There's Not Enough Pepto In The World For This

The following events take place between 9pm Friday 2/23 and 5pm Wednesday 2/28.

Friday 2/23
9pm - The Mouse wakes up screaming. Nurse her back to sleep.

11pm - The Mouse wakes up again. She has been restless for the last 2 hours. She doesn't want to nurse. Instead she falls asleep as we rock in the rocking chair.

Midnight - The Mouse is up again. Falls asleep in my arms and 20 minutes later projectile vomits all over herself, me, the pillow, the rug. Rush her into the bathroom, strip her down in the tub as she wails because she is confused over what is happening.

2am - The Mouse is finally asleep again, having puked up all there is to puke, in between bouts of dancing around her room and playing in the dark. Throw puke soaked pjs (hers and mine) and towels in the wash before heading back to bed.

Saturday 2/24
9pm - The Mouse wakes crying. Fussy, she babbles something that sounds like "hurts" as she rubs her stomach. Her tummy gurgles and tells me to brace myself for a repeat of last night. Drape myself and the rocking chair in towels to avoid another late night wardrobe change. I am unsuccessful.

10pm - The Mouse wants her Daddy. Bring her into our bedroom. Husband takes over while I throw puke soaked pjs (hers and mine) and towels into the wash.

11pm - The Mouse's ass explodes all over her pj's, our king size blanket, and my pjs.

Midnight - Add Yours Truly to the pukefest, as well as Hubby though he has left for work leaving me to fend for myself and leaving The Mouse to wander the livingroom in the dark while I lock myself in the bathroom.

2am - Put The Mouse back to bed. Throw shit-puke-stained laundry into the wash.

Sunday 2/25
9am - Cinderella is sick. Sore throat, headache, swollen glands. She spends the better part of the day on one couch. Husband on the other. I sleep upstairs whenever I can.

3pm - The Mouse's ass explodes again. ::sigh:: More laundry.

Monday 2/26
Snow day. Schools closed. Cinderella is still not feeling well. Give several shots of motrin throughout the day and try to keep myself from strangling her and her brother as they bicker from boredom.

3pm - The Mouse's ass explodes. Drag her into tub to hose her down while she flails and bangs head on tub floor b/c GOD, WOMAN I JUST WANT TO CUDDLE CAN'T YOU SEE I DON"T FEEL WELL???. Wrap her in a towel and rock in the rocking chair while reciting the "Don't Poop" prayer to myself. Throw crib bedding, babydoll outfit, clothes (hers and mine) into wash.

Tuesday 2/27
9am - The Mouse wakes up, her ass having exploded YET AGAIN. Strip her down in tub, hose her off, do another load of laundry (hers and mine).

11am - Take Cinderella to the pedicatrician. It's Strep. HOO-effin-RAH! Get prescription from doc, realize Cinderella's insurance card is at home so will have to go home to get it before going to pharmacy.

11:20am - Take call from Malificent (BioMom) and give her the news. Oh, I could tell from her voice that she was really sick. Umm... yeah? Funny we didn't pick up on that AT ALL.

11:30am - Drive PAST pharmacy, leave kids in car while I run into the house to get needed insurance card and drive BACK to pharmacy to drop off 'script.

11:35am - Reassure Cinderella that yes, we will return to get her medicine lest she should keel over and DIE right in front of me.

11:45am - Reassure Cinderella that this is not her first time having Strep.

11:55am - Reassure Cinderella that we will go back to pharmacy after lunch to get her medicine.

12:15pm - Plans changed. Reassure Cinderella that we will go back to the pharmacy after The Mouse wakes up from her nap to get her medicine.

1pm. - Reassure Cinderella that we will go back to the pharmacy after The Mouse wakes up from her nap to get her medicine. And some earplugs for me.

2pm. Reassure Cinderella that we will go back to the pharmacy blah-blah-fucking-blah. And some earplugs valium for me her.

3pm - She's awakens! The Mouse is AWAKE!! Now we can go all pile back into the car and drive back to the pharmacy for Cinderella's preshus medicine! Happy! Happy! Joy!! Joy!! Never in the history of the world has there ever been a child more anxious to take her medicine!!!!

3:15pm - Reassure Cinderella that it will be OK if she waits until 8pm to take her medicine. That this is the kind of medicine that needs to be taken at the same time every day TWICE a day and there is no way in hell that I am waking up at 3:15 in the morning to give it to her.

11pm - Hear The Boy (remember him? Yeah, he gets a role in this too.) "coughing" over the monitor. Go upstairs to check on him. He is sitting up in bed and simply says I had to puke. Change his pjs, carry him downstairs to snuggle with Husband. Go back upstairs to wash the sides of the bed, rug, garbage can and change sheets.

11:20pm - Husband comes upstairs for another pair of pjs b/c The Boy has puked again.

