Category Archives: Family Stories

September 29, 2010

The Look

Family legend has it that I was an ornery child. Stubborn, strong-willed and independent.

I was famous for “the look” – an exasperated eye roll that clearly expressed my displeasure with a given situation.

My cousin Mitch picked up the reigns when I outgrew it. (To clarify, I only outgrew people applying the phrase to me – I still have a quality exasperation expression.) When he was young, people used to tease that he’d been practicing “the look.” Well, Mitch is now a teenager. And it’s time to educate the new generation.

An argument for nature in the nature vs. nurture debate, karma has reared its ugly head and gifted my young muppet Search with “the look.”

Seriously, people? Come on...

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September 7, 2010

Working Mom

Today was my first day back in the office. (I went back to work on Friday, but wasn’t yet physically present.)

Part of me felt guilty – not just because I was leaving the muppets behind for the day, but because I was excited to be back. (Please don’t let that make me a bad mom. I just like what I do.)

As I said before, of course I wish I had more time with the muppets at home. And as I headed back toward corporate America to continue sorting through 3,000 emails (this is not an exaggeration), it seemed fate also wanted me to have more time. Or fate at least wanted to drive home the point that I shouldn’t be too happy to be back.

I popped out of bed bright and early – ready to tackle my new roll as a working mom. Well, in reality, I clumsily rolled out of bed to soothe the screaming children who felt they were being cruelly starved to death and really needed their parents to HURRY UP AND FEED THEM. But I digress…

I haven’t worn work clothes in four months and 12 days. It’s been even longer since I wore heels. This adjustment combined with my new larger (and significantly higher vehicle) made for a very interesting attempt at coolly sliding into my car. Instead, I teetered out into the morning air – balancing my computer bag, notebooks, the pump and my purse – and made several futile efforts to launch myself into the SUV without flashing the entire neighborhood. I finally scootched myself up and over just enough to ensconce myself in the car without ripping my skirt.

Crisis averted. And off I went, oh so pleased with myself that I’d remembered to get gas yesterday.

I arrived at the office gate feeling perky and professional. I haven’t had any coffee in 10 months so I wasn’t dragging from the lack thereof. I surveyed the vast array of parking spaces still available and swiped my card across the card reader thingy.

BeepBeepBeep.

And the gate remained firmly shut.

I repeated this process a minimum of five times, all the while reminding myself of Albert Einstein’s quote that “insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.” Finally, I gave up and pushed the button to ask security for help. Sadly, security informed me I was now a corporate risk so they couldn’t let me in.

I did work Friday, so I was relatively certain I was still employed. I was also completely certain I was blocking a line of cars trying to get into the parking lot. So I peered out my window and shouted to the man with the bemused expression in the car behind me.

“My badge is broken and security won’t let me in,” I explained to the general downtown area. Ever so contentious of security concerns, the man in the car behind me got out of his car, walked up to the gate and magically opened the gate with his working badge.

I parked and bee-lined for the head security office so no one would escort my rouge, badgeless presence from the campus. Turns out the badge automatically turns itself off after a period of non-usage. Security took about five seconds to reactivate me.

Crisis averted. And off I went, oh so pleased with myself that I remembered where my cube was.

I strolled up to my cube and set my multitude of packages down. Then I noticed things were not as I’d left them. My plants were still there. But they were dead. And I mean dead dead. In reality, my plants were gone; I had pots of dirt. Power cords, phone headsets and monitor cables were nowhere to be seen. My cube had been pilfered! (Not that this surprised me. At my last job, my monitor was claimed by a colleague before my departing self had even cleared the door.)

I wandered back downstairs until I found the technology department and secured replacements for the necessary cables. At this point I realized what fate had really been trying to tell me.

“Tricia, your workplace has coffee bars. Utilize this perk.”

Amazingly enough, the rest of the day flew by. I’m back in the groove. And when I got home this evening, the muppets were even cuter than when I left them this morning.

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August 30, 2010

Forever in Paradise

Uncle Paul and Aunt Stephanie are currently vacationing in paradise – also known as Hawaii. For those of you wondering about my word selection, yes, I did indeed say Aunt Stephanie.

You see, Paul and Stephanie are now engaged. [We momentarily interrupt this blog post to do a happy dance around the living room.] Continue reading →

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August 28, 2010

Third Generation

Today is the muppets three-month birthday. To celebrate, I picked up my dad from the airport this morning so he could meet the muppets (really just a coincidence).

GrampaTavo’s moniker is a play on the name his nephew used many years ago. When he couldn’t pronounce the mouthful “Gustavo,” he instinctually shortened it to Uncle Stavo. This seemed like a good grandfather name as well – especially for one married to a former speech pathologist who understood the difficulty youngsters have pronouncing longer names with hard sounds.

