A Standing Ovation

I received the news this afternoon that my drama coach from middle school through high school passed away. A woman who taught me to just get out there and do it, who gave me confidence and courage. And who put up with a lot of my bull shit, especially when I had Senioritis and a severe case of Divatude (and I'm not entirely sure that went away).

If you know me, you'll know I have a flair, so to speak, for the dramatics. While I hated school for the most part -- hmm, wait that's not totally accurate: I excelled in school academically but I had an extreme dislike for the environment. Picture me: the honor roll girl, who sang in the choir and played in the band, who teachers liked but boys did not, the one with a tight group of close friends and a need to get out of the tiny, rural town she grew up in. If you close your eyes, you might imagine it. This awkward-in-her-skin girl who did everything as best she could just to know she was good enough. All the while praying that it would be good enough for a one-way ticket out of town.

I dreamt about being onstage when I was little. I danced and always loved the costumes we got to wear, but when I saw people act, I decided in my head that I wanted to do that, too. I wanted to be onstage, in front of other people, living a life I didn't have - a magical, fairytale, happily ever after life. If I could be onstage, I could be anyone. That was my utopia, even if I had no idea of how to accomplish this aspiration.

In 7th grade (or was it 6th...) I joined the newly formed drama club at school. We rehearsed and put on a play featuring many different monologues performed by students in a made-up school. My part was a fast-talking, gossip who knew everything about everyone. I practiced so hard at memorizing the words and reciting them at lightning-fast speed. I'd stand in front of a mirror and go over each line, deciding my facial expressions, the exact head and hand movements. We performed the show in front of our peers... a one-night only deal... in the middle of the day. We may have also done it later in the evening, but I don't remember that. I do remember wearing a multi-colored striped shirt. Don't judge, it was the '90s.

I was so nervous.

I'm pretty sure no one cared, but I loved every second of it. I walked off-stage feeling this huge rush.

From then on, whenever there was an audition, I signed up. I was Ouiser in Steel Magnolias and Fairy May in The Curious Savage; my two favorite roles. I can still remember my first line as Ouiser: This is it! I have found it! I am in Hell! I didn't curse much [back then...], so saying "hell" in high school in front of my peers, my teachers, and most of the small town I grew up in, was, well, intimidating. We convinced our school to do musicals, and you'd think my head was gonna explode. My two favorite worlds collided: music and acting. From there, it was summer theater, and in college, I immediately sought out and discovered the acting crowd. In this world, I realized there were others like me: a little nerdy, darkly funny, and extremely tight knit. No one cared about the baggage you brought with you, just that you knew all the words to the current, beloved musical.

I had found my niche.

What I love about acting is the freedom it brings. I can stand up on stage and be anyone. I can memorize lines and portray every emotion imaginable. It's cathartic, really. Under the lights and make-up, I am happy, even if my personal life is crumbling around me. It never matters how bad a day I have had, onstage I am a character. Acting gave me my comedic timing. Or, I guess, allowed me to discover my inner-comedic-timing. It's been years since I've been in a show, something I miss. Recently my audiences have been attendees at the professional development or parent trainings I give. Even more recently, my daughter is the recipient of my rusty acting abilities. It's a good thing that she is so little because it has made her the best audience I've ever had.

So, tonight, I thank you for humoring me and allowing me to muddle through some old memories. No one is perfect, but the woman I remember was wonderful. Once upon a time, she took a chance on me and believed that I could do something great. She introduced me to an amazing world of imagination and creativity. She helped me learn how to be me without shame. And isn't that what a good teacher does?

And somewhere, I hope that she is taking a grand, final bow to a standing room only crowd, one welcoming her with an eternal ovation.

It's Nothing Personal

Keep an eye out -- the url for the blog will be changing over the next week. If you subscribe via email, you may need to sign up again. When I started this blog, it was meant to be a medium for our family and friends to keep tabs on Olivia's growth. As often happens, it's become much more than that, with many visitors looking for information on Developmental Dysplasia of the Hip & Spica Casts. I am thrilled that this site has become a resource, but from here on out, I will be putting less of our personal information (that goes for our family & friends, too!) on the site. Thanks for your continued support!

A Really Good Cause!

Via Twitter I follow a woman who is running 13.1 miles in her combat boots to raise money for the American Cancer Society via Team Determination.

In order to raise a lot of money quickly, she's organized a pretty sweet raffle full of incredibly desirable running goodies. You can get raffle tickets by donating money! Visit her blog for more information and/or to donate. It's an excellent cause by an extraordinary woman.

Her raffle ends July 15, 2011, so do it quickly!

And if you are on twitter, follow her: @amileinmyboots & me:@BabyMakesChaos

A Need to Go the Extra Mile

It's pretty clear that I love running. My t-shirts are 90% race shirts. My walking shoes are old-running shoes. My "sweats" are just loose running apparel. I have a drawer devoted entirely to running gear. I attribute my uh, [cough] svelte look to running... as well as my sanity. I enjoy lacing up the Brooks, turning on the Runtastic app on my Blackberry, bidding adieu to my hubby and child, or just the cats if no one else is home, and escaping my life. At a recent half-marathon I saw a sign that said, 13.1 miles of peace and quiet. Amen. And I'd like to add of no diapers, crying, whining, or general chaos - at least from my child & husband. I may do 3 of those 4 items at any time on a run.

Unfortunately, running has not always loved me back. After I birthed a small child, it took awhile for my 10 month stagnant body to warm up. Postpartum running went as fast as an 80 year old speedwalker, who often beat me [mentally]. And my knee developed this nagging pain that has since been successfully treated with Hyalgan shots.

