Bradstein Household

3B: Baby boy bodhisattva

2009-07-02T11:08:00.002-04:00

I'm breaking a promise to myself here. I had sworn that my next blog post wouldn't mention Barky. That I would move on, take a small step forward and get back to blogging about 3B and his baby sister and Mama and all of those still with us.

I can't separate the past from the present, however--a point that 3B made for me this morning. As we were getting out of the car for his last day at Mrs. K's, he again picked up Barky's foot long steel screw in tiedown from the floor of the back seat. It's been back there since we returned from Grammy's farm. I just never got around to taking it out, so Mama had already warned him that it was sharp and dangerous.

It's actually more of a hassle to get away from 3B than it is sharp or dangerous, but those words work when we want him to put something down, and it is marginally sharp and could be dangerous. As Ani sings, any tool is a weapon, if you hold it right.

So, I repeated the warning to 3B at Mrs. K's house. He replied to the effect that he was taking it out of the car for Barky or that Barky needed it. Gently, in a soft voice, I said, "Barky can't come back, sweetie, so let's just leave it in the car."

3B set down the tiedown and stepped down out of the car and said, "Barky has his own space ship."

"That's right. He has his own space ship up in the stars." I had never heard him say this or mentioned to him anything about a space ship, however. When I told him that Barky wasn't coming back, I just said that Barky had gone up to the stars and that we could go outside at night and look up to see him, to find a star where Barky was.

We kept walking across the lawn and 3B repeated to me a warning I'd given him a few weeks ago, "Watch out for that big hole over there." And then he went on about Barky, "I don't see any stars."

"That's right. It's day time now, so we can't see any stars. But tonight we can see the stars. Do you want to go out and look at the stars tonight and see the stars and look for Barky?"

"We can talk to him. Barky! Barky! I can't hear him."

"Yes, he's too far away for us to hear him right now, but he can hear you. Maybe tonight we can go outside and look for him and talk to him some more."

"And he will hear me."

"Yes. He will hear you."

And then we were at Mrs. K's door, mercifully. I wasn't sure how much longer I could carry on that conversation. My preferred form of mourning is conscious ignorance of the situation, so talking about it was breaking down my defenses.

All the while, however, I was wondering if Mama had talked to him about a space ship for Barky, because, if not, 3B had placed Barky in that space ship on his own, had built Barky his own little heaven up among the stars. A space ship that I'm sure has a couch, a lawn with a sunbeam, an ever-full food dish and a little boy who always drops food when he eats.

On the walls of that spaceship, there might even be a picture from an ultrasound of another baby who will soon need Barky's protection--but hopefully not too soon, since we still have to get her a car seat, a crib and a few other items.

But even before we get to meet her, we did get to see her again, and this time we took 3B along. It wasn't easy since it was a daycare day for him, so we had to shuffle all of our schedules to make it happen, but Mama was nice and humored me in my desire to have 3B there, even though it was a hassle for her. In the end, I'm not sure how much difference it made to him, although it made a difference to me, as is so often the case with activities at this age.

The good news is that baby sister's placenta has moved up out of the way for delivery, which is what we were checking on in this extra ultrasound. Baby sister is also developing well--on the day of the ultrasound, she was measuring one week ahead in size, taking after her big big brother.

After that was determined, the tech took some measurements and gave us as good a look at baby sister as she would allow. For most of the appointment, her umbilical cord was covering her lower face, but Mama did get to see her yawn--I was talking to 3B at the time--and we did get a glimpse not only of her lips, but also her open eye.

Unfortunately, it was black and white, so no idea what color her eyes are yet. Oh, and Quaatchi got a free ultrasound out of it too, after we returned home.

Although baby sister will never get to see who was making all of those barking, groaning and whining sounds she heard before she was born, her big brother will be able to tell her all about him and take her outside to show her where his spaceship is, up amongst the stars. He knows. He knows that as we walk into the future we carry the past with us, that death doesn't mean departure, and that the living create heaven for the dead.

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What happened: Cold comfort for a bad dad

2009-06-23T20:59:00.002-04:00

Fortunately, I'm a bad dad and husband, so Barky was at least comfortable when he died. The first question everyone asks, including us, is What happened?

I've only had the energy to explain to a few people. I'll lay it all out here so I can point anyone over here who's curious. I don't mean to be rude, it's just not a fun story to tell. There are no real tears until the bitter end, but there are no punch lines at all, and recounting the anxiety makes me anxious all over again. Even telling it over ice cream to Steve and Larry tonight choked me up.

You know it's bad when ice cream doesn't help.

So, Friday night I don't recall what got into me, but I got into it first with 3B and then with Mama. Maybe work was stressing me out--when isn't it these days, what with layoffs, firings, reorgs and moves? Maybe I was tired from getting back to bike commuting. I was definitely stressed out by Barky, who was not doing well through the week.

After I had written that post, he had thrown up a full meal on the couch, but then he'd also been to the vet on Friday afternoon, where he showed some signs of improvement--propping his feet up on their counter as usual for treats, even if he didn't wing around as he typically did in the waiting room. He got some drugs for what we assumed was an ulcer and for the trots and came home and ate some of the bland diet food they gave him.

It's a cold comfort but some comfort nonetheless to know that at least his last meal was canned food.

By the time I got home, Barky was in his usual perch on the couch, curled up, observing and napping. We were all tired, and I originally planned to go to bed early with Mama, but instead managed to pick a fight with 3B at bedtime over who knows what. That put me in a sour mood so I ended up picking another fight with Mama over nothing as well. At that point, she retreated to the bedroom to read and fall asleep. I stayed out on the couch with Barky to surf the innernets and watch bad TV. I took him out to pee at 10 or so, and he moved slowly, but not exceptionally slowly, given that I thought he was recovering from a long week. He sniffed and peed as usual and we headed back in.

After awhile I made some popcorn, which was one of Barky's favorite meals. Whenever I salt the popcorn in the bowl, I toss it by flipping it in the bowl, inevitably dropping some on the floor, which Barky would hoover up. This time, however, Barky didn't even lift his head on the couch, which was a bad sign. About 15 minutes after I finished eating my popcorn, Barky got up off the couch, walked over toward the front door, lay down on the carpet and stretched out. My immediate first thought was, "He's lay down to die."

I went right to him and comforted him, petting him and talking to him. Then I grabbed some of his canned food, scooped it into his bowl and offered it to him. He didn't even look at me. And he's a beagle, so I knew it was bad. Then his stomach started convulsing every few seconds, contracting as if it was cramping.

By then, I was freaked out. I went into the bedroom, woke up Mama and told her that I was taking him to the emergency animal hospital. I had put Barky on a soft towel on the carpet, in which I scooped him up and carried him down the hall, into the elevator and out to the car, where I put him on the front seat. I called the ER and gave them the history as I drove down. Their reaction was mild on the phone, but when I arrived, they took urgent action, even though Barky had summoned the energy to walk into the office from the car.

