It all started innocently enough with a trip to the movies on Sunday. We enlisted my mother to babysit LG and we took the boys to see the Toy Story 2 3D double feature. Somehow this sounded like a good idea....
$44 dollars in admission tickets later, plus $14 in popcorn and diet Coke (candy from Target was stashed in my purse) and we were in, equipped with nifty black 3D glasses.
Here's where it gets hairy. To expect your 3 and 4 year olds to sit through one movie is a large enough request? But a double feature? Eeek. Not to mention that as an adult, sitting through a double feature of kids' movies was like erasing half of my college education. If that lands me on Oprah as a bad mom a la the mom they had hang out with NieNie because she would rather kill herself than play with Play-doh, sobeit.
The boys sure did look swell in their glasses though.
Tuesday Cole emerged from his slumber and announced, with eyes barely open, that he was sick. Sick in his mouth. Translation: he has a sore throat. Fever followed, although in typical Cole style he was generally well tempered. I dutifully kept him home from school on Wednesday, of which he was happy. He really likes to stay home with me. I think it's sweet.
Later on that morning, just as I was about to sound the "all clear" whistle on Cole's sickness, the school called--Mason was running a fever. Drat. I dutifully collected my second sick boy from school.
Mason is a quick study. He saw Cole sick that morning and the day before and noticed the extra babying he got. So Mason was ready for his share. I, being the good mommy that I am (mommy dearest??) delivered. I set them up on the couch with pillows and Ruffies and movies galore. We all snuggled together. My to do list grew and grew.
Thursday is a no school day for Cole, and Mason I kept home due to the prior day's fever. And if by noontime they weren't about to kill each other and me kill them, I'll be a monkey's uncle. Or Aunt.
Fighting.
"He's got my toy!!!!"
Kicking.
Screaming.
"He pushed me."
I was ready to medicate. Both me and them.
Surely after Thursday's display of rambunctiousness they were healthy enough for school on Friday. So off they went at 8:30am.
8:57 am. Caller ID -- Preschool.
Hi Ashley, this is Miss Alexandra. Cole has a fever.
"Say what?" I say. He's not had a fever since Tuesday, a whole 72 hours!
A call to Dr. Bob was in order, and being the fantastic pediatrician's office that they are we were set up with an appointment at 11am.
The verdict--Cole has an ear infection.
Good news--that's not contagious.
Bad news--that's why he's feverish.
It was lunchtime, I was spent from the past four days of sick children, so we went home. I would send daddy out for the prescription later.
Cole deteriorated throughout the afternoon. Soon he was literally delirious from the fever, sweating buckets and passing out on the couch. I felt awful for him.
Rey came home an hour or so earlier than usual and headed out with Mason and Lila to fill Cole's prescription.
Ten minutes went by and I got a phone call.
Ash, we've been in an accident.
Your heart does really drop right into your stomach when you hear that your children have been in an accident. Rey assured me they seem okay and I rushed over to collect my oldest and youngest from the side of the road.
Enter complication (there's always a complication). I can't fit three car seat in the back of Rey's Jeep.
Enter another complication. We have two spare booster seats that the boys use on rare occasions, but not a seat for Lila (you're not supposed to reuse seats if they've been in a crash, this much I knew).
I called Keri, who came to the rescue in her black Batmobile with hubby and kids in tow. Mason was all too pleased to ride in her car and I am told he chatted the whole way home.
We used Cole's seat for Lila since his was unoccupied in the crash. Later I found out this is a no-no. Even unoccupied seats need to be replaced. This whole thing is becoming a pain in my tush... but I digress.
The girl who hit Rey was a teenager. The accident report dates her birth year at 1993. 1993!!!! I am seriously having a hard time coming to grips with the fact that people who were born in 1993 are legally allowed to drive.
My parents didn't let me get my license until I was 17. My sister was almost 18. I am thinking there might be something to this.
Her little Toyota Corolla was smashed in almost to the dash. I thought this was a bad sign of car safety but my father corrected me that crumpling is a good thing to protect the driver. Makes sense.
The mvan did me proud. She held up well, although her entire ass is shifted up about 6 inches. The parking sensors are hanging out and there was holes all over the plastic. Of course the back hatch doesn't open. My Bugaboo is being held hostage back there. Since it folds the way it does, we can't get it over the seat. We can't put the seat down to free it because the third row seats in the Honda fold down into the cargo area in which the hostage is occurring. I don't see how we're going to get it free without becoming a member of the Cirque de Soleil or something...
We spent all day trying to get the insurance company get us a rental that will carry our whole family places. All at once. Apparently this is a big request. Listen people, I don't drive the mvan because it's sexy, alright? I actually need all those seats for people.
Finally, after I kid you not, four hours and a 30 minute car ride, we have a rental mvan. A red Dodge that is such a base model I am lucky it has power steering. Rey is making fun of me. I can no longer back up without assistance of a backup camera and parking sensors. I'm ruined, alright?
Like spell check and calculators before it, back up cameras are ruining the intelligence and skills of people worldwide.
Myself included. Except I can still spell.