Fathers' Day 2011

Way, way back, when summer was fresh and new...and in fact, I wasn't even on vacation yet...we celebrated Fathers' Day. It is becoming our tradition to attend a minor league baseball game on Fathers' Day. It's a pretty great setup. Jamie gets to enjoy some baseball; there is plenty of family activity to keep Duncan from getting bored, and there's lots of good people watching for me. The baseball, the cheaper food (than at Yankee Stadium), the mascots:  it's a no brainer.

But first, we gave Jamie a hammock. I wish we had all found more time for it this summer. It is sheer heaven to lie in the hammock on the perfect summer day, daydreaming or reading a book. Check out Duncan's choice of reading material that week. It was all about mummies, Pompeii, and gross insects.

And then we were off to the game. We caught a Tri-City Valleycats game in Troy. I have no idea who won. I'm pretty sure it was the Vermont Lake Monsters. Seriously.

See how intently the boy is watching the game? His interest was partly encouraged by how close we were. We were in the first row! See how close we were?! It makes it a lot easier to follow what's going on, even if a 5 year old would rather watch cars race around the outfield and people dressed as catsup, mustard, and relish running the base lines.

All in all, it was a great tribute to Dad and fun way to usher in summer!

Love is in the Air

Overheard from the kitchen during Duncan's shower:

"Daddy, I LOVE you.  Will you make me a valentine?"

Dutchess County Fair

I had wanted to go to the Dutchess County Fair for quite some time...roughly, since 1987, but it had never worked out for a variety of reasons, many of them involving Jamie's lack of interest. Then, in August, Jamie decided to take Duncan on a weekday that I was doing tutor training. I was disappointed but understood the folly of going on the last Saturday of the fair. Much to my glee, Duncan and Jamie didn't get to see everything they wanted to in one day, so off we went to the last Saturday of the Dutchess County Fair. It was a blast! How could anyone not want to go? It started as a rainy day, but we stuck it out and were rewarded for our perseverance. We took in a marionette show, watched adults dressed in animal costumes high dive, and witnessed dock diving dogs going for the long jump in a large pool of water. We ate junk food, visited newborn cows, and enjoyed Gary the Silent Clown. Mind you, these are all the things Duncan and Jamie had already done at the fair...We didn't get to a single animal or food display, but we did ride $20 worth of Duncan-sized rides. It was a great day and a perfect way to end the summer.  Next year, we might even visit the goats!

Old Sturbridge Village

(Duncan takes in the sights at the Colonial outhouse).

Although we love to camp, the real purpose of our last camping trip was to visit Old Sturbridge Village. We weren't sure how Duncan would like it; before we went, we spent a lot of time talking about the "old days" and shared the OSV website with him. He spent hours watching videos on YouTube of everything from war reenactments to smithing and pottery. Our efforts were rewarded in his boundless enthusiasm on the day of our visit.

Duncan's favorite parts were the cobbler, the horse and carriage ride, and the potter. The cobbler makes shoes that are worn by OSV employees. He explained to us how shoes were made and that many shoes during the Colonial times were made with no discernible right or left foot. The leather was soft and conformed to the foot over time. The horses, Tom and Jerry, took us on a ride from the center of town around the mill pond. It was an old-fashioned form of public transportation that Duncan loved so much that he begged us to go again (alas, we didn't have time). The potter was his favorite, which is apropos since Duncan's father and grandfather have thrown more than their fair share of pots. Duncan watched with rapt attention as the potter threw several pieces, explaining how the Colonial potter would have had to schedule his pottery around the farm schedule. He would have hauled clay form a site near the river all the way back to town and would have spent a great deal of time preparing the clay. He would only have had time to finish a few pieces at a time and would fill his studio with nearly 800 pieces before beginning the several-day-long process of firing. I'm sure that when we return to OSV, the "pot man" will be Duncan's first stop.

