Echinacea, How Could You?

Do you know the worst thing to pour down your throat when your throat is on fire?  Orange juice.

Ouch.

So even though I faithfully took Echinacea the Wonder Drug twice a day at the first sign of Moo’s cold (okay, Herbie may have nagged me a little), I still got sick.  Now I have a raging sore throat and ear ache, while Moo is raring to go. 

No wonder she was monster child a few days ago after her nap!  If I was 32 years younger, I would definitely be crying and trying to punch someone in the nose.

Waaaah.

Failure to Communicate

Sometimes I wonder if I’d be a good mom if I didn’t have such a mild-mannered kiddo.

Because during the times when Little Miss Mild-Manners turns into a monster, I’m afraid I become a bit of a monster myself.

Moo woke up from her afternoon nap after 40 minutes, crying.  I straggled in and picked her up as she cried and blubbered something incoherent about her blue sucky (a.k.a. pacifier).  I mumbled back at her, grabbed the blue sucky and a pile of stuffed animals, and lumbered into our bedroom with my load, plopping it, baby and all, on our bed.  She loves hanging out in our bed, making a tent with the quilt, trying out all the different pillows, so I thought she’d be content to play/rest while I tried to come to terms with being robbed of my solo time. 

But Moo was not content.  She sat there, crying and staring at me.  I suggested she try out her sucky, and she tasted it and spit it out like I’d coated it with liverwurst.  I suggested she lay down, and she threw herself on the pillow, screeching.  I tried singing “Baby Mine,” and she tried kicking me in the gut.  I tried holding her, and she tried punching me in the nose.

So I kinda yelled.  I think.

I said, “UGH! MOO! WHAT IS WRONG?!”

And then I dropped her back on the pillow.  Her face promptly turned fuschia and she opened her mouth so wide to scream I was able to finally get a prolonged look at how many teeth have yet to come in – four, if you’re curious.

I just felt so frustrated, knowing that she is able to verbally communicate so well, but here she is refusing to stop crying FOR ONE SECOND so that she could just TELL ME WHAT SHE WANTS.

Finally, she managed to sputter some words.

“I off bed, peeeez, oh oh ohhh,” she sobbed.

I put her on the ground without a word.

She staggered to the door, crying, spotted Boing the Octopus for a moment and said hello, then remembered she was upset and renewed her sobs.  She looked back at me, sitting silent on the bed, and my heart broke.

She doesn’t know what she wants, you idiot.  She’s sick and miserable and exhausted, and it just pisses you off that your Mommy-brand singing and caressing isn’t enough to make her feel better.

I sprang to her side and kissed her head.

“I love you,” I said.

She sniffed at me.

“Moo, do you need Boo-Boo Bunny?”

“BOO-BOO BUNNY!” she shouted, and ran off down the hall, giggling like a maniac.

Great.  A three-inch plastic ice cube with a fabric bunny head attached holds more magical healing powers than I do.

Damn you, Boo-Boo Bunny.  Damn you.

(But thanks for making Moo feel better.)

Curtain Call

I got home last night around 11 after a long day with two shows to find that Moo was waking up screaming about every hour.  Herbie and I crossed our fingers and started watching Saturday Night Live, and then at about 1:30, it all went to hell.  Moo woke up screaming and adamantly refused to go back to bed.  Yes, she has ANOTHER cold.  I am resigned to the fact that we must either be germ magnets, or terrible parents, or both.  Herbie and I each took turns rocking her and singing, and she’d fall sweetly asleep, only to kick, writhe and SCREAM the second we put her back in bed.  By 4 a.m., I was ready to throw in the towel and let her sleep with us in our bed.  But Herbie refused to give in – he is so much better than I in these situations – I am quick to fall into utter despair, whereas he can just keep rocking and rocking her all night long.  Moo finally slept for a couple hours while we tossed and turned, and she woke up at 7:30.

And not only did Herbie bear most of the decidedly un-fun parenting weight during the night, he then insisted that I sleep a couple more hours since I had a show to do.

How did I find such a kind man?

So we all recovered somewhat, Moo settled down to play robots with a box of Kleenex stationed next to her, and I zoomed out the door rather late (after my hairdryer broke, gah!) for our final matinee performance.

