It started on Thursday night with my 12 year old daughter. She threw up all over her bed. I quickly punched my hands into the roll dough (I suddenly needed rolls), pulled out my sticky fists and looked helplessly busy to my husband. He grunted and cleaned it up.
During the next 3 hours, she threw up 14 times. She had a bucket after the first time.
Monday morning I felt a little out of sorts. I took a day off and spent most of it in the bathroom. Without revealing too much, I sat a lot.
That evening I tried very hard to rest. Picture me resting with a 4 year old on the bed.
"Mom, are you sick? Did you stop having birthdays? How much is cold? When Caleb comes over am I going to sleep on the floor or will I get to jump on the furniture and can Caleb play Legos with me all the time and eat corndogs but I'll hold Ginger so Caleb won't hurt her and she won't be scared and what is this?. . . "
The monologue continued as the 9 year old boy climbed up on the bed and asked me to help him with long division. In the middle of a problem, I ran to the bathroom.
"Hey Mom! How many times does 7 go into 3?"
"Mom, will you get me a snack?"
Crying. "Mom! Dad won't get me a snack! Will you get me a snack?"
"Mom, how many times does 4 go into 9?" the other boy asked.
A new voice, probably the 12 year old, "Mom, I need to give my teacher $5 tomorrow for the field trip next week and I have a report due tomorrow and need a tri-board. Will you take me to the store?"
There is no rest for the weary.
The next morning I was still recovering but planned on going to work. I sent the kids off to school, Scott off to work, showered, got dressed, did my hair, put on my make-up, put on my shoes, made breakfast for the 4 year old and realized I still had 20 minutes before I had to leave. I threw some clothes that could pass as clean at the 4 year old, turned on the movie, "Robots," and laid back down on my bed.
Just a few minutes, that's all I ask.
One hour and thirty-seven minutes later, my 4 year old came to inform me it was time to go to daycare.
Okay, there is rest for the weary, just not at the right time.
(*I added this picture just because I'm proud of this boy for building such a big castle. We're going to live in it, you know.)
During the next 3 hours, she threw up 14 times. She had a bucket after the first time.
Monday morning I felt a little out of sorts. I took a day off and spent most of it in the bathroom. Without revealing too much, I sat a lot.
That evening I tried very hard to rest. Picture me resting with a 4 year old on the bed.
"Mom, are you sick? Did you stop having birthdays? How much is cold? When Caleb comes over am I going to sleep on the floor or will I get to jump on the furniture and can Caleb play Legos with me all the time and eat corndogs but I'll hold Ginger so Caleb won't hurt her and she won't be scared and what is this?. . . "
The monologue continued as the 9 year old boy climbed up on the bed and asked me to help him with long division. In the middle of a problem, I ran to the bathroom.
"Hey Mom! How many times does 7 go into 3?"
"Mom, will you get me a snack?"
Crying. "Mom! Dad won't get me a snack! Will you get me a snack?"
"Mom, how many times does 4 go into 9?" the other boy asked.
A new voice, probably the 12 year old, "Mom, I need to give my teacher $5 tomorrow for the field trip next week and I have a report due tomorrow and need a tri-board. Will you take me to the store?"
There is no rest for the weary.
The next morning I was still recovering but planned on going to work. I sent the kids off to school, Scott off to work, showered, got dressed, did my hair, put on my make-up, put on my shoes, made breakfast for the 4 year old and realized I still had 20 minutes before I had to leave. I threw some clothes that could pass as clean at the 4 year old, turned on the movie, "Robots," and laid back down on my bed.
Just a few minutes, that's all I ask.
One hour and thirty-seven minutes later, my 4 year old came to inform me it was time to go to daycare.
Okay, there is rest for the weary, just not at the right time.
(*I added this picture just because I'm proud of this boy for building such a big castle. We're going to live in it, you know.)
I would totally live in that castle...if you ever decide to turn it into a B&B, give me a call.
ReplyDeleteAnd why do kids think that Mom is their closest link to eating, shopping and answering the world's hard questions - and forget Dad is in the house?
That is always how it goes isn't it. When I was pregnant with the girly-girl I was dry heaving in a bucket one night, and my boys were laughing at the funny faces mommy was making...not really the same thing, but gives you a little glimps of how things go around here.
ReplyDeleteNice castle, very impressive building skills, my Bubu would be jealous, his castles always get knocked down by the littles.
That IS an impressive castle!
ReplyDeleteSorry you've been so sick and your motherly duties did not take a break until it was time to go to work. I love that the 4 year old came and notified you once the movie was over. :D
So sorry you had what Bob refers to as, "the bad poos."
ReplyDeleteYeah, I said it.
I swear you deal with puke more than anyone I know!
ReplyDeleteEewwww. At least you have a budding engineer.
ReplyDelete