Last week, my dad came up and watched the kids while Jill and I ran the Crazylegs race. It was also the weekend of the Mifflin St. Block Party, a mild riot which is held annually in Madison. Though I've attended the Mifflin St. Block Party several times, I'm unsure as to its origins. I know it was started in the late 60's or early 70's and that our new mayor (Soglin) was involved at the outset. What mus have been a freewheeling lovefest back then has turned into a typically self-abusive drunken riot. Two people got stabbed this year. Though I'm uncertain of the stories behind the stabbings (could be gang related), I'm relatively certain that, as usual, alcohol plays a key role in these violent events. It was a strange feeling to watch all these 20somethings head to the Mifflin St. riot while I went for a 5 mile run. I really felt like I had changed sides.

I also had a good run in with a new recipe tonight. I have struggled, literally, for years trying to make a spinach/feta/tofu pie and finally got it right tonight. Jill sauteed the onions, and mixed in spinach and silken tofu. We pressed out as much water as possible, then I set that mixture in the oven for 10 minutes. After taking in out, I mixed in the feta. Then, individual pies were made out of crescent rolls (the pillsbury kind in the tubes) and baked. What's always ruined this recipe in the past was moisture from the spinach/tofu/feta ruining the crust. I turned out great tonight, though. Kudos to me!

El Desructo got new batteries for his remote control car and is driving it around the apartment and driving me crazy.

The Little Scientist wrote a poem last week:

"How We Know You're Moving"
If you see strangers:
lurking, living, leaning
in your house
then we know you're moving.
If you hear cars and trucks:
picking, parking, puddling
around the home
then we know you're moving.
If you sense people:
sacking, packing, tracking
What you need,
then we know you're moving.
If you ask your parents
they will tell you
then you'll know,
you're moving!

********
We are not moving this year, however, we signed another lease for our apartment.

Last weekend we were in Kenosha again - Jill is helping my dad in the Barasch Tax Accounting Salt Mines.

The kids stayed with my mom for a few hours while I ran some errands. Though for everyone's sanity, and so the kids have a healthy understanding of boundaries, we are usually quite structured in regards to mealtimes and bedtimes, things always go erratically with feedings and bed times when you travel. After I dropped the kids off at my mom's, El Destructo says to her, "I want 4 slices of ham for my snack." This is, mind you, at 9 AM. Frequent readers are familiar with El Destructo's diet. Frequent readers will be relieved that El Destructo has broadened his palate from frosting and processed meat to include many things recognizable as "food" even prior to the corporate domination of diet.

Mom had intended to take the kids to the park after Ben gorged on ham, but immediately after he ate, May visits the kitchen. "I'm hungry." And Nana has to go to work making macaroni and cheese and fried chicken. May described it to me later by saying, "And, before you knew it, it was a feast!" They had pineaple, beets, spinach, strawberries, and bananas.

I had a nasty cup of coffee while watching the Valvoline guys change the oil.


All in all things are well here. I plan to get my bicycle repaired this week and will start biking to work again. I am working right now on a brilliantly creative neuropathology gross description.

Jill's job evaded certain destruction when a Dane county judge ruled that the passage of the Job Destruction Bill was passed in a voting session before the public was given adequate notice of the vote. Thus, the judge has ruled that the law, though passed and signed, cannot be published. Without publication, state agencies are unable to enforce the edicts of the law. That is, until those crazy guys on the other side of the aisle come up with some new trick.

Other political news includes an upcoming pro-zombie march. I think the pro-zombie march is this weekend. We're big supporters of the rights of the dead, and also the living dead, to receive equal respect as animate, physiologically appropriate people. I'll try to post some pictures of the zombie liberation rally next week.

I'm thinking about running the Crazylegs Race this year.

My New Year's Resolution was to reconnect with creative energies. One of the things I will try to do is write blog entries again. What can you do to make up for not writing for a year? Beg forgiveness? Slave away and hope to be rediscovered by former readers? Post a link to the blog on Facebook? Probably not facebook.... Ironically, it is easier and more discrete to bear my soul to anonymous readers on the internet than to my "Friends" on facebook. It's not that my friends don't read this blog (or didn't before I screwed it up by not writing for a year), but that I'm not sure that I want everyone who has "Friend-ed" me to see what I write. If they really, really want to keep tabs on me, they can google me and do some cyberstalking.

What other plans do I have to reconnect with my creative energies? I'm hoping a children's book will be in the works. I have two on the back burner. 1) "Dinosaurs and super-heros drive construction trucks" 2) "How do ninjas bike to work?"