Feeling like I needed focus, I trained for and ran the November Philadelphia Half-Marathon. It was invigorating to be running a distance again. I felt whole, finally back to me. During the 13.1 mile trek, my friend Amy & I talked about life, our daughters, and running. We wanted them to grow up strong and to see the importance in activity. I felt like I needed to share running with the world. Like I needed to stand on roof-tops calling out its glories. This pull led me to Students Run Philly Style, an organization that mentors youth through long-distance running, and over time, we train the students to run a full marathon. That's 26.2 miles, a distance even I have never beaten.

Running with the students has elevated my running, physically and mentally. It doesn't matter what kind of awful mood I am in; when I run with my students, I am immersed in excitement. Plus, my body has reaped the benefits of this conditioning. My pace has improved, and I found myself capable of quick turnarounds due to improved recovery on challenging runs.

Over the past few months, I was up to running 20 - 25 miles per week - an all-time high, especially as a working mom. I ran Broad Street in early-May, turned around and ran the Oddyssey Half-Marathon in late-May, and then the King of Prussia 10-miler in early-June all without a solid break. My pace has increased to slightly below 11 mins/mile. I was ecstatic.

But, it laid the groundwork for a physically tired anatomical me. During the KOP run, I landed funny coming off a curb. The immediate effects went unnoticed, and I finished the challenging 10 mile race under my goal. For several days, the ankle was sore, and I thought, "It's nothing." When I tried to return to running, it screamed at me. I figured, a minor sprain and took some time off, using a grocery store brace to offer home-made stabilization. Low impact exercise, ice, rest, repeat. After a week or so, I tried treadmill running... still pain. Back to the formula, walked with the students when I could, and this time kept the brace on always. Running with the brace, while it looks ridiculous, goes well with little to no post-run pain... as long as I am on a treadmill. I learned that latter factor when I decided to push my luck and run the Swarthmore Independence Eve 8K - a lovely, local run which usually has no more than 100 - 150 runners. It is also a very challenging 8K.

I ran it, in its entirety. My ankle starting talking to me around 2.5 miles. When I got to mile 4, it was yelling at me, cursing really, but by this point, I was a mile from the finish and determined. The recovery was tough, especially since I turned around and did a 6.6 mile run/walk with the students the following morning. Smart? Probably not. But I have a few students who would have been fine walking with me, and I don't want them to lose their conditioning so we walked a block, ran a block and enjoyed ourselves. Not wanting them to see bad habits, I minimize the effort I put forth around them. They need a role model that listens to their body, rests when rest is needed, and tests their limits cautiously. So while I may not do that in reality, I promise that when I am around the students, I am not reckless. In fact, this was the first time they have seen me run in weeks. Pinky swear.

The frustrating thing is that it only hurts when I run. With the brace on, I can do a stationary bike, the eliptical, walking, and even short-distance treadmill running. But that is not what my body craves. I have a problem: I need to run. I yearn to get out the door and spend hours hovering between 10 & 11 minute miles. It's a strange rush, but it's mine. I already have my sights set on the Baltimore Marathon's Half-Marathon, sponsored by Under Armour & sure to be filled with amazing swag. As fun as cross-training can be, it's not the same. It's not running.

I have a doctor's appointment Thursday and am hoping for the best: minor sprain. At its worst, it could be a stress fracture or even need surgery. Either way, I am developing a mental argument for why the doctor should treat the injury in a non-restrictive way. Maybe I really cannot run, but let me swim, bike, walk, move. Anything. Just let me do.

And when I return, I can continue saving my sanity, one mile at a time.

Cabin Fever

Liv has been sick all week. All week. All.... Week.

Turns out [during the SECOND trip to the doctor] she has an ear infection AND pneumonia. Awesome.

Good news: she's feeling better already with just 4 doses of antibiotics. Bad news: she's feeling better already and our house looks like a tornado zipped through.

So I have tons of posts to post and pictures to share, but it will have to wait until I can sit and type it all out. Because I also have tons of surfaces to disinfect, laundry to do, groceries to buy, and snotty old tissues to discover and throw out.

But, here's a MOM TIP: buy a special snack to give post-medicine.

Olivia usually doesn't mind taking her medicine, but this time (new pharmacy, maybe?) she really hates the taste. So, we bought some delicious, mini-cupcakes that we present to her for after the medicine. She's super excited about the cupcake, and we just keep saying, "You have to take your medicine first! Then you can eat the cupcake!" We set it out so she can see it, and BAM, the medicine dropper comes out. She hates the meds but it's much smoother with the cupcake.

In the words of the great philosopher, Brobee, "Try it. You'll like it!"

A Letter to Olivia

To My Peanut,

My first-born,

My Olivia,

You make me smile everyday with your joy and sweetness. I love that you elate when we open your door in the morning and jump up and down in your crib. I especially love that you wake up and lay quietly for a long time before deciding that it's time to start the day. Then you babble or sing before yelling out our names.

I love that you make up songs. I sang to you throughout my pregnancy - at choir, in the car, in the shower, and even during work when I would hum in the rare instances of down time. I sang after your surgery, and I sang during your spica diaperings. I sang when I didn't know what else to do, making up words to the beat of familiar cadences describing the mundane, reliving each moment of the day through song. I sang hymns, anthems, and top 40s. I sang Broadway and Disney, a karaoke wanna-be. And the reward, 21+ months later is that you sing, as I did at a young age, making up songs that list out what you see and love and do. You have a tiny, melodic voice that lifts my heart. I pray that you find solace in music, that it envelops you when you are sad, surrounds you when you are elated, and fills your world in inexplicable ways.

I love the way you smell and feel. When I pick you up in the small room at daycare, I squeeze you tightly and drink you in deeply. You are mine, and I cherish this one action each workday.

