Ask Amy

The letter to Ask Amy from the mom of a 4-year-old girl that described how her daughter cut her own bangs and then lied about it¹ reminded me of my own hair cutting incident.

I was sick and tired of how my mom’s friends would fawn over my eyelashes.  “Oh, how long and pretty they are!”  “I’d give anything to have eyelashes like that!”  And so, you guessed it, I cut them.

At the dinner table, my mom noticed immediately and reacted strongly: “Did you cut your eyelashes!?  Why did you do that?  You could’ve poked your eye out!”  And so on.

Frankly I was surprised and insulted.  Surprised because I thought they were my eyelashes; why should it be anyone’s business?  And the “poke your eyes out” remark was utterly insulting.  I was anything but a klutz.  I was a “Little Professor” type of boy, always carefully coloring inside the lines, and I (literally) had excellent hand-eye coordination.

Two takeaways here are: children rarely are given the credit they deserve; and showing overt attention to a child can have unexpected consequences.

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¹https://www.chicagotribune.com/2024/04/26/ask-amy-sex-offender-lives-in-the-neighborhood/

The High Cost of Vegan Cheese

My daughter has been vegan for about four years.  Vegans follow an even more limited diet than vegetarians.  The most devout ones don't eat anything produced by an animal or from an animal.  That includes eggs, all dairy, and even honey.

My daughter is devout.  But rather than give up mayonnaise, butter and cheese, she eats vegan-friendly versions instead.

My wife complains about the high cost of these vegan-friendly substitutes almost every week.  And she goes over-budget buying them.  But I tell my wife that if our daughter craves cheese and butter so much, it means her body is crying out for real, honest-to-goodness dairy.  As I wrote earlier, I don't fully endorse our daughter being vegan.

I say that we should buy absolutely no substitutes.  Instead we can buy eggs and dairy from producers that treat their livestock with care and respect, a major concern of vegans.  And I suspect that dairy produced the old-fashioned way is friendlier for the environment than the spreads made from vegetable oils or the cheeses made from cashews.  I believe that such substitutes require much more energy to produce because their raw ingredients are so thoroughly processed as to make them unrecognizable.

Some vegans will argue that there's a health issue with dairy.  They complain that it's loaded with saturated fat, which is bad.  I reject that entirely.  Saturated fat has been unfairly demonized.  The fat from pasture-raised, grass-fed cattle has a ratio of Omega3 to Omega6 that's comparable salmon, plus CLA (conjugated linoleic acids) and butyrates, both of which are important for good gut health.  The heart and brain both use saturated fat as fuel.

It's true that some people just can't tolerate dairy.  It can promote inflammation and mucus production.  Some people are lactose intolerant.  Others must avoid casein.  It's the casein in dairy that can mimic opioids in the brain in individuals with leaky gut syndrome.  So these intolerances are really the only good reasons to avoid dairy.

Well, even if our daughter agreed to eat real butter and cheese, our cost would still be fairly high.  Organic dairy from humanely-treated, grass-fed cows is not inexpensive.  But at least it's real and wholesome.

What do you think?

A Santa Non-Believer

I have never believed in Santa.  I cannot remember a time when I ever believed in him.

When I was five years old, I was shrewd enough to realize that Mom wrapped all the presents.

First of all, she liked to save the wrapping paper and reuse it for next year.

Second, she bought and wrapped the gifts well ahead of time.  And then she stored them on a shelf near the ironing board, covered with a sheet.  The fact that the ironing board was in a scary part of the basement, near the smelly and grumbling furnace, did not deter me.

 There was also the fact that we had no fireplace.

As well, the top of the chimney was tiny.  And the bottom, well, that terminated above the furnace, ending up as an eight inch diameter metal flue with a metal flap over it.  There was no way that Santa could enter our house except through the door.


Supposedly, Santa would come to everyone's house at exactly midnight, at which time he'd fill stockings with trinkets, arrange the presents under the tree, and snack on cookies in milk (although we never left any for him).  Please, what am I, stupid?


My parents would allude to Santa, mostly as a form of coercion.  For example:

• "You'd better behave if you want Santa to bring you anything."
• "Santa doesn't bring presents to children who don't eat their vegetables."
• "Hurry and go to bed, otherwise Santa won't come and bring your presents!"

That's what they'd say.  But what I'd hear was basically, "Do what we tell you to do, otherwise we won't give you anything."  And I'd comply, because I wanted toys.


