Little Snips. 5-30-13

Miss Boop has conked out, and I'm still watching Eat, Pray, Love. Makes me a little sad. Reminds me of all of the people that I have met all over the world that I don't know anymore. I've stashed them away, and they make their appearance from time to time as memories. Like Isaac, the shabby gentleman I met outside of Brussels. I was talking to some guy from California as I was catching the trains to the ferry in Oostend on my way to London. As we parted somewhere in Belgium, the guy from California and I said, "See ya later." Isaac was a bit incredulous, "What is this? See you later? You will never see each other again. I don't understand Americans."  

These kinds of connections are much easier. You can always imagine them just the way that you left them and that they are happy and healthy--unless they were people you didn't like, and then you can imagine that they are a little less happy ;) 

More of the February Photos. 5-30-13

Christmas in May. 5-28-13

Here are some older photos that we had done after Christmas.

Boop's 1st Song. 5-26-13

Nope, sorry. Not a rock song. A classic: Rock-a-bye, Baby, ah dah dip dop. 

Can't figure out how to change the orientation...

Trip to the Hospital, Part 5. 5-21-13

Finally, after many stops, I was there in Castro, and my arrival was marked by the blaring of horns and a large, er, man, complete with hairy, beer-gut, wearing a blonde, curly wig, in black brassiere and hot pants, heels, holding a sign that read, “Honk if you think I’m sexy.” A friendly couple pointed me to the Walgreens, which was apparently the place to be, attracting fellow ill folks from across the span of San Francisco. The guy in front of me appeared to have Noonan's syndrome, and I was trying not to continue diagnosing him during the monotonous wait. I gave them Mom’s scripts, and they said to give them an hour. So, I went across the street to grab a quick bite to eat. 

I figured I’d take the cab home since it would be late, and I had a $20, which would be enough for one way. If you know the Castro district on a Saturday night, you’re laughing. By the time I got Mom’s meds, it was almost 8pm, and every taxi I saw had a fare. So, I walked and walked. All taxis full. I walked until the lights weren’t as bright and the folks were thinning. All taxis full. Then, I decided to head over to the muni and just ride back. There were plenty of people out; so I felt relatively safe and walked the few blocks from the muni to the hotel. I nearly ran into a slumped over man who was pushing his cart, probably trying to find his place to sleep. I quickly said, “Excuse me, Sir.” He looked up, gave me the once over, maybe decided that I was sincere, and smiled.

We wound up spending our extra day down at Fisherman’s Wharf, and then we had a leisurely trip to the airport. Soon after I checked in my clothes at the airport, Boop got sick all over herself, our carry-on bags, and me THREE times. It was an un-fun ride home. Why do I always have to ride back from CA with puke on me that isn’t my own?  

Trip to the Hospital, Part 4. 5-21-13

Things went much more smoothly when I went inside, except for a glitch with the flight. The flight was at 10pm, instead of 10am! Poor Winnie, but I managed to find someone to dogsit the extra 2 nights. If we went out on the 8:30am flight, it would be $500 more each. Fortunately, it was only $150 each leaving at 10pm. It would only be $50 each if Mom gets the proper documentation to United. (They weren’t happy with the discharge papers that I kept and submitted.)

So, discharge. There was some discussion about finding a pharmacy, but with her accent, I didn’t fully understand what the nurse was saying. The nurse had managed us a free voucher for a taxi and had given us a few snacks for the baby. It was after 5pm by the time we got back to the hotel; so Boop and I sat out for the Walgreens a few blocks from the hotel. No pharmacist. I didn’t think about it being after 5pm on Saturday. One of the guys at the check-out said something about the Castro district, but I knew there had to be something nearby. I stopped by the concierge desk to find a pharmacy. Again with the Doctor-on-Call! Why are they pushing them? He wouldn’t listen to me until he got it fully out of out of his system. Finally, he pointed me to the pharmacy in the Castro district. Then, he started with the taxi. I was taxi’ed out by this point and got information about the muni’s.

Mom was feeling better, and I knew I couldn’t manage Boop and the trip across San Francisco. So, I took Mom’s phone (mine was dead from all of the calls earlier in the day), left Boop with Mom, and headed out for the Castro district, with some bumps and starts trying to find the proper train.

