Crisis Kelly to the Rescue

This afternoon, I experienced what I'm going to call my second-most-terrifying moment of post-NICU motherhood. (Some other day, I'll blog about the time I locked the girls in the car.) Everything seems to be fine now, although the situation does call for some close monitoring over the next few days.

It's pretty incredible how motherhood changes the way you cope with crisis situations. In the past, I wasn't so good with a crisis. The shaking, the tears, and the gripping fear all got in the way of my ability to actually handle anything. I was totally incapable of keeping my cool. Panic would set in almost immediately, and I was pretty much useless from then on out.

But today, as I watched Sophia shove her high chair over backwards while she was strapped in it, as I scooped up and surveyed the red-faced, screeching, thrashing toddler, a calm, collected, business-like me somehow superimposed herself over my normally panic-stricken freakazoid reaction to adverse events. While an insistent, shrieking voice in the back of my head blathered on about Sophia's osteogenesis imperfecta, her brittle bones, her predisposition (inherited from her mother) to break bones in situations that would leave someone else with a bruise (she broke her femur in utero, for crying out loud -- where are you safer than in the womb?), Crisis Kelly calmly ignored the blathering and focused on a) calming Sophia down and b) determining whether anything was seriously wrong.

Crisis Kelly deduced that no baby who thrashes that much can be seriously injured. Crisis Kelly put a somewhat-mollified Sophia down on the floor so she could demonstrate her ability to crawl normally. Crisis Kelly then decided that Sophia was probably fine and returned her to the high chair (far, far away from anything she could shove off of), gave her back her afternoon snack food, moved Evelyn's high chair far, far away from anything she could shove off of, and then called the doctor's office.

Crisis Kelly discussed the situation with the on-call doctor in a calm, rational, just-the-fact-ma'am manner. The doctor agreed that Sophia is most likely fine (she "got lucky," as the doctor put it) and suggested that Crisis Kelly keep an eye on her and bring her in to the ER if any suspicious symptoms arise. At this point, with professional confirmation that everything was probably fine, Crisis Kelly began to step down. And then the doctor gave a stern lecture about how I was not allowed to feel any guilt about allowing Sophia to shove her high chair over backwards -- it's a good thing Crisis Kelly wasn't totally gone, because otherwise I'd have collapsed into a blubbering puddle.

I kept it together long enough to put the girls down for their afternoon nap. And now that all seems to be well, danger is gone, crisis averted, I can't stop shaking. I want to curl up in a ball and cry for an hour.

I need Crisis Kelly to run my life.

Movers and Shakers

It looks like the editors over at USA Today have been visiting this blog.

(Thanks to Sarah for alerting me to this -- I had no idea my influence was spreading so far.)

Take the Bus

I heard a story on NPR yesterday about how gas prices in Chicago, which are allegedly the highest in the country, are beginning to ease up. Would someone please mention that to my local gas station?

Eight is Enough Update

Huzzah! Reason prevails over sentimentality! It looks like the International Astronomical Union is poised to reject a resolution that would allow Pluto to keep its status as a planet. That chunk of rock is about to be demoted, and it's high time!

To celebrate, I'm going to offer up a few new mnemonic devices to help school children remember the order of the eight planets in our solar system (Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, and Neptune):

• My Very Educated Mother Just Sat Upon Nails
• Most Vultures Eat Melons Jauntily, Smiling Under Nests
• More Verisimilitude Eludes Most Journalists Saying Utterly Nothing
• Many Volcanoes Erupt Monthly Just So U'll Notice (okay, that one doesn't quite work)

(Perhaps my celebration is a bit premature -- we'll have to keep an eye on those wiley scientists and makes sure they don't abandon their anti-Pluto leanings. More updates to come, most likely.)

8/24/06 Update: CNN is reporting this morning that Pluto has been demoted! Now, I'm sensitive to the fact that many clung to Pluto's planethood for sentimental reasons, and that this news saddens them. However, I confess I'm pleased that the astronomers managed to set aside their warm, fuzzy feelings for Pluto and deal with the issue in a rational manner. Good work, IAU!

The Hip Wars

Throughout my adult life, medical professionals have commented to me on the fact that my hips are ideal for birthing babies. That, my friends, is not a compliment. My body can be described thusly: small of stature, short of waist, wide of hips, and birdlike of legs. And post-pregnancy, I've packed a few extra curves onto that already odd arrangement.

