Oh. My. God. – [Act 6.5] – Slumber Party Gets Bigger

Aaaaaand we’re now three for three.

Oh. My. God.

Buddy is definitely on the mend. He’s still throwing up now and again but it’s more because he drank too much than actually being actively sick. It’s not great, but it’s an improvement!

As for the girls, they’re definitely on that first awful day of non-stop puking. Husband was woken up at 4 AM by the sound of Peanut gagging. He got into their room and found her bed full of puke. He changed her clothes, removed her sheets and started the first load of laundry for the day.

Then Buddy came down with his bucket and started throwing up.

This is where Husband woke me up for some help.

Together, we got the kids situated and got them their own buckets and tossed in a movie. Husband sent me off to bed so I could sleep since I took the previous night. I gladly took the offer. I woke up periodically to the sounds of sick kids in the living room and Husband’s comments, “Keep your chin over the bucket.” “Don’t swallow it.” “Don’t wipe your face with your sleeve!”

Around 7:30 AM Husband came in and woke me up. “Sorry, but Bear just puked in bed. I can’t do all three by myself.”

Awesome.

We’re now on our third load of laundry. BUT we’ve finally got a system going that seems to work. The girls would conveniently puke one at a time about every five to ten minutes. Buddy only pukes if he drinks too much. They all wipe their own chins post-puke with their rags and we’ve got an effective bucket rotation.

I’m sure we’ve got plenty of loads of laundry in our future, but I’m glad that we’re at least getting the worst days out of the way on the weekend while Husband is home. Hopefully by tomorrow when Husband goes back to work the girls will be on the mend and Buddy will be all better.

A mom can hope, right?

This is our Sunday. How's yours?

This is our Sunday. How’s yours?

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Oh. My. God. – [Act 6] – Slumber Party

WARNING: This is easily the most disgusting post to date. If you have a weak stomach I wouldn’t recommend reading this post. Seriously. It’s pretty bad… Major TMI.

Also, please excuse any grammar mistakes or incoherent sentences. I tried to fix them all, but I have a feeling I only made it worse becuase I’m so, so very tired.

****************************************************************************

Last night turned out to be one of the longer and more eventful nights in recent memory.

Husband and I were watching a movie when I heard Buddy whimpering at the top of the stairs. It sounded more upset than the usual whiney I-don’t-want-to-go-to-bed whimpering, so I called him down to ask him what was wrong.

He slid down the stairs slowly on his butt. That should have been my red flag. He never maneuvers the stairs slowly. He typically lunges up and leaps down at a terrifying speed.

He came down, nearly in tears and dove into my arms, burying his head in my shoulder. I maybe got out one request to tell me what was wrong when all hell broke loose.

Or rather, Buddy’s stomach contents.

All over me.

Oh. My. God.

This was the first time I’ve ever been vomited on like this. I mean, yes, I’ve been spit up on plenty of times by a newborn baby. But this… this was a whole different kind of monster. It was a surge of projectile vomit straight into my shoulder. So much vomit that it was dripping down my sweatshirt and pooling in my lap.

Oh. My. GOD.

I get it now. I get why parents say it just doesn’t matter when it’s your kid’s puke. Not because it smells like rainbows and looks like a field of wildflowers. Oh, no. The stink was potent. Very potent. And let’s just say I wouldn’t compare the corn and fish we had for dinner last night to a field of wildflowers.

And I can see where the desire to care for your child overpowers your reaction to the puke. But for me, in that immediate moment of being puked on, Buddy’s puke was manageable because there was only one thing on my mind.

TOILET.

I jumped up and totally disregarded Husband’s wide, watering eyes and I dismissed the slopping noise as Buddy’s vomit fell from my lap and onto the carpet.

All I heard were Buddy’s whimpers, and then a rumbling belch, as his second wave of vomit began to rise.

TOILET. NOW.

Buddy belched again and stopped in the middle of the living room, covering his hands over his mouth.

