The things I hate about exercise are too numerous to…enumerate. Which isn’t going to stop me.

I hate being hot. I hate sweating. I hate hearing it wouldn’t be boring and hateful if I’d just find the kind of exercise I LOVE, DUH! I hate how the first month I start exercising I put on ten pounds, and I don’t lose it until I (inevitably) quit exercising. I hate how no amount of exercise is ever considered “enough”: you always need to be doing MORE.

I don’t know if I could choose my absolute least-favorite thing about exercise, but today the honor goes to how much TIME it takes. When Henry started three-morning-a-week preschool last fall, I had a little talk with myself. I was pretty stern. I informed myself that with three mornings all by myself in the house, I certainly could spare 30 minutes three times a week to exercise.

And is it 30 minutes? Is it hell. From the moment I pull out the Wii Fit board until the moment I’m dressed in non-gross clothes again, it’s 60 minutes. And that’s to get an amount of exercise many people would consider completely negligible, and may I just as an aside kick their legs out from under them as they head out for their lazy little 5-mile run because they’re taking it easy today.

So, to exercise just enough that my doctor assumes I’m lying to her, it costs me three hours per week (plus ten pounds). That is a lot of time. And in case you are feeling tempted to argue with me, let me say it again with more of a “now is not the right moment for a receptive response to that argument” spin to my eye contact: THAT IS A LOT OF TIME. Three hours a week is a lot of time. Do you want me to add “to me” to the end of that sentence? I will at the end of the paragraph, but right now I’m to riled up to add that qualifier. I suppose if I were sitting around bored, flipping channels and then going to bed early because I couldn’t think of anything else to do, it might not be that big of a deal to me. But I spend every day almost PANTING with things I need/want to do. I hate bedtime because I’m always in the middle of something. Three hours is a lot of time to me.

It means giving up three hours of things I would rather do, every single week, for a benefit I have to take on faith. I am forced to assume it’s worth it. I am forced to assume the exercise benefit is better for my health than the extra ten pounds is bad for it. I am forced to assume that if I am someday fortunate enough to be an old lady, I will be more grateful for the three hours a week I spent exercising than I would be if I’d spent the three hours a week blogging or reading or cleaning or doing ANYTHING AT ALL I’D RATHER DO. Which I AM assuming, which is why I’m more than four months into this latest effort. But I am not HAPPY about it, and I’m not going to call it “me time” or “time for MYSELF” or whatever: this is a sacrifice, and I hate it. It’s CHORE time. If I were someone who used the expression “Me time,” I’d reserve it for things I LIKE DOING. Such as writing about how much I hate exercising.

Upside of Googling images of rashes: really puts child’s scary rash into perspective. Downside of Googling images of rashes: OMG OMG OMG AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.

This morning Edward has what looks like a bunch of mosquito bites on his leg, joined up the way they get when there are a lot of bites close together. And he’s on amoxicillin, and the stuff I read about allergic reactions said it’s very hard for a layperson to tell the difference between a scary-looking but non-allergic rash and a scary-looking but allergic rash, so I’m not giving him this morning’s amoxicillin until I get it checked out, and I’ll call the doctor’s office as soon as it opens. And I gave him benadryl.

I also got everyone else ready early, in case we suddenly need to zoom to the emergency room. It makes me feel better to feel READY, even if I think the likelihood of needing that readiness is LOW. I’m trying to imagine how I’d feel if I had to go to the ER but Elizabeth’s hair was still like cotton candy, and she wasn’t dressed, and no one could find shoes, and Henry had breakfast on his face. No, better to get ready just in case. It’s not like we’ll WASTE the getting-ready: they still need to do it.

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Rash has spread to his cheeks and ears. This part isn’t mosquito-bite-like, just very red and rashy. Mosquito-bite stuff spreading up his legs and down his ankles. He’s itchy, but cool washcloths and the benadryl seem to have helped quite a bit. Still no breathing issues, and no rash on his torso.