The funny thing is my wife and I brainwashed our daughter about Santa.  I was very detailed about it, too.  We have a fireplace with glass doors, so before our daughter went to bed, I'd say out loud, "I'm opening the fireplace doors so that Santa can come in."  And later on I'd make footprints on the hearth with the ashes so that she'd see them in the morning.  I think one year I even went on the roof and disturbed the snow near the chimney to make it look like someone was up there.  Still, she now claims that she figured it out when she was ten.

Tell me about your Santa beliefs.

Children With Empty Minds

A few years ago there was a blogger who called herself Azalea Faye, who just gave birth to a girl.  She was one of about 10 million mommy bloggers.

In one post¹ she railed against Disney, vowing that she'd never let her daughter be exposed to the gaggle of Disney princesses.  The gist of it was that she wanted her daughter's mind to be empty rather than filled with ridiculous fairy tales.  I was intrigued by this idea.  My daughter was already five years old or so, and I wondered what she'd be like if her mind were empty.  And I was glad it wasn't.

Classic Disney movies such as "Cinderella" and "Snow White" expose children to many advanced themes such as jealousy and unfairness, providing a foundation for understanding moral issues.  They teach children patience and honesty.  The settings inspire wonder in the child, and the issues tend to be black and white, which make the stories better suited for a child's developmental level.

Unfortunately, that post, and the blog it was featured on, is no longer available.  But I wonder how that girl is faring.  By now she must've entered elementary school, and she's probably hearing about Disney princesses from her friends.  Or is she having trouble making friends, because she has less in common with the typical girl than her peers?

What do you think about Disney princesses?  What should you fill a child's mind with?

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¹ "Disney and My Opinion" whose URL once was http://azaleafaye.wordpress.com/2009/08/31/disney-and-my-opinion/

What Do You Want For Your Birthday?

Another birthday came and went recently.   This was the big "Five-Oh," so I thought I'd commemorate it with a blog post.  This, like all the others before it, came with another round of answering "What do you want for your birthday?"

The answer was easy to fulfill when I was a boy.  In fact, my birthday list was decided for me -- all I wanted was whatever the toy marketing folks wanted to sell.  It was just a matter of shopping and money to fulfill it.  Nevertheless, I still got underwear and the things I needed, much to my disappointment.  How ungrateful I was!

That changed after I started my own family.  Now my birthday list reads....

• A happy and healthy family, including all the pets.
• Money, just enough to live by and to donate, not so much that I become much more of an asshole than I already am.
• Green traffic lights, or none at all.
• Magical sunrises and gloriously fiery sunsets.
• The continued ability to see humor and beauty in every situation.
• A world in which people love one another for who they are and not what they can do.
• Underwear.

For the most part, I already have it all.  And underwear just requires a short trip to Walmart.

Happy birthday to you, whoever you are & whenever it is!

Resources for "Your Brain at Work"

Here are links to online resources that are cited in "Your Brain at Work," by David Rock.

For research behind the book: http://www.your-brain-at-work.com/

Neuroscience of leadership: http://www.neuroleadership.org/

Information on brain-based coaching programs: www.ResultsCoaches.com

School for children K - 5: www.TheBlueSchool.org

Online tests and training exercises: www.MyBrainSolutions.com

Author's website: www.DavidRock.net

Good Parenting Leads to Good Driving

In my previous post on Road Rage, I described how the thought of my own daughter driving (or one of her friends) made it less likely I'd be reacting to other drivers' annoyances.

The thought of my own daughter driving leads me to another form of behavior modification.  I now feel the need to set a good example.  I'm less likely to coast through stop signs, run red lights or grossly exceed the speed limit lately.  And that's not even when she's in the car, peering at the speedometer.  This good driving malaise sets in whenever I see a car marked "Student Driver," or a young driver, or even a driver that makes an actual full stop at a stop sign (a rare occurrence in Connecticut).

I wonder if my auto insurance company considers this?

End of School -- Start of Summer

Today is the start of Summer in the Northern Hemisphere. And it's also the last day of school for our daughter.

She had trouble with math this year. She was supposed to be placed in the advanced math program, but someone messed up, and she was put in the regular math program. After a few days, things got straightened out, and she got put into the advanced class, but by then she was already behind. And each few days that she was out sick, she fell behind more.

