tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8371277040211627612024-03-04T21:22:19.931-08:00Curley's GoldLaurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12933340694446513166noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837127704021162761.post-61306869736242423082019-03-16T06:44:00.002-07:002019-06-28T18:39:03.650-07:00The Wealthy, Education and the Rest of us.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
In the news recently was the arrest of 50 or so extremely wealthy folks who cheated the system to get their kids into a good college.<br />
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It's easy to look at my hard-working, middle class (and if you ask me, exceptionally brilliant) kid, contrast him with the young YouTube "influencers" who benefitted from the crimes of their parents, and jump into the "filthy rich people suck" pool.<br />
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ALSO recently(not in the news, but in our house), this bit: My son is going to Prep School in the fall. Lordy, that's a sentence I never thought I'd say! Prep school is a bit of a financial reach for the 'unwashed masses.' Since my husband and I live a pretty standard middle-class life, defined by public schools, used cars, and 40-hour work weeks, I'd say that's us for sure. We're not the working poor by any means, but our 20th anniversary trip this summer will likely be a local state park for fishing, not a private island in the Caribbean.<br />
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Regardless of our finances, Prep School it is - because earlier this week we were informed that he had received a full scholarship (worth an estimated $250k all told) that includes not only tuition, but room and board, books, uniforms, laptop, and two educational trips abroad.<br />
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The fact is, our good fortune has only come because of one of those filthy rich folks. The award my son received is the Frank Batten award, named for a co-founder of The Weather Channel. This man, with more money than God (I don't actually know how rich he was, but had to be really rich) donated in excess of $50 million to this Prep School. Did he get a tax deduction? Probably. Does he now have a named legacy that will make him more famous in death than in life? Most definitely. BUT, whatever his motivation, Frank Batten gave his own money to benefit those who would not be able to have the experiences he enjoyed; the experiences that made him the success he was.<br />
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Our kid has been fortunate over the years to meet a wide variety of people. A great number of those are or were hockey teammates from the Chicago-area suburbs known as "The North Shore." This is where Michael Jordan, the owners of the Chicago Bears, and folks with the last name Walgreens keep their homes. Remember the awesome house in Ferris Buehler's Day Off? That's someone's real home in The North Shore.<br />
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Over those years, we have tried very hard to show him how to look past what people have and instead to notice who they are. Character over possessions. Kindness over exclusivity. Sometimes a friend or acquaintance would very clearly show him that lesson. We have met those who are genuinely kind, and others who will spend anything to 'help' the poor, provided everyone knows it and worships them - and then they'll expect a favor in return later. When we notice these things, we point them out.<br />
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But this week - a condensed lesson. Thanks to Frank Batten and Felicity Huffman et al, it has never been more clear: Being rich doesn't excuse you from being a jerk. And just being rich doesn't make you a jerk.<br />
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Money will simply cause you to become *more* of what you already are, it will not change your true nature.<br />
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Nick has long looked at our lives and wanted to one day be rich. He doesn't want his wife to have to work, or his kids to have to wonder if they can afford vacation. It's our job to raise him so that when he gets there, he is Frank Batten.<br />
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When reviewing his materials for this next big adventure, Nick said that he wanted to be rich enough so that he can send his kids to Culver, they'll never NEED a Batten scholarship, and he can help other kids get there.<br />
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I'm grateful we got to learn who Frank Batten is, and glad we now have him as a role model for our son. The kid learns quickly. Let's hope this one sticks.<br />
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Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12933340694446513166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837127704021162761.post-2388274968295054712019-02-14T12:41:00.001-08:002019-02-14T12:41:31.099-08:00My son is a hockey player… until he’s not. What Next?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Since 2010, the season preceding the Blackhawks’ first Stanley Cup in a generation, my son has been smitten with hockey. He started ‘late’ as some kids go, since he didn’t learn to skate until 5 years old, but he’s had more success than most over his near-decade of playing.</div>
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Four state titles and two league titles. For five seasons he made the top team, three of those years that team was not just the top at his organization, but also the top in the nation. This year he’s been made captain, a responsibility he takes very seriously. He commiserates with his alternate captains (not <i>assistant, </i>but <i>alternate</i>- this is HOCKEY), and strategizes with his coaches. He strives to set an example and, I’ve been told, is the consummate teammate. Selfless, hardworking and humble in all things.<o:p></o:p></div>
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He’s met hall-of-famers and been coached by some of the best. He’s quit sport after sport – not because he didn’t have time, but because no other sport brought him the absolute and total joy that he feels on the ice (his words, not mine). He was measuring all other sports against the fun he was having with hockey, and nothing else compared, it wasn’t even close. His friends are his teammates, his study is the car, his weekends are tournaments, and his bedtime is still earlier than many his age because chances are he has a game or practice tomorrow.<o:p></o:p></div>
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For the past 9 hockey seasons, my life has been filled with, “We can’t, there’s hockey this weekend.” But we appear to be looking at the end of the road.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Why now? Why are we mentally preparing for the end when he is still so ardently in love? Well, he isn’t growing. He’s a second-year bantam, and if you don’t know, that means full contact. He’s 14 years old (14 and-a-half really) and only 5’1” and 102 pounds. When he was cut from that top team, it was after they had moved him from his preferred position to one he’d never played before because they were looking to “go bigger” on defense. All the 14-year-old defensemen on that team are 5’7” and 140+. <o:p></o:p></div>
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There have been many discussions with folks that end with another reassuring us that "he’ll get there; he’s just a late bloomer; his parents are tall, and eventually he’ll grow." These aren’t hockey parents. Hockey parents don’t try to comfort. They know. If he grows late, he’ll be left behind. They smile wistfully and nod sympathetically because they know. Other kids are in the weight room, but lifting pre-puberty can stunt one’s growth – which we certainly don’t need!<o:p></o:p></div>
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In less than a month, this season is over. Next year, if he doesn’t grow, who knows if he'll play. He won’t be able to play High School (Against 6’ tall 18-year-olds) because no coach in his right mind would risk that liability.</div>
