A night in my head

Noodle has been coming in to sleep in our bed every night lately. Sleeping with her is like sleeping with an greedy, angry goat. She somehow manages to take up the whole bed, but also manages to spend the entire night just sleeping ON ME. Bucket usually abandons ship when she comes in, throws her doll over him and climbs in. Needless to say, I have not been very well rested the past few weeks.

The other night, Bucket and I watched the Red Sox until 11:30 or so. Just as he was saying, “I am so happy to have this whole big bed,” we heard her coming. He took her into her bed for the night, despite the fact that I offered to either sleep in her bed, or have her in ours. When he insisted, I didn’t argue. I was going to have a blissful night’s sleep with the whole queen bed to myself.

I fell asleep and then woke up about an hour later to the sound of a car alarm. I stumbled downstairs, but by the time I got there, it had stopped. We have had a wave of creepy skulkers in our neighborhood, and I was worried they were breaking into our car. One thing you should know is that I am paranoid about thievery, but in the middle of the night, I am paranoid about Everything. Suddenly, I realized that Creepy Intruders Were Trying To Break Into My Car To Steal My IPod. I tried zapping the car, but it didn’t work. It kept beeping at me because one of the children left their door ajar. I went to look in the basket where the iPod is kept, and IT WASN’T THERE.

So now I have to go outside to try to lock the car, but what about the creepy intruders? The burning desire to lock the door is eclipsing my fear of death at the hands of the creepy intruders, so I turn on the light and run to the car and lock it. Of course, there is no iPod. On the way back in, I remember the rat infestation in our neighborhood. Now I am no longer just afraid of the creepy intruders, but of a deadly intruder/rat combo. The intruders are going to bop me on the head, and as I am crawling back to the house, my blood streaming down the sidewalk, the rats are going to come flying out and chew my face off. Bucket will find me in the morning, my rigid corpse attacked by rats. I will surely die on my mission to rescue the iPod.

Believe it or not, I survive my 10-foot run to the car and back and stagger back upstairs, where I lie awake, wondering about the iPod. Did the kids lose it? Is it in my bag? Did the creepy intruders steal it? Did the rats eat it? Do we really need an iPod, anyway?

I fall asleep sometime around 2, and wake up again at 6:30 to get the kids ready for school. In the morning, I tell Bucket my tale of adventure and he holds up the iPod, which has been on the coffee table the whole time.

P.S. Last night I didn’t fall asleep until the middle of the night because that fucking Miley Cyrus We Can’t Stop song was in my head. Really, Miley? REALLY?!


Things that happened

So in case you don’t follow the scintillating updates on my Facebook page, I have been ravaged by The Plague for the past three days. On Saturday night, I got the stomach flu and it decided to stay and play a while.

Yesterday, it seemed like there was light at the end of the tunnel, because I was able to walk and managed to spend all day without Bucket home to help me. And it ended up being an interesting day. The following things happened:

1. Noodle decided to start walking around naked. Given that it was 45 degrees and raining, I didn’t consider it an inspired choice, but she’s nuts, you know. Her new favorite game is to strip off, shriek, “SO COLD!” and then jump under the blanket to hang out with me. At first, I thought that’s what she was doing. But then she dragged the baby toilet into the living room and told me she needed a new diaper. Then, after her nap, she got naked again, dragged the toilet into the kitchen, yelled “SHINTE!” (which is Amharic for pee, you ignoramus) and then ran away. I was in the process of ruining some soup, so I didn’t notice until later that she had actually PEED in the toilet. By herself. For the first time.

2. After Peeta came home, Noodle and I went upstairs so I could take a bath, and he played on my computer. After a while, I heard the doorbell ring. Then I heard Peeta open the door. Then I heard him yell, “Mama! The mailman’s here! Don’t worry, I let him in!” fortunately, it was the UPS man coming to deliver the last of the Home Depot tile, and Peeta had just let him onto our porch to drop it, but for a moment, I was frozen in the tub, trying to figure out how to get dressed as fast as possible, or give him a show (which would probably mean we’d never get mail again). Perhaps it’s time to have that strangers talk again.

