children, health, marital blissishness, parenting

Vomitville: Part Two (It Was Only A Matter Of Time)

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pb153480After some stalling and uncertainty, the decision was made. Even though it wasn’t an early start which would have been ideal, we are headed to the Jacksonville Zoo and Gardens. Before we leave T.Puzzle gets a hold of his sippy cup from the diaper bag. He insists he is thirsty and manages to splash water down the side of the bag (you’ll need this information as it relates to later in the story).

We are in the convertible headed to the gas station. Mad Dog needs an energy drink (if you had a Full Speed and a T.Puzzle, you’d need one, too). It’s a short drive, less than a mile and the entire time, T.Puzzle is coughing and hacking. I think nothing of it as his allergies have been acting up and we are in the open air. As we park and Mad Dog exits to go to the convenience store, the hacking worsens. I undo my seatbelt, turn around and am going to try to get T.Puzzle to drink some water to hopefully ease his discomfort.

Instead I turn around just about the time he lets loose a long, cascade of multi-colored vomit. I’m helpless. I determine the best course of action is to let the seemingly endless vomit run its course and then clean-up after. The good news is, it isn’t projectile so it sort of pools on him and in his car seat sparing most of the convertible’s interior. Mad Dog approaches and I tell him, “Grab the diaper bag and find me a baggie!”

Now, as any Mom knows, you can’t be mad at your poor, pukey child so the frustration you feel rising has to go somewhere. That somewhere is usually your spouse.

Mad Dog grabs the diaper bag and I just knew, I KNEW, he wasn’t going to be able to find a baggie. On his first attempt, he makes a face and says, “T.Puzzle got vomit all over the bag!” He face twists in distorted disgust and I lose it.

“No, he didn’t, the vomit is contained to this side of the car. That is WATER from his sippy cup!” I shout. I can’t believe he is freaking out over imaginary vomit when I am up to my armpits in the real thing. AND, I still have no baggie to start putting the mountain of wipes I’m accumulating in my frantic attempts to clean up little T.Puzzle.

Eventually, after what seemed like days, Mad Dog finds a baggie, I have T.Puzzle mostly cleaned and we head home to do a T.Puzzle strip down and major clean-up. The pics I have in the post today are literally FIFTEEN minutes after his endless vomit. If only we all could recover from life so quickly.

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My Happy Color

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cute boysI start my day off on the wrong foot. Mad Dog has managed to play the sick card (upset stomach) and I have to get up with the boys. It’s the weekend; I’m supposed to get a break!! I grump my way through the morning and when Mad Dog makes an appearance I make an announcement. I am going to go out on a limb and allot myself a whole thirty minutes to shower (I’m actually washing and drying my hair) and I would like it to be an entirely solitary endeavor. I don’t want any wandering children invading my privacy. Mad Dog agrees but says I better lock my bedroom AND bathroom door for though prying hands may be little, they are persistent.

I also, and not very nicely, inform Mad Dog that while I’ll in fact attend Tae Kwon Do class, phrases like, ‘I can’t find it’, ‘I don’t know how to do that’, and ‘whose uniform is this anyway?’ cannot escape his lips. Told you I was crabby.

My point is that Mad Dog take on some of the ‘joy’ of preparing two, rambunctious boys for their Tae Kwon Do practice. My timing was awful. As soon as I am ready, I come downstairs to find a mess of uniforms and belts. To his credit, Mad Dog had changed T.Puzzle’s dirty diaper, made sure Full Speed had used the bathroom, had given the boys a snack and had the diaper bag ready (per my instruction). So, he got a good portion of the insane process complete (job well done!). I was left to the intricacies of the uniforms and belts.

The boys were outstanding at class. Yes, after six months of attendance, I can finally say that. Six long, harrowing months of attendance. We went to Sonic for lunch afterwards which is so much fun in a convertible on a beautiful, Florida day. The boys were messy but content.

