There is nothing that strikes fear in a parents' heart like the sound of clattering in your house at 4:30am on Christmas morning. Especially when that sound isn't your darling cherubs, but your husband, who is in the process of vomiting all over the bathroom.
I wish I could blame his upset stomach on a little too much egg nog or whiskeys as we waited for Santa, but alas, that isn't the case. The man is sick and no amount of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" is going to help him today.
This, of course, means that I've become the chief toy constructor today. If I needed proof that I have no geometric knowledge or a mechanical bone in my body, today's the day. Somehow, Mini-Husband has been able to get his PlayMobil things all in the right places, The Princess' Barbie house has a working doorbell, and Bubba-Love's Wall-E toy still has it's legs on. It's only 10:30am, but can I break out the champagne now?
Besides Hubster being sick, Rosebud is horribly clingy and trying to pull off her right ear. I'm scared to take her temperature, but I have a feeling we'll be seeing the on-call doctor tomorrow. Did I mention that we are heading off to England tomorrow as well? Right. Yes. Please, dear God, do not let this trip be a repeat of the vomit comet trip we had a few years back...
Ahhh, the holidays.
The living room is a mess, the goose we got for dinner will have to wait to be cooked until tomorrow, and I'm out of white wine. I think I'll make some strong coffee and head up to check on my man. The kids are happy at the moment and, believe it or not, so am I.
So there we are this fine December 25, 2009. Happy Holidays to all of you from all of us at the Birth Control Bed & Breakfast. Typhon sends along a rousing chorus of "Gloria, in excelsis Deo" just to make sure you remember to sing this season with all your heart, with all your joy, and with the voice that God has given you. Even if it's horrible.