Professionally: I work in the lab at the VA hospital in Madison. This month I'm rotating through the autopsy service. It's fascinating. Whenever a medical student rotates through, I brag, "Noone consults the autopsy service for acne. These people have real medical problems." Some of their medical problems are so serious that, in fact, ........

News of the kids: El Destructo and The Little Scientist are well adapted to their new environment. During some of the recent political protesting, El Destructo turned to me and said, "Dad, when will I get a chance to vote." He enjoyed marching, but I think the meaning of the protest was a little over his head. When we got home, he marched around the apartment waving his placard and demanding, "Vote Packers! Vote Packers! Vote Packers!" Totally absurd. Nobody in our house would ever vote for the Vikings. He wants a gerbil for his birthday.

The little scientist has been doing well in school. During recent teacher strikes, she came with me to work and made up for my brusque antics and wretched flatulence with her charm and grace. She also redesigned our reporting system. She's going to take ballet this summer. She's made some new friends in the neighborhood and at school.

A brief treatise on economics: In a capitalist economy, which ours is, at least nominally, there are boom and bust cycles, growth and recession. These are normal. Keynsian economics is the idea that the government should sully the waters of pure capitalism by intervening during times of economic troubles. For example, build roads during a recession, thereby improving infrastructure and creating jobs. However, economics and politics are deeply intertwined and one frequently cannot take an economic position without it implying a political stance as well (excepting my chivalrous and gentlemanly Uncle Charles). The more conservative branch of of the American political system had for many years advocated a post-Keynsian approach to economics - a faith that pure markets can fix all problems. The recent economic problems have led prominent conservative figures, like Bush Jr., to reconsider the Golden Calf of Free Markets and re-embrace Keynsian economics (ergo the Wall St. Bailout).

Politicians in WI are not quite as progressive ***smirk*** here in WI, however, and it seems likely that Jill's perfect job will fall victim to the recently elected governor's job creation plan. In post-Keynsian economics, the government could never apportion aid to destitute, retarded, or elderly as efficiently as a private corporation could. And in fact, if you think about it, this is why there are so many corporations solely dedicated to social service and caring for the poor, the infirm, and the elderly. ***can I smirk twice in one paragraph?*** I'll leave you to the internet to sort out the details of the political protest, but would like to recommend one article by the Wall Street Journal for those who have an interest in finance and a reasonable understanding of the bond market.

As for me, I will wash the dishes, do the laundry, and try to rebuild my blog. One post per week.

So we've been getting rid of stuff and getting ready for the move. Also Jill's parents have been out helping us get the house ready to sell. The kids had been sleeping on the air mattress and had a good time jumping on it one afternoon. The air mattress was ruined after that and won't hold any more air. I was disappointed in myself for letting the kids jump on the mattress. "I guess we'll have to throw it out," I moped.

El Destructo, ever the optimist, pipes in, "we're going to need to buy a bigger trash can!"

We were talking about where the kids got their names at the table the other day and May turns to her brother and says, "You were named after a bridge, and I was named after an old, old lady."

The kids and I went fishing with our friend Pete the other day. We had a great time and the fish didn't swallow even one hook - they were all released back alive. Unfortunately for me, I pulled a muscle in my tush while standing around doing nothing and it's been very painful. I had to take a few days off running.

I'm going to OT for my broken wrist, which is feeling better (I can type fairly well now with very little pain), it's a weird social scene, we all sit around a big table doing our exercises and making small talk.

Last week, I went to the doctor's office. I had Ben with me and was waiting for the doctor when my phone rang. It was a real estate agent I wanted to talk to about selling our house. I scrambled around the doctor's office trying to find a writing implement. I searched all the drawers and under the sink - nothing to write with. So, I couldn't write down the guy's phone number.

After the doctor came in and talked with me for a while, Benjamin spoke up, "Um, Doctor, my Dad needs something to write with." The doctor was impressed and gave him a lollypop.

Walking May home from school the other day, her friend, Andrew, came running behind us and from about a half a block away was calling her name. May ran over to him and gave him a hug. When she came back she told me, "Andrew and I are on the Listening Side of the Class." She then listed the other kids in her class who were "Listeners." It was a short list.

I'm all faklempt about leaving Jersey today. I've been trying to drown my sorrows in Anime. I've come across a pretty good show, "Mezzo." In short, a girl, a punk rocker, and a lightly older guy ("Pops") are assassin-detective-rockstars. I'm sure that when I say "assassin-detective-rockstar" great volumes of images are generated in your head. Good.

In the episode I watched tonight, the older of the main characters has the following to say after they begin to uncover the latest plot: "I knew something bad was happening here. You could smell it in the air; like cookies; evil cookies." I laughed out loud, told Jill about it, and then wrote this blog entry.

