adulting is hard

At 8:30 this morning, I poured the contents of my basket onto the CVS conveyor belt. Two bottles of Drano. A four-pack of Diet Red Bull. Advil. Travel deodorant. Static Guard. Dry shampoo. Sunblock. Baby powder. Two Star Wars light saber tooth brushes. Terrible "strawberry pizazz GMO FD&C Red No. 4" kids toothpaste. And a pack of Starburst.

There was an old dude in line behind me and he started laughing and said, "Looks like you've got all your bases covered." Indeed. I am ready for the Apocalypse. And by Apocalypse I mean, A Weekday Morning. Then he told me my toes looked very pretty but that I needed a manicure. Hey buddy, are you offerin'?

The reason I was buying Drano at 8:30 in the morning is because I cannot stand another day of showering in 3 inches of dirty water, and there is no other time for me to obtain said product. Oh and the static guard is because my legs are so prickly that they create their own static force field when I wear skirts. Shave? C'mon son. Be real. Just buy Static Guard, obviously. All of the rest of that shit should be self-explanatory.

I just... I don't understand when LIFE is supposed to get done. I feel like life itself is a full-time job. But the problem is, I already have a full time job. So now I have two full-time jobs. But LIFE seems to operate on the same general schedule as the rest of the world, aka, during normal business hours. Therein lies the problem. Someone open a chain of doctor/dentist/veterinarian/dry cleaner/car repair/coffee/grocery store/salons that operate from 5 PM to 9 AM and you will make ONE MILLION dollars. I swear.

The other day my car died while I was driving 80 mph on the freeway. It was scary as hell. This probably could have been avoided if I'd taken it in 2 days earlier when it started acting funny, but is that supposed to happen before or after the Drano run?

I live about 30 miles from work, and the commute takes between 35 and 75 minutes, depending on traffic. There is a train station about a mile from my home, and the train station downtown is literally across the street from my office. So people (understandably) ask me ALL THE DAMN TIME if I take the train, and when I say "No, not often," they ask, dumbfounded, "Why not???"

Here's why: There's an 8am train, and a 10am train. (P.S. - TRAIN SCHEDULER PERSONS, W-T-F? Would a 9am train be so much to ask?) Now, in order to get on the 8am train, I would have to get my kids to school by 7:40 am at the latest (and I mean like, signed, sealed, delivered: 5 hugs, 3 kisses, 2 doleful stares through the glass, rinse, repeat, the forgotten lunch/bedding/Elsa costume/karate gi/ballet slippers/spirit week paraphernalia, etcetera). Props to those of you who do this on the regular but this is damn near impossible for us. My kids would sleep until 7:30/8am if I let them. I don't know about you, but I would rather eat knives than wake them. I still have to do it almost daily (especially Jack), but I do my best to maximize the minutes of sleep for all parties involved. It works out better for everyone in the long run. When Jack starts kindergarten he has to be there by 7:58 and I'm already dreading the logistics. So, yeah, 8am train? Not so much.

10am train? Strangely, my employer frowns upon people showing up to work at 10:45 in the morning. Brunch, anyone?

But, okay, just for shits and giggles, lets assume I can get my ass on the 8am train. This gets me to work by 8:45. I'm golden. Except then I have to pick up two kids at two different schools by 6pm. I have to take the 4:27 train to get there on time. This means I have to walk out of my Big Law office by 4:17pm. Unless I somehow develop the super power of invisibility, that's just not gonna fly.

This is a common theme. The kids' daycare used to be open from 8:30 to 5. That made it literally impossible to work an 8 hour day. The daycare providers always said, with a nice steaming hot serving of Mom Guilt, "Well, that's a very long day for a young child to be away from his mother. We certainly wouldn't want to draw it out any longer." Certainly not. (And I don't mean to be glib. It does super suck for my poor littles to be at daycare/school 10 hours a day. But I can feel like an asshole about this on my very own, I don't need your help, thankyouverymuch.) Please, wise sage, share with me the employer that's cool with me working a 6.5 hour day?

