But There Are No Chiggers On A Dream Trip

Despite being best buddies, Aster and Dianthus have the sibling habit of caring way too much about what is befalling the other.  Good things are sweeter if one can gloat that the other didn't get it.  Bad things are worse if the punishment is not shared, whether deserved or not. Unequal distribution leads to an uproar, even if one or the other doesn't particularly like whatever is being shared.

In other words, they are human.

I bring this up for two reasons.  The first is that I have an aunt who thinks that my brother and I didn't bicker in the back seat.  I don't know what evidence she used to conclude that, but I certainly don't want to mislead anyone about Aster and Dianthus.  I'll be clear-- Aster and Dianthus have abundant charms, and they can be really annoying individuals.

Secondly, I have witnessed this behavior too much in adults recently.  When hearing about things other people are doing: taking maternity leave; going on a long honeymoon, competing in long distance races; there have been responses of, "well, I didn't get any paid leave," or "knees don't really hold up after 50" not so much as a point of discussion but with an implied attitude of, "I didn't get to do that, nobody else should either."  Although it is just as unseemly when adults do it as when my kids declare that it is no fair the other gets to carry the towel bag (really), I've caught myself coveting when I read of friends taking a year or two to live in Mexico, or overlanding from Alaska to Patagonia, thinking, "Well, I couldn't up and leave for two years," as if that should have stopped them (read their blogs Slobe Family Adventure and When Sparks Fly, and for discussion of how to do it yourself, see The Practical Overlander).

So from the first day of driving in the rain across Arkansas, when I thought, "Wow, we are doing it again.  We are living the dream," I've wanted to write about the recent journey with my family.  And I keep getting stopped by the voices in my head telling me about all of the problems in the world and all of the problems faced by my friends.  There's a vague background chorus chanting, "Must be nice."

And the truth is, it is nice.  It is nice to have the Mister who wants to eat around the world with me. It is nice to have a job where I don't work in the summer.  It is nice to have the means to travel. It is nice to have great parents and in-laws who want to meet us in interesting places so they can hang with their grandkids.  It is nice to be able-bodied.  And I know full-well that having this combination is not the norm and will not last forever.  And my not appreciating it will in no way solve the problems of my friends or the world, nor will a lack of appreciation extend my window of opportunity.  So I'd better get over any hesitation and enjoy it while I have it.

So, we took a four-thousand-plus mile road trip (it is not as far to Hilton Head, South Carolina, as it is to Vancouver British Columbia, where we drove last year).  We saw, did, and ate lots.

One stop on our journey was a professional conference at which I was presenting.*  Strangely (for an academic conference), there was an option to camp and, also strange for an academic conference, one could sign kids up for a nature and art camp when one registered; which is how this whole trip came to be ("while we are going to Kentucky for the conference, we might as well go to West Virginia to see our old neighborhood.  While we are there, we might as well attend the folk festival.  Oh, there is time between conference and folk festival? well, we might as well go to the beach . . .).

When we arrived on Sunday night, late, having taken a wrong turn and driven the windy roads of southeast Kentucky twice, we weren't sure exactly what our reception would be.  A super-nice woman was willing to re-open the registration table, only to tell us that the road to the campground was impassably muddy, but if we would pull out our camping gear, she'd send somebody to shuttle us there. We were tired, cranky, swarmed by gnats and unloading our minivan in the mud

to pick out the camping essentials to be dropped off who knows where across a creek.  I commented to the Mister, while wondering how far I was going to have to slog in the mud in order to give my professional talk, "Yeah, camping with the family at a conference.  May go on the list among the craziest things I've done.  You'd think I'd know better."

Someday they will legitimately be able to say, "When I was young
we would go on vacation and there wasn't even a t.v.  So we played
barefoot in the creek all day.

And then it became magical.  The frogs were so loud they kept us up at night.  The freshly cut hay and the mountain magnolias left life smelling fresh and vaguely sweet.  If one stayed up late enough, the stars and the lightning bugs were amazing.  Dianthus and Aster bonded with the four other children in the kids' camp, and for four days they were inseparable, racing to establish their own table in the dining hall, helping each other on hikes, and playing barefoot in the creek for hours.

Little kids in big spaces

It was every bit as idyllic as it sounds.

