Drug Precautions Translated

Azithromycin may cause:

• upset stomach
• diarrhea
• vomiting
• stomach pain
• mild skin rash

Translation: You will throw up. A lot. And it probably would have been better for you to skip the pulled pork with extra spicy barbecue for dinner, even though you thought all that red pepper would open up your sinuses. And you should definitely have stopped for extra TP on the way home.

Advair may cause:

• headache, dizziness;

• nausea, vomiting, diarrhea;

• dryness in your mouth, nose, or throat;

• stuffy nose, sinus pain, cough, sore throat; or

• hoarseness or deepened voice.

Translation: You will still throw up (see above). The next day, you will be dizzy but very glad you opted to have only toast for breakfast. Your nose will suddenly start to run, even though that was the one symptom you had managed to avoid up to now. You will get even more dizzy later. But you will sound like Kathleen Turner from her "Romancing the Stone" days and find the sound of your own voice strangely hypnotic. Then you will realize you are likely high on all the meds and decide to lay down, drink lots of water, and catch up on Ugly Betty. But not before you blog about it through the fog of your infectious, medicated stupor.

"This is what you want, This is what you get...." -PIL

Once upon a time, boys and girls, there was a small, infectious particle. It was a lonely particle, and it drifted on the breeze, nary a friend in the cold, cruel world. One day, the little germ at last found a warm home in the lush bronchial flesh of a woman who was working in her garden. There, he found, at last, a friend. Her name was pollen, and pretty pollen was an allergen - spawned of a lovely and delicate blossom.

Together, Pollen and Germ made a happy little home amongst the gently waving cilia of the respiratory tract. Before you could say BobsYerUncle, they had multiplied into a growing family. Times were good, the weather was hot and dry, and before long they had their own little stream flowing through the property. It was a lovely stream, fetid and sticky, and it flowed from the streaming Phlegm River at the sinuses all the way down to the alveoli, where it joined with other streams to form the rippling waters of Lake Mucus.

So happy were Pollen and Germ, and all of their many progeny, that they dug in and decided that THIS! this is where they would forever rest, and allow the future generations to rise up and populate this paradise they had discovered.

So, like, yeah. I'm sick. Really, disgustingly, Darth-Vader-wheezes, fevers of 101.1, coughing that makes other people wince, and more phlegm than I care to ponder - sick. After much protesting and dragging of my feet (because for some insane reason I don't want to go to the doctor, even though I do know that is insane) I finally have an appointment this afternoon with the family physician. He's going to poke, prod, listen, and nod, and then either tell me I'm a big pansy and I need more fluids and rest (which would actually be the preferable outcome in my mind) or he's going to say that I have bronchitis and possibly some rogue bacterial infection which will require that I add a prescription for heavy antibiotics to my already ridiculous personal pharmacy.

But, my friends, do you want to know what love is? Love is when your Mommy-in-Law cancels her whole day - manicure, yoga, and other delicious feminine delights - in order to come over and rescue you. She came in with an armload of groceries and toys for the kids, and put me expeditiously to bed. She made homemade fried chicken and green bean casserole, and left me with mashed potatoes to warm and a big bowl of fresh-cut fruits for dinner. She brought 4 kinds of soup and a big loaf of crusty french bread. Also, she kept Jack content and quiet while I crashed out for a solid couple hours' sleep, shivering under my blanket while the fever ravaged my system.

The nasty bug may still rage, but that was quite possibly the best nap I have ever taken in my life. Plus? She didn't bat an eye when I burst into exhausted tears and said "I'm so glad you're here" as she came through the door. She put me to bed, and when I woke up... everything was just fine. More than fine, actually.

So being sick REALLY sucks. But being rescued when you think you're about to die of exhaustion and drown in your own phlegm? That really rocks.

It rocks even more with some homemade fried chicken.

Someone Call Bunny Protective Services

Or "Max and Ruby vs. Charlie and Lola, a study in brief"

Max and Ruby are indeniably children, and yet there is no mention of parents. There is a grandmother, infrequently present, as well as a Bunny Scout Leader. There is also one "Mrs. Huffington" who seems to utilize Ruby for babysitting services.

Ruby is obviously a very capable child with a maturity far exceeding what is expected at her tender age. She is, however, incapable of effectively communicating with or disciplining her brother. Max, on the other hand, is obstinate and argumentative. Ruby, presumably the "parental figure" of the family, is often caught up in imaginary play and daydreaming.

A cursory review reveals a disturbing scenario wherein Ruby, a child herself, is apparently the head of the household. She is left with duty of feeding, bathing, and clothing her brother, as well as putting him to bed. There is no doubt that protective services should immediately be called to find out how these two children have been left to their own devices for survival.

