Death And Barf - Happy Monday!

Yes, still here. A lifelong friend died last week, so I traveled to NJ for her memorial service. I hadn't seen her much over our grown-up years - we would mostly meet up at birthday parties and funerals, as our parents were friends. But she was always there and someone I loved talking to and catching up with. As is my wont, I had not kept in touch with her over the past year, so I had no idea she was dying. I spent most of last week hating myself for that, of course.

Don't you like how I make someone's death all about me? I'm a lovely person, I am.

I had planned to leave Saturday morning, so I spent Friday prepping food for the weekend (cutting up fruit, making a big pot of mac and cheese, etc.). I needed to make sure my family wouldn't starve or die of scurvy while I was away. Don't be too impressed - I told Larry to use my 2 free sub credits at Harris Teeter for Sunday dinner.

Friday night, 11:30 - I was performing my nightly ritual of sitting on the couch, telling myself I should REALLY get to bed, but not until after just one more stupid word game on my IPad. Rachel came downstairs, saying she might throw up. My weekend plans flashed before my eyes. I HAD to get to this memorial service. My friend's mom - someone who had watched me as a baby, someone who had been there for me through both my parents' funerals - was counting on me. I COULD NOT get sick.

Essential parenting tool

I woke up Larry to tell him he was on vomit duty so I could spend the rest of the night safe in our puke-free bedroom. Larry (half asleep) staggered dutifully downstairs clutching a pillow and a blanket for the sofa. I'll admit, I felt a tad guilty, thinking of Larry jumping up all night to take care of our sick daughter as needed. But then I recalled my extensive involvement in Brian's ill-timed St. Patricks Day dinner puking incident of 2014, whereupon I decided I could indeed sleep the sleep of the just. With a little help from earplugs, that is.

The next morning, as I was attempting to gather my things and dash out the door (all while holding my breath), Larry said, "She threw up SIX TIMES."  I guess he was looking for sympathy, but what he got was, "Well, Brian threw up 17 times and I'll never eat corned beef again. Good luck with the other kids!" And then I left, feeling I should be marking a huge charcoal X on the front door as I let it slam behind me.

Sometimes? You just have to be tough.



[Bucket image: Clipart Panda]