But perspective itself is still funny

When in the midst of a fantastically warm and wonderful day, I might think it's funny when I realize that I mistook the cup that B and M were sharing for the cup K and I were sharing. Ha ha, everyone's been thinking that was their cup.

When M wakes up at eleven with a violent stomach flu, it's not quite so funny. More like a sinking, sinking feeling that just twelve hours earlier, we were all drinking from that mouth.

Because it's important to challenge yourself

Just in case this week wasn't crazy enough, let's add an ear infection! Oh, what the heck--let's add two! And while we're at it, throw some asthma on top of it! Let it keep us up all night long! Insert additional witty exclamation here! It masks the lack of sleep! And insanity!

Happy Valentine's Day!

May you remember today not only the love that you receive, but also the joy brought by the love you share. And then share some more! On my end, I'm sharing it with a very sick B, making this maybe not the fun or romantic Valentine's ever, but at least one in which we all recognize the blessing that is being loved.

Way to ruin a good thing

We've had much coughing and sneezing and other sickness induced unpleasantness around here. It's actually the third cold in five weeks, unfairly enough, not to mention the pneumonia. And do you know what's caused it? Surely not the rainy weather or the compromised immune systems or the stress of the move. No--it's because people kept saying to me, "You guys haven't been sick much this year, have you?" or "You certainly have been a lot healthier, huh?" To which I always replied, quickly and fervently, that it's just seemed that way, when in fact we'd had more than our due share, even though up until this point in the season we had been healthier. But don't people know that you NEVER say those things aloud? And look, they went and said them, and so we'll be sniffling our way to spring, thank you very much.

Breaching the Wall

This past weekend was the 2010 SDSU Writer's Conference. It's basically a chance to spent a boatload of money to sit indoors, hear conflicting information about vital one-shot things like pitches and queries, and breathlessly throw out what you hope are key details about your project to any agent willing to listen.

Ahem.

I went into the weekend in a foul mood. The days leading up seemed to be a train wreck of kids not sleeping, colds, house inspections, etc. I found myself on Thursday afternoon making homemade pasta sauce (must. use. up. frozen. tomatoes), washing dishes and doing laundry, cleaning bathrooms and building a train out of Legos. Did I mention I was also recovering from pneumonia? Yeah, really, like heavy duty antibiotic pneumonia. After trying to eat--did I mention that the heavy duty antibiotic absolutely killed my appetite?--and getting the kids in bed, I started working on that manuscript that I promised myself would be complete by the conference. At 2am, I finally finished.

I also hit a wall. It's been a year since I published this essay, almost a year since I started writing a novel that would resurrect my life as a writer. And I did it. I squeezed every last drop of time I could with energy I didn't know I had, and I produced something of which I'm very proud. Not only that, but I felt connected with my writer self, fired up in a way that I honestly have never felt. And at 2am, it hit me: this is how it gets done. By staying up late, by squeezing hard, by somehow dividing my single self into two. They're full time jobs--parenting and writing--and I've done them fully. At the same time. And insanity ensued!

Okay, not insanity. But I hit that wall and thought: I am tired. I do not want to do this any more. Granted, the pneumonia didn't help. But I was tired of feeling like I had too much to do and not enough time. I was tired of not enjoying a moment's of rest. I was tired of cramming so much into that little hour I had so that I was cranky on either end. I was tired of doing all this for something that I didn't have to do. Why not just one job at a time?

But I'm on a roll. I've ignited something within myself that is difficult to ignore, and almost impossible to walk away from. Will it be there if I wait? Oh sure, probably. But do I want to wait, with two manuscripts now? I've made it so far--super-humanly far--that I'm torn between wanting to be realistic, and wanting not to give up on myself.

So I found a door. I guess that's what you do when you have a wall. I went to bed and I went to the conference and I groped along all those little chinks in the brick before me until I found a way to get through. It was tough--overwhelming, tear-inducing--trying to push myself forward in the midst of so much conflicting information. But I reached the other side with enough brain power left to assimilate most of what I learned and put it to good use.

That's where I am now. Not a good place, maybe, but it's less pneumonia-ish, and there's no wall. Just more rocky path, hard hills, long distance. Everyone has a journey. I've come to know this as mine.

Maybe she was looking for Oscar

Today I endured an endless tantrum. Okay, maybe ten minute, but have you ever listened to a kid scream for TEN MINUTES? It's forever. And when it's your kid, it's a tad bit longer. The source of the endless tantrum? K was dumpster diving. It started out with a little eyes-only investigation with her friend. Pick-your-battles parent that I am, I watched without letting myself get too bothered. Parks are petri dishes anyway. I told them to keep their hands out of the trash. I might as well have given them a written invitation. The next thing we knew, both girls were dumpster diving. I sighed and told them to stop, at which point K backed off obediently. Then she picked up her cup, by the straw, with her Lord-knows-what-she-just-touched hands. I groaned and told her to come over so that I could wash her cup and hands, at which point K began to scream. And scream. And scream. Scream while I washed her cup. Scream while I washed her hands. Scream on the grassy area where I put her to finish her tantrum. Talk about dedication. After ten minutes I finally walked over, asked her if she was finished, and then picked up the sobby, snotty, snuffly mess and cuddled her for the rest of the play date. Because I wanted her to wash her hands (and cup) after sticking them in the trash. The nerve.