I'm not sure what Jamie liked best, but he spent a lot of time under the mills, explaining to Duncan how the river water turned the gears to operate the grist mill, the carding mill (to prepare wool for spinning), and the saw mill. Actually, the saw mill may have been Jamie's favorite stop. Though there were no interpreters at the mill when we stopped by, he was fascinated by the scary saw and use of simple machines to roll logs into the the mill and finished planks out to the ground. He and Duncan also enjoyed watching several innings of a Colonial baseball game, where the rules seemed a little lax, the gloves lacking, and the bats primitive broom handles.

While Jamie and Duncan watched baseball, I watched hanks of yard dyed by hand in colors more beautiful, vibrant, and organic than anything produced synthetically. Once the wool was carded and then spun, the yarn was dyed in cauldrons over an open fire. It looked a little witchy. I don't remember what the dyes were made of, but natural ingredients like indigo and sage made delectable colors. I loved all things textile; the sheep, the carding, the spinning, the dyeing, and the looms. I was glad to wander those areas freely while the boys took the game.

When we first walked into OSV, we couldn't imagine needing two days there. Within hours, we understood why OSV issues a free return admission within 10 days of each paid admission. We had a very full day - several hours more than we anticipated would maintain Duncan's interest. After our return, Jamie noted that OSV offers a fantastic, period celebration for Independence Day. We just might spend America's NEXT birthday in the Colonial Era.

Good, Good, Good, Good Intentions

Dear Blog,

I really miss you. I really, really, miss you. Please try to understand. I have a long list of things to write about. I have many photographs and even a video or two to upload. My intentions are good. Nevertheless, My laptop has been at the computer hospital for a week. My desktop computer at home is old and clunky. My photos are all on my laptop. Suddenly, my camera does not like the desktop computer any more. This borrowed Acer Aspire One netbook is moderately useful, but it's not the same. The keyboard is uncomfortable enough that I don't like to type for long periods of time on it. It's great for surfing the net and for dealing with my e-mail. In fact, it's a pretty good substitute, but it's just not the same. Add in the variables of juggling going back to work full time while Jamie and Duncan are still on vacation, and I just can't do it. I know my excuses are feeble, and if I REALLY loved you, I would make time for you somehow. Hey, I showed up TODAY, didn't I? Please forgive me. I hope we will catch up with each other soon.

Sincerely,

Theresa

Higher Power

I have proof that there is a higher power.

Yesterday, I returned home from work at 5 to find my almost-comatose husband on the couch muttering something about a fever while my 2 year-old ran circles around him, giddy with freedom. It became quickly apparently that Jamie had to get to bed, immediately. I groaned inwardly (and realistically, I probably groaned outwardly too). I have only known the love of my life to be sick (REALLY sick), twice since 1996; had we not lived through 2 years with a child together, I would not have known the man could operate a thermometer.

I will NEVER leave my husband. If any of you doubted that, rest assured that I do NOT intend to parent alone. Not on purpose. Not if I have anything to do with it. Duncan and I survived cooking and feeding him dinner, navigating bath time (barely), and reading stories accompanied by milk...at one point, the three-tiered basket of produce collapsed in the kitchen. Duncan ate grape tomatoes off the dirty floor and laughed hysterically while he took a huge bite out of a plum tomato, all while I attempted to clean smashed avocado and sweet potato from the floor. But my night had just begun. Quickly followed the dish washing and a trip out for sick food. I listened with one ear to the numbers falling out of my husband's mouth: "100.7;" "101;" "101.2." Finally, at 9 we had a quick dinner (jello, soup, and frozen fruit for him; microwave Hot Pockets and Triscuits for me), and I got ready for bed. During the quiet moments while I brushed my teeth, I dared to think the night had not been as bad as I expected.

