The Frosty Eagle

I spent this weekend in the mountain top town of Eagles Mere, PA. I accompanied my friend Jane to her family homestead in the small lakeside community along with our other good friend Kate, and my kids. The town is beautiful, tiny and remote, settled on a pristine lake and hidden away from the annoyances of modern technology and growling traffic, it is a haven in the summertime for those seeking relaxation.

This weekend was a little different...

Relax we did, we sat by a roaring fire for three straight days as we attempted to defrost our bodies from the freezing October air. Winter seemed to have come early to the mountains, and as the night air dipped down below 40 degrees, so did the temperature inside the old summer home. We made meals quickly with the oven open as our breath puffed out in clouds in the kitchen.

We did almost everything next to the two giant fireplaces, although the large chimneys meant that most of the heat was drawn instantly upwards and didn't reach more than about two feet from the front of the mantel, but we found a way to pull our rocking chairs up close, ensconce ourselves in down blankets and drink enough sangria to feel our cheeks flush. Nathan has decided that Scrabble is his new favorite game, as he teamed up with us and played well past bedtime. It was like very fancy camping.

The beauty of the trip was that despite the frigid temperatures, it was totally worth the six hour drive to get there and back. I love spending time with Jane and Kate, laughing until we cry, making meals together, and reading side by side. The homestead itself is beyond compare, with years worth of history in the walls and seemingly never ending hallways for the kids to run through. Visiting this magical house with my wonderful friends is worth whatever Mother Nature wants to dish out.

Fair Daze

There is something so magical about the memories of a childhood fair. For me it was the Franklin County Fair in Greenfield, Massachusetts. Every September around the first day of school the fair would roll into town with its twinkly carnival lights and fried smells wafting into the air. We lived on the parade route so the first beat of the drum from the high school marching band let us know fun was about to begin.

This year I went back to the fair with my own kids in tow. Rows of baby animals in the barnyard, scary rides swooping kids up over our heads as they screamed in delight, fried dough dripping with maple cream and powdered sugar. What's not to love?

As an adult I was more keen to the creepier aspects of things in carney-land. The ride operators were particularly sketchy this year, seemingly more toothless (if possible) and with almost no vocabulary whatsoever, just a low grunt and nod in the direction of the ride with a cigarette dangling from moss colored lips. The game operators must work on commission, luring the kids into the games like pedophiles offering candy out of a car window. Yikes.

Depite all this, the kids of course loved it, making it fun for all. I managed to spend all of my money and then some, but gained it all back in flab on my ass by eating my weight in french fries and fried dough. Nathan loved the fun house and Sofie rode a pony. Woo wee, see you next year.

The Rise of the Half-Mullet

Oh crap, Sof has discovered scissors.

This past week she found a pair in my car and snipped out a nice handful of hair from the left side of her head. Fortunately her hair was long enough that I could sort of comb it over and hide the bald spots. Not so after today, when she came across another pair of scissors at my friend's house and quickly hacked off the whole left side, leaving just the long rat-tailesque back partying all the way down.

So I waltzed her over to our local hairdresser and she insisted on having the full wash and cut experience (and who could blame her really?) The hairdresser Tracy did her best to even out the do, but in an effort to keep her hair long in the back she seems to have created a mullet monster, and now she just looks like a boy from the early nineties. NKOTB anyone?

The Ache of a Summer Off

This week Nathan went back to school and I went back to the gym. Ouch.

I always feel somewhat sheepish slinking back into my morning aerobics class when I haven't been in a long time. Surrounded by the Lycra-clad muscular women bouncing onto their steps and leaping through the air with the grace of ballerinas, most of whom are ten years my senior, I keep to the back of the room as I huff and puff through the first few songs. Eventually I can barely make it up onto the step at all, and resign myself to a slow march in time with the music while I try unsuccessfully to catch my breath.

Good times. Yet I repeat this process time and again because aerobics is the only thing that will shame me into sweating for a solid hour. I cannot bear the embarrassment of crawling out of the room before the class ends so I finish it out, and am always happy I did.

Man ,do my quads hurt right now.

Reconnecting with Birth

I love books that keep me thinking well after I am finished with them. I guess most people do. I recently was given a copy of a memoir by Carol Leonard, Lady's Hands, Lion's Heart: A Midwife's Saga. It is the story of a midwife from rural New Hampshire who got her start birthing babies in the '70's and '80's, and includes many birth stories, along with her own life's trials and tragedies. For someone working as close to birth as I am this was, indeed, a very powerful read.


