Bad Mommy and Bad Days.

So- here’s my day.

Carter awakes with the “slapped cheeks” of yesterday, still there, slightly more red and puffy. He complains of feeling worse than yesterday, and insists, quite rightly, on staying out of school. The thing is, I have our last class of Siblings without Rivalry (the irony isn’t lost here) at Archie’s preschool.

Call Grandma Carol who graciously agrees to host my germ factory during parenting class. Race through the house, ranting like a madwoman, trying to find clothes for Archie, mascara for me, books for Carter to take to Grandma’s. . . . toss said items and two kids in the car and race to drop off Carter.

As we pull into the driveway, Carol reasonably asks if Carter has any shoes. He does not. As we leave, I comfort myself by checking Archie’s bucket to see that he has his crocks and a pair of tennis shoes all packed up for school. I pat myself on the back for at least 50% of my offspring.

Halfway through our parenting discussion, Archie’s teacher sticks her head in the room and asks if I happen to have any right shoes. Archie’s bucket, turns out, is chock full of left shoes.

Pick up Carter, bring boys home, call pediatrician. Nurse says Carter’s cheeks sound strange and she’d like to see them. Pack up kids. In pediatrician’s office, Archie decides Carter is playing the waiting room game too fast, and proceeds to communicate his dissatisfaction by repeatedly biting, hitting and pinching Carter. I hold Archie in my lap, murmur about using words, etc, etc, and he screams, “HELP I CAN’T BREATHE YOU’RE HURTING ME!!!”

Breathe deeply. Hope no one that knows I facilitate parenting classes is anywhere near.

We finally get called back to a room, where Carter repeatedly opens the window the nurse asked him to leave alone yesterday, and Archie devotes himself to climbing on the examining table to attack Carter, again. Repeats screaming behavior when I hold him. What was it I did this morning? Oh yeah. Parenting class. Over screaming, nurse teaches Carter to use the Aerochamber to inhale his medicine. Demonstrates how the chamber holds the right dose, so even if Carter doesn’t inhale it all the first try, he’ll still get the amount he needs because air can only flow one way through the chamber.

Take kids to pharmacy, where Archie continues his dance of hit/scream/bite/scream. Discover that while the chemicals Carter is supposed to inhale are covered by Hoosier Healthwise, the Aerochamber is not. They recommend to medicaid recipients that they try using a toilet paper role.

A. Toilet. Paper. Roll.

A toilet paper roll in the place of an air chamber that keeps air moving in only one direction. Pharmacist has some difficulty explaining this concept to me, not only because it’s ridiculous, but because Archie hasn’t stopped screaming.

Drop 70 bucks on aerochamber. It has really cute teddy bears on it, after all.

Come home and pray for a smooth bedtime. Give the boys dinner. Tell them to imagine I have a giant turtle coming out of my nose in order to get them to look at me for Daddy’s daily picture rather than poke each other.

Here it is: