I’ve been pretty quiet around these parts lately (and everywhere else, too). It’s not because I don’t like you. Truly. There are other reasons for this.
First and foremost, I have been avoiding social media because all of this election bullshittery is really getting to me, and I don’t need exposure to stuff that brings me down or makes me disgusted/enraged right now. It’s not helpful and it makes me snarly. I don’t like myself when I’m snarly. I can’t wait until early November when a) the election is over and b) the week following the election is over and everyone’s chilled the Hell off. I’m betting a lot of you feel that way, too.
Second, October is crazy busy for us. We have Miss M.’s birthday, my husband’s birthday, Mozz-man’s birthday and Daddy’s birthday, in that order. That’s a lot of gift buying and special dinner making and celebrating. And yes, we do celebrate Mozzy’s birthday in this family, because we are quirky, dog-crazy people. Thanks so much to everyone who has taken the time so send heartfelt birthday wishes over the month. I’m so lucky.
In addition to birthdays, October is parent-teacher conference season for both girls. That means after school meetings and providing food for teacher conference nights. I always question my sanity when I sign up for those things, and last week, when I found myself elbow deep in Mediterranean Pasta Salad for 16, I questioned it yet again. But we have such amazing teachers in this district, you want to express your appreciation. So pasta for 16 and cookies for 24 it was.
There’s also been some un-fun stuff on the stomach issue side where I’m concerned. That pesky heartburn/dizzy/nausea/vomiting thing that defies diagnosis is back. I’m not happy about this. I’m especially not happy about this because you know what seems to trigger it? Driving in the car. If I am at home and need to hurl, it’s not a problem; the bathroom or a handy bucket is mere steps away. If I’m in the driver’s seat, far away from a toilet bowl, trying to actively and safely maneuver a vehicle? Kinda a problem.
I’ve been carrying a bag in the car with me, just in case, but as I unfortunately learned last week, sometimes your rebellious stomach can’t even wait for you to open a bag before spewing unfortunate goop. I’d just picked Miss D. up from the high school and as we were exiting the (endless) car line at the high school, I could feel that telltale sweaty, creep-up-the-back-of-the-neck heat that let’s you know that you are in big, big trouble. D. could tell something was terribly wrong and as I fumbled for the bag, I choked out, “Oh no, I feel like I’m gon—”
All over my lap, all over the steering wheel, all over the driver’s seat of the car.
It was even more horrible than it sounds.
To my daughter’s credit, she didn’t turn and hurl herself. Nor did she express embarrassment or intense disgust, although I am TOTALLY sure she felt it, because I sure did. As I cried and apologized profusely, she said “Mom, you can’t help stuff like that. It happened too fast.”
As soon as we got home, she skeedaddled outside with the dog while I stripped off my sodden, vile-smelling clothes and started laundry, cleaned all of the nastiness out of the car, Cloroxed every inch of the car interior and showered my gross-a-rama self off.
And that was just last week.
It happened again this week, when I was picking up Miss D. (GAAAAAA, poorpoorpoor D.) from after school tutoring. Just as we were pulling into the driveway, I could feel it coming for me again.
I slammed the car into park and yelled, “Run!”
Which we did.
I barely, just barely, made it into the house before retching all over the place.
“Well hey, Mom,” D. said, clicking on the dog’s collar, “at least you managed to clear the front door. Good job.”
Some bright side.
This stuff is almost as disgusting as the election.
I’ll keep you posted.