I briefly mentioned in my last post that I try to blog mostly about all the happy moments I want to remember and look back on – but sometimes it’s good to let all the rest of you moms out there know that I’m totally barely hanging on by a thread most days too. I feel exhausted, frazzled, outnumbered, under appreciated, and pray I survive until bedtime most days. I seem to never know what’s for dinner even though I’m in charge of making it. My kids fight, scream, bicker and whine. I’ve been terrible about yelling across the house at my kids to get them to obey ANYTHING I’ve asked lately. To top it off, I got puked on today. Not just a little spit up… I’m talking about a fountain of projectile vomit all over my hair, shirt, shorts, dripping down my legs and all over the floor and wall within a 3-foot radius of where I was standing.
I looked around for my mom and realized again that I’M THE MOM.
OH. MY. GOODNESS. GRACIOUS. I stand frozen in shock trying to get my brain to function beyond my immobilizing disgust enough to figure out what to do next. I think to myself, should I set Charlie down and risk him crawling though his own vomit puddle and tracking it even farther than it already reached? If I move my feet I will track vomit with me. Maybe I should just stand here until Ryan gets home from work… in 5 hours. If Ruby comes in this room and sees what just happened she will FREAK because for reasons unknown to me vomit is the thing she is most afraid of in the whole world. I realize my three-year old is my only hope. In my calmest voice I call to her, “Clara, sweet Clara girl, can you please come in the kitchen and help mommy reeeeeally quick? Clara? Clara? HELLOOOOOOO? Clara?”
Ruby appears around the corner. “Mommy. What is THAT?!?” she asks pointing to the slimy liquid running down my arms and legs and dripping from my ponytail. “Well Charlie isn’t feeling good, can you just grab me that towel over there so I can stand on it to wipe off my feet?” “Mommy. Is that diarrhea?” she asks. I know I’m not supposed to lie to my children, but knowing what might happen if Ruby knew it was actually vomit made me respond, “Yes Ruby. Yes it is. Please stay away from it until I can get Charlie bathed off and come back downstairs to clean it up.” She tosses me the towel, I wipe off my feet and head upstairs to the bathroom.
A short while later Charlie is sleeping in his crib and I come down to clean up the mess. I’ve thrown all my clothing down the laundry chute and plan to run upstairs to shower as soon as I get the floor cleaned and a load of laundry started in the basement. The girls are disturbed that I’ve become a nudist and are asking me all sorts of questions while work on getting chunks of gooey banana? toast? cheese? out of the carpet fibers. Ruby asks why I have to clean everything and I try to explain that it’s my job as a mommy to clean up messes sometimes. In her dramatic and exasperated way declares that she is “NEVER going to be a MOMMY, mommy.” and storms into the other room.
So there you have it. Having 3 kids in 5 years has turned me into a yelling, lie-telling, nudist who may never have grandchildren.
How was your day?