Haiku of the Day

Statesman today!

Here's the article Jeff Salamon wrote about me and Mike Stellar in today's Austin American Statesman.

Very exciting! Thanks, Jeff!

Danger! Danger!

holiday hijinks
fire and minor injuries
co-mingled with food

At first it didn't seem like much of a holiday today. I've been discombobulated with my days all week this week, and everyday just kind of blends into the other. The only real clue we were dealing with a holiday was that we didn't have a nurse coming to the house to help with Ike-a-saurus. No nurse tomorrow either. That's fine, though exhausting. It's been wonderful having just the family here, and it's fun for us to figure out ways to get everything done all day while still keeping the wee-est man in check.

He had free reign of the kitchen floor for a while this afternoon, until we realized he discovered how fast he can crawl. Then it was a race to baby proof as much as we could in the shortest amount of time possible. The kid was turbo-charged today.

As Ike-a-saurus was winding down, though, the wee one and the wee-er one were gearing up. Time for sparklers! Time for poppers! Time for chicken legs and cookies!

I took them out front for some sparkler fun and made the mistake of planting a sparkler in the dry (though deceptively green) yard. Right about the time the sparkler was fizzling out, the grass was catching fire.

Doh.

Lots of scrambling for water as the kids laughed me. I could hear Benny Hill music in my head as I ran around like a crazy person. At least I wasn't in my underwear.

So the fire was out and we decided that was enough excitement for the evening - or I did, at least - and brought the kids in to get them ready for bed. Because of the holiday, I gave the kids glow-in-the-dark bracelets to take to bed with them. Fun, right?

Well, while we were laying down reading stories, the wee-er one decided to bite her bracelet. I took it from her to see if she had poked a hole or not and as I bent the bracelet around to see A huge spray flew into the air. A geyser of glow-in-the-dark purple. Most of it landed in my eye, and the rest landed on the wee one's forehead. Again, Benny Hill music, lots of laughing, me screaming, etc.

So far, I am not blind. But, dude. Ouch. I'm hoping maybe the glow-in-the-dark chemicals embedded into my sclera will give some kind of awesome superpowers. I'll let you know.

A very successful 4th, by far. I hope you all had a nice holiday, too, and that none of you burned down your house or went blind.

Children's museum update

The power of the mamas is mighty!

Here is the response from Alice Jewell, the director of the McKenna Children's Museum in new Braunfel's, where my friends were bothered about nursing in public:

Thank you for your email regarding breastfeeding at the McKenna Children's Museum.  The Museum's breastfeeding policy states that under Texas law, a mother is entitled to breastfeed her baby in any location in which the mother is authorized to be.  McKenna Children's Museum welcomes mothers who want to breastfeed in the Museum.  McKenna Children's Museum has a privacy area available or mothers may breastfeed in any public location of the Museum.  If a patron complains about a mother who is breastfeeding, Museum staff will kindly explain that breastfeeding is permitted in the Museum pursuant to Texas law and suggest to that customer that he or she relocate to another section of the Museum.  All staff have been informed and educated about this policy.

Woo hoo! Nice work, everyone.

I look forward to taking the kids down to New Braunfels as soon as we get a chance. I think they'll have a lot of fun and I will be extra happy to visit, knowing the director has listened to - and supports - customers and future customers, alike.

She's three! THREE! How can that be?!

my sweet baby girl
so fiercely independent
the love of my life

So we've covered what I was doing this time last year. But this time three years ago, I was as big as a house. A hot, un-air-conditioned house, staggering around the block, trying to kick-start labor.

I spent the last few months of my pregnancy barely able to walk. Stupid hyper mobile joints and pubic symphysis jacked-up-ed-ness. I shuffled around like a grumbling old lady. I even had to give in to all things decent and drive around Target in one of those carts that beeps when you back up.

I stayed at 4 cm dilated - just walking around - for almost two weeks. I thought she might never be born. I would just be pregnant forever, ambling and groaning around my super-heated, summer sun-soaked cul-de-sac, never actually going into labor, a kind of Dante's inferno for impatient pregnant women.

But I woke up at 6:30am on July 1st - the morning of my due date - having regular contractions. They did their thing, picking up speed and intensity until we headed for the hopsital at about 10am. By 10:30 I was checked into labor and delivery, munching on ice chips, chatting with my belly and joking with the nurses.

By 12:30 I was in the "uh-oh, I really am going to have to push this baby out" mode.

By 1:45 I agreed to the epidural.