We decided to have her take the regular math program next year. Half of the material will be review for her. I want to make sure she gains math skill over the summer or at least not lose anything. So I've decided to give her Daily Math Problems, which, if she solves them correctly, will get her excused from scooping out the four litter boxes.

The first problem is to identify the quadratic expressions (from a group of ten) that factor into squares like this:

(x + a)(x + a)

She's actually pretty good at factoring since it's algorithmic. But the trick here is to do it efficiently. I want her to realize that she doesn't have to factor all ten expressions. Instead, she should realize that only the expressions with a constant a * a need to be tested.

Guide to Safe RF

Our daughter must receive a cell phone for Christmas this year. Otherwise, disaster will befall the entire world, and perhaps several neighboring ones, as well.

I really don't like the idea of cell phones. Why?

• Because we got along fine without them twenty years ago, and now we've been brainwashed into thinking they're a necessity.
• Because a cell phone is yet another thing to carry around; like an umbrella, a pair of gloves and sunglasses, it's something to leave behind or lose.
• Because it's something else that will become obsolete and require an upgrade.
• Because the service is another drain on our family's fiances.
• Because it needs recharging.
• Because it emits powerful RF energy.
  

It's this last item that bothers me. No one really knows what the long-term effect is of being exposed to all the Radio Frequency (RF) energy that a cell phone emits. When I said this to my wife and daughter, my wife responded with, "I carried one in my pocket for work for years and nothing happened to me." Of course we both realized immediately how poor that argument was -- my wife's strange bouts with inflammation started not long after we got the second cell phone.

Anyway, if you're concerned about cell phone safety, here's an article that you can read. It's called Is Your Health on the Line?

Computer Games for Children

Occasionally my friends ask me to recommend computer games for children. They know I'm serious about online privacy and security, so they're curious to know what sites I let my daughter play on. Here's what I tell them:

Webkinz. This is a great site in many ways. First, the site requires no personal information. Second, the chat features are extremely restricted by phrase & word filters. Children cannot enter any words that do not meet the criteria, and that includes personal names. You need to buy one stuffed animal once a year in order to obtain a code to gain access. You get a room and an online pet that you can care for as well as many games. You earn Kinzcash by playing games, then you can buy clothes for your pet and furniture for your room. The games are generally free of violence. There is no advertising and no product placement except for the stuffed animals themselves. The stores that sell Webkinz also carry other Webkinz merchandise, such as clothes. My daughter started on this site when she was about seven years old, yet she still signs on to play at age 12.

Bella Sara. A great site for children who are horse lovers. It used to be that to gain access to the site you had to buy trading cards that come with codes you enter into the site. But now you can join for free, but the codes are required to unlock additional features of the site. You need to supply an e-mail address when you sign up. Once you do, you adopt a magical horse that you care for. There is no chat and no third party advertising. Activities are free of violence.

Poptropica. This site can be played entirely free. You do not need to buy a pet to gain access. You can sign up without an e-mail address or any other personal information. However, you can get a premium account that will enable your child to get more stuff for his online character. The site offers several "islands" that have themes. Play involves solving the problem that's associated with the island. Problem solving is sometimes educational in nature. For example, you might have to put paintings that have been mixed up into their proper locations (Impressionist, Cubist, Expressionist, etc.), or engage in trading to earn money for a large enough boat to defeat a pirate. However, solutions to all of the islands are available on Youtube. When you get defeated at certain parts of an island, you are simply returned to an earlier point without losing any inventory. You earn credits every time you solve an island, and you can buy things for your character with the credits. Each island has a chat room in which chat is scripted. There are promotional ads for movies and books that actually take you to other websites.

Miniclip This free site has hundreds of games in many genres to choose from, including games that involve violence in which you shoot at aliens (Obama Alien Defense) or punch and kick opponents (Karate King, Street Fight). The site asks for an e-mail address when you sign up. Advertising takes place in the margins of the browser. Chat is very limited with scripted phrases. You can create an avatar (called a YoMe). There is a player's forum message board, but the link is easy to overlook.

Do you know of any other fun online gaming sites? Let me know!

The Three Rs and the F-word

Thanks to her public school education, our pre-teen daughter has mastered the F-word. She has described how the girls in her class routinely pollute their conversations with F-words, "What the Effa-effa-effa are you effa-effa-effa doing, effa?"