12:30am - Husband is asleep on couch. The Boy watches Dirty Jobs with me. He pukes again.

1am - I'm ready to go back to bed Mommy. Carry The Boy back upstairs, leave a garbage can by his bedside.

1:30am, 2:30am, 3:30am, 5am, 6:30am - Listen to sounds of The Boy throwing up over his monitor. Quietly am amazed at how grown-up and independent he is. Feel a little sad and a little relieved that he doesn't need to call for me.

7am - Despite having NO sleep, The Boy wants to go downstairs to watch tv. Set him up on the couch with a pail at his side... just in case. Crawl back into bed.

8am - Awakened by Cinderella coming to inform me that her Brother has thrown up on the rug downstairs and instead of helping him with the pail that I left NEXT TO HIM she decided it was better to come upstairs and tell me AS IT WAS HAPPENING. Go downstairs to check on The Boy and clean up the rug.

9am - Cinderella comes upstairs again to inform me that her Brother is throwing up on the couch and that she felt it more important to tell me than to HELP HIM. [Fold my arms. ::BLINK:: ] Go downstairs. Damn. The couch still needs to be cleaned.

11:15am - Realize The Boy has never had diarrhea IN HIS LIFE. Decide to have a talk with him to prepare him for the possibility that liquid poo might come shooting out of his ass at any time and to not be afraid but run like the dickens to the bathroom.

Noon - 2pm - The Boy sleeps on the couch.

4pm - A bowl of Cheerios. His first meal of the day.

5pm - Bedtime is 2 1/2 hours away. Still no signs of intestinal distress. Wondering if The Boy would be up for sleeping in the bathroom, just in case.

Spit Shine

The Boy and The Mouse give our glass top table a glossy new shine.







Spit Shine on Vimeo

Doctor, Doctor, Give Me The News

Yup.
It's official. We are on the cusp of that glorious time known as Puberty.
We know she is Growing Up. Some of us have been more likely to run screaming from the room like a girl at the mere mention of it reluctant to admit it than others.
Cinderella had her yearly checkup last week.
(I took her as my first attempt at getting back to being the involved parent that we all need me to be.)
She wanted to see the female doctor of the group because she is Growing Up.
I left the room for the most part of the exam. This older kid doctor stuff is foreign to me. I had to ask the nurse and then the doctor. Do I stay? Do I go?
I left. Because she is Growing Up and also because of two little rugrats who-shall-remain-nameless who were intent on making this momentous event even MORE difficult by touching.everything.in.the.room Can we NOT open and close every single cabinet and drawer, please? and You! Boy! Can you stop with the potty expletives every millisecond Mommy is trying to talk to the doctor all grownuplike. GAWD!
Exam over, Cinderella comes out to the waiting room and I go back in for the News.
She's quite an extraordinary young lady. She is very well educated on her body. Knows what's going on and what to expect.
Oh, yes. We know that. She's been reading books, you know. Her father barely survived that chapter.
Well, she is developing. It's definitely starting.
Yes. Thank You. I knew that. Did I forget to mention that she is Growing Up????

***
Come home quickly plop children in front of television and try to educate my totally uncool self on all things that the cool kids are doing.
Step 1: Create a myspace account.
Step 2: Die.
(Myspace is a scarey, scarey place for kids, y'all. We are so fucked.)

I'll Sit This One Out

Her first snow fall.

The Mouse decides to leave the snow-angel-making to her Big Sister.

When Allergies Attack: A Mother's Rant

Doc, you've mentioned Quality of Life but I haven't seen anything that's really interferred with his ability to function at all.
Ma'am you just had to go through three rounds of steroid treatments this Winter.

Oh.

When He puts it that way it's hard to argue.
The Boy has recently been diagnosed with asthma. I was adamant about him seeing an allergist so that we could educate ourselves on the management, treatment and triggers.
I wanted to know what we were up against.
Be careful what you wish for.
Within four days I’ve gone from a having a seemingly healthy four year old to one that (so far) is HIGHLY allergic to cats/dog/rabbits, still allergic to peanuts and now also dust mites. He spent four days dealing with oral steroids + six inhaler treaments/day. He now needs to be use a twice daily inhaler + nasal spray + oral allergy medication for the next month and we need to get covers for his mattress and pillow and wash ALL of his bedding in HOT water WEEKLY (including his favorite stuffed animal which he must, MUST sleep with every night) and get a HEPA filter for his room and probably find a new home for our 10 year old cats.
And we are still awaiting the rest of the blood test results so who knows what else he might be allergic to, and what this all means for him in the long term.

