Julia

An Affair To Forget

When I want to be alone I take a bath. Generally this works for about five minutes until Caroline's mermaid senses go all tingly and the next thing I know she has materialized from under the bathroom door and executed a neat swan dive as she enters the tub with me. Then Edward will wander in, look at us in surprise and say, "Oh, are we taking a bath?" and he'll plunge in too. That's when I climb out because bathing with three people in the tub is not really alone. Sure the butcher and the baker did it, but did Garbo? No.

When Steve wants to be alone he remodels part of the house which is further proof that Steve is much smarter than I am and not only because he understands which way to turn the wheel when he wants to back up to the left. Not only does no one strip off their dinosaur pants and climb into a construction zone with him but it is hard to prolong even the lengthiest bath much past an hour whereas the basement project alone took Steve two years. Two years of throwing up his hands apologetically and saying, "I would [whatever] but I have to flange the binnacles; unless you don't care if the toilet downstairs flushes... ?" And when I hastened to assure him that, yes, I do prefer those new flush toilets that everyone is talking about he said, "Well then I guess you'll have to [whatever] without me because those spy sprockets aren't going to monkeywrench the panel slotters all by themselves."

I mention this because Steve was without a project for almost a year and he started to get sort of twitchy and that's why this corner of our basement that used to be a good place to throw things we don't use but might want later (like the microwave with the broken door and the antique phone from Steve's grandparents' house in Ohio) is now painted burgundy and smells like popcorn. It's our new place to watch TV and although my intial reaction was Oh my god, really? Another place for Edward to watch television? I have to admit it has been pretty fun. We started Family Movie Night and at least once a week all five of us crowd onto beanbag chairs and fight over what to watch

[What is WRONG with these people? How can you NOT want to watch Tangled over and over and over and over again? It's awesome. That song? In the boat? With the floating lanterns? I LOVE THAT SONG]

Inevitably Patrick asked to invite some people over so that he could have Friend Movie Night (Patrick takes after his father in that he loves to entertain and doesn't quite get that hospitality is not manufactured wholesale by elves any more than clean towels are but fine) and after saying for the past six weeks, sure, we should do that some time I surprised the hell out of myself by saying ok how about Saturday?

Patrick made up a guest list that included every boy in his class but one and when I pointed out that he couldn't just not invite one kid he was horrified and said, "Oh I didn't mean to forget HIM. Of course we have to invite HIM. And all the girls too I guess."

So we have invited Patrick's entire fourth grade class (plus a very good non-school friend) for pizza and a movie at our house in two days.

These are my questions for you:

1. aaaaaarrrrruuuuugh

2. If I have a sufficient quantity of cheese pizza, water and lemonade and I make a giant salad and chocolate chip cookies do I need anything else except popcorn?

3. What? Movie? Should? They? Watch?

They are 9-10 year olds, boys and girls. I have only met a couple of parents and am anxious not to offend anybody by which I mean that I am anxious not to have anyone call me afterward to say, "Lemuel never used the word buttmunch before he was corrupted at your house." So, you know, ix-nay on the seminal Tom Hanks' work Saving Private Ryan I mean Bachelor Party. Also I don't want it to be something they have all seen so often that they get bored and wander into the rest of the house to set fires in wastepaper baskets - that's Caroline's job.  

Please (please please) advise. Also if you want to come over and help I will be able to excuse myself and take a bath. Just saying.

Pended

By the time Patrick and I got home last night all I wanted was a very hot bath and a medium-sized glass of wine - we had a pharmaceutical odyssey; not the good kind - so forgive me for failing to get back to you sooner. For what it is worth I wound up skipping the bath, too, and instead plunged directly into the wine and then bed. Then this morning Caroline and Edward had a sports sampler class at the Y followed by a trek to the library and hey look at that the morning's almost over.

The pediatric infectious disease specialist pulled up the images from Patrick's two CT scans and took us through the Before and After. He said that Patrick in November wasn't the worst he had ever seen but he was pretty bad. He showed us all the parts of his head that should have been black (air) but were white (bacterial ooze) which was... all of them. In pleasant contrast, Patrick's more recent scan looked like a vase and an old lady. His infection has (almost entirely - more on that) cleared and the various linings have returned more or less to normal. So that's excellent. With the gunk gone they can see that he has a cyst/lump/mass in one sinus which probably resulted from the chronic sinusitis and is most likely either harmless and should be left alone or a growing thing that will be need to be removed. The way to determine whether it is lazy or sinister is: do nothing. If it also does nothing you're cool; live and let lie there. If, however, it starts to increase in size it will eventually start shoving bones around and then it needs to be managed. Air quote managed air quote. Since I am not sure what any of that really means I think we'll return to the ENT who also noticed something lumpy in the sinus and get her to benchmark it.

