Kintropy In Action

For those of you dads that may be local here in the Portland, OR metro area, check out the First Annual Portland Dads' Family Picnic.  My brother, K, has been working with this group for involved dads (my preferred interpretation for "stay at home dads" since I'm involved, but have to work outside the home).  Apparently, they have over 80 dads signed up for the group, and the group seems to be pretty active & involved.

In fact, if you run into my brother, he'll happily tell you the story of the last meeting:  a night at the pub.  K. arrived in the area via mass transit with some sense of where the pub was.  K has an excellent sense of direction.  I've seen him drop into an unknown city with a map and have it down pat pretty quickly.  On this occassion, though, he walked toward his destination.  And walked.  And walked some more.

Some time later, he called a cab and gave them the location he couldn't quite locate.  And the cab drove him back more or less to the spot he started from.  Apparently, he should've gone a few feet this-a-way instead of that-a-way....  (Oh, the price of a dads' day out plug for K ;-)

Here are the Dads' picnic details.  You can also learn more at the Dads' group website:

• When:  Saturday, Sept 6 from 11am - 3pm (drop-in anytime)
  

• Where:  Pier Park in St. John's picnic area (Portland, OR)

• Food:  Potluck - see site for details.

Our family will hopefully make it.  Maybe we'll see you there - provided we don't get lost (can you tell my brother and I are fifteen months apart?).

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 02:36 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

When Janette and I first moved in together, we hit the movie theaters every Saturday afternoon.  It didn't matter (most of the time) how good or bad the movies were.  We were getting some downtime, soaking in a bigger-than-life cinematic experience, and getting completely wired on candy, popcorn, and soda.  All was right with the world.

About six months after Gabriel was born, I decided it was time to indoctrinate him in the wonders of cinema.  We headed to the local Bellevue, WA megaplex where he promptly fell asleep.  We wandered into the theater, waiting for The Rookie to start, the infant Gabriel asleep in my arms. 

The local ads played.  Gabriel slept.  The curtains closed and reopened to bombastic coming attraction trailers.  Gabriel snoozed.  The movie began with a quiet, coming-of-age montage.  Gabriel woke with a start and screamed.  And screamed.  And screamed.

Thus ended our first father-son movie experience.

For Hannah, Janette and I waited until about a year ago.  As a family, we descended on the theater, waiting for the latest animated feature to start.  Hannah sat in her wheelchair beside me, then Janette, then me as Janette and I took turns entertaining her prior to the movie's start. 

The movie began.  Hannah considered her options.  She reached out to Mom, then me, requesting removal from her wheelchair.  Then she began to scream.  And scream.  And scream.

Janette and Gabriel remained behind to finish the movie (they didn't - Gabriel got bored half-way through) as Hannah and I strolled the mall, keeping perpetually in motion per the Princesses orders.

Gabriel's theater behavior has certainly improved since he was younger.  He can now sit through a movie with only one gotta-go gotta-go theater break, a few loudly blurted plot questions, and a sugar enhanced need to dance in his seat.  The jury is still out on Hannah, though, so this weekend, when the theater bug hit, we decided to stay home and introduce the kids to E.T. - The Extra Terrestrial.

Warning:  movie spoilers ahead.  Read no further if you have not seen, and wish to see, E.T.

I picked the movie and promptly received a lukewarm response from Gabriel.  Janette and I explained to both kids that we were going to watch a movie together as a family, and Gabriel and Hannah settled in for some enforced family time.

As the movie began, the kids, of course, came 'round.  Gabriel laughed at all of Elliot's and E.T.'s funny bits; Hannah giggled everytime Gertie opened her mouth, particularly when she tried to teach E.T. to speak.  As tension mounted in the last half of the movie, Gabriel paced anxiously.  He settled next to Mom on the couch as E.T.'s health declined, begging for confirmation that E.T. would not die.  He sobbed and Mom rubbed his back.

As E.T.'s health suddenly improved, Gabriel laughed.  Hannah clapped as the action picked up and cars chased bikes.  As the movie closed, Gabriel expressed, and Hannah seemed to agree, that the family movie night had not been so bad after all.

