We three have apparently dropped the blogging ball on this site. Very sad. But I guess that means we are living.
I am currently in the 4th month of fieldwork in east Texas. We are working 10 day weeks with 4 day weekends. It is a long haul. We have until sometime in June to finish all this work up. We are excavating three Caddo hamlets dating to the "Titus Phase" and are finding plenty of evidence for houses (by the post molds left from decomposed posts of their houses) and outdoor activity areas reflected by oval pits. We suffered through very cold temperatures working in January and February, downtime every 10-day due to rain, and just now have been enjoying wonderful spring weather (but the rain continues).
It is hard to be away from home so much. I get less and less interested in traveling anywhere as the weeks go by. I am sure I have blogged about this before, since it is such a constant in my life.
On a positive note, I do have the opportunity to interact and share experiences with new people and form new friendships. These long projects involve all sorts of interesting occasions, like late night bottle cap soccer and drinking games on the eve of rain days. And more embarrassing events like getting the backhoe operator's truck stuck in the mud . . . while the crew video tapes it. So wrong!
It is wonderful to a fulfilling job that changes the set of coworkers from project to project, and it is great to work outside! But, I sure miss my husband and my home.
Sunday, April 18, 2010
Sunday, November 01, 2009
Jesus Goes to GT
My six-year-old son Julius and I were driving to a nearby town and passed a large cemetery. I pointed it out to him and mentioned that that's where my grandparents are buried. I always thought it would be prudent to introduce the concept of mortality a little bit at a time instead of wait for something horrible to happen in the family. We've talked about cemeteries before and the purpose of them and how people get old and die and that it's natural.
In this cemetery there is a huge cross. It stands tall, right in the middle where everyone can see it from anywhere in the cemetery and even from the outside. As we passed, Julius said, "That's where Jesus lives. He lives there, under that cross."
I was taken aback because this is not something we have taught him at home. My husband and I are not entirely spiritually aligned and neither of us follow the faiths in which we were raised. I generally refer to him as agnostic, but I'm not really sure that's accurate. Spirituality isn't a big factor in our household and when we were alone, without children, it was always a "live and let live" arrangement. Neither of us cared what the other one did with regard to religion or spirituality.
My personal belief is more complicated. I would describe myself as "spiritual" but not entirely comfortable with organized religion due to the level of hypocrisy that is frequently evident. I love the stories about Jesus and the prophets (for that matter, I love the story of any wise thinker who makes the world a better place) and don't generally trouble myself with issues about my salvation. I think there are good ways to live in the world and there are also bad ways. I believe you should leave the world better than you found it. Beyond that very simple philosophy I don't concern myself with what happens after I die, I don't believe I'm going to heaven or hell, and honestly it just doesn't seem relevant to me.
So, it was very strange that day to hear my son telling me that Jesus lives in the cemetery under a big concrete cross. He certainly didn't hear it from me. So I began to unearth the source of the information.
ME: Jesus lives up there?
J: Well, he died there. He died on the cross and he was all covered in blood and he was nailed to the cross with nails through his hands and feet.
Me: Where did you learn about that?
J: At school.
Me: Really? At school? Who told you about it?
I was trying to stay so cool, but was boiling mad on the inside. So mad, in fact, that I could feel my skin crawl.
J: I saw a film about it in GT (gifted and talented).
Me: When was this?
J: Last year in Kindergarten.
Me: What was the film like? What did they say?
J: I don't know. Just that Jesus was killed on a cross and someone put nails in his hands and feet to put him on there.
Me: Huh. How did you feel about all that?
He was quiet for a moment and said, "It was really violent. His head was all bloody. There was blood all over him. I didn't really like it."
Well, no kidding. Who does like it besides your crazy GT teacher who thinks it's okay to show you a film of a bloody Jesus?
The next day I was at the school doing my best not to be one of those crazy berserk mothers who thinks she knows how to run a school better than people who know best how to run schools. The Principal was gone so I went to the counselor and spoke to her about the situation. I could tell she was horrified.
I explained my concern that a portrayal of a bloody Jesus dying on the cross is not considered by my family to be age appropriate, first of all. And second, I was not entirely sure that it's even legal for a woman to be explaining to my son that Jesus, the Son of God, got nailed to a cross and died there horribly. I asserted vehemently that it's not the school's place to teach my son about religion.
