The peanut and everything after

So, the evening that A ate the peanut butter cracker everything started to unravel. By unravel I mean there was vomit. A LOT of vomit. At one point during the night A was throwing up every 10 minutes. He would wake up, scream, throw up, fall asleep on me, wake up scream, barf, repeat from midnight to 7am, at which point I handed him off to Omer and went to sleep for a while. The rational side of my mind knew that none of this was peanut related – it was just a virus, and a poorly timed one at that – but the irrational side of my brain was wondering if I’d somehow poisoned the little guy by giving him peanuts. It was a long night – and a long week, since A obligingly kept vomiting randomly for a week afterwards.

Since then – and that was mid-January – A has had a series of viruses, bacterial infections, asthma diagnoses…you name it! He’s been to the doctor five times in the last two months, and I don’t really consider myself and alarmist parent! (I am surprised at the asthma diagnosis – I wasn’t there for that visit, but apparently the doctor told Omer that A had virus-induced asthma. Of course, when I took him back the next week for the next virus, the doctor we saw for *that* visit diagnosed a bacterial infection in A’s lung and prescribed antibiotics, which cleared everything up.) (A was supposed to get 6mL of Augmentin twice a day. Being a smart kid – and augmentin being a gross tasting antibiotic – A quickly learned that if he blew a raspberry just after I squirted the medicine in his mouth he could not only get rid of the medicine but he could coat the entire area around him in sticky, gooey fun! Trying to dose him twice a day for a week was…interesting.)

All this is to say that it’s now the end of March, and after a couple weeks free of fever and vomiting we’re back on the cold wagon again, though this time it seems to be a mild version. I’m really hoping that all this illness means A will be healthy as a horse for the rest of the year!


G discovered jokes a few months ago. It’s been delightful to see his repertoire evolve over time, from his very first joke (“I have a joke for you. THERE WAS A DIRTY POOP! Everybody laugh!”) to knock knock jokes to riddles (which he still doesn’t get, but he’ll parrot back the first one I told him: What’s black and white and red all over? A zebra with a sunburn! Everybody laugh!).

Knock knock jokes are his favorite, though. I started with the classic interrupting cow joke. I trust you know it. The G version goes like this:

G: Knock knock!
Me: Who’s there?
G: Interrupting cow!!
Me: Interrupting cow who? G: MOOOOOOOOO!

What are some other good jokes I can teach him?


On my way out of the gym this morning, the construction guys asked how old Basher was.

Me: “Seven weeks!”
Guy #1: “Is he working out yet?”
Me: “Nah…I’ll give him a few more weeks.”
Guy #2: “Never mind working out – start him with baseball. The Sox could use some help!”
Me: “With our genes, I’m guessing he’ll be the next Bill Gates, not the next…uhm…does Manny Ramirez still play for the Sox?”
Guys: silence and cold, cold stares.

Any day now….

After much deliberation, Omer and I have decided use* Birth Center associated with Cambridge Hospital for BT2’s birth. Omer was pushing hard for another home birth, but due to a combination of lack of space and lack of insurance coverage I picked the birth center. So far, we’ve had nothing but good experiences with the midwives at Cambridge Hospital. They’re very nice, generally on time, and allowed me to space out my appts to every six weeks during the early part of the pregnancy. And they always admire my current knitting project.

Today marks the day that BT2 becomes eligible for the birth center – he is officially 37 weeks, and (although I suspect he’ll stay in his warm and comfy digs for another three weeks) I am really ready for him to be born!

* I told my midwife that I am using her for her birthing tub. She thought I was joking….


– For the record, SwissAir (which I guess is now just Swiss) has the worst business class EVER. Seats recline to NOT QUITE FLAT, otherwise known as the angle at which to best vibrate a passenger down to the footrest during strong turbulence. It was a looooong flight, but at least we got good food, real utensils and drinks. And G even scored a doggie bag of breakfast treats because he slept through breakfast.

– On the other hand, the Swiss arrivals lounge is pretty nice, especially if you don’t have an overtired toddler who suffers a massive meltdown because you’re trying to change him out of his jammies.

– Swiss trains run on time. To the second. It’s pretty awesome.

– The Swiss do not use air conditioning, even in malls. It’s been 95 degrees here the last couple days, and all we do is sit in patches of shade and pant while the kids play on the playground.

All our travels and photos are up on G’s website ….

SF Apartment

G’s room:

Kitchen from G’s doorway:

Other side of the kitchen – awesome views!

Living room:

The giant Pride flag at the intersection of Castro and Market – where we pick up the train. It’s a quick walk to the train, but a LOOOOONG walk back!

Muni meanies

G and I hit the SF zoo this afternoon. The zoo itself was great – sheep and goats wandering around to be petted and fed, peacocks also wandering free, great playgrounds – but getting there was a pain.

The L train theoretically stops at the zoo – a handicapped accessible stop, meaning it’ll be easy to load and unload the stroller and kid. But on the way there the driver announced that the last stop was the one *before* the zoo. “What about the next stop?” I asked. “Look,” she snapped, “I have five minutes to pee, so get off now.” The lower step on these trains is about a foot off the ground, just high enough for the BOB stroller wheels to get wedged under it, so I had a panicked few seconds worrying that she’d drive off before I could free the stroller.

On the return trip it was even worse – I trundled the stroller up the handicapped access ramp at the zoo station, and the next train drove right by me, with the operator signaling that I should go to the non-stroller friendly far end of the stop. Then she drove away as I was walking up to the door. I had to ask someone to help lift the stroller onto the next train…again, the wheels wedged under the door and I couldn’t heft it in. Truly a pain in the ass, compounded by drivers who all appear to have chips on their shoulders.

Coupled with the truly nasty looks I received while waiting on a Muni platform at rush hour with a stroller I have to say I’m not impressed with the SF transit system. We’ll head for a different route tomorrow and see how the stroller fares on a bus….

Some thoughts on SF

Omer, G and I arrived in San Francisco yesterday. We are staying in an apartment in the Castro neighborhood; 95% of the inhabitants of our neighborhood seem to be gay men, and the landmark by which I navigate is the giant pride flag flying near the Castro Theater. I still haven’t figured out if the assortment of pride paraphernalia in all the local drug stores is leftover from Pride Week or if they always sell the stuff. Either way, this is a great neighborhood for G to show off his love of all things pink.

Our apartment is up a very very steep hill; my goal for the summer is to be able to walk home to our apartment without needing an immediate shower and change of clothes. Also, it makes it really hard to do the grocery shopping, as pushing G AND 30lbs of groceries up the hill is damn near impossible.

It is our landlady’s first time renting out this place, and it shows. The whole house seems thrown together from odds and ends and leftover bits of sets. The kitchen has four styles of cabinets, an oddly out of place set of new appliances, a faucet that you can’t put on full strength without soaking the wall, two different colors of granite countertop, and a beautiful view over parts of San Francisco.

G has declared “I love this beautiful house” so at least it gets his vote! We also found a very cool playground yesterday, where G met a boy who greeted him with a sharptooth face. It was love at first sight.