Cold Spaghetti

Here is project d’ jour… fixing the run-off problems in the front of the house.  The house next door is built approximately 18 inches higher than grade.  Pre-Katrina, we talked to an inspector who was going to recommend remediation for the builder/new home owner to mitigate the problem.  But then Katrina happened, the new owner moved, no one was there for a year, and the new homeowner hasn’t bothered to even hook up the downspouts in over a year — resulting in continued massive run-off problems to us and the neighbor on his other side (whose handicap ramp is significantly sinking off-level).  Paul built a ‘levee’ between our homes when the house was built, but the water still runs down the side of the house to the street.  It takes all the dirt from our plants in the front and is eroding the sidewalk, causing it to tip slowly towards the street.

So, given the circumstances, here is how we’re addressing it.  We’re working on improving the drainage in the front of the house.  Into the fall, we’ll do more along the side of the house, but we’re starting here first.

Paul laid concrete footers months ago and now is getting back to laying the bricks.  He power washed bricks (the ones we found waaay under the ground in the sides and back of the house) and built up a wall the same level as the sidewalk.  Within the bricks are channels for water to flow out.  He’s back filling with stones to facilitate drainage at the base.

The planter beds are also getting bricked in.  This will also help to control run-off (and run-away mulch and soil) as well as create a barrier to discourage dogs from peeing on my plants.

That’s Kate on her way to the market.  Note her special shopping bag.

You can sort of see the hole in the wall at the base here.  Paul is laying concrete here, hence why he’s moving so fast.

Here’s the hole from the front.  Notice the old N. & O. printed on the bricks?  They are over 100 years old.  There is some speculation that they rode down the Mississippi from St. Louis (someone said this to us a while back) … but we really don’t know.

Here’s the other side of the front bed.

Because Paul has been married to me for eight years, he understands that chances are, “someone” will have difficulty parallel parking and accidentally drive up on the bricks.  To prevent them from collapsing in when this happens, Paul smartly rigged a wall of concrete support behind the bricks.  Here is the wooden wall he built to retain the concrete for when he pours it.

Anyone notice how ridiculously close that expensive car is to an area where concrete and mortar are being mixed and sprayed?  We were very polite and thoughtful and put up barriers with enough space on each side so that no vehicles would be in the line of concrete splashes or mud being whipped up by the pressure washer.  But some people aren’t so smart (or considerate).  In fact, some would move the barriers we put up and park within the danger zone… and even on the curb!

Dear Children,

Please accept my apologies for failing today’s expectations.  You are home on your fall break for three days, three days during which I should be using every moment to be A Perfect Mother and enjoy every moment of your smiles, tantrums, and unending begging for cookies.  I tried to prepare for the day with inspiration for pumpkin projects, but managed to screw it up by not trying it ahead of time.  The thought of what we would do over our long weekend has been overwhelming and I wanted it to be so perfect that I wore myself out preparing for it.  Also, please don’t think less of me that during the 3 hours your father let me nap this afternoon, that he did an art project with you, fed you lunch, and did the dishes.  I admit, he is the better housewife.

Love,

Your Mother

*****

This letter is a Monday Mission, as given by The Painted Maypole and designed by the creativity of Collecting Tokens.

I am a very hated Mommy, so says my son, who has decided to declare all out war against me.

He’s been very difficult lately in general.  Argumentative, stubborn, lashing out.  Combined with his sleeping in until 7:30 most days and a complaint that his ear “was popping”, I was suspecting an ear infection or possibly swimmer’s ear: irritability is his major symptom when he has something wrong with his ears.  But there has been no fever and no other real symptoms.

By all accounts, he is doing great in school… except he has been expressing anxiety over one classmate that has extraordinary behavioral challenges.  The school is doing their best, but when you have a child with severe problems and parents that lack the skills or ability to handle it, it can make the entire classroom suffer.  While I have not personally observed first hand how this child impacts the class during the main school day, by Will’s own accounts, it can be a blight on an otherwise good day.  (Paul has seen the child at a birthday party and was absolutely floored at the extent of the problem.)  Will has asked repeatedly if he can stay home specifically to stay away from this child.  We’ve spoken with the school and know that they are doing their best, but at the same time, we are concerned about Will.

Now I am wondering whether what is happening at school is impacting his behavior at home?  Do older kids learn defiance and backtalk from watching other kids?  Or is what we are seeing from Will a normal part of being 4?  It’s not like he hasn’t had difficult moments before.

Last night, Paul was away working and I was alone for dinner, baths, and putting the kids to bed.  We all had enjoyed a nice night.  Will ate a great dinner, had a treat, and asked for ‘tea with milk and sugar’ which I happily made for him.  He asked me to sit with him at the table to talk while he had his tea and I obliged.  I got Kate down and then went for Will, who was suppose to be cleaning up Legos that he’d been asked to clean up hours before (after I removed several pieces from Kate’s mouth).  But when I went to get him, Will was watching TV and Legos were still surrounding him.  I turned off the TV and he lost it.  First he threw Legos at me.  Then, when I went to pick him up and bring him straight to bed, he proceeded to alternate between going limp and kicking.  Actually kicking me.  He said a range of hurtful things and when placed in his bed, defiantly jumped out.  Several times over.

