I could never be a nurse or a doctor because quite frankly people annoy me. However, I’m always overwhelmed by the kindness and generosity that come from people who serve in these jobs. Well, at least the good ones. Max’s pediatricians this past week and weekend were glorious. They were never curt, short, bad-tempered or treated us like idiots or annoyances that had to be tolerated. They did everything they could to keep us informed including calling us from home and well into the evening. Max’s nurses were sweet and tender and did everything they could to calm and reassure Max. Even the lab guy, who strolled in at 5:00 AM to take blood, looked at Max and I with sympathy and compassion.

So what do you give to somebody who quite possibly saved your child’s life? A watch? A car? A lifetime of indentured service? I decided on lemon cookies. I found this simple and easy recipe on My Baking Addiction and I think she might have gotten it from Kraft Kitchens. I don’t know, but I baked these babies up with Lucy and they turned out great. Plus, they packaged pretty. I’m thinking these might be fun for Easter this year too.

I don’t talk a lot about our church here because I guess it seems very personal to me. However, I LOVE our church and I wish I could take everybody there at least once. One of the things I love about it is how they’ve embraced technology and media and use it to spread the gospel. It is very cool. Well, our really cool pastors have started their own blog titled “PB&J”. This is actually their initials. I invite you to go and check out their site. They also post video podcasts and audio podcasts of the sermon every week if you want to listen to more. I love to download these and then listen to them while I work out. When I’m finished I feel like such an incredibly awesome human being.

Max and I are back home from the hospital and enjoying our white toast and Pedialyte spritzers. He is recovering slowly, but nicely. I’m hoping he may actually start eating sometime tomorrow. I’ve really appreciated all the words of support and prayers. It is always comforting to know how many people are surrounding you when you need them the most.

In the meantime I’m being featured on 5 Minutes For Books today. A little article that I wrote about boys and books. Wander over there and check it out. Interesting idea – what do boys read?

Max has been in the hospital since Thursday morning. It isn’t serious and indeed we’re very hopeful he’ll come home today. He caught the Rotovirus. That nasty, stomach-lurching, bowel irritating, poop generating, fever producing virus. It is the kind of virus that in a pretty healthy and stubborn 3 year old can wreck havoc. In three days Max has had 2 IV’s put in, 4 blood labs drawn, 2 throat cultures and 2 finger pricks. That would make 8 needles in 3 days. If you are a parent than you know exactly what this means; lots of time listening to my son scream; “NO POKEYS!! NO POKEYS!!” I wish I had something funny and interesting to say about this and perhaps I will after a couple of days. Right now, Max and I are busy plotting how to take out the night shift nurse who wakes us up EVERY TWO HOURS!! We hate that woman!

If I have not mentioned it before, Max is very stubborn (a quality that he gets from both sides of his family) and when he decides something there is no changing his mind. Over the past two days he has been battling the stomach virus. He has also refused liquid – OF ANY KIND. That is right, my son is non-stop vomiting and won’t take in liquid. No Popsicles, ice chips, Pedialyte, Gatorade, water, etc. After about 14 hours of his “no-liquid” protest we were forced to take him to the ER for intravenus fluid.

There are only a few things you have to do as a mommy that can be categorically labeled as “beyond reasonable for any human to have to face”. The first one is cleaning up vomit. I am a terrible parent at handling vomit and it frequently ends with me waving my arms in the air and screaming “HE’S PUKING!!” or “THE SHEETS?! HE’S PUKED ON THE SHEETS!” I really excel at inappropriate comments during these times. This is why they ask for their father. I’m okay with this. When they were infants and they were hungry all they wanted was their mommy – now when they throw up they only want their father. It is all equal.

The second most horrid thing to face as a parent is your child being subjected to painful medical treatments. I really don’t understand the logic when the nurse says in such a deceptively sweet voice, “Now Mom, if you can just hold his hands down and lay your body on top of his while I pull his brain out through his ear.” Really? ARE YOU BEING SERIOUS? DID YOU WORK IN THE NAZI CONCENTRATION CAMPS BECAUSE OBVIOUSLY YOU DELIGHT IN TORTURE! And why do they tell you to “soothe” your child during these times? I’m supposed to speak reassuringly to my son whom you have just poked a giant needle into and somehow that is going to make him forget the second giant needle that is coming? Are you people idiots? Oh, and did I mention that the ER nurse didn’t know how to put an IV into a child and so they had to poke him about A DOZEN TIMES!! After the first four attempts at putting in the IV, and the throat culture swab (because the doctor didn’t believe me when I told him that Max’s tonsils are ALWAYS red and he most definitely does NOT have strep) they kicked me out of the room. I sat outside of that hospital room and listened to them poke my son who screamed “MOOOMMMMYYY” for 20 minutes. My body lurched with uncontrollable sobs. I could not stop crying and indeed I still cry when I think about it. There is nothing more painful, more devastating, than to listen to your child cry out of pain that you have agreed to subject them to.

