Kintropy In Action

Posted by parents at 09:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

As Hannah downsizes her technical supports: the trach tube, the ventilator, and other equipment, we are (often) asked what Hannah's prognosis and diagnoses are.  The prognosis one always stumps me.  This question is often code for exploring Hannah's worst possible outcomes.  Will she ever walk unassisted?  Will she ever talk in a way that people other than her parents can understand?  Will she eat by mouth rather than by g-tube?  Are you parents being realistic about her life's trajectory?

Of course, Janette and I usually answer this question by pointing to Hannah's love of music.  Her prognosis, we hope, is to become a rock star (rather than a groupie).

The diagnosis one, once we get through the transparent diaphragm (corrected), the cleft palette (corrected), etc., is really agenesis of the corpus callosum.  This is the condition that will inform Hannah's life, but not define it.  Hannah's wonderful nursing company's director, B., referred us to a podcast and webpage called A Day In the Life... Meet the Ingersons.  Natasha Mitchell's blog about her podcast interview and about the diagnosis include additional information and links.

The podcast interview is wonderful.  Janette and I found ourselves comparing notes, finding similarities and differences in the Ingersons' experience, but recognizing many of the same themes.  In addition to the Ingersons' narrative, I appreciated Dr. Sherr's excellent layman's explanation of agenesis of the corpus callosum.  I learned more from that explanation than from any of Hannah's doctors-to-date.

Anyway, if you are interested in learning more about the Ingersons' experience (and, indirectly, Hannah's), I encourage you to check out the podcast.  I found it invaluable, and I'm sure I'll be punching through many of the resource links on the All in The Mind page, too. 

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 05:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

Gabriel was invited to a birthday party out of our normal area. Where we live doesn't have a synagogue, so we go to one about 45 minutes away, and that is where Gabriel went to Sunday school. He had a really good friend there whose mother and I exchanged phone numbers. We never got around to getting together. Then she called and invited us to her son's birthday party.

The day was balmy and golden. Northwestern sunny days are rare, but when they do happen, they seem perfect. The air was warm with a cool breeze, and the trees made a shush sound in the air. The party was at a park. In the middle of this park was a huge grassy hill. The park attendants had stretched a plastic tarp down the hill and ran a hose over it. When the mother had mentioned slip-n-slide, I was thinking it would be the normal flat sprinkler sheet of yellow plastic perpendicular across a yard. This was something more.

I had brought a blanket for Hannah and me to sit on. So I settled us down and started her noon feed as I watched Gabriel run off with his friend and go stand in line for the humongous slip-n-slide. Hannah watched and clapped with enthusiasm. It took me about twenty minutes, but I realised something: people who stayed sitting up on the slide didn't get their faces and, importantly, their necks wet.

Hannah's neck still has a small hole in it, so water entry through there could still be dangerous. I realised Hannah, though, could do this without risk is she remained sitting. Unfortunately, I only brought back up clothes for the kids, not me. Then I considered Gabriel. He is six. He's pretty strong. His understanding of the importance of safety with Hannah has blossomed.

So when he wandered over I asked him, "Would you take Hannah down the slide?"

His eyes lit up. I think he craves big brother things to do with her. "Oh, yes, please can I?"

"Let's see." I looked at Hannah. "Hannah do you want to go down the wet slide." She smiled and clapped. I think there was a "Yeah!" thrown in there, too.

So I unhooked her g-tube. I grabbed a towel and a wash cloth and walked over to the line. I explained to Gabriel that he needed to keep her sitting up and hold onto her. I sat her between his legs and let go. I walked down the side as they made their progress. Hannah giggled and Gabriel laughed, "She likes it!"

They made it down in one piece, and Gabriel asked if they could do it again. So I asked Hannah and she screamed "Yeah!"

So up the hill we trudged again. They loved it; Hannah signed for more. But I was out of breath. She is around 36 pounds, and it was a big hill. The line on the top was pretty long too, so I copt out. Hannah was furious.

She did, however, also get to ride a merry-go-round and the swings.

It so sucks that I forgot our camera.

