D'oh

So, the other day I went to the doctor and was diagnosed with a sinus infection.

This is a rough transcript of my conversation with my doctor:

Doctor: So, what seems to be the problem?

Me: I have a headcold that won't go away, a chronic headache, a persistent fever and when I bend over I think my head is going to explode from all the green snot..... (or something close to that...)

Doctor: (after examining me, including pressing my forehead and making me want to scream from the pain of having my forehead pushed  - ow ow ow ow!) You have a sinus infection.

Me: (suppressing the urge to say "duh!") Yeah, I figured I might.

Doctor: You know, I treated you for bronchitis about 6 weeks ago. And about 6 weeks before that you were in, and...well, I'm concerned. Do you smoke?

Me: No.

Doctor: Do you have chronic allergies?

Me: No.

Doctor: Are you exposed to any environmental contaminants I should know about?

Me: No.

Doctor: Do you suffer from asthma?

Me: No.

Doctor: Emphysema or COPD? Chronic fatigue? Anything to compromise your immune system?

Me: No.

Doctor: I don't understand.......what could be going on.....

Me: (interrupting) You forget, I live with Typhoid Mary.

Doctor: Oh, that's right!  Your daughter is in daycare. 

(mystery solved...)

   

Hello, is there anybody out there? Just shout if you can hear me....

There are two ways that Monkey wakes up:

• Crying:

Boo hoo hoo everyone hates that method.

• Asking for our presence:

By which I mean that she wakes up, stands up in her crib, turns the light on in her room, and then, at the top of her lungs, yells "hello!" until we come get her. It's hard not to giggle, being summoned like that........

Love

Monkey's sleep schedule has sucked lately. She's been staying up late, waking up early, and - this is the hardest - waking in the middle of the night with much crying and fussing, gnashing of teeth and pulling of hair. Ok, everything except for the hair pulling.

Last night it was a midnight run. Monkey woke up and was inconsolable. Tylenol was administered, the paci was inserted, and the bottle was proffered when she asked for it specifically. (she only took two sips, but what can you do)

I was so tired I was limited to monosyllabic grunts and gutteral mutterings.

Monkey's daddy? He's the rock star of this story, my grey cloud's silver lining.

Once we settled Monkey back down again, we nestled into bed with Ollie, our geriatric cat (who also insists on performing vocal acrobatics at midnight). And after wishing me (another) good night, he gave me a kiss and said something about how we'd muddle our way through.

I was so tired I don't really even remember what he said. All I remember is feeling comforted, safe, loved and understood. My god, what else could an exhausted mother wish for in life? (other than a healthy, happy baby of course).

So this post is all about you, beloved husband. Whatever it was that you said? It was perfect. And I love you.

The culinary adventures continue

Last night Monkey declined to eat her ciabatta bread unless she could eat it like daddy does: dipped in unfiltered extra virgin olive oil and 12 year old balsamic vinegar. I sh&t you not: the kid LOVED it!

I was so proud of her.

Then, this morning???????

I caught her licking the cat's treat.

The dam's about to break...

Banana

Please (as her outstretched hand reaches for my cell phone, or her paci)

Emma

Hadley

Dance (accompanied with two fingers pointing in the air and much butt wiggling)

Dog

Apple

Elmo (of course! he's her love....)

Meow meow (meaning kitty cat)

Bark

Ollie (as she hugs our saintly cat)

Apple

Bottle

Bath (as she runs streaking through the house dragging her pink towel....)

Nose (with a pointed finger, in case we didn't get it...)

I love you (oh, wow. I do NOT care that she was just repeating us. She said it!)

These are just a few of the things she's said in the past few days. The water is spilling over the dam! Here comes an avalanche of language!

don't try this while driving

monkey's b new trick? she walksareon the house holding her blankie with just her chin pressede against her chest, with elmo on the blanket getting  a ride, all whilev humming and chewing on her pavi.

shes got mad skillzzzz 

but one SKill  is not helping mom type on the comphter. she is hlpgin me right now. thNAKS MUCH

Pride

Originally, every time Monkey got the eye drops she would throw an evil temper tantrum. Crying and screaming and squeezing her eyes shut while wriggling madly and trying to hit us in the face.

So, when she struggled less, we clapped for her and congratulated her on being such a big girl.

Now?

She claps FOR HERSELF.

