I've seen enough of the doctor.

At one point or another, I’m sure I’ve blathered on about my love of Fall! I don’t think “fall” officially has a capital “f,” but it should.

I love everything about Fall. The clothes, the pumpkin patch, warm apple cider, trick or treating, etc. etc. etc.

It may have something to do with the fact that the woman who “did my colors” at Merle Norman before the 8th Grade Christmas dance told me I was “an autumn.” She was absolutely correct in her assessment.

Last year it was 85 degrees every day until November, when over night the temperature dropped to 30 degrees. Last year was a bust. This year, we’re going to have a great Fall. I can feel it. It’s been sunny, pleasant, and the cool air is trickling in. The weather man keeps telling us we’re going to have awesome foliage because we’ve had the right temperatures, the right amount of rain, and the Farmer’s Almanac says so.

Last weekend I ripped out my dead as a doornail petunias and conned Brandon into planting giant yellow mums. I hung my Fall wreath. I scattered my glass pumpkins throughout the living room. I’m ready.

It’s not quite time to buy pumpkins and drag out the jack-o-lanterns, so to tide myself over I suggested we go apple picking as a family.

Here’s the thing. I tend to do this kind of stuff by myself with the kids. Do you know why? Because I can go on my own terms and I have a great attitude. When we involve Brandon there’s a great deal of hemming and hawing around and excessive questioning. “Where is this place? How do you know they have apples? Do you have any cash? Can’t you buy apples at the store?”

When we get there, the fun leaks out like a balloon with a pin hole. “You’re wearing flip flops to an apple orchard?! Meredith! You wore white shoes?! Gator, watch out for the mud! Stay on the gravel! I don’t know where we’re supposed to get the picking bags! NO, we’re not riding on the wagon; it’s crowded! We’ll walk and get there in half the time!”

I don’t like unknowns anymore than Brandon, and we have a shared appreciation of structure, but once in awhile, the occasion calls for throwing caution to the wind. I do so in low risk settings, like an apple orchard. We arrived, we got a little muddy, I found the picking bags. All was well.

We picked several pounds of apples. We wound up with more eating apples than cooking apples. I should have used the last of the cooking apples to make a sugar-free apple sauce. Instead I baked them into a killer apple crisp, which the kids and I ate before dinner while it was still warm and topped with vanilla ice cream. We probably gave Brandon hives!

Irony

I've known Brandon for 15 years. I know he can't be trusted around cameras, old photo albums, or an idle Facebook account. He will take unflattering pictures of you. He will pull awkward Jr. High photos out of your scrapbook and frame them for his office. He has updated my FB status with such classic and cryptic messages as "Ay! Nachos!" Brandon also loves to push buttons.

We have also had a 12 year battle over the Taco Bell dog. For whatever reason, Brandon thought that campaign was genius. He's normally too erudite to find anything funny outside of Mel Brooks movies. That stupid Chihuahua stuck him as funny. His mom got wind of it, and in her quest to collect, purchased every talking stuffed animal Taco Bell offered. To this day, we fight over the disposal of the collection.

Yesterday morning, a few comments came in on the blog. I noticed they said, "Yo Quiero Taco Bell" in the subject line, which seemed odd. I thought someone who knew about our Chihuahua war was goofing around with me by entering the most iritating Spanish language phrase into the subject line. I didn't give it too much thought.

I was right. Someone intimately familiar with our war was goofing around with me and I list him as my emergency contact. I may reconsider. He can't be trusted.

So, if you logged onto the blog and wondered why the Taco Bell dog was in the banner; now you know. What struck me as completely ironic, was the fact that I didn't notice it until I posted about Mexican rice!

Truth in packaging

Friday night is very often taco night at our house. Either we go out for Mexican or we have it at home. Either way we wind up eating some sort of spicy beef laden dish.

When I make tacos, I feel like they should have some sort of side dish. I always mean to make Mexican rice. The same box has been shelved in the pantry for a year. By the time I remember I want to make Mexican rice, it’s too late. It takes 30 minutes to cook and I’m pulling the shells out of the oven.

When Meredith and I were grocery shopping this week, a new kind of Mexican rice caught my eye. We have a fairly large Hispanic population, and as a result the Mexican foods shelf has expanded into half an aisle at Meijer.

This looks pretty close to what they serve at El Rodeo. I read the back of the box and it looked easy enough and I assumed it was probably much healthier than what I normally order. I threw a box in the cart without any memory of the box that’s taking up space in the pantry. It’s Goya. It looks authentic.
The directions were very straightforward. No more difficult than instant couscous. I boiled the water, added the olive oil, and stirred in the “rice and seasoning packet.”

The rice was completely devoid of color and there weren’t any bell peppers or tomatoes to be seen. It smelled like white rice. The familiar spicy tomato smell I expected wasn’t there. I shook the box to make sure I didn’t miss a packet of dried vegetables and cumin.

Nope.

Nothing.

I thought, “Well, maybe it happens by magic while it cooks.”

It’s always completely logical to assume something will happen by magic.

When I removed the lid after 25 minutes...

the rice still begged for soy sauce.

My mother in law would have written the company a letter. She would have received a coupon in the mail for a free box of rice. She would have given the coupon to me and I would have lost it or thrown in away. So, I’m saving myself time and chalking it up to my incomprehension of the Spanish language. I’ll stick with Uncle Ben from now on. We speak the same language.

Musings from a former skeptic.

I rolled my eyes. I scoffed. I resisted. I flat-out refused to read “Twilight,” and the three subsequent books in the series.

I have no interest in science fiction. I don’t like vampires. I couldn’t imagine feeling anything for one aside from repulsion.

I don’t read young adult literature, specifically fiction.

I also don’t like to listen/read/wear/even eat anything that goes from obscure to the “it” thing overnight. Dave Mathews Band is forever ruined for me.

