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It's pouring rain here, and I'm not just talking about the storms that dropped record-breaking buckets of water in this desert
city, causing people to call in to work for anything from flooded swimming pools to power outages. I’m talking about the storms of my life this week.
The week started off in a way that is so rarely does: pure fun. We took the kids to an event on Sunday morning where they could run free (but still contained), play, make new friends and eat pizza. And my husband and I could actually have a five minute conversation. Five minutes!! We never get that during waking hours.
Monday morning we woke up to an epic storm. Yeah, I think it really was epic, as much as I feel the word is overused most times. Record rainfall before 7am – I consider that epic. Granted, we won’t be sporting any shirts claiming that we survived 3.29 inches of rain on 9/8/2014. My kids probably won’t look back in twenty years and say, “Dude, remember that storm
from September 8, 2014? So freakin’ awesome.” But I digress.
Our house survived the storm. Our pool didn’t flood. There were enough roads open to get my son to school and my husband to work. I figured that was the end of it.
But then the real storms happened.
Monday: My crotchety old dog snaps at my daughter when she walks past him in her room to get a book. I love the dog, I really do, but I get frustrated when he bickers with her like a sibling. His hips are sore, despite the pain meds he takes. I don’t blame him for being a grouch. I understand what it’s like living with pain. But dude, seriously! If you don’t want her around, DON’T FOLLOW HER INTO HER ROOM!! He snaps a second time within an hour, never making contact but coming close enough to scare the poop out of her. Now she is afraid to walk past him. She stands in the hall and cries hysterically at the mean monster blocking her path to Mommy.
By afternoon, my daughter starts pointing to her throat and saying, “Owie.” For most people this is an obvious warning sign. Not for me. You see, hungry and owie sound very similar from her 18 month old mouth. And speaking of, her mouth is very close to her throat. So is she hungry and just being picky about her selections? Apparently not.
Meanwhile, I finally trust motherly intuition and take my son to the doctor. His earache from Friday that he said only bothers him if he itches his ear is, in fact, an ear infection. Cool beans. Either the infection he was treated for less than a month ago never went away or he got a new one. Who knows? And if this one doesn’t clear? Again, who knows? I’m trying not to think of that. Or of the fact this past summer, he complained off and on of a mild ache in his ear when he stuck his finger in it, and my response was, "Then stop sticking your finger in your ear." What I do know: we get to start another round of antibiotics.
Tuesday: My daughter wakes up coughing up white foam like a rabid dog. Kind of fitting considering her penchant for biting
lately. My husband is also coughing, has a sore throat, aches all over and is exhausted. He stays home from work, which means I have to somehow find a way to keep my daughter out of the house, away from other people, and out of the heat
so he can rest. Cool beans.
We survive the morning. I also survive a near meltdown from my son when we go to Costco to buy his Halloween costume early (before they sell out), only to find they don’t have his size. And I can’t drive to all the other Costco’s around town to find one because (a) its rush hour and (b) I have a sick husband and daughter at home.
I come home to a goopy-eyed little girl. Awesome.
Wednesday: My husband is feeling well enough to go to work. Well, not really, but he forces himself because this is his busiest time of year. My daughter’s eyes look better. She is in good spirits. I am convinced she is on the mend. It wasn’t such a bad bag after all. In that case, I’m going to be Super Mom and drive a half hour across town to get that costume for my son.
But first, I need to call and cancel his swim lesson. Don’t want him bursting his ear drum. See, I’m being so responsible,
looking out for his well-being. And as I press talk on the phone, my daughter nose-dives from a chair and splits her lip.
Somehow we make it to the store (both of us in blood-stained shirts). But now my daughter’s shorts are soaked, and I don’t know why. Her diaper is dry. Her sippy cup is full. Time for an impromptu wardrobe change in the car. I survive shopping with my daughter. It’s more like chasing her around the store for forty-five minutes and holding her with a death grip for five while I pay and walk through the parking lot. But I got the costume, plus I bought a gift for a shower this weekend. Two birds? I just killed a couple of vultures, baby.
And then she wakes up for her nap. She is crying hysterically as she points to both eyes, and for good reason. One has a pink crescent-shaped mark underneath, and both are COVERED in goop. I’ve seen this before. Double awesome.
We pick up brother and go to the doctor. We get there and her shorts are soaked. Again. I pick her up, and now I am soaked. Meanwhile her diaper is still dry. What the heck??!! These are the crappiest diapers ever!! And I just used up the last wipe.
So now my daughter has double pink eye, she and Daddy both have a nasty viral infection with a cough and sore throat, and my son has an ear infection. I know these are all little things, nothing life-threatening. But they are things I can’t control, things that take me out of my normal routine. I don’t just want my routine. I need it. My world feels chaotic. If there is one thing I don’t do well, it’s chaos. As a child I used to hide under my bed as a refuge from the commotion of a full
house.
The kids are fussing because I forgot to bring a coloring book for my son (I didn't forget, I just chose to pack books he could read, instead) and my daughter is hungry (even though I gave both kids a snack in the car) and we’ve spent the past fifty minutes waiting for the doctor in a room the size of refrigerator. Only it isn’t a refrigerator. There is no food in the waiting room, no food allowed on premises, and now both kids are hungry!! I am bordering between Super Mom and Super Lunatic, contemplating hiding under a bed or running outside, standing on the top of my car in only my underwear and laughing
hysterically.
And then my daughter does something that changes everything. She claps her hands and requests, in an excited voice that I know so well and just can’t help but oblige, “happy”. So that's what we are doing, singing If You're Happy and You Know It and clapping our hands. Pink eye isn’t the only thing that’s contagious from this little girl.
city, causing people to call in to work for anything from flooded swimming pools to power outages. I’m talking about the storms of my life this week.