When they let me back into the room I grabbed Max’s worn out, tired, sobbing little body and pulled him close. He instantly fell asleep in my lap. As he fell into that deep slumber that only illness can bring I quietly cried. He won’t remember one second of what happened yesterday and I won’t ever forget.

I want to talk about love. Not just any love, but a love that runs deep and wide. I’m talking about Target. C’mon girls admit it, we love this store almost as much as we love our husbands or pets. The beautiful red bulls-eye that invites us in. The aisles that are filled with stylistic accessories and clothing that we must own RIGHT NOW. I have two Super Targets near my house (yes, I know you are all jealous) and the amount of money I spend at these stores on a monthly basis is absurd. A Super Target is Super because it has a FULL grocery store as well as all the other cool things. I wanted to share my top 5 things to buy at Target — what are yours?

1.) Purses. I love to have new stylish bags. As a matter of fact I have a theory that at age 16 women begin a quest to find the “ultimate” purse. This is the holy grail of female shopping. We NEVER find that one great bag, but we love trying new ones out. At least I do and Target makes this habit affordable.

2.) Icee Drinks & Popcorn. The kids know that no trip to Target is complete unless we first stop and get an Icee and a small popcorn. Lucy’s flavor is “White Cherry” Max’s is “Blue Raspberry”.

3.) Italian Sausage. Okay, I know this is strange, but the Target generic brand (Archer Farms) makes this ground Italian sausage that is fantastic. I brown this up and have used it in everything from homemade pizzas to baked ziti.

4.) Plastic Plates. I know I have talked before about my love for the plastic, seasonal plates that Target sells, but seriously, they are adorable. Every season from Valentine’s Day to Christmas they come out with these cute plates and I MUST buy them.

5.) Method Soap. I realize that you can buy this soap in other stores but it just seems cooler coming from Target. I buy the special seasonal scents every time. I especially like their granite cleaner and their wood furniture cleaner. I also love their cool bottles that don’t have their name splashed across the front.

I know you all feel the same way. Cleanse your soul and admit to your forbidden love of this mommy mecca.

Max has thrown up exactly three times and twice was outside of Cheesecake Factory. I don’t want to slander Cheesecake Factory. On the contrary, David and I are rather big fans of the Cheesecake Factory and it is a favorite destination for date nights (we split the Chinese chicken salad, and if we’re feeling saucy we get the pot stickers). And Max has eaten at some Cheesecake Factories with no such reaction, but the Cheesecake Factory at the Stonebriar Mall in Frisco, Texas – well, bad luck.

The first time was when he was two and he was misbehaving at the table. By the time we left he was throwing a full blown temper tantrum. We walked out of the restaurant, into the mall, David carrying him. Max was screaming the whole way and then he promptly threw up all over David. It was actually funny and I laughed out loud. David holding Max with puke all down the back of his t-shirt was a sight to behold. I don’t know, something about years of wearing shirts with baby spit-up seemed to all balance out in that one instance.

Tonight, we waited for close to an hour to get food and by the time the pizza arrived for the kids Max was past the point of reason. He was starving, tired and cranky. He refused to eat, complained that he was cold and whined non-stop. It was a Friday night, so the place was packed and I was trying desperately to keep Max’s behavior exempt from scorn by the fellow patrons. I inhaled two fish tacos and told David to have the rest packed up I was taking the kids out into the mall before any serious temper tantrums began.

I walked outside of the restaurant with Lucy and Max and before I could clear the waiting area Max coughed and vomited brown pumpernickel bread all over the mall floor. Women gasped, teenagers gagged, and I was left with only one option; “Lucy, you and Max stand right here against the wall. DON’T MOVE!! I’m going to go get a towel”. I made a dash back into the restaurant hopeful that he neither vomited again nor a stranger abducted them. I grabbed the first waiter I could find who was holding two freshly starched napkins and I said firmly (but not rudely) “Do you have a towel?” and I boldly eyed the napkins he was holding. “Well” he said slowly “what do you want to clean up? Because these don’t really hold a lot of liquid”. I could not believe that he was going to question the type of spill I was trying to rectify at this moment. I stared right at him and said “I just want a napkin.” I didn’t even wait for a reply, I grabbed the napkin and ran outside where Max was standing horrified and with vomit all down his jacket. Lucy standing next to him shaking. However, they hadn’t moved, as instructed, and for that I was proud. I cleaned up the vomit off the ground and threw away the napkin. (Yes, Cheesecake Factory, I took a cloth napkin, cleaned vomit and threw it away. If you want me to pay you back then bill me). Lucy was shaking with panic and had a thousand question; “Should we tell Daddy? Is Max going to throw up? Should I go get Daddy?” I could see she needed a job and so I told her to go back into the restaurant and tell Daddy. She perked right up and didn’t hesitate to run back into the restaurant.

