Social Gracious

The Tubal Ligation Vacation

I am at about that age when birth control pills begin to come with a black box warning.  So, if I take them, reportedly I am at a higher risk of having a clotted leg that will have to be removed, or my head will explode in a ghastly way.  Because of this, UberGeek and I have begun the earnest discussion of what to do in order to prevent the creation of any new Divas or Eddies. 

If things had been just a little different, this all would have been solved when Diva and Eddie were born.  Although I planned for a natural childbirth, I informed my OB that should things not work out, and he had to give me a c-section, he was to go ahead and tie the old tubes in a BIG FAT knot.  He gave me a kind look, the sort he probably gives to all of his crazy, hormone addled, 8 months pregnant with twins patients, and told me, "Kristie, you are so young, let's just wait until the time comes, you might change your mind."  That is when I grabbed him by the collar, pulled him so close to me that he could smell the frozen cream puffs on my breath, and told him that if he didn't do it I would take hold of the sterile tubing and do it myself.  I'm making that part up, actually, but it did happen in my mind. In reality, I just smiled at him and said, "OK, but I am telling you, I do not ever want to be pregnant again."  "There are other options" he replied calmly.

Now my children are five, and although I would like one more child, I am still very sure that I do not want to be pregnant again.  I had enough complications to last for a lifetime the first pregnancy, and I am not willing to roll the dice again; it's not fair to Eddie or Diva.  Recently, I approached UberGeek about making things permanent.  Among his close counterparts, he is one of the "Last of the Mohicans" so to speak, the few unclipped.  Whenever I mention the prospect of a vasectomy, UberGeek's eyes get wide, then I can tell that his mind starts churning, and this is what he comes up with, "I'm not getting one of those, they don't work." 

UberGeek is of course referring to a friend who got a vasectomy from a prominent urologist.  The man has super sperm; this is a couple who can stand too close to each other on a wet floor, then she gets pregnant.  He had the vasectomy; they didn't quite get the final count back, and welcomed a final child to their beautiful family.  He had to get the procedure performed a second time, reportedly this is the only similar case in the surgeon's career.  

We, on the other hand, are not that couple, but it is a good excuse for UberGeek.  After a year of attempting to convince him that a vasectomy would be in everyone's best interest, I told him I would get a tubal ligation.  I have vague memories of people getting them years ago, days were spent recuperating, and so I let UberGeek know that it would be a long recovery.  I had visions of a couple days at the beautiful new Mayo Clinic hospital with a flat screen TV, IV drugs, clean sheets, my own nurse and a lot of magazines.  This would be followed by a couple days of quiet time at home while the kids were off at school. 

Off I went to see my primary care physician, who I have known for ten years.  I told him that UberGeek, who is also his patient, was being stubborn about the vasectomy and that I was thinking of a tubal.  I wanted to know how much of a recovery at Mayo I would get.  He laughed, then said, "Seriously Kristie? We replace portions of people's intestines as an outpatient procedure, you are so not getting any time in the hospital; it's an outpatient procedure." 

Outpatient is a whole different ballgame.  Outpatient means I will return home after something painful and have to slog around trying to keep the house tidy, wash the dishes, answer questions, fold laundry and watch tumbleweeds of animal hair go by.  I won't want to let it all pile up for a couple days while I relax and recover.  UberGeek will be wound tight trying to keep the kids busy; there won't be anyone to wait on me, so I will attempt to do too much too soon.  I know how it will go.  It's much better that he get the vasectomy because I am better equipped to wait on him and the kids all at once; women are better at multitasking, at least in this family.

There will be no tubal ligation vacation, time to pursue other options.

