Pass the Bucket

We do our best to teach our kids to share.  But some things, I wish they'd just keep to their damn selves. 

Late Saturday evening, my 5 year old looked kind of miserable.  We were all cozied up in Mommy and Daddy's bed watching some cartoon (probably Big Big Friend...oh man that Golias cracks Andrew up to no end!  To be clear...Andrew is my husband, not the 5 year old.).  Anyway, we were all cozied up when I hear a small voice say "I puked".  So obviously I reply with "You did?  When?"...then lean over and realize that he meant he had JUST puked...on MY side of the bed!!  (Side whine, why is it always on MY side of the bed???)

The poor guy didn't even make it to the bathroom (a mere 15 feet away) when it happened again, on the carpet...a mere 2 feet from the TILE in the bathroom...sigh.

He spent the rest of the night on repeat, slightly recovered by morning, then went down again.  Monday, Brayden was feeling a bit better stomach wise, but his bowels decided they wanted nothing to do with him either.  I can't begin to tell you the joys of that one.  I'll spare you the gory details, suffice it to say his super awesome Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles underwear only comes in packs of 7 and I was handing him number 7...

I felt so bad for him...until the breaking hours of Tuesday morning...when Mommy, who was sleeping in his spot in his bed while he slept along side Daddy in my spot in mine, woke repeatedly, shivering and uncomfortable.  For a reason I'm not totally sure of, I decided I needed to get up and go to the washroom...and I had better bring my hair elastic (which I methodically employed on the long walk down the hall).  And good thing I did, because I, the Mommy who NEVER gets the flu...I mean EVER, spent some quality time paying homage to the porcelain gods and watching the sun rise.  It was a spiritual experience, like Linda Blair in the Exorcist spiritual, only she wore it better.

Tuesday, I quite literally couldn't get out of bed.  My 5 year old still felt like garbage, but wasn't hogging the bathroom any longer, my 2 year old couldn't hit a toilet if he tried, sadly he "didn't try" at least 6 times.  My husband, who was also starting to feel like crap, had to deal with it all as I truly couldn't get up.  I was almost incoherent for the entire day and night.  The man cleaned, chased, comforted, fed...then cleaned again and still came in to check on me a number of times, never once hesitating, complaining or taking a break. 

Today, we kept B home from school as his tummy was sore this morning (though he likely would have been ok, but who wants to put a teacher through that??).  The 2 year old?  He's a frickin' tank!  He pukes and just keeps on running.  Nothing could stop my little beast.

So now that we are finally all on the mend...wait...cue daughter running down the hall causing Mommy to do a full on sprint up the stairs at 12:30am, quite literally in the middle of my writing this post..."I just had to go to the washroom Mommy"...praise the good Lord...I tucked my little angel back into bed and turn out the big light so she can watch her nightlight change colours until she drifts back to dreamland and as I'm walking out..."Mommy, my tummy hurts...a lot"...

Pass the bucket and break out the Resolve.  Mommy's in for a good one.

People always tell me "I don't know how you do it".  3 kids, a home daycare, a custom cake business, husband, 3 pets...don't know how you do it. 

Truth is, I don't know either. 

And some days I don't "do it".  Some days I take a little longer in the washroom simply because the door is locked and I can.  Two year old kicking down the door or not, leave Mommy alone, she and the Frozen Free Fall game are having a moment.  Even if it's in the loo.

So you want to know the secret?  So do I.  There really isn't one.  Maybe that's the secret.  That we are all moms, just doing what we do to try to raise our kids in a way that won't break the bank with hours billed with a psychiatrist, even with health insurance.
Between trying to keep my daughter's heart from breaking, my daycare kids from breaking our house and my sons' spirits true to who they are, there really isn't much left for much else.  But you just keep going.  You have to, you're Mommy.
You're the maker of lunches, the creator of endless Hallowe'en costumes, an event planner and co-ordinator, doctor, nurse, warrior, moulder of innocent minds, monster vanquisher, spider relocator and the accountant that somehow figures out how to find room in the budget for gymnastics, soccer, Brownies and every other thing that crosses your kids' minds.

Oh wait...budget...crap, maybe that's where I went wrong.  I don't have one of those.  But I digress.

The point is, no-one knows how Moms do it, including Moms.  You look at "that" Mom you know...the one who's got it all together, the one you envy and hate all at the same time...and honey, you have no clue.  She's just as bat-shit crazy as you are.

This Mom is lucky, as are many others I know.  I've got an amazing Dad helping me on this journey.  And I have no idea where it's leading us, but I do know that...

...wait, Olaf's calling.  Apparently I've got a new set of lives...I've gotta hit the loo.