Family Photo

Thanks to Cindy Lyons for taking this photo!

Sand Bags

In celebration of warmer weather, we bought the Robot his very own sandbox. We put it together and went to Lowe's to buy sand. In an unprecedented show of customer service, a nice man escorted us right to the play sand, which is sold in 50 pound bags.

He said, "How many bags do you need?"

Jay said, "Two or three" at the same time as I said, "twenty." We glared at each other. This is just the type of thing we have torrid disagreements about.

There was some mention of cubic inches or whatever on the bag. We both used this information to launch ridiculous mathematical equations to prove our points. In the meantime, the customer service guy went to get one of those flat bed wheelers. He was clearly on my side.

In the end we compromised on ten bags of sand, which pretty much maxed out our car space and lowered the whole chassis by about half a foot. That's 500 pounds of sand we had to carry from 22nd Street to our backyard. Thank God I hadn't won my initial bid for 20 bags.

We used 9 bags of sand to fill up the sandbox, and have one for a spare. Perfect.

Supersize Me

As you can see, the Robot shows a preference for bigger portion sizes: eating applesauce directly out of the food processor despite the small purple bowl of applesauce on his lap, and drinking water out of my glass instead of the green sippy cup with his name on it.

Thank You Letter

Dear Nurses at St. Lukes Roosevelt Neonatal Intensive-Care Unit,

My son, Roan Michael Lyons, was born on election day and stayed in the NICU from November 5th until November 7th, 2008. It was only two days, so you probably don't remember us. At 7 pounds Roan was the biggest baby in both rooms, and I was one of those impassioned-about-breastfeeding moms who barely left his side, even during the shift changes when everyone was supposed to go. I remember you would look at Roan's size and appetite and ask, "what is he doing here?" It was meant to be a comforting question but it would always made me cry because we didn't know. Roan had stopped breathing the day after he was born. The tests started with his heart. When that was clear they moved to his brain, then his lungs. When those were clear there were more tests, and we waited to see if he'd stop breathing again.

In the meantime, you taught me how to get a good latch and use a breast pump. You taught me how to change his diaper in the isolette, with all those wires in the way. You told us not to rely on the monitors, but I remember how terrified I was when the all the wires came off - how would we know if his oxygenation levels were okay? Before we left you taught us how to give him a sponge bath and use a car seat. You were the first to show me the details of how to be a mother.

In the end no one could say for sure why Roan had stopped breathing. A barium swallowed led to a reflux diagnosis, which was the likely cause. We got a Zantac prescription and discharge papers. I was relieved and happy but also panicked: I didn't want to bring him home without all of you there with me.

At 18 months I no longer worry that my son will stop breathing. I worry about bumps and bruises and is he eating enough vegetables - universal worries that all parents share. I don't often think about those never ending days in the NICU, but when I do I remember all the small kindnesses and am overcome with gratitude. Maybe you were just doing your jobs, but it felt like so much more to me. The NICU was my whole world and you kept it turning. Thank you.

Cameron McClure

"Baby Boy McClure"

Gardening

I haven't been blogging lately. I've been busy gardening. This is a new activity for me, so everything takes me a lot longer than it'd take a more experienced gardener. Plus I have a toddler who insists on "helping."

Did I mention that I know nothing about plants? Nothing. And there's this whole gardening vocabulary. Who knew that deadheading was an activity that has nothing to do with the Grateful Dead? It's really confusing when the tie dye T-shirt wearing stoner at your local garden store tells you to give it a try. And what about mulching? It sounds vaguely sexual, like a word for when two people with mullets make out.

From what I've learned there are two kinds of plants: Annuals and Perennials.

Annuals: they die when it gets cold, so really you're just renting them

Perennials: they thrive despite 10 months of neglect

I also bought some herb seeds - basil, rosemary, and thyme. I had a lot of left over seeds so I planted those in the ground. At first I followed the instructions, poking the seeds into quarter inch deep holes spaced one inch apart (or whatever). I finished up and had a look. I started thinking that probably some seeds where defective. And I mean, how do those seeds even know which way is up? Wouldn't some of them grow the wrong way by accident? To cover my bases I doubled back and planted more seeds. There. But what about birds and racoons and that stray cat that Roan thinks is his pet? They would probably screw things up, and I was feeling really invested in my garden's success. I tripled back and planted more seeds. Finally satisfied, I watered the whole thing with Jay's french press. Then I stared at the plot for a while. Not like I expected anything to happen so soon, but it didn't look right. There was something unpromising about all that wet dirt. I still had a lot of seeds left over so I tossed them on top of the soil, like sprinkles on a cup cake, just for good measure.

People who are really good at something make it look easy. Celebrity chefs don't even measure stuff when they cook on TV, as if they are saying, measuring is for suckers. I always go for that kind of carelessness when trying something new, which is probably why new ventures so rarely work out for me. Tossing those seeds on the dirt reminded me of Jamie Oliver or Tyler Florence, letting salt fall through their fingers, confident that it was just the right amount. I felt that if I could channel that kind of self-assurance then my garden would work, in spite of the fact that I'd disregarded the rules.

Waiting for my seeds to sprout, I realized just how deeply sunk in our culture of instant gratification I am. The next morning, nothing was happening. Half a week passed: nothing. Each morning I checked, and was disappointed. Even my sister, who is terrible at calling me back, is more on the ball than these plants.

Then, one morning: sprouts! Everywhere!

Looks like those seeds weren't defective after all