THE SCREAMING

THE SCREAMING

            Jay just got slapped on the hand for drawing on the TV.  I never really yell at him.  It kills me when I do, because I know how innocent he is.  Except when he is screaming.  He has some scream!  I’ve never heard a human beings vocal cords reach that pitch.  It’s defining and makes your ears ring.  He just has to grow up to become a singer.  Singers don’t need too be the sharpest tool in the shed.  Plus, he’s pretty darn cute and he can easily cover those ears with long rocker hair.  I don’t know where my boys got their protruding ears from.  My mother says they were inherited from my grandfather.  I personally harbor guilt for having breast feed them with their ears bent in the wrong direction.  I should have straightened them out every time, but my boys were attached to my boobs constantly and I just wasn’t up for paying attention to that little detail.  Now I have two gorgeous boys with ears that hopefully the girls will want to pull them in by for kisses.  They do have really kissable faces.  I’ve kissed them so many times that they have been all red from irritation or lipstick. 

            Can I tell you!?  There is nothing more frustrating and painful then the sound of your child’s scream.  I think God made our child’s voice magnifying to us so our mother lion instinct would kick in and send our reaction time into overdrive.  Like when we jump up to make a bottle even though we are going on two hours of broken sleep or race over to pull our kids head out of a vice (whatever the circumstances may be that day).  But what about the fact that such a scream can really piss you off!  Even from your very own offspring?  God certainly doesn’t want you to haul off and belt them.  It’s even hard to admit that sometime I would like to, but motherhood is a true test of patience and when mine wears thin, I remind myself of just that. 

It’s so hard when they scream, especially when it’s for nothing.  For example: “I don’t know where my shoes are…Wa!” or “I’m to tired to clean…Wa!” or when my husband or I leave the car for a quick second and Jay instantly screams bloody murder until we return.  Sometimes I’ll pop an M&M in his mouth and it will calm him until he’s done sucking up all the chocolate and wants more, then the screaming just starts up again.  But that’s Jay’s only flaw; screaming occasionally.  Max, on the other hand, is a big whiner, which is hard to deal with since he whines almost the whole day unless I get him out of the house.  But who would wants to go out with the whiner, when the screamer doesn’t take well to new places. 

          Jay is a very routined child.  Anything new is a little traumatic for him.  I don’t cater to that ridiculousness, so if I want to go somewhere…I go.  We bare through the crying together.  It usually lasts about twenty minutes, but then he is fine and usually well adjusted.  I guess I’m like that too.  I get a little nervous doing things for the first time, but after that, I’m fine.  Its human nature! Defense mode, I guess.  Toddlers can’t tell you they are nervous, so they just scream instead.  Come to think of it…that’s Jay’s best form of communication, at the moment.  I’ll have to ride out this roller coaster.  The highs are so sweet and the lows are excruciating. 

I can’t believe people (usually elders) have the nerve to say to me, “this is the best part of your life…when you’re children are this age.” “Enjoy it because you will miss all this!”  I smile and nod but “they” must have forgotten all about the screaming.  Then I have people who tell me, “oh boy! It only gets harder as they get older.”  That really puts the fear in me. 

            I originally wanted five kids.  Now, I think I’m happy with two.  I’ll always long for a little girl though.  Not so much the little part.  I dreamt of a teenaged girl coming to me for boyfriend advice, getting our hair done together, staying up and waiting for her to get home and tell me all about it.  I wanted her to grow up and make me her best friend for life and then bring me her babies, so I could give her a break.  I can hopeful do the same with my boys but realistically, the mother (my son’s wives) would be the ones to really call the shots when it comes to my grandchildren.  Plus, they will look to their own mothers, like I do.  I love my mother –in-law.  She’s perfect, but I still look to my mother for the answers. 

I’m only in my early 30’s so we have plenty of time to re-evaluate our family planning.  I can’t even fathom the pregnancy symptoms, the newborn feedings every three hours and the constant screaming.  Oh boy! No more screaming…please!