The vet asked if she could do xrays to see what was going on, but they were inconclusive. She thought she could see a large shadow on one side of his abdomen, but she couldn't be sure what it was without doing an ultrasound. There was no ultrasonographer on duty, and there might not be one the next day, Saturday, so the vet offered to run one on her own, at no charge, because she thought Barky couldn't wait.

I didn't pick up on it then, but that was the first of many worrying signs from the vet.

I went outside to call Mama with an update--the waiting room is a cell-free zone. When the vet next came out, she told me that she had tapped a large amount of fluid from Barky's abdomen and now she looked visibly shaken and worried. She said they were testing it to see if it was septic or not. I asked what the prognosis was. She said, "If it's not septic, we'll have to find the cause. If it is septic..." Her voice trailed off and she shrugged her shoulders before walking off.

I got that worrying sign, loud and clear.

I went outside again to update Mama, who was openly sobbing as we discussed the prognosis and alternatives. I tried to focus on the positive, but I was thinking that if it's septic, he's likely dead already. I texted Brother #2 that very question, shooting burning arrows into the night sky. Again while I was outside, the vet came back into the waiting room with an update: not septic, but no idea what's causing the fluid to collect. She recommended exploratory emergency surgery to find out. There were three possible causes: his spleen flipped, his intestines had telescoped onto themselves, or he had "a mass." And no, we're not talking the kind the Pope presides over.

The first two were easy fixes, but the third was more complicated. If it's a mass they can extract, they take it out, sew him up, biopsy the mass and present us with options. If it's a mass that's entangled or spread, they call us during surgery and present us with options and, she said, "We have a discussion about quality of life. Whether you want to let him go from there or bring him up to say goodbye."

There was no mistaking her seriousness here. This was not a worrying sign, this was a clear message that the situation had rounded a corner that it wasn't coming back around.

I approved the surgery, then asked to see Barky before going home. It would take two hours to prep for surgery and another two hours in surgery, so I could at least try to sleep or just lay down for a bit. I went back to see him and a vet tech pulled off our collar and handed it to me, during which Barky was pretty unresponsive, so I asked if he was sedated. They told me he was on heavy pain meds for the stomach pain he seemed to be having. His head was at the back of his crate, so I stuffed my body in until my head was over his, lips to his ear. When I said hello, he tried to stand, but realized he couldn't and lay back down again.

I whispered into his ear that I loved him, that Mama loves him, that 3B loves him, using all of our names so he would remember who we were and know that each of us loved him. I told him that he was going to be OK, and that he just needed to hang in there, that the doctors would make him feel better. I told him that he was my perfect dog, the one I'd always wanted, then I kissed him, again told him that all three of us loved him and that I'd see him soon.

It took about 10 minutes to get home--at 1 a.m., all the lights were green--and as I stepped into the elevator, my phone rang. I was passing the second floor as I heard the vet tech say, "Barky went full code. The vet is giving him CPR now. I'll get the phone to her as soon as possible."

I told her not to bother, I was on my way back. She immediately hung up. I was off the elevator now, running up the stairs. I called our neighbor, apologized for the late hour, and asked her to come down and watch 3B's monitor. By the time I got to our floor, our neighbor was coming out of her place, down the hall to ours. I walked in, told Mama, and we hustled down the hall. It again took about 10 minutes to get back to the ER, but it seemed like a week.

As we walked in, the vet came out and greeted us. All she said is, "I'm sorry." We went into an exam room where she explained that she had defibrillated him to the maximum possible, but they hadn't gotten any response. No heartbeat. No rhythm. Nothing.

The vet seemed shaken by the whole sequence of events and offered to us that she could perform an autopsy, for which there was typically a fee, but which she would do for us for free.

We went back to the mourning room to see him just as they were laying him out under a blanket and we held each other and cried. We stroked his soft ears and his still warm back and belly and cried. We took one last picture of the bone-shaped mark on his back that gave him his middle name--Bones--and that we would never see again. We cried some more. We marvelled at how beautiful he was, even in complete stillness, remembering how people would stop us on the street to comment on how handsome he was--even stopping their cars in the road in traffic to roll down their windows and tell us how beautiful he was. And I kept thinking that maybe in just another second I would see his chest raise with a breath or hear him let loose one of his infamous tired old man groans.

We stayed with him until we were ready to say goodbye, by which time his feet had started to grow cold, and then we drove home, thanked our neighbor and crawled into bed, where we curled around each other and cried some more.

The vet called about an hour later and said that she had no more idea what caused him to die than she did before she did the autopsy. The lining of his stomach wasn't ulcerated, it was "perfect." His spleen wasn't flipped and his intestines weren't telescoped, although she observed that they sometimes flip back and untelescope spontaneously. Barky's spleen did have several masses on it, but they were all rounded and, in her experience, if one was to be malignant or causing a fluid buildup, it would have ruptured.

His end was just as much a mystery to us as the beginning of his life, what came before we rescued him, was. But as I drifted off to sleep, I realized that had I not picked those fights with 3B and Mama, if I was a good father, I would not have stayed up with Barky. He would have died alone and in pain--for although his stomach was convulsing, he never once cried out--in our living room. Instead, he had at least the small comforts of pain medication and the knowledge that his entire pack loved him, which was all he ever really wanted.

There it is, then. What happened is something that we do not know, and yet is visciously simple and brutal to understand.

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One for the road

2009-06-21T22:00:00.004-04:00

It's been a long weekend, but not in a good way. I feel like I've been gone from work and the world for weeks and that I haven't slept for at least that long. This, despite the fact that without Barky to walk, I can now sleep in and even, as I'm about to do, go from the couch to bed without a detour down the hall, down the elevator, out the back doors, around the parking lot, inside the building, up the elevator and back down the hall.

As much as I begrudged these walks, I only did so before we went on them. Once I was in motion down the hall, I was having as much fun as Barky. It's good to go outside. I'm a better version of myself when I'm outside, and on any day during which I spend any time outside, which is what Barky forced me to do.

I would see the mood of the moon, stars and sky. I would feel the wind, smell the water if the wind was blowing up from the river, hear the trees whispering amongst themselves, and feel the cool kiss of snowflakes on my cheeks. If there was fresh soft snow on the ground, Barky would romp through it, snuffling into it and digging after what seemed like fresh scents on the same patches of weeds and grass he sauntered past every day. If it was an icy night, he would still sniff the air and ground, but move right along. If it was too hot and muggy out, as it almost always was late in the summer, Barky would do his business and turn right back for the cooler confines of our air-conditioned abode. The tropical heat overwhelmed his British genetics. But on a night like tonight--warm and clear, perhaps even a bit cool if a breeze stirred, Barky would linger.

He might convince me to as well--to stretch our walk past the circuit of the parking lot down to the entrance of the neighboring townhouse community, the end of the cul-de-sac where 3B races his bike in circles, across over to our building's pool, down the sidewalk under the juniper trees and farther down until we had completed a larger circumnavigation of our building than the parking lot allows and we returned in through the back doors again--energized but not awakened.

