A Day Off!

I started typing this sometime around 7AM, with full intention of bragging about my day off, bought about by the ill health of my poor child.  Turns out, it couldn't be farther from a day off, hence my deletion of the whole three sentences I'd typed over five hours ago.  Serves me right, I suppose.

There's nothing like family illness to bring out the annoying in my husband.  He's been on vacation all week.  For him, this is a much deserved break.  For me, it's more cooking, more cleaning, more laundry.  Awesome.  With the kid being sick, he's at full panic.  I like to think that if you cross bred a monkey and a rhino and raised it to be a crack addict, you'd know what my husband is like when he's been home too long and our kid is sick.  In his world, it can just be a cough or a fever or a runny nose.  No, nothing common and every day at all.  Clearly, she's suffering from the plague.

On one hand, this has been of great benefit to both the child and myself.  Right now, he's will to make as many trips to Super Walmart Center as necessary to ensure her continued breathing and/or happiness.  This is how I got an economy sized box of frozen waffles, plus it's gotten him out of the house for several hours.  Those hours were broken up in to approximately 20 minute increments, but this is stupendous, none the less.  I keep planting little "needs" in her mind.  I'm a horrible person.

On the other hand, he's being really irritating.  I just took her temperature.  You want to know if it's changed a fraction of a degree?  Take it again yourself!  Yes, she's had her fluids, yes, she's had her medicine.  Stop barking orders at me from the living room and come in here if you need something.  And make your own fucking corndog.

Then there's the child, herself.  I really do feel bad for her.  It sucks seeing her sick, and she's already so tiny and frail, but she keeps forgetting she's sick.  The wonders that are Tylenol and Motrin have knocked nearly all the symptoms out of her.  And this is good, except for the fact that since she's feeling pretty okay, it's nearly impossible to get her to rest.  Once the medication starts wearing off she turns into a nightmare.  This morning, I'd totally envisioned a lovely day of lounging at the computer while she watched an endless stream of DVD's and quietly rested.  My experience has been nothing like that.  Instead, my whole day has been spent trying to keep her in one spot, cooking, and cleaning.  Sort of like every other day only with an extra heap of annoyance.

On top of this, I'm pretty sure I'm coming down with whatever she has.  I can hardly even taste my frozen waffles.  I'm on very limited sleep, so my thoughts are angry and tired and mostly incoherent.  I'm also aware of some rather unpleasant smell.  I think it's me.

And my mom keeps calling.  My mom is pissed off at me for blowing her off on Christmas.  Apparently all holidays happen for her.  Neat-o.  We've tried ignoring the calls, but my mom is one of those people who completely disregards unanswered phones.  Her mind remains convinced that I really am here and I really do want to talk to her.  The end result is about 45 minutes worth of consecutive calls, each with its own unique and eventually hostile voice mail.  I should really consider turning these into audio clips and posting them whenever someone pisses me off. 

So that's where we're at today.  No day off, just a big day full of fuck you.  But I promised to write daily, and I'm not prepared to give that up yet.  I know that random whining is no way to impress my audience (and again, thank you to everyone who continues reading!) so, here's a quick story:

I'm at the craptop googling things that very likely should never be googled.  She, for a fleeting moment is completely engrossed in a movie, and I'm going to enjoy that moment in every way it can possibly be enjoyed.  I'm not really paying her much attention, so it comes as a complete shock when she looks up and speaks.

"Those kids are assholes!"

I know I should reprimand her inappropriate language, but I'm simply too bewildered.  "What kids?"

"Those ones," she points to the movie.  "Buncha assholes!"

This time, I try to correct her, but there's so much passion behind her accusation that all I can do is laugh.  When I can finally breathe again, I gasp, "Why do you think that?"

"Just because."  The conversation is left there, as she returns to her movie and I return to the computer.  So far, this has been the high point of my day.

Perhaps later, I'll compose a haiku about it.