Katrina, that bitch...

(The picture on the left was stolen from USA Today. The Bay St. Louis area was where the largest recorded surge hit at 22 feet. The cursor I inserted just to the right is where Mom's house is. You can find the entire map here at USA Today. Click map to make it bigger.)


Katrina, that bitch...at least, that's how Mom refers to her. Mom and Jim's house sits near a bay on the Gulf Coast of Mississippi. They bought it in April of 2005, looking for someplace to stay for half of the year. We visited her in April by flying into New Orleans, which is about 60 miles west of where Mom lives. She's in a little division called Diamond Head right off of I-10, just across from the bay where Katrina hit shore. The town of Bay St. Louis is said to be 100% gone. Not too far from Mom, a few miles. They're in Bismarck right now taking their time headed south. Not much to hurry home to, much less a home.

Mom's preference right now is to get back, find nothing but the concrete slab on the ground, have the insurance pay off the mortgage and turn around and start somewhere else. Of course, no matter where you go, you run into the chance of something like this happening again. Florida? Too many old people and more hurrincanes. Arizona? There's already one giant meteor crater there, who's to say another one won't strike? The pacific northwest? Volcanoes. How about Montana? Earthquakes here and here (Google Satellite map of Hebgen Lake Earthquake).

Here's what the house used to look like:

Bay St. Louis is behind the house, across I-10 and only a mile or two away. With all the reports of the surge hitting up to five miles inland, don't think there'll be much left whenever they're allowed back in.

Oh yeah, they were just down there the 14th through the 20th getting some new furniture for the bedroom. Great timing for the looters...

Hershey, Nov. 1989 - Aug. 2005

I'm trying as hard as I can not to make those one of those maudlin pet obits that women in the suburbs seem to love to write so much, especially ones who never had any family of their own and you just know that they'll be found on the couch amidst piles of cat filth...

I had to take Hershey to the vet today. He left us just short of 16 years. One way to think of how long he was with Jennfier and I is that she got him just before she joined me in Sidney, Montana in March of 1990. That means Hershey's been from Minneapolis, to Sidney, Bismarck, Bozeman and back to Minneapolis again. I took this picture of Hershey this morning. I tried to get him and Colter together, but it was no go. His kidneys were failing him and he never really got used to his new playmate, Colter. He started to take it out on Colter a little lately and took to not just peeing in his room, but on his books, shoes and a few other things that were left accidentally laying about. Already weird not having him here.

Hershey: November, 1989-August 2005

And God spoke...

A conversation from last night...

"Colter, no touch."

(the boy repeatedly grabs at the garbage can liner and wants to pull at it)

"Colter, Mommy said no touch."

(the boy runs around the kitchen, grabs the garbage can liner and puts it in his mouth)

"Colter, what did Mommy tell you? No touch. Ish."

(the boy runs around the kitchen and, once again, grabs at the liner with his mouth. Why doesn't this ever get old?)

"Colter, do you want a time-out?"

(the boy looks at me, pouts his lip and whines. He runs away as the angels descend from the sky and the chorus begins to sing "Halleluiah")

Daddy and I look at each other. "Did you see that? I think it works!"

And For My Third Wish...

You’re just over thirteen months old now and I’m probably a bad mother for not keeping up your baby book. I think the last entry was somewhere in the month of June. Truth be told, I’m too darn tired. You’re constantly going from the minute you get up (6:00 a.m.!) until the minute you go to bed (8:00 p.m.). You’re running, climbing, exploring everything.

You used to say “car car” like there was no tomorrow but now everything is (while pointing) “this” and “dat.” You want to know what everything is. You’ll pull up your shirt and find your belly button and then run to mama and pull up my shirt and shove your little finger in my belly button and say, “dat.”

You don’t quite understand the word “no” yet. Actually, I think you understand but you think that “no” means “this must be something really good if I can’t have it,” like ripping the nightlight out of the wall (my little moth), trying to take garbage out of the garbage can, shoving farm animals into the VCR and pulling dirty steak knives out of the dishwasher. * I’d like three wishes now…#1 make me an octopus, #2 put eyes in the back of my head, #3 turn me into Super Nanny; that woman is a genius * You earned your first official time-out; one minute for touching the hot stove door repeatedly. Never mind you would touch the stove, be told “no,” laugh and then wait until the very second we reach out to move you, you’d run away. How old are you? Is this normal?

Some of your favorite things:
Monkey
Eeyore
Little People Farm
Peas
String cheese
Wheat crackers
Water (won’t touch juice)

Cos You Were all "Yellow"

Yesterday we took a trip to the Doctor. You’ve kept us up the last three nights in a row and you’re a nice shade of yellow. I was thinking the crying could be teething but upon further review with Diane at work, maybe it’s an ear infection. I’m officially a bad mother. I didn’t even think of an ear infection. You’re not tugging at your ear and it only happens in the MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT. Don’t you know I’m already running on fumes at work? The yellow, I have no explanation. The only thing I can think of is it’s something to do with your liver and that scares me to death.

The diagnosis:

I’m officially an idiot.

You’re yellow because you eat too many yellow vegetables, mainly squash and carrots. I thought vegetables were a good thing. I guess we’ll just stick to the peas and green beans for now. No more squash/corn/chicken or peas/carrots or squash baby food for you little Mr. Now what are we supposed to feed you?

I asked about the temper tantrums; screaming, throwing yourself on the ground and chewing the carpet – normal.

I asked about not wanting to eat – normal.

My diagnosis:

We have a normal little Bart Man