Maddie, August 1998 - April 2010

For the last couple of weeks, Maddie has been a bit "off." Really, she started to slow down noticeably around a year ago. We haven't played frisbee in almost a year and even our ball-playing fell off quite a bit in the last few months. To a large extent, we attributed this to old age and arthritis. At her last check-up a few months back, the vet seemed to agree - she's an older dog who's getting pretty stiff after years of "hard work." So he put her on some anti-inflammation meds to help with the arthritis which really seemed to help a lot. I think that the joint pain exacerbated her aversion towards the kids - we felt that she linked the psychic trauma associated with the kids to the physical trauma of her arthritis - so when that pain was gone, she was much more willing to hang out around them, even if she still didn't want to interact with them too much. Way too much drama for her.

But she slowed down even more in the last two weeks. Stopped eating her food with her normal vigor, lagged behind on walks, and showed little interest in ball or most of her other favorite pastimes. I could still get her to prance around with a stick or pull me into the local bodega for a dog treat, but in hindsight, she definitely wasn't her normal self. She also had a blood test that came back bad a few months ago. The vet never quite explained what the blood test results could mean as we decided to redo it and it came back fine, but he did mention ultrasounds and other potential tests to see if we could figure out what, if anything, was wrong with her. Even if we had done more tests, I'm not sure that we could have, or would have, done anything about Maddie's condition. She was an old dog and, it turns out, a sick dog, and at some point, one just has to come to grips with the fact that a dog's longevity is much shorter than ours.

This past weekend, Abby, the kids, and I flew to Chicago. The kids were going to visit the Chicago grandparents, Abby was going to see some of our friends, and I was going to the Cubs home opener at Wrigley with the guys that I had season tickets back in the late 90s. At the airport in DC before we left, we got a call from Rodah, our friend who was taking care of Maddie, who said that Maddie was having trouble walking. Ok, we said, let's see if she gets better over the course of the day, and we'll figure out what to do. But she didn't get better. Rodah said that she was alert, as always, but just didn't seem able to move about on her own. After a few calls with Rodah on Saturday afternoon, between which we tried to figure out what to do and how we could get Maddie to the vet, we finally decided to fly Abby back to DC on a Saturday evening flight from Midway to Dulles. Our thinking was that it wasn't fair to have Rodah, or anyone else, deal with trying to get Maddie to the vet on a Saturday night. And she wasn't improving in a way that made us think that she'd "get over it" by the time we got back on Tuesday. A diabetic episode? (Even if Maddie hadn't shown any evidence of being diabetic before.) Her arthritis getting worse? (Which wouldn't explain why she wasn't eating.) Or something else?

Abby got back around 10:00 PM on Saturday night only to find, adding insult to injury, a car partially blocking our garage. She managed to get out of the garage, picked up Maddie, and took her to a 24 hour vet hospital in Friendship Heights around midnight. I don't know exactly what happened, but my understanding is that the vet people carried her back (because Maddie couldn't walk) to do some tests. A distraught Abby then called me with the test results: they had done an ultrasound on Maddie's abdomen and found significant cancer-like tumors in her stomach, spleen, and other organs. The prognosis was so negative that we decided to have Maddie put to sleep late on Saturday night. Abby sat with her for a while before they finally put her down.



Not that it would have mattered to Maddie, who wouldn't have understood anyway, but I'm very sad that I didn't get to properly say goodbye to her. But at the same time, I probably wouldn't have handled it well at all, so it may be for the best that I wasn't there. And Maddie was getting old - she was arthritic, didn't like the kids very much, and was a shadow of her former self. Given that the next few years would have seen an inevitable decline, I think that we're ok - or at least I'm ok - with the outcome.

Still, I miss her terribly. I especially miss seeing her in the back of the car when we got picked up at the airport today - Maddie would always be in the back, with her head out the window, looking intently for some sign of me when I got picked up at the airport. Or taking her to the grocery store in the car with the kids. Or just going out for a walk with her and the kids to get a bottle of wine or a gallon of milk. Or seeing her in the morning next to the bed or outside the bathroom door when I took a shower. Or hearing the click-click-click of her toenails on the wood floors as she moved around. Or seeing her head poke around the corner of the stairs when we came home after work. Or having her loiter around while I cooked dinner, or the kids ate dinner, waiting for scraps to fall to the floor for her to hoover up. All of the things that she was just "there" for.

But she was old. And we couldn't have done much for her given how sick she was. It's sad, but she had a good run, a life that was really special, and so while we'll all miss her, I think that it was an ok time for her to go.

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We got Maddie at a farm outside of Chicago back in 1998. She was born in August which I know because Maddie was almost exactly the same age as my niece Alex, and they've always been linked together in my mind as 4, then 6, then 8, then 11 year olds. It was taking me longer than I expected to finish my thesis, so Abby and I decided to get a dog. I did some research on the rudimentary internet that existed back in 1998, and we decided to get a Border Collie, the smartest darn dog around. We found an ad for a litter in a newspaper and drove out to the cornfields by De Kalb. The breeder, who was so old that he's probably not around anymore either, had two pups left, one of which was really timid while the other wiggled and squirmed between our legs. Although I don't think that we were set on getting a dog when we headed out there, we fell in love with the second dog and ended up taking her home on Abby's lap, wrapped in a blanket.

Maddie and I spent the next few years as constant companions. I would work throughout the day, but would take breaks to hang out with Maddie. We would walk to Wiggly Field (a dog park in Lakeview in Chicago on Sheffield by the El tracks) or Lincoln Park to play with the other dogs or, even better, to play ball or frisbee in the middle of the morning. Rain or shine - I recall walking from Lincoln Park in full rain gear, covered with mud, with an ecstatic Maddie after playing ball for an hour or so. Then we would take a break in the afternoon to sit on our stoop outside our place on N. Clifton, where Maddie would stand on the ledge next to the stairs and stare, with a cocked head, at everyone who walked by.

