This was supposed to be my next post about Maggie, but it is now 10:30 PM my time, and this is the first time I've had access to "my" computer all day. This morning after the kids were off to school, my DH said to me "I need to shut your computer down for a little while." Uh, OK, I was just using it, but you are the techie around here, so I guess that I need to let you do that, and anyway this computer is paid for by your business, so OK. I will just write my post later this morning.
Morning turned into afternoon, "fixing one thing" turned into reinstalling the operating system AND all my word processing tools (which aren't back yet, so DON'T LOSE THIS POST, BLOGGER!!) (Sometimes you just have to yell!) By the time it was reasonably workable again, it was after supper, and time to leave to attend Katie's play (You Can't Take It With You -- it was a blast.) When we finally got home, I "had" to fix a few things first, like my instant messaging so that I can talk to George, and my special background so that I don't have to look at that boring blue, and ...
So this time I won't make any promises except that something will go up here tomorrow, even if it's only a Luddite tirade about the machines, and what they do to us......
Friday, November 16, 2007
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Happy Birthday Dear Husband!
Was up at 5:45 to finesse birthday call for husband from daughter (Maggie) in Austria.
Will be babysitting Camilla tonight while Arwen and Bryan go to Katie's play. Did major grocery shopping in between. Posting tomorrow!
Will be babysitting Camilla tonight while Arwen and Bryan go to Katie's play. Did major grocery shopping in between. Posting tomorrow!
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
Dancing Girls #2
I need to make a slight correction to yesterday's post -- part of the reason Rosie stopped taking ballet was that she hated pointe. Not that I can blame her; toe shoes look lovely, but have you ever tried a pair? Hard and uncomfortable! And Rosie was just a little too early for the technological breakthrough that made Maggie's life easier -- gel pads. Arwen and Rosie had to struggle with itchy, fluffy lambswool to protect their toes. Maggie got gel pads!
Which was a good thing, or she might not have any toes left! When she won that scholarship, we were excited. We thought that meant she got a class free. Boy were we wrong -- it was a full year's FREE RIDE; all the classes she wanted, and nothing to pay but costume fees. So for her junior year she wound up taking ballet, pointe, tap, jazz, lyrical, a solo class, Irish (hard and soft shoe), and a special sisters deal where Arwen and Rosie came home from college once a month to do a class with her. (Of course they paid for their share in the class -- Arwen was married by then.) And also the thing that made the whole thing a pain: dance team.
Although "our" dancing school had not had a competitive team while Arwen and Rosie were there, the owners had decided/(felt pressured by the other dance schools in town?) to start competitive teams for all ages. They had done OK, but most of the older girls had decided the team competitions took too much time from the rest of their lives. (This was a school where dance was about having fun.) But since Maggie had the scholarship, and was now one of the "older girls", it was made clear that she really should be on the competitive team. Which had a lot of meets. On Sundays. All over the map. The worst weekend was the one where Maggie and I attended Katie's confirmation at 5 PM on a Saturday, got in the car and drove for six hours, checked into our hotel after midnight, and were up again by six to be at the competition site before seven for "floor time". She competed all day, (four dances including her solo), hung around for the awards (not optional), got back in the car at 9PM, and drove home. Fortunately, Maggie could sleep in the car, as she had school the next day. But since I was driving, I very carefully nursed a Mountain Dew all the way home, knowing I wouldn't sleep when I got there because I am extremely caffeine sensitive. And I didn't make pit stops; there's something about a slightly overfull bladder that's helpful for keeping awake on the freeway at 2 AM!
So despite choosing dance to avoid Sunday conflicts, we spent a year dealing with them. It wasn't a bad year; at the recital that spring it was fun to have a daughter in practically every other dance. Katie was also in the Irish classes, plus tap. And it was nice to see Arwen and Rosie performing one more time. Maggie had fun, I know, although due to a problem with scheduling the order of dances in the recital, she had two back-to-back. The school owner/emcee wound up in front of the curtain making some kind of announcement while four of us were (barely) backstage changing Maggie's costume from hard shoe Irish to jazz, and telling her to breathe. Thank God for black leotards that can go under everything, and convertible tights!
Maggie took fewer classes her senior year (definitely quitting the competitive team!), but was at the school almost as much, since she paid for some of the classes by teaching beginners. Her final recital was bittersweet; the era of the dancing girls was almost over. And although Katie took lessons for another year, she was so busy with her other interests that she missed a lot of classes, and and we jointly decided not to sign her up again. When I called the school owner [who had been a student, the daughter of a teacher, from back when we started at the school] to tell her that, we both cried. Twenty years is a lot of history!
So the era of the dancing girls came to an end. I'm hoping that someday my granddaughters will dance, so that I can go to recitals without any responsibilities, but since Arwen's Camilla is my only one so far, and she's not walking yet, I guess I have a while to wait!
Note to Anthony: I really wouldn't mind if my grandSONS danced too. The athleticism of Irish is NOT effeminate! :-D , and you know I love you!
Which was a good thing, or she might not have any toes left! When she won that scholarship, we were excited. We thought that meant she got a class free. Boy were we wrong -- it was a full year's FREE RIDE; all the classes she wanted, and nothing to pay but costume fees. So for her junior year she wound up taking ballet, pointe, tap, jazz, lyrical, a solo class, Irish (hard and soft shoe), and a special sisters deal where Arwen and Rosie came home from college once a month to do a class with her. (Of course they paid for their share in the class -- Arwen was married by then.) And also the thing that made the whole thing a pain: dance team.
Although "our" dancing school had not had a competitive team while Arwen and Rosie were there, the owners had decided/(felt pressured by the other dance schools in town?) to start competitive teams for all ages. They had done OK, but most of the older girls had decided the team competitions took too much time from the rest of their lives. (This was a school where dance was about having fun.) But since Maggie had the scholarship, and was now one of the "older girls", it was made clear that she really should be on the competitive team. Which had a lot of meets. On Sundays. All over the map. The worst weekend was the one where Maggie and I attended Katie's confirmation at 5 PM on a Saturday, got in the car and drove for six hours, checked into our hotel after midnight, and were up again by six to be at the competition site before seven for "floor time". She competed all day, (four dances including her solo), hung around for the awards (not optional), got back in the car at 9PM, and drove home. Fortunately, Maggie could sleep in the car, as she had school the next day. But since I was driving, I very carefully nursed a Mountain Dew all the way home, knowing I wouldn't sleep when I got there because I am extremely caffeine sensitive. And I didn't make pit stops; there's something about a slightly overfull bladder that's helpful for keeping awake on the freeway at 2 AM!
