My life has a touch of insanity to it. I think anyone with three small children will agree. Normal is just not a state we find ourselves in often. Well, maybe since what we experience on a regular basis could be defined as normal, you could say that our normal is not the same normal that other people feel is normal. And since I never know what to expect each day, maybe you could say that since my family never does the same thing the same way, we don’t even have a normal. Except maybe screaming and whining. I digress.
It’s so hard as a parent. It’s hard when you have a kid…or kids…who are not mellow or compliant or “easy”. It’s hard when you can’t read your kids minds so you don’t know why they’re upset half the time. It’s hard when you look at your kids and all the naughty things they’re are doing and realize you’re looking into a mirror and seeing a three year old reflection of your own pity parties and tantrums. You know what is easy? To focus on all the bad and get caught up in the busyness of it all and forget to just enjoy moments.
Like I said, my life is insane. While prepping for a birthday party, my son pukes all over me and the living room couch and rug. When his sister comes down with the same illness, I can’t check her temperature because he had flung the thermometer into the toilet, the day before, in protest because we were trying to get him to pee standing up. I mean, seriously, I wish I could pee standing up! It’s easier and more comport able then stripping down half naked and sitting backwards on the toilet (which is how he pees right now). Sasquatch practices her piano and for her first song, she plays beautifully without difficulty. But of course 5 minutes later she forgets how her hands work and can’t even play one bar of an easier song. You wonder, is she trying to get attention? Has she honestly suddenly forgotten how to play? Should I be firm and push her…or back off and let her figure it out on her own? I tell Urpling to go put something away, and it’s always a surprise as to where it will end up. The garbage…the bathroom counter…outside in the wood pile…the possibilities are endless. Also, any conversation with King Toot goes like this:
King Toot, “Look, airplane!”
Me, “Is that an airplane?”
King Toot, “No! Airplane!”
His no can mean no…and his no can mean yes. So when trying to figure out the cause when he’s upset is a puzzle. Does he mean no when he says no…or yes?
I take down Christmas decorations and King Toot puts the stockings on his feet. It’s adorable…he then proceeds to pee a lake onto the living room carpet (thankfully he had taken the stockings off).
All this to say, my life is insane. I struggle with envy of parents who have kids who listen and play quietly. Parents who can walk past the nursery at church and not see their son on time out most of the time. Parents who can drop their kids off and not feel guilty that you are probably inflicting emotional damage on the workers having to care for your kids…only to realize you have to care for these kids 24/7 and who is tending your emotional welfare. Parents who will hear a kid screaming as their dragged inside…while sitting in the worship service at church…and never worry (forget worry, never have to know) it’s their kid throwing a tantrum at being brought inside. Parents who have to battle it out with their kid every few minutes. I’m jealous of people without kids who don’t have to worry about babysitter. Who don’t have to try to decipher why a kid is screaming, or how best to handle defiance, or wonder how badly they’re screwing up the life of another living and breathing person.
But I love my kids. I admit, I don’t always like my kids, but I always love them. They are sparkly, full of personality, and adorable. They love people. Genuinely love ALL people. Cranky people glaring at everyone in the store will still have my kids smiling, waving, and yelling hi at them. They are hilariously funny. I swear, I’m going to record just one family dinner and post it so you can see how insane and hilarious these kids are.
So here’s my long rant about how hard it is. But it’s still good. I guess I wanted to throw this out there for solidarity…that I’m not the only one struggling with this. That other parents might read this and not feel alone in their struggles. And mainly just to remind myself that “this too shall pass”.