Clearly having no understanding of the limits of my patience, she stops in her tracks on the way to the car and moans, "Me not want go home. Me want swing!" Right. Poor toddlers. The world must be such an immense spread of puzzle pieces, all getting picked up and sorted and lost and then found and more often than not lost again, in the lengthy process of putting ourselves together. Some times we seem to have blissful days with lots of connected edges.Today was full of middles.

On the plus side, I had the oddest thing to keep me distracted during her fit: a spider in my pocket pack of tissues. Really. I'm not sure how he ended up there, except that perhaps he has a cold like everyone else this time of year. It took us a long time to negotiate the getting out, just long enough to endure a two year old's wrath.

The swine flu solution

I really like this helpful hint on preventing the dreaded swine flu:

"Keep your children at least 6 feet away from people who are sick, including anyone in your household who is sick." (Babycenter.com)

Right. I better get on that protective bubble. And a bigger house. A lot bigger. Because I'm not sure where these people live, but in my house, it's rare that you can get a few feet in between us, let alone six.

Seasonal shifts

So it's truly fall in our house: the garden has been almost completely dismantled, the kids are back in their respective preschool and swim classes, and we all have our first cold. While I'm preferring to focus on falling leaves, apple pie, and Halloween candy, they all still seem a long way away, and the cold is, well, very present. So long summer!

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.

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?

Coping mechanisms

So, being the second time we've been sick in two weeks, I'm getting better at the whole sick-life. Here's a few suggestions when that first sniffle shows up:

1) Cancel all activities for the rest of the week. This includes sleep, regular meals, and whatever little bits of work you leave for nap times.
2) Start taking Vitamin C, Zinc, Echinacea, and crack (per sleep cancellation in #1).
3) Designate your back pockets at Kleenex receptacles. Keep clean ones in the right pocket and used ones in the left. Or was that clean in the left and dirty in the right? Oh look, now kid#2 has a runny nose.
4) Practice telling yourself, It's just one video. Also tell yourself to ignore the fact you've said that four times already.
5) Make coffee. Lots of coffee. Run out of creamer? Just throw in some Red Bull (unless you really did start taking that crack).
6) Run a load of laundry, because the one time you saw your kid wipe his snotty nose on your bathroom hand towel was probably not the only time it was done.
7) Set up blankets on the couch and put new batteries in your book light. You'll be at the coughing stage before you know it.
8) Practice telling yourself, It's just one movie. Also tell yourself that movies and videos are not the same thing and should not be counted as cumulative time. Luckily, you're so sleep deprived by now that you might actually believe this.
9) Come up with catchy responses to your kid's public displays of illness, such as, "Oh, did you get choked on something?" or "What is with this nose of yours today?" Keep handy for that run to Trader Joe's.
10) Plan fun out activities like eating in the car outside daddy's office and driving around the block. It's like going places, but less work.
11) Remember that next week is going to be business as usual. So open up that Hansen's, climb under those covers on the couch, and read or watch or sniffle/cough together. Aren't you always wishing you had more time to lay around anyway?

Being Sick Makes Me Punchy

And that's about all there is to say on that topic.

Selfish, lazy, mediocre...

And I did it. Added a picture to my NaBloPoMo page, that is. But no blog posts. I guess people are just going to have to click on over to find out what I'm doing.

In the non-virtual world, I've been tied up with sick kids. Again. I feel like I should tattoo "Beware of Germs" on our foreheads. I feel like my friends are going to start avoiding us and the germs we seem to crawl with. I feel like a failure. I wash hands diligently, feed the kids lots of fruits and vegetables, take multivitamins and supplements, avoid cold-bearing friends and places, etc. And still: the kids get sick. A lot. So much so that I'm starting to have people comment on it.

Look, I know why the kids get sick. They have inherited allergies, asthma, and eczema that tax their immune systems, thus making them more vulnerable to colds. But there is so little I can reasonably do about the allergies. They have some medications (M at least) and we've cleared the house of the big culprits. Still, too much running and coughcoughcough. A little cold turns into a big ordeal. I know it's not enough.

But the alternative? Trying a bunch of radical changes that may or may not do anything, other than throw our whole life for a loop. If I was assured that these changes could help our kids, I'd do them. Even if they were tough. Even if they seemed un-doable. But I don't know that.