And then, miraculously, wonderfully, easily... at 2:32pm she was born. 8 lbs 11 oz, with about seven of those pounds squarely in her cheeks. She stared at me with huge eyes, nursed immediately, and we were in love. Less than 24 hours later, we were home.

It was a quick, simple, wonderful birth. It happened so fast - one minute pregnant, one minute holding her in my arms.

How was that three years ago? It feels like forever ago, and one second ago. She's gone from a tiny baby girl who loved Rob Zombie and constant nursing, to an action-packed kid who loves Arcade Fire and guacamole. How did that happen?!

My sweet, sweet Georgia Kady.

Happy birthday, baby girl.

I am sitting here

in the same spot, on the same day, at the same time, with the same wrapping paper, even.

This was when my water broke exactly one year ago. I didn't know it was my water breaking at that time. I thought maybe it was, but I also thought I was just a hypochondriac crazy person. Then, later in the night there was a much much larger gush and I knew.

It all started a year ago. A year ago right now.

It's never good to live in the past, but I have to say, thinking back on this past year I think more good things have happened than bad things. I am so fortunate I don't even have the words to express it.

I am staring at Ike-a-saurus' perfect face as he smiles in his sleep and I think about how this time last year I was so scared and so fiercely trying to conjure that image - a healthy baby boy. My doctor never gave up on us. He refused to think negatively. Even when the perinatologist told me to terminate, my doctor called me himself, late that night, to tell me he was praying for me. And he told me to never give up hope. He said he was "cautiously optimistic" that things would be OK. Or kind of OK. And he would tell me that, over and over, up until the day Ike was born, and beyond.

Cautiously optimistic.

We are in a new realm of that now. A realm that most likely has nothing to do with Ike being premature - just a freak luck kind of thing, this trach. Some days it's so hard, but I have to always be "cautiously optimistic."

If this past year has taught me anything, it's that people are inherently good. Bad things can also mean good things. Sheer force of will is shockingly powerful. And I am lucky to have the friends that I have.

So, so lucky.

DAMMIT

I slept through part II of Impact tonight! Thank goodness for the TiVo or I would never find out if the moon crashed into the earth.

Sorry about that.

Live blog FAIL.

But at least I got a nap!

Everyone is on vacation but me.

Hmph.

Dinner recipe for 107-degree day

Ingredients:
1 bottle of pink wine (screw top optional)
1 can of Sprite
1 lemon and/or lime, quartered
1 giant plastic Whataburger cup
ice

Unscrew wine, let it breathe. Slice lemon or lime, or just forget that part because it's too hot to chop things. Put a bunch of ice into your Whataburger cup. Pour wine over ice. Pour Sprite over wine. Hold cold cup to blazing hot face. Drink. Repeat. Note: sometimes the cup is too big and heavy to lift on such a hot day, so an extra long straw is required.

what up, wonky formatting?

Sorry the formatting is wonky down there... I'll try to fix it when I get a chance. Stupid cut and paste...

It's happened again...

Another mama accosted over feeding her baby in public. Unbelievable.

Here's the letter I just sent to the McKenna Children's Museum in New Braunfels, TX, where some friends of mine had a bit of a time yesterday...

To whom it may concern,

You may want to avert your eyes because my boobs are writing this letter.

No matter how much I try to calm them down, they're pretty indignant.
They don't like the way my friend Jodi was treated at your museum
yesterday. They are not fans of boobie timeout rooms. They ARE fans of
feeding babies when babies get hungry, though, no matter when or where
that happens to be.

The boobies writing this letter are wondering - as boobies are wont to
do - why museum staff would want to cater to grouchy looky-loos
instead of babies - their true patrons. The boobies also want to point
out that when a baby is nursing, his or her little melon head (so to
speak) covers up more of the breast that a swimsuit would. Or a summer
dress. Does your museum also have a summer dress timeout room?

In fact, the boobies are wondering if maybe there is a grouch timeout
room? That way, when someone in the museum who has a grouchy face and
a complain-y demeanor decides that a baby can't eat in front of them,
perhaps the baby could suggest that that person go rest up in the
grouch timeout room.

Also, is there a noisy children timeout room? Noisy children can be so
annoying. Especially at a Children's museum. What about a
too-many-questions timeout room? The boobies are very familiar with
how older children will sometimes never stop asking questions. Maybe
they could be sequestered away, too, so that everyone can have an
undisturbed museum experience.

The boobies see a problem here, though, and maybe you do too. Timeout
rooms are not interactive museum rooms, are they? And if everyone who
complains about something can request someone be put in a room off to
the side, soon there will be no one left to enjoy the museum. That
seems to kind of defy the point of having a Children's museum at all,
doesn't it?

