Did I promise you a story?

OK, I know, I know. I promised DETAILS about my trip, but we've had a hard time readjusting to life not on vacation. What can I say? There was sun, there was fun, there was an unlimited open bar at all waking hours and Clementine could have "peet-zee," her way of saying pizza, every day at 4 pm. She wouldn't sit in her high chair or sleep in the portable crib, but the super comfy king-sized bed made me long for our family bed days once again.

I didn't know what to expect of a Club Med vacation (didn't I mention that it was Club Med). We're kind of the adventurous, backpacking, let's-see-the-remotest-part-of-Thailand and how-many-museums-can-we-hit-per-day travelers, so we were a little wary. I even researched cultural events and places in Cancun (I know, beyond body shots and foam parties there isn't much) so I'd be prepared. What a waste of time! Club Med is the way to go, once you can get past the competitive vacationers who wake at 5 AM every day to scope out the best spots by the pool and reserve them with towels and cheap paperbacks. We got to go boating and snorkeling whenever we wanted, the beaches were amazing and I even tried the trapeze. We surprised the heck out of my dad and had an amazing time with the whole gang together. Clementine is now obsessed with her cousins and starts every day talking about Abby, Nora and cheese (yeah, the pizza thing).

If there was a sour note it was darling C's less-than-positive reaction to my dad, her grampy. She shook her finger at him and cried "No!" whenever he came near here, sometimes switching it up with a "don't." He took it in stride and answered with a finger-wagging no of his own, but I think all that did was cement that as their thing. Even now when she mentions everyone she sat on the beach with, she'll say something that sounds like "dampy" and shake her finger, say no and smile. I don't think it's an actual no at this point or even something negative. But I'm creating a super-fun photo book of our amazing trip together just to be sure.

I took, of course, nine million pics. Here are some of the best. We stayed over in the Westin at the Detroit airport the night before our flight out, and let me say it was the best idea I've ever had. We had a really early check-in time for the flight and the hotel leads you right out to the gate area. The cost of the room came with 8 days valet parking, so all the better. AND our room looked out onto airplanes, Clementine's first obsession of the trip.



The camera didn't come to the beach with us often, and when it did it didn't come into the water, which was an amzing color blue and a source of a lot of fun. Other beach activities like iguana spotting and sand sorting were a big hit:






Our one trip to town included the wonderful "Casa de Arte Popular Mexicano," a folk art museum with a very detailed audio tour in English that I couldn't enjoy because keeping Clementine's hand off all the precious art objects at child-height was more like a work out than anything.




The last shot is from the little church they set up in one corner of the museum where my neice Abby performed several weddings. We literally had to drag her away. C wasn't interested.

Much can be said of how wonderful all the little girlies got along. I'm excited to see them all grow up together. Actually, I'm more excited to see them photographed together, which we have a difficult time doing. That is, unless one is crying or dirty or looking the wrong way or, in C's case, eating pizza.



Much can also be said of the dancing, which all girls took to rather swimmingly, none so eagerly as my little Clementine. If there was a band or a lone guitar or even a speaker, my girl would find it and dance in front. We came out of dinner one night to find a salsa lesson in progress, so Clementine grabbed Ba and took a spin with him:



First to arrive and last to leave, we spent our last afternoon enjoying hte surf, tracking down Clementine's beloved bartender Charly, who kept her well supplied with ice and cookies and taking a few last shots.



I wish being on vacation were a career option because we're really good at it.

I had a secret

We just returned from a secret week in Mexico that I couldn't write about because it was to surprise my father. We had a wonderful time and have returned sunned, relaxed and totally off any sort of eating or sleeping schedule that is compatible with real life. Once we unpack the suitcase full of stinky laundry and begin our vacation detox diet I'll post some pictures and give a full report.

