hugh's girls

not hefner.  if you're looking for that kind of reading material, you'll definitely need to look somewhere else.  These are the net result of being housebound with an immune suppressed little guy while he recovers from his asthma attack...he can't be in public daycare settings for the risk of any kind of contagion, and as we live in our bubble world, we run out of things to do quickly...it's like a snow day on acid.

After watching every video, reading every book, and much nose picking, my daughter disappeared into her playroom, having decided that her princess barbies needed a bath.  She undressed them, neatly lined up their royal ensembles, washed them, and arranged them on the counter in her bathroom to dry.

We didn't see her handiwork until it was time to tuck her in.  I perched on her bed, ready for tummy scratching duty while my husband took her into her bathroom to brush her teeth.  He emerged, moments later, red with unspent mirth, and said, 'Anna, it's an episode of Girls Gone Wild in there, and seriously, two of them are about to hook up.'

Naturally, I ran for my camera...as Pauline say, I'm livin' the dream, baby.  :)

Mother Superior

Meet Hugh, aka The Moose, The Big Hairy Boss, Chunky Monkey, Mr. Happy, and (my personal favorite) Chubkinz (distant relative of Webkinz, I think).  At his one year well baby check, he was about 34 inches tall and weighed in at a whopping 31 pounds.  Fortunately, the good people of Tennessee are as enamored of his (ahem) stature as I am.  

Besides proving once and for all that big is beautiful (or did Queen Latifah do that?  I'm not sure), he has come to this earth to be a ray of sunshine, with a laugh that could soften the blackest heart.

Unfortunately, today was not his day...typically, he does his happy baby show despite the fact that he has lung disease...severe persistent asthma, the worst kind...but today, he had an acute attack that took at least 10 years off my life and could have ended his.  Thank God, we had everything we needed on hand (including a phone to call 911), I was able to treat his symptoms, and care for him until the ambulance showed up.

It has been pointed out to me by a well meaning neighbor that breast milk is the answer!  Although she is no longer nursing her children (ages one and three), she swears that when her children pick up pinkeye or an ear infection, all she needs is to put a few drops of breast milk in the eye, or the ear, and voila!  Clear!  Apparently, nobody thinks this is weird, and her nursing friends will swoop by with a bottle when somebody gets sick.

If only I had a nursing friend today, that call to 911 could have been avoided! (note to self:  business opportunity...nipple911!!)

To be perfectly clear:  I nursed both of my children, both of whom have lung disease, and one of whom has a host of life threatening food allergies.  When she went into systemic shock after ingesting an offending substance, I'm pretty sure breastmilk couldn't have helped her.  It certainly didn't prevent the allergies, despite my good intentions and the best research.

Needless to say, when it was suggested to me that breastmilk prevents these things by this well meaning neighbor (who clearly blames me for my children's health issues, because not everything in my house is organic, and I don't make them change their clothes every time they come in from the outside world, and I don't decontaminate their toys after playdates and, and, and, and), it was all I could do not to laugh.  If only I, too, worked for a furniture company and had read a few internet articles about the value of breastmilk and organics say, instead of having my MA from NYU in Early Childhood Development, ongoing studies at Columbia and Stanford, five years of experience with asthma, allergies, and nutrition...maybe I could have come up with such a genius panacea!

But as Pauline says, there's just no talkin' to crazy.

the little yuppie that could

I am, in equal parts, appalled and amused that I spent my day readying my five-year-old for her yoga lesson at our club.  Did she have a mat?  Yoga pants (or at least adorable leggings)?  Should I braid her hair so it didn't fall into her face when she learned down dog?  HAVE I BECOME *THAT* PERSON?! (no, no, no Escalade, no botox in my forehead, no restalayne in my lips...not yet...)

How did this happen?

Ten years ago, I lived in a BIK (that would be bathtub in kitchen, for those people who can see the convenience of scrambling eggs while conditioning their hair) apartment with mice, flying cockroaches, and rats so big, you could identify their GENDER (yes, as they ran away hissing, I could see their b*lls, they were THAT BIG).  I often had to choose between buying cigarettes and food (cigarettes won, hands down every time), and I was somehow the envy of all my friends, despite the fact that my toilet was in the only thing that could ostensibly pass for a closet...because my apartment was rent controlled.

And today it was children's yoga at the clubhouse.

And here she is...may she never see the balls of an escaping rat as it curses her with a view of its rat man parts.

Pauline says done is better than perfect, which is why I've started with this absurd entry.  Maybe it will loosen my tongue (like THAT needs to happen!) or brain, or fingers, or jostle something loose...

Off to watch some CSI and wish I could eat a pound of pistachios.

I'm Anna Crane, and this is my blog.

Because Pauline said I could, and I believe her...I'm Anna Crane, and this IS *my* blog, but you will get to meet Pauline, my muse and oft-quoted, oft-emulated sil on a near daily basis here.