After almost four weeks of walking around, coughing up a lung, and wheezing and sniffling and feeling mostly lousy, I dragged my sorry self to the doctor yesterday. (Question: Why is it, if my kids are sick, I have them into the doctor within 24 hours, but, if I am sick, it takes waking up with my eyes glued shut before I call for an appointment for myself?)

Anyway, I have brochitis and a sinus infection. This is good news, since I had convinced myself that I had walking pneumonia and some kind of weird eye cancer. Or something. I've got the good prescription strength pseudophedrine, antibiotics, and some kind of wretched flowery smelling spray I am suppose to shoot up my nose, which makes me feel vaguely like I am secretly snorting some kind of illicit material. (It also makes me wonder how people who ARE actually snorting illicit materials up their nose do so without jumping out of their own damn skin, because frankly, the feeling of snuffing up the flowery smelling spray is very oogy and unpleasant, and I cannot imagine shooting anything with more substance up there.) (Dear god, the places this free-writing takes my thought process. I apologize.)

Husband has been sick, too, and Lana's nose is running like a sieve. Gabe seems to be the only one of us feeling okay.

Lana freaked me out the other day by bringing me a photo of her foster mom. I said, "who is that?" and Lana said, "Mommy." I looked at her quizzically (because she, until this point, referred to her foster mother exclusively as "Ma" and never "Mommy") and said, "Who am I?" and she said, "Mommy." So, I pointed at foster mom, and asked, "Is this me?" and Lana said, "Yes." OY. And UGH. And WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO MAKE OF THAT? I mean, the child is NOT blind. She KNOWS what I look like. It is clear that I am not a 95 pound, 5 foot tall Vietnamese woman. I'm not sure if Lana was commenting that we have both been mothers to her, or if she actually is living in some magical place in her head where FosterMom and I are ONE AND THE SAME? I cannot decide if it is good she sees me in a similar light as she saw the woman who raised her for almost 4 years. Is it good? Is it bad? Is it normal? IS there ANY defintion of normal in a situation that is SO FAR BEYOND THE NORMAL FAMILY EXPERIENCE? Am I having too much angst about this?

In work news, I had to be in divorce court today, a sucking, heart-wrenching experience that normally eats up an entire afternoon, and I was only there for 35 minutes! A new record for least amount of time spent wallowing in the court of broken dreams. OH! And my client left HAPPY. Which is darn unusual, considering that most people leave divorce court in a BAD MOOD. (Even if you want a divorce, most people don't skip out of the building. I hypothesize that people don't really like having to confront their failed personal relationships in open court.) But, anyway, this was a post-decree hearing, and it went fine. Which hardly ever happens. Maybe I should go buy a lottery ticket or something.

LM