In our last story, I promised you two more camping adventure tales. Here is the second one:
On our next-to-last day of our stay in Elmore State Park in northeastern Vermont last week, my husband, Ed, decided to take our sons Neil, almost 13, and Jared, almost 6, hiking up Mount Elmore, which has an elevation of 2,608 feet and whose peak is 800 feet above its base. It’s part of the Worcester Range.
Ed and I had climbed it 14 years ago, when we camped at the park for our honeymoon. Maybe it’s no big deal for real mountain-climbers, but to me back then, while I was still in good shape from racewalking, it was a pretty stiff climb. (I just found out that at least one web site for hikers rates it as a moderate to strenuous climb. My estimation of my fitness level back then has just increased—a lot.) All these years later, I’ve just begun trying to lose all the weight I’ve gained through being a sedentary freelance copyeditor and bearing 3 children. I’m not yet in good enough shape for hiking up any kind of mountain, so I planned to stay in our campsite while mountain goats Ed, Neil, and Jared were scampering across the rocks.
It had been unseasonably cool all week, and early in the morning I had mentioned to Ed that it looked a bit like rain. This was nothing new; we’d already had a couple of days of torrential rain. Thank goodness Ed’s a fanatic about stretching plastic tarps above all our tents and tying them to trees. In 15 years of camping, we’ve never had a tent so wet that it was uninhabitable and we’ve slept quite well through plenty of rainstorms. But the clouds blew away and the guys headed out at about noon with snacks, water, and Ed’s cell phone. We’d had extremely poor reception on our cells since our arrival at camp because of the mountains, but we’d kept trying to use them anyway when we needed to communicate across a distance. We're used to New York State's sea-level Long Island, where cell signals are nearly always good.
I enjoyed a relaxing afternoon lying in the hammock we’d brought along, doing word-search puzzles. Meanwhile, the guys hiked up the mountain, which was quite near our campsite, making it all the way up onto an old steel fire tower perched on the peak. Along the way, they encountered plenty of odd and fascinating sights, such as a tree shaped like a backward question mark and another one that had grown horizontally for years before starting to die.
I hadn’t heard anything from Ed by about 4:30 pm. I wasn’t that worried because Ed’s in great shape and would keep the boys safe, and I knew that with his and Neil’s attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder, the three guys would lose track of time, finding lots of things to investigate before realizing it was time to head back to camp.
But then one of the many talented and dedicated young adults from the Vermont Youth Conservation Corps who manage the park (under the aegis of the State of Vermont Department of Forests Parks & Recreation) showed up at our campsite: “I’m letting you know that there’s a tornado warning for the area. If you need shelter, you can come to the check-in building or any of the buildings at the front of the park” (where corps members live as long as they’re working in the park).
“Thanks,” I said. “Damn! My husband and sons are on Mount Elmore! And I can’t reach them by cell phone.”
“Let’s hope they take shelter,” the young man* said, and then headed off on foot to warn other campers. Some of his coworkers drove around the park in golf carts through the day-use areas (Lake Elmore, its beach, picnic areas, and so on) to notify all the day visitors.
I went to Ed’s and my tent to check my cell, just in case a text message had gotten through. It had: Got to top of mt elmore. It’s beautiful! 2:22 pm. He’d sent the message almost 2 hours earlier, and because of spotty reception, I’d only just then received it. Why weren’t the guys back yet? I found out later—but didn’t know then—that they’d decided to hike another mile or so along the ridge of Mount Elmore to Balanced Rock, which Ed hadn’t gotten to see on our honeymoon years ago because I'd refused to hike any farther.
The first thing I did was channel Ed, putting into our tents all lightweight items, such as folding chairs, that were lying or sitting around camp. I looked around one last time to make sure all was as secure as possible, and then went into our sleeping tent to wait.
Rain began to come down in sheets, clattering deafeningly on the tarps above our tents. Only then did I begin to panic: Ed didn’t know about the tornado warning, and the guys might get caught out in the storm. I frantically typed in Tornado warning on my cell and tried to send it as a text message to Ed’s cell.
Message failed. Try again in 1 minute?
Yes.
I tried 12 times to send that message. I stopped trying when I started to hyperventilate after an image of my 3 favorite guys, sprawled on the rocky mountain trail in death after being struck by lightning, stabbed its way into my head. I wondered how I’d survive without them.
Meanwhile, the guys had left Balanced Rock and gotten back to the fire tower, where they climbed up to take one last look at the lush valley below. But when Ed and Neil looked up, they saw massive black storm clouds, and Ed told the boys that the three of them would need to get down the mountain as fast as possible. They raced down, even little Jared being as nimble as a mountain goat despite almost running on rocks made slippery by pouring rain. At one point, Jared said to Ed, “The back of my neck feels prickly.” Moments later, the guys rounded a bend in the trail and found a large tree, just downed by lightning, across their path. They scrambled over it and then went back to nearly running down the mountain.
Just when I’d sat down on my cot and gripped its side bars in an effort to calm myself down, I thought I heard our van’s motor above the roar of the rain.
The three guys, completely soaked, burst through the tent, all talking at once. I collapsed on Ed’s chest, wailing, “There’s a tornado warning and I couldn’t reach you. I thought all of you might be dead!” Our soggy sons hugged both of us as we all sighed in relief.
There was an awful lot of hugging that night. And the feared tornado didn't come our way after all.
______________________
*Ed would later overhear a conversation from which he learned that that young man was chewed out by his supervisor for warning all the campers. Because of his warning, plenty of people left the campground, some temporarily for local hotels and some permanently. Hey, why worry about saving lives when you can keep people unaware and hold on to their money? We made sure to put in a written commendation for the young man.
Vermont Tale the First: Skunked
Vermont Tales Interlude: Photos
Vermont Tale the Third: Gaff Gaffe
camping vacation Vermont Mount Elmore hiking climbing tornado EditorMom
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Vermont Tales Interlude: Photos
Before I post Vermont Tale the Second, I'll share these photos from our camping vacation in Elmore State Park in northeastern Vermont. Enjoy! (Click on any thumbnail to see a larger version.) Our campsite Even campgrounds need editors: a little punctuation, please! Heading down to the creek that ran behind our campsite Waterfall in the creek behind our campsite Ed and Jared hiking Mount Elmore The mountain-goat brothers, Neil (left) and Jared, take a break from hiking Mount Elmore with Ed A tree shaped like a backward question mark A horizontally growing tree Scene from the top of Mount Elmore, at an elevation of 2,608 feet Lake Elmore, as seen from the top of Mount Elmore The boat ramp at one end of Lake Elmore Old fire tower atop Mount Elmore, where, many years ago, a lookout kept watch for fires Balanced Rock, about 1 mile along Mount Elmore's ridge after the fire tower
Neil and Ed setting up
one of our tents
Vermont Tale the First: Skunked
In our last episode, I promised you some camping adventure tales. Here is the first in a series of three:
One basic rule of camping is to keep food and garbage stored where animals can’t get them. My husband and I have been camping together for 15 years now; we know this rule well.
Every time we set up camp in a state or national park, we’ve found that the campsites have wooden picnic tables. Over a table, we always set up a screen tent; its interior becomes our kitchen. On the table or its attached benches or under or beside the table go
During the day, whenever we’re at the site, we also have some food items that are less well protected. Each night before we go to bed, we round these and the garbage bag up and lock them in our van.
