Edward’s procedure went great. When Elizabeth had her tonsils out, they had me go into the operating room with her; I was dreading this part with Edward, because of how Elizabeth had panicked when they put the mask on, and because I cry at anything dramatic and an operating room is just PACKED with dramatic elements. But this was a different hospital and a different doctor, and one or both of those things meant that I didn’t go into the operating room this time: they wheeled him out of the room where he’d changed into the hospital johnny, and I stayed behind at that point, and to my relief I didn’t cry. He was so calm about it, I wondered if maybe he didn’t realize he was going in on his own—but I asked him afterward, and no, he’d known, but the anesthesiologist had given him her tablet with Angry Birds on it, so he was busy.

When he woke up in Recovery about an hour and a half later, he immediately pulled out the nose-oxygen thing and started pulling at his other wires. The nurse came over and asked how he was feeling, and he said, “Actually, I haven’t had my procedure yet.” When she assured him that he had and it was all over, he was near tears because he said they didn’t have him count down or even tell him they were about to knock him out: “I just BLINKED and I was HERE!” It’s possible he’s forgotten, but I remember counting down from my own anesthesia experiences, and so do Elizabeth and my mom from theirs, so my guess is that they just put the anesthetic in his IV and didn’t mention it to him. He complained on this theme for quite some time, still slurring his words and picking at the tape holding the IV on his hand. But soon he felt better and had some juice and crackers, and then we went home.

I’d expected him to feel pretty bad all that day: the doctor said recovery would be a day or two, and that the first day he’d probably be on the couch with no appetite. I’d brought a bucket in the car in case he needed to throw up, and I’d braced for a lot of whining. But instead he seemed perfectly normal. Maybe he ate a little less dinner than usual, but it was still within his normal range. He was playing and cheerful, no couch time. He mentioned his throat was a little sore that day and the next day, and we gave him ibuprofen for that, and that was it.

Part of it, I gather, is that they switched anesthesia plans at the last minute, from the mask type to the hand-IV type. They usually use the mask type for children, maybe because that’s more comfortable for the child (Edward did greatly dislike having the needle put into the back of his hand). But the nurse in Recovery mentioned that the IV type of anesthetic is easier to come out of.

The doctor says everything looked normal, and he gave us some cool color photos of the inside of Edward. There was one place that showed signs of irritation, but the doctor said he’d had trouble getting the camera there and so the camera itself might have caused the irritation. Biopsy results will be back in about a week, but the GI doctor seems ready to send us back to the hematologist now for the next step.

The prep the day before went fine, too. He definitely needed to be home for it, but we had a happy day (I let him have as much video games and television as he wanted) and he wasn’t very hungry. He ate Italian ice and Jell-o, and he drank Gatorade and juice, and I asked him to list his least favorite foods and I made one of those for everyone else’s dinner (lasagna, in case you were about to feel sorry for us).

I forgot to mention one of my most important preparations for Edward’s endoscopy: I ordered a box of See’s chocolates and scheduled it to be delivered to me the day before the procedure. When I ordered it, it seemed like a mildly good idea, maybe a little silly/unnecessary/impulsive. Today, it seems like THE BEST IDEA IN THE HISTORY OF THE UNIVERSE.

THANK YOU, by the way, for all the great comments. I’m finding the suggestions helpful, and the experiences helpful + reassuring. The FIRST TIME of anything can be so disproportionately overwhelming.

********

A few days ago, I complained on Twitter that I could NOT find the kind of legwarmers I wanted for Elizabeth, where “what I wanted” was defined as being able to buy them easily from a place like Old Navy or Target, with lots of choices of colors and patterns, for something like $5/pair. I could find lots of special dance legwarmers for ridiculous dance-gear prices, but not what I WANTED which was to be able to buy her several pairs without really thinking about it. I whined at some length, and Twitter was the perfect place for that kind of whining because people immediately started jumping up with sources and ideas. (My mom is intrigued by the idea of making legwarmers out of the arms of thrift-store sweaters; my own sewing skills end at using sewing scissors to snip the tags off of purchased items.)

Anyway, I feel a little embarrassed to say that after all that, I found legwarmers at Target. Just sitting there in, like, three solids and three patterns, plus two FUR options. For $5/pair, just like I asked for. I would have SWORN I’d looked there, but…the evidence suggests otherwise. I bought a pair of cream-colored knit ones with pom-poms, a pair of dark pink knit ones with bows, and a pair of black fake-fur ones.

