I find it mildly amusing that due to the way the dates fall this year, I have been graced with ONE DAY between Thanksgiving and Christmas.  The way I see it, Thanksgiving was not officially over until we unpacked our bags from our trip yesterday.  And the Christmas season simply cannot begin (in my view) until December 1st.

So today is it – and I’m soaking it up.

I am pretending not to see the Christmas lights when I drive down my street after dark.  I’m pretending not to notice the Christmas music playing on the radio stations.  Most of all, I am pretending not to know that THIS WEEKEND is our kids’ big Christmas program at church and our Sunday School Christmas Party.

And just don’t get me started on Christmas cards.  I’m not even checking my mailbox today.

Yes, I know the weather is crisp and cool.  I know I already wrote that I started my Christmas shopping.  But today, I’m exhausted.  Today, I just want to recover from a really hectic Thanksgiving holiday.  Today, I don’t want to think about all those decorations up in the attic or the odd looks our neighbors will start to give us when ours is the only dark house on the street.

I just want to state it for the record: WE DO CELEBRATE CHRISTMAS!  JUST NOT YET!!!

There.  I feel better.

And since we are still reveling in the wonderful Thanksgiving Holiday, let me post a few pictures of our celebration:

Dining Room Table

Finally hung picture from Papa and Sadie's house in our entryway.

My little cookie turkeys

Gobble, gobble

What?!!  You expected to see PEOPLE in my pictures??!!  Well, that would have required me to stop and actually take some!  Instead, I was busy enjoying the holiday.  The pictures you see were all taken prior to any guests arriving, and while I will confess that Brad took a few after everyone was here, I haven’t gone through and picked out the good ones yet.  So what you see is what you get.

Now here are some I haven’t posted yet (I don’t think) from the marathon day the week before Thanksgiving when all 3 boys had their feast/program on the same day:

Matthew's school program (he was an indian)

Peter's school program - he was a patriotic American

Samuel's feast - he was himself

Oh yeah!  I forgot to post pictures of the turkey I made for Thanksgiving!  Here’s a “before” shot:

The turkey I baked - 24 lbs!!!

And here it is “after”:

My baked turkey may not have looked good, but tasted great!

So there you have it.  I might be able to get a few more pics posted tomorrow – or I may not.  I may be too busy decking the halls and all that good stuff!!!

I am not a saint – have never pretended to be one. So it will probably not surprise you one iota to know that I lost it today. But not without reason, for today, my beloved middle child WROTE ON THE COVER OF MY BEAUTIFUL PINK DELL LAPTOP WITH A PEN. AN INK PEN.

And I did not kill him. I did not beat him. I did not even yell at him or give him a guilt trip. I just called my husband and after yelling into the phone for a full five minutes, finally got quiet and listened to his sage advice: do not let him in on your emotional attachment to your computer.

Ouch.

Yes, it’s true – I am attached to my computer. My mother gave us all some money when my grandmother passed away and I spent mine on my very own laptop. It was a big deal when I bought it. I wanted the PINK one because I am the only girl in this family and I wanted everyone to know it was mine! And now it has a poorly written blue “m” on it.

But does it matter to me more than Matthew? Of course not. It can’t compete. It’s just a computer and it will be obsolete in a few minutes, anyway – probably already is. But Matthew – he and I have a long lifetime of relationship that will (hopefully) continue into eternity, depending on what he chooses to do about Jesus. And that’s a pretty big deal.

Matthew was very sorry when I went up to talk to him. He started crying immediately. I pulled him into my arms and said I forgave him. And I was able to say that because I had already forgiven him before I stepped into his room.

I never ever want one of my children to think they matter less to me than some of my “stuff”. Yes, I did lose it today but I am so thankful my husband was the only one who heard me get so upset over my silly computer.

And maybe, just maybe I will come across some magical solution that removes ink from computer lids. A girl can hope, can’t she?

I try really hard not to complain here on the blog because, let’s face it – you’ve got better things to do than read about how stressed out I am.  I mean, if your entire day consisted of nothing more than picking the lint from between your toes, you would be better off doing that than reading about how hard my life is.

Besides, I’m working on this little thing called contentment.  I have found oh so many applications for this particular spiritual discipline.