I am afraid that yesterday, when Jodi, Amy and Marcella were chastised
and embarrassed for nursing their babies, you guys unleashed a power
upon yourselves that you are not fully aware of. The power of the
Mamas. This power is large, protective, nurturing... hey! Just like a
big ol' breast, huh?

And the big ol' breast is descending upon you right now.

Maybe you should go hide in a timeout room.

Sincerely,
Kari
Concerned Mother

PS. While you're in the timeout room, maybe you could craft a public
statement announcing that the museum supports breastfeeding women -
and the law. You could also consider consulting with Dave Fendrick,
the General Manager of the Round Rock Express. He weathered an
incident similar to this one with extreme grace under pressure. The
mamas love him now. All 1700+ of us, and all of our 3400 breasts.

It's out - now what do we do?

peddling my wares
bringing cute kids with me helps
while I stamp my foot

The wee one and I went on a adventure today, driving around town, trying to find Mike Stellar out in the wild. It was supposed to be at all the bookstores. We only found it at our local independent store. This means two things: 1) BookPeople ROCKS and 2) big box bookstores sometimes need some persuasion to rock.

I am finding it very frustrating that I can write a book, get it published by Random House, get it well reviewed before publication, and then find out that the chain bookstores in town have not ordered any copies. Once I chatted with a couple of managers and they saw that there were tons of copies at their warehouses nationwide, and that a local author might bring a sale or two with her, they ordered a few copies for their stores. Well, Borders didn't. I was told that their buying decisions come from the home office. So I will call the home office tomorrow and politely ask them to send a couple of copies to my local store. It seems kind of unfair that my book isn't stocked at the bookstore that is 2 miles from the house.

It's not easy to sell a book if you can't get it stocked. But I'm working on it.

If you go to your bookstore and find out it isn't in stock, would you mind asking them to order a few copies? If a book is stocked at a Barnes &Noble, for example, and a store orders a handful of copies, those copies automatically get reordered after someone buys them. The trick is to get them in the store to begin with. A lot of stores nationally are just waiting for fulfillment from the warehouses, and that's cool. But some of them will never stock it unless we ask.

Book publicity is kind of an ironic beast. Or at least for me it seems to be. The more famous you already are, the more publicity you get. If you're a regular person, you're not going to get much publicity at all - even though you need publicity to become one of the well-known people who get publicity without asking.

So if you don't mind, ask your local store to order a few copies if you can't find any on the shelf. And if you read the book and like it, spread the word - online, to your friends, to anyone who will listen. Word-of-mouth is supreme in this business.

I can't thank you all enough for your support. It's so exciting to see Mike out in the wild. Now, like any kid on a space adventure, he just needs some attention.

Go find it!

I'll give a signed jacket to the first two people who email me a picture of the book in the wild.

Bookstore! In your hand coming home from the bookstore! In your kid's hand. On the bathroom sink. Anywhere.

Grasshrinker at gmail dot com.

Go!

Tomorrow!

Mike Stellar: Nerves of Steel is launching tomorrow! Technically less than an hour from now. Yes, yes, it's a midnight launch party of one, but that's OK. Tomorrow I'm going to stalk every bookstore in town. And, yes, I'm going to bring my camera. No, I'm not going to play it cool. I'm going to be a big fat dork. Yay!

It's going to be very embarrassing if it isn't on the shelf yet.

I started writing Mike when the wee one was 7 months old. And now he's seven YEARS! I didn't actually spend seven years writing it - really, probably all of the drafts and writing and editing and rewriting and everything took a total of one year - it was just spread out between writing a first draft, finding an agent, doing some rewrites, finding a publisher, doing some more rewrites, waiting for the publishing process to begin, etc.

I can measure the journey of this book from start to finish, with my kids. Started it when the wee one was a baby, sold it when I was pregnant with the wee-er one, and now it'll be in stores with Ike-a-saurus as a wee babe. My dedication page has had a lot of additions. And Mike is like their brother. Their brother who lives in my head. A HeadBrother.

Well that sounds really creepy.

Not creepy? This:

"Holt’s children’s book debut whizzes by at warp speed—the suspenseful plot and the precocious yet complex hero combine for a fun ride with a satisfying resolution."

Thanks Publisher's Weekly! Woo!

And I just checked Amazon... the sales rank is at 94,000. Don't laugh. That's way better than the 500,000 it was a few days ago. And, hey, after you read it, will you write a review? That would so rock my socks.

