I am really writing this post for sympathy because I am not sure I can continue to live in my family feeling that we are completely wacked while everyone around us lives normal, “cray-cray” free lives.
Sadly, our crazy is not at all of the glamorous kind. Thursday: contacts and jalapenos.
Once the kids were all out the door, I made my way around the house picking up the carnage that remained in their bathrooms, bedrooms, and kitchen. I did the typical MOM-ADD thing. I carried a basket of clean clothes up to Maisy’s room intending to just put it down. I couldn’t find a spot to put it down so I ended up spending an hour rearranging her furniture and so on and so on.
Finally, I made it to Sam’s bathroom. I cringed as I picked up boxer shorts and rinsed brown toothpaste out of the sink. I could not let my mind go to that dark place where my son spits something brown out of his mouth at 6:00 am. I kept moving–like an automaton. I recapped everything: toothpaste, deodorant, hair mousse (when he started using mousse, I have no idea.)
I picked up his contact lens case. One side was capped the other not. I ran through the eyeball eating amoeba scenarios as I washed the case out with scalding water–silently scolding Chris for letting our son get contacts in the first place.
That’s when I saw it….a solitary and isolated shriveled up contact lens sitting on the counter.
Just one. Lonely as can be, peeking up at me begging for moisture. Gingerly, I picked up the pathetic withered lens and dropped it into the saline and went about cleaning up. I just assumed Sam had worn his glasses to school. It wasn’t until I found his glasses perched precariously on the edge of his fish tank (really folks, fish tank) that I became concerned. He wasn’t wearing his glasses in school, but he wasn’t wearing his contacts either…
Nine hours later, he burst through the door, happy and pleasant as can be.
“Hi, Mom!” he called.
“Hi sweetie,” I tried to sound casual. “Hey are you wearing your contacts?”
“Yep!” he said.
“Um. Are you sure you are wearing both contacts?”
He stared at me blankly. “Uh….I think so….”
Slowly he lifted his palm to cover his right eye then left. He paused.
Left. Right. Pause.
This went on–and on–and on. Mind you, Samuel’s vision is not only a “little” bad. It is somewhere in the neighborhood of 20/200. He NEEDS his correction–badly.
“Huh.” He said. “I guess I don’t have my left one in. Wonder how that happened?” And just like that, a quick shrug later, and he was bounding up the steps. Sam, for the entire school day, failed to notice that he was essentially blind in one eye.
I was still clearing it all up in my head at dinner. For some odd reason, Chris had decided to chop a jalapeno that was randomly sitting on the counter. When I told him that I didn’t need the perfectly diced pepper, he, like his son, shrugged his shoulders and went happily about his afternoon.
Our family dinner started the way most of them do. Maisy had been told to hand over the cell phone she was hiding under her thigh, Hadley was told that she could not have “coffee” with dinner–”Because you are seven that’s why.” and Sam was deliriously happy with his new found bilateral vision.
Suddenly, Chris was jumping and making a sneezing, snorting gagging noise.
It turns out that the jalepeno he had chopped was quite hot. He had not worn gloves and had not washed his hands before blowing is nose (ragweed is out.) So, the Kleenex he twisted this way and that all the way into his cranium while I watched with loathing, was basically a carrier for millions of particles of capsaicin.
It is really a culmination of things that led to my outburst and of course I regret it. I would never actually shove a jalapeno into my son’s eye or up my husband’s nose….it was a bit of fleeting frustration is all.