(I started to write fruit of the Spirit but I’m not sure it is one of those found in Galatians 5.  Sadly, I can’t quote Galatians 5 but can sing it thanks to the CD called “Hide ‘Em In Your Heart” which puts Scripture verses to music.  This one goes something like this “The fruit of the Spirit is lovejoypeace patience kind-ness, go-odness…”  Just trust me when I say that it is one of those annoying chipper kid songs that you can’t get out of your head.  EVER.)

So back to contentment.  I’m trying very hard to be content.  I’m trying not to complain – and I’m doing okay, except for one thing.

Garrett.

For those of you who are my friends on Facebook or who are receiving my oh so sporadic updates via email, you already know the story of Garrett.  And, in fact, you are probably getting a little tired of hearing that name.  But I can’t quit thinking about him.  I can’t quit thinking about my brother, Will, and his wife, Meredith.  I can’t quit thinking about the rest of my family who are now together at Will and Meredith’s house in College Station.

The thing is, I know I can’t do anything to help.  And that is the most helpless feeling in the whole world.  Oh, I know that praying is not doing “nothing” – no lectures, please.  It’s just easier to pray when you are there in the middle of the action, you know?  And then, while you’re praying, you can also be running out to pick up some lunch for everybody or giving someone a hug or calling to update someone.  These are the things I want to be doing.

But alas, everyone keeps telling me to stay put.  Everyone tells me I would not be much of a help anyway, and besides, I do have these 3 rugrats of my own to care for.

Which brings me to my “realization” of the day.  As I was fuming to God this morning about having to stay here and being left out of the action, I remembered something I am trying to learn: all I am expected to do is just what God has placed directly in front of me today.  It’s actually pretty prideful of me to want to be there in the middle of everything, meaning that my reasons for wanting to be there are selfish.  If I’m there, I get “thank-yous” and hugs and pats on the back for my “sacrifice”.  If I stay here, doing the same old thing as always – while continuing to pray without ceasing – only God sees me.

Shouldn’t that be enough?  Yes, it should.  But I would be lying if I said that today, it was enough.  Because frankly, today I struggled.  But tomorrow is another day and another chance for God to burn my selfishness in His purifying fire.  Maybe it would help if I cooperated a little, too.

I started writing this post after running out to pick up dinner for me and Brad on Friday night. (We had one of those date nights where you rent a movie and order take-out, then wait until the kids go to bed and pretend like they don’t exist.)

It all started when I pulled out of the alley and caught sight of one of our neighbors’ house. It was all lit up with Christmas lights!!!

This was the house that, just a week ago, looked like it belonged in some horror movie! For Halloween, they put really big, black spiders all over their house, and then cover the yard in cobwebs and scary lights and sounds – even a smoke machine! But last night – just a week or so after Halloween – it looked like the Gingerbread house from the Hansel and Gretel story! (Of course, given the fact that the witch in that story was going to EAT Hansel and Gretel, maybe the horror theme remains.)

In fact, the text I sent her said “Wow!! Your house went from Nightmare on Elm Street to The Gingerbread House like, overnight!!! Looks great!” to which she replied “Thanks! I still have a lot to do but am hoping to finish it tomorrow.” As I was writing her the text, I looked up just in time to swerve around a car and almost hit another one when I saw a different neighborhood with decorations donning their entrance, complete with Christmas lights!!!

But it was when I turned on the radio and heard KLTY doing a Christmas preview weekend – ALL WEEKEND, ALL CHRISTMAS MUSIC, ALL THE TIME – that I really started to lose it.

I was all like IT IS NOVEMBER 14^TH PEOPLE!!! I can’t start thinking about Christmas yet?!! I’m hosting Thanksgiving at my house! I have a turkey to thaw!!! Do you know how long it takes a turkey to thaw?? If I start now, it MIGHT be ready by Thanksgiving!!! And desserts and appetizers!!! Christmas?!! Since when did Christmas come BEFORE THANKSGIVING???

And then, something happened to change my attitude.

On Monday morning, the temperature dropped from the 80s to the 50s. Oh, glorious cold front! I had forgotten how it felt to be cold!!!

