Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Don't Make Me Sick

I don't do vomit. Barf. Puke. Up chuck.....whatever you call it, I don't do it.

I avoid it at all costs. I have even been known to lock myself in my room while my poor husband is forced to comfort and clean up after sick children.

Don't get me wrong, if I'm the only one here...I take care of the sick children. Keeping them clean and hydrated. But I reeeeallly struggle with it. A lot. It has actually become a bit of a joke in my family. My parents just recently went on vacation, asking me to keep an eye on my siblings. My sister was going through a rough time and my mom apologized profusely at the prospect of her "falling apart" on me.

"Don't worry Mom, if she falls apart, she falls apart. I can handle it" I assured her.

"She's right, as long as nobody's throwing up, she'll be just fine" my dad replied.

Ha. Ha. Good one dad.

My brother, the aspiring psychologist has even inferred that I have a full blown phobia. I prefer to think of it as post traumatic stress. On Olyut's second Christmas, he came down with rotavirus. Any mom knows that is a nasty, nasty stomach virus that lasts for. ev. er. He couldn't keep anything down. He was crying all the time because rotavirus comes complete with horrible stomach cramps that I've heard likened to digesting razor blades.

We took him to the ER two days in a row where he was given fluids through an IV, just to be sent home with instructions to come back if he didn't get better. On the third day, we took him to his pediatrician who admitted him to the hospital. He stayed there for a week. Then a week after he was discharged he got norovirus and was right back to the ER.

He got the stomach flu 5-6 more times over the following year, each time landing him back in the ER. He has a very touchy gag reflex (I'm guessing from all the time spent on a ventilator when he was born) and has a very hard time stopping once he starts throwing up. It has mellowed over the years but, it took a few more visits to the ER, several visits to the pediatrician, and a prescription for Zofran to keep at the house. It's really only been in the past three years or so that we've been able to manage the stomach flu without him getting crazy dehydrated.

So it's true, I get super stressed out about it. I don't want to go anywhere near anyone that has thrown up in the past 72 hours. So I about lost it a couple weeks ago when my mom asked me to take a care package to my sick brother. I could not believe she even asked. I had to pick my jaw up off the floor and give myself a major pep talk before I was able to pick up some Gatorade and Saltines, drop them on his doorstep and run like mad after ringing his doorbell. Not to mention the hand sanitizer bath I took once back in the safety of my car.

No joke. This is an actual text exchange between us after the fact...

Thanks for getting me all the stuff B-rooke.  Thanks for coming to the belly of the beast to do that!

You're welcome. You better know how much I love you, punk. Just use it so my sacrifice isn't in vain :-P

Haha no joke! I was telling Matt it's really nice that you came because I've never seen anyone else that's as weirded out about throwing up haha. Hopefully none of y'all get sick. Hopefully it was just a fluke thing. 

I know! I'm the worst....like Mr. Monk, Howie Mandel, and Mark Sommers all rolled into one. 

Haha. Luckily it's mostly just the throw up bug that freaks you out. So you can shake people's hands and stuff. 

True. Unless I know they've barfed recently. 

True dat!

In fact, I may never shake your hand again ;)

See? Problems, I got 'em. 

That's why, when my Zumba teacher ran out of class with ten minutes to spare because she was going to be sick, I could not get out of there fast enough. And may have taken another hand sanitizer bath when I got home. I heard later that several of the other Zumba students texted her over the next couple of days to make sure she was ok. Me? I just prayed and prayed the virus didn't make its way to our house. It didn't even cross my mind to check on her. 


On second thought, maybe my brother is on to something. Maybe I really do have a phobia. Maybe that means I can plead insanity on judgement day. Is that how it works? I hope so. Or I may just end up in h-e-double hockey sticks. 

I HAVE gotten a lot better over the years but I doubt I'll ever be the kind of mom that strokes her kids' hair as they are throwing up. I am now capable of offering a comforting hug though. Please tell me that counts for something. 

Monday, April 8, 2013

Dolce and What Did You Say?

My parents live at the mall.  Not in a " wow, you really have a shopping problem" sort of way. But literally. Like in a "if they fall down four floors, they'll be in J. Crew" sort of way.

So we find ourselves in the mall often. We know a lot about this particular mall. For instance, there's a restaurant on the 2nd floor of Nordstrom. Just like several other Nordstrom stores across the country. It's never been busy when we go, but it is very yummy. We find ourselves there every couple of months or so.

After the last time, we decided to split up on our way back to Magah's apartment. Magah and Aunt Ashley took Olyut and the Princess down the escalator because they love it so, while Daddy and I took the stroller down in the elevator.

Along the way, Magah and Ashley got distracted by a gorgeous Dolce and Gabbana lace dress and stopped to give it the admiration it rightfully deserved. Which is all well and good, unless you have two grubby handed children with you.

Which is exactly what my children are: grubby handed.

I'm not exactly sure how. I'm constantly wiping faces and hands. Or supervising while the older two wash their own hands. Or inspecting hands after they've been washed.

But somehow, on any given day, my walls look like this...

Even if I just wiped down the walls the day before.Which is probably why, when Olyut reached out his little hands to touch that gorgeous,expensive dress, my mom and sister saw....

Whether his hands looked like that right then or not. It also explains their synchronized reaction. 

"No, no, no, no, no, no, NO! No Olyut! No, don't touch that!!!"

To his credit, he actually listened. He stopped dead in his tracks.

"Why not, Magah?"

"Because that dress costs $2000, buddy, and we don't want to mess it up."

He thought that was absolutely hilarious...

Until my mom showed him the price tag. 

There isn't much that leaves Olyut speechless. But a $2000 dress sure did the trick.

Sunday, April 7, 2013

A Numbers Game

Olyut doesn't like math. The way he reacts to math homework each night, you'd think we were water boarding him or something. Lots of yelling and screaming and flinging himself on the floor. It's a nightmare. For him AND me. I think it's made me hate math more than I did when I was in school. If that's possible.

So it bugs me when Olyut starts with his math questions.

He'll say, "Mom, what's 2+2" and I'll answer him.  Then he'll say, "Mom, what's 4+4?" And I will answer that. Then he'll say, "Mom..." And before he can ask what 8+8 is, I wil say, "Olyut, I don't want to play this game anymore. Don't ask me any more math problems!"

But my husband is infinitely more patient with this sort of thing than I am. So the other night he'd asked me if I had figured out Olyut's "tell", so to speak. The way he signals that he is done playing his own game. When I admitted that I haven't ever made it that far, he let me in on the secret.

You see, he has played this game many, MANY times. Because Olyut LOVES this game. He starts it anywhere and everywhere. At all hours of the day.

But it always ends the same way. Once he decides he doesn't want to play anymore, he will ask one more math question. For example, "Dad, what's 1600+1600?". Then my husband will answer, "it's 3200" and Olyut will respond with....

Then my husband repeats, "it's 3200". And that's the end of it. Completely. Olyut doesn't say another word about any of it. Not a single word. 

That is, until the next round of the game.