Something Tells Me He Misses You, Uncle David

Oh, you're my favorite awkward statement...

"You look too young to have a 7-year-old!"

Yeah, people, I am...

I Just Called to Say "I Love You"

So I'm back to working ridiculously early and long hours (and so far it's been awesome, so don't think I'm complaining...), but I was a bit worried about E, since in the last year he's been very vocal about how much he hates it when I leave the house before he's woken up in the morning.  But another new intern (who happens to have much younger children than mine, and I'm sure they all have a much harder time than E and I do) mentioned to me that she had a bought a voice recorder for her sons, and that she leaves a message for them every morning before she goes.

So I did just that, and even though it's only been two days since I've been back to work (as it is...), my son treasures those two 15-second messages that I've left.  Today, I came upon him playing them back to himself, cradling the recorder against his chest like a cherished possession. It's worth every penny to me, for him to wake up in the morning and know that I'm thinking about him.

So thank you, Intern Friend, for your priceless suggestion.  My son and I are grateful.

Teach Your Sons to Respect Women...

Yesterday, my son was recounting a conversation he'd had with his stepmother (we'll call her SM for the sake of brevity, because the single initials that are capable of being used as identifiers are running short) when he had guessed her age.  She had given him a hint (how old his father was) and then he was supposed to guess how old she was based on that. And he was quite proud of the fact that he had guessed correctly, despite the fact that she had expected him to guess younger (so he said).

I started laughing and teasingly said "You'd better be careful when guessing ladies' ages!"  Naturally, being a normal 7-year-old, he asked why, and I replied "Well, if you guess older than a lady actually is, she won't be too pleased." He let it lie and I thought the matter was settled.

Well, today at dinner, apropos of nothing, E suddenly exclaimed, "So if I had said she was 50, she wouldn't have been very happy?" I felt it safe to agree with that and again thought we had exhausted that particular line of reasoning.

However, after dinner, on the way home from my parents' house, he again piped up from the backseat, "Why aren't we supposed to ask ladies' ages, again?"

I suppose it doesn't hurt to start this young, right? Especially when he's really catching onto the concept.

PS I still remember the look on my mom's face when my brother (who must have been E's age at the time) told my mom she had gotten so old that she was back to zero, and therefore young again.  His logic was flawless...

The Guardian of the Storms

D doesn't have to go out in the field for his job as often as he used to (which was every week...), but he still leaves occasionally, and this time he had to leave when E was already gone at his dad's. So when E got back, he was not pleased to learn that he was the man of the house.  And when I informed him that he would hold the title till Wednesday or so, he exclaimed: "WEDNESDAY?! But what if it STORMS!?!? I can't survive with a storm and without D!!!" (Except he said his actual name, obviously.)

I'm not sure how my son thinks he lived through the 5 years of storms BEFORE he had a stepfather, but I guess I'm just a weakling woman to him, completely incapable of handling natural disasters...

To me, you are praiseworthy

At about 7 PM today, I was headed home from dinner with the huz after a hectic day of residency orientation, when I exited from the highway, turned the corner, and came upon the scene of a car accident.  An SUV had somehow managed to roll over onto the side of the road and was lying in the grass on its hood.  A cluster of people were crowded around someone on the ground, several cars were stopped with their drivers rushing to and fro across the road, and a few men were helping to direct traffic through the labyrinth of vehicles and pedestrians.

Obviously the accident had happened relatively recently, so I asked one of the men if they needed any medical help (hell, I had just spent 2 days taking ATLS and recertified in both BLS and ACLS in the past month, so if I couldn't help a trauma victim at that moment, I'll never be able to...), but he said they already had a doctor helping out. So I moved on.

I am so glad that I live in a world where when people see a car accident, they forget their dinner plans or that their favorite TV program is starting, and they offer their skills and time to help someone in trouble. And sure, you can say that most people would do the same. It's true that helping people in distress is not some special virtue that only a few people are able to dredge up out of the muck of their souls on a very good day.  Maybe it is just human nature.

But isn't that beautiful?

The Horrors of Camp

My son's first summer camp experience started this Monday.  When faced with the prospect of my poor parents (who are finally living the spoiled lives of empty-nesters) having to watch E from 7:30 in the morning till after 5 in the evening, we had to come up with a better solution.  And luckily, this fair city in which we live is blessed with a plethora of working parents who need summertime care for their kids, so I had many places from which to choose.

