Yes, I know. What kind of title is that? Go ahead and call me Ms. Miserable or Debbie Downer, but at least hear me out.
Before I go any further, for the purpose of clearing up any confusion or just for those of you who give a rat's ass, I must state that this blog has shifted a bit. While I pride myself on being that girl that does nothing but argue the questionable sex appeal of Dave Grohl, get Google alerts if something Foo related is happening, and thrive in the fact that I continue to get texts, emails, tweets and posts from pretty much everyone I know if a band member has an ingrown toenail, I've come to the conclusion that for the time being, there is just not enough material to infect the world with Foo.( Although, I do enjoy seeing a tweet from one of my old co-workers stating that he stayed in his car until a Foo Fighters song had ended. He said he felt that it was just the right thing to do. I love you Cooley.) I know that there are far more important things going on in this world to be concerned about. Personally, I'm not terribly interested in The Housewives, the teen moms, Angelina's boobs, or Kim and Kaye's baby, but that the majority of the world is. What did they name him anyway, Equator? Regardless, as much as it pains me, there's more on my mind than the Foo Fighters these days. (See how I did that? "These Days?".....anybody?) On that note, I recommend that we all take a moment to reflect upon this tragedy. *sigh*
So onto my shitty week. Who doesn't have these occasionally? Everybody does and they vary in the size of sucking. A car wreck and you lost your job? That's about a 9 on the suck scale. Sunburn and your new tattoo is spelled wrong? That's up there too. But the garden variety would include the bad week at work, significant other is making you mental, can't afford to pay a bill or two, HBO cancelled True Blood, and/or you stubbed your toe. My week fell right in the middle somewhere.
It started out okay. My family hosted this pot luck/drink a lot/meet the neighbors gig at our new house on Sunday that went really well. Pot "luck" is a good name for those types of gatherings because you just never know what you're going to get. You could end up meeting your best friend or maybe the love of your life. You could make some new contacts and land a great job. You could play Yahtzee and do shots and dance to bad music. Or you could get food poisoning.
My parents were in town for the shindig and my brother-in-law and his partner stopped by too.
Even though I was super sad that my parents had to leave on Monday to head back to Jersey, I was in a pretty good mood. Things were starting to feel "comfortable" in my new North Carolina surroundings. That was until Tuesday. Tuesday was the day that vomit came to town. Not only was Adam (brother-in-law) sick, so was my mother, as was I. And by sick I don't mean we had an upset stomach, I mean the three of us combined may have set a new world record for most vomiting (and other things) in a 24 hr time frame. At least Adam and I were at home. My mom was on the road. Seriously, can you imagine anything worse than being in a moving vehicle when you feel like you've swallowed an alien? And I can just see my father trying to do his best to be supportive. "What the hell do you want me to do Marge, we're on a highway??!! You'll be fine, just lay back." Yeah Dad, that sounds like a stellar idea. Have her lay back so that the tilt-a-whirl motion of the vehicle will induce flop sweat and more up chucking. I'm surprised she didn't spew all over the dashboard causing my father to veer of I-95 Dukes of Hazzard style. (Minus the Daisy Dukes cuz Mama don't play that game.)
But my mother came prepared. She had stolen some of those liners that you put in the ice buckets at hotels from their last stop. That's right, the belching and dry heaving were no match for Margie and her little clear plastic bags that are meant for lining an insulated container. They may have been small and worthless, but dammit if she didn't fill three of them up as my Dad marveled at the beautiful Maryland landscape. I'm proud of you Mom. (FYI: rumor has it that she has been banned from all rest stops along the eastern seaboard. I think I saw it on CNN.)
Adam gets a Medal of Honor too. Here's a guy who hasn't been "sick" since regurgitating his Frosted Flakes in the backseat of a Buick in the late 70's. This guy has been known to eat some pretty questionable leftovers in the blink of an eye. So it surprised me quite a bit when he said he was considering going to the emergency room, seeing as he was knocked unconscious while playing hockey some time ago and acted like he broke a nail. He was sick as hell but made jokes about it. Said he'd rather get shot than feel the way that he did. I love my brother-in-law. Anyway, moving on.