I’ve been vacillating back and forth on whether to write anything about the Ferguson situation. I’ve experienced a wide range of thoughts and emotions. These may or may not be fully coherent…but I’ll do my best to form a cohesive thought process for you and try to limit the rambling.
1. I just had a hysterectomy. I am on several pain medications. So this may sound intelligent and well thought out in my head and be in reality incoherent and unintelligible.
2. I stay vague about where I live and who I am. Mainly to protect both my husband, and those he has dealt with on the job. I don’t want to tarnish someone’s good name because of some poor choices they made one day. But I can say I do not live in Ferguson. I don’t know what the day to day life was and is like there. This is the perspective of an outsider peering in through little nooks and crannies. Take it with a grain of salt.
3. I am not black. I have not experienced what it is like to have people afraid of me merely by the color of my skin. This doesn’t mean I can’t have insight, or can’t empathize. But it does mean I can’t fully grasp the struggles that the black people of America experience. I’m acknowledging this, and want everyone to be aware that I have no pretenses that I have the answers here.

Disclaimers are now over. Now for some of my thoughts. My initial reactions have been from that of a police officer’s wife. My husband is an amazing and godly man. He does his job to the best of his ability. He takes it seriously, and wants to enforce justice and protect the innocent. He is not in it to abuse power or exercise authority. Most officers I know (which are obviously quite a few) are similar. Obviously I don’t respect them as much as my husband. Because my husband is amazballs (typo is on purpose) and no one compares to him. But I respect them all and their judgement. They have difficult jobs. They have to drudge through the worst of humanity and somehow approach it expecting the best. We don’t want callous and unfeeling men and women in law enforcement. We don’t want them to not care, because that is when true police brutality will begin to occur. When they have become hardened and no longer care about those whom they were supposed to protect. We do need to do something to add support to our officers. To show them that the community appreciates their hard work and appreciates those officers who do their duty to the best of their ability. This is a conversation we need to have in America.
As the story unfolded I formed my own opinions about what happened. I will not share them here. This is not about posing blame or stating unequivocally what happened. I think I covered it fairly well in the disclaimers that I don’t know what happened. We all have our opinions. I’m keeping mine to myself for now. Why? Because our nation is hurting. The rioting, the looting, the anger and hatred I see spewing from all sides. This is a nation that is wounded. It seems appropriate that I am laying in bed working through the pain of my own body healing, as I see how our own nation needs healing at the same time. We need rest. We need to take things slow. We need to find the root issues and fix them. I have no answers for government. I don’t think laws will fix this. Legislation will not solve hurt and pain. They are merely external forces. Something needs to happen internally for us to heal. I joke that my hysterectomy was the removal of my evil organ. We need to do something similar in America. We need to remove the hate and anger. We need to have an internal change of heart before things will get better.
How do we look at each other? This is what it comes down to. This seems to be a convicting theme God had been drilling into me over several weeks now. The term image-bearers of God has come up several times…from multiple sources. My pastor preached on it a couple of weeks ago. He spoke of abortion, and also suicide and euthanasia. Mainly, that our culture no longer views everyone as valuable. If we have lost our health. If we are disabled. We somehow have lost our value and it becomes okay for you to want to end your life. This quote stuck with me, “Terminating treatment is different from terminating life”. I realized in my own mind it didn’t seem so bad that someone who has terminal cancer would want to end their life while it is still “worth living”. But what does that say about how I view the lives of those who are infirm? Are they less valuable? Are they somehow no longer made in the image of God? It shocked me to realize I had let myself down that path. Then this whole thing in Ferguson happened. I was looking for a way to process what was happening. I had thoughts and ideas on how people should be acting. Then I read this post written by Voddie Bauchum. What an incredible view! This man has been through so much, and to still act with grace and dignity…he is a better person than I am. Here is a quote from the article, “However, I have come to realize that it was no more ‘the system’ when white cops pulled me over than it was ‘the system’ when a black thug robbed me at gunpoint. It was sin! The men who robbed me were sinners. The cops who stopped me were sinners. They were not taking their cues from some script designed to ‘keep me down.’ They were simply men who didn’t understand what it meant to treat others with the dignity and respect they deserve as image bearers of God.” It convicted me. Oh, how I’ve been convicted. I admit, I looked down on the looters and rioters. Because they were not acting in a godly manner. They were hurting others, and hurting their own cause. I still do NOT condone their actions. But they deserve my love and compassion anyway. Why? Because they bear the image of God! God created each one of them. He fashioned every molecule in their body. He chose every hair on their head. He collects every tear they have cried. Their pain hurts Him. It hurts Him, and thus it should hurt me. I am not saved because of what I have done. God didn’t rescue me from sin based on my merit. My love should be equally unconditional! It makes a great sound bite. But it is difficult to practice.
Our country needs to learn to love. On both ends. Not love that is conditional. I cannot expect people to reasoned out of deep pain. But God’s love can heal all manner of wounds. So I ask the Christian community. Love. Love those you don’t understand, you don’t agree with. Love people who are sinning, who mistreat you, who antagonize you. We can either fuel the hate and anger with self-righteous superiority (no matter what side you agree with) or we can calm the storm with a love that only God can give. Which will you choose?
I’ll leave you with some verses I’ve been pondering:
Matthew 5:43-48 “You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect.”
Luke 6:35-36: “But love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back. Then your reward will be great, and you will be children of the Most High, because he is kind to the ungrateful and wicked. Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.”
1 Corinthians 13:1-7: “If I speak in the tongues of men or of angels, but do not have love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.
Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.”
Ephesians 2:8-19: “For it is by grace you have been saved, through faith—and this is not from yourselves, it is the gift of God— not by works, so that no one can boast. For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.”

