My Doogie Moment

Turn on the lamps. For 30 seconds each, test that each of eight values is within range. If yes, display one message. If not, enter fixed calibration mode and display a different message.

That's all I have to do. It's really not so tough. Logistically, I've got it down. Only, right now, 30 seconds translates to 30 milliseconds, so the whole thing is done before I can blink. And I haven't even turned on the lamps yet.

But I'm close, so close I can feel it. Oh wait, that's my breakfast...

Just kidding. I'm back. You may not have noticed my absence in cybertime, since I've never been particularly consistent at writing anyhow. But I have to say, I seem to be doing everything I can to make Spring Break the worst break ever.

Last year, I was working. A lot. Like, staying up until 1am every morning trying to meet a killer deadline. Couldn't really pay much attention to the kids. This year, I figured I'd be more balanced, work with my husband's schedule, call a sitter, be flexible, you know, all that good stuff. And for the first week, it worked out pretty well. I took one day off, worked the next, took the boys to the Botanical Gardens and later worked while the little one napped. All was good. And then I got sick. And for the whole second week of vacation, my boys stayed with their grandparents while I slept at home and struggled to hold anything down. The nausea was unbearable. I ate nothing for two days, and ultimately managed to completely dehydrate myself, so that my husband took me into the emergency department and had me pumped with 3 bags of fluids. I slept off the rest of that day, and was finally able to stay awake the next. And work.

I had to skip a writing class that I had signed up for. I'm fairly confident that the virus that jumped from one son to another and then to me is gone, but it was nasty and I was not about to risk infecting others. That and I wasn't sure I was quite up to concentrating that long on anything, even writing (if that can be imagined). It was a small workshop - eight people - and would have been an incredible experience for me. And I had really been looking forward to it. But I had to be responsible. And going to the class would have been selfish. That, and my kids miss me, and they're heading home soon, and I can't wait to see them again!

My doggy's home, too. He went in for surgery Tuesday and came home Friday. He's got a bright yellow bandage covering his whole leg (no he is NOT a Steelers fan), and he was seriously bummed when I wouldn't take him for a walk just now (doctor's orders! - and I'm still in my pajamas). The tumor has once again been debulked, and we'll see how long it takes for it to regrow this time. He's such a trooper, such a great dog. I just wish I knew where my hubby put all the dog treats!

And speaking of my hubby, for all his acting like he's an insensitive clod, he actually baked me chocolate chip cookies - from scratch - this week hoping to motivate me into feeling better. Sure, he enjoyed some while he waited for me to recuperate (and while he did all the laundry, grocery shopping, cleaning, and otherwise management of the house when he wasn't going to work), but still.

So now he's off on a bike ride while the Doogie Howser, M.D. theme song runs through my head and I try to think of some clever quip to summarize the past week.

I think after "de-bugging" myself this past week, debugging my program seems like a relatively simple task. I often let my life get too busy, too complicated, and it tends to catch up with me. Juggle too many china plates and one's bound to come crashing down on you eventually. I'd like to think this will teach me to take on less and take better care of myself, but I know better.

Last weekend, at my sister's and brother-in-law's house, with eleven adults and three children sleeping under one roof, there were a couple of plumbing incidences. I equated that to a server load test that companies do to make sure their computer systems can support their work load. Evidently it failed. And evidently my server load test failed too. But the nice thing is that I learned that I do have a very reliable backup system...family.

(how's that for a nice Doogie Howser ending?)

What I Love About Parenting Magazines

So the latest issue of Parents magazine just came in the mail today, and while I've decided the time has come to discontinue the subscription, since I rarely manage to even open it up until my husband comes around and threatens to toss it in recycling because it's been sitting on the coffee table for a month and if I haven't read it by now, then I'm never going to look at it. Of course, since I'm still a parent, it's still applicable and should be saved as a Reference. I mean, I never make him scale down his large stack of medical journals that he claims he will get to if I ever give him the free time away from work and hanging with the kids to get a chance to read (because in all my time away from the kids, I just sit around and read magazines and eat bonbons, right? I do seem to have 28 hours to his 24 hours each day, a math I've never been able to reconcile).

But anyhow, here's the thing about Parenting magazines... they are always relevant. Take, for example, the headlines on the latest issue:

"Oh, Behave! The One Discipline Secret Every Mom Needs"
"12 SUPER-HEALTHY SUPER-EASY SNACKS"
"GET YOUR KIDS TO PICK UP THEIR TOYS (FINALLY!)"
"IS YOUR CAR SEAT SAFE? Are You Sure?"
"Fewer Tantrums/More Confidence/Better Bedtimes/In Just 5 Minutes a Day"
"Lose the Baby Weight! (NO DIETING, WE PROMISE)"
and in a circle on the right, "HAPPY SPRING! EASTER CRAFTS, SWEET TREATS"

So as I read each one, all I can think is, "Oh my god! How perfect! This is exactly what I need to read right now! I was just thinking about this the other day!"

