Thursday, November 16, 2006

The Dark Side

I distinctly remember telling one of you to check my biorhythm
chart a couple weeks ago. I can see that you listen about as well
as my students and my own personal children. Apparently, the ol'
in-the-basement biorhythm cycle is repeating itself. Yesterday was

The #1 son started the day by making us depart late for school.
As he climbed out of the large SUV, I asked if he had his homework.
"No. I didn't have any..." He panicked. "Give me the phone! Grandma
will go out and get it!" I grabbed the phone out of his sweaty little
hand. I was parked in the middle of the road, already running late,
and did not have time to hear him wheedling his grandma. I sent him
in, and called her myself on the way to drop off the other boy. She
said she would drive all the way to the Mansion and look for it, and
bring it to him by 11:00.

The copy machine I needed was booked up until 3 minutes before
the bell. I remembered upon reading the announcements that my
info for the December newsletter was due by the end of the day.
I waited an extra hour to eat lunch because it was Turkey Dinner
day at the Basementia building. They had saved two dinners for
me and my aunt, but they had put brown gravy all over the turkey
and mashed potatoes. I am not a gravy fan. I ate it anyway, which
was a big mistake, because that gravy was saltier than a smoked ham
encrusted with sea salt garnished with Spanish olives and floating in a
pool of brine. Within 30 minutes of eating, I felt deathly sick. Like
vomiting sick. I held it in for the final two classes. I made #2 son
have the vomit bowl ready for the drive home. I think I may have
picked up a touch of what hit him after the flu shot.

On the way home, we had to stop by The Devil's Playground for
some modeling clay and supplies for #2 son's Native American
diorama. I also bought a large Wal*Mart cheese pizza so I wouldn't
have to cook. I'm not so sure, but I think the Wal*Mart checker
flirted with me. She was a woman. #1 son whined about the pizza,
but in begging for money for the gameroom, cut a deal to eat pizza
in exchange for a dollar. Extortion. He also wanted a slushie, which
I didn't even want to think about, so I gave him money and walked
out with #2 boy.

#1 arrived at the large SUV and proceeded to climb in, knock the
lid off the slushie, pour it into my purse and onto his new coat all
at once. Upon arriving home, he declared he was not eating pizza,
but the leftover Chinese that he'd had on Tuesday night. He swore
he could warm it himself, but with visions of sweet & sour sauce
coating my microwave, I caved and did it for him. HH called to say
he would be running late, so #2 had a large cheese pizza to himself.
He ate three pieces, the promptly pooped his pants before sitting
down on the toilet. Hey! He WAS sick the day before. Gathering
the soiled clothing did not make my queasy stomach feel any better.
Go figure.

I remembered the newsletter info, and emailed it to the sponsor
around 8:00 p.m. Hey! It was due by the end of the day. The day
was not over until midnight.

We were supposed to get 1-3 inches of snow on grassy areas last
night. I knew we wouldn't, because it was forecast. We only get
snow when the weathermen say we won't. HH whacked me in the
back after two hours of deep sleep. Right between the shoulder
blades, four or five whacks. I don't count whacks so accurately
when I am coming out of a deep sleep. I hate it when that happens.
I was in the middle of a dream, too, about the Lobster-Eating
Stuntman Association, who wanted to rent out the school for their
awards dinner. I told them they couldn't because they planned to
serve alcohol. Next thing I know, a woman stuntman in a dress is
sliding headfirst down a flight of stadium stairs, laughing her head off.
I was about to chow down on a stringy-looking lobster lung-on-a-
stick when a stuntman said, "I wouldn't eat that if I were you." Then
the WHACK ATTACK upon my BACK occurred. I got up to
check on the kids, and when I came back to bed, HH was spouting
cold air out of his CPAP blowhole again. I propped a pillow over his
face--I mean between us--and tried to resume my lobster dream, but
all I got was Mabel's husband renting me a house with a leaky roof.
When I called to complain, he cheerfully agreed to bring over his
shopvac and clean up the mess. He sucked up about 6 inches of
water from the sky-blue area rug over my hardwood living room floor,
and when I asked what he was going to do about the roof, he said,
"I don't see any reason to do anything about it." Mabel, you need
to have a talk with him.

The chewingest dog had spent the night gnawing a deer haunch
on various locations about the porch, thumping her bounty to and fro.
This did not assist me in stalking the elusive ZZZZs. I woke up at
5:00 to find (surprise, surprise) no snow, but a lot of rain. HH
denied the backwhacking affair.

We made it to school without incident, where I related yesterday's
joke about me being soooo old. And a kid said, "Oh. We were told
you're SO OLD that your Social Security number is ONE."

I am trying to see the bright side. I have a family. I have a job. I have
a Mansion. And this afternoon, a student told me she thought my age
was 32.


scrapper said...

Not the Lobster stuntman dream! I have that dream all the time! *L* Are you sure you didn't eat the chinese leftovers? Sounds like a MSG induced dream to me!

Hope tomorrow is a better day!

MrsCoach2U said...

I think I'd have had to put a kink in his CPAP hose! Mr.Coach is always smacking me and never remembers it but if I so much as roll into his space I get to her him whine all day about it.

Chickadee said...

Oh Hillbilly Momma! Did anyone else get sick off that salty nasty turkey and gravy? And what an odd coincidence that all of you were having some sort of bodily fluid problem at the same time. Ugh.

Hope you're feeling better.

LanternLight said...

I distinctly remember telling one of you to check my biorhythm
chart a couple weeks ago.

Well for that we need the year, OH SO PRETTY one.... I'm calling 1960.

deadpanann said...

The joys of motherhood-- stubborn, pooping, slushee spilling little bundles of joy. I can hardly WAIT to get knocked up!

Hillbilly Mom said...

Nope. No Chinese for me that night. HH picked it up in his town of work, and I don't like it from there.

Yeah, it's all fun and games until someone loses a lung. HH never remembers his bed-hogging transgressions. I especially hate his FEET on me.

My aunt, who also works there, said she was dying of thirst all afternoon, but not sick. I was fine the next day.

Oh. That must be why nobody followed through. 1960, you say? Is it time to color my hair again? Haven't you heard? I'm only 32. The students don't lie.

Miss Ann,
And that's the EASY part of it. The barking cough is the worst, because it comes in the middle of the night, and you're SURE they have epiglottitis and are at death's door. Oh, and the antibiotic allergies are a bit scary, too, what with their little faces swelling beyond recognition, and the doctors not letting the nurses give the antidote in their preferred method. The one that WORKS, because they have done so many of them, as opposed to the ER doc who has to consult a book when a pediatric patient comes in.

Best wishes in your quest for this insanity.

Stewed Hamm said...

32? Jeez, you're old.

Ann - I've heard that there are people on the internets that can help you out with that. For free, even!

Hillbilly Mom said...

See here, Sonny, don't MAKE me run over your toe with my oxygen tank! I'll have you know that my Social Security number is "1", and I demand respect from you young whippersnappers!

Do not taunt Miss Ann, even under the guise of 'helping' her. It is forbidden. If I wasn't so old, I'd come over there and grab you by your ear, you ill-mannered pup!