WOW--Word of the Week

I didn't intend for my title to be an acronym, but there it is, sort of. I've been typing "wow" in several comments, feeling like a fifth grader stuck on one annoying word. Wow ranks only slightly higher than cool.

However, it relays my feelings about the week thus far. I finally tabulated all of the medical and business miles I drove in 2007. I discovered that purchasing an expensive, energy-efficient, tankless hot water heater in anticipation of a $300 tax credit was in vain because we are self-employed. Who knew that the credit offset taxes above Form 1040 line 50 while self-employment tax is listed on line 58? #$@!!!

My mother-in-law completed more laundry than I even knew we owned. She ran out of hangers, purchased three packages from Dollar General, then ran out again.

Wow.

She also left six casseroles in my freezer, did the hokey-pokey with Hannah and Carl (what a riot!), played cards with Hailey and helped the big girls pick up their room.

Lest you think I'm a complete slouch-slacker, allow me to give a little history. Carl's mom visited regularly early in our marriage to "help with laundry." At first I took it personally, inferring that she thought I wasn't taking adequate care of her son, but never saying anything to that effect. One weekend when she had planned to visit, a friend called asking for my help. I cancelled my plans with my mother-in-law in order to help my friend, figuring it would be a secret relief to my mother-in-law.

Wrong. I soon realized that helping with the laundry was code for I'd like to visit, but I want to feel useful without butting in. Several years passed without my in-law's visiting other than to stop in for an hour on their way through to Branson. What to do? Finally I called and asked her if she could help me.

Don't get me wrong. I needed the help. This was no patronizing scam to get her to visit. But I also wanted her to come and spend a few days with us, with her grandchildren, with me.

So, I've completed my taxes, washed all of my laundry (even that last load of sheets that always gets overlooked because I don't need them), filled my freezer with homemade food and hopefully repaired a damaged relationship.

Wow.

What's Your Favorite Meal?

My favorite: the meal I don't have to cook. Even better: the meal I don't have to plan, cook or clean up. I must've missed this ad when it first came out:




Everyone in my family knows that my favorite meal is "the one I don't have to cook." I can ask my girls, "What's my favorite meal?" and they will roll their eyes and answer in monotone.

Because I have repeated this ad nauseam around my family, I felt obliged to act happy when Carl prepared supper this evening, the girls set the table and I only had to put down my book and sit at my place. Act is the operative word though. Carl dished a plate pleasing to my eyes...but that's where "pleasing" stopped.

He had prepared browned ground venison ("buck burger" he called it...and the buck's head now hangs in our building project...how's that for appetizing???) with purple cabbage, green broccoli florets, sauteed onions, whole wheat cooked macaroni, chopped orange baby carrots and red bell peppers. The bright colors tantalized my eyes, but past experience with Carl's cooking experiments had left me...shall we say...hesitant. He had always included a surprise ingredient.

Tonight was no exception. I took a cautious bite of macaroni (it seemed the least risky) and chewed a few times while Katie and Hailey simultaneously took a bite from their own plates. A few seconds later we all hastily gulped down our waters.

"What kind of pepper did you use in this?" I asked, my eyes watering. Carl knows I don't like pepper. He always tries to sneak some in so that one of these days, when I claim to enjoy his concoction, he can smugly tell me how much pepper he used.

"I didn't use pepper."

"Then why does my mouth burn?"

"Oh, that. I used enchilada sauce. But I only used one can. I had two cans out. Do you like it?"

I paused, weighing the value of honesty against the value of having others occasionally prepare meals in my house. I ate a couple of grapes to cool my mouth before I answered, "It is my favorite meal. Far be it from me to say anything negative about a meal I only had to sit down to."

"Nee pah-ee," Hannah interrupted, informing us that she needed to potty. Saved by Hannah.

When Carl stood to help Hannah down from the table, Hannah asked, "Whuh du-wing? (What are you doing?)"

"Don't you need to potty?" Carl asked.

Hannah looked directly at Carl, lifted her right cheek from her seat and said, "Ppssssssssss."

