I think I have posted under this title before. The thing is, I can not emphasize enough how badly barfing effects the life of someone who takes care of small children. I got up this morning ready for a really productive day. All I had to do was get those kids dressed and out the door to school, (Tennessee goes to school two days a week for his sake and mine) and then I could get going on my beautiful to-do list. The list was just covered in great stuff. There was exercising, and Christmas shopping, writing, and eating a delicious sandwich in a restaurant. I love sandwiches. I love restaurants. But, no, there would be no List for me today. First there was some complaints of a hurty tummy. Then there was the sound. The horrid splattering sound that has broken the heart of parents since humans figured out "floor".
I got little Lucy into a warm tub and did more cleaning than anyone should have to do while wearing slippers and a robe. Washing machine started, sweet smelling girl in her favorite cozy PJ's, I waited for the other one to start. The little mean one didn't barf, no he did not. He did however dump out all of his lego, all of his wooden blocks, and a bin filled with matchbox cars and little plastic animals in less than ten minutes. There will be a good hour of whining and debating this evening when we pick it up together. But I will take that over barf any day of the week.
In the movie of my life in my head, this is the part with the dramatic music wherein my list is shredded into a thousand tiny pieces that blow away in a harsh wind as a church bell tolls and ravens glare down at me, squawking in pity at my wretched life. The pity party I threw myself this morning was a real wing ding. I had it catered. There were ice sculptures.
The thing is, it ended up not being so bad. I snuggled with Lucy for hours while she watched the ol' boob tube and pecked at saltines and juice. We had a few chuckles together. She told me about some of her pals at school, I told her my version of how the US postal service works. (In my mind, there is magic involved, I mean really, all those letters, every day, with that much accuracy? Amazing.) It is just a bit before 3:00 in the afternoon and she is up in her room sleeping like the cutest little cutie ever. I know she is cute because I peeked at her thrice. I did get this teeny bit of writing done, so that is something from my list. Maybe I will now go slog through some sit-ups on the floor in the den, do a bit of yoga and cross "exercise" off the list too.