Elizabeth has not taken the black fur ones off since I got home from the store. She is even sleeping in them. She has a black fake-fur coat that matches them exactly, so she is looking pretty decked out for third grade.

I was heading into the grocery store, and as per usual (except if the carts are wet/snowy/absent) I took a cart in with me from the parking lot—and this time I’d noticed a cart someone had left actually IN a parking space, so I took that one. This gave me a very pleasant hit of self-satisfaction and, as I was enjoying that chemical, I thought that what’s missing from such tasks in general is CREDIT. What I said I like about my FitBit is that I feel like someone is watching approvingly; if there is no deity in your life to take that job, it can be very satisfying to find a substitute.

For life arenas such as shopping carts, what we need are Good Citizen Points. One point for taking a cart in with you from the parking lot, which means your net effect on the cart situation is zero: you didn’t add a cart an employee would have to come outside to collect. You’d achieve the same effect by taking a cart from inside and then returning it inside (instead of to the corral), so you’d get one point for that as well. One additional point for taking in a cart that was loose in the parking lot causing trouble. One more point if that involved going out of your way to fetch it. But maybe take off half a point if you knew people were seeing you be so righteous.

One point for letting someone merge at a tricky intersection. One point for picking up a piece of trash. One point for holding a door. Additional points for any activity that causes you additional inconvenience or discomfort: an extra point for trash that is damper or dirtier or farther away; an extra point for holding the door when it’s freezing out; an extra point for letting someone merge when you’re in a hurry.

Likewise, points can be lost. There are a very few people who have legitimate reasons not to return shopping carts to a parking lot corral; everyone else loses a point. (Parking lots without corrals are a different category.) Leaving the cart in the middle of a good parking space loses an additional point. (People who literally can’t return the cart can gain a point by putting the cart where it doesn’t block a parking space and is at least partially prevented from getting blown into someone else’s car.) Dropping a piece of trash accidentally and not picking it up loses a point. (I am not even addressing deliberate littering. What would be next: figuring out how many Good Citizen Points someone loses for robbing the store?)

You lose a point for pretending not to see someone who wants to merge. Lose a point per minute of tailgating. Lose a point for sighing audibly in a long line.

Ideally these points would be automatically tallied by a supernatural being. Lacking that, maybe those little click-counter things, if those can subtract as well as add? You’d press the button every time you’d earned/lost a point, and at the end of the day you could look at your total. A device similar to the FitBit would upload your points to a computer or phone so you could see your progress over time.

It will be tempting, I know, to start Overdoing the points. I noticed this with attempted additions to the Holiday Card Scoring System: we start out with plus-one point here and minus-one point there, and before you know it’s it’s “What about X? MINUS FIFTY POINTS, right??” No. This throws off the scale. If a behavior generates or subtracts more than a point or two or three, we are leaving the jurisdiction of Good Citizen Points. Perhaps a very few activities might qualify, but only a very few.

It will also be tempting to use points to grade other people’s behavior rather than one’s own. One point lost for each incidence.

I am back from another extremely fun weekend with my brother, my sister-in-law, my niece and nephew, and my sister-in-law’s two siblings. WE HAVE SO MUCH FUN. I highly recommend having someone from your family marry someone from their family.

The problem with having so much fun is that it can feel a bit drab to return to normal life. This weekend we were shopping in a candy store, having white wine at a tavern, laughing so hard I was about two millimeters from accidentally sobbing, and for breakfast eating leftover filet mignon and mushrooms with our scrambled eggs and waffles and candy. And now it is Monday morning and I have eaten a clementine for breakfast because nothing is like filet mignon. I ate it moodily, and resentfully.

Next week Edward is scheduled for an endoscopy/colonoscopy to see if his anemia is related to something intestinal. He’ll be unconscious for it, which is for me the most nerve-wracking part. When Elizabeth had her tonsillectomy a couple of years ago, one of the worst moments was when they put the mask on her face and her eyes went panicky. It’s a mercifully short moment, but it’s challenging to have a calm and soothing parental reaction to panicked child-eyes in an operating room. I might be better at it this time because I am prepared for it to happen—or it might be worse, because I will be anticipating it.

As with Elizabeth’s surgery, my anxiety about Edward’s procedure has found its outlet in shopping-based activities. I took longer than you would think possible in the juice aisle at the grocery store (there is a 3-day prep involving significant juice), selecting sports drinks and juice boxes as if my choices could guide the doctor’s hands. (And really, I think this will go better if the one who went to medical school guides his own hands.)

