Time Flies When You're Covered in Vomit

Has it really been a month since the last post?!  Apologies, but I have been busy buying food to feed this brood of boys and it has been a full time job.

The boys love their food.  Oh, how they gobble it away like it's going out of style.  After nearly passing out from the last Visa bill, I've taken careful note of how much we have spent on food in the last few months and OHMYGODANDTHEBABYJESUS.  It's well over what is the acceptable amount for someone with my income.  See ya later, eating out.  I'll miss you!

I've also noticed how much has been going to groceries and the like.  When the two boys were smaller, food wasn't a huge issue because of delicious breast milk that also happens to be free of charge.  Can I get a "Thank you, wonderful mother, for getting mastitis, thrush, and boobs that look like tennis balls in gym socks!"  No?  Motherhood is its own reward?  BAH.

Now that the boys are larger and both enjoying solid food like feral cats, this grocery shopping deal has gotten out of hand.  I find that I'm going every week to pick up bags upon bags of food.  Six hundred dollars in a month, and I've begun scavenging for coupons like those slightly off-center women on Bravo's Extreme Couponing.  FYI: If you have a coupon for paper towels, I may shank you for it in the parking lot of Walgreens.

In addition to picking up a few coupons here and there, trying to save money has been nearly impossible, aside from the in store deals which have subject me to purchases such as GENERIC DAIRY CREAMER SUBSTITUTE.  Your guess is as good as mine, but my guess is that it's not dairy, nor is it creamer.  It is, however, pretty disgusting and not unlike the liquidy paste leftover from a nearly empty Maalox bottle.  Obviously, couponing and sale items are not my strong points.

Scouring magazines for cost efficient recipes has been my new tactic, and I have found some good ideas for meals that will feed this crew of hungry boys without breaking the bank.  For instance, the other night I slaved over the microwave for an hour.  It was the most patriotic Fourth of July dinner ever...TACO NIGHT.

Oh, how I used to love taco night as a child.  And now, my children will also bask in the glory that is ground turkey mixed with some serious Schilling taco/msg mix powder.  Top that on a hard crunchy taco shell, sprinkle some shredded "Mexican" cheese from the dairy section, maybe a dribble of LaVictoria taco sauce...deliciousness.

And yes, it was well received by the kids.  The older boy snarfed down two immediately, one hard shell, one soft.  But the little one, holy cats!  As soon as we handed him a rolled soft taco, cleverly adhered by refried beans and thick guacamole, he inhaled it.  The husband handed him another one.  SNARF.  He ate that one too.

Then the husband began constructing a third one.  "DON'T."  I warned.  "He can't eat three!  His stomach is only the size of a lime."

"But look how cute he is eating tacos!  And it's TACO NIGHT!  I love it!" He proclaimed, and promptly handed the baby a THIRD taco.

The third taco was not gobbled as enthusiastically as the other two.  In fact, the baby seemed to just suck on the outside of the soft taco, like it was an enormous straw.  He left behind a lifeless shell of soggy tortilla.  At this point, he also looked a bit overstuffed and lethargic.  Ah, the warning signs.  Why do we never learn?

Bedtime rolled around.  I gave the little dude some breast milk and put him to bed, slightly awake and moving like a drunk slug.  I looked at the clock, which read 7:00 p.m.

By 8:00, he was babbling up a storm, talking about sports, local news stories, how Obamacare would effectually insure millions.  And then...silence.  

My husband noticed the lull and was immediately concerned.  He walked down to the baby's room.  When I heard him quickly shuffling up the stairs again, I knew something was amiss.  He poked his head around the corner and said, "Um.  Hon?  There's vomit."

"Vomit?" I asked, "Where?"

"EVERYWHERE."  He replied with a grimace.  

We spent the next hour bathing, cleaning, disinfecting, swearing...and then, the fireworks began.  

He stayed up just long enough to watch the show and then passed out as soon as the last colorful explosion disappeared into the night sky.  Ah, our sneaky, patriotic baby.