This week was a humdinger with glorious, extended childhood illness and possible broken noses and forgetting my Grandmother’s birthday because I’m a real swell gal. It was also about 4 degrees all week which made things that much more tolerable because I’ve always wanted to lose several toes to frostbite. There were good points too. I’m thinking. I’m thinking.
I’ve spent more time on WebMD than I care to admit. And I’m pretty sure we all have rabies…or strep…or, the common cold. It’s too close to call. Instead of going to an actual doctor I’m going to continue to ask the internet for answers.
When our 2 year old, Evel Knievel, fell off the glider today (whilst under attentive parental supervision; calm down, the internet.), we did call the actual doctor because of all the blood and, OHmyGOD the nose that looked like Rocky 4. Yeah, the one with the Russian.
But, doctors aren’t generally as helpful as the internet. This one told us to stop screaming and to take a deep breath and to wait for the swelling to go down and to wait to bring her in. You want me to wait? Never you mind, practicing licensed professional, I’ll go consult the internet. So, my baby might have a broken nose or, Allergic Rhinitis OR there’s a Lego up there forming a new nasal cavity. Thank you, WebMD, I feel much better now. On top of that is my suspicion that when I bring her in tomorrow with a giant, swollen nose and a wilting 3 year old doing her best impression of a sack of wet, sick cats, I’m pretty sure I’ll need to use my one phone call from prison to find more bail money. Do they take Box Tops?
I feel particularly guilty about all of this because yesterday I couldn’t stand the lot of them. I was over the runny noses and the feverish whining for popsicles we didn’t have and my reservoir of mother’s sympathy had turned from Florence Nightingale to Nurse Ratched. It’s been a long winter and the tunnel to Spring looked as dark and scary as my birth canal.
So, I fled the house leaving a trail of dust from the bra I hadn’t bothered to put on in weeks. After some cheese dip, two margaritas and conversation with someone tall enough to ride all the rides, I felt like a new woman. I came home ready to care about people again; feeling great because I no longer felt like a sociopath. Thank you, Tequila.
I guess there is no real moral to this week’s story except that when you try extra hard to correct all of the things you feel guilty about, one of two things inevitably happens; everything gets better or, it gets worse.
1) I called my grandmother to apologize for being 10 and forgetting her birthday. Just as I was about to get out my heartfelt apology, my husband came running in with Rocky Balboa. I shouted into the phone, “OH SHIT! I HAVE TO GO.” and, I hung up on her. Happy Birthday, Grandma.
2) I made cookies for the kids so they would remember that in addition to being an evil, unsympathetic shrew, I also make delicious cookies. I left the cookies in the oven and now the raccoons eating their charred remains will surely die of cancer.
3) When I went out with my friend, I started crying when I bit into a chimichanga that tasted like one I once had in a strip mall in Los Angeles. For a good time call…someone other than me.
4) No good deed goes unpunished and no bad deed does either. So basically, just pull up a chair and address all prison mail to me as follows: BPM aka B-Shank.
Until next week or, until my bail hearing, this is Bad Parenting Moments saying, “Hey there warrior, you’re doing a better job than I am. That may not be saying much, but, congratulations all the same.”