I feel like my entire life is in flux. I'm on the cusp of something important that is just beyond my grasp. I know it's there and I'm just streeeeeeeeetching towards it and chanting "patience, patience, patience" in my head. But in the meantime? I gagged a huge and impressive gag while the nurse was swabbing my throat, and she didn't get a great sample. So the rapid strep test was negative. I was sent away with the cheerful news that they'll call to let me know if the regular test comes up positive, because "it sure does look like strep!" On this particular issue, it makes good sense to nap...
I should be at church right now, at pre-service choir rehearsal. Obviously, I am not. After going to bed at 10:00 last night and sleeping until 8:00 this morning, I woke up experiencing The Return Of Mysterious Fever And Also Feeling Like Ass. I stumbled downstairs and croaked to the children that we needed to get ready for church... then noted that my voice was shot and said nevermind, we're staying home. (Someday we can delve into why I feel more of a commitment to show up and sing than I do to just show up and worship, but not today.) Should I be worried about the little impromptu victory...
But, uh, not in the good way. I'm running a fever. Which is fabulous timing, because it's not like I have anything I needed to be doing today, or anything.... My ex called on Sunday night to warn me that he had a fever. The call was ostensibly to alert me to the children possibly having been exposed, but I suspect they got him sick, rather than the other way around. I also suspect he was looking for some sympathy. "Get some rest!" I cheerfully suggested. He stayed home from work yesterday, and still had a fever when he called to talk to the kids. By that time--right before dinner--I was...
I spent the day at home, trying to entertain an exhausted and still-coughing boychild. I thought the evening would be an improvement. That was before I found myself in the bathroom scrubbing vomit from the grout, having this tender exchange with my other child: Me: DO NOT remove your HEAD from that BUCKET. Honey. Her: *pitiful response from inside the bucket* Mama, are you puking, too? Me: No, honey, just gagging. Her: *HEAVE* How come? Me: Because... ummm... *gag* I'm an unfit mother. Hey Dad... I'm SO SORRY about all those times you had to clean up my puke. This was a genius way to achieve...
Ask me how the concert was. Go on, ask. You know you want to. Okay, I'll tell you. The concert was fine. Mostly. Except that shortly before my piece I noticed my father was conspicuously absent, and by the time we were assembling to start, he wasn't back. Then as we sang through it, I watched as several other people came in, fetched other people, and went out again. Everyone who was "fetched" was a nurse. Have I mentioned that my dad has some heart problems? I have no idea what I sang or how it went. When it was done I tried to look as casual as possible as I bolted out of the sanctuary and...
Monkey turned to ice multiple times this morning. Tragic, really. I'd be asking him to do something like, say, put on his socks, and suddenly he would be stock-still intoning through nearly-motionless lips "Uh oh! He's frozen in a block of ice!" A good way to generate enough heat to melt a big block of ice is tickling, by the way. I'm just sayin'. Chickadee has had a nasty cold for about four days, now. I know she's sick because she produces the ongoing Symphony of Snot--you know the one, it's that continuous snuffle-gargle sound--until I fall to my knees and cry out, "FOR THE LOVE OF GOD...
Everyone made it through the day, more or less. Monkey needs "some more-a dat snot-melting stuff!" Chickadee says there is something angry in her tummy. Both of them are laying on the couch watching Noggin. Me? I'm wondering if I can put the kids to bed at 6. Out of concern for their health, natch. Not because I've been sick, myself, all day. That would be selfish. And any mother worth her salt can handle a fun-filled day with the kids on one cup of tea and three Ritz crackers. Do you think they'll let me read them a bedtime story in the bathroom? No...? I'm supposed to be baking dessert for...
You ever have one of those Monday mornings where it feels like the universe is trying to send you a message, and the message is not very nice? Like maybe... ... your nearly-five-year-old who should be nighttime trained by now but isn't because he will be going to college in pull-ups has soaked through everything, because you were out of name-brand pull-ups and used the inferior no-name brand, and it was probably all Murphy's Law-ish-ly because you just put clean sheets on his bed last night? ... that same child wakes up with a snot-covered face and you are out of daytime children's cold...