One night early in our stay in Elmore State Park in northeastern Vermont last week, my husband, Ed, was the one clearing out the kitchen tent. He remembered everything except the garbage. Later that night, we were in our sleeping tent when we heard bang, bang, clunk, rustle, rustle, clunk. Ed, thinking that our almost-13-year-old son Neil was engaging in some late-night foraging, as he’s known to do at home, said sternly, “Neil! What’re you doing banging things around in the kitchen tent? At least get a flashlight so you can see what you’re doing and don’t make so much noise!”
Neil’s response from the other tent, where he’d been sleeping with his younger brother: “Wha-a-a-a? Flashlight?”
Ed unzipped one of the windows in our tent and peered out. He couldn’t see who was in the kitchen tent; it was pitch-dark. He picked up a flashlight. When he shined it on the kitchen tent, the little animal ripping at the garbage bag nonchalantly looked over its shoulder and lifted its tail high in greeting. Ed swore he could hear the black-and-white skunk thinking, Ya think yer gonna stop me? Think again. Ed turned off the flashlight, and the furry tail was lowered. Ed climbed back onto his cot, knowing he couldn’t do anything about the situation. That little bugger had a feast from our garbage bag—little bits of leftover hamburger that the boys hadn’t finished off, slurps of yogurt (his probiotic levels most likely were enhanced by those), dribbles of fruit juice, scraps of bread, a few pigeon peas, denuded corn ears.
And the lucky little fellow told a friend.
Ed told the boys the next morning about the skunk. About the time he’d reassured almost-6-year-old Jared that he wouldn’t have to worry about skunks coming around until at least dark, along came our skunk friend, with an all-white skunk friend, at twilight to prove Ed wrong. The pair figured that where there was food before, they’d find food again. But Ed had already locked away the garbage bag and vulnerable food items. He was in the kitchen tent, and the black-and-white skunk was nosing around the bottom of the back side of the tent, trying to find a way in. Because we generally keep the entrance at the front of the tent zipped shut to keep bugs out, Ed was closed in the tent. And he realized that once the skunk pushed in under the back side of the tent, it probably wouldn’t be able to push out as easily and might spray him. So he casually walked backward to the tent’s zipper and pulled it open a bit. And then he left the tent. I shined a flashlight on the skunk, and it and its friend left. It must be that I wield a meaner flashlight than Ed does. Who knows?
Of course, Jared was now sure that skunks would come hunt him down and spray him in the night while he slept, so he refused to sleep in the boys’ tent and begged to sleep in ours. Neil then decided that he didn’t want to sleep alone. So we dragged both boys’ cots into our tent, and we all slept crowdedly together. All food having been stored away, we heard no wild rustling that night.
The next evening, I remained at the campsite while Ed drove with both boys to buy firewood and kindling (hey—I never said we were total wilderness campers!) from the park staff. I sat contentedly by the fire that Neil had already started, listening to the evening sounds and the gurgling of the rushing creek that was behind our site. I glanced around the site and saw our black-and-white friend waddling toward the back of the kitchen tent from the outside.
Annoyed, I unzipped the front of the tent, aware of the possibility of being sprayed by a skunk who thinks there’s no escape, and then I said, “You’re not stinking up my tent, Mr. Skunk. No, you’re not.” I spotted our tall stainless-steel drinking cups on the table, and then spied a ballpoint pen sitting next to them. I picked up the pen and began a percussion solo on the cups. Mr. Skunk didn’t like the key that my improvised steel drums were tuned to, and he took his tail and himself off to the woods. Success!
Moments later, the guys pulled up in our van. I hadn’t moved from my perch in the kitchen tent, just in case Mr. Skunk had a change of heart and wanted an encore performance. As soon as Ed opened his door, I said, “Skunk! Skunk! Skunk!” The guys then knew to tread carefully. I told my tale of percussive skunk removal.
For the rest of our vacation, whenever we saw or thought we saw Mr. Skunk, we made those stainless-steel cups sing, accompanied by the spoken refrain, “Skunk! Skunk! Skunk!”
Vermont Tales Interlude: Photos
Vermont Tale the Second: Tornado Mountain
Vermont Tale the Third: Gaff Gaffe
camping vacation Vermont skunk EditorMom
One basic rule of camping is to keep food and garbage stored where animals can’t get them. My husband and I have been camping together for 15 years now; we know this rule well.
Every time we set up camp in a state or national park, we’ve found that the campsites have wooden picnic tables. Over a table, we always set up a screen tent; its interior becomes our kitchen. On the table or its attached benches or under or beside the table go
- A small portable sink and a large container of water with a spigot—or a homemade faucet connection to the site’s water supply—for dishwashing
- Our 2 large coolers, which snap closed tightly
- Three or 4 small propane burners, in case it’s raining and we can’t cook over a campfire
- Two boxes of stainless steel cookware, such as frying pans, big pots, little pots, burger flippers, plates, measuring cups, and tongs
- Any spices and foods that are in strong metal containers and wouldn’t be tasty to animals
- A large garbage bag, clipped to one end of the table
During the day, whenever we’re at the site, we also have some food items that are less well protected. Each night before we go to bed, we round these and the garbage bag up and lock them in our van.
One night early in our stay in Elmore State Park in northeastern Vermont last week, my husband, Ed, was the one clearing out the kitchen tent. He remembered everything except the garbage. Later that night, we were in our sleeping tent when we heard bang, bang, clunk, rustle, rustle, clunk. Ed, thinking that our almost-13-year-old son Neil was engaging in some late-night foraging, as he’s known to do at home, said sternly, “Neil! What’re you doing banging things around in the kitchen tent? At least get a flashlight so you can see what you’re doing and don’t make so much noise!”
Neil’s response from the other tent, where he’d been sleeping with his younger brother: “Wha-a-a-a? Flashlight?”
Ed unzipped one of the windows in our tent and peered out. He couldn’t see who was in the kitchen tent; it was pitch-dark. He picked up a flashlight. When he shined it on the kitchen tent, the little animal ripping at the garbage bag nonchalantly looked over its shoulder and lifted its tail high in greeting. Ed swore he could hear the black-and-white skunk thinking, Ya think yer gonna stop me? Think again. Ed turned off the flashlight, and the furry tail was lowered. Ed climbed back onto his cot, knowing he couldn’t do anything about the situation. That little bugger had a feast from our garbage bag—little bits of leftover hamburger that the boys hadn’t finished off, slurps of yogurt (his probiotic levels most likely were enhanced by those), dribbles of fruit juice, scraps of bread, a few pigeon peas, denuded corn ears.
And the lucky little fellow told a friend.
Ed told the boys the next morning about the skunk. About the time he’d reassured almost-6-year-old Jared that he wouldn’t have to worry about skunks coming around until at least dark, along came our skunk friend, with an all-white skunk friend, at twilight to prove Ed wrong. The pair figured that where there was food before, they’d find food again. But Ed had already locked away the garbage bag and vulnerable food items. He was in the kitchen tent, and the black-and-white skunk was nosing around the bottom of the back side of the tent, trying to find a way in. Because we generally keep the entrance at the front of the tent zipped shut to keep bugs out, Ed was closed in the tent. And he realized that once the skunk pushed in under the back side of the tent, it probably wouldn’t be able to push out as easily and might spray him. So he casually walked backward to the tent’s zipper and pulled it open a bit. And then he left the tent. I shined a flashlight on the skunk, and it and its friend left. It must be that I wield a meaner flashlight than Ed does. Who knows?
