A Amerchancy

Woooo Woooo!

A few weeks ago we went to Friend Philip’s birthday party at a fire station. The firefighters themselves decorated the room with firemen birthday decorations and set up the tables, complete with firemen-themed goodie bags and plastic firefighter helmets for everyone. Impressive! The firefighters gave the guests a tour of the fire station but beforehand they asked if anyone knew what an emergency was. I don’t think I’d ever mentioned the word to the boys, but we’ve talked a lot about mommy having a seizure and what they should do. 

The presentation at the fire station made me think even more that we need to have a specific and simple plan in place for the boys. Up until recently there wasn’t much we could have them do if I had a seizure. Here’s what happened last time I had a seizure with all three kids in the house with me.

I wonder if Clark enjoyed the red fire engine cake?

Brian and I had been trying to figure out how we could start training them to call for help. Chances are, the next situation will not go as ideally and smoothly as that time did. My cell phone is hard for them to use, and we’ve never had a land line at our house. We found out it was another $25 a month to add a land line and so Brian did a little research and we ended up buying an Ooma, which is an internet-based phone line. He found a phone accessory from Sharper Image that is designed for elderly people. It’s got gigantic buttons with places on each button for a picture. So we got that hooked up a few days ago and mounted it on the wall in our living room at the boys’ height. 

We’ve been having the boys make some practice calls over the past few days, and collecting pictures for the buttons. They like it, and it has been so funny to see them mimic our phone call behaviors as they lean against the wall and chat with Grandma. So far they have not picked it up without asking, but have waiting until we've told them they could practice to use it. A few times they've flippantly pushed faces without us looking, but during a practice session, like calling Brian when he was at work, but other than that, no misplaced calls. Now we're all set for a amerchancy, as the boys call it.

If you have toddlers, this might be something to think about doing. Specifically if there is a slightly elevated risk of an emergency in your house, like there is in ours.

The perfect spot

We are not programming the taxi, hospital, or fire numbers, just don't have the other pictures.

Thursday Thesicle

Yes, Michael's craft store does sell wooden electric guitar picture frames.

Booger Bummer

I was sad that we didn't make it to the Air and Space Super Science Saturday this past weekend. I wrote about it today on DC Metro Mom. Get your Purell on and go read it. 

How Boogers Made Me Angry

St. Patty's Day Cookies Giveaway!

I love St. Patrick's Day. I admit that it's mostly because it's my birthday and it always feels like everyone is celebrating with me as they raise their foaming glasses of green Guinness and "Kiss Me I'm Irish" or "Kiss Me I think I Might be Irish" pins. I think it's also why my favorite color is green, actually. Oh, and Saint Patrick was a pretty okay saint as well. I've found two four-leaf clovers in my life, so that's amazing. It's not like I comb through pastures of clover, it's just that, well, clearly luck is with me.

In honor of St. Patrick's Day and of my birthday and of cookies and of finding a cool gal with a bakeshop, I am hosting a giveaway this week for some green yummy cookies from Jessica at J & J Bakeshop. J & J Bakeshop is a home-based bakery in Centreville specializing in hand-decorated sugar cookies. I first met the cookies when I went to the NOVA Live blog and charity event last month. I wrote about and photographed one cookie, in fact. I really liked it. (And so should you) Here they are:

She's going to donate a dozen of these green cookies to the lucky(!) winner:

The giveaway starts now and will go through Wednesday evening. She will send them in the mail on Thursday so they should arrive at any local location by Friday, and to some farther away locations by Saturday-- the lucky day. All you need to do is like Whispers & Shouts on Facebook (or just below here on the right) and post a comment below. It would also be awesome if you became a Follower if you aren't already. 

To put you in a green, festive mood, here are some pictures of the boys from their first two St. Patrick's Days and from an early birthday party my in-laws threw me tonight. And so begins preparation for their third St. Patty' Day!

Now go win some cookies!

