I’m baaaaack with a brand new post. I know you were so sad waiting for me to update you on my life. Please hold your appreciative, tears in your eyes applause until the end.
Two weeks ago was a total shit show in our house. I’m talking, “DEAR GOD WHEN WILL THIS END AND WHY IS THERE SO MUCH POOP AND BOOGERS” kind of shit show.
It all started with a sinus infection.
Two weeks ago my dearest partner in crime came down with a sinus infection. The worst kind. The kind that stabs your eye repeatedly and requires a trip to Urgent Care with a goody bag full of pills. That goody bag ended up causing the shingles.
Yep, remember that line from Dumb and Dumber? “Pills are good! Pills are goooood.” Well, they weren’t in this case. Prednisone (did I spell that correctly, my fellow Grey’s watchers?) knocked out his immune system. And guess what lurks in the dark shadows of your body (I’m gonna go with the virus sitting dormant in your ass because it’s an asshole illness) after you get the joyful chicken pox as a kid? That’s right, the shingles virus. The shingles, as will now be affectionately known as The Assholes, showed up on a Thursday and he was diagnosed with The Assholes on Friday.
The day before we were to leave town for a swim meet for the weekend.
Our youngest was not vaccinated yet for the chicken pox and was scheduled to get the needle full of chicken pox detonators that following Tuesday. So we went into full blown quarantine mode. I’m talking “press the red button and everyone clear the fuck out of the pathway of Dad” mode. This meant he had to stay home and I’d be packing up three kids and jumping into a car the following morning at 5am for a quick 2.5 hour drive. No big deal, right?!
WRONG. Have you ever been in a car with three kids alone? You are outnumbered. You are not safe. You will be eaten alive. I’m just kidding, the car ride was the easy part. I may be the World’s Okayest Mom (check the tumbler) but I’m not a terrible parent. I can expertly pull down the TV while driving and also make sure the oldest climbs into the back of our pimped out minivan to hand off a bottle to the tiny one. And yes, when I say I am not a terrible parent, I mean I outsource a lot of work onto the kids because why else did I have them?! Again, kidding. Sort of.
Similar to my Half Ass Halloween, I’m gonna give you a script. (Did you like that plug?)
Car ride: “Are we in the car for a long time, Mom?” Said by my middle child about 432 times before 9am. I did not have coffee as I didn’t want to stop on the side of the road and pee. Instead, I chugged some 5 Hours.
We arrive at Auburn University. Home of the Tigers. Master of terrible parking construction and 24 degree weather.
The swimmer (and the reason why we are on this trip) is already 15 minutes late for warm ups. I don’t care because they warm up for an hour and the meet doesn’t start for another 1.5 hours so SHE CAN GET OVER IT.
This is the list of all the shit we had:
A Yeti 20 cooler (the mini one, but you can sit on it! I forgot a chair)
A weekender bag full of shit. No really, anything you can possibly imagine needing will go into this bag. It’s my Mary Poppins bag, and that woman was magic so clearly I’m magic.
3 kids. One is 13 so she has some muscles. One is 5 so she basically can dramatically only carry a coloring book and can even find that too difficult to manage. One is one.
She is useless to us this morning. She sits in the stroller.
We haul everything up to the indoor pool. Granted, it’s an NCAA sized pool and allows a huge upper deck area that gives me room to set up a playpen and the cooler to sit on without the risk of kids tripping over our stuff. I just stick out my leg on purpose for that, obviously.
Swimmer goes off to, well, swim. We prepare ourselves for the next 7 hours. Thank GOD my sister-in-law is at the meet as well. We exchange pleasantries and brace ourselves for the fun of waiting 2 hours between events where our kids swim for about 2 minutes, tops. Swimming is awesome. It’s like football except the game is about 1.3 seconds long. And they only kick and punch the water. Crazy, right?!
Middle Child Syndrome My five year old sets up shop playing in the playpen with the baby. We are doing pretty good. The key here is to bring lots of snacks. Kids love snacks. They love snacks more than they love you. I show my love in the form of applesauce and baby food pouches. The baby gets pureed carrot all over her shirt by 10am. 5 year old eats her Lunchable and all other snacks by 11am. We don’t get done until 2pm. It’s fine. Really. I even squeezed in some time to crochet while pretending my children aren’t whining that they want more food. I lost count of how many times the baby shat herself.
