Kintropy In Action

"Hey, Dad," Gabriel started. 

I glanced in the rear view mirror, then switched back to the road.  "Yeah?"

"If we have to sleep in the car, at least I have my teddy bear."

I sighed.  Gabriel and I had left the Rose Garden parking lot about five minutes before.  We had second row seats to the Winterhawks Teddy Bear Toss game.  Gabriel and I had tossed four sacrifical teddy bears on to the ice after the Winterhawks first goal, but I had bought two keepers and kept them in the car for him (trust me:  the tears of separation from the sacrifical bears would have been pretty grim without this little bit of planning).

But now, driving home, I had made a different turn.  The signs were guiding us to the 5.  I knew we would make it to the 5 eventually.  Gabriel, though, based on some experience, was convinced that Dad was yet again lost.

"We're almost to the 5, Gabriel."

"But if we do have to sleep in the car, I have my teddy bear.  Will it be morning when we get home?"

Double sigh.

The freeway did ultimately appear and work-drive-patterns kicked in, leading me to the correct interchanges to bring us home.  All of us home:  Gabriel, me, the golden teddy bear, and the chocolate brown teddy bear.

-- Dad

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A few weeks ago, after months of admiring from afar, I bought a Keurig coffee maker.  Janette was very understanding as I unwrapped it, cleaned it, and plugged it in.  Coffee is important to me.  She was willing to make allowances.

It's nights like tonight that make that purchase worthwhile.  After a long, extended day at work, I popped in a Kenya AA coffee, pushed a button, and shared a very tasty, dark roast alongside some laptop work (like I said, long day).  Now I am enjoying some Earl Grey tea and orange blossom honey as I write.

Kids are in bed.  Dad has coffee and tea.  Dad happy.

-- Dad

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When we go out, particularly for a meal, we bring the Magic Red Bag.  Hannah stares at the Bag, laughs when she sees the Bag, and occasionally lunges for the Bag.  She knows her DVD player and red DVD wallet are tucked away in there:  her "la las." 

And Hannah has conditioned us, too.  We know not to get between her and her Bag.

Being that Hannah has a portable DVD player, we thought it fair to get Gabriel his own for a recent long trip.  He now keeps it stashed in his room, and he asks politely to use it for time to time.  Recently, he dug through the DVD boxes, found something he liked from the "kids" section, and went off to his room to watch it.

A few hours later, we gathered at the table for dinner.

"I love that movie," Gabriel started.

"Hmmm," Janette or I prompted absently.  Hannah looked up from her toys.  She generally finds Gabriel's revelations amusing.

"You know the movie I borrowed, 'Spocky and Nose Whistle.'"

"Huh?" I asked.  Gabriel now had my rapt attention.  What the heck was he watching?

"The cartoon!  'Spocky and Nose Whistle.'"

I laughed.  "You mean... Rocky and Bullwinkle."

"That's what I said!"

"No, you said Spocky and Nose Whistle."

"Uhhh," Gabriel groaned.

Janette softened things up, sharing her favorite parts of Rocky, Peabody, and the other cartoons included in the set.  I giggled at what Spocky and Nose Whistle must look like, and Hannah joined me, laughing, too.

Both the kids certainly love their DVD players.  Hannah has her Magic Red Bag.  And Gabriel has his cartoon classics!

-- Dad

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So Gabriel believes he has found his new sport.  And it's ice hockey.  This for the kid for whom running and dribbling the ball at the same time presents certain coordination challenges.  Sigh.

Weeks ago, we bought tickets to attend this weekend's Winterhawks game with Gabriel's Cub Scout troop.  This was before we all got sick.  Before Hannah missed a week of school due to bronchial junk.  Before I left work Friday feeling a little green.

So imagine my excitement, edified by Musinex and Tylenol, at the prospect of attending a hockey game with Mr. G. 

Hannah was beside herself with anger at not being included, of course.  As Gabriel and I prepared to leave, she pouted, a tendril of green snot running from her nose into her lip.  I apologized to her, reminded her that she wasn't so thrilled with sit-still events yet, and then Gabriel and I headed out.  Hack, hack.  Cough, cough.

Well, we settled in.  Gabriel waved and called out to the couple of scouts he knew.  We grabbed our hot dog, drinks, and popcorn, and then the game began.

Of course, this particular hockey game was a huge nailbiter.  Body slam, fight, score, body slam, another fight, another score.  With 2.6 seconds left, our home team Winterhawks managed to tie the game at 3 each.  Overtime was scoreless, and then our team won a tension-filled shootout to win the game 4-3.

I quized Gabriel on the way out to the parking lot.

"Well, now you've seen four sporting events:  ice hockey, basketball, lacrosse, and baseball.  What's your favorite?"

"Ice hockey!  Can we come back next week?"

So this is going to be his sport?  We brought home a hockey puck each for him and Hannah.  If this is going to be it, I hope he's interested in dentistry as a career.

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 09:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

Just a FYI on a new blog carnival w/ the subject Disability and Work.  Penny Richards at Disability Studies, along with some hard working hosts, has kept this flame going for awhile now.  Check out the latest issue when you have time!

-- Dad

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Gabriel woke with a bad cough Friday morning.  We kept him home, expecting the inevitable escalation, spread to other family members, and fever patrol.

We weren't disappointed.

Hannah is taking a mid-day fever nap near the office as I write.  She woke this morning groggy and eyes half-closed.  Her fever was running in the 100-101 F range. Gabriel woke with rosy cheeks as well.  We're tracking dosages on a post-it attached to the locked medicine cabinet.  Every 4-6 hours, we're documenting a new dose, time, and kid.

Being that Gabriel is prone to throwing up when he gets a fever, I've asked him to carry around a round, plastic bowl.

"This is your friend," I introduced the bowl to Gabriel.  "Take him with you wherever you go."

"C'mon friend," Gabriel said, towing the bowl to the tv couch.

Now that Hannah is also sick, Gabriel insisted she get a bowl-friend, too.  Hannah doesn't throw up, per se, due to a surgical procedure that makes her stomach a one-way event.  We relieve her gas and throw-upness via g-tube.  Still, it did seem fair, so I pulled out a small plastic bowl and made similar introductions for Hannah.

"Have you named yours?" I asked Gabriel.

"Tom," he said.

"That's sensible."

"And Hannah's is named Jerry," Gabriel said.

So Gabriel and Hannah are carrying Tom and Jerry with them wherever they go today.  And we'll keep score in 4-6 hour increments on the medicine cabinet.

-- Dad

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This afternoon, there was a knock at the door.  Gabriel, ever curious, scouted from our front window.

"There's a lot of people at the door!" he cheered.

I walked to the door with him.  "You can open up," I said.

Gabriel opened the door.  A young lady stood there, and she quickly introduced herself and the half dozen plus young people behind her.  "We're from a local church, and we'd like to rake your lawn."

Our lawn was ripe for the raking, of course.  Over the last two days, the large, wide-leaf tree standing directly in front of the house coughed up half of its golden leaves.  They covered the lawn and the driveway.

"How much would we pay you?" I asked.

"It's free."  She handed me a card from her church, the East River Fellowship .  "We just want to introduce people to our church and help out the neighborhood."

I asked a few more questions and again offered to donate money.  She politely refused, and I took her up on her offer.

As she and her large group of helpers pulled out their rakes, I asked Gabriel, "Wanna help?"

"Yeah!"

Gabriel and I threw on our shoes, hunted for our own rakes, and joined in the work for a few minutes.  The church group worked well together, chiding each other with small talk along the way.  They worked efficiently, some raking, some bagging, but teased and jostled each other along the way.  This wasn't a solemn event or a check-the-card, forced community project.  They were having a good time.

Gabriel and I "finished" quickly, having done way less than 5% of the work.  I asked if we could donate to the church again.  The same young lady I had spoken with before called over the youth adviser.  He again turned me down, explaining that they just wanted to help out for the sake of helping out.

Janette and Hannah, having donned coats, joined us on the short ramp that leads to our front door.  Hannah eagerly followed all the young folks raking, beating bushes, and bagging leaves.  I sang a few songs for her, and she clapped enthusiastically.

The church team finished raking in about ten minutes.  They packed leaf bags and tools into a pickup nearby and plotted a move to another neighbor's door (and probably their lawn).

"Thanks again," I called to the advisor.  Knowing that they were probably out drumming up interest in coming to their church, I apologized, "We're Jewish."

He smiled, maybe shrugged.  "It's a good mitzvah you did for us.  Thank you," I said.

They headed off to their next job, making the neighborhood a better place.  I marveled at their genuine display of Tikkun Olam - the Jewish concept of repairing the world through social action.  In this case, these kids literally reached out and made the neighborhood a better place through an unrequested and uncompensated good work.

What a great example for both Gabriel and Hannah to see.  I hope our family, and our neighborhood, will find ways to follow their lead.

-- Dad

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

Looks like I'll be eating some crow for dinner (and breakfast on Monday).  Sigh.  Go Huskies?

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 02:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

So I got an email from a co-worker a few days ago.  She encouraged me to read the forwarded email she was sending on to me before responding to the subject line.  Not a good sign.

I read - slowly, calmly.  A co-worker from our parent company had been alerted to the fact that I, an Oregon resident, was brazenly wearing a UW Huskies pullover just days before the big Dawgs-Ducks game this weekend.  He, a UO graduate, recommended immediate disciplinary action.  I, a UW graduate, responded - slowly, calmly - something along the lines of, "Bring it on!"

Yes, boys will be boys.  He and I settled into a few more taunts, then the following agreement:

1. The loser buys a t-shirt in the winner's team's colors and provided it to the winner
2. A snapshot is taken of the winner in his new team-spirit shirt
3. The loser must host the photo of the winner on his desk for the remainder of the football season

So, although I would have caught parts of the game tomorrow, the game will now have my rapt attention starting at 12:30.  I have invited our house's one other big football fan, Hannah, to join me.  Gabriel was invited, too, but he'll come for the snacks, then play his DS.  Hannah will watch and play and demand songs from me, but she'll actually enjoy watching the game.

Janette, on the other hand, will be headed out to enjoy a movie (she informs me).

So let's cheer on the Huskies, shall we?  Diary of 1 runs a great sports merchandise store:  Team Mascot.  Hopefully, this is where my work friend can buy me a t-shirt when his team loses.  Go Dawgs!

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 08:04 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

It's late, and the kids are in bed.  Asleep, actually asleep!

Getting both kids to calm down, lay down, and sleep has been astoundingly hard for years.  We've tried the books.  We've built the rituals.  We've counted - lots of by the time I count tos.  But for the last two days, both have been going down to bed and sleep remarkably well.  Here's what we've changed.  I know two points only make a line, but I hoping this is maybe a trend.

We clarified expectations with Gabriel.  In room by x, in bed by y, asleep by z time.  With him, provided he lays his head down, he can turn off and go to sleep.  Give him a book, a stuffed animal, any other distraction, and you'll be chatting with him until 11 or later!

With Hannah, Janette has been working with her on, let's say, more regular potty rituals w/ assistance on getting comfortable.  With the gas gone or controlled, she's tons happier right now & ready to go to bed w/ less pain, turning, etc..

Again, not a trend yet, but hopefully good signs.  Our bedtime rituals (read books, cuddle time, etc.) have become fodder for our two Stallmasters.  At the moment, though, we have relative quiet and peace.  I know I'm jinxing it by saying that, but maybe if I say it, clap my hands, and click my socked heels together, it'll keep working.

-- Dad

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After our night's adventure, I was surprised to see Gabriel wake in good spirits.  I had expected some stiffness, but he walked around easily.  Gabriel and I headed to the breakfast buffet while Janette woke and got Hannah ready.  They met us there soon after.

Waffles, check!  Bacon, check!  Eggs, check!  So far, so good.

Afterward, we snapped some pictures of the kids, and then we headed upstairs to walk off breakfast prior to going back into the waterpark.  As we walked, Gabriel slowed.

"You okay, buddy?" I asked.  Hannah wheeled beside him, taking in the sights - high ceilings, flashing lights from the arcade.

"Yeah, I'm okay." 

"You sound kind of mope-y," I said.

"Sorry."

"That's okay.  You feel alright?"

"Yeah."

We walked to the 2nd floor elevator and prepared to go back to our room on the 3rd floor.  I turned toward the elevator.  Gabriel stared at the carpet; then he threw up.

"Sorry," he said.

Janette popped him over the restroom to finish the cycle.  A staff member from the arcade stepped in to help us.

"Do you want me to call for some medical assistance?" she asked.

I debated silently.  Gabriel's fall eight or so hours before lingered in my mind.  "Yeah, probably a good idea.  He fell of his bunk-bed last night."

"Oh," she replied.  She called it in.  I sat with Hannah and waited for help to arrive.

Gabriel emerged from the bathroom, his pj shirt spattered with breakfast.  "Sorry," he repeated.

"It's okay, buddy." 

The pool supervisor showed up and asked the medical questions while Janette took Gabriel and Hannah back to the room.  I walked her through the bunk story from the night before, but also let her know Gabriel had complained briefly about his tummy that morning.  My guess was virus.  I didn't see any sign of a concussion aside from the vomitting.  She took notes; then left with an offer of assistance if needed.

The cleaning crew came by and scrubbed, sanded, then vacuumed our 2nd floor elevator memento.  I joined Gabriel in the room, checked his temp (fever), and popped him into our bed (the bunk bed would not see him again this trip). 

Janette and Hannah headed to the water park while Gabriel and I held down the fort for the day.  He managed to keep some food down and slept for 3 hours.  I continued to watch for signs of a concussion, but the vomitting aside, I didn't see anything else.  The room's ice bucket came in handy after an attempted delivery of Tylenol failed, but most of the rest of the day was uneventful.

 Janette and Hannah popped in and out of the room, and Hannah clearly enjoyed the water park (more on that later).  Gabriel regained some energy in the evening.  He and I ventured out briefly to play a game called MagiQuest:  an electronic treasure hunting game played out along five levels of the lodge.  Then we called it a night.

By morning, he was back to normal:  no fever.  I hoped our third and final day at Great Wolf Lodge would be spent, uneventfully, in the water park itself.

-- Dad 

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"So Hannah," I started.  She looked up from the potty, eyes 3 am bright.  "What goes garble-garble, step, step, klunk, WAAAAAAAAH!"

Hannah laughed.  Janette told me to stop it.  Gabriel, tears blinked away now, slept quietly on our bed.

"It was kind of funny," I grumbled.  Hannah enjoyed my re-enactment of Gabriel's sleepwalk/tumble down from the bunk-bed.  It made her laugh.  Mom?  Not so much.

I was just glad he hadn't really gotten hurt.  I woke maybe a minute before 2:30am - listening to the quiet of our first night at Great Wolf Lodge in Washington.  We had enjoyed a fun half-day in the water after check in.  Hannah had played in the kiddie-pool and tide pool.  Gabriel and Janette, then Gabriel and me had sped down the 48" height required water slides.  It had been a fun, full day.

I heard Gabriel wake in sleepwalking mode, muttering to himself within a minute of waking myself.  I considered moving over to the bunk bed he and Hannah were sharing, but figured since he had a bunk bed at home, he'd be okay.  

He took the first step.  I was showering him in my confidence by staying in bed, listening attentively.  He could make it.

He made the second step.  Ah, no worries.  He would make it.

