mommyverbs

Engaging Each Day with Action Words

Bust. — Rain + Risky Business = Ends with an ice pack.

on January 15, 2013

I am not usually one to complain too much about the weather.  I usually take it as it comes and go with the flow.

But even I have my limits.  It has been raining non-stop for three days.  I’m starting to feel a bit like Noah.  I am tired of the rain.  The rain makes my life complicated.  Just a little bit crazier than normal.  The rain adds complications that seem to just push me over the edge.

As if trying to go to the grocery store with the boy child after work, isn’t hard enough…the rain makes it just that much harder.

We are tired. We have to make two stops. He talks incessantly and whines when I pull in a parking lot. But then. I have to maneuver the whole “put your jacket on” and get the umbrella just right so we are both somehow covered…me, all 5’4” and X all of 44″. Yeah, that works super well.  “I’m getting weeeee–heeeettt!”  Yeah. Me too, kid.

Then we finally get home. And there is the dog. You know the one I’m talking about.  Hatteras.  The one who has a perfectly good, custom made… (read DRY!) doghouse outside for when we are away…and yep, you guessed it.  He won’t go in it. He used to go in it. But now, somehow he has decided that it doesn’t suit him…or maybe he doesn’t notice that it is pouring the rain and has been for three days. Nevertheless, there is this whole scene where I am leading him into the garage so that I can dry his wet butt off before I can even let him in the house.  All of this while it seems like 14 people are asking me for a snack and while I still have four bags of groceries (holding tonight’s dinner ingredients) on my arms.

And before you ask…Yep. I am one of those people who does try to bring all of the groceries in in one trip.  Much to the chagrin of my newly injured back and neck.  Not sure how I did that…but that little tweak of a pain showed its ugly self on the very first 15 pound thruster yesterday morning, causing me to modify the entire rest of the workout.

I’m blaming 40 on that one.

So, then there is dinner. I was determined to make something healthy…so tuna, quinoa and salad. The girl child complained that she had salad, albeit taco salad, for lunch and could she please have green beans instead.  I couldn’t think of a reason why green beans weren’t an acceptable substitute…so, yes. I’ll make one more thing.

The quinoa and green beans and salad were ready about 15 minutes before the tuna, so I told them they could have tuna for dessert. Ha!  All in all, they ate and I can’t complain too much about that.

Then there was some kind of limbo game that broke out as I was trying to finish my dinner and clean up the kitchen. Stop. Stop. Stop. … No, really, Stop. STOP!  and that is when the girl child tries to jump over the limbo rope and falls and gets hurt.  Fortunately, nothing life threatening, and she survives, but not without hearing my theories about motherhood and my keen sense of danger and when I say STOP! … I am actually recommending that there is a greater than 50% chance that there will be an injury and my dear children should indeed listen and cease that activity.

As I said…She survives. Both the fall and the … ahem… lecture.

About 15 minutes later, I move into the living room, with a glass of wine as my dessert, thank you very much..and begin marveling at the fact that the semi-dry dog and the boy-child are actually playing nicely together.  There is some chasing and some running and some laughing and I was just about to post something to MommyVerb’s facebook status about X and H playing nicely until….

…there was a very loud thud, followed immediately by that… scream.

The scream that every Momma knows instinctively.  The scream that means…Shit. This is bad.

I ran into the hallway, and slid very Risky-Business-like on the hardwood floors to meet X there, holding his mouth.

Risky Business (soundtrack)

Risky Business (soundtrack) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

“Hatteras tripped me!”  Of course he did.  I have to say, for all of the Hatteras fans out there, I did in fact take to his defense, saying that I don’t think he meant to and look here he is checking on you….

“Let me see your mouth.” Yep. Blood. I picked up X and put him on the counter to investigate.  Teeth. Check. Shew. Now I can take a breath.  That is one of my fears…knocked out teeth. And since I have only been to the ER for one of my kiddos, I just automatically assume someday it will be the X-Man. So I grab some paper towels to assess the damage.

Yep. Two busted lips, already swelling.

Ice pack and kisses. And a popsicle to save the day.

And so it continues.  The best friend/partner/hubby is under the weather, so I check on him intermittently.  We have an unspoken rule that we both understand when we are sick that the other person’s job is to just keep the children away and busy and…away. Don’t hate…it works for us.

Finally, I get everyone to the bathtub and showers and then tucked in to beds.  “Go to sleep, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, You are my Sunshine and even a little “I know a Weinie Man, he owns a Weinie stand…” thrown in for good measure, times two.  Hugs and kisses and cold spots, good nights, I love you mores.

And it is done.

But then. Yep. The dog has to go out. And it is still pouring outside. … Ugh!

This Motherhood journey…really can be a risky business some nights. ….I “blame it on the rain”. Stupid rain.

(Stupid song, too.)

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