My sons' teeth and lungs

Last Thursday was the last day of school for my boys -- the last day of the Quaker Local School, in fact.  They'll be going back to public school next year.

On Friday, to celebrate their first day of "freedom", they visited the oral surgeon for their long-awaited wisdom tooth extraction.  Woo-hoo, right?  Because what could be better than starting summer vacation with anesthesia and chipmunk cheeks?

N-son went first, because his teeth were the worst.  We'd had the x-rays confirming it for years; his wisdom teeth were coming "in" sideways, pointing at his other teeth, not up or down.  Yuckers.  The oral surgeons knocked him out, got out their jackhammers and TNT, and opened up new spaces in his jaw.

N-son is no stranger to orthodontic intervention.  Even before he had braces, his orthodontist had me choose between nightly headgear and a more substantial (scary looking) piece of equipment called a "Herbst Appliance".   We chose the Herbst Appliance, mostly because I knew my son's propensity for breaking things, and I knew the headgear didn't stand a chance of lasting.  The Herbst gets bolted to the inside of your (kid's) mouth, and is virtually unbreakable.  Which is why N-son only broke it three or so times, each time much to the bewilderment of his orthodontists.  Yeah.

So when N-son had the oral surgeons digging foxholes in his jaw, they warned us he'd be in some pretty significant post-operative pain.  Fortunately, we discovered that a kid who can crumple Herbst appliances in a single bound (to mix metaphors) has a fairly high pain threshold.  He was on Vicodin (generic) for a day and a half, but since then he's been on nothing stronger than tylenol (also generic).   So, all went much more smoothly than expected.

J-son, with the much more straightforward extraction, was second.  The anesthesiologist put him out, numbed his mouth, . . . and then woke him back up as fast as they could without touching his mouth.  Because apparently his oxygen level had plummeted to disturbingly low levels.  (Actual description to my husband:  "If this had been an emergency, we would have put him in an ambulance, but it wasn't yet an emergency."  This was delivered to my husband over J-son's catatonic, drooling body, and was not particularly comforting at the time.)

Apparently, J-son reacted to the anesthesia like a morbidly obese patient or like an extremely elderly patient.  The oral surgeon said, "his general level of high fitness might be masking the fact that he has a serious medical problem."  He hinted at sickle cell anemia, at the same time noting that it didn't fit with the rest of J-son's profile.  (I looked it up:  pain and lethargy.  No, "lethargy" doesn't describe this kid at all.)  After a weekend of waiting for the test results, we were greeted with an old, familiar diagnosis:  weak lungs.  We knew about this when we adopted J-son, and we thought he'd outgrown this.  But apparently he's just out-exercised his apparent need for his inhaler, and not the underlying condition.  He's back on his albuterol inhaler twice a day now, possibly moving to a non-steroid inhaler in the future.

So, we'll reschedule the oral surgery, with a different kind of anesthesia, once J-son has been on the inhaler for about a week.  Do we need a medical warning bracelet?  Or notes in his medical file?  We don't know; those are the next questions we'll get to ask.

In the meanwhile, J-son is still boxing, training harder than ever, and looking amazingly good. Who'd  have thought that J-son would have the harder time with his teeth, or that N-son's tooth removal (dreaded for several years now) would go so smoothly?

How to make a flexagon card

With a tip o' the hat to Martin Gardner, I thought I'd share one of my favorite birthday-card making techniques.  This makes a cool four-sided card with some sides hidden, in a way you can reveal by folding and unfolding properly.   (Gardner calls this a "flexagon").

The front of the card starts like this:  Happy birthday!  

Fold the card "closed" in the way you normally do . . .

. . . but when you open the card up, you open from the back, not the front.   (Notice that folding closed meant moving the purple heart down, but opening meant moving the rainbow up).  When you unfold from the back like this, a new side is revealed!

Doing the same thing once more (folding closed in the normal way, and then opening from the back instead of the front) reveals yet another side!

Here's the fourth side of my card.

How do you make one of these?



Trim a piece of paper so it's as tall as (actually, a tiny bit less tall than) the envelope you want to put it in.  It should be less than twice as wide as the envelope.   If you're just doing this for your own fun, you don't need to trim the paper at all.


Fold the paper exactly in half (so that it could fit in the envelope) and exactly in half again, to get it folded into fourths.


Fold in the other direction, roughly in thirds (doesn't have to be exact in this direction).  It's important that the folds be perfectly horizontal --- I use the vertical fold lines to make sure things are aligned properly.


Following the fold lines exactly, cut out a "tongue" on three sides -- but not the fourth -- from the middle of the paper.

Fold the tongue back over and then under the side of the paper. 

Then fold the paper opposite the tongue up and over twice.  Tape the tongue -- not the folds on top of the tongue, but just the tongue itself --- to the paper it meets up with.  In the top photos, this would be the join between the dog and the cherries.

Decorate the paper, and start flexing to reveal the hidden sides!

How to wash a dog (large stuffed animal version)

Many years ago, I found a large, stuffed dog by the side of the road, set out next to some garbage cans.  I won't make analogies to abandoned pets, but I did bring the animal home, and my sons immediately co-opted the dog as a wrestling buddy.

