Yes, it is true. My sweet, youngest child has begun: tantrums. She is actually the first of all three who has ever done the sobbing, throwing herself onto the floor, the end of the world is near type of tantrum. Don't believe me? Here is a little photographic evidence of when she didn't want to wear shoes:
I mean, seriously. All over shoes. I am a newby to these, and it is kind of horrifying.
Moving on to torture (although tantrums are pretty torturous). So right when hockey came back, Matt told me about a few specific games he really wanted to go to. Now me, being the fabulous wife I am, said "Sure, we can make it work. Go relax, have fun." Fast forward to the actual days (two Sunday afternoons in a row when Summer has soccer and we have a million other things going on), and I am irritated. (Maybe we should erase that fabulous wife status). Now, I truly believe that taking younger children to a small, enclosed space where you need to occupy them for a period of more than five minutes could be used as a form of torture. I mean, it is bad. On Sunday I packed 120398129 snacks, toys, sippy cups, etc... got everyone ready, and took Summer to soccer. The first 20ish minutes, we were rolling. Olivia was eating in the stroller, Layla was eating and watching. Then it begins. The crying and twisting to get out of the stroller so you have to get them out or they will strangle themselves. The attempts to run out onto the field. The throwing of all snacks, cups, toys. The people looking on, either in pity or awkwardly asking if they can help you as you have one child over your shoulder, one hanging on your leg, and sweat dripping down your face. The minutes that go by SO slowly. It's not pretty. And it is miserable. What made everything worth it is when Summer had a one-on-one with a boy and scored a goal. A GOAL. SUMMER. That's nuts. She was so so thrilled and she says to me after, "Mom, I heard other people I don't know were even cheering for me!" The smile on her face made the horrific 40 minutes a distant (well, not too distant) memory.
On to vomit. So on Monday, my poor hubby had been up all night with a stomach virus. It was bad. I am a nurse, and I was even feeling queasy after hearing seven hours of puking. He was so miserable, but me being terrified of having all of the girls get it, I quarantined him to the guest room (which thankfully has its own full bath attached). He was not allowed to leave it. I wiped down essentially the entire house with clorox wipes and bleach (apparently this superbug going around is only killed by bleach. I wasn't taking any chances). So far so good for the rest of us...
Happy Wednesday!
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