Top 10 ways my life is more awesome now that I have kids.


So…I was pondering today about some of the ways kids have changed my life. I’ll be honest, they drive me insane sometimes. Being an introvert, I love my personal space and time in my head…which has significantly decreased since bearing offspring. But some things have indeed improved. It’s nice to ponder them on occasion.
So here is my top 10 list of how my life has indeed improved since I had these three small bundles of emotion:

10. I get to drive in the HOV lane. There is a perk to never, ever, ever, ever, ever, ever being alone. I don’t often have to sit in traffic. In fact, to drive to my sister’s house or to see my parents there is a HOV lane that runs practically from my front steps to their driveway…or something like that.

9. Built in remote control. One of my favorite Weird Al songs on his new album is “Inactive”. The lyrics run something like this:
The TV’s on, I really hate this show
I can’t reach my remote control
Welcome to my new place, to my new place
Sorry it’s a cramped space, but it’s my place
I’m really inactive, I’m so inactive
I’m really inactive, highly inactive
(Yankovic, 2014)
Yeah…except thanks to my kids my problem isn’t that I can’t reach my remote control. I don’t even know where it is. But that doesn’t really matter since two out of my three children can work our electronic devices better than I can. No need to get up to change the channel…my kids can do that.

8. It’s like having a slightly incompetent assistant. Very well meaning, yet incompetent assistants. My kids love to help me. Of course it usually takes ten minutes of explanations before Urpling can figure out where the object I need her to fetch is (spoiler alert: it was next to her left foot). But I still have a plethora of small human beings at my disposal to fetch and carry things for me.

7. Cable has been rendered unnecessary. Dinner at our house is better than any reality TV show. We had friends over for dinner tonight, and between King Toot’s dramatic refusal to eat one slice of carrot and Sasquatch belching in someone’s face with such force that would put a middle-school boy to shame, the entertainment was non-stop. Life is full of enough bizarre scenarios, cheesy dialogue, and slap-stick comedy to fill several channels for years to come.

6. Pushy vendors avoid eye contact in the mall. You know the ones…they have the little vending stands in the hallways and pounce on you to give you a sales pitch. Well, I walk by with my entourage of small children where Sasquatch is twirling and prancing like a ballerina, Urpling is running all over the place yelling, “look at me!”, and King Toot is screaming because we wouldn’t spend $40 on that Buzz Lightyear doll…not one of them tries to sell me anything. Not only that, if I look at them, they look away and avoid my gaze. It’s wonderful.

