Big Chilean Earthquake

There was a massive earthquake this morning in Chile.  Preliminary information is reporting it as an 8.8 magnitude (Mw), which is pretty big.  Damage reports are still coming in, and so the death and injury toll will definitely rise, and it's not going to be good.  There is hope, however, that it won't have been as destructive as the January 12, 2010 Haitian earthquake (at least 300,000 dead), despite the fact that the Haitian earthquake (7.0 Mw) was 700-800 times less powerful.

So why the (hoped-for) difference in destruction?  The magnitude of an earthquake is only one measure of the intensity and destruction of the earthquake.  Depending on ground material (waterlogged sand versus granite bedrock), the shaking--which is the cause of building collapse--can be intense and long-lasting (in the case of the sand), or brief and sharp (likely to damage structures but not make them fall immediately, in the case of the bedrock).  Destruction is also dependent on building type.  Some buildings (unreinforced masonry, adobe mud/brick/straw, cinderblock, etc) are extremely vulnerable to collapse after shaking.  It appears that many of the building in the Haitian capital of Port-au-Prince were made from these types of materials.

Chile, on the other hand, has a history of massive earthquakes and related-tsunamis.  Typically, most of their modern buildings are built to withstand at least moderate earthquakes, because they are so common.  Building location is also important, and traditionally cities and villages are built above the shoreline, away from most tsunami waves.

Chile holds the (dubious) honor of having the largest earthquake ever recorded, the 9.5 Mw May 22, 1960 Valdiva Earthquake.  The earthquake this morning is considered the largest in five years (since the 9.1 or 9.3 Mw Indian Ocean Earthquake on December 26, 2004).  So why does Chile have such big earthquakes? 

Here's the short answer:  Chile in on a subduction zone, where dense oceanic crust (Nazca plate) is being dragged under the lighter and thicker continental crust (South American plate).  That's why you get the high Andean Mountains--all that pushing and shoving "wrinkles" the continent's edge into mountains, complete with spectacular volcanoes.  It isn't easy to push crust down into the dense mantle of the earth, so tremendous force can build up and then--when the rocks can't take it anymore--SNAP!  The pressure is released in a giant wave of energy we call an earthquake. 

This built-up pressure happens in all tectonic zones, whether the movement is extensional (pulling apart), strike-slip (rubbing past each other), or convergent (pushing together, as in Chile).  The largest amount of pressure happens in convergent zones, because of the directions of the forces.

(Wow, I really miss teaching geology.  You can't tell, can you?)

Ultrasounding

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For my first three babies, I was excited to the point of sleeplessness about the mid-pregnancy ultrasound.  See the baby!  Count the fingers and toes!  Is it a boy or a girl?  Is the due date right?  Yay babies!!

At Gee's ultrasound, however, we were first made aware of his spina bifida.  It was a Friday morning, and my friend was taking care of the older two kids.  Bradley took the morning off work.  We were, obviously, not expecting anything out of the ordinary.

I don't remember the exact moment of revelation--it was gradual, with the ultrasound technician getting quieter and quieter, and making more and more measurements and images.  He didn't make us wait to talk to the doctor, though; he told us he suspected that the baby had spina bifida, club feet, and the Arnold-Chairi II malformation of the brain.  He told us the baby was a boy, that his heart and lungs were great, and that the OB would see us in just a few minutes.

We waited in the waiting room until the doctor had a free moment, clutching our roll of ultrasound photos.  I called my friend and told her about the delay, barely holding back the tears of uncertainty and fear.  The doctor was gentle and soothing, telling us a little about spina bifida, telling us we had an appointment at the Maternal-Fetal Medicine at the hospital the following Monday...it was overwhelming.  The next couple of weeks were a blur, having to tell grandparents and siblings and friends.  Gradually we got used to the idea, taught ourselves as much as we could, and coped.  There were a lot of prayers and tears.

And then our Gee was born.  And he immediately became a real person, not a scary abstract.  Life is wonderful and not nearly so hard as we imagined during the 20 weeks between discovery and delivery.

But I've been scarred concerning the whole ultrasound experience.  I alternate between sheer terror and pleasant anticipation.  (At least this time around I haven't burst into tears when asked about finding out the sex of the baby, as I did a week before Hebs' ultrasound.)

Ralph/ette's ultrasound is Monday morning at 11am.  Everything is going to be fine, whatever may be.

AND your momma dresses you funny...

 

It was Mismatched Day today at Zee's elementary school.  He was quite proud of the outfit we created for him.  Although you can't see it, his socks AND shoes are mismatched, too.

