tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-119258252024-02-06T22:40:55.625-05:00The Amazing JR and the GeezerfolkOur life raising JR, our adopted miracle from Kazakhstan.JR's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343391813557988073noreply@blogger.comBlogger131125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11925825.post-79726433785296505102012-07-14T22:47:00.001-04:002012-07-14T22:50:22.805-04:00Friendship: it's a human thing (naming names)A female friend of mine shared the link below with me recently.<div>
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<a href="http://therumpus.net/2012/01/transformation-and-transcendence-the-power-of-female-friendship/">http://therumpus.net/2012/01/transformation-and-transcendence-the-power-of-female-friendship/</a><br />
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It is a well-written tribute to the power of friendships between women. While I am not the one to denigrate female friendships (I went to a woman's college, for crying out loud, and that has changed my life profoundly), I don't think women are the only gender capable of stepping up and being there when a friend is in need.<br />
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I think all the time about the year of Joe D's illness and how indebted I am to the people who helped me navigate my way through. And that group of friends, which included the inimitable alumna of my college, of course, also included many men. So thank you to the women who helped me find an apartment when we needed a place to live that could accommodate my newly wheelchair-bound husband (thank you Andrea and Ilene), the moms from JR's school who organized a playdate schedule and cooked meal after meal for our family (thank you Victoria and the then-second grade moms and the church ladies), the moms who organized the packing party when we needed to move (thank you Suzanne and the second grade moms and the baseball moms), the women who arranged for my laundry to be done (thank you alumna and Anne) and the women who helped me pack the old house and unpack the apartment and then, a year later, pack and unpack again. Thank you to Melanie who used her days off to come give extra physical therapy sessions to Joe D. Thank you to Liz, who was always there to help me negotiate the medical world. Thank you to Joan, who made sure the apartment had a case of beer in it after Joe finally left us. <br />
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But while my women friends were right there with me, so were my men friends. There were also dad's from JR's school helping with the packing; other dads taking Joseph to baseball games and soccer games; Steve coming down from NYC once a week to sit with Joe D. in the hospital, in the rehab, in the nursing home, in the hospice; Ric finding tenants for our house and negotiating the lease and dealing with the things that went wrong in the night while the tenants were there; and Lyle bringing Joe that last bottle of cream soda he was craving in hospice. It was our friend Jim who sat with me in the surgical waiting room until 5:00 a.m. not knowing whether the doctors would be able to remove the tumor, not knowing whether Joe D. would ever walk again; it was Billy who took us to Boston for the second opinion and who was there to help negotiate every step of the way with Joe D's family.<br />
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And the co-workers who plastered the windows of the City's office building with "GET WELL JOE D." so it could be seen from his room in the rehab hospital? I don't know if they were men or women. I do know that they were friends.<br />
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As a mother raising a son, it is important to me that he grow up seeing not only the power of friendships between women, but also the way that men can be friends - to each other and to women. Luckily for me, I know that he will.JR's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343391813557988073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11925825.post-16580150805593821672011-12-22T17:47:00.005-05:002011-12-22T18:14:56.493-05:00Denial is a not River in AfricaWhat better way to procrastinate than to write a blog entry for a blog that I have not kept updated? From what am I procrastinating? Christmas.<div><br /><div>Well, not Christmas, but Christmas shopping. Leaving the house to buy gifts that I can ill -afford for people who don't really need anything. </div><div><br /></div><div>JR is off for the evening - sleeping over a friend's house. Friend's mom e-mailed me "Enjoy your evening." How do I say that I never really enjoy my evenings without JR? Even when being with him means we are procrastinating by hanging out on the couch watching yet another Disney comedy on TV instead of ... shopping, paying bills, cleaning, unpacking, whatever chore I could be doing that arguably is more necessary than spending time on the couch with my son. I still prefer being with him and I never prefer these nights when he is out of the house (no matter how many DVR'ed episodes of Top Chef or Project Runway I can watch uninterrupted).</div><div><br /></div><div>So I have a free evening and Christmas is no longer weeks or days away but hours. Yet for more than half the folks on my list I have no present. The presents I do have are unwrapped. </div><div>Still I procrastinate.</div><div><br /></div><div>I think I spent the first year or so after Joe's death in denial. Denial about the state of the family finances. Denial about the depth of my grief. I really thought that I was an "expert" in grief, having lost so many family members (nana, grandmother, mother, father, youngest brother). So I never expected that this loss, the loss of my husband, of JR's father, would be so outrageously difficult.</div><div><br /></div><div>I work so hard at keeping up appearances. Everything is fine. We're doing great. Look at JR. He's happy. He has tons of friends. You would never know there is a hole in our family.</div><div><br /></div><div>And mostly, I am great at this deception. I have so many friends and such a great social life and yet, tonight, my evening without JR when I should be off shopping for gifts, I am sitting here in tears, with no idea who I could even call.</div><div><br /></div><div>Tomorrow morning I will go to the office. I will leave early and head off to the stores and somehow finish the list. I will meet up with JR and his babysitter. I will argue with JR about appropriate clothes for the evening. We will go to see the Nutcracker with Joe D's cousins, who care for us and take care of us. We will watch the daughter of one of Joe D's best friends dance in two of the dances. Then I will come home and frantically wrap presents. Christmas Eve will be filled with Joe D's family and with church. There will be lots of food. We will eat many, many dishes of fish. Presents will be exchanged. I will beg off early because we need to go home and get ready for Santa. JR will go to sleep. My co-worker and her son will come and help me set up JR's big present. </div><div><br /></div><div>Christmas morning will arrive. Santa will have arrived. There will be magic, then disappointment. No dog, no signed Babe Ruth baseball, no hot tub. None of those big ticket items on the list that never did get sent to Santa. Maybe the in-laws will come to see the tree. Then dinner at my co-workers. Then on Monday, lunch at my cousins' house - where JR can play with her little ones and my aging aunt, a religious sister, will have a chance to see everyone.