Micah Update

Micah is once again able to be in the water, on the water, under the water.  Good news for Micah's summer.

Until September 21, when he will have surgery on his right ear to revise the scar tissue.  Not so good news, but the hearing tests he had at school and the appearance of the tympanic membrane give us two choices:  revision or hearing aid, and since Micah doesn't have a lot of cartilage to support a hearing aid, it would need to be one that sits in the ear canal.

So make a note, our new house's pool will be closing as of September 21. . . .

The surgical coordinator at the ENT's office was totally on her game: we walked out today with all of our forms, a surgery date appointments for a pre-op and one-week post-op appointment.  Back to Englewood Hospital, one more time on the first day of Fall 2010.

Addendum:  Just got the answer to a follow-up question, no additional donor skin needed for the revision surgery.  Yeah!  Micah's left leg graft site has developed a bit of a keloid, so I'm glad that he doesn't need to make another donation and risk another scar.

Happy Birthday, Aunt Mary

 This is my Aunt Mary.  I cannot remember any part of my life when I have not an Aunt Mary.  I have one American aunt, one German aunt - mine is not a big family, so by proximity alone she wins the aunt sweepstakes.  She joined the family by marriage, and our family was better because of her. She came to concerts, first communion, family dinners and barbecues.  She died in December 2009 and I have been meaning to write something about her for months.

Her home was where we always went for Christmas dinner.  When I was young, she had a silver foil Christmas tree that had a light that sat on the floor and switched from red to yellow to green to blue.  It was very, very cool.  She had a wall removed between her living room and a third bedroom to accommodate an expandable table and an enlarging family, long before remakes and remodels came to cable TV.

Aunt Mary gave me my very first magazine subscription for Christmas in 1971, and in late December of that year, the January 1972 issue arrived with my name on the wrapper.  In February 1972 the cover article was on Maryland.  In May 1974, all of the issues I had received went in a box that went to our new home in Illinois, and in 1981, all of those issue and more went back in boxes to move back to Maryland.

Aunt Mary got us interested in candle-making when I was in sixth grade or so, though I don't remember what the spark that started this project.  She invited my mother, brother and me to her home and we melted blocks of wax, added colors, poured it into milk cartons with or without crushed ice and made candles.  And when a pot of melted wax spilled down my corduroy pants, she barely batted an eye (I didn't like those pants anyway.)  My teacher, Sunday School teacher and choir director (junior choir was not terribly interested in actual singing ability) received candles that Christmas.  After that, I remember going to the craft store at Prince George's Plaza with my best friend and using a hot plate in our basement to make more candles using a hot plate.  No crayon in either of our houses was safe because it was cheaper than buying blocks of colored wax to add color to our candles.

Aunt Mary took me to the theater for several birthdays when I was in junior high.  The last play we went to we picked because of the name:  Don't Bother Me, I Can't Cope at Ford's Theater.  Theater was cultural, the location was educational, so it was totally something that Aunt Mary truly believed in.  This was long before electronic media with theater reviews at our fingertip, there may have been a review in the Washington Post  or the Star, but we missed it.  The title just sounded like it should be entertaining.

Despite the catchy title, as plays or musicals go, it was a little dull even though it seems a bit like a church revival meeting.  And in DC, only five to six years after the riots hat followed Martin Luther King, Jr.'s assassination, Aunt Mary and I were the only to Caucasians in the audience, and if I am garden-variety Caucasian, Aunt Mary was practically bio-luminescent with her pale skin and salt-and-pepper hair. 

When I graduated from high school in Illinois in 1978, Aunt Mary was there.  She flew in less than two weeks after the birth of her second grandchild.  She was interested in visiting the Bahai'i Temple in Evanston, and she was willing to trust her life to a 17 year old (me) who had just gotten her driver's license a mere ten days before graduation to drive her from Bolingbrook, up Interstate 55, onto Lake Shore Drive, and up to Evanston.  The pursuit of a new cultural and educational experience was worth the risk of spending time in a car who had spent less than 15 minutes total driving on the interstate and who didn't really like driving on Lake Shore Drive as a passenger much less being behind the wheel.

