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Treasure and Trash

We've been cleaning out my grandparents' attic this week.  We had no idea what we'd find.  We found some very sentimental things, like a giant cross-stitch magnoia my grandma made, countless boxes of photos and letters, and the ceramic lambs that decorated my nursery.  Among the things that surprised us were:

4 stadium seasts

A 40-year-old ice cream maker

2 rusted handsaws

6 baskets of silk flowers

2 boxes of love notes from my high school boyfriend, complete with bad poems (why, yes, we read them aloud!)

A box of toys none of us remembers

Some personalized storybooks from my childhood, which Dean has been enjoying

And my personal favorite...

A paint scraper masking-taped to a stick. (???????)

 

We spent yesterday afternoon combing through boxes of letters, photos and mementos.  I found several shots of my grandma on her honeymoon, lots of pics of my grandpa's retirement party and even some family photos I'd never seen.  I also came across a whole pile of letters congratulating my grandpa for passing the Bar in 1971.  So many of these things are important to our family's history.  Since Dean never knew my grandfather and may not remember Mim, I hope to go through these things with him some day to help him piece together who we are and where we got our start.

 

Have you ever found any unique family treasures?

Mim

My grandma, Mim, passed away on March 22.  My husband, of course, has been the one with the right words during this time.  He told me a few days ago, "I keep feeling like I need to explain to people what it is you're going through. You didn't "just" lose your grandmother, you lost your MIM."  He couldn't be more right.

Mim and I had a special bond from the start.  She had 2 boys, so I was the little girl she'd always wanted to spoil and dress in cute clothes.  She was one of my first playmates and best friends.  I spent countless hours at her house when I was little, especially since we only lived a mile from her house until I turned 6.  After we moved away, we still visited all the time on weekends and I spent at least a week (usually longer) at her house in the summertime.  We had secrets that we promised never to share with anyone else, secrets I'm now the sole bearer of.  We had a blast together, talking about everything from pop culture (she was an avid Hard Copy and National Enquirer fan) to boys to fashion to food.

She cheated at gin rummy. She was a brittle diabetic, she knew I worried about her blood sugar. I remember being about 15 and playing a long game with her, a game at which she was kicking my tail.  Suddenly she screamed, "OH, help me! I need a Coke! "  So I jumped up and grabbed one for her, then, once she'd had a few sips, we returned to our game.  While I was up, she'd stacked the deck.  She laughed and laughed.  I swore never to play with her again.  We played for hours the very next day.

When I was very young, she was my real-life imaginary friend, Sue.  We went on grand adventure to the park, chased the ice cream man down the street, ate our weight in McDonald's hashbrowns and swam in her neighbor's pool.  Mim was in her early 40s at the time and sported a bikini.  I am 35 and think twice about leaving the house in capri pants.

She loved "flashy" clothes with bright colors, cute shoes and jewelry. Oh, my, did she love her jewelry.  Whenever she'd see me, particularly during the college years when my wardrobe consisted of sweat pants and flannel shirts, she'd scoff and say, "Jennifer, you need to wear your jewelry."  She reminded me many, many times over the years of the need to accessorize.  When I turned 25, she gave me a gorgeous black diamond necklace that she'd received for her own 25th birthday.  I wear it as much as I possibly can now.

She adored the color yellow and instilled in me the belief that every house should have at least one yellow room because it will make you happy.  Above all material things, she adored butterflies and collected them throughout her life.  We buried her in a brand new yellow sweater and a butterfly necklace I'd bought her at EPCOT Center on a high school dance team trip to Disney World.

She was in the hospital for a problem with her eyes when she had a massive heart attack.  She spent her last few days in the Cardiac ICU, where she received excellent care and where we were treated like royalty.  We were allowed to stay with her for as long as we wanted.  Two days before she died, the last day I was able to be with her, I brought in my iPad and filled it with music she loved.  We listened to Rod Stewart and Engelbert Humperdink.  We reminisced, I told her stories about Dean, we laughed, we held hands, we looked each other in the eye.  She gave me explicit instructions about a few things she wanted me and only me to take from her house.  She went over exactly how she wanted her graveside service to go.

On Thursday, March 22 with my dad by her side, she quietly slipped away. 

