I propose an addition to the Olympics sports roster: Disabled Parenting. Think about it. Have you ever tried to wrestle an eight-armed flying spaghetti monster (aka a 4-year-old boy) into clean clothes when your arms are numb and you can't move faster than a snail's pace? Or tried to catch said flying spaghetti monster before he bolts into a busy parking lot? (Canes make excellent arm extensions in that scenario, for the record.) Have you ever tried to keep up with a flock of social butterflies zooming in all directions, constantly making plans to be somewhere, doing something (aka a 6-year-old's desired social schedule) when you can't even add 2+2, much less drive, because you're so fuzzy-headed from medications and lack of sleep?
You could divide it up by activity and age range. Changing your baby's diaper with numb fingers? Go for the gold if you don't get poop on yourself, the baby, or the wall. (Well, yes, the baby already has poop on it, but imagine the possibilities if you don't corral those tiny hands and feet in time.) Shopping at the grocery store in an electric cart: the gold medal means you didn't run over your preschoolers (or anyone else moving erratically around you) even once. Bonus points for getting everything on your list. Getting children out the door for school on time, with their lunches and homework, and only using five spoons in the process? Definitely a gold medal performance. (Bonus points for getting the spoon reference.) Navigating the college search process with your teen, filling out paperwork, doing the college tours without crippling yourself or losing your sanity (hard enough when you're able-bodied!) -- that one should probably be considered a marathon event.
Winter events, hmm. That may be a whole 'nother post.