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So, when he’s no longer a hockey player, what will he be? Well, thankfully, he’s got a bevy of other interests that really haven’t been explored, so maybe he’ll be a musician (he plays piano) or a scientist. He’ll read, and write and draw and strategize and tell jokes and ride his bike.</div>
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Being a hockey player was big for him, but what being a hockey player taught him will continue to be big for his future. He worked and sacrificed for his team. He learned to work with people he didn’t necessarily like, and take direction from adults he didn’t necessarily agree with. He learned to lose with grace and more importantly, win with compassion. He learned the importance of attitude, and the impact that can have on your performance. He became a coachable kid, and his classroom teachers say it shows. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Once we read an article about the man who was attending his son’s last hockey game. The boy was giving up competitive hockey to attend university. My son had once dreamed of doing both. Because he’s on the far right of the IQ curve, he wondered about playing for the Ivy League and sported a Harvard Hockey sweatshirt at 8 years old. We are faced with attending our son’s last competitive hockey game, not of his choosing, and how we navigate this next year will make a difference. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Our hearts break with every doctor visit when once again, he hasn’t grown. Our hearts ache as we hear from coaches how well he plays “for his size.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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When we say goodbye to this sport, to the rink, it will be bittersweet. Like watching our son’s first heartbreak. His first love is being snatched away by a bigger, stronger kid. But we will always remember the joy it brought, and be grateful for the smiles.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZEpXT7X5sQA2osqu2x_AZ2ujHuWo8fY6mKPMLLPJERSfRImtbVRoEXfpjxI2sizbQb93c6T2oYDlGw65FJcdCquhs-Py0DgY4R1UQ_1afLUD0_91DIaBbNTMHHbBO4bn8z12F7PHHaco/s1600/IMG_9124+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1155" data-original-width="1481" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZEpXT7X5sQA2osqu2x_AZ2ujHuWo8fY6mKPMLLPJERSfRImtbVRoEXfpjxI2sizbQb93c6T2oYDlGw65FJcdCquhs-Py0DgY4R1UQ_1afLUD0_91DIaBbNTMHHbBO4bn8z12F7PHHaco/s320/IMG_9124+%25282%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCcyrfHiqJd5FJFB-emiiodWL4ZSPd51QTDE-YF_rLT9qhD25VPWO5WuMx49PfJvdMgOM8wEvfXVR8TrM95q36E6nQRBZb7R_HMbbk65ve3OQk0zj_HAUsVJQhsbHy9g2Vr1peDXPIy3w/s1600/IMG_9198+%25282%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1547" data-original-width="1454" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCcyrfHiqJd5FJFB-emiiodWL4ZSPd51QTDE-YF_rLT9qhD25VPWO5WuMx49PfJvdMgOM8wEvfXVR8TrM95q36E6nQRBZb7R_HMbbk65ve3OQk0zj_HAUsVJQhsbHy9g2Vr1peDXPIy3w/s320/IMG_9198+%25282%2529.JPG" width="299" /></a></div>
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<o:p><i>Nick and teammates celebrating their 2018 state title after defeating the team that had cut him.</i></o:p></div>
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Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12933340694446513166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837127704021162761.post-58882549027154725812012-07-12T07:42:00.002-07:002012-07-12T07:42:52.749-07:00Making mom smile.<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
If you're a mom, think about what makes you smile... chances are it has somehting to do with your offspring. If they're little, you may just need to picture their smiling faces. As they get older, it may be the little nuggets of gold that come out of their mouths.<br />
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Nick makes me frown sometimes. I try not to share that with the general public. In fact, I've been told that I seem to think Nick is perfect. Well, I don't. My husband and I are constantly battling whining, bad attitudes and smart mouth comments. But he's 7. I don't think he's all that much worse than other kids his age, and I figure if a mom can't brag about a kid, who will? So I do.<br />
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Today's golden nugget came out of the blue. Many times, I'll admit to grabbing the "teachable moment"... to the point where I feel like my time with Nick is made up of "Yaseetimmy" moments. (From the TV show Lassie. Every episode ended with Dad lecturing on the moral of the day's episode... "You see, Timmy...")<br />
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I grab teachable moments on the el (bad examples of loud teens, good examples of young men offering their seats to older women), on the playground, in restaurants and of course, on the ice. Ever since he was 3 years old, Nick has heard me tell him that there are only three rules: <br />
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<li>Be nice.</li>
<li>Have fun.</li>
<li>Always do your best.</li>
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These have had variations depending on the situation. "Be nice" generally gets translated to "Play Fair" in sports, "Obey the teachers" in school or "Help others" in a variety of situations.<br />
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Today I think I am going to celebrate this first rule, and it's full and complete absorption into Nick's life. <br />
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While sitting in McDonald's for breakfast (a rare treat, no junk-food lectures please), we were talking about baseball. An older man walked past our table and looked at us. I didn't notice any sort of "look," just looking like you do when you are glancing through a restaurant.<br />
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After he passed, Nick told me he thought the man looked sad, and that maybe he wanted to sit where we were sitting. He got up and was going to offer him our table (even though the place was mostly empty). Then he saw the man and his wife had secured another table not too far away. Satisfied that the man had secured an adequate substitute, Nick sat back down. I was chewing, and he took a bite, so we didn't say anything for a moment.<br />
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After a minute of silence, Nick swallowed and said, "You know mom, it feels good to do nice things for people."<br />
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What do you say to that? I answered "Yes Nick, it really does."<br />
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Made mom smile. <br />
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</div>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12933340694446513166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837127704021162761.post-49948218982591693142012-06-20T06:26:00.004-07:002012-07-29T05:13:50.746-07:00Our "SOMETHING BIG"<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Did you ever wonder if your kid was listening? Feels good when you find out he has been.<br />
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If you've read this space before, you know that I have a little bug about epilepsy. I hate that so many people don't know about it. One friend coined the phrase "awarenessing" for what I do during Epilepsy Awareness Month (November). I spend time and energy on Twitter, Facebook and on blogs, commenting on statuses and sharing statistics, all in an effort to "Awareness" everyone about this awful condition that steals the lives of so many
(50,000 Americans each year).<br />
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Turns out, Nick has been listening. And our little man has decided he's going to do some awarenessing of his own.<br />
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But I've gotten ahead of myself.<br />
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Almost three years ago, Nick heard about epilepsy. He knew his cousin Jenny had it, but she lives far away. Then Danny Stanton came into our lives. Danny was a happy, athletic, silly, smart 4 year old... and so was Nick. Now Nick is almost 8, and Danny never will be. Epilepsy killed Danny. SUDEP (Sudden Unexplained Death in Epilepsy) took Danny one night while he slept in his own bed; the one place you think your little one is safest. When we heard that, our family, like so many families who have learned about Danny, was changed forever.
