Seriously. The happenings at my house are hideous. If it weren’t essential that I participate, I would run away.
The rarely used alarm clock got to showcase its talent with an annoying at 5:30 am buzz. Having been awake for much of the night giving breathing treatments to Asthma Boy, I found it unbelievable that it could be morning so soon. No time to ponder as I needed to dress, get my son dressed and packed for school, get my daughter dressed and find all her paperwork for the doctor, pill the cat (always a joy), scoop his poop, feed him and transfer his lame body to an outside kennel. Sweet Jesus, the husband made me a cup of coffee.
Zip. Out the door and to the surgery center. On time to make the 6:45 am appointment.
In the waiting room Asthma Boy begins a coughing fit that has mothers shielding their infants and giving one another quizzical looks that say, “Why won’t that woman do something to make her son stop coughing?”
It is decided that Asthma Boy must be taken home for a five-millionth breathing treatment. Of course, Tonsil Girl is called for her long awaited surgery just as two-thirds of her support team abandons her. Tonsil Girl is a tough cookie, though, and never winces as she bids her family farewell and hops onto the rolling surgical bed. Prepared to suck bubblegum air that will take her to the other world, she’s her usual saucy self.
While Tonsil Girl is in surgery, I take advantage of every bit of free time and draft a very compelling and detailed document for work. All about the billing, ya know! Multi-tasking finds me using my laptop in the hospital bathroom – killing three birds with one stone.
Tonsil Girl is wheeled into recovery and demonstrates the very definition of stoicism. She never sheds a tear and maintains complete dignity – until she vomits on herself. The long day has officially begun.
At home Tonsil Girl looks uncharacteristically stricken by fear. A girl who is not afraid of the devil himself lets a bit of apprehension show in her eyes. Not one to be comforted, she vomits again and snuggles down with the broken-legged cat.
Horrible mother that I am, I leave Tonsil Girl (with capable father, housekeeper and shocked little brother) and go to a meeting that drags on for two and a half hours. It feels nice to vary the types of stress in my day. No need to have all motherhood stress – mix it with some work stress and compound it by eating the dozen cookies delivered for someone’s birthday to add some body-image stress. Gotta keep it mixed up!