(…and most of Thursday.)

Luckily, I had already written off Wednesday afternoon as non-work time, since it was a half-day of school.

Luckily, our family physician’s office is always able to get us in when we need a same-day appointment.

Luckily, Jo wheedled her way into going to a friend’s house during said appointment.

Luckily, O. did most of his remaining weekly homework in the waiting room.

Luckily, the family doctor decided to take an x-ray of O.’s hand before tweezing out the splinter in his palm.

Luckily, the orthopedic surgeon on call happened to be a hand specialist.

Luckily, Jo’s friend’s mom immediately responded with “How can I help?” when I told her that we were being sent to the hospital and that Jeff was out of town (the second thing was “Of course he is”).

Luckily, I had a toiletry bag packed so it didn’t take me long to throw together everything I needed for an overnight stay in the hospital (O. and me) and at her friend’s house (Jo).

Luckily, I had a stash of Larabars in the car, since O. wouldn’t be allowed to eat anything for the rest of the evening and therefore neither would I.

Luckily, we have a beautiful children’s hospital 5 minutes from home (where I happened to have spent some time).

Gown, bracelets, cheetah. Check, check, check.

Luckily, the boy was entirely cheerful throughout the long wait for his stomach to be empty enough for him to be sedated (this is a kid who generally turns into a raving lunatic if he doesn’t eat every 20 minutes).

Luckily, the nurses supplied a top-notch post-IV-placement “bravery prize.”

Not just a Lego set ... a Lego AIRPLANE set.

Luckily, everything went so smoothly that as soon as he opened his eyes in recovery, O. insisted that he had actually just been “fake sleeping.”

Portrait with wrapped hand and capped cheetah

Luckily, the hospital stocks parental snacks, so I got a sandwich while he enjoyed some post-op graham crackers. And luckily, the graham crackers stayed down the hatch.

Luckily, I’d grabbed an iPod when I packed our bags, so I could play his favorite bedtime music. And luckily, it did the trick in less than two songs.

Luckily, I was able to dash home the next morning to let the dog out, and she had not panicked or trashed the house while we were gone.

Luckily, this kid enjoys Tylenol about as much as his sister hates it.

Luckily, he’s going to be absolutely fine.

*”Splinter” vs. “sliver.” Discuss. I think it is the former, but everyone here seems to call it the latter.

Like so many others, I started reading Susan’s blog around the time she was diagnosed with cancer. Like so many others, I commented on her posts, trying to lend a bit of support. I was one of hundreds, if not more; and yet the few times I saw Susan in person, she knew me and greeted me warmly. As a friend.

From my friend, I learned about inflammatory breast cancer (IBC) for the first time. I learned about how to support a friend with cancer (and then I did it, when a local friend was diagnosed with breast cancer too).

Today Susan died, after living with IBC and its aftermath for five years. During that time she contributed to research on women in planetary science, founded a website for mothers with cancer, and raised funds and awareness and support for other women with breast cancer.

Her connection to me was slight, but her impact was not. (Below is the photo I contributed to the @whymommy love fest, a digital card that was too big and beautiful to be contained in just one file, and grew to three lovely videos.)

If you are moved to honor Susan’s memory, consider a donation to the Inflammatory Breast Cancer Research Foundation. Or, join the Army of Women, another cause Susan supported; it doesn’t cost a dime. Or, send up a prayer. In recent years, Susan converted to Catholicism, and I know she found great comfort in it. Here is a prayer to St. Dominic, the patron saint of astronomers and science. He is often pictured with a dog, which is again fitting since Susan also loved dogs and opened her home to many foster pups.

Wonderful Saintly Founder of the eloquent Order of Preachers and friend of Saint Francis of Assisi, you were a fiery defender of the Faith and a fighter against the darkness of heresy. You resembled a great star that shone close to the world and pointed to the Light which was Christ. Help astronomers to study the stars and admire their wonderful Maker, proclaiming: “Give glory to God in the highest.” Amen.

Susan Niebur was a great star that shone close to the world. We will miss her here on earth.

The other day my sister and I compared notes on our first mammograms. She’s four years younger than I am, so she wasn’t quite due yet, but she had a lumpy spot that her doctor thought was worth looking at (especially since our mother survived breast cancer almost 20 years ago). We agreed: OWWEE, but manageable. And we’re both fine.

This same week, my friend T. started chemo to treat stage II breast cancer. It was diagnosed when she was 8 months pregnant. She had a lumpectomy right away, but delayed the start of chemo until three weeks after her baby’s birth. This meant changing OBs, because her (former) doctor insisted that the only option was to deliver the baby by c-section at 38 weeks, then quickly remove the tumor and start chemo. T. refused, arguing that she’d prefer her baby to be born full term, thanks, and recover from the (nonsurgical) birth before undergoing chemo. Now that’s the kind of mama grizzly I like to support.

