Monday, June 11, 2007

Open Sores and Envy Overload

My son has open, infected sores in his mouth. That makes most people recoil. Infections and open sores have a little bit of a down-market image, frequently associated with things like STDs, poor nutrition and Paris Hilton.

Although… I’m not really sure how to give a condition involving open sores an upmarket image.
I included the picture of the Jerusalem sage in bloom mostly to take away from the vision of pink-cheeked, big-eyed, long-lashed children with festering open sores in their little rosebud mouths. Also, I think it's a really funky plant, although its constant ambition to creep throughout the garden sometimes gets on my nerves.

Anyway, my son’s mouth got beat to hell (the short version is that he went to the dentist, and we think that while his mouth was numb, he bit it to shreds. The long version isn’t a lot different, but is much more dull and detailed) and yesterday, I realized that it was no longer mending and had probably become infected, so off to the doctor we went (believe it or not, that's the short version, too). She confirmed that it was, indeed, infected, and that the happy nature of open wounds had then allowed a virus to invade the wound and wreak extra havoc in his mouth in the form of cankers. He’s starting antibiotics tomorrow, and she cleared him for school if he feels up to it.

So we celebrated a day of hooky by… going to the doctor, the pharmacy, and partying with ibuprofen. Oh, and going over to my mom’s to plant some roses for her. Why, you ask, couldn’t my mom do this? Well, she’s in France. With my sisters and niece. Am I green with surly, cranky envy right now? Absolutely. Am I very conveniently forgetting the extremely pretty Farhi dress my mom bought me? Maybe.

I was extra-cranky because my mom’s garden gloves were so full of splinters I could have built the roses a freaking trellis with all the splinters I yanked from my hands after weeding because the spots that were best for planting were also ridden with weeds and snails. I really hate snails. Seeing them alive and sliming around puts me off escargot. So I was and digging and planting and swearing, under my breath - the kids were in hearing distance rhapsodizing about how much their Abuela would like her garden after all the work “we’d” done. My mom’s neighbor picked that moment, when I was mostly concentrating on planting and getting home to make the kids their dinner and not swearing in front of them, to ask where my mom happened to be. And so I told him. In France. With my sisters and niece. And I realized that I was very much not in France, tripping around in a cute outfit and chic accessories. I had a shovel, two hands full of splinters, and two children who were approaching terminal whininess because they were tired and cranky and we were right at 5pm, the witching hour of young children everywhere. I became very nearly overcome with out-of-sorts envy and general pissed-off-ed-ness. Because, as is well known, my life is sooooo hard. Again, conveeeeeniently forgetting the Farhi dress.
On the plus side, I think I wuv David Lebovitz, in a twoooooo wuv way. I made his chocolate ice cream. Oh. My. God. Is that man married? Does he want to be? I know, I know, I’ve got little issues like a husband of twelve years and two children, and I’ve never actually met the man, but seriously? That guy knows chocolate ice cream. My only criticism is that it's almost too creamy. I looooove him. I cannot really express how after a day of open, infected sores and pharmacies and digging and splinters how incredibly sensual and happy-making that bowl of ice cream was. And yes, if the divine Mr. Lebovitz ever reads this, he’ll probably google “obtaining restraining order” immediately. I can’t really blame him.


AJD said...

What - are the blog police letting you off easy for good behavior while experiencing a terrible case of Francophile envy ;-) ?
Oh, and just for Mr. Lebovitz's edification, "obtaining restraining order" returns a walloping 1.59M entries.

Meg said...

Actually, I could probably give Mr. Lebovitz some tips on how to get a restraining order, since, my crazy neighbor has harassed me and threatened me with death and the police helpfully walked me through what I would need to do. Although... he might not turn to me as his FIRST choice.