The Amazing JR and the Geezerfolk

Denial is a not River in Africa

2011-12-22T17:47:00.005-05:00

What 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.

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.

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).

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.

Still I procrastinate.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

And everyone I see will think that I am fine. And that this is a Merry Christmas.

But it is not.

National Poetry Month

2011-03-22T04:49:00.005-04:00

4:30 a.m.

My growing boy takes up more

room in the bed than me.

Two days to spring break

Laundry, packing, getting set

No time to relax.

Clearwater Phillies

Baseball, baseball, more baseball

What could be better?

April is Nation-

al Poetry Month, not March.

I have jumped the gun.

Breathing a sigh of relief

2011-02-03T21:08:00.003-05:00

I 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.

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.

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!

I was terrified and ultimately relieved for Z's parents.

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.

You can bet I had a long talk with JR tonight.

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?

The Joe D Memorial Tribute Celebration

2010-11-23T07:07:00.005-05:00

We're almost 6 months out and Joe D's friends have not forgotten him
or us. Saturday I went to a remarkable event - the "Joe D. Memorial
Tribute Celebration". Several of Joe's buddies are musicians, some
more talented than others. :) Music was a huge part of Joe's life
(although being a pianist, his tastes did not always extend to the
raucous rock and roll that some of his friends liked to play).
Anyway, about 10 years ago, Joe's friends Tom and Jim Z, Lyle and
Allen put together a band called Crevice Tool that made up for their
musical ability in their willingness to be loud and raunchy. Joe D
told them "Most guys like us just sit around and talk about it
(forming a rock band). You guys actually went out and did it. You
should have just sat around and talked about it." They played in
friends' apartments and other spaces where the band was allowed to pay
the owner for the privilege of playing. The band struggled to stay
together when Tom left Philadelphia to go get his MBA and subsequently
settled in NYC. They broke up forever when one of the 4 decided to
vote for GWB and one of the others refused to be in a band with
someone whom he felt was so clueless regarding politics.

After Joe died, Tom and Jim Z decided they wanted to do something
special to honor him. So they convinced Crevice Tool to reunite for a
one-night only gig and thus the "Joe D Memorial Tribute Celebration"
idea was born. Tom came down from NYC almost weekly since July to
rehearse. They recruited another friend, Craig, who is a classically
trained guitarist, to sit in with them. They recruited our friends
Denis and Cammy who have a alt.country rock band called The Knife and
Fork Band that has been successfully playing small local gigs for
about 15 years to be the opening act. One of our neighbors, also
formerly an attorney for the City, had a connection to a local club
called Connie's RicRac Room (a very dark, funky dive bar / performance
space that Joe D particularly liked). He managed to book the club for
a Saturday night. Crevice Tool (well, Tom) started writing songs
about Joe. They gathered up old photos and made a PowerPoint. We
publicized the event to our friends and neighbors. Crevice Tool also
decided they wanted to donate any profits. I convinced them that the
money should go to the Joseph DiGiuseppe Memorial Fund at the Friends
of The Free Library, which is where donations went at the time of the
funeral.

Saturday night, we had the event. We had somewhere between 80-100
people there. Joe's best friend from high school came up from
Maryland. Folks from Joe's office were there. Lots and lots of
neighbors. All of the friends Joe hung out with when we first started
dating. Many of the parents from Joseph's preschool (Denis and Cammy
and Jim also sent their kids there). We raised about $600 for the
library fund.

There were the usual last minute problems. Jim's viola broke so he
had to borrow Cammy's violin. The owners of the RicRac Room didn't
show up to open the place until 8:00 (show was supposed to start at
8), so there wasn't much of a sound check. Denis' sister Meg, who is
the lead vocalist for Knife and Fork, almost didn't make it because
her son had an appendicitis scare (he's okay). Jim's "dancers" bailed
out on him (don't ask me).

The show was a blast. Knife and Fork opened and played a great set.
Then Crevice Tool came out to much hooting and hollering. They played
some of their old standbys from 10 years ago - tweaked to reference
Joe (they have a song called "40 Ounces" but they changed the
reference from beer to Diet Coke). They got me up on stage to sing
background lyrics to a Husker Du song called "The Girl Who Lives on
Heaven Hill" (some of you may know that in my pre-Joe D., pre-law
school youth, I was a bit of a punk rocker and used to house members
of Husker Du and a few other punk bands when they had gigs in Phila).
They played a song entitled the "Ballad of Joe D and Theresa" which
progressed from Joe living with his parents to meeting me on the
subway to our traveling to Kazakhstan and adopting Joseph. Jim Z. did
his best Ice-T imitation and did a rap about Joe. The absolute
highlight of the night, though, was Tom's song "Fanny Pack" which was
a litany of most of Joe D's opinionated rants about life in South
Philadelphia (if you ever met Joe D on a non-work day, he could be
found wearing a t-shirt, zippered hoodie, grey or black sweatpants,
with a fanny pack (he called it his "black thing") around his waist -
he made quite the fashion statement). I laughed so hard I was in
tears.

The obituary, funeral and the outpouring of love we were shown in May
was one thing - but this, this was a send-off! We are so lucky.
Everyone should have such friends.

We are heartbroken

2010-05-26T09:22:00.003-04:00

The world is a lot emptier for JR and me.

http://www.philly.com/dailynews/obituaries/20100526_Joseph_DiGiuseppe__city_solicitor_aide.html#ixzz0p1gHbLpf

http://www.libraryfriends.info/index.php

http://graces.squarespace.com/

Best Friends

2010-03-21T23:03:00.001-04:00

JR has a buddy Z. They started at the same preschool when they were
18 months old (Z is 2 months older, so he was at the preschool when
JR arrived). JR used to come home and tell me "Mommy, Z loves me
and I love Z." Z left the year before kindergarten to do a pre-K
year at the private school where his mom worked. Kindergarten arrived,
and JR rejoined Z at that private school. Being a progressive
school, they are attuned to things like friendships and so JR and Z
were placed together in kindergarten. The teachers opted to keep them
together when they moved into first and second grade. They were on the
same soccer team this fall. They play in the same baseball league (not
on the same team). Although JR has gained many new friends at his
school, Z is always the #1 friend.

We learned this weekend that Z's mom's contract was not renewed at
the school for the fall, so she and her 2 boys will be leaving. The
boys will be going to their neighborhood public school - which is an
excellent school. People lie about their addresses to get their kids
into this school. They live in the neighborhood adjoining our old
neighborhood. Of course, JR and Z will still see each other.

Z's parents broke the news to their boys today and Z's response
was "I need to tell JR." They spoke on the phone this evening.
JR took it very hard. The call was cut short because both families
were on the road at the time. Z called JR when they both got home
and JR was too upset to talk to him. He cried like his heart was
broken. He cried until I was in tears. He cried himself to sleep.

I feel so bad for my little guy.

The Not Pretty Part of Life with Terminal Cancer

2010-01-16T19:32:00.000-05:00

So I shared with my facebook friends the good news that the chemo
seems to be working, which we learned yesterday when the results of
Wednesday's CT scan came in. But honestly, the news is much more of a
mixed bag than that. So here's the full report. If you are looking
for pleasant, cheerful, distracting news, stop here and just focus on
the fact that yes, the chemo does seem to be working.

Joe is horribly, horribly ill. In addition to the spinal cord injury
and the cancer, he has now developed a nasty pressure wound on his
backside. He had to stop chemo until the wound is dealt with - and we
won't even see the wound surgeon for an initial consult until the 20th
(the wound got to the point that we were told it would have to be
surgically dealt with by the end of December, but surgeons who
specialize in this are few and far between, apparently, and the 20th
was the earliest appointment).

His rehab doctor told him his wheelchair (same one which still hasn't
been approved by insurance) is exacerbating the wound so he should
stay out of the chair. Of course, since he can't stand on his own or
walk much without a walker and a spotter, that means he should spend
most of the day and night in bed - which is actually a very bad place
to be, generally, when you're ill, because it causes increased
debilitation and more potential for pressure wounds in other spots
(that's why they call them bed sores, folks). By a week ago Thursday,
he was having excruciating pain in his left leg and didn't get out of
bed at all Thursday or Friday. I got the wonderful cousins to come on
Saturday and help me get him out of bed and washed, but he spent all
day Sunday and Monday in bed, again (well, Monday, there was a wound
care specialist nurse in - whose recommendation was that the surgeon
see him sooner - which the surgeon's office said was impossible).
Cousin Liz (Professor Doctor Nurse Liz) thought I should get him to
the oncologist, since the leg pain wasn't making sense and she thought
the oncologist would have a better ability to see big picture than the
rehab doc. By Sunday night, Joe was having night time fevers (that of
course, disappear during the day when the medical professionals are
around). I was able to get him in to the oncologist on Wednesday.
Liz was right. Our oncologist is wonderful.

Of course, transporting a wheelchair bound, debilitated adult in a VW
Jetta with only me to do the assisting, lifting, breaking down and
putting together wheelchair duties is no fun. His CT scan was already
scheduled for Wed., but oncologist took blood cultures (the wound is
clearly infected, but she wanted to ensure that the infection hasn't
entered the blood stream - it hasn't) and wanted him to get an x-ray
and a doppler of his legs (he has a history of DVT's and he has been
hanging out in bed, which is not good for someone who is prone to
blood clots). She also weighed him (as she does every appt.) and his
weight is now 126 lbs, compared to 156 on December 30 and about 215
this time last year. We made it through the CT scan (took several
hours because of general busy-ness of the hospital and the need to
drink the dye stuff over the course of one hour) but the transfer from
the chair to the CT scan bed was terrifying to Joe so when we got to
the ultrasound lab and they said he needed to transfer again, he flat
out refused (luckily, he has filters in place, so while the blood clot
will cause pain in his legs, it's not likely to travel to his heart
where it would be really dangerous). I was beyond upset, though,
because the tech cheerfully said "Come back any day for the test" and
I'm thinking "how the h*** am I going to get him back here on another
day?"

It took 25 minutes for me to get him into the car. If you are in
Phila and were trying to travel down 10th Street around 3 p.m. and
were stuck in a horn honking traffic jam - that was me, trying to get
Joe D back in the car.

He continues to have nighttime and late afternoon fevers (last night
it got to 102.6). The oncologist said that if he'd had a fever in her
office, she would have admitted him on the spot. (Cousin Liz says
next time, have him sit on a heating pad before I take him in). The
oncology nurse said Tylenol and if after a day of Tylenol, his fevers
are still passing 101, bring him into the emergency room. Yeah,
right. Joe has already said he is never getting into the Jetta again.

I don't even want to mention the bowel incontinence issues - or the
difficulty this non-medically trained, doesn't like the sight of blood
on her own body, legal type is having with the dressing changes of a
wound that is "necrotic." Or the impossibility of getting food into
Joe.

I have ordered a private ambulance to take him to see the surgeon next
week. Not cheap, but what other option is there?
Joe's paid leave has run out. He has applied for early retirement -
disability (the only option that allows him to keep his insurance).
My tenants have yet to send me their rent for this month (they say the
check is in the mail). The wonderful gift of a woman to do laundry
and clean that was given to me by the 2nd grade moms has ended (she
returned to her home in Peru).

So yesterday afternoon, as I was contemplating how to convince
someone, anyone, to put Joe back in the hospital, we had the call from
the oncologist saying no blood stream infection, and while some tumors
have increased in size and most have not changed, the largest mass has
decreased enough that there has been an overall reduction in tumor
size - which means the chemo is "working" and as soon as the wound is
cleared up - he's in for more doses.

And the call from the lady at Social Security saying his claim for
benefits was approved (she'd told me it would take 3 months - it took
3 weeks).

Oh and JR wants to grow up to be a cheeseball maker, so that if
any fall off the conveyor belt, he can just pop them in his mouth.
Either that or a Lego designer.

My Country Western Song Life

2009-12-08T20:07:00.005-05:00

So 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.

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.

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.

We have been the beneficiaries of amazing acts of generosity from our family, friends and neighbors, far and wide. We are surrounded by love.

So who wants to draft the lyrics?

Squeezing another 5 hours out of life

2009-06-30T05:45:00.003-04:00

Beginning 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.

Five hours commuting becomes one hour commuting. So in truth, I'm gaining four hours.
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.

What to do with the next two hours:

Read to JR. (Well, we never gave that up. Right now we're in the middle of "Harriet the Spy").
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.

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.

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"

Cook dinner. Plan the week's menus. Shop the farmer's markets. Make ice cream.

Pay the bills. File away the papers. Get the tax stuff in order before April 10.

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. Flylady

Realize that even when one adds 4 hours into one's day, there is still just not enough time.

In praise of 7 year olds

2009-06-29T17:20:00.004-04:00

A few months back, before JR turned 7, I read a post on my friend Moxie's blog 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Oh, by the way, we lost all four games and every kid left the ballfield smiling.

Trying to Regain Perspective

2009-05-30T11:16:00.005-04:00

I 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

Mother's Day 2009

2009-05-10T19:23:00.001-04:00

I feel a need to post the history of Joe's illness, so these are old e-mails, cleaned up.

This was when it began. Joe D complaining of achiness, 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.

