The progressive Suckiness of A Mother’s Night:

1)One of your amazing kids has a stomach virus with both ends going.

2) One of your amazing kids has a stomach virus with both ends going.  They flood their bathroom.

3) One of your amazing kids has a stomach virus with both ends going.  They flood their bathroom and they don’t tell you until the bathroom is totally flooded.

4) One of your amazing kids has a stomach virus with both ends going.  They flood their bathroom and they don’t tell you until the bathroom is totally flooded.  You finally get the entire thing cleaned up, wash you hands, and go to dry them thinking you are done.

6) One of your amazing kids has a stomach virus with both ends going.  They flood their bathroom and they don’t tell you until the bathroom is totally flooded.  You finally get the entire thing cleaned up, wash you hands, and go to dry them thinking you are done.  As soon as you touch the hand towel, you feel that it is soaking wet and you instantly realize that the same amazing kid tried to clean it up themselves, which is why they didn’t tell you immediately, and then hung the hand towel back up on the bar. 

7)One of your amazing kids has a stomach virus with both ends going.  They flood their bathroom and they don’t tell you until the bathroom is totally flooded.  You finally get the entire thing cleaned up, wash you hands, and go to dry them thinking you are done.  As soon as you touch the hand towel, you feel that it is soaking wet and you instantly realize that the same amazing kid tried to clean it up themselves, which is why they didn’t tell you immediately, and then hung the hand towel back up on the bar.  You start cleaning again.

Things That Go Scratch In the Night

Normally, I am the last one up in our house.  Most nights, you can find me sitting at the dining room table, where I have the laptop with a heater turned on, browsing the web, replying to emails, working on some project, or otherwise just waisting time on the internet.  From my seat, I can hear all the doors open, and my children moving around.  Its a good place to sit, most of the time.

However, it not only lets me hear my kids, but also anything else that goes scratch in the night.  

We have a lot of little wild life around us.  We do live in a more rural than urban area.  We have about a billion squirrels that live in our front and back yards.  We have the most beautiful birds like robins, cardinals, and blue jays, that will just land somewhere in our yard so that you can watch them.  We have found a turtle, and often see neighborhood pets out who have gotten loose.  Once, a horse even made its way into our front yard.  No.  Really.  It is actually really great for The Littlest One.  She loves to watch the animals.  So far, squirrels and birds are her favorites.  After all, the horse doesn't wander by every day or that would be her favorite for sure.  

With all of those animals, you often hear things running across the roof.  It is a little weird at first, but you get used to it.  Occasionally, a bird or squirrel wanders onto our screened in back porch somehow, and we have to help them out.  Little things like that are no big deal.  What is a big deal, though, is when those little animals make their way inside our home.  

I'm not sure if I've posted about this before, but I HATE mice.  Hate them.  Can't handle them.  It isn't so much a fear, but the fact that they gross me out beyond all belief.  Just looking at one makes me want to bleach my entire body.  If I know a mouse touched something, I throw it away.  No amount of washing will ever take that knowledge out of my head.  

Late, late one night, right after we moved in, a saw a little tiny mouse run across my kitchen floor while I was sitting in my dining room seat at night.  I freaked out.  The next morning, my husband caught it and took care of it.  It took me days to calm down, though.  We also called our a pest control guy, the one who explain how deer hunting worked to me, to make sure the problem was taken care of.  I wouldn't open up the cabinet under my kitchen sink, where it had been hiding, without being totally prepared to jump and run for quite a while.  Eventually, though, it did get better.  I even keep just a couple of things under there now, at the front of the cabinet where I can easily grab them, of course.  

Then, last night, it happened again.  

I was sitting in my chair and I heard something.  At first, I thought it was one of The Girls stirring, and that I was about to see one walk in and tell me they couldn't sleep, didn't feel well, etc.  No one came in, though.  I kept working.  Then I heard it again.  This time, I realized it was more of a scratching sound.  I got up, walking into the kitchen quietly and listened.  There was total silence.  Just when I thought I was imagining things, I heard a very distinctive claw on wood sound of scratching from INSIDE one of my cabinets.  I immediately flew to my bedroom, not caring that The Littlest One was asleep in there, and begged my husband to come to my rescue again.  I told him there was an animal in the house and he had to come.  Had to.  He started to laugh and somehow sign at the same time, but he got up.  

He came in and heard nothing.  He opened the cabinet under the sink, scene of the last crime, and saw nothing.  He checked under the drawer where the last offender had also lived, and saw nothing.  He hit the cabinet, and nothing moved.  He hit the cabinet harder and still nothing moved.  

He told me I was imagining things and went back to bed.  

I knew what I heard.  

I left the room to close the computer, after all, there was no way I was sitting in there by myself anymore last night.  

