That was then, this is now... (Ho! Ho! Ho!)

This month has had a higher than normal number of trips down memory lane, and what fun it has been!  The most recent variation was today's journey to Wickham Park, the beautiful site of our wedding.  We were married in early October on an unseasonably warm day, (just ask all the newly pregnant women who almost fainted in the heat and the pals who wore tights), in the "cabin garden" overlooking the Hartford valley.  One of the quaint aspects of the cabin garden is the inclusion of an actual log cabin, huge stone fireplace and friendly (?) moose head that hangs on the mantel. 

Here's a picture of us dancing with our nephews, Jakob and Caillou, as our pal the moose looks on:  

Today was also an unseasonably warm day, (albeit in the 50's, not 80's,) and we joined a good part of the under 10 population of Connecticut (and their parents) visiting the same log cabin to meet Santa.   

Checking out a real sleigh while waiting in line

A family sleigh ride

Checking in with the Head Elf before meeting Santa

The stockings were hung by the mantle with care

Amazed by the Christmas tree

Our pal, the moose!!!

The approach to Santa was slow, despite yelling "Hi Santa!!!" when 10 feet away

But then they warmed up to each other

Just a boy, his skinny jeans, his thumb and Santa

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all!

Haircut

Approximately five years ago Geno and I took our nephew, Caillou, to get one of his first haircuts.  At the time his hair was almost down to his shoulders, but when the friendly stylist at Scissor Kids was done, here was the great result:

The Greater Hartford Festival of Jazz

Fast forward those five years, and suddenly we were back at the same salon and the exact same race car chair getting Mateo's first official haircut.  (I'm not sure my snipping at wily ends really counts.)  

The "Before" Shot

Taking a little off the top....

Um, I'm not so sure about this...

Okay, now a little off the sides...

This isn't so bad!

And now the back...

Voila!  The Official Haircut Record.

And here, well, here is the official haircut / Christmas gift (the penguin, not the chocolate stout).   

Flat Stanley: The Connecticut Chronicles

One of our nephews, Jakob, is in second grade and his class has been reading the story, Flat Stanley, by Jeff Brown.  In the story, Stanley Lambchop's parents mailed him in an envelope to visit a friend in California.  Jakob's class thought it would be great to send Flat Stanley on more adventures, and wouldn't you know it, he made is all the way to the great, fantastic, superduperfragilisticexpealidocious CONNECTICUT!  

Jakob asked us to tell him and his class all about where we live and what we did with Flat Stanley on his visit, so without further ado, I give you:

Flat Stanley: The Connecticut Chronicles

Since Flat Stanley came to visit us in Connecticut, (also known as the Nutmeg State), he has gone on some fun adventures with our family and even met some Connecticut celebrities.  

On the first day, Flat Stanley went to work with me at the University of Connecticut School of Law in Hartford, which is the state capital and fondly known as the Hartbeat.  

UConn Law is the premiere public law school in New England and its beautiful campus used to be a seminary.  My job at the law school is to help students develop the skills they need to find jobs helping people as lawyers.  In this picture you can see the law library in the background, which houses thousands of books about laws from all around the world.

In the picture below, Flat Stanley is hanging out in front of Starr Hall, the building where I work.  If you look up on the right hand corner of the picture, you can see the Starr Hall tower.  I'm not positive that Harry Potter lives there, but I think there's a distinct possibility.  

On the second day he was with us, Flat Stanley went to another school, but this time to a high school, where Jakob's Uncle Geno is a school counselor.  (Here's a fun fact:  Not only did Geno graduate from New Britain High School, but so did Jakob's dad, Ricardo!)  New Britain High School is the largest high school in all of Connecticut and is known for its awesome marching band and most recently, for having the National Principal of Year, Mike Foran.  Here's a picture of Flat Stanley hanging out with Geno and Principal Foran:

On the third day, Flat Stanley asked to spend some time with our family, so he hung out with Jakob's youngest cousin, Mateo.  When he gets bigger, Mateo wants to be like Jakob and have his own Flat Stanley! 

