I know it’s a little uncouth to be sparse in the New Post department, and then to unload on everyone about an epically bad day. But, what the hell, I gotta get this story off my chest.
My story actually begins Sunday night, when we kept the kiddo too late at a friend’s house in the ‘burbs. He finally fell asleep around 10:30, but he got up at his regular time. For the less seasoned parents: this is a sure fire way to put your kid in a shit mood.
He had his swimming lesson, which went pretty well, all things considered. Not too much whining. He didn’t want to leave the house, because he was playing with his new train tracks from IKEA.
Whining recommenced at home, when lunch wasn’t cooking fast enough for him. I pull the tater tots out of the oven a few minutes early to appease him, put them on the counter, turn around to grab something for him to drink. He wants to see them, so he grabs the pan. Big old burn on his thumb.
We spend all of lunch time nursing the burn, which turned out to not be so bad after all. But, you know how a burn just nags at you and nags at you…
Time to leave for preschool, more frustration at having to leave the new train tracks. But, I’ve finally got him at the door, and he’s sitting down, looking at his hand for some reason. I start closing the door, and he lets out a howl. I guess he had his hand under the door, in the door jamb.
Yeah, I totally just closed my son’s pinkie finger in the door.
There’s skin peeling off, and it’s swollen as hell, but thankfully no blood and it’s not broken. But still. He’s wailing, and won’t take an ice pack because, “those are for burns!” And, “Bowie, do you still want to go to school today?” “I HAVE TO GO TO SCHOOL TODAY!”
So, by this time, we’ll have to drive to school, rather than take advantage of the within-walking-distance feature on this gorgeous day. We get down to the school with 5 minutes to spare, only? Street cleaning day. There is NO parking. I have to park 2 blocks away, which really defeats the purpose of driving.
We get into school, he’s still sobbing, but he stops for opening circle time. I’m thinking, ok, he’ll be fine. Circle time ends, and I start to get up but he tells me in his most pitiful voice, “Mama I want to go home.” So, I consult all the teachers, and the consensus reached is yes, he should go home.
On the way home, I’m sweating and frustrated and guilt-ridden and I think that a Diet Coke could ease my troubles, and cool me off. So, I make a pit stop at our favorite local market. I go to the case where I know they keep the fizzy
poison goodness, and there’s something else in the spot. The whole store, and not one Diet Coke to be had.
I try to get my husband to come home early from work so I won’t have to take the busted up kid with me to the vet, only to find he’s in his own private hell, a meeting that would end up lasting 5 hours.
Thankfully, when the finger started hurting less, Bowie behaved well. The vet trip was smooth sailing, and he was even telling kitty, “It will be ok.”
Afterward, we joined up with friends at the beach and watched one of the loveliest sunsets I have seen out here. So, screw you crappy Monday, I found a way to make it work anyway.