A new sheriff in town

Sorry, folks. You've seen your last karate-kicking chimpanzee for awhile.

Yes, you read the last post correctly: I'm taking over the blog. For a year and a half now, Joel has dutifully signed my name to the end of the each post but in reality, he was really the man behind the curtain. Yes, I did the fact-checking (he tries but I'm better remembering all the details) and editing but the magic was really all his. 

And the truth is, the blog is Joel's baby (besides Hope and Lulu, of course). He'll probably hate that I'm sharing this but he spends HOURS lovingly crafting videos of Hope as Godzilla or the night Lulu eating Hope's hearing aids (one of my favorites; I still laugh thinking of that steam coming out of Hope's ears). The writing part only takes Joel about 15 minutes but it's the videos that he puts so much effort in. And he's so good at it.

But now it's my turn. So, fellow bloggers & readers, here's what you can expect from me for at least the month (or until Joel goes nuts and is dying to put together some whacky video on Hope on "Dancing with the Stars" or a Lulu western. I'm sure there's some footage out there with chimpanzees in cowboy hats and holsters): 

1. More basic details & milestones: I laugh sometimes when Joel writes long, windy posts about Billy from Family Circle and how it helped shape his cynicism (or something like that) but fails to mentions that Hope has two teeth now, is almost waving, hit the 18-month mark last Friday and just transitioned from home therapy to all school-based therapy.  I think there's nothing wrong or boring about sharing the basics. I want to share more of those because they may be small beans to some people but they're huge to us.

2. A mother's point of view: Let's face it. Moms and Dads approach things differently. I realized that once again when Joel's family came to visit two weeks ago. I spent days cleaning, washing sheets, scrubbing the floors and menu-planning. Joel put the newspaper in the recycling bin the day before they arrived and his work was complete. Anyhow, I'm excited that I get to share my thoughts on things.

3. More of a dialogue: I'd like to create a little more give-and-take with this blog while I'm in charge. I follow a lot of other families who have children with CdLS and I love the posts where someone poses a question about a situation or circumstance and wants feedback from readers. I like that.

4. Less videos: Sorry! I wish I was a video mastermind but I'm not. I'm going to learn how to make my own, soon, so maybe I will post some. Who knows.

5. Honesty: I hate sugar-coating things. Maybe it's my Midwestern background. But I promise to be straight with you all about what's really happening, warts and all. 

Well, I think that's it. I'm really excited to be taking things over for awhile. I think one of the biggest challenges for me will probably be posting regularly but I'll do my best.

Thanks for following and hold on for the ride! Hee haw (imagine chimpanzee in cowboy hat here)!

Billy's taking charge

I learned cynicism at a very early age from, of all places, "The Family Circus." 

Even as a 7 year-old, I found it maudlin, repetitive and ripe for ridicule. Every day, the single-panel comic strip had the same plot contrivances: Grape soda is spilled, all the kids say "Not Me" and a smirking ghost named "Not Me" sneaks away; dorky Dad asks Billy to run a simple errand and he walks around the house, jumps on the bed, eats cookies and completes a labyrinthine circuit before, 45 minutes later, takes out the trash; bratty Dolly tattles on Jeffy for a mild transgression like praying with his eyes open; and one of the kids asks an aw-shucks, so cute-it's poignant question.

There's also my favorite: Artist/dork Dad goes on vacation and leaves 8-year-old Billy in charge. He draws crude cartoons that make his father and mom look like Do-Do birds. It was the redeeming feature of the strip for me -- an anarchic, Kids Rule the Roost takedown of The Man -- until I realized the Billy had been 8 for three years, his drawing never improved and the artist, Bill Keane, was pulling a fast one on impressionable minds.

Thirty years later, I'm pulling my own "Family Circus" routine, but this time, it's legit. I am going on a blogging vacation for at least a month, and Mo is taking over. For 18 months, the division of labor on the blog has been thus: I write 'em; she edits 'em, hectoring me until I tone down the over-the-top metaphors and -- horror of horrors -- get my facts straight. Usually, I complain, scream, stomp my feet in protest and relent. After five-plus years, I am beginning to learn a few things about marriage.

Mostly, I'm eager for a break from the computer and want to enjoy the sunshine. But I want to keep the blog going and feel I haven't maintained the quality or quantity I'd like in the past few months.

I am excited to share the wealth. Mo is a great writer, quite funny and spins a good yarn without resorting to obscure pop-culture references. She has a perspective that I, as a knuckle-dragging, hard-salami-eating male, lack. Plus, let's face it, after 18 months anything could use some new blood. After a while, I acknowledge some of my posts so verged toward self-parody that they nearly read like Mad Libs.