On the morning after my high school graduation, when I came creeping home at around 6 am, the car driving me home passing my father's Volkswagen Beetle cruising down Galahad Road in the opposite direction and me diving down for cover.  (My mother had locked my bedroom door to cover for me with Dad.)  My mother trusted me and assumed that the adolescent who had given her absolutely no cause for worry was just spending time with friends.

While my mother was taking my brother to school, I sat at the kitchen table with Aunt Mary and briefed her as to where we'd gone after the graduation party. My three friends and I had gotten invited to one of the much cooler graduate's graduation night party, someone had a car and the bright idea of driving 50 miles or so into Chicago to the lakefront.  We wound up near Adler Planetarium, walking around when a boat came close by on Monroe Harbor, we were whooping and hollering for them to congratulate us.  The boat motored over to closer to the group, and the three or so people on board offered a ride, which my friend Barb and two of the guys accepted.  The boat took off across the harbor and then the engine just. . . .died out, putt, putt, putt nothing.  The six or seven of us left behind were a little concerned, and since the boat was just bobbing out there with our imaginations running wild on land, we flagged down a Chicago police car.  Who then radioed the Harbor Patrol.  Who then contacted the Coast Guard.  And in the pre-dawn hours of June 29, the boat was towed back and our friends returned to us.  We all nodded vigorously when the police officer asked if we were over eighteen, and luck stayed with us because he did not ask for identification to prove it.  We stopped at the White Castle for sliders to celebrate our relief.

I think I finally told my mother that story when I was in my thirties.  Aunt Mary kept my secret for more than 15 years. I still remember her listening to me tell of the adventure, which was much funnier in the re-telling than it was in the actual experience.  The look on her face was priceless.

Aunt Mary loved learning, she had traveled to Greece, and when I was in college she was more interested in the Classical Civilization courses I took than I was, and the books I had to buy for that class probably got more use in her hands than mine.  I still get a nervous twitch thinking about whether Middle Minoan I comes before or after Middle Helladic II.

I don't remember when Aunt Mary began quilting, but two of her quilts are in my home.  The first was a complete surprise for my BSN graduation in December 1997; the second was a wall-hanging that was a wedding present.  She was meticulous, a quiet perfectionist and her attention to detail came out in the precision of her cutting and sewing. I am glad that I asked her to sign that quilt so I could embroider her name and have both one of her quilts and an exemplar of her perfect penmanship.

She loved hearing about trips I took for work, and was particularly interested in our adoption trips to China.  She loved my kids, and Micah's journey to language and hearing fascinated her.

There is much more to my Aunt Mary memory quilt than these, but  these are the ones that have stuck with me the longest.  June 25th is her birthday, and since that was the day she came in to the world and her life started its trajectory that would intersect with mine, this is the day I prefer to remember.  Happy Birthday, Aunt Mary.  I hope that you're having travel adventures, eating whatever you like and doing the occasional crossword puzzle to stay sharp.

Graduation Day Photos

Summit Speech School

Graduation

June 21, 2010

Marching in to graduation with Angelina (note hand on hip).

On stage with Olyvia and Wesley

Singing his heart out.

Along came Mr. Alligator quiet as can be, and SNAPPED. . . .

Miss Kaitlyn, the student teacher in Micah's class this spring;
Micah loves her.

When she finished her student teaching, Micah said,
"Miss Kaitlyn went back to college.  

Do you know what college is, Mommy?
It's a little like JAIL."

My favorite animal is. . . . A FLAMINGO, because of the way it walks.

Some days, getting a decent group photo is like herding cats.

The little twerp was not willing to put his mortarboard back on for photos.

Graduation Day

Micah has graduated, his 15 months at Summit Speech School have come to an end. 

And the good thing is that he behaved while marching in (with one hand on his hip, the other holding his partners hand) and while on stage.  He sang all three of the songs with the hand motions and when it was his turn at the microphone, he responded to the questions of how old is he and what is his favorite animal and why (four, and flamingo because of the way it walks) without being a goofball or uttering the word 'poop' or 'poopy' as part of the response.

