Skip to main content

quirks

We all have our quirks.
Shaun rubs his nose with his fist, back and forth. I swear his entire nose must be made of rubber.
My friend Wendy hates all white foods ( even ranch and whipped cream).
Owen is afraid of ladybugs.
I hate to get things on my hands. Sometimes I can prepare myself for it and not totally freak out ( like when eating finger foods or playing in the mud w/O).....but if something accdientally finds it's way on my hands ( especially food or other ickies) I panick. I am no longer a normal functioning person and just start making werid noises until someone hands me a papertowel or napkin ( even if there is one already in my lap).
No I am not usually a neat freak. In fact I am probably one of the grossest people you know. My shower grows mold. I can go days without washing my hair. I never remember to change the sheets. With me the 30 second rule is more like a 3 minute rule. But I have zero tolerance for ick on me.
Kids completely throw this rule out the window. If the birthing process isn't gross enough it is quickly followed by lots of spit up and baby poop and crusty cords. It only gets more disguisting after that.
Yesterday, O came down with a fast fever. I was hosting a baby shower most of the day but met Shaun at one of those non emergency clinics on my way home. O said he had to go to the bathroom. So I pulled his pants off and set him on the potty. He pointed everything in the right direction and looked good to go, and then suddenly projectile vomited across the room. I did what any good consoling mom would do and jumped as far back as I good. As soon as I realized he was going to have a repeat performance, I pointed him over the toilet. Waited until he was finished and sought plastic bags, paper towels and Lysol wipes from the receptionist. We cleaned up. Changed O's clothes and got him some juice from the Subway next door while we waited on his strep test to come up positive.
About 2 hours later after picking up medications ( for the both of us),a few groceries , and washing Owen's puke clothes...I sat down to relax on the couch. I flipped through the channels and got comfy before relizing I was still wearing my puked on pants. I had attacked them with a lysol wipe in the doctor's office but I was still sporting some red pukey splashes with that classic odor that doesn't easily wipe away. I was so comfy and tired that I really had to talk myself into getting up and changing.
Today at breakfast I got pancake syrup on the back of my hand and had a meltdown. We must come with some kind of mommy immunity.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

break a leg

I do the math on my hand. This is my 5th end of the year dance recital and you think by now I’d know to remember to pack hair spray and snacks. Someone hands my daughter a bag of chips and I want to hug her. I want to tell her that I am not a total failure, that we did not lose the wristbands, we wore the right color tights and that I do at least have a few bobby pins in my pocket. I can not handle the crazy that is backstage. It is a whirlwind of squealing girls in sequins, lycra and tulle. Moms wielding curling hours and more eye makeup than the entire MAC counter, I start to sweat in my ponytail. I quickly look away as an entire row of dancers peel off EVERYTHING for a quick costume change. I was not made for this. I unashamedly let an eight-year-old I have never met teach me how to get my daughter’s hair in place and I make the fastest exit I can. We sit in the balcony. Where we have been for hours. Dance recital day is all consuming. Rehersal, hair and finding the right ti...

different

Someone recently sent me a meme about tattoos. I reminded them that I have over half a dozen, although none in such obvious places as the picture. I thought about it while I washed my hair, and how once my hair was also purple, and what kind of memes could be found about that. And also, my nose was pierced. Other than the first two tattoos, none of these were things I did in my youth. All were in my thirties. Currently my hair is a plain brown in a sensible cut. My tattoos all easily hidden with most clothing and only my ears are pierced. As this decade closes I have made efforts to dress more professionally, drink less, stay on top of the laundry although I still refuse to make my bed and talk at an appropriate volume level. Yet, I only looked back on my purple-haired days with longing rather than regret. See, I used to do those things to be different.   Sometimes I’d feel just a little trapped by my suburban life although perfect, felt a little too predictable. I fel...

voice

I remember waking up the day after the election tired and stunned. When I got to work I went downstairs to make copies and make some tea and did not make it back to my classroom until right before the tardy bell rang. I have a large class, full of all kinds of students from all kinds of backgrounds. I had not even thought about how they would respond to the election and that since we begin school so early that I might be the first adult they saw that day.  Immediately an African American on the front row told me that she was disappointed in our country. I teach science, not government and thought that I needed to turn the conversation as quickly as I could safely back to the objectives on the board, but I could not ignore her hurt and the rest of the quiet in the room. I told her that  regardless of what candidate she supported that this country is run by more than one person, that very soon she would be able to vote, that she had a voice. Behind her, a student that also ha...