A galling situation

My gallbladder hates me.

It suprised me greatly to find this out, because I can honestly say that I had no feelings whatsoever about my gallbladder. In fact, until a week and a half ago, I would have been hardpressed to state with the utmost confidence that I actually had a gallbladder. I do not know what I did to inspire such hatred from an internal organ, but the fact remains that the hatred is there, and it is fierce.

How do I know this? Last week I had occasional, off-and-on abdomen pains. Nothing too serious, but enough to make me sit up and take notice. Then, perhaps tired of its thankless and unnoticeable job, my gallbladder completely went on strike. Of course, I didn't know this at the time. All I knew was that there was incredible, ceaseless pain that made me think that going to the emergency room (because, of course, it was late in the evening) was a good idea.

Upon coming to that conclusion, however, a slight problem arose. I was home with the kids, unable to drive due to pain, Sabrina was not yet old enough to drive for me, and David was off in a tube, with no phone, getting an MRI. But get to the emergency room I did, eventually. There they shot me up with super duper drugs that got me higher than a kite. After the second shot (because the first one basically did nothing), I was giggling like mad over the size of the needle on the shot they gave me. (I am sure it was a foot long.) The ER doctor asked me how I was feeling now, and I replied that I thought the pain was still there, but I just didn't care anymore. And that I loved him. Luckily, David was there to hear follow-up instructions.

The last week has been a blur of doctor's appointments, ultrasounds, and blood work. Diagnosis? My gallbladder hates me.

Here is a picture my surgeon drew for me:

I think we can all agree this is some excellent drawing. Hopefully, he's just as good at surgery.

Sabrina wanted to know what was wrong, so I pulled out this handy-dandy picture and showed her. Because she is smarter than me, and has also just recently finished a full year of biology, she was very familiar with the organs shown.

Sabrina: What are all those little balls in the gallbladder?

Me: Those are gallstones.

S: What are they doing there?

Me: My gallbladder produced them.

S: What's their purpose?

Me: Their only purpose is to torment and torture.

S: Well, they've done their job then. Why does your gallbladder have a frilly bonnet?

Me: That is to show it is very inflamed.

S: I want to congratulate you.

Me: What for?

S: That is an impressive amount of gallstones and inflammation. Obviously, if you do something, you commit wholeheartedly. Go big or go home, I always say.

Me: Thank you. I think.

So, because my gallbladder hates me and is trying to kill me, proactive measures have to be taken. Tomorrow, I am going under the knife to remove that sucker. Hopefully, when it's all done, my innards will look more like this:

Go, Team Surgery!

Where are my pants?

Sabrina: What are you wearing???

Rose: Pajama pants.

S: Those are MY pajama pants.

R: No, they're not.

S: Yes, they are.

R: No, they're not. They've been in my drawer for more than a year.

S: That doesn't matter. They're mine.

R: No, they're not.

S: I've been wondering where they were.

R: They've been in my drawer, because they're mine.

S: No, I remember distinctly what happened. Mom bought me some pajama pants at Old Navy. They were slightly too big, so she went back and got me the next size down. I've always had two pairs of pants that look exactly the same.

R: Well, they are mine. But even so, you shouldn't miss these because you already have a pair that is EXACTLY THE SAME.

S: Give them back. They're mine.

R: No, they are not. Why do you need two of the same thing anyway?

S: Because I like them, AND THEY ARE MINE!

R: No.

S: GIVE THEM BACK!!!

R: No. I am not taking these pants off and giving them to you.

S: Take them off, wash them, and give them back.

R: No.

Me: Can we please talk about something else? I am really tired of hearing about the pants.

Grandma: I heard you girls saw a movie yesterday. Did you like it?

S: Mom and I did. Rose didn't watch it, because she doesn't like any of the same things that I do.

Calvin: She likes the same pants.

Life Skills

Friend: Do you know what your children are doing downstairs?

Me: No. Why?

F: Just thought you should check, because I found both Sabrina and Calvin doing something with doorknobs.

Me: Sabrina, what are you guys doing?

Sabrina: Calvin and I are trying to pick a lock.

Me: Why?

S: Because I think it's a life skill that would be useful to know.

C: Yeah, you never know when it might come in handy.

David: Do you know what you're doing?

S: Not really.

D: You might want to be careful. Instead of picking the lock, you more likely will end up breaking the doorknob.

S: How do you know?

D: Let's just say personal experience.

C: You don't need to worry about that with me, Dad. I think I picked a tool that is too big. I haven't even been able to get it in the lock yet.

Truth in Advertising

Sabrina: Wow.

