Summer Camp Time!

Summer's in full swing, and that means camp for George, though he has scaled back a bit from past years. He used to go to camp pretty much all summer, but his tastes have become more specific and he's narrowed it down to just a few that he really loves this year--all at our Discovery Center. Last week it was "Myths and Legends" week, and the camp for his age group was Mythical Creatures. They learned about vampires, dragons, werewolves, etc. It was extremely well done, with crafts that even the usually craft-averse George loved, and really cool themed snacks that they helped make of course, like dragon cookies and werewolf cupcakes.

The counselor was awesome, and really enjoyed George. A counselor who was not so on top of her game might not have, since George was already something of an expert on mythical creatures, and also has never been the type to keep silent in a classroom setting if he disagrees or has a particular opinion! For example, one day I stayed for the beginning of camp, and the counselor was talking about mermaids. She said that there had been sightings of mermaids reported throughout history, including by Christopher Columbus. George raised his hand and when called on, he announced "But you can't trust anything that Christopher Columbus said, because he was a liar!" Then another kid jumped in and said "Yeah, and he didn't really discover America! There were already people here!" Without missing a beat, the counselor said, "Well, Christopher Columbus isn't here to defend himself, so let's leave him alone for now..." and took the conversation right back to mermaids, which seemed fine with everyone--they had gotten to speak their peace!

On the last day they wore costumes and got their faces painted. George chose to dress as a vampire, and he had a truly inspired idea for his face-painting:
















Here's a closer look:
















Creepy, huh?

And here he is with his counselor:
















The kids paraded around a bit with a Chinese dragon, had refreshments, and received award certificates. George's was for "Most Informed", which didn't surprise me one bit!































Next up: Galumpha camp!

Water, Water, Everywhere...

I guess the universe decided that I needed a little water to go with all that sunshine I've been getting this month.

First, our hot water heater broke, flooding our (very full) basement with up to 5 inches of water in the deeper parts. Then, on a particularly rainy day, it started raining into our bedroom (which is on the 2nd floor, so no relation to the basement issue). Oh yeah, and our downstairs toilet started to leak.

The hot water heater broke when I was home between trips to CA and FL. Bob and I were going out for brunch (so, late morning) and to run errands, and as we were leaving I heard water running down in the basement. It sounded like the washing machine, and I was pretty surprised and impressed that Bob was already doing laundry that day. Fortunately, rather than just heading straight out the door, I mentioned it... and was none too happy to hear that he had not in fact started the washing machine. I rushed down there to find water spewing out of the top of the hot water heater (I later learned this was because the "core" blew, though I still don't really know what that means--other than that we were out one hot water heater, which needed to be replaced), and an ever-less-shallow lake covering the entire basement floor.

Doing my best to remain calm, I called Bob down there, and we started trying to figure out how to turn the water off. I thought I remembered the water main being on the far side of the basement, on the wall closest to the street. Not even thinking about the possibility of getting electrocuted, I trudged over there through increasingly deep water (at least I was in my rubber-soled Dansko clogs). Bob followed; while I looked for the water main, he headed straight for the hot water heater, and actually found the right spigot to turn off.

I knew there was a drain somewhere in the floor over where I was (from a previous flooding); I found it, but we couldn't get it open. Fortunately, a friend who is also a handyman was able to come over and open it up for us, and the water did drain out pretty quickly once that was the case. He's the one who brought up the possibility of electrocution. YIKES! But fortunately, we were all fine. If a little wet.

But then there was the matter of All That Stuff to deal with.

First, let me say that I am an incurable pack rat. Have been since I was a kid. I really have a hard time parting with things--not like those people on tv who save the wrapper that their Big Mac came in, or anything. But really, I know I save way too many things. I envy my sister, whose house is, I would venture to say, about 100% clutter-free. I don't know how she does it.

Anyway... all of that to say that my basement would have had way too much stuff in it anyway, but it had even more because last year when we renovated the attic for Bob I lost all of my storage space up there. I did get rid of some stuff, but a lot of it ended up in the basement. And then there were the many boxes of Bob's things that we hadn't found a place for that were also on the floor in there. Plus boxes of things from our wedding (extra embossed napkins, which I thought would be fun to save and break out at an anniversary party somewhere down the line, etc.). And of course, a TON of toys, because before that became our storage room it was George's playroom.

So began the task of going through all of it. Which was a task we were planning to undertake this winter anyway, to get the house more organized before the baby joins us and we start acquiring even more stuff. But this wasn't exactly how we were hoping to go about it! Also, I really couldn't start right away, because I was quite exhausted from my trip *and* I needed to save my energy for a 4-hour gig we had the next day. (The two-hour gig we had in the middle of the holidays just about did me in, because I wasn't well rested for it. It took me days to recover, and I didn't have days to recover from this one because George and I were going to be off on our next adventure very soon.) And Bob couldn't do it without me, because honestly, it was mostly my stuff. It was completely overwhelming.