Cue spraying vomit due to his strategically placed hands.

OH. MY. GOD.

TOILETTOILETTOILET!

Husband sat and stared with an unsure look on his face at Buddy and me as we stood in the middle of the living room, dripping in Buddy’s dinner. I don’t blame him for freezing up, I wouldn’t have wanted to come near us either. Thankfully, I didn’t notice it yet. I was still having my single-minded get-my-kid-to-the-toilet moment of clarity. I picked Buddy up and carried him at arms-length in front of me as I trotted the rest of the way to the bathroom.

We made it right outside of the bathroom door before Buddy threw up once more – mere feet from the toilet.

TOILETTOILETTOILETTOILET!!!!!

I stepped in the puke trying to carry him the last few feet.

Oh, god. OH, GOD.

My chest and shoulder were starting to feel warm from the puke that covered me. My moment of clarity was beginning to wane and I was struggling to not think about the fact that I was covered in… *gaaaaag*

OH. MY. GOD.

*GAAAAAAAAG*

Buddy continued to puke in the toilet over and over as I kicked the door closed and climbed into the tub to start figuring out how to get my sweatshirt off without getting his puke in my hair…

Oh. My. God.

And the smell…

*GAAAAAG!*

After somehow managing to struggle out of my socks, sweatpants and sweatshirt without getting it in my hair, I climbed out of the tub and went to Buddy who was still puking.

At that point, I had gone from clarity, to disgust, to pity. Poor little Buddy had it way worse than I did. At least I wasn’t covered in vomit and doing the vomiting. I reached over and rubbed his back to comfort and encourage him. “You’re doing so good, Buddy. Just let it all out, Bud. Mommy’s right here, you’re doing so good. You’re such a good boy for getting downstairs when your belly felt so icky!”

*puuuuke* “Otay, Mom.” *belch* … *PUUUUKE*

My heart broke for Buddy right then. The poor kid was feeling so awful. At about the same time, I heard the carpet cleaner turn on in the living room.

Oh… right. Poor Husband had that mess in the living room to clean up.

When Buddy’s puking finally subsided, he was so physically exhausted from the effort that he was trembling and sobbing. This is where my second moment of clarity took over. The doting mother side. I got him undressed, tossed his pukey clothes on mine on one side of the tub, put him in the other side of the tub, pulled off the shower head and gave him a gentle, warm shower to clean and relax him a bit.

After Husband finished cleaning the area of the carpet and the recliner chair that had gotten the brunt of Buddy’s puke, I got him dressed and collected his “bucket buddy”. We went into the living room where we would be spending the night together.

And – I’m either really lucky, or I have a sixth sense for oncoming illness, because earlier in the night I had pulled off our memory foam mattress cover and covered it with blankets in the living room to snuggle with the kids and dog. By some miracle, it escaped Buddy’s mess. So this was the perfect place to sleep with Buddy for the night if he kept puking.

And keep puking, he did.

It was about 11:00 at night at that point and I could tell this was going to be a LONG night. So I asked Husband to take the first hour so I could finally get dressed into fresh clothes, start laundry and make myself a snack for the night since I knew I’d be up REALLY late. They sat up and watched the beginning of Finding Nemo together.

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Oh – And by snack, I mean gigantic platter of sushi…

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I know. It was a tad excessive. But I’ve never made sushi before and I didn’t realize I was making enough rice to feed an army. Still… I ended up eating about a quarter of it before I was just SO full. (And yes, I was able to manage eating after getting puked on. I was surprised to find that I had worked up quite the appetite after all of that mayhem.)

Buddy and I were up until after 1 AM. He was dry heaving with his bucket buddy about every ten minutes. Finally, he was just so exhausted from the effort that he passed out. From there, He woke up about once every hour to puke. I hardly slept last night and neither did Buddy.

We’ve definitely been lazy sacks this morning.

