Today is one of those days that I just need to get it all down. Write down the snippets. The details. The little things. So that I can look back years from now and have proof of the drama. So that I remember why in fact I named this blog Drama for Mama.
My day started at 7:15 in the morning. This is over an hour later than normal (yay us). So I would have been getting off to a fantastic start had I not woken up with a terrible stomach ache. The kind where you only feel better if you’re curled in a ball on your side moaning. Moaning helps. Believe me. I tried to shake off the pain and enjoy the fact that both kids were still sleeping and hobbled into the bathroom to try to wash off the night and welcome the morning. While I was in there I heard some chaotic scampering through the hall and then some shouts shrieks followed by some howling. I made my way back out of my bathroom and saw Hannah standing there in tears.
“What’s the matter Han? You slept GREAT! It’s Seven Two Zero!” (we’re working on the time thing)
“I didn’t know where you went! I thought you left me alone here! You weren’t in your bed like you’re supposed to be”. (I hadn’t read that in the manual I guess)
“I wouldn’t have left you here Hannah.”
“Maybe next time you could make more noise in the bathroom so that I hear you in there, ok?” she suggested.
Now Luke was crying desperate howls from his crib. The day was off with a bang. At least my stomach ache had taken a back seat to the morning woes. My coffee pot was shouting my name.
Fast forward an hour. Bath time. Hannah had her 5 year old check up at the doctor and I thought having the doctor think that being clean was part of our daily routine would give us a nice mark in the folder. Hannah got herself undressed and managed to yank all of Luke’s pajamas off too. He looked down at his diaper and ripped that off like a 20 month old Chippendale. Literally. He had to shimmy himself out of the diaper since he wasn’t coordinated enough to peel off the stickies on the sides, and when he finally got it off, he swung it over his shoulder to the floor. (Cue hoots from the audience). And then he was off… running down the hall as Hannah (also naked) chased after him, screaming joyfully, “Look at his little wagging peepee! Look at his squishy tushie!” It was a site. One I won’t easily forget. When I finally got them into the tub, the bath only lasted 7 minutes tops. Luke hates bubbles in the bath. Screams like they are eating the skin off his little body. I usually bathe him while his legs straddle the side of the tub. Lucky for me Hannah is pretty self sufficient and I believe hits most of the important parts with the washcloth. I’m not sure how it would work if I had to actually bathe both of them. Two clean kids would be a rarity.
Fifteen minutes before we were to leave the house for the doctor I see the blur of Luke racing from the kitchen into the bathroom. And a plop. And the sound of porcelain slamming shut. I flew myself into the bathroom, heard Luke innocently squeak, “hi!” while standing even more innocently by the toilet, lifted the toilet seat and saw my beloved iPhone submerged in the (thank god clean) toilet water. I grabbed it and threw a towel around it. I think I might have even begun performing CPR on it. But nothing. No life. No pulse. Just black screen. I pumped the power button on and off. Nothing. I turned to Luke, got down on his level and shouted, “NO! You do NOT throw the things that keep me feeling human and connected to the world things in the toilet!” He put both hands over his mouth as in, “big oops”.
I was miserable. I tweeted an SOS tweet from my computer and was guided to bury my phone in rice for a couple of days with the thought that the rice would pull the moisture from the phone. So I meekly pulled the Tupperware filled with rice from the cupboard and opened it ready to give the suggestion a shot. I looked in only to find MILLIONS, no really, MILLIONS of teeny tiny little black bugs squirming around the bottom of the container. They were so small that from a distance it looked like dust. But when I went to examine WHY there was a half an inch of dust on the bottom of a closed container of rice, I saw them. I screamed. Luke screamed (thinking this was a fun Simon Says type game) and Hannah ran from the room thinking I saw a mouse. And then, like a mature mommy should, I shook off my “willies” and pulled myself together. “Everything is fine.” I calmly announced to the room. I opened a new bag of instant rice, buried my comatose phone and left for the doctor.
Hannah sat on the doctor’s table wearing her made-for-a-teenager size paper gown. This was the first year she was asked to wear a gown which choked me up. Is she so old that she should feel uncomfortable in front of the doctor without clothes on? She loved the gown. She kept twirling around in it, caressing it with her hands. At one point she said, “I think I should make a big rip in it, right down the middle!”
“Why would you want to do that Hannah?” I asked her, confused.
“It’s my image mommy!” she said, giggling.
I started laughing, “Where on earth did you hear that Hannah? And what does that even mean?”
She was hysterical at that point, fueled by my laughter. “I don’t know… what DOES it mean? I heard it on Project Runway.” Great. Here I thought PR was an innocent enough show to enjoy some mommy/hannah time and she was now off thinking ripped clothing was her image. Nice.
The Eye exam. Why they do the “Small E” test with kids is beyond me. “Which way is the E facing?” is not an easy question for a 5 year old. An E is only an E if all of the lines are pointing right. A line with three lines facing up is NOT an E. A line with three lines facing left is also not an E. And Hannah repeatedly told the nurse administering the test just that. She not only passed the eye exam, she also got into law school.
Fast forward to the shots. My brave girl. Was getting 3 shots and a “TV” test. No matter how many times I told her it was a TB test she still couldn’t understand why it was called a TV test. So i finally just stopped correcting her. She was petrified. She sat on my lap squeezing the life out of me as the needles were brought into the room. She started screaming immediately, before any needle even touched her skin and didn’t stop screaming through all four shots. Screaming like she had 27 broken bones in her body. Screaming like a Mac truck drove over her foot. And then, when the box of toys was placed in front of her to choose from, she stopped. Stopped. Completely, like nothing had ever happened. One moment, the pain was excruciating, the next, when she was offered a rubber toy boat, she was fine.
Back home. The Success Rice had no success on my phone so I decided to take it to the Apple Geniuses. I quickly knew I was not going to get the answer I hoped for. My phone was dead. End of story. No yelling, bitching, negotiating was going to get me a new phone for less than $200. Sick. I was sick. I thought for a very short second about getting a plain old phone instead of a new iPhone but then the devil on my shoulder told me I was nuts. And he was right. New phone and water/spill/crash/Luke proof case in hand, I returned home. Defeated.
OK, this post is already far too long. I’m tired. I haven’t even told you about the grocery store outing and Hannah’s stuffed animal having an allergic reaction in the middle of the store and needing a bathroom to throw up in. Or how she tested the snaps on the tushie of her onesie feeting pajamas, to see if she could pee without taking them totally off. She couldn’t. No, I’m tired of thinking about my day. Tired from my day. You get it. You’ve been there. It’s a typical day. But sometimes, I think if I don’t write the specifics down… I will forget what was so hard. What was so funny. What was the big deal.
It’s 9:49 pm. My little girl just poked her head in my room after “going to bed” at 8. She told me she can’t sleep. “I have too much going on in my head.” she said.
“Like what?” I asked her as I escorted her back to her room.
“Like, I’m wondering what Luke’s voice is going to sound like when he’s a big boy.”
Look at that. My little girl wonders. What a surprise.
“Let’s just focus on getting Luke to talk… and not wonder so much what his voice will sound like, ok?”
And there it is. A little drama from my day.