31 Jan Tess Gets A Headache
Not trying to brag, but sometimes I nail the parenting thing.
Blythe had to go up to Edmonton to do some work, so I had the kids on my own for 36 hours. Blythe left early, I got lunches made (I zipped up the lunch kits that Blythe had already put together, so yeah, I made lunches), got the backpacks loaded up, got BOTH of them in the van and dropped them off at school. So far, so good.
At the end of the day, I picked up the kids from school ON TIME. I know the bell rings in the neighbourhood of 3 p.m., but I’m never quite sure of the exact time. But I was there for the bell. Victory. By the time they graduate, I’ll have it figured out.
Tess came out a bit slower than usual and said her head hurt. Oh no.
Okay, full disclosure. Blythe gets migraines. I’m not always the best partner when it comes to migraines, because I don’t get them. I don’t often get regular headaches. Back when I was immature, I used to be really good at making Blythe’s headaches about me, or at least about how much of a burden they are on me. But that was back then.
I’ve grown up a lot. Because I realize now that they aren’t just a burden on me, they are a burden on Blythe, too. Ha ha ha. Funny, right Blythe? No? Not yet? Okay, okay. Anyway, back to the story. John was racing to the van, Tess and I were walking slowly down the sidewalk.
“Do you want to play in the park before we go home?” I said
I said, “Let’s get home and we’ll try to figure it out, okay?”
We drove home, she went into her room to play for a bit and I got supper ready. (I put leftover plain noodles and meatballs in the microwave, but this isn’t a fancy recipe blog.)
When she came to the table, she said, “My head still hurts.”
“Okay, hon. Maybe you’re thirsty. How about you have some water?”
“No, I’m not thirsty.”
“Just a sip, okay?”
“No. I’m not thirsty. My head hurts.”
“I know hon, but maybe your head needs a bit of water.”
“Okay. Maybe I can give you a bit of medicine to help your head.”
“I don’t want medicine.”
I was running out of options. “Well, maybe you’re just hungry. Let’s have some supper.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Not even for a cookie?”
“I’m not hungry!”
Johnny looked over from his seat, “Can I have her cookie?” He never misses a chance, that one.
We all sat for a moment, stuck. Then Tess looked up and me, her eyes big and wet and her chin started doing that wiggle and said, “I want Mommy.”
I said, “Mommy’s in a meeting in Edmonton tonight.”
One big tear. “Maybe we can call her?”
I said, “Honey, I think she’s in a meeting right now.”
“Well, I think we should call her right now.”
I could feel the meltdown coming. “How about this,” I said, “I’ll call her phone, and if she can talk to you, she will, and if she can’t, you can leave her a message, okay?” She nodded.
I dialed the number and put the phone on speaker so Tess could hear the message.
And Blythe picked up. “Hello?”
I said, “Hi Hon. Tess wanted to talk to you.”
And Tess said, “Mommy, my head hurts,” and then she started to cry.
“I’m sorry Hon,” Blythe said, “Have you had any water this afternoon?”
“Do you think maybe you could have a big glass of water?”
I TRIED THAT.
“And then Daddy is going to give you a little bit of medicine, okay?”
AUGHH. I TRIED THAT TOO.
“And if you feel sick tonight, you can call Daddy, okay?”
“But what if he doesn’t hear me?”
“He’ll hear you.”
“But what if I throw up and I can’t call him?”
“He’ll hear you.”
“But he’s in the other room and I can’t talk because I have puke in my mouth.” (Gotta give her credit, that’s sound logic.)
“I’ll tell you what, Daddy will put you in our bed and you can put your head on my pillow tonight.”
So here we are. Tess is quietly sleeping away in our bed with her little head on her Mom’s pillow – and her little mouth aimed right at me.
All it took was a bit of long distance Blythe.
P.S. John came in to wake us up this morning. No headache, no barf. Nailed it.