This morning, Sarah woke me up around six.
"Mommy, my hands are dirty. I need to wash them."
"Okay honey. You go wash them and I will be right there in a minute."
I fumble around, move the cat, find my glasses, and go directly to her bathroom.
"Mommy, my bed is dirty."
I look at her face, and wonder what that is all over her.
"Sarah, how did your bed get dirty?"
"I don't know, Mommy."
So I walk in her room, turn on the light, and discover my precious darling daughter got sick to her stomach. About that time, John walks in and sees it.
This morning, before we'd had a cup of coffee, before we'd had a chance to say good morning, we were stripping sheets, bathing a three year old who did NOT want a bath at six in the morning, and scrambling for a stomachache friendly breakfast on the day I'm supposed to go buy groceries. I've given my child the breakfast of champions - oyster crackers and a lovely cocktail of Pedialyte and cranberry juice (hey, it mixes well with other clear liquids, like vodka.)
There are lots of things about parenting that are fun, or inspiring, or that give you the warm fuzzies. This, however, was NOT one of those things.
Now if we could just get her to stop sniffing the cat. But that's another story entirely.