I've got a gig!

I took my very sad flute to the flute doctor today. Drew has a holiday piano recital on December 8th and Brian and I have been asked to play a couple Christmas-type pieces at intermission (while everyone gets up and helps themselves to cookies and punch.) So a couple weeks ago I pulled out the flute I haven't played for-anyone-else-to-hear since 1992 and Brian started brushing up on his mad holiday piano skillz. Holiday music can be tricky on the piano, but it's super easy on a flute keeping the melody, unless your flute is in terrible disrepair like mine and then it can get kind of screechy. So, today I took it into the local music repair shop...

RSG: "Yep, yep I can adjust this up for you and recork the top."
Me: "Great! When can I get it back though, I need to play at a holiday thing."
RSG: "Yeah, If you've got a gig you'll want to practice. I can get it back to you by Friday."

Yeah, man, I've got a GIG! A "gig"! Hee hee hee. Thank you repair-shop-guy for giving me the gift of feeling like a rock star today. I needed that.

Getting Inked?

This is the Spinmaster Tattoo Set for Boys. I received an email from my sister saying she purchased this for Drew for Christmas and I laughed out loud. I mean, she's totally joking, right? But...what if she isn't?? What if she really bought it, what if a vibrating electric pen with 3 washable markers and 30 stencils makes a great 8 year old boy Christmas present? What if I think she's joking and send a "ha ha very funny!" email only to find she was totally serious? It wouldn't be the first time I guessed wrong and totally hurt her feelings. Unfortunately. So, in response I think I'll be going with "where in the world did you find that?" because honestly, with my family, it's always better to be safe than...well, anything else.

Meanwhile, if Drew does get this for Christmas you can expect to see some really regrettable ink coming from our house. And although the ink may be washable, the image of Drew giving his sister a tramp stamp I'm sure will prove indelible.

Won't you bee my neighbor.

By request....here is a pictorial representation of the eviction of our latest neighbors.

And here they come.... After much internet research, we determined the best course of action was to flood them out. We didn't want to kill them, Brian and I love little honey bees. No really, we hope one day to have a little hive of our own, but we can't let them live in our water meter. Plus, we couldn't really tell if they were European honey bees or the more aggressive Africanized varitey. Kids and Africanized bees probably don't mix...just a guess.So once they come out they gather themselves for an hour or so. I think the queen bee is taking attendance. What do you think?

Then they swarm to a temporary location, in this case our hopseed tree. Once they're in a formation that looks a lot like a Winnie-the-pooh honey pot, they hang there for up to 24hrs while they send scouts out to look for a new location, usually a mile or so away from the previous hive location, but Brian and I made a quick hive home out of a bread box in case they changed their mind and decided to stay closer to their newly flooded home.

Originally we were disappointed that the bees decided to move on, but really, I wasn't ready to rush out and purchase a beekeeping suit just yet. Meanwhile, I think the whole experience taught us a lot and probably affected Gwen's choice of Halloween costume for me modeled here by Gwen as she made a much cuter bee. Maybe next year she can be the bee and I'll be the beekeeper in my brand new suit.

Saturday Night Party

Last night, Gwen and I attended her friend Zara's birthday party. Having only met Zara's mother briefly I planned to stay and keep an eye on Gwen and make sure she behaved like a little lady with a cast, at a party where many of the adults might not speak English. Boy was I glad I stayed!! Everyone was so friendly and we had a terrific time.

We were the first to arrive at 5pm, but Zara and her little sister, dressed in their party dresses were excited to get the party started. Zara's mom, Sylvia, was so nice and right away made Gwen and I feel at home. We listened to Duran Duran songs in Spanish while the girls made paper crowns by decorating them with feathers and letter stickers. Sylvia hung three giant tissue paper flowers she had made in the backyard for decoration and still had her Day of the Dead tissue papers up on her kitchen wall (like these in the picture) because Zara asked her to keep them up to show her friends.