On the fourth day, our family took a hike on Case Mountain, a small mountain in Manchester, CT that is 744 feet in elevation.  We hike to the summit of Case Mountain in the spring, summer, fall and even winter.  Sometimes we drive, but sometimes we even walk to the mountain, by connecting through a trail called the East Coast Greenway, an urban trail system over 3,000 miles long that links Key West, Florida to Calais, Maine.  (Ask your parents to take you to the Hudson River Greenway in NYC, which is part of the trail system!)

The picture below is of Flat Stanley with us on our hike up to the summit of Case Mountain.  (Unfortunately Flat Stanley was playing hide-and-go-seek with us that afternoon, so he had to come along virtually.)

On the fifth day, Flat Stanley had one of his most exciting adventures in Connecticut.  Geno took him to see the amazing, stupendous, strong, fast, talented, hardworking champions, the University of Connecticut Women's Basketball Team, the Huskies.  You may have heard of this record-breaking team, because they won 90 (!!!!) basketball games IN A ROW!  

Here's a picture of Flat Stanley with Geno at the XL Center in Hartford where the Huskies play most of their games.  (Sometimes they play at Gampel Pavilion in Storrs, CT, where the University of Connecticut is located.)  (Here's another fun fact:  Geno and Jakob's dad both graduated from UConn as well!)

And speaking of guys named Geno, Jakob's uncle isn't the only guy in Connecticut with this name.  It's also the name of the Huskies Hall of Fame coach, Geno Auriemma.  In Connecticut, Coach Geno is as well known and respected as just about anyone you can imagine.  There's even a sign in the town of East Hartford that says, "Geno is God!"  (I told you, people really like this guy!)

Well, as luck would have it, Coach Geno invited Flat Stanley to visit him at his house!  Here's a picture of Flat Stanley with Coach Geno, who even signed the back of Flat Stanley's head.  (Thanks again to Coach Stigliano, Uncle Geno's friend and Coach Geno's son-in-law!)

As you can tell, Flat Stanley had a really busy trip to Connecticut, and we loved hosting him.  Thanks to Jakob, Class 2-C and Mrs. Cleaver for sending Flat Stanley to us!

Go Huskies!

-Nicole, Geno & Mateo

Baby Taxes + Two Moms = Good Food for Thought

Did you hear about the tax a restaurant in London has been charging parents of infants?  Apparently they decided that toddlers free-load off their parents' meals (true), and so in order to stop losing money on these hangers-on-ers, their policy called for adding on the equivalent of $5 to the bill.  (Note, the restaurant's definition of toddler starts at as young as 6 weeks.)  As a former waitress (a lifetime ago), and someone who likes to eat out frequently and has brought my child along to most places we go, I feel somewhat qualified to weigh in on this topic.

First, there are clearly some types of restaurants that young children should not go to, and I would say 99% of parents employ common sense and don't bridge the fine dining divide.  At the other end of the spectrum are all the kid-catering places, from the sensory over-loading Rainforest Cafe (ahhh!) to our personal favorite, the balloon dispensing Moe's Southwest Grill.  The real issue, of course, is that middle ground, where young children may or may not be welcome.  Our family approach to these types of places is to avoid busy hours, make sure Mateo is not starving and to order as soon to sitting down as possible.

Which leads to the whole ordering issue raised by the London baby-tax.  To order separately for the child, or not?  Typically I'm guilty of ordering something that I know that Mateo will like and then putting together a little plate for him.  Am I cheating the restaurant out of money?  I guess, but you know what, for every buffet that has made a 200% return on me, I'm not gonna sweat it.  And moreover, if you're going to tax the kiddos indiscriminately, I'd prefer to see a minimum charge on each person present in a party.  Ridiculous, but if it's all about the business model, than wouldn't that be a more comprehensive approach?  Sheesh.

Okay, and now in more uplifting news, I can't help but re-post the video of Zach Wahls, the young man from Iowa who recently testified in front of the Iowa Legislature against amending the Iowa Constitution to prohibit same-sex marriage.  As the world has shown by all attention he has received, you don't have to be a University of Iowa alum in order to connect with his impassioned speech, but just for the record, I would like to add: I-O-WUH!

