A few conversations I've had with Bennett today:
This morning he informed me that, "I would like sex (Chex) for vekfast." Alrighty then.
In case you're wondering about his speech skills, I just took him to be evaluated by a lisenced speech therapist yesterday and they say his speech is perfectly normal. It is normal for 'ch' to sound like an 's'. That would be helpful to know when your children are beginning the whole speech thing. Maybe someone can make some sort of 'parent maual' and pass it out when you have a baby. That would save us a lot of headaches in the translation department.
Later in the day I'm told, "Mom, I finched (pinched) my bottom. Can you fease (please) kiss my butt?" I'm curious as to how he pinched it, so I ask, "Honey, how did it happen?"
"I just finched it, dat all." Hmmm. I guess that will remain a mystery forever. By the way, I ended up kissing my fingers and placing them on the 'sore area'.
Earlier in the day, while we were doing school, he looked at me with stars in his eyes and said, "Mommy, wu are vutiful!" It's nice to know that even when I'm wearing my sweats, a 12 year old sweat shirt, no make-up on and my hair pulled back in a clip that I'm still 'vutiful' to someone. It was accompanied by a sweet hug and kiss. I've got the best job in the world!
We recently had the opportunity to go to "Holiday in the Park" at our local theme park with some of Chuck's co-workers. We have not yet exposed our children to the joys and thrills of the theme park before, so we had a little educating to do in order to get them up to speed. For weeks, we built up the suspense and excitement. We described such rides as Bumper Cars, Ferris Wheels and tried to explain that a Roller Coaster was like a really big slide but you had to ride on something with wheels to go down it. Their minds have been on over-drive for the past week just picturing the untold happiness they were about to encounter. They called their Grandparents several times the day of the 'Big Event' to tell them, for the 10th time, that they were just about to leave to this magical place.
The anticipation was more than they could bear. They were speechless for the whole hour and a half drive there. Actually, Bennett was so excited, he fell asleep. Not only were the kids excited, so were we. It had been over 10 years since the last time Chuck and I stepped foot in the place. So, we were about to be reliving many memories of adolescent fun. And, as an added bonus, I would finally get a chance to meet and mingle with his co-workers and their family members. We were all hyped.
We made it through the grueling lines at the gate. But that was bearable because our adrenaline was running high with the thought of all the fun that lay waiting for us behind that gate. It was about 4:30pm, by time we made it into the park and blindly found our way to 'the spot' where we were supposed to his friends. We waited and waited and waited.
We were very surprised by how many people kept coming into the park. I have come to believe that the entire population of the city attempted to turn out at this park all on the same day. As we waited, we heard a rumor floating around that the power had gone out. A lady next to us confirmed that in fact, her husband and child were stuck in the middle of the tallest roller coaster ride.
Ahhh, lovely. Over half the park has now lost power. The sun is beginning to set and tummies are rumbling. We have now been at the park for at least 45 minutes and have done nothing but stand in one spot. I am terrified, of course, of loosing my children...so they too have only been allowed to stand in one spot and have not veered more than one step away from me.
Chuck then decides that we need to let the kids try to get one at least one ride in before we try to find food. So, we push and shove our way....oops...I meant we meander our way through the mob of people in order to find the 'Kiddie Section'. Luckily, we were not ever 50 yards away. But that is where our luck ran out. It seemed that this section of the park was also without power. Now what?
Well, everyone is starving...and I don't just mean us...I mean everyone in the entire park (which remember, is the entire population of our 1mil+ city). We hear another rumor that there is power in one small section, so we voluntarily throw ourselves into the moving wave of people and pray we don't get separated. Everyone else evidently heard the same rumor and are all headed to the one 'restaurant' (I use the term very loosely. In this case, it is a place that owns a microwave and can pop in any t.v. dinner you might choose to pay your life savings for) in the park with power and food.
Luckily, we have made contact with one of Chuck's work friends and were able to secure two tables together. The men go in search of food (otherwise known as 'the hunt') and the women and children are left to 'prepare the nest' (otherwise known as keep the children happy and sitting without food while also fending off other hungry humans looking for a place to sit). Both the men and the ladies were successful in their pursuits and for a brief moment in time we actually enjoyed a cordial conversation with other polite people in this rambunctious, crazy atmosphere. But our joy soon ended. We were done eating. Now what do we do?
