It’s been a trying day. Not bad, just trying. Z10 told me last night that her throat was getting sore, so I had her gargle with warm salt water– my grandmother’s secret weapon against sore throats. No go.
She still wasn’t feeling better this morning so I called into the Dr.’s office to get her an appointment. Of course, our Dr. is off somewhere enjoying his Spring Break, so we get an appointment with the Nurse Practitioner. She’s a nice person, but it is like being treated by RainMan. Even the lovely ladies at the front desk know this. They actually apologize when they are forced to give you an appointment with her.
In the meantime I put Z10 in my bed with the TV remote and donned my HazMat suit so I could clean the kids bathroom. I put my handy little Shark steamer (http://www.sharkvac.com) (I’m giving them a plug because this thing is FABULOUS!) on to boil and I entered the bathroom with fear and trepidation, armed with my yellow rubber gloves and an assortment of cleaners. 45 minutes later I emerged, red-faced, sweaty(although the steamer gives you a nice facial), smelling like the Soft Scrub factory, and cursing my children. How in the world does the room you go to get CLEAN in get so FILTHY?
I collapsed in exhaustion only to realize that I had to shower and get ready so I could get the princess to her appointment. We made it. She has tonsillitis (again!).
We headed to WalMart for ibuprofen and lozenges. By this time I was feeling cocky from the time spent spring cleaning in the bathroom and decided a new bathmat was in order and maybe a new towel or two. Why didn’t someone just shoot me with a tranquilizer dart at this point and save me the agony? Because, although I bought my cute, funky brown shower curtain with the teal polka dots at WalMart, they have not. one. freaking. bathmat. that. matches. I get my peanut butter and bags of salad and remove myself from the store whose name I shall not speak again.
On the way home I stop at Lowe’s and pick up a beautiful hanging basket for my front porch. It perks the front of the house up considerably, but I still don’t have my bathmat. Grrrr.
Z10 decides to hang out at my mom’s house with Z9 who seems to have been surgically attached to his Nintendo DS. I separate him from it and send him outside to absorb some Vitamin D, while his sister finds a place to lay down and rest.
I head to the drug store to pick up antibiotics and lo and behold, not only are they ready, but RainMan has gotten the right drug to the right pharmacy. I’ve been a little leery of that ever since she sent a scrip for an anti-fungal medication for the nether regions to the pharmacy when the problem was in my MOUTH.
Upon returning home my cell phone rings and I wonder what has possessed me to become so connected that people can locate me virtually anywhere. (Here I will interject a story about my aunt’s friend who once had her paged in Kmart. My aunt’s response was “that woman could find me in hell.” And this was before the days of cell phones.) I answer, only to hear b*tchiness that I am not in the mood for, and don’t want to hear. I count to 10, keep my thoughts to myself, and put my towels in the dryer.
Spring cleaning will continue tomorrow. I have a clean kitchen rug, but I still don’t have a bathmat.