Welcome to my Boudoir

Before Eleanor was born, we had a guest bedroom and a study. After the guest bedroom became the nursery, the study became the study/guest bedroom with a double bed squished next to the bookshelves and desk. It's not spacious, but it gets the job done.

Back when we had a guest bedroom, it was the perfect dressing room or boudoir. We could lay out workout clothes for the following morning, or start on Wednesday, packing for a weekend trip. We could stash clean laundry in there until we got around to putting it away, or sort the piles of dirty laundry. It was a much more useful space than I would have expected a guest bedroom to be.

Of course, now it's much smaller. We still have an extra room, because the study/spare bedroom is rarely used. But for whatever reason it just doesn't fill the same purpose as well. I guess the study used to collect all of the spare bits of paper and the guest bedroom used to collect clothes and bags. Now that it all ends up in the same place, chaos has ensued. Particularly during the winter, we just close off the heater vent and keep that door shut. It's too painful to look at.

Every once in a while, we'll get the time and energy to sort through everything, and put things back in their proper places. I breathe a sigh of relief and contentment at the clean, uncluttered space. And as soon as I turn around, the stuff starts accumulating again.

Other people have this problem, right? I used to think a 3-bedroom house would be the perfect size for a family of 4. But now I'm not so sure. If we don't even have the study/spare bedroom, where will the clothes and bits of paper go?

So long, dining room table!

A Chilly, Heart-warming Valentine's Day

Keith and I have never been big on celebrating Valentine's Day. I'd like to think it's because we make an effort to tell each other all the time how much we mean to each other .... but it could also possibly be because we're lazy and/or cheap. Either way, Valentine's Day has long since fallen off the radar.

Except, of course, now that we're busy working parents, it's a lot harder to spend time together. So this year, it felt like a good excuse to hang out for a few hours. I've been even worse than usual, in 2010, about scheduling our weekends full of "to-do list" items and leaving no downtime.

We got a babysitter for a few hours on Saturday afternoon. I thought of a few different potential activities and ran them by Keith. They ranged from very physical (hiking) to very non-physical (going to a movie) and in-between (ice-skating or going to a museum). I wasn't sure what Keith would want to do, since he ran 18 miles that morning, but even so it didn't really surprise me when he jumped at a chance to go hiking in the snow.

First, of course, we swung by Penn Station for some delicious, hot, greasy subs. Thereby fortified, we headed out into the great white wilderness. (Otherwise known as a local park.)

I'm trying to remember the last time I saw the ground. It's been pretty snowy here for quite some time. There was a ton of snow .... and it finally all melted for a day or so, and then it snowed again. For the past few weeks, it's just been fresh snow on top of old snow. It was snowing on Saturday, when we were hiking, and it's snowing right now. We're getting to the point where it's hard to shovel because there's nowhere to throw the snow. Ah, Cleveland winters!

I wasn't really sure how I would do with a snowy winter hike. I had suggested it because I thought Keith would enjoy it, but as I've mentioned previously, I'm always cold and longing to be warmer. But maybe it would be better on a hike because I'm expecting to be cold? Unlike sitting on the couch in the living room, when I would hope to be a little more comfortable.

And I did do better than I expected with embracing the cold. It was in the upper 20s/lower 30s, which is as balmy as one can get on a snow hike. We were pretty well bundled up. Every once in a while, a chilly gust of wind would cut through me, but for the most part, especially once we started hiking, I was fine.

One thing we had failed to take into account for a snow hike is how hard it was to find—and stick to—the trail. We had never been to the North Chagrin Reservation in the Cleveland Metroparks before, so we hadn't seen any of the trails before. Once we arrived at the park we only had an hour to hike, and wasted the first 15 minutes or so wandering around, trying to figure out if we were on the trail or not. At one point, we were walking on the frozen edges of the Chagrin River, without realizing it. As soon as Keith noticed the running water nearby, we headed back up and away from potential ice disaster.

It was a lovely, peaceful, relaxing afternoon. Sometimes we talked, but mostly we just hiked and enjoyed looking at the winter beauty of nature. I kept thinking how much Eleanor would enjoy it; however, I probably also would have fallen off the trail and rolled into the river if I were trying to carry her and hike at the same time. So maybe next year, when she can walk better in the snow, we'll go back as a family.

I'm glad we made the effort to do something for Valentine's Day. I'm sorry it was such an effort, on my part, to stop trying to get things done and just enjoy hanging out. I hope we do it again soon.

Massage!

For Christmas, my wonderful in-laws gave me a gift certificate for a nearby spa. Just a few weeks ago, I finally put it to good use for a hot stone massage.

I've always wanted a hot stone massage. It just looks so ... warm. And warm is something that I haven't been since August or so.

My massage was scheduled for Saturday afternoon. I prepared for it by bundling up. I wanted to try and maintain that warmth as long as I could. I actually wore thermal underwear under jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt and a hooded sweatshirt and a winter coat, complete with scarf, gloves, and hat. I wanted to be warm for one afternoon, at least.

Walking in, it was just the atmosphere one would expect. Soft lighting, gentle music, and a soothing ambiance surrounded me. After 10 minutes of disrobing, I slipped under the soft, fleecy sheets on the massage table and eagerly awaited the masseuse .....

An hour later, the massage was over. I still haven't decided what I thought. I guess maybe I wanted to spend an hour in a sauna? Because I wasn't as WARM as I thought I'd be, from head to toe. Towards the end, when my back was exposed, I was actually getting a bit chilly. And you know that picture you always see (like above), where there's the rocks down a person's spine? She never did that! I wanted that.

In retrospect, it was nice and relaxing. But I guess I was expecting/hoping that the relaxation would carry over into my life for a bit. For the next week, or a few days, or the rest of the afternoon at least. Instead, I got home and Keith immediately handed over Eleanor. E and I went grocery shopping so that Keith could get the cleaning done. Back to normal life.

On the plus side, I still have $11 left on my gift certificate. So maybe I can get a mini-manicure when I'm on Spring Break in March. Even if the relaxation doesn't last very long, the nail polish is usually quite high quality!

Modern Marriage

I was listening to NPR in the car the other day, and heard a show about the Modern Marriage. It focused on the fact that, traditionally, women increased their financial stability by marrying men who were breadwinners and higher educated than themselves (because the women weren't very education to begin with). Men, on the other hand, worsened their finances by marrying and taking on that extra burden of providing for a wife and family.

However, this show was discussing that "men are increasingly likely to marry women who make more than they do, according to a new study on the changing economics of marriage." The one guest suggested that the whole idea of marriage has changed more in the past 30 years than it had in the previous 3,000. And, of course, it made me think about my own marriage.

I feel so immensely privileged to have what I consider a true partnership. Our expectations for each other are not based on traditional roles or self-serving interests (Keith, bring home the bacon!), but what is best for us, what each one desires, and—now—what is best for Eleanor.

Sometimes it frustrates me when we fall into traditional gender roles, like that he is the primary provider, and I am the primary caregiver. When we first started living together, Keith was very underpaid. During college and a few years after, I was the "breadwinner" of sorts, though not by much. Then he started getting promotions and raises and better jobs, and now he makes significantly more than I do. So when we decided to have kids, there was no real discussion of who would be working full-time, and who would be (mostly) home with the baby.

A part of me wondered: Haven't we moved past that?!? But someone has to make the money. The big difference is that, were the situation to be reversed, I don't think that Keith would have a problem staying home / working part-time to take care of Eleanor while I worked full-time. Or at least, he would have the same kind of struggles with being a "house spouse" as I do, in terms of reduced productivity and a complete lack of visible results. On the show they were talking about how hard it is for many men whose wives earn more, because the men define themselves by their jobs and their ability to provide. Once that's gone, they feel useless.