When we moved to Pittsburgh, Maddie and I had a similar routine. I would take her into the office with me at CMU where she would lie under my desk while I had office hours or did work. Other days, we would head to the huge parks in Pittsburgh where we would play ball, frisbee, or just wander through the woods. (Maddie was an awesome hiking dog and got to see some great parts of the country in Wyoming, the mountains of Virginia, and other such places.) Or I would work on the swing on our front porch while Maddie stood on the wall around the porch, watching the world go by. The mailman would hand cookies up to her when he delivered the mail. (That's one thing about Maddie - delivery people were always fearful of her. Rightfully so, I suspect, given their typical experiences with other dogs. But they always immediately warmed up to Maddie once it became clear how good-natured she was.)

Once we moved to DC, things got more complicated for Maddie. I was less able to spend free time with her at the drop of a hat. And then the kids came along. Although Maddie handled Margaret's arrival ok, I don't think that she ever coped with the kids very well. Especially once Teddy arrived, and once they started causing all of the drama that surrounds toddlers. Lord knows, I had problems with them, but Maddie just seemed to want them to go away. Or to be able to go away herself. But when she and I went out for walks, sans kids, it was just like old times. Maddie would prance around, grabbing a stick, ball, or whatever else caught her fancy, while I would admonish her for sniffing at something too long or would try to grab the stick from her or would bop her on the head which would send her into a paroxysm of pleasure.

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Maddie was an awesome dog. While I'm sure that everyone says that about their dog, Maddie really was an awesome dog. All of our friends and family seemed to feel that way. And random people in the park or on the street would often stop to comment on what a great dog she was.

She was an incredible frisbee dog. Border collies are renowned for their frisbee skills, so Maddie may not have been that exceptional in this regard, but it was literally breathtaking to watch her play frisbee in her prime. We would go to the big parks in Pittsburgh where I would rear back and fling a floppy frisbee down the field for a hundred yards. Maddie would track the thing, making an arc in her run as necessary, before leaping to catch it with her body fully extended in the air. It was amazing to see, and people on walks would stop to watch as she flew out to catch the frisbee before returning it to my feet. When we went to the big field in Frick Park on misty, foggy mornings, we would leave trails in the wet grass reflecting the routes that Maddie would take to catch the frisbee and return it to me.

She was an incredible "ball" dog. Although I loved playing frisbee with Maddie because it was so amazing to watch, I think that Maddie always was, at heart, a ball dog. And only tennis balls, nothing else. Something about the smell or texture of them, I suspect. She loved to chase and catch the ball. Not only did she do the Border Collie crouch in front of me when we played ball, but she was so intense about it that she ended up wearing a ball-shaped pattern into her teeth from where she carried and chomped on it. One of our better tricks was to scatter a few balls around. I would dance from one to the next, tossing each ball up in turn, and Maddie would shoot from ball to ball, catching and then immediately dropping each of them. Toss it through my legs, and she would catch it. Over her head, and she would jump up, flip sideways, and catch it. Toss it up right next to me, and she would shoot herself forward to catch it. I would bounce from one to the next, tossing them up, her catching and dropping them, then me jumping to the ones that she dropped to toss them up again. Toss up, catch, drop, toss up, catch, drop - exhausting for both of us, but exhilarating to do. She would get wiped out, especially in the summer heat, but I think that she loved it. I know that I did.

She was a beautiful dog. A color that was very unusual for a Border Collie - people often thought that she was a Brittany or a Springer Spaniel or an Australian Shepard. Not only the color threw people off, but also the curly hair. But watch her play ball and you knew - she was a Border Collie to the core. She had long legs and a big barrel chest and walked with a jaunt in her step that resembled the walk of a coyote or a wolf.


And as befits a Border Collie, she was astonishingly smart. When we lived in Pittsburgh, we would occasionally sit in bed running through all the words that she knew. She would sit there, listening and cocking her head, as we ran through word after word that she understood. I think that she probably understood almost 200 or more words and phrases at various points. She could find specific toys, identified by specific names, even if those toys were on a different floor of the house. "Go get your tug toy." "Go get your squeak toy." "Go get your monkey." Maddie would run from floor to floor until she found the exact toy that had been requested. I taught her all sorts of silly tricks. "Roll over," "sit," "shake," and "switch" were child's play for Maddie. Better tricks were those like "weave" - which involved her weaving in and out of my legs as I walked - or "eight" - which involved her doing a figure eight in my legs when we stopped doing "weave." We would play hide-and-go-seek, which we called "ok come find me." I would tell her to sit, would go off to hide in a closet somewhere, and would call "ok come find me." And she would - she was so proud and excited when she would finally find me. (The kids liked this one too, but we didn't play it nearly enough in the last few years because our current house just isn't set up for a good game of "ok come find me.") But it wasn't just the fact that she knew these words, it was the concentration that she put into them. She would sit there, staring at you, cocking her head as you talked, as if she knew, or was trying to understand, exactly what you were saying. My god, it was amazing.

Early on, I taught her to jump up - "Maddie up!" - on any wall that we were passing. So we would walk down Belmont Avenue in Chicago, with Maddie jumping up on various walls and ledges along the way. In DC, her best "up" trick involved walking on the barriers along the bridges in our neighborhood - she could literally stop traffic by trotting along the barrier of the bridges over Rock Creek. And down by the monuments on the Mall, she would jump from one jersey barrier to the next after the powers that be ostensibly put them up for security purposes (but really for entertainment of Border Collies and their owners).

