Christmas and Snow

We took considerably more pictures this month, but most of them were of the girls opening presents, prancing around in their Christmas outfits – I posted the better ones. There's something about a daddy noticing his little girl in her pretty dress: suddenly she can't stop smiling, can't stop dancing and twirling. G literally wore her dress for three days straight. And she's back in it again today. She's even taken to calling herself and BB (because she's in a different little dress today) Cinderella, our current favorite princess.

Always Good For a Laugh

Traditionally, gov't employees get a little "free" time for the holidays. For example, my mom as a state employee would often get the day after Thanksgiving as a "state holiday" (granted by the governor). And when I worked for the Patent Office (fed gov't), we anticipated getting off a few hours early the day before Thanksgiving. That year Christmas and New Year's fell on the weekend: unfortunately, they don't grant time after the holidays.

This year, Christmas being on Tuesday, Drew actually got the entire day before Christmas off. Kind of unusual, but we're certainly not complaining. So thinking that the Pres. might still be feeling magnanimous, we thought he might get half a day on new year's eve. I must have called half a dozen times before 1 o'clock – they usually wait until the very last minute to send the word down in case anyone's considering jumping the gun. By 2 o'clock, I was still holding out for at least two hours of "push time" as they call it at Drew's office. And what did they finally get? Exactly 59 minutes. LOL! That's right, not even a full hour, not even 59 minutes 59 seconds (as one of Drew's co-workers joked). I wonder whose idea that was...

How Some Other Countries Do It

I always find these little cultural articles interesting (from Martha Stewart Living). Incidentally, my favorite mag is the Smithsonian.

Each culture and religion marks the New Year differently. The Chinese lunar year, for example, commences in January or February; the Jewish New Year, which usually falls in September, commemorates what the Jews believe to be the anniversary of the world's creation. But even where January 1 is the accepted date, customary observances vary.

United States
In 1904, the New York Times threw a public party for the newspaper's new headquarters at One Times Square. Three years later, a 700-pound globe studded with light bulbs was lowered from a flagpole atop the building to mark the arrival of the New Year. It's been dropped almost every year since.

Now close to half a million people crowd into Times Square in New York City once a year to witness the focal point of American celebrations on New Year's Eve, which is broadcast live to millions: the lowering of the illuminated ball at midnight.

England
The custom of toasting, as we know it today, originated in medieval England. Back then, the clinking of glasses was accompanied by the exclamation "Waes haeil," Middle English for "Be well." The word toast, in this context, came along in the seventeenth century, when pieces of spiced, toasted bread were placed in drinks, perhaps to enhance their flavor. Today, people throughout the world toast the New Year, but without the croutons of times past.

Scotland
For Hogmanay, the celebration of the Scottish New Year, merrymaking continues for two days. At midnight on January 1, revelers toast friends and family with a glass of whiskey, accompanied by a few heartfelt choruses of Auld Lang Syne, whose poignant lyrics were written by Scotland's national poet, Robert Burns. After midnight, neighbors go "first footing," exchanging food and drink door to door. According to superstition, if the first visitor to cross your threshold is a tall, dark, and handsome man, the year will be a prosperous one.

Scots traditionally throw open their windows and doors at midnight to let out the old year and usher in the new. During the nineteenth century, the blasts of ships' horns filled the air. Today, it is more likely to be the sound of fireworks exploding.

Japan
Shogatsu, or "new year," is Japan's most important holiday. Schools and companies close for three days from January 1 to 3. Preparations include placing a bundle of pine branches and bamboo at the entrance to each home for good luck. The Japanese pack lacquer boxes with osechi ryori -- special foods such as herring roe, for prosperity, and rolled seaweed, symbolizing pleasure and delight -- to be enjoyed throughout the holiday.

Starting at midnight on January 1, ceremonial bells toll while families visit Shinto shrines or Buddhist temples to pray for happiness in the coming year. The next few days are spent feasting, exchanging gifts, and playing games.

Happy New Year!

TOPh: A Photographic Comparison

I know a collage of details, i.e. not in any particular chronological order, about Drew's "former" life having to do with the military. He enlisted right out of high school not knowing if he'd know what to do with himself in college. There was a brief stint in which he wanted to go to the Army military academy, but after crawling around in the backwoods of Kentucky with the Army and a bad attitude, he decided it wasn't the right fit – and they agreed. Instead, he joined the Air Force, like his father and brother before him. He joined thinking he'd get to see something of the world (like his father and brother before him), but after basic training (in Texas) and career training (in Mississippi), they shipped him all of three hours from home to Colorado Springs. (There's something in the military called a Dream Sheet, in which a person can list their top three choices for a duty station. Not knowing much about geography at the time, Drew put Korea at the top of his list.)

