kiwords

Lately I've been hearing reports from people all around me of the dreaded stomach flu. The family of a friend of Tre's had it. Then this other family we know. Then good friends of Max and Raphi's. It's like paddling around in the water, hearing the Jaws music faintly in the background. It swells, you look around. You've made it this far.

Will you escape unscathed?

Of course not, stupid. That's why you're in this movie...uh...life.

Last week I had one of those days that requires meticulous planning. The sort of day that will be FINE, REALLY, just as long as everything from point A right through point W-9b goes just right. And I had that puppy planned. I had it cold. And you know what? It went fine. Just fine for most of the day.

The second to last big task on my list was "Allergy shots for Tre." Have I told you about the allergy shots? How the allergist's office is my home away from home, and the only reason it gets second billing is because I have wireless access here? Well. Allergist's office. I live there. And last week I failed to get Tre there, which is BAD, I am a BAD MOM. We were squeaking in under the wire to get him his shots before his schedule got messed up, so BY GOD, we were going.

I finished the dishes (point T 12c), rounded up the kids, and herded them into the van. On his way to the door, Max stopped and looked at me.

"I don't feel good," he muttered. "My stomach...it sort of hurts."

So I turned right around, tucked him in bed, fed him nourishing broths, and spoke soothingly to him as I smoothed his hair back from his fevered brow, right?

Uh. Wrong. I mean, SORT of hurts? Puh-leeze. Someone's something ALWAYS hurts! I've got a schedule here, people! We marched off to the van, where I started the CD of Lion Boy we were listening to, which would give us a chance to finish it in time to drop it off at the library when Tre went there for his Anti-Valentine's Day party later. Excellent. And everything seemed fine. (Did you catch that? That was FORESHADOWING, otherwise known as ICK IS COMING.)

After Tre gets his shot he has to wait in the office for a half hour to make sure he's not going to die. No, seriously. That's one of the cool things about allergy shots. They cost a mint, and they require the time commitment of a part time job, and they are going to make him NOT ALLERGIC, and oh plus there is a chance that instead they will kill him dead. Awesome. It's a SMALL chance, but still. He has to wait, just to be sure.

As we waited, Max sat, with his arms pulled inside his shirt, and squirmed. I pretended to read a magazine, while I watched him with sinking heart. Oh, he should not be here. He had that very special can't-sit-still energy of the imminently puking. Suddenly, he stood up, and headed out the door toward the bathroom. As he passed me, he wordlessly shot me a look that was all huge eyes and clammy skin.

Oh yes. Here it comes.

And the worst part of this whole story? The single, pure moment, that shines the reality of my true self out to the world, beacon-like?

When I saw him, standing there, heaving in the hallway, right outside the bathroom, a great puddle at his feet, my first thought was, SCORE. I do NOT have to clean that one up.