Weekend in NYC. Happy Mother's Day 2015!

Mother's Day has passed, but I have to highlight the awesome gift I received from Jeff and the kiddos - a solo trip to NYC!



Jeff booked the tickets to coincide with the Memorial Day weekend, which also happens to be a long weekend in Bermuda. With the kids and Jeff both off from work and school, I was happy to fly off relatively guilt free. 

Check out the fabulous view of Times Square in the morning, taken from the concierge lounge at the Marriott Renaissance Hotel. 

And check out the other ubiquitous NYC shot- pidgeons, per Jordan's request. 

"Mommy, take a picture of the NYC pidgeons!"  

He still likes birds. NYC pidgeons deserve their own screen time, I guess. 

There you go, Jordan. I wonder if he remembers the story I told him about the time I saw a flock of them ripping apart hot dogs in the street that someone had tossed from a hot dog cart. 

The trip didn't start out too well. I guess everyone on the island was trying to get off that day, so I wound up literally in the back of the plane.  I mean, exactly the back of the plane.  Right next to the toilet. 

Ugh.

Double ugh, was the fact that the passenger sitting next to me took up almost half of my seat.  I tried hard not to look miffed about it, because I'm sure she was just as uncomfortable as I was.  There's got to be some easy way to break the tension in situations like this. There's no ignoring the obvious size issue. We're both annoyed - neither of us is comfortable, we're both crammed in. What's the point of being a jerk about it? Everyone on the plane is miserable. What can you do?

Turns out, the absolutely horrific turbulence we experienced wound up breaking the ice as we both sat there panicking out loud.  Each time one of us gripped the arm rest, sharing looks of fear, the minor issue of lack of space became meaningless.

When the passenger seated across from me started throwing up from air sickness, I really started praying.  So was my seat mate. Nothing like a shared plane crash to initiate a friendship.

We landed, thank God, and as soon as possible, I charged out of there - ready to start my adventures.

People approach NYC trips differently.  Some go for the Broadway shows and tourist stuff.  I go to see friends, shop and eat.

A lot.

My one desire was to indulge on these guys. And loads of them.  Fresh oysters are non existent in Bermuda, at least to my knowledge. When I've asked about it, I've been told they bring them in frozen. 

Not the same. 

I also haven't had any as last seasons pregnancy got in the way of my normal eating habits.  

Needless to say, this craving has taken on a life of its own. 

So, after checking into the hotel, I headed downtown about twenty blocks to Chelsea. Home of one of my favorites: John Dory Oyster Bar. 

 

It's a great oyster place that I managed to visit twice in my weekend in NYC.  Yes, twice.  So gluttonous.  Jeff and I went there once on a rare kid free weekend. It wasn't quite the same without my oyster buddy.



But I soldiered on. He would be proud.

That first night, I met up with good sorority friends/ex housemates from college.  

 One of the main reasons I stay active on Facebook is because it's a great way of maintaining connections when you live abroad. With the ease of a few messages  to friends, I was able to set up the weekend. I'm lucky enough to have a handful of friends who actually make the effort too. They are the best!

Of course, it's a little tricky fitting in everyone and everything into just a couple days. Which is why I clearly need to do trips abroad more often!

My Leonia girls met me out to celebrate among the rooftops at sunset.  I suggested this place I read about called "Gallow Green."



Really lovely garden setting atop the old McKittrick Hotel. The Highline is right next door and it's a gorgeous spot of foliage in an otherwise urban landscape. 

We did some damage, as we caught up on town gossip and eyed the hipsters around us.  Ok, we may not be 20 something whippersnappers, but we're obviously comfortable enough in our dotage to command an entire table for hours on end and rate a chilled wine bucket from the bartender. We got some looks on that one.

 No standing in line at the bar for single beers for us, thank you.  We're old, tired and have earned the right to sit down. 

The departure however, was slightly more macabre than I am used to. Remind me to read up on interactive theatrical productions ("Sleep No More" is the show being performed downstairs) before I drag my poor unsuspecting friends through one of these again. Oh NYC, you never disappoint.



Sundays used to mean brunch for us. So what better way to spend it than with this guy- who trained it in from CT.   We had a lovely, chic lunch at the Nomad hotel.  It was so chic that I had to go get more food immediately after.

Yes, that's me.  Eating my second brunch.  Secondies?  At John Dory again. 

It's especially convenient because it's right next to this place!!



EATALY!!  The lines turned out to be too long, so we wandered further uptown and found a gelato place that was just as good.

Eating my way through NYC continued that evening as I met some friends out for    dinner in the west village. Oysters first, of course. At a tiny little niche called "Virgola."

It was a challenge finding the place because 1. I have no sense of direction; and 2.  Because it is a tiny place. 

