bear - ingn.1 the manner in which one comports oneself; 2 the act, power, or time of bringing forth offspring or fruit; 3 a machine part in which another part turns [a journal ~]; 4pl. comprehension of one's position, environment, or situation; 5 the act of moving while supporting the weight of something [the ~ of the cross].
This morning I took Mary Jane to the doctor, where I learned that she has a nasty kidney infection.
First, there was the expected, yet unpleasant new experience of holding her down while two (extremely competent and quick) nurses inserted a catheter for a urine sample. Then there was the more familiar but also unpleasant experience of holding her while a lab tech drew blood from her tiny little finger. By the end of that she huddled whimpering in the sling, radiating little fever rays from her damp forehead.
The doctor was kind and warm, which I appreciated ("Oh, you're using cloth diapers! Good for you!") but her professionalism slipped a little bit when she opened up the online lab results: "Oh my God!" she exclaimed as the screen lit up with red type. She immediately apologized and explained that she was just surprised, that MJ's vigorousness had led her to expect the UTI would be milder. But at the same time she was rummaging through her files looking for the ready photocopies of the map to the hospital, and then telling me to drive Mary Jane there right away, that she would call and tell them to admit her immediately. I wrote down "48 hours IV antibiotics" and "urosepsis." I called Mark, who was home with the boys, and told him to pack me a bag, bring my cell phone charger, take the boys to Hannah's, and meet me at the hospital. The doctor held up the map in front of me and started to show me directions, but I just read the street address and zip code over the phone: thank goodness for Google Maps, and for friends we know can take the kids on a moment's notice.
It seemed to take forever to drive to St Paul and then forever again to wind up and up through the parking garage to the first available space, under the gray sky. But once inside the hospital things went quickly. N.B.: if you must get sick, do it on Wednesday mornings. We were admitted and shown to a treatment room right away, and MJ was weighed and measured and in a too-big hospital gown in my arms, and a doctor came in for about ninety seconds to tell me that maybe we wouldn't have to stay overnight after all.
Mark arrived, red eyed and stuffing his hanky back into his pocket. We sat side by side, holding our fitfully sleeping daughter.
The nurse we'd seen before came back in with the IV stuff, accompanied by a cheerful, bearded, young male nurse. "Hi," he said. "I'm Rolf, the baby wrangler." He wasn't kidding --- it was his job to hold MJ down while the other nurse put in the IV. I positioned myself so she could see into my eyes and held her hands so she would know it was me who had her. She cried and cried while they tried to get a vein. Baby vomit spurted out her nose and we wiped it away. Finally it was done and everyone let go of her. She lay motionless on the bed. She'd given up fighting. She closed her eyes and fell asleep, the very first time she had ever done so when I wasn't holding her close.
I lowered the bed and climbed in with her and lifted her up to sleep in my lap. Suddenly I was so very tired.
After the infusion finished, the doctor returned to let us know that she wasn't dehydrated and could go home. We have to return for a second injection tomorrow. I drove home and she and I fell into bed. Her color was already much better; the flushed look was gone. She slept deeply. Now she's nursing, eyes closed, and I'm waiting for Mark to come home with Thai carryout. And the boys too.
Lots of mild illness the last couple of weeks. Oscar (6) started it twelve days ago: he threw up twice in the middle of the night, Thursday night, right after Grandma and Grandpa showed up. Then Mary Jane (6 mo) started getting really cranky on Monday. She spiked a little fever that night. Wednesday morning Grandma got sick and spent the whole day either in bed or in the bathroom. The more recent Thursday at Hannah's, Milo (3) had some intestinal troubles. That night MJ spiked a higher fever, shivering so that I put her between us for warmth. Saturday she spiked a fever again and started to throw up. Yesterday morning Oscar threw up again.
And MJ is still intermittently throwing up and being feverish. Plus she doesn't want to be put down and keeps making these pitiful little burbles and moaning, "owoooooo...." Intermittently she is cheerful and non-feverish, and isn't dehydrated, but I made an appointment to see the pediatrician anyway. The nurse pointed out that she could have a UTI, which is a possibility I'd entirely forgotten about, focusing as I was on the stomach bug and the teething.
At least going to the doctor's will get me out of the house. I am feeling a bit stir-crazy. I had to skip going to music class and to Melissa's yesterday. Melissa's family is already exposed for sure to whatever bug my boys had, but it's so terribly cold outside that I didn't want to take Oscar and MJ anywhere. And tonight I'll stay home again with those two while Mark takes Milo (who's been better for several days) to his swimming lesson.
What I really want to do is go out and buy a gallon of paint and, oh, I don't know, an armchair or something.
