I survived Desert Party 2010

When Megan and Preston moved to the desert, Jim and I told them we would never visit them there in the summer. It's too darn hot, we don't like the heat, we'll gladly stick to the mountains in the summer and visit them in the desert during the winter.

Then they went ahead and had Bubby in June. Meaning Jim and I must visit the desert in the summer if we want to participate in Bubby's birthday celebrations.

Last year, Bubby's first birthday, wasn't so bad. As several babies were in attendance, the party was held indoors, we had air-conditioning. Megan's announcement that his second birthday party would be held at the Splash Pad -- outdoors! -- was cause for concern. Temps in their town hover above the 100-degree mark this time of year, and Jim and I were pretty darn sure we'd die ... even though the party was held at 10 a.m.

Luckily we didn't die during last Saturday's party. In fact, the temperature was low, spirits were high and the party was a great time -- for everyone. Take a look:

SORRY! VIDEO DISAPPEARED IN BLOG REDESIGN!

Here's hoping Desert Party 2011 will be just as cool ... in terms of temperature and enjoyment!

Today's question:

If you could party with anyone -- living or not, real or imaginary -- who would you most like to celebrate with?

My answer: Ricky Gervais would be my party partner of choice, with Jim along, too, of course. I'm pretty sure he'd make me laugh so hard my ribs would hurt for days.

Bubby's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day

Today is Bubby's birthday. He's two. Instead of partying til the cows come home, though -- or the javelinas, as the case may be in the desert -- Bubby is recovering from what Megan said he surely must consider the very worst day of his life.

Bubby woke up early Wednesday morning with a fever of 104.7. That's one-hundred-four-point-seven! Panic level. Mama Megan called the doctor and the doctor said, "Get him in."

So in Bubby and Megan went, and for the next several hours Bubby underwent a strep test, blood tests, chest X-rays, and two attempts at collecting urine via a catheter. Poor baby. In fact, toward the end of the long, long visit, Bubby expressed his dismay to Megan by telling his mommy, "Baby sad. Baby sad."

Right off the bat, Bubby tested positive for strep. The quest for proof of a UTI causing the high fever went unresolved as the timing of the catheter insertion never seemed to coincide with the call of nature. The results from the blood tests and chest X-rays were ordered STAT and sure to arrive within two hours, Megan was told. But apparently STAT doesn't mean what it used to, so after spending about five hours at the doctor's office and various labs, Megan was told to just take Bubby home and she'd be called with the results.

Just before 5 p.m. the call came and the diagnosis was given. Turns out Bubby has something in one of his lungs called "air-space disease" that either has developed or may develop into pneumonia. To me, "air-space disease" sounds a little like some covert operation NORAD should be involved in, but I guess that's not the case. According to Wikipedia, air-space disease "is a general term that described edema and exudates in the airspaces of the lung (the acini and alveoli)." Clear as mud, I say.

Seems the blood tests confirm there's something definitely going on, as they show "a high number of the blood cells that fight infection."

Treatment is the same as if Bubby indeed has pneumonia: round after round of amoxycillin, Motrin and Tylenol. Of course, Bubby didn't want to take the first dose, so Megan followed the technique of effective mothers throughout history: She threatened him. "If you don't take this," she told him, "we will have to go right back to the doctor." Bubby swallowed the yucky stuff in no time flat.

End of terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day. Sort of. That night wasn't all that wonderful either, Megan reported.

That was Wednesday, this is Friday. Today Bubby returns to the doctor for a follow-up. I'm crossing my fingers it's a far less painful day than Wednesday. And I'm crossing my fingers Bubby will be up and at 'em by next week. For that's when the real birthday partying til the javelinas come home -- or the two-year-olds wear out -- is scheduled.

And that's when Grandma and Grandpa are scheduled to arrive to hug and kiss and cuddle a hopefully no longer sad baby, and to wish him the most wonderful, pleasant, all happy, very good birthday ever!

Happy birthday to the bright and beautiful Bubby who totally rocks this grandma's world!

Today's question:

What's the worst medical procedure you've undergone?

Reason #37 why distance matters

Bubby LOVED his 1st Birthday cake!Bubby will soon be turning two years old. Very cool, very exciting ... and very frustrating because he's so darn far away.

Although there are still weeks between now and the big day, mere weeks means time is ticking away for those of us wanting to book a ticket to fly in for the festivities. Meaning many of the conversations of late with Bubby's aunts revolve around "Are you going?" Meaning: "Can you afford to pay to fly in for cake and ice cream this year? And will this be the plan every year? Will you forever going forward be able to fork out funds -- and vacation days -- to sing Happy Birthday to our precious Bubby?"