Charlie and Lola, on the other hand, make frequent reference to their parents, even though the parents are never actually directly observed. Lola is a precocious child, prone to dramatic outbursts and emotionally attached to familiar objects. Charlie, the eldest of the two, is practical and patient in his dealings with his sister. He is adept at encouraging her to face the unfamiliar and accept reality. The parents are, presumably, present on a reliable basis.

It is for this reason that Max and Ruby have been unceremoniously ousted from our TiVO recording schedule and replaced with the adventures of the artistically-tempered Lola and her practical and level-headed brother, Charlie.

Also? They talk with cool British accents, which Jack imitates to my unending delight.

Oh, and also, also? This whole post was to distract you from this end part, wherein I reveal that we have traded in my sleek, sexy little Malibu Maxx for a Dodge Grand Caravan. It has cool, automatic sliding doors and such. It has a six-dvd changer for the t.v. screen in it, a 5-cd changer, and a cassette deck. It has wireless headphones and more storage cubbies and cup-holders than you can shake a stick at. And? It's a minivan.

I just heard my Cool meter shatter as the bottom dropped out.

And how was your week?

Thoroughly Thinking Thoughtful Thoughts. Thoughtfully.

Did you hear? Because I was a little slow to pick up on it...

Letters from A Broad is the cheeky blog of my favorite ex-pat who tears up the French countryside and gets to mess with her kids in TWO languages.

And she went and named me a "Thinking Blogger".




Yes, it's the "5 Blogs That Make Me Think" meme.

You'll notice that .. this post? This one you are reading? It is not called "5 Blogs That Make Me Think". That is because this is not the post in which I will be fulfilling my obligation to pass the award along to 5 blogs that make me think. That will have to be the next post, because I am going to have to actually put some thought into this one. And figure out which 5 blogs have not been tagged with it already.

I have been so busy with the kids, the HOA, various home improvement projects, signing up for violin lessons and pondering my navel... that well, I just have not found the time to compose a coherent entry in order to live up to the whole "thought-provoking" hype.

Oh, you caught that, huh? Yeah. Violin lessons.

It's kind of a long story. Still interested? Here you are...

I have wanted to learn to play the vioin since I was a little girl. I am, however, one of ten children. This meant that since my 4 older sisters played the Clarinet, we had 2 Clarinets available in our home and so.. well, I played the Clarinet. I'm grateful that I had that opportunity, don't get me wrong. I was even pretty good at it. But by the time I hit high school, band was most decidedly un-cool, and what with my cluelessness of clothing and make-up I needed no further handicap to my coolness factor. From then on, I stuck with tinkering on the piano at home. At school, I started taking pictures and got a permanent hall pass for journalism. It also got me free admission to all the school sporting events, and the chance to discretely crush on most of the school athletes up close. (especially the soccer players. I really had a thing for the soccer players.) But! Back to the topic at hand....

The desire to learn the violin came back a few years ago. I even asked for a violin for Christmas 3 years running. The problem, it seems, is that nowadays most violins are mass-manufactured in China - so while they are exceptionally inexpensive, once you get your hands on one you must allow it to be totally taken apart and put back together (kinda like The Million Dollar Man) in order to make it decently playable. By the time that is done, the cost is no longer quite so reasonable, and so.. well, no violin for me.

But then? Then I read THIS article in the Washington Post, and something snapped. I was gobsmacked. Really? REALLY?? Joshua Bell -- the man who played the score for The Red Violin, my favorite movie of all time and the music that brings me to tears every time I hear it, was ignored by Metro riders?

As someone who stops to listen to street musicians at every opportunity, at least I am content that I would not have walked on by had I been at L'Enfant Plaza that morning. In fact, I'm fairly confident that Metro Security would eventually have been forced to escort me from the premises with my screaming children.

SO! T and I discussed this article. Then we discussed, once again, the possibility that I could take violin lessons. Then, my much-wiser-than-his-other-half husband suggested I could rent an instrument from the music shop down the road. I called them to confirm this outrageous idea, and found that - yes - I could indeed rent a violin there. I could also take lessons from an instructor there at the shop. Oh, and the instructor? It just so happened that she was Concertmistress of the National Symphony Orchestra for 25 years. And, as of Saturday morning, she will be listening to yours truly as I coax the sounds of a dying animal out of the instrument to which she has devoted her life. Awesome!

Is it bizarre that I'm doing this? Probably. But I can't think of anything in the years since I became a mom that I have anticipated this much.

So there you have it. Read that WP article, watch the videos, stop and smell the frakking roses, and then get out there and try something new. Carpe Diem! Seize an opportunity to enjoy the beauty around you, lest you are left with the sinking realization that you let it all just pass by.

