Cold Spaghetti

This time of year always feels rushed… not enough time for anything. But this year — this year makes all the other years look like a cake-walk.

So I’m letting go, or at least trying to talk myself into it. I have enough presents for my children to pass for Santa’s arrival on Christmas morning. (Normally, we would just have Christmas another day but Will has an advent calendar this year and has been pretty savvy with it.) I did manage to (finally) write thank-yous with Will for his birthday, and that is about all I can handle. Everyone else? Think about the fun of opening presents and cards in the New Year!! We love you enough to not be rushed.

Our quick update:
— Foundation is poured, piers and flashing installed, ground level, debris and dirt cleared. Dumpster is ours until next Monday, so Paul started gutting the back today. All the siding is off the back of the house, Will says that “Daddy took the skin off the back of the house.”
— All official paperwork has been submitted and accepted in the Dean’s office. No going back now: I’m defending the prospectus next Thursday. The defense is being advertised throughout the school… I’m afraid I’ll be haunted by the post in the elevators for weeks. Practice defense is Tuesday.
— I’m working to have the next draft to committee by Monday. This is a major feat, since I’m tried, stressed, and distracted by my duties as the one who makes holidays happen in the household. We’ve got a Christmas tree up and decorated and stuff on the house outside… that is as much as I can fight for right now. The kids seem to appreciate it.
— The final happened and class is done. An appeal on my behalf was made to the department chair to not cap my hours and pay me for the full time I worked on the class (roughly 50% more than “allowed”). It would amount to several hundred bucks we weren’t expecting (the hourly rate is less than we pay our babysitters; to have it capped is just insulting). So I’m really hoping that it gets put through. I did really, really enjoy doing it though… despite getting a parking ticket on the last night.
— Took family portraits of Valerie (my friend/mentor from Lima) and her husband and new baby this past weekend (up on the FLC site); great visit with them this weekend.
— Kate needs a blood test as part of her check-up from Nov. 28th and I have to find time to take her to Children’s for the draw. So far, no time has seemed suitable. And where is that doctor’s order, anyway?

… construction has begun. In earnest.
Paul and Will started the digging and brick moving… but someone else laid the foundation.
Will and Kate provided oversight. If only we could get them to move all this dirt.
Above, Paul shows about how high the addition will sit (lower than the house, but still up on piers). These pictures are actually a little out-dated, as we now have piers and flashing up on the foundation.
I had the 50mm while taking these, so I couldn’t give a full view of the back. But this is the general idea. Here is where it all starts…!

This afternoon, 4:45pm.

—-
Me: “So, what’s the next step?”

Committee Chair: “Well, I’m fine with everything.”

Me: “I think that’s everyone?”

Committee Chair: “How soon can you defend?”

Me (joking, a little): “I’d go in an hour if I could.”

Committee Chair: “How about tomorrow?”

Me: “Okay.”
—

WAIT, say dear readers, how can this be? You JUST got your comments Monday! You just finalized committee members! And you’ve been asked to defend… 3 days later??

Well, yes. My committee chair actually made a few phone calls to see if we could move that quickly. But unfortunately (or maybe fortunately, I still have to make the presentation) we couldn’t figure out the logistics with schedules, so we have to wait until at least 2 of the 4 committee members are in town… which will be DECEMBER 20th! I have a defense date! December 20th, 2pm. It seems too surreal to even celebrate it.

To all that is good and right with the world: please help see that my family maintains all current organs and has no reason for glue or stitches. I need at least a semi-calm two more weeks to make changes and get prepared…

Update on The PhD Grind:

— TWO committee members (official ones!) added today. I now have FOUR committee members with various links to the department/school and one Really Good Reader. Both “new” members gave Very Good Substantive comments that came out of their close reading of my prospectus (that alone is worthy of my eternal thanks). Both were very supportive, encouraging, enthusiastic, and complimentary. Both felt that I could defend soon… but I think I want to make changes as per their comments first. I need to find the energy to make these adjustments and push for a defense date… I wish I could just do it now and get it done!
— Even more surprising and delightful: one committee member and I are exploring the mentorship thing. She handed over some Very Raw Data for me to play around with in an attempt to carve out the seeds for a working paper. It’s related to HIV. It’s theoretically rich. And there is no pressure. Perfect.

E-gads! It is starting to sound like I am actually a doctoral student!

In short, exactly what I’ve been hoping for is starting to materialize. I feel a little off-balance as I’m not used to actually getting what I ask for… do a feel a rug loosening under my feet, or can I trust my legs to hold this time around?

It’s official. I’m calling myself a photographer.

An offer of a semi-reoccurring photography “gig” (am I hip enough to use that word?) came through a few weeks ago, so I had a choice to make. Be official or let the offer slide? I decided to throw caution to the wind and put myself out there. I’m not sure why I hesitate to use these official words. Maybe I feel uncertain about putting something so personal into a business model (typing the words made me cringe). Or maybe I hate being pigeon-holed and “photographer” sounds so specific and defined. Either way, odd though it may sound, this was a big deal for me, the choice, the commitment, the stake.

