This is a rather odd title, I know. It could represent two different things. One being puke. The other being a phrase such as, "Get UP CHUCK....because a child of ours has thrown up." In both cases, the phrase involves a bodily function. Unfortunately, most of my stories revolve around bodily functions and my children in some form or fashion. It has come to be expected, hasn't it?
We seem to have been home to a tummy virus lately. It started with Chloe a week ago. One morning I went to get her up and found her sleeping in and around her own throw-up. Actually, she tucked her self into the farthest corner of the crib she could to escape the horrible stench and wetness that permeated the oppostie side it.
Whenever I walk in and find that one of my children has slept in throw up, I feel that I have somehow failed as a mother. I should instinctively know when my child has thrown up and should rush to their aide anytime of the night or day. However, my children never have felt the need to tell me that their insides transferred to their outsides during the course of their sleep. Evidently, they place a higher priority on sleep and their sense of smell must not be too keen.
This brings me to Bennett. It's always Bennett, isn't it? The other night, I went to give him one final kiss before going to bed. He had mentioned earlier that his 'tummy hurt' but I gave it no heed (my first mistake). Gavin had gone to bed earlier with a tummy ache and Bennett always tends to copy whatever brother does. So, I just figured he was copying brother to get extra attention. Boy, was I wrong!
As I opened the door, the smell of rancid gastric juices almost knocked me over. "What in the world?", I thought. I plugged my nose and continued walking over to the bunk bed in the dark, praying I wouldn't step on anything wet and gooey. As I bent over to kiss Bennett, I discovered where the scent originated from. There was my boy, all squished up at the bottom of his bed. There were at least 3 small piles of throw up in and around the upper portion of his bed, including, but not limited to: his pillow, his blanky, and his quilt. Another pile had miraculously ended up under his bunk bed (maybe it slipped through the slats; I still haven't figured that one out). It was everywhere. He didn't feel the need to inform us of this inconvenience. He just wanted to go back to sleep. The contents of my stomach were deciding that they didn't want to remain on the inside anymore either. I rushed out of there and ran to get Chuck who was already dozing off.
"Uh, Baby...you're not going to be very happy with me right now, but, uh...I need you upstairs for a minute", then I bolted. He would figure it out once he reached the top of the steps. As Chuck was cleaning and rinsing and re-outfitting Bennett with a new place to sleep that didn't reek of sour milk, I was putting a load of laundry in and Lysoling everything in sight. Poor kid, he was serious after all. Live and learn, right?
At precisely 2:16am, I was awakened by Gavin tapping me on the shoulder. Once I realized who he was, who I was and where I was, I asked, "Are you okay, Honey?" He replied, "Now I am." I didn't catch on. So he proceeded to explain, "Uh, I was trying to get to the bathroom and I uh, kinda didn't make it there all the way." Before he was finished with his sentence, Chuck was out of bed and already marching up the stairs with carpet cleaner and paper towels in hand.
This was a bad one. Instead of isolating the accumulated stomach contents in one neat place such as the bed, Gavin spewed them throughout a diameter of at least three feet right outside his bedroom door and into the loft right at the top of the stairway. In typical Gavin fashion, he was trying to convince us that it could have been worse. He said, "Well, at least I wasn't trying to run down stairs to get you and I could have thrown-up all over the stairs. That's a good thing, huh?!". We assured him that he wasn't in trouble and that accidents happen. It's hard to anticipate what and when and where and how your tummy will empty its contents - at least in this family.
We made it back to bed around 2:46am. Thankfully, getting up that second time around gave me time to take the first puke ladened items out of the washer and put them into the dryer. As I lay there pondering the unforeseen drama of this night, I harkened back to my childhood days of not making it to the bathroom in time. This seems to be a genetical problem in our family.
