Happy Feast of the Immaculate Conception!

Checking in from my mostly computerless existence...hope you are all doing well and are virus-free. All is going along nicely in our little corner of nowhere, HM is pleased with the current Princess situation, so there hasn't been much to post about.

I was rather stunned to find this nice little article about today's Feast Day on the mainstream AOL feed. How in the world did that make it past the editors?!? ;)

I am very likely NOT going to make it to Mass today, as I am drowning in snot and Dayquil here with the equally slimy Little Boy, so please pray for me - I'll be watching Mass on EWTN, as is my usual fall-back position. Frankly, I've been doing that a lot in recent weeks. Otherwise, I am eagerly awaiting the big snowstorm we're supposed to get...aside from the daily kid taxi service, I've got nowhere to go, and nothing else going on, and plenty of groceries and firewood. So bring it on!!!

Another week gone by...

...but fear not, we are still here!

Some technical difficulties around here with a new computer and an additional laptop trying to become part of the family wireless network. New desktop computer: replaces the one we've had since before moving to this middle of nowhere place in December of 2003. Additional laptop:

The Beloved is home!

For 13 days, but hey - a man's gotta have his technology. Which knocked mine off and out for the past 5 days. But we're all back in working order now. At least I think we are. Right before coming home, the Beloved wrenched his already bad back while doing something he won't explain overseas. (More from fear of mockery than for security purposes, I'm guessing). We are four days into our visit, the jetlag is about conquered, but the back pain...not so much. He's on the couch with a heating pad, tramadol, and a grimace on his face if he's not wrangling and/or wrassling with The Boy.

The Princess sailed through her "procedure" last Monday, during which we discovered that she has a lovely, healthy looking set of intestines. The biopsies of the three areas (small intestine, ileum, and colon) will be back next week, but for now, the diagnosis is back in question. So if it isn't Crohn's, colitis, ibs, or celiac issues....what is it?!? Good to know it's better than what we thought, but bad to be guessing one unnecessary appendectomy and a rather humilitating (from a 15 year old's point of view) colonoscopy later. Cheerleading has started so we have decided to do our best Scarlett O'Hara imitation and "think about it tomorrow."

Therese is now an orange belt and steeling her nerves for junior high. And at the school she's going to...that's no small feat. So far, she's learned that two girls (incoming 7th graders) are pregnant. Nice, eh? As she put it, in that straight-faced, matter-of-fact totally Aspie way of hers...."I guess someone forgot to tell them that sex before marriage is a sin." Then she cocked an eyebrow and smirked when we explained to her why we were cracking up. So I'm not entirely sure that was an innocent statement. She has potential, that one...for all good things, but with a teeny-tiny edge of snarkishness. That's to be expected when one grows up at the Casa de Brookside, I s'pose.

On this cool but sunny Sunday afternoon, I am watching the first of the leaves fall from one of our trees out front (I must confess that have no clue what kind of tree it is, but it has tiny little symmetrical leaves that make it look sort of fern-like) and I'm thinking about Fall starting, which, on one hand, is great because I love the weather, the football games, the colors, the smells, the apples and spices that will be cooking in my kitchen in another month or so...but since we didn't get our first truly warm, sunny, and summery-sweltery days until the beginning of August, I feel like we got RIPPED OFF this year!

Hope you've all had a good summer - and yes, Karen, I have more Tales from the Brookside for you. Just a matter of having a few moments to myself to commit them to computer!

This week in sports...a recap

Well, friends, if you read the post below, you know how this past week has ended, but let's get back to where it started.

Part One: Psycho Redux

On Tuesday, late in the balmy evening, Princess and I were up - way past bedtime - having a long discussion about life, boys, relationships with Tall Boys, prom, colleges, that kinda stuff. We heard Jack the Vicious Predator running about up on the third floor, presumably slaying some socks or maybe chasing a moth around.

Until we heard the frantic chirpy squeaking coming down the stairs toward my bedroom.

Yes, to those who have experienced it, you never forget the sound of a BAT in your house. I don't like rodents. Winged rodents produce a combination of rage and panic that I don't like to admit I'm capable of feeling all at once. But I do. So I slammed the bedroom door shut and sent the bat averse but less freaked out Princess to shut the baby's door as well as Therese's. (She has her uses. And besides, she's the idiot who left her unscreened window open at night!)

Jack emerged from the stairwell and had his live squeaky toy in his mouth and decided to share his good fortune with her - after all, she is one of his harem of strangely furless kittens, and he provides for us all, in his strange sock-slaying way. So he trotted toward her and let it go and it shot up and then swooped at her. Oh, the screaming...so she came back in my room with little Therese hot on her heels, slammed the door and we giggled like the nervous fools we were. We heard Jack leaping and bounding in the hallway, then sometime after 3 am the squeaky sounds stopped. We decided to remain barricaded in and let nature take its course.

