A long, long time ago, Saturday nights were all about going out. It didn't matter if we went to a movie, or for dinner, or to a pub - the only reason we would stay home is if one of us was unwell. Now, obviously when you have small children you must expect to spend fewer evenings out on the town (let's be honest...once in a blue moon is more truthful!!). For the last few years, a typical Saturday night for us involve a bit of telly or a DVD, a takeaway if we're being really decadent, and a break from folding washing. And I've been perfectly happy with this - I would not trade my children for anything, least of all a glittering social life (however, there have been times when I've wondered if clean hair and a t-shirt free of baby spew would be too much to ask...) Tonight, though, it would seem that even this was too much to expect. The only thing that could salvage tonight is the hope that you might get a giggle out of our misfortunes...and you must realise that the only reason I am blogging right now is to avoid going back to the mess...
I spent the majority of today staying pretty quiet as Jack, Maisie and I were all battling the joys of colds, coughs and conjunctivitis. Yes, we're a charming lot. I actually fell asleep in my chair this afternoon while feeding Maisie, and my darling husband left us there for a good two hours. It was quite nice actually, just snuggling up with my baby and dozing while Jack and Phoebe played around us. Jack had invented a terrific game with his ninja turtles, I'm not quite sure but I think they were saving the world from the cast of Stuart Little. Phoebe was wrapping pieces of wooden train track in scarves and serving them up as ice cream cones. She proudly presented me with one, and I asked her what flavour it was. "Chicken nuggets, Mummy", she replied solemnly. "But you can't eat all of it, only a taste, ok?". Absolutely.
So, a fairly quiet Saturday afternoon for Team O'Toole, right? In fact, I was beginning to think I would have nothing noteworthy for my blog tonight. And then it happened. First of all, I fed Maisie a puree of blueberries, banana and apple for her tea. It was while she gnawed on a piece of bread after her fruit that she gagged, and brought up a purple deluge all over the highchair. We cleaned her up, put the highchair cover in the washing machine, and put her on the floor for a kick while the big kids finished their dinner. When I went to get their pyjamas ready, I came back to find Jack sitting on Maisie's tummy, and hitting her playfully with a piece of wooden train track (it is the most diverse toy, I cannot tell you!). Now, Maisie was gurgling away happily so I was sure that no damage had been done. But of course I needed to stress to Jack the dangers of squashing and smashing little baby sisters, so he was told off, and began to cry. Crying turned to coughing, and before we knew it, there was a stream of chicken, peas and soy chocolate ice cream pouring from Jack's throat. The kitchen floor was awash with vomit. The walls were splattered, it went up the kitchen cupboards, and in the middle of it all, Jack stood crying and coughing. We just begged him to stop spewing, and ducked every time he gagged!
Many paper towels and buckets of PineOCleen later, Christian and I had cleaned up the worst part of the mess, and the big kids were tucked up in bed after being comforted that they were loved despite their vomitting habits. By this point in time, my eye was completely scarlet and nearly closed, and my nose was streaming, but at least I had forgotten about being sick for half an hour!! Of course, the irony is that it is now 11pm, and I feel as though we've been through the wringer. In the olden days, 11pm would be when the night was just getting started!!! The difference is that back then, I would have had several vinos by now. Could it be possible that that's the answer to my problems? Perhaps if I had a couple of drinkies, this would have been a very amusing episode?! Hmmm.....
No comments:
Post a Comment