|Sometimes even a giraffe needs to get her drink on.|
To kick off November, Tweak started having asthma symptoms. To the pediatrician! Then, we had teacher workdays, so my ex took it upon himself to take the kids to an indoor water park for the long weekend. The weekend he had them before that, he took them Six Flags on Saturday and a pumpkin farm on steroids (giant slides, tons of activities) on Sunday. Naturally, when the kids got back to me, Tink had (1) head lice (again!), and (2) an ear infection (cue sad trombone). Tweak was physically unscathed, but overtired and pissy. Every time my ex is Happy Fun Dad, I get to be Delousing Discipline Mom. I should be used to it by now.
|Don't let this be you!|
Anyway, Tink's ear infection meant to the pediatrician! Again! It was viral, which these days means they don't treat it. So a few days later, her eardrum ruptured. Which meant back to the pediatrician! They really ought to give out frequent flyer miles. My co-workers were starting to wonder if I had forgotten I had a job and was spending my days doing this:
A few days later, I forgot that Tink's Brownie troop was doing a nature hike after school, and that I was supposed to pick her up at the park at 5 instead of at school. At 5:15, my phone rang. The Brownie mom was kinda-sorta wondering where the hell I was. I apologized and arranged to meet Brownie mom at her house. I pulled up in front of an unlit house and waited for 20 minutes for Brownie mom to pull up. Nothing. I went to knock on the door, just in case. An elderly lady came to the door and had no idea who I was, because I was in front of the wrong house. I burned rubber to the correct house, made embarrassed apologies, and finally got everyone home, where the kids ate box mac & cheese in front of the TV for dinner because I was trying not to cry.
Then I opened up Tweak's backpack to retrieve a ream of flyers, which included a chastising note that he hadn't brought his recorder to music class in several weeks. I was vaguely aware that he had a recorder for some reason, but what with him taking an hour to write a paragraph on a good homework night, I just hadn't made it a priority to (a) make him practice it, and (b) have any idea where it was. Subconsciously, I might have not felt much incentive to focus on keeping track of a high-pitched musical instrument that makes my brain feel like it's shattering into a million pieces, either. In any case, I spent a few delightful minutes coming up with suggestions for the music teacher about what she could do with the recorder, given how vital it is to his future success. Childish, but satisfying.
At that point, I could only laugh in an hysterical and slightly disturbing way for far too long. Honestly, it's the best that I can do some days to have us all show up where we're supposed to be, with bonus points if everyone is wearing pants. It's too damn much. After many straight weeks of battling vermin and infection and excessive homework and polar vortex and plumbing problems and creeping weight gain, maintaining a long distance relationship, dealing with my ex's sometimes-incomprehensible choices, and spending the past year advocating for special ed services for my son that he is only just now getting, and oh, by the way, working a full time job, at the end of the day I just fucking surrender.
|"Kids! Add Mom's tears for an extra burst of flavor!"|
|Barbie thinks it makes a great stripper pole!|
|This is my favorite gif in the history of ever.|
By the way, for January, Tink's music class started doing the recorder, too. Happy new year (belated)!