The counselor assured me she would discuss my concerns with the principal when he got back and he would be in touch with me.
A couple days later the principal called and said he'd prefer that I to speak to the teacher so I'd know exactly what went on instead of getting the story from him. I told him I didn't think it was my job to talk to the teacher about her curriculum -- that's his job. After a long and unsatisfying conversation which ended with him stating that he trusts his teachers to come up with their own curriculum and that he doesn't go over it because he wouldn't have time to do all that, we hung up and I waited for a call from the GT teacher.
Another couple of days went by and I got a call from Mrs. GT who noted that I had concerns and would like to tell me what film it was that she showed the children and then if I wanted to see the film myself I was welcome to come down and do so.
She proceeded to describe this animated film in which Jesus is WHIPPED DOWN THE STREET ("but they don't show him actually being whipped, they only show the man with a whip and that he's using it on someone...") and then at some point later in the film they show him on the cross and blah-blah-blah-i-stopped-listening because the blood was pounding in my ears and I couldn't hear her anymore.
She ended by saying it was an "age appropriate" film. I asked her why she was even showing religious stuff in school at all. She said she has a problem with the smaller children because they don't know how to read and write or do much of anything besides watch films. This is something she showed at Easter to them to explain what Easter was all about.
Round and around we went -- me defending my right to teach my own son about religion my own way and her defending her belief that it was perfectly fine to violate the minds of small children with images of bloody Jesus. She said she would send a note home with me when she was planning on any of that stuff and I could pull him out of class.
"No, I don't think my son should be made to feel like a weirdo when it's not his fault. Why should he be made to be different? Why can't you just do other stuff like color bunnies and eggs or something?"
That flipped her completely out. "I have a problem with THAT." I could sense her wanting to go into a long explanation of the pagan roots of bunnies and eggs. Her restraint was admirable. I began to realize as we waded further into the spiritual quagmire that the person I was dealing with is probably a fundamentalist Baptist who also teaches kids that they are going to burn in hell for eternity if they are bad.
I expressed to her that the portrayal was far too violent. It bothered Julius, obviously, and it began to explain why he was exhibiting behaviors we didn't understand the source of -- nervousness, fear, etc. She seemed to think since the violence was only "implied" that it was okay. I said, "You're kidding yourself if you don't see that he's smart enough to bridge the gap. He knows exactly what was going on even if it wasn't shown explicitly. How can you think he wouldn't get it?"
She asked me then if we allowed him to watch television. I told her we did. She said, "So you don't think he is bothered by the violence he sees on TV?" I told her I doubted it since he mostly watches the History Channel and documentaries with his dad. We even Tivo the news and watch it after he goes to bed because it's too explicit. She was annoyed that she could not somehow turn this all back on me. I was annoyed because she didn't have my son as her number one priority.
After a very long time we agreed to disagree on the issue of teaching children about religion and she conceded that she would no longer do any religious curriculum in the class.
It was unsatisfying, though. I could not make her see that my beliefs and her beliefs didn't matter in the conversation. What mattered is that we don't live in a little Christian bubble. There are Catholics and Buddhists and Muslims and Protestants and Quakers and Jehovah's Witnesses and atheists in the world. We all have the right to have our children go to school and learn to read and write without the beliefs of others being forced upon us as if it were, well, Gospel.
I know I live in the South, in the Bible Belt, but not everyone believes the same -- even here. Even if you get 10 Christians in the room you're going to have a handful of different ideas about God and Jesus and the afterlife.
But all of that is irrelevant. What's relevant is I have a little boy who is sad about a bloody Jesus that he thinks lives in the cemetery where my grandparents are buried. And that means I have a lot of explaining to do.
In this cemetery there is a huge cross. It stands tall, right in the middle where everyone can see it from anywhere in the cemetery and even from the outside. As we passed, Julius said, "That's where Jesus lives. He lives there, under that cross."
