My Pukey Mother's Day Weekend

My first Mother's Day came very close to being a miserable one. The Friday before, I came down with the nastiest bug I have ever come across...let's call it the Puke Once and Come Very Close to Death in Two Days Bug. First it ravaged the household of our friends, then it made its way into the House of Sangstellero.

Friday, Ian and I dropped M. off with friends and went out for a bite to eat before going to see 28 Weeks Later. (For those of you who understand our affinity for zombie flicks, you will know that this was a BIG DEAL.) As soon as we sat down to eat, I realized I wasn't feeling very well. I figured it was just because I hadn't eaten much all day, and filling up my belly would make me feel better. (Wrong.) By the time we got to the movie theater, I was feeling really bad, but I toughed it out and played some Ms. Pacman with Ian because even when death is knocking on my door, I cannot pass up the opportunity to prove to my husband that I am the queen of Ms. Pacman and he should bow before me. We eventually took our seats, and I suffered through the previews. At the very moment the last preview was playing, I realized without a doubt that my dinner was not going to stay down. I leaped out of my seat and ran to the restroom, but I knew, just knew, as soon as I opened the door, that I wasn't going to make it. And I didn't. As soon as I opened the door to the stall, I erupted. I know that The Exorcist analogy is a common one, but I am going to fall back on it because nothing else can properly describe how badly I violated that bathroom stall. Over and over. Thank God nobody else was in the restroom. Did I mention that I had enchilada soup for dinner? Bright red enchilada soup. When I was done, it looked like someone had hosed the stall down in blood. So there I stood, absolutely mortified, inspecting the carnage I had just wreaked and wondering what in the hell to do about it:

1. Ignore the mess and run away. Quickly.
2. Go find an employee to report the horrible mess that SOME OTHER very rude person had left in the bathroom.
3. Take responsibility for my own puke, and find someone to help me.

What would Jesus do?

What would you do?

Needless to say, we did not see the movie. I went home and crawled into bed where I stayed for the next 36 hours, miserably sick.



Saturday, in the middle of my twelfth popsicle, we got a call telling us that the house we had applied for on Thursday, the house we really, really liked, was ours to rent immediately. I was SO happy, though in my weakened state, I couldn't imagine how I was possibly going to drag my ass out of bed and start packing.

The nice thing, though, about the Puke Once and Come Very Close to Death in Two Days bug is that it burns itself out fairly quickly. By Sunday morning I felt a lot better, although fragile. Ian said he would make me anything I wanted for my Mother's Day breakfast. I wanted doughnuts, but I thought better of eating loads of sugar and fat for breakfast in my fragile state. Ditto for eggs benedict, biscuits and gravy, and all of my other favorite breakfast fare. Finally I gave up, ate a bowl of cereal, and told Ian to take me out for Mother's Day lunch.

Italian food sounded safe, so we headed to some new crappy Italian chain restaurant in town whose name I cannot even remember.

"I want everything on the menu, Mama!"

"Uh, Daddy? I think you got this upside down."

"That's better"

After lunch, we headed to Lowe's to pick up a giant drum of eggshell paint because the living room of our new house was mauve, and I don't do mauve.

How we spent the majority of Mother's Day.

So my first Mother's Day was spent feeling semi-pukey and doing new-house chores. And I loved it.