I had to agree with him. Whatever it is that we ingested was evil. Every move I made seemed to make every muscle ache. NOTHING, and I do mean nothing, gave me the least bit of comfort. It was horrendous. It wasn't just the ongoing trips to the bathroom, it was that feeling of doom that I couldn't handle. I cannot say for certain but I'm pretty sure I was hallucinating at one point. I did, however, fall asleep for about 1/2 hour and had a dream that I was tied to a tree in the deep forest. My husband walked by me on his way to collect berries or something and said "I hope that the woodland creatures pick up your scent." Seriously???? I'm telling you, whatever entered/exited my body was purely demonic.
After 2 days of torturous beatings upon our digestive systems, we all started to feel a bit better. I decided to take a quick bike ride through the neighborhood to get some fresh air. Upon my travels I heard rumblings in the neighborhood of other people being sick. That's right, someone tainted the pot luck extravaganza. Maybe it was the egg salad sliders. Perhaps it was the homemade mac n cheese. Whatever it was, it had claimed at least 15 victims. The plumbing may never be the same in this neighborhood.
So that right there would make for a bad week, but in my world that's just a taste of what's to come. No pun intended. In no particular order the following also took place last week: I tried on an old pair of jeans and I couldn't button them. They are 2 sizes bigger than what I was wearing a few months ago. If you ask me, that right there was the icing on the cake, but NOOOOOOO. I also lost a few years of my life on Wednesday evening when I opened the dishwasher to be surprised by a titanic sized water bug that was coming right for me. My reaction prompted my husband to only assume that I had lost a limb in a tragic kitchen accident. My favorite flip flops melted outside and ended up looking like shrinky dinks. I also scalded myself in the shower because I forgot which way that stupid friggin' handle was supposed to go. Right=off. Left=3rd degree burns on your buns. But the highlight would have to be the older gentleman who decided to take it upon himself to inform me that pregnant women shouldn't drink, as it reeks havoc on the fetus. Thanks for the tip Billy Bob, but I'm not with child, and now I may just drink this 12 pack in one sitting. At that point I began to wonder if being tied up to that tree in the woods might just be the brighter side for me.
Ironically, I didn't give in, or give up. I sort of just went about my merry way, stumbling along the path of horror mixed with humor that is my life.
And then there was Friday.
Friday marks the end of thework week which USUALLY means that there is a light at
the "end" of the tunnel, or so they
say. It was like any other day, all of us up
at 6:30, getting ready for our day. The week had
already been a shit show, so my
hope was that this particular day would propel
us into a good weekend, but it
was not to be.
The background story is this: As many of you
already know, my family and I have
recently relocated to Wilmington, NC from New Jersey. We built a
really nice
house that is a few miles from the beach.
Wilmington is a really great place,
full of history and charm and plenty of
opportunities. My husband and I met
here back in the late 90's while working in the
movie biz. The cost of living is
considerably less and a wonderful place for us
to have a fresh start and raise
our family. That's the GOOD PART.
The bad part would be leaving behind a life that
my children and I had grown
very accustomed to. Don't get me wrong, my husband did not force
anything upon
us, it was a mutual decision, but that doesn't
mean that it made the move any
easier.
Earlier in the week, around the same time that
my insides were coming back up,
my son Cameron complained of a belly ache. I, of
course, kept him home from
school based solely on how atrocious I was
feeling. It turns out that his belly
wasn't infected with the same evil that I had,
but it was all just nerves. He
admitted this to me in private, and my heart
just broke for him. He missed his
friends, his old school, his old routine, and
the life that he had known. I
reassured him that his secret was safe with me,
that I could be a pretty cool
mom, and I had no intention of blowing his
cover.