But yesterday, when the laptop over-heated and suddenly shutdown during the ultimate game-winning battle with Captain Crawfish, she demonstrated complete mastery:

"Oh f*ck," she said, like a twenty year old, at the refilling station, with a maxed out credit card and an empty gas tank.

In less than four years, she'll be driving the car, or so she reminds me.

Spring Concert Tip

This is the time of year for Spring Concerts in our neck of the woods. You may be attending one soon for the first time.

Here's a tip. Before the orchestra's performance, when all the student performers have seated themselves and have settled down, stay alert for the first violinist to stride on stage. As soon as you see her¹, start clapping. Don't wait for her to get to center stage and bow before acknowledging her. Do the same for the conductor. They will appreciate it.

While on the topic of applause, remember to withhold your applause until after the music has stopped and after the conductor has lowered his hands.

By following this advice, you will show that you're a sophisticated audience, and the performers will regard your applause with even greater appreciation.

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¹ The first violinist is usually a girl at the elementary school level. Girls are taller and more mature than boys at that age, and they're more likely to dress nicer for the role. Of course, this is just my opinion and has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that my daughter is a girl.

Germany vs. Italy

I'm part German, part Italian. Growing up, I felt that I was audience to a duel between my German father and Italian mother. "Which nationality was better?" was the perennial question. German cars out-numbered Italian by a wide margin, so score 1 for Germany. But Italian food was the best as far as I was concerned, so score 10 for Italy. Germany is known for precision machinery. But Italy was the birth place of the Renaissance. And so on. And that was the back drop of my childhood.

I remembered all this today at the pizza shop. That was because of how I eat pizza. In New York, you fold your pizza lengthwise so it doesn't flop down. You can eat it with one hand, which, in NY you gotta do. It makes it easy to eat with one hand, leaving the other hand free to hold a drink (so you can eat while standing or walking), or to talk on the phone, or grip the steering wheel. 'Cause in NY, things happen quick, and you always gotta do other stuff when you eat.

My wife has complete disdain for my New York ways, especially the eating pizza part. When our daughter started to copy me today, my wife told her to stop, which (teenager that she is) made her copy me much more intently. Clearly, we were having an effect on her, just like my parents did on me.

My wife and I tend to polarize on some things, such as money, shopping, food, and more money, as described on the following diagram:

My Philosophy	My Wife's Philosophy
Money: Get a job you can enjoy, live modestly, set aside some income for retirement.	Money: Get the highest-paying job you can get, even if it's stressful and demeaning, and then spend all your money on diversions to help you forget what a lousy job you have.
Shopping: Figure out what you need, and which stores carry these items at a reasonable cost, and then buy the items as quickly as possible so as not to inconvenience other family members.	Shopping: Go to any trendy store, one that you really like. Mull around for several hours, picking up items that you didn't realize you needed until you actually saw them, and then buy those items, never mind that your husband's legs have become petrified from standing around waiting for you, and that he should stop acting like a child already.
Food: Select unprocessed sources of proteins and fresh or frozen vegetables. Avoid products that contain wheat, dairy, corn, and potatoes, and other inflammatory substances. Stick with low-glycemic foods.	Food: If you spend a lot on it, it has to be good food, so it should be good to eat. And anyway, we grew up on macaroni and cheese, Chef Boyardee and Hamburger Helper. They wouldn't put anything bad into our food, so why can't you eat it, Mr. Picky-Ass-Pants?

I wonder exactly what effect my wife and I have on our daughter, especially when we discuss money, shopping and food in front of her.

One thing I clearly remember from my teenage years was how reluctant I was to show a preference for any girl, at least not in front of my parents. I felt like I'd be under a microscope. I would predict my parents thoughts: "Oh, he likes short girls," or "Oh he likes brown-eyed girls," or "he likes dark girls with hairy arms and large breasts." But I especially couldn't commit to liking any girl with obvious Italian or German qualities. Which was rather a shame since I was most fond of the Italian-looking girls with their thick, dark-brown hair and large, warm brown eyes and somewhat mocha skin tone, and there were a lot of them. But I just couldn't side with the Italians.

Will our daughter's choices in a companion be contaminated by the conflicts between my wife and me? Will she choose a boy with New York mannerism just to annoy her mom?

And what about you? How did your parents' conflicts affect you? Did you find yourself making choices based on whether a parent would approve? Or disapprove? Or did you try to avoid choices altogether?

