Sunday, February 28, 2010
My husband sent me this image..."Why don't you blog about this?" He's the one who designed our home with 3 bathrooms and no medicine cabinets. Of course it's all in a bowl. We were going to a dinner party at the home of 3 humans and 3 animals. I suggested he medicate himself beforehand in lieu of waiting until his lungs collapse. I administered the Benadryl while he shook his head photographing the bowl.
Family medicine is really easy. Adults: Ibuprofen for muscles Tylenol for fevers or anything if you're pregnant, Nyquil for sick sleeping, Aleve for hangovers. Children: Tylenol for everything, and don't you DARE get the wrong color. If they are feverish and puking, you have to go the suppository route which is daunting but surmountable. I won't go into unguents and wart removers. I think Tim just wants an iphone ap. He could type in, "scary boil on Steel's leg" or "weird red penis" and it would spit out a miracle cream to be used once and thrown away.
I picked up the kids today to give an overwhelmed Tim an extra half hour. Steel was livid because she didn't get the middle seat. To lighten things up I started to sing the birthday month song. I would tell them who had their birthdays with each month. I got to May and said cheerily, "May is Jack Peter's month!" Steel shrieked, "I want May!" I carried on singing like the orchestra on the Titanic, but she didn't like the sound of October and was even madder that she had to share it with Toby.
Tim got into the car and I suggested going out. He sighed and said he could use a margarita. I suggested it because the fridge to him is much like the medicine bowl. Every time I make a meal he'll say, "How did you DO that? there was nothing in there!" It was 5:30, too early for us to ruin the ambiance for too many people. The pitcher of margaritas came for the 2 of us with the chips and salsa. Steel refused to take her coat off and was dragging it through both salsa bowls as she grabbed for her chips. They were drawing on the floorboards with the crayons eschewing the Hello Kitty coloring books.
Finally their favorite black bean soup arrived in 2 bowls each of them decorated with swirls of sour cream. I'd even asked the waiter to make sure today's batch wasn't spicy. "I DON'T WANT SOUP!" Tim spent the next 20 minutes trying to spoon feed Steel. I was out of commission feeding the baby and myself. Jack Peter took this opportunity to eat the corners off of every chip. When encouraged to eat his soup, he'd eat 1 bean and then go back to lying on the bench singing to himself. When threatened consequences for not eating soup he shot at me.
Time for a potty break for Jack Peter. This leaves me with the girls. The pitcher is 2/3 empty. Steel is wandering around with black bean soup all over her. Toby has lost her booties. No eating gets done although I'm still managing to drink. At some point a waitress gives me a card advertising Mommy Margaritas the 3rd Tuesday of every month from 2-4. Clearly I look like someone who needs to be drinking hard alcohol at 2 on a weekday. After barely a dent in the soup and way too much drama, we give up. The waiter comes back with our doggy bag. Steel goes berserk. "THE MAN TOOK MY SOUP!" We're trying to leave and Jack Peter says, "I need to POOP!" I'm left with the girls. The only other table is a couple with a well-behaved little boy. They are glaring at me. I fling a ranting Steel out the door for a time-out on the sidewalk. It's 30 degrees; the coat has dematerialized; Toby is bald, bootie-less and shivering. I'm now screaming, "Will you stop screaming, so we can go back inside?" This happens twice, but on the second fling I pull my back out. The pitcher is now empty. We pay $62 and leave.
Steel's tub rights have been rescinded. I dump water over her head and dress her for bed. She's apoplectic. I propel her and her milk over the rail and into bed wrenching my back again. Outside of the room I'm holding the knob of the door as she's hurling herself at it still shrieking. Finally I think I've waited her out. We snuggle, she drinks, and I tell her I love her, and she appears to go to sleep.
I pass out with the baby-lying there longing for the ibuprofen in the medicine bowl. Tim has to deal with Steel again and Jack Peter's nighttime ritual. He decompresses and comes to bed at 1-ish. I can't sleep because I'm worrying about how I'm going to get my kiln unloaded and shipped as well as dismantle my entire retail store in 1 day with a bad back.
It's now 4...I completed and lost this blog entry once already. Now I'll drive to the studio to turn on my kiln. I'll come back to Tim helpless and exhausted with a hungry baby. We'll all get to sleep by 5:14. One of the big kids will wander in at 6:02. We'll go through the morning insanity, but I'll have the added anxiety of wanting to get to the studio to turn up my kiln. I'll finally get there, and I'll realize I need some Aleve.