She loved to "help" with yard work. Whether it involved sweeping leaves or shoveling snow, Maddie wanted to be right there in front of my rake or shovel, jumping up to catch whatever leaves or snow I tossed to the side. Before the kids came along, people passing by would inevitably say, "You've got a real helper there." To which I would reply, "She likes to think she's helping." After the kids joined in, with their own rakes or shovels, the comment would be "You've got a bunch of helpers there." "They like to think they're helping," I would reply. Honestly, I can't imagine sweeping our sidewalk without Maddie right in front of the broom as I do so.

And she was an incredibly good-humored dog. I don't think that I ever saw Maddie act aggressively towards another person or dog. With other people, she would vigorously wag her tail, trying to get as close to them as possible. She especially loved visits to the "vacation home," be it Connecticut, Philadelphia, or Chicago. Other dogs she largely ignored because she really just wanted to play ball. But on occasion, another particularly persistent dog could get her to bounce around, playing "tag" as the other dog tried to bowl her over.

We experienced such an encounter this past winter, when a year old lab tried to chase Maddie through the snow in Montrose Park. She bounded through the snow, getting completely exhausted, while the lab tried futilely to catch her. And I remember one such episode at Frick Park in Pittsburgh. We ran into a couple of Bernese Mountain dogs in a big field at the park. They tried to chase her by cutting her off as she looped around them in big circles. But every time they would get near, Maddie would put on a little burst of speed to get past them. It was amazing to watch - I don't think that I've ever seen her run so fast. She would run these big loops, the other dogs would lunge at her, and she would turn it on just enough, but at an astonishing and utterly glorious pace, to elude their paws. It seemed like she knew that, whatever the other dogs did, she could hit another gear that would get her just out of their reach. She was running so fast, with her legs flying, that it was beautiful to watch. Then, after getting past the other dogs one more time, she would slow down and stand there, with her tongue lolling out and a big "grin" on her face as if to say, "Alright, let's do that again. Or better yet, where's my ball?"

Fighting like cats and dogs

First things first - I don't have any new pictures to post. Because both Mama and Papa have been really busy at work, my picture-taking has fallen off lately. As has my blogging, which is certainly obvious to my long-suffering, but incredibly dedicated fans.

The lack of pictures is a real failure on my part because the kids are getting bigger by the day. Margaret is starting to display that skinny, scrawny, long-limbed look that one sees in grade school kids. Every so often, I'll pick her up and will think, "My goodness, she's getting tall and thin." Even Teddy is starting to lose his baby fat. He still has impressive thighs and a good-sized belly, which he likes to display when prompted, but he's also starting to sprout up and, in the process, thin out a bit. (He isn't doing so well with the potty. No resistance, but no interest. At least not at home, although the daycare teachers tell us that he's perfectly happy to use the potty at school. Fits in well with the personality traits that I'm about to describe.)

Beyond these physical changes, there have been two notable developments. The first is an emerging independent streak in Teddy. Actually, it's not so much an independent streak as it is an obstinate streak. Teddy likes the word "No." But as he's gotten older, his language skills have developed such that his use of "no" is more sophisticated than a toddler who just declares "no" in response to everything. So we have: "Teddy, can you eat some of your dinner?" "No, I don't like it." "But Teddy, you liked this the last time we had it." "But I don't like it now!"

Fighting with Teddy about food has become a pretty standard routine. Margaret has never been very picky about her food, especially when a "special treat" looms as a reward at the end of dinner. But Teddy is increasingly reluctant to try things. This is a problem. Because Papa cooks some pretty good food - like mushroom risotto tonight - and knows the boy will like it if he just will try it, but just can't get it into his mouth. He's not picky in the sense that he doesn't actually like most of the food that we eat (and I'm right: when he actually eats most things, he likes them), but he's picky in a strategic way. He knows that its drives Papa crazy and so, quite naturally, he won't eat.

And this obstinance extends to basically everything that Teddy does. "What do you want to do today?" "I want to play tennis." "How about soccer? We can go to the park and kick the ball." "No, I want to play tennis." And then, two hours later, "When are we going to play tennis?" Or "Do you want to go to the grocery store with Papa?" "No." "Not even if you get a croissant?" "No, I don't want a croissant." "But you like croissants." "No, I don't."

So Teddy is a bit difficult at this point. Recently, I have asked Abby whether Margaret was similarly difficult at the same age. She hems and haws which I take to mean that "Yes, all two-year-olds are difficult." But I honestly can't remember getting as frustrated with Margaret as I do with Teddy. Perhaps I should scan through the archives of this blog to see whether I can find a similar post about the girl.

The second development, which is more problematic in the big scheme of things because it may last much, much longer, is the sibling warfare that we have started to experience. Margaret and Teddy bicker and fight. A lot. Over really silly things. Like who has the "blue cup." Or, if they both have blue cups, who has the "light blue cup." It's really amazing what they'll fight over: the table at which the eat breakfast has two identical chairs, but one of them will decide that a certain chair is the preferred chair and must be used. At which point the other decides that he or she cannot do without that specific chair. Despite the fact that it's exactly the same as the other freakin' chair!!!

Now, logic is completely useless in this type of situation. The best that one can do is to either distract them ("Hey, do you see a garbage truck out there?"), fool them ("Here's your plate, Margaret. No wait, that's Teddy's plate. No wait, it's your plate."), or make everything equivalent whenever possible ("You both have light blue cups.") And even if one can get past these little spats about who has what, the kids are constantly banging into each other in ways that lead to conflict. So Teddy will bodyslam Margaret who will begin to howl. Or Margaret will grab Teddy's hat and will dance off with it in a way that causes Teddy to howl. Neither the bodyslam nor the hat are important in the big scheme of things, but both of them know that what they're doing will get a rise from the other. And, more importantly, will get a rise out of Papa.