Of course, Jared was now sure that skunks would come hunt him down and spray him in the night while he slept, so he refused to sleep in the boys’ tent and begged to sleep in ours. Neil then decided that he didn’t want to sleep alone. So we dragged both boys’ cots into our tent, and we all slept crowdedly together. All food having been stored away, we heard no wild rustling that night.
The next evening, I remained at the campsite while Ed drove with both boys to buy firewood and kindling (hey—I never said we were total wilderness campers!) from the park staff. I sat contentedly by the fire that Neil had already started, listening to the evening sounds and the gurgling of the rushing creek that was behind our site. I glanced around the site and saw our black-and-white friend waddling toward the back of the kitchen tent from the outside.
Annoyed, I unzipped the front of the tent, aware of the possibility of being sprayed by a skunk who thinks there’s no escape, and then I said, “You’re not stinking up my tent, Mr. Skunk. No, you’re not.” I spotted our tall stainless-steel drinking cups on the table, and then spied a ballpoint pen sitting next to them. I picked up the pen and began a percussion solo on the cups. Mr. Skunk didn’t like the key that my improvised steel drums were tuned to, and he took his tail and himself off to the woods. Success!
Moments later, the guys pulled up in our van. I hadn’t moved from my perch in the kitchen tent, just in case Mr. Skunk had a change of heart and wanted an encore performance. As soon as Ed opened his door, I said, “Skunk! Skunk! Skunk!” The guys then knew to tread carefully. I told my tale of percussive skunk removal.
For the rest of our vacation, whenever we saw or thought we saw Mr. Skunk, we made those stainless-steel cups sing, accompanied by the spoken refrain, “Skunk! Skunk! Skunk!”
Vermont Tales Interlude: Photos
Vermont Tale the Second: Tornado Mountain
Vermont Tale the Third: Gaff Gaffe
camping vacation Vermont skunk EditorMom
Monday, August 20, 2007
Gratuitous Cuteness
I'm back from a terrific camping vacation in northeastern Vermont. I have plenty of photos to share and exciting adventure tales to tell, but those will have to wait until tomorrow, so I can get everything together. Meanwhile, I give you some gratuitous cuteness:
My sons Jared (left), almost 6, and Neil, almost 13, with our oldest cat, Snuggles, 15
children sons Jared Neil cat cuteness EditorMom
My sons Jared (left), almost 6, and Neil, almost 13, with our oldest cat, Snuggles, 15
children sons Jared Neil cat cuteness EditorMom
Thursday, August 09, 2007
Vermont Vacation!
You won't be hearing anything from me—unless Bush and Cheney are impeached in the next 2 days—for a little more than a week. I'm prepping for my family's second weeklong vacation of the summer. This time, we'll be camping in Vermont, at the campground where my husband and I honeymooned 14 years ago.
And now, back to my work deadline. I have to get this manuscript off my desk before we leave!
camping vacation impeach Cheney Bush fax EditorMom
And now, back to my work deadline. I have to get this manuscript off my desk before we leave!
camping vacation impeach Cheney Bush fax EditorMom
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
Hardly Fit for Duty
The headline on the Associated Press story about George W. Bush's annual physical reads:
Bush pronounced ‘fit for duty’ after physical
I guess the team of docs didn't check Bush's mental functions.
Bush incompetent impeach EditorMom
AD/HD Is Real, and Those Who Have It Aren't Dangerous
For those who doubt that there's such a thing as attention-deficit/hyperactivity disorder (AD/HD, formerly called ADD), two studies showing that it is real have been reported on in the August issue of the General Archives of Psychiatry: here (full article, available at no charge) and here (only the abstract is available at no charge). And here’s an article for the general public that explains the studies' findings in plain English.
Practicing psychologist Betsy Davenport of Portland, Oregon, has AD/HD, as does her 15-year-old daughter. She was appalled to find out about the April 2007 response by syndicated columnist Dr. Joyce Brothers to someone who asked about the existence of AD/HD in adults. I posted my letter to Dr. Brothers a while back. With Dr. Davenport’s permission, I now present her letter to Dr. Brothers:
Dr. Davenport shared her letter with me after we both posted comments on Judith Warner’s August 4 Domestic Disturbances column, “The Columbine Syndrome,” in which Ms. Warner discussed the legal defense of a 26-year-old Connecticut man accused of sexual assault and murder. The man’s lawyer, pleading for leniency for his client, told the judge that the man had suffered from AD/HD, dyslexia, and dysgraphia as a child. In doing so, the lawyer fed the misperception that people with AD/HD are dangerous, capable of committing atrocious acts against others.
Disinformation is not what people with AD/HD need. They need to be allowed to be who they are. They need compassion. They need training and therapy and often medication. They need educational assistance. They need to have their talents recognized. They do not need to be unjustly demonized.
My 12-year-old son is not dangerous. He is kind, gentle, sweet, and quite creative, scientifically speaking.
My husband is not dangerous. He is kind, gentle, and sweet. He is a wonderful husband and parent. He is a talented cabinetmaker.
My father-in-law is not dangerous. He’s a little gruff, but that’s because all his life, no one ever offered to help him understand all the subtleties of social interactions. No one ever tried to accommodate his educational needs. As a child, he was called stupid and crazy. He’s neither stupid nor crazy, just different. He’s a terrific jazz and blues pianist and singer.
As Dr. Davenport commented about Ms. Warner’s column:
Get the facts, people, before you make assumptions or fall for myths.
ADHD ADD Dr. Joyce Brothers myths General Archives of Psychiatry research EditorMom
Practicing psychologist Betsy Davenport of Portland, Oregon, has AD/HD, as does her 15-year-old daughter. She was appalled to find out about the April 2007 response by syndicated columnist Dr. Joyce Brothers to someone who asked about the existence of AD/HD in adults. I posted my letter to Dr. Brothers a while back. With Dr. Davenport’s permission, I now present her letter to Dr. Brothers:
Dear Dr. Brothers:
Regarding your [response to “D.D.” in one of your April 2007 columns, in which you wrote that AD/HD is for people who are
“... a bit of a hypochondriac,” that its symptoms are “so vague and widespread that just about anyone could decide that he or she is suffering from its effects,” and that some adults who think they have AD/HD may just want to “decide to muddle through,” without diagnosis, therapy, and medication]:
I must take issue with practically everything you say about AD/HD. First, let me register my shock that you are so ill-informed and that you pass along incorrect information to your entire readership. Surely you have a copy of DSM-IV handy? Surely your reading is not so narrow in scope that you have missed this: AD/HD is more heritable than everything except height. Among adults, fully 80% remain undiagnosed. Undiagnosed/untreated AD/HD is a significant risk factor for drug abuse, driving accidents, emergency room visits, teenage pregnancy, and a host of other awful consequences.
Those labels given out when you were a child—those are moralistic and pejorative. It is considered an improvement when we modernize and give a medical condition a medical name. Those old-fashioned ones don’t really point the way to how a person might go about improving their life. That is what treatment is for. People want to be more effective. Muddling through is a poor substitute for real effectiveness, don’t you agree?