Then, I tiptoed as well and as quietly as someone of my age and size can still do back into the kitchen, and I didn't move.  It took a few minutes, and I heard something again.

I knew I wasn't crazy.  At least not in this instance.  

I took about one tiptoe step a minute until I got the the kitchen sink.  I could hear it.  

My husband heard me trying to be stealthy, and he came back in to tell me to give up.  

I restated my case.  This time, he got out a flashlight.  We opened the cabinet again.  In the back of the cabinet under the sink is a big hole, larger than a softball, where someone who has no real know how of anything construction related tried to cut a hole for the pipes.  The hole goes all the way into the sub floor and makes a great little hiding spot.  That was where we found him.  My animal was a tiny field mouse.  He was little and gray, and freaked me the hell out.
  

I started backing away, but not slowly all while yelping "I told you!"

The field mouse was stuck to a sticky trap we had left in there from the last time.  He was still very much alive, though.  After a lot of poking fun at me, and a little bit of discussion about how the mouse needed to go or I was, he ask for the cheapest set of long barbecue tongs we had.  I didn't even flinch.  I told there where they were, because they were located in close proximity to the now diseased cabinet, and nearly started to cry.  Not for the animal, but because I knew he was going to carry that thing though my house, and I was terrified he would try to torture me with it.  

Instead, he got a bag, got the mouse out, and carried the whole thing outside.  I have no idea where he put it, or what he did with it from there, and i don't want to know.  

The tongs are in the trash, where they will stay.
I just can't handle the mice.

Today, I will be going out for more traps, lots of bleach, and new BBQ tongs.  It will take a long time before I can open that cabinet again, without flinching instinctively   I will be checking for scratching sounds for days when I first walk into the kitchen.  Ugg..

I suppose, if there is any upside to this at all, after all the cleaning today, my kitchen will be sparkling clean, even if it will all smell like bleach.  

I'd Rather Be Tired

This whole pregnancy thing sucks.

Yes.  I know I have said that many times.  I feel the need to say it again.

I'm 22 weeks, or about 4-5 months pregnant.  How ever you want to look at it., and this sucks.

Not only does it hurt to lift my legs, and hurt in not nice places, but I still get random shots of serious queasiness. Tonight, the whole family was horsing around, when I suddenly threw up a little.  I managed to keep it on and in me, ran to the kitchen, and had to hang there for like 20 minutes.

This sucks.

The pain is getting to be pretty bad some days.  Not the normal pregnancy pain, but the pain from having double hernias and being 22 weeks pregnant.  It really, really sucks.  I lay in bed, tears forcing their way out of my eyes no matter how much I tried to hold them back, for at least an hour today.

Sucks, I tell you.

I know that when a baby comes, life is difficult.  I have done it before.  Never with two children, and one of them in school at the crack of dawn, but I definitely understand the process.  I get that I won't sleep for more than two hours at a time.  I know I'll be drinking enough coffee to make my blood turn a murky brown, and that is even if the baby, heaven forbid, develops a lactose problem.  I'll just be drinking it black.  I know we will all have a massive adjustment to having a tiny one again, but I welcome that, and all the grouchy, icky, spit up covered woes it will bring.  I would welcome the sleepless nights and dirty diapers with open arms if I could trade that now for what I am going through.

I don't like being pregnant.  I don't like not being able to do what I want.  In fact, I can barely do anything without it causing me pain these days.  I should have been dragging my tail up to a friend's house to help her every day this week, but I haven't.  I just can't muster the get up and go to be able to deal with it all, and I hate not being a good friend like I need to be.

This SUCKS!

I realize this whole thing is nothing but a pity party, but sometimes, you have to throw one, and that's ok, as long as you don't stay.

I won't stay.  I'll get over it.

I promise to be better, and happier, soon.  Until then, just promise not to laugh at me when I can't raise my legs more than three inches with out a twinge in my va-jay-jay.  Instead, laugh with me when I swear to you that a cantaloupe is going to fall out of there any minute.  Laugh with me when I forget for the 100th time what we said we were going to do next week.  Laugh with me about everything we can find to laugh about.  Laughter really is my best medicine, and I can use all of it I can get.

Morning Sickness Sucks

There is no other, more succinct way to put it, but this sucks.

As I type, I am trying to eat, and, more importantly, keep down, a protein bar. I know on my other blog I said I was going to give them up, but here is my reality check, I don't think I can eat anything else, and I know I need to eat.

For over a week now, I have been a little nauseous. Not too much, and I hadn't thrown up. When it would hit, I would take a sip of a cold, carbonated beverage, breath slowly, and I could hold on until it passes. I was doing that so much, that the Husband even ask if part of it could be in my head. Don't try to throw things at him through the screen, you will only break your computer and in all honesty, I had started to wonder the same thing. I remember it being much worse with my other two.

