Creature Bug

A little bloggy sunshine

  

It may not technically be summer, but the weather has been amazingly July-ish. And I love July weather. So I needed to bring some cheery colors and a new banner to this place.

I happened to catch a moment of sisterly love...I'll let you believe that they love each other all the time instead of approximately 20 minutes a day.

Week 258: You get one guess why yesterday was important

It was a Saturday, two hundred and fifty-eight weeks ago, that the celebration began.

And life has never been the same since.

Divine HOV

The girls and I have timed our many, many trips we've made back and forth between Oregon and Washington so that we can use the HOV/carpool lane. That stretch through north Portland would be a bear if we had to sit through all that traffic. We talk about how much we love the carpool lane.

This can be the only explanation for what I overheard Julianne singing yesterday as we were driving to Salem:

"Jesus loves to carpool."

Huh.

Well, he did have all those disciples...

Week 257: My daughter has a dancing heart

This was a big weekend for Sydney. I prepared myself by getting a new memory card and batteries for my camera, and an 1T external hard drive to handle all the pictures (as well as a few others that I'll be taking over the course of my life). There were pictures to be snapped and video to be taken. Earlier in the week I sewed part of a costume. I bought brand new tights. I practiced doing Sydney's make-up and hair.

It was dance recital weekend.

We were prepared.

There was a near disaster Friday night when Sydney's ears started hurting again, and she was absolutely miserable. "I know I can't cry for my recital," she sobbed, "but my ears hurrrrrt. I'll be *sob* brave though. Because no one *sob* likes to see a dancer cry." I promise I did not give her a "The Show Must Go On" speech. She is just very much her mother's daughter.

Fortunately, Grandma Sharon came to the rescue and took Sydney to urgent care to get some antibiotics. One dose and the pain subsided. (As for why I didn't take Sydney myself...it all happened while we were hearing Jerry Seinfeld's act.) Whew.

Saturday morning, I woke up with laryngitis which was the perfect blend of chaos that we needed to go with Sydney's reduced hearing. I couldn't talk loudly; she couldn't hear. We were like the pre-school version of Abbott and Costello. What did you say? Talk louder! What?

It was okay though because really all I had to do was clap and whistle at the performance. I wasn't in charge, and I had very few directions to give. It was Sydney's moment in the spotlight, and I didn't need to be messing it up with extra speeches or unnecessary advice. I didn't even have to take pictures because I had taken pictures at the dress rehearsal so I wouldn't have to fuss with anything during the performance.

She did marvelously.

She was a tap dancing penguin. Probably one of the prettiest little tap dancing penguins you've ever seen. It was a growing year for her, learning this new style of dance. Sydney is more drawn to ballet and the graceful movements, but she learned to love the sounds of tap and the ability to make her feet noisy. Even though her class did both ballet and tap, the primary focus was on tap.

She's learned all sorts of amazing things. Shuffle hop stamp. Four-count riffs. Five-count riffs. It's a different kind of movement than the usual twirling and leaping, but it was so good for her to be stretched.

It helps that her teachers are amazing. So professional. So talented. The choreography for the advanced ballet class was incredible. One of the saddest things about moving from Salem is that we won't be back at Discovery School of Dance next year. Sydney has been in Ms. Erin's class for two years now, and although we've been making the hour-plus drive for her class for a couple months now, it's not really practical. So we're in search of a new school.

As I watched Sydney perform, I couldn't have been prouder. I was excited for her, knowing how much she wanted to do a good job; I was relieved that everything went well; I was amazed that this little person has grown into a little girl who teaches me what she's learned at school.

"Oh!" she gushed afterwards. "We did it! I loved it!" She couldn't stop smiling. Neither could I.

My little dancer who learned the thrill of clicking and tapping and stomping her feet...Bravo.

*

Here's video (2:48) from the dress rehearsal (which explains the noisy background). Sydney is 3rd in from the left.

Sydney's Dance Recital (rehearsal) from creature bug on Vimeo.

In Memory of the Greats

Several months ago, a distant cousin of mine happened upon my blog (Hi Kathy!). We've exchanged a few emails about family news, and last week she sent me some great family pictures of my great-grandparents and my grandpa.