We had overnight guests (close friend of Joe D's from college plus his
wife and 6 y.o. daughter). JR had a baseball game at 8:30. The
wind was terrible and I can't get the sand out of my eyes. Much more
worrisome, though, is the fact that Joe D., who has been complaining of
achiness off and on for weeks, started throwing up this morning and has
a fever. We're supposed to go to dinner with his mom and sister, but of
course, he doesn't want me to tell anyone he doesn't feel well.
Joe's friends (lovely folks) wanted JR and I to go out with them for
lunch before they headed back to NYC (they live very close to my office,
ironically). JR, tired from his game, refused to go.
I'm trying to figure out if I should let Joe D sleep this off (treat it
like a virus), call one of his doctors (something is not right; he's
been complaining of not feeling right for weeks now); or dump him and JR
in the car and take him to the ER.

Happy Mothers Day to all you mothers out there - hope your day is going
better than mine.

That Litigation Rush

2009-04-14T05:39:00.003-04:00

When 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.
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.
I tried other big cases. I moved into management. I left the agency completely and started my new life last year on the bench.
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.
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.

Spring Fever

2009-04-10T06:04:00.000-04:00

If 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.
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.
Here's to spring in New York City.

Whose story?

2009-03-18T05:25:00.004-04:00

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.
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.

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.

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.

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?

Perfect Timing?

2009-01-19T09:28:00.004-05:00

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.

Forgetful Santa

2008-12-26T17:29:00.003-05:00

Santa 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.
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!
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.
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.

Keeping the Mommy Guilt Monster from Rearing Its Ugly Head

2008-12-10T22:58:00.003-05:00

The 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.

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.

Now I just have to convince Mommy Guilt Monster to get back into the closet.

This Modern World

2008-11-26T17:09:00.002-05:00

I'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:

"Hey, Honey, are you on the Internet?"
"Yes, why?"
"Could you do a Google search on roasting chestnuts and tell me what temperature to set the oven?"
"Uh, o-o-kay."

In case you're wondering, it's 425 degrees

That NY scene

2008-11-26T16:58:00.002-05:00

JR'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.

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.

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.

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?

Finding the Old in the New

2008-11-15T23:46:00.005-05:00

JR and I spent the afternoon at the brand new Please Touch Museum - 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.

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.

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.

Life's Big Questions

2008-11-12T06:02:00.003-05:00

We 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.

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 "How It's Made" 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?"

Bored?

Where did that come from?

Making History

2008-11-05T05:19:00.003-05:00

We 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.

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.

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.

This is what America looks like in our 21st century.

Leaving the Office for Lunch

2008-10-23T16:32:00.005-04:00

In 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.
But today, having spent a productive morning and still in the glow of having my team 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 Centre and Canal, 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.

I think I need to get out more.

Otter Redux

2008-10-14T16:50:00.005-04:00

Otter showed up in the mail - in a plain white envelope. He apparently took the trip from the hotel in Seattle via some small town in the Midwest, and on his journey, he reconnected with his original tag (JR noticed the tag, but chose to believe my comment that I wasn't sure we'd ever taken the tag off during our brief sojourn with Otter in Seattle).

He's home. He's met Stripey and Curly and Rudolph and the rest of JR's menagerie. Life is back in balance.

Otter, We Hardly Knew Ya

2008-09-26T06:01:00.005-04:00

We just returned from a lovely 5-day jaunt to Seattle (don't you love spouse's conferences?) where JR and I tried to see all the sights. On our first outing, to Pike Place Market, of course, we found a book called "Larry Gets Lost in Seattle", which became our guide. So we managed to see a Seattle Mariners game (they lost to the Angels, but the score was 2-1, so the game was quite respectable). We took a ferry to Bainbridge Island. We visited the main library, the Pacific Science Center, Chinatown, Pioneer Square, the neighborhood around University of Washington (my husband's idea), the Space Needle, the Children's Museum (made me miss our Please Touch Museum at home) and, one of the surprising highlights - the locks and salmon ladder at Ballard (Chittenden Locks). Earlier that day, JR and I had made a deal - he could buy one toy, at the end of the day, "if he was good" (which of course, he was). So there we were, at the end of the day, in the visitors center at the locks, which has a (thankfully) very small gift shop. And that was where we met Otter.

An interesting point about JR's choices of stuffed animals -- the ones he truly bonds with are small. As adults, I think we have this tendency to believe that bigger is better - so friends and relatives have gifted JR with a host full of giant Elmos and life size monkeys and standard issue teddy bears. Yet the animals he has named and played with and slept next to tend to be very small. Like Otter. He was about 3" long, a plush brown sea otter with a little tan face. JR named him Otter and they becamse fast friends. He introduced Otter to all the interesting facts of life - what cars are, and Daddies, and dinner and TV and a bed.

Yesterday morning, departure day, the last I saw of Otter, he was being placed in Daddy's pocket on our way down to breakfast at the hotel (they served Japanese breakfast, which JR's dad loves). He was going into Dad's pocket because JR's pocket was too small. After breakfast we had some time in the room where I finished packing and took care of some email while JR watched PBS Kids and hung out under the covers. Dad was probably reading the newspaper.

Then the mad dash to get out of the room, print out the boarding passes, retrieve the car and get to the airport. I was in charge of boarding passes, so I was not the last out of the room. Dad was in charge of a multitude of bags too heavy for anyone else to deal with.

Halfway to the airport, a plaintive JR asks "Where's Otter?" A brief discussion ensued and the parents determined that Otter must not have made it out of the hotel room. The day went on.

Rental car was returned, bags were checked, snacks were purchased, lunch was eaten and we boarded the plane home. JR slept for most of the flight, a miracle in and of itself. I had time to read my novel. We arrived home, ate PB&J sandwiches and got ready for bed.

Which is the precise moment that the loss of Otter hit JR like a ton of bricks. Much wailing and gnashing of teeth. The call to the hotel (no, Otter was not found). More wailing. Thinking I had calmed him down, I went up to bed. The wailing began again. Dad tried. I tried. Finally, an exhausted, devastated JR fell asleep in our bed - and I went down and slept in his bed because if there is one thing we have learned about our 6 y.o. - he may still need his stuffed animals and he may still cry his little heart out with disappointment, but he is too big and too restless to allow anyone else to get any sleep should they happen to be in the same bed.

North, south, east, west - home is best. Sorry, Otter, that your sojourn with our family was so brief.

Baseball History

2008-08-21T05:59:00.002-04:00

Okay, it was a mid=season game against a team that has pretty much sewn up the worst in the league standings, but the weather was beautiful, the food at our fabulous new ballpark was as delicious as ever, it was Chase Utley bobblehead night, and we were sitting out there in right field watching Brett Myers pitch a 9-inning shut out and, while Rollins and Howard and even Utley continued to struggle, Greg Dobbs (Greg who?) hit a 2-run home run.

And so of course I've been thinking about baseball and how we're passing the love of this sport down to JR (or is he bringing us to it?) Because, truly, I came to baseball late in life. My dad was a basketball fan. Big Five basketball, to be specific. So I grew up on tales of rivalries between St. Joe's and LaSalle and deafening, earsplitting games at the Palestra. Of course, there were also always the Celtics. And for me, Bill Walton and Pete Maravich. Or my dad's favorites - Wilt and Bill Bradley. There was also football - mostly college games, where I developed my fascination with half-time shows, which drew me into my high school years of marching band dominating my entire social life (yes, I was a band geek).

With the exception of one Yankees game my first year out of college, I never knew anything about baseball until my first year of law school, where I discovered Fenway and the lure of the green wall and the bleachers (much more enticing than spending a fall afternoon in a Contracts lecture).

So I am a Red Sox fan - except I live in Philadelphia and I have a son. So we are Phillies fans (his other favorite team is the Orioles - he doesn't know red from white socks at this point). And last night, we all watched a little slice of baseball history being made.

Toothfairy Redux

2008-08-19T05:59:00.002-04:00

Apparently, during Day 1 of "Daddy Camp" (JR's dad decided that rather than send JR to yet another week of camp, we'd save some money and he'd take vacation days and hang out with JR), JR had a playdate with one of his best buddies, HK. I'm not sure how this happened, but during the playdate, JR and HK went exploring in Mom's jewelry box (definitely off limits when Mom is home). In the jewelry box, they found the ring box for my engagement ring, where I had, in a moment of "what am I going to do with this? I just can't throw it away", hidden one of JR's teeth after a visit from the tooth fairy.

What amazed me was that the discovery did not shake JR's solid faith in the tooth fairy. Rather, he has chosen to believe that for some reason, we "forgot" to put it under his pillow when it originally fell out. He doesn't seem to be concerned about how the tooth got into Mom's ring box. He just wanted to make sure that we put it under his pillow last night. Of course, we did.

So, my inability to find a safe hiding place (and Daddy's decision that it's okay to explore Mom's jewelry box when Mom's not home) means that the toothfairy once again paid a visit to our house - paying again for an old lost tooth.

My little mercenary.

Adjusting

2008-08-12T05:51:00.007-04:00

As I watch the sun rising over Trenton this morning (it's usually not fully morning until we hit Newark), I'm thinking about the family's whole adjustment to my new career life. The job itself is great - it's intellectually stimulating, it's demanding, I get treated exceptionally well by both co-workers and staff (I admit, it's a bit heady to walk around the office and be greeted with "Good morning, Judge' "How are you, Judge?") The commute is daunting - although quiet time to myself on a train every morning has its upside (I just wish it didn't come at the cost of the sleeping I would normally be doing between 4:15 a.m. and 7:15). JR's dad has been fantastic - he has stepped into the role of primary caretaker and actually seems to be enjoying his extra time with JR and the fact that some household things (like getting JR up and out of the house in the morning) he just does better than I did. He even cooked us a great dinner last night that didn't involve ordering pizza or reheating his mom's macaroni (that will be tonight).

JR has also adapted quite well. He loves his camps and seems to genuinely enjoy the time with the two babysitters who alternate days picking him up after camp. It's been particularly nice to see him develop a relationship with his oldest cousin on his dad's side - who is now entering his sophomore year in college. As the cousins on opposite ends of the age sandwich, they hadn't really spent much time together until this summer.

Of course, he's still his usual self - so we have our arguments over clothes (now mainly limited to Sundays and church clothes) and TV (we've moved on from Max and Ruby to Bindi the Jungle Girl) and whether he can have a second dessert. I love watching him try to negotiate - especially when he goes into what I've now deemed his "spoiled rotten face" I actually can't watch him do this without cracking up. He starts fluttering his eyelids, looking up at me, and pouts. But the whole expression is so exaggerated. I am at a loss to explain where he learned the eyelid fluttering pout or how he knows when it is appropriate to pull that expression out - but he does. It hasn't worked yet to get him what he wants - but it never fails to leave his mother in hysterics.

Chance Encounter

2008-07-20T19:07:00.004-04:00

The family came to Baltimore to visit this weekend, so we spent our time enjoying the Inner Harbor. Technically, though, it is more accurate to say that we spent the past two days enjoying the Maryland Science Center. I seem to recall that this happened the last time we spent more than one day in Baltimore. We presented JR with lots of options; he wanted to go to the Science Center. The next day, we presented JR with all the same options, minus the Science Center. His face crumples, tears start flowing. We end up back at the Science Center.

Today, though, while there we ran into the mother and grandmother of one of the little girls in JR's kindergarten class. She told us that H was upstairs in the Kids Room with her little sister and dad. JR's eyes light up. "Come on, Dad. Come on, Mom. Let's go to the Kids Room." We enter. H and her little sister are immediately spotted. JR looks, turns, and finds somewhere else to play. H sees us. "Hi, H," we say. "Look, JR is here." She looks, their eyes meet, they mutually decide that the encounter is out of context, and proceed to ignore each other for the rest of the visit.

The parents chatted, and since H's parents are native Baltimoreans, we pressed them for some dining options.

JR's dad is now counting this trip as a major success because, unlike his son, he loves to be recognized in out of the way places. While Baltimore doesn't top being recognized in Chicago, or in the Rome airport, it still counts.

Time Warp

2008-07-07T19:48:00.005-04:00

Last night I arrived at the month long training school for my new job. Given that I am trying to train my body clock to wake earlier so that I can deal with the new ridiculously long commute, and the fact that every time I've had to be away from home for any extended period working and eating hotel and restaurant food, I've gained weight, I decided to put myself on an early morning exercise routine.

So last night I set the alarm for 5:20 a.m. I dutifully got up when the alarm went off and took myself down to the empty fitness room and spent 1/2 hour on the treadmill, feeling quite virtuous. The TV options were terrible, though, and the clock on the wall of the empty fitness room suggested that it was not quite 4:00. "Hm mm," I thought to myself, "I wonder why the hotel hasn't fixed the clock in this room.

On returning to my hotel room, with the sky still quite dark outside, I checked my cellphone, which, to my surprise, agreed with the fitness room clock.

Yes, it was 4:00 a.m. The alarm clock is set 2 hours ahead, and I had just gotten up at 3:30 a.m. and spent half an hour exercising in the middle of the night.

Having exercised for a half hour, wearing sweaty fitness clothes, I did not find it easy (or even possible) to go back to sleep.

During ice breaker introductions at class this morning, people are apologizing for being tired due to jet lag from the West Coast, or having been subjected to cancelled flights and lost baggage on their journey here from the hinterland. Two guys confessed to having been up late watching "Old School" on TV. And here I am, looking for the toothpicks to hold open my eyes, because I was on a TREADMILL at 3:30 a.m.! Yeah, right.

New Day, New Rules

2008-07-01T05:54:00.004-04:00

Yesterday JR started a new camp. Earlier this summer, we all attended a camp orientation. As parents, we were impressed by the facility, the range of activities, the creativity of the counselors. Apparently, all that JR heard were RULES. Yesterday, he was excited to report that camp was great and "Mom, they don't really have all those rules. There's only one rule - have fun!"