And now she's gone.

So much doesn't make sense.  I've never lived in a world without her in it, so I've felt adrift over the past four weeks.  I've picked up the phone to call her several times.  I bought a card with butterflies on it today, just because it made me think of her.

I know I'll see her again someday, but it's so hard not having her here now.  I'm pressing on because I have to.  It's what you do.  Life doesn't stop. Everything is heightened, though.  Right after she died, I felt the lines between Heaven and Earth were very, very blurred, like I could almost reach out and touch the hereafter.  Those lines are becoming more clear every day, though, and I'm not sure how I feel about that. 

Loss is something I've certainly experienced before, but this  one is hitting me harder than anything else ever has.  I'm going to take it day to day, the only thing you can do, and think of her as often as I can. 

And I'm painting my guest room yellow.

Guy Time

Since Dean goes to preschool on campus at the university where Marcus teaches, they have the same spring break. I do not get a spring break. (alas) Later this week, my two guys will head off on a boys only adventure FOR A WEEK.  They're flying up to Northern Virginia to visit Marcus's parents.  Planned activities include the circus, which is a GREAT thing to do without me because I HAAATE clowns.  They're also going "camping." I put it in quotes because they'll be in a cabin, but still. They'll be camping.  Dean and our oldest nephew, Adam, are REALLY into the idea of camping.  They have both learned about it at preschool and are fascinated.  I've told you of our at-home camping, which involves a nap mat, the grill and some marshmallows.  Adam can name off every single thing you need to bring with you on a camping trip, including "Something to read."  I bought the boys a couple of camping-themed books to take along.

I am so, so happy and blessed to have a husband who A) is willing to take his young son on a week-long vacation alone and B) to know that Dean will be cared for perfectly while they are gone.  I will miss them SO MUCH, but I have no doubt they'll have a blast, Dean will get his medicine on time and his clothes will probably match. (Forutnatley, my mother-in-law will be able to check up on that last one.)  There is so much to do in their town and the surrounding area--we always have a blast when we visit.  We're planning some Skype and Face Time dates so I can see their faces, though.

So what will I do with myself?  Well, Chutney and I will enjoy some girl time, mostly in company housing near the theatre.  I'm glad to have her to keep me company there, and I imagine she'll like exploring some new digs for a few days. Some of my favorite people in the world are working on my current project, and they've promised to keep me entertained and in good company.  We're planning a fun birthday dinner for my friend Jen next Monday and I hope to make it to at least one movie.  I've made my grocery list, which includes things neither Dean nor Marcus likes to eat.  I plan to jump on some things at work and try to get a little ahead while I've got the time.  And, of course, I'll have rehearsal to keep me busy.  Maybe I'll finally read THE HUNGER GAMES.

Any suggestions as to how I should fill my alone time?

Mr. Peanut

In the back of my mind, I always wondered.  I had issues with allergies throughout my entire childhood, including a peanut "sensitivity" that caused me to break out in mild hives and basically want to claw my own neck off.  We don't eat a lot of peanut products in our home as it is. Marcus used to be a triple-decker peanut butter and jelly enthusiast, but has replaced that sandwich with a salami one.  I hate peanut butter mixed with anything, preferring to eat it straight off a spoon, if at all.  I hate it in my baked goods, don't care for it in my candy (unless you've got some Reeses's Pieces, in which case, bring them ON!), and could take or leave a PB and J.  I have to watch my sodium intake, so I rarely eat roasted peanuts, as they are usually so salty. 

So, what I'm saying, is peanuts are not a big deal in our house. 

Until now.

On Sunday, Dean asked (several times) for a peanut butter and jelly "on bread."  I looked at Marcus, puzzled, and asked, "Have YOU ever made him a PB and J?" He said he hadn't and I knew I hadn't.  I asked Dean where he'd eaten one. He said, "We have them at school for snack. ALL THE TIME, MAMA. I want strawberry jelly."  I wasn't sure if they fed them these or not, but it fit in with the "heavy" snack they usually serve in the morning, which is sometimes toast and jelly or the like.  So I made him a fold-over PB and J and he gobbled up every crumb.