Since my mom is a genealogist then I've seen a lot of pictures of my ancestors over my life. I'm pretty sure that even on the day I was born my parents whipped out a few black and white photos and explained how to determine cousins from second cousins from first cousins once removed. I could be exaggerating, but it's a highly plausible scenario.

And yet.

I never get tired of seeing pictures of my family.

Especially the informal ones like this one of Grandpa-Great Ed Larson (on the far right) wearing a silly hat.

Or is it a silly man wearing a hat? Either way, it makes me feel good that my grandpa-great along with those other men--all of whom, save one, I'm related to--had a sense of humor. It's nice to know those farmers there in Sanish, North Dakota didn't take themselves too seriously.

Kathy also sent me a few other pictures of Grandpa-Great with Grandma-Great.

(In my family we call all our great-grandparents Grandpa-Great and Grandma-Great. My daughters call my grandma Grandma-Great, and it's the perfect title in every way.)

 

The small smile on Grandpa Ed's face, the way Grandma Mary is resting her hand on Grandpa's knee...it's just lovely, don't you think?

The last picture that Kathy sent me was of my grandpa.

 

Even though Grandpa passed away more than four years ago, a little something caught in my throat when I saw this picture. Oh, how I miss my grandpa. Now that we're living at the Family Farm every day, memories of my grandpa bubble to the surface more frequently. Seeing my dad mowing the grass and tending the garden remind me how Gramps used to do that.

He was my daughters' Grandpa-Great, but he was my great grandpa.

 

I remember you today and every day, Grandpa.

*

Who are you remembering today?

Laughed 'til I Cried

 

Every Friday night should end with 90 minutes of laughter. Seriously. I could do this every week.

My sides hurt and my jaw is tired, and it was totally worth it. I love Jerry Seinfeld's humor, and I was not disappointed. So funny. Larry Miller opened up the act, and he was funny too. But once Seinfeld was on stage, I never stopped smiling.

That guy. He'll always be my favorite comedian.

Momma Said There'd Be Days Like This

It's hard being two and wanting to do everything by yourself.

Because some things are trickier than they seem.

When you've been putting on your own shoes for a few months now, you feel unstoppable.

There is no shoe I cannot conquer, you say.

But sometimes--despite your very best efforts, despite your willingness to try, your determination to succeed--it just doesn't work out.

This will always be true, whether you are 2 or 32 or 102.

It's okay, Baby. Flip flops are tricky.

Week 256: Too Loud and Too Quiet

Last week, Sydney came down with a terrible ear ache. Tuesday morning she woke up in pain and was uncomfortable all day. I thought about taking her in to the doctor, but I had a feeling it wasn't an infection but instead related to her cold. I try to avoid going the route of antibiotics if possible.

Wednesday her other ear hurt, and we worked through it with Tylenol, ear drops, and a clove of garlic taped to her ear.

By Thursday morning her ears didn't hurt anymore.

We were all relieved, until I realized that even though her ears don't hurt, there must be a fair amount of fluid in them because she's lost about 50% of her hearing. I'm told it's normal, and that I shouldn't worry. I'm not exactly worried because I have no reason to believe that it's anything other than fluid in her ears. She never had a fever; she's not talking louder than she usually does; she admits that her ears feel "full." Nevertheless, we have a doctor's appointment set up. 

If I'm standing behind her, using my "inside voice," she can't hear me. If she calls to me from the other side of the house, I have to go to her because she can't hear me answer back.

She can't hear the audiobooks in the car. She can't hear the ticking of the clock. She almost always doesn't hear me the first time I say something.

She turns up the volume on the tv so loudly that Jules complains. "Too loud!" Jules yells. "What?" says Sydney. "TOO LOUD!" repeats Jules.

I'm trying to be patient, but it's frustrating. No doubt it's frustrating to Sydney too. If she sees my lips moving, she walks closer, squinting hard in concentration. If I'm sitting next to her, she'll lean her ear right into my mouth. I could resolve some of the issues by talking louder the first time, but believe it or not, maintaining loud conversations all the time is kind of exhausting. Add into that my uncertainty of when Sydney is ignoring me--which she does sometimes--and when she's honestly not hearing me, and it makes for long days.