I've come to terms with this body of mine. I'm not plagued by body-image issues, and I even have a feature or two I'm proud of (hint: they come in pairs). But I must confess I've always had a hard time buying pants that fit. Jeans are always either four inches too long or, if I go for the petite or ankle-length variety, two inches too short. I'm not good about having my clothes tailored, and I'm certainly not going to tailor them myself. And now that I weigh a bit more than I used to, I'm not even sure what size I am anymore -- I just know I'm not the size I used to be.

I don't have time or energy to tromp around from store to store, trying on pair after pair of pants in different sizes and styles, searching for that perfect fit. However, I've been inspired by Anne Glamore's Breast Wars parts I and II (posted on her blog Tiny Kingdom, one of my favorite web sites these days).

Ms. Glamore ordered herself a whole bunch of bras in order to search for that perfect fit in the privacy of her own home, returning all bras that didn't fit. (Hilarity ensues.) As much as I'd love to try the same thing with pants, the trouble is that you have to lay out a bit of cash to get an assortment of sizes and styles from which to choose, and it's guaranteed that you'll be returning most of what you order -- if not all of it. That is a bit daunting. I'd rather avoid the whole rigmarole, but it is more or less irritating than dragging myself out to multiple stores to do the same thing?

So here's my plan: I placed a small order at gap.com for a pair of jeans in a size I've never tried on before it my life. (Actually, I ordered two pairs, but I just got notification telling me one is out of stock.) I'm hoping against hope that these jeans will fit me like a glove, and then I can order several more pairs just like them. If they don't fit, then maybe it's time to make that big order.

Or, then again, perhaps I just need to buck up and brave those shops. After all, if Ms. Glamore lived anywhere near Chicago, I'd tell her to visit Schwartz's Intimate Apparel -- there's no better way to find bras that fit than to be felt up and humiliated by little old ladies with a supernatural knowledge of support underthings.

Feasting on Asphalt, as long as it's east of the Rockies

I have to say I'm a little disgruntled with Alton Brown's show Feasting on Asphalt. (Regular readers -- both of you -- will recall that I'm a little bit obsessed with AB, so this complaint will perhaps come as a surprise.) In four one-hour episodes, AB and his crew sought out road food across America, dining at little diners, hot dog stands, taco joints, and whatever other eateries they came across, as long as it wasn't a national chain establishment. I love the idea, and overall, I loved the show. (It only fueled my desire for a motorcycle, despite the scene in which AB wipes out on gravel and breaks his collarbone.)

However, I think AB seriously neglected the western half of the US. By the time he finished the first episode, theoretically 1/4 of the way through American road food, he hadn't gotten any further east than North Carolina! And at one point while dining in western Colorado, he says to the camera, "Yes, we're still in Colorado." What's that supposed to mean? Is it offensive to you, Mr. Brown, that Colorado, like many western states, is quite a bit wider than your average east-of-the-Mississippi state?

I've found, since moving from Colorado to Chicago eight years ago, that people born and raised east of the Mississippi have no idea just how much land there is in the western US. Midwesterners are a little shocked (and offended, I think) when you tell them that the Midwest is more accurately described as the Mideast, geographically speaking.

Some time ago, Airan and I were thinking wistfully about moving to San Francisco. I was discussing a possibility with a friend of mine who's lived all her life in Chicago, and she said, "Well, then you'd be closer to your parents" (who still live in Colorado). When I told her I'd still be about the same distance away, just in the other direction, she was amazed.

The West is BIG, people. Look at a map.

I wish Mr. Brown had divided his time a little more equitably and given a bit more attention to the great big states of the western US. Maybe if he does a Feasting on Asphalt 2, he can rectfy his neglect.

My other complaint is that AB didn't visit Hot Doug's, the finest hot doggery in Chicago, but I guess a hot dog stand in the heart of northwestern Chicago doesn't really count as road food.

Shape of a Woman

While trolling the blogosphere, I came across this site: Shape of a Mother. (Warning: This site contains pictures of unclothed female bodies, so use caution if you're opening the site at work.)

I love this site. Its message is so important. Nobody talks about what bearing children does to a woman's body -- we just hide away our scars and stretch marks and extra pounds and flabby breasts. I feel fortunate that my pregnancy left me without too many battle scars, and still I'll bear these marks forever. We should be proud of the ways our bodies have changed! I'm so glad this site exists to help all mothers embrace the changes in their bodies.