Get Sugar Milk

I'm sure that if you just wrote a soon-to-be-published book, you'd want all of your blog readers to call attention to it, and buy it, if possible.

So plant some Karma Seeds and do just that, so that when your book comes out, you'll get plenty of attention.

The book is Sugar Milk: What One Dad Drinks When He Can’t Afford Vodka, and in case you're wondering, I did not ghost write it.

I'm guessing it's real good, like the best of the author's blog, Clark Kent's Lunchbox.

Why not read an Excerpt and find out for yourself!

Okay, that's all. Got to go load the dishwasher and fire it up!

Feng Shui in my Childhood?

The annoying thing about parents is this: when you become one, they turn out to be just like you.

All our parents' familiar admonishments that we used to roll our eyes at -- we're using them, too! "No snacks before dinner." (Awww mom!) "Zipper your jacket!" (But I'm not cold!) "You're not allowed to watch that show until after you've done your homework." (WHAT?!? I never get to do anything anymore! Stomp stomp stomp BAM) I've pretty much come to accept all this.

But now I'm starting to wonder if my parents were so cool that they themselves were into Feng Shui, just like me!

Exhibit A -- the full length mirror on the outside of the bathroom door. This is a well-known method to prevent helpful chi from flowing into the bathroom and down the drains and toilet. But they didn't keep the bathroom door closed when it wasn't in use, so maybe they weren't following it too closely. On the other hand, they kept the toilet lid down.

Exhibit B -- orientation of beds to achieve a Purpose. My bed and the beds of my sister and brother all pointed North, which I believe helps ensure in children a calm sleep, submissiveness and a desire to mow the lawn. Just kidding about that last one.

Exhibit C -- actually there's no Exhibit C. But they say that good writers should list things in groups of threes. And I need all the help I can get.

If my parents actually did follow Feng Shui, they certainly broke the Number One Rule -- eliminate clutter. My mom especially went for second helpings when the Pack Rat Gene was being ladled out.

So were my parents really following Feng Shui, or did they just copy something they saw in a movie?

Post Wedding Day Blues

Sunday, it felt like the day after Christmas. That was the day after The Big Wedding for my wife's cousin, an only child. Our daughter was one of the junior bridesmaids. She wore a special dress, which I hope will still fit her should she decide to go to the prom in seven years.

Our daughter had her hair done twice. It was twisted neatly into a French braid for the Tea Party and Rehearsal Dinner on the Penultimate Day. And then for the Wedding it was styled into an ornate up-doo with a few special wispy curls cascading down the sides of her face. She also had make up.

I set aside blog time to study the itinerary and get plenty rest. I was the designated driver and had to make sure I dropped off our daughter at the proper locations at the proper times, and let her travel in the limo at other proper times. I even had the car's battery replaced beforehand just to make sure we'd not get stuck somewhere with just a set of jumper cables and Mapquest printout to guide us.

During the reception, I danced with our daughter to everything she was willing to dance to. No slow dances for her, though. Perhaps I overdid it because at the end of the polka, she asked breathlessly, "What are you doing, Dad?" She had no idea how to dance the polka, so I just swung her around.

I write about the Event now with initial capitals. That's how my wife and I talked about it, as though it were the Coronation of the Century. Yet even though we think it might have been a bit overdone (with eight bride's maids, the groom's men were out numbered 2 to 1), the bride was refreshingly gracious about the Affair. For example, she specified the color of the bride's maids' gowns but not the style. The women were free to wear dress shoes of their choosing. And she went out of her way to thank everyone numerous times with cards, trinkets and refreshments.

So there was the big buildup, and then the celebration, just like the Christmases of my childhood. And Sunday was like the the day the presents were all unwrapped, played with, eaten, tried on, when we look forward to the next celebration.

Long Shadows

I'm taking a break from Shadow Shot Sunday because of long shadows -- lengthening Autumn shadows on the lawn from a late afternoon sun, and a sadness creeping over me from a childhood memory.

The memory isn't of an actual event from my childhood. Rather, it's from a general sense of how things changed as I transitioned gradually from a blithe little elementary school boy to a cynical teenager. The thing that awoke this memory was a sheet of paper.

