A started his summer school on Monday last week. He has a new teacher for the month-long summer session, and is slacking big time. I had to send a note in to his teacher to let him know that he could read quite well, and write some things too. A doesn't like to do the writing much because it's difficult for him, but we're getting there.
When he's motivated, he has started to write things down to tell us. For example, the other day when it was 105 actual temperature, with a heat index of 112, A went up to his sister's coloring tablet and wrote "hot", got his dad's attention, and pointed to it. We're thrilled and are hoping that his developing writing and reading skills will open a window to some communication that has been nonexistent up to this point. He routinely writes his first and last names using pencils without the pencil grip. We've graduated! Woo hoo! He also spells things using the letter magnets on the side of the fridge.
In other news, he's a bean pole. Tall and skinny boy, he can wear 6/7's if only we could find a belt small enough to keep them on his butt. Lengthwise it's no problem. He just turned 5 1/2.
School is only a half day in the summer, so A is enjoying playing with his sister both in the house and in our little inflatable pool that resides just off the back porch. A absolutely loves the water and will go completely underwater with no issues, strange given some of his sensory issues. K is also a little fish and likes to hold her breath and walk on her hands from one end of the ten-foot pool to the other. I also watch her like a hawk.
My birthday was yesterday, so I got a couple of gift cards to go purchase some veggies and flowers and plant them after all. It's probably too late, but we'll give it a whirl. This part of Texas has a long growing season, so we'll see what happens. I have a container garden in the back yard consisting of a single tomato plant, two bell peppers, and some herbs including cilantro (which I could bathe in), sweet basil (which I could also bathe in), flat leaf Italian parsley, and some rosemary. I also bought some flowers for the front neglected bed.
My husband gave me a beautiful gift last night of digging up the whole thing. It would appear that nothing has ever been planted in the bed since the house was built 7 years ago, judging from the depth of the grass roots and the rock-hard quality of the soil. Bless his heart, I think that's the most expensive gift he's ever given me. It comes at a cost; Z has 3 slipped disks and 2 ruptured ones that he just lives with. The doctor won't do surgery for him yet because of his degenerative back disease -- once he starts with the surgery, he'll have to have it every 5 years or so for the rest of his life, and they want to prolong the initial surgery as long as possible.
Z just smiled at me when I ran out the front door last night. I didn't realize he was out there until he'd done the entire thing, and he said that he was going to keep doing things as long as he could. It will hurt regardless, so he's just going to do what he can do. *sigh* I love him to pieces, but it makes me cry when he does stuff like this.
Today we had a beautiful, glorious, wonderful cold front move through and instead of the 104 we had yesterday, we had highs in the 70's most of the day until this evening when it creeped up into the lower 80's. Yeeeeeesssss. I planted the entire front bed this afternoon. Then started a light, gentle rain -- perfect for the new babies in their new home. I hit the "clearance section" at the nursery and have 9 zinnias in a range of colors, an orange and red Pride of Barbados, 4 red salvia, 2 white-blooming sage, 4 brown-eyed susans, 2 purple coneflowers, 23 dark red gladiolus, 3 landscape gerbera daisies in "watermelon, pineapple, and coconut", and 3 day lilies in a deep wine color with yellow throats. And I also scored a huge red geranium in a pot that is now gracing my front porch. Wheeeee! I'm looking for some of those trailing petunias for a couple of hanging baskets, but am having a difficult time finding any this year. Two stores have had ZERO available since we got here; I'm wondering if there's some sort of disaster in the petunia industry or something this year.
My kids helped to decorate my cake yesterday. Z made a chocolate cake from scratch and then let the kids go to town using their choice of decorations. And they did go to town. I had a truly one-of-a-kind creation: broken up Oreo cookies; sugar nonpareil Santa Claus heads leftover from a Christmas cupcake project; coconut; and red and green sugar sprinkles were dumped liberally across the entire surface. I thought I'd need an insulin shot from just looking at it. And I'm not diabetic.
But it was good, and the kiddos were thrilled with it and had a ball putting everything on there. And all was right with the world.
Another odd bit of news that's relieving in a way: Z's growing mass in his chest has tripled in size since last week. This means there is a huge probability it's got liquid in it and it's a cyst, rather than something tumorous and nasty -- which is infinitely relieving in its own way. We still don't know what it is, won't until next week sometime, but at least there's a really good chance it's not an ugly kind of cancer.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Manogram
Unusual situations have a way of showing up in our household; it's almost like we're a lightning rod for medical weirdness. Here's yet another instance:
My husband had a nodular fascitis three years ago that had attached itself to tendons, muscle fibers, etc on his left forearm. By the time we'd waded through all the necessary red tape and insurance paperwork to actually get it removed, it was turning from "normal" to something more sinister. What was supposed to have been a 30 to 45 minute procedure, start to finish, turned into a 4 1/2 hour ordeal due to all the adhesions.
He's been "cyst free" for the last three years...only now something has (literally) popped up. Or, I should say, three somethings.
