Entries from February 2009 ↓

Hardest Game *EVER*

4yr old, to 6yr old, over the breakfast table: “Try to guess the song I’m singing in my head!”

Oh, sure, *now* all 3 of them want to play

Went ice skating yesterday at the Frog Pond.  Was going to be an interesting experience given that I haven’t been on skates in 20+ years,  and Kerry does not skate.  K, the 6 yr old, has been roller skating, so I expect her to do what she always does, stay on her feet and be pulled around.  E, the 4yr old, I expect to be terrified and not want to do it.  No idea what B, the 2yr old, will do.

At first it was as expected – K went all around the rink with frequent stops along the boards, while E screamed from the minute her skates touched the ice and sat back down 30 seconds later saying “I want to go home.”

B, however, was a surprise.  “My turn!  Me next!” he screamed, trying to run for the ice on skates.  Well, at first I tried holding his hand and towing him – no good, he doesn’t have nearly the balance.  Then I try putting him up along the rail to pull himself along.  Still no good, he’s too short.  

Then I did one of those silly Dad things.  (A long time ago, when we only had K, I once put her on my shoulders while we tried to fly a kite.  At the beach, in the sand.  Yeah, you try running in the sand with a small child on your shoulders and not dying.)    This time I bent over, held my son up by his armpits, and then began skating.  He went bananas. Good  bananas, that is.  His skates were going every which way, I’m not even sure they were on the ice at all points, but he didn’t care, he was flying.  With frequent stops at the boards (for Daddy this time), we made it all the way around.  

So when it was E’s turn again, I decided to try the same thing.  Luckily she’s taller so I wasn’t bent over quite so bad.  But guess what?  She loved it too!  So now here’s dad, first time on skates in 20+ years, skating laps bent over 90 degrees like something out of the Olympic speedskating trials, carrying 40lbs of weight in front of him.

I can’t move at all today, but who cares, it was a great time.  I would never have imagined that all three of them would love it (gotta love when  you tell the 2yr old boy it’s his turn and he says “Yay!” and jumps off the bench).  Looking forward to finding some time to go again.

Maybe I’m Not So Old After All

Over last summer I started having this pain in my fingers. Just in the morning, and only for a few minutes – a couple of flexes and it was gone. But for awhile there it was quite painful, enough to give me pause before that first bend because I knew it was going to hurt. I ended up going to the doctor about it in November, and after a quick blood test the nurse practioner told me, even though I am young for it (39), that it was rheumatoid arthritis and I’d need to see a specialist to determine the extent. I remember asking at the time, “Is that just an indicator, or, …” and she said, “No, if this says you have it, you pretty much have it.”

Cut to this week, when I finally got to see the specialist. He tells me, and I quote, “I hate those tests. Those put my kids through college. The majority turn out to be false positives.”

I love that idea – the majority turn out to be false positives. I realize that he’s exaggerating, but that would mean that the test is more often *wrong* than it is correct. He goes on to tell me that the doctor should have explained this to me, and I tell him that no, the NP actually said what she said above.

I’m waiting on the new, “real” blood test, but the rheumatologist(?) said that my level for the original was way low, certainly in the false positive range, and he thinks that rheumatoid for me is a dead end. “So don’t go home and Google it,” he says.

“Should have told me that 3 months ago,” I tell him.

So, just a big shout out to my nurse practioner for that little F up.

There’s no i in Lift-The-Flap Book

Today my daughter Elizabeth was sharing her book with her younger brother. A lift-the-flaps book, I watched as she reached a page with a pyramid of alphabet flaps on it. “I do H,” she told her brother when she got to that letter, “Because it is in my name. H for horse.”

“Confident in how to spell her name,” I thought.

“Ok,” she told her brother, “You do I.”

Coming Soon!

It’s baaaaack….