We would both somehow be in a better mood, be better balanced, be more securely grounded for those few moments outdoors. No matter that in a few short hours, before most people awoke, we would stumble out into the dawn light, or predawn darkness in winter, and again perambulate and peruse through our neighborhood--we still needed that one last stroll before bed, that one for the road, if you will.

I needed him to take me there, just as he needed me to unlock our door and push the buttons in the elevator to get him there, as evidenced by the fact that I'm about to roll off of this couch and slouch down the hall to slump into slumber without so much as a look out the window. Perhaps I can't bring myself to face myself in reflection as I look out over what Barky considered his domain. Perhaps I am currently temporarily blind to the beauty of the commonplace that I so recently reveled in and simultaneously took for granted.

And, perhaps I will step out onto the balcony before I drift down through the dark doorway of our bedroom where I will carefully step around the brown lump of a rumpled bed that still lays on the floor along my side of the bed. In the morning, after lying in my bed with ears pricked for the sound of a sigh, groan or contented stretch from that bed, I will again step around it on my way out of the room.

And perhaps, before I light the stove for breakfast, I will again step outside and survey the day in the only way Barky knew how--directly, intimately, curious and happy. I will, however, skip the pissing on the neighbor's shrubs part.

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Because laughter is the best medicine

2009-06-20T22:52:00.002-04:00

Because we all need at least a distraction if not a good laugh these days, we've been looking at a recent little movie. The short version of the story is that 3B was visiting his friend MLTU. Mama and MLTU's Mama were talking on the porch while the two kids had the run of the house for about an hour. Hijinks ensued and the Mamas returned to film the aftermath.

No refrigerator was harmed in the making of this film. You'll even notice that the 3B and MLTU were thinking about safety and cleanliness, putting bibs on themselves.

You can read the whole story and see the movie over here.

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We lost our best friend today

2009-06-20T07:21:00.009-04:00

This morning at 1:30 a.m., Barky passed away unexpectedly from unknown causes. From the moment we met him at a beagle rescue league adoption day in Baltimore until we said goodbye to him today, we loved him with all of our hearts--a love that was returned in full.

There is too much to write and the attempt to do so pains me too greatly to complete now. I will admit to one lie I have told about him over the years, however. We had gone to the adoption day to see what this rescue league was like and how they operated, if we liked them, perhaps fill out the paperwork there for a future adoption. We were arriving late, so we fully expected all the dogs to be adopted out by the time we arrived.

We walked in with our good friend, D, who had driven all the way up to Baltimore with us to entertain our folly. Mama and D split off from me on our way into the store and were looking at other dogs, but all I remember is seeing Barky standing at the end of an aisle, bandana still around his neck, indicating that he was not yet adopted. He was perfect. He was the dog I've wanted since I was a boy.

Our dog.

And somehow, although the beagles with thyroid conditions, the ones so overweight their bellies dragged on the floor, the ones who were so lethargic they never once woke up in the middle of a tumultuous pet store--although all of them were adopted, this one perfect dog was not. I immediately asked if it was true that he was available and when the volunteer said that he was, I kneeled at the table and began filling out the paperwork.

Mama always teases me--especially after Barky did something like bury a package of cookies in our couch or drink our coffee in the car while we went to the bathroom at a rest area--that, "We walked in to look around; I turn around and there you were, filling out the paperwork." I always demur and say that it was her who picked him out, but we both know that's a lie, although we have both loved him with all of our hearts.

I loved him from the moment I saw him, and I always will. And Mama loved him from the moment she and D walked him around the store and he peed on several displays.

A few weeks later, when we could finally bring him home, we were all three as happy as could be.

Coming home for the first time.

Back before we had kids, when we could nap on the couch whenever we wanted.

Before global warming, when we used to be able to walk in the snow, a favorite activity for Barky.

Barky on Grammy's farm a few weeks ago, where he loved to be--outside, off leash.

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It counts as camping, even if it ends with brunch

2009-06-18T21:56:00.002-04:00

At least nobody crapped on my kitchen floor today. OK, technically, when Barky crapped on the kitchen floor while Mama was busy with 3B, he was crapping on my kitchen floor, but I wasn't here to see it or have to clean it up, unlike unlucky Mama.

I was here, however, to take Barky out twice in 30 minutes this evening, for which I was serenaded with sounds that no civilized ear should ever be subjected to--the sound of a whoopee cushion full of jello being stomped on repeatedly came to mind. As I desperately sought for any other thought for my brain to latch onto, I remembered how 3B had observed, apropos of nothing, this week that "when you go camping, you poop in the woods."

That reminded me that we had indeed gone camping and I had indeed meant to scribble down some reminisces about it here or on a gum wrapper or dried out baby wipe before I forgot them entirely. As I stood on the lawn as far from our building as possible, listening to Barky's internal struggles, I recalled in no particular order:

I am not as good a dad as I would like to be. Sure, sometimes I think I'm the Zen-hug-it-all-out dad master, but the reality is much more spotty than that. Setting up the tent proved that. This was our first time setting up our new family-sized tent in the wild, where there are, of course, obstacles that weren't present in the living room early in the morning, such as wind and an excited boy. A boy who wanted to lean on, lay on, jump on, roll on and run away with every piece of the tent. Repeatedly. Let's not even get started describing how inflating the new air mattress went. You know, the new one since the old one sprung a leak because we let someone jump on it too much...yeah, that one. Anyway, my reaction was to pretty much directly oppose him every step of the way. Ever try that with a two-year-old? It's about as successful as asking Kim Jong Il very politely to please not launch that missile right over Japan--you can do it, so long as you don't care about getting what you want. However, despite my total lack of parenting skills in that moment--and many thanks to Mama who distracted and amused 3B while I was trying to figure out contact points A-M between the tent and the rain fly--I did manage to set up the tent without anybody resorting to tears.
I love nature; I love quiet nature more. Our night was uneventful--dinner, a walk to pay our fee, settling everyone into bed (us on the air mattress in the main tent, Barky on his bed in the vestibule)--until we tried to sleep. At that point, a bird started calling...no, calling isn't the right word. Shrieking is closer. Now we are not ornithologists, so I can't give you the Latin name of the bird, but we decided, Mama and I did, laying there on our backs in the middle of the night as 3B and Barky slumbered, that the common name of this bird is the Car Alarm Bird. Seriously. I have no better way to describe its call than to tell you to go to a parking lot, kick a Beemer and press your ear to the hood to get as close to the alarm as possible. At some point, some other campers finally rousted and tried to chase this bird off, causing it to call more excitedly and then fly around the campground calling vociferiously. I don't blame them for this, as I was already awake. At least I had something amusing to listen to.
It does count as camping, even if it ends with brunch. As those of you who follow me in my life as a twit know, we got up in the morning and headed out to brunch. I know you know that, since many of you snarked at me about that. Let me clarify a few things: it was Mother's Day, it was our first time camping with 3B, and it was Mother's Day. We weren't sure how 3B would take to camping, no matter how much he loves to play camper in our living room with his little tent from IKEA. The good news: he loved it. We also weren't sure how much we would love it, given 3B's propensity for sleeping perpendicular to us and Barky's propensity for running, groaning and baying in his sleep. More good news: we loved it. We also thought it would be a nice casual Mother's Day treat to stop at the Silver Diner on our way back home, which we did. We might have taken casual a bit further than most other Mother's Day brunchers, judging by the little boy in front of us in line who observed loudly about 3B, "That boy is still in his pajamas!" Hey, at least he had his Crocs on. And at least that boy didn't observe that after sitting around our campfire, we all smelled like we'd rolled in the ashes from Burning Man.