I was once sleeping with my Grandma while visiting with them and threw up all over her. She never showed one hint of frustration or anger over that. Another time, I did exactly as Gavin did to us, but I left a trail from my bedroom to the bathroom. My Mom was the first to reach me and gave me a towel to wipe my mouth. As she sat and consoled me, my Dad did the honors of cleaning up the mess. So that he could stomach it a little easier, he grabbed a nearby towel and held it up to his face to cover his mouth and nose. As the chore wore on, he came up for breath and mentioned to Mom that this time was especially odorous for some reason. Then she happened to notice the towel he was using to shield his face. It was the same one she had previously wiped my mouth with. He was breathing the fumes up close. I never remember laughing so hard while being so sick.
I guess the moral to the story is: what goes around comes around. It's just payback time, that's all.
This Mommy Story is actually about the Mommy - the pathetic Mommy, to be exact. Let me explain...
I love cookies. I have a serious obsession with cookies - not unlike the famed Cookie Monster. However, my body has decided that in order to help keep me from looking exactly like the Cookie Monster, it would install a trigger alarm somewhere within me to keep me from devouring too much of my favorite food. This trigger happens to be in the form of a migraine.
I hate my headaches. It seems that my body prefers that I consume a diet rich in bland, boring food such as grass and water. Those have yet to induce the headache trigger. But I NEED my cookies. This is my one vice (okay, my second vice - my other one is buying lots and lots of beautiful furniture). What's a Mommy to do?
But alas, I have found the answer! I stumbled upon the most scrumptious of cookies made my by beloved grocery store's bakery. I was in heaven. I have found the ONE cookie that does not alert the 'trigger'. Life is good. Well, at least it was...until 'corporate' decided that this particular cookie was too unhealthy to keep selling and instructed all the bakeries to no longer make this item.
Trust me, it's not a good idea to mess with me and my cookies. It took years of labored searching until my body deemed that this would be the ONE cookie that I may eat and derive pleasure from. I was not going to just sit idly by and watch as my favorite cookie was being maliciously taken away from me. Like the bakery makes anything that is good/healthy for you?! It was time I took action.
I wrote a nice little letter to 'corporate'. I got no response. I'm sure I'm deemed as 'The Cookie Lady' now. Things were looking bleak. But I'm not worried, I'm desperate and desperate people do desperate things. I decided that 'if I can't beat them, I'd join them'. No, I didn't go to work for the bakery department - at least not yet. I got in real friendly with all the employees in the bakery, though.
Then a thought struck me, why not just special order my favorite cookie. My new found bakery friends were more than happy to oblige. No need to panic any longer about if and when I'll get my favorite cookie. I am the only person I know who has a standing order at the bakery department for cookies. Not only do they know me by name, they bake 12 little cookies each week and have them ready for me every Saturday by noon. Does life get any better than this?
Today I went to pick up my cookies among other items at the store. As I made my way through the checkout line, the cashier noticed my cookies and said, "Oh, you're the one who orders those cookies every week". After turning multiple shades of red, I admitted it was me. I then asked this lady if everybody in the store knew about my little standing order and she gave me a wry little smile as she shook her head up and down. Oh great! How pathetic am I? My bakery friends sold me out. The whole store knows about me and my little headache and favorite cookie problem. They probably have my picture posted in the break room somewhere with a warning - 'Do not, under any circumstances, tell this woman she cannot have her cookies. Do what ever it takes. Customer satisfaction is our greatest goal'.
Not only am I pathetic, I am obsessive compulsive about my cookies and keep them in a high, safe place in case of a flood (or maybe hungry little people). I then retreat into the pantry or wait until all is quiet and then eat my one cookie. It is in that moment that I don't care what all those people think. All that work for one pathetic little cookie. What have I become?
We love traditions in this household. Actually, I'm not sure if it's the tradition or the routine we love, either way...we like doing things the same over and over and over again. I'm not sure what this says about us. Maybe that we're boring or route or can't think outside the box. I prefer to think of it as stability for the kids. A sense of comfort comes from knowing what to expect. So, everyday, along with our list of other endless 'traditions', you will find us giving each other love analogies.
This is how it typically starts off:
Mommy - "Have I told you guys I loved you yet today?"
Boys- "Nooooo."
Mommy - "Well, I love you guys as many fish that are in the sea."
