Cold Spaghetti

Despite my instinct to hurl whenever I start to feel sappy, I was and am very Thankful for many things today.

I am thankful that my children are asleep without hunger or fear, that we have good health, love for each other, and a community that fills us with friends and opportunities to enrich our lives. What more could we ask?

In a world filled with unspeakable horrors and inhuman poverty, we are beyond blessed: we are among the most privileged on earth. Chances are, if you’re reading this, you are too. The Global Rich List is a quick way to check.

If we, then, are the world’s wealthiest people, do we have any social responsibility to those less fortunate? Any moral directive?

I’ve blogged about my own beliefs on these things before; John Donne still says it better than I ever could.

It’s been floating around for awhile that those in the lowest income brackets tend to give more in terms of total assets than those earning significantly more. The percentage of giving falls dramatically at the household earning level of $100,000 per year and does not rise again until you reach the ultra rich categories ( >$10 million/year).

Here’s another thought. Is giving something that one should do because it makes the giver feel better about them self? Or should one give because it’s something we all have a responsibility to do? Is caring for and about each other a goal to be met, or an aspect of what makes us human?

So as I am thankful for the peace within my household tonight, I think of those who do not have rest. This global recession will impact the most vulnerable the hardest. Even as we tighten our belts and hunker down for an uncertain future, shouldn’t we also be talking about what we can do to take care of others? Next year, I want to be thankful for peace in households outside of my own, in places in the world I’ve never been, with people I’ve never met.

We don’t dress up for holiday dinners anymore, so there is no more of the tradition of ruining an outfit playing outside. It was just straight up, regular play.

Kate may have inherited my athletic prowess. Just check out how she throws the football…

(What is that football doing behind her in that picture below? Oops.)

The good news is that the fact she can’t keep pants on (note picture above) may be a sign that she somehow missed the voluptuous gene which has been passed down in my family from Mother to Daughter since time immortal.

Will got into the action, too. He even kicked the ball to me a few times.

There was plenty Daddy-tackling.

At some point, I proposed a walk to find pine cones. I figured we could find something crafty to do with them… somewhere in my head are memories of pine cone turkeys, pine cone people, pine cone bird feeders, pine cone holiday decorations, and more. All that thinking of crafty pine cone projects made me start to think all artsy, and I started to play around with the camera. Note Will, my unwilling muse, holding the pine cone… normal picture:

Then the ZOOOOM into the pinecone! I’m all about playing around with the shutter these days.

I also tried the technique with a Japanese maple in my parents’ front yard. The breeze meant that I needed help keeping the branch steady — so I didn’t get to play for all that long, but here’s a sample:

My contribution to my Mother’s usual spread of veggies, turkey breast, and stuffing was Mushroom Gravy. Randy made this for us one Thanksgiving in Blacksburg. The same Thanksgiving my future in-laws came to visit and I decided to make squash soup ahead of time… only to discover that my allergy to pumpkin innerds extended to squash. It was a brilliant plan, really, since everyone was very willing to help out to make the meal — no one wanted the woman with huge, swollen, hive-covered hands touching the food.

Randy’s gravy became the stuff of legend. The recipe, in nearly direct quotation from Randy, goes like this: “Put a LOT of onions, a LOT of mushrooms, and a LOT of oil into a pot. Add some liquid. Let it cook. Add something to thicken it.”

Which is pretty much what I did this year. It was really good, even if this picture makes it look a little funky?

I was going to write about my ongoing struggle with video games and handheld electronics… the weight of my son’s interest and inclination to them, my technology and development professional spouse, the heavy use these items get in my parents’ home, and where I sit in all of it.

But my heart is in India right now.

I have never south of Delhi, but the entire country has held my imagination captive for more than 6 years now. The sweet, humid air, the chaos and order, the colors and life. My friends are all in the north and are safe, but their work relies on international travel and interest. It may very well suffer in the months to come. If I were a praying person, I would pray that reaction to the tragedies unfolding involve the recognition of suffering and need rather than bombs and bullets. Please please let this end much more peacefully than it began and all who are under threat right now come through.

During our 140 mile drive from New Orleans to Mobile, I was nostalgic for the way things used to be. Back when we walked uphill 3 miles each way to wait an hour at the bus stop for a ride to school, and had to go to the library and use a card catalog to find books for research papers, and didn’t have a variety of handheld electronics to fight over on car trips. We annoyed our parents with “ARE WE THERE YET,” which is very much preferred over, “I WANT TO PLAY WITH THE GAME THINGY” “NO, IT’S MY TURN” “NO IT IS NOT YOUR TURN” etc.