The next morning, we crept through the house with brooms in hand, looking around for the bat and/or its carcass. Nothing. So we figured Jack took care of business. I kept all the doors shut upstairs and went on with the interminable kitchen painting project from the time the girls left until sometime after 8:00. That night, we were still apprehensive after the sun went down, and none of us could sleep. We shut ourselves in my room again for the night, told bat jokes, wished that daddy was here, etc. All quiet on the Western NY front.

Thursday morning, as I had promised to let Princess sleep in after two nights of less than three hours of sleep, I decided to take a quick shower in my master bathroom while she ate breakfast. I got the water to its ideal temperature, hopped in, pulled the cutain shut...and there, hanging upside down in the folds of the shower curtain and less than 18 inches from my face, was the largest, fattest brown bat I've ever seen. I screamed for my Lord and Saviour's assistance and was about halfway down the stairs, the right half of me soaked from head to toe, completely naked, before I recollected myself and where and who I was. Princess thought I was being murdered, came to the stairs and gaped at me. I pulled myself straight up, sucked in my gut, tried to look casual in my nekkidness, and said to her: "Ummm, yeah....I found the bat. In the shower with me, hanging off the curtain. Go get it."

"ME?!?"

"Well yeah, it's not like I'm going back in there!"

"Why me? You're the adult, you're supposed to protect us!"

"I gave you life."

"Damn you and your uterus, woman..."

"You'll say it to your kids someday. Now go get a broom and a box"

She complied, I dressed myself, gathered what little dignity I had left and held the box while she put on a thick glove, held an inverted plastic bag, snatched the bat off the curtain, shoved it in the bag and stuffed it in the box and duct-taped the box shut.

Living as close as we do to the river, bats are fairly common around here. Unfortunately, there are a few cases of rabies reported in the county (carried by bats, passed on to squirrels, raccoons, and unvaccinated cats) every year. Bat contact is never a good idea. Waking up with a bat in the room is an automatic invite to the doctor for rabies shots. Because they have tiny teeth, bat bites are hard to detect unless you are awake and aware that a bat has bitten you. Out of 17 human bat-strain rabies fatalities in the 90's, only one person was aware of an actual contact and bite - he just didn't report it because he didn't think it was a big deal. Then he died. We cleverly sealed the bat into the bedroom/adjoining bathroom with us for at least one night. NOT cool. So I took the bat to the county wildlife/environmental office, they froze it to death, and did rabies testing. Mercifully, we got the all clear late on Friday. (They've had two positives in the past month). Jack's getting a booster shot just to be safe.

Part Two: Client Catastrophe

In the midst of all the bat chaos, I was supposed to have a hearing Friday on a case that I lost on a technicality (no gory details, but the former atty screwed something up and my efforts to unscrew it initially failed), I then appealed, won on appeal, and this was my big day with the client - 11 years after her accident, 4 years after she filed her claim - and then she had a death in the family and we had to postpone. I was SO ready to go back in...but that's okay. I'll be ready when we have our day in August. Just a scramble to get in touch with the judge, get a fax in for the record, and not make an even worse impression on a judge who doesn't like being appealed....and then there's a lot of mental prep work and framing of arguments and evidence in my head the whole week leading up to the hearing, now for naught. I spent the weekend painting 27 cabinets, 13 drawers, and a half-mile (or so it seemed) of crown moulding and clearing it from my head.

Part Three: The Weekend War

As all this drama was unfolding, more strife on the teenage front. They went to a party on Sunday night (no school Monday), he behaved badly and embarrassed her, she called him on it, his friends rebuked him as well, he didn't like it one bit, and he snapped at her in front of a group of people. Things remain tense between them, and it is taking a toll - perhaps a fatal one - on the relationship. But he finally listened to her, with help from his friends' observations of his behavior, and has pledged to work on his temper and his snappish-of-late attitude toward her and life in general. Life-changing, end-of-era stress is my diagnosis. Too little, too late seems to be hers. I'm sad for both of them. It will be a difficult summer.

Part Four: Sudden Impact....and Surprise!

For over a month, I have been harboring a huge secret...The Beloved is home! We planned a sneaky surprise visit for Prom night. He didn't want to miss it, or to miss the chance to menace the Tall Boy with an impressive array of K-Bar and Nepalese Ghurka knives as well as firearms. I have been striving NOT to screw it up, made a few slips that the girls did not figure out...and we managed to pull it off. But it wasn't easy, and here's why:

A. I got 45 minutes of sleep Tuesday night. Remember those 27 cabinets? Well, each of them requires 10-15 screws. We own two electric screwdrivers. The Beloved is not real great with organization in his man-room in the basement. I couldn't find the charger for either one. After 4 cabinets, I was re-hanging them all, screwing the hardware on and then mounting them back on....by hand. I think I have arthritis now - seriously. They still hurt. And it took me all night, even with the Princess helping me until 3 or so. And she had no idea why I was doing this, scrambling to get it done before the Beloved arrived. She just helped because she saw that I was desperate to be done and wanted to be there battling at my side. Good kid.

