FlipSide:Starting March 4, 2002

A journal of the trials, tribulations, and
triumphs in the life of a woman in the 21st century.

Last Updated : Thursday, March 07, 2002 09:29 PM -0600

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Monday, March 4, 2002

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Tuesday, March 5, 2002

Wednesday, March 6, 2002

I'm sure you're all familiar with those "long slow slide to hell" days. You know, one of those days when one thing after another goes wrong, usually fairly little things, that just continue to pile up until all you can do is sit down and enjoy the ride to the nether regions, so you can get up from the slide and climb the ladder back to the top again. Well, apparently, somewhere along the way, there is a switch that controls a little known trap door on that slide, which, when pulled by some sadistic bastard, will give you an express trip right down the the 7th level of hell, where you can lunch with Lucifer himself. Well, someone found that lever while we were on that slide yesterday.

The day started with a poor night's sleep. House stress is starting to get to me, I guess, and I just had trouble falling asleep. I was almost there when a little forlorn voice came out of the darkness. "Mommy, I had a bad dream." So, I hauled him into bed to snuggle for a while before I carried him back to his bed. Which almost ended in disaster, as well. As John has been packing up his myriad computers, he left one just outside our bedroom door. Not a problem at 8:30 pm with all the lights on. BIG PROBLEM at 1:30 AM in the dark.

The morning, although seen through my bleary, sleep deprived eyes, seemed to go okay. We got out the door on time, everyone made it to their assorted bus/school/work on time. Then my phone rang at 8:40. It was Rhiannon's school. She had just thrown up. I'm in St. Paul, with only 6.5 hours of paid time off until April 1 (not including the time we are taking to move). John is in Edina, with our current one-and-only-car, moving his office with the 2 guys from corporate who he had impressed with his dedication by coming back to the office the night before. Damn. A compromise was quickly, if unhappily reached. John left his office to go get Rhiannon, go home and get her settled down, stomach calmed, and do some packing for us. At 1:30, he would come and get me, then I would run him back to work and take Rhiannon back home for some more rest. Later in the afternoon, I would pick up Jack and then go get John sometime after rush hour.

Aaah, the best laid plans. Just before John headed out to get me, daycare called him. Seems Jack was having trouble with his left eye. He would start screaming and crying, saying something was in it and it hurt. It would go away for a while then it would come back. 3 times this happened. So, I rearrange my day. I make a doctor appointment for Jack at 2:15, which would leave me just enough time to get John back to work, get Jack, and get to the doctor.

Oh, and did I mention it was snowing? An Alberta Clipper chose yesterday midmorning to come through our area. We were supposed to get just a dusting and it would be over by mid-afternoon. It's at that moment, I think, when the switch was pulled and I began hurtling toward my appointment in hell. Rhiannon needed to use the bathroom, so we all trooped into Daddy's building so she could use the bathroom (when a kid has exhibited symptoms of the flu, it's not prudent to ask if they can hold it.) Rhiannon was hungry, so I found the blandest sandwich (a ham and cheese) for her I could find in the little convenience store in John's building, and grabbed a little something for myself as well.

Jack was asleep when I got to daycare. When he was awakened, he began to cry again. So I carried my crying, 40 pound, 5 year old to the car and raced to the doctors office, where, of course, you wait. One minute Jack was crying his eye hurt, the next he was riding around on a toy fire truck. Go figure. We finally get in to see the doctor, who, after putting dye in Jack's eye and using a black light, diagnoses a scratched cornea. The cure? A little anti-bacterial ointment and an eye patch for the day. He reassured me that the ointment wouldn't cause much if any irritation and that the scratched would be cured by morning. I should have asked the nurse about the ointment. Jack screamed. And hollered. And sobbed. And generally carried on like someone had poked a red hot stick into his eye. A nurse came and gave him some Tylenol and rolled her eyes when I told her the doctor said it shouldn't hurt like that.

After I calmed Jack by reading him a story (something about sea creatures made out of produce, don't ask) we headed home. He wanted to watch Charlie's Angels, so we settled in on the couch and watched the DVD and ate girl scout cookies. (Hmm . . . right about here I am thinking that Rhiannon made a remarkable recovery from the flu.) About 6:20, we headed back out into the snow to fetch Daddy from Edina. I finally got home for the last time at about 7:30. Sigh. So much for any packing last night. I was lucky to have maintained consciousness. John fixed meatloaf sandwiches and chocolate milk for himself and the kids for dinner and it seemed I had finally hit the bottom of that slide. Oh, did I mention that I got a rash in my belly button that itches like the devil? Must have been a lovely parting gift from hell.