3. At about 4:30, the phone rang. It was Cigna mail order pharmacy, calling about a prescription for Peeta. Bucket had been fighting with them for days over an order that had been screwed up, for which they wanted to charge us. Clearly, they thought they could circumvent him by coming to me. They were wrong. The woman asked for Peeta. I said I was his mother. She asked for him again. I told her he’s seven, so I didn’t think he’d be much help. She then told me they were out of the refill for the prescription, but they would have it tomorrow. I decided to let it go, despite the fact that we ordered it LAST WEEK, but asked her if we were going to be charged. She said yes.

Oh, Lord, that poor woman will rue the day she ever called my house. I went absolutely batshit on her ass. I told her that it was unacceptable to charge us twice for a mistake that wasn’t our fault, and she had the audacity to argue with me. Sister, don’t mess with me on the third day of the stomach flu. I ranted and raved and finally told her I wasn’t dealing with this any more, because they had been dealing with Bucket. I gave her his number and called him to warn him they would be calling. He was pissed too, and then they called n the other line.

There will be no charge for the refill, and they’re lowering our co-pay because of some issue with the manufacturer (read: your wife is a fucking lunatic and we would rather lose money than ever have to deal with her crazy ass ever again.)

Mama: 1. Evil thieving bureaucracy: 0.

I got to end the day by going to see the Red Sox lose with two of my favorite friends. A fly ball cracked off the skulls of two people in front of us, so we ended up on NESN. The shot was (thankfully) brief and consisted mostly of me jumping up like a fool, with my hand over my mouth in horror. Bucket TIVO’d it, because you know, it wasn’t embarrassing enough that people saw it the first time.

All in all, it wasn’t a terrible day, despite The Plague. Except that when I got home, Bucket remembered we had leftover Cipro from Africa, which would have been nice to take on Sunday morning. But hey, at least I got to be on TV, looking sexy.It’s every girl’s dream to have video documentation of herself after three days of retching, right? Oh, yeah.

I’m good news for the real estate market

So the cold that I had early last week appears to have come back. On Friday afternoon, I started feeling really grotty and went to bed early, having popped a lot of ibuprofen (I should have stock in Advil). This morning, Bucket let me sleep until 8, and then I took Peeta to farm league, and then came home for about two hours (long enough to feed both children and myself, put Noodle down for the world’s shortest nap, supervise Peeta’s creation of a birthday card for his friend, get Noodle up from said nap and get everyone in the car for a birthday party). Then we all went to a totally rad superhero party that involved capes, masks and a whole lot of freeze dancing.

I was feeling okay until we got home, and then I wanted to pass out. Or find a spider hole. Or go sleep in the car, where the children couldn’t find me. Bucket had finished mortaring the MFing bathroom floor, so he was finally available for child care. I tried to lie on the couch and watch TV, but suddenly, both children developed an overwhelming urge to be on top of me. We just watched Jumanji and now the kids are in bed.

As it is 8pm, it is obviously jim-jam time. I went upstairs to find that all my jim-jam pants are in the dryer. And I needed to pee. And the  only access to a bathroom with a toilet is in front of a bank of windows facing the street. I’ll admit it: I was too tired to care, so I just walked in front of all the windows wearing a t-shirt and knickers. I’m pretty sure that no one could see me, but I’m also willing to bet that if they did, there will be a sudden onslaught of neighbors putting their houses up for sale, traumatized forever at the sight of me walking around in my underwear.


Mama got vomit for Christmas

It’s been so long since I posted that you probably thought I was dead. Close, but sadly, no.

Tibs came into bed with us on Dec. 23., the last day of the semester, with a 103-degree-fever. Being the profoundly sensitive mother I am, my first thought was, you’ve got to be kidding me. You made it all the way through the first half of the school year and got sick on the LAST DAY? But then I looked at his sweaty little face and weakened. And then, I felt nauseated.

I said to Bucket as he was walking out the door that I thought I was sick too. But maybe I was just overreacting. Maybe.

