You know what you get when mom’s sick, dad’s sick and every blessed family member is sick in the house at the same time? Well, I’ll tell you this much: It makes a game of Jumanji look like tiddlywinks in comparison.
This has been our reality for the last month.
First it started with all kids passing around the same cold/sinus/chest… whatever. Then everyone seemed to slowly get better from that and about 4 days after the last child was well, we thought we were in the clear.
But that’s the sneakyness of these childhood maladies… they’ll lurk and trick you into thinking they’re gone. I started to feel the “crud” at the beginning of last week and I just shuddered. It was aggressive and swift and didn’t seem to care about my usual concoction of over-the-counter drugs and vitamins.
I went downhill fast and struggled through the rest of the week, doing the drop-off and pick up and all of the activities.
But here comes the long Labor Day weekend! I’d have a chance to rest and rela-
No.
Dave was working the weekend. There will be no relaxing. Just driving more of the same struggle bus.
On Saturday, my dear parents (yay grandparents) corralled the kids at their house while I slept on their couch in the basement. The only sleep I’d had in the past couple of days.
Sunday, we managed at home, but I let the natives do whatever they wanted. Jumanji ran the house. I let Josh make the snacks and I don’t even know what was made. Probably chips and gummy worms.
Labor Day, while everyone else was bar-b-que-ing, I called my PCP and begged for some magic codeine.
They called it into the local CVC (one of the only pharmacies open on Labor Day).
At this point, I was barely moving. Everything hurt from the continuous coughing. My ears, my chest my abs (oh look, I still have abs) and general tiredness from not sleeping.
I loaded the kids in the car and looked down at my lower half.
No pants.
I took one second to decide that I just didn’t care. I was too tired and sick to go root around for shorts. So I climbed into the car sans pants and fired ‘er up.
We pulled up to the CVC drive-thru window and some nice ladies asked my information. They were wearing masks so it was hard to tell what they were saying through the thick glass and the crackling microphone. I didn’t have ANY voice at all, so I had to motion to them that I’d throw them my Drivers’ license for info.
While they looked at my details, I just pitifully laid my head on the the car window sill wishing I could go to sleep right then and there. I was almost asleep, too when I heard a male voice come over the loudspeaker.
Ah, the pharmacist who was going to explain to me the complex procedure of spooning the med in my mouth. Which he had every right to do because I wasn’t looking capable of much of anything at that point.
I looked up. And up. And up some more. That was one TALL pharmacist.
And suddenly I realized my gig was probably up. The likelihood that he could see the no pants situation was very high. I looked the only place I could… I met his stare to make sure his only show was that freebie, right at the beginning.
“Go on,” my eyes seemed to say. “I dare you to look down.”
The drug giant continued his speech about how to properly down the meds and I only broke my stare after I said, “Thank you,” and peeled away from the building.
Now that I think about it, I bet they caught it on camera. For all posterity. That’s ok… I’m not upset. Although a little pale, my 43-year-old legs aren’t half bad.
I realize that somewhere deep inside, no one really takes a risk like that unless they’re prepared or hoping to get caught. Maybe it was a little of both. But it was most definitely a whole lot of “I am focusing on one word today…”
“Survival.”
And pants in 105 degree Arizona heat did not make the cut.
If I had gotten pulled over, I might have begged the officers to watch the kids while I took a nap in the back seat of their patrol car.
The rest of the day was more of the same, but with a shot of Codeine, I was able to get a short nap with the baby and then sleep through the night.
There was TV and video games and anarchy galore. Pretty much every kid’s dream. So instead of feeling guilty I thought to myself, “Hey, I brought Disneyland to the house!”
The irony is: The only time I’m the “fun parent” is when I’m sick and not so fun.
Tonight, I’ll be passing the codeine baton to my faithful partner who has cheerfully assumed “main parent” role in the evenings while also working all day. He has now received the sickness gift and all kids are down too.