And I'd like to discuss the fact that it isn't just mothers who have body-image issues. I find it heartening that there are efforts, such as Dove's Campaign for Real Beauty, to help all women feel better about their bodies. This work is incredibly important. I hope that my girls will benefit from their efforts and won't feel pressured to be pencil-thin twigs (which they won't be if they inherited their mother's hips).

I say, hooray for curves!

Another Anniversary

One year ago today, Evelyn and Sophia finally came home, after 10 weeks in the hospital's neonatal intensive care unit following their extremely premature birth.

Then:
Now:

Eight is Enough

I am greatly saddened to learn that Pluto's undeserved status as the ninth planet in our solar system is likely to be preserved by the International Astronomers Union. I fear that our scientists have allowed sentimentality to make this decision for them. When they spy through their telescopes at that far-flung icy chunk of rock with an overlapping orbit and a "moon" nearly as big as it is, they fail to see it for what it is: a jumped-up comet that got too big for its britches.

When Pluto was discovered in 1930 by Clyde Tombaugh, astronomers (amateur and otherwise) were wild to find and label new astronomical objects. Comet-hunters scoured the night sky, but to find a planet would be a far greater achievement. Is it any wonder that the standards for planethood were set rather low? The Oort cloud wasn't even hypothesized until two years after Pluto's discovery, so it didn't occur to these sky-watchers that big chunks of ice in far-distant orbits might not be noteworthy. They didn't begin to guess that the expanse of space beyond Neptune is brimming with comets. Should Pluto's status as one of the nearest and largest of these comets really qualify it for planethood?

The IAU's draft resolution dealing with Pluto is also the organization's first attempt (shockingly enough, considering its 87-year history) at defining what is and what is not a planet. If the resolution passes, a planet will be defined as any round object larger than 800 kilometers in diameter that orbits the sun and has a mass roughly one-12,000th that of Earth. Pluto just squeaks by, and I suspect the requirements were written with that intent.

Members of the International Astronomers Union, I implore you! Remove the veil of sentimentality from your eyes! See Pluto for what it is: an icy dwarf in trans-Neptunian orbit. When it comes to planets, eight is enough.

(Thanks to Jo for inspiring this post. We'll just have to agree to disagree.)

Confessions of a Bad Mother

I am not one of those crunchy granola mothers who ban all television, who start the foreign language flash cards at six months, who buy all-organic food for their children. I'm no La Leche devotee, breastfeeding until your kids go to college. I think I've managed to teach the twins all of two signs in baby sign language.

Now, yes, I know that many of the things I've disparaged in the preceding paragraph can be good, in moderation. Breastfeeding provides excellent nutrition and is ideal, if your situation allows it. The American Academy of Pediatrics says children under the age of two gain no benefit from watching television, even educational programming.

However, I think it's of more value to my children that I not be obsessed with living the ideal life, creating the ideal learning environment, and then expecting the highest levels of achievement from them at all times. Kids need to relax and be kids. How can they do that if Mommy's uptight all the time about whether they're going to get into Harvard or Yale? So here are the things I refuse to feel guilty about.

Allowing my children to watch television. And sometimes in fact encouraging them to watch it. "Mommy has a lot of work to do, girls. Here's a nice animated feature for you to focus on for the next hour or so." (The girls are partial to Pixar's Monsters, Inc.)

Feeding my children fast food. Now, this happens very, very rarely. Maybe twice in their entire lives to date. (As long as you don't count Chipotle, which I don't consider to be fast food.) But now and then, when you're on the road and the kids need to eat right now, a meal from one of those evil purveyors of the oh-so-convenient drive-thru dinner isn't going to hurt the girls any.

Not saving sufficient funds to pay for the girls' entire college education. We're off to a bad start on this one. I hope to save up lots of money to send the girls to college. But for now I'm more concerned with feeding and clothing them. And I don't think it will hurt them one bit to have to pay off student loans. I think my parents had it right. They helped me as much as they could and sent me extra money for food and rent whenever I needed it, but the bulk of my college tuition was covered by government student loans (that I'm still paying off today), and on top of that I worked three part-time jobs. I made it through. They will, too.

(My big fear here is that the girls won't have anything like the kind of access I had to student loans when I was in college. I sincerely hope our government figures out its priorities before 2023 and makes student loans widely available. In case they don't, we have a lot of saving to do.)

Here's my parenting philosophy: I have two main ideas that I want the girls to learn from me. 1) Have respect for yourself. 2) Have respect for others. Everything else should take care of itself.