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We’re back from the pediatrician’s. It was a little dramatic: I called the nurse at opening time and told her what was going on and she said “…How soon can you get here? Can you come in right now?” So it WAS good I had everyone totally ready. Apparently saying “amoxicillin” and “rash” together is like saying “middle-aged man” and “chest pains” together.

And it looks like it is indeed a penicillin allergy, luckily without any breathing issues involved this time. But now he has a red sticker on his chart. I asked if he could go back to school today and the doctor said yes—but he hesitated before saying it. And then when I got home and started to write the note to the teacher I reconsidered and decided to just keep him home. I’d like to watch him, and also he looks DREADFUL: anyone seeing him would assume he had an apocalyptic disease and was spreading it to all the other children. The school would have the doctor’s note, but the other parents wouldn’t know.

Interesting thing the doctor said: that some people are only allergic to the LIQUID form of penicillin, but can take the capsules later on with no trouble. Hm. But probably most people wouldn’t want to EXPERIMENT with that.

Here is something I’d like to know: is penicillin allergy hereditary? Paul’s mother claimed that Paul was allergic to penicillin, so of course Paul has had to say so to all his doctors over the years, and it’s been a bit of a hassle. (When he went in with strep last week, the doctor said “Any allergies to medications?” and he said “Penicillin” and she said “WRONG ANSWER.”)

But Paul’s mother also diagnosed Paul’s sister with many food allergies, and never got doctor confirmation for any of them (and either his sister outgrew them all or else she never had them to begin with), so it’s a little hard to say—especially since when I was looking things up online I found there can be a very scary-looking non-itchy rash from amoxicillin that DOESN’T mean allergy. And yet if I’d seen that rash on one of my children, I definitely would have assumed allergy. So I’m wondering if that’s what she did. When she was alive I tried to ask her more about it, but she just kept stating that he WAS allergic, be-LEEEVE her he was allergic, and I got nowhere.

…I’ve been kind of rambling all around, and it’s losing the questions which are the POINT of this post, so I’m going to put them here, on their own:

1. Are penicillin allergies hereditary?

2. Wait, I guess that was my only question.

I lay awake last night going over and over in my mind all the unpleasant hurdles I was going to have to navigate in order to get the new UTI treated. First: do I make an appointment, or do I try to get the doctor to call in a prescription? I’d prefer the latter, but it means dealing with attitude from the receptionist; and should I give her attitude back? what KIND of attitude would be most effective? (Effective = makes her burn with shame at the way she was treating a patient, followed by making her eager to appease me by helping me—as opposed to riling her up and making her accidentally drop my message into the wrong pile and/or into the trash.) Let’s rehearse all the attitude-giving options here, in my mind, in the dark, at 1:00 in the morning.

Then, if the doctor is willing to call in the prescription with no appointment, there is often a many-hour wait before he or she DOES SO (once it was 2:00 in the afternoon, when I’d called at 8:30), so that in the past I’ve decided I might as well just make the appointment because it’s FASTER.

But if I get an appointment, they will rebuke me for taking the Azo painkiller, which dyes the pee so they have to diagnose me through traditional methods (i.e., letting me describe my Absolutely Classic UTI Symptoms) instead of by dipping a strip of paper my insurance will charge me $20 for.

Then I will have to be firm about them NOT sending the pee away for $450 worth of lab work, which my insurance charges me $140 for—and even when I have been firm in the past, I have lost. So I will have to be firm far beyond the natural limits of my temperament type, which will make me cry.

The whole thing will end unpleasantly no matter what, and I’ll be exhausted from having to struggle so hard for a treatment plan I consider reasonable, over a treatment plan I consider an excellent example of why heath care costs are so crazy. It COULD be a bladder/kidney issue instead of a UTI, I realize, and it COULD be a UTI that’s resistant to the antibiotic they prescribe—but I am youngish and healthyish, and I have had these many times before, and they can FULLY COUNT ON ME to call back if I don’t feel better or if I get scary lower back pain or ANYTHING.

