Ready for a drink, and it’s only 10am….

Oh man, my ex is going to give me crap for that headline. But wait, he says he doesn’t read this, but then how come he always has a comment about some witty phrase of mine. Hmmm, points to ponder…(I added in the “witty” part, he has not now, nor in the past ever claimed I was witty. He is the funny one, not me.) K, moving on.

So, let me tell ya a lil’ bit about my morning so far. Well, in order to do that, I need to back track a wee bit. Lets go back about 2.5 weeks, shall we? (Right now imagine that the screen did that gaussian blur thing and you heard that music that means we are going back in time) Ok, so Best Boyfriend Ever just got home from his trip after Valentine’s Day. After the AMAZING blog entry about him, I had pretty high expectations about our weekend together, pretty high I tell you. So when we got into a bit of bicker fest Friday night and we went to bed all hurumphing and mad at each other but I didn’t worry too much cause, we had the WHOLE weekend. And it was a stupid fight, the kind that happens when two stubborn people fight and neither will give in. So whatever. We of course, as if on cue, make up Saturday morning and decide to do some running around. The whole time he keeps saying how he is so tired, he could use a nap, etc. We went to the book store and stuff and after some window shopping we get home. He says he wants a nap. So he goes to lay down, and I expect to see him in about a half hour because he never can actually sleep. We have big plans for margaritas that night and I am thinking, “Yes, you BEST rest up boy.” Except that two hours later he come groggily out of the bedroom. Now, the mom in me knows what is going on here. But the girlfriend in me that has not seen boyfriend in over a week and missed a good opportunity last night because of stubboness refuses to see it. So we go out to the Mexican restaurant and about half way through the margarita and the queso I can deny it no longer. “Baby, let’s go home. You’re sick.” He of course denied it, valiently tried to say he was fine, let’s finish our drinks and such. But. Then. We went home and he went to bed and got the worst flu in the history of flu I have ever seen. He has been sick since then, missed all of last week of work, has had fevers, a cough that would give a fourty year smoker a run for their money and been to the doctor twice with a follow up still scheduled. The man has been sick. SICK.

So last week I had sick boyfriend and was watching the kids for their dad while he went on a trip. I normally work full time those weeks, so I had extra running around, extra work and my kids. Then Noah gets sick with a stomach thing. He has had it on and off for a while, so the doctor wants him to see a specialist. Fine. Anything for The Dude. The specialist has four offices, right? FOUR. And one is literally 5 minutes from the house. 5 MINUTES. But guess which office has the ONLY opening in 2008? You got it, the furthest one away. Good times. So luckily boyfriend is passible for being alive this past Friday and he can pick up the Soph from school. I leave work early on Friday to get Noah out of school Friday (“Yay!” he says – yeah “Yay.” I say.) We schlep up to the doctor in north bumble, he gives us new medicine, we get a blood test ordered and we promptly get stuck in an hour and a half of traffic on the way home. That ended what I like to call, “Thank God THAT week is over!”

The kids went to their dad’s on Saturday and Sunday. I got them back yesterday because we wanted to keep our nomal schedules. (Bare – (bear? I never get that right) with me people, I am getting to today and my alcoholic tendencies, I PROMISE.) So as i am on my way home from work yesterday to pick up The Soph from afterschool care I get a call. Sophie says she is not feeling good. I am ten minutes away and will be there soon. Now, most of you are thinking, “Wow, poor kid, she got the crappy bug that is going around in that house! ANOTHER sick person!) But me? No. I AM the eternal optimist, AND I know my daughter. I imagine it was homework time and suddenly a “stomach ache” magically appered. I walk in and there she is looking all pitiful in front of her vocabulary she has to do. “Ah ah!” I think. “I was right!” And I secretly give myself a high five for knowing the dramatic prowess of my daughter and forgive these new people in her life for not knowing a con job when they see it. (Oh, she is GOOD people, I mean it! Watch out Meryll Streep, here comes Sophie!)

So I get her home, pick up Noah on the way from his Dad’s house who informs me he took NONE of his medicine over the weekend and HIS stomach is hurting. I just sigh, get them in the car, give the ex a dirty look for not making sure he took his medicine and drive away. (Now for the record, and to make sure I don’t get crap for this -even though he DOES NOT read this- let me say, he ALWAYS makes sure about medicine and stuff. He takes the kids to the doctor and dentist probably more than me, so Noah not taking his medicine is HIGHLY unusual) But hey, a free opportunity to give the ex the stink eye cannot be missed. (We joke now people, for real! As long as I understand I am NOT the funny one.) So we get home and Noah is complaining, Sophie is complaining. I give them both medicine, tell them they have 20 minutes to chill before homework and I go get on the treadmill in order not to run screaming down the streets like a loony bird because sometimes being a mom, is totally NOT like the brochures said it would be. WHERE is my funny neighbor that comes over for coffee? Where is the beautiful, dog-hairLESS living room set that we all hang out on and laugh together? Where is the goofy neighborhood kid that is always here, so annoying, yet charming too? Where is my pretty silk robe and slippers to wear in the morning that makes me look gorgeous? WHERE is my laugh track people?!? Anyway, so 20 minutes later I am ready to make dinner and deal with little sick people. Once Noah gets his medicine he begins to feel better, and Sophie, frankly is just draaamaz… So I get them both to do their homework despite Sophie’s protesting and miserableness. She is, like this, most nights for homework. I admit, I lacked a little sympathy.

We get all the homework done. Dinner gets made. Kids eat. I am helping Noah with a social studies assignment after dinner and when I come out of the office, Sophie is dead asleep on the couch. Still in denial, I figure she got up early, had a heckuva sleepover on Saturday at her dad’s and get her to bed. She says she still is not feeling well, but I figure she is fine, she just wants a bit more attention. I sit with her a bit, rub her head and she falls asleep. When I get Noah to bed later she calls out for me to put a trash can next to her bed. I am impressed. She is pulling all the stops out for this performance! I oblige my daughter and put the trash can next to her bed. I go downstairs, FINALLY ready to relax for the night. Boyfriend asks if she is ok. “Oh, she is FINE. FINE I tell you, just draaama.” And hour later we hear it. “Wow! She is really going all out for this!” I think as I go up the stairs. That REALLY sounds like she is throwing up! (Um, yes DENIAL is powerful indeed.) I got her all cleaned up, got her a bit more medicine, layed with her until she fell back to sleep and went downstairs. “So is she still faking?” boyfriend asks. “Not unless you can fake a bunch of vomit and a 101 fever.” Ah well. I tried to will it from happening. But alas, my will is no match for a God that thinks three sick people to take care of in two weeks time while trying to work full time is just too funny to pass up.

So, after getting up 5 times last night – the first wake up of the night for some actual puking, the next two for me thinking I heard her calling me, the next two for her ACTUALLY calling me, then getting the other one up for school, asking boyfriend to stay home a little longer this morning to stay with The Soph so I can run to work, then driving into work in a torrential rainstorm that almost killed me on the highway to get to my laptop so I can work from home, stopping on the way back for chicken broth and ginger ale and crossing my fingers that the check card goes through because I have exactly $8 until I get paid on Friday, I am officially READY for a drink (preferably vodka) at 10 am and POSI-LUTELY sure I don’t want to make any more of these little people for which I am responsible. Calgon….

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