Help a mutha out!

Sometimes, it really does take a village.

Last weekend was a whirlwind. Hubby was OOT for business, which always spells some kind of crazy trouble at home. What kind of trouble? how about: a kid overdosing on steroids; a probable miscarriage that was thankfully only a kidney stone requiring a trip to the ER, where they did NOT give me morphine, by the way, yeah, cause Tylenol might help!; a trip to the ER with a three month old, preceeded by a flat tire in a snowstorm; a car accident on the NYS Thruway, with a two year old and four month old, and yes, another trip to yet another ER, etc., etc. It's gotten to the point where some of my family and friends are petitioning for Engineer Boy to not be allowed any more travel visas. Of course, we have to pay the bills, (even if most of them are hospital visit co-pays and car repairs) so, off he goes.

Hubby's flight was scheduled to take off at 7:30 Friday night, the same time that my monthly Bunco group was scheduled to arrive at my house! (ok, so I play Bunco, I will be very popular when I move into my retirement community, so there!) I was a wreck trying to get ready for Bunco - which meant hosting 11 women at my home, feeding and watering them all, keeping track of "dues" and distributing prizes, and not to mention a little bit of pressure to have my home looking good, since I don't know many of these women very well. (thankfully, I only have to host the game once a year!) Hubby stayed home all day Friday and was a tremendous help. He really is a gem (sometimes), cleaning, organizing, lifting heavy things, killing bugs and opening jar lids!

Let me just say that the women that I play Bunco with are...crazy! I refer to them as the real desperate housewives of Suffolk County. It just is not safe for husband or child to be around while they are. With Hubby leaving town, I was left with the situation of needing to find a farm willing to take in three extra grazing lambs - overnight! Not always an easy task. Thankfully, Grandma was on board all along to take care of Paddy Boy, so that was one down. Luckily for all of us Aunt Tay was well rested and had recently stocked up on Cheez Doodles, Ice Cream and Cap'n Crunch, so she was prepared to take First Son and Curly Girl. Phew! I was safe. My house was clean (at least the first floor...including, and this is the impressive part, the kitchen floor!), I had a wonderful menu prepared, and the beer was on ice - Bunco would happen. Most importantly, the cherubs were safe from all the mayhem.

We played Bunco. Everyone enjoyed the food, complimented me on my lovely home, helped to clean up and, this is the best part - left at a respectable hour. I didn't win rolling the dice, but I didn't really lose either. Best of all, I had the whole big bed to myself, and there was nobody home to wake me up in the morning! I actually slept uninterrupted (ok, there was one pee break...I couldn't exactly farm out the Fetus!) until after 9AM! To top it off..I had a whole roll of Pillsbury Cinnabon Cinnamon rolls in the fridge just waiting for me to bake and spread with gooey frosting. Life was good Saturday morning!

Well, that was Saturday morning. Life WAS good. That is, until Aunt Tay returned her charges. As First Son walked his way to the front door, Aunt Tay stood behind him slowly and deliberately mouthing the words "cran-ky pants!" Hmmm.. I thought that maybe he just didn't sleep well, being in a different house and all, and sleeping on the floor in his sleeping bag. I asked him if he had had fun, he said "Yes". I asked him if he had slept well, and he snapped at me "I didn't sleep at all!" ( he often says this when he has a sleepover - he convinces himself that he stays awake all night, in spite of videoptaped images of him snoring away that would stand up in a court of law as evidence of the contrary). He then said that his "throat hurt". I figured that maybe Aunt Tay kept her apartment warmer, and therefore drier than we do at home, and that might have made his throat sore. So, I didn't think much about it.

We all sat down to indulge in my cinnamon rolls. First Son took only a few bites before he disappeared. Aunt Tay then mentioned that he hadn't really eaten much at her house, not even the Cap'n Crunch (since his usual cereal choice is either Cheerios or Raisin Bran, it is odd that he would pass up a contraband sugar choice!). I found him lying on the couch, with three blankets piled on top of him. Say it with me..."uh oh." He said he was "FREEZING". Time to get the thermometer. It was about 100', under his arm. Not terribly high, OK, some Motrin and off to bed. I still thought that maybe he was just exhausted. He slept for three hours. When he woke up he was fine. He was torturing his little sister, annoying me, he was definitely back to normal. To quote Suzy Mac, "Hooray, I'm saved". I was planning to leave the cherubs with a teenage babysitter that night and go out for a little while to help my niece celebrate her big "2-5". For a while there I thought I was going to have to scrap those plans.