</div><div><br /></div><div>And everyone I see will think that I am fine. And that this is a Merry Christmas.</div><div><br /></div><div>But it is not.</div></div>JR's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343391813557988073noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11925825.post-7215483220349443032011-03-22T04:49:00.005-04:002011-03-22T04:57:28.167-04:00National Poetry Month4:30 a.m.<div>My growing boy takes up more <div>room in the bed than me.</div><div><br /></div><div>Two days to spring break</div><div>Laundry, packing, getting set</div><div>No time to relax.</div><div><br /></div><div>Clearwater Phillies</div><div>Baseball, baseball, more baseball</div><div>What could be better?</div><div><br /></div></div><div>April is Nation-</div><div>al Poetry Month, not March. </div><div>I have jumped the gun.</div>JR's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343391813557988073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11925825.post-13520766111135486712011-02-03T21:08:00.003-05:002011-02-03T21:22:59.215-05:00Breathing a sigh of reliefI need to slow my breathing and get my heart to stop racing. Late afternoon, at work, I received a frantic phone call from the mom of JR's best friend. Z, who transferred to the local public school this year, did not come home from school. Usually, he walks home with his older brother (5th grade) but the older brother decided to stay for Homework Club. Since they live a mere 4 blocks from school, Z is allowed to walk home and has a key for his front door. Z's mom is home within 20-30 minutes of the boys' arrival home. This has worked well since September.<br /><br />When she called me, the police had already been summoned and the parents were working their network of friends. I knew he couldn't be with JR because JR is at his school today until 6 (Drama Club and tutoring). She had called JR's babysitter, because she does sometimes do afternoon playdates with the 2 boys (but never without arranging it with the parents in advance). One of the problems is that because this is a new school for Z, the mom does not have the same contacts she had at our old school. It also doubled the number of possible places that Z could be, since he has friends from both schools.<br /><br />So I started calling the folks I know whose kids go to the public school with Z (there's lots of overlap in our social networks because of sports and church and preschool). My second phone call led to a lead. The mom had seen Z and another public school 3rd grader in the drug store across the street from school. This other kid is unsupervised quite a bit, so my friend wasn't surprised to see him, but did think it unusual to see Z with him. She also knew that this other kid often goes to a local playground after school. So I called the lead into Z's mom, who told the police, who immediately sent an officer to the playground - and there was Z!<br /><br />I was terrified and ultimately relieved for Z's parents.<br /><br />It's odd. We live in the middle of a large city, but our own little neighborhood seems so tight and safe that we must project that feeling of security to our kids - so that it never occurs to them that just leaving school and not letting a responsible adult know where they are going and what they are doing.<br /><br />You can bet I had a long talk with JR tonight.<br /><br />I'm really glad Z is okay. His mom and I have already started brainstorming other supervised after school options for the days when his big brother has homework club. I am thankful for the prompt, caring response of our big city police officers. I am thankful for the seriousness with which Z's school also addressed the situation (the vice principal returned to school and started calling 3rd grade families). But I'm also very sad for Z's afternoon companion - because no one was looking for him, no one was worried about him. I know that to the extent it is within our power, we will always keep JR and Z safe. But who is watching out for the other little boy?JR's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343391813557988073noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11925825.post-24305563088035357732010-11-23T07:07:00.005-05:002010-11-24T00:00:40.529-05:00The Joe D Memorial Tribute Celebration<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Tr_fo0HJ8BbCBMth92f3JDy9T8V19P6Y7nu407KOp_YiWl4w668B8GsbpJXlZpmV6RIvuq67ZZObZasz4GZURUgBpZiVrM14UcT22A_inL3nRSSgY87rinYNYLID3IdvjaQP/s1600/Crevice+Tool.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0Tr_fo0HJ8BbCBMth92f3JDy9T8V19P6Y7nu407KOp_YiWl4w668B8GsbpJXlZpmV6RIvuq67ZZObZasz4GZURUgBpZiVrM14UcT22A_inL3nRSSgY87rinYNYLID3IdvjaQP/s320/Crevice+Tool.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542976351497063778" /></a><br />We're almost 6 months out and Joe D's friends have not forgotten him<br />or us. Saturday I went to a remarkable event - the "Joe D. Memorial<br />Tribute Celebration". Several of Joe's buddies are musicians, some<br />more talented than others. :) Music was a huge part of Joe's life<br />(although being a pianist, his tastes did not always extend to the<br />raucous rock and roll that some of his friends liked to play).<br />Anyway, about 10 years ago, Joe's friends Tom and Jim Z, Lyle and<br />Allen put together a band called <a href="http://il.youtube.com/watch?v=FhJZWHX_U2A">Crevice Tool</a> that made up for their<br />musical ability in their willingness to be loud and raunchy. Joe D<br />told them "Most guys like us just sit around and talk about it<br />(forming a rock band). You guys actually went out and did it. You<br />should have just sat around and talked about it." They played in<br />friends' apartments and other spaces where the band was allowed to pay<br />the owner for the privilege of playing. The band struggled to stay<br />together when Tom left Philadelphia to go get his MBA and subsequently<br />settled in NYC. They broke up forever when one of the 4 decided to<br />vote for GWB and one of the others refused to be in a band with<br />someone whom he felt was so clueless regarding politics.<br /><br />After Joe died, Tom and Jim Z decided they wanted to do something<br />special to honor him. So they convinced Crevice Tool to reunite for a<br />one-night only gig and thus the "Joe D Memorial Tribute Celebration"<br />idea was born. Tom came down from NYC almost weekly since July to<br />rehearse. They recruited another friend, Craig, who is a classically<br />trained guitarist, to sit in with them. They recruited our friends<br />Denis and Cammy who have a alt.country rock band called <a href="http://www.knifeandforkband.com/">The Knife and<br />Fork Band</a> that has been successfully playing small local gigs for<br />about 15 years to be the opening act. One of our neighbors, also<br />formerly an attorney for the City, had a connection to a local club<br />called <a href="http://www.conniesricrac.com/">Connie's RicRac Room</a> (a very dark, funky dive bar / performance<br />space that Joe D particularly liked). He managed to book the club for<br />a Saturday night. Crevice Tool (well, Tom) started writing songs<br />about Joe. They gathered up old photos and made a PowerPoint. We<br />publicized the event to our friends and neighbors. Crevice Tool also<br />decided they wanted to donate any profits. I convinced them that the<br />money should go to the Joseph DiGiuseppe Memorial Fund at the <a href="http://www.libraryfriends.info/">Friends<br />of The Free Library</a>, which is where donations went at the time of the<br />funeral.