Breathe

I tucked Emma in, kissed her goodnight and went downstairs to crawl into bed myself. But not three minutes later the "Mom I'm..." started. I was tired, it had been a very long day.

I am no longer a fan of the 24 hour fever free rule at school. Kathryn had a 101 on Sunday morning at 10am but one dose of Motrin took care of that. But of course that meant no school for her on Monday. What I should have done was taken her to school at 10:01. I had a million and one things to do and chores aren't easy when she is home. She's a great kid but requires a bit of supervision attention because she gets bored in trouble easily.

I enlisted my favorite babysitters: Darby, Dora, and The Imagination Movers and attacked the mountain in the house that was The Laundry. That is all an day event. There's six of us in this house, five being female who apparently require multiple clothing changes a day. And when you ignore the growing pile for two weeks a few days, well you can imagine it's a chore.

I washed, folded and put it all away, all while finally watching the Real Lives of Housewives of Anywhere, USA. I see what all the buzz is about. DRAMA. But really, there's nothing REAL about any of those gals.

After being on my feet all day, managing just a few errands, preparing the house for the cleaning lady (we all know we must clean before they can clean), corralling Krazy K, running children around and all the other various tasks associated with motherhood, the pillow was calling my name.

"Mom, I can't breathe."

She was short of breath and panicking. I was right there with her. Trying to remember where The Destructor (aka the cleaner) had put the nebulizer. Last time I found it with the pots and pans. I frantically started to search the house and lo and behold it was right where it was supposed to be. I set it on the table, got the medicine ready, put on her mask, flipped the switch, and...listened to the machine do nothing. Nothing but a strange buzz where the machine itself was getting no air.

I unplugged it and plugged it back. Picked it up and checked out the bottom and back. I shook it a few times. Gave it a pat. Flipped the switch again and nothing.

I was silently cursing The Destructor. I mean, must she break everything? I can handle the light switch, the clown figurine, even my small fortune of a Simple Human trash can, but the nebulizer? If I wasn't so impressed with how shiny my counters are when she's done, it would be the boot for sure.

I ran to the study, tearing through drawers looking for the school directory, yelling at my husband to come and help, pulling up phone lists on the computer, trying to decide who to call that might have a nebulizer, that wouldn't be irritated with an after 9pm phone call so that I could get Emma breathing and get her, and myself to bed when I heard from the kitchen the sweet sound of artificial air.

I walked out and Steven was standing next to her.

"How did you fix it?"

"Well it doesn't work so well when the machine is resting on the airway tube."

Smart ass. But I love that man. He is always the reason I get to exhale.