So, the lack of vomit, in my mind, meant that this nausea wasn't real, and I was hoping for it to be. You see, we don't have a good track record when it comes to pregnancies. The ones that don't end well, usually have no symptoms, like a lack of vomit. So it was all very possible that some part of me just really, really wanted to throw up.

Careful what you wish for.

This morning it hit. Hard. Like a ton of very nauseous bricks.

We were on the way to take The Husband to work, as we are currently in a one car predicament. Suddenly, I felt it. I yelled, made him pull over, and threw the door open. I knew I was going to lose it right there on the side of the road.
Thankfully, as he really needed to get to work and hit the head before it was too late, I was able to hold that one off and get back on the road.
I didn't feel well, though.
I started nibbling on pretzels, and sipping my Coke Zero, something which I will not give up no matter how many people tell me to, (so don't bother), and I was able to make it home.

Then, my mom called.

Now, we have told no one. I mean no one. We won't tell anyone until about 12 weeks, or after we hear a heart beat, at least once, if not more.

This time, when it hit, I couldn't stop what I was doing and breath slowly. If I had yelled and gotten off the phone, she would have known that something was wrong. She ask a question. I had to answer, and that did it.

There I was, trying to cover the phone, and vomit into the sink. She kept talking, an I had to keep responding. Let me assure you, it is very difficult to carry on a calm, light hearted conversation, and vomit at the same time.

I did throw in a couple of allergy sniffs, just for good measure, in case I got questions.

As soon as I stopped vomiting, I got my drink, and was able to calm it down.

She never said anything.

This just reminds me of the time that I stood outside a restaurant, blowing chunks like there was no tomorrow, wile His Family sat inside. They had no idea I was pregnant with The Big One, and we were trying to keep it that way. They sat there thinking I didn't like the choice of place, and didn't want to come in, but contrary to what they thought, I wasn't being stuck up at all. The truth was, they didn't want me to come in, at least not until I could quit with the ralphing, they just didn't know it.

So, the secret stays for now. I am pretty sick, though. I can only hope that I don't give myself away, especially not in front of The Girls, who don't know yet either.

Wish me luck, and I hope you laugh about this when you read it months from now. ; )

9/8/10

I Am The Queen....

I believe that I am the queen, the tittle holder, the reigning champion, if you will, when it comes to vomit and kids stories. You see, I have yet to hear anyone else who can compete with some of the fantastic vomit moments that I have had.

Last night, I believe I re-earned my icky crown.

I was laying in bed with The Little One, who has been sick for days. She has a nasty, stomach curdling cough that wont go away. Its one of those coughs that just keeps going, and you are sure is only going to end when she actually spits a lung out. The coughing fits make her turn red, and keep her from being able to breath. They are really terrible. They also choke her until she vomits sometimes, as kept happening last night. Usually she holds the vomit at bay quite well. She hates to vomit, or spit as she likes to more gracefully call it. So, as the coughs came, I kept asking if she was ok, or needed anything. After a while, she finally fell asleep.
I pulled my out fantastic Droid smart phone, and was able to silently check my email without getting up.
As an aside, let me tell you that I love my phone. I got a Droid just a few months ago, and I love that thing. I use it for EVERYTHING. It goes way beyond just a phone or even an Internet connection for me. I use it for music when I run. I use it for blogging. I use it constantly. Now that I have it, I don't know how I ever survived with out it, and if it came down to it, I would give up a couple of meals a month just to be able to afford it. Really. I would.
So, anyway, I lay there, checking my email, getting ready to respond to someone, when her coughing started. IT was hard. It was icky. Then suddenly, it wasn't just couching.
The Little One turned toward me too fast for me to react, and vomited all over my phone. Of course, she got my hand, clothes, the bed sheets, herself, and more as well, but none of that was nearly as shocking to me in the moment as realizing there was vomit on my beautiful purple cased phone.

I got her to sit up, and once she stopped coughing, I pulled her clothes, and ran for a wash cloth. I wiped the phone off, then ran back her her. I got her cleaned up, and layed her down else where for me to take care of everything else.
Eventually, I got all of the lesser stuff cleaned up, but my poor phone, still stunk. I had to take off the cover, clean it gently, and the let it dry. It may never be the same, though.

The Little One will keep getting better, and hopefully be over this completely soon. Until then, i think I'll just put my phone up to charge when we lay down at night.

While I would love to think this is the last of my vomit stories, I truthfully doubt that. Though, I do hope that no more of the stories involve my phone. I think that I will retain this stinky and unwanted championship for for some time. I would gladly pass this baton on, though, should anyone think they can give me a run for my smelly, wet money.