Here's a microcosm of our current life: on Saturday morning, we woke up with both of the kids in bed with us. (They're doing better about sleeping in their own beds through the night, partly because we bribe them with stickers, but by the dawn, both kids usually end up in our bed at some point.) After an initial negative exchange with Teddy about the grocery store and croissants (as described above), Teddy started prodding his sibling. Margaret: "Stop it Teddy." Me: "Teddy, quit it." A pause. Then more squirming and poking. Margaret: "Stop it Teddy!" Me: "Teddy, I'm serious, knock it off!" A brief lull. Then more squirming, poking, and kicking followed, in a very pained, whiny voice, by "STOP IT TEDDY!!!!!" At which point Mama, always the reasonable party in these disputes, swung Margaret over to her other side away from the boy.

But remember, it's 6:30 in the morning. All of this is going on during the first 10 minutes of our time together. It just foreshadows a long day of sibling disputes, Papa explosions, and Mama interventions.

Oh, the shame!

So we survived the snow. Barely. In the end, DC got hit by a serious amount of snow. Enough to make even a real snow city blink. And it happened twice. The first day of snow was fun, although the kids didn't enjoy sledding very much. Lots more violent bouncing and snow in the face than I remember when I was a kid. Apparently, things like snow in the face, or cold more generally, are kind of overlooked, and subsequently forgotten, when one is 10 years old. By the second snowfall on Wednesday, we were all sick of the snow - we sat there watching, with bemusement, as another vicious storm swept through the area. Trying to figure out what the heck we were going to do for the next few days.

DC never handles snow well, but this was a pretty serious double whammy. The snow basically shut the city down for an entire week. My work was closed, and Abby's work was completely inaccessible. And, most importantly, the daycare was closed. So we spent the entire week together, with Abby and me trying to get work done remotely. Despite the difficulties getting in touch with co-workers. And despite the kids.

I have to say, I have much more respect for stay-at-home moms after the last few weeks. Being at home with kids is a serious chore. They are very demanding little suckers. After a few days, we tried a sort of divide-and-conquer strategy. I would take the kids to Barnes and Noble for a few hours, pulling them down the street in the sled to get there, while Abby did some work. Then they'd either nap or Abby would entertain them while I did some work. Or we'd put them in front of that great, hypnotic technological innovation - the TV - more than we did in the past. (We did manage a great trip to Philly after the snow, which is the source of some of the pics below.)

We've basically gotten back in the swing of things over the last week. Until yesterday. Yesterday morning, the daycare sent out a message that a case of head lice had been reported in the preschool room. And they subsequently told us that both Teddy and Margaret showed some evidence of infestation. Now, the kids are obviously quite blonde, so it's very easy to spot dark stuff in their hair, whether or not it's a nit. And lice are sort of like bedbugs, at least in spirit - you feel so icky that you overreact and throw absolutely everything into the washer at high heat. But, having checked Margaret's head a few times, it would appear that she does have some evidence of lice nits. Which really sucks. You have to wash their hair with this nasty medicine stuff. And you have to work through their hair with a fine-tooth comb. Which is difficult enough with Teddy's short hair - he screamed the whole time - but is really difficult with Margaret's long hair. We'll probably take her to the barber tomorrow to get a few inches taken off, just to make things easier. That will be her second haircut ever.

Hopefully, we'll be able to take care of it. The kids' resistance to the whole process is bad enough, but the paranoia is worse. Frankly, I'm feeling a little itchy myself. It's probably all in my mind, but...

Snow!

It's snowing again. And it's snowing hard.

This is the third real snowfall that we've had this winter in DC. The first happened right before Xmas, as I documented in my last post. Just before the first snowfall, I checked around to see if any of the local hardware stores had sleds. No luck. So I later bought a sled at a random store during a trip to NoVa, just in case it snowed again. Luckily, we were able to use the sled when it snowed last weekend, as you can see in the pictures below. It turns out that sledding is a bit more turbulent than I recall from my youth, so the kids didn't like the "big" hills very much. Too much bouncing and snow flying in the face. Instead, they mainly had fun on a little hill. Or they just liked getting pulled around in the sled.

And it's snowing again tonight, so we'll probably be able to use the sled again tomorrow. And, like I said, it's snowing hard. I think that we're supposed to get around 16 inches, which is a pretty respectable snowfall anywhere, but is especially traumatizing for a place like DC which doesn't handle snow very well. We always manage to survive, despite the empty shelves of milk and vegetables at the grocery store this morning - plenty of bok choy, but not much else - but the city basically shuts down when we get a couple of inches, much less 16.

In preparation for the snowfall, we read a bunch of snow-related books before bed last night. We read A Snowy Day - an absolute classic, especially the part when Peter, the little boy in the story, takes a stick, which Margaret always calls a "Maddie stick," drags it along the ground and then smacks a "snow-covered tree." "Down fell the snow - plop - on top of Peter's head." At which point Margaret, and now Teddy, as the consummate mimic, always bangs me on the head. I especially like the conclusion when Peter calls to his friend from across the hall, and they go out together into the deep, deep snow. That line just gets me with a sense of utter tranquility and simplicity.

We also read White Snow, Bright Snow, another classic snow tale. That one also has a great ending as the kids watch for the first robin to the let them know that spring has finally arrived.

We finished with my favorite snow book of all, Snow by Uri Shulevitz. I just love this book. My sister, Rachel, was reading it to Margaret at one point and stopped in the middle to say, "This is a really good book." Indeed.