I was taken aback because this is not something we have taught him at home. My husband and I are not entirely spiritually aligned and neither of us follow the faiths in which we were raised. I generally refer to him as agnostic, but I'm not really sure that's accurate. Spirituality isn't a big factor in our household and when we were alone, without children, it was always a "live and let live" arrangement. Neither of us cared what the other one did with regard to religion or spirituality.
My personal belief is more complicated. I would describe myself as "spiritual" but not entirely comfortable with organized religion due to the level of hypocrisy that is frequently evident. I love the stories about Jesus and the prophets (for that matter, I love the story of any wise thinker who makes the world a better place) and don't generally trouble myself with issues about my salvation. I think there are good ways to live in the world and there are also bad ways. I believe you should leave the world better than you found it. Beyond that very simple philosophy I don't concern myself with what happens after I die, I don't believe I'm going to heaven or hell, and honestly it just doesn't seem relevant to me.
So, it was very strange that day to hear my son telling me that Jesus lives in the cemetery under a big concrete cross. He certainly didn't hear it from me. So I began to unearth the source of the information.
ME: Jesus lives up there?
J: Well, he died there. He died on the cross and he was all covered in blood and he was nailed to the cross with nails through his hands and feet.
Me: Where did you learn about that?
J: At school.
Me: Really? At school? Who told you about it?
I was trying to stay so cool, but was boiling mad on the inside. So mad, in fact, that I could feel my skin crawl.
J: I saw a film about it in GT (gifted and talented).
Me: When was this?
J: Last year in Kindergarten.
Me: What was the film like? What did they say?
J: I don't know. Just that Jesus was killed on a cross and someone put nails in his hands and feet to put him on there.
Me: Huh. How did you feel about all that?
He was quiet for a moment and said, "It was really violent. His head was all bloody. There was blood all over him. I didn't really like it."
Well, no kidding. Who does like it besides your crazy GT teacher who thinks it's okay to show you a film of a bloody Jesus?
The next day I was at the school doing my best not to be one of those crazy berserk mothers who thinks she knows how to run a school better than people who know best how to run schools. The Principal was gone so I went to the counselor and spoke to her about the situation. I could tell she was horrified.
I explained my concern that a portrayal of a bloody Jesus dying on the cross is not considered by my family to be age appropriate, first of all. And second, I was not entirely sure that it's even legal for a woman to be explaining to my son that Jesus, the Son of God, got nailed to a cross and died there horribly. I asserted vehemently that it's not the school's place to teach my son about religion.
The counselor assured me she would discuss my concerns with the principal when he got back and he would be in touch with me.
A couple days later the principal called and said he'd prefer that I to speak to the teacher so I'd know exactly what went on instead of getting the story from him. I told him I didn't think it was my job to talk to the teacher about her curriculum -- that's his job. After a long and unsatisfying conversation which ended with him stating that he trusts his teachers to come up with their own curriculum and that he doesn't go over it because he wouldn't have time to do all that, we hung up and I waited for a call from the GT teacher.
Another couple of days went by and I got a call from Mrs. GT who noted that I had concerns and would like to tell me what film it was that she showed the children and then if I wanted to see the film myself I was welcome to come down and do so.
She proceeded to describe this animated film in which Jesus is WHIPPED DOWN THE STREET ("but they don't show him actually being whipped, they only show the man with a whip and that he's using it on someone...") and then at some point later in the film they show him on the cross and blah-blah-blah-i-stopped-listening because the blood was pounding in my ears and I couldn't hear her anymore.
She ended by saying it was an "age appropriate" film. I asked her why she was even showing religious stuff in school at all. She said she has a problem with the smaller children because they don't know how to read and write or do much of anything besides watch films. This is something she showed at Easter to them to explain what Easter was all about.
Round and around we went -- me defending my right to teach my own son about religion my own way and her defending her belief that it was perfectly fine to violate the minds of small children with images of bloody Jesus. She said she would send a note home with me when she was planning on any of that stuff and I could pull him out of class.
"No, I don't think my son should be made to feel like a weirdo when it's not his fault. Why should he be made to be different? Why can't you just do other stuff like color bunnies and eggs or something?"
That flipped her completely out. "I have a problem with THAT." I could sense her wanting to go into a long explanation of the pagan roots of bunnies and eggs. Her restraint was admirable. I began to realize as we waded further into the spiritual quagmire that the person I was dealing with is probably a fundamentalist Baptist who also teaches kids that they are going to burn in hell for eternity if they are bad.
