Sick Boy

RTT was up vomiting all night so I kept him home again today.

Funny the things you know about your children that they don’t know about themselves.

From the time he was a tiny, perfect baby with the longest eyelashes ever recorded in American babydom, Robin has been one of those people who the more exhausted he becomes, the more excitable he acts. It’s a paradoxical reaction, kind of like there’s no off position in the biological breaker box. At a certain point when he’s really wiped out and so incredibly wired, he starts making very bad decisions. It’s why I don’t let him spend more than one night sleeping over at friends’ houses on weekends.

Anyhoo, old Mommy DiLu found the solution to this when RTT was an infant and whaddiya know, it still works. There’s a spot on the small of his back. If you pet it, clockwise/counterclockwise motions, he falls instantly asleep. I spent a great deal of time yesterday petting that spot. When RTT was sleeping, he wasn’t vomiting.

Kept some liquids down him by feeding him the pills that came home with me from the ER last summer.

(‘Nother – what? fight? – w/B last weekend. “Do you know how frightened I was when I took you to the ER last summer? How worried I was about you? If something happened to you…”

“Nope,” I replied. “All I know is that if I’d known you were living with another woman, I would have called an ambulance. You didn’t even give me the choice to preserve my dignity.”

At least I didn’t say, “No, asshole,” right?)

After I fed him chicken soup and banana pudding in the evening, RTT looked at me sleepily. “I like it that you’re taking such good care of me. I love you.”

Sweetest thing Robin’s said to me in years.

Second Sick Boy

As some kind of mystical adjunct to the above, just got a phone call from the Maxer in San Francisco who wanted his Mommy because he is sick with… vomiting and diarrhea!

Poor lamb.

I talked him through the basic precautions – keep yourself hydrated, sleep a lot, don’t drink anything with sugar, caffeine or alcohol. But I could tell what he really wanted was somebody there who would hold the basin for him while he threw up and wipe his forehead afterwards with a cool cloth – both of which I would be very glad to do if I were there.

His symptoms sound like food poisoning to me. He also starts his First Grown Up Job tomorrow. I assume he’s somewhat nervous about it and I can’t say it’s a very good fit for his personality given what I know about the job.

In fact when the hiring process took longer than he thought it should, he wrote a very impassioned letter to the corporate VP, the gist of which was, Don’t jack me around.

“Oh, dear,” I said when he told me about it.

“What do you mean, ‘Oh dear?’”

“Honey, you never write personal letters to anyone in a business context. Never. Oh well, the damage is done. You can always get a job at one of Fletcher’s Dad’s restaurants, right? Probably make more money there too.”

(Fletcher’s Dad owns a small, popular restaurant chain called The Tide House on the peninsula.)

“You’re over-reacting, Mom,” Max scoffed. “It’ll be fine.”

But, in fact, it was not fine and when Max was finally hired, they told him in no uncertain terms that they’d almost decided not to hire him – because of that letter.

“It showed a certain lack of professionalism and a lot of inexperience,” they told him.

“Honey, remember the five years I spent leaving the house at 4:30am every morning and either driving to San Francisco or flying to Los Angeles?” I asked Max over the phone.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Honey, I had a job just like yours only I made five times the money you’re making. Please use me as your unofficial business consiglieri – I know an awful lot about the business world you’re entering, ‘kay?”


Max was impressed. “I will, Mom. I definitely will.”

I don’t think he got sick because he’s starting that job tomorrow – but I do think he’s pretty nervous about it. And I wish I was around to take care of him