Gavin - "Well, I love you as many roads that are in all the world."
Bennett - "Well, I wuv wuu as much dirt dare is in duh land."
The purpose here would be to try to 'out-love' the other person. Of course there has to be a winner. Someone has to love all the rest more than everyone else. I tell them that the Mommy always loves the kids more. But they don't buy into that. They have informed me that the kids always love the Mommy more. Whatever!
Here are some other analogies we've given recently. These go on and on. They are endless. So, I'll spare you the time and just write down a few so that I don't forget by time my kids are 13 and 16. Hopefully, this tradition will still be going strong...but just in case it's not, these should help jog my memory of one more crazy family tradition that I wouldn't trade for the world.
Mommy - "I love you guys as many stars that are in space."
Bennett - "I wuv wuu as many zass (grass) dat is in all duh fields."
Gavin - "I love you as hot as the sun. No, wait, as hot as the lightening. It's 4 times hotter than sun."
Mommy - "I love you as many wires as are in the whole world."
Bennett - "I love you as many vicks (sticks) dat are in duh whole city and on duh road."
Gavin - "I love you as many houses as are in all the world."
It's amazing to me, that no matter how hard we try, we can't seem to capture in words how much we love each other. It just doesn't get any better than this!
If you ever hear those words fall off the lips of my beloved middle child, Bennett, you might consider two options at your disposal. One, run and hide. Or two, reach for the the nearest HAZMAT suit. You might even want to have an extra one on hand.
These words were spoken to us the other night as we were on our way to a small gathering at church. Bennett never acts sick until he is. The malodorous odor permeating the minivan should have clued us into the fact that this was more than just a 'tummy ache'. We were about to be dealing with harmful, chemical odors here.
Chuck & I both figured that the lunch we ate (6 hours ago) did not sit well on poor Bennett's tummy. Before we left him in the hands of the unsuspecting and innocent child care worker, Chuck decided to take him to the potty. Come to find out, the odor that enveloped us in the car was not only in the gaseous state - there was matter attached to it. Actually, more accurately put, the matter was attached to Bennett's Batman underwear. We no longer own that particular pair anymore. Chuck had no idea how to clean diarrhea out of big boy pants - so he opted to let his son go 'commando' instead. Great. Now I have a somewhat smelly child running commando in the church. We are looking like the great Christian parental influence they desire to become apart of their congregation, I'm sure.
We enjoyed visiting with the other adults for nearly an hour. At that point, I thought I should run and check on the kids. The babysitter said that Bennett was rather quiet, choosing to just sit in the corner. I remember thinking how odd it was that the room still smelled of Bennett's previous episode.
I went over to my sweet child and asked him how he was feeling. He said he was fine, except that his tummy still hurt. I asked if he would like me to take him to the potty (there was a bathroom attached to the room). The rest of the events are still rather blurry to me. After you see a large, wet, tan colored mass fall out of your son's shorts as he rises from the corner, one tends to fall into a trance like state (I should know, it has happened to me often enough). Thanks to Daddy, we were commando, so there was nothing there to catch the mass as it landed on the carpet. The malodorous smell magnified. I almost fainted. My knees grew weak. I don't deal with smelly situations well - especially in front of other people.
With all the dignity I could muster, I continued to walk across the room with my poor child. The bathroom seemed like it was a mile away. It was the only safe place I could think of going. More remnants fall as we pass the onlookers and maneuver our way through toys. No one who witnessed that event will ever be the same. You may as well throw away the toys.
Once we made it to the bathroom, I had not a clue what to do. I asked Bennett what happened and he said he didn't know. The poor child never had diarrhea before and was unaware of the particular urges associated with that awful phenomenon. My mind was blank. I could think of nothing. I felt myself falling away to a far off place. Then a whiff of reality brought me back to the here and now. Suddenly the solution was clear - run and get Chuck. I did not have to handle this crisis alone! Thank God!!!