So it's been a weary week...hearing "what?" after everything, repeating almost everything, yelling instructions in a volume that I normally reserve for matters of urgency. Just like listening to quiet music and talking in soothing tones helps you feel peaceful, doing the reverse makes you feel anxious. I realized tonight that it's created in me a kind of fake irritation. I'm not really angry, but my brain translates all the above volume talking into tension.

Fortunately, Sydney doesn't really mind the extra quiet that has crept into her world. She plays fine on her own, chattering happily to herself. But it's hard for me. Not just the talking louder, but the silence from being selective about what I say to her.

"We're going to be late," I told her one afternoon as we were headed out the door.

"It's eight?" she asked.

"We're late," I repeated a little louder.

"What?" she asks again.

I wave my hand, and shake my head. We give up that conversation. We've given up a lot of conversations.

The extra noise is certainly an irritation, but it's the silence between Sydney and me that makes all of this the hardest of all.

Love as big as a hippopotamus

A few weeks ago, we went to the zoo to help celebrate Packy the Elephant's birthday. Packy is a legend at the Portland Zoo, so there was a huge turnout for the birthday party. Plus, there was free cake and free paper elephant ears, so there's that.

We had a bit of hard time maneuvering around because there's a ton of construction going on right now, but we'll excuse the mess because it means they are bringing back the lions and tigers. Building big, strong cages to keep big, strong animals away from visitors is pretty important. And considering the lions have been away from the zoo for more than 10 years, it's worth the construction.

After singing Happy Birthday to Packy, we meandered around to see some of the exhibits. We have a zoo membership, which releases us from feeling like we have to see everything. We can skip past all the Pacific Northwest creatures (which somehow seem kind of boring to me), and head straight to the exotic animals. We saw the polars bears, which characteristically did nothing. That's okay. We had more fun with the life-size portrait of the bears.

We saw the penguins--or "pingus" as Jules calls them--and paid a visit to the naked mole rat cage to see if any of them were wearing clothes (ala Wilber, the naked mole rat who gets dressed). They were all predictably naked. Oh well.

Then we finally made our way over to the safari area to see the giraffes and zebras. Most of the animals were taking naps--presumably having stayed up too late the night before celebrating the elephant's birthday--but then I saw the hippos having a little moment.

I have to say that I usually don't pay much attention to hippos, but they really endeared themselves to me on this trip.

Sometimes you just need a little snuggle time. Sometimes you need a shoulder--or a backside--to lean on. Even hippos.

That's one happy hippo.

And now that Jason just got home for the weekend (only five more weeks of living apart!), I think I know exactly how Mr. Hippopotamus feels.

Thankful Thursday

Today, I'm thankful for...

• the sunshine--it's been a very wet, windy week
• Pandora Radio
• getting the house cleaned while the girls were at preschool (I need to write about the fab set-up I have for preschool...but not today)
• Sydney's persistent earache that started Tuesday morning is mostly gone. It was a hard two days, but after a lot of children's Tylenol, non-helpful ear drops, a hot water bottle, and some cloves of garlic we made it through. Whew.
• tickets to go see violinist Josh Bell on Sunday (you might have seen him playing in the subway)
• chocolate covered macadamian nuts my parents brought back from Hawaii
• Sleepytime Vanilla tea
• tickets to go see Jerry Seinfeld next Friday
• Facebook messages from my high school best friend, and lunch plans for next week
• a few moments to listen to my newest audiobook: Life of the Beloved, by Henri Nouwen
• the soy candle burning on my dining room table
• an appreciative email from a client who liked the work I did for her 

Happy Thursday!

When Verbs Don't Work, Try a Noun

Today, from Sydney:

"Hey Mom! I'm imaginationing--

I'm imaginating--

Hey Mom! I'm using my imagination when I hear this song!"

Week 255: Three out of Four Stars

When Jason asked me what I wanted to do for Mother's Day, I was vague. "I don't know." One moment I'd mention the zoo. The next moment I'd suggest Burgerville for lunch (and can I just say that now that we are in the hub of Burgerville-land, I know I will gain 20 pounds consuming their milkshakes. And fries. And Tillamook cheese burgers). But mostly I'd just shrug my shoulders.