Imagination

The first year of Mateo's life I was pretty religious about reading children's development books so I could get a sense of how he was progressing compared to the traditional milestones timeline.  Most of the time I found all the information to be helpful and informative, especially because despite having babysat my way through high school and college, I had no clue about the specifics of baby babies.

As he's gotten older, however, I have definitely turned my reading attention elsewhere. (Thanks again for all those US Weekly's, Danielle!)  Not because I'm not interested in my kid, but mostly because I've decided that I'm not concerned about the pace of his development.  To be honest, I have no idea if he's advanced, average or behind the curve when it comes to most things.  What I can tell you, however, is that I find him delightful.

One of the reasons I bring this up is that recently I have been so excited to see Mateo starting to use his imagination.  Whether it's using his rake as a guitar, a pot as a hat, or putting my bag over his shoulder and pretending to leave ("byeeeee!"), he's showing sparks of imagination and a sense of humor.  I love it.

Oh, and air guitar.  We can't forget the air guitar.

Middle Age: Fa la la la laaaa

First, let me say thank you to my prescient sister who bought me a wireless router for my birthday.  It's something I've been wanting / meaning to buy for um, about 5 years.  (I'm hoping this increases my blogging frequency.)  It has made me forgive her for informing me that 35 is considered the apex of life.  Next, let me say thank you to my father for informing me that I am now officially middle aged.  Awesome.

Quite honestly though, I'm very happy to be the age I am.  I have so many amazing things to be grateful for, not just a few of which have come along later in life.  Obviously that list includes Geno and Mateo, but the big one I'm thinking of right now is the gumption to cast off my parents' tradition of not putting up a Christmas tree until right before Christmas itself.  I'm totally down with Advent, (which is the reason they like to wait), but I also just love having the tree up with the twinkly lights shining and the stockings hung by the windows (no mantle) with care.  It's funny, because it took me almost 15 years to realize that I could put the tree up whenever I wanted; so the day after Thanksgiving it is.

Despite loving Christmas trees, I happen to have a freakish allergy to real ones, so we have a scrawny artificial version that is sparsly decorated due to the toddler's love of shiny objects.  It's very Charlie Brown, but me and all of my 35 years love it.

Happy Holidays!

Rave On!

It was only a matter of time before our current necessary use of flashlights led to a toddler rave party.  Can you hear the base pumping?

This, That & The Other (or Urban Camping)

Hello pals, it's been awhile!  Despite big events such as Geno turning the big 4-0, Mateo turning the big 2-0 months and the big 0-1 anniversary of this little blogging adventure, I've done a poor job of documentation lately.  I think it can be blamed on a trifecta of hurdles, including a spike in work craziness, a head cold, and oh yeah, NO HEAT OR POWER.

Typically the part of Connecticut that we call home has pretty moderate, manageable weather, but the past few months have been really weather-weird.  First we had an earthquake, then it was Hurricane Irene and then this past weekend we had a freak nor'easter, aka the Storm that Stole Halloween. 

Thankfully we were in Vermont celebrating Geno's birthday (a complete surprise to him; so fun!) when the storm hit and we were able to extend our trip for a day, so as to delay the power-less situation.  (An apt pun if ever there were one.)  When we got back, however, it was shocking to see the devastation.  It literally looks as if a tree bomb was detonated in our neighborhood.  And in fact, a transformer on our street blew up on Sunday night.  Thankfully our house was spared structural damage, but my car's roof was majorally dented by tree branches which also broke the sun roof, and, it if weren't enough, it's blocked in our driveway by a down, live power wire.  Still.

Okay, so now I will stop complaining, because the good news is that my lovely in-laws have taken us in and by the grace of God and a generous friend were loaned a generator.  It's a cozy arrangement for sure, with heavy use of the camping stove and the grill, but we have heat, light and Nyquil.  And for all those things, I am grateful.

An Instructional Guide to Squirrel Yoga

This weekend we were graced by the celebrity appearance of Uncle Go Go and Auntie Stop.  (For those of you who know them, are these not the most fitting nicknames, like ever?!)

