Homework, part 1

A quiet TLGH often indicates quite the opposite for the non-virtual TLGH. In other words, it was a busy, busy summer. And most of the credit goes to our tiny attached garage which we are no longer permitted to refer to as a "garage." It is now a playroom extraordinaire. This has been among our long-term plans for the house and was, in our minds at least, bundled into some of the plans for our outdoor space which we also accomplished over the course of the summer.

The Little Grey House has an even littler backyard. To maximize the space we do have we wanted to create a large patio space behind the garage, I mean, playroom. As some of the space belongs to our lovely neighbors the ideal scenario was to redo the entire space with pavers. Since we pulled our oil tank the previous fall, our driveway had been reduced to a pebbly mess, so the grand plan was to use pavers on the driveway, along the walkway/alleyway leading to the back, in the back and along the walkway leading to the girls' backyard. They were completely on board (we hit the lottery in the neighbor department) and the end result was a space that was infinitely more useful for us both. What was once an uneven surface of busted up macadam is now a surprisingly expansive stretch where the kids can ride bikes, roller skate and run amuck en route to the back yard. K installed a tall fence between the driveway and the back ensuring everyone plays where they should while completing the compound effect.

Here are the best before shots I could muster up:
















And after:























We even installed a pool in the alleyway between our houses!



Now this is living.

The paver job was handled by professionals. The garage transformation was done, literally, in house. In the next episode of TLGH see how one home-improvement project can hijack an entire summer.

Stand & Deliver

I'm falling a bit behind here, so before he heads off to college, I figured it was high time I did an update of Theo's progress. And he is progressing. At his 12 month appointment the doctor told me that if Theo was not standing as of 15 months then we ought to consider physical therapy. Three days before said appointment Theo hoisted himself up. And he has barely sat down since. He's standing. Coasting. And getting into all sorts of new trouble. His favorite activity? Clearing tables. And our new deadline? Walking well by 18 months... or else. I'm sure he'll wait to the last minute on this one as well. I believe I've got a little procrastinator on my hands.

Theo is progressing, slowly, but surely with his vocab too. In addition to Mama and Dada, he says "bread." Something that approximates banana and blueberry. And "Obama" which I think is his take on Esmé. If I'm right then that would be very appropriate as she, despite Theo's burgeoning mobility, is still very much the Commander in Chief of TLGH.

Ballerina Bunny

Esmé danced in her first ever recital. She thoroughly enjoyed the experience without even a touch of stage fright. Of course a frothy ballerina costume provided the perfect incentive. The number was called "Ballerina Bunny," and the song has been lodged in our heads ever since.

Going Back to New Orleans

It was the scene of our honeymoon, almost 13 years ago, and thanks to the AIA, we made it back to New Orleans. Though K had to spend the better part of our visit at the conference, having Grandma and Grandpa along made for an
especially fun return to
the Big Easy.

Another unexpected plus was our room. We had arranged for a suite so that while Esmé and Theo slept we would have some place to escape to and maybe, just maybe, read or watch a little TV. Instead what we got was something on the scale of palatial. Kitchen. Living room. Private patio. A conference table with seating for 12. The patio alone enhanced our stay in countless ways. K didn't make it home most nights until after 7 pm.
He'd bring in jambalaya, or etouffée or some other local delicacy and we'd open a bottle of wine and pass the evening al fresco. Laissez les bonnes temps roulez!

Meanwhile we passed our days mainly soaking in the French Quarter. With music on every corner, Esmé was entranced. She danced. She learned how to work a slide trombone. She shook that tambourine. We did make it out of the Quarter for a steamboat ride down the Mississippi on the Natchez where we enjoyed a surprisingly yummy lunch of fried catfish (it was a Friday), mac 'n cheese, collards, beans, cornbread and bread pudding.


Having G + G along meant we could treat ourselves to a night out. We chose Antoine's, one of the Quarter's oldest restaurants and one that we didn't get to on our first visit. It was quite a trip. The decor was in line with a country club circa 1960. Before excusing myself to the ladies room I predicted I'd find a faux trellis motif and kelly green carpeting. And you know what? Score! The menu was also of another era and I had to order the Oysters Rockefeller which was originated by Antoine's kitchen. And though we were tempted, we did not get the baked Alaska which was another signature dish served tableside with a lot of pomp and circumstance. They don't call it dessert here until they've set it on fire, that's for sure. Other dessert choices, peach melba and cherries jubilee. Truly the restaurant that time forgot.












