That's what I get for thinkin.

My last post was a sort of complaint that nothing interesting is really going on.

Yeah, I'll never do THAT again.

At about 3.30 am on Friday morning, I woke up to, "Mommy, I frowed up. In my bed."

At first, I thought my four-year-old was kidding. She says she has to "frow up" all the time, but it generally just involves a lot of coughing and maybe a few drops of spit. And anyway, I had just woken up and my immediate urge was to say, "Ahhh that's cool honey come lay down shhh sleeep..."

Then I realized she wasn't wearing the same shirt she had gone to sleep in.

"Honey... what happened to your shirt?"

"I frowed up on it."

Okay, this was probably more serious than I thought. For a minute, I still sat there, sitting up in bed and rather dumbstruck. It was dark. It was the middle of the night. I had to work in the morning. Was this kid pulling my leg? Sleeeeep...

That was when she stepped closer, and I smelled it. Phewww there ain't much can wake a mama up faster at three in the morning than the smell of vomit.

"Okay, come on." We went out to the living room and sat on the couch. I got a bucket for her personal use and we settled down to watch old tv shows on Disney Jr. (Did you know they play the old Little Mermaid cartoon at four am on Disney Jr.?!) Her bed could wait til the morning. I was in no shape to fix it, and besides, she wasn't getting back into it anytime soon. I was beginning to wake up, bit by bit, and with great dread I realized that if *she* was sick, then...

The wailing began. Oh, no.

I went into my eighteen-month-old's bedroom and sure enough, his bed and his clothes were covered in the same orange, foul-smelling gunk my daughter had been spewing into the bucket. I grabbed him up and immediately stripped him down. It was time to call for reinforcements.

My husband had been off work for a week, using all of his vacation time. Therefore I knew I would be the one staying home with the sick kid. But now that there were two covered in vomit... ugh.

He was a fairly good sport about being woken up at four am by pukey kids. He didn't complain when I asked him to clean out the kids' beds and put their bedding in the washer. (Which is great because I probably would have blown chunks all over myself attempting to do that.) We got the two of them into the bathtub, and yes I was able to wash all of the vomit out of my son's hair.

We eventually got both kids calmed down and sleeping. At eight am, I was up and on my way to the grocery store for strawberries and blueberries. Maybe it's the sugars in the fruit, but whenever I have a stomach issue, all I want are strawberries and blueberries. They calm my gizzard better than anything else. (Yes, I said gizzard.) And anyway, that Emetrol stuff is nothing but sugars. At least strawberries and blueberries taste better. I also loaded up on popsicles for dehydration.

Something must have worked because, though they hardly ate the rest of the day, my kids did not get sick anymore. My son whined and whined and cried and slept all day, but that is certaintly still preferable to the alternative.

At any rate... my lesson has been learned. I will keep my mouth shut about having uninteresting things about which to write. Because, honestly, as entertaining as it was to write this.... it was horrible to live it!

XOXO,
Alex.Is

Randumb.

I have a newfound love for Instagram. It's like I realized that all those random and pointless but totally photogenic moments in my life finally have an outlet, and I can share my insanity with the world!

Also, that is what this blog is for.

I decided that since I have nothing about which to write, I will write about anything. Because as I said before, mind bending inward, blah blah blah... You get the point.

My children are sleeping, and the silence in the house at the moment is delicious. My mind is free to wander about (ADD-like) as freely as it freely desires.

On second thought, this mind should perhaps NOT have an online outlet for its insanity...

Instagram! My screenname is pickledbologna only because I haven't had any in years, and I couldn't think of anything original and Lexy-like at the moment. I don't know why pickledbologna is Lexy-like, but it seems to fit, and so far none of my friends have told me that I'm nipping fluts, though I suppose they have come to expect that from me, along with run-on sentences.

My eyeball itches.

I suppose I have nothing interesting about which to write because nothing interesting happened today. One of my doctors (boss) is out of the office on holiday vaykay (lucky duck) which means I generally sit around giving myself kissy faces in the mirror and eating penguins. (Did you fall for that? No? Good. Just seeing if you're paying attention. In all reality, I'm taking ridiculous Instagram pictures and Words-with-Friendsing. And a little bit of Hanging-with-Friendsing. Oh! And a lot of Bakery and Nightclub and Restaurant Story... I just realized I have no life.)

But! Tomorrow is Friday, and thaaaat means weekend! (Which means no work, cuz doctor's offices close on weekends, or at least ours does cuz we're lazy.)

Time for this mama to get some sleep, or at least pretend to get some sleep. Never know when a tiny person might have a midnight meltdown...

XOXO,
Alex.Is

Heartburn and Heartbreak

Last night, I had heartburn. And quite honestly, I should have known better. I stood in front of the sodas and drinks section at Wawa and said, "Hmmmm. Naked mango madness. Sounds like heartburn, though... Oh well, I can deal!" And I picked it up and took it home with me (after paying for it, of course).

