Unexplored Territory

Sunday, April 30, 2006

WTF?!?!!?!?!

There should be a point in time when a mother can breathe a collective sigh of relief, and thank the vomit gods that she has bypassed a season somewhat unscathed. I mean, after Vomit Fest 2005, I thought we would catch a break with this.

Ha!

The Door Man awoke me this morning at *thankfully* 5:25 "I frew up in bed ... all over."

And he wasn't lying. But the "all over" was, thankfully, contained to the ugly brown reversible throw with the bear on it. That will now give me an excellent reason to rid this house of the monstrosity. This is one of the blankets that you just can't stand to cover up with, let alone put down for a picnic somewhere.

Door Man has gotten sick some more since that, which totally shot to shit my thought that he drank the water at Great Wolf Lodge, or that he drank his chocolate shake from our local ice cream establishment way too fast.

So now this is the waiting game. The thing I hate the most. Waiting for the other two to light up and grace us with either the noise of someone getting sick to their stomach, or the oldest coming in to deliver the same message of doom.

Why can't I have children who don't start puking until they are nine years old? Someone in choir with me said she had to TEACH her then 9 YO how to puke in a trashcan. That can't be us, though. We have to have the Vomit Kids.

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I'm a mom of three peeps ... Queen Bee, The Door Man, and the Chandelier Monkey, and wife to Ace, the Helpful Hardware Man. I created this space to get away from the people known as my inlaws, and because life with three kids and a hubby is all Unexplored Territory.

The nine-year-old who seems to be growing older every minute, has an opinion and a comment for everything, and has a true servant's heart.

The seven-year-old who loves the organization of things, will someday be someone's therapist because of his kind soul, and will more than likely be living with us until he is 40 years old.

The five-year-old with the 13-year-old attitude, who has a dictator's personality, asks you to watch her all the time and say "hold on" to keep your attention, and will someday come home on the back of some dude's motorcycle with 10 tatts and a body piercing or two.

The man of the house, the fixer of things, the winner of prizes, and the only person in his family to escape the South.