WORK MEMORIES

WORK MEMORIES

            Well work has kept me pre-occupied for the time being since they just increased my hours to 15 per week.  It doesn’t sound like a lot but when your juggling two kids in the same room as your work space (and under the age of five) you could say I’m working a small miracle.  I like having a little extra money.  I’m not a big spender but just knowing I don’t have to ask my hubby for grocery and diaper money is a little bit of a relief. 

I kind of feel bad because Max is stuck in front of the TV while I’m working and Jay is napping.  I would insist on him using his imagination and play with his toys, but he is kind of needy and never wants to play by himself.  Therefore he is “mommy! Mommy! Mommy!” all day long.  I’m kind of loosing my mind when I have to play toddler games all day.  I mean, how much coloring, memory, play doe and painting can a grown up do without getting bored to death.

         So my day is broken up by Max being in school three days a week, Jay getting therapy six sessions a week and I work a little in between.  It helps but my day still feels monotonous.  I guess everyone feels like that.  Especially when you’re behind a desk all day.  I’ve done that…clock watching.  I didn’t mind because the women I worked with were extremely interesting.  It was a soap opera office with cat fights, backstabbing, & competitive office contests to stimulate sales which triggered even more drama.  So it was pretty entertaining and the best part was all the women really loved each other.  I’ve worked in offices with the same kind of drama but when the women are cold and unfriendly, it changes the whole story line to awkward and no one wants to work and feel uncomfortable in their work environment. 

            That reminds me of the time I worked in a doctors office.  I started out as a file clerk, but I wanted more so I figured out the whole medical billing thing on my own and worked my way up.  The women hated it.  How dare a young twenty year old come in and grab a position that was only meant for them.  Long story short, not so nice words were said, feelings were hurt and I left with a bad taste in my mouth for medical staff in general.  After that, I found the world of advertising sales, which I loved and was pretty good at.  We were always busy, the phones rang constantly for ad placements and I was always up selling.  My boss loved me.  He would bring me in his office to tell me I was his “super star”.  I know it sounds cheesy but I liked it.  I’m a driven worker when there is an extra pat on my back.  So I ate up his compliments.  Sometimes I got the feeling he would like to do a little more than just pat me on the back, but that didn’t bother me because I’ve dealt with plenty of sexual references in the work place, even at a young age and he was nothing compared to the other stuff I’ve been subjected to.

            One day the phone rang and it was a very big account calling.  The man never asked for anyone by name so I handled it myself.  I gave the client a full page ad and everything ran smoothly even though I was new and inexperienced.  Well, the boss loved it!  I was happy to be getting a nice chunk of commission on the sale and the boss was happy that I was happy.  Everyone happy, right? Wrong! Bitch in the back room claimed the client as hers.  Instead of coming to me she went bitching to the boss.  And boy, did she bitch.  I could hear her from down the hall.  I also heard the boss defending my honor (more like letting her know I really did play fair and square regarding the account).  She was not having it, so she decided to play dirty. 

Next day the head honcho flew in to determine if her “sexual harassment” claim was valid.  All the supervisors were individually interrogated and then came me.  I am sorry to say…. I broke.  I am easily intimidated by authority, always have been.  So the words I over heard from the fight, came flying out of my mouth before I could catch them, “Don’t push yourself up against me!” said by the bitch to the boss  (my boss, my super star admirer). 

Till this day, I don’t know why I spilled the beans.  It was just easier to say the truth.  I immediately assured the head honcho that my eyes saw absolutely nothing during the spat.  And I believe that the bitch said whatever she had to, to get him fired, but whatever I said just confirmed her story and he was sent packing the next day.  Everything was very hush hush after that.  No one got the real story as to why he had to leave so abruptly.  My supervisors knew because I broke down crying the day he packed his box and she could see the regret in my tears. 

