The ShooShot

Yesterday the little girl and I went in to get her flu shot as scheduled.

I tried to prep her early so that it wouldn't be an unpleasant surprise - if I wait too long, there's not time to give an unhurried explanation, and she always does better with an explanation.

So I told her in the car that we were going to the doctor's office, and that she would have a quick flu shot, just like Mommy and Daddy had. Remember Mommy and Daddy got a shot in the arm? And she was going to get a quick shot in the leg.

She started to whine as we pulled into the parking lot. Her new vantage point gives her opportunity to recognize locations, so she clearly recognized the place.

Ah ohn't ahnt it, she kept telling me as we were getting out of the car.
Yes, I know you don't want it, but the flu shot will keep you from getting sick this Winter, honey. Mommy got a flu shot, Daddy got a flu shot. and so on, as I herded her toward to front door.

Once inside, she was distracted by the kids chairs and the books found scattered around the lobby. Eh-phant! Diff-ent chair. A delivery man wheeled a packet of medical supplies in on a moving cart, and the little girl jumped up and exclaimed over the rolling wheels. Hey there, pretty girl! he laughed.

Then the nurse called us back, and fortunately, she was one of the persuasive ones who seemed to actually enjoy talking to children. Ohh, aren't you a big girl, walking back here all by yourself. The little girl did indeed walk all the way back under her own power, then again started to whimper as we entered the room with the big clinical table.

Ohn't ahnt it. Go aht door, she told me, as she edged toward to corridor. I suppressed a giggle at the cuteness. You need your flu shot, Sweetie, I told her. It'll be quick. I'll bet the nurse even has a pretty bandaid for you.

She doesn't need to undress; you can just pull down her pants so I can get to her leg, the nurse told me. Okay, but could we sit in that chair?

I thought it'd be less traumatic if I could hold her in my lap.
And you have a bandaid? Yes? I asked, trying to distract the little girl. Sure enough, there was a bright pink bandaid. Make sure you hold her hands was the last thing the nurse told me.

The nurse swabbed, she stabbed, she was done! It was over by the time the little girl started to cry out, and the nurse slapped the bandaid on so fast that it was only later that I noticed it wasn't even over the puncture. But it was an effective distraction. The girl stopped fussing immediately. She was very good! The nurse remarked while I all but polished my fingernails on my shirt.

The checkout nurse is always exceedingly kind. She can pick out a sticker, hon, she told me. Wow! The first time she'd get a sticker!

I fished out two likely candidates and held them up for perusal. You get a sticker, Sweetie! Do you want the pink one or the purple one? The purple one with Daisy Duck. And do you want it on your shirt or your hand? Her hand. Nice sticker, was the verdict.

You were soo brave, Sweetie. The nurse cleaned your leg, and then she gave you a flu shot - ow! - and then it was all done! Oo, and then you got a bandaid... And now you have a sticker. Oh, cool!

And the whole rest of the day, I was treated to her version of the narrative.

Ah go shooshot. You did what? Oh, you got a flu shot!
Ah wen' doctors. Ah got shooshot. Ah got sticker. Ah put hit ahn ma shert now. Ah got shooshot. Awriight! Yes, you sure did, Sweetie!

I love this job.
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I Ca No Wri Mo

Oh, hi! Wasn't I supposed to post something here tonight?

Alas, I'm feeling rather white-rabbit-ish about my time today.

I'm late, I'm late... And there's much to do before we leave and before I sleep.

Being poised halfway between panic and denial, I think I'll take a bath and catch up on sleep instead of fritter more time online. (Yeah, right!) No, no, really!

I'll write more after I've survived the panic of leaving.

Look! Kitties!


--

And Then There Were Countertops

Oo, did you notice the new countertops?
What? Did you not notice?

You might have seen this:
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They take pretty pictures indeed.

They are a vast improvement on what was there before. Let me refresh the memory.

At first, there was this:



Actually, there was much less than this.

See that strange grey board around the sink? That's the old countertop. With metal edging that you don't see around much any more. That slab was the only countertop in the entire kitchen for most of the years we've lived in this house. Yeah. I know. It's antique. Probably older than me.

At some point, we ripped out the old cabinets, of which there were very few.



And put in new shiny ones.