Today, after dropping ALL 3 of my kids at various schools, I went to Target. I STARTED CHRISTMAS SHOPPING! I came home and turned on the Christmas music and briefly considered eating the pre-cut sugar cookie dough (but stopped myself because seriously, someone went to a lot of trouble to put that little picture of a reindeer in that cookie and then charged me a lot of money for it!) I’m even considering getting the Christmas decorations out of the attic because, now that it’s cold, It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas! And I’m happy to do my part.

But then, I have to wonder, will I still feel the same way when the temperatures soar into the 80s again? Because, after all, this is Texas, and if there is one thing you can count on, it’s the heat.

Well, that and my neighbor’s obsession with decorating her yard.

When I was a kid, I can’t say that I hated going to the dentist. I can’t say that because I didn’t go often enough to form an opinion about it.

I blame my sister for this, actually. She had crooked teeth and had to wear a retainer for many years, and I think she just burned my parents’ out on visiting the dentist. When I came along four years later, they just looked at me and said “Good enough.”

Never mind the fact that I had buck teeth. And that my last name was Beever.

You think I’m kidding about the buck teeth? When I was in Fourth Grade and finally able to preview what band instrument I was going to play, my heart was set on the clarinet. You know who can’t play the clarinet? Little girls with buck teeth. Yes, they actually told me I could not play the clarinet because it would be too difficult for me to wrap my lips around both my teeth and the mouthpiece. Instead, I was given a flute, just like my sister.

When I began complaining to my mom and dad about my buck teeth and asking for braces, they told me that they would not pay for braces and if I didn’t want to have buck teeth, I was going to have to push them back in with my thumb. They then demonstrated how, whenever I sat in class or was reading or whatever, I could just prop my face up with my thumb on my front teeth.

You can’t make this stuff up.

When I have accused my mother of being a horrible parent using this example, she has always given me the same answer, “Hey, it worked!” Well, yes, it did. I actually have very straight teeth and never wore braces or even a retainer.

Of course, I am now in therapy, taking an antidepressant and wear a mouth guard at night due to high levels of stress, but that’s another story for another time.

Meanwhile, back in 5^th grade, I started beginner band using my sister’s beginner flute. By then, she was a freshman in High School and had graduated to the oboe during concert season and in marching band, she was getting ready to try out for Drum Major. Always the over-achiever, she went on to play piccolo solos from the podium while directing the marching band – something our small town had never witnessed before. During concert season, she took private oboe lessons from a professional oboe player in San Antonio and always played lots of solos. She was our band director’s star pupil. She was also a beauty queen and competed in the Texas Miss Junior Miss pageant as well as taking dance for many years where she was always on the first row.

Meanwhile, I was the buck-toothed little sister who looked like she was always sucking her thumb during class.

I, too, tried the oboe eventually but decided by 8^th grade that I needed to make my own way in the world. And so I switched to the French Horn.

When I asked my mom if I could switch to the French Horn, her response was “Go ask your dad”. When I asked my dad, he said “Isn’t that the thing that always has all that spit in it?” Why yes, yes it is. But I loved the way it sounded and so he agreed.

Now this was an instrument that served a dual purpose: it was as polar opposite of my sister as possible, plus it pushed in my teeth while I played, giving me a break from doing it myself.

And so, by about half way through High School, I was no longer a buck-toothed Beever. I was just a Beever.

Then I met Brad and went from being just a Beever to a Just-Beever. No, I’m just kidding. Now my name is legally Britany Beever Just.

Like I said, you can’t make this stuff up.

Originally posted October 23, 2008, this story has remained the most-read post on my blog ever since. Since I have some new readers lately, I thought I would re-post it. So here it is, along with the follow-up, for your reading enjoyment. Thanks, Britany

A few days ago, I saw this nasty rat run out of the garage so I called the pest control guy to come eliminate the problem.  He came yesterday morning and made me feel much better by telling me I do not appear to have any in the attics or the house – just the garage.  Whew!

Yesterday afternoon, I went to get our oldest child from school in the pouring rain and when I came home, opened and closed the garage door quickly since the temperature was dropping.  We all paraded into the house and didn’t leave again for several hours.  All I can figure is that it was when we got home from picking him up that the animal got in the garage.

