I have been getting these headaches of late. This is new for me. Ailments for me usually settle in my stomach. So while I’m a little too familiar with zantac and prevacid and taking tums up the wazoo, I have probably only taken Advil once in my life…and that was for wisdom tooth pain. I suppose I should consider myself lucky, because the chronic headaches that have been coming and going since Sunday morning have reduced me to a weeping pile of tears at least thrice. It ebbs and flows, so one minute I am laughing with Emily about the fact that the cereal is called Fiber 1 in the states but Fibre 1 in Canada, and the next minute I am fairly certain my face is going to melt right off onto the floor.
I did cry a fourth time this week, but it was not due to headache-related issues. No. It was whilst sitting in my favorite place on earth (The Carpool Line)(this is sarcasm, if you are new here) during a lovely at-least-five-inch snowstorm. I put my keys in the ignition and BAM! all the lights on my dashboard disappeared. The hell? I didn’t even know that was possible. After I looked around to make sure Ashton Kutcher wasn’t punking me (and yes I do realize this reference is, like, 8 years too late, but I do not care. I still looked for Ashton), I turned the car off and on about 47 times. And yet. Nothing. No lights. So, I turned into that jello dude from Monsters Vs. Aliens and wept in the car. In front of my children. It was not one of my finer moments. They seemed to not even notice at all and still managed to fight with each other over absolutely nothing and I’m pretty sure there was some whining about ice cream.
I went to the eye doctor to see if maybe a vision change is causing the headaches. I hoped. HOPED. Because getting new lenses would be an easy fix. Unfortunately, my vision hasn’t budged in three years and I’m still sitting at -1.75 in one eye and -2.0 in the other and myÂ Keratoconus doesn’t seem to be getting worse. Normally, this would be news that I’d celebrate with a giant Dairy Queen Blizzard. Instead, I drove home Â - dilated – with the obvious fear that it’s something brain-tumor serious (unlikely) and not something stress-related (highly likely).
And just as I was about to throw in the towel and retreat to my bed for some “woe-is-me-feel-sorry-for-me-wah” time, Isabella came to show me what she does in bed at night.
I mean, sure she’s not always right and she doesn’t quite understand that the multiplication symbol is not the same as the addition symbol, and you know, we are still working on writing the number 3….but you guys, we are still working on writing the number 3! Because she is in kindergarten. I guess she tired of reading the same hundred Robert Munschs and Fancy Nancys to herself and she found a math workbook somewhere deep in our house…and has been teaching herself MATH.
This totally trumps my headache and my evening ended with grilled cheese sandwiches and videotaping Isabella adding 7 and 5 using her fingers and her toes.
And I didn’t even call the wahmbulance once. Although I *may* have to call one to get the kids to school tomorrow morning…