Then he fell.  And howled.

At Great Wolf Lodge, the hours between 11pm and 7am are officially quiet time:  hibernation time, in wolf speak.  Well, we were certainly the unruly cub of the pack at that moment.  Gabriel's howl was loud and long.  Janette and I both went to the bed.  We quickly paired off:  her with Hannah (up now, might as well go the bathroom; me, with Gabriel.

"Gabriel, what hurts!"

"My back."  Sniffle.  Sniffle.  "Owwwww..."  He shook with still-not-awake sleepwalkiness.  He walked about easily.  I quickly checked his eyes, looked for blood, looked for quick bruising or anything serious on his back.  Nothing showed. 

He and I talked further, but he really just wanted to say "Ow" and crawl back to sleep (in our bed instead, of course).  I managed to get him to take some ibruprofin, and I grabbed some ice in a bag from the vending machine.  I set the ice in a towel and layed it across his back.

"Thanks, Dad."  And then he was back asleep.

He woke easily the next morning, not stiff, but a little out of sorts.  All seemed good:  at least no concussion.  On to the next day, our second day of family vacation.  At this point, I was sure we had paid our unseen companion, the peculiar vacation gremlin, its toll for this vacation.

I was, of course, wrong.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 02:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Today we toured Hannah's new kindergarten classroom & school.  Hannah looked around as we wheeled through the halls, and she seemed genuinely interested in meeting her teachers and peeking around the classroom.  All in all, a good first visit.

Of course, there's lots more story there:  the drama of trying to get her brother transferred to the same school, for starters.  Mom has spent lots and lots of time on the phone for the last two weeks, for which I commend her, but we're still struggling uphill a bit to make the semi-promised transfer actually happen.  Stay tuned for more on that.

Other than that, summer is definitely coming to a close.  Lots of vacations here on our blog (more the norm lately than the exception), but we'll see if the school schedules put Mom and Dad back on a better writing, reading, & followup schedule, too.

Take care, all.  Enjoy summer's last gasp & see you on the other side shortly!

-- Dad

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After learning that Nini had died and that he and I were headed to Denver, Gabriel went through the kids' version of grief.

"I'm so excited to be flying to Denver!" he exclaimed, "But sad that Nini died."

"That makes sense," I said.

"I call it happy-sad because I'm happy to go to Denver, but sad that Nini died."

"That's a good way of putting it."

"Yeah.  I think Nini is a ghost now."

"Do you think she's happy?"

"Yes, a happy ghost."

I like Gabriel's version of grief personally.  Of course, he shared it with his five-year-old cousin, J, on the way to the airport.  I'm sure J will be getting quite an education this trip.

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 08:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

-- Dad

Updated from Denver - Janette loaded the original for me, but something got lost in the file transfer.  Being a "completest", I've added the missing part back.

Posted by parents at 09:20 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

"Hey, does everyone need hugs?"

Gabriel was prowling the dark office at 10:30pm.  It lays adjacent to his room:  conveniently located post-bedtime, apparently.

Mom and I sat next to each other, typing away at our computers (probably both on Facebook).  Gabriel hugged each of us in turn.

"Dad?" Gabriel asked.  I could see him turning on the sweetness, ready to ask for something.  I had given him a time out about two hours before.  He was attempting to work back into my good graces.  "Tomorrow, maybe we can play Super Smash Brothers."

I turned toward Gabriel.  "Gabriel, this is a really busy week at work.  When I get home, I may not feel like playing video games."

"Okay," he said, "I'll take that as 'that depends.'"

I laughed.

"Maybe when you get home, we'll play Super Mario Brothers.  That depends, right?"

"Yeah, something like that.  I may not want to play a video game, but we'll do something together."

"Ok, Dad."

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 08:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

You know when you have A Moment:  a second where the world stops spinning you dizzy, sounds and motion pause, and you're just there.  Enjoying the there.  Forgetting the not-there.

I had one of those yesterday, July 4th.  Janette had just completed the play structure a few hours earlier, bringing a three-plus year endevour to a close.  I cannot imagine the joy she felt as both Hannah and Gabriel played on the swings, rode the slides, climbed (or were carried, in Hannah's case) to the top to look down.  Despite the heat, with the help of water and shade, both kids enjoyed the new play space.  More than that, the completion meant in many ways, we weren't in triage mode with Hannah.  We were moving forward:  a good independence theme for the 4th.

As evening set in, after the BBQ cooled, Gabriel and I went outside together, just by ourselves.  We sat on the swings, chatting about the day.  He was excited to start the fireworks when it was dark enough.  I was just enjoying the gentle sway of the swing.

Then I tipped backwards a bit, looking straight up into the sky.  An evergreen tree and our apple tree shook hands above me, parting fingers to let the dusky sky through.  

"Try this," I said to Gabriel, showing him how I tipped back to see straight up into the sky.

He copied me.  "Cool!"

And then there was quiet.  Just us, the trees, the cooling evening, the fading blue sky:  A Moment.  I held it for as long as I could.  Janette came outside to see what we were up to.  I encouraged her to try it, too.  She agreed it was a beautiful view.  Briefly, we shared A Moment.

Then it was gone.  I took a deep breath, refreshed, and I headed back inside.

-- Dad

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I tried to put Michael Jackson's death into perspective for Gabriel and Hannah.  "He was a huge star.  Oh, and he did a video with dancing zombies."

This got Gabriel's attention.  He has been trying to impress me with his love of all things scary lately, so Hannah, Gabriel, and I sat and watched VH1 replay the short version of Thriller. Hannah looked up from her toys in a few parts, but seemed mostly unimpressed.  Gabriel watched transfixed by the dancing zombies.

And Gabriel had questions.  "What made him into a zombie?"

"I think dancing with zombies."

"I think it was the water," Gabriel countered.  "It turned him into a zombie, then back, then a zombie again."

The kids and I were headed out to a muffin shop we have nearby, meeting up with family and looking at a classic car show in the parking lot.  I loaded my mp3 player with Michael Jackson songs for the ride, and we headed out.

Hannah gave several clap approvals to "Man in the Mirror" and "Gotta Be Starting Something."  Gabriel perked up when Thriller came on, and I explained how big a horror movie actor Vincent Price had been.  At the end of Thriller, when Vincent Price cackles, Hannah burst out laughing.

Somehow, somewhere, Gabriel must have made a connection.  For most of the day, he has been saying things like "The kids at the park were talking about Mike, too." and "I like Mike and zombies."

I'm not sure why Gabriel and Michael Jackson are on such friendly terms, but I think it's cool that he and Hannah had a chance, albiet belatedly, to hear, clap to, and watch his music today.  A little piece of my childhood celebrated with the kids.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 07:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I pitched the idea today that it was "Father's Day Weekend" rather than a single day event, Father's Day, tomorrow.  Gabriel latched on to the idea.  Hannah was ready to cling to me no matter my position.  Mom was a bit more skeptical.

"Hey!" she protested, indignant.

I even found a football game, in the middle of summer (local high schools) that we could attend tonight.  Still no dice.  I did get a long, uninterrupted nap this afternoon, though, which probably qualifies as an extension of Father's Day by at least half-a-day. And then I had to go into work to troubleshoot an issue (now fixed).   Argh.

We're spending tomorrow with family, so hoping that goes off without a hitch.  To all the fathers out there, I hope you enjoy your day with your family!

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 10:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Up on night watch, waiting to add food to Hannah's Kangaroo pump.  I think the 2nd or 3rd day post-surgery is the most painful & irritating, and Hannah would probably agree.  She's having a hard time getting & staying comfortable. 

We've been through the Tylenol, saline mist (keep her throat and mouth from getting too dry & uncomfortable), the diaper change, the singing, and a quick new blanket to keep the bed fresh.  I noticed a little color in the bed around her mouth, probably from loosening stitches and/or reduction in swelling allowing things to flow a bit.

Overall, I think she is doing okay.  During the evenings before bed, she's playing, giggling, and staying active.  We're hoping that, post healing, the nights and sleep also improve.  For everyone.  Parents included!

Gabriel is being a champ, helping entertain Hannah when the surgery & recovery turn the cranky up to 11.  His last day at school as a 1st grader was yesterday, so he is, I'm sure, celebrating the start of summer vacation.

Will write more soon & flow back into story mode.  Lots to share from the last few months, and I'm sure we'll be out adventuring this weekend for Father's Day.

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 10:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Seems appropriate to relaunch a bit with a Hannah hospital story.  This, though, is a planned visit.  Hannah is in overnight with Janette, post-tonsil out surgery.  We're hoping this helps her get through, over, and done with sleep apnea.  If it does, we'll all be sleeping much more soundly & maybe ditching the last of the O2 equipment (we hope we hope we hope).

Anyway, the two funny cute moments tonight were:

• The night nurse came in to take Hannah's vitals and introduce herself.  It was past 7:30pm, and Wheel of Fortune was on:  probably Hannah's favorite show.  After a quick blood pressure & vitals check, the nurse hung out for a bit.  Hannah craned her neck to see the tv over the nurse; then, still staring at the tv, absently dismissed the nurse with a princess wave of her hand.  Ah, so Hannah!  Gotta compliment her communication skills.

• Next, as I prepared to leave (Janette has spent all day w/ Hannah & will be her night companion tonight - major trooper!), Hannah, still without looking from the tv, said, "Bye bye."  Not sadly.  Kind of absently.  Still pretty cute.

Hope she and Janette manage to sleep tonight & come home as scheduled tomorrow.

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 09:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

A quick "thank you!" to Barbara over at TherExtras for giving us a head's-up that our site content was down.  That's what we get for not posting for awhile! 

In case you missed it, Barbara put up a great blog carnival a bit ago.  Barbara has connected up with a number of families that share common experiences with ours.  I enjoy reading her blog and hope you will, too.

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 03:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Janette and I were taking a post-kids break, watching "Chuck."  Hannah was asleep in her room.  Gabriel was not.  He wandered into the family room.

"Shouldn't you guys be alseep?" he asked.  "Hannah is asleep.  I'm almost asleep...."

As Gabriel worked through his sleep-avoidance logic, I laughed.  Janette reminded him that we were adults.  We could stay up as long as we wanted, but would welcome the opportunity to go to sleep and enjoy eight or nine hours of bliss.

And then I encouraged him, again, to take advantage of this wonderful opportunity.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 07:25 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

It seems it's my turn to be sick.  Hannah and Gabriel seem fine.  Janette feels a little wuzzy.  And I'm swimming in blankets on the couch.  I sneezed through Friday (at a new job I started on Wednesday - how's that for timing!) and shivered through Saturday.  Hoping tomorrow's better 'cause I've got work to do....

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 08:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

"Look!" Gabriel shouted, pointing at the t.v..  "Facebook!"

Some news story had referenced Facebook, thrown the logo on the screen, and Gabriel had instantly recognized it.  Yes, Gabriel often wanders into the office and sees Mom or Dad on Facebook (and LinkedIn for Dad).   Kind of not a surprise that he recognized that particular logo.

Yes, we've been inundated with 25 Random Things and 25 Top Albums, people contacting us from high school (many of whom we were happy to reconnect with), and the like.  It's been a fun way to spend the sleepier hours when a full blog seems too daunting, but a quick one sentence status update works just fine.

So, should readers of our blog be bitten by similar social networking bug, feel free to pop us an email via the blog at rbach@kintropy.com, and we'll be happy to Friend you out in the social networking world.  We'll continue to blog, of course, but for a quick keep-in-touch, you'll also see us on Facebook from time to time.

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 07:53 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Out is the magic word.  One learns not to utter it until plans, supplies, and shoes are in place.  Otherwise, Hannah's limited patience is sorely tested.

Even on a relaxed daughter-dad Sunday, this rule still applies.   This morning, Hannah and I both took it slowly.  We enjoyed some music together, I phoned my brother, and I prepared Hannah's travel bag:  diapers, clothes, g-tube/food supplies, and her DVD player.

Typically, we end up at the mall.  Hannah enjoys the architecture, particularly the high ceilings and skylights.  She likes the rush of people walking around, and she sometimes greets several with a passing, "Hi."  Generally, I can come up with reasons to shop (not too hard).  Plus, this time of year, rain is the rule, and indoors with Hannah are much less wet.

Still, we're trying to be frugal much like everyone else, and today I wondered at the repetition.  It must get boring for her, just going to the mall, and how would I know?  How would Hannah communicate that to me beyond a general tantrum? 

After we got in the car, I changed plans.  Not the mall today.  Today we were headed for our local Panera. 

We arrived a few minutes later.  As I popped Hannah out of the car and into her wheelchair, I watched her stare at me, waiting.

"We're doing something different today," I said.  I grabbed her DVD bag.  "We're going to have an early soup lunch together."

We rolled inside.  Hannah was surprisingly patient while I ordered.  She looked around the countertop at the baked breads and pastries.  While I ordered us up some french onion soup and a coffee (that would be for me and me alone), she craned her neck to see the people lining up behind us.

"Extra spoons, please," I asked the gentleman ringing us up.  He walked back to the kitchen to pass along the request as we found our seats.

We had a nice window seat looking out over a drizzle coated patio and the main street.  We were experiencing what we in the Pacific Northwest call a "sunbreak," so Hannah and I could look out at a nice patch of light blue sky.

I broke out the DVD player:  the necessary equipment when we sit down to eat.  I queued up a music DVD (stuff I taped off Noggin a year or two back), and I picked up our soup.  Together, Hannah and I enjoyed the view, the music (quietly), and our french onion soup.  I raised the spoon to her mouth for the first few tastes.  She quickly grabbed the spoon from me and popped it back into her mouth.

And there we sat, enjoying our soup, our sunbreak, our music, and a late, lazy Sunday morning together somewhere other than the mall.

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 05:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

Just a bit of proof that Hannah heartily enjoyed her cupcake at her 5th birthday celebration last week.  The official party is still a week off (one can't rush these things), but she definitely knows how to jump in and enjoy herself.

She and Gabriel are asleep at the moment.  Hannah managed a marathon day (3am - 9pm) without a nap - no idea how she made that work.  Of course, now she's really tired.  We'll see if that translates into a restful or restless night.

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 10:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Hannah turned five years' old today.  I think her favorite part was that everywhere she turned, someone was singing "Happy Birthday" to her.  She basked in the attention, of course, and clapped for more.

Pictures to come, I'm sure.  For a very special gift, I was able to find a used, but well cared for, Fisher Price Babbling Bee (her fourth!).  After some use and abuse, the Bees lose their voice & stop singing & then stop talking.  It's a sad, sad day when that happens (though Hannah is quite willing to see beyond this "disability" and chew on the Bees anyway).  But now we have a talking & singing Bee again.  She giggled, batted it again to get it singing, and giggled again - the cutest thing.

Take care, all.

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 08:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

Just a follow-on from Janette's entry.

The principal explained that Gabriel had, along with five other boys, gotten a referral from the bus driver.  "These always come in a set," he said ruefully.

As we connected the dots, we learned that Gabriel had been teased on the bus.  He stood up, crying, to collect his things which had been scattered about.  Of course, he should have been seated for safety reasons, but kind of got caught in the Shotgun of Discipline, I think.