GrampaTavo

GrampaTavo walked in the door and immediately began laughing. “Oleee sheet…” [insert Italian accent to fully comprehend his comments] he kept repeating. Even though he’s been regaled with tales of the boys – from their adventures in the NICU to Gramma J’s stories about her “cutie pies” – his grandsons still weren’t completely real to him because he’d never met them.

Jon was holding Destroy; he offered to let GrampaTavo hold him. “Oh no no no,” he waved us away. Instead he gently kissed the top of his head. Then, after a brief hunger meltdown, we once again encouraged GrampaTavo hold one of the little guys. He tentatively reached out and cradled Destroy in his arms. That’s when he began to cry. It was officially real.

With today’s visit, all of the grandparents have met the next generation of precious cargo. And with all four grandparents, the only thing to say is: Lucky muppets.

Grandma Nancy

Grandma Nancy was the first to meet the muppets. The afternoon Destroy came home Jon called his mom. She initially worried that she would be intruding on our new little family life. After being reassured that we truly wanted her to come over (Jon and I were exceedingly excited to introduce our little dudes to our family after 73 days in the hospital. We were (and still are) very proud parents), she acquiesced and arrived at our house nanoseconds after hanging up.

She squealed. Then she snuggled. We’re lucky enough that she lives close enough to get her fill of daily snuggles. As the boys get older and become more of a handful, I think it will be a wonderful idea to encourage grandmotherly assistance by bribing her with promises of loving snuggles.

Gramma J

Gramma J was the next to arrive. When I came downstairs to greet her, I found her on the couch rocking Destroy. She looked up and grinned, “Look what I have!” For the next week Gramma J could be found pacing back and forth in our living room with one of two very content muppets happily sleeping in her arms. When it came time for her to depart and return to her SoCal existence there was a great deal of pouting – and not on the part of the adjusted-age newborns. Sadly, Skype just isn’t the same.

Grandpa Gary

Just like GrampaTavo, Grandpa Gary teared up when he met the muppets. After holding both boys for a bit, he walked over and hugged me. I asked him if he was doing all right. His only response was a squeak. I could only laugh when he later thanked us for giving him grandchildren. Believe me – the pleasure is ours.

We’ve been told that even though a parent’s love for their child cannot be described, a grandparent’s emotions are doubled when they meet the next generation. These little ones are their babies’ babies. And as a parent, you constantly worry (from three-minutes to thirty-years old and more). As a grandparent, they can simply sit back and enjoy the awesomeness of the tiny new lives.

Search and Destroy are now fully prepared to be spoiled silly by their grandparents. And all of us are looking forward to having the muppets meet the fourth generation. G.G. – we can’t wait to have you hug the boys!

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August 22, 2010

My Baseball Glove

Pudge continues his projectile spit-up streak. Perhaps his distance throwing abilities and consistent weight gain will earn him a spot in Major League Baseball as the next great player. Pudge Stream – has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?

Yesterday, Destroy successfully puked his way through six outfits. Several of them lasted only through the completion of a diaper change. The second I’d pick him up, BLARF! At one point Jon suggested we wait until before bed before changing him from a cute short-sleeved onesie to long-sleeved footie pjs since it was going to be a cooler evening. No sooner had I agreed than BLARF! Message received. We’ll change now.

The saga of outfits (and beginning to wonder if we’ll have any more to clothe the child in if he continues blarfing at such a rapid pace) reminded me of one of the most infamous childhood stories told in my family.

Camping has always been a classic right-of-passage type of family vacation. (Not for me, my family only ever camped Troop Beverly Hills style). And in the early 1960s, this was just such an outing my mother went on. Since my mom and her brother had reached the wise-old-age of double digits (they were 10ish), G.G. told her offspring that they were old enough to pack their own bags.

Janet and Tommy gathered their necessary belongings. Everything was loaded into the rented RV and the family headed off to the campgrounds. Once there, Tommy began skipping along the stones peaking up from the lake. G.G. repeated warned him to be careful. “You’re going to fall in,” she noted.

“No I’m not,” the all-knowing pre-adolescent assured her.

Splash!

“I told you so,” G.G. calmly reminded him as she looked up from her book. Tommy waded his way back to shore and stood staring at his mother, dripping from head to toe. “Well,” she prodded him, “go change your clothes.”

“What clothes?” he inquired.

“Go change out of your soaking outfit and into one of the dry pairs of pants you brought,” a very exasperated G.G. instructed her son.

“I didn’t bring any pants,” replied a very confused Tommy.

Beginning to grow increasingly concerned, G.G. slowly looked up at Tommy and asked, “Well what did you bring?”

“My baseball glove,” Tommy proudly stated. Tommy was then shuffled back to the RV to change into an orange jumpsuit belonging to my mom.