<br /><br />Saturday night, we had the event. We had somewhere between 80-100<br />people there. Joe's best friend from high school came up from<br />Maryland. Folks from Joe's office were there. Lots and lots of<br />neighbors. All of the friends Joe hung out with when we first started<br />dating. Many of the parents from Joseph's preschool (Denis and Cammy<br />and Jim also sent their kids there). We raised about $600 for the<br />library fund.<br /><br />There were the usual last minute problems. Jim's viola broke so he<br />had to borrow Cammy's violin. The owners of the RicRac Room didn't<br />show up to open the place until 8:00 (show was supposed to start at<br />8), so there wasn't much of a sound check. Denis' sister Meg, who is<br />the lead vocalist for Knife and Fork, almost didn't make it because<br />her son had an appendicitis scare (he's okay). Jim's "dancers" bailed<br />out on him (don't ask me).<br /><br />The show was a blast. Knife and Fork opened and played a great set.<br />Then Crevice Tool came out to much hooting and hollering. They played<br />some of their old standbys from 10 years ago - tweaked to reference<br />Joe (they have a song called "40 Ounces" but they changed the<br />reference from beer to Diet Coke). They got me up on stage to sing<br />background lyrics to a <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H%C3%BCsker_D%C3%BC">Husker Du</a> song called <a href="http://www.plyrics.com/lyrics/huskerdu/thegirlwholivesonheavenhill.html">"The Girl Who Lives on<br />Heaven Hill"</a> (some of you may know that in my pre-Joe D., pre-law<br />school youth, I was a bit of a punk rocker and used to house members<br />of Husker Du and a few other punk bands when they had gigs in Phila).<br />They played a song entitled the "Ballad of Joe D and Theresa" which<br />progressed from Joe living with his parents to meeting me on the<br />subway to our traveling to Kazakhstan and adopting Joseph. Jim Z. did<br />his best Ice-T imitation and did a rap about Joe. The absolute<br />highlight of the night, though, was Tom's song "Fanny Pack" which was<br />a litany of most of Joe D's opinionated rants about life in South<br />Philadelphia (if you ever met Joe D on a non-work day, he could be<br />found wearing a t-shirt, zippered hoodie, grey or black sweatpants,<br />with a fanny pack (he called it his "black thing") around his waist -<br />he made quite the fashion statement). I laughed so hard I was in<br />tears.<br /><br />The obituary, funeral and the outpouring of love we were shown in May<br />was one thing - but this, this was a send-off! We are so lucky.<br />Everyone should have such friends.JR's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343391813557988073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11925825.post-37208121293348371802010-05-26T09:22:00.003-04:002010-07-02T17:25:46.536-04:00We are heartbroken<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm4S9XVUOIVnot1Ak4mQBnw1FTv1iUgnlbvMnZNlEykiJHNaiSRnedJU1ZSD5TV39W-SunamC1vgd5fOwsKIZJMar12JYgFmQSphyF6OFqliBLi53IuomJHFQZeRHs7sgte3V2/s1600/DSC00189.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 200px; height: 150px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhm4S9XVUOIVnot1Ak4mQBnw1FTv1iUgnlbvMnZNlEykiJHNaiSRnedJU1ZSD5TV39W-SunamC1vgd5fOwsKIZJMar12JYgFmQSphyF6OFqliBLi53IuomJHFQZeRHs7sgte3V2/s200/DSC00189.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475588513273379762" /></a><br />The world is a lot emptier for JR and me.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.philly.com/dailynews/obituaries/20100526_Joseph_DiGiuseppe__city_solicitor_aide.html#ixzz0p1gHbLpf">http://www.philly.com/dailynews/obituaries/20100526_Joseph_DiGiuseppe__city_solicitor_aide.html#ixzz0p1gHbLpf</a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.libraryfriends.info/index.php">http://www.libraryfriends.info/index.php</a><br /><br /><a href="http://graces.squarespace.com/">http://graces.squarespace.com/</a>JR's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343391813557988073noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11925825.post-26887187850228713882010-03-21T23:03:00.001-04:002010-03-21T23:05:26.910-04:00Best FriendsJR has a buddy Z. They started at the same preschool when they were<br />18 months old (Z is 2 months older, so he was at the preschool when<br />JR arrived). JR used to come home and tell me "Mommy, Z loves me<br />and I love Z." Z left the year before kindergarten to do a pre-K<br />year at the private school where his mom worked. Kindergarten arrived,<br />and JR rejoined Z at that private school. Being a progressive<br />school, they are attuned to things like friendships and so JR and Z<br />were placed together in kindergarten. The teachers opted to keep them<br />together when they moved into first and second grade. They were on the<br />same soccer team this fall. They play in the same baseball league (not<br />on the same team). Although JR has gained many new friends at his<br />school, Z is always the #1 friend.<br /><br />We learned this weekend that Z's mom's contract was not renewed at<br />the school for the fall, so she and her 2 boys will be leaving. The<br />boys will be going to their neighborhood public school - which is an<br />excellent school. People lie about their addresses to get their kids<br />into this school. They live in the neighborhood adjoining our old<br />neighborhood. Of course, JR and Z will still see each other.<br /><br />Z's parents broke the news to their boys today and Z's response<br />was "I need to tell JR." They spoke on the phone this evening.<br />JR took it very hard. The call was cut short because both families<br />were on the road at the time. Z called JR when they both got home<br />and JR was too upset to talk to him. He cried like his heart was<br />broken. He cried until I was in tears. He cried himself to sleep.<br /><br />I feel so bad for my little guy.JR's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343391813557988073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11925825.post-7762576988847002002010-01-16T19:32:00.000-05:002011-02-14T19:34:31.042-05:00The Not Pretty Part of Life with Terminal CancerSo I shared with my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">facebook</span> friends the good news that the chemo<br />seems to be working, which we learned yesterday when the results of<br />Wednesday's CT scan came in. But honestly, the news is much more of a<br />mixed bag than that. So here's the full report. If you are looking<br />for pleasant, cheerful, distracting news, stop here and just focus on<br />the fact that yes, the chemo does seem to be working.<br /><br /><span class="il">Joe</span> is horribly, horribly ill. In addition to the spinal cord injury<br />and the cancer, he has now developed a nasty pressure wound on his<br />backside. He had to stop chemo until the wound is dealt with - and we<br />won't even see the wound surgeon for an initial consult until the 20<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">th</span><br />(the wound got to the point that we were told it would have to be<br />surgically dealt with by the end of December, but surgeons who<br />specialize in this are few and far between, apparently, and the 20<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">th</span><br />was the earliest appointment).