Well, This I Did Not Expect

We started the day with our appointment with the specialist, who is an internist who specializes in dealing with medical problems during pregnancy. I liked him a lot, but then, I was referred to him by the hematologist, whom I also like a lot. Just like the hematologist, this doctor took the time to explain the variables and answer our questions, and never made us feel rushed. (My dad amused the kids in the waiting room for us.)

In a nutshell, turns out the bigger worry is the fact that I had a placental abruption, not the presence of lupus anticoagulant antibodies in my blood the day after. An "official" diagnosis of lupus anticoagulant disorder requires two positive tests six weeks apart, but nobody re-tested my blood in that time frame. It's also possible that these antibodies can show up in blood after a trauma--an abruption, for example. Without that "missing piece of the puzzle," as the doctor told us, it's impossible to say whether I actually do have this clotting problem. Certainly, it can cause an abruption, but that doesn't mean it did. Sometimes abruptions happen for no perceivable reason. The fact that I haven't had a positive test since tends to lend support to the idea that I don't have this clotting disorder. But. We don't know for sure, because of that missing six-week test.

He sent me for more lab work. If it comes up positive for lupus anticoagulant, the course is clear: a regimen of heparin and baby aspirin if we decide to get pregnant. The dose of heparin is calibrated to ensure that it's still safe to get an epidural or have a c-section, if necessary, although the plan is to stop the heparin 24 hours before a scheduled c-section or at 37 weeks or so. (My preference would be for another natural childbirth, like I had the first time, but I realize having one c-section and an abruption would tend to make OBs want to perform another c-section. But I tell you, NOTHING in either birth was as bad as that god-awful spinal epidural, not even the contractions during the abruption. THAT'S how much I hated that needle.)

He thinks, though, that the lab work will most likely not show the lupus anticoagulant or any other factors that can lead to excessive clotting, which, of course, makes things far more difficult. Theoretically I could take the heparin anyway (oh, did I mention it's an injection? more needles...), but I've had an abruption, which, although caused by a clot, is a bleeding event, and blood thinners + bleeding event = very bad things. Most likely if we decide to try for a third and no clotting issues show up, I'd take a daily dose of baby aspirin and we'd test my blood monthly.

So. I was thinking the clotting thing was the big problem, but it's not. It's actually quite manageable if you know about it beforehand (AND if you were tested correctly to begin with...sigh). The problem is the abruption. Having one puts me at risk for another, and there's no warning for an abruption--once you have signs, it's already begun. I didn't even present with signs of an abruption the first time, just contractions. Of course, having one abruption doesn't mean I'd definitely have another, either. Nicholas was born at 34 weeks, but an abruption can happen at any time, and if the baby isn't viable...or isn't delivered in time...

On the other hand, this doctor didn't see any reason not to have a third child. Each pregnancy is, essentially, different. I've had one completely normal, full-term, uncomplicated pregnancy resulting in an uneventful (and relatively quick) labor and delivery. And then I've had my own little episode of ER. Basically what I heard was that this gestational history of mine, while including some scary events, doesn't mean any of those events will repeat.

Now I guess we're back to having long, protracted discussions on whether we should have another baby. I have a follow-up in mid-July, to hear what today's blood test revealed. I left the office feeling that getting pregnant would not be a dangerous, foolhardy event. And that's kind of where we're at. Nowhere at all, but with a little more information.

Afterwards, we went out to lunch and to the zoo. This is Nicholas on the way home, the boy who hasn't napped in almost two years unless he was sick--tuckered out by all the recent birthday fun. Happy Birthday, buddy.

A Celebration Fit For A King

My baby is (almost) three.
Some memories of this year's party: kids running around the backyard, having fun simply being together, running; Vaughan's uncontrollable, delighted laugh while he played with his cousin in the sandbox; my elderly grandmother and aunt wearing sparkly cardboard crowns; Vaughan signing his card for Nicholas, asking me how to spell "with love"; the newest member of the family being held by some of the oldest members; Nicholas leaning forward to gently place a kiss on my mother's cheek before she left. Early in the day I thought to myself, I'm not sure I'd do this--this being, throw a big ol' party--for anyone but my children. I'm not a party-thrower by nature. Having kids stretches me, you know, and I'm always grateful for having been stretched.
It is a joy, a huge joy, to be the hostess to my family, to feed them and welcome them, to reciprocate the hospitality I've received all my life. My aunt, my mother's older sister, would cook up a storm for the holidays. We spent Palm Sunday and Easter with her, and every year, it seemed, there was more food than the year before. Just to be clear: I do not confuse food with love and never have. Food is food; love is love; but I'm Italian, and one expression of love is to feed, with open heart and joy. So yes, I may have let everyone know that the baked beans had me up until 1 am (and the boys, more excited for this party than for Christmas, had me awake before 6), but beneath that is the message: you all are so worth the effort it takes to make baked beans from scratch, to spend two days turning dried beans into five quarts of perfectly seasoned beans for a simple little cookout to celebrate not only my boy's birthday but the family he was born into. (The beans were worth it too, and perhaps two spoonfuls remain.)

I struggled to replicate my mother's potato salad recipe. Usually my mother makes it for me. I stressed over this potato salad. Chris told me it was only potato salad. It's not, though. It's the way my mother makes it, my ill mother, it's the potato salad I remember from childhood, the only thing I can stomach with mayonnaise because it's my mother's potato salad. I want to get it right before it's too late.

My father has taken to walking down Hope Street while my mother receives chemo treatments. I imagine he does this figuratively as well, but the literal Hope Street is on Providence's East Side and is dotted with interesting, independent retail stores and restaurants. He saw this pirate ship in a toy store while walking, and thought my boys would like it. (They do; it is buying me time to blog this morning.) We didn't open the box and assemble the boat while we still had guests, since we opened gifts outside and didn't want to lose any pieces. My dad asked me to take some pictures of the boys playing with it, which I will forward to him, but I had to share this picture, too--Nicholas couldn't wait to get his hands on the bubble wrap. I told you he is easily delighted.
Tomorrow is Nicholas's actual birthday. We start the day with an appointment with an OB/med specialist in the city to try and determine what a third pregnancy, if we decide on one, might look like. It's just another reminder, not that I need one, how very lucky we are that Nicholas is here. I only have two pictures from his actual Birth Day, neither of which is digital. We have the hospital-issued Polaroid, and one my dad took of Nicholas in his in-room incubator. We didn't stop to grab a camera. We grabbed some diapers and snacks for Vaughan and high-tailed it to the hospital. So this picture, one of my favorites, was taken when Nicholas was two days old. Beautiful, wasn't he? He even appears to be smiling; I'm sure he could sense he was in the loving arms of his big brother. And Vaughan--well, right from the start, he's always regarded his brother with love. And a bit of awe, as do we all.

Getting Ready

I have this little party to get ready for. About thirty people are expected on Monday, and we've been a little busy. But my dad and my sister, who I'm pretty sure are my most faithful readers, start to grumble (very good-naturedly) when I skip more than a couple days blogging. So here I offer you proof: I really have been busy.

One dragon pinata, filled with candy and prizes. The hole for filling is just under the tail, so I effectively stuffed candy into the dragon's butt. The boys helped. Hilarious, this butt-stuffing thing. Not all the prizes would fit. The hole in the butt was too small. Vaughan shared this story with his pottery instructor this morning. Funny stuff.

Favors for the kids. I've written rhyming clues to a quest for them. They get the sparkly crowns (all different colors, not just pink) and the sash--with stickers for decorating--first. Then at the end they'll get that little goblet with some bubbles and stickers. The bubble wand is shaped like a sword! So cute. (I ordered all this stuff from here.)

The first clue is

Fiery, scaly, reddish beast
Will you be part of his feast?
Find the monster in his lair
Your next clue awaits you there.

My middling writing talents are good for something.

