High Intensity, Short Duration

On July 8th, I'll be running in the Mad Marathon to help raise money for a Vermont-based non-profit, Hannah's House. Located in the Mad River Valley, Hannah's House is dedicated to the cause of helping individuals and families with emotional disorders. Please help me support this very important and worthy cause. Any amount is appreciated. For more info or to make a pledge, you can visit: 

http://www.crowdrise.com/teamhannahshouse/fundraiser/dennisteravainen

Paging George Glass

THE WIFE just volunteered to take all three kids to the supermarket so that I could write.  I better get to work before she drives the F.U.V. through our living room because I’d probably do that after an hour of grocery shopping with our three little ones along for the ride.  She’s a saint and slightly insane for being such a trooper.  Without further ado…

I suppose there is a certain credence to Jan Brady’s “Marcia, Marcia, Marcia” rant.  The oldest sibling gets to wear the clothes when they’re brand new.  Photo albums of the oldest as a baby are probably ten times bigger than that of their younger siblings.  The big sister or brother is the one who breaks the ice for mom and dad on almost all of the monumental “firsts” in a small child’s life.  Thinking back, Marcia did seem to get more plot lines written into episodes compared to Jan.  (The only episode I really ever remember centering around Jan was the one about her fabricated boyfriend, which I think was the same one when she got her glasses if I recall correctly.)  Anyway, you get my drift.

More to the point, Tilly is due for some well-deserved attention in the blog before we move on to her older two siblings.

The little Beverly Tillbilly just turned four months old.  She is chubbier than a pregnant Jessica Simpson.  I can’t even count the number of folds in her chunky quadriceps.  You’ve heard of double chins, correct?  She’s got about thirteen.  It’s foolish to resist kissing her beautiful puffy cheeks.  Her smile is so contagious, it melts me even if I’m seeing that grin at four in the morning during the (now only occasional) squawk for a binky.  Did I mention she’s a little chunker?

As for milestones, Tilly’s begun to do the rotation thing where you leave her laying in the crib at the six o’clock position and when you see her next, she’s at quarter of three.  She’s also starting to do a half-crunch where she pulls her body up and forward from her bouncy seat to reach for something dangling in front of her but isn’t quite strong enough yet to hold the pose and falls back.  She laughs a lot, especially when Greta feels like getting her going.  THE WIFE announced we are starting with cereal this week.  And the best part about our little lady?  She doesn’t talk back or whine.

As for number two, the G-man had tubes put into his ears a few weeks back.  Although he hasn’t had ear infections, his inner ear canals are so little that secretions have nowhere to go so they were accumulating and hardening.  The obstructions were impairing his hearing and possibly his balance, which in turn made speech and walking more difficult.

Since Gus was going to be under anesthesia, the doctors took the opportunity to look in his throat and see if anything was present that may be contributing to his swallowing problem.  (We’re still thickening his fluids so they go down the belly pipe, not the wind pipe.)  They also decided to take tissue samples to rule out any digestive disorders.

Long story short, the procedures were a total success.  The tubes went in without issue.  The doctors removed a bunch of ear gunk.  They saw nothing in Gus’ throat, so we are left to presume that the swallowing issue is most likely due to his lower muscle tone that we are confident will improve as he continues to grow and strengthen with age.

As for Gusto’s milestones, he’s scoring little victories every day.  His vocabulary is slowly but surely increasing.  He’s signing more and waving a lot - especially to passers-by our house as we eat our dinner.

The Lion’s walking is getting better and further every day, too.  Basically, he’ll step from point A to wherever you are waiting with arms open, except he likes to lunge forward when he’s close enough rather than taking that last extra step or two.  It’s a bit terrifying but also exhilarating to watch. 

THE WIFE and I are a bit obsessed with getting Gus to walk between the two of us when the opportunity arises.  We clap and cheer when he’s made a trip successfully.  But we love it even more when we’re not paying attention and suddenly we see him walking without our help like a drunken sailor wobbily negotiating each step until he just suddenly plunks down on his bum.  Baby steps, literally and figuratively, keep us and him going every day.  He rocks.

As for the queen of our trifecta, Greta never ceases to amaze us with her ever evolving personality and interests.  At the same time, she drives THE WIFE and me towards the brink of temporary insanity with her near constant attempts at testing our patience.  I’d say Greta is kind of like a werewolf with a lunar calendar that changes by the minute. 