I love the way you say Leedo for Vito [the cat] and glubs for gloves. You say so many words with incredible articulation and intelligibility, but it's the imperfections that I delight in. I know it will not last, a stamp of childhood that fades slightly each day. You try to echo so much: okadoke for okey dokey and upadaze for oops-a-daisy, and you smile with my giggles. I find your intonations so full of attitude and drama, and I wish it could last. Or that you could retain the nymph-like shell currently shielding me from the drama sure to come when you shed this outer-layer and develop into a teenager, when the intonations are intentional and the sarcasm mastered. In those future moments, the dead-pan okay won't be a simple imitation of your adult cohorts but a possible dagger, meant to inflict emotional damage. I cling to the knowledge that you are too little for this; you are finding your voice, exploring how words feel and fit and flow.

I love that I am scooonnng [strong] to you because I run. I hope to teach you that women are strong and capable of so much more than before. I hope you love yourself as much as I love you. You have such confidence now. May this asset embed itself in your being but not so much that it edges out your sensitivity. You care so deeply for others and have come home to tell me about being sad when a friend didn't share. You yell kayful! to the TV when peril strikes. You empathize, something I am amazed to see in a person so small.

I love that you pray. For Daddy first, then Mommy. That you know to pray quietly and with your hands together. You know Jesus as a baby in the Nativity, but my heart tells me there is a belief there, too. And you say Amen. For this, I am grateful.

And this is my memory for you. Save it for a time when you need uplifting, when you've had a bad day or wish to hear kind words. Let the words pick you up and carry you through.

And I, baby girl, will do the same.

Spread the Word!

I just read a brilliant tip for babies in spica casts located on Maggie's blog A One and a Two!!! I'm sharing the idea for anyone who has wandered onto my site because it's so fantastic! She has found success using diaper covers instead of 2 diapers. Sidenote: depending on the type of spica cast, some people use 2 diapers, one smaller and one larger [to cover and act as a catch-all]. You'll note on my site that we used an adult incontinence pad (always fun to buy as a 30 year old...) and a larger, outer diaper.

I find the idea of using a diaper cover extremely economical and earth-friendly, and, and let's be real, more importantly [because spica casts are NOT CUTE], diaper covers are sooooo adorable these days! I won't lie, I'm a little jealous that we didn't come up with it or read about it, but that's why I'm opening my mouth and spreading the word!

Maggie's post on diaper covers is located here. Check out her blog, too, as she manages TWINS (!), one of whom is in a spica. Thanks, Maggie! Stay strong; I'm rooting for you and Charlie! And Davey, too!

Snow Day

Things are getting better with the computer but still ever so slooooow...

As I sit snowed in for the third time this winter, I have been attempting to patiently update the blog and add some pictures. Included here are pictures I took of Olivia decorating the tree.

For Christmas, Santa gave me a Canon EOS Rebel XS DSLR, which I had been begging for. I was getting annoyed that all my pictures of Olivia were coming out blurry, an unfortunate by-product of having a mobile child. Sidenote: we are incredibly happy to have a mobile child after watching her develop post-DDH surgery & cast. However, my point-and-click was NOT holding up. So Santa did me a solid and Black Friday shopped.

The pictures are coming out amazing, but it's totally accidental. I have no idea what I'm doing. If I see something that I think would look pretty as a photograph, I try to quietly snap the memory. Look for future pictures to come. I will say, I'm deleting more than I did previously and editing as best as possible. I'll be looking for more information on how to use the camera, which is currently set to basic sport mode.

The other delightful outcome of this holiday season was that Olivia completely understood it! Her Christian daycare instilled the idea of Jesus' birth, so she sang "Happy Birthday" to Jesus the entire month. On Christmas Eve, she knew that Santa was coming and bringing her presents but only if she was asleep. It was perfect. I have a lot of photos to sort through, so look for those in the, hopefully, near future.

But our holiday cards came out just lovely. So thank you, Santa, for making me quite the happy mommy this winter. And a happy mommy means a happy house!

Happy New Year!

We are alive and well.

My computer, however, is not. I type this from a distant land known as "the in-law's."

Please [continue to] be patient as I figure out how to get blog posts up without my computer shutting down.

In the meantime, enjoy any remaining holiday cheer with your family!

PS: Half-marathon completed in 2:34!

Frank's Turn

The house is almost quiet right now. I left the TV on in the bedroom because I wasn't expecting inspiration. It's a little after midnight, and I have been awake (except a 2-ish hour nap) since around 2am. I need to go to bed. For my sanity. For Olivia. And I'm so very tired but I can't.

In my adultlife (read: after college), I have been hospitalized 5 times: once for the birth of my daughter, 3 times via ER visits for my colon, and once for the surgery trying to fix my colon. Olivia has been hospitalized once for her surgery but has spent quite a large percentage of her young 17 months in hospitals and around doctors. Both my parents worked in a hospital, so in some ways I am immune to the distaste others have for the experience. Or numb. Or desensitized.

And Frank? No surgeries. His last trip to the ER was in 2003, shortly before we met when his face unfortunately met up with a fist it didn't like. He's the hand-holder. The question-asker. The rememberer.

Until this morning. Until 2am. Until he passed out in the bathroom, probably from waking up suddenly on the couch, grabbing the monitor, and quickly jogging upstairs (he'll thank me for not talking about the drool). Until he fell so loudly I woke up shouting thinking the baby had fallen out of her crib (I'll leave out "again"). Until I barged into the bathroom after realizing the baby was fine. Until I found him non-responsive on the bathroom floor, head cradled between the tiled wall and the ceramic (porcelain? heavy non-plastic, non-porous material?) side of the tub. Until I couldn't rouse him or move him (and I think I lost a little breath in that moment). Until I yelled in the hopes that someone would appear to help or inspire or instruct me on what to do (no one did, it's not like the movies). Until he woke up about 90 seconds later while I was running around the house looking for my missing purse (it was hidden under a jacket, hanging on the bannister) with my cell phones (damn the choice of bypassing the landline) or even my lost glasses (located on the bed, folded neatly, where I apparently set them before falling asleep) so I could see (blind without those damn glasses) the numbers on the phone: 9-1-1 (no need now that he was moving). Until he, disoriented and groggy, refused to believe that he fell or hit his head (the bump would prove him wrong). Until I called his parents to come sit with the baby so I could drive him to the ER. Until the long 20 minute ride to BMH. Until the ER check-in and repeating the tale to every nurse, every resident, every staff member who asked. Until he was given a battery of tests that came back normal. Until he was admitted to the hospital for observation and to rule out scary things like a stroke, seizures, or heart problems (they did or will). Until then.