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You see, at that point Nick started to <i>really </i>learn about Epilepsy. He learned that there is no cure. He learned that sometimes you die from it. He learned that he could get it at any time, and no one knows why. For that matter, he learned that dad and mom could get it too. You're never too old or too young for epilepsy to destroy your world.
Then the light bulb went on: his cousin Jenny, whom he loves very much, has a form of epilepsy. She could die. <br />
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From that point forward, Nick has wanted to help children with epilepsy.
He collected money for <a href="http://www.purpleday.org/" target="_blank">Purple Day</a>, even in the freezing cold. He gave more than half of his birthday gifts to <a href="https://www.facebook.com/helptheelf" target="_blank">Help the ELF</a>, an organization that donates seizure-safe toys to local children's hospitals with neurology units. Last year he donated his "sharing money," in nickles, dimes, quarters and crumpled dollar bills, to the <a href="http://www.dannydid.org/" target="_blank">Danny Did Foundation</a> (named for Danny Stanton). He has participated in Buzz Cuts, Basketball Clinics and Bake Sales for Danny.<br />
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But now, almost-8-year-old Nick is ready to do his own thing. He doesn't bake and he isn't crazy about basketball. He'd rather his hair grow long these days, and will skip Buzz Cuts if mom and dad let him (not gonna happen). Now Nick is old enough to know what HE wants to do.<br />
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If you know Nick at all, you know what I'm about to say. Nick LOVES hockey. <br />
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When he isn't skating, he's counting the days until he is going to the rink. Once, when informed that even the Chicago Blackhawks take a day off to rest once in a while, he looked puzzled and asked, "But why would they EVER do that?"
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So Nick has decided what he wants to do this summer. He wants to help the Danny Did Foundation, but he wants to do it HIS way. He knows that the Danny Did Foundation helps children. They buy seizure detection monitors for people who cannot afford them. They print information for parents so that no one else is devastated by SUDEP. And the Stanton Family and the Danny Did Foundation have taught Nick something else important: Enjoy Life. He knows that this is what Danny did every day. By skating as much as he can where ever and when ever he can this summer, Nick will be really enjoying life, just like Danny did.
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So this summer, Nick will skate for Danny. Specifically, Nick will skate <b><i>100 miles for the Danny Did Foundation.</i></b><br />
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Round and round; one lap at a time; one mile after another; in five mile increments; Nick will skate 1000 laps around NHL size rinks to complete his goal of 100 miles (50 forwards and 50 backwards). He will do it any time, and at any rink that will let him. His goal is to bring Danny's message to 20 different rinks around Illinois.<br />
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Nick wants you to take this 100 mile journey with him.<br />
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<a href="http://www.events.org/100mileskate" target="_blank">Please support Nick as he supports the Danny Did Foundation. </a> Check back often to see where and when Nick will be skating. Please come. <a href="http://www.dannydid.org/" target="_blank">Learn about Danny</a>, and cheer for the little boy who wants to teach you about epilepsy.</div>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12933340694446513166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837127704021162761.post-71493387194758003512010-11-08T06:17:00.000-08:002010-11-08T11:19:05.517-08:00Perhaps Ignorance is Bliss afterallI've been thinking lately about <a href="http://www.facebook.com/welovecece">Cece</a>. She was just three. If you look at the Facebook page you see the wild curls and freckled face of a three year old. Unless you read further, you have no idea you are looking into yet another death from SUDEP. You have to read the page for the tears to start.<br /><br />Cece had Dravet Syndrome. So did <a href="http://www.idea-league.org/our-stories#Reed">Reed</a>. He was not quite 2 years old when he died. Dravet Syndrome is just one of the 40 different forms of Epilepsy.<br /><br />If you don't know about it, it really is not so scary to know that 3 million Americans have Epilepsy.<br /><br />If you don't know the whole truth, it's easy to walk away from stories and think "Phew, it's not my family or my child."<br /><br />Once you know the truth however - every name, every smiling face, every one of these unexplained deaths by Epilepsy will rip out your heart. Put yourself in the shoes of these families, and the sobs grow stronger.<br /><br />The truth is that no one knows why some people develop Epilepsy and some don't. The truth is, that even if your 4 or 12 or 27 year-old child has never had a single seizure in his or her life, by this time next year, you could be in the middle of this nightmare. Research cannot point to a cause for most cases of Epilepsy. So there's no way to say: "If you do this - or if you don't do that" you will never get Epilepsy.<br /><br />My son asked me once "Will I ever get epilepsy mom?" There is only one honest answer: "I don't know."<br /><br />There is no way to know that you, your spouse or your child won't have this condition next year - or even next week. And once you get it - the whole truth is - there is no cure.<br /><br />And there is more, even harsher truth. If you develop Epilepsy and are one of the lucky 2/3 who can control the seizures with medication - there is no way to know when or if it will return. And sometimes the return is deadly. SUDEP is Sudden Unexpected Death in Epilepsy Patients. It's a fancy medical euphemism for "Oh Hell, we don't have a clue."<br /><br />6 weeks after learning of the death of Danny Stanton, I heard a teacher say "Well, it's not like you can <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">die</span> from Epilepsy." And I began - 50,000 unexplained deaths annually from Epilepsy haunt me. Danny, Cece, Piper, Abigail, Chelsea, these are just the ones I know of - I want SUDEP to bother everyone - so if given the chance - I will tell you about it.