I tried to explain the joy of simply looking out the window at the dark silhouettes of trees, looking for words and letters in street signs and license plates, listening to the radio, and using your imagination to day dream away the trip. That is how we did it, yessir-ree, and it was character building.

It just goes to show that no matter what you do, what you have, or what you put in front of children during a car ride — they will always annoy you as a point of fact. So save your batteries, Moms and Dads. Don’t worry about the DVD player, the Ipod, or handheld game machine. It won’t matter. They will still make you threaten to pull over that car.

Now that we are in Mobile, here are a few pictures of the kids from January 2007 that I found on my parents’ computer…

Strange things are afoot in our household. Sure, everyone has been trading viruses for a month (there’s the 8-hour vomit one, the lingering fever one, the sore throat one, and the head cold one), but still, things seem… unseasonably calm. The last two weeks have been difficult with Paul working around the clock (literally) to get the outbuilding weather-proof before it rained, added into the whole Will’s-party thing, a week’s visit from Paul’s Mom, ongoing illness, school stuff, and job deadlines… but still, it’s been okay. I’ve even been getting work done and met a deadline today with relative ease and no late nights. Then I realized.

I said “no” to teaching this fall.

I must remember how good it feels to say no to things every once in awhile.

Except caffeine. I’ve lived life without and ooooh my, it feels good to be back on the wagon.

Tonight I started to inventory all the things I’ve collected this year and am very close to being completely done with the holidays. (Except for Paul, who is most likely getting a yet undetermined bacon-related something for spoiling the Wii surprise.) Last year, we sent out Mardi Gras cards because we were that behind. Today, our holiday cards arrived (I’m not happy with the color Shutterfly added to them, but hey, the price was right). I feel like I’m mellowing into a ‘this is what the season is suppose to be about’ place and it feels all starched and ironed, way too Norman Rockwell to fit my one-step-away-from-nervous-breakdown mode of operation. The question is, then, what in the world am I forgetting?

Don’t be surprised if our house burns down tomorrow.

Here is a holiday that we sort of missed, though. Halloween. That was when I kicked off our family’s month of illness by ruining Halloween. No carved pumpkins this year! But a few weeks before, I tried to be crafty… and even have proof.

Aren’t they cute? My favorite part is Franken-pumpkin’s bolts sticking out of his head. Please ignore the trash behind him that I obviously didn’t see when I took the picture. And the fact that the flowers are… ahem… not blooming. When I finally got around to taking this picture, they’d been out a month. (That’s why the bat’s eyes are falling off.)

Actually, they were suppose to be even cuter. Will and I spent an entire Saturday peeling oranges and limes, which we cut into nose and eye shapes and dried in the oven for 3 hours. Will took some pictures of me cutting. (Will did the peeling.)

I think this one has a cool artsy quality. One that comes from expertly putting the camera on the counter top and randomly pressing the shutter because “the camera is too heavy” to hold.

Here are the eyes and noses. I help him aim a bit before he pressed the shutter for this photograph.

Will painted pumpkins to make the bat. Initially, we were going to make three and hang them on the porch.

I don’t think he cared a bit that we only managed to get wings and eyes on one.

The party happened.

I’m very embarrassed to admit this, but it’s a day and a half later and I still feel hung over. From the 90 minute party, in a location away from my house where they did just about everything, with very friendly well-mannered 5 year-olds who had a great time. Based on those facts, my new greatest fear is a sleepover with a dozen 11 year-olds.

10 days ago, when I called Elmwood in a desperate state, wondering if they too had everything booked party-wise, I happened to be on the phone when a cancellation for a party Saturday morning came in. Not wanting to ignore the miracle happening before me, I took the slot. It was for 90 minutes in the Adrenaline Rush Room, 60 of which is dedicated to a all-you-can-bounce inflatable obstacle course and 40-foot trampoline. The last 30 minutes is for pizza and cake. Very clear, straightforward, and easy. The kids had a blast.

Here is some video of them in the first few minutes of the party…

Will blew out his candles (in three tries) surrounded by some girlfriends. He was adorable.

Thank goodness it’s over.

(In that second picture, I tried to play around and see how it would look if I took out the candle reflections on his head. Not too well. Obviously, Momma needs to take in a few more photoshop tutorials on patching. And, if you think the pictures look grainy, it’s because they are. I didn’t want to use the flash — kids hate it — and the available light was dim. Sometimes you just gotta go to 1600.)

Dissertating (a verb, meaning ‘the action of working on one’s dissertation’) is a lonely process that seems to have no end. Lately, though, I’ve found some new inspiration through the internet, specifically through blogs that have served as connecting points to fun ideas, talented writing, and exciting people.

