A Midwinter's Night Tale

Fire up the coffee grinders, Ma, 'cause we're gonna have us a long day.

It all started last night. Partially because I'm too stupid to go to bed at a decent hour, and partially because I was trying really hard to muster the inspiration to finish another chapter in my current manuscript.

Down the hall, the Little Boy was coughing. And coughing some more. He's just getting over a cold, so we didn't think too much of it. But when he coughed and it sounded like product was behind it, then we panicked. Coupled with the crying, we knew we were in for some trouble.

As I went running into his bedroom, urging him to find a toilet into which he should deposit expectorate, I was punched in the face by an odor that came from the very bowels of...well...my son...but it smelled more like Satan himself had been eating kimchi and guacamole before going out on an all-night bender of vodka, everclear and souls. And then he pooped. Satan, not my son.

Well, I dunno. My son could have pooped. After he was done puking, that is. I wouldn't know because I went into action, wherein I started washing his puke-soiled bedclothes and pajamas. Using a plastic bag and a spatula, my wife mucked up the splatter and then scrubbed up the stain.

Let us pause here to remember one Han Solo, who, though he may have been made of plastic, suffered immensely during the Revolution of My Son's Stomach. He's in a better place now...which would be my kitchen sink, where I tossed him AND the spatula on my way past while running puke-sodden fabric articles to the washing machine.

As this was perhaps the foulest smelling thing that I had experienced since my last kimchi-vodka-souls bender, I decided to run the puke-filled bag out to the garbage can where some unknowing sap kind-hearted custodian would cart it away to the town dump in the wee hours of the morning. Hopefully, for his sake, it would have frozen by then.

However, as I was trotting, in my all fatherly glory, to the trash can at the end of the driveway, the herd of deer that live near my house decided to stampede run through my yard. You might remember my Seven Awesome Ways to Die, in which I am terrified of being attacked by a deer caught in mid-coitus. You can imagine that this noise, coupled with the large, bounding creatures in my vicinity, caused my heart to shiver and leap from my chest, abandoning me so that it could run back to the house. Deer: one; me: zero.

Finally, we settled back down, I went back to avoiding hammering away at my manuscript, and finally called it a night around 12:30. I tucked myself into bed and laid there, drifting off to sleep. I was ripped from my restfulness just as sleep was beginning to settle itself onto me by the sound of my wife's my guts churning. Quieting myself over the very normal sound of her my body, I began to drift off again, when I was ripped once more from the clutches of Lord Morpheus by the sound of the shower expunging a few drops of water that had finally slipped down to the faucet. Again, calming myself, I was beginning to slip into the dream world when I heard the boy berfing once more.

Another cycle of getting him to the bathroom, changing his pajamas, washing his covers. Finally, once everything had been settled down and he wasn't erupting forth into fountains of vomit, I settled my brain for another night's worth of nap. Except, now, I had a hard time sleeping because I kept hearing the dryer (you know, the new one), tossing the clothes and such around, and every so often something with a zipper would smack against the side of the drum. *sigh* I finally managed to find some fitful rest. I had maybe slept fifteen minutes when he was up again.

I'm often glad I have a penis. I love you, little guy. I mean, uh, I love you, long, thick, girthy guy! Yeah, that's more like it. I was very glad when the boy was calling for "Mommy" to come and help him. Of course, my wife had to ruin it by asking me if I would go get him some water to help wash the puke taste from his mouth.

Know your role, woman!

That just bought me two months of forced abstinence.

He puked at least two more times, but aside from the first two, he got to the bathroom and made his deposit in the bowl. And who says you get prepared for college only at school? Not my children! Puke in the toilet, or the sink, or in your almost girlfriend's trash basket! Not on yourself or in your own bed!!! All valuable lessons for maximizing your secondary-educational experience!

So finally, with a sum total of four hours sleep (maybe), I'm here. I'm upright. I'm thinking about being productive. As in, "Hey, wouldn't that be nice? To be productive? Right after this short catnap...Zzzzzzzz..."

However, if someone has a cot or a couch or a warm, pillowy bosom I may rest my head upon for fifteen, twenty minutes (or more, depending on how pillowy that bosom is...), let me know. I'll be right over.

Just, please forgive me if I smell a little bit like puke.