A special taste of mediocrity 365 days in a row

I have been feeling sorry for myself this week: poor me with my grueling job, three kids, a car with frozen brakes and me on a diet free of wine to boot. By tonight, Friday, I had convinced myself that my life was just about as bleak on one can get, unless of course you live in Iceland where things really suck right now. But aside from a country in utter ruin, I had fully come to the conclusion that the only answer in my immediate future was to hobble on down to the 7-11, buy a pack of smokes and keep heading West to Vegas where I might strike up a career as a plus sized showgirl, if there is such a thing. Then I took a peek in my Caloden archives just to see if I had taken any step whatsoever in a positive direction since 365 days ago. (This is something I do from time to time to gauge if I truly am treading water or am about to drown in my life all together.) I came across this post from exactly one year ago, I guess things are slightly better. Maybe I’ll stop bitching now.

January 30, 2008
Seriously. It’s just no damn good.
I wish I could be more upbeat and full of witty commentary but here’s the deal, I can’t. Yes, once again the Benevolent Tyrant, Mr. Vanilla has kicked my ass so efficiently that I simply find myself wishing for a quick end to this current state of insanity. It all started last Friday when Cassidy began coughing. She doesn’t ever poke forth a dainty cough, no she barks like a deranged circus seal possessed be demons from hell. Of course since this happened late Friday and our doctor doesn’t work on Saturdays I knew we were in for a long weekend. I kept her home with my mom while I worked the weekend at the ski mountain and called home every few hours for an update. By Saturday night she was running a temperature of 103.2 and I just kept crossing my fingers until 8 a.m. on Monday when I could make a doctor’s appointment for her. Matt takes Devon on Sundays since the little guy skis every Friday and Saturday, it gives hims a chance to sleep in and catch his breath after two days on the slopes. (No, I don’t believe that three year-olds have any business on skis but I get it all for free -lessons, rentals, lunch- and Devon really loves his teachers and ski mates.) When I picked Devon up after work he was listless and hot to the touch. After a lame attempt at dinner, the effer still doesn’t eat worth beans, a bath and stories I popped him into bed and hoped for the best. But it wasn’t to be. Thankfully Cass slept fairly well thanks to some codeine cough medicine I found left over from last winter’s colds. But Devon woke up at 11:45 and continued to wake every 45 minutes for the rest of the night. And he didn’t just stir and whimper, he screamed, clawed at his throat and was so hot that he sweat all over and then got the shivers.
Monday we got in to see the doctor who took one look at both Devon and Cass and asked if we had gotten flu shots. I had, they also come free with my winter job, but Devon was slightly under the whether that day, Cassidy had gone to a friend’s house to play and although Loren was with me he had such a teen boy drama about needles that I gave up and told him to hide his tender eyes while I got my shot. I could have sworn I saw the slightest bit of scorn/shock in my doctor’s eyes before he he checked out the kids and asked us to proceed to the lab for a flu test. There a nice lady stuck a swab up both of Devon’s nostrils and caused him to scream and thrash and tell the lady that she was bad and hurting his feelings. She probably heard this before because it didn’t seem to faze her. The flu test is supposed to take about 10 minutes to complete but after less than 90 seconds the lab technician poked her head over the counter and told us we were positive. Again, I thought I saw a moment of scorn in her eyes. And why not? I could have prevented it all with shots. So I took Devon home to be with my mom and went to fill the prescriptions. The kids have pretty good insurance through Matt’s job but since everybody besides me in the house has to be on Tamiflu the tab still came to $155. (And here is where I say: Goddamn fucking Republicans and their inability to see that our health care system is a fucking mess.)
Since Monday afternoon I have been trying to get Devon to take his various medications. There is the Tylenol/Motrin for his fevers and aches, the codeine cough medicine for his hacking cough and the Tamiflu to help cut the flu time down from about ten days to four or five. Cass has been a champ about her medications but Devon is an altogether different creature. He won’t take his medicine. Most kids can be bribed with treats but since Devon doesn’t eat on a regular basis and has little interest in any sort of food this has not been a productive approach. I have tried hiding the medicine in chocolate milk or juice but he can taste the slight difference and now insists on watching me when I pour him milk or Gatorade. I have tried holding him down but he surprisingly strong for such a small person. Then yesterday I took an approach I thought I would never stoop to. I took away his Softie Dog, the one thing he loves most in this world, and told him he couldn’t have him back until he took his medicine. What kind of bitch ass mom is so cruel as that? I mean this is his Lovey, the thing he covets above all other things and I kidnapped him. I felt as low as low could be but I kept going. Of course Devon’s angelic face crumpled into tears and pain but he still refused to take his flu medicine. So then I threatened to to toss Softie out in the snow storm that was raging outside the door. That produced screams, but still no taking of the medicine. Finally I felt like such a heal that I cuddled Devon on my lap, gave him back Softie Dog and injected the medicine into his mouth between sobs, praying that I wouldn’t cause him to choke. He spit most of it out but just that little bit helped. His fever went down, the coughing was less and he had a bit of energy. The medicine scene was no better last night as my mom held Softie and I pinned Devon to my lap to get some medicine in him. I don’t know what I’ll do this morning. This poor child is going to be so traumatized if I keep up this torture but if he doesn’t take his medication he might well end up in th hospital. But since I have only managed to sleep for about six hours since Sunday night I am a little light on ideas at the moment. I asked my mother is she had any keen input and she suggested that perhaps we up the ante and hold a flame under Softie Dog until Devon agrees to the medication. I sometimes wonder how I ever survived my childhood. I’m pretty sure she was only kidding but you just never know.