How I kicked off last weekend:
On Friday night, we were in a furniture store with the boys. I returned from an "emergency" trip to the bathroom with Owen to find Deanna chatting with a salewoman. "Guess where she lives??" Deanna asked excitedly. Within about a half block of us turned out to be the answer. Deanna and the saleswoman then tried to explain to me exactly which house she lived in. At this point in the conversation, I apparently partially tuned out, and at some point concluded they were merely trying to give me a reference point house - something I could recognize that was near her house. When I figured out what house they were giving me for reference, I identified it with the exclamation "the ugly brown house!" Well of course the ugly brown house turned out to be her house instead of a reference point. Whoops. This was embarrassing but even tougher to swallow since we had just learned she had a 16 year old daughter who liked to babysit. Oh, well. I am sad about my lack of social skills, but it sure is an ugly house. Even after she said "thats my house" in response to my comment, I still couldn't believe the house was hers and just starred at her dumbfounded, as I had always pictured the owner as a toothless crystal-meth addict with five naked kids running around the backyard.
How I finished last weekend:
On Sunday night I was standing in the driveway at about 7 p.m., holding Hayden, when he erupted out of the blue, sending a warm fountain of vomit onto my shirt, shoes and the driveway. In the next couple of chaotic minutes, as we struggled to get the worst of the incident off of me and Hayden, Cooper toddled merrily into the middle of the pool of puke in his bare feet like he was playing in a puddle and Owen started a game that involved showing off his jumping skills over the puke puddle, insistently yelling "look dad, look what I can do!" A series of more minor eruptions followed over the course of the next several hours. At about 2 a.m. I went into the twins room, thinking I was hearing Hayden hurl once again, only to find Cooper sitting perplexed and crying up in his crib with his dinner pooled around and on him. From then on, it was twice the food poisoning fun. By morning, we had gone through copious amounts of pajamas, diapers, sheets, bathtowels, washclothes, a rug and tears, as our guys struggled along, their little bodies racked by dry heaves when they ran out of anything further to spread around. The low point for me came when, desperate to find a pacifier for Hayden in the dark, I grabbed one off the floor and popped it into my mouth to clean off any residual carpet strings, realizing only then that it had come to be on the floor when it was dislodged from his mouth by a torrent of puke. I'm still a little queasy about that one. All in all, the night was not a snapshot for the "favorite moments in parenting" album.
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