Sleepovers are all fun.....until someone throws up.

Everett, my 7 y/o, has been asking to have a sleepover with some of his friends, for as long as I can remember.  The delay has not been if  Everett was ready, but if his friends were ready to stay a night away from home.  It has been one of the goals in his life, and he has spent many hours imagining and planning all of the fun things that he and his friends will do......most of which somehow involved explosions of some sort.  (he has a huge imagination)  With the new backyard swing/playset/fort thingy that Santa somehow managed to sneak in for Christmas, Everett felt this was the perfect opportunity to have friends over for a night of good times.  He invited 2 of his buddies to come home with us from Church to spend the day, and sleep over.  None of the boys had ever spent the night away from home, so there was discussion among the parents regarding a backup plan, just in case any of the boys stout bravery at 1 P.M., began to fade at 1 A.M.  With the security of a backup plan in place, we loaded up, and headed home.  The day was filled with lots of laughs, and LOUD kiddos running around the yard being pirates, indians, spacemen, and whatever their little brains could come up with.  At age 7, there is not a whole lot more entertainment that is needed, past their own imaginations.  They do however, need food.  So we decided to crank up the ice cream maker, and get some pizzas.  After a successful dinner, we decided it was time to institute a "calm" activity, in hopes of getting them to calm down enough to eventually go to sleep.  (yes, we dream big around here)  We laid out a huge blanket, and some pillows in front of the living room T.V., and popped in a movie, "Night at the museam, 2".  The three 7 y/o boys decided that the blanket was a boat, and NO little brothers were allowed, much to the disliking of my 3 y/o, Harrison, who was banished to the couch.  About 1/2 way into the movie, I noticed one of the boys rubbing his tummy and making a face.  I asked if he was OK, and he said he was fine, and that he must have eaten a cookie that he didn't like.  As I watched him, fidget from the comforts of the  boat blanket on the floor, up on to the couch and curl up in a little ball, much to the disliking of a very disgruntled Harrison, it became clear that we were in serious trouble.  Harrison, who was up WAY past his bedtime, and feeling a bit cranky by now, was not thrilled that now one of the boat boys had invaded his space on the couch, and kept crying that he wanted to sit in the very spot that his intruder now occupied.   After asking the obviously distressed little boy if he was OK several times, and each time him trying in vein to reassure me that he was, in fact, feeling fine, and having fun,  I decided I had better call his Mom, in hopes that she could determine if he really was feeling bad, or if I was over reacting.  As he spoke quietly to his Mom, I heard him cough one of those little coughs, that every Mother knows, precedes vomit.  Yes, there it was, and I knew what was coming next.  So did his helpless Mom, who from the other end of the phone,  yelled, "RUN to the bathroom, QUICK!!!"  That little "cough" instantly threw the entire universe into slow motion.  I watched from across the room, in slow motion, his poor body heave up every speck of nutrition he had ingested in the past 2 days.....all over the phone, the couch, the floor, and any toys lying nearby.  Gallons on vomit, rejected from his little body, projectile style, as he held my now vomit covered cell phone in his hand, and his Mom listening on the other end. 