I have no idea where she got that, but I nearly peed my own pants.

Do You See the Resemblance?

Today I read a book with my back to the table where Carl and the girls made "puppet heads" from clothes pins and assorted craft supplies. I heard Carl ask, "What do you girls think of this one?"

Katie replied without hesitation, "It's mom!" I turned to see this.

Please tell me you don't see the resemblance...













A few minutes later Carl, again when my back was turned, used a cartoonish womanly voice to make the puppet head say, "Hi. I'm Angela." Then he used a different womanly voice to say, "And I'm her sister, Ashley." Again I turned around.

This is you, Ashley. Evidently you became Bahamian when I wasn't looking...







This is how Hannah took part...




I hope you all are staying warm and having a giggle at our expense.

Catholicism and my Sensory Girl

We're Catholic. Both Carl & I are cradle Catholics and, if they keep our faith, the girls will one day title themselves the same. Hailey and I went to early Mass this morning, after which Carl took Katie and Hannah to 10:00 Mass. As I tucked Hannah in for her nap today, I asked her about church and came to the realization that ours is an excellent faith for a sensory-oriented child.

"What did you do at church today, Hannah?"

She replied, "I sing 'wain dahn, wain dahn, wain dahn wuv ah pee-pewh (rain down, rain down, rain down Your love on Your people')" in the worst, most-lovable off-key voice I've ever heard.

"Wow. Did you sing any other songs?" I asked.

"Whiz dewh, Mom! (Liz was there, Mom!)" Liz is our friend and the organist at church.

"What color did Father Larry wear today?" Our conversation was a little ADD.

"Puh-puh. And a bwown book. (Purple. And he had a brown book.)" Sadly, I don't recall if the priest wears purple during Lent and I'm pretty sure the book Hannah saw was red, but oh well.

We went on to discuss the blue and white candles, the bells, the holy water into which we dip our fingers and bless ourselves. We talked about the life-sized crucifix hanging on the wall and the statues of Mary and of Joseph holding the baby Jesus who in turn is holding a gold-colored globe that is the world.

Hannah told me that she genuflected and that she kneeled and stood and sat (Catholic aerobics). Because the priest essentially reenacts the Last Supper, complete with chalice (cup) and paten (a little, golden plate), Hannah and I discussed how Father Larry washed his dishes when the mass was complete. At the high point of the mass the altar server rings bells and on special occasions incense is burned. Hannah isn't old enough to receive communion, but those who are old enough eat the Eucharistic host.

The Catholic Mass makes use of all five senses with the intent of drawing the entire person into worship. Some Sundays it proves long and boring for Hannah, but typically the mass engages her. Lately I've been in a spiritual desert, so the opposite has been true for me: most Sundays mass proves long and boring for Angela, but occasionally it engages her.

As I read through this post I realize that, to a non-Catholic, this all sounds very strange: life-sized statues, strange words (like Eucharistic, paten and genuflecting), calling an unrelated man "Father." I know the Catholic church has received much (deserved) bad press over the past few years. Nevertheless, I love my faith and love having a faith to pass on to my children. Unlike some (many?) Catholics, I understand most of what I'm doing and why I'm doing it. But my point isn't to explain (though I'm happy to do so if someone asks), or to convert or to apologize.

Today I'm just writing about one more facet of my life, appropriately on a Sunday, and how that piece of my world fits in the puzzle that is Hannah. And not just Hannah, but my entire family.

Arsenic Hour Antidote

Have you ever noticed the particular time frame during which every aspect of home life disintegrates into discord? You know, when mom attempts to fix supper, kids do homework and need mom's help, dad isn't home yet, Hannah suffers a meltdown (if you have a "Hannah"), someone bangs on practices the piano. If you have a baby it cries for no specific reason and refuses any efforts made to pacify him or her. We call it "arsenic hour."

Our arsenic hour slowly swelled until it lasted from the moment the older girls began their homework after school until bedtime. A nice glass of wine no longer took the edge off and I became resentful of my hard-working husband's good work ethic, despite the fact that he is our sole source of income. Between Hannah's meltdowns, Katie's need for help with her homework, Hailey's basketball schedule and my desire to feed my kids nutritiously rather than Sonic or Pizza Hut (our only two choices in my small town), I had to do something.

So, I hired another high school girl. At this rate I'll employ the entire female population of our tiny high school, thus boosting the local economy and doing my part to end this supposed recession. B (the aforementioned high school freshman) arrives Monday, Wednesday and Thursday at 4:30 and interacts with Hannah while I help Katie and Hailey with homework, hear about their day at school, taxi Hailey to basketball practice and generally make myself available to my older two. Before B leaves around 6:30 she cleans the kitchen, traditionally Carl's "job."

Talk about a win-win-win situation. Hannah is happy with the special treatment she receives (I've been pleasantly surprised with how quickly B has been able to interpret Hannah's speech and find fun things to do), the older girls have more attention and help from me, Carl is relieved of kitchen duty AND he retains more of his a** because his wife is less of an a** chewer. Not only that but we are actually ahead financially because Carl can work later, earning markedly more money per hour than we pay B.

I hired B two weeks ago. So far so good. There's a learning curve involved--teaching how to load a dishwasher & where to put away dishes, where basic things are located, how to entertain Hannah, what I expect. B has done remarkably well and "fits" with our family's personality. Nothing is perfect, but this has been a good antidote to our arsenic hour, for now, and another key in my quest to find balance and serenity amidst the trials that are mine.

Padded Bathroom

GO GIANTS! We had a little Superbowl party here at the Solomon house: ridiculous amounts of food, a color-confused hostess (were the Giants in white or blue???), and an uncertain moment when Hannah was accused of pooping her pants...but she hadn't. Who was the culprit? No one's admitting anything, though I recall someone "taking out the trash." Wink, wink.

Jeff was the only person I recall using the bathroom that evening (this is a separate topic than that of the first paragraph, by the way). Imagine my dismay when I went into our bathroom after our guests left and found that Hannah had unwrapped 8 or 10, er, feminine pads and scattered them around the bathroom floor. Did she do that before or after Jeff was in there? Please, God, let it be after!

Timing Really is Everything

Recently Hailey told me of how a boy in her class kept telling her she was stupid, or dumb, or something along those lines. I asked her, "What did you say to him?"

"I didn't know what to say," she replied.

I tried to hide my surprise. Hailey didn't know what to say??? Hailey, who at the age of three loudly said, "He's got a BIG ol' butt!" about a larger friend of mine (no one from my local hometown, no one that any of my three readers know, don't even try to guess). I swear I had never used that phrase around Hailey...heck, I'd never used that phrase at all. My point: Hailey had never been at a loss for words.

"What should I say to him?" she asked.

"Welllll, why don't you just look him directly in the eye and tell him he's full of it," I instructed her, of course meaning that she could say that to him the next time he called her dumb or stupid.

"I can do that?"

After a quick glance at my moral compass I said, "Sure."

The next day at school Hailey marched right up to the little boy, looked him directly in the eye and, without provocation told him, "You're full of it!"

We need to work a little on timing.

Bouncing Baby Girl

I originally intended to post the antics acted out here while my niece and nephew visited this week. Believe me, there have been a few. However, I've put together a little impromptu photo album for Ed & Ashley and I don't want to spoil it by posting the stories here...on the off chance that they can't keep themselves from my blog longer than three days during a week in Sin City. Without kids. Ha.

When I followed Hannah through her schoolroom door today, I got an eyeful of Hannah cheeks...the bottom kind. Cute as they may be, I realized I needed to tighten the waistband of her pants. By the way, who is the genius that devised those nifty elastic bands inside of waistbands? You know, the ones with buttonholes so people like myself who are completely incapable of sewing can still "alter" pants. Whoever it is, I hope she's filthy rich. She deserves it. Or "he."