DST

Is Daylight Savings Time kicking anyone's ass out there as hard as it's kicking ours? I've had moments of wit and clarity this past week when I should have blogged, but they were few and far between as we have returned to darling C's noctural wakings. I think I'm averaging about 4 or 5 hours of sleep. Not only does she wake a few times, she has now learned that she can actually get out of her own bed and pad down the hall into our room. The first time it happened, I thought it was so cute, listening to her footsteps and then seeing her head round the corner with a curious "Mama?" Last night I waited until she got all the way up to my face becfore asking her if this was soome kind of joke. "Yeah," she said, clearly not understanding my sarcasm.

So in lieu of observations and anecdotes about my ever-quirky, hilarious little girl, I'm relying on photojournalism. The week in review starts with a lazy Sunday afternoon reading. Does she want us to read to her? No, no, no. She'll do the reading, thank you very much:



In fact, she's so eager to read that she'll make a seat out of anything and take a book. I've found her in the closet, on a box, in a suitcase and on a bouncing ball (starting to sound like Dr. Seuss). Oh, and she's also not above cleaning off my bedside table and making a perfect little seat right there:



At the zoo, she was excited to be a frog on a lily pad. She's never content to do anything silly alone, however, and we're happy to oblige. Whether it's walking like a flamingo, neighing like a horse, or hopping like a frog. I love Nate. Click on this picture to see more frogs.



Even when the seals and polar bears are too busy sunning themselves, the underwater viewing area is her favorite place of all.



And as the weekend winds down, there's nothing quite like some coloring.



I'm going to take a nap now.

Artist

From the time C could just barely coordinate herself enough to limply hold a wedge of avocado (her first food because she wasn't about to actually let us feed her anything on a spoon--very willful, this one) I tried to get her excited about crayons and chalk and paint and markers and the myriad crafting supplies to which she will have ready access her whole life because it is piled up so high in my basement. It took a while for her to get the hang of it, but she's made leaps and bounds with our kitchen chalk board and the crayons. We got our first picture sent home from day care the other day, and I was so excited I could hardly stand it.

While we were waiting for her motor skills to catch up with what I naturally assumed was her heart's true desire (artist expression), I bought her finger paints in the hopes that it would be easier for her to get busy on the canvas. Try as I did, she never ever liked to use them. Sure, she liked to get set up to finger paint. She enjoyed watching me lay out the newspaper and then the paper to paint on. She liked getting down to her skivvies, and she liked watching me squirt the paints out onto the paper plate I was using as a palette. What she didn't like was actually touching the paints, and she certainly didn't like using them, declaring "Messy," after dipping just the tiniest portion of one finger in.

Until last week, that is, when she finally figured out what fun it was. We made a card for my dad's 60th birthday, but we still haven't mailed it because I just can't part with these early artistic expressions.

Ambulatory

There was a time when C was first born that I would have done anything to be at home with her. My mind on that front has never really been made up completely--it ebbs and flows as my love for my job shifts around--but I'm pleased with her life at daycare and the example I'm setting for her by doing my own thing, having a job, even if it is way more traditional than I'd like (remember I'm trying to breed some bohemian tendencies in her from the beginning!). With all the time I've been spending at home these days, I realize I would go stark raving mad if I stayed home with her full time, and it makes it that much easier to go back to work. Sure, I miss her like hell, but I'm reminded what a good situation this is for all of us. Nevertheless, I like being out in the world in the middle of the week day. Grannies in the left lane going 20 MPH, kids having meltdowns in the Trader Joe's parking lot, very little traffic. It's like a totally different universe.

I'm at home today with a ton of electrical leads sticking out of my head for an ambulatory EEG. I've wrapped a scarf around my head and like to think I'm looking a little like Little Steven of Underground Garage and E Street fame as I diligently record everything I do. I have guests on their way tonight who can't wait to get a look at my Medusa-like appearance, and I'm trying to resist the pull of back-to-back Law and Order so that my brain waves look extra-smart when they study them; in fact, I'm going to go start a crossword puzzle in a minute. I think there is little reason for this test besides getting me back on the road. Not being able to drive myself around is driving me crazy, especially because public transportation in and around Detroit is pretty shoddy.

