Drew and I have been talked in to attending a Halloween bash at our friend Charon's country club this coming Friday night. So, on Saturday, Charon, her son Cameron, Drew, Rachel and I all trooped to a costume store in Alexandria. Drew, wisely, flagged it because it was a theatrical store as opposed to someplace like Party City, which has cheap costumes that are uncomfortable and that Rachel wouldn't even wear last year.
We were not disappointed. Rachel sat glumly watching us as we all tried on costumes, because Drew had told her that he'd already bought her a waitress costume for her birthday and to not expect us to buy her one this time. After a couple of false starts, Charon, Drew and I came up with a group theme -- King Henry the VIII and two of his wives (she and I may end up carrying the severed heads of two of the wives he beheaded). We had originally thought of going as Brigham Young and two of his many wives, with Drew carrying the Book of Mormon, but we couldn't find costumes that weren't unbearably frumpy. Whereas there is a big selection of Renaissance-era costumes. I'm wearing a tight velvet purple number, which will keep me nice and warm; Drew looks fabulous as a king; Charon will order something off the Internet, and we relented and bought Rachel a pirate fairy costume that she looks AWESOME in.
I'm actually getting excited for this party -- I think I may even go to a salon and get my hair braided and pinned up for the occasion.
We ran a couple of errands, took Rachel to her friend Libby's for a playdate, and then I raced out to L.L. Bean and bought some rain gear because we're getting a lot of precipitation lately and it comes down in waves, which means I can't get away with sneakers and an inadequate coat like I had in Oregon. Still have to run more errands (as I told Drew, the more I get done, the more I see that needs doing. Sigh), but it was a fruitful afternoon. Last night Drew heated up some Giordano's Pizza he had brought back from his conference in Chicago, and then he, Rachel and I all watched an American Girl movie about bullying (I winced and cried silently throughout), put Rachel to bed -- and then Drew and I continued watching "House of Cards." We hope to get caught up by the time the new season starts next January or so.
Sunday, October 19, 2014
Sunday, October 12, 2014
The adventures of two guinea pigs (as I remember it a day later)
Once upon a time there were two guinea pigs named Courtney and Chrissie. Courtney was brown, and Chrissie was black with white stripes. They were owned by a very evil circus ringmaster, who always tried to get them to perform tricks. He'd shout "Stand on your hind legs!" "Talk!" "Say something!" and the guinea pigs could only look and him with their vacant eyes like they were saying, "Huh?" So, one day, the ringmaster said the circus was going broke and he could no longer afford to feed them anymore, and so when the circus left town he abandoned them.
A little girl named Carrie found them. She was an only child with older parents, and she had been wanting a pet for a while, and her parents said she could keep the guinea pigs. But Carrie was only 4, and she didn't know how to take care of the pigs. Plus, they were messy, and taking care of them was hard, and her parents said she needed to give the pigs away until she was old enough to take care of a pet on her own. (And, in fact, that happened -- she eventually got a cat, Sabrina, who lived for such a long time that she went to college with Carrie). So, Carrie took the guinea pigs around the neighborhood and asked who would take them in. Finally she arrived at the house of a piano teacher, Madame Souzatska. Madame Souzatska had lived in Russia and been very rich; she had a fine house, with a pool, and beautiful furnishings and gardens, and had been married to a Russian nobleman. But she was a great piano player and had given concerts, until her husband went off to fight in the war and disappeared, so she had to flee from her house and come to America, and the only thing she could do was play the piano, so she decided to support herself by being a piano teacher. She had never married again and never had children, so she was overjoyed when Carrie brought over the guinea pigs and said, in a heavy Russian accent, "Ach! Yes, I will be glad to take care of these guinea pigs, they are so much nicer than hamsters, that bite, yes! Yes!" And so she placed Courtney and Chrissie in the corner of the room where she gave piano lessons, and the pigs stayed there for many years.