Finally, I said: “Will, as of right now, you are not having a birthday party.”  He froze.  And as I walked out of the room, the wail started.  It lasted about 10 minutes and then, after another 10 minutes or so of silence, he walked out of his room and said, “I’m sorry Mommy.”

“Thank you, Will,” I said, “now go back to bed.”

This morning we talked about last night’s incident.  I asked him to recount the progression of events and he did so with great accuracy.  He knew exactly what he did wrong and was appropriately sorry.  I explained that when he acted inappropriately, in ways that he knew were not acceptable, that it broke the trust we have.  And that in order to do fun things, we had to have trust — to know that he wasn’t going to act out or do something that would get him or someone else hurt.  So, I explained that, “if he didn’t show us that he could be trusted to behave appropriately, that we could not risk having a birthday party.” He got it.

Then the rest of the day was great.  We went to the store, we painted pumpkins, we helped Paul in the yard, we played games on the Ipod.  Then, while I was making dinner inside with Kate, the kitchen completely engaged with knives, boiling pots, and food everywhere… Paul carries a bloodied Will inside and dumps him in the middle of the mess.  I had to get crying and sobbing Will into the shower, ice on his boo-boos, wash him off, and help him get dressed in the middle of the critical do-it-or-lose-it moment of dinner making.  Somehow, he recovered enough to have a good dinner, but fell apart soon after.  The whole event from last night repeated itself.

(Except for the ‘I’m sorry’ part.  That hasn’t happened… yet.)

I’m not sure what is happening with him.  Have I done something wrong?  Is he sick?  Is this normal acting out, just on a grand scale?  Is he reacting to his frustrations with his classmate?  We have no idea.

The only thing I know is that, at this point, I may be completely off the hook for having to plan a birthday party…?

After numerous failed attempts to upload it in whole to Google video, Paul shrugged his shoulders, chopped it in half, and put it up on youtube.  The second part overlaps a little with the first, I’m told.

Feedback is that it was a good interview.  I’ve sort of tried to see it once, but I’ve learned something… the agony of listening to myself speak is nothing when compared to the gripping torture of having to WATCH myself WHILE I speak.

Part One:

Part Two:

While we were in Central Pennsylvania for my cousin’s wedding, Will went fishing for the first time.  On our first day there, my Uncle Corky brought him to a local creek (after their two-man fishing excursion, Will announced that, while the rest of us call him “Uncle Corky,” Will was going to call him “Uncle Cork”).

Then we all joined them for fishing the day after the wedding.  Including my cousins Stephen and Katelin and my Aunt Roxanne.  Will was without the family uniform (waders) so my Aunt and Uncle set up a special chair for Will to hold court for all the fishes that threw themselves to his mercy.  (I think the final count on this was 6.)

They caught and released each one.  When Will let this one go, it sort of floated along belly-up… whoops.  Then, my Uncle did some magic trick holding the fish still in the running water of the stream bed and after a few seconds the previously doomed fish swam away, just fine.

Will actually caught a small mouth bass.  (I can’t remember the other types of fish Uncle Corky and Stephen were quick to identify on Will’s hook… those guys seriously know their fish).  They helped instruct Will on how to hold the rod, when the reel it in, and when to pull on the line.  They were both incredibly good teachers and really let him do the work.

Will not only got skills in how to fish, but he quickly understood how to discuss the fish you catch.  As shown in the picture below:

Then Stephen stepped in for some one-on-one with Will.

When Will decided that he was “inventing a new way of fishing” involving the net, Stephen went along like a true champ.  He completely and totally earned his status as Will’s nomination for WORLD’S COOLEST GUY.

I think if you look really closely in these pictures, you can actually see Will’s little heart growing BIGGER and BIGGER.

Went back to a simple, pre-made theme due to some sort of nasty CSS hiccup which refuses to acknowledge set image sizes, orientation, and centering.  I’m realizing that my expectations as a parent may be beyond my capacity.  If I can’t get code to do what I want it to do, how can I expect it of my children?

I’m no great shakes with the ins and outs of the internets.  Or maybe I’m just way too sober to understand it, ’cause this stuff is seriously messed up.  Here I am, all dreamy about the world’s countries all getting along.  Ha!  We can’t even get web browsers to play nicely.  And if a world of web geeks can’t get along, what chance does a world full of munitions and Sarah Palin supporters have?

I do intend to continue the renovation of the site into the monument of narcissim, therapy substitute, motherhood blogwhoring, documentation of lives and love I have envisioned.  What else am I going to do in all my spare time?

