Before I continue, I’m just going to preface this post with a warning: If you get nauseous or queasy easily then you should close the browser right now and go think about butterflies and rainbows. If you’re here for full disclosure then please, by all means, enjoy.
This past weekend we had a couple friends over for dinner. Nothing fancy, just hanging out. Around 9 pm I gave my daughter a quick bath and put her into her clean ‘jammies, figuring she would go to sleep shortly and then the adults could have a conversation that did not require bleeping out words and phrases.
After bath time we were all sitting around the kitchen table and I pulled out some snacks. Pretzels and dip; staple snack food for any shindig, unless my kid is involved. I gave my daughter a couple of pretzel sticks to chew on. Mind you, these were not pretzel rods, they were tiny sticks; thinner than a number 2 pencil.
You see, my child cannot eat anything unless it is cut into microscopic pieces. In fact when Brett or I cut up food for her to eat, we pull out a microscope and actually slice under the lens. Really! I’m not even kidding. Its 8th grade science at work. I asked Santa for an atomic laser beam for Christmas so that I could easily slice through food at the particle level.
Inevitably, Cardin choked on the 2nd pretzel stick and started to throw up. Mind you, this is a typical occurrence at our house. I actually walk around now with a bucket hanging from my belt loop so that I’m always at the ready. Think like a boyscout; Be Prepared. We’ve adapted to this new lifestyle and are now pretty much superior athletes at puke catching. (Coming to an arena near you in the summer of 2012) Listen Lady, we will use whatever material or article of clothing that is within quickest reach to try and catch puke. Granted, this is gross, but much preferred over picking up chunky, undigested puke from the floor or carpet.
As such, the closet object was the dip container. Cardin was sitting across the table and when the gag started, Brett lunged forward, hurling the dip container underneath her mouth. It was not unlike watching a curling match on TV. Luckily he was able to catch the majority of the puke, but then the container started to fill to the brim….
DANGER. WILL ROBINSON. DANGER
I grabbed the kitchen towel and we strategically maneuvered the removal of the dip container and the replacement towel. After a minute it seemed as though the storm had quelled, so I picked up Cardin, trying to settle the tears, and was attempting to walk her into the bedroom to change her ‘jammies when round two of the violent upchuck began. Immediately I ran back to the kitchen and levitated Cardin over the linoleum floor, as that is easier to clean than berber carpet.
All the while, we had been screwing around with our IPhones and had Tom the Talking Cat on. For those unfamiliar with the app, the cat records everything he hears and then plays it back at an incredibly high, annoying pitch. Funny….except in a time of dire need.
So, there I am…levitating a screaming child over the floor and trying to avoid the splatter of puke. At the same time the other three adults in the room are all laughing in hysterics watching this surreal scene, while Tom the cat plays back the screaming/laughing antics in an audible sound that only dogs should be able to hear.
All in all….just a typical night at the Mayer house.