Today was the last day of big performances before Christmas break. I had the cantata at church, and then I was home free. I was up before 6 to get coffee and donuts ready for my choir and musicians and to make sure the church was set up. J texted me, wishing me luck, as I led them through a grueling two hour rehearsal. "One more thing and then we're free!!"
I felt great as I drove back home. There was a Bills game on in the afternoon, good leftovers for lunch in the fridge, and nothing to do except relax and hang with the boys. James had been in a particularly good mood all week. What with the move and the new baby we got in the habit of letting him watch an episode of Curious George every night before bed for a few weeks, and we noticed that he wasn't handling it very well. About a week ago we decided to kill two birds (or monkeys?) with one stone by telling him he could only watch George if he did certain big boy things on the potty. This hasn't worked out on the potty training end, but he's become a much nicer kid since we cut down his TV intake to nothing.
I noticed right away, though, that he wasn't in a playful mood when he got back from church with J. He whined through lunch, and went down far too easily for a nap.
I settled down for an afternoon with J...her Steelers game was on at 1, and the Bills were on at 4. It was exciting to watch the Bills play a meaningful game in December...they even still had a chance at the playoffs!
When James got up from his nap he didn't want to give up his binky. In fact, he didn't want to do anything other than lie on our bed and whimper about being held. At first I thought he was just trying to bump Owen off of his favorite two laps, but as the afternoon dragged on I began to realize that he was sick. And it was obvious enough for me to realize it despite the fact that the Bills were in the middle of a very sickly football game.
I asked him if his mouth hurt and he said yes. Eventually he'll stop answering that question truthfully, because whenever he says yes he gets pinned down by one parent while the other forces down some Children's Tylenol. By this time it was almost 5, J was trying to get a pizza into the oven, and Owen was entering the winter of his discontent. (4:30-7:30 PM, daily) Plus, the Bills were losing.
James was crying almost inconsolably when J came up. I had both kids on my lap, and James had his binky in. J asked him what was wrong. And then he vomited all over our bed. It was too gross to describe in detail, and all of us just sat in shock for a moment. And then he vomited again. Fortunately, a primordial parental instinct kicked in allowing J to stick her hands out under his mouth, so instead of having a vomity mess all over our child, quilt, and comforter, we had a vomity mess all over our child, quilt, and comforter, and she had a handful of vomit.
I think Owen ended up on the floor. The handful of vomit ended up in a hastily grabbed box that apparently also had J's nursing pads in it. James' pajamas were covered, and unfortunately, so was George.
"At least he didn't get Steven."
We mopped him up as best we could while both boys cried, and J took George and half our bedding down to the laundry while I put a protesting James in the tub. Owen didn't do great while we left him alone on our bed. The Bills didn't do much better while I left them alone, either.
I put a shivering and sobbing little three year old--they look so much smaller when they're sick--into a new set of clean pajamas and brought him into J. She'd brought up a bowl for any future incidents, and I tried to get Owen calmed down.
"Mommy, where's George?"
"He's downstairs taking a bath. He got a little dirty when you got sick."
"I need George."
"Why don't you snuggle Steven. And if you feel like you're going to be sick again, try to get it into this bowl, okay?"
"I need my ginky."
"Honey, do you know where his gink ended up?"
(It had been brought downstairs for boiling and re-sanitizing.)
"I'll go get it."
And then he vomited all over the place again. This time it got all over the sheets, his new pajamas, and J. And Steven Bear.
"Am I taking Owen, or the sheets, or James?"
"You take Owen and find the paper towels. James, stay here and don't move. No, sorry honey, Steven is going to need to take a bath too."
"I can't believe they're gonna punt with that little time left."
That was when we decided to let James watch a George, even though he hadn't gone in the potty that day. It seemed like a good idea for all parties involved.
Owen started crying some more, and James asked a lot for George and Steven, and I scrubbed out a lot of clothing in the utility sink.
When J finally did come up with a clean and dry George we got the lone smile of the night from James. He made some monkey noises and then asked George whether he liked his bath, which he apparently did. James threw up again before we put him down for the night, but we managed to get all of it in the bowl that time, and we have some back-up pjs ready.
J's evaluation of the situation is that if it had happened two days ago I would have been gone at a concert and she would have had a puking toddler, a screaming baby, a laundry emergency, and a pizza in the oven all at the same time.
Her Mom's evaluation of the situation is that we've finally reached full parenthood now that we've both earned the vomit badge.
My evaluation of the situation is that any quarterback worth only a second or third round pick is unlikely to provide a net gain greater than an offensive line upgrade in the short term, and that the throwing up was only the second gruesomest mess I saw today. I put that on facebook, and used my first ever hashtag.
#christmasbreak
#stillhaventshowered
#fifteenyeardrought
#maybenextyear
#owenisstillscreaming
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