeah, I remember when we used to do that" kind of images. For example...
Our 1st NYC apartment was a 5th story studio walk-up with a ladder we could climb up to get to a crawl space just large enough for a queen sized mattress and almost high enough to be able to sit up straight while in bed. Almost. Our cat, now too large to jump up to anything higher than his ears could then bound to the top of our 8 foot shelving unit and then make an amazing horizontal leap through an opening the size of a shoe box into our cozy littlehole the landlord punched into the wall so that he could list the apartment as a "flex 1BR" sleep space. He even figured out how to get back down using the ladder. We had just moved from a 3BR 1,500 sq ft home in Bozeman, MT to a 0BR 400 sq ft studio in NYC for triple the price, and we could not have been happier. Our 2 windows overlooked the Upper West Side and there were many afternoons when I'd wrap my day teaching and pull up a seat at our window (we really only had use of 1 since the other housed the air conditioner) and pinch myself repeatedly.
Then there was our 2nd NYC apartment which (unlike our 1st) had walls, which after a year of marriage we were more than ready for. Space in NYC never just comes without compromise however so instead of the convenient 1 block jog to Central Park we were now 4 stops away on the A train in the Sugar Hill neighborhood of Harlem. It was more than twice as big, $400 less, and had a private backyard. We planted herbs and some veggies and flowers and setup the rear wall of the 4 story brownstone (we occupied the 1st floor) as a practice climbing gym using the window grates and aging protruding bricks as our hand and foot holds. We even bought a copper bonfire pit and had marshmallow toasting parties in our little 10 X 20 outdoor paradise. And when it rained, we sat at our window overlooking everything we'd planted while ordering in sushi and beer.
And then came apartment #3 and our foray into Brooklyn. Probably my favorite so far, this apartment was a block off of the NYC marathon route. Each year we lived there we'd watch the start on TV while cozy in our pj's, then follow along until the leaders were within close distance of our block. Then we'd toss on a sweatshirt and grab a mug of coffee and go hang out with the rest of our Brooklyn neighbors, cheering on each pack as they ran by. Then once Noon hit and the local pubs could start pouring drafts we'd grab a place at the window, open wide so we could almost reach out and high five each runner as they panted past, and enjoy a lazy Sunday brunch in the midst of a true NY moment.
Which brings us to our current spaces. NYC apartment #4, the one maintaining our sanity via stints in the city every now and then and referred to by Ash as his "Brookin Home", and NY House #1, the one maintaining our sanity via our wraparound porch with a hammock overlooking wide open spaces and horsies and referred to by Ash as his "Brown Home". In one he stands at the windowsill watching the students flood in and out of Brooklyn Tech HS, pointing and asking "what's that?" and "mommy can we go to park?". In the other he rocks in his hammock next to me in mine, him with a sippy cup of juice and me with, well, not a sippy cup of not juice, breathing in the amazing air that comes with acres of apple orchards, vineyards, and sunflower fields. Window #1, 4 stories up with countless people and activities below and window #2 with an astonishing lack of activity though equally appreciated.
I think the big life moment that may have spurred all of these individually meaningful yet perhaps even more cohesively remarkable experiences was the making, signing, notarizing, and filing of our Will, of the Last Will and Testament kind. Yeah, that'll get you thinking... at least it did me. Something about listing a Trustee, an Executor, a Guardian for our children should we be diving for seashells someday and never make it back up for air - thinking about those things gave me a whole new "back at the window" moment to reflect on in and of itself.
I'm thinking the next moment at the window may need to include a killer glass of wine, the biggest most windy hilly figure-eighty train set yet, and a Michael Franti beat filling the air with the kind of sounds you can't help but move to. Yes. That is most definitely how we should find ourselves at the next window.
Our 1st NYC apartment was a 5th story studio walk-up with a ladder we could climb up to get to a crawl space just large enough for a queen sized mattress and almost high enough to be able to sit up straight while in bed. Almost. Our cat, now too large to jump up to anything higher than his ears could then bound to the top of our 8 foot shelving unit and then make an amazing horizontal leap through an opening the size of a shoe box into our cozy little
Then there was our 2nd NYC apartment which (unlike our 1st) had walls, which after a year of marriage we were more than ready for. Space in NYC never just comes without compromise however so instead of the convenient 1 block jog to Central Park we were now 4 stops away on the A train in the Sugar Hill neighborhood of Harlem. It was more than twice as big, $400 less, and had a private backyard. We planted herbs and some veggies and flowers and setup the rear wall of the 4 story brownstone (we occupied the 1st floor) as a practice climbing gym using the window grates and aging protruding bricks as our hand and foot holds. We even bought a copper bonfire pit and had marshmallow toasting parties in our little 10 X 20 outdoor paradise. And when it rained, we sat at our window overlooking everything we'd planted while ordering in sushi and beer.
