I was overwhelmed with the response from the birthday RAOK blog.
Almost 50 people contributed and the blog had over 300 reads that first day.
I loved how eager people were to jump on board and shed kindness to others!
What I didn't like was all the, "you're so great" comments that I got-- because I am not.
I was in the worst mood yesterday... and got 17 thousand comments of praise that I did not deserve.
I didn't want to write all of this in that blog, and kill the mood yesterday...
but I owe you honesty-- so here goes.
Here's my birthday story:: the real story.
So remember that B had the gastro virus on Sunday and Monday-- Maddox got it Tuesday and Lance followed up with it on Wednesday!
I am not on call on Wednesdays, so our plans for dinner and a movie to celebrate my birthday were quickly trumped by a grown man covered in 15 blankets on my couch-- vomiting/ diarrhea, fussy kids, a dirty house, and cereal for dinner.
Around 10:00; it was my turn.
But in true mommy fashion, I didn't even get to purge alone. In between losing my frosted flakes, I was yelling out to Lance to come get Beckham... but he was sick-- or couldn't hear me-- or flat out just didn't.
Which is when I started hating him.
I spent the entire night running to the restroom, losing it from both ends and miserable.
Just as I had finally got to sleep, I heard a beating sound and thought Lance was locked out of the house for some reason.
He was banging a cup on the counter trying to break it apart from another cup... rather than just choosing one of the 15,000 other cups sitting in the cabinet in front of him.
I woke up Thursday to lots of birthday wishes, mail and kind words-- but though my stomach felt worlds better, I was still weak and jittery feeling.
I convinced the boys to stay in bed with me until about 11:00.
Lance called and said he was going to leave around noon, run an errand and then take me to lunch for my birthday.
Maddox, still wanting to dress himself, tried pulling a tshirt off the hanger and broke it. The jagged plastic caught him in his eye. Since he is his mother's child, it was difficult to tell how bad the injury was through the drama.
He would be fine, and then he would scream as if his arm was being mauled off by a jaguar.
Lance walked in the door with a bouquet of flowers and a card... and we
decided that the Cotton Patch was probably a safe bet on our un-easy
The boys crashed on the way there, and Lance decided he would run in and get another pair of golf shorts (for himself) while they slept.
I took a mini-nap in the truck with them.
None of us really ate.
Our waitress was weird.
Maddox would cry off and on with his eye hurting.
And by "cry", I mean shriek out for the entire restaurant to experience.
Lance thought he was just being a brat and finding a reason not to eat...
I felt like 3 hours was too long to keep up that story.
It was after 3:00 at this point and I felt like if we were going to take him to the doctor we needed to do it now...
We JUST paid off $500 in hospital charges on Beckham's ER visit-- and I would rather not do that again.
Lance thought we were making a wasted trip.
I didn't care what he thought.
Heading to the office, I crapped my pants.
Yes, you read that right.
Not my child in diapers-- not my 4 year old.
I did what any normal 29 year old woman would do-- I stripped off my clothes going down 820 and removed my undergarments for trash!
Lance was griping and appalled the entire time saying, "how does that even happen?", "Did you not KNOW you were going to poop?", "what if people see you?"
...."yes I knew Lance." And I thought, "toilets are so over-rated. I should totally do it right here in my pants, in front of my entire family, instead."
(I started to write, "it wasn't a devastating amount"... but honestly, any poop in your pants-- as a grown woman, is a bit devastating)
I was laughing so hard and in unbelief of myself... and then crying--
I shit my pants ...on my birthday!
Lance guaranteed Academy would have underwear... so we stopped in there.
They didn't-- and I went crazy on him right in the middle of that joint as it was really just a ploy for him to shop for himself, yet again. And leave the kids with me.
We argued all the way to Target.
Where I ran in and bought some underwear...
Went to the bathroom, removed my clothes AGAIN, and put them on.
God help me if I get crabs from those.
...and there was a lady in the stall next to me who had to have seen this go down.
Or at least my shoes come off.
The office couldn't see us until 5:00 and it was 20 minutes or so after that before she made it in to see us.
I was already on call at this point.
Trying to hold Maddox down to get the drops in his eye-- and him fighting like a rabid dog.
No make up.
And having hot flashes as if I were going to pass out.
He had a corneal abrasion...
She patched him up and sent us on our way.
Lance wanted to make a quick trip in to Walmart to get Maddox a toy he had promised him.
Which meant he bought our kids $40 worth of toys... (not to compete with my kids... but they got me... ummm. bread? milk? and popsicles.)
And he so kindly rented Lincoln on his way out-- because I love Lincoln, or history, or 17 hour movies.
I told him that he was selfish and entitled...
and he told me that I am bitter and mean.
And then we argued the entire way home-- and said ugly things both ways.
In front of our kids... like the great parents that we are.
We made it into the house... that was still destroyed...
and the kids were still with me, like tiny human magnets...
And I spent the rest of the night getting caught up on call,
And listening to Lance's movie through the wall...
with kids crawling all over me
and cussing him in my head.
And every time I wanted to go claw his eyes out and tell him it was the worst birthday ever-- I reminded myself about all the random acts of kindness-- and all of the tragedy around us right now-- and about Friday... when I was going to leave him behind for a girls night of dinner and watching my friend from HS band.
And that alone, saved his neck meat from slaughter!
Today I attempted to spray tan myself and the nozzle shot off and splatter painted me like an 80s bedroom wall.
Lance called home and is trying to be sweet to me...
but I still don't like him--
because I am immature like that.
I have finally cleaned this pig-style of a house-- but am still contemplating whether I want to fold the 4 loads of laundry on my bed.
Beckham's birthday is Monday and Lance just found out 3 minutes ago that he is off Saturday so I am going to see what I can throw together in 36 seconds to celebrate.
So now you are safe to retract all of your nice comments,
I'm a hot mess....
acting mean as a rattle snake...
And deserve not one of them.
I can not wait for my Chuys frozen wine tonight.
Because that, I believe, I deserve.