<br /><br />His rehab doctor told him his wheelchair (same one which still hasn't<br />been approved by insurance) is exacerbating the wound so he should<br />stay out of the chair. Of course, since he can't stand on his own or<br />walk much without a walker and a spotter, that means he should spend<br />most of the day and night in bed - which is actually a very bad place<br />to be, generally, when you're ill, because it causes increased<br />debilitation and more potential for pressure wounds in other spots<br />(that's why they call them bed sores, folks). By a week ago Thursday,<br />he was having excruciating pain in his left leg and didn't get out of<br />bed at all Thursday or Friday. I got the wonderful cousins to come on<br />Saturday and help me get him out of bed and washed, but he spent all<br />day Sunday and Monday in bed, again (well, Monday, there was a wound<br />care specialist nurse in - whose recommendation was that the surgeon<br />see him sooner - which the surgeon's office said was impossible).<br />Cousin Liz (Professor Doctor Nurse Liz) thought I should get him to<br />the oncologist, since the leg pain wasn't making sense and she thought<br />the oncologist would have a better ability to see big picture than the<br />rehab doc. By Sunday night, <span class="il">Joe</span> was having night time fevers (that of<br />course, disappear during the day when the medical professionals are<br />around). I was able to get him in to the oncologist on Wednesday.<br />Liz was right. Our oncologist is wonderful.<br /><br />Of course, transporting a wheelchair bound, debilitated adult in a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">VW</span><br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">Jetta</span> with only me to do the assisting, lifting, breaking down and<br />putting together wheelchair duties is no fun. His CT scan was already<br />scheduled for Wed., but oncologist took blood cultures (the wound is<br />clearly infected, but she wanted to ensure that the infection hasn't<br />entered the blood stream - it hasn't) and wanted him to get an x-ray<br />and a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">doppler</span> of his legs (he has a history of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">DVT's</span> and he has been<br />hanging out in bed, which is not good for someone who is prone to<br />blood clots). She also weighed him (as she does every <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">appt</span>.) and his<br />weight is now 126 lbs, compared to 156 on December 30 and about 215<br />this time last year. We made it through the CT scan (took several<br />hours because of general busy-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">ness</span> of the hospital and the need to<br />drink the dye stuff over the course of one hour) but the transfer from<br />the chair to the CT scan bed was terrifying to <span class="il">Joe</span> so when we got to<br />the ultrasound lab and they said he needed to transfer again, he flat<br />out refused (luckily, he has filters in place, so while the blood clot<br />will cause pain in his legs, it's not likely to travel to his heart<br />where it would be really dangerous). I was beyond upset, though,<br />because the tech cheerfully said "Come back any day for the test" and<br />I'm thinking "how the h*** am I going to get him back here on another<br />day?"<br /><br />It took 25 minutes for me to get him into the car. If you are in<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">Phila</span> and were trying to travel down 10<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">th</span> Street around 3 p.m. and<br />were stuck in a horn honking traffic jam - that was me, trying to get<br /><span class="il">Joe</span> <span class="il">D</span> back in the car.<br /><br />He continues to have nighttime and late afternoon fevers (last night<br />it got to 102.6). The oncologist said that if he'<span class="il">d</span> had a fever in her<br />office, she would have admitted him on the spot. (Cousin Liz says<br />next time, have him sit on a heating pad before I take him in). The<br />oncology nurse said Tylenol and if after a day of Tylenol, his fevers<br />are still passing 101, bring him into the emergency room. Yeah,<br />right. <span class="il">Joe</span> has already said he is never getting into the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">Jetta</span> again.<br /><br />I don't even want to mention the bowel incontinence issues - or the<br />difficulty this non-medically trained, doesn't like the sight of blood<br />on her own body, legal type is having with the dressing changes of a<br />wound that is "necrotic." Or the impossibility of getting food into<br /><span class="il">Joe</span>.<br /><br />I have ordered a private ambulance to take him to see the surgeon next<br />week. Not cheap, but what other option is there?<br /><span class="il">Joe</span>'s paid leave has run out. He has applied for early retirement -<br />disability (the only option that allows him to keep his insurance).<br />My tenants have yet to send me their rent for this month (they say the<br />check is in the mail). The wonderful gift of a woman to do laundry<br />and clean that was given to me by the 2<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">nd</span> grade moms has ended (she<br />returned to her home in Peru).<br /><br />So yesterday afternoon, as I was contemplating how to convince<br />someone, anyone, to put <span class="il">Joe</span> back in the hospital, we had the call from<br />the oncologist saying no blood stream infection, and while some tumors<br />have increased in size and most have not changed, the largest mass has<br />decreased enough that there has been an overall reduction in tumor<br />size - which means the chemo is "working" and as soon as the wound is<br />cleared up - he's in for more doses.<br /><br />And the call from the lady at Social Security saying his claim for<br />benefits was approved (she'<span class="il">d</span> told me it would take 3 months - it took<br />3 weeks).<br /><br />Oh and JR wants to grow up to be a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13">cheeseball</span> maker, so that if<br />any fall off the conveyor belt, he can just pop them in his mouth.<br />Either that or a Lego designer.JR's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343391813557988073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11925825.post-54919490104719803002009-12-08T20:07:00.005-05:002009-12-08T20:29:24.463-05:00My Country Western Song LifeSo here I am, deep in the mountains of Eastern Kentucky, having just finished a passable meat and potatoes dinner at a national chain, sitting in my rental Chevy SUV in the parking lot, listening to my son practice piano on my cellphone, missing him desperately.<br /><br />So when I went to create this blog entry, I hadn't realized quite how much time had passed since my last entry. Ironic. It was June. I was counting down to the end of my long commute, fantasizing about the time I would have to be with my family, my neighbors, to enjoy summer in my neighborhood.<br /><br />A week later, we learned that the back pain that had been plaguing JR's dad was so much worse than that. Our life has been turned upside down. We've moved from our beloved neighborhood and comfortable house to a spacious apartment with a view in a building with an elevator, doorman and all sorts of amenities. We live in a world of doctor's appointments, physical therapists, occupational therapists, visiting nurses, medical supplies, pharmaceuticals. <br /><br />We have been the beneficiaries of amazing acts of generosity from our family, friends and neighbors, far and wide. We are surrounded by love. <br /><br />So who wants to draft the lyrics?JR's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343391813557988073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11925825.post-42792061406395381372009-06-30T05:45:00.003-04:002009-06-30T06:08:06.217-04:00Squeezing another 5 hours out of lifeBeginning next Monday, I will not be spending 5 hours of my day just getting to work. In fact, it looks like my total commute (to and from work) should be under one hour. So I"ve been contemplating what I can do with all that time. <br /><br />Five hours commuting becomes one hour commuting. So in truth, I'm gaining four hours.