On Tues, I picked El Destructo up from school, and his teacher had something funny to say. "Benjamin had this cup," a Dunkin Donuts paper coffee cup, "and he insisted he had brought it from home. He's been carrying it around all day and drinks from it. I took it away from him on the condition that he be allowed to bring it home."

"I don't remember him having that cup, but..." I shrugged.

On the way home, he tells me, "I found that cup in the hallway at school. When we get home, can I drink sink water from it?"

"Sure."

On Monday, when I picked up May from kindergarten, I asked her, "Did you get a new book from reading class?"

"Yes. It's a book about animals. It's non-fiction."

Then, on the way home, a boy who lives down the street from us and his mother were behind us on the sidewalk. May turns her head and shouts at this boy, "Dominick! Your cat pees on our porch! You need to make him stop!"

A few problems with this embarrassing truth:
1) It need not have been shouted such that everyone on the block hears it
2) On cat peeing is not a problem, yet it has incited our cat to mark his porch not infrequently
3) She kept repeating it over and over until...

"I know." Says Dominick.

"Well, what are you going to do about it!" Demands my daughter - insisting on a total surrender.

"We'll just have to try to keep the cat inside from now on." Dominick's mother replied.

Today I wanted to go to some lectures on toxicology - I was the only one who showed up. As I rarely give a lecture for which I am unprepared to an empty room, I took the subway back to the main campus to spend some time goofing off on the computer. My broken arm is feeling better and I get my cast off in ten days, the day after the match. It's still awkward and frustrating to type (the cast constantly bumps into the Ctrl and Alt keys). In spite of the chaos of the unanticipated computer commands, a true artist soldiers on.

News of the kids:

El Destructo has discovered the sandwich. Previously, he subsisted entirely on a diet of processed meat, frosting, and cold pizza. On Sunday, there was a cold cut spread at church and he asked me to make him a ham and cheese sandwich - which he ate! Now, as long as processed meat is wrapped in the middle, he will heat bread! He came running up the stairs as I was shaving to show me his breakfast this morning, "Look Daddy! A bologna-sandwich-toast!"

May still hates getting her hair washed. I've told her again and again, "When water gets in your eyes, wipe it away." No dice. The other day, it was time for her to take a bath, and I suggested they would get their hair washed. The kids are used to getting their hair washed every other bath/shower, and a bath/shower every other day. May screamed at me, "DAD, WE JUST HAD OUR HAIR WASHED YESTERDAY! WE SHOULD NOT BE GETTING OUR HAIR WASHED AGAIN!" A tiny purple vein at the base of her neck leaped and pulsed with every forceful shout. I'm used to evaluating the discourse of my children with skepticism, but how could one deny the pulsing vein? Later, May's story was corroborated by my wife.

Both kids have been excited about the possibility of moving after the match. They've been "packing" off and on. May told us, "If we move to Chicago or Wisconsin, that would be great. If we stay at our house in New Jersey, that would be great. I'm excited for either!"

Please enjoy a guest blog-entry from my mom, Nancy. The title is Thanksgiving 2006.

_______________________
“I’ll never cook Thanksgiving Dinner for the whole family,” my daughter said after a observing me making dinner.

“Me either,” my daughter-in-law agreed.

“I like cooking Thanksgiving Dinner,” I replied. This was a few years ago. Both my daughter and daughter-in-law are college-trained-this-generation women’s lib. Time will change that.

Thanksgiving Dinner is a glorious hassle. I love it. You cook the rutabaga for the mash potatoes the day before, and you cut onions until your tears flow freely. Some want dressing with giblets. Some think giblets are gross. I owe my most famous creation to Martha Stewart. According to her, root vegetables add zing to gravy.

The year Martha communicated this I’d been given a plethora of a root vegetable. I’m not sure whether the beets improved the taste, but everyone remembers the year I served pink gravy.

Of all my memorial dinners, the hernia operation Thanksgiving is a pinnacle. I flew to Philadelphia ten days early in November of 2006 to watch my grandchildren ages three and six months during my son’s operation. My granddaughter’s third birthday fell on Thanksgiving Day. There was a school party for three year olds and their parents, and a friend’s party for three couples and their seven offspring in addition to Thanksgiving.

My son picked me up at the airport at mid-night the day before his operation.

“I’ve got a five hour exam in four days. I’m not going to talk to you,” my son announced.

“You scheduled your operation four days before a five hour exam? I know you need this operation but can’t you postpone the exam?” I asked.

“No, I’d have to repeat the course.”

“Will they do anything to accommodate you?”

“I can put my feet up on a chair,” he replied. My son was thirty with a wife and two children, and this was his first semester in medical school. He’d quit his job and sold their house in Wisconsin. There was no turning back.