Okay, it took a while to rip out and install.
All that ugly stuff on the walls was from amazingly bad plastic tile that had not only been glued on but painted afterward. Yikes.

And afterwards, we were amazed.
Wow! We have storage space! And countertops!



But of course, we hadn't arranged for countertops at the same time, so for nearly a year after we installed new cabinets, there was this:



This is pieces of white board from the hardware store cut to size for temporary countertops. It wasn't bad - it was easy to clean (it was after all whiteboard), but it wasn't even fastened down. It was just an easy stop-gap measure.

And finally, there was this:



We still have the mangey walls (and the hole where the electrician moved a light switch), but that will be upgraded eventually.


The color, I lurv it. The price was right.
The installation, however, left much to be desired...

So the floor is kinda crooked, so the appliances and cabinets are crooked, so the countertops are... hmmm. How shall we say? Crooked.

And because I was measuring, they assumed some things, like I needed extra space here and there, but not over there where we really needed it. And the new dishwasher Oh! Did I mention we have a wonderful new dishwasher? sticks out a bit more and so the counter length is either too short or too long depending on which way you shove it, and of course it's shoved back so that I don't even have a freakin proper overhang on one side - gah! *ahem* And then on top of that, they affixed it with some kind of industrial strength adhesive that gave me headaches for days as it outgassed.

Oy. I'm kinda wishing I had been that picky customer, but this is just screwy.

But some of the strangeness of it is that this is an old house, and nothing is really square, much less level. So anytime one adds some new improvements to the place, you have to fit the new "semi-perfect" items with the existing structure, which is decidedly NOT. Having new countertops just draws your attention to the floor wonkiness.

But oh, well. We have new countertops!

They are otherwise attractive. They don't look boring. They look pricier than they are, which is a nice touch but not essential. (They are fancy Wils0nart laminate.) They have great texture and color. You can't even see any dirt or ants. On the other hand, you can't see the dirt or ants! Oops! hehe.

The best part is that they successfully bridge the gap between the new off white cabinets and the old dark wood paneling and let the door knobs be the dark punctuation, which is all just what I was aiming for. In other words, they look great! Nice enough for every day. Just don't look too closely, and we'll all be happier.


--

I am on the fence about the whole daycare/pre-school thing. We found a pre-school that has a mom's morning out, with a once a week morning for kids younger than two. Oo! We said. And forgot about it. Saw it again at my church this fall. Oo! I said! Emailed about a visit to tour the program. It was fun. And there's a progressive series of pre-school programs as the children age up. Oo! I said. And promptly lost the application.

My misgivings are many, no fault of the program, really.

Will this child get up early enough for the 9:30 am start time? Sometimes she sleeps until 10.
If we get in, do we really want her to spend more and more time there? Do we have the option of fewer days, no we do not.
There are many other things going on that same morning. Storytime at the library. Tumbling at the sportsplex. Time with Mommy.
And what about the cost? It's not so pricey as programs go, but what would she get out of it that is worth that price? Who are we doing this for - her or me?
And on and on.

So I haven't sent in the application.

But, but, it's a great play-based program! It would be good for her to have more group interactions away from Mommy! And it would be fun! And give me more time to myself, maybe.

I'm realizing that I am jealous of my time with my daughter. I am lucky enough to be able to stay home with her. I'm finding I don't want to give her up.

For maybe one morning this year I could give her up, maybe, but there's that progression of time and money, and where do we stop? Maybe that's an artificial barrier, but I fear, somehow, that she will be inextricably drawn away from me, and next thing you know, she's gone five mornings a week, then off to kindy. I want my baby time! I want all of her childhood. It's too soon. Isn't this where someone is supposed to remark how growing up is harder on the parents than on the child?

Face it, missy. You do not want to give up any time with her. It's true. So until I convince myself otherwise, I am relishing every bit of baby-and-childhood I can get.
--

I couldn't go to sleep last night, but still somehow never got around to writing anything.

I had been busy all day catching up with lots of big and little jobs. Everything from mixing up yet another batch of cookie dough to cleaning out a box for craft supplies, to airing out the tent. To watering the plants, to cleaning out the cars, to putting away the little girls books and toys that pile up in drifts, to giving the cat his injection, to confirming plans with my cousins. To clipping coupons, to wiping noses, to washing/drying/folding/putting away yet another load of laundry, to feeding myself a late night snack of toast and tea while reading on my latest library book so that I could settle down enough to sleep.