(Perhaps you are even now scrolling down to the comment form to suggest I switch practices or doctors. If so, I think you are overestimating the size of my town and underestimating my ability to think of easy solutions.)

By this morning I had decided on the following things:

1. I would make an appointment.

2. I would not take Azo, despite the suffering, so that they could do their strip-dip.

3. I would not, however, pay for lab work. I would continue to say, “No, I’m sorry, but I can’t pay for that” as many times as necessary. I would patiently endure their disapproval, and store it up to feel angry about later.

I called, and at first it felt as if things were going the most perfect way they possibly could: they didn’t have any appointments today. They had me speak to the nurse, and they used the word “instead.” I spoke to the nurse, who said she would speak to the doctor and see what they could do, and then call me back. I was going to get my prescription called in, without even having to fight with the receptionist first!

I was of course Theoretically Annoyed. Oh, I see, when _I_ ask for it to be called in, it’s impossible and unreasonable and I’m trying to get away with something, but when THEY’RE busy and it would be more convenient for THEM, suddenly it’s a good plan. But not VERY Theoretically Annoyed, because of being Actually Hugely Relieved. Plus, I could take Azo, so I did!

Then the nurse called back. The doctor there today is the one who previously insisted on sending away the pee sample for lab work despite my repeated protests, and assured me that insurance WOULD cover it. I was so thrown by this claim, and by the failure of my repeated protests to accomplish anything, that she won that round. And now, today, she declines to call in a prescription. She will need to see me, and she has no appointments until 2:00. Does anyone have anything earlier? No, that is the only appointment available in the entire day with any doctor.

I told the nurse that I had taken Azo, and she said that was fine because they could still send the pee for lab work and get a result that way. I said I would not have the lab work, because it was $140. We both said “Hmm” a few times. She said she’d run this new information by the doctor and call me back.

So not only am I waiting for a phone call (my THIRD in one morning), but I’m CHEESED OFF. I get these several times a year, and have for years and years. I have never been wrong about it, NEVER. A $450 set of tests is ridiculous for a routine UTI with no worrying symptoms. I wasn’t trying to get out of needing an appointment, but I DON’T need their ONLY appointment of the day, if they won’t be able to do the strip-dip OR the lab work, and if it’s 5 hours from now.

If they think I’m getting too many of these (which they DON’T, despite me suggesting it seems like QUITE A FEW), or if they think there is something alarming that needs looking into, in THAT case I would be happy to cooperate with lab tests for further exploration of the problem. But $450 (plus the $20 strip-dip, plus the $130 appointment) to determine (1) that I have a UTI and (2) that it is not resistant to the prescribed antibiotic (test results back in 48 hours, by which time TRUST ME I WILL KNOW if it is not responding to the antibiotic) is WHAT IS WRONG WITH THE ENTIRE WORLD. Global warming? Due to unnecessary lab tests. Pollution? It’s all the unnecessary lab tests. Crime and violence? PEOPLE ENRAGED BY UNNECESSARY LAB TESTS.

[Edited to add: I called my GYN, just to SEE. What I did was, I first made an appointment for an annual exam, because I’d rather go there anyway than to my primary. THEN I sprung my question. They only treat UTIs for women who are pregnant. So. Good to know, anyway.]

[Edited to add more: The doctor insisted on seeing me. I left with a prescription, and I refused to have the lab work done. She prescribed me an antibiotic my usual doctor says is not as effective; it would not surprise me to find that she is hoping I will be taught a lesson, since she kept mentioning that without the lab work she really couldn’t make decisions for my care. So as usual, the whole thing ended up unpleasant no matter what: I’m glad to have successfully declined the lab work, but I’m upset and discouraged about everything else, and already greatly discouraged/upset in advance about the NEXT time this will happen, and about how very little control/choice patients have.]

New Year’s Eve was fun! I used to think it was fun back in high school, and in college when I was home over Christmas break: my dad would move the TV and VCR into my room, and I would RENT several VIDEOCASSETTES from a VIDEO STORE, and I would buy a bunch of snacks. I’d stay up late watching the movies and eating, and mooning into my diary.

