TMI.

I love this post. I identify with this post from the NY Times' Motherlode blog. And, just like the post's author, I Google everything -- especially symptoms of sickness -- but will never learn. Googling is a bad idea. For every innocuous illness, there are twenty death sentences. Because of that, Google is going to give me an ulcer which I'll then Google for symptoms, treatments and remedies until I give myself another ulcer. It's a vicious cycle.

Whenever the kids get sick, I go through the same routine. I take their temp. I ask them what hurts. I take a flashlight and shine it down their throats. Then, in a hopeful voice, I ask them if they can still go to school. When reality finally sets in and I admit the kids are sick and my hopes of making the gym have just been jettisoned, I go for Google. I type in symptoms and inhale every word the search engine spits back. Then, armed with way too much information, I take the kids to the doctor's office, ready to challenge any diagnosis the way-smart white-coat wearer offers.

"It's a virus."

"But, doctor, how can you be sure it's not a strain of the monkeypox virus spread by rodents only found in the rainforests of western and central Africa?"

Who needs med school when you've got Google?

I am Iron Mom.

With apologies to Black Sabbath and precious Mia...

Have I lost my mind?
Can I see or am I blind?
Can I walk at all,
Or if I move will I fall?
Am I alive or dead?
Are there thoughts in my head?

I don't know where to begin. Yesterday was filled with irony. A neighbor invited Kaila and me over for a playdate. Of course, we happily obliged. The mom and I talked about mom things -- even touching upon the recent lice invasion at Kaila's school.

"Luckily, she didn't get it. I can handle puke, but lice? No way. I'd burn the house down." I joked.

Fast-foward to dinner time.

"My tummy hurts," Kaila whined.

"You're hungry. Sit and eat." I said matter-of-factly. How often have I been through this scenario only to have her eat, pep up and return to her normal self within minutes, I thought knowingly?

The kids sat down. Madan started shoveling Bell & Evans into his mouth faster than the speed of light. Kaila just sat there, giving Bell or Evan (not sure who, they all look alike) her patented fuck-you look. Then, she shifted the same gaze to me. I can't wait until she's a teenager.

"Come on," I said pushing the fork into her little mitts, "You're hungry. Just eat."

Then, "it" happened.

"Mom?"

"Kaila, wha---?"

"ROLF!"

"WHOAAAAA!" screamed Madan totally amazed, "What a MESS!"

Kaila had just christened the kitchen floor.

"Madan, that's ---"

"ROLLLLFFFF!"

"Oh, man! She did it AGAIN! WOW! Mom, did you SEE all of THAT?!"

"ROLLLLLLLLFFFFFF!"

Third time's a charm. I'm not sure about you, but when the kids "ROLF," I don't rush them to the bathroom. I let them ruin the spot where they're at and then cordon it off with police tape until I can gather my thoughts and disinfect. Kaila was now sitting with a horrified expression, covered in crud. Madan was still sitting, staring at the awesome scene that had unfolded before him. I finally stopped sitting and spung into action. I barked at Madan to finish his dinner as far away from the crime scene as possible and to stay away from the evidence. Then, I grabbed all the towels I could, stripped my little Linda Blair and got ready to toss her in the tub. The most bizarre part about all of this is that after she threw up, Black Sabbath's "Iron Man" kept playing in my head. (Naomi, I have no idea why except that I have truly lost my mind.)

"Wow. Being a Mom is the hardest job in the world," Madan said.

Holy shit. Did my six year old really say that? Those words stopped me dead in my tracks. The little dude actually noticed. He actually understood. Holy Hell. He actually appreciated me! It just took Kaila's innards exploding outwards for him to notice. I'd love to say that hearing those words was worth every ounce of hard labor I did that night to scrub the kitchen clean. But F that. I'm keepin' it real. I'd trade every single appreciative comment for a permanent pass on scrubbing sickness away.

I am over it.

I am Iron Mom.

Spit Happens.

And how.

Yesterday was a very productive day. If you think getting sick repeatedly is progress of some sort. Kaila was somewhat weepy during our tour de Detroit. Because she had no symptoms, we chalked it up to being a preschooler, being a girl and/or being depressed about our impending move or Madan's move into Kindergarten. Made sense, right?

Wrong. Whoops.

She woke up at 9am yesterday, couldn't walk, refused all food and drink and promptly went back to sleep. I called the doctor. En route to the office, another symptom spewed forth upon the carseat.

Crap. I stopped the car. Luckily, I had some jackets and sweatshirts stashed in the back. Those would have to do. First up, Madan's Gap hoodie. For the record, great absorbency! On deck was Mike's golf pullover with some random corporate logo on it. I prayed it wouldn't go further than that. The only "rag" I had left was my lululemon jacket. Christ. I loved my daughter, but I wasn't about to throw lulu into Mount Vesuvius. I debated ripping the shirt off my back and traveling topless to the doctor's office. Luckily, the eruption stopped long enough to hightail it into Pediatric Care and get a bucket. We even made it home unscathed.

Kaila asked if she could play with her pretty pony in bed. Sure, why not? Suddenly, gurgle, gurgle, Old Faithful was heating up. BLURB! Oh, hello Jello! Pretty Pony wasn't so pretty anymore. Neither was my little girl. Time to hit the showers!

The good news -- there's always a silver lining, right? -- is that all my wash is done, my car is now spotless and my house is in a constant state of sanitization. I haven't cleaned this much since, well, never.