What was remarkable about the swim was observing the way she, step by step, decided to enjoy the whole swimming thing. Eleanor, like all babies, is nothing if not guileless and I love to watch as emotions fill her face and body as she experiences them. Her first feeling about the water was some combination of “WTF?” and “Cold Cold Cold Cold Cold”. She held her hands in tight fists, her lower lip trembled and she clung tight to us. She kept herself together, though, and after a couple of minutes transitioned into a more water-accepting stance, looking on with curiosity at the bathing-capped swimmers in other lanes. She cracked her first, if reluctant, smile after some energetic motorboat noises and dives from Dan and manic bopping from me. And then she discovered the pleasure of splashing and she broke into constant, easy smiles. Finally, she discovered the wonders of splashing and kicking and she went into full on giggle and wiggle mode.

In other news, the ceiling leak has stopped and it looks like our home insurance policy may pay for the ceiling repair (but not, oddly enough, the roofer who actually removed the giant hunk of melting ice that was causing the leak in the first place). However, it’s supposed to rain the coming days so I have pencilled in some anxiety and constant worrying about the roof over our heads.

Sadly, it wasn’t just a weekend of firsts for Eleanor. It was also our first week semi-substantial house problems. We came home from a lovely walk in 40 degree weather to find water dripping/trickling out of the light socket in our mudroom and a sizeable bulge of water-filled paint and plaster swelling  on our kitchen ceiling. After a brief freak out, we called our house-saavy neighbours who confirmed what we suspected anyway: ice dam on the roof + inadequate flashing = water into the house. Grrr. Fortunately, we were able to get someone to come remove the huge chunks of ice from our roof. The dripping stopped shortly after that. But now we have to plaster and repaint part of our kitchen ceiling. Fortunately, unlike the rest of the house, the kitchen is kind of junky  (it has a very poorly done, gray paint job), so if it had to happen somewhere, that was the place for it to happen. And we might use it as an excuse to repaint the kitchen. But goodbye plans for a new, fancy dining-room table.

]]> http://thefamilyroll.com/2010/03/belly/feed/ 0 http://thefamilyroll.com/2010/03/high-risk/ http://thefamilyroll.com/2010/03/high-risk/#comments Wed, 03 Mar 2010 03:22:05 +0000 emjcarroll http://thefamilyroll.com/?p=735 Ellie’s daycare is fantastic. The daycare provider is nurturing and almost formidably conscientious and Ellie bursts into a grin whenever she sees her. The house is painted a friendly aqua blue and the basement playroom has Eric Carle murals on the wall.

It is also a teeming cesspool of germs.

Since starting daycare, some combination of Dan, Ellie and I have been sick. She started daycare in January. Ugh. Luckily, Dan and I have not been sick at the same time so we’ve been able to take care of the babe and each other.  Ellie’s 3-week long episode of snotty nose, coughing and off-and-on again fevers finally morphed into an ear infection. My own nearly month-long cold finally went away at 3pm today, 24 hours after starting antibiotics.

But there’s a bright, if academic, side: I learned something! For one of my classes this week, we were asked to research some clinical practice guidelines and evaluate their usefulness. I researched treatment algorithms for pediatric otitis media (ear infections) since I was a little suprised Ellie’s pediatrician put her on antibiotics. Algorithm says…pediatrician was right. Since she attends daycare, Ellie is considered a “high risk” ear infection case and the guidelines suggest antibiotics are needed.

I’m amazed to think that my 9-month-old has achieved high risk status at anything. They grow up so fast.

Most of all, it was so wonderful seeing all of our friends whom we miss very much. We’re very much in favor of the planned high-speed rail connection between the Cities and Chicago. Until then, we’re happy making the relatively short drive to Chicago, hopefully once a year (at least).

And Eleanor? She was happy as a (baby) clam with Lu and Aub, keeping to her naps and continuing her habit of sleeping 12 hours straight at night (I’ve just jinxed it, haven’t I?). We were certain she would start crawling while were gone. She didn’t, but she is oh so close. She did, however, learn how to shout, how to scoot about and how to refuse to wear socks. One of Emily’s friends offered the following interpretation: “First she tried to call you back home. When that didn’t work, she decided she’d come and find you herself so she could eat good food and dance barefoot on the tabletops. Go Eleanor!”

And, of course, a visit from Lu means a fantastic conversation. Those of you that know my mother know that she is nothing if not sincere. That might explain why her radar for sarcasm is non-existent, as evidenced by the following exchange which also captures my Dad’s spirit quite nicely:

Lucille, Aubrey, Emily and Daniel are watching the olympics on NBC when an ad comes on with Alec Baldwin in it. Aubrey, much to Daniel’s surprise, identifies Alec Baldwin.

Aubrey: That’s Alec Baldwin.

Emily: Yes it is.

Aubrey: We recently saw him in a movie with Meryl Streep*. Now what was it called? “Crazy Heart?”

Lucille: No, no. Not “Crazy Heart.”

Daniel: “Braveheart”?

Emily: (snort)

Lucille: No, no. Not “Braveheart.”