In case you didn't know--but probably do if you have children--shrugging shoulders is rarely a good answer. It doesn't do anybody any good.

The one thing I did know: I wanted to sleep in; I wanted puffy oven pancakes; I wanted a card.

This allowed my morning to play out perfectly. I slept in and woke to the smell of baked deliciousness smothered in syrup. Sydney gave me the card, and since she had picked it out then it was, naturally, a singing card. She adores singing cards and would get them for everyone she knows for every occasion of the year, and I would generally comply if they were just a little bit less expensive. So the adorable card sang me a song, and we all danced around to it, and then as it ended, I pushed the little "PS" button and heard Syd's sweet recorded voice: "Happy Mother's Day, Mom! We love you!"

And my eyes teared up a little, and I was delirious with love. The sunlight streaming through the windows, the mug of hot tea, the dancing, the song, the voice from the card, the laughter of the girls--it was just what I wanted.

That's what I want to remember most about Mother's Day. That moment.

Unfortunately, for a lot of the other moments of the day I was in an inexplicably bad mood. It wasn't Jason's fault, although in poor form I took out most of my agitation on him. We picked at each other, and I was a beast. I very much did not deserve a holiday dedicated to me.

Even now, my chest is tight with angst over the day. I was--to put it bluntly--torn in two different directions. One the one hand, I wanted to do nothing. Absolutely nothing. I didn't want to see anybody. I didn't want to do anything or go anywhere. I just wanted to take a nap and drink tea.

But on the other hand, my youngest brother was in town from Seattle, and I wanted to see him. Jason's parents were coming over, and we wanted to have them over. We are so grateful for my mother-in-law's presence in our life. Sis-in-law Sarah was having a dinner shindig, and I wanted to see her family. None of these things conflicted with each other for time. The afternoon and evening played out perfectly.

Except.

That part of me still wanted to do nothing. And so I was grouchy. Bad Mama.

When the day was finally over and I crawled into bed, I was relieved. It was too hard to have a day where I was supposed to do whatever I wanted to do because I'm really not that good at deciding what I want to do. I smirk when I think of my bond with skunk cabbages: I was totally skunky. In a stinky way.

Fortunately, I have the singing card to remind me of that moment before I ruined everything.

And fortunately I also have these pictures that Sarah took of my brothers and me. Andrea was in Hawaii, so didn't make the photo-op, but the three of us hammed it up for the camera. The fedora is...inexplicable.

 

We don't know where that fedora came from, but it makes for a good prop.

 

What is most unusual about this picture is that Tyler, my younger but not youngest brother, is giving a regular, nice, pleasant smile for the camera. Of the three of us, he's the most likely to make a goofy face at the camera. And yet here? He left Jake and I to look like the goofy ones. (And, yes, I'm posting this picture as penance for my Mother's Day attitude.)

 

I love these guys. Which is good since Tyler and I get to be neighbors until we drive each other crazy. And even when that happens we'll still probably stay neighbors.

So, on the one hand, I didn't get what I wanted for Mother's Day. But on the other hand, I got exactly what I wanted and more.

The Skunk Cabbage of Motherhood

I was talking to my mom on the phone yesterday--she had just gotten back from spending the afternoon on a warm Hawaiian beach...very nice for her--and she asked me, "Are any of the flowers on the farm blooming? Are the rhodies blooming?" I confirmed that they weren't blooming. Few blooms around here except the lilac bushes, which are, in fact, quite lovely.

My mom was relieved. She didn't want to miss the blooming of the rhododendrons. They really make the place look amazing.

I didn't mention, since she would have seen them before she left for vacation anyway, that there is quite the distinguishable shade of yellow blooming all around the duck ponds and the creek.

And if you happen to walk by the distinguishable shade of yellow you will also encounter a distinguishable scent. The scent of skunk. Coming from the skunk cabbage.

Most people hate the scent of skunk, but my sister and I agree that we find the smell kinda comforting. It's true. To you it's just a stinky roadkill; to us it's the smell that reminds us of home.

