Rejoining the Land of the Living

Yeesh.

What a crazy last couple of weeks.
I have concocted a theory that my body rejected peace and quiet and alone time like a donor organ because the day following my much touted "Kerri Day" began the worst two weeks of my life.

It started with a headache that spread into the world's most painful double outer ear infection. I have never been in so much pain. Never. I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy - or even John Lithgow.
I would honestly rather be strung upside down and whipped WHILE in labor with twins than ever go through that again.
The ear infection led to cellulitus in my face and neck and my ears swelling shut completely - so much so that they had to insert a wick to get the medication in. I know. It's gross. I could have been a TLC special.
"Woman Without Ears"

I spent a solid two weeks bed ridden with a heating pad on one side of my head while ear drops soaked in the other.
After starting page 3 of my medications spreadsheet, I realized that this is what it would feel like to be 80 years old. I can tell you, it's not fun.

Golden years, they are not. They're more of a mustard yellow.

At the height of my misery, I spent over an hour in Memorial Hospital's ER on one of the busiest nights they've ever had. They had just had 4 helicopters land and it was apparently a bum sleepover.
I finally decided to go to Community Hospital's ER instead after watching one lady dry heave for an hour, then ask to bum a smoke.
It was just too much to bear that AND to sit next to a shifty-eyed gangster who suspiciously wouldn't take his right hand out of the waist of his coat.

I'd rather die of an ear infection than a gun shot.

Commmunity wasn't much better, though it was empty. The check in window was fogged over. The nurse had zebra nails. They had a dot-matrix printer. I think they made my hospital bracelet out of dry noodles and scotch tape.
I really realized why it was empty when they walked me down the hallway to my room (Which hadn't been cleaned from the previous patient) and noted the mint green tile walls.

**NOTE: Mint green tile walls are never a good sign. The only times I can recall seeing mint green tile walls are in movies that involve
a)zombies, b)serial killers, c)haunted, empty hospitals of torture.**

They did give me good meds there.I didn't even know Advil came in 800mgs.
This was helpful to drown out the blood curdling screams of the lady down the hall who was being brought in by an army of cops while she shouted, "They busted my ******* face with a ******* flashlight!"
Nice.
The nurse felt it time to tell me that this was the hospital for the mental institution and the county jail.

I was really glad to go home.

So, in the days following, I have been seeing a specialist. Thank goodness. He has helped me immensely. I have nothing but praise for him. The only comical thing about him, though, is that he REALLY wears one of those headbands with the big metalic circle thing that I've only ever seen cartoon doctors wear. I didn't even know they were real.
They are.


So now, after 7 prescriptions, 3 trips to the doctor, one trip to urgent care, 2 different ERs, 3 trips to the specialist and 2 weeks worth bed rest...I'm proud to say I'm rejoining the land of the living. Slowly.

It's a good thing because I was teetering dangerously close to looking like Shrek.

I'm glad that I know for a fact that should I ever become seriously ill and NOT be able to take care of myself, I can count on my BFF Lisa to fly to the U.S. just to do things like pluck unruly hairs and keep my legs shaved. I'll never be fully let go. It's important to have an "In-case-of-emergency-Plucker" in your life.

So yesterday I got a haircut, I painted my nails, and I put on the ever important under-eye-conceiler.

I'm practically as good as new.

I still can't hear out of my right ear all the way, but I'm trying to figure out why that might not just be a GOOD thing. I can't hear my name being called a hundred times. I can't hear Chloe shouting, "NO TESSA!" I can't hear the alarm. I can't hear the phone call that will tell me that my car warranty is about to expire.

All good as far as I can tell.

And I learned that the family really CAN do things on their own. I don't have to cook every dinner for them to survive. The world will not crumble if Mommy needs a nap.
They all pulled together and got stuff done. My mom and Justin were champions.
Life can go on without Mommy there to do it all every second of the day. That's a lesson I really did need to learn. It's the knowledge I'd eluded for so long that had driven the original Kerri Day to be so needed.

This tells me another Kerri Day may be just around the corner. And a well deserved one at that.

pirouettes and puffy eyes

Well, we started out this glorious day with a bang.

Literally.