Still to this day its one of my biggest regrets that I didn’t lie for him , but I have a good feeling things worked out for him in the end because our company went under a year later and I heard he got a better job right after the termination.  I like to tell myself that If it hadn’t been for me, he himself wouldn’t have landed the head honcho position else where and I only saved him from a life of boring sales.  I mean, I’m not even sure if he got another job but I try not to think that I ruined his life.  He probably drank uncontrollably and jumped off the GW. No! No! No! It couldn’t be true.

 Meanwhile, I was left with the bitch.  She was outside sales, so I didn’t really have to see her but every time she called into the office, I would disconnect her calls.  She didn’t know about my hostility so she just thought I was lousy at the phones, but I was quietly taking my revenge. 

We had other bosses come in and take his place but no one ever lasted and then the lay offs came.  I was pretty much the first one to go because I was pregnant and the weirdest thing happened; I lost my voice.  It wasn’t as if I was horse.  I was out of breath as soon as I became pregnant.  I couldn’t carry on a sentence, let alone a sales call.  It was the strangest phenomenon.  Even the doctors didn’t get it.  They’ve heard of this happening in the last trimester, when the baby is big and squishing your diaphragm, but this started during my first month.  I just couldn’t get the words out as though someone was choking my vocal cords.  I can’t even begin to tell you how many tests, hospital visits, doctors appointments, and poking and prodding I went through.  No answers.  Just theories as to what was going on.  It could be hormone related, extra blood flow, asthma induced.  Nothing cured me, so I had to go on disability.  My office and my supervisors were ecstatic with this idea.  For weeks everyone’s jobs were threatened. 

We had so many meetings as to who was going to be let go, who should voluntarily leave and how it was only a matter of time for everyone.  A couple of weeks later…I was the pregnant staffer with some kind of health issue going on.  A little light went off in the supervisor’s heads, which didn’t happen to often.  They pulled me in their office and told me they would do everything they could to get me on full disability.  It would all be hush hush and I could go on my way with pay, throughout my whole pregnancy.  Little did I know I came to everyone’s rescue in the office and they’re jobs were saved, for the time being.  It was the most perfect layoff in history.                            

About a year later, the office was completely shut down, like many have due to this crummy economy.   I still struggle with my voice to this day. A voice specialist told me I hold a lot of stress in my vocal cords.  She said she has never seen someone’s larynx clench the way mine does and I could benefit from some speech therapy, but who has time for that?  My son’s therapy comes first and my weird ailments will just have to heal themselves.  After I had Max, my voice went back to normal…for the most part.  A year later, I got pregnant with Jay and you know how I found out I was pregnant before the pee stick? My voice went.  The mysterious aliment was back; full force.  So I’m just chalking this up to one of those strange things that can happen while you’re pregnant.

I never forgot my last job because the women were so passionate about work, our office relationships, sales, everything.  And come to think of it…they were all mothers.  No wonder!

HOME ALONE

HOME ALONE

            I started writing a chapter on friends, but was just distracted by an unfamiliar face at my front door.  He had a clip board in hand, so my immediate reaction was to open the door, see what he was pitching and send him on his way.  But on second thought, that’s how I got myself in trouble last time.  So I checked that the door was locked, ran upstairs to my bedroom and opened the window to yell down to this disturbance.  “Yes! Can I help you?” I yell with my shaky voice.  Between the run up the stairs and my instant nerves, it’s sometimes hard for me to get the simple words out.  He pitches me his window measuring and sealing bit while I pretend to be listening.   How awkward!  I bet the whole neighborhood can hear this conversation and are wondering while I am being pitched to from my upstairs window.  As he continues, he wants to know my name and a time to set up an appointment.  “NO…I’m not giving you my name!”  “But we need your contact information to se t up a time”, he insists.  Now I’m pissed because he just transformed from an innocent contractor hired by my complex, into a strange creepy salesman at my door while its pitch black outside.  I put my foot down and tell him I will Not give him my husbands name (its bad enough I gave him my first name) and he can come back and bother my husband on the weekend.  Please! I dare them to bother the world’s greatest salesman, so I can have a chuckle.  He gets the drift and sneaks off into the night. 

