It Never Frickin' Fails.
Kids are disgusting. They have no regaurd for cleanliness. Touching them alone is the exact same thing as licking the door of a stall in a public bathroom. You either survive or you’re hospitalized for some unknown virus that could potentially take your life. The audacity of these tiny people.
A week and a half ago, pink eye plagued our home.
I’ll spare the details, but it started with one son and quickly spread to the other. I kept baby sister as far away from them as possible, and luckily it left just as fast as it came. But that’s not all. That isn’t my story. That’s just the intro. Follow me into Wednesday of this week. Life was great. In the afternoon I threw dinner in my Insta pot: chicken artichoke soup, (So good) kids were happily playing together, baby was napping. It was grand. Until about 5 O’clock when Charlie came down stairs to inform me that he threw up hot Cheetos all over his bed. I used to love hot Cheetos. They were my weakness. But things change when you see it in slime form and have to take all the blankets, pillows, sheets and comforter into the bathtub to rinse off the red goo before you put it in the washing machine. Who needs a hypnotist to end my cravings when I have a sick child who can do the same thing for free? So, I’m on my knees in the bathroom, scrubbing down the bedding and wondering, “Where in the bloody #*%! is my Husband?”. After all, it’s about time for him to get home from work.
Once I start the washer, I come down stairs to call the one responsible for creating these mongrels. By this point, he’s about an hour later that normal, so when he picks up, I sweetly ask, “Where the eff are you, darling prince?”. He says, “Oh I’m almost home. But remember that thing I have to go to tonight? I mentioned it to you that one time when the kids were screaming really loud and you were upstairs and totally couldn’t hear me, but I considered that good enough? Yeah, I have to go to support my friend, so I’ll only be home for about 45 minutes and then I have to leave again. Cool?". OK, so he didn't exactly say that, but he might as well have. "I’m sorry. WHAT!?!?!? You’re leaving again!? Your son just puked everywhere! I’m trying to get his bedding washed before bed time, dinner is waiting, I’m tapped out on parenting and need a little break over here!”. “Ok”, he says, “See you soon”.
Daddy gets home while I’m upstairs folding laundry. He changed his clothes, put a frozen pizza in the oven for the kids (forgetting that I had made dinner in the Insta pot) and came up stairs to tell me he has a pizza cooking and he’s heading out. Seriously. I can’t even. Forget the fact that I already made dinner, but our middle son just puked every last ounce from his guts and my husband is making them pizza!?!? Put a fork in me. I’m done. So, I grudgingly say goodbye and then realized this could be a blessing in disguise. After the kids go to bed, I will have the entire evening to myself. So I gave every last bit of strength I had left to feed, bathe and get the kids ready for bed.
At this point, we are seconds from my freedom. There is only one thing left to do. I laid the baby on our ottoman to change her diaper. She’s quite the little flipper these days. So, we have to give her something to distract her while we slap a fresh nappy on. So I grabbed the closest thing to me: our tv remote. And she blissfully pushed every button as I got her changed. Up the stairs we went. Everybody is tucked in and on their way to dream land. Time for Mom to pop a wine bottle and throw a straw in it. So, I get situated on the couch, wrap up in a squishy blanket, grab the tv remote and proceed to push “On Demand” to start my reality tv binge. Low and behold, an alert pops up. “You have entered the parental control password incorrectly, 5 times. You are locked out for 60 minutes.” Excuse me, what? No no no no no! This can’t be real! I am finally able to sit and veg out but NOW IM LOCKED OUT OF MY OWN TV BECAUSE NORA RUINED MY LIFE! How does this even happen!?
Then I remember I have the app on my phone. I can just watch tv from my tiny screen until the hour is up. So, I tap my xfinity app and see that my phone battery is at 3%. Mother %*#*?$! I then have to go grab my stupid phone charger, that has a whopping 12 inch chord, take it over to the wall and sit in the most uncomfortable position, in the most uncomfortable chair, that’s really only there for decoration, just so I can catch up on the stupid Bachelor. (Insert sob cries here)
My husband got home from his night out with friends at about 10:30pm and all I could muster was the glare of death. Time for bed. I went to sleep, only to be woken twice in the middle of the night with more vomit that just continued into Thursday. I got to spend all of Thursday following my child around with a giant bowl to spare our new carpet and then go into work 3 hours late to save the Nanny from coming over and catching the plague. By the time my husband got home to send me off to work, Charlie was feeling better. There was no more vomit. WONDERFUL!
This is just a normal few days in the Jamison house. Anyone care to join me-kid free-in Bali? I’m grabbing my passport and Uber is on its way! Adios bishes! Hands in the middle! Bombing at momming on three......