The stomach flu totally screws with me. Landon has been a barf factory for about twenty-four hours now, and I truly can't tell if I'm actually nauseous from the beginnings of a virus or if I am just mid-dry heave because I'm wiping up mucous-y, sour throw up and it's making my stomach turn.
Hear me out on this one- maybe the stomach flu isn't really contagious at all. Maybe people just get so grossed out that they're just, you know, nauseous and puking by association for a couple days. I mean, the only thing that was running through my head while I was sopping up and disinfecting the goop that was swimming alongside my son's guts just moments earlier, was "I don't feel so good. I just... don't feel so good. Like, at all. Like, my insides feel like a bubbling swamp."
Anyway, I have a new life motto! It's a good one. You ready?
"If I don't do it, no one will."
Kinda sad at first glance, maybe, but very empowering if you think about it. I'm convinced this is a necessary statement that all procrastination-prone people should be repeating to themselves. Especially moms, who are responsible for all the chores and tasks of the world that are the most mundane and most easily reasonable to put off. For example, "Let's be honest, I don't really HAAAAVE to tidy the playroom. They're gonna take the same stuff out tomorrow...", right? Right. But, after a while, even though I was previously convinced otherwise, the clutter begins to burrow into my brain and I suddenly feel like I'm drowning in a sea of foam blocks while choking on never ending Barbie shoes. Did I think the toys would eventually put themselves away? Or even more foolishly, did I think my kids or husband would do it?! I mean, the absurdity is incomprehensible. So! I tell myself the afore-mentioned statement like forty-seven times a day. It helps me be more proactive in picking up, and laundry, and grocery shopping, because once I come to terms with the reality that I happen to be the only person on the planet who will ever put away whatever "it" happens to be --- or "accidentally" suck "it" up through the vacuum hose (which happens to be my favorite thing to do...), I'm less likely to leave "it" there. I'm less likely to push back hanging up the clothes that have been sitting, folded on the dryer for two days, I'm less likely to put off bath time for one more minute. I imagine it's kinda like when someone has been captured by an evil villain and news gets back to Superman, and he's all, "well shit, if I don't do it no one will," and then, you know, he saves the world. So basically, moms are superheroes, saving the world one prompt unloading of the dishwasher at a time. It's true.
You know what else I've realized? I've realized that, having little ones, I have gotten exceptionally good at doing things one-handed over the last few years. It's like, I can flip a piece of salmon with one hand so expertly, it's hard to refrain from shouting a, "BAM!!!" at that perfectly flipped little fishy as soon as it sizzles on the pan. It would make Emeril beam with culinary pride, surely. With one hand, I can unscrew a sippy cup lid, then open the fridge, then open a bottle of juice, then fill the cup with a perfectly balanced juice/water/ice concoction. I can unwrap and perfectly adhere a bandaid to my kids' skinned knees, you guessed it, all one-handed. It's a sight to be seen. It's just amazing how you relearn to use your body when you are always holding a glass of wine. Oh, you thought it was because I was always holding a child? Aw, that's adorable.
Anyway, my wrist is starting to ache from typing this blog entirely left-handed, because my right hand is super occupied. Because if one of my hands doesn't feed my face with wine, no one will.