So. Enemy number 1: Capitalism. The Labor Party. America's unflagging work ethic. You name it.

But you know what else is ruining my life? The schools. Now, again, please don't take this the wrong way. You spend more time with my children than I do. I respect and admire the work that you do. You're saints in apple-appliqued sweaters. But dude. C'mon. Help a sister out.

This may come as a shock to you, but I am not shelling out X amount of dollars every month in ransom tuition to send my kids to preschool so that I can stay home and bake healthy snacks and make crafts in between back to back pilates classes, and come up with weekly ways to celebrate my precious little snowflakes and the teachers that help shape their wittow bwains. I LOVE my crazy critters and I APPRECIATE you teachers, I really, truly do. But it's ALWAYS something. And it can't even be the same damn thing for both kids. Tuesday is Crazy Hair Day for Colby and Pajama Day for Jack and then on Friday I'm in charge of bringing gluten-free donuts and steamed nut-milk lattes for the entire staff. Next week its fresh-picked flowers from the garden. (Does a sprig of regurgitated rosemary count?) The week after it's coffee for Emma and Katie, decaf tea for Lindsey, and cold-pressed juice for Katrina, who's morally opposed to Starbucks.

If only Ryan Gosling were Room Mom.

Of course, if you can't participate in a meaningful manner, you can always cop out by throwing money at it, which is often the route I take. So here, I have created a little equation that represents the real cost of preschool:

Annual Tuition + [($X asinine mandatory "donation" every goddamn week I swear to god) x (1.5 mom guilt multiplier) x (52 weeks)] + (Additional 10% if you failed to volunteer at the Book Faire) + $50 if your blueberry muffins were store-bought = Actual Cost

[Who ever said girls aren't good at math?! That's some Beautiful Mind shit right there!]

You know what makes it all better though?

Amazon Prime.

gosh darnit all over the place

i have definitely cried at work before. like, when someone dies, or sends me a video of pound puppies. but yesterday was the first day i've ever almost cried at work because of work.

i know this is a recurring theme, but... being a mom is hard. being a working mom is hard. life is hard. and beautiful and rewarding and amazing and way easier than a lot of other people's lives, blah blah blah... please let me reintroduce the scale of suck:

but still. it's hard. hard for me, anyway. and also, why is everyone else better at it? i seriously don't understand. i just can't get a grip. i haven't been to the dentist in almost a year and a half. they just sent a postcard that said YOUR LAST CLEANING WAS MARCH 2013 in some attempt to shame me into the dentist's chair. i also haven't had my lady bits inspected by a medical professional since Colby was 6 weeks old. should probably get on that. you know what? i am going to open a dentist/doc-in-the-box/dry cleaner/juice bar/movie theater/internet café that is open from 9pm to 9am. befriend me now before i become a bazillionaire.

so anyway. yesterday was not the best day. i recently found out that the girl who's above me on the food chain at work is leaving. (i say girl because she is practically a child. not sure she can even legally drink. she may have graduated college at 16.) i was hopeful that this could (finally) be an opportunity for advancement. we're in "the shit" on this case and she is leaving us in the lurch and i've been working this thing for years so this could be my chance to demonstrate how indispensable i am. my favorite friend at work gave me a pep talk: you can DO it! so i'm pumped! i'm ready! let's do this thing!

the morning after my Rocky Balboa/Elle Woods moment, i came into the office to discover that the opening had already been filled by another associate - a lateral move. my current position is something less than an associate. somewhere between associate and, say, monkey with a j.d. i decide, after conferring with DM and my girlfriend, that i should still talk to the lead partner so he is aware of my interest and enthusiasm. a while back, when they were hiring for associate positions, i similarly expressed my interest, and he basically said, i like you, but, come talk to me when you don't have to leave at 4pm to pick up your kids every day.