So despite choosing dance to avoid Sunday conflicts, we spent a year dealing with them. It wasn't a bad year; at the recital that spring it was fun to have a daughter in practically every other dance. Katie was also in the Irish classes, plus tap. And it was nice to see Arwen and Rosie performing one more time. Maggie had fun, I know, although due to a problem with scheduling the order of dances in the recital, she had two back-to-back. The school owner/emcee wound up in front of the curtain making some kind of announcement while four of us were (barely) backstage changing Maggie's costume from hard shoe Irish to jazz, and telling her to breathe. Thank God for black leotards that can go under everything, and convertible tights!
Maggie took fewer classes her senior year (definitely quitting the competitive team!), but was at the school almost as much, since she paid for some of the classes by teaching beginners. Her final recital was bittersweet; the era of the dancing girls was almost over. And although Katie took lessons for another year, she was so busy with her other interests that she missed a lot of classes, and and we jointly decided not to sign her up again. When I called the school owner [who had been a student, the daughter of a teacher, from back when we started at the school] to tell her that, we both cried. Twenty years is a lot of history!
So the era of the dancing girls came to an end. I'm hoping that someday my granddaughters will dance, so that I can go to recitals without any responsibilities, but since Arwen's Camilla is my only one so far, and she's not walking yet, I guess I have a while to wait!
Note to Anthony: I really wouldn't mind if my grandSONS danced too. The athleticism of Irish is NOT effeminate! :-D , and you know I love you!
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Dancing Girls #1
No, not that kind of "dancing girls"! Give yourself a little smack on the head from me! It's just that in reading over my last few posts, I realized that I've inadvertently given you the wrong idea about Maggie -- that she's simply all brains. And nothing could be further from the truth. She is also blonde ponytail bouncing, and blue eyes, and terrific hugs, and, along with her three sisters, one of my dancing girls. (See?!)
When Arwen was a preschooler, lots of our friends were signing their kids up for gymnastics. It was a fun activity, and Arwen might have loved it, but as we looked at the older girls we knew who were involved, it became quite clear; this was not for us. The minute a kid was even slightly past the beginner stage, there were gymnanastics meets -- on Sunday. Sometimes every Sunday for weeks on end. And although we're not legalistic about Sunday (we might buy a few urgent school supplies, or go to a movie, or eat out), we believe that something that regularly comes before church and family stuff is probably not a good idea.
A couple of my husband's sisters had really enjoyed and benefited from ballet lessons when they were younger. One of them managed to avoid hip surgery that way! And I had gone through a period of reading ballet stories avidly; there was never a chance of my taking lessons, since there were no schools in the area while I was growing up. But there was a dancing school almost right around the corner from us now -- two blocks down and three over. So we signed Arwen up for beginner ballet. Rosie followed her the next year, and Maggie two years after that.
By this time, we were starting to learn that we had been lucky, or blessed, in our choice of a dancing school. Some schools, we found, focus heavily on technique. Some focus on competitive teams (more about that later). And some, like the one we found, center on learning some dance and having fun doing it. Our girls (Katie joined in when she was old enough) all thrived there.
I said that we signed Arwen up for ballet. There were lots of other options: tap (the old-fashioned chorus-line kind), jazz, lyrical, even jazznastics and baton twirling. But ballet is the basis for lots of the others, and we already knew that with the large family we were planning, budget was going to be a consideration. So we had a whole flock of baby ballerinas. (And we still have the costumes to prove it!)
Another thing that we learned about dancing schools is that (something like non-denominational churches), they are constantly in transition. An owner decides that she's tired of running the school, but she still wants to teach. Another owner buys the up-for-sale school, and discovers that the teachers at the new school don't like her style or focus. The aforesaid teachers pool their resources and buy out the new owner. The school grows, and has to move to bigger quarters. One of the co-owners gets a too-good-to-pass-up offer to teach at a rival school with a different focus, that wants to add her specialty. Two teachers with a different specialty leave THAT school and come to this one. And so forth. All of this, and more, actually happened in the 20 years we had girls in dance, from the time Arwen was four to the end of Katie's sophomore year in high school.
Arwen, Rosie, and Maggie were all very good at ballet. Katie, when she was smaller, not so much. She has a different approach to life, and after two years pleaded with us to switch her to jazznastics, which was bouncier. Meanwhile, Rosie and Arwen were growing and progressing, and with a sigh, we added pointe to the classes we would pay for. What mother doesn't want to see her daughter in toe shoes? We also broke down enough to suggest that they could take tap, if they managed to pay for it themselves.
At the end of Arwen's sophomore year in high school, she decided that ballet was lower on her priority totem pole than some of her other activities. This choice was encouraged by the fact that "our" dancing school was undergoing another of those changes. And we had already given in to Rosie's request that we let her take tap instead of ballet, a decision fueled by the fact that there were no other ballet students of her skill level in her age group. But Maggie wanted to dance!
Maggie was already taking ballet and pointe, and there was the "Junior Ballet Troupe" (really lyrical) that was free except for the costume if you were taking other lessons. (She had taught herself basic tap from watching other people's lessons while waiting around at the school during her sisters' lessons.) Somehow Rosie talked us into letting her have lyrical as well, since we weren't paying for pointe because she was no longer taking ballet. And suddenly this dance thing was growing out of hand.
So Rosie took two classes a year until she graduated from high school. Katie had switched to tap by this time. And Maggie, who had just finished her freshman year, wanted more. I believe she talked us into one extra class (tap?) because our total bill would be less than it was the year before, since Rosie was now off to college. Whichever class it was, she did really well. Well enough that at the end-of-year recital she was awarded the dancing school's yearly scholarship.
Once again I need to stop here, or nobody will get dinner! See you here tomorrow.
When Arwen was a preschooler, lots of our friends were signing their kids up for gymnastics. It was a fun activity, and Arwen might have loved it, but as we looked at the older girls we knew who were involved, it became quite clear; this was not for us. The minute a kid was even slightly past the beginner stage, there were gymnanastics meets -- on Sunday. Sometimes every Sunday for weeks on end. And although we're not legalistic about Sunday (we might buy a few urgent school supplies, or go to a movie, or eat out), we believe that something that regularly comes before church and family stuff is probably not a good idea.
A couple of my husband's sisters had really enjoyed and benefited from ballet lessons when they were younger. One of them managed to avoid hip surgery that way! And I had gone through a period of reading ballet stories avidly; there was never a chance of my taking lessons, since there were no schools in the area while I was growing up. But there was a dancing school almost right around the corner from us now -- two blocks down and three over. So we signed Arwen up for beginner ballet. Rosie followed her the next year, and Maggie two years after that.
By this time, we were starting to learn that we had been lucky, or blessed, in our choice of a dancing school. Some schools, we found, focus heavily on technique. Some focus on competitive teams (more about that later). And some, like the one we found, center on learning some dance and having fun doing it. Our girls (Katie joined in when she was old enough) all thrived there.
I said that we signed Arwen up for ballet. There were lots of other options: tap (the old-fashioned chorus-line kind), jazz, lyrical, even jazznastics and baton twirling. But ballet is the basis for lots of the others, and we already knew that with the large family we were planning, budget was going to be a consideration. So we had a whole flock of baby ballerinas. (And we still have the costumes to prove it!)
