While playing at a friend’s house the other day, Tage fell and came home with a bump on the head.  He’s a tough little fellow, and didn’t mention it until several hours later, when Lydia accidentally pushed on it while “helping” him move out of her way (no judgments here — I myself have a couple of younger brothers who received their fair share of helpful shoves to the head from an older sister).  Even after it was brought to my attention, he was pretty non-chalant about it, and for sure didn’t understand why we wanted to take pictures of the lovely bruise he’s got to go along with the knot.  In any case, as well as being tough, he’s a pretty obliging kid, so I did come away with this shot.  If his hair weren’t so fair I doubt you’d be able to see anything at all, but it does look nasty in the middle of all that blond.

So we did end up taking Brynja in to the ER last night around 8:30.  Her fever just did not want to stay down, and we were starting to worry a little more about dehydration, so we left Olof’s mom in charge of the older kids and made the trip to town.

On the way there, it occurred to me that Friday night probably wasn’t the best time to visit the emergency room, and I was anticipating a long wait, but as it turned out there was hardly anyone there and we got in pretty quickly (I guess maybe we were early enough to miss the rush).  They took the baby’s temperature and a blood sample in short order, then gave her an acetaminophen suppository and set her up with a urine collection bag in hopes of getting a urine sample (fat chance, considering most of the reason we were there was that she hadn’t peed all day, but it was worth a shot).

After waiting for an hour or so for the pee that never came, we were sent home with a diagnosis of a non-specific infection, a prescription for a broad-spectrum antibiotic, and instructions to return if she got any worse (which she hasn’t, thankfully).

When we got back to our house not long past eleven, everything was quiet with the kids all sleeping peacefully in their beds, and you know, weighed against an evening spent running interference between Tage and Petra then fighting with them for an hour to just go to bed already, a couple of uneventful hours in the ER wasn’t really so bad.  I even managed to get a little reading done.

Baby’s still not feeling better, as it turns out.  She hasn’t really been keeping anything down, and the fever doesn’t really show signs of letting up.  We’re getting worried about dehydration, and per the ask-a-nurse’s advice, we may be heading off to the emergency room if she doesn’t produce a wet diaper soon.  I suppose if we’ve got to have another late night, it might just as well be on a Friday as anything else.

My poor baby’s face is a pitiful sight to behold.  She’s on day three of a ferocious late-summer cold, complete with fever (as high as 102.5°F/39.5°C this afternoon — praised be acetaminophen), stuffed-up nose, wracking coughs, and occasional vomit.  Worst of all–though the sleepless nights are coming in a close second–her usual cheerful, easy-going demeanor has all but disappeared.

As of two or three hours ago, she does seem to be feeling somewhat better (she’s even cracked a smile or two, and babbled just a little in an oh-so-hoarse voice), so I’m crossing my fingers that tonight will be at least marginally easier than the past couple were.  In any case, Lydia’s the only one I’ve got to get up and out the door tomorrow, so the morning should be relatively low-stress and, with any luck, after she’s left I’ll be able to crawl back into my own bed for a few more winks (praised also be work-at-home husbands who are willing to take on extra kid duty so their wives can sleep away the days).

Sick baby, pouring-down rain, bedtime-resistant kids, nothing good on TV … yeah, ask me again tomorrow.

This morning when I was walking him to school, Tage turned to me and asked, “When you wake up in the morning, do you think about the things that happened last night or the things that will happen today?”

I told him I thought a little bit about both, I suppose, but probably more about what will happen today. He said he thought mostly about last night.

I’ve been musing about this off and on all day today, and I do think that, overall, he’s more one to reflect than to anticipate. It’s fascinating to me that he’s so self-aware in that regard, even if he doesn’t exactly think of it in the terms I’ve chosen.

Petra’s developed quite a sense of humor lately, and she’s also gotten rather fond of make-believe.  A few weeks ago, when my mom was still here, she was teasing Petra a little, going around the table and pointing at one or another of us and asking, “Is that your mom?”  Each time Onock pointed out the wrong person, Petra giggled and exclaimed, “No!  That’s not my mom!”

When, finally, Onock pointed at me and asked, “Is that your mom?” Petra’s laughter grew even siller and she shook her head no.

I laughed then, too, and asked, “Where’s your mom?”

She looked thoughtful for a moment, then smiled and said, “Far away.”

“What’s she doing?” I asked.

“Cooking dinner,” Petra said.

For the past little while, we’ve been asking her now and again where her mom is, and she always humors us, reiterating that she’s far away, sometimes cooking dinner, sometimes sleeping.  The story has been fleshed out a little more, too, and we’ve learned that Petra’s mom has a yellow car and lives in a blue house.

Also, her name is Snowboard.  Clearly there was something not quite right with her mother.

Let me tell you, you haven’t lived until you’ve organized and chaperoned a shopping trip for five pre-teen girls (plus one interloper).  All I’m going to say is that I’m glad it’s over.

Oh, so glad.