In addition to PMS (which I may or may not claim to have three or four times a month, don't judge), it was rainy. And I always want to lay around and watch TV or read fanfic when it's rainy.
But I've got four short people who require some semblance of parenting, so I made the effort. I got our gymnastics mat out of the carport (our make-shift playroom) brushed the pollen and dirt off, and dragged it into the family room for the rugrats to tumble so I could do something useful. (I will not waste my day on the internet. I will not waste my day on the internet.)
|Is she wearing a Jayne Cobb hat?|
Then I rubbed my eyes, without washing my hands after wiping the mat.
OH. FRIGGIN. JOY.
So, you know how you're not supposed to toss rice at weddings because it'll expand inside the birdies and make their bellies explode? My eyes ballooned like that. Swollen, nearly exploding eyes, and even more swollen eyelids.
My left eye looked like I got hit by a punk who kinda sorta knew how to fight. My right eye looked like every freaking hornet on the freaking continent took turns gang-stinging my eyelid until they got tired of sloppy seconds. (Dang, that was gross. I'm usually not that crude in my analogies.) (Analogies has both the words anal and log in it. Hehe.)
So, even though it was only 9:30am, I had a bad case of the screw-its and snuggled up with my laptop.
The kids had a movie in and a tumbling mat and a bucket of Thomas train track pieces. They were set for a while. Oh, and I gave them some disinfectant wipes to clean the mat so their eyes didn't swell shut, too.
"Look at my eyes. Does it look like they hurt? They hurt! So I don't want to hear fussing of fighting or anything breaking, okay? Just be good so I can lay in my dark room until my eyes are better. Pleeeease."
I read the Bloggess's archives - how on earth have I missed her for the last five years? Oh my goodness, I have missed out on so much laughter! - for a while (not 3 hours, no, that would be bad). Then I pulled my mostly-blind tail off the bed and checked the kids and loaded the dishes. I opened windows because somone had opened a can of tuna, drained the juice in the sink, and hadn't rinsed it out, leaving behind a lovely smell. (Lovely like a cheap bordello, that is.)
I told the shorties what chores to do and went back to my room. It was raining so hard, there were puddles in the swings outside my window. So I turned on Andrew Belle youtube videos and tried to rest. It was nice.
Lunch? I wandered into the kitchen, saw the open bread and nutella and banana peels out on the counter, hollered, "Did y'all eat?" heard a chorus of "Yes ma'am," and that was good enough for me. I took a shower, hoping to rid myself of any residual pollen-dirt-hornet combinations then went back to my room, still only able to see out of one eye.
The twins went out to play in the rain at some point, so I figured they could hear me from the open window calling them back in. So then there were puddles on the kitchen floor.
As soon as it stopped raining, they ran back out to jump on the trampoline, because a wet tramp is the most fun!
But the teenager broke the wire on his braces again, so we were due at the orthodontist at 4:00. We're in there once every two weeks (no joke) fixing whatever he's messed up. I think he's just trying to spite us. I hate braces. And 14-year old hormones. And ADHD. And Autism.
So, 3:45, I go tell the kids it's time to get in the van. And the five year old girl pops up covered in mud. I mean leterally covered, head to toe, clothes and hair and all. And she clearly didn't roll in it; she smeared it on like lotion. A mud bath. Fan. friggin. Tastic.
Peeking from the one eye now halfway open, and the other finally beginning to kind of open, I grab the water hose and just spray her off. "Hey, take off your clothes. Those things are NOT going inside." So then I've got a naked, muddy little girl running around the yard (yes, there's a privacy fence), being sprayed with water, screaming, "BEST. GAME. EVER!"
She's totally a nudist.
Once she's rinsed, I give her clothes, because we don't have time for a bath. The orthodontist visit goes well, and I'm quite sure we'll be paying for the doc's college with how often we're in there.
We get back home, and they all run out back, and I think, "Holy, crap, they've destroyed the house. Like that joke about the husband getting home & the kids are in their underwear in the yard, the sink is on & overflowing and the house looks like a tornado went through; then the wife is in bed watching TV & tells the husband, 'You know how you ask every day what I did? Well, today, I didn't do it.' That's what this is like. I should really clean this mess up."
So... I went and laid back on my bed and pulled up ParentsShouldntText.com and laughed for a while.
Until I heard my husband walk in.
Let me put away the laptop and lay here like I'm sick. I mean, I am sick. I feel terrible. My eyes are swollen.
I hear him walk through and look in the backyard, where the little girl is completely covered in mud again and the others have neighbor friends playing with them. I can hear his head about to explode.
He comes in and, though he's obviously completely pissed off, asks how I'm feeling and offers to grill so I don't have to cook. He also wants to make all the kids come in & clean up, but I convince him they need the exercise for a while.
Of course, his version of grilling out still includes me cooking the veggies inside. So, I grab veggies in steamable bags and stick them in the microwave and pull out raw broccoli and ranch dressing and call it done. And I go back to bed.
He was so mad he didn't even eat with us. Oh well. I'm can only be Supermom for so long before I crash & burn.
I've even been to the doctor in the past (um, maybe 3 years ago, now) hoping for a shot so I could keep going, and he said, "How are you even sitting up? How are you even conscious?! Did you drive yourself here?" Yeah, yeah I did. He wrote some orders for IV fluids and told me to go across the street to the hospital. But I didn't know how long it would take, and I had the van. So I drove home to switch cars in case the husband had to take the kids somewhere. I thought it might take a few hours. They kept me there for three friggin' days. Days!!! The triage nurse thought I'd get faster service if he admitted me than if I stayed in the ER, then they wouldn't let me leave until I was well!
So, maybe I push myself too hard. But not yesterday. Yesterday, I totally phoned it in.