Hannah undressed before nap time (I know, I'm shocked too). Just before putting her baggy pants back on her today, my nephew E and I worked together to tighten the waistband. While we focused down at the pants, Hannah jumped on her bed in my peripheral vision. Boing boing boing boing. I concentrated so hard at making my curled hands hold the elastic just so that I almost succeeded in tuning out the boing boing until I heard boing boing BAM! In an instant Hannah bounced from my peripheral vision into my direct line of sight on the hardwood floor...head first, facing up at me with a how-the-heck-did-I-get-here look. She didn't cry (sensory dysfunction?). None of us moved for a good ten seconds.

Finally I picked her up, she fake cried, and I busted up laughing. Out loud. Almost to tears. I must be mentally imbalanced. When life has been generally good, I've been depressed. My daughter does a header onto the hardwood, I laugh.

I am so ready for February.

Hannah: Our Barometer

January. Ack. December's full, shorter days close into the frozen, lifeless days of January. How's that for a peppy intro? For the past several years January's lifelessness has drifted into my soul and I feel like I need an ice pick to remove it.

WELL then! This past week I tried to find something funny in this darkness about which to post. I've tried to find the humor in Hannah's behavior, but her behavior hasn't been very humorous.

Hannah is our family barometer: if any pressure rises, she measures it and provides a fairly accurate reading. Between my moody mental state, Carl's late working hours and the flu bug my family passed amongst itself, Hannah's had plenty of pressure to gauge. On top of that, she had physical therapy AND occupational therapy last Tuesday. She communicated this pressure in several ways.

One example: she cried out in the night several times per night, saying things like, "No, Tatie! 'top! AAaaahh! (No Katie! Stop! AAaaahh!) after which we could hear the bed bang bang bang against the wall as she rolled back and forth to calm herself. At school she spaced out, refusing to pay attention or complete her work. Her teacher placed a cardboard cubicle around her, but even that wasn't completely successful. Hannah's speech therapist wrote (in a communication journal we keep): "Hannah did not try today--she left sounds out and would just stare at me" and "She has trouble following through...3 steps forward and 2 steps back." She also added, "I understand the frustration. My son has done the same." Thank goodness the speech therapist shares her own humanity with me.

Another "thank goodness:" I have finally figured out that when Hannah's teachers and therapists share these things with me, they are not attacking me or implying I'm a bad mom. Yet I still feel as if I have somehow failed. This feeling of failure combined with sleep-deprived nights and the other pressures mentioned above has left me feeling like I'm in a downward spiral that I'm powerless to stop. However, I know logically that the powerlessness feeling is false, a lie. I know that just as January will pass, so will this current set of circumstances. Right now that's all I've got--the hope that this will end: mere survival and not authentic living. I'm going to do the best I can with that for now and believe that better days are just around the corner.

Sorry this post is a bit depressing. The coming week promises to be better. My niece and nephew are staying with me while their mom and dad take a much-deserved trip to Vegas. I hope to post some of the humorous antics here. That's my best anti-depressant: looking for the funny stuff and focusing on it hard enough to be able to convey it in writing.

(No) Fun with the Flu

We have the flu here. Carl was first on Friday, followed by Hannah & Katie on Sunday. Katie missed school Monday, but it is such a short-lived flu that Hannah made it to school Monday.

I'm bummed because it hit me yesterday afternoon, so I had to miss an awesomely planned Tuesday Tranquility: I had an appointment at The Oasis Salon and Day Spa to use a gift certificate Carl gave me months ago. I would have received a 30-minute massage, a new cut & style along with having my nails filled. Instead, I spent the evening in bed while my awesome babysitter watched the girls. I never realize the importance of having a good support system when living far from family...until I'm sick. Hannah still had a mild case of diarrhea. There's nothing much worse than keeping up with THAT when I already feel like I'm gonna, um, lose my lunch.

I'm feeling better, though still weak, today. Hailey is home with it. I'm glad we all got over it before my niece and nephew come to stay with us next week while my sister & her husband enjoy a well-deserved trip to Vegas. Actually, my sis is pregnant and not a gambler, so hopefully she'll still find a way to enjoy the trip. Just getting away from mommy-hood (except for number 5 she'll be bringing inside her) would be a huge relief to me.