I got it out of the mail slot after picking up the boys from school, wondering what the heck I was going to give them for their snack. Why, if only I had an idea that was better than handing them a PopTart and a CapriSun!

Meanwhile, the kids have run off into the play room and there are toys scattered all over. As I go to call them to the dining room for snack time, I can't help but wish I knew what to do to get them to clean up their toys!

But of course, my thinking is interrupted when my seven-year-old pushes down my two-year-old for not sharing the toy kitchen, and I lose it. How can I stop this behavior!

I walk back to the kitchen, where I've left the magazine sitting, and glance at the headlines, feeling a sigh of relief. I did look through the snack recipes, and discovered that they would require a trip to the grocery store before I could actually make even one of their twelve suggested healthy snacks, and ended up letting the little one eat six-month-old caramel corn (and toss a few pieces across the dining room while I talked to the seven-year-old in his timeout chair; meanwhile, the four-and-three-quarter-year-old did have two bowls of banana vanilla yogurt, so I'm at least batting .333, which would be considered a respectable batting average if I had some excellent fielding skills - like eliminating skunk smell from the interior of my minivan - and few errors - like locking myself out of my house).

So here's what I've come to conclude. Whether I read these magazines or not is irrelevant. I rarely actually learn anything new from them, or at least nothing that I can retain long-term, but I do like having them around. Being married to an Emergency physician, I don't worry about medical emergencies. I could probably learn to handle many situations better, perhaps remembering what dose the kids need to get of this or that medicine, perhaps even remember how to convert their weight from pounds to kilograms. But since the answers are as close as a yell or as far as a phone call to the ER when he's working, I don't bother. But, and here is the key, because I have this great resource, I don't panic. I can stay (or at least appear) calm because I know the situation is under control. Of course, when I saw my dog's tumor swelled up and bleeding with something coming out, I freaked and went to the vet, where I then proceeded to pay $150 for the consultation and meds that didn't help and was told that I should have made a better medical decision last year (how does that help me figure out what to do now?) and ultimately told them I couldn't make a decision until my husband came back to town three days later. Because I'm not a vet and I don't know what to do in this situation, and where can I turn?

So I believe I'm hooked on these magazines because they give me somewhere to turn that does not necessarily involve exposing to any particular person what a horrible mother I really am (you did what?!) and, in a parenting emergency (non-medical, of course), I'll have a resource to help me figure out what to do.

Imagine, if you can, the following scenario:

Kids have thrown their toys everywhere while Mom cooks. Mom calls them to dinner. Kids fuss through dinner, barely eating. Mom yells at them to eat. After dinner, Mom tells kids to clean up their mess and then get ready for bed. Kids go back to toys and keep making a mess. Mom screams at them, and they finally go upstairs and fight over the toothpaste, make a mess of the bathroom, and jump naked on their beds, day clothes tossed on the floor and pajamas still in the drawer.

Meanwhile, how the same scenario might play out with the parenting magazine:

Mom cooks, and kids play with one toy at a time, putting each away as they finish with it. [GET YOUR KIDS TO PICK UP THEIR TOYS]. Mom finishes cooking and finds that the table has been set by the kids (since they were done putting away their toys and were hungry). They sit down and eat up their healthy, well-balanced meal silently, politely asking for seconds and answering questions about their day using their inside voices. When they finish, they ask to be excused, put their dishes away, and one clears the table while another cleans the table. They then run upstairs to put on their pajamas, brush their teeth, and pick out their clothes for the next day. They lie under their covers, waiting for you to come upstairs and read their bedtime stories. [FEWER TANTRUMS/BETTER BEDTIMES].

See, how could I resist having them around with that kind of promise packed inside?

What a Stinker!

So a while back, I posted one of my short stories on this site, titled "The Stinker" (If you're interested, click here to read the story). But to summarize, it talked about learning to coexist with skunks. One of the main characters in the story is an enlightened skunk who believes that they could more easily survive in suburban settings if they just stopped spraying, which the needed to do out in the wild to avoid being eaten, humans would be less inclined to get rid of them.