--Mom

PS. Gabriel wants to let the world know he threw up off the merry-go-round. A girl came and spun the merry-go-round really fast. He told her he was getting sick, and she didn't believe him and spun him faster. Hopefully, next time she will believe whoever tells her they are sick.

Posted by parents at 09:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBacks (0)

Two blog carnivals have included us in their latest editions.  I think you'll find both carnivals many entries great reads (and a fantastic way to find new favorite blogs):

Change of Shift - nursing career diversity:   Braden has done a great job of assembling a wide array of viewpoints and experiences by nursing specialty.  If you've every wondered what a Flight Nurse (think Lifeflight helicopters) goes through verses what a typical day is like in the life of a Public Health Nurse, check out this edition of Change of Shift.

Carnival of Family Life - welcome summer edition!: JHS at Colloquium gathers together everything from family finance tips to family humor for our summer reading pleasure.

Hope you enjoy the links!

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 09:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

For the record:  I never wanted to be a nurse.  I am not particularly squeamish.  It's just that I had my fill of doctors, nurses, and all-things-medical growing up.  Picture a family tree dressed in diagnoses like spina bifdia, hydrocephalis, weak connective tissue, severe asthma, epidural and subdural hemotomas, Rheynauds Syndrome, color blindness, and probably several things I'm forgetting.  We were a diagnoses-rich family; our medicine cabinet flowth over.

When my daughter, Hannah, was born, however, nursing found me and my family.  Hannah moved from eight hours observation to two weeks in NICU.  Janette and I took her home two weeks later with a tank of oxygen, an apnea monitor, g-tube and feeding syringes, and the best wishes of the hospital.  My wife, two-year-old son, and I were going to raise Hannah at home, but we were going to all have to learn a new vocabulary and intensive medical skills to do it well.

Within six months, we added new diagnoses and equipment to the mix:  a trach, 24/7 ventilator support, surgeries completed and scheduled for the future.  Also at six months, we joined Oregon's MFCU program.  MFCU is a Medicaid-wavier program that provides in-home nursing in place of what used to be permanent, institutionalized care.  We signed the dotted line, promising to be a parent-nursing partner within the program, carrying our weight both as parents and parent-nurses in the care of our daughter.  Thus we launched our nursing careers.

We were lucky.  We met many people over this period who had kids with significant medical needs who, because they were not ventilator dependent, did not qualify for in-home nursing.  We had one-on-one nursing for our daughter sixteen hours a day, on average.  We provided the other eight hours of nursing, learning by working beside nursing professionals.  We learned to suction.  We replaced g-tubes.  We reinserted trach tubes (many, many times).  We were experts in the medical care of one patient:  our daughter Hannah.

Being both parent of child and nurse of patient was a wild ride, punctuated by both humor and terror.  In neighborhood get togethers, our peers noted their children's developmental progress in steps walked and words talked; we, in minutes, then hours, breathing without ventilator support (quite the show stopper, by the way, in a room full of non-nurse parents).  When crisis hit, we took the necessary medical steps, pushing parental concern to the back while bringing our nursing knowledge and experience to the front. 

We met people over the years who were also medical experts in their children.  They were parent-nurses, but they had little to no additional professional supports.  While we were swapping best practices with our daughter's team, they were doing the same, often wonderfully, but without the support network we enjoyed.  We connected up with these families when we could, and we all swapped stories.  We traded tips.  We compared doctors and medical histories, often finding new links to explore.  Our connections to nurses and other families became our community.  Much like nurses who work together in a hospital, I imagine, we now found our friends in the lay and professional nursing networks we found ourselves in.

Jump forward now to a month ago when we packed up Hannah's ventilator and bid it good-bye.  Hannah's trach tube had been removed.  She was breathing completely on her own.  We no longer needed the ventilator.  We were transitioning.  Nursing and medical needs had overshadowed our parental role for at least half of the last four years; now the scale was tipping strongly in the other direction.

Soon we'll be losing two-thirds of our nursing hours as Hannah transitions out of the MFCU program.  We will see the nurses that we've all bonded with over the last four years less often.  Then they will go away.  Once they are gone, however, we will retain our nursing knowledge (and some of our nursing duties, still).  We will move our focus more strongly to PT, OT, and advocacy for our daughter.