So when Daddy called and asked if we wanted to eat dinner at Double Dave’s we were IN!  The boys paraded out into the garage (as normal).  The scene is still clearly in my mind.  Middle child was standing by the car, oldest was by the door to the house and youngest was standing on the stool by the button to the garage door, just about to open it (waiting on my permission).  The door to the house was open and middle said, in a normal-sounding voice “Mommy, look – an animal!”  All I could see was gray fur.  And the size?  Bigger than a rodent.  Then it turned and I saw a long tail.  Oldest said “It’s a cat!” and that’s when I said, probably not as calmly as I should have “EVERYONE GET INSIDE!  NOW!  MIDDLE CHILD, GET OVER HERE NOW!”

The boys ran into the house while I slammed the door, then thought twice and cracked the door open just enough to press the garage door opener.  I figured that the animal would run out.  Beyond that?  No plan.  So I called Hubs.  His answer?  Get the PLASTIC SWORD off the island and check out the garage.  Great.  I’m now headed out into the garage to face what could potentially be one of the ROUS’s (for those of you who haven’t seen The Princess Bride, shame on you!  Also, that stands for Rodents of Unusual Size).

As I beat around the garage with my plastic sword, nothing emerged so I was cautiously optimistic.  I got the boys into the car quickly, then wheeled out into the alley, shutting the garage door as we left.  At this point, oldest child yells “WATCH OUT MOMMY THERE ARE PEOPLE BACK HERE.”  As if my nerves weren’t already frazzled enough.

After slamming on the brakes and losing all 18 tubes of lipstick when my purse fell over, I saw a man and his little girl at the other end of the alley.  ‘I dumped my purse out for this? ‘ was my first thought.  My second was ‘Maybe they’re out looking for their missing gray cat, the one that’s been in my garage the last few hours.’ Hey, at least I got there, okay?!!

I rolled down my window and watched the look of astonishment on the man’s face as I described the incident in my garage.

Since I’m not great at using quotation marks, here’s the gist of the conversation:

Yes, it was their cat!  He was out looking for it, as a matter of fact!  Well, actually it was his wife’s cat, and you shouldn’t let your kids too close to it because it is, in fact, a pretty unfriendly cat.  Thank you and I’ll walk down the alley toward your house and look for it.

In retrospect, I should have given him my phone number.  Or perhaps my name.  But I was too busy telling this total stranger about how I thought his gray cat was a ROUS.  No, I didn’t really use the acronym but I did in fact tell him that I thought his cat was a large rat.  He didn’t laugh.  But then again, he appeared to be a Longhorn.  Which totally explains everything. (Sorry Cathy – couldn’t pass it up!)

The Rest of the Story

Yesterday, I wrote about a Totally Blogworthy Event.  Today, I will tell you “The rest [dramatic pause] of the story”.

This morning, hubs took oldest child to school which meant the minivan sat in the garage most of the day.  Late this morning, I had a reason to walk into the garage and immediately, I noticed some things out of place.  Strange.  I had this weird feeling that something wasn’t right when [insert loud, scary scream] I see the animal, now known as the brownish-grayish cat, staring at me from atop the shelves off to my right.  Yes, you read that right – that darn cat spent the night in our garage!

The good news?  We probably don’t have a mouse problem anymore.

The bad news?  Now we have a cat problem.

I (once again) opened the garage door so the cat could escape then darted inside to figure out what to do.  I tried looking up the phone number for our new neighbors but alas, they only listed an email address.  What’s a frantic person to do? Email her of course.  But then, it dawns on me – not everybody lives and breathes by that “ding!” on the computer that says “You’ve got mail!”  That MAY just be me.  Maybe.

Next on my list of things to try – pick up the cat and carry it over to the new neighbor’s home.  I figured, what better way to meet the new neighbor than to show up with her missing cat? All I had to do was catch it, which shouldn’t be a problem since it seemed to like us, or at least our garage.

The cat had now sauntered out of the garage and was wandering around toward the yard.  I got as close as I dared than spoke to the cat.  I did, after all, grow up on a farm.  I like to think I am something of a cat whisperer.  Yeah right.  That ugly mass of gray fur hissed at me and then headed straight for me.  I couldn’t tell what it’s intentions were, exactly – UNTIL IT TRIED TO BITE ME!!!  Then I was pretty sure it was hostile.