It's coming out tomorrow!

Tomorrow! I've been waiting for this day since I was a kid. I would always tell people, "Yep, I'm going to write books." And then I got distracted for a while - school, art, boys - but I got back on track. It really is amazing - and it's been a long time coming.

Here's to you ten-year-old self. Thanks for never really growing up.

A couple of great reviews!

These reviews of MIKE STELLAR are super exciting. Woo!

It's still so raw

years of emotion
occurring in only months
make processing hard

I was sitting here tonight, scrolling through some pictures, and I accidentally ventured into the DMZ of my iPhoto - the area after the NICU, but before the trach. It makes me well up just writing about it. It was such a wonderful, hopeful, exciting time for our family. We were finally past the hard part, or so we thought. We were building new routines, relishing in finally being a family, all together under one roof for the first time. We had made it through some pretty trying times, and daily tedium was a welcome, coveted experience.

When I have a moment to quietly sit and think about things, I'm starting to have kind of a hard time with it all. Even when I don't have a moment, sometimes the hard times sneak up on me. We're coming up on a year of all of this. The wee-er one's birthday, to be exact. July 1st, 4:30am last year, I was at the hospital with ruptured membranes at 20 weeks pregnant. Though, at the time, the tests for amniotic fluid came back negative. I knew better, though, and a few days later my worst fears were confirmed.

Or I thought they were my worst fears.

A year later I have new worst fears. I do well for a while, tucking them away in my brain, but then something triggers a memory, or gives me a flash of a possible future and the waves of panic and fear and sadness and helplessness just wash over me until I have to just grab my head and put on some loud music and wait for it all to go away.

It's hard for me to decide which is more terrifying, being pregnant and not knowing if you and your baby can stay healthy long enough for a non-tragic ending, or making it through all of that, thinking things are fine and then suddenly not knowing if your baby will be OK.

The first part of this terrifying, miraculous, life-altering journey started just over a year ago. And I think I am having some kind of perfect storm of PTSD. The heat, the way the trees look out of my bedroom window, the tan color of the kids' arms and legs, the smell of the farmers market, the taste of the fruit, my bedspread... everything is bringing me back to last year just before and just after my water broke.

So there's that.

And then on top of all of that I have this newer PTSD. The sight of an ambulance racing down the street makes me have to pull the car over to catch my breath. The smell of the brand of deodorant I wore when I was living at the hospital just after Ike got his trach. The music that was on my ipod. These are all things that prove I am still not over February and March. I think that I'm over it, but it sneaks up on me.

As the summer continues, I am starting to feel crushed by both ends; the past that was so scary, and the future that is so scary. I am not just forgetting how to live only in the present, I am afraid I am losing the stamina to do it. I want to look ahead. I want to seek out answers and information and hope. But I am starting to realize that these are not finite things. I will not wake up one morning and have The Answer. I will not have The Information. Things are ongoing, ever present. Our lives have been altered forever. Some days I accept that. I'm totally cool with it. I'm rolling with the punches. I'm enjoying the fact that there aren't punches everyday. I think things will be fine. I embrace the new normal.

Then, on other days, I am trapped in the past. The future is murky. It's frightening. The past is painful and ethereal. I don't know which way to look.

I am afraid of what is to come. I am afraid of Cinci in August. I am afraid to be hopeful. I am afraid of having the panic attack of all panic attacks on Ike-a-saurus' birthday. I am sometimes afraid this is all my fault.

I say all of this not as a cry for help. I'm OK. I really am. I'm just still processing everything. And for the most part, I'm really happy. I know how incredibly, truly, amazingly fortunate we are. So I feel like an asshole when I wallow, but sometimes I need a moment to freak out.

Those moments may be coming more frequently as various "anniversaries" pop up this summer. I swear, sometimes just the way the air feels can set me off.

Right now, though, I'm OK. Just processing. Always processing. And now that I know better, always worrying that things could be worse.

Impact! Live blog

7:57pm: The anticipation for crappy TV is so palpable it has caused the wee-er one to poop in the potty! Very exciting! However, this is going to delay the liveblogging because it has delayed getting everyone to bed. But Fear Not! Thanks to lovely TiVo I will have caught up to you all in short order. I'll start blogging as soon as things settle down. Just got off the phone with Santa (or Ho Ho as the wee-er one calls him) and he is making an impromptu visit late tonight with a new baby doll for her. As you can imagine, this has gotten everyone even MORE excited. Really, though, the liveblogging will commence soon.

