rivka

In mid-August, the kids participated in cognitive development experiments at the Johns Hopkins Lab for Child Development. (We do that a lot.) At the end, as usual, they each got to pick a prize: a T-shirt, book, or small stuffed animal. For Colin, I picked out a little white bunny with pink ears and a pink bow around its neck.

I had no idea what I was getting into.

I should mention here that Alex never really had an attachment object, as a toddler. She had a stuffed dog she was fond of, but it was never the sort of thing where she dragged him everywhere and couldn't get by without him.

So I was totally unprepared for the way that this cheap little stuffed bunny quickly became BUNNY. Colin carried it with him everywhere. It hopped around, saying "hop hop!" in a high, squeaky voice. (Colin's commentary: "Bunny hop Mama head! Hop a toes!") He brought it to me to nurse at least six times a day. It developed grey patches around the nose and tail from being sent down the slide at the playground. He held it, a lot. "Bunny!" he would croon, cradling it in the crook of his arm. Then he would hold it out for me to feed again. "Bunny see-see."

Whenever he found the nearly identical little stuffed kitty that Alex got on the same lab visit, he dropped what he was doing and picked it up. "Alex kitty," he would say, and then march off to deliver it to her. You could tell that he didn't understand why she didn't carry it everywhere.

A few days ago - you saw this coming, right? - Bunny disappeared. We couldn't find it anywhere. We tore the house and car apart looking for it. I offered Alex two dollars to find it, in vain. Bunny was gone. Colin didn't cry for Bunny, but it was definitely clear to us that he'd lost a major source of pleasure in his life.

What would you do?

I called up the Lab for Child Development at Johns Hopkins, of course. Unfortunately, they told me, Colin wouldn't be eligible for another study until he was 30 months old. They bought the stuffed animals in bulk and didn't know where a single one could be purchased.

Buuuuuuut... they're developmental psychologists over there. They get it. So they suggested that we borrow a study prize against the time, eleven months in the future, when Colin will be old enough to actually enroll. And they took a bunny out of their prize cabinet and set it in the back room with Colin's name on it. We went to pick it up today.

"Bunny went away to have a bath!" Alex cleverly told Colin, trying to cover up the discrepancy between Bunny Mark One and Bunny Mark Two. But it was unnecessary. He knew what he was looking at.

He was perched on my hip. He reached out and curled the bunny to him with his free arm. He put his head down on my shoulder.

"Bunny," he said. Just that.

I couldn't see his expression, except as it was reflected in the eyes of the grad students who delivered the bunny to him. They looked like they were basking in the sun.



(This evening Michael found Bunny Mark One wedged between a rolling toy cart and the wall. How it got there, I'll never know. We've stashed Bunny Mark Two on the top shelf of my closet for now, but I have plans to rotate them so they'll both age similarly.)

I voted on my way to work this morning.

In Maryland, and especially in Baltimore, the Democratic primary election is usually more relevant than the general election. For example, the most serious Republican contender in my Congressional district has raised a total of $600 so far. (No, that figure is not missing a K at the end.)

Last week I was trapped on the light rail next to two agonizingly smug hipsters who had mistaken cynicism for maturity. They spent the entire trip from University Station to Centre Street sneering about how ridiculous it was to think that anyone cared about local politics. Who's ever heard of these guys? Why would anyone care who runs for state office? What do they even do - allocate money that Maryland doesn't even have? Didn't they know that no one cared? Like, they could get elected if their mom's bridge club voted for them. ...I swear it was all I could do to keep from beating them about the head and shoulders. Ignorance does not become any cooler if you give it a facade of world-weary cynicism, guys. If you're going to be that smug about being dumb, please keep it to yourselves and don't make me suffer through it.

They're missing out on some fun local races. For example: two of the people running for Orphans Court judge in Baltimore aren't even lawyers. They don't feel that this is any kind of a problem. The main reason one of them is running is that she's unhappy with how a judgment she was involved in was ruled on by the court. The other one is a mediator. She figures she's seen judges, and she can do what they can do. Why go to law school when you can watch Law and Order and go from there? There's going to be a constitutional amendment on the ballot in November to require that judges be lawyers, but the two candidates are unconcerned: if they've already been elected, they figure, they'll be in.