During the first week of basic training, he was allowed to call home for one minute, to let home know that he had arrived and was okay. In order to ensure that someone would be home to receive the call, the trainees had to call at some ridiculous hour of the morning. Drew reached his mother, disoriented from sleep, and was near tears by the time he had to hang up. After a long week of sleep deprivation and ill-treatment, you can imagine a lot of guys were extremely happy to hear a familiar (caring) voice. In those six weeks, he tested into a military career field, fired weapons and was fired at, learned how to salute properly, wear his various uniforms. At the time the picture below was taken, they had only allowed him to wear the top portion – on the bottom he was wearing his BDUs. Sometimes I laugh when I see this picture. Like most women, I love a man in uniform, but sometimes I have a hard time believing mine was ever in one. And so young!

Drew served four years of active military duty (all served in C.Springs) as a navigational electronics technician. Basically, he maintained the equipment that you see out on airport runways that help planes land and take off. He partied like any good military personnel, he smoked (a habit picked up in high school), and he had a serious girlfriend named Marie. Yup, folks, another girl almost got in before me. But it wasn't meant to be because Drew had designs on a college education (via the G.I. Bill) and she wanted a military career. Four years of active military service actually also includes four years of inactive military duty (eight years total), in which the military is essentially reserving the right to call a person up for active duty like in the case of war. The chances are usually pretty slim (since there are others to call), but I, for one, was waiting with bated breath during the war in Afghanistan (2002). That was the year that Drew should have been totally separated, but the military put a "stop loss" on everyone: no one could retire, no one could separate. (I'm sure you could still get kicked out though.) I forget how long the stop loss was in effect since the initial anxiety eventually wore off, but I think it was sometime the following year when we received Drew's official separation/discharge (with honors) papers.

Clackers

Did you see that movie The Devil Wears Prada? I secretly liked it. I mean what girl couldn't love the designer clothes closet and those Chanel boots – even if we couldn't actually wear it ourselves. :) Anyway there was a line in the movie where the main girl called all her co-workers "clackers" because of the sound their shoes made on the marble floor as they're walking. I have a clacker of my own now... You wouldn't think I'd encourage these kinds of things, but there it is: I bought G princess slippers for Christmas, complete with an inch-high heel. And they clack when she walks. The shoes are still a smidge too big for her but she insists on wearing them all over the house and to those v. private tea parties I was telling you about. (Yesterday the two new dolls got invited.) But you know, come to think on it, I had a pair of my own pretty princess slippers when I was a kid. I can't remember if they were silver or gold (because in later years I saw another little girl with the same exact pair except they were the other color), but they had little colored jewels embedded in the silver/gold mesh part – and they clacked when you walked. And it's funny, now that I'm an adult, I don't really wear those kind of shoes because 1) they're not the sensible type of shoes that one wears in Alaska, and 2) they usually hurt my feet and I'm not exactly your slave to fashion. If I get the chance, I'll upload some video of my clacker.

Try It On For Size

There's several possible reactions to your kid's trying new words (or behaviors, for that matter): 1) laugh; 2) get angry; or 3) do nothing. The first two are usually bad, but sometimes you just can't help yourself. Like the time G learned the word "mine". It was terribly cute and you couldn't help but laugh. Mistake. Because of course suddenly it was the new "it" word. Everything was "mine this" and "mine that". The novelty of it probably lasted longer than it should have because some of the mine-combinations were terribly cute too, which solicited more laughs. Like the time she busted out "my AhPoh".

My mom has a favored story of her own. I don't remember how old I was, but evidently, I was watching an episode of the coyote and road runner. You know, typical plot: the coyote does something to try and capture the rr, but either because the rr's too fast or too smart, he ends up getting away. In this particular instance, I guess the coyote had just gotten smooshed with a large boulder which was meant for the rr – and my mom overheard me say "son of a *itch". She says I probably had no idea what the word meant, that I probably picked it up at daycare and that I was just saying it to get a reaction (although she says I didn't know she was standing nearby). But my mom did nothing, kept quiet. And she never heard me say it again.

Last week I was put to the test with "stupid". I forget the context of her usage, but with her pronunciation it took me a couple of tries to realize what G was saying. But I didn't say anything. Dada was home to hear her say it a couple of times too, but he didn't say anything either. As far as I know that was the only day she said it.

The Complete Christmas Package

To date, this has been one of my all time favorite Christmases. For one thing, G was old enough to appreciate the gifts she received – instead of just the paper and the packaging – and, in fact, she liked her gifts so much that she even had room to appreciate BB's gifts. (I'm not sure whether that deserves a smiley face or a frown because we've had screaming and crying all day. Either G's been taking from BB, see below, or BB is interested in something that G's not willing to share.) They each had a moderate haul: BB received a counting piggy bank, a train that drops balls when it moves (batteries not included), a doll and a touch-and-feel book; G got a pair of princess slippers, a doll, a tea set, some coloring and sticker books, and coloring utensils. Despite all the newcomers, the dog (that AhPoh gave her) is still top. Put another way, the dog is the only one that got invited to the v. private tea parties. (Neither BB nor I got invited, but Dada was allowed to stay even though he came uninvited twice!)