<br /><br />I will tell you <a href="http://dannydid.org/">Danny's story </a>- and I will likely cry.<br /><br />Lastly, I will tell you about my niece, <a href="http://www.facebook.com/?ref=home#!/note.php?note_id=453441298159&id=1079171609">Jennifer</a>. She has Dravet Syndrome, just like Cece and Reed. Dravet is a catastrophic diagnosis. There is no hope for outgrowing seizures, and little hope for controlling them. At 4 years old, Jennifer was on a steady regimen of dangerous medications and had already undergone major brain surgery. She has a pacemaker implanted in the base of her brain. And still, trips to the ER for uncontrolled seizures don't stop. At 5 years old she began to turn blue during her seizures, and more than once her mom (my sister) had to administer chest compressions to her little girl while waiting for the paramedics to arrive.<br /><br />So if you see me - and ask about the purple ribbon I wear, I will dispel your ignorance and tell you the truth. For the Month of November (International Epilepsy Awareness Month) I will be wearing purple - ask me why, and I will tell you these truths. I will destroy your bliss. I will no longer allow children to suffer and die because no one knows the truth and no one talks about it. It's time to know - about Piper, and Danny, and Cece, and Reed, and countless others.<br /><br />I remember before Jenny was born when I knew nothing about children dying due to epilepsy. I too, believed that epilepsy couldn't kill you. Life was simpler. I didn't cry as much.<br /><br />But it turns out, ignorance is NOT bliss after all. It's just ignorance, and when it comes to epilepsy, ignorance is fatal.<br /><br />Get informed. Get engaged. Make a difference.Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12933340694446513166noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837127704021162761.post-41075090284545678452010-02-18T11:51:00.000-08:002010-11-01T14:35:36.194-07:00Time to go...<div><br /><blockquote><br /><p><em>"Preparing for a vacation is seldom easy. There are about 100 million things<br />to remember - add a 5 year old, and plan to go somewhere you've never been (so<br />you don't <span style="FONT-STYLE: italic">really</span> know what to pack), and there can be a great deal of stress in the preparation.<br /><br />One of the biggest problems however, is ME. Because while I am packing and prepping for a vacation, I am already there. I think at some point in my life I did live in the moment. But today I live in the future. And I don't like it. Because in my<br />future I am already back from vacation and back at the job I don't like, and<br />back failing at another goal."</em></p><br /><p>Just a minute... was that really ME? Yep, while cruising through the list of unposted entries that sometimes queue up, I came across this most depressing whine. How on earth does one live like that? When (in reality) I have everything I could ever desire. My husband, son, life, love, faith... this entry surely must have been lurking in the shadows all these many months for a reason. Things get lost in cyberspace all the time - but not this depressing piece of drivel. Find the lesson... what does it mean... ??</p><br /><p>I've GOT it! How about just this: "Quicherbichin!"<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqlfM8yIZPa4imNCTL-LlQGooIWdGuBg2wEX5m2AtGPV-xATe429FGljipA4i6bUHAiBsnCduQSb-Kg8XMxtaEx9-toFl0BvmUsBcePffz-ti80a_ACjtXboOC0AH9BSKBwiAO7ltNmwU/s1600/disney.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 231px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 166px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5534697631379995906" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqlfM8yIZPa4imNCTL-LlQGooIWdGuBg2wEX5m2AtGPV-xATe429FGljipA4i6bUHAiBsnCduQSb-Kg8XMxtaEx9-toFl0BvmUsBcePffz-ti80a_ACjtXboOC0AH9BSKBwiAO7ltNmwU/s200/disney.jpg" /></a></p><br /><p>Yep, that's probably it. </p><br /><p>A few months (and a different job) later, I wonder how, looking forward to a vacation could have made me so awfully depressed. Luckily, it didn't last!</p><br /><p><br /></p></blockquote></div>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12933340694446513166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837127704021162761.post-25609438016247455762010-02-15T10:58:00.001-08:002010-02-15T12:50:00.655-08:00I sometimes forgetIn the midst of the bitching and complaining, of the sighing and whining, I sometimes - no, I <span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;">often</span> forget how fortunate I am. Once again, I have had to be schooled in gratitude. The problem is, I take no joy in these lessons. The reminders to be grateful always - - and I rarely use the word "always" - but the reminders to be grateful <span style="font-weight: bold;">ALWAYS</span> come at someone else's expense.<br /><br />Today - and for the past couple of months really, I have not been able to get enough 'hug-time' with my 5 year old. Not only do I work too much (yes, at a job I don't like... but you know that already), but he has reached a point where hugs and kisses are generally barely tolerated. If I catch him at a particularly sleepy moment, or right after he bumps his head, he'll willingly take a snuggle and a kiss. But for the most part, he runs away from my affection.<br /><br />I know this is normal - but it's incredibly bad timing. Because two months ago I began appreciating Nick more - really <span style="font-style: italic;">seeing</span> his smile and committing it to memory. I began holding every last hug until the latest moment he would allow - and I swear - because I am paying more attention now - I can close my eyes and feel his hug wrapped around my neck.<br /><br />My renewed gratitude comes as a direct result of the pain and suffering of the Stanton family. Danny Stanton, just four years old, died on December 12. This was not a tragic accident - not a careless driver - not a daredevil fall. Danny passed away in the night - safely (or so they thought) asleep in his own bed. No stranger-danger, no boogyman, no one to blame. I don't need to recount the story; several news outlets already have, and I would just start to cry again. Do a Google search for "Danny Stanton." There's a lot to read. Their boogyman was Epilepsy - Sudden Unexplained Death in EPilepsy, specifically (SUDEP). <br /><br />To my amazement, his parents Mike and Marianne Stanton, have appeared on a few talk shows, been interviewed for the some newspapers, and have started a foundation in their son's memory. Personally, I'd be curled up in a ball under my bed. Through the <a href="http://www.dannydid.org/">Danny Did Foundation they are preparing to change the world. </a><br /><br />I read about what they are doing - about what they lost - I see the amazing photos of a little boy just a few months younger than mine - and I cry. It is said that God only gives us what we can handle. I am grateful that God knows me for the sissy I truly am.