I really wanted to avoid anything which smacked of daycare.  I HATED daycare when I was E's age and my mom was working (and she rarely worked AND I had siblings with me).  And we attended a very good daycare that my mother carefully chose. I think it was the aimless playing for hours that I disliked.  I don't remember it very clearly, but regardless, the experience left a distaste for daycares in my mouth.


And luckily, I've never had to utilize one.  My parents were ready and willing to help watch E while I went to school when he was younger, and through a series of fortuitous circumstances (aka my guardian angel smacked some events around for me), E was first in a great preschool, then pre-K and then all-day kindergarten.

So when looking around for something for E to do this summer, I had a pretty long list. I needed someplace with drop-off before 8 (still too late for me, as I have to be at work by 5, but D can drop him off then and still make it on time) and with pick-up after 5. And if it's not daycare, those hours alone are pretty hard to find in a day camp.  It had to have a large number of kids, so the likelihood of him being stuck in a group of 10 year olds was lessened.  It had to be close to my parents' house, in case they were picking him up. And I think that's it.

We settled on a place about midway between our house and my parents' home, a place that during the normal school year serves as a kids' gymnasium for the purposes of gymnastics, dance and karate lessons.  However, they also have a POOL.  So during the summer, they turn themselves gleefully over to weekly day camps.  They average 60 kids per camp, and have the option for morning care starting at 7:30 AM and evening care till 5:30.

My son was not thrilled when informed that he was going to receive the privilege of going to summer camp. He desperately ran through the list of every adult who's ever taken care of him, asking why he couldn't just stay with them during the day.  And finally, when I informed him that it was either camp or daycare, he reluctantly admitted he'd rather go to camp (which is kind of strange, since he has no reason to think ill of either camp or daycare...).  I was sort of puzzled by his reluctance to attend, since I had assured him that he'd get to swim and play with kids and get gymnastics lessons, etc, but I didn't question it too much, assuming that he was just thinking he'd rather stay in his grandparents' pool all summer.

I took E to see the facility prior to signing him up. At sight of the pool, my son the fish finally started displaying some enthusiasm for the whole idea.  The lovely front desk lady took us on a tour and outlined the camp schedule and was wonderful with E.  And after we were through, I asked him if he wanted to attend and he said yes without hesitation.

I was patting myself on the back as we left, and casually said to E, "See, I told you that you'd like it." And he replied, "I thought I'd have to be gone overnight and that's why I didn't want to go."

Tragic, right? My heart broke right then and there.  No wonder he was so desperate to avoid camp, since he thought it meant he'd have to be away from home all summer.  And he was so good about it too! After his initial flat-out refusal, he calmly accepted his fate.  If I had decided he needed to be shipped off to boarding school, off he would go.  I felt super bad.

Luckily, E has thoroughly enjoyed the last three days, coming home full of chatter about his new friends and the things he has learned both in the pool and in the gym, and giving physical demonstrations of the "ocstable" [sic] courses he's traversed.  He even joyfully agreed to signing up for another week.

And he hasn't had to stay the night there even once.  So we're all happy.

If you're friends with a certain friend of mine who's going into Radiology and he tells you to watch a certain B-horror flick entitled "Sleepaway Camp," whatever you do, don't do it.

A Composition

In honor of Fathers' Day 2010, I submit to you a song I wrote for my father the day after I turned 24.  If someone steals this, I'm gonna be pissed.  And my sister's a lawyer, so don't.  When I become more technologically energetic and I have more time (yes, I know, that'll never happen), I'll upload the actual song. So you can actually hear it. But here goes for now...

Daddy's baby can't recount the evenings when his strong arms were terror's only ban
Constellations and his imagination were all that healed the nightmares of a child
Now when she goes to sleep at night she hears him singing: "a tiny turned-up nose"
She's Daddy's little girl and she's not afraid in this world
'Cause when she falls, she's never far to go
And to her, he's always right and she'll never change in his eyes
So she's not afraid of standing on her own
Because you're never really alone when you're a daddy's girl

Years turned into numbers, he turned around when time and she were on a swift collision course
Worry marked him and adolescence hurt when she barely ever said her love out loud
But she tried to make him proud when she was singing "Michael, row your boat ashore."
She's Daddy's little girl and she's not afraid in this world
'Cause she knows forgiveness waits for her mistakes
And she may not think he's right but she'll never change in his eyes
'Cause his love for her is something she can't break
And he'll never forsake her because she's Daddy's girl

Oh it never really changes, it never really changes
She'll always be his, always be his baby

She remembers echoes from her childhood where canyon waters cleaved through furrowed seams
And she can hear their music in the darkness where safety was a velvet-colored voice
And the tears ran down her face to hear him singing "The night they drove Old Dixie down"
She's Daddy's little girl and she's not afraid in this world
She knows his love is always waiting there
And to her, he's always right and she'll never change in his eyes
And she's not afraid of being on her own
'Cause she can hear him singing, she can hear him singing
She can hear him singing and she's Daddy's girl.