But if you can get there (28 Greenwich Ave x 9th ave)  the oysters are worth it. The manager was also incredibly nice to us. First, he discussed oysters with me in a way that helped educate me without being condescending. And despite the fact that the reservation I made was for two only, he didn't make a fuss when two more friends showed up just to sit for a bit, drink prosecco and leave. Very gracious as the tables are right up on each other and seating was coveted. We tipped accordingly. 

After, we headed over for dinner at Agave  - a lovely Mexican/Southwestern place not far from NYU.  A friend picked it out and my only criterion was "I want a place where the maître d' isn't telling me that I am being too loud."

It delivered. Great food, great company. And they stuck us in the back so I could cackle to my heart's content.  I have a loud laugh. What can I say?

Of course, in between all this gluttony, I did do the very specific shopping I had in mind (running shoes and American Girl merchandise for my daughter's upcoming birthday). 

The American Girl store deserves it's own post, no doubt. I was overwhelmed. I did manage to buy the things I knew my birthday girl has been asking for since last Christmas. So I hope she will appreciate that I used my very limited overseas duty exemption to cart this stuff back on the island. 

Without a doubt, one of the most extravagant Mother's Day gifts ever. I have the best family ever!

P.s.  

As an addendum, for those of you confused about how to behave on an air

plane and why, read this:  How to be a good person on an airplane

 

I cracked up. 

Theo's Birth Story, also known as "The Anglican Arch Bishop Of Bermuda Almost Delivered my Baby!"

The last time I wrote, I was complaining about still being pregnant and the false alarm we had after our abbreviated curry night.

I guess I spoke too soon.

My little guy was just biding his time.  He waited for the first day of school to make his appearance.
On Tuesday, September 2, 2014, I gave birth to a healthy baby boy - presenting Theodore Naeem Trimarchi - 7 lbs 5 oz, 19 inches.



Sleeping soundly in a bassinet.  This was the last time I saw this happen.  He's now attached to my breast or sleeping next to me on a memory foam mattress.  The bassinet next to our bed has become a storage basin for all the bed pillows Jeff despises.



Then there were three.



I'm going to document Theo's arrival, so there is no confusion years from now.  I always make fun of Jeff because he wasn't there when I had to drive myself to the hospital to give birth to Mina.  That theme continues. 

This time, I get to make fun of him because once again, I had to catch a ride with someone other than my husband. 

I was lucky - the Anglican Archbishop of Bermuda and his wife, Fiona Dill (my midwife/doula) drove me to King Edward Hospital to deliver my child. 

It's a long story.

Get some popcorn.







Setting:  September 2, 2014. 

Noon. 

Kids are on their first day of school.  Two days of minor contractions and Braxton Hicks over the weekend have left me feeling very blase about the whole thing.  Convinced they baby is taking his sweet time getting here, I no longer worry about every little muscle spasm hitting my uterus.

Since I have three hours before pick up, I decide to get a head start on dinner and cleaning.  I notice some mild contractions, but they are nothing to write home about.  I ignore them and proceed to make chicken marsala with mushrooms.  Because what else would you make while you are in the middle of labor?  Except, I didn't really think I was in labor because I'm the idiot who has never had a natural labor before.  Both my kids were induced so I have no clue what labor even means.

After that, I look with dismay at all the thyme that is scattered on my floor.  I sweep and then for good measure, mop.

By 1:37 pm I decide it's finally time to take a shower.  (I'm being really precise because I am looking at my text history with Jeff to verify these times!  No claiming I am making this stuff up!)  Still some minor contractions.  I ignore and take a long, hot shower.  I even have time to put on makeup and do my hair!  It sounds more impressive than it is.  No one notices hair and makeup when you are 40 weeks pregnant and waddling around with a watermelon attached to your stomach.

Me texting to Jeff:  I think I'm going to take a shower.  Contractions about 7 minutes apart.

Jeff:  Ok.  Will come home after doctor.  (Jeff conveniently had a doctor's appointment of his own for a cough.)

By 3:02, I decide to jot off a quick email.  As I sit down on the couch, I am struck with a huge contrzction that doubles me over.  I text Jeff.

Me:  I'm calling Fiona (my doula/midwife).  Had a really bad one.

Jeff:  Ok.  Have her take you right away.  I will wait till kids are settled.  Caroline can come at 5:00

me:  Can you call Susie to get the kids?  I want you at the hospital!

Jeff:  ok

Me:  Or Christina.  Or call Jennifer Pettit and put them in aftercare for today.

Jeff:  I am in car line.  Will have them soon. 

(this is the part where I groaned in frustration.  The first day back at school is notorious for complete cluster feck of a carline.)

me:  You gotta get them out NOW.  Fiona is here.  I am in agony!

Jeff:  just go!!! 