I found myself wondering whether the men were older, because I don't see that in Keith or myself at all. When we were engaged, I forced him to come to coffee shops with me and discuss "life issues" like parenting and finances and careers. We both discovered, to our surprise, that neither one of us would consider ourselves career oriented. We both just wanted to have a relatively comfortable work environment, and make enough money to enjoy our lives without work interfering. The priority is us, our family, and our friends.

Of course, writing a post called "Modern Marriage" inevitably brings up the question of whether one can actually define what defines a "modern" marriage. I am very happily married to the love of my life and my best friend. True, we've only been married 5 years, but we've been together for just over 13 years (since we were 18), and our relationship has withstood many trials. To me, our relationship works because we're partners, we talk about everything (whether we want to or not, including mea culpas), we laugh together, and we accept each other's strengths and weaknesses.

I'm grateful to all of the women (and men) who made this type of relationship possible, instead of just accepting the status quo. I'm grateful to my parents, who gave me a wonderful example of what a good, nurturing marriage looks like. I'm grateful to Keith, for being who he is and being foolish enough to think he's the lucky one in the relationship. I hope that, one day, Eleanor will be grateful to me for showing her that a Modern Marriage is whatever you want it to be, as long as you're happy and nurtured and loved.

Happy upcoming Valentine's Day!

Under the Weather

I know I've been sick a lot lately when Eleanor runs to the tissue box, takes out one tissue and holds it near her face. She then puts her lips together and makes a raspberry that sounds a lot like me, blowing my nose.

At least neither Eleanor nor Keith have caught my cold yet (fingers crossed). I hope everyone else is doing well and staying warm!

Nobody Home

I think it's particularly true on campuses that there's a lot of no man's land: random seating areas or desks for any student or faculty member that might be looking for a place to get some work done.

In particular, there's one desk that I often pass at work. Instead of being a clearly unclaimed, open-for-business study carel, it looks like it could be someone's desk. It is a good-sized desk, with drawers. Pamphlets about tutoring and internships are littered across the desk's surface. And on one corner of the desk is a phone.

This is the part that makes me wonder. It's a VOIP phone with a red light on the handset that lights up when there's unheard voicemail in this particular extension's mailbox. And, for the past several weeks, that red light has been lit every time I walk by.

I can't help but think about the unheard voicemail. Who was calling? What did he want? Does she expect an answer in a timely manner? Is there one message, or several? Is some lazy professor giving out this extension as a way to get out of contact with students?

Why is the idea of unheard voicemail so troubling to me? I think it's something akin to the idea of a tree falling in a forest. If you completed your task (the phone call), but no one is there to hear it, isn't it like you haven't accomplished anything?

Onto Number 2?

As soon as Eleanor turned one, we started getting the question: When are you going to work on #2?

Disregarding the complete invasion of privacy, the question is an interesting one. How close in age do you want your children? As close as possible, to be (hopefully) constant playmates and friends? A few years apart, so you never have more than one in diapers at a time? More than 5 years apart, so the first is off at school and you can still have quality alone time with the second? And there's so many other factors to consider, including your age, whether you're planning to have more than two, if you would ever like to have spare time/money/energy again ....

I'm not going to lie to you: I found Eleanor's first 6 months to be really tough. Partly because we were having such a hard time with breastfeeding, and partly because my personality does not go well with words like "play it by ear," and "just wait and see," and "relax." It was a very stressful time for me.

In contrast, Eleanor at a year-and-a-half is a completely different experience. She is a wonderful, unique person with her own wishes that she asserts regularly, at length, with volume. She is doing new things all the time, and I'm really getting to enjoy her company.

Plus, many of my friends are onto Round 2. Most of their first children are older than Eleanor, but not always by much. I envy them the second pregnancy; I imagine that they feel calm and confident the entire time, since they know exactly what they're getting into.

You would think that this would make me think about getting pregnant again. And yet, the opposite is true. Yes, I want to have at least another child. But I find myself saying, more often than not, Maybe we should wait a little bit longer. At first I definitely wanted to wait until Eleanor turns two. But now I'm wondering if maybe we should wait until she's 2 1/2, so she's definitely out of diapers by the time the second one arrives. Or if she's 3, she'll understand so much more and be such a help .....

I am reluctant to go back to those early days of sleep deprivation and worry and stress (although I would hope the worry and stress, at least, would be at least slightly eased the second time around). Every time I try to think back to that time, my gut reaction is "I'm not ready!!" I think I'm more worried about it now, having been through it once, than I was pre-parenthood.

On the other hand, I am also reluctant to give up this time with Eleanor. I'm not eager for a fourth, unknown person to intrude on our cozy family circle of three. (Plus pets, of course!) Even though we all know we would love Littler L as soon as he/she arrived, the abstract concept of another child really just makes me yearn to spend time with the child I have. I want to appreciate her, and show her how she is the sole center of my universe. For now.

Because I'm sure at some point, the scales will tip. Instead of my first reaction being, "I'm not ready!" it will be a sense of openness and hope at the possibility. Just like it happened the first time around. A gradual change from "I'm not ready to be a Mom!!!" to "Well, maybe ...."

Settling Back In as Professor

We're a few weeks into the semester, now, and I'm settling in much more readily this time.

Have I ever mentioned how much I HATE the first day of a new job? It's not the actual work that's the problem; no one gets anything done on the first day. It's all of the other bits that you don't know about—the fabric that makes up the background of your days at work. Where's the coffee maker? Where's the bathroom? Which toilet never flushes, and needs the handle jiggled? Who do you avoid? Who is fighting with whom? Is it de rigueur to outfit yourself bounteously from the office supply cabinet, or should I only take one pen and a pad of paper?

I hate not knowing all that stuff. All the little stuff that adds up to a lot of questions and feeling stupid. Everything that isn't technically part of your job, but creates your total job environment.

Every day last semester still felt a little like the first day of a new job.

There's so many different requirements for different times of the semester. There's the literal first day of class. Then there's the first time you have to make copies. The first time you ask for a room change. The first time you are required to post progress reports online. So many tasks that are spread throughout the semester, in drips and drabs, so you know that another unknown is always just around the corner. It makes me twitchy.

Or, I should say, made me twitchy. This semester will be different! Don't get me wrong—there's still plenty of unknowns. I'm teaching two classes I've never taught before. Plus the new students always make it interesting, I'm sure, no matter how long you've been teaching. I am using Blackboard for the first time. I still don't know who all is fighting with whom, or much at all about campus politics.

But I do know how to make copies. And submit grades online. And that I have survived one semester intact, so surely I can make it through another one. Right?

A Crayon Badge of Honor

Relating to my last post about wearing Eleanor's hair bands: Don't you think we, as parents, should get some slack in our personal appearance? Maybe there's some kind of pin or ring that we all have so that, when we're out in the "real world," our messy hair, mismatched socks, and frumpy, lumpy sweaters all fall into context.

Of course, this wouldn't really help. There is only one standard for personal appearance, and it's set by Hollywood. So I don't come anywhere near it, even on my best days. It's not a sliding scale, that gives you slack for the fact that you only got 2 hours of sleep last night, because of a crying baby. It does not grade on a curve, based on the fact that all 3 of your children simultaneously had different sports activities/clubs at 3 different locations for the past week.

The standard, unfortunately, is set. There is no changing it, or getting a free pass. The only question is: what is my response? Do I keep striving to get as close to perfection as I can? Or do I pack it, and consider an outfit that is 1) washed, 2) not jeans, and 3) matching to be good enough? In case you can't tell, I'm leaning towards the latter option.

Very Professional

As I was driving across town this morning, I turned my head slightly, and my hair fell in my face. That's when I realized that I didn't bring anything with me to put my hair back, if needed.

How could I let this happen? I thought. I'm a Mother!