Well, in the 30 minutes it took me to write that, Barky hasn't made a move for the front door or the kitchen floor, so I'm going to bed. Perhaps next time I'll tell you about 3B's poop milestone at Grammy's.

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Bloody hell

2009-06-17T20:10:00.002-04:00

I stayed at home with 3B, who was recovering from last night's illness, which only got more exciting after I finished writing. He barfed, oh, I don't know how many more times. Of course, they were mostly dry heaves, which are just as much fun as, shall we say, productive coughs.

After his last time, he desperately wanted out of his crib, which I understood, so I lay down with him on the lower bunk, where he promptly went to sleep. I spent the next several hours trying to keep my fat ass from slipping off the edge of the bed without waking 3B during my struggles. Note to self: before sleeping in twin bed with 3B, get duck tape.

Finally, I transferred him back to his crib and fell into bed with Mama and her Berlin Wall. Approximately 2.5 seconds later, or so it seemed, 3B was up and ready to roll for the day. Mama headed out and 3B and I settled into a mellow morning of Curious George shows, a Winnie the Pooh video, Elmo's Potty Time and too many Rocknoceros videos to count. After not eating lunch, a still-exhausted 3B fell right into his nap, as did I.

While he was recuperating from his hard night, I was seemingly getting more sick all morning. There was the congestion, then the scratchy throat, then my joints started to ache, then there were the random aches and pains and the feeling that a John Deere tractor had driven across my abs. No idea what that last one is about, but it was enough to lead me to nap while 3B did.

I had no sooner lay down then Barky began to do his I-have-the-trots dance by the front door, complete with whining and pacing. I lay down to see if he would settle in, but the little Trotskyite stayed out by the front door, singing the red dog blues. So, I did what any bad parent would do: I checked to ensure that 3B was sound asleep, then ran Barky down to do the dirty deed. Even with the time I took to pretend to pick it up (read: smeared it around in the grass), it took all of 10 minutes and I am happy to report that 3B was unharmed. I wish I could say the same for Barky.

Of course, after our naps, 3B woke up fully recovered while I woke up groggy and cranky. Perfect.

Barky seemed fine until just before Mama got home, when he again impersonated a Bee Gees album played at 78 rpm by our front door. When I felt he couldn't wait any longer, I took him out where he again did the deed, but this time with a trace of blood in it. Hey--don't you just love how parent blogs don't pull any punches? So, of course I'm worried, but his vet is closed for the night, and I think it's being caused by the pain killer he's been on following his teeth cleaning.

You know, the teeth cleaning where they found a growth in his mouth that has a 10% chance of being malignant and do you want it checked to see if it will kill him or if it was just a little bump on his gums? Of course I want it checked, but what I really want is for a week to go by without any growths or blood or barf, or even all three in 48 hours. Unfortunately, my vet couldn't arrange that latter option, so I had them send off his bump to wherever the check bumps for whatever they check them for, and felt relaxed because there's a 90% chance that he's fine.

Except for the bloody stool, that is.

So here I lie in bed--to dissolve into sleep if I can find a position in which no part of my body feels as if someone is pinching it in vice grips--with my book to read to help me drift off. You know, my book, in which the author explains that the epidemic that Abigail suffers through with their children while John is at Congress in Philadelphia, helping push for and draft the Declaration of Independence, is what we call dysentery today, but what they referred to as "bloody flux" back then.

Charming. Here's hoping the part that I'm on to now doesn't include so much barf or blood or scrubbing floorboards with vinegar. Then again, John has just moved to the Netherlands, so even if there's no illness, it's still in line with my week, thematically.

And yes, we cut Barky off from the painkillers, although I'm sad to say we don't have enough money to send him off to Betty Ford to ease the transition, and he'll be going to his vet tomorrow morning.

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Bucket brigade

2009-06-17T00:03:00.003-04:00

I've been told by my advertiser, who keeps track of such things, that it's been a week since I updated my blog. Apparently, they miss me and want to know how I'm doing.

Ironically, I haven't been writing because life has been too busy. Tonight, for example, I'm up on barf watch, with the monitor in the living room while Mama sleeps in our bed with her body pillow which has the rough size and shape of a 30-foot long half-coiled python. I refer to it as the Berlin Wall, so she's likely not missing me much at all. Ever since I stopped bringing my grappling hooks to bed, I've had no way to get close to her.

But back to barf watch--at about bedtime, which is around 8:30 these days--3B was busy playing with knives--butter knives before you call child protective services...they just happen to be right next to the butcher block is all--when he suddenly declared that his stomach hurt. We shrugged it off for a moment, especially since we had a neighbor over, surveying our washer/dryer install to see if he could do the same in his unit.

A moment later, however, 3B was briefly in tears, so the neighbor made his exit while we tried to get 3B into bed. He kept calling out and tearing up, which is not at all usual for him. While I held him in my arms, Mama called our friend, who just so happens to be an excellent pediatrician, and asked all of our questions--ulcers? ruptured spleen? appendicitis? Alien thingie that bursts out through your shirt at the dinner table?

He said it was likely a minor virus and did we have a bucket handy? Mama grabbed a small red bucket as she walked back in the room--just in time for 3B to return his dinner into it. Following that there was much moaning--those are my genes showing--some crying and a few more rounds with the bucket, and one with the sheets and blankets on the bed, which are now in the dryer.

Admittedly, that's not what's kept me offline for a week, since it just cropped up tonight, but this is just the latest representative sample of what's been taking up my copious spare time. I'll be home from work on daddy duty/barf detail tomorrow, so perhaps during nap time I'll have a chance to catch you up on some of the rest. If I'm not napping myself, that is.

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More helping [Flickr]

2009-06-05T08:06:37-07:00

bradstein posted a photo:

Watering [Flickr]

2009-06-05T08:05:50-07:00

bradstein posted a photo:

Helping [Flickr]

2009-06-05T08:05:05-07:00

bradstein posted a photo:

Discovering that the hose is on [Flickr]

2009-06-05T08:04:20-07:00

bradstein posted a photo:

Helping with Aunt D's garden [Flickr]

2009-06-05T08:03:29-07:00

bradstein posted a photo:

Playing boomwhackers [Flickr]

2009-06-05T08:02:42-07:00

bradstein posted a photo:

Checking the rollers [Flickr]

2009-06-05T08:01:54-07:00

bradstein posted a photo:

What child labor laws? [Flickr]

2009-06-05T08:01:13-07:00

bradstein posted a photo:

Working in a sawmill is perfectly safe, right?

