Six years ago today, after six weeks of bed rest ("Make sure you stay on your left side, please!"), what seemed like countless shots of terbutaline (actually I think it was six), several bags of magnesium to stop labor, a heart medication to prevent contractions and a combined total of two weeks in the hospital, the most amazing, stubborn, beautiful, funny, wicked, smart, confounding and astonishing little person was born—six weeks early. My Charlotte, one of the strongest kids I've ever met.
She refused to stay in the womb. Born weighing three pounds, 11 ounces, she spent two weeks in the NICU to get her weight up to four pounds, but didn't need any other intervention. It took almost three months to get her to eight pounds, two years before she could walk and three years before she could talk. She had almost 200 signs at one point, but once she discovered the joy of the spoken word, she ditched the signing. Of course, the joy of the spoken word soon gave way to the absolute bliss she seems to find in shrieking, but that's another post. Or 20.
She has endured visits to neurologists, ophthalmologists, audiologists, orthopedists, physical therapists, occupational therapists and speech therapists. She's had several EEGs and two MRIs. She takes medication twice a day, every day to prevent seizures. She has a high pain tolerance, once walking through a rose bush bare foot, in shorts, only really noticing a problem when she began to bleed. And when she cut her head two years ago, she didn't cry while they put in the four stitches it took to close the gash. In stark contrast to Hannah, Charlotte has never cried while getting shots. (Hannah once told me that it was because she cried enough for the both of them :)
When she's not yelling—which really isn't all of the time, though it may sometimes seem that way—Charlotte is a delightful, hysterically funny little kid. She can be shy, but once she knows you, she will do anything to make you laugh. For her, a day without dancing and singing might just be wasted time. She adores her friends, especially her BFF, Sofie. She loves kindergarten and Mrs. Baldini and Mr Danny G. She never met an animal she didn't want to hug (even though cats make her sneeze), a rule she didn't want to break, or a last, frayed nerve that she didn't want to swing from.
She is exasperating and charming and exhausting and exhilarating and I adore her. I can't wait to see her grown up, but I am afraid time will go too fast and I'll miss all the in-between parts. So thank god (or, in this case, Steve Jobs) for video so I get to capture—and share—at least some of her.
Happy Birthday, sweet girl!
Showing posts with label charlotte. Show all posts
Showing posts with label charlotte. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 05, 2011
Friday, December 17, 2010
Awesome Hannah-ism
Last night at dinner, Charlotte decided that she didn't like what was left of her meal. Rather than just saying something like "Mom, I'm done" or, "Thanks Mom, but I really don't like potatoes," she went straight for "Don't ever make these again. No me like them." And then she said it again, louder. And again. And . . .
I didn't get a chance to interrupt, but Charlotte doesn't like even the thought of not getting her point across, the thought that someone might not be paying attention. And she was tired. So we went pretty much from having a nice, fun, chatty dinner to Charlotte screaming and being removed from the table.
After I (gently) dumped her in her bed and returned to the table, Hannah said:
"Man! I do NOT want to get pregnant!"
See? Silver linings everywhere! You just have to look.
I didn't get a chance to interrupt, but Charlotte doesn't like even the thought of not getting her point across, the thought that someone might not be paying attention. And she was tired. So we went pretty much from having a nice, fun, chatty dinner to Charlotte screaming and being removed from the table.
After I (gently) dumped her in her bed and returned to the table, Hannah said:
"Man! I do NOT want to get pregnant!"
See? Silver linings everywhere! You just have to look.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Missing My Girlies
I went in to check on the girls last night, as I have almost every night since they were born. In fact, when I count it up, I think that there were fewer than two dozen nights I’d not been home to slip in, pull up their covers and kiss them good-night before I went to bed.
So last night, I climbed up to kiss Hannah. I felt around the bed for her—she likes to make a nest and disappear—and then I remembered. “They’re with Thomas.” Not with me. And, lest you think I’ve completely lost it, it wasn’t that I’d forgotten where they were. It was complete reflex. Muscle memory. Heart memory. Whatever you want to call it.
They spent a couple of days with Thomas last week and Sunday, of course, but I’d been so exhausted from the seemingly interminable move and starting a new job and working late on the nights they were with him and then coming home to unpack boxes and trying to create a bit of order somewhere that, though of course I missed them, I hadn’t had time to notice how quiet and hollow and empty the house felt. How I felt.