<br />Two hours will be those precious hours between 4:00 a.m. when my alarm currently goes off and 6:00 a.m. when my alarm will be going off. Those two hours will be spent sleeping. Ah, sleep. It feels so indulgent.<br /><br />What to do with the next two hours:<br /><br />Read to JR. (Well, we never gave that up. Right now we're in the middle of "Harriet the Spy"). <br />Have JR read to me. Play the math games that the teacher sent home for the summer. Practice piano with JR. Teach him to ride his bike without training wheels. Take evening walks to get water ice. Chat with the neighbors while he runs around the bocce court with his buddies (okay, we are still doing that, but at least now I should be able to chat without the little voice chanting in the back of my mind "You need to go to bed. You're exhausted.") Have a catch. <br /><br />Weed my garden. Harvest the kale. Plant some late summer beans. Weed my common area assignment. Have a beer in the garden with the neighbors.<br /><br />Do the laundry. Fold the clothes. Catch up on my DVR'd programs while folding clothes. "Saving Grace" "The Closer" "Cold Case" Await the start of the next season of "Project Runway" <br /><br />Cook dinner. Plan the week's menus. Shop the farmer's markets. Make ice cream.<br /><br />Pay the bills. File away the papers. Get the tax stuff in order before April 10. <br /><br />Clean out the closets. Get rid of the stuff Joseph and I have outgrown. Get rid of the stuff that no longer fits the newly skinny SuperDad. <a href="http://www.flylady.net/">Flylady</a><br /><br />Realize that even when one adds 4 hours into one's day, there is still just not enough time.JR's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343391813557988073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11925825.post-5710950814360790152009-06-29T17:20:00.004-04:002009-06-29T17:44:04.781-04:00In praise of 7 year oldsA few months back, before JR turned 7, I read a post on my friend Moxie's <a href="http://www.askmoxie.org/2008/12/send-helpmy-older-son-is-turning-7.html">blog</a> that had me quaking in my boots about the prospect of my son turning 7. Well the big day has come and gone and let me tell you, I love 7. <br /><br />We spent the weekend at our first "travel" baseball tournament. Four games in two days. On Sunday the games were five hours apart, so we had a bit of time to kill. We spent that time with three of JR's teammates (and two of the dads). Immediately after the game, there was the trip to a local playground to let them continue their game of catch without smashing any of the car windows in the parking lot of the baseball field. Of course, their interest in playing catch faded quickly as soon as they realized there was playground equipment to climb and a surface made of ground up rubber that was ideal for throwing at each other. Our next stop was a diner for breakfast (did I mention that game one started at 8:00 and ended by 9:15 a.m.?) In between spilled water glasses and duels with knives, forks and spoons, we played Twenty Questions - which gave rise to the type of silliness that is endemic to 7 year olds. "Is it an animal or a thing?" "A thing" "Is it an elephant?" "No, an elephant isn't a thing." "It is if it's a soft gray toy elephant." And so it went. <br /><br />The next stop was a local funplex where we parents had hoped to occupy the kids at the driving range and miniature golf. The boys had their own ideas. Their favorite activity was a spirited chasing, piling on, wrestling match that we parents loosely monitored for cleats in proximity to heads. Seven year old boys are all about physical contact. Lots of hugging, shoving, picking each other up, wrestling. There was also a fair amount of throwing stuff at each other - helped along by a room full of foam balls. Oh, and of course, there were the arcade games.<br /><br />Lunchtime meant more silliness, more hugging and shoving and the chance to watch pack mentality in action. The boy who never drinks soda orders the cotton candy flavored Sprite that the other 3 boys want. The boy who hates all cheese gobbles up the lunch of mozzarella sticks and fries just like the lunch his buddies all ordered. They also schooled us in the fine art of translating burp-speech. I admit, I am far from proficient in that skill.<br /><br />Being seven also means real baseball, with real uniforms, real pitching, real team spirit. The boys encourage each other. Lots of cheering. "We love pork chops, greasy, greasy. Hitting that ball will be easy-peasy." More chasing and piling on for the homerun hitter (well, okay, that was the other team, not ours). Pats on the back and hugs for the kid tagged out at 3rd base, now in tears. Being seven means being able to sit under a tree at the end of the game with the coach and actually dissect what new things about baseball they learned. "I learned not to be afraid when the ball is hit to me in the outfield." There is an intelligence and thirst for learning that is refreshing and inspiring to me.<br /><br />Being seven means falling asleep in the car on the way home and lifting one's arms up to be carried inside, as if you were not over 50 lbs. of dead weight. <br /><br />Oh, by the way, we lost all four games and every kid left the ballfield smiling.JR's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343391813557988073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11925825.post-41018249844915195422009-05-30T11:16:00.005-04:002009-05-30T11:58:23.326-04:00Trying to Regain PerspectiveI am a joiner. I am never happier than when invited to participate in a group activity. My hand is always one of the quickest to raise when volunteers are needed. Even this year, nigh on twelve months into a five-hour daily commute and full-time job, I am just now learning to pull my hand back down and remind myself that I don't have to be a helper at every school activity. I'm still teaching children's liturgy at church, I'm still baking and icing ridiculous quantities of cupcakes for my son's "almost birthday" at school, I'm still keeping score and generally corralling the wildness on the bench during my son's baseball games. But believe me, I've cut back. <br /><br />I am a joiner. In that, I am truly my mother's daughter. My mother, of the five children each spaced barely one year apart, with her full-time job, who still managed to be a Cub Scout den leader, a Girl Scout leader, president of the high school band parents organization. It gives me great pleasure to see that part of her live on in me. I am my mother's daughter.