I get like this sometimes: full of vigor and focused purpose. It's the lists, probably, and eating well, all those vitamins in the green leafy things, and the threat of my time cut short - getting ready for a trip while waiting for the contractor to show up - can you say a leetle tense? Maybe not so much tense as motivated!

Items still on my lists:

Clear kitchen counter for contractor (load dishwasher, wash plastic lids, finish making that batch of cookies)

Work on my next program (coming up this weekend, lots to arrange and think about)

Call bank (they've reset my password without telling me and how can I transfer money to pay the contractor without knowing my current balance?)

Write bills (this is easy enough when I do it as I go along)

Email the yardwork guys (I have high hopes, but it may wait until after Thanksgiving)

Cut felt for the Advent calendar (I am behind, but I need a bit of space to work)

Mail chocolate to my friend in the middle of a stressful move (It's in the package, needs stamps)

Cut back the lantana (This monstrosity takes over my front garden bed every Summer, but it's pretty and the butterflies and occasional hummingbird likes it. But then it stinks and gets all hard-thorny if I wait too long)

Call/email the maternal support program at the local health center. (I have boxes and boxes of clothes to pass on to them)

Finish photobook (I have a good deal, but I have to finish it before the end of the week! Yeek!)

Send my sister her birthday card/present

Write check for the cat sitters

Deliver key to the cat sitters

Return library books before we leave town!

Deliver the old-time music CD to a caller friend (good prep for her next gig)

Start packing

Follow up on the energy retrofit (We are on to the second round of forms and applications - yay for tax credits!)

Wash the kitchen floor (it always needs it)

And...

Wait! wait! There's more! Wait! Come back!
Oh, never mind. You get the idea. :)

With a toddler around, everything takes longer. No wonder I have a hard time going to sleep - even after she's down, I want to cram in as much as I can! The lists help me keep everything on track.

But really, I need my sleep. As much as I am motivated about tackling things left undone, I need to toddle off to bed. At least I wrote a little tonight.

Tootle-oo!
--

Potage Melange of Autumn

On Saturdays, I like to cook. The day stretches out leisurely before me, with hours to spend. I neaten a table, put away stranded items, put in another load of laundry, polish the door, put away socks, papers, and junk mail, and think of food.

Some weeks we go to the local Farmer's Market, with rows of stalls all selling something of specialty. Baked goods - bread, tarts, pies - and flowers, fused glass jewelry, beautifully polished bowls of locally salvaged wood, seeds and produce - fifteen small farmers organic or not, selling seasonal food bursting with the colors and health as the season intended. It's too late for tomatoes, but there's grain fed beef, braising greens, bok choy, and white turnips with greens intact. Turnips!

It's fall, and the root vegetables are calling me. I contemplate a hearty plate of roasted roots. Or perhaps sauteed? Or a stew? Perhaps roasted, and then stewed, then chunked into a mosaic. Yes.

I pick potatoes and carrots, of course, and then a bunch of turnips, of course, and a few parsnips because they are supposed to be yummy in this sort of combination of course. Onions and garlic and plenty of salt and pepper. Roasted with olive oil, then sauteed in butter, and melted into softness, mashed or spun into flecks, a whole family of flavors in every bite.



On a cold but sunny autumn day, this potage sticks to the ribs, mortar against the windy bite. It's fall. So let's fall to it.


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Welcome Generosity

It was a windy day, the sun flashing brilliantly from behind intermittent clouds that raced across the sky. Up on the Gap, day trippers roamed over the short-cropped grass, heaving themselves step over step up the slope, between scrubby shrubbery that clung to the steep hillside.



And ponies! There were ponies up on the ridge. The appreciated the occasional carrot or apple.

Our packs, a familiar heft, rode on bruised hips. After several days on the trail, they fit into the hollows and over the bones as if molded to us. We had made it down the rock pile of a trail from the higher peak, treacherous for the unaware foot or ankle.



Easing our way down over the gap, we took the familiar gravel fork towards the parking lot, down down to the fence line, and through the gate. The gate swung closed behind us. No ponies allowed near the road.