Then I realized that I probably do have several of Eleanor's hairbands stashes in various diaper bag pockets. She refuses to ever wear them, but I like to keep them handy in case she EVER changes her mind. In a pinch, I could wear one of those. In particular, she has a few fuzzy pink and blue ones shot through with silvery bits that are a good size for my hair. I know because I ended up wearing one around the house the other day.

And that's when I realized that it's inevitable. One day I WILL leave the house wearing one of Eleanor's hairbands. One that is totally inappropriate for a moderately professional, occasionally fashionable woman in her thirties to wear. And it will be the day that I'm getting observed in the classroom, or I run into an old high school classmate.

Stumpy Is Recovering Nicely

I posted two very traumatized entries about Gomez's unfortunate accident ... and then never mentioned it again.

So I did think I should take a moment to say that she is healing nicely. Don't let the serene expression fool you—she hates the plastic cone. But the vet gave us dire warnings about how we need to watch her carefully without the cone because she could rip out the stitches and cause major damage in a minute flat. I take off the cone when I know we can spend some time together and wow, does she do a lot of grooming! I never knew until now. I used to call Becket the teenager of the family because he sleeps in until noon and sighs a lot. But I might be changing my mind, based on grooming habits.

You have to look closely in the second picture to see what's left of her tail, otherwise you might miss it. Oddly, the worst part is the fact that it's not furry. Thankfully the fur is starting to grow back in so it's looking better every day. She gets the stitches out this coming Friday. I am so ready to put this whole incident behind us! (Sorry, that seems like a bad pun. Cut this traumatic episode short?)

It does make me concerned about what happens when, for the first time, Eleanor does herself some serious damage. I know it's kids and life and it's bound to happen. Have I mentioned that Eleanor now likes to bungee jump? She gets in her Johnny Jump Up, then climbs on her little plastic chair and jumps off. That's my girl! So I do foresee trips to the emergency room in our future. But if I couldn't sleep or concentrate for a week when my cat got hurt .... what am I going to be like for my kid?!? Yikes.

A Good Idea ... Not Entirely Thought Through

For Christmas, we gave a LOT of books. I also made bookmarks to go with them. I thought it was a nice idea; there was no way I could make everyone's gifts, but at least this way I could include a small handmade item.

And the bookmarks did turn out quite well, if I say so myself. For my family, I included a fall picture from the Cuyahoga Valley National Park. For Keith's family, it was a beach sunset picture from Costa Rica. Every bookmark had a picture of Eleanor on the reverse side.

I did forget one thing in all my careful planning and detailed work. I didn't take into account how much babies love pictures of babies. My sister Erin called me the day after Christmas to say her son Gavin (15 months) had stolen both her bookmark, and her husband's right out of the book. Not long after that, my book was sitting on the coffee table. Eleanor saw it and her eyes lit up.

"Baby!" she cried.

"No!" I said, but it was too late. The bookmark was already out of the pages, being eagerly grasped in tiny hands, caressed by chubby little fingers.

Next time, maybe I should put the dog's picture on the back?

Is It Really That Hard?

Why is it, every time I place something Very Important in a Very Special Place so I can NOT lose it ... I can never remember where that very special place?

On the other hand, I'm also capable of losing things that I use all the time. Where are you, glasses? I miss you!

Snowed In, Black & Blue

By 5 o'clock the next evening (Tuesday), I'm a wreck. I've spent the entire past day worrying about Gomez. Is it bad? How bad is it? It can't be that bad, right?

I barely see her all day Tuesday. I go to campus for a few hours of technology training, while Erin watches Eleanor. When I get back, we feed the babies, we eat lunch, the babies go down for a nap .... I try looking for Gomez in all the usual spots, but to no avail. She had spent Monday night under our bed. I could hear her moving and licking throughout the night. I didn't sleep well. I tried to stay in position, the way she likes me, with my arm curled just so, perfect for a small cat body to curl into my warmth in the middle of the night. In the morning I woke up tired, stiff, and restless, but she never came.

So by Tuesday afternoon, I'm getting worried. I understand that, if she's hurt, she's going to want to be alone to lick her wounds. But I need to see her, and make sure she's not looking worse than the day before. Plus, if I don't know where to find her or at least what area of the house she's in, how are we going to catch her to even get her to the vet? Keith is already leaving work early so he can get home, we (gently!) stuff her into the carrier and I can get her to the vet by 5 o'clock. We don't have a lot of time to spare, waiting for Gomez to grace us with her presence.

Erin and I are both in the kitchen, talking, and I think I hear Gomez's collar clinking softly in the basement. I look at Erin, and she hears it, too. I go to the basement, closing the door behind me. Again, I call for her and she comes to me. I love that cat. She is looking a lot better, and my heart soars. She's cleaned off all the blood, so the fur on her tail looks normal, but it's still bent at a funny angle. So what if Gomez's tail always has a kink from now on? I'll still love her!

I pet her and scratch behind her ears and tell her how wonderful she is. Then I give her the "good news" that we're taking her to the vet in a few hours to get checked out, so she'll feel better. As the word "vet" crosses my lips, she turns away and runs back under the couch.

How does she even know what that means?!? Our friend who runs the shelter where we first got Gomez comes to the house to give her vaccinations every year, so other getting spayed at 8 weeks or so, she's never been to the vet. But Beckett must have told her it was bad news, because she was off like a shot.

But at least I saw her, she was looking better, and I knew what part of the house she was in. I closed off the basement and went back upstairs. On second thought, I grabbed the cat carrier and took it back downstairs with treats in it. She came out again to sniff the carrier, and I started feeling better about our prospects for that evening.

By 5:30, I'm angrily texting Keith from the waiting room at the vet's. We've been sitting for a half-hour without even being shown into an exam room. Very frustrating when they gave me a hard time about being prompt for our appointment! Finally, we get shown into a room. I explain what happened—by this point, I've adopted my mom's theory that Gomez must have been playing with the stockings from below, because otherwise how could the stocking holder have landed on her tail? Or rather, I explain what we think happened, and that I'm certain her tail is hurt.

"I don't know if it's broken," I say, "but it's definitely cut. I think I saw flesh when she let me get close."

The vet's eyes widen. "Flesh?"

I shift uncomfortably. "Maybe not. Maybe I was wrong about that." This is my first indication that this appointment might not go as well as I'd hoped.

The vet and the assistant take Gomez in the back to cut away some of the fur and take a good look at the tail. The vet is back in short order, with bad news. She says that the tail is seriously lacerated. She's not sure if she will be able to suture it back together, or if she'll have to amputate.

Amputate.

I was completely shocked. I was so worried about whether it was broken or not, I never considered that the cut would be the worst part. Skin heals, right?

She said she would like to wait until the rest of the clients were gone, so she could take time to sedate Gomez (who was in a lot of pain during the exam) and get a closer look. If it looked like she could suture the tail, she would do it that night and I could take Gomez home the next morning (Wednesday). If she would have to amputate (amputate!) the tail, she wouldn't be able to do it until Thursday. She would call me that evening with the results.

I signed the paperwork for the sedation and left in a daze. I had told Keith I'd call him as soon as I knew what was going on, but I couldn't. I was relatively certain that, if I called and talked to him, I would cry. And I really didn't want to be driving home in the snow, bawling.

I walked in the kitchen while he was cooking dinner. Eleanor ran over and gave me a hug. Keith took one look at me and his eyes widened. "Where's the cat?" he immediately said.

It wasn't too much longer before the vet called to say that the cut was too deep, and she would have to amputate. They asked whether we wanted to bring her home on Wednesday morning and bring her back first thing Thursday for the surgery, or have her stay at the vet's until after surgery. I asked them to keep her, because I was too scared of her doing something else while she was home, and trying to catch her again.

The house felt so empty without her all day Wednesday and Thursday. I couldn't stop worrying about her. I kept wondering whether the outcome would have been different if I had brought her to the vet earlier. I asked Keith if I should pose that question to the vet, and he said, "No!"