Let me just say, that a sleepover is all fun and games, until someone throws up. Then, what began as an exciting, fun night of good times, can disolve in a matter of seconds into a chaos, that one must experience first hand, to really, fully appreciate.  My husband jumped up to help the little guy, and scooped him up to the bathroom....I ran to get a bucket and immediate towels from the kitchen.....my oldest son Hayden ran to get big towels from the bathroom, and scooped up baby Carson who was crawling directly and excitedly towards the fun....my 3 y/o Harrison, saw his opportunity to now sit on the part of the couch he so desired, and did just that, right in the middle of the vomit.....our other guest, who obviously has an aversion to vomit, began to cry, and pace back and forth, saying, "Oh no.  There is vomit everywhere.  I'd better go home now."    What started in slow motion, was now going in fast forward.  I didn't seem to have enough hands, or mental capacity, to direct everyone quick enough.  I'm trying to comfort and clean a very sweet little boy, who, as he was covered in his own vomit, was appologizing profusely for what had just happened, and at the same time trying to comfort another very distraught, obviously traumatized, little boy who was by now REALLY pacing and crying about all of the vomit, while running his fingers thru his hair, and his claims that he was now sick....HOMESICK....and that his Daddy needed to be called immediately to come and get him.  This, while telling my hubby to put Harrison, who had so triumphantly reclaimed his rightful place on the vomit covered couch,  into the shower.  At the same time, I am telling my oldest son what to do with an 11 month old baby who NOW decided he needed a bottle and cuddle from Mom, and was making his demands known.  I called the poor Mom, who had just listened in horror as her baby boy threw up at his first sleepover, and let her know what was going on.  She said she was already on the way over to get him.  I then called the other little guy's Dad, and inform him of the "issue" at hand, and to let him know his son was now, without any shadow of doubt, certain that he was ready to go home.
With all of the chaos, I had not even had one second to look at Everett, who had started this day with such excitment about his first sleepover.  As I was in the kitchen, filling the water on the carpet cleaner, I looked up to see my sweet Everett, standing in the middle of his blanket boat....the lone survivor of a deep sea adventure that appears to have run aground.  He stood there, silent and still, with tears in his eyes and his hands out stretched, as if all of his dreams had just slipped thru his fingers like sand.  Then, it was time to comfort him.   As I gave him a hug, I tried to reassure him that there would be plenty of other sleepovers, and reminded him of all of the fun he and his friends had earlier in the day.  Then his friend, who was by now feeling much better after the offending contents of his stomach had been rejected, came over and said, "I'm feeling much better now, can I stay?"  There was a slight spark of hope in Everett's eyes with the possability of salvaging this wrecked ship, to which, I had to reply, "You know, I think we've all had enough excitment for one night.  It's time for everyone to go to bed."  His other friend with the vomit phobia, never once diverted his thinking from "Yes, get me outta here quick!"  So, as my husband made arrangments with this boy's Dad to get him home to safety, our other friend was taken home by his Mom, who was so kind to stay for a bit, and helped clean up the mess. 
When all was said and done, and his friends were in the safety of their own homes, there was some comfort for Everett with a midnight run to Quicktrip for a donut, and the promise of another sleepver in the future, with even bigger plans for fun, and maybe this time, one of the fun things would involve an explosion, of some sort.