Milo is just learning to work at the table next to Oscar.
I found some great little carpet-type rugs, 18"x24", at Menards for two bucks each. Bought six of them in a variety of colors. Voila: Montessori-style work mats! The mats really do help the kids keep out of each others' space, and the soft pile keeps round things from rolling off the table. Plus they work as sit-upons for the hardwood floor. These are too stiff to roll up, and I want to store them flat, so for now they're just stacked on the floor in the schoolroom.
But the buyers' remorse is already settling in: I probably should have bought ten.
OK. Let's go over some basic crypto information here.
A key, ultimately, is a piece of encoded information. Sort of like a password. Get the information and you can open the safe and get the goodies.
This is true when the "goodies" are data and the "safe" is a database, or a password-protected laptop. I'm sure that people at security-expert-type companies, just like the rest of us, are told to keep their passwords secret. I bet they have to change them every so often, too, because a lot of us (even though we KNOW better) are lazy, and have a habit of using the same password for everything, or else our password is "password" or "1234abcd."
Certainly it's against the rules for employees at, say, Diebold, to post the passwords to their laptops on the Internet. Oh, I can imagine it. "I keep forgetting my password. Where can I put it so I'll always be able to look it up? Oh, I know, I'll post it on my blog!"
It would be especially brilliant if a security company, say, Diebold, in order to advertise how good they are at coming up with passwords that nobody would ever be able to guess, were to post those actual, real, working passwords on its own website. "You just try to hack into our database by guessing our employees' birthdates in order. We here at (say) Diebold only use REALLY TOUGH passwords. Even our CEO uses A5F%Cq,T2 as the password on his personal laptop! You'll never get THAT one in a million years!"
Of course, some people forget that "key" also applies to pocket-sized metal objects that are inserted into the metal barrels of other objects called "locks" which enables the barrel to be rotated and thus to move a latch, thus opening a box with real, stealable goodies inside.
Even officials at a high-tech security-expert corporation, say, Diebold, might forget that this kind of "key," the old-fashioned kind, is also a kind of encoded information. This information is encoded in the shape of the key.
My husband's parents are visiting, all so that FIL could help Mark paint our downstairs in exchange for a little bit of grandbaby time. He painted our living room, entry hall, stairwells, and schoolroom in a warm, light beige, a milk-with-a-little-coffee color.
Before they could paint, of course, I had to move the big schoolroom cabinets away from the wall, and before I could do that, of course, I had to empty them.
So for a couple of days, all my STUFF --- potholder looms, workbooks, bottles of tempera paint, paper of all kinds --- was piled on a table in the middle of the living room.
But then I had the opportunity to put it back, and I took my time. Hurray! Organized cabinets for the first time since we moved.
School really got shifted around, first because Grandma and Grandpa were here reading to the boys and playing endless board games, then because all the materials I needed were buried under a huge mound of materials that I hadn't used in months, finally because I spent a whole day putting everything back. Oh, but it looks wonderful! Next stop: a nice celery-green color in the kitchen. Someday.
Also, Oscar had a night of throwing up, and then a couple days later Mary Jane ran a fever in the middle of the night. Sleep was lost. Finally MIL woke up feeling poorly this morning, so instead of starting for home this morning FIL is bringing her tea and crackers, and the boys are having to be reminded to play quietly so she can rest.
I managed to get Oscar going on catechism copywork and art narration, and got math lesson set up --- since it involves laying out cards on the floor to make a number line, we'll do that after Milo goes down for a nap. Soon.
(Here are the before pictures. Will update later with cabinet interiors.)
In the winter of 1981, the pope [John Paul II], his secretary and two of his Polish aides decided to make a "getaway" to the mountains from the papal villa in Castel Gandolfo.
They packed into a car owned by one of the priests, in order not to raise suspicions, and when they passed the Swiss Guard post one prelate opened wide a newspaper to hide the pontiff in the back seat.
Then they drove to the central Italian ski town of Ovindoli without an escort, winding through mountain towns and carefully respecting the speed limits.
Once they arrived, they chose a deserted slope and the pope was able to ski all day long. On the way back, the pope smiled and said, "We did it!" It was the first of many such escapes, the papal secretary said.
More on Wells. Did you know he wrote a history of the world? (To which Chesterton's Everlasting Man is a response?) And that he inspired the theory of the nuclear chain reaction? Too bad he was so foolishly opimistic about that "world-state" thing.
Punny quote: As he devoted his final decades toward causes which were largely rejected by contemporaries, this caused his literary reputation to decline. One critic complained: "He sold his birthright for a pot of message."