It must have been some sort of transformer outside, because the power was out and when we called PG&E, they told us that it was most likely not going to be back on for about 5+ hours. Awesome. I had to get ready for the day and didn't know how I'd do it. We don't realize how much we rely on power.

The main thing I noticed was how gravely I had taken my blow drier for granted. I was able to take a shower, but not much can be said for the makeup job I did in the dark or the hairstyle I settled on.
What was funny was that when I see a woman out in public with the hair I had today, I judge them.
I shouldn't, but I do. I think, "The wet look went out in the early 90's. Time to get a copy of InStyle and soak it in."
Today, that woman was me. Don't be so quick to judge. Lesson learned.

I piled the kids in the car in my typical manner of making myself into a human pack mule, carrying 2 bags, a travel mug, someone's leftover breakfast, A change of clothes for Chloe, Tessa's bottle, and the Two Ton Toddler herself. In one load.
I rolled up the garage door by hand and was on my way to Chloe's first real ballet class.

I was mentally trying to shake off the hectic feel from the morning and was looking forward to seeing the dancing. Hearing the laughing. The soft, sweet music. The sound of small feet on the wooden floors.

I had filled out the papers, gotten her all dressed up - hair in buns and all - and she was yammering on and on about how she was going to be SO beautiful and she was going to "dance like a princess". She'd talked about ballet for months.
We were all excited.
Afterall, it's not just ANY activity that gets me out of the house alone with three girls before 10:00.
(My friend Angie will tell you this is true, as she can attest to the fact that she has dropped by on MORE than one occasion to find me still in pajamas at noon with at least one child wearing only a diaper.)

We got there, rushed in, payed the money, took Chloe to the door and she REFUSED to go in.
I finally convinced her after some prodding, but even that only lasted about 5 minutes, and then she came running out bawling, telling me she didn't want to do ballet because,
"It's too stinky in that room."

I looked at Alena as if to say, "Can you BELIEVE this?" only to have Alena respond,
"It's true. It smells gross."

Oh LORD give me strength to raise three daughters....

So, I went to get my possibly non refundable money back for the class and the costume and the registration as several other parents looked on me with pity in their eyes only to turn back around and find Chloe had apparently recovered from her olifactory abominations and was pirouetting around the entry way without a care in the world.

It figures.

Oh well. This means we have time to go shopping. (With the children)

What was I thinking?!

I wish I would have called to memory the fact that the only way a person can shop with Chloe is if they have a good 6 hours to spare. Chloe is the s l o w e s t walker. Ever.
You will spend half your day looking behind you and telling her, "Chloe PLEASE come ON!" but when she sees you stop and turn, she will stop dead in her tracks to maintain her distance.
She should have been born in Iran, I guess. She would eat it up if it was MANDATED that she walk behind.

Add to this that while you are busy looking behind you at Chloe, Tessa will no doubtedly be pulling everything off of every rack as you walk by without you knowing and either eating it or hiding it.
I have had to send Alena back in to more stores than I can count because I find that Tessa shoplifted some item and stashed it in the stroller under her thighs. (A great hiding space if you're in the 120th percentile)

I just feel like we cause a scene everywhere we go.

Tessa's screaming and writhing, trying to escape. Chloe's still back at the CAR, practically.
And did I mention it was an outdoor mall, because then it started to rain. Hard.

WHY do I even try to do this? Why didn't I just do what I usually do and stay HOME for three days in a row not even going out to get the mail?

Now picture me, with my scary done-in-the-dark mascara running down my face, my hairstyle that I won't even bother describing, darting from store to store like a maniac just wishing for ONE moment where I can try something on for myself while simultaneously pushing Tessa and yelling for Chloe.

This is not the shopping days of yore.

I remember a time when I could shop for hours. When I didn't feel like I was on some sort of speed date with myself. A time when I didn't glance at my reflexion in the window of a store I passed and for a second think I saw Christopher Lloyd before I realized it was ME, wild eyed and frizz headed.

Ahhhhh.
I need a babysitter, a couple hundred bucks and a deep tissue massage.

And maybe one of those multi-strand necklaces I've had my eye on just for the icing on top...
Because we all know a mommy sitting rocking in the corner and drooling on herself is no good to anyone. And besides....Who would make dinner?