Next, Gabriel requested the special features disk (his end all/be all for all DVDs).  He navigated through it for about five minutes, then proclaimed, "I'm done now.  Can I play Wii?"

And thus ended our family movie night - without any screaming.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 02:51 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Janette purchased an infant doll for Gabriel to play with before Hannah was born.  She helped him understand it was a girl-doll, just like his sister would be, and encouraged him to play with her and take care of her.  In those early days, Gabriel had a few nights' intense focus on the infant doll:  feeding her, changing her (actually, asking us to change her), and hauling her around the house.  And then the doll went back to the toy box from whence it came.

Sister came.  As part of our in-and-out-of-the-hospital medical dance, Gabriel headed to preschool.  There he met a girl who owned a cat.  One day, Gabriel pulled his pretend sister out of the toy bin and dubbed her "Coco" after his friend's cat. 

Thus, Coco was born.  

Coco has had a varied life since.  She has re-emerged at different times with different roles.  Gabriel introduced her to Hannah (not interested).   A few years later, Coco had a brief, but exciting life as what Gabriel loudly proclaimed as "Suuuuper-baby!"  And then she returned to the bin.  And waited.

This week, Gabriel re-unearthed Coco.  Coco, the practice baby sister named after a cat, the former superhero, has gone through additional changes.  Coco, for starters, is now a baby brother.  Coco also has an interesting lineage.

"Where did your little brother, Coco, come from?" I asked a few nights ago.  We were all piled into the car, seeking a bad-for-us-but-quick fast food dinner.  Janette sat beside me, motioning, NO, don't start.

"Um, God gave her to our family!" Gabriel proclaimed.  Hannah, sitting beside Gabriel, seemed unphased by this extraordinary news.

Janette shook her head.  She knew I couldn't leave that alone.  Gabriel has been poking at God for about a year, exploring.  We've encouraged him to think and feel his way through, helping him search for answers to his own questions on the subject.

"How'd He do that?" I asked.  A groan erupted from the seat beside me.

"Coco came down from the sky!" Gabriel said.

Gabriel and I continued our conversation, exploring the what-ifs of a special-delivery baby like Coco.  I muttered what a hard life a messiah might have, and in an unusual recognition that I was crossing The Line (with some help from Janette beside me), I turned the convesation in a different direction. 

We drove on, completed our fast food order, and headed home. 

It is interesting to watch Gabriel explore the Big Issues:  where do we come from, what will happen to us when we die, etc..  We step in to help him explore (sometimes with humour - see above), but I really do want to encourage that exploration:  not force the stamp of my own beliefs on him.  I recognize that's maybe a lot for an almost seven-year-old to digest, but Gabriel seems to be doing fine with that room-to-think and room-to-invent.

I want the same for Hannah.  She, too, is exploring her world.  Although she sometimes (not as often these days) lacks the words or the expressions, I imagine she has some similar questions beginning to form.  And her perspective on life, death, God, and all of it may be entirely different than Gabriel's.  As Hannah's questions emerge, we'll help her walk through them, too.

In the meantime, Gabriel's pretend little baby brother, Coco, is thriving with the attention.  Gabriel has learned to change Coco's diaper, and Gabriel believes this will train him to help change Hannah's.  Interesting after all these years that Coco's original purpose is, strangely, still intact.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 02:34 AM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

This is Hannah at 5am.  Yes, she will be embarrassed by this picture some time in the future, but maybe that's just a little bit of payback for her many early morning wake-up calls?  Would I be that vindictive?  Maybe.  Ok, yes!  Definitely, yes!
 
Tonight, she was not a happy camper and began crying almost as soon as I started my 2am shift.  With some albuterol, she has settled back in comfortably:  asleep for the time being....
 
-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 01:36 AM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

A co-worker stopped by my desk yesterday, admiring my 2 lb Blue Diamond almonds bag on my desk.  We chatted.  Casually, he mentioned his wife had picked up this great snack-pack version at CostCo.  What a great way to help guide portion size, we agreed.

