It was a crazy week here, and my selfish act of going to the gym a whole bunch and pawning my kids off on the babysitting room was punished by having Lizzy come down with an ear infection so bad she has puss in her ear, as well as goopy eyes and a mean case of separation anxiety. They all showed up together this week to let me know that me working out is requiring my kids to pay quite a price. Which is typical of my life, and the life of most moms...when you make a choice to do something for yourself, you are not choosing the others who depend upon you so greatly. And in walks guilt.

I feel terrible for Lizzy...and frustrated. I knew something was off with her ears on Tuesday when she was standing on the concrete walkway at Erin's school waiting for dismissal and she hinged forward at the hips and never put her hands down to brace her fall. She busted up her face but good...and let me know that her equilibrium was not what it should be. Then she fell at home a few times. So off to the ENT we went because a specialist would surely treat things right, especially considering he was about to put tubes in her ears in December and has performed three surgeries on my other two kids in the past. Wrong again. "Her left ear is filled with fluid, but not yet infected. She has a cold. The ear will drain."

No it won't! My kids ears don't drain! Give me the antibiotic! This will get worse!

I was told to squirt saline up her nose to keep the fluid flowing. Fast-forward to Saturday morning, where you find an Elizabeth with a nose running so furiously I can't keep tissues in hand quickly enough to tend to it, an ear so sore she's holding it and crying, an eye bright pink and goopy and a Mommy and Daddy who haven't slept in a week because she's been up again every night. I took her to the pediatrician. Her left ear is infected and has puss and she needs antibiotic eye drops because her cold has spread to her eye. Yippy skippy. Just in time for Valentine's Day dinner-guilt when I walk out the door...no, sneak out the door, because I am actually more desperate for time with my husband than time with my screaming kid. Even if she is sick. Because of me. Leaving her. In the dirty gym babysitting room. Because I want to lose weight.

And when you break it down like that...I. Am. An. Asshole.

Pete has been working like a dog lately, and I am really really really hoping that it's just a phase they're in right now. The problem I see is that the owner of the company, with whom Pete works closely, is a machine. He's up at 4 am and doesn't go stop working until 10 or 11 at night. And I know he'd like nothing more than for Pete to put the same "umph" into his job everyday. So my concern is, show him that those kinds of hours are possible now, and you set a precedent for what is to be expected always. And we miss him. Like, terribly. When Saturday night was upon us, and he'd made a reservation for our favorite NJ restaurant a month in advance, I decided not to cancel and to take our opportunity to be together and talk over staying home and having my sick baby wipe her snot all over me. I gave her, and her snot, and her separation anxiety, to my mom.

And when I break it down like that again...I. Am. Still. An. Asshole.

Selfish and mean. I chose "us" over her. And she survived, everyone did, as a matter of fact. And we had a really nice time at dinner. So I guess in the end it was all ok. But the guilt is hanging around my neck like a weight.

I am also hugely, enormously scared that my brother may be going to Afghanistan. He is a Marine, and I have spent the past year and a half since he enlisted deluding myself that he would not be deployed. And, alas, it seems that my trip down the river called "Denial" has been cut short, as there are rumors furiously circulating his regiment that they are the next chosen ones. I just don't want him to go. It's as simple as that. I cannot understand the magnitude of hate that has created Islamic extremists and the terrorists of this world. And I wish, every day and every night, that their synapses would start firing in a way that I consider to be correct so that our soldiers could come home and stop cleaning up everyone else's messes. I am a liberal. But I am a patriot. I have so much respect for the bravery of our troops...I've just never had the war hit quite this close to home. And I hate it. I guess that's where my extremist ties lie. In hating the fact that we are still "needed" there, that Bin Laden is still digging holes and hiding out like the coward that he is, and that my brother is waiting around--indefinitely--to find out whether he will stay or he will go. For 13 months. To Afghanistan.

I am finishing this blog on Monday morning, President's Day, while all children are still nestled safe in their beds and everyone in the house slept though the night. It feels like nothing short of a miracle when it happens, and while I'm fighting a cold of my own, I feel a bit more able to take on the challenge of our fourth day in the house together with a full night of uninterrupted sleep under my belt. We have a school project to make for Erin, so maybe a trip to the Dollar Store to get craft supplies is just what this crew needs to cheer us up. It usually does the trick. And I will be officially embarking on the mission of submitting some articles to some publications for them to let me know whether or not I should keep this writing thing up. We shall see.