            I’m thanking God right now that I didn’t open the door.  I know we have the best neighborhood watch on the planet with everyone being extremely nosey, including myself, but you never know when they are not watching and someone devious is. 

            I opened my door the last time to a friendly enough looking women.  She told me she would clean my carpet for free.  My carpet, at the time was filthy and I was just thinking about calling sears for a visit.  I was excited to let her in, but then she pulled the old bait and switch.  She called two huge men who looked like they just got released from prison, from around the corner (probably hiding behind a tree), turned to them and said, “ok boys, see ya when you finish” She then gave me the most shady smile and went on her marry way.  I was dumb struck.  For some reason my common sense went right out the window and I let them drag their crusty old vacuum in.  They started moving the furniture and pitched me their cheesy sales routine as to why I needed a three thousand dollar vacuum that looked like it came from the 1950’s.  I immediately called my neighbor to tell her what was going on and to keep a look out for me.  Then I went into panic mode, grabbed the kids and waited outside on my front lawn until they were finished cleaning.  The carpet guys weren’t too happy that they couldn’t give me the full presentation.  I tried to keep an eye on these strangers in my house by hovering in and out to make sure nothing got swiped but the whole ordeal was extremely awkward.  Especially since Jay kept screaming outside because he couldn’t stand the sound of the vacuum (even from a distance).  In the meantime, my neighbor kept calling my house line to find out if I was ok, but I couldn’t hear the phone from outside with Jay screaming in my arms.  She panicked and thought I was in danger, woke up her sleeping two year old who never normally naps and ran outside to rescue me.  To bad she just didn’t look out her window to see I was already outside.  She was relieved but annoyed she didn’t get to enjoy her daughters nap. 

The kids played on the front lawn while my carpet “supposedly” got cleaned.  After they were finished, they wanted contact information to follow up and try to push the expensive vacuum some more, but at that point, my nerves were shot and I told them to put their paper work away because I was signing nothing. 

            An area rug sized portion of my carpet seemed a tiny bit fresher, but it was so not worth it.  I was up all night roaming the internet for their company’s name and guess what?  No such company exists.  I did manage to find out about the vacuum called “the Kirby” and every website warned “Do not let Kirby salesman into your home.”  I didn’t say that they were dangerous.  It just warned of shady sales, bad ingenuity, manipulative sales people, bogus promises, etc.  All those warning seemed very accurate.  Apparently, certain sales companies hire outside sales people to pitch “the Kirby” (a well know vacuum) but these independent contractors make up their own company name and location to seem local to dim witted housewives, like myself. 

            I was a little relieved to find out these salesman do exist and that they are not just complete criminals coming in to do God knows what, but I was horrified with the fact that I let myself be a target for something bad to have possibly happened.  I put my boys and myself at risk and the guilt punched me in the head all night long.  Usually I am on high alert for this sort of shit. 

When I was ten, the meter man knocked on my parent’s back door.  I think I had a head cold at the time and my ears must have been slightly block because I swore he was saying “let me in!” as opposed to saying, “meter man”.  My shaky hands peeled back the blinds and my heart stopped when I witnessed him pounding on the door with a big brick like looking object in his hand.  I ran to call 911 and hid.  Now, years later I can see how it was amusing to some how a swat teem showed up with shot guns, bullet proof vests and the meter man in hand.  “Is this the man?” they smirked.  It was! And since I could see him and his uniform up close, I knew he was not a threat.  The police got a nice hearty laugh, which only fueled my fire.  What the hell was I supposed to do?  I thought he was breaking in.  He was shouting, “Let me in.” 