“I appreciate your coming, Mother. I hope you can do this,” he said grimly.

The next day my son and daughter-in-law left at 7:00 am. I strolled my grandchildren to my granddaughter’s preschool and picked her up at 11:00 am. I was confident.

“They haven’t been able to fit Sam into surgery yet,” my daughter-in-law said when she called. Delays happen. It was a new relatively simple laser surgery. He would return home at 3:00 pm the same day, but after several calls, it looked like they would be gone longer than expected.

I’d brought books and toys. We read. We played. I gave my granddaughter her birthday present. I put my grandson to bed for a nap. We took walks, and we watched movies. I made peanut butter sandwiches and warmed baby bottles.

“Your son is ready to be released, but we can’t find his wife,” the hospital called at 6:30 pm. Jill hadn’t run out on him. She’d gone to eat after waiting all day, but my grandchildren hadn’t seen me for months. I was a stranger, and they were getting cranky. I loaded them into a double stroller and took them outside for the forth time. It was dark. I became mildly confused. Which house was it?

My son and daughter-in-law had recently moved to New Jersey not far from my son’s medical school in Philadelphia, an old fashioned small town much cheaper than Philadelphia. The town houses were architecturally coordinated, individually owned duplexes with shared driveways, trees, gardens, and yards. The town was charming, but in the dark all the houses looked the same, and their new address slipped my mind.

At seven pm, my daughter-in-law drove by. “Are you lost? Sam is home. He’s fine. I have to pick up his medication,” she said. She took the baby. Reoriented I took my granddaughter home.

“Your Dad is home. You’ll see him soon,” I said. May was elated. She ran inside crawled into her father’s bed and threw up on him and the bed. Agile for post-surgery, my son changed the sheets and washed his hands and May’s hands--- a prime directive in medical school.

May threw up every two hours all night and the next day. The next day my daughter-in-law got the stomach flu, and then I got it. Each of us threw up every two hours. I don’t know about baby Ben. He didn’t throw up, but he woke up five times every night, and my bed was in his room. We took turns comforting Ben.

My son didn’t have time for stomach flu. Perhaps the antibiotics helped.

“Maybe we should cancel Thanksgiving dinner,” I said to my daughter-in-law.

“Oh no, it will be fine,” she replied.

“I’m going to the library to study. I can’t stand this chaos,” my son said.

“Good,” my daughter-in-law and I chorused. He’d been notably glum. His post operative care was a disappointment. At Thanksgiving with two babies, hovering over the patient was improbable even before the stomach flu. As he slumped in to make lunch, we tried not to trample him

“Aren’t you supposed to stop lifting after a hernia operation?” I asked my son as he picked up the baby.

“They don’t say that anymore, and I don’t have a choice,” he replied.

In 2006, my daughter worked at a museum in NYC. She was to arrive five days before Thanksgiving with my ex-husband, but there was a delay. In NYC my ex-husband had emergency angioplasty, a balloon inserted in a vein, and the stomach flu. My daughter couldn’t leave without him.

Back in New Jersey, we sped through parties, and my son took the exam finishing in four and a half hours. We toured the library, the farmer’s market, and the children’s museum. At the children’s museum, I raced for an hour through a child shrieking labyrinth stopping only for a second to envy the lounging python. Invoking glares as I grabbed at someone else’s blond three year old child. Both children cried when we left.

“It’s time to go, May,” my son said quietly.

“Just five more minutes, five more minutes,” May said as tears rolled down her face.

“OK, five more minutes,” my son said. I wasn’t consulted, and we’d left Jill for an hour of peaceful cleaning.

On the day before Thanksgiving, my son picked up his sister and their Dad at the Philadelphia Chinatown bus. Under stress, he failed to observe an auto as he pulled out of his parking space. Crash, boom, not tragedy, a minor scratch, no one was injured. They exchanged information without official intervention. The only addition to our Thanksgiving dinner was that the mother of the driver called my son three times on Thanksgiving Day. “Do you have insurance? Are you sure you have insurance?” she said.

“It was the other driver’s fault,” his Dad opined.

My son’s house was small, so his Dad was to sleep in a relative’s apartment thirty minutes away. They arrived at 9:00 pm. My ex-husband looked like an escapee from an institution. His shirttails were half-out, his collar askew. He was rumpled, dirty, and couldn’t sit straight.

“I don’t think you can drive him anywhere, and he looks bad,” I said.

“You’re right, Mom. I don’t want to drive. He’ll have to stay here,” my son said.

“You’ll sleep here tonight, Dad,” my son reported.

“Good,” my ex-husband replied, and he crawled upstairs into the only double bed. Everybody else scrunched together.

