At home with sick child yesterday. Dear Husband had her the day before, and she was tired and watched TV and he slept. My day progressed differently:
1 am Three-year-old wakes with fever. I struggle to remember what time last dose of ibuprofen was administered then struggle to give it to cranky, hot, nearly asleep again child.
2 am Three-year-old wakes again with very wet pullup. I decide she will be more comfortable on the sofa, which is closer to our bed, thus requiring fewer steps for me.
5 am Alarm goes off at time I would normally get up. What was I thinking? I reset alarm for 6 am.
6 am Reset alarm for 6:30 am.
6:30 am Curse my fate. Consider strangling Five-year-old, who has suddenly become as unweildy and heavy as a wet sandbag.
7:15 am Still working on Five-year-old, who has made it her mission to thwart me.
7:20 am Five-year-old leaves with Dear Husband, who somehow manages to get ready and out the door in 15 minutes every morning.
7:30 am Remember to call work. Am grateful to reach answering machine rather than live person. All hopes of going back to sleep are dashed. Three-year-old is awake and feverish and needs her morning meds.
7:30-8:30 Administration of the Medicine. Normally she is very compliant, amazingly so. This morning it takes a combination of cajolery, pleading, bribery, threats, and force. Ends in tears for both parties.
8:30 am-5:00 pm I am coerced into coloring, singing The Wheels on the Bus over and over (with gestures), laying out a special bed on the floor with several layers of blankets and pillows (never used), eating pretend food, rocking CareBear, reading horrible little books about fuzzy chicks and wooly lambs that came in a little duck carrier that quacks, and providing endless cups of juice (she worked on four different flavors in four different cups, all of which had to be available at the same time). The day is punctuated by fever spikes and brief—very brief—breaks in activity. More brief interludes while child watches Little Bill (thank you Nickelodean!) and builds a city. By the end of the day the floor is covered with bedclothes, blocks, a farm, crayons, sippy cups, play purses (stuffed with beads, toy cars, doll clothes, random found items) and folded pieces of paper (she has to fold everything she draws into a square that will fit in a pocket). And somewhere along the way she lost her pants.
5:30 pm Pick up Five-Year-Old. Dear Husband calls to remind me that he will be home late, as he will be going to the Girl Scout Info meeting instead of me. I recall that I hated Girls Scouts.
The rest of the evening is something of a blur, but I know it contained a frozen pizza and the season premier of House, during which Three-Year-Old finally dropped off to sleep. I don’t think I ever fed Dear Husband, but he was kind enough to say nothing.