And they're missing out on some serious races. There's a serious challenger in the Baltimore City State's Attorney race: on the table is a massive shift away from prevention and early intervention efforts and towards actually putting criminals in jail.

I am not hugely educated about local politics. But I know the names of my state senator and two out of three of my representatives in the house of delegates. I've even met some of them. And I try to keep up with the races where things are actually happening. And I voted. And I didn't smack those annoying idiots on the light rail, even though I wanted to. Doing my part to make Baltimore a better place to live.

If you haven't been reading Mark Reads Harry Potter, you totally should be. Mark is a 26-year-old guy who somehow made it to adulthood without ever reading a Harry Potter book, watching a Harry Potter movie, or encountering fandom. Now he's reading the series a chapter at a time and blogging his reactions before going on to read any further. His hundreds of commenters are all sitting on their hands desperately trying not to post spoilers - especially when he says things like "I'm really interested to see how Sirius's plotline develops" halfway through Order of the Phoenix.

This might be a good time to pick it up - he's just published an annotated index to his entries which makes navigation much easier. He's going to be starting Half-Blood Prince on Monday.

It's time for me to take my annual "refresher course" in rights and protections for human research subjects. This is more or less something I can do in my sleep. Nothing changes about the Belmont Report or the informed consent requirement or the special federal protections afforded to prisoners from year to year.

But this year there was something new in the section on Internet research (emphasis mine):

One of the most controversial issues regarding Internet research involves the observation of online communications. There is currently no consensus in the research community about whether online communications in open forums constitute private or public behavior. Conclusions about whether they are public or private behavior will affect if and how the regulations are applied. If the behavior is public, then this research could be considered exempt. If, however, there is a "reasonable expectation of privacy" on the part of the subjects, then IRB review may be required.

Another issue in observing online communications is whether the individuals engaged in this communication are identifiable. Although the subjects' actual identities are not "readily accessible", for many individuals, their online identities are as important to them as their real identities. Again, whether the subjects are identifiable affects how the regulations are applied.

Researchers should consult their IRB for guidance on how these issues are applied at their institution.

I'm so glad they noticed both of these things.

I know the conventional wisdom is that you're an idiot if you think the things you say on the Internet are private. Yes, on the one hand, the public Internet is public. On the other hand, I think it is legitimate to say that in some Internet contexts, people are speaking to a particular assumed audience and may reasonably feel that their privacy is violated if the assumed audience is bent too far. No, I don't think that you have the right to rant about someone on your public blog or LJ and then complain if that person comes along and responds. But on the other hand, I think that, for example, people posting to a bereavement-focused message board expect that they are speaking to other bereaved people and would have reason to feel violated if a new poster later turned out to just be there collecting research data. It's complicated. Research guidelines acknowledging that it's complicated are an improvement.

And of course people's online identities are important. Given the number of public discussions of online activity that equate "accountability" with "using your legal name," it's good to see an acknowledgment that online identities are often stable, personally valuable, and backed up by history and reputation such that it would be damaging to discard them.

It's funny the way kids' ages telescope.

Two kids on my Friends List are starting kindergarten this fall, just like Alex. (Except that Alex started June 1, but never mind that.) One of these kids, I've always thought of as significantly older than Alex. The other, I've always thought of as significantly younger than Alex. My view of their relative ages was cemented in their infancy, when a few months' gap is huge. But now they are all kindergarteners, and more or less the same age.

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I've been feeling really quiet in LJ these days. There is work stuff going on that I can't really talk about, and it consumes a lot of my emotional energy. Not posting about that stuff winds up meaning not posting at all. You could try asking questions if you felt like it, or you could just, you know, enjoy the silence.

I'm taking the kids camping tomorrow. Without Michael. (He Doesn't Camp.)

I used to camp as a child, and as a much younger woman. I was even a Girl Scout camp counselor, two summers in a row. But then I developed progressively worsening arthritis, and on the other side of the hip replacement I never got around to trying camping again.