This is a game of partnership. When both parents are sick, can you make an honest assessment to sacrifice and level-up to take over for the other one? Sickness, mental health, stress…. sometimes we can work in tandem but when we’re limping through life, one takes over and carries the load. Strong partnerships transfer the load without begging, knowing that the other one has done everything and are now at the end of themselves.
The wild animals are calmer in their sick state… but the game still rages on.
What they don’t know is that the parents have already won this round… and live to play another day.
#jumanji #level-up #parentsunite #nopantsmonday #laborday2021 #graceunderfire #amwriting #writingcommunity #writingwithkids #writingislife
Living in the desert is nuts.
Dave and I have a *bit* of an outsider’s perspective. I moved to Phoenix when I was 16 and had lived all over the country. Dave became a desert dweller in his early 30’s and he had also seen his share of the rest of the 49 states.
We have no hurricanes, no tornadoes… typhoons earthquakes or natural disasters (maybe wildfires if you count those), but the critters. We have some critters that even Lewis Caroll on his best opioids couldn’t conceive. And they’ll kill you in a second if you’re not paying attention. This is they’re territory and we’re just paying the rent.
You have your run-of-the mill rattlesnakes and scorpions and I’ve even seen tarantulas crossing the road that were SO big, you could see them in the road as you approach.
But this? Oh, what in the name of all that is weird?
I was driving down a surface street with TJ and Rachel in the car on the way to pick up the other two. The particular street connects East Scottsdale to North Scottsdale on a curve and it’s a lovely drive with desert trees in the median to the left and the hill for the canal on the right.
But today, I blinked as I scanned the road ahead of me. It looked to be covered in little yellow sausages. MOVING yellow sausages.
It took me a second to realize those were probably caterpill-
Oh man. There were a lot of squished ones. And I think the others knew how dire their situation was because I’ve never seen caterpillars try to motor so fast. There were going as fast as their hundreds of legs could carry them trying to avoid the pesky human cars barreling down in their byway.
I gripped the wheel and said a prayer for those little caterpillars because I knew I also would be a squisher of larvae.
Mr. Pillar, you could be ten times bigger and I’m still staying the course… I’m only swerving if I know you could do serious damage to my car. I had two precious cargo who couldn’t afford for me to get sentimental over pre-pubescent moths.
I looked down at the little caterpillar on my plate.
Such beautiful translucent skin showing off the vibrant colors underneath.
I was so hungry even though my nose was still stopped up and my throat hurt.
I threw a little peanut sauce on top, lifted it carefully to my lips and took a satisfying, crunchy bite.
Not even a nasty chest cold would keep me from appreciating this beautiful spring roll, already cheering me up after a very, VERY long day.
It was a long day for Dave too. He was working another holiday weekend and it was unusually busy for the hospital as holiday weekend tend to be slower.
But I looked at him pitifully that night when he came in. I asked for a hug. I was battling the worst part of a nasty chest cold. It was day four of no voice. All the kids were home and I was irritated that holidays even existed.
They used to be things I looked forward too, but it seems that Dave is always working them and someone one or all of us manage to be sick.
This time, it was me. The rest of the kids had it and I finally succumbed. The silver lining is that I was the last one, so I wasn’t having to take care of sick kids… just well kids bouncing off the wall while I “mean-whispered” instructions to them to keep them on some sort of accountable schedule.
This isn’t a pity roll call… these are the facts of our lives. Multiple kids with doctor spouse and germs a-plenty. It’s not the ‘Rona, but I hadn’t been this sick in a long, long time.
So there I was, at the end of everything. Dave had come in after his long day and said “I’m going to make you spring rolls.” I didn’t ask for anything special, but I knew it was his way of ‘doing’ something for me in a helpless situation.
He went to the store and bought all the materials and even a quart of ice cream he smuggled in the freezer before the boys could see.