<br /><br />This leads me to today's meltdown. I had forgotten that my son does not necessarily channel me or my mother. He is his own person. We tend to create narratives around our kids and who we think they are. JR is "kind boy." (This, of course, goes back to that first meeting in the orphanage when the orphanage director described him as "kind" and we thought, "how can an 11-month-old be kind?" Since then, though, every time that JR has acted with generosity and kindness to another we think "Aha! Of course, he is 'kind boy.'") JR is "athletic" (I can trace this to the first parent-teacher conference at his nursery school when the teachers raved about how well he could throw a ball at the age of 18 months. So every time he throws a ball, we think "Look at our athletic boy!") JR is "shy" or "slow to warm up," a description given us by his pediatrician to address his penchant for hiding behind us and not engaging with new people. <br /><br />So I've created this idea in my head about our little boy who loves to do anything athletic and transformed it into little boy who wants to participate in every team sport available in our city for children his age. So naturally, when we got the email invitation for try-outs for the under 8 travel soccer team sponsored by our neighborhood recreation center, I was all over it. First, I scouted out the other likely participants from our social network (part of the JR narrative is that he only wants to participate in activities where he has at least one friend; making the choreographing of summer camps quite a challenge). Sure enough, one of his best friends, H, according to his parents, was going to try out, as were three of his classmates and a host of other kids he knows from baseball and church. So this morning, I wake JR up. We feed him breakfast, get him dressed, get ready to head down the street for try-outs. <br /><br />Then the meltdown started. "I don't want to try out for soccer." "I don't want to play soccer" Dumbfounded (how could MY son not want to join something?) I entered into the fray. We battled, each of us becoming more entrenched in our positions. JR was unable to articulate the "why" of his position. "See, if you don't know why, then you have to try," I responded. Then he'd articulate a "why" and I would shoot it down. I put those litigation skills to use. Poor JR's Dad tried to appease both sides. That wasn't happening.<br /><br />I withdrew, thinking I'd play my trump card. I'd check in with best friend's mom and once he knew for sure H was trying out, JR would cave. Except that H is not trying out today for travel soccer. He (like JR) has a baseball game today. He told his parents he wants a break. His parents are inclined to agree. After all, the boys are only seven (well, in JR's case, almost seven). There will be other, less intense, soccer available in the fall. In the greater scheme of things, the other mom reminds me, does it really matter if they don't do travel soccer this year? Is it really going to affect their overall athletic ability? Their enjoyment of the game?<br /><br />Dad has taken JR off to visit with his grandmother for an hour or so before the baseball game. I'm ostensibly straightening up the kitchen and doing laundry. Instead, I'm writing in order to sort out my thoughts. How do I teach myself to step back (and to let my son step back)? We don't have to say yes to every invitation. We don't have to volunteer for every activity. And if my son says "I don't want to" and he's talking about playing a game, as opposed to doing homework or eating his vegetables, maybe I just need to let it go.JR's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343391813557988073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11925825.post-31965623338563869462009-05-10T19:23:00.001-04:002011-02-14T19:27:41.191-05:00Mother's Day 2009I feel a need to post the history of Joe's illness, so these are old e-mails, cleaned up.<br /><br />This was when it began. Joe D complaining of <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">achiness</span>, throwing up while his friends were visiting, and then "sleeping it off" rather than dealing with it. In retrospect, it seems doubly awful that this was Mother's Day.<br /><br />We had overnight guests (close friend of Joe D's from college plus his<br />wife and 6 y.o. daughter). JR had a baseball game at 8:30. The<br />wind was terrible and I can't get the sand out of my eyes. Much more<br />worrisome, though, is the fact that Joe D., who has been complaining of<br /><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">achiness</span> off and on for weeks, started throwing up this morning and has<br />a fever. We're supposed to go to dinner with his mom and sister, but of<br />course, he doesn't want me to tell anyone he doesn't feel well.<br />Joe's friends (lovely folks) wanted JR and I to go out with them for<br />lunch before they headed back to NYC (they live very close to my office,<br />ironically). JR, tired from his game, refused to go.<br />I'm trying to figure out if I should let Joe D sleep this off (treat it<br />like a virus), call one of his doctors (something is not right; he's<br />been complaining of not feeling right for weeks now); or dump him and JR<br />in the car and take him to the ER.<br /><br />Happy Mothers Day to all you mothers out there - hope your day is going<br />better than mine.JR's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343391813557988073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11925825.post-55751893285063869112009-04-14T05:39:00.003-04:002009-04-14T05:52:51.864-04:00That Litigation RushWhen I was a relatively new attorney, I was assigned to assist one of the senior attorneys on a case that turned into a huge trial. The trial itself took 8 weeks, during which the other attorney and I set up camp in Pittsburgh. The area of law we were trying to enforce was new, the stakes were high, the opposing side's client was a colorful character (to be nice). I had my first experience presenting an expert witness. Posthearing briefs were extensive. All in all, it was one of those career experiences that results in lots of great war stories. The case whetted my love for trial work.<br />Maybe a year after the trial, we got a decision that was mostly favorable. The judge affirmed the critical issues and, while he cut the penalty my government agency client was trying to assess, it was still a record-breaking huge penalty. The other side, of course, appealed. And the case sat. <br />I tried other big cases. I moved into management. I left the agency completely and started my new life last year on the bench.<br />Yesterday, a mere 15 years later, the decision on the appeal was issued. Again, a mostly favorable decision (although they cut the penalty, again). My case was even used to overturn a decision made in another case in the intervening years that (IMHO) made for bad law. <br />And all the memories came back to me, along with the adrenaline rush. It's been a few hours, but I am still just thrilled and excited and in that "I want to shout my news from the rooftops" mode. I'm almost as excited as I was when the Phillies won the World Series.JR's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343391813557988073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11925825.post-13790304883999977342009-04-10T06:04:00.000-04:002009-04-14T06:25:43.840-04:00Spring FeverIf the day should ever come when I'm no longer waking at 4:00 a.m. to start my 2-1/2 hour commute, I hope I will be able to hold on to Thursday's lunch hour as a memory of the good parts of working in NYC. Lately, I've been feeling so oppressed by this city - the crowds, the greyness, the expense, the cold wind whipping down the streets in my section of lower Manhattan, the dirt on the streets, my workload, the exercise of sheer will it takes to get me out of my bed at 4:00 a.m. and into a cab hurtling through the darkened streets of Philadelphia to make my predawn train to work. As I've said to some of my friends, I get all the downside of NYC and none of the good parts. My crazed schedule and my daunting workload have not allowed me the time to enjoy what the city has to offer.