I managed to get a little sympathy since I was a ten year old girl with sad eyes and big tears, but the joke was on me.  The meter man was told by my mother to always use the back door because she was usually sun bathing back there.  Ew!  Come to think of it, I think she must have been crushing on the meter man (I did have a perverted mother) and his brick like looking weapon turned out to be his meter reading device.  I guess he used to pound on the doors so busy housewives could hear him clearly.  The poor guy wasn’t at all upset by the whole ordeal.  But he did get a nice scare when they pulled him out of the deli across the street with shot guns and sirens.  At least he will get a funny story out of it…while I get made fun of.  Hey, when you have been subjected to as much cops and America’s most wanted on TV by your father (like I was)  then you might be a little paranoid too.   Maybe paranoia is helpful in this day in age.  It’s a creepy world out there and I have to be on high alert, especially for the children. 

I can’t even tell you how many times I ran for the phone or a knife when I see a suspicious man sauntering to close to my front door.  Or how I carry a big case of mace on my key chain.  I’ve never had to use it, thank the lord, but I feel safer knowing its there.  I’m debating a gun in the house, but like my husband Jake says, I’ll wind up shooting the meter man, the ups delivery guy, an innocent bystander or even my husband, himself.  He would probably be the first victim.  He could be my practice target J  So, a gun in the house is not the best idea.  I’ll just have to rely on common sense and safety.  Something I didn’t have the day I let those damn Kirby salesmen in.

WANTING MORE

            I’m trying to remind myself right now that it is my motherly duty in life to clean up the kitchen and then pick up the toys.  It sounds so chauvinistic, but looking at the big picture: I’m in my early thirties, my babies are still babies, I’m young, have my health and a great family.  I shouldn’t be greedy and think: wouldn’t it be awesome to throw on my coat, grab a pack of stogies and head on over to the nearest bar for a drink, maybe scout out some hotties.  NO! No! No! That’s what my twenties were for, but rather, my teenage years since I met my hubby at 19.  I’m a rusher.  So I wanted kids fast.  I mean we lived together for five years before we even got engaged, but even then, I was screaming to get pregnant.  So here I am, 32 years old…ok…35.  Two boys (screaming boys, today).  One has a cold and the other is on antibiotics, which makes for a beast.  The weekend has been relaxing and nice.  Hubby is on the couch watching football and I’ve been searching the Internet for literary agents and now releasing my thoughts. 

            I’m still 50/50.  50% wants to be out and 50% wants to be snuggled up at home.  It’s kind of painful being a cancer and a Leo.  My horoscope is on the cusp, which means my crab and lion fight a lot.  The crab (cancer) wins out most of the time.  This means the sensitive homebody is dominant, but the lion (Leo) is a good fighter.  The lion would take me to a whole new world.  Explore, take over, and be fearless.  The lion was my movie star and the crab (cancer) is my home and family.  Personally, I like the lion though…she has some pretty good stories to tell.

            Looking for a literary agent sucks.  I’ve already received fifty rejection emails within the past two months.  I keep trying to change my query letter, but I know they suck.  Writing a brief synopsis of an entire book doesn’t seem to be my thing.  I had an agent call me months ago.  He was interested in my novel, however I had no proof that he was legit.  I couldn’t find anything about him on the internet and his web site was extremely vague and shady looking.  So when my husband Jake said, “I bet he’ll call you from a private number.” I had my guard up, big time.  And so, the next day, he called…from a private number.  I was prepared and in bitch mode.  I interrogated the man.  Where are you from?  Who have you published?  Why aren’t you on the internet?  Why are you calling and asking me what I would like to see happen with my book?  Well, isn’t it obvious jack off  I want it published legitimately.  I didn’t say it in those words of course, but my no bullshit tone was obvious. 

     After an hour on the phone with him explaining the in’s and out’s of the publishing industry, he started to sound official and I couldn’t believe his patients with me.  Well! Any scammer is going to have the patients of a saint, and I’m from Jersey, so this guy better think twice.  He said his crew was going to review the book and see if they had the funds to edit, promote and publish…yada...yada.  My husband, Jake was silently on 3-way listening to the whole conversation and when we hung up with the publisher, Jake started criticizing that I was way to harsh and how “the agent” sounded real enough to him.  That made me nervous and annoyed since Jake was the one who insinuated he was a scam from the start.  He told me that if he was a legitimate publisher, I most likely lost my chance since I was rude. 