B. I got hit by a car 45 minutes before the flight was due to come in! You can't make this sh*t up. Really. I was makingthe requested pot roast for the Beloved's homecoming and realized, at 1:30, that I had no carrots. Princess has been eating like a rabbit in the run-up to prom. So I had to book out to the store to get carrots. As I was walking in, a 75 year old woman backed out of her parking spot without looking back and clipped me at the hip/thigh, knocking me to the ground. Fortunately, I saw it coming and leapt out of the way, and I have some serious assets going on, and so I bounced back up like the Bumble, relatively unscathed. I didn't take her plate #, but I should have...she was angry at me, wouldn't roll her window down past an inch, apologized begrudgingly for not seeing me (as opposed to "I'm sorry I hit you, are you okay?") and left. A few onlookers were duly disgusted with her as well. Deo gratias, I'm a bit stiff and sore, but not even a bruise to complain of. I was lucky. And in a hurry...so I ran into the store and made it to the airport only 5 minutes late...to discover the flight was 15 minutes early. No matter. It was a thing of beauty to see my boys smiling and flirting with each other the whole way home. Then he hid, I lured the girls into the dining room with an impropmtu after school yay-the-kitchen-is-done tea party, and as we started our after-school gabfest, he sauntered into the room and asked for a cup. Princess screamed and launched herself at him, Therese looked shell shocked and started weeping. It's been hardest on her to be without her Wii buddy these past four months. Princess/Athlete drama has dominated the household.

C. The Athletic Appendix began to give out. As noted in HMD#32, the symptoms were classic, the physician dad was in denial, and the kid suffered. We had many texts and calls throughout the course of the day and evening....prom or no prom? And we had picked up the freshly altered and gorgeous dress earlier that morning, too....

D. I slept for 9 glorious, uninterrupted hours last night. No listening for the baby, no getting up at 6:45 to feed and shoo girls out the door to school....and I'd had a combined total of 2 hours and 45 minutes the two preceeding nights. So it was needed sleep.

Which is why I can't sleep now! But I am going to try. So, gentle readers, thanks for bearing with me to this point, I will be back with more tales from the Brookside before you know it. I have a fresh "visitor" story, too....but all in good time.

HMD#32 - Gut Wrenching...

...and I mean that literally! Yes, the Athlete was feeling ill last night, physician father told him to suck it up and go to bed....and so once he started throwing up, dad relented and Athlete went into the ER this morning, complaining of severe pain on the right side.

He had his appendix out this afternoon.

Prom is Saturday.

He swears he will be at the prom, no matter what. Princess vows that she will not go with him if he's violating the surgeon's orders.

We are all in uproar.

HeloMom out.

HMD #30 - Prayer request

Update #2: The verdict is in - not an osseous tumor...not a lipoma...looks like a traumatic injury but the kid wasn't injured there in recent memory. Very strange.

Update: 48 hours, no result. Dad is a physician, you'd think they'd let him know sooner than us mere mortals. I don't like it.

Gentle readers: the Athlete found a golfball mass on the inner ridge of his shin bone, between the muscle and bone. Not painful, not a result of bruising or other trauma, deep enough that he found it as a result of swatting at something on his leg and had a "wtf is that?" moment. His physician dad sent him in for a bone scan and MRI yesterday. Results should be forthcoming sometime this afternoon.

I'm voting for a lipoma.

In the meantime, this sucks.

More soon,

The Concerned HeloMom

May Daze

Ugh...what a week. For some reason, I stupidly believed that I could repaint my kitchen in 2-3 days.

Yeah....NO.

For starters, I now know that I have a total of 27 cabinets in my kitchen, and 13 drawers. So I had to empty all that, sorting and dumping stuff as I went. You don't want to know what my dining room looks like. The table I was given by my m-i-l when we moved here has four leaves, is 120" long, comfortably feeds 14 adults, and (tightly) manages 20. It is completely covered with pantry contents and my many sets of dishes and glassware. (The butler's pantry, with all the china and crystal, will have to wait...) All the chairs are occupied, too. And the radiator that runs the length of the room. And most of the floor.

At the same time as all this chaos has erupted in my dining room, I am attempting to persuade the 2 y/o that climbing over formerly impassable baby gates to inspect the carnage is BAD. He does not believe me. So far the dogs have broken in and eaten some crackers and, strangely, meat seasoning packets (venison seasoning, sloppy joe mix, and pepper rub - WTH?). Jack keeps slinking around and slithering through the glassware just to mess with my mind, or perhaps cause me to drop dead of a heart attack so he can feast on my fat carcass for a few weeks. No one would find me in there until I started to smell really bad. And even then....

