Tell You [a] Little Story

"This is your second?" she asks when we walk in with Isaac. " It's number four," I tell the ultrasound technician. "We have three boys." "Well, we already know what this one will be, don't we?" she asks as the first images of our baby flash onto the monitor. "Do you know already?" I wonder. "No. But I would bet money on it being a boy. When you have three of the same thing, it's almost always the same for the next. Almost a sure thing." She takes her time. Our baby's heart. It has 4 chambers! The liver. The kidneys. She measure the spine. Two legs, two feet. One arm that's visible. The other is folded close to its chest. A measurement of the brain. The baby weighs 1/2 pound already! (I groan inwardly--those other 17 1/2 pounds are all mine??) There's a spleen, an esophagus. Not really -- we don't get that detailed, but it sure seems to be taking a long time. I wait patiently. Our baby appears to

Today the slowest garage door installer on the planet spent ten whopping hours at my house. At one point he asked to use the bathroom, came out and said the toilet had overflowed--he claimed he had just flushed what was already in it and blamed it on my kids. I hope he's right. Then he went to plug in the opener, and there was no power to the outlet. Since we had just had an electrician install the outlet last week, I of course called the guy and he came right over. Prompt serviceman, our electrician. And friendly, too. We met him for the first time last week. Today when he came, we had a conversation that went like this: Ben the electrician: Well, I'll have to fix a wire that has been damaged. I'm totally booked tomorrow and Saturday, and Sunday is my birthday, and my kid's. Me: Oh, that's fine. Monday will be great. Bte: Yeah, Sunday's my birthday, otherwise I would come then. We're having a. . . Hey! I wanted to invite you. . . . Do you guys have a fax ma

Chew on this.

Saturday. Getting my house ready for hosting a bridal shower. What's that noise? It's the bulk trash pick-up. Already! I thought they were coming on Monday. Oh good. They are starting on the other street first. We still have time. If we don't get this old desk out there now, we will be stuck with it in our bedroom for three more months. Here, honey, help me carry it out. Dump all the drawers out, we can organize it later. Better yet, just pull the whole drawers out. Let's just get the desk out there right away. Whew! Good thing we got rid of the desk and our ugly couch. Monday. Finally getting around to stack of paperwork to register Aaron for kindergarten. Registration form, check. Primary language survey, check. Proof of residence, check. Emergency card, check. Screening for possible handicapping condition, check. Referral for assessment of special health care services, check. Health history, check. Documentation for varicella, check. Immunization record. Put the pape

I'm leaving in 11 days. I want to be a part of it. New York, New York! Question: if YOU had parts of three days to spend in NYC, what would you do? Where would you go? Where would you suggest that Steve and I go, assuming that we are already over the Statue of Liberty thing, without ever having seen it? Any amazing restaurants that are not to be missed? The best show to see that is likely to still have tickets available? I am planning our itinerary and need some input. Ditto for Philadelphia.

The most enjoyable thing I've read in a long, long time. Granted, I have an interest in cultural ethnographies, I appreciate the occasional I-have-so-much guilt trip (oh! a good broadening of my perspective!), and I very much enjoy articulate, journalistic style writing of any sort. So it follows that I would like a book that is (kind of) about abject poverty in Haiti and a man who made it his business to help. Well, really, it's about a doctor named Paul Farmer and how he juxtaposes treating patients on an intimate, one-on-one basis--particularly in rural, miserable central Haiti--and curing the world of drug-resistant tuberculosis and AIDS as well as general oppression of the poor. He's remarkably good on both fronts. The writing is honest, or if it isn't, Kidder is good at earning the reader's trust. The book is philosophical, political. It is inspiring and depressing. It is well-researched and very well-written. It may make you want to go to medical school (not

I'm in Washington state, where the Burgerville burgers are fantastic and the trees are abundant. It is beautiful here. There was some question about whether we would ever actually arrive, after we boarded a plane, deboarded, waited, got on another plane, took off, flew for almost an hour, turned back to Phoenix, deboarded yet again, and got onto a third plane. We had arrived at the airport for our original departure at 6 pm and didn't (really) leave until 11:30. AHHH! Arrival in Portland: 2:30 am. This week was also memorable because I made some delightful new frie nds , whom I can't stop talking about. And, I acquired an abrasion on my cornea, which made light the enemy for far too long, and made me, once again, grateful for eyesight, which I shall not be taking for granted for a long time to come. Soon I will revisit the blogging habit, and write something of significance.