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He’s still dry heaving once in a while this morning, but it’s definitely more spaced apart. Hopefully we can get something in his stomach tonight, but until then, we’re sticking with little bits of toast.

Also, I’m definitely feeling very twitchy this morning. Every time I hear Buddy cough I’m diving for his bucket and thrusting it in his lap. He responds to this with, “It otay Momma. I just a-choo’in.”

Awww. Even after his worst night ever he still manages to be the cutest kid ever.

Oh. My. God. [act 5]

Oh. My. God.

I need a drink. Stat.

So… Husband and I are Catholic. We go to church every week. Husband is even a Eucharistic Minister (distributes the blood/wine and body/bread) and Lector (speaks in front of the congregation). We even get involved in parish events like fish fries and festivals when we have time.

You would think this would translate into our kids into well-behaved, studious little angels.

You would think…

But the fact is that since having the girls, we’ve been going to church separately to avoid bringing the kids to church with us. We just didn’t have the heart to deal with it. They haven’t really been to church regularly in around a year.

Today I decided Buddy was plenty old enough at 2 1/2 years old to be able to handle church. I asked him if he wanted to go to church with me today, and he nearly jumped out of his skin with excitement and started running around the house yelling “derch!” “derch!”

I got us ready and he was grinning like a fool the whole while. Husband got home and we headed out for mass. Buddy was singing about church in the backseat.

I was feeling good about my decision.

When we arrived he walked in silently and looked around himself in awe. He sat down quietly and watched the people around him. He would occasionally look at me and treat me with one of his heart-melting smiles.

I was feeling very good about my decision.

Until he got his hands on my keys. And began slamming them around the wooden pew. And then threw a fit when I took them away. And only yelled louder when I asked him desperately to whisper.

oh. my. god.

The parishioners around me were polite enough to keep their eyes forward and pretend they weren’t irritated to have ended up by the naughty kid.

I was grateful for that.

Buddy eventually settled down to a reasonably quiet play as he crawled and climbed around the pew and kneeler. The most I could hear was a little giggle and occasional scuffle now and again. That was acceptable.

Then the Eucharist came. There’s a lot of standing, sitting and kneeling during this part of church. Buddy wasn’t having it. Having decided that church wasn’t as amazingly awesome as he thought it would be, he climbed out from under the pew and took off running.

oh. my. god.

I had to jump up and run after him when, of course, everyone else was kneeling. I could be seen for miles. I grabbed up a now furiously wailing Buddy and headed back for the pew.

Mortified.

I sat him down on the pew and went back to kneeling. I was hunched over as far as I could go to avoid anyone looking at me.

That’s when I noticed Buddy. Taking apart my kneeler. Like… literally taking it apart. He had a screw out and a rubber stopper pulled off.

Oh. my. GOD.

I grabbed Buddy’s arm, now very low on patience, and pulled him out from under the pew.

Banging the back of his head in the process.

LOUD.

Oh. my. god.

I swear on my life that bang could have been heard from the ends of the earth.

All other parishioners around me forgot their years of practiced patience and respect for parents of kids-gone-bad as everyone turned around and looked straight at me, wide-eyed.

Some people gasped.

There I stood, holding a thrashing and screaming child in my arms, trying with all of my might to calm him down. People continued to watch. Slowly, as Buddy calmed down, people turned back to the front. Only the priest didn’t seem phased by my awful child. God bless him. I wanted to hug him.

Finally, Buddy was quiet. He was slumped in my arms and whimpering occasionally. We went up and received Communion. I got my wafer and popped it in my mouth. Buddy noticed everyone else got a snack and he didn’t. He pointed at the lady and said. “cracker?” I told him I’d give him one back home.

He wasn’t having it. He wanted one NOW. Another fit ensued as we headed back to our pew. Everyone watched us. Once he was settled, I asked him in a whisper if he was okay now and if I could give him a hug.

He reared back his head, a look of fury on his face, and screamed out as loud as his little lungs could handle, “NOOO!!!!”