Super Science Saturday

I don't normally do this type of post, but I am so in love with the Udvar-Hazy Air and Space Museum that the love is spilling out of me and I need to spread the word to any local readers who don't know about their Super Science Saturdays. Tomorrow is their Space Shuttle Super Science Saturday and if it's anything like the one I was at last time, it will be amazing for the little ones. A lot of hands-on activities and demonstrations. If Clark is better tomorrow we will be there for a few hours. This will be the first time since the boys have begun their obsession with all things space that we will be at the museum. I wrote about our last trip here. Here are a couple pictures from our various trips. Do it! Tomorrow 10-3.

Just little guys!

Discussion

snack break with Nick

Pilot Nick and Pilot Cal in the Cessna 

Big suite, little boy

WOW!

Thursday Thesicle

All the stool's a stage. 

(with apologies to Shakespeare)

How the Crazy Lady and the Drunk Man Gave Me Stories

I had a revelation last night, initiated by a drunk man at the library, but first I have to take you down Nostalgic Lane in order to set the stage.

One year in college I lived in the greatest old house that ever existed. I lived with my three best friends in the world. The house had a front porch whose windows unlatched and popped out (the perfect Saturday morning coffee and tea location) and an ancient claw-footed bathtub. There was random sink and mirror in a walk-in closet that was clearly not designed to have a sink in it. There were grapes growing in the backyard. The place was quirky in general and just oozing charm.

Somehow I ended up getting the dining room as my bedroom. I don’t know how it happened but I probably thought I was being all edgy and Bohemian—like I’d be in better touch with my inner artist for living there or something. The room had three doors—one to the kitchen, one to the hallway, and one to the back bedroom—and one fabulously crooked chandelier. I loved it. The problem was that I was student teaching at the time so I couldn’t stay up until 2 or 3 in the morning every night anymore since I had to be in class at 7am. And by “in class” I mean actually standing in front of a class appropriately cleaned and clothed, presenting a lesson, not coming in late in my pajamas and flip-flops in the back, nursing a cup of coffee. Not that I know what that's like.

One of my housemates was also doing her student teaching but the other two and their boyfriends and friends were definitely not. It seemed like they were doing the opposite of student teaching and that it was all crazy fun that we were missing out on. Those doors did not block out sound or light, and someone was always forgetting I was there and going in and out of the back bedroom while I huddled under my stupid crooked chandelier and cursed anyone who ever made me want to become a teacher in the first place. (Clearly the choice to study education had a lot to do with my under-the-chandelier situation.) So after a week or so I moved into the other bedroom with my friend who was also doing her student teaching and we invested in a loud fan to drown out the forbidden bliss of staying up late.

The House

The only other downside of the house other than the dining non-room was that there was no washer or dryer. That, coupled with the fact that it was in a sketchy area of town, could only result in one situation: being kissed by a crazy old lady at a run-down laundromat. It’s true. One of the grossest yet most fantastic events-to-tell-the-story-about in my life. She accused me of having her jeans on while I was doing laundry and kept muttering about how she would take them and how horrible I was. I didn’t pay her much attention. She was the same old lady who a few weeks prior had told my brother that she was his mom. When I was done I loaded my laundry into my car, sat down in the driver’s seat, shut the door, and BAM! She was there! Right in my face! Just like in a movie. There would have been startling music playing. She was knocking on my window and for whatever dumb reason, I rolled it down, only to be greeted with a big kiss. “I love you!” she told me passionately. Which is when I rolled the window up and drove away to our safe, charming house only a block away. Then I washed my mouth, face, hands, and car window and entertained people for weeks with the tale. She had actually given me more than a disgusting kiss-- she'd given me a story.

The kissing story came to mind because tonight while tutoring at our library, I had a similarly invasive experience with an either mentally impaired or drunk man. The library is situated next to a homeless shelter and it is warm and big and has internet and wi-fi and bathrooms and water fountains and lots of rows of books to live among. A perfect home! I am not unaccustomed to people talking to themselves and strangers or smelling of alcohol. It happens all the time. Keeps it real. Tonight I was working with a student in a more secluded area because of the power cord situation at the tables we normally sit at— some opportunistic volleyball player and her Spanish tutor were monopolizing the outlets. This guy came in, reeking of alcohol and sat down and started talking to the air. He looked in our general direction and asked about us being students and I just ignored him, focusing on what I was showing my student on my computer. Then he stood up by us and emptied his pocket into his hand: he had an iPod and a travel size toothpaste tube. He wanted me to show him how to plug the cord into to his iPod. I told him he had the wrong end and he needed to try the other side. He did and he eventually got it, claiming he couldn’t do it very well because he was an old man (57 he said). I think there was another big reason why and it starts with Te and ends with Quila, but whatever.

