| Wallydraigle |
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I got strep for Mother's Day. Now, now wait. It wasn't so bad. Yes, I know it sounds crazy. But it was like the mildest case of strep EVER, and I got to lie in bed for an entire weekend.
Thursday I started getting a sore throat. I've always gotten them frequently, even when I'm not sick, and since we've moved to Pollution Valley, they're even more frequent. So I just figured it was from taking a very long walk in dry, dusty air with the kids. Friday, a friend had a potluck at her house. I was tired, but it was a long week. I didn't think anything of it. Then BAM, I suddenly just CRAVED my bed. On the way home, I started aching all over, my throat went from mildly sore to IMMA CLAW MY WAY OUT YOUR NECK PARTS AND EAT YOUR FACE, and then I wanted to die. But Friday was the worst of it. I was juuust sick enough to need to lie around all day Saturday and Sunday, but not sick enough that I was completely miserable. And I'm pretty sure I didn't pass it on to anyone else. It was the perfect illness. Today, with Jeremy back at work, I was a bit worried; but I woke up feeling tired yet not horrible and spent most of the day cleaning or shopping. Clean apartment and new electric blue shoes. Not the worst Monday ever. We went to Target. I only spent $55, and only $10 of that was even moderately frivolous (the aforementioned shoes). Now, we had to go to Target; I avoid that place because everything is so tempting. But Emmy got a handful of splinters last week on our semi-regular walk to see Ernst the Disgruntled Duck: "Emmy, get off the fence. Emmy. Off the fence. No, Emmy, get off the fence. Emmy, stop climbing the fence. Emmy, you'll get splinters. Stop climbing the fence." I sound like Rain Main. Literally nothing I can do deters her, other than picking her up and carrying her, which is exactly what she wants. So I let her get the splinters this last time. She was PISSED. I got the accusatory glare of You're a Terrible Mother, Why Didn't You Tell Me? Those tear-filled eyes followed me all the way home. She would occasionally throw herself to the ground and moan dramatically. But this is what she does if I tell her, "No, you can't run into the marsh," or, "No, I won't let you cookies for breakfast," so I just kept walking. Sucks to be a second child. We finally got home--a 30-second walking turning into a 10-minute walk--, and I picked them out and cleaned off her hand. I apparently missed one; a couple days later she had a blister with a splinter floating in it. So I cleaned it up again, picked it out, cleaned it some more, and then had no way to cover it or keep it clean. Toddlers are not known for cleanliness or allowing things to get in the way of their constant pawing at whatever object strikes their fancy, and this thing was right in the middle of her paw. I would've had to duct tape her entire arm to her body. It healed for a couple of days, got ugly, required a doctor visit, and so I HAD to go to Target today. Thanks, Emmy. You know what else she did last week? She took a swan dive off the changing table. She's familiar with gravity. She's familiar with methods for descending from high places without too much injury. This is not a baby who doesn't know any better than to just roll off the table. This is a near-girl with extensive experience in the laws and consequences of physics. I bent over for about three seconds to wipe Grace's face, and when I stood up, Emmy was poised for her grand dismount with such a look of glee and confidence on her face that I almost believed she could fly. You know how in comedies, everything slows down when an accident is about to happen, and the character's voice goes slo-mo as he yells, "Nooo!" and reaches for the idiot who's about to hurt himself? Yes. That is exactly what happened. She did not fly. She smatted right into the linoleum. I knew it was bad, but oh, I could not help but laugh. It was heartbreakingly funny. I laughed over her shoulder while I hugged her. I don't want her to grow up with any more mother issues than any one person ought to have. The whole right side of her face was red and puffy, and her lips were bleeding in about five places. She looked like Rocky. She calmed down after twenty minutes of rocking and soothing. I knew she wasn't faking it because she was hiccuping the whole time. Then she napped for a record length of time and woke up with no bruises and no fat lips. Amazing. I wonder if we could exploit this superpower for profit. I have nothing of note to say about Grace. Fat, toddling Emmy makes for some great stories, but Grace is pretty near perfect lately. Which makes for some pretty boring stories. "Today Grace smiled a lot and folded all the diapers without me asking." "Today Grace ate kale without being cajoled." Wonderful to me, of course; not so much to an audience. People I Talk About If you ever want to email me, feel free to ask for my address. 
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