My friends here in Mayberry and I organized a meal schedule* for T. and her family (despite the fact that she and her husband are both trained chefs. That’s not intimidating at all). As the nominal keeper of this schedule, I’ve been lucky enough to e-meet some really lovely people, people that care about T. and her family too, people that I wouldn’t otherwise have encountered. It’s a good feeling.

Our book club will put together a care package for T. based on Susan’s list. You probably know Susan, and if you do you’ll know why I’ve posted her warrior princess minifig in the sidebar. I may not be able to deliver her a hot meal, but virtual hugs, funding for the great causes she supports, and spreading her important message as far as I can? That I can do.

And you can:

• Get your own warrior princess button
• Join the Army of Women (I’ve been a member for a year or more–it costs nothing more than your time to read the occasional email)
• Contribute to Crickett’s Answer to help breast cancer survivors
• Read more about inflammatory breast cancer
• Get a mammogram when you turn 40! We’re all doing it!

*shout-out to Foodtidings.com — so helpful!

Jo had her first skating competition on Saturday. Unfortunately, on Friday morning she woke up with a sore throat. She hates taking medicine of any kind (I blame the appendix). She muscled through school until noon dismissal and then an afternoon skating practice and collapsed into bed.

Saturday morning, she was feverish and felt even worse. I called her coach and said that she couldn’t come to the competition, even though she really wanted to. She choked down some Tylenol but refused to eat anything because it hurt too much to swallow. Then her coach called back and said “Is she puking? Because if she’s not, I really, really need her to come.” Instead of having to be at the rink from 9:30 a.m. to 6:30 p.m., she could show up shortly before her team’s performance, and leave immediately after.

So I yanked that poor kid’s hair into a bun and wrapped her in a blanket and took her to the rink, where we stepped into a parallel universe. One where girls wear track suits and tons of makeup, and mothers sew fake hair onto their girls’ heads. (I mean they really had needles and thread. Does anyone know what I’m talking about? The end result looked so messy and ugly, too. They had their real hair pulled into buns and then all these extensions sticking out randomly from the bun.)

When my poor sick little kid took the ice it was all I could do not to cry. She not only got through the program, she remembered all the little details, like hand movements and facial expressions.

(No pictures because in the chaos, I forgot the camera.)

And her team came in fifth.

Oh well! We get to do it all again next month. At least at that event, Jeff and I don’t have to put in two hours of rink setup and three hours of traffic control (him) and five hours of selling hot dogs at the concession stand (me). We get to be the visiting team. Wish us health and luck.

Wednesday night, I had a board meeting followed by a board “social event” that involved wine. I woke up the next morning feeling awful, and figured it must have been that second glass of pinot on an emptyish stomach. I decided going to yoga would probably help. After yoga, I still felt lousy but I ate my usual breakfast and then went to school to move piano keyboards. I came home and sent an urgent email.

Then I crashed on the couch for almost three hours. At some point I worked up the energy to call Jeff and say that he would have to pick up the kids from school. When they got home I very slowly and carefully made my way to my bed. My ailment was a hybrid of stomach bug, sinus infection, and flu. Trifecta!

I didn’t get out of bed until after nine on Friday morning. During my exile, the children kept bringing offerings to try to help me feel better. By the time they went to bed, I had received:

• A poster of fireworks
• A ceramic piggy bank in the shape of a peace sign
• Two dolls wearing pajamas
• A stuffed dog
• A live dog
• A bowl of chicken noodle soup garnished with a whole carrot (including greens)

It must have worked, because I was almost back to normal on Friday. Until our wifi went out in the house, right in the middle of this post!

***

UPDATE!! On something totally unrelated. Two and a half years later, I have ironclad confirmation–directly from the homeowner–that Capt. Jack really did live on my street for two weeks, and even went running in the park directly across from my house. All my stalking failed to turn up this nugget of information, but a few minutes at the neighborhood Christmas party and we had the goods.

I have learned a new secret to compliance and pleasantness at the dinner table. I trust you’ve heard the one about letting kids help plan the menu and cook. This really does work, at least when you can get them to actually do it. Last week we made “Brownie Soup,” which doesn’t actually contain any chocolate or any little girls in uniform. It is a recipe from the Brownie Try-It book. I hooked the children by suggesting we make it. Then I reeled them in by allowing them to help, and most especially by allowing them to use knives. Sharp ones. Sure we ended up with some 1/2-inch pieces of celery and some 6-inch ones, but who cares?

Finally, the big finish: I left my laptop on the dining room table and set up the screensaver option that plays a slideshow of photos randomly selected from your files. Kids can never get enough of seeing pictures of themselves. So use their natural egomania to your advantage, I say. It’s not like reading or watching TV at the table (which I don’t allow), because you are still talking to each other. In fact, we talk more and sit longer because of the photo display, discussing when and where the picture was taken, and so forth.

