Projects

Sam has been working on projects lately.  This means that he has collected a random assortment of art-craft stuff and keeps it in a bin.  He then raids the recycling basket for more.  Everyday when he starts his project he needs his scissors, which are inevitably missing or at the bottom of the bin.  We have a conversation about the scissors which goes something like,
"Where are my scissors?"
"Did you check your bin?  And you don't need to dump it out to check it."
The bin gets dumped.  "They're not here, someone took them."
"Maybe you left them in the other room."
"Can I use your scissors?"
"No."
"I'll look for them, but I think someone took them."
This is where I have to stop what I am doing to go and find them before the whole house is turned upside down.

My two favorite projects are:

1.  Sam cutting up the puffy paint tactile letters that I spent about 2 hours creating (it's hard to write in puffy paint!) I just discovered them chopped up this morning.

 Letters before the cutting.

And after.


2.  Sam using my Victoria's Secret catalog as his project (it was in the recycling bin).  Here he is hard at work.

Healing

We're all trying to move on from the events last week and start to heal.  Things are less surreal now, though just as heartbreaking.  I keep thinking about how lucky I am to not be directly effected by the events and to not have to explain to my kids what happened.  We live a few blocks away from the funeral home that is holding the wake for one of the victims, and yesterday the area was lined with police cars and helicopters to protect the family and friends from potential (promised) protests from the Westboro Baptist Church.  I can still get away with not being truthful when Sam asks about all the activity.  Today, I drove past the funeral home, as they were preparing to leave for the church, with Vivian in the car, my heart heavy, her sleeping obliviously.

Funeral article link

Friday was horrible and tense as waves of news kept us glued to the TVs, poor journalism, and misinformation; as the police searched for the suspect after an MIT police officer was killed, another wounded and a chase ensued through Cambridge and Watertown.  Communities were on lockdown, with Davis Square and other urban areas being ghost towns, while next door Medford had minimal traffic.  I went to a grocery store in Chelsea which was open, and in the same plaza, TJ Maxx and RadioShack were closed.  My mother couldn't get to New York with Amtrak, the T, and buses being down.  Of course there are connections everywhere, in this small city, and Tess knew the officer who was killed.

My coworkers had to endure their homes being searched by SWAT team members and to take cover during the gunfights and manhunt in Watertown.  Everyone returned to school today with counseling services on hand, to support each other and the students through the hopeful return to routine and normalcy.  On Friday, I watched on the news as neighborhoods I am familiar with, were combed for explosives, the suspect, and lined with law enforcement in military vehicles.  Social media actually became a source of comfort and reassurance as friends updated their statuses and let us know they were okay, some providing much needed humor (not to make light of the situation).


"Omg there's a swat team in my house right now!!!!!"

(and my message to her & response:  
me: "I hope there were some hot guys"
her:  "Thanks for the good laugh. They were literally hot and sweating poor guys. Most were older, but a couple were good looking ")

"We are becoming way too familiar with our living room rug today!"

"Huffingtonpost interview shows our Swifer was in the shot!"

"The swat guys were super cool and friendly. They declined a group photo. One of them said, "its still pretty dangerous" to me. You know I had to try."

There were some scary images and statuses also, but I will refrain from sharing those.A few that were taken in the thick of things by friends in the neighborhood:




 And that have been circulating:   



A police officer delivers milk to family with young children who were on lockdown in Watertown.



The Make Way for Ducklings Statues in Boston.



And of course, moments like this, David Ortiz speaking at Fenway Park on April 20.

Big Papi at Fenway link


Now the suspect is in the same hospital as those who were injured in the initial bombing.  The same hospital that Vivian was born in less than two months ago.

Chris and I went down to Newbury Street yesterday, without the kids, to walk around the galleries and get out of the house.  Newbury runs parallel to Bolyston, which is still an active crime scene.  People were everywhere and the cherry blossoms and Magnolia trees were in bloom.  On the corner of Newbury Street, people sat eating lunch outside at Stephanie's.  Next to them where Newbury and Exeter St meet, metal barriers blocked the crime scene and memorials lay.  Bolyston is still littered with blown out windows and the same mangled barriers that first responders pulled aside and leapt over.  The Bolyston blocks and intersecting streets are silent and deserted, other than the crowds paying their respects and officers guarding the area, and the forensic teams dressed in all white, combing through the area.  It's eery and heartbreaking.  Large bomb squad vehicles are parked throughout and news crews are still filming.  The next block is lively and crowded and signs of spring are everywhere.  H & M has the Newbury St entrance open and the adjoining entrance onto Clarendon is locked with the investigation in full force outside.

Now we move on, as the suspect at Beth Israel hospital is beginning to communicate and victims are laid to rest.  People are coming together to mourn and hold vigils and runs, and find some peace.  The great political repercussions have yet to be seen with immigration and Miranda rights hitting the forefront of the discussions.
We have to cherish what we have, the communities we live in, and the way tragedies bring us together, and hope not to have to explain this type of thing to our children, ever.

This is a little overdone, but a  recap of both the events, Boston community, and spirit.
Below is a link to the Opening ceremony at Fenway Park on April 20.

Fenway 4/20 Opening Ceremony

Vivian After Our Walk

Walking around the neighborhood is exhausting!  Vivian didn't stir when she was taken out of the sling and put on the couch.  Truly sleeping like a baby.

Boston, Patriots Day

Thankful that I don't have to explain the Marathon events of any of this to my children yet.  Patriot's Day is a holiday in Massachusetts and is one of the first spring days that the state enjoys at Fenway and watching the marathon.

