The Shaming of the Spew

I had a truly interesting experience just the other day. Let me take you back...

It was a sunny, beautiful, breezily temperate day. Rather perfect, I thought, for an outing with just the three of us: myself and my two young boys, who are 7 and 11 months. I thought it would be fun to start our afternoon off with a walk to our local supermarket and have a bit of lunch in the eatery there. Nothing could have prepared me for what was to come.

In between the bites of my lukewarm pizza and perfectly scrumptious cantelope, I was feeding the baby his midday fare: Chicken Stew and Apricots. He ate his Chicken Stew with gusto, and - as usual - with nary a second to spare from one bite to the next. And then it was time for the apricots. This fruit portion of the mealtime regime usually goes even quicker than the first, since the fruit is practically a liquid and he takes it quicker.

But not today. He seemed, distracted, slightly uninterested. How unusual...

I kept regaining his attention, trying to infuse his not-so-little body with every last bit of the fruit, intent upon assuring his proper nutritional intake for the day. But it was getting increasingly more difficult to get the fruit from point A to point B.

At halfway through the jar, I set the jar down, resigned to finishing my own food, and getting back to him in a bit. But then it happened. While in his stroller, which was practically new from sheer lack of use, I saw him lean to rest against the backboard of the stroller and could never have predicted the event that followed.

He opened his tiny little mouth and from that baarely gaping 1 and 1/2" oriface erupted the entire contents of his stomach. It was as if someone had turned on a faucet, full force, letting rip the thickest, most food-group discernable sludge, never-before seen exiting a child of his age.

And it just kept coming! Layer after layer of chunky chicken stew slathered itself smoothly across his cute little outfit, seeping between his body and the stroller padding, wedging its way into the very fibers of the belt and latch. And as each new layer burbled its way up from the depths of his little belly, a gentle, 'sploosh' could be heard as it slapped down on the ever-thickening pile of regurge settling all around him. I sat there with my hands out to my side, my eyes wide as silver dollars, absolutely aghast at the unbelievable sight before me, as my older son laughed beside me saying 'it got on my shirt!'

The gastric flow finally came to a screeching halt, at long last, and not a moment too soon. My little man was sitting in his stroller, covered from neck to thigh in what can only be described as a weeks worth of Gerber's best, looking at me as if nothing had happened. Bless his little heart! I stared in amazement at his predicament, my hands still raised, mouth agape, wondering how in the world I could even begin to clean this up. And then one of the deli workers comes to my rescue with... a paper towel. ONE single, solitary, barely absorbent scrap of recycled tissue. The considerate nature of the worker's act was not lost in the ridiculous inadequacy of the single towel.

I looked worriedly around at the dozen or more customers peacefully eating nearby, and stared intently at my target: the restroom door. That was the light at the end of my puke-filled tunnel. But how to get there without driving the entire place into a downward spiral of nausea, swooning, and vomit? I told my older son to wait at the table and finish his lunch (of all things) and made a break for it. It was a straight shot, and I hollered out "Nobody look! Nobody look!" until I had made it safely to the confines of the public facilities. In retrospect, the warning shout probably only heightened people's awareness of the situation and peaked their interest enough to turn and look... oh well.

Once in the bathroom, I found myself staring helplessly at this chubby little fellow, wallowing in his own upchuck, wishing there was another way to go about things. But there were just no other options. I tried, with much futility, to swipe away some of the barf from around the buckle so I could free my son from the surprisingly (and gratefully) odorless goo. No good. So it was time to get down and dirty. I plunged my hands down into the sloppy, warm mush and unbuckled him successfully. And then I plopped him down into the way-too-small-for-a-22pound-baby sink and turned the water on him. For all he knew it was bathtime.

It took about twenty minutes - and a roll of paper towels - to scrape, slide, scoop and swipe off the spew that had decorated our beautiful little stroller. Add in another 5 minutes or so for rinsing off the baby and 1 or 2 for ringing out the chunky, juicy baby outfit and there you have it.

One happy family outing, one mediocre lunch, and one unforgettably exorcist-esque midday upheaval, the holy trinity making up the perfect day.

Oh, and we continued on the rest of our outing like nothing had happened. Hey, we're not ones to let a little puke ruin our plans... heck, not even if it's a lot of puke.

The cold hard truth

So I just discovered today that I didn't make the cut.

That's right. Missed the first round draft pick, and maybe even the second. It's possible, and almost probable that I've been benched indefinitely.

What sport do I play? Oh, none. I didn't make the 'friends important enough to share my sorrows with' team.

No, really, I'm okay.

I truly understand that there were friends before me, and that there will be friends after me, and also that there were most likely friends that popped in right around the same time as me. But I tend to think that I stand out as genuine, memorable, and, well, unique, of course. Doesn't everybody, after all? Think I'm unique, that is?

Oh well, it's just another tragedy that my shoulder will stay dry throughout. It's probably for the best anyway. . . I'm running out of laundry soap.

If Life was like the Circus . . .

If Life was like the Circus, what kind of world would we be living in? Who would fill the billets under the Big Top? Where would you fit in?

Let me break it down for you.

The military would be the aerial and highwire acts. Anything done high above the ground, with or without a net. Why, you might ask, is that? Because the military is a tightly nit, fairly organized (at least at the heart of things) unit, even between the different branches. Everyone works together, knows their part, and executes their respective moves with a general skill and finesse, just like the highwire acts. And like the highwire acts, the military often balances on a very thin line, in which a mistake or misstep could very easily result in tragedy.

