Bradstein Household

I challenge you to embarrass me...again

2012-02-09T11:01:00.000-05:00

That's me on the left below... and I will wear this picture of myself across Massachusetts and on my training rides...

...but only if I raise $500 in the next week.

At the same time you embarrass me, you'll honor my uncle, who is standing next to me in that photo. He died far too young of cancer--mesothelioma--but with your support he can still ride with me.

You'll also do his daughter, my brilliant cousin, the honor of being able to again put her father onto my jersey, which she designs pro bono each year.

But wait, there's more...no, seriously, there's something in it for you. The more you give, the more you get...

Get your own jersey to forever mock me with if you contribute $250 or more.

Or, put your face--or a loved one's--on my jersey if you contribute $100 or more.

It's a real win-win for you: embarrass me and fund a cure for cancer.

And, you know, many thanks to my brother for unearthing this image.

Papa Bradstein will ride 200 miles across Massachusetts in two days to help fight cancer. Please support his ride.

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Put a face on the fight against cancer

2012-02-09T10:50:00.000-05:00

Want to honor a cancer survivor? Memorialize a loved one? Put a face on the fight against cancer?

You can do all of these by adding a photo to the jersey that I'll wear across Massachusetts in the Pan-Mass Challenge, where it will be seen by thousands of people, all working to fight cancer. I'll also wear it on training rides throughout the year, bearing witness for those I carry with me, showing their faces and telling their stories.

And if you want to go one step further, you can get a jersey of your own--or to give to a cyclist you know--to spread the word further.

To place a photo on the jersey, simply donate $100 or more to my ride by March 30.

You can get your own jersey when you donate $250 or more by March 30.

I always carry with me the memories of all my family and friends affected by and sometimes lost to cancer. Struggling up hills, freezing through slicing icy winds and sweating through the sauna that is summer in DC, I think of you all, and those thoughts flatten the hills, warm my heart and fill my water bottle with an iced latte. OK...maybe not that last one, but seriously, although I'm carrying all of you with me, it's you who carry me forward.

And I'd love to be able to show all of you to my fellow riders as well.

Please join me on my ride, or send a friend or loved one along with me--donate today.

Papa Bradstein will ride 200 miles across Massachusetts in two days to help fight cancer. Please support his ride.

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Potty like a rockstar

2012-02-08T05:53:00.001-05:00

We have only one only child in our house, although now we have two potty-trained children in our house.

3B is the only one among us who, as the oldest child, was an only child for any period of his life. Mama is a younger sister, I'm the youngest of six and, of course, Jewel is a younger sister too.

It's not that Mama and I weren't loved, it's just that we never had the undivided attention of our parents. I had a simulation of it when I was older, after my siblings had moved out. And back in. And out again. And back in again. And when I wasn't at college when they were out again.

And the timing couldn't have been better: just as I was becoming a teenager and wanted (almost) nothing to do with my parents to assert my independence, I got to be alone with them. Although, in my case, it wasn't them, it was just Mom, since Dad had already died. And her attention was divided, even when we were the only ones in the house, since she still had five other children to pay attention to, worry about, and so forth, even if they weren't there.

And I always had them to learn from, even if they weren't always around. I remember them gathering in the bathroom to teach me to brush my teeth, I remember my brother teaching me how to do laundry, and I'm still learning from them...for example, my sisters constantly help me be a better parent.

Similarly, Jewel has 3B to look up to, and boy, does she. She copies everything he does, even when she has no idea what it means. When he replays a scene from a Scooby Doo movie, yelling, "Fall back!" as he shoots his grappling hook at the ceiling and jumps off the couch, she does the same. When he shows off his dance moves from his p.e. class, she follows right along. She knows her alphabet--and aleph bet--how to count--and how to count by 10s--and so much more just from aping him. And now she's using the potty, just like him.

I'm actually not sure if the motivation came from watching him or not, but it's a fair guess that it did, and he was helpful at times with her potty training, so I'll give him credit. Of course, Mama gets the bulk of the credit for recognizing Jewel was ready, hurrying/carrying her to the potty so many times to help her be successful, and cleaning up her accidents.

Even with all of that help, it's really amazing that in just a few weeks, we've gone from changing diapers to having a potty-trained daughter. She still needs help in the bathroom, but she now gets there pretty much on time every time. Even Mama has said that she was just helping her out, that Jewel figured it all out for herself--with, of course, role models to follow.

Have I mentioned how much I like second children?

Jewel does still wear diapers to nap and sleep through the night, but that's only fair, since she's still in a crib and so can't climb out to get to the potty, even if she did wake up to do so. Since she's still sleeping in our room, since we only have two bedrooms in our house, and since there's not room in our room for another bed, she probably won't be fully potty trained until we move into a new house.

In the houses we're looking at, she'll not just have her own bed, but also her own room. While it will be nice to be able to once again read in bed, keep my clothes in my room instead of in the hall closet and to not have to sneak out like a ninja in the mornings to avoid waking her, I will miss her.

Training, I suppose, for when she and 3B move out, and Mama and I become only parents.

Papa Bradstein will ride 200 miles across Massachusetts in two days to help fight cancer. Please support his ride.

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Pacifier, pacifier! Where art thou, pacifier?

2012-02-06T05:49:00.001-05:00

It's amazing how much Jewel talks now, and it's fun to see her try out new words as she learns them. I will admit, however, that it's a bit more fun when it happens a bit later than 6 a.m. on a weekend day.

On Saturday, we had to get up early to get to 3B's swim lesson, but not quite as early as Jewel rose from her bed. She started off slowly, if not quietly, singing "Down to the Valley to Pray," but as soon as she saw Mama rousting to pluck her out of her crib, Jewel started with the soliloquy.

"I dropped two of my pacies. They fell on the floor. I couldn't reach them. They are down there. Where are they? I can't see them."

And so forth, all the way out the door and down the hall.

The reason Mama was peeling herself off her pillow to extract Jewel was to allow me to sleep in what little I could before swim lessons, since I'm up at 5 every weekday. As for what Jewel was doing? What does she care? Doesn't everybody take a midday nap?

The only problem with Jewel's logic is that she's starting to skip her nap some days, which is fine until about 4 p.m., when she develops a China Syndrome: total nuclear meltdown. All her beautiful words escape her, and she can't understand that she's hungry, tired and cranky, so anything we do to comfort her fails.

She often badgers us for her bottle until we eventually relent, since it's really more for the comfort than for the milk. Sometimes singing will work, although woe be to the parent who picks the wrong song, which might just be the song that worked so well yesterday at the same time. But, fortunately, she will talk enough to say which song she does want...and, of course, which specific pacie she wants if you bring her the wrong one from her quiver of 163 pacies.

All of this, of course, leads us to put her down to sleep earlier, which leads her to wake earlier, which leads us back to the start of this story.

Yes, my whole life has become an "If You Give a Cat a Cupcake" story, which is, like, totally Shakespearean, except not.

Papa Bradstein will ride 200 miles across Massachusetts in two days to help fight cancer. Please support his ride.

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Get under the blankets or on the bike?

2012-02-02T06:12:00.000-05:00

All I really wanted to do was curl up and take a nap yesterday when it was time to leave work. It's my first week back riding my bike to work every day since mid-December. I, of course, also made it my first week back to getting home earlier to help Mama through the witching hour with the kids. That, of course, means that it's my first week back to getting up at 5 a.m.