This tradition continued on and off until my first baby was born. Oh, wait, actually we stayed up late that year, too, because it was turning to 2000! We were living with my parents, and we all stayed up in case we were going to suddenly need to learn to farm the backyard and fetch water from the river.

After that, there were many years of not staying up: I was either pregnant or nursing or caring for very small children, or in fact always two of the three, and didn’t want to stay up.

I can’t remember which year it was that Rob asked to stay up and I said yes, but I do remember being really, really tired and not at all enthusiastic about it. I think it was the year the twins were toddlers and I was pregnant with Henry. The memory is understandably fuzzy, but I do remember how proud Rob was to stay up.

We’ve stayed up every year since. First it was Rob and me, and the last two or three years it’s been Rob and William and me. Next year I’m going to let the twins try it. My prediction is that Elizabeth will stay up easily, and Edward will fall asleep on the couch by 9:00, after an hour of asking NOW is it almost time? Paul goes to bed early: he’s not interested in staying up (though he’s glad I do it, because it’s fun for the kids), and that way he can let me sleep in the next day.

Now that my youngest baby is four years old, and I’m neither pregnant nor nursing, it’s finally fun to stay up again. Rob and William and I went to the grocery store the day before and bought a bunch of snack food: Doritos, Lay’s, powdered doughnuts, pizza rolls, Kit Kats, boneless wings, mozzarella sticks, soda, champagne. (The cashier: “Wow, having a party! How many people?” Me: “…Three.” Cashier: *awkward moment*)

On New Year’s Eve we got out the snack food at about 8:00, and William learned his annual lesson about the benefits of eating slowly over the hours rather than cramming as much into the tum as possible right away. They played Wii and I messed around on my computer with resolutions. At 11:30 we turned on the TV and watched Lady Gaga and Ryan Seacrest and Dick Clark. (It is time to let Seacrest do the countdown. He’s starting to remind me of Prince Charles.)

At midnight I turned all the new calendars to January, and the boys got ready for bed while I put away all the snack food, and then I stayed up just a little bit longer to finish the champagne while mooning into my journal. I’m not saying it’s HUGE! CRAZY! EXCITEMENT!, but it’s become a holiday I look forward to for its pleasant little rituals.

New Year’s Eve parties came about, I’m pretty sure, because if you eat an entire box of boneless chicken wings on your own, you won’t have room for Doritos and powdered doughnuts. With friends over, you can have some of everything! Without feeling silly about how many boxes/bags you opened! And without, just for example, drinking the entire bottle of champagne yourself!

Remember these resolutions?

Ha ha, me neither! I had them hanging up by my computer so I’d remember to look at them and do them, but then when we changed the house all around they got lost I think, because I don’t know AT ALL where they are. …Oh. Here they are. They were in one of the deeper piles on my desk.

1. I will be less of a self-conscious sissy about hair dye. FAIL. I bought burgundy hair color, but I didn’t use it; I researched REALLY bold colors (pink, blue) but didn’t buy any. Instead I continued to fuss about roots and timing, and about the hassle of getting dye on towels and pillowcases, and about what strangers at the grocery store would think about it. I did use a boxed blond color for summer, and I liked it okay, but another reason I didn’t use the burgundy was that I really liked the boxed blond when it grew out beyond looking just rooty: I liked the mix of my own hair color and the lighter blond, and I didn’t want to lose that phase by using a new color.

2. I will try to keep up with my digital photos. FAIL. I kept up for a few months, but then the Snapfish uploading tool broke and I got discouraged. I looked into switching to another service, but didn’t. I did finally catch up by doing about four months of photos all at once, but then I’ve let it slip again.

3. I will persist long enough with the fish tank to know if it’s something I want to pursue. SUCCESS. Knowing I was going to persist experimentally took off some of the pressure to LOVE IT OR GET RID OF IT AND MAKE THE DECISION RIGHT THIS SECOND, and I do find I like the tank and want to keep it. I don’t have an urge to get a larger tank, though.