So I ignored “Twilight” and chalked it up to one of those books someone going to GenCon would read.

Then normal people, people I love, people whose opinions influence me started talking about how much they luuuuuhhhhhvvvved the series. Really? I still didn’t buy it.

I don’t know what my tipping point was.

It might have been the thought of going to Annie’s “New Moon” premiere party without relating to jubilant excitement. It may have been the fact that I had an hour and a half to kill while Meredith went to a museum class. It was more likely the fact that I had a Borders coupon that expired that day floating around in my purse; and I didn’t think it was socially acceptable to read Tori Spelling’s book in public.

Whatever the reason I read the opening passage with extreme skepticism.

“I didn’t expect to die this way…”

Oh brother. I’m going to hate this.

To my surprise, I didn’t hate it. In fact I finished all 300 and some odd pages in two days. I forced myself to put away laundry and vacuum before reading and “Twilight” actually served as motivation.

Now I didn’t fall head over heels the way some people do over the book, but I liked it. I found it far more unpredictable than I expected from a work of fiction aimed at 14 year olds. I was not at all repulsed by the vampire aspect, and was stunned to find the main vampire was the character I most enjoyed.

I called Annie to give her the good news and let her know I was on board with the series, but wasn’t in a rush to read the second book. She told me I should watch the movie. Annie knows me well enough to know that I’m easily annoyed and prone to eye rolling at bad effects and cheesy dialogue. Annie warned me it was a low budget movie and I better prepare for the makeup to look like a high school play. BUT, Annie told me the combination of the book and the movie would fling me into raving fan status.

I borrowed the movie from Megan and Annie was spot on! I liked it. I really liked it. It made me like the main guy, Edward even more. All right, fire lit. I give up.

I picked up "New Moon" yesterday and I started reading it this afternoon through very heavy eyelids while Meredith napped. When Alex got home from school I read it while he wrote out his spelling words. When the party moved to the swing set, I dragged the book outside. I read while I stirred the Rice-A-Roni.

I'm completely gone.

I admit it.

I was wrong!

I am not a very ambitious person. I lack the drive required to achieve wild success. I will readily admit to doing the bare minimum.

I am lucky I didn’t attend a very competitive high school because I never would have put forth the effort required to stand out among driven peers. I stood out by doing what was required and being very outgoing.

I figured out early on that if you could convince teachers you were bright and they liked you, they somehow thought your writing was much better than it really was. So my A’s in Reading, Writing, Speech, Journalism, and Current Events off-set my deplorable math grades and I wound up at a really great college.

I know this personality trait has to drive my mom bananas. She is the epitome of driven. She is fueled by success and will work doggedly to achieve her goals, which she visualizes and writes down.

I remember my parents taking me to one of those Peter Lowe seminars which are basically a day long commercial for business tapes. One of the sales guys/speakers asked the crowd to write down ten goals they wanted to achieve in the next year. I remember struggling to come up with TEN things I really felt were important I achieve as a college junior. My mom needed two notebooks. (The highlight of that day was seeing Barbara Bush speak, and I don’t think that was my parents’ motivation for purchasing my ticket.)

My point is my mom is very driven.

My lack of need for achievement and/or accolades makes me the perfect candidate for the role of stay at home mom. Managing a household and raising bright, articulate children is more than enough of a challenge for me. My employee evaluation will come when Alex and Meredith are functioning adults who contribute to society in some small way. I will have failed if they are in the slammer or treat wait staff rudely.

Believe it or not, I’m so thankful for my lack of ambition, which I don’t confuse with laziness, but believe me I can be lazy. I am completely free to enjoy the moment. To paraphrase Dr. Seuss, “A moment is a moment no matter how small.”

My days are devoid of numbers and sales goals, and are instead filled with time for chats about how it is possible for a couple to wind up with the wrong baby implanted into a mother’s uterus. (Thank you Today Show for running that story during the breakfast hour.) I can sit on the kitchen floor and play checkers. I can dream up ways to make studying for spelling a little less brutal. I can say “Yes, let’s make cookies Right Now!”, and actually have the ingredients on hand. All of this without a single case of the doldrums. I honestly feel completely and totally fulfilled.

Because I walked out of the surgical suite completely conscious my mom was free to entertain the kids without having to play nurse mate to me. I really get a kick out of watching my mom interact with her grandchildren. To say it’s night and day between my childhood is an understatement. I don’t begrudge that at all. I’m very glad that I was encouraged to be self sufficient. It’s just fascinating to watch my mom drop e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g to take Meredith to Dunkin’ Donuts per her request, and rush back to have lunch with Alex at school. Only to pick Meredith back up because they ran out of time to get manicures and adequately shop for books. To stay until after dinner before making the five hour trip south because she “can’t break Alex’s heart.” I cannot believe she wears a shirt that spells out "GramPam" in rhinestones.

It’s truly the only time I’ve ever seen my mother not pay attention to listings, sales numbers, agent retention, investment properties, and what else she can do to catapult herself closer to achieving her goals. Not that I don’t admire that, it’s just that it wears me out thinking about it.

When I allowed myself---very briefly—to consider what could happen to me if the lump in my breast was malignant, I didn’t feel the anxiety that one might expect. I felt complete peace. Of course I’m not ready to leave this life behind. I want more than anything to see my children grow up and blossom into whatever makes them happy. I want to give in and travel with Brandon to Egypt, even though I think it’s filled with terrorists. I have too many friends I love like family to pack it in before 35.

But, I didn’t feel the least bit panicky. I felt fulfilled. I felt like I’ve given my children the best foundation I could. I’ve spent my days loving them and shaping them. I succeeded at making a home for our family. I love being a wife… most days at least, the days Brandon actually hits the bathroom trashcan with his tissues. If I wasn’t able to do a single thing more, I was okay with that. I can’t tell you what a gift that realization was.