I crawled into bed, and slowly the numbers began to acquire meaning. While I was running through our evening routine, my husband, who had taken Tylenol, Motrin, and Aleve between 3:30 and 9:00, had been frying in bed. My stoic husband, who never gets sick, never complains, and never worries about anything, uttered these words: "I'm starting to get scared." The number 102 began to hold meaning for me (I neglected to hear the "point 6" appended to it). We researched how hot you have to get before worrying about the emergency room, and I asked him if he would feel better if he called the emergency room. He said "I'd feel better if I WENT to the emergency room. Is there anyone we can call to take care of Duncan?"

Grandpa arrived at around 10:45; we checked in to the emergency room at around 11:00. Long story short, the nurse and on-call doctor spent 3 hours taking two throat cultures and a blood sample and getting Jamie's temperature back to normal. So far, the flu test was negative, the rapid strep was negative (though it's on its way for a 3 day culture, whatever that means), and then they sent out a Lyme test for that pesky critter we picked up on the Rail Trail two weeks ago. It could just be a random virus.

I was thankful that my husband was not frying his brain, but the thought of surviving a full day of work AND ANOTHER NIGHT LIKE LAST NIGHT on 3 1/2 of sleep made me physically ill (though it might have been the three cups of coffee that made me physically ill). I actually put off going to pick up Duncan this afternoon because I didn't want to see what awaited me at home.

This is my proof that there is a higher power. Jamie still has a wicked sore throat, but he hasn't had any fever all day. He felt well enough to watch Duncan while I cooked dinner and then managed the bath. I have had time to eat food with nutrition, iron my clothes for tomorrow, and write about the everyday excitements of domestic life. The evening's hero remains Grandpa, who drove 45 minutes to sit with Duncan at 11 p.m. and headed home at 2 a.m. I don't want to have another night like last night for a long time, but it's nice to know you can weather a little storm, get up the next day, and appreciate all that you usually take for granted. A few more numbers for my unusually digit-heavy blog...98.6. Thank Mr./Mrs. Higher Power for the lovely, uneventful day that was today.

Mama

When Duncan first began talking, we were excited that he quickly added "Dada" and "Mama" to his limited lexicon.  Now, he has more words than we can count, and almost every day he says something I've never heard him say before.  Recently, he seemed to know "ten," where previously his number system and numerical vocabulary were binary:  "two," and "three."  On Sunday, he suddenly knew "paper towel."  Listening to him talk to Jamie during our recent vacation, I realized that he has made the complete transition to "Daddy" while I remain "Mama."  I was bemoaning Duncan's inability to upgrade me to Version 2.1's "Mommy" when Jamie reminded me that we stopped correcting Duncan's "Mama" since I seemed to like it.  I mulled over this observation for a while (having the time to do that kind of thing over vacation) and decided that our instincts feel right to me.  Although I sort of feel that a two year old should be able to say "Mommy," I am just fine being "Mama."  "Mama" is a delicate, wispy umbilical cord that still connects me to the one year old boy, uncertain on his feet, a novice speaker, awestruck by his upright stance, and totally in love with his mother.

Be It Ever So Humble

We all survived our longest separation yet (two nights). I had pangs as we drove away from Poughkeepsie, leaving Duncan in the capable hands of his grandparents. There was a tiny hole in my heart where I could sample what it would feel like not to have him; I didn't dwell there longer than necessary. I think that all Jamie and I did for two days was sleep and eat (I didn't even knit so there was NO progress on the sage green mystery garment); it was strange not to be tired. I realized that I use tiredness as an excuse for virtually everything, and when it is removed from the equation, I have to think a little bit harder about my motivations. Contrary to my hopeful longings, it did NOT feel like Bermuda when we returned. It is rainy and gloomy, but the spring bulbs are definitely working theirway up toward the unseen sun.

Duncan was an angel for Grandpa and Grandma Martin, but he was excited to see us on Wednesday. That is a hug I will carry with me for a long time...until it is replaced by another so memorable. What's interesting is that Duncan spent the next 24 - 48 hours testing the limits of his parents - as if he wanted to see if the rules had changed in our absence, or if we had been replaced by pod people. I think all is back to normal now. We are being protected by the Little People Professional and Volunteer Fire Brigade today.