Mercedes Man, Portrait of a (Good) Marriage

About a year ago I was parked at a shopping center where I had run in to pick up invitations for our annual holiday party. I was sitting there, sifting through the invites, thinking about what a great job I'd done picking them out, with a coupon no less.  Then, I saw it, like an advertisement from a really great campaign, in slow motion, with music.  There was a man, not just any man, a handsome, perfectly groomed, metrosexual man getting out of a perfectly clean, detailed, gorgeous, new looking Mercedes.  Every piece of his clothing was in place, no straggly hems, scuffs or tears to be seen, in his hand was a shiny iPhone.  He eased out of the shiny car, without effort, and walked toward a trendy shop nearby. He was like a magazine advertisement come to life just feet from me.

My first thought, honestly, was, "If we met in one of these nearby bars and I was sitting near him I wonder if Mercedes Man would take me home."  By take me home I don't mean give me a ride home because I was having a medical emergency and needed a charitable favor, I'm talking about the other sinful kind of take me home, uh huh, now you're with me. Sort of an odd thought considering I am A. happily married and B. have never been taken home by anyone in a casual sort of way in my life.  I looked down at myself in my petrified chicken nugget strewn minivan that looked like an explosion of Barney's playhouse.  I noticed my yoga pants and stretchy top.  My yoga pants were not the sexy Lululemon top of the line type, but the Target clearance rack specials, paired with a blue tank top I had had for years.  I sighed, disgusted with myself for even thinking about Mercedes Man in the first place, then I called some life lines.

The first friend I called listened to me recount my story, didn't even laugh and told me she experienced this kind of thing all the time.  Although in addition to fantasizing about men with clean and tidy cars she also thought about the hotels with clean and tidy sheets they would take her to and the room service they would order.  "Really, it's the clean car, room service and hotel I'm attracted to." she admitted.  Then she laughed with me for being so ashamed. 

With the next friend I called, I had a serious discussion about Mercedes Man, what my thoughts meant about me, my marriage and my satisfaction with my life. We talked about how hard it was to always be dirty, to have a filthy minivan full of crumbs and papers all the time.  No time for makeup or hair, muffin tops spilling over our jeans, tankinis instead of bikinis, undergarments that suddenly were all beige and sensible.  We talked about how our lives were so changed and unrecognizable.  Mercedes Man, I knew, wasn't about an affair at all, it was about my sense of loss of myself.  Who was I?  Certainly a mom, but what about the person who fell in love  with my husband, who himself was once a man terrified of minivans and meticulous about car care? How to reconcile the two?  I knew the next step to take, but it would be the scariest.

I went home, put away the invites and waited for UberGeek to arrive.  We did our evening family stuff, then put the kids to bed.  Then I told him I had to tell him something; I told him everything.  I told him about Mercedes Man, about my feelings of inadequacy and unattractiveness. How tired I was of trashy cars and a body I didn't always recognize as my own.  Then I did some crying, Mercedes Man, you see, had nothing to do with UberGeek, and everything to do with me.  I had been blessed with all that I had ever wanted, a wonderful husband, two kids, a great home, but I was struggling to reconcile that with the few comparatively small things that I had lost.

We figured it out that night, the two of us, together, and that's what makes our marriage.

Could Jon & Kate's breakup mean a Corvette for UberGeek?

Another video surfaced of Kate Gosselin and her woes dealing with her wayward husband. Because we have multiples, UberGeek and I have watched the Gosselin family for many seasons now.  UberGeek was over it sometime ago, his reasoning is sound, as soon as they were "mo-ovin' on up" with the gourmet kitchen, high gates, extra help etc. they were no longer fun to watch.  When they lived in a normal house, had assorted piles of laundry, couldn't find time to get out to get a haircut and struggled to make ends meet they reminded us of ourselves, only with more stress and strain.  We would look at each other and say, hah, at least we didn't have six kids at once!  Then suddenly, they weren't struggling anymore, instead they were wearing nice clothes, traveling to exotic locales and generally living it up.  It was like a super toddler proofed version of Cribs. Even their arguing wasn't amusing anymore. 

