The Biggie thought the word “flatulent” meant “polite.” (She said, “it sounds like gallant!”) If that were true, this family could write the book on etiquette. I’m just sayin’.

What It Has Come To




This note is posted above the controls of my stove. Just a little reminder, though I’m thinking, with the economy down, who would sneer at a little extra protein?

The other day I heard Milo at his food bowl, then realized he was sitting at my feet. Hm. The crunching sounds continued. Tiptoeing over to the bowl, I saw a flash of movement into a teeny weeny hole I’d never noticed before, where a pipe enters the floor. The resident Mouse Killah (not me) set up a trap next to the hole, we retreated to our bunkers, and shazam—within moments we had caught not a mouse, but a vole. For some reason this skeeves me out more than a mouse would—is it the tiny eyes? The fact that cats will kill voles, but not eat them? There’s something mildly satanic about voles, I think we can all agree.

So this morning, I hear telltale lumbering-about sounds at the bottom of my stove (ew ew ew ew) and open the broiler to find…four pieces of Milo’s food and some cotton fluff. It was a stash. My broiler is a vole outpost. So The Husband, god bless him, woke up and even before pouring a cup of coffee-such is his dedication-set up a nice little enclosed trap system (=shoebox with strategic entry holes). Within minutes of closing it back up, I heard scritching, snapping, scrambling. Ew.

Vocabulary of the Day:

Blebitis: Inflammation of the tongue such that its protrusion from the mouth interferes with normal speech, e.g. “Dis blebitis is mekkin it hahd ta tahk.”

Abandoblog

Hey there, good lookin’. Didn’t I know you, back in the day? Say, a year or two ago?

What happened to Quistilton News, you ask. (1) More work. (2) Facebook. ‘Nuff said. Now there’s still more work (thankfully), but Facebook jumped the shark when people like me joined it. (Note that I am still on there, but have learned to wrangle into submission my addiction to fluffy, sugary bite-sized social interaction.)

How are you all? What have you been up to? Wow, this is a pretty one-sided conversation, particularly seeing as how you all probably gave up clicking through long ago. Not that my readership was burgeoning anyway (hi, Jenn and Amy, and that anonymous IP address in Connecticut!).

Big whomping news here: just yesterday, our friend John finished building me an OFFICE. A room of my very own, with a door and everything. It is yellow inside, and red and green on the outside. I told my friend Mary Beth that it looked like a giant multicolored packing crate had been dropped off in the corner of my living room, and she said “Don’t tell anyone that!” Why not? At any rate, it fits right into the wacky Quistilton house, which was built all akimbo in the first place-and, as such, suits us perfectly.

The small people are bigger. The Biggie now steals my socks at every opportunity and has been spotted working her way through my shoe stash. I give myself a year or two more of lording over her, before I have to lord it under her. The Wee One is still wee, but has lost her baby belly (RIP) and is learning to read. She still generally moves at the speed of light, but interspersed are periods of crash-and-burn, with accompanying weepiness. The Big is also prone to these emotional crises, and I’m beginning to understand what people mean when they talk about having GIRLS. I shudder to think of what it will be like having actual teenagers around, when they’re already so volatile at the ages of 6 and 9. Will the house spontaneously go up in flames? (Am I just courting Murphy’s Law here?)

Milo the Wonder Dog has been joined by Angus the Blue-Eyed Beagle Hound. We’ve also managed to pick up a rabbit (Wabooz) and a feral cat (Mr. Bojangles, aka General Motors) along the way. Don’t tell the Husband, but there are rumors of chickens in the spring.

My sisters and I have signed up to do a triathlon together, of all things—it was Jess’s idea. I told my dad, “Jess and Jenn and I are doing a triathlon together,” and he said, “Jeff? Jeff WHO?” Team Quistilton will be burning up the course come August, I assure you all. We just need to teach Jenn how to ride a bike. And my swimming—well, that remains the same as in previous Quistilton News posts. I did, however, make it across Cayuga Lake last summer, for the Hospicare Women Swimmin’ fundraiser. 1.1 miles! And it only took me, like, an hour and fifteen minutes of my patented sidewinding breast stroke doggie paddle flail! (One very kind kayaker stuck with me the whole time. I think it’s because I shouted, “I need you to make sure I don’t go under!”)

2009 was a year of epic financial ups and downs, as the Husband left the company he had grown from 3 to 27 people, and took a looooooooong sabbatical from full-time work, made longer by the simultaneous crash of the economy. We juggled kids, parenting roles and part-time gigs until he founded a company this fall. Things are settling back down-at least as much as they can, with an entrepeneur in the house-and we are all letting out a collective sigh of relief (Knock wood! Cross fingers!).

In October one of my dearest friends died after kicking colon cancer’s ass for four and a half years. She wouldn’t appreciate me getting maudlin, but a post about what has happened in the last year wouldn’t be complete without mention of her. I love her and miss her every day.

I was reading the New York Times Motherlode blog a few days ago, and they had an article on things you never thought you would find yourself saying, as a parent—a blogpost idea which they clearly stole from my “Things I Never Thought I Would Have to Say” series—so I thought I’d end this post with this gem, brought about by the Wee One only yesterday:

“The dog is NOT a wheelbarrow!”

It’s good to be back.

Things I Never Thought I Would Have to Say, Part Four

“Don’t spray sunscreen on the windows!”