If you knew me back when--say, in high school--you'd know that I'm not so much of a morning person. And if you knew me in college, you'd know that I am most definitely a nap person. But, yesterday as I was thinking that I'd much rather crawl under the blankets than climb onto my bike, I thought of my high school friend who just lost her mother to breast cancer while she herself is fighting it.

In a message to me, she talked about how tired she was, how hard it was to keep it all together for her young kids, and how she couldn't decide about her mom's service...hat or wig? hat or wig?

Somehow, through it all, she's kept her sparkling wit, demonstrating her true courage through grace under pressure. I'm not terribly surprised, however, since she was one of the steady hands that guided me through high school when I was not only being torn apart by my father's death from cancer, but also heavily under the influence of adolescence the whole time.

Sure, none of us knew what we were talking about, but in a time when everything around me seemed to be flying around me as if the parts of my life were shattered and raging around me in a tornado, she was there. She was always there. She wasn't the only one, but she was one among a very few. Turns out that's all I really needed: people who were always there.

Now, when she's looking up through the funnel cloud, I'm 3,000 miles away. But I'm doing what I can to be there for her, just as I did two years ago for my other high school friend who successfully fought breast cancer. And for my college friend who fought cancer. And my coworker.

I got on my bike and rode home, enjoying every moment. Enjoying the surprising spring weather in the midst of winter, enjoying the sun shining down, the sparkle of every leaf of grass, the wind--yes, even the headwind--and the motion of my body, powering myself home to my wife and kids.

And, quite honestly, I was doing it for all of our kids. Everyone I named who fought cancer--friends from high school, college, work--has kids. And while we will receive some of the rewards of the research my bike riding funds, our kids will receive the bulk of the bounty. I won't speak for my friends, but if they're anything like me, they'd say that's as they wish. As a parent, I'll do whatever it takes to ensure the happiness of my children.

Whatever it takes, I'll be there.

Papa Bradstein will be there...and there, and there, and there...riding 200 miles across Massachusetts in two days to help fight cancer. Please support his ride.

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Of mice and birds

2012-02-01T05:52:00.000-05:00

Because I know you all care deeply about how our house smells, I'm glad to report that the abattoir aroma is gone.

Or not.

Yesterday it was back in full force, to the point that Mama lost her appetite for dinner. So, I dug into the problem...as best I could. I climbed into our laundry closet and from atop our dryer, peered down the duct into the dryer and cleaned out as best I could the duct from the dryer to the outside.

That seemed to have no effect and I couldn't smell anything emanating from the duct. I did, however, pull out some lint that appeared to perhaps have some bird poop attached to it. This isn't surprising, since the end of every duct in our building is only covered with a light metal damper, which is supposed to lift when the fan behind it is turned on.

It also lifts when a clever bird perches below it and goes into the duct behind it to build a nest. We're not quite a rookery, but in some areas of our building this is prevalent. It also appeared that there might be some droppings at the dryer end of the duct, but it was hard to tell from my position.

So today we're having someone come to pull the washer and dryer--they're stacked--out of the laundry closet and open up the dryer to ensure that it's not doubling as a mausoleum. We don't think it's a home for anybody, since we don't hear anything moving in it or through the ducts.

I then went on to work on the kitchen exhaust fan, where I found nothing. However, while I was working on that, the smell got worse. I had thought the only way for it to get worse would be for the dead thing to drop through our ceiling onto our floor, but that didn't happen. So...where is the smell coming from?

Stay tuned. As soon as we know, you'll know.

Until then, I'm left to wonder if I'm Robert DeNiro or Bob Hoskins...

Papa Bradstein will ride 200 miles across Massachusetts in two days to help fight cancer. Please support his ride.

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John/Paul is right: all you need is love

2012-01-31T05:54:00.000-05:00

Jewel has started potty training. At two, she's half as old as 3B was when he began using the potty. She's also learning as she goes...so to speak...which means that she's having accidents along the way. Plenty of accidents. Because 3B made the switch so late, he never had an accident; one day he was wearing diapers and the next day he was using the potty.

OK, in between those days was a battle royale with Mama as she laid down the law: now is the time to use the potty.

Cajoling wasn't really working with him. No idea what got Jewel started on this, but wow...in a matter of months, we might be done with diapers? Really? Six years ago, I would have struggled to change one without covering everyone with poop, probably about as successful as if I'd tried to put gloves on an angry badger.

Now, however, to say that our household might not have diapers in it seems as strange as if you'd said we would no longer have books. Unlike losing our literacy, however, this is a change we're all cheering, quite literally.

Over the weekend, 3B was a good cheerleader for his sister when she was on the potty, clapping and congratulating her. And that probably meant more to her than a week of Mama and I doing the same, since her sun rises and sets on that boy's every move.

They certainly each have their own style, but it's nice to know that they also have each other, which is becoming more clear every day. Some days it seems like all they have is a running battle, but overall, they really do have a good relationship across the years that separate them.

And that makes me happier than I could have imagined possible six years ago.

Papa Bradstein will ride 200 miles across Massachusetts in two days to help fight cancer. Please support his ride.

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Our grocery store hates parents

2012-01-27T06:01:00.002-05:00

Our local grocery store gives cookies and balloons to kids.

Why?

Because they hate parents.

There's really no other explanation.

For those who don't have kids, let me tell you that they have a built-in GPS that's better than your smartphone, they set off more local alerts than foursquare and they talk more than your Garmin on your dashboard. All of which means that whenever we're within 1/2 a mile of this store, the begging begins.

I have been coming home from a trip to the grocery store down the street--a trip that was moaned about and generally unpopular in the ages 5 and under demographic in our household--and been begged to go to this grocery store.

"But we just went to the grocery store. We got everything we needed."

"But I want a cookie," says 3B.

"And I want a balloon," adds Jewel.

And what do I have to compete with that...a bag of brown rice in the trunk? So the begging goes on...at least until we pass the library, when the object of their fickle attention changes.

But sometimes we do go to our local, smaller, closer and more expensive store, as Mama did yesterday with Jewel. Once when they went, Jewel got, of course, a balloon, but wouldn't let Mama tie it to anything. Mama cautioned Jewel that it could fly away, so she would have to hold on tight to it.

Of course, the balloon ended up in the rafters, and Jewel ended up in tears.

She talked about it for weeks afterward, which, for a two-year old, is like talking about it for months afterward. Even now, when she sees a balloon, it will trigger the memory, and she'll tell the sad story. "One time, when I had a pink balloon, it went up, up, up, into the ceiling."

So, of course, yesterday, Mama tied the balloon--blue this time--to Jewel's coat. What could possibly go wrong?

According to Mama, Jewel white-knuckled this balloon all through the store, determined not to let it get away. Jewel also believed that there was a picture of Toodee on it, and so talked to it the whole time. There was no such picture, but who cares, right?

They got through shopping, through checkout, to the car, get the groceries loaded into the car, Mama gets Jewel into her seat and is buckling her in when--blam!--the balloon explodes right in Jewel's face.

At this point, Jewel is late for her nap, Mama has a trunk full of food that's getting warm, and Mama has to get some work done for her new job. So, there's no way she's decamping from the car, walking back into the store, getting another balloon and possibly having it explode in the car as well.

So Jewel ends up sobbing and sad about it for the entire ride home. Thankfully that's only five minutes, but still, that store hates parents.

There's really no other explanation.

Papa Bradstein will ride 200 miles across Massachusetts in two days to help fight cancer. Please support his ride.

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What is the sound of one snake clapping?

2012-01-25T21:24:00.000-05:00

The good news is that after I closed up the holes behind the dishwasher, we haven't seen the mouse again, despite being up far too late and far too early many days this week.

