I first heard it maybe two months ago, whispered so quietly it was gone before I even could ponder what I had heard. And it continued like that for the next couple of weeks; Isabelle and I would be doing our thing .... running errands, playing, going for a walk, and it would happen. I would think I had heard it, but then it would be gone, and she would be looking at me all clear and bright, as if to say, "What, Mom? What's your deal?" Then one day, as she pointed out a "jet trail" left by a plane in the sky, I was sure. I had to ask.
"What is 'Medagoopus?'"
Of course, Isabelle could not really give me a straight answer, but by then I had mostly figured it out for myself. As near as I can deduce it has several meanings for Isabelle, but in general it is a term used to express happiness, surprise and joy. In the jet trail example, for instance, she pointed into the sky and exclaimed, "Oh, medagoopus," as if to say "Look, Mom, how cool!" (why she couldn't just say that, I am not sure, but that just would not be Isabelle, now would it?). As a former English major, I confess I find it rather amusing to see my child experiment with the English language to the point of creating her own fun words and even more entertaining to watch her put it into use. Such as:
"Ooooo Medagoopus!" (pointing out the train chugging down the tracks on the way to preschool one Wednesday morning.)
"medagoopus, medagoopus, medagoopus,medagooopus, medagoopus, medagoopus, medagoopus, medagoopus, medagoopus, etc." (chanted mantra-like under her breath as she plays with her new princess castle from Easter, smiling happily.)
"MEDAGOOOOOOOPUS!!!" (yelled like a Scotsman out of "Braveheart" as she tears across the living room in a run, just to see how fast she can go.)
I seem to recall her having her own unique happy sound when she was younger as well, although sadly what it was is escaping me at the moment (which is exactly why I should write everything down!) but, regardless, I can say for certain my daughter is her own unique being! With all seriousness though I adore Isabelle's childish exuberance and zest and the fact that she is so happy sometimes she actually makes up a word to try and express it.
And she might be on to something. Standing outside my house this past Saturday, filling my lungs with clean spring air and raising my face to the warm sun the word, "Medagoopus" flitted across my brain. Suddenly, I was grinning.
Monday, April 20, 2009
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Two and Counting
Well, I for one am happy to eat a little humble pie. Mr. Osgood is looking like his old self in the first two games of the playoffs, displaying none of the wishy-washy goal-tending that was all too often present during the regular season. He was especially wonderful in the game last night where he posted a beautiful shutout against the Columbus Blue Jackets giving the Wings a comfortable two game lead going into their third game on Tuesday night. Yes, this Red Wings fan is very happy, indeed. (Although, it does beg the question of if Chris Osgood can be this fantastic come playoffs then why wasn't he playing better the rest of the season? Does he just need the excitement of the playoffs?)
Nonetheless, I am heartily content with the effort the defense has put forth thus far as well, especially in regards to cutting down on turnovers. And was anyone watching Datsuk and all of the hits he was delivering? Not too bad for a forward, huh? And they say European players won't fight? Now, we just have to stay focused and keep coming at them hard as I do not expect Columbus to just roll over. On to Game Three. Go Wings!
Nonetheless, I am heartily content with the effort the defense has put forth thus far as well, especially in regards to cutting down on turnovers. And was anyone watching Datsuk and all of the hits he was delivering? Not too bad for a forward, huh? And they say European players won't fight? Now, we just have to stay focused and keep coming at them hard as I do not expect Columbus to just roll over. On to Game Three. Go Wings!
Thursday, April 16, 2009
Quest for the Cup
So, it is upon us once more: another glorious Stanley Cup playoff series in which the Red Wings will begin their quest for another title. Watching "Pardon the Interruption" on ESPN the other day, I was somewhat surprised to hear Barry Melrose pick the Wings to repeat and win the Cup (surprised in that Melrose is not typically a huge fan of my beloved team) and because if I am being truthful, my boys have looked like I have felt of late .... slightly off their game. They have lost their last three games, the normally strong defense has been coughing up turnovers, and the goalies? Well, not overly strong either.
Should we be worried?
I think a true Red Wings fan (or any fan for that matter) should always be more supportive then negative, but perhaps a few key points to back up my optimism might help as well:
- Please remember the Red Wings always have a tendency to drop off towards the end of the regular season before picking it up in the playoffs, and a number of them admitted this year they were suffering from a bit of a "Stanley hangover" and found it hard to get going at the beginning of the season as well. (Hossa was a huge lift in that regard).
