But I Did Have to Walk Uphill Both Ways to School

I should know better than to trust him.

He has tried to control me.

He has worked to trick me.

He has lied to me soooo many times before.

And yet, I brought TomTom with me on this trip. I depended on him to get me from the airport to the hotel. FAIL.

As I pulled out of the airport parking garage, the GPS advised me to stay left. And again. And again. Ten minutes later, I realized I had driven in a full circle. The TomTom wanted me to go back inside the parking garage.

I don't know what that says about how TomTom feels about Atlanta, but I'm thinking it's not good.

As I went all crazy and defiant and veered right to avoid the parking garage, I remembered that TomTom hates me. It's either that, or TomTom really thinks I'm cute when I'm mad.

When the TomTom told me to turn left down a one-way street? I bet I was REAL cute. Having smoke pouring out of your ears always has that effect. When TomTom told me that my hotel was in a mall parking lot? SO ADORABLE!

Way back in time, I traveled for work all the time. I would leave on Sunday night and run around to three or four cities before returning Friday night. I relied heavily on maps, internet directions, and signs. Never once did I wind up driving the wrong way down a one-way street, driving into a parking garage when I didn't want to park, or navigating straight towards a pier.

As I sat in the mall parking lot trying to figure out which way to go, I thought back to the days of yore, looked up, and realized I had been in that mall parking lot before. In fact, I had stayed on that very street for nearly six months early in my consulting career. I'm blaming the fact that every street in Atlanta is named Peachtree something or other for me not realizing that I was headed towards familiar territory. I blame TomTom for making me take THE REALLY FREAKING long way there.

Life was simpler back in the good ol' days of maps and internet directions.


Le Sigh

Today was Day Two of Sick? Not sick? Sick? Not Sick? wherein my mission was detect even the tiniest of fevers. Not that I would ever lie about the health of my kid, but if I had spotted so much as 98.7 on a thermometer, Alexis' little butt was going to the doctor's office. Period. Even if I had to "misread" the thermometer as I reported to the on-call nurse so that there was no waffling about the necessity of the trip.

Of course, since I had the thermometer handy and I was doing my best to impersonate a helicopter parent, I was greeted with a child who was literally bouncing off the walls. LITERALLY. Apparently if you make a kid stay indoors for a couple of days, she will start vibrating. Like, wooooah. She. was. nuts. Even the Bulldog was freaked out and decided to hide in the basement so that no vibrating kids knocked her unconscious.

And then came the time for me to leave. As in, out of town. As in, I needed to leave Mr. Husband home alone with the vibrating preschooler for two days. And guess what! Go ahead, guess!

Her damn fever returned.

Just like that, the poor kid started saying, "I don't feel so good" and laying around on the couch and putting off more heat than a cup of Starbucks coffee. All it took was for Mr. Husband to pull into the driveway and me to grab my suitcase. It was already past hours for the doctor's office and well past the point of return for my trip.

So now I'm sitting in the Pittsburgh Airport and waiting to board a flight while my poor husband gets to deal with a sick kid. All by himself.

Godspeed, Mr. Husband. Godspeed.

(Yes, she's riding her bike in our dining room. Why? Because SHE CAN.)


The Furry Phobia is Still Alive and Well

I often wonder how much of Today Alexis will remember Tomorrow. From the giggles to the tears to everything in between, I have to wonder what is making a lasting impression.

One of the first things I was afraid she would remember, even if only on a subconscious level, was the time she spent in the emergency room when she was three months old. A bad reaction to vaccinations coupled with a very poorly timed cold landed the poor kid front and center of an army of doctors and nurses whose primary task was to get an IV into her arm and a urine sample from the place urine comes from. It. was. awful. She screamed. She cried. She howled. It took several tries for the medical staff to accomplish their goals, and each and every second of it was the very definition of a nightmare.

I would not have been surprised if some part of her brain had grabbed hold of the image of doctors and needles and decided they were Evil. Phobias have to start somewhere, right? It would be completely understandable if she had come out of that mess with one heck of a phobia. I know *I* did.

The whole big mess was prominent in my mind today as I sat at home with a feverish and fatigued 3-year old version of that kid. She was very nearly as miserable as she was the day she found herself in the ER, the only difference being that she now has the power of words to keep her from getting dehydrated. I hounded her about drinking some water, and she did a good job of telling me where to shove that cup as she sucked down the liquid. I decided to overlook the sass since she was, you know, actually listening to what I was saying.

Her fever was such where a trip to the pediatrician's office was sort of an option, not necessarily a must. Given that there have been several confirmed cases of H1N1 at her preschool, I was leaning towards STOP THINKING AND GO, WE HAVE INSURANCE, MORON. A few phone calls later, I was back to THERE ARE MORE GERMS THERE THAN HERE, MORON (you gotta love a pediatrician who tells it like it is). Alexis was fully aware of who I was talking to each of those calls, and she felt the need to weigh in.

"Am I going to the doctor?" she asked. Repeatedly.

Several times I replied, "Maybe." Then came a dose of Motrin and another phone call and the answer changed. "No, I think you're feeling a little bit better," I told her.

"No, I not," she replied. "I want to go to the doctor."

"We'll see, but we're not going right now," I told her.

She turned her head so that her eyes could meet mine in a stare-off, thought for a second, and said, "But I sick."

Her face hovered inches from mine as she waited for my reaction. Then, as if to accentuate her point, she mustered the best fake cough she could.


"See, I sick!"

I guess I can kick Fear of Doctors off that list of things to worry about.