4. I’m going to act with less inhibition on generous impulses. SUCCESS, but with a note. I did quite a few things this year where previously I would have gotten into a knot about it, and it was fun. BUT, the note is that I thought more about it, and I think it’s NOT such a good idea to keep acting on such impulses: it seems to set up situations where the recipient feels uncomfortable and/or burdened, and wonders if they should reciprocate, and feels awkward if they don’t want to. It can actually make people feel BAD, and that’s not what I’m going for, obviously.

So while I’m still going to act on such impulses when it’s fun and also seems like it can’t set up bad feelings (one-time things, or buying a cute shirt for my niece, or buying something for Paul, or sending in something for the assistant teacher instead of just for the teacher), I’m trying to channel some of the generous impulses towards good-works-type impulse-buying. For example, I saw a great deal on Lands’ End backpacks and lunchboxes ($10 down from $40 and $4 down from $12, respectively, plus 40% off so it was $8.40 per backpack/lunchbox set), and I bought several sets to donate to a local food/clothing pantry that tries to provide backpacks and school supplies in the fall to kids who need them.

I also found out that our lower elementary school has trouble keeping a supply of clothing on hand for accident-clothing-change replacements, so now I have my eye out for some 75%-off clothes to donate, and I’ve already sent in two packages of 75%-off underpants and three pairs of pants and three shirts—all of which were low-priced but CUTE, unlike the enormous “Dopey” shirt (INAPPROPRIATE IMPLIED-MESSAGE ALERT) and rolled-up sweatpants they sent Elizabeth home in when she needed a change of clothes NOT THAT I’M STILL STEWING ABOUT IT.

This has been FUN for me. And this type of buying takes away my worry that I’m overdoing it and maybe making someone else feel uncomfortable and obligated, while still using a character trait I enjoy and think is worth cultivating.

5. Buy or make Bath & Body Works lavender-vanilla conditioner. SUCCESS. I bought a bunch of bottles on eBay and now I have enough to feel like I can use it any morning I want to.

This year’s resolutions:

1. I’m putting “Don’t be such a sissy about hair dye” back on the list.

2. The thing I said above, about channeling the generosity impulse into good-works-type generosity. I’m thinking it could be really fun to use my clearance-hunting impulses for this: if I find a winter coat or backpack for one of the kids on 75% off, couldn’t I buy two and donate one? If I find a bunch of great basic long-sleeved cotton-knit shirts at the irresistible price of $1.74, but my kids already have too many shirts, couldn’t I have the fun of buying a rainbow of them anyway, but then donate them? YES! Yes, I COULD!

3. Send at least one Any Soldier package. I even bought a bunch of stuff that would be good for packages, I just haven’t done anything about it because of “Who to CHOOSE” decision-paralysis.

4. Buy food for the food pantry bit by bit, when I’m grocery shopping anyway. Our grocery store has huge bins right at the front of the store for donations, so all I have to do is (1) remember to buy extras of a couple of the non-perishables I’m buying anyway each week (extra box of pasta and extra jar of sauce, or extra jar of peanut butter and extra box of crackers) and (2) have the bagger bag them separately so I can drop them into the bin on the way out. …Actually, that sounds like a hassle. Okay, so my resolution is to figure out a way to do it but without it being so much of a hassle, and then do THAT. I think this has the potential to make grocery shopping a little more fun, if I can figure out how to do it easily.

5. Do 30 minutes of housework in a particular room on a rotating basis each weekday. I started this in December but it’s not off the ground yet. And I’m concerned that this might be more discouraging than useful, because of the way earlier rooms might already be back to their usual states before I’m several rooms further down the list. But when I tried it, I found it was useful for doing not just regular housework chores (dusting, vacuuming) but also for doing things I’d been putting off (cleaning out all the stuff that rolled under the TV table, put away a clutter pile in the dining room, cleaning the bugs out of light fixtures). It was like instead of thinking “Ug, I don’t want to do that, I’d rather check Twitter,” I was thinking “Well, I have to be in here cleaning anyway, I might as well do THAT.” I made a list of all the rooms in the house, and I just looked at the list each day after lunch to see what that day’s room was.