The skies are gray. The rooftops are gray. The whole city is gray.

Then...

...one snowflake.

"It's snowing," said boy with dog.

"It's only a snowflake," said grandfather with beard.

Then two snowflakes. "It's snowing," said boy with dog.

"It's nothing," said man with hat.

Then three snowflakes. "It's snowing," said boy with dog.

"It'll melt," said woman with umbrella.

A few snowflakes float down and melt.

But as soon as one snowflake melts another takes its place.

"No snow," said radio.

"No snow," said television.

But snowflakes don't listen to radio.

Snowflakes don't watch television.

All snowflakes know is snow, snow, and snow.

Snowflakes keep coming and coming and coming.

circling and swirling, spinning and twirling,

dancing, playing, there, and there,

floating, floating through the air,

falling, falling everywhere.

And rooftops grow lighter, and lighter.

"It's snowing," said boy with dog.

The rooftops are white.

The whole city is white.

"Snow," said the boy.

There are these kids books that get you as an adult. They aren't necessarily the ones that appeal to the kids, nor are they ones that the kids don't like. A Snowy Day is one. Snow is another. I also like Make Way For Ducklings or other books by Robert McCloskey (especially Lentil with its robber baron, the great Colonel Carter). Basically, anything that hits you with its rhythm, flow and good narrative is a book that's fun to read. Dr. Seuss has the rhythm and flow, but I often find his narrative to be lacking. But give me a good Madeline book, and I'm happy.

More Xmas 2009 Pictures

A hectic few weeks. Started with a monstrous snowstorm in DC before we left. We then drove up to the CT grandparents, dumped the kids with them, and spent a few days in NYC. Sublime. Returned for Christmas Eve and had a crazy time on Christmas morning. Both of the kids were understandably overwhelmed by the event. They either opened random presents, regardless of the intended recipient, or got sidetracked by something that they had just unwrapped. Teddy, for example, alternatively walked around with his guitar, his Wiggles DVD, or his drum. Margaret got lots of girly presents, including two purses and two princess dresses. She was in heaven. Not much else to say, but a bunch of pictures:

Xmas Photos 2009

We're trying to work out the photo to include with our annual Xmas card. This involves two issues. First, actually getting a picture taken. This is harder than one might think. At least one, if not both, of the kids invariably objects to having a picture taken. Then, when we get them both in place, it's almost impossible to get both of them to sit still, much less to look at the camera. And a smile - impossible! The result is that we all - kids and parents - get very frustrated. I ended up snapping about 50 pictures during our recent session, and the best - in fact, the only remotely acceptable ones - are reproduced below:



























































I think that I'm leaning towards the first (or maybe the third), but any specific votes would be appreciated. In any event, most of the dedicated (sic) readers of this blog will get the ultimate selection anyway, so you at least get to see some of the others.

You know what? My Grandmother is probably right.

Tonight, Teddy ate four pierogies during dinner. I'll explain the relevance of that fact later. But first, a lengthy digression.

We spent the recent Thanksgiving holiday with my Dad's family in Ohio. It's always a big event that draws our increasingly dispersed clan to the same place every year. One of the people that we all come to see is my paternal Grandmother. Grandma M is a bit north of 90 years old and has lived in northern Ohio for her entire life. Despite some recent medical hiccups, she's doing really well. She finishes the crossword in the time that it takes me to puzzle through the first few clues. And last year, she subtly berated me for the shotgun marriage that my employer brokered between a prominent Cleveland bank and its acquirer from Cleveland's arch rival city, Pittsburgh. While one could quibble about the details surrounding that complaint, my colleagues all nodded ruefully when I told them about my Grandma's admonishments. In short, she's one of the most remarkable people I've ever known.

However, it's taken me years to realize that fact. Most prominently, it's taken me years to realize that my Grandmother tends to be right about many things that I pooh-pooh'ed in my early years. Some examples.

Football is a stupid sport. I can remember watching college football games at my Grandmother's house during past Thanksgiving visits. As the broadcast showed pictures of the offensive linemen, my Grandmother would always say, often with a dismissive glance at the TV, "No neck, no neck, no neck" for each picture. At the time, I basically ignored these seemingly irrelevant comments, but now I realize that my Grandmother was taking a subtle, and quite justified, dig at football. Basically, football - specifically, the American version - involves a bunch of really fat guys who crouch down for a few seconds before they all suddenly run into each other and fall down. Then, they all get up and, after a minute or so, do it again. The clearest evidence that football is a stupid sport is that no one else in the world plays football. Unlike baseball, basketball or other American exports, no one (except for Canada which doesn't really count) has latched onto football, regardless of their level of development or links to us. Think about it a bit and find me another major sport that is so unique to a single major country (and I'm not talking about hurling or other minor sports that are practiced in only one country).

To be honest, I do still watch football games. And my Grandmother probably didn't intend to besmirch football to the same extent that I just did. Nevertheless, I've realized that her overall skepticism of the sport is certainly warranted.

Second, interstate highways. When driving around northern Ohio, my Grandma would often take secondary roads rather than highways. I recall being irked by this behavior. Why take the secondary highway when the interstate would get you there much faster? Now, however, I hate driving on the interstate. Even if I'm driving fast, there are too many other people driving fast or not paying attention to what they're doing. As a result, when we head up to Philly, we take an awesome back route up the eastern shore of the Chesapeake Bay in Maryland. Sure, it takes a bit longer, but it's an immensely more pleasant trip than the hectic drive up I-95 through Baltimore. On a recent trip, the traffic on Hwy 301 was so light that we were able to slow down to watch a bald eagle that was circling just above us. Do that on I-95, and you'll get rear-ended by a big truck.