The noticeable one is under his right nipple, close to a lymph node. It simply wasn't there last Friday; by Sunday Z was noticing a distention and it was painful. Now, you can see it if you look at his bare chest. Well, at least, I can and the doctors can. Z doesn't generally run around shirtless, even though it's 105 degrees so far today. It is definitely a firm lump, and still painful. The doctor found two more rather suspicious lumps in his abdomen during the physical exam. Z has lost 14 pounds after getting out of the Army, despite no exercise whatsoever and eating all manner of stuff he couldn't get away with while he was still in the service, another point for concern.
Long story short, Z has an appointment at the hospital on Monday, July 6th in the Women's Clinic so he can get a mammogram and ultrasounds done. He's taking the news pretty well, and it doesn't really bother him or threaten his manhood any. He will follow up with a surgeon and could be having surgery as soon as a few days after his visit to the Women's Clinic. He's taking it all in stride. So why am I the one who wants to cry?
Z's doctor is a Christian, which is nice, and he was very blunt and to the point. He looked Z straight in the eye following his exam and said that we needed to pray that this goes away as quickly as it has shown up. And then he explained about male breast cancer statistics, which is apparently 1 out of every 100 cases. I had no idea, all I generally hear about is women's breast cancer issues.
So -- I guess I said all that to say this: please send up some prayers for my husband and his doctors, that this whole situation gets taken care of pronto and without lasting effects and NO CANCER.
Thanks. *sigh*
Lord, if you're testing us, what is it we're not getting? Or are we "getting it" and being used as examples somehow, or so we can help others in similar circumstances? I wish we knew, instead of floundering through all this stuff blindly sometimes. We don't feel completely rudderless, we know we are inexorably drawn by You through whatever our life situation is. And our faith remains firm, is strengthened even. But it would be nice to know the light at the end of the tunnel is not, in fact, a train in this instance. Amen.
My husband had a nodular fascitis three years ago that had attached itself to tendons, muscle fibers, etc on his left forearm. By the time we'd waded through all the necessary red tape and insurance paperwork to actually get it removed, it was turning from "normal" to something more sinister. What was supposed to have been a 30 to 45 minute procedure, start to finish, turned into a 4 1/2 hour ordeal due to all the adhesions.
He's been "cyst free" for the last three years...only now something has (literally) popped up. Or, I should say, three somethings.
The noticeable one is under his right nipple, close to a lymph node. It simply wasn't there last Friday; by Sunday Z was noticing a distention and it was painful. Now, you can see it if you look at his bare chest. Well, at least, I can and the doctors can. Z doesn't generally run around shirtless, even though it's 105 degrees so far today. It is definitely a firm lump, and still painful. The doctor found two more rather suspicious lumps in his abdomen during the physical exam. Z has lost 14 pounds after getting out of the Army, despite no exercise whatsoever and eating all manner of stuff he couldn't get away with while he was still in the service, another point for concern.
Long story short, Z has an appointment at the hospital on Monday, July 6th in the Women's Clinic so he can get a mammogram and ultrasounds done. He's taking the news pretty well, and it doesn't really bother him or threaten his manhood any. He will follow up with a surgeon and could be having surgery as soon as a few days after his visit to the Women's Clinic. He's taking it all in stride. So why am I the one who wants to cry?
Z's doctor is a Christian, which is nice, and he was very blunt and to the point. He looked Z straight in the eye following his exam and said that we needed to pray that this goes away as quickly as it has shown up. And then he explained about male breast cancer statistics, which is apparently 1 out of every 100 cases. I had no idea, all I generally hear about is women's breast cancer issues.
So -- I guess I said all that to say this: please send up some prayers for my husband and his doctors, that this whole situation gets taken care of pronto and without lasting effects and NO CANCER.
Thanks. *sigh*
Lord, if you're testing us, what is it we're not getting? Or are we "getting it" and being used as examples somehow, or so we can help others in similar circumstances? I wish we knew, instead of floundering through all this stuff blindly sometimes. We don't feel completely rudderless, we know we are inexorably drawn by You through whatever our life situation is. And our faith remains firm, is strengthened even. But it would be nice to know the light at the end of the tunnel is not, in fact, a train in this instance. Amen.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
The Simple Life
This great web called "Life" is a strange warren of paths that cross at random junctures and lead to various far-flung possibilities; take any of them, and you'll definitely learn something new about yourself and surprise yourself, or confirm what you always knew. But maneuvering down those paths, and taking the odd jaunt down a different direction is the adventure -- you don't always know what lays at the end of it, even if you think you do. Funny how sometimes our desires after living a few years can be the polar opposite of what you thought you'd want when you were a kid.