All and all the food was spectacular. You just don't get food like that anywhere else. We breakfasted at Brennans and brunched at Commander's Palace (really our best meal, I think). At CP they had a strolling jazz trio that played Bye Bye Blackbird at Grandpa's request and My Blue Heaven at K's. Esmé enjoyed the culinary experience and even declared Grandma's turtle soup her favorite!

The travel was tough with two flights each way and pre-4 am wake ups and despite it all the kids did great. I am so impressed with what they're able to handle. As the last few posts indicate, we've been on the go a lot lately and they've taken it all in stride. They truly encompass that NOLA savoir-faire: let the good times roll!

April in Tampa

April is the cruelest month everywhere but Florida where there's plenty of sunshine, warm, but not too warm temperatures and flowers, flowers and more flowers. We were excited to see Nana and her new (at least to us, she moved last June) apartment, and we were anxious to see how the sunshine state does Easter.

We opted for a 6 am flight which meant waking our children at the ungodly hour of 4:30 am. And now with it all behind us, I'd do it exactly the same way again. We went from our car to the shuttle, through security and onto the plane... the only way to go when traveling with wee ones. The flight was on time and by 9 am we were touching down in Tampa. Perfect.

We were able to check in early which was a double blessing as a quick glance out our hotel window revealed an egg hunt underway. K rushed Esmé down to the scene where she was able to snag the last egg (pink, thank God) and meet the Easter Bunny himself. Fun.

Then it was on to Nana's. Her apartment building is stunning. The Mirasol was built in the 1920s as a hotel and retains much of its original charm and mystique. There's a gorgeous tiled pool set against a marina. The views are breathtaking.

Per Esmé's request, Nana cooked up her signature spaghetti and meatballs. Even Theo couldn't get enough of it.

That night K was ever so kind to give me the night off, meaning he put the kids to bed in our one-room hotel room, volunteering to sit in the dark as they drifted off to sleep freeing me to go down to the waterfront for a glass of wine and sunset. It was a genuine treat, though would have been even better to share it with him.

The next day was Easter morning where we discovered the EB even does hotel rooms. After a quick egg hunt (Look Mommy, there's an egg in the bathtub!), we visited our favorite breakfast buffet and then swam in the pool. We had 2:30 reservations at Oystercatchers where Nana and the Scarborough family joined us for a delicious and neverending Easter brunch with beautiful views of the water. Esmé loved spending time with Carly. And the Easter Bunny dropped by once again.

The next day we headed to St. Pete to our favorite stretch of Gulf beach–- The Don Cesar Hotel.




It was a fun day, lunch at the hotel and then an afternoon on the beach that unfortunately had a sour ending. During a long, trafficky ride back to Tampa complete with one of those crazy Florida rainstorms I started to experience an ever-mounting sensation of nausea. Suffice to say we made it back to the hotel just in time, and the illness didn't leave me until 3 am the next morning. I was pretty convinced, from experience, that it was food poisoning. However we just went through the same ordeal with Esmé this past weekend so now I'm inclined to believe that it's a bug. If so, then Esmé and I have each experienced three different stomach bugs within the past month. Theo has had two (fingers crossed, fingers crossed), and though K has managed to dodge these small plagues, an India trip did leave him with a case of "New Delhi belly" so needless to say the plumbing at TLGH has been pushed to the extreme.

Our last day was spent at the hotel pool. This afforded me an opportunity to catch up on some rest while E + T could still frolic with K and Nana. And then before we knew it, it was 4 am and we were once again rousing our brood for the return flight home. In both directions K was upgraded to business class (one of the benefits of frequent travel). We refused it for the flight down, and instead they offered us the first row in coach which was perfect. We had a bit of extra leg room and were positioned right by the bathroom making the flight that much more comfortable for our troop. On the return flight we didn't have time to negotiate the arrangements, so instead K sent me up to business class with Theo. Though I appreciated the cozier seat and the opportunity to eat a hot (though lackluster) breakfast after having eaten very little recently, I would have preferred to have stayed together. I think the gentleman next to us would have also preferred it that way as well. Theo managed to knock over his can of diet coke soaking both him and his seat. Oops.

