The day was supposed to go like this: I was going to the dentist, where I would be sedated in a sort of zoned-out twilight 's.leep" so I wouldn't freak out about having gum surgery. Although if you ask my dentist, he will
inform you that this wasn't so much 's.urgery" as it was a "minor procedure." But everyone knows (or should know by now), I'm terrified of going to the dentist, so every little "procedure" that a "normal" person could endure ends up being 's.urgery" to me.
So anyway, after my 's.urgery," I would be driven home to relax and chill out for the rest of the day. Because apparently it's not recommended to function in the regular world doped up on Halcion and Xanax. Who knew?
I even had a note from the dentist excusing me from being Mom for that one day. He's some kind of superhero in my book.
My very good friend, Ellen, was waiting to drive me home. The nurse walked me out to meet her and said, "Now remember. Don't leave her alone. She may act and seem normal, but she's not."
Ellen laughed. "She acts and seems normal when she's NOT sedated."
I remember asking, "Everything OK?"
That was my first mistake.
"Actually, no. Your mom called and said Ethan is having an asthma attack and is currently at the house giving him a breathing treatment, and also the school nurse has Harley in her office. Lice. Again."
It must have been the drugs playing tricks on me. I asked her to repeat what she just said. Surely this time the words asthma and lice wouldn't cross her lips, yes?
No.
Once we got home, she walked me inside where hell was in the middle of breaking loose. There was Ethan seated at the kitchen table, wheezing and coughing and strapped to a nebulizer. Harley ran to me and wrapped her arms around my waist and said, "Mommy, it happened again."
Yeah, I know.
Ellen had an appointment but assured me she'd be gone less than one hour. The last words she said were: "Don't go anywhere."
Got it.
I picked up the phone and dialed some service called The Lice Doctor. For $150, you too can have someone come into your house and rid the place of bugs once and for all. I have no recollection of talking to the lady. Or how I even heard about it. Did I Google it? Who knows?
But 45 minutes later, she showed up at my front door in scrubs. She asked for a bottle of olive oil. And then I watched as she poured it on Harley's head, saying something about olive oil smothering lice.
All I remember thinking was how expensive olive oil was. There's $1, $2, $3. Seriously, she poured $5 worth of olive oil on my 9-year-old daughter's scalp.
And then she informed me I would need to repeat this for three weeks. THREE WEEKS! Do you know how much that would cost me? Olive oil doesn't grow on trees you know. And also, aren't YOU here to do this?
Three weeks my butt.
Then Ethan announced he was hungry. So I did what every parent does in this situation. I drove to McDonald's. I was about to order when my phone rang. It was Ellen, and she didn't sound too pleased.
"You're not supposed to be driving!"
"Oh, right. Well, too late."
"Come straight back."
Seriously, I was totally fine. The sedative had completely worn off, and I was hungry. I think I was supposed to eat soup or have a milkshake or something like that. I can't remember.
I do, however, remember biting into my right cheek and lower lip. It didn't hurt, naturally, because my whole face was numb. The only reason I knew I had bit myself was because Ethan pointed at me and said, "You're bleeding."
The next part of the day is fuzzy. I'm told I called some guy at the bank and talked to him about a home equity loan … for a pool I'm not building.
And then I'm pretty sure I ordered a leather recliner from Pottery Barn. I know this because someone from the delivery service called later and asked, "What time on the 16th is good for you?"
Looks like we're getting a new chair.
Not what I had planned.