As I make my way back to the small gathering, it was obvious that I was interrupting. It didn't take much for one to figure out that we were having issues with a child and an 'accident'. I guess I gesture with my hands way to much when I talk (or even whisper, for that matter). The kind pastor offered to let Bennett sit in his office for the remainder of the meeting. We declined rather heartily for fear of being banished from the church - we still had our pride.
Feeling confident that Chuck was in control of the situation, I calmly sat back and enjoyed the rest of the gathering - far, far away from any smells that didn't resemble coffee. However, once Chuck made it back to the 'war zone' he was overcome with that same sense of gagging that rendered me useless. He said that he stood there for a good 5 minutes just talking to Bennett stalling for time and ideas.
Being that Bennett is almost 4, we don't carry an extra set of clothes or big boy pants with us everywhere we go. After this experience, however, you will see a duffel bag in my trunk that is packed with an extra change of clothes for my entire family. Experience dictates that you NEVER know when you will need an extra change of clothes. Chuck decided to sit Bennett in the sink and rinse him off. This was a pedestal sink. It took him 20 minutes to accomplish this task. We couldn't take him home in the condition he was in. And, we couldn't parade him through the church naked on our way to the car. We had a dilemma. Thank God for size 6 diapers. I think Bennett was more mortified by the fact that he was wearing a diaper than by the entire event that just played itself out before him.
Why couldn't this have happened at home before we got to church? Why did it have to happen that day? Why did it have to happen at all? Haven't I had my share of poopy stories to last me 10 lifetimes? Haven't I learned anything from my years of potty training Bennett? Hasn't Bennett learned anything from those same years? If you think these things seem to happen to me quite frequently, you are right. We need to form some type of committee to look into this phenomenon.
I knew something was going to be awry today when I woke up, glanced at the clock and it read: 18:88. You can not have a 'normal' day when you wake up at 18:88. I thought I was in some dream world, you know, like in the movie "Groundhog Day".
My suspicions were confirmed when I went to find my jean shorts in my drawer and they were not there. "Hmm, that's odd", I think to myself. I'm the only one in this house who does the laundry and I know that I just cleaned them. So where could they be? I then spent the next 30 minutes searching the house high and low for my jean shorts.
I had a dogged determination. I refused to give in to this craziness and just wear any old pair of shorts. Shorts just don't get up and walk away - they had to be here somewhere. My senses aren't too keen early in the morning...actually, I really had no clue what time of the day or night it was since it was 18:88. I'm assuming it was morning. Now that I think about it, it is a little strange that every time I glanced at the clock during my shorts investigation it consistently read: 18:88. You'd think I'd catch on or something...
I know the suspense is probably killing you - it was me. I was flabbergasted as to how such a thing could happen to me. I'm normally a neat and organized person. I started thinking back to the last time I wore my jean shorts. That's not a good activity to do at 18:88. I have the WORST short term memory. I can't even remember what I wore yesterday. How in the world would I remember some vague event in the not too distant past? Things are going from bad to worse.
I decide that this is too big a job for one person. So I enlist the troops. I call Deputy Gavin and Bennett to look upstairs. There is no way in the world they would be upstairs, but I was getting desperate. This mystery was more than I could handle. I even checked in the boys' drawers thinking that maybe in my absent-mindedness while I was folding clothes, maybe I thought my shorts were theirs. No outlandish idea is beyond the scope of reason now. I am accepting any and all leads.
Bennett finds me walking in circles down stairs with a dazed and confused look on my face, still in my pajamas. He runs up to me holding gold - my jean shorts. I pick him up and hug him and swing him in a full circle. I am overjoyed that he has confirmed that I have not actually lost my mind. I ask him where in the world did he find them. He tells me they were in his hamper. Who would have thought?
I reward my deputies appropriately, with a dime and a quarter and send them on their merry way as I slip into my precious jean shorts. Job well done. There's something to be said for persistence! Had I chosen to put on another pair of shorts this mystery would remain unsolved for who knows how long. Now I'm on to my next task, trying to understand the digital clock by my bed that is possessed with a mind of its own.