Same spot: enlarged to show texture of trees

I know enough of the craft of storytelling to know that readers don't want uninterrupted sweetness.  But our trip overall, and our time at Pine Mountain in particular, was truly lovely, and nothing would be gained by sullying those memories.  Which is why I'll leave the discussion of the constant scratching of giant swollen chigger bites on both boys' genitalia off of this post.

*For the record, my severely budget constrained institution did not pay for any travel and I am never compensated for my time while attending summer conferences.

Home from (and in) Exotic Places

Upon their return to Colorado from a two week East Coast excursion (meeting us in Hilton Head towards the beginning) my mother told me what a great trip they had, and how it had almost felt like visiting a different country, with all the different, foods, accents, and environments.

Southeastern Kentucky.  So not Western Oklahoma.

It sounded silly when she said it, and I would have laughed, had I not just commented, two days before, when we arrived in Kansas City, in a hot haze over 100 degrees with a furnace blasting south wind and bad traffic, that it felt like home.  It wasn't just that the Mister was not alone in his Royals cap and Jayhawk shirt, it was that until then, from the first lunch in Fort Smith, it felt like we were somewhere else, someplace exotic, someplace vaguely foreign.  Grits and green tomato country covered by lots and lots of trees.*

South Carolina Swamp.  Also not Western Oklahoma.

Wandering around the town in West Virginia where I lived for four years didn't feel like a homecoming (except when seeing friends) and I kept muttering, "We used to live here? It's so green.  And so steep and so not like the places I live."  But I did live there.

When I returned to Western Oklahoma there was a similar sense of confusion, "Really?  This is where I live?" (and I never lived in Kansas City, which felt so home-like).  But my cat was here, and our house with its problems and lots of lots of zucchini and yep, I was back where I belong.

Central Kansas in May.  Not Western Oklahoma as well.

It's hard to explain the diversity of the US to people outside of it.  Its hard for me to fathom and I've driven huge swaths of it.  It's a pretty incredible place in so many ways.  So here is my annual celebration of the diversity of this country, and the greatness that can be found across it.  Happy Birthday US of A! With all of you're flaws, you are my home, and for that I am glad.

The Captains say, "Happy Birthday USA!"

*Anyone who complains that driving the interstate across Kansas is the most boring driving around hasn't driven the interstate across Georgia, flanked by plantation pines and nothing else for hundreds of miles.

2015 Americana Cheese photo here and 2014 here.

The Magic of Baking

Food, as we all know, is magic.

Food, as anyone who reads this blog knows,  is also one of my obsessions (coincidental?  I think not.)

Rhubarb Blackberry Crisp on my birthday.  A magical moment
that otherwise has little to do with this post.

So it really shouldn't be a big shock that I read more than my share of cookbooks, books by people  in the food industry, and books about people in the food industry (if I looked hard enough, I'm sure I could find the name of the sub-genre of chick lit with caterers and bakers as heroines, for me they are just normal novels).  Yet I am sometimes surprised by how much I love books about magical food, from Garden Spells (magical food from magical plants in a magical place) to Bliss Bakery.

Saturday morning I picked up Sarah Weeks' PIE at the library and by noon I was buying groceries for a buttermilk blackberry pie with a cornmeal crust, which we ate Saturday night.  Since I made up the recipe, based on two in the YA novel, it wasn't perfect, but I think I am going to go try again.

Magic indeed.

Travel Lists 1-5

We've returned from the second of our summer trips, with lots to report.  In the unlikely event that you are into lists as much as I am, here are a few:

Nashville

States (15): Oklahoma, Arkansas, Tennessee, Kentucky, Virginia, Georgia, South Carolina, North Carolina, West Virginia, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Missouri, Kansas, home. (Now Dianthus wants me to list all of the states he has been to.  It's 29).  Georgia and South Carolina were new to the prairie dog (who hadn't picked up a new state since Arizona in 2013) and me (nothing new since North Carolina and Tennessee in 2008).

Not everyone is excited by state capitol buildings.

Atlanta.  I've been taking capitol dome selfies
since before I had a double chin or a digital camera.

State Capitol Buildings: 3 (all new to me) Nashville, Atlanta and Columbia (other capitols seen, if at a distance: Little Rock, Columbus, Indianapolis, Topeka).  This would be great news for my family capitol competition (I haven't picked up a new one since Annapolis in 2010), if my parents hadn't had a four capitol run (Atlanta, Richmond, Dover, and Annapolis) on their simultaneous trip.

