“Funny?”
That is the Princess of Space, Time, and Dimension. The Mistress of Light and Splendor. The Daughter of The Woman God Gave Me.
My daughter.
Or, as I like to call her, the human formerly known as “What do you mean your tummy feels funny?”
It’s late in the day and I had every intention of writing this one down first thing this morning. After the dust settled. Except that it never did. But, about one half hour ago, the sun broke through the clouds, the barbaric battle cry was sounded, Gandalf on his white steed, and the war host with him, came crashing through at the last moment and saved Middle Earth.
I mean Cute Redhead got home from her three day business trip and saved my life.
I don’t know what happened between the last time the Cat Was Away but let me tell you: this time? Yeah, no play. I was chauffeur, cook, maid, referee, nurse, doctor, dad, daddy, Hey You, and bathroom attendant (note that one). And, trust me, a billion years into all this, this is hardly my first lap around the track. I’ve done and been all that and more more times than I can count. So I’m not complaining.
I’m actually confused.
Confused because, like I said, I’ve done this and changed a diaper and changed the oil all at the same time. And if you’re a parent, so have you. So, again…not complaining. Or bragging. It’s just that somehow, this particular round around the track saw all the wheels fall off.
But not at first.
At first everything was going along fine all within normal operating parameters. Children were alive at the end of the day. Meaning I’d done my job and everything else was pure bonus. In fact, the first night Cute Redhead was away was (is) always a special treat.
Because I get the bed to myself.
Which I love.
A. Lot.
It’s not that I don’t love her. I do. It’s not that I don’t want to snuggle. I do.
It’s just that the darling cherub pictured up top has this sneaky little way of niggling her way into our bed in the very predawn hours (none of which are Teachable Moments, if you ask me). And, after falling blissfully asleep, her subconscious mind decides she’s in the middle of the exercise room at 24 Hour Fitness and it’s time to Tai-Bo kick her way to the tune of A-Ha’s “Take On Me.”
The techno remix.
All over my back.
Not a fan.
And it typically sees me give up, throw back the covers, grab my pillow (shut up), and eek out what is left of the night in her bed. Which is something hilarious all by itself when you consider that her bed is a covered in more stuffed animals than Toys R Us, covered in pink pink pink Everything, resides under a giant pink mosquito happy happy flowers canopy net thing and is basically the Vortex of Femininity.
This is usually where you’ll find me come morning, I’m sorry to say.
Except not the other night. Nosiree. I concocted a brilliant plan to have a daddy-daughter man-to-man talk about this Sneaking Into My Bed thing. I had an argument. A response for the expected rebuttal. I had graphs, slides, video and statistics galore. This was going to be a Reason-a-thon.
With an 8 year old girl.
Who just put out her lower lip.
And turned out one little 8 year old girl leg, jutted out one little 8 year old girl hip.
And then…
…crossed her arms.
Oh dear. I’ve seen this very thing before. Except this other Very Thing stands about 5’4″.
My plan was backfiring so I recruited pure parental authority and control that went like this: “Okay then, well what if I buy you candy?”
Success.
Two nights of the bed all to myself. And before I had the chance to really decide if that’s all it’s cracked up to be (it’s not), Baby Girl comes into the room at bed time with what I know is Not Faking.
“What do you mean your tummy feels funny, honey?”
“My tummy hurts.”
And she has That Look which needs no other description than Every Parent Knows When They’re Faking (because we invented Faking). And she wasn’t faking.
*sigh
“Come here, baby girl. Hop up here and lie down; daddy knows how to take care of little girls with tum—”
And then she made
That Sound.
Okay, let’s pause a second.
There’s a story in A Beautiful Hell titled “Perfect and Cool” and it covers a story in which this little girl covered my back with vomit. It was hilarious (from where I stand now), not embellished even a little bit, and the standard by which all other Oh There Is No Way You’re Throwing Up On Me is measured.
Meaning after she made The Sound my freak male limbic brain tripwired back to that night I just mentioned and zipTwanged into 24/7 Red Alert.
But she’d already fallen asleep.
Out like a light.
*whew
So I read a little bit more of my book, wrapped up a chapter, turned off the light and set my sights on dreams involving myself and poor Sandra Bullock who should have known better but there’s nothing I can do now, honey, I’m married…you have to move on.
And about thirty minutes later, Miss Child made That Sound (this time for Very Real) and I shot thirty feet straight up. Just like that one cat in the old Merry Melodies cartoon did when that yapping maniacal puppy came around the corner and barked it into the stratosphere. That was me.
“OhNoHoneyDaddysHereAlrightSweetheartLet’sGoToTheBathro—”
Too late.