When the story broke that Jon had cheated on Kate I immediately went to UberGeek, "See, I said, that's why I've gotta keep things up to date, running, getting the hair done, plucking the errant whisker. If not, you could end up pulling  a Jon with some college aged dummy. Multiple relationships are under stress."  UberGeek chuckled, "That lady was crazy from the beginning, I'm surprised they weren't divorced long ago.  People should think before they get married, you're the only one for me." I suppose he's right but I still don't let the whisker grow. 

UberGeek and I joke about infidelity occasionally, we are the two least jealous people on the planet, that among other things makes us a good fit.  I wonder if Kate ever suspected that Jon would cheat?  Marriage is tough, marriage with kids is tougher, marriage with eight kids is hard to comprehend.  Still, pull it together and be mature for the kids, get a divorce gracefully. I feel so bad for their children with all this hub bub in the media.  The dad acting like a college frat boy instead of a middle aged father of eight and all the back and forth antics about money.  Couldn't Jon have just bought a red sports car or something?  One day he will wake up and figure out that the new cow he exchanged for the old one is now just as grouchy and pushy as the first one and cost him a lot more for the milk.

I told UberGeek he can have a sports car in a few years when we get rid of the car seats and the minivan is paid off.

 

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Play That Funky Music White Boy

Tonight after swim lessons UberGeek wanted to take us all out to celebrate my annual review at work.  We were pretty bedraggled overall, so our options were limited and the kiddos were demanding hot dogs. The best ever hot dog spot, Hot Dog Hut, was getting ready to close up for the night so we had to settle for Orange Tree.  Not exactly fine dining but I didn't have to cook. 

On the way home we had to stop and pick up the Subaru.  As we pulled into the parking lot UberGeek noted that the flag at the preschool was still flying.  "Aren't they supposed to take it down each night?" I asked.  "Yeah, that was my job in elementary school, sixth grade" he replied.  "I had to play Taps at night and something else I can't remember in the morning." 

UberGeek's abandonment of his musical talent always saddens me.  I imagine him serenading me with his trumpet and dream of family sing alongs while he plays the piano.  "I haven't played the trumpet in twenty five years, I wouldn't remember how" he says dismissively.  I try a different tack, "What if it injected more passion into our marriage?" I whisper loudly in the minivan idling in the empty preschool parking lot.  "What if it made you more attractive to me?"   "You already find me attractive" comes the reply, with the sarcastic grin I know so well.  I give his parents the utmost credit for imparting in him a healthy sense of self esteem.  "Why can't I convince you to do things you don't want to do anymore?" I aim at him as he begins to ease himself out of the minivan.  By now the kids are laughing and saying, "Play the trumpet daddy, play the trumpet!"  UberGeek just grins at me and I kiss him as he escapes to the waiting getaway car, maybe this is not the end of the discussion.

The Traveling Crab Cooker

The Traveling Crab Cooker

Whenever anyone talks about visiting my in laws in their home on the Northern Neck of Virginia on the Corrotoman River the first thing they speak of fondly besides my in laws is the crabs. Every weekend during the summer my in laws steamed crabs and Silver Queen corn on the cob in a big pot outside. Then everyone would go out on their huge screen porch and sit on a picnic table covered in a roll of heavy paper and crack crabs, eat and drink lemonade. Afterward, I would usually pass out on a hammock on the back porch, this was long before our children were born when rest was part of my life.

Five years ago my in laws sold the dream home they built and retired in; it was a difficult decision. Although it was the perfect home for them it was in a rural area and not near family or high quality medical care. They decided to move to North East Florida to be closer to the Mayo Clinic where they receive medical care. Their new home is beautiful, navigable water front, Granddad got a new boat, it has an indoor pool and great neighbors. There is just one thing, the crabs in Florida are just not the same, they don't taste right. They have blue crabs but they are not sweet the way they are in Virginia, Maryland or North Carolina. Don't even get us started on the whole garlic crab thing, ick.