So when I read about Alejna’s newest find, Photohunt, and saw that this week’s theme was “reflections,” I immediately thought of these photographs, taken at the giraffe exhibit at Audubon Zoo in April 2007:

When I saw how easy it was to participate, I was in. I’m officially giving PhotoHunt the old college try.

These photos were taken with a Canon Digital Rebel 300D (the first of the series)with a 50mm 1.8f lens (the one I used exclusively, no matter what the situation, at that time), with an ISO of 100 and shutter speed 1/400. I remember that this effect was short-lived, when the sun came back out from behind the clouds, the reflection was no longer as strong. I also remember that I wished I was able to get further to the left of Will to have more of his face in the frame and ended up taking these with my whole body smashed up against the glass. Luckily, we happened to be alone in this exhibit at the time.

What is this outbuilding, anyway? Well, technically, it’s a storage shed. The leaky, termite-infested space which has held Paul’s tools, hockey equipment (just consider, for a moment, the smell on those pads after 5 summers out there), and dreams of woodworking, electronics tinkering, and grilling. In other words, that little space with no heat or A/C is the room of my husband’s dreams. It’s his Man Palace.

Behold.

Cien and Paul continue to replace termite-eaten boards and have come up with an awesome design of the ‘new’ outbuilding (T.he M.an P.alace). The idea is that the center will be open, with windows in the back letting in light, and with the two sides having french doors. In the picture above, you can kind of make out the center opening. Below, you can see where they have framed out the opening for the new window on one of the sides.

This is the northern side of the building, the one featured in the post below.

This is a ground view of our yard, leading to the outbuilding. Will we ever be free of debris? In the background sits our Mardi Gras float. The one we build last February out of the wood we use to board up the house during a hurricane. Which was why we didn’t have enough wood to cover all the windows when we left for Gustav. Priorities, people. Can’t say we don’t have a firm grip on what is important.

Cat calls are perfectly acceptable while viewing the next few pictures.

This is really why we bought a fixer-upper. So I could sit back and watch him walk around with a tool belt, carrying heavy stuff.

As if that weren’t enough, he’s doing it in his geeky computer guy shirt. Did someone turn the heat up in here??

Today is Will’s 5th birthday and that is a big deal. Five is just a big deal. We have five fingers, five toes. There are five workdays in our week. We have a nickel for five cents and a five dollar bill and learn to count money in fives. And when their children are at the age of 5, Mothers have to take a long, hard look and realize that they have managed to raise a newborn to an infant to a baby to a toddler to a preschooler to a kid.

This post was suppose to be my tome to my first baby, my boy, the infant I cried everyday over for months, spent hours hooked to a pump and feeding through a finger-tube. The baby I struggled to care for while starting a PhD. The toddler I took away from home before a storm destroyed our city. The preschooler who attended three schools in under a year, spoke two languages, and lived in 3 countries before turning 3 years old. The boy I now look to for help around the house. That guy.

But instead, my arm is weighed down by the heavy head of Kate, who has been throwing up for 7 hours. I’m afraid to leave her side, as she’s so lethargic that I am concerned over her ability to turn her head and not choke when her body decides it’s time for another go. She’s wiped out all her pajamas, most of my clothes, and countless towels, bedcovers, and blankets. It’s going to be a long, long night.

One thing we know is that she won’t make it to Will’s Birthday Party tomorrow.

One other thing I know is that we’re two for two on our lives failing apart right before the Po’Boy Fest; this was the same week Paul had the emergency appendectomy a year ago. I sense a pattern.

So until I can say something more complex and memorable about my darling boy, here is the picture-book account…

Will, fresh out. With antibiotic all over his little eyes. (U of Michigan hospital, Ann Arbor, MI)

Will, eating his first ever cake on his first birthday, New Orleans:

Will on his 2nd birthday. We had a small party in the front yard. Folks came from around the block and commented that this was, “the first post-Katrina party”. My Mom brought a helium tank from Alabama so that we could have some balloons, which Will spent the entire morning popping.

Will on his 3rd Birthday. Argh.

Will, with the little O’Delice cake for his 4th birthday.

Will, today, on his 5th birthday, with his classmates signing Happy Birthday (in French, of course).