For my father. The best one I've ever had.

Colossians 3:23

So, seeing as how I just graduated less than a month ago, I haven't had many opportunities to enjoy my new status.  I almost passed out the first time someone addressed me as "Dr mylastname" without sarcasm. (I was making my husband and child call me doctor. Exclusively. But as they accompanied it with much eye-rolling, it just doesn't count.)

But today, someone asked me what I do.  And, to test it out, I said "I'm a doctor."  The guy congratulated me on being very accomplished (after he asked me, with shock in his voice, how old I am...as usual).  And that was fine. We talked about residency and what I wanted to do after residency.  But then he turned to a coworker and started teasing him, saying "You wanna feel good about yourself? This young lady is only *my age* and she's already a doctor." And then I felt terrible.


Don't get me wrong. I'm proud of where I am in my life. But I don't want to feel good at someone else's expense. I hate that my life could be used to make somebody else feel bad about themselves. I feel that there is pride in any kind of work. Whether you graduated from high school or not.  Whether you control corporations or clean toilets. Mom was always quoting her father (who was himself quoting the Bible) as saying "whatever you do, do it well."  Or something to that effect.  Which I feel is a good way to live your life.  If you take pride in what you do, and you make the effort to do it well, you make it a worthwhile occupation.

The coworker responded by saying "I love what I do!" And that was perfect. He should love what he does. He has a great job, and he was reading a Mark Twain biography almost the entire time I was in his presence.  You won't see me getting to do that in my job, that's for sure.  I'd be tempted, but I'd get fired...

Old Wives' Tales

One of the worst things about Facebook has been the questionable privilege of watching my various acquaintances ask for and dispense medical and/or parenting advice to each other via FB statuses. Most of the time, they don't get/give bad advice or terribly erroneous information. Sometimes, to be sure, I shudder a little at the explanations people give and wonder what they've been reading, but for the most part it's all fun and games.

Recently, however, a new mom (no excuse, her mother's a nurse) asked her personal Facebook community to tell her in what position she should let her 2-month-old sleep. Follow 20-something comments varying from the "SIDS is scary - BACK TO SLEEP" variety to "I was always afraid my baby would choke if he spit up, so I put him to sleep on his belly." Several of them stated that their doctors told them back-only, but that their babies "just wouldn't do it." A couple of scientific types even said "well, doctors seem to change their minds on the best position every few years, so whatever is more comfortable for your baby is the best." Give me a break, people. Seat belts aren't too comfy either, but it's a crime if you don't buckle Junior in. You know why? Because evidence shows that your kid is less likely to DIE if you do.

*At this point, a disclaimer. I must admit to some amount of bias here, because I know that several of the people mentioned go to my own doctor madre for their medical care. But it's not like she's been advising anything radical. Case in point: The Amer. Acad of Peds recommended putting babies to sleep on their backs to prevent SIDS starting in 1992. And the hugely successful (as in, less babies dying) "Back to Sleep" initiative started in 1994. I checked. Almost 20 years of an opinion does not "changing their minds every few years" make. And sure, if in a few years, the evidence points in the opposite direction, we'll feel awfully sheepish, but that's the nature of science. We can only make decisions based on the information we have at any given point in time.

At this particular time, doctors are saying put your babies on their backs to sleep to prevent them DYING. I seriously doubt any doctors are recommending that you put babies on their bellies to prevent them choking if they should spit up in their sleep. And in fact, I just googled that very question and there are a billion resources right at my fingertips to tell me that my baby is much more likely to die of SIDS than of choking. At least while they're in bed, anyway.

It's ironic that I can find such information on the web when these people are relying on an internet forum of personal opinion to direct their parenting choices. So we've established that you have internet access! So at least go research your question first before dumping it in the laps of a bunch of proverbial elderly spousal units! Go read scientific journals, go read medical professional websites, go read hospital info. (But please, DON'T go to some "my baby slept on his back and it gave him leukemia" website. The zebras are out there, yes, but so are the freaking crazy or just plain misguided hyenas.)