Yesterday was for errands. We literally ran errands from 9am to 5pm, stopping home only for lunch, the bathroom, and to drop off perishables, then out we went again. I'm doing most of the cooking and baking tomorrow, but today I'm soaking and cooking the beans, so I can turn them into baked beans tomorrow. I have this thing, about making things from scratch. Here are the beans doing a quick boil before soaking.
Nicholas wanted a chocolate cake. The recipe I usually use, which is actually vegan and is found in one of the Moosewood cookbooks, only makes a small square cake. So I went to my trusty Joy of Cooking for a recipe. I found a promising one, which called for "nonalkanized unsweetened cocoa powder." My cocoa powder is alkanized. I checked the entire shelf at Whole Foods. Many didn't say. I began to get confused, and a little wary of trying out a new recipe the day before a party. I eyed the shelves on the opposite side of the aisle. Look--an organic chocolate cake mix!
I heart Dr. Oetker, whoever the heck he or she is. Yes, mark it down. I'm making a cake from a box.

Last but not least, a present for the birthday boy. We tend to forget about buying Nicholas a present for several reasons. One, we get kind of buried by preparing for a cookout for 30-40 people (it varies by year). Two, Nicholas is a happy-go-lucky kind of kid, pleased with whatever happens to be around to play with. Part of this is his age, I think--the Iwants didn't show up with Vaughan until he was a little older. Part of it is his personality, though, too. So while I usually have an idea of what to buy Vaughan months ahead of time, I'm never quite sure with Nicholas. I know he'll be happy with pretty much anything, but it does make it hard to find a Perfect Gift.

That box contains an inflatable water play area, seen here. (Thank goodness for Amazon; I was trying to describe this thing and failing miserably.) After Vaughan's pottery class this morning, I took the boys to the toy store, where they played, I found a crown (for the birthday boy, or for me, the Queen--whichever), and I snuck a birthday present behind the desk to be purchased and wrapped before either kid caught on. It's still amazingly easy to buy them presents right under their noses. The toy store was mobbed; they'd just gotten a shipment of Webkins. I had no idea what these were, but they are a Big Craze and I'm happy my kids don't know about them. People were dropping tons of cash on these things, buying them by the handful.

So. I've been busy. I doubt I'll blog again until after the party, but then I'll have pictures of a beautiful, happy birthday boy.

Yarny Eye Candy

I'd be remiss if I didn't post pictures. First up, two skeins of brown worsted from Twist of Fate Spinnery in Portland, CT, purchased at the First Annual RI Wool and Fiber Festival. Nicholas and I went--Vaughan told me he'd probably just complain about the cold (it was a damp, on-and-off drizzly sort of day), so he hung out with Chris. At least he was honest. I had no plans to buy anything, but if I'm going to, it's going to be something I can't easily get elsewhere. Like this yarn. They don't dye their yarn--this is from a brown sheep. I love this sort of dark, chocolatey brown, and the yarn smelled good. Yes, I sniff yarn.

Here we have a skein of Farmhouse Yarn's Yarn by Bessie in Slate, which, along with a few other skeins, is destined to become an Elizabeth Zimmermann tomten for Nicholas. On the way home from the Seaport yesterday we stopped at one of the three yarn stores between there and here so I could get properly sized needles. (THREE. Lovely drive, no?) I've never made a tomten before. So maybe "destined" is too strong a word. If the tomten doesn't seem to suit me or Nicholas, it'll be some other sort of wooly thing for him.


I thought I had a full skein of blue Cascade 220 in my stash--blue is the next step for Vaughan's Bells, Whistles, & Everything But the Kitchen Sink Hat--but I only had what looked to be about half a skein, and only bluish. With some red, maybe, and some other flecks. I can't for the life of me remember knitting anything with this yarn. I remember buying it, along with a skein of purple, which is fully intact. It's a mystery. At any rate, Webs had Cascade 220 wicked cheap (hey, I have to sound like a Rho Dilunduh every now and then), so I ordered two skeins in Navy. (When Vaughan saw it, he said, "Well, I was thinking maybe a brighter blue, a little bit, somewhere in between," at which point I said, "Hey, buddy? This is the blue we have. 'Kay?!")

Since I was ordering yarn anyway, I browsed the other sale yarns, looking for something with which to knit Kristin Spurkland's Baby Kimono from Interweave Knits Summer 2005. The pattern calls for Rowan Wool Cotton, which is what I used the first time I knit this, not too long after the issue was out. It's a really nice yarn. Sadly, this was before I smartened up and began taking pictures of all my knitted items, so I don't have a picture, but it's a lovely, clever little pattern that knits up quickly, and I made booties to match. (This was a gift for a friend.) In fact, it's so wee and adorable that I regarded the finished product and told Chris, "It sort of makes me want to make another person small enough to fit into this." This was WELL before I began having the baby jones, back when Nicholas was just over a year old and still too much a baby himself for me to want another. My point is, I'm a little wary of knitting this baby item when I'm already wanting one. More than wary; trepidatious, even.

But anyway, back to the knitting--I was hoping to find something a little less than $10/ball, since I need four, and I think I succeeded: Laines du Nord Giunco on sale for $2.99/ball. This sweater is for my best friend's baby due in October, and she didn't find out the sex with the first two, so I figured grey was safe. She told me today that she is "95% sure" she'll find out the sex this time, but she thought grey sounded nice, too. I'm planning to modify the pattern to use a button instead of a ribbon tie, so at least I'll know what side to put the buttonhole on. Once I look it up, that is; I can never remember. All my button-down shirts are from the mens' department anyway. Oh, I got the last four balls of grey Webs had. And since Webs is so close, I received my package the day after they shipped it. Sadly, it's not close enough for a quick drive, especially since so far, that's as close as the Yarn Harlot is getting to Rhode Island. But there's no way. She's there on Nicholas's birthday, no less. BUT. Next time we go to Vermont, whenever that is, perhaps we can stop in Northampton, if I've sufficiently reduced my stash by then.

Today Was For Fun

Given that so much of this week is going to be taken over by party-related tasks--errands, cleaning, cooking, phone calls--and yesterday involved an epic doctor's visit (we all had appointments, and with the drive this took ALL afternoon), I thought I should take the boys to do something fun today. So we headed to Mystic Seaport, one of Vaughan's favorite places, to enjoy the sunshine and check out some boats. We've gone several times in the last few years, and it's still affordable because my kids are both still free. Next summer we'll have to pay for Vaughan, and I may have to spring for a membership--we'll see. In the meantime, I try to take them at least a couple times each summer.

This morning was beautiful, my favorite kind of weather. Warm enough to be comfortable outside in a sweatshirt (just a tee shirt if not near the water), warm enough to wear my Birks, but not hot. It can get tough slogging two kids and their stuff on a 90-degree plus humidity day. Perfect, perfect weather. We packed a lunch and headed to Mystic.

There's always a risk, this time of year, that a day trip anywhere will land us amidst hordes of school groups. One staff member told me about 600 school kids came through the Seaport yesterday; today we saw just one school group, from the elementary school in the town next to ours (which is also in our 3-town district). School groups at the Seaport travel with pieces of paper full of questions, a sort of scavenger hunt--apparently they are tasked to find all the answers before leaving. It probably won't surprise anyone who knows anything about my attitudes on learning that this sort of thing annoys me immensely. Funny, but Vaughan seemed to come up with plenty of questions to ask without having a piece of paper. I wonder how many of those school kids veer off into their own curiosity about the site? Do they have time? They always seem to be scurrying off, heeding chaperones glaring at watches, to get to the next place that might have an answer to somebody else's question. I wonder how long it takes to kill a kid's natural curiosity.

We don't see everything; we never do. We explore all the boats, and we like to visit the Children's Museum, which is small, so not overwhelming, yet full of simple, interesting activities for young kids. It reminds me of how Rhode Island's Children's Museum USED to be, before it moved to Providence and got all fancy. Here's a picture of the kids fishing off the side of the boat in the children's museum:

Vaughan is busy with the buoys. Aren't they cute in their life jackets? There are also three wooden boats outside, in a small courtyard, meant to be climbed on and played with. We ate our lunch there and played in the toy boats before heading off to look at more real boats. Our favorite is the whaling boat, the Charles W. Morgan, which also looks a little like a pirate boat if you happen to be a small boy enraptured with pirates. This is the one you can climb way down into, so far down that you are actually in the part of the boat that is in the water, the part with the curved sides, the part that kind of makes Mama want to climb the stairs again, thank you very much.

