Just When You Think You're Havin' A Good Day

It's pouring rain outside-- buckets.

But despite the wet weather, today is gonna be a good day.

I had a decent night's sleep, and Joseph's bg is only slightly high before he has his breakfast, and sets out for the bus stop.

Evan is in fine spirits upon waking, putting on her fabulous, sparkly pink pants and her purple shirt with the hearts on the front. She's excited about her two-hour "First Friends" class at the Y-- though it's just one day a week (Fridays), it's really nice for her.

For me too.

Today, I'm meeting a friend for coffee. Such a luxury-- a live conversation on a weekday with another adult.

So, off we go to the Y, with Evan talking about today's theme -- "the body" -- the whole way there.

"Mommy, I'll tell you all about my body after school."

"You do that, honey," I say with a smile.

At the Y, Evan joins the nine other kids in her class, and I depart for my grownup time at the coffee shop.

My friend and I talk about her recent vacation, and how it was almost spoiled when both of her kids came down with an awful stomach virus just days before their trip.

"Man, I hate those things," I said, "I remember years ago, when Ryan and I were in Portugal-- before kids, of course -- I'd gotten food poisoning our last night there.

"And I refused to throw-up. Burning up with fever, sick as a dog, but I wouldn't do it. Until Ryan bribed me with a secret-- then and only then would I let loose. I really, really don't like throwing up."

My friend just laughs and laughs.

Soon I've drained my cup of decaf, and am heading back to the Y.

As we're driving home, Evan begins telling me about her class. She's so animated, sitting in that car seat, hands emphasizing every word.

"Mommy, it was Cole's special day, today. . . he's so cute-- he's just so little, mommy! And he showed us his Teddy bear-- and I made a book about my body! You can read it to me when we get home."

"You betcha, honey." The kid is just killin' me with her enthusiasm.

At home, I begin slicing an apple for the first course of Evan's lunch, while she sits in the living room perusing her new "body book."

That's when I hear the screaming.

"MOMMY!! MOMMY!!"

I run into the living room, and Evan is standing there-- arms outstretched, crying hard.

Her purple shirt and pink pants are covered in brown vomit.

Rubbing her back, I try to calm her down, but she keeps saying through cries "Mamma, my hands are all wet."

I leave her for a moment to get some old dish towels. When I return, I peel off her clothes, and -- very gently -- wipe her hands, her face, and then her feet.

Minutes after I change her into her favorite soft, purple nightgown with the butterflies-- she throws up all over the front of it.

This is the way it goes for the remainder of the afternoon, the evening.

All. Night.

We try to keep Joseph away from Evan, because -- all the time I'm holding my feverish daughter, worrying about her becoming dehydrated, about how frightening this must be for her -- I'm also thinking about her brother:

Please don't let him get this thing. Oh God, please don't. It would be so much worse for him.

So here we are, Saturday afternoon. Evan is resting, finally able to keep down a bit of flat ginger ale.

And I've got a screaming headache.

You see, last weekend, while eating a hamburger I bit down on something that felt like a small pebble.

Hurt like the dickens for a day or two, and then just a dull ache on the right side of my jaw for several days after.

Then yesterday, while Evan dozed briefly, I sat down and ate a ham sandwich (didn't have much of an appetite, but knew I really needed to eat).

And again, felt something strange in my mouth. This time, I pulled out a hard, white, piece of something. I looked at it a moment, wondering if it was part of the ham . . . while at the same time moving my tongue around the inside of my mouth, my back teeth . . .

Horrified, I suddenly realized that I was holding a small portion of one of my back molars.

Okay, this is not good.

I guess whatever was in that burger did a lot more damage than I originally thought.

(Now, this scares the heck out of me, because I've never had a problem with my teeth.)

Soooo, I called my dentist and was told they could get me in next Wednesday.

Just hope by then, I don't start vomiting, too.