Our standing rule is a principal's office visit is an automatic grounding, and we followed through, explaining the safety concern (a bit half-heartedly on my part).  Gabriel has made the Walk of Shame three times this year.  Of those three, I only agree with one (hijinks in the bathroom, standing on sinks on a dare).  The other two seemed like minor infractions & explainable things, but we did our best to be consistent in working with the school to address the underlying idea (e.g. don't disrupt class, be safe on the bus).

But don't worry.  Mr. G is not scarred by this experience.

"Dad, know what?  My friend T. has two referrals.  I have three.  If he gets one more, he'll have the same as me!"

"Gabriel, this isn't a contest!"

"I know.  Just saying...."

Anyone betting on a fourth trip to the principal's office?

Of course, Hannah will have some shoes to fill, but she strikes me as more the rebellious type.  I imagine she'll have no problems matching Gabriel visit-for-visit when the time comes :-).

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 10:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Hannah tried to nap this evening.  She began in the family room around 5pm, but tossed, turned, and cried her way to her own bedroom.  Usually, her bedroom soothes her:  music, DVDs, bed, comfort.

Tonight, she was far from comforted, though.  The intermittent sobbing brought Janette in and out of the office where she and I were tapping away at our PCs.  Finally, she woke Hannah, and the sobbing stopped, but Hannah still seemed out of sorts.

I walked in to Hannah's room.  She was lying on her side, just listening to the tv.  I wiped her runny nose (hmmm, problem identified - getting sick), picked her up, sat her on my knee in the office, and got the Magic PC to sing Beatles songs to her while I sang along.

"Hannah, more la-las?" I asked.

"Good!" she confirmed.

We sang a few songs (she particularly liked Elanor Rigby - I'm convinced one day, she'll be all gothed out as a teenager), each ended with a request for more la-las.  Finally, Janette traded back with me, and we both prepared for our nighttime rituals:  Janette with Hannah's bedtime; me, with Gabriel's.

***

I've been long absent on blogging, but here are a few grainy phone photos from our recent Saturday out at a Kids Expo downtown and a dinner picnic in Hannah's room to bring you back up to speed.  On Saturday, both kids were feeling well, though you can see the blur of Hannah found the big, yellow, square Wow Wow Wubsy a bit overstimulating!

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 10:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Granted, both Gabriel and Hannah were avoiding going to sleep, but I just had to smile.

"Hannah!" Gabriel peeked into her room.  His room is a few, kitty-corner steps away.  "Did you want a big brother hug?"

My head was still stuck in work mode from weekend laptop projects, but I took a break for this moment.  I hovered nearby, admiring both the sneaky conspiracy against bedtime and the loving offer.  Gabriel walked a few paces into Hannah room.  She smiled back at him.

As Gabriel grabbed her bed's handrail and awkwardly swung a foot over to climb in next to her, Hannah kept beaming, holding her arms out to greet him and/or request a pickup from him.

"Aw, you want a hug?  Here's a big brother hug."

And they hugged.  Hannah's hugs can be less-than-gentle, but they both managed to trade hugs and hair grabs without any pemanent injury.  I stepped quietly away from my position nearby and walked back to the kitchen.  

Gabriel and Hannah's bedtime rituals could pause for this moment.  That seemed ok to me.

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 10:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

"Hey!  We're supposed to be Garden Gnomes!  See any gardens?"

"Yeah, we we're up to our eyeballs in snow until that kid rescued us."

"Weird.  Remember when we were born in the Old Country?  That 'just north of California' line really sold us on the climate.  What happened?"

"Don't know.  But look around - the snow is everywhere!"

"Mmmmph."

"What'd you say?"

"Mmmmph."

"Oh, great, another couple of inches.  I hope that little boy and his sister come out to rescue us again - ssssooooooon!"

-- The Garden Gnomes 

Posted by Dad at 04:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Reading the papers and watching the news runs its risks.  The job losses, foreclosures, and financial trends are staggering.  So far, we've kept our jobs, health insurance, and like things, but even I, ever budget-resistant, am pulling back here and there.  Granted, I did go a little crazy at our synagague's Hannukah Faire today, but the splurges are more limited.  We're looking at ditching our last credit card.  We're staying in more & playing games rather than go to the mall (not a bad thing altogether).  Things are changing on the home front some.

My bigger concern is next school year:  when Hannah started kindergarten.  I've heard all the excuses parents have encountered for not fully supporting children with disabilities with special education services, and I'm wondering how bad things will be financially when Hannah makes her way to public school.

Kind of random thoughts tonight, but trying to get back on the writing wagon....

Hope our readers are doing well on holding things together until the financial world totters back on to its axis.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 09:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

I am the human clock.  During the week, my alarm clock bleeps at 6:15 am.  If I'm really good, I get up at first bleep; if not, I snooze-bleep-snooze. 

Shortly thereafter, I'm routing Gabriel from bed.  "It's time to wake up.  Quickly!  Let's go.  Gotta shower & get ready for school!"

In parallel, albiet slightly later, Janette or one of our nurses is repeating the process with Hannah across the hall.  "C'mon, Hannah.  Got school today.  Singing class - yeah!  C'mon.  No, let's wake up."

Throughout the day, Janette and I continue to play the clocks.  For Gabriel, that's enough game time, you need to wait five minutes, it's bed time.  For Hannah, hold it together for another few minutes, you've been on the potty for twenty minutes, Hannah, and it's bed time (no, really, it's bed time).

The one clock I'm really bad at running is my own.  My work self has been very busy, turning in almost all projects on time thanks to a great teammate & lots of homework.  My personal self, though, really stinks at the time thing:  no time to blog, a little time to relax, and not enough time with the family.

My little apology for not writing more.  Will try to improve right after I get this project done... and then this one .

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 11:23 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

So the title refers to the movie, not a command.  We just had an impromptu movie night.  Hannah, usually quite busy with her toys, gave the slapstick moments her full attention, laughing loudly whenever someone yelped in pain.  Gabriel giggled with her in unison.

Yes, we glossed over the more inappropriate moments, but it was fun to watch both kids drinking in the physical humor.  Maybe they're ready for the Three Stooges, Looney Tunes, and Chaplin (yes, I can say all those in the same sentence).

Meanwhile... Dad is on "vacation."  Usually, we take hospital vacation (i.e. timed to match Hannah going in for procedures).  This time, I actually took a week off with no plans, eh, initially.  I've managed to fill the time up productively, though, with some cool volunteer & committee work.  Yeah, it's not quite a break, but it's great to get out and do things in the community without having to pop back into work for half-day, etc..  Here are some of the things we've done so far:

• Took Janette & the kids out to George Fox University as part of a panel discussing in home health care to soon-to-graduate nursing students.  Along with two other self-advocates & one other family, we discussed the value of in home nursing & hopefully got some folks thinking about that line of work.
• Jumped over to Salem, our capitol, to give testimony on the MFCU program Hannah (currently) particpates in.  Hannah will graduate from the program soon, but both Janette and I wanted to make sure folks setting the rules knew how successful the program could be via Hannah. 
  
• Janette, Gabriel, and Hannah also got my penny tour of the Capitol Building.  Gabriel's main comment:  "kind of scary" (out of session & quite empty).  He also liked the big t.v. - go figure.  Hannah loved the high ceilings & alternated well between her DVD player & me speaking when we took the opportunity to talk with the MFCU Rules Committee.
  
• Medicaid Advisory Committee today.

Tomorrow, we're all taking a break (I think).  Janette and I get three hours to ourselves in the morning (hear the angels singing?).  Auntie OK spontaneously invited us out to a Blazers basketball game later tomorrow night, so Gabriel and I will enjoy our first professional basketball game together.  Hannah has school provided her cold doesn't progress much further....

Busy, busy - can't seem to do the slow down & relax vacations, but there you go.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 08:54 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (1)

"Ask Gabriel about S," Janette prompted me.  She and the kids had picked me up from work, and Janette was driving us home.

"Gabriel, Mom says to ask you about S."  I knew S. was a classmate of Gabriel's.  He had mentioned her a few times, and she had given him a note.  With pictures.  And an "I like you" message on it.

"We're dating," Gabriel said.

"Ah, okay," I replied, processing.  "What do you mean by dating?  Is she you're girlfriend?"

"Well, we went on a date at school, during recess."

Hannah chimed in, complaining that the car had stopped to comply with the red light.  She sat next to Gabriel, "All done.  All done.  Go."

"Hold on, Hannah," I asked.  "Maybe we should have S. over for a playdate," I suggested. 

Gabriel and I worked on the logistics:  who should call whom.  Hannah kicked her feet, willing the car to break free of the red light.  Janette glanced at me, looking for a reaction to Gabriel's assertion that he is now dating.

I really could wait longer for this whole phase to start.  Really & truly.  As Gabriel explained his date, I think it seemed an innocent enough way for him to describe playing with a friend who happens to be a girl.  I wonder if this is how it usually starts.  What ever happened to cooties?

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 09:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Posted by Dad at 09:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Tomorrow is Nov 4, and here in the US, it is time to vote!

Two things I'll encourage every eligible US voter to do:  1) vote tomorrow and 2) think of one thing you'll do to contribute to your community AFTER the election is over. 

Given the financial, military, social, and other conditions of our nation and our world, we cannot afford to simply cast our ballot, judge the outcome, and walk away.  Each of us can make at least one contribution, even a small one, to our community.  Some ideas:

1)  Attend one school board or local city meeting.

2)  Write a letter to the editor.

3)  Introduce your children to a local community leader and ask the leader to explain his/her job.

4)  Check in with a non-profit & donate your time, energy, and interest as you are able

5)  Visit a retirement community & see if you can help or just chat up some of the residents if they're interested

6)  Talk to your neighbors & get to know them

7)  Offer to help out a friend/neighbor that needs some extra help

8)  Read up on the issues, develop an opinion, and discuss (often ;-)

I'm sure there are tons more - feel free to leave more ideas in comments if you have them. 

This year, I'd like to get involved in the local school board.  Gabriel is already in the public elementary school, and Hannah is headed there next year.  For both selfish and I hope selfless reasons, involvement in the school board makes sense.  I'll also continue my work on the Medicaid Advisory Committee and like groups.

What do you think?  How can you contribute?  How can we show our kids how to get involved?  Doesn't have to be Herculean.  I truly think if everyone pitches in a little bit, we can improve our communities and realize some of the changes we've been talking about throughout this long election season.

And don't forget to vote!

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 09:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

I grew up reading Ray Bradbury and Edgar Allen Poe.  My overactive imagination bred monsters in shadows and kept me awake at night.  I loved and trembled at scary radio plays.  Suffice to say, Halloween is my kind of holiday.

The kids, either of their own interest or mirrors of mine (or maybe it's the candy), seem to love it as well.  Both kids sopped up recent Halloween happenings with me.

Saturday, Hannah and I headed out (way out) into rural Hillsboro to attend a Halloween party:  her first party invite from a friend at school.  We dressed her as a punk-pop princess.  Multicolored ribbons sparkled in her hair, brushing at her black t-shirt.  Janette even bought her a checkered mini-skirt to complete the ensemble.

We arrived painfully early at the party, and we were the first and only ones there for awhile.  On top of everything else, we could only stay for about a half-hour before running back to Hillsboro city limits to pick up Gabriel and Janette from an overlapping birthday party.

Still, Hannah and I made the most of it.  The house, of course, had plentiful stairs, so Hannah and I abandoned her wheelchair early.  For the better part of a half-hour, I carried her around the house, visiting rooms with spooky house miniatures, animatronic skeletons, and like decorations.  When her friends showed up, we greeted them, but departed soon after.  Hannah, however, beamed with all the attention and activity.  As I flexed my sore muscles, she smiled and laughed.  We loaded ourselves back in the car for the long trip back into our city.

Sunday, it was Gabriel's turn.  He, my sister, and I headed out to Shocktober:  a Halloween themed celebration at the local fairgrounds.  This event used to be called Frightlites, and it used to be filled with kid appropriate activities and games.  Each year, though, they've been moving the ticket prices up and the theming toward more adult scares.   Although he enjoyed the glow-in-the-dark miniature golf and tube/hay slide, Gabriel shunned the supposedly all-ages haunted crypts nearby.  Maybe it was the screams coming from inside or the sound of a buzzing chainsaw from the adult-only haunt attraction nearby. 

Gabriel did earn an elephant ear (a flat, fried doughnut w/ sugar sprinkled all over), and we had fun watching my sister go off to try the adult haunts.  She came back hoarse from screaming.  Still, this was probably the last year we'll go:  the kid-friendly attractions and leisurely walk from prior years are gone, and it doesn't look like they're coming back.

In the end, we found our best scare in a Disney "Scary Stories" book.  I read Gabriel one of my favorite scary stories:  a Disney version of the Sleepy Hollow/Headless Horseman story.  Gabriel looked on as I read the story, moving from whisper to tense tone and words.  He flipped ahead a little bit as I read one page, checking the pictures for indications on where this was all going.

At the end of the story, which allowed for the possibility that Ichabod had run off to places unknown rather than falling prey to the Headless Horseman, I asked Gabriel what he thought.  He quickly requested another story, maybe one with a happy ending.

Maybe Poe and others will wait a little longer.

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 08:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

I returned from a business trip to Shanghai, China last Friday.  Walking on one-hour-airplane-sleep fumes, I managed to find the customs line with the help of a fellow traveler from work.  Soon after, I popped out into PDX where I was greeting by Janette, Gabriel, Hannah, and my dad.

Gabriel ran up to me, laughing, a play mustache hanging from his lip.  "Ah, hi, recognize me?" he managed between giggles.  We hugged.

Hannah sat in her wheelchair, taking in the scene nearby with dazed, I'm-up-too-early red eyes.  I took a few steps forward and embraced her.  She grabbed my head absently, and I stepped back.

"Hi, Hannah."

Janette got a brief hug, I think (sorry, honey, I was still jet lagged), and we started down the concourse, heading toward the elevators.  On the way, Hannah ducked out of sleep and started processing as she rode beside me.

"Hi... dad... la, la, la."

Greeting.  Request.  Simple enough.

My throat still a little raw from travel (and probably pollution), I began to sing as we approached the elevator.  It was good to be home.

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 08:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Scars are strange and wonderful things.  I marvel at them on Hannah.  One whips along her back - a remnant of heart surgery; another, still healing from her trach tube removal, puckers at her throat.  There are others, big and small, but each maps her progress from the first six months of "failure to thrive" to the demanding four-and-a-half-year-old Princess we cherish today.

One could find my fascination with these scars grotesque, but the scars have accumulated stories and meaning.  They are proof of survival and learning, healing and strengthening. 

The survival is self-evident.  Hannah is growing into a self-assured little girl.  She has beaten back the unspoken, grim prognosis and staked a claim for her own life.

Her healing, as evidenced by the scars, is incomplete and imperfect.  She cycles through injury and healing like a body-builder.  Her trach site, for example, had to be closed with two attempts.  The doctors had to physically re-injure the site at her throat to encourage it to strengthen in its healing and completely close.

And that process leaves scars.  For Hannah, these scars tell her story while she is working on the language to express herself.  They inform her personality, particularly her resilience and her dislike for medical settings.  For our family, the scars remind us of the healing we've gone through, but also remind us that the healing is unfinished.  Scars may be re-opened by a new crisis, but it will heal again, too.

And hopefully that healing will leave us stronger and better prepared for the next challenge:  whatever that may be. 