In the wonderful moments that make me want to hug her forever with love, Gigi walks around on her tippy toes, with no pants on, and humming happy hums, while wearing a tiara and several band aids.  She will suddenly declare that her name is not Greta but Rapunzel and address you as “mother” regardless of your gender.  Or she may announce matter-of-factly that tonight after dinner, she is having ice cream or Reese’s.  Or she may excuse herself from the dinner table because she needs to check on one of her dolls who’s in the middle of a nap.  The list is endless.

By contrast, in those moments when I wonder if convents or nunneries still exist, Greta would be the sweetest girl in the universe only three minutes prior.  But then out of nowhere, a full moon has arrived, and so has a werewolf that was previously my daughter.

For example, just getting the little fashionista dressed is now a major effort.  I fought with her for twenty minutes one morning this week to agree on a shirt that matched her green skirt and pink belt.  I held up a tee.  “No.”  I held up a long sleeve.   “Noooo, Daddy.”  I held up a hoodie.  Annoyed and resistant, she cocked her head to the side and shrugged the corresponding shoulder towards the ear while rejecting my suggestion and stomping around her bedroom.  I was caught up in the moment of debating with a three year-old about how red and pink kind of clash when it suddenly dawned on me how foolish I sounded.  I just threw up my hands and left the room.  By then, I didn’t care if she wore a Fubu parka or a Hampton Beach 1986 neon mesh half shirt, so long as something covered her upper body. 

And just like that, the full moon waned and my precious sweetheart appeared again, asking if we can go “at” the swings today.  Then, she pirouetted and skipped out of the room in her plastic heeled slippers asking mommy to put a braid in her hair, which is Greta’s new go-to look for the summer incidentally.

That about brings you all up to speed on the peanuts.  I think the minivan just came to a screeching halt in the driveway so I better go.  Peace.

Living Gracefully

Happy Mother's Day to all moms out there.  Special wishes to my mom, my mother-in-law, and of course my babies' mommy.  Hope all of you have a nice day this Sunday.

I've been meaning to write a little something special for my grandmother Grace Teravainen.  She passed away at the end of March this year.  The Mother's Day holiday was an appropriate moment to reflect about her.

~~~~

Her hands.  As much as she loved to brag about her legs, I'll always remember those hands.  Soft and delicate veins protruded like tiny raised branches from the wrists to her fingers.  I remember sitting next to her at mass and staring at the rosary bead entwined in her hand, while thinking I wasn't praying enough.

I loved holding Grandma's hand, especially if she was feeling cold - which was often - because she would rub my arm and marvel loudly about how warm I could possibly be.  I liked when she would place her arm in the crook of my own.  Sometimes when she stood next to me or another loved one, Grandma might just rub one of our backs gently as we observed the family card game or whatever other craziness we were witnessing together.

But don't let those tender images deceive you.  Grandma Grace wasn't afraid to give you an unexpected arm grab or jabbing poke in the side with one of those bony fingers if she wanted your attention, along with a comment that sounded something like "hay-eee."  I recall those grabs and pokes affectionately.

Grace Triano came from a large Italian-American family that included many siblings, which wasn't unusual back in that time.  The photographs of her as a bride when she married my grandfather Allan prove that she was a stunning young woman on her wedding day.  She was attractive through her senior years as well.

Grace and Allan tragically lost their first son when he was two years old, though they eventually brought four more boys - the third being my dad - into their world otherwise known as Brooklyn.  Based on the many family stories I've heard over the years, I picture a home with four wild animals running around wreaking havoc on furniture and each other's body parts as my grandmother ran closely behind cleaning, tucking the boys' shirts back into their pants, and refereeing by force when necessary.  No wonder those legs got so strong!

When finances at home got tight, my grandmother went to work at a bank where she remained for many years.  So not only did she bring bacon home, but she cooked it too.

And cook she did.  The moments waiting for dinner in her Ocean Avenue apartment were practically torture because it smelled so good and I wanted to eat so bad.  As an Italian, of course her gravy was delicious.  Manicotti was one of her specialties.  But her sesame seed cookies, piled between layers of wax paper in a circular tin, will always be my favorite.

My grandfather passed away when my dad was still in college.  After Grandma's boys became men and started families of their own, she remained in Brooklyn where she lived and worked without ever acquiring a driver's license.

After Grace survived a scary break-in of her home, her boys agreed it was best for her to move somewhere safer.  She eventually moved to Rochester near my youngest uncle's family.  She developed a close and special relationship with my aunt and cousins during her remaining years there, while maintaining close ties to all of her twelve grandchildren.

Grandma always sent a gift or a card on birthdays or special occasions, in which many of the printed words of love were underlined and followed by a thoughtfully sweet message.  Despite the distance between our residences, she visited during holidays and other events every year.  She came to Vermont for my college graduation and Boston for law school.  In fact, I still have the card she gave me back then which is vintage Grandma.

"God has blessed me with wonderful sons and lovely grandchildren.  And strong legs."  Classic.  She also surprised me with a generous gift that she somehow saved to give on special occasions for all of her grandkids.

I made a visit to Grace in Rochester one time and we caught up in her kitchen.  She proposed that we have a drink and directed me to her spare bedroom closet where she stashed some hard stuff.  She told me to make one of those cocktails I made for her at Rasputin's.  "A sex-on-the-beach, Grandma?" I asked caught off guard.  "Is that what it's called?" she replied chuckling.  That moment makes me smile.

Grandma and my family members share many of the same interests, which is probably not a coincidence.  She was an avid reader and an enthusiastic world traveler.  She loved a game of cards.  ("I could spit," she would say if dealt a bad hand.)  She liked to chat and tell stories.  But most of all, she just loved her family.

All of her descendants (even her oldest great-grandchild appropriately named Grace Teravainen) have many special memories and stories about our fabled matriarch.  However, Grandma's most enduring legacy will be the bond that she fostered among her four surviving sons and their families.  While it may be uncommon to some, our tribe of misfits by blood and marriage who live all over the country invent all sorts of excuses to get together as frequently as possible.  When we are under the same roof (or large tent for that matter) for whatever the occasion, it's a chaotic, hilarious, and euphoric party full of love.

Grandma, thank you for your role in laying the foundation for this wonderful family in which I've been so fortunate to belong.  As my father said after your passing, I hope that you are enjoying your seat at the celestial table where the best card game around is happening.  We will miss you and love you always.  A la familia.