I have found fulfillment and it is nowhere near Capitol Hill where I once expected it to be.

Case closed?

The saga is over. For now and hopefully forever. I sent an e-mail out earlier today detailing my morning. If you didn’t receive the e-mail I either A.) Don’t have a valid e-mail address for you that pops up when I type your name. Remember, I’m very, very lazy. OR B.) I didn’t bring you into my circle of drama in an effort to avoid being a Lady of Ailments.

I don’t even like my birthday acknowledged outside of the four walls of our house, so I really don’t want to call attention to myself as the next youngish mother to find a lump in her breast. I was also busy reminding myself “it” was nothing.

To recap: During my annual exam in May, my OB/GYN found a suspicious lump in my right breast. She was pretty sure it wasn’t anything to be worried about, but sent me for a diagnostic mammogram just to be sure.

I decided I would take Meredith along so that she grew up believing mammograms were a normal part of preventative health care for women. I did not however stop to think exposure to radiation would off-set any positive life lessons learned. Meredith sat alone in an inner waiting room with a box of crayons watching “Handy Manny.” I wondered if they should be checking me for a brain tumor instead.

The radiologist had trouble finding the mass even though it was the size and shape of an almond. I even took his fingers in my hands and ran them along my goop-covered breast. He felt it, but couldn’t find it, which is apparently a good thing. He was 98% confident the lump was just a cluster of breast tissue. It was the 2% that bothered me.

Fast forward to the uterine cyst explosion of two weeks ago when I asked Dr. Pease to re-examine the lump which was now very, very tender. I knew something was up when her face contorted and she said, “Leslie, the tip is hardening. As your physician I’m not worried, but as your friend, I’m freaking out. I’m sorry for using those words.”

Because Dr. Pease is my favorite medical professional of all time, I trusted her when she suggested I push for a biopsy. She sent me to a wonderful breast surgeon named, Dr. Kennedy. I tried not to let the name bother me. Dr. Kennedy examined me and decided that it was probably a good idea to do a surgical biopsy because the mass didn’t show up on ultrasound or mammogram. She also made a point of saying she wasn’t worried and wouldn’t necessarily have had the lump biopsied if I just walked in off the street. It was the recent hardening and growth spurt that bothered Dr. Kennedy.

Last Friday while I was in the shower, I noticed the lump was significantly smaller. I started to call Dr. Kennedy’s office, but thought she would think I was a whack job trying thwart surgery. I called Dr. Pease, who quickly worked me into her schedule. She agreed the lump was smaller but thought I should go ahead with the plan to remove it.

Which brings us to this morning. My mom missed an important meeting in Atlanta and made the five hour trip to take over the feeding and care of our children. Brandon rearranged his day and booked an evening flight to Phoenix. I followed my pre-surgery instructions to the letter and was afraid to even use Chapstick on the way to the hospital.

I got underdressed, into a bed, wore compression booties, and shook from the chill of the solution in my IV. I met with an admittance nurse, an aftercare nurse, the guy who would put me under, and the surgical nurse.

When Dr. Kennedy arrived I told her I was convinced the lump was shrinking. She looked skeptical and did an exam. She smiled and said, “I think you’re right. I’m not sure this biopsy is needed. Cancer doesn’t get smaller or less hard on its own. I think the chances of this being cancer are very, very slim.”

Dr. Kennedy left the ball in my court. She told me we could wait and watch or we could go forward as planned. Dr. Kennedy assured me she wouldn't offer me the option of leaving the mass as it was if she was remotely concerned about cancer. The more we talked, the more I became convinced that surgery wasn’t necessary. My fear is, I’ll look back at this six months from now after receiving bad news and I will want to wring my past-self’s neck.

For now, the plan is to watch and see what the mass does. Dr. Kennedy believes it may be entirely glandular breast tissue that happens to swell every time I fight off something or have a hormone surge, i.e. the rupturing of an ovarian cyst.

This is the kind of thing I normally like to go straight to God with. However, I had a two minute window in which to pray about it and hope to receive an answer. I had to go with my gut, which may very well be God telling me I’m okay.

So for now, all is well. I believe all will continue to be well. I felt like the girl who cried wolf this morning, but the more I think about it, I’m glad I was vigilant about following up with the lump once it started to change. I'm so glad I have a doctor who cares enough to pay attention and hook me up with doctors she believes in. I’ve learned through the experience of many friends and family who have experienced cancer that one can never be too vigilant about paying attention to your body. I just hope I’m making the right move.

To tide you over...

On the off chance that anyone is still reading this, I wanted to let you know I may be quiet for a couple of days. Had I not gotten back into the habit of updating, this wouldn't be an issue. :)

Tomorrow I'm going in for the surgical biopsy I mentioned earlier. Come to find out, it's going to be a little more complex than I anticipated. I honestly convinced myself I would go in, TCB, and be home folding laundry by early afternoon. Turns out, it's not quite that easy.

What hasn't changed is there is still no need for alarm. You'll be the first to know as soon as I hear there's nothing to tell. My mom will be here any minute and Brandon doesn't fly out until early evening tomorrow, so all bases are covered.

Last Thursday during the spelling test torture hour(s), the light was really shining peacefully on Alex's pretty blond hair. I grabbed my camera in an effort to fend off the screaming fit I was about to have. I will take any appreciation of beauty I can get while studying for spelling.

These are all straight out of the camera and a little on the dramatic side. What else have you come to expect?!

If this doesn't gross you out...

I’m always reminding Brandon he’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar. I usually pull this out when he is talking to a customer service representative. To his credit, he embraced my theory a few years ago and as a result we’ve enjoyed upgrades, free channels, and faster service.
I may have to rethink my colloquialisms.

I mentioned on Facebook last week that I always know fall is on its way when my kitchen becomes home to hundreds of fruit flies. I have no idea what brings on this phenomenon, but it happens every year.