I know it's only Wednesday. Shut up.

The bad news is that now it smells like our dining room table is downwind of an abattoir. Which, perhaps it is, after a manner, though I don't plan to be eating mousemeat pie any time soon.

The further bad news is that our building management company doesn't quite seem to know what to do about it. Turn on your exhaust fans, they say.

You think?

We're doing that, plus leaving a door cracked to pull in some fresh air, plus we've got enough candles going that our dining room table looks like a cathedral altar on Easter. So now it smells like something died by being smothered in a ball of Yankee Candle wax.

All of which leads me to some questions for the mouse. OK, one question, really...

Did you not have more than five minutes of food stored up in your nest?

Otherwise, how did it die the day after I closed up its entrance into our humble abode? Is there not enough space in all the walls that surround our kitchen to establish a granary that could support you and your kin for, I don't know, 10 years? How much do you little buggers eat, anyway?

This, combined with the fact that we neither found food missing or chewed on nor mouse poop in any of our pantry cupboards, makes these vermin quite the mystery. Why were you in our house? Were you the ones recording all those episodes of Mickey Mouse Clubhouse on our DVR? Were you stealing our Chuck E. Cheese tokens? Or are you just well mannered mice who couldn't bear to poop in your own humble abode, and so had to bring that shit into our house?

Even if you don't answer those questions, I'll give you a passing grade if you just answer this one question:

When will the stinking end?

I realize that questions like these have perplexed people throughout time and it brings to mind something I learned while reading 3B books about ancient Egypt. Turns out Egyptians weren't fond of mice either, what with their food stealing, disease bearing and poop leaving habits. In fact, because Egyptians hadn't invented the mouse trap yet--somehow developing a written language, centralized government, and timeless architecture left them with no time for such trivialities--they would keep snakes in their houses to fend off the mice.

No, I don't know what all those sacred Egyptian cats were doing. Likely lounging around temples, napping and getting drunk on beer...pretty much like modern cats in McMansions.

But, the point is that Egyptians considered it preferable to live in a snakepit than in a mouse hole.

And now I understand the wisdom of their age.

Think my neighbors would mind if I stuffed a few snakes into our walls?

Or maybe I should just open a window.

Papa Bradstein will ride 200 miles across Massachusetts in two days to help fight cancer. Please support his ride.

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It's all worth it, no matter how much I may curse

2012-01-23T20:55:00.001-05:00

Before we had kids, I used to think it was a major accomplishment to drink coffee, read the New York Times, take the dog out for a walk and do a few loads of laundry on a weekend day.

In one morning this weekend, I cleaned out all the toys under and behind the couch, sanitized the floor under the couch (due to mouse poop contamination), washed all the cushion covers and the couch cover, disconnected and removed the dishwasher, patched the holes in the wall behind it (with help from the kids), swept out and sanitized the dishwasher space, replaced and reconnected the dishwasher, washed all of 3B's bed linens, ran a couple loads of clothes through the wash, just for good measure, cooked breakfast and made coffee for Mama.

And that was just what happened before 11.

The good news is that there was no mouse sighting last night after all that patching and moving of traps to better locations. The bad news is that we're now trying to prove a negative, which is difficult at best. Ideally, it will prove itself over time. And, if it doesn't, the traps are still out.

Despite the 49ers loss, it was a good weekend. Mama has a new job, so she was working throughout, as best she could, and is still working tonight as I type this. Her hours tonight are in part because of her day.

Due to the 1/2 inch of ice that we were supposed to get, but never did, 3B's school opened two hours late, which borked Mama's schedule and mine. Once we were done juggling schedules though, which involved my starting my work week during the 49ers loss so I could get a full day's work done by the end of today, Mama seemed all clear.

Jewel would spend the day with her babysitter, who would also come and get 3B off of the bus, then take care of both kids here at our house until Mama's day was done. It would have worked too, if it weren't for our babysitter's malfunctioning car, which died unceremoniously midday. That meant that Mama needed to break off from work, give the babysitter, her son and Jewel a ride back to the babysitter's, then bring Jewel here, get 3B off the bus and abandon all hope of working this afternoon.

The best part was when 3B got off the bus, gave Mama a "what are you doing here?" look and asked, "But, where's the babysitter?"

And that was just what happened before noon.

But Jewel gave me kisses when I walked in the door, and I made 3B laugh uncontrollably as we did laundry and later as we read bedtime stories together, so it was all worth it.

Even little actions speak louder than words

2012-01-20T06:37:00.000-05:00

Jewel ran from the back of the house to the door to wrap me up in a hug last night.

"Daddy, your coat is cold. The buttons on your coat are cold."

"What if I open it up and wrap you up in it. Is it warm?"

"Yes. It's warm."

She was laughing and bouncing up and down the whole time, which made me smile. Usually, when I tell her that I love her and ask if she loves me, I get the two-year-old answer: No. But, since she seemed so happy to see me, I thought I'd give it a shot.

"I love you, sweetie. Do you love me?"

"I love you too, Daddy."

We snuggled like that until she had to squirm away.

I started to hang up my scarf and coat, and put away my hat and gloves. I walked down the hall and kissed 3B and Mama hello as they sat making pictures on our bed. According to Jewel, that was enough dawdling.

"Daddy, get into your play clothes."

"OK, OK...I'm taking off my suit pants now."

"Fold them."

I folded them over a hanger and asked her if that was adequate. She nodded.

"Put your jeans on."

I did that and put away my security badge for work.

"Read me the dictionary. I'm going to pick a letter from the back cover."

Our bed is one of those Princess and the Pea contraptions, with a total height of eight feet or so. Mama and I actually pole vault into it every night, so I asked Jewel, "Climb in yourself, or do you want me to lift you up?"

Little Miss I'll-Do-It-Myself surprised me this time: "Lift me up."

So I did, and we lay down to read Richard Scarry's Storybook Dictionary. She picked a letter from the text on the back cover and we read all the entries for it.

Even if later, as I was kissing her in her crib, Jewel told me that she didn't love me, I didn't mind at all. I could still feel the warmth of her embrace as I came through the door and it still made me smile.

"Good night, sweetie. I love you."

Papa Bradstein will ride 200 miles across Massachusetts in two days to help fight cancer. Please support his ride.

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This is my story, and I'm sticking with it

2012-01-19T08:19:00.001-05:00

4.15 a.m. is a fine time for

meteor showers
bedtime after the after party
making the donuts

It is not, however, a good time for a two-year-old to wake up.

But try telling Jewel that. You'll get her favorite reponse: No! That might be followed with another of her favorites: Go away, Daddy! (You can replace "Daddy" with your name. Or, if she doesn't know your name, replace "Daddy" with "you" or "man" or "woman.")

Honestly, I wouldn't care so much if her crib weren't 18 inches from my side of the bed. Have I mentioned how we need to move out of our phone-booth-sized condo?

This morning, Mama and I were serenaded with Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star several times, thoughts on the state of pacifiers in the crib and the locations of all her friends in the crib, particularly Bug, which is her new favorite stuffed animal.

Last night, as she was (theoretically) going to sleep we were treated to several rounds of the Aleph Bet song. Don't tell me that kids don't learn through play: Jewel has learned the entire Hebrew alphabet...er...alephbet just by listening to 3B sing it.

But, back to my point...nighttime serenade: OK. Morning serenade: OK--after morning arrives.

For the record, I checked with Santa Claus and he says 4.15 doesn't count as morning. So, you can get up then if you want...if you don't want any gifts.

