oink, oink y'all

Don't worry, the Eldest told me, his neutrophils, macrophages and lymphocytes are on the job, fighting. He'll be fine.

I blinked. I gaped.

Oh, I said weakly. Good to know.

Watching me stagger slightly, the Eldest beamed a benevolent, if deeply satisfied grin.

Bloody hematologist. Doesn't he know that I'm the one in charge of quirking my kid?

**********************************

In case you were wondering, yes, the boys have H1N1. Confirmed? Oh, no. But there's one case of confirmed H1N1 in the Eldest's school, and why the pediatricians aren't testing more possible cases is beyond me, but hey: my boys match the differential. Well, sighed the pediatrician, we know what this is.

I nodded. It was conjunctivitis gonna getcha followed by oink, oink my head hurts because I'm griddle-ready, followed by oink, oink (the encore). Oh, yes. I knew what this is.

Half of the Eldest's class was home today. Large swathes of the Toddles' preschool was home on Friday. Parent teacher conferences have been canceled for the Eldest's class tomorrow. Need I go on? This oink flu is packing a tidy punch, and ow.

The poor Eldest was flattened by a migraine on Friday, which then introduced the 102F temps. They do-si-doed the headache until last night, when the virus managed to trigger a measly 100.1F as a farewell gesture. I waved back, and watched the Eldest sink into a healthier, deeper sleep. Down the hall, the Toddles was considering the merits of 102, but by morning would have settled on a red cheeked, limp 103. Despite that - or okay, yes: because of that, the boys are more or less adorable when they're sick. The Eldest, his head aching and the Tylenol waffling, was a cuddly sweetheart. The Toddles, despite a tendency to burst into tears, is proving to be much the same.

And they're egging each other on. When the Eldest was sick, the Toddles brought him books. Today, the (now healthy) Eldest began his morning by building a display box for the Toddles' treasured rocks - and ball.

then another for himself.

And curled up on the futon with his brother, and a book that his hematologist had recommended for him. Flinging up my hands over my calendar, my editor, my ridiculously untouched list of Things I Really Gotta Do Soon, the continuing lack of those crucial quiet&alone moments in my days, I spent a satisfying few minutes stomping around, muttering. Overlooking the thoughtful child on the couch, interpreting his world. And pretending that I really did understand this oink flu thing, that I could read around the hype to decide how worried I wanted to be.

Don't worry, the Eldest told me, his neutrophils, macrophages and lymphocytes are on the job, fighting. He'll be fine.

I blinked. I gaped.

Oh, I said weakly. Good to know.

Watching me stagger slightly, the Eldest beamed a benevolent, if deeply satisfied grin. Lookit, I thought. Brain on the loose! Neurons at large! At home! With me!

Help?

enter: the dress

Well, the Toddles had classic, bacteria gonna getcha conjunctivitis. Whee! and where's the Purell?

He was deeply irked by the news, but mollified by not having to go to the pediatrician (who diagnosed him over the phone) and was willing to consider the possibility of eye drops. He's still willing to consider them, albeit with less enthusiasm as each dose goes by.

But there went Thursday. And Friday.

Blessed be, the Eldest came home from a playdate on Friday with a squashed ball of a dress in a paper bag, courtesy of one of those moms who always look wonderful. Dunno how she does it, but she always looks great, with a flavor of quirky humor, playful style that flares or settles as needed. She'd sent along her dullest dress, and I felt alarmingly unlike myself in it.

Hello, said the dress, politely stretching across my (larger) torso. You don't happen to own a pair of kicky boots, do you? I had to admit that no, I did not. The dress considered this, swishing gently, and decided to forgive me.

It might have reconsidered when I discovered that I had tossed most of my makeup, but if so, I appreciate the tactful silence. Goodness knows I was grumbling loud enough for the two of us.

The wedding behind me, I've been considering the phenomenon of the well-dressed woman. I dunno how it's done, no, not even after years at Loehmann's and the group dressing rooms populated by lots of helpfully opinionated strangers. Getting dressed ought to be a simple process, I know this:

1. consider the message you want to send (put together, casual, educated, harmless),

2. consider your audience

3. given 1 + 2, make choices.

And that's where I crawl back into bed, overwhelmed. For years, I'd happily stay home on Sabbaths, if only I could avoid getting dressed. So the idea of someone who can do that, day after day, well. I wonder if she'll do tutorials for friends? Teach me how to assemble things? As much as I love color, texture, and happily admire fun, funky style - I'm still the mom who looks faintly rumpled, whose bra strap is perennially peeking out from that ancient shirt, and yes, wears the same three sweaters because I understand what they do and how they read in the language of clothing.

Perhaps my mental audiences are too loud. Perhaps they are fashionistas, claws extended. Perhaps not. Either way, the dress wasn't afraid of them, and I was happy to lead where it followed.

But I'll say one thing: pearls go with everything.

the eyes have it

Dear school,

please excuse my mom for being late today. She seems to have had bit of her brain leak, somewhere in the 112 minutes spent in TJ Maxx. There were words to describe the experience, but mostly all she says now is aaaaaaaaagggggh.

sincerely, Eldest

***************************************

Point the First: we have a wedding on Sunday

Point the Second: I did not know this, which might possibly explain why I did not a. arrange for a babysitter or, b. buy a present

Question: how on earth did the Man end up with the wedding invitation?

Point the Third: I actually have nothing to wear. Not a dramatic, arms flung wide nothing - I actually do not own a dress that is appropriate to wear to a wedding. (For the sake of brevity, I'm not counting the ones that really, holy moly, do they not fit.)

Point the Fourth: Clothing shopping is, generally speaking, a timeless sort of hell. So I don't do it, except under extreme duress, such as when I'm about to visit my parents. Then, I might go - but always to the same stores - and pull a few things off the (sales) racks - but always in the same colors - and then mutter something about needing to wear something other than black/grey/blue/brown and put things back. It's an astonishingly effective experience, and may account for why my clothes are still all black/grey/blue/brown. And not increasing in number.

Point the Fifth: there will be any number of people at this wedding that I've known since grade school, high school, etc. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggh?

Point the Sixth: this would be the week when I pick up a lovely, oh so delicately colored zit. Smack on my nose.

Question: 112 minutes in TJ Maxx?

Answer: because if you are going to have a soul sucking, jaw dropping (who wears THAT? and how does it stay ON? - Judge's Note: extra points for saying that out loud) experience, now would be the time. And that is an excellent place for it.

Point the Seventh: the Toddles appears to have conjunctivitis.

Question: if your child has conjunctivitis, can you haul him to the local thrift shop to bargain hunt? If your child has conjunctivitis, is this an excuse for staying home from the wedding to tend his poor infected self? (um)

Note to self: child with conjunctivitis + allergies = child with three possible types of conjunctivitis (bacterial, viral and allergic). Therefore, child with conjuctivitis is not = child with clear course of treatment. Which means that child with conjunctivitis, if bacterial = child who may remain untreated for an additional 24 hours after visible symptoms begin, to rule out non-bacterial options. (The Imperfects are a little low on antibiotic options, and have been kindly asked to use as few antibiotics as we possibly can. And even then, to use fewer yet.) Conclusion? child is likely to have a compatriot in eye-ooze unless we're really, really lucky.

sigh.

(unless the eye-ooze upshot is that I get to avoid the whole hose-and-dress thing, in which case, whee! That's almost worth 7 days of half-nelsons at dosing times.)