Misery Loves...Absolutely Nothing

So this was a fun week, glad that's over, don't let the door hit your ass on the way out.

All three kids were sick all freaking week long. I feel like nauseous road kill and the entire island's internet seemed to go down on Monday, for permanents. Don't laugh, I think that last one is what did me in. Since Marinka and I are having a bloggy best friend love fest this week, I am going to copy her week in review.

Monday. Take Ess and Gee to preschool even though I absolutely know they are coming down with Cue's horrific cold and should not go. I am so completely that mother. I'm sorry universe and all other mothers. But, come on, that's where they picked up this tropical plague. Curse our defunct internet connection during Cue's nap time. Worry about how I would post on Wednesday for our bloggy exchange. Attempt time change math. Give up and nap myself.

Tuesday. All kids have to stay home. The horror. Still stressing about getting guest post scheduled for Wednesday. Matt unsympathetic. Gives me sarcastic shit along the lines of 'oh no, your blog post won't post, what will you do, how will the blog world survive??' Consider poison, but discard because someone else must take whiny, snotty, coughing children away from me. Take all kids to local coffee shop with excellent internet connection and somehow schedule post while feeding them oatmeal raisin cookies. Two glasses are broken in the completion of this project. We leave quickly in disgrace and probably cannot return. Ever. But, really that was the coffee girl's fault. Why did she bring us glass glasses of water?

Wednesday. I can't remember. I've blocked it. All kids still sick. Apartment is a disgusting petry dish of germiness. Am descending into madness, intermittently barking 'COVER YOUR MOUTHS' at kids and sometimes the walls. After bedtime, I drive to an Exxon with wireless to check that I executed my post exchange mission. I did. That was fun, briefly.

Thursday. Matt's birthday. Needs to be carved from history and exterminated. He doesn't need to be thirty-six anyway. I vomit twice before eight in the morning. Take Ess and Gee to preschool despite clear signs that I should not do so, with eye on the prize of putting Cue down for a six-hour nap and wallowing in my misery on the couch. Horrible call. It's Christmas program practice day.

"Excuse me? It's what?"
"We need you to drive them to the resort where we are holding the program tonight."
"They won't be attending the program tonight."
Shocked, surely you are the most uncaring mother in the universe look. "Well, everyone has to go to the practice today."
"I really can't drive them. I might die."
"You didn't help with the driving for the last field trip."

I know! Because on preschool days, I don't want them in my car! ? Seriously? These lovely, energetic, Seventh Day Adventist ladies are under the misimpression that my children are attending their preschool so that they will learn something. Their letters or colors, Christ's life on earth. Wrong. I am Jewish. I like twinkle lights and Santa and pagan trees decorated with lights on the darkest day of the year as much as the next person, but my children attend this preschool for one reason and one reason only: When they are at preschool, they are not with me. I am not with them. We are not with each other.

This purpose is completely subverted if I must drop them at preschool at 8:30 a.m., pick them up at 9:30 a.m., drive them to their Christmas program practice, sit around for ninety minutes while they pretend to be sheep, poorly, come back at 11:00 a.m. and drive them back to preschool for four hours when I have to pick them up again. On time. Because it's an early out day.

Um, bah humbug, a pox on Christmas and its ridiculous programs. And anyway, there were like forty three and four-year-olds. It sucked. I watched the whole practice because, tell me, what the hell else I was going to do. No wait, I endured the entire practice while entertaining Cue. During his nap time. I've never seen anything like this before, but is this typical? Forty toddlers on risers, picking their noses and chewing on their shirts (mine) and crying and holding their various private parts while a lovely energetic teacher reads a simplistic nativity tale and they occasionally are supposed to stomp their feet, or say 'baby Jesus' or sing something. Wearing sheep ears. In theory, except that those sheep ears were anywhere but on their heads. I can tell you where I wanted to put them.

Wow. Do I sound anti-Christmas? I totally am not. I love Christmas. Twinkle lights. Trees. Good will towards all. Giving. Love it. But, I discovered that I am VERY VERY anti-program involving-small-children-that-I-have-to-attend-and/or-be-involved-with-in-any-way. Programs should be reserved until children reach an age when they can stand still for fifteen minutes without touching themselves.

The torture finally ends and I drive them back to preschool. A five minute ride that involves this enlightening conversation.

Gee: Christmas is Jesus' birthday.
Me: Who's Jesus?
Gee: I don't know.
Ess: He's a reindeer.
Me: (well, that's the best moment we've had all day, but....) No. He's a man that lived a very long time ago.
Gee: His birthday is Christmas.
Me: His birthday is celebrated on Christmas Day. Historically, he was probably born in the spring.
Gee: Oh. And he's a lamb.
Me: (day getting better and better) Sometimes, he's called the lamb of God.
Gee: Oh. Why?
Me: Because a lot of people believe he's the son of God, sent to earth.
Gee: Is he a reindeer? Reindeers fly to earth. Rudolph flies to earth.
Me: Yes, yes he is. Brother of Rudolph. Son of Donner. Or possibly Blitzen.

I drop my sick, snotty children off for the last four hours of Christian preschool.

Friday. Hmmmm. All kids with me all day after night of spiking fevers, making me feel like the mother of the century for taking them to preschool, I mean program practice, the day before. We snarl at each other all morning in our very small apartment. I give up and let them watch Rudolph, the red-nosed brother of Jesus, three times in a row all afternoon.

Saturday. Matt has to work. I have all three sick children all day long. Wait. Are you seeing a pattern here? But, we move into our friends' gorgeous, many bedroomed house with lots of toys and excellent internet connection. They are candidates for sainthood. We are taking care of their dog while they are in Hawaii. Or maybe they just sensed my end-of-rope desperation.

Sunday. Seriously, evil week from hell, see ya.

That was merry and bright. I pledge to do one more post this week. A cheerful one. With thankfulness and Hanukkah and Christmas and Holiday spirit. Really. I think I can. As long as there are no programs with sheep-like toddlers involved.