Then he wanted me to help him out and let him hook his iPod up to my computer! He went right in for the kill—narrowing in on the USB port on my laptop. I think I was maybe a bit loud for a library when I said, “DUDE! I am not letting you hook that up to my computer! Go away.” He very politely apologized and went and put his arm around a guy at another computer and tried to plug in with him. The regional branch manager came over and asked are you okay and what happened and which one was he, and I told him. It was nice to have him come over and help, but I was mostly focused on the fact that he was a regional manager but didn’t resemble Michael Scott in any way, which was disappointing.

What happened next was the cool part. My student, who had been reading a post on my blog on request (I told her she could read one and tell me the main idea and supporting details) said, “You should write about this! OMG you could write about that man on your blog! So, here I am (OMG) writing about that man on my blog. The man gave us a story and she’s going to read this and love it. This was a great revelation to me. I had never used my blog to teach writing or reading before, but I just might start. In addition to her going home and revising the draft of the essay she’s been working on, I told her I’d buy her lunch if she could find a typo or grammatical error on my blog. My credit card is poised because I’m sure she’ll find won.

So that is how a drunk man made me think about a crazy lady and a charming old house and how I’m going to use my blogging to teach writing and reading. And if you made it to the end of this, I have given you three stories, and I'm not even drunk or crazy. (Student: what are the three stories?)

My New Writing Endeavor

I've been keeping this secret for a few weeks now. I sent some writing samples to the website DC Metro Mom about a month ago and heard back that they'd love for me to write for them on a regular basis! So, I'm going to try to write about one post per week for them. Here's my first post:


A Confession of My DC Love

The boys were thrilled to hear my bloggy news.

The Often-Imaginary Lives of Two Poetic, Color-Mixer Robonauts

When the boys say things like, “Look at the sunset! It’s so pretty and purple!” and “It’s such a beautiful day out!” A little part of me dances inside. I have an inner poet that used to be more outward but the past few years has expressed itself mostly in poetic prose when I’m writing in my novel (R.I.P) or pokes its nose out now and then here on my blog, so hearing them delight in the colors of flowers and sunsets makes me a little swoony. Between that and all their pretending, they just might be the drama club brooding poet types. (I don’t think that’s exactly what Brian had in mind when he found out he was having twin boys.) 

Cal especially comes up with the most creative similes. Everything is like something else. Example: yesterday he said a mark on the floor where the sun was shining through looked like a space shuttle. Then they both spent the next few minutes pretending to be inside the shuttle and come out on the land like the robonaut they discovered in National Geographic Kids and whom we’ve been stalking on YouTube ever since. They pretend to control each other—one is the robonaut while the other one pushes buttons on a remote control nearby. The routine is always the same: they get out of the shuttle, move their fingers around, step out onto the moon, leave a footprint, and point to their eyes and then to Earth. And before this routine they pretend to get dressed in their yellow suits and want me to hold a big book against their back to be their backpacks.

It's rather narrow, but I can see the space shuttle shape.

Coming out of the shuttle and onto the moon...

This morning while Cal was sleeping in, because he’s still sick, Clark informed me that he wanted to “just hang out without any clothes on.” So he did. And then he started pretending to swim around on the floor, since he had only his diaper on—like a swimsuit. He then dragged out a blue blanket, made it his pool, and kept jumping, diving, and swimming in his pool for around 45 minutes. He did set some rules. I swam and jumped with him, but we could only swim when the (imaginary) red light turned to a green light and it was also okay to play the guitar in the pool. And we had to be careful of the crocodiles, dinosaurs, and pigs, and horses that were also swimming in the pool.

