I have five children. Three of which I've birthed. I have been to East Africa to adopt two children. Twice. I spend my days mediating squabbles and attempting to maintain some sort of order around here. It can be challenging, to say the least.
And yet there is pretty much just one thing this mama can't handle. One thing that sends me over the edge, shrieking into the proverbial night.
And that one thing is, in a word, vomit.
Yes friends, it's true. I can change diapers all day long, doctor up the bloodiest of skinned knees, and drag five kids to the grocery store with the best of 'em. I tend to stay real calm when a child falls down or, you know, is stung by millions of bees. But if someone has a stomach virus? Forget it. I want to lock myself in a Lysol-filled room and not come out until it's all over and done. I have problems.
And, last weekend, when Kevin was out of town, my two oldest girls came down with a virus. Which I didn't discover until, you know, we were at the sweet little Paris Street Fleamarket in Littleton (where I scored a positively adorable vintage butter dish for $8. But that's beside the point.) When my four year old daughter had a no-good-very-bad-accident in her sweet little undies. And on our trek home--as I selfishly thought to myself what a bummer it was that I had to spend my beautiful afternoon cleaning up poop--the same dear child vomited. Three blocks from our house. All over her carseat and new dress. Not good. Not good at all.
Thus went my weekend. I don't think I'd ever been so grateful to see Kevin as I was when he drove up last Sunday afternoon. Lots of exclamations like "You don't understand how horrible it was!" and "I've had the most harrowing weekend EVER!" (See, I told you I have issues.)
Then of course I came down with it. But I'm better now. Everyone was better. Yosef and Biniam spared because they never get sick. No big deal.
Fast forward to today, when my robustly healthy kids and I innocently drove to Lowes to pick up a gallon of paint for a project I'm working on. I pulled into a parking space, they all began unbuckling...and Yosef chose the precise moment that he was about to climb over Anna's seat to vomit. All over everyone's carseat, the floor, and Anna.
I just stood there. Stunned. Made Yosef get out of the van. Looked around and wondered how
So that's been my afternoon. Hosing down
It's the orange bottle, the "Hawaiian Aloha" scent.
Which I think is really kind of funny because when me and Febreeze hang out like we did today, it's SO not anything like being in Hawaii. Of course I've never been to Hawaii, so I guess I don't know for sure. It was no luau today, I can tell you that!
I really don't think you can do this mothering thing without a good, sturdy, dark sense of humor. Sometimes something happens that is just SO AWFUL that you want to
And that's what I did, while I aggressively sprayed my Hawaii-in-a-bottle. I laughed at the very thought of my disgusting car (or what my son did in it) even remotely resembling a Hawaiian aloha. And, yeah, I know I'm weird. And more than a tad neurotic and crazy when it comes to the inevitable stomach virus. And right now I'm making weird, awkward blog jokes about Hawaii and vomit (shudder).
The truth is that I may very well go completely insane one day. But at least I'll go out laughing!