Tuesday, March 24th 2015
Amid the morning bustle today, ClaraJane was being extra clingy. There she is sitting on Daddy’s lap, joined by brother gratuitously getting in on the action. (Yes I’m in love with them and take photos ALL the TIME.)
After a while she is passed to me, extra clingy and melancholy (and sweet). I bring her into the bedroom for comfort before I finish getting dressed. First I lay back on the bed with her on top of me, singing sweetly in her ears for a few tender, peaceful, present moments until…BAARRFFFF! The hot blast fills the crook of my neck, and spatters everywhere; the duvet, BOTH home-made decorative pillows from our wedding, and all our clothes. “GUESS WHO’S NOT GOING TO SCHOOL TODAY!?” [according to the 24-hour school health policy] I holler to the other room.
I hustle her into the bathroom to spew around in there some more. Daddy brings towels, strips the bed and magnanimously volunteers to take Gavin to school, which is both impressive and disturbing considering he’s still recovering from double hernia operation. He professes to be up for it, and alack alas there is no “rest” in “Parenthood” anyway.
Soon after the final rounds of her body’s evacuation, my poor little pale, limp, clammy, dry- heaving ragdoll is stripped down and cleaned up. Finally she is cuddled up between big dry towels in our bed, sprinkled with powder and resting peacefully. “Be sure to get a shower,” Paul mentions before heading out. So the Boys are off and I start whirling around; wiping up, scrubbing clothes, starting laundry and taking that shower yet still finding more vomit sprinkled around randomly. I think I got it all but I catch unmistakable whiffs of vomit in almost every room I go. I open windows (brrr). I search and destroy. I spray citrus spray. I light incense. I’m tired. I give up. Still need my first sip of warm beverage for the morning. And the girl is already perking right back up.
She asks for cold water. I bring her that and a mango nectar popsicle and join her in bed. And because kids are Natural Scientists, she makes at least 4 independent discoveries through observation and experimentation within the first couple minutes of regaining consciousness. To wit;
Pukeface Science [49 secs]:
She is snuggly and adorable and we read books and it’s great, although tainted by the persistent stench of puke. Then it dawns on me… my hair. Yes I’d showered but in my haste to check on my daughter I hadn’t thought to wash it. I look in the mirror and sure enough; chunks. Colorful dingly dangly bits clinging to clumps of my matted down hair like miniature macabre Christmas decorations. You think I’m horrified? Or disgusting because I hadn’t even thought about my hair? HA. Then YOU don’t have kids! I mean yes I’m an idiot but mostly I’m just relieved to find the Source of Stench at last. (No wonder it was everywhere I went.) There is no “glamour” in Parenthood either. Also little to no “dignity.”
Not to worry; all’s well that ends well. The Princess has developed ennui of me, but Daddy is back to watch “Peg + Cat” with her, and I’m off to the shower. Here’s the Dynamic Duo convalescing now:
PS: Update on Paul. He said the trip to school was fine, he only hurt his incisions a little bit… shooting some baskets with our son in the gym. MEN!!! (And mine doesn’t even PLAY basketball. Gah!)