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So last night THIS happened.
It was the evening after the first day back to school after Thanksgiving break. I don't know if my kids were overtired or just letting out steam after the first day of having to sit still and obey after five days of freedom - if you can call five days of nonstop family time freedom (which I definitely do not, but that's another story) - but my children were CRAZY. Like, they needed straight jackets because they were bouncing off the walls crazy.
Also, needy. It had taken me four hours to empty the dishwasher and fold a load of laundry because every time I turned around someone needed me to:
feed them
change them
clean up something they'd spilled
break up a fight,
kiss their boo-boo after they fell off of the train table (which, for the record, I'd told them NOT to sit on three times before the fall happened, making my kiss more of a told-you-so moment than a tender one),
hold their hand while they pooped.
One day I will have daughters-in-law who think that they are more important to their husband than I am. To those women I will say, "Have you held his hand while he had a bowel movement and then wiped his ass?"
I hope to G-d the answer is "no" because if it is "yes" then she has other, bigger issues that extend far beyond her relationship with me for putting up with that shit.
Literally.
Anyway, it was a night that was trying my patience in a BIG WAY. The Husband was at a Browns game and wouldn't be home until much later which sucked way more than if he'd just been out of town for work. Because you know, he was having fun, and I was refereeing the hunger games.
Anyway, it was a night that was trying my patience in a BIG WAY. The Husband was at a Browns game and wouldn't be home until much later which sucked way more than if he'd just been out of town for work. Because you know, he was having fun, and I was refereeing the hunger games.
Some would be quick to point out that sitting outside and watching the Cleveland Browns was more of a punishment than a reward but when you hear what happened next, you might find it hard to accept that logic.
So. It was 7 o'clock, the kids had been fed an incredibly wholesome meal of ramen noodles and pickles, which if nothing else fulfilled their RDA of sodium, like, for the month, and I decided it was time for a bath. They weren't particularly dirty, and had all been bathed the night before, but I was out of ideas on how to keep them from killing each other before the night was over. Plus, Kid #3 was walking around without a diaper and KID #2 had left his pants in the bathroom three hours ago so we were already halfway there.
I put Kid #3 in the bathtub. For those of you not keeping score at home, he's two and a half, now, and he GETS IT. Like, you don't mess with this kid by playing with his toys or eating the goldfish crackers out of his bowl. Kid #2 has the bite marks to prove that. As soon as Kid #3 got in the tub he claimed his place in front of the faucet.
Now, I'm not sure if other people's kids are like this, but in our house the most coveted spot at bath time is the one closest to the faucet. Whoever is in that spot gets to control the temperature of the bath, has access to the hot water while it's still hot, and gets a nice little back massage if they're still small enough to fit their body directly beneath the running water, which Kid #3 (kind of) still is.
So. It was 7 o'clock, the kids had been fed an incredibly wholesome meal of ramen noodles and pickles, which if nothing else fulfilled their RDA of sodium, like, for the month, and I decided it was time for a bath. They weren't particularly dirty, and had all been bathed the night before, but I was out of ideas on how to keep them from killing each other before the night was over. Plus, Kid #3 was walking around without a diaper and KID #2 had left his pants in the bathroom three hours ago so we were already halfway there.
I put Kid #3 in the bathtub. For those of you not keeping score at home, he's two and a half, now, and he GETS IT. Like, you don't mess with this kid by playing with his toys or eating the goldfish crackers out of his bowl. Kid #2 has the bite marks to prove that. As soon as Kid #3 got in the tub he claimed his place in front of the faucet.
Now, I'm not sure if other people's kids are like this, but in our house the most coveted spot at bath time is the one closest to the faucet. Whoever is in that spot gets to control the temperature of the bath, has access to the hot water while it's still hot, and gets a nice little back massage if they're still small enough to fit their body directly beneath the running water, which Kid #3 (kind of) still is.
I get it.