We had a fantastic ham for Christmas dinner. Our first ever. Spiral cut with some sort of sweet (included) glaze. I was really quite impressed. We both were. (Drew said "carving" it was like cutting through butter.) We completed the spread with green bean casserole, mashed potatoes and stuffing (both thawed out from Thanksgiving), gravy and cranberry sauce. We can't swear to it, but our Christmas dinner seemed to taste that much better because we didn't have to work as hard for it. Have you ever considered those dinners that the grocery stores sell at the holidays? You know, you can buy such-and-such size turkey/ham with all the fixings which serves a certain number of people. It comes all prepared and, I assume, ready to eat. I can tell you, there were a couple years when I gave it a glance and mulled over whether or not it'd be worth it.

About midday it started snowing. I'm sure not many people can boast a white Christmas. Sure, we already had stuff on the ground from the days prior, and there was a fresh dusting during the night, but it was actually falling (vertically for some of you that don't believe that it can do that) for most of the afternoon. We had gone to a nearby grade school yesterday – they have a little hill on their grounds – to sled, but it was quite bitterly cold that we couldn't stay for long: a couple of runs and I had to bundle BB back into the car. Our thrill seeking G likes the steep runs so BB actually only sat out on the snow and watched. Today we stayed much closer to home. For those of you who've never been, our driveway is treacherously steep. It's the kind of driveway that you worry about pregnant women slipping and falling on. Our new landlord is not much for grounds maintenance, e.g. snow removal, putting down salt or gravel, even though he now lives on property. Consequently, the snow was still there when we went out to play in it late in the afternoon. (Okay, it wasn't really that late, but it seemed like it since it was starting to get dark out.) G got a ride out to the mailbox; we took some runs down the driveway (me included!); and G stayed out shoveling snow into her bucket until she took off her gloves and probably felt the overwhelming coldness in her fingers. (At least she had enough sense to come in at that point.) Incidentally, I was for sure that the post office wouldn't be delivering mail yesterday since Drew got the day off, i.e. the Pres granted a holiday to fed employees, but there was a wad of last minute cards and gifts (from Erica and Jack). If only I had known, I could have gotten off a batch of my last minute cards...bummer.



You know, you tend to lose track of time when it gets dark so early. Dark is dark is dark so I'm not really sure what time it was when we had our little earthquake. I think that really helped to complete our Christmas. :) It was a little stronger than our usual tremors – like the one on Sunday –, more noticeable, but not the kind I imagine you'd want to jump in the doorway for. Drew said it was centered just south of here in Girdwood.

In the evening, Drew and I watched a semi-bad Christmas movie called Santa Clause 3: The Escape Clause. Maybe you remember the hype associated with the first one in which Tim Allen's character accidentally "kills" Santa and in putting on the coat becomes Santa. Probably the only reason I remember the movie so well is because my friend put my name into a drawing and I won a copy of it. This one has Martin Short in it as Jack Frost, who wants to take over the position (via the "escape clause") for his own commercialized ends. Only mildly amusing, will probably forget what it's about by tomorrow.

TOPh: The Sports Star

A lot of you probably don't know that I played sports in grade school, 5th and 6th grade. I'm pretty sure I don't have a competitive bone in my entire body so this might seem a strange blip in my life annals. Both years I played both volleyball and basketball, the only two sports they offered extracurricularly at my school. I can't remember if this uniform (school loaned) served both purposes, or if I had another. I do remember, however, how it was made of this horrid heavy-duty polyester material that had to be washed religiously. I want to mention that I was posing with that spider web because I had proudly made it at school one year (around Halloween, obviously) and we were hanging it from the dining room light (I'm standing on the table).

I can't remember how it was that I decided to go out for sports those years, but I had a lot of fun playing both. I mean isn't the point to have fun? I had none of the mad skills that some of the other girls had like dribbling behind my back or serving overhand. The girls on the "A" and "B" teams probably had older siblings to teach them a thing or two, or parents to pay for them to go to specialized camps. I tell you, to this day, dribbling behind my back and serving overhand still elude me. Consequently, I was on the "C" team for both sports, both years.

I wasn't particularly distinguished in volleyball. I could play all the positions, but not spectacularly. For one thing, I couldn't jump high enough to spike the ball over the net. For another, I had this strange (warranted?) fear of the ball hitting me in the face. When you consider how fast that ball is flying and how much it stings your arms when you bump it, it's not unreasonable to think that it's going to make a mess of your face if ever it makes contact. Thankfully, I never had that experience, but I suffered plenty of mangled fingers and bruised arms.

Basketball was where it was at for me. My mom recalls that I was one of the star players, but I think I was just more aggressive with the ball. Aggressive, but not competitive. I played to out-play the other team, not to demolish them, although that was certainly a desired outcome. You could almost say I played for the love of the sport, but not in such poetic terms – I don't even love it enough to watch others play it on TV. We had a great team both years, very tight-knit. A lot of us also played volleyball together and so it follows that we would be more coordinated together on the basketball court.