After five years my in laws decided to pass the torch, the propane kind that is. We were headed up to Virginia for a quick family picnic on my side of the family. On the way back home we were going to stop at UberGeek's brother's new beach home on the Outer Banks of North Carolina. UberGeek's parents asked us to take the crab cooker with us to give to his brother. We packed it lovingly into the minivan along with all our other trappings.

When we arrived at the beach UberGeek's brother fired the cooker up once more. Great big jimmies met their fate steamed with beer, Old Bay and a touch of vinegar. Even the ceremonial crab hammers with our names on them were there. Whenever a new person marries into the family they receive a crab hammer with their name engraved on the side.  Sitting there with our two families it wasn't quite the same tradition but maybe it was a new one getting started.

Transplants Work-Organ Donors Give Life

Happy Anniversary to GrandDad's Liver

 

Today was the nineteenth anniversary of GrandDad's liver. This wouldn't be a big deal if Granddad was nineteen, the thing is, GrandDad is in his seventies and his liver is now 35 years old. He received a liver transplant at the University of Pittsburgh 19 years ago. The transplant was performed by Dr. Thomas E. Starzl, who the Pittsburgh Transplant Center is now named after, also a National Medal of Science honoree. They did a good job because nineteen years later and UberGeek's dad, our children's GrandDad, is hale and hearty. This was not the case before his transplant.

For a number of years before his transplant GrandDad was sick and no one could figure out why. Always energetic and with a strong work ethic he was suddenly constantly fatigued to the point of exhaustion. He went from doctor to doctor and none of them had an answer. Since they lived in a suburb of Washington DC at the time he ended up at NIH, where he was finally diagnosed with Alpha-1 Liver Disease, a rare genetic disorder caused by Alpha-1 Antitrypsin deficiency. By the time it was discovered, GrandDad was in rough shape, and there was more bad news, there was no cure. After some research it was determined that the only shot for GrandDad was a new liver and the best surgeons and shortest wait list was in Pittsburgh, a long way from Washington, DC.

Granny and GrandDad stayed in a short term apartment in Pittsburgh waiting and hoping for a new liver until GrandDad was too sick and had to move to the hospital to wait. UberGeek was in college at the time but he remembers visiting when he could and how hard it was to be in school at a time when he wanted to be with his parents. Finally, when they were told that GrandDad only had a few days left before it would be too late, a liver did come. That is the bittersweet part, another family lost their son in order for my children to one day meet their GrandDad. I can't imagine what UberGeek and I's life would have been like without his father and I'm glad I haven't had to. I know there is no price that can be put on that precious gift of 19 more years and counting. 

GrandDad does have some special concerns, he has to take immune suppressive drugs to keep from rejecting the liver which means his immune system is compromised. For this reason, we keep the kiddos, and ourselves away if any of us are sick or have been exposed to some rampant preschool epidemic. He is followed regularly by Mayo Clinic who also have one of the top transplant teams in the country. Cooking with alcohol is out, as is drinking the stuff (for GrandDad, not me). So other than a few minor concerns, GrandDad leads a normal life and frankly, is in better shape than most men his age. He takes our kiddos on walks, swims in the pool, and is out and about with Granny. We can hardly keep up with our kids so that's pretty good for seventy something.

There is no cost to organ donation, only love.  If you are not an organ donor, or aren't sure if you are, please find out more at Donate Life America.

 

Happy Nineteenth Anniversary!

Till Death Do Us Part

Yesterday was big for us, we headed out to celebrate the joining of two lives, til death do us part. Our friends Hillary and Eric got married. She was an absolutely breathtaking bride and he was choked up waiting for her to come down the aisle. She didn't disappoint, looking radiant and thrilled to be heading up the aisle toward her groom. It was a lovely ceremony and there was a party bus complete with a beer stocked cooler waiting to take everyone to the reception.

I love weddings, they remind me of my own, although it is hard to believe that it has been almost nine years since UberGeek and I tied the knot. I am reminded of the sacredness of our vows when I hear them repeated by friends or loved ones in a church. UberGeek and I had a good sized wedding, one that we paid for primarily by ourselves. For that reason, I think that we appreciated it more. We have never regretted the investment.

