Moose in the Kitchen

Guess what new and exciting fact I recently added to my life repertoire of new and exciting facts, ones that help you in your quest to be a responsible adult who can be trusted with other living creatures? I learned that even if a sick child does not want her formula, no, not one bit does she want that formula, you still need to make sure she drinks it. By pinning her angry, flailing arms behind her back, if necessary. Children aren’t really capable of determining what’s best for them – frankly, adults aren’t always so hot at it either – so DO NOT GIVE IN. Dehydrating a sick 11-month old to learn that lesson will make you feel like an ass. Just a little tip from me to you.

On Monday, I was watching a family friend’s sick child – day care does not accept the weak and exhausted (maybe there’s a pride of lions near the daycare center that engages in some unfortunate Darwinian weeding) – and using the house’s lack of internet connection as an excuse to read a book instead of work while the baby slept. (Later I mentioned this to some friends who said, “You don’t need an internet connection to write, do you?” Oh, hush.) It was quite lovely, lounging on the couch with a novel while cats warmed my chest. But then, in the two hours she was awake, I couldn’t convince her to eat or drink anything, as I had yet to learn the handy system of bending a small, feverish child to my will via limb restraint. When her mom came home and showed me how easy it really is to manipulate children, I felt bad.

This, my friends, is how I learned that a good day doesn’t necessarily stay good. (Sure, my ever-expanding life experience probably taught me this years ago, but have you ever noticed how certain lessons need to be learned and relearned ad infinitum until your brain finally clings to helpful wisdom the same way it immediately absorbs lyrics to a Deathcab for Cutie song?) The happy flip side to this life invariable is that a bad day doesn’t necessarily stay bad.

I also learned that it’s sometimes difficult to keep one mistake from reaffirming every bad thing you’ve ever thought about yourself. Um, don’t let it. Chances are pretty good that Bad Things One Thinks About Oneself are rarely, if ever, true.

Anyway.

Guilt must make me (even more) directionally confused, because as I drove home that evening I found myself wondering why I was heading toward the San Jose airport. Did they move it? No, it turns out they did not move the San Jose airport, I was just driving the wrong way down the freeway. In really heavy traffic. The internal nudges of “Hey, you at the steering wheel. These signs don’t look right.” usually penetrate my brain quicker, but I was a little off-balance.

(P.S. I was born and raised in San Jose and have lived in San Francisco for almost a decade. YOU’D THINK I’D KNOW WHICH DIRECTION TAKES ME HOME BY NOW.)

An hour later (rather than the expected 20 minutes), I got to my friends’ house, where we hung out with the chickens – named after female characters in children’s literature, all except Buffy, who is blonde and feisty and possibly vanquishes vampires in her spare time – and I learned that dosing a chicken with medicine is actually harder than dosing a child. Which didn’t really make me feel better, but I suppose the poor, hobbling chicken needed antibiotics more than my pride needed soothing.

Contrast this epic adventure in mishap with yesterday, when I got rear-ended by a Volkswagen on the freeway before 8:00 a.m. and still managed to have a stellar day. Oh, life. You win again.

Related posts:

1. Step Away from the Vehicle
2. I am a Jealous Hag
3. Yes, I DO Look 13
4. If I Blog About Jesus, Will He Show Up Too?
5. The World Chortles In My General Direction