8:33pm: Still not quite ready to start the show. there was a brief freak out that maybe Ho Ho is a monster and that his presence would not be welcome in the wee-er one's room tonight. Luckily, just at that moment Santa called and reported that his motorcycle had run out of gas somewhere near Dallas and he's not going to be able to make it tonight. (He goes magic-free during the summer to keep a low profile.) So I am going to be the one to find a baby doll for the wee-er one, and she is hopefully going to go to sleep.

8:35pm: Maybe I should just liveblog the evenning around here. It is turning out to be even crazier than a made-for-TV movie.

8:39: It's starting! I'm only 39 minutes late.

8:40: The greatest meteor shower in 10,000 years! More or less impressive than getting your 2 11/12 year-old to finally poop in the potty? Discuss.

8:47: brief time-out to reassure the wee-er one yet again that ho Ho is not a monster. Note to self: never bring up Santa when it's not Christmas.

8:49: blond-haired scientist! Girls are totally smart! Also, they wear ginormous cable knit sweaters. Also, there's an asian scientist, just to keep her in line.

8:50: Oh SHIT you guys. THE MOON HAS BEEN HIT.

8:53: Thank goodness for cable TV, otherwise no one would see the flaming volkswagons falling from the sky.

8:54: Hey, remember when the President was married to Bree?

8:55: Oh SHIT you guys. TSUNAMI!

8:58: Innocent child: "do you think the man in the moon is OK?" Me: "Nope, kid. His fucking ear just landed on Australia."

9:00: So, the lady scientist who didn't see the enormous meteor that was going to hit the moon just tells you that it's totally cool the Moon is now 21,000 miles closer to Earth. Do you believe her? Discuss. She's wearing a pantsuit. You might want to factor that in.

9:02: Oh SHIT, you guys. BOY SCOUTS!

9:03: Hmmm. The tidal patterns are fucked up. What could it be? Satan?

9:04: Hey wait, if the Moon is jacking with the tidal patterns, do you know what's next? Oh SHIT. THINK OF THE MENSTRUAL CYCLES!

9:06: Social phobia is totally a real disease. I'm with grandpa.

9:08: tides, Canadian geese, car batteries, cell phones... I'm telling you, the periods are next.

9:10: The dude in Germany is using a dentist tool to pick at the moon chunk. The moon chunk is all, "DAMMIT. I forgot to take my prophylactic antibiotics first. i hope I don't get endocarditis because of you, douchebag."

9:13: Boring German love story part. Girlfriend announces she's pregnant. In church. Shhhh. God is totally smiting people in this movie. Isn't she paying attention?

9:16: a huge static charge is blowing up gas stations? What's causing it? The moon? No no no. It's that girl scientist's huge cable knit sweater. Duh.

9:19: this is outside any known scientific parameters!

9:21: oh SHIT. It's the remnants of a BROWN DWARF! (Just like in the downstairs bathroom. Sorry, sorry, I had to say it.)

9:22: the brown dwarf is twelve sixtillion tons! HOLY CRAP. Or maybe it's not. I can't hear anything over this nebulizer.

9:26: Dr. Science Lady, the President says, I don't understand your "science" and your "moon." Please speak to me as if I have been educated by the public school system.

9:30: Consultation with president, check. Doomed discussion of wedding in three weeks. Check. Man of the house speech, check. Which one is going to die? Discuss.

9:33: My husband has resorted to watching loud videos on his iPhone.

9:34: BSG shout out!

9:36: There's a brown dwarf lodged in the moon. Maybe if the moon drank some coffee things would get loosened up a little.

9:38: Uh-oh, ambitious laid off newspaperman ex-husband with a d-bag soul patch. I smell trouble!

9:41: Grandpa forgets to feed the kids. Don't feel bad grandpa. I do that all the time.

9:44: "Just make sure the kids are on the helicopter - and if they ask, make sure they don't think it's anything out of the ordinary." Got it.

9:46: Scientist lady has GIANT boobs. You know you've been thinking it.

9:47: Why the moms always gotta get killed off? Is this a Disney cartoon? Can a dad not be seen paying attention to his kids and have a living wife AT THE SAME TIME?

9:49: We know it's Eurpoe because there are vespas.

9:50: Oh SHIT you guys. VESPAS ARE FLOATING!

9:51: The Homeland Security lady is constantly referring to her own stupidity. Shouldn't she be the FEMA lady, then?

9:53: I don't think that FEMA joke makes any sense anymore.

9:55: "You can't hide from gravity!" Apparently, he's never seen me trying to walk down a flight of stairs.

