Sunday, February 1, 2009

Birthday two ways.

Let's face it, there is a right way and a wrong way to celebrate your birthday.  Let's start with the wrong way.  Having your two year old wake up screaming "Owie owie owie!" at the panicked top of his lungs is not the best way to kick of the celebration of your slow march toward death.  That heart pounding, stomach sinking feeling a parent gets when your sleep is broken by a sick child crying out for you is not the way to start any day.  When he came into our bed he was burning up with a fever.  He was sick, no two ways about it.  I gave him Tylenol and we all got back to sleep.  When he woke up a few hours later he was miraculously restored.  Phew.

I'd taken the day off work, partly to celebrate my birthday, partly to help chaperon Big Dog's preschool's walk to the library and partly to get some errands done.  With Little Dog wolfing down breakfast and generally acting his own feisty self, I felt ok leaving him with NE.  I asked her not to take to to co-op, just to prevent passing the germs around but expected him to be ok with a low key day.

After the walk to the library (which was perfectly nice, so I'm not getting into the details of it since it would distract from the "wrong way" celebration story) I decided to pick up some birthday cupcakes the head down to pick up the flooring for the boys room that had arrived, and then to Ikea to get the light fixture that was out of stock last time I was down that direction. I worked my way over the the freeway on ramp only to see traffic backed up and unmoving as far as the eye could see.  OK, scratch that, I'll do that over the weekend.  Instead I'd pick up a few things in town, then head home.  I got some supplies at Joanne's, picked up some organizing boxes at Land of Nod and was heading home when my phone rang.   NE was calling to let me know that Little Dog was screaming bloody murder and his fever was back.  It spiked as suddenly as his screaming and he was burning up at 103 degrees.  I told her I'd be there in a heartbeat, then dialed the pediatrician to see if I could get him in to be checked out before the weekend.

Swung home, got Little Dog, saw the doctor who checked him over, including a throat swab that came back covered in blood, and told us it was most likely a virus.  Control the fever and come back Monday if he wasn't feeling better. After a few TV shows on the sofa in his little blanket nest, more Tylenol and some juice, Little Dog started to bounce back.  He was up and around, playing with his brother.  I was relieved, and when my sister called, I was a little distracted.  We were having a nice chat when Little Dog started insisting there was poop to be dealt with.  Fine, I walked over where the boys were playing and was shown that there was poop on the wall.  Guess I wasn't quick enough with the diaper change, so he decided to redecorate.  A shit mural if you will.  No, it was not at all nice.

So I'm wiping crap off my wall and Mr. Dog calls to let me know he's stuck in traffic, there was an accident that tied things up and he had to take an alternate route.  He'd be home soon, but he was going to be late. Fine, great.  No problem, I'll manage.

He got home shortly after we talked and was downstairs when I was bringing down the dishes.  He immediately tried to put me off a bit so he could sign his card, which I did not fully appreciate when handed to me. I was still pretty upset about the fecal masterpiece I'd just cleaned up.  But when I looked closer, he'd also enclosed a printout telling me I was getting a new food processor for my gift.  (Something I've wanted for a long time).  

The rest of the evening was pretty uneventful.  We watched some TV, drank some wine, ate cupcakes and called it a night.  So it wasn't all bad, but it certainly isn't the way I'd choose to celebrate.  That leads me to the do-over.

Celebrating your birthday right.  It started off perfectly, Mr. Dog got up with the boys and kept them happily occupied until 10 am.  At this late hour, I finally awoke from my slumber and went to find out how it happened that I was let to sleep past 8 am, the time when two young boys usually force me from my bed.  They were being entertained by their dad, who handed me a cup of coffee and asked me if I wanted to eat breakfast at home or would I prefer to go out.  We decided to go out, and we ate at the new local breakfast place, didn't have to wait for a table or anything.

After breakfast, Mr. Dog set to fixing the floor in the soon to be children's bedroom and I called a friend to meet up at the Zoomazium.  We hit the zoo and let the kids play until they kicked us out at closing time.  I headed home with some tired, well exercised boys.

NE showed up at 6:15 pm and Mr. Dog and I got ready for our date night.  That's right, a real date night, out of the house with friends.  Dinner and a movie.  We even took a cab so neither of us had to play designated driver.  Ok, the movie was a piece of crap.  Really bad, but whatever. I was out with adults, watching movies that didn't feature talking dogs or acrobatic pandas. 

When we got home the kids were asleep, so we headed off to bed as well.  Nice night.  Now that's how you celebrate a birthday.


geekymummy said...

wow, an actual movie in the cinema. What a treat, even if it was rubbish.

Anonymous said...

HA! I LOVED this! Happy Belated B-day!

katherynei said...

Very glad you got a do-over. And you have a really nice husband to help out like that, a rare find!

chihuahua5 said...

wow, glad i DIDN'T buy you that expensive poop artwork as you have your own little gifted artist :)

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