tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82518918262959692852024-02-07T12:31:18.944-05:00Dr. MaureenI'm not that kind of doctorDr. Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17212098874323500022noreply@blogger.comBlogger390125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251891826295969285.post-26031910266370873852017-12-09T15:50:00.002-05:002017-12-09T15:52:32.417-05:00Thankful tree, Christmas wish lists, Weird Panera encounter<i>Dusts off blog</i><br />
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<br />
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Everyone had nine leaves on which to write the things for
which they are thankful for 2017’s Thankful Tree. Here they are, listed in no particular order.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Me:</div>
<ol>
<li>Warm House</li>
<li>Viber</li>
<li>The internet</li>
<li>Doughnuts</li>
<li>Interesting job</li>
<li>Tea at night</li>
<li>Running</li>
<li>St. Mike’s</li>
<li>Family</li>
</ol>
Andrew:<br />
<ol>
<li>Electricity</li>
<li>Antibiotics</li>
<li>Soft pillows</li>
<li>Maureen</li>
<li>Family</li>
<li>Mold</li>
<li>Creativity</li>
<li>Thermos</li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Jack:</div>
<ol>
<li>Intelligence</li>
<li>Food</li>
<li>Speech</li>
<li>Holidays</li>
<li>Minecraft</li>
<li>Civilization</li>
<li>Internet</li>
<li>Clothing</li>
<li>Shelter</li>
</ol>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nora:</div>
<ol>
<li>Friends</li>
<li>Wolfy (stuffed husky)</li>
<li>Doughnuts</li>
<li>Thanksgiving</li>
<li>Teddy</li>
<li>Day/night</li>
<li>School</li>
<li>Money</li>
<li>People that draw women for good jobs (This one is inspired by a cartoon of career choices and some of the people with careers were women.) (We talk about gender and racial equality a lot.)</li>
</ol>
Ann Marie<br />
<ol>
<li>Mommy</li>
<li>Daddy</li>
<li>Teddy</li>
<li>Jack</li>
<li>Nora</li>
<li>Family</li>
<li>My friends</li>
<li>YouTube</li>
</ol>
Teddy (filled in by me)<br />
<ol>
<li>Mama</li>
<li>Daddy</li>
<li>Jack</li>
<li>Nora</li>
<li>Ann Marie</li>
<li>Nursing</li>
<li>Soft, soft blankets</li>
<li>Milk<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span></li>
<li>Milk and binks and blankets</li>
</ol>
It is also important that I capture the kids’ Christmas wish
lists this year.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
Jack:</div>
<ul>
<li>Super Smash Brothers for the Wii U</li>
<li>100 billion dollars (he is willing to accept 100 million dollars)</li>
</ul>
Nora:<br />
<ul>
<li>A Hatchimal</li>
<li>LOL dolls</li>
<li><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sisters 8</i> series</li>
</ul>
Ann Marie:<br />
<ul>
<li>A stuffed puppy</li>
<li>A hamster. Not a REAL one, a STUFFED one.</li>
<li>One hundred dollars</li>
</ul>
Finally, I took the three oldest kids Christmas shopping today.
We stopped for lunch at Panera. After placing our order, Ann Marie had a minor
meltdown about Nora’s moving her hat and coat to a different seat. A woman came
up and said, “Excuse me?” Earlier, Ann Marie had bonked her mouth on the shopping
cart and I only found out because a woman saw it and explained to me what
happened, so I was primed to think that Ann Marie had again hurt herself and I had
missed it. I paused in my tending to the weeping Ann Maire to see what the
woman wanted. This is what she said.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I noticed your daughter is in distress, and I was wondering
if you’d like me to teach her some meditation techniques?”<br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am not making that up even a little bit. </div>
Dr. Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17212098874323500022noreply@blogger.com46tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251891826295969285.post-8427084907174719922017-01-28T12:12:00.000-05:002017-01-28T12:12:43.209-05:00The Doll<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Last May, we went to Disney World. While we were there, we let each kid pick a souvenir. Jack built a light saber, Nora found a handmade necklace, and Ann Marie chose one of those two-sided dolls that was Rapunzel on one side and Tiana on the other. You know the kind; one head is hidden under the skirt of the other head, and you flip it upside down and reverse the skirt to switch characters. </span></div>
<b id="docs-internal-guid-b6f7b513-e60e-d496-53dc-d2353bcd12ff" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">We bought the Rapunzel/Tiana doll, henceforth known as “Tinunzel,” on our first day in the Magic Kingdom. And while the double princess dolls could be found in tons of shops all over the park, the Tinunzel doll was </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">only</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> in the shop right by the park entrance on Main Street. This became an issue later, when Ann Marie woke up that night and barfed on it. She was fine; it was “too much theme park fun barf” not “gravely ill barf.”</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Fortunately, we were planning a second day in the Magic Kingdom, and my friend Jen is a Disney World expert and had told me that you can exchange anything at Disney World for any reason. She lives about twenty minutes from the park and has exchanged many items, even ones obviously broken by her children. She says it’s included in the outrageously high prices. You’re paying for 100% satisfaction!</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So when we went back to the Magic Kingdom for our second visit a few days later, I wrapped Tinunzel up in a plastic bag and stashed her (them?) in the bottom of the stroller. We were borrowing Jen’s BOB Revolution stroller, which she had kindly stocked with a cooler and 5 disposable rain ponchos. We were very glad of the ponchos on our first Magic Kingdom day when it rained that afternoon.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">When we got to the park, we went to the shop right away and I told the cast member working the register that my daughter had thrown up on the doll that we just bought, and could we please exchange it for an identical doll? The cast member said we’d need a receipt. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">What? </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Let’s break that down: Either I can exchange a doll that was damaged after purchase or I can’t. The receipt merely serves to prove that I bought the doll at Disney World. Given that I was exchanging the doll for an identical doll, what is the point of proving I bought it there? If I were asking for credit, I’d understand. Or if she had said she can’t exchange it because the damage occurred after purchase, I’d also understand. But no exchange without a receipt? What?</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">I of course did not have the receipt, so I took Tinunzel and left, figuring I’d try it in one of the other 10,000 shops in the park. That is how I know that Tinunzel is only available in that one shop. I checked.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Happily for me, my friend and Disney expert Jen and her kids came to join us at the park later that day. Jen was stunned that the cast member wouldn’t exchange the doll, and she agreed to help me try again later. So on the way out, Jen and her kids headed to the shop with me and Ann Marie, who was very very cranky. We parked the strollers outside, and I grabbed the plastic-wrapped, barfed-upon doll and went in.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Hi, my friend’s daughter was sick and threw up on this doll. A cast member outside said you’d be able to help us out in here?” said Jen to the guy working the register. I held up the plastic-wrapped doll and the new doll with a hopeful expression on my face. </span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“You just want to exchange it for the same doll?” said the cast member.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Right,” I said.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">“Heugghhaahhh!” said Ann Marie, as she chose that exact moment to barf on the floor, demonstrating exquisite timing.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">So then there was a flurry of activity as Jen hustled her vomit-suggestible kids away, the cast member called maintenance, and I guarded the soiled area to keep customers from accidentally walking through it. While we waited for maintenance, I handed the wrapped doll to the cast member and he gave me a new doll to replace it. Eventually they brought a “wet floor” thingy and we took the new doll and left.</span></div>
<b style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></b>
<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">That night, Andrew unpacked the stroller, and he found something interesting. He found the plastic-wrapped, barfed-upon Tinunzel doll still in the stroller basket.</span></div>
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<div dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.666666666666666px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">You see, in the flurry and rush of activity, combined with the fresh barf, I had accidentally exchanged the bundle of our used rain ponchos for a brand-new Tinunzel doll. Basically, we ran a complicated con job to score a free princess doll. And we couldn’t have done it without Ann Marie.</span></div>
<br /><span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 14.6667px; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">She’s method.</span>Dr. Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17212098874323500022noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251891826295969285.post-90957253996708674212015-06-28T19:45:00.001-04:002015-06-28T19:45:43.160-04:00Ann Marie SayingsWalking past the neighbor's house, Nora asked, "How old is Mrs. Q.?" <div><br></div><div>"93," I said. </div><div><br></div><div>"Wow," said Nora. "She's going to die soon."</div><div><br></div><div>"Um," I said.</div><div><br></div><div>"Should we tell her?" said Ann Marie.</div><div><br></div><div>***</div><div>Ann Marie, in a still-wet nighttime diaper and PJs, peeked into the kitchen to see if we were there. We were. Then she ran through the kitchen REALLY FAST so that we wouldn't see she hadn't changed yet. We saw.</div><div><br></div><div>***</div><div>Upon learning that I had to go buy milk, Ann Marie said, "Oh, are you going to get it at the area?" I was flummoxed for a while. "The area?" I said. </div><div><br></div><div>"Yes! The area!"</div><div><br></div><div>The area... The area... "Oh! The dairy!" I said.</div><div><br></div><div>***</div><div><br></div><div><br></div>Dr. Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17212098874323500022noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251891826295969285.post-26839631903586410182014-11-06T09:18:00.001-05:002014-11-06T09:18:26.070-05:00Kid-approved black bean soupI have three kids. One of them eats lots of things. One of them eats some things. And one of them would waste away without cheese and bread in all their many forms. But 2/3 of the children requested leftover black bean soup for lunch, and the other one claimed to like the tortilla chips soaked in black bean soup last night. And although that did not translate into her actually eating any of them beyond the small taste that was so delicious, I'm counting it as a win.<br />
<br />
It is also a win because it's super easy and fast to make. So here you go:<br />
<br />
<b>Dr. Maureen's Black Bean Soup</b><br />
<br />
<u>Active time</u>: 20 or so minutes depending on how fast you can chop vegetables<br />
