it was a lovely week, really

Despite my last post, life here in Fetnerville has been quite enjoyable lately. Given that our usual excitement consists of looking for worms after a rainstorm and watching Kid buckle his own seatbelt, it is tough to imagine so much happening in just a few days. We missed Easter completely, though throughout the weekend I was optimistic–“Husband, don’t let me forget to go to the grocery store. We need potatoes and veg.” I even defrosted the tofurky. Alas, it is still in the fridge.

The culprit was a hockey tournament, which we all knew was coming: two games on Friday and one more Saturday morning. More if we won, which I did not think would happen. Days before the tournament, the whole family got sick–first me, then Husband, then Kid. It did not seem like strep throat to me, but then again I am stupider when I am sick. Low fever for a couple days, then a slow recovery. Seemed like no big deal. Kid was finished with his fever and was feeling better on Thursday. He got dressed for school. During breakfast, I noticed a little rash on his face and neck. Dutifully, I take him to the doctor, who says, “probably just a virus, nothing to worry about,” and takes a strep swab just in case. Kid and I stay home, for what is now my third day (!) in a row off of work, just before a 4-day weekend.

I was all set to miss the hockey tournament to stay home with Kid, but he woke up on Friday with not one symptom and full of life. Even the rash was gone, though his skin was still a little bumpy. No fever, no cough, no sore throat. We think, Huzzah! and pack up all our hockey gear and head to the rink as a family. Kid finds all the other kids of my teammates to play with. Moms abound to provide child care, and we win two of our games to make it to the semi-final, which we win in overtime. Jubilation! We are in the Championship game on Sunday! Kid can play in the Kids game on Sunday! The whole family is elated.

Easter Sunday, noon. The Parkdale Porcupines versus the Dufferin Groove. All the moms and kids are cheering. Cool bands are playing during the whistles. My team has one woman on every forward line, and has played that way all tournament. We feel mighty. We pour our hearts into it, but come up short in the end. Dufferin Groove gets the win. The team is nonetheless proud of its effort, and much regaling and refreshing ensued in the locker room. The Kids game was awesome. Kid had a great time and skated his heart out. They gave each kid a chance at a shootout–Kid’s first ever. We packed up, grabbed a bite and went home exhausted but happy.

Easter Monday (Canadians want Easter to last forever), Husband worked while Kid and I played. We went over to our friends’ house and played with their 8-month-old son. We went to the park and climbed all over the climbers. When we were just about to eat dinner at the end of the day, the doctor called to let us know that Kid’s strep test came back positive. The rash was scarlet fever–which is much scarier sounding than just a rash caused by strep bacteria–and Kid needed to come in for antibiotics. Really? I said. He’s been fine for days. Really, they told me.

It took me a while to calculate all of the children we had exposed to strep/scarlet fever. I contacted my hockey teammates: one wife and two kids down with strep. Pregnant wife about to have kid not sick so far. Small infant: so far, so good. The results will continue to roll in to be sure. Plus, all the kids we don’t know who played on the climber in the playground. It’s a massacre. As one friend says, at least it’s not 1880, or we’d all be dead.

So, things seem to be settling down on Tuesday. Kid is medicated and back at school. Husband is off to Montréal to play with the rock stars. And I finally can get back to work. Just about to sit down to dinner (again) and our friends with the infant call–she hurt her knee playing soccer and needs us to mind the baby while they are at the hospital. Kid and Mom to the rescue! We pack up and head to their house, just a block away. Sounds like an ACL tear, turns out to be a broken fibula. Yikes! I scoop up sleeping Kid and head home, way past his bedtime.

Yesterday is my final exam for Sociology of Sexualities (I love my job). Final exams at my university are run by the Registrar. Imagine giant gymnasium rooms with nothing but long rows and columns of desks and thousands of students taking different exams all at the same time. In total silence. Nothing but pens, pencils and an ID card on each desk is allowed. Instructors stop by to answer any questions students have, and we leave a phone number in case other questions come up after we leave. Into this dark world I tread with Kid, who promised to be super. duper. quiet.

As soon as we arrive there is a kerfuffle. The exam proctors wave to me furiously–my student is having a panic attack. How is it that I am in charge of the panic attack? is a thought that occurs to me but is quickly suppressed. I walk her out of the room and talk her into sitting down and taking deep breaths. Kid releases some tension as he draws dinosaurs on the whiteboard and shows off his knowledge of the continents. Student confesses that she left her Ativan at home, thinking she wouldn’t need it. She calms down, we fill out a report, make arrangements for a make-up exam, and Kid and I give her a ride home, once again way, way past his bedtime.

Oh, and I have a bruise on my bum because my linemate shot a puck at me. Well, how could he know I was going to trip and land just where he was clearing the puck? Could have been worse, really.

But once again, I am behind on my woman social duties, this time thank you cards for all the kind wishes and donations on behalf of my dad. There was a large twinge of guilt when someone in my department inquired if I had received a card from the Alzheimer’s Association, where they had sent a donation. I still haven’t sent the obituary to my aunt, whose health prevented her from making the trip out to Dad’s funeral. I am just so glad that some really happy times followed so closely after the tough times. The rest, I will catch up on bit by bit.

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.