All Around The Mulberry Bush

"I had ten thousand nightmares last night."

I Hulk-Smash the alarm clock, hoping to deliver it to its maker. Instead, I further piss myself off by scattering the five hundred thousand little things that were carefully Jenga-ed around the alarm clock on our teeny, tiny night table onto the floor.

The groan I emit comes from the centre of Hell itself. 

I bury my face into my pillow hoping every skittered bobby pin, hair tie, book, empty juice box, and random thing hitting the floor will spontaneously combust so I never have to figure out where the hell they all went.

"Oh? I'm sorry to hear that honey." He rolls over to give me a hug.  I snort like a bull, try to prop myself up on my elbows and fall in sleep-deprived misery back onto my pillow. Husband backs away like the smart cowboy he is. 

"Gah! I think it was all the creepy music I was listening to last night on the way home."

"Huh?"

"It was all ghosties and fog. The lyrics were all about dead people."

"What station were you listening to? All I ever hear when I turn on the radio is "Call Me Maybe.""

Seriously. 

How am I supposed to have a rotten day when Husband won't even indulge me? The nerve!

Laughing from my toes, I groan like an injured bull and propel myself forward.

I stand up. 

I feel unbalanced.

I sit down. 

I, with the speed of a locomotive, race to the bathroom. 

My stomach, with the speed of Superman, beats me to the toilet. 

I've never been so happy to come in second place in my life. 

Just as I put myself in the position in which I spent most early Sunday mornings in College, I look up to see I have a cheering section. 

Fabulous.

The thing about having kids is you can't even puke in private-- which means you can't cry and feel sorry for yourself like a normal human, either, because you don't want to traumatize the children who are sitting there watching you puke. 

There's nothing worse than kids who are traumatized from watching their parents have a meltdown while doing something. 

I have a friend who is so phobic of flies, FLIES, that her daughter screams, sobs and is inconsolable from March to about October here. When the wind blows too hard, the kid won't leave her room. 

I heard a mom tell her kids to stay close to her in the supermarket because there are crazy men that steal children and they hide just out of mothers' sights. They pop out like Jack-in-the-box people, grab kids and ... I dunno I had to get away from her crazyness because my kids could hear her and they could tell I was starting to freak the fuck out. 

I have a deep rooted fear of ninjas and mafia hitmen, as it is. I don't need to be on the lookout for frickin' Jack-in-the-box people. That creepy music those stupid "toys" make gives me the heebie-geebies. 

Kiddo #1 saw the panic in my eyes while I glanced between the crazy mom and the bananas I was pretending to study. Kiddo #1 realized I was believing Crazy Mom's story and wheeled me away before it could permanently scar me.

So here I am, puking my guts out (trying to also not pee on the floor, THANKS FOR THAT ONE MOTHERHOOD.) and Kiddo #2 goes "Momma. Oh no. Momma. Ok?"  and then he rubs my back. Oh, he'll be a good frat boy one day. 

"What's that, Brother?"  (yes, we live like the Berenstain Bears) and Kiddo #1 arrives on the scene with her video camera and microphone. 

"Momma. Bad. No. Ok?" he says proudly into the microphone.  Seriously, who thought the mini-TV studio was a good Christmas present? F-you Santa. Y'all are gettin' burned toast and sour milk this Christmas.

"Oh. No, Brother. Momma's sick. Isn't that right Momma?" Kiddo #1 shoves the microphone in my direction and smiles like a good news reporter. It is 6am. Jumpin' Lordy.

I look at her, look at Kiddo #2 and sweep my arm out in typical Police fashion.
"There's nothing to see here. Back off. Please. Get out, please. Please go away. ... Husband!"

I think, by the way, that Husband, for as wonderful as he is,will get a Hearing Aid for Christmas. (I guess it's back to milk and cookies for Santy-pants cuz those things are expensive and Lord knows I'm not shelling out for that stuff-- I need an iPad.) I mean, how did he NOT hear the excellent sounds of my stomach contents reappearing? How did he miss me begging the children to leave the bathroom? How? Hearing Aid, I tell you.