Every so often, Janette and I play with the idea of returning to school and earning a professional degree as RTs or of beginning a medical foster home (okay, that's not Janette's - it's mine).  Somewhere in the background, we want to take advantage of our four year's experience and build on it.

But in the meantime, we are returning nearly full-time to our other jobs as our children's parents.  We're putting the suction machine up on a high shelf and pulling down the reading and math flashcards instead.  We're preparing to set aside some of our intensive nursing training, at least for a little while, and enjoy something of a respite with our kids, proud of the time and progress we've all made together, content to be mostly healthy, happy, and intact as a family.

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 06:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by Dad at 08:39 PM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

Last week, I finally got around to hanging the Mezuzahs around the house. We've only been living here 6 years, and we bought the Mezuzahs 4 years ago. So last week, the day before we were interviewed by a reporter for a Jewish Newspaper, Robert and I decided it was time to hang them.

The Hebrew word Mezuzah means "doorpost". In our tradition, it is placed on the doorframes except the bathrooms. It is a casing that contains a scroll with the words from Deuteronomy 6:4-9 and Deuteronomy 11:13-21. They contain the  words of the main prayer of Judaism. It is called the Shema. We do this because of the biblical commandment to write the words of the Shema upon the doorposts of our houses.

It is a symbol that we are a Jewish home.

Robert showed Gabriel the general practice of people to touch the Mezuzah with their hand then bring their hands to their face and kiss them out of respect for the words of God. They do it every time they enter a Jewish home. It is a cool practice. Gabriel has taken it up. He has also started yelling at me because I don't do it.

I'm using it as an opportunity to teach him religious tolerance and Judaism. Wish me luck. I'm trying to split hairs on what is a practice and what is required by God. I'm also trying to teach him that respect and deeds are the most important thing:  not whether or not a person just does what everyone else is doing.

--Mom

Posted by parents at 09:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Hannah woke promptly at 2 a.m. as I took over from Janette.  It reminded me of the Warner Bros. cartoon with the sheepdog and the wolf, both clocking in together, initiating the daily routine of wolf-tries-to-steal-sheep and sheepdog-tries-to-stop-him.

"Hi, Hannah."

"Da."

We both clocked in.  I checked Hannah and her bed; both were wet, wet, wet.  Taking care of Hannah at night is probably familar to anyone who has raised a child.  We're still in the everything's wet phase of early childhood development.  Add an all-night, continuous feed and mouth breathing, and you've got wet, wet, wet.

I took Hannah out of bed while I changed sheets, shirt, and diaper.  I gave her a breathing treatment (she has gotten whatever virus Gabriel was sharing).  I turned on a soothing video and then returned her to bed.  Wide-awake, she watched the video while I disengaged to give her some time to sleep.

She popped up into a sitting position in bed and gnawed on a bed rail.

"Hannah, lie down, please."

She smiled at me.  Compliance was unlikely.  She had gotten my attention.

I helped her back into a sleeping position, and I ran to the kitchen to refresh my coffee.

She popped back up into a sitting position.

"Hannah, lie down."

Now video time was over.  The radio was on instead:  one of her many cues that it was time to go back to sleep.  I gave her back her pacifier and we rinse-wash-repeated this routine for a few more cycles.

Now Hannah's eyes are shut, but she's tossing and turning, still trying to avoid sleep as her body begins to agree with me.  In our sheepdog/wolf world, we are just about ready to clock out for a few hours' nap.  I'm just not sure which part each of us are playing:  who is the sheepdog and who is the wolf?

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 02:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

As has been previously mentioned on this blog, Gabriel was really sick all last week. There was a moment in the turmoil that actual made me laugh out loud.

I was arguing with Gabriel for the zillionth time, trying to get him to swallow anti-fever med. His nose was dripping snot (which was traumatising him). He stared at me dead pan. "There is an answer for all this misery. It is chocolate."

I nodded my head in agreement and got him a chocolate donut.