6. Buy a couple of cute tops. They can be t-shirts, even, but then they need to be embellished in a cute way.

7. Find a conditioner that works well for Elizabeth’s hair without smelling like grown-up-lady perfume OR Kool-aid.

8. Try to move one number on the scale (like from a 2 to a 3 on a scale of 10, for example) on giving hugs and pats and hair-ruffles and so forth. I don’t think in terms of physical touch, so I think I don’t give enough of it to the kids.

9. Order a bottle of expensive French perfume. (Good idea, AndreaUnplugged!)

What are you resolving this year? And if you’re not making resolutions and think they’re stupid, be SURE to tell us all about it. (I’m sorry. It’s the champagne talking.) (No, I’m not sorry AT ALL! Ha ha ha ha ha!! -The Champagne.)

Today’s dilemma involves a local jumping-around-on-inflatable-stuff place, which has school-vacation hours of 3:30-5:30 for “free jump” (“free” as in “no need to have a structured birthday party, you can just jump around,” not “free” as in “doesn’t cost $8.50 per child”). I could take the five children as a special holiday treat. It would cost $42.50, which is a large amount of money—but worth it if this creates a Favorite Childhood Memory. It would burn off some of the astonishing energy that is accumulating from being at home all day with many siblings and a stockingful of chocolate. But it’s at 3:30-5:30, and the kids usually eat at 5:00, and this place is 40 minutes away from our house. Plus, it’s $42.50.

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From previous years’ experience, I know that not everyone is as excited about calendars as I am. Every time I ask, hands clasped in girlish glee, what calendar everyone is buying THIS year, about 75% of you say “Uh, I just get a free calendar from the pharmacy” / “Uh, I don’t use a paper calendar. That’s kind of 1990s of you.” But I am not squashed by your lack of enthusiasm! If anything, it fans the flames! I just posted this year’s Calendar dither and I hope that if you and I are of like minds about the awesomeness of calendars, you will go leave a comment about what calendar YOU are getting. It’s one of my top favorite comments sections of the entire year.

So. The Kite-Runner. Kind of a downer, huh? And I only read the graphic novel version. But it certainly helped put the issue with Paul’s sister into perspective, so…score one for a soul-debilitating glance how unthinkably awful life can be!

Christmas went well. It was really loud, and there was a lot of crowd-management involved. I was inclined to glaze off, thinking of the quiet Christmases of the household where I grew up, wondering idly what my adult life would be like now with two or three children instead of five, not-that-I’d-want-to-give-any-of-them-up, wait-which-would-you-be-willing-to-take-ha-ha.

Actually, I can tell you exactly what it would be like: I’d be sitting here writing about how Christmas went well, but how I’d been inclined to glaze off wondering what my adult life would be like now if we’d had those other children I’d wanted. There would probably be some mooning and some age-speculation (“Maybe one would have been 6 this year, and another would have been 4…”).

One of my gifts from my parents was Million Little Mistakes by Jennifer McElhatton. I’d read Pretty Little Mistakes a couple of years ago, and although I had many little complaints about it, I got so into it that after reading through a dozen or so adventures, I ended up reading it methodically—making sure I followed every single choose-your-own-adventure path possible in the whole book. I’ve seen what happens if I go to college and then become a drug dealer; now let’s go back to the beginning and see what happens if I get married and then become a waitress!