Eventually Madame Souzatska got too old to give lessons and realized she had to find a good home for the guinea pigs, so she turned to an adult pupil of hers named Simon, who was a scientist but took piano lessons on the side. He agreed to take them. One day, he heard Chrissie try to speak. "Hello!" she squeaked. "How do you know how to talk?!" he exclaimed. "Magic!" she squeaked, and then explained that she and Courtney had lived in another world, and that there was fighting going on, and the leader of their world had turned them from girls into guinea pigs because he wanted to protect them and were afraid that if they told anyone where they were from, they'd give away the secret of the different world they lived in. So that's how they got to be acquired by the evil ringmaster. Simon asked if they wanted to be turned back into little girls again, and they said no.
So, they lived with Simon for many years. One day, two little girls knocked on his door, asking him if he wanted to buy cookies. He said no, but he let them inside and they oohed and ahhed over the pigs. They were with their mom, and when their mom saw the pigs, she recognized them. It was Carrie! She was all grown up and a mom herself...and so the pigs came full circle from their time with the evil ringmaster, to Carrie, to Madame Souzatska, to Simon and back to Carrie.
A little girl named Carrie found them. She was an only child with older parents, and she had been wanting a pet for a while, and her parents said she could keep the guinea pigs. But Carrie was only 4, and she didn't know how to take care of the pigs. Plus, they were messy, and taking care of them was hard, and her parents said she needed to give the pigs away until she was old enough to take care of a pet on her own. (And, in fact, that happened -- she eventually got a cat, Sabrina, who lived for such a long time that she went to college with Carrie). So, Carrie took the guinea pigs around the neighborhood and asked who would take them in. Finally she arrived at the house of a piano teacher, Madame Souzatska. Madame Souzatska had lived in Russia and been very rich; she had a fine house, with a pool, and beautiful furnishings and gardens, and had been married to a Russian nobleman. But she was a great piano player and had given concerts, until her husband went off to fight in the war and disappeared, so she had to flee from her house and come to America, and the only thing she could do was play the piano, so she decided to support herself by being a piano teacher. She had never married again and never had children, so she was overjoyed when Carrie brought over the guinea pigs and said, in a heavy Russian accent, "Ach! Yes, I will be glad to take care of these guinea pigs, they are so much nicer than hamsters, that bite, yes! Yes!" And so she placed Courtney and Chrissie in the corner of the room where she gave piano lessons, and the pigs stayed there for many years.
Eventually Madame Souzatska got too old to give lessons and realized she had to find a good home for the guinea pigs, so she turned to an adult pupil of hers named Simon, who was a scientist but took piano lessons on the side. He agreed to take them. One day, he heard Chrissie try to speak. "Hello!" she squeaked. "How do you know how to talk?!" he exclaimed. "Magic!" she squeaked, and then explained that she and Courtney had lived in another world, and that there was fighting going on, and the leader of their world had turned them from girls into guinea pigs because he wanted to protect them and were afraid that if they told anyone where they were from, they'd give away the secret of the different world they lived in. So that's how they got to be acquired by the evil ringmaster. Simon asked if they wanted to be turned back into little girls again, and they said no.
So, they lived with Simon for many years. One day, two little girls knocked on his door, asking him if he wanted to buy cookies. He said no, but he let them inside and they oohed and ahhed over the pigs. They were with their mom, and when their mom saw the pigs, she recognized them. It was Carrie! She was all grown up and a mom herself...and so the pigs came full circle from their time with the evil ringmaster, to Carrie, to Madame Souzatska, to Simon and back to Carrie.