Driving his forklift [Flickr]

2009-06-05T08:00:27-07:00

bradstein posted a photo:

Riding, crying, hoping

2009-06-03T21:57:00.003-04:00

Thanks to all of my six loyal readers who donated, the Ride for Research was a great success. The day was both beautiful and moving. The weather was perfect and the route was scenic, rolling past Walden Pond and on small country lanes through small villages and horse pastures. I was particularly moved by the volunteers and riders I met.

After slipping out of our hotel room, leaving Mama and 3B slumbering behind, I went down to the car, rousted a slumbering Barky, let him out, gave him breakfast and walked him on the shore of the reservoir. The water was mirror smooth and we watched families of geese walk across from the preserve and slip into the glassy water, which was far more interesting to me than to Barky.

The temperature was perfect for Barky and a bike ride, and when I put the mutt back in the car to await Mama and 3B, he went right back to sleep. I pulled on my bike clothes, grabbed a muffin from the lobby, retrieved my bike from the bellman and rolled less than a mile down the road to the start of the ride.

I was feeling ready for the ride, but not sure if I was ready for the emotions of the ride, and I was hit with that as I got my rider number. The woman who checked me in had lost her husband to a brain tumor when he was 49 and her three children, who were all teenagers when their father died, were riders. It was such a relief to know that I was among people who understand what I've been through--and who have triumphed over the tragedy that might have been.

A woman at the refreshments table was a brain tumor survivor, having had her final surgery six years ago. She and I talked about the importance of having hope and how events like this can provide hope to patients, who can see that they have the support of others and that research continues. It reminded me again of the importance of hope, of focusing on the potential rather than the peril.

Those of us riding the 50-mile course--there were 25 and 15 mile options--rolled out at 8 a.m. to the cheers of the volunteers, survivors and other riders and into a perfect morning for a bike ride. Before we'd even started, I had already taken off my vest and arm warmers--yes, bikers are geeky like that.

On the course, there was a large contingent of users wearing bunny ears and I asked one of them what the ears signified. She told me that her mother's name had been Bunny and that there were approximately 30 family members on her team, all riding in memory of Bunny. Then she warned me that the next hill was the killer of the course and as the group of riders spread out, we lost touch with each other.

The ride rolled by more easily than I had thought it would. It helped that it was a gently rolling course, so the hills weren't too steep and there were occasional downhill sections that I could coast through. I was estimating that I'd ride at about 16 mph, meaning that it would take a little over three hours to finish the ride, but I ended up averaging almost 18 mph for the whole course, finishing in under three hours. The course made riding easier, as did having company around rather than riding solo to work as I usually do when training...hm, maybe something about riding toward a rest stop rather than work had something to do with it too. Nah, couldn't be, right?

Later, close to the finish line, I came up behind a man riding with his son, who was about six years old, in a seat on the back of his bike. I wondered about them as I did so many others on the ride--who were they were riding for? And I thought of how I hoped that 3B would one day participate in rides like this with me. I listened to the father and son chat about the ride and the countryside we were passing through and then I noticed a small note on the back of the boy's seat: "I Ride 4 Mom."

That taught me how tough it was to ride with tears in my eyes.

Overall, however, the day reinvigorated my hope for progress against brain tumors. Almost 1,000 people participated in the event, which raised more than $500,000 to support brain tumor research and services for brain tumor patients and their families. Thanks again to all of you who supported my ride. If you think you missed your chance to help out, it's not too late. You can still make a donation--but hurry before the deadline arrives.

Not for nothing, it was fun to read, as I was riding, about Brother #2 who was riding at the same time I was in a charity ride near L.A. Sister #1 was also in my thoughts as she completed a triathlon--and now that she's on Twitter (resistance is futile) I'll be able to follow along on her next one. I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to rise to either of their levels, but it was fun for a day to ride along with them virtually, and to hear from Sister #2, even if she didn't show up to push me up those hills.

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Apparently we're expecting a baby Thunderbird

2009-05-29T11:58:00.003-04:00

When he first heard his sister's heartbeat, which was a much more whooshing sound until the doctor tuned the doppler in, 3B said that it "sounds like the Thunderbirds."

Here's hoping she's not quite that loud.

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Some days you're the pen, some days you're the paper

2009-05-28T09:20:00.002-04:00

On this particular day, 3B was the pen and the paper. My shirt was also briefly the paper. I guess now we'll see if these new stamp pens really are washable.

Last night, 3B enjoyed some new paper in a more relaxed setting.

These books came from Aunt S, who had overheard on her last visit that he loved the one book we had, which was given to me by Dad and Mom many moons ago. She sent along a stack of 15 or so Berenstain Bears books in a box that 3B could hardly wait to open.

When we got through our front door, I went to get a knife to cut the tape open, but 3B flipped the box over and opened up the bottom, which had tape he could tear through. Once he saw it was a stack of books, he insisted that I sit down right there with him in the foyer and read two of them to him.

We've since gone through the rest of the books, some of them several times, which has allowed 3B to pick up key phrases--"You shut up!" which he deploys in proper context, so that's fun--and key concepts. 3B, who regularly takes on personas from Johnny Cash to Alison Krauss, now takes on the persona of Tuffy, the girl bully bear from the book on bullying.

Somehow, I'm thinking that the moral of that little tale hasn't really sunk in yet. Or we're in for some fun when 3B gets to kindergarten. I don't know which will be more fun--the parent-teacher conference about the bullying or about the pink skirt and headband he's sporting.

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From the mouth of our babe

2009-05-27T22:00:00.003-04:00

Me: Do you want to walk to your changing pad or do you want me to carry you there?
3B: You shut up!

...Thank you, Berenstain Bears for that bon mot...but seriously, 3B loves all of the new books, Aunt S, even if he is fixating on the conflicts rather than the morals.

3B: You have to be nice to God. You can't touch him.
...Is it wrong that every time 3B says this I bust out the MC Hammer? Maybe not, but it certainly explains how 3B picked this up at school, not at home.

3B walked over to Mama, swung his hand back and smacked her belly as hard as he could and grinned. While Mama was trying to figure out what the hell was going on, 3B said, "I just gave my baby sister a high five!"

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This explains a lot

2009-05-26T09:38:00.002-04:00

This email alert from my fair city explains why I had to ford streams that had overtaken the bike path this morning. At least I didn't have to portage.

The National Weather Service has issued a flash flood warning for the City of Alexandria and the entire Washington metropolitan region until 11:15 a.m. Heavy rains throughout the night have caused 2-3 inches of water to accummulate in various parts of the warning area. An additional 1-2 inches of rain is expected until 11:15 a.m. today. High waters may be on the roadways and in low lying areas. Residents are urged to use caution when driving and do not drive through high waters.

It also explains why I should check my email before I bike in to work. This wouldn't have stopped me from biking--that's just crazy talk--but at least I would have known to wear my flippers and snorkel.