But, you know what? As overwhelmed as I felt by the monumental task of sorting through all of it (and the short time frame), and by knowing that I was going to have to part with a lot of stuff (which, as I said, is not something I do very willingly), I actually didn't really feel all that upset. In fact, I was feeling, overall, blessed and even lucky.

Why? Because this all happened at the same time as the earthquake in Haiti.

I couldn't bring myself to watch much coverage of the devastation there, but you really couldn't help but be aware of it. Thinking of all of those people trapped in the rubble of their homes, or wandering around looking for loved ones, with no shelter and no food and in many cases in need of medical attention.... What, compared to that, were a few dozen boxes of wet stuff that I hadn't seemed to miss much in the last year anyway??? Not a whole heck of a lot. I really felt that, and it really gave me the strength to do what needed to be done.

So after I'd made it through and recovered from the gig (which went surprisingly well: a 4-hour gig when you're well rested is infinitely easier than a 2-hour gig when you're not, I found), Bob and I headed down there to attack the mess. It was a little bit brutal, I won't deny. One thing that stands out in particular that was tough to toss was the original trunk (it looked like a big, black suitcase) from my dad's very, very old Ford, which had a note with it that my dad had written about it sometime before he died. The fact that it was soaking wet might've been ok, but it had started to mold a little bit and the whole thing smelled bad. Bob thought that maybe we could salvage it, but I didn't see how, and besides, I was in a rare mode of being willing to get rid of things. So I saved the note, but out went the trunk. Along with a ton of clothes, books, papers, supplies, some stuffed animals, a beautiful (thick and quite large) area rug, and I don't-really-want-to-think-of-what-all-else. I actually felt really bad throwing clothes away, but they were soaking wet and would have needed to be cleaned before being donated, and I truly did not have it in me wash or dry clean them all. It might have been different if I hadn't been leaving town again the next day, or if I hadn't been pregnant and running on limited energy anyway (or if we hadn't also had to do about 8 loads of laundry because we had mounds of it down there that had been waiting to be either washed or folded), but there you have it--that's all I could handle.

We put bags and bags and boxes of things out by the side of the house, for Bob to haul to the curb on garbage day after I was long gone.

There are big spots of mold on the floor that will need to be dealt with, and that aren't getting any smaller, but they will just have to wait.

Focusing on the positive. I'm trying to retain that sense of feeling blessed and lucky for how wonderful my life really is overall.... We really do have so very much. And feeling good about finally having just a little bit less!

More holiday spirit

Man, I am so full of holiday spirit this year... could it be because I'm (drumroll, in case you don't know) pregnant?!

Whatever the reason, I've been totally in the mood for Christmas since even before my birthday, in early December, which never happens. (It usually dawns on me that Christmas is coming less than a week before it arrives, when I'm finally done with my semester.) You might think this means that my decorations have all been put up and my presents are bought, wrapped, and sent out, along with my holiday cards... but you'd probably only really think that if you didn't know me.

In spite of all that spirit, I think I've decided not to get a real tree this year. Our plan was to get a fake tree for the man cave, on which we would put all of my husband's ornaments, and the customary real one downstairs, near the front door, for all of mine. But once we decked out the man cave and set up the fake tree it just looked so awesome that we've pretty much decided to move Christmas up there this year. Besides, we can't find the box with my husband's ornaments, and although we're hoping it will surface sooner or later, I thought I might just as well hang all of mine up there. So, there will be no stockings hung on the mantle downstairs (but they look so great hanging on the shelf near the tree upstairs), and no tree when I walk in the front door (ok, I'm thinking of getting a little potted plant for the spot). But ever since we made the man cave, in early 2009, we've spent most of our free time there anyway--I can't remember the last time we hung out in the living room--so it kind of seems right.

I've also been really into holiday activities with the homeschoolers this year, the latest of which was making gingerbread houses today:

Danny, one of the younger ones, was stuffing candy in his pockets; when it started to fall out he did the logical thing and transferred it to his boot:

This house ended up being a joint effort by George and me, because he got bored with it after awhile:

Gingerbread (ok, Graham Cracker) Row:

Voila, our Christmas table centerpiece for this year. Who knows: it may end up being the only decoration downstairs....

Where does a homeschooler get lice?!

You can guess from the title of this post why I've been too busy to write of late. Yes, my kid got lice. And I never did figure out from where--no one else in all the people we know came forward to say that they had had it as well. (Of course I'm very glad that everyone I know was spared!!)