The baby naps at 10am every day. Today she will not nap. Why? Oh, because there are 1000 people in an indoor pool, whistles blowing, and horns honking telling kids to dive into the pool. It’s fine. I really enjoy the reminder that my kid has strong lungs. She’s a champion screamer. Did I mention she also learned to arch her back really strong and whenever I tried to hold her people thought I was stealing a baby?
We finally leave. We go to lunch at Taziki’s, as is our tradition every year we have done the meet. Baby makes a gagging sound that follows with a large burp and hilarity ensued. We got ice cream from one of those oldey timey pharmacies and we all get a sugar high on legit ice cream.
Then comes the hotel fun. I send our oldest inside to the hotel to head up to the room with the baby while I park. Middle child goes inside after her. Oldest child didn’t know. When I walked into the hotel with some of our stuff a few minutes later, middle child is wandering the lobby with the saddest fucking face I have ever seen and I instantly want to punch the teenagers staring at her not even bothering to ask her if she’s lost. I immediately drop all my shit and run to her and want to buy her every Barbie and Lego in the world to never see that scared look on her face ever again.
We unload. Then I
escape go to Walmart because guess who forgot pants? Me. Guess who forgot a shirt? The baby. When will this one year old learn how to pack?! Christ.
$175 later…don’t ask. I found yarn. It happens. I also bought a new wardrobe for the 5 year old who constantly has a buttcrack hanging out of all her pants that don’t fit.
Then we can’t find any food that delivers. We are so over loading and unloading in the car that I go to Jim and Nick’s and just buy all the delicious BBQ I possibly can. When I get back, we eat in the dark hotel room because that’s the only way the baby will fall asleep. No really, TV off and we just kind of stare at each other while eating BBQ on a hotel bed and desk.
You know that book, “Go the f*ck to sleep!”? That’s the first time I softly, gently, and lovingly whispered it to my child that night. I was at THAT point in my day.
We all fell asleep at 8pm CT. The next day was a little better and the meet didn’t last as long. We survived. We made it home.
Home. Home of The Assholes disease.
I came in with a spray bottle of hospital grade disinfectant and sprayed every door handle, knob, sink, and any other nonporous surface I could find. I vinegared the shit out of the couch cushions just in case. Washed every pillow and blanket. I was NOT about to have The Assholes all up in my face.
Did I mention The Assholes was in my husband’s face and not his back? My husband looked like someone threw boiling water on half his face then knocked him out with the pot. His poor, handsome face was now a thing of nightmares. Sorry, babe, I love you but that was a real “in sickness and in health” moment. He was miserable. He had to take horsepills and the guy already chokes on Advils so he was using a butcher knife to cut those bad boys in half. He was also in the worst pain of his life. And this is the guy who has had jaw surgery and takes pucks to arms and legs regularly as a goalie.
HOWEVER. He still will say it was not NEARLY as bad as Hand, Foot, Mouth disease. It is still the Devil’s Disease to him and he’d have the shingles all over again in order to never get HFM again. Oh right, I forgot to mention that you can totally get the shingles again and again. It’s not like the chicken pox one and done deal. Ain’t that a bitch, huh?!
Anyway, let’s wrap this up.
Fast forward two weeks, a chicken pox vaccine, and two colds by my oldest and myself later, I think we are good right now. I’m gonna go knock on about 14 pieces of wood and also bang my head into them for good measure. So far no sign of any chicken pox and our house is, like, super clean for the first time in 7 years. You could lick a door handle and be safe. Just kidding, that’s disgusting and I just gagged typing that.
The end. For now. Pray for us.
Let’s add the fact that we ended up with 3 days extra with the kids thanks to MLK and snow days. I emailed myself a quote that I caught myself saying because I couldn’t even believe how far gone my brain went:
“Woah, you dropped your spoon into your cereal!” Says Mom in fake amazement because apparently my 5 year old thinks it takes talent to do this.
Sigh. I would never be a good stay at home mom. Shoutout to you SAHM’s. You are loved and appreciated by us moms who shove the thought of “I can’t wait to escape” out of our minds every 5 minutes. I love my kids so much, I promise. I suck. I’m the worst.