Once upon a time, I took my children out for dinner. All of the children behaved and ate well. When their tummies were full, we left for home. Upon arriving home, they showered me with kisses and hugs, and told me I was the best Mommy in the world. Then, they all brushed their teeth and headed to bed, with smiles on their faces. We all lived happily ever after. The End.
Now...let me give you reality....
Today we went to dinner to celebrate my sister-in-law's birthday. Josh had to work, so I was on my own with the five kids. This is the first time I have taken all five kids out, with out spousal support. We all met up at the restaurant and miracle of miracles...they were behaving! We got our dinners ordered and the kids actually ate all of their dinner!
All of them, except Avery. She just pushed her food around on her plate and wouldn't really eat. I asked her if she was going to eat and she just said that she was tired. I leaned down to kiss her head and that's when I realized...the poor girl had a fever!
So, I gave her some Tylenol, advised the other kids to finish up and we got ready to go. Around this time, is when Presley decided she was hungry. NOW. Well, I knew that once I put her in the van, she'd fall asleep, so we loaded up...screaming Presley and all...and headed home.
Fast forward twenty minutes and Presley is still shrieking at the top of her lungs. I'm deep breathing in the driver's seat...trying not to go completely insane. Just when I think that maybe she'll stop and she's calming down and I can relax...it starts to snow. I do not like snow. I hate driving in snow. It had just started, so I knew we'd make it home okay...but now I'm tense again.
During all this, I'm stressing over the fact that we ran out of Avery's breathing treatment medication and there is no way in the world I can get to Wally world to pick up her prescription. If she has an asthma attack tonight, my only option is 911. Heaven help me...I live in chaos.
Presley calms down and all is quiet.
"Mom...Avery just threw up!" (said in an excited, sing-song voice)
"Oh no! Was it a lot?!"
"No"...(I start to relax)..."It's just all over her, the blanket, the car seat and the floor. (Well...craaaap.)
Once we get home I find that Luke has fallen asleep. So, I pull his 38 lbs of dead weight out of his car seat, and lug him up the stairs to his room. Back out to the van and I help the puked on child out of her puked on area and upstairs. Upon taking her temperature, I find that even after her dose of Tylenol, she is still sporting a temp of 101.5. Yikes. She earned herself a dose of Ibuprofen and tepid bath water.
I head back out to the van and pull the ear-piercing, screaming baby out of the van. I feed her while the older girls are entertaining Avery in her bath.
All is well in the world.
Ha ha ha ha.
You didn't fall for that, did you?
Presley finishes eating and immediately spits up all over herself and my lap. I quickly sit her up to burp her...and enough poop, for a small country, evacuates her diaper and soaks through her outfit. I am now covered in spit-up AND poop. Oh, the joys of motherhood.
I carefully lift her up, put her up to my shoulder and carefully begin to pat her back to dislodge any further bubbles. My darling daughter thanks me by puking down my back.
She's now cleaned up, re-fed and I handed her off to my extremely helpful 7 year old, because she wanted to lay her in her crib.
But...wouldn't you know? On the way up the stairs, Pres spit up again.
On the stairs.
On Bay's jammies.
In Bay's mouth.
Looks like my nightmarish chaos...is genetic.