Whoaaaaa, Nelly. (Whose Nelly? I have no clue. But she's available for emphasis. So we'll partake of her services.) Whoaaaaa, Nelly. What a week we've had.
First off, the hair.
Well, I used the Color Oops. You put it on, leave it on, then rinse for twenty minutes. The directions said the rinsing part is the magic. The rinsing part is very important.
In case you have ever wondered, "If I were to sit with my skull directly under the shower for twenty whole timed minutes, would I perhaps get bored out of said skull? Or would my boredom be interrupted by the hot water turning into cold water on same said skull, whereupon I would become both bored and miserable?" You no longer need to perform an experiment to test your hypothesis. I've proven it. Yes and Yes.
Initially I was very disappointed with the Color Oops results. Despite following the directions to the letter and piling a product on my head that smells like, well, like farts (still. My bathroom still smells like farts. A week later) the top was almost back to my original auburny-browny. But the sides and were still black. Like one of those teenage chicks I see on Judge Judy with the bleached hair on top and the black hair at the bottom? Except it was almost nothing like that. Anyway. Back to the drawing board.
But before I could focus anymore on killing Morticia, the Naptime household was attacked by a vicious stomach virus.
With one exception that was caused by snot so doesn't really count, my kids have never thrown up before. Never. I know. Bizarre, huh? Fabulously, fabulously bizarre.
We are bizarre no more. We are stinkin normal. And by stinkin I do mean, you know, stinkin.
Sunday night, Eva Rose earned the proud title of First Child to Puke in the Momivan.
By Tuesday night, we thought she was well. So my mom took us to an eat house for dinner. But the minute we got on the patio, thar she blowed chunks, earning the First (And Hopefully Last) Child to Puke In a Restaurant Award.
That was fun. And embarrassing. And also put me in a bizarre etiquette situation when I saw some people walk through it before I could stop them and wondered, do I tell them they just walked through puke? And how exactly should that conversation begin? As Emily Post was not on location to advise I decided their ignorance would be their bliss. And then I began wondering if I had ever unknowingly traversed stranger puke myself.
I attended the University of Texas at Austin.
Chances are high.
Tuesday night about midnight Shepherd earned the proud title of First Child to Puke on the Stairs, Mom's Feet, the Kitchen Floor, and the Bathroom Floor.
Not to be outdone, by 5am Wednesday morning Maggie went for the coveted First Child to Puke on GG, who blessedly had slept over. Later, Miss Overachiever went for First Child to Puke All Over the Couch, Not Once But Twice.
By noon, Ike got the very best award: First Child to Puke in His Bed, So Neatly, With None On His Clothes, That Even Though He Must Have Slept In It, His Mom Did Not Even Know He Had Thrown Up Till Bedtime When She Discovered the Hours Old Puke.
I'm so proud of my babies and all they have accomplished.
Where's my bumper sticker?
Thursday was my turn. I've never been very competitive so I kept the tummy issues at bay. The mommy strain of the virus consisted of miserably and achingly sitting on the couch, dozing, attaining full consciousness only to referee a Wii dispute or give permission for cookies? yes, more cookies, whatever you want, serve yourself, just don't make me move from this couch.
Obviously, my hair issues went unattended. But hey, I got an award too: my Mommy Merit Badge for Not Puking Yourself While Cleaning Up Kid Puke. Not wanting to brag here, but it is one of the harder badges to earn.
Meanwhile, my husband was in Philadelphia, because he always manages to be out of town when all the fun happens. Tuesday night, as I was pondering the social obligations of vomit walk notifying, he called to tell me to turn on the normally shunned MSNBC because he was going to be on TV.
I assumed he was interviewed as 'the man on the street with way more opinions concerning Arlen Specter than any reporter had bargained for' but I was mistaken.
Here, ladies and gentleman, Walker's cable news debut:
I tell you what, it was the most enjoyable thing to happen to me all week.
And just so you know, whenever you see those guys on TV on their cellphones? They are not making very important calls involving words like "Buy!" or "Sell!" or "Chicken wings!" as it might appear. Nope. Every single one of them is saying to his wife, "Can you see me now? What about now? Can you see me now?"
Finally, he came home. He took Friday off so we could go on a very important mission, which I will soon tell you about. Then on Sunday, we went to church. When we walked in the door, he declared he didn't feel good. Then he ran to the bathroom. Repeatedly.
Sigh. At least his aim was good.
Oh but the good news! As you can imagine, I took lots of showers last week. And somehow, via repeated skull rinsing, my hair now appears to look kinda normal.
Morticia is dead, my friends.
All it took was one fell stomach virus.