There comes a time in the week when the weekend is what we seek. What we need even. After this past weekend, I might not care if I never see another weekend.
Let’s just start with “I am the Mom”. It seems my mantra for most things. The glory and power of that statement is supreme…however, there is the downside where it also means, “I can’t have nice things”, “No time for myself” etc.
So…last Tuesday The Divine Miss M woke me up in the middle of the night. She was clinging to the toilet seat and heaving her guts out. It wasn’t my idea of a great start to the day, but hey! Mom’s can’t always be choosers! For three hours it went on…she slept some in between the heaves…me? not so much!
Then hubby left for work and calls me at six in the morning. He says, “I just pulled into work and…” then I got sound effects. No dry heaves here. He was fillin’ the pot holes. Finally able to breathe, he demands to know if the meat I fed him last night (pork) was “good”.
“I checked every single piece with the meat thermometer and bought it from the butcher that day!”
Life goes on by Tuesday in the manner we tend to call “normal” around here.
Thursday rolls around and I can’t seem to get my butt off the commode. I’ve been sick with something or another since mid-January. It’s becoming common for me. By 9pm I’m kneeling in front of the toilet begging someone to make the horror stop. No one responds.
Both ends in full force by Friday morning and hubby decides to tell me then his stomach doesn’t feel so good. He’s laying on the floor, beneath blankets. I tell him, “Me either! I’ve been throwing up or crouching all night.”
Guess who gets to get the kiddos ready…prank them for April Fool’s Day and then take them to school? That’s right, “I’m the Mom!”
I get back and then hubby decides he feels well enough to send me to the grocery store with Li’l Man…Hubby fears he’ll starve to death I suppose! I go. I pick up the kiddos. I return.
Now I get to cook dinner.
It’s an event…my stomach is rumbling my trips to the ladies room are frequent. No one cares.
I ask my husband “So? when’s my next day off?” thinking he’ll give me a date and I can mark it on the calendar for some much needed R&R.
He asks, “What are you talking about?”
I define it for him, “Well, you work all week and then you tell me you’re tired and need to rest and it’s your day off. I was just wondering when it’s my next day off?”
He looks at me dumbfounded and says, “I don’t know what to say.”
I got him back for that Friday night, when I resorted to elderly M.O. without Depends. I figured, “Why wake him? It’s 3am!” so I just pulled the covers over the catastrophe and took a shower.”
He woke me up Saturday and wants to know why I abandoned him in the middle of the night and why was I showering at that ungodly hour? I broke it down for him…it was priceless.
Saturday morning my stomach is still an earthquake and I can’t squeeze my rear cheeks tight enough. It matters not, there’s things to do…I ask my hubby if he wants to go with me on my errands. He declines and instead, sends Kiddo #2 with me.
Our destination is downtown…fifteen miles from home base. Kiddo and I are traveling the freeway talking up a storm. Kiddos telling me about the Lady Gaga concert when the “Check Gauges” light comes on in the truck.
I follow directions and see that the oil gauge is whacked out. Two miles later, we pull into a Shell gas station. I buy oil.
Kiddo and I cannot figure out how to get the oil filling tank lid off. We struggle until finally Kiddo has it off!
We pour in one quart of oil, check the dipstick. Dry!
I go buy another quart. We pour it in. We check the dipstick. It is now to the top of the “Add” line.
Another quart and we’re in the “operational” field so we replace the oil cap and climb back into the truck.
“Check Gauges” is still on. We drive one mile and pull over and call home. My husband starts yelling at me telling me three quarts is too much and I’m going to blow all the rings in the engine. I don’t think he listens to me very well.
After a few minutes of lecture and how I better not have blown up the engine, I do the right thing and hang up on him. Big of me I know, but I needed help, not a scolding.
I call my dad. He tells me to repeat the process and if it doesn’t work I’m going to have to put oil in the truck every 1-2 miles until I get back home.
Kiddo and I repeat and still have no luck. My dad is skiing and hubby is a lunatic. After about 25 minutes, I call the lunatic again. He’s calmed down.
Hubby has all the kids and no vehicle to come rescue us. I can’t leave the truck for fear it will be towed and my dad isn’t going to stop skiing until 2pm, putting him back in the Valley by 3 or 3:30pm.
Kiddo and I wait in the cab of the truck from 11:30am until 3:30pm (my tummy rumbling, my cheeks clenched tight) when my dad, my husband and all the kiddos come to our aid.
My stomach finally has decided to be calm today (Tuesday). It’s been a VERY long weekend. I’m exhausted and have fallen behind on my blogging.
Forgive me.
I’ll be working on getting winners drawn and posts up. In the meantime, let’s not call it the weekend just yet.