<u>Total time</u>: 40-60 minutes<br />
<i>Serves 6</i><br />
<u><br /></u>
<i><u>Notes</u>: The "Basic" ingredients are what I think are minimally required for the soup. You can add whatever fresh vegetables you have on hand as you like. My variations are in the "Variations" section. Also, I am just guessing at the amounts of the non-canned ingredients. For what it's worth, I used cilantro and leftover crockpot-salsa-chicken for the first time last night and was met with rave reviews as its being the best version ever.</i><br />
<u><br /></u>
<u>Ingredients</u><br />
<br />
Basic:<br />1 can black beans, rinsed and drained<br />1 can diced tomatoes<br />1 medium onion<br />2 medium carrots, diced or rounds or however you like them<br />2 medium stalks celery, diced<br />32-48 oz. chicken broth (or vegetable broth)<br />1-2 Tbsp extra virgin olive oil<br />salt, pepper, cumin, to taste<br />shredded cheese<br />tortilla chips<br /><br />Variations:<br />Chopped fresh spinach<br />Diced fresh tomatoes<br />Fresh or frozen corn kernels<br />Cooked chicken if you have any on hand<br />1-2 Tbsp fresh cilantro<br />
<br />
<u>Instructions</u><br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Saute the diced onion in olive oil in a medium-large pot until soft, about 5 minutes. Add carrots and celery, cook until all veggies are soft, about 5-8 minutes more.</li>
<li>Add the rinsed beans, diced tomatoes, and any other vegetables you are using. Add the broth. You need at least 32 ounces, but you might want to add more if you have a lot of vegetables. Make sure the broth covers all the vegetables.</li>
<li>Add fresh cilantro, several shakes of cumin, some salt and pepper to taste. Reserve the cooked chicken.</li>
<li>Bring to a boil, reduce heat to low and simmer about 20-30 minutes.</li>
<li>Blend with an immersion blender; if you don't have one transfer the soup to a blender in small batches and blend. </li>
<li>Add cooked chicken pieces, simmer till heated through.</li>
<li>Serve with tortilla chips, passing shredded cheese as a topping.</li>
</ol>
Dr. Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17212098874323500022noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251891826295969285.post-70710857341788973952014-11-01T16:37:00.001-04:002014-11-01T16:37:43.708-04:00Best book I've read this year<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Nora wrote me a story. I present it here, with translation, but without comment.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcVfhB30hXeY_lP7AJIw8lVnvv_ELLvC2vKywdemabItrwLftsl5kei0VBkHUTNeyeVDxql5JSfeLdTb6-lufN5bCzBLW8hJmQ2dH-pDvNZPau_BPkz2T-fPyETdqeUmj_YJ4qhrqL1DLh/s1600/2014-10-31+16.21.48.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcVfhB30hXeY_lP7AJIw8lVnvv_ELLvC2vKywdemabItrwLftsl5kei0VBkHUTNeyeVDxql5JSfeLdTb6-lufN5bCzBLW8hJmQ2dH-pDvNZPau_BPkz2T-fPyETdqeUmj_YJ4qhrqL1DLh/s1600/2014-10-31+16.21.48.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
To Mom: "The Angry Girl Wanted To Mash The Flower" By Nora<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf-rikj-qvCvwaIBJNJMUBfbPpmxVcCTzOk0OiXRAT3DgXTAP96cKdYoj8j4A-sZH1fdIAdnw0BBDLMUaR4lOuuEpUU5JoUepWNuHnBo3SowsRAHXgGqt2Omr3jLfV6E1_eWNkVBDqlaN3/s1600/2014-10-31+16.22.24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf-rikj-qvCvwaIBJNJMUBfbPpmxVcCTzOk0OiXRAT3DgXTAP96cKdYoj8j4A-sZH1fdIAdnw0BBDLMUaR4lOuuEpUU5JoUepWNuHnBo3SowsRAHXgGqt2Omr3jLfV6E1_eWNkVBDqlaN3/s1600/2014-10-31+16.22.24.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
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The girl saw a flower and did not know what to do.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCt5qVn5d-fyU3c2TpBxxOC2oZaTaANtyyrkA71Yp61xvstWwL3FKBo6mZpPk5RkM3nyHDENAK70sUES0aQyXldZjJjXlybzUqzJNn8n1XmB95bK04Q4Ca-YzO9bJE56yJFL1P8nobHMI6/s1600/2014-10-31+16.22.37.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCt5qVn5d-fyU3c2TpBxxOC2oZaTaANtyyrkA71Yp61xvstWwL3FKBo6mZpPk5RkM3nyHDENAK70sUES0aQyXldZjJjXlybzUqzJNn8n1XmB95bK04Q4Ca-YzO9bJE56yJFL1P8nobHMI6/s1600/2014-10-31+16.22.37.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
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But suddenly, she had an idea.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihZKo7p_gggmru7581LqQInLq0scD8tqtz5lB4U7GMizztc4JUzVRQ4qJr3_Y4hCiNKcJb1SXCllAYbUtXe9nTT71mZNuC-LvXqz_ZGjTxqfltlVhaAJJqyhQ3ynHJ13cZruZ4vCqNHu27/s1600/2014-10-31+16.22.48.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihZKo7p_gggmru7581LqQInLq0scD8tqtz5lB4U7GMizztc4JUzVRQ4qJr3_Y4hCiNKcJb1SXCllAYbUtXe9nTT71mZNuC-LvXqz_ZGjTxqfltlVhaAJJqyhQ3ynHJ13cZruZ4vCqNHu27/s1600/2014-10-31+16.22.48.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
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She was going to step on that flower.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLHjmyurePFq-c9ZGfTpgkGgNYhiJ3_jFVzX35f3iltZaTAGMjhHwpvJstZmq95lbSoeBUFgunBRdytKMKTFph_zLypJHUxQNS0EbqcvnNMx3aJPB4IbjOAVMt1vknWTFhtvgPbowt9kSi/s1600/2014-10-31+16.23.04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLHjmyurePFq-c9ZGfTpgkGgNYhiJ3_jFVzX35f3iltZaTAGMjhHwpvJstZmq95lbSoeBUFgunBRdytKMKTFph_zLypJHUxQNS0EbqcvnNMx3aJPB4IbjOAVMt1vknWTFhtvgPbowt9kSi/s1600/2014-10-31+16.23.04.jpg" height="320" width="180" /></a></div>
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And she stepped on that flower.</div>
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<br />Dr. Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17212098874323500022noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251891826295969285.post-77499790026001185622014-10-17T15:23:00.000-04:002014-10-17T15:23:40.704-04:00Insult to injury: A chance for recreational outrageAs we all know, sidewalk parking is my personal hill to die on. People in my city regularly park on the sidewalk. Sometimes they leave room for a single-width stroller, sometimes not even that. I started a one-woman crusade last year and ended up getting the police to start issuing tickets, so the problem has been greatly reduced. But I still have to call the cops sometimes. <div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But there is this one house on my route to and from school. It's a multi-family, and one of the families has an absolutely terrifying dog. It's pitbull-esque, and it does not care for strangers walking on the sidewalk in front of its house. The yard is fenced in, but it's a chain-link fence that is right up against the sidewalk. When the dog is outside, it is never tied up and if it sees you walking by the house it runs up to the fence and stands on its hind legs - which brings its head higher than the fence, mind you - and tries to chew your face off. Or at least it SEEMS like it's trying to chew your face off. It appears that it wants nothing more than to chew your face off. It snarls, barks, growls, and scrabbles at the fence, trying to get out. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
I have a fear of dogs anyway, so I am unable to walk by this dog when it's clambering up the fence like that. I just cannot do it. At a minimum, I have to walk into the street so I can put some distance between me and the slavering jaws. When I'm with the kids, I usually cross the street - which means walking in front of the weirdo house with huge bushes that block the entire house from view and protrude into the sidewalk forcing me to duck as I walk by! Just as bad as sidewalk parking! - but I hate that I am forced to do that. And I hate that stupid dog. I HATE that dog. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Lest you get the wrong impression, I have not called the cops on these people. The dog is always contained in the yard. I understand rationally that the dog cannot get out, and that these people are not breaking any laws by having a mean dog. But the thing about an irrational fear is that it is irrational, so I can't just explain to myself that it's perfectly safe to walk by a a dog whose bared fangs are inches from my head. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
But I think these dog owners are terrible people. I think that if you are going to have a dog and not train that dog to allow people to pass by your property using the public sidewalk, then you should have the common courtesy to make sure the fence is at least set back from the sidewalk! Am I alone in this? Are there dog lovers or owners out there who have an opinion on this?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Also, one time I was walking the kids home from school and the dog surprised us as we got to the fence. I startled and ran with the stroller, but Nora startled and ran INTO THE STREET and FELL DOWN and the owner was outside and my, how he chuckled. Yes, all very hilarious. Especially when I tried to go get Nora, but we were on a hill, so the stroller started to roll and I had to leave Nora screaming in the street in order to stop Ann Marie from rolling away. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
So no, these people are not my favorites. </div>
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<br /></div>
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But! Sidewalk parking! This is how they park:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT100L9DPWmqTL0VYJLWHX-IOD7wMoPMoE-VlB6ea7rsHPo0ZeupNd0f5u55UXeNgN_GwsS4kkoaWImiYATxgrf4t3FsXCYUpYwZNZkHPfwexnAHcUoGfCqORLtmZdUxg_cbw60SciJXt4/s1600/2014-10-17+14.28.10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT100L9DPWmqTL0VYJLWHX-IOD7wMoPMoE-VlB6ea7rsHPo0ZeupNd0f5u55UXeNgN_GwsS4kkoaWImiYATxgrf4t3FsXCYUpYwZNZkHPfwexnAHcUoGfCqORLtmZdUxg_cbw60SciJXt4/s1600/2014-10-17+14.28.10.jpg" height="180" width="320" /></a></div>
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There is room to get a single stroller through there, but the cars on the sidewalk force us right up against the fence where the dog leaps up and tries to kill us. </div>
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I actually came across the dog owner outside with no dog on Wednesday took the opportunity to ask him if he could stop parking like that because his dog is terrifying and my children and I don't like having to walk right next to it. Unfortunately, that was not his car; it belongs to the guy who lives downstairs. He said he'd talk to him. It obviously went very well. </div>
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So who wants to leave me a comment about how these people are terrible and their dog is terrible?</div>
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Dr. Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17212098874323500022noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251891826295969285.post-72387919836370497052014-03-04T19:54:00.001-05:002014-03-04T20:49:19.262-05:00Seven in Seven 6: Not seven in a ROW...Well I didn't make it, but that's because I was felled by a stomach bug, so I think allowances can be made. And this is going to be a quick takes kind of post.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
1. Ann Marie says "aqua puss" for "octopus" and "polka nuts" for "polka dots." Two things that need documentation, I think we can all agree.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
2. Andrew and I are going to get solar panels on our house, and we are so psyched. Our house has a huge long roof that faces south, and we've wanted to do this for years, but were always afraid it would cost too much up front. When I saw something in the paper talking about the city partnering with a green energy company to put in solar panels, I figured I'd at least call and find out a ballpark figure for it, and two weeks later we had signed papers. We are getting more than half off in discounts and tax incentives and the energy company has a sweet deal with a bank for a low-interest loan on the rest, so we should have this thing paying for itself pretty soon. And just THINK of the net gain in smug hippie points we get! A farm share, cloth diapers, a hybrid car, and now solar panels? We will soon be unbearable to be around.*</div>
