Katrina + 2

All through the Memphis airport was the headline: Katrina + 2. Not that the Memphis news needed to give a reminder. I having been looking back to August 2005 for weeks, reading about the things were doing then... Will's exploration of our neighborhood, Paul's refinishing a hanging door, my intense summer of MLE and hierarchal models. The days seem innocent and disconnected, so different from the gritty realities that we so causally discuss now ("maybe we should keep the back door without stairs since so many break-ins are occurring from back doors being kicked in?") I'd wanted to write something, not necessarily of great significance, but just something to remember that day, two years ago, when everything changed.

But this year, a slew of things came unexpectedly and blew us all over the Eastern seaboard in under 24 hours... so writing about It didn't happen yesterday.

Years ago, I worked in crisis counseling (sexual assault and violence). A call coming in at anytime to meet someone of just about any age and be the calm in the midst of disaster. Despite the horrific situations and details beyond the scope of what a normal person can even stand to hear; I could hear it, keep it together and be there professionally and on some level, personally. Ultimately, it wasn't the details I wanted... the important stuff was the work of emotions. Later, these things would affect me. I would fall apart during the 30 minute ride home through the mountains, listening to irresistibly happy music (Sesame Street, They Might Be Giants) to help brush it off. After less than a year of work, I stopped crying during the drive home -- which is when I knew I needed a new profession.

It took me months to understand that our lives had been changed by Katrina. Months. I problem solved and worked in crisis mode and shaped our lives accordingly. After bouncing around in the immediate weeks, we settled in at my parents house and Paul continued to work; his profession became a magic source of stability. I found out I was pregnant with Kate the day we evacuated and became fixated on completing my timetable of requirements, passing my comprehensive exams, and keeping up with all pre-Katrina plans. Remaining solid with the program was an obsession. Maybe I was worried that any lag time would be attributed to my being a Mother? (Feelings which are not unwarranted.) It didn't occur to me that everyone's lives were now different, that everything was different.

Nothing else crossed my mind. Life was an overwhelming combination of studying and raising Will. Then around April of 2006, I was driving through the then familiar blinking stoplights, when it hit me. REALLY hit me. It took that long for the logical and emotional reactions to meet in reality. There wasn't an epiphany, just a realization that it was okay for me to be feeling lost and misdirected. It was okay to abandon pre-Katrina plans, and to let myself be changed by the new, post-Katrina world around me. Just like that, previous plans were forgotten and we opened ourselves to the true possibilities of our lives here.

And that's where we are in + 2.

Life According to Will

"Godzilla is a really big alligator."
"It is not time for bed. I am not going to bed right now BECAUSE."
"Sometimes I'm 14, but really I'm 3 1/2."
"If I drink my milk ALL UP, I get a treat." (no, Will... you have to finish your peas and chicken first.) "NO MOMMY. Those are GREEN DROPS and SHARK BITES."
"I didn't paint at school today because I really needed just to run because."
"Sometimes I don't listen to my body fast enough and I have an accident. People have accidents sometimes."
"Stories are very important."
"Sometimes Katey doesn't listen because she is a baby."

The Saga of The House Next Door

The Saga of the House Next Door began long before we bought this house. For us, it began as an empty lot (there had once been a house -- around 1900 or so -- but it burned down years and years ago). The bank that foreclosed on this house mistakenly thought the lot was included in the foreclosure. When they listed the property for sale, the lot was included. Potential buyers tried to purchase the house and lot, and when a host of title problems exposed the reality, they walked. The bank was forced to relisted the house, but with the stigma of rumors of "title problems" it sat. Then we came along.

Long story short... we bought the house. During closing, the attorney (who had overseen the initial problems involving the lot) told us that the title problems were so far-reaching that the lot was going to be under our care for a long, long time. A little lagniappe to our home purchase. A place where we could maybe put up a swing set or park the car, since we were going to be assumed as the ones responsible for taking care of it. We were fine with this arraignment. In fact, we hoped to buy the lot one day... a beautiful grassy expanse with a twisted live oak and a beautiful willow tree of amazing size and grandeur. It made the hefty buy-in on the empty box with no kitchen and no bathrooms a bit more worth the price.

Right after closing, we visited Our New Home to find a man mowing the lot next door. A developer. The lot's new owner. Damn.