I was a few miles down the road when I noticed a little piece of paper flapping under my windshield.  I pulled over and yanked it off, expecting an ad for lawn service.  Instead, I read, “Your right rear tire is very low.”  I took a glance – oh no.  VERY low.  I-give-up-rolling-my-rubber-in-circles-for-you-lady low.

15 minutes later, Herbie and Moo picked me up, and we raced to the Tempe Center for the Arts.  I stumbled into the dressing room, spackled on some makeup and was singing in front of the audience before you could even say “VUNDERBAH!”  But then, wonder of wonders, we actually had a pretty great show.  The Stoli Vanilla in my flask may have helped…

I couldn’t believe how fast it was all over.  Kate wept through most of her songs, and I was rather bemused by her emotionality until the end of “Too Darn Hot,” when I suddenly got choked up between “yip’s” and “woo’s.”  No more dancing?  Alas.

Then, suddenly, we took our last bow.  And about an hour later, after striking the set (is that what you call it?) and learning all about c-clamps and how to attach a safety cable to a very heavy stage light onto the rail of a catwalk (yikes!), I trudged out the door for the last time.  And I admit, I turned around, gazed down the long backstage hallway and allowed myself a moment of utter sap, and of pride.  I think I did good work there.  And I hope it’s not another 14 years until I’m back.

I was halfway down the path outside when a mother and her daughter flagged me down.  They had attended Childsplay’s performance of the Velveteen Rabbit earlier and had left the little girl’s book in the bathroom.  Did I know if there was someone who could look for it?  I led them through the stage door and related their plight to the security guard.  The lobby was all locked up, he told her, and he couldn’t leave his post.  What if I went and looked? I asked.  He gave me the go-ahead, and I spent 10 minutes searching through all the bathroom stalls.  Sadly, I returned empty-handed, but they took it in stride.  The mother thanked me again and again, effusing, “That was SO SO nice of you!”

She didn’t guess how much I understood her plight – how much I understand the desperate need to retrieve your daughter’s beloved book, or bunny, or wind-up chicken.  She didn’t know - I’m a mommy first.  Everything else comes second.  Everything.

Which means that I should probably wash off this makeup, and go check on my (FINALLY!) sleeping child.

More Kleenex

Moo is sick AGAIN.

Wasn’t she just sick like a week ago?

Any moms out there want to make me feel better out this?  I swear I’m not letting her lick shopping carts.  I just can’t help thinking that maybe if I’d nursed her longer, she wouldn’t get colds so often.  Or maybe it’s because our house is so messy.  Maybe I don’t wash her hands enough.  Or maybe it’s just in the genes – her cousins get colds all the time too.  Anybody else’s kids get colds this often?

Sigh.  Maybe it’s all of those reasons.  I just feel like a terrible mother when hardly two weeks go by and here I am mopping up her sneezes again.

Trying to cheer ourselves up, Moo and I went to Michael’s, where I could keep her germs somewhat contained in the cart, and looked at pumpkins.  Her pumpkin-joy, even in the midst of stuffed-up misery, is contagious.  I find it fascinating, though, how she’s just inherently afraid of skeletons and ghosts.  If we strayed too close to a scary display, she’d grab my sleeve and shout, “Mommy! Mommy!” until I steered us to a safe distance.  We’re fans of cute Halloween in our house.  We even bought a cutesy scarecrow wearing a dress that might make Herbie throw up.  I try to keep the cutesy to a minimum for Herbie’s sake, but how could I resist?  It was on sale for $4.99, and Moo greeted it with, “Hi Scarecrow!  Happy Hayooweeeen!”  Sold.

So I guess yet another cold isn’t the end of the world.  But those red-rimmed eyes make me feel so guilty.

Sorry, little Moo.

And, moms?  If you visit the Paradise Valley Michael’s, you might want to wipe down your shopping cart.  Oops.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Try not to throw up at work, Herbie!

Some Pertinent Questions

1.  How am I supposed to practice at all with a sick, screaming baby on my hands who refuses to sleep except for 20-minute intervals and only then if she’s cuddled in my arms?

2.  Should I lie about my age?  I bet I could pass for 30…

3.  Seriously, what the hell should I wear?  And what does, “dress for movement” mean? Leotard n’ tights?  Anything but a skirt?  Maybe I’ll just wear my pajamas.

4.  On the application, under “Experience,” should I just write, “Not much?”  Cuz I really want to.

5.  Whose stupid idea was this anyway?