Sunday, June 28, 2015

It could have been worse...

The day started at 4:30am in the morning.  We were staying at my brother's house for the weekend to see his family and celebrate my niece's 3rd birthday.  The weekend was lovely: Mom's amazing bday dinner on Friday night (sans kids!); Allie's party at an awesome park the next day; a couple visits to the pool; and family dinner again on Saturday night.  I traveled alone with the kids so Joe could have some productive time to work on Big Jeep before he posts it FOR SALE (for sale!) and bids it a final good bye.  Don't worry, he has a second Jeep already awaiting his time and attention.  But Garrett told me by 5:00am that it was going to be the worst day ever.  He'd already thrown up twice and his sister was screaming to go downstairs to eat "lunch" and play.  "No it won't, buddy.  It could always be worse.  We'll be fine today."

By 5:15 the kids and I were in the playroom.  I made a pallet for Garrett on the floor; tried to steal his pillow any second he wasn't using it; played referee to keep the peace between siblings; and was about to lose my mind with every possible electronic sound playing at its loudest volume.  Damn you, Fisher Price and VTech, et al.  and all of your battery operated toys!  Within the hour I was clawed in the face, nearly hit in the head with a plastic hammer, was blockading the door to keep the kids and noise confined to one room, had tamed numerous tantrums, and caught more puke.  Twice.

By 7:30 my brother was out the door to the airport to catch a plane for a work trip.  Lucky dog.  My niece and sister in law were awake and I was ready for some cartoons and coffee.  By 8:30 Katharine was on my lap and in my face.  And then she bumped my coffee with her flailing feet.  Most of the weekend she'd been super cranky, clingy, and fussy,  and I'd finally had it.  I flew off the couch so fast and declared, "That's it!  We're out of here!  I'm done!"  I whizzed around the house like a bat out of hell, throwing all of our belongings in bags, packing the car, saying quick (guilt-ridden) good byes, and hit the the road by 8:45.  My sister in law has every right to think I'm nuts.  I couldn't take it anymore.  We needed to be back in our own house; I had to get a sick kid home; and for the love of the Toddler Gods my daughter needed to sleep and STOP CRYING.  And so began the 6 hours and 15 minute journey home.

Stop 1 was for coffee and bagels.  Stop 2 was for a potty break.  Stop 3 was for lunch.  Stop 4 was to administer a quick dose of medicine.  Stop 5 was one for the books.

But go back to Stop 3 for a minute.  Garrett had improved considerably!  He even gave me the thumbs up from the back seat and proudly declared, "Mom, I feel so much better!"  So far he'd kept down a bagel, grapes, and some pretzels.  At lunch he requested pizza.  Despite tossing his cookies so many times already, the kid had not lost his appetite.  But then he only ate a bite or two.  And before I could finish my sandwich, he was laying his head on the [sticky, nasty gas station] table.  And then the sense of urgency appeared on his face and the four of us hustled to the bathroom.  Let it be known that there is no stronger a bonding experience than waiting it out in the family bathroom at a gas station with all of my kids while the eldest lets everything come out of the other end.  And the smell, oh my gosh the smell.

Next stop, HOME!  Or so we thought.  Within a few minutes the kids were sleeping, but then Garrett started getting restless and whimpering and fussing that his head hurt.  I encouraged him to drink some water since he must be dehydrated from the day's events.  The pain intensified and in my pitiful effort to make him feel better I dug out some Tylenol from the diaper bag and stopped for the 4th time.  I didn't even have cup or syringe with which to measure it, so I eyeballed it in the cap and played it safe by giving him less instead of more.  Valiant effort until I saw that it expired last year.  #1 mom right here.  Five minutes farther down the road and he started screaming, "It's coming!"  I changed lanes as fast as possible and pulled over as soon as I could for stop #5.  We're on 95 North, Dear Lord keep us safe.  Even if I'd been able to get us to the side of the road in a blink of an eye it wouldn't have been fast enough.  There was puke  e  v  e  r  y  w  h  e  r  e.  And more was coming.  The stench was foul.  Gavin started gagging.  I started crying.  Katharine started fussing.  And poor Garrett was covered in tears, snot, and vomit.  I panicked: do I call my parents who are on the road 45 minutes behind me?!?!  Do I call Joe?!?!  Do I drive to a store?!?!  Deep breath.  No.  I got this. 

I hauled Garrett out of the car and stripped him down.  The weeds were up to his thighs.  I wiped him down with a towel and baby wipes and did my best to mask the eye-watering smell with scented hand sanitizer.  He got dressed and waited in the front seat.  Before addressing the car, I gave Gavin a quick wipe down too because he had Garrett's insides running down his legs into his shoes.  That's brotherly love right there.  Then I assessed the regurgitated chunks that lie in my van and car seat and watched vomit run down the cushions and nearby library books.  A hundred wipes and a roll of paper towels later, I had three plastic grocery bags tied tight, towels on the floor and strategically placed in Garrett's seat, and the windows rolled down for maximum ventilation for the remainder of our drive.  