-- Dad

P.S.  Unfair to only share Hannah's scars - one of my minor ones below:

The circle scar on my left elbow grins at me, celebrating a foolish half-day of summer from my early teens.  We neighborhood kids were bored during a long, summer vacation.  To ease the boredom, we grabbed some brooms, trashcan lids, and our bicycles and invented a new game:  bike-jousting.  We each charged at each other with broomstick for pole and lid for shield, bicycling hands-free across the asphault of our small cul-de-sac.

That game didn't last long.  We were all battered, bruised, and bleeding after an hour.  But I remember that day clearly and fondly.  I have childhood literally etched at my elbow, reminding me of how a group of kids got along for a few hours, amusing and bruising ourselves, long before we began to break apart in the years ahead and go our separate ways.

Posted by Dad at 06:57 PM | Permalink | Comments (8) | TrackBacks (0)

Mom snapped this picture while Hannah and she waited for Gabriel to return home from school.  Hannah enjoyed playing in the leaves (and, of course, sampling at least one leaf in her mouth).  Once the schoolbus arrived, Gabriel raced home to join Hannah, the Autumn Princess.

P.S.  Can you tell it's our house from the Obama sign ;-) 

Posted by Dad at 03:45 AM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

Hannah and the kids picked me up from work Tuesday night, and we all headed to the pharmacy to pick up a few prescriptions.  The plan was 1) prescriptions, 2) dinner at home, 3) some family time, 4) kid bedtime, 5) Mom and Dad downtime, 6) Mom and Dad collapse five minutes later, snoring.

Gabriel and Hannah had other plans.

"Dad!" Gabriel piped in from the seat behind me. "I found a new Lego Mars game on the computer!  You have to play it!  It's really, really fun."

"Gabriel, we've got some things to do first..."

"But you have to play it; you'll really, really like it!"

Hannah, sitting next to Gabriel in the van, laughed at his excitement.  "La, la, la - Da-Da," she proclaimed.

So my kids had my night timecard punched.  Given Hannah's request, I sang a few songs on the way to and back from the pharmacy. Hannah exclaimed her excitement at my compliance. Gabriel and I descended into silliness, singing old, gross Dr. Demento radio show songs.  Mom initially groaned, then joined in with her own invented lyrics.  We laughed our way home. 

Gabriel continued to pester about the game the remainder of the night (both kids are singularly focused - no idea where those genes came from).  Wanting to keep some vestige of control over my schedule, I demurred until tonight.

So tonight we sat down after dinner to play the Lego game over the internet.  Gabriel showed me around the landscape on the PC for about five minutes, asked for my help, I took over, and he disappeared. 

Again, no idea where those genes come from.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 03:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

I woke Saturday to beautifully grey skies, and they remained grey all day.  Sunday, for a few brief minutes, it poured rain.  Fresh-lit fires and chimney smoke peppered the air.

Finally, summer is in retreat, and fall is nearly here.

I know I'm a bit off.  Most people beg for sun here in Oregon, but I'm thrilled to see our warm days bow to clouds and exit beneath the horizon.  October and Halloween are around the corner.  Janette and I are buying (way too many) fall and Halloween themed books.  Gabriel is eating them up; Hannah seems more interested in her mp3 player (though I'm sure I could Halloween-theme that, too).

I'm thinking about taking a day or two of vacation in October just to enjoy the season, the quiet, the cold, the rain.  Fresh coffee for me and hot chocolate for the rest, some reading downtime - sounds really good right about now.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 08:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

Janette is the queen of networking.  Plop her down in any setting - doctor's office, park, grocery store - and she is likely to strike up a conversation with a stranger, maybe even trade phone numbers.  I am exactly the opposite.  Put me on a social networking website like Facebook or LinkedIn, and I'm happy to write up a storm with friends and acquaintances.  Face-to-face, though, I'm not naturally social.  I work at socializing, but I have nowhere near Janette's mastery of it.

Gabriel and Hannah, apparently, take the lead on this from their mother.  Several weeks ago, Gabriel came home from school, announcing that he had made several friends.  In fact, he, new to first grade, had written out his name and phone number on pieces of paper and handed them out to his new friends.  

As I learned at back-to-school night, this started a bit of a trend.  One parent had asked for other families' contact information.  Gabriel's teacher explained that she could not give out that information, but that the kids, much to her surprise, were frequently trading contact info already.  I chuckled.  And Gabriel since has been bringing drawings and scrawled writing from friends home since.  They, all girls to date, gift them to him.

Hannah, for her part, is social city.  When we are all out, people tend to engage, stare, or avoid (mostly the last, unfortunately).  All are greeted with a beaming smile, though, and often a "Hi!" from Hannah.  She is the Princess, rolling past her subjects, with a queenly smile and wave.  And if someone stops to talk, or - best yet - sing, Hannah claps and requests/requires more - always more.

She, Gabriel, and Janette are our social ambassadors to the world.  Should you meet us out and about, come up & say, "Hi."

Posted by Dad at 04:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Tonight was Gabriel's back-to-school night.  After a quick dinner, I headed to school and joined the other parents in the gym.  We sat in rows of metal folding chairs and listened to muted microphone introductions of this year's team.  We clapped at appropriate moments.  It'd been a long time since we parents had sat through an assembly in the gym, but we all still knew the drill.

The principal then announced we'd all be on a bell schedule that, if we had multiple children, would usher us from class-to-class for three sessions of teacher introductions.  The bell would ring every twenty minutes, and an announcement would come on to help remind us to circulate to our next classroom.  We would also have a little bit of transit time inbetween bells to arrive at our destination.  And then we were excused for first period.

Talk about flashbacks.  Moo.  Bah.  Bah.

We poured out of assembly and into our first rooms.  I stood at a wall, pencil in hand, scrawling Gabriel's name for a one-on-one teacher conference in October.

"So you're Gabriel's dad," someone said behind me.

"Yeaaah," I replied.  We traded places, and she signed her daughter up. 

"We hear a lot about Gabriel at our house."

Sigh.

It turned out to be mostly good things (although it sounds like our two kids got in trouble playing around on the schoolbus:  ammunition I immediately used on returning home to introduce Gabriel to the Parents Know Everything Network).

Around this time, though, the first bell rang, and we all took our miniature, 1st grade plastic chairs and crouched near our kids' desks.  Gabriel's teacher walked us through her curriculum (apparently, this will be the year that Gabriel is challenged on writing neatness - my old nemesis).  His teacher was thorough, polite, and very structured:  a good thing, I think.

The bell rang, ending this first period, just as Gabriel's teacher asked for questions.  She grimaced:  not the first time she'd been interrupted by the bell, I guess.  And we parents, dutifully, circulated to our next assignment where applicable.

Given that we only have one child in elementary school, I could have gone home, but I wanted to take this opportunity to meet special education staff.  Hannah will finish preschool this year (she goes to the same preschool as Gabriel did) and head into kindergarten next year.  We've had a fantastic experience working with our ESD Coordinator and team, but we basically have to hit the reset button when Hannah moves to kindergarten.  New team.  New school.  New rules.  It seemed like a good idea to at least introduce myself.

I walked into the school's office and found the principal.  "I'd like to meet your special education team."

"All right."

She walked me back through the school.  We passed through the library.  We walked past the classrooms.  We headed toward a set of side doors that led outside.

Crap, I thought:  the bungalows.  Sure enough, when the doors parted, I was greeted by a separate-from-the-school-building, self-contained classroom.  I walked up the ramp with the principal.  She introduced me briefly to one of the two women there and then left.

After taking a deep breath, I introduced myself and the idea that Hannah would require special education services, ideally delivered in the typical classrooms as much as possible.  What was their program and approach like?

So we talked.  She walked me through the program, emphasizing inclusion in kindergarten, but also pull-outs from typical classrooms more regularly as kids got older, depending on their needs.  I emphasized that through the IEP, I'm sure we'd develop a plan appropriate for Hannah.  (And did I mention she's already mainstreamed in her local preschool?)

Afterward, I offered our blog address as a way to meet Hannah virtually, and I walked down the bungalow ramp back toward the school.  I had planned to walk back through the school, pick up more literature from the local groups staking out the back-to-school night, and head home.

I pulled the main building's door.  It wouldn't budge.  It was locked.

As I walked two-thirds of the way around the school building and headed back to my car, I wondered at the symbolism of finding the main building locked against my re-entry after my bungalow, special education classroom visit.  Hopefully, this was simply a back-to-school gaffe: a simple that-door's-never-open-at-night oversight and not a more metaphorical moment.

Posted by Dad at 02:44 AM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

Okay, this is a bit of a rant.  Usually, I'd toss this under "Commentary" rather than "Fatherhood", but given all the identity politics this election year, "Fatherhood" seems like a better place.

Yes, this is my Sarah Palin message.

I understand Gov Palin wants to advocate for my family should she reach the White House.  Given the Republican platform, my main question is what exactly will she be advocating?  I'm going to leave abortion and stem cell issues to the side.  I think reasonable people can disagree on the ethical underpinnings there, but what about:

• Universal health care:   Pro-life shouldn't stop when the heart starts beating.  For consistency, someone who is anti-abortion should be very pro-social-services and quality of life issues.  What will Gov Palin advocate for kids, like my daughter, that require intensive medical support?  Will she guarantee health coverage?  Will she support Medicaid expansion, including increasing the reimbursement rate to doctors and infrastructural changes that will allow states to cover more kids?  Sorry - a $5K/year tax credit doesn't buy much in the health care market these days.
• Education:  How will Gov Palin make sure special education services are fully funded and delivered in an inclusive classroom?  Will she be standing virtually next to me at my IEP meetings for Hannah or will I be mostly on my own with some members of Hannah's IEP team as her advocate (I'm guessing the second).

I could go on, but I've been obsessing about this in my head for awhile and would just like to exorcise it at this point.

I can very quickly pop over to Barack Obama's website, find the disability topic, and drill down into highly detailed proposals, broad, community based discusssion groups, and policy recommendations.  I cannot find the equivalent on McCain's site, and I believe that the Republican platform and performance in recent memory does not mesh well with Gov Palin's offer to be my advocate in the White House.

In the end, unlike McCain's advisory team, I do prefer an election on the issues, not on identity and affiliation.  That's great that the McCain/Palin team and I share some experiences; I'll bet the Obama/Biden team and I do, too.  Feeling an affinity for a candidate based on shared experience is natural, but remember the last time we as a nation elected a guy we felt an affinity for, a guy we wouldn't mind having a beer with?

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 02:56 AM | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBacks (0)

Got a case of the tireds.  Everyone in the house is on the verge of or already slightly sick.  Gabriel is coughing.  I'm coughing.  Hannah is breaking out.  Mom is sneezing.  Long way of saying - the blog is a little quiet at the moment, but we'll return once some sleep and rest have been earned.  Lots to talk about, new pictures, NFL started (okay, only half of Kintropy parents are happy about that)....

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 07:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

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 (1) | 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 Pillow," I said.

"I think she was doing okay on her own.  She napped fine today without any oxygen even."

"She... needs... her... Pillow."

I turned on the humidifier and adjusted Hannah's position.  Then readjusted Hannah's position.  Then readjusted her again.  Janette stepped back, not wanting to be the fall-person if all the repositioning woke Hannah.  In a few minutes, Janette and I met in the office to complete the Hannah handoff, but The Pillow hung between us:  a non-allergenic puff of soft, downy conflict.

Janette filled me in on both kids' bedtimes, medicines given, food status.  I listened, but my mind was still on The Pillow.

You see, there are two schools of thought in the house currently:  we'll call them the Declaration of Independence and The Pillow Princess schools.  The Delcaration of Independence is the only do-as-much-as-necessary school.  Allow Hannah to figure out as much on her own as possible about sleep positions.  Only intevene if her body is not tolerating it well and only enough to help her chart her own course again. 

The Pillow Princess school says independence is good and will be learned over time, but comfort is Queen.  Help Hannah get into a comfortable position:  whatever that takes.  If she is breathing well (no occlusion sound), she will rest well.  This will help her heal faster and help her learn the right sleeping position(s) gradually.

In truth, both overlap, but tonight they seemed diametrically opposed.  Janette was firmly on the side of the Delcaration of Independence; I, the Pillow Princess.

During our update, I tried to explain my position again.  "She sounded occluded.  The Pillow makes her more comfortable, and she sleeps better."

"Some of that sound is okay.  It's the same sound you make when you sleep."

Oh-kay, this was the Conversation to Nowhere Good at 2 a.m..  Janette and I agreed to disagree, we kissed, and she headed to bed.

I returned to Hannah's room and repositioned her over The Pillow again.  Hannah smiled in her sleep (which I happily accepted as agreeement with my viewpoint).  She settled into a nice, clean breathing rhythm, and I thanked The Pillow. 

The Pillow is good.  The Pillow is All Powerful.

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 03:03 AM | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBacks (0)

We sat in the mall courtyard.  Hannah sprawled side-saddle in her chair, leaning comfortably, facing the fountain, calm in the receeding warmth of the afternoon.  Gabriel jumped across nearby rock features.  Both were decked out in fancy clothes for the recently-completed family pictures.

Gabriel came over to me, looking overly serious in his dress shirt and silvery vest.  "Dad, I'm going to practice my lines."

"Okay."

Gabriel walked away from me.  His back still to me, he gesticulated as he spoke aloud.  He was the rain forest.  The rain forest was he.  The rain forest needed help.  Gabriel needed help.  Please save the rain forest.

He practiced his well-memorized lines for a few minutes, then returned to skipping from rock to rock.  Hannah squirmed in her chair a bit.  The fountain was now competing with Hannah's need to move or to go potty (similar signs, though Hannah has shown great control in using the potty over the last few days).

My ever-present triple latte in hand, we all headed back to the photo studio to pick up our photos.  I'm sure some of those pictures, given that they gave us the CD, will appear here shortly ;-).

 -- Dad

Corrected "learning" to "leaning" this afternoon.... - Dad 

Posted by Dad at 08:32 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

For those following the Hospital Adventures of Hannah, we are now at home.  Hannah was release yesterday afternoon (and then proceeded to take a two hour nap at the hosptial - I thought she wanted to go home?).  We believe we've addressed the problem with her tummy, so she is at home on the mend, and she seems to be doing well this morning.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 06:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Heading in to trade off with Janette at the hospital.  Hannah seems to be doing better with some acid blockers in her stomach, so we may have that better under control.  Will write more later once we have additional updates (and once Janette gets some sleep maybe).

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 07:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Today was my first day back to work after a week's vacation.  Granted, it was intended to be a take-care-of-the-kids medical vacation, but I still got a week off, and today was the jump back into work day.

After starting to catch up on email and attending a meeting, I came home for lunch.  I only work about five minutes from our house:  a nice plus.  I get to eat lunch with Janette and the kids.  While I was getting my lunch ready, Janette pulled Hannah's g-tube residuals.  We do this to make sure Hannah is not retaining the last feed prior to starting the next.  The syringe filled up with a near-black liquid:  20 or more ccs of it.

"Robert, remember how I said I didn't need you to stay home today?"

"Yeah..."

"Look."

Janette showed me the g-tube.  Given that Hannah is on an antibiotic, ibruprofin, tylenol, etc., we weren't sure if there was blood in there.  We were only sure we hadn't seen anything quite like this yet.  Hannah was acting normal, but the fluid was beyond odd.