so. i go give him my spiel. so-and-so is leaving, i know this case like the back of my hand, i've been working my butt off, i'm ready for more responsibility, colby is starting preschool in a couple of weeks so i'll have more flexibility with my schedule... basically i'm saying, "c'mon coach! put me in! i'm ready!" he was very relieved to find out i did not come into his office to quit, but other than that, his response could best be described as equivocal. oh well. i was glad i'd said my piece, anyway.


ummm, yeeeeahhhh, about that promotion.
(my boss is really nothing like bill lumbergh, thank the lord.) 

then. my day begins to spontaneously combust. i won't bore you with the details, but, bottom line, a bunch of stuff has to be done by 4:45 in the afternoon. i went into the office over the weekend, and stayed up until 1am the night before, to ensure that things ran smoothly and there weren't any last minute fire drills. insert life's evil laugh here. shit, meet fan. fan, shit. an endless parade of fuckuppery began at 7:42 a.m. and just didn't stop. at about noon it became clear that there was no way i was going to be able to pick the kids up on time. i texted DM. i knew he was busy with work, too, but on the off chance he could cover me, i had to try. no response. i called. no response. i sent approximately 13 increasingly frantic texts to no avail. my sister just started nursing school so she can't bail us out anymore. none of our babysitters had car seats or a house key on the ready. Efffff. "hey boss! i am READY FOR RESPONSIBILITY! errr... tomorrow!"

god/allah/buddha is having great fun with my best laid plans. i'm trying to do two extra days' worth of work in four hours. while perhaps not the most intellectually challenging of projects, it is of the "fuck this up and you are fired, or at the very least, relocated to dinkytown, minnesota" variety, so i was kind of stressing out. my rational thought process: "i am extremely agitated and haven't eaten anything all day! this situation calls for red bull! make it a double!"

meanwhile, i can't really feel my hands and feet. see, doctors think i have this condition my friend refers to as "terrible tooth disease" (known as charcot marie tooth in medical parlance). of course, they can't be sure, because that would require follow-up tests and appointments and who has time for that?! anyway, this condition causes numbness in your extremities, and sometimes it really cramps my style. "hey boss! i am HERE TO WORK! bring it on! as long as "it" does not involve the use of my arms. or walking."

because of the numbness in my legs and feet, i'm basically a danger to myself in flip flops and sandals, but they comprise 94% of my shoe collection, so i wear them anyway. in my haste to be three places at once, i was jogging up the stairs, and totally ate shit. thank the lord i fell up and not down the stairs, and that no one was there to see me.

i wish i could say that was true when i tripped over a box in the supply room seven minutes later, and knocked over... ohhhh, i don't know, EVERYTHING?!? okay, i'm exaggerating. maybe only 73 binders, 184 highlighters, and 2,516 paper clips. the hot, muscle-bound guy from across the hall came running from the racket. he was shocked i wasn't killed or maimed by flying staplers. i sort of wished i was.

the series of events just felt like someone was mocking me: you're barely keeping your head above water as it is and you think you can add more to your load? pfffttt! good luck with that!!! and i thought to myself, seriously. who am i kidding?! i felt frustrated and overwhelmed and more than a little sorry for myself. as colby has taken to saying, "gosh darnit all over the place!"

i finished the work in time, but i was so late to pick up the kids, which just kills me. my mom was amazing in countless ways, but punctuality was not her strong suit. she was also a working mother, with all the juggling that entails. she was often late to pick us up, and i distinctly remember the shame of being the very last person at school or daycare or camp or soccer practice, waiting with a teacher/coach/etc who is, for your sake, valiantly trying to act like they aren't put out. i SWORE to myself i would never, ever, ever do that to my own kids. i lied.

as i'm running out of my building, i notice i have a missed call from the preschool. this is never good news and it scares the bejesus out of me every single time. i check the voicemail and they had called to say they were on LOCKDOWN. what in the fuck?! i called back to get more information. everyone was okay, thank god, but they spent an hour locked in the bathroom with two teachers and eighteen children, because apparently that is what we do now while nut jobs are allowed to run around terrorizing people with guns.