So now it's Frank's turn. And we wait for the "all clear" light. And the warnings to not do this or not do that. And the scripts for outpatient testing and follow-ups. It will happen; we are not concerned. It's different being on this side. Feeling unscheduled separation.

And until then, the house is almost quiet right now. And I'm so very tired.

Part 2: DANCE PARTY!

If I could add audio to this blog post I would. Although, I'd be torn between the famous musical prelude to 2001: A Space Odyssey and the sweet sounds of DJ Lance Rock's footsteps in the opening scene of Yo Gabba Gabba! Perhaps a combo? Because the Yo Gabba Gabba Live! There's a Party in My City Tour was awwwwwwesooooooommmme!

There's something not-at-all magical about overpriced tickets to a children's concert, but I will say this, WE had a blast. While Olivia certainly enjoyed herself (as seen below, waiting in anticipation of the fantasticness to come), Frank and I had more fun. Even better, we happened to sit in front of one uber-excited mom and her sons. That made the show all the more memorable.

The tour did a nice job incorporating all the favorite aspects of the tv version. Liv danced her diapered tush off, but really, did you expect any different from a mini-me?

And when she couldn't stand anymore, Frank or I held her in our laps so she could sway while simultaneously giving her feet a rest. So, it's a good thing the coordinators made us buy her a seat, huh?! Hey kids! That's sarcasm!

Steel Train was the guest on the "Super Music Friends Show," and sang some rockin' song that I cannot remember. I was a little bummed that The Roots didn't make an appearance, but the Emmy's were that evening, so I guess they get a pass. Ben Franklin did the dancey dance... I think his memory is going in his older age but it was cute. And then there was....

BIZ MARKIE!

He did his usual, Biz' Beat of the Day. Olivia now tries to do the beat of the day, which I am trying desperately to catch on film. It's adorable. Side note: the parents were totally far more enthusiastic for Biz than the kids. You can see them above rushing the stage. He was letting kids come up on stage to do the beat in the mic but if you look closely, you won't see many kids... Just making an observation.

And then it was over. Just like that. We bought the CD, so Liv rocked out the whole ride home. Biz' Beat included.

Yo Gabba Gabba, The Pre-Party!

MUNO! He's tall and friendly! FOOFA! She's pink and happy!

Figured it out yet? I've mentioned it before - Liv's love of the NickJr. TV show, Yo Gabba Gabba! She knows all the character's names, sings the theme song, recognizes and dances to the others songs. There's not an episode we haven't seen or DVRed. She had a birthday party centering around this theme. Are you picking up what I'm putting down? Have you solved the mystery of where I might possibly be going with this?

The next three posts (this one included) will be a 3-part homage to the Yo Gabba Gabba Live! There's a Party in My City Tour. And, might I add, the expensive, all kids over the age of 1 need a ticket, tour. Olivia, when you are old enough to read this, do know that Mommy and Daddy love you very much and thoroughly enjoyed themselves, and I'm sure you can't even remember that we didn't buy groceries that week...

The Pre-Party, as I'm calling it, occurred a couple of weeks before the tour and involved Muno and Foofa making an appearance at the Please Touch Museum (seriously, get a membership so I can stop talking about how fantastic that place is). Frank and I figured this would be a test run helping us determine if taking her to the show was really a good idea. Let's be honest, not many 16 month olds can sit through a live show.

Mobbed doesn't even explain the main atrium of the PTM. I stood there with Liv and Mom Mom questioning, really questioning, my decision-making abilities. Then, we saw Muno in all his cardboard cut-out glory. Had I a better camera, I may have had more pictures of Olivia and the joy she exuded standing next to him. Unfortunately, most of the shots taken by my low-tech behemoth were blurry because who in their right mind tries to ask a 16 month old to stand still during a dance party with her heroes. Oh, right, me.

Luckily my camera has a video mode. Girl's got mad skills.

And then, they appeared. In my mind, it occurred in slow motion. Although, in actuality, that might not be far from the truth, considering their "handlers" had to push through what felt like thousands (or hundreds) of small children, not-so-small children, and their not-at-all small but equally as excited adults. This was Olivia's face (thank you, Camera Gods, for getting the focus right).

Foofa. She really is pink and happy, folks. Totally true. Believe me, I've seen it.

After the dance party madness, we stood in line for a photo op with the Pink Goddess herself. While in line, I maaaay have prepped Olivia on what to expect. However, she did answer the questions on her own without me feeding her lines. Scouts honor.

Olivia meets her idol. Mommy unsuccessfully hides her excitement at being in the presence of greatness.

It was at that point that Frank and I knew we had to figure out a way to scrape up the money for tickets (sell the cats? the car?). Check back frequently for parts 2 and 3 or Dance Party and Post-Party as I refer to them.

Hip Baby Blues No More!

We had quite a week last week! Olivia celebrated being cast-free for one year on August 26, 2010. For any new readers, Olivia was diagnosed with bilateral developmental dysplasia of the hip when she was 5 days old. It was so severe, doctors had to correct it with open-reduction surgery, culminating in a spica cast(s). It's hard to remember what that life was like, so here she was on her 4 month birthday in spica cast #2 (always happy!).



Well, I couldn't let the day go by unnoticed (or un-celebrated!), so we headed off to the Please Touch Museum to see OLIVIA! in person.

My Olivia was thrilled, despite the [second] picture that appears otherwise. I, on the other-hand, need some modeling tips.

