Summer Setback, 2015.

Unfortunately, Jordan's camp experience didn't go as planned this year. After a week at gymnastics camp, he came down with a high fever.  He complained of chills, pain and was sleeping constantly.  The camp nurses brought him to urgent care and his chest was X-rayed.  He was eventually diagnosed with pneumonia. Phone calls from the health center are not what any parent wants to get when their kid is away at camp.  It's especially hard when you aren't even in the same country.  Funny to think that last year's big health drama was a call from Mina's camp warning us that one of the bunk mates had to be treated for lice. 

Simple times.

Jeff flew out to the States early, withdrew Jordan from camp and brought him to Grandma H's to recover.

Over a few days, his fever continued, despite Tylenol and antibiotics.  The infection in his lungs remained and he got very dehydrated.  We made the decision to admit him to an ER in Pennsylvania, and he began IV fluids and new antibiotics.  Jordan's cardiac team at Columbia was in touch with the hospital to discuss testing and medication.  Jeff has been by his bedside the whole time.

A couple days later, Jordan is recovering (fingers crossed).  More tests continue to make sure the infection isn't in his bloodstream or affecting his heart or organs.  That is really scary to even think about.  His fever is down for now (fingers crossed) and Jeff says he is starting to go back to being his normal, goofy self.  See pic below once fever broke.



Jordan was supposed to be enjoying the last couple weeks of August in the same camp that Mina is in right now.  Obviously that isn't going to happen.  I emailed the camp director and asked that Jordan be withdrawn due to medical reasons.  They were understanding about it.  Jordan hasn't said too much about not getting to go, at least not yet.  I'm also not there with him, so I have no clue exactly what he's thinking.  I'm still here in Bermuda, with the baby, trying to process all of this from afar.  Traveling with the baby and trying to juggle his care while being in and out of the hospital didn't seem to make much sense at the time.

I think that's the reasoning.  I don't know.  I regret not going.  Trying to gauge how Jordan is doing based on emails, texts, phone calls and Facetime is not the same as being physically present in the same room with someone.  I'm feeling massive amounts of guilt as a mom, as well as a bit of resentment.  Who cares if it was a hassle with the baby? Why did I agree to stay home? Maybe trying to make everything run smoothly shouldn't have been a priority. I don't know why I agreed to this.  I am kicking myself. 

The other thing that's been bothering me about this situation is the feeling of let down on Jordan's behalf.  Maybe he doesn't care right now that he missed out on the rest of camp, the adventures to Hershey Park, the water slides in the lake, the bungee jumping and overnights in a tent with campfires and s'mores.  But at some point, he's going to think about it, particularly when Mina comes home and talks about what a fun summer she had.

I really wanted them both to have a fun summer.  That's why we agreed to let them go to camp again this year and for a longer period of time.  I put aside any doubts  because both of the kids have gone to camp before.  I put aside any doubts about Jordan's health because I trusted he would be well cared for.  I made the call, as I have done a million times before, to treat him like any other kid and not let being a transplant kid affect every aspect of my decision making.  I never wanted that to be the defining characteristic about him.  I just wanted him to be normal.

I keep telling myself that any kid could have come down with pneumonia at camp.  It's not just something that happens to a transplant kid.  When you make the call to treat your immune-suppressed kid like everyone else, you have to be willing to accept that shit will happen sometimes.  And then you get to second guess yourself to death.  Did I do the right thing?  Should he have stayed home?  Was it too much expecting him to be away by himself?  Was there something I should have done differently, said to his counselors before, packed warmer clothes?



Jeff sent me this picture today.  Jordan is off the IV drips and is walking around again.  His temperature is still down, but they are going to keep in the hospital one more night to observe him as they switch him to an oral antibiotic, and to see if he can keep his fluids down.  He looks incredibly big in this picture, as he sits there goofing off with a surgical mask.  I don't know how other transplant parents manage the balance of achieving a semblance of normality for their kids.  Ten and a half years later, I'm still trying to figure it out. 

We've never let Jordan's health issue dictate how he was treated when it came to basic matters.  He started preschool at two and a half, was surrounded by regular kids, exposed to all the same germs and colds they were.  He was always carted around to parties and play dates and big open pits of germ ridden balls at play zones.  He's gone to amusement parks and flies on airplanes.  In short, he's pretty much been a regular kid.

With the exception of this year (when we pulled him out of school for a week during a chicken pox scare) I don't recall any major incidents of altering normal behavior because of his immune issues.  Granted, some of my blasé attitude is because Jordan is on a very low dose of suppression.  Comparably speaking, his level of medication is minimal.  When we inform his anesthesia docs and nurses before every biopsy about his meds, they look incredulous.  Most transplant patients take a lot of meds.  Jordan has been lucky.  In so many ways.

I am going to try not to let my attitude affect Jordan's reaction to this.  If and when he decides to talk about it, I need to help him put this in perspective.  He missed some fun at camp.  That is a real bummer.  Sometimes bad things happen.  But there is still some summer left before school starts and we'll have to find a way to have some fun at home.  I'll leave my sober depressing thoughts for after he goes to bed.

