Five

It’s hard to believe, but last Saturday was our fifth wedding anniversary. I usually try to stick to the traditional gifts, so I was tasked with finding a gift for Jim that was made of wood. While I was racking my brain for ideas, I decided that maybe someone at Hallmark (or wherever these monumental decisions are made) should rethink the anniversary gift list. If, for example, this were the MP3 player anniversary, I would have no problem figuring out what to get Jim. I’m pretty sure he would also appreciate a GORE-TEX anniversary. I personally think a spa certificate anniversary is a fabulous idea.

But I was stuck with wood, so I had to get creative. I finally decided that adding to our collection of Oaxacan carved animals would be appropriate. But I needed something new and different—a creature that represented the essence of our marriage.

I came across this guy in an import store and it was love at first sight. Sort of like when I met Jim—a moment of chimptastic perfection.

We’ve been through a lot in five years: deaths in our families, infertility, sickness, buying a house, selling a house, new jobs, and a much-anticipated birth. But there has always been a whole lot of monkey business that made the tough times bearable and the good times better.

Jim loved his gift. What did he get me, you might ask? A Starbucks card. I probably don’t need to add that it wasn’t made of wood. And while it may sound totally unromantic in addition to being off-theme, it came from a man who thinks spending money on coffee is the most wasteful thing imaginable. The recipient? A woman who is slightly addicted to Starbucks’ chai tea lattes. Yeah, I’m owning up to that. Even though Starbucks is the evil empire and the coffee equivalent of McDonald’s, and on and on, I like their chai. So there.

All in all, a perfect exchange.

Project C.U.R.E.

I’m on the volunteer committee at my office. We organize several events a year to help keep everyone  involved in the community. Yesterday a few of us spent time at the local Project C.U.R.E. warehouse, sorting medical supplies. I first heard about Project C.U.R.E. in a radio interview on NPR, and I had been looking forward to participating first-hand in what sounded like an amazing charity group.

When we arrived we were asked to watch an orientation video about the organization, whose mission is to distribute medical supplies to disadvantaged areas around the world. The video was in turns disturbing, heartbreaking, and hopeful. It was all I could do to keep from crying in front of everyone. There were images of babies in dirty beds, rubber gloves that had been washed and hung up to dry for reuse, emaciated patients sharing a hospital bed, and various other deplorable conditions.

Around the conference room were posters that displayed facts about the organization. I learned that Project C.U.R.E. is mainly volunteer driven, and that only $.02 of every dollar is used for administration costs. I thought that was pretty dang impressive. I also learned that in Sudan some surgeons are forced to use TIN CAN LIDS in lieu of scalpels, and that often the procedures are done WITHOUT ANESTHESIA. Think about that for a minute. Horrific.

After the video we were given a tour of the warehouse. It was colossal and contained any and every kind of medical supply and equipment imaginable. Everything is donated by doctors, hospitals, supply companies, and even patients. We were shown a huge box of scrubs that was donated by a hospital who decided to get rid of them after a month of use because they didn’t like the color (which I thought was a lovely shade of dark blue). What was even more amazing that the sheer volume of stuff was the fact that in the past a lot of it would have ended up in the trash.

Our job was to sort through boxes and bags of supplies that had been donated from various places, and place them in one of about 100 plastic bins that held everything from stethoscopes to butterfly needles. Some of the items we sorted were expired and had to be discarded. But other items—though they happened to be past their expiration date—were still perfectly usable. There were extra instruments, tubing, sutures, etc. that had been ordered for surgeries and not used, there were oodles of packaged needles and unused containers, and lots of stuff that I couldn’t identify. Luckily there was a binder that helped us determine what went where, and I was fortunate enough to have a surgical nurse on my team who knew what almost everything was.

