In which I stick my foot in my mouth

We're currently reading Piecing Me Together, as I mentioned in an earlier post, and the main character is a collagist and mentioned something about how she likes taking tired/ugly materials and turning them into something new/beautiful, which is a beautiful outlook on life. 

So my kids have been making collages while I've been reading out loud to them and we've been discussing various social aspects addressed by the book.

Today we also discussed an article Aaron Miller posted on Twitter about how it's better for children to grow up thinking the world is a good place than a bad place, but I had a little bit of trouble introducing the article to the children and they were victims of a little train-of-thought introduction:

"One of Dad's professor friends shared this article on Twitter. Oh, what does he teach again? Ethics, I think... No. He can't teach ethics; he's a lawyer."

At this, Rachel lost it and just started laughing...because lawyers have certain reputations, you know.

"That is not what I meant!" I gasped. "I just meant that perhaps I remembered wrong when I thought he taught ethics because he's a lawyer first and a professor second. I didn't mean that lawyers can't be ethical. But what does he teach? I think non-profit stuff? But obviously I can't remember. Anyway, doesn't matter...let's just look at the article."

As it turns out, he teaches both ethics and non-profit stuff. So my memory is fine. I just like to second guess myself.

*******

Soon after Andrew got home from campus this afternoon, Benjamin brought the mail in.

I'll interrupt my story to say that Miriam has started taking clarinet lessons from Andrew and this morning just as the mail truck was driving by, Miriam started warming up on the clarinet. Zoë was working on some math with me. Today she was working on measuring weight; last she was measuring length.

Here's Zoë measuring out 1000 g of pinto beans this morning (it was supposed to be 1 kg but we don't have a scale that registers kg, so Zoë got to learn that 1000 g is the same thing as 1 kg):

Andrew's microphone

Andrew is teaching in-person again this semester. He taught in person last semester as well, but only had one class at the graduate level, so it was small and in a big room and his students all wore masks and were super understanding about him having a baby in the middle of the semester. 

This semester he's teaching two classes and one is an undergraduate course with 40 students, which means that the room is much more crowded, and he doesn't know any of the kids and wasn't sure if they would mask up if he asked them to (because we have no formal measures here regarding COVID). So he was a little nervous going into class today because of (a) all the teacher reasons (teachers are often scared of their students) and (b) all the COVID reasons (this variant is wildly infectious). 

But, he was happy to see his classroom 100% masked. He said one student arrived without a mask, but they took a mask from the box he had set out (yes, he provides masks and hand sanitizer for his classes) and wore it without complaint. So that was nice!

When I was talking to my mom on Sunday about his teaching schedule this semester, she asked if he had a little microphone. She said that she's found having a microphone on helps her students to hear her through her mask (which is perfectly capable of being talked through, though things do come out a little muffled, especially for those in the back, I imagine). 

So I asked Andrew about it when we finally crawled into bed last night (he was up late finishing his lecture notes (it's a new-to-him class; one he's taken but not taught, so it's a lot more work to prepare for) and I was up late trying to get Phoebe settled (her reflux makes her fairly miserable, and although she handles it with composure, it also makes it hard to get her settled for the night because it's much easier for her to deal with when she's being held upright)). 

"I have a microphone," he assured me.

"You do?" 

"Don't you remember?" 

"I do not," I said, and Andrew started laughing so hard tears were rolling down his cheeks as he tried to whisper-remind me about his microphone (Phoebe sleeps in our room). 

Last semester, Andrew taught in person for the first time and he got a portable/wearable microphone to wear. One that would clip onto his shirt. It has a little foam cover thing over the microphone head, which is pretty normal for a microphone. 

Well, he was on campus one day and he went to the bathroom and while he was...using the urinal for its intended purpose...something fell off his shirt and into the urinal. 

A round black thing of considerable size. 

"What is that?!" he wondered, so he bent over to inspect it closer.

It was the foam cover for his microphone!

So he fished it out of the urinal and ran it over to the sink and washed and washed and washed it and then filled his hand with hand sanitizer and marinated the poor microphone head cover-thingy in it and let it sit soggily in his pocket until he got home. 

"Oh, yes!" I giggled. "I do remember that you have a microphone!"

So, yes, Mom! Andrew has a microphone to wear to class!

Butter emails...

Miriam has been becoming more active in the kitchen. Last year she had a goal to cook dinner twice a month (I think) and she did well with that. It actually is really nice having more than one capable child around; whenever Andrew's had to stay late on campus or whatever he simply assigns one of the older girls to make dinner and *presto!* I don't have to worry about it.

That said, Miriam has decided she wants to step things up in the kitchen a little bit. Rather than making things like "spaghetti with canned sauce" and "cake mix cookies," Miriam wants to become a "from scratch" chef/baker. A noble pursuit!

She made cookies for New Year's Eve and asked me how to go about softening butter, so I instructed her on how to warm up butter in the microwave for around 15 seconds. You don't have to take the wrapper off or anything because it's not in there long enough to really melt; it just gets warmed up. If this idea seems scandalous to you, don't worry! I, too, was incredulous about this method until I made cookies at my friend Marian's house (in Durham) and she showed me that it worked perfectly well. I've been doing it ever since.

So Miriam popped a stick of butter in the microwave for 15 seconds and then made a lovely batch of cookies.

Fast forward to Sunday afternoon...

Kid news and school news

Phoebe has been growing again. I can't cram her into her newborn sleepers anymore, which makes me feel rather sad. But she's moved into these cute sleepers my friend Crystal sent, so that makes me feel happy. And that about sums up my feelings about my children growing up: sad and happy.