A local blogger I admire tagged me and I’m feeling a bit like the freshman that gets called over to the senior lunch table. If I were, actually, a freshman walking over to the senior lunch table, what would happen next is that I would trip and shower the coolest of the group in grape juice, which I don’t even drink but happened to have it because the lunch lady with the droopy eye put it on my tray and I didn’t have the heart to put it back and hurt her feelings. Then all the seniors would laugh at my accident and the fact that I was drinking grape juice, and never know that if only they had just given me a chance, I could have been the one to jump the car when it stalls next Saturday night and save the day by having everyone home by curfew. If only.

The rules.

1. Link to the person who tagged you.
2. Post the rules on your blog.
3. Write six random things about yourself.
4. Tag six people at the end of your post and link to them.
5. Let each person know they’ve been tagged and leave a comment on their blog.
6. Let the tagger know when your entry is up.

Six random things.

1. I have a tough time following directions. It’s not that I can’t follow directions, or willingly choose to ignore directions, it’s just that when the directions don’t make sense (which is often the case) I find another, more sensible way. What are directions, anyway, but advice? Sometimes it has to be looked at from other angels, right? Because of my issues with directions, I typically ask for forgiveness, not permission, for things. While this has gotten me in heaps of trouble from time to time, I think that it is one of my best qualities.

2. I slept with a security blanket called “Me-Me” until my son, Will, was born. Although there were several Me-Me’s through the years, around age 8 the quilted Strawberry Shortcake blanket made by my neighbor became the “main” Me-Me. When we evacuated for Katrina, I left MeMe in a drawer in my bedroom. What finally made me break down in tears on Day 3, breaking through the shock and denial, was the realization that MeMe was there and I had no idea if I would hold MeMe again. (MeMe, by the way, is gender-neutral, neither male nor female. As a child, I felt very strongly about this and remember taking a swing at a kid who insisted that MeMe was a girl because it was pink.)

3. I kept my name when I got married. That means that my name is exactly the same as what it was before I was married. That means I am not a “Mrs.” It means there is no hyphen. There is no additional name on the end of my name. It means that the name on my birth certificate is the same one I have now, after 8 years of marriage, and it’s the same one I’ll have 50 years from now. It means that my last name is different than my kids’, who have Paul’s last name (they have my last name for their middle names). While those are the facts, I’m okay with almost everyone — including my closest and oldest friends — consistently getting this incorrect. It was my (and Paul’s) choice and is what works for us, but I don’t have the need to shove it down other people’s throats or make my choice superior to what anyone else decides to do. It’s just a name.

4. The trait that I find most deplorable in people — more than ignorance, arrogance, or pretension — is when people complain but do nothing to be part of a solution. I’m all for sarcasm and wit, and will admit to feeling apathetic at my low points, but I find those who — no matter how intelligently — bitch and moan about things (life, work, politics, kids, schools, health, whatever) and don’t show the initiative to try something different to change the situation, to be closed-minded, resistant people who are a bore to be around.

5. I decided to have children early in my career because I wanted my parents around for as much of my childrens’ lives as possible, because the earlier a woman gives birth the better the outcomes for both mother and child, and because I think it’s ridiculous that women in academics have to ‘delay’ having children inorder to be seen as ‘serious’. But now that I have children, I must admit that it has slowed me down (not necessarily a bad thing) and because of how it has impacted my particular circumstances, I know it has limited my intended international health career. I have no idea what I will do or what will happen after I graduate.

6. The first time Paul and I locked eyes, as he walked up to the booth where I was selling tickets to a play, I felt a shock run through me. We had dinner the following night, went hiking at Mountain Lake (where the movie ‘Dirty Dancing’ was filmed) the day after that, and have been together since then. Until I met Paul, I thought love at first sight was a ridiculous, foolish notion, based on lust, not true companionship. With this, as with other things I’m always learning, I was happy to be wrong.

Now I’m suppose to tag 6 others, which gets me all freshman-lunchroom anxious. Maybe if I admitted in one of my 6 random things that I was a total nerd that it would clear up any misconceptions I have regarding whether anyone will actually respond. (In other words, I expect no one.) But I’ll work with optimism and with the spirit of getting to know people whose blogs I’ve recently found and am enjoying. Here’s my list:

— Su, because she has a 5-year old son, plays the piano, and is very likely someone who can correctly pronounce my last name in one try. (And also because I find her writing inspiring.)

— Jen, because she rocks an incredible job, is moving to a paradise where everything will be different and so much will be same, and because there is so much that can be done.

— Magpie, because “filch” still wins out as my current favorite word.

…and I can’t think of anyone else because it’s Will’s 5th Birthday and my brain is occupied with intense ponderings over the passage of time and how I could possibly have a 5 year old and be just 23 years old? (If you’re reading this — please feel the love, and take the tag if the mood strikes.)