Thus the seed was planted.  I hadn't been to CostCo for awhile.  At home, Hannah was going batty without a trip outside for a day-and-a-half, post-surgery.  I reasoned we could use a post-dinner family trip.  CostCo seemed like the ticket.

So after dinner, we (we being Janette -  thanks, honey!) packed the kids up and headed out to CostCo.  We happen to live within a stone's throw of the what may still be the biggest CostCo store worldwide.  CostCo opened the Hillsboro, OR store as a new concept store:  lots of display space for furniture, those food taster people, etc..  It's quite the browsing and shopping adventure.

We popped over to CostCo, unloaded Hannah's wheelchair & the kids, grabbed a cart, and headed inside.  Hannah was unusually well-behaved and patient as we strolled the isles.  She alternated between looking at all the stuff whizzing by and admiring the highly placed lighting in the warehouse's ceiling.  Gabriel jumped and skipped along the pavement until we advised him to slow down to a walk.  We came, we saw, we shopped.

As anyone who has ever shopped CostCo knows, you go in for one thing, maybe two, and exit with twenty.  I'm usually the first to moan about the total bill while obscuring the fact that many of the unnecessary items in the cart are mine, all mine! 

This shopping trip was no different.  In addition to milk and the almond snacky thing, we purchased blank DVDs and CDs (we were running low), Instant Immersion Spanish DVD-ROM (hey, ten dollars off with the sale ending today), turkey jerkey (makes the night shift run better & low in fat...), batteries, etc..  Yes, most of the extras were for me or for the kids.  Janette fared rather poorly in this trip (sorry, hon).

While Janette checked out, I took the kids over to the snack area.  This is Gabriel's main focus from the point we announce a CostCo trip, walk through the door, stroll the aisles, take the unplanned but mandatory potty stop (announced when we are standing at the warehouse's furthest distance from the restrooms), and prepare to check out.  Schoolwork and reading?  Focus is an issue.  CostCo's snack area?  Focus is Gabriel's first, middle, and last name.

Gabriel, Hannah, and I walked over to the snack area.  Gabriel and I ordered up two churros (his & Mom's) and a chocolate frozen yogurt for Hannah and me to share.  We all sat nearby, waiting for Janette to emerge from one of the long cashier lines a hundred plus feet away.

For Hannah and me, I grabbed two plastic spoons.  We took turns with the chocolate frozen yogurt.  She feinted and jabbed for control of the spoon.  We negotiated, sharing control as the she tasted the yogurt, allowed some to drip out of her mouth, then motioned for the spoon again.  While Hannah and I performed our dance, Gabriel sat beside me, chomping at his churro.

That's when I heard the spoon snap.  Hannah had been chewing on the spoon more than the yogurt.  The snap was short and quiet, but I was paying pretty close attention.  I dove into Hannah's mouth and quickly discovered and extracted the small sliver missing from the spoon in Hannah's mouth.  I compared it to the main spoon fragment, making sure the two pieces fit perfectly together (i.e. no missing remnants in her mouth). 

Mental note:  scratch any non-permanent spoons from the list of things Hannah can put in her mouth (these non-permanent spoons will keep the recently exorcized pacifiers company).

Janette rejoined us soon after.  I relayed the new No-Plastic-Spoons discovery as we finished our desserts. Soon after, with Hannah completely tantrum-less, we headed home to begin our nursing shift.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 02:58 AM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

Let's give this another try... (Saturday at noon now Wednesday, a week later, at 6pm now)....

After some tons of database issues at our server (Yahoo, if anyone's interested), we may be back up and running.  Thanks to:

*  Barbara at Ther Extras, for letting us know our comments were down

*  The handy search/blog forum that came up when I typed in the error code my computer was shouting at me.  At least it made me think I might be able to fix something (ended up being a problem on Yahoo's end)

On to bigger & better things.  Thanks all for your patience.

-- Rob (Kintropy's Dad)

Posted by Dad at 06:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Growing up with Winnie the Pooh, everyone identifies with one character or another.  I was always an Eeyore fan myself.  Something rang both true and absurd in his constant mopiness; it suited me.

I'm not sure to which characters the kids will attach, but I do know one thing:  Hannah will not be claiming Tigger as her favorite.

