We had friends over. With their kids.

We made pizzas, everybody ate, and then the kids ran around an played and screamed like banshees and played Wii upstairs, while the adults had piña coladas and got to talk.

It's such a simple thing. Something that happens every day to lots of people. So easy to arrange, nothing fancy. But because I'm rather shy, because I don't make close friends easily, because I don't like to impose, and because I seem to attract people who are like me, it never seems to happen.

And I'm determined to make it happen again.

Let's start with the weather. Always a hot topic with me. This winter has been cold. Cold, without the usual random 70 degree days that perk me up. It's been cold, and dreary, and last week it snowed for 24 hours straight. We had at least 8 inches accumulate in our yard. Strangely, that's probably the only upside to the cold. At least snow is fun, until it goes all ugly.

I've had problems of and on with my camera. Particularly when I take our Christmas picture, the focus would always be behind the kids, on the tree. At first, I thought it was just me, trying to watch the kids faces and not paying close enough attention to the focus points. A year of some hit and miss action shots just convinced me that it was me, not the camera. Another set of out of focus Christmas pictures confused me, but it wasn't until I got what should have been some wonderful shots of the kids sitting outside on the wall that I was sure I had an equipment problem. I knew with absolute certainty that I had that focus point aimed properly, with room to spare. I need to take the the thing in to make sure it's just the lens, and not the camera body, but I'm already convinced that I'll have to get a new lens. The upside is that I have every intention of upgrading.

I the last month, every last one of us has had a cold. Some of us (me and Owen) seem to be dragging this thing out like it's fun. It's not.

Last summer, I decided I was going to get into shape and lose a few pounds doing it. I worked out. I ate less. I ate healthier. I gained weight. In the last couple months, I've completely given up with the eating right and exercise. Why bother, if I'm just going to get heavier and hungrier? I'm up another 5 pounds and have consumer record amounts of chocolate. (i'm not totally sure the last 5 pounds aren't weaning related. I just recently realized the same thing happened after Jamie. Sadly, it took nursing Katie to get rid of it last time, and that method just isn't available.)

The lack of sunshine and warm breezes is really starting to take their toll. Is it Spring, yet?

In the last year, Tana has been losing weight. It started slowly enough that I didn't really notice, and continued slowly enough that I wasn't in huge hurry to rush off to the vet when I did notice. She finally got thin enough that I knew I needed to take her in to be seen, and I planned to take her in during the Christmas break when I would have other adults around to watch the kids. I was rather convinced that her weight loss was due to something terminal, and I really didn't want to have that kind of visit with kids in tow. All that changed when I was up with Owen in the middle of the night and witnessed what the vets call an "episode," behavior that may have been a stroke and was possibly indicative of high blood pressure.

I was sure at that point that Tana had something terminal. I was also sure that I couldn't wait to take her to the vet, because on the off chance that what she had was painful, I refuse to let her suffer. The next morning I took Owen, Katie and the cat to the vet clinic where Bubba was put to sleep.

Long story short, the vet was pretty sure that Tana had hyperthyroidism and high blood pressure. She confirmed the bp while we were there, and had bloodwork results back to us by the next morning. She called in a couple prescriptions, told me to come back in two weeks to recheck her levels, and we were good.

I expected Tana's activity level to decrease, in fact, if it didn't, the drugs weren't working. And she did get less active. After two weeks, her blood levels still looked good, but she was still losing weight. A week or so after that, and she was practically comatose. I would search her out several times a day, just to make sure she was still alive. I never saw her eat or drink, and she felt lighter. I tried to get a last minute appointment, but they were booked up. Instead, they suggested splitting her meds and gave us an appetite stimulant.

The stimulant woke her up again, and she started acting like a very toned down version of herself. She still wasn't eating, though, so I took her back in for another visit. In less than two weeks, she had dropped another pound. My cat who used to be a well fed but not fat 14 pounds was now down to 6.5. I was sure (again) that this was going to be the end, apparently there was just a little hope left. Her bp was fine, and the drug for that was the likely culprit of the nausea and lack of appetite, so we dropped it. We kept the stimulant, and started force feeding her a high nutrient wet food to try to jump start her system.

It took two days of bi hourly feedings, stunk both of us up and reminded me why babies are such a pain in the butt, but Tana finally started drinking. And then she started eating. She's started to feel a bit more substantial, and even though I still haven't seen her play, she's rejoined the family. I need to take her in to check her weight and make sure her bp is still ok (although I think we'll risk high bp over the meds), but I think she's going to make it through this.

