Four. At least four. I’m too lazy to go look right now.

They’re posts I’ve started & have every intention of finishing, but then I get distracted by books & LOST [Yes, I realize I'm about nine years late to that party, but I don't even care because if I want to know what's going to happen on the next episode, I can just watch it right away instead of waiting six months on some crazy cliffhanger] & the things I need to do around my house [That list is long. I do not like that list.] & yada, yada, yada.

I wish I could add running to that list. But the truth is, I’ve run exactly twice in the past three weeks. BUT I HAVE AN EXCELLENT EXCUSE. You see, I’m a terminal klutz. I trip over flat surfaces. I don’t wear heels because I don’t like them, but also because I feel like I run the risk of falling off of them every time I do. I once broke my ankle by throwing a kick in a sparring match [true story; my mom heard the crack from the viewing area thingy of my karate school]. Oh, and then there was the time I jammed my finger my freshman year of high school playing basketball in gym, and then my swimming coach decided I should start practicing backstroke at practice that afternoon. You see where this is going, right? For those of you who don’t, I whacked my injured pinky finger off of the starting block because I counted my strokes from the flags incorrectly.

I’m telling you, Bella Swan has got nothing on me.

Anyway.

I was at work one morning, set up in a room I sometimes use when I have to take Bear with me [there is a TV & a collection of Veggie Tales DVDs in that room] & I was trying to move my stuff around so I didn’t have to jump up every time the phone rang. I was shifting things around, pulled on an Ethernet cable to attach it to my laptop, & knocked an end table over. No lie, my reaction was, “Ouch. That hurt. What copies did I need to make?” Twenty minutes later, I figured I should take a look to see how bad the bruise was.

I had a golf ball sized lump on my foot. At that point, it didn’t hurt, but I went downstairs & asked the nice gentlemen at the coffee shop if I could please have a bag of ice & a towel. I had planned on going running that afternoon. I most decidedly did not go running. In fact, I didn’t run again until last Saturday. My foot protested big time. It swelled & turned about four different lovely shades of purple & green. It didn’t like when I ran last night either, but I’ve decided no bruise can get me down.

Because I have convinced myself that’s all it is. Well, that & I had it x-rayed the Saturday after it happened. The thing is, it still hurts in the morning or when I finally sit down after a day of doing stuff. And the bruising has maybe started to shift to my toes. I’ve been told that’s perfectly normal & I don’t need to worry.

Which is good. Because I don’t especially need anything else to worry about right now. I have enough of that, thankyouverymuch. Including Kindergarten. Yikes.

Thursday evening, I got a text message letting me know Moyamoya was on Grey’s Anatomy. Which, you know, awesome. Because awareness is awareness is awareness. [I literally said that to a friend the night before regarding her Cushing's Disease, but that's for another post.]

I finally got a change to see the episode on Saturday night. I waited, even though I knew it was on HuluPlus because M asked me to watch it with him.

How did I feel about it in a single word? Disappointed. It was mentioned in a total of five scenes. McDreamy did say something along the lines of, “You know what’s interesting? Moyamoya.” as he was walking away from the interns, but then it was only in the surgery scene & at the very end when his intern was complaining about how she had to do that surgery instead of another one. There was a brief scene where McDreamy was attempting to explain the surgery to Iris’s parents [Iris - a young girl - was the patient he was doing the surgery on. Which makes sense, as Moyamoya generally manifests in children.] but her  brother was running around, so I don’t think a lot of it got through to people watching who had no idea what they were seeing. And it annoyed me to no end that the kid was screaming over the explanation. Probably because I have it, but whatever.

The surgery made sense [though it wasn't like either one I had], but I felt like they literally glossed over what Moyamoya is. The last scene with Iris and her family, where she was grabbing a ball & showing her strength was returning after being weakened by TIAs was very sweet, though.

It might be that people finally stop looking at me like I sneezed when I tell them why I’ve had brain surgery. It may not. This may open a world of awareness. But most likely, it will just be a cool anecdote I can tell now. “Right, Moyamoya. Like that one episode of Grey’s Anatomy.”

I kind of wish it had been on House. At lest they focused on one patient & their own interpersonal issues instead of three or four patients at one time in addition to the crazy persona lives of the doctors.

What I failed to mention in that post is that our family was scheduled for concessions duty at Butter’s t-ball game on Saturday. M had to work, so that duty fell to me. I briefly considered calling Butter’s coach on Friday & begging for a replacement, but I didn’t really want to do that to anyone last minute. Besides, Bear woke up fairly bright eyed & bushy tailed on Saturday morning thanks to just around twelve hours of sleep.

He was a little cranky before the game, but I thought we were in the clear.

We so weren’t.

After I worked the concession stand for a bit, I came back down to watch the rest of the game. I missed Butter’s at bat that inning because I was talking to either my dad or my mother in law, but no big deal. It was quickly pointed out to me that Bear – despite having slept twelve hours – seemed like he was headed for a nap. Then I put a hand on him & realized he was hotter than he should be. I quickly stripped his sweatshirt off of him [Did you know taking a two year old's sweatshirt off is the worst thing ever? It totally is.] & he sat in my lap for the remainder of the game. At one point, he started crying & generally punching at me. I guess it was because the sun was too hot? Or he was just miserable? Doesn’t matter the reason, it happened.