The sheet of paper was on my daughter's desk. It was a printed worksheet titled "Giving a Compliment." It had the handwriting of seven children -- that of my daughter and six of her classmates from the previous grade. Apparently the paper was part of an exercise in which six children compliment a seventh child by writing positive comments on the sheet. It affected her enough to compel her to save it. Seeing the paper made me think that she was trying to cheer herself up, staving off the same moodiness that enveloped me at her age.

Here are the comments that the children wrote:

1. Nathan: You are good at helping people since you are tall.
2. Rebeca: She is nice, caring and good at help [sic] Edit your paper.
3. Jessica: You are considerate and gentle to others all the time!
4. Sofie: You are really nice and would never say anything bad about anyone!
5. Ryan: You are nice and never get in trouble.
6. UN: You are really thoughtful.

The worksheet concluded with one last fill-in, beginning with the printed text, "One compliment I could give myself is that I," I am good at art!

Today, the sheet of paper is in the top left drawer of her desk, right on top, easily accessible for a quick fix.

I still have this sadness. What compliments can I give myself? "One compliment I could give myself is that I" I am a loving father!

Do you need a compliment? Now it's your turn: "One compliment I could give myself is that I" __________________________________

Children Get Autoimmune Diseases, Too

I came across Stiletto Mom's appeal on behalf of someone named Kevin and wanted to draw more attention to it. I won't copy her post, but I'll copy the part that came from Kevin. That should be okay from a copyright POV, since it was intended to be forwarded:

Our pediatrician admitted it early on.

The rash on our 2-year-old daughter’s cheeks, joints and legs was something he’d never seen before.

The next doctor wouldn’t admit to not knowing.

He rattled off the names of several skins conditions — none of them seemingly worth his time or bedside manner — then quickly prescribed antibiotics and showed us the door.

The third doctor admitted she didn’t know much.

The biopsy of the chunk of skin she had removed from our daughter’s knee showed signs of an “allergic reaction” even though we had ruled out every allergy source — obvious and otherwise — that we could.

The fourth doctor had barely closed the door behind her when, looking at the limp blonde cherub in my lap, she admitted she had seen this before. At least one too many times before.

She brought in a gaggle of med students. She pointed out each of the physical symptoms in our daughter:

The rash across her face and temples resembling the silhouette of a butterfly.

The purple-brown spots and smears, called heliotrope, on her eyelids.

The reddish alligator-like skin, known as Gottron papules, covering the knuckles of her hands.

The onset of crippling muscle weakness in her legs and upper body.

She then had an assistant bring in a handful of pages photocopied from an old medical textbook. She handed them to my wife, whose birthday it happened to be that day.

This was her gift — a diagnosis for her little girl.

That was seven years ago — Oct. 2, 2002 — the day our daughter was found to have juvenile dermatomyositis, one of a family of rare autoimmune diseases that can have debilitating and even fatal consequences when not treated quickly and effectively.

Our daughter’s first year with the disease consisted of surgical procedures, intravenous infusions, staph infections, pulmonary treatments and worry. Her muscles were too weak for her to walk or swallow solid food for several months. When not in the hospital, she sat on our living room couch, propped up by pillows so she wouldn’t tip over, as medicine or nourishment dripped from a bag into her body.

Our daughter, Thing 1, Megan, now age 9, remembers little of that today when she dances or sings or plays soccer. All that remain with her are scars, six to be exact, and the array of pills she takes twice a day to help keep the disease at bay.

What would have happened if it took us more than two months and four doctors before we lucked into someone who could piece all the symptoms together? I don’t know.

I do know that the fourth doctor, the one who brought in others to see our daughter’s condition so they could easily recognize it if they ever had the misfortune to be presented with it again, was a step toward making sure other parents also never have to find out.

That, too, is my purpose today.

It is also my birthday gift to my wife, My Love, Rhonda, for all you have done these past seven years to make others aware of juvenile myositis diseases and help find a cure for them once and for all.

To read more about children and families affected by juvenile myositis diseases, visit Cure JM Foundation at www.curejm.org.

To make a tax-deductible donation toward JM research:
GO HERE: www.firstgiving.com/rhondaandkevinmckeever.
OR HERE: www.curejm.com/team/donations.htm.

When I think of what my wife has been going through, and then realize that such little children can suffer with similar ailments, it upsets me deeply.

Naming the Baby

My wife went to a fortune teller a few months after we got married. The first thing the old lady told my wife was, "Oh, you're going to have a baby boy!" This surprised me since, um, we were not attempting to conceive.

