When It Rains, It Pours

Before I get on that treadmill, I have to write about my day yesterday.

The doc gave me meds to help me sleep----actually, to help me not feel so stiff that I sleep so little at night. Believe me, it does help. Maybe a little too much. I suppose I must be a little person (it is funny to even think of myself that way because I don't feel small) because the lowest dose about runs me over. Heaven forbid if I take the normal dose. I won't be able to get out of bed. That said, yesterday, I woke up drowsy and then throughout the day I remained drowsy until about five o'clock.

My sister in law called me at eleven thirty to remind me that we were supposed to meet at a waterpark later in the afternoon. I had completely forgotten. I felt like a nimrod. I thought all morning I would take the kids to the pool and read The Two Towers. Instead I got them all ready, looked for towels, and drove back home three times once out of my subdivision to get things I had forgotten or things others in my troop forgot. We must make sure we have everything because my sister in law is at least an hour away. We live in the boonies.

"Where are your swim shorts?!" I barked at the Oldest, who went into the bathroom at home to put them on once I told him to. We were presently in the car.

"They are on," he said, face stuffed in a Superman comic.

"No, they are not," I said firmly, trying to keep my eyes on the road. I turned around.

"I went into the bathroom and everything! You are telling me I didn't put them on!!!!????"

Not only am I drowsy, I am irritiable at this point. Not only do I have to remember my own swim suit, I have to remind my Oldest child, who is as big as me, of his. It was pretty much sheer luck that I saw he did not have it on.

Once at my SIL's house, I was too drowsy to even push the departure to the waterpark, just miles down the street. I mooched chocolate off of her hoping that I would wake up a bit. I didn't. The kids played for a spell. Finally we did leave.

The waterpark was fine up until the end. I woke up eventually, as I said, so things got better. The Professor was going to meet us there after work, so I wanted to make sure I knew where the kids were every second so he wouldn't have a heart attack once he arrived. Eventually he did arrive. We went in the lazy river together for about fifteen minutes (the park was almost closing). Once we left the river, we decided to walk on a bridge to get to the lockers to gather our things before herding the kids. Suddenly I heard a yell behind me.

The Oldest was holding an ice pack on the back of his head and a lifeguard was following him with a clip-board. Apparently my boy slipped and fell on the back of his head "just like a cartoon" (as he put it). He literally had an egg popping out. It looked brutal. The lifeguard looked so concerned and apologetic that I shook my head and waved her off.

"Trust me," I said to relieve her, "if he is still mouthing off and talking incessantly like this, he is fine."

All he cared about on the drive home was how to position the ice pack in such a way so as to finish reading his Hardy Boys novel.

Like that wasn't enough, Eraser Eater started to moan in the car. I get on the highway home (thankfully I took back roads) and pretty soon my son says, "My head hurts!" We all know what this means: the boy is going to toss his cookies. The Professor was directly ahead of me in his car so I blinked my lights at him and pulled over. He just kept driving and went home, I guess. I thought, Oh, he'll come back when he sees that I am not behind him. Whatever.

I got out of the car and pulled Eraser Eater out from his side and took him to the grass on the side of the road. He wretched in a little huddle, clean and undramatic.
"I think I am done now," he said faintly.
We drove further.
"Gotta puke again!" he said from the back. At this point in my driving there was nowhere to pull over for about a mile or so. "Hold it in!" I said, worried about the leather seats.

He moaned back there for a spell---just long enough to get to the place where I could get him out of the car again. Instead of immediately tossing his cookies, he just sat there and stewed for a little bit. The Oldest slammed all the car doors shut so he would not have to hear the sound of barfing. The Girl peeped out the windows to see the sight. I was getting a little impatient as I was in my bathing suit holding a Hello Kitty towel the Girl said we could use to wipe his puke mouth.
"It's coming in just a second," he said flatly.
"Are you sure?" I said, looking around.
"Yeah, just another second----now..."
And I think he let loose all the food from yesterday and the day before.
"Man, there's even carrots in there!" he said, surprised, "and it looks like the slop you would get from a cafeteria. Straight from a cafeteria. How do people eat that stuff?!"
"Ok, man, let's go home." I had to pull him away.

He talked about it in the car. The Oldest had had enough. "Please!!!!" he shouted.

Then Eraser Eater continued to talk about what happens when you take in food, and the whole chemical process of digestion. "Now what is that stuff called that is all sticky and sour that helps break the food down?"

"Uh, bile?"

"Yes, bile. It tastes gross."

"Ok! OK!!!!" yelled the Oldest, "I have a pounding head here!"

"Oh Mom, gotta stop again!!!" Eraser Eater yelled from the back. I took him to the battlefield exhibit a mile from our house. I hate being that close yet not being there.

He sat and stewed once again. Finally I informed him that we were a minute from home. An ant crawled on him and he jumped up, wagging his arm. "Something just crawled on me!!!!!" He danced around. He gave an irritated look. "Let's go home then, Mom, I would rather puke in the toilet anyway."