Balls. Dropped, juggled, and otherwise thrown.

Well, I dropped my first ball. First of many, I suspect.

Being the super vaccine loving mother that I am, at the first sign of illness in the Big Boy I made an an appointment to get him his annual flu shot.

Yes. I said, "Flu shot."
Let's clear up some myths about the flu shot, shall we?

• It is not a government conspiracy.
• You will likely not get sick. Unless you have the nasal spray, the virus isn't even alive.
• You can still get the flu, but are less likely to suffer the worst symptoms or have complications.
• Just because you've gone 10 years without having the flu (or shot) does not mean you won't get it this year.
• It does not contain dangerous levels of mercury.
• You (and by "you", I'm including "your child") are more likely to die from the flu than you are to have a serious complication from the flu shot.

 So now that we've established why I'm not afraid to get my kid the flu shot, let's discuss WHY I do it. It's pretty simple, actually. I don't want him to suffer. I don't want him to give the flu to his sister who is far more likely to die from flu complications than he is. I don't want him to give the flu to anyone else--especially someone who is elderly, immunocompromised, can't get the shot due to allergies or other medical conditions, or is very young. Basically, I believe that protecting him protects you. You're welcome.
Also, I really, really, really do not have time for the flu. So everyone in the SoccerMom house gets it.

Ok, so back to my story. I called to set up his flu shot. They offered me a choice of two appointments. Wednesday at 4:50 or Saturday at 10:30.
Neither was an excellent option for me. I have class at 5:30 on Wednesdays and orchestrating a simultaneous kid-exchange/doctor's appointment could be tricky, especially when you fact in Boston-area rush hour traffic. Hmmmm...maybe Saturday would be better. Except Saturday was already booked with a Kid's Consignment sale and already-paid-for trip to the Renaissance Faire. Hmmmm... Wednesday it is! I can't miss a sale or a giant turkey leg! Priorities must be managed!

The plan was to bring both kids to the appointment 15 minutes early and hope they could get us in sooner. It should be just a quick needle jab to the arm but appointments for the Big Boy, regardless of reason, tend to also include a height/weight check. This goes back to his first post-natal appointment. He was a scrawny little dude. Oh, was he scrawny. He's never been much of an eater and with his host of health issues, growth had always been a concern. Fortunately, he managed to turn that around in his third year and caught up with his peers. UNfortunately, he has some powerful genetics and now we carefully watch his weight to make sure he doesn't tip the scales in the wrong direction. (Don't worry, pearl clutchers, we don't discuss this with him. He doesn't "diet". We just help him make good food choices and scale back his "treats" if the scale starts creeping. No big deal.)

Anyway. Plan was to bring both kids early, hope for a quick appointment, and do a kid hand-off in the parking lot before I ran to class. Big Boy gets his shot, nobody (knock on wood) gets sick, and I even have time to stop for a latte. Perfect.

Or.
I could completely forget about the appointment, bring the kids to the mall 1/2 hour away from class, and attempt a kid-hand off in the parking lot of the Husband Guy's office. Also an option.
So that's what we did.

The problem with this plan is that it put me 1/2 hour away from school, in the wrong direction, during rush hour traffic.
I had to drag the kids out of the mall because I lost track of time. If you saw a lager than average woman on the escalator with a stroller and a toddler, that was me. (Yeah, I know. Escalator and stroller are not compatible. Whatever. It worked out. I never promised to be perfect. In fact, I believe I promised the exact opposite.)
The hand-off took longer than expected because the HG couldn't find his car. (seriously? Dude, you have a master's degree in Computer Science. Just.saying.)
I had to drive the HG's car and I can never figure out the stupid radio in that car. I know. Cry me a river.
And (I think everyone can get behind my pain on this one) I didn't have time to stop for coffee.

AND
During all of this, the pediatrician's office was calling to remind me of the appointment. My failure to respond (the phone was on vibrate. I can't hear vibrate.) resulted in a missed appointment fee. DAMNIT.
It's one thing to drop balls. That generally results in an inconvenience or two. But this cost me money. Now I'm annoyed. Annoyed and decaffeinated. And $75 poorer. Again I say, "DAMNIT!"