That's my story, and I'm sticking with it.

Papa Bradstein will ride 200 miles across Massachusetts in two days to help fight cancer. Please support his ride.

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Just another manic...er...Tuesday

2012-01-18T06:38:00.000-05:00

Yesterday chewed me up and spit me out, then it washed me down the drain and turned on the disposal. But it served up a bonbon for dessert.

To recap, it...

was the first day back to school after a three-day weekend, which was rough for 3B.
started off with an icy rain.
looked like a wide open day on my calendar, but then a meeting ate the entire middle of my day.
ended with Mama having to pick up 3B at school because he wasn't on the bus list for his after-school activity.
ended again when they got home and Jewel pointed at her stomach and said, "My tummy hurts." And then she doubled over in pain and started crying.
ended again when Jewel threw up and immediately felt better, even if she was still feverish.
got better after that...

3B apparently handled the absurd bus situation well, walking into the office, telling them his situation and phone number and then "being an angel" while waiting for Mama to come get him. No idea how Mama figured out where he was, since her phone was in a bag of rice upstairs while she waited down in the lobby for him, but she's smart, that Mama. No idea how he wasn't on the bus list, since last week the principal drove him home when the bus didn't show up, which implies that he is on the f@&*ing bus list, you knobs...get it right!

OK, that's out of my system now...but seriously, I'm underwhelmed at how after-school programs are run, since they've twice abandoned my kindergartner. He's five, people. Get it together.

Also, I'm impressed that the school has an anti-bullying pledge and that it's helping 3B learn his phone number and address, but sending home those worksheets plus his homework, plus his reading...let's all take a step back and remember that he's five, shouldn't be doing any homework, and that 45 minutes of homework is absurd.

And then, poor little Jewel. OK, let's be honest: poor big Jewel. She'd hate for me to call her a little girl. As she will tell anybody who asks, or who doesn't ask, she's a big girl. She'll also tell you that before going out in the rain, "I need my boots and I need my umbrella and I need my raincoat." And if you're driving, she'll narrate the trip, just in case you didn't know that you were going down a big hill, or where the sun is, or what's out her window. Around home, she'll love to tell you if anyone is doing the same thing she is, because then she can use her word of the week: also. "3B is watching Yo Gabba Gabba also."

"Mommy is eating dinner also."

Fortunately, however, she was solo on her stomach bug yesterday. Not that I wanted her to hork, but I'm glad it was just her and it didn't spread. Yet.

But once Mama and I had everyone in bed, we got to revel in her good news: she got a job yesterday. Yes, Mama is that person who gets called, goes in for an interview, and walks out with a job. The reality is that the call itself was truly the job offer, they were just discussing details yesterday. Seriously?

Well, yes. She is brilliant, after all.

While she's not enthused about all the mechanics--less time with the kids, back to the daycare routine, etc.--we are both breathing a sigh of relief because this means that we should be able to buy our new house before we sell our current place. That's preferable to having to show our current place while we're living here for a variety of reasons.

So, after all the bus blundering and child chundering, we spent a romantic evening together sipping wine. And folding laundry.

Papa Bradstein will ride 200 miles across Massachusetts in two days to help fight cancer. Please support his ride.

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More cancer fighting for less money, MLK lessons, catching dreams and giants

2012-01-17T10:38:00.000-05:00

Five at five means 50 percent off for you

With only five days left, five of you have taken me up on my offer to honor a cancer patient, remember a lost loved one, and support leading edge cancer research--all for 50% less.

But they won't get the deal unless you help them: donate today.

Last year, a $100 donation was required to put a picture on my jersey to honor and remember those who have fought cancer, but until January 21, it's only $50. But only if I get 10 donations of $50 by then, so those five need your help to get their deal.

The photo-quality pictures on this jersey, professionally designed by my brilliant cousin, will be seen by thousands of riders and supporters as I ride the 200-mile route of the Pan-Mass Challenge in two days this August. Those who ride with me and line the route include cancer survivors, researchers, family and friends of those lost to cancer, the President of the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, both Massachusetts senators (John Kerry and Scott Brown), and last year we were joined by Lance Armstrong.

This is your chance to

honor a loved one
save the life of someone currently fighting cancer at the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute
discover a new treatment for cancer through DFCI's leading edge research

Please, donate today.

====

What's up with getting up?

Yesterday, 3B got up and came into our bed at 2.27 a.m.

But who's counting? Me, actually, since he got in on my side and ended up pushing me all the way over to Mama's side while taking all the blankets. I'll never say that he never learned anything from Barky.

This morning, both kids decided it was a good idea to wake up at 6.00. It's all I can do not to scream at them, "Sleep now, for the love of all that's holy! You have no idea! Later in life, you will have children who will never let you sleep! You will become zombies, living in a half waking, half sleeping limbo! Save yourselves!"

And my kids would pat me on the head and say, "Nice man. Can you turn on the TV for us? Thanks."

====

Future's so bright...

Over the weekend, at 3B's behest, we had a playdate with a friend from preschool. He's been hounding us for weeks, but there were few obstacles, like Hanukkah, Christmas, New Year's, a trip to Vermont, Grammy breaking her ankle, and the fact that he and his friend are both in kindergarten, which kind of takes up their whole day.

However, Mama did find time this weekend, and we got together at a local store that offers free kids crafts every Saturday. Much more comfortable than scootering around outside for an hour which is what we did before that. After 3B got over his initial five minutes of shyness, he and his friend were stuck like glue, just like old times. It's fun to see him having such a good time with friends.

Also at his behest, we went to the Lincoln Memorial to see where MLK, Jr. delivered his I Have a Dream speech. It was moving to have 3B explain to me that MLK's dream was that everyone would be equal and then to watch the speech with him and explain as 3B asked what MLK was talking about.

And while a trip to the Lincoln Memorial and the engraving on the steps where MLK stood that commemorates his speech is always inspirational, Martin's birthday is in the winter. And an open-front marble building isn't a cozy spot on a windy day. So, by the time we got there, the kids were frozen, hungry and thirsty.

However, we did walk around the outside of the memorial to the south side, the leeward side of the building where the sun warmed us. Until, that is, the kids both jumped on my belly as I was lying down and bounced on me like I was Secretariat coming through the final turn. That's 80 pounds of bouncing children on my abs for those of you keeping score at home.

That was all forgotten as soon as 3B backed up and rabbit punched me three times in the cojangles.

Hey, if you don't want another sibling, just tell me.

Apparently MLK's message on nonviolence didn't quite saturate 3B's being. Maybe next year. Then again, my response--yelling and a time-out--weren't probably my proudest moment ever, so perhaps we both have something to learn.

Apparently Jewel also has more to learn about racial tolerance. When I asked her later if she liked the Lincoln Memorial, she said, "No. I didn't like the statue."

"Why didn't you like the statue?"

"It was too white."

To her credit, I think she means that on the south side, with the sun shining on the white marble, it was too bright. To our credit, we brought her sunglasses and offered them to her about 37 times, but she's two and can't give "yes" for an answer.

====

Catching dreams and giants

The next day, we had a wonderful time at the National Children's Museum Launch Zone in National Harbor. We made dreamcatchers in honor of MLK's speech and created valentines that will be sent to veterans as our service project to honor MLK's work. We met our friends there as planned and were happily surprised to find a friend of 3B's from kindergarten there.

The kids loved the yarn, the beads, the flowers, the coloring, the gluing and, when that was all done, the wall-sized chalkboard, the beehives (demonstration only, no actual bees) and beekeepers outfit and, of course, the grilled cheese and french fries next door.

