Slice of Life: Racking Up Mother of the Year Votes

Two nights ago my son woke me up at about midnight.

“My stomach hurts,” he said.

He's only gotten sick once in his nine years (on a bad hot dog), so I took him into the bathroom where he promptly, almost delicately even, proceeded to vomit six times into the toilet. Then he stood up and said, “That’s better,” rinsed his mouth out and went back to bed.

I tried to figure out what the bad food was that he could’ve eaten as we had all basically had the same thing. Maybe it was just his piece of chicken, I thought, and just to be safe, cleared out the rest of the boneless chicken from the freezer. He slept through the rest of the night and was fine the next day.

Last night my son woke me up at 2 AM.

“I have a question. Why am I burping and farting?”

I replied groggily, “Um, because you’re a 9-year-old boy?”

“Oh,” he replied and went back to his room where he promptly started throwing up before he could make it to the bathroom. The orange. He had a Clementine orange both nights, but because he’d been eating one every night for over a week with no problem, I had ruled it out. But after stripping his sheets and grooming the stuffed animals caught in the fray, it was definitely the orange. New sheets on the bed, assurances that he was fine, and both my boys (my husband and my son) were sound asleep again within ten minutes. Me? I saw 4:15 on the bedside digital clock.

An hour later: “Mom, I had a little diarrhea.”
“Oh, ok, honey. Do you feel alright now?”
“Yes, but it’s on my sheets.”

Strip the new sheets. Search the closets for extra twin sheets. Re-make the bed. Make sure my boy feels fine. He’s back to snoozing within ten minutes. Me? I see 6 AM, but finally, blissfully, I fall back to sleep.

8 AM: “Mom, what time does the bus come?”

I look at the clock. I’m usually downstairs fixing him breakfast and making his lunch by this time, but I have no desire to get out of bed.

“How does your tummy feel?” I ask, barely opening my eyes.
“It feels fine.”

“Aren’t you tired?”

“I’m ok.”

This is where my mothering skills really kick in.

“Well, you were up sick last night. You can stay home from school if you want.”

“Nah, I’m fine. Can I have breakfast?”

Yes, I know. Inadvertently poisoning my son TWICE and then suggesting he play hooky so I can sleep in might not win me too many votes for Mother of the Year. But the kid made the bus. And from now on, I’m forgetting the fresh fruit after dinner and going with salmonella-free Oreos. That should earn me a few votes, right?