I walked Max to the mall door so he could get some fresh air and watched the restaurant door for Lucy to return. She bolted out of the door minutes later her eyes brimmed with tears. I flagged her down and she came running up to me tears spilling over and a quiver in her voice; “I couldn’t find Daddy, and I got scared, and is Max going to be okay?” Poor Lucy, so desperate to help with the situation and not able to complete her mission. Max, in the meantime was not crying but was shaking from head to toe – past the point of exhaustion.

I don’t know if it is the Cheesecake Factory at the Stonebriar Mall in Frisco Texas or the fact that both times Max was tired or the Strawberry Lemonade, but something at that Cheesecake Factory does not mesh well with Max. David came out, we gathered everybody up into our arms and walked out to the car. Honestly, I’m just glad I didn’t also throw up. I’m not a mother who handles puke well and I’m amazed that I didn’t make the situation worst but was actually helpful. And for now, I don’t think we’ll be returning to the Cheesecake Factory in the mall.

I hate the fact that I am once again piggy-backing onto the latest momversation, but this one hit close to home. Fertility medicine. While the whole world is abuzz about some random, inept doctor who purposefully got some crazy woman pregnant with 8 babies, millions of other women are desperate for just one. I was one of those women.

Fertility is a strange thing. From the time I entered puberty my cycle was so predictable you could have set a clock to it. My mother was the same way, as was my sister, both of whom got pregnant without planning or problems. The idea that I would have any difficulty conceiving was the furthest thing from my mind. I was married later in life at 30. Not my fault – I couldn’t really control when I met my soul mate. Please take that issue up with God. Within the first year of marriage we decided to have a baby. At the time I thought it would be easy. Stop using birth control, have sex, here comes baby.

Soon months went by without any success. We started being more “purposeful” with our attempts at baby-making. Still no success. Before I knew it the monthly home pregnancy test started feeling like a pee-stick of failure. We went to the doctor and the testing began. We found ourselves at eighteen months of temperature taking, chart making, timing, tests, and nothing. All we wanted was one child of our own. Fertility problems are heart-wrenching. Every month you start hopeful with a new game plan. THIS is going to be the month. You just KNOW it. As the end of your cycle approaches every symptom can either be a signal for hope or despair. You find yourself developing a hyper-sensitivity to your body, “my boobs hurt I MUST be pregnant” or “I feel a little nauseous I’m pregnant”. And then when you pee on that stick and it once again turns up negative all of that hope goes down the toilet. You’re left empty, hollow, desperate, sad.

I don’t know I would have survived that process, that gut-wrenching, emotional roller-coaster without David and my doctor. My sweet, wonderful doctor who never once lost hope. After eighteen months she regretfully told me that she could do no more for us and recommended that we see a fertility clinic for IVF treatments. I knew that at that point our chances for having a baby had just dramatically dropped. David and I would only be able to afford one round of IVF and with only a 50% success rate it might not work at all. I made the appointment and tried to remain optimistic. A week before our appointment at the fertility clinic my first home pregnancy test came back positive. We were going to have a baby.

My story ends there, but there are millions of people whose stories continue. Millions of wonderful, loving, sweet families who want a child of their own and cannot conceive. In most cases it is nobody’s fault. They did not wait until they were too old. They do not live outrageous lifestyles. On the contrary, most have basic biological issues that can easily be resolved with modern medicine and treatments. Of those that cannot be resolved with simple biology, IVF and other fertility treatments are miracles. You can ask any family who has weathered the storm of fertility problems and they will tell you that they would have swapped places with anybody who was able to get pregnant without such assistance. It is an awful, painful experience that I would not want any couple to face.

Most couples would not wish for nor seek multiple births. Every parent wants the same thing; a healthy pregnancy and birth. Purposefully trying for multiple births puts everybody at risk and if we are finger pointing it should be at the doctors that irresponsibly agree to implant multiple eggs. Banning, or over regulating, fertility treatments is going to cause additional stress to families that are already suffering an extremely stressful situation.