            I got an email from the guy the next day that my novel was not in the budget and he’ll keep me in mind..yada..yada.  But you know what!  So what if I lost a chance!  If my gut told me it was shady from the start, well then maybe and most likely…it was.  I mean…If you operate your business to where your potential client originally thought you were a scammer, then how good could your business be?  Everything happens for a reason.  That’s what I’ll just keep telling myself.  In the meantime, take care of your boys, work your part time job and keep trying as long as you have the stamina for it.  That’s what I’ll tell myself.  Good things come to those who wait, right?  Don’t’ be greedy and enjoy the good life you are living right now.  But its human nature to want more.  Isn’t that what keeps us going! 

                So many questions.  It feels good to get them out on paper.  So I can look back at what an idiot I am.  I’m just being factitious…it’s good to question yourself.  It’s good to have deep thoughts.  I would like to consider myself a “deep thinker” rather than just a “stay at home mom”.  No wonder “they” say the stay at home moms in the 1950’s were miserable.  How can you take pride in cleaning all day?  It should be about whatever makes you happy and if cleaning and cooking and tending to the children make you happy then more power to you.  But most people need a hobby.  Some men fix cars or follow sports and some women sew clothes or join the PTA, but I guess you need something outside of the home to make you whole.  I’m trying to be a writer, however there is no recognition unless you are published.  So that’s my goal for now.  Last year it was to sell my townhouse.  I failed miserably.  I’m still sitting in this small two bedroom box.   I try not to put all the blame on myself.  The economy is resembling the depression and the real estate market has taken one of the worst hits it has ever seen. 

We bought at the height of the market.  When the realtor's where rolling in commission, now 5 years later, we are trying to sell while the real estate market has crashed.  Besides the fact that we would lose a ton of doe, we are in competition with ten other unites in our development and I mean the same exact townhouses for sale.  It’s not like a house, where your lay out may appeal to different types.  NO! We are set up exactly the same and we all have been sitting for sale for years now. 

In the beginning I spent countless hours on the multiple listing website searching for my dream home and boy did I find them.  Them, meaning I have found my dream home so many times.  And they all eventually sold while my house just sat on the market, untouched.  Each sale of my dream home, each open house my realtor had or we hosted ourselves, each appointment made where I spent so much energy trying to make my home look just right for a potential buyer, was heart-breaking.  Not even mentioning all the fights I had with Jake to get him to list with a realtor.  He doesn’t want to sell.  He’s happy were he is.  Plus, he doesn’t want to lose the money, but I’m in this tiny house all day with two boys and surrounded by toys.  A lot of people in this community are the same age, going through the same thing.  We all want out because we have no room. I guess the people who have lost their jobs aren’t complaining about whatever roof they have over their heads, just as long as they have one.  Jake reminds me of that whenever I start complaining about real estate.  He groins, “You don’t know how lucky you are.”  It’s pretty much the same lecture I give my little guy Max, when he won’t eat his food, “Other kids don’t have anything to eat.”

I hate when I get lectured to like I am the child.  He’s right and all.  But I want a pity party because I failed at getting our house sold and it puts a bad taste in my mouth because if I can fail at something small like that, well then, I certainly can fail at the big things in life.  I don’t even want to mention them.

FART DART

            I feel terrible.  I just yelled at Max.  He was bugging me for snacks, like usual, so I brought him a nice bowl of water melon (the only fruit he will touch) and because he is being incredibly picky with food he chewed it up and spit it out on the carpet.  That was the last straw for me.  I slapped his arm (which he barley felt because he had a sweater on) and I grabbed his little checks and gave him the evil mommy dearest stare.  The one that comes out when I can feel my blood boiling,

     “You don’t spit on my floor!”