But the big hit of the day was the statue that was moved from Haynes Point to National Harbor. The kids had a blast pretending to be eaten, pulling out the giant's teeth, and just running in the sand and scrambling on rocks along the shore.

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We've got both kinds of breaks...

2012-01-12T00:05:00.001-05:00

As you know, our Christmakwanzukkah break ended with a bad break. That's had us in a tailspin for the last week or so, with Mama and Jewel staying with Grammy on the farm and 3B staying down here in Dixie with me so he could get to school.

Today, Mama, Jewel, Grammy and Aunt D caravanned up to the doctor who will operate on Grammy's ankle to repair it and allow her recuperation to begin in earnest. Jewel has been a trooper throughout the napless days, sleepless nights and countless miles of driving she's been along for. Of course, she's with her favorite women in all the world, so she's bound to be happy.

Driving up over the Green Mountains today, however, Jewel turned white as a sheet and reported that her stomach hurt so Mama screeched to a halt and let Jewel out to get some fresh air. After that, she was fine for the rest of the trip and tomorrow she and Mama will fly home, getting back here just in time to meet 3B as he gets off the school bus.

We hope.

If we miss him, perhaps the principal could drive him home as he did yesterday. It wasn't a bad thing, it was just the first day in the new term that 3B's school had after school activities, and the bus never showed up to take kids home from. Most of the kids in his school can walk home, but 3B's a kindergartner, and we live across a street that's considered too busy for elementary school kids, much less a kindergartner, to cross alone.

Of course, the school tried calling to explain. Of course, they called my home phone. Of course, I was in the lobby waiting for 3B with my cell phone.

And, of course, this was the first day that we had ever put 3B in an after school activity--p.e., for what it's worth. They played freeze tag and tagged each other with pool noodles. Can I be five again?

So, I didn't know how late was late in this new schedule and by the time I called, I was told that 3B was in the principal's car, headed my way. For a boy who loves his routines when it comes to transitions, he was a champ, laughing and marveling about it. It helped that the neighbors made a big deal about it in the lobby and elevator as we went back home. He's also a boy who loves an audience.

Speaking of audiences and school, I get to be in the audience tomorrow when 3B receives his third award. At the first award ceremony, he got two awards: one for greatest improvement, for his handling the transition to school better, and the second for good citizenship, which is awarded to kids who do enough good things throughout the term to earn points for the award. He can only get the improvement award once in a year, so getting the one award at this ceremony is the most he can do.

Also...awards programs for kindergartners?

But no, I'm not going to miss it either, especially since Mama and Jewel will still be up north. We are so proud of 3B for growing through the tears and breakdowns and fights over taking lovie to school during the first two weeks, and also for being a good citizen. I'm often not sure, based on his accounts of his school day, just how good he was, but he seems to earn the points somehow. Who knows? Perhaps he washes his teacher's car on his lunch hour.

Whatever it is, I'll have to learn from him, since I talked my boss into letting me telework this week so that I could be get 3B onto and off of the school bus. And we'll have to deploy 3B's tactic together when Mama comes home and finds that we never really put away any of the new toys from Christmas.

Not that she'll really care--she'll be glad just to be home. And we'll be glad to have her back and to know that Grammy's in good hands. It would be better if we could be with Grammy, but Mama's brother will take over now that Mama's back here, so it's all still in the family.

Which is a good break.

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Breaking bad, Grammy edition

2012-01-07T22:04:00.001-05:00

I don't normally get into other people's business, but this crosses the line into our business a bit.

Also, you all know and love Grammy and so will be concerned--and relieved--to hear what's going on.

To bring you up to speed:

We went to the farm in VT for Christmakwanzukkah.
We had a great time.
There was snow.
There was rain.
There were gifts.
There was even a hot New Year's Eve date, courtesy of Grammy and aunt D.

But then I had to come home to return to work. Since 3B's school doesn't start until Monday, Mama stayed on the farm with him and Jewel for another week, to return today.

But the best laid plans of mice--like the ones infesting our house--and women and all that...yesterday, Mama, 3B, Jewel and Grammy went down to New York to visit college friends of Mama's and their kids. All was well until they got out of the car and Grammy, carrying Jewel, fell.

Protecting Jewel as she fell, Grammy twisted and broke her ankle. In three places.

So, she went to the hospital. Mama and the kids spent the night at their friends' house without, you know, pajamas, changes of clothes, contact lens fluid, toothbrushes or anything else of consequence. Of course, Mama's friends filled in all the gaps and then some, entertaining the kids while Mama did what she had to. By the end of the weekend, 3B was their daughter's new boyfriend.

Of course he was. I swear that those two kids are peas from the same pod. They regularly go a year without seeing each other and then pick up their conversation where they left off. So 3B was happy to stay there an extra day--especially when he got to wear his new girlfriend's pink kitty cat pajamas for the night. If he didn't love her before, that surely would have cemented the deal.

Meanwhile Mama was doing all she could to get Grammy the care she needed. The immediate care was good, but following that, the hospital she was at left something to be desired and refused to allow Grammy to transfer. Nobody puts Mama--or Grammy--in a corner, however, so they got that worked out (read: told the hospital to put it in a pipe and smoke it) and Grammy's in better hands now.

She'll need surgery, but they'll wait a few weeks for the swelling to go down before they do anything to avoid complications.

Of course, while all that was playing out, Mama had to get 3B back here so he could return to school on Monday. She did that, then turned around and got on the next flight to NY while Aunt D and Jewel got Grammy transferred to the larger hospital with better doctors.

Are you keeping up?

3B and I drove home, stopping along the way for dinner at Panera. Tomorrow, we'll do a little bachelor training, which will continue through Thursday. That's when Mama's brother arrives in NY so Mama and Jewel can return.

Which means that while Grammy is in pain, she's got Jewel with her which, in the words of Mama, makes Grammy look as if she's won the lottery, not broken her ankle. And 3B's only got me, so you might want to include him in your prayers, right after Grammy.

Or maybe just before her.

Papa Bradstein will ride 200 miles across Massachusetts in two days to help fight cancer. Please support his ride.

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Help me raise hope for a friend

2012-01-05T06:32:00.002-05:00

Update, January 10: Thanks to everyone who has donated so far, I'm the top fund raiser on my team, Phat Tuesday, but I need the help of the rest of you to stay there--that means you. Donate today.

Half-off reminder: If you're one of the first 10 to donate, you get a bonus: for every $50 you donate, you can place a picture* on my jersey, half the cost of last year.

However, there's a catch: if I don't get 10 $50 donations by January 21, the deal is off...so tell your friends--remind them that 100 percent of their donation goes directly to the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute--and donate today.

So long as cancer keeps trying to kill my friends, I'm going to keep returning the favor--especially when it goes after friends who saved my life. But I need your help.

In the last few months, cancer has already taken a friend's mother and is now after my friend. This friend and I go way back...back before cancer had killed Dad. Back then I fortunately wasn't as experienced at coping with death as I am now, and so I tried to ignore the cancer, ignore Dad's diminishing abilities, ignore what became the inevitable.

I didn't tell any of my friends until Mom finally said that I really should. The next week, Dad died after fighting cancer for over a year.

During those silent days, even if I wasn't talking about Dad, my friends knew something was up. They knew that I was constantly at a breaking point. And they knew well enough to save me whenever I needed it.

