Friday, Lance forgot his shoes.
Random, I know.
So I had to scoop the kids out of bed and run down the road to meet Josh with them.
We had a donut date on our way back, and then headed to Dallas to have a late lunch with Lance later in the day.
On my way home, I ran to Alliance shopping centers to spend a coupon.
Lance took the opportunity to roam around Cabela's alone on his way home from work...
All would have been great, except Beckham decided to morph into a monster: Arching his back and screaming at the top of his lungs. People were staring, employees were talking, I was sweating, and on the verge of tears.
I tried to make him happy but I finally did what any rational mom would do...
I dropped my crap on the counter, apologized, and then called Lance saying, "I hope you are enjoying your little shopping trip... It must be nice to get time alone... He's terrible... I have failed at parenting him... Why is he so difficult? I want to cut your ears off because I can't his...". You know, the norm. Right?! ;)
Lance was perfect; validated my fit, didn't call me crazy and headed my way.
He sat with the boys while I finished my shopping trip and knocked out a Christmas gift.
From there, we split up...
I decided to take the uncontrollable one home,
and he and Maddox headed back to Cabela's for some VIP madness.
Minutes down the road Beckham was asleep, looking precious like it was all a figment of my imagination.
But just inside the door at home, he vomited. And vomited and vomited.
I felt so bad about all of the things I had just said about him... my poor baby was sick!!
I bathed him up and snuggled to my chest, and he started running fever.
He didn't want to move and I didn't want to put him down, so we got comfy in the King sized bed.
Lance and Maddox didn't roll in until after 11:00.
They didn't win any prizes, but he did surprise me with a sweatshirt. #validated
And Maddox got his very own Duck Commander (Duck Dynasty) duck call.
We woke up Saturday and B was a new baby.
No vomiting. No fever. And ornery as ever.
Lance had plans to shoot guns with a guy from our soccer league, and the boys and I made the trip to my parents with him.
While there, I typed and hand wrote all 140 questions that have been on all of my 7 quizzes thus far.
I read over them a few times that night, and had plans to do the same come morning since I had a midterm due by midnight on Sunday.
Sunday came, and Lance was off to work.
I went on call at noon.
I started a movie, made a pallet on the floor with an array of snacks and chocolate milk, and reiterated the rule that unless your arm is falling off, mom couldn't help.
I knew the material, and assumed I would pull out an easy 100... get a little laundry going before the calls started pouring in, and get dinner in the crockpot.
50 questions... 60 minute time limit.
I press start.
Question 1... never seen it before.
I scroll ahead... 2, 3, 4, 5... every single question is new material to me.
I am not sure if it was the anxiety that came over me, but immediately my belly was screaming that it needed a break to the potty.
"no time for that", I told my gut... I have barely a minute per question and I am going to have to go on crazy mode to start looking up some of these answers.
Not even half way in, I am still telling myself "mind over matter" on the number-two issue and I hear, "momma. momma. momma." ...Beckham is walking towards me.
I am checking my time and I am right on target, "hold on baby. Go lay down and watch the movie with bubba."
"momma. momma. momma..."
In my lap.
On my computer.
All over the rug.
All over himself.
I can't stop.
I am barely on point for time anyway.
Beckham is pointing into his mouth and crying for a wipe.
I wiped his mouth, he took the wipe, and the poor little bittle started trying to wipe the mess up himself... as I was telling him "no"... "I'm sorry"... "give mommy just a minute".
Maddox got whiff of the vomit (literally) and starts gagging, "the smell momma... I'm going to frow up."
I'm mad typing, and trying not to fail this midterm, begging Maddox not to hurl.
It. was. a. disaster.
I ended up making an 86, which in my book was a complete success, seeing that I basically hiked Mount Everest to pull it out.
It did bring my average to a B, since I have made 90s, exactly, on every single quiz.
But oh well.
I got everyone cleaned and bathed and laundry completed.
Call was horrific but our tomato basil soup and Italian cheese toast was the bomb.com, so its whatever.
My baby sister turned twenty-one on Sunday too...
I had plans to make a surprise trip to Lubbock to wish her a blessed day myself...
but things changed and she will be here tomorrow.
We will celebrate then.
Here's a poem I wrote for her...
Don't judge it too closely. I wrote it Sunday. (see above)
At first our little red head
spent some time away,
I was little and confused
and just wanted to play.
I thought she was mine,
created for me.
I wasn't looking for a pal,
but more my own baby.
They let us scrub up,
and touch her hand.
She was tiny and cute,
and better than what we had planned.
She got strong enough to come home,
and all the fun began.
We carried her around like a little accessory,
she had her own group of fans.
She got bigger and lost her luster
and the sibling rivalry began.
She was spoiled and catered to
And I thought I ruled the land
We were eight years apart
with a room to share,
she ruined my clothes, she broke my things
I spanked her and pulled her hair.
My time came to move out, she grew up.
and she wanted a friend in me.
But I wasn't cool... I tried to be mom,
I wanted her to develop that potential that I could see.
It was a hard few years...
She thought I was critical and mean...
and I thought she was irresponsible and wrong.
And a rebellious, lost teen.
She made me mad, I cried some tears,
I knew she was capable of more...
She wanted a sister, she needed a friend,
she didn't understand, I loved her to my core.
Finally she found her spot and matured,
and chose a better group.
Friends that let her beauty shine,
those in her college loop.
She loves my kids like crazy,
she watched Beckham be born.
She's not a talker like myself,
but will always listen to my storm.
She pretty, nice, and sweet.
and despite all our conflicts.
We are great friends today.
and I adore my "sister hicks".
Happy birthday Al!
I love you!