Anyway.

Then there was the patching and sanding. The day I planned to do that, I wrenched something in my lower back while catching the baby gate scaler in mid-vault, got stiff and sore...and had 2 days of sciatica as my reward. In the midst of this, the Athlete texted to me that he was in the school office, having decided to smite some obnoxious kid who routinely badmouths him for dating a freshman during gym class. (Senioritis, anyone?). Had to provide lots of advice and counsel to ensure that privileges such as prom were not revoked, and then had to ensure that Princess did not smite Athlete for his display of fisticuffs, which, while well-intended, was not worth the trouble that ensued. (She thought he could have handled it more rationally, he was incensed that she did not appreciate his defense of her honor after months of snarkiness from that kid).

Then late that afternoon, I finally spackled. It rained for the next 36 hours, so it took forever to dry....and so I waited overnight, then I started sanding that next morning. A mayday call came in from the Princess from a school locker room. She was walking between classes with one of Athlete's wrestler friends, deep in conversation about a very serious alleged incident -- wherein said friend's former girlfriend was taken advantage of by another boy at a party -- when the offending boy crossed paths with them. Wrestler friend (smaller by a foot and about 150 lbs lighter than his target) took the alleged offender out at the legs and proceeded to pound the snot out of him. Princess' horrified screams alerted the faculty, and after several attempts, Wrestler friend was finally pulled off, bloodied knuckles and all, and dragged off to the principal's office. The alleged offender was well and truly pummelled, and had blood flowing from several spots. Princess, having never seen anything close to that kind of violence, was teary, shaking uncontrollably, and had to sit with a nun until I came to fetch her. The nurse's office, the vice-principal's office, and the principal's office were all full of bleeding boys and outraged parents.

So I got the kid home, got the walls primed, then the phone calls from curious kids, parents, and those who hoped to obtain free legal advice started pouring in. Wrestler friend actually showed up late that night to apologize to Princess for scaring her, and proceeded to pour his heart out on my couch for two hours, praying that he will not be expelled, but unashamed of having avenged the outrage perpetrated upon the alleged victim. (I'm just waiting to see how much of this makes the police blotter...and how much is covered up about this party, its attendees, and the alleged incident). I'll let you know how it turns out.

What's the term the Amish use for "spring madness" again? Well it has hit our town and the quasi-Catholic high school with a vengeance.

Oh, yes, and did I mention that I had a brief due as well? What would have taken me 3-4 hours sequestered in my office back in the day, took me about 14 hours over the course of three days, with so many interruptions, derailed trains of thought, and lost bits of legal brilliance and clever word usage....GAAAAHHHH!!!! Not my best work, but it hit the fax machine and went to its destination nonetheless.

Today I was supposed to be putting everything back in the cabinets, reattaching the finished, freshly painted doors, and admiring the pretty new paint job. But no. I still have chaos in the dining room, white primer, and completely untouched cabinet doors and drawers waiting to be done, and three gallons of lovely light blue and coordinating delft blue sitting patiently next to the dishwasher waiting to "transform my [friggin'] space."

Whatever.

Looks like another week of fast food and takeout.

Is it really almost May?

Greetings gentle readers -

It's been sparse on the blogging of late, between vacationing and having the post-vacation child-induced plague...this time it's strep. Only the baby, who has been the sickest the longest, had a negative culture. Go figure.

But I shall return, more on the house ghost(s) to come, as well as our regularly scheduled updates on the Princess and the Athlete, who - gulp - are currently attending a friend's school play somewhere near Syracuse, which is up the road quite a piece from here. Had anyone asked the Beloved and I if we'd allow this last fall when the romance (well, maybe it wasn't exactly a romance back then) began...the quick answer, "HELL no!" But the Tall Boy has weaseled his way into our hearts and has proven himself, time and again, to be extremely responsible, trustworthy and honest, often to his own detriment. (Him: "This girl in line at Target just randomly came up to me and asked me out...." Her: "WHAT GIRL?!?" Him: "...but of course I said no! I just think that's so weird..." Her: "WHAT GIRL?!?" Parental units: "D'oh!") But despite his boy-ness, he's a wonderful kid, and will be a fine young man.

We expect it to be a long, hot summer, fraught with romantic peril...I can't guess at how it will turn out when the countdown to college really begins. I'll keep you posted. First we have to get through being the only freshman at the senior prom....that should provide plenty of material.

This weekend is going to be a busy one - a day-long track meet with the Athlete tomorrow, followed by....Lord give me strength....a party on Sunday for the Boy's SECOND BIRTHDAY!!!

NOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay. Sniffle. Verklepmt. Shouldn't be going by so fast. Going to pour some shiraz, take my antibiotics, shut down all the electronics and read a dang BOOK.

