When it Rains, it Pours

Yesterday evening was a reasonably good Monday night. Last Monday evening however-- Last Monday evening----

(shudder)

First, some background information:

The Saturday two days previous was our ward's Halloween Party. Big O proved a master at indoor trick-or-treating and acquired a bucket of candy, which candy we had been letting him consume at will.

Theric left home around 7:30am and was not expected back until after 8pm.

So: It's me, Big O and Large S and time to kill.

The day passes.

Then . . . Monday evening . . . . . . . .

It's dinnertime. We're having the Big O's all-time favorite: Broccoli! Yea!

Normally, when O sees broccoli, he gets very excited. (We've done an excellent job training him to like vegetables, if you don't mind my saying so.) But all day Monday he had stuffed himself to the brim with candy. Not good. For a bit of nutritional redemption, I make him finish his broccoli anyway.

Now it's after dinner and time to put the kids to bed. But then Gramma calls.

The Big O has a fun time chatting with her, then requests to speak with Poppa. Gramma tells Big O she will have Poppa call back when he gets home from work. I reminded Gramma that I am planning on having the Big O in bed by seven , so Poppa needs to call before then. No problem, Poppa is expected home by six. So now the Big O is all excited to talk to Poppa and I am thinking, "If Poppa doesn't call before I get the Big O into bed, I'm going to have an awful hard time-- Please call soon Poppa!"

I haven't dwelt on the pre-Monday evening bits of Monday, but trust me--it had been a long day and I was at the end of my rope.

Next up, a diaper change for Large S. As I begin the change, Big O comes and stands on my left to check out the poop. I hear him cough then make a gurgling sound---

NO! I think, but yes: he's throwing up and I'm changing a diaper.

The Big O has made a sugary puddle on the floor. I am holding the Large S's legs up midwipe. The Big O runs away from both me and the bathroom creating a pathway of vomit. I am screaming, "Get in the bathroom, get in the bathrooooomm!! Throw up in the potty!!!"

Then the phone starts ringing.

I know it's Poppa. I also know that if I don't let the Big O speak with him I will never get the kid to sleep. There will be a wailing and many tears.

I leave Large S without a diaper (he needs some air exposure anyhow) but safely in his changing station and run to answer the phone. The Big O has just finished puking in the toilet.

"Hi Poppa . . . . I'm . . . . okay . . . . ." I say as I take in the full scope of the vomit highway. "Big O is good. Except he just threw up."

"Oh, well, I can call back later," says Poppa.

"No! No! No! It's okay! Just give him a second and he'll be right here."

The Big O knows it's Poppa on the phone--knew before I picked it up. He is standing at the bathroom sink washing off his face. As he finishes, I hand him the phone and, as he reaches for it, begins to throw up again.

"Um, he just started throwing up again."

"Well. I can call back."

"No! No no no, it will be fine. He will be fine! But he would be so upset if he didn't get to talk to you . . . . ."

I watch the Big O finish up, help him rinse his mouth, wash his face, all while making small talk with my father-in-law. Finally. He is ready. I instruct him to stay in the bathroom (he likes to wander the house when he talks on the phone) so that he does not track through the trail o' vomit. I have to remind him of this again and again (and again) as he speaks with Poppa, but he does manage to stay in the bathroom and not step in any puddles of vomit.

I begin to clean up the vomit then remember that I had been changing Large S. I can hear him lifting and dropping his legs--he sounds happy. I rush back, carefully dodging the vomit puddles with their barely digested but well chewed broccoli--green squishy puddles all the way from the bathroom.

I get back to Large S and what do I find? You got it. A HUGE puddle of poo. I believe I let out a wail at this point, and then a big sigh. Fortunately, even with all the leg acrobatics, the Large S had managed not to splash in his poo puddle around the dining room--it was still contained on the changing pad and was, overall, an easy cleanup (wipes are wonderful things).

Of course, I do have to remove all his clothes as he had also peed all over himself . . . .

Once the Large S is all cleaned up I go back to work on the vomit. The Big O finishes up with Poppa and hangs up the phone; I put him in the tub. The Large S goes to his crib and I finish up the vomit.

It all gets cleaned up. And when Theric finally gets home, the kids are both asleep and I am even able to laugh at the whole thing.


That was Monday evening last week. It wouldn't be so funny if it happened every---

(shudder)

But no. It is in the past. It can't happen again. It won't happen again. It mustn't happen again.

Let us pray.