The food was fantastic. I was given one each of 3 types of tamales, a spicy chicken, a sweet pineapple, and one wrapped in a banana leaf that would take me an entire entry to properly describe. I was given a big red plastic cup of horchata to drink and after the first couple sips it really grew on me. I hadn't had horchata since I was Gwen's age. Gwen wouldn't try the horchata, but it does taste much better than it smells, so I don't blame her.

After eating, it was dancing time for the party-goers. Sylvia led all the kids in dancing. The songs were all in Spanish, but were very child friendly and hokey-pokey-esque where the kids kicked their feet, clapped their hands, and whistled on cue. Even though she didn't know the words, Gwen really joined in and danced around and tried to sing along. I wished I'd brought a video camera. The kids were adorable and Sylvia should consider a career in teaching, she was so good with them.

While more and more people arrived at the party, Gwen , her friend Zara, and Zara's friend Tony made up game after game that involved running up and down Zara's side yard, and trying to keep balloons of the non-helium variety in the air. Gwen loved it.

Then it was pinata time. Zara's dad held one end of a rope as he stood on the roof of their house. Another dad held the other rope end looped through the high branch of the tree in the middle of their front yard. A giant home-made paper mache lady bug swung from the middle of the rope so that Zara's dad could at any point tug the lady-bug to safety. The children took turns swinging at the lady bug while every adult present sang a pinata song and I worried about when Zara's dad would fall off the roof. When the song ended it was the next person's turn and everyone got a turn, Zara, Gwen, Sylvia and even me. By the end I was singing the song right along with everyone else and Zara's dad never did come crashing down.

We had to leave after the pinata. It was already 8pm and we had to pick up Drew from gymnastics, but again Zara's family was so nice and understanding about it. She offered us cake to go which I declined and a party favor for Gwen and Drew which I accepted (so sweet of her to think of Drew too.) As we drove away, more people were just arriving making me wonder just how late the party would go. We were bummed we couldn't stay till the end. Gwen has a great little friend in Zara and Zara has a great family. Thanks for the great party Zara! Happy 6th birthday!

Baby's got a blue cast on

Damn, I haven't written a post in forever, but tonight I definitely need to ramble on about the last 24hr.

Yesterday, I woke up with that shiny glowy happy feeling that lets me know it's going to be a great day. You know, the kind of day where everything looks fresh and clean. The little baby grass just starting to grow contrasting with the tree leaves turning their myriad shades of red, gold and brown. That beautiful day after a storm that makes you glad to be outside, even if it's at lunch yard duty with 200 screaming 1st and 2nd graders.

I was walking the beat, scaring the 1st grade boys out of playing in the A-wing bathroom while simultaneously mediating a verbal abuse accusation of the sydney-called-me-a-loser variety when a pack of kids ran up to inform me my daughter cut her lip and was in route to the nurse's office with a 5 friend escort. I gave her 5 minutes to obtain her standard issue ice pack and return to the classroom where I thought I'd meet her to check out her lip before moving on to monitor the 3-4 graders whose playground shift was just starting. Gwen had the littlest cut below her lip, but she was still sobbing and something about her just didn't seem right.

"My arm! Hurts mommy! It hurts!" She barely got the words out between gasping sobs.
Gwena loves the drama, but it's not like her to carry it too far, so I thought we'd go to the pediatrician and check it out. So a bit frazzled, we left school, forgetting to sign either of us out and leaving the school secretary in charge of the 200 3rd and 4th grade monkeys pretending to be human children on the playground.

I called ahead from the car to the pediatrician's office, but they didn't have an appointment available until 3:45pm....
"But I think she may have broken her arm. Should I proceed to Emergency??"
"That would be up to you if you think it's an emergency"
"And there's nothing sooner than 3:45pm?? She's in a lot of pain."
"Nope, our earliest is 3:45"
"I'll take it"

But I wouldn't really. I decided to stop in at the urgent care clinic first, I mean, it must be called the "urgent care clinic" for a reason right....like if say you needed urgent care? Somewhere between a blood gushing emergency and a routine pap smear? But what do I know?