Then he hit me. HARD.

Oh. My. God.

He never hits.

The old lady behind me gasped.

I did too.

I had had just about enough at this point. I was ready to just go home. After Buddy finally settled down for the millionth time, I asked him if he was ready to go home to see Daddy and Remmy.

At the thought of leaving, Buddy went wide-eyed and gave me one of his million-dollar smiles and said, “No! Beach!”

Except when he says beach, it doesn’t sound like beach. It sounds like a word that rhymes with “itch”.

Oh. My. God.
OH. MY. GOD. 

The parishioners around me gasped yet again as they listened to my son call me the b-word. Or so they thought.

I wanted desperately to yell out “No! beach! He said beach!!! He wants to go to the beach!” I mean, no one was listening to the priest anymore anyway. Instead, I stood up and headed for the aisle with what little dignity I had left. I made the walk of shame down the aisle while everyone got their good senses back and looked down and away as I passed them.

Buddy skipped along happily beside me.

I have no idea what mass was about. After today, I don’t think I’ll ever go back.

Oh. My. God. [act 4]

I keep putting this post off until I’ve cooled down enough to laugh at the situation. The problem with this theory is that this has happened three days in a row now.

After today’s incident, I just don’t care anymore. Husband, of course, will be furious because this certain budget has suddenly gone through the roof. (more to come later on the “budget” issue)

To begin…

Day 1:

Buddy just celebrated his second birthday on 2/22. This past Saturday (2/25) we were planning on having some family and friends over and having a little party for him. I had spent the previous night picking up and doing odds and ends and cleaning things. Of course, that morning Husband had to run in to work for a few hours to finish up a few projects so I was on my own to do the preparations for the party. This wouldn’t have been that big of a deal if Buddy wouldn’t have picked that day, of all days, to make the grand-daddy of messes throughout the first floor of our house.

It started out with me giving his sisters a bath. He always tries to jump in the tub with them and I didn’t have the time to deal with it so I locked him out of the bathroom and got to work. Approx. fifteen minutes later, I opened the door to find this:

What on earth… ?

My very first thought was, “What the heck?! Did he whip his willy back and forth while peeing on the carpet? (I will say this once, this would not surprise me.)

Then, as my eyes lifted I clutched my chest and gasped in horror as this came into view:

Dear god… what happened?!

No… this most definitely wasn’t Buddy’s willy at work. Now I looked closer and realized the dark brown color. What is this?! Some kind of… *grooooooan* … Noooooo. Please god no. If it’s this it’ll be impossible to get out.

My shock slowly recedes and is replaced by rage and despair. I am most definitely beginning to notice the smell now but I’m still in denial. There’s no way Buddy could have gotten into this. It’s locked away in a cabinet with a child proof lock seven feet from the ground. No. WAY. could Buddy have gotten this.

I go to the kitchen and find the cabinet still locked. I open it and find the item in question missing. What the… Oh no. no, no, no. Where is it then? My eyes widen when I realize the item in question was originally mostly full. This meant there’s got to be more somewhere else. *ugh! NO!*

I check through the living room and it checks out, but as I head to the girl’s room I can already see offense #3. I got to the doorway and timidly looked around the corner to find this:

But… where is the lost item…

I scowl… the missing item isn’t here. That means there’s still more mess somewhere. I go to turn around and find Buddy but I hear a rattle behind the recliner.

gotcha!

I scowl even deeper as I step around the brown squiggle art on the carpet and I pull the recliner away from the wall to find Buddy and this:

Ground Zero

I was ready to scream but I just growled under my breath at the offender as he skipped past me to avoid a scolding. I stared at ground zero.

Maple syrup. It must have been half of the bottle in a giant, glistening, concentrated puddle. Un-believable.