I forgot to mention, while guarding our coveted table, I received what I like to call 'The Leg Injury of 2005'. I procured the largest bruise and knot on the top of my upper thigh as I tried to get up from my seat. I had to pretend it didn't hurt as bad as it did. I wanted to just kick the chair and cry. But then I would have had an audience since we were all practically sitting on top of each other. I'm trying very hard not be too melodramatic, but man, did it hurt. The only positive thing about this was that it momentarily took my mind off the atom bomb currently going off inside my head and helped displace the pain to my leg. To quote a lesson I've learned from the Berenstein Bears: Every problem has a positive side to it. You just have to look for it.
There are way too many other parts of this story that I don't have time to bore you with, like how I had to literally crawl over the table and chairs in order to get out of the 'eating area', or the line for the ladies bathroom that was as long as a parade, or the nice thin layer of slimy green substance on the floor once you walked into the bathroom, or how we were so paranoid of loosing the kids that we coached them on what to say if we got separated and how we put Chuck's business cards in their pockets and would randomly ask them to 'produce the card' just to make sure they knew where it was at all times. Talk about fun.
When we just couldn't take it anymore, we decided to throw in the towel and leave. There were only a very few rides open and even if you were brave enough to wait in line and risk the power outage, you would easily have to wait at least another hour before even stepping foot on the ride. Chloe would have none of that.
What parent brings their children to a theme park, spends two hours there and doesn't let their children ride even one measly little ride?! Us. We were the ones who built up their anticipation and now we were the ones dashing their hopes. We felt horrible. We HAD to make it up to them, so we asked them what they wanted to do. Their first choice was to go swimming. That wasn't going to happen - we felt bad, but not that bad.
Their second choice was to go home, pull out the sofa bed and watch a Superhero movie and sleep on the sofa bed all night. How could we say no to such a simple, fun request? We tried to up the ante by offering to stop at Half-Price Books and let them pick out a new Spiderman movie. You would have thought we just gave them a million dollars.
Of course it didn't work out that easy. Chloe had to contribute to the chaos of the evening. Her contribution came in the form of a diaper blow-out that leaked all over her new velour jogging suit (not that she knows how to jog, it's about the fashion statement). This blow-out occurred somewhere in the parking lot, which meant we were too far away to turn around and find a changing station in a restroom. This diaper required strategic planning and implementation on the part of our entire family. Each one had a job to do. I was to hold her. Chuck was to remove any and all areas affected by 'the leak' and figure out how to dispose of it. Gavin was 'Wipe Man' and was in charge of handing me the wipes (this was a 6-wiper, just in case you were curious). Bennett was to hold her hand and make her feel as comfortable as possible in a minivan with the door wide open and all family members looking on as her most basic bodily functions are being taken care of. This was one of our finest hours of team work.
We were excited about our plan, but before before we could stop at Half-Price, priority number one was to find food for me. So, we ended up stopping at my favorite restaurant first. My tummy was finally happy (but it still didn't help the migraine). After another hour and a half of waiting and eating, we finally made it to Half-Price books around 9pm. My kids are normally fast asleep by then - but this was no ordinary night, was it?!
We made it home around 10pm, got all cozy in our jammies and watched an hour of Spiderman cartoons from the 80's. Does it get any better than that?! I think we successfully have prevented our children from ever asking to go to any amusement parks for the next several years. On our way out of the park Gavin said, "We drove 1 1/2 just to eat? Let's get out of here. I don't like this place." Brainwashing complete - mission accomplished. Then later, on the way home he said, "Tonight was great, we got to go to our favorite restaurant (Chuys), our favorite bookstore (Half-Price) and do our favorite thing (watch movies on the sofa bed and stay up late). This is a great day." It seems he forgot all about the theme park.
Lessons learned: 1. You can be cheap and still have fun. 2. Spending a lot of money at amusement parks does not guarantee a good time. 3. Fun is relative. 4. Whatever you do as a family can be fun just for the fact that you get to do it together and make memories.
Bennett and I were just bonding together as we were slaving over the hot oven making our 'cut-n-bake' sugar cookies. He on a chair, me hovering next to him in order to insure we were only cutting and baking cookies - not fingers. He's a stickler for 'doing it himself''. Most times he doesn't even need any instruction while learning a new task. Amazing, isn't it?!