So Friday morning rolls around and his belly
hurts again. This time he is
visibly upset and can't seem to pull it
together. With everything I had, I gave
him my best Mom pep talk. I reminisced of my big
move to NJ from upstate NY when
I was in 7th grade and how I cried every day
before school. I told him how
scared I
was and how alone I felt, and how angry I was at my parents for making
me move. I then informed him that even though he
did not feel well, he still had
to go to school.
That's when things took a turn for the worse.
The ride to school he quietly sobbed in the back
seat, occasionally telling me
how bad his stomach hurt, and as much as it
literally killed me inside, I pretty
much ignored him. I tried to make jokes, I tried
to play our favorite music, I
even
tried to muster up a good loud belch to get him to laugh. No dice.
As we pulled into the school, he said that he
was going to be sick. Great. So I
pulled over right in the parking lot, for everyone
to see, and told him to get out
of the car so he could puke. He wouldn't get out. frustration began to boil over. Not
only did I not want him to barf all over himself,
but parents were starting to
stare at us.
After a few minutes of sheer hell, I got back in
the car and I once again
explained to him that he was not making my job as a
mom very easy. I told the story of the
"boy who cried wolf." He wasn't sick on Tuesday, so
chances were
he wasn't sick on this day, but he insisted. So he became even more upset with me and the
bell was about to ring.
In a moment of utter desperation I parked the
car and I told him to get out, and
that I was going to walk him to the door.
(Which, at this school, you are not
supposed to do, they have this whole drop off system with arrows and signs and
shit.) He
proceeded to plead with me. So I pulled out one of my last playing
cards and told him that I would bring him into
the school nurse and we would take it from there. By some stroke of sheer luck,
he agreed to this.
Once in the nurse's office, he settled down a
bit. I explained our predicament
to the nurse and she willingly went ahead and
took his temperature and asked him
questions. The hands on the clock kept on moving
towards 8:00 and I just didn't
see any hope in sight. I told the nurse that I was going to step
outside to
call my husband and as I left the office I
spotted Cameron's teacher. She was
headed to the nurse to see what was up with him.
I rehashed our situation one
more time. We talked for a bit, and then she
said the words.."just go, he will
be fine. I will take care of your boy, get him
whatever he needs." I knew she
was right and at that moment I felt like a
complete failure and the tears
started flowing. She gave me a huge hug and I started on my way out. As I left
turned around and I saw Cameron standing in the
doorway crying and asking where
I was going.
There is just nothing worse than watching your
child suffer. I realize that
things could have been ALOT worse, but in the
eyes of my son, this WAS the worst.
I drove home, wiped the snot off of my face,
stopped for a tub of coffee, and
went home to keep myself occupied. I actually
made it through the day without
calling the school to check on him OR losing my
mind. All I could think about
was his sad face and him having to try and get
through HIS day.
My husband picked the kids up at school and I
waited impatiently at home. I was
sitting on the porch when they pulled into the
driveway and my first sight was
Cameron in the backseat waving to me with a
smile on his face. A smile. He got
out of the car and came towards me and what
happened next was completely
unexpected. He wrapped his arms around me, gave
me a hug, and a big kiss on the
cheek. He looked right at me and didn't say
anything, but I knew what he was
thinking. We were ok with each other.
And that right there was my week. While it wasn't enough to have me committed ,
it was just enough to warrant a Xanax. Normally,
I bounce back pretty quick from
these things like this, but it was much harder
this time. I'm a stranger in a
strange land, and even though I have more than I
could ask for, I miss the
comfort of what I "knew" in NJ. I'm only human.
The silver lining is that I have been forced to
find a way to express how I've
been feeling, and I express myself right here.
Good or bad, funny or sad, it
helps.
It was a bad week, but I'm hopeful. I'm thinking
the worst is over for now.
Or at least until tomorrow.