on my painfully slow drive home in rush hour traffic, i tried to chill the F out and summon david foster wallace's "this is water," but really i just tweaked out on red bull and spent most of the drive feeling bad that i can't win at any of the things. my cousin sent me this quote recently and it really hit home:

believe you, me. i had plenty of time for self-flagellation because i was stuck behind jesse fucking pinkman on the I-5 and he was hiiiiiiiigh. in his altered state he believed the speed limit was 22 MPH (or he mistakenly believed he was driving 75). i'm usually not one for road rage but i wanted to go monster truck on his ass with my mom car. the other day DM had friends from boston in town and they were complaining about annoying california drivers who space out and drive slow in the fast lane. usually, i think people are just doing it to be ornery, but jesse here hadn't a friggin' clue. then this morning i was stuck behind another slow-ass space cadet for nearly my entire commute. she literally put on mascara for 27 minutes. i imagined her having seven rows of eyelashes, like shark teeth. there was no way i was going to try to get in front of her, though, because there was a 97% chance she would rear-end me and stab herself in the eye with a mascara wand. i didn't want that on my conscience on top of everything else.

ANYWAY. i finally got to the kids. and they are just so freaking cute sometimes. my mood was instantly elevated. i felt sad, too, though, because colby had these little pigtails and she just looked like such a little girl and i thought to myself, these babies are growing up right before my eyes, why on EARTH would i want to miss a single second more of it? what amount could you possibly pay me to make it worth it? (granted, some days i would pay YOU to get out of the house. but you get my point.)

"work/life balance," the mythical beast. please let me know if you ever find it.

honest abe

warning: adult content. or maybe just WAY-TMI.

i remember when i was younger, i used to chide my mom about not regularly shaving her bikini line. growing up in sacramento where it is hot as bawlz every summer, we spent a lot of time in our swimsuits (also a lot of time in no swimsuits). i always cringed when moms strutted her "unmanicured lawn" loud and proud. especially in my teen years, i balked with embarrassment, and said something along the lines of, "like, omigod, mom, there are these things called razors?!" she assured me that, believe it or not, someday, keeping a perfectly trimmed bikini line would not be at the top of my priority list. my reply? "whatever." [insert teen eye roll here.]

of course, i also made a $50 bet with my mom that i would never, ever, under any circumstances (well, except maybe when i was pregnant) weigh more than 135 pounds. mom. wherever you are. i owe you $50, plus a shit-ton of interest. am i paying by the pound?

i'm still not brave enough to venture into public with wild bikini vegetation, but when i know the only people who are going to see it are legally obligated to love me, my standards deteriorate significantly. my girlfriend's story takes the cake though. she was already admittedly low maintenance, and has, apparently, let things slide a bit since having her first child. she recently told me about the time she and her husband were getting, ahem, "intimate" and he started to make his way down to her nether regions to do "the bizness." he pulled up short, stopping with his chin obscured by her topiary pink taco, and said "Four score and seven years ago..."

omg you guys. when she told me this story i definitely laughed and thought it was pretty funny but that was like, two months ago and i have to say at least once a week (mainly whenever i get around to trimming my own "lawn.") it pops unbidden into my head and i start snorting hysterically in the shower. so, sorry friend, that i think about your pubes on a regular basis :)

this is all reminding me of the time i went to a new waxing lady and she gave my hoohah a hitler mustache. it was not attractive.

apparently, prolific pubic hair is du jour. have you heard of the "reverse brazilian?"

i actually have a larger point here. we are busy. so busy. all of us. unless you live on an ashram in rural connecticut, in which case you are probably not reading this blog post about pubes, lucky you. but the rest of us, we are in the midst of a "time famine." not only do i not have time to keep my nether regions smooth as a baby's bottom, most days i don't have time or energy to shave both legs or make my hair not look like a homeless person's or remember to brush my teeth or actually fold the piles of laundry strewn about the house or ensure that my fridge is well-stocked with nutritional and delicious foodstuffs.

