Under siege

Last week I wrote about my pseudo Friday, the thirteenth, that actually happened on Friday, Sept. 24.  Since then I’ve revised my theory about the origins of my bad luck.

There’s an evil cosmic force out to get me, and it might be masquerading as that black cat in the Elizabethan collar down the street.  Something bad is going on and it ain’t limited to Friday.

Last Tuesday

I cut my thumb on the foil of an empty carton of yogurt that I am cleaning because good people recycle.  I put a bandaid on it.  Jax inspects it to make sure that I haven’t used one of his Scooby bandaids.  Blood soaks through the bandaid.  I grab a paper towel and shout that it’s time to go, but Jax is shoeless which means an unplanned, time-consuming, urgent search through the house impeded by a 31-pound Moose who wants to be held.  Moose is loud when he wants to be held.  I look for a pair of little shoes while carrying my Buddha baby.

Our search is unsuccessful.

Jax puts on his flipflops and we go outside.  He and Moose run to the swingset, and I decide to make a quick Moose-free run through the house.  I find the shoes on the floor of Jax’s room. 

Outside I discover the back gate wide open.  Jax is in the car.  Moose is nowhere to be seen.   I scream his name and round the corner to the driveway where I discover him running to the road.

I break into a sprint that surely could set records.  I catch Moose before he can become road kill.  We are late, and he has the blood of my thumb on him.  I send him to school like that. Child Services is probably on to me.

Wednesday

I might have the harrowing day from hell at work that might cause my blood pressure to shoot through the roof and require, not one, but two Xanax, to maintain any semblance of professionalism.  But one would be foolish to discuss one’s work on one’s blog because people get fired for that.  And as paltry as one’s paycheck might be (certainly not enough to cover Botox and Italian shoes), one needs one’s paycheck.  So nothing happens, and I have a good day.

Thursday – Friday

Blood pressure up because nothing happened.  I stay home from work.

Friday afternoon

Jax comes in the house.  “Mommy, Mommy, I had a throw-up in Mimi’s car!”

Gah. 

“Mommy, I need to call Papa and Aunt Belle to tell them I had a throw­-up.”

I give Jax lots of gingerale, and we make it through the evening without any more throw-ups.

Sunday morning

Moose has a tiny little throw-up.  On a scale of throw-ups, it’s a one.  He eats a blueberry muffin and seems to be okay.

Sunday evening

We go to the pumpkin sale at the church down the street so that I can get pictures of the little Beans among pumpkins.

Moose refuses to cooperate.  We buy some pumpkins.  I put the pumpkins, my pocketbook and my keys in the car, so that I can have my hands free to try the photo shoot again.  I lock the door.  I realize what I’ve done.

“Fire truck, fire truck, RED FIRE TRUCK!”

An elderly couple with two poodles gives us a ride home.  They offer to take us back to the church to get my car.  I politely decline.  They insist.

I explain that we are also locked out of our house.  They wish us luck.

I borrow a phone from a teenager on the street and call Belle.  “I’ll leave my house in 10 minutes,” she says.

Great.

We go in the backyard.  I swing the boys.  I chase the boys.   We play soccer.  We play more soccer.  It’s dinnertime.  I’m soccered out.

I get on a chair and remove the screen to the kitchen window.  I open the window six inches before it hits the lock.  I look at the opening.  I look at Jax. I have an idea.

Jax likes the idea.  He stands on the chair with me.  I hoist him up.  He decides he doesn’t like the idea.  I try to convince him he does.  “Turn your head sideways,” I tell him.

He’s in!

We’re in!

“Mommy, Mommy, can I do it again?”

“Hell No!”

Monday

I go to work feeling like I’m going to have a throw-up.  I have a big project to finish, and I can’t have a throw-up.

I feel awful all morning.  On my way to my 11 a.m. meeting, I am sick in the bushes.  I go to the meeting like nothing has happened.

After the meeting, I go back to my office and finish my project between trips to the bathroom.  It’s a miserable day. 

It gets worse.

I go home.  Little Beans are ebullient and irritating.  I’m sick again.  I let Jax watch Scooby all evening.  I try to entertain Moose.  Eight o’clock finally comes and I get in bed and cover my head.

Tuesday, 4 a.m.

Hyacinth decides she needs to go outside.  I open the back door and Rooster flies out.  Hyacinth follows at a casual pace.  I decide to drink a little water. I start feeling dizzy and queasy.  I sit on the floor.  I throw up.  I pass out and bang my head on the floor.

When I wake up, there’s blood on the floor and puke.  I try to clean it up.  I let the dogs back in and crawl to my bed.

Tuesday, 7 a.m.

Mimi calls to ask how I am.  I tell her.  She comes over, gets the little Beans ready, picks up my house, and takes them to the Wee School.

I take the day off again.

Tuesday, 11 p.m.

I’m in bed with my bandaged head, thinking that maybe I ought to go to church on Sunday.  I wonder if God will take on the evil cosmic force on my behalf.

I’ll let you know next week.

Addenda

1)  Having a panic attack.  Wonder if God will think I’m being sarcastic.

2)  Must go. Need to pray.

3)  I wonder if I have a concussion.