I went to high school in Alaska at a tiny little blip on the map, thanks to my dad's military service. I hated the isolation, despite the beautiful scenery. I went to college at a larger (relatively speaking) blip in west Tennessee, still with a population well under 10,000 at that time and where they pretty much rolled up the sidewalks after 5 p.m. The closest town of any size was 30 to 45 minutes away, depending on exactly where you were wanting to go. The new SuperWalMart was 45 minutes away, in case you were wondering; that was the epitome of a "good time" for a lot of us, meeting at the WalMart at odd hours while shopping for various staples of college existence: paper, Ramen noodles, and caffeinated beverages. It about drove me nuts.
I yearned for the excitement, the bustle, the thousand given possibilities of each moment that the city seemed to promise, at any hour I chose to explore them. Not just any city. THE City, New York City, mecca of arts, melting pot of cultures and wonderful strange foods, and home to alligators in the sewer and the occasional scary experience in the subway. I was going to savor every second, soak it all up in my bones until I couldn't draw any more in. And I was going to be an actress by night, living it up and struggling to eke out an existence like the other million actors and actresses trolling the streets and shops by day as waiters or clerks. I didn't figure on reaching Broadway, if ever, without some more years in studying and experience, but off Broadway was just fine with me. I'm afraid my father had visions of me living in an alley somewhere with cats for company, so I think he was relieved that I never did quite make it there.
Somehow, I stayed put in the small community after college, went to work at a bank for a while, and then snared a job as an arts administrator for another town in a different county. I wanted to pay off my student loans before attempting to move to notoriously expensive New York. A noble goal intially, but then things started to change.
I started to appreciate the slower pace, the people who had all the time in the world to get things done so they could stop and chat at the local grocery store, or on the sidewalk on Main Street. I wound up getting married to a guy who was going into the military, had kids pretty much immediately, and have moved 5 times in the last 6 years.
Now? Don't laugh. I yearn for a simple country life. Sounds hokey, but I'd love nothing more than to live in an old farm house, raise an enormous garden while I'm raising my kids, and throw a couple or three chooks in the mix for eggs. I'm fascinated by the old wood cookstoves like my grandmother and her grandmother used. Despite the fact that I'd be busy from sunrise until sundown doing various things associated with rural living, I know that time flows differently in the country. It's more satisfying to me, somehow, to have spent a day outside working on something I can physically see the results of, and something that I actually enjoy, than to push papers in an indoor office with nary a glimpse of the sun.
I don't want pigs, or horses; if I wanted a cow or goats for milk, I'd really have to think about that. They eat a lot, need a lot of work and attention and I don't know that I'd have the patience to handle that and pick critters off my veggies at the same time. Or the patience needed to keep the livestock out of the garden altogether.
So, yeah. Far cry from aspirations of starring in a show off Broadway in the Big Apple. I actually went to L.A. to audition for Les Miserables after I graduated from college, that was how serious I was about pursuing a career in theatre and moving to New York. (I didn't make it past the second round, chiefly because although I'd had scads of experience by then I was not yet an equity card holder).
But the simpler life is more soothing to my soul, I think. The only stipulation for this sort of life is a necessary sabbatical to a huge metro area a couple of times a year, one to enjoy some cultural offerings not found in the hinterland, and two to remind me of exactly why I chose to live in the sticks in the first place.
For now, this is still a pipe dream; we live smack in the middle of a subdivision that was built up here in Texas about 7 years ago. We are crammed against neighbors that we can't see because of the privacy fences, and there are no trees to be seen. I also can't garden in this house because we're renting and the owners don't want me digging up the back yard or putting in raised beds. My alternate plan Q (yes, it got that far) was to have a container garden -- but again, life happened, and I have a few pots but no dirt or plants to nurture to fruition. And it's the end of June, a bit late for summer plantings and too blasted hot for shorter growing season crops. The high today was supposed to be 104, and 103 tomorrow. We're having a cold front move through over the weekend; highs are only supposed to be 100 each day.
I have to admit that I still get a twinge when I think of Maryland summers. They got hot some days, but nothing like this, for as long. I also wince when I think of all the beautiful compost that I've had going for about a year now, and the fact that I can't do a thing with it.
But.
We're here, doing what we're supposed to be doing. And that's okay. "Life is what happens to you when you're busy making other plans" and all that jazz. One day, I might just get that house and garden...unless I change my mind in another 15 years. : )
I went to high school in Alaska at a tiny little blip on the map, thanks to my dad's military service. I hated the isolation, despite the beautiful scenery. I went to college at a larger (relatively speaking) blip in west Tennessee, still with a population well under 10,000 at that time and where they pretty much rolled up the sidewalks after 5 p.m. The closest town of any size was 30 to 45 minutes away, depending on exactly where you were wanting to go. The new SuperWalMart was 45 minutes away, in case you were wondering; that was the epitome of a "good time" for a lot of us, meeting at the WalMart at odd hours while shopping for various staples of college existence: paper, Ramen noodles, and caffeinated beverages. It about drove me nuts.