I expressed to her that the portrayal was far too violent. It bothered Julius, obviously, and it began to explain why he was exhibiting behaviors we didn't understand the source of -- nervousness, fear, etc. She seemed to think since the violence was only "implied" that it was okay. I said, "You're kidding yourself if you don't see that he's smart enough to bridge the gap. He knows exactly what was going on even if it wasn't shown explicitly. How can you think he wouldn't get it?"
She asked me then if we allowed him to watch television. I told her we did. She said, "So you don't think he is bothered by the violence he sees on TV?" I told her I doubted it since he mostly watches the History Channel and documentaries with his dad. We even Tivo the news and watch it after he goes to bed because it's too explicit. She was annoyed that she could not somehow turn this all back on me. I was annoyed because she didn't have my son as her number one priority.
After a very long time we agreed to disagree on the issue of teaching children about religion and she conceded that she would no longer do any religious curriculum in the class.
It was unsatisfying, though. I could not make her see that my beliefs and her beliefs didn't matter in the conversation. What mattered is that we don't live in a little Christian bubble. There are Catholics and Buddhists and Muslims and Protestants and Quakers and Jehovah's Witnesses and atheists in the world. We all have the right to have our children go to school and learn to read and write without the beliefs of others being forced upon us as if it were, well, Gospel.
I know I live in the South, in the Bible Belt, but not everyone believes the same -- even here. Even if you get 10 Christians in the room you're going to have a handful of different ideas about God and Jesus and the afterlife.
But all of that is irrelevant. What's relevant is I have a little boy who is sad about a bloody Jesus that he thinks lives in the cemetery where my grandparents are buried. And that means I have a lot of explaining to do.
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Migraines and my miracle cure
I have suffered migraines all my life. Most of them have been the kind where I can lie still in a quiet and dark room and wait (the 12 or so hours) for it to pass. Maybe even I would sleep a bit. A few of them were a bit milder and I could work. A few of them have been much much worse, where I could not stand, sit, or lie down and achieve any comfort. Instead I would go to bed, then a few seconds later sit on the edge of the bed, then get up and walk around. I often go sit in the shower and let cold water run over my head. You know things are bad when you have to take a cold shower. With these, I would often try to throw up.
I have seen a lot of doctors, but only two have made any difference. The first doctor I met while I was in graduate school in Kansas (KU). I originally saw him for some knee injuries related to my adventures on Attu island, in the Aleutian Islands. He is a sports doctor, but also a general practitioner. He was the first doctor who worked with me to isolate my triggers and treat them. At the time, I was having "cluster migraines" which I would get every other week and would last a week. That was awful. He determined that my allergies were a trigger and put me on daily regime of a antihistimine and topical nasal steroid.
He also tried some medicines that doctors noted helped people manage the pain / essentially prevent the migraines. The first one, an antidepressant in a very low dose, didn't work at all, but the second, a beta blocker, worked like a light switch. I stopped getting the cluster migraines immediately, although I still got the migraines I got before grad school--about 1-3 a month. He also identified all my other triggers, alcohol (which already knew since, ever once in awhile, when I sipped a beer, it would trigger one with in seconds--red wine was the worst). Another trigger, I was not aware of, was a neck injury. I had sprained three neck vertebrae that summer while on Shemya Island in the Aleutians doing archaeology. Two other triggers are light and changes in barometric presseure. Knowing these triggers really helped me avoid migraines, but I still got them when my allergies flared and forgot my sunglass . . .or had red wine two days in a row!
I lived with a few migraines a month until this year, when, for different reasons, I started seeing an allergist and he suggested I try Sinus Rinse. This is an over-the-counter product that is simply a salt mixture and helps drain your sinuses. It is a miracle cure for me! I have gone 6 months with no migraines. I have gotten other headaches, very minor and easy to ignore and not very often, but no migraines. I do have to use every day, but that is a small price to pay! I also continue to take my antihistimine, topical nasal steroid, and the beta blocker. So to be fair it is likely the whole package is my cure.