<br /><br />If you don't know Danny Stanton, get to know him now. He and his amazing family, and his most captivating smile - will surely change the world. They have certainly changed me.<br /><br /> Take your time... Engage Others... Enjoy Life... Danny Did.Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12933340694446513166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837127704021162761.post-38108969219133376852009-07-04T05:09:00.001-07:002009-07-04T20:53:37.849-07:00Withdrawls from the memory bankYou know how every year or so the treasury department will run a list of names in the newspaper of people who have money they forgot about?<br /><br />First off, let's just clarify: this doesn't happen to me. Or my husband... or my siblings. In 41 years the best I could hope for is the occasional quarter in the couch cushion, if I'm really lucky the lost $5 bill recovered from the pocket of last year's winter coat. More likely though, I'm the person you're stuck behind at the drive-thru scouring my car for the last nickle I need to pay for my morning coffee. <br /><br />What does happen to me is the occasional recovered memory - it's not de je vous, but some weird synapse that has refused to function for a week - day - sometimes years. <br /><br />We all have these moments. Sometimes it's noticeable, because you've spent all day trying to recall a movie, song, actor - only to have the answer suddenly arrive at 2am as you are drifting off to sleep. These struggles and recalls don't really bother me. Usually these are things that I really didn't ever need to remember - but more importantly - things I didn't want to remember.<br /><br />But cash? Have you ever seen these published lists? There are people who have "forgotten" something upwards of a few grand. If I misplace so much as a $20, you can bet I'm going through every pocket on every pair of pants I own.<br /><br />My recalled memories are of this second sort: I can't believe I've forgotten them. These are the gems that, as a mom, people tell you "I hope you're writing these down." to which you respond "Of course I am." But being a slacker mom - I'm totally not.<br /><br />So now - when one comes to me, I'm going to post it here - whatever I remember, how accurate it is - how old it was...<br /><br />I'm gonna make the memory bank real again.<br /><br />My first withdrawl:<br />8 or 9 months ago, shortly after Nick started his new school, he came home one day and - with full audience of mom and dad sitting in the family room his tiny 3 year-old voice announces:<br />"I want some damn raisins."<br />Now, to our credit, neither of us laughed out loud or shrieked at him. A couple of jaws hit the ground, but in my version of the story we were quick to recover and I very calmly said:<br />"I didn't hear you Nick, what did you say?"<br />He didn't miss a beat: "I want some damn raisins."<br /><br />Thank you daddy - who dropped his chin to his chest and covered his snicker, leaving me to fend for myself.<br /><br />"Nick, I don't think I know what kind of raisins those are. Can you tell me what that word means?"<br /><br />"Yes. It means 'raisins' in Spanish."<br /><br />"No, it doesn't. Don't say it again."<br /><br />You know, I can't remember if he ever got his raisins.Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12933340694446513166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837127704021162761.post-9356782233668465912009-06-29T17:03:00.001-07:002009-06-29T17:38:57.149-07:00What a long strange weekend it's beenWho knew that trying to live life to the fullest with a 4 year old could be so much fun? If you saw my <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">FB</span> status Friday morning, you know we had a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">heckuva</span> day planned. But as always, the unplanned moments are so much better.<br /><br />First order of business was breakfast. In spite of my attempts to lure him to an actual restaurant, Nick wanted Starbucks for breakfast. I guess yogurt and a scone are every bit as good as pancakes with whipped cream, right? What should have been a simple breakfast turned into an event when we walked in to see two of Park Ridge's Finest having their morning coffee. (No cop jokes please - I know these two guys and they are great police officers, and PR is lucky to have them... ) but back on topic now -<br /><br />Nick wanted to say hello, and because they are such good people, they indulged him. They invited him to sit and eat breakfast with them. He ate, speaking only when asked questions (this is NOT like my Nick at all), and simply stared at those shiny badges. When we all left, and they waved enthusiastically after our car, he was beside himself. 4 or 5 blocks later, looking practically love-struck he reported: "Mom, that was so amazing I can't even stop smiling." Now that this story has been saved for all posterity, I will pull it out the first time he runs away from the police, and point out that he used to LOVE the police.<br /><br />All very exciting for the first hour and a half of the day!<br /><br />Next, it was off to the library to return Magic Tree House books 15, 16, and 17. Nick very deliberately lined them up in a row for the librarians on the return counter, then RAN to the stacks. He knows exactly where those books are, and which ones he wants to find. Because the CPL has a kid's summer reading club, I started asking the children's librarian questions. Skeptically he eyed Nick and <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">referred</span> me to the "Picture Book" section of the reading club. Until Nick started reading "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Buffalo</span> before Breakfast" right then and there. Only then did the librarian point out that on July 30 the parent/child book club will be discussing #21 "Civil War on Sunday." - All things Abraham Lincoln in honor of the 200<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">th</span> <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">bday</span> this year -<br /><br />So I explained to Nick what a book club discussion was, and the librarians told him "You will probably be the littlest one there." Nick promptly told him "I'm the littlest one lots of times, that's <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">ok</span>." So we took FOUR - (wow, that was a big deal) books home with us, and got through chapters one and two before it was time for.... OUR FIRST PIANO LESSON.