Is it wrong to laugh so hard at your own child?

Remission!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Good news. My friend's mom is healing. Her cancer is in remission!!!!!!!!!!!

Boy does it feel good to write that. The sun is shining even brighter today........

My own personal alarm clock

Today is the third day in a row that Monkey has started her day at 5am.

I am SO not a morning person.

This morning, sitting at my desk I realized that I had:

1. forgotten to put on deoderant, and
2. gotten toothpaste all over the front of my black sweater.

So I went to the bathroom to fix those two issues.

And then, after I got back from the bathroom? A colleague came to my office and asked if my skirt had a zipper in the back.

Because, ahem, it "might" be open. (She's a very polite grandma, not one to say something that *cough* might embarrass anyone....)


Do you think it was the sight of my BRIGHT purple underwear flashing her that tipped her off to my sartorial misstep?

Yeah, me too.

No need to call ACS

For the record? We rock at giving Monkey the eye drops.

We can actually hold her down on the ground, immobilize her head, pry open her eyes and drop in the antibiotic eyedrops.

And all without leaving any bruises or other physical damage!

And this trifecta pays out, right? riiiighhht????

Ah, the toddler trifecta:

• Nasty cold
• Pink eye, and
• Cutting two! new! teeth!

Huzzah!!!!!!!!!

Lucky girl. She hit the toddler trifecta! She wins, right?

Meanwhile, last night I was so terrified of accidentally blinding my daughter or otherwise maiming her while holding her down and prying open her eyes to give her the required antibiotic eyedrops??? Yeah, I begged my cousin to come over and (cough, this is embarrasing now) "show us how."

Like I've never put eyedrops in during the last, oh, 3+ decades of my life.

Just shut up! You'd be scared, too, if you knew how strong and tough.....oh, never mind. Go ahead and giggle. Sigh.

Rules

My sister in law sent me a cute email the other day, entitled "Rules for Toddlers" and it was exactly what you think it would be - a cute exposé of the petty tyrants we live with (also known as insane toddlers, germ breeders, etc.).

I was thinking what Monkey's rules would be, and this is what I came up with......

1.) If it is vertical, climb it.

2.) If it makes noise, shake it.

3.) If it creates a mess, do it.

4.) If the desired answer is yes, say no.

5.) If the desired answer is no, say yes.

And,

6.) If it makes mom or dad laugh, do it 100 times in a row..............


Guess we better stop giggling when Monkey runs around the apartment naked.....

Ja, ja, she's a Norske, don'cha know....

Four reasons I know my daughter is of Scandinavian origins (other than you know, um, genetics and stuff...):

1) She has the most wonderful pale skin. My dermatologist already loves her!

2) She is strong willed. And I'm not talking about ordinary toddler-bullheadedness, folks, this is full blown "my way or the highway"....

3) She looks everyone straight in the eye.

4) She adores the cold! Hot? Phew, no way. Cold? Bring it on, baby! Bring it!

and......drumroll please.............

5) She LOVES salted black licorice! She gobbles it down and then begs for more!

Maybe we should try some silta....(that's pickled herring to you non-Norwegians out there...)

Well, someone is doing something right!

Monkey asked for something this morning (and by ask, I mean grunted, whined and pointed).

However, upon receiving the desired object, she said "thank you."

I still have to apologize to my downstairs neighbors, I'm sure the noise of my jaw hitting the floor was quite loud and intrusive.

Hopefully I didn't shake loose any plaster from their ceiling.

Two observations

1.) I am STILL finding rice everywhere. This is despite the fact that I have swept, washed by hand, vacuumed, and otherwise scoured the apartment.
2.) Monkey is Typhoid Mary. I have a doctor's appointment this afternoon to confirm if I have a sinus infection. Meanwhile, she's doing fine!

It's a good thing she's cute. Saves her butt every time.

Did I mention I hate having dirty feet?

The gods, I must have taunted them, what with my posting (my lament?) about being unable to stomach walking around barefoot because I get stuff on my feet.

Because last night? In less than 5 seconds after being let down from her high chair? During the brief interlude of time it took me to lift her dirty dinner dishes and put them into the sink? During those milliseconds that I didn't have Monkey in my line of sight? She grabbed a click-clack container off of our kitchen shelving, removed the lid, and dumped about 4 cups of rice onto the granite floor.