Sometimes they were big saves, like reassembling me into a human being after we ran out of wine at a party, so I switched to vodka spritzers. Did you know that vodka is slightly more potent than wine? I do...well, someone told me I learned that lesson, anyway. Most of them, however, were day-to-day saves, like tolerating my so-called poetry, taking midnight walks through the cemetery with me and talking about losing Dad.

Most of all, they gave me hope. They did that by getting on with life, showing me that the way back from the underworld was simply to rise up every morning and live. They gave me hope that life could once again be somewhat normal. They gave me hope enough to have faith in the future--the faith that I relied on to get married and have children.

And so, even now I benefit from the hope they gave me then.

Now it's my turn to return the many favors they bestowed upon me, specifically to my friend who just lost her mother...and I'd like your help. I'd like your help giving my friend hope--hope that her cancer will be cured. Hope that if it ever returns, it will be cured again. Hope that future generations of her family won't have to fear this cancer ever again. Hope that soon she can soon simply rise up in the morning and live. And from that hope, faith in all those around her--those she knows and those she doesn't--to do whatever it takes whenever she needs it.

I promise to do the hardest work, if you can do one simple thing. I'll ride my bike thousands of miles in rain, cold, wind and, yes, snow, sleet and hail as I train to ride 200 miles in two days, if you will simply support my ride.

If you're one of the first 10 to donate, you get a bonus: for every $50 you donate, you can place a picture* on my jersey, half the cost of last year. However, there's a catch: if I don't get 10 $50 donations by January 21, the deal is off...so tell your friends--remind them that 100 percent of their donation goes directly to the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute--and donate today.

2011 jersey (click to see full size image)

* Pictures can be of anyone affected by cancer: a survivor, someone lost to cancer, their family and friends. And yes, pictures of pets are welcome.

Papa Bradstein will ride 200 miles across Massachusetts in two days to help fight cancer. Please support his ride.

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Feverish badgers' health updates

2011-12-20T16:12:00.001-05:00

Health updates...

I've gotten some queries about our various health issues, so I guess I left you all hanging about them. Suffice it to say that we survived, but here's some more detail:

Jewel

Her broken, sprained, twisted, dislocated, all of the above leg seems to be fine. Although she appeared to be walking mostly normally by the time her follow up appointment came along, and despite the difficulties inherent in taking two tired badgers into a non-pediatrician doctor's office, Mama took Jewel in.

This was largely because when Jewel starts listing to starboard and walking in ever smaller circles as she goes through puberty and one of her legs fails to grow longer than 17 inches, neither Mama nor I wanted there to be any doubt that we did all that we could.

Yes, that's right, we weren't looking for a solution, just indemnity from future claims of ineptitude.

Of course, as soon as she was no longer lame, Jewel developed dual ear infections, which led to antibiotics and all of the fun that goes with those.

His pneumonia seems to have passed, and since it's been so long since that happened, I get to report that he has a whole new cough--although the new cough is the same as the old cough, as far as I can tell--and two (almost) ear infections to boot.

The nurse practitioner--we went to a CVC Minute Clinic since he developed these over the weekend when his Dr's office is closed, of course--said that they weren't quite infected yet, but that the diagnosis is somewhat subjective. However, Mama and I have been down this road, we know where it ends, and we're all going to be in the car for 12 hours this week, driving to the farm. So, I used a Jedi mind trick and got the nurse practitioner to prescribe antibiotics to head off what would have become, five seconds after we left her office, a raging ear infection that would have laid an elephant down.

Before you go all anti-antibiotic crazy on me--I know. I get it. I actually avoid them like the plague...or at least like the common cold. However, 3B just got over pneumonia, and I don't think he needed another two or three days sweating out a 104-degree fever while driving 600-miles to colder climes and celebrating Christmakwanzukkah.

Mama and I
Despite the repeated 3 a.m. "my tummy hurts" wake up calls, the 63 trips in one week to the doctor, and the general demeanor of the feverish badgers, we're fine. Thanks for asking.

p.s. Why is it always 3 a.m.? 10 extra Bradstein points for the best answer.

Papa Bradstein will ride 200 miles across Massachusetts in two days to help fight cancer. Please support his ride.

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Round and round with the rat

2011-12-19T21:32:00.002-05:00

We just got back from a three-year-old's birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese's or, as I refer to it, the restaurant run by a rat. OK, a mouse, but there's no alliteration in that.

Walking out, across the parking lot

...my throat sore from yelling
...my ears ringing from the cacophony
...my pockets overflowing and clanking with tokens
...dragging two mylar balloons behind me
...a diaper bag jam-packed with sippy cups and hats and coats and jackets digging into my shoulder
...my joints and muscles aching from all the kneeling and squatting and chasing and steering wicked fast power boats while trying to corral 50 squirming pounds on my lap...

I said to Mama that I felt like I'd just survived a rock concert, and that it was time to collapse into bed.

It was 7:30 p.m.

Not a.m., like after rock concerts of yore, when I would be returned home missing garments and even shoes at times, slightly befuddled and utterly exhausted, dropped off by a friend. No, after this concert, I got to shoehorn all those goodies into the trunk, strap the two weasely badgers into the back seat and then get yelled at all the way home.

In hindsight, I probably should have turned off the headlights, swerved around and gotten pulled over. At least it would have been quiet sitting outside on the curb.

My friend replied on Facebook that she was glad to have a child over 20. I'd much rather spend an evening in a college bar, lining up shots with kids half my age, than do another tour in Chez Chuckie.

Papa Bradstein will ride 200 miles across Massachusetts in two days to help fight cancer, which will be easier than spending another 20 minutes in Chuck E. Cheese's house of pain. Please support his ride.

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I eat breakfast 3 yards from 4,000 worries that are trying to kill me

2011-11-18T05:31:00.001-05:00

That which does not kill you is only a prelude to that which is far more likely to kill you.

That is the sum of the parenting medical knowledge I've accumulated in the last two weeks. We thought that Jewel's almost broken, or maybe dislocated, or maybe just twisted and she can walk it off leg would worry us to death. We studied her limp. We learned that a gallop is just a run with a wicked limp. We developed scoliosis from suddenly carrying her so much.

Then 3B got pneumonia.

It started as sniffles on Veterans Day, and neither that nor Giddyup Hotspurs' gallop stopped us from taking the kids to the playground by the nature park. 3B and I had an adventure in the great and mysterious woods while Mama took Jewel to the playground to mostly swing. 3B and I spent the better part of an hour being Princess Leia, Luke Skywalker, Boba Fett, Darth Vader and sundry other characters before it was time to head home as the sun set.

I'm quite sure that while the time outside was good for all of us, it was great for 3B's pneumonia.

Our bedroom door swung open at 3something a.m. on Saturday and he announced, "My tummy doesn't feel good." I jumped out of bed and he and I hustled into the bathroom. Not much came up that time or the next time he puked, but it still took a lot out of him.

Although those two bouts of nausea Saturday morning were his only two, his fever started to climb and plateaued at 103.5 through the weekend, so we put him on ibuprofen, which brought it down to a much more reasonable...er...101. But it made all the difference. He went from sweaty rag doll who could only stay awake 2-3 hours at a time to regular little boy.

Regular little boy who wouldn't eat, that is...but at least he wasn't puking, either.

He was however, starting to develop what seemed like unusual breathing during his naps: shallow and rapid. I checked with the only doctor who still makes house calls--the interwebz--and it seemed that his breathing rate was normal for his age and size, but still, it looked funny to me. Not that I spend a lot of time watching 3B breathe while he sleeps, but enough that I knew this wasn't normal. Knowing by Sunday that he was bound for the doctor on Monday there was really nothing to do about that except, you know, get up every two hours in the night, sick with worry, and go in to check on him.