Nicholas seems to have inherited the seafaring gene. Supposedly some Portuguese ancestor sailed with Magellan, although don't ask me his name, and both grandfathers were in the Navy. Because whenever Nicholas sees a boat, he wants to go on it. This time, it was the Sabino, the refurbished steamboat that now gives half-hour tours of the Mystic River. Here are the boys, waiting for the boat to start moving:

I can just barely stand how cute they are.

We also spent quite a bit of time in the blacksmith shop and not quite enough time watching the shipbuilders at work at the Preservation Shipyard. Really, we could have spent much more time at the Seaport, but as it was, we were there almost five hours, and that's kind of a lot for one Mama with two boys. They know the drill: back in the car, they get a snack, and we stop first chance we get to get me an iced coffee. Aaahh.

This here is just a bonus picture--this is what happens when Daddy gets a hold of the toys. I have to say, I don't know how I could stand life if I were married to someone who didn't make me laugh. He makes me laugh ALL THE TIME.

My Spunky, Spirited Kids

In general, I'm skeptical about any parenting book whose title is in the format of "The 'X' Child." It's the labeling thing--I don't like them. But Michelle had mentioned a couple of times that Raising Your Spirited Child by Mary Sheedy Kurcinka was helping her gain some insights, so I decided to give it a try. The author addresses the labeling issue right off the bat, which helped put me at ease with her and what she had to say. She says that when her first child was born, the only information she could find that described kids like him used words like "difficult, strong-willed, stubborn, mother-killer..." She didn't like those labels (go figure) so she came up with "spirited," which has much more positive connotations.

I wasn't sure if my kids would qualify as "spirited," but I thought I could take the qualities that might pertain to them and hopefully find some new strategies, because who couldn't use some new strategies? But what I discovered was pages and pages of description that made me think, Oh, that's just like Vaughan. Especially as an infant.

I never wavered in my mothering instincts when my kids were babies. I'm great with babies. I knew that it wasn't something I was doing wrong that caused Vaughan to cat-nap, taking multiple half-hour naps throughout the day, waking up still tired; he had trouble falling asleep and staying asleep, he would only nap at home, and he wouldn't nap alone for nearly a year. One holiday when he was about three or four months old, we spent the day at my parents' with family. Vaughan wouldn't nap, not in the sling (where he often napped at home), not in my parents' quiet bedroom, not anywhere. By the time we got home, he was so exhausted he cried for hours before finally falling asleep. After that, we wouldn't go places if it disrupted his naptime. If it included a long enough car ride, we might (although we could never get him into the house without waking him, so we spent quite a bit of time riding around or sitting in the driveway reading so he could get a long enough nap). I knew we were right to adjust ourselves to him, even when it made people raise eyebrows or tell us straight out that we shouldn't be. I don't set my kids' schedule; I follow their lead. If we're going to disrupt what they need, it's going to be for something very important, because we're all going to pay for it later.

The book includes some questions to help figure out the "spiritedness" of both children and parents. Vaughan scored in the highest category, which doesn't surprise me at all. When he hit toddlerhood I thought things would get easier--he could talk, after all!--but he'd been what I called a "high-need" infant and, wow, he was a high-need toddler, too. Go figure. Nicholas scored at the high end of the middle category, which the author calls "spunky" (a very good word to describe Nicholas). The low category is called "low-key cool child." I'm wondering, what are those kids like?

I also scored in the spirited category. This doesn't surprise me, either. Just because Vaughan and I may have different intense reactions doesn't mean we're not both intense. Other qualities include persistence, sensitivity, perceptiveness, adaptability (or lack thereof), dysregularity in all ways, high energy, serious and analytical, and reaction to new things. Sometimes dealing with Vaughan is like dealing with a miniature version of me, and it drives me up a wall. He is so smart, so analytical, and nothing gets by him, unless he's in his own head, in which case there's no getting through to him.

So, given how I feel about labels, it's not that I feel better being able to say, Oh, my child is SPIRITED. More I just wanted to gain some understanding. I KNOW my kids are not working against me. They're both really sweet, kind kids who are full of energy and intensity, but sometimes we are not, shall we say, working together all that well. I also learned that they seem to be extroverts (in the psychological sense, ie, they recharge their energy by being with other people) while I am an introvert (I need to be by myself to recharge). This has nothing to do with social skills--being an introvert doesn't mean I'm shy. (I am quite comfortable giving talks and presentations to large groups, leading activities, and so on; not shy at all.) I just like to be alone afterwards.

I may have mentioned before how Nicholas talks and talks and talks from sunup to sundown. Classic extrovert. Everything is processed verbally. I'd have thought Vaughan was more of an introvert, but no. Me, though--I process in my head. I need time alone with my thoughts. Spending the day around a crowd of people--even amongst family and friends--can leave me exhausted. When the boys and I have spent the day out, whether we've been doing errands all day or on an outing, when we get home I invariably tell them to give me twenty minutes with a cup of coffee and the paper, or email, or whatever, without bothering me. I need to re-energize.

So at the very least, this book helped me realize I am not a crank. I'm an INTROVERT. I also recognized myself in much of the descriptions of spirited children. I was given many labels as a child ("difficult," "spoiled," and "depressed" come to mind), but "spirited" wasn't one of them. The book falls in line with my basic idea of parenting, that we're on the same side as our kids, and that they deserve for us to view them with compassion and understanding, not anger and suspicion. Really, they're not trying to reduce us to puddles of frustrations. When Vaughan is crying hysterically and unable to tell us why and not even wanting to be touched, he doesn't understand it any more than we do, anymore than I understood why I'd spiral into tantrums as a child, with no idea how I ended up at the other side. "How did I get here?" I'd often wonder, and I suspect Vaughan is wondering the same thing. It's hard for me to remember, when I've locked horns with my kid over something and we are both being analytical and persistent and intense, that we're on the same side. I don't live up to my parenting ideals as often as I'd like. Does anyone? So. Helpful book. Thanks, Michelle.

Catch Up

(A few things I've been meaning to get to, and other stuff that came up in the meantime.)

1. This article in my alma mater's student newspaper, which describes the university president's ideas on changing the way the school approaches education. A sampling: "According to Carothers, URI is ushering in a new age, which will slowly break through the mold of what he called 'an American mechanism of obedience and tolerance for boredom,' as he reduces the number of lectures and increases the amount of interactive learning at the university."

Or this: "'We tend to measure seat time and not learning time,' [Carothers] said."

Can I just say, HURRAH! Somebody, somebody in a position of power, gets it.

"[Carothers] added that 'in America, when we're trying to educate everybody,' there must be different types of learning. 'We may come to the day where we have a prescription for every student … but we're a long way from that,' he said."

I've long thought that the only way to "fix" our educational system is to break it down and build something completely different. I have no hope that this will ever happen in grades K-12; perhaps in isolated schools here and there, but not for the masses. College is inherently more self-motivated, but you still predominantly have a system that has many students sitting in one place, listening and taking notes. (Depending upon the major, of course; I was outside much of the time, accidentally stepping in mud holes up to my calf during final exams. That was fun.) It still follows the factory model of education. Changes were afoot at URI shortly after I graduated, and I've watched many new developments and thought, Geez, wish I could have done that. I never did have any qualms about sending my kids to the state university down the road, and it looks like it will just keep getting better.

2. The boys and I were talking about solids, liquids, and gases in the car yesterday. Can't remember how it came up, but it wasn't me--really, I just answer the questions. I gave Nicholas a simple definition of a liquid--it pours. This worked well enough until we came to sand, which, as Vaughan pointed out, is made up of "millions of little solid pieces," but all together it will pour. It was inevitable that we'd get to the bathroom words.

Nicholas: What about PEE?
Vaughan: [laughing hysterically] SOLID!
Me: Dude, it better NOT be solid.
Vaughan: [snorting] LIQUID!
Nicholas: Toots?
Vaughan: [gasping for air] SOLID!
Me: DUDE! They BETTER NOT BE!
Vaughan: [nearly catatonic with glee] Liquid?
Me: NOOOOO! They're GAS! GAS!!!