I have two posts started that I was unable to finish because of this flu bug. Yesterday was Hailey's TENTH birthday. Ten???!!! I have some photos to post as soon as I feel up to tackling my scanner. Be sure to check back later!

Bean Money!

It's been a fairly creative weekend at the Solomon house. No credit to me, though. I basically read a book all weekend, and did laundry, and started a new diet, and took Hailey to her basketball game, and...I guess I did more than I realized.

Do you recall my bean money conversations with Hannah?

Carl took it to the next level by making her a bean bank for her bean money.

Dandy Updates & Household Sounds

Hannah's week has slowly improved. I posted Monday about her difficult day at school. I have since made it a point to get her to bed early. Of course, that decision is entirely for Hannah's benefit--it has nothing to do with the peace that permeates the house after Hannah falls asleep...yeah...nothing. Tuesday went slightly better for her. At least I wasn't met at the preschool door by the teacher when I picked Hannah up. Yesterday Hannah failed to pay attention during center-time, but did complete her coloring page...with constant redirection by her teacher.

She has been more easily distracted than usual. Again: Dandy-Walker? Sensory issues? Poor parenting? She was doing so well before Christmas. Since Christmas she's returned to her beginning-of-school behaviors. That doesn't reflect well on the Solomon home. In my own defense, she did well last Thursday, her first day back after Christmas.

They haven't begun using her weighted vest at school yet. They're waiting for the next occupational therapist visit, as the OT determines the amount of weight to use. We had hoped that visit would occur this week, but unless she arrived today, we'll be waiting until next week.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

I just returned from picking up Hannah from school. No OT. Hopefully next week. On the way home Hannah said, "I in tye moat." I was in time out. Did she mean she was in time out today? Yesterday? Monday? To Hannah every day is right now. I have sent an e-mail to her teacher to determine the details.

I heard Hannah in the kitchen right now. The dishwasher creaked open, next the refrigerator door seal ssssssssed as it released, then the milk jug lid clicked onto the floor. Finally I heard the tink tink tink of a spoon stirring something (presumably milk) in a glass followed by lips smacking. Is it a mom thing to automatically hear and identify all the sounds particular to her own home? That is one of the most exhausting aspects of family life: I'm never completely "off" as long as anyone else is here. Which reminds me of my nice Tuesday evening. I'll close this post and tell you about it next.

Note on My Pillow

I polished off the previous post, shut down my computer after failing at my first attempt at uploading a YouTube video and shuffled to bed, inwardly grumbling about my crummy day, my crummy week, my crummy December, boo hoo hoo. When I reached my bed, looking forward to escaping my crummy life by drifting into dreamland, I found the following letter, misspellings and all (just tellin' ya--they're not typos):

Dear mom thank you for evrething that you have done for me such as washing my cloths cooking my meals and so much more and i bet that all together for all the thing you have done and that all those things i HAVE NOT thanked you for I bet all together all those things i need to thank you for lead up to Google thankyous by the way

THANKS

FOR BEING

THE BEST MOM

EVER

Love
Hailey

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Just what the doctor ordered. My life isn't so crummy after all.

Overheard Imaginary Conversations

Read this in a British accent and imagine Hailey playing with play-dough:

"String cheese! Just use string cheese!! Of course, daahling, everyone loves string cheese on their pizza...or just use three huhndred kinds of cheese."

Silence.

"What ah you doing, dahling?" Hailey asks the Invisible Pizza Person.

Invisible Pizza Person responds, "I'm making a wall."

"Whateveh for?"

"Why to hold in all the cheese, dahling."

More silence.

"Now what are you doing?" Hailey asks the Invisible Pizza Person.

Invisible Pizza Person replies, "Making pepperoni with a rolling pin, of course, dahling. But it's difficult making 300 pepperonis with a rolling pin."

Silence again...

"No more chances! I've given you more than thuhty chances. Your chances are all down the toilet!" I have no idea what she's talking about. "Look at all these puhfect pepperonis!"