All this and I am only an hour and a half into my day. I can only imagine what the rest of the day holds for us. :)
It doesn't get much better than this...going on a date with your three year old. The boys get soooo excited when they know they get some alone time with just Mommy. Of course, we are big fans of routine around here, so each child knows exactly what is about to transpire for his date. But the anticipation and build up through out the day is almost more than they can handle.
Bennett & I left the rest of the crew after dinner and headed straight to DQ for a yummy blizzard. I decided that we would split a medium sized one since he never seems to quite finish his own ice cream. He made me promise that if we were going to split, that I would only have two bites. I conceded, knowing that there was no way he would finish that huge thing alone and I would be allowed to eat the ice cream at the bottom. Boy, was I wrong! :)
We opted to eat it in the comfort of our parked car, both sitting in the front seat together. Before he even took a bite he told me, "Mom, you can have your two bites now." Then he proceed to count to ensure that I kept my word. This was serious business. He then commandeered the ice cream and remained mostly quiet as he let the sweet, cold flavors linger on his palate. You could tell he was in heaven.
Since I was pretty much sitting there with nothing to eat, I suggested we drive over to the baseball fields and watch some games while 'we' ate ice cream. He loved this idea. Once at the fields we had fun talking and eating 'our' huge ice cream. I think it took him at least 30 minutes to finish the whole thing.
I asked him what he'd like to be when he grows up and he answered, "I want to be a foleece (police) man. Foleece kinda like superheroes cuz they get bad guys." I loved the priviledge of seeing how his brain thought things out. He also added that he was "very bwave" - this is key to being a 'foleese man' and a superhero. I told him he would make an awesome police man because he is an awesome superhero. You could see his chest swell with pride.
He started thinking a little deeper about this subject and found a glich that he felt needed to be discussed. My little superhero has mosquito bites (bumps, he calls them), up and down his legs from playing out in a field the other day. He deduced that he probably wouldn't be able to be a 'foleese man' because of his 'bumps'. "Foleece mans don't get bumps, do dey, mom?" I told him in no uncertain terms that sometimes they do and went on to give an example of a foleese man chasing a bad guy thru a field and getting bitten. Thankfully, he feels that he can still qualify for 'foleese man' school.
He then began to wonder why Daddy wasn't out here playing baseball. Good question. Daddys need to have fun too. We both agreed to bring the rest of the family back here next week. He probably thanked me for taking him on a date at least 10 times while we were out. He also told me that he "loves me too much". What mom's heart wouldn't melt at the sound of such sweet words?
Once 'our' ice cream was finished we were able to have all sorts of endless fun on the playground. Once it started getting dark, I piggy-backed him back to the car to go in search of 'the belt'. However, the night wouldn't be complete without a life question thrown in there somewhere. You know, one of those questions that I have no idea how to answer. Tonight's question was, "Mom, why is our pee yellow?" What a great question! We knew Daddy would know, which increased our desire to get home more quickly.
Bennett's been longing for a Batman belt. I told him I would look for one while at Target earlier in the day, but I didn't find one. His response was, "well, dank wuu for wooking anyways, mom." Affection and thankfulness was on the top of his agenda. He was tickled pink to end up getting to pick his own (brown) belt out at the store.
As we were driving home, he got the giggles because it was way past bed time. He also got a stomach ache, surprise, surprise. :) He ended our night with, "Mommy, I wish I were woo." God put the most sensitive and loving heart in this child and he gave him to me as my special gift. What an amazing life I have!!
The other day I was upstairs playing with the kids. As I bent down to get on the floor there was a loud popping noise reverberating from my shoulder area reiterating the fact that I'm not as young and agile as previously thought. I asked Gavin, "Did you hear that noise?" I didn't want him to think that his Mommy had tooted. I felt compelled to explain the unknown noise emanating from my body.
I told him that was my shoulder popping. He quickly sat down on the floor and gave me a demonstration of how he can make that exact same noise only from his leg and hip. Since it seemed to be show and tell time, I showed how I could make the same noise with my hip too. I was not planning to be outdone by a 6 year old.
