My mom called me today and asked me if I remembered that I still had a mother. Yes I did I told her, but the timing is always wrong I said. This time was not much better, as it was 7 am, and I found myself on my knees scrubbing bright red vomit out of the carpet, and trying to figure out how I was also going to remove the bedsheets to wash, and the toys that got splattered before the Bee decided to help me.
Don't worry, the bright red was not blood but a neon red Gatorade that Big Brother has been consuming for the past 4 days to keep hydrated from all the vomiting and diarrhea he's had to endure - thank you red # 40. The doctor's brilliant diagnosis was stomach flu again. "Yep, I figured you'd say that. Thanks" - I should have gone to medical school because I cleverly came up with the same diagnosis. Stomach flu, a catch all diagnosis for doctors who can't figure out what's up with all the puking and pooing that's going on with your kid. Oh ya, and he mentioned that he should come back in a couple days if he's still alive and puking.
Mom, your timing was awful, as it usually is. Calling me at 7 am is never a good time as like most nights, sleep was scarce. Calling me at 9 pm while I'm trying to get kids bathed, dishes cleaned, sometimes even dinner made, and kids to bed just because you have free minutes after 9 pm is not a good time either. 3 pm, maybe? Telling me that my snooty cousin has her own family life under control and implying I should too, does not make me want to call you.
And it's all very unfortunate, because I was waiting for a good time to call you and tell you thanks. Thanks for cleaning after me and washing my sheets when I was a kid. If it wasn't appreciated then, it is appreciated now. So maybe, when I get over our most recent call that left me quite irritated, I will call and say thanks, because being a mom, I now how thankless and redundant this job can be.