I had to walk around in the rice-spill to clean it up.

And I swear to g*d, I still was finding rice three hours later, despite sweeping twice, and washing the floor once.

From here on out I'm going to blog about how Monkey is super-clean.

Pig Pen

I am a wee bit anal and like things to be clean. (and yes, I realize that sounds ridiculous...but I think I could be WAY more anal so bear with me, thanks)


I love clean floors and carpets, and being able to walk around barefoot without anything sticking to my feet. It's the simple things in life, right?


I can no longer walk barefoot in our apartment, especially in the kitchen. I just can't stand it. I take three steps and -blammo!- I've got a pulverized cheerio coating the sole of my foot, a partially-chewed raisin wedged between my toes, or some unidentifiable substance is making my skin stick to the floor and making a sick 'thwack' noise as I lift my foot up into the air.


Not only do we have a cleaning lady that comes every two weeks, but on an almost daily (heh, I was about to write "hourly" but that's an exaggeration) basis I sweep and or/scrub the floor in the kitchen. I find myself with a sore back at the end of the weekend, from bending over constantly to pick up a cheerio, dried fruit, or some other piece of garbage.


Somehow I was describing to a colleague this inability to go barefoot (NO clue how our conversation veered there) and mentioned how cheerios get all over the apartment, even though we have a "food stays in the kitchen" rule that is vigorously enforced.

I described how Monkey will have cheerios stuck to her clothing, her hands, her hair, and that is how they get all over the apartment (I think). My colleague laughed and asked if she had a constant cloud of dust and dirt surrounding her, a la "Pig Pen."

Yup, that's my girl.

She's a lover, not a fighter

Monkey said "I love you" last night!

Ok, truth, it sounded more like "aw wuv ooooh" but we knew what she meant!

She's a lover, not a fighter.

Empathy

This morning was rough. I overslept, was sluggish getting around, and then snarled at my beloved husband. Plus, Monkey has a nasty cold (and I do mean nasty, she looked like she had half of a green gummi worm coming out of her nose most of this morning...eeuw).

So we were all a bit grumpy.

After we patched things up, Monkey's dad went off to work. I picked up Monkey and walked her into her room to wrangle her into her clothes for the day.

And you know what she did? She leaned back, looked me in the eye, and patted me on the arm. As if to say "there, there, you'll be all right."

Empathy at 17 months. She's awesome.

Of course, then she tried to lick her shoes and ran screaming when I tried to comb her hair. Whatever, I'm focusing on the empathy, not the insanity.

That says it all

A friend of mine is pregnant with baby number two. Baby number two is slated to arrive on or around January 22nd (i.e., any day now...). We spoke the other day and I asked her how she was feeling.

Her one word response was priceless.

All she said was "pregnant."

Yup, that says it all.

Hang in there - your wish will soon be granted and B2D2 will arrive, sleepless nights will recommence, and J* will be jealous of his little brother!

Chatty Cathy

I have become a modified version of the doll, Chatty Cathy.

Only, when you pull the cord to make me talk? These are the things you will hear me say, over and over and (ahem) over again:

* No no Monkey, we SIT on chairs.

Translation: stop standing on the chair, kid, or you'll fall and break your neck!

* What goes in the garbage, stays in the garbage.

Translation: stop fishing cheerios out of the garbage and eating them, eeeuuuww!

* No no Monkey, we do not touch Ollie's tail.

Translation: stop trying to pick the cat up by her tail, she's hissing for a reason.

* Monkey, food stays in the kitchen.

Translation: stop jumping in and out of the kitchen to test me, kid, you are NOT taking those guaranteed stain-producing strawberries into the living room no matter how many times you try!

Sigh, I've even begun to bore myself!

Raindrops keep falling on my head....

It rained this morning.

Monkey didn't like the rain shield, wouldn't keep her lap blanket on, tossed out her books, generally didn't want to be in the stroller, wouldn't hold my hand when out of the stroller, and went nuclear when she couldn't find her pacifier in the regular hiding spot.

Therefore, because life was conspiring to thwart her every desire, she decided to lie down on the pavement in a puddle and cry.

Normally, this sort of a morning would make me want to pull my hair out.

