Katie has been complaining of knee pain for about a year now, and her newest doctor decided she should have an MRI. Because of her age, she had to be sedated. Bill took off work yesterday and spent all day at Walter Reed with her – leaving around 6 AM and returning at 5 PM.

Both my older boys have been anesthetized for different things, and their recovery was uneventful. Not surprisingly, though, Katie takes after her father and his side of the family with vomiting and an unwillingness to wake up afterward. At home, she closely resembled a late night drunk as she staggered around with half-lidded eyes. I had to order her several times to stay put before she started calling out when she wanted something. It was a pitiable sight.

We don’t expect to hear from the doctor until next week. And while a prayer for her would be appreciated, think more of the other littler children who were getting MRIs with her. They, and their parents, suffering through much worse than a chronic complaint of achiness could really use a few Aves.

Katie, after suffering through a hair combing as well as a math worksheet involving borrowing:

“I need a drink.”

Chocolate milk. Make it a double.

Stuck in the car, we have some of the most interesting conversations.

Jenny: Was Daddy ever in a war?

Me: No. (Thank God).

Jenny: What’s it like to be in a war?

Me: I don’t know, honey.

Fritz: Scary!

Me: Yes, I imagine it is scary.

Katie: It’s like walking in the woods, and you have a gun, and you want to shoot the deer, but the deer are coming at you instead of running away, and they have guns too, and they’re going to shoot you.

{pause}

Me: I suppose if you can imagine that, you might be able to imagine what war is like.

FYI: Although my husband would like to go hunting, he never has, I never have, none of us have ever been hunting, seen people hunting. I don’t think they’ve ever even seen a deer strapped to a car or truck, although they did watch Open Season. They have seen deer while walking in the woods. I don’t know where she gets this stuff.

Said earnestly:

“Mommy! I taught Mary how to count to ten! I said one, and she said Eh! I said two, and she said Eh! I said three, and she said Eh! …”

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At the dinner table:

“I am going to do something inappropriate.”

belch

Do I thank her for the warning? Chastise her for her vulgar behavior? Praise her for an excellent word choice? And can you tell she has older brothers?

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Months ago, the kids all received brown scapulars at Little Flowers and Blue Knights. These are plasticy, rosary ones with a crucifix and tiny knots along the whole length. It’s sized for an adult, too, so when worn, hangs well below a child’s waist. Of all my kids, Katie has persisted longest in wearing hers. She has never taken it off: not in the bath, not at the pool.

Yesterday, I took her to a ballet class to see what level was good for her and if she liked it. I warned her that she might not be able to wear the scapular during class.

Tearfully, she said, “But Mommy, I promised God I would never take it off!”

So sweet!

But when I saw her in her leotard, I really felt that it shouldn’t be worn. Not only did it protrude in the back and hang obviously around her neck, it bulged in the front where the excess length pooled around her tummy. I gently told her to take it off just for class. I felt horrible.

Anybody else have to deal with something like this? Scapulars are meant to be worn under clothing. They aren’t intended for public display. The leotard is a standard leotard and not immodest (for a leotard), but you can’t wear anything under a leotard without it being noticed.

I myself struggled with this issue when I was going to a military ball with Bill. My medal scapular hung low on my neck, but looked really silly outside my dress or inside and partially exposed. I finally bought a pretty necklace with a short string of blue freshwater pearls and a small silver cross.

Perhaps for Katie I should stitch a small woolen scapular inside her leotard?