We went outside to swing.  About 10 minutes later, Dean said, "My tummy hurts. I need to go to the doctor."  I suggested the bathroom instead, so he went there.  We came back outside, started playing again, then he suddenly bent over and threw up.  He looked up and said, "Mama, I sorry I barfed in the yard. Bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech."  He got it all over him, which freaked him OUT (he doesn't barf often), so he screamed, "I NEED A BATH!"  By the time we got him upstairs and undressed, his torso was covered in bumpy hives.  We threw some clean clothes and socks on him and tossed him in the car, me in the back with him holding onto a bottle of Benadryl for dear life. Dean was very troubled by my being in the backseat. "Mama," he said between small wheezes, "get in your chair. UP THERE."

We arrived at the ER and were immediately taken to triage.  Dean introduced himself and retold the barf in the yard story numerous times before we got to our treatment room.  They tried to give him oral steroids, but he flat-out REFUSED to drink them.  The nurse kept telling him that if he didn't drink the medicine, he'd have to have 2 shots.  He didn't seem to care.  After 5 minutes (hives spreading the whole time), I told them to just give him the shots.  So they did. One in each cheek.  We were left alone for about 15 minutes, during which time Dean fell asleep on me. The doctor finally came in, though for the good he did, he may as well have just sent the nurse back. He seemed genuinely afraid of Dean (because he was a kid) and didn't really answer our questions.   The hives had gotten worse, covering Dean from scalp to toes.  FINALLY someoene came in with an epinephrine shot (not  an epi-pen--fortunately we never experienced breathing difficulties) and some Zantac.  Dean cooperated and took the Zantac orally and was pretty brave about the shot.  Within 10 minutes, the hives began to fade and Dean was ready to go.

When we got home, he said, "Let's have some juice and watch Jimmy Neutron now." And so we did.  We followed up with our doctor on Monday and he's scheduled for some more allergy testing in April.  Until then, no more peanuts anymore ever.  We've been coaching him on what to say if he's offered peanut butter or peanuts. "No, thank you, it makes me sick." He likes to add, "And then I barf in the yard. Bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh."

Bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh, indeed, buddy.

Dean at 4

Dean is 50 months old today. That's a lot of months.  He is the most fascinating person I've ever met, filled with an astounding amount of energy, a beautiful sense of wonder, he best sense of humor, and a whole lot of love.  Mix in a healthy dose of stubbornness, a little attitude and the messiness of a dozen tornadoes, and you've got a pretty good idea of what our guy's all about.

Dean has a huge imagination, just like me.  When I was little, my toys were my best friends and I spent countless hours creating intricate storylines between my Barbies, Strawberry Shortcake, and a handfull of imaginary pals.  My boy, it seems, inherited that from me.  Each day is a new adventure with Buzz and Woody, the Ben Ten guys, our couple of Transformers, and various super heroes.  Sometimes, toys without defined personalities (random fish toys, for instance) take on different personas. Last week, a beluga whale spent the entire day as the Joker.  We all are assigned 1-2 characters and asked to supply our vocal talents.  If anyone talks in what Dean considers a "mean" voice, he'll say, in the sweetest falsetto, "Can you talk nice, please?"

His current obsession is Thanksgiving. We have no idea why. My mother in law has theorized that it's because I was so happy about Thanksgiving this year. (She may be right.)  Dean hosts Thanksgiving dinner for his toys (and sometimes his parents) at least once a day.  Last week at the grocery store, we found turkey cutlets, so I asked Dean if he'd like Thanksgiving dinner that evening.  He was SO excited to pick out the cranberry sauce, potatoes and stuffing ingredients.  We made a big deal over it and told Dean he could wear his Thanksgiving shirt and invite whichever "friends" he liked.  So our table was surrounded by various "guys" as he calls them, all of whom raved about the stuffing. (They are very polite.)  On Sunday, we decided to make a Play-Doh Thanksgiving feast.  I think it turned out pretty good.

Clockwise, From top left ear:  Pumpkin pie with whipped cream, peas, macaroni and cheese, mashed potatoes with gravy (my favorite), cranberry sauce, stuffing, and a turkey leg.

