So let's just cut to the chase. I played the selfish card today, and I took my semi-ill child to
I took him to school, knowing full well that there was a chance they'd end up sending him home early. I dropped him off because I needed a few hours to myself. Okay, full disclosure? I needed the few hours to get my hair colored and to do another Brazilian.
In all honesty, Grady wasn't too sick when he woke up. He was hungry after puking his guts out the night before. And he had a runny nose. But he was pretty perky. He chased the dog. He played with the girls. He ate a good breakfast and he was all smiles and giggles.
So I made the snap decision not to cancel the ridiculously hard-to-get hair appointment, dosed him up with Tylenol and Triaminic, and took him to school. I'm very friendly with his teachers and I was upfront and honest about how he was feeling. I told them about the previous night. I told them I doped him up. I even told them what I was doing and how to reach me should his demeanor begin to change and he need to be picked up.
Famous last words ... Murphy bit me in the butt for the second day in a row.
I was home all morning cleaning the house and cooking dinner before I got into my car to drive over to the hair salon. And not more than five minutes before pulling into the parking lot my phone rang. I saw the number flash on the screen of my car. Grady's preschool. My heart sank.
The teacher was apologetic and knew that I was in a bind. However, Grady was now running a high fever, and he really needed to go home. I looked in the mirror at the orange racing stripes in my hair. I ran my hands through my course hair, imagining how soft it would feel in just a few hours. I knew if I canceled this appointment, it would be another week or two before I could get back in.
It was a tough decision. I told her I'd have to call her back in a few minutes.
I quickly called my mother in law and told her the entire story. Thankfully she was at her house and was able to go to the school to get Grady, first stopping by the hair salon to pick up the car seat and school gate keys. Whew!
All's well that ends well, right?
Well ... my hair appointment went only somewhat to plan. My uber gay colorist played the "guy" card and left his house with only his "selective" listening ears on. So instead of coloring my hair back to all brown with a few red highlights (to cover the faded red-to-orange highlights from last time), it's now predominantly red with a few brown highlights.
And then the appointment ran long. I was late picking up the girls from school, so I frantically texted my never-to-be-seen neighbor and asked her to bring the girls home.
Four and a half LONG hours later, I was done. I grabbed the girls, went to my in-laws to pick up the little sickie, and saw how miserable he really was. Fever. Runny nose. And drool. Lots and lots and lots of drool.
Calling Dr. Brown.
Long story long, it was very apparent that the little guy had a sore throat. With strep throat going around, I thought it was prudent to get in to see the doctor on Friday, rather than going to a walk-in-clinic over the weekend, or even worse, the ER.
Long story even longer. Little guy had all the signs of strep throat. The nurse gave him the twice over and based on her assessment said that she was absolutely sure of it.
Long story cut short. The test came back negative. We were off. Without antibiotics. Without a happy toddler. And thankfully, without any of my gray stress-hairs showing!
So let's recap the day .... Drop semi-sick baby off at school. Go to hair appointment and get call to pick up now really-sick baby. Have in-laws get sick baby while you replace orange racing stripes with red racing stripes. Spend a total of 4.5 hours at the salon. Go home, grab kids, go to the after hour doctors appointment and pay an additional $50 on top of your co-pay. Leave without any medication. Or sanity. Come home and put cranky-but-not-hungry baby to bed. Eat dinner with the kids. Play Yahtzee. Break up fight between one girl who won and one girl who didn't. Swear you're never going to play Yahtzee again if they can't be good sports. Throw little tushies in bed at a not-so-reasonable hour.
The finale? You pour yourself a large, much needed glass of wine. And smile.
Ahhhh... this IS the life. You only wish you lived in my village ...