3. Nicholas's party is, like, a week and a half away. So I'm right on schedule with the panic thing. Today I began to panic about food. Omigod, how/when/HOW am I going to make all this stuff? It all works out--I have a whole weekend before the party, one of the reasons it's always on Monday, so I can bake and chop and marinate or whatever the heck else needs to be done, but still. What's a party without a little panic? And Monday is my RSVP date, and half the list hasn't RSVP'd, and I know it's not Monday yet, but still, is it THAT HARD? 'Cause I know I'm going to have to call some people, or read their minds, one or the other. And I don't know the weather yet, because the 10-day forecast only goes through Sunday, but next Saturday and Sunday are both looking rainy, and did I not mention, IT CANNOT RAIN. Because I can't have all these people in my house, muddy no less, although it's not all that many people because I HAVEN'T HEARD FROM HALF OF THEM YET.

4. Speaking of weather, this is what we've got here:
I so did not feel like driving 45 minutes each way to go to Whole Foods and then lugging two kids and the groceries into the house in the pouring rain. I decided we could go this weekend with Chris, or I could go this weekend alone. (That never happens; the boys LOVE the Big Market, that wonderful supplier of samples and cookies.) Instead, we stayed home, played, and baked oatmeal chocolate chip cookies.

The rain is supposed to continue through tomorrow, which is dampening my enthusiasm for the First Annual RI Sheep and Fiber Festival. I kind of wanted to go because it's the first of what I hope is many, and I wanted to be there for that. I didn't really plan to buy anything, and it's supposed to be wet, and on the cool side, and I don't really want to drive an hour each way, crossing three bridges there and three bridges back again, in nasty weather, just to walk around a muddy farm and smell wet sheep. I'd LOVE to drive an hour each way in sunny, warm weather and walk around a farm and see sheep and all the neat stuff that is bound to be there and maybe perhaps buy more yarn I don't need despite my good intentions, and I'm sure the organizers are even more bummed than I am, and I'm hoping for a miraculous clearing tomorrow morning. But I'm not betting on it. Chances are, we'll go to the stupid market. But, you know, if it clears up, we're not going to run out of food if we go to the festival instead.

5. I've added a button over there--see the picture of the woman with a bicycle? She is fixing to ride 150 miles to raise money for multiple sclerosis research. Last year she raised $18,000 from knitters. This year she's aiming for $20,000. Can I just say, I love when people make it so easy for me to donate to causes I'd donate to anyway? My mother has MS. (Yes, she had that before she had cancer, and yes, now the cancer has metastasized, and no, nobody said life was fair.) I've even managed the HTML correctly so that if you click on the picture of Claudia with her bike, you will be taken to a page with information on how you can donate, too. She is even entering everyone who donates into a raffle for various prizes, which other knitters are donating, not that you need incentive, I'm sure. But I thought I'd mention it, and if you're not a knitter, maybe you know a knitter, or maybe you could just say, "Hey, Claudia? No need to enter me. I don't knit, but I sure as heck think you're doing a fabulous thing."

I think Claudia is doing a fabulous thing. Go, Claudia.

Plans

Dude, do I have a party to plan. My baby is turning three. THREE!! That's the dragon on his invitation, because my boy wants dragons and knights. I usually end up making the invites, because I can never find exactly what I or the boys have in mind. However, Nicholas approved the above dragon and the wording of his invitation.

His party is kind of a Big Deal. He was due on July 11, and I knew he was going to be early. (Mamas just know these things.) I thought, at first, maybe we'd have a Fourth of July baby. Hahahaha. We had a Memorial Day baby; he was born the day before, to be precise. His first birthday fell on Memorial Day proper, and really, was there anything to do but hold a big ol' cookout? I may have started thinking about his first birthday party very, very early on, but it's because his birth was so dramatic, and so potentially disastrous, and yet, in the end, so fine. I felt like celebrating this miracle child (and they're all miracles, yes, every single one) right from the get-go, and I finally had my opportunity on his first birthday.

I think we sort of have Memorial Day cookout duty from now to infinity, which is fine. It's nice to see friends and family we don't often see--we do invite loads. (It's a cookout, after all, and as long as it NEVER, EVER rains, we're fine. 'Cause we cannot fit all those people in our house.) Mind you, this is a far larger gathering than I'd usually condone for a kid's birthday party, but it's because it's simultaneous with the cookout gathering. This is why I let people know, gifts are not necessary. Gifts are NEVER necessary. That is SO NOT THE POINT. I've asked Nicholas what he'd like for his birthday, as a gift, and his first answer was "cake." I explained that we'd have a cake anyway, which we'd share with his guests (crucial point, this--my boy loves his food), and is there anything else he might want? "A rock," he said. Nicholas is a happy kid, not ruled by complicated wants and desires right now. I'd like him to stay that way.

However. Birthdays should be magical. CHILDHOOD should be magical. Yesterday we got a big box in the mail full of favors for the kid guests. We're going on a quest (I'd better get going on writing the clues). We have cardboard crowns and knight sashes for the kids, and goodies to hand over once the quest is complete. (I was hoping to find grails, but they were kind of pricey, so we settled for plastic knight goblets instead, filled with stickers and stuff.) We have a dragon pinata, which shall be whacked with swords, except not if Nicholas doesn't want to break him, in which case, we will just throw candy or something at the children. (Hey, I'm not going to traumatize my own kid on his birthday.) He would like knights with swords out, fighting a dragon, on top of his cake. We found a Knight and Dragon Toob--they're toys! They're cake toppers!! What fun!!

I know it sounds like a lot, but it is and it isn't. The games and prizes are not that expensive. But it's fun, and Nicholas AND Vaughan are so excited. I kind of like coming up with this sort of thing. Last spring, Vaughan and I hosted a pirate party just because Vaughan wanted to. Nobody's birthday or anything; we just thought it would be fun. And it was. We decorated treasure chests and handed out treasure maps (I drew it, scanned it in, and printed it on pirate-y paper). We found cool treasure at each stop and then ate cupcakes sprinkled with gold dust, and hardtack dipped in slime, and Pirate Booty. And the invitations for the pirate party?? SO COOL. Printed on the neatest paper. So, yeah, maybe I am pouring some of my unused talents into planning kid parties every now and then, but I have this strong yearning for my kids to look back and have these awesome memories. Magical memories.

And so in May I practically need a list to keep track of my lists, and Chris takes days off to try and get the yard into decent shape, and we generally go into Nicholas Birthday Mode. I like that the kids' birthdays are six months apart, which gives them each their own little spotlight. Chris takes the actual birthdays off, if they don't fall on the weekend, and we do something as a family. We are making our traditions, and I like them very much.

We Interrupt Our Regular Blogging...

...To announce a new blog, The Embroiderers' Story, maintained by my sister, Jill (whom I can now name because her name is on the blog, after all). The story is that of the re-creation of a 17th-century embroidered jacket, by hand, which is being undertaken at Plimoth Plantation in Plymouth, MA. The embroiderers will, I gather, be legion. I'll tell you straight out that I don't have the patience to cross-stitch the tiniest little sampler, the kind where they print out the colored x's on the muslin for you. So when my sister said, Oh, we're doing this big project at work, and she explained it, well, I'm pretty impressed anyone would even think of doing such a thing. I have no idea how they're going to do it. But I'll be keeping close tabs on the blog to find out. I've added it to my links to the right, and I hope, if embroidery is your thing, you'll check it out too.

Squee! Sunflower Tam

Sorry, I'm just so thrilled with this. It looks so impressive that I'm not even going to tell you how easy it really was. This is the Sunflower Tam from Knitting Nature, using one skein of Malabrigo Bobby Blue (the color looks true to me in this picture) and US 10 needles (16" circular and 5 dpns). Some blocking was required, since my gauge was more on line with the kids' version than the adult one, and I'm still not sure it's fitting like it's supposed to. I think, if I were going to do it again with the Malabrigo, I'd adjust the bottom a bit, perhaps increasing more sharply, or something. Not sure, but some adjustment is probably in order.

The top, though, isn't it just lovely? The Malabrigo is so soft, too, and feels so nice running through your fingers. It had a funny smell to me, though, almost like a slightly chemical smell, perhaps an effect of the dyeing? Who knows, my nose is super-sensitive. I can live with it, whatever it is.

So I stretched the top over a dinner plate, a la EZ's suggestions for blocking a tam, and when it was dry enough I tried it on. My boys wrinkled their noses. "It's floppy," they said.

"It's supposed to be floppy." Noses remained wrinkled.

