Friday, April 24, 2009

Butt-side-up on the couch for the Magic Man

So I took L to the doctor who said, "yep! It's a virus! And also, wouldjalookatthat, someone's been tap dancing on her eardrums!" And let's just hope that L is just going through a phase, that this isn't opening weekend for Ear Problems: The Sequel.

We left, prescription in hand, and dropped that off at the pharmacy and returned home. L and I had lunch together and then I changed her diaper and plopped her on the couch with a book, saying, "let me just pee and then we'll go upstairs for your nap." I was gone for less than two minutes and when I got back to her she was sound asleep.

Today was an important day for two reasons, one of which was that our house had a date with an exterminator. We've been having trouble with ants, nothing absolutely disgusting, probably typical fare for a crumb-covered house of two small children and no other housepets. So we dealt with the little guys and didn't think too much of it until E began having nightmares about ants crawling on her while she slept. And then she'd crawl in our bed. So it became time to escalate our insecticide warfare, because what sleep I do get I prefer to take without bedmates who look on my kidneys like goosedown pillows.

Of course L was still asleep on the couch when the exterminator came but he has young kids, he says, and he understood that tiptoeing and quiet voices were going to be riders on this particular service contract. All while he shone his flashlight into the darkest cracks and corners of his kitchen to told me about his own family. So I told him about our other daughter, not the one half-naked and drooling with her eyes rolled up passed out on that couch over there, but the one to whom he owes this particular commission. I told him that E's been asking for days, is this the day that the sterminator comes to take away the ants? I told him that in her eyes, he's some kind of unicorn sprinkling fairy dust. He laughed, and said that some of his regular clients have their children call him 'The Magic Man.'

And then he stepped lightly through our family room, over L's discarded pants and around her toys and books and, isn't that embarrassing, over that diaper I had changed on the floor and apparently never discarded, toward the fireplace to check for ant paths. L didn't wake up, luckily, but the force was strong with the Magic Man because just as he passed she who had been lying flat on her stomach curled up onto her knees, stuck her tushie in the air and gave him the one-diaper salute.

Eventually he spread his sparkly death potions and left and eventually she woke up and lo, a miracle! Her fever broke! (At least temporarily!) I took her out to celebrate with a trip to the pharmacy for her antibiotics and a little visit to the ice cream shop.

L enjoyed a kiddie cup of strawberry and I got a small root beer Blendini. L ate a few bites and climbed down off my lap and began walking circles around the red tables. Hallelujah, I thought, she really must be feeling better, because this is the first time in about 48 hours that she's been voluntarily awake and not on my lap. Look how cute she is, I was thinking, which was exactly when she grabbed her cup and mine off the table, yelled at full volume, ALL DONE!, flashed her Good Helper smile at me and threw both our treats in the pretty red garbage can.

I guess I didn't really want that, anyway. It's just nice that she's back to regular energy levels in time for the weekend and two more full-time days under our care.

Oh, the other reason today is an important day? Please join me in extending happy birthday wishes to Barbra Streisand, Kelly Clarkson, and a man who really can't sing at all (but whose talents are otherwise basically limitless): my lovely, lovely husband. Pin It