Today's Lesson

2008-06-30T17:54:00.003-04:00

While they may run more often than Amtrak and are far, far less expensive, it is much harder (although not impossible) to use a laptop while riding Greyhound.

In other news = we had a lovely weekend. My pre-job organization seemed to pay off, so that we had minimal chores to do this weekend and we were able to spend most of Saturday playing. We spent hours at the pool (amazingly, none of our friends were there) and went to see "Kung Fu Panda" According to our budding movie critic, KFP was way better than "Curious George", about the same as "Ratatouille", not nearly as good as "Kicking and Screaming". He's unsure how it compares to "Cars" as he "hasn't thought about that yet."

New Student

2008-06-26T06:04:00.005-04:00

I"m getting back in touch with the range of emotions JR must have felt last September when he started kindergarten. I feel like I've started a new school. New (wonderful, BTW) teachers. Every day new and exciting things to learn. New friends.

There have also been passing moments of desperately missing my old friends. (I had this moment yesterday, standing in line at the deli across the street from the new office building, waiting for my sandwich, where I felt this sharp, stabbing absence of one of my old lunch buddies. When I emailed him later, he reminded me that we'd been lunch buddies for 17 years. We knew each other's routines, we could order for each other.)

There are also the new routines at home. Mastering the new commute. Getting organized the night before with items necessary for the new book bag. New school supplies.

Mostly, it's exciting and invigorating. I leave work every day with my brain feeling like it has been stretched in an entirely different direction. It's akin to the "burn" you feel after working out (okay, okay, the "burn" that I've heard that some people feel when they work out). :)

Life is new.

(On the homefront - last night we had a discussion about mating for life and swans. At camp, they took a trip to a state park with a lake and JR reported that they saw swans. First he described them as "neese" which he eventually acknowledged to be geese, but then he corrected himself. He said the birds were big and white and they saw one (which he described as "totally unexpected") and then were even more surprised when there turned out to be two. So we discussed mommy and daddy swans and how they are usually seen in pairs.)

Fishing

2008-06-25T05:56:00.004-04:00

I'm starting day 3 of this new career and new commute (how does one adjust from a 20 minute walk to a 2-1/2 hour cab/train/train commute?) The hardest part, of course, is the compression of my time with JR. I think he's noticing too. He's been great so far about cooperating with Dad in the mornings and getting dressed, fed and out of the house in time for camp (I leave way before either of them are awake). He's been cheerfully willing to accept being picked up by babysitters (well, one old preschool teacher and one grown, college-attending cousin). I've gotten home almost in time for dinner (I'm working on that) and I've managed to be around for my favorite part of our routine together - bedtime.

We had been moving to a system where JR got his bath alone while I took care of household chores and setting clothes out for the next day. But last night, he wanted me to stay with him in the bathroom and he accomplished that by relating a very detailed account of that day's fishing adventure. It was great. My monosyllabic boy, who, ever since kindergarten began last September, has been increasingly stingy about sharing the details of the day, burst forth with a story of going fishing in the deepest part of the creek, the part nearest the campers' shelter. "Only boys, but one girl, oh and the teacher was a girl" "S almost caught a fish, but it was so slippery it jumped back in the water." "Did you know that salamanders are really slippery too? We saw a salamander. It was black and yellow. Those are the caution colors. Just like the tape in the city. If you see the caution colors you know the animal will taste yucky. We could have caught the fish if we'd had a net. Well, I had a net, but I gave it to Z and the fish swam in and jumped right out. We used sticks with worms on the end. When you lift up a log there are a million worms. No, I didn't have a stick. My job was to put the worms onto the sticks. But S almost caught the fish. Someone else almost caught a salamander. We saw a slug too - it also had the caution colors. Like the bee. I think I got bit by a black and yellow bug but it wasn't a bee. It was littler than a bee. But it had the caution colors...."

Ah, my city boy ...

Sensitivity Training

2008-05-17T07:21:00.004-04:00

Most days, JR comes off as a rough and tumble little boy. He goes everywhere these days with his baseball glove and ball, tossing the ball high into the air as he saunters down the street. He builds frightening monsters and fighting rockets out of Legos and K'Nects. He sings scatological songs.

But every so often, he does something to remind me that he truly is a sensitive little boy.

On Wednesdays, our library stays open into the evening. So after dinner, we took a walk over to replenish our supply of books. JR loaded up on nonfiction books about ships and fighter jets. I picked up a couple mysteries for me and suggested that we also get Roald Dahl's "James and the Giant Peach" to read together, as we have not read a chapter book together (since we abandoned Harry Potter early in Book 5, jointly deciding that the 16-year-old Harry's life was a bit too much for the 5-year JR). I'd never read it but have heard the book described as a wonderful classic kids book. I did read Charlie and the Chocolate Factory as a kid with my dad, and loved it.

Back at home, having finished our first water ices of the season, we snuggled on the couch and began to read Chapter 1 of "James and the Giant Peach." I read through the idyllic life on the beach of 4-year-old James, his parents' trip to London, their demise at the hands of the escaped giant rhinoceros and James' move to live with his less-than-loving aunts. JR burst into tears. "It's so sad," he sobbed. I told him that the book flap said that James was going to have wonderful adventures. He continued to sob. I skimmed silently through Chapters 2 and 3 and read to him the passage where James is given the living crystal seeds. "I can't stop thinking about him," he gulped between giant tears rolling down his little face.

He was still visibly saddened through bath time and when we settled him into bed, he instructed me "No more James and the Giant Peach." So we started in on one of JR's picks from the library - a new book about stealth fighter jets - and he settled into a comfortable sleep.

Kindergarten Electioneering

2008-04-22T22:55:00.002-04:00

Election Day has always gotten maximum attention in our house, given that JR's dad is the consummate political junkie. So we discuss everything from the tiniest local election to the big, media-saturated ones. This year, we've had the extra excitement of living in a state where our primary actually mattered (usually, the playoffs are over and the finalist has been chosen before we get around to voting). Add that to the retirement (under shadow of indictment) of one of our all-time favorite criminals, make that state senators, and we couldn't wait to get to the polls this morning.

Of course, all of this has rubbed off on JR, and he's been quite interested in the question of who we were voting for. He had his own favorite, too, and I'm posting because I found his logic fascinating. JR prefers Hillary Clinton because "We've never had a girl president." I tried to explain that we've also never had an African-American president, but the issue of race makes no sense to JR. He doesn't see it. I explained that Obama was "black" and JR told me that no one has black skin. I then compared Obama to
his African-American classmates and he didn't see the comparison because each person has a different kind of skin. He did concede that Obama has hair like his friend who is of mixed race. But basically he couldn't imagine that it would be important to have a president with a certain kind of hair.

I love the fact that he lives in a world where the idea of "race" is incomprehensible and where he cannot understand how anyone could be treated differently because of the color of their skin or the type of hair they have. I hope and pray that he lives in that world for many, many years to come.

On the other hand, I'm also fascinated that in a world where race is a nonsensical distinction, the difference between boys and girls is still so clear. And secretly proud of the fact that my son wanted to vote for the girl, "because it would be a good change, Mommy."

I'm a Friend of Moxie's

2008-03-20T23:48:00.002-04:00

Never Too Old to Rock and Roll

2008-02-16T01:27:00.004-05:00

So this is a story about Valentine’s Day. Valentine's Day never was my holiday, but for some reason, in life with JR's dad, who is otherwise a rather unromantic sort, it has taken on rather epic proportions (he proposed on 2/14/99, we signed the agreement of sale on our house on 2/14/00, which allowed us to set a wedding date, he usually does plan some type of event that involves going out). This year, he was particularly proud of himself. He made secret plans, arranged for JR's grandmother to babysit, and I caught him last Saturday bragging to some neighborhood moms – although he cut short the brag when I walked in. A few days before VD, he came home with a box which JR and I helped him wrap.

I, on the other hand, barely managed to buy a box of chocolates for his mom and a card each for JR and his dad. The cards were quite uninspired, since I bought them in my office building at 2:00 p.m. yesterday when the selection had pretty much been picked through.

I also came down with a horrible cold on Wednesday night, so I spent most of yesterday wishing that instead of having to go out, I could just go home and crawl into bed.

I got home from work and Memom was there, cooking dinner. JR came home with a stuffed bag of valentines from his classmates (everyone else gave out candy, or valentines with tattoos or lovely handmade confections – we managed to get JR to sign his name to 43 store-bought “Ratatouille” cards).

We had the exchange of presents – my MIL loved her box of chocolates. The boys were gracious about their uninspired cards from me. I was ecstatic to discover that the box I’d wrapped for myself contained John and Kira’s “lovebugs” (handpainted ladybugs of chocolate ganache filled with chocolate truffle). After dinner, we made our way out of the house.

JR's Dad had arranged to rent a car from Philly CarShare (this is actually worth it in our neighborhood, because moving our car off the block in the evening almost guarantees we will be unable to park anywhere near our house when we get home). We started driving deep into South Philadelphia – ending up at “The New Alhambra Sports and Entertainment Grille” at Front and Ritner Streets (this is an industrial wasteland of a neighborhood underneath Route I-95). I’d seen advertisements on telephone poles for boxing matches at “The New Alhambra.” The crowd hanging outside did not (to my relief) look much like a boxing crowd. However, there was far more black clothing, spiked hair, Doc Maartens, and tattoos to make me feel wholly at home in my powder blue parka and pink fuzzy scarf.

Inside, the boxing arena has been converted into a stage and a very loud, very Aerosmith-like band is playing. Above the stage I see a banner which finally explains the reason for our presence: “The New York Dolls” is scrolled across in red script lettering.

We had so much fun. The show was loud and high energy and upbeat and just a blast. For a few hours I got to forget that I just had a birthday and that I live this very conventional familial life where the big event is the occasional potluck dinner at neighboring parents’ homes. We stood in the crowd, cheering and dancing and singing along and feeling like we were still 25.

The first thing JR's Dad said when we got there was that he was sure he wouldn’t know anybody there. Was he ever wrong! First we saw a woman we know (friend of a friend), then we saw the younger sister of one of our closest friends, then we ran into another neighbor couple whose kids are in the same age range as JR. The crowd was interesting – lots of young punk rock types and lots of older folks (some of whom looked much older than us) looking unfashionable and, as they say, too young to die and too old to rock and roll.

So now you know why I love JR's Dad.

Kindergarten Romance

2008-02-13T01:47:00.001-05:00

For a while, JR has told us that a little girl in his class wants to marry him. E.L., a cute little girl with glasses and an interest in Harry Potter, though, is not the girl who inspires longing in JR. That is AM, whose name is always pronounced in a hushed tone with a sigh at the end. So, on this, the day before Valentine's Day, JR came home and told us that "AM says I'm her boyfriend."
"What about E.L.?" I ask. "I thought she wanted to marry you."
"She does. She told me AM is just being sarcastic."

I'm beginning to like E.L. more and more.

Birthday Undercover(s)

2008-01-26T08:46:00.000-05:00

Usually, I'm one to celebrate birthdays. In fact, I like to think that I have not only a birthday, but a birthday week. JR has clearly inherited this trait.

OTOH, this year I am facing one of those milestone birthdays that I'm not quite ready to face. So I've told WS not to make a big deal. No party. Don't worry about presents. Etc., etc. I even told my MIL, to whom not celebrating a birthday is a cardinal crime, that I don't really want to celebrate.

Well, this is not something I have been able to impress upon JR.

So this morning, despite the fact that I was up at 6:00 folding clothes, when he woke up he informed his dad that they would be making me breakfast in bed as a "surprise". He came and found me at the computer, placed a gold crown upon my head, instructed me to get back into bed, and "surprised" me with a lovely breakfast of french toast made with panettone (mmm!), tea with milk and sugar, the table settings wrapped in a paper towel carefully threaded into a napkin ring - and now I'm banished upstairs while he works on my card.

I love this kid.

Holiday of Playdates

2008-01-01T23:45:00.001-05:00

The past few days have been spent in a whirlwind of playdates and events where JR has found friends of every stripe. It has also been just another reminder of how small our world truly is.

Yesterday, before we managed to get out of our pjs, the family across the street called. They had just returned from visiting grandparents in another state and wanted JR to come over to see their gifts from Santa. We made our way across the street until 11:30, when we had to leave to walk over to the home of one of JR's classmates. His mom had put together an awesome New Year's Eve party for the kindergarten set, complete with a countdown at noon, lots of confetti, poppers, silly string, and noisemakers. While there, we learned that C's across-the-street neighbor is JR's friend T, who used to live around the corner from us, and whose parents are active members of our community garden. We also learned that C is in the same ballet class as our across-the-street neighbor, whose home we had just left.

As we were leaving C's party (with a confetti-filled treat bag and a snow globe with JR's picture inside it), my cell phone rang. JR's preschool friend S, who lives in another neighborhood and now goes to a different school, was heading to our neighborhood playground. Would we like to meet up with them? A few minutes in the playground convinced the moms that we needed to be inside, so we invited S and his mom in. JR and S discovered that when his rocket launcher is filled with confetti before being launched, it makes a REALLY AWESOME mess. And I mean REALLY AWESOME mess.

Five minutes after S left with his mom, my cellphone rings again. N's dad was calling - he was taking N and a soccer ball out to the corner park - did JR want to come along. Of course he did. After a few minutes outside, the parents again decided that we needed to be inside, so we lured the boys into N's house for hot chocolate.