of course, the issue of time, and "free" time, is complex. the other evening i pointed out to DM that it was interesting that he had time to read my blog, but didn't have time for other quotidia. he replied that he couldn't do those other things while he was on the toilet. ew. but fair enough ;) i'm guilty of the same multi-tasking and prioritization. i spend at least 30 minutes every night reading for fun. usually more. i could be using that time to do chores, or organize my life, or exercise, but honestly, i just plain don't want to. reading in bed, while contrary to the stern advice of my sleep doctor, is one of my favorite things. it's my happy place. and i'm not willing to give it up.

another area i have really let things slide is actual human correspondence. my sister sends me threatening texts because i'll write her something but then not answer my phone when she calls 2.5 seconds later. but i can send a quick text while juggling children and dull knives and "spill proof" sippy cups. i can't say the same about an actual conversation. i can barely pay attention to what you are saying when you are two feet in front of my face. over the phone while i'm doing 19 other things? forget it. people say "oh but you have time to read and write your blog and upload 13,000 photos of your children, etc." okay, you're right. listen, if you want to talk to me at 6:01 am or 10:59 pm, or on my lunch break while i'm sitting on a curb waiting for my fancy overpriced hipster food truck burrito (these are the times i do those other things), then hey, i'm here for you. i'm all ears for the next seven minutes and twenty-eight seconds.

all of that is a really long way of saying, something's gotta give. as i recently wrote, i used to sort of kick ass at life, but that is but a distant memory. i don't know exactly when or how it happened, but i have lost control of the situation. i was talking to DM about it the other day, about what i could get rid of to pare down, simplify, get ahold of the reins again. my kids didn't come with a return policy, so that's a no-go. and honestly, as much as i bitch about the trials and tribulations of motherhood, i don't want to spend any less time with them. i'm already away from them 50 hours a week. they sleep 70 hours a week. that gives me 48 waking hours with my children. even if i want to throttle them for 3 6 12 of those 48 hours, i'm not willing to give any more of them up.

OMG, that reminds me - we are never going on date night ever again (at least, until next week ;)) the other day, jack was looking at this lacquered tray i made one craft night with a girlfriend (an evening that resulted in said tray being lacquered to her garage floor. whoops. martha stewart i am not.) it has old hula girl postcards on it. he said, pointing to one of the hula girls: "Dis is you, Mama." and then a surfer dude: "And dat one's Daddy." me: "Oh, where are you?" jack: "I'm nowhere. I got left behind wif da babysitter." SOB. saddest. thing. EH-VERRRRR. i think my heart is still bleeding :(((

also when they play "ironing man babies," which is like a combination of house, star wars, super heroes, and "the road" by cormac mccarthy. colby calls the babies "2" and "3 1/2" and/or "little" and "big." jack has dubbed them "Braysick" and "Claysick," and their middle names are "Fat" and "Jet." ha! but i want to cry when they lie their babies down to sleep on their boogie board beds and jack says, "I'm sowwy Bwaysick-Cwaysick Fat-Zshet, I know you arwe sad and I wiwll miss you so much, but we has to go to woik! Buh Bye!" then colby echoes "Mish you sho much Big-Littow! Gotta go Littow-Big! Byeeeee!" my kids' primary interaction with their own "babies" are fire fights, loss of life and limb, and abandonment. i tell you what, i am feeling super about my influence as a parent right about now!

of course, i could completely check out, go off the grid with respect to social media. i've dialed it down on my personal facebook page and it's amazing how ... liberating it is. but, you lose something, too. for better or worse, this is how people communicate these days. i suggested just giving up blogging, because it's more work than it probably seems. but DM pointed out that blogging actually appears to be a useful way for me to get the crazy Gordian knot of thoughts out of my insane little brain. and he's right. here's the deal, though. i've been doing this almost a year (!) and i really enjoy it. but i've realized a few things. the market is completely saturated. it takes more than luck to make it work. "legit" bloggers? the ones with big faithful followings and book deals? they don't mess around. they are out there making connections, shaking hands, attending conferences, seeing and being seen. they post on a regular schedule, do product reviews, find sponsors, reach out, get it done.