Last night, one of Hannah's favorite nurses introduced Hannah's new toothbrush:  a Tigger electric toothbrush.  At its base, Tigger sits on a log in an upright, ready-to-pounce position.  His stomach houses the on-off button, and the toothbrush itself sprouts from his skull.  Yes, not only does Tigger have very human traits; Oral B, under what I'm sure is a strict licensing agreement, has transformed Tigger into a family-friendly cyborg!

I was sitting on the couch in the family room when Hannah began to scream.  It wasn't a I'm-not-happy scream; it was a nightmare shriek worthy of B-movie credits. 

I walked back and asked the nurse, "Her head start spinning yet?"  Pictures of Regan danced in my head. 

Hannah's nurse, J, was both comforting Hannah and trying really hard not to laugh, I think, at the strangely virulent reaction Hannah was showing to a toothbrush.  Hannah settled down into sobs for a moment, glanced wearily at the nearby countertop, spotted the toothbrush, and renewed her shrieking.

J worked on comforting Hannah, and as she returned Hannah to her room, Tigger the Terror Toothbrush disappeared.  I walked into Hannah's room, picked her up, and held her.  Her sobs slowly receeded as I sang to her.

Poor Hannah.  Poor Tigger.  I'm hoping she'll find something to love in Pooh.  Or Eeeyore.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 08:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

Don't mistake that twinkle in Hannah's eye for camera red-eye.  The family is singing together in the kitchen, Mom is taking the picture, and Hannah is encouraging us all!

-- Dad

P.S.  Note the Huskies shirts:  football season is almost here.  Preseason football on tv:  can Mom be any happier ;-) 

Posted by Dad at 05:32 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

"Hannah," Janette called, tossing a rolled up ball of fabric into her lap, "put on your shirt."  Janette popped back toward the back of the house - probably Hannah's room - to get something else.

Hannah squinted, processing.  She turned her head right and scanned slowly up and down her arm.  She turned her head left.  She scanned up and down her left arm, turning it as she looked.  Then she looked at me, Gabriel, and Auntie 'O and waited for some assistance.

I clapped for no good reason.  "You got it!  Shirt!"  I was impressed she had made the connection to what Janette had said, had processed it, and had thought through how she might execute the request.

Hannah continued to look at me.  I interpretted.  "Yeah, Dad.  Got it.  Shirt.  Stop.  Really.  You're embarrassing me."

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 02:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Note:  Not for the faint at heart (or stomach).

Ok, it's not that bad, but I thought I'd give fair warning.  We have a six-year-old boy, and I am about to reveal his secrets.  And six-year-old boys find bodily functions funny (as do their dads).

***

A month of so ago, Gabriel took an entrepreneurial turn:  he decided to open his own restaurant at Bubbie and Zadie's house.  It is an upscale, outdoor venue with a single-item, but daring menu:  rock soup.

Anyone who walks into the backyard while Gabriel is working is drafted into service.  I recently joined him there.

"Dad, do you want to learn how to make rock soup?"

"Eh, well, eh..."

"Great!  Let me show you!"

Gabriel assembled three metal bowls Bubbie and Zadie had donated to his restaurant.  He grabbed a nearby scoop.  "First, you fill this with rocks.  One scoop at a time," he cautioned, looking up at me to confirm I understood.  He demonstrated.  "Now you try."

I took the scoop and contributed one pile of pebbly rocks from the backyard's walking path.

"Good job," Gabriel said.  He took the scoop from me and contributed one himself.  "We take turns," he advised.

After a few minutes, we had three bowls of rocks.

"Next," Gabriel said, picking up a bowl.  "We add the water."  He walked over to the nearby wall fountain.  He dipped the bowl into one of the trickling streams until it was filled to the brim with water.  "You try."

I took a second bowl.  I had only filled this one about half-way with rocks.  I explained to Gabriel that this was the low-calorie version for people on diets (yeah, I'm not much for scooping & playing in the dirt).  I filled it to the top of the rocks with water, eliciting another "Good job!" from Gabriel.

