November 07, 2007

The Life Stages of Hurling

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.

NO.

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.

Nasty stuff.

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!”

Blech.

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.

At least.

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 | TrackBack
Comments

Worst pukes ever [before learning of Green Cool Whip & coconut puke]: Runny eggs puke [blaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh], and Chambord Purple Puke, the latter of which happened to me last month, two Saturday mornings -- as in 4 in the morning -- in a row.

Oh God, and then when there's nothing else left to puke, and you think the reverse peristalsis will somehow suck your anus up through your body and out your mouth during a spell of the dry heaves...dat's the freaking WORST!

I could never post this on my own blog, but last week's revel found me holding my friend and co-worker around the waist so she wouldn't slam her head into the bowl as she presented a gallon of Bacardi as a humble sacrifice to the porcelain gods.

Posted by: Erica at November 7, 2007 11:22 PM

Bou,
That's a lotta puke in one post. Aren't you glad we're here for you?

My worst one (lately) was after my sinus surgery and the three rounds of hurling dried blood in the stomach. It kinda looked like Pepsi.

Posted by: Jerry at November 8, 2007 12:53 AM

I remember many years ago standing next to daughter's bed trying to do a Willie Mays catch on a mondo watermelon puke before it hit the rug.

Willie himself couldn't have caught that one.

Posted by: Jim - PRS at November 8, 2007 04:03 AM

Must remember that laughing can cause spewage when reading your posts! I soooo needed a laugh this morning. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. You go black for a couple of days and come back to talk about puke. Yep. Life is good.

Posted by: vw bug at November 8, 2007 06:30 AM

My worst puke was a night of drinking while getting the flu.

I didn't know someone could puke that much. blech.

Oh you forgot the dog puke, our's do it at least once a week and usually during the middle of the night waking you from a dead sleep only to find out your too late and they just puked in your bed and after awhile you get use to it and just put a towel over it and go back to sleep instead of changing the sheets at 2am.

Posted by: Quality Weenie at November 8, 2007 08:54 AM

When I had the flu last week I discovered I have a preference for things to puke up. Chicken soup (with carrots coming out my nose) - not so nice. Ginger ale is a much better thing to puke. Much less harsh on the tongue as it makes its mass exodus.

Posted by: wRitErsbLock at November 8, 2007 09:53 AM

Thanks for the memories!!! Now if I could just get the 22 yrs old to move out!!

Posted by: Anastasia at November 8, 2007 10:39 AM

My boy is a Momma's boy and it drives my husband crazy. He just cannot handle being second fiddle.

CAL cannot seem to make it to the bathroom let alone the toilet.

A couple months back he threw up on the floor because he swore he saw a mouse turd. Sat right there and threw up. I could have killed him.

Posted by: Lukie at November 8, 2007 01:54 PM

Hoo boy - I think you have puke cornered and covered at your house. ::leaves raincoat and umbrella::

Green cool whip?? *shudder* Cool whip isn't even food... Doesn't stop my Hubby from eating it right out of the bowl though. Gah...

Posted by: Richmond at November 8, 2007 03:41 PM

Well, between Denny's urinal poster and this commentary, I think my appetite is gone for the day! However, what is more fascinating than puke? Worst puke I ever had was after food poisoning gotten off a hot dog at Orange Julius. I swear more came out of my mouth, volumetrically speaking, than went in that day. Fortunately, I can retrieve a puke bucket in record time (kids will train you to do that). It's a good thing I did too, because I had puke buddies. The two oldest kids had also eaten hot dogs.

Right up there is the warm beer and Oreos consuming fest (and its natural repercussion) that took place in college.

The most amazing puke I've ever witnessed, however, came out of Thomas. It was the great red Gatorade incident that took place in our bathroom at 3 am. I still marvel (and retch a little) when I think of that.

Oh, Bou ... Twelve is an ornery age, but it's only a preview of 18. These things do go in cycles. Fifteen was a "good" age, in my opinion, so you have that to look forward to. I think God puts kids on these behavior jags to prepare us to let them go when they grow up. You don't feel so bad watching them leave if they piss you off first. More than once when our oldest was 18, I was on the verge of boxing all of her stuff up and shipping it to Timbuctu! In my experience (so far) 18 to 19 has been the worst because of that whole "I'm an adult" thing, and the fact that your hands are somewhat legally tied. Fortunately, that has passed, at least for now! However, next year she turns 21, which is drinking age in this state, and I admit I am a little nervous about it. It's a very awkward time. We are still helping with college (although she works and covers some of it) and she drives a car we loaned her, so she hasn't entirely made the transition to independence.

It's true. I'm wishing she has a daughter just like her some day! I want a ringside seat. Now here is a question I have: Does this ever stop, or do we still have our good attitude/bad attitude years? I know with kids it seems to run with "even" years: the terrible twos, the fearsome fours, etc. Do you suppose this is still true when we are 30, 56, or 88? I know my father in law has gone through some difficult phases, but I hadn't really thought about that until just now.

Posted by: Peggy U at November 8, 2007 03:42 PM

Wow, when you go dark for a few days, you come back in spectacular fashion.

I'm the aunt who won't even change diapers. I think puke would send me right over the edge!

Kathryn

Posted by: TxAFbrat at November 8, 2007 06:04 PM