Weekend getaway
Spent a weekend in the mountains of Maryland at the cabin of my college roommate, Charon, and her 8-year-old son, Cameron (who Rachel calls "Cammy"). Some highlights (or lowlights, as you shall see):
--It was raining when we went up there. We were prepared for it, but it didn't make Friday (the day we left) any more promising. The kids got whiny toward late afternoon, and Drew told Rachel that if he heard two words -- "I want" -- one more time, that would be a sure way of her NOT getting what she wanted. That seemed to impress her. Drew was cranky because of lack of sleep and of what he felt was being rushed through antique stores (where I saw about $2,000 worth of furniture that would look gorgeous in a guest room, except that we don't have the space), I was cranky because I was determined to enjoy this little mini-vacation. We ended up at a restaurant where I ordered the most god-awful steak I've ever eaten in my life (but an awesome apple and caramel flavored martini, which helped), and Drew graciously offered to trade his burger for my steak. So, not a total loss. We all went home, got the kids to bed, got ourselves to bed around 11 p.m., only to be woken up at 5:30 a.m. by the LOUD sound of children's voices, and I thought I'd go out of my mind if I had a second day of no sleep. Could it get worse? Yes, indeedy, it could!
--After we were forced out of bed, Drew went downstairs to the basement to take a shower, and Rachel and I cuddled in the huge king-sized bed where we were sleeping. I reminded her of the time she had accidentally (I assume) punched me in the eye in her sleep while we were at Grandma and Grandpa's house for Rosh Hashanah, and she proceeded to demonstrate what she had done, and then poked me in the breast by accident, and when I shrieked, "OW!!!" she got off the bed in a huff, grabbed her crutches and tried to go down the stairs -- and proceeded to FALL ALL THE WAY DOWN AND LAND SMACK ON THE SIDE OF HER FACE ON THE SLATE FLOOR. I will never forget her shrieks of agony, which sent Charon and I running up to her. I threw aside her crutches and carried her back upstairs (the staircase is unusually narrow), and asked Charon, who was on the verge of crying, if she had any ice. No. Well then, I said, trying to stay calm, how about putting cold water on a bunch of towels? Rachel had a nickel-sized gash near her right eye and she was moaning in agony about a bruised wrist, and all the while she kept apologizing and sobbing, "You're the best mommy in the world," and I was trying mightily not to scold her for trying to use her crutches on the stairs (which we have told her over and over not to do), and then Drew came upstairs, and the drama continued (he did, in fact, scold her), and I almost started crying when I noticed a huge egg-like bump protruding from Rachel's forehead; it looked like an abnormal growth), and then he and Charon talked about what hospitals or clinics or doctor's offices would be open in rural Maryland on a Saturday, and then he, Charon and Cameron all went to Rite-Aid and brought back ice packs, ibuprofin and Band-Aids. Meanwhile, I got back into bed next to Rachel and she asked me to tell her a story, and I told her a long, involved story about the adventures of two guinea pigs (Courtney and Chrissy, the names of the guinea pigs Drew and I had in St. Paul), and she fell asleep halfway through. Cameron had thoughtfully brought Rachel back a get-well card with a kitten on it.
--So, Rachel insisted she was fine, and we all got ourselves dressed to go to the Garrett County Autumn Glory parade, which was a pretty good one as parades go. It had been steadily drizzling all morning, right up until the start of the parade, but luckily the worst of it held off during the actual parade, which was full of bands and princesses and Shriners and acrobats. Cameron let Rachel sit in his little folding chair, so she got a fine view of the festivities. Then we went to an antiques show at the local armory, which we had to pay to get into and it wasn't very good -- and poor Rachel was so tuckered out that she fell asleep on my (and then Drew's) lap. We took the shuttle bus back to the parking lot, then raced to the county fairgrounds to catch the last of what turned out to be a great crafts festival. I bought pumpkin fudge (out of this world), an alpaca hat, some jewelry and some lovely bath salts to use on my hands to make them soft and smooth. The day was definitely looking up at this point, plus the sun had come out. Then we went to a great buffet restaurant, Penn Alps, for dinner, got the kids home and then Drew, Charon and I discussed what our costumes will be for the Halloween party at Charon's country club in two weeks. And then it was time for bed. Luckily the children were quiet this morning, Rachel's wrist seems to be okay for the moment, and we left around 10 a.m.
I am calling a moratorium on any more Rachel accidents for the rest of the year.
