Daddy Back

 A frustrating long two weeks for him, and us.

Time enough for him to grow the deployment 'stash.  (sigh)

Worms

Are fantastic according to Ben.

Oh It Was Silly Alright

Bedtime.

Take away all the toys that are going to keep them awake and annoy me time.

Debate about whether the gifted Silly Bandz need to be banned time.

Too tired to fight it time.

And Nicholas, the boy who destroys all things, went to sleep with one of those yellow bandz wrapped around one of those green bandz.

Then the storm came through because it is still monsoon season apparently.

On came their lights because it is so much easier to watch a storm out the window with the lights on...

I talked to a friend on the phone; I took a bath; I was consumed with the book I'm reading; I was lining up things for the morning.

And around 9:45 I decided to put a stop to the party in the boys' room.

We re-tuck and good-night again while I showed an unusual amount of patience taking into account the shock I was in that the girls weren't running around screaming due to all of the thunder and lightening. And then I find out why they had the light on.

"Mommy." (as I click off the light) "I have something in my nose." (gigantic sneeze from Ben)

"Feel better? Good night boys."

"No, mommy! I have something in my nose!"

Click light back on. Inspect nose. Blood.

"What's in your nose?"

"Something."

Nose Inspection, nothing. "Okay, blow." (total disregard for what I'm about to discover.)

"No, Mom. It's a Silly Band," from Nicholas.

"What?"

"Yeah, mom. I put a Silly Band up my nose."

Argh.

Go get a flashlight. Can't figure out how to get the batteries in, fumble. Can't find the tweezers, dig. Drop the Kleenex on the floor; why am I so sore all the time?

Upstairs. In the boys room. Flashlight hanging from my mouth. Benjamin's head cranked back. I start inspecting. Nothing.

"Son. I don't see anything. Did you get it out?"

"No."

More cranking. More flashlight. And there it is--yellow Silly Band I can only see if I pull his nose open in a particular way and flash the light as deep as I can.

Tweezer time.

I maneuver the tweezers about a foot up the boy's nose and pull out a yellow Silly Band, broken, about three turns of the yellow one above.

Nicholas: "Mom! You look like a doctor."

Me: "Well I'm not, so let's not do this foolish stuff anymore so I don't have to pretend that I am."

"Okay mom."

Benjamin: "I'm just so sorry mom."

Yeah, I'll bet you are buddy.

These are about all of the flowers from my garden that are there right now, lovingly plucked and brought to mother.

Later, when Benjamin stealthily moved them to the Transformer cup, I'm thinking he either thought that they needed a new vase or he was trying to hide that he didn't drink his milk.

The Week: Let's Review and Forget

Next week we'll have some long overdue randomness, for now let's enjoy a re-cap of this week...

Being the good mommy that I am, I dismissed Nicholas Monday night at bedtime as delaying when he told me his stomach hurt. I told him if he didn't feel good, he needed to get some sleep. Five minutes later he was in the bathroom throwing up. We were up several times during the night fighting the good fight. Tuesday we hung out together. It was refreshing to have just one four-year-old in the house. I ignored my own swelling throat and got a million things done as he watched cartoons in my bedroom.

Wednesday Nicholas was better, really. I, on the other hand, left work at 11:00 because I felt like junk. I was home and in bed by noon. I got a solid three hours of sleep before daycare called to let me know that Ben had thrown up in the library. I gathered him and we hung out and felt awful together for a little while that afternoon before getting everyone else.

Wednesday night, we hunkered down to bed with little formality, no baths, no stories. Ben came to bed with me in case he got sick during the night. Nicholas said he was scared to sleep alone but passed out quickly and the girls went down fast. Then around 11:00 Alida found me and complained that her pants were wet. Yes they were, wet with throw-up. Cleaned her up, got her back in bed. Two hours later, the same thing again. One hour later a magnificent storm blew through and rocked the house waking us up again and blowing two breakers. Ben looked over at me and asked, "Mommy, what's that racket?" He still hadn't thrown up.

Thursday morning and Elaine was the first out of bed, as usual, but at a late 5:45. She had throw-up caked in her hair. The poor thing had thrown up during the night and didn't even get out of bed. (Oh, yeah did I mention that I'd had my own round of this during the night as well?) I toyed with the idea of taking Nicholas in to school just to get him out of the sick house, but gave up when I realized I could barely move. I laid around half coherent Thursday morning while most of the kids did the same. Nicholas, I discovered later, had found Halloween and Christmas decorations somewhere, unraveled an entire roll of scotch tape, taken off all of his clothes, painted his face like a warrior with my eye-liner, lined up some toilet cleaner and bubble bath in the shower. He had drug out the toilet plunger (did he use it? I don't know), and drug a stool into the extra bedroom and found my one last Chapstick the girls hadn't previously destroyed that I'd hidden high.

