Home » building a house » Pajama day (or WEEK)

Pajama day (or WEEK)

I’m so brain dead, I don’t even know what to write. But I need to write. Must. Write. I’m withering if I don’t write.

But I can’t find two words to string together.

(Have no fear. You know I always find a way…)

It has taken me all week to compose this post.

This time of year always wears me out, beats me down, rings my bell, slaps me silly. Twenty-ten is no exception. And, oh yeah, in the midst of holiday madness, we’re building a house.

(Which is still a blast and I’m really not complaining. We spent three hours at a lighting showroom last week picking out every single light fixture that will be contained within our home, and I loved it. So much fun. But it was three hours. And that’s a long time. But it was a fun three hours.)

So my mental energy-o-meter is still reverberating from that, plus seventy-two dance performances and soccer games and piano recitals and swim lessons and laundry and driving back and forth to my parents’ house – and when Monday morning rolls around, I drop the kids off at school, drive back home, and crawl into my bed for a mid-morning nap.

I think I kinda need it.

I slept for a little while (if an hour & ½ is “a little while”) before the phone rang. My first thought is who in the world is calling me at this hour on a Monday morning? Who doesn’t know me? Because anyone who knows me knows that Monday morning is nap time.

Except, of course, for the school nurse. Who was calling to inform me that my youngest son just threw up all over the hallway.

I swore to her that he was PERFECTLY FINE when he arrived at school that morning. He gave me absolutely, positively NO indication that he was feeling bad. She believed me. I just hope that his teacher did. ‘Cause I’ve been attempting to kiss up to her as much as humanly possible after the last vomiting event. I’m pretty sure she still hates me. Especially since she asked the nurse, “He is going home, isn’t he?”

The nurse has a terrific sense of humor about it. She seriously considered sending Nathan back to class with a note saying, “He feels better now and will stay at school” …just to see what she’d do.

But she didn’t. And I’m glad. Because I’m trying really, really hard to get back into her good graces.

So Nathan came home. And of course, he was fine. He didn’t eat much for the rest of the day, and he told me, “my tummy feels a little bit ill,” but he was perfectly content lying on the couch and watching TV for the rest of the afternoon.

Until he ate a bowl of cereal for dinner. Then he ran to the bathroom. He was there for a while, and we didn’t know what he was doing, so I went to check on him and found him hunched over the toilet.

(And let me tell you, I am SO glad to have a child old enough to make it to the toilet.)

I patted his back, asked him if he was okay, then left and told Michael, “He’s throwing up” in a tag-you’re-it kind of way because I don’t deal well with vomit. If I went in there, we’d have double the vomit. So I pass off vomit duty to my iron-stomached husband. That’s just how we roll.

There was no “let’s see how he feels in the morning.” Oh no. No no no no. To bed with you, buddy. Lesson learned.

Which means that my plans for finishing up the Christmas shopping the next day were kaput. Nope, we’re staying home.

And on Tuesday, he was feeling fine in the morning (of course), but got a little sleepy before lunch, so I sent him to lay down on his bed and rest. Two hours later, he woke up. With 102.8 temp.

Which, according to the 24-hour rule, means no school the next day, either.

And normally, I’m all for a pajama day. I love to have a day or two to relax. And I do feel really bad for my kids when they’re sick. But dangit, I have things to do!

I didn’t get dressed for two days. I didn’t do anything for two days. And it felt really crappy.

(But I did get a good laugh thinking about this post I read the week before, as well as the follow up post. For the record, I have pumped gas in my pajamas, AND I AM PROUD OF IT! I’m way beyond the age and stage of caring what other people think about what I look like.)


Finally, on Wednesday, Nathan was feeling better and had no fever. Which was a good thing, because I had a very full Thursday on the calendar – including a meeting with the trim carpenter and the pool person.

(Who has an official job title, I’m sure, but I don’t know what it is. So we’ll just call her “the pool person.”)

Wednesday night. Nathan has a red, goopy eye.


I almost shook my fist at the heavens and shouted, “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”

But I didn’t. Because Michael knows kids’ eyes. And he has samples of Vigamox at his office. At 7:30 on Wednesday night, he went back to the office, got the eyedrops, skillfully administered said eyedrops, and assured this whacked-out mama that youngest son would be non-contagious and able to return to school the next day.

Well. That’s a relief.

So I was able to make the aforementioned appointment with the trim carpenter (and builder and designer and project manager and door guy and stairs guy – who also have official job titles that I am not aware of). Once again, two & ½ long hours of way too much fun. Building a custom home is a blast. I keep saying that. We walk into a room of our house and say, “OK, what do we want to do in here?” and they do it! So much fun.

This cracked me up. Since we have never built a custom home before, the process keeps delightfully surprising us. The builder and trim carpenter wrote instructions on all of our windows with a Sharpie. So funny.

(The windows aren’t really frosted like that. It’s just a protective covering while they do this:)

So here we are at Friday, and I finally finished this post. I am so excited about sleeping late tomorrow.

In my pajamas. That I may or may not change out of before lunchtime.


One thought on “Pajama day (or WEEK)

  1. Maybe, in the midst of this month that you don't always love, that was just God's way of allowing you to relax a bit. Just putting a little spin on it. :)And was he really not contagious anymore even though the ointment hadn't been administered for 24 hours? 'Cause I just don't want the teacher having more reasons to hate you. :)Great post.

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