I limped my way through the bedtime routine (asked Sam to read the bedtime stories) and when I came down, there were spring rolls neatly stacked beside each other, full of mint, cilantro, shrimp, rice noodles and crunchy bean sprouts.
But no Dave.
I tiptoed upstairs and saw him soundly asleep on the bed.
He gave the last full measure.
I would have liked to enjoy them with him, but the silence was a pretty decent dining partner too. No one yelling for milk or “he’s annoying me!!!!”
I made myself an extra spicy peanut sauce to go with it. I’ve not been hungry because I tend to lose my appetite when I’m sick… but Dave made one of my favorite things that has extra-strong flavors. I could taste every bit.
As I munched my little “caterpillar,” I thought back to all of those hundreds of caterpillars crossing the street.
They were on a mission.
Where were they going? I don’t know, but the better question is “why?” They are hard-wired to “become.” A caterpillar’s one goal is to become that butterfly or moth and they live their entire larvae stage preparing to become.
Serving a sick spouse while tired, serving kids while sick… becoming. Sacrificing to start looking more like Jesus… more like the butterfly he knows we are inside.
Sacrificing when our well is dry is a sure-fire way to get us to turn to God’s well for the unlimited reserves that never run dry.
He is building us up for flights unknown. Adventures so beautiful we can barely conceive, either this side of heaven or the next.
I asked Dave later about those caterpillars and he too had a similar experience on the other side of town.
We looked up what’s going on. The Googles told us:
“A University of Arizona expert says these are the immature stage of the White-Lined Sphinx Moth, and they’re feasting on all the weeds growing after a wet monsoon in Arizona.”
We indeed had a wet summer. Much wetter than summer which turned out to be the hottest summer on record.
You know, after the “peoples” moved in (and started keeping track of the weather that the critters were quite used to thank-you-very-much).
Sam sauntered into the kitchen with his usual swagger.
“Hey mom, so we talked about an artist in art class today.”
My interest was piqued: “Oh really? Tell me about it.”
“Well,” he continued, “This guy was really good at sculpture… sculpturing.”
He thought for a second.
“And he painted too. He was good at lots of stuff.”
I put my fist on my chin and held his gaze. “So you’re saying ‘he was a good sculptor and he kind of did all the things…’ correct?”
“That’ right,” he said.
I dipped into my very shallow pool of my art history data banks.
“I bet you’re talking about ‘Michaelangelo’.”
“Yeah! YESSS That’s it!!!”
He jumped up and down with his typical enthusiasm.
“And… he did this giant sculpture called the, ahhh…. ahhh……. the ‘David’!”
I arched my eyebrows. “Oh, you mean he did a sculpture of… YOUR DAD?????”
Sammy, my five-year-old teenager sighed in exaggerated irritation at my feigned ignorance.
“No, mom… like ‘David and Goliath’!”
“Ah,” I smiled. “You mean the ‘Dah-veed’ which is how Michaelangelo would have pronounced it.”
Sammy nodded his head vigorously.
He went on with his explanation. “And… it’s a BIG sculpture with VERY large hands and feet.”
“Yes,” I added. “The length of the arms, hands and feet are greatly exaggerated because that was an indication of what people thought the ideal male figure should look like.”
“And,” said Sammy finishing my thought, “He has a very tiny–”
“Yes,” I jumped in quickly. “Back then a small male part was more desirable.”
Sam, always making connections stopped to think for a second.
“Mom, does dad have a tiny–”
I stopped him and looked at him with a half smile.
“You could ask him his opinion, but I will say this: He has big hands and that’s all you need to know.”
********
I cannot wait to take this boy to the art museum and comment very loudly on each and every piece. Maybe we could actually lead an art tour titled, “Incredibly entertaining and not entirely true art criticism by the esteemed mother/son duo.”
#arthistory #michaelangelosdavid #theprofessor #frommyperspective #wearemomswhowrite #momwrites #momswhowrite #writersofinstagram #boymom