It's ironic that the EEG is called ambulatory when, for me, it's anything but. Nate has been saddled with two extra responsibilities since all this happened: pick-up and drop-off for Clementine AND pick-up and drop-off for me, whether it's work or doctor's appointments. For some strange reason this has me feeling guilty; I tend to shoulder more of the logistics on a day-to-day basis, but it's hardly because he asks me to. I think I'm still struggling to come to terms with the way that we tend to fall into certain roles. I don't want to say it's gender--I think it's much more a control-freak tendency on my part than my inner homemaker--but I wish it were easier to nail down. My Donna Reed plan that was working so well for us for a while has totally fallen apart in the last few weeks, and I'm pretty happy with that. It felt good to know who was doing what, who was responsible, but it's more fun to share, to work together now that Clementine can almost lend a hand (we're not trusting her with a knife just yet, but she's really great at organizing the cherry tomatoes!).

It's time for one of my scheduled rest periods, so I'm going to go look as calm and restful as I can so they'll let me have my damn keys back.

Before trauma, fun

I can't let our great time up north be overshadowed by its unfortunate ending. Clementine is blending right in with our nomadic ways, and I think she was psyched to hit the road with Laura and Joey after her few days at work with me. We started by visiting a friend in Interlochen, where Clementine was able to realize her lifelong dream of encountering a real snowman. She has been obsessed with snowmen since their proliferation at Christmas and in one of her books, but seeing one--two, in fact, if you count the baby--in real life was almost just too much, especially since Joey built them.



This was also the first time Clementine got to play in the snow at any length, which she loved until she couldn't her boots on anymore. She especially loved throwing snowballs.



Joey and I hit Crystal Mountain before we headed up to Petoskey to meet the guys. We checked into a fabulous hotel that had very comfortable bed. The only evidence of my head trauma might just be that I have hardly any pictures of Clementine in the hotel or around the slopes at Nub's Nob except for some pics of her very cute pony tails. Holy hell is that girl is sweet.



On the way home we decided we couldn't possible pass up The World's Largest Crucifix in Indian River. My double vision was just getting started as we pulled up, so I didn't perhaps enjoy the oddness of it as much as I normally might have, but I did find the fabulous nun doll museum that was beyond strange. Hundreds of nun dolls in the garb of convents all over the world, strange dioramas of nuns in action, a hall of life-size nuns. Sadly, the gift shop was closed, but I have a feeling I'll be back.







For now, my cool little girl is just happy to be back. But we are maybe a little curious about the Sock Monkey Festival in Rockford, Illinois this weekend....

Double Vision: not just a cheesy Foreigner song

Last Sunday, as we were driving back from a fabulous weekend up north hanging out with some of our favorite people and snowboarding, my vision was a little off. At first I just felt funny, but as the day progressed, things went from blurry to split in two—totally in two. I was trying to keep up a brave front, catching up with phone calls, making plans for the week. But when we stopped for a bite to eat, I realized I could hardly walk and felt absolutely drunk (the kind of drunk where you have to close one eye to see). I nevertheless got myself to the bathroom to change Clementine’s leaky diaper (yuck) but realized we needed to get to the hospital to be sure I didn’t have brain damage.