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<br /></div>
<div>
3. On the down side, the solar guy put 12:00 into his calendar instead of 9:00 for the follow-up visit we just had, and then the visit took 5 hours instead of the 90 minutes or so we had expected. So that kind of borked the whole day. And then I was felled that night, as aforementioned, with Jack close behind me. Jack got so sick I actually called the doctor to find out at what point I had to take him to the ER for fluids, so the weekend was not so great overall. (Jack is totally fine and did not need to go to the ER.)</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
4. Because Ann Marie plays me like a fiddle, it takes me five times longer to put her to bed than it takes anyone else. I usually find myself holding her hand until she falls asleep, in fact. Does anyone else hold her hand until she falls asleep? No. No, they do not. Just me, the sucker. And now Nora is begging me to hold HER hand until she falls asleep and this madness must end except that I am too unwilling to go through the torture of the Change Of How Things Go. Plus, it's nice and quiet in here.</div>
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<div>
5. I am writing this on my new iPad, which I got from my ever-generous mother-in-law for my birthday, although in this particular instance she had a hidden agenda in that she wants to face-time with the kids. But I haven't let them touch it yet as it has no protective cover, and I know that once they get it I'm never going to see it again. But the silicone case is en route, MIL, so soon. Tomorrow it should be here.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
6. With the gift of the iPad, Andrew and I now have 3 laptops, 3 tablets, 2 smartphones, a Samsung Galaxy MP3 player, and an iPod touch. One of the laptops is my work laptop, but this is nuts. Comfortable and entertaining, but nuts! To quote Temerity Jane (do not know how to link from the iPad): "Complaints invalid."<br />
<br />
*Our HE washing machine also generates its own electricity during the spin cycle.</div>
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Dr. Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17212098874323500022noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251891826295969285.post-90562263686305835682014-02-28T20:58:00.002-05:002014-02-28T20:58:38.654-05:00Seven in Seven 5: Lent<div class="MsoNormal">
Ash Wednesday is coming up fast, and I have to confess
something. The internet has introduced me to a bunch of people who use each
Lent to grow as Catholics, but I fear I am not one of those people. I try. I
do, I try. But the truth is I hate Lent. I don’t LIKE to make sacrifices and
think about my sins. And as for fasting… well let me say that Ash Wednesday and
Good Friday are the only two days when I miss being pregnant, because pregnant
women aren’t supposed to fast. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
A few years ago I tried to come up with something more
creative to give up for Lent than the usual chocolate or cookies, something
that would help me get closer to God. I’ve had years and years of practice in
giving up sweets and I honestly don’t think I get that much out of it anymore.
My first idea was to give up all fiction with the idea that I’d read spiritual
books instead. And I did not read a scrap of fiction for those six weeks!
However, I mostly used my fiction-reading time to watch more TV. Not exactly in
the spirit of things. Last year I theoretically gave up checking Twitter in the
evenings. I think I may have stuck to that, but I also may have been a bit
fluid on my definition of “evening.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But what can I do but continue to try? This year, I am going
to do the fiction/spiritual reading thing again. I think the key to success on
this front is to find spiritual books that aren’t too terribly dense, or I may
find myself once again surfing the internet and watching TV instead of reading.
I already bought <i>The Sinner’s Guide to
Natural Family Planning </i>on the recommendation of <a href="http://mirielmargaret.blogspot.com/">Miriel</a> and <a href="http://www.snoozical.com/">Susie</a>, <i>The Shadow of his Wings</i> on the
recommendation of Jennifer at <a href="http://www.conversiondiary.com/">Conversion Diary</a>, and I plan to buy Jennifer’s
own book as well. If you have anything to suggest, I would love to hear it. I
have read appallingly few books of this type, so suggest anything, even if you
think it’s something I must have read by now. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<div class="MsoNormal">
What are your Lenten plans? Do you give things up? Does doing so help you grow in your faith? <o:p></o:p></div>
Dr. Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17212098874323500022noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251891826295969285.post-77600033288593045532014-02-27T21:29:00.001-05:002014-02-28T20:58:50.525-05:00Seven in Seven 4: Today<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://petroniblog.blogspot.com/">Lauren</a> posted her day 4 post on Twitter. I read it as I held
Nora’s hand while she went to sleep and was reminded that I am also
participating in the “Seven post in seven days” (hosted by Jennifer at <a href="http://www.conversiondiary.com/">Conversion Diary</a>), and I may have cursed internally a little bit. But blog
posting is like exercise: I’m always glad I’ve done it even if I’d really
rather be watching <i>Veronica Mars </i>while in the middle of it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today you get to hear about my day, because I don’t really
know what else to talk about and when you give yourself arbitrary deadlines you
are choosing quantity over quality. In contrast, Snoozical chose quality with <a href="http://snoozical.com/blog/?p=1142">her last post</a>, and even if it did mean she quit “Seven in seven,” it was
absolutely worth it and you should go read it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Meanwhile, my day started at 2am when Ann Marie woke up and
threw up in her bed. Is there anything more pathetic than a barfing toddler?
She had no idea what was happening of course and everything was just terrible. On
the bright side, the mess was all contained in the crib so it was a relatively
easy clean up. I should say it was relatively easy for <i>Andrew</i> to clean up because he was the one stuck with ferrying gross
sheets and blankets upstairs to the wash while I cradled Ann Marie in the bathroom
and tried to comfort her. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She and I stayed in the bathroom for a while and then she slept
with me in my bed while I dozed fitfully, bolting upright every hour or so to
hold her head over the bucket. Meanwhile, my sainted husband made trips back
and forth to the bathroom to clean out the bucket and then slept in the chair
in the girls’ room because Nora was freaking out. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All this meant that I had to call in sick to work today.
Given that today was my day to work for an hourly rate, something I only do
every other Thursday, this was irritating because it means I lose out on the
pay for today. On the other hand, it was a blessing to have Andrew home so
there were two of us to deal with the terribleness that is a sick toddler. And
in fact, Andrew got up and started to get Jack ready for school while Ann Marie
and I stayed in bed for an extra half hour. Then Andrew took Nora – whom we
kept home from school because she was up for about two hours due to all the commotion
– and ran a bunch of errands while I held Ann Marie on the couch and we both
took a nap. So I’m pretty glad I stayed home. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In all, it was really not that bad of a day. Ann Marie threw
up for the last time at 9:30 or so and was begging for cheese sticks by noon.
(Almost as pathetic as an actively vomiting toddler is a recently-vomiting
toddler who is now hungry and can’t understand why you won’t feed her.) The entire
household was in bed by 9pm and it is now 9:23 and I’m the only one awake, so
we’re OK. All that’s left now is the ticking time bomb feeling that one of us
is about to be felled. We’ve laid towels out on the rugs by Nora’s bed and
talked to her about aiming for the bowl, but who knows. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I thought I’d have something else to say here, but it looks
like you’re stuck with this. But that’s what you get for choosing quantity over
quality. You get this. <o:p></o:p></div>
Dr. Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17212098874323500022noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251891826295969285.post-25488974877227999532014-02-26T22:17:00.000-05:002014-02-28T20:59:09.138-05:00Seven in Seven 3: The mystery blogger<div class="MsoNormal">
When I said I’d post every day this week, I didn’t realize
it meant EVERY day. So this is going to be a bit of a free writing exercise
because I’m drawing a blank here. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My sister made her new year resolution to save money on
groceries by making stuff from scratch and by wasting as little food as
possible. These are both subjects I find very interesting, so my sister calls
me frequently to discuss <a href="http://docmaureen.blogspot.com/2012/02/magic-bread.html">Magic Bread</a> and food-saving practices like keeping all
of your vegetable peelings and tops in a Ziploc bag in the freezer instead of throwing
them out and then using them to make broth later. And then, if you’re me,
freezing the broth in a new Ziploc bag and then putting THAT bag in the freezer
in your basement for the rest of time. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our bread discussions usually segue into other things, and
the other day we got to talking about my internet friends. I think I told her
about my plans to attend the <a href="http://edelgathering.com/">Edel Gathering</a> this summer with <a href="http://www.mightymaggie.com/">Maggie</a>, <a href="http://ennorath.typepad.com/">Arwen</a>, and
<a href="http://petroniblog.blogspot.com/">Lauren</a>, and she started asking me about one of my blog friends who I told her
about years ago. I told her she should be reading this blog, but it turns out
she already was reading it, or at least she was at the time. She had since
stopped following very many blogs, but this one stuck in her memory except that
she couldn’t remember the name. “The blogger was so great,” she told me. “It’s
like… she was who I want to be when I grow up!” but the blogger’s name remained
elusive. “It starts with an ‘S’,” she said. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<a href="http://www.swistle.com/">Swistle</a>?” I offered. But that wasn’t it, and I was at a
loss, because I couldn’t think of any other blogger that I’ve been reading for
years whose name starts with an S. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What I liked about this blogger was how she just does her
own thing and doesn’t make a big deal about it,” my sister said. “She just
seems to be saying, ‘This is how I do it, and you can do it this way too, if
you want, but you can also do your own thing and that’s fine too,’ instead of
making it her crusade to convert everyone to homemade organic bread or
something. You’ve been reading her forever and you’ve met and you’re friends now.
