Skipping Town

You can decide who's to blame after you read the whole thing. First, I have bronchitis / borderline pneumonia. So there's that. On Saturday, Andrew bundled the girls up to take them into town to run some errands and give me a chance to rest. There was a bit of confusion about Greta's shoes; before they even left the driveway, Andrew returned to the house to swap her sneakers for her snow boots so she could stomp around in the snow as they walked. All fine. One of their errands was to the grocery store in town, to pick up a jar of pepperoncinis. Andrew called to tell me there were none available, and these were a key ingredient to the Mississippi Roast already simmering away in the slow cooker--I'd have to drive to the larger grocery store and get them. So much for resting. So I bundled myself up, hacking, and got in the car and drove to the grocery store for the peppers. On my way home, I met Andrew and the girls at the library book sale so I could pick up their bag o...

Here's a scene that no one without a kid (or two) can even fathom as a reality. But it was my reality, tonight. Child-free people, enjoy. Scene: Bedtime. (Of course: the worst time of day.)  Situation: Lucia's hair is a solid nest of dried syrup from lunchtime. She has no idea how the syrup got in her hair; when she got off the bus, her hair looked sculptural.  Challenge: I have pneumonia. Andrew's in California. Action: Since I'm in no shape to give both kids a bath, I turn on the shower for Lucia. Greta doesn't have school tomorrow; her hair is a nest too, but no one will have to witness it. Chaos ensues: In the split second that I reach down (hacking out a lung) to grab a washcloth for Lucia, she steps into the shower and slips, falling and somehow getting a nasty cut on her thigh. She's hysterical, Greta's naked and causing trouble somewhere else, I can barely stand upright, and there's no way of remedying Lucia's hair problem ...