By Monday, with his fever stubbornly steady despite a weekend of nothing but rest, fluids and purell, we took him to the doctor, who diagnosed pneumonia and sent us home with a nebulizer, a prescription for an antibiotic and a whole new level of worry.

I had already scheduled to be off on Monday to see the dentist and get my annual physical, which is really on a more Olympic-style biannual schedule than truly annual, but nobody calls it an Olympic physical. Especially not when it comes to me. In fact, my doctor, in addition to the usual indignities, shaved patches of my chest and hooked me up to an EKG, which showed a minor heart murmur. So then I was sent down the hall to have my chest slimed so they could ultrasound my heart.

The good news is that my heart looks to be working fine. The bad news is that they're concerned enough that I'm going in for a stress test on Monday.

And did I mention the between-the-teeth filling that my dentist put in just before that? She's got an amazingly soft touch, does great work and is patient with me and my apparent inability to floss, but I can still feel the effects four days later of having my jaw seemingly pierced with a novocain needle and my teeth separated and drilled through. So, on Monday morning, lying on my side, shirt off, chest slimed up, feeling the ultrasound wand bouncing off my chest as my numb face drooled onto the paper sheet, I had only one thought:

How's 3B?

OK, two: Is Jewel destined to gallop in circles for the rest of her life?

The good news from all those trips to medical professionals--followed up on Wednesday with return trips to the pediatrician and orthopedist...I'm telling you, our car is now a clinic shuttle bus--is that the antibiotics took effect almost immediately and wiped out 3B's fever. Although his cough is also mostly gone and his appetite is back, his pneumonia is still with us, according to the guy with the stethoscope, so our worries have eased.

Except that the same guy with the stethoscope said that Jewel likely has 3B's pneumonia and so to bring her in as soon as she starts wheezing, which appears to have been last night in the bath. You know, after she horked in her crib at 3 a.m. yesterday morning.

Third verse, same as the first, little bit louder, little bit worse.

As I said to begin, the worry that doesn't kill us is only a prelude.

Papa Bradstein will ride 200 miles across Massachusetts in two days to help fight cancer. Please support his ride.

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Easier: a relative term that doesn't apply to my relatives

2011-11-17T06:33:00.001-05:00

Living with a toddler is like living with mountain weather--if you don't like it, wait five minutes and it will be completely different.

Yesterday, Jewel got good news: her foot, heel, shin, whatever isn't broken. Apparently. And there's no soft tissue injury. Apparently. And her leg is now healed. Apparently.

The qualifiers are because two-year-olds are like dead men: they tell no tales. OK, OK, OK, Jewel does actually talk up a storm telling tales and giving orders to match the best pirate captains of yore, but good luck getting a direct answer to a question such as, Where does it hurt? Or, Does it still hurt anywhere? Or, shall we reef the topsail, then, cap'n?

But at least she doesn't limp anymore, which she took full advantage of yesterday evening, once again running the length of the living room to dive head first onto the couch in an attempt to flip upside down. Glad she's back to...er...normal.

And if you like that news, wait five minutes for the news of her other doctor visit. See, technically, it wasn't an appointment for her, it was a follow up for her brother for his pneumonia.

Mama had the doctor listen to Jewel's lungs anyway, however, since she's been developing quite the wet cough over the last few days and had developed a low-grade fever yesterday. The doc said that she's not got pneumonia yet, but that if she starts wheezing, it'll be time to bring her in to confirm what we'll already know by then.

To help us out, Jewel made the diagnosis easier by throwing up in her crib at 3.30 this morning. Yeah, "easier" is a relative term. Then again, if she is laid out by pneumonia like her brother was, maybe she won't be twisting her ankle, breaking her shin, or whatever it was she did while dancing.

Some consolation prize, right? Like leaving Wheel of Fortune with nothing more than a box of Rice-a-Roni and a set of Lee press-on nails. But when the weather changes as often as it does around here, the best we can do sometimes is set up barrels and hope to catch some of the silver lining as it falls from the clouds.

Papa Bradstein will ride 200 miles across Massachusetts in two days to help fight cancer. Please support his ride.

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The shuttle to the doctor's office leaves from our house every hour on the hour

2011-11-16T06:08:00.001-05:00

Shattered dreams. A twisted leg and a limping dancer. Pneumonia.

No, this isn't a Dancing with the Stars recap, this is the last week in the Bradstein Household.

It started last week when Jewel and 3B were dancing to Just Dance 3 as I was headed home from work. By the time I got home, she'd managed to fall with her foot trapped between the leg of a chair and the leg of a table, apparently twisting them, although we'll never know.

Mama and 3B were standing right there and saw her fall, but couldn't tell what happened that hurt her. What they could tell immediately was that she was in great pain. Mama said that Jewel's face turned bright red immediately and she started screaming and crying louder than Mama had ever heard. By the time I got home, they'd been rocking in the glider for 20 minutes and Jewel had settled down, but she was limping around the house like a peg-legged pirate.

Sort of cute, but a little sad and very worrying.

It didn't seem to bother her anymore, but her brother was sitting up and moving around the day after his abdominal surgery with only Tylenol to dull the pain, so we know that kids' perception of pain is a bit different than adults'. And the limping meant that even if she wasn't registering or attending to it, Jewel was feeling it at some level.

As the orthopedist said when we took her to see him a few days later--the delay was because our first visit was to her pediatrician--you can't train them to limp...as if we'd want to...although, wait a minute, it is sort of cute, now that you mention it.

No, seriously, he said the same thing we knew: she was minimizing time standing on that leg by limping, which means that it hurts. But, two sets of x-rays later, he couldn't tell why.

Based on Jewel's own reports, we first x-rayed her foot, ankle and partway up her shin. The radiologist reported a possible concern in her heel, although not a fracture. But maybe. But maybe not. The orthopedist, looking at the x-ray and the radiologist report, which listed a suspected dislocation of her heel, said that he'd lost all respect for that radiologist because in toddlers, there's supposed to be a lot of seemingly empty space in the heel--it's cartilage that forms into bone as they get older.

So, he ordered an x-ray of her leg up to and past the knee because he said the most common injury for kids her age falling like that was a spiral fracture of their tibia or fibula, which would truly make Jewel Mom's granddaughter, since that's the fracture Mom got skiiing back in the day before quick release bindings. However, they must not be that closely related, because he found no fracture.

But she was still limping.

He told us to wait a week, and if she was still limping to bring her back in. The next steps would be an MRI or other soft tissue scan, but that would require knocking her out, since she has to lie still for so long for those.

It's now been 10 days, and she's got an appointment today to go back in--the soonest we could get back in, and we booked it just in case we needed it. It's hard to tell if she's still limping. If she is, it's slight, but we'll probably take her back in just to be sure. She does seem to be running normally again--she had developed quite the gallop, which led me to calling her Giddyup Hotspurs, which was my uncle's nickname for Hopalong Cassidy, which apparently his brother was a big fan of.

Fortunately, she's too young to know that.

Good thing I never wrote it down anywhere.

As for the shattered dreams and the pneumonia...those will have to wait for another post.

Papa Bradstein will gallop 200 miles across Massachusetts in two days to help fight cancer. Please support his ride.

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Shopping cart surfing

2011-11-02T06:15:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, the unthinkable happened when Mama left the children's care in my hands for the day. She hasn't lost her mind, though, just her health, and even that was a momentary lapse of the season.