The trouble is, Jeff did not realize Fiona had lent her car to her husband, the for mentioned Anglican Archbishop of Bermuda.  Damn you Bermuda with your one car per household laws!  He was next door at Price Rite doing some shopping.  Fiona thought she would be driving to the hospital with us.  She didn't realize Jeff would not be home.

So, she called her husband, who dropped everything in line and came driving over.

By this point, I was on the floor of my bathroom screaming in agony.

Jeff also pulled up and was bringing the kids into the house.  Mina heard me screaming and proceeded to freak out and dash off to her room.

Because we didn't have anyone to watch the kids yet, Jeff stayed with them while my midwife and the Archbishop drove me to the hospital.  Everyone else was also in car line picking up their kids!

I screamed and cried the whole way.  The Archbishop was very calm as was Fiona.  They have six kids, so they have heard it all before.

We arrived at the hospital at 3:40.

There were no delivery rooms ready, so the nurses asked me to lay on an examining room table.  I cursed her out in pain and demanded an epidural.

"We need to examine you Mrs. Trimarchi!"

"No!!  No way!!  I am not doing this without an epidural!!  I want my epidural!!!"  I think I may have put my head down on the table and started crying.

My very lovely midwife, who is just a peach, replied in her quintessentially British tone,  "Sorry dear, no time for an epidural."

Together, they heaved me on the table.

Once there, the nurse examined me and told me I was fully dilated.  My water broke instantly, and I started sobbing.

"You can push now, Mrs Trimarchi.  When you feel the wave of the contraction."

"I can't do this!!  I don't know how to do this!! I can't remember anything!!"

Jeff showed up somehow and started doing some ridiculous thing with my leg.  The nurse practically rolled her eyes at me and told me to focus.

"Mrs Trimarchi, you have two kids!  You know what you are doing.  Just push!!"

"You can do this Sadaf, you're so close now!"

In ten minutes, also known as the equivalent of three pushes, Theodore made his way into the world.

He was tinged blue.  At which point I started screaming again that he was blue, because I forgot that most babies are slightly blue at birth till they get oxygenated.

And then I held him, and my sobs were ones of relief. 

Ten minutes.  No drugs.  It was finally over.

Welcome to the world, Theo! 

And a special thanks to Fiona Dill, of Great Beginnings, and her very capable husband/driver, for getting me to the hospital in time.  I hadn't imagined ever using a midwife before, especially since this was my third child.  On the recommendation of a friend, I decided to give her a try because I was a wee bit nervous about delivering in Bermuda.  Ok, I was actually very nervous.  I missed the comforts of home and wanted to work with someone who was familiar with the hospital and staff here. 

I am so glad I did.  I shudder to think what would have happened if I hadn't relied on Fiona.  I suspect Theo would have been delivered on the floor of my dining room, which was the last place I was huddled over before she arrived at my house.

Mother's Day 2014

I had a lovely Mother's Day yesterday.  The kids helped make me breakfast, gave me the most adorable cards (got me weepy at the sentiments), Jeff bought me a beautiful pair of earrings, and we all went out to lunch in St. Georges, followed by a walk down the cobblestone streets for some gelato.



Just a perfect day.

I called my mother, of course, and discussed upcoming plans for my visit to them in upstate NY.




I also got to thinking how my life has come to mirror hers in so many inadvertent ways.  Not the least of which is that I'll also have three kids - two boys and a girl.  We've both put our professional careers on hold to raise our kids, we've left family and friends behind in order to travel to foreign lands and raise them away from our native homes.



Sometimes women groan and say, "I'm becoming my mother!!"  The older I get, the more at peace I am with that.  The older I get, the more I realize, my mom did the best she could.  I turned out ok.  I think she had something to do with that.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom.

Adventures in misdiagnoses - otherwise known as the state of health care in Bermuda.

My dog and I have something in common, apart from the fact that we are getting crotchety in our old age.

Both of us have had shitty luck with health care on this island.

In Oscar's case, he was repeatedly diagnosed with swollen anal glands, instead of a popped knee joint.  

You can imagine how the two might be confused.

And in my case, I've been blithely waking around thinking I had "an allergic reaction," when in fact I've got a lovely staph infection..

 Oh, and guess what? It's MRSA! (methicillin resistant, to you and me..)

It started as a series of red bumps on my lower legs, I noticed the day after I got a massage at a local place.

I went to the doctor  because they itched. There were also a lot of them.

Week one - "It's an allergic reaction!  Try some Benadryl and some prednisone for the swelling."

Week two - Doctor makes a face.  "Hmm.. looks like an abscess.  Try this lotion, and here's some antibiotics.  Let's make an urgent referral to a dermatologist."

(Urgent means over a month from the date of the appointment.  Urgent meant October 14th!)

Fast forward to week three when Jeff dragged me to the emergency room.  I was in pain.  The top part of my leg had swollen up from the abscess that had formed.

It looked like the world's ugliest pimple about to erupt.

