Dipped In Snot

Where?
Originally uploaded by toastfloats.

I stand posed in the salon, feet braced wide, arms outstretched for balance. Waiting.

The girls are delighted. With an explosion I sneeze, rocking back on my heels. Mera shouts, “One!”

This is not good. This is so not good. I practically hyperventilate as the next one builds. The girls urge me on, “Come on Mom... you can do it!”

Wait for it. Wait for it.... “Aaachooooo!!” followed immediately by a chorus of, “Two!”

Oddly, three, four and five come blasting out in quick staccato succession. “Choo choo choo” like a train getting going, small and sharp. “Three! Four!! Five!!!” Aeron calls, peeling with laughter and glee.

But then it stops. It's like that last bit of co co ca choo did the trick and abruptly my nose stops itching, my eyes stop watering, and I can breathe. I take a deep breath and smile. My happiness is Aeron's grief, however. Five is not impressive. It doesn't even come close to the record.

The record was achieved the day before in a half hour of unmitigated misery. Aeron and Mera are still arguing whether or not it was one long procession of 22 sneezes or actually – as Mera argues – three separate batches. The problem is one of definition. How long is Mommy allowed to breathe and recover between sneezes for the sneeze to count as part of a series? Like skipping rocks, my sneezes are now a children's game to delight and amuse. Like any children's game, the game is not sufficiently amusing unless it also generates endless bickering over the rules.

Dante truly lacked sufficient imagination, because surely this must be another heretofore undescribed circle of hell. My head is stuffy, nose and eyes running, face itchy, eyes red. And at the same time, it is 88 degrees this morning, 72% humidity, and a fog bank is rolling in through the harbor. I'd like to say it's beautiful, but my sweat is sweating and I feel like I've been dipped in snot.

DrC diagnosed the malady as Hay Fever. Of course, there is no hay for at least 750 miles. Besides, I'm not allergic to hay. I'm allergic to sheep, oak trees and grass. There are no sheep, oak trees or grass within 750 miles either. So it's not fair. I stomp my feet twice and tell you it is not fair. Make it stop. Make it stop yesterday.

Hamming It Up
Originally uploaded by toastfloats.

The girls watch me closely. Their internal clock is apparently still ticking. I'm not out of The Zone in which another sneeze would accrue to the prior series. I glare across the salon at my spawn, not in a particularly accommodating mode. They ate all the yogurt and granola leaving me nothing but corn flakes and a limp banana for breakfast. This eagerness to see me suffer is simply adding insult to injury. To hell with my kids.

And as if the thought blew in on a karmic wind, I'm suddenly gripped by fate, muscles abruptly tense, a shudder blasting through my body, “AAAAAchoooooy!”