Brief sidebar:

The first thing the Mayo guy said (well one of the first) was that sinus surgery *breezy hand wave* never works for children. And I thought OH GOD because it's not like Patrick was begging us to get his sinuses operated upon - in fact, he was opposed to the idea - and we made him do it because we are bigger than he is and to find out that this decision was wrong wrong wrong... well it feels guiltifying.

I also thought WELL and HUMMPH and that I was never going back to that ENT again... the nerve of the woman... but the more time I spent with the Mayo guy the more I concluded that perhaps there is more grey in the rest of the world than exists in his. Perhaps the ENT who performed Patrick's sinus surgery made the right decision based upon her experience and Patrick is just an outlier or unlucky or whatever because it didn't prevent an immediate recurrence of the disease.

And the reason I concluded this is because the Mayo guy showed us on the initial scan where the openings in Patrick's maxillary sinuses had been completely blocked and noted as an aside that the human maxillary sinus is very poorly designed because those openings are at the top rather than the bottom.

"It is like a toilet where the drain is on the top and you can see how the cilia have to move mucus up and out. Very inefficient. I would have done it differently..."

And Patrick said, "What, evolution?"

And the Mayo guy gave a cocktail party laugh, the kind that goes ha ha ha ha ahhhh ha and smiled without any mirth.

And I thought, oh WHATEVER and made a note to take the ENT out of the untouchables column into which I had placed her. Which goes to show I am irrational.

End sidebar.

And speaking of managing things although Patrick looks infection free on the scan there were some (I don't know. I got lost. I just nod and wait for the report to show up in the mail) something something and the net is that Patrick is on an antibiotic solution that is to be slooshed through his sinuses every day until at least April. 

The doctor wrote the prescription and handed it to me, saying, "Please get this filled at our pharmacy. Other places tend to have never heard of it and then they call me... it is a lot easier for me if you just get it filled here."

And I said, "Yes sir of course sir no problemo sir fill it here check and thank you ever so much for your time" and went down to the pharmacy where I was APPALLED by the line. But I am nothing if not overly concerned about what people think of me so I stood in line and waited to be checked in and then sat down and waited to be called up and was finally allowed to hand over the prescription and our insurance card at which point I was told that there was a code problem of some kind and it would take 30, maybe 45 minutes to resolve it after which they would start on the prescription which would take another 30 minutes. Since Patrick and I had been in Rochester for nine hours by this time I thought oh eff this and said I would just take the prescription with me and get it filled closer to our house.

Back at the ranch, however, I learned that this was easier said than done. After going to three separate pharmacies I discovered that no one can fill this prescription. Well, maybe one of the hospitals downtown but not your average strip mall CVS or even your above average compounding Walgreens. So I guess when the doctor said that it would be easier for him to get it filled by the Mayo pharmacy he was implying that it would also be easier for me. And by easier he meant possible. This morning I had to call the Mayo and ask them to mail it to us and it won't be here for another week. Blast it.

But all in all things are much improved. Patrick at the Mayo, a picture of health.

Pending

We woke up today to a moderate snowstorm which was pretty for about two seconds until I remembered that I had to drive to Rochester to take Patrick back to the Mayo Clinic this morning. As per usual Patrick and I left the house twenty minutes later than I had intended only to discover (STEVE!) that the last person to drive the car had ignored the soft yellow glow of the empty fuel tank light. If one lives sandwiched between two gas stations this isn't a big deal but the line from my house to the Mayo Clinic is straight only if I don't have to first drive several many miles in the opposite direction to get gas. Then the entrance ramp to the freeway was (literally) backed up for over a mile and after crawing along for half an hour I decided to take a clever country backroads route that was not only not plowed, it looked like it was where they had dumped all of the snow that they had removed from other, more travelled roads. Bite me, Robert Frost, is what I mean to say and look at that: my hands are still shaking.

I loathe being late for appointments. Loathe it.

Anyway we showed up at 10:15 for a 9:30 CT scan and I was perfectly prepared to have to crawl through the door labeled Supplicants before being asked to reschedule for March but they actually got him in within five minutes and all was well. Go Mayo.

Last night, knowing that we had a big chunk of time to kill between appointments, I looked up Things To Do in Rochester. I was thinking an art museum or an historic house tour or something. I was kinda shocked to discover that there is actually nothing to do here apart from blood pressure checks and bowel resectioning. You would think it would have occurred to all of these snowbound medical types that they could put a community center with pool tables right here in this old barn and then charge visiting invalids thousands of dollars to use them but... no.

So Patrick and I have taken refuge at the top floor of the highest building (Patrick is like King Kong - he always goes up) in town. I am writing this (hi) and Patrick is playing Angry Birds on my phone. I think we'll wander out for lunch in half an hour or so and then I'm going to spring the good news that I brought all of Patrick's homework with us so he can get back to work on the damned slope intercept before he sees the infectious disease guy. ! I know. I'm thoughtful.

For the record I have absolutely no idea if Patrick's head is better. No idea at all. I tried to sneak a peak at the screen after his scan but I couldn't figure out whether his head was right side up or down in the image and that did not bode well for my ability to discern healthy from unhealthy tissue.

