FDNY was forgotten. Some of us will never forget.

This post by my husband about first responders being excluded from the 9/11 ceremonies at ground zero is worth sharing.


(Photo by finalcutproguru)

There had better be a really, really good reason for this, Mr. Bloomberg!

There's gotta be a better picture for this sample collection poster.

A few weeks ago I went for a check-up. I headed down to the lab and went through the normal routine — got stuck with a needle, had some blood drawn, was handed a clear plastic cup, and was directed to a small bathroom.

Upon entering, I was greeted by this lovely woman:



She's been through this before, and she knows what you need to do to make your experience successful.

I think the medical poster community missed the mark with this one. Who wants Aunt Kathy watching? "Good job sweetie, now remember to wash your hands!"

"Could you give me a moment? PLEASE?!?"

This is much more appropriate:



Or, with some creative thinking, maybe we can re-imagine the situation into something a little more pleasant:



Oh, the humor that could have been injected into this poster!



Really, though, there's only one way to right the wrong this poster committed. I know you were all thinking this already:



You're welcome, medical poster community.

It's the eyelashes that tug at my heart.

And the way that he so sweetly and gently asks me if we can move a few rows behind the others instead of staying in the "fun" splash zone at the dolphin show.



And the way he clasps his hands, thinks for a long minute,



then says something completely random in a silly voice in an attempt to make me laugh.





And the way he was genuinely concerned that we might be "bad guys" because the police pulled us over for speeding.



I'm still waiting for his Kindergarten teacher to fall in love with him. She has some superpower that enables her to resist his charms. I'm waiting for her to stop trying to push him out of her class -- not because he's disruptive (he always gets green cards, raises his hand and participates appropriately per his teacher), not because he's unteachable (he's already made huge progress with his handwriting and sits still for tasks), but because he needs help cutting around the paper bear's ears and she has a personal agenda with this pre-K program.

Thankfully, my personal agenda for him outranks hers. :)

7 years old, and what's the deal with this face?!?

My oldest turned seven last week. She got the royal treatment — not only was it her special day, but the in-laws were staying with us for the week too. It was a delicious recipe for spoiling of epic proportions.



She opted to have a smaller family party and do something(s) fun instead of having a big friend party. (Phew!) And a lot of fun was had.





But judging by a good third of the photos, you can't tell how much fun was showered upon her. Almost from the moment she stepped into her garden-themed party (her request) (thanks, dollar store!) this face began to make an appearance:



From what I can tell, she is in the midst of some sort of emotional awkward self-awareness phase. The outward appearance of it is this funny pouty face she makes when she's excited. Here it is again,



and again...



and again and again and again.







At least the scooter elicited a wider range of emotions. (We're on something like our 4th scooter, by the way. Those things fall apart way too easily!)





Apparently the scooter was a bit scary, too.

After the party, we walked down to the lake and skipped rocks.









And then the next day, we went to do her fun thing of choice — Six Flags Discovery Kingdom. If you've never been, it's a great park. It's a hybrid between an amusement park and a sea world or a zoo. There are all kinds of animal shows as well as the typical roller coasters of a major theme park.













After the park, we took my daughter out to her favorite restaurant. (Totally spoiled, I know!)

What did we get when the accommodating staff brought her some ice cream and sang to her?



The face.



She's excited and happy, I promise!

To be fair, there were a good number of non-pouty photos:







Wonder where he learned that camera face!







This is me threatening a certain person. "I WILL turn this cake around if you use the camera as an excuse not to sing to your daughter again!"










Happy birthday, kiddo! What a huge blessing you (and your brothers) have been, from the very beginning. I love you!

Grandpa's Nazi Germany pictures

My grandfather on my dad's side was a missionary in pre-war Germany. His pictures from the era are fascinating and emotional and scary.

















After his time in Germany he came back to the states. From what I understand, he was unable to salute correctly because of a broken finger, so he was not allowed to be a soldier. He contributed to the war effort by working as a general contractor in a shipyard in California. He was a well-liked man who was easily taken advantage of business-wise from time to time.

Once he got in trouble for insisting on promoting a black man at the shipyard. Action was taken against him, from the military, I believe. I'm not sure — I'll have to pick my father's brain. But I do know that his fellow employees signed a petition protesting the actions taken against him for the promotion, and we have that document somewhere in the family archives.



As a side point of interest, his father and brother were general contractors as well. They worked in the building industry back when excavating a basement involved a team of horses. My grandfather built the first Mirage motel. Eventually the name was sold to the current casino.


(I'm not sure where this photo was taken.)

I remember one evening when I was 7 or 8 years old, sitting in our t.v. room with my mom. We were watching a show on one of the few stations we were able to get reception for — probably The Dukes of Hazzard. We were in a room with a long row of windows on two sides, black and reflecting the flashes from the television.

I can see the silhouette of my dad standing at the room's opening, telling my mom that his dad had passed away. There was very little drama about the passing. At least, not that I perceived.



I remember seeing him in his coffin, the first dead person I had ever been exposed to. I remember thinking how unlike him the body looked. It felt like I was looking at a different person entirely. I seemed to intuitively understand that he was not there — that he had gone elsewhere, and this was just the shell that his spirit had inhabited. I wondered where he was and what he was doing with his spirit self.



I wish I had known my grandfather better. His experiences fascinate me. History fascinates me. Maybe sometime I'll understand where he is and I'll sit down and have a conversation with him about his life.