Another Thanksgiving Ailment

Belle has been pretty darn healthy for the first 14+ months of her life. Sure, she's had the typical smattering of daycare colds, a small fever here and there, and a bout of Hand, Foot, and Mouth Disease.  Runny noses one week, small coughs a few weeks later. But, knock on wood, she's been a very healthy little gal.

Except on Thanksgiving.

Belle has lived through two Turkey Days -- and has been a drooling, rash-covered, cranky munchkin for both of them. This year, as you can probably see in the photo, she's suffering from Roseola, a viral illness that comes packaged with a widespread rash and a high fever. (Belle got up to 104.7 on Thursday evening.) Last year,  as you can see in the photo at the bottom of the post, her eye was crusty, sore, red, and closed. The culprit? A blocked tear duct. 

And as we sat on our couch Thursday morning deciding whether to make the trip to see family in West Newbury for Thanksgiving 2014 (we ultimately decided to go), it was a good opportunity to reflect on how far we've come as parents in 12 months.

Last year, with a not quite 3-month-old Belle, Bridget and I were a panicked mess. As soon as her eye started to get slightly discolored, we assumed the worst. Pink eye, red eye, purple eye? Blindness? Scurvy? We were Googling everything that came to our mind. It was Thanksgiving eve and we called the doctor, knowing that a trip to office on a holiday would be a colossal inconvenience. "This is the first time we've called and we're really nervous that she has pink eye or something worse," we said. "Her eye is really red. Should we bring her in?" Obviously, we were total amateurs. 

"It's likely just a blocked tear duct. It's very common," the on-call provider said cooly. "Massage her eye and just monitor it to make sure it doesn't get any worse."

It didn't. And we had a nice Thanksgiving, albeit with a family photo that isn't going to win any beauty awards. 

Fast forward to two days ago. Belle was fussy, uninterested in food, crying, and warm to the touch. "Should we call the doctor?" I asked Bridget. 

"What are they going to say? They'll just tell us to keep an eye on her," she said. "I'm sure she'll be fine." 

We considered staying home, but decided we really like stuffing and that Belle would be fine for a few hours. She mostly just laid on us and didn't eat a thing, but we were able to spend a few nice hours celebrating the Pilgrims' landing on Plymouth Rock. Belle is feeling a bit better today and we're eating leftovers. 

We're still amateurs, of course, but we're getting better. And we'll know what to expect next Thanksgiving. 

Under the Spell of Serial

This week, I realized that Thursdays are great. Thursdays mean the work week is winding down. Thursdays -- well every other Thursday -- mean a paycheck. Thursdays turn into Fridays.

But there's something else about Thursdays, something new, something exciting: Thursday means a new episode of Serial. 

What's Serial? Well, I imagine most people know by now. But if you don't: Serial is a new podcast from the creators of This American Life. Serial is different from most other podcasts, though, because it focuses on a single story -- a true-life murder mystery -- released in 40-minute segments every week. It is, in a word, engaging. No, that's not quite enough. Serial is engrossing, gripping, and captivating. Serial is awesome.

The story follows Adnan Syed, an imprisoned man in his 30s who may or may not have killed his ex-girlfriend in Baltimore 15 years ago. Each week, host Sarah Koenig introduces us to a new character (like Asia, Nisha, and Don) and a new plot twist (like how long it takes to get from the high school to Best Buy or the location of a certain cell phone call). We listeners, of which there are millions, try to solve the crime along with Koenig, an expert storyteller, who weaves the twists and turns into a highway of aural delight. (<-- Worst line of my writing career.)

Anyway, Serial, now nine weeks old, has become a phenomenon. It's typically listed No. 1 on the iTunes podcast chart and has created more water cooler chatter at the office than anything I can remember in the past decade. (Game of Thrones is a somewhat close second.) Every Thursday or Friday, depending on when people finish the episode, several colleagues on my team at work trade ideas, theories, and favorite characters. Some of us think Adnan is guilty and the story won't lead anywhere. Some of us think Adnan is innocent and will be a free man when the podcast reaches its dramatic conclusion.

And it's not just my office. Serial has captured the attention of millions around the world. There's a Reddit page dedicated to Serial. There's a Twitter account. There's even an entire Slate podcast about the podcast. Yes, a podcast about a podcast. Crazy. The New Yorker called it the podcast we've been waiting for. 

Whether it's the dawn of a new Golden Age of radio is up for debate, but it has certainly started the trend of binge listening. I kept trying to convince sometimes stubborn Bridget to give Serial a listen and, finally, after five weeks, she gave in. She was caught up on all the episodes 48 hours later. Another colleague at work had the same experience. Once you start, it's pretty damn hard to put the earbuds down. 