Well, we made it to the doctor's office with a bottle of near-black fluid for testing.  After a check with Hannah's pediatrican and some testing of the fluid (which was positive for blood), we headed to our next destination:  the local children's hospital.

So Hannah and Janette are doing an overnight tonight at the hospital.  So far, blood tests are normal.  The doctors are trying to reduce any acidity in her stomach and work through the symptoms.  Gabriel and I are spending the night here at home.

Sigh.  So I am hoping that my last several posts don't read like complaints.  They're not intended to be that.  To be honest, this is kind of what life with my family is like:  ups-and-downs (and many of them medically related).  Though next time, maybe we can hold the lunch surprise.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 08:41 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

At 5am this morning, someone knocked softly at our bedroom door.

I quickly completed a sleepers' inventory.  Janette:  already in-bed.  Gabriel, our usual suspect, had knocked, entered, and crawled into our bed a few hours earlier.  Odds were Hannah hadn't mastered walking overnight.

As Gabriel overhead me once, "Oh, crack!"

"Guys," Hannah's nurse J said, "Hannah's spiked a temp big time.  I put in a call to Dr. C.  Sorry to wake you, but wanted to let you know."

I rolled out of bed first; Janette wasn't far behind me.  Pants, t-shirt, pockets, car keys.  Car keys.  Where are my car keys?

"Janette, are the hospital bags still packed?" I asked, searching my cluttered dresser for the missing car keys.

"Pretty much - still the same as last week."

"Ok."

Janette wandered down the hall to Hannah's room as I obsessed over my missing car keys for a few more minutes.   By the time I joined her and J in Hannah's room, the doctor had already given his instructions:  continue with tylenol & ibruprofin and if things didn't improve in a few hours, start an antibiotic.  If things worsened, I'm sure the instruction was to come in.

We happened to have an unmixed antibiotic in the house from an early pharmacy run when they actually dispensed more than we needed.  We started that up, under the doctor's order, pretty soon after.  I headed back to bed while J and Janette kept watch.

Janette woke me around 8am.  Hannah was up and alert, and her heartrate had dropped down to a more reasonable level.  Her satsurations were good.  Janette, though, was tired.

We flipped roles.  Janette headed back to bed, and I took over for Hannah.  After some albuterol, extra fever meds, and saline treatments, Hannah is back close to her baseline without a discernable fever.  We've watched OyBayby 2, They Might Be Giants 1-2-3 (twice), and we're now on to Laurie Berkner.  Hannah's fading toward sleepiness, so I'll be switching modes here in a few minutes.  'Til later.

-- Dad 

P.S.  Adding text at 4:15.  Hannah waited until 3 to nap, but napped well.  Screaming at the moment (probably the antibiotic on her stomach), but things overall seem to be going better than this morning.  Onwards & upwards. 

Posted by Dad at 03:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Just a quick thank you to everyone who has written in with best wishes, both on the website and via email.  We appreciate all your support (and Hannah is planning a future trip to France, I think, to visit Abigail.).  It's amazing to have so many people looking out for Hannah:  literally all over the world.  We feel well supported, so thank you.

Hannah had a good day today:  very playful and very her-usual-self (except when we went to the farmers' market this morning:  too bright and too warm, even at nine a.m.).  Tonight, she's working as she sleeps, but we have one of Hannah's most experienced nurses (one from our original home-at-six-months team), and she is looking out for her.

Gabriel is off in his room, lulled to sleep by They Might Be Giants 1, 2, 3 songs (his favorite at the moment is "7").  I went in earlier to see how he was doing.  We was bent over his mp3 player, fast forwarding to a song.

"This is the one I wanted to listen to."

I listened to the intro with him.  Synths climbing the scale.  "Ah, Planet Earth," I acknowledged, nodding sagely.  "This is one of Daddy's favorites."

I thought this would create some Duran Duran bonding moment between father and son.  I did a little faux dance thinking Gabriel, ever on the physical side, would join in.

"Uh, Dad, you can go now."

"What?"

He was literally pushing me to the door.  "I need some privacy, Dad.  You know, I need to get some sleep."

"Ok, Gabriel," I said, exiting his room.  Hannah's compressors hummed twenty feet away in the next room.  No beeps - good sign.

Maybe it was the dancing?

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 10:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Lost track of which night this is.  Daytimes for Hannah are still pretty good.  Nights are awful.  One of our most experienced nurses (and one of Hannah's favorites) believes Hannah will get the hang of night breathing.  I confess I have my doubts at the moment.

I've just finished working with Hannah for three hours tonight.  Maybe it's my twenty-plus year bout with severe asthma when younger, but watching Hannah struggle to figure out how to breathe is stressing me out.  I find it difficult to sit there, help her adjust only when needed, and give her some room to figure things out.  It is not in my nature to see either of our children experiencing some distress.

Don't get me wrong.  Hannah is safe.  Her O2 saturations are good.  Her heart rate is tolerable.  But the quality of her sleep is really poor.  She was so tired today.  I could just see it around her eyes.  It was quite a struggle tonight to, with Janette's considerable help, console her about the soreness around the trach site, gas pain, and the whole way-too-tired-from-a-difficult-night predisposition.

The one plus I found today was that my Hannah-as-a-baby memory is still intact.  When she was born through three months, we didn't have the trach, but we had all the underlying issues (and more - the ones that have been since corrected surgically).  In those days, Janette and I were spending every waking moment finding good sleep and eat-without-throwing-up positions.  This morning, I saw that Hannah woke unrefreshed.  I popped her up on my shoulder, sat in a chair, and rocked and sang to her.  She quickly fell asleep, and she slept well in that position.

So tonight we're trying to emulate some of that position to see if she will rest better.  After some working into it, she has found a pretty good breathing pattern.  We've got her propped under one arm with a pillow, and we have some blow-by oxygen and humidity to keep her comfortable. 

So far, she is more sleeping better now than I've seen her the last several nights.  Keeping my fingers crossed that we're gradually turning that corner on night sleeping and night breathing.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 09:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Hannah found a good position, and she is sleeping relatively well now.  We did videos until about 5:15 am, had a nice hug, and then back to bed.  She crashed pretty quickly, squirmed until she found a good spot to settle into, and then fell back asleep.

We'll be on pretty vigilant night duty (with the help of nursing most nights) for awhile, I think.  She can get into a good position herself, which is good news, but I think she's going to need lots of practice over the next few weeks to get really comfortable.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 05:27 AM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

I'm sitting her watching Hannah re-learn the mechanics of breathng as she sleeps.  I pause often as she tosses and turns, tries a new position, sucks in a stuttering breath, and shifts again.

He oxygen levels are fine, but this whole relearning-to-breathe thing is difficult for her.  Okay, difficult for me, too.  When I came on shift at 2 am, she was sleeping more restfully.  She was mouth breathing, but relatively smoothly.  Now she's shifting herself awake as she tries to work out the right postion for her mouth and tongue.

... Picking back up at 3:15 am to the tune of Elmopoloosa.  Yes, Hannah has woken.  She is acting well-rested at the moment, but I imagine she'll fade sooner than usual.  I broke my no-out-of-the-bed rule (usually until 6 am or so), so she's having a play break on the floor.  Only seemed fair given all the work she's doing to sleep that she gets a wake-break on the floor with toys before heading back to bed.

Going to go grab coffee and wait for Sleep Round 2.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 02:41 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

We are, somewhat to our surprise, home!  Hannah came home today:  a day after the procedure.  Day time is great; night time needs some work.  At night, her tongue and/or position is getting in the way of restful sleep, and she is waking and shifting pretty often.  She settles after awhile, but still needs some (albiet less and less) extra O2 while snoozing.  We've got nursing tonight to help us sort things out, so, hopefully, we can figure this out with Hannah's help.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 09:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

 We've met the surgeon post-op, he surrended pictures of the inside of Hannah's throat to Janette (a routine we've encouraged), and Janette has headed in to comfort Hannah in the recovery room.

So far, so good.

The photos show a very clean & clear throat.  Even the vocal chords, an earlier concern, seem to be in pretty good shape.  Now we're in let's-wait-and-see-if-her-body-can-handle-it mode.

So far, so good.

The day started well, maybe a good omen, if you believe in such things.  With Hannah's nurse's help, Hannah was up and ready to go to the hospital on time.  Missed my Insomnia Coffee, but everything else went as planned.

Actually, better than planned.  No sooner had we taken Hannah to a pre-room waiting area, someone showed up with a guitar to sing to the kids.  She knew Hannah from a previous visit, and Hannah quickly gave her her undivided attention.  We sang Twinkle, Twinkle, Bah Bah Black Sheep, and the ABC song (actually, all pretty much the same song).  Soon we arrived at Old McDonald.

Hannah has a complicated relationship with this song.  Cows moo mooing and horses neigh neighing are fine by her.  But pigs oink oinking?  Ducks quack quacking?  She shut her eyes tight and dove for cover in my lap.  Same reaction at school.

The pig I rationalize as some genetic memory from my grandfather, Pappy:  an Orthodox Jew.  The duck?  Not sure what happened there.  She's never been a quack-quack fan.

Soon afterward, we were in her room.  She cuddled with Mom.  Mom and I took turns singing.  And then the nurse showed up with the special pre-surgery medication:  the one that a NICU nurse introduced to us as "baby bliss."

See Hannah sitting up.  See Hannah lying down.  See Hannah babble and cradle Dad's arm, perfectly happy and content.

Like I said, Mom's in recovery post-baby bliss:  what we might call anti-baby-bliss on Hannah's behalf.  No particular drug needed for that one.  Mom:  thanks again for taking one for the team.

 -- Dad

Posted by Dad at 06:43 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Tomorrow, Hannah heads to the hospital.  Her surgery is scheduled for 10:30 a.m., which means we need to be there two hours early to fill in forms, chase everyone, reminding them of her many allergies and sensitivities, supply ample DVD time to Hannah, and then breathe.  Hannah, Rock Star Princess of our local hospital, will probably take this all in stride.  She'll probably enjoy seeing nurse-friends she hasn't seen for many months.

We'll try to keep today casual.  I'm sure Hannah will want to go out, so maybe we'll take a stroll, particularly since she'll be indisposed for part of tomorrow.  It's so odd knowing in advance that she'll be in the hospital; typically, these things aren't planned.  We've got a few things ready (Hannah's DVD case, a snack & food bag for Mom and Dad, some vague plans regarding getting Gabriel to school and back), but we're thoroughly unready.

We're just hoping that the surgery "takes":  that Hannah is freed from her trach and breathing easily on her own soon.  We'll figure all the rest out as we need to, I think.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 02:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

Responding to a meme from our friend Barbara at TherExtras.  Also a great opportunity to restock my Sage reader.  Part of our computer difficulties over the last few days ate my Firefox bookmarks and RSS feeds.  Sigh.  Maybe a fresh start was in order (and, Steph, let me help you set up a reader feed on your site when you're down next).  To the meme:

1.  What were you doing 10 years ago? 

In May 1998, I was interviewing with an internet startup, Amazon.com.  Amazon.com was strictly a bookseller at the time, but they were quietly preparing to move into music retail, and they were looking for people with music retail experience to help them make the transition. 

Janette was very, very patient with me (as always).  I had left Virgin Entertainment Group a few months earlier after four-and-a-half years without lining up my next position (was planning on finishing my BA degree), but I sent in a resume to Amazon.com on a lark, thinking I wouldn't get a call back, and I did.  Oh yeah, we had just bought our first house in Lakewood, CA at the time, too.  Talk about timing ;-).

Amazon.com hired me in June, 1998.  I traveled up from Southern California to Bellevue, WA, leaving Janette to pack up the newly purchased house and put it on the rental market (like I said, very, very patient with me).  I caught the tail end of my cousin's wedding in Washington the weekend prior to starting with Amazon.com, getting one last chance to visit with my Uncle who attended his daughter's wedding.  He died from cancer a few months afterward.

Yes, things were never boring, even ten years ago (B.K. => Before Kids era). 

2. What are five things on your to-do list today?

"Saturday... in the park..."  Okay, now that song is stuck in my head for the day.

Being that I just started a week's vacation, I will pretend that I have no have-tos today.  I will operate under this fiction when it is convenient (i.e. when asked to do a chore), but ultimately fail despite my posturing.

Today, I plan to 1) attend the Hillsboro Saturday Farmer's Market with the kids & Bubbie & Zadie, 2) play with the kids, 3) sing to Hannah, 4) pretend to organize myself for the hospital shifts with Hannah next week, 5) reload & recharge mp3 players

3. What snacks do you enjoy?

I agree with Barbara on dark chocolate, but I'm also good with almonds, peanuts, etc..  I, unfortunately, do not have the will to keep it to one snack a day.  In fact, I earned the nickname "Snacks" in the buyer's office at the Costa Mesa, CA Virgin Megastore when I started out there.  That was probably an accurate pseudonym. 

4. What would you do if you became a billionaire?

Heck, I'd be happy with a couple million (are you listening, lottery deities?).  With abundant cash, we would be very active in funding health and disability policies studies, efforts, etc..  I'd also get my full-sized pool table.

5. What are your bad habits?

See snacks above.  I'm sure there are others, but none beyond the obvious that I want to publicly acknowledge ;-)

6. Where have you lived? 

Really lived in &/or had significant life experience in:  Orange County, CA;  Bellevue, WA; Hillsboro, OR.  Also born in xxxxx, xx, but don't want to list that in this day & age of data abuse.  We've traveled beyond that, but constrained to U.S., Vancouver, B.C., and Tijuana, Mexico.  Need to travel beyond the borders a bit (maybe after Hannah's trach tube is out & we've all recovered enough).

6b.  What is a basic tenet you live by?

Trust and believe in yourself.  Yes, that can err on the arrogant side from time to time, but I've found that belief in my own compass has been a generally good way to treat the world around me and to instill a sense of self-confidence in myself and my kids. 

7. What are the five most interesting jobs you have had?

Well, here are some of the jobs & highlights:

• High school yearbook editor:  The long-time yearbook advisor quit two weeks before the school year, so we were the Lord of the Flies yearbook edition.  With the extra room to manage and control the output, my team produced a great yearbook that sold completely out of all 3,500 copies (big school).  Also had to deal with a photographer's strike, many all-nighter deadline production sessions, and learning-to-manage people and project issues.  Cemented a good friendship, too, with E. and others that have continued over the years.
  
• Penguin's Frozen Yogurt:  My next job after yearbook.  Lasted all of three months.  Loved the customer interaction & service; the food handling, not so much.  Haven't had a food service job since.
• Virgin Megastore:  I always wanted to work for Virgin, the label, but was thrilled to join the 2nd U.S. Virgin Megastore.  This was the job that became a career as I moved from Import Buyer/Stockroom to Operations Systems Manager for the U.S/Canada chain.  Very cool place to work for much of that time.  And I did get to meet and talk with Richard Branson a couple of times, so that was a nice link back to my original goal to work for Virgin.
• Amazon.com:  I served as the Returns Manager for the company.  Well, that was my official title.  We were definitely a 120 MPH start-up, so I wore tons of hats as my team jumped into new projects, troubleshot multiple product line start ups, etc..  I had an interesting habit of offering ideas at Supply Chain Management meetings and earning new departments that way. 
  
• Current job:  My current position as a manager & data analyst has been great.  I enjoy the work.  Coming down from 7 years of 55+ hour weeks (over 60+ at Amazon) to finish my BA in English and start and raise a family has also been a good choice.
  

