The little one apparently has strep throat. She's not really so little these days, but she always seems like my baby again when she's sick. Only more so, since I wasn't allowed to touch her when she was a baby. Now she's all very cuddly and needy, madly ringing the bell (really part of a drum kit from toddlerhood) I was fool enough to leave by her bed. She gets such high fevers, and then gets so intermittently listless and weird, that I worry. I walked into her room two nights ago to find her perched on a little chair in front of her ladybug nightlight, staring. "Hello, Mama." she said in a Talking-Tina-like-tone. "I'm just learning some things. Legend tells us there is a new world in each of these spots. Some represent solids, and some gases. We can give them names. What name will you choose?" I wanted to run screaming, but I stayed and thought of names instead. Still, I worry. And she mentioned headaches. Although it's a "think horses, not zebras" scenario of the first order, I don't like any mention of headaches. So today we went to the doctor. And by Jove, she has strep throat. She never even mentioned her throat. She's not the most reliable indicator of her own symptoms. It sounds weird, but strep throat is one of those illnesses I've always thought of as imaginary, since I have been whining to doctors about my viruses for years, and they never fail to stick that swab down my throat which every single time is negative. So I've come to believe it's just part of the procedure, like taking my blood pressure. The reading isn't going to help me feel better, and neither is the stick in my throat. It's just something that must be done.
So she and I have been home alone for a few days and I must confess, it's trying. I've either been wringing my hands with worry or bracing myself for an endless onslaught of loud, fast, nonsensical talking. Oh, the talking. Filling every available pause in the world. Today I actually heard myself say, in response to the question "Do you want to play 'Hangman in the Air,' or 'Hard Math Game,' or 'Word Scramble,' while you drive?" with "No, I really, completely do not. I just want to listen to this song and the thoughts in my head for a bit, if that would be all right."
But I was so, so relieved that her fever was finally down from 104 today. I should have played stupid "Hangman in the Air" and kept my mouth shut.
And then the fridge died. Well, David says it's the compressor, but I say it's a sign from the universe that it's time for a new fridge, one that does not leak vast pools of water all over the kitchen and slam itself open every time you look in it, and most importantly, one that does not turn all ice cream into a creepy, gelatinous soup. Tonight David and Jarrah trolled around town looking at fridges (the new fashion is something called "French doors") while I had a girls' night "which I totally needed" at this groovy wine bar called Splash. The name is deliciously descriptive because the whole place is tall metal spigots (with descriptions attached) under which you slide a glass and press a button and a perfect ounce of yummy wine pours out. Even more fun is the phone-card-like technology of prepaying so you can walk around splashing ounces to your heart's content, from spigots far and near. Don't be concerned--I put ten dollars on mine and took it home with five remaining. The first wine was good, the second was yummy, and the third (which was also the fourth) was sublime, and though that made a total of four ounces I decided then and there that I was cutting myself off until next time. And there will be a next time.
Thanks for your kind thoughts about my recent disappointment. They really helped. I think I am growing more stoic by the day. I also have some things to say about our recent Family Day weekend in another post which might actually contain photos. Since I know you like those.