Tuesday, December 6th –
- 8:00 a.m. – I am not sure why I am awake and up when The Kid is staying home from school. Ugh. I flutter about in the kitchen. I make coffee. My friend calls me. I speak softly so as not to awaken Sleeping Beauty.
- 10:00 a.m. – I've gone up to check on The Kid multiple times to make sure she is breathing. She is, buried beneath her covers and snoring. On the last trip up the stairs (which I'm counting as cardio), I left the door open. It is past the time for her to take her antibiotic, which stresses me, although her mother has assured me that as long as it gets into her body twice a day, The Kid is good. Having several friends married to doctors, I am used to nonsense like this. But my mother (who everyone assumed was a doctor due to her superior medical knowledge – and I mean that seriously) is rolling over in her grave. Oh, wait. She was cremated and is on my china cabinet. Okay, well, her voice is in my head.
- 11:00 a.m. – Sicko Kid is downstairs and medicated. She repeats my name constantly. I don't think I've heard my name this much ever. She eats yogurt and doesn't want me to cook anything. She is not dying today.
- 1:30 p.m. - The amount of tissue usage has gone down. As with my sick kids, I've given her a plastic bag to dispose of her Kleenex. Being ill and weak, most of these do not make it into the bag. I have washed my hands 10,468 times today after picking up her used tissues 10,468 times.
- 2:00 p.m. - I am forced to watch the World Cup game between Portugal and Switzerland. I cheer for Switzerland just to annoy her. I am losing. We both are on electronics as we watch – her on her phone and me on my laptop working— but the game is too good. We are now invested. I am learning more about soccer than I ever knew before. She has planned our weekend watching schedule.
- 4:00 p.m. – The Kid has shed her illness. It's a miracle. Her voice is loud as she talks on the phone with her legions of admirers who have lived without her far too long. She roams from place to place. Currently, she is in the kitchen cooking. Darkness is settling. I am cold.
- 6:00 p.m. – I offer to make dinner. The Kid is too busy with her admirers, plus she ate not two hours ago. I make some eggs and eat while she talks on the phone. I suggest that she might want to study for the tests she missed while sick and will have to take tomorrow. "Cara!" she shouts.
- 10:00 p.m. – The Kid is showered and packed for school tomorrow. I am in awe of her self-sufficiency. My kids didn't have this at 13. Well, maybe they did. It's been too long. They certainly wouldn't have cooked for themselves or gotten ready for school the night before. Okay, maybe my youngest would've done this. Seriously, it's been too long. The Kid ate leftover pizza, and I cleaned up her mess. That's one thing she seems incapable of doing. I'm unsure why not, since her mother is a neat freak.
- 11:00 p.m. – The kid is still not in bed. She is printing things. This is a pet peeve of her mother's, a discussion we had before she left. then, I rolled my eyes. I'm well experienced in this silliness. My husband always bitched about printing things. What's the point of a printer if not for printing? The ink cost! That's the response I always got from him and that's Steph's response. I rolled my eyes again. The Kid was thrilled I took her side. I regret that now as she runs up and down the stairs, thump thump, thump, printing picture after picture. She is taking advantage of her mother being gone to waste ink. I tell her to get her ass into bed. After I yell, she claims she is printing one last picture--of Joe Burrow, the Cincinnati Bengals quarterback. WHAT? Does she know me? Does she live in PA? Joe Burrow and the Bengals are the enemy! Also, he is too cocky for my liking. I tell her if I find it, I shall destroy it. "Cara!" she shouts. I don't think she shouts this regarding my language. It seems to be an automatic response to any words that come out of my mouth
- 11:15 p.m. – The Kid is in her room with the door closed. All is quiet.
No comments:
Post a Comment