Hakim is sick and I am going to be sick, too, unless drastic measures are taken.

Wow, I actually cut to the chase! I normally beat about the bush, you know, with the whole crapping thingy.

Finally, I’m getting rid of this bad habit of mine!

Wait. I just wasted three sentences of pure crap. Crap. Back to the topic.

As I mentioned, Hakim is sick. He is from last night when he puked out his dinner.

Parents said he was fine.

I am not convinced, but trust me, after living for nearly 17 years and six months of being a daughter to a pair of doctor and nurse, I’ve come to the conclusion that medical professionals don’t really fret over their offspring’s sickness.

Ah, yes, I remember the days I was feverish and refused point-blank to tell my parents about it. Because I know they won’t make a big deal out of it.

So there I was, snuggling like a fetus on the sofa. No, my mistake. I was snuggling on the marbled floor. It was cool down there.

They care, sure they do. Just in their uniquely unique way.

Back to Hakim being sick.

He threw out his breakfast, that lucky kid. The turn of event saw me cleaning up after him. The boy himself, the gray Robot shirt, the jeans, the carpet, the floor.

I am one good sister. Oh yes I am. I should make a song for myself.

But the part that made me sick was when he refused point-blank to put on a new pants, because he wanted jeans.

I mean, what was the big deal about jeans? The only clean pants left were short denims and he made his point across that he wouldn’t be wearing short denims.

Cutting the story short, after a turmoil of tantrums, streams of tears and toy cars flying, victory is Mitsui’s.

He wore the pants in defeat. He sobbed as he was laid down to sleep. He sucked on his bottle as the telly glared with Asian Food Channel.

And I was left standing. Fuming. Man, that’s a bad combo. Prophet Muhammad s.a.w said that if you are mad and standing, sit. Mad and sitting, lay down.

I might as well roll over and play dead. No one will bother me again.

So he hadn’t had his lunch. And dinner was another thing. He puked up on it, too.

I consulted my parents and just now, mom gave Hakim is first dosage of Panadol syrup [Finally! Oh mama I love you!]. And the boy’s sleeping now.

I’ve analyzed my situation before I jotted this down. That’s the third thing you have to do when you’re mad, actually.

I am fuming. Yes. Because Hakim is sick, and I’m helpless.

I resent helplessness. So, yeah, it’s me and my dignity after all. I mean, he was under my watch when he got sick. Which responsible caretaker wouldn’t be fumed?

So, now that he’s okay [for the time being], I’m okay.

I am simple, am I not?

p/s: What to do when you are mad?

1. Punch the nearest wall.
2. Breathe deeply.
3. Analyze the situation.

[Source: Atiqah Hanifah and her eccentric friend. You know who that is.]

Well, I jumbled it all up. Usually I skip number one. You would, too, if you know how fragile the human phalanges are and how horribly thick the concrete wall is.