We made our way home around 6:00 to prepare our portion of the annual New Year's dinner being held at our friends home. JR was excited, because his friends E and C would be there. The adults ate antipasto, ravioli with sausage and meatballs, venison sausage, salad, another pasta dish and lovely strawberry shortcake and Italian rum cake while the kids rushed their way through a few ravioli so that they could head upstairs to play and watch Happy Feet.

We were home before midnight, but did hear the cheering outside as 2007 ended and 2008 began.

This morning, we headed to E and C's house for the traditional New Year's brunch before heading out to the parade with E and C - where we ran into our across-the-street neighbors, N and his parents, and JR's old preschool friend L, who now lives in the suburbs but had come into town for the parade.

We ended the day at my friend Paul's annual post-parade party - where we ran into one of JR's school friends.

So will the theme for the New Year be: "It's a Small World" ?

What Color Christmas Tree meme

2007-12-12T22:45:00.000-05:00

You Should Have a Blue Christmas Tree

For you, the holidays represent a time of calm, understanding, and peace.
You avoid family fights, and you don't get too stressed out - even when things are crazy!

You like to make Christmas about making everyone's life a little bit better.
You don't get caught up in greed or commercialism. You're too sincere for that.

Your blue tree would look great with: Lots of silver tinsel

You should spend Christmas Eve watching: It's a Wonderful Life

What you should bake for Santa: Chocolate chip cookies

What Color Christmas Tree Should You Have?

The Buddies

2007-11-12T01:12:00.000-05:00

One of the most reassuring part of kindergarten has been how quickly our shy little boy has found a new group of friends to play with at school. We were worried about this, as he only knew one of his new classmates from nursery school and the majority of his kindergarten class had been together in pre-K.
It quickly became clear that he has been embraced by a core group of little boys in his class. They share an interest in paper airplanes, sports and playing "chase the girls" in the playground. JR refers to them collectively as "the buddies."
"Mom, the buddies made a fort in the playground today and no one could find us."
"Mom, the buddies were playing chase the girls and R (boy, not one of the buddies) was on the girls side."
"Mom, H brought in 4 bionicles so that there was one for each of the buddies."
"Mom, I don't want peanut butter in my lunch because some of the buddies are allergic."

Trick or Treat

2007-11-01T22:34:00.000-04:00

We had a great Halloween. It has never been my favorite holiday (not
that I disliked it, but it just never ranked with Christmas or Easter
or birthday), but this year's was almost perfect.

JR's school had a costume parade and assembly in the morning, which
Dad attended. I picked JR up early from school and we rushed home
to get some dinner in our bellies before suiting up for trick or
treat. JR was, of course, Harry Potter and the little girl across the street (6)
was Hermione Granger. Trick or treating started promptly at 6:00.
The participating families in the neighborhood had jack-o-lanterns lit
and were sitting on their front stoops with bowls of candy. Harry Potter
and I went out with Hermione, her dad and her little brother (Yoda).
We then picked up another even littler guy who lives on the block (Dash Incredible)
and hit the streets. We covered about 4 blocks adjacent to ours in an
hour. Then we headed home, emptied out the bulging bags of candy,
dropped Dash off with his mom and put Yoda into a stroller, so that we
could walk a few blocks over to a neighboring street that hosts a block
party (families not only hand out candy, but have little activity
stands at their houses with Halloween themed arts and crafts or
games). Harry Potter made a bracelet with colored sand, successfully
guessed which of the three moving cups held the candy, visited with
the Indian in the Tepee, and guessed the number of gumballs in a jar,
but drew the line at bobbing for apples, lest he mess up the painted
scar on his forehead. We connected with a few more friends, oohed and
ahhed over a few more costumes and hightailed it home to drive over to
Aunt J's house, where JR's grandmother was holding down the fort.
By the time we got there, though, JR was no longer Harry Potter, having removed his costume, so Memom did not get to see him dressed up. His older cousins were
also out for the night, so we missed them too. (This annual mandatory
trip to my SIL's is one of my Halloween pet peeves, but the rest of
the day was so fun, I'm letting it go).

My favorite costume (which I heard about but did not see) was dreamed
up by my co-worker's 9-y.o. son. He dressed as "Every Kid's Worst
Nightmare"

*
*
*
*
HOMEWORK!

Co-worker dad said the neighbors loved it.

Harry Potter and the Chamber of Tantrums

2007-09-21T22:17:00.000-04:00

Apparently, a major element of the transition from preschool to kindergarten is a marked increase in temper tantrums. At least, that's the way it seems in our house. However, JR's tantrums, while occasionally sparked by peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut horizontally rather than diagonally, or no clean superhero underpants in the dresser drawer, most often repeat the same theme, which I find oddly heartwarming. We have been reading Harry Potter. In fact, tonight, we finished Book 2. Each night, we read one chapter. Each night, the end of the chapter coincides with a full-blown temper tantrum. "Read one more chapter." "Please, just one more chapter." "Read! Please read! Just one more page, I'm begging you." "Read, Mommy, please. Read!" And with tears streaming down his face and the plea "Please Read!" on his lips, my little Muggle falls soundly asleep

School Days

2007-09-07T22:23:00.000-04:00

JR (and his Dad and I) survived our first day of kindergarten. He is a Hummingfish. The other kindergarteners are Barbaloots.

He had a 1-1/2 hour orientation yesterday, and then the full, first day of school today. Earlier this week, he had a total meltdown about leaving his old preschool. ("I don't want new teachers. I miss K and H.") When we arrived yesterday, he looked a bit shell-shocked. One of his wonderful teachers (R) came up to introduce himself. JR glued himself to my backside. R got down on JR’s level and pulled out a guitar pick. After unsuccessfully trying to engage JR in a conversation about what the guitar pick does, he made it disappear. The guitar pick reappeared behind JR’s ear. R was now okay in JR's book. ☺

Today, he was pretty tentative in the yard at drop-off, which was filled with all the returning kids from pre-K to grade 8. He was especially nervous because his best friend Z wasn’t there. (Z also wasn’t there yesterday because he had a later orientation time.) Nevertheless, he walked upstairs and put his Spiderman book bag in his cubby. He then handed me his striped tiger to take with me (“Put it in your book bag,” I suggested. “Noooo, Mom, you take him. Stripey doesn’t want to go to kindergarten.”). Then he scooted over to the circle and sat down right in the same spot he'd sat in yesterday (next to Teacher R).

Z's mom told me later than when she dropped her son off (3 minutes late), JR's whole face lit up. He jumped up, the 2 of them ran to greet each other, and life was good. Z went to this school last year for pre-K, so he already has a bunch of friends. He promised his mom to introduce JR to his other friends.

At home tonight, the stories about his day tumbled out willy-nilly. Apparently, they learned the song for the weekly field trip to the environmental center, they had an all-school assembly at which all the Hummingfish had to stand up together, and they were presented with their official school t-shirts, and they paired off in twos and threes to share their favorite books which they'd brought from home. (JR brought in Book 1 of Harry Potter, which we've just finished). JR was grouped with Z and a girl whose name he doesn't remember. Another boy is already reading Book 3 of Harry Potter and every time his dad reads the name Voldemort, he screams. The class had a visit from the Lorax, who brought them a gift of seeds, which they planted. The whole school learned that "Every day is Earth Day." The "other J" in first grade, whom we met at church on Sunday, had to stand up when his name was called and he also got a t-shirt (all kids new to the school get t-shirts). And on and on.

After all of the agonizing we went through last year - we couldn't be happier with JR's kindergarten. The only downside - after 4 years of walking from home to preschool to work, we are now taking 2 busses up and back. I left my office at 4:00 p.m. to pick him up and we got home at 6:00 p.m. My resolution to use public transit and not drive may not last very long.

Down The Shore

2007-09-01T22:27:00.000-04:00

We had picture perfect weather this summer during our annual trek "down the shore." We even managed, for the first time in about 5 years of vacationing down the shore, to get a kite aloft on the beach.

Toothfairy Redux

2007-08-02T22:51:00.000-04:00

The first time JR lost a tooth, we were completely taken aback. He was not yet 5, so we were convinced that some trauma had knocked out his tooth and we whisked him off to a dentist next morning.

A few weeks later, a new, grown-up tooth started to appear in the place of the hole, so I came to terms with the idea that, yes, in fact, he is old enough to lose his baby teeth.

Nevertheless, when the second tooth, which had been wiggling for days, popped out of his mouth on the way home from the pool, and I had this little, tiny baby tooth in the palm of my hand, the tears started flowing.

My baby is losing his teeth.

JR's dad thinks I've lost my marbles, in addition to losing JR's teeth.

Out of this World Graduate

2007-06-25T00:19:00.000-04:00

One of the reasons it has never been hard to leave JR and go off to work is that he spends his day at a wonderful preschool with the most creative teachers. On Thursday, he graduated along with 10 other classmates. The teachers, as they do every year, made the graduation hats. This year, though, they totally outdid themselves. Each child was outfitted in a hat that represented his or her favorite thing. So one child's hat was a pirate captain hat, another a shark, a horse, a lion, a butterfly, a spider, a tennis court and a baseball diamond (complete with balls that dangled off the court), a Seattle Seahawks helmet, the Coliseum (burning while Nero fiddled), and for JR, my boy who loves outer space and rockets, the entire solar system. The hats were awesome. The graduates were adorable. The parents were proud and the teachers - I can only hope that the rest of the teachers that JR has in his school life are half as creative, dedicated, and nurturing as Esther, Heather, Kate, Gina and Christina have been this year.

Toothfairy Alert

2007-05-25T00:56:00.001-04:00

Last night, sitting in a local park enjoying water ice, JR came over and handed me a bloody biscotti (purchased to accompany his dad's coffee) and said "Mommy, my mouth hurts." Peering into his little bloody mouth, we saw that there was no longer a tooth in his bottom front. We searched near where he'd been sitting, but could find nothing. Tears were flowing. Luckily, his friend's big sister had the presence of mind to tell JR that it didn't matter if he couldn't find the tooth; all he had to do was write a note and tell her he'd lost it.

So last night we carefully placed the note under his pillow: "Dear Toothfairy, I lost my tooth. Maybe you can find it near the bench in the park."

By 5:00 a.m. this morning, the tears had dried and the gap-toothed smile was wide with the discovery of the toothfairy's payment in trade for the missing tooth.

Pulitzer Reading List Meme

2007-05-25T00:49:00.000-04:00

Bold the ones you've read, strike-out the ones you hated, italicize those you started but never finished and put an asterisk beside the ones you loved.

These are the Pulitzer Prize winners for the Fiction (since 1948) and Novel (to 1947) categories.

2007: The Road by Cormac McCarthy
2006: March by Geraldine Brooks
2005: Gilead by Marilynne Robinson
2004: The Known World by Edward P. Jones
2003: Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides*
2002: Empire Falls by Richard Russo
2001: The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay by Michael Chabon
2000: Interpreter of Maladies by Jhumpa Lahiri
1999: The Hours by Michael Cunningham*
1998: American Pastoral by Philip Roth
1997: Martin Dressler: The Tale of an American Dreamer by Steven Millhauser
1996: Independence Day by Richard Ford
1995: The Stone Diaries by Carol Shields*
1994: The Shipping News by E. Annie Proulx
1993: A Good Scent from a Strange Mountain by Robert Olen Butler
1992: A Thousand Acres by Jane Smiley*
1991: Rabbit At Rest by John Updike
1990: The Mambo Kings Play Songs of Love by Oscar Hijuelos
1989: Breathing Lessons by Anne Tyler*
1988: Beloved by Toni Morrison*
1987: A Summons to Memphis by Peter Taylor
1986: Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry
1985: Foreign Affairs by Alison Lurie
1984: Ironweed by William Kennedy
1983: The Color Purple by Alice Walker*
1982: Rabbit Is Rich by John Updike
1981: A Confederacy of Dunces by John Kennedy Toole
1980: The Executioner's Song by Norman Mailer
1979: The Stories of John Cheever by John Cheever
1978: Elbow Room by James Alan McPherson
1977: no award given
1976: Humboldt's Gift by Saul Bellow*
1975: The Killer Angels by Michael Shaara
1974: no award given [Gravity's Rainbow by Thomas Pynchon recommended by the jury but turned down by the Pulitzer board]*
1973: The Optimist's Daughter by Eudora Welty
1972: Angle of Repose by Wallace Stegner
1971: no award given
1970: The Collected Stories of Jean Stafford by Jean Stafford
1969: House Made of Dawn by N. Scott Momaday
1968: The Confessions of Nat Turner by William Styron
1967: The Fixer by Bernard Malamud
1966: The Collected Stories of Katherine Anne Porter by Katherine Anne Porter
1965: The Keepers of the House by Shirley Ann Grau
1964: no award given
1963: The Reivers by William Faulkner
1962: The Edge of Sadness by Edwin O'Connor
1961: To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
1960: Advise and Consent by Allen Drury
1959: The Travels of Jaimie McPheeters by Robert Lewis Taylor
1958: A Death in the Family by James Agee
1957: no award given
1956: Andersonville by MacKinlay Kantor
1955: A Fable by William Faulkner
1954: no award given
1953: The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway
1952: The Caine Mutiny by Herman Wouk
1951: The Town by Conrad Richter
1950: The Way West by A. B. Guthrie, Jr.
1949: Guard of Honor by James Gould Cozzens
1948: Tales of the South Pacific by James A. Michener
1947: All the King's Men by Robert Penn Warren
1946: no award given
1945: A Bell for Adano by John Hersey
1944: Journey in the Dark by Martin Flavin
1943: Dragon's Teeth by Upton Sinclair
1942: In This Our Life by Ellen Glasgow
1941: no award given
1940: The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck
1939: The Yearling by Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings
1938: The Late George Apley by John Phillips Marquand
1937: Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell
1936: Honey in the Horn by Harold L. Davis
1935: Now in November by Josephine Winslow Johnson
1934: Lamb in His Bosom by Caroline Miller
1933: The Store by Thomas Sigismund Stribling
1932: The Good Earth by Pearl S. Buck
1931: Years of Grace by Margaret Ayer Barnes
1930: Laughing Boy by Oliver Lafarge
1929: Scarlet Sister Mary by Julia Peterkin
1928: The Bridge of San Luis Rey by Thornton Wilder
1927: Early Autumn by Louis Bromfield
1926: Arrowsmith by Sinclair Lewis (declined prize)
1925: So Big! by Edna Ferber
1924: The Able McLaughlins by Margaret Wilson
1923: One of Ours by Willa Cather
1922: Alice Adams by Booth Tarkington
1921: The Age of Innocence by Edith Wharton*
1920: no award given
1919: The Magnificent Ambersons by Booth Tarkington
1918: His Family by Ernest Poole

Early Summer

2007-05-05T22:29:00.000-04:00

80% of JR's preschool class are kids with spring birthdays (the other 2 are in October). So every weekend between mid-April and mid-June, he has a birthday party. Today's party was a backyard barbecue and his buddy received lots of summer yard toys, all of which had to be tried out immediately. Of course, none of the parents had predicted the need for bathing suits, so all the kids stripped down to their shorts (for some, their undershorts) and tested the new water toys, just so JR's buddy would know they work, of course.