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.


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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.

Not even a week of school...

and one of them is already sick.

Which means, of course, I'm now waiting for the other shoe to drop.



For the epicureans among you, that is an ice cream sandwich sundae, with real whipped cream topping and sprinkles. I'm trying to remember why I decided to make this for him.

Of course, I often ask myself that same question about other things I make.



Buffalo chicken bites. Recipe courtesy of Joelen at "What's Cookin' Chicago?" Click here for the recipe.

They were really, really good.



Thank goodness I had a party to bring them to. I like to spread my gluttony among my friends.

The calories balance themselves out that way.

Showing signs of life again.

It's been a long two weeks.



"BUNNY POWER!!!!!!" She shouted.



Her eye is starting to look normal again.





And, apart from desperately needing a haircut, this one's looking better too.



I kind of like the shaggy hair though. I wish mine were that thick.

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.

sick week.

Poor Bean. She's been under the weather since last Sunday. Eye infection, coughing, fever... She's missed all week of school so far; and I suspect Friday will probably be out as well. She's going to be crushed. Her class is having their end of the year picnic on the beach.

(yes, she is wearing ear muffs. Her request.)

On the other hand, the other monkey in the house has been having a blast. He's had all kinds of solo adventures:



Kayaking in the bays.



Daily morning rides to school with Dad on the scooter... Look at that grin! Jeff smiles bravely, but he's hiding his fear. Believe it or not, people actually do ride their kids to school on their bikes. I've seen many a kid even younger than Jordan sitting up front and holding on for dear life. I don't recommend you do this in the States; but here in Bermuda.. it's another world. Given the size of Jordan's helmet, and the fact that Jeff probably drove about 10 mph, I'm sure it's fine.

There's only a week left of school. This seems surreal. We've been here almost 9 months!! I'm curious to see what a full scale summer in Bermuda will be like. I've been warned that it gets so hot and humid at times, that all you want to do is stay inside where it's air conditioned.

Uh-oh. Time to start planning activities.

Recovery

This kid missed a whole WEEK of school. Unheard of. Shocking. Unprecedented. The only good news - Jeff was home all week to take care of him and Miss Mina, who was out for 4 out of 5 school days.



four. Out of five. Days of school. My mind staggers when I begin to think about the monthly tuition bill that runs by express check automatically. Whether they attend or not.

The culprit responsible for all these missed days appears to be some sort of vicious little stomach bug that renders one nauseous and incapable of retaining any solid foods. Neither one of them had an appetite. Any food they did consume did not remain in their body for long. Ahem.

Slowly, over the course of the week... the two of them began to recover. Their appetites returned and the food remained within the confines of their body.

Which is a good thing. Because when dadddy is in charge, this is what passes for breakfast.



Kinda makes me wish I was five years old again.





By Saturday, there was definite improvement. They both managed to get outside, get some fresh air, play some t-ball, and boss Daddy around in the backyard.

The irony, of course, is that next week they will be home for spring break. Le sigh.

Midweek - spring yucks.

The monkeys have been home two days in a row now, nursing various degrees of yuckiness. Stomach viruses, fevers, general malaise... little bit of drama thrown in there too.

Jeff has been valiantly doing the stay-at-home dad bit this week. Silly boy. He had scheduled two weeks off between quitting his old job and starting a new one. I suspect he thought he'd be home relaxing. But kids have this funny way of messing with your well-designed plans.

Prior to getting sick, they did enjoy a visit to the dentist. Their first! Jordan should have seen one sooner, no doubt, but no worries. All looks good.





How I generally feel about going to the dentist.



He redeemed himself though.



Did I ever mention I needed to get braces while I was in law school??!? Yes, law school. There I was, in my late twenties, trying to be all professional and whatnot, with a mouthful of wires. I wore those things for three miserable years. I hope our kids have better luck and get that nonsense out of the way early... or even not at all. One of my brothers, who shall remain nameless.. managed to get away with never needing braces. He has perfect teeth. And also a good short, little nose.

Completely unfair.

Other whatnot:

Cutesy or too Minnie Mouse? The quest continues for a good summer/20th reunion dress

polka dots!

Best advice of the week:

Running tip: Don’t neglect and irritate your family and friends by spending all your time running and talking about running. You love running and everyone knows it. However, not everyone wants to hear about what pace you kept over ten miles. The good news is, your running friends and blogger friends eat that shit up. So save it for them.

courtesy of Beth over at Shut up and Run, a very entertaining site I've recently discovered. I just noticed the actual URL for her site is "twentysixpointtwomore." I can only assume that means a marathon, plus in mileage. I love this. Now, all I have to do is work my way up to that.

If you needed another reason to hate her, apart from her dress at the Oscars - watch this movie:

Vera whatshername in:

Orphan

Argh... I can't believe I watched this thing!!! And I LOVE horror movies. But this just sucked! Can we get over the creepy kid thing already? And creepy Russian kid thing? Come on. Vera, vera, vera...

