Four out of five dentists prefer Trident and three out of four people in my house have vomitted in the past week.
I visited my sister last weekend. This was the first trip I have taken alone in several years, I was expecting a blissful, quiet drive. It was quiet, but 50 mile an hour winds and bridges do not equal bliss. I arrived safely, slept as well as a country mouse can sleep when there are live people wandering around outside of the city-window shouting at each other.
My morning was spent having the annual haircut and wandering around stores without using a shopping cart as a child-mover and a weapon.
As an aside, I hate to have my haircut. I think it comes from having moved so much over the past 10 years, it’s another relationship that I am not emotionally ready for. I feel the need to make senseless chit-chat to pre-empt the inevitable “you have split ends have you never heard of deep conditioning and having your haircut more than once every 365 days” conversation. So on I blither. I also self-color my hair which from my understanding is the equivilant to telling your dentist that you perfer to perform your own root canals with the aid of a hand mirror and a Dremel. There is also the guilt about not washing your hair before you go to the salon. Having unfortunately inheirited the greasy hair gene, I shampoo daily, but twice would really be too much.
After apologizing profusely for the non-shampooed hair, I then begin the count-down to the “oh, you must have well water, I can tell from the brassy tones.”
More blithering from me. Then comes the “what side do you part your hair on, ” question. To be honest, I hate to choose sides so I just tell them to part it in the middle. Probably not the best look for me. Next comes what seems like hours of blow drying and then inevitable “product“. I always tell the stylist that I spend about 3 minutes blow-drying my hair in the morning and I never use “product” I don’t like to feel weird things in my hair. Somehow I always leave with “product” in my hair and everytime I am told that this is special “product” that I won’t even notice. And every time, I wash this product out as soon as I get home. Luckily all of this only happens once a year.
My haircut on this trip was different, she did a great job and didn’t use too much product. After trying on some dresses with my sister, I called home to check on the husband and kids. I could tell from my husbands’ tone that something was amiss. Normally he is the type of guy that you can’t get off the phone, he will tell you in painful detail everything that is going on. When I asked how it was going and he said, “fine,” without telling me exactly how many Cheerios each child had consumed, the jig was up. “How bad is it?” was my first question. Long story short, my son puked all over the couch. He insisted that I didn’t need to come back, he had it under control. I return home, my son seems ok and our couch does not.
Fast forward to Wednesday, the baby woke up bright-eyed, bushy-tailed and covered in puke. Having watched a lot of CSI, I estimate the time of pukage to about 9PM, it wasn’t a fresh kill. She seemed totally unfazed, I didn’t know whether to strip her or the bed first. Haz-Mat clean up completed mu husband now tells me that he feels nauseous. Fortunately for him, he has learned the valuable survival skill of finding an approriate place to vomit.
So here I sit, waiting for this short but powerful bug. They say that you live and learn, I learned that pet-odor cleaner removes the scent of kindergartener vomit. I dare say the couch smells fresh as a daisy. I have Lysoled everything that didn’t move and my hands are chapped from Lady MacBeth-ian washing. I even brought an emergency bowl to bed last night, in case the dreaded beast struck when I least expected it, stripping beds is getting kind of old.
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