What would it change, really? I wanted to hear that I did the right thing and it wouldn't have mattered, but what if that's not the answer I got? I'd rather live with not knowing than live with knowing I cost Gomez her tail. Besides, the stocking holder is already in the garage, in the Goodwill pile. This is a situation that I hope to never encounter again, so hearing what I should have done would not be useful knowledge.

The surgery was Thursday morning; the vet said they'd call in the morning and I could probably pick her up in the afternoon. I lasted until 11:40am, picturing all kinds of worst-case scenarios because they hadn't yet called, and finally called them. The receptionist confirmed that Gomez was out of surgery, it all went fine, and I could pick her up at 4 o'clock.

That was wonderful news, and my heart lifted a little. I just had to stare at the clock for 4 hours .... Eleanor and I arrived at the vet's at 3:53pm. After another long wait in reception (which I didn't mind so much, because I was pretty nervous about the "reveal"), we were ushered back into a room to see Gomez. The assistant brought her in, already in the carrier and set it on the table. Once she left, Eleanor and I peered in.

Gomez peered back. I don't know what I was expecting. That I wouldn't recognize her? She looked just like Gomez! From the front, anyway. From the back .... she's much more ... compact. The tail is just a little stub, now. We thought she'd have more tail than that, because the cut was much further down. But the vet explained sometimes there's issues with blood flow if you amputate too close to the injured area, so she wanted to be safe and cut the tail shorter to prevent any future problems.

I'm now sitting on the couch, typing. Gomez is curled up underneath the couch, refusing to come out. I think she's embarrassed by her restraint color and bandaged stump. But mostly by the collar. It's not very dignified. We did try taking it off for 30 seconds, and she immediately started attacking the stump. So, undignified though it is, it will stay on.

Now that I've finally poured out the whole entire saga (I know, this was way too long, but it was very cathartic for me. Thanks!), I'm going to bed. I will curl myself in the perfect position, on my side with my arm extended. Just right for holding a healing cat with a tail stump, should she decide to join me. I love that cat.

Photo courtesy of Keith, as nearly all photos are. The good ones, anyway.

Snowed In and Bluer

So you remember how I was feeling all sorry for myself on Monday morning, because of the weather and all? Little did I know how much worse it was going to get.

First, I ruined the oatmeal. How can you ruin oatmeal, right? Well, a few months ago I switched from instant packets to steelcut oats (are you proud of me, Gege?) to make it a bit healthier. With the steelcut oats, you boil water on the stove and then add the oats and let them simmer about 20 minutes. (FYI, Eleanor LOVES them!) I've done this about a million times. But for some reason, Monday morning I measured and poured in the water, and then measured and immediately poured in the oats, into the cold water.

I watched the oats falling into the pan and thought, "Why in the world did I do that? I've never done that before. Is this a sign that today isn't going to go well?" I tried to convince myself it wouldn't make that much of a difference, but it really did. The resulting muck was neither tasty nor texturally pleasing.

Fast forward to lunch. (The rest of the morning was fine.) I am feeding Eleanor lunch in the dining room, when we suddenly hear a big crash in the living room. Gomez goes streaking past us, on her way to the basement. I see a Christmas stocking on the floor, and realize that she managed to knock the heavy metal stocking holder off the mantel. I put everything back and go on with lunch. For the next 10 minutes or so, I occasionally notice that Gomez is completely spazzing out. Not that she's anywhere near us. First she's in the basement, then in the attic, then back to the basement, running around like a cat possessed. This is not a good sign, but not a terrible sign. She did this before when she was playing with yarn and got it wrapped around her leg and it freaked her out.

Eleanor and I do a brief tour of the house, but can't find the cat. Now I'm getting worried. What did she do?!? I take Eleanor up to her room for her nap. Thankfully, she's asleep in 10 minutes flat. I quietly close the door and then race around the house, trying to locate the cat and (hopefully) get the offending piece of yarn off her leg so we can snuggle.

I can't find Gomez anywhere. But I do find blood on the stairs down to the basement, and on the doorframe up to the attic. This, plus her conspicuous absence, is definitely not good. My heart and mind are racing. What could she have done?!?

I look under our bed, which is where she usually goes to hide when upset. She's definitely not there. At first, I can't find either Gomez or Beckett, and I stop breathing. Did both the pets escape? But all the doors are closed! It's a weird, animal-version of the locked room mystery. But the mystery is solved when I realize that Beckett actually managed to get himself all the way under the covers for once, and is sleeping in a tight, warm little ball on the bed. I yank off the covers and say, "Beckett! Have you seen your sister? I think something happened, and I'm worried. Do you know where she is?"

He doesn't say anything, but it's clear that he's not at all concerned. I decide to look on/under the guest bed. As I'm looking under the guest bed, Gomez comes running down the hall to me. I love that cat. I couldn't find her, but she made sure to come to me and tell me that she was okay.

Except, of course, she wasn't. She purred and headbutted me, but she was still agitated. I saw blood on one dainty paw, and her tail was matted about 3/4s of the way down. She patted me down and climbed all over me. I pet her and talked to her, hoping that she would settle in on my lap long enough for me to assess the damage. But instead something spooked her and she ran off again.

I decide to settle in on the living room couch and call for her. Clearly, I can't find her if she doesn't want to be found. And she usually does find me when I'm sitting there and curl up on my lap (part of the reason why I don't always post as many blog entries as I mean to).

So that's what I do, and she does come to me. I love that cat. She had to be in pain, but she took the time to reassure me that she had everything under control. She patted me down and sat in my lap for awhile. This time, it was clearly her tail that was the problem. She was running around just fine, so I decided the blood on her paw probably came from her tail. I can see that one spot on her tail that is completely matted, and there is a definite kink. Once I see it, it's obvious. It hurts to watch her try to move the tail, and the end just .... doesn't. The lack of cohesive tail movement freaks her out again, and she's off.

So: What do I do? My plan for the day, if you'll recall, was to hunker down in my pajamas and not set foot outside. Everything is covered in snow and I'm not even sure if I can get the car out of the drive, much less what the state of the roads would be. I don't want to take Eleanor out in this weather unless I absolutely have to.

Do I absolutely have to? I mean, Gomez seems to think that she has everything under control. She's reassured me several times. I've conferred with Mom and Keith and Mary Lou. Everyone agrees that since she doesn't have a concussion, there's probably not much that can be done. If the tail is broken, the vet will take an x-ray and splint it, but it's not a treatment that warrants taking the baby out in this weather.

On Keith's good advice, I do call the vet and see what time their latest appointment is that day. It's 4:40—still too early for Keith to be home from work. I am not at all confident of my ability to get a wounded, scared cat into the hated carrier all by myself, or with Eleanor's help, rather. So that's what really makes up my mind not to take her in that day. I make an appointment for 5:00pm the next day.

(to be continued)

Snowed In and Blue

I was going to call it the "Post-Holidays" blues, but that's not quite right. First, I'm not a big fan of New Year's, but I'll blog more about that later. I know that I am a bit sad about Christmas being over, because Eleanor enjoyed it so much, and I enjoyed buying presents for her.

But Christmas has been over for awhile, and we've moved on. I'm more depressed because Keith went back to work today (hence why I'm already up and typing before 7.30am), after being off since Christmas Eve. It was so easy to get used to spending the entire day together. Keith, Eleanor, and I would all have breakfast and play together. Maybe one of us would run off to workout or run or accomplish some small task on the to-do list. If Eleanor was driving me crazy, I could just say "Here!" and take a short break to replenish my patience supply. Once she went down for her nap, we would play a quick game of Bananagrams before moving onto laundry, cleaning, or whatever else needed to be done that day. It was a life that was very easy to get used to.