As we struggle back and forth with the proper placement of the knife upon the cookie dough stick, he sweetly says, "Mom, I wuv wu."
"Why, thank you Bennett, I love you too." I respond.
Evidently, he felt the need to expound on his love, "But I weelly wuv wu - even dough wu don't wook pretty today."
We are still feverishly cutting cookies here. So, I try to remain composed and not fall into a heap on the floor since my self esteem has just been thrown a huge blow. I muster up my sweetest voice and ask, "So, you don't think Mommy looks pretty today, huh?"
Bennett, ever the sensitive little one, responds "No. But I yike wu jeans. Dey are nice. And wu are nice. And I still wuv wu."
"So, what you're saying is, you're not a big fan of the shirt I have on. Is that right?" I say in a calm, even voice.
"Ya. Can I go play now?" He is done. Bonding time is over. More important matters demand his immediate attention. I'm glad he was able to get that off his chest.
Excuse me...I've got to go change my shirt now.
As we were sitting down to breakfast this morning, Gavin's mind was running at full speed as usual. He was eating pancakes with syrup. Then, like a revelation from above, something hit him. Of course, I am the only adult in the room, so his mind boggling question was aimed directly at me.
"Mom, why doesn't syrup stick to our tongue?" He asks. Wow. Good question. "Honey, I have absolutely no clue." The only thing I could think of to say in order to sound half as smart as him was, "Hmmm, that is odd, isn't it? You know, gum is sticky too and it doesn't stick to our tongues either." There, I just showed him that I too, can think 'smart'.
He totally disregarded my most feeble attempt to stall the conversation and proceeded to inform me of the only thing that can indeed stick to our tongues. "Mom, the only thing that sticks to our tongues are octopus testicles, cuz they have suction thingys on them." Thankfully, I have now been set straight in the more important inquiries of this future generation of scientific thinkers.
There are four things in this world that drive me, quite literally, insane. Surprisingly enough, Bennett already is quite adept at two of the four items. Coincidence? I think not. Here is the on-the-edge-of-your-seat, nail-biting list that you cannot possibly wait a moment longer to hear.
1. The Quiet Talker. Don't even think about talking quiet around me or while we're talking on the phone. If you can't speak up, I don't want to hear you. Pretend I'm an elderly lady with a faulty hearing aid. Bennett accomplishes this effect by sitting in the farthest seat away from me that he possibly can in the back of the van. Then, while the music is playing and all my efforts are focused on trying to get from point A to point B as safely as possible, he decides to start giving me a brief history of Batman. He asks me a gazillion questions and will end up in tears if I don't answer him. I'm doomed. Not that Bennett is a naturally quiet child, oh contraire. But in the car his mission is to personally sabotage his mom's peace of mind while trying to concentrate.
2. Not Calling Me Back. Oh boy - instant rejection here. Remember, I'm 'worse case scenario' girl. If someone I love hasn't called me back - well, let's just suffice it to say that my fatalist mentality gets the best of me.
3. Parking Your Cart in the Middle of the Isle. Also called: inconsiderate. If everyone would just be the tiniest bit more considerate, like scoot your cart over to the side of the isle, the world would be a happier place. That's my soapbox.
4. Picking. Last - but definitely not least! This is actually the all time worst pet peeve for me. Chuck loves to pick. He does it without even knowing - his nails, his hang-nails, his toes, his feet, any excess or random skin flaking off his or anyone else's body (especially delightful while a sunburn is peeling). For whatever reason, I can't stand picking. It makes all the nerves in my body instantly cringe at the same time. Well, guess who else has a pension for picking - yup, Bennett. Not only does he pick - he LOVES to pick. And I personally think he loves it because he knows how much I hate it. I often overhear him saying "I love to pick". I know he's trying to break me down, play with my mind, some kind of torture tactic I suppose. Then, his icing on the cake routine is when he comes and announces to me, "Mom, I've got some pickin' to do", like he's falling behind his quota or something. I can't stop him from picking, but thankfully, I don't have to be in the same room to observe this ritual he and his father find as fun and productive as say...blogging. :)
My husband and I have asked ourselves this age old question many, many times. And to our delight, we always come up with doozy answers that inevitably keeps our butts securely in place on the sofa. Truth be told, we're actually anything but couch potatoes. We're always on the go (that reason was on the top of our 'Why Not Exercise' list, by the way). We feel justified in the fact that we keep our bodies so busy that we don't have time to exercise.
