My nice quiet bubble of solitude has been popped. Chickadee came home filled with stories about her trip, all of the things they did and which kid said what and how she ordered a veggie burger one day that was GREEN on the inside, SO GROSS.
Me: Maybe that means it was made of real vegetables! Did you try it?
Her: No, it was just GROSS. Veggie burgers are not supposed to be GREEN.
Me: Plenty of vegetables are green. Maybe instead of soy and chemicals it was made of GREEN VEGETABLES?
Her: I don’t think so.
Me: So what did you end up eating?
Her: Oh, it’s okay! I had my french fries, and a Sprite, and some chocolate mousse thing for dessert.
Me: Truly, you are a beacon of health and an example to vegetarians everywhere.
Her: I KNOW, RIGHT? Hey, do you have any SUGAR??
There are many important things she has to tell me, is my point. I am actually enjoying it, in a horrified, bleeding-eardrum kind of way. (Apparently the Tower of Terror is REALLY SCARY. Who knew?) But there is the matter of her sunburn.
First, let the record show that although we somehow both overlooked packing sunscreen (give me a break, it’s only March), this child had plenty of protective clothing, and a hat, and a giant wad of cash with which she could purchase sunscreen (after she blew part of it on veggie burgers she refused to eat, natch). And while a sunburn is no laughing matter for anyone, for a kid like Chickadee who has an as-yet-undiagnosed chronic skin condition, it’s really, really bad.
Sunburns hurt. Guess how much they hurt when getting one sends your system into overdrive and causes you to bust out in an itchy rash on top of it? Yeah. ‘Tis the season to head back to Atlanta to work on figuring it out (FOUR YEARS RUNNING, in case you’re keeping track—four years and they still don’t know what it is), but in the meantime, inbetween stories of great middle school importance there was much whining about being itchy and hurt-y and lumpy and tragic, so yes, I put her on a course of Prednisone to clear the rash.
This is helping the rash but not the talky-ness, because if I thought she was chatty before the steroids, OH MY, I had forgotten that Prednisone is good for:
1) clearing rashes
2) amplifying hunger
3) turning my kid into a crack-addled jackrabbit of talkitude.
Fortunately, the fact that she barely slept while gone means that at least I get a break while she sleeps half the day. Phew.
In the meantime, Otto arrived home at about 2:00 this morning. There was much rejoicing, and by “much rejoicing” I of course mean that Licorice went completely ballistic, jolting me out of a sound and drooling sleep with her alarm bark and subsequent need to play, because MOM MOM MOM LOOK DAD IS HOME MOM MOM SEE MOM IT’S DAD YAY DAD YAY BALL BALL BALLBALLBALL?
I missed my darling and I’m delighted he’s back, but he, too, was chatty, and as we lay in bed catching up on the last few days I knew it would happen, but it pissed me off, anyway—around 3:00 a.m. he turned over and went right to sleep, leaving me to stare at the clock for another hour and wonder if I shouldn’t have just pretended to sleep through the dog’s barking. Or if maybe I could’ve played possum before we talked enough to make me wide awake. I did resist the urge to poke him or keep talking, but I’ll confess I wasn’t quite as repentent as I maybe should’ve been when Licorice pounced on him this morning. Ahem.
Today I got up early and enjoyed the silence for a while. I’ll miss it, and I’ll complain some about its absence, but it’s in good fun. I’m so glad to have them home. Togetherness rocks. Why—wow, did I just have a great idea or WHAT?—I think a special step-father/daughter activity is JUST what they need today, don’t you?