- In the 2002 season the Wings lost 8 of their last 10 games plus the first 2 in the first round against Vancouver before going on to win the Cup.
- A number of key players were not in the line up and Babcock was even mixing up lines during the last few games, things we will not necessarily see during the playoffs.
- This is the 1st playoff appearance for the Columbus Blue Jackets as a team and their two top players, Rick Nash and goalie, Steve Mason are, likewise, making their Stanley Cup playoff debuts. Can you say nerves, anyone?
- The Wings players combine for 1, 793 playoff games experience to Columbus players 401.
Now, of course, they still have to play the games, and we all know anything can happen in a seven game series. And I do have my points of worry. I would be lying if I did not admit I wasn't somewhat nervous about the goalie situation. Osgood seems to be suffering some crisis of confidence and Conklin is largely untested in the playoffs, so like I said.... I am a little nervous. I also firmly believe that something is going on with my favorite captain Nick Lidstrom. While everything is kept "close to the vest" it was mentioned a few weeks ago very quietly that he had some "minor" injury but no one would get specific and then he was "rested" during the last game of the season. Now anyone who has followed Lidstrom's career at all knows he logs something like a billion minutes of ice time a year (the man never rests .... the guys in the locker room have dubbed him the Super Swede) so I do not think he needs to rest unless something is wrong. I also worry since he has looked slightly less then his normal self on defense and has even lost the puck a few times.
Regardless, I know where I will be tonight. Firmly planted in my chair (just like Holmstrom parking himself in front of Steve Mason ha, ha!) ready to yell at the refs, scream in victory or swear in frustration. How anyone could not adore hockey is beyond my imagination. And for those of you who do not follow the NHL I will try to not turn this into a hockey blog for the duration of the playoffs, but I make no promises! Go Wings!
Should we be worried?
I think a true Red Wings fan (or any fan for that matter) should always be more supportive then negative, but perhaps a few key points to back up my optimism might help as well:
- Please remember the Red Wings always have a tendency to drop off towards the end of the regular season before picking it up in the playoffs, and a number of them admitted this year they were suffering from a bit of a "Stanley hangover" and found it hard to get going at the beginning of the season as well. (Hossa was a huge lift in that regard).
- In the 2002 season the Wings lost 8 of their last 10 games plus the first 2 in the first round against Vancouver before going on to win the Cup.
- A number of key players were not in the line up and Babcock was even mixing up lines during the last few games, things we will not necessarily see during the playoffs.
- This is the 1st playoff appearance for the Columbus Blue Jackets as a team and their two top players, Rick Nash and goalie, Steve Mason are, likewise, making their Stanley Cup playoff debuts. Can you say nerves, anyone?
- The Wings players combine for 1, 793 playoff games experience to Columbus players 401.
Now, of course, they still have to play the games, and we all know anything can happen in a seven game series. And I do have my points of worry. I would be lying if I did not admit I wasn't somewhat nervous about the goalie situation. Osgood seems to be suffering some crisis of confidence and Conklin is largely untested in the playoffs, so like I said.... I am a little nervous. I also firmly believe that something is going on with my favorite captain Nick Lidstrom. While everything is kept "close to the vest" it was mentioned a few weeks ago very quietly that he had some "minor" injury but no one would get specific and then he was "rested" during the last game of the season. Now anyone who has followed Lidstrom's career at all knows he logs something like a billion minutes of ice time a year (the man never rests .... the guys in the locker room have dubbed him the Super Swede) so I do not think he needs to rest unless something is wrong. I also worry since he has looked slightly less then his normal self on defense and has even lost the puck a few times.
Regardless, I know where I will be tonight. Firmly planted in my chair (just like Holmstrom parking himself in front of Steve Mason ha, ha!) ready to yell at the refs, scream in victory or swear in frustration. How anyone could not adore hockey is beyond my imagination. And for those of you who do not follow the NHL I will try to not turn this into a hockey blog for the duration of the playoffs, but I make no promises! Go Wings!
