Hello Chickens. Let me first state for the record that I am typing this on a keyboard that was recently baptized by an entire box of Motts Apple Juice. Which makes blogging a sticky business for reals.
When Sexyhusbandomine left for China 10 days ago I had The Very Best of Intentions. As evidence I would point to my Behavior Modification chart on the kitchen bulletin board and the handful of stickers that are sprinkled on it. I believe that for the first 3 days all I lacked was a cape: I had beds made, teeth brushed, homework done, vegetables eaten and books read. And then The Gods Laughed.
The sleeping arrangements for Camp Mommy have us all sharing a room together; The Banana on an aerobed and Complicated Boy taking 9/10th of my queen sized bed so that he can fully extend each one of his appendages. FULLY. On the third night of our Special Time Together, conversation at bedtime went like this:
CBOY: Mommy-what's that noise?
ME: That's just a garbage truck.
CBOY: No I mean THAT noise.
ME: That's just our drunk neighbors.
CBOY: MOM! I mean THAT NOISE! LISTEN!
At which point I am like: hmm, what the heck IS that noise? And my heart starts pounding and I venture out into the kitchen and start turning the lights on and looking through the apartment, and find nothing. All is quiet. So I get back in bed. 5 Minutes later:
CBOY: Mopmmy--what's that noise?
And so it continues for an hour or so, at which point CBoy decides he maybe can sleep if I will simply HOLD HIS EARS.
Please try this tonight in your own bed with a loved one, chickens. Holding even a single ear is difficult, but holding two ears and being able to go to sleep yourself is Mission Impossible. And of course, everytime I thought he had drifted off to sleep and I sloooooooowly, carefully, so gennnnnntly lifted my hand off of an ear, he would pop up and say
MOM! HOLD MY EARS!
So it was no wonder that bleary eyed and sleep deprived, I contracted the worst case of food poisoning in my life the next night. Made worse, perhaps, by the little voices outside the bathroom door calling: MOM WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THERE? ARE YOU COMING TO BED MOM? I CAN'T SLEEP WITHOUT YOU MOM! MOM I DON'T WANT YOU TO BE SICK MOM! And The Crying. And The Whining. And not all of it by me.
The next day I rallied in order to make handmade Halloween Costumes, take children to soccer parks, fold laundry and do a bunch of housework that I only vaguely recollect. At some point I know I went grocery shopping because a random bag of pistachio nuts appeared later in my cabinet. Other than that, it's a blur. I do know that every piece of technical equipment in my household--from phone to television to ear thermometer began a slow and steady revolution and refused to perform for me. The TV in the living room has been on for 2 days--just a blue screen- because I am afraid if I turn it all the way off it will Never Turn On Again.
When Banana came down with the sniffles I just thought it was the beginning of a little seasonal cold. So I kept her home from school and took her to work with me--which is why everytime I touch the letter H my finger sticks and my office smells like a preschool classroom. I got LOTS of work done with Banana here. If you count playing every Elmo game available on the computer as work, which believe you me, I Do.
Last night Banana's fever shot to 104.5 and I had to wrassle with her to get the Motrin in her and then physically force her into a tepid bath to try to lower her fever. The whole household was up til 4:30 am. I wanted to let The Spawn sleep in this morning, but was foiled by a tiny travel alarm clock which I could not figure out how to turn off, and which beeped like The Telltale Heart-- loud enough that we could still hear it even after I shoved it in a sweater drawer in another room.
Banana has a doctor's appointment at 1:00 to see if she has The Swine Flu. And Sexyhusbandomine got his flight changed and will be heading back a day early--which is, of course, Not a Day Too Soon. So props to you gals who do this Single Mom thing on a regular basis--you are far better women than me.