Back soon -
xoxoxo,
Kit

HeloMom Dispatch # 22 - For A Limited Time Only

I'll let this one speak for itself.

[sweet photo now removed]

(Yes, I am violating my own policy. Photo will be gone at midnight...)

Footnote on the Appendix

It is out. She is home. There's a story (of course there is!) but I am too exhausted to tell it. HeloMom will fill you in soon...Princess is recovering nicely and will be fine, and Athlete is my new adopted son. :)

Stayin' Alive

I know it's been a bit light of late, but never fear...just checking in with a few quick items/deep thoughts:

1. I miss the Beloved. A lot. Not just for his Boy wrangling and missing keys/gloves/sunglasses/shoe finding skills, although those are both legendary and necessary. He is by far the better half of this relationship.

[I am currently missing one each of my blue and brown Birk clogs. Anyone have any ideas?]

2. I adore the Princess-Athlete couple. They are so darling together, they are very comfy and companionable, and they're nigh inseparable...but they maintain the "just very good friends" pretense at school. This annoys me. I shouldn't really care so long as they are happy, but it really bugs me. And it comes from my child and her hypersensitivity about what others think. WHO CARES?!? But she's only 15, so it matters to her. A lot.

3. Speaking of the Princess, we spent yesterday and today running between the doc and the hospital ruling out appendicitis. The Athlete heard she'd left school complaining of right-side abdominal pain and was at the hospital within 5 minutes of hearing she'd been sent there. He said not a word, but came in and sat at her side, holding her hand (kissed it a few times, too) as we waited for blood draws and abdominal scans.

4. Why am I always so busy if I am supposed to be a stay at home mom now? WTF[rig]*? I didn't even have a chance to go to Mass today. I think I may safely say that the Boy took care of things and anointed me himself...at one point, I looked in the mirror and realized I had yogurt smeared on my forehead and in my hair.

5. I've decided to give up sugar for Lent. Splenda is fine for the tea and coffee, but I'm already feeling like a feral animal getting ready to prowl the aisles of the local convenience store and fell a few Snickers bars under the pretense of going there to grab a gallon of milk. (Me = lioness; Snickers = unfortunate wayward gazelle)

6. * In addition to sugar, I promised our little Therese I'd be better about cussing. Between that and no sugar...$%^&*(^%^&*!!!

7. I have a chest cold on top of everything else. Mucinex, I love you.

That is all.

HeloMom Dispatch #19....Dance of Death?

(See below for update!)
Now, for starters, let Helo Mom 'splain.

Dance of Death is actually a 3-person play written by this dude to the left...a Swedish playwright who suffered from severe bouts of paranoia, schizophrenia, and manic depression. So he wrote this rather dark, scary play about a couple who hate one another celebrating their 25th wedding anniversary - it's a military officer and his wife, stuck alone in a stone garrison/lighthouse on an offshore island somewhere in a presumably frigid northern sea, fjord, whatever. The Beloved and I saw it in the West End back in 2003, with Ian McKellan and Frances de la Tour (Madame Maxime for all you Harry Potter IV fans), celebrating our tenth anniversary. Layers of irony there...


Ok, I'll sum up. The Big Dance is tomorrow night. This is the first really public "outing" for Athlete and Princess. A few of their closest friends have known of their association for some time, but within the past few days, the news leaked to her little pack of rivals, none of whom have dates, and all of whom are tormenting her, name-calling, the works. They plan to go "stag" to the dance. And what will a knot of little snotrags have better to do when they get there than to sit on the sidelines and pick away?

On the other side, she is getting smirked and wolf-whistled-at in the hallways and in the cafeteria by the snarkier older boys, who have decided she must be...ahem..."precocious" in some way (which is rather odd, because they pick on the Athlete for his comparative innocence and pure lifestyle) and so a few of the nastier ones are asking her for her number, asking her to dance with them tomorrow night, etc., all of which mortifies her. She's in full-on distress and wishing she could stay home...after nearly 2 months of planning, shopping, and looking forward to her first formal dance.

AND THEN....there's this. Last night was the second time in three months that they did not speak on the phone. He had a match and did not call afterwards. Even if he does not do well, it is very unlike him not to report in. So this morning I get the following text [purified English added]:

Don't tell [Princess] but I'm going in for xrays this morning. My ankle got torn up last night. I'll let you know what I find out.

Oh dear....

Well, I now know that it is a high sprain, he's in an air cast, and is refusing to use crutches - manly man thing and all that. The news will arrive at school in a limping 6'5" package within the hour, and she will freak out. Our Princess is an inwardly compassionate but outwardly fierce and protective little nurse. She will interrogate, chide, give squinty-eyed reprimands from across the gym, and otherwise will make him suffer far worse than his ankle will, I fear.

Can this dance possibly go well?!?

HeloMom is going to the likker store this afternoon.

More to follow....

