The stories, the nightmares, the tips, and (especially) the joys of two little boys and one perfectly-willing-to-admit-it clueless mum. Come with me as I share my experiences, my wisdom, my ah-hah moments, my shameful mistakes, and all the love I have with my two boys.
Michael is my love and it was proved yet again tonight. After three very long, exhausting, rough days of in-service, my husband, Michael, showed up just after 6pm(very early for him) with a dozen roses, my favorite Chardonnay, and made me BBQ chicken for dinner.
Atleast I don't have the drop-off. Daddy does. I am the hero at pick-up. Because each morning atleast one of them balled and sometimes both of them did. And poor Michael was the one that had to walk away.
The first day was bad for Charlie, the second for Max, and the third was the best for both of them. I on the other hand cried a little each day as I made my way to the "big school" to put up posters, clean out my desk, position desks, write lesson plans, try to find things I knew I had left behind before Charlie was born, and poorly cover up my general poor attitude towards the end of summer and the beginning of the school year.
Max and Charlie are the newest attendees at the all new brand-spankin' state of the art U-Gro Center in Hershey, PA. This place is cool. Indoor playgrounds, outdoor playgrounds and tricycle tracks, murals on the wall, activity centers, FOOD, need I go on. I don't know what kid wouldn't love it there. It's got everything ...
When a toddler or a baby gets sick, gets a bug, convulsively pukes all down themselves it really is a site to see. Collectively within an hour I have watched three episodes of just this ... small child spewing unknown sticky clumpy rotten smelling substance from mouth down themselves.
Charlie twice at the table. Max IN MY BED(S&%^).
First of all, you have to let them finish. They're starting to cry because they have no frickin' clue what is happening to them. It burns their throats and their noses because ofcourse it is coming from both places. They thrash about. They make "that facial expression" as though they have tasted something bad or sour, you know the one. The substance gathers down their fronts in smelly bumpy runny snot consistency. Meanwhile you are cooing and ahhing in your most sympathetic manner, without puking yourself from the sight and smell.
Second of all, you must gather them up in your arms and get them cleaned up. So, while still cooing and ahhing, you walk quickly as not to upset them more, most likely with outstretched arms(no reason your clothes should suffer) to the nearest sink or bath tub and strip them down. Now they're freezing and screaming. Wash them down and wrap them up in a towel. Your smartass two year old might be thinking or even telling you it's not bath time. No s*%& Sherlock. Dressed again.
Third, they're miraculously fine again and are ready to run around the house. WTF? When I got the flu, it was puke, go back to bed, rest. My children decide this is the time to test their Olympic gymnastic skills on my furniture. It's like morning sickness. Get sick ... all better.
And lastly, when a small child gets sick, they're going to be sick WHEREVER THEY ARE AT THAT TIME. Your normally well-mannered child will not excuse themselves to the bathroom, shut the door, and aim perfectly into the toilet when they must be sick. They are going to be sick when that unknown said substance is forcing its way up their small little throat; in your bed, down your front, their high chair, living room carpet, or car seat.
We can't expect much from them. They have no clue what is happening. This will be Charlie's first bout with a bug, Max's second. And they're being champs.
Just have a collection of old t-shirts and carpet cleaner and pray you don't get the bug the next day. But if you do, you will be expected to make it to the toilet.
Yesterday, Max said he was cooking the babies. He also told me he was cooking balls. Then he proceeded to pull these two items out of my oven. Good thing it wasn't on.
"Max did you poop."
"No, it wasn't him. Did you poop?"
While getting ready for a walk, he points to the drainage pipe down the side of the house and proclaims, "Water goes down there." Yes, yes it does my brilliant Harvard bound child.
"Doggie ... doggie poop outside."
"Charlie poop. Big poop."
(I have a feeling I am going to be dealing with a lot of shit in my life, and unfortunately I think my boys will find it to be fascinating.)
"Mommy. Mommy make coffee."
(Yes, I have two coffeemakers. You wanna make something of it?)
Arriving in Max's room after a somewhat successful "quiet time" his train table was empty but the water tower and changing guard station.
"Max, where is the track?"
"Ok, where did you put it all?"
The next day I heard him trying to put it back together.
"Max, are you tired?"
"Max do you want to take a rest?"
"How about play dough at the table?"
(resulting open mouth as in awe and disbelief)