Aack! Derailment at station # MOM

Well, it's true. I've got SHINGLES. What a riot.

Life has felt a little like a runaway train lately: Too much stress. Not enough sleep. Schedules rearranged for family trips and new nannies.

And the moment the doctor said SHINGLES, it felt like the crash I'd felt coming was finally here.

BAM! Brick wall. You have SHINGLES.

You were both crawling around on the exam room floor, laughing in between peekaboos and hugs - too busy playing to notice your mother teetering off the edge of the track.

Doctor: talk talk.

Me: nod nod.

Henry: pushing a cap lid up the wall making truck noises. Why do boys always do this?

Lucy: laying on her back, hair splayed, singing something to herself while moving purple beads through her fingers like a rosary. Have you ever seen a rosary?

Me: absolutely no idea what the doctor was telling me during all of this. Nod and take some papers. Back to his face. Holy crap - SHINGLES? OK. So now what?

Then, real life starts again. Pick up papers, wrestle toddlers, trucks, bags and who-knows-what-else down to the pharmacy to get whatever prescriptions I had just blanked out on the Dr. telling me about.

Into the car. Drive home. Dinner prep. Play time. Baths. Bedtime routine. Fever and rash. Wakeful night. Early morning.

And finally, finally a WHOLE DAY of rest.

Really?

I didn't know I could take a day to rest. Did you? I just laid there and let the nanny take you off to play. I didn't work. I didn't clean house. I didn't do anything. (Well, besides scratch and moan a lot.)

Wow! It was amazing. Thank you SHINGLES. You are crappy but you taught me a valuable lesson.

And low and behold, the train is back on the track. Starting up again toward the end of the day.

Choo choo. And we are off again? I guess so.