Then he fell asleep. And I realized I’d carried everything myself & it had been easy because Bear was walking when we arrived. I had a lot of help getting back to the car. Butter got a game ball & he was absolutely thrilled. See?

When we arrived home from the game, I put Bear to bed. That was a bad idea & he let me know it. Loudly. I finally sent Butter up to open the bedroom door so Bear could come downstairs, but guess who ended up carrying him down fifteen minutes later. [Hint: Not Butter.] It was right around then that I realized there was no way were going to get to do anything, so I popped in a movie & asked Bear if he wanted to lay with me on the sofa. I thought I could get him to take a nap that way. Turns out, he didn’t want to do that. Instead, I snuggled up with Butter & we started watching Rookie of the Year.

Then Bear miraculously decided he wanted to lay with me. So he climbed up on my legs. After throwing a fit about which blanket he had on, he finally wiggled around enough so his head was facing the back of the sofa & promptly fell asleep on both Butter & me. Thank God I didn’t have to pee while I was buried under a pile of boy. Eventually, Butter had to potty, so he got down & Bear snuggled up on my chest. I even got to doze for a little while.

[Sidenote: It probably wasn't the best idea to let my four year old watch Rookie of the Year. If he remembers his favorite saying - "Pitcher's got a big butt!" - at his game on Tuesday? I am in so. much. trouble.]

When Bear woke up, he was a chatter box. I knew he must be feeling better. At that point, I realized M was working a double, so we went to visit him & got new books at the Barnes & Noble right next door, because I needed that bit of adult interaction, okay?

Shortly after M came home, I told him I was going to go check on the boys before I turned in for the night. Not even kidding, I’m glad he went in before me. Bear, who was feeling so much better, had had an episode of diarrhea in his sleep. Not explosive, but it did leak out of his PJs. I am so glad M changed that diaper. At one point, he had Bear standing up on the changing table, waiting for me to bring fresh PJs, and he was using the shirt of the dirty PJs to swipe away at the poo that had leaked on to the changing table. It was at that point I said to him, “Stop, you’re literally spreading crap around right now.”

When I told M last night about writing this post, he immediately defended himself. He said he was trying to wipe stuff up so Bear wouldn’t step in it. I told him there wasn’t much “stuff” in what was on the changing pad, at which point he deadpanned, “There were more Hs than Os in that poo, okay?”

M: 1, Me: 0

But this moment right here? Made the entire weekend worth it.

That moment & the moment you tell your husband, “Stop, you’re literally spreading crap around right now.” [Don't worry, that's in tomorrow's post, too.]

Last Friday, Butter got sick. He woke me up at 5:30 in the morning. His bed was covered in vomit, and he – thankfully – managed to get the rest in a toilet or a trash can for the rest of the day.

Admittedly, it resulted in a lot of TV & a nap he didn’t think he needed.

Excuse the saltine crumbs on the floor next to him.

Then on Wednesday, I got the bug. It was fine, because even though I nearly vomited at the smell of their dinner, the boys seemed to be fine at the end of the night.

And then Bear woke me up around 12:30 this morning. His bed was covered in vomit & he was screaming at the top of his lungs. He has not managed to get any much in the toilet or trash can today. I had to wake M up to change PJs & clean up Bear while I stripped his bed & threw everything in the wash. After his first change, Bear threw up all over me & then M took the first shift [12:45ish to 3:15] and I got to nap fitfully on the sofa from 3:15 on while Bear woke up every 20-30 minutes asking for a sip of water or Gatorade or a hug or his blanket fixed.

When he got up around 6:15, I finally asked him if he wanted to watch Blue’s Clues. This was our morning.

While I took Butter to school and then registered him for Kindergarten [ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!], M hung out with Bear. He managed to get down half a waffle & some bread crust. When I got home, he was standing at the garage door in our laundry room, crying. That lasted for a good half hour, I think.

Then we sat down to watch something besides Blue’s Clues. Did you know Rugrats is on Netflix? It is. And this is what Bear thinks of it.

I must say, though, Bear wins for funniest sleeping position ever. This was after he woke up, threw a fit about how I dared to keep his feet on my lap while he dosed, and refused to come near me after he got down. [Please ignore the voice that makes me seem like I spent the night in a smokey bar. I'm exhausted, okay?! Also: I'm aware this will probably require therapy in the future. We'll start saving now.]

At present, he’s had three waffles & I think 2.5 of them came up just a few minutes after I sent M a text a work telling him Bear’s fever seemed to have broken. I have watched more Blue’s Clues than any one person should be subjected to [and we're going to go ahead and pretend Joe doesn't exist]. I considered tossing newspaper over the last bout of vomit, a la Big Daddy.

I’ve had a fair amount of time to read today, but not really much time to nap. I’m exhausted. I want my husband to come home so I can share all of this with him. But mostly? I want to shower. A shower would be PHENOMENAL.