Usually, as Monkey goes ballistic, I imagine that everyone within hearing distance of my (air-raid-level) keening child is thinking "walking birth control." And then (as luck would have it), usually some perfectly-put-together family will walk by, shaking their heads at me, grateful their children are well behaved....

But today? Today was different.

For whatever reason (good sleep last night? getting all the dishes done before I walked out the door? getting a great kiss goodbye from my gorgeous husband? having a beloved friend fighting nephrosis and MS to put my "problems" into perspective?? who knows...) I decided that it was OK for Monkey to fling herself into a puddle.

I even started humming "Raindrops keep falling on my head" and did a softshoe shuffle, to entertain myself and wait for the tantrum to wind down.

Then I picked up Monkey, randomly pointed out a nearby sparrow, and watched the most amazing grin spread across her face. She laughed and pointed and completely forgot to continue her tantrum. Blessed little grey birds!

Gravity works

Things that Monkey has intentionally thrown or accidentally dropped into Ollie's litter pan this week:

1) My boar bristle hair brush (expensive and oh - eeeuuwwwww!!!!!)

2) Ollie's cheap "brush" (nothin' a little dip in bleach can't cure...)

3) A brand box of diaper wipes (which, by the way, splayed out perfectly, ensuring there was kitty litter attached to every.single.freakin'.wipe. sigh.)

4) Last, but not least, her toothbrush.

Um, let's just say she went to school with bad breath that day and leave it at that.

My budding gourmand!

Um, yeah, so the other thing that happened this morning?

Monkey ate catfood. Prescription Diet w/d wet catfood, to be precise.

I am SO in the running for best mother of the year, 2008. And we're only 9 days into the year! Go me!

Two steps forward, one step back....

This morning Monkey continued on her quest to master the English language, and demonstrated her prowess with two new words:

1) YES! Clearly enunciated, and used correctly. She said yes!! (in the land of no, this is a fantastic development! She might *actually* not be contrary ALL of the time!)

2) MINE! When I attempted to retrieve my bracelet from Monkey she yanked it away and clearly said "mine." Crap. And here I was, convincing myself that Monkey was not going to be an insane toddler all of the time.

I'm thinking that she is learning both good and bad things at montessori. Because I am pretty sure that neither her dad nor I have ever yanked something back from her and hollered "mine"....so this one can't be blamed on us (unlike "butt" heh heh heh. Hey, at least she uses it correctly, both grammatically and anatomically speaking!).

Oh, and yes, for those that are interested? She threw YET ANOTHER tantrum because she wanted her d&mn paci. grrr............

Dirty little secret

The worst part about this morning? And Monkey's trantrum over the pacifier???

I gave in.

Yup, I gave in and gave her the damn paci.

I know, I know, I rewarded the very behavior I want to suppress/prevent. I know this. And yet, in a supreme moment of cognitive dissonance, and well, because my ears were bleeding and I was panicking as Monkey was shrieking and crawling around on the floor like she was dying....I gave it to her anyway.

I want to share a dirty little secret with you: sometimes a tantrum, like terrorism, works. Sometimes they garner whatever it is the tantrum-thrower wants.....just to stop the wailing, the gnashing of teeth, and the rending of garments. Anything to stop the noise and pain.

And to think that Monkey is only 17 months old. I better man up before she becomes a teenager, or I'm screwed.

All aboard!!!!!!!!!!

Woo wooo............hop on the tantrum express!!!!!!!!! All abooooooard.

Three freaking tantrums this morning. Over the pacifier. Oh. good. lord. help. us. now..............

All before 8am.

Lost hat

So yesterday, as the mercury rose and outside got more and more balmy, Monkey and I went for a walk.

We checked out the local stich-n-bitch shop (translation, yarn/knitting shop). We went to no less than three grocery stores in an attempt to buy pickled jalapenas for chilli. (come ON folks, you've got pickled french cornichons, pickled organic beets, and pickled white asparagus but - what - japlapenas are too common for you to stock? sheesh!). And we generally enjoyed walking around and waving at every single dog and kid that went by.

Then, just as the elevator door opened onto our floor, as Monkey ripped open the bag of Gerber's dehydrated fruit and an explosion of freeze-dried strawberries flew into the air and threatened to choke our lungs, and as I backed out of the elevator and fell smack on my arse (*g*ddam*&it that hurt), I realized that Monkey had lost her beloved hat. Not any old hat, not a screaming oh-hell-no-you-can't-make-me-wear-it-hat, but a hat that Monkey LIKED to wear. In the land of no, this is a precious commodity.