Next, the length of the Christmas season. I can recall my Grandmother commenting on how the Christmas season starts too soon. At the time, this involved Christmas ads starting just before Thanksgiving. Way too early, my Grandmother would suggest. Now, I see Christmas ads shortly after Halloween. And I hear Christmas music in stores in early November. Completely nuts, especially for the poor folks working in the stores who now have to listen to these hokey songs for an additional full month.

(A separate digression reflecting some words of wisdom from Mark. I often tell my research assistants that every young person should work three jobs. First, fast food. After you see how fast food is produced, you'll never want to eat it again. Which is probably for the best. Second, a warehouse job or other job involving manual labor. After a few weeks of complete tedium, you'll realize that you're going to school so that you don't end up doing such stuff for the rest of you're life. Finally, retail. So that you can see how badly others treat people working in retail, and you'll treat those people with a bit more decency.)

And, at last, pierogies. My Grandmother used to get pierogies from a nearby church where they were made in the basement by immigrant ladies from Eastern Europe. I recall being very suspicious of the whole deal. Potato pierogies? Sauerkraut pierogies?? And, god forbid, prune pierogies???? It wasn't clear that such exotic items were actually edible.

Of course, I now love 'em. Bought six boxes of frozen pierogies from the grocery store when they were on sale this week. The frozen ones are a poor substitute, I'm sure, for those made by the immigrant ladies in the church basement, but Teddy definitely loves them too. He started out with two on his plate, but ended up plowing through four by the end of dinner.

In the end, the lesson is twofold. First, Teddy is a trooper when it comes to food. Not only is he pretty adventurous - in addition to pierogies, he'll eat Indian food or pretty much anything else we put in front of him - but he's got a good appetite. When he puts his mind to it. As in everything, he can be stubborn, but that doesn't usually reflect an objection to a particular dish. Instead, it's just Teddy being his stubborn little self. Once we get something in his mouth, he'll typically eat it and will ask for more.

Second, as I get older, I recognize the wisdom possessed by people older than me. Certainly, I recognize the wisdom of my Grandmother. (Also, my maternal Grandfather who was right when I argued with him about the merits of Broadway musicals vs. Bob Dylan. Dylan certainly is ok, but he's not really that much better than South Pacific or other Rodgers and Hammerstein-type musicals, despite my stubborn insistence to the contrary when I was convinced of Dylan's genius in high school.)

And, I suppose, this second lesson also applies to the wisdom possessed by my parents. Of course, I had far more battles with them when I was young, so it may take a bit more time to acknowledge that they might have, just might have, on occasion, been right about something. (We won't even touch the potential wisdom of the in-laws.)

After all of that blather, some pictures of the last month and a half:

Exciting few days

The last few days have been pretty darn exciting. (I'm not even going to describe our trip on Tuesday to get an H1N1 flu vaccine that involved the kids and me waiting two and a half hours at a local middle school. All I'll say is that we were lucky that we were able to wait by a little grassy area where Teddy could run around with his soccer ball.)

To begin with, we saw the Wiggles live at the Verizon Center on Thursday night with some friends. If you're familiar with the Wiggles, you don't need any more information. If you aren't familiar with them, the Wiggles are four guys from Australia who sing catchy songs that really appeal to the toddler set. My introduction to the Wiggles came from the cousins in Philly who were big fans in their younger days, so much so that I actually recognize some of the songs when they pop up on our stereo. In the past year or so, we've acquired some Wiggles DVDs and CDs, so Margaret and Teddy have become fans as well. And the recent concert took it up a notch. At this point, whenever I put a CD in the stereo, Teddy requests that it be a Wiggles CD. And Margaret keeps asking to watch their "Top of the Tots" video. So we may be stuck with them for a while, at least until the kids outgrow them when they are around, ummmm, five years old?

(An extended aside: I have a number of questions about the Wiggles and their show. For example, given that they were big when the Philly cousins were young, how much longer can they keep this up? They must be in their mid-forties. Will they be able to do this, and will the kids notice and still love them, when they're in their fifties? And as for their act, how much of it is an act? That is, do they switch off immediately after walking off stage? What happens when they run into some little kid and his parents in the loo? Do they immediately have to go into Wiggles mode, regardless of the situation? Do they have bad shows and what does that look like? Would anyone in their audience know that a show was "bad"? Given that our show went on for over an hour, at which point most of their audience seemed to be losing attention, do they ever "lose" an audience? What does that entail? Despite the pre-show admonishments to avoid having the kids rush the stage, do the kids ever get out of control? And do they have groupies? Not the among the toddler set, of course, but the tots' moms, perhaps? Such are the thoughts that one has when watching a bunch of silly guys dancing around in front of a bunch of adoring kids and their parents.)

In any case, here's a video from the show. Don't worry if you can't understand much of the vocals - because of their accents and a tendency to mumble, I couldn't understand much of what they said. While Margaret danced around a bit, Teddy mainly sat there with a stunned expression on his face. Afterward, he was so overstimulated that he kept saying "I like the Wiggles. I like the dog. I like the dinosaur. I like the Wiggles" until we got him home and put him in bed.


Then yesterday, I took the day off from work and spent the day wandering the Mall with the kids. We thought about going to the zoo but, because it was a bit chilly, decided to go to the Museum of Natural History instead. Teddy fell asleep shortly after we got off the Metro, so Margaret and I decided to go to the National Gallery of Art. We wandered around the museum, talking about various paintings. In each room, Margaret would pick one painting, and we would stop to contemplate it. Even though she usually liked paintings that involved "girls in dresses," one of our favorite paintings was a George Bellows painting entitled "New York", a fitting choice given that Aunt Eleanor and Uncle Steve both live in New York City and that I'm a big Bellows fan (see this or this or this). I would ask her various questions: What does she see in the painting? What does she think the people in the painting are doing? What does she think the girl's name is? What does she like best in the painting?