Sick Day

2007-05-01T00:10:00.000-04:00

Today was the best kind of "sick" day. JR and I were home from preschool because he had a mysterious rash and low grade fever that signalled "contagious to other kids" but did not affect his activity level. Moreover, it is truly spring here, so we took advantage of the weather and spent time out of doors.

We were able to do some gardening (indoors and out), a craft project, play with clay, eat lunch at the brand new coffeehouse on our corner, take the bus (to the doctor), eat gelato outside at our favorite local cafe, and generally just spend time, the two of us.

I know why I am a WOHM and I rarely spend time secondguessing that choice. But today was such a rare jewel of a day. So do I console myself by reflecting on the fact that if I were a SAHM and this was not such a rare occasion, but was instead the usual configuration of our days, the chance to spend this isolated, uninterrupted time with JR would become tedious rather than extraordinary?

Tomorrow he gets to spend the day with Dad. I can't say that I'm not jealous.

One moment during the day that I do regret: I should not have used my cellphone on the crowded bus to tell my friend that the doctor had just diagnosed JR with strep and scarlet fever. The woman next to me visibly shrank away from us by about 6 inches.

I've Got Mail!

2007-04-27T00:01:00.000-04:00

A letter arrived in the mail today addressed to "Mom" at our address. I opened it up and found:

Meatballs. My first letter from my son - and it's about meatballs. I love this kid.

2007 Report to Kaz Consulate

2007-04-13T23:49:00.000-04:00

Time for another annual update:

Consulate of Kazakhstan

April 13, 2007
2006-2007

JR continues to be the light of our life.
His medical health is very good. He is still in the 90th percentile for height and weight (he is approximately 43” tall and weighs 45 lbs.) We continue to treat his mild asthma medically. He has not had any major asthma attacks, or any other medical issues that have required visits to the pediatrician. His pediatrician continues to be impressed by his obvious intelligence and his clear attachment to his parents.

He attends preschool 5 days a week. The teachers are very pleased with his behavior, and say that he is emotionally and developmentally right where he should be. He is always one of the first in his group to master new academic topics. They also regularly remark on how bright he is. He recognizes simple words (to, in, it, is, on, the, dad, mom, cat, dog) and is beginning to sound out words phonetically. He can count beyond 100 and does simple addition,. He can write his name and enjoys practicing writing. He is able to draw simple, recognizable figures and to cut with safety scissors. He is mastering coloring within the lines. The teachers say that he will be more than ready to start kindergarten in September.

He is still very interested in astronomy. He is also very interested in pirates and race cars. He has begun to use the computer (with assistance from his parents) and enjoys visiting websites designed for preschoolers. He also likes to visit astronomy and space exploration websites and GoogleEarth.

In September, he began a weekly music class. His music teacher has reported on his intelligence and his advanced reading ability. This class (and the addition of a new teacher at his preschool who is a musician) has sparked an interest in music that he had not previously exhibited. Music class is one of the highlights of his week. His preschool also takes monthly trips to the Art Museum and the Orchestra. He enjoys both trips immensely.

He still excels in athletic pursuits. He has excellent motor skills. He can throw balls (baseballs, footballs, tennis balls, etc.) for quite a distance, and with accurate aim. He can hit baseballs with a bat. In the fall, he played in a weekly soccer program for preschoolers and in the winter, he played in a basketball program. He was one of two children in the basketball program who could consistently throw the ball into the basket. He will again play in a tee-ball (baseball for very young children) league for 3 and 4 year olds. JR’s father will again be the assistant coach for the team. He swam regularly last summer and is already asking about when the pool will reopen for the summer.

He is a good eater (his favorite foods continue to be macaroni, olives, any type of fruit, and of course, ice cream). His favorite vegetable is asparagus. He will eat any type of fish. He likes to help in the kitchen with simple tasks (making salads, mixing cakes, putting toppings on homemade pizza).

We read to him several times a day, and he has many favorite books, some of which he has memorized. He can recognize some simple words in most books. He enjoys playing card games, board games, doing puzzles, constructing buildings and vehicles with Legos, and coloring. His favorite toys are cars and trucks and spaceships. He has a great imagination and tells fabulous, intricate stories. He is also very attached to a stuffed reindeer toy who accompanies him most places. He has many stories about this toy’s adventures.

We regularly take him on short trips to visit local museums, parks, zoos and other sights. The Academy of Natural Science, (or as JR calls it, “the Dinosaur Museum”) is still his favorite. He also enjoys traveling to Baltimore and to New York City to visit the science museums in those cities. In the fall, we also visited the Berkshire Mountains in Massachusetts for a few days, where he enjoyed mountain climbing and visiting the local art museums and art galleries.

He has many friends in the neighborhood and at school. He seems to be quite popular with his schoolmates and is showing some leadership potential. We continue to stay in touch with several families in the area who also adopted children from Delphin Baby House. In addition to his friends from Kazakhstan, he has good friends who were adopted from China, Viet Nam, the Ukraine and Guatemala. Several of the children at his preschool are adopted, so his school is very sensitive to the issues of adoptive children.

He remains very close with his first cousins on his father’s side. He is particularly close to his cousin who is now 9 years old. JR likes to do whatever his cousin is doing. We see his cousins several times a month and we will again spend a week vacationing with them in Ocean City, NJ (a beach resort) this coming August.

We feel privileged and blessed to have JR in our lives.

Undisclosed location

2007-04-06T00:46:00.000-04:00

Our cool dad managed to get us within photo range of the eagle's nest today. Very cool, indeed.

Malingering

2007-03-20T00:10:00.000-04:00

This morning JR made his first ever attempt to skip school by pretending to be
sick. He's been off for 3 days (Friday was a teacher in-service
day). On Friday, he refused to get out of his pajamas all day and told us Rudolph (his stuffed reindeer who goes everywhere with him) was sick. We took his temperature, and the thermometer never got put away. Since his asthma has been acting up a bit, we've also been monitoring him a bit more closely anyway. Apparently, all of these events coalesced in his little mind as a perfect ploy for staying home from school. So when he awoke this morning, we had the following conversation:

JR: I need to take my temperature because I'm sick and can't go to school.
Mom (knowing his temp is perfectly normal): Okay, but let's get
dressed first. Then, if the thermometer says no fever, you will be
all ready for school.

We completed our morning routine. Then, 2 minutes before we're supposed to leave the house:

JR: Mom, you forgot to take my temperature.

I took his temperature. Temperature is normal.

JR: But Rudolph is sick and needs me to take care of him.
Mom: (Checking Rudolph's brow): Rudolph's temperature is okay too.
Maybe Rudolph is just saying he's sick because he'll miss you today.
Maybe you should take him to school with you.

Which he did. Apparently, Rudolph spent the day watching JR from his cubby, cuddled up in JR's wool hat. Rudolph had a "whole big invisible preschool" inside the cubby, according to JR, but he got to come out and snuggle with JR at naptime.

Inside Joke

2007-03-18T22:44:00.000-04:00

JR and his friend S had a playdate at our house today. On Sundays, our house is filled with newspapers (oh let's face it, our house is ALWAYS filled with newspapers). JR and S decided they wanted me to read the comics to them. This is always a hit or miss proposition with JR as most comic strips are not written to appeal to a 4 year old's sense of humor. They took a particular liking, though, to the "Baby Blues" strip. So for the rest of the playdate I would hear the two of them taking turns dialoguing:
Kid 1: This is all your fault.
Kid 2: You're the one who duct-taped the baby to the TV!
Hysterical laughter.
Switch positions and start all over.

Rule of Parenting

2007-03-02T00:26:00.000-05:00

Making JR's lunch takes 5 minutes if I make it the night before.

Making JR's lunch takes 30 minutes if, after an evening of beer and chili with friends, we come home and fall on the couch to watch "Miracle Idol" and then stagger upstairs to put JR to bed and never make it back downstairs until the next morning, when we're running late because the alarm didn't go off, JR has not yet picked out his outfit for the day and he's just discovered GoogleEarth on the computer, so that when we finally arrive in the kitchen to eat breakfast, we remember that we never made his lunch last night.

Corollary to Rule: It is on the days when we are running impossibly late and it has taken 30 minutes to make JR's lunch so that he is the last to arrive at preschool rather than the first or second, as is our usual routine, that I will be halfway to work when I discover that I left my wallet in my other coat.

Distracted

2007-02-21T00:10:00.001-05:00

I was so caught up this morning in discussing the schools dilemna (Joseph's lottery ticket for the public schools we liked came up short, but he did get into a fabulous private school and there is still the option of the cozy Catholic school and ....) that I dropped JR off at the preschool but carried his lunchbox all the way to my office.

Once I realized I still had his Spiderman lunchbox in my clutches, I called my supervisor to let her know I'd be late, found an ATM so I'd have money to pay the cab which I then hailed, and ran the lunchbox back out to the preschool.

Back at my desk, I opened my calendar to discover that I wasn't supposed to be in the office at all. I had a doctor's appointment scheduled and was now 5 minutes late!

I know I'm obsessing over the whole kindergarten issue - but I hope my scatterbrain morning is not predictive of how my next few months are going to go (until this is all resolved).

It's only kindergarten, right?

Red Shirt Day

2007-02-08T23:25:00.000-05:00

Last night at dinner I learned that today was "Red Shirt" day at the preschool. Friday has been designated Pajama Party day. JR's dad and I marveled at the creativity of the teachers, who have been stuck inside with the rambunctious four and five year olds all week, due to the cold weather.

So this morning we outfitted JR in red from head to toe, inside and out. He even wore his red "Bob the Builder" underpants and red socks.

At school, teacher Kate said "Wasn't it clever of JR to come up with red shirt day?" "What?" "Oh yes, JR and his buddy C dreamed it up and announced it to all the kids yesterday at Circle Time."

My guy, the trendsetter.

Bowling for Kindergartens

2007-01-21T00:19:00.000-05:00

After JR's playdate at a potential private kindergarten, he wanted to go bowling. We of course agreed, being the superindulgent parents that we are. I'm still trying to figure out, though, how he knew about bowling in the first place.

Grossology

2007-01-17T22:06:00.000-05:00

After JR's music class on Wednesday nights, we often go to dinner with his classmate Sam. The boys are both high energy, so we tend to frequent local burger joints where the fries are yummy and no one looks askance at boisterous behavior.

The only problem with burger joints is that the main vegetable featured on the menu is usually ketchup. And ketchup truly skeeves me. It is the one food item that makes me want to run for cover and hide in the bathroom until the dry heaves have subsided.

JR and Sam, however, love it.

So tonight, there we are at a new local burger joint and the boys are in rare form (of course, with these boys, it's not such a rare form). They have practiced running slides through the tables. They have hidden under the tables. Sam has unshelled a peanut, dropped it on the floor and then retrieved it and popped it into his mouth before I had a chance to say "Don't eat that!" (Sam's mom was over at the condiment counter, filling up little cups of ketchup for the table at the time). JR has stuffed fries in his mouth and Sam and JR have extended fries from their nose and tried to fight like swordfish with them. My cheeseburger, delicious but gulped between "put that downs" and "watch your elbows" is starting to form a solid lump in the pit of my stomach.

And at that point my darling son decides to out gross all of us. He takes his lemonade straw, places it in his ketchup cup and ....

(I'm not truly sure what happened next because Sam's mother kindly covered my eyes and told me when it was safe to look). All I know is that when my eyes were uncovered, the ketchup cup was empty and JR's mouth was unkissably stained with red.

"Not that this matters to you," she said, "but at least it was Heinz."

My Friend, My Neighbor, Tom

2007-01-07T21:39:00.000-05:00

As we make our ways through the world, our lives often have several simultaneous orbits. We have our family world, our work world, our school world. When we become parents, the number of orbits increase. We add in the orbits of our children's worlds. Sometimes our orbits align with other people's orbits for a long time. Sometimes not.

There are people in our lives that we know through a certain context, a certain orbit, and what we know of them is only what fits into that context. We don't know about all of their other orbits. They don't know about ours.