"I think my daughter may have broken her arm. Can you see her here?"
"It depends. Have you called your primary care physician?"
"Yes, but they can't see her until 3:45 and it's just noon now...."
"If your doctor has agreed to see you then we can't see you here. Your insurance might not pay for the visit. You have an HMO."

Crud! Crud! Crud! I'm going to have to go to the ER. I hate the ER! They're going to make us wait forever! Walking across the lobby, while explaining to my six-year-old that health care sucks in warm fuzzy parent speak, I ran into another parent from Gwen's school. His daughter has been one of my school play students for the last two years. I think I've spoken five word to him in total since I met him 2 years ago and they were probably all months apart.

"Hey, what are you two doing here?"
"I think she might have broken her arm at recess today."
"Wouldn't they see you upstairs?"
"No, they said they couldn't...something to do with my insurance and my doctor being able to see us later today."
"Now much later?"
"3:45"
"That's not right. Let go upstairs and talk to them."

Ok, that's fine. We can go upstairs again...up until I ran into him I thought he worked as an engineer somewhere in town, but he must work at the hospital and he's definitely not the janitor either. He knew the receptionist by name, she stammered and stuttered "but her insurance!" So he asked if he could call over to my pediatrician's office. He knew the head nurse by name. I'd never even met her. Then he smiled. "Your doctor can see you now." And Jordan's daddy officially became my hero.

The pediatrician's office was closed for lunch. I forgot all about lunch! It was a ghost town, but the head nurse greeted us at the door. Offered Gwen water. Shook my hand. I have never in my life been treated like that in a doctor's office, but it must be just like a celebrity would be treated, like a princess with a paper cut. It was then that a black sticky dread started to fill my belly. Gwen's stopped crying, she's started to move her arm all around. People are going without lunch to help us, receptionist I spoke to early has been "talked to" and I may forever be known as the hypochondriac mom who pulled her child from school , involved a hospital big wig and made 3 nurses and one doctor miss their lunch over her child's mildly bruised arm. Yuck, yuck, yuck! Oh, dear god, let it be broken. "What! Did I even think that!" Let it be a bruise. Maybe a sprain......that's the middle, right?

So off to the X-ray lab for an hour to sit, to wait, to dread, and to watch my daughter being so good, so patient, so brave. She's trying to make me laugh, holding my hand and apologizing to me like I was the one sitting in pain. My Gwena can be the most amazing child when she wants to be. So I tickled her and made her laugh, and showed her funny pictures from a month old People magazine, until it was her turn to get her picture taken. The nurse promised she'd try not to hurt Gwen. I knew she meant while moving her arm for the picture, but Gwen didn't know what she meant. When the machine took the picture it made such a horrendous scary noise Gwen started crying again. Two more scary pictures and we were back in the car with x-ray film in our hand.

"Can I peek at the pictures, Gwen?"
"No Mommy. Don't peek."
"I'll just look for a second."
"Mommy, NOO! I don't want to know yet."

Back at the pediatricians office, I hand the film over to the receptionist, who hands it to the nurse, who hands it to the doctor, who brings us over to the bright white box where we see Gwen's little arm looking perfectly like a miniature version of the Halloween skeleton still up in our garage until the doctor shows us the little crack clear through the radius bone just above her wrist. Yep, that would be broken.

"Do I get a cast mommy?"
"I don't know it depends on the bone doctor."
"Kushi's cast was red and up to here on her arm, and Victoria's cast went down to her fingers from here."
"But I don't know if you'll even get a cast."
"What will I get?"
"I don't know let's go see the bone doctor."

We sat at the orthopedic doctor's office, once again waiting our turn, listening to a teenage boy complain about his wrist cast next door. I worried that his talk would scare Gwen, but it just made her giggle as the boy explained how he was just going to cut the cast off himself when he got home. As the boy argued with his mom, a new nurse came to see us.

"What color cast would you like?" And Gwen's face lit up like a sunrise as she pause to celebrate her good fortune. With the celebretory butt wiggle Gwen always executes when she's happy,
"Light blue." she said.