Okay, but I do know that I ought to just try. I mean, it's my kids and their health. But it seems like such a huge thing to do that I find myself praying, thinking, hoping that things will just resolve themselves on their own. Isn't that how we are about so many problems, parenting or otherwise? It's just a phase. Or, It's just this one time. Or, It's not really a big deal. We tell ourselves these things when the nagging little spirit within--often the Holy Spirit, if you're of faith--is telling you otherwise.

Why? Human nature. Laziness. Denial. Envy, even, of other people who have it so easy. Common sense, which tells me that other people are fine without these extreme measures. But we're not fine, right? And these aren't other people. They're us.

And I know parents who've made similar changes. I know they've managed, that they live happy lives, but it seems like such a big change fraught with such uncertainty. So what made them decide to do it? And does the fact that they made the same decision that I continue to avoid make me a worse parent? Or just a realist? Just some combination therein?

It just seems like I can't manage the daily stuff. How in the world can I tackle something so big? Where do you come up with that strength? Or am I just shortchanging myself? Because I know--regardless of whatever else there is--that I'm just a capable of a mom and person as anyone else. It's just a matter of application.

And today, the only application I've managed is a fork and knife to the Pizza Hut lunch buffet. And my NaBloPoMo page. And the photo book I'm making for my grandmother. Which seems in writing like a lot less necessity and a lot more avoidance. Great--Now I can add shallow to growing list in my head.

How much is that immune system in the window?

Coming off a two-week cold (and still not fully recovered), I contacted some of my holistically-minded friends to see if I could come up with any natural ways to protect me and the kids from repeating this whole scenario throughout the winter. After all, it is M's first year in preschool, and K still does do a lot of finger-chewing regardless of how many times I gently drill her that there might be germies on those.

Armed with a list of supplements, I toted the kids into Jimbo's. Then, while each child was eagerly finding and playing with every breakable glass bottle in the vicinity, I quickly gathered the things I'd been suggested.

And then I added up the price.

And then I put everything back.

See, the housing market was good to B and I, and then it was not so good. So I'm busying myself cutting corners where I can. Not to mention that I'm trying to consume less, overall. The hundred-plus dollars I was about to shell out made my new principles quiver.

But what if these supplements really do keep us healthy all winter? Wouldn't it be better to spend a hundred bucks now and enjoy ourselves? Why, absolutely! But what if they don't? What if I mix them into every vulnerable food--and sometimes just plunge them down a throat--only to find that we're getting just as sick as usual?

I know there's no answer, of course. After all, if there really were an air-tight prevention for the common cold, we'd all be using it already. But that much money makes me start thinking that I ought to just plant some grapefruit trees and press my own seeds, because I really am that cheap. And then I could sell it to my friends. And then I wouldn't have to worry about money at all. Hmm...

In the meantime--you know, while the grapefruit trees are growing--I've checked out a stack of books on immunity and homeopathy from the library. Because if there's anything I love more than saving money, it's researching something until it no longer has any meaning at all.

About the stomach flu

I've come up with a few observations during our (continued) bout with this flu:

• No matter how many sets of sheets you have, it's not enough.
• When no one gets dressed during the day, you run out of pajamas very quickly.
• Just because kids are littler doesn't mean that they barf any less.
• Throwing up doesn't wake your child up nearly as much as the bath they have to take to get the vomit out of their hair.
• The best place when you're sick is on Mommy's lap. No exceptions are made, even if Mommy needs to be sick herself.
• You can go through an amazing amount of dishes for not eating anything.
• There are lots of ways to combine white bread, applesauce, banana, and rice, but none of them make them any less boring.
• You can only watch so much Bob the Builder before you start referring to family members as Scoop, Muck, and Dizzy (Roley, too... hum along if you'd like).
• Men's Handball, broadcast in Korean, can be riveting when you're still awake at 4am.
• Just when you let down your guard, they'll throw up again. Guaranteed.
• By the end of the week, you start saying things like, "Just give her the french fry, cause she's gonna throw it up anyway," and "I don't care what happens as long as I sleep through it."

It ends, right. I mean, someday? Please?

Hungry ducks, not so hungry everyone else

We were on our way to feed ducks Sunday afternoon when there was an unpleasant gurgling sound from the back. "Uh, K spit," M commented nervously.

And so began our week with the stomach flu.

On the plus side, we're saving a lot of money on groceries, since we're mostly living on white bread, applesauce, and jello (even those who haven't yet got sick, because it's only a matter of time that what goes in will all come out). Then again, we're spending a lot of extra money on endless loads of laundry.

I keep thinking we'll get back to those ducks, but that requires the kids to reliably keep things in at all ends and me to be able to walk more than three feet without faltering. All of this sounds like a job for next Sunday.

That does make sense

D: I bought this fancy-pants thermometer, and it doesn't even work. 85 degrees my a**. She isn't frozen.
B: Let me watch you do it.
D: (swiping vigorously). See? 95 degrees.
B: Well, it might work better if you took off the cap.

And there you have it. People with fevers should not be in charge of checking other people for fevers.