Now, don’t forget that I was hosting a birthday party for Buddy in a few hours. Perfect. Just perfect. I ran to the hallway closet and pulled out the carpet cleaner ad prayed that it would be enough. It took over an hour and nearly half of the container of soap and many, many trips to the tub to re-fill the carpet cleaner, but it got done. I cleaned it all up. There were still a few lightly visible spots but besides that it was good.

The party went off without a hitch and we had a great time.

Then, Sunday came. Day two. Husband and I go to church separate because it’s just too much to try to manage the three kids every single week. (Irritating side story I need to vent about: One older man once puffed out his chest and told me, “Well, we took our three kids to church right away. We told them they had to behave and they had no choice.” His tone and tilt-of-nose said everything. ‘Back in my day we raised kids right. We didn’t coddle them and spoil them. We told them what’s up and they did it!’ I scowled in response and in my mind said some of the most offensive things I could think of. But, as that would have been rude, I simply replied, “Were your three kids all under two years old at the same time?” He just grumbled something most likely irate and self-satisfying to himself and left me alone after that. Bah.)

Anyway, so apparently while I was at church Husband came across another Maple syrup land mine in our bedroom. Buddy did it again. It was all cleaned up by the time I got home, but that’s besides the point. We were 1/3 of the way through a second bottle of syrup in two days. This was uncalled for!  Husband readily agreed as he growled to me about how, “This is way above our syrup budget this month!”

Apparently we have a specific budget for syrup. According to him, we have a budget for saltines, pretzels, milk, shampoo, ice cream ad any other product that we go through too quickly for his taste. I mean, saltines and pretzels are so crazy expensive right? *eyeroll*

So, now we come to today. Day 3:

I was upstairs in our guest room on the internet for about ten minutes. I realized it was deathly quiet downstairs, but all three kids were still awake.

NO!

Silence is never good in this house. Silence means they’ve all gotten into something new and extremely interesting. Something that, 90% of the time, they’re not supposed to get into.

I dashed down the stairs and came upon this:

Peanut

Bear

Need I say more?

About an hour after this I had the kids clothes in the washing machine, the kids in the tub, the kitchen floor mopped and the carpet cleaned (where the girls left a syrup trail following me to the bathroom).

*sigh*

Oh, and I almost forgot to mention the grand finale…

After washing Buddy and his sisters I got them out of the tub and took the sisters in their room to get them in diapers and fresh clothes and feed them and put them down for their nap. In that time Buddy got a hold of Remmy’s dog shampoo. Apparently the bathroom wasn’t clean enough for Buddy, because he had taken Remmy’s dog shampoo and squirted it all over the tub, the floor and toilet, the walls, the sink  and the mirror. By some miracle he didn’t squirt it in our medicine cabinet or on the outer fabric shower curtain.

I made Buddy take a nap before I snapped. After I tucked him in with a scowl and threatened him to stay in bed or else, I headed to the bathroom to clean.

Again.

Oh. My. God.

Oh. My. God. [Act 3]

Tonight was what I hope is the third part of a trilogy. I mean it. I really hope this is a trilogy and not a series. While it’s not as funny as the dog puke incident or as disgusting as the poop incident, I thought it was still worth noting.

All day long I’ve been feeling a little bit off. I had a headache and a stomach-ache and had some major bouts of nausea and I just didn’t feel right. (This is where I pause and inform you all that, NO, I am absolutely not pregnant. No. No. NO. Don’t even think it.)

Husband was kind enough to make dinner tonight so I could try to rest. He went above and beyond his usual delicious dinner. A few minutes in, whether it was the yummy dinner or the fact that the kid’s mouths were too full to continue their screaming rampage through the house, my headache finally began to lift. When we finished eating I asked husband if he minded if I took a shower before the kids go down. (ie: would he mind watching all three for like half an hour so I could make an attempt at shaking off whatever this weird bug was.)