"You look girly," Vaughan complained. "You look more girly than you're supposed to."

It's bound to happen every now and then, that I look girly. I like the hat anyway.

Peek Around the Neighborhood

Bells asked a bit ago to see pictures of where her blogging friends lived. So take a quick walk with me right around my house. Here's a picture of part of the backyard and the "open space" (woods) behind it. The black box thing over by the neighbor's fence is our compost bin.

This is the view off our "back" deck, which actually faces the lot to one side. Our house is on our lot sideways--it required creative placement to fit a house, well, and septic without encroaching on the wetland setback. Over in that woods (what we call the "scrubby") is a stream. The stream is not on our lot, but the wetland setback--the buffer area in which disturbance is not allowed--extends onto our property. I love this swath of woods we have on two sides. I wish it surrounded us completely, but the neighbor's house on the other side is close and right there. Still, we see deer, wild turkey, hawks... we hear loads of birds... the scrubby is full of butterflies, dragonflies, and fireflies in the summer. Our first summer here, when I was exhausted with newborn Nicholas and feeling badly that I had so little energy to do fun things with Vaughan, I often set up our lunch on the deck. One day, a hummingbird came and hovered near the deck railing, low enough for Vaughan to see it, too. That hummingbird was a blessing with wings.

Here's a couple of views of the stream. (I had to combine photos. Blogger didn't like how many I wanted to load.) That big leafy stuff is skunk cabbage, one of the first plants to come up in spring. It actually generates heat and can melt the ice above it as it pushes out of the earth. It grows in wet areas--it's a wetland indicator. It's named skunk cabbage because of its odor. This area is also full of ferns. The stream crosses underneath the road.And here is the road. On the left, the view down the road; on the right, the view up it. Some land is for sale, which explains all the surveyors we saw in the fall. It hasn't received building or ISDS permits yet, though, so who knows if it will sell quickly or at all. The road is not that busy, but people drive far faster than the posted 25 mph limit. It makes me nervous, especially with Nicholas's tendency to bolt. Every now and then somebody misses the curve and smashes into something. It's a dark road and people don't pay attention and they drive too fast.


This is just a bonus picture of me modeling my Mother's Day present. I'd told Chris not to bother with one--we just went away, we just got the well tested (regular maintenance), and so on and so forth, but he'd already ordered this. I can't say I wasn't pleased. I didn't have a proper jersey. For the non-Americans and/or non-football fans, that's the jersey of New England Patriots quarterback Tom Brady. Three months until training camp...

Oddments, All In One Post

Another Reason to Love USPS

("You're being sarcastic, right?" confirms Vaughan. He is at the age where kids are learning to recognize sarcasm. "Yes, Vaughan, I am." I tell him. "I most definitely am being sarcastic.")

The package from Bells arrived yesterday--hurrah! Except the envelope had been ripped, then taped, with a snarky little sticker from USPS that basically said, "We got it this way. Ain't our fault." (Ok, I'm not reporting that word-for-word. Busted.) The thing is, they don't tell you which post office slapped on that sticker, or who's responsible--no accountability in USPS. Trust me, I've got a long list of grievances, and the lack of customer service tops the list.

ANYWAY. Here's a picture of the yarn that survived, which traveled all the way from Canberra, Australia, to me. I find that pretty cool. It's Bendigo 8-ply Red Tweed, and Chris was shocked at the size of it. I believe he called it the biggest ball of yarn he'd ever seen. It's 200g, and I've no idea how many yards that works out to, but it IS and impressive chunk o' yarn. As I said, the tag reads Red Tweed, but sometimes it seems pinkish, or purplish. I'm not sure how it will knit up, and I'll be playing with it a bit, to figure out what it wants to be. Bells also sent books for the boys, with really neat photos of Australian animals. Thanks so much, Bells! I'm so sorry USPS is a thoroughly disappointing entity and lost much of your package's wonderful contents.


Guess What I Found???

British paperback editions of three of the Harry Potter books, that's what. When the first one came out in the US and I learned the US publisher had changed the UK spellings and slang because they didn't think American readers were smart enough to understand that the English language is not the same worldwide, I was beyond miffed. It galled me. I read plenty Brit authors as a child (E. Nesbit was a favorite), and I liked the slang. I figured it out. I like British spellings better! I still spell grey "wrong"! I tried--in vain--to get ahold of an original. Today I was in a new used book store--sorry, that's confusing. It's a used book store, new to town, a second branch of one that's been in Providence for years. I was browsing the shelves when I saw Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. Yay!! I bought all the British versions she had, for ridiculously low prices ($10.50 for all three).

I am so excited to have this book store here. While I browsed, Nicholas played with a table full of Legos that the owner had set out--I LOVE stores that make it easy to shop with children. I also found a brand-new--looking hardcover copy of Between, Georgia, which I did not own (I do now). I went back and forth about this a little. The paperback version just came out, and I thought, if I buy that, it more directly supports the author. On the other hand, I want to support the new used book store so that it never closes. I bought the book. I already plan to order a signed copy of Joshilyn Jackson's next book, due in early 2009, The Girl Who Stopped Swimming, as soon as the link goes up on her site.

Naked Sheep

We went to Watson Farm this afternoon for their sheep shearing fest. Nicholas was entranced by watching this, over and over.
The sheep were, for the most part, cooperative. My boys are well-schooled in the process that turns sheep into yarn. Of course. Next week I'm hoping to go to the First Annual RI Wool & Fiber Festival. We also saw a few of these cute little guys.

Tomorrow is Mother's Day, a weird holiday if ever there was one, and so far gone from its original intention (which was not, incidentally, to subsidize Hallmark, florists, or the chocolate industry, much as I love the latter). There are many, many things this country could do to make every day better for mothers. MOTHERS has some ideas on where to start.

Things That Make Me Happy

1. The summer birds are back. I heard my first towhee early one morning last week. (Very early; I was in bed, playing possum, hoping Nicholas would go back to sleep.) Towhees say "Drink your TEA!" If you click on that link, you will be able to hear it, too. I love towhees. Hearing one makes me smile and skip on the inside and very often skip on the outside too, a little hop of glee. Now I hear them in my own yard. What a gift.

A couple of evenings ago I heard a veery, and this morning, I picked out the wood thrush. We have lots more; I can't figure them all out, but they've joined the overwintering birds, the chickadees and titmice and nuthatches, the cardinals and robins and woodpeckers, and now it is loud, loud, loud in our yard and it's glorious.

2. Nicholas found fragments of a robin shell in the front yard this morning.

3. Several of the routes to/from our house take us by horses grazing in fields. The boys and I identify one of our area playgrounds as "the one across from the cows." Of course, this time of year, several routes to/from our house also take us through a heavy smell of manure, but I can live with that.

4. The farm manager of our CSA called yesterday. I'd begun to think he wasn't running the CSA this year--last year was his first year, and he was up in the air about what direction he wanted the garden to go in. I'm so glad we'll be a part of the CSA again. I talk more about the farm and Pete (the farm manager) here and here.

5. Our music class on Thursday afternoon takes us over two bridges. We live on the west side of Narragansett Bay, down near the shoreline of Rhode Island. We drive north, drive the Jamestown Bridge to Conanicut Island, then the Newport bridge to Aquidneck Island. Then back again when we're done. I don't like driving over bridges, so much. When I was a kid I used to close my eyes, but that's not an option while driving, of course. The main problem, for me, is that I can so clearly see the car going over the bridge, into the water, and I have how many seconds to unbelt two carseats? (And one is a 5-point harness! It was even worse when both were!)

So how does this make me happy again? The view going over those bridges, on a beautiful day, is literally breathtaking. Heading back towards Jamestown (Conanicut Island), I saw blue water, big swatches of green, the tops of the trees, little black-and-white specks that could only be cows, sandy shoreline. Before too long, the Bay will be dotted with sailboats. I don't look at the view much--I am focusing, don't you know, so that we get to the other side--but oh, it always makes me think, I live here. I'm so glad I live here. (Don't ask how I feel about the tourists, or about winters full of cold and snow; we are focusing on HAPPY in this post.)

6. Nicholas's description of Ernie: "The big furry thing with the face." And here is a picture of said furry thing.And another picture, the way he usually looks: The big furry thing without a face.

