If you haven’t had one of those weeks, then stop reading and please visit another blog.
If you have, then keep reading and commiserate with me!
It’s been a few weeks since I endured One. Of. Those. Weeks. I’m not sure I can look back at it and laugh just yet, but I can share about it, and that makes me feel better (Reason #24 why I blog).
Work was stressful, which by itself would be no big deal. But when work AND home are stressful, then nobody’s happy. And then there’s what happened at the dentist, the fight, and the dance.
My son, 11, had to get 2 fillings that week. He’d had one filling 2 weeks earlier and pretty much spent that appointment writhing in discomfort and distress. Picture your firstborn on the dentist’s chair with his feet flexed and his arms reaching up to the sky for mercy. That was him, even though he’d been numbed.
I was so stressed about the follow-up appointment that I blurted my concerns to my boss. She sprung into doctor mode and paged a colleague, who discussed the situation and recommended a mild anti-anxiety drug for my son. Thus, I called my pediatrician to describe the situation and request drugs. She agreed and prescribed one pill of Lorazepam, an anti-anxiety drug. Because it was a controlled substance, I had to pick up the prescription in person, deliver it to the pharmacy myself, and hand over my driver’s license at checkout. You know, in case I was a meth-head on the state’s list of controlled substance abusers! Then I had to pick up my son early from school (leaving work early during a stressful time, of course) and make him take a controlled substance in the school parking lot in preparation of his dentist visit. And yes, I think it was a drug-free zone so I should have pulled out of the parking lot first.
An hour later, he was as chilled as a penguin in the dentist chair. And I was a relieved, but controlled-substance providing mama!
By Wednesday afternoon, I found myself refereeing another epic battle of Stupid Sibling Fights. The result was that I separated my screaming children and sent them to their rooms for 10 minutes. When time was up, I let my son out of his room first and then went to my daughter’s room.
When I opened her door, I found my seven-year-old sitting in the middle of the floor. She stared at me unsmiling. On one side of her was an empty picture frame. On the other side was the picture of my and her as a baby that she had removed from the picture frame.
My thought: How am I going to handle the teen years when she’s already practicing advanced psychological warfare at age 7?!
On Thursday, my son decided to attend his first middle school dance. It was a costume party and he was going with a buddy. I dropped them off and his buddy’s mom was going to pick them up.
Thirty minutes after the dance started, my son’s buddy fell ill and his mom picked him up early. My son decided to stay and enjoy the rest of the dance (but really who enjoys a middle school dance? Anyone ever in the history of time? NO!).
That meant now that I would pick him up when the dance was over. I figured I should arrive a little early in case the parking lot was a zoo, so I was pleased to note it was 8:23 when I arrived. The dance was over at 8:30.
ONLY IT WASN’T.
As I pulled into the parking lot, illuminated by a few dim streetlights, I saw my son emerging from the dark night, running towards me.
“WHERE WERE YOU?” he asked as he jumped in the car.
“Wh-a-a-t do you mean? I’m early.”
“The dance ended at 8:00 Mom!”
Uh, he’d been waiting at the nearly dark curb for 23 minutes? Whoops. And because I have refused to get him a cell phone due to the dangers of online bullying and sexting, he’d been unable to contact me.
Oh, and did I mention that entire week my body was raging with old lady out-of-control PMS hormones and everything was making me cry? Plus, there was that whole stressful work thing. Not to mention the usual daily shenanigans of life like scooping the litter box, signing homework, cooking dinner, paying bills, etc.!
How did I survive? Prayer
Have you had one of those weeks? Can you laugh about it?