DC or bust

This piece, in a slightly altered form, originally appeared here.

Recently K and I decided to take our small tribe on a weekend getaway to Washington DC. The cherry blossoms were beginning to pop, and we were desperate for a change of scenery.

We weren’t at all dismayed when our journey down I-95 was stymied by uncountable stops– potty breaks, diaper breaks, nursing breaks, lunch breaks. Nor was I discouraged by having to convince Esmé that a long car ride was fun! while not blowing through my entire bag of surprise activities and snacks in the first two hours. All par for the course as far as I was concerned. This is the stuff family vacations are made of, no?

No, the serious soul searching occurred later. After we had checked into the hotel. After we just barely made it through dinner. After we had tucked everybody in, then settled in ourselves to watch a little TV(the emphasis is on watch, of course, because our sleep arrangements were such that mute was the only volume option) that a tiny shadow of doubt began to creep across my conscience. Are we having fun yet?

Esmé sounded the first wake up call with nightmare-induced screams that seemed to reverberate off every wall. Naturally Theo followed suit. He, I was able to nurse back into oblivion. She was trickier, so we had to invite Esmé into our bed where she proceeded to toss and turn and rake my calves with her surprisingly sharp toenails. I had no idea I had so neglected that aspect of her grooming and payback is, well, not conducive to sleep. Morning couldn’t come soon enough, and it didn’t until Theo took his turn sounding the wake-up call. As we once again resumed our respective roles resettling our brood, K and I both wondered out loud, and not without a touch of jealousy, what the occupants of the neighboring rooms would be receiving as compensation for our suffering.

And yet we managed to salvage our day, an ice-cold one at that, despite a serious case of the crankies on all our parts. We seized some photo ops, with smiles both forced and genuine. Tooled through some museums. All the while using snacks much like a lion tamer uses treats– as a reward, as an appeasement, as a bargaining tool. Even our children know enough not to bite the hand that feeds them… loot from Trader Joe’s. And so we even made it back to the hotel in time for a fun, pre-dinner dip in the pool. But while I observed E + T slogging through the day—truly enjoying themselves at some moments while clearly not at others ––I couldn’t help but still wonder if this was such a good idea. They are so little. And routine is everything for them. And here I am tossing it all out the window, throwing caution to the chilly DC wind all for my misguided belief that we could manage a little fun outside our comfort zone.

And so after a much better night of sleep—exhaustion has its benefits––we directed our car northward for the trip home. This leg was not only hindered by the usual stuff—see above––but traffic and misguided detours also played a role stretching the journey hours beyond our expectations and leaving me plenty of time to still doubt my judgment. Maybe this was too soon. Maybe next year we’ll be able to get out more, do more, have a life beyond Maplewood.

But then, mercifully, something pulled me out of my anxiety-driven inner dialogue: two great belly laughs erupting from the back seat. Theo was clutching Esmé's blanket with a smug, sly air of satisfaction. Reaching across to his car seat she tugged it free and quickly reclaimed it giggling all the way. No sooner was it back in her possession did Theo make his move again, yanking the blanket back to his side of the car resulting in peals of laughter from both. And suddenly I remembered. I remembered being holed up in the back of the car with my big sister. And just when it seemed like we’d never see life outside that Datsun, my sister would do something to break the monotony. Usually something silly. Whatever it was it made enduring the less glamorous parts of our travel better than bearable and forged in us a sense of solidarity that only those who are not in control of their destiny can share. We were only along for the ride, after all. We had no choice but to trust the people sitting up front. And it wasn’t always clear that they knew what they were doing. Giggling was likely our best option, too.

So they might not have gotten much out of Washington DC beyond the breakfast buffet and hotel pool. So it may take days, weeks even, to get them back on a proper schedule and in more bearable moods. But the thing that they’ve taken away from this mini experience is far more monumental than anything DC can offer. They’ve learned that their parents can and will wreck havoc on their lives, all in the name of family fun, and their best defense will always be each other.

History repeats itself

Last week I had one of those low moments in my career as a mother. It will go down as a day I will never forget, the memories of which will be cataloged according to the dewey decimal system of my mind right next to this one. Category: visits to the ER.