<br />But on Thursday I allowed myself to escape during lunch. It was an early spring day - the kind of day when people take to the streets, the parkbenches are loaded down with quickly discarded coats and jackets, little bits of green start poking out of the ground and the budding trees. I walked into Chinatown. I watched the kids at the playground. I stopped in a tiny restaurant for some Vietnamese bun. I jostled among the crowds on Canal St. I returned to my office feeling just a tiny bit lightened.<br />Here's to spring in New York City.JR's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343391813557988073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11925825.post-54848461213926405892009-03-18T05:25:00.004-04:002009-03-18T05:50:20.513-04:00Whose story?When I started this commute, armed with my shiny new MacAirbok, I thought it would finally be my chance to really turn this blog into a regular report on our life. Instead, I find I probably post even less often than I did before. So I've been thinking a little bit about the why of it.<br />One reason is that armed with my wireless aircard, I discovered lots of other fun things to do while commuting (for instance, catching up on all the international Project Runway series on Youtube.com). Another reason is that I get a ridiculous amount of listserv email and even with the long commute, can't keep up. Another big reason is Facebook. It's so much easier to "Facebook" (when did it become a verb?) No need to compose long, well-thought out posts; just dash off a silly sentence or two and move on to see what one's friends are doing and accept and resend silly virtual gifts. It's quick, it's painless, it's public in a way that my little-read blog is not.<br /><br />But having discovered Facebook has also brought into focus, once again, my own issues with setting boundaries and privacy. As most of you who know me IRL are well-aware, my personal privacy settings are virtually nonexistent. I love to share the most mundane details of my life. The problem is that I now share my life with JR and his superdad. Their personal privacy settings are far higher than mine. So, on Facebook, I had to alter my settings to suit superdad. For one, he is very, very skittish about pictures of JR being up on the internet. One of the appeals of FB for me was the fact that it was a forum for sharing photos of JR. Not anymore. If there are photos of him up there, they were not put up by me and they were put up before I started telling people "please don't post photos of my son." This is not easy for me because I think my son is beautiful and I like looking at his photos and want everyone else to see them.<br /><br />There are also implications for this blog. I started this blog to share cute stories about JR. This week, though, I came face to face with the realization that they are not just my stories. They are JR's stories, and he is now old enough to have an opinion. And boy, does he have one. We had one of those little incidents recently which make for a great little anecdote. I had planned to blog about it. I did start sharing it with friends and family - until the other night, when I went to tell the story to JR's grandmother, in front of JR, and he went into total meltdown. In the midst of the tears, and my apologies, he burst out "But you tell too much!" He's right, of course. So I'm not going to tell the anecdote here. <br /><br />I'm not ready to give up blogging. I just have to figure out how to reframe this blog to be a way to post about me and my issues as a parent, without broaching the privacy walls set up by JR and his superdad. I suspect I will probably mess up more than once (some anecdotes are just begging to be shared). But I would love to know how others negotiate the boundary between public and private in this internet world. Especially people like me, whose own sense of boundary is, shall we say, challenged?JR's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343391813557988073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11925825.post-85488542173547224252009-01-19T09:28:00.004-05:002009-01-19T09:41:09.218-05:00Perfect Timing?About 5:30 a.m. (at which point on most workdays, I'm well on my way to the office), in my sleep I heard JR's voice "Plee-ase". Then, no longer asleep, I hear "Mommy, I threw up" So here we are at home, with a cranky, feverish, vomiting little guy. The little guy hasn't been sick in a long time (when we pulled his prescription history for last year we were amazed to realize we never had to renew his asthma meds last year). But if one has to be sick, when better than a day that school is closed, work is closed, we had no special plans and it's really too cold to be outside, anyway.JR's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343391813557988073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11925825.post-76003193548828137162008-12-26T17:29:00.003-05:002008-12-26T17:34:55.170-05:00Forgetful SantaSanta tend to use the back of our basement to store presents before Christmas Eve. It works well because our basement in general is not very inviting and the back basement just begs for the people from Clean House to come in and rescue it.<br />This afternoon, while searching for another game that Joseph and I could play while tending the bolognese sauce, I realized that Santa had forgotten to deliver 2 presents (a board game and a globe) and that they were still hiding in the back basement - for the SECOND YEAR IN A ROW!<br />Yes, Santa forgot them last year, we discussed it and decided to save them for his birthday, forgot again and put them on Santa's list for this year. We purposely didn't buy much for JR because we knew we had 2 presents from last year. I also moved them, so they'd be near the other presents and not forgotten.<br />The question is - what do I do with these presents? Although Santa did produce the 3 items on JR's list, he really did not get much. So I'd love to figure out a way to deliver them without running into any questions about Santa. We've had lots of questions this year - none really challenging the basic truth of Santa - more mechanics and logistics.JR's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343391813557988073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11925825.post-31673469219086022672008-12-10T22:58:00.003-05:002008-12-10T23:19:47.323-05:00Keeping the Mommy Guilt Monster from Rearing Its Ugly HeadThe Mommy Guilt Monster usually resides deep, deep in my psychic closet. I know it's always there - I don't think I know a mom who doesn't have the monster hiding somewhere. For me, the monster started to grow once I went back to work full-time and it's been getting bigger and louder ever since June when I got my new job. I keep a lid on it though, because this is the job for which I've waited years. I tell myself that I'm teaching my son a great lesson about who women can be in the world. I tell myself that the silver lining to the long commute that came with the job is that JR's dad, who was always SuperDad, has gotten the chance to play whole new roles in the family - the morning organizer, the chef. I tell myself that I'm there for the important things - dinner, piano practice, story reading, bedtime. Of course, though, it's one of the rare nights where I'm not home (having stayed to work late), that we get the call from JR's teacher who wants to have the serious chat about school and reading and all those things that I should be right on top of - if I were a better mom.