Cold Spaghetti

We enjoyed having Valerie, Eric, and baby Diego with us this past week. We especially enjoyed watching Will and Kate interact with a baby in their house: Will was watchful, gentle, sweet, and concerned (just as he had been with Kate) and Kate was curious and, as with everything else, followed Will’s lead. Here’s Eric reading an Elmo book to Kate (in the cowgirl hat) as baby Diego listens in:
Something unique about Diego is that he was born with one arm. His right arm did not fully develop in utero, leaving him with a very small hand on a small arm. As a family, they endured countless needless tests and exams, multiple doctors looking for other “problems” based on this one difference. I can only imagine how frustrating this must have been; it is stressful enough becoming a parent without having to advocate for your baby to be respected simply for who he is. Sometimes, it seems that children with differences are not seen past their differences. We all have personalities, characteristics, and physical differences that give us group diversity; I have a hard time with the tendency to put those with physical or cognitive differences that create challenges to ability in a completely other group.

Will was naturally curious about Diego’s arm and hand (he said it was “cute”) and Valerie brought up the well-fitted example of Finding Nemo, where Nemo had one fin that was smaller than the other. The example made sense to Will, who got that Diego was just like any other baby, and that was that.

But the whole thing got me thinking. Right now, Will shares his school with children who have cognitive and physical differences. Indeed, the Reggio approach prioritizes children with differences as an important and essential part of its programs. But how long will this last? As we consider schools for our kids, I realize that finding out about how a school handles differences in ability isn’t something I asked or even remembered to think about.

My junior high/high school had a special needs class completely separate from the rest of the school — in a hallway on a floor rarely used, out of the way from the main areas. We rarely saw these students; sometimes there would be a class session where one or two might be in the room. But there was no interaction. The whole set-up seemed to give lip service to the idea of inclusion, but really, was designed to have as little distraction as possible on the comings and goings of the general school. And that was really unfortunate.

What would have happened if inclusion was better prioritized in this environment? Would my fellow students and I have learned more patience and be better at friendship? Would we have gained skills in listening, empathy, and respect? I believe so; for these are the lessons we learn when we stop to consider the world from another’s point of view.

***

A variety of excellent work has shown how the concept of “choice” has been warped by social standards and values. One of the side effects of choice (and I should note that I am, unabashedly and completely in support of reproductive choice in every situation) — is that women are judged for the choices they make regarding children. Choice of when to have a baby is closely tied to choice regarding what kind of baby to have. For example, every woman over the age of 35 is automatically referred a genetic counselor for invasive testing of her fetus. This is because the risk of genetic differences, Down’s Syndrome in particular, increase in women over the age of 35. While there may be good reason to know if your child will have a condition that may require special care and knowing beforehand may help preparation, the practice seems more connected to the question “is this child normal” than to “how can I prepare for whatever this child may be.” And what does genetic testing reveal? A list of percentages of risk related to a range of issues that may be present in the growing baby. You are presented a gamble, a numbers game that ultimately asks how much are you willing to risk that your child won’t be the 100% standard kid. If you take this gamble and do have a child that is different, you are stigmatized for this “choice” because you were warned. The thing about having a choice (and I have a hard time using that word within the issue of reproduction since, in truth, very few situations involve choice in the liberal sense) — is that when you are seen as having a choice, there is the possibility of not choosing the right one.

I did the triple screen with Will and when it came back abnormal, I was automatically referred to a genetic counselor for an appointment that included a consultation and amniocentesis “if, after the consultation, I decided to go ahead with it.” I canceled the appointment on the spot. I did this because I knew that I was going to love my baby, no matter what, and I didn’t want to deal with the frustrations and fears around the possibilities of problems. Having a baby is scary no matter what and regardless of who that child is, the parent will feel fear, uncertainty, and frustration. As it turned out, my dates were wrong and caused a false positive in the test (something that is exceedingly common with the triple screen.) With Kate, I declined this prenatal test and had to sign a variety of forms certifying that I didn’t want screening. In short, I had to resolve anyone of responsibility: if my baby was born “different,” I’d have no one to blame but myself.

I say all of this because I am troubled by the lack of respect we have for differences in each other and deeply bothered by the continued move to erasing differences in each new generation. While I try to teach my children to value diversity and appreciate others, I hope that they can find formative experiences in their schools to enhance these lessons.

In our house, we are decidedly undecided about everything regarding the primaries. Because really, does it matter? Will our votes really sway the Louisiana electoral college to go blue? Seriously?

But if we could dream, who would we choose? No idea. In one of the first elections where I could vote, I remember discussing that we start a movement for all to join the Cherokee Nation, so that we could have Wilma Mankiller as President (I can’t take credit for the idea, as I probably picked up the idea in Ms. magazine or something). The point is, if I was that disenchanted during the Daddy Bush/Clinton years, there really isn’t much hope for me now.