But what was her name? S-… S- something… it started with an ‘S’.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Uh… <a href="http://www.mightymaggie.com/">Maggie</a>?” I offered, drawing a complete blank on all “S”
bloggers.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“There’s a least an ‘S’ <i>in
it</i>, Maureen,” said my sister, with great indignation. But I had nothing to
offer her. We talked about blogs and the internet for a few more minutes and
then, figuring I’d give it a shot, I said, “Is it <a href="http://ennorath.typepad.com/">Arwen</a>?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was Arwen. Or “S’Arwen,” as we sometimes call her. <o:p></o:p></div>
Dr. Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17212098874323500022noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251891826295969285.post-38187972623161429242014-02-25T22:00:00.002-05:002014-02-28T20:59:16.544-05:00Seven in Seven 2: CheesecakeA couple of years ago I bought a <i>Better Homes & Gardens</i> special interest magazine about holiday baking, primarily because the cover claimed to have a spread on cheesecakes. $5.99 well spent, my friends. After trying out several recipes, I adapted one of their recipes and created this one, which I shall now share with you, you lucky people.
<br />
<br />
Dr. Maureen’s Chocolate Raspberry Kahlua Cheesecake<br />
Adapted from <i>Better Homes and Gardens Holiday Baking</i>, 2004, Chocolate Irish-Cream Cheesecake
<br />
<br />
Active time: 45 min
Baking time: 1 hr
Total time: 7-24 hr
Oven: 325F
<br />
<br />
<i>Notes</i><br />
The original recipe called for 24 oz of cream cheese, 8 oz of sour cream, 1 cup of sugar, 8 oz of chocolate, and 3 eggs, but I thought the cheesecake was too tall, so I reduced everything by 1/3. The original recipe also used ½ cup Irish cream instead of Kahlua, but ½ cup was just a bit too much.<br />
To soften the cream cheese, I microwave it for about 30 seconds. In my experience it makes a smoother cheesecake. I also microwave the jelly just to warm it up enough to get it to the right viscosity for swirling; that is your preference.
<br />
<br />
<i>Ingredients</i><br />
<br />
Crust<br />
1.5 cups crushed chocolate wafer cookies, about 18 cookies<br />
6 Tbsp melted butter <br />
1 tsp cinnamon<br />
<br />
Filling<br />
2 8oz packages of cream cheese, softened (see note)<br />
6 oz sour cream <br />
2/3 cup sugar<br />
6 oz semisweet chocolate melted and cooled<br />
2 eggs<br />
1/3 c Kahlua<br />
½ Tbsp whipping cream or milk<br />
½ tsp vanilla<br />
½ cup seedless raspberry jelly, warmed (see note)
<br />
<br />
<i>Instructions</i><br />
<ol>
<li>Preheat oven to 325F.</li>
<li>Crust: Combine crushed cookies, butter, and cinnamon in a bowl. Toss to mix then press gently into a 9- or 10- inch springform pan. You can use a cup with a crisp edge to get the crust to press into the edges of the pan.</li>
<li>Filling: Combine the cream cheese, sour cream, sugar, and melted chocolate. Beat with an electric mixer on medium to high speed until smooth. Gently stir in eggs until just combined – overbeating here will introduce air which will lead to cracks in the finished cake. If you ever get a cheesecake that doesn’t crack, let me know. I never have. Stir in Kahlua, cream or milk, and vanilla.</li>
<li>Pour filling into pan. Swirl the raspberry jelly into the filling. Put the pan on a cookie sheet in case it leaks and bake for 50-60 minutes or until the center appears nearly set when gently shaken.</li>
<li>Cool in the pan for 15 minutes and then loosen the crust from the side of the pan. Cool 30 minutes more and remove the sides of the pan. Cool for one hour, then cover and chill for 6-24 hours.</li>
</ol>
Dr. Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17212098874323500022noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251891826295969285.post-80114001527004919892014-02-24T21:42:00.000-05:002014-02-28T20:59:25.660-05:00Seven Posts in Seven Days 1: Ann Marie update<div class="MsoNormal">
This is a post for me and for Ann Marie’s early intervention
therapist, Miss Nancy. Ann Marie was enrolled in EI last January after I took
her for her 12-month well visit in December and her doctor said, “What do you
mean she can’t get herself into a seated position? And she has no words at all,
you say? Hmmm.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Honestly, I blame her motor skills delay on her parents’
forgetting how old she was. “She’s the BABY. Tiny babies cannot sit up! It’s
perfectly normal! She’s only a few months old!” we thought, subconsciously.
Also responsible: She is the THIRD baby. She does not get quite as much
laser-focused attention as, I don’t know, her eldest brother did. Her brother
and sister are sort of demanding, as it happens. This is real life. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At any rate, she scored one point over the qualifying score
for motor skills (she could not crawl or get into a seated position or roll
over or pull to stand, but her fine motor skills brought her score up) and two
points over qualifying for her communication skills. In other words, she did
not qualify, but only by a hair. In such cases, children can be enrolled based
on clinical recommendation, and that is what we did. Frankly, I was not
concerned about her motor skills because she had improved substantially between
her well visit and her EI qualifying interview, mostly because Andrew became
aware that she was not, in fact, a four-month-old, and we made her try things.
But I was a bit concerned about her learning to talk because she communicated
non-verbally to great effect, so I was afraid that I would not know how to get
her to use actual words.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Thus it was that Miss Nancy started coming to our house
every Tuesday afternoon for an hour to play with Ann Marie. And Ann Marie was
Miss Nancy’s favorite client, if you don’t mind my totally unbiased opinion.
And, OK, I’m sure Miss Nancy worked with plenty of adorable kids, but seeing as
how she worked primarily with children with severe developmental delays, I do
think a pleasant hour playing with a cheerful baby who had a slight speech
delay was a nice little break for her. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It probably helped that my other two children were always
under some sort of magical spell when Miss Nancy came, and always acted like
angel children from another dimension for that hour. Honest to goodness, Nora
once spent the entire time playing with some dolls, singing a little song
quietly to herself. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought it was
staged. The storybook magic always ended when Miss Nancy left at 4:00 and the
children immediately began begging for a show, but it was always nice – if
surreal – while it lasted.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Once Ann Marie started walking, we noticed a problem with
her feet. They curved in. The orthopedist diagnosed her with <i>metatarsus
adductus</i>, which is Latin for “curved in feet,” and prescribed special shoes for
the day and boots and a brace to sleep in. I was told to expect that she would
need to wear the brace for three years, and we scheduled a follow-up visit for
that November, six months away. Well, her feet were noticeably better within
two weeks. I know it was two weeks, because we got the brace right away but had
to go back for the special shoes, and they were better by then. And by the time
Ann Marie had her six-month evaluation for EI, her feet looked totally normal.
The physical therapist who had come for a sort of foot consult before I took
her to the orthopedist came back for the six-month eval, and she was astonished
at the improvement. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But what is the six-month evaluation? In Massachusetts, if
you qualify for EI, you get it for a year, with an evaluation midway through to
check on the progress. But if you qualify for EI based on clinical
recommendation, the six-month eval is a qualifying evaluation, and Ann Marie
did not qualify. Not even close. In January, her almost-qualifying scores were
76 and 78. (You need 75 to qualify.) In June, her scores were 105 and 97. So
the EI worked, apparently.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You know what else worked? Her shoes. I took her back to the
orthopedist in October instead of waiting until November because she had outgrown
her special shoes, and the orthopedist declared her cured. Cured! She didn’t
have to wear special shoes or a nighttime brace anymore! I’m still pretty
amazed by that. Six months is a lot less than three years. So, Miss Nancy, she
hasn’t had orthopedic shoes since October!<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She also talks a blue streak now, Miss Nancy. I’d list her
words, but her vocabulary is too vast. This morning Nora was making her way to
the car taking her to school, and Ann Marie called out, “Carefully, Nora!” correct
syntax and all. Then while we came upstairs she said, “Can I watcha show? How
‘bout... Mickey Mouse! How ‘bout... Dora! How ‘bout… Phinny Ferb?” (That last
one is <i>Phineas and Ferb</i>, and the
answer is always no.) Yesterday Andrew asked Nora to get him a napkin and Ann
Marie came running. “I do it! I DO IT!” and did it. When she wanted to stir my
coffee for me I sent her over to stir Andrew’s instead. Jack said that he
didn’t think Andrew wanted her to, and she said “I GOING to!” She can count to twenty sort of, and she can
count to eleven pretty consistently. She can identify “G” and “O” and knows
what sound “H” makes. For the counting and letters I concede all credit to her
Leapfrog Leaptop. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And she takes the stairs like a big kid. No more creeping.
Sometimes she even alternates her feet while she climbs, although she has to be
holding someone’s hand to do that. She can jump, too. Real jumps, both feet off
the ground. She runs and climbs. She can get in and out of her crib and can
even get out of her crib and make her way upstairs, all by herself. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She is an utterly charming delight to be around. She has her
moments of course, and we’re no strangers to tantrums about wanting or not
wanting to wear her “cozy shirt” or some other nonsensical two-year-old
problem, but she sure is fun. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And Miss Nancy, if you ever want to stop by for a visit, you
are always welcome. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="281" mozallowfullscreen="" src="//player.vimeo.com/video/76394489" webkitallowfullscreen="" width="500"></iframe> <br />
<a href="http://vimeo.com/76394489">1,2,3...</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user280749">Maureen</a> on <a href="https://vimeo.com/">Vimeo</a>.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
Dr. Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17212098874323500022noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251891826295969285.post-2761773184838790602013-11-21T23:36:00.001-05:002013-11-21T23:38:17.110-05:00There were so many other parking spots Ann Marie and I went to Costco today. I got there when it opened, so I had a pretty decent parking spot nice and close to the cart return. After we were done and I had loaded all of the things into the car, I saw a minivan waiting for my parking spot, blinker fully engaged. She sat there while I shut the trunk and walked the cart back to the cart return. There were plenty of other spots free, so I don't see why she didn't just park in one of them. Why is it people are willing to spend extra time waiting in the car in order to save time walking? It's like the people who show up forty-five minutes early for school pickup. Yes, they get a spot close to the door which makes for a quicker getaway, but I get there ten minutes early and I drive away only about five minutes after the early people, so the total time I spend waiting around the school is only fifteen minutes and they wait forty-five. How does that make any sense?