Among our pile was a plastic bag full of about 8 boxes of cyclosporene pills along with various other large bottles of prescription meds. Cyclosporene is a drug that suppresses the immune system, so it is often used for transplant patients. It also happens to be one of the many drugs poor little Maggie had to take for her severe allergies, so I know from experience that each pill costs about $1.50. It occurred to me that the bag was most likely donated by the family of a transplant patient who passed away. And then I realized that without Project C.U.R.E. these expensive, life-saving medications would have gone straight into the trash.

Another way to help Project C.U.R.E. is to donate a portion of ebay auctions to the charity. We do have some stuff sitting around that we need to get rid of, so I hope to take advantage of this mode of giving sometime soon.

I have had my fair share of complaints about the medical community in the past few years, but my perspective has definitely changed. I knew before I volunteered that there are limited medical offerings in other countries. But I didn’t realize the extent of the problem—the shocking lack of even the most basic items that we take for granted. I will probably never look at a clean pair of rubber gloves or a pre-packaged needle in the same way again. Not to mention a tin can lid.

Fired up

This election business has me in such a fine state I can barely contain myself. Part of me wanted to watch McCain’s speech tonight, but another part of me knew that if I did, I might start throwing things at the television. So I retired to the office and spent some time making a t-shirt for Max. And any other baby who is powerless to his/her mom’s desire to voice a certain political opinion. On sale now at CafePress!

Plastic fantastic

Before we had Max I imagined that we would buy him mostly traditional, wooden toys. In my ideal world he would never hear the word “Barney” or desire a jittery Elmo doll. But this isn’t an ideal world, and I realize that eventually he’ll be introduced to all manner of cartoon characters who moonlight as cereal hawkers and show up on every child-oriented consumer item known to man. Someday he’ll be over at a friend’s house and he’ll catch an episode of Bob the Builder, and he’ll fall head over heels in love. And the next thing I know I’ll be reluctantly buying him a Bob the Builder toy back-hoe to match his Bob the Builder lunch box. But not the cereal! And not the toothpaste!

Because shouldn’t there be a limit? We buy 7th Generation diapers partially because of environmental concerns, and partially because they do not feature Winnie the Pooh or Mickey Mouse. Not that Max would notice or care at this point, but I notice and care. And I honestly don’t get it. Why do diapers, of all things, need to be emblazoned with cartoon characters? Though I will admit Pooh is a very appropriately named mascot for bum wrappers.

I’m not trying to deny the fact that I loved cartoon characters as I child, because I did. I particularly enjoyed Eeyore. I’m not sure what that says about my psyche, but that’s another subject all-together. Of course, the world was different in the 70’s. You might have had a Winnie the Pooh lunch box, but there weren’t five million products including Band-Aids and ice cream flavors that featured your favorite characters. That’s the part that drives me mental. I’m certainly no Adbuster. I’ve been known to desire certain cute products by the dozen. But it’s hard not to be somewhat horrified at the fact that children have become the ultimate target market. Lock ‘em in when they’re young and fresh, and they’ll be yours for life.

Sigh.

And back to reality. I’m ready to admit that my idealistic vision started to crumble the day Max was born. At this point he has plenty of plastic toys, and just today we bought him this:

He loooooooovvvess it. I looked around quite a bit and finally settled on this plastic fantastic extravaganza because unlike some of the other keyboard toys, it has a setting where it simply plays the keys as you strike them. The thing I didn’t like about so many of the other piano-like toys is that striking a key initiated some kind of inane song, and wasn’t anything like playing a real piano. And that was the primary intent—finding something sturdy, but piano-like. They offered nothing of the sort in the wood section at our local toy shop.

Of course, when he gets a little older I will have to get him one of these. I had the identical piano as a child and played with it constantly.

And despite my efforts, I realize it’s entirely possible Max will grow up hating all things musical and will demand shiny, plasticy, branded products by the dozen. And if that happens there will be lots of discussions about marketing that will most likely fall on deaf ears. And sometimes we’ll give in, and sometimes we won’t. But hopefully in the end he will at least think about the reasons why he wants something. And he’ll understand that the Blue’s Clues yogurt really doesn’t taste any different than the kind without a cartoon character on it. The goal is: small victories.