Trip to the Hospital, Part 3. 5-3-13

Mom was on the verge of collapse at this point. She was sure she had food poisoning; I’m still working with the virus theory. We managed to get her into the cab with a driver who didn’t know where he was going. Fortunately, I deciphered one of my sets of scribbles to pronounce the address of the nearby ER. I was strategizing and began barking more orders. “Mom, I want you to go and set down on the curb and I will take care of getting Boop sorted.” So, I managed baby, diaper bag and stroller, and got Boop situated. As I was getting us all out, I saw a lady from the hospital pushing a wheelchair. I quickly looked up and thought, “Thank you, sweet Jesus!” I called over to her to help us. Mom was getting sick on the curb, which by some great fortune to the people of San Francisco was right at the storm drain. We were drawing attention of folks walking by. A husky woman hollered out at my mother from her utility truck as she waited at the red light. Her expression was of disgust, but I think she was genuinely concerned, “Is someone helping you?” I was a little annoyed as I was trying to get the baby in her stroller. “Yes, I am!”

The taxi took off with us on the curb. I am relieved. We made it! Meanwhile the lady with the wheelchair promptly informs us that she can’t help us. She said we needed to go get the taxi back to take us around the corner to the entrance of the ER, that we were at the front entrance. The taxi was already down the block, and I had a 13 month old in a stroller and a mom getting sick in the storm drain. With that I lost it, “This is some welcome to San Francisco! Is this how you treat people that visit your city? My mother is sick, and you won’t help us!?!” With that, 2 passers-by offered to help. One was thinking she would run in to the front information desk and request another wheel chair. But about that time, the little lady with the wheel chair got off her phone and said she had approval to take my mother.

Trip to the Hospital, Part 2. 5-3-13

So, Mom wasn’t feeling quite right. We were supposed to catch our flight at about 4pm. I was dreading the long flight home with Boop. We had planned to make a quick trip to get some souvenirs for folks back home before heading out. Mom was getting more and more ill. So, I had been wanting Vietnamese and headed out to Little Vietnam, but the area was still asleep. There wasn’t much in the way of restaurants, anyway. There was much in the way of urine and pot smell, unfortunately, and the street folk were just starting to rouse. One little restaurant, I walked in and asked if they had a menu. The woman looked at me like I was crazy and said flatly, ‘No.’ Closer to the hotel, I found a place that was chock full of Vietnamese folk and managed a very good meal.

Chinatown, a couple of days before Mom got sick

When I returned, Mom was worse—couldn’t stand the smell of my food. So, Boop and I quickly noshed, and the two of us made a quick trip to China Town to pick up a few things, mostly for Mom’s work. <Hm. This seems familiar. Wasn’t I getting her souvenirs in New Orleans last year?> Mom was pretty confident that this would pass. I told her to call her doctor to get a script. She said she didn’t have a primary care doctor right now. <I was at a public health conference. Maybe there’s some irony there?> Boop and I hurried back. We needed to leave for the airport in an hour or so, but Mom was getting worse. Mom finally agreed to go to the ER, but she wouldn’t go by ambulance. The hotel desk kept offering to get a doctor-on-call. What? Do I look like I’m made out of money? However, they eventually offered the name of the closest ER, and security came upstairs with a wheel chair. I was burning up the phone lines with the hotel and the airlines. Good there’s a flight at 10 tomorrow; so we will only be home a half day late. Winnie can manage that, I thought.

Trip to the Hospital. 5-2-13

I’ve been up since about 3am. I have been trying to get sleepy enough to head back to bed, but I’m not having much luck. Boop was having a rough night, and after getting her settled, I wasn’t able to go back to sleep. No access to Internet for a few days, I might as well try to get caught up on blog posts.

I guess I never really told the story about San Francisco and how our trip ended. I did post some photos and give a few scant details but not the meaty bits. Okay, so Friday, I had a little break in the conference, and we headed down to Pier 39 to do a bit of sightseeing. Mom had forgotten her jacket; so we found one there. We watched the man doing his little vaudeville-esque routine in the center square of the pier, went to see the seals sunning themselves on the little dock, and could manage a view of Alcatraz on an atypically clear day. We looked and looked for something to eat. Mom and I have very different tastes; so it’s an ongoing negotiation of where to eat.

