Just look what you've been missing

Do you really wanna know? Well, Saturday (Mar 29) The Destroyer threw up a couple of times. We tossed it up (ha ha) to the load of candy which he had stolen from siblings and stashed all over the house on Easter Sunday and dug out to eat all that day. Naturally, we thought it was all over since no one else got sick.

On Wednesday night, my hubby and I went to a wonderful meeting in Atlanta and left the little guys home with Auntie SIL. We came home quite late, and all the little darlings were in bed. On Thursday evening (after my last post) The Daredevil (19 months) started his bout with the heaves. He stayed at it most of the night, and then at 3:30 he was suddenly done and suddenly AWAKE. Nuther sleepless night in Georgia.

No surprises when The Quiet One started in on Saturday. And his timing was perfect if you ask the Destroyer, who was just about to get some discipline *ahem* for drawing all over his brother's dresser, when suddenly The Quiet One started throwing up in a bucket in his bedroom (that kid never can seem to make it to the bathroom so we keep a bucket near the bed). All thoughts of the dresser went flying away, and the Destroyer got off free.

But the worst of all was when Encyclopedia Brown chimed in on Sunday afternoon. We were in the van doing 65 mph when I saw him bolt upright out of the corner of my eye. I immediately started to apply the brake. I know that the men on their motorcycles right behind me had some sweet thoughts about us. In the van, the conversation went something like this:

me: "Sweetie, are you okay?" (knowing he wasn't and swerving off the road trying desperately to make it in time)
him: "I think I'm gonna...*ralph...retch...raaaaaalph*"
daughter: "Maaaaaaahhhhhhm! He threw up all over my favorite doll!" (note that whichever toy of hers he had just doomed to the trash can would automatically become her favorite).

At that moment, I wished I could be anyone but mom for about an hour.

About then the phone rang. I picked it up and heard, "Shelley?"
"Yeah Jimmy." (dear friend of ours)
"Are you on the side of the road?"
"Yep."
"Are you all right? Did you break down? I can turn around!"
"Well, we're fine except that my son just threw up all over the van."
"Oh, well, I uh, I thought maybe you were stranded. Okay, well I'll let you get back to that."
"Thanks Jimmy." Ugh.

So, there I was, on the side of the road, elbow deep in ick, cleaning while trying not to add to the ick with some of my own. Meanwhile, the two little toddlers who had been rudely awakened from their naps by the commotion were protesting their plight at the top of their lungs. My daughter couldn't understand why I wouldn't let her run around on the side of the road and flirt with traffic (which she only wanted to do after I rather forcefully told her that she may NOT watch me clean up...what is wrong with her?!). The little sick culprit was now feeling much better (naturally), but complained sourly when I refused to try to clean the puke off his Nintendo magazine so he could keep it. And my brother's wife stood about 6 feet away, facing any direction but mine, waiting for my dad to come take her back home. She was Not going to babysit.

Where's the Calgon when you really need it?

Well, the Little Princess was unfortunately not spared and that evening could be found hugging the toilet and doing what I imagine every little 6 yr old drama queen does when in this state: crying her wee little eyeballs out. The next night she was feeling better, but I woke often throughout the night to the peaceful sounds of my hubby's sister having her turn with the toilet love-affair.

Thanks be to Jesus that my husband and I did not have to go through it. But seriously, why couldn't they all get it at once and have done with it? It took a week and a half for it to run through everyone (including my parents downstairs). And after all that, I sure was glad to have Spring Break with the kids last week.

Other noteworthy happenings in the household: Auntie SIL has left us and moved back home to Charleston. We miss her and are readjusting to having the household back down to 9. I'm sure the septic tank (designed for a family of four, hee hee) is much happier. If she is reading this, she'll be surprised to know that the living room has been restored to it's former grandeur. I clean when I'm angry or depressed...okay, also when there's company a-comin' or when the dust bunnies revolt and start dragging children under the beds. You can place your bets as to which one inspired me to move all the furniture and vacuum every little cranny. There's a poll at the bottom of the page.

Also, the dog, who had become accustomed to being let out whenever SIL took a smoke break, has been moping around and even peed on the floor once cause we didn't get her out in time. And now she is snuggled up on the couch with my hubby, both of them sleeping peacefully, as I should be. Love to you all, and be blessed! Oh, and stay away from those tummy bugs...vomit is not as glamorous as the super models would have you think.

I'm reading a new book by Peter Walsh called Does This Clutter Make My Butt Look Fat?. It had no special allure to me as a diet book, but the title intrigued me, so I picked it up. Flipping through it, I found that it had a whole huge section on organizing your kitchen and closet, grocery lists, and menu planning. It jumped into my buggy. Funny how that happens sometimes.

Well, it took me about a week to carve out enough time in my bathroom, er, study to read to the part about organizing the kitchen. So, yesterday I took upon myself the task of completely rearranging the kitchen. I have wanted to do this for a couple of years, but haven't had any idea how to go about it. With Peter's help, I set about tossing out stuff I no longer want or need and emptying my cupboards. As you can imagine, with 5 kids this (or any other task, for that matter) can turn into an all day affair.

My dear husband pointed out to me last night about 8pm that the wonderful time each year when we all get to lose one whole hour of sleep was once again upon us. This meant that the kids were already an hour late getting to bed if we didn't want to be awaking 4 angry bears early Sunday morning. (Did I already mention that Encyclopedia Brown was in Tennessee with the Royal Rangers having a sleepover at the Ripley's Believe It or Not Museum?)