So construction on the house next door started at the same time as our moving in. We endured some pretty ridiculous abuses over the year it took for the place to get built. Noise at insane hours. Workers pleading with us to move our car in front of the lot to hold space for their equipment -- then showing up hours before their scheduled return (read: at 6:45am) and banging on windows and outside walls of the house for us to move it. Borrowing our water & hose (without asking) and not even being careful in the process, destroying plants in the front garden. Tearing up the grass on the side and front of the house with bobcats. Illegally building the ground up so that the house sits a little higher and not putting in the requisite drain system, which instantly began eroding away our foundation (at the time of purchase, our home inspector said our home was the "most level he had ever seen in the city -- unheard of at less than 6/10 of an inch" -- but more on this later). Spraying both our freshly sanded and painted fence and brand new brick stairs and walkway with specks of concrete. This list of abuses could go on for a few hours. But we took it all in with general fortitude. We were friendly and helpful to the workers and went out of our way to help (translated for Spanish-speaking labor, offered help with reserving street space, gave drinking water, and more). Some of the workers repaid in-kind (like the foreman of the project letting Will drive the Bobcat).

So the house got built. Poorly and with many corners cut (some that were, frankly, shocking), but still -- it was built. It was a good lesson in New Orleans construction as apparently, this particular builder has a reputation for quality work... which is sort of like saying a slice of Wonder bread is a quality product. But all that aside, the house was done. Finally.

Two weeks before Katrina the buyers moved in, a loving and friendly family with three children. The youngest was born the very week they moved in (we attended his naming ceremony) and the daughter possessed an incredible artistic talent that left me speechless and hoping that she could rub off some of her passion to my kids, since the whole reason I had kids in the first place was to do art projects. (One day, she shared a charted drawing she'd done that showed ways to be a good friend along with picture diagrams. I was blown away; she might as well have come in with her recently completely translation of Ulysses into Swahili, I was that impressed.) While well intended, they weren't quite aware of some overall housing issues (like the drainage problem, which still hadn't been addressed -- although by this time we'd built a levee system on the side of the house in an attempt to better protect our foundation).

Then Katrina came. The nice family didn't come back. But after a year (during which we took a lead role in maintaining the home and pool -- including some yard care, mosquito tablets, and other necessary measures, since they weren't happening) they rented the house. The renters turned out to be a dream: a fun family of three girls that we adore. On days we forgot to take out our trash cans, they took it out for us (and vice versa); we shared recipes and dinners -- they even cooked the cabbage I caught on St. Patrick's Day when I declared my inability to produce something edible from it. The girls came over almost everyday, bringing great energy and enthusiasm. They helped with our kids (particularly the oldest, who has incredible skill with kids and even volunteered for Abeona House for a few weeks) and were a source of entertainment for Paul and I. (We learned that even when completely still, you can actually hear noise blasting out of 9-year old girls. It's an incredible phenomena.) A few short months ago, the family moved back to their home (taken in by The Flood) and the house next door went on the market.

In a competitive housing market with a huge over-stock of high-priced homes, we thought the house would remain on the market for awhile. Low and behold -- it sold! And last weekend, while we were away, we got a new neighbor. I did go and say hello (with cookies and phone numbers) and although I was flying on meds, managed to have a pleasant conversation. So we have a nice new neighbor. One who seems to have fine taste and be a really impressive drummer (despite the choice of midnight on weeknights to practice). We figure that these were symptoms of what was undoubtedly a very busy and stressful few weeks of closing, packing and moving. A big plus: the drain was finally fixed. (At least on our side.) Additional improvements seem to be on the way, so we are excited. With another musician on the block, maybe we can resurrect the pre-Katrina jam sessions that used to spill out on the sidewalk, the kids dancing around in the jerky way, adults hanging back to take it all in. In short, the Saga may be ending and a turn-around may really have reached us, too.

Actually Out of the House (and not for work!), or, A Few Hours with Rising Tide

Friday night, Paul and I went to a bar, drank beer, and socialized. We were pretty sure that it was the signal of the Apocalypse; Paul clutched his chest and hyperventilated when I seemed disappointed that Buffa's was out of Abita's Summer Wheat. But yes: we ventured out Friday night to meet some of the city's bloggers.