Over the years, Big Dog has moved into N-son's bedroom, and like any real live dog, Big Dog eventually got smelly and needed cleaning.  This stuffed mutt is so large that it would unbalance and break our washing machine if we tried to stick it in there.  So instead, I had N-son take the dog outside for a bath.  This was fantastic fun for N-son.

First, fill the tub up halfway.  Don't worry that the big tub isn't quite as big as Big Dog.  Add laundry detergent.

Next, mush Big Dog into the tub, spraying the dog as needed to soak it all the way through.  As the dog gets wet, it compacts even better.  Do not try this with live dogs!  Doesn't work!

Also, don't jump up and down on a live dog!  But Big Dog seemed to get cleaner and less smelly with a bit of large muscle work. This is a happy chore for a teenage boy, and Big Dog doesn't mind one bit.

See?? Big Dog is happy to be curled up in the tub.  I totally love this picture.

And afterwards, rinse Big Dog and then leave Big Dog out on a fence panel/pallet to dry for a couple of days, turning the dog over every once in a while to air out.

Here's Big Dog with a 5-gallon bucket, just to show size.

So clean!  So fluffy!  And not stinky any more.

******

What does this have to do with being a Miser Mom?  My husband, when he started worrying about the smelliness of Big Dog, suggested we get rid of the beast, since cleaning it in our washer just wasn't feasible.  Earlier, he'd suggested the same thing about a heavy cloth floor mat.  Both of these were fairly easy to clean outdoors in a giant tub, sunshine, and fresh air.

And for kids, hand washing (or even foot washing!) their stuffed animals during the summer might be another fun activity to keep kids busy and productive, as well as entertained.  

What's in a deposit?

J-son has been working off-and-on for his boxing coach lately. Because of this, he's been earning some big bucks; and because he's been earning big bucks, he's gotten more life lessons with his brand-new checking account.

He's had a savings account at our local credit union for a few years now, but we haven't really let him access the money there (except through me) because of a host of behavior issues, linked to impulse control issues.  The double good news is that (1) he's gotten a job and also (2) his behavior problems seem to be fading.  So he opened a checking account with the credit union last fall, and this spring he's getting chances to learn how to use it.

His job last fall was with an amusement park that deposited his salary. Now he's working with his boxing coach; he gets paid intermittently, and in cash. I'm sure it's breaking all kinds of tax regulations, but J-son is not getting paid enough to worry about taxes this year.  So I'll leave the tax lessons for later; I'm focused on more basic finance skills for now.

The first time J-son wanted to put his boxing money into his checking account, I gave him an ATM envelope, reminded him of the steps he needed to take, and sent him to the ATM alone. He begged me to go with him, but I reminded him that I had done that with him and in the fall. He was on his own this time. The worst that could happen (or so I told him) was that he wouldn't be able to figure it out and would just come back home with his money. All went well. Yay!  Lesson 1 complete.

A week or so later, he wanted to take out money to buy snacks. I reminded him that the ATM two blocks away from the convenient store is free, and that the ATM at the convenience store would charge him. He used the ATM at the convenience store, and was fairly horrified at the $1.75 fee he had to pay. Another good lesson!  (albeit a temporary one).

Last week, we got more practice. I was explaining to Y, our host daughter, that J-son wanted to deposit another $60. He responded, "No I want to put this money in my bank." I reminded him that "deposit" means put money in; "withdraw" means take the money out. Because the free machine was shut down temporarily, he went back to the convenience store.

The next day, pretty much on his own, he figured out how to set up electronic access so he could check his account online. That's how we discovered that instead of depositing his cash, he had instead transferred $60 from savings to his checking.  Somehow he also got the envelope with the $60 into the machine. We call the credit union right away, and they said they have to wait for the envelopes from the ATM to make their way through the system before they can figure out for sure what happened.  I figure that there's a really good chance that his $60 is lost.

My husband is horrified and feels really sorry for J-son. As for me, I'm glad to let my son learn from this experience. J-son has earned several hundred dollars in cash --- and spent almost as much on ephemera. If his earnings hadn't been so under the table, I would have enforced the rule that he should save up for future purchases. But instead J-son has blown most of the money on clothes and shoes, often while he's still at the boxing events where he'd earned the money.  Some these clothes, we have already taken to Goodwill because he no longer wants it. Blowing a few hundred dollars on fancy shoes hasn't taught him anything much about money. But losing $60 because he doesn't know the difference between "transfer" and "deposit" has been a lesson he'll remember.

I do think we're going to start enforcing savings and keeping track of income soon.  But one lesson at a time, and we now have the first set of lessons under our belt.  Phew!

Garden grave yards and yellow birds

Even before my sons could make forts and such in the new pile of mulch, the squirrels did their own excavation works.  They created this little trench running from the ladder of the tree house into the main part of the yard. When the squirrels aren't guarding their trench works, the rabbits run through.  It's adorable.

The tomato plants, started indoors in canning jars, have moved outdoors into their new home.

But much of the rest of the backyard looks like a graveyard.  We have the basil grave, the cucumber grave, the corn grave, the melon grave, and a cilantro grave.  Oh, and a grave for peas.

