Riley woke up early and rather cranky this morning; I was pretty cool about it all, although he was sobbing for a good five minutes before I got in the shower, presumably sobbing for the ten minutes I was in the shower, and then sobbed for the five minutes it took me to towel off and get dressed, so my blood pressure had started to climb by the time I got him out of bed. Is there anything more stressful than listening to your child sob? Very few things get me tense the way a crying child does.
Ri-Man seemed fine once he got up; he sucked down some milk, played with the Mads, and refused breakfast. Fine. No biggie. Whatever. We all head into the bathroom for tooth-brushing time, and all of a sudden, out of nowhere, PUKEFEST '08! Riley went all Exorcist on me! It scared him, of course, so I mustered all of my mothering pluck and gave Sir Barfy a big hug, only to be nailed by Wave Two. Thank goodness it was two of two. He's covered in barf and screaming, I'm covered in barf and trying to be loving while also being seriously grossed out, and Maddie is wading through Wave One because she's scared and needs a hug, too. I start stripping people—myself included—and throwing raunchy clothes into the bathtub; I ultimately end up putting two nearly-naked kids in the gated playroom and cleaning the tile (good job hitting the tile, Riley!) floor in my bra and panties.
The good news is that, in typical kid fashion, he was right back to being himself after he recovered from the shock of throwing up. I could not, however, in good conscience take him to daycare after that. Plus I had agreed to give a coworker a ride to work and didn't have her cell number to make alternate arrangements. I packed us all into the car, dropped Mads at daycare, picked up my coworker, and drove to work even though I wasn't going in. Riley napped during the drive, which he probably would not have done at home, so it all worked out just fine.
My little turkey was fine all day, and I got the pleasure of a day with one. We ran a bunch of errands (beginning with Starbucks) during the morning, then went home for lunch (if two crackers counts as lunch) and a nap, followed by a long snuggle. It was really nice to be able to focus on the little man like that. He thrives on that attention. I held him whenever he wanted to be held, he didn't have to jockey for toys, and he gladly monopolized my attention. He was so sweet and happy all day. He's so emotional and so sensitive. If I could give him that attention every day, he would be so much less cranky, poor kid. He needs that attention in a way that some kids (like Maddie) don't, but I just can't always give it to him. It's not that I think he's going to turn out emotionally stunted or something. I just wish I could be there for him more. He loves that interaction.
I'm surviving the in-laws OK so far. It was chaos at the house tonight, but the kids were charming and sweet, and the ins were so happy to see them. Tomorrow will be a long day. I was hoping to go to the co-op in the morning, but we're supposed to get snow, so I'm not sure that will happen. We may all be stuck in the house. Eeek! Wish me luck.
The PayPal button is under consideration. I'm still reeling from all the kind comments on my last post. My biggest hesitation with the PayPal thing is that I feel like a bit of a fraud. I have money set aside for retirement. I have life insurance money, although I've made a dent in it. It's not like I have no rainy-day fund. I'm just do not handle financial insecurity well AT ALL, so the thought that my rainy-day is here makes me very, very edgy. But still. I'm hardly about to head into foreclosure, and I do have family who can help. I'm just a nervous nellie as regards money.
I'm just going to plow forth with no transitions tonight. Transitions: overrated! Waste of time! When John was in treatment, we met a few times with an Oncology Social Worker at the clinic. I really liked her. I actually had a session with her the day that John died. I know she makes house calls and does phone appointments, and I meant to follow up with her to schedule some appointments after John's death and never made the time. The time might be now. I put her card in my purse and intended to call her from work today, but, alas, I was home with the Sick One. Monday.
One last thing . . . (Does that count as a transition?) I have listened to David Archuleta's performance of "Imagine" countless times and I have yet to get sick of it. Something about it really speaks to me. I feel really cheesy admitting that, but it's true. I can't get enough of that performance and I can't wait to hear what he does next week.