~~~~

For a little tidbit of the Triano side of my family, I blogged about our annual reunion in 2009 here: http://waitingforbabyt.blogspot.com/2009/07/reunited-and-it-feels-so-good.html.

One More While We're At It

I hijacked this from my pal MDP's FB status...

I am overwhelmed by the the generosity of my friends -- THANK YOU to everyone who has donated so far and for all the kind words and encouragement! It means so much to me...

This September I will be walking in the MS Walk: Cape Cod Challenge Walk 2012 for hope that we can win this fight against MS! I will be walking 50 miles over 3 days. I chose to walk for those who sometimes can’t. The funds raised from the MS Challenge Walk will not only support research to help create a world free of Multiple Sclerosis, but also provide programs which address the needs of hundreds of thousands of people living with MS right now. I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis in March 2006. I just passed my 6 year anniversary and I am fortunate that my diagnosis has been mostly positive and I am living a happy and healthy life with MS. There are many others, however, who are not as fortunate and struggle with their daily lives because of this disease. The progress, severity, and specific symptoms of MS are unpredictable and vary from one person to another. Today, new treatments and advances in research are giving new hope to the 400,000 Americans and 2.5 million people worldwide who are affected by this disease. The definite cause of MS is unknown and there is no cure.

I am humbly asking for a donation to help this cause that is so close to my heart. Any amount, great or small, helps to make a difference in the lives of people with MS. You can make a donation online - just click on my personal webpage listed below.

If you would like any information on doing this walk with me, please feel free to email me! I appreciate all your love and support and thank you from the bottom of my heart!!


Go to here to check it out:  http://main.nationalmssociety.org

Three Worthy Causes

From time to time, we like to advertise charity events that are near and dear to our family and friends.  If you want to publicize anything important to you, just let us know and we're happy to help.

Today, we have three great events to announce.  Here they are, in date order...

June 25, 2012 - D.A.D.S. (Dads Appreciating Down Syndrome) Golf Tournament at Easton Country Club.  Last year, my group of guys was one of the largest to attend.  The tourney was a great success and one of the best fundraisers for D.A.D.S. in 2011.  We would love to have you on the course for 2012 whether you are a ringer or a hack such as myself.  Fellow worker bees, keep in mind that this is on a Monday - a great day to catch a sudden cold.

Click here to access the registration form: http://www.dadsmass.org/.

July 8, 2012 - Hannah's House fundraiser at the Mad River Marathon in Vermont.  Don't worry, you don't have to run a full marathon if you don't want to.  In fact, you don't have to run at all.  Volunteers and/or donors are welcome.

The T family ventured up north to take in the event from the Martell headquarters last summer.  Looks like  we're taking the F.U.V. to shoot the gap and make an encore trip.