This is what it looked like after the doctor did surgery on it to open it up and drain it.



Brace yourself.

I hesitated to show this but thought maybe it might help some poor soul out there.

Very gruesome picture to follow of a wound packed with gauze following a cleaning.

I've warned you...

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Last warning. I'm serious.


Ok.


-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is what it looked like immediately after he took a scalpel, incised my leg, and massaged it for 15 minutes to get the blood and pus out.

When I say "massage," I'm using the term loosely. He took both hands and used his fingers to push down hard and outward. I lay on the table, gripping the sides and biting my lip to keep from screaming.

That didn't work. I screamed.

As tears flowed from the corners of my eyes, I could feel hot, wet liquid pour down the side of my thigh.

I was stupid enough to look up and saw a two inch hole in my leg, open and bleeding.  It looked like a red mouth.

He continued to massage and use sterilized q-tips to dig into the hole and pull things out.

He felt the need to show me. I don't know why.

This is what it looked like after the surgery.



The leg itself is swollen and red. The bit sticking out of the top of my thigh is about 6 inches of iodine-soaked gauze that he stuffed back into the open hole that was once my quad.

This all occurred almost three weeks to the date I first went to my doctor.

It was in the Bermuda ER, that the doctor first mentioned the word, "MRSA."

 As in, "you have an abscess on your leg. Let's test it for MRSA, just to be sure.  This is the third case of this I have seen this week!"

The positive test came back two days later.

At that point, Jeff said I was going to the US.

I didn't argue.

An emergency room visit to the ER in Mt. Sinai (awesome doctors. So awesome.) A visit to an infectious disease specialist, just to reassure myself ... and armed with a new antibiotic... I think I am on the mend. No new lesions. Wound is healing. And docs seem confident it should be ok.

Bottom line... don't get sick in Bermuda.

I was lucky enough to be able to get off the island and get some health care with doctors who know how to be diagnose and reassure and provide the hands on useful information you need with an infection like this. 

But, that does little to make me feel better about the future.  I keep thinking about Jordan and what if, God forbid, something really serious happens to him?  What if we have to fly him off the island on a minute's notice for urgent health care? 

Jeff and I talked about this when we first moved here.  Jordan's health care is that important.  I guess it just seemed so theoretical at that point, especially since he is generally so healthy.  We still get his major cardiac check ups in NYC.  He sees a regular pediatrician here in Bermuda, but all his labs and heart work is done back home.  I guess we think we are home often enough that were something to happen, his regular transplant team would catch it.  I think.

However, going through three weeks of uncertainty here...because doctors didn't test for infectious strains at the outset worries me.  A lot.

 It also worried me when I found out a colleague was going through the same exact thing after visiting the same spa and doctors here were giving here the same run around.

Someone suggested I look at this as a "test run" in the event that we do have to get off the island for Jordan. 

Now we know exactly what we have to do since I've been the guinea pig.

I'm so sad the kids are back to school....

hahahahaha!



Monday marked the return to normalcy in our household. I for one, am breathing a hearty sigh of relief. In the hopes of starting the new school year right, we tried to get ourselves organized in the preceeding weeks.

Yeah. That went well.

Day One:

Jeff wakes up at the crack of dawn. Oscar, sensing food must be coming, leaps up and starts tippy tapping his doggie nails across the hardwood floor of our bedroom. I curse Overstock.com for failing to get all our bedroom rugs and furniture together so I can have everything sent via container to Bermuda.

I get up a few minutes later and get "dressed." I go downstairs for water.

Jordan is already up, dressed in his uniform and is sitting at the kitchen counter discussing how soon he will be allowed to play Minecraft. His hair is sticking straight up, thus confirming he paid no attention to me during the conversations we had regarding grooming.

Mina wakes up shortly thereafter, dresses herself and as I get ready to braid her hair, she sits down for a lengthy discussion of the dream she had the night before.. "You know, mom.. the one about my dad - the vampire."

She goes downstairs and joins Jordan for breakfast. He ignores the banana crumb muffins I so lovingly baked the night before.

Both kids kill time by practicing piano and complaining about the electronics ban.

I walk Oscar, pack lunchboxes, fill water bottles, then sit down for my coffee and emails. I realize I have forgotten to pack an "art smock" for Mina.

Commence search for suitable smock as the clock keeps ticking. I scramble for rags under the kitchen sink and settle on a lovely orange Brooklyn Brewery t-shirt, circa 1995, that I never quite got around to ripping up.

Thrilled with myself for not throwing anything out!

Hoarders unite!

As I round up kids to get in car, Jordan informs me his shoes are too tight.

"But we tried the shoes on last week, and you said they fit just fine!"

"No, Mommeeee... they're too tight!"

I grind my teeth together and inform him he will have to suck it up till we have time to buy more shoes.