Me: What?

S: I just saw an advertisement for "The Fault in Our Stars" movie.

Me: Oh, do you want to go see it?

S: No. The casting looks horrible. They obviously got both Augustus and Hazel Grace all wrong. But that's not the issue here. They had a commercial for it on TV just now, and it said it was going to be the "feel good movie of the year."

Me: No way.

S: What were they thinking? I've read the book, and it's amazing. But let me tell you, people will not be walking out of that theater "feeling good."

Honesty

Me: How was your voice lesson today?

Rose: Great. Although my voice teacher said I really need to work on lowering my larynx.

Me: Yes, you certainly do.

R: Wait! You knew about this?

Me: Yes, dear.

R: Why didn't you tell me???

Me: Because you don't listen to me or my advice.

R: True.

Helpful 2

Sabrina: What happens if I go out with this boy and I have nothing to say! So awkward! I just might die.

Me: Knowing you, I somehow doubt that will happen.

S: I could be tongue-tied and then he'd never want to see me again, and he'll tell all his friends how weird I am.

Calvin: Sabrina, I've been thinking about this, and I believe you need to have some questions ready to bring out for when there are lulls in conversation. Luckily for you, I have some questions prepared.

S: Cool! What are they?

C: Here they are. I think they'll be great conversation starters. Let me know if you need more.

    1. Do you know how to make a bow and arrow?

    2. Do you know how to make a slingshot?

    3. Have you ever been to prison?

    4. If so, what are the people like there?

Helpful

Sabrina: Guess what? I asked that boy out and he said --

Rose: No?

S: As a matter of fact he said yes.

R: Really? I guess he must like snacks or romantic play dates.

S: Shut up. I didn't use either of those terms. But I forgot to ask him for his cell phone. What should I say?

R: Here's an idea. How about, "Hey, what's your phone number?"

S: I can't do that!

R: Why on earth not?

S: Well, for one thing, that sounds too simple. Besides, what if he forgot I asked him out? Then he'd think I was weird for asking for his number, and I'd be really embarrassed.

R: That's not going to happen.

S: But what if it does?

R: Okay, how about this? Excuse me, could we possibly exchange numbers for our cellular devices so that we may communicate about coordinating any future romantic get-togethers?

S: Seriously?

R: You said my first suggestion was too simple, so I was just trying to sound like you.

That was easy.

Sabrina: I think I want to ask this boy out. Is that okay?

Me: I guess. What were you thinking of?

S: Maybe asking him to go out for a snack or something.

Rose: A snack? What are you, a preschooler?

S: How about a romantic play date? Would that make you feel any better, Rose?

R: Oh, my gosh, you are killing me. I won't ever be able to show my face around school again.

S: That was just too easy.

Pick a kid, any kid.

Me: I swear one our children will not make it to adulthood. At this point, I don't care which one it is.

Sabrina: I would suggest Calvin. In my favor, I am the most capable, I'm able to take care of myself, and I am only the second highest maintenance kid here.

David: And she's persuasive to boot.

Target Terror

One morning we had some time to kill before our fun for the day started. We looked around and thought, "What can we possibly do to entertain five kids?" (Both girls had friends along for the ride.) Seeing that entertainment was scarce at that hour, David decided to while away the minutes at Target. He reasoned he could sit at the Starbucks conveniently located at the front of the store while he set our kids loose in the main store. I later asked how it went.

Me: So, what did you guys do while you were at Target?

Rose: We had lots of fun. My friend and I played Target Terror.

Me: Target Terror?

R: No, mom, you misheard. It was Target Dare.

Me: How do you play that?

R: You come up with funny activities and then your friend has to do them.

Me: For example?

R: I put a lampshade on my head and went up to a Target employee and said, "I have a party to go to this afternoon. Do you think this is too mainstream?"

Me: You actually did that?

R: Of course.

Me: How did the person react?

R: They looked sort of confused/scared and told  me that no, the lampshade was not too mainstream. I thanked them politely and walked away.

Me: I think Target Terror might be the more appropriate name after all.

Guest Post by Sabrina

Giraffey

When I was a little girl, I got a stuffed giraffe. It was at an old friend’s birthday party at the Build-A-Bear that isn’t there anymore. I think only three of the ten or so kids there actually made bears. My sister got a poodle. I don’t recall the actual party; I remember very few specific events from my young life. Even so, I do remember how much I loved that giraffe.

Since, as a child, I was the proud possessor of boundless creativity, I named it Giraffey. It never had a gender, because no matter how I tried to stick to one, it would inevitably change within a week, at most. I deliberated over that issue many a time, but eventually gave up and left it. Giraffey was simply Giraffey, and was a boy or girl whenever I decided it should be.

