Twenty-four hours of chaos.
Ever had a day like that?
It all started Monday night, when I was downstairs winding down from a long day, waiting on Jimmy to get home from his first baseball scrimmage of the year. Little Jimmy had been coughing here and there throughout the day, and his nose was a tad runny, so I found myself thanking the weather for its sudden change from hot and humid to cold and dry. At around 10:30 p.m., I heard the cough escalate. He was hacking more and it was non-stop, and I could tell he was about to puke.
I ran upstairs and scooped him out of his crib, happy to neither smell nor see any vomit. As I had him in my arms and we were running to the bathroom, he puked all over me. And all over the floor right next to Jackson's crib. Imagine, if you will, the most insanely disgusting smell and texture of vomit, then multiply it by ten. That was what was dripping from my hair, arms and legs. He felt monumentally better after throwing up what I could only make out to be hours and hours worth of built up drainage in his stomach. Jimmy walked through the front door the moment he puked.
I carried him downstairs, stripped him down, and put him right in the shower. While Jimmy took care of cleaning the little man, I hurried upstairs to clean the puddle of puke. Not wanting to wake Jackson, I cleaned by what little light would shine in their room from hallway lights. I thought I did a pretty good job, but I quickly discovered the next morning when I went to get the kids from their cribs that the room had retained its foul smell of vomit and -alas! - there were of course stains showing where I failed miserably to clean the entire mess.
The cough attacks continued Tuesday when Jimmy tried to go down for his morning nap, but luckily there was no vomit to accompany them. He seemed fine when he was up and moving about, but the tickle in his throat got the best of him when he laid down. Due to the missed nap, his temperament was on a steady decline. Between answering work emails and phone calls, I was busy trying to keep him entertained and pleasant. By the time Jackson got up, I was in desperate need of an activity that would bring some much needed laughter and happiness into our house.
I decided it was a perfect day to introduce the edible finger paint. I whipped up a batch (2 cups corn starch, 4.5 cups boiling water, 1 cup cold water, and food coloring) and let them set to work. Jackson wanted to eat the paper and quickly decided the sticky, pastel colored goo on his hands was not acceptable. I cleaned him up and got him settled on the floor next to Jimmy with an assortment of cars and trucks. When I realized Jimmy's squeals of delight at finger painting were no more, I got a little worried.
"What are you doing?" I asked as I retrieved one of the cars Jackson pushed under the kitchen table.
"I like! Paint body!" He said, confidently.
When I looked up, one hand was covered in red finger paint and the other in green. His stomach was red, and he had one red leg and one green. The blank canvases to work on were full of beautiful finger painted art, so he had moved on to the greatest, most kid-friendly canvas of all: his body.
When I told him finger painting was over, he thrashed about in his booster seat and kicked and screamed his way to the kitchen sink. When he realized he was awarded an opportunity to wash in the sink, however, he changed his attitude. He splashed the water all over the counters, the clean dishes and the dry towel I had waiting for him.
I found myself laughing at the circumstances and was happy the paint washed off him so easily. Nap time was upon us, and the boys both willingly and peacefully fell into their deep afternoon slumbers. I retreated to an inbox full of unfinished tasks and said a few prayers that their sleep would last long enough to get caught up and get dinner done.
Prayers answered.
Turns out, my husband didn't have such a smooth day, either. The go-to comfort food in our house is now Dairy Queen Blizzards, so we hopped into the car after dinner to get one. When we got home, Jackson was crawling on the tile floor when he slipped and hit his lip on (big) Jimmy. The lip instantly split. Little Jimmy was too busy licking the spoon of the finished dessert to notice.
We ushered the boys up to bed and were relieved that Jimmy had no coughing spells. Jackson's lip is now black and blue, something I'm sure if he were 10 years older he would be very proud of.
By the end of yesterday, we were all glad at the opportunity to climb into bed and recharge.
Puke.
Finger paint.
And a fat lip.
All in 24 hours time.
And I'm happy to report today has been the exact opposite of the 24 hours of chaos - peaceful and, quite frankly, a bit boring. :)
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