House of the Plague

Hello? 1-800-Rent-a-Gypsy? I have two slightly used children to sell. Cheap.

Back for an encore performance, it's Viruspalooza! This time with scary high fever and diarrhea! (The crowd goes wild! No, wait, that's just me.) Unlike his usually intractable sister who becomes mellow with the addition of a few degrees, happy-go-lucky Q becomes 23 pounds of cranky when he has a fever. Has to be held, but only in a position that is maximally uncomfortable for me. Wants his juice, but wants me to hold it. Wails like a banshee if Z even looks in his direction. Is exhausted, but refuses to sleep. I swear, when the kids are sick it makes me need a nap!

It was a beautiful fall day here in Texas today, but we were trapped inside. T is working nights, so he was asleep for most of the day and of no use to me parenting-wise. Z desperately wanted to go out, but there was no one to watch her. And she needs watching. No telling where she would go given even half a chance. I thought we would sneak out while Q was asleep, but his fever (+/-103) made him nap fitfully and as soon as Z was released from captivity, he was (unhappily) awake, too. As the evening progressed, Z became more and more tightly wound up. I guess I should have seen the bedtime fiasco coming.

We all headed upstairs for bath time. Z's room was an unholy wreck, so she had to clean it up before she joined her brother in the bath. I tried to stretch bath time out so Z could join us, but after Q's third escape attempt, I gave up and got him ready for bed. I took Q to his room and read and rocked and sang and got him to bed. He was settled, but not happy about it. I walked down to Z's room only to find that she had not put away a single toy in the 45 minutes I had spent with Q. I had to grab the top of my head to keep it from blowing off.

I am trying not to be a yeller, so I told Z matter of factly that she would be in bed in 15 minutes. How she used that time was up to her, but she had to fit cleaning her room, brushing her teeth, reading and snuggling into it. She puttered around as I counted down the time and put the last toy away just as her 15 minutes were up. When I told her to put on her PJ's and get into bed, she freaked. And ran. I found her hiding in my bedroom. I was all, "Really?" and goose stepped her back to her room, where she threw the tantrum to end all tantrums.

There was literally kicking and screaming. I had to hold the door to keep her in. She lay down on the floor and kicked her heels against the door - which woke up her brother. When I opened her door to tell her to knock it off or I would have to spank her, she tried to make a break for it. Where did she think she was going to go? The gate to the stairs was closed, so she only had the choice of my room or Q's. I corralled her again and put her back in her bed. At this point she changed tactics and was bawling about how she needed a hug. (This is a new delaying tactic she has been using lately. Cute at first, but now just annoying.) I told her I had already hugged her and to get back in bed. At this point, she finally conceded defeat and got in bed.

Now Q was crying. I rocked him to sleep and fumbled the dismount as I was laying him in his crib. I figured he would cry a little just for form's sake and drop off, but no dice. Instead, he had another round of badness in his diaper. So I changed him and comforted him and finally got him to sleep half an hour after his usual bed time.

Now I am tired and cranky. I'm not the least bit hungry, but I really want ice cream. Somehow, I don't think it is hunger I am trying to feed. This, class, is textbook emotional eating. I will resist. I hope. Maybe.

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PS - Adding to the fun of fevers and diarrhea, the Dr. Doogie I took Q to yesterday? Gave me totally backwards advice. He mixed up the effects of two different meds. He told me one was safe to use daily and the other was habit forming. Our regular doc, who is off on Fridays, had told me to steer clear of the drug Doogie recommended. Confused, I checked out both drugs online. Doogie was completely wrong. Jeez! Do you need a medical degree just to be a parent? Do they have remedial medical school? I guess it just goes to show, even in medical school, someone has to graduate at the bottom of the class.

1 comment:

  1. Oh, I am so sorry about your viruspalooza! It happens every year around here with the new school year! Hang in there.

    I followed your link over here from Jen Lancaster's blog. I, too, have been asked if I'm my children's grandmother. I'm 43, they are 8 and almost 6. Go figure. What kind of woman would say that to another woman?

    I'll have to book mark your site so I can come back and read through your archives.


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