The Queen's Rambles

When I was a kid I used to make chocolate chip cookies every Saturday. We didn’t bake many–just ate the dough. I could really go for a big bowl of cookie dough right now. Anyone want to go buy me some chocolate chips? The closest thing I have, which is not really close at all, is lavender candy melts that are in my Honey Dukes jar. They are supposed to be puking pastilles and a fun wink to my Harry Potter love. I don’t know if anyone else will get the reference, but it makes me happy. I don’t think they will have that satisfying chocolate flavor, even if I did cut them up into chip sized pieces so I guess they get to continue their lives as fake puking pastilles.

Poor Elsa is so, so sick. She’s puny and hot and I’m afraid she’s going to have a febrile seizure or dehydrate. We live in the year 2013. It should be simple enough to alternate tylenol and advil and keep the fever under control. Problem? Every time we attempt to give her medication she vomits all over the place. We’ve given up. I guess I’m going to have to stick her in a tub of ice cubes like they had to do with Almanzo when they were in the big city. Something like that. I haven’t watched Little House on the Prairie for over 20 years so I might be mixed up. She’s eating a popsicle right now, so maybe that will help. I do have some Fever-All suppositories, but I’m not quite that desperate yet. I am not comfortable sticking something up my three year old’s butt. An infant? Sure, they won’t remember. But not a three year old.

Since I know I’m home bound today, I didn’t bother to put pants on. I’m wearing loud, floral jammie bottoms that are not at all attractive on a woman my size. Erik came running in the house, sobbing and would not tell me the problem, just that I had to go with him.

I walked outside and he started telling a tale about new kids at the playground who threw a piece of metal at him, told him he was not allowed to play there and told him it was only for black kids.

Mama Bear started roaring and I marched down the street with my flimsy, floral clothing with no thought to anything but kicking some bratty butt. At least I had a bra on.

Sure enough there were two unfamiliar faces at the park–one was a tween black kid and one was a teen that I would not have called black, but who knows. Maybe he was bi-racial.

They knew they were in trouble before I even arrived and they tried to tell me that Erik was hitting the pesky younger brother of Erik’s best friend. I tried to sort things out, but it was pretty obvious from the stories of all the other kids that the unfamiliar kids were causing trouble. I asked where they lived and they pointed behind the houses, so I told them to get out of our neighborhood and not come back. Thankfully they left. I was afraid I was going to have to call 911, but then realized I forgot my phone at home. Calling 911 should be reserved for true emergencies and I don’t know that they would have considered this an emergency, but I figured if I started dialing they would get scared and run away.

I hung around for a little while and they seemed to be gone, so I started walking towards home. Erik and a couple other kids started screaming for me, so I turned around and the kids were back. They had doubled around the houses and were hiding in a tree, just waiting for me to leave.

I finally ran home and got my Kindle, a coat and my phone so I could supervise. I guess I finally outlasted them. I came home after about two hours* and Erik hasn’t been in to tell me they’ve returned.

I hate bullies. Why can’t we all just hold hands and sing kumbayya together?

*Mike was home with Elsa. I did not abandon my poor, sick baby.