Metal Meredith

I am not sure why I can’t escape it this time. Since Henry was born, I seemed to have either been more sick when I get sick, or I am getting the same ailment more than once in a short time span. And dammit, it just isn’t fair.

This time, I had that same miserable fever and aches virus that lasted another 48 hours. I just had it 3 weeks ago. I spent 2 evenings in bed, on top of a heating pad, under 4 layers of blankets and 3 layers of clothing. I don’t remember much, but I do recall many hallucinations about meatballs, the Sunny Patch Friends, Lost, The Hamptons, movie producing and Republican Conspiracies. I kept yelling out how I wasn’t entertaining Lost theories while I was so sick. Who was I yelling to? Myself.

While others are able to treat sickness with a hefty dose of sleep and drugs, I lie awake and unable to sleep. These viruses send my brain into overtime. It is nearly impossible to turn it off. Each time my eyes droop closed, my brain starts in on theories and solving problems and putting out fires. Not ones that might save the world, no. These are more like how to get the actor to respond to thoughts on the commercial I am shooting. Or how my stomach actually hurts because Republicans have kidnapped me and inserted some sort of internal tracking device that makes me hard and unfeeling. (No really, I seriously had that one, I am not trying to create drama here!)

It also seems that no amount of over the counter drug can help me. Those are the times that I curse my need to destroy all narcotic prescriptions as they are no longer needed. How I wish I had that Codeine to make me pass out. I wanted to feel no pain!

Happily, I am one entire day free of a fever now. The aches and pains are all but gone with exception of a dull throat ache. Phil stepped up to the plate and not only worked on his own projects, but kept the children alive and thriving, made goodie bags for Vivienne’s “School Birthday” and took them to Target to get Icees. He is a good man, that one.

As usual, I am spending a good several hours of alone on Mother’s Day. Not because I am being punished, but because this is part of my gift. Hooray!

This morning, I was greeted with a gaggle of little gifts and Vivienne requesting to make me a special breakfast. Instead, Vivienne and I both cooked Coconut Encrusted French Toast. We had so much fun cooking together. She was very impressed with what she had made.

A funny thing has been happening lately. For every day that Vivienne is a turd to her little brother, there is a day when she plays with him by chasing him around, helping him slide or push his truck. She has started helping him into her baby stroller and then pushing him around the house. He loves it! Last weekend, she spent a good 20 minutes pulling him in the wagon around the back yard. I am not sure what the change is that has helped this occur, but I am not complaining.

I know better than to wish for siblings that never fight or are ridiculously close. I do hope for siblings that enjoy each other more than not. Her recent actions lead me to think that maybe there is hope that they will spend a brief period playing together before Henry gets too unruly or Vivienne gets too sophisticated. She is almost a Kindergartner, you know.

Although I am so wonderfully happy to have my kids, I am giddy at the prospect of having my computer back by the middle of this week. That is possibly the best gift of all today. Although, sitting her in the quiet would be a very close second.

It surely isn’t me. Soon you will find me sitting very still in a very air conditioned house trying not to exert any energy. I am not a good summer person. In fact, dare I say that I hate heat? My body doesn’t react well to the 72 then 100, then 75 then 90degree temperature changes that occur when one goes from Target to the car to the house in the summertime.

Today is the starting point. Most people are skipping out on school early or coming home from work with a spring in their step. Not me, BAH HUMBUG! Here I sit, waiting for Henry to get up from a nap, looking at the temperature widget at the top of my computer screen slowly rise. 82 degrees. “Brilliant Sunshine”.

Sure.

Yep. It is a whole post about my boobs. I would call them breasts, but that makes me uncomfortable. Not sure why, it just makes them seem so fancy.

Last week I shared these 11 sentences about my boobs to my good friends on the SNDM message board:

1. I love my boobs.

2. Even though they become flat and oblong when I don’t have a bra on.

3. When I do have a bra on, WATCH OUT.

4. They are high and proud, round and luscious.

5. I keep looking down at them.

6. It isn’t hard to figure out why boys like them.

7. Even gay men like them.

8. I used to get hugs from everyone because of them and I was ok with that.

9. Most people that meet me have met them.

10. I am not shy about the low cut shirts.

11. I have now completed 11 sentences about my boobs.

Wasn’t that special? Now, later that night I was in the bathroom with Vivienne while she was brushing her teeth. She was, as is the norm, trying to poke, punch or smack my chest even though I often tell her that they are a ‘private part’ that isn’t for anyone to touch but me. So she grabbed her own chest and said “Fine, I will grab my own boobies.” Then, after laying a flat hand on her tiny 4 year old chest, she proclaimed “But Mom, my boobies aren’t long like yours.”

Long. Yep, long is the word she used to describe them. Not big or huge or squishy, but long. Luckily, I am a realist and know that to be true. Thanks genetics!