Last week, also known as the week where mom lost her shit, we had to replace the main drain line that runs from the kitchen to the basement. What does that mean? For me, it meant, doing dishes in the mother fucking bathtub. Lo, the suckage was mighty.
While the boys swam in the pool, my lovely, lovely pool, that I adore, with perfect water temperature, and sunshiney-ness...sprang a leak. In the mother fucking wall. The metal wall, not the liner. This commenced mass panic on my part (hey, I'm massive all by my lonesome), and screaming "GET OUT OF THE POOL! I'M NOT KIDDING! GET THE HELL OUT OF THE POOL! NOW! LUCIEN, I SWEAR TO GOD, IF YOU DON'T GET OUT OF THE POOL RIGHT NOW, I'M GONNA KILL YOU!".
Yes, my pool looked like it was taking a piss.
I found all the paperwork for the damn thing, with the exception of the receipt from the pool store, called the company, found out that even though it's only 3 years old, it's considered the 4th season, and as such, is only 70% covered.
Of course.
So, I called the pool store where we purchased the pool. Some lovely fellow named Rob, looked through all their files by hand (his emphasis, not mine), and made me a copy of the orginal receipt. Now, it's about a 30 minute drive to the store, who, apparently, doesn't believe in all that fancy-scmancy stuff like computers, scanners, or fax machines, though you can buy a hot tub that will do everything but actually fuck you. This includes a trip through, and back, the harbor tunnel, that I hate with the fire of a thousand suns. I load up all 5 kids, and hit the road.
We're pulling into the parking lot, when Lucien starts.
"I have a very bad head-ick, so everyone has to be quiet"
"I mean it guys"
This was emphasized by huge long sighs on his part, the back of his hand to his head, and attempting to lay on the exceedingly dirty, pool store floor.
After about 20 minutes, Rob comes out with my receipt, and we head out. We hit the library on the way home, and Lucien again starts.
" I feel VERY badly, momma"
"VERY badly"
"I just may have to trow up"
"REALLY"
While attempting to roll all over the floor in the library, and then hanging, literally, on my hand, bent in half, while moaning dramatically.
Now, for those of you unfamilar with my charming, youngest son, Lucien complains about not feeling good, at least once a day. Usually when it's time to do something unpleasant, like clean up his toys, brush his teeth, or wait while someone else does something he finds utterly boring. I've taken him to the doctor, to rule out any physical problem, lest it be thought that I'm just mean.
Caleb, Aidan and I pick out our books, and head for the checkout. Now, while I self-checkout, the kids usually go into the kiddie section and play. Lucien LOVES the kid section, so as soon as I scan my card, he perks right up, and says:
"I'm feeling soooo much better! I'm gonna go play"
Whereupon he skips (literally!) off to the kid section.
Fast forward to that night, when it's time to go to sleep. He's been tucked in, read a book, sung a damn song, etc. and still been down the steps approximately 5 times.
"Momma, I feel very badly. I think I'm gonna puke".
"Lucien, I swear to christ, I'm so damn tired of listening to you complain about not feeling well. You are full of crap. Every time you don't want to do something, blah, blah, blah..."
You get the idea.
He shuffles off to bed, and I returned to watching something educational on TV, that was certainly not Most Extreme Elimination Challenge(don't know what it is? Check it OUT).
I finally go to bed, walk into my room, turn on the light, when I hear a little voice behind me.
"momma?"
His little face was as green as a damn pea. He then proceeded to throw up and run a fever for 2 days.
End Scene.
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