"Have a nice weekend."

Okay, the next time someone tells you that, just do it.  Don’t say you’ll try.  Don’t say you hope you do.  Just have a nice weekend.  And make it better than the weekend from hell that I just had.

Friday morning I was awoken from a dream. Not a nightmare, but a stressful experience.  I cannot remember the details, but I believe it entailed annoying kids because I shouted so loudly that it not only startled me but came with one of the worst headaches ever.  I felt dizzy for hours and had to miss work, which is bad because I only work two days a week.

To top things off, I heard a familiar sound and realized that one of the kids was vomiting.  She clearly wasn't going to school and came to lie in our bed (on my husband's side).  I don’t do sickness, especially vomiting, so I was glad that the Designated Sick Child Parent was home.

Saturday night, I'm doing the dishes and she awoke from the couch, rushed to the bathroom and then minutes later told me she has to vomit, but the toilet was clogged. I told her to go upstairs quickly, but she wasn’t swift enough and threw up in the hallway. Eventually, she got to the toilet and then announced that she clogged that one too.

So now, my husband is at work, and I’m the only adult around.  Look, when I signed up for this parenting thing, I don’t recall all this being in the program.  At any rate, I had to clean the carpet, the walls and the toilet because apparently she couldn’t get it opened quickly enough either. I tried to unclog the first toilet, but I'm convinced that poop dropped in sideways because nobody, much less a child can emit something that wide.

I was doing the laundry overnight and noticed that the washer was making a weird noise. Naturally, I thought about it as I went to bed. I dreamed all the appliances were in the garage and because of their proximity and constant use, they almost caused a fire; but luckily I got the fire extinguisher and defused the smoke before there was even a fire.  (That is probably my subconscious worrying about never ever having to use the fire extinguisher and not wanting to memorize the instructions just in case I jinx myself.)

Anyways, in the morning I exercised with Gilad for the entire hour, which meant that I was knocked out afterwards. So I'm watching TV for a good while because I still can't move. My youngest came downstairs and claimed he was bored.  I assured him that there is plenty to do in this house.  He can either read a book, do some work from the Work Box (that box of unfinished school books that  exits to keep them out of my hair), play his trombone or do some housework.  He suddenly wasn't that bored, but I insisted that he get a book from the Work Box which he did for about all of five minutes before disappearing.

I called them all to do some work which they did for about an hour.  They then played their instruments for another hour, but I guess they still had too much time on their hands.

In the middle of my movie my older son brings me the phone, with a troubled look on his face.  Some woman asked if I just called 911.  I said I didn't and don't think anyone else would. But she insisted that someone did, and I conceded that my kids must have been messing with the phone and assured her that everything was fine.

I asked them why they called 911 only to hear that my younger son pressed 911 but didn't dial. So his brother added a 2 and dialed; but when he heard the phone ringing he quickly hung up.  But I guess they never anticipated that someone was going to call back.

Truthfully, I laughed because which one of us hasn’t fantasized about calling 911 just to see what would happen.   Then I'm thinking they do this crap in the middle of the movie, so I told them we’ll talk later.

About 15 minutes later I hear a banging on the door and didn't have to guess who it was. Two cops!  Now I’m thinking, “Just great!  I’m in trouble too.”

Although I explained to them that it was the kids and somebody from the State Police had already called, they said they still had to check. But the funny thing was that when they asked if someone called 911, I gave them the same look my children gave me and responded, “9112”.  They asked to see my driver’s license, took the phone number and the ages of the children.

Again, I’m thinking, I’m missing the dang movie.

Of course the boys are looking at me talking to the cops, and when they left, the older one claimed that it won’t happen again.  I simply sent them to do some more work from the box and let them know we’ll deal with this later.  Clearly, I was too upset to talk, plus I wanted to finish the movie.  My daughter pointed out that she was not involved and didn’t know what they were up to initially; but I informed her that from the time she found out, it was her duty to let me know, so she’s in trouble too.

When the movie ended, I went to cook.  Wanting to keep an eye on them, I let them assist me.   That should be easy enough.