What I don't get is why my kids need to fight over this space every. single. night. Call me a socialist, but I think that we should all be able to TAKE TURNS and SHARE the premier seat in the bathtub.
However the words TAKE TURNS and SHARE might as well be the names of my imaginary friends (they're not, they are actually named UNINTERRUPTED PEE and ALONE TIME and I fucking BEG them to hang out with me EVERY DAY but they hardly ever do because they're little bitches) because whenever I say TAKE TURNS and SHARE, my kids stare at me perplexed, as if trying to decipher an elusive code and after about two seconds they tend to give up and go back to punching each other instead.
This should give you a hint as to what happened next.
Kids # 1 and #2 got into the bathtub. Satisfied that all three boys were contained and partially underwater, I went to go put away some laundry in their rooms. I know what you're thinking, "OMG she left three children ALONE in a bathtub." The thing is:
1. Our house is not that big. I could see the kids in the bathtub, or see the reflection of the kids in the bathtub in the bathroom mirror, from every room I was in.
2. Our bathtub is not that big, and after spending a ridiculous amount of money repairing our dining room ceiling after too much water from the upstairs bathroom floor started seeping through, I don't let the water level to reach higher than the kids' laps For one child to drown in this bathtub, the other two would have to be holding him down at the same time. And that would involve much more cooperation and teamwork than any two of my children are capable of at this point.
3. My kids are LOUD. They have no effing volume control. If at any point during their bath things got quiet I would be in that bathroom faster than you can say "what the...."
However, about three minutes into this bath things got louder. And not in a "we are having so much fun getting clean" way. Kid #3 was screaming his head off in a "they're trying to waterboard me" way. But, honestly, he'd been screaming that way all afternoon about stupid shit like "my pop tart broke in half" and "my left sock came off" so I'll admit I was a little slow to react. When I did come into the bathroom, this is what I saw:
Kid #1 had managed to worm his way into the premier bath spot, and was happily playing with the water coming out of the faucet. I say "worm" because he's skinny like a worm and also he was the last one in the tub and from the way Kid #3 is screaming there's no way he did this democratically.
Kid #2 was stuck in the middle, as always, and was dealing with the situation by filling his mouth up with dirty bathwater and spitting it back out at Kid #3.
Kid #3 was squatting, red-faced and screaming, at the far end of the bathtub. When he saw me he stopped screaming and stuck two fingers in his mouth.
"Why are his fingers in his mouth?" asked Kid #1. And that's when it happened. Kid #3 stood up, started to gag, and before I could grab him he proceeded to vomit his ramen noodles and pickles into the full bathtub.
I mentioned in a previous blog that I am an emetophobe. Just the thought of throwing up sends me into a cold sweat, makes my heart race, and fills me with dread. Actually seeing my child spew bright orange puke out of his mouth without any kind of warning was akin to putting a blindfold on an agoraphobe and removing it in the middle Times Square on New Year's Eve. I FREAKED.
"GET OUT OF THE TUB!" I screamed. This was probably unnecessary since Kids #1 and #2 were already in the process of evacuating the bathtub. In fact, I have never a bath end so efficiently or my children react this swiftly to anything, ever. Their deftness at hurdling the walls of the bathtub and sprinting into the hallway made me regret ever doubting either their coordination or their potential for competing in any kind of physical activity where speed is required.
Then I yanked Kid #3 out of the tub and wrapped him in a towel and held him in my arms like he was a newborn baby. Normally he'd squirm his way out of this embrace in 2.0 seconds, but he was still in shock from seeing his dinner in reverse and he submitted to my embrace easily.
At this point I started interrogating Kids #1 and #2.
"Why was #3 screaming in the bathtub?"
"What did you DO to him?"
"How did YOU end up in the front and #3 end up in the back?"