Oh, and this is the part where I confess that the house is a bit of a mess and the vegetable on tonight's menu happens to be ketchup. But I'm not aiming to reach perfection in result, just looking for perfect appreciation of the journey. So there's what I thoughtfully thunk for today.

Don't Panic!

No catastrophe here, just borrowing a morsel from The Hitchhiker's Guide. It seems somehow fitting for the day.

Happy Birthday tooooo meeeeee. Started the day off with emails from both of my parents (Hi Mom and Dad!) from Africa. Not fair to make a girl cry before breakfast, but it was still a great way to begin the day.

So I'm twenty-eight now. Huh. Go figure.

I came across the following song that John Mayer wrote for some Esquire contest where readers were asked to write the music to go with his lyrics. I don't know anything more about it, except that I could have written in myself. So this year, it's my birthday song.

For Every Dream
By John Mayer

I keep a note that I wrote on a taxi-cab receipt
It says "Don't you go and listen to nobody but me"
I hit the big time for a nominal fee
You lose a friend in the end for every dream that you see come true

I got scars upon scrapes, I've got bruises on breaks
Masochistically committed to see how much of this I'll take
Three years under water, and I ain't even got the shakes
I'm going deeper and deeper and deep

I've got dreams to remember, I've got days to forget
I've got a phone call in to God but he hasn't called back yet

I've spent nights in the sunshine, I've spent days in the rain
And twenty-eight years later, I don't even know my name

Oh, now, don't fret. Don't read it with all that bleakness, think of it as thoughtful poetry rather than literal and defeatist. Here, I'll add my own verse to the end to wrap it up properly.

I've been in it and through it and back out again
I have swallowed the sun, been washed clean in the pain
From this high cliff it's all smaller but it still looks the same
I'm gonna take a flying leap and ride the waterfall back down

I've got ashes to gather, I've got rose-buds to spread
I've got to give a stern lecture to the voices in my head

I've made war on the past, I've made peace with a ghost

And twenty-eight years later, I'll recover what it cost

And now, for something completely different!

Me at age 8 or 9-ish.

Approximately 20 years later
(or 10 minutes ago, depending on your perspective)

Please note the lack of focus in that second photo is intentional. Unvarnished, unadorned, and unashamed... but still not willing to put it all in glorious hi-resolution detail.

Besides, nobody else needs to count the freckles. Let's just say I have about 100 per birthday and leave it at that, mmkay?

Oh, also? Please note that the hair in the first photo was UN-intentional, and I can only plead 1987. Really. Plus, Mom cut my hair until I was in college, so I can hardly be blamed for my childhood ignorance of styling products or fancy-schmancy "sideways" parts.

Wait, is it just me? Or has my nose gotten much, MUCH bigger in the last 20 years?

So, um... Happy Birthday to me! I will now celebrate by putting on a bra before the alarm system repair guy arrives. Huzzah!

Alo-Ha-waii, Kona Come Over?

So Walmart carries Millstone Kona Blend. Who knew? But here I am, sipping a warm, strong cuppa and enjoying a few moments of quiet.

This week is Spring Break for the district where Jack goes to preschool. I had determined to take at least a few field trips with him, while we have the freedom. This proved to be easier said than done, especially with my allergies and Toby's nap schedule.

We found out there is a zoo near here, but it's one of those ones that is bigger than it should be and not enough animals to fill the space. Plus, the hilight is a petting zoo area and I think the hay feed would make my head (or at least my sinuses) explode.

I looked around for play gyms or anything else that would be new and exciting for the kids, and not overly expensive. The pickins were pretty slim, and as lunch time crept up on us yesterday I finally threw my hands up in exasperation and decided to just GO.

So I packed us a quick pic-nic lunch of PB&J, sweet potato chips, apple slices, raisins, water bottles, and honey bee grahams for dessert. Threw clothes on all of us, loaded into the car, and off we went.

Once at the park, we found a table in the shade and nibbled on lunch. The weather was more lovely than it had any right to be, really. Seventy degrees and just a few puffy clouds adorning the sky. We spent a good two hours soaking up the sun (Note To Self: BAD MOMMY! Next time, remember the sunscreen. Luckily, nobody seems overly sun-baked today.) Ran a few errands (including stopping by Walmart to pick up the aforementioned Kona Roast) and headed home.

The boys took an afternoon nap while I made preparations for a hamburger cookout, and when T got home we munched on burgers, corn on the cob, and leafy spring salads. After hands and faces were washed up and dinner had been cleared, we settled into the family room with frosted mini-cupcakes to watch "Happy Feet" for Family Night.