5. I get to play with toys. I’ve recently gotten in touch with my inner child. I’ve rediscovered the joys of making forts, coloring in coloring books, dressing up dolls, and playing house. I race cars on racetracks and climb trees. I forgot how much I missed that, and here is a chance to do it all again!

4. The food. I got all responsible and adult like and stopped eating Mac and Cheese, Lunchables, and Goldfish. Now I buy them. Mainly because they are worth their wait in gold when they can get my kids to sit quietly for a few minutes when I’m about to lose it…but the added bonus is that I get to munch on these treats as well. Seriously, goldfish is tasty.

3. Blogging. I love being able to write, and my kids have given me unending amounts of material. Never wrote much before kids (except in college and the topics were a little less amusing. I love not having to cite sources according APA) but now I do, and I get to choose the topic.

2. They make me look good…sometimes. Urpling is obsessed with making my bed recently. I’ve been married 10 years and I’ve never made my bed during all that time. But every morning, Uprling emerges from my room, grabs my hand and says, “Close your eyes!”. She leads me to my room and then yells, “Ta-la!” with a dramatic display with her hands. And there is my bed…maybe not perfectly made but looking a whole lot better than I left it. My kids do things like that for me. (They also scream in public, hit each other, or cover me in various compounds of which I am often scared to examine…but let’s focus on the good here.)

1. The snuggles…and the giggles. Nothing in the entire world will ever match the sound of my kids squealing in laughter, or the feel of their little arms around my neck or waist. King Toot even works it more by gently patting me on my back. Seriously, the feels guys. The feels.

My kids drive me up a wall, but they are my little treasures and sometimes I just need to sit and remember that.

Yankovic, A. (July 15, 2014). Inactive. On Mandatory Fun. [Digital audio]. Los Angeles, California: RCA. (September 4, 2012)

Yes…I just cited Weird Al according to APA style. *puts on glasses* I’ve still got it…

Love for Hire


I took a very long trip a week or so ago. By long, I mean I drove over 5,000 miles, through 15 different states and back, with my three small children, in a tiny car, all by myself. Sir Smiley flew out to the ultimate destination for a few days and flew home. When I got back I experienced a drain that I have never experienced before. I’m an introvert who spent over two weeks with absolutely no time to myself. Add that to the fact that I had an ablation three days before I left means I was physically tapped out. I had no energy reserves…mentally, emotionally, or physically. The result was a very disconcerting week. I have always struggled with feelings of self doubt…but they always sit in the back, hidden. But I was faced with a situation that brought it glaringly to the surface. I was so exhausted that I was relying on my husband and others to do it all while I kept having to sit and rest. The kicker was there was no real medical condition, no surgery or illness, to justify my “laziness” (as in my mind that is how it felt).

I could no longer earn love. I had to just receive it.

I’ll let that sink in because I am betting that a lot more of us suffer from this than would care to admit. Those of us who keep a hidden tally, a mental scorecard, and make sure they’re always ahead. Who work so hard to keep others happy so that in the end any affection and love they receive they can be comfortable with…knowing that they deserve it.

But this is the complete opposite of what God wanted. So far from the truth. As Martin Luther put it, “The sin underneath all our sins is to trust the lie of the serpent that we cannot trust the love and grace of Christ and must take matters into our own hands.”. I was falling prey to this sin. I had never felt so vulnerable when I realized how much I was motivated by this very wrong perception. I knew the truth in my head, but wasn’t following it with my heart.

And beyond earning my husband’s love, I wanted to earn God’s love. But to rely on my own actions and behaviors is an unstable place to rest. Every mistake, every moment of weakness is more crushing because I’m resting my worthiness on actions I can never fully live up to. In a way, I’m treating other people as though I have to buy their love in some way. Their love is for hire…and I want to be the highest bidder.