He has quite a bit of attitude, which we try very hard to keep in check so it doesn't get out of hand.  Just tonight, he ordered me in a very bossy tone to go get his penguin guy.  I said, "Dean, please ask nicely." He said, "GO, MAMA!" I said, "HEY! I'm not your maid!" He said, "Yes, you are my maid!" (insert Marcus's hysterical laughter from the other room here) I said, "Child. I have a terminal master's degree. Get your own penguin guy."  And he did. He didn't seem impressed with the terminal master's degree, though.  Go figure.

He's not much into tv these days, which is both awesome and slightly frazzling, especially when you're like DUDE. Just watch 20 minutes of Diego so I can start dinner!  He gets a movie or a show at night before his bath, and lately, that's all he wants.  Morning cartoons at "wake up time" have been replaced by his Samurai castle and Batmobile races.  He follows me around the house, helping with chores. He's great at holding the laundry bag while I unload the dryer and has learned to set and start the washer all by himself.  He can recite the list of ingredients for a handfull of our favorite recipes and knows how to operate "Ruby," our Kitchenaid mixer. 

I'm constantly amazed by his ability to memorize things.  He can recite the entire opening scene of Toy Story and can quote several of his story books.  He'll reenact situations and conversations over and over again.  We've started working on writing letters and counting higher and higher. He'd still rather build something with blocks, sticks, sugar packets, whatever he can get his hands on, than color a picture.  Painting is fine, as long as it can be messy.

He's very forth-coming with the "I love you's" these days and nothing makes my heart soar more than hearing, "Mama, we're friends."  He's changed so much in just the two short months since his birthday, and he gets more fun every day.  I'm so glad he lives at my house.

Working on a masterpiece.

The finished product complete with dinosaur in the house, making mac and cheese. (Note the stick for stirring.)

Itchy and Scratchy

Dean's preschool recently shared the dreaded head lice with our family.  What a lucky bunch we are.  I debated whether or not to write about it for all of 3 seconds before reminding myself that DUH! Every single home remedy and trick that worked? I learned from another blog mom friend.   Amalah recently wrote this awesome guide to Plague and Pestilence, which I turned to at the first sign of nits.  Her recommendations are excellent, especially the comb. 

Stacey of Tree, Root and Twig was my lifesaver when it came to lice.  She's the mom of five kids, so she's pretty much seen it all.  Her home remedies saved me a bundle of cash and heartache.

FIRST SIGNS:

Ok, so, how do you differentiate between lice and plain ole dandruff?  Lice lay eggs, called nits, which attach to your hair shaft.  You'll usually see them about a quarter inch (or less) down from the root. It's easiest to spot them around the ears and base of the hairline, though most of Marcus's were around his part on top of his head.  When you move the hair, dandruff will fall downwards while nits will stay attached.   As they hatch, the lice move around your head, causing itching. (Grossed out yet?  Me too.)

TREATMENT:

Here's where Stacey's brilliance saved me.  Her suggestion was, rather than buying costly products that can be full of chemicals, use household products to saturate the hair and smother the lice.  We went with her top suggestion of olive oil.  All three of us held our head over our kitchen sink and poured olive oil liberally over our scalps.  We rubbed it all over and through our hair, taking care to really saturate the area behind the ears and at the hairline.  Marcus wrapped his head in saran wrap, which was HAWT, while Dean and I rocked disposable shower caps.  Rather than spending over $10 per bottle just for Rid shampoo, we spent $6.99 for 2 bottles of olive oil (they were buy one get one free at our store!), $2 on shower caps and right around $7 for the comb to end all combs, the RidVantage Lice Removal Comb.  Steel combs are where it's at for lice removal.  Don't even waste time with the plastic ones. 

So, once we marinated our heads for about 4 hours, we rinsed out the olive oil using regular shampoo (baby shampoo on Dean).  It left the hair a bit oily and slippery, but that made things easier.  I used the awesome comb to go through each little section of hair, rinsing after each stroke, picking out any nits that were stubborn enough to stick around.  This part takes FOREVER, especially if you have long hair like Marcus and me.  Dean's nits slid right out of his very fine hair.  That  night, I washed his hair again with baby shampoo, mostly to get the oil out, combed it once again (while he was in the tub! Distraction with bathtub fingerpaint FTW!), then blew it dry. I think the blow-drying was the worst part for him--he's not a fan.  I have not seen one single nit in his head since.

