My eldest had a stomach virus last week. It was a 24 hour virus but he’s not really gotten his appetite back until yesterday, where I do believe he consumed about 5000 calories in one sitting.
Some of you may be saying, “Well, Bou, he’s 12, that’s what boys do.” I get that. I do. But I’m perpetually amazed at how much food this kid can put down considering he’s 4’11 and weighs, on a GOOD day 75 pounds. Maybe. When wet. I have no frickin’ clue where he puts the food. No clue.
He’s got that whole ‘wooden leg’ thing going on.
This past weekend when we were camping, there was an accident at a campsite and one of the Moms had to take their baby to the ER. She has four boys and one of the boys, her eight year old, insisted on going with her.
I said something to her husband about how I know their eight year old loves his Mama and the husband said, “Oh, Tommy is his mother’s protector. Nobody messes with his Mom…”
I looked at my husband and said, ‘Wow, I don’t think I have one of those…’ and then said, “Well, maybe one of the two younger two, but definitely not Ringo. He’d kick me to the side.”
My husband made sounds of, ‘Oh that’s not fair!’ to which I replied, “I have made peace with the fact that when that boy leaves home, we’ll never hear from him again. He’ll be like, “seeeeeee yaaaaa!””
Both men looked at me sort of aghast and then finally my husband replied, “That’s not true. Who did he call the other night when he was sick?! At 1AM, it was only YOU that he wanted!”
Please. The kid was throwing up. At 12 years old, they still don’t like to throw up alone. Give me a break. I’m still betting on the kid making a permanent exit from our lives when he’s got wheels and places to be.
He won’t even call me when he has to puke.
I’m Ok with that.
I’ve had to lecture him a lot lately on taking care of his body and eating right. He’s a frickin’ Hoover, sucking down everything in sight. Sometimes its good food and sometimes… not.
For instance, we were camping and he was up at 7AM, as soon as the sun was up (what’s up with that, by the way. At home I can’t get his butt out of bed until 9!), fishing pole in hand, on his bike, riding down to the river, a bottle of Frappacino he’d coerced me into buying while I did my pre-camping shopping stuck in one hand… coming back only a couple hours later to scavenge through the cooler, thinking I’d let him get away with eating a chocolate bar as he made his way back to the river.
I stopped him dead in his tracks, put my hand on my hip, and did the whole head shaking finger pointing “I don’t think so” Mom-i-tude I get. I told him again, “Eat right… you have one body. Take care of it. Put down the chocolate bar… you’re not two.”
Good Lord, living with a 12 year old is like living with a two year old, except bigger body and more attitude. The language is not much better as 12 year olds tend to morph back down to grunts.
Yesterday we sat down for dinner and I looked over at my counter and realized that half the groceries I’d bought three hours before were gone. The three Hoovers had sucked them all down. A take out box of sushi, a half a bag of Tostitos with salsa, 15 raspberry rugelach, 1 chocolate chip muffin, 1 yogurt, a brick of cheese, a half a tin of those fried onion things you usually put on the bean casserole at Thanksgiving, and a partridge in a pear tree.
Maybe not a partridge.
But the rest of it was real. And they were sitting at my table inhaling dinner and I found out later that my eldest, while running an errand with his father, got ice cream that night as well.
At dinner I lectured again about healthy eating. I know, deaf ears on boys and food, but it is making me nuts. Yes, we go through an abnormally high rate of carrots and fruit, but… I’m sorry… 15 raspberry rugelach is just insane.
Today Ringo had to take a container of Cool Whip, dyed green, to school for science. I picked him up today and he had the container in his hand.
“Dude, what’s up with the container?”
“Mom, I misheard, I was supposed to bring it in tomorrow and she didn’t have room in the school fridge.”
“You ate that crap, I can tell. Your teeth are green…”
Now he swears that it sat in the fridge most of the day. I know for a fact it sat in my car for two hours today.
I suspect he had some tonight as well.
Tonight I came home from something I had to attend with my husband and was greeted by Bones, “Mom! Mom! Mom! Ringo threw up all over the bathroom!”
Green cool whip puke, all over the floor, all over the commode, all… over.
Why do the children in his home never hurl normal puke? NO. In this house it is named.
There is the infamous “Pizza puke” that was right next to my bed and which got blogged upon.
Then there is the also infamous, “Chocolate Cake puke” that is in the doorway of my bedroom, which was a great lesson and one I impart on all new parents, “You may think when you are carpeting your home that your bedroom is your sanctuary and therefore it is safe to install white carpet, but it is not. At 2AM when your toddler ate too much chocolate cake at a birthday party, he will find his way into YOUR room, making his way to YOUR bed, on YOUR white carpet. Chocolate cake puke stains.”
And now we have Green Cool Whip puke.
This gave me yet another opportunity to ‘lecture’, not that it matters as I know all my son hears is Charlie Brown’s teacher, “Wah, wah, waaaah, waaaah, waaaaaaaah”, on taking care of one’s body, watch the junk one puts into it and… food spoilage. We’ve had a couple lectures on that already… when ‘to’ and more importantly when ‘not to’ eat food.
And this whole thing has made me realize that I can divide my life into… ‘The Cycle of Puke’.
There is the newborn stage where they get a bubble while feeding and puke milk all over. If you have hit the bonus prize, as we did with Ringo, you get a baby with reflux where the puking continues up to nearly a year and is consistently the shade of the last previous meal. Carrots stain.
Then there is the ‘whole food’ stage where they choke on too much meat or a green bean and hurl all over the supper table. Oh and the realization that certain textures are intolerable, such as my middle son who cannot eat coconut. The texture makes him gag and we’ve had coconut cake puke too… at a restaurant. That was lovely.
From there you move into the ‘pre-school’ and ‘child’ stomach virus stage of puking. Just their consistently being around other children will bring home the most rancid horrible intestinal bugs imaginable… stuff that should be used in germ warfare by the military.
Note the capital ‘N’.
And then you move into the ‘pre-teen’ or ‘teen’ stage where there are still viruses, but mostly it is eating combinations of food that should absolutely NOT ever be eaten, and then on occasion adding a carnival ride to it. This would be like doing a modern day “Cool Hand Luke” contest with deep fried twinkies. “Oh yeah! Well he’ll match your 45 deep fried twinkies, up it five more and then ride the hurl a whirl!”
Teens do it to themselves.
From there you move into the late teens and twenty’s drinking binge hurls. *shudder* I still have bad memories of that. Gah. Getting drunk on red wine with a screw on cap will insure you do not take Holy Communion without fighting the urge to hurl on the priest for a few years.
And then they grow up into the ‘morning sickness’ stage where they are either listening to their wife hurl for 12 weeks or they get to be the mother-to-be wretching every morning for 12 weeks.
And you move right back into the baby puke hurling.
It’s a whole cycle that starts at birth and that I don’t think gets broken until your kids are grown and out of the house… but then again… I do think Hubba has had some puking grandkids in her home.
But I can tell you, I know that Hubba and TGOO are past the major puke phase of their life.
I’m still covered in it…
Posted by Boudicca at November 7, 2007 10:41 PM