And now it's gone. No more mid-morning workouts. No more naptime Bananagrams. No more handing off the baby when I'm out of patience.

In this situation, I would typically run some errands to get out of the house and out of the rut. Eleanor and I might go to the bookstore, to pick up some 2010 calendars. Or swing by the grocery store for some necessities. But it snowed all weekend. We went out yesterday afternoon and the roads were in worse shape on our way back home than they were when we first left. I don't really relish the idea of taking Eleanor out on snowy roads unless I really have to, and I don't.

So here I am. Staring at the Christmas tree, feeling sorry for myself. But I'll do my best to enjoy it. Since I have no intention of setting foot outside the house, I dressed in warm, comfortable old clothes. I don't have to worry about my hair. (We won't even pretend like I bother with makeup.) I can't even imagine what I'm going to do to entertain Eleanor all day, but I guess I've done it before and I will do it again!

And in-between games of Pat-a-Cake or knocking down towers, I'll gaze wistfully into space and sigh, wallowing in my self-pity, thinking of all the people who have an easier life than me. That way both of us will be entertained. And then I'll go back to reading board books or playing with puzzles.

New Year's Resolutions?

Should I make resolutions for next year?

When I first started this blog, I was all about it. I broke them down into different categories and reported back periodically on my progress. Not because I thought anyone was really that concerned, but to keep myself honest.

And then, Eleanor was born. All that went out the window. My goal for 2008 was pretty much to just still be alive for 2009. Success!

In 2009, things improved a lot. Eleanor is becoming more independent all the time, allowing me to still bits of time here and there to get things done. I switched to teaching part-time (or professoring, if you prefer), which offers a good schedule and that I enjoy.

Most importantly, in 2009 I've worked a LOT on calming down, going with the flow, not being so hung up on my to-do lists. I need to learn to accept that days don't always go as planned, and it's okay if sometimes my to-do list is barely touched, much less finished. It doesn't make me incompetent or lazy or a bad person. It's life.

This is a big lesson for me to learn, but I'm getting there. So, in the spirit of that lesson, I think I'm going to forgo the New Year's Resolutions. I definitely have some ideas in mind: about fitness, about writing, about leisure. But I am going to resist the urge to write them down and then see them as set in stone (absolutely must happen!) in my mind.

Maybe, at the end of 2010, I'll let you know, generally, how I did on achieving my goals. And you'll just have to believe me!

Happy New Year, everyone!

Merry Christmas!

In my opinion, there's two types of people. Either you look forward to Christmas Day, or you live for Christmas Eve.

I love Christmas Eve. I love the anticipation. You could be getting anything you've ever wanted—or the best present you've never even thought of. But once you have it, you'll know it's perfect. It could still be a white Christmas, no matter what the meteorologists say. Everyone could wake up happy and at peace with the world and it could be the best Christmas ever. The Christmas Eve gathering is a big party, filled with excitement and expectations and giddiness. Anything could happen!

Compared to the anticipation, the reality can never live up to that. Christmas is just a day. One filled with presents and much loved family, it's true. And one (almost entirely, I did try, but I don't want to forget to bring anything to my parents!) devoid of to-do lists. But it is a day. You will never get EVERYTHING your heart ever desired, or those perfect gifts you never knew you wanted, but will forever cherish. Nor should you get everything, because then what? You eat a lot of good food, and then feel a bit ill from too much indulging. You still need to clean up after the presents have all been unwrapped, and that laundry isn't going to wash itself.

So now that I'm writing this, it sounds really depressing. But that wasn't my point. My point is that I entire the Christmas season as a whole much better than just Christmas Day. Which I think is a good thing, because it means I get to savor a month of preparations and decorations and gift wrapping and Christmas movies, instead of enjoying just one hour of opening gifts on Christmas morning.

I hope that it can be considered a key to how I approach life. I would like to think that I have that kind of attitude, anyway. It's not the destination that matters, but the journey. Appreciating the preparation, whether it be education or pregnancy or saving up the money to buy a house. The journey has endless possibilities to be explored, while there is just one singular destination. Where's the fun in that?

Let's all enjoy the journey. And Merry Christmas!

Not Santa!!

As suspected, Eleanor was not a fan of Santa. She fell asleep in the car on the way there, and was still half asleep when we got there. The American Legion was PACKED with kids and parents and grandparents. It was noisy and crowded, and she just wasn't sure how she felt about it all.

She made her feelings about Santa clear, however. We went up to put Eleanor on Santa's lap and she flipped out. She gave a few short warning screams when we were milling close by, but as soon as I made a move towards the big man in red and he waved his bell at her, the scream became much louder, longer and more urgent. Get me away from him!!!!

So, no pictures with Santa this year. But we did collect a present, which she opened in the safety and calm of Grandma and Grandpa's house. It was not one, but two! baby dolls. She carried them around the rest of the day, clunking their heads together, dropping them, carrying them upside down .... doing everything a caring mother does. I suspect that they are just the beginning of a much bigger collection.

Hopefully she's starting to associate Santa with presents. And next year she will be happy to sit on his lap, tell him everything she wants, and hold out her hands for her gift. For this year, I can't wait until she opens the doll stroller we got her and she can take those babies for a ride! In the meantime, maybe we can get a picture of her holding a Santa ornament?

Visit with Santa

I can't believe this was Eleanor on Santa's lap last year. She looks so tiny!

We are going to visit with Santa again this weekend. I hope that she enjoys it. We've been reading "The Night Before Christmas" and she recognizes Santa now. She even chants (an Eleanor version) of "Ho, ho, ho!" when asked what Santa says. Which means it sounds more like "Ooo, ohoooo, oooo," and she repeats it about eight times, instead of three.

She is much more involved in everything Christmas this year. We have three old Advent calendars that we display on the dining room windowsill. One is a "repurposed" calendar of Santa in nature—a snowy woods scene, where he is followed by a moose, squirrel, wolf, and other animals of the forest. When you open the doors, however, my Mom has replaced the original pictures with pictures from throughout my childhood, and made up her own rhymes about the family (the cats play a particularly prominent role). She gave these calendars to me and my sisters one year, and I always enjoy looking at it.

The other two aren't as personal, but still memorable. One is a very modern style calendar, featuring Santa and the elves at a Christmas feast, that Keith and I bought the last time we were in England. The other is a glittery, snowy scene of old half-timbered buildings that my parents brought back from their trip to Germany.

Anyway, point being: every morning for breakfast, Eleanor looks at all three of the Advent calendars and enjoys opening all of the doors. It's amazing how much she has changed since last year. She has adopted a stuffed snowman; she carries him around, puts him on a chair at the table, covers him with a blanket to go to sleep, and hugs him profusely. I wish I got half as many hugs and kisses as the snowman!

It is so much fun to have a child at Christmastime. It makes me feel like a kid again. The season is so much more magical.... But. We met Erin and Gavin at the mall today. Most of the time, Eleanor was excited to look at the people and the stores and the decorations. After getting pretzels at "an autonomous unit for mid-mall snacking," we stopped at a playground. Gavin immediately loved it, and started playing. But Eleanor was a lot more fearful of the unknown equipment and the oversized turtle. She needed Mama to play with her on everything once before she was okay, and even then she still had moments of panic where she looked for me or Erin.

And it made me wonder about how her visit with Santa will go this year. She is very friendly and outgoing, but in large groups it can take a long time for her to warm up. I'm actually guessing that it's not going to go well. I don't think we'll have another picture like the one above. If she stays on his lap long enough to get a picture at all, I think it will be one of a toddler in abject misery.

Maybe she'll prove me wrong. And I know that, by next year, she will probably be throwing herself at Santa, reciting her Christmas wishlist before she is even on his lap. We'll see what happens this year, though. The fact that she is so much more aware and involved, but not yet talking or understanding everything we say can be a mixed bag.

