Another win for Austria

Austria is a country that is roughly the size of Maine and I learned that from an exceedingly reliable source, Wiki Answers. Why not trust annoymous strangers when it comes to information I put on my blog? Slightly more reliably, the World Bank puts the population of Austra at about 8.4 million while the population in the US is just over 307 million. Austria has had two high profile cases of imprisonment of young girls in the last five years. Of course, the case of Josef Fritzl who held his daughter Elisabeth for 24 years and fathered three children with her; and the case of Wolfgang Priklopil who kidnapped 10-year-old Natascha Kampusch and held her for eight years before she escaped and he did everyone a favor by throwing himself under the wheels of a train and dying. The US has had two high profile cases, that of Jaycee Dugard kidnapped by Phillip Garrido, and Shawn Hornbeck and Ben Ownby who were kidnapped four and a half years apart by Michael Devlin. Now, I'm too lazy to look up all the high profile child kidnapping and imprisonments in the United States but it does seem like maybe Austria has had a little more than their fair share.

I started thinking about this because of an article I read today about the kidnapping of Natascha Kampusch.  I just want to remind you all that at the time she was TEN-YEARS-OLD.  You know what I was doing at ten?  Listening to Celine Dion and singing into my hair brush, playing Barbie, and fighting with my brother over who was going to get to play Mario in Mario Bros., and who was going to have to be the obviously less superior Luigi.  Anyway, apparently there are suspicions that she may have had a baby that she disposed over at some point during her time in captivity.  There are allegations of many different government officials colluding in a cover-up.  I'm not believe in infanticide but I'm not sure what investigators are hoping to accomplish?  First of all, there is a huge possibility that based on her age, lack of prenatal care, and delivering alone and at home that the baby was stillborn.  Second, when this happened SHE WAS A CHILD.  Alone, scared, and probably wishing to be playing with her dolls in the safety of her home.  Since she was imprisoned I have no idea how she would have even gotten out to get rid of a body.  She's also been accused of lying about her relatioship with her kidnapper.  Although officially he was a stranger to her, some investigators believe that he may have been a friend of the family.  In which case I say, so what?  So I guess since maybe he knew her then it was OK?  Maybe they were in on it together?  You know, since ten-year-olds are totally capable of making those decisions.  What are the authorities trying to prove?  It smacked to me of blaming the victim for the crime perpertrated on her by a person whose only contribution to society was killing himself. 

I think that we can all agree that, along with lederhosen and Kurt Waldheim, this is just another shining star for Austria.

One more problem

When we change our television input to the one for our Blu-Ray player (usually by accident), the Blu-Ray automatically turns on. Then we have to wait until it's on to turn it off and change the input to whatever we actually wanted. This takes approximately six seconds, which feels like much more when you're eager to start watching "The Walking Dead."

First World Problems

Kent took the good pillow, so now I have to sleep on the other pillow.

I dropped my smartphone and now I have to use a phone with a cracked screen.

My Thanksgiving leftovers won't fit in my fridge.

I can't hear the TV over my dishwasher.

I ordered clothes for the kids from Gap.com but the left a shirt out of my order and I had to wait three more days.

I wanted a bagel for breakfast but I didn't have cream cheese.

I painted my office yellow but now I don't like it and I want to paint it blue.

The kids have too many toys and they don't all fit in the toy bins.

Our internet went out yesterday and interrupted the movie we were watching.

I got a refund check on some paint I bought, and my bank doesn't have a drive-thru deposit box so now I have to go in.

What are your first world problems? I know you have them.

How to pick a couch

When Kent and I got married one of our first big purchases was a new couch.  Before we got our couch we used a futon.  Want to know a secret about futons?  They can be either an uncomfortable couch or an uncomfortable bed!  Pretty cool!  Also they have a tendency to make the room they're in look like a dorm.  So because we were adults (and you can tell that because we filed joint tax returns) we figured we needed to buy a couch and get rid of the futon.  Or, more accurately move it into our guest room in an effort to discourage people for staying with us for more than one night. 

