My mother is having a minor surgery on her foot as I type this. The procedure is something they do all the time and it's not a big deal so I wasn't particularly worried about it until she told me about how she dreamed the Angel of Death came to get her. Thanks mom! Things like that always creep me out because I'm weird and I think that dreams are important. So I've been slightly worried about it all last night and this morning.
Cut to me getting Alden out of bed for school. I was trying to help him with a stubborn button on a pair of jeans (I eventually gave up myself it was so ridiculously stubborn) when he suddenly whirled around and hung his head over the toilet like he was going to vomit. I figured he was going to puke right then but he just burped an excessive amount and then came back to try on some different jeans. I asked him if he was going to throw up and he said "No!", then I asked him if he was sick and needed to stay home and sleep and he said "Yes!". At this point I figured he wasn't feeling well so we each grabbed our blankets and pillows and went into the living room. Once you have cleaned puke out of a bed multiple times in a night and rotated ALL of that bed's sheets until you are completely out you know to set up camp in the living room.
A few hours go by and he starts jumping around and messing with the TV (I'm still trying to sleep in a contortionist pose in the recliner of course) and just generally acting NOT SICK. I asked him if he was tricking me just so that he could stay home and he said "No!" I asked him if he still felt bad or if he was ready to go to school and he said he was "I'm SOOO sick!" I thought I'd been had. I scolded him for lying about not feeling well to get out of going to school. Then an hour later he barfs everywhere and I feel terrible. Thankfully the barf all made it into the "barf trash can" and I'd double bagged the can. I learned that lesson the hard way, you have not KNOWN disgusting until you have someone else's vomit running down your leg on account of a hole in the bottom of the plastic bag you were counting on to hold the vomit.
After that I go toss the vomit bags in the trash bin outside and then come back inside to wash my hands. I already wash my hands obsessively because of my germaphobia, and if someone even mentions the word "sick" you'll see me reaching for my hand sanitizer. Imagine my horror when THERE IS NO RUNNING WATER IN MY HOUSE. It is supposed to be back on "sometime after 2 PM", which is super helpful to me, the person who did not even come close to touching vomit but feels like she's bathed in it. I need a hazmat suit for such occasions. Shortly after all this insanity I discovered that today is World Water Day. Oh irony! I can't help but think the universe is having a huge laugh at my expense today.
The worst part of this day has been that I haven't been able to share all this with my mother, who is the only person I know would truly see the ridiculous humor in all of this. Hopefully she can read this after her surgery (perhaps when she's still high) and we'll have a nice laugh...unless she dies...if that happens I have to start planning her Viking Funeral.
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