At the end of the day, and before Mumble the penguin met the elephant seals on his way to the Forbidden Shore, both boys went willingly and contentedly to bed. T and I settled in for a quiet evening of folding laundry, and while he watched the DC United game I quietly drifted off to sleep on the sofa under a freshly laundered jersey sheet.

If only life could always be so Tropically Serene. Maybe some day we'll move to Hawaii, where I can soak up the cheering rays of the sun and enjoy a more relaxed pace of life more often. And, of course, the Kona Coffee.

Bullets Over Bored Way

Miscellaneous Thoughts I am Having This Morning:

- We are out of coffee. Yesterday T went to 7-11 and got two cups of their new "extra-perky" blend, with guarana, ginseng, crack, and ground puppies. It did not taste especially good, but it sure did get me moving. Must get grounds at the store today.

- Setting a goal to send every member of my immediate family a Birthday card for the next entire year. Fitting, as my birthday is this week, that I should start now. Wrote down the dates of every single birthday for siblings, in-laws, nieces and nephews. Must remember to buy stamps.

- Wishing we could move overseas. I have always wanted to go to Europe, but I don't think that a trip there would be sufficient to absorb what I need from the surroundings. I would love to pick up and move to Rome with my brother and his family this summer. Even more, I would love to pick up and move to Paris like my neighbors are doing. I know many Americans find the French to be dodgy, but I have been in love with French culture since I was 12. C.L. do you hear me? Can I get an "Amen"?

- Pondering completion of the downstairs bathroom. I have 4 tiles left to cut to finish the vinyl tile floor. Need to pick up a wood plaque to mount the light fixture over, since builders ripped a hole in the drywall to run the wiring rather than cutting a nice, neat one. Dan Ryan Builders has my permission to kiss my alabaster keester, thankyouverymuch. Must install new sink faucet, plus one in master bathroom. Must remember to get t-shirt printed "Home Remodel Goddess".

- Realizing taxes must be finished. Cursing TurboTax and my cheapskate inability to just hire a freaking accountant. Wondering if we should stick refund into savings or go ahead with plan to upgrade kitchen countertops.

- Jack is calling for me to fix his "Dora The Explorer" computer game. Must remember to get a new optical notebook mouse (Parent Hack: notebook mouse is the perfect size for preschool hands). Must go fix Dora before the universe implodes.

Future not-so-Tense

It's a simple formula.

T's Nintendo DS + Elite Beat Agents = My Undoing.

But at least I can console myself with leftover crepes from yesterday's breakfast. Rolled up with sliced strawberries and drizzled with "sweet-and-sour-cream" (sour cream whipped with confectioner's sugar) it makes me want to throw our lives to the wind, sell the house, and head off into the sunrise to open a Bed & Breakfast up in some tiny coastal town in Maine

I could be content serving breakfast to the guests in the morning, and then leisurely enjoying my days drinking coffee on the wraparound porch for the next 50 years. I really, really could.

Especially if I can bring the Nintendo DS.

No Foolin'

So tell me... Did you know April is National Poetry Month? I certainly did not, at least not until I stumbled across several references to it this weekend.

April is also the month of my birthday, which is only days away. I am, of course, giddy with relief at surviving yet another year. Of course, I'd be much more giddy if I was somewhere far away and tropical... but back to the matter at hand.

I'll forego my annual "We're Pregnant!" April Fool's joke this year (for which my mother will thank me). Instead, I offer a poem I wrote recently. Yes, I do sometimes write poetry. I like to think that after I'm gone someone will discover the scattered scrawlings and declare me a dead genius. Because being a dead genius is a convenient way to dodge all the pressure inherent in being one while alive.

Then again, I'll be dead, so it really won't matter if I'm just declared "Dead Crazy Scribbling Lady With Many Many Cats And A Husband Who Went On To Marry A Victoria's Secret Underwear Model". So we'll just stick with "Future Dead Genius". I might even have to put that on a T-shirt.

In any case:

Of Prophets and Poets


sculpting words
trim and discard
shape and smooth

cast ashes of body
distillation of soul
refined in sorrow
to the vastness of time

searching, grappling
to name the unknowable
to touch the face of eternity.

And Yet.

And yet, the Prophet.
listening, eyes closed
to the crush of the tide
walks onward in faith
to where the sand
meets the shore
at the end of the world

where life
is but a test
the painful birth
before the endless waking dream

And yet.

And yet, the Poet.
looking, eyes wide
hears the crush of the tide
tumbles on the breeze
to where the sand
meets the shore
and the shore meets the sky

where life
is truth
and living it
the only dream

-MRK, 2007