I shall check back in this afternoon and let you know what the doctor says. In the meantime - much as I regret the reason for our trip - I am quite enjoying the day alone with Patrick. Sometimes it is nice to have nothing to do with one of my favorite people.

One Liners

From the living room I heard, "Oh just shut up, Hehyo Kitty!"

I poked my head around the corner and saw Edward sitting on the floor by himself. Held up to his face was one of Caroline's one inch Hello Kitty figurines. It looked serene, pastel, vapid. Edward was scowling at it.

"Everything ok?" I asked.

"Yeah," said Edward without pausing in his glower.

"Sure?"

"Yeah."

I raised my eyebrows and backed away, leaving him to his quarrel.

"I mean it Hehyo Kitty - BE QUIET!" followed behind me.

I have this vague memory from somewhere - here? the comments? - about a boy whose imaginary friend was an older girl who refused to play with him. I always thought that was deliciously hilariously weird (clearly a trait we cherish around here) and Edward's one-sided feud with Hello Kitty ranks right up there.  Also I've never thought of Hello Kitty as particularly brave but I admit I was impressed that she was taking him on like that. He's pretty fierce.

+

Caroline is all about questions. Mostly what does that spell? or how do you spell... ? or - worse - why is that spelled... ? She is at the stage when children actively try to make sense of things; understanding, sorting and categorizing: boy toys and girl toys; cat food and people food; big kid movies and little kid movies.

This morning she crawled into bed with us rather early? Six? I don't know. It was dark and cold. It quickly became apparent that she had a very stuffed up nose and after listening to her snuffle for a couple of minutes I groped around on my bedside table until I found a handkerchief.

"Here Caroline," I whispered, "lean towards me and I'll help you blow your nose."

"No, I'm good," she whispered back. Then she picked up the edge of our duvet, held it up to her face and thoroughly blew her nose into it.

Which was completely disgusting and prompted a rapid evacuation of all parties from the bed. I started to gather up the bedding and Steve staggered toward the bathroom with Caroline trotting after him.

"Do you need to pee? I already went pee. Are you going to go pee? Boys pee standing up. Edward pees standing up.  Girls pee sitting down like delicate little flowers. I pee and poop sitting down. Daddy? Daddy Daddy Daddy? What about you? Do you poop like a delicate little flower?"

+

Patrick is irritated by negative numbers. Why? WHO KNOWS. But they annoy him. He was sitting at my desk the other day, working out the equation of a line and lambasting the entire premise of negative numbers.

"I mean how many elephants are sitting on this desk right now? Zero? Negative two? Negative twenty? Pah!"

Pah, says my eleventy-eleven year old fourth grader. Pah. Or maybe it was Bah. Whichever. Anyway, I was fairly sure he was teasing me about the whole negative numbers thing but just in case I wracked my memory trying to come up with the history of negative numbers? Fairly recent, maybe? Like, seventeenth, eighteenth century recent. Dutch perhaps? And they had a commercial start I'm pretty sure. Someone pointed out that accounts receivable and payable needed to be recorded and voila, negative numbers.

For the record I am not looking this up and therefore am well aware of the fact that I am making a fool of myself. But this is what I sort of remembered and duly repeated to Patrick in an effort to defend the negative. In an ideal world we would have wikipedia handy at every parental turn but sometimes you just have to fake it. With authority.

Patrick continued to work on functions and listened to me bumble on about numbers and finally said, "So you are saying that negative numbers are necessary because they allow people to pretend they have money that they do not - in fact - have. That they might - in fact - never have because just because someone owes it to you they might not give it to you especially in the 1700s when they basically dropped dead all the time?"

And I said, "...yarb?"

And he asked for a snack and I hurried to get it for him because I am VERY good at making Boost milkshakes as indicated by the fact that Patrick has gained two pounds.

Feel free, of course, to offer me a better defense of the negative numbers. Clearly I need one.

This is the family portrait Patrick drew for his Spanish class. He said that his teacher asked him not to show it to his mother for fear it might upset me. She is a very very nice woman but she overestimates the tenderness of my feelings. Please note little stick Caroline and little stick Edward and the little stick gatos. I laughed until I wept. Speaking of deliciously weird.

I am trying to find an art class for Patrick but striking out in the obvious places. He loves to paint but needs to learn technique. This is his latest (excuse the glare and it doesn't do justice to the colors) and personally I think it is great although of course these things are subjective. It's called Alien Moon, by the way, if you want to know what he was seeing. He took classes last year at the very formal Art Academy and I thought it was going to be a good thing but not only did he not enjoy it; he finished up feeling terrible about what he does and did not pick up a pencil or brush for months after the class ended. That would be, um, the exact opposite of what I was hoping to accomplish. I looked at MCAD but it doesn't start drawing and painting classes until age 12. I tried Craigslist because I thought maybe some art teacher might be looking to tutor... but nope. Any ideas?