This last Monday really had it in for the domestic females. I have had numerous accounts of home-style chaos, rich with violence, bodily fluids and, um, even death threats.
Mine actually started on Sunday afternoon, when my Husband was totally knocked out of commission by a head-ache and vomiting.
By nightfall, dishes were piling, toys scattered and my nerves were strained long before my infant let me go to bed.
In the morning, my Husband deemed himself well enough to go to work and coaxed me out of bed with gentle but persistent persuasion– something about being pro-active and getting ahead of the kids so I can keep control of the day.
My first e-mail of the day to my Husband looked about like this:
Our four-year old threw up in the dinning room. While I turned to grab a bowl or basin, our two-year old ran across the slick spot, slipped and fell in it, so both kids ended up in the bath. And it looks like I’m mopping the floor…
About lunch time I sent this one:
The two-year old wasn’t in the bath long and was soon streaking around the house. I pinned him down, strap a diaper on him and got him to wear a shirt to at least pretend like it will keep him warm. It’s a good thing we live in the south.
While trying to sweep the floor and take trash out I had to open the back door – which of course led to a mass exodus into the freshly muddy yard(except for the sick four-year old who was crying up in the bath).
I got the sick one wrapped in a towel so she could lay down and went in search of clean clothes for her.
Meanwhile, layers of mud thickly caked on shoes and bare feet alike, to be tracked back through the kitchen floor.
I was so not having this parade still going after the mopping! So I called them all back in and had to chase down the half-dressed escapee several times while the newborn cried in the bouncer seat.
Oh, and while mopping the floor (trying to do minimal water so that it’s easier to clean up) the two-year old dumped the whole bucket on the floor.
Yep, I’ve been “losing it” today and have snapped at the kids several time. And Katrina has been furious – especially when our two-year-old rolled the hula hoop down the stairs and it hit her.
Now why did I get up this morning?
Hope your day is going better.
and yes… it could be worse. I mean seriously, the day’s only half over!
Despite my Husband’s wish to me of a more “uneventful afternoon”, lunch was eaten in the living room as we watched the fire truck and ambulance pull up to our neighbors’ house across the street and all the emergency team hurry into the back yard. Their teenage boy was soon wheeled out on a stretcher and whisked away.
“His eyes were closed,” shouted one of my kids. “He’s dead!”
I sighed and quickly assured them that the boy was alive – when someone dies, they pull the blanket over the head in respect. Then I made them all promise to stay put in the house and I would go find out what happened.
Knowing the mother must be in a panicked, my first question was “How can I help?” even though she was predictably too frazzled to know. So instead I gave her a long, tight hug.
Her son had climbed up the gate to the back yard. When he tried to jump down the other side, he fell and badly sliced up the back of his leg on a long metal piece of the latching mechanism. Fifteen stitches, I was later told.
As he was wheeled away, his last request to his mother was to find his cell phone. No one had a clue where to start looking. We scattered through the house and paced around the yard hoping to hear the ringtone. No luck.
We all gave up and I saw the woman and her other children off in the car on their way to the hospital.
Meanwhile, my children were about ready to come after me, perhaps fearful that the ambulance would return for more hapless passengers.
I promptly decided to fix the neighbors dinner and sold my oldest on the idea. We started early, but it’s a good thing. I got out meat to thaw and my oldest filled a bowl with warm water.
A that point, I broke down to take a break, for myself and to deal with my newborn.
By the time I came back downstairs, my oldest had emphatically declared the meat thawed, my two-year old had dumped the bowl of water all over the table and floor (soggy sandwiches anyone?). Oh, and tomato was smeared across the freshly mopped floor, but no one fessed up to that one.
I probably should feel sorry for the lady who called from some travel company to invite me to a “free getaway”, but considering that’s the third such call in the last week, I don’t.
I tried to tell her that I so didn’t have time to talk to her, but they never seem to believe you.
And as a nice little encore, “Eleanor just threw up all over the couch and the floor!” I took a deep breath. We had just shampooed the carpet on Saturday and I specifically gave her a bowl… Just goes to show you just can’t forestall chaos.
And it’s not just me and my neighbor. I have verifiable accounts of several other mothers under attack that day. My Husband even read me an e-mail sent to his co-work by his own wife, complete with sickness and intentional, vindictive defecation. Another friend of mine called her Husband to inform him that she was contemplating murder after she discover what their daughter put in the sink. Another still, faced with the end of the line, had to manage a major divide and conquer with the Wii and her teenage son.
My brother declared that Holiday breaks are just too dangerous. They ought to keep the kids all at school, where they’re safer…
I tell you, next Monday don’t be surprised if I just hit the snooze button and pull those covers back over my head.
So… how was your Monday?
…or dare I ask…