Evidently Hailey doesn't know that pizza is typically considered ITALIAN and not BRITISH.

My Christmas Picture Selections

Is this not the reaction we're all looking for when we give someone a present? This is my nephew after he opened his present from Hannah.


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I've included this one simply because it makes me laugh. The intended subject was blue-shirt boy. I didn't realize I had captured the funny face of my other nephew on the right.



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When asked what she wanted for Christmas, Hannah said, "A hat."

"What color hat?"

"A weh-woh hat," was her reply. Grandma Janis (Wonderworker Extraordinaire) made the yellow hat that my sister is placing on Hannah's head.



Of course Wonderworker Extraordinaire couldn't stop with just a hat. She also made mittens and a poncho you can barely see on the floor behind Hannah in the picture below.



The open mouth look is Hannah's biggest happiest smile.
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You can't quite tell what's happening here, so allow me to enlighten you. My niece, wearing the pink shirt, received the gift in the large box pictured below. For whatever reason Hannah decided to claim it and refuse passage to my niece by sitting on the box and folding her arms in the standard defiant-child stance.

They learned how to share the Bounce & Spin Zebra. Because the children were happy we tolerated it's lovely music for hours before we discovered we could turn it off.

All-in-all we enjoyed a wonderful Christmas. We are blessed with abundance...or cursed, however you look at it.

Make-up? For a 4th Grader???

...And a 5th grader? Katie & Hailey both brought home play make-up from their school gift exchange. I agreed that they could put it on, as long as they removed it before leaving the house or allowing any non-family-members to see them. Here is how Hailey looked AFTER removing her make-up. Note to self: spend any Christmas money on new camera.




That is not a natural lip color. And I need to introduce Hailey to oil-free eye make-up remover. All of the darkness you see is an unnatural remnant of make-up not easily removed with tear-inducing facial cleanser.



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Not to be outdone, Hannah found my mascara--not toy mascara--and applied it, as only a five-year-old can do. Here are the results:

I don't think Hannah applied a even a smidgen on her lashes, do you? In addition, she has the Solomon holiday hair. We don't have to go anywhere, so Carl and I neither one have done much with our hair today. In fact, over the years I have frequently called my genetically red-headed husband "Heat Miser." (Both of his parents are red heads, though he is merely ruddy complected with dirty auburn hair).

My "Heat Miser" reference pertains to the hair, not the belly...or the wardrobe. For a trip down memory lane, check out the Heat Miser video in the next blog entry.

WE DID IT!!!

My Christmas was "in the bag" so to speak...until last Wednesday, December 12. As I drove to Joplin early that morning to finish my Christmas shopping before the real crazies hit the stores, my cell phone rang. To make a long story short: my friend, Sheri, called to ask me to help with the 5th grade class Christmas party. Don't be confused. This was not to be the typical gift-exchanging-small-snack-eating-stay-in-homeroom party. Ha! This was to be the equivalent of a semi-formal, catered brunch for 37; organized, prepared and served by parents of fifth graders.

"How many parents are helping so far?" I asked.

"Well, you and I are it...so far," Sheri answered.

Gulp.

For a humorous replay of the conversation, check out Sheri's blog at http://crazybutlovinit.blogspot.com/2007/12/only-in-small-town.html

In a mere seven days we planned a five-course Mexican lunch, sent out letters to the parents BEGGING for help (OK that's a little exaggerated--a LOT exaggerated), purchased all of the necessary food and supplies (Sheri did 90% of that--I bought ten bags of red and green tortilla chips and strawberry pop--woohoo), prepared the taco meat & chopped veggies on two separate nights with the help of one other mom and several wine coolers, set up and decorated tables (couldn't-a done it without our awesome husbands), then lugged everything to the school this morning at 8:00. There we met the other women who made it all happen. Here we all are.

Well...we're obviously not all women. That's my husband, Carl, beside me. Hey Sheri--did Carl stink or something??? :)

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These are two of my favorite people in the world serving some of the fifth grade students.

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This picture is a little fuzzy, but it's the only one that shows the table before the fifth graders arrived.

