Today's Dilbert cartoon pretty much summed it up for me. Sarah recently said, "But, I already helped Eleanor TWICE today, Mom," when I asked her to assist Eleanor in reaching a desired snack from the pantry closet. I looked at Sarah and said, "Okay - so can I help you guys a certain number of times today and then QUIT?!" She laughed and replied, "Well, no Mom. Duh, you're the Mom!" Yep, I am, aren't I. I told Sarah that she may feel put upon now, but that eventually she'd get the better end of the deal when she gets to leave for college first while the other kids help me do the dishes 'cause they're still stuck with the mean mommy who expects people to help out around here. (Of course, when Sarah leaves she'll have to figure out how to do her OWN dishes and laundry, etc... I left that part out for now).

I recently started a new job as lab manager for my advisor. This has been going fairly well, except that I'm on my second week of trying to disguise that I have some kind of respiratory crud that makes me cough up green sticky stuff (eew!) and makes me sound like a frog on the phone. Of course, I have also been trying to lay 1.5 tons of flagstone steppers in the front yard in the rain while I cough up green sticky stuff... duh, think maybe I should quit while I'm ahead? (Assuming I HAVE a head?) I'm finally taking myself to the doctor tomorrow to tell her, "I'm not a wimp, I've tried for two weeks to get better already. Help."

I also have had various things blow up at bad times. I have this laundry list of things that are keeping me insanely busy besides work, all of which sound like bad excuses for being late on a deadline, but all of which are absolutely true: my youngest child had blood gushing out of her mouth and nose and nearly knocked a tooth out of her head (but at least she had a helmet on and didn't injure other parts of her head) when she faceplanted into the newly set concrete that was recently poured but the worker guys had to rip our storm door off when they were jackhammering outside my office all day, which caused me to have to head to Home Depot where I waited for a half hour in the millwork department for the plywood guy to come and tell me that nobody from the millwork department was in that day to help me throw money at them in return for a new patio slider, while I could have been at home with my houseguests who were here for Memorial Day weekend except that I was so exhausted that I slept most of the time, and today the thunderstorms were so severe that our basement flooded a bit because we don't have a good cover on that one window well that we should have fixed a long time ago. Oh, and the lightning made our phone adapter blow up, so I had to go to Best Buy to get a new one after spending an hour with somebody in Vonage's "customer service department" (hah!) in Bombay, India, who kept telling me that if I unplugged and then rebooted the busted one just one more time... it would surely work. Wait, no, unplug your cable modem now, then your adapter, now plug in a different phone, let me transfer you to ADVANCED tech support. "Hi, this is advanced tech support. I want you to unplug your adapter..." (I think the exasperated scream may have clued him in that I had already tried that one... they're crediting our account the $40 for a new adapter now!)

But at least my poor baby Genevieve is okay, the tooth has miraculously moved forward from behind her other bloodied teeth, the oral surgeon gave her a thumbs-up, the split lip is healing, and she likes the taste of her watermelon-flavored antibiotics from the Walgreens drive-thru. I paid over $400 today to a pediatric dentist who told me that neither Sarah nor Eleanor have any cavities, so we won't have to pay another $1K to get anything fixed right now (key words; RIGHT NOW). I decided that anybody who gets my $400 also needs to hear that an after-hours phone message with an emergency number for people whose kids fall off their trikes and hit the concrete and nearly knock teeth out of their heads would be really helpful for those of us who forget names and phone numbers in crises that involve multiple screaming children, some of whom are bloody and require immediate oral dental/medical help. He said, "Point taken." Poor Eleanor was screaming as much as Gennie did that night, everybody was scared, and El was the only one letting herself go ahead and yell it out (well, besides the bleeding one). My own (non-pediatric) dentist dragged himself away from home at 7:30 pm on a Thursday night to tell us she'd be okay - thank goodness, the kind man saved me from having my own breakdown that night. (Of course, I had paid him rather handsomely for wielding needles and drills in my OWN head the week before...)

Speaking of crying, I have been trying very hard not to get upset with Eleanor, who snivels and whines about every possible unfair situation that MIGHT (or might not, actually) exist in the universe that doesn't favor her. For example: we can take turns riding Genevieve's tricycle, but Gennie had better not TOUCH Eleanor's scooter. She has adopted a pouty lip that quivers at the least provocation, a wail that could call the elk down from the mountains this coming autumn, and a whiny "hmph!" that makes her Mom's blood boil. "Eleanor, Mommy bu xihuan nide 'hmph.'" (Mommy doesn't like your "hmph.") "Sorry, Mommy." Two seconds later: "Hmph." Things are gradually getting better as she realizes that even after a half hour of wailing, she still doesn't get to eat ice cream for breakfast. Cruel, cruel world. Fortunately, she still has a smile that makes up for most of her mom's frazzled nerves. I'll let you know if the elk show up, though. (She has no setting between "off" and "high," this child!)

Oh, but I also need to get the patients scheduled, the tests ordered, the reports done, the protocol submitted, act happy on the phone, and put out some candy for folks. But - I already helped TWICE today!

Thank goodness for sweet, snuggly girls at the end of the day, who make up for all of their squabbling with giggly conversations about what brown bear, brown bear sees. Who sink into fuzzy pink pillows and want one more hug, and drift off as they listen to the Mandarin lullaby CD while the lighted butterflies in the window keep watch. Our Peter Pan days will become Nancy Drew nights (and then goodness knows what in the wee hours of the morning), and I wipe away a tear for every inch they grow.