Category Archives: Family

Family

Happinesses

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Curly blonde head leaning against my shoulder in the early morning:
sleepy child not ready to be awake yet but wanting to be close to mom.

Bach prelude in C on the CD player during breakfast.

The smell of grapefruit dishwashing liquid.

The delight of small children helping wash dishes; the everyday miracle of soap bubbles.

Two-year-old insisting that her big sisters join her in the "Kokey-Pokey."

Children asking to be read more of the Iliad.

Two-year-old taking an early nap, and a long one.

Blue-and-whites in the fabric stash, and pinks with flowers.

Pink inspiration at As Cozy as Spring, and the feast for the eyes Posie offers every day, and the sweet embroidery sampler in this post at Yarnstorm, and pretty felt ornaments, and slow afternoons to fill with snips and stitches, even if I’m short on talent.

The St. Brigid of Ireland costume from Our Coats of Many Colors…(about which more tomorrow, or so the plan is).

Sausage bean soup in the crock pot.

Tollhouse cookie bars.

Daughters who can make tollhouse cookie bars.

The chime of an IM from Scott.

Reading Mother Goose to a happy little boy.

The wild exuberant cry of a girl whose little plot of cosmos has suddenly become a forest.

Half moon in a blue sky.

Caterpillar stowaway on my windowsill geranium, munching, munching.

Tired children ready for bed, and half a pan of tollhouse cookie bars still on the counter.

Family

Ann’s River Stones

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Don’t miss this post.

Life flushes his nose, cheeks, with flaming warmth when he slips back
inside, to rub his hands by the fire. Words, fragments of stories,
tumble out of him, and I nod, trying to etch him in my mind like this
(do all mothers do this? Memorize moments?) For some reason, I don’t
trust ink and paper, computerized sensors of cameras. I carve it down
in synapses and neurons— in heart fibers—before he, who he is now,
is gone, mellow voice turned deep, untried hands grown long and deeply
lined, trenched with days.

I do it too, constantly. Sunday, while stealing a rare nap with the baby (toddler, but shh), rain beating down, book abandoned on the pillow: I could not stop looking at her, breathing her in. Flushed cheeks, purple shadows beneath the blurred black lashes, her face now Jane’s, now Rose’s, now a flash of Scott. Now that picture of me when I was her age, something about the o of her mouth. The curl peeking out behind one ear, the weight of her head on my arm, the gentle sigh of her breath. How many more times will I get to live that moment? Just like Ann, I try to fix these moments in my mind, try to memorize each detail. But I never can call them back fully, not unless I’ve written them down. That’s why I blog, I guess.
Her meditation on the fleetingness of these delicious days is some of the most beautiful writing I’ve seen on the internet, ever.

Family, Food, recipes

Our Traditional Birthday Breakfast

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…my dad’s family recipe. Biscuits with chocolate gravy. Mmm. There is nothing finer, let me tell you. Hot biscuits dripping with butter and covered with a thick, warm, rich chocolate sauce. Just cocoa, flour, milk, and sugar* brought to a boil over low heat. So good.

The picture does not do it justice.

Biscuits

Now back to my birthday boys.

(*Thanks, Dad, for permission to share the recipe. 1/4 cup cocoa, 1/4 cup flour, 1 cup sugar (hush), 1 1/2 cups milk. Mix dry ingredients first, right in your saucepan, then stir in the milk. Heat slowly, stirring constantly. You want to bring it just to a bubble but you don’t want to let it scorch. Take it off the heat, keep stirring. It will thicken upon standing. Spoon over hot buttery biscuits. The butter is vital—the magic of this dish is in the delectable combination of warm chocolate and melted butter. Trust me.)

(As I understand it, this was an inexpensive way to fill little bellies in times when cash was tight.)

(And yes, we are starting the day with my dad’s chocolate gravy and finishing with my mom’s famous cake. Two birthdays = double pigging out.)

Family

My Heart Goes Pitty-Pat

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…every time Scott writes about our kids.

I call her name. No reply. Louder. Nothing. The dragon’s got her but
good and who can blame her? Can I really compete with such a wingéd,
scaléd green beast?

