Stuff. I was going to say stuff--really!
Last week was not good here. As you might have gathered from last Thursday's post, The Kid got the stomach flu, and just for good measure, Jake threw up some too. And don't get me started on the fleas. Our yard is infested--which means Gater is infested, which means our house is infested. I try to be an organic, all-natural kind of girl, but after two weeks of fleas? Bring on the chemicals--all of them.
A sick kid plus fleas is a bad, bad thing. I was ready to put last week behind me and get on with some prime-time summer fun--county fair style.
Remember Charlotte's Web, the book everyone has to read or you go to middle school jail? Sure, the messages of life and death were touching and all that, but what I always remember is Fern going off with Henry Fussy to ride rides and fall into serious like. Yes, that's right. I consider county fairs to be a place of innocent romance.
I had several great blogs lined up for today about all the fun at the fair. Our local Adams County Fair is going on, and we were going. First up, we were going to the bull riding, which was last Friday night. Oh, I was ready. I got my hat out, broke out the boots, and had the camera in my hip pocket for easy access so that I could get some great shots of bulls--and bull riders. After sick kids and fleas, were a few cowboys too much to ask?
Yes. It rained for several hours, starting in the afternoon and going well into the evening. True, bull riding is just about the most dangerous sport out there--but bull riding in knee-deep mud? Too dangerous. After all, the bulls could get hurt, and no one wants that.
Okay, so the cowboys were a bust. No worries, though, faithful blog reader(s). I had another blog lined up for you. The demolition derby was Wednesday night. So demolition derbies are just not as fun as bull riding. No cowboys are involved, after all. But it's still a testosterone-ladened event, full of men grunting in a deep, manly voices as the best cars Detroit had to offer in 1972 crash into each other in slo-mo. Mud? Ha! Demolition derbies laugh in the face of mud! Ha! HaHa! It was going to be 97 degrees? No problem--that's what lemon shake-ups are for! I was so ready for a little fun that I was willing to sweat in public. Bring on the destruction!!
Or not. You know what's almost as much fun as a demolition derby? Strep throat. Yes. With 103 degree fevers. Really. You know your child is sick when he doesn't want to spend his sick day watching movies. "Turn it off," he mumbled--and then stared into space for an hour. That's when I called the doctor's office.
And, of course, you know what the perfect complement to strep throat is--fleas. I feel like a chimpanzee right now, spending my day picking fleas off of my poor puppies. Jake's fur is so short that I can see the little suckers running up and down his back. We had to get a comb for Gater, which turned up way more parasites than I wanted in my entire house, much less on one dog. Oh, and Jake threw up again.
So I'm trapped in my own personal Groundhog Day from Hell, with a sick child; sick, flea-ridden dogs; and oppressive weather.
But lo! Hope is on the horizon, in the form of my wonderful in-laws. Assuming The Kid can keep those internal body temperatures at a nice and regulated 98 degrees, he's going to spend five fun-filled days with Grandma and Grandpa. While he's gone, we're going to flea-bomb the entire house. The Kid is mildly concerned that we're going to blow the house up, but we promised him it'd still be here when he got back.
So, please, cross your fingers for me. Or get Bill Murray on the phone.