In post-K NOLA, blogging has taken on a bit of a life of its own, becoming a source of "real" news, saying what other civic minded (but paycheck bound) citizens cannot, reporting on local recovery meetings, throwing out leads to local media outlets for potential stories, serving as a place for political organizing, and even showing up en masse to gut homes. You can even call it a "community"... with its own cliques, heroes, and established social order. Whatever you call it, you can't call it aside; it is loud enough to warrant a degree of respect and in the least, some interest. Without question, I missed much of the meat of the weekend (particularly the advocacy and activist forums) but would have been happy just to pay registration to show financial support and make an attempt to see the folks behind the curtain, so to speak. So the fact that I got in a little Saturday morning action is an achievement.

I wasn't expecting a particularly diverse crowd, since the internet itself it still a pretty white bread sort of place. (Note to self: re-connect with Guerrilla Girls for updates.) But it rekindled in me something I've been chewing on for awhile: where is the voice of the newly arrived Latino in post-Katrina New Orleans?

I've mentioned blogging to folks in "the community" (code for: newly arrived Latino community), which is a term that, in itself, irritates me; as if reinforcing this idea of difference within the city. That we exist in these separate (but unequal) spaces that are homogeneous within themselves and decidedly apart from whatever mainstream "community" is running the show. Granted, the folks I work with are often clandestine by choice (hence, one of my interests as a social scientist, health advocate, and concerned human) yet, I do believe that there is place for their voices to be heard here -- in NOLA politics and recovery, online and other.

A hundred times I've started to write about an experience... a person... a combination of the two to get some information out there. But I don't publish it, I struggle with voice, and I come up with nothing. Writing about what I have seen or experienced comes too close to writing about the lives of others in ways that give me pause. Rather than write myself, maybe it makes more sense to help reduce the socioeconomic barriers and socio political isolation that quiet these voices from being heard in our city. Or maybe I underestimate myself (something Paul says I do more and more the further I get up the academic food chain) or maybe I haven't explored the right places to find what I think is missing.

Or, maybe once my "formal" research begins in earnest, I'll have more official things to say. As for now, these are just thoughts in my head.

Will on Rocks in Space

"In outer space, you have to be careful because there are lots of COLD COMLETS. They FLY through the air and will BURN YOU UP."

(Paul): "Will, don't you mean COM-ET?"

"No Daddy! I said COM-LET."

(Me): "Yeah, you tell him, Will." (To Paul) "Let it go, this one is too good to fix."

"Okay. It just makes me want to vom-let."

Kate: 15 month wellness

This happened back on 8/9, but I wasn't there. The first appointment for either kid that I missed...!

Weight: 18 lbs, 12 ounces (5-10 percentile) -- thank goodness, she's finally gaining weight!
Height: 29 inches
Immunizations: Chicken Pox, DPT

Kate was given eye drops for some type of eye... something? Paul noted that her eyes were really "crusty" and after giving the drops as directed, all is fine now. I was out of it for most of this, so no one knows the specifics. But she's okay now! We go back the second week of September for a re-check on weight.

The Return of Bush

Anyone have any idea when Mr. Worthless Himself is showing up on Tuesday?? We want to go, hopefully with a few thousand of our closest friends.

Banner/sign ideas:
NOLA: MISSION ACCOMPLISHED???
Was this your plan two years ago in Jackson Square?

More to come. Hopefully, we'll find out more information tonight from thems in the know.

Beatin' the Heat

Why "Why?" can be dangerous when your parent is a scientist

Substitute the progression of themes of this discussion to "health," "illness," "bacteria verses viruses," "vaccinations," "herd immunity," and "epidemiologic transition" -- and it is just like a conversation I had with Will last week.

How are things in NOLA?

You tell me. How would this message, from the President of our Neighborhood Association, make you feel? Two of these incidents were within 3 blocks of our house.

Dear Neighbors:

We have had several reports of crime in and around our neighborhood in
the past few weeks. Below are specific incidents relayed by neighbors
with first-hand knowledge or alerts sent out by the NOPD, which I
forward for your information. Note that some of these incidents
occurred in broad daylight, prior to commencement of the evening patrols
by the BCP/Palance organization.