Another thing that we learned about dancing schools is that (something like non-denominational churches), they are constantly in transition. An owner decides that she's tired of running the school, but she still wants to teach. Another owner buys the up-for-sale school, and discovers that the teachers at the new school don't like her style or focus. The aforesaid teachers pool their resources and buy out the new owner. The school grows, and has to move to bigger quarters. One of the co-owners gets a too-good-to-pass-up offer to teach at a rival school with a different focus, that wants to add her specialty. Two teachers with a different specialty leave THAT school and come to this one. And so forth. All of this, and more, actually happened in the 20 years we had girls in dance, from the time Arwen was four to the end of Katie's sophomore year in high school.
Arwen, Rosie, and Maggie were all very good at ballet. Katie, when she was smaller, not so much. She has a different approach to life, and after two years pleaded with us to switch her to jazznastics, which was bouncier. Meanwhile, Rosie and Arwen were growing and progressing, and with a sigh, we added pointe to the classes we would pay for. What mother doesn't want to see her daughter in toe shoes? We also broke down enough to suggest that they could take tap, if they managed to pay for it themselves.
At the end of Arwen's sophomore year in high school, she decided that ballet was lower on her priority totem pole than some of her other activities. This choice was encouraged by the fact that "our" dancing school was undergoing another of those changes. And we had already given in to Rosie's request that we let her take tap instead of ballet, a decision fueled by the fact that there were no other ballet students of her skill level in her age group. But Maggie wanted to dance!
Maggie was already taking ballet and pointe, and there was the "Junior Ballet Troupe" (really lyrical) that was free except for the costume if you were taking other lessons. (She had taught herself basic tap from watching other people's lessons while waiting around at the school during her sisters' lessons.) Somehow Rosie talked us into letting her have lyrical as well, since we weren't paying for pointe because she was no longer taking ballet. And suddenly this dance thing was growing out of hand.
So Rosie took two classes a year until she graduated from high school. Katie had switched to tap by this time. And Maggie, who had just finished her freshman year, wanted more. I believe she talked us into one extra class (tap?) because our total bill would be less than it was the year before, since Rosie was now off to college. Whichever class it was, she did really well. Well enough that at the end-of-year recital she was awarded the dancing school's yearly scholarship.
Once again I need to stop here, or nobody will get dinner! See you here tomorrow.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Maggie #3 -- School Daze
So Maggie breezed her way through elementary school. Her first grade teacher found her so academically advanced that there was actually consideration of skipping her ahead a grade. I was just talking to Mrs. M. (who is still a friend) last week, and thanked her one more time for NOT doing so. She had carefully observed Maggie on the playground, and felt that she was such a typical first grader socially that it would be a shame to put her in second grade and make her both odd for her brains and odd for her age. So Maggie sailed along, loving school when her teacher was a good fit, and not so much when the assignment was unfortunate. (Mrs. S., her fourth grade teacher, was a disaster for Maggie; she was great with slow learners, but hadn't a clue how to challenge this phenomenon.)
Whenever Maggie was bored or unhappy in school, she would let me know by asking "Why can't I be homeschooled?" A number of her friends and relatives were being taught at home -- some with more success than others -- and she figured that this was the solution to whatever problem she was having. Now I have nothing against homeschooling, as long as the parents are well enough educated to pass on what they know. I know of one particular little boy (now a college grad) for whom it was a godsend. "DJ" was a very active child, and he thrived learning his multiplication tables while standing on his head, which his mother could allow but a teacher certainly couldn't. On the other hand, in another homeschooling family the mother can't write a coherent paragraph -- how could she teach her children?
I like to believe that I am literate (and numerate!) enough to teach my children, at least everything but specialized science. But I am and was NOT a good fit for homeschooling Maggie. Of all my children, she and I have the most disparate personalities AND learning styles. We would not have survived two weeks of homeschooling. Even when she was in elementary school, there were times when my homework help was "wrong." Fortunately, we live in an area where our assigned schools at all levels were above average, and when the teacher fit was good Maggie did well. Also fortunately, she was able to learn more things than reading on her own. Although both Arwen and Rosie had taken advanced math in sixth grade, pre-algebra in seventh grade and algebra in eighth grade, by the time Maggie got to middle school the advanced math had been eliminated. And Maggie was already completely competent at the ordinary sixth grade math.
There was a brief suggestion that she be allowed to take math with a seventh grade class, which was squelched by the school when other parents started to complain that their children should have seventh grade math too. So Maggie was given a pre-algebra book, sat in the back of the sixth grade class, and taught herself pre-algebra. The seventh grade teacher made out assignments for her, and would check her work once a week and give her quizzes and tests. I don't remember her asking for help even once. The result? Straight A's, and algebra in seventh grade. (The teacher couldn't quite believe she was doing this on her own. He asked us several times, and her repeatedly, whether her parents were helping with her math. Nope.)
This post is going to be continued tomorrow, because my kitchen still needs to be deep cleaned, and Rosie isn't here to help. I can only stall for so long, no matter how great the alternative activity is!
Whenever Maggie was bored or unhappy in school, she would let me know by asking "Why can't I be homeschooled?" A number of her friends and relatives were being taught at home -- some with more success than others -- and she figured that this was the solution to whatever problem she was having. Now I have nothing against homeschooling, as long as the parents are well enough educated to pass on what they know. I know of one particular little boy (now a college grad) for whom it was a godsend. "DJ" was a very active child, and he thrived learning his multiplication tables while standing on his head, which his mother could allow but a teacher certainly couldn't. On the other hand, in another homeschooling family the mother can't write a coherent paragraph -- how could she teach her children?
I like to believe that I am literate (and numerate!) enough to teach my children, at least everything but specialized science. But I am and was NOT a good fit for homeschooling Maggie. Of all my children, she and I have the most disparate personalities AND learning styles. We would not have survived two weeks of homeschooling. Even when she was in elementary school, there were times when my homework help was "wrong." Fortunately, we live in an area where our assigned schools at all levels were above average, and when the teacher fit was good Maggie did well. Also fortunately, she was able to learn more things than reading on her own. Although both Arwen and Rosie had taken advanced math in sixth grade, pre-algebra in seventh grade and algebra in eighth grade, by the time Maggie got to middle school the advanced math had been eliminated. And Maggie was already completely competent at the ordinary sixth grade math.
There was a brief suggestion that she be allowed to take math with a seventh grade class, which was squelched by the school when other parents started to complain that their children should have seventh grade math too. So Maggie was given a pre-algebra book, sat in the back of the sixth grade class, and taught herself pre-algebra. The seventh grade teacher made out assignments for her, and would check her work once a week and give her quizzes and tests. I don't remember her asking for help even once. The result? Straight A's, and algebra in seventh grade. (The teacher couldn't quite believe she was doing this on her own. He asked us several times, and her repeatedly, whether her parents were helping with her math. Nope.)
