Koooooool-Aid!

Pablo and three cans of Kool-Aid in our bed this morning. Strange, I know.... Read on to find out more....

Sunday was a full day of in-house Pablo play. Grant came over for a play date. They tore up Pablo's new play room, at lunch, and talked a lot—as in, they conversed. Grant went to preschool with Pablo at Walther. We are used to them chattering in preschool code—spouting ridiculous and funny comments at one another. But things have changed since I last hung with them at Walther. Their conversational skills are more advanced these days. Not quite David Mamet, but way beyond Sesame Street. The two of them had some amazingly cute, precocious exchanges, most of which were showcasing knowledge about toys, super heroes or dogs.

One great exchange I recall is this one, which went down after I kissed Pablo goodbye, on my way to the office.

GRANT: What is your dad's job?

PABLO: I don't know. He either drives his car or rides his bike to his office.

I was on the floor when I heard this. It was funny, and interesting to think that, in Pablo's eyes, I am a mysterious Don Draper type who just goes off to some office. I wish I had Don Magic Juan's wardrobe—and a client like Jimmy Barrett. As soon as I could find her in the house, I told Jo Ann about my unintentional eavesdrop. She found it as cute and hilarious as I did.

At 2:30 p.m. today, Pablo is due back at CHLA for blood labs and an exam by Dr Mascarenhas. If all is good with his blood numbers, he will be admitted, and will begin the first of two chemo treatments (three drugs) this evening. He'll be home on Wednesday, barring any unforeseen challenges.

Here at our house, we don't have any medical equipment. No meters, syringes, electronic devices from the R&D labs of Philips, Medtronic, or GE Medical. What we have here at home is love, life and the pursuit of playfulness. Sometimes, when we are home from CHLA, Jo Ann or I will comment that we wish we knew Pablo's blood count. It's cool to have a daily read of that while we're in-patient. And while P's activity level is not a scientific gauge of his health, the tone of his voice, and the intensity of his play is a very accurate measure of his overall state of well-being.

As I write this, Pablo is jumping up and down on our bed, playing with three cans of Kool-Aid. He is trying to entice Jo Ann to go upstairs and turn one of those cans into scented organic homemade Play-Doh. She doesn't need much convincing—they are already upstairs mixing their crazy concoction. She loves making that stuff with and for Pablo. He has as much fun making it as he does molding animals, faces and balls out of it. He'll get hours of fun out of one giant mound of that stuff. Where he's headed for the next few days, he's got nothin but hours.

We'll check in later, after we get settled at CHLA.