I'm not saying doctors are always right (I know too many of them to believe that...). And I'm not saying I don't believe you if you claim your baby absolutely WILL NOT go to sleep on his/her back (I don't blame 'em, being in the waterbed/womb is a far cry from being supine on a rock-hard (ahem, also purposeful) baby mattress). And if you are a new mom, your body aches everywhere, you've been on the verge of tears at least 12 times today, you wish your mother would go home, you're desperately afraid she will, you hate that your husband can't calm the baby down like you can, and you put Baby Betty on her tummy to sleep because you know she'll nod off immediately and you just need 5 minutes to find a Kleenex and a sitz bath...I can't blame you, and neither should anyone else.

But for God's sake, if you're making some parenting choices that you're feeling guilty about because you ALREADY ASKED BUT YOU'RE IGNORING THE BEST-INFORMED ANSWER, don't ask for validation from Facebook. Ask your sister or your mother or your best friend. In private. They'll validate you and love you and treasure you. And then you won't have blog rants written about you.

If tomorrow I see a Facebook post about a cat sucking the breath out of some kid, my head may explode.

I've Created a Monster

My mother had specific rules for tidying up our house when I was little.  The house had to be tidy AT LEAST on two occasions: 1) when we were expecting visitors and 2) when we were leaving for any longer than a day, so she could return to a clean house.  She clung to these above all else under the onslaught of three horribly messy growing children and a husband with his mind on less earthly things than housework ;-).

Among the multiple wise, wonderful things I picked up from my delightful little mommy (you can send me a check, Mother...), I latched on to these rules with the same mindset.  And then took it one crazy, nutso step further, to where a large portion of my free time is spent pottering around various areas of the house, with the aim of constant tidiness. After all, with only a slightly untidy spouse and one small child, the cleanliness of my house is one of the things I can control almost 24/7. The boys are rarely able to get ahead of me.

I was thinking this yesterday as I was obsessively scrubbing something inane (I don't even remember now what it was, which shows you how important it must have been...). And thinking that should the day ever arise when more children grace my life, my housecleaning impulses are going to have to go down the drain rapidly, especially with this doctoring thing that I've got my heart set on.  Yeah, you can hire a housekeeper, I suppose. But I clearly remember the abortive attempts of housekeepers to relieve some of my mother's cleaning burdens when I was young.  They would leave the house, and she would start cleaning, because they never did things the way she wanted them.  I have no illusions: I'm just like my mother. So basically, my tidy house days are numbered.

However, I may have given myself a little boost into the saddle with Mi Hijo Numero Uno.

Case in point: he came home yesterday from a 2-week vacay with his dad, and walked into his room expecting it to still be in the stellar condition in which he left it.  However, I had belatedly realized that I needed to wash away some allergens and had therefore completely stripped his bed of the 5 pillows, 2 bolsters, 3 quilts, 1 baby blanket, 1 large tiger, 1 large pig and about 30 stuffed animals which regularly occupy it.  Seeing the carnage littering his bedroom floor, he promptly burst into tears, and berated me, saying "but it's so much work to build my nest!!"  Which is a fact I discovered for myself, when, an hour later, his sheets were done and he requested my help to put his bed back together.  Having restored his zoo to its proper location, I left him to the final touches.

When I walked in a little later, he was busily picking up the (maybe three) toys that were on his floor and he said "I need to clean my room, mom, will you help me?"
"Um, sure," I said, "but why does your room need cleaning?" I repeat, there were all of three toys on the floor.
"Mom! What if someone comes in here, what would they think of me?!"
"What?! Who is going to come in here?!"
"Visitors!! Or a new friend!!"

Yes, that's my child.  Freaking Martha Stewart in the body of a 7-year-old boy.

But at least maybe I'll have someone waging war on my side in the ongoing saga of Woman vs House.

Humility

My son asked me if he'd been good all day today. And in general, he had.  And I told him so.

He said "Good. Because I've been trying to be on my best behavior all day."
"Why?" I asked.
"Because I don't want to misbehave and have you get mad at me at the end of the day. I really don't like that."


If I were less human, I'd never be mad at him again.  But I can only strive toward being a better mom.

Good thing he's here to help me along.