Of course, I didn’t see how much I was relying on myself and what I do to create my worth until I couldn’t do anything. I didn’t see because also thrown in the mix is my honest love for God, for my husband, for my kids, for my friends and family. In part, I do things for them because I love them. There is nothing wrong with that. I will continue to do things out of love for them. But I need to learn to accept their love. Not a love that is a response to what I’ve done…but a love that is a response to who I am. I can only accept love when I accept the truth. God loves me. He will not love me any less if I mess up. He will not love me more if I achieve some new level of greatness. He will feel pride and pleasure in my accomplishments, and will be my unwavering support when I fall. He does not love me because I am involved in my church. I could be a CEO (Christmas and Easter Only) Christian and he would love me the same. He does not love me more than others who “do” less. If I can truly learn to accept this truth, the more free I will become to love Him back…and other’s as well.



It’s a new year and already I’ve had a few fun moments. Like trying to explain our evening prayer and then glancing at Urpling who has a deep look of concentration…looks at me…and then says, “Look what I can do!” and proceeds to stick her entire fist in her mouth. Or going in to the girls’ room to fix their night light and having Sasquatch announce as she’s shielding her eyes from the sudden light, “The light in our room is brighter than the sun!”
I spent a good amount of time looking through old pictures. So as a walk through the previous year as we move on to a new one, here are my favorites:

This picture makes me laugh every time I see it.

I love the faces. It captures them so well…



Sasquatch is ready for some good ol’ fashioned paintball!

Mom, look at what I can do! Ummm…very….nice sweetie…

I’m ready for my close up…

I think he liked it.

Ummm….why is he all wet?


At least it wasn’t the toilet…

No year is complete without a tea party.




I thought, “I don’t have any pictures of all three kids together!”. Then I remembered why…

It’s always good to share.

Oh good heavens, what is that?!

Phew. A person.

That post had it coming.

Never let a two year old lock themselves in the bathroom. Thankfully this was the worst of the damage…that I’ve found…

Sasquatch’s manger scene. I think Woody really nailed his role as Joseph…

…and the baby angels were a nice touch.

Hope you enjoyed my trip down memory lane!