When I first moved into the city, I rented the upstairs apartment of a duplex owned by a friend of a friend. My social life, to a great extent, ended up intertwined with that of my landlord's. We had a little crowd that hung out together. We went to the same parties. We were in and out of each others' lives. That was the context in which I met Tom. He was the boyfriend, soon to be husband, of Maria. He was a carpenter. A master carpenter. A true craftsman. He was a gentle soul, a genuinely nice guy. Maria was an artist, offbeat, wacky, and also wonderful. They got married. Another couple in our little gang got married. My landlord got married and moved out of state. I bought my own little house around the corner. The little group of friends stayed in touch, but with less and less frequency.

Tom and Maria divorced. I saw more of Maria (especially since she became romantically involved with the friend who had been my original introduction to the group). I saw less of Tom.

I started taking ceramics classes at Fleisher.
Tom was an assistant teacher. I learned that not only was he a master carpenter, but he was incredibly skilled at the potters wheel. Tom made pots - huge, gigantic pots. Pots that I could never have had the strength to throw (if I could throw, which I never quite got the hang of). For the next few years, off and on, I took ceramics classes and Tom was always there - helping to teach throwing, and constantly working on improving the ceramics studio - building shelving, cabinets, whatever carpentry needed to be done.

In 2000, we bought our house and got married. Our new house turned out to be around the corner from the home of Tom and his new wife, Pat. Shortly after our wedding, Tom and Pat dropped off a wedding present - one of Tom's fabulous pots. It graced our front window for a while, until it was replaced by Christmas decorations. Somehow the pot never quite made it back to the window. I think it will soon, though.

Now I got to know Tom as a neighbor. He was a regular officiant in the local bocce league at the corner park. He was a mainstay of the community garden and the keeper of the waiting list. After six years, last summer we made it to the top of the list. While waiting though, we still made use of the garden; the sandbox, the picnic tables beneath the pergola built by Tom and of course, the fort, built by Tom. Even as Tom became ill, he was always working on projects for the neighborhood. He was also always quick with a hello and willing to stop and chat.

As Tom constantly undertook tasks to improve the neighborhood, he was also always working on his house and his blue van. When one of his lintels cracked, he found marble and then aged it to match the existing lintels before replacing it. He designed screens that fit over his cellar door perfectly, and painted them bright blue to match the cellar door. Just this summer, he installed wood paneling inside the ancient van. So I grew to know Tom as strong and resourceful and always working.

Although his physical appearance betrayed the ravages of the cancer and chemotherapy - his demeanor never did. Life was never about Tom the patient. It was always about Tom the friend, Tom the neighbor, and the next project.

JR is not comfortable with adults he doesn't know, and he was always reticent with Tom. Tom was okay with that. He was always friendly and attentive, but never pushed. We would see him on the street, in front of his house, in the garden, at the bocce court, even at the Please Touch Museum, where we would run into Tom repairing an exhibit. I always merited a hello and kiss on the cheek. JR would get a hello and, when he retreated behind my legs, Tom was never fazed.

So we knew Tom in many different ways - but tonight, at the Memorial Service held at Fleisher for our friend I learned about another Tom that I had never known. Tom the artist. I wasn't surprised at the number of people (and families with kids) at the Memorial. I wasn't surprised at the stories told. But in all the contexts in which I've known Tom, I never realized that, in addition to his skill at throwing pots, he was an incredibly talented artist. The sculptures exhibited tonight totally took me by surprise. They are the legacy of a piece of Tom that I'd never recognized. He was so gentle, so understated, so hardworking - somehow I'd missed the fact that my friend and my neighbor was also this truly talented artistic soul.

JR as Photographer

2007-01-06T23:13:00.000-05:00

These pictures were taken by JR at the annual Mummers Parade, from the Mayor's Reviewing Stands at City Hall.

Conversation Walking Home (or why I know I'm raising a boy)

2007-01-03T23:04:00.000-05:00

Tonight as we were walking home from Music Class, JR told me that his hands were cold.

Me: Where are your mittens?
JR: In my pocket.
Me: Why don't you put them on?
JR: Because they have spit on them.
Me: How did they get spit on them?
JR: Well, we found a brown thing that looked kind of like a dead snail, and we buried it. (Aside: how does he know what a dead snail looks like?)
Me: And the spit? ...
JR: Well, we put sticks and leaves and stones and grass on the brown thing when we buried it.
Me: Did you put spit on it too?
JR: No Mom! We put the spit under the snail.

Later, when I asked him to recount the incident with the snail for his dad, JR said:
Mom, it wasn't a snail. It wasn't moving. And it was brown like peanut butter.

I don't even want to know.

As Dictated to Mom

2006-12-26T01:31:00.000-05:00

Somehow, we lost this letter and never mailed it to Santa. Nevertheless, Santa figured out almost everything on the list (except the Leapster - we're hoping Uncle Geno in Florida will come through with that one).

Christmas, in which the best laid plans go astray, yet Christmas remains Christmas

2006-12-25T23:52:00.000-05:00

JR and Joe D, who were miserably sick yesterday with high fevers, aches, pains and other viral woes, awoke feeling better today.

Santa's presents were all a big hit. Santa brought the wooden garage and the car carrier JR had picked out from the catalog, a race track with real race cars, and a Playmobil soccer field - just like JR had dreamed about. "And Mom, we forgot to mail my letter - do you think Santa found it and read it anyway?"

My best present (which I'd opened a few days ago at JR's insistence) is a lovely Skagen watch, nickel free, so I'm not allergic to it.

No fancy breakfast, since the boys' stomachs were still not 100%. No
church because between the illnesses and Santa and my need to cook tonight's dinner, by the time I looked up at the clock, all of the morning masses were over. This may be the only Christmas in my life where I did not make it to mass.

As soon as JR had opened everything I started cooking. Braised veal roast, brown sugar glazed sweet potatoes, green beans. I also assembled an antipasto (well, 2 plates of antipasto) with lettuce, roasted red peppers, hard boiled eggs, provolone, prosciutto, tuna, grape tomatoes, artichoke hearts, two kinds of olives, mozzarella balls ... (Antipasto is the one thing my inlaws always insist I provide for family gatherings, given our proximity to wonderful Italian specialty food purveyors).

MIL called, 3 times, with the upshot being that no one wanted to come to our house for dinner because they are afraid of catching whatever virus the boys have - instead we are to drag their barely recovered selves and the entire multi-course meal over to MIL's house. "It's Christmas, it will make her happy, do it for me" pleads the WS.

Our cross-the-street neighbor came over with her 2 kids bearing a present for JR (ack! how did I forget to get anything for her 2?) while I was still in pajamas - cooking. Joe invited them in. The kids played and ate cookies, and K kept me company while I cooked.

I broke the news to her - we got our postcard on Friday from the Spanish immersion charter school (her daughter is in kindergarten there) - JR is # 84 on the waitlist (or as Joe D says, "the postcard said 'Adios, Amigo!'") Two schools down, 3 to go.

Eventually, everything was cooked and or assembled and packed to go to MIL's house. The neighbors went home. I got washed and dressed and then played games with JR while his dad did the same.

4:30 - we're running late for dinner at 5:00 (especially since we're bringing the entire dinner, except for the lasagna). I'm getting JR together and gathering last minute stuff. We step out the door of the house. It is pouring rain and WS is standing at the door of the car, cursing, because the bottom dropped out of the shopping bag holding the antipasto and the polenta layer cake I'd made for dessert and all of it was on the sidewalk, upside down, with my special holiday
platters cracked.

Much wailing and gnashing of teeth.

In trying to get the ruined food off the sidewalk and into the trash, WS trips on the steps to our front door, pulling the plug out of the inflatable Grinch and ripping his pants.

More wailing, gnashing of teeth, and both of us start fantasizing divorce.

JR helps us clean up, never betraying any concern with his boiling over parents.

We get to the inlaws. They are nonplussed by the missing antipasto because they just happen to have another one in reserve "just in case" (who does this? who asks someone to make an antipasto and then goes ahead and makes another, just in case?) They also don't miss the cake, because they have at least 2 other cakes and many cookies in the house.

Everyone raves about the veal roast. Some people even eat the green beans and the
sweet potatoes (well, no one biologically related to my husband, but JR, and all the people who have married into the family)

THE EAGLES WIN and TO looks bad - so everyone is happy.

Presents are distributed and JR gets about 5 presents for every 1 that anyone else gets, including a drum set and and toy electric guitar complete with microphone and amp.

My best presents: ticket to see Chicago and gift certificates to 2 restaurants, 1 of which I've never been to and 1 which is my favorite (L'Angolo, for you Philly folks).

Joseph is elated.
My inlaws are happy.
My husband apologized for the wailing and gnashing of teeth.

And now it's time for me to turn in, as in our house, not a creature
is stirring, not even a mouse.

Holiday Preparations

2006-12-24T14:59:00.000-05:00

Separate and Engage

2006-12-20T23:37:00.001-05:00

This morning, we had our initiation into the world of private school kindergarten admissions and all is not well. To be admitted to tony private school, in addition to paying the processing fee and answering the essay questions on the application and getting a recommendation from his preschool teachers, there is a parent interview, a "readiness assessment" of the child and an observed "playdate" in the kindergarten. This morning we had our parent interview and JR was to meet with the person who does the
"readiness assessment." The playdate is in January.

We told him about it last night, explaining that he would meet with a teacher in one room while mommy and daddy were in another room meeting with another teacher. We promised that we would all go out to breakfast afterward. We talked about it again on the way out to the school this morning.

JR initially did not want to go with the teacher to her office, but he followed me into the room. He was clingy and reverted to his "baby talk" ("mama, mama"). Miss B attempted to engage him. When it looked like he was calm and ready, I gave him a kiss and slipped out. The crying started. We were to have a tour of the school and then our interview. Miss B called the receptionist and advised that we shouldn't enter the room, but we shouldn't go on the tour - we should stay nearby.

We went into the adjoining office for our interview. The crying subsided. We chatted with Miss Be2 about how wonderful Joseph is. We made Miss Be2 laugh. We had been sweating our interview, but since all she asked about was JR, the questions were slam dunks and everything was going swimmingly. We talked about how competitive kindergarten admissions had gotten, but the tone was definitely "don't worry, he sounds wonderful, his preschool recommendations were terrific."

We finished and JR was in the lobby, constructing an elaborate truck out of blocks. We talked a bit about the next step (the playdate), put our coats on, got ready to leave. Out comes Miss B.

"I just have to tell you that JR completely shut down. He refused to interact with me. He would not respond to any of my tricks. I even tried bribery. He would not engage."

She told us that our option is to try again or to withdraw our application. I asked if I could sit in the next time and was told "No. He has to be able to separate and engage." I asked if they would consider him for admittance without the readiness assessment. An emphatic no.

We are at a loss. Do we put him through another interview
with Miss B? If we do, what is the likelihood that it will go
any better the next time? If it does go better, how tainted will his application be by the fact that he so decidedly flunked the first try?

What do we do at the next private school? JR has always been "slow to warm up" (in our pediatrician's words), especially with adult strangers. How do we get him to show the world how fabulous he is?
And of course, what do we do about schools? If private schools are not an option because he can't pass the interview, that leaves us at the mercy of the lotteries for the public and charter schools. That just seems so risky and scary to us right now.

How do we (should we) work with JR on his shyness (which is crippling in these types of situations)?

And finally, how do we keep our disappointment in the process from resonating with JR as a disappointment in him? Because, honestly, I find the whole idea of expecting a 4 y.o. to "interview" with an adult to get into school a bit on the ridiculous side. And I truly do love and adore him and think he is wonderful.

Playing Detective

2006-12-16T23:50:00.000-05:00

Our 8 year old nephew wants a spy kit for Christmas. We were shopping today and looking in the toy stores for a spy kit. JR asked me to tell him what a spy kit is. I talked about hunting for clues and trying to figure them out. JR asked "Do spies go incognito?"
INCOGNITO?
"What's incognito, JR?"
"Pretending to be someone else mom."

Was my 4 year old son going incognito as an 8 year old today?

My Feminist-in-Training

2006-12-06T23:47:00.000-05:00

Apparently, at the playground today, a heated discussion ensued about whether girls (in particular, JR's classmate E) could be racecars in the ongoing game of Cars. JR not only came down firmly on the side of "girls can be racecars," he invented a pink, Spanish-speaking racecar that was perfect for pink-jacketed, Spanish-speaking E.

The Social Hour

2006-12-05T23:03:00.000-05:00

At what point in our evolution did humans discover the desire for privacy around toilet habits? Was it the day Adam and Eve took the bite from the fruit of the Tree of Knowledge and discovered their nakedness? How do our primate cousins handle this issue - do they seek a private spot in the bush to relieve themselves?

Or, is it more like my house, where potty time is social time? It doesn't matter who is on the potty. JR is always there. He is ready to have a story read (we are partial to Mo Willems' classic "Time to Pee" but everything from Winnie the Pooh to the "Cars" book complete with sound effects is fair game). He is ready to discuss the intricacies of his day and his social calendar. He is primed with the latest joke "Why did the sleepy bunny throw the butter out the window?" "Why did the chicken cross the road?"

I'm starting to think that when he finally does catch on to the "Potty Time is Private Time" concept, I'm really going to be lonely in there.

Nature vs. Nurture

2006-11-22T00:07:00.000-05:00

One of the fascinations of adoption is discovering the mix of biological and nonbiological determinants that make up JR. His affection for all things athletic; well we know that's biologically determined because it surely doesn't come from us. Then again, sometimes what he "inherits" from us is completely befuddling. I understand his penchant for newspapers, since his Daddy is never without at least one in his hands. But how to explain his system for getting dressed in the morning?

