Days Like These

There is the old adage that there'll be days like these and boy were they right! Today was one of those days. Andy says it'll be one that I'll laugh about in twenty years. I think it may take me that long to get over it.

Let me preface this by saying that as a mother in general, I know that these days are few and far between and that, yes, they will happen. I also understand that as the mother of a toddler, you'll never be able to anticipate their every move, no matter how ridiculously anal retentive you are. No matter what you do... there will be days like this.

The day started out like any other day... except that Ben woke up two hours early again. It seems like I just forget how often they change everything just when you were getting a rhythm down to life. Sucks. I got up and made cinnamon rolls and pigs-in-blankets for Andy and Drew. Today was to be Drew's first day at Museum School (at the Fort Worth Museum of Science and Nature) with his buddy, Evan.

I got Ben fed his usual, 1/2 a banana, cup of milk and a few tablespoons of a couple different types of cereal (he likes Honeycomb, Cinnamon Life and Cheerios). By the time I had the other breakfast ready, he was ready to get down. However, when he saw we were having cinnamon rolls, he was ready to get back in his high chair and ate a cinnamon roll too.

Andy left for work and then the day just... it just went!

Ben was in rare form (God I HOPE HE WAS... as in PAST TENSE and ... WONT EVER BE LIKE THIS AGAIN). He was IN.TO.EVERYTHING.

He went through and emptied the cabinets about a dozen times...and not just the same ones...he got into the trash. He got into the dog food. He got into the bathroom cabinets. He has a stomach bug.... diaper 1, diaper 2, diaper 3.... the changes were just coming fast and furious. Yuck, stinky and gross. He got into the bathroom drawers. He threw fits in the playroom. He crawled up his high chair. He climbed up on the stool. He fell from the stool. He grabbed a metal spoon and smacked gashes into the side of my black island. Moose wouldn't leave Ben alone. Moose wouldn't leave Lola alone. Moose wouldn't leave ME alone. Moose got locked up in his crate. Ben... I wish it were that easy.

This was the morning. No nap.

At 11:20 a.m., Drew has a hot dog for lunch with ketchup.

We are enroute at 12:05 to pick up his buddy Evan for their first day at the museum school together. Loop 820's entrance ramp is at a dead standstill thanks to a police car there so we keep going on Hwy. 377. Finally, we get on Belknap and Drew tells me he has a headache.

A headache?

Yes, a headache.

Ok, I'm driving, obviously, I can't just make it go away (though, it is assumed that, as a mother, you have the ability to do just that). He is informed that as soon as we get to Museum School, we will go in and I'll give him some ibuprofen. Not another word.

Until about 5 minutes later I hear a weird noise in the back of the car. Drew is SOBBING in pain that his head is "killing him." I'm thinking... migraine? In a 7 year old? How HORRIBLE!!! Ok, honey. Ok. We will get it taken care of... then I had that thought. You know the one that says... WAIT MOM. The last time he said he had a headache, he threw up about ten seconds later.... so I reach for the console because I have some of those scented rolls of bags to put dirty diapers in and I'm going to give him one to old...

and that's when he said...

I JUST THREW UP.

F$#%!

Yes, I dropped an f-bomb in my head. UGH! Poor kid. He's sitting in puke now. Evan, his little buddy doesn't know WHAT to think (poor kid #2). I still reach in and give him one of the blue bags and said, "If you feel like you're going to do it again, DO IT IN THE BAG!"

"I don't think I'll get to go my first day now, huh?"

Um... ya think?

I want to survey the damage but consider that the damage is done as we pull into Museum School, I instruct Evan, come forward and don't step on anything (I haven't seen anything so I don't know just how bad it really is.)

Evan grabs my hand and we head into the building. He's so excited. I'm feeling so bad for my little guy outside in the car (it was running... and yes, I had the key with me... and YES... Ben was in his carseat too... and YES... I was totally okay with doing that... this time... because of the situation... my cell phone was in the car and he knows how to use it in case of emergency... so shut up!!)... so I walk in and sign in Evan. I tell the teacher that Drew won't be there today because "he just threw up in my car."

She just gives me that look. You know the look. The... "gosh that sucks but I'm so glad you're not bringing him in the classroom to infect everyone else" look. She recognizes Evan and he goes in happy as a lark. (Why are larks so happy??? Do they know something we don't?)

I go back to the car and go to the trunk.... grab the baby wipes. Drew has moved from his puke covered car seat to his GOOD car seat.... and has lovingly given me Another car seat now to clean. Wasn't that thoughtful? And this stupid Britax is a bitch to clean. I've tried to clean it once and there is no easy way about removing the freakin' cover. Let me tell you... an easy way does NOT exist. It's the most difficult car seat cover to remove... EVER... in all the years of car seats I've had... this one is the absolute worst!

I give Drew some wipes to clean up a little.... Then he does something that just breaks my heart...

he apologized for throwing up in my car.

UGH... like it mattered?

:(

I was like... HONEY.... you didn't do it on PURPOSE... it's okay. What's IMPORTANT is that YOU FEEL better! Poor kid.