My cherished memory was getting to play in the state championships both years. The first year, we played our hearts out and took first place! I'm sure we don't have pictures of the event because it came on us all rather unexpectedly. And that was back in the day when they only had the one trophy for the school's display case and nothing but a pat on the back for the players. The second (and last) year was kind of bittersweet for me when I think on it. That year we took second overall and I think it was due to two things. 1) In the span of a year, something happened to some of the girls on the other team which gave them (what seemed to be) an extra six inches over most of the members of our team. I remember very vividly one instance in which I had diligently dribbled the ball to this great position near the basket. Mind you, the entire game was pretty hard fought with these girls being so gargantuan. But maybe I hesitated a little too long in making my shot because as I looked up to get my orientation these three girls were literally towering over me to the point that I could hardly see daylight through their fingertips. They were that monstrous! :) Needless to say, I balked at the shot and decided on passing it off. 2) The inexplicable substitution of a girl from the "B" team during that final game. That year, none of the other teams, "A", "B" or "D", made it to the championships for their "divisions". (The previous year, I believe both the "A" and "B" teams took something home, whether it be first or second place.) I might not have been so suspicious of her if it hadn't been for her behavior after the game. Most of our team members took our loss as, "Oh well, at least we got second!" or "We made it this far." But she put a damper on things by weeping bitterly at what she called "possibly her last chance at a trophy". Naturally, I've always wondered whether she herself or one of her parents convinced the coach that she needed to be on our team for that championship game, whether we needed her or not.

The next year in junior high I tried out for basketball only. That was a wake-up call for me, i.e. people take this sport (and any other sport for that matter) very seriously. First of all, I was amazed at how many girls were trying out. You know, in grade school, they let pretty much everyone play. These were more realistic tryouts and I was not entirely prepared for the fierceness of the competition. Not only did girls get taller – I hit my growth spurt rather later –, but suddenly they were also sprouting all these professional-ish skills. Secondly, I had the impression of an absurdly young male coach. In my mind, a lot of his final-cut selections weren't based solely on skill. And so I went home dejected and jaded, never to play organized sports again.

Retaliation in Its Youngest Form

Children are wonderful forms of entertainment, i.e. you don't need a TV when they're around. Today my attention was called when BB started screaming after G snatched a book away from her. I should clarify that though I didn't actually witness the book being taken away, I don't think BB is yet old enough to take advantage of her sister like that. In other words, the screaming is usually legitimate. So as BB was screaming, I was telling G that she needed to return the book to BB, that BB had had it first and that she had to wait her turn to look at the book. (Not that there wasn't a whole stack nearby that she could choose from.) While I was waiting for G to comply – she likes to take her sweet time just to see how far she can push it –, BB decided to take matters into her own hands. She crawled around behind G to where her prized possession, a stuffed dog, was presently being kept and snatched it away. G noticed its absence immediately since she was partially sitting on him and went to grab at it. But BB has learned a thing or two: she was holding it at arm's length at the furthest point away from G and was kind of waving it back and forth to keep it out of G's reach. If the babe was standing and could walk fast enough, she probably would have taken off with it. In any case, an exchange was made and peace resumed.

Last Minute Christmas Gift

Still need one last Christmas gift? Here's an idea: a canister of uranium ore. I laughed too when I saw it – a friend sent me the link. But you know what's even funnier are the comments made for this product.

Learn to Return

Now here's a scary thought (mostly for me): sometimes those wretched little planes that Drew has to fly around in go down. (Back in the day, before GPS was commonplace, Alaska used to "lose" one plane every 9 days!) Incidentally, a couple weeks ago, a LifeFlight helicopter went down in bad weather flying from Cordova (I think) to Anchorage, about a 90 minute journey. They found one body and I assume the rest – three other people, including the patient – are presumed dead.

Some years ago, one of those wretched little planes went down with several FAA employees aboard (in the middle of winter?) and the lone survivor was a man who used the skills he learned in a Learn to Return class. (See the flyer.) Normally, FAA employees here in Alaska are supposed to get this training within the first year but because of the end of the fiscal year, etc. Drew hasn't been able to take the class – until this week. I have a friend who sometimes would have to go out to those oil drilling platforms in the ocean (before she became a mom) and her company paid for her to take the class. She said the worst part for her was when they simulated a downed upside down helicopter and she had to swim through these obstacles to get to the surface. (Definitely one of my worst nightmares: drowning.) Anyway you can imagine Drew's very excited to take the class not only because the knowledge is highly practical and useful, but because I think it's just the kind of stuff that guys like to learn.

TOPh: Thailand

When my father-in-law passed on, among his possessions were hundreds of those old school slides. Maybe some of you remember them from your parents' stuff. The film negative would be cut into the individual pictures and mounted into little cardboard or plastic frames to be viewed through those projector machines. At first Drew thought he was going to be "heroic" and scan every single one himself. But the way our scanner worked, the slide had to be slipped into a slot on the middle underside of the lid and it quickly became apparent how tedious a job it was going to be doing hundreds of them. Not to mention the fact that we had light exposure issues with some of the darker slides. Anyway our brilliant moment came when we decided to pay someone to do them and made Christmas presents out of the disk copies to Drew's siblings that year.