What I wanted to do was take Alex camping. I figured sometime this summer we'd be able to go, and so I've been gathering the necessary equipment on gift-giving holidays. But Colin is not sleeping through the night and he's still nursing a lot, and so here he is coming along with us.

We're starting very modestly indeed. We're going to a state park campground in Delaware with two other families from our homeschooling group, one of whom we know slightly and the other of whom we don't know at all. It will just be one night - about 30 hours in all. It's not supposed to rain. The families will be taking turns cooking, so I'll only have one meal to prepare while keeping Colin out of the campfire. The kids will presumably all entertain each other.

The only thing that's semi tricky is that we're camping on what they call their "primitive loop," where not only are there no RV parking spaces but you are also not allowed to drive your car up. Once we're settled in, I'm sure it will be lovely to not have to worry about the kids playing in the road, but I'm a little worried about getting all of our gear to our campsite while carrying Colin. Not to mention the logistics of hauling the kids to the bath house multiple times a day, or what happens if Alex needs to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night and Colin is restless and can't be left. Or if the kids won't sleep at all.

But I am concentrating on the Good Stuff: Alex's first campfire. Making S'mores. Taking her out to look at the stars, which will probably be pretty impressive in a primitive camping area. (Please don't be overcast.) Colin chasing around at the heels of the big kids - his favorite thing ever. Relaxing in a camp chair and watching my children explore nature. Alex's excitement and bliss at the whole idea. (Me: "Tomorrow morning we leave for our camping trip." Alex: "Is this evening? ...Don't you wish evening only lasted for one minute? And night only lasted for one second?!?!")

Maybe I did have an excellent reason for this. Surely I did. Right?

...I'll let you know Sunday afternoon.

It has been pointed out to me that perhaps I shouldn't post about how much my life sucks and then disappear for a week. Sorry.

Here I am, back! And with a developmental update. Colin is 18 months old, and a fine big capable boy.



Just recently he's really gotten the rules down for peekaboo. He "hides" (announcing "hiding!") and then pops out and shouts "peekaboo!" He has not fully grasped the principles underlying hiding, which sometimes makes for very cute results.

(Also a perennial source of toddler cute: Colin thinks he can jump. What he can do is squat down and then stand up quickly saying "jump!" It's almost like jumping, right? He's very proud.)

He's got a few hundred words now, which he deploys with verve. We can have real conversations:

Me: Want to help me put away books, Colin?
Colin: touches a book. Alex.
Me: Are these books for Alex?
Colin: Chapter.
Me: Yes, those are chapter books.

Colin: pointing at my monitor. Baby! Becky! Baby!
Me: You want to see pictures of Becky and the babies? (pulls up our friends' baby blog.)
Colin: reaches for the screen. Baby. Carry.
Me: You want to carry the baby?
Colin: Yes.

One of my favorite new words of his, which he uses all the time now: "Turn." He'll take a bite of a cracker and then hand the rest to me, saying invitingly, "Turn!" Or Alex will get out of the bathtub, and if it doesn't look like I'm getting ready to put him in next he'll anxiously say "Turn! Turn!" He was in a study today at the Johns Hopkins Cognitive Development Lab, and he eagerly directed me and the experimenter to take turns with a particular toy. It feels like it's of a piece with the general harmoniousness we've noticed in Colin all along.

He has a few two-word phrases: help me, other side, read again, cut it, and, inevitably, more see-see (i.e., nursing). They are stereotyped for the most part; he's not flexibly putting together two different words he happens to know. But it is still definitely an expansion.

He likes to reel off lists of words. When I'm rocking him at bedtime, I'll hear "Red. Red. Orange. Blue. Green. Pink." Or he'll look up from playing and start naming animals and making their sounds. "Sheep! Baaa. Neigh... horse. Cow. Cow. Moo." Or he'll just start pointing to and naming parts of the body. I guess that when you only have a couple hundred words, it's hard to make conversation without relying on lists. (Colin is actually the world champion of animal sounds. You should hear his elephant trumpet.)