So tonight, I vacuumed. I unpacked more boxes. I worked. I wrote this. I did laundry. And the dishes. And talked to my BIL and to my sister. And unpacked more boxes and worked a bit more. I made Charlotte’s bed so it wouldn’t still look like there was a little person in it, though that seemed like a good idea last night. I put on their bedtime music and tried to convince myself that it will get better. Everyone says it will. Maybe it will. But not today.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Charlotte-isms? Sure, Why Not?
Also known as, "Oh great, another smartypants in the family."
Charlotte's big pink box of Legos serves two main functions: They're an excellent fine-motor exercise for her, and they keep her amused and engaged for at least an hour--no TV required! This is a huge endorsement, as Charlotte generally lives for two things: Chocolate and television.
After playing quietly for a few minutes, Charlotte asked me to help her take apart two of the bricks.
Me:
Do you know why you can't get them apart?
[[Note: the correct answer was "Because I bite my fingernails down to the quick."]
Charlotte, with an exasperated sigh:
Because it makes me tired.
Charlotte's big pink box of Legos serves two main functions: They're an excellent fine-motor exercise for her, and they keep her amused and engaged for at least an hour--no TV required! This is a huge endorsement, as Charlotte generally lives for two things: Chocolate and television.
After playing quietly for a few minutes, Charlotte asked me to help her take apart two of the bricks.
Me:
Do you know why you can't get them apart?
[[Note: the correct answer was "Because I bite my fingernails down to the quick."]
Charlotte, with an exasperated sigh:
Because it makes me tired.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
Little Kids Should Not Have Seizures. Not.
Charlotte has been on medication to control seizures for more than two years. Before her fifth birthday, she'd had two EEGs and an MRI, both of which have risks--EEG requires sleep deprivation and, for younger kids, the MRI requires anesthesia. I'm not going to equate sleep deprivation with the risks of anesthesia in general, but anyone who has ever seen me sans sleep will understand why there is risk attached. If you haven't had the pleasure, let's just say that that particular irritability trigger is one which Charlotte comes by honestly.
Over the past two years, we've gradually had to increase the medication to adjust for growth spurts. The last time we did this was between Thanksgiving and Christmas. We spent 10 days on the East Coast for winter break, and, not long after we returned, Charlotte had a seizure. And then another. And another.
I should mention that her seizures have always been very small. In fact, for a long time, we didn't know she was having them. But I perfectly remember the first time I saw one. She wasn't yet a year old. She was wearing a navy blue outfit dotted with little white anchors, with a white sailor collar. She was on her stomach on the floor and had just pushed herself up onto her arms when she started shaking. Part of my brain thought, "That looks like a seizure." The rest of my brain rejected that thought outright, insisting instead that it was the exertion of pushing herself up. It wasn't a seizure. No one else saw it. It didn't happen again. The pediatrician thought it was, yes, the exertion of pushing herself up.
Charlotte was born six weeks early and very small--three pounds, 11 ounces. She spent two weeks in the NICU to get her weight up to FOUR POUNDS. They send them home at four pounds. Jeezus, talk about scary. But she never needed any other intervention--no lung, heart, or other issues. Nothing to explain why she wouldn't walk until she was almost two or talk until she was almost three, or why, at five, her fine motor skills would be below average and she'd still be in speech therapy.
In the week after we got home from the East Coast, Charlotte had three or four seizures. We noted it, but decided to take the "watch and see" approach, as she typically has more seizures when she's over-tired. And then the day after her fifth birthday, they started coming, one after the other after the other. Over the course of the morning, she had ten. Ten. She'd never had that many in an entire day. Ever.
A quick, slightly (ha!) panicked call to the neurologist resulted in a new medication that had to be started that very day, plus an urgent request for an MRI through Lucile Packard Childrens Hospital--they are the only place to go if you need to put a kid under for an MRI. We couldn't get in for the MRI until yesterday, almost 10 days after the episode, but they had to bump someone else, so I couldn't really complain about it. Loudly.
The MRI was scheduled for 10:00am, but we had to arrive at 8:30 to complete registration and all of the pre-op stuff--basically to make sure she wasn't sick and to get a current height and weight. Other than me accidentally getting a few deep breaths of the anesthesia (more on that later, perhaps), the whole thing went well. The hardest part of both MRIs was waiting for Charlotte to wake up. She likes her sleep anyway (again, comes by that honestly), and so uses this as an excellent opportunity to get in an extra hour. Both times the nurse had to wake her up after I sat for the hour, watching that tiny body, making sure of the exhale and inhale, happy to see the slight flush of pink that kept her suddenly, amazingly translucent skin from looking too doll-like.