Despite our justified reasons, we decided to give it a try....don't knock something till you've tried it, right? Well, I'm knockin' now. I've 'exercised' for two whole days now, so I feel I have a leg to stand on here, that is, if it wasn't so wobbly from all that exercise. Here are my top five reasons NOT to exercise....
1. After doing multiple sit-ups, I find that I'm perpetually stuck in the 'crunch' position. This does not bode well for carrying around little ones, making lunch or dinner or pretty much doing anything in a vertical position.
2. My legs are too wobbly to make it up the 16 steps I already climb 15 million times a day. I have instead resorted to an upstairs and downstairs time schedule so as not to needlessly waste valuable leg energy. In the mean time, until I regain secure footing, I climb up the steps on my hands and knees like Chloe and come down on my bottom. My daughter has had to reteach me the tricks of the trade - but I'm a quick learner.
3. It wastes valuable time that I could otherwise be playing. And in this house 'We Must Play' is our daily battle cry. Who knows, one day some scientific study might be released that informs us that playing 8 hours a day with your kids is the best exercise. Then, I will suddenly turn into some health guru because I have prescribed to that idea for years.
4. Exercising sends too much blood to my brain and I end up getting woozy. The last thing the kids need is a woozy mother. That wouldn't be a very good role model of me to walk around holding onto the walls and every piece of furniture just to keep my balance. My children would surely mimic my every move. Then CPS might get a hold of our story and blame me for being under the influence while mothering. That's the last thing I need. Of course, this is a prime example of how I always imagine situations out till the absolute worst case scenario.
5. If I never exercise, I never feel guilty. However, if I say I'm going to exercise and then miss out on a few days of it, well then, the guilt feelings are more than I can bear. I walk around in utter depression heaping loads on condemnation upon myself for ignoring the one activity that is supposed to 'keep me going'.
Which brings me back to the premise of my story. My children keep me going. Trust me - they are ALL the exercise I need. Which reminds me, if you'd like training in my new workout regime, I'll be starting my new class entitled: Mothering...Exercise For Life . Unfortunately, I don't think anyone could make it because it is 16 hours a day with an occasional 6-8 hour break at dark (and that's not even guaranteed).
Does that title bother you? It should. It did me. Let me explain how it came to be....
Some very dear friends of ours are moving before Thanksgiving. So we agreed to celebrate together with an early Thanksgiving instead. The plans were made, the date was set, we each knew what we were to make and bring. Then the actual day rolled around...
Can you say 'catastrophe'? It didn't help that I woke up in a horrible mood. So bad, in fact, that I had a meltdown around 9am. I locked myself in my room and had a good cry. Everything in the world was wrong - at least that's the way it looks when you're in the middle of a pity party. It also didn't help that I had two very rambunctious boys running everywhere and a very clingy and whiney little baby girl following me everywhere while making sure I didn't forget what her voice sounded like.
I'm feeling a little pressure about the whole turkey thing - you know, so as not to be perceived as a bad cook. I need advice and who better to turn to than my Mom. So, I call Mom for the turkey prep advice and ask when I should put my turkey in if I'm planning on a 6pm dinner. Mom informed me that noon would work well, but be sure to keep the oven temp at 325 so it doesn't cook too fast. Check. Item one marked off my mental check-list.
Oh yah, before the meltdown, I was trying to prepare a new pumpkin tart dessert for which I found out too late that I did not have all the ingredients. I call my Mom again, " Mom, how important is pumpkin spice, really?" I did not like the bluntness of her reply, "Very important, honey." Oh great! Now I'm in the middle of making a pumpkin recipe that's not going to taste like anything pumpkin because I forgot to buy a tiny $3 bottle of the magic ingredient. I may as well just serve tofu with Cool-Whip on top. I call my friend who's coming for dinner and ask her if she by chance has this insignificant little ingredient.
Meanwhile, I decided I would also bake a Thanksgiving cake. That was actually rather selfish of me. You see, I'm probably the pickiest eater on the planet and since I'm not a fan of pumpkin anything or many berry pies, I thought I'd make the cake so I too could enjoy a dessert. I decided to write with frosting on the top. We couldn't just have some random cake for dessert, this is afterall, a pre-thanksgiving celebration. There has to be some momento touting the event. So, ever so carefully, in my neatest cursive handwriting, I begin to write Happy on the top line and Thanksgiv on the bottom line. Apparently, I'm too dense to know how to space my letters out properly while writing on a cake. So, in my stubbornness I decided to leave it just that way. We would no longer be celebrating Thanksgiving...we would celebrate Thanksgiv. There, problem two solved.
