I thought I'd share a funny story about my boys:
One of my Awesome Blogger Chicks is Gypsy Girl - Darlene. I met her when Trish posted a link that sent us to her blog to give support. At this point in my blogging, I wasn't brave enough to comment on anyone's blog. But reading how Darlene almost lost her son in a horrific car accident, I just had to leave a prayer in her comments. Which is not something I normally did at that point. I had no idea if Darlene might think I was a nut job. But it started a wonderful relationship that later introduced me to her friends Wanda Mom and Angela. All of these women have been staples of my emotional & spiritual support. And I've never met them! Isn't that funny?
Ok, as usual, I have totally gone tangential and threaten to go WAY too long.
Anyway, that was a bit of back story.
Recently, I have been spending lots of car rides with my boys answering all sorts of questions.
PokemonBoy: "Ok, who would win in a fight: Mr. Freeze or Big Chill?"
Lil'Bro: "Does Mr. Freeze have his freeze ray?"
LB: "Big Chill."
They have both been asking a lot of questions about what would happen if they got hurt. What if I lose a leg? What if my head comes off? What if what if what if? So they were peppering me with this particular line of questioning recently. I don't recall the exact question but they were asking about what if this body part was cut off or that body part. And Lil'Bro asked what would happen if he was cut in half. Pokemon Boy asked if that could ever happen. Like a moron, I didn't just fluff it off with some lame "Oh I doubt that could ever happen. Oh look! A shiny car!"
I told them about Darlene's son Mark. I recall her descriptions of his accident. He had nearly had his torso torn in two. They wanted to know every detail. Which I had trouble recalling because - thank you God - it has been a long time and he has been fully recovered for so long! I was able to at least end on that note with them. How he was fully recovered and happy and working toward working in the medical field to help other hurt people (am I remembering that right, Darlene?).
Well, we had a very long conversation that day. They asked everything from how long had he been in the hospital to did he believe in Jesus. (A long time and yes - they were relieved at the latter answer.)
We decided to stop for ice cream. While waiting in line to order our ice cream, a new mommy with her gorgeous little three-month old in a front carrier waited near by. Both of my boys are totally in love with babies. Pokemon Boy went over to start the usual questions of what was her name, how old was she, etc. Lil'Bro joined in with his 5-year old version of similar questions like why she wasn't talking yet. We had a cute little conversation and then sat down to our ice cream. At which point, Lil'Bro asks at a pretty good volume, "What if SHE was cut in half?" pointing to the baby. "She would probably die," he pronounced. I was like, "DOH!" Can you imagine this new mommy who had just had two cute boys adoring her new baby girl?! I mean, like you're not paranoid and terrified enough as a new mom! I quickly assured Lil'Bro that nothing like that would happen and then had to explain to the mommy that we had just been discussing a friend who had been in a horrible accident, etc. Thankfully, new mommy was extremely gracious. But I still wonder how terrifying her dreams were that night.
Good grief. I will never get Mom of The Year. That is for SURE!
No sooner had I posted this when I heard Lil'Bro upstairs getting out of bed, running into my empty bedroom and then the horrifying sound of SPLATTER SPLATTER...(10 second pause)...SPLATTER SPLATTER SPLATTER!!!! I was halfway up the stairs calling, "Where are you?!" at the 2nd round of splattering.
[Insert 10 minute break here for yet another, but smaller round.]
But back to the 1st round: I found Lil'Bro standing in my bedroom doorway, unceremoniously emptying the contents of his stomach onto the carpet in my bedroom doorway. Poor kid. Void of color and completely silent. He's a stoic puker. No crying. No complaining. All business.
I got him changed, cleaned and into my bed. The rug took longer. My kingdom for a wet-vac! And much thanks to my friend Paul who, via Facebook, reminded me of the virtues of baking soda.
So I came down here to share my little "Ha ha, my kid puked just as I posted this," story. And back up at the inserted break, I heard him get out of my bed. I ran up to find him sitting at the bucket I left him, getting the last bits of round two out. No tears. "I fink I'm done now," he informed me.
And now I have that nagging pit in my stomach that makes me wonder if I'm next or if I'm just having that weird sympathy nausea you get when your kid kecks.
Note to self: when you get your severance check, buy a wet-vac.