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Keeping the Vomit Vigil
Sooner or later every parent faces it. Powerless, you stand by and watch helplessly as your child embraces the "porcelain god." And, no, I am not talking about the drunken hug you give a toilet after a night of over indulgence on alcohol ( I suppose that might come later, although I hope not. Gulp!) I speak of the younger variety, when your precious tot succumbs to some dread sickness and turns into something that at times reminds you of scenes from "The Exorcist." You know, those times when you put on the hats of both a nurse and a janitor.
Now, Miss Isabelle has, for lack of a better term, "up-chucked" before, but until the other night we have never had multiple sessions. Well, this past Monday I quit counting after about the eighth time. I awoke to a "Mommy" that sounded more like a sob and found my daughter, trembling in her bed, covered in what was left of her dinner and chocolate pudding dessert (How appetizing). Taking her to the bathroom I began the process of decontamination and calming, and then I helped her back to her bedroom, where I took apart the fouled bedding and remade everything. By this time Clay awoke and stumbled across the hall to see what the fuss was about and tucked Isabelle into her rocker with a clean blanket, while I made a quick trip to the laundry room. Ten minutes later and armed with air freshener I had Isabelle, safely tucked back into bed with new pillows, new pajamas, new blankets, and stinky hair pulled back in a ponytail away from her newly washed face. Kissing her goodnight and telling her to try and get some rest, I stumbled back across the hall and fell into bed next to an already snoring Clay. I glanced at the clock to see 1:30 dimly glowing green, and hoped that would be the end of it.
Ten minutes later it happened again.
What followed was a night of Isabelle vomiting roughly every thirty or forty-five minutes with the occasional "other action" thrown in. (Yes, along with bedding and pajamas I also washed some underwear too, poor kid. Ugh.) Being a very neat and clean child she quickly learned to tell when she was going to be sick and would bolt out of her bed and run to the potty in order to, as she would say, "not make a mess."
For a while the simple fear of getting sick had her jumping out of bed every five minutes and getting her to rest was impossible. I finally grabbed a blanket and camped out in the glider rocker in her bedroom, which calmed her down considerably. And when it became clear that sleeping was not going to happen for me I snuck down to the laundry room and threw in the load of soiled bedding at about 3:oo.
By about 3:30 or so Isabelle had it down to a routine as sad as that sounds. It would go something like this: She would be lying in bed semi-sleeping and I would be in the rocker dozing. Suddenly, she would sit up and say, "I'm going to get sick, Mommy," and crawl out of bed and hurry out of the room with me on her heels. In the bathroom she would get sick, me holding her hair (the whole time with me thinking how tiny her little back was as I rub it and how I would love to have a magic wand to make it all go away for her). Afterwards like robots, she would flush the potty, I would hand her a rag to wipe her mouth and a cup for a small sip of water and Isabelle would say "whew, that was a close one, Mommy," and I would ask, "Are you okay, honey?" Then it was back to "our posts." We must have repeated the same scene a dozen times, over and over, each time her collapsing into her bed a little more and falling into a deeper sleep.
Eventually, I moved to the guest room bed, so as not to disturb Clay (who I was attempting to let sleep so he could actually go to work the next day) in a vain attempt to get maybe an hour of solid sleep. At one point I awoke to my fat cat, Nib, curled around my head, purring, Isabelle faintly calling from her bedroom. I felt like I was clawing my way out of a long dark tunnel and glanced at the clock certain I had been sleeping at least a couple of hours. It had been 15 minutes.
In the end, we of course, made it through what seemed like the longest night on record, and Isabelle eventually stopped getting sick, although we spent the whole following day recovering. (me from exhaustion ... her from illness!) Like all kids she bounced back amazingly quick. For our family, it was the sickest Isabelle has ever been (knocking on wood as I write). I thank God daily for how healthy she is because it is so hard to watch your child be in even the smallest bit of discomfort, and not be able to make it better.
At the same time somehow it is also a bonding experience, and will become yet one more of the many memories I store up of when Isabelle was a little girl. As I tucked her into bed one of the numerous times I did that long night she clutched my hand and solemnly said, "Thanks for taking care of me, Mommy." With tears in my eyes, I replied, "I'm your Mom, kiddo. That's my job."