It's not that we especially like skunk cabbage or anything, but here on the Family Farm--where a significant portion of the land is swamp--we have more than our fair share of skunk cabbage growing about. And when we played in the swampy areas as kids, the smell that surrounded us from March to September was the faint smell of skunk. So now? The scent of skunks brings back memories of our childhood summers. The smell of skunk reminds us of home (though you won't catch me buying a candle scented with skunk cabbage).

I was thinking today that though we'd probably prefer to associate motherhood more with this--

rather than this--

I think moms and skunk cabbage have something in common.

I better explain.

The skunk cabbage produces heat, and it's this trait which enables it to survive in the winter. The snows may fall, but the skunk cabbage's little heater keeps going and helps to melt the snow around it. This heat allows the skunk cabbage to be one of the first flowers to appear in spring, allows it to have the largest leaf of any native plant. It's big; it's strong; it's warm.

I like to think that we moms try to have this ability too.  We make sure the ground around us stays warm. We make sure that our love is big and strong and the first thing our baby clings. Because of our kids, we know that no matter how icy our life gets, how cold and damp we might feel sometimes, we still keep going. We still keep everything warm.

Of course, we don't always know what life's groundwork is going to bring us.

Like Erin, it might joyfully unexpectedly place a baby in our arms two days before Mother's Day.

Like Abby, it might mean celebrating our child's life, ended too soon, the day before Mother's Day.

Like Amanda, it might mean listening to the heartbeats you've been waiting to hear for years.

It gets cold. It gets warm. We keep going.

We're skunk cabbages, Moms. We might like to thing we're roses or tulips or daisies or daffodils. And certainly in a way our life is full of all those beautiful flowery moments. But sometimes we're not so pretty, and sometimes we might even be downright stinky. That's how life is. The beauty is that we keep going because we love our child so stinkin' much.

Happy Mother's Day, friends. Here's to keeping the ground warm.

"That's a dealbreaker, ladies"

For that past several weeks I've had to watch "The Office" and "30 Rock" by myself since Jason is in Salem, and I'm at the Family Farm. Both those shows are near and dear to my heart because they make me laugh like nothing else, but it's been a little less laughable watching it by myself. I still laugh. Because I can't stop it. But then there's no one next to me to whom I can immediately repeat the line. It's kind of sad.

And I don't like any part of sad on my Thursday nights. It's all about the laughing.

So last week, after "The Office" ended, I called up Jason and we giggled over our favorite parts (or maybe I just giggled, and he did whatever the male version is of giggled...chuckled? snickered?). Then "30 Rock" came on and we just stayed on the phone. Laughing together. When the show was over, Jason said, "We just watched a show. Over the phone."

In nearly 12 years of marriage, we've never watched a tv show while holding a conversation with each other over the phone. Huh.

Last night I called up Jason midway through "The Office." Together we snorted at Cafe Disco. We laughed at Liz and her Mamma Mia plan. And then when the show was over, we said goodnight.

So, while living apart during the week pretty much sucks, our Thursday nights aren't half bad. Only six more weeks to go...

If You Give a Mom a Vacation

If you give a mom a vacation, she's going to want to visit her sister.

And when she visits her sister, chances are they'll head to a hipster town like Boulder, Colorado, to do some shopping.

And while she's shopping, the sun will come out and remind her that spring is on the way.

Knowing that spring is on the way, she'll wander into a boutique to find a cute little skirt that she has to have. 

And once she has the skirt, she'll discover when she gets home from vacation that she doesn't have a top to go with it.

So she'll have to go out shopping again to find a top that compliments the skirt.

And shopping for the top will remind her that she needs to get some new shoes that are just a little fancier than regular ole' flip-flops.

When she tries on her new shoes she'll realize that her toes aren't sufficiently summery, so she'll have to go get a pedicure.

As she's getting a pedicure she'll start to relax, knowing that she's done teaching classes and her summer vacation is just around the corner.

And thinking of summer will inspire her to go get her hair straightened because even though she has daughters with ridiculously cute curly hair,

her's is not so much (ridiculously cute, that is). So off she goes to get her hair straightened.

