Good Times

Happy Fourth of July! Well to the Americans. And maybe to the Brits, since you know, they got rid of us which, considering the high level of idiocy amongst my countrymen, is a valid reason for the Brits to celebrate our Independence Day. Everyone who doesn't celebrate, well you can suck it.

And speaking of sucking, yesterday, for the first, and how I totally hope last, time, LB puked. It was a somewhat surreal experience, which I probably shouldn't share, but I will anyway. I had spent the day curled up on the floor with stomach ailments of my own, using my prone position to block LB into the play area and prevent her from escaping while at the same time, allowing myself to doze. When she tried to escape, it woke me up. Also, getting hit with a book because some unsympathetic little wench wanted attention, that woke me up too. I am a considerate sick parent so I had the television on and LB watched Horton Hears a Who. Which was a bit of luck - I had lowered my girth to the floor and then thought the television might be a great distraction. Not wanting to actually get up, I manually (heh) turned on the tube, which meant I had no channel control unless I got up. Apparently Boo had been watching HBO the night before and fortunately Horton, and not say Natural Born Killers, was what was on. After Horton, I did manage to move and get the kid some Sesame Street and Barney. I am not proud of my parenting, but I am somewhat feeling better and figure the rest did me well.

So I felt crappy and LB felt fine. Those were the reports I was sending to Boo when I was asking him if he was sure he couldn't get home from work at you know, now. Later in the afternoon, all seemed well, or at least status quo as I just wanted to lay down and LB wanted to play or eat. LB asked for a snack so I brought her some crackers and Cheerios. I returned to the couch, and LB ate a cracker. Then she coughed. Then she burped. And then she opened the vomit flood gates. Honestly, it was insane. First I saw the crackers come up and thought, huh, isn't she a little old for spit up? Then I saw lunch come up and thought, uh oh. Then I saw her pre-lunch snack come up and thought, hell. Then I saw breakfast come up and though, HOLY FUCK! Seriously, you could watch each course come up. And for the records, shouldn't breakfast have been digested by late afternoon? I mean, really.

The entire time I watched the puke-movieathon of her meals, she just stood there, puking down her front and on the floor without seeming the least bit upset. When she was done she wiped her hand across her face, smearing puke into her hair and eyebrows, and smiled. It was ... the opposite of awesome.

Now I am not down with the puke, or rather the clean up of puke, as every time I puke, it is in the toilet or garbage or sink, you know, someplace where I don't have to scrub it up. I don't really like kids, and I was never the babysitting type, and even if I had been, you bet your butt that if some kid I was babysitting started puking, I would have been on the phone with the parents STAT. Ten bucks an hour soooo does not cover that type of hazardous duty. In any event, I am unfamiliar with the clean up of the puke and I had no idea that puke it somewhat slimy and a general fuking menace. Holy crap, cleaning up puke stinks (bad pun totally intended, though apologized for). I have scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed and my nostrils have been singed by the smell of stomach bile and toxic chemicals. It has been delightful. I see a date with Stanley Steamer in my future.

And did I mention BiL5 was showing up about two hours after LB's pukefest? Yah. I had forgotten he was coming and the house was trashed and Boo called to remind me about three hours before BiL5 was arriving. Had I been feeling good, I could have cleaned but I wasn't and so I didn't. LB just solidified the frat house atmosphere by adding the scents to go along with the dirty laundry and pet fur.