It is kind of you to let people know they have choices, but you forgot the part about how to make an informed choice. You have to try both. Like ice cream. Let’s see, vanilla? Or chocolate? Gee, I don’t know. I never tasted vanilla. Does this make sense to you now? An informed choice about treatment for AD/HD comes after a person has had an opportunity to experience the altered cognitive and self-regulatory functions afforded by medications prescribed and taken properly.
Oh, also, could you point me to where you got your information about how people with AD/HD were “functioning OK” until doctors began telling them otherwise? If that’s so, a lot of doctors are in a world of trouble for it. I must tell you, though, [that] in my experience, there are an awful lot of doctors—and psychologists too, which is worrisome—who really don’t know very much about it. So if you have more accurate sources, I’d really like to know about them.
As for a definitive “test” for AD/HD, I wonder if it’s all right with you if, as with depression and anxiety, we let experienced clinicians diagnose AD/HD on the basis of a patient’s history, presenting problems, clinical observations and their own good judgment.
AD/HD is a neurological condition; you know, in the brain—the operating system for everything else. It is a real drag if you have it. Nobody wants to have it. It interferes with every area of a person’s life: academic, social, recreational, marital, vocational—did I miss anything? Oh, it’s often misunderstood, which means a lot of people think you’re faking it (like hypochondria) or using it as an excuse. Others think you just don’t care about doing well or being on time or knowing where your keys are or [remembering] your husband’s birthday.
That sounds like muddling through, and I’m not one to just say, [like you did], “What the heck.” The world is in desperate need of all the effective human beings we can muster. I’m sorry you think [that] it’s good enough to just muddle through. That is so disheartening.
Thank you for your attention to this important subject.
Dr. Davenport shared her letter with me after we both posted comments on Judith Warner’s August 4 Domestic Disturbances column, “The Columbine Syndrome,” in which Ms. Warner discussed the legal defense of a 26-year-old Connecticut man accused of sexual assault and murder. The man’s lawyer, pleading for leniency for his client, told the judge that the man had suffered from AD/HD, dyslexia, and dysgraphia as a child. In doing so, the lawyer fed the misperception that people with AD/HD are dangerous, capable of committing atrocious acts against others.
Disinformation is not what people with AD/HD need. They need to be allowed to be who they are. They need compassion. They need training and therapy and often medication. They need educational assistance. They need to have their talents recognized. They do not need to be unjustly demonized.
My 12-year-old son is not dangerous. He is kind, gentle, sweet, and quite creative, scientifically speaking.
My husband is not dangerous. He is kind, gentle, and sweet. He is a wonderful husband and parent. He is a talented cabinetmaker.
My father-in-law is not dangerous. He’s a little gruff, but that’s because all his life, no one ever offered to help him understand all the subtleties of social interactions. No one ever tried to accommodate his educational needs. As a child, he was called stupid and crazy. He’s neither stupid nor crazy, just different. He’s a terrific jazz and blues pianist and singer.
As Dr. Davenport commented about Ms. Warner’s column:
AD/HD is not a mental illness—it’s a bioneurological condition with its origins deep within the brain, having to do with structural differences and chemical differences. When we see undesirable behavior, we are seeing the expression in the external world of the disorganization of the internal, self-regulatory world. ...
AD/HD has always been diagnosed—with a moralistic label. We have finally got it more or less right: a medical diagnostic label and appropriate medical treatment are much preferable to the former.
It is the rare person who uses their AD/HD as an “excuse.” We are still responsible for our behavior, even though a fair amount of it wasn’t what we intended, wished for, or could help. ...
By and large, people with AD/HD are no more lawless than the rest of you, save reckless driving and drug problems. But they are not alone in that.
Another study reveals that among adults diagnosed and treated in adulthood with medications, a whopping 90% wish they had been diagnosed and given medication as children. At our house, we kiss the bottles of medication every morning and are grateful to live in a time when the kinds of help we so badly need are available to us. Others, without adequate health care, are not so lucky. They remain erratic, have poor job histories, marital and social problems, and an enduring sense of failure.
How much better it could be if all of us could be rendered more effective in our lives. We could even make contributions to the wider society and do our part for the common good.
I defy anyone who takes the moral high ground on something about which they have not troubled themselves to learn. AD/HD is a profoundly troubling and debilitating condition. Most people have no idea how domestic life is for us. Even with my advanced degree, personal experience, and early diagnosis for my daughter, careful treatment (with drugs—safer by far than aspirin, which kills many every year, which the stimulants do not), we live a herky-jerky life because the only really predictable thing here is unpredictability.
We are fully capable of love, commitment, perseverance, and prosocial behavior. ...
Get the facts, people, before you make assumptions or fall for myths.
ADHD ADD Dr. Joyce Brothers myths General Archives of Psychiatry research EditorMom
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
Unaccompanied Kids
One of the e-mail lists I subscribe to has been discussing letting children play at parks by themselves. One woman wrote:
supervision parenting children safety danger play outdoors stranger danger EditorMom
... but do you think there are really, objectively, so many more dangers awaiting unattended kids than there were when we were little? (I'm 41 and roamed around by myself plenty at age 8 or 9.)I replied:
I'm 48. I don't think it's just that there are so many more dangers now; I think people used to be a lot more naive than they are now. Plus, people don't look out for one another and one another's kids the way they used to; there's more alienation and insularity now than in the past.What do you think? Do you let your children play outdoors without supervision? Either way, what are your children's ages?
I live in a pretty safe suburban neighborhood. I've been letting my 12-year-old ride his bike, unsupervised, around the neighborhood for a couple of years now, but he must carry a cell phone with him. It's made specifically for children and can call only four numbers that my husband or I program in—our home phone, my cell, husband's cell, grandparents' home phone—in addition to 911. No way would I allow him to bike to nearby parks alone, even if they weren't on busy town roads. There are several registered sex offenders living in our area; we get the notices in the mail whenever one of them moves here. And we don't know absolutely everyone on even our own street.
My 5-year-old (almost 6 now) doesn't go anywhere in the neighborhood without being accompanied by me, my husband, or his big brother. When he will be allowed to depends on when my husband and I believe that his judgment and common sense have reached an appropriate level.
supervision parenting children safety danger play outdoors stranger danger EditorMom
Monday, August 06, 2007
Birthday Present
Happy birthday to me! I'm 48 now.
My present will be getting to babysit my almost-3-month-old granddaughter, Ana, tonight for the first time while her parents go out to celebrate their one-year wedding anniversary. I get to snuggle a wiggly bundle of giggly softness and smell her baby freshness until she gets cranky because she's tired, and then she'll go home and I won't have to deal with that part.
How perfect is that?
birthday granddaughter grandmother babysitting EditorMom
My present will be getting to babysit my almost-3-month-old granddaughter, Ana, tonight for the first time while her parents go out to celebrate their one-year wedding anniversary. I get to snuggle a wiggly bundle of giggly softness and smell her baby freshness until she gets cranky because she's tired, and then she'll go home and I won't have to deal with that part.
How perfect is that?
birthday granddaughter grandmother babysitting EditorMom
Friday, August 03, 2007
NYC Hospitals Dump Formula Samples for Breastfeeding Aids
As a resident of New York State, I'm proud that New York City hospitals are dumping the infant formula samples from the gift bags they give new mothers and putting breastfeeding aids in the bags instead.
This new move is excellently timed; World Breastfeeding Week runs August 1 through 7.
