I just ate a chocolate bar at 9:30 in the morning, if that gives you any indication of the morning I have had.  Additionally, I screamed a scream that would put a banshee to shame.  Only after I let it rip, did I realize that the windows were still open and my neighbors may be calling the police.   

The reason for the scream is multifaceted, but it can be reduced to one word in its simplest form: children.  Some of the children were innocent in this morning’s unfortunate affairs.   Others were not.  Regardless, I did not handle my frustration with any sense of dignity, poise or grace.

Children are a gift from God, yes, but sometimes, they are simultaneously the unsuspecting, booger and peanut butter camouflaged, incarnation of the devil. 

I’m going to regret writing that, because one day, I’m sure I won’t want them thinking that I sometimes saw them as pure evil, but, as this is likely just going to stay on my computer and serve only as a catharsis for my rage, I am going to leave it.  If I eventually post this, children, please know I love you dearly, and you have, most likely, graduated from your devilish qualities.  Hopefully, I have as well.

Our house has been hit by a relentless stomach bug.  It has now been passed to each of my three children, as it is a child’s first thought, after throwing up: “I must lick everything, touch every handle and sneeze on every surface.”  It’s not their fault.  The germs compel them.   

Child #3 became ill exactly 8 days ago, and it lasted 4 days, then Child #1 had it until yesterday, and wouldn’t you know, Child #2 got it today, the day she has been looking forward to for weeks, as it is not just her class field trip to the trampoline park (I mean can we think of a more cruel place for a stomach flu?), but also the Daddy-Daughter Ball at school. 

My husband took her shopping for a dress weeks ago, he ordered a corsage… it was going to be spectacular.  I’m still praying for a miracle, but I just feel so badly for her, that she might miss it.  There’s no sugar coating it that this sucks, and I hate that I had to share with her a lesson in life, that sometimes things are disappointing, and there isn’t a reason.  They just are. 

As I write this, I realize this is where my frustration started to bubble.  I was angry for her that this stupid bug could steal a beautiful moment.  Which brought back all the feels from when I was dealing with severe depression brought on by the pain of my illness.  Maybe you can relate?  

Maybe there’s something that happened to you, that just plain sucked.  You had been looking forward to something, or had been working toward a goal, or something or someone was taken, and it just wasn’t in the plan and it isn’t fair, and, yeah, it’s ok if you’re angry about it. 

I’m realizing I am still dealing with the leftover pockets of anger over the time I lost in pain and sadness.  My daughter’s first year was extremely tumultuous.  Every cuddle hurt.  Every momentous occasion held a little bit of pain.  If I’m real, I’m still resentful over that.  I’ve done my best to make the most of it and I know had I not gone through what I did, I would not be so far down this path to self-discovery and an ever increasing relationship with the divine.  However, it’s still raw sometimes.  It’s still difficult to understand why I had to go through it while others get to meander through and self discover and know God without the pain.  Anyway, back to the events of the morning.

I had allowed the kids to watch TV until it was time to go, something I don’t usually allow on school mornings, because Child #2 was feeling pretty miserable, and I thought it would keep her mind off her belly while I got ready.  When it was time to go, I instructed them to turn off the TV.  I’m fairly sure there is a sensory receptor which is triggered when the words “It’s time to go” are uttered by a mother to her children.  It tells the child, “I am hungry” and it is serious and worth as much drama as can be given, so that the mother will give in and distribute graham crackers.  Were we hungry when we had half an hour to sit around before it was time to go?  Nope!  Were we hungry for more food when we were eating breakfast? Nope!  But sure as sheep, we are hungry now.  And it’s an emergency.

So, Child #3 and Child #1 were desperately pleading for some food, as they were certainly going to die from starvation at any moment, and Child #2 was crying, reasonably so, because it hurt her stomach to get up off the couch.  I grabbed the puke bags and we hobbled to the car, hungry cries in tow.