The real suckage factor not only lies in the fact that Drew missed his first day of museum school. I wasted from 12:00 - 2:00 driving from Keller to Watauga to Fort Worth back to Keller. Ben's only nap was an interrupted one in the car for about an hour which means that I'll have absolutely NO down time for myself at all whatsoever. When Ben is awake... you can't do anything on the computer. You can't do anything on your phone. You can't do anything to clean up the kitchen/sink because he's into absolutely everything so you sit... on your ass.... and hope he doesn't decide to use your head as target practice for whatever feat of strength he decides to do that day. And sometimes, it's nice to even have thirty minutes without anyone bothering you at all... so you can just THINK.... and when you have PMS and all this... CRAP is going on ... it's easy for your head to spin 360 and pea soup (and expletives) to spew forth....

Couple that with the fact that my feet... my feet are KILLING ME. Seriously, they hurt... my fingers... they hurt. I'm being tested for rheumatoid arthritis and frankly, at this point, hope that's what it is so I have an ANSWER because this is NOT NORMAL... it's painful and I'm so sick of being in PAIN!

So, we come home. Ben is awake and I take him to the bedroom and put him in the playpen in the dark and HOPE that he is okay on his own for however long it takes me to clean my car out. Having not truly seen the damage yet, and hoping not to toss my cookies in the process, I hope for the best. Drew is told to strip in the laundry room and march upstairs for a quick bath.

I remove both car seats... the booster he was sitting on is rinsed off but when I realize I can't truly get it clean -- it's tossed in the garbage. It was $13 at Wal-Mart. I'll be wasteful. I'll buy another. The thought of scrubbing that just grossed me right the heck out. The other was rinsed off along with the floor mat and set in the 100+ degree sun to dry. By some act of God, the regurgitated lunch was pretty my only on Drew and the booster! He didn't get any anywhere else! TALK ABOUT LUCK!

Amazing when you're considering yourself lucky... that you're cleaning up puke AT ALL?

Anyway... I walk back in and yes, Ben is awake. And, OH... the SHOCKER... he's sobbing. Try to deal with him.... food... drink... toys... carrying... binkies... blankets... games... nothings really making him happy. He obviously doesn't feel good.

Drew comes down and I'm like, "Daddy got you a movie to watch [Gnomio and Juliette] so let's make you a place to lay on the couch so you can just be still and relax. Ok?" I go to turn on the television...

Let me preface this section by saying that if it's electronic or technology-based, I'm probably going to screw it up...

... and know that you have to press some type of an "input" button. Well, the TV remote (there are THREE for this television (grrrr)) has an INPUT and a TV INPUT. Apparently, I push the WRONG ONE. Oh, what a surprise. So, I've got a screaming ankle biter at my left leg and Drew on the couch and I'm like???? WHAT DO I DO? I call Andy.

I preface my call with something like, "Please understand I have PMS, this has been a horrible day and all I'm trying to do is turn on the TV for Drew to watch a stupid movie so I'm emotional and if I don't get this to work, I'm about to break down in tears." And I feel the tears welling up in my eyes because I know that I"m about to start crying and I'm just not going to be able to stop.

I just had a television full of snow. It was quite annoying. I couldn't figure out what needed to be done with what, what needed to be pushed. Frankly, it just pisses me off. Men like to make all these stupid diagrams about women and how complicated they are... and then show a diagram for men and it's just an "off/on" switch....but then they make STUPID things like THREE remote controls to work ONE STUPID TELEVISION. It just pisses me off.

However, he was able to help me get it figured out. Movie started. One child taken care of for at least an hour. I take whiny #2 to the playroom ... and sit.

The day goes on... I'm sick of doing NOTHING... I'm sick of the whining... I'm sick of him emptying the shelves of the paper plates and napkins. I'm sick of him throwing everything ... everywhere. Seriously, I'm done! The whining... the whining... for the love of PETE the WHINING!!!

It's time for a nap... I put him down at 5:30..... at 5:50 he finally stops screaming.... and sleeps.... for 20-30 minutes. And, of course, he wakes up screaming.

To the kitchen we go. Watermelon does the trick. Unfortunately, I can't rely on him to sit and eat watermelon for hours on end and that is short-lived. Next idea, yogurt. He loves trying to feed himself with a spoon. It's a huge mess but it buys me some time to finish loading the dishwasher. The last time I Tried to load it today, he grabbed a spoon and left nice "antiquing" (as Jeff Penrod put it) on the side for me. GRrrrr. He's a MESS so I clean him up and set him down.

By this time Andy has come... and gone. He went and did a small run to Wal-Mart for necessities (milk, cereal, etc.) (Guess it's obvious what we're having for breakfast tomorrow, huh?)

Thankfully he called and asked if we wanted Subway while he was at Wal-Mart and to text him what we wanted. I did.

And wouldn't you know it.... the sandwich was wrong.

Par for the course for my day.

I know... I know... At least I ate something. Yeah, whatever.

It's a running joke around here, anyway. If he picks up the take-out, it's going to be wrong. You can pretty much count on it.

Oh, and I have PMS... it makes everything worse... exponentially.

We eat. My feet are continuing to kill me. I give the kid a bath. I take him upstairs and realize he's already peed in his clean diaper. He's changed. He cries. But, he's up there... and I'm finally getting my quiet time. And what am I doing? I'm recalling the ridiculous chain of events that made this day what it was... a complete freakin puky disaster train wreck.

Tomorrow is a new day... and I can assure you... it has to be better than this.