So, for all you migraine sufferers, go find a good doctor! You have to hunt for them because not all doctors are the same or focus on the same things. I have seen a bunch of doctors and only two ever helped me. We are all different so you need to figure out what the triggers are for you. I heard on a talk new radio show about a woman whose trigger is onions -- 72 hours after eating onions, she gets a migraine. So it may not be easy to find you triggers, but there is help and hope!
I have seen a lot of doctors, but only two have made any difference. The first doctor I met while I was in graduate school in Kansas (KU). I originally saw him for some knee injuries related to my adventures on Attu island, in the Aleutian Islands. He is a sports doctor, but also a general practitioner. He was the first doctor who worked with me to isolate my triggers and treat them. At the time, I was having "cluster migraines" which I would get every other week and would last a week. That was awful. He determined that my allergies were a trigger and put me on daily regime of a antihistimine and topical nasal steroid.
He also tried some medicines that doctors noted helped people manage the pain / essentially prevent the migraines. The first one, an antidepressant in a very low dose, didn't work at all, but the second, a beta blocker, worked like a light switch. I stopped getting the cluster migraines immediately, although I still got the migraines I got before grad school--about 1-3 a month. He also identified all my other triggers, alcohol (which already knew since, ever once in awhile, when I sipped a beer, it would trigger one with in seconds--red wine was the worst). Another trigger, I was not aware of, was a neck injury. I had sprained three neck vertebrae that summer while on Shemya Island in the Aleutians doing archaeology. Two other triggers are light and changes in barometric presseure. Knowing these triggers really helped me avoid migraines, but I still got them when my allergies flared and forgot my sunglass . . .or had red wine two days in a row!
I lived with a few migraines a month until this year, when, for different reasons, I started seeing an allergist and he suggested I try Sinus Rinse. This is an over-the-counter product that is simply a salt mixture and helps drain your sinuses. It is a miracle cure for me! I have gone 6 months with no migraines. I have gotten other headaches, very minor and easy to ignore and not very often, but no migraines. I do have to use every day, but that is a small price to pay! I also continue to take my antihistimine, topical nasal steroid, and the beta blocker. So to be fair it is likely the whole package is my cure.
So, for all you migraine sufferers, go find a good doctor! You have to hunt for them because not all doctors are the same or focus on the same things. I have seen a bunch of doctors and only two ever helped me. We are all different so you need to figure out what the triggers are for you. I heard on a talk new radio show about a woman whose trigger is onions -- 72 hours after eating onions, she gets a migraine. So it may not be easy to find you triggers, but there is help and hope!
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
You be the baby and I'll be the momma
I was recently visiting some friends of mine in Austin--Jennifer, Samara, and their daughter Lilia Wren. Jennifer is a friend of mine from high school, although we have known each other much longer than that. I was in Austin for work and hit them up for a place to stay that is nearby. I usually stay with my brother because I feel less guilty mooching off them, but they are 40 minutes away. It was really nice to spend time with them. Samara is a welding inspector, climbs up buildings during the day, and is a really good cook at night. She cooked us up some mighty fine dinners, with 2+ vegetables every night. It was very nice. yum. Here is a photo of Samara doing something with dishes.
Jennifer teaches special education at one of the Austin elementary schools. See below . . .she looks like a very annoyed teacher. It wasn't my fault! Well, ok, it was. I like the Lilia art on the wall there to the right as well. They had all her art work low to the ground so she could enjoy it.
Both Jennifer and Samara are wonderful with Lilia, their 3 year old daughter. She is great 3 year old! That's her below wearing my shoes and refusing to give them back. She is so cute.
What I wanted to blog about is the game they play in the evening. It is absolute genius and they claim Lilia came up with it. Yeah right! She makes them lie down on their very own bed and tells them they are the baby and she is the momma. She pats them. They cry and say they want water and she gets them some. They cry and say they want hugs or pats and she gives them some. She tells them stories. She is very motherly. All the while, they get to take it easy and rest, getting an occasional pat from their sweet caring mommy-daughter. I was very impressed and think mommies everywhere (and daddies too) need to try to inspire their children to play this game. It is very helpful.