It's wonderful to see some hospitals stop being two-faced. For several years now, hospital maternity wards across the nation have been talking up the benefits of breastfeeding and even offering the services of on-staff lactation consultants to help mothers new to breastfeeding get started ... and then handing them gift tote bags filled with formula samples donated by big bu$ine$$. The message has been "Breast is best, but don't worry about it too much—you can fall back on the crutch of formula even if your breasts function perfectly well and you have no problems producing milk."
Uh-huh. Ever read some of the many reports (and here) and books about how the donation of these formula samples isn't benign but is really a marketing move to make more money for the formula makers? These big bu$ine$$e$ even give away samples in poor nations, ostensibly to help poor women. But these women, whose breasts function just fine, try the formula and soon find their babies hooked on it. And when the samples run out, their breast milk has dried up, leaving them nothing to feed their babies. Or they mix the powdered formula given to them with dirty water, and their babies develop life-threatening diarrhea.
Now, the New York Post article that reported the NYC hospitals' new actions began with a stereotypically whiny lead: "First came smoking. Then there were trans fats. Now the nanny-like city's public-health crusade is taking on the baby bottle." I wouldn't expect straightforward reporting from that pugnacious rag, so I found it easy to overlook the article's undertones. But if it takes a little "nannying" to get society to do the right thing and make it easier and more culturally acceptable for women to breastfeed, is that such a bad thing? Nope.
Updated at 9:47 a.m.: I'm no fan of supermodels, but hey, maybe this'll help some new mother somewhere: Supermodels can breastfeed just like real women can.
breastfeeding breastfeed infant formula baby formula EditorMom
This new move is excellently timed; World Breastfeeding Week runs August 1 through 7.
It's wonderful to see some hospitals stop being two-faced. For several years now, hospital maternity wards across the nation have been talking up the benefits of breastfeeding and even offering the services of on-staff lactation consultants to help mothers new to breastfeeding get started ... and then handing them gift tote bags filled with formula samples donated by big bu$ine$$. The message has been "Breast is best, but don't worry about it too much—you can fall back on the crutch of formula even if your breasts function perfectly well and you have no problems producing milk."
Uh-huh. Ever read some of the many reports (and here) and books about how the donation of these formula samples isn't benign but is really a marketing move to make more money for the formula makers? These big bu$ine$$e$ even give away samples in poor nations, ostensibly to help poor women. But these women, whose breasts function just fine, try the formula and soon find their babies hooked on it. And when the samples run out, their breast milk has dried up, leaving them nothing to feed their babies. Or they mix the powdered formula given to them with dirty water, and their babies develop life-threatening diarrhea.
Now, the New York Post article that reported the NYC hospitals' new actions began with a stereotypically whiny lead: "First came smoking. Then there were trans fats. Now the nanny-like city's public-health crusade is taking on the baby bottle." I wouldn't expect straightforward reporting from that pugnacious rag, so I found it easy to overlook the article's undertones. But if it takes a little "nannying" to get society to do the right thing and make it easier and more culturally acceptable for women to breastfeed, is that such a bad thing? Nope.
Updated at 9:47 a.m.: I'm no fan of supermodels, but hey, maybe this'll help some new mother somewhere: Supermodels can breastfeed just like real women can.
breastfeeding breastfeed infant formula baby formula EditorMom
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Ongoing Odyssey of Obfuscation
Testimony everywhere, all the time, yet no one's getting canned or charged with crimes. But at least someone in the Bush administration is sounding smart.
J. Scott Jennings, grilled today by the Senate Judiciary Committee in the absence of his boss, devious deceiver Karl Rove, said he couldn't really say anything about the U.S. atttorney general scandal: "I hope that you can appreciate the difficulty of my situation. It makes Odysseus’s voyage between Scylla and Charybdis seem like a pleasure cruise."
Well, now ain't that some purty talkin'? I'd far rather hear the unembellished truth.
attorney general testimony Senate Jennings Rove Bush lies impeach EditorMom
J. Scott Jennings, grilled today by the Senate Judiciary Committee in the absence of his boss, devious deceiver Karl Rove, said he couldn't really say anything about the U.S. atttorney general scandal: "I hope that you can appreciate the difficulty of my situation. It makes Odysseus’s voyage between Scylla and Charybdis seem like a pleasure cruise."
Well, now ain't that some purty talkin'? I'd far rather hear the unembellished truth.
attorney general testimony Senate Jennings Rove Bush lies impeach EditorMom
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
My Second Blog, for the Second Half of My Life
I'll turn 48 on Monday. That's 2 years younger than the age at which my father died.
I want to live way past 50, so I've begun doing something about that. To help me keep on track, I've begun a new blog, Editing My Body. I hope you'll visit me there and cheer me on.
Updated at 4:59 p.m.: Yes, I'll keep blogging here too.
obesity metabolic syndrome hypertension hypercholesterolemia hypothyroidism prediabetic weight loss diet nutrition exercise Editing My Body EditorMom
I want to live way past 50, so I've begun doing something about that. To help me keep on track, I've begun a new blog, Editing My Body. I hope you'll visit me there and cheer me on.
Updated at 4:59 p.m.: Yes, I'll keep blogging here too.
obesity metabolic syndrome hypertension hypercholesterolemia hypothyroidism prediabetic weight loss diet nutrition exercise Editing My Body EditorMom
Monday, July 30, 2007
Calling Workers' Comp!
This—#%^*&+!—is one of the reasons I rarely do paper edits these days: I just managed to stab myself in the palm of my writing hand with a Col-Erase green pencil. Hurts like #%^*&+!
My computer keyboard never bites me like that.
#%^*&+!
freelancer self-employed copyeditor copyediting editor editing publishing EditorMom
My computer keyboard never bites me like that.
#%^*&+!
freelancer self-employed copyeditor copyediting editor editing publishing EditorMom
The One That I Let Go
Argh!
Once in a while, I have to turn down really great assignments because I must be fair to my clients. And I so hate doing it, but it's part of maintaining long-term client relationships.
I just got a call from one of the in-house production editors for a huge mainstream book publisher, asking if on August 28, about a week and a half after I return from my next camping vacation, I'd want to take on copyediting the newest manuscript by a big-name healthy-eating guru.
Would I ever!
But the manuscript, which isn't quite complete yet, will likely come in at more than 500 pages, filled with tables and graphs and charts and recipes ... and it would be due back to the publisher in just barely over 2 weeks. The pub would even pay me a much higher "rush" rate because of the short deadline.
Aieeeee!
Even getting no sleep and no family time, just when the new school year will be starting, even being paid in gold coins ... that's just too little time for me to complete editing on a complex manuscript like that—and it's on paper, not onscreen, which slows things down even more. Of course, I could do a quick but crappy job to meet the deadline, but that would affect my professional reputation. I asked for an extra week, but the book's on a "crash" schedule that can't be lengthened.
Splat!
My hopes were dashed. I couldn't accept the project and do the quality of work my clients are used to getting from me. But the production editor thanked me for my honesty.
Sigh!
It's not that I'll go hungry; my clients will have plenty of work for me. But having to let a big one get away ... I wish I could clone myself. There are so many juicy projects out there and I can't do them all.
freelancer self-employed copyeditor copyediting editor editing publishing EditorMom
Once in a while, I have to turn down really great assignments because I must be fair to my clients. And I so hate doing it, but it's part of maintaining long-term client relationships.