Click here to find out how you can participate in the fundraiser: http://go.madmimi.com/.

Click here to learn more about Hannah's House: www.hannahshousevt.com.

August 12, 2012 - MDSC New Balance Falmouth Road Race in Cape Cod.  Gus' physical therapist and good buddy Kristie has totally surprised us with her announcement that she will be running to raise money for Massachusetts Down Syndrome Congress in August's honor.  How amazing is that!?  Please make a contribution to support Kristie's efforts.

Click here to check it out: http://mdsc.kintera.org/.

Thanks everybody.

Another Hodgepodge

Snooze, You Lose

Like an endangered species or glaciers in Greenland, Greta’s nap is sadly but naturally dissipating into extinction.  Back in the day, she used to crush a one to two hour morning siesta, wake up with a yawn for lunch, then Rip Van Winkle for another three hours before rousing for dinner, followed by a bath, and then sleep for the night from eight to seven.  Now, we’re only getting an hour or two every few days.  Oh well, we had a good run.

Before kids, I never realized the multiple values of a nap.  When we only had Gigi, the siesta break was a time to relax, do chores, or otherwise restore our sanity.  Gus’ arrival didn’t change the routine too much because his sleep schedule eventually mirrored Greta’s.  Once THE WIFE and I got outnumbered with Tilly's arrival, though, all hell seems to have broken loose in our afternoon routines.

Like anyone in a union who needs that precious 15-minute coffee break at 9 a.m. come hell or high water, THE WIFE and I need that effing nap for our kids after lunch.  Hell, I think schools should allow smoking in their teacher’s lounges again for an afternoon smoke after the crap they must put up with in a typical day.  I have never smoked nor do I have an interest, but there are days with the kids when I imagine sucking back on a Pall Mall is probably a more relaxing alternative than trying to herd three kids through a meal, diaper/potty break, and/or an outfit change.

The other major drawback for the loss of a nap is the effect it has on the back end of our day.  By the time our family dinners are coming to a close, I've inevitably had a passionate debate with Greta where I've argued seriously about why she needs to wear pants and underwear during a meal.  When the house is finally quiet and I'm sitting on the couch drinking our nightly box of white zin, I'll look back and think "Did I really have that argument with Greta?"  

At least Gus and Tills are still napping.

FCC at The House of T

As most everyone knows – or at least I like to think so – one of my few  talents in life is making mix tapes (now known as “playlists” for those born after 1990.)  My newest mix  “R.I.P. Fishy T” is possibly one of the best I’ve ever constructed. 

The opening song, though, is one that may not actually be appropriate for the children.  The song is “Young, Wild & Free” by Wiz Khalifa and the immortal Snoop Dogg.  You’ve probably heard it on 94.5 or Kiss 108 on the Boston dials.  I think Providence’s equivalent is like Hot 96 or something like that.

Anyway, the hook is super catchy.  (The little piano riff is a bit reminiscent of “Damn It Feels Good to be a Gangsta”  by Geto Boys and memorable for the scene in Office Space when they take a bat to the printer.)  But the lyrics are, well, not exactly sending a message I want imparted in any of our kids’ minds.  Here’s a sample and by the way, I feel extremely white writing this so just imagine I’m speaking in a voice like Carlton from Fresh Prince.

So what we get drunk.

So what we smoke weed…

Roll one.  Smoke one. 

When you live like this you’re supposed to party.

Roll one.  Smoke one.  And we all just having fun.

On a scale of inappropriate parenting with one being say, giving a child an M&M, and ten just being Kate Gosselin or the Kardashians’ mother, where do THE WIFE and I stand with this one if we allow the song to remain?  Have I finally transitioned to super unhip dad if I delete this from the killer playlist?  Or am I simply just doing what one of the Real Housewives neglect to do with their own children who are doomed to grow up screwed up? 

For the time being, I’m keeping the playlist intact and taking the poor parenting points.  When the song comes on, THE WIFE and I start singing in make pretend Vietnamese loud enough to drown out the objectionable lyrics.  We let the innocent parts play uncensored.  The minute we hear Greta singing about rolling one, then I suppose we’ll have to implement a Taliban rule of order indefinitely on the music front.

The First Ever Guest Blog Post, by Kristen Frazier

Foreward: Kristen lives in Duxbury with her husband and their two boys. She and THE WIFE go all the way back to the third grade. She writes the same way that she talks: rapid fire funny, so pay attention and you won't miss anything.