But awake she finally did, and recovered as well as she has from anything before: from the previous MRI, from getting stitches in her head, from various colds, hives, bumps, bruises and scratches--none of which she ever complains about. In other words, she rejected outright Nurse Jenn's instructions that she have nothing but clear liquids and popcicles for a few hours, then maybe yogurt or ice cream before moving on to toast or rice or crackers.
No. Charlotte wanted Goldfish. And chocolate. And pizza. After several minutes of "discussion," we "compromised" on the Goldfish: she got one bowl instead of two. And then we agreed that if she felt as though the milk was going to make her vomit, she knew where the bathroom was. I did get her to stick to toast with butter and honey for dinner but was completely unable to convince her of the potential dangers of running, leaping from the furniture, turning cartwheels and dancing with the dog--all of which were also discouraged by Nurse Jenn. I think Charlotte took Nurse Jenn's lack of specificity as a series of very large loopholes ripe for exploitation.
The neurologist promised to call as soon as she heard anything, and she was true to her word. She called me tonight, at 8:00, because she didn't think I'd want to wait the entire weekend to hear that it was unchanged from the MRI a year ago. She also apologized not being able to give me a better answer to "Why did this happen?". Apparently, "Sometimes it just happens" is all they can give you.
So for now, we're back to "watch and see." I get to go back to trying to suppress the instinct to catch her the minute she begins to fall. And Charlotte gets to keep being Charlotte: Funny, tough, sweet, indomitable. And definitey not ever in the mood to have someone catch her if she falls or even notice that anything happened.
Over the past two years, we've gradually had to increase the medication to adjust for growth spurts. The last time we did this was between Thanksgiving and Christmas. We spent 10 days on the East Coast for winter break, and, not long after we returned, Charlotte had a seizure. And then another. And another.
I should mention that her seizures have always been very small. In fact, for a long time, we didn't know she was having them. But I perfectly remember the first time I saw one. She wasn't yet a year old. She was wearing a navy blue outfit dotted with little white anchors, with a white sailor collar. She was on her stomach on the floor and had just pushed herself up onto her arms when she started shaking. Part of my brain thought, "That looks like a seizure." The rest of my brain rejected that thought outright, insisting instead that it was the exertion of pushing herself up. It wasn't a seizure. No one else saw it. It didn't happen again. The pediatrician thought it was, yes, the exertion of pushing herself up.
Charlotte was born six weeks early and very small--three pounds, 11 ounces. She spent two weeks in the NICU to get her weight up to FOUR POUNDS. They send them home at four pounds. Jeezus, talk about scary. But she never needed any other intervention--no lung, heart, or other issues. Nothing to explain why she wouldn't walk until she was almost two or talk until she was almost three, or why, at five, her fine motor skills would be below average and she'd still be in speech therapy.
In the week after we got home from the East Coast, Charlotte had three or four seizures. We noted it, but decided to take the "watch and see" approach, as she typically has more seizures when she's over-tired. And then the day after her fifth birthday, they started coming, one after the other after the other. Over the course of the morning, she had ten. Ten. She'd never had that many in an entire day. Ever.
A quick, slightly (ha!) panicked call to the neurologist resulted in a new medication that had to be started that very day, plus an urgent request for an MRI through Lucile Packard Childrens Hospital--they are the only place to go if you need to put a kid under for an MRI. We couldn't get in for the MRI until yesterday, almost 10 days after the episode, but they had to bump someone else, so I couldn't really complain about it. Loudly.
The MRI was scheduled for 10:00am, but we had to arrive at 8:30 to complete registration and all of the pre-op stuff--basically to make sure she wasn't sick and to get a current height and weight. Other than me accidentally getting a few deep breaths of the anesthesia (more on that later, perhaps), the whole thing went well. The hardest part of both MRIs was waiting for Charlotte to wake up. She likes her sleep anyway (again, comes by that honestly), and so uses this as an excellent opportunity to get in an extra hour. Both times the nurse had to wake her up after I sat for the hour, watching that tiny body, making sure of the exhale and inhale, happy to see the slight flush of pink that kept her suddenly, amazingly translucent skin from looking too doll-like.
But awake she finally did, and recovered as well as she has from anything before: from the previous MRI, from getting stitches in her head, from various colds, hives, bumps, bruises and scratches--none of which she ever complains about. In other words, she rejected outright Nurse Jenn's instructions that she have nothing but clear liquids and popcicles for a few hours, then maybe yogurt or ice cream before moving on to toast or rice or crackers.
