Wednesday, February 25, 2015

The Virus

My Goofy Child. Lord love him. He's had a pretty rough day, but he's highly entertaining. He woke me up last night to let me know that he was sick. His throat hurts like when he had strep. I, being the loving and attentive mother that I am, told him he was fine and sent him back to bed. I knew he would try to convince me to call the doctor right then and make an appointment. We've discussed office hours many, many times. Morning comes, he's not exactly "fine," but he's not dying either. Unless you ask his opinion.

I called first thing and got an 11:15 appointment. The Goofy One does not have strep. Yet. Remember last time he "didn't" have strep and I sent him to school for three days? We'll see the results for sure in three days and then I will say he doesn't have strep. As of today, what he does have is a virus. The doctor told him so. There is no medication to help it. The doctor told him so.

I called his dad and let him know that he has a virus, while the Goofy Child listened. We passed over the virus and started talking food. Walter has been having weight issues, and the Goofy One gained 23 lbs since last January. Alex's high calorie diet is working well for them, while he isn't gaining much at all so we have to rethink how to cut calories for some kids and increase calories for the one.

Walter had a counseling appointment today, the topic of the day was trying to find a way to take more stress and responsibility off of Walter. It's a whole big thing where Walter doesn't want to be the oldest anymore, he feels like he's a co-parent, etc. The counselor asked if Goofy could take more responsibility for himself. I had to laugh. He's come a long way- he can independently pick out his clothes and get dressed- but that's a long way from taking care of himself. He absolutely needs help making a peanut better and jelly sandwich and there's no reason Walter can't make it once in a while.

Once the day was over and we were all home, the Goofy Child went looking for food and found a corndog. He loves corndogs. He found it on his own, microwaved it by himself, and ate it. A little while later, he came looking for me to ask me to clean up the mess he accidentally made in the kitchen floor. Lord, have mercy, it was awful!

I yelled for help. I asked Walter to get me a towel that was ready to be trashed, and bring it here. He huffed and puffed and sighed like I am such a slave driver and went to get the towel. We're standing on opposite sides of the kitchen. I with my eyes covered, trying not to gag and he looking at the mess with towel in hand. "Please, can you just ... put it over it?" "Um, no. No. Your kid." I'm texting my boyfriend, wondering what the hell I'm going to do about this one, thinking... well, the counselor did ask if Goofy could take more responsibility for himself, now would be a good time for that... Oh, my God, how am I going to do this!? For the first time since the decision was made, for a split second, I almost regretted my divorce. I didn't quite realize when I signed those papers I was giving up the only person in the house willing and able to clean up puke. But, no. I'm a strong woman. I am a single mother. I have done many things I thought I couldn't do. I need to put my big girl panties on and just do it. I walked over and threw the towel down. Then ran for the bathroom.

Round two, I found he got the edge of the trash can. Then ran for the bathroom.

Round three, I got it. I cleaned it all up and sanitized the hell out of everything it touched.

I decided we were so not doing tacos for supper. I made chicken patties and mashed potatoes because it's the closest thing I have to chicken noodle soup right now. I really need to get to the store. After eating all of his potatoes and two bites of his chicken patty, the Goofy Child remembered his dad's miracle cure. Toasted butter. Uh-uh. I'm not going to keep putting food in that belly. It needs to keep what it has before I go making more food. I told him not right now. So he called his dad.

He told his dad that I didn't know how to make the toasted butter, and he really needs it, he has a virus. He asked his dad to come and fix it. Damnit. We should have thought of that when there was puke in the floor. I heard him try to explain what toasted butter was, "you know, you made it last time and it cured me? Mom says she doesn't know how to make it." That's not what I said, but ok. I heard him explain that he has a virus, "I almost threw up last night, but today is just bad. I hope I don't get the kid cancer." What!? "Kid cancer." I can only imagine what his dad is saying. "KID. CANCER. You know, like Papaw, except for kids?" Don't laugh. "Remember, that kid who almost died from the kid cancer?" Um...must be a prayer thing. or Fox2 news. "Yeah. Well, this virus is pretty bad. I have a virus. It's almost like kid cancer." Oh, Lord. Don't laugh. The Goofy Child goes on to asking if his dad ever had a virus, and if it was bad. But it couldn't have been as bad as Goofy's virus. He thinks his toe might be infected, too. Then, the asshole threw me under the bus. "Mom! It's 'regular toast,' dad said. He said it's just 'regular toast.' " I immediately picked up my phone and sent a message thanking the traitor for giving the kid the recipe and suggesting he take custody until his magic toast cure sends the child into remission. He declined.

Once I was done laughing quietly, I tried to explain to Goofy that a virus is no big deal, it's just like a cold. It'll do what it does and go away on it's own. It's nothing like kid cancer. It's not even serious. He disagrees. This discussion is going along the same lines as office hours. I'm just going to let it go.

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