I suppose I should blog more often than once a month.
I do post on FB, but that’s only because it’s easier, when the Kindle is working. Right now it’s dead, and not charging.
Most of my FB activity is all #Gosnell this or Boy Scouts that. I did post about eagerly anticipating the end of May, because I have arranged for the kids to be off music lessons and gymnastics/sports for June, July, and August. We all need a break from the constant running.
Took George to the doctor today. The doctor praised me for catching his ear infection so quickly. No clever detective work occurred. If I find myself strapping a kid into a car seat at 1 am and going for a drive to get him to fall asleep, something is wrong.
After his appointment, I had to get the antibiotics at the clinic’s pharmacy. I waited for over 45 minutes, with a hungry baby who had an ear infection. I thought I was going to lose it, and the only thing that saved me was another mom with two little kids in tow who was also waiting and who did vocalize her frustration to the people at the pharmacy.
I gave her a mental fist bump.
While I waited, I had plenty of time to think about how the doctor tried to look in George’s throat, and he wasn’t complying, so she pried his jaw apart with her fingers and held his tongue down. No big deal – I do that move multiple times every day as he finds things on the floor.
Except she wasn’t wearing gloves.
And except I realized, in the interminable wait for Augmentin, that she had not washed her hands when she came into the exam room.
I’m not a germophobe…but with doctors’ offices, I AM a germophobe. Can’t wait to see what lovely viruses he brought home today.
Since I have been accused, by my not-spontaneous children, that I do not give enough warning about upcoming, unexpected events, I informed them at dinner that we were all going to a sports banquet tomorrow evening.
They all nodded OK.
“It’s dressy,” I said, clarifying “church-clothes.”
They all nodded OK.
“The theme is Italian,” I said, absently, thinking about the covered dish I planned to make.
My reverie was disturbed by the animated discussion of my children about how they would accomplish this theme. Fritz thought he would draw a thin, black moustache on his face. Billy thought he would wear his father’s fedora. I’m pretty sure I heard the phrase “tommy gun” before I interrupted.
“The theme is for the food, not the clothes!!”
And that was the end of that conversation.