This post is going to be continued tomorrow, because my kitchen still needs to be deep cleaned, and Rosie isn't here to help. I can only stall for so long, no matter how great the alternative activity is!
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Maggie #2 -- Speaking Up
Maggie's early verbal prowess proved to be NOT a fluke, or a proud parent's exaggeration.. She continued acquiring vocabulary at phenomenal rate; as a third child, she doesn't have a baby book,( :-( ) but there are memories that stand out. When she was about 16 months old, several of us neighborhood moms, with assorted children, were standing around the above-ground swimming pool that one family was installing. Maggie, growing bored with the view available at ground level, toddled over to me and said "Pick me up!" One of the other moms, whose daughter was just Maggie's age, was flabbergasted. But I remember that as typical.
By the time George was born (Maggie was 18 months), she was indulging in preschool level conversations. One of her favorite words was "mockingbird", from the song Hush, Little Baby. And she was perfectly capable of trying to persuade you that she didn't need to do whatever it was that she'd been told to do. I'm not a particular fan of baby sign, but it was certainly true that Maggie mostly avoided the "terrible twos" simply because she could communicate well.
Because of her verbal precocity, Maggie always got along well with adults and older children. How could anyone resist a four-year-old who asks for help with a task "because I don't think I'm competent to do this"? Unfortunately, some of of her siblings and close friends thought she talked almost too much. Somewhere along the line she acquired the nickname "Mouthy Maggie,"* which usually made her cry.
Early reading and writing went along with her early talking. She had a library card, proudly inscribed with her own name, a month before she turned four. And I don't think anybody ever actually taught her to read; certainly she was reading before kindergarten. As with spoken language, she just soaked it up like a sponge.
This did lead to some interesting struggles. Since she was reading far above her age level, she would regularly come across words she had never heard spoken. And her innate sense of phonics meant that she would sometimes use a word she'd learned by reading which wasn't pronounced quite the way she'd figured it out. The most memorable of these (and sorry, Maggie, I made too big a deal out of it at the time) was JAY-nine. She'd been reading Babysitters Club books, and one of the main characters has an older sister named Janine, which is usually pronounced Ja-NEEN. Maggie had never heard the name, and using impeccable logic, decided it must be pronounced like canine.
We laughed way too hard at her. Because despite her exceptional verbal skills (and overall intelligence), Maggie also had an intense inner drive to do "it" -- life -- perfectly. Some of this is inborn personality, but some of it was fostered by me. I grew up in a home where nothing I did was ever quite "good enough" -- (You graduated cum laude? I was expecting a magna at least.) I was aware of this problem, and even understood some of the forces that shaped my parents to be that way. I meant to not pass it on to my children, and truly tried, but the tendency was bigger than I understood, and sensitive Maggie was the most vulnerable to it. Sorry, sweetheart!
*This is a rendition of the actual nickname based on her real name, which I don't use in this blog. The actual nickname doesn't have quite the disrespectful connotation that "Mouthy" does.
By the time George was born (Maggie was 18 months), she was indulging in preschool level conversations. One of her favorite words was "mockingbird", from the song Hush, Little Baby. And she was perfectly capable of trying to persuade you that she didn't need to do whatever it was that she'd been told to do. I'm not a particular fan of baby sign, but it was certainly true that Maggie mostly avoided the "terrible twos" simply because she could communicate well.
Because of her verbal precocity, Maggie always got along well with adults and older children. How could anyone resist a four-year-old who asks for help with a task "because I don't think I'm competent to do this"? Unfortunately, some of of her siblings and close friends thought she talked almost too much. Somewhere along the line she acquired the nickname "Mouthy Maggie,"* which usually made her cry.
Early reading and writing went along with her early talking. She had a library card, proudly inscribed with her own name, a month before she turned four. And I don't think anybody ever actually taught her to read; certainly she was reading before kindergarten. As with spoken language, she just soaked it up like a sponge.
This did lead to some interesting struggles. Since she was reading far above her age level, she would regularly come across words she had never heard spoken. And her innate sense of phonics meant that she would sometimes use a word she'd learned by reading which wasn't pronounced quite the way she'd figured it out. The most memorable of these (and sorry, Maggie, I made too big a deal out of it at the time) was JAY-nine. She'd been reading Babysitters Club books, and one of the main characters has an older sister named Janine, which is usually pronounced Ja-NEEN. Maggie had never heard the name, and using impeccable logic, decided it must be pronounced like canine.
We laughed way too hard at her. Because despite her exceptional verbal skills (and overall intelligence), Maggie also had an intense inner drive to do "it" -- life -- perfectly. Some of this is inborn personality, but some of it was fostered by me. I grew up in a home where nothing I did was ever quite "good enough" -- (You graduated cum laude? I was expecting a magna at least.) I was aware of this problem, and even understood some of the forces that shaped my parents to be that way. I meant to not pass it on to my children, and truly tried, but the tendency was bigger than I understood, and sensitive Maggie was the most vulnerable to it. Sorry, sweetheart!
*This is a rendition of the actual nickname based on her real name, which I don't use in this blog. The actual nickname doesn't have quite the disrespectful connotation that "Mouthy" does.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
Maggie #1 -- She's My Valentine!
Rosie is my birthday present, but Maggie is my Valentine. Of course her dad is too, but I met him in the spring, we fell in love in the fall, and got married in the summer, so Valentine's Day was just something we passed through, not significant like it was for my older daughters. But Maggie was born on Valentine's Day!
It was not, of course, the most lovely Valentine's Day I've ever had. Quite apart from my being in labor all day, there was a blizzard going on outside. I was aware of this because Maggie, unlike her older sisters, was born at home. The midwife and my support people were there, but things were progressing rather slowly. In a hospital they'd just start a pitocin drip, but at home -- It's time to go for a walk. In the blizzard. I had to get out of my nice flannel nightie, put on clothes and boots (boots!) and bundle up in my big heavy woolen cape, scarf, and mittens and walk! We made it all the way to the corner and back (about 2 blocks each way), a contraction about every thirty steps --hang on to husband and breathe --and it must have done the trick, because not too much later Maggie arrived. My Valentine!!!
She was beautiful, and her sisters loved her immediately. Unfortunately she had a few uncomfortable days -- somehow, in the "oh, yes, I know all about this nursing stuff, and it's so easy" I had forgotten that fed babies also need to be burped! Once we got that out of the way, she was MUCH happier.
Although I already had two bright and gorgeous little girls, we could tell almost immediately that this one was something out of the ordinary. From very early on we would set Maggie, in her infant seat, on the kitchen table while the rest of the family was eating. (Arwen was 4 1/2, Rosie was 3.) And by 4 months or so, Maggie was making it clear that what we were doing there was interesting. And she would like to participate too, thankyouverymuch! So in order to eat in peace, we started handing her a cracker. (I know Ritz crackers aren't a recommended first solid, but they were handy, and they worked.) Maggie gumming a cracker became a common sight.
