What I meant to say was . . . . . . . .

I was going to write a post about how I was kissing my husband and he asked me to move so he could see the tv. He's such a romantic. I know. I'm the luckiest woman alive.

But then I got up to blow my nose. I have pretty severe allergies. Sometimes my nose takes a pretty good beating. All beatings are good in case you were wondering. Some are just better than others. My point is I blew my nose and my nose started bleeding. Badly. Like for longer than five minutes badly. I had to put ice on my nose to get it to stop. Of course the kids were stuck like glue to me because wow, mom's nose is bleeding. Suddenly I'm a science experiment. They wanted to put me under a microscope.

Why is it that when something happens to you that the kids have never seen before, instead of just leaving you alone, they invite their friends over to watch? On the 4th of July I made the mistake of taking my birth control pill in the morning on an empty stomach. Not a good idea. We had stopped to get some ice when suddenly I began to hurl right there in the parking lot. I'm sure the people driving past thought I had started the party early. While I'm hanging half out of the truck clutching the seatbelt like a lifeline and puking my guts up in public. My son climbs over the seat to watch me and asks me what I'm doing and why I'm doing it. Then once I've gained control over my stomach he announces the keen observation of "wow mom, that was a lot of puke!" I can always count on him for help.

Even when I am sick and would like nothing more than to stay in bed, the kids continue to come to me for their needs instead of their father. I am the master of the run-on sentence. Fear my wrath! I don't need rest. I'm mom. Knower of all things. Doer of all things. Is "doer" a word? But you get my point. Even on my death bed, they will still be asking for sandwiches and lemonade. A mother's work never EVER ends. You think that when your sweet little baby grows up and moves out that you'll be done. HA! Ha, I say. It is never over. While that thought might not be a shock to you, there was one moment when my son was a baby that I thought "I can't wait until he's 18." Then I realized, even then it will not be "over". It's not like the minute he becomes an adult I'll never worry about him again. You think that you can cut or untie your apron strings, but the truth is they are unbreakable.

Wow, this went from something funny to really depressing. I'm not even drinking! Maybe I should be. That's not a bad idea.