View from East Tennessee

The Perfect Circle of Spotlessness

January 27th, 2005 at 12:04 am (Humor, Family)

So Tennessee is once again on the cutting edge of the new and improved flu season. But at least we’ve learned some interesting and fun new terms for vomit. Check out the link. It’s fun! It’s interesting! It’s fun and interesting! I especially like “holler New York.”

Bedtime is much better at the Hollingsworth household nowadays. But it’s been a crazy week and a half. Middle of the night one day last week, Freaktoe comes into our bedroom to announce that she’s going to get sick. Leave it to her to preface every action with a statement of what is to follow. I usher her to the bathroom where she promptly spews.

Hoping it’s just something she’s eaten, I put her back to bed, but she’s up again ten minutes later heaving into the toilet. We finish the night on the floor in the hall, trying to sneak in some rest in between cack sessions.

A friend of Freaktoe’s had the same thing a few days ago. Swept through their house touching everyone with illness like a Biblical plague. It did not pass over us. More like through.

After a few days of staying home from school, laying on the floor sleeping, Freaktoe gets better just in time for Slappy to show her how it’s really done. Now we’re all up at all hours of the day and all hours of the night. And Slappy’s blowing chunks, contaminating everything in the house.

A day later, we think she’s okay, and we all have Chinese.

Mistake.

You know how they always say that every time you eat Chinese you’re hungry an hour later? Not so when you’re picking broccoli out of the blankets. Mmmm.

Where did our lives go, I ask. Gone are the big dreams of changing the world, writing the great American novel. Now we’re de-chunking the crib 24/7.

Meanwhile, Angela and I are keeping a close eye on the weather, so to speak. Frozen by anticipatory fear, like the mass of humanity staring up at the sky in the movie Armageddon, waiting for disaster to strike. So far, the crisis has been averted. But for how long? It certainly seems inevitable. And imminent.

Finally, today, Slappy is the old Slappy. Smiling. Making faces. Happy.

We have tacos for dinner.

Mistake.

A half hour later, Slappy’s not so happy. “I feel sick.” Mmmm hmmm. She’s rushed to the throne room by her mother, where she refries her beans. Freaktoe, who’s taking a shower, starts freaking. “Eeeewwwww! She’s hurling!” She grabs a towel and runs into the hall soaking wet. Her voice echoes down the hall — “Eeewww! Slappy puked on the dog!”

And sure enough, there’s Oreo, our Boston Terrier, sitting at the end of the hall with telltale taco specks adorning her head and bulging eyelids. A circle of spotlessness extends from her mouth as far as her tongue can reach. Mmmmm.

We’re having American food tomorrow night. Oreo wants more tacos.