As expected, these questions were answered with a shrug and some sideways glances at each other that I interpreted as "I won't talk if you won't." After about ten more minutes of these kind of questions, a few threats (which we all knew I'd never follow through on) to take away ipads, ice cream, and Chanukah FOREVER, and finally the promise that no one would be punished as long as they told the truth (haha, right), I was able to piece together what had gone down.
Kid #1 and #2 had pushed their brother into the back of the tub.
En route, he was knocked down and ingested a mouthful of water.
The screaming that followed allowed some big gulps of air to enter his mouth, causing an air bubble to form in his belly. And, like a model at fashion week who had just eaten a cracker, Kid #3 knew that the only way to relieve himself of the excess junk that was taking up space in his belly was to stick his finger down his throat.
If he were a girl I'd worry about him being a future bulimic, but since he's a boy I had to applaud his ability to clear the room of his adversaries and essentially get the last word/gasp/gag. In fact, by the time I'd gotten the story out of the older boys, the scared straight look he'd had when I pulled him from the bath had been replaced with a satisfied smirk.
I continued to watch Kid #3 like a hawk for the rest of the night in case the vomiting had actually come from a concussion from some earlier rough housing or (G-d forbid) the stomach flu. After he'd successfully kept down two popsicles and yelled "Mom, I'm OK!" after every cough, sneeze, or hiccup during the hour that followed, I relaxed, poured about a gallon of bleach into the dirty tub, put the kids to bed, and texted my husband to tell him "Kid #3 threw up in the bathtub tonight. Awesome." I figured that by now he knows my feelings about vomit well enough to know that there was really NOTHING awesome about it at all.
However his response was "I wish I could have been there to see it."
I guess at this point even a bathtub full of vomit is better than watching The Browns.
My take-aways from this experience:
Kid #1 is too big to be taking a bath with his brothers. The tub is too crowded, the fighting is too much, and no one is really getting clean. From now on he will take showers. Alone.
Kid #3 has a really, really sensitive gag reflex.
This probably never happens with girls
What I don't get is why my kids need to fight over this space every. single. night. Call me a socialist, but I think that we should all be able to TAKE TURNS and SHARE the premier seat in the bathtub.
However the words TAKE TURNS and SHARE might as well be the names of my imaginary friends (they're not, they are actually named UNINTERRUPTED PEE and ALONE TIME and I fucking BEG them to hang out with me EVERY DAY but they hardly ever do because they're little bitches) because whenever I say TAKE TURNS and SHARE, my kids stare at me perplexed, as if trying to decipher an elusive code and after about two seconds they tend to give up and go back to punching each other instead.
This should give you a hint as to what happened next.
Kids # 1 and #2 got into the bathtub. Satisfied that all three boys were contained and partially underwater, I went to go put away some laundry in their rooms. I know what you're thinking, "OMG she left three children ALONE in a bathtub." The thing is:
1. Our house is not that big. I could see the kids in the bathtub, or see the reflection of the kids in the bathtub in the bathroom mirror, from every room I was in.
2. Our bathtub is not that big, and after spending a ridiculous amount of money repairing our dining room ceiling after too much water from the upstairs bathroom floor started seeping through, I don't let the water level to reach higher than the kids' laps For one child to drown in this bathtub, the other two would have to be holding him down at the same time. And that would involve much more cooperation and teamwork than any two of my children are capable of at this point.
3. My kids are LOUD. They have no effing volume control. If at any point during their bath things got quiet I would be in that bathroom faster than you can say "what the...."
However, about three minutes into this bath things got louder. And not in a "we are having so much fun getting clean" way. Kid #3 was screaming his head off in a "they're trying to waterboard me" way. But, honestly, he'd been screaming that way all afternoon about stupid shit like "my pop tart broke in half" and "my left sock came off" so I'll admit I was a little slow to react. When I did come into the bathroom, this is what I saw:
Kid #1 had managed to worm his way into the premier bath spot, and was happily playing with the water coming out of the faucet. I say "worm" because he's skinny like a worm and also he was the last one in the tub and from the way Kid #3 is screaming there's no way he did this democratically.