And today, we are seven

Happy birthday, my bright boy. You're not exactly a baby any more. Too big to carry, too big to even sit on my lap without my legs going numb. Too big to shop in the 5T section of the store, too big to hold my hand on the way into school.

You're outgrowing my world and I can only watch and be awed.

Lenten Journeys

The week before Ash Wednesday, D and I were discussing what we were going to give up for Lent.  I usually go the meatless route, but with my newfound and newly-developing cooking skills, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to maneuver much if I went with that as a Lenten sacrifice.  So I was at a bit of an impasse until D suggested dessert, at which point my heart froze...and I knew I'd found my choice.

I have an impossible sweet tooth. I need something sweet after breakfast, for goodness' sake.  So giving up dessert has been difficult (and I fail miserably on occasion). But I start over again when I trip up (consciously or unconsciously), and I guess that's just part of the Lenten journey.

My sweet, innocent son also decided to give up something for Lent.  Two things, in fact, despite my worried assurances that he didn't have to make the sacrifice. In retrospect, I should probably have wholeheartedly and unhesitatingly endorsed his desire, but at the time, I was thinking more along the lines of "He's only 6!!!"

He persevered, despite my lack of enthusiasm.  And decided to give up drinking milk (he's still allowed the requisite bowl of cereal or two), and playing computer games.  Now, playing computer games is not something he does very often at all, but milk is his favorite beverage by far.  (Before you call me a bad mother for encouraging him to deprive himself of delicious nutrition, he takes more than enough Vitamin D in the sour gummy form.  Don't ever doubt me again...) So I was quite impressed with his willingness to give up something he loves so very much.

Now I just have to make sure he knows why he's giving it up.

Happy Lent.

At least he appreciates me...

I was sick last week, to the point where I stayed in my room almost exclusively for two days in a row, with the lights off and the curtains drawn. My bedroom wall backs up to the kitchen, though, so I could hear my boys going about their business as usual.

So I was rather gratified to hear E tell my husband: "You know, you'll have to do everything that Mommy does 'cause she's sick."
D: "Oh yeah? Like what?"
E: "Just everything!"
D: "Well, what does she do that I need to do?"
E: "I don't know! She just does a lot!"

It's nice to have some recognition. Even if it's vague...

Baby Mozart

My son has restarted piano lessons for this semester. We went through about 6 months of them starting in January of last year, but when the summer was over, we (I) just didn't have the time or energy to wrestle with lessons again. In addition, although I liked his teacher quite a bit, I didn't feel that she was offering him much more in his lessons than my mom or I could. So mom took over, and she very patiently and bravely took him through to the Christmas season. But then we met a lady at Target (of all places), who was a violinist and highly recommended her son's piano teacher to me.

We had his first lesson last week and it went wonderfully. First of all, she didn't talk down to him and didn't really filter her "big words" for him. She had an obvious goal in mind for the lesson and didn't slow down for a moment, so that he was never twiddling his thumbs while she figured out what to do. Most importantly for me, she was actually teaching him, and not straight out of a book (like Mom and I were doing). Most importantly for E, she made the lesson really fun and they spent most of it laughing at each others' musical antics, both on her grand piano and on the hand drums she had in the studio.

On the drive home after the lesson, I asked E what he thought, and he said "That was actually fun!" Which is exactly what I hoped for, and what I couldn't give him in my lessons.

I realized the other day that piano is one of the few things that I have infinite patience with. I can sit down at the piano and get lost for hours at a time, running the same passage from a piece over and over again. And no matter how often I mess up, I just do it again until it's perfect. If you know me, you know that I am not patient, including with myself, my husband, my son, my family members, and the world at large.

My son inherited (or learned...) my lack of patience. He's a lot better about it than I am, though. But the piano is the only thing that consistently brings the Impatience Monster out. He HATES his 4th finger, or he HATES the way his hands don't stay in the proper position on their own, or he HATES that he can't remember what a sharp note looks like on the page. And I hate having my time wasted, so piano practice is always a struggle for us.

But yesterday, I realized something. He's not used to hearing me practice, because he's usually asleep by then, and he thinks he's the only one in this family of pianists who's ever had to practice to be good. So I disabused him of that notion. I told him which of my fingers is my least favorite. I played my fingerwork practice piece for him, which sounds an awful lot like his (just harder, thank goodness for my pride). I stifled my impatience and I never raised my voice. And he calmed down and had a very good practice.