I try again and this time she looks up. I make the sign for “car,” and she beams, hops down off the couch.

The earth’s rotation wavers slightly from the sheer beauty of her in motion.

Books, Family, Leukemia, Robert's Snow

Blogging for a Cure: Robert’s Snow and David Macaulay

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"There are things I think people have a need to know . . . I want them
to look around more — to pay attention to the world around them, to
take an extra moment to look at things, to think about things."

—David Macauley

Ten and a half years ago, when our 21-month-old daughter was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia, Scott and I were told to be thankful it was ALL and not some other kind of cancer. We were thankful, strange as it was to feel glad about anything related to a cancer diagnosis. We knew that the prognosis was better for kids with ALL than with other types of cancer.

But we were a full week into treatment before we found out how very good the prognosis actually was. Jane had started the week with two complete blood exchanges, purging her body of all the cancerous white blood cells that had escaped her bone marrow and were coursing through her tiny veins. She had made it through the first terrible week of chemotherapy—the fevers, the vomiting, the countless needle sticks. One week down, years to go. The head of the hem/onc department came in to meet us, and he asked us, rather professorially, what our goal was with Jane’s treatment.

"Remission?" I asked. He smiled in obvious amusement.

"Yes, of course," he said, shrugging. "We will get her into remission, and very soon. But that is just the beginning. Our goal is to keep her in remission. Our goal is a cure."

Scott and I stared at him. I started to cry. A week earlier, during the nightmarish hour between leaving our pediatrician’s office and arriving, per his urgent instructions, at the children’s hospital emergency room, we had swung by our apartment to restock the diaper bag. On the way out the door, I had grabbed an old (but not that old) medical reference book we happened to have on the shelf. In the car I read aloud to Scott in horror. If the pediatrician was right, if the baby had leukemia, the best-case scenario, according to this tome, was a five-to-seven-year survival rate.

Until that moment when the Chief Oncologist said the word "cure," Scott and I had believed our best hope at the end of putting Jane through the torture of chemotherapy was that she would live to see her ninth birthday.

"I didn’t know," I croaked. "I didn’t know there was a cure for cancer."

"For this kind, there is," said the doctor.

We all know that ALL is but one of the many, many kinds of cancer. The treatment—the cure—doesn’t work for everyone, but it works for a lot of people, especially children. Ten years later, Jane is still in remission and spilling joy everywhere she goes. If you find joy on this blog, she is a large part of the reason why. I threw that old medical reference book in the trash long ago, because the hard work of doctors and researchers, and the courage of patients who came before my Jane, had rendered its somber pronouncements inaccurate.

At the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute, researchers are working on more, and better, cures. This research is paid for by the Jimmy Fund, named after a 12-year-old cancer patient who made a radio appeal in 1948 that brought in some $200,000 in funding for research that first year. Jimmy, like Jane, survived his cancer. It’s possible that Jane survived because of breakthroughs in chemotherapy protocols developed by the doctors at Dana-Farber—I don’t have any idea who all the people were whose work saved my daughter’s life. I only know that I am thankful to the very marrow of my bones. And hers.

Children’s book illustrator Grace Lin wrote a picture book called Robert’s Snow during her husband’s fight against bone cancer. Robert Mercer was diagnosed with Ewing’s sarcoma just months after he and Grace were married. Grace tells the story on the Robert’s Snow site:

Nine months later, Robert was declared cancer-free. "Robert’s Snow"
was accepted for publication. We felt that our good luck had finally
arrived. But, in March 2004, Robert’s cancer returned. We were
devastated. Our doctor told us that Robert’s best chance for long-term
survival was a breakthrough in cancer research.

So we decided to help the doctors the best we could. Because
"Robert’s Snow" had meant so much to us the first time, we decided to
use it as an inspiration for a fundraiser. We recruited children’s book
artists to paint wooden snowflakes and auctioned them off — the
proceeds going to cancer research at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute.

The response was tremendous. "Robert’s Snow: for Cancer’s Cure" snowballed greater than we ever dreamed.