The police officer on the left is a friend and neighbor of a good friend of mine.  She worked 24 hours straight because of the marathon and aftermath.  The police are currently required to work twelve hour shifts and go home for twelve hours, then return to work.  They only represent a small portion of the people effected as the city comes back together.  Countless stories continue to come out about the events downtown as the city continues to investigate the scene and services are held.  

The incomprehension and sadness we all feel at a time like this is indescribable.  Then to hear the news that gun laws are not being reformed in the midst of trying to comprehend another tragedy is even more frustrating.  We continue to think and pray for everyone touched by this tragedy. 

Boston

Random photos and reasons I love Boston.

 Opening day at Fenway Park and finally winning the World Series.

 The Citgo sign in Fenway.

 Even cupcake stores celebrate the city's love of sports.

 The Red Sox.

 Nighttime in the city.

Sports players willing to visit schools.

 Frog Pond.

 Fans willing to wait in line overnight for tickets to events.

 Mother's Day on the Common and family events.

Parking signs that make absolutely no sense and the correlation between the less understanding you have of the sign, the more likely you are to not get a ticket.

Rainy Day

The best way to spend a rainy day.

Ahh, These Moments...

After school today, we hung out at the park at Sam's school, getting the last of the warm, sunny weather for a few days.   Sam rode his scooter with his friends and then we stopped for a new helmet at a bike store sale.  When we got home, it was late, and Sam and Vivian were hungry.  I got Sam's dinner together while juggling the baby and decided to let him eat at his little table in the dining room, while I fed Vivian on the couch nearby, instead of trying to push a late family dinner.

Chris arrived home for a short while before going back out to a meeting.  He sat at the dining room table trying to prepare for his meeting, while taking a business phone call.  Meanwhile, Vivian spit up/threw up down my back and over the back of the couch.  I got up and took my shirt off and handed Chris the baby, so I could clean up.  In the kitchen rinsing off my shirt and a couch pillow and monitoring Chris and I's dinner, I heard Sam screaming about being stuck.  I ran back into the dining room, where Chris was trying to pry Sam's feet out of the back of his little chair where they were wedged, still holding the baby, balancing on his non-broken foot.  We got them unwedged and calmed him down, and I asked Chris to wipe the spit up off my back, while Vivian started to cry.

About five minutes later, when all was calm again, we realized Chris's client was still on other end of the abandoned phone, listening to the commotion and patiently waiting for him to return.

Lone Truck

There's construction going on near our house, as eventually, one of the trains from the city will be extended out through our city.  We were filling the car with gas the other day, and Sam was watching the trucks across the street on the train tracks.
He was narrating what he saw, when he said, "oh, that's sad."
"What's that?" I asked.
"That little backhoe is all by himself, he has no one to work with."
Sure enough when I looked, there was one lone red backhoe on one side of the tracks by itself, while all the other big trucks worked on the other side.  Funny what is sad to a three year old.

         A photo from afar of the lonely truck.

Sometimes...

I'm typing this with one hand, because it's one of those days where Vivian can't be put down, or apparently change position, or be put in a sling.  I just finished typing three presentation critiques for the course I'm teaching with one hand and spreading butter on a bagel.  I remember these days from Sam as a newborn.  I will be very adept at the one handed tasks again soon.
Vivian is not a happy girl these past few days, gassy and miserable.  When I started this blog I didn't want to be a parent who wrote about toileting or bodily functions, but when it's your daily reality, things change.  Yesterday Vivian graced me with three bouts of projectile vomiting and on and off crying from 6:00 until 11:00 pm.  We're not really sure what is going on, and since I'm breastfeeding, I've cut a number of things out of my diet, pretty much to no avail.  I'm hoping this latest and greatest is just a bug and that it will pass.
Last night I finally escaped to a bar with a friend for an hour and a half and came back to a still unhappy girl.  Unfortunately, when my friend came to pick me up and asked how my day was, I told her.  Then she told me she was pregnant (with her first).  Oops.  I had to quickly backtrack and tell her about all the good things that come with babies and toddlers.
When I retrieved Vivian from Chris at 10:30, I retreated to the bedroom to give him some peace.  I finally got her quiet and on her way to sleep and heard gagging.  Now the cat was getting ready to throw up on the bed.  I managed to move her in such a way that she only got part of the bed, but enough that the comforter is in the washing machine, and a good portion of the floor.  Then Vivian naturally started crying again.  But then I look down at the little sleeping baby on me and forgive her for the loads of laundry and desire to be held and my state of sleepiness, and hopefully she'll forgive me for writing about her gas issues when she's old enough to be upset about it.

Same Age

I have been trying to get similar photos to compare Vivian and Sam at the same age.  Sometimes she looks exactly like him, other times she is her own little person, or resembles my Dad's side of the family.  This is them in the same outfit, both around 3 weeks.

                                          Sam in April 2010.

                                           Sam.

                       Vivian tolerating her chair for 5 minutes.

Vivian.

Birthday Update

We are still struggling with Sam and toilet training, as in he blatantly refuses to use the potty, toilet, go without a diaper, or even discuss the possibility.  With the arrival of the baby, we decided to hold off on pushing the issue.  Recently he has taken to promising us that he will go when he is a "bigger boy," or after he turns three.  Well, his third birthday arrived and inevitably, as we wished him happy birthday and discussed breakfast Sam said,
"do I have to wear underwear today?"
Chris and I looked at each other.
Dumbly I asked, "Are you ready to wear underwear?"
"No."
"Well, then you can wear diapers today and when you're ready you can wear underwear."
He contemplated this and then told us, "I'll be ready on my next birthday."
We assured him he'd feel ready before his next birthday, way before.

Vivian at 1 month