... ...

And now, some recent incidents:
August 9: Mugging
On August 9th at or about 9:45 pm, a 24 year old male was walking home
from the Winn Dixie, located at 5400 Tchoupitoulas Street. As he was
walking northbound on Jefferson (near Atlanta Street), the victim was
approached by an unknown black male subject. The subject asked the
victim for a "light", at which time the victim advised that he did not
smoke. As they passed each other, the subject came up from behind and
pressed an unknown object into the victim's side - implying he had a
gun. The victim was then robbed of approximately $27 in cash.
The suspect is described as a 17-20 year old black male, 5'9", 160
pounds, clean shaven, short hair, dark complexion, wearing a dark shirt,
no further information.

Burglaries/Property crimes: Various dates
"Our car was broken into in front of our house (August 2) on the corner
of Annunciation and Joseph. Believe it happened during the day. They
smashed in the back passenger window.

"We also had someone go into our back yard and take a bike, and other
tools a few weeks ago -- again during the middle of the day.

"A neighbor on Laurel and Joseph had their back door kicked in and their
house burglarized.

"A neighbor on Annunciation between Nashville and Arabella had their
back door busted with a large brick and their house burglarized. All
these events happened in the last month or so.

"Last week 2 guys were attempting to take a car -- they were caught in
the act and then ran to hide out in a neighbors back porch. The police
caught one of the guys."

August 20: Burglary Arrest Reported by NOPD
NOPD: Late last week, Second District Detectives were working an auto
burglary investigation, where a credit card was taken and used at a
local convenience store. As they were looking at the surveillance video
of the suspect, a cooperating individual recognized the person in the
video. They supplied the suspect's name, address and some additional
information on him. Detectives continued their investigation, which
leads to a search warrant being executed at 5831 Tchoupitoulas Street.
Inside the location, detectives discovered a large cache of stolen
property - all of which was taken in car burglaries. Recovered property
includes electronic items like ipods and laptop computers.
Detectives also arrested the suspect, who was identified as Charles
Benson (WM [white male], 12/21/71). When interrogated, Benson confesses
to committing several dozen auto burglaries in the Second District. He
supplied detailed information on many of the car burglary incidents.
Thus far, Benson has been charged in over a dozen of the offenses.
At this point, Detectives are attempting to match the recovered property
to individual cases, so that the property can be returned to the owners.

August 20: Attempted Homicide
NOPD: On August 20th at or about 5:30pm, three young black males were
observed riding bicycles on along Webster Street. The suspects were
checking door handles of parked cars. A witness to the activity followed
the suspects in his vehicle. The witness confronted the suspects at
Arabella Street and Garfield Street, challenging their actions. At that
time, one of the suspects pulled out a handgun and fired at the witness.
One bullet struck the witnesses vehicle, but the witness was unharmed.
A .380 caliber casing was located on the scene. There are no
descriptions on the three suspects.

-----------------
Please stay vigilant.

News: Album Update

Coldspaghetti's Shutterfly pages have been updated with lots of albums... just in case you've missed them.

The Good, The Bad, and the Three-Year Old

The onslaught of not-age-appropriate influences in Will's life has spurred endless questions as The Little Man deals with difficult concepts of good and bad... who are good guys, who are bad guys, why are people bad, why don't Superheros always save hurt people, who goes to jail, and so on.

This has been a very complicated venture. It's involved conversations like this:

"Mommy, Spiderman is not real?"
"That's right, Will. Superheros are not real people. They are stories, made up, in our imaginations."
"But if we're bit by a Super-spider, we can turn into a Superhero."

Well, I guess that would be true. What could I say to that?

When the Birds were in town, Paul took Will with him to the D-Day Museum with friend Mike (a Bird husband) -- our thought process was that Will would fascinated by the planes and assorted equipment. And he was... when he wasn't walking into a movie showing someone being blown up with napalm. (First thing he said to me when I picked them up -- Will: "Mommy, Daddy showed me a scary movie." Paul: "I've filled my quota of questions until Will is 14.")

This, combined with the "good" and "bad" Spiderman (how he learned that there is a good and bad Spiderman -- something that I understand is part of the third movie? -- I do not know) and the exposure to ideas of heroism and war, started making strong dichotomies within Will's thinking. That there were "good guys" and "bad guys." That "good guys" fight the "bad guys" and "put them in jail" or "shoot them with shooters" or "kill them."