Sort of like the great migration of monarch butterflies to Mexico, only gross and annoying.

It isn’t the house because it happened at our old house too. I have no idea what brings them or how they get in. Between the bushels of tomatoes my father in law gives us and the fact that my children need to hold the door open for approximately two full minutes every time they open it, I have my theories.

Every year I go through the same routine to rid our house of the pests. I put all the fruit and vegetables in the refrigerator. This is a tough one for me because no one is doing the flavor of a tomato any favor by refrigerating it. The peaches that arrive from California a little on the green side, don’t ripen well at 38 degrees, whether or not I keep them in a paper bag. I habitually wipe down the counters so the flies don’t colonize an errant blob of peanut butter.

Then it hits me! I need to make a trap!

I don’t know how I knew to do this originally, but I probably googled, “help me get rid of fruit flies before I rip out my hair.”

Basically, the trap involves a long cylindrical vessel, i.e., a narrow vase. I don’t have any narrow vases and panic every year. Then I improvise. This year, I used a champaign flute. You fill the bottom third of the trap with apple cider vinegar, and then top it with a white paper funnel.

I learned this year it has to be white. Brandon lent me royal blue plastic funnel and it wasn’t at all effective. I assume fruit flies are on the myopic side and need a little help finding the target. I always panic trying to figure out how to size my homemade cone to fit the vase. After seven tries, I figure it out.

Then, you wait and watch. The kids and I get our entertainment from the fly trap that rests on our kitchen island. We keep score and cheer when they drown in the vinegar. It’s really a sad state of affairs.

Tonight it movie night at our house and Alex chose “Mall Cop.” Judging from the cover image of Kevin James on a segway, I might be better off watching the fruit flies.

Don't text and drive, TYVM

I always thought I was a very responsible driver. My friend Jennifer thought otherwise. On more than one road trip, Jennifer grabbed the dashboard and sucked in her breath. Apparently I was more aggressive than I thought.

I’ve been riding around with Brandon for 14 years and I can tell you I’m no where near as aggressive as he is behind the wheel. He doesn’t signal until he’s half way into a lane “because I’m not going to give some other guy the opportunity to cut me off.” What?!

A few years ago when we were both expecting little girls within a month of each other, Jennifer came for an overnight visit. We were driving to Hobby Lobby and two and a half year old Alex was in the back seat. We were sitting at a stop light when the light turned green. It was literally green for all of three seconds when Alex admonished the car in front of us with a “GOOOO LADY!!!”

Jennifer died laughing and said, “You do know he sounds exactly like you, right?”

Yes, I did. But it got worse this week.

During our time alone on Tuesday, Alex and I were following behind a car on a two lane road, when the guy just suddenly slowed down and turned. Just like that. We were cruising along at 45 mph one second, and the next he slowed and turned off the road, with no warning. I honked and said, “Get it off the road, Jack!” I always reserve the “ass” portion for my head.

Alex said, “Mom, why do you always call annoying drivers ‘Jack?’ I mean, it’s a pretty popular name, not a bad name.”

My response: “Oh, I don’t know. We better get started on spelling words as soon as we pick them up.” That always squelches any conversation with Alex.

Yesterday morning Meredith and I were out running errands and were a bit behind schedule. While waiting at a light that has a very short cycle, the car in front of us fiddled around and missed the green turning arrow. It’s hard to frustrate me more.

I said, “Great! Way to go buddy, you missed the light.” (Please take note that I replaced ‘Jack’ with ‘budddy.’)

Meredith made a guttural noise, rolled her eyes, and said, “Probably texting! Geesh!”

It was funny on many levels, but the best part was the guy who missed the light was more likely adjusting his dentures in the rearview. He was, at minimum 80 years old, and was driving a Mercury Grand Marquis. I doubt he was texting.

Sweet, sweet babies.

Remember when I used to share pictures I took on this blog. Sometimes they were ever of actual clients!

Once I launched my website, I guess I just thought of this as personal and that as "professional."

These pictures sort of fall into both categories, so allow me to show off my friend Stacey's new babies. That's right. BabiIES! As in twins!

I have a couple of friends who have twins, but one set I've never actually met. (Dear Amy P., please bring your children over to play. Thank you, Leslie.) The other set lives near Chicago. When I'm in Chicago I'm hanging out at the Lego store and eating Lou Malinati's. So, I've only seen Julia and Matthew once.

When Stacey told us she was going to have twins for us to play with, I was beyond thrilled! I knew I had nine months to convince Brandon I needed a new lens with a wider angle. I started calling it the "twins lens." I got it all right, and took it over last week to capture images of two of the sweetest ones I've ever seen.

This is Ella.
She weighs right around 4.5 lbs. I think she's up to five now, but when I held her, she weighed six pounds less than Meredith did when she was born. I have large children and come from a long line of large children, so petite, feminine Ella was a complete treat!

This is Ashton.
There is absolutely no question Ashton is a boy. We were rolling watching him scrunch up his face and will himself to roll into a more comfortable position. To really prove his manliness, Ashton fell asleep...sound asleep every time we laid him on the beanbag. Literally. Every time. It was like a tiny little man watching football on a Sunday.

I'm about to embarrass Stacey, but she is too busy feeding babies to read this anyway. I think Stacey is stunningly beautiful! She and her older daughter, Emersyn have the creamiest complexions I've ever seen. They could get work as skin care models. They both have gorgeous eyes too. What I wouldn't give!

What I didn't get during our nearly two hour shoot, were any pictures of the babies together squished into the twin-like closeness I wanted. Those little turkeys were wide awake a good portion of their shoot. So, I'm going back on Friday while my babies are in school and we're going to give my vision a second go.

Until then, this is a sweet substitute.

And then there were two.

Alex had me to himself the first three years of his life. Meredith came along right before he turned three. So for the two years before Alex headed off to kindergarten, he shared me with his sister.