8. Who do you tag to continue the meme fun?

Okay, should they wish to take on the challenge, I'll invite Steph to contribute over at Keeper of the Pennies, Jacqui at Terrible Palsy, and Abigail at The Bernard Bunch to give us her young, but sage wisdom & insights.  Feel free to contribute, too, if I haven't named you specifically.

Thanks to Barbara at TherExtras for including me.

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 02:41 AM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

The week without blogging was unintentional.  I think we're all just tired, waiting for next week to come.

Next week, Monday, is Hannah's surgery to remove her trach tube.  Everything and anything else is in suspended animation.  Work, meals, outings, downtime:  everything is moving past us, ruffling our hair, but we stand still.

Next week, we'll catch our breath.  

I call it a hospital vacation, but that's a misnomer:  just means I'm taking a week off because that's the most practical way to help everyone out.  Janette and I will be on hospital nursing duty (much more intensive than home with our dedicated & experienced nurses).  Mostly, we'll be finding ways to keep Hannah entertained, waiting to see if the surgery was successful.  Gabriel will get some time at home, hospital, and with extended family.  And, if all goes well, both Janette and I will get some writing downtime.

-- Dad

 P.S.  Thanks for everyone's patience with both our blogging delay and our frazzled server.  Leaving comments (or posting) for the last couple of days has been difficult.  Hope all is fixed now.

Posted by Dad at 05:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

To say I enjoy and collect music is an understatement.  I worked in music retail for over 13 years, amassing a collection of vinyl and compact discs bound by Beatles, Bowie, and many, many bands of the 80s.  Music has been a constant throughout my life.  It has always been there for me:  no matter what else was going on.

So you can imagine my celebration of my kids' musical awakening.  In Hannah's case, it's been clear from Day One that she is destined to lead a band someday.  She's got the 'doo and the 'tude, and she knows no fear.

I wasn't sure that Gabriel would follow her example.  He's had a more casual relationship with music to date.  Music has competed with tv and video games and, often, lost his interest in comparison.

Two nights ago, I cruised by Gabriel's room.  I had just gotten him his new mp3 player, and he had set it to play him to sleep.  Of course, when I walked by, he wasn't sleeping.  He was dancing around his room, singing in his loudest voice:  "So let me introduce to you!  The act you've known all these years!  Sgt. Peppers' Lonely Hearts Club Band!"

I was thrilled.  The following night (last night), Gabriel and I gave Hannah an improptu concert in the family room, plugging in his player and singing along to Gabriel's current favorites ("While My Guitar Gently Weeps", "Is There Something I Should Know", and "Hungry Like the Wolf").  Hannah was thrilled.  She clapped.  She danced.  She stared eagerly at my mouth between sets.

It's nice to see both my kids embracing music, particularly my music.  I know that it won't last forever.  One day, they will come home with a music that is too loud, too dissonant, too - something.  For now, though, I'm going to kick back and enjoy the moment.  And maybe dig something new-to-the-kids out of my vinyl collection.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 07:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (6) | TrackBacks (0)

2 am:  nursing shift switch between Mom and Dad 

10pm + 4.5 hours = 2:30 am:  time for Gabriel to sleepwalk into Hannah's room and cuddle with Dad (going back to sleep, but...)

9pm + 6 hours = 3 am:  time for Hannah to wake up and demand entertainment from Dad.  Gabriel wakes, too.  Something fun might happen.

3 am + 0 hours =>  check tubes, change diaper, and briefly entertain 

3 am + .5 hours => everyone to their beds (sleep second shift - eventually)

all hours + all hours =>  coffee time for Daddy.  Always coffee time.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 02:59 AM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

A reminder for all planning to attend the All-Born In Conference:  it takes place this coming Saturday, April 26th here in Portland, OR.  You can read more about Janette's and my experience with the conference in prior years here and here (2007).  We recommend it highly.  If you want to gather school and community inclusion tips and tools, network with other parents and families, get motivated, then this is a great event to attend.

Over at the NWDSA website, you can:

• Register

• View topic abstracts and speaker profiles

My bronchitis seems to be retreating, so both Janette and I still plan to attend together.  If you recognize us from the blog pictures, give us a shout!

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 02:32 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Mommy is headed out for a much needed break as I write.  Target.  Walgreens.  A wild hour-and-a-half of bachelorette consumerism!  Yeah, ok, not so wild, but she's had a hard two weeks.

First, there were Hannah's appointments.  The outcomes were great (heart fixed, planning to remove the trach in May), but the multiple trips across multiple days have been exhausting.

Then I got sick.  Not cough, cough, go lie down sick.  I'm talking Cameron, Ferris' friend, sick.  I *wish* I could cough out my lung - might feel better.  I've burned through three sick days this week alone - yuck.  The doctor thinks it's probably bronchitis; I think Hannah and I are sharing her special-exotic-germs (psudeomonus is my guess).

Yes, she's sick now, too.  Goopy, goopy, goopy.  She's doing much better than me, to be honest.  I'm laying here typing, resting on a moist heating pad, running neb treatments on myself every 2-3 hours.  She, on the other hand, is clapping to the music on t.v..

Hopefully, Hannah gets the easy course.  In the meantime, Gabriel is getting a little bark to his cough....

So, if you happen to be local, don't ignore the crossed woodplanks and "Plague House" signs on the door.  Check in with the ever-patient nurse-Mom before entering to make sure the coast is clear!

-- Dad (hack, hack - pity party - hack, hack) 

Posted by Dad at 08:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

Just wanted to encourage everyone to visit the current edition of Disability Blog Carnival over at Jodi's Reimer Reason.  Jodi has assembled a good, varied collection of blogs around the theme of The Hardest Part.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 02:40 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Photo booths are small, especially with an active four-year-old in your arms.  They've changed some (the booths, that is), modernized, since my old Balboa Fun Zone days.  You can pick layouts, color, sepia, or black and white; you can also pay via debit card:  so convenient to spend $3.

Hannah and I stepped into this particular booth Sunday:  our daddy-daughter day out.  We had enjoyed lunch together at New Seasons, browsed Powell's Books, and explored the mall for a few minutes.  For years, when Gabriel was younger, he and I made regular journeys, both to satisfy my wanderlust and give Mom a break.  Now Hannah and I were renewing the same tradition.

Hannah, happy to be momentarily free of her wheelchair, sat in my lap and took a look around.  As I paid and chose options, the booth light came on, pulling Hannah's curiosity upward.

The booth counted down to taking its first shot.  Afterward, Hannah quickly shifted.  She looked at me expectantly.  I wasn't singing.  Singing is required.

Second picture.

Hannah likes an unobstructed view of my face:  the better to claw at my mouth, making it clear that it needed to move back and forth to produce music.  She snatched away my glasses.

Third picture.

Got the glasses.  What's the ceiling look like?

Fourth picture.

We stepped outside and waited for our pictures to print.  A minute later, we had our memory.  Wanted:  picture perfect day out (and some singing, please).

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 06:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (4) | TrackBacks (0)

"'L 'un!"

We were finishing up dinner.  Gabriel sat to my right, protecting his carrots from Hannah's increasingly good reach.  Janette and I were busy translating Hannah-speech.

"All done, Hannah?"

"'L 'un, m'ah-ah," Hannah confirmed.

"She said, 'All done, mama!'," I repeated.  "All done, mama?"

"'L 'un, 'L 'un."

Janette complimented Hannah on communicating well and began transferring Hannah from wheelchair to floor.

Hannah clapped.  "Aye."

Hannah was now sitting on the floor.  Like a game of charades, Gabriel and I believed we had solved the puzzle, repeating back to Hannah, "All done, Mama. Bye!"

Hannah grinned broadly and shouted, "Yeah!"

In other words:  yeah, you understood me!  Good job, family!

As a parent, I belatedly celebrate my kids' every success; I am always 1-2 steps behind them.  Letting go of the prior achievements, the prior stage, the prior understanding is the hardest part.

With Hannah, I'm still stuck in trach management mentality, waiting for the next hiccup, the next emergency room admittance, the new diagnosis.  Meanwhile, back at the Ranch, Hannah is developing language and communication skills with the clear intent of manipulating we subjects who serve her.

She is growing, and I am slowly switching gears to catch up.  Hannah is spending more time with her peers at preschool.  Preschool provides her a smorgesboard of tips and tricks to employ at home.  I, however, am fighting the last battle for Hannah (medical complications) and preparing to fight the next alongside her, whatever that may be.

Even early this morning, as I write at 4am, Hannah and I are sizing each other up.  This time it's reversed.  I am ready to give Hannah some alone-time in her room.  Time to process.  Time to think.  Time to settle down.  Time to get back to sleep.

She is not.  For four years, she has had 24/7 in-room support.  The ventilator, trach, and feeding equipment and needs required it.  Today, we are graduating to just trach and feeding support.  In a few months, it may be just feeding support.  Correspondingly and appropriately, our nursing hours are being cut back.  Hannah needs to develop a new skill and understanding:  alone-time and privacy are good things.

I am writing from our adjacent office:  a perfect position for listening and watching for any medical needs, but just far enough out of her line-of-sight to give Hannah some space.  She is having none of it, of course.  She is tossing and turning, crying, trying to get her pulseox to speak for her and call me back into the room.

And I do go back in to check on her.  If everything is medically ok, she gets a brief arm hug (which she clings lovingly to), a reminder that I am in the next room, and a stern warning that it... is time...to go... TO SLEEP!

Letting go - of prior conceptions for both of us (and of my arm, for one of us) - is the hardest part.  Ultimately, it makes us all stronger, but it's hard to recognize that because you're already past that milestone marker and trying to catch up to the next.

Posted by Dad at 04:39 AM | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBacks (0)

"Gabriel, come here!  Two of the Beatles are on t.v.."

Gabriel came and sat with me on the couch.  There they were:  Paul and Ringo being interviewed on CNN for a one-year-anniversary Love special.

"There's Ringo.  There's Paul."

Gabriel accepted my assignments and watched briefly.  CNN played a photo montage to Beatles hits.  I continued.  "There's John..."

"He was shot," Gabriel added.

"Yes, he was.  But this was when he was alive.  There's George."

"He got sick and died."

"Yes, Gabriel, he did."

"Oh, I know that song!" Gabriel grinned.  All You Need Is Love was playing.  "Look!  You can see the words coming out of John's mouth."

The camera had a close up of the "live action" John Lennon (i.e. not the cartoon version from Yellow Submarine) singing.  Gabriel stared at the t.v., enthralled.

Hannah and Mom joined us in the family room.  After a commercial, CNN played another photo montage, and I sang along with the Beatles.  Hannah smiled and clapped, encouraging me to continue.

Gabriel's toys soon called to him, and he turned away from the t.v..  Hannah and I continued to watch and sing.

By the end of the segment, Gabriel, predicatably, was climbing all over Mom on the couch (his version of cuddling).  He noticed the name of the Cirque show in the bottom right corner.

"Mom, it says, "Love."  All you need is love."

Yes, my son will grow up knowing who Paul, John, George, and Ringo are!  Dad couldn't be more proud. 

-- Dad

P.S.  If you haven't seen it yet, I recommend Across The Universe to you.  Great film:  really should become a midnight showing cult classic, I think.  We'll see, though. 

Posted by Dad at 08:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Walking into Hannah's room is kind of like walking on to the bridge in Star Trek:  lots of lights and beeping things.  This morning, her ever-tempermental pulseox sounds its alarm repeatedly.  Its descending tones cycle like a siren.  Her feeding pump adds its urgent alarm that food is almost empty.  Add the classical station, which is playing something with heavy castanet usage (which initially sounds suspiciously like Hannah is grinding her teeth to raw nerves), and its quite the made-for-tv adventure.

Hannah, miraculously, sleeps through it all, but can the Klingon Bird of Prey be far behind?

-- "Proud to be a Geek" Dad

Posted by Dad at 04:55 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I woke before the alarm.  Something was stirring... and it wasn't a mouse.

I could hear Hannah's pulseox beeping from our bedroom.  I walked down the hallway and popped my head into Hannh's room.  There she was, on her stomach, propped up on her arms, smiling at me.

Ready for the Daddy shift.

"When did she go to bed?" I asked.

"Nine," Janette said.  "Maybe ten?"

Time for Daddy math.  Four-and-a-half hours of sleep.  Yep, she'd be up for a while.

So here we are at 4am.  My singing voice, my consoling voice, my encourage-you-to-go-to-sleep voice has long worn out.  I've used the electronic babysitter as my singing replacement for the last hour-and-a-half.

Now I'm preparing to escalate.  I'm about to switch to music only (no video), and it's going to be soothing classical music.  Hold on while I switch over....

Now listening to XM classics.  Hannah is decidedly avoiding the issue, looking around her bed, back at me.  Maybe if I feign disinterest, she seems to say, he'll give up and put on another video.

This is our dance.  Cue the crying.  It's time to work through our process.  Toss pacifiers.  Give Dad hugs when he picks them up for us.  Cry when he walks away.  Smile when he returns.  Sign correctly (not an everytime thing) for songs.  Daddy gives in and sings one song.  More hugs.  Daddy walks away.  More crying.

We certainly both know the steps.  Hannah is eyeing me from her bed now, calling me over with brief shouts through her trach.

Hannah, care to dance?

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 03:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Janette and I have been blogging almost a year now.  In that first month of blogging, April 2007, I attended a fantastic conference focused on inclusion for children that experience disabilities. Janette had attended the year before.  We both agreed the conference was informative, inspirational, and helpful.

As Janette and I prepare to celebrate 1 year of blogging, All Born In also swings back around for its 3rd year here in Portland, Oregon.  A friend of mine (and one of my former carpoolers for Partners In Policymaking) is one of the organizers.  She, Angela, the Northwest Down Syndrome Association, and several generous sponsors and stakeholders have put together another great day of speakers and workshops.  This is a great opportunity for us – parents, families, educators, professionals, and self-advocates – to retool and get charged up about school and community inclusion.

Here are the details & a link to the registration form.  Definitely check it out and attend if you can:

All Born In - Saturday, April 26th (8:30am - 5:30pm)

Portland State University campus 

Should you have questions, feel free to check out the NWDSA website and/or drop Angela Jarvis-Holland an email (ajarvis-holland@nwdsa.org) as needed.

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 08:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

2:15 a.m. - Hannah's room.

I'm typing on my new e-bay'd AlphaSmart 3000, waiting for Hannah to settle back into sleep.  Any moment now.  Any time.  Wait for it....

Janette reported that Hannah had been awake for about two hours (translation:  Mommy very tired).  Hannah, of course, lit up on seeing me, so she is now experiencing her 90th second wind of the night.

Later this afternoon, we're having Hannah's birthday party.  This is the birthday party we decided not to do last Saturday because we really wanted to avoid any conflict with a major holiday like St. Patrick's Day.  For our guests' convenience, we have instead apparently chosen to host the party between Good Friday and Easter Sunday.  Yes, we're Jewish.  Although we do have access to a standard, secular calendar, I'm kind of thinking we consulted our lunar calendar for picking this particular date.

Anyway, we still expect attendance to be pretty good.  We've hired out a room nearby and rented the Caterpillar for an hour's entertainment.  To us parents, the Caterpillar is one of those massive plastic blow-up climb-inside-and-get-lost disease delivery systems; to Hannah's friends, it is Legend.