No. Charlotte wanted Goldfish. And chocolate. And pizza. After several minutes of "discussion," we "compromised" on the Goldfish: she got one bowl instead of two. And then we agreed that if she felt as though the milk was going to make her vomit, she knew where the bathroom was. I did get her to stick to toast with butter and honey for dinner but was completely unable to convince her of the potential dangers of running, leaping from the furniture, turning cartwheels and dancing with the dog--all of which were also discouraged by Nurse Jenn. I think Charlotte took Nurse Jenn's lack of specificity as a series of very large loopholes ripe for exploitation.
The neurologist promised to call as soon as she heard anything, and she was true to her word. She called me tonight, at 8:00, because she didn't think I'd want to wait the entire weekend to hear that it was unchanged from the MRI a year ago. She also apologized not being able to give me a better answer to "Why did this happen?". Apparently, "Sometimes it just happens" is all they can give you.
So for now, we're back to "watch and see." I get to go back to trying to suppress the instinct to catch her the minute she begins to fall. And Charlotte gets to keep being Charlotte: Funny, tough, sweet, indomitable. And definitey not ever in the mood to have someone catch her if she falls or even notice that anything happened.
Monday, November 09, 2009
More Fun With Apraxia!
Charlotte's speech therapy is going well, well enough, in fact, that I'm not as worried about her level of intelligibility when she start kindergarten next fall.
However.
Some sound combinations are still difficult, particularly when there are two hard sounds in the same word, or one at the end of the first word and another at the beginning of the word following.
Take "cupcake," for instance. Say it slowly. Notice how much the shape of your mouth changes between the "p" and the "c" sounds. Charlotte used to insert a soft "a" in between sounds like these, so "cupcake" would become "cup-ah-cake." But now she has decided that it's easier to just replace the "p" with an "m," and so we are left with her excitedly, loudly announcing to the entire store that Whole Foods has "come cakes!"
My friend, Kevin Murphy" is now "Target Monkey," though I'm still not sure how "Kevin" morphed to "Target." "Murphy" to "Monkey" is a bit more understandable.
"Like my book" becomes "Lick my butt," while "Leave me alone," becomes "Lick me alone!" This last one is handy in diffusing arguments, as most people are unable to stay angry while laughing their heads off.
And as for Charlotte's inadvertent adaptation of one of the songs from Phineas and Ferb? I think that Candace, the character who sings it, would appreciate the change from "I'm gonna bust those boys" to "Me gonna bust some balls."
However.
Some sound combinations are still difficult, particularly when there are two hard sounds in the same word, or one at the end of the first word and another at the beginning of the word following.
Take "cupcake," for instance. Say it slowly. Notice how much the shape of your mouth changes between the "p" and the "c" sounds. Charlotte used to insert a soft "a" in between sounds like these, so "cupcake" would become "cup-ah-cake." But now she has decided that it's easier to just replace the "p" with an "m," and so we are left with her excitedly, loudly announcing to the entire store that Whole Foods has "come cakes!"
My friend, Kevin Murphy" is now "Target Monkey," though I'm still not sure how "Kevin" morphed to "Target." "Murphy" to "Monkey" is a bit more understandable.
"Like my book" becomes "Lick my butt," while "Leave me alone," becomes "Lick me alone!" This last one is handy in diffusing arguments, as most people are unable to stay angry while laughing their heads off.
And as for Charlotte's inadvertent adaptation of one of the songs from Phineas and Ferb? I think that Candace, the character who sings it, would appreciate the change from "I'm gonna bust those boys" to "Me gonna bust some balls."
Saturday, August 08, 2009
Lesson for the Day
Never come between a four-year old chocoholic and chocolate cake.
I took the girls to Pamplemousse this morning. Delectable treats in many different flavors: mango, passion fruit, chocolate mint, triple chocolate mousse, pamplemousse (grapefruit) and of course, a lovely, lovely Chocolate Chocolate cake. Charlotte generally prefers the triple chocolate mousse, but as they were already out of it (at 10:33!) and I told the girls they had to share a little cake and that it was Hannah's turn to choose. Hannah chose the Chocolate, Chocolate.