<br /><br />JR's dad took the call - and then I called the teacher, too. So we're all on top of the situation. We're all working together. <br /><br />Now I just have to convince Mommy Guilt Monster to get back into the closet.JR's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343391813557988073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11925825.post-33535116629711165552008-11-26T17:09:00.002-05:002008-11-26T17:13:29.540-05:00This Modern WorldI'm on the train, heading home from work. I have my laptop out, doing the random Internet stuff that I do to pass the time. My cellphone rings. It is JR's dad - who is at home. This conversation ensues:<br /><br />"Hey, Honey, are you on the Internet?"<br />"Yes, why?"<br />"Could you do a Google search on roasting chestnuts and tell me what temperature to set the oven?"<br />"Uh, o-o-kay."<br /><br />In case you're wondering, it's <a href="http://www.ehow.com/how_9920_roast-chestnuts-oven.html">425 degrees</a>JR's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343391813557988073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11925825.post-5194924211314870672008-11-26T16:58:00.002-05:002008-11-26T17:09:32.344-05:00That NY sceneJR's dad comes from a traditional Italian=American family with deep roots to the local neighborhood. The neighborhood, in fact, which is still home to a thriving Italian-American community, with the cheese shops, butchers, restaurants and of course, bakeries to prove it. We live one block central from the famed Italian Market - a foodie's dream location. We live one and one half blocks from an Italian pastry shop that has been delighting the locals since 1904 - and has the long lines on holidays to prove it.<br /><br />So explain to me why JR's dad asked me to wander into NY's Little Italy at lunch to pick up a pound of cookies for Thanksgiving with his family? He didn't even care which bakery - as long as the cookies came from New York.<br /><br />And I did it, knowing that the cookies will taste no different than our local homegrown ones (in fact, perhaps they won't even be as good) - but the fact that they come from NEW YORK CITY! will make them oh so much more appreciated by my in-laws.<br /><br />As a native Philadelphian who happened to have been raised elsewhere - I've never bought into this idea that Philadelphia is some kind of second class city. Now how do I convince the natives?JR's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343391813557988073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11925825.post-15736784752766428792008-11-15T23:46:00.005-05:002008-11-15T23:59:40.560-05:00Finding the Old in the NewJR and I spent the afternoon at the brand new <a href="http://www.pleasetouchmuseum.org/">Please Touch Museum</a> - which has moved from a cramped building in town out to the marvelous Memorial Hall in Fairmount Park. We loved it. It was nice to see the new exhibits while reconnecting with some old favorites (the elephant made from toys, the croquet flamingos). I missed the Maurice Sendak exhibits, but was pleased to see Max's boat is still there - newly christened the S.S. Tom Beckett - which brought a tear to my eye. I had just been thinking to myself how sad it is that Tom did not survive to see the new museum after his years as carpenter / exhibit designer at the old museum.<br /><br />We were also touched to see the artwork by JR's buddy Z's grandfather. Another local artist who did not live to see his artwork in the new space.<br /><br />JR was happy to run into an old friend (EH, from the same babyhouse in Kazakhstan), a classmate, and another boy who JR said is "new" at his school.JR's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343391813557988073noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11925825.post-15085465241226160402008-11-12T06:02:00.003-05:002008-11-12T06:23:26.765-05:00Life's Big QuestionsWe don't often discuss JR's adoption, as I take the approach of letting JR raise the issues on his timetable. It's not that we hide his adoption, rather, we treat it very matter of factly and answer any questions he has when they arise. I don't know if this is the "right" approach, but it's our approach.<br /><br />So the other night, I was surprised when Joseph raised the issue seemingly out of the blue. We were sitting on the couch, watching yet another episode of <a href="http://science.discovery.com/fansites/howitsmade/howitsmade.html">"How It's Made"</a> and JR asked "Why did you and Dad get me?" "Because we loved you," standard response. "No Mom, why did you get me? Were you and Dad bored?"<br /><br />Bored?<br /><br />Where did that come from?JR's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343391813557988073noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11925825.post-84292304054971544342008-11-05T05:19:00.003-05:002008-11-05T05:28:45.060-05:00Making HistoryWe voted together as a family last night. I made sure to catch the early train home. JR's dad walked in the door right behind me. Then we grabbed JR and walked the 4 blocks to the Lebanese Catholic church hall that has been our polling place for the last few elections. There were no lines and after JR's dad greeted all the local pollworkers and ward leaders, we signed our names and went into the booths. JR came with me and I let him push the buttons. <br /><br />JR chose the president (of course, I agreed with his choice) because he went to the same college as Daddy, so he must be smart and because he looks like T, JR's friend of mixed race heritage. Of course, it can be said that JR is also mixed race, with his Central Asian Russian, now Italian/Irish American heritage.<br /><br />Then we met another of JR's friends, Chinese-Jewish E and her mom, at our favorite local Vietnamese noodle house, for an election night dinner.<br /><br />This is what America looks like in our 21st century.JR's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343391813557988073noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11925825.post-51621699284548780672008-10-23T16:32:00.005-04:002008-10-23T22:13:49.173-04:00Leaving the Office for LunchIn this new job I tend to work through lunch, eating at my desk, or if I've spent the day in hearings, not eating at all. In part, this is because I no longer have the office lunch buddies that I had in my old job, and in part, it's because the learning curve here is steep and the workload daunting.<br />But today, having spent a productive morning and still in the glow of having <a href="http://www.phillies.com/">my team</a> win the first game of the World Series, I decided to take a walk at lunch. So I wandered to the other side of Chinatown and found a cozy French cafe where I had a delicious veggie omelet and mixed greens, and irresistible fries while I read my book. Walking back, at the intersection of <a href="http://maps.google.com/maps/mm?hl=en&ie=UTF8&ll=40.718851,-73.999958&spn=0.007546,0.019312&t=h&z=16">Centre and Canal</a>, I saw a gentleman blowing bubbles. He had one of those plastic machines that shoots a steady stream of bubbles. He wasn't promoting a store or anything. Just blowing bubbles. Making people smile. On the other side of the street, as I crossed, there was another man, more disheveled, standing in the city trash can. Just standing there. No one smiling. Happy. Sad. New York - the perfect microcosm.<br /><br />I think I need to get out more.JR's Momhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08343391813557988073noreply@blogger.com1