This was our first experience with lice, so I'm sorry to say that it took me a long, long time to figure out what it was. Poor George had been scratching his head for quite some time (weeks, at least). I had even checked his scalp multiple times, but didn't know what I was looking for. He has sensitive skin, and his scalp often gets itchy when the weather gets colder, so I assumed it was that. However, after we'd been careful to use medicated shampoo for several weeks and his head was clearly itching even more than before, I finally took him to the doctor to see what it was. Honestly, it did not even occur to me that he had lice (since I had checked his head and hadn't seen anything that looked like lice to me).

His regular doctor was busy, but we were able to get in to see a new doctor. As she looked through his scalp, I came up next to her to see. Almost right away we saw a rather large louse scurrying across his scalp. Ewwwwwwwwww! The doctor and I both jumped back in some degree of startlement and/or horror. George himself remained perfectly calm. I was trying to remain calm for his sake but was completely freaked out, honestly!

The doctor sent us on our way with instructions to get the medicated shampoo from the drugstore and to cut his shaggy hair a bit to make treatment easier, and off we went. In the car, my little stoic broke down, as he realized that he wasn't going to be able to play with his friends for at least the next few days and that on top of that he was probably going to have to get a haircut.

What really got him, though, he said, was how the doctor had reacted to him when she saw the lice. I (quite guiltily) pointed out that I, too, had jumped sky high when I saw, but he (through his tears!) very sweetly exonerated me, telling me that I didn't have any professional training to deal with that kind of situation. He further clarified: "Doctors are supposed to be prepared for that sort of thing. I don't care what she saw on me; she never should have reacted like that! If she were examining me and happened to see an ALIEN crawling on me, she should have said [imagine him speaking in a totally calm voice] 'Oh, I see, you have an alien crawling on you. Let me make a note of that.'" Sweet boy! He was so right! And though he had me laughing, and had absolved me of all wrong-doing, I felt like the Worst Mother in the World for having jumped and shrieked in horror and having no doubt contributed to his feeling so wretched!!

We went straight to the CVS, where I proceeded to buy pretty much every lice treatment on the shelves. The shampoo (actually two different brands of it), the after-shampoo, a comb-through solution, a furniture/car upholstery spray... and then headed home to use it all. By the way, if this ever happens to us again (um, knock on wood that it won't!), I will skip all of these products and go right for the olive oil. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

When we got home, I read more carefully the instructions on the shampoo and on the after-shampoo treatment. I was still in kind of a fog of horror about the whole thing, but managed to figure out that the shampoo was claiming only to kill live lice, while the other stuff was claiming to kill any live nits as well. In my panic I decided to use both, though I was slightly worried about the strength of the chemicals in them (there are warnings all over them) so I didn't leave the shampoo on for 10 minutes as directed--I just rinsed it right off and then proceeded to cut his hair myself. This took a long time (he has inherited my deceptively voluminous hair, and it had been getting quite long), and I hated doing it as much as he hated having it done. He cried some more and was feeling utterly humiliated (still reeling from the doctor's reaction and also the thought that he'd be isolated from his friends for awhile, but also devastated that he had to have his hair cut because he was trying to grow it out even longer).

Next I applied the other solution, I think it was the CVS version of Nix, which I did leave on for the full 10 minutes. It promised it would kill everything on his head. Then I dutifully used the lice comb that came with one of the kits, but honestly, I wasn't getting much out, which I thought was kind of weird, since I knew he'd had the lice for weeks.

Anyway, I stripped his bed and put on new sheets, feeling rather confident that the Nix solution had rid his sweet little head of the unwanted invaders, and then started the monumental task of laundering every sheet, pillowcase, item-of-clothing-that-may-have-been-worn-since-last-being-washed (including coats and hoodies), and towel in our house--with 5 people in the family and a hot tub and pool, plus lots of guests on a regular basis, I had towels pretty much all over the house and I had no idea which ones might be harboring a nit... (In my state of denial over the end of summer, I had not yet laundered and put away all of our summer pool towels, which we don't wash with every single use).

Fortunately (um, for me, if not for her!) it was the day that my house cleaner comes, so she vacuumed thoroughly all the furniture in the house and helped me bag up in plastic all of his stuffed animals. I then pretty much quarantined him to his room, but with the welcome news that I would buy him some new books *and* he could play on the computer all he wanted, even on non-educational sites. I figured if he went to school he'd be kept home for a few days, so it seemed fair to excuse him from all schoolwork while he was being treated.

While I assumed the Nix had done what it had promised and killed everything on his head, and that the dead lice had probably all washed down the drain, I could see that I hadn't removed all the nits, the little white egg shells that are stuck to the hair shaft. (They look like tiny flakes of dandruff, but they are really stuck to the hair and won't easily move or dislodge when you try to make them with your finger.) If there were any live lice inside of these eggs they were supposedly also killed by the Nix, but I didn't like the idea of dead lice egg shells still stuck to my kid's head. The comb wasn't getting them, though. After phone calls to several friends (including my sister) who had experience with these things, and a conversation with one of the nurses at the doctors' office, and a fair amount of obsessive web searching, I headed back to the CVS to get a metal lice comb (instead of the plastic ones that all come with the shampoo and other stuff).