So many days it is hard to have that loving feeling toward each other, kids bickering hour after hour, load after load of laundry to do, dishes to unload, a mound of ironing, baseboard to paint, bills to pay, grass to cut, garage to clean, back porch to spray, you know the drill. There are many many days I wonder how I can go on at all. Not because I have a bad husband or a bad marriage but because the prospect of the overwhelming load I carry is so heavy I am momentarily blinded by the impossibility of it all. It is like that dream where you are swimming toward the shore and it just keeps moving farther away the closer you get and you get so tired you just want to stop swimming. Do you have that dream?

When I feel blinded like that I am glad to have my wedding album and I am even happier that we had a good photographer to capture those moments. Looking at that clear, bright love we had for each other on that day reminds me of what we are still building although we are momentarily side tracked by life. I look at the albums from the early years of our marriage of trips taken, adventures had and remember that we are still the same people under our harried exteriors. I console myself with the knowledge that my children are growing older and things are getting easier, one day we will find time for each other again. Our feelings for each other never changed, we are still very much in love, the lives around our feelings changed. I miss my husband, even though he is right next to me.

Fired by the Housekeeper

About a month ago I came home to find a Dear John letter, from our housekeeper. After several years of working with us she had decided to no longer clean our home. The letter was filled with gratitude to our family and apologies, also she cited vague references to a need to return to her home country of Thailand at a moment's notice. I was crestfallen, it's hard to find a good housekeeper who is trustworthy and reliable, plus she had become a friend to our family. I suspected our sudden acquisition of two cats as the primary cause of her decision. UberGeek had noticed on his lunch hours home, when he was with the housekeeper and her daughter who acted as her assistant, that the daughter was overcome with uncontrollable sneezing since we acquired our new feline friends. UberGeek was less upset by the exodus of our housekeeper. He pointed to the cobwebs hanging from the ceiling fan and the layer of thick dust coating most of our picture frames and said, "We can probably do a better job ourselves." I began to suck in my lower lip, which was quivering, even if they weren't particularly good at dusting at least I hadn't had to spend the little weekend time I had on my knees scrubbing bathrooms and floors and could instead be with my children. Then UberGeek announced that he would clean the house every other week, just like the housekeeper, all by himself if I didn't want to do it. "It's a recession Kristie, it's in style to do all of these things ourselves." When I stopped laughing and picked myself up off the floor I pointed out that quite often he could not remember that Tuesday was trash day, much less clean an entire household on his own. 

UberGeek has many wonderful qualities, probably more than I do, cleaning or keeping things neat is not one of them. The one area of the house I have given over to him as his domain, the garage, looks as if a second Hiroshima has occurred. Things are everywhere and no surface is clear to the eye. Hazardous and oozing liquids phosphoresce in corners in a sinister manner, just waiting for an animal or small child to ingest. Once, I cleaned and categorized things into clear bins with labels for him but they have once again been overtaken. I am an organized creature, when I was growing up my grandmother taught me that if you take something from it's place you put it back when you're finished and you'll always know where it is. It drives me absolutely batty to need the drill and drill bits and have to head out to the garage to get them. They are never in the same place and all the drill bits are helter skelter everywhere. Usually, I just give up and ask UberGeek to get it for me before I become so angry I can't speak. 

