It's Columbus Day. Or Indigenous People's Day. I'm not really clear on that.
Either way, Jude doesn't have school. It's supposed to be a vacation day. Some kind of Italian/Native American fun is supposed to be had. Though I'm pretty sure that no fun was had when those two groups first came together.
But instead, Jude has been on the computer watching stinking YouTube for hours.
Because I am sick. I have a rotten, cold. I sneeze. I sniffle. I snort. Also, my back is out. And I have a pimple.
According to Facebook, other moms are out there having lots of holiday fun with their children. I see pumpkin patches. I see hay rides. I see Disneyland.
But I lie in bed watching The View and my child is sitting in front of the evil screen, rotting his brain.
"Mom?" Jude calls from the other room.
"Yeah?" I call back from my sickbed.
"I'm kind of hungry," said Jude.
"Didn't Daddy give you any breakfast?" I ask.
"No," the boy answers.
It's 10:30 am. Jimmy left to go to work at about 9:30 am. Damn. Damn. Damn.
I get up, drag myself into the kitchen and open the refrigerator.
We have no food. I mean, really, it's Old Mother Hubbard time here. And there's a really horrible smell coming from something deep inside the refrigerator. I'm thinking it might just be that old meatloaf that has been rotting in there for a couple of weeks. Damn.
I start to rummage around in the pantry and discover a box of Trader Joe's Pumpkin Waffle Mix. Ah! Now that's special. That could be something holidayish. And pumpkins seem kind of vaguely Indigenous Peoplesish. I'm gonna do it.
I pull out the waffle iron and start heating it up. I measure the waffle mix into a bowl.
Let's see, I need to add 2 tablespoons of melted butter. We have no butter. Damn. Okay, I can improvise. Coconut oil? Sure, why not. I measure it out and melt it.
I now need to add an egg, slightly beaten. We have no eggs. Damn.
We had eggs!! I know we did. We had them last night!
Ah-hah! Jimmy ate them for breakfast! Damn Jimmy, damn stupid, selfish Jimmy who ate the last of the eggs, and now Jude and I have nothing to eat! He's always so stupid and selfish!
I slam and bang everything in the kitchen. Jude and I will just have to starve! Because Jimmy is so stupid and selfish!
"Uh, Mom?" Jude calls from the other room.
"Yes?" I answer.
"I hear that you are upset," Jude says, "is there anything I can do to help?"
I know my child well enough to know that he's not really that interested in helping me, he just wants me to be aware that he is there and that he can hear things that perhaps I don't want him to hear. Namely, much use of the f-word and cursing of his father.
"No. I'm fine," I say.
Okay, maybe that was a tiny bit of an over-reaction on my part. I might just be a little bit grumpy.
I take a shower. I figure the steam will be good for my cold. And my back. And actually, also for my pimple.
It helps. I rally my forces, make the boy get dressed and we head to the supermarket. I am not, damnit, going to give up on my pumpkin waffle plan.
I drag the child around the store, buying butter and eggs (and NyQuil and tissues and vodka - is it inappropriate to pour vodka in my chamomile tea? At 11:00 in the morning?) (Don't worry, I didn't really do that.) (Yet.)
Home again. Make pumpkin waffles. They are so damned good that they are kind of a revelation. Kind of breakfast nirvana. We both gobble them up.
"Jude?" I call out from the bedroom, "come here a sec."
The boy appears next to me.
"I'm sorry that I'm sick and grumpy and no fun and your entire day off is being spent stuck in the house."
"Well Mom," the boy replies, "slacking off and doing nothing all day is actually fun."
Jude runs back to the other room and slacks off and does nothing.
I hate being sick. Damn.