My cats don't share the same level of importance as my kids. That doesn't mean that they aren't important to me, though. So yeah, I jumped through a lot of hoops, paid more than I probably should have and stress ate my way up a few extra pounds.

And I'm really grateful that it worked.

I hadn't really thought of this week as being too trying, and I guess as a week, it wasn't too bad. Even today started off improving the week, but it ended with something of a bang. Or sort of a squish.

On Tuesday, Owen got the runs. Not the normal, ate-too-much-fruit-and-his-diaper-exploded run, although I didn't know that at the time. I didn't really get it until it ate the skin off his butt, and he learned the work "Ow." Until I was trying to dry his skin and realized the reason it wasn't drying was because it was weeping puss. He woke up over and over after bedtime, because he would go a drop or two and it would burn so bad he would cry for me.

Wednesday was better, but still heartbreaking. He still cried at every diaper change, but there weren't so many of them. He still fought being wiped, but he didn't freak out every time a drop of something hit his diaper.

By today, he was red and sad, but not in pain anymore, thank goodness.

And then Katie woke up with a frog in her throat and a god-awful sounding cough. Within ten minutes, she was sounding a hundred times better. I had already prepped her for staying home, but it wasn't long after she woke up, she was asking for breakfast and sounding nearly normal. She had no temperature, and when I asked her, she wanted to go to school.

At dinner, she didn't do much eating. Then she started coughing up her milk. Then she started looking so rough I was afraid she wasn't breathing. (She was, but WHOA.) She wouldn't talk, but I got her to admit her throat hurt. I got her up from the table and took her straight to the after hours clinic. By the time we got there, she looked a lot better, although she still wouldn't talk. As soon as the doctor confirmed a sore throat and a prescription and walked out the door, she started chatting like we were on some sort of girl's day out. She wanted to go with me to pick up her prescription, instead of go home.

THAT was a mistake. I realized halfway to Target that they have a $10 gift card with new prescription coupon online. I figured we could at least drop the thing off, and maybe they would let me use a copy of the coupon if they had one around. Instead, the lady at the pharmacy said that I could print a copy from the registry computers up front, which I could have, if they had the coupon-printer software installed. And also, if I hadn't been interrupted THREE times to run Katie to the bathroom. If I hadn't had to bag a pair of underwear.

In the end, it turns out the coupon was in this week's flyer, which they happened to have a copy of behind the counter. We got our prescription. And the gift card. We got home without having to wash the car seat cover. Katie can talk and breathe and her back end isn't weeping (yet).

I need chocolate.

This whole saga started with Katie's repeated complaints of stomach aches. To us, to her teachers, even to my dad when she spent time with him last summer. That touched off a flurry of appointments, tests and medication, starting with her pediatrician, and x-ray, and a prescription for a reflux medication. When that didn't work, we were sent to a pediatric gastroenterologist where she was swabbed, had vials of blood drawn, urine and stool samples taken, and eventually fasting ultrasound to look at her GI tract. All but the ultrasound returned (refreshingly) normal results. The US was a little more troubling. I was driving when the doctor called to tell me his concerns, and the notes I jotted on a scrap of paper while sitting at a derelict gas station say "bladder reflux" and "blunting on kidney." (There's also a note follow up after we see the urologist.) I'm not entirely sure what those notes mean (I get reflux, but what is blunting?), but from what he explained it sounded like she was probably fine, but if the abnormality was severe enough it could cause her problems later on in life. Sold! I'll get right on it.

It took a couple weeks to actually get an appointment. There were several calls that weren't returned, and apparently non-emergency cases were getting booked months out. By the end of October, I finally had an appointment scheduled for early January.

I pretty much put the whole thing out of my mind. I didn't really want to waste my worry on a possible maybe, and there wasn't anything I could do about it (whatever "it" was) anyway. By the first of the year, I'd forgotten all the details of this whole saga, and Katie hadn't mentioned a stomach ache in so long, I couldn't remember the last time she brought it up.

Which pretty much made me look like an idiot at yesterday's appointment. I couldn't remember dates or doctor's names, they were asking me questions about urination and bowel movements that I haven't had the answer to since Katie stopped doing them in her pants, and even those memories have faded. The PA asked tons of questions I barely had answers to, then laid Katie down for a quick ultrasound of her bladder, etc. In the middle, the doctor walked in, told me he had seen the previous US, and everything was fine. Just for kicks, he showed me her left kidney, measured the fluid spot, pronounced it no big deal, shook my hand and left. He was nice, answered the few questions I could come up with, came off as an expert and was still out the door in under 10 minutes.

