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Keeping Up with the Mazzolas

Calling for Reinforcements

Why is it that the instances during which your kids require the most parenting always seem to fall around the most inconvenient of times? In my case, it’s when the husband is working three 12-hour emergency room night shifts (in another town an hour away, mind you), and the in-laws are cruising the Caribbean. I promise I’m not always this whiny, but DANG. This week has been, let’s just say, eventful. 

As I mentioned in a previous post, we’ve been experiencing the wintertime stomach bug in our house– and let me just tell you that this virus is a doozy. Every time you think you’re completely over it (and usually after I’ve finished sanitizing the house for the umpteenth time…), someone has another bout of diarrhea. I mean, COME ON. WHEN’S IT GOING TO END??? We’ve resorted to giving the babes pro-biotics in hopes that their gut bacteria will be restored, and it does seem to be working (knock on all the wood). Keep in mind, this has been plaguing our house since Sunday, January 29th. It’s now Friday, February 10th. Almost two weeks of this damn bug. I have never changed so many freaking sheets, pajamas, or outfits in my life. And the diaper rashes. Don’t even get me started on those. Poor little guys running around with their little butts slathered in Desitin.

I don’t know how single mothers do it. I really don’t. It is so incredible what you do for your kids. Y’all are my absolute heroes. Here I am bitching about not having any help for a week while there are people out there that never have any help. I am so lucky to live in the same town as my parents and in-laws, and I am lucky to have my husband home at night (most nights). I promise I do not take any of this for granted.

But I was fixing to lose my ever-loving mind this week. Because motherhood is rough, y’all.

Sunday night was the Super Bowl– the New England Patriots vs. the Atlanta Falcons. For those of you that don’t know, my husband is the absolute biggest Pats fan in the state of South Carolina. He was born in Boston, and his mother grew up there, so we are really into Boston professional sports– Celtics, Bruins, Red Sox, Patriots. My poor hubs had to work 6pm-6am in the ER that night. If you know anything about sports, then you know that Tom Brady and the Patriots made an amazing and unprecedented comeback during the fourth quarter to win in overtime. An amazing game to watch… and I watched it by myself. Then hubs had to catch up on sleep when he got home, so more single momming for me.

Tuesday was better because we had gotten through the night shifts and were back on a normal 7am-7pm schedule. Which still sucks, because those are all the hours the kids are awake. Plus you have to add on two hours to that since the hospital he’s rotating at is an hour away [I wouldn’t normally mind being the default parent for this long if the kids didn’t both have diarrhea still]. So in an attempt to salvage my sanity, I took the kids to eat dinner with my parents. They behaved so well that I decided it would be a good time to run into Target really quick for groceries afterwards.

Big mistake. I get the kids in the buggy, and walk in to browse the cuteness that is the Dollar Spot. As I’m bending down to pick up a dropped pacifier, something spills out of my purse and onto the floor. A quick sniff test reveals that it’s APPLE JUICE. I open my bag (my very fancy basic purse turned mommy bag– pretentious? Yes, but I love it), and there’s a pool of apple juice just chilling in the bottom. Thank goodness they make Louis Vuitton durable, or this would have caused me to fly off the handle. As it turns out, my dear husband had accidentally assembled the sippy cup straw backwards, so it was just dumping out in there. I take the boys out of the cart to head to the restroom to grab some paper towels, thinking my two-year-old will walk like a normal person. NOPE. He falls into a full-on tantrum (bloody-murder screaming and tears and stomping the feet). He didn’t want to get out of the cart. And I can’t fit the cart into the bathroom. So I gathered little Reese in one arm, and I grabbed Cole in the other, and we made our graceful exit. You’re welcome, Target shoppers.

Thursday’s a new day, so we try for groceries again, this time with success! We got the good race car buggy, and the lady was there to give the boys some cookies and stickers, so it was looking up for us. Not to mention, my kids hadn’t had any diarrhea that morning, so maybe we were over this little hump. Turns out we were not. Groceries loaded into the car, my oldest buckled in, and I smell it. My little Reese. I grab the supplies from the trunk thinking it’s just going to be a quick change, but no. It’s all over his outfit– seeping through up to his belly button. I haven’t experienced a blowout like this since I had an itty bitty baby. I got him undressed, wiped off, and diapered up. Oh yeah, did I mention I was wearing my fanciest tie-dye Myrtle Beach teeshirt when I was doing this? Those of you from the South will appreciate how utterly redneck I must have looked with this shirt on and a nearly naked baby on my hip. One of my finer moments, I’m sure.

But I can finally see the light! Reinforcements are coming, and this ER rotation is ending. Glory glory hallelujah.

Here’s to the weekend, sunny 77 degree weather, and calling in reinforcements. Cheers y’all!