Friday, March 16, 2012

I'm baffled. Sixteen year olds should know better...?

Warning:  Swallow your coffee.

I thought as children got older, they learned how and where to vomit.  (Sorry that was a rather startling opening comment).  My sixteen year old is still figuring this out.  I don't understand.  I'm baffled by this entire concept.

Now I thoroughly understand the confusion that comes along with six, seven, and even ten year olds not knowing what to do for Pete's sake.  I get the bewilderment especially when they're asleep; HOWEVER, when my big, 240 pound, 6 foot 1, sixteen year old stands at my bedroom door at 8:33pm MST and says, "Mom, my stomach doesn't feel so good."  What gives?

"Okaaayy, aaaannnd...weeeeeellll....go to the bathroom and wait it out, dude."

June Cleaver, "The Perfect TV Mom"
I know I've mentioned this before but I'm not the most maternal of mothers.  Some June Cleavers of the world would jump up, take the kiddo's temperature, escort him back to bed, and show a little empathy.  I, on the other hand, was knee deep in an interesting book, noticed he didn't look flushed, and made the earlier suggestion about waiting it out by the porcelain throne.  Some of you are shocked and appalled.  So stop reading my blogs already and get over it.  This is just who I am.

Did my son follow my perfectly good advice?  No.  He went back to bed with his sour stomach and waited until the last possible moment to get up and run to the bathroom. 

William's room is the furthest from the commode.  Without going into gruesome detail, he didn't quite manage to get to where he needed to go.  Fortunately, he made it to the sink and partially to the toilet. Lovely. Also, my boys do not believe in chewing their food before swallowing so this was not a simple sanitary operation.  Finally, who do you think has the only iron clad stomach in the house which can tolerate such disasters without contributing their own Subway sandwich to the clean-up? Yes, my dear friends and blog readers, you're correct.  Yours truly.

Since William takes sleeping pills for insomnia, at this point the medication had finally kicked in. He was standing over the toilet like a big, drugged-out lug with vomit dripping off his t-shirt, chin, and sleeping pants completely unaware of what just happened.  Oh, this couldn't get any more comical.

"William, are you going to be sick again?"

"I don't know."

"Swell.  Let's get you cleaned up and sitting on the tub like I suggested earlier just in case."

With speed which surprised even me, Eric, my husband, was outside the door with clean PJs, a T-Shirt, rags, cleaning spray, trash bags, wash cloth, and maintaining as much decorum as possible as I handed him bags with instructions to either toss or set on the washing maching for me to rinse out the next day.  All I was thinking was, thank God Austynn was asleep or this would be an incredibly hectic situation.

Then, out of guilt, and guilt only, I pulled out my thermometer.  No fever,  Just as I expected.  Sour stomach.  Eric and I had left the pantry unlocked and unattended downstairs for about 20 minutes and William had taken full advantage of it.  I don't know what he ate (all I saw was Subway, eeeww) but he made himself very sick. 

I looked at William and reiterated one more time...

"I'm not mad at you, kiddo.  This happens.  But when you feel sick, hang out in the bathroom.  Don't wait..PLEASE!  You're a big boy now.  You don't have to tell Dad and I when you're feeling sick to your stomach.  If you feel hot or think you have a fever, that's different.  Are we clear?"


Good night, William."



"I don't feel so good."

"DUDE!  Stay in the bathroom!"