By Thursday afternoon we were feeling somewhat better if not still puny. Today, the kids are good--as far as I know, and I'm home licking my wounds. Grandma and grandpa may be re-thinking their weekend visiting plans right about now...

Our First Act of Thievery

But a quick side-note this morning. Alida. When I put on my new, tan wool pants this morning with the smart heels and wool sweater (read dry clean only, which generally means I don't purchase them but this was such a good sale), I had it in my head to be careful not to make any messes today. When I was walking to the car with you in my arms before I put on my coat and my heel stuck in the cuff of these wonderful new pants sending me dancing across the driveway, you rolled with it girl. When I somehow managed to dance my way across the driveway, fly into the air and perform a mid-air barrel roll to save you from being hurt when we landed in that snow in the yard that I managed to fling myself and you in to, you laughed. Then your dad laughed and took delight in telling everyone he could find at daycare to be careful because it was slippery today. That was our morning. Let's hope our days go better.

Now. Nicholas.

This is the carryout container from dinner the other night. It had used ketchup smeared all over the inside when you stole it from the table and started stashing toys in it. This son does not keep your toys safe; it keeps your toys nasty.

And. When we all six went to the grocery store the other day, you insisted on having some tomatoes, which we certainly aren't going to discourage. Well, actually we are going to discourage it now. Because at check out when you started handing out all of the items from the cart, we didn't really imagine that you had stashed back the tomatoes. And later in the car, we found you holding those tomatoes, and right or wrong we determined that we support Schnucks enough that we weren't morally obliged to go back (but don't think that when you are capable of understanding the lesson, we won't march right back in that store and apologize and pay out of our allowance. But right now, you get a pass for stealing tomatoes.) So. We promptly forgot about those tomatoes until a couple of days later when I remembered them while at work and tried to remind myself to dig them out of the back of the car later. But I forgot. And then a day or so later when your dad was looking through your stashes for something you were screaming for, he ran across your tomatoes. Again son. This is not keeping your toys safe; it is keeping them nasty.

Christmas Baking With Toddlers and Preschoolers

Him: What are those acorns and flowers?

Me: shut up.

The New Weekend Ritual

Alright. Everyone Ready?

Let's Go! That means you too Alida. Come on.

Good job girl. That's right. We're going to church. You need to practice your throwing up face. But please wait until we are a block from there. Then I want at least three of you to send your breakfast back into the world.
Sheesh.

Chicken Flambé

Saturday afternoon. We've been to the zoo in the morning. We've had lunch. It's a lovely afternoon. He takes the boys upstairs and lays down with them to get them to take a nap. I start poaching some chicken for dinner while the ladies sleep.

But the ladies didn't sleep. Apparently the nap was enough in the car on the way home from the zoo, and they are done chattering and now want out of the cribs. I head up to release them. They play in their room while I lay on the couch with my eyes half open, drifting in and out. Mostly I'm brought back to the waking world when a hand clutching a toy beats me in the face and runs away. After a little while, that doesn't even faze me and I just kind of lay there blob like as the girls chatter and run around or climb on top of me and laugh. It was a lovely Saturday afternoon.

And then the fire drill started. He and I met in the hallway in panic as the fire alarms are blaring. We're on the second floor and we can see the smoke already. The chicken. It has gone through all of the water in the pot and started burning on the stove. How long was I up there? I don't even remember. I throw the pot outside, and it burns a mark into the grass. We throw open the windows. He makes fun of me. The boys never wake up. The girls replace the pot in the backyard not missing a beat.

And then I did it.

I cut off the burnt part and made chicken salad. And it wasn't too bad once I covered it in eggs and mayo and seasoning and grapes and bacon and then a little more bacon.

It is now tested. And the Lodge enamel cast iron is amazing at withstanding cooking in our home.

Things Too Miserable To Grab The Camera During and A Confession

Sunday morning I loaded up the children and headed to church. Not only do I believe it is important to take them to church, but I also believe it is important to take me to church. And I cannot say that the two hours of quiet time I was headed toward didn't cement the decision to go it alone.