The recovery time is predicted to be much, much shorter than with a tonsillectomy: a day or two instead of two weeks or more. Still, I wanted to get him a few Prep/Procedure/Recovery Presents.

(photo from Amazon.com)

He recently mentioned a video game we got rid of because it was all scratched up, and I happen to already have a replacement copy of it in the gift cupboard, so that’s going to be one. (Or I might give it to him the day before, when he has to miss school because of the pre-procedure.)

(photo from Amazon.com)

He got an Etch-a-Sketch for Christmas, but it was defective and started leaking grit all over the place. I waited to replace it because I thought the company might do so when I contacted them (they didn’t)—but it’s good I waited, because that’s the perfect toy for someone who is on the couch for a day or two.

(photo from Amazon.com)

We’re also getting him a Webkinz hamster he wanted. Some Webkinz are “basic” Webkinz that just get you access to the Webkinz site; others, such as the hamsters, are special ones that, when added to a basic Webkinz account, give you increased access to particular features/areas of the site.

(photo from Amazon.com)

And we’re getting him the Brain Quest 3rd Grade Workbook. He was very enthusiastic about getting this awhile back, but the kids have had such enthusiasms before and then didn’t actually do anything with the acquired workbooks. A perfect gift for when it might not be a success and it wouldn’t really matter.

I went to Target today, and my main mission was the 70%-off Christmas candy, where I achieved multiple bags of Mint Truffle Hershey’s Kisses. Have you tried them? I thought they sounded kind of unappealing, even though I like the chocolate/mint combination. Last year they made it to 90% off so I was like “FINE, I will try them.” And I ended up DRIVING BACK TO THE STORE the next day, because the whole bag was already gone and I couldn’t wait all the way to next Christmas to have more of them. Today I also bought some Cherry Cordial Hershey’s Kisses, because those sound unappealing too but look how well the mint truffle ones turned out.

Then we browsed around the store awhile, buying some boring things like dental floss, Sharpie markers, and a tri-fold presentation board for Rob. But also: in the stationery and wrapping paper area, there was an end-cap of FOX STUFF. I had a mug in the cart almost before I’d drawn a breath. AND it came in a cute little box.

(Mediocre photo: the blue is more cornflower than turquoise)

I stood there dithering and wanting ONE EACH OF EVERYTHING ELSE, but for now I just have the mug. I don’t think I actually have a use for a pencil bag or for file folders, even if they DO have foxes on them.

• Rob has longish hair, and has been complaining about how long it takes to towel-dry it.

• My own hair seems to be thinning at the hairline, and I wondered if bundling it in a bath towel every morning could be making that worse.

• Elizabeth is not able to balance a bath towel on her head, and a bath towel is overkill for her hair anyway.

These three things led to the purchase of three Turbie Twists, which I did NOT see on TV but instead saw on Amazon when I searched for “hair towels.” It is a little embarrassing to buy an “as seen on TV” product, like getting an Oprah’s Book Club book or a celebrity-chef-endorsed tool. “THAT IS NOT WHY I’M GETTING IT,” I want to explain. I ordered a two-pack from Amazon.com for $11 (I got aqua/white), and then I found one-packs at HomeGoods for $5 each in colors I didn’t like for myself (animal prints, black) but also a brown that was perfect for Rob.

(photo from Amazon.com)

Anyway. I put one Turbie Twist in each of our Christmas stockings, and I have tried mine for nine mornings now and am ready to report.

First, I HATE the feel of the microfiber. I hate it SO MUCH. It feels like it’s snagging on every single molecule of my hands.

But I have gotten over this, because I really like it once it’s on my head and I’m not touching it. It’s much lighter-weight than a bath towel, and I can get dressed and put on shoes and make-up with it on. I think it’s significantly cuter than a bath towel, too, and the end tucks into an elastic loop so it won’t fall off. And the hair pocket is long enough for my hair, which is almost bra-strap-length down to the horizontal bra strap MID-BACK LENGTH. (I think I could bundle hair in even if it were quite a bit longer, but see next paragraph.) And we have a shortage of towel-hanging devices in our bathroom, so it’s nice to have one fewer towels to find space for.

One problem I have is that my hair is not only long but thick. So although the Turbie Twist is cuter and more comfortable than a bath towel, I notice no miraculous drying effects: my hair is about as dry as when I use a bath towel, and if anything it’s a little wetter. Today I had a genius idea, an idea that was probably written in the instructions if I’d bothered to read them: nest TWO Turbie Twists, one inside the other. I tried that this morning and still didn’t notice any impressive drying, but my hair was at least no wetter than when I balance a whole bath towel on my head.