He went to the persons presenting the certificates and shook hands, and then took a carnation from his teacher and brought it to me with his certificate, giving me a big hug.  I was so proud of him and how far he's come.

The school's director gave a speech that sounded a little bit like previous years:  graduation is more for the parents who have moved through learning their children were deaf or hearing impaired, the grief and uncertainty, getting help, having the children enter the programs at Summit and making it to this day.  Since Micah was chosen by us, microtia, atresia and all, it didn't feel like I was the intended audience.  No grief, no shock, it was more of a question of locating and accessing the resources to help him.

Micah wore a little white mortar board with an orange tassel, which he didn't want to put back on for pictures.  His teacher put together a photo album for each graduate along with a CD of the slide show of the school year.  We also got a packet of information for Micah's next speech therapist.  It was all really nice - I almost forgot for a few moment that all of the stuff would need to be packed up - including the giant monkey with "Congratulations Micah" that was hanging on the wall in the auditorium.

Congratulations to my big boy, who want from 'up' to talking in sentences and paragraphs in 35 months and thanks to the many people who played a part.

Tomorrow it's off to camp at Princeton Friends for both kids, summer has begun.

YingHua's End-of-School-Year Celebration

We are now parents of a second-grader.  Thea's school had its close of school year celebration yesterday.  Below are photos of some photos of the occasion, I wanted to get as many of the teachers who made the year such a great experience for her:

Packing Weekend Redux

As if giving up one weekend to packing up the house wasn't punishment enough, this weekend was again devoted to the greater glorification of the cardboard box, with a packing tape chaser.  I am sporting a Sharpie marker clipped to my shirt accessorized by a packing tape roll bracelet.  A Glamor Don't.

But we have more time to devote to this chore because we don't have a set closing date for our current house.

Why you ask?

Demon-Spawn Home Buyer from Hell took her sweet time applying for her mortgage while she was attempting to shake us down for every last credit she could wring out of Steve, so her lender's appraiser didn't get his evaluation of our house done until last Wednesday.

The lender who is also swamped with thousands of other schmucks who are trying to close on their homes before the June 30th deadline for getting the tax credit and the lender is not feeling particularly compelled to act any faster than it normally would.

So instead of  pack/load/move dates of 22nd/23rd/24th, we are now looking at 25th/28th/29th.  God willing and we get a closing date this week.

I hate the DSHBfH and am very thankful my presence is not needed at the closing.  I am happy she is buying this house, but if I meteor could strike her without damaging the surrounding neighbors reducing her to a smoldering heap of carbon. . . . .good times.

And now on a positive note, older child's school had its end of year celebration yesterday, which was a showcase of the children's work, a tea ceremony, a giving of gifts (the youngest children in the school received a gift made by a child in the next grade and so on, until Thea's grade where teachers gave a present; Thea's 1st grade teacher, Li Laoshi was the one to give her a present.)  I got a lot of photos and have put them on Facebook, I'll get some put on the blog eventually.

 What those of us who were not in the cardboard jungle were doing on Sunday afternoon.  Micah, Mary, Thea at the FunPlex

Today the kids and I went out early to get coffee and donuts (and hash browns) at Dunkin Donuts for Fathers' Day.  Steve got an extra hour of sleep, Micah found out that he likes D-n-D's hash brown nuggets and I dropped off a bag of clothes at the bin next to Speedy Mart where I buy the New York Times.  The owner was shocked to see me so early, I usually pick up a paper in the early afternoon.

Tomorrow we have Micah's graduation at 10 am, and then it's officially summer.

And at 11:50 pm tomorrow night I turn 50.  Eeew.  I don't feel 50. My thumb joints, my left lateral epicondyle, and my left biceps tendon feel like they are 80+ from overuse, but the rest of me does not feel 50.

Back to the boxes. . .

Packing Weekend

I literally have not left the house since I came home from work on Friday.  No trips to the store, the post office or anywhere else.

I have packed boxes for two days.  33 boxes by my count, though the count sort of changes depending on whether I remember the box on the ottoman on the landing and the one booby-trapping the path to Micah's bed.

Every time I thought I had packed the last book, another stash materialized.  Right now the only books remaining are the cookbooks in the kitchen, The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet's Nest and the next book on my to-read list.