Husband appears, wrinkles his nose and shoos (gosh, that word looks funny.) the children away. I can hear the chatter but it sounds like it's coming from underwater compared to the echoes of the bathroom. 

I weakly get up off the floor and crawl to my phone. I type "Can the children come over today?" and hit send. 

I wait. 

I puke again.

I come back to my phone (I'm scared to bring it with me in the bathroom-- it doesn't have a good track record with toilets, and frankly, my contract isn't up until December) and check. Nothing.

Husband busies himself with the children. 

I head back to the bathroom looking for my lungs. Oh there they are. In the toilet beside my stomach and oesophagus. Fabulous.

I return to my phone. Nothing.

I wobble to the kitchen to get a drink of water. I flee to the bathroom and despite the deafening sounds coming from the bathroom, I'm able to barely hear the squeak of a text message. Oh thank you, Santa.

"Yes, no problem."

I text Husband that he'll be taking the children to our (amazing) child care provider's for the day and crawl back into bed. Wait. No, I brushed my teeth and then crawled back into bed. Frick. The first way is super gross.

I lay my head on the pillow offering all sorts of things I no longer have (like my virginity, my sanity, my brain, for example) to the Universe if only this (clearly) life-ending illness could go away. Responding with "No thanks, we don't care for empty promises", the Universe instead reminded me that the Cleaning Fairy is due to arrive in 45 minutes. 

Awesome.  Know what's worse than having to cancel your Cleaning Fairy? Having to cancel your Cleaning Fairy when you've ALREADY done the frickin' pre-clean! It's like taunting you. Or poking a bear. Screw you, bear.

I call the Cleaning Fairy and tell her not to come (between sobs that I don't mind the children seeing because this is a legitimately sad time. You have to be on death's door to cancel the Cleaning Fairy.). She says that it doesn't sound like food poisoning, BUT that there's some food poisoning-looking flu that's going around and she hopes I don't have that. I agree and hang up the phone in grave calamity.  I am clearly going to be bedridden today and neither will the house be clean when I arise, nor will I get any of the Me Work done (sewing for Fall Line or course work for the online class I'm taking). Gah!

I sleep sweat most of the morning while everything aches. Around 3pm I open my eyes, dry off my upper body with my Death Towel (I'm keeping it in case we need to sell DNA to a wizard or Rumpelstiltskin to get a cure) and realize I need to text my two very best girlfriends (with whom I was out to dinner the night before the onset of the Plague Part Two) and make sure they're ok. We shared a bunch of appetizers and laughs-- who KNOWS what caused this and whether they have it, too!

Text to: Very Best Girlfriend (VBG) and Second Very Best Girlfriend (SVBG or Lucy)

Me: Possibly dying. Food poisoning? You two ok?

VBG: Uh yep. I'm fine. Lucy?

SVBG: Oh no! What are your symptoms?

(see how Second Very Best Girlfriend (Lucy) is much more sympathetic than VBG? She might get upgraded for that. VBG: take note)

Me: Death.

SVBG: Like is your heart racing or slowing down? Puking? Shitting? Hemorrhaging?

Me: Grim Reaper hanging out watching Max and Ruby on TV.

SVBG: Mine's been racing since I got this text. Feel light headed and nauseated.

VBG: Calm down you two.

Me: If you've already puked your entire organs out, I'll let Grimmy know where to go next.

SVBG: Ooooh nooo.  I think I have hives.

VBG: Seriously, Liz. You're gonna make Lucy go nuts. Lucy: You're fine.

Me: Probably we're all dying. VBG: Pfffffft.

VBG: SERIOUSLY. Stop.

Me: Just told Grimmy to head your direction, Lucy, once he's done with me. Said he would after Max and Ruby. Max just said "Reaper!" 

VBG: Haha. ... Uh, hate to tell you but you might have brought it on yourself.

Me: Eh?

VBG: Last night what did you eat?

Me: The Laughing Buddha Salad. Or Smiling Salad Buddha. Or ??

VBG: ... Buddha died of food poisoning.

I can hear the Jack-in-the-box music playing slowly as the lights fade to black.