The green lawn spread out before us, the picnic area dotted with fantastically twisted branches mottled white and gray. We found a likely pause and eased off the packs. We swigged water and looked about us. People scattered across the park at various states of leisure or strolling progress. We hadn't planned to come out at this spot, as pretty as it was, but it was convenient, the closest outlet within a couple days hike for an emergency stop.



Who should we ask? Someone who looked friendly. Someone with a larger car. One couple nodded to us as they passed us on the way to their SUV still breathing hard from their hike. We'd passed them further up the trail. Them, I thought. I paused, letting them settle in. They took some time stowing their gear. I approached, looking as winsome and non threatening as possible.

"Excuse me, ma'am. I was wondering if you all could possibly give us a ride into Damascus. We've been on the trail all week, and our stove just broke! We need to get into town so we can get another stove at the outfitters. I was wondering if you all could you possibly help us out? We just need a ride."

The woman closed her face, unwilling to say yes or no. "Don!" She called to her husband. "What do you think? This lady says she needs a ride."

"Me and my husband, both." My husband nodded and tried to look non-threatening.

"Where are you all going?" The man squinted at me.

"Damascus," I told him. "Me and my husband" (here I nodded in DH's direction) "started from there last week. We had the bad luck of our camp stove breaking, so we need to get to the outfitters to have it fixed, but we're stuck out here without a ride. Would you happen to be heading in that direction?" I was giving him an easy out.

The man looked at us for a moment. "I think we could go that way." He eyed our packs. "Those should fit in back."

"Oh, thank you so much! We really appreciate it! I thought we'd be stuck here forever." I am miss light and easy. No pressure, no other requests. DH nods and says, "Thanks a lot." "No problem," the man says, but the woman looks as if she regrets giving her husband the final say.

We stowed the packs in silence.

"Where are you folks from? You don't sound like you are from hereabouts."
"Oh, we're from ____, North Carolina."
"North Carolina, huh?"
"Yup. We enjoy coming up here every year. Some years we just hike and camp. This year, we were more ambitious and are hiking a loop around the area."

I was still trying to be friendly. No, we are not weird people. We're just like you. Too late; we already look alien. Boots! Packs! Slightly stinky layers. And what sane person carried twenty five to forty pounds all over tarnation for the fun of it?

The drive takes a good thirty minutes on the twisty roads, the same distance it's taken us more than three days to cover on the trail. It's strange to be moving so quickly over the ground. It's a unsettled jarring of time and place. Why did we just cover all that ground on foot?

We chat about the metal roofs we see on houses, the state of the weather this Summer, our jobs. I am still trying to convince them that we are ordinary folks. But backpacking along a trail is already too strange.

"Do you all need to stop for any supplies?"
"No, we're pretty well set. We just need to get our stove fixed."
"You have everything you need in those packs, huh?"
"Yup, pretty much."

The woman picks up a Wendy's cup from the cup holder. She shakes the ice in the cup and slurps loudly. She shakes the ice again even more vigorously as if scolding us. I almost snort at her disapproving expression. Ma'am, you can keep your ice. We are not your social inferiors. Except somehow we are. Having to ask for help makes us inferior to the people who are always within easy reach of their cars.

They let us out half a block away from the outdoor outfitters store. "Do you need any help with that?" This time barely sincere. "No thanks, I've got it!" We swing the weight of the packs out easily. Once more, the packs are slung over our backs, this time for just a short jaunt up the street. We don't have any small bills to offer the couple in thanks, so I settle for a little philosophizing. "We really appreciate the ride. Thank you. It was a big help. I'll pass along the favor to someone else next time I get a chance." The woman's face is twisted into something almost a sneer. Ahh, screw it, lady. We nod at them and head straight for the store, relieved to be on the ground again.

At the outfitters, they tell us that a new part would take a week to come in, but that, amazingly, the camp stove is still under some kind of "forever" manufacturers warranty. They suggest that they give us another one just like it from their stock, and they'll return ours and get reimbursed. For the second time in one day, we are grateful of a stranger's generosity, but this time, it feels welcoming.

We are punchy with tiredness - it is now late afternoon. We devour a large pizza for dinner and head back over to our favorite backpackers haven. They'll shuttle us back to the gap later. But for now, we crash. The rooms are small cinderblock rooms with thin carpet, but they seem like luxury to us. A hot shower and we fall into bed, to return to the trail the next day.


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