More Memories; or I was SUCH a pudgy child

I'm the one in yellow.

I'm the one on the far right.  There's an awesome stories behind the pretty pink matching dresses; I'll have to write about it sometime soon.

You'll notice I am wearing the biggest pink dress now--LaDale, my oldest sister, is wearing it in the previous picture.  And nice socks, huh?

Speaking of wearing the same dresses, Mema is wearing the same dress in two of the pictures, spanning several years. I was teasing her about it, and then realized that I have been wearing the same black velvet dress in just about all my children's blessing pictures. So...there you go. Not a lot of time or money for buying new clothes when you have a growing family.

Yes, I had a bowling ball head

Me, LaDale, Jenafer

Late 1977/Early 1978

In addition to my bowling ball head, I had sticky-outy ears, too.  Just like my Hebs:

Dental contrasts

First of all, I wish my dentist could be a pediatric dentist.  Baby teeth fillings are just so...zippy!  And cheap!  And there is a train that roams around the office, and the patients get little tokens for toys or a ride on a mechanical horse...what's not to love?

'Tis the season for dental checks, at least in our family, as we try to spend the remainder of last year's FSA money by March 15.  (Don't get me started on how stupid it is that money doesn't carry over from year to year.  GRRRRRR!!!)  Because my children are genetically related to me, they have bad teeth.  So, both Zee and Em needed fillings and caps.

Zee's appointment was last Thursday.  It was agony.  The laughing gas didn't make much a difference in his general mood of terror, the numbing goop made him gag, the shots made him scream and writhe and cry.  It was really, really terrible.  He hated the whirl of the drill (I know that feeling exactly), the pushing and prodding...the entire appointment lasted all of twenty-five minutes, and he was miserable the entire time.  (And thus, so was I.)

Today was Em's appointment.  Now, this is her first time needing more than a cleaning at the dentist, so she didn't know what to expect.  She was pleased when I told her where we were going, thrilled to go into the waiting area, actually skipped behind the dental assistant into the exam room.  She giggled and laughed.  The laughing gas really affected her.  She was even (if possible) giddier, and then got a little sleepy, then giddy, then sleepy.  She barely murmured when they gave her the shots.  She was a model patient.

Why were they so different?  Was it because Zee had certain expectations--having been to the dentist several times before?  Was it because the laughing gas has more of an effect on Em?  Was it just because they are very different kids?  One of the reasons I am uncomfortable at the dentist has to do with claustrophobia--I really hate having the dentist's hands and face in my face, although I appreciate there is no other way for him to work.  Maybe Zee inherited that particular discomfort, and Em didn't.

Who knows?  All I know is that I'm not dreading Em's next appointment the same way I dread Zee's.

So it's a race, but it's judged. Got it?

I thought I'd start out this post with the question:  "What is the most absurd Winter Olympic sport?"  Then I realized the answer is, of course, "curling".  In fact, "curling" not only answers the question, but brings the conversation to a complete stop.  There is no more absurd Winter Olympic sport than curling.

So, instead of asking that question, I'll ask another question:  "Why are so many Winter Olympic sports absurd?"

Of course, the question could be asked, in some respects, of all sports.  Football?  Heavily padded grown men fighting over an oddly shaped ball, in distances measured by feet (and sometimes inches).  Golf?  Smacking a little white ball hundreds of yards around.  Sprinting?  What lion is chasing you around the savannah, bud?  Cross-country?  Haven't you heard of cars?  (I had to include cross-country, it's my sport.  Or was, in high school.)

But at least those sports have the aura of familiarity--they may be weird, but they are normal weird. 

Some of the Winter Sports are pretty normal-ish:  figure skating, the skiing races, the skating races.  (Although I have never laughed so hard at a race as when I watched a short track relay race.  They don't seem to pass a baton, as in track relays.  They push each other's butts.  It is hilarious to watch.)  Then you have bobsled, skeleton, luge:  I've heard people argue that it's just glorified sledding--any child can sled!  Well, lots of kids can bike, too, and they have cycling races in the Summer Olympics.  Speed makes a difference.  Even snowboarding makes some sense to me.

But the moguls?  That has to be the oddest sport combination ever.  Okay, let's ski down a steep (between 25-39 degrees) slope, and let's put a bunch of weird little hills on it (moguls).  How fast can you go?  Oh, I almost forgot.  We'll put two little ramps and force you to a fancy backflip or double axle twist (like you are a gymnast or figure skater), which we will then judge you on.  So it's a race, but it's also judged.  Got it?

Who thought that up?  I think I admire his/her sick, twisted mind.