Now, Miss Isabelle has, for lack of a better term, "up-chucked" before, but until the other night we have never had multiple sessions. Well, this past Monday I quit counting after about the eighth time. I awoke to a "Mommy" that sounded more like a sob and found my daughter, trembling in her bed, covered in what was left of her dinner and chocolate pudding dessert (How appetizing). Taking her to the bathroom I began the process of decontamination and calming, and then I helped her back to her bedroom, where I took apart the fouled bedding and remade everything. By this time Clay awoke and stumbled across the hall to see what the fuss was about and tucked Isabelle into her rocker with a clean blanket, while I made a quick trip to the laundry room. Ten minutes later and armed with air freshener I had Isabelle, safely tucked back into bed with new pillows, new pajamas, new blankets, and stinky hair pulled back in a ponytail away from her newly washed face. Kissing her goodnight and telling her to try and get some rest, I stumbled back across the hall and fell into bed next to an already snoring Clay. I glanced at the clock to see 1:30 dimly glowing green, and hoped that would be the end of it.
Ten minutes later it happened again.
What followed was a night of Isabelle vomiting roughly every thirty or forty-five minutes with the occasional "other action" thrown in. (Yes, along with bedding and pajamas I also washed some underwear too, poor kid. Ugh.) Being a very neat and clean child she quickly learned to tell when she was going to be sick and would bolt out of her bed and run to the potty in order to, as she would say, "not make a mess."
For a while the simple fear of getting sick had her jumping out of bed every five minutes and getting her to rest was impossible. I finally grabbed a blanket and camped out in the glider rocker in her bedroom, which calmed her down considerably. And when it became clear that sleeping was not going to happen for me I snuck down to the laundry room and threw in the load of soiled bedding at about 3:oo.
By about 3:30 or so Isabelle had it down to a routine as sad as that sounds. It would go something like this: She would be lying in bed semi-sleeping and I would be in the rocker dozing. Suddenly, she would sit up and say, "I'm going to get sick, Mommy," and crawl out of bed and hurry out of the room with me on her heels. In the bathroom she would get sick, me holding her hair (the whole time with me thinking how tiny her little back was as I rub it and how I would love to have a magic wand to make it all go away for her). Afterwards like robots, she would flush the potty, I would hand her a rag to wipe her mouth and a cup for a small sip of water and Isabelle would say "whew, that was a close one, Mommy," and I would ask, "Are you okay, honey?" Then it was back to "our posts." We must have repeated the same scene a dozen times, over and over, each time her collapsing into her bed a little more and falling into a deeper sleep.
Eventually, I moved to the guest room bed, so as not to disturb Clay (who I was attempting to let sleep so he could actually go to work the next day) in a vain attempt to get maybe an hour of solid sleep. At one point I awoke to my fat cat, Nib, curled around my head, purring, Isabelle faintly calling from her bedroom. I felt like I was clawing my way out of a long dark tunnel and glanced at the clock certain I had been sleeping at least a couple of hours. It had been 15 minutes.
In the end, we of course, made it through what seemed like the longest night on record, and Isabelle eventually stopped getting sick, although we spent the whole following day recovering. (me from exhaustion ... her from illness!) Like all kids she bounced back amazingly quick. For our family, it was the sickest Isabelle has ever been (knocking on wood as I write). I thank God daily for how healthy she is because it is so hard to watch your child be in even the smallest bit of discomfort, and not be able to make it better.
At the same time somehow it is also a bonding experience, and will become yet one more of the many memories I store up of when Isabelle was a little girl. As I tucked her into bed one of the numerous times I did that long night she clutched my hand and solemnly said, "Thanks for taking care of me, Mommy." With tears in my eyes, I replied, "I'm your Mom, kiddo. That's my job."
Monday, April 6, 2009
No Words
Sometimes there just are not any words to encompass every emotion running through my body at any given moment. Or perhaps, maybe the problem is there are simply too many. Either way I find myself at a loss ... unable to articulate how I feel.
A wonderful man, who I was lucky enough to be able to call my grandfather, passed away on Saturday. He was jovial. He was full of life. He had a great big smile and an even bigger heart. And he loved my grandmother and brought her so much happiness.
And there are no words to express my love and my gratitude to this man or how much I will miss him. Good-bye Grandpa, I love you.
A wonderful man, who I was lucky enough to be able to call my grandfather, passed away on Saturday. He was jovial. He was full of life. He had a great big smile and an even bigger heart. And he loved my grandmother and brought her so much happiness.
And there are no words to express my love and my gratitude to this man or how much I will miss him. Good-bye Grandpa, I love you.
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