I yearned for the excitement, the bustle, the thousand given possibilities of each moment that the city seemed to promise, at any hour I chose to explore them. Not just any city. THE City, New York City, mecca of arts, melting pot of cultures and wonderful strange foods, and home to alligators in the sewer and the occasional scary experience in the subway. I was going to savor every second, soak it all up in my bones until I couldn't draw any more in. And I was going to be an actress by night, living it up and struggling to eke out an existence like the other million actors and actresses trolling the streets and shops by day as waiters or clerks. I didn't figure on reaching Broadway, if ever, without some more years in studying and experience, but off Broadway was just fine with me. I'm afraid my father had visions of me living in an alley somewhere with cats for company, so I think he was relieved that I never did quite make it there.
Somehow, I stayed put in the small community after college, went to work at a bank for a while, and then snared a job as an arts administrator for another town in a different county. I wanted to pay off my student loans before attempting to move to notoriously expensive New York. A noble goal intially, but then things started to change.
I started to appreciate the slower pace, the people who had all the time in the world to get things done so they could stop and chat at the local grocery store, or on the sidewalk on Main Street. I wound up getting married to a guy who was going into the military, had kids pretty much immediately, and have moved 5 times in the last 6 years.
Now? Don't laugh. I yearn for a simple country life. Sounds hokey, but I'd love nothing more than to live in an old farm house, raise an enormous garden while I'm raising my kids, and throw a couple or three chooks in the mix for eggs. I'm fascinated by the old wood cookstoves like my grandmother and her grandmother used. Despite the fact that I'd be busy from sunrise until sundown doing various things associated with rural living, I know that time flows differently in the country. It's more satisfying to me, somehow, to have spent a day outside working on something I can physically see the results of, and something that I actually enjoy, than to push papers in an indoor office with nary a glimpse of the sun.
I don't want pigs, or horses; if I wanted a cow or goats for milk, I'd really have to think about that. They eat a lot, need a lot of work and attention and I don't know that I'd have the patience to handle that and pick critters off my veggies at the same time. Or the patience needed to keep the livestock out of the garden altogether.
So, yeah. Far cry from aspirations of starring in a show off Broadway in the Big Apple. I actually went to L.A. to audition for Les Miserables after I graduated from college, that was how serious I was about pursuing a career in theatre and moving to New York. (I didn't make it past the second round, chiefly because although I'd had scads of experience by then I was not yet an equity card holder).
But the simpler life is more soothing to my soul, I think. The only stipulation for this sort of life is a necessary sabbatical to a huge metro area a couple of times a year, one to enjoy some cultural offerings not found in the hinterland, and two to remind me of exactly why I chose to live in the sticks in the first place.
For now, this is still a pipe dream; we live smack in the middle of a subdivision that was built up here in Texas about 7 years ago. We are crammed against neighbors that we can't see because of the privacy fences, and there are no trees to be seen. I also can't garden in this house because we're renting and the owners don't want me digging up the back yard or putting in raised beds. My alternate plan Q (yes, it got that far) was to have a container garden -- but again, life happened, and I have a few pots but no dirt or plants to nurture to fruition. And it's the end of June, a bit late for summer plantings and too blasted hot for shorter growing season crops. The high today was supposed to be 104, and 103 tomorrow. We're having a cold front move through over the weekend; highs are only supposed to be 100 each day.
I have to admit that I still get a twinge when I think of Maryland summers. They got hot some days, but nothing like this, for as long. I also wince when I think of all the beautiful compost that I've had going for about a year now, and the fact that I can't do a thing with it.
But.
We're here, doing what we're supposed to be doing. And that's okay. "Life is what happens to you when you're busy making other plans" and all that jazz. One day, I might just get that house and garden...unless I change my mind in another 15 years. : )
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Galveston
Last week, my husband and I had a madcap dash of a getaway to Galveston. We were initially scheduled to go to an arts conference in Chicago, but when the financial backers who had requested that we go to said conference flaked on their end of the deal, my husband and I could simply not make $700 + come up out of thin air with two weeks notice.
We had already arranged for my mother-in-law to come over here and use her expert kid wrangling skills while we were gone for the week -- she had four kids of her own and currently has nine grandchildren, the youngest of which just turned two and the oldest of which turned seven recently. It was a busy five years for all concerned, let me tell you.
But I digress. I'm good at that.
ANYWAY -- since she was here anyway, Z and I figured we'd zip out of town for a couple of nights and let her use those aforementioned kid wrangling skills, so her flight over here wasn't a complete waste of her time (visiting with us aside). Exciting stuff! We have never, and I repeat, never been away overnight without the kids in the whole of their existence with just us by ourselves. We've been away, but always either individually (either Z or I would be gone, but not both), or we'd be gone in a big group setting sharing a room with other married people. We pored over the options and finally made reservations at a nice, but inexpensive hotel on the seawall in Galveston.
It was with great glee that we looked forward to this event. Woo hoo!
