How To Lose A Mom In Five Minutes….

I drove to school to pick up Hanna and pulled in behind a series of cars, trucks, vans in front of me and waited.

The baby was in the backseat yelling, “Up! Up!” she wanted out of her seat so she could walk to the front doors in the hopes of being hugged by her big sister who she missed all day, but more likely to dodge the flurry of kids that burst through the doors seconds after the bell rings and like the running of the bulls, my 18 month old stands frozen as they race past her towards the brightly coloured buses.

Today however, I was unable to get Chloe out of her seat after a wave of nausea hit me from out of nowhere.

I am not pregnant.

The flu has been going around and as recently as last week was back in our house so I feared it was my turn. I also worried death by slowly poisoning someone a recent plot on Desperate Housewives had gotten into my kitchen.

Still five minutes on the clock I was wedged in between two blue-tooth chatting pick-up parents, wondering if maybe they were talking to each other and several others who had a clear view into my front seat. I feared I was going to throw up in front of a larger than necessary parking-lot audience and with modern technology, this episode could go viral.

I fashioned together a couple of cloth grocery bags thinking I would just hurl into the bags, rather than leaping from the car and throwing up outside for the world to film and cheer me on. It wouldn’t matter that the bags are made of mostly cheese cloth. I’m holding onto that car detailing gift card for when I need it most. Alternatively, I considered revving the gas and jolting forward about 100 metres, hoping I wouldn’t spew until I was safely parked out of sight but this one had an element of danger I wasn’t physically capable of exploring.

The wave passed but I knew I was on borrowed time. Hanna spotted the van and we raced home.

I made an announcement to the kids that I wasn’t feeling well and I needed their help in playing or plotting my death quietly while I sat for a few minutes and hoped this would pass.

Minute 1: Chloe climbed down the stairs, burst through Greg’s office door while he was on a conference call and started shouting, “Do Re Mi” over and over again. Mommy to the rescue.

Minute 2: Ellie walked downstairs to retrieve the ipad so she could knock off a few angry birds before dinner but returned upset because, “Daddy is watching a scary show where bad guys were giving away a baby.” I guess Y&R wasn’t one of the cancelled soaps?

Minute 3: Ellie wanted to print some hidden picture puzzles off of the computer and screamed, “Mommy! Help! Help!” I whispered back, “Yes Ellie?”

Ellie: What do I type?

Me: www

Ellie: Wait……w, now what?

Me: w

Ellie: I already did that

Me: Another w

Ellie: w, now what?

Me: w

Ellie: I already did that!

Me (my head is spinning): There are three w’s

Ellie: w, what next?

She finally typed in the url necessary to retrieve her pages but…

Ellie: It didn’t work! Now I’m on my music homework!

Me: Coming.

Minute 4 Ellie: I just peed my pants. Sorry Mom. I’m really sorry. (now crying, there’s a pee path from the dining room to the bathroom).

Minute 5: On my hands and knees with a bucket of vinegar and a very upset child sobbing from the bathroom.

Chloe: Up! Up! Up!

She’s removed her socks and is dunking them in the vinegar/pee bucket making a slow moving cyclone.

When I tell her to stop, she senses I’m weak and continues with an evil laugh.

If I had walked in the door five minutes earlier and asked someone to pee on the floor, someone else to dunk their socks in it and someone to traumatize a child with a daytime soap opera, I’m not sure my wish would have come true.

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