--Mom

Posted by parents at 10:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Hannah has really sensitive skin. Carpet makes her break out. Tissue makes big red splotches on her skin. I'm not kidding. We don't use wipes. I have about hundred wash cloths we wash over and over till the holes are bigger then the cloths. For awhile, she had a diaper rash problem we could not figure out. We did figure out that nystatin made it worse.

One day I had one of those deductive reasoning moments and realized that paper that has been bleached at any point in its existence was a problem (she broke out from white paper), so I moved Hannah to Seventh Generation Diapers. The diaper rash and redness disappeared.

It has been wonderful. Hannah has been growing and, well, the biggest size no longer fits her. I tried looking for older peoples incontinent pads that were not chlorine bleached, but could not find any information. So I started looking at cloth diapers. I already do a great deal of wash for her wash cloths, and she prefers to use the toilet when stooling.

There was an added problem with my odd aversions to certain fabrics. When I touch something that is velvet or similar in texture, I get that feeling that one gets when nails scratch a chalk board. It seems totally irrational and involuntary. but I've had it all my life according to my mother. That has been the problem with most diapers I've bought; I can't seem to hold onto them because they usually use flannel. (Ewww I just winced and shuddered)

So Hannah's grandfather, the great Zadie, has developed a diaper that is easy to use. It is smooth on one side and I don't have to touch the absorbent side.

Yay!, Zadie

--Mom

Posted by parents at 10:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

A week ago Friday, our extended family celebrated Gabriel's kindergarten achievement at the local Red Robin.  Chaos, of course, ensued.

"So Gabriel," I said gravely, "now that you've graduated, we should hit the newspapers together."

"What?" he asked.

"It's time to find you a job."

"Dad!  You're joking!"

Actually, a good call on Gabriel's part.  Dad jokes a lot.  Fueled by sibling energy, particularly from my brother who was sitting next to Gabriel, I was in a particularly joking mood.

"Yes, I am," I admitted, "but what kind of job would you like if we were looking."

"Daaad!"  Obviously, I was embarassing my six-year old son by even bringing up the subject.  Granted, my parents and I had had this discussion a bit later:  when I was sixteen or so.  Something about encouraging me to get a non-family-business job and me replying, "I'll get a job when I'm ready to get a job, not because you tell me to get a job."  Ah, to be sixteen again!

My brother caught my eye.  You should get him an application, he mouthed.  My head had been moving in that direction, too, so I excused myself from the table and headed to the greeter's desk at the front of the restaurant.

When I returned, I handed the application to Gabriel.  "Maybe you could fill this out, Gabriel.  For a summer job, maybe?"

"Dad, I'm too young to have a job!"

"Well, you know you graduated..."

"I already have a job," he sighed.  For the next few minutes, he moved quite fluidly through his current job (making calendars for other people, apparently) to non-job things that filled his busy schedule to something about his age.

You should have the manager come talk to him, the helpful Uncle K mouthed again from across the table.

I smiled, mouthing back, I already did.

Uncle K laughed.

A few minutes later, the Red Robin manager, a very good sport, swung by.

"Are you the one looking for a job?"

Gabriel blushed.

The manager flipped a chair around and began the interview.  He was gentle and funny.  Gabriel answered his questions, mainly explaining that he already had a job and that he was just a kid!  Gabriel assiduously avoiding making eye contact (not the best way to win a job, that).  The family chuckled gently.

In the end, the manager balked at Gabriel's price ($100 for washing dishes!), thanked him for being a good sport, and left the table.

And Gabriel, having kept a surprised-but-happy composure throughout the entire interview, dropped his head to the table and cried.

Yep.  This was a sure sign that Dad Had Gone Overboard.  Gabriel thought everyone's good-natured laughter was laughter at him and, to be honest at his age, I could understand that perspective.  I went over, picked him up, and held him.  Waitresses passed by, and I silently confirmed, yes, I'm That Guy, The Guy That Made His Cutely Dimpled Son Cry.

Gabriel and I worked out my apology and the attempt at just-in-fun within a few minutes, and he swung over to sit next to me.  Within a few minutes, the manager walked back by and presented Gabriel with a Good Citizenship award attached to a free milkshake coupon.  All was soothed away by a creamy chocolate cup.

Soon after, we picked up our things and prepared to leave.  The manager caught us at the door, and pointed Gabriel out to his teammate.