I need to get better at all of this.
Either that or I need more balls.

Icky icks

That's what we have in this house. The icky icks.
Or as The Big Boy says, "I'm not feewing so good. All my parts hurt." Poor little bubba.

And I'm worried The Chica Love is next. I can handle a Big Boy illness. We had our fair share of scares with him when he was an itty bitty, so it's all just par for the course. We roll with it and know it'll pass eventually. The Chica Love isn't even 4 months old yet. I worry. A lot.

Worry is kind of my thing, though. Some people breath oxygen, I eat worry like tic-tacs. If I ever stopped worrying, I'm pretty sure my lungs would collapse and my heart would immediately cease. Or something equally as dramatic (oh, I'm also just a smidge dramatic sometimes. I know, right? Who knew?). So, since the Chica Love coughed like 4 times after the Big Boy had a fever for three days, I have spent hours (no really, hours) reading all the SIDS research I can get my hands on. Not the smartest move I've ever made. For a couple of reasons.

For one, I learned absolutely nothing. Not true. I learned that nobody has any freaking clue and there are a lot of crazy people out there. Some have even claimed SIDS could be the result of vaccinations (::shakes head no::) and that the medical community is suppressing the evidence. Which really leads me to ask: why? Like, where is the logic in that? Really? (I just deleted an entire argument for why this is a stupid hypothesis is ridiculous, but I was rambling. Yes. More so than usual. If you're interested, read this.) So, I really need to know: What is it about vaccines that scare people so badly that otherwise normal people turn into raving Conspiracy Theorists? Whatever. I don't even care. I'm too tired.

So my point, is that between a sick Big Boy and crazy obsessiveness about something I can't control. I've had very little sleep in the last few days. And I have absolutely NO idea what the point of this entire post was. I had a point at the beginning. Now? Not so much.

I guess I can sum up: My kids are sick.
I'm tired. And neurotic.

Oh, and hungry. I also started a new diet.
Yeah. It's only Monday and it's been that kind of week.
Nowhere to go but up?

One down...

Class, that is.
One down, 3 billion to go.
By my rough estimate, anyway.

Tonight was Spanish for Medical Professionals. I know. Thrilling. The good news is that it's self-paced, so I can wrap this puppy up quickly. The bad news is that I'm pretty sure I'm older than my professor.

This is something I need to get over. If being the oldest in my class is going to be problem for me, I might as well just pack it in now. Because I will be the oldest quite a bit of the time. It's something I can't allow myself to get worked up about. I am very good about getting worked up over things I shouldn't. This can't be one of them. I'm already scared enough that I won't do it.

Won't be able to do it.
Won't want to do it.
Won't be able to afford to do it.
Won't get in.
Won't follow through. As usual.

I can't let myself stop or worry about something completely out of my control. I am 37. I am. It is what it is. If I let that number (Treinta y siete, thank you very much) worm it's way into my brain, I'll never get anywhere.  It's not even that old. I mean, yeah. It's old. But it's not THAT old. Right? (RIGHT?!)

Really, the only thing I can't control is affording it. And even that I have some control over. I've heard tell of something called a budget. I'm not sure how it works, but someone (The Husband Guy) swears it helps you not spend more money than you have. Interesting concept. In fact, he (The HG) has already suggested a few cost saving strategies. This is a conversation that invariably gives me quite a bit of guilt. He works a lot. He works hard to provide for our family. I feel like if I really appreciated him, I'd just follow the "right" path.

Get the kids to school. Go back to work. Earn an income. Take some burden off him.
But no.
**I** need to go to Med School.
I need to take money that should go for other things (retirement, savings, kids' college. Beer.) and go to med school.

Add guilt to my list.

Won't be able to do it.

Won't want to do it.
Won't be able to afford to do it.
Won't get in.
Won't follow through. As usual.
Won't be able to shake the guilt.\

I need to take this one step at a time. One class at a time.
So, one down. 3 billion to go.

Pink Elephants and other rambling stories

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