All About Vomit: What is the best color of Gatorade to Drink?

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Why is it, when young children get sick, they have a propensity to vomit on white carpeting?  Why is it also that the family dog is always there, ready to clean it up, only to vomit next?

Things were looking to be a great weekend.  Fantastic weather, Ashton’s first confession, Jack had a cub scout day somewhere (he left @8 a.m.), Mignonne has Daisy’s tomorrow and we had a pig roast and Mardi Gras dinner club to attend this afternoon.  Now, I’m still in my pajamas about to make Shari’s Chicken Soup…

This morning’s big topic of discussion in my house was what color Gatoraide to purchase in order to ensure that when Ashton puked again, on the carpet, wouldn’t leave a stain that wouldn’t come out.  Why is it that these electrolyte beverage company dudes (obviously not dealing with sick children) put DYE in their drinks that will leave stains on clothing that won’t come out?  I mean, just make the Glass Red, Green, Blue, and have the drink be clear?  What’s so wrong with that?  Is that too difficult?  Sprite does it!  Hey Mr. Gatoraide, are you out there?  Think about it.  Your customers hate dye!  What’s in the dye anyway?  Something that we need to ingest?  No.  Put it’s pissing me off, and making my job as mother of the year harder.

Yesterday started this obviously popular stomach virus that we get to enjoy over the weekend.   I was up in my office, and Jack started yelling, “S.O.S.  S.O.S.  STAT!  911!  Emergency, Emergency!”  I come bumbling down the slippery wood stairs and see #2 holding onto the couch and love seat tossing his chunky peanut butter sandwich all over the white carpeting.  (I freaking hate the white carpeting).  I’m screaming, “MOVE!  Get on the Marble Floor!  NOT ON THE CARPETING!!!!”  He just looked up like a guilty dog and tossed some more chunks on the carpet.

I exited the house and got Jack off to tennis.  John did the clean up.  I don’t do vomit.  Thank God he was home.  I’d be dead and in hell.

Last night I attempted to go to Bunco with the neighborhood ladies.  There I was, with lipstick, makeup, and had even blown my hair dry straight.  Chugged three go-cups of Bitch Wine, and drank a Miller Lite which wasn’t very cold quite fast in order to get survive the room full of prepped wives that I don’t know and see every day.  I was miserable.  I started to have a hacking cough, and used it as the excuse to go home before the party really got started.  I probably should have stayed, but just wanted to be home on the couch, in my Cheetah Snuggie, sitting on the couch with John and the three kids.

John was almost disappointed when I showed up, but I really didn’t care.  Kids had Hershey’s bars (not smart, John) all over their faces and Ashton had just had some ORANGE JUICE.  Are you kidding?  Not smart, but I wasn’t in charge.  I took off my shoes, stepped on the wet white carpeting that had a shade of brown rubbed in, and assumed my position on the couch wrapped in my Cheetah Snuggie.

We sat and watched the downhill skiing for the Winter Olympics, got the kids to bed, and then went to bed ourselves.  I slept solidly for about an hour until Mignonne joined us, and then John got up when he heard Ashton puking again, this time in his room, across the carpeting and then all over the bathroom.  Puke was dark brown, the color of Hershey’s chocolate with a slight acidic orangy aroma.

Poor Ashton, was supposed to have his first confession today, and I was actually going to get to go, to actually clear my conscience beyond this blog.  But, he vomits, and yet again, I’m delayed with getting through the pearly gates.  So, if I die this week, chances are, I’ll be living everlasting life in Purgatory.  Isn’t that what Atlanta is?  I’m not supposed to be here.  This was an odd destination.  Why are we here?

I don’t do vomit, unless John wants to see my own on the carpeting.  Even the thought of vomit causes me to gag.  Smelly poop does that too.  I’m so good at other parenting things, but vomit isn’t one of them.

So off I go to make the Chicken soup…and thankful that a girlfriend once shared her recipe.

Bitten by a Snake

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 Just because a snake is sleeping doesn’t take away the fact that a snake is still a snake and the instincts are still there. 

Are you there, God?  It’s me.  Sinclair.  It’s been a while, but I’ve got plenty going on, a lot on my mind, and I’m out of Xanax.  Actually, I’ve been out of it for quite some time now.  I’m lying.  I have one left, but I know that today’s drama isn’t worth taking it. I can get through it, just might have to drink two glasses of Firefly.  

I’m hoping that John and Jack maximize the medical deductible soon, because I need a long hard session on a couch somewhere and hopefully some sort of solution that will help me sleep, be less jittery, and relieve some of this anxiety that wakes me up at 2:00 a.m.  Why is Xanax so hard to come by, and isn’t there something comparable that I can get at the grocery?  I just want to SLEEP through the night and not wake up worrying!

John is having some crazy medical issues.  Our insurance sucks, so his thyroid isn’t covered by our health insurance, we’ll be coming out of pocket whatever they decide it is he has.  His latest doctor has this passion to increase his own revenue by having John come in three times @$246/visit to see if he’s going to have to have a biopsy.  Hopefully John will talk him into having the nuclear scan and get on with it.  Hope to you it’s not cancer, if it is, that wouldn’t be appreciated.  I need to get to a shrink….

I’m having some real issues with Miss Polly.  Frank finally got diagnosed with Alzheimer’s and all of my discussions with her are so stressful.  There is nothing that I can do, but her latest way to hurt my feelings is to tell me that she’s going to keep him away from stressful situations, and that insinuates “me”, and that she won’t be attending anything at my house if it means that John’s family will be here…and so, since Ashton’s birthday falls right after John’s, that means that John’s family would probably be here visiting, and so….well…..yep, she’s not going to be here for Ashton’s birthday, or Ashton’s first communion, or Mignonne’s birthday, or Mother’s Day, or well, anything that would require my father to experience stress or her to have to deal with my in-laws.  I made the mistake of telling her that she had to stop, and so she hung up on me.  Won’t hear from her until who knows, but I’m not calling.  I’ve had enough, and I have plenty on my plate.  I’m hoping not to get one of her notorious emails to add to my coffee table book collection, but it’s just a matter of time.

Polly thinks I’m the devil.

I’ve decided to pick my battles, and unfortunately, every time I talk to my mother, she picks a fight, doesn’t like my tone, or we just argue over shit that doesn’t matter.  This summer after her battle with me over my estranged sibling and those hateful emails from her, I just refuse to discuss with her what is going on with me or my personal life, which probably has caused her so to express even more animosity towards me, so I have decided that I just need to focus on the things that I can turn into positive things, and not focus on things that keep me up at night.

A friend once said to me, just because a snake is sleeping doesn’t take away the fact that a snake is still a snake and the instincts are still there.  God, I pray for my friend to have the strength to do what is right for her survival.  It’s hard to be the one to put the lock on the door and throw away the key.

John just brought home some Crystal Lite.  Gotta add it to my fly.