Well, here in the real world, I just learned last night that we have a skunk living in our detached garage (an old garage, with floor that's not level and that's rather old and let's say air leaky. In other words, there are plenty of places for a skunk to squeeze its way in). This morning, I learned from our neighbors (thanks for the heads up, by the way!) that it's been living there for a while.

I teach my kids about non-violence and tolerance. Yet last night, I mortified my seven year old as I heartlessly killed a poor, innocent moth that happened to fly in my field of vision in his bedroom. And this morning, I called the city to find out if they can come get rid of the skunk (incidentally, they don't do that anymore, so I'd have to go through a private company, and I've gotten all the information and just have to decide whether I want to just rent the traps or have them come take care of it).

So where's the better lesson for my kids? Until yesterday, the skunk just took up space. I presume he/she has been munching on any mice, keeping them out of our basement (and for that we should be grateful). Up until last night, there had been no sign of him, no spraying, no sightings. They are not violent, and simply use the spray when startled (like when hearing a car alarm go off). My husband came home in the evening, saw the skunk, and kept the car in the driveway. He came inside, then set off the car alarm (in case the skunk hadn't seen him, seeing as they do have rather poor eyesight), shut the garage, and stayed inside. My guess as to what happened next: the skunk freaked out (the skunk equivalent of peeing in his pants from fear) and sprayed. Only, since he was inside the garage with my minivan, guess what got the brunt of the spraying? Yeah, that was a fun drive to the school this morning (and a cold drive back home).

So, do I teach the kids tolerance and acceptance, and learn to live with the skunk (since my kids all seem to want to be vegetarian for humane reasons; my four-and-three-quarters-year-old looked at the fish I served earlier this week and said it wasn't nice to eat fish because we killed the fish (I didn't think it would help if I mentioned that I didn't personally kill the fish, since that's almost worse and a personal dilemma I face anyhow)), or do I capitalize on the repulsiveness of the odor and teach them that hypocrisy exists, even in their mom, and that you have to learn to accept people with all their flaws and foibles and inconsistencies.

Yes, I think that's a better message.

The New Theory That Could

I have a new theory. Caution: This is based purely on a couple of anecdotes, and has no scientific merit - yet. But here's the thing - if it proves to have merit, I want credit. Kinda like a Think Tank or something. Which reminds me of Grad school, when a classmate and I decided we wanted to form a Think Tank Think Tank, a company who would tell Think Tanks what to think about.

We made friends after my checkers program beat his checkers program in our Artificial Intelligence programming class Checkers Tournament. He was the class T.A. (Teaching Assistant) and he knew that the only reason mine won was because his program had so many possible ways to eliminate my last remaining piece (the other pieces having quickly walked right into a quick death) that it ran out of time (there was a five-minute time limit).

So I knew that the technical paper I had to write about my checkers program - which he would read - would easily earn a failing grade if I tried to lie or defend it for being anything but an assignment barely completed on time (and sorely lacking an early strategy - let alone an end game strategy) after staying up late the night before the tournament. It was bad enough that I was going to get a better grade than him because much of the grade depended on how the program fared in the tournament, and I made it to the semi-finals before finally coming across someone who had programmed an end-game strategy that accounted for the diminishing time.

So I wrote a short story called "The Little Checkers Program That Could." I figured if I could make him laugh, he wouldn't slap an F on the paper. I threw in the required technical information, but kept the humor in there too. And it worked. I not only passed the class (and learned to love LISP, a programming language using only parentheses - which led me to start writing emails in LISP (kind of like how I'm writing now)), but it also reminded me of just how much I still need to be a writer.

So anyhow, back to my theory. I believe that Indian girls who grow up unable to tolerate spicy foods are more likely to marry white men, specifically white men who love really spicy food. And I don't just mean spicy for white folk, but 'ask for a chili pepper to accompany the meal' spicy.

Looking at it at a psychological level, perhaps Indian girls are attracted to people who come from cultures that don't traditionally eat spicy foods, with the hopes that they can - some days - eat nothing spicier than ketchup. Or perhaps they wish to please their parents and thus find someone who will fill the perceived shortcoming ("I don't like spicy food, but meet someone who does"). Or they believe that the spiciness-affinity will be a bonding point for them ("Mom will love cooking spicy food for him, once she gets over the fact that he's white").

So all you Indian moms and dads out there who are so worried about your children getting too assimilated into American culture, here's my advice to you. Teach your kids to handle Indian food. Or if it's not something you believe you could or should change, perhaps this information will help you be better prepared as a parent, kind of like the test that women take when they're pregnant to predict for Down's Syndrome.

I wonder if I could get some funding to research this theory further...