Marcus and I were not so lucky.  For whatever reason, we had a reoccurrance and finally had to use Rid shampoo. Y'all.  That stuff smells HORRIBLE. I did mine first and complained to Marcus that I smelled like the bathroom of a dollar store.  He laughed at me, then did his own hair.  He came out of the bathroom claiming to smell "old people, flea dip, that hand soap that sort of smells like bacon, lighter fluid and kitty litter."  In other words, the bathroom at a dollar store.

So far so good, though we'll be doing another olive oil treatment tonight and combing, combing, combing again, just to be sure.

FOR YOUR HOME:

It's importatnt to know that domestic cats cannot contract human lice.  I called the vet immediately, dreading we'd have to pick nits out of Chutney.  Luckily, she  is in the clear.  She wishes we'd all stop wearing shower caps.

I bought Rid's home lice spray and have used it on our mattresses, couches, carpets, dining chairs, car seats, curtains and rugs.  I had a few extra pillows I'd bought last summer when they were on sale, so we tossed the old ones and brought in the new ones. We've wiped down all our surfaces with bleach and mopped the floors.  I vacuumed with baking soda.  I have washed approximately 4000 loads of laundry in hot water and dried them on the "heavy duty" setting.  For Dean's school nap mat, which we're pretty sure started all of this in the first place, I washed it, dried it, then immediately sealed it in a platic bag and put it in the trunk of my car until we got to school this morning. Toys that may have gone near someone's head have been soaked in very diluted bleach or sprayed with Lysol. 

I feel like we've got a handle on things, though I will continue to be EXTREMELY vigilant for the next few days.

I want to be sure to point out that having lice doesn't mean you are a gross person or that your home is unclean.  In fact, lice can't stick to dirty hair.  It's just part of life, especially in the deep south.  I had them as a kid at the same time I had chicken pox. (That was a bad week.)  I imagine this may not be our last time to deal with this, so long as we live in this region and have a little kid in our house.

Have you ever had lice? Got any tricks up your sleeve to get rid of them?

State of the Lane

I was (rightfully) scolded last night by my IRL friend Kat for nost posting for so long.  Unfortunately, it's easier than I'd like to ignore my little space here often because I think "Wow. I have nothing of interest to say." But I do have things to say, things I'll want to go back and read someday when they aren't a part of my everyday routine.  So here ya go.

Dean and I had a lovely time at our friends' house last night devouring fondue.  It's been a while since I've made fondue and my, oh my, was it good. Kat made some bangin' caramel fondue, into which we dipped pound cake and fruit. It was preceded by the main course, parma rosa cheese fondue, made by me with double the amount of cheese the recipe actually calls for.  It was, in a word, divine, particularly with fresh mushrooms dipped in it.

Dean continues to grow and change and is undoubtedly the coolest person I know.  He's so clever and funny, so affectionate, but also so stubborn, moody and, well, FOUR sometimes.  This morning's battle was "Mama, I gonna wear my Thomas jammie pants to school with my Batman shirt, ok? Good."  Um, no kid. I made the situation worse by trying to put him in a new pair of pants he'd never tried on, and which turned out to be waaaaay too big.  I eventually got him sacked into a pair of (only slightly too long) jeans and distracted him with a big bowl of grapes.  He asks Marcus adn me on a daily basis if we are "best friends," and we tell him we are more than that, we're family.  He glares at us for a minute, then says, "I think Papa is my best friend." He still likes to wish on stars, usually wishing for Batman, and the other night at bedtime, he prayed to Jesus that Mommy would buy him a T-Rex.  He continues to eat his weight in fruit, but is also addicted to Hershey's chocolate bells, which is kind of too bad because he ate the last one today. Imagine his disappointment when he finds out there won't be more til Christmas.  Perhaps we can distract him with Easter candy soon.

On the work front, I'm off for a couple of weeks before beginning rehearsals for my next show, THE MERRY WIVES OF WINDSOR.  I'm looking forward to working on this show, as it's been quite a while since I've stage managed a Shakespeare.  The cast is delightful (some of the same actors I'm already working with on another project).  It will be fun to get all five (!) of our shows up and running.