So, despite the interesting choice of days, we're still hoping for a good turnout from a mix of Hannah's school and neighorhood friends, family, and maybe a few of Hannah's nurses if they can stop by.

The cake is ordered.  The ice cream will follow.  And the Caterpillar is waiting.

-- Dad

P.S.  Retyped from the AlphaSmart 3000.  Need to buy special USB cable.  Darn.  Good thing I had my credit card handy ;-).  Now I must wait for shipment.  Patience with new toy.  Patience...

Posted by Dad at 01:43 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I walked away from the table to grab a drink, and by the time I returned, my spoon was gone.  Janette had made spaghetti, and I am a fork-and-spoon-roll style spaghetti eater.  Spaghetti without spoon would simply not do.

I didn't have to look far.  I had moved Hannah between Gabriel and me at the table a minute before.  Now she sat there in her spiffy new rental wheelchair, smiling at me.  She gripped my spoon in one hand, letting it dangle precariously from her mouth.

"Hannah," I chided, "that's my spoon."

She dropped it, then dove for Gabriel's plate.

"Hey!" he laughed.

I reached across the table, saving his noodles from an untimely death-drop to the floor.  Hannah snagged his carrot, admired it, and put it in her mouth.

I tried so hard to find my serious Daddy voice.  Here was Hannah, a humongous carrot dangling from her mouth like some slightly-confused snowman nose.  "Hannah, that was pretty grabby and not nice.  Let's get you your own plate."

She reached quickly for my (new) spoon.  I moved it out of her reach as Janette saved the day, bringing Hannah a small plate with noodles and not one, but two spoons.  Although Hannah eats primarily by g-tube, she was definitely signalling I WANT TO HAVE DINNER JUST LIKE YOU, and we quickly complied (often the best recourse when Hannah is involved).

For a moment, we ate in peace.  Hannah was attacked by the sticky noodles from her plate (which kind of seemed to gross her out:  some agreement with Daddy there).  She mouthed and shortly thereafter dropped both spoons.  Some misbehavior earned her a timeout somewhere along the way, but we ate dinner together as a family for the most part.

In the end, Hannah, the spaghetti and spoon thief, was excused from dinner, and I was left to play Marco Polo with the many spoons scattered beneath the table.

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 08:19 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

On one of her B & N trips, Janette managed to find two youngish adult books:  one about Barack Obama; one about Hillary.  A few nights ago, we gathered in Hannah's room.  I was pretty excited to read the Barack Obama book to the kids.  Janette seemed to be more on the fence; I think either book would have suited her.

The kids, though, sat (mostly) through the Barack Obama book, learning about his childhood, his college days, his political career.  Gabriel squirmed a bit, lost focus.  Hannah called out in a few parts and chewed thoughtfully on a nearby toy.

At the end, we cheered The Blue Team (as we call it in our house).  I asked Gabriel who he liked better:  the boy or the girl Next President.  He affirmed, "the boy President."  I held both books out for Hannah, near her face, asking her her favorite.  She quickly settled on, and continued to stare at, the Hillary Clinton book.

We are, truly, a house divided.

-- Dad

P.S.  I am so getting sucked into the Daily Kos website.  Came across this entry tonight regarding candidates stance on the Iraq War.  With apologies to Pop Pop, I love the Obama quotes! 

Posted by Dad at 10:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

It's just one of those nights.  Although my candidate, John Edwards, dropped out of the race some time ago, I was kind of hoping tonight might decide things one way or the other for The Blue Team.  No such luck.

Then I went to check my primary email.  My account, for no apparent reason, isn't accessible.  Mails missed.  Service denied.

The night with the kids was so-so, too.  Mr. G was having difficulty listening the first time; Ms. H was pickier than usual regarding our nightly activities (singing and tv were okay, but no hugs or cuddles - sigh).

So... I'm moving away from the computer and either a) jumping into a good book or b) taking a non-political, non-thinking tv break tonight.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 09:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

When I got home from work tonight, I let both kids know it was a Politics Night.  The MSNBC debate was airing.  I was DRVing it.  We were watching it.  Between debates and Tuesday primary nights, I have established this as an election year routine.  The kids are getting used to it, but that in no way means that they accept it.

Both kids know Dad is interested and involved in local politics, policy development, and advocacy.  For example, they knew that this morning was a Salem Day, that I was headed to the state Capitol to work with a health policy committee.  Despite this understanding of my interests, however, I think the kids see Politics Night in an entirely different light.

To Gabriel, Politics Night tonight meant a brief cheer for the "blue team" as he calls us Democrats.  Then he went back to his pacing, internal dialogue, and a promotional Fisher Price DVD that he has mistaken for a short movie.  For Hannah, Politics Night tonight meant no Jeopardy, no Wheel of Fortune, some playtime, and limited singing time from Dad.  Both kids confirmed their understanding of debates as pretty much a "Dad-thing."

By 8pm, Hannah had had enough.  Much like our debaters, Hannah tried a variety of strategies to win me over:  the Smile, the Clapping, the Silent I'm-Playing-With-My-Toys-And-Ignoring-You Treatment, the Roll To the Carpet That Makes Me Break Out treatment.  None of her approaches was effective.  Finally, she tried the Pout.  Hannah tucked her top lip into her bottom lip:  the face of Extreme Dissatisfaction.  Interestingly, just like my Mom's.  And mine.

By 8pm, I was ready, like Barack, to concede Hannah's point graciously:  it was time to head to her bedroom.  Gabriel worked to get himself ready for bed as Hannah and I settled into her bedroom.  I put OyBaby! on, and she approved.  Gabriel and I experimented with our new 2-way radios I bought last night, sqwelching from room to room.  Hannah laughed hysterically when I gave her a radio and sung her songs from a different room, out of sight.  Soon after, Gabriel retired to his room for the night, and Hannah and I spent some time watching a DVD and singing.

Once Hannah's nurse came on, I returned to my DVR and finished the debate.  It's amazing how easy it is to watch a debate without pausing the DVR when no kids are present.  However, I hope that exposing the kids to politics, debate, and all of that will encourage them one day to get involved.  Of course, if they got involved now, Gabriel would vote for Mario from the Wii or Anakin Skywalker (before he went "bad"); Hannah, for Laurie Berkner or Dan Zanes.

Well, in either case, at least both kids would be informed voters.  Besides, I'd kind of like to see a Anakin Skywalker vs. Dan Zanes debate.  Could Anakin control his anger?  Could Dan Zanes maintain his fun & cool exterior?  Would Anakin force push Zanes?  Would Zanes win over the crowd with some peppy music?  Now that might be worth watching. 

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 10:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Today was homework day.  Gabriel tried to talk Janette out of it, even pointing out that he's not sure how those pieces of paper got in his backpack.  The ruse, though amusing, failed.  Janette sat him down at the dining room table and worked with him.  Hannah was playing well on the carpet.  I disappeared for some computer time.

By the time I came back in the room, Gabriel had written down some rhyming words with Janette's input and help, but he was stalling in a big way.  

"I might need your help," Janette confessed.

It was time for tough love.

"Focus, Gabriel," I said, "it's time for your homework."

Of course, within a few minutes, Gabriel was in timeout in his room.  He had fussed.  He had tried to amuse us.  He had played with the pencil:  anything to avoid the workbook copy in front of him.  I gave him a few letting-off-steam minutes and then followed him with his homework in one hand and a pencil in the other.

I'm not a big fan of the workbook stuff, but the rhyming words, to help with reading and patterning, made some sense to me.  For me, though, it was no longer about the homework.  Now it was watching Janette's mounting frustration and one of our two master manipulators seeing how far he could push it.  Time to get to work.

Gabriel has a nice kids' student desk in his room.  I directed him to clean it off.  This was ALL business.  Gabriel knew play time had passed.  With big sad velvet eyes, he tried to ward me off.  We proceeded anyway.

Gabriel's rhyming words ran in three parallel columns down the page.  Once you got the "can" word at the top of one column, you could rhyme your way down that column pretty effectively:  "man", "ran", etc..  Repetition is part of the equation for Gabriel.  He also needs to hear it and picture it in his head, so we made up sentences and silly stories to join the words together.  We moved among them in random order, completed this page of homework, learned some new sight words, and had a good time.

In fact, Gabriel pulled out a phonics reader toy and promised to practice some more.  Janette popped in to remind me it was almost time to head to the movie I planned to see (she was giving me a break to go out and do something adult!).  I reminded Gabriel we'd review when I got home, so he should practice.

Well, by the time I returned, he hadn't practiced, but he was playing with the phonics toy.  We pulled out the worksheet in the relative quiet of his room (one important trick for him:  fewer distractions, better).  He read each word fairly easily and invented some new (okay, gross) stories to go with them.  We chuckled, and I excused myself for a brief, shake-off-the-2am shift nap.

He followed me.  "Dad!" he was excited (also "dad" was one of his rhyming words).  "I'm going to do one phonics book each day!"  He patted me on the head ("pat", "sat", "rat").   

"Gabriel," I reminded him, "I'm trying to nap." ("nap", "cap", "sap")  "I'm very proud of you for working on your reading."

His chin literally lifted into the air as he bounced out of the room.  I wanted to lay back down, but I could hear him skipping through the house, encouraging himself:  "Go, Gabriel!  Go, Gabriel!"  He started his externalized dialogue.  "Dad says he's proud of me.  Really?  That's cool!  Go, Gabriel!  Go, Gabriel!"

Laughing that hard, there was no way I was going to sleep!

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 08:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

The 60s had Woodstock; the 70s, Montreaux; the 80s, LiveAid and the US Festival; the 90s, Lollapaloza.

In 2008, we have CuddleFest.

Gabriel declares this event when Mom, Dad, and Hannah are stretched across the family room floor in some proximity.  "CuddleFest!" our promoter announces.  His first action is to figure out where Hannah and Mom are and jump inbetween them.  This is a must:  like a Lollapaloza mash pit.

"Gentle," I, the security guard, remind him and Hannah.  Mom chimes in when Hannah claws at her hair or Gabriel accidently kicks her.  Tickling ensues.  Gabriel remembers that he's forgotten to grab a blanket from his bed:  a must have for the Festival, and he heads off to get one and drag it back to the family room floor.

Hugs all around.  Hannah plants big wet kisses on Janette (usually in the hair since Hannah's fingers are grabbing that anyway).  More tickling.  I provide the music for Hannah or imitate voices for Gabriel (note:  likes Yoda, hates the Emperor).

Within a few minutes, the curtain closes on CuddleFest.  Mom limps away, nursing an aggressive-hug-accidental-kick wound or wiping extra wet kisses from her cheeks.  Hannah rolls away to play with her toys.  Gabriel encourages everyone to perform an encore, but Security tickles him out the door.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 02:10 AM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

The brain is a wonderful thing.  You wake.  You read the newspaper.  You head to work.  You work.  You return home.  You enjoy a little time with the family.  The kids go to bed.  You gel from an hour in empty t.v. land....

And your brain decides now, at 11 pm, would be a good time to rework that puzzle from earlier in the day.  You know, the one with twelve moving pieces.  3 pm - not a good time.  11 pm?  Perfect.  The zombie zen of t.v. opens up possibilities, probabilities, and puzzles before sleep.

Yes, the brain is a wonderful thing.

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 11:05 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

A big thank you to Jennifer over at Diary of One for awarding us an Excellent blogging award on Valentine's Day.  We appreciate the mention, the link, and your many comments over time. 

Jennifer's blog is a great read.  I'm enjoying her art history segments in particular.  Janette and I met in an art history class, no less.  She was the one who nudged me awake at the all-too-early hour of turn-off-the-lights-for-slides-now at 7:30am..  Romantic from the very start .

We also participated in last week's Carnival of Family Life.  It is full of family humor & parenting perspectives & tips.  Definitely worth a read every week!

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 10:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

Today, Gabriel and Hannah headed to college.  After six and almost four years, respectively, both seemed prepared for higher education.  Gabriel has been reading for awhile, mastering single-syllable sight words; Hannah has been learning new signs and words, too.  It was time to move up.

At least that's how I sold the adventure to Gabriel this morning.  We were headed to George Fox University in Newberg, OR to participate in a speakers' panel with Hannah's nursing agency, CNS.  I loved the idea of sharing Hannah's history, a parent's perspective on in-home nursing, and our very positive experience with CNS with a room full of soon-to-graduate nursing students.  I just wasn't sure if Gabriel and Hannah could keep it together for an hour plus.

"Gabriel, we're going to college today.  You ready to start college?"

"Yeah, college!  I can't wait to tell Mrs. G [his kindergarten teacher]!  She'll be so surprised!"

Gabriel further advised Hannah that she wasn't quite ready for higher education yet; she would need to learn to read like him.  Then she could go to college, too.

As we drove toward Newberg, Janette and I peppered the kids with college features and facts.  Did you know that you could do science labs in college?  Mommy and Daddy met in college, did you know that?  All of our anecdotes seemed to excite Gabriel further.  Hannah was less happy with the length of the drive, but took most of it in stride.

We arrived on campus thirty minutes later, soon found our panel group, and headed up to the classroom.  Janette and Gabriel laid out blankets for Hannah to play on.  As members of the panel took turns introducing themselves and answering questions, we carefully dolled out Hannah's toys.  She spun across the blankets, chasing her Babbling Bee.  The mp3 player amused her briefly.  The kinetic singing drum satisfied her for awhile.

Watching all of this, one the nursing students asked, "Hannah seems to be a very active girl.  With all of the equipment, how do you keep up with her?"

Janette and I both laughed.  It was a good question.  Janette described the gymnastics involved in keeping a suction catheter sterile while timing trach suction with Hannah's dance.  I echoed her comments.  We moved on.

Through it all, Gabriel sat patiently.  Hannah played.  Fellow families, E & C, spoke about their experiences.  Together, we took and answered many really great questions.  Hopefully, all of these nursing students will go into their profession with an additional sense of the patient's and family's perspective.  Maybe we'll even see a few take the in-home nursing track.

Afterward, I asked Gabriel and Hannah what they thought.  Hannah responded, "La la la."  [Probably both a request of me and an appreciation for the "Happy Birthday" song the class sung for E, another CNS client.].  Gabriel said, "They chatted a lot.  It was great!"

I didn't quite have the heart to explain "lecture hall class" to Gabriel, but I recognized his acknowlegement of his own learning style (social) in his response.  I hope both he and Hannah can learn to play the elementary and high school game, the one that won't often teach to their natural learning styles necessarily, and hang in there for when college really begins.

-- Dad

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

Tonight I am Christos, and I am attempting to conduct the Hannah show.  As in The Truman Show, not quite everything is going to plan.  I haven't seen a par-can fall from the sky yet, but I am looking anxiously at the ceiling, wondering if it's far behind.

I took over from Janette at 2 am.  This is our third, consecutive night shift, so we're both running on "punchy." 

On our night shifts, we do get into a rhythm of sorts, provided Hannah is feeling well.  After a day of typical play and mischief today, however, Hannah quickly escalated to needing ventilator support, oxygen, and the tylenol and ibruprofin swing-your-partner every-three-hour square dance tonight. 

So while the medications doe-see-doe, I write and attempt to conduct the early morning hours to lull Hannah back to sleep.  Currently, she's on the albuterol bounce, and her fever is reduced.  While this is good news, Hannah has interpreted this as a signal to play, watch videos, and engage the world-at-large.

