Vomiting. Teaching. Writing.
Those are the three subjects that have consumed my past 48 hours.
The writing thing isn't much of a surprise -- I mean, I'm a freelance writer. If I'm not writing, I probably should be. (Or I should at least be doing legitimate research or querying... which I confess sometimes goes by the wayside when I start blog surfing on my virtual boogie board.)
And teaching -- that's not a shocker, either. I'm an acting/modeling instructor on the weekends, so every Saturday, I'm offering advice, encouragement, and pointers to a class of teens and adults. It's cool, it's demanding, and it's refreshing.
The vomiting... well, that was a bit unexpected.
We all went to bed Friday night a tad later than usual, but it was no biggie. At 1:00 a.m., I was interrupted from a deep sleep by a sweet voice coming from my son's bedroom. "Mommy... can you come in here?" he called. This isn't unusual. He's not a good sleeper and I often find myself heading into his room in the middle of the night to help him get back to la-la-land.
But I digress...
I walked in and the blue nightlight illuminated his figure sitting up in bed. All seemed fine. Until I got closer to the bed.
At that point, my darling guy piped up, "I had a little pukey."
He needn't have mentioned it. The smell was overwhelming. It was a lovely mixture of bile and half-digested pepperoni pizza washed down with water and a pink candy cane for dessert.
This was truly a Mommy Moment.
After hugging my frightened sweet pea (all the while trying not to barf from the stench), I turned on the light.
"A little" pukey? I think not.
Apparently, my son had turned into a vomit volcano.
He swears he only threw up once, but I have no idea how a 40-pound body could violently dispose of that much matter in one upchuck.
The bed was a mess. He was a mess. And all I could do was smile and cheerily say, "Well, this isn't so bad! Let's get you out of those pajamas and we'll wash you off in the bathroom!"
Yep, my 26+ years of theatrical training came in handy.
So what does this mean, a day-and-a-half later? Probably nothing.
But I'm way behind on tons of stuff around the house, my work is just starting to come together again, and I'm hoping neither I nor my husband awakens in a pool of puke.
Did I learn anything from this life lesson? Yes. There's a reason they manufacture plastic sheets for kids' beds. Other than that, I'm stumped. So if you have insights, lay 'em on me.
(And while you're at it, feel free to share any fun throwing up stories!)