But I did it and now it’s so. Introducing… Four Leaf Clover Photography. It’s still pretty basic (be kind). Website tweaking once the world stops spinning (or I get some help from my favorite web-minded folk).

Maybe I can actually have a hobby that is self-supporting?

The first official venture was a fundraiser for the school. For a donation to the school in lieu of a sitting fee, I offered to photograph kids/families before the holidays. The whole thing came on a little last minute, but a few families took up on the opportunity — and it was great fun! I’m happy overall with the results and learned a lot. I’m hoping to have the opportunity to do this more often and continue to learn. To that end, suggestions welcome.

It’s World AIDs Day. A day to remember a terrible virus that preys on the marginalized, impoverished, and powerless.

And here’s a thought.

We’ve tracked early cases of AIDs to Europeans decades before (and in Americans at least a decade before) those curious cases of Kaposi Sarcoma started popping up en masse in 1981. So what was it about those cases, in particular, that caught the attention of the CDC? Why had we missed it for so long before?

It was because of who had them: men with access to medical care at established institutions, seeing practitioners who had connections to the CDC. Regular medical care gave them a history of wellness so that providers did not assume them to be chronically unwell, therefore noting when sudden and rare illnesses and common infections flared to cause a seemingly quick death. Who were those previous cases? The ones long before the 1980s? These AIDs-related deaths were among the homeless, addicted, or destitute. People who did not have access to ongoing care or practitioners with CDC connections and who are perceived to be in ill health as a constant state. These are people among whom odd infections and illnesses do not seem out of place, so why would anyone care? Why would treating them, observing wellness, or tracking their illnesses matter?

Let’s imagine for a moment if, back in the early 70s, we had a health system where anyone could have received basic preventative medicine. Where even if one was homeless, or impoverished, or an addict — that they had a provider with a sense of this person’s overall wellness so that if something unusual occurred, they would have had a chance of recognizing it. And what if some provider did begin to question the incidence of unusual combinations of sarcomas and other opportunistic infections — and pointed it out to the CDC — in the early 1970s?

Consider, for a moment, if this would have happened. We would have had possibly as much as 10 years lead time on this crushing epidemic. We wouldn’t have incorrectly labeled AIDs as a disease of gay men and instead, may have seen it as it is: a disease which prays on the marginalized and disempowered. Ten years and a more correct assessment of one of the (if not the) world’s greatest health threats. That was what was at stake. If these things had occurred, perhaps we wouldn’t even have a World AIDs day today, because we wouldn’t need one.

So in honor of the day, consider the importance of health as a human right, not a privileged award. Advocating for the diseases of today means also advocating for the health of the most vulnerable. Consider what could be at stake…?

Thanksgiving came — and with it, my parents, brother, and sister-in-law. It was fabulous having that many family around. Always someone ready and willing to entertain the kids, always other people around thinking about things like what to have for dinner and whether anything in the dryer needs folded, and lots of helping eyes, hands, and ears.

My Mom outdid herself with FOUR pies. Major portions of 2 are still in our fridge. She marked each of the apple pies for Will and Kate — one with a “W” and one with a “K.”
Will was so excited about Uncle Skip and Aunt Emily’s arrival around noon on Thanksgiving Day that he didn’t nap… and fell asleep just as we were getting a 3:00 meal to the table. (My Mom pre-made almost everything, making this the earliest Thanksgiving dinner on record.) Kate, however, was ready for chow!
And yes — I was Thankful. For the usual stuff… health, home, and happy kids who do not know hunger or the sounds of bombs and go to sleep without fear.

Among the many things that have happened since our lives turned into an extended episode of Candid Camera was a visit from Nana (Paul’s Mom). That amazing Mom intuition must have been at work months ago, when she arranged her travel to arrive the morning after Paul’s appendectomy.Despite the work that greeted her (me with papers to grade and a fellowship to finish; Paul in the hospital — leaving two kids and a house in need of extra support) we managed to take a few moments outside. Nana also pitched in at school, spending a day with the kids (i.e.: providing us with translation for the cryptic activities Will describes when we ask him what he did at school that day).






It was wonderful to have the visit and we can’t wait for the next!

On your birthday, you explained exactly what I should expect from a 4-year old:

“4-year olds are big boys. They don’t hit, or whine, or kick, or talk back, or have a bad attitude.”

Whoa.

I had my doubts. After all, you’d spent the months leading up to age 4 testing almost all of the above… lapsing into defiant stand-offs that involve my carrying your thrashing body back to your room for time alone. Perhaps all of this effort wore you out? Because honestly, so far, the reality of you at age 4 has been closer to your prediction (outlined above) than mine (continuing increase in maddening defying behavior and tantrums). I remain skeptical of a complete transformation but am happy to be in this place while it lasts.