He said sure and I headed into the bathroom. No sooner did I get into the shower when Buddy was hot on my heels, throwing back the shower curtain. I sighed and told him to take off his clothes and he could join me. He squealed and started tearing off his clothes like a madman while I carelessly squirted bubble bath soap randomly around the tub I was standing in and closed the drain. Buddy whipped his toys in the tub, hitting my shins on occasion (I now have two little bruises… the turd) then dove in himself.

After the shower is where things got a little interesting. I turned off the water and heard panting outside of the shower curtain. I pulled back the curtain to find Bear perched against the cabinet smiling broadly as if she was saying, “I found youuuu!” Apparently Buddy left the door open. She got down and came over to the tub as I got out and perched herself against the side of the tub and watched Buddy playing in the water. My “alone time” was really dwindling fast. I decided that I’d just ignore them and keep going about my business. I dried off while climbing around Bear and trying to avoid getting splashed by Buddy who was laughing and thrashing like a maniac now because it was making Bear laugh.

I should also note that our bathroom is tiny. It’s one of those bathrooms where you literally have like a 7 foot by 2 foot area to walk. It’s long and skinny. Your knees could possibly touch the tub while sitting on the toilet. This is the only bathroom in our home.

So, I’m getting dressed in the tiny area between the tub and the toilet while Buddy is thrashing in the tub and Bear is taking up most of the space in front of the sink/mirror. As I’m playing contortionist in the corner trying to get my clothes on, you’ll never guess who comes around the corner to join us. Well… you probably will. It’s Peanut! She comes in, giggling and squealing in all of her glory. She wants in on the action and she wants in on it now!

Now I’ve got all three kids in the room with me. The smallest room in the entire house. So much for my alone time. The girls are laughing and screaming while Buddy puts on a show with his tub toys. He’s throwing them all over the place and jumping around, splashing the giggling girls in the process. I note all of the water on the floor and put on my socks and slippers thinking the rubber-bottomed slippers will keep my socks from getting wet at least. (Normally I’d tell him not to splash, but this was my me time.)

I begin to brush my hair and remember that I’ve been wanting to try to do my hair nice once since cutting my hair considerably shorter about a week ago. I shrug. I may as well just do it. It’s not like I’ll ever get my alone time. *sigh*

I grab some mousse and my diffuser and get to work. I figure that’s the simplest up-do for the time being but it will give me a good idea of what I’m working with. I’ve got one kid wrapped around one foot, and another balancing herself on my leg. After I saturate my hair with the mousse, I maneuver myself slightly so I can at least bend over and turn on the blow dryer. I’m about halfway through and getting comfortable with my complete lack of space when suddenly my foot gets soaked. Not the kind of soaked where it’s kind of annoyingly wet on the bottom of the sock when you step in a wet spot. No. I felt like I was walking through a pond with my shoes and socks on. My slipper was full of water and my sock was disgustingly squished against my foot. I turned around to find Bear standing there with a little container tipped to the side and positioned directly over a small opening at the back of my slipper. She dumped a good 15-20 oz. of water into my slipper. Buddy must have set it on the ledge of the tub full of water. *siiiiigh*

I peel off my sopping slipper and sock, and take off my other ones  and roll up my pants for good measure. I at least want to finish my hair.

No sooner did I get my hands on the hairdryer when Buddy lets out a blood curdling scream. I look at him in the mirror and ask him what’s wrong, but he just keeps screaming like he got hurt (even though he’s clearly okay). I roll my eyes and curse husband for not coming to my aid yet as I turn around to assess the newest situation.

“Ah.” I chuckled. “That’s why.” There were three little poops floating in the tub. Buddy was cowering in the opposite corner of the little floating heathens, clearly terrified of the cursed floating poop. He was freaked. out.

Husband finally came charging in asking what’s wrong and finds me straddled awkwardly over the two girls and Buddy cowering in the tub. I pointed to the tub and Husband laughed. I growled, “Can you please help me with something in here.” He pauses. “What do you need?” *Are you serious?* “Take the girls.”