<br><br>
But this minivan lady must have thought it would be worthwhile to wait; after all, all I had to do was return the cart, buckle the baby into her car seat, get in and drive away. How long can that possibly take? What she failed to consider, however, was that buckling the baby into her car seat takes at least five minutes, and that's when she is being cooperative. When she is not cooperating, it takes approximately 400 years. Getting into the car is one of the times where I hear a lot of "DO SELF!" but do not see a lot of self-doing. Other areas where "DO SELF" is unwelcome: Pouring milk from the full glass quart container, putting shoes on when we have places to be, and changing dirty diapers. She is most definitely not allowed to "DO SELF" her own poopy diapers.
<br><br>
But the car. The car is where I am most likely to lose my mind as I stand in the weather, waiting for her highness to stop pushing buttons and deign to turn around and sit down. Every time I must weigh whether it will be faster to let her DO SELF or to force her and endure her stiff-bodied wrath. If it were just regular old screamy wrath I'd endure it no problem, but she's a lot stronger than you might think and it can be pretty challenging to force her into a car-seat-amenable body shape if she doesn't want to comply. So I usually give her a few minutes.
<br><br>
But the lady in the minivan has apparently never tried to put an independent toddler into a car seat before. To her, it looked like I returned the cart and then went back to my car in order to stand there with the door open for no reason whatsoever. "What is she DOING?" she must have been thinking. "Doesn't she SEE ME HERE?"
<br><br>
Yes. Yes I did see her there. I thought she was probably going to be unhappy with how long it took me to get into the car. I would maybe even have felt some slight pressure to try to hurry Ann Marie along, except that there were about fifteen other parking spots within my sight line. None of them were closer to the entrance, but at least one was only fifteen feet further away. And that one was closer to the cart return.
<br><br>
And yet she waited. After what must have seemed an interminable length of time where I just stood at the car, waiting in the cold just for fun, she pulled forward and looked at me with an expression that said, "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" I said, "It's going to be a long time," and shrugged. I don't know if she could read my lips or not, but she drove away and the vibe I received was very annoyed. Meanwhile, I was saying "Turn around and sit. Turn around and sit. I will give you the juice box when you are buckled. Turn and sit. Turn and sit. Sit. Sit down. Sit. Sit. Sit. Sitsitsitsitsitsitsit," because that is how I spend 15% of my overall time. And it's not even that I drive that often, it's that it takes Ann Marie so long to get in the car.
<br><br>
So, no, lady who didn't want to park fifteen feet further from the entrance. I have no sympathy for you whatsoever.
<br><br>Dr. Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17212098874323500022noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251891826295969285.post-7118872415418118392013-11-06T21:18:00.003-05:002013-11-06T21:24:32.458-05:00The cons of autumnI love fall. Fall in New England makes February worth it. I especially love fall in the city where I now live. There seem to be just so many more types of trees around here compared to where I grew up, and so many of them are huge. The house next door to us has a simply enormous oak tree and two gigantic maples in their yard. Every year, they turn the most glorious colors, and when the afternoon sunlight angles in and hits them just right, they glow.<br />
<br />
So. Huge, beautiful trees turning gorgeous colors: Pro.<br />
<br />
But do you know what happens to the leaves after they're done glowing on the trees in the afternoons? They fall off the trees. Into your yard. And have to be picked up.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://s245.photobucket.com/user/docmaureen/media/IMG_1925_zpsf63ff78f.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo IMG_1925_zpsf63ff78f.jpg" border="0" src="http://i245.photobucket.com/albums/gg62/docmaureen/IMG_1925_zpsf63ff78f.jpg" width="500px" /></a>
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://s245.photobucket.com/user/docmaureen/media/IMG_1920_zps5c681b52.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo IMG_1920_zps5c681b52.jpg" border="0" src="http://i245.photobucket.com/albums/gg62/docmaureen/IMG_1920_zps5c681b52.jpg" width="500px" /></a>
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://s245.photobucket.com/user/docmaureen/media/IMG_1917_zpsc69efef6.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo IMG_1917_zpsc69efef6.jpg" border="0" src="http://i245.photobucket.com/albums/gg62/docmaureen/IMG_1917_zpsc69efef6.jpg" width="500px" /></a>
<br />
<br />
Do you see the size of that leaf pile? Nora is standing up in that middle picture. In the top picture, Ann Marie actually got stuck in the pile as if it were leaf quicksand. And that's not even all the leaves in the yard! I didn't bother with the part in front of the side door or the section around and behind the swing set. Why not rake all of it and be done, you ask? In response, I present the trees directly above our yard:<br />
<br />
<a href="http://s245.photobucket.com/user/docmaureen/media/IMG_1922_zpsee493bf1.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo IMG_1922_zpsee493bf1.jpg" border="0" src="http://i245.photobucket.com/albums/gg62/docmaureen/IMG_1922_zpsee493bf1.jpg" width="500px" /></a><br />
<br />
That's a lot of leaves up there. And over the past eight years we have learned that these trees shed their leaves last.<br />
<br />
Actually, the past eight years have given me the chance to make some observations of the natural world. First, walnut trees turn yellow and lose their leaves in September when Norway maples are still lush and green; Norway maples turn last. Second, the first leaves to turn are the ones that get the most sun. This is a particularly nice effect because of the afternoon sunlight angling in and making them glow, as I mentioned. Third, trees in a clump turn colors starting from the outside in. My theory here is that the inner trees are kept warm by their neighbors and thus get the temperature signal to go dormant only after their neighbors have shed their leaves, but the takeaway message is that in a copse of Norway maples, the ones in the middle lose their leaves dead last.<br />
<br />
These?<br />
<br />
<a href="http://s245.photobucket.com/user/docmaureen/media/IMG_1922_zpsee493bf1.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo IMG_1922_zpsee493bf1.jpg" border="0" src="http://i245.photobucket.com/albums/gg62/docmaureen/IMG_1922_zpsee493bf1.jpg" width="500px" /></a><br />
<br />
The middle trees in a copse of Norway maples. So yeah, we've got several weeks to go. We will be raking up those leaves in late November, when it is really really cold and there will be a distinct lack of joyful jumping into the leaves. There will instead be a lot of grumbling about cold hands.<br />
<br />
Late November freezing cold raking of leaves: Con.<br />
<br />
Ah, well, I still think the pros outweigh the cons.
<br />
<br />
<a href="http://s245.photobucket.com/user/docmaureen/media/IMG_1917_zpsc69efef6.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo IMG_1917_zpsc69efef6.jpg" border="0" src="http://i245.photobucket.com/albums/gg62/docmaureen/IMG_1917_zpsc69efef6.jpg" width="500px" /></a>Dr. Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17212098874323500022noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251891826295969285.post-79766139288051778192013-11-03T21:57:00.000-05:002013-11-03T21:58:15.872-05:00A time and place for paper towels<a href="http://temerity-jane.com/life/speaking-of-all-the-soap-heres-three-dozen-of-another-thing/">Temerity Jane just wrote a 150,000 word post on paper towels</a> and how she won't buy them and has instead bought unpaper towels. In case you don't have the kind of time it takes to read 150,000 words on paper towels*, let me recap it for you here: Kelly doesn't like to spend money on things like paper towels which are used only once. She tried to use dishcloths, but they did not fulfill her paper towel needs. So she bought some handmade "unpaper towels" which are basically a specialized dishcloth that have the right thickness to stand in for a paper towel. There, Kelly. That only took 55 words.
<br />
<br />
Now I am ALL FOR the end of paper towel purchases. I am fully on board. I stopped buying them myself, under the premise that if I don’t have them, I can’t use them. I have found that dishcloths and dish towels do work pretty well for our paper towel needs, but I have to admit I am intrigued by this unpaper towel product and may buy some to try out.
<br />
<br />
But all that being said, there is a time and a place for paper towels, and that place is your kitchen and the time is immediately after an entire glass quart full of milk is dropped on the floor and shatters.
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<br />
You see, we buy our milk in glass quarts from the local dairy. We do this because I like to support local businesses, and because I like reusing things whenever possible, and because the purchasing of reusable glass bottles of local milk gives me a pleasant smug feeling. There are two major downsides to this system. First, the glass bottles only come in quarts, so a week’s worth of milk takes up an inordinate amount of space in our refrigerator. Second, when a glass quart of milk is dropped on the floor, you get milky shard of glass everywhere. Just everywhere.
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<br />
The first time this happened, I had recently climbed on the “no paper towels” train, so I grabbed a bunch of dish towels – including the pack of brand new dish towels that I had purchased that very day because when your kitchen is covered in spreading puddle of glassy milk you grab whatever is most handy- to sop up the milk. And it worked fabulously. The towels were absorbent enough to get all the milk and thick enough to protect my hands from the glass splinters.
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<br />
But then I had a pile of milk-soaked towels, studded with shards of glass. “I’ll just put these in the washing machine immediately so they don’t fill the kitchen with the smell of sour milk,” I thought, and dropped them in. “I’m sure the washing machine will also get all the glass out.”
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<br />
Did you spot the flaw in this plan? The good news is that I also spotted the flaw just as my hand was about to press the start button, and I did not run a bunch of broken glass through my washing machine. So that’s something. So then I decided to dump the glassy towels on the porch to dry in the sun with the plan of shaking the glass off the towels once everything was dry.
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<br />
Did you find the second flaw? But fortunately, a few days later my brain clicked on mere moments before I shook a million glass splinters all over the porch my kids sometimes walk on barefoot. Unfortunately, that left me with a pile of glass-splintery, sour-milk dish towels - three of which were brand new – and no idea what to do with them.
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<br />
I threw them out. Much like I would have thrown out paper towels, but far more expensively and probably with a bigger environmental impact.
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<br />
So now I try to keep at least one roll of paper towels around. For milk emergencies.
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<br />
<span style="font-size: x-small;">*You should though, because Kelly’s version is much, much funnier.