This good-looking young man is my father-in-law c. 1965. During the Vietnam War, he was stationed at the Air Force base in Nakhon Phanom, Thailand as a communications and avionics technician with the Air Commando (the "Air Comedians" as they called themselves) squadron. The hat he's wearing is called a Go to Hell hat. When I first heard the name, I thought to myself, except for the shape, how would that hat express to anyone much less foreigners that they should "go to hell". But then Drew explained that during training, if you received one of these hats, it meant you were going to the jungle, or where it was really hot, i.e. "hell". These hats had a wide brim all around in order to keep the poisonous snakes that would drop on you out of the trees from climbing into your shirt collar. This one in particular, you could say, was mutilated by my FIL to look more like a cowboy hat, which he was fond of wearing his entire life.

Anyway you might wonder, as I did, what the U.S. military might be doing in Thailand when the war was being fought in Vietnam. This website gives a map – and some pictures – of where Nakhon Phanom, or NKP, or the "Naked Fanny", is located and you can see (also below) that NKP is closer to Hanoi (where the communists were?) than Ho Chi Minh City, where we were. Apparently, we were there unofficially, but the communists knew it and would sometimes fire into Thailand (from Laos?). At the time, I guess the Air Force didn't issue everyone a weapon and during those attacks, Drew's dad would climb into the fuselage of a nearby plane and wish he had a weapon to fire back with. But I think because of the delicate nature of the U.S. being in Thailand unofficially, anyone firing back would have made a political mess of things?

In their down time, the members of the squadron built this church.

A classic example of my FIL's sense of humor.

I fancy that he could be a young Frank Sinatra in this picture.

Disclaimer: I didn't see any of these pictures until after they came into our possession, hence I knew only in passing that my FIL was old enough to have been in "some war", and so any story associated with them are third-hand through Drew. I'll rely on Drew and my in-laws for any additional information or for correcting any mistakes that I may have made in the retelling.

Christmas Trimmings

This year's week before Christmas is the kind of week that I could wish to be over quickly and relatively painlessly – I'm busier than ever. First of all, let me just say, I can't believe that Christmas is next week already. I was reviewing my doings for this week and, there it is, next Tuesday! (For those of you who "envy" gov't employees, Drew has his every-other-Friday-off this week and the Pres granted Monday off so that's five whole days at home!)

Thinking back to the last 48 hours, the only quiet time I had was Saturday evening and I frittered that away on relaxing. Sunday was spent squeezing cookie baking in between running out to parties. But Sunday was exhausting in more ways than one. Have you ever been made to feel small and insignificant by a person who presumably feels that way also? I had a very trying evening at a dinner party where this person was firing off a volley of questions at me so quickly that I didn't have a chance to answer any of them – and then he called me, essentially, incompetent for not knowing the answer. Needless to say, I was very relieved for the evening to come to an end.

And Monday is normally our day at home for chores, recuperating from the weekend, but today I went to a cookie exchange, hence all the baking. I think a lot of the other moms in our group also take Monday as their catch-up day so there were only a handful of us there. This was my first cookie exchange and I found it interesting that there were no chocolate chip cookies and only one instance of sugar cookies present – and one box of store-bought. (In her defense they were high-end: from a local bakery.) I was told by another mom who's been to several of these exchanges that they can get rather cutthroat depending on how special people view their cookies. But there were so many cookies that I think I came home with twice as many as I took. Drew had wanted me to make something for his office this week, but I think since I've already done my share of baking, I'm just going to pack up an assortment of my cookies and the ones I got from the exchange and send those instead.

One day down...

The Geminids

I've been looking forward to this meteor shower (alt this article) all week. But, unfortunately, the forecast skies over Anchorage for the next few days isn't looking too promising, i.e. overcast with the possibility of more overcast due to snow. Guess I don't have to go out and freeze my buns off then.

The Holiday Sob Story

It seems once a year, I have to stupidly donate money to some organization, charitable or otherwise. (Normally, I only donate to the Catholic church because I know it'll be the best use of my money.) This year I chose the latter, i.e. a for-profit. I won't say which, but this is their gimmick: some disabled or homeless person calls you and tries to make a sale, using their sob-story to embellish things. If they're successful, they earn "credits" towards staying in a shelter for a couple of nights. Bad mark #1. Sure, there's the sense of empowerment that a person might feel, but it's a compromising way to get the help which should be free. Bad mark #2: I got overpriced trash bags (overpriced household cleaning items are also available) in exchange for my "donation" and I'm left wondering how much of my money actually goes to the people that this organization is serving. I know that Catholic charities get anywhere from 94% to 96% return, which is some of the highest that you can find. I've been looking around online and it's hard to find the same kind of information on for-profits as you can for non-profit charities. The Better Business Bureau didn't have much to say about this organization in particular so I guess I'll chalk this one up as a $150 mistake. Sadly, money that certainly could have been better spent elsewhere.