In the unlucky event that it is a particular time of the month and I venture out to the garage, UberGeek is in big trouble. For over a year now, I have been asking that it be cleaned and organized. Several times he has started cleaning it but it has never truly been finished. I avoid a showdown by not venturing into the garage; I park in the driveway so I don't have to see it. Sometimes though, I feel dangerous and it is always at a certain time of the month. Then I poke my head out there and my insides begin to boil seeing the vast wreckage before me. I resolve to end it right then and there and I storm in to confront my husband. I am ready to claw at my skin, pull out my hair and gnash my teeth. If you remember Pee Wee's Big Adventure, I have a transformation similar to Large Marge. I corner him alone in our bedroom, "WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO CLEAN OUT THE GARAGE? YOU PROMISED ME TWO YEARS AGO THAT YOU WOULD CLEAN IT AND I CAN'T EVEN WALK OUT THERE. IT'S LIKE A HAZARDOUS WASTE ZONE, I CAN'T FIND ANYTHING AND IT'S DRIVING ME CRAZY. IF YOU DON'T HAVE IT CLEANED UP IN THE NEXT TWO WEEKS I AM GOING TO MOVE INTO A HOTEL!" From UberGeek in a quiet voice, "Is it going to be that time of month soon?" Me, "THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH MY FREAKIN' PERIOD AND EVERYTHING TO DO WITH THAT TOXIC WASTE DUMP OUT THERE." Ubergeek, "I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment to you." Let me tell you, that it is really unsatisfying to yell at someone who never yells back. It is usually at that point that I slink away into another room to give myself a timeout. So no, I don't necessarily think it's a good idea that he take over the housekeeping. 

The Emperor Has No Clothes

The other day we were getting ready take the kids to a birthday party.  I looked over at the clothes UberGeek had set out on a chair in the bathroom.  A free running shirt he had received in a race and a pair of jeans that are best described as vintage light wash, late nineties.  I asked UberGeek if he was planning to wear those clothes and he said, "yes, what's wrong with them?"  This is a frequent exchange between us.  Having been to these parties before I know how the men typically dress.  They are dressed by their wives, I am guessing, and usually wear a collared type shirt and nice jeans, khaki shorts or pants.  It's a dad uniform of sorts.  Although I am not extremely caught up in what people think of us, UberGeek often reminds me that I do bother him about dressing decently. We compromised, the jeans stayed and he put on a nice shirt.

I can relate other times this has occurred.  One time I was walking with UberGeek on the campus of the health care facility where we both worked.  The head of medical records there approached us to say hello to UberGeek, who had developed a clinical imaging system for them single handedly.  It's quite complex actually and amazing; I like to brag on him.  She proceeded to tell me how proud I should be of my husband and what a great job he had done for them.  That day, I still remember, I was wearing a new outfit from Ann Taylor.  A pretty silk blend sweater with a matching print skirt and linen blend pumps, nice.  I looked over at UberGeek, a senior systems engineer there, and noticed what he was wearing for the first time that day.  A threadbare shirt that he had owned since before we met; we have been together for ten years.  Khaki pants with a hem that was clearly unraveling completed the outfit.  I had dropped the ball, I did not do the closet round up and throw out the raggedy wear.  This one moment resulted in a shopping trip to the department store where I completely revamped his wardrobe, it should last for a couple years at least.

More recently UberGeek came down with plantar fasciitis, a painful foot condition common to runners.  He also said his feet had been hurting for some time prior to this.  I went to UberGeek's closet and pulled out his favorite brown work shoes.  I turned them over, lo and behold, there were holes in the soles.  The padding was compressed to a complete state of flatness.  No wonder his feet hurt.  It's a recession but we're not that frugal, geez. 

UberGeek does not shop for his own clothes, ever.  Twice  a year I embark on a shopping trip specific to his needs.  At Christmas he receives, undershirts, socks, several shirts and sweaters and a pair of jeans from Banana Republic.  In spring I hit the outlets and buy him three pairs of khaki shorts, several Polo shirts and a couple other shirts from J Crew or Gap.  That's it.  I don't know how or when I assumed the shopping role for him but he was glad for me to do it.  I suppose it only gets annoying when I exert control over a specific day's choices.   It's one of those little exchanges in marriage that just are.  I keep bothering him about what he wears because I care and because I'm proud of him.

