Sweet Girl and Little Man have been sick. Sweet Girl came home from school on Martin Luther King Jr. Day (they had to go to school to make up a snow day - apparently weather cares little for civil rights) and fell asleep on the couch. Sweet Girl does not nap. Ever since she discovered how to climb out of her crib at 19 months, it's been game on all day long. So her falling asleep was either a sign of the Apocalypse or a sign that she was getting very sick. I carried her to bed and my arms nearly burst in to flames from the heat rolling off her body. Sick it is; 24 hours of a high fever, followed by massive amounts of drainage, followed by a 3 pack-a-day smoker's cough. She rode out her illness with the help of Motrin, a cool mist humidifier, and the Wonder Pets. And then she passed it on to Little Man.
Little Man has inherited the overly dramatic gene (from his father, to be sure). His illness followed the same pattern, and to be fair he's only 10 months old so some of the diva behavior is to be expected, however he was not nearly as accommodating as his sister. She asked for drinks and spent the rest of the day under "blanket, nother blanket, and this blanket" on the couch watching movies. Little Man would have none of that. He has to be held. Constantly. OK, fine. But he has to be held constantly in constant motion. There will be no sitting down, no rocking in the glider, no sleeping in the crib. He will be held by his mother and his mother will move. He could be asleep in my arms and the moment I sit down he would wake up to voice his displeasure. Or I might even try to put him in his crib (the nerve!) and he'd let me know immediately that he had other plans. I believe I summed this up when talking to Aunt Carrie as such; oy, the schlepping.
So what is a lone mother to do? She must learn to do everything with one arm, that's what. Refill a humidifier tank in the bathtub with one hand - did it. Pack school lunch with one hand - did it. Do laundry with one hand - did it. Vacuum - yep. Load the dishwasher - yep. Text - yep. Waste time on facebook - of course my kid is sick I'm not dieing. My point being is that I'm afraid I may have created a hip riding-one arm stealing-boogie barnacled monster. Little Man is feeling better, but I think he likes the view better from up here. So while his sister got better and went on to do amazing things this week, he's still hanging out in schlepville hitching free rides. And while I'm now very accomplished at this one-handed thing, I'm not terribly fast at it. So when Sweet Girl is 42 years old and is being sworn in as Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, I'll be 10 minutes late to the ceremony because her 39 year old brother wants me to carry him in and I hear the doors in the Halls of Justice (right?) are weighty.
In the midst of all this, there was an amazing discovery. It was during this viral phase at the house that I discovered Boogie Wipes. They're magical. As both Sweet Girl and Little Man purged their mucous build-ups, some nastiness was bound to happen. Even with the help of humidifiers, noses crusted up. Boogie Wipes to the rescue. Thin cloth wipes with saline make the boogie barnacles easier to scrape off little noses. And the packaging is easy enough to manipulate you can do it with one hand (and I would know). The fact that I am so moved by a wet kleenex to actually write about it is a glowing commendation in and of itself.
Speaking of amazing, Sweet Girl has done it again. The day before Christmas break - note the timing - I received a ConnectEd message letting me know that my daughter would have to transition to another school after break. Livid is the nicest way I can describe how I felt about all that. But after I did my due diligence in terms of strongly worded letters and mean thoughts in the general direction of those in charge, I started to get anxious. And if you don't know how anxious I can get about Sweet Girl and school, check out Just Another Manic Mom-Day. A million thoughts go through my mind about transitioning, anxiety, another person to explain the diet to, new routine, ad nauseum (then add Valium). So I started talking about a New School! and a New Teacher! (add waving pompoms, confetti, glitter, and a thousand more exclamation points!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!). I pretty much got the brush off from Sweet Girl. She just kind of gave me the hairy eyeball and continued about her business. I hope that some of this is sinking in and pray a lot. And promise ice cream after school on Monday. And by ice cream, I mean sorbet but it's ice cream to her and she loves it.
Monday comes. New School! New Teacher! Ice Cream! And I brace myself for the look of panic, leg clinging, and unsavory behavior that will probably occur. I should have learned by now not to underestimate Sweet Girl. She did not hesitate to get out of the car. We marched in to the school like we owned the place, and when she saw her name above a coat hook in her New Room!, she started to unzip her coat. Everything all put away, she went looking for her picture to move it to her desk - a PECS system they used at her old school - and was a little confused about where to put it. But then she decided she's pick her own desk and plopped it down close to the window and went to explore the New Toys! I (unnecessarily) hung out for about 10 minutes talking to the other moms and Mrs. Shelly (New Teacher!) and then went to say bye to Sweet Girl. She looked at me and Little Man and saidasthoughwewerecrampingherstylealready "Bye, Mommy. Bye, Brother." And we were off.
I waited for a phone call to let me know she finally had a meltdown, and that phone call never came. Little Man and I picked Sweet Girl up from school and it was the same as it always was. Sweet Girl was there with her peeps, smiling, and itching to jump in the puddle at the end of the sidewalk. Mrs. Shelly said she had an "awesome day" and today was more of the same. After school yesterday, we did indeed get Sweet Girl her ice cream and I was so happy I even relented to rainbow sprinkles. So today when I picked her up from school she gave me a sly look and said "Go to get ice cream?" Um, no. But nice try. If I ever let Sweet Girl actually have what she wanted, she'd be the first person in history to develop Type 2 diabetes under the age of 5. Mostly due to the fact she would spend all day snorting Pixie Stix and free basing Fun Dip. So for now I'll be the one packing her lunch. Even if it is with just one hand.