We returned to the walking stone we were using as a prep area.

"Now what?" I asked.

"Let's go on the swing," he offered.  We left our bowls for a moment to use the two-seater, porch-type swing nearby.  We swung a few times, trying different combinations of him pushing off, me pushing off, me braking the motion with my foot, Gabriel looking for the source of the breakage, then admonishing me.

"Ok," he said, "now let's eat."

Gobble, gooble.  Nothing like pretend rock soup in the late afternoon, I thought.

Gabriel made a throwing up sound and turned over his bowl.  The rocks and water splatted and smacked against the walking path stones.

Gabriel beamed, "How do you like my restaurant:  Rock Swing UpChuck?"

I smiled.  "Love it."

Soon afterward, I was reclining on a nearby patch of grass with Hannah.  She and I were talking and singing.  Gabriel stood over me.

"Dad, time to work."

"I'm on break."

"Ok," he said.  Gabriel popped back into the house, looking for more workers to draft into service.

Gabriel played this game for probably an hour before dinner.  He went back outside after dinner to play again by himself.  No sooner had my dad and I finished a conversation about how cool it was that their backyard was a safe place for Gabriel to play by himself, we heard the scream.

I sighed.  Gabriel is an adventurous boy.  Most of our days out end with that sound:  screaming and crying.  It was very, very familar.

Janette and my mom headed out to check on Gabriel.  Soon after, they rushed him inside to the bathroom to clean the inevitable wound.

"What happened?" I asked Janette.

Apparently, Gabriel, while managing his restaurant, came across Bubbie and Zaddie's windmill lawn ornament.  Gabriel spun the wooden windmill blades, admiring inertia in motion.  Then he decided to take a closer look.

Yes, the windmill further taught him about the consequences of interrupting inertia with your face.  

Auntie O' asked Gabriel if he wanted to go back outside and play Rock Swing UpChuck again.

"I'm never playing that again," Gabriel brooded.

By the time we headed home that night, Gabriel had revised his position.  "I mean I'm not going to play that right now, but I might later."

Good news, I thought as Gabriel's former employee, Rock Swing UpChuck would see its star rise once more.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 05:39 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Hannah has her Shows:  Jeopardy and Wheel of Fortune.  This is her one hour of tv bliss.  Generally, she perks up during commerical breaks if the music grabs her.  Tonight, a locally produced commerical popped on for a furniture company.

Cue the music:  McHammer - "You Can't Touch This."

Hannah broke out in Tickle-Me-Elmo guffaws.  The fifteen second spot reappeared a minute later.  She laughed harder.

Cue Daddy:  off to the music lair.

Our office is packed with lots of stuff:  too much, actually.  This weekend's project is to get it cleaned up some.  This is also, though, where we store my records.  Thirteen years collecting music, while working in music retail, makes for quite a stack of vinyl and CDs.  Somewhere up there, I was convinced, I had a copy of Falco's Der Kommisar.

Der Kommisar, you ask ('cause I know your are as obssessed about music as I am)?  Rather than grab a copy from somewhere in my old mobile-DJ collection of McHammer's song, I thought I'd go back to one of the major sample sources for the song.  I know, everyone thinks of Rick James' Superfreak as the main sample source, but the bassline always reminds me of Der Kommisar.  So I went searching.  And searching.

"I can't find it," I confessed to Janette fifteen minutes later.

"What?"

"I'm looking for a copy of Der Kommisar."

"Duh-what?"

"Der Kommisar by Falco.  I'm sure I have a copy of it somewhere.  I know I have a twelve-inch of Rock Me Amadeus...."

"Oh, great," Janette sighed.  I had found a Mission, a Focus.  Janette knew this meant potentially hours of searching just to complete the Mission.  She knew I had to complete the Mission, and I would be singularly focused until then.

"I could always buy a new copy," I muttered.

Well, here I am tonight, now the proud owner of cover versions (sigh, not the originals) of Der Kommissar AND Rock Me Amadeus (couldn't find either of them in my records!).  I belong to a legal, subscription mp3 service, and they had decent cover versions of both.