Book drop (and dropping classes)

Paradoxical Glory is now a physical book! My first copy (with some embarrassing errors that were fixed before any other copies shipped, thank goodness) arrived yesterday, the day my book was launched (though technically people started purchasing it the day before). I think it's beautiful (but I'm scared to have people read it).

Silly Bills

Northside Hospital has been calling me and leaving me voicemails asking me to call them back for...days...but I only called them back today because I just couldn't before. And that's on them, because they called me on December 27, December 30, and January 4. Like...hello...it's the holidays. And I've already given them hours of my life trying to sort out this billing issue. 

So I took a deep breath this morning and returned their call, very surprised to find that using the number they gave me meant that I didn't have to wade through a phone tree and wait on hold for...forever.

Turns out all they want to know is how I plan to pay this bill! And would I like to apply it to a credit card or debit card right now?

No. I would not like to do that. 

I explained—for what feels like the millionth time—that I have given the hospital loads of money. I preregistered for my birth like a good little girl and paid 100% of my copay. But then I went into the hospital for preterm labour monitoring and was subsequently discharged...still pregnant. Hallelujah! But then when I went in to have the baby for real they put all those charges on a separate account from the one I poured all my money into. 

So now the first account is duking things out with the insurance company (over a nominal amount the insurance company refuses to pay) and the hospital is refusing to use my funds to cover that amount because I don't owe them that money...the insurance company does...but all my funds are tied up in that one account until the insurance company and hospital agree about stuff. 

But because the hospital hasn't reported to my insurance company that I've given them all this money that they refuse to use, my insurance company doesn't know that I've paid my co-insurance payments, so the hospital doesn't know that I've given them all sorts of money (how could they not know?!) and they want me to pay the second bill because on that bill both the hospital and insurance agree that I haven't met my co-insurance payment...which is sitting untouched in another account at the hospital. 

And I get that that's really confusing. For real, I do. I'm confused. The system is confusing. It doesn't work well (at all). It's terrible and horrible and...also...figure it out, Northside. Figure. It. Out. 

Because you have my money. 

And I was told not to worry about this bill because the money would move over automatically after the first bill was resolved. But my insurance seems to think the first bill is resolved. I'm not sure what the hospital's deal is. 

But now apparently they can simply move the funds to the correct account if I give them 24 hours. 

As if I haven't given them enough tries and enough hours to do that already? Like, if that's a thing that's possible...why hasn't it happened before now? Goodness knows I've spent hours calling—begging, pleading, crying—for them to sort this out.

Who wants to bet that my only option will be to pay this bill out of pocket and that the hospital will refund me just...whenever they get around to it?

To be clear: They already have enough of my money to cover both accounts and then some. And that's why I'm annoyed.

Three Phoebe Stories

I was an early talker. 

The year I was born, my older brother got a speaking teddy bear for Christmas. When the bear turned on it would say, "Hi!" and everyone would say "Hi!" back to it. By New Year's Eve, I was also—at six months old—saying, "Hi!" to the bear and had figured out that if I said "Hi!" to anybody they'd say "Hi!" back to me. 

My mom told me I would make ladies do second takes when teensy little me (I was 13 lbs. at six months) would enthusiastically call out, "HI!" in the grocery store.

The other night Phoebe gave me a little taste of my own medicine!

I don't think she's quite old enough to understand cause and effect (though Alexander wasn't so much older when he invented his little head-tilt game (he figured out that if he cocked his head to the side he could make pretty much anyone also cock their head to the side; I thought he had a tic or something before I figured out he was doing it on purpose)) but the other night, Andrew and I were cooing over her when she locked eyes with Andrew and said, "Hi!"

It was, frankly, creepy. 

We were like, "Wha-ha-ha-hat?! What just happened!?"

It was a fluke, I'm sure of it. But it was a rather surreal moment nonetheless to have this tiny baby who doesn't know much about anything stare her father straight in the face and say, "Hi!"

Happy New Year

Alexander had some very specific ideas about how New Year's Eve should be celebrated. He wanted sprinklers (sparklers) and spicy water (Martinelli's). All day long he was begging for sprinklers and spicy water. We (i.e. Andrew) had enough forethought to pick up some Martinelli's. We weren't sure about the sparkler situation, but fortunately Rachel recently reorganized the kitchen counters so she knew that we had some!

Our day was pretty low key and the evening followed suit. 

We used up our stash of sparklers...

So mulch better

We had 2.8 tons (2.54 metric tonnes) of mulch delivered to our house yesterday and Andrew was determined to get it spread in the yard despite the lingering afternotes of the spectacular thunderstorm the night before. By our calculations, ordering and spreading the mulch ourselves would be much more cost effective than having a landscaping crew do it. We failed to account the physical costs (and, Andrew would point out, the opportunity costs) associated with such labour. 

So although Andrew is currently feeling rather sore, it was, at least, a memorable experience for the kids to spread mulch with their father in the pouring rain. 

A few random stories

To resolve yesterday's stories about footprints all over my floors, I offer this picture:

We had a long list of chores to do today (longer than what is shown here) and included among those was cleaning the mud off the carpet (a task we didn't quite get around to yesterday).

Funny enough, Andrew was the one to sleep in this morning. I figured he was pretty worn out from how hard he'd worked on the yard the day before, so we just didn't wake him up. But I made the list of chores and began leading the kids through the chores. When Andrew got up, however, he almost immediately called the kids together for a family meeting. 

"Here's the plan," he said. "We need to do some chores today—we're focusing on bedrooms and..."

"You stopped us from cleaning our bedrooms to have this meeting," the kids told him. 

"Yup," I said. "I have a list on the whiteboard. We've already been knocking things off."

"Well, then..." Andrew said.