Meredith talks all the time and has since she was able. Alex is much more reserved and far less emotive. (Unless he’s angry. Then, you’d better hold onto your hat.) Alex and I haven’t had an uninterrupted conversation in four years.

The lingering fever of yesterday meant Alex would be home again today. Tuesday is a school day for Meredith. Alex and I had a day to ourselves. I honestly can’t remember when that last happened.

We dropped off Meredith at school, ran a multitude of errands, and had lunch together at Subway. Alex LOVES Subway. I’m not sure if it’s the actual food or the fact that he thinks their $5 footlong is of exceptional value.

It was nice to be able to sit through a meal with Alex and just be able to talk. I wasn’t quizzing him about his day after a long day at school. I didn’t have to referee. I didn’t have to get up from the table twelve times to refill milk glasses and get extra napkins.

As we were eating, a mom came in with two little blond haired boys. They were twins and probably about three years old. I couldn’t help but think how it had been such a short time ago that I had a three year old little blond boy who I was free to spend each day with. I’ve said it a thousand times, but it all just goes by in the blink of an eye.

Before we headed home, we picked up Alex’s homework from school. We cannot afford to sacrifice momentum in spelling. While I was at the school, my favorite secretary, Penny, broke the news to me that a sweet little girl in Alex’s class lost her daddy to colon cancer the night before.

We all knew it was coming, and his story was eerily similar to Linda’s, but it’s still hard to think about a little girl losing her dad at such a young age. Penny looked at me and said, “You know, I’m 47 and I still have my dad. I don’t want to loose my dad now. The poor kid is in second grade.” I pulled my sunglasses off their perch on the top of my head and wore them in the office. I probably looked like the uni-bomber.

Alex has been fever free for over 24 hours, so tomorrow he’ll head back to school. Meredith and I are meeting a friend for brunch and then she has a class at the Children’s Museum. I may finally give in and pick up a copy of "Twilight" on the way. I have an hour and a half to kill while she’s in class. If I really wanted to be productive, I’d load all my laundry that needs to be folded into the Tahoe and sit in the car and fold the entire time. Wait! It just occurred to me I could sit in the car and watch a movie. Oh, the possibilities are endless…

Quarantine

Alex has a fever. It’s been hanging around since Sunday afternoon. Almost without thinking I gave Alex a dose of Motrin when he first felt warm. I know better. I know a fever has a job to do, and if I stay out of its way and shelve my neurosis that Alex will have a “convulsion” as my grandma calls it, the fever will kill the virus.

That’s our pediatrician’s theory. He believes the cycle of a virus is much shorter if you don’t treat the fever. Unless of course, it’s frighteningly high or the child is in a lot of pain. I trust Dr. Stoeze. He’s a good egg and he’s been to medical school. I’m a spaz and a political scientist. So, I ignore my urges to pour Motrin down the hatch.

The fever meant Alex would automatically be home from school today. He ran a fever the majority of the day today, so he’ll be home until at least Wednesday. That’s the rule. Brandon thinks it’s silly, but I don’t. I think there’s something to it. If everyone kept their febrile children home, the world would be a healthier place. Or maybe our immune systems would shrivel and everyone would eat dirt at the first sign of a cold.

I set Alex up in our bed. I gave him water, grapes, popsicles, and the remote. Brandon called to check on Alex from Minneapolis and wasn’t thrilled to hear the germs were going to spend the day in our bed. If you ask me, it would be boarder-line abusive to make the poor little guy sit in his room without a television for the entire day. I don’t want Alex and Meredith mingling, so this was the best solution.

I also gave Alex a bell to ring in case he needed anything. Not my smartest move.

Since we were confined to 6685 Braemar for the day, I accomplished much of what I needed to for the week by noon. I cleaned the entire first floor and did seven loads of laundry.

I did not however, change out of my pajamas. When I went out to get the mail at 1:30 p.m.; I momentarily wished I lived in the country where no one was liable to see me in my polka dot pants in the middle of the afternoon.

Meredith spent the day taunting her brother from the hallway and playing with her bevy of American Girl dolls. Boy is she into those. In a sense, they are giant Barbies and Meredith loves Barbies.

I’m on edge about tomorrow. Alex is starting to feel better. Much better. He’s going to be out of bed and looking for something to do. I e-mailed his teacher to see if I can pick up his homework and spelling list, so that ought to keep us arguing all afternoon. Meredith has school, so we’ll at least be leaving the house.

The good news? When I get dressed tomorrow I’ll have clean clothes!

Gratuitous bragging.

The weekend started with a triumph! Alex got off the bus and had a conversation with me. --Actually told me about portions of his day, without being paid!

Alex had news. Good news! GREAT news! He only missed four words out of 22 on his spelling test, and that resulted in a B! (Please don’t ask me if that’s mathematically possible. I don’t know.) A “B” as in you-are-performing-above-the-average-second-grader!

We were so thrilled we decided to go out to dinner and let him pick the place. Monical’s won and Alex surprised the waitress by asking for Blue Cheese dressing for his salad. He then proceeded to willingly converse with the waitress without being prodded. Big night!

Brandon and I secretly suspect Alex may have been flirting with the waitress, because he kept telling us how nice our waitress was and that she had really pretty eyes. He was all too eager to tell her how great the BBQ chicken pizza was. Brandon winked and nodded. I felt nauseous.

I’m not sure if I mentioned it or not, but Meredith has taken up light reading. I knew she knew all of her letters and the sounds they make. I noticed she was starting to sound out and recognize words. She sometimes spends an hour, just writing every word she can figure out how to spell. She then takes her finished works to my father in law’s house because he has a laminator. Her words must be preserved.

I remembered all of the “Hooked on Phonics” books we purchased when Alex was two and a half, just knowing he’d enter Kindergarten reading columns in the “WSJ.” Alex didn’t share our enthusiasm, so I wrote off the $295 we spent on the complete set as a failed investment.

