It’s not the chicken pox, but now Jane’s running a fever.
I got the most depressing news of all at the doctor’s office, and after it hits the papers (soon sadly) I’ll share it with you.
Anyhow, it’s either a rash from virus or a reaction to the Azithromycin that I took this weekend. Either way, my stomach looks revolting… and not just because I’ve had kids.
Cross your fingers that Alexander doesn’t get it too.
The fucking chicken pox.
I think I have them, only I had them in 1987.
And I cried then too.
Recently I was contacted by the UNHCR (The United Nations Refugee Agency), they would like to reach my audience. It’s been a week, and I’ve been trying to think of how I would tackle this subject.
Because it’s close to my heart and I’m fearful of editing myself too much, I’m just going to write today and immediately hit publish.
Before I married a Gottlieb, I was a Wilzig. We’re not a big family, and we’re not really a close family, but distance will do that to you. You see, my family fled Nazi Germany. Well, the family that was able to flee. What happens when you are part of a refugee family is very different. Not every part of this story is mine to tell, but I can tell you this, I am grateful.
The simple fact that I was born in America is reason enough to be grateful. Now, I have this wonderful audience. I have you, my readers, who keep me on track with almost instant feedback. I have a community of techies, of moms, of dads and of givers.
Today, as you are sitting in front of your computer a Mother in Somalia is grabbing her children and whatever she can carry to flee as the conflict reaches her doorstep. My biggest concerns have been recalled baby toys, and a lack of fresh organic fruit. There are women and children without shelter, without a country.
I’m such a lucky woman. I’ve had the best of everything that the world can give, and my struggles are comical compared a Somali Mother who cannot get aid, because the criminal gangs have abducted and brutally murdered humanitarian staff. The reason that I’ve been showered with the American Dream is because of agencies like the UNHCR. The Salvation Army gave my family blankets and coats when they came to America. The Red Cross and UN helped reunite my tiny family.
As women and children escape the war torn, drought ravaged country they once called home, they are sleeping without a roof over their heads. Some mothers have been separated from their children. The UNCHR is asking me and asking you to help.
What can I do?
I don’t know. I know that the first part of any sort of forward momentum is to identify the issue. The issue is that women who love their children just like you and I, cannot get to them, and cannot keep them safe, nourished or give them shelter for the evening. I could not possibly pretend that I have the solution to a problem so massive.
The United Nations Refugee Agency has a “get involved” page. I’m not yet sure just what I’ll be doing, but something is coming, and I will be asking for your support. In the interim I’d encourage you to read about their efforts and perhaps talk about the issues on your blog, in your twitter stream and on your facebook page.
These Mothers, they’re just like me. They’re just like you, they’re just like your mother. They just had the bad luck of being born in the midst of war, poverty and famine.
Really, it’s just luck.
Maybe it’s the school uniform, maybe it’s the general sportiness of my daughter, but she’s never looked older than her years.
She walked past me a moment ago with her hair a tangled mane of brown with streaks of blonde from the sun, a tank top and pajama pants on. She looks fifteen, the most beautiful, striking teenage look of them all.
Her cheeks are still full with the look of early childhood, but her eyes are deeper set and her nose is defined. My daughter stopped being cute, and she is transforming into a beauty.
It happened overnight. The world is an easier place when you are beautiful, but still it is more complicated.
I’m simply awestruck.
Whenever I get a little too much sun, a cold or overtired I get a blister on my lip. I like to call it a blister, but sadly the rest of the world calls it Herpes.
Gah.
So I have this amazing Doctor and I run in sobbing, “My lip is going to explode,” and before I have the sentence complete they’re handing me samples of Valtrex. This is a miracle, I can feel the burning and the lump under the skin slow down within the first few hours, and I’ve got a day’s worth so I can amble into the pharmacy for a refill whenever it suits me.
That was the plan anyhow.
The plan was not for my son to spike a fever Wednesday night. When my son gets a fever I do not sleep. He’s fine, I just have a touch of PTSD from 8 years ago. I spent the day today with Alexander hanging off of me like a scarf. I like it that way. I know he’s breathing.
And that is how I ended up going to CVS at 9.30 at night.
My lip started burning. I can feel the herpes before I can see the herpes, and I really needed that prescription filled quickly.
I went to the drop off line at CVS and told the pharmacist that I needed it in a hurry. He looked at me a little funny, but said, “ten minutes.”
Ten minutes later I’m standing in the pickup line and a very junior pharmacy technician is shuffling his feet and not making eye contact with me. He asked me to see my ID (I’ve never had that happen before) and the red started somewhere under his collar and was making it’s way up his neck.
Stuttering, the young man asked me if I needed a consult. He almost whispered.
And then it dawned on me. He thought I had that herpes. So I did what any classy lady would do.
I scratched my crotch. I grabbed a handful of my jeans and scratched just like my husband does when he’s watching sports, never breaking eye contact.
Oh and I made it all the way out the front door before I burst into laughter.
I noticed that a lot of you were looking for reviews of the Tony Hawk Ride
Right now I’m giving away a X-Mas Tree. What good is a Christmas Tree without a gift to put under it?
Tony Hawk has a fantastic Gaming peripheral that’s just come on the market. The Tony Hawk Ride behaves like a skateboard would attached to your gaming system.
Activision kindly let me and the kids have a preview of The Ride, and we loved it. In fact, I loved it so much I asked them if I could have one for a friend.
Activision said, “No.”
I said, “but wait, I have blackmail pictures.”
“Oh really?” They said, “Of what?”
“Of Tony Hawk being mean to kids”
“Tony Hawk is a really nice guy, you said so yourself.” Activision sounded worried.
“Okay then, explain this!” And I showed them this picture (more…)
Jessica Gottlieb is a blogger in Los Angeles who is passionate about the intersection of family life and technology. Continue...