Finally, Some Knitting Content

Finished Object
I've been knitting, I have, but what's to report when you're just doing rows and rows of green garter stitch? I wanted to FINISH it before I reported. And I have, except for the buttons, because sewing on the buttons makes me nervous that I'll mess up, and if I wait to post until they're on I might never get around to posting. So here is Daphne's Baby Cape from Knit 2 Together, a shot while drying and another modeled by Paddington Bear (Vaughan just HAD to get into the picture).

Pattern: Daphne's Baby Cape
Yarn: Cascade 220 in Lichen, about 3.5 skeins (pattern calls for three--buy four)
Needles: 24" circular, US size 7 (for most of it) and 5 (for last 8 rows of hood)
Modifications: This is knit bottom up, decreasing towards the top. I placed the decrease rows closer by two rows than the pattern called for, up until the first buttonhole row. My stitch gauge was spot on, but my row gauge was off a little, and this compensated. The pattern says the cape is supposed to be approximately 17" from the neck down, and mine is 16.5". Also, I was worried about running out of yarn, but in the end I bought another skein. I'm not sure on the pattern recommendation of 3 skeins. I don't know how they knit it without the fourth.

I also changed the buttonholes from a yo/K2tog type to a 2-stitch bindoff type (casting on 2 stitches on the next row), because the buttons I found for the cape are a little smaller than the recommended size, but I knew they'd fit with the 2-stitch bindoff buttonhole. I'm not happy with the buttonholes, though. The stitch to the left of each one is loose--maybe I need to really tighten that first cast-on stitch? I thought about trying to snug it up somehow, but since this cape is going to my niece, and my sister is an extraordinary knitter and seamstress, I'm thinking any solution she comes up with will be far better executed than anything I can do. I hate to hand over the cape without fixing this myself, but I don't want to make a mess of it. So I'll be handing over the cape with extra yarn.

Overall, I think it's really cute, but I won't be making another for a while. Which leads me to...

Upcoming Projects

I decided upon a project worthy of my Malabrigo petting yarn. I'm going to try the Sunflower Tam from Knitting Nature. I originally found a picture of it while browsing Regenia's blog sonnet 130, and I checked out the pattern and I think one skein Malabrigo will do it. I wound the skein into a ball today, and I'm hoping to swatch tonight. (Thank you for the inspiration, Regenia!)

Now that I have my 24" size 7 needle liberated from the cape, I need to cast on for Vaughan's winter hat. It has to be knit flat because it's going to involve intarsia. And reversibility. No more details because if I can make it work I think I should submit it to knitty. Vaughan, bless his soul, thinks I can do almost anything with my needles: "Mama, I'm not sure you can do this knitting, but maybe could there be a button I push to switch the hat from one side to another?" Have no doubt, this kid has given me very specific instructions on what this hat should look like. Think like a five-year-old boy, and you'll start to get an idea.

I also have wool bought to make Nicholas a tomten. But I need a break from garter stitch right now.

The Quest

The Summer issue of Interweave Knits arrived last week. I don't knit much from there, but I love to browse. I found a pattern for toe-up socks using jitterbug, which I just happen to have, so I'm planning those at some point. I also like the Lutea Lace-Shoulder Shell.

The yarn used, Classic Elite Sundance, is a new yarn this spring. Part of the reason I like this pattern, beyond that it's cute, is that (1) it's a tank, so it'll knit up quick; (2) I'd take the smallest size, so the yarn amount isn't extreme; (3) the gauge is 4.25 stitches/inch, more quick knitting; (4) it's simple stockinette in the round, with waist shaping, short row shaping, and the lace pattern straps to keep it interesting. If I were going to make it--which I shouldn't, I have projects backed up already--I wouldn't want to change the yarn. I'd want nice, simple, "follow-the-pattern, stupid" knitting.

I thought I'd just look at the yarn Saturday, at the store that was having a sale, because if I liked it and it was 15% off, well, maybe I'd make the tank. But they'd decided not to carry Sundance. I called the other LYSs in my area. No Sundance. I called the LYSs a little father out, then all the ones in the state, excepting the ones in the far northwest corner, listed on the Classic Elite website as stocking their yarn. I called Connecticut. Nobody has this yarn. You see my problem? It's turned into a QUEST.

Chris and I get sucked into quests so often that it's almost a code word for us. We start out looking for something simple, can't find it, can't give up, spend all day trying to find it, until it's not so much about the thing itself as about the FINDING of the thing, because the thing is being elusive, it's slippery, it's out there but it's difficult, and we don't want to settle. (Chris would like me to add the word "noble" into this definition, several times.)

So of course, he of all people will have to understand when I nobly type in the credit card numbers and nobly order the yarn off of some noble Internet site. Can I let the absence of this yarn in my entire geographical area dictate what I knit? The gauntlet has been thrown. Don't you think?

Someone Owes Me $690,000*

According to this Newsweek article, a survey by Salary.com revealed that "stay-at-home" moms work 92 hours per week, and that work is worth an annual salary of $138,095. Far be it from me to quibble with that sort of salary, but I'm wondering about that ten hours off per day. Last I checked, you still paid the babysitter when the kids were asleep, and I sure as heck don't get ten hours of sleep per night. Just saying.

And nobody (on this blog, anyway) is saying it's any easier for the moms who work a paying gig. You do the math--after a 40-hour week at some job, there's still 52 hours worth of work at home. And then there are the moms like my sister, who takes the baby to work with her and tries to do it all at once. (I did that too, for about six months, part-time, from my house. No picnic. I imagine it's even harder outside the house.)

The article mentions the "Bermuda triangle" of finance: you have a kid, your expenses go up, your income often goes down. Tell me about it.

*I've been doing this for five years. I want back pay.

The 2007 Baby Talks: Update

Greetings from The House of Sick. Vaughan is the miserable, moaning lump on the couch, periodically requesting that I carry him to the bathroom. Nicholas is feeling better and is bouncing off the walls. My throat hurts again--can I possibly be catching the same germ back from the kids? Outside it is sunny and warm. Looks nice through the window.

One casualty of this descent of germs is that I had to cancel a consult sort of appointment with my new local OB this afternoon. The OB who delivered Nicholas (aka "The Goddess Who Saved His Life") moved to Florida, and the office that agreed to take over her patients doesn't know me at all. Our Baby Talks have stalled, because we realized we don't even have enough medical information to come to a decision, so before we left for Boston I called to make an appointment with the "new" OB and an OB/med specialist in the city, recommended by my hematologist. I want the local OB office to know my history beyond a file full of papers and test results BEFORE I get pregnant, if that's what we decide. I don't want to be on the phone, positive test in hand, convincing the receptionist that they really do need to see me right away, not at 12 weeks, no, RIGHT NOW. And suppose they then decide I'm in a risk category they're not comfortable treating? I don't want to be scrambling for an OB when already pregnant.

A couple cycles ago I was ten days late. Without going into much detail (my dad reads this blog, after all), I'll just say that I've been late exactly once since Vaughan was born, and that's when I was pregnant with Nicholas. I know exactly when I ovulate, and the rest is easy to predict from there. So, ten days late, and while I liked the thought of being pregnant, part of my brain was worrying that even then, some rogue clot was forming and I'd drop dead right in front of my kids. And because my signs were all messed up, I wasn't even sure when to test, and I wasn't sure that a negative test was actually negative and not just a too-early test. In retrospect, this was about the time my mom and niece were both doing poorly. Stress may have been a factor. But still, I've never been late in 5 years. And I can't "just get pregnant."

The clotting thing: I've talked about it before, but to sum up briefly--the day after Nicholas was born six weeks early (emergency c-section; placental abruption), my blood tested positive for lupus anticoagulant, which means it clotted too easily (more info on this sort of stuff can be found here). Apparently a definite diagnosis requires a second positive test six weeks later; my blood wasn't tested again within that time frame. I finally saw a hematologist right around Nicholas's first birthday, and my blood tested fine all that summer. All clear, unless I get pregnant again, when the clotting problem may or may not crop up again.

