I thought yesterday was going quite well, babies took a long nap (3 hours), I got to sit on the sofa with my lover (Laptop) and watch a marathon of Will and Grace (that show still cracks me up). I was just a lamb unknowingly waiting to go to slaughter. All hell broke loose at 4:45 pm, 15 minutes before we were to leave for dance class. I had to feed the baby, let the dog out and buy cookies from the neighbor kids. I figured I have this 3 kid thing down by now, I can multitask. I did just that this morning and it worked out fine. Well, when your chasing your dumb ass dog across two yards and trying to feed a 5 month old, things tend to go awry.
I take the baby in, hoping to get Amber to feed her a bottle, so I can go catch the DUMB ASS DOG. I am in mid-sentence: “Amber I need yo” when she spews vomit from every hole in her head. I am stunned, but I still have to feed the baby and get the dog, before our neighbors put a bounty on his head, which is not a bad idea at this point. I leave Amber standing there hunched over with a long string of spit hanging from her mouth, when I grab the leash and go chase the dog. I come back in, kick the dog (not that hard, but he had me chasing him around our yard looking like a fool) and start to clean up the vomit. Oh but wait, she just geared up for round 2 of Vomit-o-Rama. Here I must stop and ask, why is it that bodily fluids are attracted to the most inconvenient surface to clean? Amber couldn’t have thrown up on the wood floor or the miles of tile floor, no it had to be on my Pottery Barn area rug. A moment of silence for the Pottery Barn rug. But wait, it splatter onto the Pottery Barn sofa. A moment of silence for the Pottery Barn sofa. It might not mean much to you, but you don’t know the heartache we went through to get that sofa. Or the heartache that Pottery Barn went through when you screw over a couple, like us. I will just say they scatter when we walk into the store.
I clean it all up using my trusty vinegar and water solution while gagging the whole time. In the meantime I am barking orders to everyone. We were still going to dance school. Here is where I become one of those mothers. I have many problems and one of them is not wanting to deviate from the routine of the day. If we didn’t go to dance class, then we wouldn’t go to dinner and dammit I wanted a burger, no matter how much it cost. Besides, Amber could have emptied the contents of her belly because she ate too much earlier. Thinking back, I think that would have happened at 1130am when they had lunch. It could have been a bad cookie she ate after lunch, again something that would have happened earlier. See how I talk myself into this chaos. I grew up in a world where you had to have lost half your blood supply and missing a limb, in order, to stay home from school. This will bite me in the ass, later.
We arrive at dancing class just in time and Amber is fine throughout her ballet class. Sure she complained that she was tired when she came down, but if she would just stop waking up at 4am in the morning maybe she wouldn’t be so tired. She asked for some water and went off to tap dance class. Water can’t hurt, can it? Oh, but it can come up just like the hamburger chunks I cleaned up from my rug a mere hour and half ago. One of the dance school women came out, screamed some name and said she threw up. It wasn’t Amber so I breathed a sigh of relief. At least, the death plague is making it’s way to others in the area. At this point, I walk over to the monitor and try to find Amber and the mother next to me says with a disgusted look on her face, “Someone puked.” I nod and think, “Thank God it wasn’t my kid.” Then the lady comes back out and says, it is AMBER that puked. SHIT!!! This is when I realize I should have stayed my happy ass at home. The thing about water, when it comes back for a repeat visit, you can’t see it on the floor. A nice mother takes the baby from me and I leave Sam in my dust. I will find him later screaming and wailing in someone’s arms. I go to Amber, wipe her face and tell her we need to go. The nice mom (I really need to learn these people’s name. I have only seen them once a week for 3 years.) helps me to the car with my gaggle of kids. I apologize to everyone and thank her more than anyone needs to be thanked.
We drive home, but I am thinking I can still go to dinner, right? See, how I don’t lose grasp of what is really important in this situation? I call the hubs, who infoms me that he is ”just finishing up” a job. This could mean that he will be finished anywhere from 5 minutes to the end of time. My hubsand doesn’t do so well with the time estimation. I inform him to drop what he is doing and get the hell home. I have a vomit crisis on my hands and my dinner out hangs in the balance. I contact my friend (the mother of the baby) and catch her up with what is going on. Her concern: that her precious baby will get sick from being around my carrier monkeys, again. I did give full disclosure when we set up this babysitting agreement, so do I feel bad? Well, kinda, but not really. Hell, I knew I was going to get sick and we have to worry about me, here.
Mid-drive, I slap myself into reality and come to terms that I will not be eating a $30 hamburger. Dammit!! I call the friend and tell her to just come to the house. I swing by Wendy’s to get something to eat for Sam and me. I have declared no food or water for Amber. Why waste it and I don’t need to see it twice? By this time she is practically hanging out of the car window to get some fresh air. As much fresh air as the swamp can offer. We make it home and no sooner do we get home, the release of body fluids begins, AGAIN. I can’t take it. She was told to go to the bathroom and put on her pajamas. So how did she manage to throw up in my bathroom, my bedroom and the hallway? Well, it is just physics, you see. Give kid simple instructions and know that they will completely disregard what you say, because you are STUPID. Also, all bodily fluids are drawn to carpet where they can seep down to the pad and breed only to contaminate you when you least expect it. I hate carpet. I want it out of my home, never to show it’s shagged face around here, again.
We settle in for a long night. Amber falls asleep on the living room floor, because what more could she possibly do to it. George and I watch Nip/Tuck until they are just this close to porn where I pause it. ”I can’t watch this even if she is asleep.” We moved Amber to her bed, which would promote more spewing. She, now, has her very own pot to yak in, so we avoid more clean up. I thought of tying it around her neck, but I thought that was bordering on abuse. Right? Our night would end when we are awaked by a hungry and thirsty little girl at 2am and a car alarm that goes off when the wind blows. We would get up at 630am, because what was the use of trying to sleep when Vomit Girl is standing over your bed?
I would like to report that the vomit has seemed to stop, but the other end has awakened. Sam is blowing out his butt and Amber is finding it hard to tear herself away from SpongeBob on TIVO to make it to the bathroom. The reasoning was lost on her that, now, she is missing the whole show because I have to give her a bath and clean up her carpet and it is TIVO, for the love of crackers. The virus has moved to me and I think that if I move from my chair and the slight warm glow of my laptop, I will die.
Education at fancy private school: $5500
Riding lessons at fancy private school: $740
Hot lunch at fancy private school: $500
Contracting nasty diseases and learning curse words from your fellow students at fancy private school: Priceless
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