I am grieved to say that Robert Mercer passed away this summer. But Robert’s Snow lives on. To date, the Robert’s Snow snowflake auctions have raised over $200,000 for the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute. This year’s auctions will begin in November, and you can bid on a stunning array of snowflakes illustrated by some of the most talented artists in children’s books.

Starting last week, bloggers all over the kidlitosphere joined in an effort to spread awareness of the upcoming Robert’s Snow auctions. Encouraged by Jules and Eisha of Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast, who dreamed up the "Blogging for a Cure" event, dozens of bloggers are featuring snowflakes by some of the participating illustrators. There are many, many more snowflakes being auctioned in addition to the ones you will see in these posts. I encourage you to go explore the auction site and feast your eyes on all these beautiful pieces of art.

Here is one of them. What an honor it is to be able to feature David Macaulay’s snowflake here at Bonny Glen. I mean, David Macaulay! Caldecott winner! Author of The Way Things Work! The man who taught Jane what a laser is, and how parking meters work, and what is the difference between nuclear fission and nuclear fusion!

David Macaulay painted a snowflake for the Robert’s Snow auction. Here it is, front and back, reproduced here with permission:

039_snowflake

Don’t you love that sweet, pensive face?

Ten years ago, when Jane was diagnosed, David Macauley’s books already had pride of place on our living room shelf. I first saw The Way Things Work in the children’s bookstore I worked at during grad school. I bought a copy with my employee discount. I hoped to have children one day, lots of them, and I knew they’d want to know how stuff worked.

Now here it is 2007 and I’ve got those children, a lot of them!, and they are indeed full of ‘satiable curtiosities. David Macauley’s books have helped show them the world. Sit down with one of his black-and-white "Building Books" masterpieces, and you’re likely to spend the whole rest of the day immersed in the details of another corner of the world. Here are some of the books he wrote and illustrated, a homeschooler’s dream library:

City: A Story of Roman Planning and Construction
Cathedral
Pyramid
Mosque
Ship
Underground
Mill

Cathedral    Mill   Pyramid

He also wrote the Caldecott winner Black and White, a stunner of a picture book, as well as the charming Angelo.

There will be three rounds of snowflake auctions, beginning November 19th. If you’d like to see David Macauley’s snowflake hanging on your Christmas tree or in your winter window, it will be sold in the second auction, which starts on November 26th. (Trivia time: one of the other snowflakes in that auction was made by the illustrator of one of my books. Do you know who?)

Many thanks to Mr. Macaulay and all the illustrators who donated these gorgeous works of art for the Robert’s Snow auction, to Grace Lin for founding the event (view her own snowflake here), and to Jules and Eisha for organizing the Blogging for a Cure effort. And many, many thanks to the folks of the Dana-Farber Institute for continuing to work toward cures for other people like Jane.

Here are the rest of this week’s Blogging for a Cure snowflake features (thank you, Tricia and Jen, for the list!):

Monday, October 22

Tuesday, October 23

Wednesday, October 24

Thursday, October 25

Friday, October 26

Saturday, October 27

Sunday, October 28

Related links:

Blogging for a Cure page at Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast.

David Macauley page at Houghton Mifflin.

Robert’s Snow main page.

Main auction page.

David Macauley’s snowflake auction page.

Art, Family, Fun Educational Stuff

Of Fowls and Fun

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Yesterday my three oldest kids went to a workshop at the San Diego Museum of Art. A docent gave a short talk about elements of art—line, shape, color, etc—and then they split into small groups and went to look at four paintings up close. Afterward, they did an art project focusing on copying details from the paintings they’d viewed. I missed most of the workshop, because I was outside with the little ones. The girls had a splendid time, and Beanie was especially impressed by the dead chicken.

"Huh?" I asked her, ever so articulately, upon receiving this report.

"A dead chicken! In a painting! I saw it, and I drew it!"

I do remember seeing a painting with a dead fowl in it when we first visited the museum. I think it was a duck, not a chicken: Merganser by William Michael Harnett. (I don’t know if that link will work—the URL says "index." I don’t think the SDMA site has direct URLs to the paintings. But if you’re really interested in seeing the deceased bird, you can click around to get there. Beanie thinks it is worth the effort. Me, I prefer a nice landscape with haystacks.)