I admit to a few obsessive personality traits. Mostly, they are exhibited as a need to organize items. So my friends may laugh at me, but I just like to listen to my CD's alphabetically. I have also confessed to a few friends that I have my closet organized and each morning I just pull out the next item in line and wear it. It removes the challenge of making a decision before I'm wholly awake. I haven't told many people about this, maybe not even JR's dad. I certainly have never mentioned it to JR.

So how do we explain this morning?

JR was in his closet, picking out a shirt to wear with his sweatpants to preschool. The first shirt he picked out didn't match the sweatpants. I suggested he choose another shirt.
"But Mom," he protested. "This shirt is the next in line."

Just when you think they're not listening

2006-11-19T23:49:00.000-05:00

On most Sundays we take JR to a church that offers a really nice children's liturgy. We do this even though I'm never sure that he's getting anything out of it. He squirms, he fidgets, he refuses to sit on the carpet with the other kids and clings to my leg or buries his head in my lap. When he's not buried, he's wreaking havoc with his best buddy E, who also goes to the children's liturgy. I know E's mom is thinking evil thoughts, too, since JR just eggs on her daughter, who I'm sure is perfectly well-behaved when we're not there.
This morning, the lesson was all about how everything is temporary (moon, sun, stars, leaves, clouds) except for love, which is everywhere and eternal. The lesson was nicely done, and in the extra time before we rejoined the congregation, the teacher attempted a prayer of the faithful. Kids volunteered the stuff they wanted to pray for - a sick pet, a friend, a new train, light bulbs (yes, light bulbs). JR raised his hand. Usually, even if he screws up the courage to raise his hand, he won't volunteer anything when called upon. Today, he raised his arm. He was called upon. He spoke up. "Pray for Love." The teacher beamed. "At least someone got the message."

Later today, we were at friends for our monthly potluck dinner. JR was the only child present. The adults were debating some important topic (role of religion in social change? politics and celebrities?). JR was behind my chair, playing with his cars. His dad starts into a complicated discussion about the Big Bang Theory and time moving backwards. JR whispers to me "Mom, why did the bunny throw the alarm clock out the window?" "Why, honey?" "He wanted to see time fly."

Accent? What accent?

2006-11-19T23:32:00.000-05:00

What American accent do you have? Your Result: Philadelphia Your accent is as Philadelphian as a cheesesteak! If you're not from Philadelphia, then you're from someplace near there like south Jersey, Baltimore, or Wilmington. if you've ever journeyed to some far off place where people don't know that Philly has an accent, someone may have thought you talked a little weird even though they didn't have a clue what accent it was they heard.
The Northeast
The Midland
The Inland North
The South
Boston
The West
North Central
What American accent do you have? Take More Quizzes

Banner Day

2006-11-18T23:06:00.000-05:00

Why is it that, when one is 4 years old, haircuts go much more smoothly if one is sitting on a toy motorcycle watching a DVD of Blues Clues? Why is it that mornings spent shopping with mom are much more enjoyable if the shopping trip includes a stop at a local toy store to pick up a new Playmobil king? Why is it that the paint store is more fun if the 4 year old picks the colors? The grocery store more bearable if the 4 year old is steering the plastic fire truck on the front of the cart?

Why is it that I managed to get through my entire childhood without ever getting a haircut while sitting on a motorcycle or driving a fire truck through the grocery store?

Election Day

2006-11-08T01:49:00.000-05:00

It was quiet at our polling place this morning. We vote at a local cafe / deli that never seems to sell any food but is popular with the older gentlemen in the neighborhood, the ones that otherwise hang on the corner. The pollworkers were pleased to see the little guy and his friend E. going to vote with their mommies (JR likes to push the big green button that signifies that we're finished). We use a touch screen with lights. I miss the old days when the curtains opened after you pulled the big red handle. (Similar to the way I feel about pushbutton slot machines - the thrill is gone when all one does is push a button).

Two disconcerting things - the one pollworker, who greeted JR by name and knows dad from neighborhood political meetings, corrected me when I told the other pollworker my surname, "It's D...," she corrected (stating my husband's name). "I never changed my name," I stated as politely as I could.
Second, there was a person standing behind each of the voting machines, who seemed to be doing something to the machine after JR pushed the green button. JR's dad tells stories of being paid when he was a kid to go behind the machine and pull the big D lever. What were these people doing behind the machines?
(Even though I know I voted the way the rest of the neighborhood will vote - being a Democratic ward in a Democratic city - it was still somewhat troublesome).

JR was quite excited about going to vote this morning, but he asked no questions about what we were doing until bedtime, when we were recounting the story of his day. I recounted how quickly he got dressed and he told me he was "excited" to go vote. Then he asked what a polling place was and what voting was. So there I am, in the dark, explaining that we push the buttons to pick the people we like the best and that the winners get to make decisions about what will happen in our country. "How do we know who we like best?"
"Well, I try to pick the people who will take care of the people in our country, and who will share with the people in other countries."
"So you pick the good kids, right Mommy?"

I hope so.

Tangentially, JR knows his phone number. I was ordering Chinese food tonight for delivery and was stating our number to the order taker on the phone. I heard his little echo, reciting our phone number. Later I asked him if he knew our phone number and he rattled it off perfectly. When does he learn these things?

Buzz Lightyear on Parade

2006-11-01T00:23:00.000-05:00

The little guy got to wear his Buzz Lightyear costume to preschool on Halloween and the class went on a parade through the neighborhood. Here is the class, with all 3 Buzz Lightyears, heading back to school. (Thanks to the mom who took the photos)

Apparently, he's a bit of a trendsetter, too. On Friday night, at the school Halloween party, he was the only Buzz Lightyear in town. By Tuesday morning, there were 3 Buzz Lightyears. Who knew our little guy could exert such influence over his playmates?

Typical Morning

2006-10-31T00:14:00.000-05:00

JR wakes up smiling and happy. "Mommy, I love you." "Daddy, I love you." We get dressed (much discussion of which shirt to wear; the one with the football player, the one with the truck or the one with the superhero on it). We go downstairs to eat our cereal. If there is any time left before our departure (me for work, JR for preschool), he gets to watch TV while I gather up the detritus that accompanies us everywhere.

Then the fun starts. JR doesn't want to wear the black VANS sneakers, he wants to wear his "light-up sneakers", which are now a half-size too small. He doesn't want to wear a jacket. "I'll wear my hat. That will keep my whole body warm." He doesn't want to walk, he wants to ride in the stroller. As his volume increases, my stress level ratchets up. How do I not give in to the temper tantrum when I really need to keep to the schedule so that I can arrive at work on time (otherwise, I don't work enough hours to be able to leave work on time to meet the preschool's rigid 5:30 p.m. pickup schedule)? How do I remain the calm, loving mother and not turn into "Mean Mommy"? Why oh why, when I purchased the SUV of strollers, did I not factor in how heavy it would be to push when loaded down with a 40 lb. 4-year-old?

There he is, all 40 lbs., tears streaming down his face, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the living room floor. "Stroller, Mommy, stroller. I can't walk. I need to sit. My legs don't work."

"My legs don't work." Someday this will be funny, right?

Buzz Lightyear to the Rescue

2006-10-28T00:37:00.000-04:00

Halloween Party Extravaganza Weekend

Sunday

2006-10-22T20:08:00.000-04:00

It's early Sunday morning. Too early to be awake, but JR has crawled into our bed in the middle of the night and now he and Dad are both sleeping diagonally, and there is no room for me. So I'm awake watching them sleep. JR is almost upside down, with his one foot hanging off the bed. His foot is beautiful. Perfect, really. I think about this foot, and how this is how God intended life to be. Children are born into this world and they are beautiful, physically, mentally, emotionally. Then we live. We grow. We change shape. Our feet get hardened, we get injured, we scar. I think about the charge we've been given by God - to raise this child. To protect his beauty, his goodness, his innocence. I wonder if we're doing okay. If we're parenting him in a way that does honor to the beautiful child that he is.

Later, during the children's liturgy at church, we talk about the brothers James and John, and Jesus telling them that if they truly want to be great, they need to become servants. Again I find myself thinking about the job I'm doing parenting this child.

Then, back at church (twice in one day! what kind of Catholic am I?), we gather for a family celebration of All Saints Day and the kids make paper chains with the names of all the people they know who are "holy," who are good. JR begins by listing all of his friends from preschool. And I think, yes, of course, they are all good. They are all beautiful children. They are all gifts. And I say a prayer that we will all remember to treat them as such.

Mini Vacation

2006-10-16T01:30:00.000-04:00

We took a little trip this weekend into the mountains. It was open studios weekend in this little mountain town and our friend invited us up since she was exhibiting. The highlight for JR was climbing up the highest mountain and checking out the view. The highlight for mom and dad was getting a brief break from life in the big city.

The BigHearted Boy

2006-10-07T00:25:00.000-04:00

When we met JR, the orphanage director described this 11 month old baby as "kind." At the time I remember thinking that was a strange adjective to bestow upon an infant. How did they know?

Whether he exhibited kindness as an infant or whether the orphanage director's words had predictive power, they were prescient. JR is indeed a kind, big hearted, generous sort. We see it all the time.

Two anecdotes of kindness:

JR recently acquired a simple foam puzzle of a skeleton with the bones labelled. He mastered it immediately. Around the same time, his preschool class was studying the body. JR decided that he not only wanted to take the puzzle to school, he wanted to GIVE the puzzle to school. So Monday morning, he took it in and presented it to his teachers. They were thrilled. They were particularly pleased because the plan for Monday was to have the children glue bones onto their body maps (life size outlines of their bodies). The skeleton puzzle would be the perfect display for the class, a reference point for their artwork.

JR has been invited to the joint birthday party of two sibling friends, L & J. Unfortunately, their birthday party is the same weekend that our family is taking a mini-vacation to the "mountains."
This morning, JR said to me, "Mom, L & J's birthday is coming."
I replied, "I know, honey, but remember that I told you we were going to the mountains that day."
"I know Mom, that's okay. I just wanted to tell you that maybe when we're in the mountains we could look for a princess for L and a Star Wars toy for J."
"Oh, and Mom....?"
"Yes...."
"Do you think the mountains will have a store with a bone with a ribbon, so we could get a present for L&J's new puppy, too?"

Our big hearted boy.

Music Class

2006-10-06T01:07:00.000-04:00

JR has started a weekly toddler's music class at a local music school. I was worried about this, given his prior reluctance to join tumbling class and his general aversion to new situations. I was also nervous because despite his father's best efforts, JR has seemed disinterested in music. Baseball ... soccer ... miniature golf ... he is passionate about sports. But music ... eh.

But his preschool has hired a phenomenal young woman as a part-time music teacher and for the first 2 weeks of school, all we heard was "Gina this" and "Gina that." Three of his buddies had also signed up for the same music class. So I was cautiously optimistic.

JR loves music class. Loves, loves, loves it. So about 5 days after the first class we happened to drive past the building. "Look JR," I said. "That's where you go to music class."
"Mom, I've been meaning to ask you about that. I thought we were going to go to music class every day."

What We Did On Our Summer Vacation

2006-08-31T01:00:00.000-04:00

2006 Report on JR

2006-07-20T23:14:00.000-04:00

Consulate of Kazakhstan

June 6, 2006

2006 Report on JR
Born in Kostanai, Kazakhstan

JR continues to be the light of our life.
He is a bright, healthy, energetic toddler who is deeply loved by his parents and everyone who meets him. Just today one of the teachers from his daycare program told us that "He is charming his way into my heart."

His medical health is very good. He is in the 90th percentile for height and weight (at his last check-up, in September, he was 40" tall and weighed almost 40 lbs.) We continue to treat his mild asthma medically. He has not had any major asthma attacks, or any other medical issues that have required visits to the pediatrician (other than one bout with a flu virus in the winter). His pediatrician continues to be particularly impressed by his obvious intelligence and his clear attachment to his parents. He was potty-trained at 3 years and 2 months of age and now routinely sleeps through the night without accidents.

He attends preschool 5 days a week. The teachers are generally pleased with his behavior and say that he is emotionally and developmentally right where he should be. He is always one of the first in his group to master new academic topics. They also regularly remark on how bright he is. He is always the first one to volunteer the answer to the teacher's questions. He knows his alphabet and is beginning to associate the letters with their phonetic equivalents and can count to 100. The newest teacher at his preschool asked me if he had turned 6 yet, because intellectually he was performing at the level of the children entering kindergarten.

Our house is filled with his art projects from preschool. In April, his preschool studied outer space. He learned about the planets, stars, comets, and moon. He was so interested in the topic that he has asked that his birthday party this year have a "space" theme. We made flying saucers, hunted for pretend "moon rocks" and played other space-themed games.

His most marked abilities, however, are in athletics. He has excellent motor skills. He can throw balls (baseballs, footballs, tennis balls, etc.) for quite a distance, and with accurate aim. He can hit baseballs with a bat. This spring he joined a tee-ball (baseball for very young children) league for 3 and 4 year olds. His father served as assistant coach for the team. The league is not competitive at this age; the children meet once a week to practice fundamentals such as throwing, catching and hitting the ball. Tee ball is one of the highlights of JR's week. He also enjoys playing soccer and bocce ball. He has taken swimming lessons at a local pool and can now put his head under the water, jump in the pool and swim short distances without assistance. We belong to a swim club with outdoor pools and we have already started to spend time there this season. He likes nothing better than to Âplay baseballÂ with his father. He would happily spend hours throwing balls back and forth.