Sometimes, she would beg off answering my questions, but she was generally pretty good at coming up with answers. I suspect that she's at an age where she has started to recognize that there are "right" answers to certain questions - such as how many (whatever) do you see - but she isn't completely convinced that she has to give that answer. I tried to encourage her to say whatever popped into her head, and it was fun to see what she would come up with.

We stopped to have a gelato in the museum cafe - which we managed to finish just as Teddy woke up - before heading out to ride on the carousel in front of the old Smithsonian building. Then we went to fly a kite by the Washington Monument. Ironically, the wind, which had been gusting all day, died just as we started to fly our kite. I managed to get it up a few times, with Teddy and Margaret chasing each other around beneath it. But as soon as I'd pass it to Margaret, the wind would die and the kite would plummet to the ground.

Finally, an episode of strong winds allowed us to get the kite up for both of the kids to fly. Naturally, at just that moment, a bicycle cop came by and asked us to take it down for thirty minutes or so. He didn't say why, but it probably had something to do with the helicopters that often swoop across the Mall. Rather than waiting, we packed up our kite and headed home.

Today, we had to pick up a FedEx package in Maryland (a long story that I won't go into), so we decided to make a day of it by going to the kids museum in Baltimore. Margaret and Teddy had a blast. On the way home, we stopped by Ikea, figuring that we might as well if we were in the 'burbs. Our main purchase was a little lamp that we can attach to Margaret's bed. Lately, she either wants us to sit with her or wants to "read books" while going to bed. Since we don't want to sit with her for hours on end, we've let her read books, but the light situation hasn't been ideal. Now, she has a little light that clamps on to her bed that allows us to turn off the other lights so that she can "read" her books, which mainly involves her talking to herself, while Teddy doesn't get disturbed.

The reason the light in notable is because it follows a general pattern in both of our families. My sister was notorious for reading books by flashlight when she was younger. And her daughter, Margaret's cousin, has frequently done the same. I'm not sure if Abby snuck books into bed at a young age, but I suspect that she did. Hence, we're maintaining a longstanding family tradition by allowing our daughter to ruin her eyes in order to read books in bed. Perhaps, however, her little Ikea light will help avoid the "ruin eyes" part. Still, it may create tension when Margaret actually starts to "read" and we need her to go to sleep. Stay tuned.

Halloween 2009

Well, another Halloween has come and gone. And Margaret is definitely starting to grasp the gestalt of the event. First, she's becoming a real afficianado of the costume shtick. This year, she was a cowgirl, something that she quickly latched onto after I suggested it as an alternative to "princess" which was her initial preference. (My other suggestion - "astronaut" - was quickly shot down.) The cowgirl outfit, and Margaret's determined insistence on it, was almost a disaster when we had problems finding the necessary gear, but I think that everything worked out fine in the end.

Second, she definitely understands the candy aspect of the event. In earlier years, she understood that she was getting "stuff," but didn't really understand exactly what she was getting. But now she knows - candy. And she asks for it a lot. We severely ration her intake, but also managed to recycle a lot of the candy that she received by giving it out to our own visitors. Still, between trick-or-treating at both school and home, she got quite a haul. (By the way, if it sounds "cheap" or "shady" to give out Margaret's candy to kids who come to our house, you have to understand the volume of trick-or-treaters that we get. Even if it was raining and our street was pretty lame this year, both of which kept the crowds down a bit, we still went through five big bags of candy.)

Teddy, on the other hand, was his usual grumpy self. He's definitely in the "no, I don't like that" stage. Given that he complains about just about everything, it's not surprising that he wasn't too keen on his costume. "I don't like it," he would whine. "I want to take it off, Papa." We managed to keep his costume on for a while at school and also got him to wear it while he headed around the neighborhood. He spent some time on the front stoop with me and Maddie where he was quite happy to wear his costume and hand out candy. Of course, he sucked on a couple of lollipops while we sat there, so it's not surprising that he was a happy little camper.

Oh yeah, Teddy was the same dinosaur/dragon thing that Margaret was last year. So my "hand me down" strategy has worked for at least one more year. And although an astronaut would have been ideal for the boy next year, some of the cowgirl stuff should be easily translated into a cowboy outfit. So look forward to "Cowboy Teddy" pictures next year. Unless, of course, Teddy decides that he wants to be something else. And is really as stubborn as he appears to be.

Of course, the high point of the weekend was the visit of Grandma Mary and Grandpa Dave from Illinois. Halloween is always lots of fun, but both of the kids were so happy to have their grandparents around. As were their parents - the kids are amazingly easy to deal with when there's someone else around to watch them.

Busy weekends

One of the reasons I haven't been posting much lately is because we've recently become a very active family on the weekends. I'm not quite sure why, but we seem to have hit a period in which we're busy busy busy, so that I don't really have time to think any deep thoughts about the kids, much less to write about them.

Today, for example, started with a trip to the main drag through Georgetown to watch the Marine Corps Marathon. We've recently become fans of marathons after Mama ran the first leg of a relay at the Baltimore Marathon a couple of weeks ago. At the marathons we've seen, the kids gape at the crowds, both those running and those lining the route, and occasionally yell "Go, go, go." Their yelps were much much more effective at Baltimore where the crowds on the route were more sparse yielding a bigger response from the runners. (I tend to yell at people wearing interesting gear, such as the guy with the "I love beer" shirt - which warranted a bellow of "BEER" - or folks wearing Cubs gear - who get a rousing "GO CUBBIES!!!") But the Marine Corps Marathon is a bigger event, and we got to watch a band that was set up at the corner of M St and Wisconsin Ave.

