I’ll take the Uninteresting, please.

So let’s talk about the UNinteresting for a moment. I consider the vast majority of my life happenings to be rather uninteresting. It’s a lot of paying bills, cleaning up messes, doing laundry, cooking, playing chauffeur to the children and trying to figure out my teenager’s agendas. You know, the norm. It’s basically uninteresting. It’s to be expected. Its just life. I’m okay with that. In fact, I quite like it.

I’ve decided that living an INteresting life is way overrated sometimes. The past 24 hours of my life is what I would consider interesting to a fault. Let me give you the rundown.

Wake up. Let dogs out. Two birds fly into the garage at the very moment I open the door. One of them grazes the side of my head with its wing. It was terrifying. My eyes were barely open and my brain was barely awake. I don’t know about you, but wild creatures’ flying at my face first thing in the morning is not exactly how I like to start my day. In a failed attempt to guide them out of the side door, I spent the next 20 minutes of my life swatting at them with a broom whilst dodging the perpetual liquid poo pouring from their bodies and covering my garage floor. Then I realized, “Gee I should just open the GIGANTIC GARAGE DOOR instead of trying to shoo them out of this teensy freaking tiny doorway…”

Again, early morning, no coffee, brain sleeping.

Cue the 13-year-old daughter walking into the room, “You look weird mom. What happened?”

“Never mind,” I grumbled. She then informs me that she puked 3 times in the middle of the night and she’s going back to bed. Great. Fingers crossed that Puke-A-Palooza does not work its way through the rest of our people.

Enter the 15-year-old daughter. “Mom. My foot looks like a water balloon.”

Yep. Her foot looked like a water balloon. Apparently the seemingly harmless bee sting she sustained on her pinky toe the day before morphed into elephantiasis over night. Being the “go ahead and get ready for school, you’ll pull through this” sort of mother that I am, coupled with the fact that I had to get my 4-year-old registered for preschool at 9am, I went ahead and sent her on her merry way, hoping for the best.

Cue frantic phone call from school nurse. “Mrs. Mauer, not to alarm you but your child’s swollen foot is now becoming a swollen leg.”

Hi. I’m Kristin Mauer, but you can call me “Mother of the Year”.

At this point, I’m literally in the process of helping my 4-year-old wipe his butt in the bathroom at the preschool where we are already running late to meet the principal. But the kid decided he wanted to try and poop on the potty. Whattya’ gonna do? After all, this is an epic moment. If the kid says he wants to poop on the potty, you let the kid poop on the potty. And I already know what you’re thinking… The answer is YES. I’m still dealing with a 4-year-old who isn’t fully potty trained. (Yay me.) Relax people. The kid won’t be crapping his pants in college. I promise.

Anyway, I rush my way through the registration process while trying to maintain a calm and cheerful demeanor for my little dude’s sake. After all, this is a big deal and he’s super stoked! Preschool registration! Milestones! Daughter potentially going into anaphylactic shock… Woohoo! Finally we finish up registration and haul keister out of that joint only to realize almost every road around us is flooded.

Welcome to springtime in Tidewater y’all!

After being detoured about 5 times and getting stuck behind a man driving about 12 miles per hour whilst transporting a gigantic hog with diarrhea in the back of his pickup truck (yes, for real this entire day revolves around poop) we finally arrive at the high school clinic where the nurse gives me a less than necessary tutorial on how to determine whether or not my child is having an allergic reaction.

Thank you lady, but unless you have a crash cart here and/or an adrenaline shot, we can have this conversation on a different day.

Cue the phone call from my sick 13-year-old daughter who is currently home alone.  “Mom. I’m pretty sure there’s a rabid raccoon out here. It’s making creepy sounds and it’s running around the yard and acting all crazy.”

The raccoon part comes as no surprise. After all, I found my beloved rooster “Woodstock” lying headless in the backyard the day before. However, the raccoon running around in broad daylight acting all skittish and whatnot? That does come as a bit of a surprise. Not cool.

In summation, my “bee sting” daughter sat in the doctor’s office for observation for most of the afternoon. After a loading dose of prednisone, zyrtec and a prescription for several more days of steroid treatment, they sent us out the door with strict instructions to go straight home, prop her leg up and cover her entire foot with cold compresses. So as can be expected, we immediately went to the soccer field where she sat on the sidelines (without propping her leg up) and woefully watched as her teammates battled it out with their epic rival in their biggest game of the season.

Sigh. Life ain’t always fair, ya know?

Suffice to say, all has pretty much returned to being uninteresting around here. The 13-year-old is back to school today and no longer carrying around a barf bag. The 15-year-old is still hobbling, but the swelling is a wee bit better. The 4-year-old is still not potty trained, but he’s registered for preschool! And the potentially rabid raccoon is still on the loose.

I could do without that part, but…


RIP Woodstock II.


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