this blogging thing is, or can be, serious business. but i don't have the drive, the energy, or the hours in the day. still, i find myself stressing when i haven't posted in a week, or two, because the "blogging experts" warn that if you don't post regularly, you lose followers and interest. but i can't succumb to that. for me, blogging is just free therapy. and that's all i can afford for it to be. i want to write when i have time and have something to say, and not write when i don't. i love and appreciate each and every one of you who has come along for the ride - those of you who faithfully read and "like" and "share" each and every post, and those who visit only when they have absolutely nothing better to do. family and old friends who are obligated to at least pretend they read my ramblings, and new "friends" that i've never met "in real life" but i'm half in love with anyway. i hope you'll continue to accompany me on this adventure in whatever form it takes. but for year two, i'm clarifying my purpose: blogging to blog. hopes of a million dollar book deal, fame, world domination? out. making fun of myself, whining, catharsis, distillation of my frenetic thoughts? in. i want to keep loving it. i don't want to turn it into one more "should."

so, there you have it.

and, in honor of my impending one-year blogiversary, feel free to enter the giveaway, below! first prize of a $50 gift card to my Mecca - Le Tarszhay. second and third prizes - $25 amazon gift cards. the contest ends and winners will be announced on May 31, 2014, my official one year blogiversary!

thank you, friends!

a Rafflecopter giveaway

for want of a barf bag

sunday night, DM and i were discussing the fact that our littles were active snot-faucets again and how i wasn't ready for another cold and flu season because last year it lasted for five months. seriously. from november 2012 through march 2013, a minimum of two of us and an average of four of us were sick with some sort of nasty crud, including the week where i was possibly dying from the flu even though i got a flu shot (i'm not one of those crazy anti-vaccine people. just stating the facts. i actually got a flu shot again this year. an hour later i could barely move my left arm and i said as much to DM with a follow up message, "but don't worry, it's not my drinkin' hand." :))

anyway. during said conversation about sickness and snot (was that part of our wedding vows?) DM reminded me of this one time during that extended snot saga when Jack randomly projectile vomited twice. but we think that was just rapid over-consumption of mango juice because he was perfectly fine afterwards. then DM says, "we've actually been really lucky in the barf arena.... knock on wood."

now. let me take this opportunity to inform you that DM is the KING of jinx. like, if there is a Jedi-mind-trick-master, he is the opposite. he is the master of making sh*t that you do not want to happen, happen, by saying "oh that'll never happen" out loud. so, after he said the thing about our generally barf-free lives, i knew with complete certainty that at least one of my children would be puking within 24 hours.

i sealed our fate by making a joke to a girlfriend (who is due any moment with her first child, and who had likened pre-labor ministrations to primping for senior prom) about how birthing a child is sort of like senior prom in that you become completely disoriented and wake up in bed with a stranger, covered in bodily fluids (yours and others'). (so i've heard. i assure you nothing so exciting happened at my prom, being the staunch anti-drug-and-alcohol a$$hole ambassador that i was.)

cue monday morning. got "the call" from daycare. do you know what i'm talking about? i am talking about the "your child got sick at daycare and is now too sick to be at daycare oh and ps she can't come back tomorrow either so good luck with that" call. do you know there is a special ring tone for this call? it rings to the dulcet tones of my career taking a flying leap out of an 18th story window to it's death on the concrete sidewalk below. but oh well. what're you gonna do?! so i went to go pick up my snotty little snuggle muffin. she had a slight fever and a lot of yellow goo but was generally in good spirits. i planned to take her home and leave J at preschool until later in the afternoon, but apparently she was scarred by their short separation this weekend because when i told her we weren't going to go get brother until later, she looked at me like i had just personally massacred her favorite pet. she was utterly heartbroken, and started wailing "brudderrrrrrrrrr, brudderrrrrrrrrr, brudderrrrrrrrrrrr, brudderrrrrrrrrrr, go geen 'um [go get him]" all the way home. so i called an audible, swung by the preschool, and snatched up big bro. they were mostly fine and DM came home a tad early and we got them to bed by 7:30 which never happens, ever.