Diving in

Anyway, this weekend they were sick, but not too sick to do some experimenting with colors. They love colors, like the colors in the sunsets and flowers. They also love to stir things, like Daddy’s blue sauce. (Ranch dressing with blue food coloring that only Daddy can make correctly)

I recently discovered The Artful Parent and I feel myself already becoming addicted. I found a couple ideas I wanted to try. The first thing we did was stir food coloring into a mixture of water, corn starch, and sugar, and then I put two colors in one ziplock bag for them to squish together (without getting their fingers icky! Yay). They discovered much to their delight that blue and red make purple, yellow and blue make green, and Cal was so excited that yellow and red made orange that some of the orange excitement squirted out onto the carpet. Oh well. Our carpet is disgusting. Also it came up easily. And I use the word “up” loosely.

After we put all six colors in ziplocks we held them up to the window. They liked them so much I taped them up and they had fun making handprints in them and squishing them around. They’re still there and every morning since they’ve exclaimed, “The colors are still on the window!” 

(To make this, heat up 4 cups of water, 1 cup cornstarch, and 1/3 cup sugar. Stir constantly until it thickens, remove from heat and stir a little more. Don't eat it.)

Yesterday I attempted a color craft that was a bit beyond them, I admit in retrospect. The boys picked out green crayons, I grated them, they dispersed the shavings onto wax paper, and I ironed them. And I traced shamrocks on them. And I cut them out. And I hung them up in the windows on white thread. And I cleaned the mess up. Maybe in a few years we’ll try it again. They do like to look at them hanging in the windows and talk about them spinning and how pretty they are, but I can’t say it was worth it exactly. I’m looking at the green and yellow shamrocks now in the afternoon sunlight and they actually do look pretty darn magnificent. Who knows, maybe one day one of the boys will write a poem about the spinning shamrock crayon craft and I’ll feel validated. Ha.  

Epilepsy

I was diagnosed with adult-onset epilepsy when I was 23. I might have had my first seizure when I totaled my car at age 21, but no one saw the wreck and I had so many other injuries that no one thought to give me an EEG to see if I had seizures. The other possibility is that I developed seizures after the accident because of my skull fracture. We’ll never know.

At 23 I had another seizure behind the wheel and this time someone saw that I was having a seizure. It was then that I had gamut of tests and later in the year they told me it was epilepsy. Read the full story here and here (and various musings here and here). Since then I’ve taken seizure medication and have had seizures all over the place, but I usually only average around two a year. Epilepsy is loosely defined as episodic abnormal electrical activity in the brain that happens numerous times and can often be controlled but not cured by medication. No one knows why these electrical misfires happen, though there are things that trigger them for some people. It’s very much still a medical mystery.

Compared to many people, I have it so easy. After completing the Walk for Epilepsy last year I met more people who have seizures much more frequently than I do and who cannot find a medication that does not give them horrible side effects. At the walk, people with epilepsy wore purple shirts. The saddest thing to me was seeing strollers draped with purple shirts. I can’t imagine being the parent of a little child who has seizures as often as several every hour, which is true for a lot of childhood epilepsy patients. While it usually doesn’t have the social stigma that it used to, epilepsy still has social and of course medical challenges that people face.

I certainly don’t think of myself as a victim and I don’t want others to either. In fact, I think having epilepsy has made me a better and stronger person. It has also made me aware of other much more debilitating and devastating cases that make me want to do a little something to help. (3 million people in the US have seizure disorders) Thank you so much to those who generously donated money last year and those who have already this year. I will be thinking of you as I walk! If you haven't yet, please consider donating in my name or walking with the boys and me at the end of March. In a nutshell, here’s what your donation would go toward:

Helping support innovative research toward treatment options such as intravenous anti-epilepsy medication, specifically for infants with seizures

Helping support advocacy efforts that make sure people with epilepsy are not discriminated against, especially through health care coverage (My medication without insurance costs $300 a month)

Helping provide programs to educate first responders to identify seizures from behaviors that could be a result of drugs or alcohol, and to know how to help

Click here to donate.