_____________ (Outdated saying), Hope is _______ (verb ending in 'ing') her pacifier with the vigor of ________ ('70s TV show star) cruising with  Herbie the Love Bug or _________ (Cold War figure) banging his _______ (article of clothing) on ________ (piece of furniture.)

So no more ado. I'm eager for Big Mo to get started. And remember: The dorkwad dad in "Family Circus" always came back.

Out of time

Mo's mother is so continually behind in her reading that she carries an ever-expanding sack of old newspapers. Not only does she never catch up, but with each passing day, she falls further behind, prompting some weird time-space continuum moments and great fodder for teasing.

"Shhhhhh. Don't tell Clem that 'Falcon Crest' went off the air." "How are you preparing for  Y2k?" "I dunno why, but something tells me this whippersnapper Ronald Reagan has a shot at the White House."

Well, hardy har har. Suddenly, I can relate, as time becomes an ever-shrinking commodity and it takes me until midnight to complete a month-old collage on Easter. At this rate, I'll be putting the finishing touches on my "Sister and Mom Come to Town" video by Columbus  Day.

Back on the radio

The frequency was fuzzy. We kept fiddling and diddling with the dial, jiggling crumbled aluminum foil over the broken antenna. But we're back on the radio.

Few things in life are more boring that blogs about the lack of blogs, so we'll spare the gory details. The long answer involves a not-as-swift-as-it-seems-on-TV conversion from Windows to a Mac, Lulu eating our homework and a strange cat who popped on our doorstep and promised three magical wishes but instead gave us powerful lesson on love.

OK. We're making the last one up. The short answer is, as they say in the news business, no news is good news. As most with blogs know, the longer you go without posting, the easier it is for the urge to post to atrophy.

And the truth is, things are going pretty well. Hopesy kicked her cold, she's been a terrific mood, laughing at everything and nothing and infecting us with her giddy enthusiasm for the same. My dear ol' Mom, lovely sister and suddenly-stronger-than-me-and-it's-scary tween nephew visited as well,  giving us another excuse to avoid the blog like a bacon-chomping tourist back from Mexico.

We'll get better in May. We promise. Unless the sun starts shining or something.

The Impostor

The Impostor has left. We don't know who she was. We never did get a ransom note. But we're happy she stopped wearing Hope's clothes, slurping her Pediasure and soiling her diapers.

It was a strange, creepy trick, not unlike whoozit -- Beelzebub? -- and Regan MacNeil in "The Exorcist." We figure the Impostor must've pulled the switcheroo somewhere in Cleveland, giving Hope the heave-ho and pulling the doppelganger routine on us.

We know it couldn't have been our happy-go-lucky, inquisitive, curiously-obsessed-with-buttons-and-zippers-fussbudget. The Impostor cried a lot, didn't seem to care about much besides sleeping and generally seemed aloof and miserable.

After two weeks of dealing with the no-goodnik, we were happy to show her the door and welcome back the kid who laughs uproariously when we put a pair of way-too-big glasses on her face. We dig her. She's mostly all the way back now, although the Impostor has been seen lurking in the driveway, tossing dice and muttering under her breath.

It was a rough go for a while, dealing with the Impostor. But Hope had it far worse, dealing as she was with whatever it was for two weeks. The fog lifted slowly, but it's been sweet and nice to be reacquainted with our happy girl. We missed her a lot.

Jiggity jig

We're back. Hope was released from the hospital mid-day Tuesday. After a week doing her best imitation of wet laundry, Hope has perked up. She's eating again, plays with her toys and isn't sleeping away the day. 

We're happy campers. But mostly tired. For a place that is dull as dirt, the hospital sure can be exhausting.

Yuck face

We're now into Day Six of the "Whatever It It, It's Sure Got Her Sick" mini-crisis, hopeful for some serious, double-whammy, reverse-mojo "announce it on the blog and the opposite is sure to happen" luck.

After waffling, we took Hopesy to the Emergency Room about 3 a.m. Wednesday. She stayed for about 10 hours, felt a little better, and has since settled into her new, troublesome routine: Serious lethargy, a lot of sleeping, little if no appetite and the all around blahs.

Poor Mo has called the doctor about six times, we went back to the hospital Friday afternoon for blood work and are trying our darndest to avoid dehydration. But it seems like Hope is stuck in a bit of a vicious cycle: The more she feels bad, the less she eats, the less she eats ...

We're hoping it'll run its course soon. Some nasty stomach thing has been making the rounds that usually lasts about 48 hours. With her, we double that and cross our fingers. The docs say she should emerge by the end of the weekend. Still, we fret and worry. It's tough seeing our little spitfire mope around like a sack o' moldy potatoes.

Update: Hope went back to the ER on Saturday afternoon, not long after my lame attempt at harnessing the reverse mojo of the blog failed miserably. She was admitted late Saturday night and probably will be here at least another day or so.