All very troublesome to his pacifist parents. I got jumpy even typing the words.

How do we teach respect for service men and women without glorifying conflict? How do we teach that "good" and "bad" are not so black and white, and that there is not some enemy that good is always out to conquer? Difficult concepts for most adults, let alone 3-year olds.

So we moved to a new plan. Here's how it goes. There are no "bad guys." There are only PEOPLE -- like all of us are people -- and we can choose to do THINGS that are GOOD, or THINGS that are BAD. When adults choose to do THINGS that are BAD, other people like police and soldiers have to work to make them NOT do BAD THINGS. This is why we have jail and why adults have BIG FIGHTS. The fights are something that is VERY HARD and VERY SAD. When children do BAD things, parents and teachers help the children to learn which things are BAD and how to make GOOD choices to do GOOD THINGS. This is the new party line.

It came in very handy tonight, when Will chose to do a BAD THING.

He pooped in Granna and PapPap's pool. More than that, when he paused quietly and Paul asked him if he needed to poop (he had a "look") and I followed with asking him if he WAS, in fact, pooping just then -- he said "no." Which was a lie. A full-on LIE. A very BAD THING.

So, after a not-so-pleasant discovery, clean-up, and shower, Will went on to the massive apologizing and talking that one would expect to follow such a serious misstep in behavior. And all this stuff about people making choices -- choices which can be good and choices which can be bad -- and that Will made a supremely bad choice. Both in pooping, and more importantly, in not telling the truth about it.

He seemed pretty darn sorrowful about the whole thing, but I wasn't completely sure if he was upset about his choices, or about getting caught. Then, after a story (about a Sweet Pickles character who lies), a talk, and a straight-to-bed sort of bedtime (that still included a sweet song and hugs and I love you -- I'm not a completely heartless Mother), Will had a sobbing breakdown. Paul and I had stepped out to run an errand, leaving my Mom to handle it. Her report was that Will was crying and crying for us -- wanted to cuddle, to generally know that everything was okay, to get our acceptance. As much as I hate the thought of him crying, I admit that I am happy to hear it -- maybe there is a good side to all of this good guy bad guy talk. Maybe he is really starting to understand the idea of thinking about the choices we make. This alone is the kind of breakthrough all parents of three-year olds crave: the THOUGHT process... actual thinking before doing. Could it be possible that Will may actually start to do this in the near future?

Naval Air Museum, Penscola

Thursday morning was the end of our beach vacation -- we checked out early and decided to visit the US Naval base in Pensacola, home of the Blue Angels and of the US Naval Air Museum. (Also the location of my father's first post-Naval Academy assignment... he was a star flyer when he decided to give it all up for nuclear engineering and submarines, but that's another story.)
The Museum was spectacular. I was so impressed at how well they showcased the technology, history, and challenges of flight, aviation, and conflict -- without glorifying war or simplifying the complex issues of wartime history. It also did what we'd hope it would: give Will an interest in planes, engines, and technology over the good/bad ideas he's struggling with. (More on this later.)
The above is Kate with a turbo jet engine -- they had several engines out and cut aside to show the intake and compressors (very cool and educational; I learned a lot!)
This is a real "air boat" used for sea rescues. It was cut away at the sides as a teaching tool post WWII and then renovated for the museum a few years ago. People were certainly smaller 50 years ago!
The top of an actual aircraft carrier. There were several scale carrier models throughout the Museum. We looked for ones that my Dad had worked on (specifically the George Washington, which Paul and I actually walked UNDERNEATH while it was in dry dock in Norfolk Naval Shipyard while Dad was in command. Will did not grasp the coolness of his parents having walked underneath an aircraft carrier; nor of his PapPap building them.)
I was fascinated by the WWII propaganda materials. (Above is Admiral Nimitz, a WWII general whose name went to the USS Nimitz, a supercarrier built in the 70s. My Dad has something about the USS Nimitz up in his office... service award? photograph? fleet certificate?... so this poster stood out in my mind.)
Below is part of a 1950s-ear "Main Street USA" -- I didn't see this part as I was running Kate around in the toddler play area downstairs -- Paul has been raving about how well it was done.
Planes, planes, and more planes. Very well organized and designed space.