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These are Katie's awesome fifth grade teachers. It's not the greatest picture, but that's entirely the fault of the photographer. And the photographer blames her camera.

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These are the fantastic fifth graders we served. Earlier this week as Sheri, Regina and I prepared food, we questioned our decision to have candles. Would the kids accidentally burn down the grade school? How much stuff would be spilled? Would they horse around? Or would they rise to the semi-formal occasion? We decided to give them the benefit of the doubt and they didn't let us down. Nothing was spilled. Nothing went up in flames. These kids behaved BEAUTIFULLY!

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We finally let them horse around.

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I included this final picture because I'm the mom & I can. Beautiful Katie.

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The clean-up is done, everyone is home and now I'm REALLY fried. I'm into the second book in The Golden Compass trilogy...I think I'll put my jammies back on, crawl back into bed and read.

To everyone involved in the fifth grade Christmas party--parents, teachers, kids, staff: HIGH FIVES, THUMBS UP & BIG HAND SLAPS! WE DID IT!!

Hannah: My Five Year Old Computer Guru...and Destroyer

Yes, I'm still confident that Hannah contributed to my hard drive crash...but maybe the brownouts we experienced during the ice storm played a role, too. Destroyer status aside, Hannah LOVES electronics. While I "play" on my computer, Hannah plays on her Barbie computer...well, not actually her Barbie computer, but the computer left here by the neighbor girl.


Hailey loves electronics of every kind, too, but she was not given the...opportunities...Hannah has been given. When Katie and Hailey were younger, I scoffed at parents who allowed their children to play "mindless video games" or who allowed the television to babysit for them. Once again, Hannah has her own rules. She has spent more hours in front of a television or computer screen in her five years than Katie and Hailey have spent in their entire combined lifetimes. Maybe I exaggerate, but not much.

For her birthday we gave Hannah a "Leapfrog ClickStart My First Computer" that turns our television into a computer controlled by a wireless toy laptop keyboard. As a result, and in spite of the Dandy-Walker, Hannah excels at using a mouse and has accumulated 99 "bones" for Scout the ClickStart puppy. 99 is the limit--a design flaw as I see it. I've been surprised and amazed at the things Hannah has taught herself while using these toys...things she wouldn't have learned if her control freak mother had "played" on the computer with her.


Maybe all this pre-adolescent practice will make Hannah so proficient on the computer that she can make up for the massive amounts of computer damage she has accomplished in her five short years: damaged hard drives, keyboards relieved of their keys, strange happenings (for example, an unusual code appears every time I hit "page up" or any other key in the far right column of my keyboard.)


I must digress for posterity. In 2005-06 Hannah made it a practice to remove keys from my laptop keyboard every time she was left unattended for any length of time...which is probably more often than I should admit. I purchased a replacement keyboard on ebay, but could never figure out how to install it, even with the help of two computer-savvy acquaintances. In 2006 my hard drive crashed. Because it was still under warranty, I sent my laptop in along with the replacement keyboard. When I asked the computer geek at the counter what it would cost to have them replace the keyboard at the same time as the hard drive, he said, "To be honest, it depends on the technician."


Great. "What do you mean? How could it depend on the technician?"


He said, "It depends on whether the technician declares it normal wear-and-tear."


"You're kidding, right? Who would ever consider twenty-four missing keys to be normal wear and tear?!"


"You'd be surprised," was all he said.


He was right. I was surprised. They charged nothing. I wonder if they would have even supplied the keyboard.


Maybe someday Hannah will be the next Bill Gates and I will look on these computer-problem days with a laugh and a bulging wallet. For now, though, I'm not laughing.

Goth Meets Innocence

Yesterday, in the hallway of a nearby high school where Hailey takes her weekly piano lesson, Hannah and I happened upon a high school guy and gal sitting on the floor. Both wore all black and both had dyed their hair an unnatural shade of ebony. Hers included a bright red streak on one side, topped that day with a cheap Christmas bow. She looked up at us through eyes blackened with make-up, then looked back down with apparent boredom.