When he's not saving the world from corporate greed and consumer fraud, Uncle Go Go likes to invent new yoga poses and teach them to family and friends.  Once you see the genius that is to follow, I think you will all join me in saying namaste, Uncle Go Go, namaste.

And with that introduction, I give you Squirrel Yoga:

Chicken Pose

Owl Pose, Part 1

Owl Pose, Part 2

Owl Pose, Part 3

Uncle Go Go on a Pedestal Pose

Monkey in a Tree Pose

Downward Facing Giraffe Pose, Part 1

Downward Facing Giraffe Pose, Part 2

Flying Uncle Go Go

and finally... Squirrel! Pose

H - E - Double Hockey Sticks

My personal version of hell involves being trapped in an over-crowded, fluorescent lit, perfume and make-up section of a department store while being spritzed against my will to overly amplified techno beats.  A dialed down version of that involves being stressed while driving and not being able to turn off the radio.  So, in other words, sensory overload, with the worst offender being sound.

Cue the toddler screeching.  Cue the mother needing massive amounts of vino.

They Might Be Giants

I reached the height of my glory in 5th grade.  Our English class was putting on a production of a short play set in colonial times, and the two main characters were a printer named Patrick and his wife, Anna.  The role of Patrick had already been cast, and was set to be played brilliantly by my classmate, Lee.  The role of Anna, the wife, was up for grabs.  Our teacher, Mr. Bell, (a man whose name I still curse,) told me that he wanted to pick me to play Anna, but unfortunately I was taller than Lee, and since wives are not supposed to be taller than their husbands, I was ineligible to play the role.  That was the first -and the last -time being extraordinarily tall would be a problem for me. 

(By the way, I totally protested Mr. Bell's sexist bullshit and pointed out that by that logic my friend TJ, who was of Korean descent, should also be banned from the play based on historical demographics.  Sorry Teej.)

But back to my main point:  I am not a tall person.  I'm not super short, either, but I've basically been 5'3" for 25 years, give or take.  Similarly, Geno is the dude version of me: not tall, not short, just average.

Which is what makes our son's apparent giant-ness fascinating.  Our "little" 18 month old towers over kids up to one year his senior, and everytime a stranger asks me how old he is, their response is something along the lines of, "No way!  He's huge!"  Technically I know that there are other 18 month old kids taller than him, because he's only in the 80th percentile for height (60th for weight), but I'm beginning to think they don't live in Connecticut.

Perhaps its time for a trip to the heartland to hang out with some children of the corn...  I know they at least grow tall 5th grade girls.

September 11th: For Posterity's Sake

On the morning of September 11, 2001, I was in my apartment in Central Square in Cambridge getting reading for the first day of my second year of Divinity School.  It was a clear, sunny, blue-sky day, with a hint of crispness promising fall.  Sometimes in the morning I would watch a few minutes of the news on the tv in my room, and at about 8:55am, I turned on CNN. 

Suddenly disorienting pictures of one of the two World Trade Towers and a gaping hole in its side filled the room.  I called to my friend and roommate, Beth, who was in her bedroom, also getting ready to head out to HDS.  She came in, and within a minute, we watched the second plane hit.  With our hands over our mouths and tears already in our eyes, we immediately turned to each other and said, "Bin Laden."  (How we knew that, I'm really not sure.)

After a few more minutes of watching the news, we tore ourselves away from the tv and walked to the T.  Like any other morning, it was packed, standing room only, and given the timing, there were people on the train who did not know anything yet about that morning's horror.  A woman standing next to me and Beth said that she had heard that something had happened and wondered if it was real.  We told her we saw the second plane hit. 

Once we arrived at school, everything had been put on hold.  Televisions had been wheeled out into common spaces, and my community of Christians, Muslims, Jews, Unitarians, Agnostics and Atheists stood together, side by side, as we heard about the Pentagon, Pennsylvania and then watched the towers fall. 