Colin and Alex are as thick as thieves these days. They chase each other around the house and climb all over each other. As soon as he wakes up in the morning he looks around: "Alex? Alex?" He wants to be right where she is doing right what she's doing. Sometimes this poses difficulties on the homeschooling front, but I try to remember that their good relationship is more important to me than her learning this particular thing at this particular moment. On her side, of course she sometimes finds him annoying, but she also plays with him much more than I expected her to.

Colin likes: airplanes, trucks, trains, and other things that go vroom. Bunnies. ("Hop! Hop! A bunny!") Being "pretty," such as dressing up in Alex's dress-up clothes or putting ponytail holders on his wrists and ankles. Playing in the sink or other water sources, which he attempts to justify by pleading to wash his hands. Being read to. Looking at pictures online, particularly Google Images searches for "commercial airplanes" and our friends' aforementioned baby blog. Having his entire family in sight at all times. Nursing, a little too much.

He continues to be a good regular-food eater, although ironically he isn't any heavier than Alex was as a terrible eater. He loves meat, fish, shellfish, rice, pasta, fruit, raw vegetables. We've got another one here who loves sushi.



His sleep continues to suck, but he has slept through the night twice now, so I have a tiny shred of hope that it will improve. We've decided to nightwean in a few weeks (after our camping trip) in hopes that that will lead to a big breakthrough in nighttime sleep.

I just got my "pink sheets," the summary statement of my grant review. Wow, it's really good.

This resubmission retains all the numerous strengths of the previous submission including: addressing a highly significant public health problem (failure to initiate or delayed initiation of ART); a clearly thought through iterative model of intervention development; well established involvement of the community; and a strong and clearly articulated research design. The revised application has been highly responsive to the previous reviewers comments and has been substantially strengthened. The team is outstanding and the choice of sites and inclusion criteria to increase generalizability have now been well justified. A few negligible issues for clarification are described in the individual critiques. In review considerable enthusiasm was expressed for this timely, highly innovative and clearly outstanding study that addresses a very serious and real public health concern.

I would like to express my particular affection for Reviewer 3, who used the phrases "superb investigative team" and "PI a very promising Early Career Investigator with demonstrated publication productivity."

Edited to add: guys, we're in clear text here. I've screened some comments.

Conversations with my son:
Colin: Daddy, Daddy!
Me: Where is Daddy?
Colin: Coffee.

Also, I made the mistake of showing Colin that it's possible to Google for pictures of airplanes. Now, every time I sit at my computer, he comes running up to point at the screen. "Airplane! Airplane!"

It is simply impossible to deny him when he gives me his Face of Joyful Anticipation.

Especially because, if he's not entirely sure that I've understood, he'll clarify using one of his most adorable word abbreviations: "Picsh? Picsh?"

"Pictures?" I say. "Yes!" I haul him onto my lap and search Google Images for airplanes. He vibrates with joy. "Airplane!" Point. "Airplane!" Point. "Airplane!" Attempt to climb right off my lap and into the monitor. "Airplane!"

On that note, have some picsh of the Many Moods of Colin.









(Yes, those are salmon eggs he's eating. The minute the tray of sushi arrives he starts pointing: "Pease? Pease?" Both of the kids will fight me for them.)

(Why so many highchair pictures? Only time he sits still.)

Under the new scoring system, NIH peer reviewers assign scores ranging from 1 ("exceptionally strong with essentially no weaknesses") to 9 ("very few strengths and numerous major weaknesses"). These scores are averaged and multiplied by 10, to produce a 2-digit number between 10 and 90. The lower you score, the better. They also figure your percentile, and lower is also better there.

I got a 15. That puts me in the 2nd percentile. I am told that only one, extremely senior, researcher scored better than I did.

Holy crap, you guys!! A 15!! Right up there in "essentially no weaknesses" territory!!

I have never, ever heard of anyone getting this good of a percentile score. My professional stock has just gone way way up.

2nd percentile. 2nd percentile. 2nd percentile.

Not to be immodest, or anything, but I AM THE MOST AWESOME PERSON WHO HAS EVER BEEN AWESOME.