--It was raining when we went up there. We were prepared for it, but it didn't make Friday (the day we left) any more promising. The kids got whiny toward late afternoon, and Drew told Rachel that if he heard two words -- "I want" -- one more time, that would be a sure way of her NOT getting what she wanted. That seemed to impress her. Drew was cranky because of lack of sleep and of what he felt was being rushed through antique stores (where I saw about $2,000 worth of furniture that would look gorgeous in a guest room, except that we don't have the space), I was cranky because I was determined to enjoy this little mini-vacation. We ended up at a restaurant where I ordered the most god-awful steak I've ever eaten in my life (but an awesome apple and caramel flavored martini, which helped), and Drew graciously offered to trade his burger for my steak. So, not a total loss. We all went home, got the kids to bed, got ourselves to bed around 11 p.m., only to be woken up at 5:30 a.m. by the LOUD sound of children's voices, and I thought I'd go out of my mind if I had a second day of no sleep. Could it get worse? Yes, indeedy, it could!
--After we were forced out of bed, Drew went downstairs to the basement to take a shower, and Rachel and I cuddled in the huge king-sized bed where we were sleeping. I reminded her of the time she had accidentally (I assume) punched me in the eye in her sleep while we were at Grandma and Grandpa's house for Rosh Hashanah, and she proceeded to demonstrate what she had done, and then poked me in the breast by accident, and when I shrieked, "OW!!!" she got off the bed in a huff, grabbed her crutches and tried to go down the stairs -- and proceeded to FALL ALL THE WAY DOWN AND LAND SMACK ON THE SIDE OF HER FACE ON THE SLATE FLOOR. I will never forget her shrieks of agony, which sent Charon and I running up to her. I threw aside her crutches and carried her back upstairs (the staircase is unusually narrow), and asked Charon, who was on the verge of crying, if she had any ice. No. Well then, I said, trying to stay calm, how about putting cold water on a bunch of towels? Rachel had a nickel-sized gash near her right eye and she was moaning in agony about a bruised wrist, and all the while she kept apologizing and sobbing, "You're the best mommy in the world," and I was trying mightily not to scold her for trying to use her crutches on the stairs (which we have told her over and over not to do), and then Drew came upstairs, and the drama continued (he did, in fact, scold her), and I almost started crying when I noticed a huge egg-like bump protruding from Rachel's forehead; it looked like an abnormal growth), and then he and Charon talked about what hospitals or clinics or doctor's offices would be open in rural Maryland on a Saturday, and then he, Charon and Cameron all went to Rite-Aid and brought back ice packs, ibuprofin and Band-Aids. Meanwhile, I got back into bed next to Rachel and she asked me to tell her a story, and I told her a long, involved story about the adventures of two guinea pigs (Courtney and Chrissy, the names of the guinea pigs Drew and I had in St. Paul), and she fell asleep halfway through. Cameron had thoughtfully brought Rachel back a get-well card with a kitten on it.
--So, Rachel insisted she was fine, and we all got ourselves dressed to go to the Garrett County Autumn Glory parade, which was a pretty good one as parades go. It had been steadily drizzling all morning, right up until the start of the parade, but luckily the worst of it held off during the actual parade, which was full of bands and princesses and Shriners and acrobats. Cameron let Rachel sit in his little folding chair, so she got a fine view of the festivities. Then we went to an antiques show at the local armory, which we had to pay to get into and it wasn't very good -- and poor Rachel was so tuckered out that she fell asleep on my (and then Drew's) lap. We took the shuttle bus back to the parking lot, then raced to the county fairgrounds to catch the last of what turned out to be a great crafts festival. I bought pumpkin fudge (out of this world), an alpaca hat, some jewelry and some lovely bath salts to use on my hands to make them soft and smooth. The day was definitely looking up at this point, plus the sun had come out. Then we went to a great buffet restaurant, Penn Alps, for dinner, got the kids home and then Drew, Charon and I discussed what our costumes will be for the Halloween party at Charon's country club in two weeks. And then it was time for bed. Luckily the children were quiet this morning, Rachel's wrist seems to be okay for the moment, and we left around 10 a.m.