Charlotte was not amused. Until she tasted one of the chocolate triagles that adorned the top of the cake. Before Hannah had finished one of these triangles, Charlotte had inhaled the remaining four. Hannah was forced to stop mid-way through a horrified gasp that was tinged with laughter as Charlotte grabbed the fork and dove in. A race ensued, which Charlotte won by employing two of her favorite tactics: First: take advantage of the fact that Hannah talks from the moment she gets up in the morning until 12 minutes after she falls asleep; and second: steal my fork and shovel with both hands.
Hannah finally admitted defeat. When asked if she was ever full when there was still chocolate cake to be had, Charlotte answered with a curt "No, " as she finished up the last curls of dark chocolate scattered around the plate.
I should also add that she once stabbed me with a fork when I got too close to her half of the triple chocolate mousse cake that we were sharing for my birthday.
Now repeat after me:
Never come between a four-year old chocoholic and chocolate cake.
I took the girls to Pamplemousse this morning. Delectable treats in many different flavors: mango, passion fruit, chocolate mint, triple chocolate mousse, pamplemousse (grapefruit) and of course, a lovely, lovely Chocolate Chocolate cake. Charlotte generally prefers the triple chocolate mousse, but as they were already out of it (at 10:33!) and I told the girls they had to share a little cake and that it was Hannah's turn to choose. Hannah chose the Chocolate, Chocolate.
Charlotte was not amused. Until she tasted one of the chocolate triagles that adorned the top of the cake. Before Hannah had finished one of these triangles, Charlotte had inhaled the remaining four. Hannah was forced to stop mid-way through a horrified gasp that was tinged with laughter as Charlotte grabbed the fork and dove in. A race ensued, which Charlotte won by employing two of her favorite tactics: First: take advantage of the fact that Hannah talks from the moment she gets up in the morning until 12 minutes after she falls asleep; and second: steal my fork and shovel with both hands.
Hannah finally admitted defeat. When asked if she was ever full when there was still chocolate cake to be had, Charlotte answered with a curt "No, " as she finished up the last curls of dark chocolate scattered around the plate.
I should also add that she once stabbed me with a fork when I got too close to her half of the triple chocolate mousse cake that we were sharing for my birthday.
Now repeat after me:
Never come between a four-year old chocoholic and chocolate cake.
Thursday, April 23, 2009
.jpg)
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Inadvertently Inappropriate, part II B
Charlotte's new favorite movie is Charlie and the Chocolate Factory. The movie is cute so I don't mind that I've already seen it 10 times (I'm not listing the real number here as I don't want you to think that my children watch television all day). The problem arises, again, from her inability to make certain sounds--"ak," for example--and her need to add an "a" at the end of many words and often, mid-word.
Yesterday afternoon we were at Peet's (yes, again!) and Charlotte said she wanted to watch "Chadee a Chocit F u c k a de tee."
Much more of this and I might have to switch my office to the other Palo Alto Peet's.
Yesterday afternoon we were at Peet's (yes, again!) and Charlotte said she wanted to watch "Chadee a Chocit F u c k a de tee."
Much more of this and I might have to switch my office to the other Palo Alto Peet's.
Monday, February 23, 2009
Inadvertently Inappropriate, part II
1. Hannah, on seeing a photo of a model:
Mommy, why is her skirt all the way up to her vagina?
Why indeed, peanut.
2. Charlotte, still unable to pronounce the blended sound, "ow":
Mommy! You c[o]unt! You c[o]unt! One, two, three . . . .
Her speech therapist didn't understand at first why I thought this an important thing to work on. But once I told her that this had been yelled at me in a crowded store and in a coffee shop, she figured it out.
Mommy, why is her skirt all the way up to her vagina?
Why indeed, peanut.
2. Charlotte, still unable to pronounce the blended sound, "ow":
Mommy! You c[o]unt! You c[o]unt! One, two, three . . . .
Her speech therapist didn't understand at first why I thought this an important thing to work on. But once I told her that this had been yelled at me in a crowded store and in a coffee shop, she figured it out.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Little Slices of Heaven
For Charlotte, it's Disneyland:
For Hannah, it's her art (well, Disneyland, too):
For Hannah, it's her art (well, Disneyland, too):
Monday, December 08, 2008
How They Grow
I was all ready to send a friend over to see photos of the girls when I realized that I hadn't posted any recently. So . . .
Hannah is smiling here because I told her to. Normally we have no trouble getting her to mug for the camera. In fact, we generally have to tell her to knock it off please, so we can get a nice photo for Grandma.:)
A Peet's girl from her infancy.
Charlotte's favorite show is Mickey Mouse Playhouse, and you simply must have the Minnie Mouse costume in order to properly execute the hot dog dance.