An hour or so later, after Tibs’ Tylenol had kicked in and he was back at a regular temperature, I felt like death. I walked past him to the kitchen and said, “I think I might throw up.” He, who had never complained of stomach ailment, said, “Yeah, me too.” Five minutes later, he calls me from the living room. “Mama, I just threw up.” On the couch. Not in the bathroom, which is an easily walkable ten steps away. Of course the couch.

He immediately rallies and feels better. I, in turn, start to feel stabbing pains in my abdomen. I want to spew, but I can’t. I end up calling Bucket and making him come home early from work so he can do the Christmas dinner shopping because I am pretty sure I am going to yak all over Whole Foods, and I’m almost positive vomit isn’t considered organic. Or is it?

Saturday comes. Still not much better, but at least I can walk. Sunday arrives. I am still in my pyjamas from Saturday, and Bucket informs me that he just threw up, but feels much better now. I remain in my PJs all day, curled in a little ball, while he cooks all the food. The only thing that makes me feel at all better is the Bloody Mary I make my brother concoct for me, which shall now be known as Magic Elixir.

Thanks, Santa, you bastard. Merry friggin’ Christmas.


I woke up this morning with The Plague. I used to get sick for a number of days, and have it be vaguely tolerable, yet exceedingly long. Since I had kids, I get sick for one nasty day, multiple times a year. I’m not sure which is worse.

I managed to get up, make Tibs’ lunch, give Noodle breakfast, walk Ishy and go to the library for Toddler Time, all before 10:30. I consider this a spectacular achievement, and if you disagree, know that I will hunt you down when I feel better and kick you in the shins. When we got to the library (in the rain, no less), I was informed that Toddler Time was cancelled this week because Lisa was on vacation. Lisa! You selfish cow! Thanks, library, for updating that info on your website! I know that we, and the dozens of other children who arrived with us, would have liked to have that information. Anyway, Toddler Time was cancelled, but two of the books I requested were in.

One was Mockingjay, the third in the Hunger Games series. Yes, I have two master’s degrees in English. Yes, I heart teen fiction. If you mock me, know that I will hunt you down when I feel better and kick you in the teeth. If you didn’t already know, Mockingjay is perfect reading when one is suffering from The Plague. We went home, Noodle took a nap, and I took a bath and started the book.

Then it was time to get Tibs from the bus. Again, Neighbor Girl was trying to get off, with no parents to pick her up. Again, I said I would take her to our house. Something is up with Neighbor Girl, and I’m not sure what, but I DO know that I am not her frigging babysitter. We called her dad. He didn’t answer. She claimed not to know her mom’s cell, so I looked it up in the school directory and called. She was in CT, as Neighbor Girl said. Neighbor Girl was meant to go to afterschool. She told Neighbor Girl! Did Neighbor Girl not know? Because I am a saint, I said I would take her back to school again, but I made a point that this was the second week this has happened. Next week, she’s staying on the bus.

So we get in the car to go back to school, with me cursing in my brain. Of course, this happens on the day when I have The Plague, when I took a bath and changed into sweats because I was sure we wouldn’t be leaving the house again. When I have half-wet, half-riotously-curly hair. When I am ashen and alternating between sweat and chills. But we go to the school. I get the kids out. We go two floors down. AGAIN, Neighbor Girl runs away without even saying goodbye (let alone thank you), and I turn to face Tibs’ kindergarten teacher. If she doesn’t call DSS on me, it will be a miracle. I am positive I looked like some kind of lunatic junkie who couldn’t even get dressed, staggering around with two children, sniffing suspiciously with bloodshot eyes.

We’re home now. I have locked the door, turned on the electric blanket and am drinking tea while Tibs watches Busytown (You and me, solving mysteries, with Huckles, in Busytown! Me and you, gonna find a clue, with Huckles, in Busytown! Do not get me started on how that song haunts my dreams or offends all my grammatical sensibilities as an English major) and Noodle wanders around the house with her baby.

Leave me alone with my teen fiction, please. In case you didn’t know, I have The Plague.


Am sick.

Probably dying.

If I am still alive in the morning, I will share a real post. One with some thought and effort in it. Rejoice!

Until then, you can find me on the couch, underneath 439857342987 blankets, drinking wine and popping Oscillococcinum.

Now, back to my imminent death.