We had them play outside for awhile when we returned home. Then during their quiet/nap time we had a sales appointment about getting our house painted. This paint has ceramic elements and is supposed to withstand Florida heat and rain remarkably well (salesman’s words, not mine). Mad Dog and I perused the colors and I wished the one named ‘White Wine’ was more to our liking. It would have been like my own, private, Mommyhood-coping joke. Every time I would pull into the driveway of our newly painted house, I would see the color and the image of it’s name would melt my stress away.

house

Anyway, it turned into a long, drawn-out sales pitch and the estimate was astounding (and not in the good way). When the salesman left and Mad Dog closed the door behind him, I said “I suppose our children don’t really need to go to college.” Looks like we will be making a visit to Home Depot to get some ‘estimates’ on gallons of regular, ceramic-less paint. The good news is; the liquor store is right across the parking lot.

children, gratitude, loss of parent, self-discovery, self-image/self-acceptance

Zits Happen

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I have a bone to pick with my beloved ‘People’ magazine. This week’s issue has an article highlighting Demi Moore and her uncanny ability to seemingly be aging in reverse. Don’t misunderstand me. I think she is an example of as you uncover the truth of yourself, you shine internally and externally. I love that her husband is several years younger and I aspire to be a smidgeon of that gorgeous when I am forty-seven (hey, miracles happen, right?). The article claims she’s never had plastic surgery (okay I can buy that) and splashes her upcoming December ‘W’ magazine cover as part of their pictorial. She looks incredible and about twenty-two years old.

I’m sure in person she is quite beautiful but they clearly forgot to mention the air brushing and photo shopping that went into this magnificent photo. I suppose they aren’t totally responsible for feeding into a hard-pressed quest for perfection. I mean it is the nature of the celebrity, youth-obsessed, cultural beast. If I ever have the chance to get on the cover of a magazine (so likely, I know), I say photo-shop away. I’m only saying this because on my recent family portrait sitting, our photographer photo-corrected one picture of me so I could see if I liked it (yes, sir, may I have another!). I looked at least five (maybe ten) years younger (he calls it digital Botox) and it appeared as if my face hadn’t seen the likes of a zit in twenty years (which is not the case because I grew a new one yesterday, last week and the week before that). All I’m saying is I want to look the best I possibly can for whatever age I am and apparently, air brushing can make that all possible. I just wish magazines would attempt to bring some realism into their photos. Aging can be beautiful. It brings wisdom, inner strength and experience. Let’s try our best to embrace it, one tired Mommy at a time.

Okay, I just stepped down (you know, off my soapbox and all). Now, back to my family portrait. Mad Dog and I made it into the studio to pick out our favorites pa183403(with two adorable boys that pretty much encompasses every, single photo)pa183383. The photographer pulled the best of the best and set it to music. He had it projected on to a huge wall and it was everything I could do to not break down and start weeping uncontrollably. Why? Because I love my three boys more than anything else on earth and when you feel a love like that, you gasp as it takes your breath away.

I also was overwhelmed with the knowledge in my heart that my Mom wouldn’t be sharing in these photos at all. I didn’t have to order her a single one (normally, I ordered her just as much as I ordered myself). This made me infinitely sad.

I was an emotional wreck by the time our photo choosing was complete. I felt I had run through a rainbow of feelings and it was quite stressful. So much in fact, I think I feel another zit coming on.

children, marital blissishness, parenting

Take It Down A Notch

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T.Puzzle, Full Speed and Mad Dog are all home with me. T.Puzzle because it’s his day to be home, Full Speed because of his projectile vomiting last night and Mad Dog because he is taking a work-cation day (he’s home but has to take a couple calls).

Full Speed woke up in an excellent mood and seems to have completely recovered. He has a fantastic appetite and is playfully energetic. He told me that he does feel better but will only be able to go back to school by next Thursday. He’s quite serious. I’m quite serious that he will be back at school tomorrow and not six days from now.

We decided to run some errands and then pick up lunch (are you sensing my lack of cooking motivation in recent posts?). Blockbuster was the first stop. Mad Dog and I thought the boys could pick out something to help entertain them for the day. As we enter the doors Full Speed announces, “I’m sick!” Not great timing I must say and Mad Dog and I pretend he isn’t talking while quietly chuckling to ourselves.

smackAs with all outings, it rapidly turns into a frenzied whirlwind of ‘don’t touch that’, ‘please put that down’, and ‘where did your brother go’? The boys are touching everything at their eye-level. Finally after much calamity, they both reach a decision and walk to the front of the store with their chosen movies in hand. When we take the DVDs and place them up on the counter, T.Puzzle loses it. He can’t believe the cashier would take it from him. I try to tell him that she will hand it back as soon as we pay for it. He can’t hear me over his wailing and moaning. I sigh a deep sigh and wish I was somewhere else.