Santa's gone commercial.

There are those little things, that in my opinion, go hand in hand with Christmas.  The smell of fresh cut Christmas trees & fresh baked cookies, the song "Chestnuts roasting on an open fire", sung by Nat King Cole, and of course the one thing that every child, and let's face it, every parent, looks forward to....a trip to see the Mall Santa.  Every family has their own way of answering that question, "Is the Mall Santa the REAL Santa?  Or is he a big faker?", but our family has always viewed him as one of the real Santa's helpers.  This opinion was formed after my oldest son noticed the varying degrees of authenticity of the Mall Santa's, and their "real beard" VS "fake beard", which is a dead giveaway for a child.  So, the day had finally arrived to go see Santa, and my children were over the top thrilled!  My 2 sisters and I decided to make it a family event, and meet at the mall, along with our parents, and all 8 of our combined children.  The store hosting Santa went all out with a little Christmas village, games, coloring station, remote control cars, and all the Christmas decor anyone could possibly imagine.  The thrill of meeting Santa was somewhat tarnished, when we got up to, what we soon discovered, was Santa's secretary, and learned we had to make an appointment to see Santa.  Well...OK, appointment it is!  So we took the "next available" appointment, which was in one hour.  We took the time to enjoy the activities at the Christmas village, and company of family.  When our appointment time finally came, the kids were completely ready, and had rehearsed several times, their Christmas list to give Santa.  Our rather large, and by now, somewhat unruly, group stood before Santa's throne, waiting for the big guy to appear.  Several of Santa's security team were milling about, with those ear microphones to communicate, to make sure the appropriate people were following the appointment schedule.   We really threw them off, when we asked if we could do a group photo of my parents with all of the grandchildren, in addition to the individual family photos with Santa. There was some strategic planning on the part of the security team, but they finally came up with a plan to accommodate this request.  One of Santa's posse finally came over to the kids, and started to prep them for Santa's arrival, by asking them if they were excited, if they had been good, and....."OH MY, did they hear the "thud" of Santa's arriving on the roof?!? "  And then, thru the door he came....SANTA!  This guy was the most authentic Santa I had ever seen, with his custom made suit, REAL beard and white hair, he could have easily passed for Santa's twin brother.  I always hold my breath for a few seconds when my kids see him, because that twinkle in their eye, could go either way at this point.  The twinkle could continue in their eyes, with the delight in seeing Santa, or it could turn into the glistening of tears, as the horror of this creepy stranger, who obviously wants to eat them, sends my kids into a panic attack.   This year was no different, and it was a split decision, with my older two boys being happy to see Santa, and the younger two boys......not so much.   We managed to get the whole group picture, as well as individual family pictures, with as little trauma as possible.  By now, it was time to feed the indians, who were pretty wild at this point.  Let me just say, taking a group of 8 wild indians to the food court is never a good idea.  Getting them to actually sit in the seats to eat is next to impossible, especially when there is an exceptionally slow waiter, and the charm of a carousel looms nearby.  We managed to feed the children, in the mix of them jumping up and down in the booths, a few walks to soothe cranky babies, and more than a few threats of torture from the parents.  The kids finally got their carousel  ride and they squeeled, and laughed like lunatics the whole time.  As I watched them on the carousel, I couldn't help notice the smell of fresh baked cookies from the food court cookie store, and the smell of fresh cut Christmas trees  in the air, that was obviously being piped in from some super sized Mall air freshening system.   Then I hear Nat King Cole's voice singing "Chestnuts, roasting on an open fire....Jack Frost nipping at your nose....". 
I had to laugh, because this was obviously NOT the Christmas of my youth.  It is, however, the Christmas of their youth.  Even though Christmas has become so commercial that even Santa has to have a secretary to make appointments for his visits, and a whole team of security handlers to keep the flow of things, they will always remember their visits with him, and remember the real beard VS the fake beard Santas.  They may get their memories of the scent of fresh baked cookies from home,  because we have a fake tree, they may only associate the smell of fresh cut Christmas trees with the Mall, and it being piped in for effect.  They will have memories of cousins, Grandparents, aunts & uncles, at family get-togethers, and at Mall's, and I can guarantee, at least one of those memories will be to triggered for them by the song about Chestnuts roasting on an open fire.  No matter how Christmas memories are made, rest assured, they are made, year after year, and our children will always remember and cherish them, and in vain, try to recreate them, in the lives of their own  children. 
In the words of my favorite Christmas song by Nat King Cole,....."It's been said, many times, many ways,....Merry Christmas, to you".

Welcome to my world!

For those of you who are reading this, let me just say, thank you for your bravery.  Hanging out with me, & my family, on any level, is not for the weak hearted.  We are a lively bunch, who find great humor in some of the oddest of things.  I have been encouraged to write this "blog",  by so many of you, who read my little quips & quirks and said I should be writing these things in some way, or the other.  The term "blog" is foreign to me, as I am not very computer savy.  Someone actually had to explain to me what a blog is, (thanks Lora!)  and how it works.....or at least she tried to, anyway.  So I hope this thing doesn't explode my computer, or worse, YOUR computer! 
   As with anything new, there is a great fear, that this will not be recieved well, or WORSE, will be viewed as one of the more rediculous things I've done in my life.  Fortunately, I have plenty of people who love me, and will remind me of things that I have done, that are far more rediculous & embarassing, than writing this blog. 
   So for all of the little possative things people have said to me along the way, or offers of encouragement, I really appreciate it.