Monday, 25 March 2013

To Touché or Not to Touché, that is the question, Hamlet.

6:08am

(phone ringing)
Mom: Hello?
Me: Yes. Good morning! How are you today?
Mom: It's 6am.
Me: Yes! Isn't it wonderful?
Mom: No, I said SIX A-M. Not NOON.
Me: Yes. Well, it makes up for all the years of wake-up calls you gave me when you'd been up since 4.
Mom: (giggling).  Oh yeah.
Me: So, whatcha doing?
Mom: Sleeping?
Me: Wanna come over?
Mom: No.
Me: Really? Cuz I've got a bit of a problem.  Kiddo #1 has a temp of 102 and Husband can't take today off, and I can't either.
Mom: Of course. Isn't how that always ends up? Everyone gets sick when it's the least convenient.
Me: Lately, yes.
Mom: Ok. It'll take a bit for me to hitch up  the horse.
Me: Are you coming from the 1500's? Cuz that WILL take a long time.
Mom: No, I'm not coming from the 1500's. But if I'm supposed to ride in on my horse and save the day, it will require a wagon.

Everyone's a comedian.

So, an hour and a half later, my mother showed up at our house to take care of our eldest baby, Kiddo #1.  To be fair, I suppose we should've predicted it: she wore her coat all weekend long and had a temp that we could maintain or lower with Advil (dye-free, blardy blar version) but we kinda hoped that she'd break the fever overnight and be able to go to school on Monday. 2 days of rest and all that.
However, at 6am when she arrived in our room burning up and looking really sickly, I recognized the white flag being raised above my head.

With my mother safely on the way to our house, I tooted to school feeling less like a negligent momma and more like a bringing-home-the-organic-tofu momma.

Then, later, I got a text from my mom saying Kiddo #1's temp went up to 103.2.  Of course it did.  I texted Husband to call the Dr and try for an appointment. Later still, I got this text:

Husband: Can Kiddo #1 have Amoxil? I can't remember.
Me: NO! Huge rash on face and body and GAH NO!
Husband: Woah. Ok. Biaxin it is.
Me: Problem?
Husband: Strep.

Nooooooooo! Ain't nobody got time for THAT!

Then, after I got that news while innocently eating my luncheon mango and wishing I'd remembered the crackers for my freakin'  hummos houmus homous chickpea spread, I got another text from my mom saying she'd take Kiddo #1 to her house for the next 48 hours (she's still contagious for 48 hours after her first dose of drugs) so we wouldn't have to deal with all of that.  Hallelujah!

I called after I got done work and could tell on my earpiece that she was also driving. (Hands-free, btw-- who has an extra set of hands to hold the phone when you've got both sets on the reins of the horse and wagon you're driving from the 1500's to save the day?!?)

Mom: How was your day?
Me: Horrific. It was like the kids ate nothing but preservatives and nitrates for lunch and chased it with a double shot of red dye all while dancing some full-moon dance of nutters.  GAH! One kid actually looked at me and said, "Don't you wish you could bring back the strap?"
Mom: Yikes.
Me: I don't know if I was more horrified that a kid suggested that or because I'd had a fleeting moment where I could picture some of them hooked up to a broken down plough, prepping my garden for me as penance for their behaviours today.
Mom: Double yikes.
Me: Yes. I'm going to go home and hug my not-sick kid and pretend he's perfect.
Mom: Well, uh, don't do any laundry.
Me: Yeah, that wasn't going to be on my list of pick-me-ups. So, where you coming from with that?
Mom: Uh, well, uh, I hate to tell you this.
Me: Oh lord.
Mom: Well, I was sitting there waiting for all the meds to kick in so I could get Kiddo #1 to the car, and I thought "Well, I've saved the day today, I might as well do a load of laundry, too. You know, really knock your socks off"
Me: I don't wear socks, but I'd put them on to help illustrate that point.
Mom: So anyway, I put a load of towels and stuff in and started it and as the machine was filling, all I could hear was water running in the basement.
Me: Our washer isn't in the basement.
Mom: Exactly. So I ran downstairs and water was pouring down the walls.
Me: (Groan. Then swears. Then groaning again.)
Mom: Uh, well, so I ran back upstairs and turned off the machine.
Me: Thanks.
Mom: Then I ran back downstairs to clean up the mess. It was harder to do since all the towels were in the washer, already wet.
Me: Thanks.
Mom: Then I scooped all the water from the washer into the sink because I was afraid to turn it on again.
Me: Thanks.
Mom: Then I ran the disher instead.
Me: Thanks.
Mom: But then I ran down and up the stairs to the basement 100 times because I was scared that it was going to pour water, too.
Me: Of course. Thanks.
Mom: I didn't go for my walk today.
Me: No. You climbed a 14'er instead.
Mom: I don't know what that means, but I feel like I climbed that big mountain in Colorado Springs.
Me: Yes. Pikes Peak. It's a 14'er.
Mom: So, uh, please don't use me to plough your garden.
Me: Wait. I get it now.
Mom: What?
Me: Did you break my washer because I called you at 6am?
Mom: No, I broke your washer because I love you. I know you hate laundry.
Me: Thought so. Love you, too. I'll call you tomorrow at 6am. Just to check in.
Mom: Not unless you want me to touch your serger afterwards.
Me: Touché.  Ha, or don't Touché, as it were.

Don't Touché, indeed.



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