After T.Puzzle has his ‘Thomas the Train’ DVD safely returned to his clutches, we pile back in the truck and head to Wendy’s (no Chick-Fil-A for Full Speed). As we pull up to order, Full Speed declares that he is never eating a chicken nugget again for the rest of his life. That’s fine by me, especially after yesterday’s unfortunate incident. We order him a cheeseburger and then nuggets for T.Puzzle (chicken nuggets are still the bread and butter of T.Puzzle’s life).

On the drive home, Mad Dog is feeling his work-cation day. He is hyper and full of energy (you can see where my boys get it from). The boys are feeding off his crazy energy and I am on edge. I am not a happy camper when I’m hungry and I’m already at my limit after our outing to Blockbuster. I asked Mad Dog to take it down a notch hoping that will shift the whole energy in the vehicle. Instead of calming down, he starts talking in an obnoxiously low-toned voice. He keeps talking like that and I’m ready to smack him. “You are hysterical, keep it up,” I say through gritted teeth. I eventually laugh despite myself. He thinks he’s the cat’s meow because now I’m laughing. The energy never subsides. I can’t win today.

Once home and the food is spread before us, Full Speed looks at his cheeseburger and then at his little brother’s chicken nuggets. “Can I have one of T.Puzzle’s nuggets?” Is this coming from the same boy who moments prior proclaimed his lifetime ban of all things nuggets? High, low or indifferent, the tone of my voice matters little. “No,” is all I say and that says it all.

children, health, mommyhood

Vomitville (disclaimer: not for the weak of stomach)

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Mad Dog and I were scheduled to view the proofs from our photo session at the studio. The stars had sort of aligned because our babysitter was available and the appointment was late enough in the evening that Mad Dog could easily make it. My day was busy leading up to it. I even managed to get my self showered and prettied before I took the boys to Tae Kwon Do. The boys had a good class. T.Puzzle earned his belt back (long story, check out my previous post ‘Mother of the Year’ for more details) and Full Speed was in good form. After class I headed through the drive-thru and even successfully got my babysitter something to eat, too. I get home, get the boys out of their uniforms because food and white uniforms are a superbad combination, and get them settled in to eat.

Full Speed is becoming difficult. He does this sometimes when I order him chicken nuggets because he prefers cheeseburgers (sorry, Full Speed, Chick-Fil-A only has chicken so you get what you get). He immediately drops into negotiation mode. I’m still trying to get my house organized, laundry done, dishes cleared, etc., that I’m not really in the mood to listen to him. At about five minutes before the babysitter arrives he jumps up from the table and says his chicken nuggets are ‘choking him’. Personally, it takes a lot of restraint on my part not to ‘choke him’ instead. I think it’s all an elaborate act to get out of eating the nuggets. I was wrong. I was doggone, puky wrong.

He starts to cry and in an instant I can sense we are on the express train to vomitville. I realize it too late. Our home is lovely with a nice, open floor layout. This is nice so I can always keep on eye on the boys In terms of puke containment, it spells disaster. He starts the vomit in the kitchen nook, trails it over by the computer into the family room. I do my best to maneuver him to the bathroom which just leads to a trail of vomit down our hall and into the bathroom (which he showers down in slime as well).

Of course, my Mommy instinct kicks in and I become oblivious to the grossness. Thankfully (and I bless the heavens for this) my babysitter arrives just at that moment. I let her in, brief her on the situation and she bravely takes the boys upstairs to bathe them while I set to clean and sanitize the likes of my entire first floor. Of course I do this all in a cute, dressy top and black pants (vomit mess waits for no one).

vomitvilleWhen all is said and done and our home smells like a freshly disinfected hospital room, I send the babysitter home (this is right about when Mad Dog arrives into the chaos), cancel our appointment at the studio and collapse on the couch in our front room. I quickly realize my cute outfit smells anything but. Mad Dog sends me upstairs to shower and change. As I write this I’m still traumatized by the level of mess that Full Speed achieved. I may never be able to look at a chicken nugget again without breaking into a cold, cold sweat.