On the morning of Thanksgiving Day, we discovered May’s birthday cake was missing. My daughter-in-law left to find a cake.

May has friends, and the doorbell rang with tribute all day. Piles of toys scattered everywhere. She couldn’t unwrap all her presents in one day.

“I will make quite an impression in this,” my granddaughter said holding up a new dress.

“No food fights, Ben,” I said as my grandson hurled grapes and mash potatoes.
The law practice in Wisconsin was beginning to seem relaxing. Bedtime for me was 8:00 pm, and I was taking naps with my grandson.

The day before I left I decided to make a difference. Every sheet in the house was an emblem of the stomach flu, and the clothes had gone astray while we partied and company came and went. I searched for clothes and did seven loads of laundry.

As I folded the last batch, my son said, “Is that it, Mother? Did you do it all?”

“Possibly,” I replied.

“That’s what drives me crazy about you. That’s a yes or no answer,” he said.

How was Thanksgiving Dinner? What did we eat? Dinner was great. I’m traditional. Fill in the blanks.

Things that are difficult, but not impossible, to do with one hand

- use deodorant (both pits)
- floss teeth
- wash hands
- wash dishes (given that dishwasher is available for assistance)


Things that are absolutely impossible to do with only one hand

- tie (anything)
- open plastic wrapping on anything (unless scissors are used)
- take out trash

On Sat., after finishing shoveling my walk and that of the neighbors', I slipped on the ice and broke my wrist (Colle fracture). After breaking my wrist, I went to the ER and got a splint and some percocet. Then, I promptly updated my FB status. Unfortunately, I misspelled the type of wrist fracture I have. People in medicine thought I was an idiot, for those outside of the field, I'm sure there remains little doubt.

For those who notice irony, I'm in the process of re-scheduling my ER rotations...

I went to the Orthopod today and he had to "reduce" my fracture. A "reduction" is when you cram broken bones back together and take an xray afterwards to see if the bones are lined up any better. My orthopod and I were both pleased with the results of the reduction (which hurt slightly less than the original fracture) and the lines of flow in my current xray are much more parallel and straight. My fingers also move more freely, and, in general, I am in less pain after this horrifically painful intervention.

I was proud of myself for not screaming during the reduction. I was hoping that the orthopod and his assistant would be trembling in fear that I would leap off the table and eviscerate them after the procedure, but Jill, who witnessed, said I wasn't all that fearsome except that I went extremely pale and appeared to be likely to vomit.

I had a classic "East Coast" encounter with the receptionist. Mon. morning, early I called the orthopod office and left a message explaining the situation: slipped & fell, broken wrist, ER, yadda yadda yadda. Naturally, I was ignored - I mean - why would they return *my* call? So I went to the office to try to see someone.

The receptionist *freaked out*. "You can't just walk in here! You can't just see a doctor!" I was able to convince her to allow me to make an appointment to see a doctor, but just barely, "If there were anyone else in the waiting room, I would not be allowed to schedule an appointment for you! Because of the privacy laws! This should all be handled over the telephone!" (total BS, by the way. Restricting patients from making appointments is the most ridiculous and utterly heinous mis-interpretation of HIPPA I have ever seen - AND I HAVE SEEN MANY!) Finally, this crazy lady, after noticing my splint, made me an appointment and had to reluctantly admit, "The doctor may see you today when he gets out of surgery. He does have a few slots for emergencies."

After my reduction today, I was told to make a followup for xrays in one week. I stood in front of this crazy lady's desk for a minute or two while she sighed like George Castanza and shuffled medical records back and forth. Finally I worked up my courage and said, "Can I make my follow-up appointment now, or do I have to leave the office and call you?"

It's the heart of the tax season which means Jill is working a lot and I am going to bed early and working on my blog. I fed the kids macaroni and cheese tonight - which they love. I gave them green peas for their vegetable. Ben ate two peas, which is not enough for him to get desert, but certainly enough for him to gag theatrically upon.

May told him, "You should eat your peas - anything is good as long as it has butter and salt on it!"

Ben has a new bad habit which is, even by my relatively lax standards, utterly revolting. He takes the toilet plunger and runs around the house sticking it to walls and using it to pick things up.

I told him, "Don't play with that! It's only for unclogging the toilet."

He replies, "But I want to clog the toilet!"

"You'll have to wait until you're a little bit older."

This month, I will be studying in the emergency room of Albert Einstein hospital in north Philly. I started off the month well, by showing up for a series of lectures that was cancelled. I will instead use this time to update you on the business of my children.

