June 01, 2004

Trying to Forget Memorial Day

I know that the burning question on all of your minds after this long weekend is, "So, BAW, how was your Memorial Day weekend?"

Not so good. As you know, when last we saw BAW, she was struggling valiantly with an intermittently vomiting Boy, attempting to get numerous work projects done, and completing preparations for The Great Room Painting Project. Let's hop in the Wayback Machine and turn the dial to Friday, May 28th at 10:30 a.m., as BAW and a tired Boy enter their humble abode to discover:

An empty container on the floor of the den. An empty bacon container, that surprisingly enough, had previously housed ONE POUND OF UNCOOKED BACON. Where could this uncooked bacon be? Ever alert to danger, BAW noticed the conspicuous absence of The Dog From Hell, and the neat hole torn in the bacon package, through which said Dog had extracted the uncooked bacony goodness. A brief room-to-room search turned up the Dog From Hell, who was summarily tossed outdoors. The Boy was ensconced on the sofa with crackers and Gatorade and set to watching Thomas videos, as BAW searched the house for traces of bacon. There were none. "This will not be good," murmured BAW as she returned to the den.

Saturday dawned bright and cheery, mainly because BAW was meeting a friend at the mall for some shopping. Hublet expressed some dismay of the "What if The Boy vomits again?" variety, but BAW breezily reassured Hublet and leapt into the purple pickup truck, making haste mallward. If Hublet noticed the skidmarks BAW left on the driveway, he didn't comment. After a fabulous shopping trip and lunch at carb-conscious Ruby Tuesdays (and only one phonecall from Hublet), BAW returned home to find an improved Boy and a dog who was beginning to look a bit peaked. Alas, The Boy was unable to attend the birthday party across the street, but he did enjoy his dinner of mashed potatoes and apple sauce.

By Sunday, The Dog From Hell was looking peaked indeed. BAW was in the depths of painting The Boy's room in a shade of yellow that the manufacturers had misleadingly titled "First Light." What they failed to mention was that the First Light in question was that which would greet you if you lived on the surface of the sun. The Boy, however, was pleased. BAW was exhausted, The Dog was groaning, and Hublet was making unsuccessful attempts at yard work and preparing to teach an SAT prep course. The house resembled a military staging area if the troops in question were comprised of Thomas trains and Little People, but BAW resolutely stepped over the carnage in her quest to get at least two walls done. Sunday night found The Boy camped out on the floor of BAW and Hublet's room, a groaning dog under the bed, and a cat who refused to be dislodged at the foot of the bed.

On Monday, there was more vomit. From The Dog, this time. So there was a trip to the vet, a trip to Target and PetSmart and McDonalds while waiting to hear from the vet that The Dog From Hell had contracted acute pancreatitis from eating a pound of uncooked bacon, a trip home sans The Dog, some diarrhea (The Boy this time), the completion of painting, shelf and picture hanging, and room setting up, a quick dinner of whatever was handy, and a viewing of the Monster's Inc. DVD.

And so Tuesday finds BAW ready to return to work, mainly because meeting insane deadlines is so much more relaxing than being at home.

Posted by Big Arm Woman at June 1, 2004 09:00 AM

Aren't kids fun!! You're lucky that you, the boy, and hublet weren't all sick at the same time. My faimly seems to share some of the darnest things, like germs. Hope everything settles down, and you get a little rest. And forgive the dog from hell. He's just a dog, and they're the only ones who will give us unconditional love.

Posted by: Junebugg at June 1, 2004 01:14 PM

Speaking of upchucking... Why do they put all these horrible colored dyes (pink, purple) in medicines that kids are just going to upchuck all over the rug. They're never the color of the rug, oh, no. That might actually not show for the rest of eternity.

I can't even look at a pink crayon the color of the Pepto Bismol bottle without wanting to toss my cookies.

Same comment goes for those packages of dry cat food - why do they have to be dyed all those bright colors that leave spots in the rug? Cats don't care what color their food is. But having spent Sunday a.m. bathing the three felines (glass-in shower stalls ONLY, please, and a handheld shower sprayer to fend off teeth from the one that bites like a dog), and then Sunday p.m. cleaning up hairballs all over the house, I can definitely sympathize. Hub doesn't know he missed getting a hairball in his slipper last night by about a half an inch...

Posted by: Claire at June 1, 2004 02:59 PM

Yep -- much fun to be had with pet vomit. I noticed some on the cat tree the other day (still to be removed as I try to figure out how one removes it, dried, from carpet, and this morning on my way out the door, noticed it was part of a projectile attack, and there's a big splodge on the wall. That's my afternoon ...

Posted by: Another Damned Medievalist at June 1, 2004 04:21 PM

LAW. That is one hell of an awful weekend. Unlike so many of your readers, I can picture it all having been in your home, beguiled by your child, teased by your hublet, and terrorized by your dog.

I wrote an ode to McDonald's in my blog...you must read.

I had a weekend that was by turns horrid and heavenly. One guess: yep, my brother and SIL were with us. More later (when we have hours to talk).

Posted by: Belle at June 1, 2004 04:59 PM