He frowns.

I send them outside for commemorative first day back to school picture.

He makes many nasty faces at me.

I force them to stand outside in Bermuda humidity till I get one fake happy look.

We go upstairs to car, and I take more pictures.

Suddenly it dawns on me that we are almost out of the house, and I begin smiling uncontrollably.

As we drive down the road, for the 5 minute car ride (YES!!! One Stop this year!!)I grin at every person walking, stumbling, riding down the street.

Yeah you, Mr. "shopping at Serpentine Liquors at 8 am in the morning!" High five! I'll get the next round!



Welcome to the most wonderful time of the year!

Once in a lifetime... water flowing underground.

I decided to take a suggestion from Kelly, over at Kelly's Korner, and just do a post on what a random day of the week looks like.

Thursday, June 29, 2011

Today was the last day of school for the kids. It was a half day, because of course, "last" day is synonymous with "half" day. What? You didn't know that? It is. And it's understood cross-culturally as well. I always remember back in the U.S., the kids had a half day at their pre-school.

Mina called from the top of the stairs, "Mommy, do I have to wear my uniform today?"

"No, it's grub day. You can wear whatever you want." I mentally cringe at the thought of what she is going to come downstairs in. Damn, I should have put a restriction on it. I ponder the origins of the word grub and wonder why it's used in this context.



Jordan continues to sleep. He had a rough night. Repeat wake ups, crying, bathroom breaks. He's tired.



Downstairs, I pour the coffee.

Thankfully, I had prepared the machine the night before, so all I had to do was press a button. Good thing because I could barely open my eyes.



Literally.

Seeing the doctor today to deal with whatever eye infection I've managed to pick up. This seems to be the week of doctors. Pediatrician, bone scans, eye doctors. We have weeks like that sometimes. Hopefully this one will be over soon.

Normally, Jeff handles the morning routine downstairs (coffee, Oscar, kid breakfast) but he had to be out of town for a couple days for work.

I get my breakfast ready and feed Oscar, our dog, who is winding around my legs like a cat and shuffling his wet nose into my legs. I feel a twinge of sympathy because it's probably been at least three days since I shaved my legs.

Mina comes downstairs with hair wet from last night's bath, wearing a too short tee - shirt and a size 2T pink ballet tutu. I look at her, and mentally debate what I could say that won't make her remember this moment in the future and decide she hates me.

"Maybe you should wear some shorts under those, Mina," I half-heartedly suggest. Is this really a battle I want to fight, I wonder.

She flashes me her Cinderella underwear and looks shocked that I don't think the outfit is perfect as is.

"Awwwh...." her standard response. She goes upstairs to add a pair of pink shorts to the ensemble. I'm surprised she didn't put up more of a fight. Maybe it was seeing the actual tag on the tutu that said "2T." I let Oscar out of the house. Dog hasn't had a decent walk in days.



I ready the gift bags for the teachers - painted pencil boxes, handmade cards inscibed with her gratitude, Some cute, felted craft magnets, and a bit of chocolate. Repeat idea of ones made before for teachers back home. I bought the wood boxes from Michael's craft store in the U.S way back in February and held on to them.

I also contributed to the parent's monetary collection to buy the teachers something more practical (gift cards, travel vouchers - travel vouchers are a Bermuda thing.) I'm sure the kid's cards will be appreciated, but I'm a big fan of practicality. I also added a card of my own to all of the teachers. I know I always appreciated it when people I worked with took a minute to thank me for my efforts. And I think teachers deserve to hear it from parents as well. Being a teacher is HARD work. The little I know of it (weekly reading with the kids at school, volunteering at class parties, etc) is exhausting. Imagine doing that, plus trying to actually teach them something every day!



We went with a bird theme this year as ornithology was a major topic of interest for one of my kids. And thus, by default, it became a family activity for BOTH of the kids. So much so that Jordan now actually knows what ornithology means and that he wants to be an ornithologist one day. And a chef. And own a pizza restaurant. And travel to India. On Air India. But he only has $0.65 in his piggy bank right now, so it might take some time to save for a ticket. And cab fare, since I refuse to drive him to the airport.

Jordan did not go to school. Again. He's been home all week. We saw the doctor yesterday and she said he had an ear infection. He may also have strep throat, depending on the test results. He's on antibiotics. When he came downstairs, I noticed he was warm again. I gave him some of his meds, he drank some milk and water and refused to eat anything. Mina wolfed down a waffle, some strawberries, and suggested I make her a round of pancakes. I suggested she go brush her hair.

