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If I had to guess, I’d say I’ve probably been thrown up on about 75 times this weekend.  Poor Janey has a stomach virus.  She’s been yacking every couple of hours like clockwork since Saturday.  Just when you think there’s nothing left in her stomach…bwaaah!  After she’s gone a few hours without puking and you think she’s out of the woods…bwaaah!  The upside is that after a while there really is nothing left so she mostly just dry heaves.  That’s a good thing when she’s sleeping next to you.

We have it down to a science now.  As soon as she starts heaving we pick her up and point her, well, anywhere, as long as it isn’t toward the laptop.  Mr. Rizzuto insists on giving her Pedialyte even though she can’t hold it down.  His theory is that an electrolyte or two has to end up in her system before she throws it back up again.

Since Janey hasn’t stopped puking even long enough to sleep for a few hours in a row, I’m very tired.  I can’t be mad at her though, because every time she gets sick she holds her arms up to me and says “he’p me Mommy!”  She’s usually Daddy’s little princess, but at times like these I’m the only one she’ll allow near her.  I can’t even let her off my lap without her crying.

I guess I’ll sleep when I’m dead.

A few years back I was watching Seinfeld and came to a rather unpleasant realization.

Do you remember the episode where they were filming the pilot?  The guy that auditioned for Kramer’s part came in and allegedly stole a box of raisins.  The whole time George wouldn’t let it go, he just kept asking about the raisins long after everyone else forgot about it.

I realized after watching that episode that George Costanza was my mother. Read More »

So yesterday before I left for the holiday festivities I got the bright idea that I should wash dishes.  I got to thinking about my grandmother for some reason (it wasn’t Thanksgiving related) and the next thing I knew I was bawling uncontrollably in my Palmolive.  This was strange because my grandmother died in 1979.  I guess I’m not over it yet.

Today I had to continue the battle of wits with my unarmed opponent (the Department of Motor Vehicles).  Mr. Rizzuto decided that he had to get some work done around the house and that I should take the baby with me.  I told him that I couldn’t possibly take that savage to the DMV with me, but it was all to no avail.  You can guess how it all turned out.

So I spent the better part of today on the verge of tears and wanting to be a widow.  We made up, but I feel like I’ve been through the ringer today.

If you’re so inclined, please take this opportunity to tell me how awesome I am.  And feel free to c&p comments from other threads on other websites where I’ve asked for pity before.  Thank you for your consideration.

One afternoon after doing something or other in the yard I put the baby down and parked myself in front of the computer.  After a few minutes she tiptoed up to me and poked me in the side.

“Mama!  Mayno!”

“Right, honey,” I said.  I wasn’t really paying attention.

“Mayno mama,” she repeated, pointing towards the kitchen.

“What?”

“Mayno!”

“Uh, OK.”  What the hell was a mayno?

I picked her up and took her into the kitchen.

“What is it honey?  What do you want?”

“Mayno.”

“Uh…you want some chips?  A banana?”

“No nana.  Share mayno.”

I had no idea what she wanted.  I shouted up the stairs to my son.

“What’s a mayno?”

“I don’t know,” he yelled back.  “Give her some juice!”

Right.  She always wanted juice.  You can’t go wrong with juice.  I looked for a bup, which was a task in and of itself.  She has about 15 bups, but there never happens to be one handy.

“Where’s her bup?”  I shouted.

“I don’t know where her bup is!  Look under the couch.”

I finally found one and filled it with juice.

“Here you go.  Bup!”

She started to cry.

“Mayno!  Share mayno!”

“What’s a mayno?  I don’t know what you want.  Is mayno on Backyardigans?”

I fumbled around with the remote and tried to comfort her at the same time.  She was starting to lose patience with me.

“What channel is Babies On Demand?”

“One thousand three!”

I typed in one-oh-oh-three and found Backyardigans, which is her favorite show at the moment.  Maybe mayno was one of the characters.

“Ta-da!”  I said.  “Mayno!”

“Share mayno!” she said, pointing to the kitchen.  I forgot.  The mayno was in the kitchen.

I suddenly remembered that there was a little green turtle that my son won at an amusement park a few weeks earlier.  I also remembered that he gave it a strange name.  That little green turtle happened to be sitting on my dishwasher.  Could that be mayno?  It had to be.

“OK honey,” I said.  I put her down and went to get the turtle.

“Here it is!  Yay mayno!”

That just about sent her over the edge.  Her face turned red, she stomped her feet and started screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Maaaaayyyyynoooooo!” she screamed.

“But I don’t know what that is,” I cried.  At this point I was crying too.

That’s how Mr. Rizzuto found us.  She was backed up against the stove and I was sitting on the kitchen floor.  We were both sobbing.

“Mayno!” she said.

“I don’t know what she wants,” I said.

He looked at the two of us, reached for a tomato that I had just picked out of the garden, rinsed it off and handed it to her.

“Here you go, sweetie,” he said.

“Thank you mama!” she said, and skipped away.

“She really likes those things,” he said.  “They’re good for her too.”  Then he went away.

For a minute I considered telling them that I was going to use that tomato for bruschetta, but I decided against it.  Instead I just sat there.

“She wanted a tomato,” I said.  “I knew that.”