When Meredith started asking me to find books she could read, I pulled down the yellow boxes that are still in mint condition and gave her the beginning readers. There are tapes and letter flashcards, but honestly it was a little late for those. She took out “Cat,” started sounding out the words and just like that her eyes were wild with the excitement that comes with figuring out you actually know how to do something.

Meredith is so enthusiastic about learning to read that she begs to read the next book in the series. There are 14 books at each level and they get progressively more difficult. I wanted to hold her at number 5 in order to prevent frustration.

That didn’t work. Meredith’s frustration with me was clear.

I finally said, “All right, go for it, but don’t get mad if you can’t read this one yet, because you’ve only been reading for a few days. This is a hard book!”

Merdi needed help sounding out some words…we had to discuss “bossy E.” But, by golly once I showed her “E” makes vowels say their name, she immediately sounded out “like,” and tore through the rest of “Pop Fox.”

She gets it! It’s not a fluke!

This morning as I was taking my first sips of coffee, Meredith was honing her skills. She had a book we bought Alex during a trip to Hawaii. It’s called “I went Diving in Hawaii.” It’s a counting book and numbers usually turn Meredith off, but when they are disguised as reading, it works!

Merdi looked at me and said, “Mom, what kind of fish is this?” “Oh wait, is it an “ah-nee” fish?

“What?! Let me see.”

Maybe that bossy E lesson wasn’t as effective as I thought!

R-o-l-a-i-d-s

Thursdays make my stomach churn.

Thursday is the day before Friday and Fridays mean one thing when you have an elementary school student: Spelling Test Day.

Here’s the thing. Alex cannot spell his way out of a paper bag. I meant it. He also has very little interest in learning to spell. So far this year, he’s earned two C’s and a D in spelling.

We had the conversation today on the way to school that a D means “below average--as in ‘you are performing under the ability of the average second grader.’”

I glanced in my rear view mirror to give Alex the arched-eyebrows-and-pursed-lip-face to let him know I was seriously irritated. He looked at me and said, “Well, what happens if I get one D on my report card? Because I’m sure it will be balanced out with A’s in math and science.”

I told him I expected nothing less than a B to show up on his report card. I told him the jig was up. I knew full well he wasn’t giving spelling (OR reading for that matter) his all. He didn’t even put up a fight. “Yeah, you’re probably right. See ya!,” and he was out of the car.

After school we had some errands to run. While we were out, we picked up our first Harry Potter book. I’m hoping Harry flips a switch or casts a spell, and Alex will magically want to improve his literacy skills.

On the way home, Alex asked if he could play outside. I reminded him he chose to wait until the last minute to study for his spelling test and there most likely wouldn’t be time. I white knuckled the steering wheel and took a deep breath in order to fill my lungs with the air that would surely have to deliver an angry lecture about preparation once again.

To my surprise, very little protest arose from the black Graco booster.

I don’t know what happened, but Alex willingly studied for his spelling test.

Wait. I do know what happened. I threatened to call Mrs. Small, his teacher if he didn’t. I e-mailed her last week and he went nuts as a cat on a hot plate.

I also bought each of the kids a miniature composition notebook. Like all kids, Alex and Meredith really like things that are far smaller than practical. He wrote all his words, without protest, on his tiny tablet. By the end of our two hour session, Alex could spell all the words except one. I’m hoping something sticks until the test. I hope it’s early in the day. We haven’t worked on retention.

A cup of sugar

When we moved into our house a couple of years ago, a fun family lived right behind us. It took awhile for our kids to warm to each other, but they were really nice neighbors. Before our sod was even laid, they moved. I remember saying, “Please don’t tell me you just received your tax assessment and decided to sell.”

That wasn’t the case. They built a new house on our street. Their old house sat lonely and empty. They had the yard kept immaculately and I didn’t worry about walking around in my pajamas without any window coverings.

A couple of weeks ago, I saw what looked to be an inspector walking around the perimeter of their old house with a clipboard. Did it sell?!

To our delight, two little blond girls came bounding out the backdoor and started swinging on the fabulous playset that sat idle for eighteen months. Meredith and the littlest one were instant friends. The kids confirmed that the house did sell and we were getting new neighbors.

Later that evening, I walked over to their backyard when I heard Meredith say, “Hey Lily! Let’s skip rocks in your pond!” I started running when I heard Lily say, “My dad says not to do that, it could kill the coy!!!”

I introduced myself to the mom while in my bare feet. She seems really nice and they moved from our old neighborhood, and even lived in the same model of home we did. Small world.

The kids have been back and forth on each others swingsets for the past few days. Their movers came yesterday, so I need to start baking. We officially have new neighbors…and we like them!

The gate is open!

As previously mentioned, 987 times, Meredith started Senior Preschool yesterday. I know it probably sounds silly for all of us to be so excited over a couple of teachers, but these women are ahhhhmazing.

Mrs. Judith and Mrs. Arleta are ageless, but if I had to guess, I’d say they’re in the early 60’s. The amount of energy these two have should be bottled and sold. I’ve literally prayed for three years they would delay their retirement until after Meredith “graduated.” I couldn’t bare the thought of Meredith not getting to experience their magical classroom after Alex did.

I don’t devote as much thought to fairness as Alex and Meredith do, but I want to give them equal experiences as often as possible.

Our preschool is play-based, meaning they teach through imaginative play, crafts, sensory experience, and song. While not academically rigorous, the children absorb so much without even realizing they are learning. Most importantly to me, they learn about a God who loves them no matter what and how to live their lives according to His principles.

