5:30: CREAK! (This door, while annoying is an excellent early warning system and that’s why I don’t fix it)
“Are you wet?”
“Then go to the bathroom and go back to bed!”
I drift back to sleep. Through the haze, I hear the cat yelping.
(In my head) “Goddamn mother blerging stupid cat…my life for a pellet gun”
At this, I leap straight out of bed, hit the ceiling fan, bounce off the ceiling, suffer a heart attack, stroke, and a series of involuntary muscle twitches
“I don’t feel good”
I hold out my hand, in a “Get over here and press your head against my hand” motion.
She stands still.
(Hand still extended) “Come on!”
She feels slightly warm and is also reporting “Boogs (short for boogers) in my mouth”
I have no idea what that means, but it sounds nasty. I crawl out of bed, happy that I don’t have to pee (Men everywhere just nodded in appreciation of what I’m really saying) and stumble to her bathroom.
She turns the lights on.
I recoil like a vampire and nearly fall down. Blinded, I reach for a bottle of any kind of medicine. Cold Medicine? That’ll do. I pour a shot of it, hand it over and stumble back to bed.
SON OF A BITCH!
“I need to go potty”
I drift back to sleep…only to wake up 3 minutes later remembering to set the alarm.
Meanwhile, the cat decided that now is a good time to crap and yell about it. Earlier this week, I had to move the litter box to the landing on the stairs because the basement’s been taped off and the litter box is too big for any of the bathrooms. So, we get to listen to scratching and yelping in F-minor.
6:30: BEEP BEEP BEEP
6:39: BEEP BEEP BEEP
I stumble out of bed, brush my teeth, shave, pee and get dressed. Into her room I go.
“I don’t feel good”
I feel her head…it feels warm. I get the thermometer. She’s warm. I fetch some Tylenol, hand over a shot and tell her to go to sleep.
“If I feel better later…”
“NO!” (CrazyAnne had offered to have her over this evening for movies with her grandson.) “Go back to sleep”
I stumble downstairs and decide that today warrants a full pot of coffee. I normally make a mug of instant during the week. Don’t make that face at me. It’s quick and it has caffeine in it. As long as you can get to the place in your head where you stop thinking of it as coffee and think of it as “what you drink in the morning”, it’s passable acceptable. As it brews, I start composing this story in my head. Chuckling to myself because, let’s face it, I’m just so darned witty, I start reading the paper. 4 minutes later, I’m done with the paper. My favorite part today was how the NAACP plans to picket the town of Wilson, NC because they have higher than average utility bills. Clearly, it’s because they’re racist and has nothing to do with how Wilson has decided to buy power from the grid…
In my head, I’m making a list of what I need to do.
Move the car so the drywaller can get the spot
Dial in to my 8:00 call
Think about doing a restore on the finally-repaired laptop
Out loud, I mutter “OK…move the JESUS CHRIST! WHAT ARE YOU A GODDAMN NINJA?”
The child is standing right in front of me. I didn’t hear her sneak into the room.
(I lean back against the kitchen counters and put my head in my hands)
(At this point, you should be imagining the Chocolate Cake routine)
“I didn’t tell the truth…I…um”
(I now bend over at the waist with my head in my hands and pray for death)
“I only slept for 15 minutes…I didn’t tell the truth…um…I…um…then I read for a while”
“OK…whatever. Go back upstairs and get slippers and a blanket”
“Can I have breakfast?” Here’s where I notice a gleam in her eye. Time to test her because I think I see where this is going.
“Eggs and bacon and toast!”
“You’re kidding me. How do you feel?”
“FINE!” I check her head…she’s cooled down.
“Do you want to go to school?”
(I die a little inside)
“Go upstairs and get dressed”
We head upstairs and she proceeds to get confused. Today, at her esteemed, hopefully soon to be former, school is Pajama Day! Next week, we’ll have “Let’s make up another excuse not to educate your children while the teachers sip bourbon day”. She puts on another pair of pajamas. I log into the laptop. I need to tell the 8:00 people I won’t make the call.
Here’s the email I send:
I will certainly be late and may not make the call.
Little Miss 7 decided that she was sick at 6:30 this morning. However, she now claims to have recovered and wants to go to school.
With my wife away, tending to her ailing father, I’m flying solo this week, so I have to get her moving and off to school.
Remind me weekly to thank my wife for all she’s done during the MANY times I’ve been away over the past 5 years. I’ll probably need to put in a standing order at the local florist.
**Work stuff follows**
“Are these too small?” She’s got on long sleeved PJ’s that stop mid-forearm. She’s also not wearing underpants.
She gets another pair. These are skin-tight.
“You look like a fool” (To self…we may need to buy more PJ’s) “This school of yours is so stupid”
She brushes her teeth and goes into her room. Clearly pissed at me, she gets another pair and VERY SLOWLY gets them on.
I die 467 more times.
Downstairs we go. I nuke some pancakes and she eats.
We head to school where she is signed in as “tardy”
I sign her in as such and leave a note for the school’s Data Manager. The same woman who, a week ago, sent home a note claiming that the child had not been properly vaccinated. This was discovered after she was bitten by another student. Of course, they sent home the other child’s medical records to our house…in which we could clearly see that this child was not properly vaccinated. Score 3 for Wake County! Nothing like a good old fashioned medical-related privacy violation to the home of the kid whose father had made a career in the business of managing people who routinely make such errors and then gets blamed for them thusly causing him to switch jobs to a far more rewarding job at Xerox with a lot less stress and annoyance in which he routinely thanks coworkers for being so darned wonderful and not publicly humiliating me to the point that the child can now perfectly imitate the voice of a Senior Director who liked to call me “Rooooooooooooob”
(Whoa…I may have gone into a fugue state there)
They decided she’d been improperly vaccinated because she got some shot before she was 6 months old. However the rule says “24 weeks (6 months)”. She got it at 24 weeks and 4 days. Rather than argue the point to the woman at school who claimed not to have access to a 2002 calendar (making me wonder how a Data Manager exists without the internet), the child had gotten shots on Wednesday…the day of the delayed opening and early release from school…in other words, a 3 1/2 hour school day.
JewelrySlut gets home tomorrow. I shall hug her when I see her.