I am calling a moratorium on any more Rachel accidents for the rest of the year.
Thursday, October 9, 2014
Why Rachel likes certain books
...because they have Jewish characters, apparently. Of the "American Girl" series of books, she really focused on Rebecca, a Jewish girl who becomes active in the union movement in NYC in the early part of the 20th century.
And today, she was devouring a book about a girl who has the ability to time-travel with her family. "I like this book because Mila (the main character) is Jewish," she said cheerfully.
When I was a kid, I read a wonderful series of books called "All-of-a-Kind Family," about a family with multiple daughters growing up on the Lower East Side around the 1900s. I told Rachel about those books today, and now I need to find out of they're still in print. If so, I intend to buy her every single one.
And today, she was devouring a book about a girl who has the ability to time-travel with her family. "I like this book because Mila (the main character) is Jewish," she said cheerfully.
When I was a kid, I read a wonderful series of books called "All-of-a-Kind Family," about a family with multiple daughters growing up on the Lower East Side around the 1900s. I told Rachel about those books today, and now I need to find out of they're still in print. If so, I intend to buy her every single one.
Parent-teacher conferences
So, today was the long-awaited (by me, anyway) parent-teacher conference with Rachel's first-grade teacher, Mrs. McAdam. Drew asked Rachel if there was anything SHE wanted to tell her teacher.
She replied: "I need more challenging math homework!"
Okay, then.
In a word, the conference was stunning.
"Rachel is super-smart," Mrs. McAdam said flatly. "Everybody loves Rachel. She's solid. They trust her. Everyone wants to help her" with her crutches, the teacher said, so she has chosen the kids who can help Rachel with various tasks instead of making Rachel choose, which -- considering Rachel's desire not to hurt anyone's feelings -- was a smart idea.
So, on to the progress report. In math, she was tested in the first weeks of school and scored 80 percent. That means she knows 80 percent of the ENTIRE FIRST-GRADE MATH CURRICULUM.
In reading, she is completely accurately reading at a third-grade level and her comprehension extends to fifth-grade reading. For oral reading in context (at the 5th-grade level) she scored a 99 percent for accuracy, a 3 out of 3 for fluency, and a 4 out of 6 for comprehension. Mrs. McAdam said she won't even bother testing Rachel in the middle of the year and instead will wait until the end of 1st grade to do another reading test.
The school has a gifted and talented resource teacher, Mr. Trainor, and Mrs. McAdam says he will be working with some of the students who, like Rachel scored 80 percent in math. She won't be eligible for full gifted and talented services until next year, but I'm hoping that she'll be able to at least do some things this year. Mrs. McAdam promised to send home a "challenge" math packet soon, so Rachel can do extra work. And Drew has been very good about getting her BrainQuest cards and math workbooks (she's already using a 2nd-grade math workbook), so we'll just continue that.
Bottom line: Our little girl is very, very bright, and it's not just we who think so. My one concern is that I want to make sure the school system is equipped to challenge her; at least Mrs. McAdam recognizes this is important, so hopefully Rachel will still continue to enjoy school. We told Mrs. McAdam that Rachel loves to learn -- she has a rage for it, actually -- and we're hoping Mrs. McAdam is so charmed by that that she'll make sure she continues to advance exponentially.
Needless to say, I am very proud of her. But perhaps the best comment today came from Mom, who said, "Give Rachel a hug and kiss and tell her we're very proud of her. But not because she's smart. Because she's RACHEL."
Thanks, Mom.
She replied: "I need more challenging math homework!"
Okay, then.
In a word, the conference was stunning.