Brought To You By Insomnia

The best way I have ever spent insomniatic time--VOTING. I was up early listening to the Wee One cough (hello, asthma season!) when I remembered that the polls opened at 6. As I drove down the road, I encountered my neighbor, letting the chickens out. He was on his way to the polls, too. When I got to the community center, his wife was already there, as were about 15 other people. I was number six in line. As we left, my neighbor's wife, a reticent New England native, burst into tears. Apologizing as I hugged her, she said, "I just want to be able to breathe in this country again."

Here, here. This is the big one, folks--get out and VOTE!

Things I Never Thought I Would Have to Say, Part Three

“Stop licking the bus stop!”

Vocabulary of the Day:

Post-Herpetic Neuralgia-A generalized painful sensation experienced after encountering a lizard.

SNOW. That's right. I'm thinking this winter's going to be a doozie.

Breaking Biggie News Flash

She won a national Amtrak essay contest!!!

She wrote the essay while we were traveling on the Amtrak Cascade in Oregon in August. The notification was delivered to me by FedEx just now. She didn't win the grand prize of some sort of El Capitan super train, but rather one of 14 "first" prizes of a Polar Express train set--which is the one she wanted, anyway.

Very many thanks to Uncle Nat, who speedily hand-delivered the essays to the only open Post Office at the eleventh hour the night they were due. You need to come play with the train!

Happy day!

Keeping It Surreal

As I pulled up to my dentist's office today, I noticed what looked like a corral next to the building...and in it, a young heifer who tried to eat my coat sleeve when I fed her some stray hay. Dr. Piskorowski's latest rescue project, indeed.

Man, sometimes I just love Ithaca.

I ordered the Wee One a teeny red backpack for school. It arrived on Friday and she promptly packed it for our upcoming “Girl Trip” to Oregon (the poor Husband has to stay here and work). Here is what she deemed essential equipment for venturing to the hinterlands of the West Coast:

4 packets of Swiss Miss instant hot cocoa, with marshmallows
2 packets microwave popcorn
5 quarters, 1 nickel and 4 pennies
1 pound pitted prunes
1 cup raisins
1 package tamari-seaweed rice cakes
2 graham crackers
1 box, lime Jell-O
2 shirts
1 pair Princess underpants
2 socks, mismatching

I think we're ready.

The Hostile Takeover is Complete

It finally happened. I had to look up a word used by the Biggie. It wasn’t that big a word, and upon retrospect I knew what it meant (this is the “saving face” portion of the program, folks) but she was flinging words at me; we were in mid-fight mode, and I was rattled by her multi-syllabic grenades coupled with my cumulative years of sleep deprivation. “Mama,” she said, “You are simply irrefutable!” and stormed off in a cloud of pre-tween dust. When I asked her what she meant by that (hoping to catch her in show-off mode, like a sophomore Philosophy major), she quoted a dictionary-perfect definition.

Sigh.

Vocabulary of the Day

Perhaps this one shouldn't count, because it's real, but here is an actual journal title that I've been pulling abstracts from today: Vox Sanguinis, abbreviated "Vox Sang" in citations. Yes, that would be, in Latin, "The Voice of Blood."

A little light reading for your nightstand, there.

Parenting Genius Award
(If I knew how to do anything fancy I would insert sparkling graphics or perhaps a cartoon dancing kitten here.)

I would just like to take a moment to present myself with the long-sought, most glorious Parenting Genius Award. This award marks one of the few opportunities in parenting to rest on your laurels, pat yourself on the back and say, “Job well done!”*

Unfortunately I cannot tell you what the award is for. To do so would be to violate the privacy of the Biggie. Suffice it to say that, together, she and I are in the process of conquering one of her deepest and longest-held Big Bad Issues, one I was concerned would plague her into adulthood; something I considered one of my greatest, dismal failures as a parent.

Whooha, or “Yehoo!” as the Wee One would say! A lifetime supply of chocolate for me!

*Be aware that this action will immediately call into effect Murphy’s Law, which will bring you to your knees.

A comment made on the last post (thanks, Amy) made me realize I should explain something. The vocabulary of the day posts (all two of them) come from actual words or phrases I come across in the research related to my work, and my imagined meanings for them. The definitions rise from my criss-crossed Latin language/Biology Major*/random non-professional medical worker/M.Ed. background, heavily influenced by the brain degradation I’ve experienced since I had children. I’ll try to remember to post the actual meaning (if I can figure it out) in the comments section.

Speaking of brain degradation, I’m wondering—can anyone actually spell “ophthalmological” without double-checking themselves?

* Adding to the confusion, though I majored in Biological Sciences, my undergraduate degree is actually a Bachelor of Arts (or Artium Bacheloris, as Cornell prefers to call it--the piddling Latin I took allows me to translate that as "Bachelor of Arts").

Vocabulary of the Day:

Intraoperative pachymetry-The systematic measurement of anesthetized elephants.

Quote of the Day, Out of the Random Mouths of Babes, Biggie edition:

"Every clock in this house says a DIFFERENT TIME. It is exactly like VENICE."

Vocabulary of the day:

Hypovolemia - a dangerous lack of small insectivorous mammals

This is what happens when my checkered educational and career backgrounds intersect.

OK that was sortof frightening. I'll put some normal pictures up soon.