Free at last .... to worry about next semester

Well, this afternoon is the final exam for this semester. Not too many students have availed themselves of the opportunity to turn in the essay early via email, so I'm expecting to see quite a few in person this afternoon.

Ever since our trip to Costa Rica, I have been fantasizing about my Christmas break. A whole month off! Classes done by Dec. 7! I imagined myself taking the time to relax and enjoy the season.

I know this will surprise no one who knows me, but I haven't been as relaxed as I'd hoped—so far, anyway. There's plenty of holiday-related errands and chores to do. But mostly I am getting worried about being prepared for next semester. I've felt like this semester, I was always working so hard to stay one step ahead of the students because I got hired at the last minute. I promised myself I wouldn't ever let that happen again, and that next semester I would be better prepared.

And yet .... so far, I haven't found much time to get ready for next semester. I'm teaching two new classes (new to me, anyway), so that means entirely new syllabi and texts and quizzes and exams. All of which is in a very early state of preparation. Suddenly, this vast break is starting to look a lot shorter and more crowded.

But, I need to keep in mind that the worst-case scenario is that I'm staying up late a few days before the semester starts to finish my syllabi and get them to the copy center for the first day of class. Just like I was this semester. But even if that happens, I will still be better prepared than I was last semester. Because now I will have the experience of teaching and creating lesson plans and the reassurance that I do know more about this whole process than I gave myself credit for a few short months ago. So, even in the worst-case scenario, I'm still better-prepared than I was for this semester. And that's a relief to know.

Angie's List

I don't think I blogged about this before, but it's been coming up in conversation lately so I thought it was worth mentioned. We have been members of Angie's List since we moved to Cleveland 3.5 years ago, and have found it invaluable.

The theory behind it is that the list gives consumers an opportunity to talk about horrible and wonderful contractors, and also gives other consumers a better sense of whether they should hire a contractor or not.

When we moved to the East side of Cleveland, we didn't know anyone on our side of town and couldn't get any personal recommendations for plumbers, carpenters, etc. So we signed up for Angie's List to see what contractors other Angie's List members either recommended or suggested we avoid.

We have used Angie's List to find our plumber, who is great, and the roofers from last year (pretty good), and some others. We have never been displeased with a highly recommended contractor on Angie's List. Conversely, we did NOT find our window contractor on Angie's List because he was recommended by a local restoration society. And we had to take him to small claims court to get him to finish the job.

I was just reminded of this because I was talking to a friend who got screwed over by a moving company. I told her that, for future reference, Angie's List might be helpful. And that made me think that I should mention it to all of you! So if you're looking for contractors and don't know where to begin, I highly recommend Angie's List!

A Winter Treasure Hunt

I don't always like the cold weather. I resent bundling up every time I go out the door ... or even get out of bed. During the cold months, it is rare that my toes are ever bare, because my feet turn into icicles (just ask Keith). I have a slew of scarves and have been known to wear that one particularly thick, chunky sweater for an entire week if the temperature stays below 20 or so.

But there is one part of winter apparel that I enjoy. And that's getting out all of my winter coats, and checking the various pockets. I always keep lip gloss in my pockets throughout the winter, because my lips are as dry as my feet are chilly. So I always like to be prepared. And then, when warmer winds blow and I gladly put away my winter jackets, I forget all about them.

Until this time of year comes around again. In the past week, I've found a tube of Vaseline lipcare, shiny Neutrogena lip gloss, and even a dark-hued Burt's Bees lip gloss (a big splurge for me). Typically, I don't use or carry many lipsticks, but rely on the cheap and tasty Bonne Bell Lipsmackers to get me through the winter. I think I've found one or two of those, too .... it's sort of like an early Christmas present, from Winter 2008 me!

Free at Last!

Class and tutoring are over for the semester!! I have finals next Wednesday, but that's it. I feel a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders!

My first semester teaching has been a real challenge. I always felt a step behind, having only been hired a week before classes started. I would sit down on Sunday and plan the coming week's classes, then do it all again the next week. The only time I was much further ahead than that was when I had to get everything ready for the sub during the Costa Rica trip; and that meant a night up until about 4 am to get it all together.

I also spent a lot of time wondering whether I was doing the right thing or not, in certain classroom situations, with grades, with assignments. Are they really learning what I'm teaching? Is this helping anyone?

But at the end of the day, I think it went pretty well. Some failed, but some passed. Some seemed to really improve their writing. I made plenty of mistakes, but I hope that I learned from them, and next semester will be smoother.

Until then, I'll be glad to take a break from grading and teaching. I still need to plan for next semester, but at least I have a few weeks this time, instead of just one!

And extra exercise!

Since passing out from dehydration in Costa Rica, I've renewed my vow to drink "enough" water. I feel like the numbers are always being debated, but generally I do aim for 64 ounces a day. I think this may be a bit of overkill, considering how much tea I also drink, but better safe than sorry.

The week of Thanksgiving, I didn't do a very good job of it. It's only been in this past week that I've met my goal or come close most days. So it's only recently that I've been peeing about 20 times a day.

When not well-hydrated, I always forget about this "side effect" of proper hydration. But it's encouraging to think that I'm not only better hydrated, but also burning more calories with my frequent trips to the bathroom! That's serious multi-tasking. Now if I just get a pair of those ridiculous Shape Up Walking Shoes, I'll be set.

Real Love

You know how I know Keith still loves me, even after all these years together?

He, like most sane people, is driven crazy after a few minutes of listening to sappy, repetitive Christmas music. I, on the other hand, can't get enough of it and usually listen to it nonstop from Thanksgiving evening until New Year's.

And yet, knowing full well what he was in for, he voluntarily programmed the living room tuner to the 24/7 Christmas music light rock station. The tuner that is hooked up to 4 SPEAKERS.

That's love. Selfless (self-flagellating?) love. Thanks, Keith. You can talk to me about Fantasy Football statistics all day on Sunday, and I will do my best to follow.

The Holidays Are Upon Us

I can't believe how quickly Thanksgiving snuck up on me. First we were preparing for the half-marathon on Nov. 1, then the trip to Costa Rica followed just a few days after. Once we got back from Costa Rica, I had barely dug out from class paperwork before we were jumping in the car, heading to Cincinnati for Thanksgiving.

And now, tomorrow is December 1. I feel like last year the holidays were a blur. For example, in November AND December last year, I posted 11 times, which is the same amount I posted in November alone, this year. I did all of my shopping online; partly because I enjoy it, but mostly because I didn't have any time or energy to wander the shops in person.

Eleanor has changed a lot since then, and I have made a lot of progress in my quest to accomplish the work of someone with five hands and two brains. Motherhood takes multi-tasking a whole new level, but that's a different story for another time.

The biggest difference for me this holiday season will actually be job-related. At this time last year, I was struggling to work about 25 hours per week (15 hours of office work at home, plus 10 hours of online tutoring). In contrast, this is my last full week of teaching. Next Monday is the final day of class, and then the final exam will be on December 16. I see December spreading out before me, filled with long naps, getting lost in books, and fitting plenty of cooking, cleaning, and organizing into all those many spare minutes I'll have on hand.

I know I need to take a step back and realize that reality NEVER matches my fantasies. I will not have nearly as much time as I imagine. But still ... it will be more time than I've had since Eleanor was born. I didn't work at all the first 6 weeks, but I still had my hands full. Now we have a manageable schedule, the house actually has been cleaned relatively recently, and the pile of mail hasn't migrated from the mail slot to the coffee table onto the floor.

And I've gotten a lot better at giving myself permission to take 5 or 10 minutes and relax. Read a book, nap with the cat, or watch TV. Even if everything on my to-do list isn't checked off yet, I have accepted that I am human and relaxing is a necessity, too. So even though we all know that I won't get EVERYTHING done that I would like to during December, I do think that a lot of it will get done .... and a few books will be enjoyed, too.