Mrs. Judith and Mrs. Arleta give so much of themselves in helping prepare these little people for life that it just amazes me. They teach them attention to detail and the value of hard work when they transform the classroom into a post office or a farm. They ignite a passion for science by taking the kids on a trip to the moon…the kids even eat pudding out of Ziploc bags. They encourage the kids to go barefoot and experience the beach in the middle of January when they haul in a ton of sand and scatter it on the tile floor. No detail is overlooked and it’s done strictly out of love for these children and wanting to see them grow into well rounded, wonderful Kindergarteners.

After orientation, Meredith happily told me there are no rules in their classroom, only responsibilities. The teachers told a room full of four year olds…with straight faces, that the children didn’t have any rules to follow; they just had a duty to be responsible. They are responsible for treating each other with kindness. They are responsible for treating the classroom and its supplies with respect. They are responsible for listening to their teachers. They are responsible for obeying The Word of God.

Guess what?! It works. Rarely do you hear of a discipline issue in Mrs. Judith and Mrs. Arleta’s room. Not only that, but the children gain so much confidence in learning self reliance that they become more sure of themselves. Which I firmly believe leads to treating others with kindness. It’s such a neat thing to watch!

So my excitement for Meredith isn’t just about Mrs. Judith and Mrs. Arleta creating a fantasy learning environment, it’s about what she’s learning and from whom she is learning. These women ooze warmth and honestly love each and every child. Alex still talks about them and they treat him like a celebrity every time he visits. The heartfelt letter they wrote him upon his “graduation” brought me to my knees. I cannot imagine knowing each child completely and fully giving of myself the way they do. There is no doubt God has given Mrs. Judith and Mrs. Arleta special gifts in working with children and I cannot believe we’re so blessed to have them as teachers.

Zootastic!

I’ve always wanted to be an animal lover. Animal lovers are usually easy going and friendly and everyone seems to like them. Try as I might, I am not an animal person.

Oh sure, I like dogs. I was even really enthusiastic about owning one several years ago. But, I like dogs that don’t shed, stink, or drool. Drooling is the worst!

I like dogs and most animals from afar. From a distance. That’s how I like my animals.

However, I always like the idea of taking my kids to the zoo. I picture us strolling along having brain-growth inducing conversations about habitats and taking smiling pictures in front of a lion that is mid yawn.

Our trips to the zoo never compliment my vision.

Ever.

Instead, we buy tickets that seem sky-high compared to the free admission of the St. Louis Zoo I grew up loving. We follow behind crowds of sweaty barefoot children. We approach animal enclosures only to have either myself or one of the children gag from the smell. We fight for a table to eat $4 hotdogs and fear swallowing the errant bee that wound up in our drink.

And yet, I come back for more!

This weekend our plans changed. We were going to visit the Burgin family in Springfield, but they were hit with a bug earlier in the week. The kids were disappointed and once I have it in my head we’re leaving town, it’s likely going to happen. I wasn’t sure where we were going, but we were going to go somewhere over the weekend.

Sunday morning it hit me. Why not go to Cincinnati? We could go to the zoo, which is supposedly one of the top five zoos in the nation. We could stop by IKEA and look for a desk for Alex. What else did we have to do? To my surprise, Brandon agreed without much prodding and we were out the door by 9:00 a.m. Look at the enthusiasm! It's written all over Brandon's face!

When we got to the zoo, I had high hopes!

BAM! First thing out of the gate, a woman demanding to speak with a manager because a zoo employee wouldn’t give her family seven maps. “We have five children! We NEED seven maps!” I wanted to point out I doubted the infant would be able to fold a map into its original form and that would cause hours of frustration.

Here we go!

Next, we were behind a family who was allowing their child to walk around the zoo barefoot. Barefoot! Through puddles...and it wasn’t raining.

First stop was the reptile house, which was the size of my kitchen and as loud as my kitchen on a busy morning. Alex doesn’t like a lot of noise. I don’t like reptiles.

We made our way to the rhinos, which were covered in mud and it was more than Meredith could handle. “All right. Moving on!”

Brandon forced us all into the cat house. It was indoors and I don’t think leopards are meant to live indoors in tiny glass enclosures. It was evident they do little aside from mark their territory in protest. Alex was breathing through his sleeve.

We could just leave the zoo after we realize we’ve made the same mistake again, but I’m not about to let $44 go to waste. No, we’re going to see it all!

A couple of hours later we left the zoo and drove to IKEA. Yes, IKEA on a Saturday. We’re idiots. The play area was full and our kids were livid. They wanted to spend time with strangers away from Mom and Dad. I was not thrilled about dragging them around the bemouth of a store.

My enthusiasm was further eroded when Brandon and I argued over a desk and would up getting separated. I had the kids. Of course, I had the kids. I did not however, have my cell phone. It was in the car.

Two hours later, I called the store service desk and had them call my lost husband. We were 30 feet from each other.

It was a quiet ride home.

Guess we should've put more into the medical savings account!

My trip to the ER on Monday was only the beginning…

Tuesday evening, as I was tucking Meredith into bed, she mentioned some things that lead me to believe she might have a urinary tract infection. The fourteen times she got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom was the club over the head.

Alex’s allergies set in before I had the foresight to begin his annual two month round of Claritin. Constant coughing and a wheezy chest rattle was my hint that Alex would be coming with us to the doctor in the morning.

Wednesday morning, we headed to the pediatrician during “sick hours.” Blech! I try to avoid that at all costs, especially when we’re in for something that isn’t viral or bacterial. I was pleasantly surprised to find the waiting room wasn’t at all crowded when we got there, but slowly they trickled in:

“Hi, we’re here for a strep test.”

“Yeah, I’ve got Nick. I called earlier about pink eye.”

“Ma’am, could you please ask your son to wear this mask in case he tests positive?”

Fantastic!

I used the time on the drive over to deliver the “don’t touch anything” lecture. A good mother would have brought along art supplies, their DS/Leapter, a book…something, but I had nothing. I raced out of the shower and into the car when they asked if we could come in in 30 minutes. I had my work cut out for me keeping Alex and Meredith on the chairs and away from the Bristle Blocks and fingerprinted splattered fish tank.

