i pulled it out. two days later. that's just how i operate.
what do you mean i was supposed to wash that thing with soap and water and leave the bandage off at night? sounds like a good way to destroy some bedding and my sanity at the same time.
i just went in there and pulled off the gigantic bandaid and looked at it a little and ignored that fleshy cliff as much as i could. i do not see how i am supposed to go around with it uncovered it is directly inline with every waistband i own. open wound + rubbing fabric. i think i might pass out. i suppose i could always wear a dress without underwear, but that just seems like a really bad idea.
it's sort of hollering at me, but i'm hoping it's really just the part where i pulled the bandage's adhesive away.
i woke up last night at 2:30. i heard oliver coughing in his room next door. i listened carefully to make sure he wasn't puking, as i was still nervous about the kids catching my disease of yesterweek. and all went silent, so i returned to my nest on the couch. a few minutes later, my mother senses could detect his feet on the floor and i darted to his door to avert him assisting violet in waking. again.
he said, "mommy, i threw up." and i think i had him repeat it a couple of times because i wasn't quite getting the message. lo and behold, there was curdled up pita pizza crust hanging out in several spots on his pillow, sheets, and comforter (not so comforting after all!).
while i was stripping his bed and finding replacements, violet started screaming. because those children are completely in sync when it comes to waking up. it must be pheromonal.
i get his bedding swapped and take him into the restroom to hang out a bit because i can't be swapping bedding all night. i go get violet and spend something like thirty minutes holding a toddler and comforting a preschooler who is upchucking every 15 minutes.
i finally get tired of holding violet and just let her deal with her ownself on the floor. she settles down and begins dragging out bags of rice cakes and dragging picture books through stray litter on the bathroom floor and banging the potty chair on liz's ceiling, and loudly waggling the loose toilet paper holder and lollygagging too close to the site of imminent destruction and working my last nerve on accident. she eventually gets shut out of the bathroom and left to stand outside wailing. sorry lady. get in line.
i did my best to not be too hard on oliver when he clasped his hands three inches from his face a quarter of a second before throwing up on them. twice. and when he went in to the bathroom to throw up, but i suppose neglected to lean over and threw up on the floor. and then stood in it. and when he took a break from throwing up to pick his nose. and eat the booger. SERIOUSLY? eating boogers NOW? and he got a bit of a stern lecture on that one as it's behavior like that that lands one next to the toilet at 2:30 in the morning and see? SEE?! this is what we've been saying can happen to you. YOU WILL THROW UP.
after an hour and a half of this, the system of time and numbers made it 4:00am and i made one of my special puke pallets on the floor out of a bath towel, a hand towel, and a baby blanket and had oliver park it down there and told him to simmer and call me if he was going to puke, so that i could put violet back to bed. and five minutes later, i hear that i'm-going-to-puke "moooommy?" and i rush in there, leaving violet to sound like she's hanging off a cliff by a loose thread of her sweater and i get in there and ask if he's going to throw up and he looks up at me from the puke pallet and says no. i ask what he needs and he says, "i need you."
get in line, mister.
back to violet, who keeps drifting off and then waking when i try to leave. it must be pheromonal. like how she senses the second i become unconscious every single night. and i'm barely back in there when i hear oliver's footsteps in the room and boy howdy i tell that child to get his butt back on that puke pallet and stay there. and he does and violet goes to sleep and oliver had drifted off, but woke when i checked on him and we moved it to his bed along with a pillow towel and the giant puke bowl, tools of the trade.
i'm thinking, hot dog... we're in for a nice, late morning of sleeping in. and i eventually drift off on the couch and here comes oliver at 6:45am. i set him up on a pallet on the floor, with his bowl and the tv. and here comes violet at 7:00am. pheromones, and all.
i make pancakes at some point and oliver decides he's hunky dory and he eats two bites and has a sip of water and five minutes later loses quite a bit of liquid back into the can. and i force him back into being still mode. eventually we try again and i allow him a bite and a sip every 10-15 minutes for an hour while lying in bed. now he's all hotdogging it around here like nothing.
plans are to put everyone in the car for a drive to the lake. i won't put anyone IN the lake, but we should all just take a nap. assuming work doesn't come in.
oh, look. ttyki just threw up water. why not. WHY NOT.
12:00pm: and there go the pancakes down the toilet. to the joyous strains of violet's accompaniment on the little tikes four key piano.