Cutting Teeth

Well if one sick kid isn't enough, add a teething baby to the mix. Yesterday BB started in with a hacking cough and a low-grade fever. The former had a completely different sound so I knew it couldn't be croup. But the latter coupled with a diminished appetite had me a little concerned...until I felt into her mouth this morning. There, on the lower right side, was the nub of a fresh tooth. She currently has eight of them. I don't know which teeth little kids have or don't have – I don't even have a complete set: 23 – but these have the "fat" feel of premolars. Poor thing. I've often reflected on this matter. How each one of those teeth has to erupt, as they say, through "virgin" gums; how adult teeth have only to poke through the hole that's already there. That's probably why I don't particularly remember my adult teeth coming in. Before I was a parent I didn't think I was interested in using oral anesthetic on my kids – but it's one of my good friends, right below baby Motrin.

Addendum: TOPh: M-Day 1998

Drew was quite literally one of the first people I met when I arrived at university that freshman year. It was not love at first sight. Nor did we really improve on each other during that entire first year. It's funny to think of it now, but we actually kind of got on each other's nerves. Since there aren't that many electives available to freshman, we were constantly getting thrown together in core classes. I remember many a morning that we would be sitting over breakfast after class resolutely eating in silence because we'd had some disagreement. That's why Drew's arm is around that girl (who shall remain nameless) and not me. :)

The Word is Croup

We decided to take G to the walk-in clinic this afternoon just because we were driving by and we weren't sure how tonight was going to go in terms of coughing, sleeplessness, etc. After waiting an hour and a half to be seen, the doc determined that her temperature was too high (and that it was probably pneumonia) to treat her (there) so they sent us to the ER. But the clinic called us ahead and it had to be a new world record (for us at least). Drew literally walked up to the check-in counter and was whisked right into the back. Didn't even fill out any insurance paperwork. Can you believe such things? And within five minutes she was breathing some nebulizer, which I would guess helps to open up the air passageways like in asthmatics. They also gave her a dose of steroids to help with the edema (swelling?) of croup. By the time I found them (I had been sitting in the parking lot with a sleeping BB), she was sipping Pedialyte and much "bouncier" (as kids should be) than she was before. She even got a new kitty stuffed animal and some graham crackers out of the deal. So we just keep up with the fever, give her a 3-day course of steroids, humidifier and/or cold air, and Robitussin, if there's a lingering cough. I can tell you, for one thing, her breathing tonight is already much easier and not as noisy as last night.

TOPh: M-Day 1998

These pictures come, again, from our freshman year of college. In the fall, like most schools, we have homecoming week, which our school calls M-Week, culminating in M-Day on Friday and the homecoming game on Saturday. The week is chock full of school-spirit events with the Greek societies being the most active.

Undoubtedly, though, the highlight is M-Day (because, frankly, our football team wasn't very good). School lets out half a day early and we all head to M-Hill about two miles away from campus. It's so named for the big white M – there's also a smaller S and D on the hill which were added later, I'm guessing in the late 60s, early 70s – visible from nearly the entire east side of town. Below the hill is an expansive park with a green belt running alongside Rapid Creek. The first order of business is usually the BBQ picnic food, which you'll need to fortify yourself for the climb up M-Hill. Let me tell you, if you ever get to see this hill in person, don't be fooled: it's not a shabby climb, esp after you've been through Rapid Creek. There's no set route to get to the top, but generally people pick the most direct, which takes you through, in some places, fast-moving waist-deep water – and then some very steep hill. That's the one I took as a freshman, except I got thigh-deep water. I remember feeling very out of shape on that climb – I had yet to start going to the gym then – and continually having trouble with my wet slippery sandals.

At the top, the real tradition begins. Sure, there's the views of Rapid City, but that's not what we climbed the Hill for. For most, it's a spectator sport; for those crazy few, it's...just painful crazy. The (current) purpose of M-Day is to whitewash the M – with willing bodies. Yup, that's what student-engineers do for fun, in case you've ever wanted to know. But really, the M-Week committee hauls (by car, up a back road) these barrels of whitewash to the M and, rather than mopping the stuff over with some brooms (like normal people), they pour it down the M and people ride down on the whitewash wave. It kind of gives you an idea of how steep it is up there. Let me point out a couple other things: 1) The M is made of concrete slabs so those wanting to whitewash the M must come prepared for cuts, bruises, and ruined clothes. In fact, most people go to the second-hand store and get several layers of clothing. 2) I mentioned the slabs. If you look in the picture, there's grass growing in between those slabs and they're not always flush with each other, i.e. not the smoothest ride if you're not lucky. Though I don't have a picture of it, Drew and his then-roommate went down the M a couple times themselves. They had each tried riding on the frisbee that the school gave out that year, but lost them partway down. Drew went home with torn shorts and a bruised thigh – and was on the front page of the local paper.

