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Be careful what you think — the Parenting Gods always know

Submitted by on Wednesday, 11 June 2008 No Comment

“There are certain things you don’t do in life.

You never stroll through a newspaper late on a Friday and say, “”gosh, the police scanner sure is quiet today.”"

You never sidle up to a pitcher before the bottom on the ninth inning and ask, “”Have you ever thrown a no-hitter before?”"

And you never, ever, ever say, “”What else can happen?”"

Here’s a new one for the list: Never blog about your kids’ ick-free winter. As sure as you do, within months every bug on the West Coast will land on them. For that matter, bugs will come from countries far and wide to join the party. Bugs will merge and mutate just for the joy of torturing you.

I speak from bitter recent experience: Four weeks, four doctor’s visits, three sick days. I’ve seen Red Beard the Angel, the chatty security guard at our clinic, so much lately that he’s about to land on my Christmas card list.

I shouldn’t complain. They’ve all been minor ailments — an asthma check here, infection of an indeterminate origin there, pink eye.

In fact, I won’t complain, because the meerest whisper of a whine summons the Parenting Gods to unleash hell’s fury on your butt. “”She’s griping about pink eye? She ain’t seen nothing yet. Wait ’til we unleash this year’s model of bubonic plague on her little dearies.”"

The latest bug bit just after I got to work this morning. Technically speaking, I suppose it bit sometime yesterday, but I had overslept and was too caffeine-deprived and bleary-eyed to notice.

“”Debra, this is D at the day care,”" the teacher said as I sucked in my breath, as I imagine every parent who gets that call does. “”It’s not an emergency,”" she continued as I exhaled.

She’d noticed that Big Guy’s eyes were a little pink and gunky and wanted me to take him to be checked.

Gunky? Damnit! He’d mentioned having eye boogers when he woke up, but I was too caught up in my “”can’t be late for work”" rush for it to register. Bad, Oblivious Mommy!

I’m sure the next word that popped into my head further offended the Parenting Gods: “”Oh crap,”" I thought. Not “”Oh, my poor baby!”" Not “”I’ll be over in five minutes.”" But “”Oh crap!”" Bad, Uncaring Mommy!

Gotta call the doctor. Gotta finish this story. Gotta leave work early. Gotta stay for a two-hour training seminar. I have whiplash from ricocheting between Mom and Worker.

To make it worse, I’m sure D had labeled me Bad Parent Who Tries to Sneak Sick Kid into Day Care. Which I never do — unless I’m too oblivious to notice — because I’m the one who always winds up on the wrong end of those deals. The one whose two kids both wind up with the dread disease du jour, but at separate times, of course.

There’s an off chance this sick string is paying karmic debt accumulated when I got to enjoy their angelic behavior during our traffic-jam induced three-hour drive home a few weeks back.

I still feel the need to get myself right with the Parenting Gods, though, so I’ve been offering up a plea all evening.

“”Oh, great and mighty Parenting Gods, I thank you for once again visiting pink eye upon my humble home. For the opportunity to force eye drops upon a scrawny but wiry — not to mention mad — Big Guy. For the chance to return to work with an even higher pile on my desk. I’d be even more grateful if you’d let Little Guy get pink eye, too. Preferably early tomorrow, so I can get them both back in day care Thursday.”"

Oops. I think I blew it again. There’s nothing the Parenting Gods hate worse than a smart aleck.

Bubonic plague, here we come!

Copyright 2008 Debra Legg. All rights reserved.

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  • Genevieve said:

    LMAO – so true the Parenting Gods. Must be careful!!!