And THEN… AND-DEN!!AND-DEN!! … we get home from over two hours in the allergists office and The Boy decides he wants to play outside in the snow.
OK.
I tell him to stay in the side yard (b/c a level 2 sex offender is living 5 houses up the block from us. EWW!). Of course he DOES NOT LISTEN TO HIS MOTHER and goes sleigh riding down our FRONT LAWN and off the 4ft retaining wall landing on his back and hitting his head on the driveway.

I’m overwhelmed and unsettled. So much to process. So much yet to discover. Not enough happy pills for the Mommy.

Happy Heart's Day

(The Mouse is 15 months old today.)

The Boy: "Mommy, you're my Valentine and I am your Valentine. I will always be your Valentine."

"Forever and ever. "

Sunday School

The doorbell rings.
We're not expecting company. Whoever it is can go away.
Besides, I'm in the bathroom.
But it's 8:30 in the morning. And it's Sunday.
I think it must be a solicitor. Or better yet a Jehova's Witness.
Now I start to get annoyed. Who the hell would think it's ok to ring someone's doorbell at 8:30 on a Sunday morning. Surely Jehova liked his sleep too! And isn't Sunday supposed to be a day of rest?
I rush to the front door to give whoever-it-is a piece of my mind.
Noone there. I scan the street looking for the culprit.
Now I hear a knocking on our glass door.
The sliding glass door off our kitchen. At the BACK.OF.THE.HOUSE.
I run to the kitchen and see Her standing on the other side.
Cinderella.
Tears streaming down her face.
She is begging her Brother to open the door and let her in.
The Boy is apparently too busy with his Cheerios to honor her request.
I am confused by what I am seeing.
Cinderella is outside our home. On a Sunday. And she is wearing her backpack.
I wonder why she is wearing her backpack. Where is she going.
Are things between us worse than I thought?
Have I driven her so far away that she had decided to run away and thankfully-for-us the extreme cold and her lack of a final destination has sent her back home to us?
I rush to open the door.
She is looking up at me. Shivering. Tears streaming down her face.
I'm so cold. I can't feel my toes.
What are you DOING?
I thought today was Monday.
She had been outside for the last 30 minutes outside waiting for her school bus.
On SUNDAY.
Today class we are going to learn how to read a calendar.

Watch Your Neighbors

I need to talk to you. We need to have a talk with The Boy.
My husband brings me into the living room and pulls out a folded piece of paper from his back pocket.
The black and white mug shot printed on the paper brought a flood of memories and emotions and pain.
I felt panicked. I wanted to cry.
I couldn't believe what I was looking at. The words printed on the paper were too unreal and yet a little too real.
Sexually. Violent. Offender.
Female, 10 Years.
Reported Address: 5 houses from our home.
FIVE. HOUSES.
A Piece-of-Shit-Lowlife-Child-Molesting-Level 2 Sex Offender has moved into our neighborhood.
My sense of security and personal safety crushed. I wanted to run. Pick up the kids and run far away from here.
I was disgusted to think that someone like He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was now living near me. Near my kids. I felt violated all over again.
We need to talk to The Boy about this. I've already spoken with Cinderella and showed her his picture.
There's a bad man who lives up the block from us. This man did horrible things to a little girl and we dont' want you to go anywhere near him. We dont' want him to hurt you the way he hurt her. This is what he looks like. He drives a black jeep.
We show him the print out from the National Sex Offender Registry. Make him look at this man's picture. He's 68 years old. Blue eyes, white hair and beard. Looks like a goddamn grandfather. Like Santa, according to Cinderella.
Ok, Mommy. That picture is freaking me out. I don't want to look at it anymore.
The Boy is visibly disturbed by the man scumbag SICK.FUCK's mug shot.

It's b/c of people like him and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named that I obsessively monitorthe view count for my videos on YouTube and ViMeo and why I had to make one of The Mouse in the bath private. Fucking perverts. Go get a labotomy and crawl into a hole and leave us alone ... Mmmm, kay?
National Sex Offender Public Registry

Mantra for the New Year

"People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel."

- Maya Angelou

Wicked Is as Wicked Does

I thought I was clever.
I'd call myself The Wicked Stepmom and dispell the myth of the sterotypical evil second wife.
I would take away the power of this negative label by poking fun of the fairytale portrayals. By acknowledging the sometimes-not-so-fun aspects of being a stepmom.
I would shed light on the fact that it was not always bluebirds-and-roses-and-harpy-minstrel-music. And that that was OK.
I wonder.
I wonder if, in doing this, I have given myself too much permission to adopt the role of the Wicked Stepmom. Permission to allow mysef to feel and focus too much on the negatives.
In embracing this character have I not also become the very person I was trying to denounce.
My request for space hasn't produced the outcome I had hoped for.
My relationship with Cinderella is more strained than ever. Alienated.
She doesn't like you. She used to know that she could come to you for anything but now she avoids you.
My husband's observation only confirms what I've already known to be true.
It's time to rewrite this chapter of our story.