And then came apartment #3 and our foray into Brooklyn. Probably my favorite so far, this apartment was a block off of the NYC marathon route. Each year we lived there we'd watch the start on TV while cozy in our pj's, then follow along until the leaders were within close distance of our block. Then we'd toss on a sweatshirt and grab a mug of coffee and go hang out with the rest of our Brooklyn neighbors, cheering on each pack as they ran by. Then once Noon hit and the local pubs could start pouring drafts we'd grab a place at the window, open wide so we could almost reach out and high five each runner as they panted past, and enjoy a lazy Sunday brunch in the midst of a true NY moment.
Which brings us to our current spaces. NYC apartment #4, the one maintaining our sanity via stints in the city every now and then and referred to by Ash as his "Brookin Home", and NY House #1, the one maintaining our sanity via our wraparound porch with a hammock overlooking wide open spaces and horsies and referred to by Ash as his "Brown Home". In one he stands at the windowsill watching the students flood in and out of Brooklyn Tech HS, pointing and asking "what's that?" and "mommy can we go to park?". In the other he rocks in his hammock next to me in mine, him with a sippy cup of juice and me with, well, not a sippy cup of not juice, breathing in the amazing air that comes with acres of apple orchards, vineyards, and sunflower fields. Window #1, 4 stories up with countless people and activities below and window #2 with an astonishing lack of activity though equally appreciated.
I think the big life moment that may have spurred all of these individually meaningful yet perhaps even more cohesively remarkable experiences was the making, signing, notarizing, and filing of our Will, of the Last Will and Testament kind. Yeah, that'll get you thinking... at least it did me. Something about listing a Trustee, an Executor, a Guardian for our children should we be diving for seashells someday and never make it back up for air - thinking about those things gave me a whole new "back at the window" moment to reflect on in and of itself.
I'm thinking the next moment at the window may need to include a killer glass of wine, the biggest most windy hilly figure-eighty train set yet, and a Michael Franti beat filling the air with the kind of sounds you can't help but move to. Yes. That is most definitely how we should find ourselves at the next window.
January 23, 2010
"Win"
I'm seriously suppressing my former middle school math teacher self right now to allow room for my mother of a two and a half year old insanity wisdom. One of me is losing this battle. Quickly. A few divulgements: (No, you wont find that word on dictionary.com but I'm going to self define as "things which you divulge" because there is a screaming 2 and a half year old across the hall and it's the only word my brain can come up with right now.)
~I despise the whiny voice. You know, the high pitched gut forced crackled up sound thatadults toddlers make when they're still learning that they don't always win.
~It drives me nuts when I'm trying to get the point across that what a certain child is doing is simply not acceptable and such intentions are met with a smirky little sideways grin instead of the sweet understanding eyes of "I promise never to do it again mommy".
~I mastered "the look" my 2nd day of teaching math to 6th grade students YEARS ago and have been secretly looking forward to using this technique on my own children. Sick, I know, but there are only so many things a person can say they're truly good at and well "the look" is one of mine. And just to make it clear that everything is right and balanced with the universe, it turns out "the look" takes some tweaking when using on your own children and although I'm close to figuring out the code for the tweak I'm not 100% there yet which totally sucks.
So, despite the fact that we enjoyed an amazing meal together at our favorite Japanese restaurant last night complete with our star of the restaurant two and a half year old chopstick master (who also ate most of my black miso cod, stinker), and then went on to skip our way alongside the worlds best behaved razor scooting tot (yes I know the age recommendation on those things is 5 years, but we strapped a helmet on him and so far he's only bit the dust a few times and each time got up only to want to go faster, so...), and yes he woke us up this morning by sitting up in bed and shouting the words WE ALL LIVE IN A LELLOW SUBARINE which is about the only thing that could possibly put a smile on a tired momma's face at 6:30AM on a Saturday, DESPITE ALL THAT... he's currently in his room screaming through his 4th time out of the morning and dang-blastit (twitch twitch, snap snap) he WILL NOT WIN this one.
Well it's now 15 minutes later and we're juggling balls of Play-Doh in the living room and every few minutes or so another rendition of one of the Beatles mixes that seems to be constantly playing in his head finds it's way to his mouth and eventually his arms and legs and all of a sudden we're grooving to lellow subarine or the more you say goodbye I say hello. And I'm left with the puzzling question:
How could I have ever even questioned whether or not I was winning?
