It started out as a peaceful morning with loads of potential. T woke up pretty much right after R left around 5 or so, but he was content to sit on our bed and watch cartoons until the alarm went off at 6. S slept in her big girl bed last night, which had me waking up periodically to make sure the sound I heard or dreamed I heard wasn't her running amok in the house.
All in all we were downstairs and the kids were eating breakfast by 7:30. That's pretty good on several levels: I don't end up shoving a cereal bar at them or urging them to eat so fast that they'll either choke or end up with heartburn. It also gives me time to piddle around in the morning, which I finally figured out makes me feel productive, even when I'm not.
S has taking the hair twisting to a new challenge level. Instead of huge twists that can mostly be untwisted with ease, she's taking very small pieces of hair and twisting them so tight that I can't believe it hasn't pulled the hair out of her head. Yesterday it took me over 15 minutes to undo one twist and there were three of four to work through. This morning there were only two. We may have to trim her hair again to chin length, especially if she continues to twist her hair like she's been doing. At least I know where to take her to get it cut now.
As the kids were eating breakfast, I was getting everything ready for when we had to leave and this huge wave of nausea hit me. I hadn't eaten anything since dinner last night, so I knew I wasn't going to throw up, but I had to sit down on the steps and wait for it to pass. This virus should be gone by now. The kids pick that very second, of course, to start screaming at each other for some reason, and I just have no patience for that when I don't feel well. I mean, good grief! What do they have to fight about? That one of them got three drops more milk in their bowl than the other one did? UGH. Give me a break. So I walk to the bathroom to splash some water on my face and realize that T is hot on my heels. Around that same time I realize I don't think he's gone to the bathroom yet and we need to leave in about five minutes, so I ask him if he's gone to the bathroom yet.
"Nope!" he says cheerfully.
"Well, will you try to go before we leave for school?"
"Sure, Mom. No problem." So he faces the toilet and starts to go.
I've been trying to figure out how he gets pee everywhere and today I got the answer. He starts to pee and then he flips up the toilet seat. While he gets points for putting the seat up, this is an issue I thought we'd addressed and corrected last year. Guess not. He also doesn't like to hold himself when he pees. Apparently, he finds it unnecessary. Obviously, our bathrooms end up taking the uh..fallout? abuse? result of neglect? of all this. Which translates into me scrubbing pee off the back and sides of the toilet, off the floor, and as in the case today - off the wall, because when I saw what he was doing and said, "T!!!!!", he just turned around, still peeing, which means that it went all over the wall and floor.
Cue the red film descending over my eyes and the irrational, uptight, unreasonably angry me that showed up. I demanded loudly that he clean it up, and I handed him a lysol wipe. I told him to start with the wall, so of course he leans over and sticks his hair right in the pee. GROSS! Shooing him out of the bathroom after I clean him up, I clean the bathroom up, muttering about not being anyones maid and how having a penis does NOT entitle you to paint the wall with bodily fluids. A lot of the built up animosity comes from years of living with my brother and his bathroom habits. I refuse to believe that bathroom habits are genetic. Refuse. I tell T that when he gets home from school that he's going to clean his upstairs bathroom. Mom comes tomorrow, and all I need is for her to step or sit in a puddle of T pee, and I'm hoping that if he starts having to clean up the mess he's making, then he'll make less messes. Yeah, yeah, but don't burst my bubble yet, okay? I need this string of hope to save my sanity today.
We finally get out of the house after a showdown with S over the changing of the pull up. Don't even get me started. We were late leaving for school, but got T to class with a couple minutes to spare. Then S and I had to go to the immunization clinic so she could get the second half of her flu shot. I've been dreading this, so hey, why not take her on a day that's already feeling less than stellar. As we are waiting our turn, S decides that the only volume level she's capable of is ear drum splitting and she proceeds to sing, dance, and chatter in the hallway. I'm shushing her left and right - not even trying to get her to be quiet but just to lower the volume - and she responds by yelling, "NO MOMMY! I TOLD YOU I WILL NOT!!!!!!!" and then going back to whatever she was doing prior to my rude interruption. At this point, my stomach is still rolling and flipping and I'm really wondering if maybe I am going to throw up. We make it through the shot, S was appropriately indignant with the whole process, and S and I return home where I lie down on the couch to hear, "Mommy? You okay Mommy? Mommy? You okay?" on eternal repeat for over an hour. And people? It's not even 10 am.
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