Two or so months later, (Maggie was 6 1/2 months old), a teenaged friend was over to use some of our reference books. Jenny and the older girls were having some kind of a snack. I was changing Maggie's diaper, and as she watched them from the changing table, that "me, too" light was in her eye. I said "Maggie, would you like a cracker?" Her face lit up, and with a big smile, she proclaimed "CA-cuh!" Jenny nearly fell over. But yes, Maggie really said it. And she's been amazingly verbal ever since.
It was not, of course, the most lovely Valentine's Day I've ever had. Quite apart from my being in labor all day, there was a blizzard going on outside. I was aware of this because Maggie, unlike her older sisters, was born at home. The midwife and my support people were there, but things were progressing rather slowly. In a hospital they'd just start a pitocin drip, but at home -- It's time to go for a walk. In the blizzard. I had to get out of my nice flannel nightie, put on clothes and boots (boots!) and bundle up in my big heavy woolen cape, scarf, and mittens and walk! We made it all the way to the corner and back (about 2 blocks each way), a contraction about every thirty steps --hang on to husband and breathe --and it must have done the trick, because not too much later Maggie arrived. My Valentine!!!
She was beautiful, and her sisters loved her immediately. Unfortunately she had a few uncomfortable days -- somehow, in the "oh, yes, I know all about this nursing stuff, and it's so easy" I had forgotten that fed babies also need to be burped! Once we got that out of the way, she was MUCH happier.
Although I already had two bright and gorgeous little girls, we could tell almost immediately that this one was something out of the ordinary. From very early on we would set Maggie, in her infant seat, on the kitchen table while the rest of the family was eating. (Arwen was 4 1/2, Rosie was 3.) And by 4 months or so, Maggie was making it clear that what we were doing there was interesting. And she would like to participate too, thankyouverymuch! So in order to eat in peace, we started handing her a cracker. (I know Ritz crackers aren't a recommended first solid, but they were handy, and they worked.) Maggie gumming a cracker became a common sight.
Two or so months later, (Maggie was 6 1/2 months old), a teenaged friend was over to use some of our reference books. Jenny and the older girls were having some kind of a snack. I was changing Maggie's diaper, and as she watched them from the changing table, that "me, too" light was in her eye. I said "Maggie, would you like a cracker?" Her face lit up, and with a big smile, she proclaimed "CA-cuh!" Jenny nearly fell over. But yes, Maggie really said it. And she's been amazingly verbal ever since.
Friday, November 09, 2007
Rosie # 5 -- Daniel James!!
Rosie and Anthony moved into a tiny little apartment; a "student apartment" that was 1/4 of a very oddly divided old creaky house near Midsized-University. Rosie continued with her senior year at Tiny-Catholic-College. And at Thanksgiving they had an annoucement -- grandbaby #1 was on the way!
This was difficult for Arwen, who was still struggling with infertility, but the rest of us were delighted. Rosie, unfortunately, was also nauseated. Badly, most of the time, and for a long time. How she managed that with classes, I can't imagine. But eventually she felt better, and in early May we attended her graduation. The baby was due in early July, and since Anthony had changed from "self-employed landscape contractor" to "valued sales employee of large software firm" and was now making more money, they started looking for a larger apartment. And, oh, yeah, now that she was out of college Rosie might start thinking about childbirth classes, because she'd been too busy before.
The hospital where her obstetrician (who was also by this time Arwen's obstetrician, hurrah!) practices has regular tours for prospective parents and their support people. Since I have six kids, have been there at the births of several friends babies, and at one time read almost obsessively on the subject of childbirth, Rosie signed me up to take the tour with them in mid-June (which I figured was cutting it a little close, but she was a grown married woman now....). But before our scheduled tour date, and five weeks before the due date, our phone rang early one morning. Rosie's water had broken, they were at the hospital, and today was going to be the day.
I flung some clothes into a suitcase, braved the rush hour traffic between me and them, and found my way to the OB floor. Rosie was not in much pain yet, but a little scared, and definitely unprepared -- she and Anthony had never gotten to any classes, and she was only 2/3 of the way through the book she had decided to read instead! Fortunately, she's the kind of person who listens to authority (OK, in this case me), and also fortunately, her labor was much shorter than it could have been, because I was able to successfully coach her, step by step, until just after noon, a tiny but gorgeous little guy arrived. Daniel James! They hadn't told anyone what names they were considering, and had chosen not to know whether he was a boy or a girl(although Arwen had seen the ultrasound.) I thought both he, and his name, were perfect.
Although Daniel is now 17 months old, that time has gone by like the wind! Rosie and Anthony are excellent parents. They have moved twice since Daniel was born (once to that bigger apartment, and recently to their own house). We see them quite regularly, here and there, and it was pure delight to have Rosie and Daniel here for part of this week while Anthony is in Hawaii on business. Anthony and Daniel will each get their own series of posts later, but for tomorrow -- on to Maggie!
This was difficult for Arwen, who was still struggling with infertility, but the rest of us were delighted. Rosie, unfortunately, was also nauseated. Badly, most of the time, and for a long time. How she managed that with classes, I can't imagine. But eventually she felt better, and in early May we attended her graduation. The baby was due in early July, and since Anthony had changed from "self-employed landscape contractor" to "valued sales employee of large software firm" and was now making more money, they started looking for a larger apartment. And, oh, yeah, now that she was out of college Rosie might start thinking about childbirth classes, because she'd been too busy before.
The hospital where her obstetrician (who was also by this time Arwen's obstetrician, hurrah!) practices has regular tours for prospective parents and their support people. Since I have six kids, have been there at the births of several friends babies, and at one time read almost obsessively on the subject of childbirth, Rosie signed me up to take the tour with them in mid-June (which I figured was cutting it a little close, but she was a grown married woman now....). But before our scheduled tour date, and five weeks before the due date, our phone rang early one morning. Rosie's water had broken, they were at the hospital, and today was going to be the day.
I flung some clothes into a suitcase, braved the rush hour traffic between me and them, and found my way to the OB floor. Rosie was not in much pain yet, but a little scared, and definitely unprepared -- she and Anthony had never gotten to any classes, and she was only 2/3 of the way through the book she had decided to read instead! Fortunately, she's the kind of person who listens to authority (OK, in this case me), and also fortunately, her labor was much shorter than it could have been, because I was able to successfully coach her, step by step, until just after noon, a tiny but gorgeous little guy arrived. Daniel James! They hadn't told anyone what names they were considering, and had chosen not to know whether he was a boy or a girl(although Arwen had seen the ultrasound.) I thought both he, and his name, were perfect.