What a game of catch that must have been. At the very least he would have been an easy target in his big sister’s orange outfit all week.

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August 12, 2010

Happy Anniversary

I woke up at 3 a.m. this morning, courtesy of a screaming child. Destroy was hungry. (To be clear, Destroy is always hungry – he just vocalizes this point at the top of his lungs every two hours and 45 minutes.) Jon stumbled downstairs to warm up some milk while I fumbled my way into the nursery trying to soothe an angry baby. As Destroy screamed, Search woke up and decided that he wouldn’t mind something to nosh on either. After their uncivilized-hour-of-the-night snack, Destroy fell back fast asleep. Search, on the other hand, decided this would be a wonderful time to socialize. He looked up from the crib at me with wide eyes, “Let’s start the day!” Continue reading →

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July 29, 2010

Noxious Odors

Destroy needs to poop.

We think the high calorie diet the NICU concocts to fatten up the babes is difficult to digest. Our poor little baby is struggling hard to process all his weight-gaining goodness. And he has apparently decided the entire NICU staff should accompany him on this journey.

Recently, Destroy has started to wail when his tummy hurts. It is heartbreaking to see him crying and not be able to fix it. He’ll scrunch up his little face, turn his head up to the side, hold his breath and try. Sometimes putting him on his tummy and rubbing his back helps calm him down a bit. I know when my tummy hurts I prefer to be curled up face down in the fetal position.

Now that we’ve moved down on the calories, Destroy’s feeling a bit better. He’s still not pooping to his preferred potential, but he’s finding some relief. Destroy is now gaseous. And Destroy is potent.

Back when the boys still lived in closed isolettes, we arrived one morning to find Destroy sans blanket. “I just couldn’t keep him covered when it smelled like that in there,” she apologized. Popular opinion at the time was that his apnea was due to Destroy holding his breath to avoid the foul odiferous fumes generated by his gastrointestinal discomfort. We all laughed – assuming our nurse was joking.

Now Destroy is much bigger. He is beginning to resemble a football due to the size of his stomach (one of his nurses also suggested he may bear resemblance to a frog). Last night, Jon was holding Destroy while he struggled with his tummy troubles.  Suddenly the nurse on the opposite end of the pod exclaimed, “Oh. My. God! Is that ALL Destroy?!”

It was.

And it wasn’t even a poop. Just gas. Several times we’ve changed his diaper because there HAD to be something in there.

Nope.

Whoever said newborn poops didn’t start to smell bad until they started eating big kid food was seriously misinformed. Perhaps this is our little ones revenge on the NICU for having to eat the sludge.

At the very least, I know Destroy feels better when he toots because every one, big or small, is followed by a mischievous little grin.

Visitors be forewarned. When you come to meet the muppets, you will be visiting a house with two small formula-added babies and two large plum-eating dogs. Enter at your own risk.

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July 27, 2010

Happy Birthday Brother

I was really hoping the muppets would be born today. Today is Uncle Paul and G.G’s birthday. I know the day is a bit crowded, but even Uncle Paul had said it would be fun to share.

Twenty-seven years ago Paul arrived early. Not three months early of course, but a couple of weeks. Mom woke up early, but ignored her symptoms because he wasn’t due yet. (Boy do I know that feeling!) Finally, she realized it would be exceedingly prudent to get her pregnant belly to the hospital ASAP.

Twenty-seven(ish) minutes later, I had been rudely removed from mud-pie preschool and had a new baby brother.

Mom called G.G. “Happy Birthday Mom. You have a new grandson.”

During the first few years, I wasn’t terribly thrilled with his presence. Periods of silence in the house would often be followed by the two of us trying to kill each other. How exciting that Search and Destroy have started fighting early. Search kicked his brother in the head while the two were in utero. Destroy laughs at his brother now when he has to have his nasal cannula replaced.

But then, inexplicably, as we got older Paul got less annoying. We traded baseball cards and played catch on summer evenings. (Sorry about that baseball through the back of the Volvo, Dad.) We entertained each other during long nights before birthday or Christmas. We talked about relationships and argued over whose turn it was to monopolize the phone. We fixed Mom’s computer and rolled our eyes at our parents’ general lack of coolness.

I know that someday the muppets will be rolling their little eyes at Jon and me. But I hope that they will think their brother is cool. And they’re certainly lucky to have such a cool uncle! (Even if I’ve always been a tad jealous that he gets to share such a special relationship with our Grandma.)

Brothers!

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July 8, 2010

Roommates

Search and Destroy moved out of their individual little plastic boxes and together into a pedi-crib bachelor pad today.

When we walked into the NICU this morning, the two 3.5 pound brothers were squirming around in their new digs. Even though the move doesn’t indicate any major change, it makes the muppets seem so much bigger to me.