Now here are some cute videos of Lilia
In this one, we went for a bike ride around the block. Well, she rode her bike, Jennifer walked with her and I walked their dog Sunny and took this video while walking backwards, which is why she told me I needed to look where I was going
This one is bedtime for Lilia with mommy putting on ointments for her many mosquito bites, poor thing
I just learned today that Lilia has the H1N1 virus (the swine flu) so lets all hope she pulls through with flying immunological colors and that her mommies don't get it too!
Jennifer teaches special education at one of the Austin elementary schools. See below . . .she looks like a very annoyed teacher. It wasn't my fault! Well, ok, it was. I like the Lilia art on the wall there to the right as well. They had all her art work low to the ground so she could enjoy it.
Both Jennifer and Samara are wonderful with Lilia, their 3 year old daughter. She is great 3 year old! That's her below wearing my shoes and refusing to give them back. She is so cute.
What I wanted to blog about is the game they play in the evening. It is absolute genius and they claim Lilia came up with it. Yeah right! She makes them lie down on their very own bed and tells them they are the baby and she is the momma. She pats them. They cry and say they want water and she gets them some. They cry and say they want hugs or pats and she gives them some. She tells them stories. She is very motherly. All the while, they get to take it easy and rest, getting an occasional pat from their sweet caring mommy-daughter. I was very impressed and think mommies everywhere (and daddies too) need to try to inspire their children to play this game. It is very helpful.
Now here are some cute videos of Lilia
In this one, we went for a bike ride around the block. Well, she rode her bike, Jennifer walked with her and I walked their dog Sunny and took this video while walking backwards, which is why she told me I needed to look where I was going
This one is bedtime for Lilia with mommy putting on ointments for her many mosquito bites, poor thing
I just learned today that Lilia has the H1N1 virus (the swine flu) so lets all hope she pulls through with flying immunological colors and that her mommies don't get it too!
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Saturday, August 29, 2009
I apologize for the confusing Hindi Post (see previous post)
There I was for a brief while only able to post in foreign languages. Crazy.
Turns out it was my fault for enabling something a few days ago . . . Technology often gets the better of me and in such odd ways, but I found my way out and am wondering what it was that I was going to blog about anyway. It seems so long ago -a whole 4 hours!!
Maybe I was going to blog about how I am a big bicycle racing fan. It makes no sense since I am no kind of athlete, rarely ride bicycles, and don't watch any other sports. But I love the month long Tour de France . . .it makes my year. Is it the men in tight shorts? is it Phil Liggets' enchanting Irish accent or interesting tidbits as he announces for the race? Maybe it is the epic endeavor of human endurance and strategy. Amazing mountain climbers and speedy sprinters - my goodness, that Mark Cavendish is something else!! I guess it is all of the above, but I certainly do love watching them as they journey through France. I would happily watch more races, but America does not get many televised bicycle races. Lots of wrestling and ultimate fighting and who knows what other odd sports . . . but little bicycle racing. The Tour de Spain started a couple of days ago. I wish I could watch it - the other virtue of watching these races is the scenery. As the race through the countryside, you get snippits of history and culture as the announcers tell you what province you are in . . .what that chateau was, etc. But no Spain for us in the U.S. I can only track where various races are through twitter! believe it or not.
Maybe I was going to blog about District 9- a refreshing movie making poignant points about racism (apartheid is a major theme) and tolerance . . . and an interesting take on first contact .. . I doubt I was going to blog about that since that's about all I have to say about it.
O well, my confusing scare of Hindi-only text has obliterated any memory of anything I might have wanted to say so I will leave you with this fun video: An engineers Guide to Cats
Turns out it was my fault for enabling something a few days ago . . . Technology often gets the better of me and in such odd ways, but I found my way out and am wondering what it was that I was going to blog about anyway. It seems so long ago -a whole 4 hours!!
