The blog in which I curse dessert.

I had a long day with a sickly little chicky.  Shay had a cough from the weekend away, and by the time she got home from school yesterday, she was in tears with a horrific sore throat and was not able to speak because the congestion was so thick in her throat.  She was pathetic.  I have been medicating each hour I am allowed to do so, and usually, her pain, fever, congestion or general miserable-ness is back way before I can dose again.  So, sweet thing spent part of the day sleeping, and part watching Netflix TV.  I have had my fill of My Little Pony, Garfield, and a horrible movie called Pet Pals.  No joke.  It was awful.

At dinner time, I tried to make glow in the dark bubbles after I remembered seeing it on Pinterest.com.  Negative.  I can get the solution to glow, but not the bubbles.  There's your heads up.  You're welcome.     Dinner ended, and if the Pin-strosity wasn't enough of a frustration, here comes dessert.

Shay- Mommy, I ate all my dinner.  May I have dessert?

Me- Of course! You can have whatever you want!  (She was not eating at all today, and I had to beg her to eat.  I'm sure the medicine didn't help.  She made a meal out of her medicines every few hours, and that Sudafed is an appetite suppresant.)

Shay- What do we have?

Me- Uh, well... Some chocolate Teddy Grahams?  Apple Sauce?  Trail Mix and you can dig out the M&M's and throw the peanuts and raisins back in the bag?  (I haven't been to the store in a while.)

Shay- (Looking in the pantry, spots the Pez dispenser bag with a few Pez rolls.)  May I have these?

Me- Sure.  Go for it.

I start cleaning up, and then she comes back with a sad attempt at opening the paper package on a Pez roll.  She asks for help, and of course, I'd be happy to help.  I put down my dishes and wipe my hands. At this point, I should have suited up to go to battle, but all I thought was necessary was to dry my hands.  Little did I know....

First, I didn't dry them well enough, and the one little Pez that was partly sticking out of the wrapper got wet.  Eww.. that won't taste so great.  Then, I couldn't get the wrapper open from the end she started, so I flipped it around.  So far, not a huge level of frustration, but I can see this will take some finesse- and I don't think I'm the chick for the job, but I continue on.  I have a fresh start at this side, and quickly realize that I need to slow down.  I slow down, and quickly realize that I need a freakin' machete if my child is to have dessert before my next menstrual cycle.  I finally get it open.  Not all the way.  Only enough to get about four Pez out.  Then, I drop one.  HOLY BAT BALLS!  ARE YOU KIDDING ME?  So, I pick it up.  At this point, I think, I will stop the package opening process, and I will stuff these little suckers into the belly of the dispenser before I drop any more.  I am nearly thirty-six years old, and have not been practicing this skill for the past thirty six years, however, I thought I was fully capable of doing this task without the need of a surgical assistant.  I thought wrong.  So, I attempt to get these four in about three times, and finally get them in, all laying down perfectly straight, and I think, "Can't this be sufficient?"  Well, I didn't bother to ask, as I know the disappointment on my daughters face would have caused me to throw myself into a bottle of alcohol, so I decided to just finish the job at hand.  I put the dispenser down, and go back to peeling paper off from around the rest of the package.  I think it came off into about 62.3 pieces.  That seems about right.  The whole package is no longer than your little finger.  At this point, I would have eaten my own little finger I thought it might speed the process up.  I begin thinking that this might become an awesome torture exercise for prisoners at war.  Then I thought, "Sad that my brain goes this way.  Maybe I should just start drinking now."  I didn't.  I knew that I had work to do, and my daughter was beginning to doubt my abilities and my enthusiasm for the request.  She is my empathetic child.

Shay- Mom?  Do you need help?

Me- Yes, but not the type you are thinking.  However, Charlie's therapist refuses to call me back, therefore, I think we are a lost cause.

Shay- Huh?  Okay.  Let me know when you are done.

That was her way of saying, "Take your time.  I see that you are struggling, and I love you anyway."  I love her.

Dessert.  I think I deserve a freakin' medal or something.

 So, I finally get all the paper off, and the wet one breaks.  Screw you wet one... we didn't want you anyway.  I nimbly attempt to line four more Pez up in my fingers, then attempt to open the belly fully, at which point, the four in my fingers fall, and the already placed Pez decide to jump ship, and go all caddywhampus on me.  I dump the whole thing out, and at this point, I decide to take a deep breath.  Not because the Pez are causing a panic attack.  Rather, because Charlie has just finished his dinner, and is headed for the Pez bag.  My life sucks and I need professional help because the stress of finishing the job at hand seems more overwhelming than sticking my hand up an elephant's backside.  I actually thought of about 4 other horrific/bile things that I would have rather done than load two Pez dispensers.  I am not right.  Don't judge.