Will sat in the cockpit of a Blue Angels jet, a F-14 jet plane, and a ton of others.

We decided this was definitely worth a trip from New Orleans just to visit. There is also an impressive IMAX (showing Hurricane on the Bayou right now along with several flight-related shows, including one of the Smithsonian flight movies I remember from years ago) and a little restaurant. (And a ton of retirees just WAITING to help visitors through the exhibits.) Oh, and did I mention it's free? Next time, my Dad needs to be there, too!

Bathing beauty in a bumblebee suit

... looking upset because her mother thwarted her attempts at tickling a bumblebee hopping along the patio.

El terremoto en Peru

We have been closely following the recovery from the devastating earthquake in Peru and hearts and minds are with our friends in that beautiful country. Pisco was the only place we visited outside of Lima -- a beautiful little fishing village with a military base, with vacation spots in Paracas for travelers to enjoy the beach and nearby Islas Ballestas and Nazca Lines. Our visit co-incided with the Pisco festival (a strong drink that I passed on, but Paul was liberally given by our gracious hosts) and we truly enjoyed our time there. (Link on the "Peru" link to read the posts from our brief homestead.) Had Katrina not come, had the levees not failed, we would most likely be living in Lima and had experienced all of this first-hand.

Although I have not had news from several friends in the area, I have seen several updates from expats living in Peru, including information on relief efforts. From this information, I know of several small groups who are working directly towards relief efforts with no overhead. (These include the local American-Canadian Association, where a friend of ours is very active (Jim, who taught in a high school attended by bloggers BC4 and JMR and who we had lunch with the weekend before moving back to the States) and a English/Spanish school based in Lima. Both have direct contacts with families and colleagues in the Pisco/Ica area. Also, a friend of mine is going to Lima in about a week and will be bringing making some small deliveries to friends on our behalf. Should anyone be interested in contributions, please contact me.)

La Republica ran a great story about the history of earthquakes in Peru and Wikipedia also has some historical reference information.

Pensacola Pier: Longest ("and Friendliest") in the Gulf

Really hopped up on drugs, I took on the Pensacola Pier. Initially, Paul wanted for us to go sailing (something he's been wanting to do since forever), but the combination of low wind and my still pretty rough back ruled it out. Instead, we used the medicated afternoon (usually I just medicate mornings in order to handle kids and beach, but today was an exception) to use the kids' naptime to explore.
Pensacola Beach Pier is very long, almost 1500 feet. According to the sign, it's the "longest and friendliest" in the Gulf.

We walked pretty slowly, so it took awhile.

It is pretty long -- you don't realize how quickly you've gotten far away from the shoreline.
The water is still quite clear: clear enough to see lots of fish... and jellyfish! Including several of the largest, most GI-NORMOUS jellyfish I've ever seen. Bigger around than a tire... HUGE... and terribly frightening. I didn't take pictures of them and wish I had. They were unbelievable!
A very, very, very pretty beach.

Beach: Day Three

Day One: Clear, calm water. Small fussy things in breakwater area.
Day Two: Clear, even more calm water. Many jellyfish stings reported by surrounding swimmers and one close call by Holly. Absolutely perfect clear, calm water: like a swimming pool.
Day Three: Clear water with very rough surf. Decent wave action. Knocked us around... Kate (who was running towards the water yesterday) would start to say "no no no no" when we'd bring her over to get washed off.
My Dad took this picture moments before the wave building behind us came to knock all four of us on our asses. Everyone of us was in the water (I still had Kate in my arms, but she did go under for a second) and kicking all shades off of our faces. Will lost his hat earlier when he and I were swimming -- I looked around for several minutes before realizing that the wave had thrown the hat way up on shore... beyond the sand castle Will had built 20 minutes prior with my Dad!
Lots of great ball-play with Skip and Emily! (Note the shirt.)
Kate was very happy to have Daddy there, too. She's trying to get him to open the cooler (again) in this picture.
Will LOVED the googles we got him... the ocean was so clear, we decided he could use them here as well as the pool. Only, the googles are big for his face and... well. Will: we promise, we would never let you go to grade school looking like this.