"Rachel is super-smart," Mrs. McAdam said flatly. "Everybody loves Rachel. She's solid. They trust her. Everyone wants to help her" with her crutches, the teacher said, so she has chosen the kids who can help Rachel with various tasks instead of making Rachel choose, which -- considering Rachel's desire not to hurt anyone's feelings -- was a smart idea.
So, on to the progress report. In math, she was tested in the first weeks of school and scored 80 percent. That means she knows 80 percent of the ENTIRE FIRST-GRADE MATH CURRICULUM.
In reading, she is completely accurately reading at a third-grade level and her comprehension extends to fifth-grade reading. For oral reading in context (at the 5th-grade level) she scored a 99 percent for accuracy, a 3 out of 3 for fluency, and a 4 out of 6 for comprehension. Mrs. McAdam said she won't even bother testing Rachel in the middle of the year and instead will wait until the end of 1st grade to do another reading test.
The school has a gifted and talented resource teacher, Mr. Trainor, and Mrs. McAdam says he will be working with some of the students who, like Rachel scored 80 percent in math. She won't be eligible for full gifted and talented services until next year, but I'm hoping that she'll be able to at least do some things this year. Mrs. McAdam promised to send home a "challenge" math packet soon, so Rachel can do extra work. And Drew has been very good about getting her BrainQuest cards and math workbooks (she's already using a 2nd-grade math workbook), so we'll just continue that.
Bottom line: Our little girl is very, very bright, and it's not just we who think so. My one concern is that I want to make sure the school system is equipped to challenge her; at least Mrs. McAdam recognizes this is important, so hopefully Rachel will still continue to enjoy school. We told Mrs. McAdam that Rachel loves to learn -- she has a rage for it, actually -- and we're hoping Mrs. McAdam is so charmed by that that she'll make sure she continues to advance exponentially.
Needless to say, I am very proud of her. But perhaps the best comment today came from Mom, who said, "Give Rachel a hug and kiss and tell her we're very proud of her. But not because she's smart. Because she's RACHEL."
Thanks, Mom.
Monday, October 6, 2014
Storytelling
Rachel has decided that she and Mommy should write a book together, set in colonial times. Drew suggested the title: Patriot Girls, about five girls who get involved in the Revolutionary War.
On Saturday, Rachel left a copy of the cover in my room. It said, next to pictures and designs: Edited by Lisa Lednicer. Written by Rachel Drury DeSilver. Rachel really wanted me to edit it, so I told her that she should put her name in bubble letters.
She outlined one character, then informed me this morning: "Mommy, you can write the book and I'll illustrate it."
Then she added, "I'll write the war parts."
Um...so, I need to figure out how I'm gonna write this thing.
On Saturday, Rachel left a copy of the cover in my room. It said, next to pictures and designs: Edited by Lisa Lednicer. Written by Rachel Drury DeSilver. Rachel really wanted me to edit it, so I told her that she should put her name in bubble letters.
She outlined one character, then informed me this morning: "Mommy, you can write the book and I'll illustrate it."
Then she added, "I'll write the war parts."
Um...so, I need to figure out how I'm gonna write this thing.
Sunday, October 5, 2014
Rachel on crutches
As it turns out, Rachel -- even injured -- is one amazing kid. She got the hang of crutches immediately, saying that she had seen a girl in a movie use them, and read in a book about someone using them, so she just taught herself from there.
"I know you and Mommy are worried about my leg," Rachel told Drew last week. "But, really, it's NO BIG DEAL!!"
She is definitely not milking this. She was upset because everyone, she says, keeps asking her about her leg, and all the kids at recess keeping following her and saying, "Can I hold your crutches? Can I hold your crutches?" I tried to explain to her that it's not every day that a 6-year-old is on crutches, so she'll have to get used to people being curious -- until they all get tired of remarking on it and move on to something else.
She didn't seem convinced.