Well, I am heating up I believe about 30 oz of oil to fry some fish. I asked my eldest to boil the rice (packaged). He is getting water from the fridge door and to help, I got a covered pot and placed it on the stove. He got the first cup and asked, “This pot?”  Without looking, I said yes.

Next thing, I hear a sound and realized that he threw cold water in a pot of boiling oil!

I nearly shit my pants. (I know, quite graphic, but oh so precise.)

After one expletive and a few “oh Jesus”, I quickly covered the bubbling pot and removed it from the burner.  Hysterically, I’m asking them individually, “Have you ever seen me throw water in boiling oil?”

I’m holding my head and resting it on the fridge, on the wall, in my hands, thinking that was really close.

Next thing I know, the pressure from the pot flipped the cover over.  I quickly took it out the house and was about to leave it in the garage until I remembered my dream.  So I took it outside.

I returned and still hysterical and walking all over the kitchen asked the other two children, “Have you ever done that?”  I could tell from their looks that they are thinking, "I don't know what the heck she is asking, but I think the answer is 'no'."

I said to them, “That is why I had that dream last night.  I told you I was psychic.  I always know what is going to happen.”  With that, my younger son looked at his brother like he’s thinking, “I wonder what else she knows.”

I let the stove cool, cleaned it, and then resumed cooking.  We ate, chilled out and they went to sleep.

Later in the night, the machine finally gave up with a message: NOTICE!  There is something wrong with this unit.

You think?

On Monday, as soon as I awoke I cleaned the bathrooms.  When I was ready to bathe, I saw the children’s toothbrushes.  I know those kids so well that I couldn’t resist  testing the bristles.  And, for good reason.  My youngest “forgot” to brush his teeth.  (I swear we weren’t that nasty!) I figured if I quickly drive to the bus stop and get him, he could brush and get back before the bus arrives.

But as soon as I opened the garage door, the neighbor’s dog started running towards me.  I retreated back in the house and called my son from the front door.

I bathed, then ironed and folded the laundry while watching Judge Mathis (my guilty pleasure from Monday to Wednesday).  I then got two letters ready for the mailbox.

I nonchalantly pushed my feet in some sneakers to go to the mailbox, but I didn’t make it because when I almost got there, the neighbor’s dog saw me and just started running towards me, like I stole something.  I hesitated a bit because I thought she must have her electric collar on and wouldn’t be able to pass the invisible fence, but boy was I wrong!

When she passed the boundary, I started running.  I realized that the sneakers would keep me back, so I ran out of them and rushed to the house.  At this point I’m hoping and praying that the house doesn’t go "UP" on me today and move.  I made it to the door, opened it quickly, again hoping and praying that I didn’t accidentally lock it.  I wasn’t sure how close the dog was because I was not about to look back.  After all in the movies, whenever people do that, they always fall.  I screamed, hoping that my husband would hear me and come to my rescue.

But alas, the poor man works some crazy hours and was deep  in sleep.  I got a broom and opened the door to shoo the dog from our garden, because that was where she stayed when she ran my youngest into the house a few weeks ago.  She barely moved and instead growled at me.  The owner came for her, and I called out to her, but she either didn’t hear or ignored me.  I’m going with the latter because she went and sat right back on her porch; plus a couple weeks ago when her dog had the kids and me hostage in the car like Cujoe, I had to drive over there to let her know that we could not get into our house.

I saw the dog sniffing my shoes and noticed something white sticking out of one shoe. I had no idea what it was until I looked down on my feet and realized that I was only wearing one sock.  I had been wearing my husband’s odd socks, and one was extra big.  With my speed, it didn’t make the journey back to the house.

I marched upstairs and during my meltdown told him to speak to her or else I will kill her dog.  Yeah right! I can’t even get my own sneakers.

Finally he got them, and as I explained what had transpired, I couldn’t help but the see the humor in it all.

I never wanted to stay home with the kids because I thought not working every day was going to be boring, but perspectively speaking, it is more adventurous and excited than I ever imagined.