After downloading them earlier, I popped them on to Hannah's mp3 player.  The silly girl's voice at the beginning of Rock Me Amadeus gushed the title, "Oooh, rock me, Amadeus!"

And Hannah laughed hysterically.  I think she found both the song funny and the fact that her mp3 player, long unchanged, had new material on it.  As Mom got her ready for bed, she kept laughing everytime she worked her way back to that song.

When she went to bed, I popped the mp3 player into the bed beside her.  She pushed the button to start the player and beat on the button until she got back to that song.  And she laughed and laughed.  I heard Mom about an hour later notifying Hannah that the player would now be removed from the bed so Hannah could get some sleep.

And I'm sure that went well!

-- Dad

P.S.  Yes, I broke down & purchased an mp3 of "You Can't Touch This" from Amazon.com tonight.  I've loaded into Hannah's player.  I'll bet she'll be surprised in the morning! 

Posted by Dad at 04:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

"War Hug!" Gabriel announces.  He steps forward, his arms extended.

This is a new one.  We have Hug, Cuddlefest, and now:  War Hug? 

Gabriel growls and hugs me tightly around the waist.  We're both delaying the inevitable bedtime.  He wants to find ways to stay awake just 'cause he always does; I want to find ways to make a Friday night (no work tomororw!) out of the fast-approaching early morning nursing shift.

"Wait," I suggest, "how about this?"  I crouch, growl, and extend my arms. 

Gabriel copies me.  We size each other up.  We advance.  Growling, we hug.  Gabriel laughs.

"Ok, War Hug!" he shouts.  We repeat.  And again.

"Are you trying to wind him down?" Janette asks from the nearby office.  Hannah is asleep in her room, oblivious to the strangely loving battle taking place steps outside her door.

"Ah, yeah," I say.  "Ok, goodnight!"

"One more?" Gabriel asks, crouching down.

I mimick his crouch.

"War Hug!!!"

-- Dad 

P.S.  As I write this at nearly six a.m., I suspect Hananh would enjoy a War Hug right now, but I am begging and pleading with her to lay down.  Never knew the happiness we have with her ability to sit, position, and roll would irritate me so much at the wrong time (particularly when her activity opens her med port - ah, warm food soaking her clothes and bed.  Fixed now.  Stern go-to-sleep warnings given). 

Posted by Dad at 04:45 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

About a month ago, Janette and I had this idea:  since we don't have the time or $$$ to travel as extensively as we want this year (heck, any year - we'd love to travel full time), why not do some virtual vacations?  We'd organize each week around a different worldwide city, and theme all of our activities with the kids.  We would make meals, play games, watch videos, learn from the web, organize reading and math activities all around that week's city.

Plus we'd be traveling without all the hassle:  planes, lines, exhaustion, and that inevitable early vacation illness that always strikes within a day or so of arriving at our destination.

So Friday, we traveled (virtually) to New York:  our gateway to exotic worldwide destinations.  And Saturday, both kids promptly got sick (for real).

Yes, yesterday was a Tylenol for two day at our house.  Barely having arrived at our virtual destination, Gabriel spiked a 100+ fever and Hannah's tummy turned yucky.  Needless to say, our first day was a little more low key than we had planned.  Our written itineary had us watching a video on the Natural History Museum, eating hot dogs at a pretend street stand, going to a deli for dinner, and capping the night off with Night at the Museum.  Just as in real life travel, we modified our first plan day to include lots of couch sitting, a video travelogue on New York, extra rest, and lots of water.

Sigh.  I hadn't expected our virtual vacation to feel quite this real.

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 02:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

Note to self:  Do NOT write about the kids being asleep while you type a blog.  They can sense it in their bones.  It wakes them.  See previous entry Sound of Thunder.  Within five minutes of finishing, they awoke, separately.  Tag team the Daddy.  Daddy must not sleep.

Yes, Dad's a bit punchy on the last of four consecutive early morning nursing shifts.  We're acclimating to our new four nights on/three nights off schedule.  If I haven't dropped by to read your blog lately, I will do so soon when I'm a bit more lucid.