~I despise the whiny voice. You know, the high pitched gut forced crackled up sound that
~It drives me nuts when I'm trying to get the point across that what a certain child is doing is simply not acceptable and such intentions are met with a smirky little sideways grin instead of the sweet understanding eyes of "I promise never to do it again mommy".
~I mastered "the look" my 2nd day of teaching math to 6th grade students YEARS ago and have been secretly looking forward to using this technique on my own children. Sick, I know, but there are only so many things a person can say they're truly good at and well "the look" is one of mine. And just to make it clear that everything is right and balanced with the universe, it turns out "the look" takes some tweaking when using on your own children and although I'm close to figuring out the code for the tweak I'm not 100% there yet which totally sucks.
So, despite the fact that we enjoyed an amazing meal together at our favorite Japanese restaurant last night complete with our star of the restaurant two and a half year old chopstick master (who also ate most of my black miso cod, stinker), and then went on to skip our way alongside the worlds best behaved razor scooting tot (yes I know the age recommendation on those things is 5 years, but we strapped a helmet on him and so far he's only bit the dust a few times and each time got up only to want to go faster, so...), and yes he woke us up this morning by sitting up in bed and shouting the words WE ALL LIVE IN A LELLOW SUBARINE which is about the only thing that could possibly put a smile on a tired momma's face at 6:30AM on a Saturday, DESPITE ALL THAT... he's currently in his room screaming through his 4th time out of the morning and dang-blastit (twitch twitch, snap snap) he WILL NOT WIN this one.
Well it's now 15 minutes later and we're juggling balls of Play-Doh in the living room and every few minutes or so another rendition of one of the Beatles mixes that seems to be constantly playing in his head finds it's way to his mouth and eventually his arms and legs and all of a sudden we're grooving to lellow subarine or the more you say goodbye I say hello. And I'm left with the puzzling question:
How could I have ever even questioned whether or not I was winning?
January 20, 2010
This Isn't Grey's Anatomy
For a very close up view into the ongoing medical struggles in Haiti I suggest taking a look at THIS BLOG, authored by a dear friend of mine who dropped everything and flew to Haiti after the earthquake to lend her very needed, much welcomed medically talented hands and heart. She lived in Port Au Prince in 2007 and 2008 while working as a volunteer pediatrician and had visited and served in the country multiple times in various ways in preceding years. I've found it hard to keep my breath while reading through her recent posts, the unimaginable coexistence of suffering and pain, hope and healing, utter disaster and selfless love. Sure, I've used my cell to text donations to organizations and I've tacked on donations to purchases at stores who are matching those donations and sending everything to aid the relief efforts, but reading about people who are giving in the truest form of the word, their time, their life, countless hours of their direly needed specialized talents, that is inspiring.
January 18, 2010
January 17, 2010
January 16, 2010
January 15, 2010
Chelsey Kivland FOUND!
The Consular Section of the US Embassy in Port Au Prince, Haiti sent an email to Chelsey's family and has reported that SHE'S OK! Several of the iReports state that she may be staying behind to help with the relief effort, but for now all that's certain is the most important part of the email that reads, "We found Chelsey Kivland. She wishes to say that she's OK." Below are links to the two articles reporting this absolutely wonderful news.
Northwest Herald | Prairie Grove woman alive in Haiti
Northwest Herald | Missing Prairie Grove woman sends message to family from Haiti
Thank you for the many positive thoughts and prayers sent her and her family's direction, and please continue to keep the people of Haiti on your mind and in your hearts.
Some ways to help:
~Text "Haiti" 90999 to give $10 to Red Cross Haitian efforts and have it automatically deducted from your phone bill
~Donate to Partners In Health (Dr. Paul Farmer): www.pih.org
~Donate through the Clinton Foundation
These are just a few legit organizations in need of money, CNN and various other sources are listing many more options for donating - choose one, two, give $10, $100, every bit helps.
Northwest Herald | Prairie Grove woman alive in Haiti
Northwest Herald | Missing Prairie Grove woman sends message to family from Haiti
Thank you for the many positive thoughts and prayers sent her and her family's direction, and please continue to keep the people of Haiti on your mind and in your hearts.
Some ways to help:
~Text "Haiti" 90999 to give $10 to Red Cross Haitian efforts and have it automatically deducted from your phone bill
~Donate to Partners In Health (Dr. Paul Farmer): www.pih.org
~Donate through the Clinton Foundation
These are just a few legit organizations in need of money, CNN and various other sources are listing many more options for donating - choose one, two, give $10, $100, every bit helps.
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