Enter a frantic phone call Sunday morning during our Bible study, from our tenants who are living in our house in Maryland. They have no water. Zero. And we have a well. The initial estimate was several thousand dollars to fix, which didn't do wonders for my blood pressure, so we tried to cancel our reservations in Galveston. We could. Sort of. They were still going to charge us for the first night's stay anyway, kind of their own little guarantee with the bad economy that they'd at least get something out of the deal I suppose.
With the additional costs of putting the tenant family in a hotel, in which they would have needed two rooms, for however long it took to fix the issue and prorating the rent while they were not living in the house -- well, the tally was getting daunting. Especially since we couldn't even come up with $700 for Chicago. We prayed hard about it, and asked God to keep the cost for fixing the well problem under $500.
By Tuesday, we had found a very honest guy that did all the work necessary, and who would send us a bill for his work rather than us paying him up front the day of service. We had no way to do that being in Texas, anyway, so this was wonderful. Turns out the problem was not with the well pump itself (thank goodness) but with the pipe leading to the well, which had become so mineral laden it choked itself off. Our well is only about 100 feet deep, so all the better.
Z gets off the phone with our tenant, turns to me, and says to pack our bag and some food. Since we were losing the money for a night at the hotel anyway, we were going to spend the $20 in gas to get out there and back, and just pack all our own food. The hotel room had a mini fridge, but nothing else, so we took pasta salad and some fruit for dinner, and then cereal and milk for breakfast the next morning.
So we drove the 4 hours to Galveston, had a lovely time -- got there about 6:30 p.m.,our room had a balcony facing the Gulf, so we ate our dinner and breakfast out there. We also walked along the beach after dinner until it was too dark to really see what we were stepping on, and then went out the next morning to walk it for another couple of hours before stopping to score some lunch and drive back home. I wished we'd had at least another week. Even if the initial plan was only for two nights.
I love the Gulf coast. Absolutely adore it. During my formative years, my family was blessed enough to have a family friend donate two weeks of their timeshare on the beach just north of St. Petersburg. Every summer. Some of my fondest childhood memories are of those beach vacations, and my favorite beaches are still the Gulf coast beaches. The Atlantic and Pacific are just....different, they have a different feel and flavor. Yes. That's the words I was looking for.
Galveston was hit by Hurricane Ike in Sept 2008 -- just a few months ago, but you almost can't tell. Oh, there are still a few buildings in disrepair, and some houses that are still beyond smashed and ruined, but by and large the community is back up and running. Such a huge disparity between Galveston nine months after Ike, and New Orleans nine months after Katrina. The locals didn't bother to wait for federal aid, they just rolled up their sleeves and got to work. And it looks great, especially considering that in the middle of town during the siege the water was 4 feet 5 inches high -- miles away from the coast guarded by a 17-ft high seawall. It was of course much deeper the closer to the beach you got. There are still areas marked out where you can't swim due to underwater debris that hasn't been cleared yet, but the beaches are open and pretty much cleared except for the construction rebuilding out over the water. We walked over 5 miles and only had to scale up and down the seawall to skirt construction twice.
Foolish mortal that I am, in our haste to pack and leave within an hour I left the sunblock. And have paid dearly. My husband has enough Native American in him that he simply tanned. Me, on the other hand, well let's just say the Irish is abundant in my bloodlines. I fear I am sporting yet another "Red Banded Idiot Burn", which fortunately has faded to an itchy peeling tan by now.
And here's the cool part: our whole trip was pretty much just free stuff, aside from gas and a very very cheap lunch -- like, literally $4 each -- but it wasn't fast food, we ate at a very nice little family owned restaurant with a view of the water. Shockingly good prices, we'd go back with the kids and get out of there for under $20, and it's all freshly made stuff. And we had a great time. Z and I just like being together, and it was so nice to be able to relax and look at each other without worrying that K was out tormenting the sharks by the pier.
Our bill for the pipe replacement, etc, in Maryland came in the mail on Saturday; it totals $423 and change. Isn't God great?
We had already arranged for my mother-in-law to come over here and use her expert kid wrangling skills while we were gone for the week -- she had four kids of her own and currently has nine grandchildren, the youngest of which just turned two and the oldest of which turned seven recently. It was a busy five years for all concerned, let me tell you.
But I digress. I'm good at that.
ANYWAY -- since she was here anyway, Z and I figured we'd zip out of town for a couple of nights and let her use those aforementioned kid wrangling skills, so her flight over here wasn't a complete waste of her time (visiting with us aside). Exciting stuff! We have never, and I repeat, never been away overnight without the kids in the whole of their existence with just us by ourselves. We've been away, but always either individually (either Z or I would be gone, but not both), or we'd be gone in a big group setting sharing a room with other married people. We pored over the options and finally made reservations at a nice, but inexpensive hotel on the seawall in Galveston.
It was with great glee that we looked forward to this event. Woo hoo!
