I know you've been holding your breath all week waiting to see if I'll ever write again.
I can tell from my stats that you've checked back multiple times a day, just hoping I've posted something new and exciting. (If you believe that I've got a piece of affordable water-front property in Kiawah to sell you.)
Well, here it is folks. The moment you've all been waiting for.
A new post.
(And the crowd goes wild...wooooooooooo-hooooooooooooooooo...)
Consider this a recap of my week. A way for you to totally indulge without having any for your own actual self.
(Actually, it's been a pretty drama-free week of laziness, swimming and bird-watching. Fat-free entertainment for kids of all ages.)
Here's the truth: it is 9:47AM and I am still in my pajamas. (ONLY because when I turned on the computer an hour ago--which is a much more reasonable hour to still be in one's pajamas--the computer asked me if I'd like to update my Windows. Yes, thank you, I would. Only then it updated and I thought I could actually use the computer while it updated and apparently it takes up the whole screen and access is firmly denied. (But it did tell me to sit back and relax.) So other things were found to do, which, inexplicably, did not include a change of clothes.) Yes. Of course I have things to do today. Of course I have phone calls I need to make. Of course I have classes to teach and places to be. Of course. (Little known fact about me: I hate hanging around in the morning in my pajamas. Truth.) But it became apparent to me that all the things could hold on until I could write, because I haven't been able to do so all week and I know you've missed me ever so terribly (I have certainly missed you), so I put everything else aside (but coffeeeeeeee...not the coffee) so that I could journal with you. (You're welcome.)
Last night it got real. We had to make an emergency trip down to the ER. Here are the facts: Jack got hit by a tennis ball. (A tennis ball, y'all.) I'm thinking no big deal, it's a tennis ball. He throws up. I'm thinking no big deal, he ate four pieces of pizza. (Four. Geez.) He immediately passes out in the car. I'm thinking no big deal, he's exhausted. He can't shower because his head hurts so bad. Then he passes out on his bed. Then he throws up again. Are you thinking what I'm thinking? So at 8:51 we hop in the car with throw-up clothes (let's be honest--I have not showered since Saturday evening or washed my hair since Wednesday. We was in fiiiiiine shape last night) on our bodies and make our way down the road to the ER, which was very crowded for a Sunday night. You want some drama in your life, you head on down to the ER on a Sunday night. Anyways, we get checked in and waited for a room to open up, because apparently there are three. And the bed in the hallway was kinda out in the middle of everything.
I, for the record, am grateful for the people who have made other people's emergencies their own personal business. What would we do without EMS or ERs?
We got into a room and saw a friendly PA (who intimated that this night was a slow one--what?!), who suggested a CT scan, which freaked my little boy out worse than the dark. (Be honest. We are all a little bit afraid of the dark. It's the same in the dark as it is in the light!! I enthusiastically tell my kids as we are walking down the dark basement hallway. Who am I kidding? Freddy Krueger and Jason and my own imagination--which could be made into it's own horror movie--have made the dark forever terrifying.)
While we were waiting for the results from the CT scan, we caught bits and pieces of conversation which made me wonder how interesting must it be to work the seven-to-seven ER shift at the hospital. And scary. (And weeeird, the seven-to-seven ER nurse told me.) Anyways, from what I could tell, someone was ordering pizza (no one could decide on toppings, but who can at such a late hour?), the woman next to us was beeping uncontrollably and also moaning in pain (I feel bad for that lady, Jack says) even though the doctor came in multiple times to explain that tests show there was nothing wrong with her but when was the last time she had a bowel movement? (Her answer: very detailed, including color. I could not be an ER personnel.) And the poor girl still in the hallway bed (her friend in the cute PINK sparkly yoga pants came to keep her company--now that's a good friend--observation: I think the male ER persons may have liked her, too) may have had a gallstone but she needed to see a gastroneurologist who could do a more detailed ultrasound. (What's a gastroneurologist, Jack wanted to know. I have no idea. He must look at things like gallbladders and pancreases and things. Let's come up with other "ologists"! he says. Yes. Let's.) And I don't know what was wrong with the other crazy-curly-haired girl in the other hallway bed (my nosy Gladys ears could only pick up so much chatter) but she could hardly walk, and her boyfriend with the long (also) curly hair (they will have very curly-haired children, I observed) had to sling her arm over his shoulders to steady her. (I suspected a weekend of too much fun but what do I know.)
I had left my phone in the car during the whole visit, so we had no idea of the time, which is probably a good thing. When we left, we guessed that maybe it was 11:15.
The car said 11:25. (Late for me. Maybe I need to hang out with the curly-haired people.)
The good news is that Jack is going to be just fine. No sports this week (no soccer practice--darn) and lots of rest. The bad news is that there is a huge stain that still smells a little funky on the carpet in his room. (Which only strengthens my "hardwood floors in the bedrooms is a good idea" argument, so see, every dark cloud has a silver lining.)
Aside from a few temper flare-ups and a few too many Austin and Allie (no comment) episodes, it was a fantastic week off from life. And isn't that what vacation weeks are for?