Crap.

Back out I went. Meanwhile dad hosed Monkey off in the tub, since the fr&kg* strawberries stain everything, like our carpet. Sigh.

While I was out, I did not find Monkey's hat.

However, I DID find:

1) one mitten, red
2) one mitten, blue
3) one scarf, handknitted fuschia
4) one stuffed animal
5) one shoe
6) and a partridge in a pear tree.

As I went back to the apartment and ordered another (ok, two - you know, just in case) hat for Monkey, I chuckled. I was comforted by the thought of the city being awash in discarded toddler gear.

Sometimes it's nice to be reminded that your toddler isn't the only insane one in town.

Anything for you

I got to attend a swanky event at the Waldorf Astoria the other night, an alumni reception for my fellow UW Law School graduates. It was fabulous.

One of my classmates, M, shared the wonderful news that she is 4 months pregnant.

We got to talking, and she shared something a friend (and new mom) had said to her, about how the sleepless nights in the beginning are the hardest thing she's ever done in her life. I think M was telling me this story so I could laugh and assure her that this friend was exaggerating.

But she isn't. I told her that her friend was right, and that, sometimes during those early sleepless nights, you start to feel sorry for yourself.

Why? Well:

* You haven't slept more than 3 hours in a row for several months
* Your body isn't back to what it was before, and probably never will be, and
* Your child's hunger is insatiable; you never quite 'catch your breath' - just as soon as you've finished one feeding, the child starts to get hungry for the next one.

As you struggle out of bed, stub your toe, try not to curse and generally stumble around in a haze of exhaustion, you feel frustrated and just worn down. During the short span of time it takes to get to your child, a million questions run through your head: Didn't you just eat? Can't you just give me a break? Why won't you stop crying? How am I going to do this?

You think that you're out of energy, out of milk, unable to do this even one more time......

And then, the miracle occurs. You look down at your child, and all you can think is "anything for you."

Anything. I would do anything for you. The veil of self-pity and frustration falls away, instantly replaced by a sense of purpose, a notion of destiny, and love.

Anything for you.

I told M that Monkey still inspires that feeling, that I still look at her (especially when she is sleeping and looks so fragile and delicate, ethereal in her slumbering bliss) and - unbidden - rising up out of my chest comes this wave of emotion so strong it washes away all other thoughts.

Anything. For. You......

Up on my soapbox

In redacted form, below please find an important email my sister in law, G, sent to me:

Good morning-

Some of you may already know, but a friend of mine from highschool, J* and her 7 week old son G* passed away on December 19th. J* suffered in silence from severe post partum psychosis which resulted in her taking her son's and her own life. I am sending this email to all of you in hopes of spreading the awareness of Postpartum disorders.

Countless cases go untreated and in many instances the mother doesn't seek help for the fear that her thoughts and feelings will mean negative consequences. No one knew that J* was suffering after the birth of her son; she was able to hide it from her husband, parents, twin sister, and friends, which is why I believe this disease is so terrible. It can be prevented and treated, but it needs to be recognized and talked about.

Most of us know someone having a baby, planning to have a baby, or recently had a baby. Please take time to read/educate yourself on the various levels of postpartum depression (see below links) so that you can share this information with your friends and loved ones in a proactive manner. This has been a horrific tragedy that all family and friends continue to try to make sense of since Dec. 19th.

J*was one of those people that everyone absolutely loved, whether you knew her for 5 minutes or a lifetime. She truly was one-of-a-kind and as the obituary reads, she was the epitome of all that was right in the world.

It is the wish of everyone already touched by this tragedy that anyone at risk of any form of a postpartum disorder would have the awareness, resources and help that they need:

http://www.postpartum.net/brief.html
http://womenshealth.gov/faq/postpartum.htm
1-800-PPD-MOMS

Gifts redux

My brother is responsible for (ok, half responsible, his wife G had *cough* something to do with her, too!) producing one of the most adorable babies on earth, HP. And yes, I am biased. (and for all my other beloved babies? back off, I said "one"!!!...)

Her first birthday is fast approaching, and I have been ruminating on what to send her. After all, I (along with Aunt B) share the preferred status of favorite Auntie. We are allowed to spoil HP with abandon, AND teach her drinking games. Grandparents only get to do the first thing. (um, kidding, kind of....)

