So, on the list of things I ought to do this weekend we have:
* Download and install MySQL, PostgreSQL, and ImageMagick on my iBook.
* Download MT 3.01D, pMachine, Expression Engine, and S9Y to my iBook for later installation.
* Wash, dry, fold, and mutilate massive amounts of laundry.
* Practice reading with Marcus.
* Practice numbers with Becca.
* Clean up hot spot next to the couch.
* Find tiramisu. Buy tiramisu. Eat tiramisu.
* Turn 25.
“Mom, you sound like a snort!”
“Yeah, well, consider yourself lucky that you don’t have allergies and bring me a tissue or four.”
“Okay, Snort.”
Whatever.
“Mom, Mom, the tooth fairy did not come!”
I, in my pre-coffee, just waking up state, exclaimed, “Aw, crumb.” I paused to figure out exactly how much of a whopper I wanted to tell. “I’m sure she’ll come tonight, I’ll bet there was too much noise downstairs for her to come last night.”
“Oh, okay. You need to go to bed early so there will not be so much noise tonight, Mom. You and Papa.”
“Yes, Marcus.”
I am such a horrible mother. Between the excitement of adopting Heather from Spay/Neuter, Inc. and bearings going bad in a U-joint (“Dear, is it really supposed to sound like something’s dying under the car?”) and giving Franklin (the other cat) a bath and generally riding herd on the kids, making the crucial substitution of money for tooth had completely slipped my mind.
It doesn’t help that Matthew, now that he is awake, is sitting next to me smirking and saying, “Bad Jennifer! Bad!”.
Marcus: Mom, I had to get Becca wet with the hose because we don’t have a swimming pool. If we had a swimming pool, I wouldn’t have to use the hose.
On our way back from Ottawa, Ontario, we went through US Customs and Immigration. The line was long, the sun beat down on the car with glaring intensity, and Becca’s eyes were feverishly shiny–she was definitely coming down with something.
“And didja purchase anything while you were in Canada that you’re bringing back to the US?”, asked the inspector.
“Two t-shirts and a stroller,” I replied.
I left out the virus that is running its merry way through both of my children’s noses. I did not think that joking about a virus would lead to good things. More like guns and tanks and lots and lots of questions.
Waking up in the middle of an asthma attack is not terribly fun. I woke up gasping and wheezing at six o’clock in the morning and was unable to get back to sleep in a horizontal position. I ended up going downstairs and trying to sleep sitting up on the couch while waiting for the doctor’s office to open.
When I finally got through, though, the instructions were to go to the ER. I thought that might possibly be overkill, as I wasn’t turning blue yet–being oxygen-deprived is awfully inconvenient, but so is rounding up the kids, piling into the car, and having Matthew take me to the hospital for something that just needs an inhaler and a bit of time. Instead, I dug up a prescription for Albuterol that I had gotten this past November and Matthew ran out to CVS to get it filled.
So now I can breathe again. Breathing is very, very nice.