I just got a call from one of the in-house production editors for a huge mainstream book publisher, asking if on August 28, about a week and a half after I return from my next camping vacation, I'd want to take on copyediting the newest manuscript by a big-name healthy-eating guru.
Would I ever!
But the manuscript, which isn't quite complete yet, will likely come in at more than 500 pages, filled with tables and graphs and charts and recipes ... and it would be due back to the publisher in just barely over 2 weeks. The pub would even pay me a much higher "rush" rate because of the short deadline.
Aieeeee!
Even getting no sleep and no family time, just when the new school year will be starting, even being paid in gold coins ... that's just too little time for me to complete editing on a complex manuscript like that—and it's on paper, not onscreen, which slows things down even more. Of course, I could do a quick but crappy job to meet the deadline, but that would affect my professional reputation. I asked for an extra week, but the book's on a "crash" schedule that can't be lengthened.
Splat!
My hopes were dashed. I couldn't accept the project and do the quality of work my clients are used to getting from me. But the production editor thanked me for my honesty.
Sigh!
It's not that I'll go hungry; my clients will have plenty of work for me. But having to let a big one get away ... I wish I could clone myself. There are so many juicy projects out there and I can't do them all.
freelancer self-employed copyeditor copyediting editor editing publishing EditorMom
Friday, July 27, 2007
Dems vs. Repubs in the 110th Congress
Considering that the Democrats are up against partisan Republicans right now, the Dems of the 110th Congress haven't done too bad, if you look at yesterday's entry in the Democratic Caucus's Senate Journal.
Here's what the Dems accomplished:
Here's what they tried to do but failed because of the Repubs:
Great work, legislators. Now please keep moving along, and put the impeachment of first Cheney and then Bush on the table. You're running behind on that one. (Hat tip to the Carpetbagger Report.)
Democrats accomplishments 110th Congress impeach Cheney Bush EditorMom
Why I Love ESL Authors
The challenge of solving the puzzle of what the author really meant to say, plus e-mails like the following from a researcher in Korea, are why I so enjoy working with ESL (English as a second language) authors:
Hey, Dr. S., thank you from the bottom of my heart!
freelancer self-employed copyeditor copyediting editor editing publishing EditorMom
Hi kathrine!
It has been long time after last contact. I hope everything is OK with you. Did you enjoyed your summer vacation?
My recent paper that you revised was published in [Big-Name U.S. Medical Journal] at last January 2007. It was wonderful thing for me. Thank you so much from bottom of my heart.
Now, I'd like to apply very important paper for publication in [Same Big-Name U.S. Medical Journal] again to bring previous paper to a conclusion. The published previuos paper was just the basic hypothesis for this paper. I believe in your excellent ability for making revision.
Hey, Dr. S., thank you from the bottom of my heart!
freelancer self-employed copyeditor copyediting editor editing publishing EditorMom
Thursday, July 26, 2007
The Kind of Client I Want to Keep
Just got this lovely e-mail in my in-box:
freelancer self-employed copyeditor copyediting editor editing publishing EditorMom
Dear Katharine,While I was working on this particular project, I dealt only with the in-house production editor, not the acquisition editor (AE). For the AE to take to time to acknowledge my contribution makes it truly worth my having had to do a little extra work on the manuscript. (Yes, I was paid for my time, but acknowledgments are a special extra.) Sometimes it takes a lot of polishing to reveal the sparkle underneath. But I like a good challenge.
... I’m the editor of [Redacted Book Title]. I wanted to thank you for the excellent copyediting job you did. This manuscript has been a challenge from the start, and you really improved it with your work. I was very impressed.
freelancer self-employed copyeditor copyediting editor editing publishing EditorMom
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
BMJ Poll: Boycott Israeli Academic Institutions?
As someone who recently boycotted a large group of medical journals, I was interested to read the following e-mail, forwarded to me by a medical copyeditor colleague and friend who lives in Israel. I have edited it for clarity and for U.S. English:
medicine BMJ boycott Israel academics poll copyeditor copyediting editor editing publishing EditorMom
Promoting Academic Integrity and Honest DebateWhy is the BMJ considering a boycott? According to Tom Hickey, chair of the University and College Union,
Dear ... colleague, especially physicians ...
We have just received word that the British Medical Journal is conducting a poll on boycotting Israel. There is room [in the poll] for comments. While [the poll is] published by physicians and [the poll's creators are] certainly interested in physicians' views, there are sections for [nonphysician professionals] and members of the public. It is extremely important that all of you let [everyone] know [about the poll]. The poll can be found [here]. Please circulate it quickly and widely, as it is unknown how long it will remain open.
... we could not ignore what is being done in the Occupied Territories, or the systematic denial of educational opportunities and academic freedom to Palestinian students and scholars. Some ... have also expressed concern about the complicity of the Israeli Medical Association in the occupation. ...Why should the BMJ not conduct a boycott? Michael Baum, professor emeritus of surgery at University College London, dismisses
The territories, occupied since 1967, have been colonised by Israeli settlements built on illegally confiscated land. The area has been disaggregated and rendered ungovernable by road networks for Israeli use only. Houses are demolished as collective punishments, and there is regular shooting and shelling. Farmers are separated from their land, and the supply of water sharply discriminates between the needs of Palestinians and those of Israeli settlers.
In these circumstances, there can be no normal educational provision. ...
In all of this, there is strong evidence of the complicity of Israeli academic institutions. No Israeli college or university has publicly condemned what is being done in the Occupied Territories in the name of every Israeli citizen. ...
... the big lie that Israel is an apartheid state. Israel is a multicultural mosaic with Jews, Muslims, Christians, and other faiths. Druze, Bahá'Ă, and Armenian Christians chose to live there after persecution in Muslim countries. Only malign commentators can be blind to the Arabs who form 20% of Israeli citizens. ...Whether you're a medical professional, a medical copyeditor, a general copyeditor, or a member of another profession, participating in this poll may be your chance to help shape the future.
Israel provides more academic freedom for Arab scholars than anywhere else in the Middle East. There are numerous examples of Palestinian and Israeli collaborations. ...
As Malcolm Grant, provost of University College London, put it: the boycott "betrays a misunderstanding of the academic mission, which is founded squarely on academic freedom of inquiry and freedom of speech." Lord Adonis went further in the House of Lords:Not only would a boycott be inconsistent with the spirit of openness and tolerance that should inform public life. It would also be counterproductive. Education plays a vital role in developing and aiding understanding between different people. It is therefore all the more important to keep open channels of communication with academic and educational institutions in the Middle East during these difficult times.
medicine BMJ boycott Israel academics poll copyeditor copyediting editor editing publishing EditorMom
What Editors Really Do
Ah ... someone who understands what it is that editors really do! (Note that the link is to a Salon article. If you're not a subscriber, you can still read the article; you'll just have to put up with the ads.
copyeditor copyediting editor editing Salon EditorMom
copyeditor copyediting editor editing Salon EditorMom
Monday, July 23, 2007
Back From Vacation
I'm well rested mentally—got to read for fun, for long, uninterrupted periods, for the first time in years! I'm not so rested physically—it's pretty damn taxing unpacking and stowing all the stuff required by two adults and two children to tent-camp.