9:57: If gravity is fluctuating, would you put your kids on a helicopter? Discuss.

9:59: Oh SHIT you guys. THE DOG IS LOST.

10:00: And now gravity is suspended! Watch out for flying trains! And flying dogs. And flying kids looking for their flying dogs.

10:02: The broken moon looks awesome, by the way. All sparkly and big. Like David James Elliot's forehead.

10:04: Is it coincidental that this movie has come out just before NASA is planning to crash a probe into the moon? IS IT? Ladies, you better hold on to your periods.

10:05: the smart asian scientist is concerned. This can't be good. Also, there is fake saxophone music playing in the background. it's not good either.

10:06: Seriously, this music? I'm expecting Riggs and Murtaugh to show up at any minute.

10:09: Uh-oh. The pregnant girl is squished on a formerly anti-gravitied train. She totally should have kept quiet about the pregnancy in church.

10:11: Oh SHIT you guys, TOTAL ANNIHILATION IS IMMINENT!

10:12: Hey, you know the turducken? A chicken stuffed in a duck stuffed in a turkey? Well next week they're going to TURDUCKEN the moon! A rocket shoved up the ass of a brown dwarf shoved up the ass of the moon! A moowarfket!

10:15: Oh SHIT you guys! I CAN'T WAIT FOR THE MOOWARFKET!

I can haz yer vitriol?

do not mess with him
the anointed TV god
of many JAG-offs

Wow. You guys really like this David James Elliott fellow. You like him so much that kind readers have instructed me to, among other things, "keep you [sic] insulting thoughts to yourself".

I have also been schooled that JAG was the awesomest show of awesomeness ever to awesomely graze the awesome TV for ten awesome years.

I stand corrected.

So, in order to make it up to all of you DJE fans, please accept this list I have come up with to celebrate the awesomeness of the dude from JAG:

David James Elliott is so awesome all of the magnetic poles point to him.
David James Elliott is so awesome chocolate craves him.
David James Elliott is so awesome the Grand Canyon visits him on vacation.
David James Elliott is so awesome he is certified organic.
David James Elliott is so awesome the D in HDTV actually stands for David.
David James Elliott is so awesome pandas spawn at the sight of him.
David James Elliott is so awesome the space shuttle's launch window is in his bathroom.
David James Elliott is so awesome the Emmy's have been renamed the DJE's.
David James Elliott is so awesome he just merged with Fiat.
David James Elliott is so awesome he can keep two beta fish in one bowl.

Is that good? Do we all agree now that David James Elliott is super awesome with a side of awesome?

Excellent.

Anyone have his phone number? I'm interested to know how much he charges to perform a single stage laryngotracheoplasty. I'm totally in the market for a person who can do that while looking handsome.

Or we can forget the laryngotracheoplasty and I can just make fun of him watch him in a made-for-TV movie.

That would be awesome.

omg! omg! omg!

it's that time of year!
prevalent, smoldering cheese
oozing in HD

Sunday night! 8pm CST! First two hours of an ABC miniseries! The Moon is going to crash into the Earth!

Or is it?! [please click here for a moment to emphasize the drama of this situation.]

Thank goodness we have David James Elliott (who?) and Natasha Henstridge to use their names that sound famous to walk us through the plot of Impact: a 4 hour miniseries brought to us by the lovelies at ABC!

And in a dose of actual famousness, James Cromwell (he of Babe the Pig!) makes an appearance to lend some dramatic gravity (so to speak) to this picture made for television.

Can you tell how excited I am about this? I promise, dear friends, to do my best to live blog as much as possible, even though on NBC at the exact same time is a new show about a hott young Merlin intent to practice magic in an undercover type setting, manservanting for an also hott Prince Arthur. Can you sense the homoeroticism? Well, CAN YOU?

I can see my TiVo quivering in anticipation for Sunday night. I know you all are, too. I sure am.

Famous Sounding Names vs Hott Merlin = I better hit up the HEB for some quality snack food.

Sunday night is BRINGING IT.

The first rule of summer: do not talk about summer

his first broken bone
does a nose count as a bone?
healthy summer fun

The wee one got walloped in the face today by a big piece of wood - the seat on a rope swing. A good lesson on perimeters and physics. Can you ask more of Tinkering camp? I think not.

He was apparently not too bothered by it, cleaning the wounds by himself, refusing the band-aid, not crying, and eager to get back outside and play after the triage.

Once he came home we made him clean it again with a 50/50 mix of peroxide and water (mean!). Then I dragged him to the doctor because I didn't like hearing that his "eyeball hurt."