If you want to feel painfully, empathetically self-conscious for all of humanity (and why WOULD you want to feel that way, is the first question), I suggest reading the mini-autobiographies at the back of a many-contributer short-story collection. Look at everyone striving for that balance of informative, creative, self-promoting, self-deprecating, likeable, and witty. I pity us all.

Well! *brisk clap* It’s New Year’s Eve! I have had three main stages of Making Resolutions:

First Stage: childhood – early 20s. Made resolutions such as “Lose weight” and “Exercise more” and “Spend less money.”

Second Stage: early 20s – early 30s. Inspired by my even-before-online friend Surely, who made fun/interesting/achievable resolutions such as “Choose a scent for our household.” Made resolutions such as “Play the stock market with pretend money for a year, to see if I want to do it for real” and “Either buy the discontinued lavender-vanilla conditioner on eBay or else quit whining about it” and “Drink champagne more often than once a year” and “Try just ONE reusable pad so I can see if it’s something I’m even WILLING to resolve to do” and “Throw out that bottle of lotion I hate and buy another kind.”

Third Stage: now. No resolutions—but in an ennui sort of way rather than a strong, declarative, “I don’t make resolutions” sort of way. I could start up again AT ANY TIME. But I think I used up all my interesting ideas and/or lost interest in thinking of more. Now I stay up, drink champagne, eat pizza rolls, and think about how I used to have interesting resolutions.

Another tradition I dropped was The Transferring of the Calendar. For YEARS that has been my traditional New Year’s Eve activity: taking the old calendar and transferring all the birthdays, anniversaries, piano lessons, etc. to the new calendar. I thought I liked that: an excellent way to pass the time, and also a pleasingly symbolic and thoughtfulness-producing activity (Rob will turn FIFTEEN this year; Oh, look, it’s been a year since Elizabeth had that appointment; Oh, there’s Lauren’s due date!). This year I realized I HATE having to do that on New Year’s Eve and it makes me feel frazzled and burdened, so I did it a few days ago. Much better.

Well! We had a very nice Christmas!

I had a fun idea for the stockings this year: fortune cookies. Edward mentioned them a few weeks ago in a “WHEN will we EVER have fortune cookies AGAIN??” format, as if he had been begging and begging and had been repeatedly refused, as opposed to never mentioning them before. I bought a bag of individually wrapped ones (I found them at Target for $3-something, then later saw a similar bag for $2-something at our grocery store near the soy sauce) and put one in everyone’s stocking. Some of them were the disappointing non-fortunes (“Friendship is the meeting of hearts”), but you’ll be happy to hear that I can expect a promotion, and that Edward’s moment of glory is nigh. (Edward, just now: “I think that already happened because of me opening the first good fortune!”) I hope I can remember to do those again next year.

Paul gave me a bottle of L’Artisan Thé Pour un Été, and my dad and I had fun translating it. He knew “été” was “summer” and “pour” was “for,” but neither of us knew “Thé.” Then later I was sniffing my wrists and I thought, “This smells like tea,” and then I asked my dad if “Thé” could be “tea,” and he said YES, and so this perfume is called Tea for Summer.

Every single person of adult size (Rob, William, my brother, my sister-in-law, me, Paul, my mom, my dad) got a pair of the men’s fox-patterned pajama pants from Target. FOX PANTS EVERYWHERE. My parents gave me a fox phone case and a framed print of a fox, and my brother and sister-in-law gave me a fox mug and a fox ornament, and my sister-in-law’s sister gave me a stuffed fox, so it was a fox Christmas.

I gave my sister-in-law a cute owl contact-lens case, a gift that revealed that I was going around thinking that if someone wasn’t wearing glasses, it meant they had their contacts in. But do you know what? This is not always true! Some people don’t need their vision corrected AT ALL! Luckily, my brother wears contacts. So now he has THREE owl contact lens cases, because I’d bought him one as well, and so did my sister-in-law. And I gave one to Paul, too, so it was also an owl-contact-lens-case Christmas.

