2 of the 4 P’s of Motherhood + fire
Well yesterday evening was a doozy. As reference I’ll refer you to my original post about the 4 P’s of Motherhood.
And now we begin:
As you may know my lovely friend Ilana watches Mazie while I’m at work. After a very long weekend of work, plus two intense days this week I venture home to pick up Mazie at Ilana’s house. I walk in to a strange smell in the house, but decide not to say anything about it because I can see Ilana has had a rough day and don’t think telling her that her house smells horrible makes it any better. I think the girls have really worked her over during the day and she needs a hug. A hug for being a great mom to her daughter and for being a great caretaker of mine. Anyway in the chaos Cat their cat walks over to me as he always does for a little snuggle. I pick him up only to notice that the strange smell is coming from him. Unfortunately, Cat got a little too close to the burner while Ilana was preparing dinner and singed his tail fur. Cat the cat is quite old and apparently can not feel his tail anymore. First let me tell you Cat is just fine. It seems to only have singed the outside fur and he’s unphased by the whole thing, wondering why I’m now holding his tale under the bathroom sink faucet and rubbing it vigorously with paper towels to remove the burnt fur and inspect for any injury.
Anyway we venture home confident that Cat was ok. I guess Mazie hasn’t eaten much during the day, but you know that’s not all that unusual some days kids eat and some days they don’t. Just before bed she is telling me her mouth and her tummy hurt her. She’s getting her two year molars and they are definitely giving her fits. As I go out of the room to get some teething tablets I hear her SCREAM that she doesn’t feel good. So I’m rushing in to grab her and rock her in the chair when I’m suddenly being thrown up on. Hmm maybe it’s not just the molars.
Now we’re rushing to the bathroom where I again take a direct hit on our way through the kitchen because I can only imagine trying to clean puke off the kitchen rug. Ok now have I mentioned that during the lead up to this whole ordeal I’ve had to go pee for at least 30 minutes? Now we’re standing in the bathroom both covered in puke and I realize oh my god I’m going to pee my pants and be covered in puke. So I quickly manage to make it to the potty so I’m only covered in puke and not in my own urine as well.
Oh did I mention that Mazie is still throwing up this entire time and we are both standing in a bathroom covered in kid puke. Now I’m stripping us both down, trying to comfort my extremely upset child, and clean the bathroom at the same time. I quickly grab paper towels to wipe the floor and in haste toss them into the potty for disposal, which as you can imagine was THE WRONG IDEA. They quickly clog the toilet and I’m facing an overflow situation. Smart thinking averts disaster when I turn the water off behind the toilet bowl.
I rush into the bed room to throw on a bathrobe so I can try to finish cleaning up and put my sick kid to bed. Oh have I mentioned that Robbie has been on a VERY important business call during this whole fiasco and is standing in our bedroom closet, which seems to be the best place to both get reception and a quiet place to speak to someone? Still on the call I bust is with a dreadful look on my face, still partly covered in puke, and search for my bathrobe.
I’ve managed to clean up most of the house in a whirlwind, grabbing rugs and throwing them in the tub, filling the bathroom sink with water to soak our clothes and opening up the bathroom window to remove the smell.
Robbie’s now off his call and comes out to survey the scene of our house turned upside down with only one rug left on the floor from Mazie’s room to the bathroom, the toilet disassembled, and his wife and child sitting in the rocking chair as if nothing has happened.
Today I experienced two of the 4 P’s of Motherhood plus fire.
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Why I’m not a fan of the bathroom at Michael’s
Public restrooms are never an enjoyable place as we all know. However, I’ve recently become even less of a fan of the bathroom at Michael’s (the craft store). On a trip to Michael’s for some pre-Christmas craft supplies and I should have known better than to have several cups of tea before our journey, but it was one of those mornings when I needed more of a pick me up than usual. You know late nights, restless sleep, oh and say a toddler.
So half way through the trip, off to the ladies room with Mazie. I headed for the handicap stall because Mazie was recently the lucky recipient of an American Girl doll bitty baby, which she insists on bringing everywhere with us, and the regular stall would be a bit cramped. Bad move.
As I’m sitting (well attempting to squat without sitting) in the far corner of the stall, my child decides it would be prudent to suddenly learn how to open the stall door and run out. Again remember, multiple cups of tea here. So of course I scream all sorts of you you get back here young lady’s, which does result in her return, but not of the guilty conscience. She’s now empowered by the fact that she can indeed open the door and do what she wants. So, again still squatting here, she now throws her new Abby doll (aforementioned brand new American Girl bitty baby) on the floor. The public restroom bathroom floor people!
Which of course results in many more pick that up young lady’s. Well now she’s mad and has decided (reminder still peeing here) that it would be a good idea to shove Abby under our stall to the stall next door, which of course is not acceptable to me nor to her, because now Abby is in the next stall and she’s not. Thus, logic would dictate that she crawl under the stall…public restroom floor here people…to the stall next door.
Now I’m finally done ridding myself of the massive amount of tea I previously ingested, gussy myself up, and then throw open the door of the stall next door to retrieve my child and an Abby doll that both need to be sanitized head to toe.
Seriously people, can’t a mummy use the ladies room with a bit of dignity? Anyhew and this is why I’m not a fan of the bathroom at Michael’s
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Aren’t you jealous?
I have always had a certain obsession with curly ribbon. I love a colorfully wrapped present with a big pile of curly ribbon on top. Thus I’ve amassed a fairly large stash of different ribbons to adorn gifts. If truth be told , in recent years there has been a significant decrease in the use of curly ribbon on gifts in our house as our cat Cash is equally obsessed with the stuff…but he eats it…and then pukes it up. Thus presents under our tree are no longer allowed to have curly ribbon. All you have to do is crack the closet door and he can smell the stuff. Over he runs with this cute but pathetic look on his face that says “oh please just let me play with it for a little bit, eat it, and then puke it up. I love it.”
Anyway, if you don’t live in our house and your gift will be quickly sheparded out, I will adorn it with lots of curly ribbon. To contain the fray, Robbie (my husband as a reminder) made me this.
I LOVE IT! It’s a simple board with pegs inserted and it didn’t take him that long, but I truly love it and one of my new favorite things. I think it’s going to totally reinvent my curly ribbon life. I bet you’re jealous that you don’t have one of these too? Isn’t it great?
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The 4 P’s of Motherhood
I’ve decided that there are four P’s to motherhood. At some point in your career as a mom you’ll experience them all. Dad’s get some, grandparents get some, the baby sitter might get one here or there. But you, moms, you’ll get them all.
You may be wondering what the four P’s are and may readily know what two of them are, but believe me there are four: Pee, poop, puke, and phlegm. That’s right folks — phlegm.
The four Ps became abundantly apparent one winter morning when Mazie was sick. Poor thing had some nasty stomach bug and had thrown up during the night as well as a whole host of other lovely symptoms. So a sleep deprived mom (me) sat in the rocking chair trying to comfort and nurse my limp lifeless little child with our trusty and ever vigilant cat by our side. I though I had things under control so my husband ventured out to the corner market to pick up a few key items. Just as I heard him shut the door to leave, Mazie started fussing — a tell tale sign of puke to come — rather than be puked on for the third time that morning, I positioned Mazie over the side of the chair where she promptly threw up… RIGHT ON THE CAT.
Who as any unlucky cat would, ran like hell out of the room aptly spreading puke from one end of the house to the other. Needless to say my husband walked back into the house just after the whole incident went down.
Ahh motherhood.
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