Winter Break


This post has no clear topic. Just a rambling of all the randomness. But that randomness happened during our “winter break” so I figured it was adequate enough to sum up whatever bizarre things I end up typing about. I’m in a weird mood by the way. A little cantankerous like an old woman sitting on her porch harassing passed bys for sport. Oh, and my autocorrect is on crack. So that may add some spice. I may just skip proof reading this so you can experience my horrific grammar and spelling in all it’s glory. (I promise that I have NOT been drinking, and I did actually end up proof reading this…and you should thank me).
Anyway, I was looking forward to break. I was taking a break from my training, taking a break from counting calories, no school to bring kids to, no Bible studies to get to. I was going to relax and do all those fun, Donna Reed has discovered Pinterest type projects with my kids. We were going to be a fun and picture perfect family for once. I was going to reorganize stuff, bake toffee for everyone I knew, and start 2014 with a clean slate. Then this happened. Sasquatch and Urpling got the stomach flu which took them several days to recover from. If you didn’t bother clicking on the link and reading it because that was sooooo 2007, then let me restate the final sentence, “But it is Christmas Eve and thankfully we all seem to be recovered and healthy and able to celebrate this wonderful season together without any more issues.”. To which I say “HA! Joke’s on you crazy jinx myself lady!”. Because the next morning after writing this blog, I wake up to celebrate my absolute favorite of holidays, made monkey bread, and then raced to the bathroom. Did something I eat disagree with me? I felt fine after this incident so I decided “mind over matter” and we headed to my parents. I always allow myself to splurge on holidays when it comes to food, otherwise I might as well just die because life loses all meaning…or something like that. But my glorious feast consisted of a dollop of mashed potatoes and some cherry jello. I was still doing okay…just not hungry (which should have been a sign for me)…and it hit me. The flu. Not just stomach stuff, but full blown chills/sweats/full body aches/migraine flu. The kind that makes you feel so miserable that you want to write out your last will and testament because you will surely die. Then you remember you already have one, so you just relax and wait for the inevitable white light to guide you home. Only that actually would have been much more peaceful. I couldn’t sleep because I hurt so much. I felt like I had just completed the ironman with no prior training. The next day I felt a million times better, even though I still had a fever and achiness. By the end of the day I was feeling almost normal. Yay! But then I actually ate something for the first time in two days. Big mistake. I was worshiping at the porcelain alter every hour for the next twelve. I felt like a baby…who eats nothing and poops constantly. Where does it come from? Like the magic trick with the handkerchief up the sleeve it just kept coming and coming, beyond all logic.
Long story even longer, I finally recovered. But my mom even had to come help with the kids because I was so sleep deprived that I was afraid the children would do themselves harm while I lay drooling on the sofa in a comatose state. So a week has now gone by without anything fun or even remotely Donna Reed-like. Then we have three days of health. I play games, and start making that toffee for everyone I know. Then the next day I see King Toot on my spot on the couch. I lean over to pick him up and get a wiff. Whoooo! Someone needs a diaper change! I pick him to see nothing but massive amounts of brown. AHHHHHHHHHHHH,!!!!! I can never sit there again! The horror! I clean him up. He the proceeds to have stomach issues. Little tiny squirts every half hour or so, accented with big massive blow outs (much like morse code) that create yet another load of laundry, carpet cleaners to earn their keep, and a plethora of baths. This lasted two days. Then he finally started eating again and I rejoiced. We were almost done! Only to wake up at four in the morning to him crying. Thinking he had pooped, I checked his diaper. Thankfully, it was dry. Relief only lasted a moment as I pondered the strange aroma emanating from my son. I investigate mores lock luck. (wow…I wrote “more closely” CORRECTLY…and autocorrect changes it into that. It’s definitely on crack). King Toot has puked large chunks of partially digested chicken nuggets and banana. Thankful it didn’t have a potent smell, I again bathed him, and cleaned his bedding. Two more days of morse code pooping led to a raw bottom so that he could hardly walk but thankfully no more barf. I have now finished my winter break and he has been healthy for all of two days and still hasn’t pooped normally. So much for a break. We did snuggle a lot as we watched an endless parade of movies while some person was too ill to do much of anything else.

I really don’t post this to complain. As they say, Flu happens…or something like that. But I have been a complete flake. People text me and I don’t even remember. I agree to do things and then remember three days after the date passes. So this tale of woe is an attempt to earn pity from all my friends that I’ve deprived and insulted. Just know that I love you all and I will not let this get me down. Also, that your toffee will be coming. But I figured only a douche would make her friends homemade candy that is made with love, butter, sugar, and the wonderful microbes of stomach flu.

Note: Some positive things did happen. We had a wonderful Christmas Eve looking at lights while the girls hung out the sunroof yelling “Merry Christmas!” to everyone. Sir Smiley and I went on a date to Fogo De Chao. The oasis of joy for all meat lovers, the closest thing to heaven I have yet to experience. They walk around with meat on skewers…high quality meats…of all kinds. Cuts of lamb, sirloin, pork, chicken, filet mignon, etc. We have coasters and when we flip them to green, the meat keeps coming. when were done, we flip them to red. I finished with filet mignon wrapped in bacon. BACON! We also saw The Hobbit. We got to go to a New Years party at a friends house and had a blast. Overall, it was a good vacation and I did get in a ton of snuggles. It was actually a relief to get back into my routine and almost easier and more restful after all that.



I warn you: this is not for the weak of stomach!