I gave my niece a pair of Converse I wish I could have for myself:

(photo from target.com)

We bought Rob the DFTBA Chemistry poster. He unwrapped it down to the mailing tube, and went on at some length to his aunt/uncle/grandparents about how this might SEEM like a lame present but ACTUALLY it was awesome because he’s been wanting something to do pretend sword-fighting with friends, and I’d vetoed golf clubs. He talked for quite awhile before I realized he genuinely thought the tube was his gift.

We have had rather bad luck with toys BREAKING this year: broken in the package, or dead batteries included, or breaking the first day of play. I have already written to two companies to complain, and my dad has written to a third.

I would like to inquire politely about YOUR Christmas experience (if applicable), but am increasingly reluctant to end posts with questions (or title them with numbers).

I just got back from a completely delightful trip to the grocery store, which is not the way I expected to start this sentence when I set out. One thing that was delightful is that although the children have no school, I brought no children with me. This is a state of affairs that felt like it would take FOREVER to arrive, and it DID take forever, but now it is here.

Another delightful thing is that we are having an icy drizzle, and the store had stationed a nice high-school-aged-boy employee to stand in the parking lot with a huge umbrella and say “May I walk you in?” Completely charming. I wish I had taken him up on it for the pure charm factor, rather than laughing with surprise and saying “No, thank you! But thank you!” But he didn’t ask me until I was about ten strides from the store, and it seemed like I could make it from there.

Another delightful thing is that it was jusssst crowded enough to give the pleasant feeling of holiday bustle and social unity, while not being crowded to the point where I start thinking of other people as nothing but slow, irritating barriers to success. And while I was paused waiting for a classic plump sweet elderly lady to carefully select some cheese, my eye wandered to a display of THESE:

The cat gives a poor impression of scale somehow. In person, these look like “Wow, you could give that spectacular bundle as a gift to an entire office staff” gifts; with the cat, they look like, “Hm, well, they’re smaller than a cat, so.” Each bundle has one each of the Lindt Santas and Lindt bears we put in stockings, AND a Christmas-tree-shaped box with 15 assorted Lindt truffles in it, AND a pretty red bag of 12 Lindt truffles, AND a pretty red be-bowed box with, presumably, more Lindt truffles in it (I can see the nutrition labels for the other box and the bag, but not for this box), AND about two handfuls of assorted Lindt truffles scattered around to cover the false bottom. Plus the whole thing is in a nice sturdy red box that looks like it would be great for saving postcards. So this would make a nice Big Gift OR it would be easy to split it up among various recipients. The usual price is $25, but it was marked down to $9.99 so I bought two. Thank you, endearingly-slow cheese-choosing lady! I never would have noticed them otherwise!

Now I have the fun of deciding what to do with them. (That is how I am spinning the “I didn’t actually have a use for these so probably shouldn’t have bought them at all, but I have a very difficult time resisting a good sale.”) I was thinking one would make a fun surprise gift to a neighbor or a friend or an office staff. Or maybe I could just eat them myself. Or one of each! Or break both up and keep some things and give some things! Fun decision!

Another delightful thing is that I bought our Christmas Eve dinner, which made me feel accomplished and Ready For Christmas. Our family celebrates on Christmas Eve (apparently this is a holdover from our Dutch roots, or possibly from our too-busy-on-Christmas-morning pastor/farmer roots), and when I was growing up we always had soup for dinner: we’d have started in on the candy with our afternoon Christmas stockings and wouldn’t be very hungry, and yet we needed SOMETHING sustaining before the Christmas Eve service, the candy-eating during gift-opening, and the late-night worstenbroodjes (Dutch version of pigs-in-blankets).

And so when I grew up I made soup for my family, too. And a problem emerged: I was the only one who liked soup and also could eat it without making a huge mess. Last year I hit upon what I think we’ll probably do from now on: I put out cheese, crackers, apple slices, clementine segments, grapes, yogurt, and nuts, and just let everyone go at it while I had a bowl of soup. And the grapes I got this year are GREAT grapes, so that’s happy too.

The final delightful thing is that right before I left for the store, my lying liar children all denied being the one to make a mess, which is a situation I find intensely frustrating. And instead of continuing with the interrogation/lecture protocol I’ve employed many times with zero success, I said that I was leaving for the grocery store and that I had left a roll of paper towels by the mess, and that whoever had done it should just clean it up before I got home—that I didn’t need to know WHO had done it, I just didn’t think it was fair that I should have to clean it up. And when I got home, it had been cleaned up. Not quite as good as “Mother, I cannot tell a lie: _I_ made that mess, and I grieve for the sorrow my delayed confession has caused you,” but a victory nevertheless.