Of course, my addled little optimistic brain remembered that another pregnancy wouldn't be that difficult, we'd just test my blood and treat with blood thinners if a problem happened to arise, which of course it wouldn't, right? I'm fine. But, um, no. I called my hematologist to seek his advice--"We haven't decided anything, we're just talking," I told him--and he said usually in patients with anticoagulant disorders, the treatment is blood thinners, except I'd had a "bleeding event" (that's the abruption), and obviously you don't want to be on blood thinners during a bleeding event. (Incidentally, you don't necessarily want to be on blood thinners during a c-section, either.) His advice was to talk to an OB/med specialist.

Clearly there is a level of nonacceptable risk, and if we're approaching it, the decision is made. And this particular problem--well, if the first blood test was correct and I did have super clotty blood while pregnant, we are over-the-top lucky. (We're lucky anyway; an abruption is a serious thing.) Typically this problem is diagnosed after several miscarriages, including late miscarriages and/or still births. I've never had a miscarriage. I have two healthy kids. I have two healthy kids who also want a baby, and considering that the miscarriages we're talking about are typically late first trimester or later, I can't even think about putting them through a pregnancy loss--never mind Chris and me. And we're not even talking about how dangerous these conditions can be for the mother.

This is what I think is going to happen. I think the specialist is not going to tell us not to get pregnant. They rarely do that sort of thing. I think he's going to order some tests and lay out the options for treatment and explain the risks and how they'd minimize them, and we are going to decide against a third baby. Believe me, I would try and try and try for a first baby, but I have two babies who need me physically and emotionally complete, and I'm thinking what we hear will be enough to convince us to stop here. But I also think that if that's the case, I need to hear it. I need to hear it spelled out. It won't stop my wanting, but, with the insight provided by my very wise son, I'm working on that. It will lead us to a final decision, though, and that will help immensely. I think.

And I KNOW I am lucky to have the two children I do. I know that every single day, so having well-meaning friends or family or health professionals tell me that, with the implied addition that it shouldn't matter so much if I never have another, is, actually, bordering on insulting (but I know they don't mean it that way). The best way I can explain it is by saying that having Nicholas didn't negate the existence or necessity of Vaughan, and wanting a third doesn't mean I don't want or appreciate the ones I already have. If I didn't love them so much, I wouldn't want another. I always thought three--it's like there's somebody missing. If we can't change that, I'll get over it. But I don't need to be reminded that I am fortunate and blessed. I know. Oh, believe me, I know.

On Wanting

I don't get a lot of one-on-one time with either of my kids, but when I get Vaughan alone, we have amazing discussions. Nicholas has been sick all weekend--he caught my cold and upped the ante a bit to croup, spending Friday night sucking in air desperately and getting wicked pissed off that he wasn't getting enough, which of course made it harder to breathe. Vaughan has the cold/fever now, but he's not prone to croup, at least. However, on Saturday, Vaughan was fine and Nicholas was miserable. It's always tough when one of them is down and the other is not--the well one wanders around morosely, no brother to play with. So when I offered Vaughan the chance to come on an errand while Nicholas napped on Daddy--"This is MY errand," I clarified, "no toy stores, no snacks, just to the yarn store* and back"--he eagerly agreed. (*They were having a sale. I only bought a book, EZ's Knitter's Almanac, which is only $8 to start. Very restrained, don't you think?)

We talked about many things in the car, one of which was Wanting. Last week he picked out a toy at the aquarium, and he told me he really wished he'd gotten something else. The specifics aren't important; he likes what he has and plays with it all the time, but the package has a picture of that other toy, so of course it looks like it might be more fun. First I tried explaining that concept, that if he DID have the other toy, his wishing might be opposite. I pointed out how he has lots of other cars, but no submarine, so it was good he picked the submarine, because he could always use a different car. I caught myself from telling him to stop wanting what he doesn't have, that he has so many toys, blah blah blah. It was on the tip of my tongue.

Instead I told him it would be wrong for me to tell him not to want things. Almost everybody wants things they don't have. I do, his dad does, we all do. I told him some people were really good at letting go of want (I was thinking of Buddhism here), but it's really hard to do, and that it might be more helpful to recognize that we want things. "That little part of your brain is always going to tell you it wants a different toy, or more toys, or something you don't have. But the bigger part of your brain can tell it to hush up." I tried to explain that if we let it, that little part of our brain would ruin all our fun. It would always be making us feel like we don't have enough to be happy, no matter how many things we get. There will always be something else we don't have. Instead, the big part of our brain can say, "Hey, I'm having fun with these toys over here. Hush UP!" We talked about how we wouldn't want to invite that always unhappy guy to a party; he'd ruin all our fun, always talking about how things COULD be better IF JUST.

He got it, I think. He thought it was pretty funny, telling part of his brain to be quiet. I don't expect my little car chat to be some miraculous cure, but it IS a way of talking about it that he understood, so we can talk about it again. And it was a good reminder for me. That little wanting part of the brain thrusts you so much into the future; it can take you right away from the now. The now is pretty good. Not bad at all.

That Vaughan. I like talking with him.

Blog Courtesy

I've been thinking about this since Deb linked to this article. Then, I found this article in my inbox, and I've been mulling over blogger etiquette and ethics ever since. I thought about blogging for a little bit before I began this blog, but only a little bit (I didn't even know what all I should be thinking about, honestly). I didn't consider blogging anonymously, mainly because I hoped to keep family members updated on what the boys and I were up to through the blog, and I'd already had an article accepted in which I mentioned my boys by name. (That article is now up on the web.) I gave a little more thought to whether I'd post pictures of the kids, and then decided that I would, both for the benefit of family members and because I was already reading some blogs by people more well-known than I'll ever be, and those blogs included family pictures. I decided the element of risk was probably negligible at this point.

(Going on an aside here: I have, in the past, asked family members NOT to post pictures of my kids on any site that isn't password protected. This doesn't seem hypocritical to me, because it's a matter of control. I don't post pictures of other people without their permission; I don't want pics of my kids up anywhere without my permission. More on that soon.)

That's about all the thought I gave to it ahead of time. Several times, I've wondered, should I have made up nicknames for my kids? Plenty of people do. In some cases, I know the child's real name, but I'll use the nickname when referring to the child in the comments, to respect the barrier the parent has erected. I can't come up with a clear answer on this one. I guess I feel that if someone really wanted to find out the names of my kids, it wouldn't be that difficult. But I still second-guess that initial decision often. As I began to post, I decided not to mention anyone by name other than myself, my kids, and my husband, unless that person is already public (by blogging or some other way). So, for instance, I'll refer to other bloggers, but I won't use other family members' names. I asked my sister's permission to post a picture of her newborn. I even asked the pirate if I could post his picture. (He agreed, and gave me his card, too; I suppose it's publicity of a sort.)

I also decided not to mention a business or service provider by name unless it was positive. So while I wouldn't say which library the rude librarian worked at, or which doctor employs short-tempered staff, I will call out the sheep farm with great yarn by name. My thinking on this is various. For one, I don't think it's fair to slap somebody's name on the web willy-nilly. Two, I suppose it protects me from libel suits, although that wasn't my first consideration. Three, the web is so vast--how would someone know a blogger is complaining about them? How could they present their side of the story, if they wanted to? If a local newspaper prints an article or a letter to the editor about poor customer-relation skills in area libraries (for example), at least the libraries mentioned have an opportunity to respond. They're going to see the article. The NY Times article linked to above states there are 70 million blogs, with 1.4 million posts added daily (they reference Technorati for that information). The idea that someone might be blogging bad things about you by name and you'd never, ever see it is pretty uncomfortable, don't you think? I wouldn't want anyone to do it to me.

Which is, I guess, my blog "ethics" (if you want to call it that) boiled down to the Golden Rule. Treat others how I want to be treated. I don't visit somebody's blog and leave rude comments. There are ways to disagree civilly. The exchange of ideas on the web is pretty amazing, and we all need our thoughts and ideas challenged so that we can expand and grow, but there are ways to do that so that no one feels attacked (or, even scarier, threatened). I've never run into any of these uncomfortable situations myself, and I don't expect to, either. I tend to visit blogs similar to mine, bloggers who are moms, or knitters, or writers, or homeschoolers, or any combination of those things. I've gotten some good advice and supportive comments from women I've never met.