But surprise: we have come to a decision on the next presidental election. If Mike Huckabee becomes President of the U.S., we are leaving the country. We can take Katrina, crime, awful schools and expense, but Mike Huckabee? No way.

Picture of Will and Ana after their names were drawn for this year’s King and Queen.

Once again, insomnia is the name of the game. Restless and sleepless. The nice part is that when I am asleep, I’m getting to cuddle Will. We’re sharing a bed while friends from Lima (one of my mentors, Valerie, and her husband Eric and happy 3-month old baby Diego) use our room. I’m not the only one, though, since Diego isn’t particularly interested in sleeping, either. (Not that he is fussy — he is the happiest, sweetest baby — but still awake.) So Valerie is nursing all the time, trying to get as much work time in the SPH&TM as possible, and barely sleeping. This is a situation I can very much understand and acutely remember. Is there such a thing as sympathy insomnia?

But lack of sleep I can deal with. What is going to make crazy? The fact that I can’t save drafts on the writable PDF for the IRB submission forms (I have to use about 5) without buying Adobe Reader. (Paul pointed out the issue when I balked that I couldn’t save my work.) Currently downloading Nitro trial to see if that will do the quick trick, if for only two weeks. It’s better than the cutting and pasting nightmare I’m currently facing. If I’m a raving maniac two hours from now, the reason has now been officially documented.

UPDATE: Nitro does the job. But it uses that new Word layout… the one that should be the poster example for why “change for the sake of change” is just not always a good thing. In other words, it’s really annoying. But it did the job and will keep doing the job for the 13 more days I’ve got it.

It’s Mardi Gras time and we’re gearing up for the biggest event of the Carnival Season!

Paul and I have been brainstorming our family’s float and costumes. Will brought home a costume he’d made at school (a shiny purple cape, or as Will says it, “cafe” — rhymes with ‘safe’). He declared it a hero cape (cafe) and we went with it… coming finally to a Mardi Gras Superhero type theme with Will as Captain Mardi Gras, Kate as the faithful sidekick Lagniappe, and Paul and I as the Beignet Bunch. We were thinking of hero-type costumes (with helmets) in purple (for justice), green (for faith), and gold (for power)… or some kind of twist on that idea.

The Krewe of Abeona rolls on February 1st this year, down Oak Street and Carrollton. Today, they drew names to Crown their King and Queen, who (in the Mardi Gras tradition) lead the parade and toast the celebration. Like last year, floats, live music, costumes, and the signature throw (the Golden NuNu) will mark the celebration.

The King and Queen of this year’s celebration were selected this morning. This year’s King is…

(wait for it)…

WILL (!)

Wait, it gets better. This year’s Queen?

ANA (Will’s amor! In his words: “Mommy, I love Ana.”)

Here she is, as pictured during the Po’ Boy Fest:

If your heart isn’t breaking just a little at the cuteness of this, it could be a sign that you are experiencing heart failure (seek medical attention, quick!) The Mothers are appropriately stressing over the costuming issue as we have only a month — One Month! — for this Mardi Gras season. (Honestly a month? Is that really enough time for us sinners to get it all out? For Pete’s sake, shouldn’t we revise the rules on these early Easter years? We have Daylight Savings to get the most daylight out of each day, so why not extended Carnival season on early Easter years to get the most out of the world’s best party?)

Here are the King and Queen below, conspiring in a tea cup during Will’s birthday party:

The saga of the addition continues…
… and the homeowners seriously regret not taking the time and effort to put up a time-lapse camera because that would be Seriously Cool.