After an hour or so watching the band and the runners, we ate lunch and headed up for a swim at the city's new Wilson Aquatic Center. The Wilson Center is a real jewel - the type of place typically found in the 'burbs rather than the city. We've been going there almost every weekend since it opened. One of us takes the kids to the kiddie pool, where Margaret and Teddie cavort, splash, and generally work on their water skills, while the other swims (exhausting - for me, at least) laps in the 100M lap pool. It's a great activity as both we and the kids get completely worn out. (By the way, we suspect that Teddy may start actually swimming before Margaret. As in many situations, he tends to be more daring in the pool and seems to have a better grasp of kicking and paddling. Even if he still thrashes around and sinks like a rock when he gets disoriented.)

Then, once we got home, we loaded the kids in the stroller and trekked around the city. It was a beautiful fall day in DC, and we wandered around, hitting all sorts of interesting stores, while the kids snoozed.

After the kids woke up and we got home, I put Margaret in the back of the bike and went for a ride. We bought a kid bike seat some time ago, but I found that we didn't use it unless I really made an effort. As a result, just as we've gone for a swim almost every weekend, Margaret and I try to take a bike ride each weekend. We often bike down to the Jefferson Memorial, where, when the weather was warm, we would grab a rocket pop from our favorite vendor and would eat it while sitting on the side of the tidal basin, watching the paddle boats and tourists. Then we head around Hains Point before circling the Lincoln Memorial on the way home. Other times, we've biked down the Potomac River to Old Town Alexandria to meet Mama. Today, we headed up the Capital Crescent Trail which follows the Potomac before cutting up into Maryland. In general, our bike trips are a great time as I get a workout while Margaret gets to see interesting things. She often sits in the back talking or singing to herself.

So we all end up pretty exhausted by the end of a weekend day. The account of today's activities doesn't even cover the plays that we've seen (Go Dog Go!), the tennis and soccer episodes (we often play tennis early in the morning because it allows us to do something while the kids are confined in the court with their rackets and soccer balls), trips to local farmers' and flea markets, and our other events with friends. Still, it should provide some (weak) justification for why I haven't written much lately. Here, though, are some pictures for those who have missed them. Including some pictures from Teddy's second birthday. Good grief, did I miss writing a post about that?

I love the kids, but c'mon

So we had a bad day today. It was bad in so many dimensions that it's difficult to know where to start. Let's see...

First, Teddy was up a lot last night and ended up spending most of the night in our bed. This reflects a more general problem - the kids, especially Margaret who is now about to get out of her bed and can stagger into our room in the middle of the night, often get up during the night. Rather than trying to get them back to sleep in their own beds, we often let them sleep with us. This arrangement works ok in some instances, but in others, it disrupts our sleep too much, especially when we're all crammed in the bed together. Nevertheless, rather than fighting the kid-in-our-bed syndrome and spending hours trying to get them back to sleep in their own beds, we've generally allowed them to crash in our bed once they wake up. Maybe (probably?) a mistake, and something that we've been trying to figure out how to fix, but that's the current status quo.

Still, last night was a particularly bad night with the boy. When I came up to bed, Teddy was already in our bed. I tried to move him back to his bed, but at some point, shortly after I fell asleep, he woke up and started howling. I tried to lay on the floor next to his bed - a really lovely situation - but eventually decided to bring him back to our bed rather than risking him waking Margaret. He spent the next few hours tossing and turning, constantly hitting me in the back. Teddy tends to grope around in our bed, grabbing us in various ways that prevent us from falling asleep, even when he's asleep. So I didn't get much rest. Thanks, Teddy.

Then, sometime during the night, he managed to overwhelm his diaper and left a wet spot on our bed. Lovely.

Margaret and he then had their usual battles in the morning over books and such. And Teddy howled, as he invariably does, about his sweater when I put it on him. Great.

After I picked them up from school, Teddy again howled about his sweater. Margaret then howled about her inability to use a particular "balance beam" (i.e., a wall near a sidewalk that she likes to walk on) because some other random toddler was using it. On average, I think, our life is pretty pleasant. The problem is that the average masks the wild variation that arises from one kid screaming while the other is beaming followed by the reverse of that situation. In this case, Teddy was a cheerful fellow in the front of the stroller as he informed me of the distress experienced by his sister in the back.

Then we went to the grocery store where Margaret had a major meltdown because I wouldn't buy her some cheese. This lasted for about 30 minutes during the entire visit to the grocery store and a good chunk of time afterwards. It got to the point where she was basically hyperventilating, and despite my irritation with her, I had to spend some time calming her down.

We then got home where Teddy and Margaret proceeded to pummel each other for a while. Margaret tends to use more sophisticated "psychological" warfare - such as teasing Teddy by holding a book out of his reach - while Teddy tends to use more physical methods - such as climbing all over his sister while she tries to read a book. I try to separate them, but they seem to be inevitably attracted to one another, such that they invariably end up in a conflict that makes one or both scream. Of course, during all of this, I'm trying to make dinner. Which wasn't helped tonight when Margaret managed to send water from the sink all over the kitchen. And both of the kids were badgering me, as they always do, for some sort of "special treat" to eat before dinner. The path of least resistance is to give them something, but then they don't eat any dinner. Such are the dilemmas that I face.

Eventually, Mom came home and we managed to eat dinner. A lovely dinner, I might add, of pork vindaloo. After which I was done - I handed the kids off for their baths and headed down to send some emails and watch TV. Just as well, I think, as Teddy managed, for the first time, to poop in the bathtub. Just perfect.