Rub a Dub Dub, Wine in the Tub

Tomorrow I am not going to work.  My company, like many other healthcare companies in the current economy, is feeling the pinch.  Staff have been asked to share in the burden by taking two mandatory paid days off in the next two pay periods.  I don't pretend to know enough about finance to understand how this helps the bottom line but I'm excited not to have to go to work for a couple days.  I am kind of worried since I have only been there for six months and this will put me in the negative for paid time off.  I'm pretty sure that means when I go to take an actual vacation in June it will be unpaid.  Nonetheless, I was looking forward to a luxurious day to myself tomorrow after dropping the kiddos at preschool.  A trip to the new Whole Foods in town, lunch with a friend, making some baked goods, picking the kids up early and finally a nice six miler with some friends from my running group in the evening.

Today was a long day at work and I had to finish up a few things when five o'clock rolled around. This meant that my children would be waiting anxiously, possibly even sitting at the dinner table, for me when I arrived home.  I had forgotten to take anything out of the freezer for dinner and so had UberGeek, so he suggested that I stop and get some takeout on the way home.  Unfortunately, all afternoon I had been thinking of whole grain tortilla quesadillas with nice melty cheese and vegetables.  I decided to stop by the grocery since I lacked the tortillas and the spinach.  By the time I got home it was 6:10 and the kids were restless.  I didn't bother changing out of my work clothes and got down to making dinner.  Finally it was ready and we all sat down.  Diva was complaining of a headache, this was not surprising since she usually feigns an illness of some sort unless the meal is hot dog, cheese, spaghetti or pancakes.  We ignored her and told her she had to eat some food.  Eddie Haskell decided that he too was not eating, a frequent refrain in our house since our children primarily eat breakfast and lunch with just a snack at dinner.  I began to get that feeling of desperation I get soon after my relief and joy at arriving home to my children.  It's like groundhog day each night.  UberGeek plays with them, has fun, enjoys them and I am somehow relegated to taskmaster, chef and clean up crew.  I don't like this role.

Diva began complaining more loudly of a headache and she did look flushed so we decided to give her some Motrin and send her to bed.  She drank the Motrin and I picked her up to take her to bed. Then I heard a horrible sound, a sound I know well.  The throw up sound.  In the back of my mind I thought of my sweater, my beautiful chocolate brown natural fiber, soft, fuzzy sweater that fit just right and could not be laundered.  Then I thought simultaneously how awful it was to have that thought when my poor, sweet daughter was sick.  I aimed her to the side and she projectiled reminiscent of the throw up scene from Parenthood, one of my favorite movies of all time. Success, it all landed on tile.

We cleaned her up and put her in bed. By now I could feel my relaxing day off being slowly sucked away, replaced by a day full of throw up duty. UberGeek reminded me that I could have fun snuggling Diva at least. Taking Diva out to lunch, doing projects, going places is my idea of fun, holding her head and mopping up all day while she throws up is not necessarily on the fun list, but rather the duty list.

Once Diva was safely in bed I got a hold of myself, sucked it up and put on my big girl panties to deal with it. I smiled, poured a glass of inexpensive but tasty Penfolds Shiraz Cabernet and told Eddie Haskell that it was time for a bath. Then I cranked up the bathroom heater and planned my own mini vacation. Without Diva in the tub there was plenty of room for me and my Penfolds. Before you leave a comment about how yucky it is for a grown woman to bathe with a kid A. he's 4 years old B. it's more a hot tub than a bathtub. Our bathtub could comfortably fit four people in it, really we could entertain in our master bathroom. It was our biggest expenditure in our bathroom remodeling process even though we purchased it at a substantial discount.  We invested in this tub because I spend a large portion of my almost non-existent spare time in the tub and the relaxation it provides makes me an easier person to live with. Once settled in the tub Eddie Haskell got busy playing with the huge assortment of bath toys he and Diva stockpile there; I got busy relaxing and blowing bubbles for him. After about ten minutes of warm water, bubble bath and Penfolds I was ready to tackle whatever came next.