On Saturday morning, as we were leaving Yom Kippur services held in a local high school, a young parent looked at her and said cheerfully, "No more flying off the roof! You were trying to be Mary Poppins, right?" She much preferred that to the standard, "What HAPPENEND to you??" and so that cheered her right up. Then that night, when we arrived at a break-the-fast that someone at the synagogue invited us to (she happens to live three blocks away, so we walked), the first person we ran into was a guy who had a boot, too! He was recovering from surgery, and he and Rachel exchanged stories, and she felt instantly at home.
It was actually a lovely break-the-fast -- we ended up talking to the guy in the boot and his high-school kids about the best middle schools in Arlington. Both went to H.B. Woodlawn, a school for artsy, smart kids that you can only get into through a lottery (and they only take about five kids a year from McKinley). The oldest kid, Gaby, said to me, "I can tell, after five minutes of talking to Rachel, that she would LOVE H.B. Woodlawn." I considered that quite a compliment!
"I know you and Mommy are worried about my leg," Rachel told Drew last week. "But, really, it's NO BIG DEAL!!"
She is definitely not milking this. She was upset because everyone, she says, keeps asking her about her leg, and all the kids at recess keeping following her and saying, "Can I hold your crutches? Can I hold your crutches?" I tried to explain to her that it's not every day that a 6-year-old is on crutches, so she'll have to get used to people being curious -- until they all get tired of remarking on it and move on to something else.
She didn't seem convinced.
On Saturday morning, as we were leaving Yom Kippur services held in a local high school, a young parent looked at her and said cheerfully, "No more flying off the roof! You were trying to be Mary Poppins, right?" She much preferred that to the standard, "What HAPPENEND to you??" and so that cheered her right up. Then that night, when we arrived at a break-the-fast that someone at the synagogue invited us to (she happens to live three blocks away, so we walked), the first person we ran into was a guy who had a boot, too! He was recovering from surgery, and he and Rachel exchanged stories, and she felt instantly at home.
It was actually a lovely break-the-fast -- we ended up talking to the guy in the boot and his high-school kids about the best middle schools in Arlington. Both went to H.B. Woodlawn, a school for artsy, smart kids that you can only get into through a lottery (and they only take about five kids a year from McKinley). The oldest kid, Gaby, said to me, "I can tell, after five minutes of talking to Rachel, that she would LOVE H.B. Woodlawn." I considered that quite a compliment!
Not a great way to start October
While we were in New York, Rachel injured her foot while running down a hill near Tia Daniella's house. She said it hurt at the time, and we put some ice on it for two days, then kind of forgot about it -- until she awoke in the middle of last week unable to walk; the foot hurt too much to bear weight.
So, Drew swung into action. (I had an appointment for pain in my right knee, and I ended up not being able to see a doctor because I needed a referral from my primary-care doctor, which no one bothered to tell me until I had already tried to get in to see and orthopedist). He got Rachel an appointment with her pediatrician, who took an X-ray, found nothing wrong and...sent her home. Even though she was still in pain. Because it wasn't, you know, their responsibility.
Frustrated, Drew made an appointment with an orthopedist because it turns out that you can't just go out and buy crutches for a 6-year-old; they have to be custom fitted. The orthopedist was in Herndon, a fair ways away. He ended up taking one day off work because he had to sit with Rachel, and then the next day they went to the orthopedist.
No one at the pediatrician's office bothered to tell us we needed an actual referral form. (We were with Kaiser Permanente for 15 years in Oregon, where everything was in one building and there was none of this nonsense of referral forms; you just went to a different office and everything was there). Drew had to asked them THREE TIMES to fax over the form. They originally told him that he had to fill out the form online, and then he might have to wait 5 days for a referral, by which point I was so mad that I thought, hell, I'll just take her in to the damn hospital, but Drew "got East Coast with them" and made them fax it to the orthopedist. What if this had been an emergency?? he demanded of the pediatrician staff, and he never got a satisfactory answer).