During the workshop, a couple of the other mothers and I walked down to the Science Center with our little ones. There’s a kiddie room upstairs where a mama can park herself on a bench and watch her younguns play with all the interesting toys. Wonderboy loved the air chute made for putting balls in: whoosh! Up goes the ball and pops out the top of the tube. Rilla enjoyed filling the toy shopping cart with plastic fruits and vegetables. It was so easy and pleasant to sit there chatting with my friends while our toddlers and preschoolers bustled around. I remember when I thought tending two little ones in a children’s museum was a tiring day’s work. Now it’s a mini-vacation.

One thing I’m really enjoying about our proximity to Balboa Park is that we can drop by for short, frequent visits without feeling like we have to do and see everything all at once. We’ve barely begun to explore all the park has to offer. After I picked up the girls, we were strolling back to our car and we passed the little Timkin Museum, a small, free-to-the-public art gallery next to the big SDMA. Erica had mentioned that it’s an incredible collection. Jane and I noticed a huge sign advertising a special French Neoclassical exhibit, which is exactly the movement we’ve just been reading about in Young People’s Story of Fine Art, so that was a pretty exciting discovery. We’ll have to squeeze in a visit sometime soon.

Jane is also keen to see the Journey to the Copper Age exhibit at the Museum of Man—she wondered aloud whether her daddy could take a day off and take her. And I’d like to get to the Dead Sea Scrolls exhibit at the Natural History Museum while it’s still there…but tops on the girls’ wish list is to go climb a certain enormous, low-branching tree they spotted on the way into the park. And when I was watching how happy my wee ones were yesterday in the kiddie playroom, I made a little mental note to remember that as important and wonderful as all this cultural stuff is, it’s even more important to allow ample time for Climbing Very Big Trees and Dipping Fingers into Fountains. Sometimes the dead chicken really is the best part of the art museum. Even when it’s a duck.

Family

The Art of the Warm Welcome

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I loved this post by my friend Laura at A Cup of Tea with Me. She is living in London (after several years in Cyprus) and shares some observations about greeting-the-new-neighbors customs around the world.

Over the summer, FOR SALE signs pop up
in front of two houses directly across from yours. New families move
into both houses within a few days of one another. Do you:

A) Peer at them from behind your net curtains, trying to figure out who they are but making no direct contact;

B) Wave politely when you both happen to be outside at the same time;

C) Knock on their doors, introduce yourself, give them a plate of muffins and welcome them to the neighborhood?

The neighborhood we left behind a year ago was a plate-of-muffins kind of place, and it was marvelous, and very hard to leave behind. Here in San Diego, we’ve had almost no contact with the neighbors on our street, but when the kids and I rolled into town one year ago today, my online friend Erica (now a beloved real-life pal!) surprised us with a welcome of pumpkins and mums adorning our front steps for my first sight of the rental house, and two huge bagsful of Trader Joe’s goodies to fill our empty pantry! Talk about love at first sight.

And on day two of our California life, one of Erica’s friends (now also my cherished friend too!) arrived bearing not one but two meals—one she’d cooked herself, and a Honey-Baked Ham feast from the wonderful family who had given Scott their spare room for several weeks over the summer. I’m still blown away by their hospitality, a year later.

Family

This Day Last Year

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Was the day we reunited with Scott after three months apart. A very happy day. We picked him up at the Phoenix airport and drove another couple of hours west, stopping for the night in Yuma so that we could make the last piece of the journey to our new home in the daylight. We got the very last room in town, after being turned away from about six motels. Two queen beds for the seven of us, but we didn’t care. We ate at a Cracker Barrel that night, and a woman at the next table couldn’t stop giggling at us because of the way Wonderboy was staring nonstop at Scott with a huge grin plastered on his (Wonderboy’s) face.

So today I’m thinking about how happy we are to be all together again, and I’m thinking about the children whose daddies are in Iraq and Afghanistan. If our separation was agony, it must pale in comparison to what those families are going through.