One Step Away From the Edge

For two days I have been trying to decide if I should take Henry to see the doctor. He has been grumpy and clingy, had a fever this weekend and his nose has been replaced by a faucet spewing iridescent green.

I am noting this behavior, his change in personality and the fact that he wants to be held constantly. I love my son, of course, but four or five days of this can leave you feeling like you're about to break. Yesterday I ended up calling my little high school friend to come clean a day earlier than normal because I just couldn't take it anymore. I needed to feel like something wasn't falling apart, even if that something wasn't me.

This morning my friend K. called.

Her: Hey Rach, how are you?

Me: Aaaarrrggghhh.

Her: Oh dear.

This afternoon, I finally called the doctor. The receptionist answered.

Me: I'd like to bring my son in for an ear check.

Her: What is your son's name.

Me: Henry.

Her: ---

Me: ---

Her: Um, and his last name?

Me, delerious: You don't recognize my voice?

See? I am finding everything in my path either too funny, or not funny enough.

This morning when Paul was proofing my column for next week, he sent me an email:

"I had to laugh as I was reading the sentence “Did I ever mention I thought I was going to be a nun?” In my mind I saw the word “man” instead of “nun” and I couldn’t finish reading the rest of the paragraph."

He told me, after I called him unable to stop laughing, that he got to that part of the column and thought to himself "oh my gosh I don't even want to know where she's going with this..." Of course, he finally came back and read the rest and discovered Hooray! my wife didn't once think she was going to be a man!

Here's my last thought, and then you can verify that yes, it's been a long week.

Today I was out running errands with the boys and as we were leaving a store, I put my keys in my jacket pocket.

"That's the great thing about cooler weather," I thought to myself. "It's so nice when you can have the keys right there."

I went on to ponder the deep, deep mystery that is Life Without Pockets, and how it can be tricky in the warmer weather to not have those handy pockets. Because then you find yourself out in the parking lot fishing for your keys in that bottomless abyss known as Your Purse.

"What I need," I continued in my mind, "is a handy little pocket, like a coat pocket but without the coat."

I had a quick vision of some sweet little apron-type pouch, constructed of gorgeous fabric, that is somehow connected to my being, something handy to keep my keys (and perhaps my phone) right there for easy access.

And then I gasped, and I had a shooting pain in my chest. Because I realized this thing had already been invented. It is called the fanny pack and the thought that I was pining for one left me feeling cold and vulnerable and terribly afraid. Hold me.