I wasn’t really sure what had happened, but I got to tell the story so many times over the last week or so I can recite it by heart. On Friday I took a pretty serious tumble while snowboarding, smacked my head but bounced back immediately (I wear a helmet, after all). There were no signs of concussion beyond a little dizziness that night. We spent the next day hanging out, seeing sights, shopping. I was fine. We went out for some night skiing and had a great time for a while—Nate and I were on our own and really enjoying it. We wanted to hit every hill before we took a break to visit Clementine and Laura in the lodge, so we headed over to an easy hill on the far side of the slope. I remember strapping in and following Nate down and around a bend, but then the next thing I remember is waking up on my back much further down the hill. I don’t think I fell because it was very flat there, very gentle and easy and I had no snow on me, no aches and pains that might lead me to think something had happened. I got up slowly and headed down the hill dizzy and disoriented. Nate was waiting for me at the bottom and told me he had been there for five minutes and was beginning to get worried. Needless to say I cut the night short and went back to our hotel. I felt kind of dizzy but still very functional. My vision didn’t start to split until we were on our way home—I thought it was something mild or, at worst, a dramatic overreaction to the end of a fabulous vacation.

Once we reached Detroit, Nate and Clementine dropped me off at the ER at my insistence—the last thing I wanted was my girl hanging around the hospital again, and I was pretty sure I’d be fine or that Nate could find someone to watch her while the doctors patted me on the head and told me to take some Motrin and promise never to snowboard again. I wasn’t at the ER long, however, before a negative CAT scan got the doctor thinking I had a ruptured brain aneurysm—he prepared to do a spinal tap and I freaked out, called Nate who had taken refuge at the home of the people with whom we were traveling (as if they hadn’t had enough of me) and started cursing myself for not having a will. The spinal tap was as awful as it sounds—worse, actually, as there is not so much a tap as an invasive injection that involves the needle scraping along one’s vertebrae (I made quite a few jokes about the lengths I had gone to in order to avoid an epidural only to end up with something pretty similar, but the doctor had zero sense of humor). Without my asking, both Karen and Laura showed up to keep me company as we waited for results, more tests and some kind of news. I’d be embarrassed remembering all of the compromising situations in which they saw me (at one point I remember Karen holding my IV bag while I peed), but the good thing about head trauma is that the memory is the first to go.

Eventually they had no answers and it was almost midnight. They decided to admit me and schedule me for an angiogram in the morning, but I had to wait two hours to get a bed in the ICU step-down unit. Nate went to get some sleep at our friends’ house with Clementine, and I spent the hours until dawn drifting off to sleep and then waking myself up immediately anytime I saw any sort of light in my dreams. It sounds ridiculous, but I was trying not to go into the light. I called my dad at 5:30 AM because I just felt so lonely and scared, but by about 7 AM things started looking up. My vision was slowly improving, my head didn’t hurt too much and a wonderful nurse practitioner told me that other than the spinal tap I had no signs of aneurysm. The neurosurgeons agreed, so then the great witch hunt of what the hell had happened to me began in full. Tests, results, theories, disagreements and an endless parade of doctors ensued.

There are days and days of details that follow and they are all pretty much the same. I was frustrated because I couldn’t leave or see my daughter, doctors stopped by and ordered more tests, everyone had different answers. In the end it turns out that I am OK—probably just suffering from a severe concussion, the effects of which I may feel for 6 to 12 months. I’m still banned from driving, however, until I have this crazy test done later this week to look for seizures. They think that may have been what grounded me on my last snowboard run.

I am back at work today and feeling good, despite the headache. I’m trying hard not to dwell on all this. I will be back on the slopes again next year, I will be fine and I can’t wait to start my yoga again because man, my muscles are sore.

Thanks for all the emails and notes and comments and good wishes. Now let’s talk about something happy.

Helmets may not be punk rock...

...but mine sure did save my life. I was released from the hospital yesterday after three long days of tests, poking, prodding and wondering what the hell happened, and it appears everything is on the mend and there is no lasting damage. I'm NOT giving up snowboarding, and let me be clear: this is not an indication of how much I suck. I was rather awesome and ripped it up pretty well--I just caught a bad break (no pun there since nothing is really broken).

Looking at the computer for more than a few minutes gives me a pretty huge headache, especially since I had my eyes dilated AGAIN today for a never ending series of tests. But more on my experiences soon.