UPDATE: I can hardly type, I'm laughing so hard...got a distress text from the Wounded Warrior:

Him: Help! She's yelling at me!

Me: I'd say "RUN FORREST RUN" but, well, y'know...

Him: She shunned me & tried to get away by using the stairs

Me: Uh oh, what did you do?

Him: Thanked God for crowded stairs and my elevator pass and met her at the top of the stairs and limped her to her next class...

Honestly, how can a HeloMom (or her faithful readers) NOT love this kid?!?

St. Blaise, pray for us!

Mother's Log:

Star Date January 14, 2009: Little Therese arrives home complaining of a sore throat. Head cold for the next 4 days, moving into chest for another week thereafter.
.
January 16, 2009: Baby wakes up. Snot factory opens for business. Side note, Mom also discovers that all four Baby canine teeth are attempting to erupt at once. Baby and Therese taken to pediatrician to ensure ears and throats are clear, as letter detailing strep outbreak at Therese's school arrives in early afternoon mail. Cultures are clear.
.
January 20, 2009: Mother/Professor lets evening students go home after first hour of three hour class due to aching legs, fever, lightheadedness, and feelings of dread. No, not inaugurational malaise. 48 hours of flu, at least a gallon of tea, and only a few hours of vertical time ensue.
.
January 23, 2009: Just as Mother begins to feel human again, still-slimy Baby sends out rare 3 am distress call. Fever = 103* in both ears using Thermoscan. At 10 am, pediatrician discovers bilateral ear infection. At 6 pm, Beloved announces that he will not be joining us for the evening basketball game against the crosstown rivals, as he will be in bed for the next 48 hours under the electric blanket, attempting to hang onto his mortal coil, but pondering eternity and the state of his soul...just in case.
.
January 24, 2009: Princess awakens early for a grueling day of pre-competition practice, appears at the side of my bed holding her throat, weeping gently, and cursing us all for breathing on her. Exam week involves aforementioned snow day atrocity, skyrocketing stress level, and deteriorating physical health.
.
January 29, 2009: Princess arrives home from cheer practice complaining of achiness and abdominal pain.
.
January 30, 2009: Mother spends 3rd straight Friday at the doctor's office, this time with Princess. Ears are sore but clear, glands are swollen, throat looks suspicious. Strep, blood, and mononucleosis tests are indicated, as Princess also has tender area on left side, to close where spleen is located. Meltdown begins, as cheer competition is the next morning. As test results will not be back until Monday, and are only precautionary and more to "rule out" than to confirm, Doctor agrees that so long as she does not get worse, Princess may compete, given that she is not going to be thrown in the air, nor is she catching anyone who is so thrown.
.
January 31, 2009: Princess awakens on day of competition sounding like 75 y/o chain smoker. Mucinex, Motrin, and DayQuil are stuffed into cheer bag at 7 am before bus leaves for cheer competition. Princess and crew WIN their divisional cheerleading title for the squad's first time in several years! Despite psychological benefits of win, Princess arrives home and sleeps for the next 15 hours. Miasma in lungs thickens, voice disappears. Mucinex is administered and affords relief, but she is down for the count.
.
February 1, 2009: Despite dire warnings to stay away, Athlete comes over check on Princess at Superbowl halftime. Proceeds to become happy human pillow for second time while Princess slumbers on couch, and marvels aloud that he never thought he'd put girls before football, but a guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do. Beloved's narrowed eyes relax for a brief second of shared mirth before returning to sniper-like focus darting between tv and adjoining couch. No untoward contact is observed or attempted.
.
February 2, 2009: Call from Sheepish Athlete. Embittered (and apparently hoodwinked) physician father of Athlete demands to know if mono results are back for Princess. Track season starts in a few weeks, and the team needs its captain, who is in his senior year and will be disqualified if he has mono, which upsets physician father far more than it does Athlete son, who is philosophical and reveals that the true risk of exposure would have occurred the day before, when he - ahem - "congratulated" the victorious Princess ("right there in the gym in front of onlookers!") after the competition. (Beloved and I must have missed that....)
.
Message immediately put in to Princess' doctor's office. Late in the day, results are back. All clear. Intel reports that embittered physician father of Athlete is relieved. Not as much as attorney professor full time Mother, whose Beloved will be deploying in a week for a stint somewhere in the Middle East as part of the new job.
.
February 3, 2009: Mother has been coughing all night. The Princess Plague, perhaps? Can this really be happening? The Circle of Germs. The Wheel of Misfortune. And I'm teaching tonight...

No way I can make it to daily Mass, so St. Blaise, I'm crossing my throat as well as my fingers, and I'm counting on you from here at home...pray for us!

Prayers for Phillip Johnson

For those of you who may have missed this young man's story, which I've been following thanks to a tip from Cavey, it's worth taking a few minutes to read about what's going on in his life and juxtapose it against what going on in yours.