I loved it so much that I even made up a rhyme to sing with it. It went: “Giraffey, Giraffey, Green and yellow Giraffey.”For a six or seven year old, it was genius. However, there was a problem, as I soon realized after coming up with this breakthrough jingle. Giraffey was not green and yellow. As I was indeed creatively blessed, I did some quick thinking and was able to answer the questioning looks promptly. “Green and yellow are Giraffey’s favorite colors,” I told them. I was safe. And even if they weren’t Giraffey’s favorite colors, who would know?

Ever since I was little, I have been what my mother calls “a thrower”; that is, someone who doesn’t get sentimental about material things. She is one of these people as well. We don’t save birthday cards, or feel the need to hold on to insignificant objects that the more sentimental person would feel inclined to. We don’t want to keep the un-listened-to records and cassette tapes that my dad insists on hanging on to, or the three bins of stuffed animals that my sister once proudly owned. So, you would think that my giving away Giraffey during one of our semi-annual deep clean-outs wouldn’t be a big deal. You would be wrong.

I don’t regret getting rid of a lot of things. Out of everything I’ve thrown out or given away, there are maybe three at most that I regret. Giraffey is one of them. As soon as I realized that it was too late, that I was never going to see the beloved stuffed animal again or sing its song, I regretted it. I had thought that letting go would be easy; I was older now and didn’t need all fourteen or so stuffed animals that I had. How sadly mistaken I was. I still miss Giraffey sometimes, and the little rhyme that went along with it still gets stuck in my head, an echo of my mistake: “Giraffey, Giraffey, Green and yellow Giraffey… Giraffey, Giraffey, Green and yellow Giraffey.” I still think that I let go of my precious giraffe too soon; but then, we always forget to really appreciate what we have until we suddenly don’t have it anymore.      

Tooth Fairy Revisited

The tooth fairy has not visited our household in a long, long time. In addition to the kids' baby teeth just not wanting to exit their mouths, the few that have made a break for freedom have been ignored. I think Rose's last three teeth have netted a total of $0 for her. So when Calvin lost his tooth yesterday, he was naturally concerned.

Calvin: I finally lost a tooth.

David: Great.

C: Do you think the tooth fairy will visit? I know he hasn't visited Rose for her last few teeth.

D: Maybe he's dead.

C: Dad!

Me: He's not dead. It's probably more like the Dread Pirate Roberts.

C: I really want my money, though. How do I make sure he visits tonight?

D: Put it under your pillow.

Me: (shaking head vigorously in the background)

D: Or, uh, put it on the counter in the kitchen.

C: The kitchen?

Me: Yeah, he can find a tooth anywhere.

The next day . . .

C: Dad, the tooth fairy didn't come!

D: Yes, he did.

C: No, he didn't. At least I don't think he did. There's no money there, but my tooth is gone.

D: I am positive the tooth fairy visited last night. Check again.

C: There is nothing there.

Me: Um . . .

D: What?

Me: The money was on the counter?

D: Yes.

Me: I believe I know why the money isn't there now.

D: Why?

Me: Well, I saw the money on the counter this morning and thought, "Oh, goody, a free latte."

C: My tooth money bought you a coffee???

Me: Yes, and it was very delicious. Thank you.

Best pickup line ever?

Sabrina has to do a partner project in English. These types of projects have never been easy for her, starting with pairing up in the first place. Attending a new school has just exacerbated the problem. This morning she was standing around looking lost in the library, figuring she would just wait again until the teacher paired her up with another lost soul or an absent person, when one of the boys in her class walked up to her.

Boy: You will be my partner.

Sabrina: Um, okay. Why?

Boy: Because you are smarter than at least two-thirds of the class, and the other third wouldn't be my partner.

Biscuits

Rose was upset the other day. Who knows why. Some days I believe it is because I exist and deign to talk to her. Often, we all feel better if we practice what I like to call "the joys of being alone." In this case, it was not possible. Family was visiting, and we were all going out to breakfast. This did not please Rose who insisted she was not hungry and would rather just stay home. I told her she did not have to eat, she only had to grace us with her smiling countenance and cheerful presence. She did not appreciate my humor.

Although, she insisted she was not hungry, people kept asking her if she would like something to eat. After the fourth time someone asked her if she would at least like a biscuit, Rose turned back from the window she was staring out of and snapped, "I am NOT hungry! I do not want ANY biscuits!!!" Being the peace-seeking family that we are, we needed a way to avoid antagonizing her further. Her grandfather came up with a brilliant idea and made a sign to encourage people to leave her alone.