Daniel: “Schindler’s List”?

Emily: (SNORT)

Lucille: No, no. Not “Schindler’s List.”

Aubrey: What was it?

Emily: “It’s complicated.”

Aubrey: Yes. “Complicated.”

Perfect.

(Believe it or not, I didn’t take one picture in Chicago).

We watched a PBS documentary about the bombing of Germany in WWII and what I learned is that Eleanor looks like Dwight D. Eisenhower. I mean really, really looks like him.

So we’re calling her Ike. We’re a little disappointed she’s chosen to resemble a dead, male, Republican known as a “do-nothing” president who didn’t oppose McCarthyism but we love her no matter what. Kids!

Emily reads the tiny history of Tiny Shanty

Man I love this state. Yesterday, Emily, Dan H., Eleanor, Leo and I headed west of the Cities to Medicine Lake, the site of Art Shanty 2010:

“A four-weekend exhibition of performance, architecture, science, art, video, literature, survivalism and karaoke, ASP is part sculpture park, part artist residency and part social experiment, inspired by traditional ice fishing houses that dot the state’s lakes in winter.”

We walked out on the lake (the ice is about 24″ thick) toward a group of shanties, following a large Groundhog that was making its way toward a large Polar Bear (?), who was getting ready to distribute free cakes to the winners of a modified form of musical chairs. No cake for us I’m afraid. Undeterred, we made the rounds, visiting each shanty in turn, including the Tiny Shanty, the FantaShanty (complete with a taxidermied baby dear), the Black Bania (complete with a 97 degree sauna), and The Guerilla Shanty (where visitors were asked to teach the occupants something. Dan H.’s lesson, “If people tell you their baby is sleeping through the night, they’re lying.”) My favorite shanty, however,  was Dance Shanty wherein people simply danced. The best part of Dance Shanty was that whenever someone opened the door to come in everyone would go “Yay!” as though they had been waiting for you. That really cracked me up.

In an impressive display of Minnesota parenting, Dan H. fed Leo on the ice in sub-freezing temperatures:

We left our own mark at Art Shanty. Leo and Eleanor need to get married so we can pull this picture out at their wedding (look carefully now):

I was pleased as punch by the everything to that point. So you can imagine how thrilled I was to learn that they were selling hotdogs. My day was complete:

Self-portrait with hotdog

And so was Eleanor’s and Leo’s:

Art Shanty!

But we have managed to enjoy this month: we’ve skated, gone cross country skiing, Dan is playing hockey and Eleanor is no longer screaming when we put her in her little red sled. She even cracked a smile in the sled yesterday when Dan was making donuts with her while skating on the ice rink (and afterwards, she fell asleep in his arms while he was skating around and harassing me to learn cross overs). We make a lot of soup and hot chocolate.

February is an exciting month for us: we are going to Chicago and leaving the baby with Lu and Aubrey for 3 days. I have my first papers due and a “Nurse’s Day of Action” in St. Paul. P & V are visiting at the end of the month. I also start working at a local free clinic for the uninsured. We also have this giant 8-month-old who we get to cuddle and carry around and marvel at as she discovers her toys and the world around her and fine tunes her hatred of bearded men.

Because of my own difficulties in writing non-crap lyrics, I especially resent artists who seem to have no concern at all for the quality of their lyrics. For some time, I’ve been keeping track of lyrics that are so amazingly bad they make you laugh. One of my favorites is a classic. I really don’t like Bernie Taupin’s lyrics at the best of times, but he managed to outdo himself on Rocket Man:

Mars ain’t the kind of place to raise your kids//In fact it’s cold as hell//And there’s no one there to raise them if you did

I know what he’s getting at, but it’s painfully ungrammatical. But more to the point: isn’t the Rocket Man going to be there to raise his kids? Is he complaining that there aren’t babysitters or nannies on Mars to take care of the kids so he can go off and get some Martian tail? Go to the bar? What?!

A more recent favorite comes from the band I love to hate, Nickelback:

Look at this photograph//Everytime I do it makes me laugh//How did our eyes get so red?//And what the hell is on Joey’s head?

Gah! What the hell is on Joey’s head? Inquiring minds want to know. A fish? A hamster? A piece of bologna? What, dammit? For their next single, they’ll be setting the Dick & Jane books to music.

But, frankly, these all pale in comparison to what I think is the worst lyric of all time. Courtesy of Emerson, Lake and Palmer, this doozy comes midway through a fantastically bad musical “argument” for atheism called The Only Way (Hymn):

Can you believe, God makes you breathe?
Why did he lose six million Jews?

Yeah, they went there. I didn’t need convincing when I first heard this at 14. But if I did, this sophisticated piece of reasoning was not going to do it.

Well, I’m done. Now it’s your turn: what is the worst lyric you know? Do share.

Second, we just learned about another Northfield blog, Blowing and Drifting, written by a colleague at Carleton. Nice pictures of Northfield, amazingly detailed posts about cross country skiiing and notes/reflections on life with two kids. Perhaps this will be us in a few years time?

And Emily insists that I direct you to her favorite website I Can Has Cheezeburger?