At this point, I may or may not have stood straight up and tried to kick the ungrateful thing, yelling “GO HOME” and pointing toward the alley.  It was undaunted.  It wanted back into my garage.

There was only one thing to do – I had to go tell the neighbors.  So with a barefooted 3 year old on my hip and middle child in tow, I headed across the field to meet the neighbors.  Neighbor, along with their dog (NAMED BEVO), answered the door.  She was worried sick about the cat.  She was up all night worrying about her.  The cat had never been outside before.  (I assured her the cat spent the night inside our warm and comfy garage.)  She wanted to go after the cat, but the new baby was asleep upstairs, and her little girl was watching TV.  I offered to stay with the kids while she went, and she was very happy to go.  So she locked BEVO in the bedroom and took off across the field.

I wasn’t there long enough to take pictures with my cellphone, but I totally wish I had.  Her house was BEAUTIFUL!!!  Stunning.  And – here’s the shocker – clean.  I mean, they just moved in like a month or so ago – and then HAD A BABY – and there was no clutter anywhere.  There were not even any dirty dishes present on the kitchen counter.  What kind of crazy mixed up place is this? I wondered.  That’s about how long I had to contemplate, since immediately after arriving at this stranger’s home, my 3 year old declared he needed to go potty.  I figured he just wanted to snoop around her house but I also figured that between that and wetting all over her brand new couches, a little snooping was in order.

While youngest child was in the bathroom, the baby woke up.  Funny thing was that I could hear him on the baby monitor but had no earthly idea where he was.

I tried asking the little girl but all she knew was “Baby crying.  Baby crying.”  Yeah, kid, I got that.

I tried to imagine which would be worse – the neighbor coming home to find me wandering aimlessly around her house or coming home to me sitting on the couch, listening to the baby on the monitor.  I decided to at least try to appear attentive.  I went up the stairs and there he was, the most beautiful baby I have ever laid eyes on, lying in the most beautiful crib I have ever seen.  In a fabulous house.  With no clutter.  Yeah, I’m not jealous or anything.

So down I came with the baby in my arms when I saw my youngest, pants and underwear down around his ankles, waddling back from the bathroom.  Having faced this scenario before, I was actually able to lean over and help him pull up his pants without ever putting the baby down.  We were just snapping up when new neighbor got home, kitty in arms.  She was ever so grateful and as I wanted to leave her with those warm fuzzy feelings about us, I exited quickly, yelling back over my shoulder something about how beautiful their house was blah blah blah.

She actually wrote me a really nice email tonight.  I believe we made a new friend today.

That is, assuming her cat didn’t eat any of that rat poison in our garage.

Compared to my 2 siblings, I am usually behind the times where technology is concerned. It has always been that way, and I assume it will always remain that way. Bethany and Will are always on the cutting edge.

(Well, except for that short period of time in Junior High when my Aunt Susie – who was the first one in our family to own a PC – taught me how to use her Apple IIe. But Will was quick on my heels and before I knew it, he was writing programs on that computer. And so the race began…)

I remember going home to visit my family after Brad and I were married and seeing Will crush a CD with his bare hands. He was learning to use a CD writer and was ruining disk after disk in the process – back when you could write but not rewrite on the CDs. The process was apparently frustrating because he learned the hard way that inside a CD was a whole lot of splintery glass.

Will has always served as my parents’ primary tech support person and computer provider. Whenever a newer and better machine came on the market, Will would give my parents his machine so he could justify buying himself a new one. And so he would hand his down to my dad, who would eventually hand it down to my mom, and then eventually, the old, useless machine would end up back with Will where he would strip it down and use it as a server or DVR or whatever.

I’m not sure when my parents began using PCs on a regular basis, but one day, Mom called Will because she was trying to use her new mouse and no matter how many times she clicked on the left button, it wouldn’t do what it was supposed to do! She was so frustrated – until it crossed Will’s mind to ask her which way the cord was facing – toward my mom or away from her. It was facing toward my mom, as Will had suspected – which meant my mom was trying to hold the mouse upside down, getting the left and right buttons crossed in the process. You should try it – we’ve always said that it takes real talent to use a mouse upside down!

