So here I am, navigating my day fairly well, I think. We made it through the night without further barfage. Monkey felt better today and wanted to go to school for his BIG! HOLIDAY! PIZZA! PARTY! so I got Chickadee settled on the couch with her trusty bucket and ran around getting teachers’ gifts ready (which I’d started last night, but was eventually abandoned in favor of vomit patrol) and readying him for school.
I warmed up the car, packed up our things, and got Chickadee to put on some sweats under her nightgown, and then boots and a jacket on top. We got Monkey to school, whereupon I had one of those lightbulb moments about my sheer stupidity. (“Yeah, he really wanted to come in for the pizza… and I’m looking forward to cleaning up pizza puke later, so load him up!”)
But ya know, I was maybe being too pessimistic. It’s entirely possible he won’t start hurling until tomorrow night, and tomorrow night? The kids will be with their dad. Tralala!
Anyway, we came back home and I built my daughter a veritable cocoon on the couch. Bucket, remote, glass of ginger ale, and an offering from the BRAT diet on a handy tray all readily available. (You know the BRAT diet, right? Bananas, Rice, Applesauce and Toast? Or–if Chickadee had her way–Btoast, Rtoast, Atoast, and most importantly, don’t forget the TOAST.)
So we’ve been getting through the day alright. I am realizing how the last week or so has me stretched pretty thin in terms of endurance, and when Chickadee fell asleep during Monsters, Inc., I stretched out on the other couch and had a snooze, myself.
We were awakened by the doorbell. The culprit was a cheerful older man bearing a HUGE floral arrangement. “You must have the wrong house!” I exclaimed, as I opened the door.
He did. And he apologized profusely while I tried very hard not to laugh.
Not–mind you–that I need flowers. But that just seemed cruel and unusual, or at the least, payback for some heinous behavior in a previous life.
Of course, I don’t eat babies anymore. I’ve softened. Now I just tell them to stop whining and stop lying about stomach aches and OOPS, guess you weren’t lying, keep your damn head in the bucket. Stay tuned for my inevitable Nobel nomination.