"This guy's gonna work for us in ten years or so," he said.

"All right!" his teammate said.

Gabriel smiled.  The chocolate shake mustache still at Gabriel's lips, we headed home to begin his mostly job-less summer vacation. 

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 01:25 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Okay, trying something new... uploading video!  We got the new quickie video camera a few weeks ago, and I've been banging at Adobe Premiere Pro to no avail (apparently, not too happy with the .avi format).  Enter the new AVS Video Editor.  Dad goes crazy with transitions!  Hannah gets distracted by Wheel of Fortune!  Gabriel goes berzerk!

 http://www.vimeo.com/1169737

(With apologies to folks who have something more advanced that Movable Type 3.2.  Could not find a plug in that would allow me to embedd the video here - if anyone has any ideas, let me know....)

 -- Dad

Posted by Dad at 04:53 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

We quietly had a big event in our house last Wednesday.

I think I made the supply person laugh all the way home with all the pictures I took

--Mom

Posted by parents at 05:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Our couch has seen its share of action.  This is the couch we fed Hannah on, back when all we had was a g-tube, gravity feeding, and the best wishes of her birth hospital.  This is the couch where Gabriel first heard, "In the bowl!  Throw up in the bowl!"  Yes, this couch has seen the business end of a steam cleaner more than once.

And, last night, I saved our couch's life one more time.

"Dad, I'm done.  I'm going to go back and sit on the couch."  Gabriel had nibbled at a peanut butter sandwich.  He, Hannah, and I had been out most of the day with Zadie at the Rose Festival Waterfront.  On the way there, he had felt a little warm, and I had given him some ibruprofin to treat what felt like a hint of a fever.  That was quite fresh in my mind.

"Gabriel, you barely touched your meal.  Have a seat."

He complied briefly.  Then stood.  Then burped.  Then, on the vinyl, easy-to-clean floor, embraced his illness.

Belatedly, I grabbed a plastic bowl.  "Throw up in the bowl if you can," I asked gently.  Janette, called by The Signal, joined us.  Hannah continued to enjoy her nap in her bedroom.

Together, Janette and I became The Cleaners.  I mopped with paper towels and soap.  Janette paraded Gabriel to the shower.  She and I coordinated on the now Tylenol dose (5 hours after the ibruprofin).  It was a model of medical and parenting efficiency.

After Gabriel exited the shower, he claimed the now-covered-in-sheets couch as home base.  The tv became Spiderman cartoon central, and Hannah joined us to play on the floor nearby.  Janette moved a side table next to Gabriel, and we stacked it with a tall container of water and stack of crackers.  Gabriel sopped up the attention, and relaxed into I'm-sick-and-need-major-assistance posture.

I, preparing for a later nursing shift, headed to bed, confident that all was well-in-hand.

-- Dad

Post ibruprofin picture from the Waterfront:

Posted by Dad at 02:14 AM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

"Why did you take the wedge out of Hannah's bed?"

This was my somewhat accusatory question to Janette at our 2 am shift change.  I had noticed that Hannah was lying flat in her bed, on her stomach, pacifier in her mouth.  Her O2 saturation monitor said everything was hunky dory, but Something Had Been Changed.  She had been sleeping with her upper body elevated for the past several weeks.

"Well," Janette began, "when I was putting Hannah to bed, she was sitting up in her bed...."

Now, in everyday life, I completely rely on Janette's memory and recall.  In a typical conversation, someone might ask me what happened yesterday, and I will usually turn to Janette for the answer.  I think I am not alone in this among married men.  She is my Rock, my Harbour, my yes-this-just-happened-yesterday-but-heck-if-I-remember Harddrive.

At 2 am, quite unfairly, I had different expectations.  The way Janette began her story, I felt catapulted back to The Big Bang.  It all started with a spec of energy, a spark....

"The short version," I grunted.

Janette paused.  She was probably callibrating internally for the hour, my 'tude, and her lack of sleep.  "Ok, Hannah was sitting up in her bed...."

Ah, now I felt moved forward, quickly, to the Renaissance:  a beautiful time in history (well, in art & thought:  not sure I would want to live in the actual day-to-day world).  Still too far back for me at 2 am.

