“MY EAR HURTS! IT HURTS SO MUCH!” Screamed Isaac in the middle of the night, waking up Eloise and me.
Eloise had a checkup this morning, where we learned she has a nasty rash that needs meds, and Isaac’s ear infection is caused by allergies probably and needs antibiotics. Eloise also is now on allergy stuff to combat the month of snotty nose. Eloise got four shots. We waited hours at the base pharmacy. Eloise fell asleep and peed through her diaper. Isaac freaked out about taking medicine. Eloise smashed her head during our long wait. We ran out of snacks as our visit stretched past lunchtime. A cold front blew through so we were underdressed for the rainy 30 degree temperature dip.
Back at home we settled down for cozy naps. Eloise woke up and helped me do dishes, happily standing on her stool munching banana chips. She slipped, no big deal—until she gasped and inhaled her chip. She gagged, spluttered, gagged, turned purple in my arms.
This is where I call 911! I thought. No time! Baby heimlich! After maybe 15 seconds of that (which felt like no time and also like hours) she started crying. I held her close. Eyes streaming, gagging, retching, red instead of purple, still retching. She vomited all over us. Thankfully. She’s ok. She barfed a few times, then smiled. Relief. And…Bath time.
I took a poopy diaper outside and found the storm had blown our gate inside out and it will no longer open. Of course it did.
After a peaceful dinner I took the barfy clothes to the basement. Which had two inches of standing water in it. The sump pump, which we had someone come fix in October, did not turn on.
I put Eloise to bed and invited Isaac to join me in the basement. He loved that. His presence helped me be brave and slosh through the muck (I SO deserve these gorgeous teal Hunter boots) and—get this—reach a hand into the opaque, cold, dark waters of the sump drain. If that doesn’t strike fear in your heart…then you must not be terribly afraid of dark, deep water you can’t see into, like I am.
Here I’d like to point out a few ironies. First, we really have had good attitudes all day. Considering. Not perfect attitudes, but not attitudes of being overwhelmed or in despair. So it just kept coming I guess. Second, one of the toilets clogged right after both my kids pooped. Next time anyone asks “what do you do?” I should tell them “I’m in Shit Management,” I giggled to myself, before telling Isaac and Eloise to step back and watch a master toilet unclogger at work. Third: friends, Unclogging toilets is an unfortunate talent of mine. I am the master unclogger in this house. I have the touch. Call me if you’re in a jam.
And now there’s this questionable water in the basement to deal with. Shit Management, indeed. Anyway, so with a good attitude and much bravery, I squeezed behind the washing machine, balanced atop cinder blocks, and extended my arm deep into the dark, murky water of the sump hole. The sump pump has a float switch, which clearly doesn’t work, but it responded to my blind prodding by jumping into action. The drain tube whipped around, unleashed from its moorings, spraying nasty basement water all over me and geysering a fountain like a firehouse across the basement. Isaac stared at me stunned. I jumped back, cursing and dripping.
Now, two hours later, the plumber just left. I think I still have a good attitude, but it was iffy there while I was soggy with a pile of barfy laundry and a basement geyser mocking me.
Really, I know we have a lot to be thankful for: Isaac’s quick treatment, Eloise’s triumph over choking hazards, Megan had asked offered to make enough dinner to run a plate over to me even before I was having a crappy day.
But my good attitude is about ready to move out of this house. At least no one got stung by a dang yellow jacket today! But really, it’s only a matter of time.
I AM HAVING A GOOD ATTITUDE.
Did I mention my attitude: good.