So I got home. And I enjoyed my Wawa tenders, thankyouverymuch. Now, mind you, I haven't taken my Prilosec in days. (Not 20 mg, 40 mg. I seriously need this stuff to live.) (Okay, that *may* be a slight exaggeration.) At any rate, random ramblings aside, I decided to down this deliciously wonderful fruit smoothie in about three gulps, as per usual. (No, I didn't lick the cap cuz why would I do that?) I was okay for a split 23 seconds.

Except then my chest was on fire. And my throat. And the back of my mouth. And I kept getting that don't-burp-cuz-you'll-puke feeling. (Not a pleasant feeling, no.)

But I'm smart! I'm not stupid! I have some old Mylanta sitting around here somewhere, right?!

Right. *Exactly* right.

*Old* Mylanta.

You ever have one of those moments when you know something bad is about to happen, but you just can't stop it cuz it's too late? Yeah, it was one of *those* moments. A strong, plastic smell reached my nose two seconds before the bottle reached my mouth. (Was I drinking out of the bottle? Eww no cuz why would I do that.) And then the sludge hit my lip, and seconds later, my tongue. I almost dropped the bottle in the floor.

I didn't. I did, however, let out a sad, pitiful cry that was a cross between that of a dying cat and a gutted fish. (Do fish make noises? Really?) I may or may not have dribbled what little nasty sludge had managed to weasel its way into my mouth... onto the floor. (Reflex!) And then I was spitting and spewing and whining into the kitchen sink about how I had been abused by a cruel and hateful bottle of Mylanta, while dumping said offensive bottle down the drain. It was then that I realized I hadn't shaken the bottle well enough, and all the thick goo was settled at the bottom of the bottle. This, of course, did not stop me from pursuing my mission. The now empty bottle of Mylanta sits in recycle.

I have no other antacids sitting around. Because I normally take my medicine like a good girl and therefore have no NEED for antacids. I ended up drinking (yes, drinking - I was too lazy to find a spoon, and don't judge me bcuz we all have those moments) applesauce. It soothed the savage beast, but only barely. The heartburn raged on.

And then my lovable, adorable, cute and sweet little tot awoke. And started doing the loving, sweet "Mama" thing which, as I've said before, melts me like a hot knife through butter. So I picked him up and took him to my room. (Bcuz what else would one do in this situation?)

He snuggled. For three seconds. It was totally adorable, too, bcuz he wrapped one chubby little arm around my neck and pulled me to him, warm and close.

Then he got bored. And then he thought it would be funny to roll over and kick Mommy in the face. And then laugh when Mommy complained.

And then - typical male! - he was out, sliding his way off the mattress onto the floor. "Deuces, Ma," said he. "Got bigger and better things to explore." (Or it may have been more along the lines of, "Bah bah boo bleh bah!")

Heartburn and heartbreak, all in one night. Although it's better to have loved and lost than... blah, blah, blah, who am I kidding? I love that kid, even though he drops me like a hot potato on a momentary whim.

What's a poor mommy to do?

XOXO,
Alex.Is

I'm a terrible blogger.

As bloggers go, I'm pretty bad, tis true. I stink at updating, and when I finally *do* update, it's usually pointless, uninteresting babble made difficult to read by big words and strange analogies.

I'd apologize, except I'm not really sorry for my laziness.

I am, however, sorry that I don't write. I like writing too much to go very long without writing. My brain starts to bend inwards, and I become a bit crazier with every passing moment. If I don't write, I talk too much. And we all know bad things happen when I talk to much. Well, no we all don't, necessarily, but I know very well.

I have a stinky 18 month old scrambling in my lap, touching my computer screen, and begging for attention. He's lucky he's so darn cute because hardly anybody in the world could get away with this nonsense. Also, he just said "Mama," and I'm a sucker for when my boy says "Mama."

I'm going to attempt to update more frequently, and I'm going to attempt to find more interesting things to say. I think I'm gonna go play on Twitter as well. This ought to be... interesting. (I hate saying the same word twice in the same paragraph, but it seems to be the only one that fits in both instances. Just fyi. Because yes, I noticed the repetition.)

Also, today's Christmas, and I haven't mentioned that yet. Probably because I don't celebrate and can't stand Christmas, but that's another post entirely. At best, I tolerate the hysterical holiday hoopla and do my best not to throttle the bazillions of people who say, "Merry Christmas!" and "Are you ready for Santa Claus?!" as if the possibility that I might not celebrate Christmas is so completely impossibly far-fetched that it is okay to assume that I celebrate this holiday along with the other 8 billion people in the world who obviously would not bother to not celebrate or *gasp* celebrate something else!

That was a run-on sentence. I should stop that. And no, for those that don't know, I'm not Jewish, and I don't celebrate Hanukkah either. Or Kwanzaa. Or anything else holiday-like.

Alex.is signing off!