Friday, November 16, 2007

Bring In The Red Cross, And Why Is Panettone So Expensive?

I have become One Of Those People, and unfortunately do not have the money to back it up. Let me explain: I have always tried to be an organized mother. When Jake was a toddler, I never once--not once--ran out of diapers. I was the neighbor that people called when they needed something last minute, like Pedialyte. "Mine's out of date!" they'd tell me, in a panic. No worry, I had some. Heck, I had a first aid kit in every bathroom that had a check up date (making sure all needed components were restocked) Sharpied on to it. So I never felt I had to run out shopping last minute, or purchase unnecessary products (like gum at the checkout counter) to appease a screaming child. I was superior to that.

Fast forward about ten years. And I'd welcome you into our home, except I don't have an extra Hazmat suit for you to don. Because we have been sick.

For the past two and a half weeks, Jake has been absent almost everyday. And in sixth grade, there are important, age-appropriate studies to make up. Things like algebra, and a world cultures thesis paper on the development of Latin America and its current effect on our environment (WTF?). I have been semi-homeschooling to keep up, all while developing the flu myself and caring for a toddler. So ignore the typos during this post, it's 10:57 and I'm typing this one-handed, the other fist being occupied by an apple martini and don't say I don't deserve it.

Then Olivia, who has not yet, at two, had so much as a stuffy nose, became really sick. And because I am no longer this woman*, I had nothing at home for her. So even though she's crying and feeling like she would like to just stay home and be cuddled, I take her with me to the store. I grab--while cooing to her to please stop crying and to not remember this moment of parenting instead please recall an hour later from now when we'll be home and I'll be rocking her--all the items that we NEED to make her feel better. You know: the aforementioned Pedialyte, chicken soup (ugh--canned), fruit, juices, children's Motrin, tissues. Oh, and a few extra items that she has pointed to while crying: crayons, markers, cupcakes, pack of bubbles, new toothbrush with a Hello Kitty handle, balloons, ice cream sandwiches, and at the point of checkout, a large box of imported Italian Panettone.

I won't admit to you what the bill was, all to appease my sick daughter and restock my home with items that thirty-four year old Laura would have already had in the house. But I will tell you that thirteen dollars and ninety-nine cents of that bill was for a box of Italian raisin bread that she had to have. I guess it's okay, Eric was looking into working at a mini-mart in his spare time anyway.

*Organized Mother