A Pox on Our House!

No, we aren't dead. We've just been very, very busy between work, vacation, and Xav's asthma (actually, all has been quiet on that front for about a month. Knock on wood.)

Anyway, on the work front, I shouldn't have had time to post tonight because I should have been getting ready for my annual business trip, to the little shindig my employer Kronos likes to call "FedWorks." I have to admit (and, unfortunately, did admit to my boss) that I was not excited about going. None of the customers I deal with on a day-to-day basis are going, and I hate to leave my kids for a day and a half (I miss their funny stories.)

But lo! Be careful what you wish for. Gwen had her six-year wellness visit on May 30th (normal, healthy, needs glasses, for those of you keeping score), and she also had her chicken pox booster that is supposed to bring her immunity level up from the standard 71% chance that most single-vaccine takers get of avoiding the pox. The sheet they gave me assured me that "only one in twenty" people will get a mild rash or a few bumps, and that "extremely rarely" one of those one in twenty can infect another person.

Well, Gwen is a winner! We noticed a suspicious-looking bump on her chest yesterday. Now, Xavier, as an asthma patient, is on Pulmicort, and the warning label on that medication reads, "If you are exposed to chicken pox or measles, contact your pediatrician immediately." No indication of why ("exposure may cause one's head to fall off or spin around?"), and the closest we could find on the web was that Pulmicort suppresses the immune system, making you more susceptible to infection (always a good thing for a kid who's one and only trigger is colds.) So being responsible parents, we called the pediatrician this morning.

The nurse who talked to Adam initially assured him that Gwen was no threat to herself or others, and even with the Pulmicort, Xavier's chances of infection were practically nil, but she would talk to the pediatrician and get back to us. No problem, we thought, reassured, and on my way home from work I picked up our babysitter, who is twelve years old.

I was not alarmed when I saw the light flashing on the answering machine. I was not alarmed when the message asked me to call the pediatrician's. My defenses were down when I spoke to the Dolores-Umbridge-like nurse, who assured me that Gwen was just as contagious as if she actually had the chicken pox and that she should not come in contact with other children. "We've actually seen a large number of children with the booster showing symptoms of the pox," she said gleefully. Great.

Ten minutes later, my childcare strategy was crumbling around me as the babysitter's mother picked her up, I realized that there was one silver lining. I desperately hope Xavier does not come down with chicken pox, but I have to admit, I am glad I am not going on this trip.

Oh, and in case you were wondering, Xavier is trying to convince us that he needs glasses, too.


Another funny Kronos story ... Kronos (not my office) recently released a major upgrade to their Workforce Management software. One of the promotional items they mailed to all the employees were little sheets of magnetic words that you are supposed to use to write poetry on your fridge. Most of my coworkers have posted them -- unseparated -- onto the refrigerator at work. I gave mine to Xavier, who can't read and can't write much, so he uses it kind of like blocks to create magnetic buildings (or, more likely Transformers) on the fridge.

So I was really surprised when I was looking at the words today, trying to come up with a sentence that would look funny magnetically "written" on my car, when I noticed that someone had used some of the words to write, "you don't want to go to www.kronos.com".

"Adam, did you write this?" I asked.

"I did," Gwen replied with a smile. I'm not sure what message she is really trying to convey with that, but ...


On Xavier's side of the world, we are in the process of buying him a bicycle. He is the same age Gwen was when we bought her bike, he paid the price (clean room for a week.) The only problem is, Xavier is pretty petite. We tried the smallest bike at the bike store (a sixteen-inch model), and even with the seat lowered all the way, the bike salesman had to admit it was still too big; I can only think Gwen was a giant at his age. So we had to special order the next size down, and the only silver lining was that at least Xav could have his first choice of color -- red -- instead of settling for the green sixteen-incher.

Well, the time of delivery came and went ... nothing. It finally reached the point that even Xavier could perceive he had been waiting too long, so I called today and they checked the status.

When they called me back, the woman said, "Here's the deal -- that red bike was just put on the truck in California today, so it won't be here for two weeks. But we do have a yellow one on the way that should be here by Friday -- you could have that one."

Life is full of hard choices, and I did not feel comfortable making this decision without input from the big man himself. With the woman on the phone, I pulled Xavier over to my lap and explained the situation: "Look, Xav, your bike has been delayed, but the red one you selected is on it's way now. You can either wait two weeks for that bike, or you can have a yellow one they are expecting to have at the end of the week. So, which would you prefer -- to wait for the red one, or take the yellow one when it gets in?"

Without hesitation, Xavier replied, "I want the green one."


In other Xavier news, yesterday the kids went to church with me, and, as usual, we were running late. After I got my dress on, but before I combed my hair, I stepped into their bathroom to check their teeth-brushing progress. Xavier looked up at me and smiled, and said, "You look boo-ti-ful, Mommy!"

"Why, thank you, Xavier!" I replied.

Then he added, "Now, go put on your lipstick!"


One more story (to make up for the month and a half of silence) ... Adam dropped the kids by my office today at lunchtime because he sometimes plays cards with one of my coworkers. My office is on the third floor. When they arrived, they walked past the elevator (which they usually beg to take), assumed superhero poses, and cried, "Let's take ... the stairs!" Laughing and giggling, they ran chattering up to the third floor, mostly discussing how taking the stairs is good for the environment.

I'm glad I've managed to teach them something.