Before I left for vacation, I went no-mail on multiple e-mail lists that I subscribe to. Still, I came back to nearly 2,000 e-mails, a huge proportion of them spam! Thank goodness I didn't have work in-house today; it's showing up tomorrow.
One thing I learned anew: My husband's a saint. During the summer, I have all-day responsibility for our two sons, 5 and 12 years old, on weekdays while I work. I can get pretty fed up with them sometimes. On our camping trip, though, he took them off sailing and rowing and swimming, leaving me to the glorious quiet of no boys jabbering.
camping vacation EditorMom
Before I left for vacation, I went no-mail on multiple e-mail lists that I subscribe to. Still, I came back to nearly 2,000 e-mails, a huge proportion of them spam! Thank goodness I didn't have work in-house today; it's showing up tomorrow.
One thing I learned anew: My husband's a saint. During the summer, I have all-day responsibility for our two sons, 5 and 12 years old, on weekdays while I work. I can get pretty fed up with them sometimes. On our camping trip, though, he took them off sailing and rowing and swimming, leaving me to the glorious quiet of no boys jabbering.
camping vacation EditorMom
Friday, July 13, 2007
Camping! Vacation!
Ed, the boys, and I are headed north into the woods of another state. We'll be camping in our tents.
If I could camp all the time instead of living in a house, I would. I love the sounds of the bullfrogs at night, the wind blowing through the tall trees, the lack of traffic, the sound of no phones ringing, the feel of no work deadlines, the unscheduled days. We'll swim in a lake, head out in our tiny sailboat, hike around the campground, draw, talk, read (for fun instead of for work!), listen to music, nap in our hammock, listen to Neil play the acoustic guitar, cook over a fire, and maybe even play a hand or two of poker.
Oh ... while I'm away, please see if you can do something about impeaching Dopey and Sneaky. You know who I mean. If you need to, you can download my "Grow a spine" artwork here, for use in decorating faxes to your senators and representatives, urging them to proceed with impeachment.
I'll see you back here soon.
camping vacation impeach Cheney Bush fax senators representatives Congress EditorMom
If I could camp all the time instead of living in a house, I would. I love the sounds of the bullfrogs at night, the wind blowing through the tall trees, the lack of traffic, the sound of no phones ringing, the feel of no work deadlines, the unscheduled days. We'll swim in a lake, head out in our tiny sailboat, hike around the campground, draw, talk, read (for fun instead of for work!), listen to music, nap in our hammock, listen to Neil play the acoustic guitar, cook over a fire, and maybe even play a hand or two of poker.
Oh ... while I'm away, please see if you can do something about impeaching Dopey and Sneaky. You know who I mean. If you need to, you can download my "Grow a spine" artwork here, for use in decorating faxes to your senators and representatives, urging them to proceed with impeachment.
I'll see you back here soon.
camping vacation impeach Cheney Bush fax senators representatives Congress EditorMom
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Favorite Scents
The scents of these things make me happy:
What scents make you happy?
favorite scents happy flowers babies herbs spices outdoors EditorMom
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Mahogany Mantel
It's time for another peek into the files of My Husband the Master Cabinetmakertm. Today's lovely piece is a fireplace mantel made from mahogany and covered with a custom stain. (Click on any thumbnail to see a larger version.)
Favorite Sounds
These sounds make me happy:
favorite sounds happy summer children husband family outdoors EditorMom
- The creak of my hammock as I rock it gently (while I lie in it) by holding on to a rope tied to a nearby tree limb
- The sound of my 5-year-old singing, making up a song as he goes
- The cry of seagulls at the beach and over the ocean
- The sound of the tide coming in at the beach
- The squeak-purr of my younger cat when I stroke her
- The snap of a sail in the wind as a sailboat changes tack
- The deep voices of bullfrogs when I camp in the woods
- The buzz of cicadas in the summertime
- The giggling of my two sons as they splash in our inflatable backyard swimming pool
- The sounds of power tools—such as drill guns and chop saws—because they mean that My Husband the Master Cabinetmakertm is nearby
- The sound of a hard rain on a lake
- The occasional humming of my granddaughter while she's sleeping
- The almost mystical music of the many large metal wind chimes hung all around the outside of my house
- My husband's laugh
- My brother's laugh
- The cooing of mourning doves
favorite sounds happy summer children husband family outdoors EditorMom
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Dems with Guts?
Well, now ... maybe the Democrats in Congress have more guts than I've credited them for.
A Senate appropriations panel, chaired by Democratic Senator Richard Durbin, has cut off the $4.8 million budget of Dick Cheney's office until the Dark Lord hands over the classified info that he's supposed to under an executive order.
It's about time the Dems stopped making nice to the dirty-dealing Bush administration.
Cheney budget Democrats Senate appropriations impeach Bush EditorMom
A Senate appropriations panel, chaired by Democratic Senator Richard Durbin, has cut off the $4.8 million budget of Dick Cheney's office until the Dark Lord hands over the classified info that he's supposed to under an executive order.
It's about time the Dems stopped making nice to the dirty-dealing Bush administration.
Cheney budget Democrats Senate appropriations impeach Bush EditorMom
A Mom-ish Day at the Office
It's been a really mom-ish day at the office.
The boys have been mostly hibernating indoors in the air-conditioning because it's oppressively hot outdoors, inventing, building, singing, doing the occasional chore when asked.
My daughter Becky, with just over a week of maternity leave left, called this morning to ask if she and baby Ana could come over to sit in the AC; the apartment she and Li and Ana live in has none, and Li was at work.
I've spent my time editing, taking breaks to chat with Becky or hold or talk to Ana, answering the boys' questions or listening to their stories, and fixing everyone a late lunch.
Days like this one are exactly why I went freelance full time nearly 13 years ago—to have my family in my office! I am so lucky.
children freelancer self-employed copyeditor copyediting editor editing publishing EditorMom
The boys have been mostly hibernating indoors in the air-conditioning because it's oppressively hot outdoors, inventing, building, singing, doing the occasional chore when asked.
My daughter Becky, with just over a week of maternity leave left, called this morning to ask if she and baby Ana could come over to sit in the AC; the apartment she and Li and Ana live in has none, and Li was at work.
I've spent my time editing, taking breaks to chat with Becky or hold or talk to Ana, answering the boys' questions or listening to their stories, and fixing everyone a late lunch.
Days like this one are exactly why I went freelance full time nearly 13 years ago—to have my family in my office! I am so lucky.
children freelancer self-employed copyeditor copyediting editor editing publishing EditorMom
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Getting the Disney Mom Out of the Way
I've just realized that I'm one of those moms that Disney movies always kill off or get out of the way. And now I know why they do that.
You know what I mean. The intrepid child heroes in the movie would never have any adventures if their mom was around. She'd sit them down and lecture them on safety, say that they should wait until they're older and more mature. In other words, she'd get in the way.
Ed and the boys are out in the front yard, using summer's extended daylight at this late hour to finish prepping our 1½-person sailboat so that we can take it along on our first camping vacation of the summer soon. I've been taking advantage of the quiet to play my favorite New Age music while I edit. I don't like to work weekends, but I must finish this book manuscript before we go.
I get up to stretch my legs and I look out a front window. Neil, 12¾ years old, is masterfully driving our minivan, with Ed supervising from the front passenger seat, maneuvering it into position and then backing it into our driveway so that Ed can hitch the little boat trailer to it!
