So as I've mentioned, spring break is this week. And since, according to my girls, we're the only ones in the whole wide world who didn't get to go somewhere really, really fun for spring break, (you have to read that in a whiny 7-year-old voice for maximum effect) I decided I was going to be the fun mom and plan enough activities so that we didn't spend the week getting on each others' nerves.
Since we have to be in Salt Lake on Wednesdays for lessons/rehearsals for Abby anyway, we decided to pack up all the kids for a day of fun. I enlisted my new blog friend Morgan and her four boys, and we spent the morning gabbing our faces off and taking turns losing children at the Childrens' Museum.
OK, back to my story of abject humiliation.
We went to Abby's violin lesson, and everything went swimmingly. I was, once again, making the mistake of patting myself on the back for being super mom and handling a day out with all four children by myself. And we all know what happens when I start patting myself on the back.
We had an hour or so to kill while Abby was in rehearsal, so I took the kids to Chick-Fil-A, and sent Ashlynn and Max to play in the play land for a bit to burn off residual energy. I had no sooner started debating between nuggets and a chicken sandwich when Ashlynn urgently ran up to me: "Mom! Come quick! Max threw up!"
Ashlynn has a bit of a tendency to overexaggerate, so I asked her "A little bit or a lot?"
She grabbed my hand and dragged me back in response where I saw my little boy, standing in the middle of a giant circle of throw up.
Now, for maximum effect, we had picked the restaurant's "Family Night" so every table in the restaurant was full. All the little children were making grossed-out noises, all the moms were glaring at me, and Max was screaming. All I wanted to do was run away.
I grabbed the nearest 16- year-old employee I could find, handed him the baby's carseat before he could object, picked Max up by the armpits and lugged him out of there, feeling the glares from the other mothers following me all the way out to my car. I had to restrain myself from yelling: "I didn't know he was sick! I'm not a bad mom who brings her sick kid out in public just for a nugget fix, I promise!"
I used about half a carton of baby wipes to wipe us all down, stripped him off and put him in a clean pair of shorts, and we booked it back to Abby's teacher's house. I dreaded the fact that we still had an hour drive ahead of us, knowing that Max never just throws up once.
To spare you the rest of the gruesome details, I'll just let you know that our carseat cover is in fact washable, that it takes an advanced degree in mechanical engineering to get the carseat cover back on the carseat, and that Zofran the wonder drug is our friend.
And just in case you're wondering, when the stomach bug inevitably makes its way around your familiy, one of the blessings about having older children is that they actually learn to throw up in the toilet or the bathtub, instead of just leaning over the bunkbed. However, do not make the mistake of assuming that when you child uses the bathtub to throw up in that they will actually wash it down afterwards.
Ok, now that we've got all that grossness out of the way... (Do I have a glamorous life or what? Really, my mission is just to make you feel better about your life.)
Thanks for all the kind comments and advice about homeschooling. We're still kicking the idea around and talking about logistics, but it's so good to know that I have so many friends to lean on. (And probably complain to!)
We're still house hunting. Who knew that it would be so difficult to find a place? Looked at a fantastic house tonight, but things are up in the air with the current owners until they find out if his job transfer is going through. This place was fantastic, but so is any place where we wouldn't feel like we're stacked on top of each other. But I really, really liked this place and it has everything we need, so we'd appreciate any positive vibes you can send our way. Our soon-to-be renters are being patient. Hopefully we will find something soon, because I'd really rather not move myself, my husband, and my four kids to my mom's basement. Call me crazy, I know.