Charlotte sick and looking unbearably fragile. She is, of course, anything but.
Hannah is smiling here because I told her to. Normally we have no trouble getting her to mug for the camera. In fact, we generally have to tell her to knock it off please, so we can get a nice photo for Grandma.:)
A Peet's girl from her infancy.
Charlotte's favorite show is Mickey Mouse Playhouse, and you simply must have the Minnie Mouse costume in order to properly execute the hot dog dance. 
Charlotte sick and looking unbearably fragile. She is, of course, anything but.Tuesday, June 10, 2008
TuTu Time
From Charlotte's first ballet recital:
Her pre-ballet class danced to Kermit's "Rainbow Connection." I was worried that she wouldn't go out on the stage or stay there once the lights went up, but she continues to amaze me. Not only did she stay and follow the teachers' lead, at one point she actually waved to the audience.
It seems a lifetime ago but once upon a time I was afraid that Charlotte might never walk. Then when she finally did walk she would often just collapse for no apparent reason. But there is no quit in her and never has been. And she loved being up there, dancing for a proper audience. When I went backstage to get her, she yelled across the dressing room "Me dance! Me dance!"
So, yes. I cried like a baby.
Her pre-ballet class danced to Kermit's "Rainbow Connection." I was worried that she wouldn't go out on the stage or stay there once the lights went up, but she continues to amaze me. Not only did she stay and follow the teachers' lead, at one point she actually waved to the audience.
It seems a lifetime ago but once upon a time I was afraid that Charlotte might never walk. Then when she finally did walk she would often just collapse for no apparent reason. But there is no quit in her and never has been. And she loved being up there, dancing for a proper audience. When I went backstage to get her, she yelled across the dressing room "Me dance! Me dance!"
So, yes. I cried like a baby.
Friday, May 02, 2008
The Dammit, #24
I'm dropping "Weekly" from the title until I can get my act together and once again start posting this one, well, weekly. Dammit. It's been awhile, so let's get right to it:
Dammit #1:
Magic Wands. The little man still won't (can't?) face the very obvious fact that the economy is in the tank, or that gas prices are hurting a lot of people who don't have access financial resources on par with his own, or that he is now the lowest-rated president in history. (That last one is in part because he believes that, while history will judge his actions, actual presidential historians have no idea what they're talking about or comparing him to.) So what's a poor imbecile to do? Suggest that, if he had one, he might wave the very magic wand which would have kept his core constituency from voting for him in the first place.
Dammit #2:
On the Obama/Rev. Wright issue: People across the country are, at the least, uncomfortable with and at the at the worst, vilifying Barack Obama for not denouncing his former pastor's controversial comments sooner. But after 9/11, Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson blamed the attack on pagans, gays, lesbians, secularists, the ACLU, abortionists and feminists. George Bush eventually declared the comments “inappropriate.” He was slower still to respond to conservative commentator Robert Knight, who laid the blame for Abu Gharib on many of the same groups, and, for good measure, tossed in the porn industry and the military for allowing women in combat zones.
I’ve heard many people say that Obama should be held to a higher standard because he is a history-making candidate and (yes, still) probable Presidential nominee. But why is he held to a higher standard than the current President of the U.S, who had also made history by virtue of being one of the most disliked, distrusted, polarizing presidents we’ve ever had?
Dammit #3:
Charlotte is having an MRI in two weeks. Her appointment time is 1:30 p.m. Because this has to be done under general anesthesia, she can't have any food after midnight, or liquids six hours prior to the procedure. 13+ hours with no food for a three year old. Dammit. That she has to have an MRI: double Dammit. That it's under general anesthesia: triple (or more) Dammit.
Dammit #1:
Magic Wands. The little man still won't (can't?) face the very obvious fact that the economy is in the tank, or that gas prices are hurting a lot of people who don't have access financial resources on par with his own, or that he is now the lowest-rated president in history. (That last one is in part because he believes that, while history will judge his actions, actual presidential historians have no idea what they're talking about or comparing him to.) So what's a poor imbecile to do? Suggest that, if he had one, he might wave the very magic wand which would have kept his core constituency from voting for him in the first place.
