children, gratitude, happiness, mommyhood

Run for Your Motherhood

I wanted to recap some of our spontaneous weekend adventure highlights (and lowlights) because it was certainly a memorable time. To kick-off the weekend we dined in our hotel restaurant. About 15 minutes in, little T.Puzzle, who is kicking-butt with his potty-training, announces he has to ‘POOP!’ I grab him and race through the restaurant and make it to the bathroom just in time. Upon returning to the table and after the arrival of our food, Full Speed starts acting weird. He keeps saying something is in his throat and he is extremely whiny. Then, he gets that look. It’s a look only a mom can recognize. Yep, it was the ‘he’s gonna hurl’ look. And he does. Right in the restaurant. I sensed the coming vomit early enough that I had a plastic baggie ready and manage to catch almost all of it. I leave Mad Dog with little T.Puzzle, my untouched food and the bill, scoop up Full Speed and run to our room (here I go with more running). He still looked ghastly pale so I had to pick up my pace and endure what was possibly the longest elevator ride in the history of elevator rides. When those elevator doors finally crept open, I busted out and ran full-tilt  to our room where Full Speed unleashed the rest of his stomach’s contents into the toilet.

I was exhausted. Mad Dog brought my food up and once I knew Full Speed was settled, I finally had a chance to eat. Mad Dog also brought a bottle of wine because he is a brilliant, brilliant man. Things just got exponentially better from there. Mad Dog and I watched the Magic Kingdom fireworks from our balcony (the boys were long asleep by then), we had an awesome family day at the Magic Kingdom the following day (no more vomit, thankfully) and we even managed to catch the new Toy Story movie on our way home (the boys were absolutely riveted from start to finish).

Even though I consider the weekend a huge success, I still get frustrated at motherhood. That feeling that no matter how much I do or how much I take care of everyone, it is never enough. I’m too busy running to bathrooms with sick, puking kids who excrete an assortment of grossness from every possible orifice. I mean, how am I supposed to find ‘me’ time in the midst of all that?

However, as the boys grow and need me a little less each day, I sense my freedom and independence returning. This is a very good thing. It makes me feel more balanced and hopeful. Sometimes when you are in the thick of something like motherhood, you can’t see past the tantrums and the vomit to see what is right in front of you.

And for me, that is two of the most incredible kids on the planet.

children, health, marital blissishness, parenting

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

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.


children, health, mommyhood

Vomitville (disclaimer: not for the weak of stomach)

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.