So we went to a local furniture store and started looking around.  We found a couch we liked, along with a coffee table and two end tables.  We arranged for delivery and waited excitedly.  We were going to have real furniture!  We wouldn't have a bed in our living room anymore!  We'd have place to put our beer!  I was at work when it was delivered but Kent was home.  He called after it was dropped off and I was frankly bursting with excited.  "So...how does it look??"

There was a long pause. Long pauses are always harbingers of doom.

"Well...it's a little big."

A little big? I waved good-bye to the vision I had of our living room.

When I got home I exactly what he meant. Instead of having a sofa in our living room, we had a living room around our sofa. As it turns out, we weren't really great at assessing how it would actually fit into the room. No big deal though. It would be fine and someday we'd have a house instead of a condo and it would work much better.

Then we moved, and once again our couch wore the living room. Now, I realize in the grand scheme of problems this doesn't even qualify but it was kind of annoying. We also had a front room now and it was extremely bare. It made sense to move our huge, comfortable couch to the front room and buy something smaller for the living room. I was excited of course. I started looking at Pottery Barn and Crate and Barrel to get an idea of how much we could expect to spend. Now, I have to tell you that I have expensive taste but I'm also really cheap. So I'll admire and wish but when it comes time to pull out the Visa I almost always walk away.  Initially most of the couches I looked at were in the $600 - $1000 range.  At first this even seemed reasonable.  I wanted a couch that we could use for years, with classic lines and fabric.  Durable and comfortable. 

Then Kent told me a story about how, when he was 9 or 10 he and his brothers had a babysitter.  In the course of playing he threw up in his family's couch.  I interrupted to ask what the babysitter did.  He gave me a weird look.  Throwing up was not the main part of the story.

"Nothing." 

I pressed on.  "Well what did you do?"  Again, the look. 

"Nothing.  I was only nine." 

"So wait.  You threw up in your couch and just left it?  What did your parents do?" 

A more thoughtful look.  "I'm not sure they knew."

And then the next day we went and bought a couch for $300 with a fully removable, washable cover.  And that's how you pick a couch when you have kids.

I was thinking that things were a little too quiet

I've noticed that it's easier to blog when things are happening, and more specifically, when things are going wrong.  I mean, it's just kind of boring to write that we had a good day, minimal tantrums and so on.  But on the other hand I don't want to wish for disasters because that's just crazy.  Then tonight Bear threw up all over the carpet ten minutes after he was out of the bath and in his jammies.  I literally sat and watched him for a good six or seven seconds while he erupted like Mt. Vesuvius.  Throw up tends to render me a little immobile.  Now I'm hoping I can convince Kent to take me to breakfast tomorrow since he was at work and missed all the fun.

"Really?!?"

Back when Amy Poehler was still on "Saturday Night Live" she and Seth Meyers had a bit I really loved during the "Weekend Update."  It was called "Really?!?  With Seth and Amy."  If you haven't seen it and don't know what I'm talking about here's a video to give you an idea:

Saturday Night Live - Weekend Update: Really!?! - Video - http://www.nbc.com

It links directly to NBC so you have to wait through a brief ad but your computer won't be infected with a virus.  So anyway, "Really?!?" was the only thing I could think when I heard about students RIOTING at Penn State to protest the firing of Joe Paterno.  In case my blog is your only link the to the real world (in which case you are seriously in trouble), Joe Paterno was the head coach of Penn State's football team for roughly 834 years.  Nine years ago graduate assistant Mike McQueary witnessed then-defensive coordinator Jerry Sandusky engaging in anal-sex with a TEN-YEAR-OLD BOY.  Oops, I'm sorry, "allegedly."  I'm not going to sugarcoat it or use any euphemisms for what McQueary witnessed.  I'm not going to say "assault" or "inappropriateness."  In my opinion doing so minimizes the horrible, vicious, disgusting and depraved thing that happened to that child.

McQueary witnessed this and then, instead of intervening or even notifying the police, called his father and then told his boss, Joe Paterno.  Apparently within the letter of the law Paterno notified school administrators and that was the end of the story.  Well, not the end of the story as far as the young boys who continued to be raped were concerned, but as far as Joe Paterno was concerned.

