Did I really sign up for this?

First off - no steeling this story and trying to make into a tv sitcom or motion picture because that's my plan to pay for these boys to go to college. Back in October I finally made it to get the boys pictures taken.

Take a look at my cute boys here.

Sweet, right? Now let me tell you what happened after this photo session.
As promised for good behavior Abby and I took our brood of boys to Red Robin for lunch. Now I knew I might be pushing my baby a little as far as his schedule goes but a promise is a promise to a two year old who needs lots of positive reinforcement. Well we ordered the boys food and they began to dive in the bottomless french fry basket (note to self: never a good idea). Cal became fussy and I thought if I held him maybe I could hold him off a little bit before he needed to eat. As I took him out of the car carrier I realized we had a blow out diaper situation. Never desirable, but I'm thinking to myself I can totally handle this too. Second time mama pro that I am. Abby's great friend Michelle joined us for lunch with her little 2 1/2 mo. cutie as well. So I ask the other mama's to watch my chowing toddler as I make my way to the women's bathroom to clean up my little Calveroo. Who had like poop up to his ears. There I go in the handicap stall to use the changing table, these kinda gross me out but I've got my own changing pad to lay over it. So I begin this process and I'm totally cocky in my head thinking, "Yeah check me out, I can handle this, I've got a spare out fit and a plastic bag to put the dirty clothes in. I even filled up two travel wipe containers so I have plenty for another change. This so would have freaked me out with Fred but now I got this whole mama thing down pat being all prepared". Decision time, nurse sitting on the john or do I go back to the table? The gross factor sways me to nurse under the table, besides no one was in the restaurant.

Oh, hmmm, seems the entire staff of IBM has been seated next to our little play date lunch outing. Ok, you can handle this, you've got your hooder hider. Sure everyone is done eating except for me but this will work. Michelle graciously switches places with me so I can nurse inside the booth and hide somewhat under the table. The waitress who had left my food under the heat lamp brings it to me while I try to nurse one handed as Cal tries to rip off this crazy covering his mama put over his head as if to say "MOM! I Will be nursed in the open, show your breast to everyone!". This goes well for about 5 minutes. Of course the other two babies are sleeping contently in their car seats. Abby being the awesome friend she is takes Cal so I can try to wolf down half of my chicken sandwich. It is at this moment the two year olds decide to play high chair bumper cars by rocking them. Fred has finally decided he's done with the high chair and wants out, as he wiggles his little bootie out and attempts to stand up in the chair. Michelle being the awesome caregiver and responsible parent she is, places her hand gently on his back and we all tell him in a calm voice "Oh no Fred, that is dangerous, we don't stand in high chairs." Reasonable right? Logical? Calm, doesn't seem like anything should overwhelm him. Wrong. He goes absolutely nuts, like irrational hysterics and lets out a primal scream that is so loud and absolutely filled with panic & fear (the kind you hope your kid would use if some stranger ever grabbed them) it silents the restaurant. People stop what they're doing, stare to see how the child was being tortured, then realizing it is just a 2 year old, the din of the place returns. It was like the scene from When Harry met Sally. Noise, no noise, then noise. I jump up and get him out the chair while telling him it's not OK to scream like that! He clings pathetically to my neck and goes into rain man mode of "I'm all done, I'm all done". I tell him he can sit next to me, while I finish eating. He nods his head in agreement. I'm getting us into the booth when suddenly he looks at me in the face (his little hands still wrapped around my neck) and proceeds to vomit all over me. The mac n' cheese, the mandarin oranges, the bottomless basket of fries is beginning to pool up in between us on my humongous bosoms. Fred looks up, "I spit up a little bit mama." Really? I didn't notice. And ps kid, after your done nursing you don't "spit up", you ralph, hurl, vomit, blow chunks & or throw up. Now here is where you find out how deep your love for your children is, cause no one - not even the most wonderful, caring, loving people in this world want to get near vomit that isn't theirs. Piles of napkins are placed on the table next to me. The waitress places a wet bar rag on the table for me. But here's the catch, I can't move my arms! Otherwise there will be a tidal wave of vomit every where. I plead with someone to just throw the towel on top of me and puddle of vomit. Then I wade through the dinning room (while holding Fred) back to the women's handicap stall. I put him down while straddling the toilet to dispose of the maximum mess in the bowl. Then its back to striping him down and wiping him down with the rest of the wipes. Michelle comes back with one of Noah's sweaters (he had an extra) which was hilarious because it was a mid-rift on him! But he loved it and went back to the table with Michelle (his now best friend) while I worked through strategies on how to clean myself up. Every time I thought I wiped off all the vomit I could still smell it, until finally I realized it had pooled up in my bra, & with my cup size that's about a liter's worth of liquid volume. I have no extra shirt, no extra bra, and I'm at an utter loss as to what to do except to send someone to Kohl's next door and by me an extra large anything to make it out of the restaurant with clothes on. The stall is a mess and now I have a garbage bag, poop bag, and vomit bag. Michelle brings Cal back to me in the stall because he is now soooo hungry it can't wait and so there I am sitting on the toilet in Red Robin, topless, nursing my baby, laughing so hard I have tears in my eyes because I've basically gone round the bend. All I can think is that there is some 19yr old mall security guard watching monitors saying to himself "What the?!" This is where I could use fate to whisper in my ear before I get out of bed something like "You will end up topless in a Red Robin" just so you know I can gear up mentally. Abby had a spare zip up sweatshirt that I was able to escape the mall (I said a little prayer that the zipper would keep in place to keep me from exposing myself to the world) as we raced back to her house to put all the kids down for naps, while I did laundry & took a shower. In my haze, I used the dog shampoo (I've been flea less ever since) and then repeated the lather with human shampoo. But as I folded the last of our laundry and prepared for us to go home I realized that I have been on the go since 8am and really didn't have a moment to exhale until both boys went to bed that night - so if there aren't annual pictures of the boys until they are 16 now you know why.