So, the visit to the orthopedist was much more pleasant because, Drew said, they knew what the hell they were doing. They agreed that Rachel hadn't broken anything, but that based on the fact that she couldn't stand to have anyone touch her lower leg, she probably pulled a ligament, poor thing. So now she is outfitted with crutches, (or "crunches," according to her friend Sidney); a thick boot to wear at all times except while she's sleeping, and a doctor's note excusing her from P.E. We have cancelled gymnastics and tennis for the next few weeks.
Rosh Hashanah (cont'd)
...so, on Saturday, we got up and took the train to Penn Station and then to Mt. Kisco (Tia Daniella had thoughtfully taken care of all of the tickets). On the train to the station, we were treated to a bunch of musicians, accordion, cello, etc. singing and playing for tips (another reason why I love New York), and then I slept a bit on the train to Mt. K while Daniella told the girls a story.
When we arrived, we had lunch and then said a quick goodbye to Patricia, who was heading back unexpectedly to Israel. Then we went to the indoor pool and Grandma and Grandpa's, and I showed my amazing parenting skills by trying to force my daughter to dunk herself completely underwater (she has yet to put her whole face in), and getting more and more frustrated with her by the minute, and making her cry. No Mother of the Year award for me, I'm afraid. Finally I just gave up, and Grandpa took me aside and made a very good point -- that I shouldn't try to teach Rachel to swim; that she wouldn't dare cry and fuss in front of her teacher, whereas she does so with me because I'm her mommy. So, from now on, I'll let 20-year-old Taylor, a student at Marymount University, try to make some progress. I confess I am getting tired of waiting for Rachel to get it together and SWIM, ALREADY, but I need to have patience. So, Dad, I will try.
That night I took everyone out to dinner for Dad's belated 80th birthday celebration -- Rachel gave him a gigantic card decorated with stars and hearts and such -- and then it was time to go home and go to bed.
The next day we said goodbye to Grandma and Grandpa and got on the train to go home. Rachel and I spent the time drawing Hershey Park as we think it should be designed (with chocolate kisses-shaped play structures and a big welcome banner; you should really see what we did with the place). We dragged all our suitcases onto the Metro, took a cab home from East Falls Church, then went to Lebanese Taverna (and ate outside, yay!), Toby's for ice cream, and got home just in time for Drew to come home and give Rachel a huge hug and kiss just after I'd put her to bed. "How was the trip?" he asked her. Buried in his chest she answered, "the best part is right now," and I am so glad that the next couple of trips we'll take will be as a family.
When we arrived, we had lunch and then said a quick goodbye to Patricia, who was heading back unexpectedly to Israel. Then we went to the indoor pool and Grandma and Grandpa's, and I showed my amazing parenting skills by trying to force my daughter to dunk herself completely underwater (she has yet to put her whole face in), and getting more and more frustrated with her by the minute, and making her cry. No Mother of the Year award for me, I'm afraid. Finally I just gave up, and Grandpa took me aside and made a very good point -- that I shouldn't try to teach Rachel to swim; that she wouldn't dare cry and fuss in front of her teacher, whereas she does so with me because I'm her mommy. So, from now on, I'll let 20-year-old Taylor, a student at Marymount University, try to make some progress. I confess I am getting tired of waiting for Rachel to get it together and SWIM, ALREADY, but I need to have patience. So, Dad, I will try.
That night I took everyone out to dinner for Dad's belated 80th birthday celebration -- Rachel gave him a gigantic card decorated with stars and hearts and such -- and then it was time to go home and go to bed.
The next day we said goodbye to Grandma and Grandpa and got on the train to go home. Rachel and I spent the time drawing Hershey Park as we think it should be designed (with chocolate kisses-shaped play structures and a big welcome banner; you should really see what we did with the place). We dragged all our suitcases onto the Metro, took a cab home from East Falls Church, then went to Lebanese Taverna (and ate outside, yay!), Toby's for ice cream, and got home just in time for Drew to come home and give Rachel a huge hug and kiss just after I'd put her to bed. "How was the trip?" he asked her. Buried in his chest she answered, "the best part is right now," and I am so glad that the next couple of trips we'll take will be as a family.
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