I got some of my facts from an article written by Gene Wojciechowski entitled The tragedy of Joe Paterno. Really?!? The tragedy of Joe Paterno? I see nothing tragic for him in this story. I see a man who showed massive, massive misjudgement and perhaps a large heaping of egocentrism. I see a man who put the needs of his organization above the need to protect children from a predator. In all that I certainly do not see tragedy for Joe Paterno. Oh, and one more thing Mr. Wojciechowski. "Alleged misconduct"?  (Emphasis added.)  Really?!? Let's try, "alleged rape" or at least "alleged sexual assault." But good job choosing language that completely belittles the seriousness of what "allegedly" happened.

As far as those students who are rioting: really?!? Are you stupid? Are you completely mentally deficient? Joe Paterno deserves to be fired for his shameful inaction. McQueary deserves to at least be fired and hopefully not get another decent night's sleep until the day he dies. What they did is wrong, and I don't care that neither of them broke the law by not notifying police. If you care more about your college team than doing what is right then you have your priorities 100% out-of-line. This line came from another source but is completely appropriate for these circumstances:

"Blaming individuals for their unacceptable, unprofessional behavior is an excellent solution. We even have a special word for that solution. The word is "accountability." ...Professionals...should be held personally accountable for their failings."

Ladies and gentleman, Joe Paterno failed.  The Penn State administrators failed.  (For the record, Graham Spanier, Penn State's President was also fired, but I don't think the protesters are up in arms about that.)  Paterno has been held him accountable whether you like it or not.  To those who are protesting, take a long hard look at the ugly truth, the secrets and lies, within Penn State's football team.  And decide where responsibility begins and ends if it was your child being raped in that shower.

Nothing funny happened today

Nothing funny happened today.  Nothing productive happened today.  I got a migraine and had to take a nap to avoid a core meltdown and/or setting my kitchen on fire.  Just one of those days.

I don't want to totally let you down though.  I hate crappy posts worse than no posts so as a consolation prize, if you want to find out how you rate on a 1930s marital scale you can go here.  In case you're wondering I failed, which seems sort of appropriate for today.  My stockings definitely do not have straight seams and most days I cook breakfast in my pajamas.

Things that are dumb, or the time that Maggie drove almost 600 miles one way with two kids

The Universe really owes me one after this last week.

Last Thursday I left town with the kids to visit my grandma, aunt and mom. I planned to drive 560 miles to Nebraska. From this you can clearly tell two things: first, I've never driven alone any further than Denver to Fort Collins. That's sixty-five miles and let me tell you I felt sorry for myself every time I made that drive. Second, I've never driven further than the grocery store alone with the two kids. I'm not sure what I thought. I mean, clearly I was completely unprepared. Any time I've ever done a long car trip I've been able to tolerate approximately two hours of highway driving before I'm actively making promises I can't keep to my copilot in order to switch spots. The drive to my grandma is 560 miles which is definitely more than two hours. So yeah, I was in trouble before I even started.

The thing about car trips though is they're so deceptive. Kids were secured, yummy snacks in the front seat, portable DVD player hooked up. I was ready. This was going to be fun! I was going to get to listen to anything I wanted! I was in charge of stopping for food and bathroom breaks! I was master of my destiny! And at first it was fun. It started to get less fun as I approached Fort Morgan which, depressingly, is only 97.3 miles from our house. Or, less than two hours. Or, still 462.7 miles from my destination in case you aren't good at math. I learned on this trip that my bladder is approximately the size of a tablespoon. Any bathroom stop required unloading both kids and herding Bear into the bathroom (mercifully, Bunny could stay strapped into her car seat which weighs approximately 26 pounds) and took roughly fifteen minutes. Anyway, with 462.7 miles to go things had progressed from "This is fun!" to "This is starting to be not so fun." I remember the exact time that it went from "Not so much fun" to "This flat-out sucks." It was at 3:44 PM, in Kearney, Nebraska. Or, still three hours from my destination. Shortly after getting to Kearney I got off I-80 and on to two lane county roads through a series of tiny towns. I know where creepy lives, and it is rural Nebraska. I got more and more nervous as the sun got lower. If Stephen King ever decides to stop setting all his books in Maine he should consider a town somewhere off US 30. Throughout this the kids were becoming increasingly irritable. What were we doing? Why were they strapped into their infernal car seats? Could they have more McDonalds? At roughly 6:45 PM we finally reached the home stretch and I am not kidding, I was white-knuckled with determination for the last 45 miles. I hear that athletes hit the wall after extended exercise and continue only by sheer force of will. That was me. I pulled into my grandma's parking lot at 7:30 PM with equal parts relief and dread at having to repeat the process in two days.