Thankfully, my friend stopped by to drop off the coveted pumpkin spice and noticed that I appeared to be, shall we say, a tad bit upset, weepy, red-nosed, with a slight twitch in my head. I confessed about my break down and we commiserated together. What a difference that made - to have a friend who was genuine enough to sit and listen as I spewed my frustrations and in turn, listened to hers. I could sense the day was about to change. My biggest frustration was that this was supposed to be a happy day, why then, could I not be happy?
I decided to put the turkey in 15 minutes early, just in case. I didn't want to cut it too close. Thankfully, I didn't have to worry about that because our Thanksgiv turkey was done precisely at 2:30 - a full 3 1/2 hours early. I am so not Martha Stewart! I call Chuck and my friends and ask them if they could possibly make it to dinner an hour earlier. Everyone was sweet to comply. I was expecting my 14 lb. turkey to shrink down to the size of a Cornish game hen. Luckily, we had slightly more than that to consume.
This day was the test to the old saying 'your feelings aren't dependent on your circumstances'. I obviously failed the beginning of the day. But by the afternoon, I just had to concede and laugh it off. It's typical of me. What can go wrong, most often will go wrong. And since I'd already had a good cry, I chose to laugh the rest of day. Laughter truly is good medicine.
We had a great dinner, dry turkey and all. Gravy does wonders! Luckily, I'm not the gravy maker in this family. So, Chuck saved the day for all of us. My hero. :)
Although its been nine glorious years since we were first married, I have to admit that my husband and I still make very strange bed fellows. Like most husbands and wives, we are opposite in every way. He's hot at night, I'm freezing. I'm sweltering in the morning, he's an iceburg. Many a night has commenced with Chuck strategically posing the question, "Should we sleep with the fan on or off tonight?" No one ever really knows the answer to that question until the moment is upon us. And surprisingly, I alone, hold the key to that mystery. Because it's all about me, right? :)
Another matter is the whole alarm clock issue. For some reason, my husband continuously buys the same faulty alarm clock year after year. Every morning he swears he set it the previous night, yet surprisingly, no noise or music escapes from it at the pre-determined time each morning. I should have told him to save his money. My body clock is as reliable as Walmart being open 24 hours a day. I ALWAYS wake up before my alarm and turn it off so as not to wake my sleeping husband. And then I remember - "wait, he's supposed to be at work right now". So, I ever so gently give him that little nudge, with my knee, then my foot, then harder, then the nudge becomes a shove. I can't stand to be late. I can't stand if I know other's are going to be late. Poor guy is hardly ever late to work - thanks to me.
And finally, the story behind this entry. My husband has serious sleeping issues. If at any point in the night I happen to wake him and ask him for something or tell him I think I heard a noise...he never really leaves the zen state of sleep he was in. Now, he still communicates (if that's what you want to call it) - he can talk and walk, but his actions and/or answers to my questions or comments don't always make sense. Between my talking in my sleep and his doing whatever anybody says to do while in his partly awake state, we are a sitcom waiting to happen.
Take last night for example...Chuck has been plagued by a tickle cough and your basic cold for about a week now. Conveniently, the little fake cough is more severe at night. So, after both of us laying there for 45 minutes last night trying to sleep and pretending to not be at all annoyed by the fake cough every 3.5 seconds, I just can't take any more. I blurt out, "Why don't you go take a teaspoon full of honey. That should help coat your throat." Where I got that one from, I'll never know. It must have been either Mary Poppins or my Grandfather, I don't know which. Evidently, I'm still handing out advice in my sleep - poor Chuck. But being that he is Chuck, he feels the need to respond to every and anything I say or do at night. I could tell him to go make a sandwich in the middle of the night and he would do it - no questions asked. He's so sweet, he feels that he's being rude if he turns his back to me at night. Anyways, back to the story at hand.