As a former journalist, I'm thrilled about the attention Serial is getting. It's like we've gone back 100 years and people are crowding around their clunky living room radio to hear a boxing match. It's fantastic storytelling and serious reporting, and people are hooked.

If you aren't, what are you waiting for? Here's episode 1. I promise you won't be disappointed.

A Change of Scenery

Without question, my iPhone is my most important possession. I look at it somewhere between 100 - 150 times every day, and, without it, I'd be lost. It contains my virtual social network, my financial information, and my photos and memories. Put another way, I'd rather lose my wallet 10 times than lose my iPhone once.

So, first, way to go, Apple. You pretty much own me.

Secondly, because the iPhone captures so much of my attention every morning, afternoon, and night, I've become pretty obsessed with changing the wallpaper on a weekly basis. Novelty, after all, unfolds time. If I had the same background image on my phone all the time, I'd get bored.

Because I look at my iPhone so damn much, it's important to keep it fresh and interesting. It's sad, but it's the thing I see more than anything in the world -- more than my wife, more than my daughter, more than my reflection. (It would be really, really odd if I looked at my reflection 150 times every day.)

And this simple change, this photo swap, makes me feel different. Like a new toy or a new discovery, it makes me smile when I'm losing energy on a Tuesday afternoon or I'm walking home from work on a rainy Thursday. It brightens my day. It brings me joy. (And yes, it typically includes the two beautiful gals at the top of the post.)

Facebook photos work the same way. When we change our profile picture or our cover photo, we're presenting ourselves to the world in a different way. We're tweaking our image. It says a lot about who we are. If I post a picture of myself after a race, it means running is a big part of my life. If I post a picture of me with my wife, it's because I want to show her that I love her or maybe that it's an anniversary of some kind. A picture of myself? I may be a family man, but I'm independent and I do whatever I want on Saturday afternoons. (Not true. Ever.)

This week, as I changed my photo to the one you see above, it made me realize just how powerful these images really are. A simple change of scenery can change how the world views you and, more importantly, how you view your life.

How often do you change the background image on your phone? Or on your Facebook page? Have you thought what that says about you? Maybe it doesn't mean anything. Or maybe it makes you smile on a rainy Thursday afternoon.

Goodnight, Goodnight Moon

Our sweet little Annabelle changes every day. (She's changed an awful lot since August 30, the last time we posted to this blog. I blame the hiatus on house hunting, which is exhausting. More on that in an upcoming post.) Anyway, Annabelle. Sweet, sweet, sunshine and light Annabelle. Now 14 months old, she's close to taking her first step, close to saying her first few words, and, yes, our gummy darling is (finally!) even growing teeth.

One change, though, has been a little surprising: She's, well, how to say it delicately … opinionated. She's very, very opinionated.

Now, if you know me, this probably isn't surprising. I have strong thoughts on everything from fantasy football and the decline of journalism, to the taste of mayonnaise (awful) and Breaking Bad. Annabelle, along with being the lucky recipient of my eyebrows, seems to have acquired my opinionated gene. (Bridget, on the other hand, is pretty cool with whatever.)

This whole "Annabelle is super opinionated" reality hit me the other night. We were reading together, as we always do before bed. Lately, we've started to pick the books together. She'll shake her head to say no (which is the cutest damn thing ever) if she's not in the mood for The Very Hungry Caterpillar or Oh, the Thinks You Can Think. We usually read four or five of these literary gems before I put Annabelle in her crib. And the final book is always Goodnight Moon.  

Until one night last week.

Annabelle had started to rub her eyes, so I knew it was almost time. We closed a book about shapes and I reached for Goodnight Moon. She shook her head. "But this one is your favorite, Annabelle." She shook her head again. "Let's just give it a try."

I opened the book, turned the first page, and then Annabelle closed it. Aggressively. I opened it again. She closed it again. Because I love routine and tradition, I gave it one more try. She slammed it shut, then slapped the front of the book several times and yelled. "Okay," I said. "Let's not read this tonight." I put her down and she slept, as the saying goes, like a baby.

The next night, I tried again. The same thing happened. And then again. And again. And again. For some reason, Annabelle has decided that Goodnight Moon will no longer be part of her reading rotation. Not tonight, not tomorrow night, not ever. Why? I'll probably never know.

But I do know that Goodnight Moon is just a sign of things to come. Sweet little Annabelle will soon be telling us what she thinks of this book, that food, and everything else she comes across.

And while I'm really sorry about the eyebrow thing, I couldn't be happier about this.