But according to the guy who estimated how many barrels, cartons and other means of getting our household from Princeton to Plainsboro, 33 is a barely scratching the surface, and I am beginning to believe him.

Saturday, Thea and Micah went off to the boardwalk in Point Pleasant with their aunt, coming home with armloads of prize they had one.  More stuff for me to pack.  Six hours free to stuff boxes: fantastic, more toys to pack: not so fantastic.

When cardboard fatigue set in, I got online and put in change of addresses with journals, magazines, professional associations, licensing boards, banks and so on and so on.  The whole weekend was like a root canal that went on for 48 hours.

Micah's Ear Update, 2nd Verse

Another rainy ride up the NJ Turnpike to Englewood to see Micah's ENT.  He's now almost three months post-op from having his left atresia repair, ten months out from the right atresia surgery.

But for the past two visits, the right ear, which is almost ten months out from surgery, has been the focus.  After the May appointment we had to start putting the Tobradex drops in his right canal daily, and we had to give him children's Claritin in addition to the Sudafed to control the fluid that was behind the ear drum.

And today after cleaning out the debris from the canals, Micah's doctor re-inserted a sponge stent in his right ear.  This is an automatic banishment from immersing his head in the bathtub or the pool for three more weeks.

Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn.

The silver lining is that the left ear is doing great.

The other part of the silver lining is that Micah sat in the exam chair and the doctor inserted an ear specula in the canal and used a tiny alligator clamp to pull out the debris and I sat in the chair four or five feet away.  No head-holding, no hand-holding.  He was a total pro- a few giggles and lots of talking ("Can I put my head in the wah-tuh now? over and over.)

I'm probably more bothered by the re-stenting than he is.

Micah's graduation from Summit Speech School is twelve days away.  We're moving in 13 days.  Other than the stuff already packed and in storage, nothing has been packed, so we are so behind the eight ball.

And I booked the same beach house we stayed at in 2005 and 2007 in Bethany for late August.  I hope that Micah's right ear will get its act together by then.  Fingers crossed.

Memorial Day

 Ready for the pool. . . .

 You can't show this photo to anyone but family. . . .

wounds courtesy of a Friday afternoon bike ride.

 This is my swimming cap.

 Photos take by the big sister, always on the lookout for a flattering shot.

 It's Memorial Day weekend for most of the U.S. - around here it's Reunions Weekend for Princeton University, which like Alumni Day at Penn, occurs the weekend prior to graduation.  For me, it means avoid town at all costs because other than less parking, more people, it's Orange, Black and tiger stripes everywhere.  Those colors are great for Hallowe'en but on a bright, sunny spring weekend, it just looks garish.

Yesterday I went into town, fool that I am, to drop of Steve's watch at a jeweler's on Nassau Street.  Karma was on my side and I got a spot in the public parking garage and was in and out of the jeweler's in less than thirty minutes (free parking!).

Today Steve wanted to take Thea to the Princeton Community Pool and I wanted to go to a 3:30 pm meeting for the second-grade curriculum at the charter school that Thea will be attending in the fall.  So we got a bit creative so that Micah could go to the pool which involved the following steps:

1. threaten the child to within an inch of his life about not putting his head under water;
2. use up some of the leftover Tegaderm used for Micah's skin graft sites to cover his left ear canal;
3. tape it down for good measure;
4. send husband to pool supply store for bathing cap to cover the whole shebang;
5. pray, and hope that Micah's ENT does not read this blog.

And all turned out well, children got to go to the pool, Micah obeyed the rules and both are on their way to becoming my little nut brown babies.  These children could tan under a light bulb.

I brought home corn, and both kids went out to the front steps and shucked it all, on their own.  No squabbles.  Then Micah went out for a bike ride with Steve while Thea and I made dinner.

And then Micah passed out, just as the corn was being put on the table.  Cold, immovable.  I got one floret of broccoli in his mouth.

Thea's reading her library book, Steve tried interesting her in the original Star Wars, but she kept asking, "Is that a clone?", "Where are the clones?"   Generational thing, Han Solo and Jabba the Hutt failed to draw her in.