I do love Elias dearly. He is an incredibly sweet, darling little cherub. He loves to "squeeze the love outta" me. His cheeks are rosy and kissable, skin inexpressibly soft. His blue eyes always atwinkle and his cornsilk blond locks showing devastating hints of possible waviness or curls (!!) in the future. Also he has an especially delightful disposition. He's endlessly cheerful and curious, delighted in the world around him. In many ways I am truly honored to find him to be my child and want nothing more than to cuddle him on my lap and read him "Goin' on a Bear Hunt!" for the one millionth time. However, all this glory is undermined occasionally by his, well, OTHER qualities.
He's devious. He's naughty. He's a danger to himself and others. He WORKS at it. He's too smart– a criminal mastermind. He has malice aforethought. He's sneaky. He plans ahead and then nails me to the wall. To name but one recent example: yesterday, while I was putting away the groceries, a little hand, unseen by me, crept along the counter. A plump little hand. It clasped a brand new, 12 ounce honey bear. The honey bear slipped over the side of the counter and disappeared, the boy with it. I turned back from the cupboard and rounded up more supplies. I took a few moments, I suppose, before it occurred to me that Elias was no longer in view. I didn't notice the honey was missing at all. I walked through the living room looking for him. And then, he was coming towards me, an upside down, open honey bear in his hands. Around him on the chair, the floor, and wall, was honey. But that was not all. The honey bear nearly empty. Indeed, my first question– speechless as I was– was, "Is that the NEW honey bear?" What a strange reaction! But that's what crossed my mind. Surely my eyes were deceiving me. Surely he had not emptied 12 ounces of honey in the other room?
But no. I went into the TV room (the only room on the first floor that has carpet), and there found a deep and wide pool of honey. Crime scene splatters of honey. All down the hall, Jackson Pollack-like zigzags of honey. He had been covering everything with honey just fun– he wasn't even eating it!! Also, adding to the situation: the cleaning people had just left a scant hour before, to return two long, long weeks from now. The floor had JUST been mopped. The carpet, just vacuumed. And then, add that Ben (rather unfortunately, although I did suggest to him that this was a bad idea), had placed a very nice rug in harm's way. A lovely rug with possible antique significance, a rug his parents had brought back from Greece in the '60s, a rug that we had just had cleaned, and the rug guys had admired. That took the brunt of the honey onslaught.
So. A time-out and very stern words. A stiff lecture. A trembling chin (his); trembling hands (mine). And then the long, hopeless cleaning process. Wads of sticky paper towels. I simply folded up the throw rug with the honey in it. We'll have to take it somewhere. I wiped down the floor as best I could. I crawled over the honey-beaded carpet, trying to blot up the tiny sticky lines. Did I mention that we have a sort of large ant problem? I mean, even before this?
And it came in the midst of such a trying day. First, I went to wash my car, and the wheel got out of the track, and the car wash was trying to suck me in, but the car wouldn't go, and I sat there in terror, wondering whether the rubber of the wheels (pressing, bloated against this metal frame) would be ruptured… after it was all over I had to run in and cry for help, and then an old codger (the manager) and I had to go through many a maneuver to get the van free of its prison.
And my cell phone died, ripped in two by my OTHER adorable and slightly a handful little boy, so I was using all my "free time" to deal with that inconvenient and expensive situation.
And the deer chose this particular day to come along and neatly, cleanly munch all the buds and blossoms off my much beloved, lovingly tended David Austin roses!!!
And, perhaps most importantly, I have been so very ridiculously sick. I finally went to the doctor on Monday, after really at last thinking I was going to die on Friday and issuing a distress call to them. The doctor was not happy with my report, and that while I may or may not have had untreated strep a few weeks back, I almost certainly did rupture both my eardrums. I can tell you that the rupturing itself wasn't the painful part, but indeed the cessation of it. And we had this conversation, in which she said I would need a CT-scan of my head (to check into my sinus festering) and a chest x-ray. I said, "A chest x-ray? What's that about?" She rather cooly replied, "It's about pneumonia." And I said, "Pneumonia?? But wouldn't I have a fever?" She said, "Well… no, there's always walking pneumonia. Anyway, we should check."
So I had to run out to this imaging place and get inside a very Star Trek looking spinning metal donut. (We saw Star Trek, our first movie in possibly years, and it was really excellent!) That took about four minutes, and then I went and wore a little gown and stood this way and that, which also took no time. The ease of it all was really wonderful. But then I spent 36 hours or so wondering whether I really had pneumonia or not. In some ways, I was rooting for it, because then I would not feel guilty about getting a babysitter or something in here and finally, finally taking a day or two in bed! Surely this would be enough to get me well, but in the absence of that possiblity this has gone on (good days and good weeks alternating with the bad) for three months! But on the other hand, having pneumonia would be a bad thing because if my friend Colin is any measure, it can really take months to kick out of one's chest. And who wants to be frail and sickly?? Especially at the very beginning of a lovely summer!
So, good news: I did not have the pneumonia, only "acute sinusitis." I now have a steroid nasal spray that fires like a power washer, and some very large and seemingly powerful horse pills that are in there kicking some tiny, microscopic ass. The doctor warned me that I would not feel better at once, and that has been true. She says to come back in two weeks if I'm not totally well by then. But the trend is good. This morning I was out in the garden again, suddenly having enough pluck to plant some neglected tomatoes. I do stop now and then to cough up a lung, but overall I'm heading in the right direction.
As for my little scamp, he's reverted at the moment to cuddliest golden-haired baby on earth and is nursing and snuggling in my lap, while I'm typing and he's watching Wall-E. At least at the moment, I have my eye on him, and all is well.
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