Last Thursday we rented a pontoon on a nearby lake so we could practice for when one of my numerous families-in-law come down for a visit. We drove it great! The 16-year-old who rented us the boat said I dock like a pro! We jumped in and paddled about and lo, it was so fun!

FRIDAY

SATURDAY

Sunday we took the little angel and one of her friends down to a sailing club. The two of them hauled it onto a 10-foot sailboat with me and proceeded to fret alternately about how hot it was and losing their sunglasses if I tipped the boat over. (Of course I did not tip the boat over. But the other two boats with kids piloting them were permanently laid out, so I understand their concern.) I accidentally slammed into some rocks due to a random luff-and-blow. But I got us out of it! And the boat guy did not have to come save me! And then, at the very end when we were not far from shore, I finally gave in and let them jump in the water, because a half-hour of trying to sail any boat by yourself with two tweeners is enough to test the patience of even a saint.

Monday I went to an event for my wonderful friend the artist who did not know he was an artist until he was 47 but managed to somehow get himself a movie premiere, and then I rushed home to get the little angel from the neighbor's house. My neighbor had invited her two nieces over and God Bless America, they were actually braiding each other's hair when I showed up. (I AM SO NOT KIDDING.) The little angel mentioned her ear hurt where it was pierced.

As in, bright red and swollen.

As in totally infected and needs a run of antibiotics and no lake or pool until it subsides.

As in all that practicing and we had to cancel the pontoon for Friday.

And here, Diane, is a time in which catastrophize practicing did not pay off. Now it's 1:1.

Just the other day, right about the time I was working on the BlogHer post about "the bases" of sex, I had this memory flood of totally immature sayings from middle school come back.  One of them was, "Twat?  I cunt hear you. I have an ear infucktion."

I never said this blog was clean, people.

Anyway, I was thinking about that saying and really how stupid it was, but how after all of these years it still can make me giggle just because? It is so damn stupid.  And my, how middle school boys love anything stupid AND sex-related all at the same time.

So anyway, ear infections were top of mind, and I think I may have jinxed myself.  The little angel woke up this morning at 1:30, SCREAMING in pain.  I have not heard her cry like that in a long time. It was like she was possessed. We finally got her back to sleep with Motrin, but it happened again and again. Finally, at 4 a.m., I drove to Wal-Mart.  As I was standing there in the aisle looking at Swimmer's Ear medicine, I remembered that one of her tubes is still partially in. I wondered if you should pour Swimmer's Ear medicine straight into someone's brain.  I called the on-call pediatrician, who said, NO YOU SHOULD DEFINITELY NOT.

And she couldn't take more medicine yet.  I got home, hoping maybe she'd just fallen asleep, but I could hear her screaming literally outside the house. I got upstairs, took one look at her face contorted in pain, and shoved her in the truck.  It was high time we checked out the local ER.  Before we left, I looked at Beloved plaintively. 

Me: "See you in six hours."

Him:  "Rita, this is the suburbs."

Me: "I've never left an ER in under six hours."

Him:  "Look around.  There are not going to be gunshot wounds like before."

Actually, he was right. We were the only ones there. In and out in an hour.  She got scared when we were inside, and when the doctor started digging around in her ear with a long Q-Tip, she trembled a little, but so brave was my girl that I didn't realize how much it was hurting her until the doctor asked.

The doctor decided that to really determine if it was an inner ear or external ear infection (Swimmer's Ear), she would have to dig a LOT in a very painful way.  Thankfully, she decided just to treat for both and not subject all of us to the sound of a four-year-old already in abject pain having her skull scraped out with a sharp stick.  She gave me two prescriptions and the little angel a shot (glass) of antibiotics mixed with Tylenol with codeine.  Yeah, baby.

So anyway, that's been my day.  The little angel recovered greatly after her second dose of antibiotics and has been treating her stuffed animals to an advanced photography session complete with lighting and staging followed by Group Time while I frantically tried to edit stuff for work.  Still, the sound of her singing instead of screaming is music to my ears. And, Tropical Hello Kitty arrived today from Build-A-Bear. 

I would review it, except that my dear friend Average Jane is the social media expert behind the product, so suffice it to say she knows exactly how to trip my daughter's trigger.  The little angel practically backflipped off the step with joy, and when I pointed out we could go back to Build-a-Bear to get Hello Kitty a new outfit, I think she levitated. I can't figure whether she or Blondie likes that place more. Tropical Hello Kitty and Pink Kitteh promptly switched outfits, as you do.

Credit: Chris Carfi at BlogHer 2007, when Blondie purchased Pink Kitteh for the little angel.

The little angel: "LOOK! NOW THEY ARE SISTERS!!!"

Beloved is going to kill me.

How was YOUR day?