And to put it all in perspective, one year to the date, we had her re-eval with the county we now live in to determine elegibility for continued physical therapy [which she had qualified for last fall in our previous county of residence]. Olivia was a bright shining star and excelled in all areas, including motor skills. There was 0% delay (which was no surprise to us, having watched her move around all summer). I'm including a July video where she tried to imitate gymnastics (televised) to emphasize how far she's come.

So that's it. We feel tremendous gratitude to Miss Janet, her PT, Dr. B. (her pediatric orthopedic surgeon), and all the nurses and staff at Nemour's (DuPont location), as well as the countless family and friends that prayed for her and supported us. I don't want to count my chickens but it looks like this chapter in the book of Olivia, mine, not Ian Falconer's, is complete. Period.

Insider Information

Our wild and crazy summer is coming to a close, and if you've spoken with me recently, you'll know that we spent A LOT of time at The Philadelphia Zoo and The Please Touch Museum. We have memberships to both, and I cannot tout these enough. Olivia and I (and whomever else we can drag along with us) have thoroughly enjoyed exploring all that these places have to offer.

I thought I'd take some time to show off some of our excursions as well as give some visiting tips:

The Zoo
Location: 34th St & Girard Ave

Traveling by car? Take the back roads! Getting to the zoo from I-76 is always congested on beautiful days, so consider alternative directions. If you are coming from the western suburbs (in other words, you are traveling toward the city on 76 East), get off at Montgomery Dr, make the right off the exit and then a left onto Belmont. You can follow signs at this point, but Belmont intersects with Girard. Make a left on Girard and the zoo will be on the right.

Traveling by car on a weekday or in the winter? Warning: You cannot take this route during the weekends from April through October due to the closure of Martin Luther King Dr (aka West River Dr). Take an even faster route! Get off at Montgomery from I-76 no matter what direction. If you were headed west (coming from the city), then take a right off the exit ramp. If you were headed east (toward the city), then take a left off the exit ramp. Then, take a right on Martin Luther King Dr (aka West River Dr). Make a right at Sweetbriar Dr (it should be the next light). Make a left at the stop sign and VOILA! The next intersection is 34th and Girard Ave -- so easy!

Come early... or late! We've found that the best time to visit the zoo is either right when it opens at 9:30am or about 1 - 2 hours before it closes. Why? The animals are fed just before the zoo opens and right when it closes (unless otherwise noted in the daily schedule), so they are generally active, moving, and, most importantly, easily seen! Also, it's easiest to park at these times of day. Even more flexible? Go on a weekday! The only crowds we hit Monday through Friday are school groups and other moms. Very worth it!

Parking -- The best lot to park in is the Tiger Lot, which is located on 34th St. The lot is immediately located next to the entrance of the zoo, but many people get lured by the lot on Girard Ave and all the cars turning here. If you are arriving very early or late, bypass the Girard Ave lots and make the right onto 34th. Or if you take my super-simple, weekday or winter directions, just go straight after making the left at the stop sign! The Tiger Lot is just past the zoo entrance on the right.

Check out the events schedule on the website and see if there is anything special going on! For instance, we just enjoyed the Rock 'N' Roar Concert with Two of a Kind. Every other Tuesday throughout the summer, the zoo is hosting kid-friendly musicians on the Impala Lawn at 11am. Olivia had a blast running around and dancing to the music. Other upcoming events: Extended hours for pajama wearing, more kid-friendly rockin' and members-only early entry.

Got infants or children in strollers? All exhibits are wheelchair/stroller accessible! So, if all you see are stairs, look around. There will be a ramp or elevator located nearby; this includes the PECO Primate Reserve -- look for the elevator to the Mezzanine level for even better primate viewing. The only exhibit which does not allow strollers is the McNeil Avian Center because for the short 5 minute walk-through, you actually walk with - or under - the birds! Leave the stroller at the door and enjoy pointing out each feathered-friend. Olivia really loved being so close to the birds, which surprised me; she even let out a "Wow!" the first time we entered. And stay for the show -- there is a short, 14 minute animated, 4D show about migration and conservation. I was amazed at how much Olivia enjoyed it at 15 months old!

Lastly -- if you live in the area, get a membership! Each visit can get costly with $12 for parking (as of August 2010), and tickets for everyone over the age of 2. Not to mention it's tough to see everything in one trip! A membership allows us to pick up and go on a moment's notice without caring about the cost or worrying about how much time we have. And with a toddler, that's huge!

Olivia and her friend Matthew check out some primates

The Please Touch Museum
Location: 4231 Avenue of the Republic
GPS address (from the website): 4231 North Concourse Drive

Traveling by car? It's super easy to get to PTM! Take the Montgomery Dr exit off I-76 and get yourself to Belmont Ave. In other words, turn right if traveling toward the city or left if traveling away from the city [on I-76], and then, make a left onto Belmont Ave. The Avenue of the Republic is the first left once you are on Belmont. The PTM is the beautiful building on the left.

Parking costs $8 (as of August 2010); the lot is very safe. Occassionally you can find a spot on the street for free, but tourist beware -- you should only park on the same block as the museum is located. Use safety, caution and good judgement when parking on the street.

Flexible in your arrival time? The best time to visit is on perfectly sunny days because everyone else is outside! Other than that, the same holds true as the zoo - come early or late. There are less crowds first and last thing of the day. This is vital information if you have a toddler who won't stand up to the hustle and bustle. Also, every Thursday in August [2010], the PTM is open until 8pm.

Leave your strollers in the car! Unless you have a very small infant, then keep the stroller away. They can be cumbersome in the museum where the point is to allows kids to be hands-on. Use a carrier if your bambino is not yet walking, which will also enable him to more easily see the exhibits and other children playing.

Check the website for special events. For example, the new Playhouse Theater Show "Gram Adele" can only be seen Monday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. Some other fun events are limited to Tuesdays and Thursdays. Is your tot a fan of Sprout (PBS Kids)? There will be a Sprout Host visiting the museum August 26th and September 23rd [2010] in the morning. They also celebrate different children's author's birthdays, so do your homework and see if there are any upcoming events sure to please your child.