   The words don’t look mean when written on paper, but I know he felt my anger.  It’s the anger I inherited from my father’s blood line.  My father had it, his father had it, but with each passing generation, it seems to lesson and I rarely can feel that rage anymore. 

             Max was sent into time out and instead of screaming (his usual bit) he is pouting and mumbling, “I don’t want to play,” under his breath. 

     Amazingly, his time out turned into a nap, so I am left alone with my thoughts and feel guilty.  Plus the fact that my neighbor just told me her seven year old had a terrible blow up at the library and her punishment was no TV that night, but she still took her to a friend’s house for a play date, right after the temper tantrum.  “Sucker!” I say.  But she responds, “Well, I can’t take away everything.”  I would have.  Makes me question, “Am I mean?” “Am I to strict?” But my own mother and father constantly insinuate that I am not strict enough. 

    “In my day we wouldn’t have that talk” or “You just knew you couldn’t get away with that.” My mother informs me.   But I don’t want to be too strict.  No.  I want to be strict, just not mean and scary…like I just was.  But how do I get him to understand that I truly mean business?  And why do I think anger will interpret me saying, “stop that!” 

I hope he’s not up there right now dreaming about a big scary mommy.  I want him to always think of me as beautiful rainbow mommy!”  That’s what he calls me.  Isn’t it great!  He’s been obsessed with the phrase “fart dart”, which he made up himself.  He even started calling me and his dad “fart dart.”  I said to him one day with a big frown, “I don’t like that name.  It hurts my feelings.  How about Beautiful Rainbow Mommy?”  He likes it too.  So now, if I spoil him or are extra sweet to him, he’ll call me that.  I should record it because I know that nick name is going to be short-lived.  He will have forgotten he ever called me that.  I’ll be sure to remind him but he’ll roll his eyes, get all embarrassed and run out the door to play with his friends, drive to school, marry his girlfriend, and raise his own kids.  His child hood will pass before my eyes and I just hope he will not remember the days I slapped his arm, squished his cheeks and acted like a “fart dart.”

FRIDAY

               Today I woke up feeling like it was going to be a great day.  Max has nursery school during which his little brother, Jay and I can come home and play and I can catch up on my DVR shows.  Then we have a play date with Terry and her two kids and then it’s the weekend.  I can relax a little with my husband, Jake home and on Saturday we go to a big birthday bash at my godmother’s house.  My parents are coming from upstate for the party and then they will come and stay with us on Sunday.  Everything is looking good.  It should be a perfect 70 degree weather weekend, not a cloud hovered over my house, my plans and my Friday dream of leisure. 

              An hour after I drop Max off at school, his teacher calls me to say he has a 102 degree fever and his lips are quivering while he is zombie like in a chair.  Ut oh! I rush to pick him up and he is miserable.  He practically falls asleep on the short car ride home.  He is burning up so I get the Tylenol and the cold compresses next to the couch.  Jay and I play upstairs while Max is asleep.  I cancel our play date with Terry and I pray that it’s just a 24 hour bug so we can still make it to the party tomorrow.  I get an hour of work done while everyone is sleeping, but I feel a migraine coming on.  I dread migraines!  It starts out as though a brick is sitting on my sinuses then the pain migrates over to my eyebrow, where the brick then turns into a needle sharp pain above my eye.  The needle starts to burn and the pain radiates over the entire side of my head and ear (whichever side the migraine decided to choose this time around).  The burning starts to turn my stomach and now the nausea has set in.  My only resort is to start popping Advil all day.  Then I try Advil cold and sinus because it’s a little stronger.  The nausea and burning make my stomach feel empty and with all the pill popping I figure I should eat.  Eating eases the pain temporarily since it is only a brief distraction from the constant pain.  The migraine is still there and I know I have to take the heavy duty prescription stuff or this pain may stick around for two to three days.  That’s right! Constant nagging pain for days on end.  The only problem is I know if I take it, I’ll be exhausted and comatosed while my little boy is sick and needs me.  I have to take the medication though….I despise this pain.  I remember when I was in labor with Max.  I was about six cm. dilated and going through contractions with no pain killers or epidural yet and I still said in the mist of a contraction, “I much rather go through this than have a migraine”.  With contractions you get a little break in between.  With a migraine, it never ends and I’m never sure when it will.  I take the medicine feeling slight relief in knowing that it will eventually help in about 2-4 hours.  This medicine takes forever.

