So I'm Not in San Diego

But I almost was because Chicken dumped her bike and landed on her head.

Her amazing and beloved Auntie Rhys took her to the Critical Care and then to the ER, where she got a CT scan and was told to go home.

I had my finger on the button to buy plane tickets when she called me: "Please Mom, stay home."

"Are you sure? We've got tickets lined up we're--"

"Mom, I've got midterms. I don't want to fall apart. Just stay home. I'm fine."

*sniffle* "Okay… if you're sure."

"Yeah. Rhys has it, okay?"

Well, of course Rhys has it. Rhys is scary competent, and amazing.  And Chicken and I have always been able to say, "It's okay. I got this."  And I have always trusted that she meant it.  I'm still not sure if that's wrong or not-- I know Rhys was a little surprised I wasn't jumping on the first plane out (which left at 6:30 that day, when she bonked her head at 10 a.m.)  But when someone tells me, "No. I'll be okay. You don't need to."  I believe them.  I really wish people wouldn't tell me that if they don't mean it-- I trust people on that score. Yeah, I know-- crazy.  Anyway, she's texted me regularly for the last three days.  This morning, she texted late, and I was like, "Text in ten minutes or I'm buying a ticket!"

She was like, "I just woke up, dammit!"

I think she's fine.

And so is Squish.  Squish has an ongoing rash (personal, I know, but chubby little girl in yoga pants rubs her thighs together-- it happens) and occasionally needs me to bring cortisone and a change of clothes to school.

In this case, I got the call at a really inopportune time:

"I'm sorry, Ms. Lane, but your daughter needs a change of clothes again."

"I just put dye in my hair. I've got twenty minutes to go."

"Well, we'll see you when you're done!"

And of course while she was gone, they did the cool stuff in her class.  *headdesk*  There were tears.  My Valentines day trip to the store was a "let's throw shit into the cart" disaster because I had no time.  The hour afterwards where I took the kids to the store turned into a black hole from which there was no escape. I can't explain it. I dyed my hair, the world screeched to a halt. I got nothing.

So when Mate told me that our nicely planned dinner for two with a movie had turned into takeout for the family plus our two friends and maybe a movie, I have to say, I did the logical thing.

I cried.

LIke, inconsolably.

Can't explain why, except to maybe say that maybe the previous two days had set me up to want nothing but my husband's company for an entire evening.

I got over it-- I mean, I'm only a little bit of a stress puppy.  I was better by the time Wendy got here, and while she and Mate went and picked up takeout and the puppy (who got spayed) and Wendy's husband (who had just gotten off work) I got ready for a date with my husband-- friends or no friends.

And we had a good time.

For one thing, Mate and I laughed semi-hysterically all the way to the movies.  (We drove separate cars.)  We were talking about kids, and the horror of our 6th grader having seen the puberty video and the fact that he was now feeding all that information gleefully to his little sister.  We talked about how Big T- was horrified by all of it, and the time ZB ran into the kitchen in the morning and said, "My man parts are sore!" and Big T said, "I'm really uncomfortable right now!" and how I told ZB, "Well stop whacking them on things!"

When Mate could recover he said, "Not whacking, pulling-- I swear, if he yanks any harder that thing's gonna come off!"

God, it's amazing what a good laugh can do for us.

Anyway-- we woke up this morning and…

The kids go their chocolate and activity kits and stuffed animals, and they were so happy.  They gave us gifts (I got a sewing kit, Mate got a "metal model of the Eiffel tower" kit.)  We ate out and bought dance shoes, and Mate stayed home and did yard work in the unseasonably warm February.

It wasn't bad.

I got flowers, and, well, I did get an iPod, although I said--and meant it--that I didn't want one.  I love it.  Shhh… don't tell.

But a day for love?

Well, it wasn't a bonk on the head from a speeding bicycle, right?