I suppose it also helps that I don't often veer into controversial topics--I tend to stay away from politics, simply because I never feel well-informed enough to present an opinion. (I have opinions, of course.) Living with a poli-sci major will do that to you, though. Every time I express an opinion, he points out all the holes in my thinking. I do have strong opinions on the educational system, but I also recognize that individual solutions are just that--individual. I'll stick my neck out when it comes to football, but that's about it. (Aside: I am SO JACKED for football season. Have you paid attention to the Pats' off-season moves? Brady is gonna throw that ball all day long....) I'm on some discussion lists, and I don't like to stick my neck out there, either. If I venture to do so, I try to be as diplomatic as possible. I'm betting some people who know me in real life will find the idea of me as diplomatic absolutely shocking. But it's true, I can be. Email and the internet are wonderful technologies, but in the end, it boils down to words on a monitor. When the human is not physically behind those words, it's often impossible to detect tone and delivery. Words separated from voice are so often misunderstood. It's wise to tread carefully, is what I think.

I doubt 70 million bloggers are ever going to agree on a set of ethics, as the NY Times article talks about, but I seem to be in a circle of polite bloggers, for whatever reason, and I enjoy the interaction. And I guess I don't have much more to say than that. Nobody can control other people's behavior; we can only control our own.

Update on my boys: While they were playing yesterday, Chris accidentally thumbed Vaughan in the eye, which is now slightly swollen and still bloodshot. This morning, Nicholas fell and bit his lower lip in three or four places; it's very swollen and purple in spots. Vaughan looked a little stricken as he commented, "Mama, he has A LOT of blood." (Note to self: Buy some red washcloths.) Every time I try to get a closer look, Nicholas says, "Mama, it's all right." The tall boy, my first and favorite boy, got to his hotel in DC at about one this morning, thanks to canceled and delayed flights, and after a few hours sleep, the first Metro train he got onto broke down. He's now wondering who the hell HE pissed off. Luckily it's a short trip, and he's due home tomorrow night. Hopefully the boys look less like the aftermath of a boxing match by then.

Boys

Alala very kindly wrote an entire post to answer my question on whether it gets easier with boys. (Thanks, Alala.) Hers are a little older than mine, and I've always heard (and observed) that while boys might be more challenging than girls while younger, it reverses at about the pre-teen/teen years. I really enjoyed her post, and it was quite a relief to learn that my child is not the only kid to try and put crayons in his bum (read the comments). I agree with her observations on boys, and I will say straight out that I wouldn't trade them for the most well-behaved little girl.

When I was pregnant with Vaughan, Chris and I couldn't even agree on a girl's name, but we'd had Vaughan's name picked out months and months before he was even conceived, so yeah, we were kind of hoping for a Vaughan versus a Baby Girl Hood. When I got pregnant again and realized how close in age the kids would be, I hoped for another boy, because how much fun to have a same-sex sibling so close in age! (And still, no agreement on a girl's name. Oh, and it IS fun, which is 95% of my problem in controlling these boys.) We found out pretty early that the second baby was, in fact, a boy--at 14 weeks, during an emergency ultrasound (a thrill a minute, that pregnancy was). We didn't tell anyone until the regularly scheduled ultrasound that babe number two was also a guy, so we got several extra weeks of "One of each would be nice" and "I bet you want a girl this time" and "You already have a boy so this one will probably be a girl" comments. (I love this fuzzy interpretation of statistics, by the way.) Once Nicholas was born, rather dramatically, I might add, one of Chris's co-workers asked if I was disappointed and if we'd try for a girl. Um, no. If we'd HAD a girl, I'm sure I'd love her to pieces and wouldn't trade her for the messiest, silliest boy. But now, boys are what I know.

So if we did go for a third, I think I'd want still another boy. I have fleeting moments when I bemoan the lack of estrogen in this house--even the cat is a boy--when I'm tired of mopping pee up from the sides of the toilet, when I'm sick of hearing farts followed by peals of laughter. But, honestly, I think I'd be an awful girl mama. For one, I'm training all the men in the house to work around MY hormonal craziness, and it IS hormonal, and it IS craziness. I really don't think I could deal with another female's hormonal craziness IN THE SAME HOUSE. And a girl in this family would have to be a tomboy, because none of us know what to do with a ribbon 'round here. Shoes? I maybe buy one pair per year, fully utilitarian ("Hon, I need sneakers...oh, look, these are on Lands' End overstocks, those'll do..."). I don't like pink. Or ruffles, or lace, or girly things. I own one eyeliner, and it's never used. I hate the smell of perfume. You get the idea.

I like dirt, and I don't mind picking up worms, and I think it's pretty hysterical that I can ascertain everything Nicholas has eaten in a day by looking at his shirt. (He's like the mouse in Lunch, who gets a bit of each fruit or vegetable on his fur, and the last page has a sort of map of the mouse, pointing out each food smear.) I've been known to wipe my nose on my sleeve. In fact, I took so many field classes in college that I had to remind myself NOT to wipe my nose on my sleeve while sitting in a classroom, and I often forgot I was indoors and not amongst other people majoring in Outside. On the very rare occasion I get the urge to knit something girly, I borrow a girl. And I think it's telling that the cape I'm knitting for my new niece is a mossy earthy green, and my sister, her mother, suggested green or blue. Clearly I'm not the only un-girly girl in my family.

My boys right now are challenging. Partners in crime, so to speak. Nicholas is a strong personality, and he has no respect for authority of any sort. He does what he wants. He's not quite three, so much of this is age-related, but the strong personality is his, and I wouldn't trade it. He needed it--he was born 6 weeks early and you'd never have known it. He's tempestuous and dramatic (gee, I wonder where he gets that from?) and also one of the sweetest little boys you'll ever meet. Vaughan has a more pliant personality. This worked well when it was the three of us--he was polite, and mainly did what he was told. He still has no argument about holding hands, and he'd never just run off. But he's kind of like tofu (my sister's analogy)--he picks up the flavor of whatever's around him. So when he's playing with another calm kid, all's well. When he's surrounded by rambunctious kids, he's rambunctious. And now he cheerfully, unthinkingly follows his younger brother's lead into all sorts of mischief, and I'm doubly frustrated because isn't the hope always that your older kid will set a good example for the younger? Instead it's very, very opposite around here.

But, like Alala says, boys have an "appealingly elemental quality." My sister and I were trying to figure out what they think about all the time, because it's not the details that occupy our brains. Nicholas TELLS me what he's thinking all the time, and it seems to be a lot of...well...static. This is a typical Nicholas sentence, said to me this evening when I came home and they were eating their hot dogs and baked beans with Chris: "We're eating, Mama, you can have this [pointing to his plate], hot dog, and beans, but not ketchup, because you don't like ketchup, but I like ketchup..." And so on. He's a reporter, and Vaughan is the Deep Thinker, coming out with stuff from left field, which may explain where his head is when I've asked him to get into his jammies and fifteen minutes later find him jumping on the bed. "Vaughan, what did I ask you to do?"

"Um, go to the bathroom?" I know he can hear, because if anyone else is having a conversation in another room, at the other end of the house, OUTSIDE, whatever, he will call out questions that PROVE he heard me talking. (He's also nosy. Gee, I wonder where he gets that from?) But he doesn't listen. The other morning Chris asked Vaughan if he wanted juice with breakfast, Vaughan said yes, then complained that he had juice and not milk. I KNOW this is small, amusing stuff, but it's oh-so-hard to be shouting into the wind right now. I'm more monkey wrangler than anything else at the moment.

So. Alala has shined a light at the end of the tunnel, or at least from somewhere in the middle.

("Tunnel?" asks Vaughan. "Can I shine my flashlight? What tunnel? Where are you going? Mama?"

"I have a new flashlight," says Nicholas. "See, it pushes the button and it can stay on or it goes off or it flashes with the button and it has a whistle and it has Curious George on it so I say hoo-ha, hoo-ha like Curious George...")

The Link's Up

Here's the link to my article in Home Education Magazine about our experiences on our community supported farm last summer. (A couple folks asked.) It looks like the bit at the end about more information on CSAs got cut off somehow, so if you are super truly interested in that cut-off bit, let me know.

And that's it for today...should I be surprised that we got home from "vacation" and I almost immediately came down with a sore throat, stuffy nose, and head and body aches? Hm. No, not surprised. I'm going back to the couch now...