My in-laws came down yesterday with the express purpose of wrangling our children so that The Daver and I could have a moment by ourselves and potentially go out without dragging along a 30 pound diaper bag. Dave and I usually do manage a couple hours a week to go out alone anyway, thanks to my mother, but this somehow seemed different.
Primarily because we had no Almighty Schedule with which to adhere. Poor Daver, whenever we go out, must listen to the breathy, “and then…, and then….” as I suck all of the potential fun out of our afternoon by insisting we do errands! And more errands!
Yesterday was blessedly different, though. We had plans to catch lunch at Rosebud and then…nothing else. It was amazing.
We showed up to the restaurant a few minutes before our reservation only to learn that pretty much everyone in that area had decided to avoid eating there for lunch. Something I took as an Omen of Awesomeness. As we sat down without having to carefully push every breakable thing away from our toddler’s Roman Hands and Russian Fingers, it was quiet. Blissfully quiet.
No one demanded bread, no one tried to upend a water glass or some crackers onto the table, and no one demanded that I play Tic Tac Toe. I didn’t have to shush Alex’s happy shrieks of joy that could easily peel paint from walls (aside: side job for Alex, perhaps?) so that other patrons didn’t stare at us openly.
Dave and I simply ate a lunch without rushing, without cutting up food for someone else, without having to stop and play a YouTube video for the small (but mighty) one, and we even savored a couple of soft drinks each. It sounds so stupid to most, but seriously, it’s the little things in life like that.
After lunch, we popped into Baby Gap to oogle cute pinkness for a certain baby who may or may not be tap dancing on my bladder as I type this as well as look for some stuff for our other kids. What I could never have known ahead of time is that Gap was running one of the most amazing sales on the planet. It’s why I used to shop there when I was (broke) pregnant with Ben, and I was thrilled to see it going on now, when I actually require (some) clothes of the non-boy variety.
Armed with my well, armful (pun time!) of bargains, I made my way to the cashier. And spent less than $40 on a bunch of adorably pink stuff. There’s very little that makes me as thrilled as securing a massive bargain. It’s like being high on life! Except less corny!
Practically floating down the street, or at least as reasonable a facsimile of it when wearing a moon-boot and limping openly, we happened upon a chocolate hut. Ethel’s chocolate hut. The name doesn’t do justice for how awesome it really is, even though I’m pretty sure most men I know wouldn’t be caught dead lounging in a pink and chocolate brown room, eating wee designer chocolates. They were running a Sweetest Day Special involving chocolate fondue and, well, some other stuff. I pretty much tuned it all out after I heard “fondue.”
(Random Aside: What the SHIT is up with Sweetest Day? As much as I do enjoy celebrating the love of my life and all things pink, red, and sparkly, I can’t do it more than twice a year. And with our anniversary and Valentine’s Day securing those spots, I’m tapped right out of wanting to celebrate further)
Between Dave, skinny Daver, and I, pregnant me, we somehow managed to polish of the entire fucking fondue pot, sitting there, in the pinkest of rooms I have ever seen.
Eventually, we returned home to our kids, fed them dinner and then put them to bed.
It was easily one of the best days I’ve had in awhile.
At about 10 PM, as we were winding down (and right after I’d given Dave a dutch oven in bed), I noticed something peculiar in the hallway. An unmistakable smell.
Oh yes, of course. It was the smell of vomit.
Now, to most parents, this is not a huge deal. Kids, especially school aged ones, get the stomach flu pretty damn often and it’s just another thing to clean up after. Not fun, for sure, but also not the terror-inducing monstrosity that occurs when I’m exposed. After I’m exposed to the good old flu, I freak the shit out. It’s seriously shameful how afraid I am of catching it.
It’s a phobia, for sure. A serious phobia.
And sure enough, after I gathered Dave and went to investigate, my nose knew. Our eldest has a nasty habit of tossing his cookies in his bed and then falling back asleep in his own vomit. It’s certainly not something for the baby books and it always sends me in a tailspin of panic. I mean, who the shit wants to clean up after that? Besides, this particular episode has completely ruined his mattress, which leaves me in a quandary: what to do now? Is it rubber sheet time?
It seemed only fitting that one of the best days I’ve had was ended with one of the most panic-inducing things I can imagine. And today, I seemed to have caught the adult version of the stomach flu. I won’t elaborate, save to say that the term “Super Colon Blow” seems to fit the theme of the day today.
So what weird phobias do you, my sweet Internet people, have?