Molly Scare

Molly got out tonight and had a grand time sniffing around the neighborhood and dining on last week's Thai Surprise and moldy bread from shirtless Kevin - my crazy neighbor's - yard. I bet you're wondering how we came to know what she ate...

She had a strange neurological reaction at 7pm and started shaking uncontrollably, panting, tripping over furniture and toys and reacting with extreme sensitivity to sound. A visit to the Vet ER with IV Catheter for fluids and a muscle relaxant, blood work to rule out kidney or liver problems, and an activated charcoal snack to soak up whatever led to an inconclusive diagnosis and decision whether to follow the vet's advice and have her admitted and given more procedures ($1,600-$3,300 estimate) OR take her home, let her poop out the charcoal and hope for the best.

I payed Molly's $523 bill, thanked the staff, and signed the waiver indicating that I took full responsibility for not following the doctor's advice. Then I helped a wobbly-legged (and still quivering) Molly to the car with muscle-relaxant pills to be taken every 8 hours to limit her shaking and another round of charcoal with two jars of banana baby food to aid in getting Molly to take it . The decision was based partly on the fact that if it was rat poison, she was probably doomed anyway, and if it was slug bait or moldy food, then she would most likely make a full recovery without a stomach flush, doggie enema and luxury overnight accomodations.

An hour after returning home, a mountain of black sludge exploded from Molly's ass, creating a foul stench and odd pile on our living room carpet. We dumped it in the middle of the street and explored it with a flashlight after hosing off the carpet on the front walk. Sure enough we found the remains of a moldy baguette, three whole cayenne chilis and two other types of debris that I could not make out.

Molly is now snoozing at my feet free of the shakes and looking a little sheepish about causing all of this trouble. I will still wake up at 2am to administer round two of the charcoal. Word to the wise...tell your neighbors not to put moldy bread out for the birds.

Alder takes to the trailer!

Alder has been riding in the bike trailer for short trips for the past few weeks. It feels great to be depending less on our car than we did when he was too small to hold head up with the helmet on. He protests a little when we strap the helmet on, but once we're rolling, he goes with it. Alice does her part by giving him toys and snacks! Thanks sis!

Alice started preschool last week. Here she is posing for Mary in her outfit before heading out for her first full day with no parents on Tuesday.

Commuter Dad Tries On Racing

This past Sunday, I considered every excuse not to take part in my first bike race in 10 years - a so-called farm crit: Kruger's Kermesse at Kruger's Farm on Sauvie Island. I hadn't trained. I'm carrying 20 pounds of extra weight that I affectionately refer to as my "dad fat" (a price that I once was happy to pay for my two wonderful kids under the age of three, but am now growing tired of). No one was really expecting me to be there.

And I didn't have a bike...

The notion started at a family dinner a couple of weeks ago at the house of Beth and Joe Kurmaskie (a.k.a. the Metal Cowboy). Kris Schamp, the organizer behind Kruger's Kermesse, was at the dinner table with us. When I told him that I had been considering trying out cyclocross this year, Kris immediately assured me that his race would be a "good pre-cyclocross training race with bumpy roads, but a flat course and no dismounts." He also offered to solve my no-bike problem by lending me his very nice and tall cross bike. Perfect. Joe, ever the motivator, buoyantly offered to join me for moral support, and the date went on the family calendar.

I should qualify the no-bike part. I have a dinged-up 1974 custom Colin Laing steel touring bike with front and rear racks, side-pull brakes, full fenders, and ball joint attachment for my kids' Chariot trailer on the rear axle. The only thing remotely "cyclocross" about my bike is that it has a beefed up rear wheel (for carrying laptop, a change of clothes, and 20 lbs of 'dad fat' between North Portland and downtown), and cyclocross style brake levers on the top of the handlebars. It's a commuter. And so am I.

A couple of days before the race, Joe tells me that he has a respiratory infection and can't race with me. He offers to show up at the farm for moral support, knowing that a sub-par performance from him just won't do. People have read his Metal Cowboy books about climbing mountain passes in the Rockies with 400 pounds of kids and gear in tow, and they will expect him to tear up the field - certainly in the Beginners class anyway, the class he had agreed to join with me.

A moment of decision comes on Sunday morning. With Joe out, the peer pressure is off. Kris had offered me his bike, but I hadn't called to confirm. I'm wishing that I had ridden a couple more times to train. Man, would it suck to come in last. But really, what do I have to lose, except some dad fat and a bit of pride? It's being in the race that counts. I sense the weight of family life and impending middle age and treat this as a metaphor for life. I load my 1974 commuter bike on the roof rack just in case the bike doesn't come through, pack snacks and diapers, and head out to the farm.

I have a hard time finding Kris. I imagine that he is in "organizer" mode, and has about 50 things on his mind other than his casual, unconfirmed offer at dinner. I find him talking with "Farmer Don" Kruger about the unseasonably hot weather and how it may affect the racers and the course. He has already loaned his bike to a Junior rider for the first race. My options are to bump up to Category C and face sure embarrassment or tighten down the screws attaching my racks and fenders and give my commuter a workout in the Beginner's category in the first race. I choose the commuter challenge.

What a hoot. The Kurmaskies and my kids provide moral support from the sidelines but I don't even see them until I've made my six bumpy, dusty laps and crossed the finish line. Alice says, "Daddy, you didn't see me because you were going so fast!" Either that, kiddo, or just trying not to puke or crash (didn't do either). And it turns out I didn't come in last - I got 32nd out of a field of 47. Let's just call it room for improvement. Cross Crusade starts October 5th. If you know of anyone trying to sell a 62+ cm used cyclocross bike, please have them contact me. I'm going to need a bike.

Bouncy Tree

Alice and friend Annie took turns being "jumping monkeys" and frogs on the "bouncy tree" at Open Meadow School this evening after a picnic dinner. An ancient oak's branches swoop near the ground on the edge of the bluff a few blocks from our house, creating a perfect bouncing and climbing opportunity.

Alder's first meal!

OK, so it was my second meal, but I didn't really go for this rice cereal stuff too much the first time around. Well, different story today... Mom put it in front of me and before she could even bring the spoon to my mouth, I decided I would give it a go by myself. And what do you know, it worked! Eating is cool! I wonder when Dad will let me taste watermelon again though...that was sweet - no pun intended.
- Alder, 6 1/2 months

Happy Kids

If it looks like I'm happy, it's just that I smile ALL THE TIME. Well, if it makes the parents happy...
-Alder