I struggle with my own impatience on a daily basis. But the piano is one arena where I usually don't have to. So maybe this is one way both my son and I can work on our patience together. And maybe, just maybe, one day he won't hate that finger.

And he won't hate playing the piano.

He's Ready to Buy

D and I are currently in the process of tentative house-hunting.  Tentative as in we won't know if we'll be moving until March 18th, but we want to jump in on the first-time home buyers tax incentive, blah blah blah.  So we're looking, but just keeping our eyes open for now.  For me, that means watching a lot of HGTV House Hunters, as well...

Last weekend there was an open house in a gated community right behind where we currently live, so we trundled ourselves over there after church to see how it was.  The house was lovely and of course we did the typical things like comment on the woodwork and the size of the rooms, whatever.  As we were about to leave, E requested that we go upstairs and look around for a second time, so we obliged.  But apparently what he wanted was to truly examine the floor coverings, because once he had done so, he loudly stated, "Well, we can always take this carpet out."

The realtor, who was standing downstairs, started laughing. Thank goodness.

Because then as we went back downstairs, he perused the carpet on the stairs, and declared, "I don't really like the color of this carpet, but we can change it."

D said he needs to be on a strict regimen of Spike TV every day. But I think we'll value his opinion when the time comes to actually buy our first home together...

Racism

E has been learning about MLK Jr for 3 years now. The 1st year, when he was in pre-K, they watched a video about him, and then they had to draw pictures illustrating what they got out of it.  E drew a picture of a man and a woman and wrote "Martin Luther King Jr got married."

I don't remember what he did last year.  It must have been less memorable.

This year, E asked me out of the blue last Thursday, "Mom, is Martin Luther King Jr dead?"
"Yes, sweetie, he died a long time ago."
"Who harmed him?"
"Someone who didn't agree with what he was doing."
"The white people?"

At least he's getting more than "MLK Jr got married." The boy can be taught!

Delirium

If you haven't heard of Zhu Zhu pets, I hope you remain ignorant.

I am not so lucky.  My poor son and I traipsed all over town today looking for the darned things to give as a birthday present to D's niece (whose birthday was more than 2 weeks ago, by the way...we're terrible...).  It was after dinner, and after a long day, and E was being extremely good, but I could tell it was wearing on him, because he was starting to lose control of his limbs.  I'll explain in some other post, but it's hilarious.  He starts to lose coordination, I'm serious.

Anyway, we had just come out of Wally World, which happened to have one Zhu Zhu product, but not the one we were searching for (I bought it anyway, as surety against further disappointment).  And I had put a cardigan on whilst in the Big W, since fall is in the air and all that.  But apparently E missed that development in his sleepiness.

Because while we were trudging into Toys 'R Us, he put his hand on my arm, and jumped about a mile in the air, then exclaimed, "I thought you were turning into a BEAR!"

I laughed so hard that I cried.

I Haven't Been Around in a While...

But I'm baaaaaack!

Quick update, just to get things rolling.  Jess, I heard your complaint, I just had to finish Step 2 before I let anything else fun happen in my life...

My sister moved to New Orleans to go to law school.  She is Legally Blonde-ing it up down there, and having a blast.  I'm so jealous.

My brother moved to the LA area to go to film school.  He is taking gorgeous pictures and eating Filipino food, and having a blast.  I'm so jealous.

So now it's just me, my boys, and the rents here in the city!

My life path took a rather abrupt turn at the onset of my surgery rotation last May, with the result that I'm deserting pediatrics for general surgery! The residency application process started up officially on September 1st and I've already applied to 30 places.  Because I'd really like to get a job...

E finished up a semester of piano lessons with his first piano recital.  It was adorable, and he performed wonderfully.  Unfortunately, due to our time constraints, we had to pick between soccer and piano this semester.  And piano we can provide, but soccer is a little more difficult when you only have one 6-year-old on your team.  So piano is currently being provided by my long-suffering mother.  She's awesome.

We went to Dallas, San Antonio, and South Padre Island for our vacation this summer.  And then E traveled to Branson and South Dakota with various in-laws.  Craziness.

Newest on the lifestyle adjustments is finding a babysitter.  It's a drama, but we finally (may have) found someone.  We're meeting her tomorrow, and if she's at all normal and safe to be around children, she's going to get paid a lot to make my life much easier.  So I'm looking forward to it.

That's about it for now! I'm glad you stuck around, if you're reading this...