Kid #2 was stuck in the middle, as always, and was dealing with the situation by filling his mouth up with dirty bathwater and spitting it back out at Kid #3.
Kid #3 was squatting, red-faced and screaming, at the far end of the bathtub. When he saw me he stopped screaming and stuck two fingers in his mouth.
"Why are his fingers in his mouth?" asked Kid #1. And that's when it happened. Kid #3 stood up, started to gag, and before I could grab him he proceeded to vomit his ramen noodles and pickles into the full bathtub.
I mentioned in a previous blog that I am an emetophobe. Just the thought of throwing up sends me into a cold sweat, makes my heart race, and fills me with dread. Actually seeing my child spew bright orange puke out of his mouth without any kind of warning was akin to putting a blindfold on an agoraphobe and removing it in the middle Times Square on New Year's Eve. I FREAKED.
"GET OUT OF THE TUB!" I screamed. This was probably unnecessary since Kids #1 and #2 were already in the process of evacuating the bathtub. In fact, I have never a bath end so efficiently or my children react this swiftly to anything, ever. Their deftness at hurdling the walls of the bathtub and sprinting into the hallway made me regret ever doubting either their coordination or their potential for competing in any kind of physical activity where speed is required.
Then I yanked Kid #3 out of the tub and wrapped him in a towel and held him in my arms like he was a newborn baby. Normally he'd squirm his way out of this embrace in 2.0 seconds, but he was still in shock from seeing his dinner in reverse and he submitted to my embrace easily.
At this point I started interrogating Kids #1 and #2.
"Why was #3 screaming in the bathtub?"
"What did you DO to him?"
"How did YOU end up in the front and #3 end up in the back?"
As expected, these questions were answered with a shrug and some sideways glances at each other that I interpreted as "I won't talk if you won't." After about ten more minutes of these kind of questions, a few threats (which we all knew I'd never follow through on) to take away ipads, ice cream, and Chanukah FOREVER, and finally the promise that no one would be punished as long as they told the truth (haha, right), I was able to piece together what had gone down.
Kid #1 and #2 had pushed their brother into the back of the tub.
En route, he was knocked down and ingested a mouthful of water.
The screaming that followed allowed some big gulps of air to enter his mouth, causing an air bubble to form in his belly. And, like a model at fashion week who had just eaten a cracker, Kid #3 knew that the only way to relieve himself of the excess junk that was taking up space in his belly was to stick his finger down his throat.
If he were a girl I'd worry about him being a future bulimic, but since he's a boy I had to applaud his ability to clear the room of his adversaries and essentially get the last word/gasp/gag. In fact, by the time I'd gotten the story out of the older boys, the scared straight look he'd had when I pulled him from the bath had been replaced with a satisfied smirk.
I continued to watch Kid #3 like a hawk for the rest of the night in case the vomiting had actually come from a concussion from some earlier rough housing or (G-d forbid) the stomach flu. After he'd successfully kept down two popsicles and yelled "Mom, I'm OK!" after every cough, sneeze, or hiccup during the hour that followed, I relaxed, poured about a gallon of bleach into the dirty tub, put the kids to bed, and texted my husband to tell him "Kid #3 threw up in the bathtub tonight. Awesome." I figured that by now he knows my feelings about vomit well enough to know that there was really NOTHING awesome about it at all.
However his response was "I wish I could have been there to see it."
I guess at this point even a bathtub full of vomit is better than watching The Browns.
My take-aways from this experience:
Kid #1 is too big to be taking a bath with his brothers. The tub is too crowded, the fighting is too much, and no one is really getting clean. From now on he will take showers. Alone.
Kid #3 has a really, really sensitive gag reflex.
This probably never happens with girls
I felt like I was reading the story of my life. Mother of Charlotte (5 at end of December, Andre (3 1/2) and Joseph (22 months).
ReplyDelete- Lucie Wuescher