When the Kids are Sick, Mommy Is Held Hostage

You know the ol' saying "When Mamma ain't happy, ain't nobody happy"? It's often used as a proverbial club that hangs over the husbands, to encourage granting of favors. My darling Hubby granted such a favor after he spent a whole morning painting our family room with "cappuccino", painstakingly blue taping the crown molding to avoid ruining the white trim. I was preggie at the time with baby #1, so I was out of the house to avoid the fumes when the first coat was being applied.

After poking my head into the room and a quick peek, the color on the wall bugged me more like a coffee stain than a coffee drink. I knew I was not going to be happy unless it was redone.

Hubby looked at me with a silent stare. My father-in-law, experienced with years in merry matrimony, jumped in and encouraged his son, "No problem. We can do it. After all, if Mama's happy, everyone's happy.." And off Hubby went, driving off to the paint store, with good ol' Dad by his son. (Hubby has never truly recovered from the trauma and continues to retell the story in hopes of being healed.)

I was happy and relieved the room was gona be repainted. But man, I felt so g-u-i-l-t-y.

Not anymore. You see, I've basically spent the week in this room, held hostage by a three year old sick kid and a 3 month old newborn. Summer has arrived, which means no preschool for TJ. As for CJ, his circuit training workout equipment of baby swing, Tiny Love activity gym, and bouncy seat are all in the family room.

Throw in a fever, runny nose, sore throat and a nasty cough (picture a screaming toddler pulling at his throat everytime he coughs, yelling, "IT HURTS!! I DON'T WANT IT TO HURT!! FIX IT MOMMY! MAKE IT GO AWAY!"), and what do you get?

A sick-crazed Mommy! Not the kind with the sniffles. No, I'm talkin' 'bout going bonkers when the kids are sick. These four walls of "mocha frost" have been borders around my jungle of chaos. Everyday, TJ carefully crafts a new minefield of exploding cars, trucks, and legos for me to walk through. Here, among the wounded vehicles and missing car parts, I've wiped noses, changed diapers, fed countless bottles, played puppets, and read ad nauseum. Imagine me begging, "Can we please pick another book besides the one about Cars, dude?"

It's liberating to no longer feel guilty about the paint on the wall. What was I thinking?

In fact, with all this time on my hands while tending to my kids this week, I started thinking, "Wouldn't this room look a lot nicer with a warmer color of khaki?"

Honey! ... Can you do me a favor? ..