Dammit #2:
On the Obama/Rev. Wright issue: People across the country are, at the least, uncomfortable with and at the at the worst, vilifying Barack Obama for not denouncing his former pastor's controversial comments sooner. But after 9/11, Jerry Falwell and Pat Robertson blamed the attack on pagans, gays, lesbians, secularists, the ACLU, abortionists and feminists. George Bush eventually declared the comments “inappropriate.” He was slower still to respond to conservative commentator Robert Knight, who laid the blame for Abu Gharib on many of the same groups, and, for good measure, tossed in the porn industry and the military for allowing women in combat zones.
I’ve heard many people say that Obama should be held to a higher standard because he is a history-making candidate and (yes, still) probable Presidential nominee. But why is he held to a higher standard than the current President of the U.S, who had also made history by virtue of being one of the most disliked, distrusted, polarizing presidents we’ve ever had?
Dammit #3:
Charlotte is having an MRI in two weeks. Her appointment time is 1:30 p.m. Because this has to be done under general anesthesia, she can't have any food after midnight, or liquids six hours prior to the procedure. 13+ hours with no food for a three year old. Dammit. That she has to have an MRI: double Dammit. That it's under general anesthesia: triple (or more) Dammit.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
The Downside of Speech Therapy
Over the past couple of weeks, Charlotte has experienced an explosive growth in her verbal ability, going from one word and a couple of signs to three word, spoken sentences. We've heard "Thank you, Mommy/Daddy/Haha*," "Help me, please," "Where ball go?," "My book, open," and more. While it may not seem like a big deal, to us it is HUGE. After so long, I will confess it quietly here, I sometimes thought that she would never speak.
And now, sometimes I wish she wouldn't.
At Peet's today, she pointed at another customer, motioned to a chair and said rather loudly, "Girl! Shit! Shit, Girl!"
And to think I was once embarrassed when Hannah kept pointing out the tattoos of random biker chicks.
*"Haha" is Charlotte's new name for Hannah. She had been "Nana" ever since Charlotte started talking but in speech therapy, they use "nana" to get her to "BAnana." Charlotte realized that Hannah was not, in fact, a banana and so would need another name. So Haha it is.
And now, sometimes I wish she wouldn't.
At Peet's today, she pointed at another customer, motioned to a chair and said rather loudly, "Girl! Shit! Shit, Girl!"
And to think I was once embarrassed when Hannah kept pointing out the tattoos of random biker chicks.
*"Haha" is Charlotte's new name for Hannah. She had been "Nana" ever since Charlotte started talking but in speech therapy, they use "nana" to get her to "BAnana." Charlotte realized that Hannah was not, in fact, a banana and so would need another name. So Haha it is.
Monday, November 05, 2007
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Happy Halloween!
I know it's over, but I had to share:
Charlotte still doesn't love the camera the way Hannah does :)
Halloween is a HUGE deal at Hannah's school. They had a parade with all of the kids (K-6) and the teachers.
The day after Halloween--still hopped up on sugar. Guess who didn't have school today?
Charlotte still doesn't love the camera the way Hannah does :)
Halloween is a HUGE deal at Hannah's school. They had a parade with all of the kids (K-6) and the teachers.
The day after Halloween--still hopped up on sugar. Guess who didn't have school today?Wednesday, October 17, 2007
The Weekly Dammit, #15
Dammit #1:
The speech therapist says that Charlotte is apraxic. Apraxia-kids.org says that Charlotte might need 3-5 therapy sessions per week. The insurance company says that, if Charlotte were, say, 80 and had had a stroke, they would pay for speech therapy.
Dammit #2:
Charlotte's neurologist says to "wait and see" about the speech delay and the shaking that happens when Charlotte falls. Friends have said to go with my gut and think about getting a second opinion. My gut is a hypochondriac.
Dammit #3:
There is a second book cooking in my head, replacing the first book, which is no where close to being finished. Anti-dammit: I'm taking Wednesday nights off, so maybe I can get somewhere on one or the other. Or both!
Dammit #4:
A bunch of asses at The Wall Street Journal thought it a good idea to publish a list of people who were more deserving of the Nobel Peace Prize. To which I can only say "Wow."
Dammit #5:
Stephen Colbert has thrown his hat into the ring. That's right--he has declared his candidacy for president in the 2008 election. I love Stephen Colbert. He's a very, very funny man. Also a very smart one. And while I'm not sure he's qualified to be President, an awful lot of people would like to have a beer with him, and that seems to have done the trick once before.
The speech therapist says that Charlotte is apraxic. Apraxia-kids.org says that Charlotte might need 3-5 therapy sessions per week. The insurance company says that, if Charlotte were, say, 80 and had had a stroke, they would pay for speech therapy.
