Ah, yes. Here I am, recovering from a semi-lovely weekend.
Saturday was fantastic--had a garage sale and made $415 off of my junk. My mom took Big E (Big Evil--Jenna) off my hands, which left me with Little E, who, when not being tortured by Big E, is not so E after all. We spent the remainder of the day over at my best friend's house, wherein I stuffed myself on barbecued ribs. Delish. I was having a dandy of a time, you know, without having to remind Jenna not to punch/stab/whip/beat their kids, when the phone rang. As soon as Scott said it was my mom, I knew my night was over.
Earache. I'm not sure there's another word that can grip a mother's heart like that. EARACHE. It's not that you're worried about your child, in fact, you know they're going to be just fine. Their ears will be fine...YOURS, not so much. Because the screaming and shrieking that comes with an earache is really just unbearable. While your kid is raising the dead with her wailing, you're running around the house trying to find something that will knock her out cold so the screaming will stop. While we were fresh out of Jack Daniels, we DID find her prescription eardrops, so we administered those. Like it was that easy. It was more like trying to force a cat into a bucket of cold water--it's just not gonna happen without a screen, a pillowcase, and some force. Okay, so it was KINDA like that, except without the supplies. Scott just had to restrain her so I could put four drops of the "magic ear fixer" in her right ear. Have you ever tried to restrain a pissed-off three-year old? It's like they automatically "have the power." We're wrestling with her, and I swear, the music to He-Man starts playing in the background. I was scared shitless, just expecting Battle Cat to jump out from the closet. She has this hidden, brute strength which she uses to protect her evil. Scott had a hard time holding her down, and she's THREE. I mean, I've been getting on him to work out lately--he's kinda been slacking off, but she's really, really strong. I promise. Anyways, 4 eardrops and a dose of Tylenol later, and Jenna was out for the count.
I ended up having to sleep with her. In her twin-sized bed. Against the window ledge. Nice.
Sunday was a large improvement. I received 20 ivory, pink-tipped roses, which are just gorgeous, mind you, and cards from my chicks. Jenna reminded me every 2-3 minutes that it was Mother's Day, in case I should forget, and Clairey told me, "pee-pee mudder dee!" Which, translated into adult English, is "Happy Mother's Day, to the woman that sustains my life." It was a good day.