Beware, choppy waters ahead! (Alcatraz from Pier 39)

We settled on a little restaurant along the main drag that gave us a view but kept us out of the wind. I took Boop with me to the potty to wash our hands. They had brought the sourdough bread while we were there, and Mom had torn me off a piece and had started to tear up the baby’s. Nice of her to think of us, but… “Mom, did you wash your hands?” “Oh, I washed them before we left the hotel.” “But Mom, we’ve been all over the place since then.” Not another word. She continued eating. I stared at her for a few minutes. I waited. She looked up at me. She continued to eat. Finally, I asked that she go wash her hands.

Am I germ freak? Mom thinks I'm too health conscious. I’m not thinking so after what happened the next day <see title above>. 

Wee-Wee. 5-11-13

I potty trained at 15 months. I was hopeful that Boop might manage it, too. But here we are, nearing 16 months, and we won’t make it. It’s not a huge deal. She’ll get it when she’s ready; we’re still early, yet. Of course, it would be easier not to change diapers. Boop nearly gives birth to a cow every time I try to change her, and I feel like one of those 4-H kids at the rodeo trying to rope a greased pig, the way she can maneuver out of my grasp. It would be cheaper, too. We have a great cloth diapering service and supplement with some disposables. Plus, there is the cost of the diaper covers that I have to wash myself. The daycare instituted a policy when Boop was about 5 months old that we had to have a clean cover for every diaper change. So, I’ve been trying to accumulate enough that I won’t have to do laundry every day. Even more problematic, it looks like our diaper service will be ending in June. Although our diaper fairy is trying to sell the business to focus on her family, she hasn’t found any takers.

Boop likes to climb on her potty, but that’s about the only use she has for it. She won’t sit on it for very long because there are toilet wands to be waved and damp showers to crawl in. However, I’ve seen some signs that she really needs to start trying. Obviously, seeing her strain to poo is an indicator that she needs to visit the potty, but she freezes up and gets upset when I move her there. But, today, I noticed that she knows when she has to pee. She had on just a cloth diaper without cover because she’s had a rash, and I was able to see things a bit better. One time, she moved away from me to pee on the bathroom floor—not sure how she got around the diaper. Another time, she hopped off of my lap to pee. And then, one time, while I was trying to cook, she climbed into the dishwasher and peed. I had about half of the dishes out (Optimist or pessimist? Was the dishwasher half empty or half full?); so the remaining dishes were toast—at least the dishes I put away were saved (balanced, I guess). So, there’s a chance that she might get the mechanics of it by June—or close enough that I can manage a bit.

Happy Mother's Day, Ya'll! 5-12-13

Yikes! 5-10-13

That's just scary! 

Just because a photo effect can be done, doesn't mean it should.

Not that I look that much better here...

Derby. 5-10-13

I am not wearing a Derby hat!!

Ain't Misbehavin'. 5-6-13

Words I thought I’d never say, especially not at 15 months:

• Boop, you cannot climb into the dishwasher.
• Boop, you cannot step on the dishwasher door.
• Boop, you don’t need that dirty fork. Let’s put it back in the dishwasher.
• Boop, you cannot throw books at the dog’s head.
• Boop, Winnie does not want you to touch her teeth.
• Boop, of all of the yummy things Mommy gives you, why do you insist on eating dog food? I’m sure Winnie would gladly trade.
• Boop, you cannot roll around and smear poo on the futon while Mommy is trying to change your diaper.
• Boop, you either have to wear a diaper or use the potty. Those are your only 2 choices.
• Boop, you just fell off the porch and rolled down the stairs. Do you really want to do that again?
• Boop, who are you calling? We can’t call China tonight.
• Boop, why did you change the channel? Mommy doesn’t want to watch the Home Shopping Network.
• Boop, the toilet wand is not really a wand. It is not a toy.
• Boop, let’s put the lint trap back. Mommy needs to finish drying the clothes.
• Boop, please don’t dig in Mommy’s armpits. She hates that.
• Boop, don’t yank Mommy’s hair out. It hurts Mommy.
• Boop, stop throwing your head around. You made Mommy cut her lip again.
• Boop, please don’t, please don’t, stop! Don’t! Don’t! Why did you dump your fruit cup on the floor?
• Boop, you cannot get in the shower with your clothes on.
• Boop, please don’t eat your socks.
• Boop, you’ve got a boog. Let Mommy get a Kleenex. Wait! Don’t wipe your nose on Mommy’s—ew!—shirt. Hey, that wasn’t very nice!

Helping Mommy. 5-5-13

Okay, well, it may be a while before I have a true helper, but she's at least interested!