So maybe Garrett was onto something when he mentioned it was going to be a rough day.  His body was telling him something.  We indeed made it home in one piece and the silver lining is that my car got a complete interior detailing.  It is in these rough moments that I quickly find perspective and wonder how single parents do it; how parents with chronically sick children do it.  How lucky are we in the first place to be driving a nice car; to have money to stop and get what we need when we need it; to have spent a weekend with family; and to arrive home to a very willing and helpful husband who got things back in order before the sun was down.  Perspective.  And car deodorizer. 

It could have been much worse.

Thursday, June 25, 2015

There's more to her than meets the eye...


Summer has been awesome so far...awesome in a go-somewhere-everyday kind of way.  Really all year long our days are action packed,but add in the heat, Richmond's soupy humidity, constant packing and unpacking of the car, never ending lunch making and lunch cleaning up (whether at home or on the go picnic style), and Katharine's insistence on waking up at 5:03am every day, and I'm peel-my-eyes-open-tired each morning.  Not to mention emotionally spent by 6pm each day.  Ok more like 2:30, but a mid afternoon coffee break gets me to 8:00 each night.  

So this morning when I'm on the phone with Joe talking about what's been bothering both of us (ok, just me, but you know because I'm a girl I project it onto him because us females are sometimes difficult), I actually acknowledge that the kids are playing together nicely upstairs and there's a chance I can get the cooler packed in one shot.  AND all of it done with two hands because usually there's a certain someone who ALWAYS wants to sit on my hip.  And hit me in the face.  And run her fingers through my hair.  And bonk my head.  And bite my shoulder.  And wrap her arms around my neck.  And maybe I can accomplish this task without someone needing a band aid, pulling at my shirt, opening the refrigerator, needing me to fix a toy, or asking me for a snack (even though breakfast was just 30 min ago).  There's no doubt that I love the 30 sticky fingers that leave messes everywhere or the sing-song voices of my three off-spring, but there's also no denying that they can make the simplest tasks HARD.  Like leaving the house is ALWAYS a shit show.  Which blows me away, because if we've been up for HOURS, why is it so difficult to get somewhere on time. 

Anyway...

After said conversation with Joe, I finally (finally!) reach the insurance lady to start the claims process on some car repairs I need done as the result of a minor fender bender that happened last week.  "Is this a good time?"  she asks.  "Yes!  My kids are content for a few minutes," I respond. 

Quite content indeed.  Until I hear from the top step, "Mommy!  Finger!"  I reply to my littlest's commands with, "What happened to your finger?"  "Wipe!" she says.  "What do you need a wipe for, Sweets?"  I ask while walking to see what's she's managed to get herself into.  As I approach the top of the staircase I spy a baby doll face down.  The gift wrap closet is open and spools of ribbon are strewn about.  As is some glittery garland I didn't even know we had.  And then I see her.  Sweet Katharine in a puddle of red craft paint.  With red fingers and streaked red legs.  Who's also rubbed down her baby doll in the same red paint.  Wow, ok.  "Let's get some wipes," I exhale. But before I'm back with wipes, Katharine's gotten herself to the bathroom with the red streaked baby doll.  And what better place to bathe a doll than in the toilet.  The toilet that never gets used and has a water ring so disgustingly embarrassing that I'm actually glad I got a chance to notice it so I could give it a quick scrub. 

Fast forward five minutes and this same sweet girl of mine has gotten hold of a Sharpie and figured out how to open the DVD drive on the computer, at which I'm sitting trying to finish an email I started the day before and forgot about.  Because you know, mom ADD.  And what better place to practice handwriting skills than on the disc holder that pops out.

And those peas she shoved up her nose the other night at dinner?  Only one made it out.  A few days have passed and she's no worse for the wear.

Today on the playground...sweat running down her face, her mouth and cheeks covered in chocolate, and blond whispies sticking out from under her hat...a well meaning onlooker at the playground asks me if I worry that she's in the middle of all of the big kids on the jungle gym.  Aka, implying I should probably be watching her more closely.  "Oh, she's fine," I assure her.  "In the middle of things is where she likes it best.  She has two big brothers to keep up with at home and she holds her own!"  All this said as she comes whizzing down the slide and then scrambling up the steps to do it all over again.

Girl has spunk.  She's also independent.  Strong willed.  Feisty.  Funny.  Smart.  Talkative.  Persistent.  Articulate.  And knows how to win you over or stare you down with a shift of her eyes.  Qualities that are admirable, but qualities that also test my limits.  I'm often told she looks as angelic as a porcelain doll, but give her a minute and you'll see there's more to her than meets the eye with this one.




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