Dammit #2:
Charlotte's neurologist says to "wait and see" about the speech delay and the shaking that happens when Charlotte falls. Friends have said to go with my gut and think about getting a second opinion. My gut is a hypochondriac.
Dammit #3:
There is a second book cooking in my head, replacing the first book, which is no where close to being finished. Anti-dammit: I'm taking Wednesday nights off, so maybe I can get somewhere on one or the other. Or both!
Dammit #4:
A bunch of asses at The Wall Street Journal thought it a good idea to publish a list of people who were more deserving of the Nobel Peace Prize. To which I can only say "Wow."
Dammit #5:
Stephen Colbert has thrown his hat into the ring. That's right--he has declared his candidacy for president in the 2008 election. I love Stephen Colbert. He's a very, very funny man. Also a very smart one. And while I'm not sure he's qualified to be President, an awful lot of people would like to have a beer with him, and that seems to have done the trick once before.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Boogie Shoes
We went to a wedding in Tahoe City this past weekend, where both girls took advantage of the opportunity to show off their dancing skills:
Hannah:
And Charlotte:
Of course, Charlotte stopped dancing as soon as she noticed that Thomas had the camera. But Hannah? We had to drag her out of there around 10:00. PM. She can't wait for the next wedding, which, apparently, will be Mommy and Daddy. You know, because she wasn't invited to the first one.
Hannah:
And Charlotte:
Of course, Charlotte stopped dancing as soon as she noticed that Thomas had the camera. But Hannah? We had to drag her out of there around 10:00. PM. She can't wait for the next wedding, which, apparently, will be Mommy and Daddy. You know, because she wasn't invited to the first one.
Saturday, July 14, 2007
And That Makes Two
Charlotte is displaying early symptoms of the same wicked sense of humor that Hannah has, which, in all fairness, they come by honestly.
We were at the vet with Argus last week when a woman came out of an exam room, credit card in hand, towed behind her Jack Russell terrier. The dog was excited to be done with his check up, hopping around as if to say, "C'mon lady--move it!"
Though clearly wanting to get the dog out of there, the woman had to wait in line to pay. Dog was not happy. Nor was he impressed with her efforts to get him to sit.
"Sit. Sit. Sit Sit. Sitsitsitsitsitsit!"
The dog looked at me, rolling his eyes.
"Sit. Sit. Sit," she continued unbroken.
"Sit and I'll give you a cookie!"
Still standing, still hopping, the dog glanced around, knowing what was coming next.
"Oh alright, here's a cookie. Mommy's good boy!"
As I watched, I wondered what the dog--not to mention his owner--would do if I used the tone that we learned when Argus was in Doggie Boot Camp. Something a bit more commanding. A nice strong,
"Neuf" (Hannah swears I say this instead of "No")! Sit!"
Still not sure whether to give it a try, I heard a small hissing noise behind me. Charlotte, who had also been watching, looked at me, then at the dog, as she signed "sit, sit, sit," while saying "Sih, sih, sih," followed by the wicked giggle that makes me burst out laughing every time.
The dog glanced up at Charlotte and I swear he winked at her before he, at last, sat down, staring patiently at the door.
We were at the vet with Argus last week when a woman came out of an exam room, credit card in hand, towed behind her Jack Russell terrier. The dog was excited to be done with his check up, hopping around as if to say, "C'mon lady--move it!"
Though clearly wanting to get the dog out of there, the woman had to wait in line to pay. Dog was not happy. Nor was he impressed with her efforts to get him to sit.
"Sit. Sit. Sit Sit. Sitsitsitsitsitsit!"
The dog looked at me, rolling his eyes.
"Sit. Sit. Sit," she continued unbroken.
"Sit and I'll give you a cookie!"
Still standing, still hopping, the dog glanced around, knowing what was coming next.
"Oh alright, here's a cookie. Mommy's good boy!"
As I watched, I wondered what the dog--not to mention his owner--would do if I used the tone that we learned when Argus was in Doggie Boot Camp. Something a bit more commanding. A nice strong,
"Neuf" (Hannah swears I say this instead of "No")! Sit!"
Still not sure whether to give it a try, I heard a small hissing noise behind me. Charlotte, who had also been watching, looked at me, then at the dog, as she signed "sit, sit, sit," while saying "Sih, sih, sih," followed by the wicked giggle that makes me burst out laughing every time.
The dog glanced up at Charlotte and I swear he winked at her before he, at last, sat down, staring patiently at the door.