Pre-blog disclaimer: No, I don't know if I used the Latin correctly in the title and no I don't care. Take it up with Google translator, smartypants friends.
We had kind of a scary start to our weekend, but you know what? I'm tired of talking about the scary. So, instead, I'm going to discuss the slightly funny and thoroughly gross. You're welcome.
P.S. Jenny, if you're reading this, you might want to cover your eyes...or at least have a bucket handy, hehe.
On Friday morning, I had a full house. I started watching a sweet little 1 yr. old fella I'll call S this week and both of my kids were there, of course, so that's 4 of us. I invited my neighbor Jenny and her daughter A over, and Jenny's pregnant so we're basically up to 6 1/2. I was also expecting my in-laws, who were visiting but staying at a hotel, to drop by any second, so we'd be up to 8 1/2. My house is 1060 sq. ft., so that's roughly 125 sq. ft. per person, which sounds like a lot until you take into account that I have unaffectionately nicknamed the back of my house "The Pits of Despair" and access to the pits is strictly verboten unless you sign a waiver releasing me from any liability when my piles of laundry eat you or you fall down the showerhole in the redneck bathroom. So, it's really more like 100 sq. ft. a person, except that all 4 of the children attempt to occupy the 2 sq. ft. that contains the miniature rocking chair at the same time...which should make the house seem larger but actually makes it seem smaller...I digress...
Anyway, Ry had been laying in his room all morning, very sleepy and grouchy. He had an ABA appointment at 11:30 that his grandparents were going to take him to, so after I let Jenny and her lil' one in, I went to Ry's room to bring him out and get his shoes on and such. He looked half-asleep and was acting a little strange, but I was distracted by S and Pippa playing Toddler Russian Roulette with the cat (this is a game that consists of the two of them taking turns poking grumpy ol' Tobi in the belly to see which of them she'll attack first...it is fun for no one...) so I didn't think much of it. I had just set him down in the living room when he started to cough. I said, "Oh Ry, you're not going to --" and then he threw up all over his clothes, shoes, the floor and my legs and feet.
That one small act of digestive upset had a localized butterfly effect. Chaos and mayhem ensued. The dog immediately started barking and ran over to see what tasty treats that nice boy had just left for her. Pippa ran over to save her "bruh-bruh" from the evil puking demons. S and A ran in to see what all the ruckus was about. Poor Jenny's super-powered pregnant nose kicked in and she started gagging and my in-laws began knocking at the door. 8 1/2 people spurred into action by one little vomit.
I went into octopus mode trying to simultaneously shelter the vomit from the grossgrossgrossygross dog and her nefarious gastronomic schemes, distract S, A, and Pippa from investigating the puddle of unidentified substance, assure Pippa that "bruh-bruh" was okay and did not need her Legos shoved into his mouth to make him feel better, apologize profusely to Jenny for the digestive fireworks and offer her any refreshments that might ease her nausea, clean up the puke, get Ry undressed and into the tub, and answer the door. Needless to say I failed at at least half of these tasks: the in-laws stood on the step for a good 5 minutes wondering what the heck was going on, Jenny ended up having to run to the toilet to throw up only she tried to go to the redneck bathroom and I had to yell, "No no! There's no toilet back there!", and poor Ry lay on the ground covered in vomit and calmly waiting for someone to come take care of him.
After all the dust cleared and I reflected upon the situation, I couldn't help but laugh. What a ridiculous, chaotic, lovely imperfect mess my life is. I don't care that it's garden-flag-platitude level of cheesy to say this, I'm saying it anyway: I wouldn't change it for the world.
Okay...maybe if I could, I'd choose a life with a little less vomit...
|Grape-juice-mouth and frizzy hair and utter delight: that's how we roll|