Hey, did you already figure out where I was going with this, you smarty? I do wish I could do my life like a choose-your-own adventure book. Not to SWITCH to something else, but just to see how things would have gone and then come back to my real life. I’d like to see what it really would be like to have two or three children; I’d also like to see what it would be like to have the half-dozen I’d had in mind. (Or no, I guess I wouldn’t, since then I’d miss that baby when I went back to my real life.) (Well, maybe as long as we’re counter-reality fantasizing, we could add a thing where we wouldn’t be affected by that. It would be fun to just SEE other possible children and relationships, but without the heart-hurt afterward.) I’d like to go back and see what would have happened if I’d gotten a different degree: accounting or elementary ed or secondary ed or nursing instead of business. I’d like to see how things could have gone if I’d done more extracurriculars in high school, or made different friends. Maybe I’d want to see what would have happened if I’d stayed with my first marriage. I’d even try the path where I didn’t go to college but instead got a real estate license and married my high school boyfriend, just for interest’s sake.

If life was a choose-your-own-adventure book, which path would you re-do first? I think I’d start with the different degree, since “What will I do when all the kids are in school?” is currently heavy on my mind. But the “different guy” paths are perhaps more INTERESTING.

I have a timely question for you! Actually it is a series of questions. Here we go.

Do you prefer colored lights or white lights? (This is whether or not you yourself put any up.)

And because it seems that mixed marriages must lead to compromises: which kind do you in fact have, if any? If desired, include details such as large or small lights, LED or whatever the non-LED kind is called, flashing or twinkling or running or steady.

And which kind did you grow up with, if any?

And finally, WHY do you prefer what you prefer?—and I hope we can answer primarily by saying what we DO like about our preferred lights, rather than by saying what we DON’T like about our NON-preferred lights, to keep this from being an unfestive rumble. (But it may be NECESSARY to express a preference in terms of a non-preference, in which case perhaps it can be said with Holiday Lovingkindness rather than with Scoffing Scorn.)

I have long preferred colored lights (the steady non-LED kind), and I think it is partly because that’s what I grew up with, and partly because I generally like things that are rainbow/sparkly.

BUT, recently my parents got a pre-lit tree with WHITE lights, and now I am torn. When I went tree-shopping, I preferred the white-light trees to the colored-light trees, because I felt like they looked so natural and starry and lovely. And when we go on our annual Christmas Light Drive, I find the VARIETY is my favorite part: first a house with all white lights everywhere; then a house with those 1970s-looking big-bulbed lights, the ones the size of nightlights (did you know you can use those bulbs as nightlight bulbs? green and blue and yellow are especially pretty); then a house with running lights; then a house with some of those big light structures. But that makes it kind of hard to decide what to have at my own house.

Elizabeth’s mystery illness was strep. She didn’t have a rash; she didn’t have a sore throat; all she had was day after day of fever and misery. I was a little crazy-eyed from worry and compromised sleep, and I think the pediatrician only did the strep test as an excuse to leave the room for a few minutes.

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There was a suspect in the Snail Mystery reported earlier this week: a mosquito fish, brought home by William after a school project. This little fish, as I discovered when I looked it up online to see if it could go in the aquarium with our other fish, is a bit of a super-breeding menace/pest. But I thought with just one, it would be fine in our aquarium and would be unlikely to cause a population issue. Plus, what else to do with it, now that it had been brought home? But I noticed it seemed to keep NIPPING at the other fish. Nip. Nip. Nip. The other fish were skittish and kept clenching their fins and darting away. The snail would flinch and tuck in its feelers.

When the snail’s empty shell was discovered, I came to the conclusion that the most likely explanation was that the mosquito fish’s constant nipping had finally driven the snail to run away from home to get a little peace. I can identify.

As the afternoon of the empty-shell discovery progressed, I noticed the mosquito fish seemed even more aggressive—as if encouraged by its recent success at driving away the snail. As if it had developed a TASTE, as it were, for causing other fish to run away from home.

I determined that this could not go on. I did my research. Did you know it is surprisingly complicated to euthanize a Problem Fish? This must put fishing boats to a great deal of shame, since they let tens of thousands of fish flop in the air on deck, rather than following complicated and no-kidding-SURGICAL options required for individual house-based fish.

