Wow. I am seriously exhausted. I was up for hours in the middle of the night, tending to my sick little two-year-old. We had seven different puke incidents last night, and three so far today--one on James's bed, one down my back, and one all over my left arm.
Every time James can feel it coming on, he runs to me for a comforting hug. And then I get boofed on. It's getting very gross.
The arm incident happened this morning, around 8:30, while I was still wearing my pajamas. James toddled up to me, began his unmistakable puke cough, nuzzled his head against my chest, and let 'er rip. Unfortunately, he threw-up into the neck opening of my pajama top, and all of the throw-up slid down my arm and out of the wrist-hole of my beloved plaid flannels.
Right after it happened, James looked at me with wide, regret-filled eyes and said, "Oh. Moyee es all wet. I so sowee, Moyee. You stinky, too. I sowee." (translation: Oh. Mommy is all wet. I'm so sorry, Mommy. You're stinky, too. I'm sorry.)
"Oh James," I said. "Don't be sorry! I'm your Mommy. This is my job!" And we shared a big, long, wretched smelling hug.
It may sound strange, but in a twisted way, I'm grateful for these moments. These are the times when I forget about the fact that I let James watch too much TV, or eat too many snacks, or that he doesn't know the difference between the colors yellow and green. These are the moments when I forgive myself for my sometimes crappy parenting, and know, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that I am the best damn mother that this universe has ever seen.
And in this fleeting moment of overtired, curdled-milk-covered, mother-of-the-yearness, I'd like to announce the winners of the haiku contest!
I'm happy to say that we had over forty fantastic submissions. Many contestants adhered to the 5/7/5 rule of traditional Asian haiku poetry. And a large percentage were closer to what I would describe as...um...free-form poetry?
Either way, I was very impressed with everyone's efforts. It was difficult to decide, but I've narrowed it down to my three favorite poems.
The third place award goes to heyitsmejen, for this awe inspiring piece:
Haikus make headaches
I've been counting for an hour
I deserve a prize
Clearly, Jen is a trophy ho, just like me. She worked on this thing for an hour, and it genuinely made me laugh out loud. Clearly, she really does deserve a prize.
The second place award goes to Amy, for this little gem:
Jump hop skip dance prance
Richard Simmons in short pants
What a manly man
Read that one out loud, folks. Now read it again. If you don't agree that it's the most flowing verse of poetry since Every Rose has its Thorn by Poison, then you my friend, are nothing but a heartless infidel--whatever that means.
And the grand prize goes to my cousin Kelly, for her inarguable poetic genius:
Gustados are great
Stop and Shop's imitation
but they were recalled
This girl managed to pack more information, mystery, and emotion in to seventeen syllables than I ever thought was possible. We don't know what a Gustado is--a hot pocket? a pizza? a mafia-inspired maxi-pad?--but we sure know how she feels about them. Thank you, Kelly. Thank you for sharing your God-given gift for prose with us common-folk. And I'm so sorry about the recall.
Each of the winners will be receiving one piece of original artwork from Tuesday's post, Marathon Training: Incident #5. The pieces, which are done in pencil and Sharpie on resume paper, are signed, dated, and numbered by the artist. They fit beautifully in a matted frame, on a refrigerator door with magnets, or in any municipal recycling bin.
If you'd like to claim your prize, just email me your mailing address. And as always, once I know your place of residence, I reserve the right to drive by three times daily yelling I LOVE YOU MORE THAN YOU'LL EVER UNDERSTAND! over my new megaphone that I purchased in an eBay auction. Won't that be fun?
Seriously though, if you'd like your prize, drop me a line. Oh, and Kelly. This will double as your Christmas present--got that?