Blech.

Poor Beanie.
She managed to pick up the bug that knocked Jordan out a couple of days ago.
This is what happens when you're inseparable.



Except now, she looks like this.



She tried to smile when I pulled out the camera.



But then, she went back to this.

Jordan's been really helpful.



He's got the cow playing sick on the couch next to Mina.



Complete with throw-up bucket and glass of water.

Shifting gears now to happy things.....



Pretty sparklies here.

Funniest blog post of the week: at Mais Fica

New recipe tried this week:



Salmon Croquettes with Rémoulade by Cooking Light. Recipe here.

Jeff liked them. I thought, "eh." And too many damn ingredients again. Come on, Cooking Light! I've been up since 5:00 am. I spend three hours a day commuting. I have a full time, stressful job and two young kids. How about printing up some recipes that don't require three pots and pans and a laundry list of ingredients? All I want to do is cook healthy things that translate into meals of 8 points or less for dinner. Next time, I'm just ordering sushi.

OMG, Bakerella never stops. Snowman pops.

Cough-cough. Hack, hack.

Today was my first official sick day.

The trouble is, sick days are no fun when you are actually sick.

I had every intention of going to work today. I woke up at my usual 5:00 am. Without the alarm... which is a good thing, since Jeff never remembers to set it anyway. I stumbled into the shower. But first I admired the way five hours of sleep had managed to bloat my face and make my hair stand on end. Yet look - you could still see the streaks of grey right down the middle! Nice.

I got dressed.

I didn't bother with too much makeup since no amount of cover-girl foundation, M.A.C blush, and L'Oreal eyeliner can fix this. I pulled back the wet hair into my favorite look of the season - stringy coils held together with a stretched out black hair band. Again-classic.

For some unknown reason, Jordan decided to wake up early - i.e 5:30. I helped him get ready while Jeff showered. We went downstairs and I desperately tried to get the coffee thing happening before I hit critical meltdown. Jordan wasn't making things easier, but it's hard to be mad at someone who just wants you to come into the office and color with him.

Got him breakfast. Got me coffee. And then I began coughing all over the place. My chest hurt, I felt shivery and cold, despite being dressed in a full suit and turtleneck blouse. I just wanted to crawl back into bed and sleep. While coughing up a lung into my kleenex I debated whether the world would end if I skipped work today. I decided that few people in this world, myself included, do anything so necessary that they have to be at work under any circumstances.

I blame this on the sick woman from the bus last week. Argh.. the sick woman on the bus. Damn her. Jeff can attest as to the looks of pure death I was sending her way last week as she coughed her way nonstop the entire duration of the ride.

Please people.... please, please, please.... do not ride the bus, get on the subway (next to me. Argh I hate the subway) or go to work when you are so sick you can't stop coughing the entire 45 minutes it takes to get to Manhattan.

PLEASE!!!

So. I have her viruses. I stayed home. I emailed my boss to let him know. After the kids were bundled off to school, I went back to bed. Two hours later, one of our staff called me on my cell to ask if I was coming to work. I hacked away into the phone saying I had emailed said boss to let him know I wasn't coming in.

Apparently, my boss was so sick he wasn't coming in either...

As I was on the phone, I heard the home phone ringing. The secretary was calling in to see where I was. My blackberry started buzzing with an email from human resources calling to see where I was.

Things have really changed since I worked there last.

What I did manage to do today was sleep. Play on the computer. Drink fake Robitussen. Cough a lot. Attend parent-teacher conference. Eat junk food. Do some research for work, email some people about work stuff. And gorge myself on hot and sour soup from the local Chinese place. Very productive things.

I watched some tivo'd Oprah from earlier in the week - hello Sarah Palin. Thank you for reminding me why I didn't vote for you.

And that's about it.

Sick days. No fun.

Hot and sour soup,junk food, and tivo - yay.

The Real Wildlife of NJ.

Yep. There they are.

And if that isn't enough for you, feast your eyes on the other little beasties who've made themselves at home in my yard.





Jeff is under the impression that this is a hedgehog.

"No way," I said. As demonstrated by Cute Overload, this is a hedgehog: Look at that cute little face! Those teeny-tiny little paws!



I think that furry thing in our backyard is a beaver. His tail doesn't seem as fully formed as an adult beaver, but his features look the same.



According to Wikipedia. I dunno...

Anyone? Please let it not be a rat. There's only so much I can take this week.

Regardless of where this thing falls on the scale of fuzzy to repulsive, there's one member of the family who is not too pleased.



Knowing full well there was no chance in hell Oscar would be able to catch this thing, I let him out because when you're stuck at home with a sick kid for the second week in a row... you need a good laugh.



And sure enough, Oscar did not disappoint. He charged. The thing waddled off, his fur barely ruffled by the effort...



A day late, and a dollar short. Right, Oscar?