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My hammering heart

2009-05-23T17:45:00.005-04:00

Riding my bike up Page Mill Road yesterday, I was reconsidering some recent decisions I'd made: breakfast, my morning ab workout, and yesterday's absinthe on the flight out here.

As I was riding, I was reminded of a difference between VA and my native CA: bike riders here say hello. They even say good morning on occasion. The first time someone did it, I almost fell over. That could have been because I was traveling about .5 mph up a 10% grade with my heart hammering like a hyperventilating hummingbird's, but I really think it was the shock of having my presence acknowledged, then being spoken to. What the--?

Then there was the guy who ate his energy goo, then dropped the wrapper on the road. He bent down and dropped it by his shoe, just like pro racers do in the peloton. But, you know what, pal? People come along after the peloton passes and sweep all that crap up. Not so much behind you. If you were a that good, you would have been in Italy yesterday, riding to Bologna. To keep my sense of self-identity, I'm assuming he's an invasive species, not a native Californian.

Here's where I'm going this morning to find more friendly riders--hopefully non-litterbugs--and recover
&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://www.mapmyride.com/ride/united-states/ca/palo-alto/724124317254445813"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Portola Valley Loop&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br/&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://www.mapmyride.com/find-ride/united-states/ca/palo-alto"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Find more Bike Rides in Palo Alto, California&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;

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It's not the miles, it's the hills

2009-05-23T11:19:00.002-04:00

Here's where I'll be spending my morning, training to beat cancer. I'm not asking you to ride with me--I don't take you for that kind of fool.

However, although I've met my fundraising goal, my long term goal it to make brain tumors history. And cancer doesn't have a goal, and it never rests--it simply keeps growing and silently taking hundreds of thousands of loved ones from us. So, if you can, I'd love your support.

&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://www.mapmyride.com/ride/united-states/ca/-palo-alto/827124309162659179"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Page Mill-Woodside&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;br/&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;a href="http://www.mapmyride.com/find-ride/united-states/ca/-palo-alto"&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;Find more Bike Rides in Palo Alto, California&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;lt;/a&amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;amp;gt;

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Absinthe makes the heart grow fonder

2009-05-23T03:57:00.003-04:00

I'm flying out to California to continue cleaning out Mom's house along with my siblings, which isn't such a fun reason to leave Mama and 3B for a long weekend. However, I always look forward to hanging out with my siblings. Nothing feels better than blood on blood.

But, even if it's to go see my family, I can't stand leaving my family.

Being away from Mama and 3B heightens my sensitivity to families and children around me like a blindfold heightens hearing. As I walk through the airport, I find myself waving and talking to all the toddlers. Before we got on the plane, a little boy who was traveling with his mom dropped some trash in the can next to where I was sitting to charge my laptop--the things we do for technology, right?

When I got on the plane, the little boy was already on, sobbing in his mother's arms. I said hello to him and waved and he stopped for a minute to talk. His mom explained that he was scared, which made me feel even worse for the little guy. But what could I do? I went on back to my seat and listened to him crying and screaming until we finally got in the air. it was heartbreaking.

Probably doesn't help that as I was listening to him cry, I was watching the car smashing scene between Xavier and his dad in Roll Bounce, which brought tears to my eyes as it made me think of how 3B is these days.

No, he hasn't taken a bat to our car, but he does get that worked up--so worked up that it scares him. Just before we walked out to drive to the airport, he grabbed a pack of loratadine out of my bag because it was shiny, looked like candy and he's two. I jumped over and grabbed them back out of his hand, explaining that it was medicine and dangerous, but he just opened his mouth and screamed as loud as he could. With his second scream, he started to cry.

I know that screaming is verboten in our house, but I also know that 3B is behind on his sleep this week, was tired when he woke up this morning and didn't nap at Mrs. K's today. I also know that he misses me as much as I miss him, and probably wasn't looking forward to dropping me off at the airport. And I know that when he gets like this, he also hits, throws toys and bangs on furniture, windows, and whatever else is nearby. He often hurts someone, a toy or himself when he does this, and that usually scares him.

So I asked him if he wanted to hug about it, and he came over for the biggest hug I could muster as I let him cry it out.

That's not what I would have done six months ago. Back then, I would have given him a warning and he would have ended up in time out. We all would have been more stressed out and even later leaving than I had already made us. This is what I've learned from my son. OK, and from watching Mama.

3B reminds me that I also used to flip out and destroy projects just because one tiny element wasn't perfect. I'd smash models and tear up papers. If I'd known to hit something, I would have done that too--and I did when I was a teenager. He reminds me that Dad came into my room one night, angry that I hadn't cleaned my room and with his arm swept all my valuable possessions off the top of my bookshelf onto the floor of my room.

3B reminds me of when Mom told me that she loved her parents, but there were things they did that Mom vowed she would never do. She said that she was sure the same would be true for me, and she was right.

I don't want to pass along my short temper and quick anger to 3B--if it's not too late. And I'm counting on 3B to teach me how to avoid that fate--with some help from Mama, the parent sensei. That's another reason I miss them so much when we're apart like this--they're my guides. How will I know how to behave when they're not around to keep me straight? Sure, they're always on my mind and in my heart wherever I go, but it's not the same as having them here.

Then again, if 3B were here, I wouldn't be able to enjoy this delectable absinthe drink 36,000 feet over Kansas City.

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Blog stalker and bye bye

2009-05-21T06:29:00.006-04:00

Yesterday started with a random run-in with one of my blog stalkers and ended with an Ethiopian dinner goodbye to Mama's best friend from growing up and her fiancé.

My ride to work was unexceptional other than the extra effort required because I was taking the long route in because I was going to go straight from work to dinner rather than riding home. That is, it was unexceptional until I was just about to go down the ramp to the bike room in the garage under our building, which is when I crossed paths with a former coworker. Turns out that she stalks me here, which means that she knew more about what I've been doing than I could remember.

Calvin observed that verbing weirds language. Blogging weirds conversations. What's left to talk about if all the small talk catch up has been covered in writing already? Lord knows I'm not capable of substantive conversation on meaningful topics. If I was, I'd write a book, not a blog.

Perhaps my inability to engage in conversation comes from my inability to complete a sentence without the interruption of a song, request for a snack, need for a bike ride, request to set up a tent, and so on. Not that I'm complaining. I'd much rather camp out in the living room with 3B, Eeyore and George than listen to myself blather.

It would be nice, however, to occasionally hear from other folks, but Mama and I have learned that we can tag team conversations and piece them together later. This came in handy at dinner at our favorite Ethiopian place last night.

I spent the first half following 3B up and down the stairs while Mama chatted with her friend and her fiancé, then we swapped roles for the second half of the meal. I make it sound worse than it was. 3B actually spent a fair amount of time sitting with us and talking, eating his dinner and playing his new pink recorder, which we bought at a shop down the street while waiting.

