Maddie isn't feeling well. She had a headache when I dropped her off at school this morning, and when I picked her up, the complaints started before we'd even made it to the car.
"My head hurts, Mom. It hurt all day."
She was almost in tears until I told her we'd be picking up fried chicken for dinner and frozen French toast sticks for breakfast. The same frozen French toast sticks they're serving for breakfast at morning day care tomorrow; the same breakfast her horrible mother won't let her attend because it makes no freaking sense to pay $6 for day care that's not needed at an hour when even God is asleep. So I let her in on a little secret: they have frozen French toast sticks at the grocery store. It's the art of compromise, people. I caved, okay? Yes, life is hard, and when it gets you down, you can always make up for any feelings of loss with yummy sugary carbohydrates. With syrup on top.
So we pick up our frozen-and-fried yellow #9, MSG, and crack, along with some children's ibuprofen for her headache, which by this time she is reminding me (you know, in case I forgot) STILL HURTS. REALLY BAD. AND SHE NEEDS A TISSUE, which I conveniently don't have in my purse, because, again: horrible mother.
After arriving home, I unload our groceries and backpacks and boots and violin and purse and hatchets and chicken wire and keys while Maddie gets her pajamas on to settle in for an early evening movie. She goes to the bathroom, telling me through the closed door that her head still hurts and that it feels warm. Moments pass. Flushing, water running. Silence. The door opens, out comes Maddie in her pajamas, hand to forehead, and she says, grinning,
"Don't you wish your forehead was hot like me?"
Posted by stephanie at December 4, 2007 09:50 PMI can always count on Maddie (your written version) for a laugh and a smile. Thanks!
Love, Mom