He is a good eater (his favorite foods continue to be macaroni, olives, any type of fruit, and of course, ice cream). His favorite vegetable is asparagus. He will eat any type of fish. This spring we were awarded a plot in the local community garden and he has been very involved with the planting and watering. He chose to plant carrots, cucumbers, tomatoes, lettuce, radishes and flowers. He was quite excited last week when we were able to harvest our first two radishes.

We read to him regularly, and he has many favorite books, some of which he has memorized. In addition to playing ball, he enjoys doing puzzles, constructing buildings and vehicles with Legos, and coloring. He is able to color within the lines. Like most of his four-year-old friends, he enjoys pretending to be a superhero. He likes to make up funny stories and jokes and has a wonderful sense of humor.

We regularly take him on short trips to visit local museums, parks, zoos and other sights. The Academy of Natural Science, (or as he calls it, "the Dinosaur Museum") is a particular favorite. Over the Christmas holiday, we took him by train to New York City to visit the Museum of Natural History, where he was able to see many dinosaur fossils. We have also taken him to the local planetarium at the Franklin Institute, which he greatly enjoyed.

He has many friends in the neighborhood and at school. He seems to be quite popular with his schoolmates and is showing some leadership potential. We continue to stay in touch with several families in the area who also adopted children from the Baby House. In addition to his friends from Kazakhstan, he has good friends who were adopted from China, Viet Nam, the Ukraine and Guatemala. Several of the children at his preschool are adopted and two of the children have parents who were adopted into their families, so his school is very sensitive to the issues of adoptive children.

He remains very close with his first cousins on his fatherÂs side. He is particularly enamored of his cousin Andrew, who is 8 years old. Joseph likes to do whatever Andrew is doing and especially likes to play baseball with him. We see his cousins several times a month and we will again spend a week vacationing with them in Ocean City, NJ (a beach resort) this coming August.

We feel privileged and blessed to have Joseph in our lives.

BRUUUUCCCCEEEE!

2006-06-21T01:05:00.000-04:00

Through total serendipity, I ended up with a ticket to see Bruce Springsteen tonight. Well, not quite serendipity. Many thanks to JR's dad, who heard of an available ticket and realized that I would LOVE to go.

I have not been to a rock concert in years. The last (only) time I saw Bruce was in 1978 at Madison Square Garden. Tonight was the perfect concert. We sat on the lawn, dead center and near the seats. Bruce played from 8:30 p.m. until 11:00. No breaks, no BS, just big music. I was completely enthralled by the "Seeger Sessions"; Bruce was made to play this music. It was inspirational, sensual, spiritual. It was also shake your body fun.

The friend with the extra ticket was taking his mom. D and his siblings had chipped in and bought tickets so they could go together. At the last minute, his sister couldn't make it - so I was the beneficiary of her misfortune. Mrs. M. truly loved every minute of the concert. Watching her, with her sons, swaying to the music, huge smile on her face, I couldn't help but hope that someday, my grown beautiful son will be taking me to concerts for my birthday.

I wonder how old JR has to be before I can introduce him to Bruce?

Synchronicity

2006-06-05T01:45:00.000-04:00

I was driving home today from running an errand, down a street I pass every so often. As I drove down one block, I remembered that the pro bono lawyer who helped my youngest brother when he was dying from AIDS had lived on that block. And suddenly, without warning I was crying.

Why did it hit me so hard today of all days? It's not an anniversary of anything connected to my brother (he died in early April 1986, his birthday is June 15). I hadn't been thinking about AIDS, or Patrick, or anything like that.

Yet the tears were flowing.

I went home, hugged my son (busy playing bocce on the corner with his dad; using the bocce balls that Dad got for his birthday yesterday). I thought about bargaining with Dad ("if our second adoption is a boy, could we name him Patrick?") I let the issue drop.

Then late tonight, when I should be asleep, I feed my insomnia by browsing the blogs of my friends, and come across Moxie's post. Synchronicity.

So yes, we are all LGBT families.

And there is an anniversary to note today: JR has been home with us 3 years today. He became a US citizen today, after 16 hours on 2 planes, 16 hours that I thought would never end, and that now seem like nothing in the life that is JR's life with us.

Radishes!

2006-06-02T00:13:00.000-04:00

After six long summers, we've finally scored a plot in our community garden. JR was initially an enthusiastic gardener - he helped me pick out vegetables and flowers to plant, he picked out his own kid gardener gloves and trowel, he planted the seeds, he watered with abandon.

But it's been 3 weeks now, and his world is baseball all the time, so it's been left to me to squeeze in a little time now and again to water and weed. Monday evening I finally had the chance to thin out the carrots and radishes (selective reduction?) and while trying to choose which plants to pull and which to let grow, I found a radish. A full grown, round, red, radish bursting from the ground.

Tonight there was a second one. I feel so proud.

The Balloon Guy

2006-05-30T00:15:00.000-04:00

Our neighborhood has a "balloon guy." For a very reasonable price, one can hire him to make fabulous, whimsical balloon animals at events, birthday parties, picnics, anyplace where little ones congregate.
This week we had a small fundraiser for our local library. We gathered everyone in the park, provided donated food from local vendors, asked a local band with kid-friendly music to play, and, in what turned out to be a moment of sheer inspiration, my husband suggested hiring the balloon guy.

I learned three things.
First, no matter how imaginative the balloon guy's creations are (monkeys climbing palm trees, penguins, kangaroos with babies in their pouch), as soon as the first kid asks for a laser gun or sword, all kids want a laser gun or sword (usually both).

Second, no matter how active the child, no matter how short the attention span, kids will gladly stand patiently around the balloon guy for upwards of thirty minutes waiting for their turn to get a balloon laser gun or sword.

Third, no matter how talented the balloon guy at making swords and speaking "pirate speak", he cannot make a pirate hat complete with skull and crossbones.

Remembering Judge Becker

2006-05-25T00:54:00.000-04:00

I know that this blog has been solely focussed on my life as mom to the amazing JR. I am, however, a working mom, and until this past December, I worked as a practicing attorney. Long before JR, long before I married, I had the honor and privilege of working on the Court of Appeals for the Third Circuit. While there, I was lucky enough to work closely with some truly great jurists - Judge Higginbotham, Judge Sloviter, Judge Scirica, and Judge Becker. This past weekend, Judge Becker passed away and I've been reading the lawblog entries and news articles and remembering my own experiences.

I once worked with Judge Becker on a prisoner's rights case. The position I had advocated, in my bench memo, was not adopted by the majority. Judge Becker, however, agreed with me and drafted a dissenting opinion that, once circulated among the panel, was adopted by another judge and became the majority opinion. When the decision was published, Judge Becker signed a copy of the slip opinion. Roman v. Jeffries. I need to dig that copy out again.

When I was leaving the court to take my next job, with a federal government agency, Judge Becker teased me "Oh, so soon you'll be arguing cases on behalf of the agency in front of me." I explained that the appeals were all handled by attorneys in the agency's national office and that I wouldn't be making any arguments. "Not if I tell them I want you to argue the case," he replied.

I'm truly sorry that I never did have the opportunity to argue a case before him. He served the legal profession well and makes me proud to be a lawyer.

Batter Up!

2006-05-20T01:08:00.000-04:00

Of Moms and Sons, Moms and Daughters

2006-05-20T00:36:00.000-04:00

I have to point you all towards the blog of one of my friends, as I think she has written an extremely thoughtful post.
She is always one of the best bloggers on parenting issues out there, but this post really resonates with me. It's just past Mothers Day, and my head has been filled with this year's media bombardment about the "Mommy Wars" So much so, that the frenzy enabled me to forget about the personal issue that Moxie brought home so well here today.

Like Moxie, I had a great relationship with my mom. Unfortunately, I lost her way too early (I was 24 when she died). I still miss her.
Having been the only daughter with 4 brothers, I always thought of myself as a "boy mom" and so quickly adopted WS's expressed preferences of a son when we started the adoption process. JR, of course, is an amazing child, very much a boy's child. A "momma's boy" according to his father (and grandmother), but all boy.

But now, as we contemplate #2, I find that I want a daughter. Not for, as you pointed out, the pink dresses and the Princesses (oh, please, spare me the Princesses) - but for the adult daughter. The relationship that I know I would have had with my mom, had she just been around long enough to see me to adulthood and parenthood.

Like Moxie, I also already worry about being the MIL to my son's wife. What will she be like? Will she let me in to share any of her life? Will I be able to respect her boundaries and the sacredness of her relationship with my son? Will we forge a relationship separate from just our love for JR? Will I be able to let go?

My MIL is a perfectly fine person, a devoted mother and grandmother. She has a very close relationship with her own daughter and I know she'd love to have a closer relationship with me. I'm the problem. No matter how hard she tries, she is just NOT my mother and I'm still, all these years later, mourning my own mother too much to let anyone else in.

It is such an awesome responsibility and complicated undertaking, this raising of children, isn't it?

Zeppole Day

2006-03-19T23:34:00.000-05:00

Today is the feast of St. Joseph, so of course Memom dropped off St. Joseph Day Cakes for Dad and JR. All I got was a chocolate cannoli. :(

There Are 9 Planets ...

2006-03-19T23:23:00.000-05:00

For reasons unknown to us, JR's daycare has decided to stray from their usual curriculum this month and study outer space. Every day, JR learns about a new planet or star. They are learning a song that apparently is sung to the tune of "Mary Had a Little Lamb" but has lyrics that begin "There are 9 Planets..." He is soaking this new knowledge up. We're treated to random comments about the latest factoid. "Mom, my teacher Kate says a shooting star is a comet."

Caillou on Demand this month is featuring the Starry Sky episode, so we are not watching any other TV (or video). Just "Caillou at the planetarium, Mom."

So this afternoon we decided to treat JR to his own planetarium visit. His reaction was just what we hoped and the excited "OOOOOHHHHH!" popping out of his mouth each time he turned a new corner in the museum is exactly the comment that reminds a parent why we got into this mess in the first place.

Chef JR

2006-03-19T01:13:00.000-05:00

In honor of my ethnic heritage, which often seems to get lost between the overwhelming Italian-Americaness of our neighborhood and Dad's close-knit family and the search to learn more about JR's Kazakhstani culture - I decided to make soda bread with JR this afternoon. We used my friend Kate's tried and true recipe for "scone." It's a great recipe for cooking with a toddler, since it involves lots of flour and other white ingredients and butter, best mixed in by hand. Finally, a healthy dose of raisins is thrown into the mix. At one point, I looked at JR, covered head to toe in gloppy doughy white stuff. "Mom, I look like a chef!" That or the Pillsbury Doughboy.

If I do say so myself, JR's first scone was AWESOME.

Kate's Scone:

5 cups flour
1 cup sugar
1 stick butter
1 tsp. salt
1 tsp. baking soda
1 tsp. baking powder
1 tsp. cream of tartar
1 qt. buttermilk
1-1/2 cups raisins

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Put flour in a big bowl. Work the stick of butter in with your hands until it blends into the flour in little pieces. Add sugar, salt, baking soda, baking powder, tartar. Mix. Add buttermilk. You may not need the whole quart (depends on the flour, humidity, etc.) Add the raisins. It should be a big gloopy mess, very wet. Flour a well seasoned cast-iron pan (10"). If your pan is not well-seasoned, grease and flour. Bake at 350 degrees for 70 - 80 minutes (I covered the pan for the first hour, then finished with the pan uncovered. Do the toothpick test to see if it is cooked in the middle (the top should be a golden brown). Allow to sit in the pan about 15 minutes, run a knife around the edge and bang it out.

The OC

2006-03-11T00:57:00.000-05:00

It's a family show, right?
We took advantage of the awesome weather and did a summer preview - braved the traffic to head "down the shore." We picked out our vacation rental house, JR rode his bike on the boardwalk, we dined on pizza and soft ice cream cones and JR got to shed shoes and socks and play on the beach.

Homebody

2006-03-05T23:37:00.000-05:00

I confess (and I'm hoping this will not start any flaming from more progressive adoptive parents out there), we don't spend a great deal of time talking with JR about his adoption. We're not dishonest. I always answer whatever questions he has truthfully. I just don't volunteer information. I've never mentioned the existence of a birthmother to him, which probably has more to do with my own insecurities than anything else. He knows he didn't grow in my belly (he grew in my heart), but he's never asked whose belly he did grow in. He also knows he lived in the baby house, that mommy and daddy came to get him at the baby house, and that his friends E and E lived in the baby house, too. Today, at his instigation, we talked about the fact that he use to live in Kazakhstan and that other friends of his lived in the Ukraine and China and VietNam and Guatemala. We talked about the fact that in each one of those cases, the mommies and daddies had to go to the far away country to bring their baby home and the fact that there are lots of ways to make a family.

In the meantime, given the fact that most of our neighbors and friends who are parents bought their tiny city homes just before the real estate boom and before they realized that 1 tiny child means at least 1000 square feet more toys and paraphernalia to house, playground adult conversations often center around homes (looking for bigger homes, being priced out of bigger homes, rehabs and expansions, etc., etc.) At dinner, I was filling WS in on some of today's playground gossip about housing and made the remark that I love our block and don't want to leave our block.

The little amazing one pipes up, "I know where I don't want to live. I don't want to live in Kazakhstan." WS spluttered into his bowl of pho. Who knew JR even knew how to say Kazakhstan, let alone knew that it was a place to live?