Monday night at 10:30 pm my son walks into our room to alert me someone is puking. He walks right past his father to my side of the bed. Bless his heart.
I rush to the bathroom dropping F bombs along the way. I find my seven-year-old daughter in the bathroom. No sign of barf anywhere. I make the sign of the cross and give thanks to the Lord.
My relief is short lived. I take a little peek into her bedroom. Jesus. Mary. And. Joseph. My eyes confirmed what my nose was already telling me. It was catastrophic.
There was puke freaking everywhere. All over the bed. All over the floor. All over my eight-year-old still sleeping soundly.
And then to my horror I noticed all of the dresser drawers were open. And sure enough there’s barf all over all of the clean clothes in there.
Mother of pearl.
I have never seen anything like it.
So I run back into the bathroom and gently call for Lazarus to rise and to get his ass over here. When he arrives I say, “Sorry darling, I don’t want you losing any sleep over this. I’ll give her a bath and clean up in here. Can you just take a little looksie in the bedroom and make sure everything’s okay in there?”
It was like the scene from the Christmas Story when the father is in the basement trying to fix the furnace.
In the heat of battle, my father wove a tapestry of obscenities that, as far as we know, is still hanging in space over Lake Michigan.
I have to admit I felt what I can only imagine was a pang of guilt. But what was I to do? I was a mother bathing her ailing child.
I went in to check on the situation. I feigned shock and awe. I helped Beau peel the clothes off of our still sleeping other daughter.
But then I had to get back to the tub. It was the longest bath I have ever given. And we just so happened to finish up at the exact same time Beau was finished picking pieces of undigested food out of the wardrobe. What a coincidence.
We all went back to bed and the night was relatively uneventful. Until 5 am when a different child was up praying to the porcelain gods. But thankfully she made it there.
It was now time to start my day. Which included going to work. It was Beau’s turn to stay home. This was going to be the greatest day of my life. And it was.
Receiving texts from Beau throughout the day was amazing.
The sheets were <expletive deleted> disgusting. She didn’t digest any of those 4 hot dogs she had for dinner.
I washed a <expletive deleted> iPod with the sheets. What should I do? Dry it out or is it <expletive deleted>?
When I walked in the door from work, my heart melted. The house was a mess and Beau looked exhausted. There was laundry everywhere. It made me feel so good about myself.
He was yelling at the kids for making copies of dollar bills on the copy machine. He was telling them that it was illegal to do such a thing and he was about to turn them all in. They didn’t flinch.
That’s counterfeiting! You go to jail for that! For a long, long time!
Suddenly, I was the sane one. After all these years. And it felt amazing.