Once mom became proficient at using the PC, she and dad began emailing each other. We thought this was hilarious, especially since they were about 10 feet away. We always said they could have hollered at each other faster than type and send an email.

Then we got our second computer, and found that sure enough, we were emailing each other rather than just hollering from the other room.

At some point in this technological evolutionary process, we got cell phones. This meant we could now call each other from separate rooms and avoid raising our voices.

Then my friends and family introduced me to text messaging.

It started when my brother came for a visit and sent me a couple of texts from upstairs. I thought it was so cool to get a message that said “What time is dinner?” and avoid having to actually speak to him. Not that I don’t enjoy speaking to my brother – it’s just so much faster to type a text! It’s so handy, in fact, that the first month I added texting, I went over – waaaaayyyy over – the 200 or whatever number I thought I would use. All my friends were horrified that I didn’t have unlimited texting so I quickly upgraded.

Then I learned about the new device my sister and brother both owned – the iPhone.

It was just a few months before they convinced me I needed one. They were right. I don’t think I can overstate how my iPhone has changed my life. Just last weekend, my brother was able to tune my parents’ piano using an application he downloaded to his iPhone. Yes, it’s true – there’s an app for that.

And just when I thought life couldn’t get any better or easier, this week Brad got a Blackberry at work.

Last night, for the first time in our lives, we went to bed early – he was answering work email on his Blackberry and I was playing a game on my iPhone.

Then, it happened. I got an email I thought he should read so I forwarded it to him. Yes, I sent my husband an email from one side of the bed to the other.

But you know what’s worse? He wrote me back.

Now all we need is a way to set up an automatic text message that says “Good night. I love you.” at a predetermined time every evening.

I’m not sure how to do that but I feel pretty confident that there’s an app for that as well.

One of the most challenging aspects of being the mother of 3 boys is encouraging the use of their imaginations (over the use of their Nintendo games, for example). They quickly grow bored with any and every thing, and resort to pummeling each other as a form of entertainment.

It’s every mother’s dream, I tell ya – watching her children find new and exciting ways to annoy, harm or otherwise destroy their siblings.

Since I grew up in the country, I spent a great deal of my childhood playing outdoors. And even though our current backyard is roughly the size of a postage stamp, I still try to encourage the boys to play outside, especially when they are getting on each other’s last nerve. Unfortunately, the boys tire of the yard quickly and begin searching for new ways to harm each other.

However, Monday I discovered that they are more creative than I have previously given them credit for. Introducing human bowling:

As you can see, the game consists of one brave soul sitting at the bottom of the driveway and spreading his legs apart. The person taking the turn must stand inside the garage and bowl one of our many soccer balls or basketballs at the person sitting at the bottom of the driveway. (The pictures are kind of grainy but you may be able to see Matthew in the orange shirt in the bottom picture, cringing while waiting for the ball to hit him.)

Yes, they “bowl” as hard as they can at each other. And yes, it hurts to get hit. And yet, they were all 3 laughing and squealing and having a blast!

If the person bowling the ball manages to get the ball in between the legs of the person at the bottom of the driveway, then they have to change places with him. If they miss, they wait for another turn. Which, if you think about it, means that the object of the game is to GET to be the person at the bottom of the driveway, waiting for someone to hit you with a ball! And that is exactly how they crafted it.

I loved it, every minute of those precious 5 minutes that they were playing together without fighting. I thought to myself, “This is what we imagined when they were infants. This is what we’ve been waiting for.”

Sure, the game quickly turned into a shouting match because “SAMUEL DIDN’T WAIT FOR HIS TURN!” and “PETER IS LAUGHING AT ME WHEN I GET HURT!” but, oh, it was so worth it. Just to have that glimmer of hope that one day…one day they might actually be able to play together without fighting.

Oh, who am I kidding? In reality, boys will just find new and interesting – and hopefully, legal – ways to beat each other up. Which is, I suppose, still accomplishing the goal of teaching them to use their imaginations.

Today is the FOURTEENTH DAY for us to have the flu.