The big news: I have no news about my residency to report. For those of you who follow me on facebook, I will report promptly on Mar. 18th the results of the match. I interviewed at 7 places in the midwest and 2 in Philly. We'll see...

I just came of a month of GI medicine, which was fun. The fellow I was 'working' with was so nice to me, and was constantly apologizing for the hideous hours we were working. Finally I had to tell her at the end of the month, "I feel about this rotation the same way I feel about medical school: I had to wake up early and read a lot, but I learned a lot. If I had to do it all over again, I probably would." When conveying my feelings to another student, Colin, we agreed that if I had to do four more years of med school right now, we would probably not do that, but if able to travel back in time to four years ago, and pressed to make the decision to matriculate again, I probably would.

May is doing well in school and is learning a lot about penguins and math. She did something very naughty last weekend and walked all the way to the library by herself. The library is about four blocks away and she had to cross several streets to get there. Nothing happened to her and she is safe and well, but it was an important lesson to us both. Because she's a smart kid, she can do more than the average six year old, but doesn't understand the danger involved in the world; intellegent but not wise.

When I was on GI, I scored a cigar from one of my attendings. His friend, the radiologist, gave it to him after reading some CT's for us. I was given the cigar because I promised to smoke it on match day. Ben was jumping around in the kitchen the other day and saw the cigar in the freezer. He said, "Dad, what's that?" as he jumped and tried to grab it from it's resting place beside the orange juice concentrate.

"That's a disgusting habit." I told him.

Ben also asked me the other day, "What's inside of you that makes you hard?"

"Bones are the hardest part of your insides." I replied.

"I have bones in my arms, legs, and tummy." He told me.

I came upstairs after breakfast today and found Ben with Eucerin cream smeared on his chest legs and arms. He told me, "I wanted to have scars so I would look like a burglar. Then I could put on my Spiderman costume and be a spiderman-burglar. But I can't wash this off. I tried in the sink and in the toilet."

Sure enough, there was evidence to back up his assertion. I helped him smear in the moisturizer and get his spider costume on.

May was to wrapped up in reading her Scholastic book catalog until I told her, "The kitchen will close in just a few minutes, so eat your breakfast if you're still hungry."

"Okay, Kiki." She replied.

Then, after fishing her pancakes, "Look! There's nothing left on my plate but some applesauce and a schmear of butter."

I went for a run this morning and took a shower afterwards. The kids have started taking showers and I found May's sunglasses in the bottom of the bathtub. She wore them last time she took shower to keep the water from getting in her eyes. By my judgement they were only so-so at their intended purpose.

Tomorrow afternoon I leave on a whirlwind tour of midwestern medical universities that have invited me for interviews.

Here's my upcoming interview schedule

Fri Dec 4th - Mayo Clinic
Mon Dec 7th - Loyola
Tues Dec 8th - Medical College of WI
Thurs Dec 10th - Univ of Chicago
Fri Dec 11th - Rush

Jill and the kids will be sad to see me go, but this will not be for as long as my last trip.

*********************

Today I woke up in the Hilton Garden Inn in Rochester, MN. I woke up at 5:20, but was able to get back to sleep and slept until 6. Afterwards, I got up, took a shower, and got dressed. I ate breakfast at the hotel. Sitting in the restaurant in my suit, surrounded by well dressed strangers, I felt like a more homely, clumsy Donald Draper.

My interview went fine today.

Last night I told the kids that I would be studying in the university of chicago for most of november. I told them at different times.

Ben I told while we were walking back from the Forrest household, after I had fixed their computer. He didn't have much to say about it. Then he spoke up, "Look, Dad, a giant feather!" Nonplussed, I looked around. Sure enough, there was a sculpture in a yard that we were walking past that was a wire outline of what was either a curved leaf or a feather.

"Could it be a leaf?" I asked him.
"No, I don't think so." He replied; a three-year-old of absolutes.

May had a hard time going to bed last night and kept getting out of her room complaining of bad dreams. I gave her a snack, let her do some extra homework, and finally let her watch some of the first game of the world series with me. When I told her she got very upset. She cried and cried and cried. She told me, "Things are much better when there are two grown-ups around. When mommy's not at home, daddy yells alot, and when daddy's not at home 'it's going to be a bad day'." She had recovered by this morning, though, and was talking about the cadre of grandparents we've martialed to support Jill for the month.

Today Ben and I worked on cleaning up the back yard while Jill went to get her hair done.

Hello friends and blog-readers,

News of the kids:
May is in kindergarten now and it is going well. She had a rough start in that her teacher yells a lot more than she's used to grownups yelling. I take this as a complement to our parenting style. Still, I can't imagine being the only adult in a room full of five year olds and not screaming my head off all the time. I feel like I do a lot of yelling with only one five-year-old and her little brother around. May likes doing her homework so much we had a quarrel about it the other night. She was doing some workbook pages when I wanted her to do something else (clean up toys, come to dinner, go to bed, I can't remember), and she shouts back to me, "Dad, do you want me to be smart or not? I have to get this done!"