We stayed in a hotel and if you can believe it, it's actually not that much fun to sleep with a two-year-old. I was reminded why I no longer cosleep. So I spent the night waking up every fifteen minutes with a foot in my face or Bear's head two millimeters from mine or various other things that were not conducive to a good night's rest. There was one other slight problem. Thursday I woke up with a migraine flirting around the edges of my brain. Never one to let a neurological disorder dissuade me from the task at hand I set off anyway, armed with Excederin migraine which I popped freely throughout the day along with diet soda. So even under ideal sleeping arrangements I'm not sure I could have fallen asleep; I was too keyed up from an abundance of caffeine. So I got up (notice I didn't see "woke up") in the morning with the migraine still making its presence known combined with a profound lack of sleep. It was like a hangover but with zero point zero percent of the fun that generally accompanies a night of drinking. All day I continued to take Excederin and feel sorry for myself. I figured Friday night I would sleep better that night because no way could I sleep worse, right?

Right.

Friday night I laid down in relief hoping that I would feel better the next morning. Roughly twenty seconds after turning off the light I noticed that Bear was hot. Really hot. Like feverish hot. Generally this is exactly what you want to have happen when you're on a trip and 560 miles from home. Then he started coughing. Because I am paranoid mother, I read up on they symptoms of many, many childhood illnesses when Bear was small. Sometimes when I don't have anything special to worry about, I revisit those pages in "What to Expect: The First Year" as an outlet for my anxiety. His cough was a classic croup cough. So this was getting better and better. All night long he coughed but thankfully his fever went away. Once again there was no sleep for me, for him, or for Bunny. We were all having a great time! Saturday morning I woke up with two things: a full-fledged migraine and the certainty that I must get my children home. Obviously it would be preferable for us to apparate but since that only exists in Harry Potter, we had no choice but to drive. Grimly I loaded the kids into the car, careless about our snacks and leaving the DVD player hanging askew. I tell you, I counted every damn mile. When we finally got back to our house I would have gladly kissed the filthy garage floor but I was too tired.

All night long, Bear coughed and coughed and coughed. I set an alarm and checked on him every two hours since the more severe croup becomes, the more it affects a child's breathing. He did OK the next day but was still obviously really sick. I was getting nervous. Kent is a respiratory therapist but he was out of town for work so I wasn't sure if my mounting hysteria was well-placed or not. When he finally got back later Sunday night I could have collapsed in a puddle on the floor, I was so thankful. We put Bear to bed at his normal time and agreed we'd just continue to monitor him. Then he woke up gasping at 7:45 PM and in a semi-panic we loaded him and Bunny into the car and went to the Children's Hospital near our house. As we were walking in he was coughing and a clutch of nurses standing outside the doors chirped (almost in unison): "Sounds like someone has croup!" Yes, it does and I'll thank you not to be so cheerful. Bear had a couple breathing treatments (NOTE: toddlers LOVE having a breathing mask put over their face, especially when the stuff they breath in is a stimulant) and a dose of steroids which helped temporarily. Unfortunately they didn't help enough so he was admitted late Sunday night. Even though everyone was great and they were really trying to make us comfortable it does not escape you for a second that you are in a hospital and you are there because your sweet baby doesn't feel well. In fact, it rather sucks. They let us go early on Monday, most likely because Kent is a respiratory therapist and because we both gave Bear's doctor really good doe eyes.