The road we head down to get to church looks like this. Only it is a bit more curvy. Thankfully when Elaine got car sick there was a different church right off the road to pull into (we do live in the South and there are more than a few churches to choose from.) I cleaned up the girl best I could, changed her into a clean outfit (a beautiful green hand-me-down onsie from her brother that looked perfect with her pink-bowed shoes), and I promised if it happened again we would go home.


It didn't happen again. I assumed car sick. And we went to church. The girls screamed their fool heads off in the nursery, but by the time I came back everyone was smiling and laughing. "The girls had a wonderful morning!" Car sick was cemented in my brain at that moment.



Sunday evening after naps and Popsicles, Alida pukes in the laundry room. Good girl! Such a smart girl to puke right next to the washing machine, on tile floor and you didn't grab at it! Good girl.



Denial Number 2: You must have gotten too hot outside.



Brilliant Idea Number One: Let's go have dinner.



Alida pukes in her high chair. While still over the tile floor, it was all over her and in her tray. That's right, perfect for playing in. And she starts laughing. We spent the evening waiting for more. None.



Brilliant Idea Number Two: Let's have a bottle and go to bed.



Elaine knocks out. Alida pukes. The boys are at least watching a movie. Put Alida on the floor, she passes out in her blanket. Change sheets; change girl. Back to bed.



And all is well. Monday morning breaks. There are smiles. There are no fevers. There is no puking in the land.



Until 3:45 in the afternoon when daycare calls:



"Mrs. Stuber. I'm calling because of Benjamin.



(In my head: thank goodness it wasn't Alida; I've been waiting for that call all day long. He probably broke his arm or something, no big deal.)



He just threw up all over the playground."



Oh. Bother.



Take Ben home to puke again. Nicholas gets mad at all the attention that Ben is getting, and he pukes now too. Although that little man walked right over to the bucket and aimed well. Thank you son. The boys now get all the attention, and the girls are shuttled upstairs to play in the playroom safety zone on their own while we clean up.



Baths all around. Third load of laundry started. Clorox out. Dishwasher started. Everyone in bed.



(Man, I just want to open the mail because there is a box there from the Duke's mom that I really, really want to see.)



Over the racket of every machine in my house chugging along cleaning everything I could fit in a machine, I missed hearing the ruckus upstairs. However, I made it up to check at least before opening that box and found that Nicholas had made the bucket--and the bed and his clothes and the floor. We go out to get new clothes.



"New, new, new clothes mommy?"

"Yes, son."

"Yeah!"



Who are these people that are happy after they puke?



All are cleaned and tucked in bed with new, new, new sheets, blankets and pillows, and I finish cloroxing the entire house and pass out in the extra bedroom that is close to their room, and that box is still sitting there calling to me right now.



Daycare rule: no temp, no problem. As long as they aren't puking. This morning, no one was puking, all were happy, and there were no fevers. We've made it to 11:30 now. We'll see what the rest of the day holds for us.

Confession: I kind of like it when they are sick. They're really sweet and snuggly.

Why There Were No Pictures This Weekend

Because these people sensed I was alone and closed in.

And were relentless.

And I spent most of my weekend staring in the face of this.

Usually four at a time crawling on me.

Snotty noses and all.

What Is Wrong With THese People

Oh, hi. Wha-cha-doin'?
Oh, you already used all the sprinkles, huh? So I can't shake them around and play an instrument. Hmmm.
Oh, hi Ben. Look, there are bubbles over here.Yeah, and I found a buckle in this chair.OOOHHHH! A Chair Buckle!
No thanks.
So maybe they genuinely don't like Rice Krispie Treats? Not so. Grandma brought them last week when she stopped by and they ate them up and smiled at her, and I think I even heard them singing her praises a little bit. Hrumph.

Overheard By Mommy During Bathtime

No. No! That's not what your toothbrush is for.

How Tired Are You?

There should be an amazing story of some sort to go along with that. But there isn't. Why? Because I am so tired that I remember thinking, "That'll leave a mark." But, honestly, I cannot remember how that happened. Cropped out of that photo is my seriously-in-need-of-repair-sole-of-my-foot, which is just too embarrassing to post here.

Oh, I Get It

The reason they don't remember the first couple of years is because their mother can really screw up the whole tradition thing a couple of times. Apple walnut oatmeal will not be part of the tradition. Staying in our pajamas all day and not going out shopping will stay on the day-after-Thanksgiving itinerary however. Well really, staying in our pajamas the whole weekend has felt like a pretty good tradition, especially since the girls seem to have forgotten how to sleep at night after a pretty encouraging start. We got the call at 11:45, 2:10, and 4:00 last night--for no apparent reason what-so-ever.