Lots of dayhome posts lately – with a full house every day, there are more opportunities for newsworthy items, it seems.
Pixie has a screaming phobia of emergency vehicle sirens. Any time one drives by – and they drive by a lot, as we’re on a very busy road – she bursts into hysterical wailing sobs and flings herself at the nearest available adult. If I’m sitting, she jumps into my lap. If I’m standing, she climbs my leg at top speed like a chimpanzee. No amount of hugging, comforting, or reassuring helps – I simply have to hold on to her and listen to the panicked screeching until the siren fades in the distance.
This is bad enough on its own, and quite heartbreaking actually, but now the other 2 year olds are getting the idea that SIRENS BRING TERROR BIRDS RUN HALP OH NOES. Yesterday afternoon we were playing outside when one went by. I was sitting on the grass holding Baby G in my lap and suddenly I was tackled from three sides by Pixie, Louis, and Luna, all sobbing. Even the dog got in on the action.
I have fantasies about putting up a large billboard on the front yard with rules for the neighbourhood that would make my life easier. To wit: no sirens, souped-up engine revving, large barking dogs, cursing, or smoking.
On Monday at drop off Molly’s mom told me that she’d had a “slight fever” on Saturday and asked that I keep Molly from running around too much lest she relapse. Since holding Molly back is akin to emptying the Dead Sea with an eyedropper, I didn’t commit to much. And Monday was fine, although the story I got from Molly about the weekend was significantly different – “I threw up a lot of times. And then I had to sleep on the couch because there were no sheets left for my bed because I threw up on all of them”. Now, I know 4 year olds exaggerate, but there is a big difference between “slight fever” and “threw up a laundry-defying amount”.
On Tuesday, Molly was kind of quiet for most of the morning. At 11AM during outdoor play, she crawled under the picnic table and covered her face with her sunhat. When asked, she said pitifully “my head just hurts so much, I can’t play”. So I brought her in the house right away, got her a big glass of water, and checked for signs of sunstroke (there weren’t any). And then I asked when her head started hurting. “This morning,” she said, “and I told my mom, but she said I was young to be getting headaches and brought me here”.
I didn’t call her mom at that point because her regular pick up time is 12:30 anyway – as it turns out I should have called, because she went down HARD. By the time her mom arrived she was curled up on my lap in tears. Apparently she started vomiting shortly after she got home, then broke out in a full-body rash, and was taken to the ER on the suggestion of the 811 nurse to eliminate the possibility of scarlet fever.
Yesterday was Molly & Luna’s afternoon. Luna still came! Molly came too! Into the house! And then I had to listen to her mom tell me that she was “fine! and bouncing off the walls!” even though she’d already told me that kiddo vomited all night long. I had to tell Molly that she couldn’t come any further and so then I got to be the bad guy who made her cry.
This morning, Molly & Luna arrived on time (miracle!) Molly looked much better. Luna looked like hell. Red puffy eyes, streaming nose, crying, coughing, drooling – AND HER MOM WAS GOING TO LEAVE HER HERE. As I was marshalling my arguments into something more diplomatic than “hell no take your plague-monkey home” the poor child burst into tears, gagged once, and then barfed a remarkable amount of half-chewed blueberries all over herself, her mom, and the front entry.
Luna! Props for getting violently ill before your mom left. “I don’t know,” says mom as I’m busily disinfecting the floor where we all sit to put on shoes, “she was cranky all morning but she said she wanted to come and play”.
Given the Week of Plague, I’ve been teaching the kids how to fist bump. It’s hilarious. Louis got it on the first try, Ron likes to ‘pop it out’ with sound effects, Molly likewise, and Pixie just looks flummoxed. The making of a fist is a tricky one for our dear Pixie.
Yesterday I taught Louis that his parents have names aside from “mom and dad”. He thinks this is hilarious and has spent the morning repeating “[mom’s name / dad’s name] is at wuk. pooooor [mom / dad]” and then laughing fit to split.
Ron has mastered hanging upside down from the gym rings. Since I never could do that, and still can’t, I’m super-impressed. Of course Harry now is desperately trying to learn the same skill, but I kind of hope he doesn’t. It’s nice for Ron to be better than his big brother at something physical.
Summer baseball has started again. Someone in their infinite wisdom saw fit to order white uniform shirts with coloured sleeves. WHITE. For seven & eight year olds. Who play on a poorly-drained dirt field. *tosses hands in their air in defeat*
How was your week?