It was Wednesday. Wednesdays have recently become date night here at TLGH. To sort of balance things out with K's travel, we have hired a babysitter and established a semi-regular routine of weekly dinners out just the two of us. Consequently Wednesdays can be a little hectic. I need to have the kids fed, bathed and PJ-ed by 6:30 so that I can then have Theo nursed and settled in his crib before the babysitter arrives at 7. Any number of things can stymie our progress and something almost always does. But this last Wednesday was going smoothly. Esmé and Theo ate well and efficiently. Having a dinner that's wrapped up in 30 minutes or so is not the norm for us. Meals can be slow affairs. Mostly thanks to Esmé. She's a social eater and loves to talk and regale me, and her entourage of imaginary friends, with stories. Occasionally she'll pause to take a bite. And though I enjoy listening to her, once Theo's fussing starts to take the form of food chucking I'm ready for dinner to be a wrap. And so this particular dinner went well. Esmé went upstairs ahead of us because she needed to go potty. I started to straighten up the toys while Theo trailed behind me, undoing much of my work. Seeing the futility of my cause, I scooped him up and headed upstairs. As is my habit,I plopped Theo down on the floor of our bedroom and then started back to the hallway to close the gate that barricades our staircase. En route, Esmé called my name. Somewhat dramatically she implored me to close the bathroom door in the name of privacy, "Please Mommy, I don't want Theo to come in!" she urged. Shaking my head and laughing to myself, I closed the door. "Click" went the door. "Check" went my mental checklist and in my mind the task at hand was complete. I started picking up toys and collecting PJs. Onto the next thing.

I was standing in Esmé's room when I heard it. Heard the awful, never to be forgotten sound of a tiny body bounding down a full flight of hardwood stairs. Landing finally at the bottom with a piercing scream and cry. I don't remember descending those stairs myself. I do remember seeing his splayed body and contorted, beet red face in full cry.

My first thought was that maybe I shouldn't move him. Maybe his back was broken. But then I could see he was moving his arms and legs, and my mommy instinct was too powerful to resist, I just had to pick him up, hold him in my arms and start somehow to make it all better.

Then I wondered if I should call 9-1-1. Though he was hysterical, I took solace in his cries. It seemed to me that a crying baby under these circumstances was better than a silent one. I called Kris instead. He told me he was almost home, already in our neighbor's car. He told me to hold tight. Meanwhile Esmé, still on the potty, was crying and calling out. She knew something happened. She knew Mommy was upset. Theo was hurt. But she was paralyzed with fear and confusion. I kept calling to her that Theo fell down the stairs, that Mommy needed to take care of him that I needed her to be a big girl and clean herself up and get herself off the potty.

"But why, Mommy, why did Theo fall down?" she cried.

"Because Mommy messed up. Mommy made a mistake," in my angst I responded.

"But why did you mess up, Mommy, why?"

"I don't know, baby. I don't know. Because Mommies mess up sometimes"

I offered Theo to nurse, and he readily latched settling immediately as I finally started to cry myself. Kristopher arrived home with our neighbor, Tara, who was prepared to stay with Esmé until the babysitter arrived. Meanwhile we raced off to the ER.

Theo passed the physical examination with flying colors, and we both breathed a sigh of relief with this first hurdle behind us. The ER pediatrician told us that if Theo were 3 years old, he'd send us all home right then and there. But since he wasn't, he also recommended a CT scan to be extra sure. We didn't hesitate. A wheelchair delivered Theo and me to radiology where I had to pull on a lead apron while Theo was swaddled in a lead blanket. He cried a little, the only time throughout the entire ER visit, as they strapped him in for the scan. I remained with him, holding his chin steady per the radiologist's instructions. The apparatus whirred and hummed around his tiny little skull while his eyes locked with mine. It was over very quickly and the hour the radiologist estimated for the results was more like a half hour, thankfully. And it was good. Everything as it should be. I am so grateful.

And there isn't a single bruise on his perfect little body. Not a scratch nor a welt. Esmé has taken to asking me if I've closed the gate when we're upstairs– something I really do appreciate– and has even gone so far as to close Theo in the bedroom as an extra measure of precaution as I go to secure the gate.

Theo really does seem none the worse for it. Though I know I won't ever be quite the same. But as I replay those awful moments, kicking myself every time, I also try to focus on his resilience. He's a tough little cookie, and he's going to need to be in this calamitous world. And so will I.