"What I'm looking for," I said, "is something like, 'She is handling it fine.'"

"She is handling it fine," Janette parroted, "and it's safer if she sits up in bed."

I nodded sagely.  Yes, now it all made sense.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 01:38 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Gabriel's teacher arranged for a graduation ceremony for Kindergarten last week. The kids performed songs and did a play about Geography. I brought Hannah to see it. It is the first time something in the class has been scheduled and Hannah wasn't sick. She loved it and clapped emphatically at the ends of songs. She also chortled loudly at unappropiate moments. It was great.

The rest of the adults laughed as Gabriel's best friends interrogated me on the fact that they could still see the hole in her neck even though it was suppose to be closed. I love little kids. They just ask you straight out what is going on in their mind.

--Mom

Posted by parents at 10:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I just wanted to give a quick nod to TherExtras.  Barbara has been combing websites and assembling interesting stories and connections along with her observations.  If you haven't had the opportunity, please check out her site.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 05:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I stepped into the house from the garage tonight, work still percolating through my head.  Mechanically, I counted heads:  three kids, one mom.  Wait a second - extra kid....  Facial recognition kicked in, and I noticed that Gabriel had a friend over.  Although Speed Racer was on the tv, they seemed to be bouncing around the family room, doing something entirely else.

Hannah was alternately sitting, then lying on the kitchen tile, hanging out with Mom as Mom cooked dinner.  

"Up!" Hannah demanded.  

"I'll be back," I promised.  I hadn't checked news websites all day.  I am a news junkie.  Unplugged, I was starting to wilt.

Hannah disagreed, of course, complaining loudly.

Ok - Barack Obama is still our nominee, I confirmed. 

Back out to the kitchen and family room.  Gabriel's friend was winding stuff up and preparing to go home.  I picked Hannah up, accidently opening her feeding tube's medication port, and she and I enjoyed a lukewarm path of partially digested Pediasure.

Clothing changes commenced.  Hannah, not caring about the clothes so much, motioned to be picked back up as I hurried off for new clothes.  More crying.

"Gabriel," I asked as we passed in the hallway, "how was school today?"

"Um, you know," he replied, "Same old story."

Laughing, I returned to the now quite-upset Princess.  We changed clothes.  She made demands.  I refused.  She cried.

Twenty minutes later, the Napless Wonder is resting quietly in her room.  Mom and Gabriel have headed out to Baskin Robins for ice cream.  And I am enjoying the brief sound of silence.

-- Dad   

Posted by Dad at 05:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

One of my distractions over the last few weeks has been the book InkHeart by Cornelia Funke. Robert and I got MP3 players that are compatible with Audible.com. It is a site for downloading books read outloud.

When the main characters in this story read out loud, things from the book they are reading come out. If the character is reading the poem Ode to the Nightingale   by Wordsworth, by the end of reading, there is a nightingale flying around the room.

So I listened to the beautifully descriptive book read out loud into my mind. This is funny listening to a book about things coming to life when read out loud, while listening to it read out loud.

The characters were fun and scary. Dialogue in this book felt real. The scenery it conjured in my mind was rich and consuming. The reverent love of books for books sake theme was also comforting. The overall message of the import ants of family heartening.

It is nice to have an adventure story for a child that also involves a parent with them.

I can't wait till I can share this story with Gabriel and Hannah.

I am in anxious anticipation of what Hollywood has done this to this story.

--Mom

Posted by parents at 09:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

I'm a sitting here tonight, post kids' bedtime, resisting the urge to jump into a re-learn Adobe Premiere project.  We've got this cool new casual video camera, and we've been shooting short clips for about a week of the family about town.  The catch is that I need to assemble the video, and 10pm on a Sunday night is probably not the time to stoke the fires of creative frustration with All Things Computer.

So I'll sit here and look for some new music for the anticipated long work week, but more pics from our rehabilitated still camera and our new video camera are on the way soon.  Hope everyone had a great weekend!  We actually had sun here in Oregon for half-a-day (video from park... must... not... try... to... assemble... now).

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 08:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)