Being A Mom is Gross

I will say again, I love being a mom, and I love my girls. However, there are moments when being parent is straight up gross. I mean ick factor 11 here.

I have been pooped on, and puked on many times. I've been sitting on the couch, baby on knee, when it came pouring out of a diaper. I've had the baby poop while changing a diaper. Even when hey get older, the poop still abounds. I've cleaned it off furniture and walls. You get used to it.

I've been puked on more times than I can count. From babies who eat to much, to sick kids that can't make it to the bathroom, puke and I are no stranger. I hate cleaning it. I hate it. Last year, the girls and I experienced a stomach bug that caused things to come out of both ends simultaneously. The Big One and I were sharing a bathroom at night, with one of us over the sink, and the other the toilet, until we broke the bathroom. The Little One actually walked from one end of my kitchen to the other, vomiting the entire time. That was fun to clean.

I've even been puked on by the children of friends. Once, down the front of my shirt so that it actually come out the bottom of my bra.

All in all, I would say I have had my fair share of gross moments.

Tonight, however, I got to experience a brand new one. This one, I think is a little rare in the "puked on mom" category of life.

The Big One started getting sick this afternoon. I could tell she didn't feel well. She didn't want to eat one of her favorite meals tonight. She even ask to go to bed. I gave her a bath, and put her down for bed. She wanted me to lay down and read with her. We were totally into a great Junie B. Jones, when I first saw "the face". There is that certain face your child makes, before the cheek puffing, when you know they feel sick, and are about to blow chunks. She made "the face".

"Do you feel sick? Do you need to go to the bathroom?"

"No, Mom. I'm ok. Just keep reading."

I picked the book back up, and before I started reading, she made the face again.

"You look like you are getting sick. If you need to throw up, lets go to the bathroom."

"I'm really ok. I'm....."

The cheeks puffed. I started to roll off the bed. Just as I hit my side, back to her, she lost it. She hurled all over the bed......and my back and butt.

I grabbed the trash can and shoved it under her. Started moving her, and grabbing the sheet at the same time.
I got her down stairs, stripped,and washed off. Only then, did I fully appreciate the fact that I had vomit on my ass. I mean, how often in one's life do you get to say that phrase? I fully believe in the sentiment that if the choice is laugh or cry, to laugh. So, I had no other choice, but to laugh.

I walked into the living room where my parents sat, and told them what happened. They apparently had to make the choice to laugh as well, because they did. A lot. I stated that I would wash myself as soon as I got her all cleaned up. My father, the incredibly selfless man that he is, told me he had to shower first. I replied that was a great big negative. My vomit trumps his shower any day of the week.

So, the next time all my mommy friends and I get into a grossest mom moment contest, I think I have my ace in the whole. I'll just keep this one in my packet until I need it; my back pocket, of course.

This Aint Right

Ever had the stomach flu, or some kind of nasty stomach virus?
Sucks, huh?

Ever had it at the same time your kids do?
That really sucks, huh?

Ever had it at the same time your kids do, and your spouse was away for an extended period of time so that you are all alone with them??
Yeah. It blows. Big time.

And I mean blows, and blows, and blows.

Gross.

I have to say that I am amazed by the amount of stuff 2 kids and 1 adult can up chuck at the same time. In fact, with all of us being sick, at times it felt like there was some sort of sick wave going on, but not any kind that anyone would have wanted to see.

Thank goodness we have 4 bathrooms!!

Bad. I tell you, it has been bad.

This too, will pass, though.

Just thought I would share, thanks.

How Much Up Can One Kid Chuck?

Sometimes, you have to wonder how so much of anything fits in those little bodies. Whether it be food going in, or coming out in any form, sometimes it amazes me.

Tonight, my oldest daughter got sick. I mean sick. The poor thing was asleep on the couch, by 7:30 no less which is a serious indicator in my child, she suddenly rolled over and starting ralphing her guts up.

Now, I will spare you most of the details, and trust me it was bad. However, I have to tell you that I am amazed by the volume that came out. I just don't see where that all came from. The space that kids are able to cover when they vomit is just mind blowing sometimes. Where does it all come from? Well, I know where it comes from, but I still can't understand how so much volume comes from such a little person!!

She isn't big. In fact, bearing no body shape resemblance to her mother at all, she is actually pretty skinny. So, how does someone so skinny nearly destroy one couch pillow, my entire living room floor, the bathroom floor mats, and cause me to need to clean the toilet?? I just don't get that.

I happened to snap a shot of her not long before the incident. There she is, showing off the offending tummy. She had told us it hurt before she went to sleep.



Bless her heart, she went straight back to sleep, and I hope she feels better when she wakes up. I think she has to. There can't be anything left in there to make her feel bad. = ( Feel better, Pook.