Once in the car, the sick one was sure she was going to throw up, so we held the bags up.  Nothing.  “My neck feels like throwing up, but I can’t do it”, she said.  We backed up into the alley and headed toward Child #1’s school. 

He realized what time it was and alerted me to the fact that he would not have time to eat breakfast at school (this would be his second breakfast, just to be clear), and the fact that we were not early, as we usually were, was all my fault, not his, and he began crying. 

I explained to him the logic of “eating when it’s time to eat” and not waiting until we’re walking out the door, and we were getting nowhere, so I stopped, tried to distract from the issue with checking on the puker, and we continued on our path to school.  Child #3 dropped one of her lion toys on the ground.  I told her I would get it for her when we dropped off her brother. 

After we dropped him off, Child #3 realized I had not followed through on getting her toy yet.  Child #2 (the sick one), informed me she “had to diarrhea”. 

That’s when I realized I was stressed.  Every twenty seconds or so, she would whine in agony over her “owie belly” and I promised I would get her home as quickly as possible.  Meanwhile, Child #3 thought this was an opportune time to through a magnificent fit over the toy I still had not retrieved for her.  Fit raging, belly hurting, we hit construction traffic.  Always.  

After a long ride home, Child #3 was holding fastidiously to her anger and screamed the entire length of the sidewalk from our garage to our home.  I brought her inside and put her in her room.  I closed the door and told her she could come out when she was done with her fit.  She screamed, “I’m done with my fit”.  I wasn’t convinced.  Meanwhile, Child #2 was yelling from downstairs about how much her belly hurt. 

A short while later, Child #3 had stopped screaming and come downstairs.  There is another sensory receptor, which is activated when a child sees their mother get on the phone.  It activates crying, fighting, and the need for everything… immediately.  It’s of the utmost importance.  Mom must be interrupted, or child will most certainly die.  Therefore, when I picked up the phone to fill my husband in on the events, Child #3 went full force back into the, apparently, ongoing fit.  

I hung up, brought her back to the room, closed her door and, that my friends, is when I let out the scream.  And I’m not ashamed to admit, it. felt. so. good.  

I do my best to hold this place together, to run my business, clean the house, keep up with the yard, make room for personal development, make dinner, spend quality time with my kids, with my husband and everything else I try to pack into the day, and sometimes, after a week of puke, and tantrums that never end, I reach my breaking point.  The other factor, which other moms with chronic illness or ongoing health issues understand, is that in my anger and frustration and stress, I know I am going to pay for it all later.  Stress itself is stressful, because I worry about what it will do to my body as I try to come back to homeostasis.  

Which is why I decided to write this all down, in between deep breathing, because writing helps, and also, I thought maybe some you could use some honesty. 

We’re surrounded by social media posts of smiling, perfect children, in their matching outfits, mom’s serving nutritionally balanced meals, in their mama bear shirts, hair perfectly curled, and as true as that can be, so is the puke and the screaming. 

I love my kids.  I love that they still want to cuddle on the couch after I screamed like a mad woman.  I love their sweet, imperfect little souls, and I hope you all know that.  BUT sometimes, mama needs to scream at the top of her lungs, because this job is hard, and the product of the work is not immediately visible, and there is no progress report and all too often it can feel like we’re failing, and kids get sick, remotes get licked, and, friends, it’s a circus.  It’s hard. 

So this is just a long honest story of hard it can be and I’m with you.  And even though it may seem like I have it all together, I don’t.  I scream.  Really, really loud.  It’s 911 worthy.  Life gets covered in vomit sometimes, and it sucks, but we keep going, because stomach bugs pass, kids stop screaming (parents too), and somewhere, in a land far far away, stomachs are full for a solid hour before the requests for more food come in.  

Well, I’m off to disinfect my house and, possibly, eat another chocolate bar.   Have a wonderful weekend !  I hope yours involves considerably less vomit than mine does.

I would love to hear some of your parenting, screaming, or vomit stories below 🙂  Choose an adventure and let me hear all about it 🙂