Anyway, this revelation (Daylight Savings Time) was made to me while the kitchen floor was knee-deep in the contents of the cupboards, and I was given my marching orders about getting the kids in bed! My well-intentioned husband wanted me to leave the rest of the "organizing" for later (presumably today), and get ready for bed so that I wouldn't be exhausted at work/church today. When I informed him that I positively could not go to bed with dirty dishes in the sink, he sweetly offered to do them while I laid out everyone's clothes for the morning. I told him that I did not want to be greeted with a dirty sink in the morning, and he said he'd take care of it.

Now let me preface this by saying that I would never complain about my husband over this matter. He is the most helpful man I know when it comes to pitching in with the house and kids. But, truth is, he has some sort of mental block against finishing dishes. He would definitely explode if he washed everything down to the last fork. So this morning, I woke up to a kitchen still knee-deep in stuff and a sink full of dishes! AAAAAAAHHHHHH! He meant well, though.

And I didn't get home tonight until after 9:30 at which point I decided that it would all just have to sit there cuz I am done for the day. I can't see it hurting to put it off one more night, can you? Oh, and by the way, the sink full of dishes was technically a sink with a partially washed pot. There, now see? I didn't let myself exaggerate!

I'm still here. I don't know if it was that I was still in shock from the day's events, or if it was because of the sinus headache. Whatever it was, after I got the kids to bed and turned on one of my favorite brainless tv shows, I promptly fell asleep. So, here's yesterday's tale:

Well, I thought that the 3 year old, hereby to be referred to as The Destroyer, had outgrown his daily need to create huge disasters. Previously, he was found guilty of such undertakings as squirting mom's expensive lotion all over the carpet in the master bedroom; painting the walls, floor, and door of the bathroom with red fingernail polish; jumping off the bed onto a bottle of Clorox because he couldn't unscrew the childproof cap (yes, it did shoot bleach onto a 2.5 foot section of carpet...I know you were wondering); the list goes on...

I'm sure that by now you've guessed that I was mistaken. While it is no longer a daily endeavor, the propensity is still there. Yesterday, while I was seated in the dining room going over times tables with The Quiet One, I should have realized that there was trouble since The Destroyer (not well known for silence) was actually playing serenely in the living room behind me. I was blissfully unaware of trouble until my sister-in-law walked into the room and said, "What's all this powder everywhere?"

Now at this point I was thinking in smaller terms when I heard her say "everywhere." Like, maybe, all over the chair, or covering a small section of carpet. After all, I was right there, ten feet away the whole time. So, turning around, I was not so alarmed. I'm sure you've guessed again...she meant everywhere. All the carpet, the toys, the books, the computer desk, the furniture, and even (gasp) the baby. The inanimate objects were given a fine dusting, with a little extra here and there for artistic flare. But the baby was given special attention (and didn't even think to alert me by some little protest!), so that he looked like a pale ghostling. If you have never tried to clean up a full bottle of baby powder from a living room, you couldn't possibly imagine how tough it is to get the stuff up! So, an hour later, we decided it would have to be good enough because I had a friend coming over to drop off her two kids and I had to make it to the store before she arrived.

I wish I could say that the drama ended there. Alas...later that afternoon...

The little morsels were all outside jumping on the trampoline, when I heard a fight break out. I ran outside to see what was going on. The kids all started yelling that my friend's three year old (otherwise known as The Destroyer's Accomplice) had been hitting, shoving, pinching, and generally abusing them all. So I called The Accomplice, who was sobbing hysterically, to come down from the trampoline. I was about to "discuss" this behavior with him quite sternly when he turned to face me and I saw the shiner. Oh, yes, a nice big black eye. I decided that the "discussion" could wait, and took him inside to apply a rice pack. Meanwhile I called his mom to inform her that we had broken her little sweetheart. When she asked, I relayed the information I had received from the other little morsels. When asked, I told her that, no, I had not "discussed" the incident with him yet because he had received an impressive black eye. "Good," she said. A statement that only a rational and caring parent could have mustered. We decided that he had received what is sometimes the most effective discipline...natural consequence (oh, and he wasn't allowed back on the trampoline..sniff, sniff).

Is the story over yet? No. I'm sorry to say that this is not the end. Later that evening....

My dear hubby comes running inside from watching our five, plus my friend's two, plus a few of the other neighborhood kids, play in the back yard. "The Accomplice" is bleeding. I need the first aid kit," he says. Turns out that The Destroyer had thrown a broken glass off the back deck earlier yesterday, and The Accomplice had found it with his little bare foot. So, once again, I was on the horn with his mama. She answers: "So, did you break my boy again?" and laughs. I say: "Actually, yes. This time he's bleeding." And, boy, was he ever. We got it under control, got him bandaged up, and fed him ice cream (okay, I made him eat his broccoli, carrots, turkey, and brown rice first...I have my priorities!!). He turned out okay, and his mama still loves me!

We got the kids in bed, and The Little Princess was back up, almost immediately, running to the bathroom to pay homage to the great white porcelain god "Ralph." At that time, some friends dropped in for a surprise visit (9pm). I decided to visit with them rather than accompany Princess to her pity party (she is quite the drama queen, and any attempts at soothing just lead to more piteousness). I'm sure I'll feel terrible about that one later, especially since we found her resting her head on the toilet seat, snoring softly, after our guests were gone. Daddy snuggled her in the recliner for a while before transporting her back to bed.

So now you know...That's the life in yesterday. I've never felt so alive. (Nothing remarkable happened today, so I'll not drag this on any further). G'night!