The girls are still sick. Their fevers are down to non-medicated stages, but Queen is still getting the chills, Spit Spot is clingy, and both are more crabby than quiet.
The parents, meanwhile, are restless. There's shopping to do, and rooms to clean, and peace to be had. But that's hard in a 2 bedroom apartment where we're all on top of each other, separated by disheveled blankets and pillows that have migrated out of the bedrooms. There are unruly piles of crafts, magazines, books, and toys half-finished with, tissues, and tea cups, and glasses of juice. In a word, ugh.
Yesterday, there were bits of peace. After a certain point, I gave up my plans to get things done and actually enjoyed going nowhere, doing nothing more than stringing Jiffypop for the tree, watching Clive help Queen with her reading and math But then I had an intense need to clean the bathroom, pick up the toys, shower.
Today I am hoping to escape a bit to the gym for yoga or spin. I intend on sending Clive to Whole Foods to finish Christmas meal shopping (his domain - Farmhouse chili and cornbread for dinner, pumpkin pancakes for breakfast), and get his own antsy self to the gym.
What I really want to do is to escape to the spa and the movies. Being home all day, I've caught up on much of my New Yorker reading -- all the art, jazz, movies I've been missing. So much to see! In another week or so, our lovely Texan neighbors will be back from their vacation and will babysit for us, so that Clive and I can begin to get back out in the word again.
Babes restless and infighting again. Must go mediate yo-yo's and tiaras.
I think I got one of those photo enforced tickets for mis-judging the length of a yellow light the other night, returning from Queen's ballet recital (soldier, very cute, and didn't nervously rub her nose which was an amazing first).
I've been told these are $200-$300.
Crap monkeys! There goes Christmas. Shite.
update: 12/26/07. Told yesterday that a friend got a similar ticket for almost $400, plus $20 for the online drivers ed. *banging head against wall, sobbing.*
The girls are both sick, but not necessarily with the same thing. That makes it fun, kind of a challenge, because now we get to guess if one will give the other what they already have, and double the period of sickness, or if they'll both just kind of move along their own wretched tracks.
Spit Spot has a fever of about 102 and a case of the cling-ies. She's got *hot feet*. The Queen has no fever, but is living in phlegm city. She has this annoying habit of "power sniffing" when her nose is stuffed. She combines incessant snuffling with some weird hyperventilating-like breath. I can't stand to be near her when she's doing it. And lucky me, she's currently in my bed ("the Fever Bed" as Clive is fond of calling it) because when they're sick, both the girls must be on top of each other, and me. Doesn't matter how many times I move Queenie to her bed, she'll be back, determined to suck up the last bit of available space, even if it means sleeping halfway on the bedside table. She's a determined thing, if nothing else.
So I need to go to bed early, as a fear a lousy night of sleep filled with medicine dosing. Really, I'm just hoping for a vomit-free night.
update: No vomit, but now they both have the fever and we got no sleep. Sigh....
I just spent a good 20-30 minutes mending one of Queen's tops. It's really quite relaxing, the whole sewing thing. Not that I'm any good at it. I'm serviceable. In any case, I was day dreaming while doing it, picking the matching thread, etc., and realized that if anyone looked at my resume and saw that I was a painter (and they will, shortly), they'd most likely say, "Wow. I didn't know you painted. What kind of work do you do?" Usually, I answer that with something along the lines of, "Crayon, mostly," hinting that I only do artwork with the kids. But in all fairness, I'd have to say that the painting has been taken up with housewifery: mending, washing, folding, organizing kid's drawers. It's neither here nor there, really, and I've learned to enjoy the ordering in many ways. But it's certainly not the same thing. The difference for me is that I can mend something in 20 minutes and move on to something else (dishes, email, cooking) without much thought, but it can take me at least 20 to get in the right mindset to paint, another 20 to set up (on a good day) -- the actual painting time -- and then 20 minutes to an hour to clean up. And what full time mom has that on any sort of regular basis? Even if I had that once a week, that hardly seems enough.
Must think more on this. Babe awake.
I spent most of today crabby. There were occasional breaks in my personal fog - watching Spit Spot splash happily in puddles, and lay herself flat down upon wet pavement to splash in even dirtier puddles - that was fun. But then the subsequent wet and messy brawl back to the car was not.
I kept bemoaning the fact that I bought the "wrong" sized rain boots for the girls and the beat myself up for letting them wear them today, before I could return them. I forgot the cardinal rule of rain boot shopping: Thou Shalt Buy a Size Bigger than the Child's Foot. So now, I pray, and hope, that their feet won't grow too fast, that they just had their big winter growth spurt, and my choices won't turn into a big honkin' waste of cash. I actually have a bigger size for Spit Spot, left over from Soledad, but they are short, and therefore, mostly useless. Because, you and I know that there is no toddler on earth who can just walk through a puddle. No, they must leap, splash, bang, and pounce through them, and splash as much filthy water as possible up their legs and into the folds of the pants we put on them to keep them dry. The taller the boots, the better.
On a brighter side, I also got a new pair of boots, and my first tall pair of Wellies. I was going to get basic green or black, but they were back ordered at both Restoration and LLBean, and the ones at Nordstrom were way too much. So I took a leap of faith and bought a jaunty pair of red and black plaid ones. Classic, and hopefully won't get too dated to fast. I briefly considered the horseshoe print, but am really not a horse-y kind of gal, and all the rock-n-roll skulls and roses seemed to be trying too hard. So plaid it is. I'm very excited to wear them.
I also got a couple new tee shirts without holes (yay!) and 2 pairs of jeans to fit my new, larger size. A bit sad, but really really nice to have long pants that fit again, and I have enough that I don't have to do laundry every other minute. Thank G-d for cheap Old Navy jeans. And when I get back down to my comfortable self, I'll splurge on a new pair of Joe's.
On another note, the damn writer's strike has finally sent us a direct hit. Clive's a finalist for an Big Studio Talent Fellowship. He's been happily jumping through their hoops for a month while he finishes up school. We've been expecting "The Call" at any minute. Well, they called today, but just to tell him that there will be no call until they figure out what's going on with the strike. Fair enough, but it means more waiting, and that's kind of painful. I'm sure there's a good Zen lesson in all this. I keep thinking of the story where the moral is you never know if something is good luck or bad luck until the future unfolds. I'm grateful he's still in the game. Happy thoughts! Happy thoughts!
It's Channukah and I asked Clive to bring home some jelly donuts for dessert. Fried foods are a traditional treat for the holiday (to remind of us of the miracle of the oil burning for 8 days) and a huge treat for my kids. I never ever buy fried food for the home and NEVER EVER donuts.
And now I remember why.
Because I have no self-control.
Clive brought home, not the requested 3 or 4, but 6. I promptly gave 2 away to the neighbors, and thought that might save me, but I did not take into account that Spit Spot would not like hers. So I ate mine....and then...half of hers. Not to mention a coupel Dora chocolate coins. And now I feel just awful and guilty and wish there was a way to be bulimic without actually having to puke or purge anything from anywhere.
But they were very good. I had wanted to try Primo's, but they were Winchell's. Well done, Mr. Winchell!
Happy Channukah everyone!