Paddy boy went down for his afternoon nap, and I pulled out some fun art supplies, including, the much coveted, most fun art supply of all: glitter, and set to work with the kids making our own valentines. It was such an enjoyable afternoon, I almost had myself fooled. Suddenly I looked up to find the project First Son was working on, lonely little glue dots around a heart cut-out, just waiting for embellishment, but First Son was nowhere to be found. He had abandoned his Valentine! I called up the stairs and he replied that he was in his bed because "it's not cold in my bed" I had spoken too soon. Up I went with the thermometer in hand. Once again, 100'. More Motrin, and a call to the babysitter - no night out for Mom!

Ok, truly, in the grand scheme of things, this is not so bad. I wasn't having to go to the ER, I just had a kid home with a bug, and anyway, I was still kind of tired. I didn't really need to go out. I have dealt with much worse while Hubby has been away. In truth, I was getting off easy this time. As long as I kept First Son on Motrin he was in good spirits. We ordered a pizza and a movie. There are worse ways to spend a Saturday night.

And then...we went upstairs to get ready for bed when First Son announced that his "throat hurt". Crap. He has never in his life complained of a sore throat before. Other than a fever, he had no other symptoms. My gut was telling me that this was not good. I got out Hubby's Super Duty flashlight and made the kid say "ahh". Red. Definitely bright red, and possibly a few white spots. Strep Throat. Double Crap. I gave him some Tylenol and sent him off to bed.

I then proceeded to make the first of about 50 phone calls. You see, I work on Sundays. I work for the nicest people in the world, in a very small coffee shop that absolutely relies on their Sunday take to pay their bills. If I don't come to work they have to close shop for the day. I couldn't do that to them. However, it was really important that I get First Son to a Dr the next day. Strep Throat can be dangerous if it is not treated, and unfortunately First Son falls into a category that is "high risk". He was a cherub in need of an antibiotic. I was a Mom in need of a favor or two.

My first call was to my sister, known around here as "Aunt Mean" - which isn't always a comment on her personality. She's an RN, who has already raised four kids of her own, and is the only person other than Hubby who I would trust to take First Son to the pediatrician in place of myself. Of course, I kept getting her voicemail. Since she wasn't stuck at home with a sick cherub she had indeed gone out to celebrate the birth of my niece, her daughter, 25 years earlier. I then tried every other cell phone number of the people who I knew would be out with her. Either the bar they were in was really LOUD, or there was no cell service - surely they couldn't all be ignoring me! After about 15 tries, I finally had both the Sunshine girl and Ignats, my 21yr old godson, calling me back at the same time. Finally - I got to talk to a person! Ignats put his mother on the phone so I could ask for her help but...she gave me some line about a bunch of premature babies in some intensive care unit that she was previously engaged to take care of the next day. Whatever...like that's important, I needed to pour coffee and sling eggs for crying out loud! Crap.

Next I placed my call to the "Chef" - I asked him to please, please, make some calls and try to find someone to cover for me the next day, even if it would only be for a few hours. I explained the whole situation with OOT Hubby and sickly First Son. He suggested closing the restaurant the next day, but I resisted. That would mean him taking a really big hit in the wallet. He said he would start dialing and call me back.

As I sat waiting for some enlightenment, some sloution to my problem, the phone rang. It was Ignats. He offered to take First Son to the Doc for me, since he had no plans the next day. Well, that is a nice offer, but....First Son is a bit wimpy, and knowing that they would be doing a throat culture, shoving a stick down his throat, I didn't really think that Ignats was the best person for the job, a definite Mommy job. Thanks, but no thanks. Then I started thinking...Ignats has some experience is the food service industry...maybe he could come to the Coffee Shop and relieve me for a few hours so that I could get First son his prescription. Yeah...that's the ticket!

So that's what we did. I loaded First son up on Motrin at 7:30 AM (his temp was now 102' and he was miserable), left him and the other cherubs in the capable hands of Grandma and then headed off to work. At 10:00 Ignats arrived, got a quick tutorial and my best wishes for luck pouring coffee and slinging eggs, and I was off to bring First Son to the Doc. As expected, he was diagnosed with Strep, given a prescription for 8 days of Amoxicillan, and ordered to spend the next day home from school. I returned him to Grandma and headed back to work. When I got there there were three people doing my job, and "Chef" was overjoyed to see me, as were my regular customers. I take my hat off to all "working mothers" - again, a whole 'nother post.

By the time I got home, around 5PM everyone was relaxing peacefully. Hubby had returned on an afternoon flight, and just can't seem to understand what was so tough. Hmmph. I need to get myself a job that requires "travel". Perhaps I could start writing a column focused on the best "spas" in the country...then we'll let him give it a whirl!