At home, Chutney continues to be the perfect cat for us. She's super affectionate and very good-natured, even when Dean accidentally steps on her tail.

What's new with you?

Ready Or Not, Here It Comes

2 weeks from yesterday, I will be 35.  While I'm delighted to be on an age divisible by 5 (what? I like that number), officially hitting my mid-thirties is throwing me for a bit of a loop. 

On the eve of my 30th birthday, I called a friend who is slightly older than me and asked if I was supposed to wake up wise the next day.  She assured me that 30 was just a number and that I could go on being my usual self.  If I'd only known what that year would hold for me, I would have laughed in her ear just a little. (pregnancy, baby birthing, relocation, etc. etc. etc.)  Waking up officially wise would have been sort of nice.

35 is one of those ages where I'm feeling the pressure to check things off a list. Am I where I should be in life? Beyond that? Not quite there yet?  I feel like I'm exactly where I should be in my career.  I'm about the average age of the moms at preschool (though they all think I'm the youngest, thank you, baby face). I feel neither matronly nor horribly immature for my age.  My mind and body are certainly cueing me into the fact that YES, you are getting older. 

I had a weird moment the other day while I was driving home from work.  35 was the age my OBGYN in NYC threw out as the absolute deadline for having more kids.  And though that ship sailed long ago, actually hitting that age sort of brought it to the forefront of my mind again.

Things I like about this age are: the fact that I can let go of things so much easier than I ever could before, priorities are obvious, routines are more or less established, and I don't have to ever wear tight-fitting clothes again if I don't want to.  Things I could do without:  Tight-fitting clothes would not look as good as they once did, OMG grey hairs and wrinkles, dry skin, high blood pressure, being called "ma'am" by the kid bagging my groceries. 

Like it or not, I guess the big 3-5 is coming my way and I may as well embrace it.  I choose to revel in the fact that I'm in relatively good health, I have enough energy to run around in the yard with my son, my husband still thnks I'm pretty, I have money in the bank and food on the table, and I'm lucky enough to have both my parents, both my in-laws and both my grandmas still with me.  And the fact that I look about 24 doesn't hurt.

But check back with me when I'm 2 weeks away from 40.

Nature's A Little Gross

Now that I've been blogging for nearly five years, I feel it's time I come clean about something to you, my faithful readers. Here it is, a deep, dark secret of mine.

Sometimes nature grosses me out.

Sure, there are gross things in nature, like slugs, that are important. Though I can't think of one off the top of my head right now, I know slugs serve an important purpose in ye olde circle of liiiiiife.  I'm talking about things like a whole bunch of mussel shells stuck to a rock. GROSS.  The spores on the backs of fern leaves. SHUDDER. But the worst?  CRACKED MUD. Seriously. It makes me gag.

I worked on a dance show the first year I worked at Cornell that involved 5 choreographes, 4 of whom took the elements of nature (fire, air, water and earth) and created a dance based on their assigned element.  In our design meeting, the set designer brought in photos for reference. One of them was a full-screen shot of cracked mud.  I gagged so hard people heard me.

Maybe it's the naturally occurring patterns that freak me out, since  I also can't look at segmented worms for too long without gagging.  Something about all that symmetry is just nasty. 

As for food, I don't like to look at highly marbled raw beef, raw chicken skin (BUMPS, OMG) or, watit for it, the tops of tomatoes. I'm ok if they don't have those weird little lines on them, but if there are lines, FORGET IT. Gag city. Spotted bananas also gross me out, but not on par with the tops of tomatoes. Here, because I love you, I will give you a visual aid.

Bleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech.

Ok, that one on the left is extra gross, probably to everyone. But it gets the point across, right?

Now that I've nearly made myself hurl, I'm wrapping this up.

Do any of you have naturally occurring things that gross you out? Please tell me I'm not alone.

Four

Four years ago, the world became so much brighter, so much happier, and full of a love I had no idea existed before 2:40pm on that very day.  Dean is exactly the child I always wanted and life with him gets better every day.  I miss the little baby he once was, but today I celebrate the very cool little boy he has become.  I'm so glad he's mine.

Happy birthday, my big boy.