Well, then.

I guess we're done.

In my mind, I'm already ready to run a short race. In my mind, I do pretty darn well. In my mind, I'm harder, faster, leaner and I'm not breathing all that hard.

Hopefully what they say about envisioning the future you want really does help make it happen, because I'm going to need all the help I can get.

Jamie said, "Oooh, you said a bad word!"

"I did? What?"

"You said the "s" word!"

Maybe I don't really have anything to say after all.

I'll admit, I don't always change the sheets when the kids wet the bed. In the middle of the night, I mean. I always wash them once everyone is up and awake. In most cases, though, you can just throw a towel over the offending damp spot and everyone gets to go back to sleep.

Not last night. Last night was a two pillow, quilt, blanket, buddy, whole bed kinda night. All that exercise and the effort not to curse when I discovered I was putting a twin fitted sheet on a double bed woke me up and has left me with an alcohol-free hangover and three loads of laundry.

I asked each girl to write a letter to Santa: Jamie jotted off a quick note asking for more princess dress up gear, Katie asked Santa what kind of cookies he would like us to put out. I don't think she quite gets the gimme gimme concept of Santa yet, and for that I'm grateful. (I did tell her she could ask for something from Santa, and she wrote "Barbie." She left off the Barbie car that I had already told her was too much. Apparently her dreams are easily shot down.)

We got there right at the shindig started, hoping to avoid waiting in line for the horse ride like we did last year. It was freezing cold, and we didn't want to hang out outside any longer than we had to. Santa was there right on time, and Owen ran right up to him and sat on his lap like he owned him. The girls followed, listing their wants with a surprising lack of greed. Santa kept asking Owen if he wanted a truck, and Owen kept insisting that he wanted a Barbie. *sigh* We spent some time catching up with some of our neighbors and friends and promising the kids that we would finish up soon and go get dinner.

The guy with the horse showed up half an hour late, and we ended up waiting in line for another half an hour (outside! freezing!) while he hitched the horse up. The ride itself was lovely and uneventful, aside from Owen's obsession with the "neigh." He spent most of the ride leaning almost prone so he could see around the driver and catch glimpses of the horse's ass. The driver was kind enough to let Owen hold one of the reins, and every time it slipped from his hand he would pitch himself forward over the rail to get to it. I think the only word he said during the entire ride was "neigh," his word for horse.

I guess it was worth freezing our asses off, since what I remember about the night was the fun the kids had.

I didn't really have much to say tonight, so all I was planning was to pat myself on the back with words. Then something happened or came up or I had a flash of brilliance and I thought really? Is this how I want to end it? I decided that content was probably more entertaining than self congratulation.

Unfortunately, I have no idea what that topic was. I can't think of anything exciting that happened today. I've made no exciting decisions or revelations, at least that I can remember. And so it ends like this.

Since, he's the youngest, Owen is usually happy to follow the girls' lead. The only time he really gets to be in front is when he's chasing after the girls and they come up behind him to lap him. He's ok to let them make up the rules, as long as they aren't too complicated and they don't take too long. Other than that, he's ok with pretending to put on make up, dancing with Cinderella's stepsisters, and marrying both of them in a hurried ceremony that ends with a shrieky rendition of Ring Around the Rosy. He loves to try to copy their gymnastics moves, even though his legs are still too short to push him over through even the simplest forward roll. He does much better running behind them as they relevé and chassé down the hall, holding his arms up in the "pretty" position.

Owen may not end up the most masculine of men, but I imagine his future wife will be grateful that he grew up in a house full of sisters.

My grandmother came downstairs the first morning a little before 8. Not long after 9, she went back upstairs to get dressed, and didn't return for almost two hours. Yes, she took a bath, but still.

Every time she goes to the bathroom, you can write off 10 minutes, minimum.

At 7:30, when we sent the kids up for bed, she asked me if we were planning to head to bed, too. She decided to stay up with us "for a little while," and was soon sleeping beside me on the couch. She woke up for an hour or so when my uncle arrived, and then went to bed.

Thanksgiving day was more of the same, except she took a rather long "rest" before dinner, instead of after.

Throw in going up and down the stairs a few times, eating and a slow, slow walk to the park, and you've got a day.

I had wondered what my grandmother did to occupy her days. She doesn't really watch tv, had the internet and cable disconnected after my grandfather died, has no hobbies that I know of I don't think leaves the house alone. Apparently, the business of being alive is enough to keep her busy most days.