I rounded up the gift bags, made a quick partial lunch for Mina (it's a "half-day after all; no real lunch). Got the kids in the car and navigated my way down North Shore Road. Surprisingly, after nine months, I'm actually kind of comfortable driving on the left hand side of the road. The narrow roads don't make me break into a flop sweat anymore. The kids argue about the music on the Ipod. I don't even attempt to listen to the audiobook I really want (Women, Food and God by Geneen Roth). Talking Heads plays. I admire the way the sun sparkles off the water on Shelly Bay. I do the Bermuda thing and let a car turn in front of me. He toot-toots his horn. Another Bermuda thing.

At school, I park along the field I leave Jordan in the car with the AC on and his stuffed cow for company. No, we don't do this in the U.S. Here, it's done all the time. I'm not too worried. Teachers are 20 feet away supervising kids in the drop off area.

Mina and I trudge into the building. I continue to wear my sunglasses and pretend to be chic mommy, rather than mommy with raging eye infection and hairy legs. We leave a present for Jordan's teacher in her classroom. Mina admires Tuck the turtle swimming around in the tank. No turtles in the US, I remember. Someone told me most classrooms ban them after a salmonella scare. Apparently the news hasn't hit Bermuda yet. I wonder who's taking care of the turtle over the summer. I feel sorry for turtle. All that swimming.

Mina runs into her classroom holding the gift bags. She stops to show them off to a friend and marvels at the chocolates and crafty magnets. I hope nothing falls out. On the way back to the car, I stop and talk with one of the teachers responsible for summer camp next week. I discuss whether she's seen my email regarding the balance. She hasn't. She finds a receipt with the balance due and hands it to me. I stare, cough, and thank her. Sigh. That's a big balance. Must double check her figures. Math anxiety hits me.

We drive home. I notice mallards in Harrington Sound bay and point them out to Jordan. The boats bob gently and the sun sends sparkles across the water. We discuss how old the lead duckling was. We decide he was a teenager because he wasn't following his parents.

At home, I finish giving Jordan the remainder of his medication. He refuses to eat, but grudgingly drinks some Buddy Fruit smoothie and settles himself on the couch for Tom and Jerry. I empty the dishwasher, wipe down the utensils which never seem to get dry, load up breakfast dishes, and ignore the sticky syrup that's all over my fingers. Wash. Remember I have to call the water people and order a tank refill. Our neighbor told me there's a five day waiting period because of the drought.

Normally, this time of the day, I'm usually running; but since I've been forced to give up running for the foreseeable future, I've found it hard to motivate myself to exercise at all. I hate the gym. I hate lifting weights. I grudgingly ride a bike or an elliptical. I've tried water aerobics and water jogging (fail, fail, fail.) I do however still watch what I eat. I'm convinced that diet is more important than exercise for maintaining or losing weight. And eventually, I will run again. And those happy endorphins will return.

I wipe down the counters then check Jordan's temperature. 99.2

I try calling water guy. Call goes straight to automated cell message. I call secondary water guy. He tells me he has three people on hold and could I use the online option? I'm shocked the company is forward thinking enough to have that and proceed to go online. I arrange a day for delivery and wonder whether this will actually work.

I check Jordan. He's moved on to the computer in the office and is playing Yo Gabba Gabba on Nick Jr. He says he feels ok. His eyes are heavy lidded and droopy which always happens when he's sick. But this is the most energetic I've seen him this morning, so I leave him alone. I debate whether I should try to get him to eat something.

It's 10:30. I have to pick up Mina from school in one hour. I mentally triage all household chores that need to get done and decide to vacuum living room.

Mid carpet, I'm interrupted by loud pounding on front door. I look through glass to see man standing there. It's the bug-sprayers. He's going to do the outside of the house. I nod and wonder whether its the chemicals that have caused him to look this way.

Jeff IM's me wanting to know what Jordan's doing. "Watching Smurfs," I reply. Discuss temperature, mood and probiotics.

I launch a full out cleaning assault on bedrooms and bathrooms upstairs. When there's so much sick in the house, I feel like a full scale germ warfare is underway and I have to go even more crazy with cleaning. I scrub bathrooms and disinfect everything with bleach and chlorox wipes. I clean off handles and light switches and door knobs. I stare at the soap dispenser in Jordan's bathroom and wonder why, after nine months, the soap is only halfway gone. In Mina's bathroom, I wonder why she has six toothbrushes on her sink.

I think about the comment a friend on Facebook made. She's an ex-pat, who lives in a "developing country." Regarding cleaning, she said,

"Hire someone. Isn't that one the benefits of moving to "these places?"

"I have someone," I replied. "Her name is me, myself and I."

Uh. "These places???" gag.

Anyways, I can't do cleaning people. I've tried many times. We don't work out. I'm neurotic and obsessive- compulsive and passive-aggressive. And they are usually normal and just want to do their job and go home. I clean before they get there, while they are there, and afterwards. It just never works. I try to be nice and just let them do things their way. That never works, so I tell them a few specific things I need done. They are good for a few weeks then get sloppy about something else. Weeks go by and my anger starts building up as I think about all the other ways I could spend that money. And usually 6 months to a year has passed and I let them go. They have no idea what they did wrong and I chalk it up to an "It's not you, it's me" type explanation.

