Mad Dog and I were scheduled to view the proofs from our photo session at the studio. The stars had sort of aligned because our babysitter was available and the appointment was late enough in the evening that Mad Dog could easily make it. My day was busy leading up to it. I even managed to get my self showered and prettied before I took the boys to Tae Kwon Do. The boys had a good class. T.Puzzle earned his belt back (long story, check out my previous post ‘Mother of the Year’ for more details) and Full Speed was in good form. After class I headed through the drive-thru and even successfully got my babysitter something to eat, too. I get home, get the boys out of their uniforms because food and white uniforms are a superbad combination, and get them settled in to eat.
Full Speed is becoming difficult. He does this sometimes when I order him chicken nuggets because he prefers cheeseburgers (sorry, Full Speed, Chick-Fil-A only has chicken so you get what you get). He immediately drops into negotiation mode. I’m still trying to get my house organized, laundry done, dishes cleared, etc., that I’m not really in the mood to listen to him. At about five minutes before the babysitter arrives he jumps up from the table and says his chicken nuggets are ‘choking him’. Personally, it takes a lot of restraint on my part not to ‘choke him’ instead. I think it’s all an elaborate act to get out of eating the nuggets. I was wrong. I was doggone, puky wrong.
He starts to cry and in an instant I can sense we are on the express train to vomitville. I realize it too late. Our home is lovely with a nice, open floor layout. This is nice so I can always keep on eye on the boys In terms of puke containment, it spells disaster. He starts the vomit in the kitchen nook, trails it over by the computer into the family room. I do my best to maneuver him to the bathroom which just leads to a trail of vomit down our hall and into the bathroom (which he showers down in slime as well).
Of course, my Mommy instinct kicks in and I become oblivious to the grossness. Thankfully (and I bless the heavens for this) my babysitter arrives just at that moment. I let her in, brief her on the situation and she bravely takes the boys upstairs to bathe them while I set to clean and sanitize the likes of my entire first floor. Of course I do this all in a cute, dressy top and black pants (vomit mess waits for no one).
When all is said and done and our home smells like a freshly disinfected hospital room, I send the babysitter home (this is right about when Mad Dog arrives into the chaos), cancel our appointment at the studio and collapse on the couch in our front room. I quickly realize my cute outfit smells anything but. Mad Dog sends me upstairs to shower and change. As I write this I’m still traumatized by the level of mess that Full Speed achieved. I may never be able to look at a chicken nugget again without breaking into a cold, cold sweat.