When my friend Den asked me to guest write on his blog, I think it’s safe to say I peed a little … well maybe a lot, but in defense of myself I was 8 weeks postpartum … and you know … stuff was going on … down there. Dennis' blog is my favorite weekly read, second only to Us Weekly but I mean, that’s my bible…and primary news source. His blog as you all know is witty, eloquent, honest and insightful. But by far my favorite part of his writing is his ability to completely capture his wife, one of my best friends "since the third grade" Michelle. Shell, Shelly, Shelly with the Smelly Belly, Cooney-bird … you catch my drift.

To say he "gets" her is a vast understatement and I appreciate that more than he will ever know. She is real, quirky, fun, and dramatic … in a physical sort of way ... think Elaine from Seinfeld. You might want to steer clear if you have something shocking to tell her, she will push you over shouting "Shut up.” Or if you dare to tell her something she finds amusing she shouts, "Stop! NO! I Can't, I Can't.” To know her is to love her and he does and he DOES. And I in turn love that about him. He is the guy you hope your best friend marries. He had me at - well, he had me at that atlas in his back pocket at a 30th birthday party. Yes Jess, the one you got carried out of - Jess is a code name by the way - for Jessica C*nn. Anyway, I digress.

Not long after I first met him we were at a party and he and his best friend would periodically whip an atlas out of their back pockets to quiz each other on world geography. Having been a secret member of the nerd herd for years, I was a smitten kitten. The rest is history, and three kids later … nicely played Den, nicely played. Your wife, your best decision to date, but hey, I might be biased.

So 8 weeks postpartum and I was feeling like I hit the literary lottery. Guest blog … duh, I would be honored, let me get right on that. I mean, this was my second kid, veteran mom, right? Old hat. Except, no.

In the 5 years since I had my last baby, there was a whole new world of verbiage I had to get down. For example, now I had to stock my nursery with the Wubanub (pacifier attached to a stuffed animal), Swaddle me (straight jacket), Woombie (more intense straight jacket), Taggie (what it sounds like), Sophie the giraffe (can we call it what it is, a dog toy?) and the Hooter Hider. Hide the Hooters? I used to flash the hooters, now I gotta hide them? Sadly, yes. They no longer warrant flashing.

What happened to the simplistic parenting of yester year? You've all heard the stories. Your grandmother used a drawer for a bassinet. There was no sleep sack. Blankets were warm, probably hand knit by Nana, and not a suffocation probability. Car seat? Hell no. They put you in a bucket that would slide across the bench-like back seat of the Pontiac. No worries. Now us moms hear of a friend who faced her car seat around before the one year mark and we all “tsk tsk” and shake heads. And, the car seat’s not even approved by Consumer Report. The horror! I know, I know, it’s two years now. Got it.

What have we done as modern day parents? Or more specifically, as modern day moms? Things are complicated. Are we are own worst enemies? Channeling Carrie Bradshaw in a mommy sort of way here, but the question remains, when did things get so complicated?

For example, I'm a scrapbooker. There. I said it. Wow, that was liberating. On a cool scale, it's about a negative 5, but I actually happen to enjoy it. Or I did, until baby number two came along, when I realized that Dylan had 12, yes 12 scrapbooks and now, Grayson would require 12, yes 12 scrapbooks by age 5 to keep it equal. That’s a lot of scrapping pressure. Not to mention the narcissism. Must we capture every first? First smile, first food, first piddle on the potty. I'm pretty sure my mom bronzed a shoe, snipped a lock of hair, stuffed it in my baby book, and called it a day. Simple right?

Now you've got to scrapbook, schedule play dates, feed your kids organically, make sure your kid knows at least a few words of a foreign language (while you pretend he did not in fact learn those words from Dora), and so on and so on. Lord help you if you are not training for a triathlon in the interim. Two words not in our moms’ vocabulary, Book Club. And in these days, it's so easy to spot the moms who are falling apart, busting at the seams. Those are the moms whose diaper bags are now doubling as their pocket book - gasp - from the crowd.

So, why? Why not keep it simple stupid? I mean, I grew up on Little Debbie snack cakes and I'm mostly ok. I said mostly, I know this isn't an anonymous post. Well, I guess it’s because our generation of moms … we know better. We want better. We are educated moms who truly want the best for our children, while still having a life of our own. We want our kids to have the best and we want to know we did our best. At the end of the day, we all want to lay our head down on the pillow, sans Ambien, Xanax, or wine, and hope, hope we are not screwing these kids up too bad.

Sorry about throwing you under the bus Jess. I was just jealous you were light enough to get carried out! That marathon training does wonders…..