Inside Columbia,
where actual legislating was happening

National Parks: Mammoth Cave, Cumberland Gap, Congaree, and Seneca Rocks National Recreation Area. This represents no value out of our National Parks Interagency Pass, as Cumberland, Congaree and Seneca Rocks  were free and we paid for the fabulous Domes and Dripstones Guided Tour through Mammoth Cave.  We purchased the pass at Rocky Mountain last June 1, and in the thirteen months we had it, managed to hit Rocky Mountain three times, Dinosaur, Golden Spike, Glacier, Yellowstone, Devil's Tower, Jewel Cave, Mt. Rushmore, Badlands, Capulin Volcano, White Sands, and Saguaro, in addition to those mentioned above.

Watching Frogs, Mammoth Cave National Park

Birds of Note: Whippoorwills, brown thrashers, brown pelicans*, anhingas*, barred owls* and great blue herons.

Other Animals of Note: turtles, frogs so loud they kept us up at night, lightning bugs, sting ray, horseshoe crab, luna moth, racoon, groundhogs (at which Dianthus shouts "marmot" when he spots one), many small lizards, a skink, newts (and salamanders and crawfish for the boys) and alligators.  Doesn't everyone go to Hilton Head for the wildlife?

*Birds new to my life list, if I had one.

Boy observing lizard

Luna Moth, Cave City, Kentucky

Lizard observing boy (just before fight with other lizard)

First alligator, the small one.

Medium Alligator.   Large alligator was much larger, much
closer and LOUD.  We did not hang around a take a photo.

Skink, Congaree National Park

Why didn't I add milkweed beetles mating to the list?

How to talk to the mother of a pediatric stroke survivor

As the point of this (somewhat less than continuous streak) is to raise awareness about pediatric stroke, I figure I should have at least one explicitly informative post about pediatric stroke survivors and their families.  So here goes.

How to talk to the mother of a pediatric stroke survivor

Soccer Spring 2016: Hemikids want medals, too.

That's easy.  Speak to her and her child the way you would speak to anyone else.  (Unless, of course you are generally a jerk to people, in which case you should quit it.  Or if you mutter things like, "but at least she is cute" or "God only gives you what you can handle" or offer unsolicited parenting advice with a judgmental sneer.)

How to be up on pediatric stroke lingo when you talk to the mother of a pediatric stroke survivor

This requires much more explanation, and is less generally applicable (it turns out that I am not the first to come up with "treat others as you would like to be treated" and it works in many situations), but here goes.

CP = cerebral palsy  An "umbrella diagnosis" inconsistently applied which refers to symptoms of motor impairment as the result of brain damage before the age of two.  Cerebral palsy is not degenerative, however the impairments may become more pronounced with time.  A lifetime of differential use can lead to different to limb lengths and an unusual gait both of which can lead to more serious joint problems. even though the brain damage is not expanding. Seizures and spams can both increase with time as well.

RH= right hemiplegia  (or right hemi) having motor impairment on the right side of the body (as a result of brain damage on the left side of the brain).  Aster is a RH.

PT, OT, SLT  Physical therapy, occupational therapy and speech language therapy.

SPD = sensory processing disorder.  Many "hemi-kids" have issues as being easily over-stimulated or by being stimulation seeking.

Physiatrist = Physical Medical Doctor or Physical Rehabilitation Doctor  A physician who specializes in movement.



IEP = Individualized Education Program  A unique plan for every child in a special ed. program.

CIMT = constraint induced movement therapy (I think).  Forcing use of the affected side of someone's body by making the non-affected (good) side non-functional (often through casting).

EI = early intervention   State-based programs to get young people (under 3) help they need.

AFO = ankle foot orthosis  A brace

CHASA - the Children's Hemiplegia and Stroke Association-- THE place to go to learn more about  pediatric stroke or to donate to small scale programs that help families of kids with hemiplegia learn from each other, share suggestions, swap shoes, learn about research programs and feel much less alone.

Bird (and Bear) Moms: Figuratively

I'm unsure of my parenting style.
I'm told that it wasn't that long ago that "parenting" wasn't a thing, certainly not a thing that was done in any particular style.  But I live in the twenty-teens in the United State and one can't just try one's best to raise kids to be compassionate, intelligent adults.  One need a style; be it attachment, free-range, helicopter, Chinese mom, French mom, or honey badger.