And you guessed it! Get a membership if you live in the area! This one was a no-brainer for us. Olivia loved the PTM, and this summer, we've gone at least once a week. Even more than the zoo, trips to PTM can get costly because tickets start for children over the age of 1! A family of 3 plus parking costs around $50 and basic membership starts at around $150 [as of August 2010], so if you think you'll be back, go the distance and pay for the membership!

Olivia enjoys splashing in the duck pond with Daddy

Humoring Mommy for a pose with the Goose... yes, I now know it's a Swan

Playing the piano - a recent and now favorite discovery

Priorities

In my early to mid-twenties, I sat with my best girlfriends and created a "30 Before 30" list of things I wanted to achieve before turning 30. It was full of short and long-term goals, some crazy and lofty, others benign and mundane. I can happily say that most of the items on the list were crossed off before the big three-oh. Lose weight and keep it off. Check. Travel to Ireland. Check. Run a 5K -- ha ha, quadruple check! Go to the grand opening of a supermarket - wait, what?

Ok, so that last item wasn't on the official list. But sure enough, today I found myself excited to be at the grocery recently built close to home with a large organic section! Olivia and I roamed the aisles, oohing and aaahing over the product selection and delighting in the free samples. When I left and called my husband to gloat, I had an epiphany. Did I really just become giddy over this? So I reflected. I started keeping a running tally of things that I've done that would never, ever have made that list. Or any list. Not even a Bucket List.

For instance, I recently wore - to a night out with my best girlfriends nonetheless (same ones noted above in case anyone is keeping tabs) - a pair of pants that became marred by strawberries. In a flash, out came the Tide-To-Go pen and whoosh, gone went the red blotch. Former Me would have gone home, sprayed the spot with Shout, and dumped the pants in the washbin. New Me set them aside on a dresser, too lazy and tired to even fold them... and then wore them again. I am ashamed to admit that I wore those pants TWICE MORE! In fact, on one excursion, some spots of blood rubbed off from Liv's scraped knee during a Mommy's-kisses-make-it-better moment (thank you again, Tide-To-Go). And I wore them again! I continued wearing them after chalk marks and dirty footprints (another snuggle moment), until finally, while shopping at Target, I realized the pants needed to be washed. Desperately.

Which brings up another did-I-really-just-do-that moment! I took my 16 month old daughter to Target... at 8:30pm. She blissfully ran around the toy section while I, laden with a box of Pampers, organic cookies, and two more sippy cups, followed behind praying that she would lose steam and go to bed without screaming. How? How did I get to this point? How did I become one of those moms? The ones that take their kids out shopping at bizarre hours; the ones you look at and silently think, "My kid will be in bed by 9pm on a weeknight!" Well, I'll tell you! You become her when your child decides she is anything but tired between the hours of 7pm and 9pm, and when you go to lay her down, she screams bloody murder, but your windows are open because for the first time in what feels like forever, it isn't 100 degrees and you don't have to run the air conditioning, so everyone in your new neighborhood can hear her tears piercing the residential nighttime quiet. That's how. That's why you take your alert toddler to run around the large aisles and expend energy trying to get a large ball from a tightly packed rack. And that's why you stop caring if your pants are clean. Apparently God also had a message for me because my arms were too full to splurge on the new Jennifer Weiner book. Sigh. But success! She fell asleep sans misery.

And did I mention that I haven't had a hair cut or color in over 3 months? Somewhere my 21 year old self is hiding her head in shame, silently screaming. Poor thing.

Good thing the 30 year old me told her to shut up and deal with it.

An Awwww Moment

Frank and I are in awe of Olivia on a regular basis. During a recent trip to Staples that ended up taking 20 minutes longer than expected, we decided it was high time to buy our tot some Crayolas. We went for the big-width-perfect-for-tiny-fingers-pack-of-eight crayons. You know - the ones everyone had in Kindergarten circa 1985. Those crayons. We even let her pick out the oversized coloring book (note to fellow parents: Staples had these giant coloring books with pages that were inserted all easel-like. You could take out a page or shuffle them at will without damaging the other pages. This did, however, work against us when Olivia figured out how to remove pages on her own...). She chose the delightful Toy Story 3 book after a few minutes of our shaking, wiggling, and dancing the items in front of her. I took this delayed response, at the moment, as a bad sign: clearly my child had better things to do than color. In fact, I could almost hear her baby sarcasm in my head: Really, Mom? I use markers and paint at school, and this is what you bring to the table?

But we stayed the course. And it really was quite magical. Not in the fairies and pixie dust or abra cadabra way. Or even the Harry Potter at Hogwarts modern day magical. Nope, just your run of the mill, inspiring, stop and smell the roses, magical moment that a parent has with a child holding her first (oh, alright, probably second), fresh-out-of-the-box Crayola crayon.

That kind of magical.

And yes, the picture is still on our fridge.

Belated Birthday!

I figured I'd finally post pictures of Olivia's very first birthday. We were blessed to be surrounded by family and friends as well as to have a gorgeous day. Olivia enjoyed everyone's company and was the ham that we know she can be. And to everyone who attended or sent a gift, we appreciate all of it... our thank yous are just a little behind. I wonder how much longer I can use our new house as an excuse?

We decided to make the birthday party a Yo Gabba Gabba! theme because Olivia LOVES the show. She lights up when DJ Lance Rock walks out in the opening scene, and lately, when she dances, she dances just like they do on the show. Single? No kids? Haven't a clue? Honestly, check it out. Frank and I find the show hilarious, and the little known bands they showcase are pretty awesome, too. I could go on and on, but if you're ever bored, catch it on ONDemand or NickJr.

