I Curse Mondays

Today is a holiday. Today we celebrate Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday. This also means we got the day off of work. I was pretty excited about the three day weekend. I had a lot of things to do. Plus who doesn’t love a four day work week. We should do four day work weeks every week. [With the same pay ]

However, my excitement quickly turned to dread as the day began. The MONDAY. I should have known. Not only is it Monday. But it’s the Monday following Friday the 13th. Plus I totally didn’t even realize it was Friday the 13th until about 11pm on Friday. So there’s got to be some curse that falls upon you when you don’t even recognize the day until it’s almost over. Damn you Friday the 13th.

So around 1:30 this morning I was happily dreaming having gone to bed fairly early [for me] when I awoke to extreme coughing coming from Spencer and Caleb’s room. I told Lee, “You better go check on the baby. He’s going to make himself throw up.”

Next thing I hear is Lee shrieking, “OH MY GOD.”

I didn’t need to ask, but I did anyway because I am a person who likes to state the obvious. “Did he throw up?”

“Oh jesus. Yes he did. And it smells. It’s all over his blanket and his sheets and the floor. Go to mom and she’ll clean you.”

I think we all know I can’t deal with vomit. I know, how can a mother of five not deal with vomit? A mother who went through CNA [Certified Nurses Aide] training and worked in a nursing home taking care of Alzheimer patients. A mother who has wiped plenty of butts [and not just kids] and gotten completely soaked giving plenty of baths [again, not just kids]. But cannot come within eyeball sight of even a tiny speck of vomit without upchucking on her own. Or even smell it for that matter.

So Lee did his job of cleaning up the bed and floor and getting all of the bedding to the laundry room while I cleaned Caleb up. Seems like an easy task. Just wipe down his body and put new pajamas on him. Only [and here's where the weak of stomach may want to turn away] he had some vomit still perched on his chin. I almost lost it. In fact I’m feeling my gag reflex now just writing about it. Ewww! With a capital EWWW!

But I got him cleaned up and managed to keep supper in my stomach at the same time. I got his pillow [which somehow missed any of the vomit freak show] and put a new pillow case on it. Caleb then laid down on the couch with his glass of water and his puke bucket [which in a former life was an Easter basket...isn't that nice ].

This morning, as Lee was getting the kids out the door for school, he checked Caleb’s forhead and decided he had a fever. So I crawled out of bed and took his temperature [Caleb's, not Lee's]. It was 101.1. Yep, he has a fever. So I checked everywhere for some Tylenol. The main bathroom. Nothing. The downstairs bathroom. Nothing but cough syrup, two bottles of Nyquil, two boxes of Nyquil tablets and three boxes of Dayquil tablets…somebody likes their Nyquil. I checked the cupboard above the frigde. Nothing but Mylanta. Finally, I checked the hall closet [the one with the towels, not the one with the coats]. Nothing.

I stood there and thought about any other place I may have stashed some medicine. Then I cursed myself for stringing medicine all over the damn house.

So I had to just rely on a glass of water. Whew. I’m such a good mother. I give my feverish kid a glass of water. I should teach a class on this.

When Lee got home he immediately turned around and got back in the car to go get some Motrin.

Not long after his dose of Motrin, Caleb was back to his old self. “I want to play a game. Dad, I want to play a game. Dad, get me a game. DAD, GAME! NOW!.”

Yep, feeling much better.

Then to top of this already glorious day, I slammed my knuckle in to the dryer as I was moving wet clothes from the washer to the dryer. And let me tell you. I highly recommend that you do not slam your knuckles in to the dryer. It hurts like a sonofabitch [said real fast with your teeth clenched and your brow furrowed].

But only an hour later I discovered that slamming your knuckles in to the dryer is not as bad as slamming your knee in to your desk. Slamming your knee in to your desk makes you spout curse words at the top of your lungs even when your kids are just in the next room. It also brings tears to your eyes as you bend over in pain grabbing your knee.

I ought to cut out my tongue for saying this, but I’m actually thankful I have to go to work tomorrow. Damn you Monday. Look what you’ve done to me. You’ve made me wish for work.

I’m going to bed.

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