Some of my tools are missing, too.  Usually, I can move from the active video that was playing when I came on shift to Dan Zanes (downshift the lighting) to classical music (darken the room again) and... sleep.  The Dan Zanes disc is missing (has Hannah become more mobile that I realize?), and the classical station is talking more than usual.

So I am playing Deuter and other synthetic new age music via XM that I haven't willingly listened to... well, ever.

Meanwhile, across the hall, a blur of pjs runs past, heading toward our bedroom.

"Gabriel?"

The blur of blue camo doesn't even pause.  Gripped by some night terror, Gabriel is off to sleep beside (I mean kick & claw) the recently relieved Mom.

Now Hannah is over-tired, flicking pacifiers at me to draw me back to the bed for hugs and songs.  I've moved to Stern Daddy Voice here at 4am, letting Hannah know It Is Time... To... Go... TO... SLEEP!

She's somewhat unconvinced, but matching the Daddy Voice with her own P & V.  I write at a distance, giving her some space to maybe, just maybe, toss and turn herself to sleep. 

Meanwhile, as Christos, I hope to regain control of the nightime bedroom set soon.  Otherwise, I've got a schedule to keep here.  Soon, I'll have to cue the Sun.

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 03:37 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Before we left the house, I reminded both Hannah and Gabriel, "We're going to a nice restaurant.  Best behavior, please."  I picked up Hannah.  "And, Hannah, no tantrums."

Hannah avoided looking me in the eye.

"Hannah.  Hannah.  You need to behave, okay?"

By this time, I was holding Hannah; she snuggled into my shoulder.  I took that as acceptance.

Quickly, we packed up the car and headed into Portland.  Janette's dad, Pop-Pop, wanted to meet us and have dinner before his flight back to Florida.  We arranged to meet at our favorite spot, Jake's Grill.  This was a special place for Janette and me.  It was our date place.  Our we-get-some-time-to-ourselves place.  Now, we were about to share this place with our kids.

A few miles from the house, traffic ground to a halt on the 26.  Hannah shifted in her seat.  A few miles later, she started to cry.  Closer to the city, she started to scream.

By the time we arrived at Jake's, Hannah was doing the potty-NOW dance.  Janette took her back, and Gabriel and I joined Pop-Pop at the table.  We all chatted and caught up.  Janette and Hannah rejoined us about fifteen minutes later.

As far as setting the tone, I thought we were in for another difficult dinner.  Neither of our kids is particularly keen on sitting still, particularly for more than fifteen minutes at a time.  Gabriel understood we were going someplace special.  To Hannah, though, we were in another restaurant (not her strength), sitting still (not preferred), eating (she'll sample by mouth, but eat primarily through her g-tube while we eat).

Technology to the rescue!  After everyone had talked for a bit, Janette handed out the electronic babysitters.  Gabriel's face glowed in Nintendo DS blue.  Hannah clapped for the small, portable DVD player, our video magic jukebox, perched on the table in front of her.  Janette, Pop-Pop, and I ordered for us and the kids and, in between feeding Hannah and checking in on the kids, we got to have some adult conversation when the ambient din allowed.

Hannah and Gabriel showed fantastic patience (particularly given that Hannah was still smarting from the bathroom trip - not easy to go with low muscle tone).  We actually made it through the whole meal without a tantrum.  I know.  I know.  The electronic babysitters may be tacky, but I'll bet our adjacent diners appreciated this tactic better than the alternative.

After I finished up, I took Gabriel, then Hannah and Gabriel for a walk through the connecting hallway to the grand old Governor Hotel lobby.  Hannah sat perched near my shoulder, eyes-wide as she examined the lobby's ornate ceiling.  Gabriel seemed to love the whole restaurant with the hidden hotel lobby up-the-stairs-and-hidden-in-the-back concept.

Interestingly, the hotel was hosting a Providence Child Development Center dinner tonight, too.  I remarked to a woman managing the coat room that we probably knew a person or two in there.  Within a few minutes, I heard, "Hannah?"

A member of Hannah's IFSP team from last year stopped us and reintroduced herself.  She would have been Hannah's teacher if Hannah had gone into a "self-contained" preschool (only kids that experience disabilities) rather than Gabriel's old preschool.  Although she didn't end up being Hannah's teacher, both Janette and I had appreciated the attention and interest she had given Hannah during the IFSP.

We chatted.  I introduced Gabriel, and he proudly announced that he was now six, holding up the right number of fingers (good job, buddy!).  Hannah's almost-teacher introduced me to her mother.  In the end, Hannah got tons of attention (which she soaked up) and a three singer, two part harmony "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star."

Janette rang my cell phone, and we said our good-byes.  Heading back toward the stairs, I smirked.  Hannah must think the world is a musical.  People sing to her everywhere, and everyone knows her name!  I wonder how all this looks and feels to Gabriel sometimes, but he seems willing to play a supporting role in Hannah's sometimes-rock-star life for now.

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 09:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)

"Would you like to come over for a Super Bowl party tomorrow?" 

"Hold on a sec."  I held the phone at my side, discussing Bubbie's invite quickly with Janette.  HD t.v. football, snacks, and family fan time:  sounded perfect to me. 

Janette, I knew, would not be as enthusiastic, though.  During this year's season, both kids had embraced the pigskin with me, but not Janette.  Hannah loved the lights, music, and action.  She sat next to me, cheering on our teams many Sundays.  Gabriel discovered a fleeting interest in the team that bore his monogram on its helmet, particularly when they played against Pop Pop's Eagles.  For Janette, football was just one of my little surprises she had discovered after our marriage.

"How about I take the kids over, and you get some down time?" I offered.

Needless to say, Janette wholeheartedly endorsed my proposal.

Enjoying the brief halo circling my head, I prepared for football day.  Sunday morning, Hannah and I warmed up by playing, dancing, singing, and walking laps around the house.  Gabriel joined us after Sunday school, building what he called a coyote cave with Janette.  He and Hannah dug in for a kids' sized, pre-game tailgate party.

After a few minutes to myself and a shower, I gathered up the kids around two and headed to Bubbie's.

What can I say?  We ate, we watched, we conquered.  Hannah bounced her attention from Cousin J to Auntie OK (who earned a big, happy shout-out from Hannah usually reserved for her closest personal and professional friends).  Gabriel played with his cousin or his Nintendo DS, occassionally looking up to admire the animated football player and Terminator robots duking it out around commerical breaks.  Janette walked over and joined us for dinner.  My brother, mother, and I:  we enjoyed an excitingly close and well-fought game, all celebrating the narrow victory by the much-maligned New York Giants.

Tonight, Hannah sleeps deeply after a no-nap Sunday.  Gabriel, too, has settled in his room.  I've roamed the internet to read game narratives, several of which captured this nail-biter well.  Now, I'm signing off and heading to bed myself.

To a great next season (yes, the Pro Bowl doesn't really count)....

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 09:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (5) | TrackBacks (0)

Kind of Wordless Wednesday, but with, ah, words....  Here is a quick where-we've-been for the month of January in pictures & captions:

 

Posted by Dad at 11:02 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

It's been a long, long couple of weeks here at the Bach house.  Work, events, illness, and other responsibilities all seem to be conspiring to distract us from our family rhythms.  Generally, this makes me a less-than-pleasant person to be around.  Hannah is jones-ing for songs; Gabriel is exploring my shortened tolerance for arguments and such.

So I say all of that to introduce a big thank you to our readers and commenters.  I came to the computer tonight ready to kill the many spam comments we receive nightly and found a very sweet comment from The Bernard Bunch in France.  Seems like Abigail and Hannah could be quick friends (and that Gabriel would love to network with Nathan and his Nintendo DS!).

Janette and I appreciate everyone's comments and interest in reading our blog.  So thanks Abigail & team for tonight's pick-me-up, and we'll keep on writing!

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 10:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

I am sitting in Janette's post-op recovery room, writing in a notebook:  an alien in a Foreign Land.

Pause.  Janette is okay.  Outpatient surgery we had planned.  She can share the details if she so desires. 

Back to our story...

Janette's procedure was at the Other Hospital:  the one where she gave birth to Hannah, not the Children's Hospital where Hannah sometimes holds Court.  The differences are considerable; I feel like a spy.

Here, people are tactfully polite to us.  They explain procedures generically - assume nothing of our knowledge or background.  They remind me gently that the pager doesn't work off-campus, not sure if I'm one of Those Guys, phoning in my I-care-about-you-honey performance.  And when they explain the intimate details of no physical exertion for four weeks to us, a happily married couple with two kids, they don't know how to react when we laugh ourselves to tears.

"Home" at Hannah's hospital, it's kind of like "Cheers."  Everyone knows us by face and connects us back to Hannah.  We're Hannah's parents (often, her servants).  Janette checks in on everyone's personal life, picking up from the last visit even if it's been awhile.  I sing to Hannah and run regularly to the 24-hour espresso bar.

And by the way, at the "adult" hosptial, coffee isn't available until 6am.  And closes for the night sometime before midnight.  We arrived there this morning at 4:30am and headed in for the procedure prep at 5:30am.  No coffee for Daddy until 8:00am.  Makes Daddy sleepy & grumpy.  If I ever need to go in, it'd better be at Hannah's place.

-- Dad 

P.S.  Adding notes and a tweak on the ending from my notebook tonight around 9pm.  Janette is resting comfortably.  Lots of sleep without the Vicodin - pretty wiped out & working on recovery.

Many thanks to Zadie for taking care of Gabriel today, J., Hannah's nurse last night, for staying on later than expected to help with an icy morning shift transition, and Uncle K. for preparing a welcome home lasagna meal (pasta is where the heart is). 

Posted by Dad at 08:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

We kind of took an accidental and unannounced blog vacation.  Never intended it to be one, but got caught up in those other life activities:  work, sleep, eat.  You know the drill.

Since we've been writing and reading less, our family's world has continued to spin. Gabriel and I experienced Walking With Dinosaurs, the stage version, over the weekend.  Janette and the kids made the Ikea pilgrimage today.  Hannah got fitted for a new wheelchair (cross your fingers - maybe we'll see it in just a few months this time).  And Hannah has been talking up a storm, too.

Tomorrow, I'm off to work-work and committee work in Salem, too, so the week's quickly spinning back into high speed.  In the meantime, I'll enjoy my coffee, a little tv, and some sleep.  Will write more soon!

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 09:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Two down, two to go for sleep.  Hannah and I are still awake, but Janette turned in early, and Gabriel somehow managed a pre-10-o'clock snooze. 

Just a quick mention of the latest Disability Blog Carnival at Blog [with tv], and then I am also off to bed.  The subject is Disability in the Media:  a subject we've written about from time to time.  Particularly around the holidays, it seemed there was a story a night on the news, and some of them were about people who experience disabilities; others, about "disabled people" (not my term).  Particularly if you don't know the difference or aren't familiar with people first language, check out the blog when you get the chance (and sorry for my belated pointer in that direction :-).

-- Dad 

Posted by Dad at 10:29 PM | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBacks (0)

"Did you have a bad dream?"

Gabriel was standing in his doorway, his face rigid in a strange combination of sleep and fear.  He didn't reply.  A teddy bear dangled from his left hand.  He looked like a classic little-boy-lost, maybe Wendy's younger brother, except that his teddy bear was dressed to the nines in Spiderman gear.

"Did you have a bad dream, Gabriel."

He didn't answer.  He just stood there, looking ahead, seeming sad. 

Ah, the sleepwalk/sleepterror thing, I thought.  My younger brother K sleptwalk as a kid.  I had fond memories of the more comical sleepwalks:  the crying at his own reflection (what brother wouldn't love that teasing fodder), the yelling at parents to clean up the table.  In my own son, though, not so funny.

I picked Gabriel up:  not as easy a task as it used to be.  He snuggled into my shoulder.  Kicking his now discarded teddy bear ahead of us, I walked him back into his room.

"I'm going to put you back to bed and rub your back," I promised.  Gabriel's head dug further into my shoulder.

I carefully-as-I-could heaved him back into his bunk bed.  He pulled the covers back over himself, still semi-asleep, and closed his eyes.  I helped Spider-Bear back into bed beside him, rubbed Gabriel's back for a minute, and then left him to dream better dreams.

-- Dad  

Posted by Dad at 03:57 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Lion and Magic Boy's entry Words I'm Sure I Use Too Often reminded me of the ongoing discussion we have with Gabriel about, "Just kidding!"

Gabriel, until recently, used this often.  It was, in his mind, his get-out-of-jail-free card.  If he meant to do something, got caught (or the activity just went south-of-intent), he could say, "Just kidding" and magically erase time.

Funny enough, my younger brother, K, used to also say, "Just kidding!" in the same context.  He was a bit older than Gabriel is now, but his use of the expression was pervasive.  He seemed to say it all the time.

My parents corrected this, in the name of taking responsibility for your actions, by charging K a quarter each time he said, "Just kidding!"  His behavior adjusted (rather quickly) accordingly.

Now Uncle K, K introduced this idea to Gabriel while all of us were out grabbing coffee (well, Gabriel and Cousin J weren't getting coffee).  

"Just kidding!" Gabriel announced.

"That'll be a quarter," Uncle K replied.  Uncle K explained the system to Gabriel.  We all laughed.  Gabriel tried it again.  Uncle K kept track in quarters.  I said, "Just kidding" once and owed Gabriel some money.  It turned into a good verbal awareness and math game.

Interestingly, without any money changing hands, this exercise yielded the same benefit.  Gabriel has abandoned, "Just kidding."  He treats the expression as a swear word.  He will allude to it, but refuse to say it for fear of losing something:  maybe money, maybe pride.

Of course, in his lawyerness, Gabriel has come up with substitute expressions that technically aren't the same:  "Kidding" (no "Just"), "Just joking!"

Oh well.  I'm sure our quarter jar, when initiated, won't be starved for money.

-- Dad

Posted by Dad at 07:18 AM | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBacks (0)

Ah, to be a nearly-four-year-old again!  Hannah's logic is simple (transliterated in "adult speak" by me):

Dad, it's Sunday:  your's and my hang-out-and-watch-football day.   While I regularly demand, "Out! Out!", I was surpised to see us heading out at 9:30am this morning to walk ten minutes to the Max train.  The air was brisk (but you thought to layer my clothes - good, Daddy); I enjoyed the change in scenary.

But then we got on the train.  The first twenty minutes of motion was fine.  The lady across the way talking to you and to me was nice (but why do they always want to ask what's wrong with me?).  After that, to be frank, the ride got to be same-same.

Didn't you realize I would need my morning nap by now?

So you'd better just sing.  Sing those couple of songs you know, and do that "Peas, Porridge Hot" thing that Mom does with me.  C'mon, the ride's not getting any more interesting. 

How much farther?  Fifty minutes!

Okay, sing.  Sing or I'll scream.

--  Dad

Posted by Dad at 03:36 AM | Permalink | Comments (3) | TrackBacks (0)

Hope you all had a fantastic New Year's.  Here are a couple of highlights from our holiday vacation here in Hillsboro (and Portland), Oregon.  We'll be back, telling our stories and commenting on yours, shortly.  Best wishes to everyone!

  

  

  

  

  

Posted by Dad at 09:37 PM | Permalink | Comments (2) | TrackBacks (0)