And once her hair is straightened, and her new skirt and top and shoes are on, and her toes are painted and looking perfectly summery, she'll go outside only to discover that the sun is gone and the rain is pouring down in buckets.

She'll remember, in the midst of the rain, that her sister is vacationing in Hawaii.

And chances are, when she thinks of her sister enjoying all that sunshine...

...she's going to want a vacation.

(Inspired by the weather, the new outfit, and that fabulous mouse and cookie lover, Laura Numeroff.)

Week 254: Farm Girl

I suspect a lot of 2 year-olds like being outside, and Jules is no exception. Even if it's cold--and I tell her it's too cold--she isn't persuaded to stay inside. "We'll put our coats on!" she reasons. It's good logic.

Except that two things stand in her way. First of all, unfortunately for Jules, she has a mom who hates being cold. In my opinion, cold weather is Mother Nature's way of telling me to stay inside. Read a book. Do some laundry. Make plans for when the weather goes above 70 degrees. Secondly, while the first reason doesn't seem relevant to Jules, I'm not quite comfortable with her wandering around 7 unfenced acres by herself. Especially when there's a creek. And steep hillsides. And a street that's not all that far away. I know. I'm such a predictable mom like that.

Jules doesn't subscribe to that kind of logic. Who cares if it's raining? Who cares if it's cold? Who cares if an adult is with me? That's what coats and hats and dogs are for. As far as she's concerned, every day is a good day to go down to the creek and watch the dogs fetch sticks.

 

And every day is a good day to get hands in the dirt. When we go outside, she has to put her hands in every puddle. She's got to pick up the dirt, throw the dirt, wiggle her toes in the sand (as long as there are no bugs--she hates bugs). While I enjoy being outside as much as the next person, I admit to being a bit of a...of a um...a uh...well, some might say I'm something of a priss when it comes to getting dirty. In other words, Jules and I disagree on how much dirt is acceptable to carry around on our skin.

Fortunately for her, my dad--Grandpa Steve--enjoys being outside a lot. Well, maybe he doesn't always enjoy it, but he has to be out there anyway. Somebody has to take care of the farm. And if he's out there in the Mule, well, Jules might as well be with him too. Because really, being outside is good for kids and grandpas alike.

She doesn't mind sitting in the Mule, marveling appropriately at whatever Grandpa is showing her. Frogs, a rock in the mud, skunk cabbage. It's all very interesting.

And I'm learning to pick up little outdoor lessons from her. Sure it may be cold and it may be drizzly, but we can get our boots and coats and hats, and we can go outside, even if I'd rather stay inside.

Because one of these days she'll be old enough to go outside all by herself, and she won't want me to come along.

I better keep up with her while I can.

Vote for the Voiles

I have a story I love telling to my friends when the conversation topic turns to having girls/having boys/having multiples.

The story is about the Voiles, whom I don't know personally but who I know of because they are friends of my friends.

The whole story is a bit on the longish side, but the basics are as such: the Voiles decide to have a baby. They have a baby girl. They decide to have another baby. They have twin girls. They really want to go for that fourth baby (hoping for a boy?). They don't have a boy. They have triplets. GIRL triplets. Yes, six girls In five years.

TRUE STORY.

The Voiles are in a contest to be featured on TLC, and voting ends in a couple weeks. If you are so inclined, you might want to vote for them.

I've gotten a lot of mileage out of telling their story (because six girls in five years?! wow!), so I've been voting for them every day. Plus, I'd love to see their story on TLC!

At least my toes will be interesting

Just a heads up for all my Court Street MOPS pals: I'll be speaking at this Tuesday's meeting. Yes, indeed, I'll have a little something to say about early childhood literacy. Heck, I always seem have something to say about early childhood literacy, only this time I might actually have hand-outs to go along with my talk.

Just for the occasion, I got a pedicure. You know, as a visual aid, or something.

See you Tuesday.

A little swine for Oregon

Well, it was bound to happen eventually.

The swine flu is in Oregon.

In fact, out of an abundance of caution, Western Oregon University--where I did my graduate work and where former world's best nanny Rebekah attends--closed its campus today and will remain closed through Monday because a student might have swine flu.