Phillip, a 25 year-old Naval Officer, learned in October learned that he has an inoperable brain tumor, roughly the size of a lime. Scroll to the oldest of his posts for more detail. His reflections on his vocation, his illness, and his journey toward embracing God's will in his life will bring a tear to your eye.

Please remember this brave young man - and, God willing, future priest - in your prayers

Belated tribute - St. Lucy

Santa Lucia, patroness of the blind, pray for me!

Holy smokes. After what we're calling the "Cosmetic 9-1-1 incident" and ER visit a week or so ago, I thought I'd hit my quota for random ocular trauma for, say, at least a decade.

Not so!

Today we went in for our 6 month dental visits. As I received praise for yet another cavity-free year during my cleaning, disaster struck. A huge chunk of nasty abrasive dental polish flew off the spinny-polisher-thingy and shot straight up and under my upper eyelid in the (now formerly) good eye.

It was horrible...my second scratched cornea - minty fresh exfoliation in this instance - in as many weeks. Fortunately, I still had plenty of antibiotic eyedrops and rinse left, so I decided to self-treat and forego another ER visit. Why? Vanity, thy name is Kit.

As it turns out, the local ER Chief doc is a fellow quasi-Catholic high school parent who treated me at the ER after the Boy-meets-Mamma's-mascara-wand episode, and with whom I've struck up a nice little chatting-at-basketball-games acquaintance. He has kindly asked after my visual health at each of the games since, and he, his lovely wife, and I have discussed their various boy teenager issues and my Cheerleader teenager issues. Somehow I am not sure a second eye-related trauma in as many weeks would seem entirely coincidental...although those who know me well would laugh and say it's par for the course! I don't want to become known to them as the creepy "Eye Lady" who frequents the ER between basketball games with yet another bizarre eye injury. To be safe, I did chat with my lady doc buddy (after she got done laughing at me) and she assured me I'd survive, so long as the pain did not increase, etc.

What am I supposed to be learning from this, dear Lord?!?

St. Lucy was an early Christian martyr historically believed to have been tortured, burned, and blinded before being murdered courtesy of Diocletian. There is a lovely Scandanavian tradition wherein a young girl is selected to dress as St. Lucia, wearing a headdress of pine and candles to symbolize the fire that did not immediately kill her, and to bring light to conquer darkness. She also brings candy, saffron or anise-flavored coffee-cakes and presents to the little kids. Her feast day was December 13th, the day we had three major school events to attend from 9 am to after 11 pm, or I'd've mentioned her sooner - I love the traditions associated with her feast day.



Maybe this is her gentle way of reminding me...

Please - prayers for my friend...

...the Boy's Godfather, whom I love like the younger brother I never had.

He has a lovely wife, a successful firm in only 2 years since start-up, a boundlessly generous heart...but then suddenly the market's tanked, it's Christmastime, work's busy, he has 3 kids aged 4 and under, he's not sleeping...he's severely, George Bailey depressed. He has a wonderful life, really, but like many people who suffer from depressive disorders, he doesn't see it.

I'm very worried. All of my standard rallying tactics have failed, and that's saying something. I will be having a heart to heart with him tomorrow and will not rest until he seeks outside assistance.

Please keep my friend in your prayers, and wish meddlesome me luck.

St. Dymphna, pray for us!

The Pictures Will Do The Math AND Tell The Story!

Take one of these:

+


+

=

+


So went my evening last night.
.


Yes, that may have been my voice you heard crying out in the wilderness....but I toughed it out long enough to get through the firm Christmas party (open bar, duh!) before heading to the hospital on the advice of a fellow lawyer's physician wife.
.


Blogging will be a bit light for a few days, but do enjoy your second week of Advent!

Update: BTW, the whole patch thing lasted about 5 minutes...the Boy took one look at my face, cackled madly, and screeched like a boy-banshee because I wouldn't let him claw the thing off my face. So I'm taking my drops every few hours like a good girl and wearing my Maui Jims inside and out.

This really stinks.

If it's not one thing...

...it's my mother.
.
She's coming to town tomorrow, which means one of two things: 1) I will suddenly give in to the urge to paint a room/start some other ridiculously messy project; or 2) go into a baking frenzy. It's some sort of defense mechanism. Last time she was here, I did both.
.
I am sure there's some perfectly rational explanation in an abnormal psych textbook somewhere. In the meantime, the Pane Toscana has been mixed and is in its preliminary 18-hour rise phase.

We will eat well this weekend, at any rate.

The Eyes Have It

Like Kasia, I am languishing under the covers...another kid-inflicted cold seems to be creeping in, darn it. I also seem to be posting more substantive things in others' comboxes, so I'm too worn out to be interesting here. So until I get the grey matter back on task, here's another goofy quiz, but oddly, it's not too far off the real "moi":

Your result for Are You a Jackie or a Marilyn? Or Someone Else? Mad Men-era Female Icon Quiz...