And they’ve already clearly demonstrated their capability as mischief makers. I should have named them Fred and George (thank you Harry Potter fans who got that). Destroy greeted us with a major diaper blowout. Search bid us a fond farewell with the same. In between, Search demonstrated all the new faces he’d learned to refuse his bottle and Destroy shot milk out of his nose. The 10 a.m. feeding involves nasty smelling vitamins – I can only imagine how they taste. So Search refused to participate in any event that involved tasting the foul liquid. Brother Destroy, who isn’t quite taking a bottle, solved the issue by simply removing his own feeding tube.

The twins are learning to share their space much sooner than I ever had to share. I didn’t have to share my room until I moved away to college. My mom and Aunt J spent the summer before I left trying to convince me that I shouldn’t expect to be best friends with my roommate – I just needed to tolerate the situation for a year. My roommate’s mom thought she was nuts for noting that she had an interest in theatre on her living arrangement form – she was going get a nut to live with.

Once I got my roommate’s information, the two of us spent the summer emailing back and forth as we prepped for the big move. I think we were both scared of what it would be like when we were finally stuck together, but at least we had some idea of what to expect thanks to our exchanges. I still vividly remember standing in the hallway of the 11th floor of our dorm building. Face to face for the first time, I asked, “Are you Rebecca?” “Yes,” she replied hesitantly. “Are you Patricia?” As our parents drove away I stared after them wondering what I’d just gotten myself into.

Four years ago, I stood up for Becca at her wedding; three years ago, she stood up at mine. Last year her little girl was born and I traveled to meet my niece. This May, Becca traveled to visit me – spending a day in the hospital with me, where I was on bedrest with her nephews. (So, as you can extrapolate from this memory interlude, the roommate situation was just fine.)

When Jon and I said goodbye to our boys after today’s morning visit, our two little angels looked positively peaceful and content. I assume they were cavorting together in dreamland, conjuring new shenanigans to amuse themselves with.

Since they were ripped away from Mom and each other so early, I am confident that being together will help them to thrive. Although there is not currently any concrete research I have found on cobedding, the majority of studies find that it is a very positive experience for siblings. It is even standard preemie care practice in Europe (the U.S. is just now starting to catch on with regards to routine care). Rooming together can improve their rate of growth and development, stabilize heart and breathing rates and decrease their length of hospital stay.

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July 4, 2010

Fireworks Spectacular

As the muppets conclude Week 32, Gramma J and Grandpa Stavo are kicking off their 32nd year of marriage. Happy Anniversary Mom and Dad!

America, the great melting pot, has long been populated by immigrants. Most of us know the story of nervous and scared poor Europeans making the long journey across the Atlantic on a steamship – dreaming about success in the land of opportunity. Grandpa Stavo is just such an immigrant. But he did things…differently.

Grandpa Stavo comes from a humble Italian background but he certainly wasn’t huddling against the bow of a ship wondering what was to come. Instead he came to this great nation via cruise ship. He didn’t see Lady Liberty welcoming the tired, poor and huddled masses. He arrived in Miami, via the Bahamas, seeing liberated ladies of the 1970s partying the night away.

Grandpa Stavo spent his twenties as the matradee on the Royal Caribbean cruise ship Song of Norway. He flirted and schmoozed his way around the world in five languages. When plans to become a nightclub proprietor in the Bahamas fell through, becoming a success in the U.S. was the next logical step.

So what is a guy who has spent years working in a flush cash-only environment to do as he plans the next steps of his future from a beach in southern Florida? Well the obvious of course. Open a wine and cheese boutique shop in the San Fernando Valley of southern California – the perfect way to settle in America “for persons who want to be granted immigrant status in the United States for the purpose of engaging in a new commercial enterprise.”

So he did. He and his fellow cruise line employee, Mario, abandoned ship and opened “Two Gentleman from Verona,” (clever isn’t it) selling gourmet cheeses and wines to oenophiles.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch (style suburban house), Gramma J and her friend Mary had just returned from a Royal Caribbean cruise. Gramma J had a tan and Mary had a crush on Mario. So off they went to the mall to find a wine and cheese shop. While Mary went in search of Mario, Grandpa Stavo introduced himself to Gramma J and started to get his own flirt on.

Ever the suave Italian, Grandpa Stavo casually asked if Gramma J wanted to go out that night. “How about my place?” After Gramma J indignantly explained she was not that kind of girl, Grandpa Stavo explained that My Place was the restaurant across the way from his shop.

On Independence Day, July 4, 1978, the two exchanged vows. I’m not sure if Mary ever got a date with Mario.

So boys, you come from a well-loved and determined family. We know you’ll be just as successful as you grow up. But when you start meeting girls, try to use a better pickup line.

Happy Fourth of July! May all your fireworks be a celebration today.

Search

Destroy

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