Enter a frantic phone call Sunday morning during our Bible study, from our tenants who are living in our house in Maryland. They have no water. Zero. And we have a well. The initial estimate was several thousand dollars to fix, which didn't do wonders for my blood pressure, so we tried to cancel our reservations in Galveston. We could. Sort of. They were still going to charge us for the first night's stay anyway, kind of their own little guarantee with the bad economy that they'd at least get something out of the deal I suppose.
With the additional costs of putting the tenant family in a hotel, in which they would have needed two rooms, for however long it took to fix the issue and prorating the rent while they were not living in the house -- well, the tally was getting daunting. Especially since we couldn't even come up with $700 for Chicago. We prayed hard about it, and asked God to keep the cost for fixing the well problem under $500.
By Tuesday, we had found a very honest guy that did all the work necessary, and who would send us a bill for his work rather than us paying him up front the day of service. We had no way to do that being in Texas, anyway, so this was wonderful. Turns out the problem was not with the well pump itself (thank goodness) but with the pipe leading to the well, which had become so mineral laden it choked itself off. Our well is only about 100 feet deep, so all the better.
Z gets off the phone with our tenant, turns to me, and says to pack our bag and some food. Since we were losing the money for a night at the hotel anyway, we were going to spend the $20 in gas to get out there and back, and just pack all our own food. The hotel room had a mini fridge, but nothing else, so we took pasta salad and some fruit for dinner, and then cereal and milk for breakfast the next morning.
So we drove the 4 hours to Galveston, had a lovely time -- got there about 6:30 p.m.,our room had a balcony facing the Gulf, so we ate our dinner and breakfast out there. We also walked along the beach after dinner until it was too dark to really see what we were stepping on, and then went out the next morning to walk it for another couple of hours before stopping to score some lunch and drive back home. I wished we'd had at least another week. Even if the initial plan was only for two nights.
I love the Gulf coast. Absolutely adore it. During my formative years, my family was blessed enough to have a family friend donate two weeks of their timeshare on the beach just north of St. Petersburg. Every summer. Some of my fondest childhood memories are of those beach vacations, and my favorite beaches are still the Gulf coast beaches. The Atlantic and Pacific are just....different, they have a different feel and flavor. Yes. That's the words I was looking for.
Galveston was hit by Hurricane Ike in Sept 2008 -- just a few months ago, but you almost can't tell. Oh, there are still a few buildings in disrepair, and some houses that are still beyond smashed and ruined, but by and large the community is back up and running. Such a huge disparity between Galveston nine months after Ike, and New Orleans nine months after Katrina. The locals didn't bother to wait for federal aid, they just rolled up their sleeves and got to work. And it looks great, especially considering that in the middle of town during the siege the water was 4 feet 5 inches high -- miles away from the coast guarded by a 17-ft high seawall. It was of course much deeper the closer to the beach you got. There are still areas marked out where you can't swim due to underwater debris that hasn't been cleared yet, but the beaches are open and pretty much cleared except for the construction rebuilding out over the water. We walked over 5 miles and only had to scale up and down the seawall to skirt construction twice.
Foolish mortal that I am, in our haste to pack and leave within an hour I left the sunblock. And have paid dearly. My husband has enough Native American in him that he simply tanned. Me, on the other hand, well let's just say the Irish is abundant in my bloodlines. I fear I am sporting yet another "Red Banded Idiot Burn", which fortunately has faded to an itchy peeling tan by now.
And here's the cool part: our whole trip was pretty much just free stuff, aside from gas and a very very cheap lunch -- like, literally $4 each -- but it wasn't fast food, we ate at a very nice little family owned restaurant with a view of the water. Shockingly good prices, we'd go back with the kids and get out of there for under $20, and it's all freshly made stuff. And we had a great time. Z and I just like being together, and it was so nice to be able to relax and look at each other without worrying that K was out tormenting the sharks by the pier.
Our bill for the pipe replacement, etc, in Maryland came in the mail on Saturday; it totals $423 and change. Isn't God great?
Monday, June 15, 2009
Summertime
Summertime. In Texas. God has a special setting, called "flambe'", just for this state. And He turned it up early this year.
Having never experienced a Texan summer before, (and yes, I know that I ain't seen nuthin' yet) we are doing pretty well.
Most of our days are spent with all the curtains drawn, and if you cared to venture out into the furnace and make your way over to our house, you'd find us in minimal clothing, draped over the couch directly under the air conditioning vent -- we have it down to a science, four people can arrange themselves in various odd positions so that no one actually makes contact with anyone else.
It helps that K is still pretty much pocket-sized.
The air conditioner can not be set below 80 degrees or it will freeze up the unit. Whoever built the house put the thing so that it's on the south and east side of the house -- which means it has to work harder to overcome the higher temperatures. Despite the decidedly wimpy air flow, at least it's moving air. And that helps tremendously.
Blessedly, our house in Maryland had a crappy air system too so at least we're used to it. We lived on pedestal fans, donated to us by very dear and generous friends that were concerned about our babies. We had a concrete slab foundation, and no insulation upstairs, so the upstairs was at least 15 degrees hotter than the downstairs. Trying to sleep when it's 92 degrees (or warmer) is just not enjoyable, least of all when you're a kid. When a kid is miserable, everyone is miserable.