Maybe I was going to blog about how I am a big bicycle racing fan. It makes no sense since I am no kind of athlete, rarely ride bicycles, and don't watch any other sports. But I love the month long Tour de France . . .it makes my year. Is it the men in tight shorts? is it Phil Liggets' enchanting Irish accent or interesting tidbits as he announces for the race? Maybe it is the epic endeavor of human endurance and strategy. Amazing mountain climbers and speedy sprinters - my goodness, that Mark Cavendish is something else!! I guess it is all of the above, but I certainly do love watching them as they journey through France. I would happily watch more races, but America does not get many televised bicycle races. Lots of wrestling and ultimate fighting and who knows what other odd sports . . . but little bicycle racing. The Tour de Spain started a couple of days ago. I wish I could watch it - the other virtue of watching these races is the scenery. As the race through the countryside, you get snippits of history and culture as the announcers tell you what province you are in . . .what that chateau was, etc. But no Spain for us in the U.S. I can only track where various races are through twitter! believe it or not.
Maybe I was going to blog about District 9- a refreshing movie making poignant points about racism (apartheid is a major theme) and tolerance . . . and an interesting take on first contact .. . I doubt I was going to blog about that since that's about all I have to say about it.
O well, my confusing scare of Hindi-only text has obliterated any memory of anything I might have wanted to say so I will leave you with this fun video: An engineers Guide to Cats
हेल्प, इ ऍम व्रितिंग इन हिन्दी एंड इ दोन'टी क्नोव वही
इ हद इन्तेंदेद अ तोताल्ली दिफ्फेरेंत टोपिक बुत ऍम फोर्स्ड तो पोस्ट अबाउट व्रितिंग इन हिन्दी, व्हिच इ कैन'टी नोट दो।
हेल्प में ओबी-ओने-क-वेंडी, हेल्प में
हेल्प में ओबी-ओने-क-वेंडी, हेल्प में
Sunday, August 02, 2009
Green Pea Spew
We had our own little green pea projectile vomiting incident at home today. Could have been straight out of The Exorcist. With the exception of a few things. Well, mainly there was no demon possession in play.
Judah finished eating a nice lunch of organic pea mush. Selah and I indulged in a 'healthful' chicken sandwich from Braum's. I put him on the bed beside me and placed several toys within his reach. Hamlet, our graying mini dachshund, curled between us. I was still eating my lunch and Hamlet hoped to get a nibble.
Nearing the end of my sandwich, I noticed Judah staring at my food as it moved from my plate to my mouth and back. I pinched off a small piece of bun and put it to his mouth. He gummed it joyfully for a moment. And then...
He gagged, followed by a slow, small flow of pea lava oozing from his mouth. I grabbed a napkin and swept it away. He gagged again, rocked his head back and spewed warm, smelly green . It splattered across Hamlet's face, head and back. I scrambled to grab something. Of course, all I could reach was the already used paper napkin. He turned toward me, panic in his eyes and threw up again. This time soaking my pants and the duvet. How on earth can such a small creature create such a volume of vomit?
"Please get me a towel," I hollered at Selah. "Please get me a towel."
I held the sopping napkin up to Judah's mouth just in case. Selah hurried back with a washcloth.
"Bigger, bigger," I urged and she ran back to the bathroom. I began the clean up process.
I prayed it was over. Judah giggled. Hamlet never moved.
Judah finished eating a nice lunch of organic pea mush. Selah and I indulged in a 'healthful' chicken sandwich from Braum's. I put him on the bed beside me and placed several toys within his reach. Hamlet, our graying mini dachshund, curled between us. I was still eating my lunch and Hamlet hoped to get a nibble.
Nearing the end of my sandwich, I noticed Judah staring at my food as it moved from my plate to my mouth and back. I pinched off a small piece of bun and put it to his mouth. He gummed it joyfully for a moment. And then...
He gagged, followed by a slow, small flow of pea lava oozing from his mouth. I grabbed a napkin and swept it away. He gagged again, rocked his head back and spewed warm, smelly green . It splattered across Hamlet's face, head and back. I scrambled to grab something. Of course, all I could reach was the already used paper napkin. He turned toward me, panic in his eyes and threw up again. This time soaking my pants and the duvet. How on earth can such a small creature create such a volume of vomit?
"Please get me a towel," I hollered at Selah. "Please get me a towel."
I held the sopping napkin up to Judah's mouth just in case. Selah hurried back with a washcloth.
"Bigger, bigger," I urged and she ran back to the bathroom. I began the clean up process.
I prayed it was over. Judah giggled. Hamlet never moved.
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