The doc said his eyeball was fine, though there's a cut on his eyelid which is kind of scary. (No stitches. Yay!) But when the highly technical "here, kid, see if you can use one nostril to air out this kleenex in front of your face" test was administered, the doc was all, "Hmmm. This nose might be broken."

So we'll keep an eye on it and if he can't pass the kleenex test again in a week or so we may take him over to Ike-a-saurus' ENT. I don't anticipate any problems, though. It really doesn't look that bad - not a lot of swelling or anything.

We are highly highly anticipating the shiner in the morning. He is going to be quite disappointed if it doesn't materialize.

   

Epic pear fail

trying out new things
always an exciting time
for better or worse

Last week, we got the go ahead from the GI doc to start trying out solids with Ike-a-saurus. He's ready developmentally, and has been for a while now. We've been holding off, just because he's only 6 1/2 months adjusted, and even when the other two kids were at that age we had just barely started trying solids. Plus, we're so constantly concerned about the amount of calories he gets, we didn't want to fill up his tummy with lower calorie solids, when he really needs the crazy breastmilk/formula/thickened concoction we give him.

So we were excited, but cautious about starting the solids. Adding to the anxiety was the very pessimistic outlook from some OTs that ALL kids with trachs develop oral aversions (really? all of them?) and that we should be prepared. I don't like blanket statements like that, so I wanted to go ahead and get him started to show them what they can do with their blanket statements.

Food number 1: avocado mixed with breastmilk. Success! He didn't make a funny face or anything, he just went for the spoon like he was starving. He took the avocado, swallowed it without gagging or pushing it all out of his mouth, and grabbed for more. No signs of aversions to the texture or taste, though both were admittedly probably pretty close to the taste and texture of his regular milkshakes. Still, though, very encouraging.

Food number 2: pears. Not so successful. I didn't puree them well enough, so they were both chunky AND watery. A bad combo. He made the "bleh what is THIS?" baby face when he tried them, which was super cute. But then he started doing that cough - the one he used to do when he was aspirating. And then he barfed everywhere - including into the trach - and kept up the red-faced, teary-eyed coughing fits for a good ten minutes after eating. EPIC PEAR FAIL. So now we are on a 24-48 hour fever watch to make sure he doesn't develop aspiration pneumonia or an infection from barfing into the trach. I am feeling like both the worst mother in the world and the worst baby food chef in the world.

I am feeling daunted, but trying not to. We'll go back to the avocados for a while, I think. Then maybe try some bananas. I should have known better than to try the fancy fruit right off. We need to stay away from juicy things. Far away.

So our takeaways from all of this? He's ready for solid food. He might need some special preparations of certain foods (like, cereal added to the pears would be OK, I think). And I need to really smash the shit out of the stuff I give him.

Maybe he can just eat avocados all the time.

I don't think he'll mind.

Dear Adorable Hipsters,

Yes, that was me. Your future. Driving past you tonight in a minivan, with the far backseat light on because the kids won't stop messing with it.

Yes, I was picking up dinner for myself at 9pm. Not because I'm cool like you and go out to dinner at 9pm. But because it was the first time all day I'd had a minute to find any anything to eat.

Yes, I had the minivan sunroof open and I was listening to Kelis sing about her milkshake.

Yes, I was singing along.

I saw you staring at me. I saw the look of abject horror on your faces. Your pastel, too tight button up shirts wrinkled at the sight of me. Your retarded breezy, messy, too long, bangy haircuts sneered at my practical barrettes.

Yes, I saw all of that.

But you know what?

It totally doesn't matter. Because I am your future. That's right. Your future. For real.

One day, you too, will be driving a minivan out for dinner at 9pm. And you will be so tired you'll be wishing you could just go to bed starving. But you'll be happy to be out of the house, away from shouting kids and suction machines (well, maybe you won't have to deal with the suction machine part - I'll give you that). You'll be excited to sing along to something that isn't kid music, even if the kid music is by Mudhoney or They Might Be Giants, or Arcade Fire, or whatever cool band you can rustle up to add a soundtrack to your drives around town with the tiny people in your life.

You will have your iphone set on shuffle (yes, you will still have an iPhone, but mostly so you can sync calendars with your spouse and text your BFF from doctor waiting rooms). And when your spendy, vaguely justifiable mobile device finds some Marilyn Manson, you'll rejoice in the Beautiful People lyrics and wonder why that song never made its way onto the show Weeds. Because you, too, live in a little box made of ticky tacky, and you realize that maybe Marilyn Manson is singing about Agrestic, which means he's singing about your neighborhood, too.

