Pass Me A Bucket
*1045pm Saturday evening*
I finally sat down trying to relax and feeling like I'd just completed a major undertaking. There was no feeling of satisfaction involved...only a sense of unrest...mentally questioning myself and wondering if I'd just fucked up with my parenting methods.
I heard the bed springs creak through the wall and my gaze moved swiftly to Cameron.
Me: "Oh God, he's on the move....*voice rising in panic*....do you think he's getting up?!"
We both stop breathing to listen intently...the silence in the lounge is defeaning...interrupted by an unusual sound from the nearby room....
Cameron: "Dunno, but I doubt it's a good sign"
Being a mother also gives me the responsibility of Private Investigator. I go to explore a realm of possibilities I've never set foot in before.
I open the bedroom door carefully to be greeted with the sound and stench of stomach contents re-entering the world the way they went down.
*Bleeeeeeuuuuuughhhh!!*
"Cameron?!" He comes running like the reliable wing man he is.
"Quick...get me a towel from the bathroom please...and a cold face cloth"
I squat down beside the bed in the dark, and gently try to take the bowl from my youngest son.
*arms locked around bowl in vice-like grip*
"Can you let go of the bowl for a moment honey?...just let go of the bowl, I'll be back with it shortly." ["Shit, let go and give me the freakin' bowl!"]
Ryan: *grunt...hoik...spit* "I'm ok...I'll be ok" *hoik....spit...grunt*
The precious bowl was half full of liquid...chewed up floating chicken and remnants of mashed up veges [why are there ALWAYS carrots involved???)]
He was holding on to that bowl like it was the anchor to his life-ship. The fact that he was actually hanging half off the bed at the time was of no consequence whatsoever to him.
I cleaned him up as best as I could (including the muck through his hair and the mucousy slime from his arms) and tried to settle him back down to sleep again...I couldn't even imagine being able to get him to the shower in that condition.
*Fast forward to 8am Sunday morning*
Sitting here minding my own business and having a good catch up with the lovely Fizzy via MSN, my conversation is abruptly interrupted by Ryan entering the lounge.
Ryan: "Um...my bed is all wet..."
Me: "Oh?...do you think you wet the bed while you were sleeping?" ["Oh for fuck sake, he's pissed the bed!"]
Ryan: "No, I think it was when I threw up last night, it didn't get all cleaned up properly"
Mentally I slapped my PI hat back on and wandered to his room calmly to scrutinize evidence.
There was no way I would've missed THAT had it been there the night before. With the cleaning up I was doing, I had to turn the light on - I could NOT have missed what I saw the following morning.
[Aaaww, fuuuuck]
More puke. Up the curtain...down the wall...all over the pillows.
More chicken...more veges....and certainly more liquid soaking into the mattress.
He'd thrown up again in his sleep without even knowing he'd done it.
Ryan: *shamefaced* "I'm sorry Mum"
Me: *sigh* "Oh well...not to worry....we've all done something similar at some stage"
I stripped the duvet, sheets and pillows off his bed, trying to avoid the regurgitated foodstuff hitting the carpet and pull it all into the hallway.
Gesturing for him to follow me, I entered the kitchen...reached into the cupboard, pulled out a clean pair of latex gloves and held them out to him.
"Pick off all the food....sponge off as much excess muck as you can, and then put it all in the washing machine."
He didn't bat an eyelid, just went ahead and did as he was told. The incredibly unfortunate thing was he didn't appear to be feeling the slightest bit seedy or even have a headache.
I sat there on Saturday night at a friend's birthday party, watching both my teenagers playing drinking card games. Several times I felt compelled to step in and halt the flow down their throats. Each time pulling back with the thought, that it was going to happen sometime, better that their father and I were around to pick up the pieces of what was hopefully going to be a valuable lesson.
My son and I both got an education that night.
Ryan learned that he can say "I luff youuu" several times to several different people, regardless of whether he knew them or not.