Back Injury Update: In Haiku

Drugs give great relief,
but stop some simple pleasures.
Many days no poo.

Beach: Day Two

Love. The. Beach.
Love the gulf... clear and cool! (Spot those jellyfish!)
Love the company. Lots of hands to hold, eyes to watch, and ears to listen.
Love the sand. Endless possibilities.
And we'll really love tomorrow if Daddy can join us for a least part of it!

Pensacola, Florida

The kids at the beach... playing in the sand and surf for the First Time! Granna and PapPap were on hand for the fun.
Will had a tough time understanding the whole "sand castle" deal. He was very interested in making mud pies, though.

Kate, characteristically, was interested in eating. All the time. The whole morning.
Except for a few moments where chasing her brother became more appealing.
Once sufficiently full (2 eggs, 2 bananas, Kix cereal, trail mix, half a ham sandwich, grapes, and a cup of Gatorade -- all before 11am) Kate found that she loved the ocean water.
The breakwater area was filled with small brown furry-looking things (see them in the water?) I have no idea what they were... animal? plant?
The shoreline was a bit of a dip down from the sand edge and did not have the long, progressively deeper water (as we're used to from years swimming in the Carolina Atlantic), but instead was more bumpy and quicker to gain depth. This made it a bit more intimidating (less space for kids to run from the water's edge and play with the water) but Will overcame this quickly.
We can't wait to go back tomorrow!

Thanks!

Our neighbor found this incredible website.

And this wonderful discussion that puts it all into perspective. Both awesome resources. Thank you!!!

Nursing and Drugs

I'm finally getting around to looking into this myself and am not pleased. Turns out that Tylenol 3 (coedine and Tylenol) is not recommended during nursing. (Note: this was the med I was given specifically to use while nursing... although it barely puts a dent in pain management at this point in my recovery.) I can suck it up if I know it's safe, but now I'm not so sure. I can't tell if it's a class II or class III drug (there is conflicting information depending on the other active ingredients?... or maybe I'm too clouded to read the information clearly), but the drugs.com recommendations for Tylenol 3 and hydromorphone (Dilaudid) are the same... that the substance shows up in breastmilk and it's not recommended. Withdrawal symptoms in nursing babies are generally frowned upon.

So.

Do I continue nursing Kate on Tylenol 3? Do I force wean her -- which would entail my avoidance of her completely for a few weeks. My not holding her for 5 days didn't do the trick, goodness knows how far we'll have to go before she forgets about the whole nursing thing being connected to me. If I decide to not to wean her, do I continue to restrict use of the hydromorphone (the drug of choice) or do I go ahead and use it since the recommendation reads the same? (The doctors were pretty vague about this stuff. I could write a tome of frustration with this.)

Anyone else been in this position or have any insight?

The Cliffs Notes Version, given through the haze

Monday morning: Much, much worse. We decided that to go right to Oschner's Emergency Department after dropping the kids off at school. I showered and tried to get dressed... only couldn't do it. Spasms eventually put me, half-naked, on the floor: paralyzed. I arrived at Oschner via ambulance.

The bottom line: bones are fine, MRI showed some herniation between Lumbars 3 and 4, but was negative. This is a muscle injury. Serious pain meds (Dilaudid) took several doses to have any effect; pain caused extreme nausea/vomiting when I would stand to use the bathroom (the first few hours they used a catheter). Every bit of this was humiliating and simply awful.

Now: trying to stick to muscle-relaxers and coedine (and nausea meds) so that I can nurse Kate. I thought that she would wean this week, as she hadn't nursed since Monday morning. Wrong! She crawled up on me and pulled at my shirt moments after seeing me when Paul arrived with the kids this afternoon. I had stopped taking the dilaudid yesterday just in case. The bummer is that without it, my movement is much more limited. I am still going with everyone to the beach, but won't be doing any of the activities we've been dreaming of doing... sailing, swimming in the ocean, long walks for photography, etc. But at least I can be there! PA friend Scott (who works in Ortho at Tulane) has been a great resource. Bottom line is that it will be a 4-6 week healing time, but I won't be like this forever.

