The Mom Test

It's 12:50 a.m.

Because I am a mom

this is how I spent the last

15 minutes of my life.

I was in a dream

and then there appeared

Sophia

 my 11 year old

at the side of my bed.

I opened my eyes

because

she was covered in

florescent paint

and saying

something

that 

I couldn't quite understand.

She called to me

and so I knew

it was important

but I couldn't

get a handle of what

was happening

in my dream

until I let it

register

"Mom, I just puked."

I wasn't dreaming.

I flew out of bed

using the wings

that God installed

just for moments

like these.

If I would have looked

back I would

realize that

my partner in crime

couldn't help it

that God didn't

make him for this job

and that is why

he hadn't moved

an inch

or an eyelid.

Before I knew it

I had stripped

down every inch

of that top bunk.

Of course

it was the top.

And of course

I needed those wings

so as not to

wake the one

sleeping on the bottom.

No need to mention

the smell or color

of the foulness

or how it sloshed

from pillow

to sheet

to comforter.

I looked down at my

daughter

to see her

use the trashcan

I had somehow provided

before flying into action

on the bedding.

The florescent

colors were gone now.

I blinked to make sure.

Before I could get my bearings

I started to remake the bed

and then thought to ask

"Sophia,

do you want to sleep on the couch?"

The answer came quietly,

"Yes mom, that's a good idea

but I have all this gross stuff

all over me."

"Is it just on your shirt?"

"I got a little on my cast,

and it's all in my hair."

In to the bathroom

we flew.

I cleaned

off her arm cast

(and chuckled

at the thought

of the flu

and a broken arm

at the same time)

with a Clorox wipe

in between

the heaves into the toilet.

I applied

the two plastic

bags and rubber bands

that I had so

neatly stored

under the bathroom sink

yesterday.

I then turned her around

and stripped her down.

She's at a private age.

11 is tricky.

Somehow I was

instinctual enough

to just know

to have her step into the

shower before removing

her soiled clothes.

"Sophia,

did you start your period, too?"

As in,

on top of

the broken bone

and puking.

She looked at me confused.

"Or did you

just poop your pants?"

She sheepishly answered

that she thought

that wasn't her period.

I plugged

the tub

and started the warm water.

Then I gathered the

dirty clothes

and the dirty linens

and headed to the laundry room.

I got the worst

loaded into the washer

and realized that the 13 year old

never started her laundry

like her told her to

before heading to work

this afternoon

or yesterday afternoon,

depending on the time.

Thank goodness

for adolescent

irresponsibility.

I grabbed

an extra blanket

and headed back upstairs

to the couch

where I found an

almost empty roll

of duct tape

which someone

had not put away.

The item that

had been alluding

my memory

for the past two days

came to me.

Compound W

needed to be added to

the grocery list.

Baby Caroline's

wart must be attended to.

Compound W

combined with

duct tape

is the best

antidote

for warts.

I actually

learned that

before I had

kids

if you don't

count the hubby

and his massive

wart on his right knee

that I cured

shortly after marriage.

I washed and rinsed her hair.

twice.

And handed her

some soap

to take care

of the backside.

I held up her right arm

wrapped in plastic.

Placing back the soap

I told her to rinse with water.

I took care of the towel

which I had given her to rest

her broken arm on.

I guess the ledge on the tub

wasn't big enough,

it was floating at her feet.

I ran (I mean flew)

into her room

and grabbed her

comfy shorts,

undies,

t-shirt,

and a cami

because times like

these are too harsh for bras

(even if she does

normally wear hers to bed)

and she will appreciate

the extra layer

of support.

How do I know?

Because I am a mom.

And I always pass the test

even when I am failing.

Here I sit

watching, typing,

shaking my head in disbelief,

not even longing

for sleep to come back to me.

Because I am a mom.

And I am always on duty.

Always.

Notice her favorite

scooby doo blankie?

I made it for her

when she was seven

and without even realizing it

I had grabbed it off

the couch downstairs

while fetching

the other warmer

blanket

just

before flying

back upstairs

30 minutes ago.