The little brother is also enjoying the pre-school program he goes to in the neighborhood. He's had some adjusting to do, but loves his teacher and her aide. He likes recess the best and his second favorite part is going on field trips (they went to an apple orchard). Last week Ben was at the local nature preserve at a class that Jill signed him up for and they got to do a butterfly hunt. Immediately, he captured a butterfly and shouted, "Teacher! Teacher! Look! I got one!" No one else in the class, adults included, caught a butterfly.

The nature class he goes to is at Palmyra Cove, a preserve beside the Delaware river. We've been there a few times, and in going there, Ben has developed a keen interest in maps. Treking in the preserve, we follow a map. Ben noticed how important the map was and insisted he carry, read, and interpret the map. Whenever he has a chance, he grabs whatever map is at hand and seeks a leadership, or at least a navigational advisory, role.

The other day we were taking the kids to the library in the wagon. They're big enough now that Jill can no longer pull them both in the wagon. Officially, the wagon was only brought to sustain those children unable to continue the march to the library. However, immediately, Ben gets into the wagon sitting in the forward facing bench seat.

"Ben, move to the other seat so I can get into the wagon." His sister requested.
"No."
"Dad, Ben won't move seats"
"Well, he was in the wagon first. Why don't you sit on the other seat." I replied.
"Oh, Ben," she says, "Do you see that spider moving up the wall of the wagon by your seat?"
"Oh, no." He replied, thoughtfully. He moves to the other seat - not frightened or nervous but ceding his place because of his sister's claim on all things related to animals, insects, or biology.

Later in the week, we were washing the kids and Ben ran down stairs after getting dried off. He said to me, "Look how clean I am. I'm ready for vacation!"

Then, on the weekend, we went to visit Grandma Tina. Next Saturday we leave for one month in Wisconsin, Chicago, and nearby locations.

Readers will know that I recently returned from Bethany Beach with the deBeers clan. It was an excellent vacation with the exception of two troubling occurrences near the end.

Firstly, Jill and I went for a run. This is not in itself a troubling occurrence, yet, after the run, Jill was sitting on the couch, cooling off and shouted, "Ew. Gross!" She had a tick on her leg. I looked at my legs and noticed that I had about 20 ticks on my legs. It was disgusting. Ticks, easily removed with tweezers - even those already latched on, are my least favorite parasite. What creeps me out so much is that they are fast, have an uncanny instinct for climbing and escape, and resist death. Mosquitoes, also an unpleasant parasite, are easy to kill and are quite content to lollygag into one's crushing palm.

Secondly, I took Ben into the ocean and got my prescription sunglasses washed off. I was holding him and went into some deeper water. Then a wave came. Unencumbered, I could have easily leaped above the crest of the wave. However, at a critical juncture I realized that I could either hold my son above the wave or lose my sunglasses. Did I make the right choice? Only time will tell.

May was playing with the girl next door, RM, and asked me. "Daddy, could you please turn on the lights in the toy room?" Then she turns with a stage whisper to RM, "If you ask him nicely, he'll do what you tell him to do." A funny story, true. Still funnier, she repeated this same routine for the baby sitter who sees her regularly. Not only has she realized this is a funny joke, she's incorporated it into her schtick and recycles it for new audiences.

May gets along well with RM, but the other day they had a quarrel. RM was using the bathroom and May came down to get me, "RM had an accident and tinkled on the floor." This is not uncommon with pets and children. I went upstairs to investigate. "OK, where did RM tinkle." "In the bathroom, on the floor."

RM is in the bathroom with the door shut and cries out, "I DIDN'T HAVE AN ACCIDENT THAT'S NOT TRUE!" Then she comes out of the bathroom and begins to rip into May as only a 4 year old can. RM is dramatic and powerful and when she yells in her house, with the windows shut, I can hear her next door. "MR. BARASCH! YOU MUST TELL MAY NOT TO TELL THINGS THAT AREN'T TRUE ABOUT ME!"

"May," This is a reasonable request. Honesty is a virtue we seek to cultivate. "I'd like both of you girls to tell each other that you'll agree to only tell the truth about each other. May, I'd like you to go first. Can you please tell RM that you will only tell the truth about her from now on?"

"I'll think about it." She replies in a perfect deadpan.