</span>Dr. Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17212098874323500022noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251891826295969285.post-86429314703128234942013-10-08T08:22:00.001-04:002013-10-08T08:23:44.617-04:001, 2, 3, fohAnn Marie has learned to count, sort of. This is not something I've "worked on" with her. My theory, in fact, is that she picked it up from all the "you have until I count to..." we say to the other two. At any rate, here she is, counting to ten. Sort of. My favorite parts are her face when she says, "Fohhhhhhhhh" and how the "YAAAAYYYY!" gets earlier and earlier with each iteration.
<br><br>
<iframe src="//player.vimeo.com/video/76394489" width="500" height="281" frameborder="0" webkitallowfullscreen mozallowfullscreen allowfullscreen></iframe> <p><a href="http://vimeo.com/76394489">1,2,3...</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user280749">Maureen</a> on <a href="https://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p>
<br>Dr. Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17212098874323500022noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251891826295969285.post-86143122610910179322013-09-06T20:39:00.000-04:002013-09-06T20:39:10.756-04:00Sidewalk Parking: Major update!The sidewalk parking has been slowly improving, but there are still some fairly egregious offenders, like this car right here:
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<a href="http://s245.photobucket.com/user/docmaureen/media/IMG_0712_zps0470d3da.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo IMG_0712_zps0470d3da.jpg" border="0" height="500px" src="http://i245.photobucket.com/albums/gg62/docmaureen/IMG_0712_zps0470d3da.jpg" /></a>
<br />
<br />
I helpfully pointed out the curb for you, because you might have thought that was a parking lane or something. And this car is parked here every day. The owner of this car considers this piece of sidewalk to be his or her assigned parking spot. It's not a very busy street; I actually never use it, so technically this car has never been in my way. But ask me if I care.
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<br />
But! Things are not all terrible! Look at this car:
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<a href="http://s245.photobucket.com/user/docmaureen/media/IMG_0714_zpsa62dbd1e.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo IMG_0714_zpsa62dbd1e.jpg" border="0" height="500px" src="http://i245.photobucket.com/albums/gg62/docmaureen/IMG_0714_zpsa62dbd1e.jpg" /></a>
<br />
<br />
That car is owned by the first person I ever asked to stop parking on the sidewalk. It is owned by a woman who said, "But I don't want my car to be hit," and then made a sort of face when I pointed out I couldn't get by, especially because of that giant tree she usually parked right next to, and she generously said that she would "try" not to park "so close" to the tree. She then continued to park on the sidewalk every day. BUT NO MORE. I think she got a ticket. The guy who used to park on the sidewalk right behind her also stopped, and he is another one who told me that he doesn't want his car to get hit and that he "always parks there" and would not stop. TICKET.
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<br />
I have been in touch with a city councilwoman and she was putting me on the schedule for the council meeting on Sept. 24. So today I went out with my camera to gather more recent data and made a special trip down to the very busy street on which there used to be a five or so block stretch of cars blocking the sidewalk. But there were only a few cars still doing it! And then a cop saw me taking a photo and pulled over to talk to me. He told me I don't have to do that, because they put a notice in the paper warning people that they are going to start ticketing for this on Sept. 9.
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<br />
VICTORY IS MINE.
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Here's the blurb in the paper, with my city's name redacted:
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<br />
<blockquote>
<b>Parking complaints lead to enforcement in xxx</b>
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<br />
UPDATED: 09/06/2013 08:03:08 AM EDT
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<br />
Police have received numerous complaints from residents about vehicles parked on sidewalks across the city. This is an issue that we deal with the beginning of every school year. Residents need to be aware that parking your vehicle on a sidewalk is cause for your vehicle to be ticketed. Sidewalks need to be kept clear for the safety of the children walking to and from school. Violators put children and residents at risk by causing them to walk around the illegally parked vehicles and into these heavily travelled streets.
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<br />
Effective Monday September 9, 2013, City Police will be ticketing any vehicles that are illegally parked on sidewalks. Please be respectful of your neighbors and mindful of the safety of others by parking legally.</blockquote>
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<br />
Do you see that part that says "numerous complaints"? I'm pretty sure that was me, numerous times.
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<br />
BOO YA. (I am choosing to ignore the part that says we deal with this issue "at the beginning of every school year," as though sidewalk parking is fine when school is not in session.)
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<br />
And now I don't even have to go to a city council meeting! Woo! But I will remain vigilant, and I'm going to go down and check the status next to park on the busy street when there is a softball game, because the cars LINE the sidewalks on BOTH SIDES during the games. Or they did. Maybe they'll all get ticketed. We can but hope.
Dr. Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17212098874323500022noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251891826295969285.post-66455078754822240642013-09-03T20:40:00.001-04:002013-09-03T20:40:49.075-04:00Quick takes on a Tuesday because I'm crazy like that<br />
<ol>
<li>Ann Marie will not let me have a napkin. Everyone else at the table can have a napkin, but whenever she sees me with a napkin, be it in my hand or on my lap, she says, "Nope!" and takes it and throws it on the floor. If she's not locked up in her high chair, she will then go to the linen closet and get me an alternative napkin in the form of a dishcloth or dishtowel, usually a dishcloth. Sometimes she wipes my mouth with it, thus ensuring I cannot put an unused dishcloth back in the closet. Again, please note that everyone else at the table is allowed to have a napkin, I, alone, am not permitted.</li>
<li>Ann Marie give kisses - REAL KISSES - all the time, and it is the most delightful thing ever. Well, it is less delightful when I'm lying down and she climbs on me and presses her face onto my mouth so that I can feel her teeth with my lips and can't speak, but even then it's pretty amusing. The other night I was putting her to bed and she demanded that I keep my hand in the crib with her. That was a bit of a trial but then she suddenly gave my hand a loud smacking kiss before rolling over to go to sleep, so I let it slide.</li>
<li>This one should by rights be a long take and not a quick one, but Nora's first day of Pre-K was today. She's in half days this week, but next week she'll be going from 7:45 till 2:10, five days a week. I admit to getting a little choked up when I followed her class in to "help her unpack," but she had already unpacked and showed me where she was going to sit, then chose a coloring book and said, "Bye, Mom!" So she was fine. She brought home a self portrait. Jack criticized it a bit because Nora doesn't have <i>purple</i> curly hair <i>down to her waist</i>, and also why were her legs weird in the picture? Well, those are her ROBOT legs, Jack. So I think she'll be all right. (I'm glad it was only a half day, though, because on the way home she said that she missed me and wanted to come home HOURS ago.)</li>
<li>I signed up for a half marathon in October, so I've been running regularly. I don't talk about it much, but if you'll indulge me a minute, I ran 4 miles this morning and two of my three trips back and forth to school were with the stroller. In both cases, I had to push <i>both</i> girls home, which is uphill. (It's only uphill the one way, Dad.) School is about a half mile away, so I covered 6 miles today, and my feet hurt.</li>
<li>On the way to pick up Jack, we ran into another parent on the way to school and the subject of sidewalk parking came up. It came up because Nora said, "We are on a mission to stop people from parking on the sidewalk!" Ahem. He agreed it was unsafe, though, and mentioned that he saw me try and fail to get by a car parked on the sidewalk. But I made contact with a city council member, and I think I'm going to go to a council meeting to plead my case. Interesting fact: In the email, she said she didn't want to mislead me and admitted to parking on the sidewalk for years and years on her narrow street in the city, but she said that the difference was that everyone who did it (which was everyone) made sure that there was plenty of space for a baby carriage. Perhaps. And honestly, I would not be on this crusade if people parked only <i>slightly</i> on the sidewalk, because the streets ARE narrow. But those who completely block the sidewalk have ruined it for everyone. The encouraging news, though, is that there was only the one car blocking the sidewalk. The situation has actually improved a lot since I started complaining.</li>
<li>Andrew is coaching Jack's Under 8 soccer team, and was just reading the "Practice Suggestions" or whatever they're called, and the league suggests at least one and no more than two 90-minute practices per week, and says they should start at 5:30pm. Does this sound at all reasonable to any of you? These are six- and seven-year-old kids. Ninety minutes of practice? Really? And starting at 5:30? Even if you consider that the city public schools go from 9:00-3:30 (vs. Jack's Catholic school which goes from 7:45-2:15), it gets DARK in the fall at 5:00! Soccer goes till the end of October! We're supposed to have a bunch of seven-year-olds running soccer drills in the dark? For an hour and a half? Fortunately, Andrew is the coach, so Jack's team will be practicing at 5:00 for one hour, or until dark.</li>
</ol>
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<br />Dr. Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17212098874323500022noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251891826295969285.post-87407972067422116662013-07-23T23:40:00.003-04:002013-07-23T23:41:24.233-04:00AnxietyWe went camping this past weekend. It was our first camping trip with tents; last year we "camped" at a campground, but we rented a cabin with "beds" on which there were "mattresses" and there was also an attached kitchenette and bathroom. The kitchenette and bathroom were legitimate; no quotation marks necessary. The main reason we got the cabin was that, at the time, I was still nursing Ann Marie during the night, and I required a wall on which to lean. But this year she sleeps right through, so tents it was! Jack and Nora slept in one tent; Andrew, Ann Marie, and I had the other.
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Everything went swimmingly except that I woke up at midnight on the first night thinking I had heard Nora unzip their tent and call out to me. I sat up as though shot from a cannon and whispered, "Nora? Nora? Nora?" Andrew groggily asked what had happened, and I said "I think Nora's standing outside our tent!" I unzipped our window, but I couldn't see anything because a) I was not wearing my glasses and b) it was pitch dark. Undeterred, I kept whisper-shouting, "Nora? Nora?" but to no avail. I put on my glasses, but it didn't help much. See above, re: pitch-darkness. I tried shining a flashlight, but it just reflected off their tent and didn't help me at all.
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"Do you want me to stick my head out there?" Andrew asked, already halfway through the tent flap. "She's not out there," he told me. "It's fine. Their tent isn't unzipped."
