Wiped Out! (pun intended)

I have to say straight off that there's no real story or planned ending for today's post. No, I do not intend to blog forever, but since I'm in the mood to 'ramble on' about nothing, consider yourself warned.

The kids and I have been cooped up all week due to Eliza's illness. Her fever has passed. However, her voice is still missing. She whispers now. Her "sick voice" is a little bit of cute, mixed with a touch of sad and, although I'd never admit this to her, it's kind of nice. I'd prefer to be yelled at via a whisper any day.

The discomfort associated with her tight congestion has shifted into something far more annoying, albeit less painful. Her nose is a free flowing faucet of mucous and fluid which demands a Mother's constant vigilance. I'm never too far away from a box of kleenex. As I wiped her nose for the umpteenth time this morning, following a particularly brutal diaper change from our leading man baby, I realized that I spend a lot of my day wiping.

I wipe stinky bums, runny noses, yogurt encrusted faces, the surface of high chairs, more stinky bums, counter tops, toys that have been coated in peppermint flavored lip smacker, the bathroom floor after Eliza's attempt to transfer her recent deposit into the big toilet, wet bodies waiting to be wiped dry after a bath and the heartbreaking, tear stained cheeks belonging to an upset toddler and/or baby.

I wipe a lot.

Are you grossed out yet by my blunt assessment? Good! You should be. There's nothing glamorous about the surfaces I'm called upon to wipe clean. You try your best to teach your children manners, hoping that your own little lady will grow up to be just that; a lady. Why? So that they're shocked out of their mind when their lady like prepped lives shift into a reality that literally smells bad and triggers even the most toughest of gag reflexes.

I could end my thoughts here; hoping that I've garnered a small chuckle or a deeper appreciation for the health of your family. But since I'm an optimist and don't want to be offered another slice of cheese for my whining (*Shout out* to my hater!!) -- I'd like my kids to know that:

The responsibility that I feel, knowing that it's my job to help you get well, is one I take seriously. I love that it is my hand that gets to rub your back when your fever filled body is aching. Your daddy and I feel an embarrassing amount of success when we win over your reluctant to open mouth, as you take a needed dose of Tylenol. Amid the "sticky ickys" that cover your tiny faces, I find a smile and hear a giggle; which I can't help but return. As for the diaper changes; if I didn't have so many to change, I would miss out on the joy that's associated with your first time using the potty or the pleasure derived when Daddy's home, you've pooped and I win a quick battle of paper, rock, scizzors which = HIS TURN! Although, I feel more frump than chic during my day, you two compensate for all that's unpleasant without even trying.
Until you learn to wipe yourselves, I'm yours.