all was well until the little miss woke up in the middle of the night. DM went in to get her, but then he called to me over the monitor that she had a fever and chills. i went in and her whole body was violently shuddering. aside from the body quakes, though, she was a pretty happy camper. she was chattin' away but we couldn't understand her because she was shaking so hard. i'm not really a wimp about sick kids... we've had scrapes and cuts and bloody noses and enormous eggs on the dome etc. without too much fuss, but when she was about 3.5 months old, my one-kidneyed daughter had a kidney infection and it got gnarly and all the doctors kept referring to it as a "life threatening event" and it scared the bejesus outta me so now anytime she has a fever or other unexplained symptoms i freak the frack out.

so. DM called the always helpful nurse triage hotline while i tried to keep the girl warm. (they always ask a litany of completely irrelevant questions. they even start their spiel by basically warning you that they are about to ask you a bunch of random a$$ sh*t. "can she walk in a straight line while reciting the ABCs backwards? does she prefer chocolate or vanilla ice cream? who is her favorite sesame street character?") i will mention, in a stroke of seemingly unrelated foreshadowing, that lately Colby Jean has been obsessed with putting things down shirts. mostly my shirt. also her shirt. she loves to collect dead leaves and flowers from the patio, or hot wheels, or legos, or crayons, or used tissues, and stuff them down my shirt so that they're nested in my cleavage. she gets really upset if/when i try to "take out the garbage," so to speak. she also becomes perplexed/distressed when she puts things down her own shirt and they just fall right through, rather than getting lodged in the boobular region. anyway. maybe, if you were an english major or something, you can guess where this is headed...

Colby had been quietly snuggling and shuddering when suddenly she reared back with this confused look on her face. then i hear the pre-barf-warning-sounds. every parent and pet-owner knows what i'm talking about. still. neither she nor i had time to react. she had never thrown up (like, legitimately vomited) before, and it caught us both by surprise. the first one went all down her front, but then, before the second round began, her eyes locked onto her favorite receptacle as of late - a.k.a., my boobs. she grabbed the collar of my shirt (luckily, or, unluckily, a v-neck) and bent over like a verdrunken sorority girl prayin' to the porcelain gods. so deft were her movements then that i have to assume she was tapping some sort of innate knowledge. at that point i was paralyzed... i didn't want to move for fear of leaking or jostling the contents of my cleavage... so i called, as loudly as i could without waking the other child, for a bowl, and backup, both of which were delivered in short order. of course, by then, it was too late. my C-cups runneth over. with barf.

with some assistance, i was able to get myself, and the girl, cleaned up, and Super Dad took the next shift, which, unfortunately for him, ended up lasting until 3:30am. unfortunately for me, as soon as i was de-barfed and climbing back in between my clean warm sheets, J woke up for who knows what reason (an evil ax-weilding ghost? a gnat?) and i was too tired to battle so i just climbed in bed next to him and spent the next 3 hours attempting to sleep with heels and toes jammed up in my ribs and nose.

so yeah. that was my monday. how's your week going?!

i don't know why, but the "pre-barf-warning sounds" remind me of this:
Buttercup: We'll never succeed. We may as well die here.
Westley: No, no. We have already succeeded. I mean, what are the three terrors of the Fire Swamp? One, the flame spurt - no problem. There's a popping sound preceding each; we can avoid that. Two, the lightning sand, which you were clever enough to discover what that looks like, so in the future we can avoid that too.
Buttercup: Westley, what about the R.O.U.S.'s?
Westley: Rodents Of Unusual Size? I don't think they exist.