Of course, everyone was called in before us. When we finally got into the exam room we were in and out in 20 minutes. We even killed two birds with one stone and got Meredith vaccinated against the flu.

After a trip through the drive thru pharmacy and McDonald’s because Alex missed his lunch hour, we were in back in business and Alex was back at school.

Meredith and I met our friends Sally and Stella for lunch prior to preschool orientation. For those of you who do not know, this is THE YEAR, for which we’ve been waiting. This is the year of a classroom guinea pig, tiny leather couches, and Imagination Destinations! Meredith has Mrs. Judith and Mrs. Arleta!!!! The patron saints of preschool! This is the class for which I waited in a cold, dark parking lot at 4:00 a.m. They are worth it!

Meredith was nearly beside herself with excitement. She has flipped through the scrapbook Mrs. J and Mrs. A. made for Alex 1,000 times. She cannot wait to spend her days in Antartica, on a dude ranch, and in an inflatable room. So, when they opened the door, Meredith was the first one in. She told me later that Mrs. J and Mrs. A. must have been just as excited to see her because they gave her huge hugs. Ha!

Meredith also got to see, as reported by Meredith, her “BFF, Ava!” They squealed “hello” to each other from our cars and held hands all the way in.

I squealed when I realized I’ll have two full days to myself this year. I’m sure I’ll fill it with volunteering and photo shoots, but it’s fun to fantasize about going to the movies in the middle of the day.

Thursday, I had my follow up appointment with my OBGYN. The whole cyst situation checked out fine. While I was there, I asked her to recheck a lump she found in May. I had a diagnostic mammogram, but wasn’t 100% with their assessment.

My doctor checked it out and decided to send me to a breast surgeon for a biopsy. While it isn’t any fun to hear you need to have something further explored, I was eager to know one way or another. The surgeon scared me a little when her office called and asked if they could see me the following day at 9:30 a.m.

Brandon’s flight came in around the time of my appointment, so he went with me. However he had a conference call just as they took me back. Brandon took the call in the hospital lounge and I met with the surgeon. After discussing my case and doing another ultrasound and mammogram, Dr. Kennedy decided the lump should probably come out and be sent to the lab. She is not at all concerned; it’s just for peace of mind. I’ll just be glad to have it out as every time my fingers slide across the almond shaped lump in the shower, my stomach drops.

For all the medical mishaps we’ve had this week, we’re all still healthy and well for the most part. Whew! Now if I could only say the same for my house…

Life Lessons from a seven year old.

Alex is an anomaly. One minute he is wise beyond his years and helpful beyond necessary. The next he is stomping his way up the stairs and yelling he will never eat dinner with us again. As our friend Jeremy once told me, “Give the kid a break, he’s like 48 in a seven year old body. It can’t be easy.”

I try to remember that when he slams his door and rattles the kitchen chandelier.

Slowly, I’m starting to see an emergence of maturity.

Alex has yet to find his niche in team sports and Brandon and I think it’s really important he find one he enjoys.

Tennis and golf are great, but don’t really provide the experience of being on a team. Until you’re in high school and your 82 on nine holes kills the team score and causes your coach to withhold dinner on the long trip home.

One of the school newsletters mentioned try outs would be held for the Noblesville Swim Club. Anyone six years old and older was eligible. I held my breath and asked Alex if he had any interest. He has shunned summer swim teams because he is an activity commitment phobe like his mother. He didn’t want to be chained to a starting block each and every morning and I didn’t blame him. So, when he responded with an enthusiastic, “Yes!” I was slightly stunned.

After coming to terms with the fact we’d be surrendering three evenings a week for practice and a good chunk of our weekends, we went for it. Alex attended two evenings of practice and they seemed to go quite well. He had never done a proper backstroke and at first try looked something akin to a windmill. After a little coaching from Annie’s husband, Ryan, Alex “got it,” and did really well. Alex had never mastered side breathing during freestyle, but that came along nicely too.

Try outs were on Thursday and Alex was pumped. I was a nervous wreck. Turns out, I had good reason to be. During the freestyle, Alex stopped five or six times! I tried to mentally will him to keep going, but it didn’t work. The after report was that his goggles were leaking. I’m not sure I buy it since the phenomenon never occurred during practice. His backstroke however, was fantastic!

When he got out of the pool, I told him how proud of him I was for trying something, but explained to him that making it across the pool using proper strokes without stopping was a requisite. I braced myself for a meltdown, but instead he said, “Yeah, I know. I probably won’t make it, but it was fun and I learned a lot about how to do the strokes.

On the drive home he asked me if I ever didn’t make cheerleading when I tried out. I told him no, but that I always wanted to try out for swim team but wasn’t confident enough to go for it like he did. I really was proud, and quite surprised, that he had the moxie to take a risk.

I stayed up until near midnight to look for the swim team postings and sure enough Alex didn’t make the team. Neither did several of his other friends, who probably should have, which softened the blow.

Alex was a little teary when I told him in the morning, but didn’t loose it and instead said, “That’s fine. I didn’t expect to. I stopped. You weren’t supposed to stop. That’s only fair. Is there another opportunity for me to try out?” I told him there was and he said, “I’d like to take stroke lessons between now and then and give it another shot. If I don’t make it then, I can try next year too, right?”

For a brief moment, early in the morning, I saw a glimpse of who Alex might eventually grow up to be. Which got me through the rest of the day because…

As soon as Alex was off the bus that afternoon he was stomping around upstairs yelling at Meredith over her use of his colored pencils during the day. He also took off down the path on his bike when I specifically asked him to come inside; leaving me standing in our yard yelling like the neighborhood crazy who has lost control of her children.

We’re not out of the woods yet, but I can see the sun.