Friday, November 9, 2012

Everyday Life

While I was looking for my old blog post about Pierson's flu shot yesterday, I had to read through a lot of my old blogs.  I used to keep pretty up to date on daily happenings on what brats my kids were, and I don't do that anymore - probably in part because they can read now.  It was fun reading through them, even though most of them were about who threw up and how many times on any given day.

Anyway, I think I'll start keeping things up to date with more mundane stuff here instead of just the really fantastical stuff, like how Blitz is the most perfect horse in the world, which you already knew, and when the dogs eat the furniture.

Today was a day. 

Yeah.  Definitely a day.

I had to take Maxie (doxie) to the vet to get her teeth cleaned.  They were some kind of nasty, and if we didn't have it done we ran the risk of the build-up getting into her blood stream and getting to her heart.  The thought of that sends me into a snotfest, so I made her appointment for today and had to have her there at 8am.  Poor baby didn't want to be left in a cage, but I left her with her special blue blankie and Scotlyn bundled her in her Sunday-go-to-meeting outfit, so she'd look nice for Dr. Stafford. 

After that, I decided if I had to drive fifteen miles, why not forty?  So I looped through Bogalusa to Franklinton to have the van looked at.  It needs a new tire.  But again, if I'm going to get one new tire, why not two?  Problem is, I'll have to order them because the genius that built the GMC Safari thought it would be fun to slap on some weird sized tires that no one's ever heard of before.

Came home.  Scotlyn needs help with math.  No problemo.  I like math.  She needs to know how to find the volume of a prism.  Problemo.  There's a reason I dropped out of college. 

Back to pick up Maxie - no time for lunch, but it smelled good.  Maxie was a good girl and didn't bite the vet, but she did pee on Scotlyn in the car.  I'll blame it on the drugs and give her a treat when she feels better. 

I left to pick up a friend's flat bed trailer to load hay.  Backed up to the trailer.  Went too far.  Pulled forward.  Too far.  Back.  Too far.  Repeat twelve times.  Cry and kick the truck.  Limp.  Hitch trailer five minutes after I'm supposed to actually pick up the hay, which is fifteen miles away.  Leave, forgetting to get the money to pay for the hay on myway through town.  Remember when I pull up to the hay barn.  Cry again.

Get hay from understanding man who must have a keen sense of woman on the edge.  He tells me a check is just fine, or I can pay him later.  Nice man.  I'm going to make him cookies.

Go home with hay.  Get lost.  On the way to my house.  Don't even bother crying again.  While pulling into the pasture with the hay, all the horses run out of the pasture hell bent for leather.  I don't even care anymore.  At least I won't have to feed them. Stupid animals come back, and I think of locking them out.  Unload hay, decide while I have kids to help me to put my horse trailer gate back on trailer (don't ask).  Drop the gate on my foot.  Again

Return flatbed trailer to friend.  Go to town because I'm almost out of gas.  Go to Winn Dixie for groceries.  Leave grocery list in truck.  Shoot from the hip and find Hershey's French Silk pies on sale - BOGO.  It must be a sign from God.  Buy groceries, load them in the truck, which had to go in back seat because the bed had a 1500 pound bale of hay and 300 pounds of horse feed that still has to be unloaded.  Can't wait. 

Fell asleep in parking lot.  Head home (after I wake up, not while I'm still sleeping).  Forgot gas.  Turn around.  Remember I have a diesel now.  Got diesel.  Came home.  Told the kids if they didn't do their chores (kitchen was nasty) they would never eat again and I think they knew I meant it. 

Hiding in room with no intention of ever leaving, even though my stomach is growling and I have chicken salad and fresh baked croissants just two rooms away. 

And Peter put in his notice today.  He starts his new job in December.

Thursday, November 8, 2012

Pierson's Flu Shot

Tuesday, September 28, 2004

Today was Ainsley's 2 year appt at the drs. She's up to a whopping 26 lbs 6 ozs. What a tank, huh? The dr asked me if I wanted to get her the flu vaccine. Last year she was so sick I nearly had to take her to the ER, and Pierson too, on New Year's Eve. So I said yes. The dr offered to do all the kids.

And that was the end of my peaceful existence. Scotlyn started crying (wailing's more like it), Pierson climbed under the chairs and yelled that no one was ever going to give him a shot ever in his life, and Chad started laughing....until I asked why he was laughing about getting a shot. "What, you mean I have to get one too???" Yeah, that stopped him laughing pretty darn quick. That'll teach him to laugh at his brother and sister. Then he started asking how big the needle was. I would have loved to torment him, but Scotlyn and Pierson were listening too. I can't scar them for life........yet.

So, fast forward a few minutes, and Ainsley has gotten the shots I allowed and had her finger pricked. She stopped wailing and was reduced to an occasional sad sniffle. And she wiped her snotty nose on my shirt. And it's the others' turns. Pierson is still camped out under the chairs, assuming he's invisible. But since he's still yelling, we're pretty sure where to find him. I told the nurse it might be prudent to go by age. Chad smiles. Oldest first, I say. Like I said, he's going to stop delighting in his sibling's pain and terror.

So he is very much a wimp himself, but this time he didn't cry...quite. His eyes got really wide and he held his breath. Brave guy.

Scotlyn's next, and she's hollering like we were stringing her from the rafters, but she basically quit her snotting and slobbering as soon as the nurse was done.

Now....Pierson's turn. I move chairs, but he hangs on to them. I had to pull the chairs all the way out to the middle of the floor, and one of the nurses - yeah, one of them (they called in reinforcements) - held onto the chair while I tried to pry him away from it. He stretched a good bit before we managed to seperate them. (He's still bellowing, by the way.) I stuffed him down between my legs, clamped on to both arms, the nurse tried to grab one of his arms but she really got mine until I had to ask her to let go of my wrist. So, with him held down by me and two quite hefty nurses, he got a tiny little shot in his arm.

That's when the fun started. Once we set him free he tore out of the room, past the crowd that had gathered, through the waiting room, and all the way to the elevator, all the while still roaring that he wasn't getting a shot ever. (Sorry, dear, too late.) Chad corraled him and dragged him back while I checked out.

Then that nurse (I think she did it on purpose) said, in the children's hearing, "make sure you make the appt for the booster shot before you leave". Ever so cheerful. Witch. So we start all over again, with Pierson bellowing that he's never coming back here again, and he's mad. Yeah, really. News to me.
We make it to the car, and I make the mistake of trying to cheer the child up. Yes, I know, what was I thinking. I had the audacity to sing. "Rain rain go away, come back another day, Pierson Sam wants to play." According to Pierson, he does not want to play. Not today, not ever. He will never play again in his whole life. Did I mention ever? I think he's gets his dramatic tendencies from Peter's side of the family.

He falls asleep in the car. I'm not sure what wore him out. We get home and I offer to carry him in the house, but he gives me a rather scary look. I thought maybe sleeping he'd forget about being mad at me, but nope, he informed he's going to always be mad. He asleep now, but I'm sure he's still mad.

50 years from now, at my funeral, I'm sure he'll tell his grandchildren all about the day his mother made him get a shot when he was 4 years old. And he will still be mad.