Thursday, May 5, 2011


Unfortunately I did not write a new blog entry this week. 

Instead what I did was this:

  • I left for a romantic three-day romantic/luxurious golf getaway with my husband.
  • I remembered about six minutes into said romantic/luxurious golf getaway that when going on a romantic/luxurious golf getaway it is wisest NOT to bring two children under three.
  • I took a trip to the playground in hopes of tiring the children out enough that husband and I might squeeze some enjoyment out of our romantic/luxurious golf getaway.
  • I instead earned myself a free trip to the ER to address the dislocated elbow Snoodie acquired during this playground outing.
  • I consoled husband the next morning when golf portion of romantic/luxurious golf getaway was cancelled due to unseasonal hail.
  • I moved on from husband's concerns re: golf as soon as Snoodie began projectile vomiting, thus coating every surface of luxury hotel room in toddler puke.
  • I spent the rest of the day cleaning up now non-luxury hotel room, while attempting to convince the Snood to remain contained within the bathroom until the puking ceased, despite his ceaseless cries of, "I DON'T WANT IN HERE!" between bouts of nausea.
  • Having finally gotten tucked in that night, my husband and I took to our bed to order room service and get a movie off of Pay-Per-View. 
  • I chose the film 'Morning Glory'. 
  • The resulting two-hours may well have been the worst thing that happened to us all weekend.
  • I finally limped home yesterday with my husband and both children in tow.
  • I settled the children into their own beds with an epic sigh of relief.
  • Approximately six minutes later, I realized that my sigh of relief was premature. Because, I too had been...INFECTED. 
  • I spent the entirety of last night being revisited by each bite of Southwestern food I had ingested in the previous three days. And also, possibly some snacks I had in 1982.
  • This morning, I managed to shakily rise from my towel on the bathroom floor where I'd fervently been praying for the sweet release of death for the past twelve hours.
  • At which point Crinks decided to join the party and started throwing up with a surprising fervor for an 11-month-old.
So it is that I have no heart warming tales of motherhood for you this week, nor any trenchant reflections on the nature of child-rearing. 

Instead I have a very sore body, some lingering chills and a growing suspicion that I might have worked as a part-time puppy executioner in a previous life, when not pursuing my passion for kicking orphans. 

It would seem the only possible explanation for this recent run of luck.

Now if you'll excuse me I need to go tend to my husband. He's looking a little green....