Today was going to be a great day. We were going to my favorite apple orchard for the Fall Festival - something we do every year. We were going to buy apples, eat treats, pet the animals, ride on a haywagon, make a candle, go through the straw maze and take the annual picture in front of the pumpkins. The weather was great. The only other thing we had to do today was have Max at scouts to sell popcorn at 3 p.m. Easy Peasy - I can fit more activities into half this time and I had a whole leisurely day for these two commitments. I couldn't wait.
And it turns out I didn't have to wait for the day to begin. Because at 4:30 a.m. I woke up to the sound every parent hates to hear, second only to puking, The Cough. From 4:30 - 5:30 a.m. I listened to Rocco cough in his sleep. He gave up at 5:30 a.m. and beckoned (screamed) for me. Now as a seasoned parent, coughs shouldn't bother me. You can ignore it because there's not much you can do at this stage in the game - it will either get better or worse but at this point, you wait. Except that one of the fun things about having a kid with food allergies is that eczema and asthma come along as side orders. So when Rocky coughs, we get to break out the nebulizer and run for the steroids.
"No biggie" I think. Pete and I give him a breathing treatment and wait for the cough to go away. I even take a (crappy) run. I get back and lo and behold, the cough is worse. Way worse. "Cool" I think "I've still got this under control." I go for the predinosone. I start squirting the medicine into Rocco's mouth and watch him gag. Then I watch him barf. Over and over. Pete looks at me and asks if he should call the clinic. I'm going to zip through this part of the story because it involves puke flying, Pete not knowing what number to call and us getting into a yelling match. The details will be funny, but not quite yet. So that's a story for another time. In the end, we make a typical Saturday morning doctor's appointment. I say typical because my kids are never sick on a M-F from 8 a.m. - 4:30 p.m. They are only sick after 5 p.m. and on weekends.
By now, my vision of the apple orchard has pretty much gone up in smoke. We all drag to the doctor, get a new script for a different type of steroid, do another breathing treatment and then head to the pharmacy. Everyone is pretty bummed at the turn of events. And then Peter says what will alter the course of the day completely "You know, I bet we can still make it to the orchard and back in time for Max to be at scouts at 3 p.m."
For once, my common sense takes control and screams "No! It can't be done! The orchard is over an hour away. It's 11 a.m. We'd be there for 15 minutes and have to go home. Rocco is sick and has been up since 5:30 a.m. Hell, I've been up since 4:30 a.m. We don't have lunch yet and we'd have to eat before we go. It's too tight. For the love of God, use some self control for once and don't try to do the impossible." And then I think of The Picture. The one I get of the kids in front of the pumpkins EVERY YEAR. This Fall Festival is a fall family tradition, with photo documentation. If we miss it, we will completely mess up the order of the pictures. And this one small detail is what sets me over the edge and makes me agree to the Worst. Decision. Ever. We decide to go for it.
We call my folks and say the orchard is back on. We think we can do it. We hit McDonald's, encourage the kids to inhale their food (two great things for kids when you are trying to instill healthy eating habits), give Rocco his new medicine, which he doesn't puke up. I take this as a sign that this day will be successful after all. We load into the car, make a quick stop at the grandparents' house to get them and head to the orchard.
We get to the orchard a little before 1 p.m. We speed through a few of the activities, skipping things that would require sitting down. Everything is packed into bags instead of eaten on site. We scramble through making an "experience" in 30 minutes. Then we load into the car and head for home. A little behind schedule. Crap. Oh, and then there's the sick toddler who is now far behind his nap routine. Hmm...a recipe for disaster? Surely not! Pete reassures me that Rocco will quit crying within a few minutes of the drive home. Nope! We hear about our stupid parenting decision (in not so many words) for the entire 70 minute drive home. We get home with 7 minutes to 1) find Max's scout shirt, 2) get him to put it on and 3) rebutton all of the buttons because he never lines the buttons up correctly the first time. Pete deals with the shirt dilemma while I convince a now hysterical toddler that it is time for a nap, a late nap, but one nonetheless.
I sit here now, mulling over my choices for the day. If we had stayed home, Rocco and Max would have had some down time, naps would have been on the agenda, and we wouldn't have had to rush and listen to screaming for over an hour. I'm asking myself, maybe we should have skipped the tradition this year for sanity's sake. However, I did get The Picture. And my scrapbook (the one in my head because I don't have time to make one) will be complete.
The one in your head....oh Jenny!!!!
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