Clearly, if my children would behave, I could get my act together enough to share remnants of our now two-week-old Spring Break memories or even pieces of the more recent Easter festivities.
Instead, I spend my time...well...you don't really want to know.
Let me just start by saying I really love my kids. No really. I love them. Even Cole. Yep.
This morning I woke, against my will, NEEDing coffee. Not just a typically simple life-would-feel-better-after-caffeine feeling, but a true desperation for a bold, full-bodied, miracle blend of the stuff. I was willing to dip my head in it, if need be. Now you know my state of mind.
I got the boys fed. They, of course, wanted pancakes. So I made some. And although the griddle wasn't heating properly and the pancakes were lacking any circular characteristics, they, thankfully, ate them. Then I got Hudson to school mostly on time.
So the little boys and I returned home after repeated requests for donuts and loud, ridiculous protests to my chosen path home. There was more crying, fighting, and whining about who got to open the garage door. Then more whining, fighting, and crying about who got to close the garage door.
The boys decided then to "cook." They removed all cookware and related tools from the kitchen and relocated them to the living room, along with wooden blocks and so forth as "food." Finally, peace for me (you know, except for the banging of pots and pans and fighting over who gets to be the chef and who has to be the sous chef), so I took my coffee and sat.
Later (and I can't say how much later, but I know the coffee hadn't kicked in yet), as they are serving me french toast stew and I am saying "yummy," Cole starts the whining again. And about the third time he says it, I finally process the words.
"I swallowed a penny. Ouw, ouw (now holding his chest)! I swallowed a penny."
"Seriously?" I ask, as if this wouldn't be perfectly typical for Cole.
"It hurts. Why did I swallow a penny?"
"Really. Why DID you swallow a penny?"
He continues to whine while I continue to process. He's talking, so he has to be breathing. But his chest hurts. Seriously? Is this really happening today? Does it really hurt? Yea, it probably hurts, because he keeps saying it does. And he has that look on his face.
I resist rolling my eyes because, well, would a good mom really roll her eyes at her 3-year-old after he swallows a penny, and decide instead to give him a drink. If he can swallow, he'll be good, right?
And then I did the unthinkable. I googled "swallow a penny." And my day got better. That's sarcasm - just in case you didn't get it.
I learned that people of all ages, all over the world, swallow pennies needlessly. Some, according to the WWW, live 30 years with a penny inside them. Others simply die from it. It happens to matter what year the penny was generated. Now how am I supposed to figure that out? Some "pass" the penny to have their parents frame it for them and present it to them on their wedding day.
I call Heath. He, rationally, recommends the ER. I oppose. So instead, I make the thousandth call to our pediatrician's office. I leave a message regarding Cole, as I have done WAY too many times in his short life.
In the meantime, I watch Cole play with Jake. Most of the time he forgets he swallowed a penny. I took a tiny toy boat out of his mouth. I took a "guy" out of his mouth. I took a game piece out of his mouth. With each removal, I repeated my lecture.
The nurse called me back, finally, and confirmed my greatest fear. Cole would, most likely, be just fine. If he can eat and swallow, he should be okay...BUT, I must search for the penny. Yep. I must search for the penny. And it could take days. Maybe weeks.
And so I will. At least daily. That's how my "free time" will be spent.
This, at the very least, proves that I love him.
My free time is mine again.
The penny has been recovered. Okay, well, not exactly recovered - that was more than I found necessary. But it was visualized and then, once fully confirmed to be the penny, I allowed Cole to flush it along with the remainder of his, umm, well, output.
And just this once, I decided that it would be okay to forgo the old adage "Find a penny, pick it up..."