Taking a break from watching news, I started emailing friends in DC and New York.  (Phone lines were down.)  One of those emails was to my future brother-in-law, Ricardo, who worked in the American Express Building, right next door to the World Trade Center.  (He and my future sister-in-law, Alysse, had just moved into their brand new apartment in Battery Park just days before.)  I didn't hear back from Ricardo until October, and not being able to track down Geno, (we weren't really in touch at the time), I was incredibly worried about Rick and Alysse...

That day, however, I did hear back from my dear friend Julie, who although from DC, happened to be visiting a friend in New York that morning.  She wrote:

Hey!

I'm fine and I'm glad you are too!  Are you at home or at school?  GO HOME if you're not there.  I'm in NYC -- 15 blocks from what was the World Trade Center -- with an unobstructed view.  (I just got online at Peter's since all phones are down.)  Haven't stopped crying since 8:45 this morning.  Apparently, DC is just like NYC -- no subways, trains, roads, bridges, etc. are operating.  Life changes in a second. I guess all we can do is pray (and stay safe). 
Love,

-me

The rest of the afternoon was much of a blur.  At some point I felt the need to go home, and for some reason was by myself.  Instead of walking, I decided to take the T, (which was running, also odd), and was one of three people standing in the Harvard Square station.  One of the other two was a girl playing a keyboard, filling the cavernous platform with dissonant "new age" sounds.  Surreal to say the least.

At home that night I finally could get through to my parents.  As we talked and I cried, I distinctly remember saying how scared I was about what was going to happen next.  About more innocent people dying unnecessarily.  I so deeply wish I had been wrong.

In the following days, American flags lined the streets of Massachusetts Avenue, and life was a mixture of grief, confusion, pride, unity, fear and hope.

This morning, September 11, 2011, I spent the early morning hours giving thanks for Mateo and Geno and for my nephews, Jakob and Bennet, who are here today because of Rick and Alysse's ability to stay safe despite being at Ground Zero.  I think of all the families who lost mothers, fathers and children not just on September 11, 2001, but in the war-filled decade that has followed, and cry.

God, grant us peace. 

18 Months

Querido Mateo,

Yesterday you turned 1 1/2 years old.  Your half birthday also happens to be your grandfather's actual birthday, which is a nice little coincidence.  (Dad- I can't believe you're only 40!)  I look forward to the day when we'll all be able to celebrate together.  (Hint, hint, parents.)

So, this past month, was like, woah.  While hurricanes and earthquakes roared around us, you decided to start speaking in short sentences.  Now, what every single word in that sentence is, I could not begin to tell you, but you generally have the gist of, "What is that?," "I want pasta," "Dada is outside" and "Bye-bye Mama."  (Among others.)  You also have continued to sing your own little made up songs, and quite frequently add in some great dance moves.  It brings me great joy, and I can't wait to subject you to choreography.

Other fun milestones have included getting your canines in, having your feet measured at a shoe store and losing your left pinky fingernail due to a really unfortunate finger-in-door jam incident.  (I still shudder.) 

You continue to be a big Elmo fan, but you also have a lot of love for Senor Sapo, the mascot of the show Atencion! Atencion!, a children's show from Puerto Rico that we watch youtube clips of on my phone.  Here's your favorite song, which you ask for by saying "Haba," which is your pronunciation of "Habia... un sapo":

Perhaps our favorite new "move" that you have adopted this past month is your side shrug.  Somewhere along the way you obviously saw one of us do it, and now you even do it in a contextually appropriate way, as if to say, "I don't know."  Here I think the question was, "Are you the cutest baby ever?"  Perfect response.

Te amo,
Ma-Maa!

Ix-nay on the Elmo-ay

There's no denying it, people.  He's obsessed.  I don't know if it's the high pitched voice, the slammin' dance moves or the red fur, but my boy has got it bad.  Elmo, thy name is toddler god. 

It's even gotten to the point where I have to spell out you know whose name if I don't want an immediate begging for an iPhone video or book.  And by begging, I mean Mateo saying "Elmo? Elmo? Elmo? Elmo?" while simultaneously signing "please" by patting himself repeatedly on the upper chest.  (By the by, for those of you who have kids who have signed, do you ever feel like you're being "yelled" at when they repeatedly sign over and over again?  More, more, MORE, I said!)