Now, I've always recognized that spatial skills and physical coordination are two of Neil's unusually strong skills, stronger in him than in most kids his age. (Well before he was 3 years old, the little monkey literally climbed up our walls, holding his body up by the ceiling by stretching himself across the corner over a door, feet planted at the top of one wall and hands pushing against the top of the other wall.) But I'd never have thought to let him drive the van, not even a tiny distance and not even under supervision.
He did great! And I had to be out of the way for that to happen. Maybe it would be okay for me to loosen up a bit.
Neil children parenting preadolescent Disney moms growing up EditorMom
You know what I mean. The intrepid child heroes in the movie would never have any adventures if their mom was around. She'd sit them down and lecture them on safety, say that they should wait until they're older and more mature. In other words, she'd get in the way.
Ed and the boys are out in the front yard, using summer's extended daylight at this late hour to finish prepping our 1½-person sailboat so that we can take it along on our first camping vacation of the summer soon. I've been taking advantage of the quiet to play my favorite New Age music while I edit. I don't like to work weekends, but I must finish this book manuscript before we go.
I get up to stretch my legs and I look out a front window. Neil, 12¾ years old, is masterfully driving our minivan, with Ed supervising from the front passenger seat, maneuvering it into position and then backing it into our driveway so that Ed can hitch the little boat trailer to it!
Now, I've always recognized that spatial skills and physical coordination are two of Neil's unusually strong skills, stronger in him than in most kids his age. (Well before he was 3 years old, the little monkey literally climbed up our walls, holding his body up by the ceiling by stretching himself across the corner over a door, feet planted at the top of one wall and hands pushing against the top of the other wall.) But I'd never have thought to let him drive the van, not even a tiny distance and not even under supervision.
He did great! And I had to be out of the way for that to happen. Maybe it would be okay for me to loosen up a bit.
Neil children parenting preadolescent Disney moms growing up EditorMom
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Impeachment Fax
This, with appropriate minor changes (including my contact info), is what I'm going to be faxing to my two U.S. senators and my U.S. representative every weekday, starting Monday. I'm tired of waiting for them to get moving on fixing our badly broken government.
If you'd like the "grow a spine" artwork (it's a PNG file) for use as a watermark on your faxes, e-mail me (click on "View my complete profile" in the sidebar at the right).
Updated 11:34 a.m., July 9: Watch the blue section of the sidebar, under "Political Action," to see how many times I've faxed my senators, my representative, and presidential candidate Barack Obama urging them to grow a spine and impeach Cheney.
impeach Cheney fax senators representatives Congress EditorMom
If you'd like the "grow a spine" artwork (it's a PNG file) for use as a watermark on your faxes, e-mail me (click on "View my complete profile" in the sidebar at the right).
Updated 11:34 a.m., July 9: Watch the blue section of the sidebar, under "Political Action," to see how many times I've faxed my senators, my representative, and presidential candidate Barack Obama urging them to grow a spine and impeach Cheney.
impeach Cheney fax senators representatives Congress EditorMom
Friday, July 06, 2007
Elf Shoes in the Office
Creativity is one of the terrific benefits of letting your kids entertain themselves and not booking every minute of their time with lessons and organized sports.
Of course, major messes are another outcome of free time, but when I'm working, I just don't have time to care, unless someone's been wounded.
We'll all have to clean up the family room tonight before we can sit down to dinner together, but I think that's worth having gotten to watch Jared create his own pointy-toed elf shoes, which look a lot like the ones shown here (except his are white), out of sheets of printer paper and adhesive tape. They fit him just right and even have paper fasteners. He worked on them as if he had a picture of them already in his head.
Excellent artisanal work for a 5-year-old—or 5¾-year-old, as Jared constantly reminds me.
creativity free time crafts Jared children EditorMom
Of course, major messes are another outcome of free time, but when I'm working, I just don't have time to care, unless someone's been wounded.
We'll all have to clean up the family room tonight before we can sit down to dinner together, but I think that's worth having gotten to watch Jared create his own pointy-toed elf shoes, which look a lot like the ones shown here (except his are white), out of sheets of printer paper and adhesive tape. They fit him just right and even have paper fasteners. He worked on them as if he had a picture of them already in his head.
Excellent artisanal work for a 5-year-old—or 5¾-year-old, as Jared constantly reminds me.
creativity free time crafts Jared children EditorMom
Runaway Train
I'm watching an impending train wreck from a distance, and I don't want to.
I don't want to because I went through a similar train wreck years ago and my friend's train wreck takes me back to mine ... and because I don't want to see my friend or anyone in his family get hurt.
My friend has found a lot of emotional freedom by discovering, over the last year or so, that he is a fine writer. To have time to do the wandering around and absorbing of scenes that he needs to do to write, he's rearranged his work schedule. He now also spends less time with his family.
His wife, whom I don't know, is frightened by his freedom. I think she's scared that he'll like it so much that he eventually won't need her or their children or their life together. She's so scared that she's lashing out by denigrating his writing and the friends he's made through writing. This makes him incredibly angry.
They argue and argue, and he seems to have stopped trying to connect with her.
It's not my job to stop this wreck, but I sure wish I could. I've already stuck my nose in and urged that my friend get help to communicate about this issue with his wife. How often is our need to help others motivated at least a little bit by our need to spare ourselves the discomfort of seeing their pain?
compassion friends marriage divorce pain EditorMom
I don't want to because I went through a similar train wreck years ago and my friend's train wreck takes me back to mine ... and because I don't want to see my friend or anyone in his family get hurt.
My friend has found a lot of emotional freedom by discovering, over the last year or so, that he is a fine writer. To have time to do the wandering around and absorbing of scenes that he needs to do to write, he's rearranged his work schedule. He now also spends less time with his family.
His wife, whom I don't know, is frightened by his freedom. I think she's scared that he'll like it so much that he eventually won't need her or their children or their life together. She's so scared that she's lashing out by denigrating his writing and the friends he's made through writing. This makes him incredibly angry.
They argue and argue, and he seems to have stopped trying to connect with her.
It's not my job to stop this wreck, but I sure wish I could. I've already stuck my nose in and urged that my friend get help to communicate about this issue with his wife. How often is our need to help others motivated at least a little bit by our need to spare ourselves the discomfort of seeing their pain?
compassion friends marriage divorce pain EditorMom
Thursday, July 05, 2007
A Stunning Gift
I'm just stunned.
Ed walked in the front door this evening and presented me with a gorgeous three-strand freshwater pearl necklace, designed by a wonderful local jeweler, as an anniversary present.
I've never owned anything so exquisite. The little pearls are green and blue and gold and copper and irridescent, all earth colors. The necklace is one I'd have picked out myself if I didn't have this thing about not spending a lot of money on myself. (The photo at the left looks nowhere near as good as the real thing.)
You think you know a person, and then he amazes you.
Ed husband marriage anniversary love EditorMom
Ed walked in the front door this evening and presented me with a gorgeous three-strand freshwater pearl necklace, designed by a wonderful local jeweler, as an anniversary present.
I've never owned anything so exquisite. The little pearls are green and blue and gold and copper and irridescent, all earth colors. The necklace is one I'd have picked out myself if I didn't have this thing about not spending a lot of money on myself. (The photo at the left looks nowhere near as good as the real thing.)
You think you know a person, and then he amazes you.
Ed husband marriage anniversary love EditorMom
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