I got an iPhone recently and I'm kind of enamoured with Instagram. We cancelled our home internet and since I have yet to figure out how to tether my phone data plan to our laptop, I've been blogging using the teeny tiny keypad on my phone, and my Instagram photos (I'm there as knittygrittyhomestead in case you're wondering).
Kind of ridiculous, right? Not nearly as ridiculous as my life gets now and then, of course, and I always find that crazy times in life and particularly in parenthood help me to keep things in perspective.
Like Norah having yet another fever followed by a rash while measles enjoys a renewed heyday in western Canada, the day before she was due to start her (delayed) immunizations.
Like that same night, another child's mysterious nocturnal thrashing around combined with an itchy...ahem...bottom are explained when I checked for worms in the middle of the night.
I believe my exact words were "Dear God, please release me from this new hell". Because pin worms can only be seen at night if you sneak up on them with a flashlight. And of course you never have the medicine that kills them just kicking around your cupboard.
And did I mention that of all the gross things I have dealt with so far as a mother and kindergarten teacher, pin worms get the hat trick for making me shudder, gag, and cringe all at the same time?
You simultaneously want to a) comfort your child, b) annihilate the worms in some horribly painful way, and c) put a pillow over your child's head so you can just get some damn sleep for once in your life.
But, no. You get up after five hours' broken sleep to go to work (teaching kindergarten no less) while your child stays home to rest.
Nails clipped, dosed with vermicidal medicine, and all bedding washed. Phew!
So today when I received a text from my husband as I was heading into Mass, one that read "baby has worms", I could only sigh. Because sometimes it's just a gruelling marathon to some finish line you'll never reach and you're really out of shape to begin with.
Another thing that made me gag: the insane Fred Flintstone goose egg that Margot got today when she was accidentally shoved into a door frame during some good-natured horseplay.
I know. Her face says everything I feel in these moments when my husband brings me a bag of ice and I ask for a cloth to wrap it in and he gives me a stinky old rag he found under the sink. Then I ask for the arnica before remembering that the mice nibbled the little rubber dropper bulb right off.
So all I could do was hold her while her baby sister tried to bite her on the bum which made her laugh-cry. Maybe this is how they're passing worms around.
And maybe it's time to contact the television networks about having my own reality show.
Because it doesn't get much more real than this.