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Reassured, I lay back down and tried to go back to sleep. Unfortunately my adrenal system was not on board with the whole "reassured" status, so instead I lay there, heart racing, picturing my small daughter wandering the campground in the dark, lost, frightened, and encountering bears. Because that is where my adrenal glands took me: Bear attack. In the family-friendly, somewhat crowded campground just a few miles outside of the town center. I should also point out that the kids' tent entrance was approximately four inches away from the side of our tent, so for Nora to wander off and get lost she would have had slink by our tent sideways for us not to have felt her brush against the canvas. Considering this is a child who is afraid to be downstairs when I am upstairs, the odds were strongly against her voluntarily sneaking off into the dark woods all alone at midnight.
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And yet there I lay, anxious and worrying, and also with the increasing need to go to the bathroom but too scared to traverse the 30-yard-long, bear-encrusted path. It was a dilemma.
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Finally unable to stand it, I woke Andrew up and asked him if he thought I'd run into any animals on my way to the bathroom. And by "animals" I really meant bears, or possibly rabid coyotes. Did I mention that I had heard some coyotes? I did. Thousands of them. Hundreds of thousands. Slavering just outside the tent. Andrew, however, did not seem to think I would encounter any animals, slavering or no.
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"Will you stay awake until I get back?" I asked him. He said he would. I want you to take note of that agreement. I was relying on this, because his staying awake was going to keep me alive on my terrifying journey.
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I put on my sweatshirt, took my flashlight, and bravely exited the tent. The first thing I did was shine my flashlight into the kids' tent and count how many children there were. I counted heads at least three times and there were always two, so I was at least able to put that fear to rest. Which left only the bears. And the coyotes. It left only whatever bears and coyotes were between me and the bathroom. I took a deep breath and headed out.
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Suffice it to say, I successfully made it to the bathroom and back without encountering any bears OR coyotes, and once back in the tent was finally able to relax and fall asleep. The only repercussion was a nightmare in which Murdock from <i>MacGuyver</i> blew up our house.
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But it was no thanks to Andrew, because guess who fell asleep while I was gone? THAT'S RIGHT. Fortunately, he didn't tell me that part until the following morning, when the sun was up and I could once again see the bathroom right from our campsite because it was seriously right there.Dr. Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17212098874323500022noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251891826295969285.post-91062672674914471522013-05-29T20:31:00.000-04:002013-05-29T20:33:04.229-04:00If the question is "Do we need any bananas?" the answer is always "Yes."<i>Evening. Interior office. Andrew enters.</i>
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ANDREW: How can there only be three bananas left? This morning, there were eight!
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MAUREEN: You mean there were eight bananas this morning, and then each of the five of us ate one and now there are three? HOW CAN THAT BE?
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ANDREW: Shut up.
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<i>Scene.</i>
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He's right though, the rate at which we go through bananas is positively shocking. I cannot keep them in the house, even though I instituted a policy that anyone in a grocery store must buy bananas no matter how many bananas were purchased just yesterday. We are always out of bananas.Dr. Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17212098874323500022noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251891826295969285.post-86453860764147073122013-05-05T23:43:00.002-04:002013-05-06T09:55:18.352-04:00Sidewalk Parking: A crusadeToday I saw this on the way to church:
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<a href="http://s245.photobucket.com/user/docmaureen/media/IMG_0411-001_zpsce6a153c.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img src="http://i245.photobucket.com/albums/gg62/docmaureen/IMG_0411-001_zpsce6a153c.jpg" width="500px" border="0" alt=" photo IMG_0411-001_zpsce6a153c.jpg"/></a>
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<br />
I KNOW.
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I have a tendency towards obsession, so I have to be careful that I don't turn into a single-minded anti-sidewalk-parking vigilante. Instead, I have a plan. First, I will call back the Captain Richardson at the police department and ask him if he passed my message along to the officer who does work in the north part of the city. Second, I will continue to photograph the offending cars and file the photos away as though documenting a science experiment, the better to present to the police department or mayor's office, depending on how things go. Third, I will continue to ask people not to park on the sidewalk if I see them near their cars. This can, as it turns out, have an effect. Because today, there were a few people on the porch of a house in front of which a car consistently parks with two wheels on the curb. Now I realize that it is not actually legal to park with any wheels on the curb, but if all of the problem cars parked like this, I would not be on a crusade. There is still room to get by on the sidewalk, so I wouldn't be forced into the street, and I wouldn't care that much. But cars like the Cadillac and Ford above have ruined it for everyone, and I can't start making exceptions.
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<br />
So I asked the people on the porch if they owned the car, and then asked them not to park on the sidewalk. "But I have to park on the sidewalk," the owner told me.
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<br />
Let me interrupt myself here to say that the most perplexing part of this entire thing has been the responses of people when I ask them not to park on the sidewalk. You see, I recognize that not a lot of people walk places anymore, and I assumed that the people parking on the sidewalk are just worried about their cars being sideswiped and want to give the moving traffic as much room as possible. But I thought that if I pointed out to them that they were forcing me and my children into the street that the people would apologize! "Oh, my goodness!" I thought they'd say. "Sorry! I didn't realize!" and then they would stop parking on the sidewalk. What I did not expect was a litany of rationalizations about why it's OK for them to park on the sidewalk. Before today, I had asked five people to stop parking on the sidewalk. Let me paraphrase their responses:
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1. OK. (Then she got into the car and drove away.)<br />
2. But I don't want my car to be hit. (This is the woman who promised not to park so far onto the sidewalk and also not next to the tree. Not doing a great job:)<br />
<a href="http://s245.photobucket.com/user/docmaureen/media/IMG_0421-001_zpsaa284cbb.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img src="http://i245.photobucket.com/albums/gg62/docmaureen/IMG_0421-001_zpsaa284cbb.jpg" width="500px" border="0" alt=" photo IMG_0421-001_zpsaa284cbb.jpg"/></a>
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3. But I'm only going to be here for five minutes.<br />
4. I wanted to park my car in the shade. (This was from a postal worker in an official vehicle. This is how he parked it:)<br />
<a href="http://s245.photobucket.com/user/docmaureen/media/IMG_0379-1_zps3ab7c16a.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img alt=" photo IMG_0379-1_zps3ab7c16a.jpg" border="0" height="500px" src="http://i245.photobucket.com/albums/gg62/docmaureen/IMG_0379-1_zps3ab7c16a.jpg" /></a>
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<br />
5. Oh! Sorry!
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<br />
So one apology out of five. Not a great percentage.<br />
<br />
But let's return to today's encounter, in which the car's owner tried to explain to me that she needed to park on the sidewalk because the street was so dangerous. "Do you know how many cars have been totaled here?" she said. "But, you see, that is why I do not want to have to walk in the street with my children!" I said. "But everyone does it," she said. "That doesn't make it OK," I said. "You're not supposed to park on the sidewalk! Please don't park on the sidewalk!" and then I had to keep walking, because I am terrible at confrontation and was starting to cry, but I could hear her saying, "OK. OK," as I walked away.
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<br />
And then! When we drove by later, I saw that she had moved her car! She moved it! Onto the street! I had to go out again later, and made a point to drive by her house to thank her for moving it, because she totally made my day.
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<br />
But for those of you who have also become invested in this, know that I am not going to give up. Last Friday I was forced with my stroller into the middle of a very busy major street because of a long line of sidewalk parkers, and this cannot stand. It is going to take a while, I think, because it is obvious that the culture needs to change, but I shall persevere. But without becoming unhealthily obsessed.
Dr. Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17212098874323500022noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251891826295969285.post-30800221777809363302013-05-01T12:17:00.000-04:002013-05-01T12:17:55.192-04:00Sidewalk parking
I live in a city, but in a suburban-looking neighborhood. There is a lot of off-street parking but also a smattering of multi-family houses without enough, so lots of people park on the street. Well, I wish they parked on the street. Actually, they park on the sidewalk. And I’m not talking about parking with two wheels up on the curb a little bit to make the street wider. I’m talking about parking so far up on the sidewalk that it can be challenging to walk by single file, nevermind squeezing through with a double stroller or a wheelchair. Consider these fairly typical examples:
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<a href="http://s245.photobucket.com/user/docmaureen/media/IMG_0354-001_zpsd2862a94.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img src="http://i245.photobucket.com/albums/gg62/docmaureen/IMG_0354-001_zpsd2862a94.jpg" height="300px" border="0" alt=" photo IMG_0354-001_zpsd2862a94.jpg"/></a>
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<a href="http://s245.photobucket.com/user/docmaureen/media/IMG_0359-001_zpsa7464cbd.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img src="http://i245.photobucket.com/albums/gg62/docmaureen/IMG_0359-001_zpsa7464cbd.jpg" height="500px" border="0" alt=" photo IMG_0359-001_zpsa7464cbd.jpg"/></a>
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The first photo is on the main street I use when walking to and from school with my three small children. It is a wide street with plenty of room for parking along both sides. The second photo is a side street off of the main street which is a bit narrower, but also less busy, and so cars aren’t usually parked along both sides. And even if they were, YOU CAN’T PARK YOUR CAR ON THE SIDEWALK.
I have been brewing angry resentment at these cars for about four years now, getting angrier and angrier every time I have to walk in the street with my baby in a stroller and tell my three-year-old I will “meet her around” as she squeezes by the cars on the eight inches of sidewalk remaining next to the car. I kept wondering if I should leave notes on the cars asking the people to stop parking on the sidewalk, because I am pretty sure no one is thinking about the people who actually use the sidewalk for walking, but I’d have to leave at least fifteen notes, and it became ridiculous. I was also boiling with resentment about having to ask people not to park on the sidewalk. I shouldn’t have to ask them not to park on the sidewalk. “No cars on the sidewalk” is a fairly elementary rule of driving. So I finally started calling the police, but I didn’t see any tickets and by the second call, there was a definite “Oh, THIS lady again,” tone in the voice of the officer who answered the phone.