What is depressing is the realization that while our actual temps have been between 98 and 101 for the last week, with a much higher heat index, it is going to be even hotter in about a month. I'd cry, but I'd lose valuable moisture.
We've had some rip-roarin' thunderstorms during the evenings though, of an awesomeness that frankly can't be matched by anything in the mid-Atlantic. We have already had more hailstorms in two months than I can recall ever going through in the entirety of my life. I pity those without garages or carports, the damages to cars is definitely not pretty. I am one of those people that has a healthy respect for the weather, but who also really would love to go out and watch the lightning. (Even if our house itself was struck a couple of months ago.) I draw the line at severe weather, though, and would prefer to be in a closet with a blanket, huddled over the emergency radio.
Which reminds me of another oddity: we live in Tornado Alley proper, but there are not very many basements in Texan homes. Fabulous. I guess it doesn't really matter so much here, because they don't get the "wimpy" EF1 variety very often. If they get a tornado, it's a huge monster that takes out an entire town, so you're probably toast anyway. How comforting.
I grew up in South Florida during my formative years, and I'll take a hurricane over a tornado any day. At least you have advanced notice and can "batten down the hatches" and get the heck out of dodge. My husband, on the other hand, was born and raised in Kansas -- and he's more likely to be outside whooping and hollering at the "cool" sickly green tinge the sky takes on, and avidly scanning for funnel clouds.
He's a freak, but I love him.
Having never experienced a Texan summer before, (and yes, I know that I ain't seen nuthin' yet) we are doing pretty well.
Most of our days are spent with all the curtains drawn, and if you cared to venture out into the furnace and make your way over to our house, you'd find us in minimal clothing, draped over the couch directly under the air conditioning vent -- we have it down to a science, four people can arrange themselves in various odd positions so that no one actually makes contact with anyone else.
It helps that K is still pretty much pocket-sized.
The air conditioner can not be set below 80 degrees or it will freeze up the unit. Whoever built the house put the thing so that it's on the south and east side of the house -- which means it has to work harder to overcome the higher temperatures. Despite the decidedly wimpy air flow, at least it's moving air. And that helps tremendously.
Blessedly, our house in Maryland had a crappy air system too so at least we're used to it. We lived on pedestal fans, donated to us by very dear and generous friends that were concerned about our babies. We had a concrete slab foundation, and no insulation upstairs, so the upstairs was at least 15 degrees hotter than the downstairs. Trying to sleep when it's 92 degrees (or warmer) is just not enjoyable, least of all when you're a kid. When a kid is miserable, everyone is miserable.
What is depressing is the realization that while our actual temps have been between 98 and 101 for the last week, with a much higher heat index, it is going to be even hotter in about a month. I'd cry, but I'd lose valuable moisture.
We've had some rip-roarin' thunderstorms during the evenings though, of an awesomeness that frankly can't be matched by anything in the mid-Atlantic. We have already had more hailstorms in two months than I can recall ever going through in the entirety of my life. I pity those without garages or carports, the damages to cars is definitely not pretty. I am one of those people that has a healthy respect for the weather, but who also really would love to go out and watch the lightning. (Even if our house itself was struck a couple of months ago.) I draw the line at severe weather, though, and would prefer to be in a closet with a blanket, huddled over the emergency radio.
Which reminds me of another oddity: we live in Tornado Alley proper, but there are not very many basements in Texan homes. Fabulous. I guess it doesn't really matter so much here, because they don't get the "wimpy" EF1 variety very often. If they get a tornado, it's a huge monster that takes out an entire town, so you're probably toast anyway. How comforting.
I grew up in South Florida during my formative years, and I'll take a hurricane over a tornado any day. At least you have advanced notice and can "batten down the hatches" and get the heck out of dodge. My husband, on the other hand, was born and raised in Kansas -- and he's more likely to be outside whooping and hollering at the "cool" sickly green tinge the sky takes on, and avidly scanning for funnel clouds.
He's a freak, but I love him.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Field Day
This week is the last full week of school for the regular school year. A's school chose to have their Field Day on Friday of last week, and the parents were invited to come and watch if we wanted to.
It was thrilling to see A having so much fun with the other kids, and being every bit as good at the activities as the others! Whereas he has some difficulties in the classroom holding pens and such, A's gross motor skills are perfectly on target; he can run, jump, and climb with the best. Z and I were both struck at how...normal...that day was, as we imagine "normal" to be. Both of us were very excited for A! And A's grin when we arrived was worth the visit, even if we didn't get to see him do one thing. Luckily, we got to spend about two hours with him and got to see him participate in a few activities before we brought him home with us at the end of the day.
