Given
the red hair and affinity for good beer, you would think that I would be all
about St. Patrick’s Day; however- not so much.
Don’t get me wrong, it’s not that I dislike it, say, in the way that I
dislike Halloween (that’s a whole other story) but for me it’s just kind of a
take it or leave it type of Holiday.
Which is why when my Saturday night plans to go out and kiss the proverbial
blarney stone with friends fell through, I wasn’t all that upset. It was funny, in a kind of pathetic and sad
kind of way, that instead I found myself scrubbing the bathroom and texting my
sister about how wild and crazy my single life is- somebody stop me! I’m living on the edge! Hahaha. Yeah, remind me to never make fun of
my quiet Saturday night ever again.
So
after introducing GG to the awesomeness that is the Bourne trilogy, I took a
nice bath in said clean tub utilizing some glorious Lush bath products I
received for Christmas. And while no
green beer, there might have been a nice glass of red involved. Feeling relaxed, smelling sweet, and
all “miss independent and how great is it that house is clean and things are
calm” type of nirvana, what I was clearly doing was actually putting a triple-dog-dare-you
type of vibe out to the universe. One
where it laughs its crackly laugh and sneers, “Oh yeah? Watch this.”
It
started at about 12:30.
I had
crawled into clean white sheets, book in hand, quickly drifting off when I
heard it. The distinct sound- and then
the even more distinct scent. The pup-
all 115 lbs. of him- that so dutifully sleeps on the floor at the foot of my
bed every evening- was sick. Like,
really sick. “Where there Hell did this
come from?” I think very loudly in my head as I run to the kitchen for the
necessary supplies. Quickly everything
my mother has ever taught me about cleaning carpets- and that I passed along
during that memorable evening during freshman year of college- comes into
mind. “Blot- don’t rub!” But let’s just say it was… intense… and I
knew that the carpet would never be the same.
Poor Samps- he looked so guilty, knowing that my peaceful Zen like state
had quickly disappeared. I finally got
things back into some sort of order, chemical sting still fresh in the air,
when I take a deep breath, scrub my hands multiple times, and get ready to get
back into bed.
Little
did I realize, the fun had only just begun.
5
minutes later, Belle comes down the stairs.
“Mommy- I don’t feel good… I was sick”.
Um-
What???
I went
to her room. It made the first incident
look like a tea party.
Poor
girl clearly had no chance of making it out of her bed. Which was covered. As was the floor. And part of the night stand. Linda Blair had nothing on this.
I
quickly try to come up with a plan of action.
Step one- get a place for Belle to rest.
I strip off the sheets and don’t even try to save them- into the trash
they go. Move onto opening windows,
click on the fan, and let her rest in my bed with a cool wash cloth until her
room is habitable once again. Clean the
furniture, clean the carpet- blot don’t rub- rinse, repeat. OK, got it.
Just as I am finishing up I hear it…
The
dog. Again. Now in the family room.
ARE YOU
*$%^&* KIDDING ME?!?!?!
I run
downstairs, leap over the offence, get the dog, barricade him in the
kitchen. Go to my room, scoop up Belle, and
place her back up into her room which is somewhat back to normal. I go downstairs, and what can only be
explained as a reenactment of Macbeth: Act 5, Scene 1, Page 2 “Out, damned spot! Out, I say!
” I cry and scrub the carpets again and look up to the powers that be literally saying out loud “Seriously?!?!” Who even knew that your child and your dog
could get the stomach flu at the same
time? And as any parent could tell you, one is more than enough.
It’s
now about 2:00 am and any trace of Zen I once had is long gone. Like, so far gone it moved out of the country
with an expired passport with no possibility of ever coming back gone. But it doesn’t matter, because Belle is awake
once again and making use of the ever popular trash can lined with plastic
shopping bags I left for her. It’s clear
this isn’t over.
I am
now simply operating in what could be called zombie mode, and while not wanting
to devour anyone, I basically am only talking in grunts and “it’sokitwillallbeok”
words. While not the same as holding a
girlfriends hair back, I zone out next to Belle while stroking her hair so that
she would fall asleep. At some point, I
get up, wander back downstairs and collapse into bed.
Both
Belle and the dog were not well for the entire next day. I will save you any more details, but I don’t
think I have ever used every beach towel in my house nor had so much laundry in
my entire life.
All of
this caused me to have to cancel a trip to Boston, which ironically, would have
been today- the actual St. Patrick’s Day.
My plans were to try to head downtown this evening after I landed so I
could experience a little of what today would be like in Boston… not a life
list type of desire, but I thought it would have been cool nonetheless. Having just gone through what I did on the
day I had been planning on celebrating the holiday, perhaps it is all for the
best that I didn’t venture out on the actual holiday. If this was any indication, I could not have
handled any more, especially considering one additional factor…. green
beer.