I was thinking about the gift my brother and G sent to Monkey for her first birthday. It is a xylophone shaped like a crocodile. When you pull it around its eyes goggle up and down.....and boy, can Monkey bang out a mean tune on that thing! (add in the keyboard from Grandma and all we need is someone on guitar to form our own band - yeehaw!).

I was thinking that this gift, this noisy, noisy and did I mention noisy? gift, deserved an equally loud gift in return. You know, to torture my brother and G. (and this is where you think, a ha! this says more about me than HP.....)

Only, the problem is, they already gave her a bongo! And apparently cymbals are next! Plus they have at least one guitar around the house....crap, they LIKE noise! They welcome it!

So how in the world am I supposed to torture my brother and sister in law? Send books?

Pfft. Guess I'll have to jettison my elaborate fantasies of aural revenge, and just sent something HP would like. Where is the fun in that?

Gifts

Have you ever noticed that the gift often tells more about the giver than the recipient?

To illustrate:

On Christmas eve, Monkey wore an adorable red corduroy dress with black scotties on it. A gift from Nana. On Christmas day, Monkey wore a scrumptious dress with a crinoline and matching red & green barrettes (with wee jingle bells!), also from Nana. And on Christmas day, Monkey opened up a present from Nana - an adorable jumpsuit with a velvet collar.

On Christmas eve, Monkey was allowed to "open" (and by this I mean gleefully shred the paper) one present from Grandma, a stuffed animal puppy dog that talks, plays songs, and chatters away when you press its nose, paw, belly, etc. On Christmas day, Monkey received another riotous, joyfully noisy present from Grandma, in the form of an electronic keyboard shaped like a kitty cat, complete with a microphone for impromptu karaoke sessions. Grandma also gave her a little yellow duck that quacks when squeezed.

Now, pop quiz:

Who do you think has a walk-in closet, and an annual shopping trip with the girlfriends to NYC?

Now, who do you think has kept a basket of toys in the front-hall closet, "just in case" a kid stopped by?

I bet you guessed correctly!

Now, to be fair - both are smashing dressers, and both love toys. Still, it makes me chuckle!

'Andpa interrupted

My folks stayed with us for a week over Christmas. And we had fun.

We talked, we laughed, we cooked, we ate, we drank, we went out, we stayed in, and, we all spent time reading with Monkey on our lap. Everyone, that is, except 'Andpa.

Remember when I wrote about how Monkey was terrorized by the doctor and his stethoscope? Did I mention that after her appointment, she was scared of older white men, in their 60s with a beard that was gray/graying (like her doctor)? And did I also mention that 'Andpa looks like that? Yup, you know where this is going.

So....when Grandma and 'Andpa rolled in the door, Monkey was less than enthusiastic about 'Andpa. She eyed him warily and generally stayed about an arm's length away for the first day. Then, when 'Andpa brought out his digital Leica (in a beautiful silver and black case....just like a stethoscope) and snapped a few photos, Monkey's lip began to tremble and she was visibly afraid. The camera was put away, and Monkey settled down.

Days passed.

Eventually, the night before Grandma and 'Andpa were scheduled to leave, Monkey finally brought a book to 'Andpa and tried to climb into his lap.

Just as monkey settled in for a snuggle, her godmother walked in the room. Monkey leapt out of 'Andpa's lap and ran to get a hug. And that was it. No lap time, no reading, no snuggling. I think my father felt cheated by fate.

The only solution? Yup, more time together. Once 'Andpa and Grandma finish their whirlwind tour of Tasmania and New Zealand, we'll have to plan the next visit. Without Monkey's godmother to interrupt!

Whoops!

One of my dear friends celebrated her birthday last month.

And, despite the fact that I sent Christmas/holiday cards to exactly 6 people, I actually went out and bought her a birthday card. Which I never sent.

Why? Because Monkey really really REALLY likes the card. It has taken naps with her, gone on errands with her, and generally become one of her favorite items. Yes, almost as beloved as Elmo.

Dear friend, my child absconded with your card. (oh dear, that's right up there with the "dog ate my homework" excuse....)

I had to send belated electronic birthday greetings instead! Oy, thank g*d for "whoops" messages we can send over email!