I am both alternately annoyed and fascinated by the media's coverage. On the one hand, the media is all about freaking people out. It's no wonder that foreign countries aren't importing North American pork--even though you can't catch the swine flu from eating pork--the media circus is ridiculous. I won't even watch the news tonight because it'll be all about swine flu, and all about panic. And since the spring flu is usually just nature's "test-run" for the winter flu, then we might be hearing about the swine flu for a long time. Fabulous.

However, as I've mentioned a few times before, I love reading about immunology and diseases. I don't know what it is about pandemics and epidemics and plagues that I find so thrilling (especially considering I am embarrassingly ignorant about general science topics), but with the new outbreak I've been keeping my eyes open for non-dramatized articles about the swine flu. Reading about Outbreaks vs. Epidemics? Yes, please. Reading about the swine flu as bioterrorism? Sure. Today I saw that Slate provided me with a whole page full of swiney links. Oh mercy.

Now, being a non-science person, I can't just pick up the latest science journal and be enthralled. I need my diseases wrapped in mystery and intrigue, and cushioned by a well-worded narrative. You do that, and you've got me hooked.

If by some chance you also enjoy an excellently written germ story, well, here are five suggestions. (If you aren't interested, at the very least, check out the last book on this list.)

• Flu: The Story of the Great Influenza Pandemic, by Gina Kolata. This was the book that got me hooked on diseases. The flu pandemic of 1918 killed tens of millions of people, but scientists are still uncertain what made that strain so deadly. The mystery of it? Most of the 1918 flu's victims were young and middle-aged adults. A few parts of the book get a little weighty, but skimming is fine enough, and being aware of how the flu of 1918 is shaping today's flu theories makes this a compelling read.
• The American Plague: The Untold Story of Yellow Fever, the Epidemic that Shaped Our History, by Molly Caldwell Crosby. Did you know that the CDC is alerted if just one case of yellow fever is detected? I found The American Plague quite gripping, and patted myself on the back for recognizing her references to Kolata's flu book. Crosby's medical mystery is disjointed in some parts, but finely recounts the heroics of those who eventually solved the causes for yellow fever. You'll never look at a mosquito the same again.
• 28: Stories of AIDS in Africa, by Stephanie Nolan. I randomly stumbled upon a blogger's recommendation for this book, and checked it out from the library on a whim. I'm so glad I did. For each of the 28 chapters (representative of the 28 million HIV-infected people in Africa), Nolan focuses on one individual HIV related case: an orphan, a scholar, a prostitute immune to AIDS. The individual stories are heartbreaking, staggering, and informative. I've recommended this book to more than a dozen people (although no one I know has ever taken me up on my recommendation...reading about AIDS is no walk in the park).
• Vaccinated: One Man's Quest to Defeat the World's Deadliest Diseases, by Paul Offit. The dominant narrative of the book is the history of Maurice Hilleman and vaccinations, but naturally in order to understand vaccinations you have to understand diseases. I reviewed the book a couple years ago, and it still stands out in my mind as a compelling read, not only for its history of diseases but also for its strong case favoring vaccines.
• Better: A Surgeon's Notes on Performance, by Atul Gawande. Now I know I've mentioned this book before, and perhaps you've shrugged off my recommendation. But seriously. SERIOUSLY. You need to read this book. It's. so. good. For what it's worth, it's got a 4 1/2 star rating on Amazon. It's a quick read, each chapter stands alone, it's well written and even funny, and it gives you a look into the medical community that will change the way you think. Buy it. Check it out from the library. Spend an afternoon at the bookstore. Whatever you have to do, read it. And when you do, let me know so I can stop harassing you to read it.

So, there's my germ-infested list. All this swine flu talk got me interested in reading about pandemics again, so I'm starting on The Coming Plague: Newly Emerging Diseases in a World Out of Balance next week, hoping it won't be too dated (it was written in 1995). I'd love to hear any suggestions you might have, assuming I'm not the only one who has a morbid fascination with books like these. Anyone? Hello? Bueller?

Most importantly though, I'm hoping you all stay safe and healthy from this nasty flu. As for me, I'll be happy to read the book about it in a couple years, and just like all my disease infested reads, I'd rather not have personal experience with the topic.