Mama Said There'd Be Days Like This
As soon as I hit "publish" on yesterday's post, my phone rang. No, it wasn't Mom admitting to her shopping addiction, it was Lane 1. He said I had to come pick him up because his teacher said he looked like he had pink eye. Keep in mind, I just dropped the kid off one hour before. He did have red itchy eyes but he has allergies. They go hand-in-hand. Plus, he was up at 4:30 in the morning and was likely tired too.
I tried explaining to the principal it was only allergies causing his eyes to turn red. He wouldn't hear it and said it is school policy to get a note from a doctor for such contagious diseases. And because saying, "Are you fucking kidding me?!" in a school environment is not exactly appropriate, I refrained.
We went straight to urgent care, where the doctor determined... he has allergies. She wrote a note for him to take to school and prescribed some stronger allergy medication. She told me to get some over-the-counter eye drops specifically for allergies to use twice a day if his eyes continue to bother him.
So, we headed to the pharmacy and waited, and waited, and waited. In the end it cost me $95 and almost four hours to know what I already knew.
As we walked out of the pharmacy, I called the school and let them know what the doctor said. I intended to bring Lane 1 back to school to finish the day since he was not contagious and had a note from a professional (not just the stupid mom) proving it was allergies. The principal told me to just let him stay home for the rest of the day, "JUST IN CASE."
Too keep from popping a vein in my head and not cuss the principal out, I said, "Okay, thank you." What the fuck was I thanking him for? Miss Manners needs to get hit by a truck or something. Thanks a bunch Mom for instilling these stupid manners so deep within my head that I thank assholes for ruining my day and for costing me a fortune.
The day wasn't shaping up very well. When Lane 1 and I finally made it back home, our street was blocked with construction. I had to drive three blocks in a big circle to get into my driveway. Not really a big deal but it was par for the course of what the day entailed.
Through it all Lane 1 was as happy as a little puppy sniffing a pile of poop. "You better start acting sick boy."
Before all of that madness ensued, I drove the old man to work at the butt crack of dawn, 30 miles away, then another 30 back home to get the kids ready for school, then drove them to school. I'd just started gathering my notes for a phone interview when the phone rang with claims of infectious disease on the other end. Is it ironic that the story I was supposed to be working on at that very moment was about the bird flu and other infectious disease?
Crazy as it is, my son a 13-year-old boy, realized how completely screwed up my day was turning out. He offered to get out of my hair by sitting outside watching the construction unfold. I suggested he watch from the window so the dust didn't cause him any more allergy troubles. He put the neck of his shirt over his nose and mouth and said slightly muffled, "How 'bout if I do this Ma?"
"You're nuts. Go ahead."
He sat there on the front steps watching. A worker approached our house and asked if he could get some water from the hose. Sidewalk supervisor that my son is, shouts to the guy, "Sure. Just turn it to the left to turn it on, and turn it toward the right to turn it off.
The burly construction worker graciously smiled and thanked him. He was too cute to burst his bubble by letting him know the guy probably knows how spigots work.
Although I'm still trying to decide if that spur of the moment booty call from the old man was worth the 120 miles of driving back and forth, getting up at 4 a.m., likely making the day suck more than it would have otherwise, it was fun spending time with my teenager.