I'm down with Elmo, I suppose, and it's cool that he hangs with celebrities.  Particularly Adam Sandler, who I heart.  Welcome to my world:

Difficult Conversations

Last week when I was in the bookstore of the law school where I work, (buying a Diet Dr. Pepper; don't judge me for my addictions), I noticed the featured book by the cash register: Difficult Conversations: How to Discuss What Matters Most.  At first I was just going to pass it by, but then I decided to read a little bit of the description on the back, which in addition to work stresses, mentions the challenges of parenting.  So, Harvard Negotiation Project, you're going to help me deal with my toddler?  Sold!

I wish I could go on to tell you how amazing the book is, but truth be told, I have yet to crack it open.  I'm very hopeful, though. 

Despite not yet reading the book, the fact still exists that I'm thinking a lot these days about how to handle difficult situations, mostly of the 2 foot variety.  As I mentioned last week, it's been challenging to shift from the baby paradigm to the toddler paradigm.  You basically spend 12 or so months doing everything you can to meet every need of your child immediately, and then suddenly as they start to walk and talk, you (and everyone around you), start to think about things like rules, discipline and "indoor voices." 

I think part of what I find so hard about it is dealing with my own, and other's, expectations.  Both Geno and I grew up in relatively strict houses, where manners and rules were part and parcel of daily life.  We want the same thing for Mateo, but we know that he's not developmentally in a place where he can truly grasp what an "indoor voice" actually is, let alone logic-based rules.  Given all of this, I took it pretty hard recently when a friend told me that I'm not the kind of parent she thought I would be.  I think she thought I would be strict, and I think eventually I will be, but right now, I don't know how to be strict with a 1 year old. 

What I do know, however, is that the author of the following list is a genuine genius:

WHY HAVING A TODDLER IS LIKE BEING AT A FRAT PARTY:

10. There are half-full, brightly-colored plastic cups on the floor in every room. Three are in the bathtub.

9. There's always that one girl, bawling her eyes out in a corner.

8. It's best not to assume that the person closest to you has any control over their digestive function.

7. You sneak off to the bathroom knowing that as soon as you sit down, someone's going to start banging on the door.

6. Probably 80% of the stains on the furniture contain DNA.

5. You've got someone in your face at 3 a.m. looking for a drink.

4. There's definitely going to be a fight.

3. You're not sure whether anything you're doing is right, you just hope it won't get you arrested.

2. There are crumpled-up underpants everywhere.

1. You wake up wondering exactly how and when the person in bed with you got there.

17 Months

Querido Mateo,

Earlier this week you hit 17 months, and let me tell you, July was off the hook. 

Let's run down the high (and low) lights:  First sprinkler experience on the 4th of July, the now infamous trip to Puerto Rico, a heatwave, a febrile seizure & trip to the ER, an up close and personal greeting of the concrete with your forehead and nose, tons of quality time with Dad, being left by your parents for 5ish days, lots of time with your cousins and a visit from your grandparents.

Through it all, though, you have been such an amazing little trooper.  Even when you were so, so sick, you made a point of lifting your head off of Dad's shoulder to say "hola" to the ER nurse.  You start most days by "singing" (you like to make up your own tunes, but I think one is oddly close to the Barney theme song, which is interesting, because you don't watch tv), and similarly end the day by humming to me as we rock in the dark. 

Of course, you're not always a happy camper.  This month you started to embrace your independence, and there has been a significant uptick in meltdowns.  You get really frustrated by not knowing the word for something you want, and likewise when something desirable is out of reach.  I can already hear adumbrations of "Do it by myself!"  This new phase of yours also means a new phase for us as your parents, and it has already been challenging to figure out how to best handle your new toddler lifestyle.  (More on that later in the week).  It's a vortex of wonderful, hard, exhausting and exhilarating all at once.

At the end of the day, though, it's all about being a family.

Te amo,
Mama

Traveling Mercies Part Deux

I may have been on an airplane in July more than I was in my car.  (Hooray?)  Our first family trip to Puerto Rico was such a joy, and quickly followed by the first trip that Geno and I have taken without Mateo.  The trip was brought about because I had the honor of officiating the wedding of our dear friends, Kate & Per, (or KaPer, as they are now known,) in the beautiful city of Portland, Oregon. 

At first we thought we would bring Mateo along with us, but given the amount of wedding responsibilities I had and the inability of any family members to come play babysitter, we decided to leave him at home.  As fortune would have it, my parents were actually on the east coast to visit my sister, so in our absence Mateo got to be entertained by both sets of grandparents, aunts, an uncle and all his cousins.  Lucky kid.

Spending 5 days and 4 nights apart from Mateo was definitely hard on us, (especially since we were so far away and he had been quite sick earlier in the week), but it was also wonderful to have time just to ourselves.  We each celebrated in our own unique way:  Geno went for long runs and watched the Yankees while lying in bed.  I took 45 minutes to blow dry my hair.  Ah, the freedom.  (Of course we also enjoyed getting to have long talks, seated dinners, plenty of sleep and by-choice late nights.)

All in all, the trip was great, and I think that it was good for the three of us to figure out how to function outside of our usual nuclear family routine.  And, in addition to learning more about who I am, who Geno is, and who we are as a couple, I was also forced to get my parenting ducks in a row.  Preparing to leave Mateo meant doing the following:

• Creating an emergency medical treatment authorization.  This form gives the caregivers of your choice the ability to make medical decisions for your kid when he or she is not in your direct care.  (You can make it time specific or open-ended.)
• Talking to our family members about what we would want for Mateo's care in the event that something happened to both of us.  Yes, I know this is really morbid, and yes, as an attorney, I'm painfully aware of the fact that we don't have this spelled out in a will.  (That's on my next to-do list.)  (Also, just fyi,  if your kid has godparents, this role in and of itself does not give them legal standing in terms of custody.  You actually need to put your wishes in a will, otherwise state law will determine custody by next-of-kin rules.)  Nonetheless, despite being a tough conversation, I'm really glad we did it.  No discomfort outweighs the relief of knowing that we are doing all we can to look out for Mateo.
• Putting together a little morning and evening checklist for his antibiotics doses.  I know that I sometimes have a hard time keeping track of giving myself medicine, so I figured it would make it easier on the grandma's to have a little box to check-off each morning and evening. 

Happily, only the checklist got put to use!

Guitar Hero

Have you ever dreamed about sitting around a campfire on the beach with all your close friends and being the cool person who whips out her guitar and then suddenly everyone spontaneously joins in a sing-a-long of "No Woman, No Cry?"  Or maybe its your backyard fire pit with your fam and the sing-a-long is a little more "The Wheels on the Bus" oriented.

At any rate, I have this dream.

You could definitely say that I come by it honestly.  Yes, I can read music and took piano lessons for approximately 47 years, but the real tie-in lies with my parents.  Of course.

When my sister and I were very little, my dad was the mandolin and occasional bass player for the Rising Creek Bluegrass Band.  Then, when we got a bit older, both he and my mom (who plays guitar) formed a bluegrass / folk band with their friends called The Heartland String Band.  (They would practice at our house on regular basis, which was pure heaven, because it was the only time Doritos were ever allowed in the house.  I freakin' loved "band night.")  Now they are in a new folk band that is all the rage in Western Kansas nursing homes, Rotary Club meetings and UCC churches.  (I think their name is "What's for Dinner," but it could also be "Just for Fun."  Or maybe it's "Rusty Nail"...  I can't keep up.)

So not only have my parents always been in some type of band, but my mom has played classical guitar for approximately 2/3 of her life.  I have really fond memories of playing with the latches on her guitar case as she plucked away at note after note, sending scales, arpeggios and classical melodies throughout our house.

And now, after telling my parents about my interest in playing the guitar, I am the proud "owner" of my mother's vintage Yamaha 3/4 classical guitar.  (It's on permanent loan until I decide to take up the marimba.)

See you at the campfire!