Does your child love Yo Gabba Gabba! as much as ours? Thinking of planning a shindig, too? Well, it was far easier than you'd think, especially with the help of the Gabba Friends website. I'm going to post specifics about the cakes I made in a later post, but this website inspired everything.

The balloons:

The cakes:

At first, Olivia didn't know what to make of the cake. She stared at it and wouldn't touch the thing. When we tried to put it in her hand, she shook it off! She did NOT want to get dirty. But once we put a bite in her mouth... look out, world! Olivia LOVES cake! Although, you still wouldn't know it from the pictures...

Showing off a present:

And tuckered out from a long day of partying:

At 1 year old, Olivia [could]:

weighs 20.7 lbs.

is 30 1/4 ins. long

says cat, dog, hi, bye, mom, dad and uh oh (sometimes Pop Pop & baby)

crawls all over

stands up by pulling on something

cruises (walks holding onto furniture or hands)

stands on her on for about 3 - 5 seconds

throws balls, even to others (or Monty the cat)

points to things and says "Dat!" or "Dat?" (want and what?)

claps on her own and when told to

dances to music

does easy shape sorter pieces

gives hi-5s

LOVES Monty the cat and will play with him and try to pet him

wears size 3 diapers

wears clothing sizes from 6 mos (onesies or tops) all the way up to 18 mos (pants)

eats 7 jars of baby food every day!

feeds herself puffs and teething cookies

puts her arms up for SO BIG!

Broad Street

It was over 70 degrees by the time the race started at 8:30am; it had rained slightly around 8am, so the humidity was already so high that many runners had that sticky, shiny glean to their skin. Add 30,000+ bodies to the mix, and well, you get the picture. Hot.

The last time I ran this race was in 2008, just before I got pregnant with Liv. In the two years since, the race organizers added colored starting corrals. I found this incredibly helpful at having a smooth start, AND it was a nice surprise to see that my clocktime was only off by 2 minutes because they re-started the clock with each new wave. Granted, I didn't know that until late in the day on Sunday when I checked for my results, but still pretty cool. Not following? Many races do a chiptime in addition to the clocktime. The chip in the chiptime is something that each individual runner wears on them (this year, it was in the bibs) -- like an official stopwatch for each person. When the runner crosses the starting line, the chip time starts, and conversely, when the runner sails over the finish line, the chip time ends. Now, officially there is also a race clock which starts with the gun and continues until the last runner crosses the finish line OR the course closes, whichever comes first. What often happens in a race as large as Broad Street is that the runners at the back of the pack don't cross the start for a good 10 - 20 minutes (if they're lucky) after the gun signals the start of the race. Before there were chip times, these runners were officially clocked as having run a time that was 10 - 20 minutes (or more) longer than what they actually ran the course. Are you still with me? In fact, I didn't actually cross the starting line until around 9am -- a good 30 minutes after the elite runners took off (to put how fast they are in perspective, the winner finished in 48:10 -- a little over 18 minutes after I crossed the start).

Another negative byproduct of this is that runners will crowd the front of the starting corral, making the first 2 miles or so a combination of running and shoving as the faster runners try to maneuver around the slower runners or those who are already walking. It's a pain for everyone (fast or slow) and it can really screw up someone's pace (again, fast or slow). The colored starting corrals made it nice because it automatically started everyone with other runners paced similarly, AND they restarted the official clock with each new start.

So, now that all the non-runners are bored and have stopped reading this post... I was hoping to go sub-2 hours, which for most runners is pretty slow, but for me, is a nice, comfortable pace right now. I ran the race 3 years ago in about an hour and a half, but since I'm still carrying about 20 extra pounds of baby weight and am having problems with my knee, I thought less than 2 hours was a great goal. I really wanted to take my time with this race and enjoy it. I wasn't out to set any records, just to run. That's what I do. Run.

The day did not start off well when I woke up feeling nauseous and unsettled. Thankfully, nature took its course and breakfast helped, but my goal quickly lessened to, "Finish the race, dammit!" or even just, "Get to that starting line!" The forecast was gloomy: hot, humid, headwind, partly cloudy. The race organizers did a fantastic job adjusting; they increased the amount of water available at the water stops and opened up fire hydrants along the route. I found the latter incredibly helpful when for the first 3 or 4 miles, my face and neck felt like it was on fire. At most of the initial water stations, I just dumped the cup on my head in the hopes that my body would start cooling down. By mile 4, I was good but still found the hydrants invigorating. By mile 8 I was soaked, unfortunately with squishy feet -- never a good thing for a distance run. During the run, I heard a girl say, "What a waste of water." I almost yelled at her but decided it was better to reserve my energy. Moron.

Why the big deal? A few years ago at the Chicago Marathon, the temperatures were so high that at least one person died running the race. Runners at the back of the pack complained about lack of water at hydration stations and the finish line. Many of the runners didn't finish at all, and organizers took a lot of slack for being ill-prepared for the disastrous situations. Even with all the added measures taken by the organizers of the Broad Street Run, many of the runners did not finish. There were over 30,000 registered runners, and to date, according to the website, only about 26,200 finished.

I digress. In light of the weather, I opted to run at an even slower pace than my goal (and who knew what my stomach would hold). Helping this was the fact that I forgot my watch and had no way to anal-retentively mark my splits and obsessively track my progress. So, I decided to just let it all go, enjoy the view, and run. Crazy, I know.

And it ended up being the most enjoyable Broad Street Run I've done! According to my neighbor's watch, we hit mile 1 in about 10:30, so I hit the brakes and allowed her to surge onward. I tracked my approximate splits by remembering what the official clock said from the last mile. My pace was around 12 to 13 minutes each mile, and I felt great. I walked through all the water stations save one because it seemed to come on the heels of the last one. I took a swig and then dumped whatever I didn't want directly on my head. I paid attention to the crowd, the other runners, and most importantly, my body.

