I was interrogating Ella on what was bothering her when she first came down with her fever (in case you’re keeping track, she still has the fever as I write this on Thursday afternoon). I wasn’t getting much feedback from her, so I’d try variations in how I asked her what was ailing her. “Does your ear hurt? Does it hurt when you swallow or drink? What feels bad? What’s bothering you?” At one point, trying to press her for some info, anything to go on, I asked her, “Point to what’s bothering you.” She pointed at me. ME! For days, I’ve been housebound, used as a human PBS remote control, fetching blankets, tissues, cups of juice, bowls of Cheerios and I’m the one bothering her. This parenting thing is kind of thankless. And kind of hilarious.
Last night, after eating dinner, I asked Lily if she needed her face wiped. You know, that routine face wipe we’ve basically been doing after every meal since she started eating, so like, forever. She insisted that she didn’t need her face wiped. I told her there was food on her face. She tells me she didn’t need her face wiped because that food was from lunch, not dinner. Touché. Meet Mr. Washcloth.
Today, in our never ending housebound status, we watched another movie, followed by another movie, next up, a few shows. Can’t wait to have a yard again, and non-sick children. This afternoon’s movie was Toy Story 3. We’ve seen all three Toy Stories so many times, both children (and myself) have them memorized nearly word for word. However, during this 4,392nd viewing, Lily decided to enter the “why” phase of development. Every single thing that happened on the movie was met with a ‘why’ or ‘what’ question. I was going bonkers. I’m all for learning, but apparently the answer, “I don’t know, let’s just watch the movie” wasn’t a good enough answer for Lily.
Let’s team up and drive mom crazy!
Added fun? The maintenance man for the complex let himself into the wrong apartment today. Ours! The door unlocked and opened (while we were watching Toy Story 3), he surveyed the scene of a very lived-in apartment, Barbie explosion along with Ella’s sick nest on the couch, covered in beach blankets and accessorized with a puke bucket, and he promptly shut the door, muttered a “I’m very sorry” and locked the door. I don’t think he’ll make that mistake again, our little infirmary was probably frightening. Of course, someone else has pants draped over a hedge in the apartment building next to ours, and it’s been raining all day, so we’re probably not the weirdest tenants.
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