All over the floor. Wood floor, thank God. And after I consoled the poor kid whilst she divested her tiny little tummy of every meal since Thanksgiving last year, I laid her back into the bed.
And cleaned up the floor.
Okay, all that? Repeat it two more times.
Then insert any sound into every 20 minutes for the next three hours such that every time I heard Any Sound, I did that cat jumping straight up and clawing the ceiling thing again.
By 2:30 in the morning I realized nothing was going to go as planned for the rest of the day and gave myself over to Yes I Know This Wasn’t In The Brochure But It’s Too Late To Sell My Children I Don’t Have The Receipts Anyway.
Somewhere in the night, she stopped stirring and stopped throwing up. I got up according to the alarm, got Alpha Male moving, got Beta Male his breakfast, and made my way back up to the infirmary to check on my darling little sweet precious baby gir—zip Zip ZING!!—and stepped in what didn’t see from last night and slid across the floor and hit the dresser.
At which point I recited scripture.
Very. Colorful. Scripture.
Okay, no scripture but, trust me, I let out a string of curses that’d send the devil and his demonic horde running if they were in earshot.
After vacating the part of my brain in charge of sensing and then describing the contents all over my foot. And in between my toes. And half way up my shin (because I fell and then slid even more into it), I got up, looked at her sleeping there peacefully and threw the alarm clock at her head thanked God she was resting.
Then I heal-step-heal-step-heal-stepped to the bathroom to wash my foot.
Okay. The bathroom. New bathroom, remember? New tub, new fixtures, new curtain rod, new this, new that, new new new, right? Right.
Back burner this for just a second.
You know how you go to sleep in a strange place and you’re wiped out tired, exhausted, traveled, whatever, bleah, bleah, bleah, right? You throw yourself onto the bed, burrow under blankets and pillows and drift off. Then you know how you wake up the next morning but before you open your eyes, your mind takes a mental inventory of your world and (because it likes familiar patterns) places you squarely in the middle of your familiar surroundings? Like your own bed? But then you open your eyes and you’re all, “…whoa.” because you’re not in your familiar room. At all. But it’s okay and you level out.
Okay, bring the bathroom up to the front burner again. And crank the burner all the way up to Burn Down House.
I sit on the edge of the bath and turn on the water. I sort of close my eyes, pinch the skin between them, and try to decide whether to laugh or laugh harder at this lunacy. Then I open my eyes and see that the kids had gotten grime all over the new tile and there are hand prints (a pain, but normal) foot prints (okay…wait what?) and a few paw prints (we have the only cat in the world who thinks the bath tub is the office water cooler). I roll my eyes and remember there’s a sponge on the back rim of the tub.
And I reach back to get it, still looking at the tracks that look like some kind of migratory pattern. And, right here, my brain does that bait-and-switch thing and calls up the OLD bath tub.
Which was smaller. And not nearly as deep.
And which had dimensions well within the extent of my outstretched arm.
Which was outstretched and seeking purchase in the form of the edge of the bath tub. And the sponge.
But finding open air instead.
. . .
Leverage is a funny thing.
So is being inside a bathtub, on your back, fully clothed, your one foot covered in vomit but sticking out of the tub, splashing and sputtering around and pulling down the curtain rod and the curtains with it and crying out to God and Jehovah and Buddha and Tom Cruise and Whatever The Hell He Worships and any other deity I can think of because I figure I’ve pissed off all of them and might as well cover all the bases.
And, yes, I laughed. A lot.
While I washed my foot.
And the tile.
And the shower curtain.
And my clothes.
And I was laughing. Because it was funny.
Really funny.
*sob
I am laughing so hard I have tears rolling down my face. The Take on Me and the Sandra Bullock reference should win you top honors in whatever it is you do for a living.
I’m glad you think this is funny, Melissa. I’m glad you’re laughing. I’m glad you sit there in your vomit-free home and get all Take On Me Sandra-happy at my expense lol
good lawwwwwwwwwdjesussssssssssss! good thing i was in my favorite room at the time of this reading, otherwise i woulda peed my pants. to me, this is by far your absolute most laugh out loud story i’ve ever read! no apologies here bucko……she gave birth to that girl…..that trumps everything AND you took a picture of your poor sick baby….you realize what bodily harm will become you if you even think of doing such a thing when she starts her moon right? bravo. really.
I’m still trying to get my mind around “when she starts her moon.” Is it just me, or does anyone else hear that little-kid-piano-music you hear in the background of very, very scary movies?
I about wet myself with this one! First of all, can I say have you heard of a bucket? Interesting how the work when children are sick. Secodly, DO NOT loft her bed! Flu and bed loft do not mix well- need I say more?