Although Daniel is now 17 months old, that time has gone by like the wind! Rosie and Anthony are excellent parents. They have moved twice since Daniel was born (once to that bigger apartment, and recently to their own house). We see them quite regularly, here and there, and it was pure delight to have Rosie and Daniel here for part of this week while Anthony is in Hawaii on business. Anthony and Daniel will each get their own series of posts later, but for tomorrow -- on to Maggie!
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Rosie # 4 -- The College Years
Prefatory Note; It is true that I said "Let's do the laundry room today" to Rosie. On the other hand, she is so beautifully enthusiastic about cleaning -- which was not a trait of her high school years! -- that I would have felt like a slacker if I'd decided to NOT clean yesterday. But the HS conferences were more tiring than I remembered. The good news is that you can now see ALL of my laundry room/pantry floor except the parts that are actually under furniture and appliances. No more boxes! That's a 50% gain in floor space!
After back-and-forthing and applying to several schools, Rosie finally settled on a college: Tiny Start-Up Catholic School in Ypsilanti. This had a number of advantages over Christendom -- nearer by a factor of about 6, cheaper by a factor of about four, and within drop-in range of the Major School campus apartment that Arwen and Bryan would be living in after they got married that summer. The (minor) disadvantage was that most meals were not provided. The students got five dinners a week at the Midsized-University-in-Ypsilanti right next door, but for breakfast, lunch, and weekends, they were on their own. Fortunately, their dormitory buildings were actually reasonably nice apartment buildings which the college had bought, so each set of three or four roommates had a full, functional kitchen.
It was interesting to see what Rosie and her new roommates considered necessary for a kitchen, and even more interesting to see what kind of things they planned to eat. Rosie, being my daughter, had a serious stockpile that included a #10 can of nacho cheese (to be eaten on baked potatoes as well as with chips.) Others had a selection of dollar store goodies. And the fourth roommate had to buy everything after she arrived, since she was an international student from Ukraine, who found all our food odd indeed, but habit-forming.
Rosie had not been at college very long when Fall Parents' Weekend rolled around. My husband and I went for the weekend, spending Friday night at Arwen and Bryan's tiny apartment. On Saturday morning, we got up and had berakfast with them, and then headed over to Rosie's campus for morning mass. I don't really have much memory of all that; what I do remember is being out in the hallway after mass. Rosie was introducing us to various people, most of whom have gone from my mind, but when she said "Mom and Dad, this is Anthony.", something I can only call "Mom-radar" went off. I knew that there was going to be something significant about Anthony. And I was certainly right. If you've read my earlier posts and followed the links you know they they were married in the summer after her junior year. Arwen tells it better than I have time to, so go read it there.
Tomorrow I'll bring you all the way up to date on Rosie.
After back-and-forthing and applying to several schools, Rosie finally settled on a college: Tiny Start-Up Catholic School in Ypsilanti. This had a number of advantages over Christendom -- nearer by a factor of about 6, cheaper by a factor of about four, and within drop-in range of the Major School campus apartment that Arwen and Bryan would be living in after they got married that summer. The (minor) disadvantage was that most meals were not provided. The students got five dinners a week at the Midsized-University-in-Ypsilanti right next door, but for breakfast, lunch, and weekends, they were on their own. Fortunately, their dormitory buildings were actually reasonably nice apartment buildings which the college had bought, so each set of three or four roommates had a full, functional kitchen.
It was interesting to see what Rosie and her new roommates considered necessary for a kitchen, and even more interesting to see what kind of things they planned to eat. Rosie, being my daughter, had a serious stockpile that included a #10 can of nacho cheese (to be eaten on baked potatoes as well as with chips.) Others had a selection of dollar store goodies. And the fourth roommate had to buy everything after she arrived, since she was an international student from Ukraine, who found all our food odd indeed, but habit-forming.
Rosie had not been at college very long when Fall Parents' Weekend rolled around. My husband and I went for the weekend, spending Friday night at Arwen and Bryan's tiny apartment. On Saturday morning, we got up and had berakfast with them, and then headed over to Rosie's campus for morning mass. I don't really have much memory of all that; what I do remember is being out in the hallway after mass. Rosie was introducing us to various people, most of whom have gone from my mind, but when she said "Mom and Dad, this is Anthony.", something I can only call "Mom-radar" went off. I knew that there was going to be something significant about Anthony. And I was certainly right. If you've read my earlier posts and followed the links you know they they were married in the summer after her junior year. Arwen tells it better than I have time to, so go read it there.
Tomorrow I'll bring you all the way up to date on Rosie.
Wednesday, November 07, 2007
Cleaning Redux
Today she talked me into doing the laundry room / pantry. Also, I had conferences at Katie and Tommy's high school. Tomorrow I will be GLAD to sit still and write a real post!.
Tuesday, November 06, 2007
Cleaning!
Rosie is visiting with Daniel. We decided to deep-clean the living room. No time to post more -- hope this counts!
Monday, November 05, 2007
Rosie #3 -- Christendom
Sometime during Rosie's junior year in high school, we began to notice ads in the assortment of intellectual-Catholic-nerd magazines -- Crisis, First Things, Catholic World Report -- that littered our house (and still do!) for a two-week summer high school college/camp program at Christendom College in Virgina. That is a good long way from where we live now, but only about an hour-and-a-half drive from the small town in Pennsylvania where I grew up. Rosie had been in the area several times and liked it, AND there was enough discretionary money available for the cost. (When your husband is self-employed, discretionary money comes and goes on an unpredictable schedule.) Rosie thought maybe she'd like to go, so we sent off her registration. I think she was ambivalent right up until she got on the plane, but that didn't last long!
We really missed Rosie at home, but the two weeks went by quickly, and my husband and I picked her up at the airport. (Ah, for the days when you could meet people at the gate! :-\ ) She was tired but bubbly, and it soon became clear that the bubbles were from an interior change. You can call it a conversion experience, or a light bulb moment, or just a chance to get away from home and look at things from a new angle. Whatever you call it, it was no longer difficult for her to stay away from negative "friends", or get out the door to mass on time, or be generous with her time and energy for the family. (She's always been generous with her "stuff", and I don't mean she wasn't cheerful before, only that now it was even more noticeable.) And she had a definite plan -- she wanted to go to college at Christendom.
Arwen had applied to a varied list of schools, but wound up attending Major University in Ann Arbor, mostly because Bryan was there, although at this point she was just coming off a breakup with him (for the full story, see here. Rosie, though, thought she was sure now where she wanted to go. BUT, and these are big buts: it was far away (for Rosie, who's a homebody), it was expensive, and they tell you right up front that most financial aid is for freshmen only. Get in, get hooked, and get into enormous debt! So we suggested that maybe she should check into other options as well. And that's tomorrow's story.