Who's next . . .

And Now We Interrupt Your Regularly Scheduled Programming...

Let me just say that I have the best family in the world. Period.

We love each other unconditionally, yet still find the time to worry about each other's actions (and/or lack of action). We are always able to find an eager listening ear, complete with a mouth for offering advice when needed and wanted.

We have been through a lot in our days, all of which has built us up stronger and more secure than what most families would like to boast. And let me just say, we have some of the best, most ridiculous stories you're like to ever hear; having a blood line chock full of the storytelling gene goes a long way there, too.

I joke about things, and tell others these stories, and I love every minute of it. But even through all the happiness, hardships and hinderances of my past, I would never trade my life or my memories for any other ones in the world.

God has truly blessed me through my life and my family. I love everything about who we are and what we are and where we have come from. I have two of best, most loving parents an undisciplined, nearly 30-something could hope for. I have a fabulous brother and imcomparable sister, with nephews, and a bro & sis by marriage to add to the pot, too. My two wonderful boys are the icing on this scrumptious dessert; this decadent, fulfilling, not to be underestimated, surprisingly perfect compliment to the unique feast that has, is, and gratefully always will be my life.

I love you all... you mean the world to me.

Re: The Body - What you SHOULD be thinking...

Today I was looking through some pictures of myself from a couples years ago. Let me just say that I refer to these infamous photos as 'The Beast' pictures. To say I was carrying a few extra pounds would be putting it lightly... uh, ok, not really 'lightly', but you get my drift. So in one of these pictures, I'm smiling a nice big smile, gums and pearly whites flashing at the camera, the whole hammy works. As I looked at this picture, I found my self thinking - as I've thought since I first saw this picture some time ago - "Good Lord! Will you look at me? My face is HUGE! What is that, like a head and a half larger than my average head size? And my eyes... my right is nothing but a little slit! How can I even be seeing anything? I couldn't pry those lids open with a crow bar there's so much fat weighing them down!"

What I SHOULD have been thinking was "Wow! Look at how huge I was! I can barely see out of those peepers of mine. But at least I can see... it could be worse. I could be blind."

There's someone out there who would probably give anything to be able to see the world through your chubsy ubsy littles eyes. Be thankful for what you have, and never forget to count your blessings.

'.....but if I were blind, I wouldn't have to look at that picture of myself anymore.....'

Re: Cars - What you SHOULD be thinking...

Getting pulled over sucks.

You get all nervous and jittery as you hand your information over to the officer, putting on your very best shocked/completely innocent/downtrodden look, hoping to chisel through his icy Policeman exterior and catch a break. You're probably thinking "I hate when I get caught speeding. Then I have to pay for some stupid ticket for some stupid reason like going a few miles over the speed limit... now my insurance is gonna go up, my license is gonna have those silly staples holes in it, and forget about my driving record!"

What you SHOULD be thinking is... it could be worse.

You COULD be living this nightmare: "Oh shit! I wasn't even speeding! Why is he pulling me over? I know my tags are expired, but come on!! How could he even see that from way back there? And... crap... (fumbling for the incredibly invalid 'proof of insurance' that at least says you have some, whether or not you really do)... where is that stupid insurance card? And..... oh, damn it! I can't show him my license cause that's suspended. SHIT!!! The picked me up once already for a suspended license, God only knows what they'll do to me on a second offense..." Now is the point when the teeth chattering, skin crawling, body temperature dropping, cold sweating starts.

IT COULD BE WORSE people...

Welcome to my life.

Finally! My place in the sun.

I have now come to a purpose, of sorts, for this infant obsession of mine. And to think, it was here all along!
As I sat on the couch this evening, changing what proved to be an incredibly odoriferous diaper, the idea struck me. I flashed back to a time when I went to wipe my young son's behind with a finger-covered baby wipe, only to discover that the finger wasn't quite so covered after all. To my dismay I brought back a rather poopy digit. And let me tell you, it's a bit tricky to get ALL the poo out from under your fingernails.
Which brings me to my point: it could be worse. You could be thinking to yourself, "Gee, it's so hard to clean under my nails after I've been out working in the garden all day." What you SHOULD be thinking is, "At least I'm not trying to dig poo out from under my nails... IT COULD BE WORSE."
And there you have it. Welcome to the daily (if not more often) edition of, It Could Be Worse... Tune in tomorrow to find out what COULD be happening to you.

Just couldn't resist another post...

So I've started on a book idea that I really think will take off. It's based slightly (if not mostly) on real life experience. But instead of actually working on it, I find myself doing other, less important, things. Like this, for example. The intro is fantastic, and it foretells of good things to come. I'm rather excited about it, actually. So what's the hold up? I just need to cut to the chase, don't I? Once I get it about halfway done, I'll insert some snippets here and there. Speaking of snippets, how do you like my artwork? It's a bit old (from back in high school... sheesh!), but it's still one of my favorites. Let me know if you'd like to see some more... All right, so now it's time to cut to the chase. (Promises abound throughout this blog, whispering of the chance for some actual, interesting writing on the way...)

Congratulations! It's a . . . blog?

Well, I suppose I have to get this thing off the ground. I've never really tried the whole 'blogging' thing before, so we'll have to see how this thing goes. . . Eh, maybe later.