Back To Square One ~ Worst Mom of the Year Award

Let me preface this post by saying, "I'm not in the mood for sympathy. I just need to blog!" I hope you've felt that way and will understand why I've made that statement. On top of that, welcome to my world of PMS! This will be a disgustingly long rant about myself as a mom and won't contain a single photo. It's 1:30am and I'm pretty much done with this post. This post will probably garner me a spot on the Today Show as the Worst Mom in America, but such is life.

Let's start at the beginning, a week ago today, Sunday. I get up in the morning & my 6 yr old Doodle isn't feeling well. Unfortunately, that means we miss church. Guess it's a day to stay in our jammies and hang out. He never actually gets sick that day, but has no appetite and has a fever off and on. Oh yeah, lots of sneezing. So I chalk it up to a cold bug.

Monday is pretty much the same so Doodle stays home. Since he'd had a fever on Sunday, I figured I'd keep him home anyhow in case he's contagious. No reason to contribute to the spreading of an illness.

Tuesday-Friday early afternoon, all is good. I finally have some hours at work, although I'd missed Sunday since Doodle was sick & I wouldn't ask someone to watch my sick kid. Friday, 2pm, I'm handed the phone. The only time I'm handed the phone at work is when I have a sick child. Buddy, who is 10, has been in the nurse's office 2x not feeling well. My brain starts whirling and after a few phone calls, the nurse agrees to let him stay the last hour of school if my friend's daughter will pick him up. That way I could grab a few essentials: Gatorade, soup, applesauce, etc. My original plan after work had been to go grocery shopping since I hadn't been for over a week & we had nothing! So, I dashed to the store and grabbed a few items.

Turns out, my friend had to go pick Buddy up because he'd been in the nurse's bathroom for some time with it coming out of both ends. Her daughter drove to my house to make sure Doodle could get in. The next day, holding back tears, I told my friend that I was so thankful she and her family were in our lives. I wouldn't have been able to get through the last couple of years without them!

Friday night turned out to be a night of puking for Buddy. He refused to take any medication. Alrighty then. I wanted him to take some Tylenol to bring the fever down and hopefully help with the puking, but no, he wasn't having any part of it. Fine, puke your guts out.

Saturday shows up and I want the boys to pretty much stay away from each other. Here's where my PMS starts to kick in and being fed up with the boys follows. Here is also where I'm going to get very real!

I ask the boys OVER and OVER to stop messing around. I want Buddy to rest because of the puking the day & night before. I tell Doodle to get away from Buddy because he's been sick. HELLO, am I the only one in the house that was home Friday night?! I've had it up to here with these two boys (picture me whacking my forehead with the side of my hand).

Finally, after they continued to ignore me, I got up, walked past them and like the wretched mom I am said, "I hope you get sick. And when you do, you can take care of yourself because I'm not going to do it." Then I went and shut myself in my bedroom. Yes, I said that, to my 6 yr old. Was it right? No. Do I feel terrible? Yes. Even felt terrible when I was saying it.

SIDE NOTE (but not an excuse): For weeks now, they have become these stinky little boys that I just don't want to be around. Buddy refuses to share even the most minute thing Doodle asks about. He does these little mean things just to egg Doodle on, make him upset, or just does something physical (a flick, small slap, etc) because he feels like it. I consider him a bully in those times and it's not acceptable in my home. Doodle on the other hand whines and complains about EVERYTHING! Oh, and his tattling is ready to send me through the roof. It's time to implement some Growing Kids God's Way because we all three need it!

Back to my story. The rest of Saturday went fine. Buddy didn't get sick at all. My 18 yr old daughter came home at some point and I was at work. Sunday was gorgeous. We went to church, had lunch and Baby went back to her dorm. The boys went to bed at their normal time and I just enjoyed my quiet time doing whatever.

A little after midnight I decide my eyes can't stay open much longer and I have to lead Moms In Touch in the morning (ha! Me leading a mom's prayer group. What a joke, eh?). I need to go to sleep! Enter 12:30am. I hear a huge cough. I didn't hear anything else with the cough, but it was a cough any mother would know. So, I waited a moment and I heard Doodle, yes, my 6 yr old whom I'd warned, call me and tell me he got sick.

Now, I walk into his room expecting to find some puke on the bed. What I hadn't anticipated was the amount. And not only was it on his bed, it had all gone down the side. He has a Little Tykes Twin race car bed. If I thought it was going to be cleaned up with a few swipes, I was in crazyland! I get a couple towels and Doodle wipes himself off. I am pissed off! I'm looking at this mess thinking, this "effing" didn't need to happen (yes I'm a Christian, but I'm still a sinner). If he had just listened to me. Now, in my head I'm telling myself to not say a word and just clean up the mess. Be a good mom, send him to the couch and keep your lips shut. Unfortunately, I'm not that good of a mom. I say, "Did I tell you that you were going to get sick? Do you think you might listen to me the next time." I know!! I will NEVER claim to be a good mom. In fact, if I had a parenting license it would be taken away from me.

I send him upstairs after I gain control of my mouth. I start moving the mattress. Then I realize the puke is on the box spring. I had surgery on my shoulder in Oct and it hasn't recovered enough to be lifting heavy stuff. The mattress is awkward and hard to lift because of my shoulder. I want to start crying. I'm SICK TO DEATH of doing this all alone. I'm SICK TO DEATH of these boys not listening to a fricking thing I say. Let me rephrase that, they listen they could just care less. I'm no good at parenting and even worse when doing it alone! Just being honest.

I want to NOT clean the puke, but who else is going to do it? NO ONE! It's me, always me. (welcome to the pity party, DO NOT join in!) I'm so sick of cleaning up puke. Some days I just want to leave. Drive off and not look back. (Wanting and doing are 2 completely different things and I could never walk away). Maybe an extended vacation for a few years in the Bahamas? But I digress...

I pull the box spring up and then the plank of plywood to find a HUGE puddle of puke on the carpet under the bed. Can you tell I want to crawl into a ball and start weeping pity party tears? I go get more paper towels and keep my composure because what good will crying do? Tears won't clean up the rest of the contents of Doodle's tummy. I climb inside the frame of the bed and pull out the wood strip that has puke on it. Then I tackle the carpet. What a flippin' mess.

The puke is finally gone and everything is just sitting scattered around his room. I look around and know I'm not putting the bed back together tonight. I'm thankful I had a mattress protector on, but what about the box spring that has a side full of puke germs? What do I do about that? Just let it dry and it'll be ok? I have a couple loads of laundry to do now on top of the huge pile that's already sitting in front of my washing machine.

I'm just weary. Hormonal and weary. PMS is not my friend and it amplifies my emotions like you wouldn't believe. I say things I normally wouldn't say. I react irrationally when other times stuff would pretty much roll off my back. And anything negative to do with the boys is at a magnitude that I absolutely can't handle it! One more argument or tattle from either of them and you'll see my head flying into the air because I've exploded!

Nights, or mornings, like this make me glad I have some place to vent. I had to get it out and there's no one to talk to at this hour. I mean verbally. I should've gone to the throne of God, when I was going over the deep end, but I decided to wallow. I wonder what it would've been like if I had turned to Him to begin with. Wonder if the pity party wouldn't have lasted as long or if I wouldn't have felt sorry for myself as much. Maybe next time. And yes, there will be a next time, much to my chagrin.