Still, I was not going to let the fish die uncomfortably, even if this fish may have caused great discomfort to others. Most likely it has not given its heart over to evil, but is just being a fish.

I found a method I could imagine using, and readied my equipment. A plastic container I didn’t mind throwing out if necessary, filled with ice water. A plastic baggie, containing a scoop of familiar water from the fish’s own aquarium, to submerge in the ice water at the proper time. A little spade, for digging a proper grave after the deed was done.

I got the large disposable plastic cup I use for various aquarium-maintenance tasks, and I opened the lid of the aquarium. The fish all came to the top, expecting to be fed. I deftly scooped out the suspect and brought him to the kitchen where I had set up the execution chamber.

As I fussed with my supplies, the fish flipped. He flipped himself six inches out of the cup, into the air, onto the counter. As I looked on, a little scream rising in my throat but frozen there (The Bad Death of Eduard Delacroix going through my mind), he flipped again, into the sink, where there was a large pile of melting cubes of coffee creamer from a failed experiment.

I felt the need to act decisively, but I am not a quick thinker by nature and prefer to have more time to fuss with supplies and wrestle with issues. Overcoming those obstacles of temperament and hoping I would not regret that override, I turned on the in-sink disposal. And very quickly and mercifully, the fish knew no more.

Evaluating the incident afterward, I feel it went about as well as it could have. I don’t know how a fish would feel about it, but I myself would prefer the fast “not even knowing what hit it” death of the in-sink disposal over the slow, opposite-of-boiling-the-frog method of having my body temperature lowered until I went into a coma and died. I prefer the former method even more strongly if the latter method is going to involve being scooped by a fumbling, grossed-out human hand out of a pile of frozen coffee creamer.

We had a mystery at our house: our snail disappeared from the aquarium. We realized we hadn’t seen him for awhile, and then we peered and peered and couldn’t find him in the tank. After much peering, Paul rummaged the plants and other fish-furniture around, but nothing. We wondered if he might have crawled out through the hole in the lid around the filter? Or could he have been hooked out by a cat paw through that same small opening? Or could he be buried down in the gravel? Or…?

Today I partially solved the mystery. Driven crazy by the idea that there could be a dead, rotting snail OUTSIDE the aquarium, I used a high-powered flashlight to freak the fish completely out—but also to let me do a leveled-up peering of the inside of the tank, where I found the snail very well camouflaged between some similarly-colored rocks and the side of the fake broken Grecian urn.

The shell was empty. I think it’s safe to conclude that he moved to a farm where he’d have more room to run.

********

I’m wishing quite hard for a laptop right now: Elizabeth is still sick and has been very clingy. Sometimes she just wants me to sit NEAR her, in which case I would rather be type-type-typing than half-watching Teen Titans or My Little Pony. Paul’s been doing everything else, though (all other kid-care, all dishes and food prep, bringing me the remote or the thermometer or another cup of water or a snack or a new box of kleenex, finding more shows Elizabeth might want to watch), so I’d probably feel a little self-conscious sitting there with a computer. It looks more worthy if I’m reading a non-fiction paperback or something.

I think it’s possible she was ALSO having an allergic reaction to something the day I took her to the doctor, but I think it’s more likely she was in the early stages of a virus. Yesterday her fever got to 104.5 and Paul said, “I think we might actually need to take her to the emergency room.” But we didn’t. Instead we gave her more ibuprofen and we fretted and, as she dozed on me, my mind teased me by playing through various Extremely Regret-Filled Sample Scenarios.

Last night she and I slept in the living room, so that she’d sleep mostly sitting up (she’s congested and snarfy, especially when she lies down) and so that I would sleep lightly and could keep an eye on her. I also find that such measures help me switch more quickly into the mode of EXPECTING not to get more than a little sleep here and there, which makes the nights far more tolerable. If I’m in my bed in the dark, I feel injured indignation at having my sleep disturbed; if I’m curled on the couch with the Christmas lights on, I’m grateful for each nip of sleep.