Everyone seems to have survived, even Mama, who I put to bed last night with a bit of a hot toddy. It would have been a real hot toddy if I didn't live in a state that believes there's no need to update laws written on parchment with quills dipped in inkwells. Otherwise, why wouldn't they sell liquor at grocery stores? Or on Sundays?

Fortunately, we have enough of an emergency booze stash--strictly for medicinal purposes, I assure you--that I was able to pull something together. Imagine my relief.

The day started off slowly, since everyone was still tired from the candy orgy the night before. I let 3B sleep in until the last possible moment, so as soon as he got up, he was on the run to school. Jewel slept an hour or more past her usual waking hour, though she still woke up singing "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star" and "Baa Baa Black Sheep," as she does every morning.

By then, 3B was off to school. He's found his groove and really gotten into it. He knows to eat enough breakfast so he won't get tired at school, to get ready quickly in hopes of watching some TV before he leaves, and we had a good time reading his homework book one more time in the lobby and chatting with neighbors before he marched up onto the bus. He was so busy greeting his friends, he didn't even wave goodbye. Perfect.

Jewel had found her groove the night before, trick or treating, but hadn't figured out that she could eat her loot as she got it, so she woke up ravenous, although that's not an entirely novel event for our little pumpkin. She ate three bowls of Cheerios, helped me get her dressed and then we headed out while Mama slept on through her cold.

After trying to determine which playground Jewel wanted to go to, which isn't as easy as it sounds, given her coded, cryptic descriptions, lack of hard R's, and the fat pacifier that's always in her mouth, I did what I do best: the same thing we always do. The regular playground turned out to be just fine, if a bit nippy early in the morning. She spent most of our hour there in one swing or another, which was easy, since for most of the time we were there, nobody else was.

We left there and headed to the grocery store, where we loaded up on milk, cookies and other staples, which sounds easy, but you weren't wrestling a headstrong two-year-old who would rather stand up in the shopping cart seat and call out "Stokaboka!" than stay seated. (Thanks for that, you-know-who-you-are.) But seriously, she's a great shopping companion, who always has something to say, helps look for things and is amusing.

After that, we headed home for lunch and a nap--the former for both of us, the latter just for Jewel. Mama woke up when I put Jewel down, and appeared to be doing somewhat better. At least she was ambulatory. The rest of the day was pretty mellow, since 3B came home exhausted from school and still recovering from Halloween.

Today we appear to be back to what passes for normal around here, although we're entering my season of crazy swing shifts, so we'll see how long normal lasts.

Papa Bradstein will ride 200 miles across Massachusetts in two days to help fight cancer. Please support his ride.

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Halloween is Independence Day, and our girl must make her way on Independence Day

2011-11-01T06:03:00.000-04:00

Last night was, of course, Halloween. It was a night when, in Mama's words, Jewel "really came into her own."

Except, of course, she's been into her own for some time now. Who made our kids so independent and strong-willed anyway?

Oh.

3B had a blast, as always, with one of his best friends from preschool, who he's known since birth. 3B calls his friend's mom Auntie and his friend calls Mama the same. Mama and I had a blast, as always, with 3B's friend's parents, even though our conversations were constantly cut off and unfinished as we tried to keep our herd of cats together.

3B's friend has a younger brother, but he's older than Jewel, so she was really on her own, but that didn't bother her a whit. It was as if she'd been rehearsing what we told her about Halloween for weeks when she marched up to the first house--through the animated graveyard, under the swinging ghost--held out her plastic pumpkin and said, "Trick or treat!"

And at every house along the way after that.

She was such a pro that by the time we were leaving, her pumpkin was heavier than 3B's--although that was due, in part, to the fact that Jewel wasn't making a withdrawal for every deposit, as her brother was. It was so heavy that it threatened to capsize her as she walked up driveways and steps to front doors, and I kept asking if I could carry it for her.

"No. I got it."

Of course you do, sweetie.

Papa Bradstein will ride 200 miles across Massachusetts in two days to help fight cancer. Please support his ride.

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I'm not running backward; you're facing the wrong way

2011-10-31T06:05:00.000-04:00

My life is running in reverse. The weekend started with matzo ball soup and ended with me feeling like I was getting a cold.

Months ago, you made me shave my beard, and I finally gave it the 10 days we were at Grammy's to return. When it did, my sister kindly pointed out that it appeared lighter than before, as in not-red-at-all. As in gray. Yes, my beard has gone from rust to steel.

(As it came in, it went through all the uncomfortable phases from Nick Nolte mug shot to Brett Favre return to the NFL. Not sure if that's forward, reverse or lateral progress.)

On Sunday, when I got up with the kids to let Mama sleep in, Jewel decided her new word of the day was "actually," as in "I don't want that story, actually. I do want 'Planes,' actually. No, I don't want bagel for breakfast, actually." Or, as her brother observed, using his former word of the day, "Her word of the day is 'actually,' apparently." We'll be here all week, people; don't forget to tip your waitress.

We also had fire and ice this weekend. Friday night, a neighbor below us fell asleep with candles burning in her bathroom. They burned "some papers," according to her, but by the time we got to her place, there was "no fire," again, according to her. No idea how accurate her account is, however, since she wasn't even aware that she had a fire burning in her bathroom and seemed stunned when we opened the door. Stunned as in unsteady on her feet, rubbing her eyes, just woke up in a dark apartment--at 7.30 at night.

We knew--I was knocking on her door with the woman who lives below us and the woman who lives next door to her, which is directly above Smokey Jill's place--because our places were so full of smoke that we almost had to leave them. We were trying to discover the source, because as our downstairs neighbor said, "It's too cold to go stand outside while the fire department does the same thing." When we woke Smokey Jill, there was no smell of smoke that we could discern from the hallway, although the darkness of her place was impenetrable, so we couldn't see if there was any.

As we were on our way back to the elevator, however, she came running after us and explained about her bathroom. By the time we all got back to our houses, someone else had called the fire department, which arrived at full force--at least 10 vehicles, including our local hook-and-ladder, engine, ambulance and reinforcements from the neighboring county.

So we all went and stood outside in the cold anyway.

We probably didn't need to, but we used it as a fire drill for 3B, which would have worked a bit better if I were more relaxed as we were heading out. As it was, he burst into tears as soon as we said we were walking out, but that only lasted for five seconds, then he was back in fire drill mode and we had a fun time all the way down the stairs and outside.

Plus, we learned that our local fire station will be giving out candy tonight...so, bonus for us.

On Saturday, we had snow. Unlike in farther north, none of ours stuck, but it was snow. Big, fat, wet, gloppy snow. The day started with rain, progressed to sleet, then to snow for several hours. We, of course, took the kids out in it to catch it on their tongues and because...snow!

On Sunday, the skies were clear enough for a long bike ride with the kids. 3B pedaled the whole way and Jewel pedaled her trike--her other new trick this week--about half of the way. We were out for a couple of hours at least, which wiped the kids out. Jewel slept for at least three hours when we got home and 3B spent half of the afternoon lying on the living room carpet with his lovie. Next time, we'll get them coffee with their donuts at our rest stop along the route.

I wish that I could end this by saying we continue to move in reverse and this week we'll be back to late summer temperatures, but now, as I type this just before getting on my bike to ride to work, the temperature is barely at the freezing mark. It's not supposed to get over 55 all day, so at least the seasons continue to progress in the correct order. Winter is here.

Papa Bradstein will ride 200 miles across Massachusetts in two days to help fight cancer. Please support his ride.

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