<br /><br />We walked down the alley towards Mr. Shack's house, and I talked to Nick about listening, not talking so much, following instructions, being polite... Mr. Shack is close to, if not already 80. He taught me piano more than 30 years ago. Kind of a neighborhood icon. As we rounded the corner we spotted him riding up on his bike(yep). Nick left my side instantly and bolted to see him. They went in, and I sat on the attached porch - just in case Mr. Shack needed to call the lesson a bit early (one never can tell with a 4 year old). There was no need to worry. Nick impressed us both by playing the opening two measures of Beethoven's Fifth. (Silly mom, I told grandpa later that it was his ninth - - Nick called me out.)<br /><br />The only moment I nearly laughed out loud is when Mr. Shack made the error of asking Nick if he could do the letters backwards. Of course - in music that only means g-f-e-d-c-b-a. But if you've ever met Nick, you know the ABC's backwards is one of his first, and still the finest parlor trick. He now sings the whole thing to the ABC tune - been doing it since he was two. Mr. Shack listened to the whole thing, then - without so much as a giggle said, "That's impressive, but in music you only need to start at g." I know he was astonished because he mentioned it to my parents on the way to church a couple of days later.<br /><br />Because Nick is Nick, Mr. Shack gave him a rather unusual first song to learn: Ode to Joy by Beethoven. Turns out Beethoven used all white keys for that one, which in retrospect maybe we shouldn't have told Nick. We came home with a book that had the first measure written down for Nick to practice. As of this writing on Monday night, Nick has figured out the next three measures himself.<br /><br />So - on Friday - after breakfast with the police (not The Police), a trip to the library and a piano lesson... it was only 11:30 am and we still had a lot to do. The Planetarium was next. Been there with Nick before. I know his favorites - - I thought this would be easy. Who knew Elmo would be there?<br /><br />More to follow...Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12933340694446513166noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837127704021162761.post-20277816785853512742009-06-01T13:22:00.000-07:002009-06-01T15:47:01.143-07:00Third time's the charm?<p>There is an interesting phenominon that I recall from my days doing library research for school papers. I don't know if it is, in fact a rule, but I very distinclty remember being taught that if you could find something in "common print" (not scholarly journals) 3 times, then it is considered common knowledge and you need not cite a source. I mean, if I were in Jr. High writing a paper on the life of Shakespeare, would I have to footnote the source I used for his birthday? No. Anyone could find that information anywhere.</p>If, in today's internet age this is still the case, I am on the lookout for the third source in the following series:<br /><br /><p>Americans Largely Silent as Their Nation is Systematically Destroyed <a href="http://canadafreepress.com/index.php/article/9607">http://canadafreepress.com/index.php/article/9607</a></p><a href="http://english.pravda.ru/opinion/columnists/107459-1/">American capitalism gone with a whimper </a>- May 2009, Pravda<br /><br /><p>The variety of sources is important I think: The conservative Canadian Free Press and the self-described leftist-leaning Pravda. Now, both are editorials - but interesting similarity of message half a world apart. </p>I recommend reading both - but in case you don't have the time, the universal theme is that Americans are being lulled into mindless complacency buy a never-ending series of government entitlements and handouts. Apparently, both sides of the globe can now see Americans not just as ignorant and rude, but also stupid and lazy. We will buy whatever the government is selling as long as they promise us that we will start getting stuff for free one day.<br /><br />What do you think?<br /><br /><div></div>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12933340694446513166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837127704021162761.post-60489190146838971002009-05-13T09:32:00.000-07:002009-05-13T09:54:20.347-07:00God Bless Mary Pope Osborne!Nick was one of those odd kids who one day, with very little warning, just started to read. We thought he had just memorized his favorite books like most kids do, until he started reading bill boards, the back of his dad's shirts and road signs. But it isn't easy to keep a kid like that interested in reading. He was only 3, so his attention span couldn't take chapter books, but he was way beyond board books, and most picture books - adorable though they may be - are meant for grown-ups to read to kids. So we began with the "Easy Readers," which bored him. It got to the point where reading was a forced activity just to calm him down before bed.<br /><br />I started searching - - after he turned 4 I thought I could get him interested in elemetary chapter books. He did like all the Roald Dahl books, and we read books that had movies also. We read Willy Wonka, then watched the movie (the Gene Wilder version - -Johnny Depp creeped me out - but I digress). We read James and the Giant Peach, then watched the movie. Peter Pan, Treasure Island, Robin Hood, Jungle Book... but I was running out of age appropriate materials (as you can tell by the Treasure Island judgement error).<br /><br />Then The Magic Tree House began. I can't remember where we got the first two books - if you are the person who gave them to me, allow me to give you a cyber-kiss (smooooch) right now! We are on book #9 Dolphins at Daybreak with no end to the enthusiasm in sight.<br /><br />Nick can talk your ear off about these books if you ask him too. Jack, Annie, Morgan leFay, Peanut the mouse... Ninjas, cro-magnons, mummies... what he has learned is amazing. AND - because the stories tie into one another, he can remember - and is constantly having reinforced - the ties between the books. <br /><br />Last Saturday night we had people over... built a campfire, made s'mores and stayed up late. At 9pm (an hour past bedtime) I told him he had two choices: Stay up even later at the party, eating more candy and marshmallows, OR if we went to bed right then, we could read an extra chapter... he picked reading. That's right, Nick chose Magic Tree House over S'mores.... can't get a bigger 'thumbs up' than that from a 4 year old!!!!Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12933340694446513166noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837127704021162761.post-56751308693990656872009-05-07T13:00:00.000-07:002010-11-08T09:15:32.767-08:00Art is in the eye of the beholder.<div>People laugh when I tell them my 4 year old son L-O-V-E-S going to The Art Institute. Honestly, he likes it more than I do. Until February of this year, I hadn't been there since about 1995. Bunch of paintings that I could see in pictures, and stuff I didn't understand. Not now though.</div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>Thanks to "The Little Einsteins" (and if you have a preschooler, you've seen it), Nick is fully enthralled with (in no particular order) Monet, Cassatt, Seurat, Munch, Warhol, O'Keeffe, Van Gogh, Manet, Kandinsky, Klimt... <em>and</em> - unlike his mommy, he can tell the pictures apart. His favorite, by far, is a piece titled "The Great Wave off Kanigowa." Unfortunately, it an ancient Japanese print on paper, so it is rarely displayed. Too fragile. We've been to the AI twice, and so far, no luck.<br /></div><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div>We missed the huge Edvard Munch exhibit that just closed, and The Modern Wing isn't open yet. So what's a mom to do? Well, we just let the art take us where it would. Nick saw a sarcophagus, ancient mosaic, Grecian urns, Frank Lloyd Wright furniture and of course, his old favorites - the impressionists. We wandered through the Asian art and he was impressed with the Japanese prints on paper. After turning his head this way and that to view One Chinese monochromatic print (by Wong) he declared "It looks like thunder."<br /><br />One well-meaning AI employee was trying to entice him into the African Tribal Gallery by telling him about a wooden figure of a man with nails stinking out of him. I thought he'd like the tribal masks, but as we began down the hall, I could feel the drag of a reluctant hand-holder. Looking back, I saw that the hand that wasn't holding mine was covering his eyes. When I asked what was up, he said he didn't WANT to see the man with nails in him. So we didn't. She meant well. I'm sure most 4 year old boys would want to see that. Nick just isn't most 4 year old boys.<br /><br />After being perfectly well behaved (I told him we could never come to the Art Institute again if he didn't act nicely) in the Garden Restaurant - white table cloths and all - we stopped by one more set of rooms on the way out. It was there that he saw the piece that he now obsesses over. It's called "Spectrum" by an artist named Kelly.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifEJpSehC4XzyWTu6eQaWY52e3aZ3Mx5eS5sx9dR1CWnQDqskz-DRXNfP-eNXujzvhrdvWN7WkFkGBYQTpH_LsSytco-LQR00yWVCMSfC81iwqUvwNNeom8MHz_A21LFYsM3gIG9EaSpA/s1600/kelly_spectrum_200.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 230px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 230px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5537228356684694914" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifEJpSehC4XzyWTu6eQaWY52e3aZ3Mx5eS5sx9dR1CWnQDqskz-DRXNfP-eNXujzvhrdvWN7WkFkGBYQTpH_LsSytco-LQR00yWVCMSfC81iwqUvwNNeom8MHz_A21LFYsM3gIG9EaSpA/s320/kelly_spectrum_200.jpg" /></a><br />When we came home, he instantly wanted to "make art." And if you ask me, art is precisely what was created in our house last night!<span style="FONT-STYLE: italic"></span><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.ncssm.edu/library/art.spectrum.jpg"></a><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0TbG1dXX_wbGZ4pnpzl3BQthbyGE7skxfYIHCbJydElk70e51Ta3On4EOF1leeOjbxXT6wJpnatjsP7RcqWfR5JLuc4ItFSW_U7lFwPaFmDc3mAEyY-OKXXiemr3ql2cO7JHCvoacdqU/s1600-h/P1000297.jpg"><img style="MARGIN: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 307px; CURSOR: pointer" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5333262334840111970" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0TbG1dXX_wbGZ4pnpzl3BQthbyGE7skxfYIHCbJydElk70e51Ta3On4EOF1leeOjbxXT6wJpnatjsP7RcqWfR5JLuc4ItFSW_U7lFwPaFmDc3mAEyY-OKXXiemr3ql2cO7JHCvoacdqU/s320/P1000297.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div></div>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12933340694446513166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837127704021162761.post-77167459577658210412009-05-03T10:11:00.000-07:002009-05-03T10:15:51.678-07:00Fine art and the 4 year oldI can't stop giggling. I am eavesdropping on the educational tester asking Nick about Monet, Renoir and Van Gogh. He was able to explain how Monet did the haystacks in different light, and that Degas did all the ballerinas, and that The Bedroom is his favorite Van Gogh. However (thankfully) he has no idea who Shakespeare is, what a Capella means, or about the word 'impressionism.' I am giggling because she seemed generally surprised that he didn't.Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12933340694446513166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837127704021162761.post-27791968770925345672009-05-01T04:49:00.000-07:002009-05-01T07:59:24.317-07:00Last Sunday: Park Ridge Civic Orchestra. We were very near the front, and Nick was pretty excited about the Brahms concert. What I didn't know was that we'd be listening to "A German Requiem" - yup, it was all in German. Didn't seem to bother Nick at all.<br /><br />Observations of a preschooler during the concert:<br />- from a certain angle, a harp very much resembles a tree.<br />- there are so many string instruments you can't see the woodwinds or brass<br />- apparently, it is NOT ok to watch the adorable 4 year old in his tie transfixed by the show - I was admonished to watch the conductor<br />- A 7 movement requiem "is even shorter" than Vivaldi's the Four Seasons (he believes it has to do with the lack of an intermission)<br /><br />After the concert we went for ice cream at the Picwick Restaurant. Because, if you're from this area, you know: where else would you go? While we were there several of the musicians came in to eat. One was carrying a violin case, and he immediately had to tell her he liked the concert. After that he asked nearly everyone who walked in if they were a musician. Of course, we had the table right by the door, so that made it rather difficult to actually EAT the ice cream. He ended up drinking it instead.