Z and I loaded up Miss K after lunch and headed over there to see what we could see. A had a blast, and so did his sister. I could just see the wheels turning in K's head: so this is what school is like! Sure enough, she's been asking to go to school every day now. I (foolishly) tried to explain to her that she can't go, because she's just turned three. Little good that did. They do have public preschool here, but you have to be four years old and we now make more than the income requirement threshold, so she will not be attending. At least, not a public preschool.
Z and I have been talking, more so since Friday. K really loves learning things about all sorts of topics, she LOVES to create art in any form, and she is one of the most social kids I've ever seen, to the point of being annoying to other children sometimes. We may be putting her into a private preschool after she turns four just to help curb some of that exuberance and get her used to a classroom setting before she has to start kindergarten. She would undoubtedly love to do it now, but private preschool does cost money, and with the economy doing what it is recently...at this point we think that it is smarter to wait. She is already picking up a lot of things here at home: she knows all the letters and their sounds, can write a few and even read some simple words; same for numbers, although we're not getting math just yet. She does get the concept of addition and subtraction, though. And she knows her colors and shapes already, even weird ones like octagons. She is always asking questions about pretty much, well, everything, like 3-yr olds tend to do.
Z and I have also bandied about the thought of homeschooling, first for A (before we learned of his challenges), and then for K. At this point, public school is the best possible place for A; he gets some of the services he needs and lots of socialization with other more "typical" kids his age. I just can not duplicate that in a home school setting, and I'm not trained to do the OT and speech therapies -- although I do repeat some of the same things at home to supplement his school work. All of my hopes and willpower do not make up for actual training in those areas, though, and I recognize that.
As far as Miss Thang goes, K is going to have to lose some of that stubborn willfulness or I'm not going to be able to teach her anything. As it is, she listens to other people better than she does me, much to the consternation and bewilderment of her father and I. We're not sure where it's coming from, but we know without a doubt that if we don't get a handle on it now, ten years from now it will be worse. I've heard that it's just the age (3), so we'll see.
Good news! I might have a computer again this summer sometime, so all those pictures I have languishing on my digital camera can make their way blogward. I am glad I have the opportunity to use my husband's work laptop occasionally, but it does have its limitations on what I'm allowed to do with it. And putting outside software or photographs on it is a "no no".
It was thrilling to see A having so much fun with the other kids, and being every bit as good at the activities as the others! Whereas he has some difficulties in the classroom holding pens and such, A's gross motor skills are perfectly on target; he can run, jump, and climb with the best. Z and I were both struck at how...normal...that day was, as we imagine "normal" to be. Both of us were very excited for A! And A's grin when we arrived was worth the visit, even if we didn't get to see him do one thing. Luckily, we got to spend about two hours with him and got to see him participate in a few activities before we brought him home with us at the end of the day.
Z and I loaded up Miss K after lunch and headed over there to see what we could see. A had a blast, and so did his sister. I could just see the wheels turning in K's head: so this is what school is like! Sure enough, she's been asking to go to school every day now. I (foolishly) tried to explain to her that she can't go, because she's just turned three. Little good that did. They do have public preschool here, but you have to be four years old and we now make more than the income requirement threshold, so she will not be attending. At least, not a public preschool.
Z and I have been talking, more so since Friday. K really loves learning things about all sorts of topics, she LOVES to create art in any form, and she is one of the most social kids I've ever seen, to the point of being annoying to other children sometimes. We may be putting her into a private preschool after she turns four just to help curb some of that exuberance and get her used to a classroom setting before she has to start kindergarten. She would undoubtedly love to do it now, but private preschool does cost money, and with the economy doing what it is recently...at this point we think that it is smarter to wait. She is already picking up a lot of things here at home: she knows all the letters and their sounds, can write a few and even read some simple words; same for numbers, although we're not getting math just yet. She does get the concept of addition and subtraction, though. And she knows her colors and shapes already, even weird ones like octagons. She is always asking questions about pretty much, well, everything, like 3-yr olds tend to do.
Z and I have also bandied about the thought of homeschooling, first for A (before we learned of his challenges), and then for K. At this point, public school is the best possible place for A; he gets some of the services he needs and lots of socialization with other more "typical" kids his age. I just can not duplicate that in a home school setting, and I'm not trained to do the OT and speech therapies -- although I do repeat some of the same things at home to supplement his school work. All of my hopes and willpower do not make up for actual training in those areas, though, and I recognize that.
As far as Miss Thang goes, K is going to have to lose some of that stubborn willfulness or I'm not going to be able to teach her anything. As it is, she listens to other people better than she does me, much to the consternation and bewilderment of her father and I. We're not sure where it's coming from, but we know without a doubt that if we don't get a handle on it now, ten years from now it will be worse. I've heard that it's just the age (3), so we'll see.
Good news! I might have a computer again this summer sometime, so all those pictures I have languishing on my digital camera can make their way blogward. I am glad I have the opportunity to use my husband's work laptop occasionally, but it does have its limitations on what I'm allowed to do with it. And putting outside software or photographs on it is a "no no".
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