That, folks, is a long time.

The good news is that Peter’s temperature is finally dropping down to below 100 without medication, and he appears to be feeling better. The bad news is that he’s not yet fever-free and will be home with me tomorrow. Again.

Please don’t get me wrong – I love my kids. But fourteen days is a LOT of together time.

I’ve tried to mix it up a little, take walks to the park and have movie night and game night. But I have to admit – I’m ready for a break.

My highlights have all grown out. My bangs are hanging down into my eyes. I’ve stopped trying to style my hair and have resorted to clipping it back like I used to do when I was 12. My two eyebrows are beginning to resemble a unibrow. The paint on my toenails has peeled off.

Let’s just say I’m badly in need of a spa day. In fact, when I told my mom, she thought I might need to book a whole weekend. <Grin>

But all of that is nothing compared to my psyche.

Let’s just say I’m craving some grown-up conversation, the kind that doesn’t start with “Mommy…can I?”

I’m all tapped out. The glass is not half empty – it’s bone dry. And there’s not a thing I can do about it because, well, there’s apparently not enough money in my bank account to bride anyone to babysit a sick kid.

So I’m looking forward with great anticipation to Brad’s day off on Friday. I’m going to get a pedicure. I’m going to get my hair done. I’m going to the mall. I may even go see a movie. Alone.

If I happen to run into you and you have your child with you, please forgive me for pretending I don’t know you and walking the other direction. It’s not you – I promise. It’s your child. I am bound and determined to have a day off and that means no one under 3 feet is allowed to enter my personal space. Period.

Well, just when we thought we were nearing the end of the Flu Epidemic of 2009, last night Peter’s temp shot up from the 99 degree range to 101.

I have to admit that when he first started complaining about feeling bad, I ignored him. I think I was in the 3rd Stage of the Flu, which is denial. Or is that the 3rd Stage of Grief?

Whatever.

But I finally broke down and took his temp. I nearly cried when I saw 101. That means that he really does have it, and by now we’ve missed the 48 hour window with which to get Tamiflu. So we’re looking at approximately 6 more days of fever for Peter.

And now Brad and I think we might have “a touch of the flu” as well. It’s really the strangest thing. We are exhausted but our symptoms keep coming and going. One moment, we feel sick at our stomachs, the next, we feel hungry. One moment, we are achy all over, the next, we’re feeling okay. We’ve had low-grade fevers on and off again, and a headache.

But other than that, we’re fine! No, really! I don’t have the flu! I’m just…tired! Yeah, that’s it!!!

Seriously, I keep trying to convince myself it’s all psychosomatic and not real. But I have no other explanation for this weird health rollercoaster we seem to be on. The good news is that it’s not really that bad. We can still function and that’s pretty important since we have these kiddos who insist on meals and stuff.

In fact, I took Samuel to his first day of Small Fry Basketball this morning. What a hoot! I wish I had been able to take pics with one hand while helping Samuel learn to dribble with the other but, well, hello! Coordination has never been my special gift.

In fact, when I was little, my dance instructor had a special section just for me. It was called “the back, BACK, row”. It’s not that I didn’t try – I just could never remember which way to turn. Or where to put my arms. Or my feet, really.

Okay, I was a terrible dancer. But I was sure cute in those little costumes! And I had fun, which might have been okay back when I was six, but was no longer enough justification when my parents released copies of the videos for the world to see at my rehearsal dinner. Thanks, Mom & Dad.

No, really, it was all in good fun. I’m just glad I didn’t have any girls. I really can’t imagine having to endure years of watching my poor daughter try to swim against her genetic tide and master the art of turning the same direction as the other girls in her line.

Although, now that I think if it, watching Samuel continually bounce the basketball off his shoe is not all that different. Same lack of coordination, different sport. But it could be worse. I could be watching Samuel in a ballet class full of girls, turning the wrong direction and thinking “That’s just wrong”.

Actually, I would never consent to allowing one of my boys to take dance – not because of the obvious crossing of the gender roles – but because of the humiliation he would have to endure for the rest of his life.

Because if there is anything worse than being the one always turning the wrong way at a dance recital, it is being the only boy in a pink tutu turning the wrong way at the dance recital.