<br /><br />But, we had one last surprise for the day. After paying the bill I took him up the stairs to the closing reception... most everyone was gone already, and they were starting to clean up, but there was one person left. You'd have thought it was Jimi Hendrix - - but no - -it was.... (wait for it)... the <em>conductor!</em><br /><br />For the first time in his short life, Nick was speechless. Absolutely flabberghasted! When he did find his voice however, the poor guy couldn't get away! Nick asked if they could please play Peer Gynt next time. He started to hum it, and I couldn't tell who was more impressed at that point.<br /><br />So - for the past week - he's been conducting. He announces the piece, conducts the crescendos, then takes a bow when he's done. Guess we'll be starting music lessons this summer. This morning he conducted Peer Gynt, Morning Mood by Greig, A Brahms Concerto, and the Nutcracker Suite.<br /><br />Quite a morning in my house!<br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzJgsjuantuPCU9HM-GSuCn_nv1bVjhcv6qZC3UYy_NzvwjtwHHNdBriuJD54wU6q2s2C6EYWiPpJDj7dULTQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12933340694446513166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837127704021162761.post-25837185018197976132009-04-27T19:29:00.000-07:002009-04-27T19:34:32.628-07:00He's four and a half. I think we're the only ones I know with a perfectly healthy child who still use the baby monitor. It's not that we're concerned about hearing something go wrong - - it's that he can be so blasted funny!<br /><br />Nearly every night after being in bed a bit we hear the sing-songy "Can someone come up and snuggle with me?"<br /><br />I know we should probably say no once in a while, but he's still so cute. When one of us goes up, he'll hand over 2 or 3 of his stuffed animals (NOT new bunny, mind you), and inform us which of the "guys" we have to snuggle that night. God forbid he wakes up in the morning and the guys are still there - then you're busted.<br /><br />'New bunny' is a story unto himself. Not much time - daddy has extracted himself from the grip of the 4 year old - - without a story about Rocky and Merle the flying squirrels - - yet another story - - but we'll talk later about that.Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12933340694446513166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837127704021162761.post-64566353688849502642009-04-25T08:56:00.001-07:002009-04-25T09:04:07.867-07:00Today was our first baseball game - - T Ball to be exact. I knew it would be funny, but never did I dream that tears would be rolling down my face.<br /><br />It rained on us. Which made the fields <span style="font-style: italic;">just</span> muddy enough that all the kids got a bit dirty - but no standing puddles, no one getting soaked. Nick informed the little girl next to him that they didn't need umbrellas, cuz they had hats.<br /><br />Coach Dennis is pheee-nominal with these itty-bitty ones. I never knew how you would <span style="font-style: italic;">teach</span> the basics - - but he did it. They kids worked on picking up grounders and throwing and hitting.... but, ooops - - forgot to teach them to run the bases. A kid standing on 1st base would run out into right field cuz he was being chased by the kid who just hit the ball. One just kept running back and forth between 2nd and 3rd base. Next practice: base running! I think we may have to devote one whole practice to running the bases while keeping the batting helmet from falling down over your eyes.<br /><br />In the car, Nick told me he "Really, really, really, really, really (etc. etc.) likes baseball. His favorite part? Point, step, throw... (thank goodness - he needs the practice).Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12933340694446513166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837127704021162761.post-49039615774231298492009-04-22T17:39:00.001-07:002009-04-22T17:48:33.954-07:00A Small World? No, NOT the annoying song, the annoying "culturally influential."A new 'networking' group, A Small World, from their own website:<br />"... private international community of culturally influential people who are connected by three degrees. " From their 'Membership Information' link : "Membership to ASMALLWORLD is by invitation only, which is part of what makes this network unique, and the connections authentic. <span style="font-weight: bold;">Trusted and loyal </span>ASW members who <span style="font-weight: bold;">meet certain criteria</span> have the privilege of inviting a limited number of their friends to the network (emphasis mine)."<br /><br />Is it just me, or is this screaming sorority rush all over again? At what point in one's adult life does one self-determine to be "culturally influential?" <br /><br />Although it does make me giggle picturing a single cyber-geek starting this group just for the buzz, then laughing his ass off in his mom's basement as all the self-important ones clamor to get in!Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12933340694446513166noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-837127704021162761.post-20615188766306524032009-04-20T17:41:00.000-07:002009-04-22T16:54:49.885-07:00How did I get here?So here I am... fabulous working mom. MBA, corner office - fancy title - - would trade it all to be one of the ones I see walking by my office pulling their kids in the wagon.<br /><br />Even now, he's older. Not quite 5. I have a year before he's off to school full time, and I see that as the most important year. Imagine what I could do with him in a year. The walks we could take, the concerts and museums (you have to know this kid).<br /><br />He has been pestering me to go see the Edvard Munch exhibit at the Art Institute of Chicago. Of course - Munch - when the current position has me surrounded by Norwegians - - I try to avoid all things Nordic on my days off... but no - not my kid. Munch - and Griegg. All about the wedding day at Troll House. What's up with the Trolls?<br /><br />Anyway - I started out just like anyone else - HS, then College - got a job - then married... a few years later a baby. I had no idea I was going to be one of "those" women who wanted <em>only</em> to be a mom. But there are surpirses in store for us in this life, aren't there?<br /><br />So, I guess "How did I get here?" isn't the right question at all. Rather: Why on earth am I <em>still</em> here, and where to I go now?Laurahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12933340694446513166noreply@blogger.com0