He also charmed the waitresses from the moment he walked in. When they learned his name, which is popular in Ethiopia and is the name of one of the waitresses' older brother, they really took a liking to him. When the waitress whose brother shares 3B's name saw how I was walking up and down the steps with him as the others ate, she called him over and had him help her out by taking sugar packets out of the box they were in, then put them back in. She continued to chat with him throughout our meal, making 3B and us happy.

After dinner, as we walked down the street to our cars, we detoured through Maggie Moo's for some ice cream. 3B got his usual--vanilla with rainbow sprinkles--and then charmed the server with his polite "thank you" and his laugh of exhilaration. But, of course, as soon as 3B had his cone in hand, he walked back to the toppings display, slapped his hand on the glass and declared, "I want gummy bears." Repeatedly.

The server was watching 3B and laughing as he prepared my cone--I got Heath bars folded in, so it took a minute--and after he handed me my cone and we were walking away, the server called me back and handed me a cup lid with two dozen gummy bears in it for 3B.

After evening like that, with good friends and around friendly people, like our waitress and ice cream server, my faith in humanity is restored. I feel like we are all in this thing together, supporting one another.

And as we said our goodbyes to Mama's friend and her fiancé, 3B walked around the circle of us and gave us each a big hug--you know, on our thighs, since that's as high as he can reach.

3B gets it. He's in this thing with us too.

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Running through planes

2009-05-19T20:46:00.002-04:00

Our BabyCenter update for this week started with these words:

The network of nerves in your baby's ears is better developed and more sensitive than before.

Which means that we picked the perfect week to take her to the Joint Services Open House, aka the Thunderbirds air show. Now, I've heard some pretty loud T-birds before--they were backing up Bob Dylan at the Pantages in LA, but those guys had nothing on the birds we saw this weekend.

How loud was it? Hide your head in Mommy's lap loud.

OK, that's not entirely fair. He did that for a short time before they even took off, and that may have been related more to his lack of a nap than the upcoming din. During the show, he was parked on my lap, with earplugs in place and my hands over his ears. I would peel my hands back a bit to let him know to look to the left or right, and after awhile, he would peel my hands back and tell me to look left or right.

Close, and cute, so we'll ignore the fact that he was unclear on the concept.

Honestly, most of day was spent running up and down ramps. The C5 was 3B's favorite because he could run up the back, through the plane and down the ramp out front as long as they had the nose cone open.

Since Mama is more pregnant than I am, I was on chase duty all day, which was actually pretty fun. For not taking a nap and being in a loud, strange, weird place all day with few food options available, 3B did very well, only getting frustrated a couple of times. I didn't do so badly myself, given that I was operating in the same conditions.

And about that food--the boy is going to need to start liking pizza if he expects to get anything vegetarian to eat at carnie-food events like this. According to a random announcement in the middle of the day, there was a healthy food option somewhere on the grounds, but the closest we could find was the curly fries booth, which 3B was happy with as well.

After all the helicopters and planes, we settled in under the wing of yet another plane for the show. I would have taken pictures, but my hands were full of toddler ears. Besides, if you want to see the Thunderbirds, Google them yourself. Others have taken far better pictures than I could have.

Of course, one of the best parts of the day came on the way out: the moon bounce, which was run by a woman who appeared to be Gollum's mother. She terrified me, but had no effect on 3B, who ignored her with extreme prejudice, as only a two-year old can do, and went on bouncing.

Then it was time to start moving toward home, which meant retracing our steps: walk the length of the runway, catch a shuttle ride to FedEx Field where we parked our car, and then drive the 45 minutes home.

Along the way we had to stop to examine items of interest, such as the rubber between concrete blocks on the runway.

And another helicopter.

Detours like these are why we get started well before we need to get anywhere--if we plan ahead. But we did eventually make it onto that shuttle bus.

Yes, pregnant Mama is carrying our sleepy boy. In my defense, he asked for her and note from the camera angle that I was standing, while she was sitting and I was also carrying the stroller.

OK, none of that makes a bit of difference after Mama spent a full day trooping around behind her two boys while her baby girl to be was making her foot bones feel as if they were rubbing on each other with every step she took. Mama had this periodically when she was pregnant with 3B too. It's as unpredictable as the cramps she gets in her belly at times when she's walking.

So, I probably deserve that look she's giving me, even if she does admit that 3B did have some fun.

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There's a tick on my back! Oh wait, maybe not...

2009-05-18T22:44:00.003-04:00

This morning was like any other until I found a tick on my back while I was in the shower at work after riding my bike in. I woke up at 6 as always, started making breakfast for Mama and myself, did my pushups and the ab workout from hell (courtesy of Michael David) on the living room carpet, walked the dog, changed into my bike clothes, packed up my panniers and headed out for work.

Everything was normal on my ride, although my chain keeps skipping off the cassette when I'm accelerating from a dead stop or powering up a hill. I think it's a stuck link, but I haven't had the time to confirm or take it to Spokes to find out. I thought about our fun weekend at the air show, how many blog posts I've written during these bike commutes, only to forget as soon as I arrive at work--not to mention all the bikeus I've lost along the way.

At work everything was normal too. I said good morning to everyone in the locker room--that's been one weird thing about my new job at an environmental organization: being with lots of fellow bike commuters, rather than being the only one. Then I was thinking through my upcoming day as I showered when I suddenly felt a large lump on my back.

My mind immediately went to our recent camping trip. Shit! I have a tick. I felt around it some more. Correction: Shit! I have the mother of all ticks! On my back! I'm in the shower at work, which is the size of a toothpick box. Shit! So I pulled on it to see if it was really attached--but crap, this thing was so large, I was sure it was bolted on pretty good. It felt totally engorged.

I gave one final tug and it popped off in my hand. I didn't even think--I just brought it around to look at it and came face to face with an adhesive jewel that 3B had peeled off of the Mother's Day frame he made for Mama at school, then dropped on the living room carpet. I must have lay down on it to do my ab workout and ground it into my back, so it was pretty well fixed on there.

Needless to say, that wiped the brilliant blog post I'd written on the ride from my mind. Good news for all six of you loyal readers, I suppose.

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Defeating global warming and brain tumors

2009-05-14T23:01:00.002-04:00

You can see on the map below how I'm doing both of those tomorrow. My ride takes me through a WABA-sponsored pit stop for Bike-to-Work Day and it's part of my training for my brain tumor ride.

And it's almost double the length of my normal commute route, so I need to get to bed so I'll have enough energy to make it to work.

It's funny, this ride makes me think of Princess Bride, tweaked a little...

"Good luck saving the world!"
"Do you think it'll work?"
"Not a chance."
"Bye bye."
"Bye bye."

Good night, Gracie.

&amp;lt;a href="http://www.mapmyride.com/ride/united-states/va/alexandria/118124235634057399"&amp;gt;Bike to Work Day Route&amp;lt;/a&amp;gt;&amp;lt;br/&amp;gt;&amp;lt;a href="http://www.mapmyride.com/find-ride/united-states/va/alexandria"&amp;gt;Find more Bike Rides in Alexandria, Virginia&amp;lt;/a&amp;gt;

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What are words for when no one listens anymore?

