The saga of my recent trip down to my parents’ home, in retrospect, is one of those, “let us never speak of it again” episodes. Included in the mild trauma are the following events:
- Epic arguing with spouse during weekend
- While driving to parents’ on Sunday, intense break-out of hive-like blisters on hands
- 2 kids getting more and sick as we stayed
- One child (Nels) with croupy cough, fever, and up-all-night needs (two nights in a row)
- On return trip, tire blowing out (one sick child and one sleeping child in tow)*
- Immediately upon return, husband traveling to Urgent Care to have stitches on hand (dishwashing accident)
Ralph took Sophie to the doctor’s so she could watch the stitches. She chatted the nurses up as they fixed Ralph – discussing blood, sleletons, and her vast anatomical “knowledge” to a great degree. They didn’t realize they were getting a visit from a specialist in the field. At least his injury brought us the fun bonus of Vicodin. Last night after the kids got in bed my husband took one and was immediately, comically, loopy.
This is the third “needs stitches” event in the Hogaboom household since the New Year.
My mom and I spoke on the phone today and we both felt bad that the visit had been so hard. My mom said it was because Ralph wasn’t there. This irritates me because I have my two kids by myself all the time and usually it doesn’t kick my ass. I blame an utter lack of appropriate two-year-old activities in my parents’ home (Nels was literally throwing or breaking something if you turned your back) and the fact the kids got sick and I got no sleep. Bad combo.
This week: playschool, a farm workday, a barbecue or two. What could possibly go wrong?
* You haven’t lived if you haven’t changed a tire alongside a highway with the shoulder so shallow you are actually in the road with your back towards screaming log trucks. It gives you a real appreciation for the gift of life (as you loosen lugnuts and chant to yourself, “Please God, please God, please God…”). After twenty minutes of this my life was spared in the form of help from a man and son duo who showed up in a minivan, practically knocked me off my tire, and finished the job. They were driving off before my heart had stopped beating a frenzy.