The last 24-36 hours have been hectic because my daughter was up all night sick and we weren’t sure what was wrong. My husband is also sick, but we at least know he has a virus. And I’m pretending I just have allergies because it might be true.
At this point, I’m running on pink furry slippers, dirty pants, and Netflix. It actually took me the last 10 hours to figure out that the magenta stains on my I-have-not-done-yoga-in-six-months yoga pants match the magenta stains on my son’s chest because they are the same shade of lipstick my daughter put on her girl Hot Wheels cars this morning and not because we are all going to die of a very pretty plague.
I must have sat next to her hot Hot Wheels, and E carried them up to bed for her.
Meanwhile, my cats, being cat-like, were feeling left out of the fun so around the high point, which is really the low point because it was at midnight and all I wanted to do was fix whatever was ailing N and have us all go back to sleep, the oldest cat took it upon himself to puke up everything he’d eaten in the last year.
At first, I wasn’t too upset at Loki because he hadn’t puked on my bed or anyone’s only pair of clean underwear or my sick kid. It was on a chest that my husband built many years ago. This chest is hefty and solid and will one day be brought into The Antique Roadshow only to be told: Oh, your neighbor down the street built it when he was bored one weekend.
I love this chest, and I show that love by keeping my most treasured clothing in it: my pajamas. Cat puke seemed like something this wooden box of awesome could handle. Except when I wiped up the vomit, I realized what homemade really means: Imperfections. The wood doesn’t quite touch the wood planks next to it. No big deal to pajamas. Very big deal to cat puke. I slowly lifted the lid to find drips that had already met my sacred pjs. I also discovered that I had inadvertently sealed the chest wood with partially digested cat food.
There’s no Pinterest board for getting puke out of DIY projects so I improvised with paper towels. Many, many paper towels slid carefully in between the wood as I threaded vomit out and listened for Scott and our very sick daughter.
With my pajamas finally safe, I could go back to thinking my daughter might not survive the night. But she did. We all did. N feels a bit better today because it’s probably a virus, and lipstick and puke are not permanent although I’m pretty sure parental sleep-deprivation is.