I'll spare you a synopsis of the last few days. My only observation is that simply leaving the hospital doesn't equal full recovery. This might seem obvious but when you've spent time and money in a facility it seems like you should be owed good health. Alas that's not how it works. The last few days have been spent at home, primarily watching "Tangled" and "Toy Story 3" over and over while heading off 677 tantrums, mostly related to the refusal of foods containing high fructose corn syrup. I hope, hope, hope that Bear wakes up tomorrow recovered and we can get back to regularly scheduled programming.

And Universe, I prefer cash but I'll take a certified personal check.

I hate teenagers and nothing will change that.

I started hating teenagers early. By the time I turned 20 my contempt was in full-bloom. I lied about my age, not so I could start drinking but so that I wouldn't have to associate myself with a group of people for whom Abercrombie & Fitch and Hot Topic were the pinnacle of fashion. I credit my premature aging to an early and abiding love for "Full House" and my "Little House on the Prairie" books along with matching prairie girl dress. Because nothing gets you in with your peers like being able to dress up like Laura Ingalls and recite long passages of "Little House in the Big Woods." It also helped that I was a relentless know-it-all, completely oblivious to my peers' annoyance and had a profound lack of understanding of popular music. In fact, I was so oblivious that I didn't realize that I should lie about hating New Kids on the Block and that a Wilson Phillips t-shirt tucked into black jeans might be advertising my uncoolness.

It's remarkable that I was able to escape being such a huge nerd. But somehow I did and I went through high school without being a complete social misfit. But, by sixteen I was completely over being a teenager and the majority of my stupid classmates, most of whom I despised and held in complete contempt. (Note: if we are Facebook friends then you did not fit into this category.) Most of them seemed like semi-racist, homophobic, misogynistic fools who listened to rap, had never read a book and were looking forward to recreating high school in the dorms at CSU. In sum, I was still an annoying know-it-all but with cooler clothes and better taste in music.

It goes without saying I still hate teenagers. Mostly now I'm just crotchety. I have two kids. I can no longer wear a bikini. I still listen to Bad Religion and wear Converse, but I'm just crotchety-in-disguise. Are you smoking cigarettes on the sidewalk by my fence? I'll spray you with a hose. Ding dong ditching me? I will leave the couch, walk down the street with a flashlight and scream at you. Playing your music too loud on a Tuesday night? I'll call the cops and report a noise complaint. In other words, I'm the perfect person to have in our neighborhood because I'll do all the things that the really elderly might be too terrified and/or deaf to do themselves. I have children! I'm slavishly attached to my routine! And most of all, someone needs to teach you a lesson! Last night though, I had perhaps the most infuriating teenager interaction of my life. Many, many adorable little kids came to our door and I was all too happy to give out fistfuls of candy to princesses, robots and dinosaurs. At 7:30 we decided to put our overly-sugared and hysterical children to bed. We set out a bowl of candy but neglected to put out a sign that said "Don't be selfish, take only one piece," so within about seven seconds it was empty. We'd just about gotten Bear to bed when...

*DING DONG*

I like to believe that even as a teenager (if I'd been allowed to trick-or-treat which I WASN'T because my parents were rational human beings who figured by fifteen we could buy our own goddamn candy) if I'd gone to a house with an empty candy bowl I would have figured that they were out of candy, and gone on my merry way. But not these girls. Oh no, that was one step of cleverness too many for them. I opened the door to see one fifteen-year-old dressed up as a slutty...something... and the other not dressed up at all and holding a pillowcase expectantly. Maybe she was somewhat shamed by resentful, annoyed expression, and tried to tell me she "forgot" her mask. Since they couldn't be bothered to put on a costume I made sure to give them one piece each of the worst candy from Bear's stash (gum). Then I slammed the door in their faces and turned off the light before they could get past our driveway. Next year I'll try to be even more passive-aggressive and I'll happily take suggestions on how to accomplish that.