Sick Kids and Broken Sumps Pumps, Alternatively Titled: It's FUN to Be a Grown-Up!

You know it's bad when your kid's teacher calls and suggests that perhaps you should keep your kid home the next day. Apparently Leo spent all of Thursday hacking all over everyone, not eating his lunch, yawning and just being generally miserable. By the time she called me (early afternoon) she conceeded it would be too late for me to get him before the school day ended. And so I scrambled at work trying to make arrangements for today. And Ellie could use a day off too. She still sounds like the Marlboro Man.

And because the last hour of my day at work wasn't stressful enough--trying to finish three stories in an hour and delegate my work for the next day (and did I mention today is my holiday work party? That I am missing FREE margaritas?). Seriously. Anyway, as I was saying, if that end of the day stress wasn't enough (because if I don't leave by a certain time then I miss my bus and I'm late picking up my kids, my kids who are already the LAST kids to get picked up). It's like a gigantic domino set, the whole schedule thing. If one thing falls, they all do.

And then, home to the sump pump alarm which had been going off all day and night which I think Erin and I had sort of been hoping would just "heal" itself.

For those of you who don't have the pleasure, in layman's terms, a sump pump keeps your basement dry. Northern New Jersey, where we live, is prone to flooding. Big, major, awful, thousands of dollars flooding. And so we have a sump pump. Well, did you know sump pump batteries die? I didn't. And did you know that when you buy a replacement battery, you also have to buy BATTERY ACID to pour in that new battery?

Lucky Erin got to tromp out in the 22 degree wind storm last night to good old Home Depot to buy the goods, which included yes, a box of freaking battery acid. We worked together to pour it into the new battery and shortly before midnight (yawn) we were back in the working sump pump business. Pfew.
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And so today instead of free margaritas and co-worker gossip I am taking Ellie in for her follow-up wheezing exam (please no nebulizer, please) and will throw Leo in for good measure (to be checked out by the ped for his horrendous cough). And if that wasn't fun enough (two sick kids to the ped), let's also go to the ENT! He had asked that I call him the next time Leo is "junky" so he can properly check out the adnoids. All I can say is this procedure involves a numbing spray and something (a tube? a scope? going up the nose or down the throat or something equally awful). Leo is going to LOVE that. I mean really, kill me now, OK?

We WILL be stopping off at the wine shop on the way home.

Unbeknownst to Leo there is numbing spray in his immediate future (don't ask me how I'm going to swing that ENT apointment with both the kids since Leo's going to need some serious restraints) but for now, Leo is a happy clam, sitting on the couch watching "Dora's Christmas Carol" for the seventy-millionth time. He's doing his second favorite thing in the world, eating scrambled eggs. Sure it's technically a sick day, but at our house, we call this, falling into a barrel of schmaltz.*

*I believe this is Yiddish for swimming in chicken fat, which at one time was considered a delicacy. I know, I know, kind of gross. It was something my grandma and mom said when someone was really, really happy. At least, for the moment.