2009-05-13T06:16:00.006-04:00

According to BabyCenter, our little two-and-three-quarters-year-old boy

Knows about 200 words by 24 months and 450 words by 30 months.
Uses two words together by 24 months and three- to four-word sentences by 36 months.
Sings songs and knows a nursery rhyme or two.

I think they got their numbers a little confused. He's speaking in paragraphs of what seems like 200 words, and knows about 450 songs, all of which he sings in a running concert all day long.

And all of which we have to sing to him after we put him in his crib every night.

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Want a free dog?

2009-05-12T10:58:00.002-04:00

Do you live in Boston? Will you be there on the night of May 30? Do you want a free dog for one night only? He's only gently used and slightly neurotic. OK, so he may barf and bleed, but really, he's very sweet.

Just kidding, of course, we're going to have him sleep in our car. And no, I'm not kidding about that.

We've been trying to figure out our whirlwind tour of New England which involves my bike ride, a trip to Grammy's farm and Liberal Banana's wedding. While we're happy that Auntie Banana is getting married and all, it really puts a crimp in our plans because she won't be available to dogsit for us...I know, right? The nerve.

We're fine for most of the trip except that one night before the ride, when we're staying in a hotel that doesn't accept dogs--and they don't share Barky's belief that he's a person. Yes, he made me ask.

But, we checked the average temps in Boston for that time of year, and it seems that he should be fine in the car overnight. Besides, he loves being in the car. In fact, whenever we've moved with him--and next time we do, we might have another dog giveaway--we've put him in the cab of the truck while we loaded and unloaded.

Before we put him in the truck, he was bolting out the door, panting, whining, jumping on us, sitting in moving boxes and generally making us wish we had a cat--and I'm deathly allergic to them. But he happily slept in the cab of the truck for endless hours once he got there.

And he sleeps all the way to Grammy's farm, which is a 10-hour trip at best. So, we'll just tell him this is a layover on the way to Grammy's, and he'll be fine. I mean, c'mon, it's springtime in Boston0--what's the worst that could happen?

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Don't try this at home

2009-05-06T08:01:00.003-04:00

Last night, since 3B didn't get up from his nap until after 5:30, we decided that we had enough time to run a few errands with him. So after he half-heartedly ate dinner, we decided to go to our local bike shop and Target.

I know, two errands in two hours with one two-year-old...what were we thinking?

The bike shop was easy. Too easy. 3B ran from the car all the way to the store and as we walked--well, as I walked and he ran ahead, pulling on my hand--along the display windows to the door, he was saying, "There's the bike store. There are the bikes. I'm going to ride that one."

Mama was behind us, saying, "Great. Now there's two of you."

Inside, he hopped right on that bike he saw in the window--a pink bike with a white basket and shiny tassels on the handlebars. He immediately learned the first lesson of bike selection: if the bike don't fit, you must quit riding it. He hopped off that and settled in on a nice tricycle, with some encouragement from Mama. After that, it was off to the races while I tried to remember everything we came for and find it.

Did you know that an average width retail aisle is the perfect width for a tricycle to race down? Now you do, and so do we. As 3B did laps in his shiny pink racing helmet, with a brief break to ogle the repair shop and all the tools...mmm, tools...shiny, shiny tools...I scooped up what we needed and checked out.

Then we had to extract 3B from his personal head-in-the-honey-jar experience. Remember how I said it was too easy to get into the bike shop? There we were, without any bribes other than a trip to Target, which is not nearly as exciting as racing around a bike shop.

We tried moving in small steps. To extract him from the trike, I offered to let him ride on Lance's bike--they had an Astana-colored Trek there. No dice. How about a ride on Levi's bike? No dice. Perhaps I should have offered Bobby Julich, even though he doesn't have a team bike anymore, but I thought Levi might work since 3B was alternating personalities between Levi and Bobby as he raced through the store.

What worked was offering to fly him on my shoulders past all of the mountain bikes on the upper rack. But that only got him off the trike, not actually onto my shoulders.

At that point, our guardian angel, in the form of a bike shop employee, rolled down the ramp from the repair shop to park a bike in the display rack and saved us by saying, "If you stay here any longer, we're going to close the shop and you'll be the only one here."

With that, 3B was up on my shoulders and ready to fly out the door. All the way to Target, he sat in the backseat ringing his new pink bike bell and asking, "Where's Target?" until we finally got there.

Target was easier, since we could restrain him in the shopping cart, and 3B helped out from his perch by reminding us as we rolled past the dog food that we were going to pick some up for Barky. I'm glad that one of our brains hasn't been stolen by the baby. Mama did roll her eyes at me when I lifted him out of the cart to play a little aisle baseball, but c'mon, who can resist smacking a home run down an aisle at Target?

Apparently, not Mama's boys.

Then it was a quick trip home with a sleepy boy who suddenly--of course--was full of energy as soon as we got home, even though it was already 9:00 when we walked through the door. Suffice it to say that we read stories, brushed teeth and sang songs as quickly as we could. Although he loves to sound out words with us because apparently he's going to be able to read--read? wasn't it last week that he couldn't eat solid food?--we skipped over that part. We did introduce his fun new kid flosser though. Hey, at least one of us will floss.

We gave up on Barky; he kept swallowing the floss.

Then we got angry at our DVR which failed to record Dancing with the Stars just as it failed to record Castle last night. Somehow it always records everything on PBS, however. I think we may have a snooty DVR that thinks commercial channels are below it. Fortunately, we were able to reboot it in time to see the end of the show, but WTF? I mean, WTF? I like the cowboy and all, but WTF?

But by that time it was too late for Mama and I to wonder about much, especially since we hadn't enjoyed a three-hour nap, so we went to bed.

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OK, so long as he's not inspired to get a nose job and a chin cleft

2009-05-04T14:38:00.004-04:00

Mama just wrote to me that as she was listening to the monitor to see if 3B had fallen asleep yet after half an hour in his crib--as of two minutes ago, he had not--she heard him singing

"Come on, girl!"

"I think I loooove you!"

Yeah, so I guess we did listen to the Jackson 5 a little bit this weekend.

Hey, we're working on sounding out words with 3B, so it's part of his curriculum to review the alphabet, right?

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Like a virgin, again

2009-05-01T21:33:00.003-04:00

I'm not quite sure what to say about the announcement from Virgin America that they will now serve absinthe.

Given that they also have wifi on many flights, including my upcoming flight to California, I suppose what I should say is that you've been warned. I have to admit that I'm a bit sad that they'll be serving it in mixed drinks, so I'll miss the slotted spoon and water bottle ritual, but I suppose I'll survive that deprivation.

I would explain my history with absinthe in Barcelona with Mama, but our children might someday read this blog. Besides, if Virgin is willing to provide street performers, schooners of beer as long as my leg and an endless supply of tapas, everything should be fine.

As best I can recall.

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