Do you see why I need to run again? It's the only thing that calms the non-stop crazy voices in my head. The bone scan was Tuesday. Shouldn't the results be in by now?

We drove to pick up Mina from school. "Genius of Love," plays on the Ipod. Go ahead, click the link, you know you love this song.

We pull into car line and repeat performance of leaving Jordan alone with AC. I stare at mom in orange tube dress in front of me hitching up said tube dress top. Personal fashion pet peeve - if you are constantly hitching things up, pulling things down, or can't move in it, then this is not a good look for you. I do like orange though.

Get Mina. She decides at this moment to say good bye to each of her friends individually. Grab her, go find Jordan's teacher in car line. She returns work to me and thanks me for gift.

"Say a hello to Jordan for me!"

Both kids got report cards today and I'm looking forward to reading them. Orange tube dress mom returns to car line and rather than pulling forward to leave, she unrolls her window and begin chatting with a woman I thought I liked. Might as well read the report cards now since we aren't going anywhere soon.

Kids did amazing. Excellent reports in everything. Loved by their teachers and praised as helpful and a joy to have in the class. I wonder whose children are being discussed.

En route home, we stop at Pizza House - home of the worst pizza in Bermuda because Jordan requested it for lunch. Given his minimal eating the last few days, I'd be willing to stop anywhere he asked. Grab some pizza and head home. Children trudge up stairs loaded with papers and bags. I trudge up stairs loaded with papers and bags and we compare who is holding more. They dump everything in hallway. I bring everything into kitchen to sort and load.

Set out lunch.



I note picture in Mina's bag of the two of us.



I admire Jordan's journal. Love reading about his adventures. Will definitely save this.

Jordan eats slowly.



Mina runs off to play.



Kids goof around outside in sweltering heat for awhile. I am thrilled Jordan seems well enough to get off couch.



He comes in later to go to bathroom. Then shouts for help wiping. Sigh, it must have been a big one.

I park kids in front of tv to take a shower. When I get downstairs they haven't moved. Babysitter arrives. I put kids down for a nap and leave to go see eye doctor.

Eye doctor visit was successful. Continue to be charmed by quaint Bermuda custom where each patient, upon arriving into waiting room, looks around room and states, "good afternoon" to the public generally. So endearing. Doctor does not keep me waiting! Doctor is lovely and thorough and does not admonish me for the self medicating I have been doing the last two weeks. Remarks as well that the lasik work I had done years ago is excellent. "Wonderful flaps! So neat!" I take credit for it as though I was somehow responsible. NJ girls - I went to TLC laser vision center. He prescribed the right kind of eye drops after dilating my eyes thoroughly. Oops. Did not realize that was coming and wonder how I am going to drive home.

Mental note to self - don't drive with dilated eyes. I get to pharmacy for drugs. Pharmacist and aide have seen me here three times this week and pass looks reserved for haggard mothers and drug abusers. I'm in the former category. They marvel at my amazingly dilated eyes and confirm the time, since I can't read my phone.

I get home by adopting the technique Jeff and I call "Badge of Pride." Badge of Pride drivers take it upon themselves to obey the Bermuda speed limit of 20mph at any cost. Everyone else can go to hell. In my case, I adopt it to save lives, starting with my own. People are capable of walking faster than my car moves.

I get home. Kids still napping. Babysitter marvels at my huge pupils.

I wake up kids. Jordan is cool. He comes downstairs with some energy and begins playing with Mina. I start dinner. Kids request pasta. I agree and caution that this is only because they are getting over sick and don't expect to get "kiddie choice" every night. They nod solemnly and laugh behind my back.

Jeff IM's me and we discuss results of meeting. I laugh at his description of it. Feel waves of exhaustion suddenly. The drops burn. My eyes are as red as the rage ghouls from 28 Days Later. I'm not as angry though. That was a good movie. I wish we had it on DVD; I feel like watching it now. Although watching a scary movie alone at home when Jeff is not here is a bad idea. No doubt I'll be up again during the night with kids so its doubly a bad idea. Should just watch NJ housewives and be grateful no one is snarking commentary from the side chair. Feel sad no one will be snarking commentary from the side chair. I love snarky commentary. But not during Gilmore Girls.

Phone call from pediatrician to follow up on Jordan. I tell her he seems on the mend. She is happy but still no results from strep test. Check in tomorrow. Kids begin fighting over computer. I pause and debate whether to interfere. Silence. They seem to be working it out. I read caution warnings for my drops. I note that water guy two has not called to confirm appointment for tomorrow and suspect I will have to call again.