And I learned how utterly useless apple-scented air freshener can be.
I finally sat down trying to relax and feeling like I'd just completed a major undertaking. There was no feeling of satisfaction involved...only a sense of unrest...mentally questioning myself and wondering if I'd just fucked up with my parenting methods.
I heard the bed springs creak through the wall and my gaze moved swiftly to Cameron.
Me: "Oh God, he's on the move....*voice rising in panic*....do you think he's getting up?!"
We both stop breathing to listen intently...the silence in the lounge is defeaning...interrupted by an unusual sound from the nearby room....
Cameron: "Dunno, but I doubt it's a good sign"
Being a mother also gives me the responsibility of Private Investigator. I go to explore a realm of possibilities I've never set foot in before.
I open the bedroom door carefully to be greeted with the sound and stench of stomach contents re-entering the world the way they went down.
*Bleeeeeeuuuuuughhhh!!*
"Cameron?!" He comes running like the reliable wing man he is.
"Quick...get me a towel from the bathroom please...and a cold face cloth"
I squat down beside the bed in the dark, and gently try to take the bowl from my youngest son.
*arms locked around bowl in vice-like grip*
"Can you let go of the bowl for a moment honey?...just let go of the bowl, I'll be back with it shortly." ["Shit, let go and give me the freakin' bowl!"]
Ryan: *grunt...hoik...spit* "I'm ok...I'll be ok" *hoik....spit...grunt*
The precious bowl was half full of liquid...chewed up floating chicken and remnants of mashed up veges [why are there ALWAYS carrots involved???)]
He was holding on to that bowl like it was the anchor to his life-ship. The fact that he was actually hanging half off the bed at the time was of no consequence whatsoever to him.
I cleaned him up as best as I could (including the muck through his hair and the mucousy slime from his arms) and tried to settle him back down to sleep again...I couldn't even imagine being able to get him to the shower in that condition.
*Fast forward to 8am Sunday morning*
Sitting here minding my own business and having a good catch up with the lovely Fizzy via MSN, my conversation is abruptly interrupted by Ryan entering the lounge.
Ryan: "Um...my bed is all wet..."
Me: "Oh?...do you think you wet the bed while you were sleeping?" ["Oh for fuck sake, he's pissed the bed!"]
Ryan: "No, I think it was when I threw up last night, it didn't get all cleaned up properly"
Mentally I slapped my PI hat back on and wandered to his room calmly to scrutinize evidence.
There was no way I would've missed THAT had it been there the night before. With the cleaning up I was doing, I had to turn the light on - I could NOT have missed what I saw the following morning.
[Aaaww, fuuuuck]
More puke. Up the curtain...down the wall...all over the pillows.
More chicken...more veges....and certainly more liquid soaking into the mattress.
He'd thrown up again in his sleep without even knowing he'd done it.
Ryan: *shamefaced* "I'm sorry Mum"
Me: *sigh* "Oh well...not to worry....we've all done something similar at some stage"
I stripped the duvet, sheets and pillows off his bed, trying to avoid the regurgitated foodstuff hitting the carpet and pull it all into the hallway.
Gesturing for him to follow me, I entered the kitchen...reached into the cupboard, pulled out a clean pair of latex gloves and held them out to him.
"Pick off all the food....sponge off as much excess muck as you can, and then put it all in the washing machine."
He didn't bat an eyelid, just went ahead and did as he was told. The incredibly unfortunate thing was he didn't appear to be feeling the slightest bit seedy or even have a headache.
I sat there on Saturday night at a friend's birthday party, watching both my teenagers playing drinking card games. Several times I felt compelled to step in and halt the flow down their throats. Each time pulling back with the thought, that it was going to happen sometime, better that their father and I were around to pick up the pieces of what was hopefully going to be a valuable lesson.
My son and I both got an education that night.
Ryan learned that he can say "I luff youuu" several times to several different people, regardless of whether he knew them or not.
And I learned how utterly useless apple-scented air freshener can be.
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