So, I'm assuming after he got out of bed he went and ate some honey. I fell to sleep the instant he got out of bed and we never really talked about the incident all day until tonight. When he was like, "What was that whole honey thing about last night?". And I was like, "Did you actually go do that?". To which he responds, "You could have told me to go drain the oil out of the car and drink it and I probably would have because I just don't think at night." Then I'm like, "why are we so crazy at night?". And it just now dawned on me that I'm writing this like I'm some kind of teenager - or do teenagers even talk that way anymore? Okay, maybe I'm reverting back to my 80's teenager days. :)
Just so posterity gets this story straight, this is a nightly occurrence. There are just too many stories to tell, that I could not possibly relate them all. If any of our off-spring find themselves in this same predicament -you know who to thank. It's in the genes.
When God was giving out love, I think Bennett got in line twice. His little heart is so tender, especially towards little girls (and me :) ). He treats his little 'Zoe' like a queen, even though she can be pretty 'catty' to him at times. She can do no wrong in his little world - so he keeps showering her with affection and help and kind words. She has yet to realize the depth of this gift he is bestowing on her. Bennett is especially concerned with the plight of all little girls that are his height or below. He feels it is his job to make them happy if they are sad. Take today for instance...
We were at our local library. As we were coming out, the kids asked if they could throw pennies in the water fountains that decorate the entrance to the building. The boys each got two pennies and Chloe got one. They take this 'making a wish' business very seriously. You don't just fling a penny aimlessly into any old fountain. It requires much contemplation and soul searching before giving up that precious money. They fully expect these wishes to come true.
As we were watching the kids go through their solemn ritual of 'making a wish', another Mom and her little girl approached the fountain Bennett was at. The little girl asked her Mommy for some money. The Mom was digging frantically through her purse. Bennett walked up to them and said, "Here, wu can have my money." He saw a little girl in need and felt the urge to come to her rescue. I watched in awe. It was one of those moments that you always hope you might see from your children - when they are looking out for someone other than themselves. I never urged him to do it, I just sat back and watched my son show someone else love and it was a beautiful sight.
The Mom looked at us in amazement and made some comment about our parenting. I told her it wasn't us...it was all Bennett. I explained the soft spot he holds in his heart for little girls. By then, the other Mom had found her pennies and was offering Bennett some more in return. He reluctantly took them. He didn't do it to get anything back, but out of the joy of making someone else happy.
After they had left, I pulled Bennett to me to give him a hug and let him know how proud I was of him. I told him that through that action, he just showed the love of Jesus to someone else. He was beaming. I asked him what made him want to do that. He replied, "Duh wittle dirl didn't have any money and I wanted to make hur happy."
He always seems so concerned about my happiness as well. Whenever I have to discipline him he always lets me know that, "Mom, I still wuv you even dough I made a bad choice." He doesn't want anyone to be mad at him. And if I ever appear sad or down in any way, you can guarantee he will find some type of flower or leaf or stick to bring me with the tag line, "I just wanted to make wu happy, Mom." He sure knows how to brighten up my day.
They other day, I found him standing on top of the chair trying to reach a flower in a vase that was sitting on our breakfast bar. When I caught him red-handed, he was stammering as fast as he could trying to explain about how he found this flower for me and that he wanted to give it to me to make me happy. Same thing happened at a restaurant. I think I'm going to have to ask Chuck to explain the etiquette about how and where you may get flowers. Stealing them from other people's vases and yards do not make mommy happy, even though they are a flower.
Last night I was getting Chloe ready for bed. As most parents and children do, we have a little routine we follow to a tee. We change into our jammies. We sit on our bed just so - and we have to be in the exact same spots or everything is thrown-off. We read the exact same flip book. Then we cuddle (my favorite part) as I sing her a few songs. Thankfully, I don't have to pick the exact same song every night. If she disapproves of the evening's pick, she just shakes her head no and I move on to a more acceptable piece of music.
As I was in the middle of singing "You Are My Sunshine", Bennett comes in and asks if he could sing a song for his sister "cuz I wuv her". I instructed him to come stand next to me and rub her back, as I was doing, while he sings to her. He laid his head on her arm as he was rubbing her back ever so gently and then in the highest, softest pitch he began..."Wu are a sweet dirl, Zoe. I wuv wu very much. Wu need to yearn to have more patience sometimes. Wu need to go to bed now cuz its wu bedtime. I wuv wu very much, Zoe." Then he quietly slipped out the door after smothering her with kisses.
He loves without abandon. Thank you, Bennett, for teaching me to do the same.
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?