We really missed Rosie at home, but the two weeks went by quickly, and my husband and I picked her up at the airport. (Ah, for the days when you could meet people at the gate! :-\ ) She was tired but bubbly, and it soon became clear that the bubbles were from an interior change. You can call it a conversion experience, or a light bulb moment, or just a chance to get away from home and look at things from a new angle. Whatever you call it, it was no longer difficult for her to stay away from negative "friends", or get out the door to mass on time, or be generous with her time and energy for the family. (She's always been generous with her "stuff", and I don't mean she wasn't cheerful before, only that now it was even more noticeable.) And she had a definite plan -- she wanted to go to college at Christendom.
Arwen had applied to a varied list of schools, but wound up attending Major University in Ann Arbor, mostly because Bryan was there, although at this point she was just coming off a breakup with him (for the full story, see here. Rosie, though, thought she was sure now where she wanted to go. BUT, and these are big buts: it was far away (for Rosie, who's a homebody), it was expensive, and they tell you right up front that most financial aid is for freshmen only. Get in, get hooked, and get into enormous debt! So we suggested that maybe she should check into other options as well. And that's tomorrow's story.
Sunday, November 04, 2007
Time Out
I know I said that today's post would be more about Rosie, but since this plan of telling about my kids in turn is totally my choice, it's my prerogative to change it!
Today is a beautiful, sunny late autumn day. The leaves outside my window are mostly gold, with a little reddish-orangish-brownish and still a little green. I am glad of this, because I can enjoy the colors, but I am a little bit sorry the leaves are still on the trees, because this is the week when the city's big noisy leaf-vacuuming trucks will pass through our neighborhood, removing the mountain of leaves we have already raked to the curb, but totally unable to suck the rest of them off the trees. This means that when they do finally fall, we will not only have to rake them, but also figure out what to DO with them. The city does technically come around twice, but our first week was three weeks ago, when ALL the leaves were still attached to the trees, and most of them were still green.
I am talking about the beauty of the day here a little wistfully, because once I have finished this post I will not be able to go back outside and enjoy it. I have taken my obligatory exercise walk, where stopping and admiring the trees is counterproductive, but a stroll just for beauty is out of the question. Instead I will be hunched over my sewing machine producing a drama costume for Katie. At least I was able to get the fabric very cheaply -- it was Halloween "costume satin" marked down to almost nothing. I'm glad I can make her a costume that fits (she's taller than the average, and none of the stuff the drama club has in storage remotely fits.) But I'd rather be kicked back enjoying the day.
See you all tomorrow!
Today is a beautiful, sunny late autumn day. The leaves outside my window are mostly gold, with a little reddish-orangish-brownish and still a little green. I am glad of this, because I can enjoy the colors, but I am a little bit sorry the leaves are still on the trees, because this is the week when the city's big noisy leaf-vacuuming trucks will pass through our neighborhood, removing the mountain of leaves we have already raked to the curb, but totally unable to suck the rest of them off the trees. This means that when they do finally fall, we will not only have to rake them, but also figure out what to DO with them. The city does technically come around twice, but our first week was three weeks ago, when ALL the leaves were still attached to the trees, and most of them were still green.
I am talking about the beauty of the day here a little wistfully, because once I have finished this post I will not be able to go back outside and enjoy it. I have taken my obligatory exercise walk, where stopping and admiring the trees is counterproductive, but a stroll just for beauty is out of the question. Instead I will be hunched over my sewing machine producing a drama costume for Katie. At least I was able to get the fabric very cheaply -- it was Halloween "costume satin" marked down to almost nothing. I'm glad I can make her a costume that fits (she's taller than the average, and none of the stuff the drama club has in storage remotely fits.) But I'd rather be kicked back enjoying the day.
See you all tomorrow!
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Rosie #2 -- Growing
So there was Rosie, with a little ocean-wave of hair down the middle of her head, turning Arwen into a big sister. And they LOVED being sisters right away. I can remember stepping into the (tiny) living room from the (even tinier) kitchen, and seeing two-year-old Arwen sitting on six-month-old Rosie's tummy bouncing up and down! But before I could put and end to this obvious demonstration of sibling rivalry, I realized -- Rosie was laughing!! She thought this was fun. Of course I persuaded Arwen to entertain the baby a little less physically, but there's really been no change; the both LOVE each other's company. In fact, as you can gather from reading Arwen's blog, they even now, as married women, live only about 5 miles from each other. Rosie's husband "Anthony" is from Idaho, and his whole enormous extended family lives there, but he knew thew was no hope of taking Rosie that far from Arwen. (Besides, he likes it here :-) )
Rosie has always been the most photogenic of my children, mostly because she is the one who looks most like my husband's side of the family. (If you want some idea, go see her wedding pictures on Arwen's blog!) And her personality has been as pretty as her face. I don't remember fighting much with her, either, except about keeping her room clean. But she was the first of our children to be grounded, after breaking the city curfew with friends (she was at an approved sleepover, but they decided to go to the store, and then to the waterfront, where they got noisy) and wound up having to call home from the police station. At four AM. Luckily my husband is an early riser and was semi-conscious, but it was a big shock. Arwen never got into trouble!
Fortunately, the cure for this trouble was as simple as avoiding some less-than-helpful "friends". I'm not sure what Rosie thought about this, as I never asked her, but she was obedient, and anyway, she was about to have a pivotal change in her way of thinking. But that's tomorrow's post.
Rosie has always been the most photogenic of my children, mostly because she is the one who looks most like my husband's side of the family. (If you want some idea, go see her wedding pictures on Arwen's blog!) And her personality has been as pretty as her face. I don't remember fighting much with her, either, except about keeping her room clean. But she was the first of our children to be grounded, after breaking the city curfew with friends (she was at an approved sleepover, but they decided to go to the store, and then to the waterfront, where they got noisy) and wound up having to call home from the police station. At four AM. Luckily my husband is an early riser and was semi-conscious, but it was a big shock. Arwen never got into trouble!
Fortunately, the cure for this trouble was as simple as avoiding some less-than-helpful "friends". I'm not sure what Rosie thought about this, as I never asked her, but she was obedient, and anyway, she was about to have a pivotal change in her way of thinking. But that's tomorrow's post.
Friday, November 02, 2007
Rosie #1 -- Birth Day
"Rosie" is,quite literally, my best birthday present ever. When I was a kid, I thought it was quite cool that I had a cousin exactly four years older than I (except when we had to share our birthday parties ;-D )and that my father had been born on his mother's birthday. But the coolest thing of all was that I also shared a birthday with my great-grandmother, my mother's maternal grandmother. Her name was Salome Edna, and the Salome part of my name comes from her -- it's a family name; taken, in case you're wondering, not from the story/opera of Salomé, but from one of the women in Mark chapter 16, who went to the tomb of Jesus Easter morning. I was VERY proud of sharing her name (suitably updated to the 1950's, when every third girl had Ellen in her name), AND her birthday. That is, until I was about 16, and put together the information that I had been born by planned C-section with my birthdate and realized that it wasn't a lovely coincidence; they had picked my birthdate. Major bummmer!
