Granny Is! April 10 - 16, 2006 Granny is, says Tom; we live with a sea lion; I am a monster

	Granny IS here -- and eager to drag kids outside even in this dog of a weather

	It's the fifth month December in a row -- it has been raining and all our hills are colored in upbeat green

We have certainly looked forward to granny's arrival. I planned various doctors, errands, more complicated phone calls and similar childless activities. We anticipated that Tom would be glad to have another person around who would pay attention to him, but we more or less counted on time and distance taking its toll, so that Tom would have to get used to his grandmother again.

Tommy, however, got all excited already by lunchtime -- I took both kids to see Sid at work, and subsequently to a family lunch, from which I was to return home with Lisa, and Sid with Tom was to continue to the airport to pick granny up. Tommy was all beside himself that we were with DADDY on a weekday, and on top of that eating his beloved sushi. Well, he likes shu-mai the best, and that is actually a Chinese dish. We call it dumplings. Tom insisted that these were "noodles" (his expression for any pasta food). We spent a considerable time trying to explain that these were no noodles, and eventually we had to teach Tom Chinese (he correctly pronounces shu-mai now).

On his way to the airport Tom kept repeating that granny is going to fly in on a big plane and that he's going with daddy and mama drove home with Lisa -- he has been this talkative a lot lately. The plane was late, to which Tom responded, saying "granny is not, ride train" -- and pulled Sid towards the little inter-terminal shuttle train. Eventually granny has emerged from the customs' maze and Tommy welcomed her with his war cry: Bahbee yea (Granny is). I must say that during the first few days I heard "bahbee yea" so many times that I started to regret my wishes for a speaking toddler. Tommy has been quite carried away by having granny present -- he has been following her around, commenting on her every move, watching every step, and bothering her to no end. He was so excited by her arrival that he fooled around so much in his car seat on the way from the airport, until he lost his lunch (which was altogether a second case of vomiting in his whole life -- the first case being during a 104°+F fever).

Granny's arrival comes very welcome -- like in Europe, we have been having a "fifth month of December in a row", and the weather is generally ugly, and my kids are half gone nuts from this house arrest -- and I have gone nuts from that. Not that we would not run out every day for (at least) two walks, but the rain makes them short and somewhat monotonous. Tom finds his joy in splashing through puddles, discovering snails and exploring storm drains, but sitting in the stroller has been quite boring for Lisa. She found fancy in swings and would really like to try to dig in sand, but since everything is soaking wet, there's no game for her. Granny -- i.e. another head and pair of hands for reading books, making worms and snails from play-doh, gluing car-shape cutouts together and watercolor painting -- represents a miraculous lifesaver for a madcap mother.

	Lisa, too, demands to be outed -- but would like to find something more interactive

	Children are going nuts from being locked indoors - Lisa has discovered child-proof covers for our home theatre equipment, which quickly succumbed to her concentrated attack.

I don't know if Lisa had looked forward to granny's arrival as well, but she has certainly postponed her first serious illness until granny was around. It started innocently -- the fact that one, the other, or both children sport runny noses, has become a common occurrence in our lives. I had attributed Lisa's whininess to her growing some more teeth or so. But when at night I heard a squeal about half an octavo higher than usual, I jumped out of my bed like a greased lightning. A more careful reconnaissance revealed barking cough and wheezing with every breath. It strongly reminded me of Tom's ailment during our departure from Europe, and again I acted as advised by good aunt Pepe -- I took Lisa out of her bed and held her for about twenty minutes out in our back yard. Yes, this cold and damp weather is good for at least one thing. Then I evicted Sid from our bed, opened our patio door open and hoped that Lisa and I could slumber a bit. Alas, Lizzy kept on wheezing and so in another half hour I called an advice nurse. She spoke with me in kind voice and asked for Lisa to be put on the phone. My objections that the patient was eight months old and won't be much of a chat partner, made her laugh -- she only wanted to listen to her breathing. And thus Lisa experienced her first phone call.

It was to no avail, as the nurse anyway made a safe bet and told us to "rather go to a hospital", for Lisa was supposedly breathing quite fast and it would be better to have someone look at her, as it could be "croup". My knowledge of English as I hold it in my head maps this word to a European, life threatening children's disease, which seemed strange -- after all, this is the twenty first century and kids are inoculated. Still it felt like a good idea to wake up Sid, stuff Lisa into her car seat, and drive out. Lisa did not show any signs of dying, and so we chose to take her to "our" urgent care clinic. A locked door and a small sign with opening times from seven to nine gave credence to the nurses direction to the hospital. A children hospital entrance, for a change, sported a sign referring us to an emergency room around the corner, in the adult section. Well, next time we have an urgent need, we shall know where to go right away.