One of the things I am enjoying most about you is that you love art projects. Ever since “Miss Georgia” came from the Bead Shop to teach you to make earrings, you’ve been begging to make jewelry. I am not sure you appreciate how incredible happy it makes me to hear you ask to do art and craft projects and I am doing my best to take it all in stride, lest you realize the power the request has over me. After we put Kate to bed, you and I share an hour each night doing these projects together. We paint, make jewelry, draw, make ornaments, and string Mardi Gras beads into garland for the Christmas tree.
This last activity was what we were up to when you sailed from the stool where you were perched holding beads, hitting the wooden armrest of the sofa on the way down. Rather than climb down (as you’ve done many times from this same stool you sit on regularly to play pinball), you decided to jump at an angle, as if to land next to the bag of beads. I saw the blood before you did, seeping out from between your fingers as you covered your eye. That sight — you holding your hand over your eye, screaming out while blood began to pour — definitely aged me as I considered the possibility of a serious eye injury. For the record, you only cried for a short minute. Either due to my immediate response, cradling you in my arms and speaking softly and quietly to calm you, or because you are like your sister and have a diamond-clad head. We were all very thankful to see that you missed injuring your eye, bursting open the tissue in your eyebrow instead. We are also very thankful that we had you fixed by a doctor, as the location and depth of your wound made a level of complication that we could not have addressed. Now you have one purple eyebrow patch over your right eye, making folks suggest you’re sporting a Drew Brees look. (Believe it or not, I still don’t have a picture of the injury. Coming soon, though.)
Speaking of right and left. You have begun to master these directional specifics. Although you are committed to getting them backwards. I explained how you use your fingers to make an “L” for left, but realize this is a mute point since you are similarly committed to writing letters backward.

Kate remains your biggest fan and your biggest bully. Rarely does a day go by when she hasn’t clobbered you with something. We are working hard on reigning her in, showing you that the behavior is no way tolerated, reminding you of how we all have to work together to teach her how to treat others. Still, we realize that what really needs to happen is for you to just clobber her back. Of course we will never suggest this, and if you were to take up such a position we’d correct you accordingly with much displeasure. But we think that a little dose of her own medicine would help her learn a bit faster.Despite the regular beatings, you adore your sister. At least, when she’s not playing with the toy you Just Had or taking apart the train track you Just Fixed or pushing the truck you Just Took Down or banging on the drum too loud when you Just Want To Play Guitar. All of these things are major offenses in your book and cause for incredible whining. In general, we are supportive of your arguments of injustice but the truth is that we have a hard time caring that much about it. If your Dad and I have learned anything about parenting, we have learned that parents don’t want justice, we want QUIET.In the face of our resolution that you Work It Out, you have actually begun to find ways to play with your sister for extended periods of time (i.e.: longer than 1 minute). Like the other morning, when your Dad was in the hospital and I was alone with you two, trying to get dressed in the back of the house. I could hear you, laughing and playing together up front. I was so proud, almost not believing that your playtime had gone so long without either one of you breaking the mood with an ear-splitting wail. When I finished and went to retrieve you both, I found that you were bonding over art — happily planting stickers all over your rocking chairs and supplementing the colorful menagerie with marker ink. This is now a common theme: that you and Kate find an uncanny comradery when the two of you are doing something you are not suppose to be doing.

In your 4-year check-up, you got FOUR injections. Two in each arm. You spent two days talking about how you were going to “get shots” from the doctor, so much that you seemed excited about it. When the moment came, you hesitated and then started to stutter: “B..b…but I d.. d.. don’t like to get POKED!” By the time you got out “poked,” Dr. Oates was done with two of the shots and you had an alligator tear pouring down your cheek. Aside from the time a nurse failed to hold your leg, causing you to kick and the needle to tear into the tissue of your thigh, this was the only time you’ve cried tears for an immunization. The good news is that you’re now immunized for just about everything we can immunize you for — so it will be awhile before you have to endure another poke.

At the same visit, you had the following stats:
Weight: 36 pounds, 7 ounces (75%)
Height: 42 1/5″ (90%)

These were very exciting numbers because it means you’re tall enough to ride most of the rides at Disney World. It also shows that you are actually thickening up; we’ve had to loosen the waist adjustment on your pants in order for you to button them up. Finally — eating Granna’s pie with PapPap (read: 16 ounces of whipped cream with each ounce of pie) is working to fill you in.

Each night, we still sing our songs. “Feed the Birds” remains the favorite. But when you’re truly ready for bed, you request “Stay Awake,” and sing the first few words with me before falling quiet. Like in the movie, you close your eyes in the middle and by the end, are asleep.

The Stats:
– 1 call to babysitter (our hermanita, Michelle) since Kate was asleep.
– 1 quick visit to Med School neighbor for a professional opinion.
– Just under 4 hours at Children’s Hospital.
– Zero stitches, one big tube of glue.
– 15 minutes of holding and maneuvering (fatty tissue was problematic).
– 2 minutes on the exam table before he fell asleep during the wound cleaning.
– 1-2 day follow-up with PCP.
– 1 bet that after 1 year, the scar won’t be visible.
– 2 very tired parents.
– 8:30am. Time we’re suppose to be on the 9th floor of Oschner for Paul’s post-op visit tomorrow.