Sick Mommy gets no sympathy

(image from http://hahasforhoohas.com/)

I was sick this week.

I know, I know. Mommies are not allowed to get sick. Well, I guess my immune system didn't get the memo, because I got the flu.

So for about two days, when I wasn't busy driving everyone to all the various places they had to get to, I was lying on the couch or my bed, alternately shivering and sweating, and periodically croaking instructions to the kids.

Did my pitiful state make the kids more or less likely to listen to me? No.

Did seeing poor Mommy felled by the flu inspire them to be more helpful and considerate? No.

Did they even try to go easy on me or leave me alone for the duration of my illness? Um... Not really, no.

Example Scene:

Mommy is lying huddled on the couch wrapped in a quilt while the twins alternately sit on her, jump on her, shove each other on/off her, et cetera, and various inane cartoons play on Netflix.

Banging noises come from upstairs. Mommy pulls the quilt over her head to block out the sound as the thumping increases. Finally a long scream starts.

The scream continues, growing in volume as it gets closer, all the way down the stairs. Finally the screamer appears. It is Boo.

Boo: Mommy Mommy Mommy Mommy MOMMY!!!!!!!

Me: (weakly) what.

Boo: GG put my RECORDER in her PANTS!

 

I'm going to pause this scene for one minute here to point out: I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP.

One kid actually put another kid's musical instrument in her pants. GG's defense was "She wouldn't stop playing it and it's annoying."

 

Okay. I'll admit that the recorder is not the most melodious instrument on earth; in fact, it sounds a lot like an icepick in the ear, even when properly played. Still, to put it down your PANTS? Come on! Honestly, I was stymied as to what to do here.

(recorder image from www.amazon.com)

Me: Okay. What do you want me to do about this?

Boo: (long pause) Make GG live somewhere else?

Me: That's not really an option.

Boo: Please?

Me: Boo. I'm sick. Can you two just please try to get along for today?

Boo: (obviously unhappy with this) I guess.

Me: (as one of the twins body-slams me) Ow.

Little Boy: Mommy I want JUICE!

Little Girl: Me too me too me too! I want JUICE!

ET: Mom can you proof-read this paper? It's due tomorrow.

Me: (groans)

The good news is, once my husband came home I was allowed to crawl upstairs and sleep for a while.

And after a couple of days, it became apparent that I would not in fact die.

Which was good, because everyone wanted dinner and the sink was full of dirty dishes.

My Kids' Grocery List

Wow. Think maybe they want me to buy bacon?

Twins are Cute. Sometimes.....

The twins got haircuts on Monday.

I even went all out and let Little Girl choose hairbows from the overpriced selection they have at "Pigtails and Crewcuts," where you pay extra to get your kid's hair cut because the place is so darn cute.

http://www.pigtailsandcrewcuts.com

And they have a train table to play with, which can be worth its weight in gold if there's a long wait.

So Little Boy and Little Girl came out looking pretty cute.

Okay, all together now:


"Awwww!"


"They're SO cute!"





Until we got into the car and they started fighting.

I don't know who started it, but they basically pummelled each other all the way home while I yelled, "Stop it!" ineffectively from the front seat.

It's not that long of a drive. But it sure felt long.

When we got home both of them were crying, their hair was mussed, and the lovely handmade hairbows were on the floor with suspiciously large amount of curling blonde hair still stuck in them.

But at least they were cute for five minutes, right?

Remember to stay humble

 

I did a favor for a friend the other day. It wasn’t a big deal, but she thanked me profusely and I left her house feeling pretty darn good about myself.

I got in my van and flipped on my iPod, blasting some nice-girl Christian music and heading out to get the twins from preschool. I’m doing pretty well today, I thought.

Then I backed into a ditch.

I’m not even kidding. I wish I was. I backed my minivan into a DITCH and got it STUCK.

I tried to get the van out of the ditch and my tires spun uselessly on loose gravel. My dashboard gave me a helpful “low-traction” warning light to let me know this was happening, as if the combination of vroom/SCREECH, vroom/SCREECH along with the continual NOT moving forward didn’t give me a clue that there was a traction PROBLEM.

(image from http://jeffwylerclarksvilletoyota.com)

I got out of the van and looked. Yep. Stuck in a ditch all right.

I tried going backwards. Which was good until I ran into something short behind me. So I tried going forwards again and got stuck in the same spot.

I tried not to panic. I tried again. I got out again.

A guy, attracted by my lovely vroom/SCREECH, vroom/SCREECH sound, walked up.