Merry Christmas Eve! To celebrate I’m going to rant about the stomach flu. Tis the season, right? Sarcasm aside…I plan on a truly proper Christmas post tomorrow. But after this weekend I felt the need to rant a bit to get it out of my system. For any parent who has had to deal with the stomach flu, you will truly understand and sympathize with my pain. For those who haven’t, this will be a warning of what is to come. My goal for any Christmas is to get all the “stuff” (errands, chores, etc.) out of the way so that the days leading up to Christmas are calm and fun. Just hanging out as a family. Things were going according to plan until Saturday rolled around. The first signs of the ominous future came that morning. We had a kids dash for the kids. They were whiney all morning and it was a fairly miserable experience. King Toot was his usual, stubborn, difficult, defiant self. But the surprise was how Urpling and Sasquatch were acting. A they love races and usually have a lot of fun. But Sasquatch complained about how cold she was (it was in the 50s and 60s *roll eyes*) and Urpling kept complaining that her side hurt so I assumed she had a stitch in her side. But when we got home she didn’t want lunch and went right to bed. The other two only ate a smattering of food and then also went to bed. When Urpling got up hours later, she still didn’t want to eat. By the time dinner rolled around she seemed to be doing okay. We all sat down to eat…and then all of the sudden she started shrieking and heaving. Then it came…like a waterfall…all over her plate, her shoulder, the tablecloth, her chair, the floor, and then two other plates. To say I lost my appetite was an understatement. I cleaned her up, cleaned the plates, wiped down the chair and the floor, rinsed her hair out and changed her clothes….and threw away the table cloth (it was plastic and I couldn’t bring myself to try and get it clean knowing I would always be slightly queasy looking at it). King Toot found the experience hilarious and grabbed his food and started eating before I could stop him…giggling the entire time.
Urpling lays on the couch with a bucket and makes it several hours until bed puke free. Of course we get her into bed and she starts crying. I tell her to sit up and lean over the bucket. She sits up…and then projectile vomits in a perfect arc….over the bucket. Not a drop gets in the bucket and it ends up all over the floor. So I get out the carpet cleaner and shampoo the carpet..thoroughly. Thankfully, she finally goes to sleep and doesn’t puke again.
But then I wake up at 1:30 to her standing my bed yelling, “Mom! Mom! Mom! (Sasquatch)!”. Then she runs to daddy’s room (who was finally home) as I was still trying to wake up enough to hear what she was saying so obviously I wasn’t reacting quickly enoug. She fetches daddy and he enters the room…and exclaims in horror. Here’s his status describing the horror that awaited him: “Vomit EVERYWHERE! I’m going to be upset if I get this. Did we get it into the basket? No. We got it into our hair, pillow, bedspread, pajamas, arms, face, legs, comfortor, sheets, bed frame, and carpet. Then, we scooped it into the basket. Yippee for 1:40am puke.” Yeah. It was horrifying. He had Sasquatch in the bathroom rinsing her hair and body off. He had pealed her pjs off and piled them with her comforter in a pile on the floor. I called to him, “Well at least she got some in the basket!” To which he responded, “No she didn’t! That’s what I scraped off her comforter!”. Ugh. The smell was overwhelming…I had to leave and take deep breaths and hold it while I went in and stripped her bed and cleaned up the floor…grabbed the carpet cleaner…again…and shampooed the carpet….again. She returned to bed and slept for a mother couple of hours before waking up to puke one more time. Then she woke up again a few hours later and said she had to pee…only it wasn’t pee. After her second round of diarrhea, she said, “At least this time I didn’t puke out my mouth, I puked out my bottom!”. It was a long couple of days.
Needless to say I scrubbed everything in the house…and I mean the hopes of preventing the spread of the plague. It seems to have been successful as neither King Toot (who laughed each time this happened…at least when he was awake) nor Sir Smiley nor myself have gotten it…yet. So we have ended up spending the days leading up to this glorious Christmas Eve watching movie after movie in an attempt to keep King Toot from jumping on his sisters, and to keep the poor girls entertained while they lay wallowing in misery on the couches. But it is Christmas Eve and thankfully we all seem to be recovered and healthy and able to celebrate this wonderful season together without any more issues.