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Almost a year ago, he sporadically began to make my coffee for me in the morning... after he learned how.
(OH SNAAAAP! Although Minnesotan and Lutheran, he is not a coffee drinker.)
Then, about two months ago, he started letting me sleep till 8:00 a.m.
The ready-made coffee and the sleeping-in until 8:00 a.m. was a dream. True dat.
I would hear screaming, fighting and yelling outside my bedroom door.
I would then pick up my Iphone and check the time and see it was not yet 8 a.m.
I would yawn, stretch luxuriously, roll over and sleep for another thirty minutes.
I don't know if he was cursing me. Or thinking I was a piece of shit of a wife and mother because I was staying at home AND sleeping in. All I know is that he rarely bothered me, or allowed the children to bother me, until 8:00 a.m.
My whole day was a little bit of a cluster and I pretty much blame it on how I was woken up this morning. Twice.
It began as usual~ I was sleeping luxuriously. As I do.
As my husband maintains, I sleep like no other....I have pillows bunched up around me so everything is soft and comfortable. Let's be honest, I am usually drugged. It's lovely.
And I like soft things: soft nightgowns, soft waistbands, soft nightgowns, soft sheets, soft pillows, soft sheets...you get my point.
I am very comfortable.
I was comfortable when he stormed in this morning, blubbering, "Maggie drank the bottle of Tylenol."
It took me a moment.
"Get up," he said.
"What," I ask. "What time is it," I ask. Very important question.
"A little before seven. Maggie took all the rest of the bottle of Tylenol. She told me she drank all of the medicine," he said urgently. "Get up!"
I had a moment to think, what with that little diatribe.
There was little over one dose last night in the bottle when I gave her the Tylenol. I told him so, then rolled over and went back to sleep and had nary a worry.
Chris stormed back into the room.
"Ragnar is barfing in his kennel!"
"Huh," I say as I roll over and attempt to sit up. There are children screaming outside my sanctuary of white noise and softness.
"Ragnar. Is. Throwing up. In. His. Kennel," my husband repeats. I think that this is the best place for the dog to be if he is throwing up. It is better on the carpet....and it is better than the cheddar cheese fries and beef jerky incident that I cleaned up from the 9 year old earlier this week.
Yeah....the kennel was THE best place.
"What time is it," I ask.
"Seven-thirty. Get up. Things are terrible out here."
I roll over and get comfortable, yet again, until Maggie is allowed to come in to snitch my Iphone. I am certain Chris allows her to do this when he has had enough of her demands for the morning.
She is smart with the Iphone ~ She has changed her oldest brother's contact name to "Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!" and Chris' name to "Svd." I must watch her closely with high-tech devices. She will surely attempt world domination very soon.
However mostly, at two years of age, she just listens to Bach's Adagio Number 5 no less than fifty times per day on the Iphone. But sometimes she gets a little feisty.
I think that these two negative interruptions to my sleep set the tone for my day.
We were on already on day two of no diapers.
Not because of some fierce we are going to "kick this diaper" habit or anything, but because of this hellatious diaper rash that has taken over our lives.
Maggie won't let us touch her bum to wipe her when she takes a dump...which sucks because she takes, like, five per day. Needless to say, she got a rash, and it was bleeding, and I had to bathe her every time she pooped. Which was a pain. And I had to keep her home from school. The school that I was still paying for, even if she didn't show up. ALL BECAUSE OF A DIAPER RASH.
So, I got up, with all of my negative energy, and was raring to go.
I took her diaper off. Angry, I dragged out my tax crap and started sorting receipts. I was, like, bring on the negativity, bro.
I called my accountant's office and talked to his office assistant. I made an appointment for the VERY NEXT DAY to get my lazy ass moving.
I sorted, entered data, organized, shoved off a naked 2 year old for most of the morning, then took her to the doctor for a previously scheduled doctor's appointment.
She had a crazy ear infection and a strep infection on her ass. Thank you very much, mother of the year award goes to ME BEEEYOTCHES!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Despite my efforts to clean up every little squirt of poop of this phase she is in, I didn't do it well enough and she is on antibiotics for a rash. And an ear infection we can't ever quite get rid of.
So let me recap the day, in case you have forgotton: 1.) The kid drank all the Tylenol; 2.) The dog barfed;, 3.) I decided this would be a day to do ALL of our taxes; 4.) I took the kid into the doctor and had an ear infection, 5,) the kid also had a strep infection on her butt diagnosed. 6.) I accept the Mother Of The Year Award. Thank-You-Very-Much.
I stopped on the way home and when I picked up the FREE antibiotics (THANKS PUBLIX!), I bought one of those huge bottles of wine. I know I said I gave that shit up. But I lied. I did. I lied through my teeth.
I'm sitting here and watching late night t.v.
I'm thinking that I should be in bed right now, or I will be in bad shape tomorrow.
I have a tax appointment in the morning and I am finished with that, I am going to have a great meal at a new restaurant in town that promises fantastic Thai/Japanese/Chinese food. The upside is that Maggie will be at school and I can take a nap after my Pad Thai.
Hopefully my tax appointment will be good news. And I won't receive a phone call from the pre-school calling me to tell me to come pick my diaper-change-diaper-rash-challenged kid up. And no one will be barfing tomorrow morning. And no one will be drinking bottles of medicine. And I will hope for the best.
I'll just water my flowers and take naps.