Day 8: The Aftermath

After the wedding ceremony, Keith and I stood and looked at the sun setting over the ocean. Eleanor was asleep on Karen's shoulder nearby.

"I think it's been worth it," Keith affirmed. (Of course, this was before the whole passing-out incident.)

I nodded. "I'm glad you think so," I said. "I'm not convinced yet."

We've been home for a few weeks now. During the trip and after, I've been asking myself that pointless, unanswerable, yet unavoidable question: If given the chance, would I do it over again?

I do think that it was the right decision to go. We wanted to be there for the wedding, and I also want Eleanor to experience travel throughout her life. I firmly believe that travel both makes us appreciate what we have, and what can be. It keeps us from getting too complacent in the quotidian details of our lives, and also reminds us of the excitement of both new experiences and meeting challenges head-on.

As a child, I traveled around the country with my family. Not counting Canada (because it's closer to my hometown that a majority of the U.S. and because it doesn't present the culture shock that I associate with foreign travel), I didn't travel abroad until I was 21. I loved our family trips, and I look forward to doing many more with Keith and Eleanor. But if I can, I also want to give her the opportunity to experience traveling abroad at a younger age. I hope that, through travel (among other things), she will see her world without boundaries, and her potential as limitless.

So yes, I am glad we chose to travel with her. I would do it again, and I do hope to do it again. Conversely, this experience actually makes me eager to travel again with Eleanor. I want to prove to myself that traveling with Eleanor isn't always going to be so disastrous. It was just bad luck.

In the meantime, we have a lot of good memories and entertaining small talk from our trip. I like to imagine we'll go back to Costa Rica someday. Maybe in five years, or 10 years, or maybe for Keith's and my 25th wedding anniversary. Whenever it may be, we'll go back and have a fabulous, illness-free time. And we'll laugh about the misadventures of our first trip to Costa Rica, but also talk about the rich experiences and new ideas that travel has given us.

Days 6-7: Taking It Easy

After Eleanor was sick, and I was sick, and THEN I passed out, our motto was "take it easy."

On Monday, Keith's entire family went on an all-day tour around some islands. We barely left the house. We spent a lot of time on the bed pictured on the left—aka the biggest bed I've ever seen. I don't know if it comes across well in that picture, but it's far bigger than just a king-sized bed. On the first night, we laid Eleanor down to sleep in the middle of the bed. Then Keith and I "squeezed" in together on one side of her, rather than risk moving her. We still had plenty of room.

We napped and read and played with Eleanor. We sat on the edge of the pool and dipped our feet in, but I don't think we even went so far as to actually swim in it, and it's just 15 feet behind the house.

Oh, and we drank lots of water. Lots and lots of water.

On Tuesday, we were heading out. Rather than do the entire trip in one day again, we split it up. Tuesday we drove back to San Jose and stayed in a "boutique hotel" there overnight. Our flight left early Wednesday morning.

There was time for a surfing lesson early Tuesday morning. Keith, Jeremy, and Anna took the lesson. Jessi and I went along for the ride. We did take the ATVs into town. I was glad to get to ride them one more time. I'd had so much fun on the way into dinner the other night and, for obvious reasons, didn't get to ride it back home.

We left the ATVs parked next to the surf shop and walked with the instructor down to the beach. As soon as we hit the shoreline, he turned and started walking up the beach, back towards our house. By the time we all stopped walking, we were closer to our house than we were to the surf shop.

As Keith and Anna and Jeremy surfed (or attempted to), I tried to decide if I was sorry to be missing out. When surfing lessons were originally mentioned, I had definitely been interested. But those were not gentle waves. At least the passing-out incident took the decision out of my hands, so I could still pretend to be wild and courageous at heart.

After the lesson, everyone was checking bags and pockets for money and keys. Keith couldn't find his ATV key anywhere. He looked at me.

"I may have left it in the ATV," he confessed. "I don't remember taking it out."

And suddenly I realized that the other shoe had dropped. This was the final nail in the coffin of our cursed trip. The ATV would be stolen, and we were going to have to buy an ATV in Costa Rica. I started wondering: how much do ATVs cost? What's our credit card limit? How, exactly, would this work?

Jessi and I walked down the beach to our house, leaving Keith, Anna, and Jeremy to return their surfboards and pick up the ATVs. When we got back to the house, I don't think either one of us said anything about the possibility of an ATV going missing. I know I didn't. I figured whether it was gone or not, it would become apparent soon enough. So no point in worrying anyone else until we knew.

Finally, the others returned. Keith had left the key in the ATV. And yet it was still parked exactly where he had left it. Some good luck, for a change!

And the good luck continued. The trip back to San Jose was uneventful. We had a delicious dinner in town that evening—Indian food, of all things. The flights back were fine and we were back home on Wednesday evening.

Although I had been imagining sleeping in my own bed ever since the first day of the trip, it was even better than I could have possibly imagined. Eleanor was fast asleep in her crib across the hall. I felt Keith's arm holding me close, and the softness of our flannel sheets. We warmed up under the covers, especially once Beckett curled up at our feet, as the night air in the room grew chilly. It was quiet; no need for a noisy air conditioner like in Costa Rica. Even with my eyes closed, I could still picture every piece of furniture in the room. It felt familiar and comfortable.

I was so glad to be home.

Day 5: Surprise!

Okay, it's now Sunday. On Saturday was a beautiful wedding and a fantastic reception. The food was amazing, the music was fabulous, and of course, the location was one-of-a-kind. It was a great wedding.

But now it's Sunday. The wedding is over, and we're ready to really have a good time. Up to this point, we've made it to the beach one time for an hour or so. We're want to really enjoy our vacation!

From the beginning of the day, however, it seemed that things—again—were not going to be according to plan.

Eleanor woke up early and went down for a nap again by 9 o'clock. At home, her schedule was very regular. She always slept on her own, in her crib, and she was down to just one afternoon nap a day. But with the traveling and the sickness, anything went in Costa Rica. Until Sunday, every time she had slept had been with me or Keith or Karen, either in the bed, in the hammock, or even just in our arms. We could tell that she was still tired, but it was hard to convince her to nap properly when there was just so much going on.

Finally, her Sunday morning nap was on her own, in the Pack n' Play. Everyone else left for the post-wedding brunch from 10-12, but Keith and I stayed behind. Eleanor was finally sleeping, and I was not going to let anything interfere with that.

So we read and napped. We snacked and waited. We were planning on taking a Zip-line tour with the rest of the family and Cousin Anna, while Grandma Karen graciously offered to stay home with the baby. But Eleanor's fabulous nap meant that everyone else left while she slept on, and Keith and Karen and I hung around the house.

But it was worth it, because when she woke up she was finally herself again. So happy! We again went through the extensive preparations and set off for the beach. This time, you would think that Eleanor had been born near a tropical beach. She played in the sand, and she even let me put her down in the water for a few moments. Real progress!

Then Karen and Aunt Lily sat with Eleanor and let Keith and I go play in the waves. I can't really blame Eleanor for being scared of the waves; I got knocked off my feet a few times, and it was definitely alarming to be ass over teakettle, and we weren't very far into the water at all. I have only been to the ocean a few times in my life, and it is always exciting and frightening to realize how powerful the waves can be.

Meanwhile, Eleanor played and snacked on the beach. She did not let a bit of sand and who knows what else deter her from her goldfish and Yogurt Melts. She dropped food and immediately picked it back up to put it in her mouth. Delicious! Plus, she contaminated our one water bottle with regurgitated goldfish, so after a few gulps she no longer had any competition for the water.

Aunt Lily left, and we headed back to the house. Eleanor fell asleep on me while we were catching up with the Zip-line crew and talking about our days. We had glasses of white wine on the veranda and shared our stories. Keith got Eleanor settled in the Pack n' Play (her second time sleeping by herself that day!) and cousin Anna mentioned that she, along with some wedding guests, would be heading into town for dinner that evening.

