The Bad Day

Apologies to all, but only stay-at-home Moms (or Dads) are going to get this column. I mean no disrespect to the many working parents out there, I used to be one, too. And I know you're with your kids on the weekends, but you're just not going to get this column.

I have two kids, nine and three. David is from my first marriage, and consequently has some stuff to deal with, which has gotten easier as he's gotten older. Suddenly, in the last three weeks or so, the maturity level has gone up a couple of notches. Don't get me wrong, his room's still a mess, I get the eye roll at bed time, I still can't figure out how the water gets out of the shower when there are two shower curtains to keep it in the tub, etc., but he's become attentive, doesn't argue as much, accepts direction and finishes a project before moving on, I'm almost sad (I said almost), I think he's growing up right before my eyes.

Mackenzie is my three year old and from my second marriage. She is amazing to watch because she is so much like my husband and I, throwing back my own words at me can be sometimes hard to hear. Her preschool teachers constantly tell me that sometimes they forget she's three because she articulates her thoughts so well. She idolizes her big brother and he adores her, but they are brother and sister, and when that fact comes into play, it can be ugly.

David is home for the summer, school has been out for a couple of weeks now. Mackenzie is in preschool three days a week, mornings only. So today I had both kids home this morning. David had day camp at school at 9:30 a.m, the same time Mackenzie had her swimming lesson across town (Mom didn't have her organizer with her when she scheduled this mess). It therefore was imperative that we leave our house clean, dressed, and fed by 8:40 a.m. No one wanted to get up, no one wanted to get dressed, no one liked my breakfast choices. St. Vincent de Paul was coming by to pick up the remnants of the garage sale leftover for donation, and I needed to get that stuff out of the garage and leave it up front for them to pick up. The dog and parrot both needed attention. And for some reason, today was the day my phones started ringing at 8:00 a.m.

David has pulled himself together and I ask him to get himself and his sister in the car. Mackenzie is all over the driveway, running from flies (our newest fear) and not getting in the car. David has made the valiant attempt and I tell him not to worry about it, I'll handle her. At the precise moment he decides to swing the door closed, Mackenzie decides she better cooperate. Her hand didn't get caught, there were no broken bones, but she did get some skin scraped on the edge of her finger. She proceeded to cry about her finger for the next four and a half hours -- all the way to David's school (20 minute ride). All the way to the YMCA (25 minute ride). Through the entire swimming lesson (30 minute class). Over to dad's office (20 minute ride). At dad's office (a very quick ten minutes). Back to pick up David (35 minute ride) and drop him off at a friends house (10 minutes).

(Now here I must interject the next piece of good fortune. At dad's office, we utilized part of our visit in the bathroom, she is fully potty trained and I haven't carried a diaper bag or a change of clothes in at least six months. As she went to the bathroom, I noticed she had what I'll call RB (short for Runny Butt, I'm sure you get the idea). I'm surprised, she hasn't had RB in a while, and I'm chalking it up to the fact that she's made herself so upset this morning. I've tried a variety of things at this point to distract her from her pain and get her to smile and nothing is working.)

After the friends house, I decide to take Mackenzie to a local park close to the friends house, thinking I won't have to make the big loop around when I pick David up in a couple of hours. It was hot, so I decided to take Mackenzie to an ice cream store, counting on the sugar to give her energy at the park and make her happy and give Mom a break because the last nerve was about ready to blow. She smiled. Things were good. Just as the ice cream got to the table, we had major RB. She lost it again. I haul her into the bathroom and survey the damage. It couldn't have been much worse. I had baby wipes but that was it, no change of clothes, no diapers or underwear, and she's screaming the whole time. Chucked the underwear in the trash, not salvageable given my current situation. Washed out the pants from the inside, had her put them back on, and I slid baby wipes and paper towels around her bottom. Cleaned up the bathroom as best I could. Got my drink to go, left her ice cream (more screaming) and back home we went (25 minute ride). Changed her at home, caught my breath for five minutes and back for David we went (25 minute ride). Picked David up and now it was time to take him to his dad's house, he's there every Thursday (35 minute ride to dad's). Poor David, he pretty much sucked up to his sister every time he saw her, and she still wanted nothing to do with him -- he tried singing to her, making funny faces at her, telling her jokes, I felt bad when he reached for her hand and tried to kiss it and make it better, she completely blew him off. As I walked him to his dad's door, I told him not to worry about it, she'd be better tomorrow when he saw her. Let's hope that wasn't an extreme stretch of the truth.

When kids have diarrhea, the things you worry about most is dehydration. You've got to keep the fluids going down their throat, the idea is to get the fluids in faster than they come out. Of course, the job is twice as hard when they don't want to take them in at all. By 3:00 p.m., I was on my way to the doctor's office, she just wasn't right, the constant crying was starting to worry me even though it didn't sound like the pain cry, it was definitely the wimpy cry, but nonetheless, it was time. And going in to it I knew there was no medicine I could give her, nothing to stop the RB, but I had to try something. She blew twice while we were there. (Thank goodness I picked up a change of clothes.) While the doctor told me lots of stuff I already knew, he did mention something I didn't. Since he figured out her particular case is viral, he said it would be contagious and adults could get the same thing, but in a much milder form. Hmmmm, double extra hand washing for me. Called the husband to tell him what was going on, and was told he had left a little early, had said he was feeling a little tired and run down. Hmmmm, he hadn't mentioned that to me when I talked to him earlier in the day. We got home, and there he was lying down on the bed, said he didn't know why he didn't feel so good. I did.

Why do I direct this column at those stay at home parents? Because this was one of those days that all these things were going to get done and not a darn thing got accomplished. Now the health and well being of my child is paramount and my life can go to hell as long as my kids are OK. But what was shaping up to be a good day fell apart so quickly. My laundry is still on the floor. The dishwasher is still loaded with clean dishes and the sink has dirty ones in it. My kitchen floor is, well, let's not talk about my kitchen floor, OK? My coupons are still on the table waiting to be cut and sorted and my bed didn't even get made this morning (but I don't think the husband cared when he came home and rolled into it) and I didn't even cook dinner today (again, not high on Keith's priorites right now). I know I didn't do a damn thing today and I feel guilty and useless. So it was a surprise when David called me from his dad's, to see how Mackenzie was feeling and to thank me for taking him over to his friend's house today. And Mackenzie announced to her dad that she didn't want him right now, she wanted Mom because I had taken care of her all day. I went to bed thinking I had done a good job for today after all. And maybe if I get up extra early before she wakes up I can unload the dishwasher and fold the laundry, etc. And if she wakes up early, well then we'll just cuddle in Mom and Dad's bed for awhile.