It is very difficult to buy into the apathetically correct wisdom of the meaningless of the dissertation exercise.  Specifically, this becomes difficult when I am confronted several times a week by people who actually, really, and truly care about it.  People who thank me for talking to them.  Comment on how I’m the first to have asked and how much better it feels to talk.  Who act at first surprised that I want to know, then hesitant that I should listen, and finally rest on the relief of sharing.

A few weeks ago, I dragged my Schweitzer cohort out of the comfortable confines of our usual space within the Louisiana Public Health Institute.  From the bright steel and chrome finishes of the modern downtown offices down a hard-to-find narrow road lined with modest World War II-era slab homes, to a damp and crowded trailer turned community center.  The Harahan meeting place for a small Hispanic Church.  There, several parishioners made us fantastic baleadas and coconut bread while we held our monthly meeting.  I gave a short talk based on my prospectus defense about race, racism, acculturation, and the health of immigrants from Latin America.  Then, our chefs joined the meeting and spoke about their lives.  Although I’d planned the logistics of the meeting, I had no idea who would come or what they would say.

By happy accident, Paul and the kids were there and ended up providing some companionship for another child (daughter of one of the church members).  Will taught her to play games on the Ipod, she supplied markers and Jesus coloring sheets.  Kate played the faithful sidekick, thundering up and down the small hallway past our meeting space.

Since that meeting, where some of my peers cried and all expressed deep thanks and appreciation for my risk-taking in how I’d conducted the session, several fellows have written to tell me about the impact of the night.  One specifically described how it had changed her interactions with patients in her current med school clinic assignment.  Another said that my talk was one of the best she’d had in graduate school and made her re-think how she looks at health research.  Other fellows have asked if I could bring members of the community to future events so that we can give larger voice to their experiences.  Maybe linking theory to practice isn’t as elusive as it seems.  Maybe it’s just a point of asking and listening?

And then there is this dissertation.  The one that matters to no one.  The one that is a means to an end, a task to be finished so that I can move on, hopefully, to more important things.

What a mess of information I’ve got!  Transcripts are en-route, surveys from last weekend’s health fair sit boxed on my desk, and somewhere on my computer is the prospectus… that document I defended as my research plan, my approved manual for what I was going to do to finish this degree.  Did I do what I intended to do?  Did I answer my question?  Honestly, I’m not sure.  I think I’ve strayed from my original purpose.  Perhaps because I keep getting distracted by what matters to someone.

Does a dissertation that matters to someone count?  How esoteric must I be to contribute to knowledge?  And whose knowledge, exactly, must be furthered for a dissertation to qualify as a quality document?  I used to understand the situation and was comfortable with it.  Now it makes me feel unsettled and unsure.  Whom do I disappoint?  My informants, the community I’ve worked so hard to be a part of, to show my support within?  Or my committee, who doesn’t care?

We’re back from Boston and wicked exhausted.

Even without the kids, we still managed to make typical blunders and put Murphy’s Law to the test.   We had memorable moments without a camera on hand (like seeing a friend of mine from Junior High that I hadn’t seen in 20 years), were tripod-less in the moments when we really needed it, and had excellent weather only on the days we were stuck inside for the conference.  But all that really didn’t matter because in the end, we really, Really, REALLY loved Boston.  (Don’t even get us started on how much we loved the North End.)

Although we admit having a bit of 4-year moving itch (just try moving after 4-or-less years for your whole life and see what it does to you) we have no grand illusions about moving to Boston.  I don’t remember the area much from our days in the late 70s Boston burbs, but my parents nostalgically relayed some of the key points for us.  Like when I almost lost my thumb to the big, heavy, steel-interior front door.  And The Fourth of July when they gathered wood for a fire to keep out the night’s chill.  But if we had to spend some time for, say, a post-doc or something?  We’d at least consider it, with excitement.  The more likely scenario is that we’ll have to move up there since Massachusetts is the only State to offer Universal Health Care (something so tremendously important that it gets capitalized).

As is the case when we return from any foreign country, our re-intry into the Gret Stet of Looziana has been a bit rough.  Tomorrow is coming hard and fast, filled with teaching English, Doctoral Seminar, late working lunch, and then swimming practice.  My parents were extra awesome for helping with the kids AND leaving leftovers for dinner tomorrow.  Seriously above and beyond the call of duty… especially when you consider they came here directly from the airport after spending a week in Vegas, having at least four car break-downs during the weekend (including one half way between here and Mobile), and with today being the first day of my Dad’s new super-CEO job.  (Go, Dad!)

The “Greater New Orleans” interview airs tomorrow on WLAE channel 12 at 7 and 9:30 (and I think again at 2:30am?)  I feel certain that Paul will pull it from TiVo and put it online to ensure maximum embarrassment on my part; my parents pay him well to keep me tortured in this regard.