I'm not sure if we were invited or not—it's entirely possible she was just talking about her plans. But we were in! Keith and I jumped at the chance to be out of the house and doing something. Since Eleanor was already asleep, we just wore what we had on and raced out the door.

In getting to the Zip-line tour, everyone had decided the easiest, fastest way to get over the bumpy dirt roads would be to rent ATVs instead of dealing with taxis or cars. So Keith and I got to ride an ATV to the hotel to meet Anna and her friends and then into town. It was awesome! I had a stupid grin on my face the entire time. I felt the wind past my body, I held tightly onto Keith, and I could feel the heavy weight of responsibility lifting off my shoulders.

Dinner was nice. We ended up at an Israeli restaurant, of all places. Over hummus and pitas, we got to know Gene's friends. I was glad to see that Dr. Nick was there, since he was one of the witness to my initial meltdown over Eleanor's fever. I was glad to have a chance to show that I wasn't always the neurotic, overprotective, underprepared mother. I also talk about work and culture, I swear!

Things were going swimmingly until, oh, about 5 minutes after the meals arrived. Many of us had ordered a plate of traditional Costa Rican food. Each plate had several small servings of things like white rice, black beans, salad, cole slaw, and french fries. (Random, I know.) I knew not to eat the salad, because of concerns about the vegetables being washed in water that would make me sick. Instead, I started with the cole slaw.

"Hey, has anyone tried the coleslaw?" Dr. Nick asked the table at large, after mine was pretty much gone. "It looks like a G.I. tract nightmare. I give it 50/50!"

I swallowed hard. I was already starting to feel like this trip was cursed for us, and this confirmed it. At that point I knew: I was absolutely going to get violently ill and be in bed for the rest of the trip.

I whispered my suspicions to Keith, but otherwise kept quiet. Throughout the rest of the meal, I kept feeling worse and worse. But it was all in my head, right? Right?!?

When we got up to leave, my suspicions were confirmed. I felt AWFUL. I was dizzy, and sweaty, and pretty sure I was going to throw up. We were walking down the sidewalk, leaving the restaurant, and I called to Keith who was a few steps ahead of me.

"I really do not feel good," I said. "I'm going to go back in to the bathroom. You can tell everyone to go ahead if they want," (because I might be awhile is the part I didn't say) "but I can't leave right now."

Keith looked very concerned, but nodded. I turned to go back inside .....

.... and the next thing I knew, I was lying on the ground. My toe hurt. Dr. Nick was looking down at me. I was seriously confused because, during the few minutes that I was passed out, I had thought I was back at home. So all I could think was, Where am I? And that's the guy from Costa Rica--why is he here?!?

So yeah. I didn't fall victim to the coleslaw, but I did pass out. Apparently from dehydration, according to the Costa Rican doctor that I saw at the local emergency clinic. He made me drink about 20 gallons of water and an electrolyte drink. Finally, after getting my pulse checked many times first by Dr. Nick and then by the Costa Rican doctor, drinking more than I ever thought my body could contain, and passing the very official test of being able to stand without swaying, I was released to go home and rest and keep drinking.

This was turning out to be less than the dream vacation we had pictured. But I was actually very lucky that Keith caught me as I fell, or else I think I could have done a lot more damage.

We got back to the house a little after midnight. Keith's parents were excited that we had been gone so long, happy that we were finally getting to enjoy ourselves. Eleanor slept the entire time we were gone.

She did wake up as we were brushing our teeth, however. From the bedroom, we heard rustling and then a very distinct call of, "Up!"

She was in a great mood, well-rested and happy to see us. We just wanted to go to bed. We eventually compromised by all ending up in bed together again.

Even though they told me to rest, I wasn't sure if I was ever going to fall asleep. First, I was getting up every other minute to go pee. Second, I never sleep as well when I'm Eleanor's mattress. And third, I was still worried. What if it wasn't just dehydration? What if it was something more serious? The nearest hospital was a two-hour drive and one-hour ferry ride away. But I had it on good authority that it wasn't a very good hospital—if I really needed a hospital, I would want to go all the way back to the capital city, San Jose, which was a 7-hour trip over land, but only 20 minutes by air.

Just how badly jinxed was this trip? Was passing out from dehydration bad enough? Or was it going to get worse? I guess I didn't do a very good job of showing Dr. Nick or any of Gene's other friends that I can be a normal, funny, intelligent person. I was so tired, and I wanted to fall asleep. But there was also a part of me that was afraid that I wouldn't wake up. I haven't had many health scares in my life, and being in Costa Rica for this wasn't helping any. I couldn't imagine anything better than being safe in my own bed at home, or anything that seemed further away.

As I decided I would never be able to sleep and would be in even worse shape the next day, I blinked and realized it was early morning. Apparently I had made it through the night. I still wanted to be home, but I felt a little more certain that I would get there eventually.

Day 4: Wedding on the Beach

Finally, a sickness-free Saturday dawned. Eleanor was all better. My stomach was still tender, but the throwing up seemed (fingers crossed!) to be done.

We awoke to torrential rain. As I think I mentioned, we were in Costa Rica for the end of the rainy season. So it rained at some point on most days. But this, the day of the wedding, it rained a LOT. It rained first thing in the morning, and it poured again later in the day, leading up to the planned sunset beach ceremony.

But in between, we finally made it to the beach. The beach was only a few minutes' walk from our house; at times we could hear it as a faint roar when sitting on the back porch. However, with all the sickness Eleanor and I had barely been there for more then a few minutes since we arrived.

Once the sun broke through we, decided today was our day. And a mere half-hour later, after getting everyone into bathing suits, lathered in sunscreen, and all beach towels, hats, water, snacks, etc. packed, we were on our way.

In our earlier, brief jaunts to the beach, Eleanor had liked the idea of the ocean, but didn't want to get too involved. She made the excited face and pointed as we approached, but cried if we tried to wade in at all and held onto my neck with a death grip. I did set her down in the wet sand for a bit, and she spent the entire time holding onto my finger with one hand, and using the other hand to try and brush sand off her feet. She'd pick up one foot and brush futilely at the wet, gloppy sand. Then she would put that foot down, and try to clean the other one. Repeat.

However, on this day we did manage to convince her that playing in the sand was enjoyable, rather than something to be dreaded. Eleanor and I sat on a beach mat while Grandpa Jim piled sand in front of her. First we buried my legs, and then Eleanor started knocking down Jim's sand pile. As Eleanor got sand between her toes, on her legs, in her bathing suit, and under her fingernails, her delight grew.

"Ha-ha!" she laughed with glee as she knocked down another of Jim's sand piles. We buried her legs and she helped uncover them. We didn't manage to change her mind about the ocean, but it was time to head back to the house and get cleaned up for the ceremony.

While we were back at the house, and driving to the ceremony at a nearby hotel, it was still pouring down rain. Everyone anxiously watched the rain as the appointed hour grew near. About a half-hour before the ceremony was to start, the skies suddenly cleared for a beautiful sunset wedding.

Eleanor was supposed to be a flower girl, but that wasn't happening. I tried to set her down at the end of the aisle and the closer my arms got to the ground, the further up her legs curled so there was no way she was going to voluntarily stand and walk. I gave up and we went to our seats.

Once we were at our seats, Eleanor was perfectly willing to stand on her own. I set her down in front of me. She looked down and then looked up at me with big eyes. There was more SAND down there!!!

She spent the entire ceremony digging in the sand, getting it all over her wedding dress and eventually on me, once I picked her up. But she was happy and quiet, and let the rest of us enjoy the ceremony. So I was glad that we had made it to the beach earlier in the day and turned her into a sand-o-phile.