Jim and I will go. Definitely. Each and every year. Probably. But Andrea and Brianna may not be able to fly to the desert to celebrate Bubby's birthday each and every year. Especially once they're entrenched in their own families -- or even long-term relationships -- because then there's the question of "Does the whole family go?"

Yes, I know that not all families gather 'round for each and every birthday. But my family likes to, as much as possible.

And it's not as if Megan's planning some huge shebang for Bubby, like the festivities for his first birthday. And she clearly understands that cost is a major hindrance to attending even the smallest of affairs. She's attached no obligation, no hard feelings for those who can't make it.

But the thing is, we all want to make it. We all want to celebrate the major milestones of Bubby's life. But all the cuss miles between us make that difficult. And frustrating. And reason to lament, once again, that Megan and Preston live in the desert while the rest of us live in the mountains.

Guess it's easier -- and more reasonable -- to lament that than to lament that we've not yet won Powerball or Publishers Clearing House (or a ridiculously lucrative book contract), which would make the miles between us irrelevant. For if we were rich, we wouldn't have to consider dollars. Or days off work.

Or distance.

Today's question:

If money were no consideration, to where would you most want to book a plane ticket?

Greeting card quandary

Today is my dad's birthday. He's 71 years old.

I always, always, always have a horrible time buying him a birthday card. Everything on the greeting card shelf is either sickeningly, cloyingly sweet while waxing moronic about "My dear father" being the rock and dispenser of lifesaving advice, or they're goofy greetings mentioning dear ol' Dad's obsession with his recliner and remote and/or his flatulance problem.

Neither type fit the kind of relationship I had (and continue to have) with my dad. So I stand in front of the racks of "For him" offerings for about 15 minutes, then move on to the musical ones but don't want to spend $5 on some silly chicken dance or "We Will Rock You" goofiness, then on to the "Funny: General" options because it's slightly easier to find a fitting one-liner than anything remotely sentimental.

I even consider the blank cards ... but that just seems so wrong.

I'd be oh-so happy if Hallmark would come up with something like:

Cover:

On your birthday, Dad, I want you to know ...

Inside:

... my childhood sucked.

But from the looks of things, it seems yours did, too.

I understand that now.

It no longer matters.

I'm so over it.

And I still love you.

Happy birthday!

I've yet to find such a card.

So I just settled on one from the "Funny" section. "General." For anyone.

And gosh, only three months 'til it's time to look for a Father's Day card. Maybe I'll start my own line of greeting cards before then -- cards for real people and real relationships!

Today's question:

Do you usually give sentimental greeting cards or humorous ones?

My answer: I used to give sentimental cards to everyone but in the past few years I've gotten to where I give humorous ones more often because the sentimental offerings are usually too mushy, gushy and unrealistic.

Time marches on

Today is Jim's birthday ... the 29th birthday of his that we've celebrated together.

Like many long-time wives, I spend far more time complaining about my husband than I do complimenting him. So today, for his birthday, I'd like to do something a little different.

My top 10 reasons why I love my husband:

1. He makes the bed every morning and helps with the dinner dishes every night.

2. He loves independent and subtitled films as much as I do.

3. Bubby's the cheese on his pizza, too, even though he'd never put it that way (and said I sounded really weird when I wrote that post).

4. He has unflagging faith in my ability to make a living as a freelance writer, even to the point of encouraging me to not apply for jobs and not accept ones I'm offered -- despite our dwindling savings.

5. He sings loud and proud and can sound just like Johnny Cash, Jeff Keith, Randy Travis, Brent Smith, Bobby Darin and Vusi Mahlasela from the South African township of Mamelodi ... to name just a few.

6. He willingly buys tampons for me when I ask -- and gladly purchased the Black Forest cakes for the "period parties" we threw when each of the girls had their first period.

7. The more grey he gets, the more handsome he becomes. 

8. He loves Lyla, Isabel and Abby even though he tries to pretend Mickey is the one and only animal for him.

9. He's given me shots, changed my catheter bag and literally carried me to the doctor when I couldn't walk. And would do it again in a heartbeat, if need be.

10. He's my forever partner in parenting, grandparenting ... and home repair.

Happy birthday, Jim. I kinda think you are the cheese on my pizza, too!

Today's question:

What was your best birthday celebration ever?

My answer: The year Megan scared the hell out of me surprised me on my birthday by flying home to be at the house when I got home from work. (And Jim kept the secret for months!)