You can see this made her feel quite a bit better.

Not long after, apparently deciding her point had been made, or perhaps deciding the hunger pangs were too strong to ignore, she turned away from the window and pulled a plate toward herself.

Because I always aim to be helpful, I pointed out that our signage was no longer correct. Appropriate changes were made.

Do not discount the power of a well-made sign. Rose was able to snag a third biscuit.

Oh, my gosh, Mom, will you stop taking pictures of me???

I'd better unpack my shovel

We now live on the coast. I can see the ocean from my house.

Not a bad sight to wake up to every morning.

But in addition to the beautiful view and the soothing sounds of the ocean, this also apparently means we need to be aware of potential, although extremely unlikely, dangers. Specifically, I am talking about tsunamis. My guess, which I cannot substantiate with facts since I am too lazy to actually look up any information, is this was not a concern before the Fukushima tragedy. But now tsunami drills happen periodically. I was wondering how I would know when a drill was to take place, but I needn't have worried. First, you hear a voice on a loudspeaker, and then the loudest siren I have ever heard starts blaring. Also, on certain streets as you drive by you see warning signs.

Calvin is fascinated by these signs. We drove by one just the other day.

Calvin: Look, Mom! Look, Dad! There's a warning sign!

Me: What kind of sign?

C: It says tsunami excavation route!

David: Excavation route?

C: Yes.

D: I think you mean evacuation route.

Me: The tsunami is coming. DIG FASTER!!

C: ... Maybe it said evacuation.

At least now we know where to dig.

Who's the smart one now?

Shortly after we moved to Half Moon Bay, I went with the girls to enroll them in the local high school. We met with their counselor. She looked at their transcripts and the classes they were enrolled in at their previous school and started to put together schedules for them. One obstacle appeared when we asked  for advanced English and advanced math for both the girls, and AP World History for Sabrina. The counselor was extremely reluctant to enroll them in these classes. Her reasoning was that we were coming in after the start of the year, these advanced classes had required a fairly heavy summer workload, and therefore they would be behind.

Sabrina started to get quite upset and insisted that she needed to be in those classes. The counselor hesitated and then said, "Well, if you agree to do all the summer work to get caught up, I will enroll you in your requested classes." Sabrina immediately said yes, of course she would do that. Sign her up now, please. Rose, on the other hand, was silent. When the counselor turned to her and inquired, "Will you agree to do the summer work also?" Rose replied, "No, I will not. Enroll me in regular classes, please." The counselor looked at me, and I shrugged and told her to do as Rose asked. If Rose did not want to do the extra work, I was not going to fight her.

The girls started on a Thursday. Sabrina had a horrific first weekend. Despite her new school starting a week later than her old school, she was astonished to find that her new AP World History class was moving much faster. She was already three chapters behind. In addition, her English teacher told her she needed to read a 300-page book from the summer assignments. Sabrina spent every waking hour trying to catch up. She got very little sleep and became slightly hysterical. Meanwhile, Rose played games with Calvin, slept in, and watched TV.

On Monday, Rose's counselor called her into her office. After administering a couple of tests, Rose's English teacher had called the counselor and said, "Don't be ridiculous. Move this girl up. She belongs in Advanced English." So the counselor looked at Rose and said, "If you do not have to do any of the summer or catch-up work, would you consider moving to Advanced English?" Rose replied, "Of course."

At dinner, in an off-hand manner, Rose mentioned they switched her classes that day. I asked why, and she told me what had happened. I looked over at Sabrina, whose eyes were still bloodshot from reading a 300-page book and doing six history assignments in 48 hours, and hoped the mess to clean up wouldn't be too extensive after her head exploded.

Not for the faint of heart (or weak of stomach)

For those of you that know me, I suffer from quite severe allergies. You name it, I'm allergic to it. If I come into contact with anything that grows or anything with fur and four legs, I'm off on a trip to Allergy Land with an uncertain return date. Fortunately, I function pretty well over all. I avoid triggers whenever possible. I married a man who has no desire for pets. And I avail myself of all the medical miracles at my disposal.

I have watched my children for years, hoping and praying they inherited their father's genes in the allergy department, rather than mine. For the most part, that seems to be the case. Calvin had some trouble with asthma as a toddler, but seemed to outgrow it by the time he was six. The girls have occasional sniffly noses in spring, but some simple over-the-counter antihistamines take care of that. I was just beginning to breathe easier (pun intended), thinking we dodged a bullet. But . . .