Quick Update

Home from the hospital; in a lot of pain, but okay. A crash course in post-NOLA health care and hospital care. Kate has unfortunately been thrust into premature weaning... hoping to keep up some supply so that she has a choice to nurse over the weekend if I can stay off the narcotics. Paul is a champion.

Hot off the Presses!

The August issue of The Trumpet, a local publication by the NOLA Neighborhoods Partnership Network, features the story of Abeona House in it's "New Orleans Success Stories" issue. The article describes the school, its philosophy, and integration into the Oak Street community. It was written by three Abeona parents (yours truly included in that triumvirate) with my photographs sprinkled throughout. These include the photo on the cover (seen at left), which I took of the kids peeking in to Oak Street Cafe to see Charlie Farmer at the piano.

While you can read the article in text directly online, I strongly recommend opening the PDF of the issue (which, in its entirety is a very good read). Reading within the PDF shows the pictures, and the pictures compliment the stories in the article. (Plus, there is a very cute picture of Will and his bald Daddy.) The story starts on Page 7.

Please take some time and read about Abeona House, Oak Street, and the amazing synergy found in their combination. And then, check out the Abeona House website, which is now equipped to directly take your 501c3 tax-deductible donation through a safe and secure online process. Put a little note with your donation if you'd like to earmark some funds to subsidize a trip to Miss Norma's for a Snoball.

No more backflips off the stripper pole

I'm hurt. I have no idea what I did to cause the soreness and stiffness that found me Saturday morning; I assumed that the head cold I've been fighting off was the culprit. Not being a complainer, I moved a little slowly all morning but didn't gripe or make it an issue. And then, on the way home from our diaper re-stocking trip at the Evil Empire, when I reached back to take the cardboard insert out of Will's newly purchased Spiderman lunch box, it happened. It was so violent and sudden that I may have passed out for a moment. Paul quickly pulled the car in surprise asking if we needed to head to a hospital. It wasn't that he hadn't notice my limping around all morning -- he confessed he assumed that an unpleasant bathroom episode that was in the works -- but he was not expecting my lower back to suddenly burst into flame right in the bucket seat.

The spasm was the first of many. Collectively, they knocked me at least partially out of commission for the weekend. No bed rest... walking, stretching, lying with legs raised, heating pads... everything we can think of that is good for the lower back. Kids can't take care of themselves, no matter how hurt Mommy gets. And I love Paul to much to dramatically insist on a weekend of rest and recovery.

A troublesome fact: this is not the first time this has occurred. The previous time (a few weeks ago) also coincided with a head cold.... so, can viruses trigger severe lower back pain? Can this thing come back to ruin yet another weekend?? (Satchmo Fest and White Linen night were both missed to much disappointment.)

Although walking with a tilt -- hip to one side, shoulder to the other, not unlike the zombies in the 'Thriller' video -- I am generally getting around. Saturday afternoon, I still managed to get down to Thumbelina to get a few things taken in before our trip next week. Whether or not this bold move was the cause I don't know, but Sunday morning hurt worse. Getting around was almost impossible for most of the day. I didn't attend a birthday party with the kids and spent most of the day on the living room floor trying to keep my back as straight as possible, testing how close I could come to various Iyengar yoga poses. I'm impressed I feel as well as I do tonight.

This morning, I swore I would find a doctor and been seen Right Away on Monday. The resolve is wearing off as my limp subsides. After all, is it really necessary to see a doctor for lower back pain? If I make more of a commitment to work my back more, then won't it just go away and never bother me again? If it's acute, I wouldn't bother thinking about it, but could this be a repeat performance brought on by a similar virus... and therefore, something chronic? (Can back pain really be connected to a virus like this, though? Seriously?) Without doubt, my feelings are a wonderful example of my bad habit of NOT practicing what I preach regarding Health and Medicine. (Another in-the-moment example: my extreme overuse of OTC painkillers to get through the weekend.)

There is one lesson to be learned in all of this, though. The lesson is that my Mom deserves some serious props for being Very Right. Because sometimes, I am totally my Dad's daughter.

Look Ma, No Blood!

An amazing moment, but it's true: my kids can play together without inflicting bodily harm! I am documenting here in the event this becomes the stuff of Urban Legend in another year or so. They played nicely, shared the same toys, and even withstood the hug and tickle game that Kate begun without serious incident. Go kids!