But fortunately, resurrection seems to be happening; there are little green stirrings in the basil pit, and I think a cucumber vine might have poked its little head through the mulch.  Yes!

Even better yet, I'm learning more and more about moving live plants around.  For example, look at this oregano that I planted two years ago, just taking over this section of the garden.  Oregano is such a garden bully!

I'm going to dig up a bunch of it and move it to an area where I want ground cover, an area that's now being taken over by weeds.  We'll have an oregano/weed battle to the death, with me cheating and helping the oregano gain the upper hand (upper land?).

Oohh!  And look who visited the window screen right by my peach tree!  A pair of bright yellow birds stopped by to look into my living room the other day.  

I love this transition to summer.  Ahhhhh!

You are what you . . . drink?

"A mathematician is a machine for turning coffee into theorems."
--Alfréd Rényi

(Rényi actually said "device", not "machine", but this little saying of his has become part of the folk-wisdom of mathematics, and like many sayings, it has various forms; the version above is the version I "grew up" with, mathematically speaking).

I started drinking coffee the summer I was working on my doctoral dissertation.  My thesis advisor had gone to Oxford for a whole year, and I scraped together money to follow him there for just one summer.  "Summer" is a relative term in Oxford, especially in June, when it rained every day but one. The heat in the buildings was off (because, y'know, "summer"), but the outside June temperatures never rose above 60-some degrees.  I was miserably cold a lot of the time, and I turned to warm drinks to try to help me feel better.  British tea was an acquired taste that I couldn't manage to acquire, so I took up coffee.

Fortunately for me, July and August warmed up (AND I figured out the Sobolev inequality that helped me nail that compactness argument that I needed to finish my thesis--whoop!), but the rainy, cold June had made its mark on me:  by the time I left Old England to return to New England I was hooked both on mathematical theorem proving and on coffee.

Coffee, coffee, coffee . . .  I love it.  There are so many ways it has permeated my life.  Like Bach, I have sung (or rather, said) its praises: in our family game of "I like", my third or fourth offering has  often been, "I like . . . drinking coffee."

I've designed my bags so that they can carry my favorite insulated bottle (perfect for getting coffee on the go).

And I have come to love the coffee-making ritual in our marriage: my husband grinds the coffee beans at night, and I press the "start" button in the morning.  I make coffee and transfer it to a thermos for low-cost warmth preservation.

Coffee has been a part of my mathematical identity; it's been a part of my marriage; it's shaped the physical possessions that I own and the way I model gratitude with my children.

Can you sense there's a change coming?

There have been downsides to drinking coffee.  The expense . . . well, since we mostly brew coffee at home, coffee has been an affordable luxury, even to a Miser like me.  Even so, there's no getting around the fact that coffee is one of the more expensive ongoing pantry purchases we make in our home.  A larger downside is that I've been so addicted for so long, that even when I don't *want* to shape my life around coffee, I sort of *have* to.  In particular, when I'm traveling, locating early morning coffee (trash-free, where possible) has loomed large in my travel arrangements.

I've toyed around with the idea of giving up coffee for a while. I held back in part because it would be just another way to freak out my husband, who already thinks I live a life of hair-shirt-self-sacrifice, and worries about being dragged into the same. But then I came down with a health scare that turned out to be persistent heart burn (it's how I learned I'm beautiful on the inside).  And after taking mondo piles of medication day after day, I finally decided to say good-bye to . . . well, to a big part of my life.

Sigh-yay.  (!/?)

And so I've gone over to the herbal tea side of the world.  (Note: herbal teas -- cheaper than coffee and not addictive).  I get them from market (canning jars, no trash).  And just so I can inject a little of the happy side of me in here, I'll note that canning jar lids make great mug covers to keep the tea warm, and small canning jars are a great place to drop your tea ball when you take it out of the mug.

300 reasons to care about a single dollar

I don't know about you, but for me, high-cost items are something I buy once (maybe only a few times), whereas thing that cost a few dollars a piece are things I tend to buy over and over again.  Back in 2002, I spent something like $16K for the car we still have, but my few-bucks-at-a-time milk and yogurt purchases happen basically every week.

Which is why I tend to be fairly blasé about big purchases, and fairly obsessed about seemingly small, on-going trends.

Here's the way I think about these numbers in my head: one dollar per month is the same as three hundred dollars in a retirement fund.

It's a fairly standard rule of thumb to assume a 4% "safe withdrawal rate" during retirement.  The way retirement experts explain what this rule of thumb means is to say that people should aim to have about 25 times their annual expenses in retirement funds (after social security, pensions, etc). But I don't really think about my own expenses on an annual basis; I think about my expenses in monthly terms. I get paid monthly; the majority of our bills come once a month; I do our financial updates with my husband monthly, and my spreadsheets track our expenses monthly.  

So, the 4% rule translates to this:  for every dollar we want to spend each month in retirement, we need to have about $300 in our retirement funds.  And on the flip side: this means that if we can find ways to cut $1/month from our on-going expenses, I've just saved myself the burden of socking away $300 for the future.  That's a pretty big incentive to pay attention to small amounts.