I think that I became a real parent today.
It’s because I had the boy bent over the toilet, puking and puking and puking, and I had Thing 2 in his crib, screaming for some attention, and I was running back and forth between them, and at 4:00 this afternoon, I realized I hadn’t even eaten.
Unless you count a cup of coffee as eating, which I don’t. I hadn’t even taken the time to unwrap a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup (which the boy cannot eat, because of PEANUT ALLERGY! PEANUT ALLERGY!) and enjoy it’s poisonous goodness. (Hubs and I take all the poisonous, peanut-filled candy out of the boy’s bag every year. It’s the candy tax for everything that we do for him during the other 364 days.)
Life tends to be a bit easier when you just have an ONLY CHILD, and he’s sick. My hats are officially off to every mother who has juggled multiple children, with a heavy dose of the throwing up tossed in there.
But yes. The boy was plum fine last night, and he ran the streets, requesting free candy from strangers with his wolf pack. At 4:00 this morning, I woke up to the sound of someone barfing in my house.
Our official diagnosis is Strep Throat. I’ve obviously seen enough Gray’s Anatomy to pronounce a verdict, because I knew it was the Strep before the test even confirmed it, and yet I had to make the insurance co-payment on our doctor’s visit today, because the pharmacy wouldn’t fill a prescription based on MAMA KNOWS HE HAS THE STREP, SO WHAT’S THE PROBLEM HERE?
(Just think what I could accomplish in the world if I’d watch some Law and Order.)
Anyway. We have the antidote for Strep Throat. With the antibiotics flowing freely, I predict a full recovery within the next twenty-four hours.
Halloween ’12 was a good one. I taught PE all afternoon, and I feel badly that y’all will never know the noise level of being locked in a gym with eighteen 3rd graders who are dressed in their costumes, hopped up on sugar, and anxiously awaiting their afternoon party.
Last night, Hubs and I took our boys trick-or-treating. Or rather, we took ONE of our boys trick-or-treating, because apparently, when you hit the junior high, you no longer desire to have your parents trailing you while you roam the streets and encourage home owners to just go on ahead and put the chocolate in your pillowcase, and NEVER MIND THOSE DISGUSTINGLY HARD TOOTSIE ROLLS.
The boy joined the wolf pack for all the treat-getting. That’s him, clear on the right. He was Davy Jones, from the Pirates of the Caribbean movie. The reason that I know this is because he told me no fewer than three hundred times that he was Davy Jones from Pirates of the Caribbean. And yes. The mask weighs more than the boy does. His grandmother bought it for him, and his heart beat extra loudly from all the JOY, JOY, JOY, DOWN IN HIS HEART.
And then, after the pack posed for a quick photo opp, they took off. My heart was nearly yanked out of my chest as I watched the boys walk off. How on earth did they ever get so big?
My little boyfriends hung out with us all evening and even offered to give me the candy they didn’t like. Sadly, the candy they didn’t like was also classified as candy that I didn’t like, and they decided not to sign any contracts that might relinquish their chocolate to me.
And look! At 6:00 last night, the boy was the picture of health!
And that was how Halloween ’12 shook down. I’ve been awake since 4:00 this morning. I have cleaned up more puke in one day than some mothers clean up all year. I have pushed the fluids and given out Tylenol and stood in a non-moving line at the pharmacy for too long. All the creative has left me, and this blog post turned out to be heavy on BORING tonight.
But, before I sign off, I have to show you one more snapshot. On Tuesday night, I went to Bible study with Beckie. We listened to Beth Moore preach a word, while we drank Starbucks’ best brew out of white paper cups. I had left my three boys at home, and they were determined to carve the annual pumpkin together.
This is how it turned out:
When Mama is away from home, the testosterone flows, and Jack doesn’t always turn out to be a gap-toothed, grinning Jack-o’-Lantern of the FRIENDLY variety. Because Mama wasn’t home to oversee things and to shout out, “Keep Halloween friendly,” Jack wound up in a bar fight and got a kitchen knife to the side of his head.
I’m pretty sure that he’s going to need more than antibiotics.