After finishing this book I came to work last night with a renewed sense of trust in birth and the body. For the most part the nurses on my labor and delivery unit share my feelings of birth as a natural part of life, one that works best if we don't get in the way. Occasionally I find that we all run through times of doubt in the process, often after a series of complications, inductions, labor interventions, or cesearean sections. We start to forget that birth works, if you let it.

My patient last night was a young woman having her first child. She labored easily and efficiently, with love and support from her family. As I went about my work I watched her follow her body as it guided her through the dance of labor and birth. I remembered the words of Carol Leonard and felt an overall sense of reassurance, even when slight complications arose. Just trust the process, birth works. I reminded myself and the midwife on call that this patient had all she needed to bring her baby into the world. I also reminded the patient of this, as she had planned for a medicated birth, and she decided in the end to birth naturally. She was a proud, strong mama as her baby came into her arms, and I am happy we did not get in her way.

Living with the FOD, once again.

I am not shy when it comes to talking about much of anything, especially my anxieties, so it may come as no surprise that I feel inclined to blog about the FOD. The FOD is my overwhelming and all-encompassing fear of death which has plagued me ever-so unfortunately since I became a mother. It sucks. And I have it.

I first figured out I had this fear when Nathan was 8 months old and he and I flew to Reno to visit a friend. I was overcome by fear while flying and have not since felt better about it. In subsequent flights I go through the motions of sweaty palms, nausea, heart palpitations, and uncontrollable fear. Needless to say, I do not look forward to traveling, although I am constantly planning the next vacation. I love to escape my life, hoping that the FOD will subside when I leave my routine (which it usually does, although not before being brought to all time new levels on each hideous airplane adventure).

Meanwhile I have recently noticed that the FOD is creeping back into my day to day life. As I drift off to sleep at night I think "one day closer to death". Sooooo depressing. I gotta get over this, if anyone has any reasonable solutions please feel free to offer sugestions. I can't explain this fear, it is totally and utterly irrational and very annoying.

Both of my parents have at one time or another suffered from the FOD, leading me to believe that it's genetic (rats!), so sorry kids. Or maybe someone mentioned it to me at one point and my imagination just went hog wild. Who knows. All I can say is I look forward to the day when I don't freak out about my own existence and just enjoy living for the right now. Hopefully that day will come soon.

Sick Daze

I have been a terrible blogger. I'll admit it, I have to wait for something interesting in my life to happen for me to want to write about it. So far I'm happy to admit that life has just not been that interesting. Until this week.

We spent last weekend at a borrowed house on Lake Ontario in Oswego, NY. The house and property was beautiful, lake front sunsets, hot tub, huge deck setup, fantastic. The downside? The place was unexpectedly overrun with fleas, and the town of Oswego turned out to be a little too bud lite-NASCAR-bowling alley-seedy bar for my taste. Oh well. The other major setback, I think my kid may have been bitten by a tick.

Nathan seemed fine throughout our trip. Better than fine, I couldn't drag him out of the hot tub long enough to towel off. As soon as we arrived home he spiked a fever that still doesn't want to come down. Boo hiss. Poor little dude (who as many of you know is anything but tired and sickly most of the time) has been up all night crying in pain, vomitting, and shaking with fever. Talk about a parenting nightmare.

I've had my share of sick days and nights with my kids but it never fails to raise my anxiety flag whenever they are not well, especially when it doesn't seem to be getting better. Moms are instinctually trained to listen for the sounds of a child vomitting, coughing, breathing funny, you name it, we have it on our radar. We lie in our beds vigilantly waiting for some sign of trouble and leap up into the night to measure out the Tylenol, man the nebulizer, give the back rubs, or whatever the need may be, while our faithful husbands snore away in oblivion. Men don't (in my experience) seem to possess the same barrometer for sickness that we do. Too bad because man am I tired.

Francisco called me to check in on Nathan this morning and was barely listening when I said that he's about the same, not much change. Instead he chirped into the phone "He's better? Great!" and then hung up without saying goodbye. Weird male denial instinct. Huh.

Tonight I am going out with some mom friends for a small respite before my nighttime duty calls. Hooray for mom friends and vodka. Hooray.