“I seem to be stuck,” I said inanely.

He walked around my van and agreed with me. “You’re probably going to have to call someone to pull you out,” he said. “You got TripleA?”

I was getting really upset. “I don’t have time for that!” I said. “I have to pick up from the preschool in ten minutes!” I think I actually stamped my foot.

The guy raised his eyebrows at me in an “Okay, Crazy Lady,” way and I realized I was acting like a nut, and alienating my only visible source of help with my nuttiness.

Fortunately at that point two other guys walked up and surveyed the scene. This kept Guy #1 from abandoning me on my own Crazy-Lady-Island, which I likely deserved.

Guys #2 and #3 discussed putting something under the back wheel and/or pushing the back of the van. Guy #1 looked skeptically at all of us.

The pushing plan was decided upon. I asked Guy #1 to drive while I pushed, because I felt bad that he’d gotten roped into this, and also because he weighed less than me. Plus I was terrified of accidentally backing over all three guys, since I‘d already proven myself to be a complete moron as a driver. I’m just being honest here.

Guy #1 got in the van and put it in low gear. He gunned the motor to make the vroom/SCREECH, vroom/SCREECH really crescendo while the three of us shoved on the tailgate as hard as we could.

The good news is, the van moved. The bad news is, I fell facefirst into the ditch.

But the van was out! I got up, saying cheerily, “I’m okay! I’m okay!” and limped away. I thanked everyone profusely and drove off. I hope they all were feeling good about helping me.

Probably they were thinking, “Wow. What a nut.”

Amazingly, I was only about ten minutes late to the preschool.

But I arrived humble.

I'm Such a Rebel

I was making a cake, and I happened to see this directive on the cake mix box:

What?! I can't eat raw cake batter?!

Well, guess what, Betty Crocker! You can't push ME around!

Mmmmmm.....

Preschool Gymnastics

The twins go to a preschool gymnastics class on Friday afternoons.

They really like it, and I really like having them tire themselves out while somebody else has to watch them. This is why I'm willing to pay for a college student "coach" to do things like teach them the hokey-pokey and let them jump on a trampoline for forty-five minutes.

A couple of weeks ago, however, there was a little problem. I was sitting in the nice quiet parents' waiting area working on my laptop and the twins appeared in front of me yelling, "Mommy! Mommy!"

I looked up in astonishment as the coach came running behind them. "They want you to take them to the bathroom," she explained, slightly winded from chasing the twin terrors.

I raised my eyebrows at her. The twins jumped up and down yelling excitedly, "Mommy! I have to go POTTY!"

Correctly interpreting my expression, the coach said, "I can take them myself, but they want you."

"We want YOU Mommy! We want YOU!" the twins echoed.

I looked at the coach. "I can watch your laptop?" she suggested helpfully. I gave in and took the twins to the bathroom, but I wasn't happy about it.

After all, I did the math. I'm paying almost fifteen bucks an hour PER KID for this class. For that amount of money, the coach should be able to take them to the potty and LEAVE ME ALONE. But I let it go for the moment.

Then it happened again the next week. I had been sitting peacefully at my laptop less than five minutes before they appeared in front of me again, bouncing and yelling. They didn't even use the potty excuse this time; they just yelled ,"Mommy! Mommy!" and looked pleased with themselves.

The coach came puffing up behind them. It was obvious they had escaped without her knowledge this time. I thought to myself, "Oh, HECK no! This stops right now."

There followed a charming scene in which I dragged the twins back into their class in full view of all the horrified moms and dads. Little Girl in particular screamed and cried in protest most convincingly. The coach followed us, looking on in round-eyed shock. I set my face grimly and deposited the shreiking, struggling pair in class where the other kids and the assistant coach also stared at us.

I shut the gate to the preschool area and marched back to my laptop, ignoring Little Girl wailing behind me as the coach tried to cheerily cajole her back into the circle. Everyone in the parents' area tried to pretend they hadn't just witnessed Horrible Mean Mommy Drags Twins to Gymnastics Class and avoided my eyes.

In my defense, Little Girl quit crying almost right after I disappeared from her view and it was no longer to her advantage to appear traumatized. And they both STAYED IN CLASS.

I groused to myself about the coach letting the kids escape like that. But the truth is, I can't keep track of them either.

Here's Little Boy escaping from the backyard. I can't take my eyes off the twins for a second!

Unless I'm paying someone ELSE not to take her eyes off them....