A year ago, Calvin started getting sick quite frequently. Every three to four weeks, he would catch another cold/virus. At first, I told myself it was a bad flu season. I was getting sick frequently also. We just had bad luck. But then in the spring, every time he got sick, he ended up with an asthma attack. I started thinking perhaps there was more to this than just bad luck in the cold department. I was just about ready to call the allergist, but then Calvin started to feel better in late spring. That combined with our move pushed it all to the back burner.

We hadn't even settled in yet, were still living in a hotel, and Calvin got sick once again. His breathing never really recovered. Medication didn't seem to be helping much, and any and everything (virus, exercise, being outdoors) triggered an asthma attack. The poor boy was panting his life away. But we were in a new area. I didn't know who to call. We don't have any doctors yet. What to do?I started to research. I found an allergist that had rave reviews and, luckily, was not too far away from our new location. I called, and they got us in within a week. Yesterday was Calvin's first appointment.

They started out with a breath test. He wasn't wheezing. His lungs didn't crackle. But the breath test showed that his lungs were inflamed. What this means is that he doesn't show any symptoms normally, but as soon as he comes into contact with a trigger, he goes from fine to in trouble with alarming speed. Next up was a nebulizer treatment for both the lungs and the nose to try to clear up his breathing. Next, we had to find out what he was allergic to.

I knew what was coming, having suffered through it many times in my life: allergy testing. This is something that is not too horrible if you are mildly allergic to things, but excruciating if you're on the other end of the spectrum. Calvin asked the nurse, "What is going to happen? Will it hurt? Are there needles involved?" The nurse gently informed him there would be no pain, no needles, just some itching. Calvin looked relieved. I didn't have the heart to tell him that "just some itching" takes on a whole new meaning with these tests.

They tested him on 96 (that's right, you heard me, 96!!) different items.

Right after they administered the test

Five minutes in

10 minutes in

15 minutes in

20 minutes in

25 minutes in

Poor baby. He's allergic to everything, just like me -- grasses, trees, mold, mildew, dust, dogs, cats. It's amazing he's been breathing at all. He almost cried when they told him he'd have to come back in two weeks for more testing (foods this time). I am just extremely grateful we live in an age where he can get effective treatment.

He got to choose what he wanted for dinner, but he barely made it through.

The waitress removed his plate just before his face fell into it.

It was an early night for all.

It was a hard day for Mom, too.

She's charming and she knows it.

Me: How is school going? Are you getting settled in? Do you like your teachers?

Sabrina: I like most of my classes. The class I like least is Art.

Me: Really? That surprises me.

Sabrina: Yeah. I don't think the teacher likes me much.

Me: I'd be shocked if that were actually true.

Sabrina: There have been some teachers over the years that haven't liked me, Mom.

Rose: Here's a list of teachers over the years that haven't liked me. (brief silence) I'm done.

Moving Update - Whining Edition

Good grief, why can't anything ever be easy???

Half Moon Bay has some strict city laws. All homes have to have hard-wired smoke detectors that are certified as working by the fire department. Right before we closed on our house last week, we learned from the fire department that the smoke detectors in our house do not actually work. Two days and two visits from electricians later, we learned that the detectors are hard-wired into the alarm system . . . an alarm system that is non-existent since the previous owners stopped their service.

Now, after three more days and over 14 hours spent waiting and fighting with the alarm company, the smoke detectors STILL do not work. They spectacularly failed the fire department's test today. Not one worked. The only upside to this debacle is that the firemen were quite cute, all three of them. And one of them even called the alarm company on my behalf to put some pressure on these bozos. Tomorrow it's back for yet another day of this madness, waiting for a technician to show up, or not.

Although I always try to see the humor in almost any situation, I am finding it extremely difficult to find anything funny about this situation, especially since we are not allowed to move in until the fire department gives the all-clear. Here's looking at living another week in a hotel room with five people. I think David said it best: either we come through this a stronger and closer family, or we will no longer need to worry about the new house having only three bedrooms since we will be down a family member or two.

I think we can swing the last item on the list at the very least.

Calvin said there were some things he'd like in our new house, and could he submit a list? We said sure, and this is what he gave us.

Wishlist for Calvin

-My own bedroom
-A pool in our house or near it (not mandatory)
-A porch
-A tree in the front or backyard (for climbing, treehouse, or tire swing)
-An area in the front or backyard where I can ripstick, bike and play
-Storage area in my room
-My own TV (just kidding)
-An area where it is comfortable to play video games
-A shelf in my room (hopefully near my bed)
-A place where I can exercise (A bike trail or gym, etc.)
-Happiness :)