Who can forget those foreboding words of the soothsayer to ill-fated Julius Caesar: "Beware the Ides of March"? Had I had my own soothsayer, he would have said to me, " Beware the WEEK OF THE Ides of March. Seriously, this has been "Hell Week" with a capital "Hell". I've actually considered throwing in the towel, packing up my car, and driving off to a cave somewhere in the Himalayas to live out the rest of my days. It was THAT bad of a week. I don't think I've had this bad of a week since Donna Martin was not allowed to graduate (if you get that reference, then you're as big a loser as I am). So let's begin:
Monday, March 10th
Monday didn't start out too badly. Dante slept in, as with the time change and all, we both get that "extra hour" of sleep. Not really, but I like to trick my brain into thinking things are true by saying them out loud a number of times. (I am gorgeous and 22, I am gorgeous and 22, I am...) Anyhow, around 8 am Dante wakes up and we put on Sesame Street and I go make him breakfast. The dogs, Salad and Carrots, are puttering about the house, having just come in from their morning constitution outside when I notice little black specks all over them. Ok, my dogs are inside dogs mostly. Their main source of entertainment is trying to figure out which pillow is more comfortable to lay on and in which position can they sleep longer. The dogs are also clean dogs, bathed once a week, flea treatment once a month, the whole nine. Upon closer inspection, Salad and Carrots, I discover, are INFESTED with fleas. Infested. Not just A flea, but like a flea convention had hit town. Upon further inspection, I have no flea shampoo and no more flea treatments left, PLUS I've got to get to Playgroup by 9:30 and it's already 8:45. So, we rush rush rush rush, go to playgroup, go to Walgreens and get flea shampoo, flea treatments and flea collars. Yes yes I know, flea collars are harmful to dogs, but suck it. I'm not having fleas on my dogs that my son likes to ride like horses and lay on top of. The dogs get bathed, all the while Dante supervises by trying to get IN the bath with the dogs, and now comes the task of brushing all the dead fleas off of them and cleaning up. Fun. I finally got the house in order, washed down the surfaces, and de-flead everything I could think of could be infested, and then informed the neighbor that he needed to bathe his dogs because since his "new" dogs arrived the flea problem started and it was apparent that it was coming from him. Randy came home from work, sprayed the lawn with bug killer, and that was the end of Monday.
Tuesday March 11th
Tuesday wasn't a bad day, until about 5:15 pm. Randy had just loaded up the bikes onto the car for our evening bike ride at the park. Dante was strapped in his car seat, and we were driving to the local park to ride around the bike trails for an hour or so. Dante was extremely fussy in the back seat and we just thought he was overly anxious to go bike riding. We were wrong. As soon as I pulled into the park entrance I hear "garffggrgaggrggg" and look into the rearview mirror. My son, my little limmy lamb, my sweet baby, my darlin 20 month old, is barfing all over the place. Long gone are the days of "cute baby spit up". No, Dante was spewing chunks, all over himself, all over the carseat, all over the car, all over everything. Of course, I pull over into the grass and tell Randy to get him out of the seat while I get wipes and things to clean him off. He gets him out of the car and I strip him naked, all the while rubbing his back and stroking his head as he continues his marathon of barfing. Randy, meanwhile, is dismantling the puke infested car seat and trying to control his gag reflexes. So Dante stops throwing up and I'm cradling him in my lap, soothing him, giving him water, and trying to calm him down. It takes Randy 30 minutes to take the carseat apart (removing the seat part from the frame so we can launder it) and we go home. Dante has Ginger Ale and white rice for dinner and goes to bed.
Wednesday March 12th, My Dad's 72nd Birthday
At 1:45 am, I am awakened by my little boy calling "mommy mommy throw!" What the hell does that mean? I don't have to ask twice as upon entering his room, "mommy mommy throw" clearly means , "Mom, I'm going to throw up all over my bed". So that was it. Dante threw up all over his bed. Poor baby was terrified and poor mommy was fighting the urge to throw up along with him. So I strip his bed, holler for Randy to come help me, and take Dante to the bathroom to clean him up, calm him down, and see if he has to "throw" again. Randy remakes his bed and I decide I will sleep on the floor next to him "just in case". Randy goes back to bed, since 5 am for him comes quickly, and I settle in on the floor. Dante goes back to sleep and I toss and turn with worry for my baby.
A few hours later, it is actual morning, and Dante and I start our day. Randy has gone to work and it is business as usual for Dante and myself. I make him some dry toast and some ginger ale and hope that whatever ooogies he had have run their course and he will be ok. I'm exhausted, working on about 47 minutes of sleep but I've got laundry to fold and things to do so we push on. Around noon, I get the "phone call". Randy's on his way to the E/R. Seems he's gotten a piece of aluminum stuck in his eye. GREAT. Juuuust Great. Then, Dante barfs again during his nap. I call his pediatrician whose nurse says. "the doctor isn't in", take him to the E/R." So, we pile into the car and go to the Children's E/R. Dante is diagnosed with the beginnings of the stomach flu and we are sent home with instructions on what to feed him and the like. Nice. And it's only Wednesday. And we were supposed to go out to dinner and celebrate my dad's birthday but between Randy sticking things in his eye and our son not being able to stop projectile vomiting, my dad will just have to wait another day.
Thursday, March 13th
5 words: Overflowing toilet full of shit. I don't even have to say anything else. You can pretty much figure out how my day was subsequently. Any day that starts out with the words, toilet, shit, and overflow, will not be a good one. So I'll leave it to you, dear reader's, imagination as to how AWESOME this day was.
Friday, March 14th
Ok, not going to jinx anything but nothing terribly major today. Well other than the hospital bills for Randy's food poisoning fiasco keep piling up and they do not care that we are currently in litigation with who got him sick, so I had to shell out almost $700 to keep the collection agents off of our backs and our credit in good standing. $700 that we don't have.
So that was the Week of the Ides of March. Honestly, if any soothsayers come near me I will punch them square in the face. This has been a week. I almost checked out. I almost threw in the towel, but c'est la vie right? I feel as though I've run the Marathon of the Ages. I think I'll reward myself with a Cadbury Egg. Or two. Or five. Or ten.