              When Max gets up he seems to be feeling a little better, but my zombie like state is starting to emerge.  I text my husband to come home early.  It’s already 4 o’clock.  Maybe he will have some sympathy for his wife and child? No such luck!  He texts me back, “the world has to stop when you get a migraine?!” “I have to drive my boss home so hang in there.” 

I’m not so nice, especially when I’m in pain, so a nice “F U!” got sent back to his cell phone.  I tell him he will be getting no “attention” this weekend and I know this will piss him off.  For the next 2.5 hours I grab my head and wait till he walks threw the door, so I can put the kids to bed and get myself to sleep.  He doesn’t look happy when he gets home but that’s just too bad.  When I eventually get to bed, my migraine starts to vanish.  Thank the lord, but I can’t sleep to well since the medicine is keeping me up.  I try but it’s on and off.  Just as my eyes are starting to feel heavy my little guy, Jay starts to scream for no apparent reason.  I get up and rock him to sleep for 20 minutes.  Its 1 o’clock in the morning and my husband is still downstairs watching baseball play offs.  I hear him come to bed around 2 am and I fall asleep.  At 4 am I am woken up by Max screaming.  I rush in because I don’t want him waking up his little brother.  I hate that they have to share a room. I feel Max's head and he is burning up again, even though I gave him the last dose of Tylenol before bed and when I mean last, I mean last drop in the bottle.  We ran out and I figured we could get through the night without any more.  I was wrong and I am panicking.  I’ve heard about high fevers and seizures going hand in hand, so I shake my husband awake and tell him he has to go the store.  He is comatosed since he just got to bed 2 hours ago.  He wakes up cranky and mean, but my tone is crystal clear that I am not taking “no” for an answer.  He drops the “F Bomb” at me while I’m tending to our sick crying child with cold compresses to the head.  How dare he!  I can feel my blood boil.  God only knows what I would have done back in the day with no little seeds to raise.  But I am different now and I have to stay calm for my boys.  I take the abuse for a split second, but he will pay and he knows it.  He drags himself out to look for a 24 hour store and comes back an hour later with a bagel, coffee, and of course Tylenol. 

“Where did you go?”

                        “7 11” he grumbles

                        “But it’s right next door? You’ve been gone an hour”

                        “I forgot and drove all over the place”

We finally get to sleep but I know I have to decline the party.  Saturday we stay home, order in food and rest.  Saturday night was worse than Friday.  Max was up every 20 minutes screaming.  Sometimes for a tissue, sometimes because his throat hurt, sometimes for water, but mostly for the pain a fever brings.  We get no sleep what so ever.  I wake up and call my mother.  She tells me the party was great and I tell her our night was miserable.  I have to cancel our plans to have them spend the night.  That means no golfing with my father and no fun for anyone.  My husband begged me for some “action” the whole weekend but I refused and had to explain why, repeatedly:

 “You can’t come home early to your sick family?” “AND you cursed in front of your sick little boy because I made you go out for Tylenol!” then I have to hear him make up excuses to defend all this. 

“My boss was in another building, so I couldn’t just leave him there!” 

He did admit he was wrong for cursing in front of Max but then I get the, “Well you shouldn’t have written “F U” in the text.

            “Oh yes I should have! I felt it was appropriate!”

We are both cranky and tired, however, he got out of going to a party and he despises parties.  Plus! His in-laws aren’t coming over so I guess he made out pretty damn good this weekend, regardless of a few missed hours of sleep.