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Friday, May 22, 2015

The Daily Chai Needs Some Excitement

Today's chai was good. Really, really good. Plus, I got a laugh out of that sweet girl that serves it every morning and it made my whole day.

Judging from the lack of readers from yesterday's post, writing about being tired is not an attention getting subject. Sorry about that. 

Once again, I face my last night before leaving my kids for a week and they are now in bed asleep and I have a little quiet time. It's been a good week with them, especially having them over the long weekend. It makes me laugh because we get stir crazy in the winter, staying in most evenings, just watching TV or hanging out and spring comes and all I want to do is be outside, walking, exploring, biking etc. Today was a beautiful evening and instead of begging to go to the park, they insisted we have a movie night.  They've actually been begging for it all week and with one thing or another, we just never had enough time to watch a whole movie. Tonight, I got them ready for bed right after dinner and we watched Pitch Perfect. Not entirely appropriate for a nine and a four year old, but they seemed to enjoy it since it was a lot like Glee, which is a family favourite. Our favourite line was, "I'm going to finish him! I'm going to finish him like a cheesecake!"

After the movie Kate insisted that I feel a lump on her foot that she said hurt so much she couldn't walk on it. Wait, what? When did this start? I hadn't noticed her limping and Kate, the Queen of Complainers, had not once said her foot hurt her until tonight. 

"I don't know, remember I said I thought stepped on cat kibble at Nan's house?" 

"Kate! That was on Monday, it's now Thursday! Let me see!"

I dutifully look at her smelly foot (ew) and sure enough, there is a hard lump on her heel. I make the mistake of pressing on it and she starts screaming bloody murder at me and pounding the bed with her fists. Okay, so it hurts when I do that then. Good to know. It is red and swollen and looks infected, but why, I have no idea. I can see a little spot in the middle of the swelling and wonder if she'd been stung by a bee, but I'm positive I would have heard about something like that when it happened. So then I think maybe it's just a little sliver that's become infected after being stuck in there for three days.  The only thing I can think to do is open the hole a little bit with cuticle clippers and squeeze the mother effing shit out of this lump. You can imagine this plan of action does not go over well. I ask her to please not kick me in the face and her reply is a shrill, "I probably will!" She does not kick me in the face, but she shrieks and cries and coughs so much I think she's going to barf on me while I'm working over her foot. 

Then a little bit of pus comes out so I tell Kate there is indeed an infection in her heel, but I still can't see why. I squeeze some more, hoping something, anything, will come out and give me the source of the infection. The entire time, Kate screams in my ear that she hates me and that I have to stop and it hurts SO MUCH, please please, please stop. Anna, after standing there watching and yelling at me to stop hurting her sister, flees at the sight of pus and blood oozing from her sister's heel. She stays put in her room, crying in her bed and still yelling at me to stop hurting Katie. I start feeling a little frantic myself, as I'm sure you can imagine, with all this screaming going on and one daughter in what appears to be genuine pain. 
Remember this?

All of a sudden, a tiny sliver of glass pops out, clean as a whistle! Kate is so shocked, she stops crying and says indignantly, "Glass? I had a piece of glass in my foot for three days?" She immediately starts screaming again about how she hates glass and she is never going barefoot again and why was there broken glass on the floor ANYWAY?!??!! Because Kate, three and half weeks ago, my ass broke a glass and apparently I didn't do a very good job cleaning it up.

Mom guilt explodes. Of course, I didn't actually tell her it was probably from my broken glass, she would never let me forget it. She has a memory like her mother.

On second thought, I can live without excitement, thanks.


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