*

Via the Parent Bloggers Network, I had the opportunity to ask Dr. Dean Ornish a question about health and wellness. Dr. Ornish is the founder and president of the non-profit Preventive Medicine Research Institute in Sausalito, California.  He advocates comprehensive lifestyle changes as a means of preventing and reversing disease, so I asked him about how to lower our kids’ risk or high blood pressure (there is some history of it in our family). I mentioned that my children are pretty active and eat fairly well, but there is always room for improvement. Thanks to PBN, I received an answer from Dr.  Ornish in the form of a personalized video he made after reading this blog. I tried to embed it here but could not–I hope if you click on the link you’ll be able to see it.

Today is Prematurity Awareness Day (thank you, Christina and many others, for writing about this, asking us to post today for a baby we love). It’s also 10 months exactly since we lost our baby boy prematurely. He wasn’t born too early; he never even got that chance. But so many families are affected by unexpected, unexplained premature birth. My friend Selena is one of them. Her son, Nolan, was born just shy of 27 weeks’ gestation. I didn’t know her then, so I didn’t meet Nolan until he was about a year old. But I’ll never forget the first time I saw Nolan’s first footprints, framed and displayed on a shelf in his room. Taken together, his two feet were no bigger than the pad of my thumb. Impossibly tiny.

Nolan is now six years old. Taking him home from the hospital alive (after four months in the NICU) was only the beginning. While he can walk, climb, swim, and play with his brothers, he cannot speak, and he struggles with eating and swallowing. He was fed through a tube in his stomach for several years. He has other developmental delays and medical issues. He sees an endless parade of doctors, therapists, and other specialists. His playroom is stocked with toys designed to stimulate his brain and his body (play food and a kitchen, for example, to help him learn to eat and enjoy food).

Of course, he is also a joy to his family, including his two younger brothers–both of whom were born at full term, thanks in part to closer monitoring of Selena’s pregnancies. I just found out yesterday that she is expecting another baby in the spring. As it would for any parent who’s been through such an emotional wringer, this news brings both joy and fear. So today I am posting for Selena’s new baby, for Nolan, for my little Simon, and for all babies born too soon. Please visit the March of Dimes to learn more about prematurity and what you can do to help.

of being sick and tired, you know? I know no one cares what you had for lunch or whether you have a headache, but Hi! I still have a headache. Two weeks and five different, increasingly toxic treatments later.

Sometime on Saturday I got to the point where I just wanted to cling to my children and hope that their goodness and sweetness would somehow cure me. It was probably a drug-induced delirium, but I really started to believe in this theory. You know how sometimes little kids just need you to pick them up and hold them to make everything all better? Couldn’t that flow in the other direction too?

By last night, I was feeling just the tiniest bit better. Here’s hoping.

1. Good news follow-up from my last post: Both children are at school today. All day (if my phone rings I am not going to answer it). I had a celebratory egg sandwich from Starbucks.

2. Bad news follow-up from my last post: Day 11 of the migraine. Have tried three potent drugs (one of which was delivered by  jab where the sun don’t shine) which didn’t work and am now on a course of steroids. And yes I do feel just! a bit! hyper!

3. Apropos of nothing follow-up from my honesty post: Because of #7, if you use pseudonyms for your children on your blog, I am deadly curious to know their real names. Not for any nefarious reason, though.

4. Not a follow-up, but a prelude: If you consider your blog “small”–in readership, reach, presence or absence on PR radar screens, however you want to define it; and if you think you might be going to BlogHer next summer (in New York City, August 6-7), would you raise your hand? In the comments or by email, mayberrymom2006 at yahoo.

Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to get swine flu, because it’s really no fun at all. Just to recap:

Week One (10/26): Opie misses 1.5 days of school due to fever. Jo’s school is closed for 2.5 (different) days for teacher inservice.

Week Two (11/2): Jo misses 4 days of school for coughing, congestion, and oinking.

Week Three (11/9): Jo will miss 2.5 days of school due to parent-teacher conferences.

Did you notice that the week she was sick was the only full week of school in the series?

And somewhere in there, I got a migraine that won’t go away. I even dragged the flu kid to the doctor’s office to seek help. Got drugs so expensive my insurance would only cover four of them. That’s four pills. They didn’t work. Awaiting further instructions from Dr. Feelgood right now.

Here’s my swine flu advice, by the way. Buy yourself a case of Kleenex right now, before anyone gets sick. A CASE, like at least 24 boxes. You will need them and you will not be able to go to the store and buy them (oh, did I mention my husband was out of town for umpteen business trips recently?).