No soup for you

I was looking forward to Friday night all week. My good friend, Jennifer, had an extra ticket for Joel McHale’s stand-up act at a local university. We were going to meet for dinner beforehand. Unfortunately, we live in a cruel, cruel world. A few hours before show time I felt a pang in my stomach. I dropped to my knees, “Dear God, I have an opportunity to have a conversation about something other than Legos and Barbie. Please, don’t let me get sick.” This could not be happening. My hands are like leather from soaking in hand sanitizer. Larry King’s face feels like a baby’s bottom compared to my fingertips. Unfortunately, all the Purell in the world wouldn’t help this time. Satan had other plans for me in the form of the Norovirus.

The funny thing about kids is they don’t give a f*** if you are dying. Their need for a bowl of fish crackers or juice supersedes everything. I was mid-vomit when my son came in the room to tell me about an episode of Invader Zim. “And then, Mom, Mom, Mom….” I began flailing my arms, signaling for him to back up. I nearly clocked him in the head. “I just wanted to tell you something. Geez,” he said and stormed out. I’m sorry my sweet child it’s kind of hard to hear you when hurling your stomach lining into a toilet.

I texted my husband at work pleading with him to come home. Not even George Jetson’s jet pack could have helped him get there fast enough. My daughter didn’t care that I was using the loo. In her mind, the solution was to bring the books into the bathroom to read. However, you can’t read the book the way it was written. Oh, no, no, no. My daughter makes you change the names of the characters. So, Goldie Locks becomes some made up name like Abudawala. When you are on the verge of dehydration, remembering to change Goldie Locks to Abudawala is challenging. I love my children, but I just wanted to die in peace.

Fast forward a day later. Things are looking up. I am still alive, haven’t hugged porcelain in a few hours and found a surprise on my front porch. If I couldn’t see the host of “Talk Soup” in person, Jennifer would bring soup to me. I opened the door to find bags full of soup, crackers, ginger ale, a magazine, etc. I am so blessed to have such a thoughtful friend in my life.

20130202-220826.jpg

Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to No soup for you

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.