Motivated

I’ve found an outlet for my creativity: Cafepress! Ages ago I created a fun French Bulldog graphic that I finally dug it out of the archives and slapped on some merchandise.

The dog bowl is probably my favorite, but it works well on the coffee mug too. And I don’t even care if people buy this stuff—it’s just fun to see my design on various products. I am a huge dork.

Anyway, my big plan is to open a fancier custom shop with designs for babies and kids. I have some ideas I’ve been kicking around, I just need a little time to pull it all together. It’s an odd feeling to be so motivated.

Sanity in a Box

It’s true. Sanity is actually sold online at Target, in the form of this fantastic gadget.

I love it for many reasons, but mostly because I know deep in my heart that it had to have been created by someone as neurotic as me. I know that every new mother worries about SIDS, but I am terrified beyond the point of reason. Probably something to do with what we went through to have this little guy, or maybe just a factor of my already borderline OCD personality.

Anyway, I ordered this lovely monitor a couple of weeks ago but finally decided to install it this weekend. It’s time for Max to sleep in his own room. He’s still waking up a few times a night, and I’m starting to think it’s partially due to his easy access to the lunch wagon, who is asleep right next to him. I also find that I anticipate when he is about to wake up, and therefore I’m not sleeping well.

So earlier today Max took two naps in his newly rigged crib and things went swimmingly. It wasn’t quite as easy to get him to sleep tonight, but he eventually calmed down and drifted off. The real test will come later when it’s time for me to go to sleep. I love that I’ll be able to watch the movement indicator and rest assured that he’s still breathing in there, but I sure will miss the little guy. I have grown used to his soft noises and watching his cute face peer at me through the mesh sides of the co-sleeper. Maybe I should tape this to the side of facing the bed to get me through the night.

Computer Woes Redux

It turns out that all was not 100% OK with my computer. For some reason it wouldn’t accept new memory when the repair guy tried to do the install–something to do with the location where Banjo’s golden goodness hit the memory slots. This means I can’t upgrade to the Leopard operating system, which means I still can’t use my new iPod. Sigh.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled the old beast is working at all, but the inability to upgrade means I should really think about buying a new computer sometime soon. I’m thinking about the 20 in. 2.4 GHz. I’ve decided that I’m not going to plunk down for a tower, and a major advantage to the all-in-one model is that it sits on the desk, far away from the pee zone.

Double Digits

It’s official: Max hit the 10 lb. mark.  We went in for his 2 month appointment yesterday and he was 10 lbs. 1 oz. That’s only in the 25th percentile, but he’s been gaining appropriately since birth so that’s all that matters. He’s in the 50th percentile for height, so if anything he’s long and lean.

He is starting to smile more and more, but it’s difficult to capture on film. Here he is at the tail end of a grin, with his anchorman hair in full effect. Is it wrong that I hope his eyes stay blue?

 

Tidbits

I had to laugh when the doctor told me last Wednesday that my seroma should finally be healed up in “about two weeks,” because that’s what she told me the first time I went in. FIVE weeks ago. But I figure, if she keeps saying “about two weeks” eventually she HAS to be right. The really weird thing is that it’s starting to feel almost normal to have a hole in my stomach.

The home nurse taught Jim how to do the wound care last week, so he now officially carries the title: Bravest Husband Ever. I’m not so sure I could manage if positions were switched. It’s pretty gross. And about the most unromantic thing I can think of. So he MUST love me.

In other news, Max has started making noises that can’t be classified as crying or screaming—cute coos that sound like a small dove. And he’s even given us a few genuine smiles, none of which I’ve been able to capture on film, of course. Unfortunately he’s also picked up a bit of a cold, and has been extra stuffy at night. So as soon as the phone nurse helpline opens after lunch I get to make another “paranoid new parent” call. I just hope I can keep him at a dull roar in the background. The Screamapillar is in full effect today.

If only I had a spare $95

I can barely stand how fantastic this is. I love you, Lynda Barry!