Just put your witty goggles on first

(Insert witty story here)

Wait, you mean I'm supposed to insert the witty story? How about this: one week ago yesterday, K came down with a fever. For two whole days I carried her, at 103 degrees Fahrenheit, while trying to entertain the boy without any free hands. For two more days, she griped around the house that, while she no longer had a significant fever and I no longer had any upper body strength remaining, she was no longer being carried everywhere. Then M came down with a fever. For the next two days, M bopped around the house seeming surprisingly un-sick despite the fever that absolutely knocked out his sister, and I tried to keep both kids entertained, indoors, while slowly regaining the use of my hands. For the past two days, resolute M was felled by the addition of a cough, which has kept me up every night this week for 2-4 hours, and keeps him from eating, sleeping, or playing at any activity for more than 2 minutes. K continues to whine because, a week later, we are still around the house. Only now Mom is overtired, overworked, and running seriously low on super-fun at-home activities (Want to make art in the salad spinner? Sure. Want to make art with marbles? Sure. Want to make art with marbles in the salad spinner? Why the heck not! It's not like I have a better idea). And tonight, after crawling to the computer and browsing a little, I've discovered that the world has continued spinning quite contentedly, that it's almost Friday, and that it's the last day of April to boot. Really? That's news to me.

So there. That's my witty story. Wasn't very witty, was it? Wasn't much of a story, either. Well, there's always next week.

Happy Birthday to Me

Today, I turned thirty. Oh yes, I'm only thirty. I get that a lot. I made very good use of my twenties.

I've had a lot of questions about turning thirty, and a bit of teasing too. You know, how it feels, how I feel, etc. Apparently I should feel some way or another, and I do, but it's not quite what people anticipate.

Last week, Easter Sunday, I was singing in the special church choir. The congregation was standing with us, singing along. My eyes fell on an older woman of whom I have grown very fond. I noticed that she was wearing a hearing aid, something she'd never had before. I wondered how she might have felt, and I hoped it was lucky, lucky to have lived to be old enough to need help hearing. Then my eyes shifted forward to a friend of mine. We have known each other since we were both young married women with no kids. We now both have two apiece, very close to the same age. She also has an inoperable brain tumor. I thought then, compared to the older woman, how sad that must be, knowing that you will never be old enough to need a hearing aid, let alone see your kids grown and married and bearing families of their own.

But then, really, as I looked at all the people standing together, I recognized that we are all standing on this earth, and that we will all fall someday. I assume that my friend will fall before me, but it's possible it will be the other way around. We will all fall. It's the one inevitable fact of life. And while I may think that the woman with the hearing aid is lucky to have stood so long, I think that we are all lucky to be standing at all. Life is really such an amazingly complex balance, so fragile, so fraught with peril and risk, that every day we wake to find ourselves still standing, we should consider ourselves triumphant! So to hit a milestone like thirty, to still be standing, is a victory. Bring on forty! Bring on fifty! Bring on one hundred and ten!

But you know, in 80 years. Because today, I'm happy being thirty.

Literary Mama Magic

Voila! I come home one day and magically have another publication to my credit!

Okay, that's not quite true. Lots of work involved, but all completed some time ago, and mostly forgotten in the daily hustle and bustle that followed. So it does feel like a little like magic.

For those who are curious, this is indeed the story that was a bit too bleak for another publication. And no, it didn't really change much in the bleakness factor. See what you think. I for one thought it was a tough, honest look at a tough situation, one which I can relate to. If it turns out no other moms can, well, perhaps I'm in the wrong line of work.

But I don't FEEL relaxed

So you get to nap time, wondering blissfully whether you will relax by exercising or writing. Then you throw some dirty clothes out in the laundry on your way to relaxation. What is that bag out there? How can this be? The realization spreads across you like a cracked egg on your head. If you leave a bag of vomity, poopy clothes out in the garage for an entire day and night, they will still be there! No one comes to rinse them out! No one comes to soak them in bleach or throw them into the wash! They will just sit there, waiting, getting stinkier and more stained despite the fact that you are really not in the mood to revisit any portion of the last twenty-four hours! The nerve!

So the answer is, you will get out that bleach and get those clothes in the wash. Because cleaning up is relaxing, too. Right? Right??

In the key of (vitamin) C

Imagine me, sitting in choir practice, saying hello to the nice lady who comes to sit next to me.

Choir director: "Mr. X won't be joining us again tonight. He's still very sick."
Nice lady next to me: "It's going around. I came down with it yesterday." Pause. "I guess I'll try not to breathe on anyone."

I'm sorry, but it is choir. You know, singing? Breathing's kind of important.

Now imagine me, taking ridiculous doses of vitamin C, echinecea, and zinc due to the kind of not-so-nice lady. If you get sick from church choir, does God make it any less miserable?

Yogurt=Tapioca=Ipecac

M will not tolerate yogurt. Won't even swallow a probiotic. One bite/dose, no matter how cleverly disguised, and he coughs, chokes, gags. Yogurt is not going down that pipe, so you better be ready with whatever means available to remove said yogurt from mouth before anything else comes out with it. We don't respond well to suggestions that we swallow, swish with a drink, spit in a cup, etc. Instead we just pause, paralyzed, with our mouth hanging open in shock. You tried to feed me what?

Turns out that holds true for tapioca pudding, too. Who'd have thought it? Not that it tastes anything like yogurt, but maybe there's a similarity in texture? On the flip side, you can freeze that very same gag-inducing yogurt--no other additions whatsoever--and it goes down just fine. So that has a different texture, but same taste. Hmm.

When I get to heaven with my long list of my life's mysteries, God's gonna get a kick out of me.