Running through North Philly for the first 4 miles was my favorite section. By choice or chance, the on-lookers there are the best. There was a group of older gentlemen sitting in beach chairs right near the road screaming, "They went that way!" and "That way to Albuquerque!" There was a woman who came running down to the road asking, "What's going on?" I guess seeing over 30,000, by this point mostly white, runners headed down Broad Street is odd. She then proceeded to yell at someone [I couldn't see] and cuss him out. Aaah the drama. And there was the woman between mile 3 and 4 who told us we "were more than halfway!"

After running through a few hydrants and getting my skin temp regulated, I could clearly see City Hall on the horizon. It looked fantastic, and I just kept thinking, City Hall is so incredible from this view -- keep going! So I chugged along through mile 6 and found my stride and an energy gel. Runner's high, exhaustion or the need to urinate kicked in and miles 6 through 8 came easily. I was hoping to see the vice-wife with Riley at mile 8, but apparently the wedding festivities from the night before were too much to overcome, and her lazy butt didn't get out of bed until around the time I finished the race. Either way, the possibility of a friendly face made mile 7 go by pretty quick. At mile 8, my legs started to stiffen, but with only 2 miles to go, it was mentally easy to keep moving. By this point, the street became lined with spectators, which no one wants to walk through. There are little things that pop up in the last 2 miles that make for great milestones: the interstate overpass, the stadiums, the race photographers, and the entryway to the Navy Yard. It's easy to get swept away in it all, so I tried to maintain my pace until the point at which I knew I could sprint a little. But, honestly, my sprinting after 10 miles is as fast as Olivia's crawl. It's also easy to start speeding up too soon and run out of gas just before the finish line, but I timed it just right. In my mind, I was running as fast as a Kenyan.

Chip time: 2:02:45
Clock time: 2:04:15

Walk back to car: forever.
Number of Motrin taken that day and the next: A lot.
Feeling when I crossed the finish line: Priceless.

Movin' On Up!

To the east side... well, not really, but since it's been more than a couple of months since the last post, I thought I'd open with a bang!



We are taking advantage of the tax credit that expired just a few moments ago and buying our very first house! Needless to say, this (plus the countless sick visits we've had with Dr. D.) has sidetracked us a bit. Our new place is wonderful, and while it's not a long-term solution for our family, it's perfect for right now... and the finished basement with full wet bar doesn't hurt!



So, as of mid-June, we'll have a new zip code. Look for pictures then. In the meantime, here is a picture of Olivia showing off her teeth. Enjoy!

Do Over?

Why the last 48 hours have sucked and I am formally requesting a do over from God:

Yesterday I got to work early enough to buy hot cocoa -- my ubermost fave thing to have in the morning. Go me. Good day projected.

Then, while working in a middle school, my most feared event [circa high school] occurred. I go home in order to partake in the bambino's school's Winter Gala (starring the infant rooms as snowflakes or snowmen or snowsomethings) and whilest changing my clothes, receive a phone call 35 mins before I'm to be at the school stating that my daughter has thrown up twice and needs to be picked up immediately. No Gala for me.

I arrive at Infant Room A, 20 minutes before showtime, and find all babies in their snowthing outfits (all white home-sent couture with black knit hats). For the first time EVER, Olivia does not get upset that I haven't picked her up as soon as I walked into the room. In fact, she is looking around at all the other Flakemen & smiling and babbling. She then makes eye contact with me and smiles more, as if to say, "Look, Mommy, we are going to put on a show!" She looked adorablely cute as a snowwhatever, and my heart broke. Although, I'm not sure it broke because she was missing out or because I was missing out and didn't have my blackberry [to take photo proof of her stunningness]. I vaguely remember Ms. Teacher saying something about messy, vomit-covered items but am so enamoured by my daughter's hugably cute Snowgirl outfit, I hear only the guilt-ridden, sadness of my inner-voice. And due to the 24 hour no-vomit policy of daycare, Liv can't go back until Friday.

We go home to meet Daddy and head to the doc's so that they can inevitably take our $15 and tell us that our child does not have a life-threatening illness. Fast forward one hour, and we are home having heard just that. On the plus side, I was able to schedule h1n1 shot #2. I start to sift through the two loads (hers and mine) of stained laundry that needs to be done. I discover what was once a white shirt that is currently coated in pea-green (guess what we had for lunch) vomit. My hand cramps from using the spray bottle of Dreft. After putting in the first load of laundry, I decide to head to the gym.

I stop feeling my arms & lose the ability to speak about 20 minutes into the hour-long endeavor called "Core Conditioning & Dance Aerobics." We do moves that remind me of The Chorus Line, and the fact that the instructor is wearing a midriff bearing top does nothing to dispute this. I dance my heart out... literally... but am pretty sure I didn't make the final cut because when I am finished I am too tired to speak to anyone. Silently, I congratulated myself on making it to class, and secretly, I sang "One" and imagined myself in sequins.

I get home and am greeted by the second pile of laundry and prepping for Liv's day with Mom Mom so Frank and I can both go to work and not lose anymore moula. I decide that God made Chinese food leftovers & half a Cherry Coke Zero for moments just like these. I block out the dance instructor's booming voice about squeezing muscles with the whirring of the microwave heating up my sesame chicken & rice.

Only one of our horribly stained loads of laundry came clean... Mommy will now be spending her treasured Christmas gift card on a new pair of khakis. Lovely.

I then spend most of the evening getting ready for today and not going to sleep until midnight, causing me to oversleep by 20 minutes. A precious 20 minutes when I need to leave exactly 30 minutes earlier than usual AND explain to Mom Mom how the schedule goes.

I leave my house at 6:50am, drive to Rebekah's house, and we proceed to travel the one and three-quarters hour to Harrisburg. I sit in a small room for 7 hours to hear people "instruct" me on how to do my job. I get home at 6pm, just in time to nurse Liv and put her to bed.

Do over, please?

Listen, are you going to have those TPS reports for us this afternoon? No.