He dives in and grabs the girls and my legs are freed to assess the situation. Buddy is still screaming in the corner and the poops are beginning to migrate in his direction. He is NOT pleased and starts dancing in place. I grab the container that was used to completely soak my perfectly good slipper and attempted to scoop up the poops. I made the mistake of scooping in the direction of Buddy and they all began dancing and twirling in the water at a dangerous speed towards him. That was enough. He went over the edge. He screamed and dove away from the terrifying floating monsters and nearly drowned himself in the process as his face was fully submerged in water for a moment. He came up sputtering and thrashing and wailing, his entire body in defense mode at this point. He had to escape. He had to escape NOW.

He finally found his bearings and I finally got ahold of his slippery little body and pulled him out, panting and wide-eyed, clinging to me for dear life. I wrapped him in a blanket and we turned and silently watched two of the remaining turds dancing freely in the water. After a moment, I put him down and grabbed his container and scooped up the rest of the poops and flushed them down the toilet.

Saying the floor was soaked by this point would be an understatement. Not only that, but the remaining half of my hair that I didn’t get to blow dry with my diffuser was now hard and stuck to the side of my head.

After I finally cleaned up the floor, drained the tub, picked up Buddy’s toys, changed myself and the girls into dry clothes and got Buddy into his pajamas, I just chuckled to myself. These are the moments you never consider when planning for a family. Although these moments can be extremely taxing and overwhelming, you will almost always find yourself laughing about it afterwards.

What was my lesson learned this time? Don’t ever ever assume the bathroom is my safe zone. I will now always expect adventures, even in the unlikeliest of places.

Oh. My. God. [Act 2]

Buddy has been potty training. Naturally, with potty training comes accidents.

Yesterday, husband and I started our second attempt at potty training. He had a couple of accidents peeing on the floor. We were happy that it was just pee and not poop. This was only because he refused to poop yesterday until we put his overnight diaper on. We didn’t know if this was because he honestly didn’t have to go until then, or if he was just unsure about using the potty for a #2. We had a feeling it was the second of the two. Either way, we knew the poop accident would come sooner or later.

It came today.

Although yesterday was kind of a nightmare, I had been very lucky today with Buddy. He, by some miracle, decided that he would be more agreeable today with the potty. He was going to it without a fuss and without provocation on my part. This was a huge step forward from yesterday.

In what I now see as an incredibly stupid decision on my part, I left him alone to check my emails etc in the other room for about 15-ish minutes.

Correction: Him and his sisters. Alone during potty training.

Alone.

Suddenly I realized it was eerily quiet in the other room. I got up and peeked around the corner and found the girls huddled together in the hallway and Buddy standing over them looking at me uncertainly. When I looked closer, I noticed the girls were playing with something. Bear had a handful of something and was squashing it through her fingers and Peanut was slapping it into the ground. It looked sort of like…

NO

OHMYGODNO!!!!!! *gaaag!*

I dove forward.

I hit the ground and grabbed both girls by the feet and yanked them from the pile of Buddy feces in the middle of our hallway. Or, at least, what would have been a pile before the girls got to it. Now it looked more like… *gaaaaaag!*

I looked at their hands.

Their brown glistening hands.

*gaaaag!*

“Oh god.” *GAAAAAAAAG*

Bear raised her hand to her mouth and I slapped it away, realizing moments later that her chin was already brown.

*gaaag* *gaaaaaaaag!!!*

I pulled her hand from her mouth a second time and took off running. I cleared Buddy’s head easily as I jumped over him and ran for the nearest rag pile.

I hear Buddy begin to silently gag behind me. I grab a handful of rags and turn to look at him, tears running down his red face, nearly vomiting from the scene before him.

I dive over Buddy again and squatted down in front of my smiling and giggling girls and attack their filthy hands.

I take a third rag and pick up what isn’t smashed into the carpet, thanking the heavens that the smell doesn’t bother me anymore. Then, I remembered the smell of dog vomit.