Water is boiling. I break apart pasta in same way as Michael Keaton in the movie, "My Life." Am I the only one who's ever seen this movie? I don't blame you if you haven't. Nicole Kidman whispered her way through that movie as she has done in just about every other movie she's ever been in. But Michael Keaton I just love. Or maybe I just love his character in Mr. Mom. I get them confused.

Wonder what some friends are feeding their kids for dinner tonight.

Feel nauseous suddenly. The drops?



Feed Oscar. Look how nicely he sits waiting for his food. I wish for the hundredth time that someone existed whose sole purpose was to cook for me and feed me on a strict portion controlled diet each day and never allow me any treats. Oscar inhales his food. Amazing.

Armed for battle I warn the kids it is dinner time.

"Time to wash hands!" I shout.

Surprisingly, they don't fight over who gets to wash hands first. They come to table. Jordan discusses how to make a jam sandwich. Mina asks whether Jordan has meds hidden in his milk. I say no. He can take his meds without that. Jordan doesn't eat much dinner; but takes his antibiotics without a fuss. Mina watches. Shamelessly, I cheer him on. He swallows down almost 7 ml in seconds. It took Mina hours to finish 5 ml which we mixed with juice, water, applesauce, milkshakes... ANYTHING!!



Jordan goes to lay down on couch. Mina leaves table and begins chatting with him. No dessert tonight I guess. Feel conked and need to get kids back on a schedule. On cue, Mina reminds me we haven't practiced violin today. I look at Jordan laying on couch and promise we will do it tomorrow when everyone is feeling better.

Time for bath, regular meds, stories and lullabyes.

Bath became a disaster as Mina insisted Jordan get out first, even though he got out first yesterday. I know she is just tired when she says,

"He should get out first EVERY day!"

They chose short stories - Curious George and the Dump Truck, Ten Stars Twinkled. Mina read hers twice.

Time for the "four things" each of them talks to me about individually before they sleep. The four things are usually pretty random; but Jordan almost always says, "I love you mom." That alone is worth delaying bed time for.

Mina chose to use her four things to complain about having to get out of the bathtub first.

Hopefully, no multiple wake ups tonight.

8:15 pm.

I look forward to crashing on couch with vino, goofing around on computer and watching Bravo.

8:16 pm, I hear Mina sobbing. As I go upstairs I tell myself to stay calm, say nothing because no matter what it will never be the right thing. Don't get mad. Just ask her what's wrong.

I walk in. She is sitting straight up in bed sobbing and glaring at me.

"What's wrong," I say?

"I'm staying up all night long!" She screams.

"Ok." I say. "But you have to stay up all night long in your bed."

"With your head on the pillow."

"And the covers pulled up."

"Fine!! She screamed. "But I want my drapes open."

I walk over and open them, then leave the room.

8:44 pm. Silence.

This was an epic post and colossally boring. But, I have a sneaking suspicion that one day, when my babies have flown the nest, I might wonder what we did all day long when they were still young enough to listen to my opinions and thought I had all the answers.

Bolder Boulder 2011 - Because it's cheaper than therapy.

I'm back from running the annual Bolder-Boulder 10k. I did a lot of training this year, including following a training program designed for a half marathon. I completed it, but skipped the half because of leg issues. I was nervous about running Boulder because I had to take several weeks off to heal. But, as any runner knows - this is a mental game more than anything else.



(For the record, I am 5' 5", but standing next to these two makes me look like a little, brown leprechaun.)

Highlights: Beating my time from last year by five minutes. YES!! This was a good run for me. I didn't push myself, the hills were a breeze, I was able to sprint the last quarter mile, including up the hill into the stadium, and I never felt winded or tired. I owe a big thanks to the running coach I worked with out here. Her class really showed me the difference between running and the slap-happy jogs I was used to doing. I'm not saying you'll see me sporting any Boston race bibs any time soon.. but still. I actually felt like a runner for a change.



Lowlight: Getting nabbed by immigration on return into BDA and fined $200 for having the wrong re-entry form. Boo.



In between, I had a blast. The Boulder run is very well attended. Why? Because running at sea level is for sissies. At least that's what the t-shirt I bought says. I'd much rather run at 6,000 feet above sea level. Apparently 50,000 other runners agree with me.



A few good men. These are the marines I shot a pic of as they passed me in formation. Their lead runners carry two full size flags on posts. Right before they they finish the 6.2 miles, they pull to the side in the stadium, drop and do twenty push ups, AND THEN finish the race together. That's hard core.

I just run in, gasp for air, and thank God I am still alive.

Most races provide water stops along the way. They do it differently out here.



They also provide supplemental fueling stations to replenish your electrolyte balance.



Of course, the best part of the race was running it with family.





I like this tradition, and I like how the group is expanding every year. Next big race is in Bermuda. I'm thinking this one. It's cheaper if we sign up early.

Who's in?