The other element of M-Hill tradition has to do with the S and D. Each graduating class of engineers has their name done up on a plaque and is installed there. My mom's and Drew's dad's name are located on the S – and when our time (finally) came, Drew's and my name are on the D. (Drew's brother's name is up there too, but I forget whether it's on the S or the D.)

The real fun, in my opinion, was the mud volleyball. It's not so much a game of volleyball as a bunch of "fresh"-adults playing in the mud. I tell you, I hadn't intended on getting that dirty, but there it is. (Drew's considerably dirtier because he claims a couple of football players tackled him and smashed his face into the mud.) If you've never played in the mud before, I highly recommend it – at least once. Afterwards, I had a very cold bath in the creek in order to secure a ride home, and after a couple of attempts at washing, the clothes ended up in the garbage. (The top was originally light pink in color, but I gave up after it turned from brown to orange-ish brown.) I lived in the dorm for three (of four and a half) of my college years and it's funny to think back on how well-prepared the cleaning ladies were on M-Day. In the morning, long strips of black plastic bags would appear taped securely to the carpet from every entry point leading to the bathrooms.

In subsequent years, we didn't go to M-Day for various reasons. During 1999 and 2000, M-Week was held later than usual and those two years there was an anomalous cold snap that particular week. One year it was actually snowing on M-Day. It wasn't until our senior year that we returned to do the Hill, mostly to see our names and to relive the memories. (Neither did we whitewash nor mud volleyball.) My one disappointment was to see that someone had erected a temporary foot bridge across the creek so that people wouldn't have to get their feet wet. (There is, however, a permanent bridge that spans the creek, but it's another two miles up the creek.) In protest, a number of the upper classmen, including Drew and I, forded the creek within view of the people daintily stepping across the bridge.

It's Going to be One of Those Long Croupy-Like Nights

I think it's one of those things that kind of crept up on us until early this morning, G woke up with the dreaded croupy-like cough (as opposed to full croup). It's like those coughs that you get as an adult that wake you up in the middle of the night because you get on a coughing fit, and pretty soon your ribs and abdomen are hurting because you've been at it for so long – but these are characterized by the barking-seal sound that they make. As I remember we had a bout of this last year about this same time, give or take a few dark months. We had gone to the late night walk-in clinic and the doc there had told us that it was only croup-like because, among other things, you could "treat" it temporarily with cold air or hot humidity. It seems only when those home treatments didn't work (and a couple other symptoms that I can't remember now manifested), it was time to go to the ER and get some steroid injection. Scary, huh? Thankfully, we never got as far as that and she managed to get some rest on the nights that we had the humidifier going.

So this year's episode is sort of shaping up like last year's: the cold air didn't do much this morning but the humidifier seems to be helping tonight. The tricky thing about the croup-like cough is that you don't really hear much of it during the day, although there is some wheezing. The real action happens at night...

p.s. As I write this, Drew is trying to straighten our crooked live Christmas tree. And BB's getting into all the Christmas decorations. We've got the Christmas tunes going. Now I think I'll bust into those baked goods that we bought at a fundraiser this morning.

p.p.s. I was getting BB ready for bed when I caught a whiff of her pine-tree breath – she was taste testing some of the needles. She's quite the dynamic girl: I pegged her for a beer-and-pizza kind of girl – G's wine-and-dinner-parties – but it seems she could just as easily be martini-and-h'ors-doeurves too.

Doing the Walk

It's only been a little over two weeks since BB first started stepping out, but look at what she can do now! Yup, that's right, all the way across the living room. Her right leg is still a little stiff so that she walks a bit like a pirate with a wooden leg – Peg Leg Nelson, we call her. And sometimes when she's holding both her arms up in order to balance herself, she reminds me a bit of an orangutan. (Reference Clyde the orangutan in Every Which Way But Loose.) The balance is still pretty delicate when she's not walking in a straight line or standing still. It boggles the mind when you consider how many things she has to learn in order to be a proficient walker and not just a "toddler".



p.s. When she waves like that she's actually making love to the camera. I might have mentioned before that they learn at an early age exactly what the camera is for and it's all smiles. In this first picture, they had been arguing in the moments leading up to when I pulled the camera out – and look at the photographic proof!

Christmas Shopping

You'd be rather impressed – I am – that I got all my Christmas shopping done yesterday. It was mostly for kids, i.e. niece, nephews, ours, so it's easily accomplished. Two stops – Toys R Us and Over the Rainbow (local) – done. For those of you that have never been, the latter is one of those places that you don't feel bad buying stuff from. You don't feel like you've entered one big commercial, and most of the toys have a higher-end feel to them. What I like best about the place is having seen some of those obscure toys (e.g. the Flying Turtle) that I remember playing with as a kid there. Anyway without going into too much detail, I ended up with these really cool kits that foster creativity and science. Now all that's left is the wrapping, packaging and sending...

Thanksgiving, inter alia

This month's pictures feature mostly snow and of course Thanksgiving. Sadly, we had a bit of a warm spell during Thanksgiving week and most of it melted.