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I have also happened to catch two drivers as they were getting into their cars on the sidewalk and said, “Excuse me, but if you park like that, I can’t get by.” The first woman just said, “OK,” and got in and drove away; I haven’t seen her car again. This is the second woman’s car:
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<a href="http://s245.photobucket.com/user/docmaureen/media/IMG_0355-001_zpsa4128e96.jpg.html" target="_blank"><img src="http://i245.photobucket.com/albums/gg62/docmaureen/IMG_0355-001_zpsa4128e96.jpg" height="500px" border="0" alt=" photo IMG_0355-001_zpsa4128e96.jpg"/></a>
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When I pointed out to her that I can’t get by when she parks like that, she looked at me and my stroller and my preschooler and was clearly embarrassed, but still explained that the cars on the street “drive so fast” and she “doesn’t want her car to be hit” but that she will “try not to park so close.” I said, “I understand that, but I don’t want to walk in the street.” I also pointed out that she is parked next to an enormous tree which encroaches on the sidewalk, thus making it even more difficult to get by, so she said she’d try not to park as close to the tree. Got that? She’s going to keep parking on the sidewalk, just not quite as far onto the sidewalk, and not quite as close to the tree. She’s not doing a good job with it, though. The other day, she was still there, just maybe three feet further back from the tree. I still can’t fit the stroller between her car and the tree. Also, she is, as always, parked facing the wrong way. I can certainly understand how she doesn’t want her car to get hit by the speedy traffic in the street, though. I feel similarly about myself and my children.
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This has become a pet project of mine. I met a city councilor last night at the senate primary (MA special election to replace John Kerry), and he gave me the name of a captain in the police, and I just left him a voicemail. So we’ll see.
Dr. Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17212098874323500022noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251891826295969285.post-15100861254133113052013-04-18T23:18:00.002-04:002013-04-18T23:19:34.639-04:00A post that should probably have been three separate posts<div class="MsoNormal">
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<ol>
<li>Last Friday I had to take the kids to buy shoes. I also
had some things to bring back to the Gap, so I decided to take them to the Stride
Rite Mall B instead of in Mall A, my default mall, because the last time I went
to Mall A and tried to return something to the Gap I discovered that Mall A no
longer has a Gap. I know! I mean, if the Gap isn’t at the mall, where is it?
(Incidentally, you know what Mall A now has that it didn’t used to have? <a href="http://www.docmaureen.blogspot.com/2013/01/the-yogurt-event-horizon-with-apologies.html">Yogurt shop.</a>)<br /><br />So anyway, I had to go buy three pairs of very expensive full-priced
shoes, because I had managed to put off the shoe-buying until the last minute
which unfortunately landed me between sales at Stride Rite. I would have taken
them to Marshall’s, but I was buying Ann Marie’s very first pair of real
walking shoes, so I needed an actual trained person to measure her feet. I also
would have taken them to the shoe store near my mom, but I had to return that
stuff to the Gap, so Stride Rite it was.<br /><br />I loaded them all into the van, and halfway to the mall Nora
needed to use the bathroom. Twenty-minutes-in-a-Dunkin-Donuts-bathroom later, I
loaded them all into the van again. We got to the mall and I went straight to
the Gap. Halfway through my returns transaction which was complicated because
one of the things had been a gift, which included a gift receipt, but they
would nevertheless only give me the value towards a purchase right then or else
mail me a gift card. Why on earth they couldn’t just hand me a gift card then,
I will never know, but there you are. And everything in the store was 30% off,
so I wanted to maybe buy something right then. But before I could look, JACK
had to use the bathroom. So I took my gift back and off we all schlepped. While
Nora, the baby, and I waited outside the men’s room for Jack, I scanned the
directory for a Stride Rite. Which, as it turns out, Mall B doesn’t have.<br /><br />I wailed and moaned and gnashed my teeth, Jack emerged, and
we all schlepped BACK to the Gap where I was going to BUY something for 30% off
SO HELP ME. I chose a pair of pants and exchanged my gift for them while noting
to the cashier that they were definitely not going to fit, so I was going to
have to come back anyway. “Oh, we have a dressing room that the stroller will
fit in,” he said. Meanwhile, it was 4:45 pm and my children were race walking (no
running allowed!) around the store. “Not worth it,” I told him.<br /><br />After a stop at Kids Foot Locker for (full-priced) shoes for
the older two, I found myself once again loading three kids into the van for a
drive down to the strip mall that is about halfway between my house and Mall B
because there is a Stride Rite there. We pulled into the parking lot, and you
will never guess what is next door to Stride Rite. Literally next door. Not
even at the other end of the strip; it is the storefront immediately to the
left of Stride Rite. Yep. The Gap.</li>
<li><a href="https://twitter.com/TemerityJane">Kelly</a> tweeted some time ago about noticing an
under-mounted sink on a television show rather than noticing the attractive
actor. I can relate to this, because I keep zeroing in on window treatments. My
house has a lot of windows, and I lost momentum four rooms in. The problem lies
mostly in that window treatments cost a bajillion dollars. You know what
television show has some gorgeous window treatments? <i>Parenthood. </i>The oldest brother’s house has, at a conservative
estimate, $5,000 worth of window treatments. Valances! Curtains! Tie backs!
Fancy hardware! Custom Roman shades! Do you have any idea how much a custom
Roman shade costs? ONE BAJILLION DOLLARS.<br /><br />But even though I lost momentum, window treatments became an issue when we took
over the downstairs apartment. The sheets and towels clamped to the window
frame weren’t really working for me. Because we had so many windows to cover,
we decided to just buy inexpensive vinyl shades, which don’t feel that inexpensive
when you buy them in bulk. Then there were a series of ridiculous problems
which resulted in no less than five trips to three different hardware stores,
an extra set of useless shades that we can’t return and don’t fit anywhere, and
the kids’ room having shades just slightly too narrow. And there are still five
windows without shades in the dining room and kitchen!<br /><br />I gave up and decided to rehang the blinds that we bought
for the windows before we rented the place, but none of them fit. This seems
impossible, but it’s because I threw out the blinds that were in the kitchen
because they were gross, and the kitchen windows are apparently a quarter inch
wider than any other windows in that apartment. Meanwhile, we had the woodwork
around the dining room windows replaced, and the new trim is about a quarter
inch narrower than the old trim. But that, at least, I thought we could solve by
just asking Home Depot to recut them. I figured it would be easy; we had bought
them at Home Depot originally. The label even says “Home Depot” right on it.<br /><br />Yeah, they wouldn’t cut them. And it’s not because they were
just being jerks, it’s because their machines do not cut the plastic blinds, “But,
you cut them when I bought them,” I said. “No, we can’t cut those,” he said. “But…
they DID,” I insisted. “If they did that,” he said, “they weren’t supposed to.
It’s against store policy, and they ruined the blade and destroyed the machine.
We can’t cut those.”<br /><br />It was the “If” that rankled. “If” they cut them? They cut them. Believe me, 22
7/8 inches is not a standard width for plastic blinds. And that “if” really
made me want to get him to admit that they at least USED to cut them, so I
asked him how long he’d been working there. “Two years.” So OK, fine. I bought
these seven years ago, when they apparently had different machines, because
THEY CUT THEM. Which he never admitted. But he did give me some replacement mounting
brackets for free, so I forgive him.</li>
<li>This has nothing to do with shopping or home improvement,
but here is what I would like to happen on Sunday mornings: First, I want to
sleep late. Second, I want to have a leisurely breakfast. Third, I want to go
to the early mass so that the rest of the day is free.<br /><br />Somehow, I do not think I’m ever going to have all three of those things happen
together.</li>
</ol>
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<br />Dr. Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17212098874323500022noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251891826295969285.post-85947557117164464682013-04-14T10:26:00.002-04:002013-04-14T10:26:30.818-04:00Overly ambitiousThis past Tuesday I had a work obligation that kept me out of the house from 7am till 9pm, so when we were planning the week's meals, I told Andrew he could make anything he wanted that day, but maybe he'd like something simple. "Eggs? Cereal? Pasta?" I suggested.<br />
<br />
"You're going to be gone, right?" he said. "You don't like lobster. Maybe I'll make lobster thermidore!"<br />
<br />
I swear, that is what he suggested. He was going to have all three kids all day long, from breakfast through bedtime, and he wanted to make lobster thermidore. For himself and the children. It's not that I doubted his ability to cook it, it's just... lobster thermidore? Really?<br />
<br />
So we looked it up in Julia Child, and she says right up front that lobster thermidore is not difficult, per se, but that there are a lot of steps. "A lot of steps!" I said. "Maybe it's not such a great idea." Happily, Andrew came to his senses and instead of making lobster thermidore, he heated up some Boca burgers. For which he made fresh buns, though. He is quite capable. Just delusional sometimes, I guess.Dr. Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17212098874323500022noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8251891826295969285.post-76162959005963899762013-04-08T22:51:00.000-04:002013-04-08T22:51:09.884-04:00FrankenbabyI love it when babies are first starting to walk.<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/63586966" width="500" height="375" frameborder="0" webkitAllowFullScreen mozallowfullscreen allowFullScreen></iframe> <p><a href="http://vimeo.com/63586966">MVI 0323</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user280749">Maureen</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p>
<iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/63586965" width="500" height="375" frameborder="0" webkitAllowFullScreen mozallowfullscreen allowFullScreen></iframe> <p><a href="http://vimeo.com/63586965">MVI 0347</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user280749">Maureen</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p>
And here is a bonus video of Ann Marie playing a game she invented, called "Where's the milk?" See, she likes to have a napkin so she can helpfully wipe up her tray, and one dinner she started YELLING YELLING YELLING to get my attention. She HAS to yell, because I tune out the yelling. It's a bit of a catch-22. When I finally realized she was trying to tell me something, I looked over and she had her napkin over her milk cup and was signing "milk" at me. And a game was born.
<br />
<iframe src="http://player.vimeo.com/video/63586964" width="500" height="375" frameborder="0" webkitAllowFullScreen mozallowfullscreen allowFullScreen></iframe> <p><a href="http://vimeo.com/63586964">MVI 0348</a> from <a href="http://vimeo.com/user280749">Maureen</a> on <a href="http://vimeo.com">Vimeo</a>.</p>
But before you leave me a comment telling me how that is the cutest thing you've ever seen, let me preempt you by telling you that it's only because you didn't see Ann Marie calling us all over to her high chair tonight so she could give us hugs. Dr. Maureenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17212098874323500022noreply@blogger.com10