Walking half a hallway ahead of me, Hannah neared the couple. I knew their appearance reflected a style, but five-year-old Hannah knew nothing about style. Hannah wore khaki pants; sky blue boots with fur at their tops; and a multi-colored-striped, fuzzy sweater. Nothing matched. At least the high school couple...matched. Monochromatically. Very Goth.

I wondered what Hannah would do. Would she turn around and come back to me? Would she walk around them? Would she be frightened? Personally, I thought they were scary-looking.

Hannah's line of travel slowly arched towards the couple until she reached the girl. For a second I thought Hannah was going to walk on the papers between the couple, but she stopped, waved her little hand, and said, "Hi. Whuh-yame?" (Hi. What's your name?)

The girl looked up at Hannah (yes, up...hard to believe) with a pretty smile and said, "What's my name? It's Dawn." Surprise number one: Dawn understood Hannah.

The guy acted as if Hannah didn't exist, but--oblivious to being ignored--Hannah asked him, "Whuh-yame?" He continued to ignore Hannah, but Dawn answered, "His name is James." Surprise number two: Dawn seemed to care.

"Oh," Hannah replied and continued to stand there, expecting they would follow her personal rules of etiquette and ask her the same question. Dawn didn't let her down. Surprise number three.

"What your name?"

Hannah eagerly answered, "My-ame Han-nah." Then she pointed at me and said, "Hewh-yame My Mom." (My name is Hannah. Her name is My Mom.)

When Dawn laughed, looked at me and said, "Hi My Mom," I caught myself feeling judgmentally shocked. Interesting. I assumed the clothes, makeup and hair were chosen, at least on some level, for their shock value. Instead, the smile and sense of humor shocked me more.

Hannah hasn't lived long enough to judge people by their appearances. I marveled in her fearless innocence and wondered...When did I lose my own?

Iced In!

Note: I late-posted an entry for Saturday below this one...if you're interested.

Outside frozen needles of rain fall from the sky and occasionally I hear thunder, a disconcerting sound in December. Icicles hang precariously from every object; my new gutters, weak tree limbs, power lines. It's picturesque in a perilous sort of way. Inside I sit in my jammies surfing the net for Christmas gifts. Mass has been cancelled and I'm prepared to spend the day in my warm cocoon of a home reading, Internet surfing and sipping hot chocolate.

I won't be taking a warm bath or hot shower, though, because we STILL do not have hot water. Carl has been swamped at work this week and hasn't been able to complete the hot water heater installation. Every December, usually at the first hint of freezing, nasty weather of some sort, Carl receives a rush of requests for remote starts (you know, the handy gadget that allows you to start your vehicle from the warmth or your home). You would think that after eleven years of self-employment and 25 years in this business, we would be prepared for this rush. Nope.

Hailey and Hannah entertain themselves by playing a game of hide and seek. Hannah doesn't quite get the concept.

"OK. I'll count and you go hide, Hannah," Hailey instructs.

Even with below-freezing temperatures outside and that drafty cold feeling inside regardless of insulation, Hannah wears only a pair of panties (actually, that's a step up...she must want her cheekies warmed). Hannah replies, "OK!" and Hailey begins counting in the kitchen. Hannah runs five feet, hears Hailey's counting, and halts. She hides her own eyes and joins Hailey in the counting, "...fooowh, ive, ix..."

"No, Hannah. Go hide. This way," I whisper.

"Oh! OK!" Hannah says and runs to me. After I instruct her to hide behind the couch, she goes there and waits in full view.

"No, get down. Put your head down so Hailey can't see you."

She complies and I let Hailey know Hannah is ready.

"Ready or not, here I come," Hailey shouts.

After about five seconds Hannah shouts back from her hiding place, " 'Ere Yam! (Here I am!)"

We need to work on some strategy here.

Everyone out there keep warm and safe. We're warm and safe here, still have electricity unlike some folks in the area, and all is well. I'm going to continue tap tap tapping inside on my computer while the icy rain tap tap taps outside on my windows.