This morning, Rhiannon again began to complain of a stomachache. Based on her consumption of girl scout cookies last night, I'm wasn't buying the flu this morning. Turns out it's a different kind of bug. Not the flu, but a bully at school. "He punches and kicks me before the teachers get outside at recess." Hmm . . . Daddy solved that one nicely by accompanying her into school and saying before God, the teacher, and everyone that his daughter has his permission to "finish" any fight that someone else picks with her. (Last time we solved a similar problem that way, she sat on a kid and rubbed his face in the dirt.) The teacher is suitably appalled at what has befallen our little darling and, with a gleam in her eye, promises to "take care of the situation". You know, I kinda feel sorry for little "Derek". Looks like someone pulled the lever on his slide today.

Thursday, March 7, 2002

Jack has recovered from his scratched cornea and apparently has found his calling as an astronomer or a NASA engineer. Yesterday, his preschool class was discussing space while sitting on a new carpet depicting the solar system. Taking the topic to heart, Jack took over and started explaining satellites. Precisely, how television signals are bounced off satellites so we can see them at home. His teacher was impressed (and amused) and just let him go, and that's all the encouragement he needed. He had a rapt, not to mention captive, audience. He even took questions. He explained to one puzzled classmate why it gets dark despite the fact that the sun is always there (the moon blocks it) and planetary orbits to another ("planets have to stay on the line", he said as he carefully balanced on one of the "orbits" on the carpet). This went on for some time before Jack exhausted his "knowledge". I guess sometimes he DOES listen.

Rhiannon also seems to have recovered from her bout with little Derek and has come out the undisputed winner. As John and I expected, the true story of the bully had been somewhat exaggerated by my daughter. To hear her tell it, she was getting pummeled at recess on a regular basis while the teachers sat around and placed bets about the outcome. That just didn't seem likely to me. The truth of the matter, as the teacher discovered while having a "discussion" with Rhiannon and Derek was that Friday, Rhiannon wandered into the middle of a game that she didn't know was going on. My guess, somewhat akin to the "kidnapping game" that we played as kids. You know the one, where you are taken by the "bad guy" and either escape or are "rescued"? Anyway, Derek "caught" Rhiannon, the other kids ran away and apparently lost interest. Rhiannon, not knowing the rules, didn't run away. And Derek , in their teacher's words, "took the game way too far". To add to the problem, when Rhiannon went to the teachers on recess duty, she only said the Derek was "bothering" her. Now, as a parent, I know that "bothering' is not exactly a hot button word. Your response to such a complaint tends to be along the lines of "well, then go play with someone else". The teacher made clear to Derek that he went waaayyyy to far in the game and the he is to leave Rhiannon alone. And Rhiannon learned an important lesson in semantics. "Bothering" is a far cry from "hurting".

And to add insult to injury to little Derek, I happened to be talking to the PK (the after school program) director about another matter yesterday and I mentioned Rhiannon's issues with Derek. Seems Derek is also in PK and got ANOTHER talking to and yet another admonition to leave Rhiannon alone. He has been told he is "being watched." Poor kid. No wonder he called Rhiannon a bitch. I told her that is just the word some boys use for girls that take care of themselves. Told her next time someone called her that to reply, "Say that with RESPECT!" Hey, it's my standard line. It usually scares the bejezus out of grown men. I can't imagine what it will do to an 8 year old boy who probably thinks that is the worst possible thing to call a girl.

I can't for the life of me figure out why I keep putting on my watch every morning. For 2 days now, it has told me it is 8:15 on March 15. I know it needs at least a new battery, but frankly, these days it's just as cheap to buy a new watch as a battery. I guess I just keep putting it on to remind me to get that new watch. Or out of habit. It certainly isn't cock-eyed optimism that it will just start working again. Yet, I keep looking at it like I magically expect it to tell me the correct time. Then again, 2 times a day, it does!

Friday, March 8, 2002

Saturday, March 9, 2002

Sunday, March 10, 2002

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