My Sexy Evening

When you’re 36, married for 16 years, have a full time job outside of the home, have two crazy kids and a few pets, nothing says wild, sexy, crazy night like…crashing at 10:00pm in a deep, drooling, doze.  Bring on dreams of Ryan Gossling.  Ahhh…..there you go.  The perfect sleep.  Warm sheets, a nice pillow.  Yes.  I have waited for this moment all damn day!

Now, what can snap your ass awake from a make-out session with the above mentioned?  The following 4 words:  “Mom, my tummy hurts.”  Shit!  What?!  “Are you going to throw up?”  All of you parents out there, you know that when a child confirms that vomiting will commence, that means you should have been ready for this 20 seconds ago.  “THE POT!  GET THE POT!”  The pot you ask?  Our 6 year old is overly dramatic about the act of yaking and insists it be done only in “the pot”.

My snail-like husband stumbles up to find the blessed receptacle.   I hear him looking in cabinets, then the dishwasher as my daughter proceeds to spew.  I desperately try to catch the chuck in my futile hands.  It was hopeless to even try.  The warmth hits me.  The smell hits me.  I yell for my still absent husband!  “FASTER!  HURRY UP!”  I hear him pick up the pace.  Any damn pot would have done at this point.

Apparently when you are a cat, you don’t have to do a damn thing when someone is sick.  You can continue sleeping and dreaming about whatever the hell you want to dream about!  Lucky.

I sigh, my little angel looks at me scared.  “It’s ok.”  I soothe her.  “It’s alright.  Let’s get you cleaned up.”  I strip the bed trying to beat the seeping into my mattress.  My cat finally moves.  I stumble dizzy and adrenaline filled to the washing machine trying to not actually touch any more sick; as if it matters, the girl threw-up in my hands for God sakes!  I get the machine going on hot, hoping the noise does not wake my 10 year old.  He’s obliviously in dreamland.  Lucky.  I sort out the laundry while I am at it.  putting in the soap, the softener, checking the settings.  I am there for a good few minutes trying to compose myself.  My husband stumbles over after remaking the bed.  “How is she doing?”  he asks me.  I glare at him, “I don’t freakin’ know!”  I snap.  “I have been here doing the laundry!”  The poor man backs off.  No question is a good question when you have just been puked on.  I think he understands.

I try to clean myself off as best I can.  Nope.  A shower is the only thing that can get this smell off.  One does not simply wipe off the smell of spew.  This is a smell that must be scrubbed off.  I get in the steaming water.  Might as well wash my hair while I am in there.  I finally make it back to my bed.  It is clean and fresh, thanks to my sexy man.  My little girl lay between us, feverish and innocent.  I kiss her goodnight.

My sexy evening.

What did you do?

Live on!

-Kristy