Nevertheless, we press on. Below, Paul holds a section of the rubberized membrane that he put on the roof. It’s waterproof… for 90 days… so the clock it ticking. He’s going to be using Mulehide, which is a rolled roofing surface. “Modbit” (modified roofing) is — I think — the official term for it, but I’m Just The Photographer with this stuff.
There are the boxes below for the Mulehide rubberized base stuff. It rolls out and and then is pressed down, to get out all of the air bubbles. You overlap seems to prevent water from seeping in.
The corner of the new room. This is the study side of the room. The window (behind the ladder) is now cut out.
This is the rolling tool used for pressing the Mulehide flat. The roofing specialist at the contractor supply company let Paul borrow it — really nice guys. I’m suppose to make them cookies this week… and maybe each week for the next month or so (they’ve earned them — their help has been invaluable!)
Looking out to the yard.
So we have walls! This is the Windstorm paneling (sheathing) that goes up between the wall studs and the Tyvek (house wrap). Paul did it right: he hung the boards base to ceiling to prevent seams in the center of the wall. This is extra protection against high wind and Paul planned for it well. He ordered the board and planned the room and framing so that there would be no horizontal cuts and no need for overlapping, etc.
Will’s cute little bench sitting out in the construction zone. Paul put this together with scrap wood so that The Little Man would have a place to sit and, eh-em, Manage.
A corner. Some interesting notes about framing. See how these corner pieces sit? They are done in this way so that drywall has a place to nail into on each side. Very interesting.
Paul calls this “sloppy” and guessed that our carpenter friend would strongly agree! See the light through the gap between the header and the roof joists? The wood is bowed here. Paul fixed it by adding a third header and nailing it into the joists; he’s done this on both sides. He still has to finish the blocking in the ceiling joists here.
The roof! Paul was covered in tar after finishing this. He had to take a special trip to the hardware store to find something to remove the tar from his hands… they were completely sticky and covered in black tar. He stuck to everything he touched. Showering for almost an hour did nothing… and nailpolish remover, a variety of soaps, and other remedies we tried were basically fruitless. He actually shaved off some of the hair on his hands and lower arms to help. Goo Gone eventually made the difference.

Skylights are in! Paul was happy with the way the flashing went in around them. He said they were incredibly easy to install. So either his planning is amazing or we should be really worried.
See how nice and smooth? The ridges are the overlaps. Up at the peak, the rubberized material goes up under the Tyvek about 6 inches.
The old pipes here are the original gas lines in the house. You can see where they capped off at each room. Cool.
View from the back — before the last window was cut out.
Paul shows the flashing from the skylights (above.)
Above — detail from a rotten wood piece from the peak of the attic roof. Neat old-style lettering on the wood.
The old roof on the lean-to — yikes! It would not have lasted another year (it was already seriously leaking).
The above picture goes into the “don’t show the insurance company” collection. What you can’t see is that he is swaying a foot with each blast of the nail gun. (Andrew: you’re right. Something about that nailer makes a man walk about 6 inches taller.)
Artsy-fartsy addition picture. I’m just playing with the lens.

Below, you can see the special roofing material Paul put as a “green” layer in the ceiling (under the rubberized seal). See how it reflects the sun, below? See the white reflection of the house and the blue sky?
Now look — it’s the silver. It’s almost like a mirror! Cool.
Back to the sky like before.

After letting me sleep in, Paul greeted me with a tidbit from this morning’s NPR show, Wait Wait Don’t Tell Me. The show deals with quirky current events and includes a game where a contestant listens to three different stories linked by a common theme and chooses which of the three is the one that is true (the other two being made-up stories).

This morning, the stories were on the subject of patents taken out for various devices related to birth (hence why Paul thought it appropriate, it being my birthday and all). Guest panelist Paula Poundstone’s contribution to the three stories of “Unlikely Patents,” was the following paraphrased description of a possible patent:

A machine which uses centripetal force on a birthing mother by spinning her around and around to lessen how hard the mother has to push when delivering a baby.

Yikes.

Sorry, folks, someone holds the patent to that yet unmade device. I shudder to think what horrors the made-up stories held.

On that note: thanks, Mom.

I’ve been thinking about it all day, trying to keep busy, trying to not be so grouchy, and trying to just not think about it. Then, tonight, after putting the kids to bed and finishing some laundry, I go to the front room to continue my busy cleaning… and the TV has been left on, and is playing something silently. And I swear, out of the corner of my eye, I see Paul. Not my Paul, her Paul.

I stop, realizing what I’m seeing. It’s one of Helen’s movies in a documentary honoring her, recording on TiVo. I consider sitting for a moment and watching, letting it all come, all that stuff I don’t want to think about. Instead, I keep moving. Picking up done, I go to the computer… there’s this thing I started and want to finish. Ironically, that thing I’m wanting to finish is a movie animating still photography.

And then I read this wonderful post by Emmy. As always, Emmy finds the beauty within the worst of things. It was exactly what I needed, Emmy, thanks.

I’m doing the Domestic Goddess thing and preparing make-ahead meals to freeze until needed. I need to do my work more hours in the day and have found that this is possible only when dinner is already made. Paul is ’round the clock with work and house, so I’m picking up a lot more on the second shift (first shift = career; second shift = housewife) — in other words, the grind of all professional Moms.

I did this Brunswick Stew before the holidays and it worked well. Highly recommended for ease, freezes great, and even my Dad (who keeps a very limited meat-and-salad diet and never misses an opportunity to poke fun of something I’ve made or done) liked it.

Any suggestions of other good make-aheads that are easy and kid-approved?

Or, any suggestions of interesting things to do with leftover white rice (that aren’t fried rice?)

What the pictures can’t capture is Kate screaming “WHEEEEEEEE!” while spinning and throwing cups of water on her face.