When I got back I completely saturated his scalp with olive oil, and then wrapped his head as best I could with saran wrap, and then made him stay like that for about a couple of hours. Poor thing! He hated it. He said it was really itchy, and the oil kept dripping down his neck. He at one point had the bright idea to make a sort of scarf for himself out of toilet paper, which worked pretty well.

After more than two hours, I set about combing through his hair with the metal comb. I didn't expect that anything but the tiny white egg shells would be coming out, since I was sure that the super-toxic chemicals I had subjected my kid to had done their job. NOPE! I got all kinds of things out with that combing! Nits, tiny-baby lice (which are light brown, like the full grown ones), and full size lice, both dead and ALIVE. YUCK! You bet I was horrified, but you can also bet that I didn't show it one bit this time! I spent about an hour combing through every centimeter of his hair, over and over, until I wasn't getting anything else out.

For the next week or so, I continued washing his sheets and blankets and pillowcases (and towels and clothes) every day, and I continued the olive oil treatments every other day, though on these follow-up treatments I left it on for only a half-hour and usually skipped the saran wrap. After less than a week I was no longer getting anything live out of his hair, but of course wasn't happy until I wasn't getting anything at all out of there, which was the case the last couple of times I did it. I will still probably do it one more time, just in case, even though it's been over two weeks since we started treatment--'cause I'm kind of obsessive that way!

Amazingly, no one else in our household got it, even though we actually often share towels (especially pool towels) and even brushes sometimes! It's truly amazing that I didn't get it, since I often lie down next to him for a bedtime chat or story at night.

So, that's my lice story. More than a week of endless laundry, vacuuming, olive oil, saran wrap, ineffective chemicals, tears.... And may you never have occasion for it to be of any use to you!

Fall, Schmall... Or, my own little bitty pity party

I hate fall. There, I said it.

I live in a place where autumn is greeted with general enthusiasm and even excitement. Spectacular fall colors blanket gently rolling hills in almost every direction. But where everyone else sees beauty, all I see are signs of impending doom and gloom--namely, of the five or six unrelenting months of winter that are about to descend upon us with a choke hold. Months and months of bitter cold and a sun that, when you can manage to see it, looks like it needs life-support.

I just can't seem to get down with the whole seasons thing, despite the fact that I've lived here for 15 years now. The California girl in me not only wants it to be summer year-round, but truly thinks that it ought to be.

My pool is still open (though I did finally cave in and turn off the heat after that last pool party last Thursday--was it really just last Thursday?), and my bathing suit still hangs from a hook in my bathroom, along with my pool towel. Somehow I can't help but feel, each year, that if I don't put my bathing suit away and don't close the pool, autumn simply *can't* come.

It never works, of course, and I inevitably end up with a very cold pool full of dead leaves that are really a pain to deal with. But it doesn't stop me from trying, year after year.

Don't get me wrong--I do try to make myself like fall. I try to muster up some enthusiasm; I really do. I try to talk myself into getting excited about pumpkins and Halloween costumes, and hay rides, and turkey, and holiday parties.... But would I put those things off forever if I could still be enjoying the warm sunshine, and tennis, and swimming, and backyard BBQs? You bet I would. Besides, I can't help thinking about how throughout the fall, all over Hawaii, for example, people are enjoying Halloween and Thanksgiving and holiday parties just fine, and in between it all they head to the beach for the afternoon.

I'm sitting here shivering in my drafty old house, hoping for a heat wave, but knowing that not long from now a day like today--or an evening like tonight (42 degrees)--will feel positively balmy.

So, go back to California, you say? Here's the thing--I can't really do that, for a variety of very good reasons (among them three children who need to stay near their other parents!), and even if I could, I'm not sure I'd want to. I actually love it here. I have an amazing community of friends, and I've really built a life for myself that I love. Not to mention the fact that the cost of living is such that I can live it up here in a way that I'd have to be a multi-millionaire to do in CA. It's a wonderful place to be raising a family. Apart from the wretched cold and serious lack of sunshine for about half the year, life is generally pretty easy here. Traffic is practically non-existent ("stuck in traffic" means it may take you five extra minutes to get across town), nowhere is too crowded, crime is low, people are down-to-earth and friendly in a nice, low-key kind of way. Despite the fact that it's a small city, there is plenty of culture. Ok, not New-York-City kind of culture, but enough culture to keep me satisfied most of the time.

So, I guess I'll go crank up the heat a bit, perhaps make myself a cup of hot tea, and remember to keep counting my many blessings. But don't blame me if my mind keeps drifting to how, at least in an alternate universe, I could be counting them just as well on a beach in Hawaii....