At which time, Bennett pipes up, "I can make that noise with my bottom." I told him that wasn't the same kind of noise Gavin & I were making. I told him that the noise that comes from his bottom is called a toot. Whereas, our special noise is the result of double jointedness. I don't think he bought it. Thankfully, he didn't feel the need to show us exactly how his bottom makes that particular noise.
I was privy to a private conversation the boys were having during a recent 'draw time' they were engrossed in one afternoon. Bennett was intent on drawing his latest alter ego - "Super Strong Man" he is now called. This action figure has a head the size of a watermelon with two stick figure legs poking out of the bottom of the head and two stick figure arms protruding from the side of the head (where one might typically see the ears).
Gavin, ever ready to give advice when he sees the need, explains to Bennett that if he really wants him to look like a super strong man then he should draw 'bumps' on his arms to show how strong he is. Then he lifts up his arms and flexes them for Bennett to admire. Gavin says, "See my bumps". Bennett replies with a "yeah" as he is looking at his wrists. Gavin then culminates Bennett's learning time with the following admonition, "The bigger the bumps, the stronger you are. If you really want him to be 'Super Strong Man' than he has to have bumps."
Bennett gives this advice some thought and determines that this is sound advice and proceeds to draw 'bumps' on his super strong man stick figure. His 'bumps' look more like a vertical line pertched atop a horizontal line (the arm). He is now satisfied with his creation. It looks life like and real now. Brother really does know what he's talking about.
Moral to the story: every super hero must have 'bumps' if he is to appear 'real'.
Oh boy, was I having a bad day. It was just 'one of those days', you know? Every blue moon they seem to happen, where nothing goes according to plan. On this particular day, instead of seeing it as a testing tool for my attitude, I let my attitude get the best of me and was on a tear. No one could say or do anything right. I snapped at anything that moved. Of course, none of my outbursts were justified, I was totally letting my emotions control me and everyone was bearing the brunt of it.
By 5 o'clock the kids were overjoyed to see their father come home. They all agreed that it would be in everyone's best interest to lock mommy in her room and give her a good hour of uninterrupted time to decompress and be alone. I had to agree. That was the best idea I'd heard of in a long time. It's always humbling to 'tell on yourself', but it is very necessary. Confession is good for the soul, right? Well, it definitely was for mine.
Chuck graciously occupied the children and cooked while I lounged on the bed and read for a good hour and a half. When I was summoned to the dinner table, to my surprise, I found many beautiful drawings. The boys colored and drew numerous pictures of spiderman and wonderwoman and rainbows for me. How could that simple act of love not change a person's heart. Thankfully, it softened my heart and my attitude. They showered love on me instead of complained and whined about what a 'bad mommy' I had been that day. True love is gracious.
As I was tucking the boys into bed, I apologized for the 100th time for my yucky attitude and asked what I could do to reassure them of my love for them. I really wanted them to know that I still loved them even though I was in a bad mood and had made them sad. Bennett didn't hesitate, he immediately told me that I could draw him 4 pictures and place them on his placemat at the table before breakfast the next morning. Gavin took a little longer to contemplate the ramifications before answering, "You can get me up really early in the morning and spend some alone time with just me and we could color." Those two requests did not ask alot of me, but they did require me to give from my heart. I was overjoyed to do these as my penance.
As it turned out, I woke Gavin up at 6:30am the next morning and we had a wonderful time coloring and talking, just the two of us, for a whole hour. When I went to get Bennett, I told him that he had some special pictures waiting for him downstairs on his placemat. You would have thought it was Christmas morning the way he ran down to look. Actually, everyone ended up getting a picture from Mommy. I figured if it worked to make me feel loved and special and wanted, it would work for the rest of my family too.
The other evening, Chuck was lecturing Gavin on the virtues of listening to his Mother & Father since it was evident thru his actions that he temporarily forgot its importance. Bennett also happend to be sitting with Chuck & Gavin during this little speech. Gavin had just received a punishment for disobeying and Bennett wanted to pull out all the stops to make sure he wasn't going to be next. He didn't know if he had done anything or not that might be worthy of a punishment, so he thought he would cover all his bases.
