Here's how it goes every morning: G and Lauren get up by 5, leave for seminary (early morning religious class for high schoolers) at 5:30.  G drops her off at 6 and goes on in to work.  Because she's the only one at seminary who attends her high school, I leave at 6:30 and go pick her up and take her to school, arriving home around 7:20.  (Are you with me?  Is this the most exciting paragraph you've ever read?)

Now I'm no early bird. But in spite of the crack-of-dawnness, that hour or so is one of my favorites in the day. The sunrise is usually stunning. And it's great chat time with my eldest child, just the two of us (as long as I'm not driving to seminary and all in a dither about punctuality).  Don't you love how driving in a car opens up kids to all kinds of topics and reflections? 

In addition to deepest thoughts and shallowest observations, we share music. Today Journey's Don't Stop Believing came on, a tune which always brings up memories of jr. high afternoon dances and the confusion about whether it was a slow song or a fast one.  We were singing along and I belted out the words.

"Mom, those aren't the right lyrics."

"What?! I think I know my own era songs, thankyouverymuch."

"Mom, really, listen when that line comes up again."

I did. 

She was right.

It's not "born and raised and self-destroyed" which is how I've been singing it. All. These. Years. Apparently (as I'm sure you all know) it's "born and raised in South Detroit." Whatever. I think my lyrics make more sense.  And more universal, for those of us non-Michiganites.

Turnabout is fair play, though; Lauren was just getting me back from this time.  

. . .

grateful for: the boost I feel after exercising, our 8 p.m. nightly gathering as a family, and keeping in touch with longtime friends (just had a great phone chat with my college roommate this afternoon)

Over the summer we replaced our hardy old minivan Ruby (~200,000 miles!) with a brand new family mobile.  This was a long-awaited event and, as we cleared out the flotsam and jetsam from the trusty but stained Ruby, G extracted a promise from each of us:

No food in the new car.

The kids tried different techniques to test the paternal rule resolve.  They sneaked snacks aboard in their pockets, for one.  Oh, the folly of youth. These things are always discovered and woe!WOE! unto the child who sneakily munches in the back seat.  By their crumbs they are judged.

Eventually we all got used to the new reign of foodlessness and all was well.  We took 6-hour summer trips where water was the only allowed substance to touch our lips while inside the new vehicle.  If sometimes I brought a therapeutic can of Diet Coke into the car, I claimed parental exemption and crossed my fingers.

So imagine my horror when I got into the car recently and found that the gear shift between the two front seats was verrrry difficult to move.  It stuck and was almost impossible to shift into reverse or drive, especially first thing in the morning.  Like something had been spilled nearby.  I was pretty sure I hadn't spilled my soda. Had I? HAD I?!  Looking closer, I noticed several sticky spots on and around and in(!) the shifter.

I scrambled into the house to get something to wipe up the evidence.  

G: (casually) What are you doing? 

A: (slamming cupboards and rushing around) oh...I just noticed something needed to be wiped up in the car

G: (his interest piqued) Oh? What?

A: Um.  Well.  I just tried to shift the car into reverse and--I don't know how this happened--it seems like there's something spilled and sticky.

G: What?!

A: Yeah. I can't figure it out because we really haven't had anything in the car like that.

G: (Silence)

A: And it's REALLY sticky.  So, you know, I don't even think it would be...a drink...or anything.

G: Hmm.

A: (still getting towels and water)

G: So...it is sticky like honey?

A: Yeah! That's exactly what it's like.  I even tasted it and it's sweet. Why?

G: Hmm.

A: What?

G: I had a peanut butter and honey sandwich in the car.

A: (laughing) YOU did?

G: (meekly laughing) Yes...I didn't have time to eat before soccer practice so I grabbed a sandwich. 

A: (still laughing) Okay Mr. No Food in the Car!  A peanut butter and honey sandwich?!

And so it is that every morning when I get in the car, I wrestle the somewhat sticky gearshift into reverse and chuckle a little that it was G who was the first to usher the new car into "broken in" status.

. . .

Thankful for: my funny (+ honest!) G, the 10 a.m. schedule at church, great car conversations with my kids.

On the third day of sickness, the swine flu(?) gave to me...three coughing people, two fevers over 102, and a feeling that we'll never be free.  

(via my facebook status this morn. I was pretty proud of that; it only took me all morning to think of it:))

Okay, if I'm going to be sick and ill equipped to write my qualifying paper (fuzzy brain...oh well!) then I will try to use my quarantine time to plan and scheme about Thanksgiving and other November delights.  Greg's parents are coming out for the week surrounding Thanksgiving and we're so excited to host them (first time in about 6 years, I think).  The Thanksgiving dinner part is not too hard to plan; I do the same tried-and-true list every year plus I'll ask others to bring things to contribute to the feast (Greg's cousin's family and hopefully my sister are also coming).

But here's what gives me pause: what about the other days of their visit?  I'd like to move beyond our standard five (you know, mexican night, italian night, pizza night, breakfast for dinner night...) and yet I'd like to not be distracted by the meal prep the whole time.  What are your favorite houseguest meals to prepare (including lunches and breakfasts, too)?

. . .

Thankful for: a new book on my doorstop (Lacuna, Barbara Kingsolver's new one), a bathtub full of almost scalding water, extra time to scheme and daydream and cuddle on the sofa with the other sickies

Oh, my. We've got it here, the gomboo. Fever, chills, headache, cough.  I know we're kind of late to the flu party but here we are! Is there still any guacamole left? (Ugh, cancel that. Guacamole is the last thing we need at this moment.  How about popsicles?)   

We're all in our beds (everyone but G and Maddy), a coughing chorus of germ hosts.  Books, check.  Water, check. Pillows with the cool side a turn away, check. Rest time, check.

Sam, the sickest among us, groans in his sleep with every exhale, a faint little oh with every breath as he naps on the sofa.  Lauren feels fine but can't shake the fever--she's been watching movies and texting and seems full of ideas, asking to go for Wendy's frosties/subway sandwiches/movie rentals/driving practice.  I'm being a little productive in a slow motion, fuzzy kind of way with lots of forehead checks and drink fetching and temperature taking for the other patients. We will survive. 

Finger crossed G doesn't get it. He leaves for Paris on business at the end of the week. (Here, France, is our little hostess gift to you: the gomboo.)

--------

Grateful for: 1. the skylight in my bedroom with the view of the tenacious yellow leaves 2. duvets 3. advil to bring down fevers