Side note: I was still happy about the name! I had found out by this time that if I'd been born any day but great-grandma's birthday, my name would have been Elizabeth Marie. A pretty name, but since my three female cousins on my father's side were Stephanie Marie, Angela Marie, and Glenda Marie, I enjoyed the non-conformity!
But getting back to Rosie. Arwen was born while my husband was still in college (I married a "younger man"!), and although we knew we wanted a big family, and I was already 32, we didn't think two children went very well with college/ almost no income. So it was a bit of a surprise and a shock when, 10 months after Arwen's birth, I found myself pregnant again. My due date was in February (my birth month), but that was four whole months before my husband would graduate and presumably find a job that could fully support this growing family, currently surviving on work-study and VA benefits.
As I made my regular doctor visits, and February drew closer, I had a sudden realization: this baby could actually be born on my birthday, which would completely make up for the disappointment I had felt as a teenager! But as babies are notoriously unpredictable, I didn't get my hopes too high -- Arwen's due date had been one day off my MIL's birthday, and she didn't arrive until three weeks later.
So on the day before my birthday, when I felt those first labor pains, I was resigned -- close, but no cigar. Besides, it could easily be pro-dromal labor ... By late afternoon, it was clear that that this was the real thing. We left Arwen with friends, and headed for the hospital.
My labor with Arwen had been very long and slow, but this was moving faster. By about 9 PM, it was clear we'd have a baby shortly; but which day? The anesthesiologist, who the hospital was legally required to have on site even though I had no plans to use his services (and no need, as it happened) was sitting at the nurses' station reading a professional magazine, and when he heard about my hopes for a "birthday baby" he said "Oh, just go on and get it over with. Then I can go home. We'll fudge the paperwork!" But no fudging was necessary.
Just before midnight it was clear that I was ready to push. About ten minutes later, in the midst of it all, I grabbed my husband's hand and said "This is so worth it! Let's have at least six more!" (thereby flabbergasting the doctor!) At 12:15, Rosie arrived. And I haven't changed my mind in the last 23 1/2 years. She is so worth it! The only better birthday present I can even imagine would be a grandchild born on OUR birthday!
Side note: I was still happy about the name! I had found out by this time that if I'd been born any day but great-grandma's birthday, my name would have been Elizabeth Marie. A pretty name, but since my three female cousins on my father's side were Stephanie Marie, Angela Marie, and Glenda Marie, I enjoyed the non-conformity!
But getting back to Rosie. Arwen was born while my husband was still in college (I married a "younger man"!), and although we knew we wanted a big family, and I was already 32, we didn't think two children went very well with college/ almost no income. So it was a bit of a surprise and a shock when, 10 months after Arwen's birth, I found myself pregnant again. My due date was in February (my birth month), but that was four whole months before my husband would graduate and presumably find a job that could fully support this growing family, currently surviving on work-study and VA benefits.
As I made my regular doctor visits, and February drew closer, I had a sudden realization: this baby could actually be born on my birthday, which would completely make up for the disappointment I had felt as a teenager! But as babies are notoriously unpredictable, I didn't get my hopes too high -- Arwen's due date had been one day off my MIL's birthday, and she didn't arrive until three weeks later.
So on the day before my birthday, when I felt those first labor pains, I was resigned -- close, but no cigar. Besides, it could easily be pro-dromal labor ... By late afternoon, it was clear that that this was the real thing. We left Arwen with friends, and headed for the hospital.
My labor with Arwen had been very long and slow, but this was moving faster. By about 9 PM, it was clear we'd have a baby shortly; but which day? The anesthesiologist, who the hospital was legally required to have on site even though I had no plans to use his services (and no need, as it happened) was sitting at the nurses' station reading a professional magazine, and when he heard about my hopes for a "birthday baby" he said "Oh, just go on and get it over with. Then I can go home. We'll fudge the paperwork!" But no fudging was necessary.
Just before midnight it was clear that I was ready to push. About ten minutes later, in the midst of it all, I grabbed my husband's hand and said "This is so worth it! Let's have at least six more!" (thereby flabbergasting the doctor!) At 12:15, Rosie arrived. And I haven't changed my mind in the last 23 1/2 years. She is so worth it! The only better birthday present I can even imagine would be a grandchild born on OUR birthday!
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Happy Feast of All Saints!
I have been trying to decide if I will have a theme for this month of posting, or whether I will just inflict random stuff on y'all from day to day. I have decided, I think, to talk about my children and grandchildren (and my sons-in-law, too, if the month lasts longer than I think. ;-D)
Since I am nothing if not a methodical person , I will begin with my oldest chid, Arwen, whose foray into blogging drew me into the blogworld, and eventually resulted in this NaBloPoMo commitment. Arwen has her own blog, as I said before, and has put up a link to me here, which so far has resulted in my sister-in-law finding me. (Hi, "Tink"!) If I could have designed a perfect daughter (notice I said "a", there are lots of kinds of perfect daughters) she would be one. I don't remember fighting with her nearly as much as I fought with my own mother, and since I'm a fairly combative person (sigh -- character flaw), that tells you that she must have done a lot right.
I think that I will let you find out more about her by reading her blog, so come back tomorrow for your first dose of "Rosie".
Since I am nothing if not a methodical person , I will begin with my oldest chid, Arwen, whose foray into blogging drew me into the blogworld, and eventually resulted in this NaBloPoMo commitment. Arwen has her own blog, as I said before, and has put up a link to me here, which so far has resulted in my sister-in-law finding me. (Hi, "Tink"!) If I could have designed a perfect daughter (notice I said "a", there are lots of kinds of perfect daughters) she would be one. I don't remember fighting with her nearly as much as I fought with my own mother, and since I'm a fairly combative person (sigh -- character flaw), that tells you that she must have done a lot right.
I think that I will let you find out more about her by reading her blog, so come back tomorrow for your first dose of "Rosie".
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
One Day to Go!
I really do intend to try to put up posts with actual content this month (where is George now? what is he doing?), but today is one of those FULL of housework days. You know -- change all the beds, clean the bathrooms, do related laundry. And an organization I belong to has a once-a-year special meeting today at ten. Yikes!
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Practicing
I tried to get that picture into the sidebar, but no luck, even though I followed the Blogger Help directions carefully. I could get a Picasa logo! Will try again later -- that might count as one of my posts ;-p
Friday, October 26, 2007
Aaaargh! (And Am I Crazy?)
I started this blog because I wanted to discipline myself to write. Um... It's been three months since my last post????? But I STILL want the discipline of writing, so.... I am signing up for NaBloPoMo (what, me? who can't post in three months?), and am going to shoot for a paragraph a day. Please, all my family members and the few odd others who read this (that's odd as in 3 is an odd number), pester me with messages if I miss. I NEED to get disciplined here. (What, am I crazy????......)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