He kept interrupting Chuck and saying, "Daddy, I wuv wu. Daddy, I wuv to wisten to wu. Daddy, I makin dood (good) choices." With every point Chuck was making to Gavin, Bennett would pipe in with his own two cents about how was nothing like his brother. Chuck said it was almost impossible to not crack a smile. Bennett however was dead serious. We're still not sure what his motivation was...if it was just to sell himself , to get a 'one-up' on Gavin, or out of genuine affection for his Daddy.
At some times, I honestly question his little sincerity. But lately, I have been of the opinion that he is being totally genuine. Take today for example. At breakfast his thankful was, "...dat I have a Daddy and dat he drive safely to work and home." At lunch his thankful was a laundry list, "...I dankful dat I have a sisser, a Mommy, a vuh-vuh (brother), a fayground (playground), a house and dat I don't have to go to the desert to get my food, dat I have dood (good) food and dat I have a house." Deep. He's always thankful about something, you just never know what.
This last act is definately not considered 'brown-nosing'. I consider it a good lesson in how to pray from your heart. Yesterday morning at breakfast, he voluntarily began it by praying (without my prompting). Here goes: "Dear Shesus (Jesus), Fay (pray) bout my food and my fam-i-ly and yelp (help) me yearn (learn) and watch out for me. Amen." I couldn't have said it better my self.
Bennett, Bennett, Bennett...how trusting you are my sweet son. As we were eating our dinner tonight, we all had the need to spice up our food a bit with a tad more pepper. The pepper shaker started with Gavin, was passed to Daddy, moved on to Mommy who then handed it over to Bennett. Bennett was able to successfully season his food and it still be edible. However, none of us were counting on what happened next.
Chuck & I had just both taken a bite of food, so our mouths were full and we were unable to stop Gavin and he encouraged Bennett to, "Lick the lid Bennett. Go ahead, do it." Without even hesitating he heartily gave the pepper shaker lid a wet, slobbery lick. Our pepper shaker has a nice flat lid, probably about 2 inches in diameter. It has years of pepper build-up on it since I never think to clean it. Poor kid. He instantly scrunched up his nose and said, "How do I make it go away?" Unfortunately, by this time, we were all laughing too hard and choking on our food to answer.
Eventually, I was able to bestow on my poor child some deep wisdom in how to resolve his pepper tongue syndrome. I told him to go lick some bread. Which he did. I later ended up putting some butter on it to also help ease the pain. I buttered the bread, not his tongue. He was such a trooper though. He never complained. He laughed with us, even though we were laughing at him.
After dinner we treated the kids to an ice cream sundae at McDonald's. He informed me that this treatment worked better than the bread and he almost didn't taste pepper anymore.
I don't know what got into me last night, but I felt we all could use a little exercise. A nice bike ride should do the trick. I told Chuck that I had a great idea of where we could go. For whatever reason, he didn't question my sanity (which would have prevented this whole charade from the get-go). But he loves me and is always quick to give me the benefit of the doubt. Okay, let me set the scene first...
On bike number one, we have Chuck, the Dad. Yet when it comes to riding his bike, he has the excitement of a 10 year old only in a 32 year old body. Next in line comes Gavin. He has informed us that he can now ride his bike with his eyes shut, feet off his pedals and hands off his handle-bars. What's left? How in the world does anyone ride their bike that way? I nod and smile as he gives me a demonstration of his miraculous abilities while cringing on the inside knowing that a disaster with the concrete is just moments away. Third in line would be Bennett. Just writing that makes me start laughing. :) He is so funny. I really should insert a picture of him with his 'bubble head' helmet on. He looks almost like he just walked out of a mental hospital. His helmet is just a tad too tall, with just a little too much padding and it's white. I hope you can visualize how 'protected' he looks in this helmet. He is on a bike with training wheels that I backed over with in the minivan just the other day (he wasn't on it - he had 'parked' it in the garage right behind my van). So his bike has a constant lean to the left and has bald tires from constantly showing me all his cool skid marks. He cannot go faster than 3 miles per hour. So it is a joy to always be the one to follow him. :) I pull up the rear with Chloe in an infant bike seat on the back of my bike. She insists on wearing a helmet that's way too big for her - but definitely sleeker than Bennett's. But in order for it to fit, she has to wear a baseball cap underneath it, so that it's not constantly slipping in front of her face. I'm not so sure that was a smart idea to put her and I together. I have a history of not being able to stay on my bike. Matter of fact, I spent a majority of my time falling off the bike and running for band-aids when I was a child. But if we were to put Chloe's very 'cool' bike seat on the back of Chuck's bike - that would prevent the amount of 'pop-o-wheelies' he would be able to do and take away his 'coolness' factor.