	Lisa rummaging through toys

	When Tom is asleep, Lizzy is free to commune with his trains

There were two well-pickled looking individuals lounging in the waiting room, and I braced for upcoming delays, but instead a pediatric nurse ran out and quickly examined Lisa. I don't think I have to stress that driving in a car seat (i.e. upright) in a drafty car had improved Lizzy's condition by a hundred percent, and I started to feel like a stereotypical, hysterical mother. Fortunately Lizzy showed a normal, abrupt response to having her temperature taken, and being listened to on her belly, and performed a showcase of a sea lion's barking, to which the nurse good-heartedly nodded, yes, this was "croup", and off we went into the examination room. There we could not hold it any long and started to ask what was this thing Lisa has contracted. Here it is -- although the English-Czech dictionary really maps "croup" to "záškrt" (which is a bacterial infection), croup has been simply used here to describe a generic symptom of a barking cough, usually caused by a flu-like virus. The nurse left us in the room with a new, pink, stuffed poodle -- saying that they are equipped to deal with baby patients and every child receives a new personal toy...

Lisa got subsequently examined by another nurse, a resident doctor, and yet another physician. First they were mentioning steroids that could relieve the swelling of throat passages, but since their visits (or rather, intervals separating them) kept on dragging, Lizzy kept on improving and breathed quietly and normally, until we were released home with no treatment at all. The biggest complication turned out to be about eight sheets of paper that Sid had to sign (most forms dealt with amazing facts like the one disclosing to us that we found ourselves in a hospital, where not all employees were doctors, but there also were nurses, and medical students; sending us home should in no way be interpreted that the patient was completely cured and so on -- I think if California would declare an open hunting season for lawyers, we could stop worrying about Amazonian deforestation). In the end they all came back to say goodbye (we could have possibly been the only event during a pediatric night shift) and issued us, besides the pink poodle, a thermometer, and a plastic drinking cup for babies. Lizzy was so tired from all the socializing that she slept right through being carried from the car into her crib, where she continued to sleep for another three hours, until seven a.m., that is. Perhaps this whole trip was not really excessive -- for a few following nights Lisa did not request to be entertained at night -- she might have figured out that going to a hospital is too much fun even for her, and sleeping through the night is better.

Since our nightly trip to the ER, Sid had been watching Lisa with an inquisitive look, and subsequently said that we have apparently a sea lion in our house. Besides a seal's bark (from the cold), it shows in using only hands for locomotion (Lisa still drags her legs behind her as if they were grown together into a tail fin) -- she even uses a sea lion way to crawl up on a high pedestal. We caught her a few times bending her neck backwards after sitting and eating, into a typical posture of a resting sea lion; once she even comfortably fell asleep in this position. The other symptom is her fascination with water. All you have to do is open the spigots in the bathtub and Lisa rushes in as much as her belly allows her to, and begins to push her way into the tub. We are generally of the opinion that a baby this small does not need to take a full bath every day, but our missy is of a different mind set. It looks as if we shall have to adapt our evening schedule.

	Rainy Easter As usual we celebrate in American style -- kids look for eggs hidden in our back yard by the Easter Bunny.

	Tom unpacks the eggs, and Lisa won't be found far away. Tommy watches over her, for she must not eat the wrapper.

Our Wagon has, in part, determined our weekend program. This member of our household has been, sadly, befallen by old age. Hundred eighty two thousand miles (293 thousand km) on the tachometer is a serious thing. The wagon emits various rattling and squeaking noises, and it begins to be uncertain, whether it will be with us for the next mile, or whether it would expire after ten thousand more (most likely, something in between). There's no other way for us than to consider what to do, when our old friend meets its final moment. My Hippo grunts darkly over various internet sites, and then drives us all out to examine some candidate for our future car fleet extension. As expected, we have a classical problem -- we want something that cannot be. We desire a small vehicle with a good gas mileage, all wheel drive, room for all four of us -- plus granny. She could, in emergency, squeeze between the children's seats, but still -- with molded plastic embossed in both sides, one can travel for only (very, but really very) limited time. Cars with seven seats usually offer size, fuel economy, and driving performance of a bus -- and don't have 4WD. Those few available compromises are -- compromised. And we should not forget the price. A car in our household is a consumable (and consumed) object. Although endowed with kids, we intend to do road trips; we don't need a shiny, posh icon -- more like something reliable on and off road.

We have already surrendered to the fact that our next car will probably be a "tipsy" (SUV). We accepted that all these big cars are only made with an automatic transmission. However there are still many issues we can't bring ourselves over. Take Honda: they make all cars with such high seats that I cannot drive them painlessly. I have never had the impression that I might be some strange freak of nature, but I apparently possess shanks too short for Honda -- my feet dangle, and if I want to reach the pedals, I must depress the edge of the seat with my thighs. After about half hour of driving this becomes very uncomfortable. I could tolerate it with Cecilia, which I used only to drive in the nearest neighborhood, but I cannot afford something like this with a road tripping vehicle. I am evidently quite spoiled by Subaru -- their seats are so comfortable, I can spend hours and hours in them without ever feeling discomfort -- alas, Subaru's Tribeca (our first candidate) has such an unfortunate design that we must seek help with its competitors. So far we did not succeed, and we can pray that the Wagon lasts for some more time -- and hope that in the meantime, somebody will come up with a car "for us".

Copyright © 2006 by Carol & Sid Paral. All rights reserved.