7:00 a.m.
Although Vivian has been up for one hour, William is sleeping away. I walk into his room, turn on the light, and spy him asleep on the edge of his bed. It’s at this point I see the vomit. It has congealed beside him, one-inch chunks of partially digested banana.
I wake him. “William, you threw up.”
“Yes, Mommy,” he says, pushing himself to a sitting position. “I was sick.”
“Why didn’t you wake me up when you were sick?”
“I’m sorry, Mommy. I forgot,” he says, like it’s his fault.
“Are you feeling better now?”
“Yes,” he says, and saunters down the hallway toward the television. He needs the violence from Bugs Bunny to wake himself up fully.
I spend endless minutes scraping banana-mush coated with stomach-acid-glaze into the toilet bowl. I give up and start dunking the entire sheet into the toilet bowl. The pre-automatic-washing-machine part of my brain is in full swing, as is my gag reflex. With the chunks now floating in toilet water, I take the laundry downstairs, deposit it in the washer, and crank the knob to heavy-duty.
7:12 a.m.
I’m in the kitchen with Vivian, who has finished her breakfast. Whoever says kids have short attention spans hasn’t met my daughter. She is carrying a thread of conversation that began when she awoke. “Please can I eat my chocolate from my Advent calendar?”
“Vivi, I’ve told you three times already and the answer’s still no. Not until after school.” I’m starting to sense that she feels left out because she hasn’t spewed banana.
7:14 a.m.
William joins us in the kitchen, alert now that he’s watched Elmer Fudd hunt Bugs Bunny with a wifle. Will plops down at the table to eat his breakfast.
7:15 a.m.
William announces, “I’m done my breakfast, Mommy.” I look up. He has licked the peanut butter off his English muffin. That’s it.
“William,” I start, “Are you not–”
“Mommy!” Vivian interrupts. “Can I have a chocolate? Please, please, pl–”
“Vivian!” I’ve lost it now. “If you ask that question one more time, Mommy’s going to eat your entire Advent calendar.”
Parenting tip number twenty-three: Always make threats you can follow through with. Yesterday I’d even read the calorie count on the back of Vivian’s calendar: 130 calories for 80 grams, and the whole thing’s 100 grams. I could inhale the nine remaining chocolates in less time than it takes for a new mistress of Tiger to pop out of the woodwork.
7:20 a.m.
We struggle into our winter gear and trudge out to the van. Another twenty minutes in a household with twins.
*gag*
I wouldn’t have made it past cleaning up the vomit. The whole morning would have been a total right off. You are a stronger woman than me. My gag reflex wins every time.
Leanne, I laughed so hard I nearly sprayed soda out of my nose. Eating the kids’ chocolate will DEFINITELY go into my Mother’s Toolbox of Do-able Discipline!