Yep. This is your future.

But don't fear it, Adorable Hipster. Just because your house is made of ticky tacky doesn't mean it's awful. It's actually pretty nice. The ticky tacky is an interesting melange of cool stuff you've collected over the years, toys, kid drawings, candy pieces and receipts. No longer do you live in the Adorable Hipster world of sterile furnishings, expensive beer no one is brave enough to admit sucks compared to a Lone Star, clothes that give you yeast infections, and random bouts of loneliness. Nope. Your life is full of color and mess.

Sometimes that color and mess bleeds out into the real world and you drive by your past and it is horrified by you. But you don't care because the dreaded minivan has a pretty good sound system, 16,000 cupholders, and doesn't require premium gas like your old convertible.

So don't sneer when your future drives by. It's bad karma.

And believe me. You don't want bad karma. Especially when it comes to your future.

Former Adorable Hipsters with bad karma end up being the people in charge of selling frito pies at their kids' elementary school carnival. So watch out.

Those people have to stuff their retarded hair into hairnets.

Yes, we laugh at them. From our minivans. As we drive away. Back to our houses made of ticky tacky. Listening to Sexyback. And singing merrily all the way.

Sincerely,
Kari
aka: Your future

We're all set for July 11th!

The Mike Stellar book launch/signing/reading/Q&A extravaganza is happening at BookPeople here in Austin on Saturday, July 11 at 6pm. Yay!

As the date gets closer I will happily become more and more annoying about begging you to come. You have been warned.

And also...

If you want to see the trailer on the K.A. Holt website, you can click right here on this link thing.

The Mike Stellar: Nerves of Steel book trailer!

Sorry I can't get it to fit within the parameters of my crappy blog layout. If you click the full screen square at the bottom right of the movie, it should pop out so you can see the whole thing! Oh - and one more thing - right now the slide that appears down there is kind of weird. I don't know how Youtube decides which slide to feature as the thumbnail of the movie. I've changed which one it should be, but I guess it takes a while for the change to show up. These are probably technical details you don't care about, huh? I'll stop my blah blah blah-ing so you can watch it!

Here's a little story for you

a mature adult
should not laugh at the poop jokes
but I can't help it

Today, the nurse and I took Ike-a-saurus to his doctor's appointment. This involves great feats of strength now that we have The Monstrosity to cart the little dude around in.

 

12 pounds of baby and about 100 pounds of crap. You think toting around crap for a baby is crazy, try adding all the extra trach stuff to the mix. Even if I had four arms (which essentially, I do, with the nurse, or my husband, along for the party) it still wouldn't be enough.

Anyway, we managed to weave our way through traffic, remember the handicap placard (so conflicted over that - do we really need a handicap placard? Really? And yet... so.much.stuff.), and keep Ike-a-saurus reasonably happy in the car. We got to the doctor's office and suddenly I realized I had to get The Monstrosity into an elevator.

Tricky.

We had to crush an innocent bystander, but we managed to make it to our floor in record time.

Once in the doctor's office, I bumper car'd my way into the back and into an exam room. It was a tight fit, but we did it.

Then, the doctor arrived.

The Monstrosity was pushed as far to back of the exam room as it could go, but with the table, a little desk, three other chairs and two other people, it was a close fit for all of us. The doctor was carrying Ike's chart and a laptop and he was trying to finagle a little rolling chair out from under the desk so that he could perch on it at the end of the exam table.

That was when he said it.

"Excuse me," said the doctor. "I just need to squeeze out a little stool."

Time.

Stood.

Still.

In slow motion, his eyes connected with mine. He knew what he had just said. I knew what he had just said. Neither one of us were willing to gain eye contact with the nurse because we knew that she knew what he had just said.

So there we stood. Eyes locked. "squeeze out a little stool" floating in the air above us.

I did not say, "Lucky for you there's a big pile of magazines right there!"
I did not say, "Do you need some privacy?"
I did not say, "That's totally what Ike would say right now if he could talk! Jinx!"

Instead, I smiled - the briefest beginnings of a complete guffaw -  and the spell was broken. Eye contact severed, the doc grabbed the rolly chair and began asking questions. It took all of my strength to not bust out laughing. And by "laughing" I mean full on snorting and heehawing.

Alas, I had to be a grown up. Boo.

But at least now we know the Monstrosity is good at two things: 1) fitting into tight spots 2) causing them as well.

A big win for the stroller folks. A big win.