My cousin Bill, his wife Sarah, and their son Ariel visited immediately after the Beach trip. The kids were playing in the backyard and Ben was hanging between the swings on the swingset like an Olympic gymnast. He wasn't wearing a shirt and his tiny baby-muscles bulged out of his back. "Good grief! He's ripped!" exclaimed my cousin-in-law.

We are at the beach this week - NOT Long Beach, NY but instead Bethany Beach, DE. We're staying in a 3 bdrm 'cottage' with Jill's parents and the kids. We went out to dinner tonight and I had the rockfish with lemon and capers. Jill and her mom each had an excellent crabcake. The kids had chicken nuggets and mac'n'cheese. Sandy, Jill's dad, had the tuna steak with wasabi sauce. Now, I'm a big fan of sushi, but the popularity of sushi has influenced more traditional western styles of fish preparation. When I desire a western fish, I always, as did Sandy tonight, ask for my fish to be at least medium.

On the way to the restaurant, Benjamin wanted to bring his blanket, AKA "Ba-ba", into the restaurant. He told me, "I'll bring in ba-ba, unless there's a sign..." Implying that if a sign forbid bringing blankets in to the restaurant, he'd be willing to cooperate. Cooperation, however, is not high on his list. After dinner we went to Walgreens to pick up some ice cream, and Sandy made the mistake of playing with a 10" rubber bouncy Spiderman ball. Ben, despite the fact that we have the same damn ball at the cottage and at home, kept screaming, "I WANT THAT SPIDERMAN BALL!" until I carried him out of the store over my shoulder. He screamed "I WANT THAT SPIDERMAN BALL!" all the way home until I was able to distract him with trivia questions about the super heroes like, "Can spiderman fly? Can superman fly? But can superman swing from a spider-rope-made-from-webs?" When we got home the kids ate some ice cream and were hard to get into bed.

May had a special naughty trick today. After we got back from the beach, I rinsed off in the cabana and changed into my dry clothes. Unfortunately, someone had locked me into the cabana. The last few people who had been around the cabana were my daughter and my mother-in-law, so one of them must have set the hook-and-eye on the outside of the cabana door. I thought that it would be doubtful that my mother-in-law would lock me in the cabana, she wouldn't enjoy feeling guilty when I finally got out. After some cajoling, I finally got May to admit it was her who locked me into the cabana. I asked her why she did it and she told me, "I was looking upstairs and thinking about going upstairs, and at the same time my other hand was doing things with the door and then I really wanted to run upstairs and so I did."

When I was trapped in the cabana, I tried a few things. First, I kicked the door, but I didn't want to break the door or my foot, and remember, this is a cabana so I'm barefoot. Then, I tried scooting under the cabana door. This wasn't my first choice because I had just showered and changed into clean clothes. I had to lie on my back in the mud and sand at the bottom of the shower. I made it farther than I had thought possible, but got stuck on my lowest ribs - couldn't get those under the door. I heard some neighbors talking and decided to call for help. "Help! Help! I'm locked in my cabana! I'm at 33932 Monterrey Ave and I'm locked in my cabana!" Jill, who was in the shower, overheard my call for help and sent her mom to free me.

About twelve years ago, my dad, ex-step-mom, my sister, and I took a vacation in China. As I am something of a gastro-naut, I earned myself quite a few interesting stories to tell at cocktail parties. Despite my reckless eating behavior, there were a few delicacies that my sister wisely steered me away from. We referred to these eminently avoidable meals as 'wild-lunch', a phrase coined by a Japanese student who was studying with Sarah in Shanghai. Then, when something bizarre happened we prefixed our descriptor of the incident or place with 'wild-', for example, we had 'wild-toilet', 'wild-taxi', etc., etc.

El Destructo is quickly becoming the master of 'wild-toilet' as he is apt to whip out his junk and pee at any time on the slightest provocation. He went the entire day Saturday, however, without any accidents. He might have had an incident of public urination (aka 'Wild-toilet'), but if no one gets a citation and you don't have to change your clothes, I don't count it.

Today is May's last full day of school. She's made a great deal of progress this year and all the credit goes to the public school system in Collingswood. She's had great teachers who have really done a lot to help her with her hand-eye and small muscle coordination. Entering the school year, she couldn't hold a pencil in her hand. Leaving the school year, she writes, colors, and draws with pleasure and confidence.

I'm also coming to the end of a school year and am ending the year on a mixed note. I've learned a lot this year and am looking forward to next year. The year has been good for me, but I am disappointed to end the year with a performance that could have been improved upon in the Consult/Liason division of the department of psychiatry. I wish that I could say my poor performance was due to a lack of interest, but I find many of the cases fascinating. I am heartened, as always, by the memory of Dr. S's medical school evaluations and the random, subjective nature of this year of medical school.