When my son was little, he was sick a lot. He used to get bacterial infections as often as I buy purses; which is to say, all the time.

Before he was a week old, he got a UTI, then there was pneumonia, strep, antibiotic-resistant strep-pneumo, mastoid infections (betcha never heard of that one, have you?), eye infections and two ear infections for good measure. I hate to leave out meningitis, but I will, because it was viral.

He’s had eye surgeries, two different sets of ear tubes and removal of his tonsils and adenoids…all in an effort to curb the infections…and more than anything, to stop them from traveling to his little, malformed heart. He has spent, roughly, two out of his nine years on antibiotics.

As he’s gotten older, and with each successive surgery, things have gotten better. But, that doesn’t mean that I ever let my guard down.

Just last week, my friend Bean was talking about how amazing a mother’s intuition can be. She trusted her instincts and got her son help when he needed it, because she just KNEW something wasn’t right. And, as far as I’m concerned, intuition saved my daughter’s life.

On Monday of this week, my kids didn’t have school. They were playing a game in the living room, while I was in the kitchen, when I heard my son cough. It wasn’t a fit, he didn’t throw up from it like he used to…it was just one, single, solitary cough. Cough.

But, I knew it wasn’t right; my gut told me so. Because of his history and because of his heart disease, I had set out to call the pediatrician’s office first thing Tuesday morning. My husband thought I was crazy. He said, “What are you going to tell them? That there’s nothing wrong with him?” because, really, there wasn’t.

Then I came to find out that five kids in his class had pneumonia.

I got him in and his doctor prescribed an antibiotic, but it hadn’t kicked in before last night when his cough and fever worsened. He was curled up in my bed, kind of weepy, when my husband walked in and knelt beside him. He rubbed our son’s head and said to him, “I sure am glad you’re on that medicine. You’ll feel better soon.”

To which I snarkily replied, “Wait…what? I thought there was nothing wrong with him.”

My husband shot back the snark and said, “Yeah, yeah. You’re the child-whisperer.”

Then my son, who obviously understands motherly intuition wearily lifted his head and said, “No she’s not! She’s my mom!”

Exactly, buddy. Exactly.

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And, so it begins.

A few days ago, the weather turned colder. This is the time of year when I dread walking outside because the wind bites, the sky is gray and we have two enormous trees that make one, big mess. You have never seen a run on lawn bags, until you’ve see us hit the hardware store.

Things inside the house aren’t much better. That biting wind? That’s the same thing that comes out of my husband’s mouth when he sees I’ve changed the thermostat again.

This morning, amid the sound of my son’s chattering teeth, I saw that my husband had set the heat at 65F. See how I put that “F” there? That’s for mah Canadian peeps. Holla! Oh, sorry. Holla, eh?

Now, if we lived in Canada, maybe 65F would be a heat wave, but here in Ohio I was just getting used to the 90F, August days, with humidity so high you could boil pasta, when September came along with her…fall weather. Shudder.

After I saw the thermostat setting, I did what any good wife would do; I turned up the heat behind my husband’s back and hoped he wouldn’t notice. That lasted…oh, about an hour, and 45 of those 60 minutes we weren’t even home.

Last night, after I protested, I got him to crank that baby to 67F. Then, I donned a short-sleeved shirt, a long-sleeved shirt, socks, pants, a heavy sweatshirt and a blanket.  I was finally comfortable.

That is, until my husband brought me a glass of his homemade wine. I took three sips and I started sweating. Clearly, I have found the solution to lower heating bills.

Drink more wine.

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One of the benefits of Catholic school is that my kids and their classmates do a lot to serve the community and those less fortunate. I am NOT saying that public school kids don’t serve their community, so don’t start hatin’ on me.

I am, however, speaking from my own public school experience and we didn’t do diddly squat.

It wasn’t until I was in high school that I even knew what a service project was and it usually involved picking up trash down by the river. Last year, my daughter’s class spearheaded a project that raised $8000 to build a well and clean lavatories for a school in Afghanistan. Hmm…picking up gum wrappers vs. clean water for third-world schoolchildren? It’s a toss up.

There are collections for toys, clothing, toiletries and once a month, every child brings in canned goods. It teaches the kids early, and often, to give of themselves.

Yesterday, my daughter and some of her friends visited a local soup kitchen to serve lunch. Before they went, they had to write a “pre-reflection” on what they were about to do. Here is what my kid wrote:

I’m really excited to go to the soup kitchen. I really want to learn and experience the act of giving to others. My goal is to really, truly understand what it means to help out the community and be able to come back, and not just say, “I liked helping because it made me feel good”…but, maybe something along the lines of, “I really enjoyed helping out at the soup kitchen because I could see the joy and thanks on their faces.”

See that? It wasn’t about her…it was about them.

And, that makes the tuition bill a lot less hard to pay.

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1. If a friend wins a memory foam mattress on an adjustable base (think Craftmatic commercials without the elderly people) and GIVES it to you, you may think it’s so incredible that you insist that your friends and family sit on it when they come to visit.

2. Then you may take delight in putting the head AND the feet up to their highest point and watch your friends get smashed in the middle.

3. When you weigh more than you have since your last pregnancy and you just sprained your foot, then your husband says, “We’re starting 1/2 marathon training on Monday”, there may be an audible GULP as that news sinks in.

4. But, not as big as the gulp that was heard when you stood on the scale.

5. No matter how often you bathe your stinky dog, you can’t completely eliminate the stank.

6. And, no matter how often your nine year old son takes a shower, he will still have dirty feet.

7. There should be a 12 step program for House Hunters addicts. Mostly, so that people like me can stop yelling at the home buyers when they pick out the worst house. Never mind that cracked foundation! There’s a linen closet! Sold!

8. Don’t even get me started on House Hunters International, where your pantry has to share space with your stand-up shower and the stacked washer/dryer, and your youngest child…and her guinea pig. We can see the beach! Sold!

9. Sometimes clocks don’t display the correct time. This will make you late. You’re welcome.

10. Your husband may think he’s doing a good job of using clean language in front of your kids, but when your nine year old tells his therapist that he “can tie his shoes, but they look pretty jacked up”, it may be time to reconsider the words you are using as substitutes.

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