In a Thanksgiving side note, my new favorite turkey-leftover creation is turkey noodle soup. It's ridiculously easy to make and really hits to the soup spot. Maybe it's just because I'm pregnant, but the other day, I had four heaping bowls all to myself – in one sitting! Meanwhile, I'm still trying to figure out a good (easy?) leftover creation for my mashed potatoes and stuffing.

TOPh: The Bolder Boulder (1999)

Prior to college, the word "exercise" was not part of my vocabulary. Except for the mandatory physical fitness that they made you participate in in K-12 gym class, I did not partake in any extracurricular sports or activities that would promote physical health or well-being. Thinking back, I'm surprised at how well I got along.

During my freshman year in college, I banded together with another girl, Kati, my next door neighbor and later roommate, to start working out. There were plenty of people to apply to for help and information. Everyone had their special workout routine and goals. I forget which came first for us: going to the gym and lifting weights, or the running. I remember, however, the first instances of both, vividly – or rather the afterwards. When you're lifting weights for the very first time, it's hard to know what you can and can't do because you don't have a frame of reference. I probably had entirely too much weight on because I was so sore the next day...you know the story. I think it was a full week before I finally went back and eventually I came to like (not love) it. (Even later, after Kati graduated, I realized that I'm no good when it comes to making and sticking to my own workout routine: I need the structure of a class led by an instructor. Let's just say, I like to put my mind to other things while someone else does the counting.)

Of any physical activity, running is by far the least pleasurable for me. When I run, everything hurts, and this after months and months of conditioning. Somehow, when Kati and I first started to run, we decided we needed a goal, a race, to prepare for, and somehow that race was the Bolder Boulder in Boulder, Colorado. Certainly not a marathon, but a formidable challenge for beginners: we had roughly 6-7 months to train to run 10K.

In the interim, we ran a local 5K called the Dinosaur Dash, which ran a circuit through downtown Rapid City and ended up back at the school. I remember we were totally out of our league even in that race. Everyone else there was in professional running gear, the kind you spend lots of money on at places like REI. (We had on our trusty sweats.) And boy, did they shoot out of the starting line! We lost sight of them even before we began. About a quarter of the way, we caught sight of a fellow racer and managed to pass him, but he flagged down the pace car and rode straight back – leaving us without any help, if we should need. When we finally arrived at the finish line, everyone was gone (so were the snacks that we were supposed to get) except for a few of the race coordinators and they looked impatient to have us back. They quickly chalked us in: second to last (Kati) and last (yours truly), and left. There's a picture of us "medicating" our humiliation, defeat and pain away, wearing our Dinosaur Dash t-shirts, but I can't seem to find it. Incidentally, Drew's roommate at the time, a regular marathoner, was in that race and he came in first at some ridiculous time.

Anyway you might have noticed from the picture that I'm actually running with Drew, though I haven't mentioned his planning on being in the race. Well he hadn't planned on it. The Bolder Boulder is held every year on Memorial Day, which after finals would leave us with nearly 3 weeks to train on our own. I think it was the night before most of us were heading home for the summer. We were celebrating (discreetly) the end to another semester when it happened. Kati was walking down the hall to her room when apparently her sandal slipped off and in an awkward dance to catch it she snapped her tibia clean through just below the knee. At first she thought maybe she pulled something, or sprained it, but the pain quickly told her otherwise. Her mother took her to the ER and X-rays confirmed. So I was out a running partner.

As it happens, Drew's parents lived in Boulder so I begged him to run the race with me. Since he already ran regularly, I figured it wouldn't be too difficult for him to complete training. Though most of the race was a painful blur to me, there are a few things that stick out in my memory about that day. 1) The altitude change on my lungs. 2) The wonderful cheering crowds all along the route and, in particular, the belly dancers. And the amazing roar that greeted you as you entered the stadium at CU, where the finish line was. 3) The efficiency of the meal line at the end – lots of high carb items including a can of soda and a can of beer. Afterwards, we stayed only long enough to use the potty and catch a glimpse of some guy parachuting into the stadium. Unfortunately, we had a long walk back to the starting line where our car was parked.

I've long since forgotten what my finishing time was. Probably something along the lines of 1 hr, 30 mins. My only goal throughout was to finish. And so ended my brief running career. I may have run a mile here or there in my sophomore year, but I never trained again for another race.

My Stunt Monkey

I never really followed Evel Knievel's stunts in life – yes, I'm old enough to know who he is – but I figured with his passing, it'd give me a good excuse to show you video of my own little daredevil.



I don't know if it's to do with the age, or if my kid's just a little crazy in the head. (I'm pretty confident that BB won't be like this.) But G's always looking for that high place to jump from (e.g. the back of the couch, the arm of the couch – that poor couch), or some place to jump to. I remember being a bit of a monkey myself when I was a kid, but never like this. I had sense (or fear) enough to not want to break anything, be it bone or skin. Unless this girl hits some sort of random feminizing phase, I have a feeling that we're either going to be spending a lot of time in the emergency room or she's going to bring home one of *those* boys.