*GAAAAAAAAG!*

Watery-eyed, I head into the bathroom and with a lot of soap and water, clean off the rags, the girls hands and, *gag* faces.

I turn to the door and find Buddy standing in the doorway looking at me with what I can only describe as an extremely apologetic face. He looked so embarrassed. I then realized that I didn’t talk to him about his accident.

I laughed. I didn’t have to talk to him about it. He saw the aftermath. He won’t do it again. That, I’m sure of.

“It’s okay Buddy. I know it was an accident. You didn’t mean it. Next time you’ll use the potty, right?” He grumbles an affirmative sound and heads into the living room to watch Sesame Street.

I got a finger brush and washed out the girl’s mouths, then went and got some water for the girls to, erm, wash down their main course. Yuck, yuck, yuck.

I pulled the carpet cleaner out of the closet and got to work. After a few quick minutes, I had the disaster area looking good as new. Right when I finished, Buddy came running up to me and pulled on my pants excitedly yelling, “Mommy! Mommy!”

I followed him to his potty where he proudly showed me two perfectly formed little logs sitting on the bottom of his potty.

Hallelujah!!

Lesson learned. Next time, I’ll remember to keep a closer eye on the kids during potty training. That, or I’ll keep the dog around. I’d very much prefer him eating the disgusting things around the house over my two daughters.

oh. my. god.

If you have a sensitive stomach, I don’t suggest reading this post.

I have a funny/disgusting side story from today.  Sooo Remmy randomly threw up on the kitchen floor a few hours ago in front of Buddy.  Buddy, thank god, didn’t try to run through it, or start slapping it or try squashing it like he usually does with mystery liquids on the ground.  (gagging yet?)  I didn’t notice it until Buddy started whining for my attention.  I turned around and see he’s stranded on the far side of the enormous pile of vomit against the door.  *Oh god!  Uhhhhhhggg Remmy!*  I tell Buddy to stay right. there. and don’t. move. then pull the dog, now attempting to eat his own vomit, into the living room.

I come back to find no Buddy, and little foot tracks through the vomit and footprints across the kitchen up to the sink.  *AAAAGH!!!*  I run over to Buddy, hopping over the vomit tracks, and tell him to sit down so I can take his socks off.   This is where I start gagging.  I finally get his socks off and throw them in the sink to attack later.

I turn my attention to the vomit pile at the back door.  It’s now being eaten by the dog.  “NO!  REMMY NO!! OH GOD!”  *Gaaaag*  “Get AWAY from that!”  *GAAAAAAG!*

Buddy begins laughing at my gagging, thinking I’m putting on a loud noises show.

I rip the entire paper towel roll off of the holder and grab the garbage bag and head into ground zero.  The dog is slinking away, licking his chops like he just got some kind of delicious snack.  *disgusting.  Foul.  Awful…*  I get on my hands and knees and rip off an arm’s length of paper towels.  The smell hits me like  bomb.   *gaaaag… GAAAAG!*

Buddy is practically falling to the ground laughing at my gagging.

I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and start blindly attacking the massive pile of stink.  I throw the first handful of towels in the garbage and hear a sickening *slop* as it hits the bottom.  *GAAAAAG!*  Buddy is gasping for air he’s laughing so hard.  Then, god rest his evil little soul, starts imitating my gagging with loud gagging of his own!

That throws me into gagging overdrive.  My eyes are watering.  I’m just attacking everything I can as quick as I can in between my gags and Buddy’s.

Finally, what feels like an eternity later, I’m done.  My stomach hurts from all the gagging, and Buddy is happily strutting around the house yelling little “EEhhh!” gags whenever his little heart desires.

I mopped the floor everywhere he wandered with his pukey socks, and attacked the back door.  I grabbed his socks with what little clean fabric I could get my hands on and I sprayed them with the hose attachment on the sink.

Next time, I think I’ll just let the dog eat it…