My wife did get pregnant two years later. She wanted to be surprised about the baby's gender, and I went along with that. We both agreed quickly on the name Matthew a few months before the due date. Of course, we thought it would be a good idea to have a girl's name just in case, but we couldn't decide on one.

The thing is that when you start thinking of names for your child, most relatives' names can't be used. Because then at gatherings, people will be confused about which John you mean -- Big John, Jonny, JJ or Mary's John. Also, the names you mull over invariably will remind you of the kids you went to school with. I didn't know anyone named Matthew. But I did know a Craig (he was a prick and a bully), and a Lisa (the one with the big breasts? or the one with all that lip gloss?) and who can forget Jeffery (the skinny kid with the braces, speech impediment and an overwhelming desire to get real close to you when he talks, who now probably makes more money in a year than I'll ever make in a life time).

You also have to consider all the possible nicknames. Elizabeth is a terrific name, but people can't seem to resist turning it into Betty, Beth, Liz or Lizzy.

So is it any surprise that we ended up with a girl -- a girl for whom we had no name? Of course not. That's the way the Universe works. But we called her "Peanut" or "Honeydeer" or "Cutiepie" for a couple of days while we read a book of baby names and considered nick names. And we found something that we liked and that gave our daughter the same two initials as my mother and the same three initials as my sister and the same middle name that's been used on nearly every woman in my wife's family.

But guess what. Now that she's eleven, our daughter hates her name.

This post was inspired by Eric's "Naming Our Upcoming Baby!!". Thanks, Eric!

When Do You Call the Doctor or Vet?

My wife will call the doctor/vet with the slightest issue. Most recently, one of our three indoor cats was limping, and his right front paw was swollen "three times its size, like a catcher's mitt," or so I heard from the frantic voice over the phone while I was at work.

I already knew what happened. One of the thousand wasps that makes a nest right next to the basement window above the litterboxes wandered into the house and fell into the litterbox. It was weak but not quite dead, and delivered its sting while the cat tried to torture it, as these adoringly innocent creatures are wont to do. Of course, since I'm the only one who cleans the litter box these days, no one else knows about the wasp problem, which is probably a good thing.

Calmly I say, "He probably got stung by a bee. He'll be oka..."

"What do you mean he got stung by a bee!?! He wasn't outside! Do you think I should take him to the vet?" I sense her glaring at me over the phone.

"A bee probably got inside, and he attacked it. Call the vet and see what they advise. And take a picture of it." Then I added, "Remember when the dog got stung above the eye and that swelled? He was fine after a couple of..."

"Yeah, yeah. Right. I'm calling the vet," she responded dismissively.

Five minutes later I was informed that the vet wants to see him immediately. I can't even imagine what she told them about the situation. Maybe she said it was the size of a grapefruit, turning green and pulsing.

After I got home I did three things:

1. I examined the cat, who appeared perfectly normal with the exception of a very slightly larger right paw, which you'd notice only if you knew there was something wrong and got down on your hands and knees to look closely at it.
   
2. I looked at the photograph my daughter took of the paw, which appeared to be mildly swollen. (The paw, not the photograph.)
   
3. Cringed at the $92.17 vet bill on the kitchen table.

"A catcher's mitt?" I asked, pointing to the photograph. "You do know what a catcher's mitt looks like, don't you?

"Well, I meant a catcher's mitt if it were made for a cat."


But I still remember the last time we called the doctor for our daughter. She had been coughing for about a week. My wife kept saying that something wasn't quite right. And I kept saying that she probably has a virus, which the doctor can't treat. So just ride it out. My wife was too tired to argue.

She felt warm that night. But everyone always feels warm to me -- I have cold hands. However, she was glassy-eyed, and that's what prompted my wife to urge me to take her temperature. And I felt compelled to do so.

It reached 99F very quickly. Then 102F. And kept going. Right up to 105 F. Shit. Needless to say I didn't mind paging the on-call doctor. She informed me that if it gets to 106F, then she'd need to go to the hospital. For now, I just had to give her some Jr. Advil or children's Motrin, which, indeed, lowered the fever really well. And our daughter did get better eventually, without needing a trip to the doctor.

Anyway, all this mental diarrhea was inspired by CardioGirl's post, "At least they won’t accuse me of Munchausen by proxy". Why not go over and tell your story?