Yesterday I decided to take the kids to the beach. Just to get them out of the house while it was still only hot as opposed to sweltering. Now I love going places, but I really didn't want to do this.
Tim needed to be sleeping as his new work schedule has him working crazy hours so he was unavailable for help. Also did I mention it was hot? Not melt your face off humid, but hot.
So after what felt like an hour's worth of preparation, (pack toys, eat, potty, water bottles, sunscreen, etc... don't forget the potty part, cause that's important.) we left for the beach.
Nice shady spot, not too much seaweed, perfect.
20 minutes later, Katie ran to me grabbing her butt and saying "potty, ma ga go potty!"
I say "But you went before you left! You can't have to go! I made sure! What is it? Do you have to pee or poop?" (as if that made any real difference--I'm not sure if I have the patience or even want to teach my child how to pee in the water, but we just got there and even I wasn't ready to leave.)
She was grabbing her behind so that answer was obvious. "Are you sure? Because I made sure you already went before we left?!"
*more butt grabbing, then the smell hit and I knew it wouldn't be pretty*
At this point, I did what any normal clean sane person would scoff at but I am not normal anymore. I was alone, hot, hormonal and pregnant. I took her into the lake and washed her out a little while the happy beach goers looked on in what I am sure was utter disgust. (I like to pretend they didn't know what I was doing thanks to my swift and stealthy cleaning skills) I just did a quick once-over, and then we headed back to the van. By the time we reached the van, she had pools of poop and lake water running down her legs. Pretty. She was a trooper though and didn't even bat an eye when we got home and I wouldn't let her in the house. A quick hose down and we were ready for lunch and maybe some sprinkler time afterwards.
Doesn't she poop again in her freshly washed bathing suit during sprinkler time?!
I take Shannon and Daniel to daddy's second job to get his schedule and hopefully his pay check. (got the schedule, but due to the stupid law or something, I can't get his check for him.)
While there, Shannon complains a bit about a sore tummy. I didn't think much of it, she says that any time she has gas or is hungry or is bored.
You see where this is going. Now when I was a kid, I can't even count how many times I threw up in the car. Poor mom, she never complained and I never realized what a pain it is cleaning upholstery in a confined space.
In 95 degree and humid weather.
In the cramped backseat.
Pregnant. (ok mom wasn't ever pregnant when she had to clean up my messes but I'm still going to play that card as much as possible)
How did this kid manage to get it all over the seat, the belt, her brother's seat, the seat in front of her, the back of the seat in front of Daniel, and the doorway??
Another hose down.
And as I type this, I hear her making a noise I can only hope is because she is watching someone get kissed on tv and is embarrassed and not because she is getting sick again. Because it's the same noise. A squeaky little smushed mousy sort of a noise. And I can't tell the difference.
I don't tend to ask God for specific things like I need more spending money or please send me some babysitters stat, but this time, I'm asking. Please let me be able to go away for a couple days to the lovely cottage on the lake that I've been hoping to be able to go to. (work schedules and jury duty have made this possibility shaky and very last minute)
I promise to come back home. (maybe)