On the plus side, we had a wonderful 4th of July, fireworks and all, with family.  Hannah also had a new first experience today, but I'll leave that one for Mom to blog out (hint:  think big chlorinated bath tub).

I've also posted a new video over at Vimeo for those who are interested.  It is a video of Janette's and my early anniversary trip to Newport, OR.  You'll see the pandering to the kids' humor throughout (hey, if they're going to make us watch it on continuous loop, they can at least have some planted scenes to laugh at).  Hope you enjoy:  Newport, OR video.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 02:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Sitting in the office on this morning's nursing shift, listening to the sound of thunder rolling in the distance.  A warm night here in Hillsboro, OR, particularly since our air conditioning decided to take a break.  We've popped open the windows, turned on the fans, and settled in.

Hannah is sleeping well in the next room (a bit surprising because the warmth makes it a little more difficult to get comfortable - she tends to run toward the cool side).  Gabriel sleeps, too.  I actually over-slept the start of my nursing shift due to the warmth, and Janette gave me an extra half-hour or so of make-up sleep (thanks!).

Outside of the thunder and sleeping schedules, we're gearing up for the 4th.  Plan to have family over and an abundant collection of firework fountains, etc..  Being that we aren't using oxygen with Hannah (outside of nighttime in bed), she'll have her first opportunity to enjoy fireworks at our house (she saw them a bit last year at a friend's).  We'll see how that goes....

-- Dad

P.S.  Yes, if I can get away with a song title for the blog title, I will ;-) 

Posted by Dad at 01:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Quickie snapshots from our last two days:

• Hannah got her new wheelchair Monday.  It fits her much better, and, believe it or not, it has her name embroidered in yellow on the seat!  I guess they figured we'd waiting long enough that they'd throw in something "extra."  Pictures forthcoming....

• Overheard at the dinner table:

Mom:  "Dad was thinking about going to get some fireworks, Gabriel.  When do you think we should go?"

Gabriel:  "We could go tonight... as a family."

Dad:  "Good idea, Gabriel."

Gabriel:  "I love my genius mind!  I wish I could hug it!" 

The things he comes up with!  Hannah is also keeping up.  Today, for instance, she clapped when Gabriel suggested she could go "half naked" (without a shirt).  This is Gabriel's summer preference, so he thought Hannah would like it, and she did.

I'm sure more stories coming soon from these two creative "geniuses."

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 07:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | 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)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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)

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)

"All done.  All done!  All done!"

I could hear Hannah shouting her status from the nearby bathroom.  It was a little after midnight, and she was signaling that potty time was over.

Janette was "on duty" until 2am, so as she helped Hannah out, and as I slipped back to sleep, I wondered at Hannah's newly found voice.  Hannah used to speak with the help of a speaking valve on her trach, but the speaking valve often ended up in her mouth as something to chew on (which meant she couldn't have it for awhile).

Now the option to talk is always available, and this is a great thing.  The few words she uses often are becoming clearer, like "All done!"  I'm eager to see what new words develop.  At times, Hannah is quietly processing the world around her (especially through her new glasses - pictures soon!); at others, she's quite the chatterbox.

Of course, shouting "All done!" at midnight while Dad is trying to sleep?  We'll work on timing later.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 01:55 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

At 2 am, Hannah was lying tummy-down in her bed.  Post trach removal, this position helps keep her tongue in a non-occluding position while she sleeps.  Her O2 saturations were good; her heartrate, a little high, but tolerable.  I could hear some catch in her breaths, but she was certainly sleeping safely.  However, The Pillow was missing.

"Can you help me position her?" I asked Janette.  "She needs The Pillow."

Janette retrieved The Pillow from the floor.  To some, it looks like an everyday pillow wrapped in a blue with yellow stars pillowcase.  To me, it is The Pillow That Helps The Princess Sleep, The Pillow That Prevents Poor Sleep Crankiness, The Pillow That Helps Her Sleep Beyond 3 a.m.  It is The Pillow.

"She was sleeping fine," Janette added as we repositioned Hannah, tucking the pillow under her stomach, letting her head pop up over the pillow onto the wedge-graded bed.

Fine?  "She needs her Pill