The week started off in a way that is so rarely does: pure fun. We took the kids to an event on Sunday morning where they could run free (but still contained), play, make new friends and eat pizza. And my husband and I could actually have a five minute conversation. Five minutes!! We never get that during waking hours.
Monday morning we woke up to an epic storm. Yeah, I think it really was epic, as much as I feel the word is overused most times. Record rainfall before 7am – I consider that epic. Granted, we won’t be sporting any shirts claiming that we survived 3.29 inches of rain on 9/8/2014. My kids probably won’t look back in twenty years and say, “Dude, remember that storm
from September 8, 2014? So freakin’ awesome.” But I digress.
Our house survived the storm. Our pool didn’t flood. There were enough roads open to get my son to school and my husband to work. I figured that was the end of it.
But then the real storms happened.
Monday: My crotchety old dog snaps at my daughter when she walks past him in her room to get a book. I love the dog, I really do, but I get frustrated when he bickers with her like a sibling. His hips are sore, despite the pain meds he takes. I don’t blame him for being a grouch. I understand what it’s like living with pain. But dude, seriously! If you don’t want her around, DON’T FOLLOW HER INTO HER ROOM!! He snaps a second time within an hour, never making contact but coming close enough to scare the poop out of her. Now she is afraid to walk past him. She stands in the hall and cries hysterically at the mean monster blocking her path to Mommy.
By afternoon, my daughter starts pointing to her throat and saying, “Owie.” For most people this is an obvious warning sign. Not for me. You see, hungry and owie sound very similar from her 18 month old mouth. And speaking of, her mouth is very close to her throat. So is she hungry and just being picky about her selections? Apparently not.
Meanwhile, I finally trust motherly intuition and take my son to the doctor. His earache from Friday that he said only bothers him if he itches his ear is, in fact, an ear infection. Cool beans. Either the infection he was treated for less than a month ago never went away or he got a new one. Who knows? And if this one doesn’t clear? Again, who knows? I’m trying not to think of that. Or of the fact this past summer, he complained off and on of a mild ache in his ear when he stuck his finger in it, and my response was, "Then stop sticking your finger in your ear." What I do know: we get to start another round of antibiotics.
Tuesday: My daughter wakes up coughing up white foam like a rabid dog. Kind of fitting considering her penchant for biting
lately. My husband is also coughing, has a sore throat, aches all over and is exhausted. He stays home from work, which means I have to somehow find a way to keep my daughter out of the house, away from other people, and out of the heat
so he can rest. Cool beans.
We survive the morning. I also survive a near meltdown from my son when we go to Costco to buy his Halloween costume early (before they sell out), only to find they don’t have his size. And I can’t drive to all the other Costco’s around town to find one because (a) its rush hour and (b) I have a sick husband and daughter at home.
I come home to a goopy-eyed little girl. Awesome.
Wednesday: My husband is feeling well enough to go to work. Well, not really, but he forces himself because this is his busiest time of year. My daughter’s eyes look better. She is in good spirits. I am convinced she is on the mend. It wasn’t such a bad bag after all. In that case, I’m going to be Super Mom and drive a half hour across town to get that costume for my son.
But first, I need to call and cancel his swim lesson. Don’t want him bursting his ear drum. See, I’m being so responsible,
looking out for his well-being. And as I press talk on the phone, my daughter nose-dives from a chair and splits her lip.
Somehow we make it to the store (both of us in blood-stained shirts). But now my daughter’s shorts are soaked, and I don’t know why. Her diaper is dry. Her sippy cup is full. Time for an impromptu wardrobe change in the car. I survive shopping with my daughter. It’s more like chasing her around the store for forty-five minutes and holding her with a death grip for five while I pay and walk through the parking lot. But I got the costume, plus I bought a gift for a shower this weekend. Two birds? I just killed a couple of vultures, baby.
And then she wakes up for her nap. She is crying hysterically as she points to both eyes, and for good reason. One has a pink crescent-shaped mark underneath, and both are COVERED in goop. I’ve seen this before. Double awesome.
We pick up brother and go to the doctor. We get there and her shorts are soaked. Again. I pick her up, and now I am soaked. Meanwhile her diaper is still dry. What the heck??!! These are the crappiest diapers ever!! And I just used up the last wipe.
So now my daughter has double pink eye, she and Daddy both have a nasty viral infection with a cough and sore throat, and my son has an ear infection. I know these are all little things, nothing life-threatening. But they are things I can’t control, things that take me out of my normal routine. I don’t just want my routine. I need it. My world feels chaotic. If there is one thing I don’t do well, it’s chaos. As a child I used to hide under my bed as a refuge from the commotion of a full
house.
The kids are fussing because I forgot to bring a coloring book for my son (I didn't forget, I just chose to pack books he could read, instead) and my daughter is hungry (even though I gave both kids a snack in the car) and we’ve spent the past fifty minutes waiting for the doctor in a room the size of refrigerator. Only it isn’t a refrigerator. There is no food in the waiting room, no food allowed on premises, and now both kids are hungry!! I am bordering between Super Mom and Super Lunatic, contemplating hiding under a bed or running outside, standing on the top of my car in only my underwear and laughing
hysterically.
And then my daughter does something that changes everything. She claps her hands and requests, in an excited voice that I know so well and just can’t help but oblige, “happy”. So that's what we are doing, singing If You're Happy and You Know It and clapping our hands. Pink eye isn’t the only thing that’s contagious from this little girl.