You Are a Bette!

You are a Bette -- "I must be strong"

Bettes are direct, self-reliant, self-confident, and protective.

How to Get Along with Me

• * Stand up for yourself... and me.


• * Be confident, strong, and direct.


• * Don't gossip about me or betray my trust.


• * Be vulnerable and share your feelings. See and acknowledge my tender, vulnerable side.


• * Give me space to be alone.


• * Acknowledge the contributions I make, but don't flatter me.


• * I often speak in an assertive way. Don't automatically assume it's a personal attack.


• * When I scream, curse, and stomp around, try to remember that's just the way I am.

What I Like About Being a Bette

• * being independent and self-reliant


• * being able to take charge and meet challenges head on


• * being courageous, straightforward, and honest


• * getting all the enjoyment I can out of life


• * supporting, empowering, and protecting those close to me


• * upholding just causes

What's Hard About Being a Bette

• * overwhelming people with my bluntness; scaring them away when I don't intend to


• * being restless and impatient with others' incompetence


• * sticking my neck out for people and receiving no appreciation for it


• * never forgetting injuries or injustices


• * putting too much pressure on myself


• * getting high blood pressure when people don't obey the rules or when things don't go right

Bettes as Children Often

• * are independent; have an inner strength and a fighting spirit


• * are sometimes loners


• * seize control so they won't be controlled


• * figure out others' weaknesses


• * attack verbally or physically when provoked


• * take charge in the family because they perceive themselves as the strongest, or grow up in difficult or abusive surroundings

Bettes as Parents

• * are often loyal, caring, involved, and devoted


• * are sometimes overprotective


• * can be demanding, controlling, and rigid

Take Are You a Jackie or a Marilyn? Or Someone Else? Mad Men-era Female Icon Quiz at HelloQuizzy

It's only a 2-question quiz - try it out and have a little fun!

Calling all Jack fans...

UPDATE #3: 9/22/08: Jack is home! $700 and a th0roughly distressed bladder later, we are on a "wait and see" regimen. Thanks so much for all your prayers and warm wishes for our furry little baby-sitting, sock-slaying kittyman.

UPDATE #2: I have no idea what has happened, but update #1 from yesterday has disappeared! Anyway, Jack's still in the kitty hospital. He managed to remove his own kitty-catheter overnight last night, so was in rough shape again this morning. When the vet put it back in, Jack took it right back out. (Take THAT, Foley!) He is on 3 types of sedatives (anti-spasmodic, anti-anxiety, and a tranquilizer) to prevent a repeat, as well as IV antibiotics. The problem is not crystalline, it's blood clots and there could be permanent scarring and even more narrowing...which makes him very susceptible to these in the future.Poor, poor kittyman. We may bring him home Sunday or more likely on Monday.



...my poor Jackie is in emergency kitty surgery right now. He was fine and did his 5 am "wake humans up for breakfast" ritual yesterday morning, followed by the normal "sleep all day" regimen, but failed to show up for his usual "romp all evening with humans and doggies" routine. Happens every so often. Instead, he remained in the basement all night, throwing up, and when we found him curled up in a pile of laundry this morning, he could barely walk. So far, they are thinking some sort of intestinal blockage coupled with a UTI.


The vet was astonished at the rapid onset, could not catheterize him without really hurting him, and so they whisked him right away to knock him out, empty him out and see what's going on.


The Beloved, for all his USMC bravado, is a very tender vittle when it comes to the livestock. He's texting me about every 30 seconds. I am so worried...

Many thanks, friends

Well, I have been wanting to type this thank you note out for several days for all of the love, prayers, and support you've sent my way since my September 1 post, but it's hard to do without getting a little teary. Here's a little update:

It's been a rough "inner" week, but with the kids starting back to school, after school practice taxi service, and the first football game for terrified cheerleader, who has also had to deal with confronting her little pack of foes (they just. need. to. let. it. go....), it's been a busy exterior week. This has been good, I've kept up appearances, but it's been very tough in what little quiet time I've had.

Speaking of appearance....so much for all the dieting and primping I did this summer. After partying my way through the first part of August, I gained back 4 of the 17 I lost, and I'm sure this week of indulging in self-pity has not helped, either. My hairdresser refused to give me highlights when he saw how badly I'm shedding - it's falling out by the handful every time I run a brush through it, and when I wash it - ick - you can't even see the drain! My skin has gone back in time....to 1984 or so, but I didn't break out like this, even back then. Fun, fun, fun! Going in for bloodwork tomorrow - probably a thyroid or adrenal freak-out of some sort.

So that's the bad and the ugly. The good has been the humbling realization that there are people out there who've never met me pulling for me. For all of that, for stopping by to check in on me, and especially for your prayers, I thank you all, so much! You are all in my prayers as well.

@->--
Kit