Anyways, can you now visualize our family riding down the street? And we don't go in a straight line either. Gavin weaves in and out, always perilously close to a collision with Bennett. Chuck rides circles around us while doing pop-o-wheelies. Bennett is stopping to rest every 20 feet. And I have a little peeper sitting practically on my back while I'm trying to balance in order to save both our lives. She spends the majority of her time pulling my shirt up, yanking down my pants and 'tickling' whatever she finds down in my lower back region. This really helps with the concentration I need to be exerting in order to just stay on the bike. Every once in a while, she adds a new twist to my mental and physical adventure and starts swinging her legs, which is supposed to 'assist' me in my ability to balance and to stay ready in season and out for whatever peril life may throw at me. I suppose there's a bigger life lesson in there somewhere - but for the moment, I'm just trying to stay alive!
So here goes our little convoy meandering thru the neighborhood. I see people peeking through their blinds, fingers pointing, sounds of laughter echoing in my ears. Actually, it was rather quiet, I guess I that was my mind playing tricks on me again. Like my mind can handle any more stressors at this moment. What was I thinking??? Who needs exercise? Such thoughts are hindering my bike riding ability and I start to teeter. I realize this type of thinking is getting me nowhere and after casting such thoughts aside, I begin to think happy thoughts. My life is all about the mind game (as if you can't tell).
So, here we are on our latest family adventure. The park I have in mind to ride to is only 2 miles away. But, I'm optimistic (a fatal flaw in this whole scheme) that we can do it because we're all on wheels. Wheels are faster that walking, right?! Not when you're following Bennett. It took us 45 minutes and much complaining before the park finally came into view. It was extremely helpful having the vista in sight to motivate Bennett. At least that was better that constantly bumping his back tire with my front wheel. We also enjoyed the melodious tune of "I want some water!!!" pouring forth from the boys' mouths throughout the small Tour de France we made them endure. Being that we thought this other park was only a short distance away, none of us thought to stock up on water in case Y2K was going to hit again.
FINALLY!!! We made it to the park. The boys are thrilled. They celebrate by sitting on the park bench with their tongues hanging out the sides of their mouths like little puppy dogs. While Daddy, on the other hand, is already climbing on the monkey bars (no exaggeration here - this is the honest truth). Chloe begins just walking in circles. Something has to be done. This exciting family adventure has turned into a nightmare. In steps Mommy. Somebody, anybody, needs to do something to stop the madness. Since this whole disaster is my fault anyways, I feel a tad bit responsible to help boost my family's morale.
I suggest that I ride the 15 minutes back by myself (with Chloe in tow, of course), grab the van, drive back, pick up the boys and bring a cooler of ice and water to dip our heads into. Chuck is aghast with my idea. I'm not sure which part he doesn't like. Come to find out, it was the part of me leaving him there, alone, with two, sweaty, hot, whiney, kids.
Thank God I found my way home and Chloe and I made it all in one piece. I finally make it back to the park and pick up my brood. Unfortunately, I had no more room in the van for Chuck or his bike. So he high-tailed it home in 10 minutes on his bike - alone. Thank God our family fun time has FINALLY come to an end. I sure hope someone else comes up with a better plan for tonite!!