Among CHASA Facebook discussions, lots of parents talk about bringing out Mama Bear.  After all, if mom doesn't stand up to demand what a kid needs, who will?
Mama Bear is deemed necessary because pediatric stroke survivors can have a long list of special needs, physically, developmentally, and educationally.  And many of these needs can be ignored, missed, or denied.  CHASA discussions are filled with stories of doctors labeling parents as hypochondriacs rather than helping them seek help; teachers skipping the accommodations written into an IEP*; in-laws avoiding grandkids because they don't know how to deal with their sensory issues; or formerly good friends assuring mothers that "nothing is wrong" with their hemi-kids as they miss key developmental milestones. It probably doesn't need to be said that a special version of Mama Bear; Mama Bear Accounta
nt File Keeper Extraordinaire can be necessary for dealing with insurance claim paper work.

On another side of things, I am a teacher with lots of teacher friends and relatives.  Certain parents are not seen as necessarily protective bears, but rather as seagulls.  They swoop in, make a lot of noise, ruffle a lot of feathers, and leave a mess of waste in their wake.

I don't want to be a seagull parent.

I don't really like being a bear.

Eagles before color/mud race May 21, 2016

But if the Mister and I don't make some noise, sometimes nothing happens.  Our initial neurology appointment, at age 2, triggered a bunch of Early Intervention (EI) steps because of the cerebral palsy diagnosis, but we had known Aster had experienced a brain event since well before he was born. I learned about CHASA from a google search looking for toys that force the use of two hands, about botox and constraint therapy from CHASA, about physiatrists from a occupational therapists who stopped by once, and about the CP clinic in Denver from trying to find something else.  Aster has a great team of people looking out for him, but with nobody "in charge" few recommendations are every made (except, "oh, yeah, that would be definitely something to look into").  Being a barred owl (out of the box and flying in a month) isn't going to work for this family.

I need some other style.  I don't want to keep my kids as close as an Emperor Penguin, nor abandon them to crash on the rocks the first time they fly, like a gannet.

Watching the cameras on the live birds, the bald eagles most resonated with me. The cynical among you might point out how stereotypically easily persuaded American that is, or how much easier it is to get good views inside an eagle next compared to a condor cave or a cramped owl box. I choose, however, to notice how duties are split between both eagle parents.  How the eagle kids appear to get along.  How the parents give the kids space, but always seem to know what is going on.

I hope to be a proud eagle parent.**

*Individualized Education Program: the official document of special education in the United States under the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA).

**Pun about the local Pre-K-1 elementary school being the Eagles, and this being the last night Dianthus being a student at that school, entirely unintended until about halfway through the post, when I remembered this photograph and made it intentional.

Bird Moms: Literally

Apparently this has not been the year to succeed in the streak for pediatric stroke.  I keep thinking of things to write, and then I keep doing things like counting seedlings, attending way too many end-of-the-year "things", going to bed at a reasonable hour, or volunteering to make a 9 x 13 banana pudding for an end of the year teacher lunch via our church (the last one baffles me a little, too).

On the long list of "maybe I should write about X" was a piece on bird parents.  The geese, swans, and ducks in Ugly were so different from each other, and so like my observations of ducks (short term pairing, if at all), swans (protective) and geese (actual families).  The D.C. bald eagles (who, at two months, look like black eagles, instead of fluff balls (1-2 weeks) or gray things with giant talons (at a month) have had full parental support from both parents all along.  The gangly, awkward condor chick always seems to be alone, and the barred owl parents are now alone, all three owlets having grown up and "flown the coop", while the barn owl eggs are now fluff with owl faces, seemingly carefully tended.

The mockingbird (wanna-be) dad successfully kept the Mississippi Kites from nesting in our yard this year; a bonus if we want to actually spend time in the garden. A brown thrasher pair has spent considerable time in our yard, perhaps nesting in the honeysuckle.  Of course, if you want to see bird parenting extremes, you could watch March of the Penguins.  But the big deal this year are robins nesting in the euonymous by my parents' front door.  Cool things happen in bird year (but I have no pictures, so here is a larkspur photo taken last summer with a flash).