Imagine This

Imagine that I had just spent the last 2 weeks taking care of a man in my bed who decided to get walking pneumonia.

Then imagine that, just as he was beginning to feel better, our punk started puking his guts out.

Then imagine four days of baby squirts later, I started puking my guts out.

Imagine that while I was worshipping at the porcelain throne, my man was gallivanting about in Philadelphia, although except for gallivanting, he was also nauseous and trying not to puke his guts out while also trying to work to bring home the bacon.

Imagine that my man's mom is an angel who volunteered to take the punk for a couple hours so I could puke in peace, and that she ended up keeping him for 8 hours that would have been glorious and freeing had they not been filled with illness.

Imagine that after an entire day of groaning, I looked like something you find on the bottom of your shoe after taking a long walk in a dog park. I had three day-old, greasy hair and no makeup. And I was wearing multi-colored pajama bottoms, black fuzzy socks with snowflakes, a blue tee shirt that I got from a 5K, and a frumpy lime green robe over the top of it all. I was a hot mess, minus the hot.

Imagine that by the 8th hour sans punk, I had begun to miss the little guy and was looking forward to his return, so when the doorbell rang, I threw off my covers and ran to the front door to retrieve him.

Then imagine my horror when I opened the door and saw, not my smiling punk, but two smiling members of my bishopric, dressed in their Sunday best. One of them quickly exclaimed, "We caught you looking your best, eh?"

Then imagine that they came in and issued a third church calling to this invalid, which I accepted. (In addition to being the relief society pianist and on the relief society activity committee, I am now a relief society teacher.)

Imagine, finally, that when they stood up to go, I reached out to shake their hands and blew chunks all over their freshly pressed suits!

Okay, that last line is false. But I'm sure you enjoyed the visual. Have a nice day.

Quarantine

My friend Sarah, a sassy fellow redhead whose blog posts I always look forward to reading, recently pointed out to me that she missed my blogging. I have been absent. Not because I've been doing anything significant, but quite the opposite. I haven't blogged because I haven't been able to squeeze any ounce of creativity out of the life I've been living for the last couple of weeks. My life can pretty much be described by the current state of my night stand. Sippy cups. Cheerios. A baby monitor to keep me company during my workout and my shower. A stack of books awaiting my attention. (Is there a happier sight than a stack of unread books? Oh, the possibilities...) Water reminding me to stay hydrated before, during and after my daily run in order to hopefully avoid a migraine. And, of course, my #1 vice: hot chocolate.

Yes, my life is anything but notable. But today? Today I've been barfed on 4 times at last count. And that is blogworthy, no?

There really is nothing like motherhood. Have you ever had the contents of another human's stomach spewed all over your clean clothes, hair and skin, and not run screaming to the nearest nuclear washdown facility? If so, you must be a mother.

If you've ever spent an entire hour standing beside a crib in the wee small hours of the morning, shivering in your underwear, holding your breath, and hoping the crib's resident will just calm down and fall asleep, only to wake him up AGAIN by the squeaky floorboard near the door...

If you've ever used your own body as a shield for the barf, rather than have to clean curdled milk out of the carpet...

If you've ever watched episodes of Arthur, Barney & Friends, and Sesame Street back to back while sitting on a blanket on the floor, with a garbage can nearby in case of another incident...

If you've ever changed your own clothes and the clothes of a two foot tall human more than three times in one day...

... you must be a mother. Or a very good aunt.

I've Been Baking

I haven't been blogging. I've been baking. See what's on the menu here.

Slam Dunk

Tonight, my man took his punk to do something very manly. Grunt. They visited a hardware store to buy the supplies to adjust the punk's basketball hoop to a toddler-friendly height. Now he can slam dunk without any assistance. Utah Jazz, we'll be expecting your call.

Vitamin D

Today, the punk begged me for a brisk February outing, so I obliged. I bundled him up in his blue sweater, striped scarf, and thumbless mittens, and we took off. We saw many wondrous things along the way,

including water draining into a grate (which we heard before we saw).

We also climbed hills,

blew snot bubbles,

and pointed at barking doggies.

Oh, the life we lead. So magical.

Married Couples

My man and I rarely dress alike. When we go out, I tend to dress up a little more than he does. When I was working - in an actual office - I had to dress a little nicer than he did. So it would follow that I kept a similar look in my going out attire. I would just change my skirt for a nice pair of jeans, but keep the formal top and high heels, even if we were just going to a friend's house to watch a game and eat pizza. So you would think that now that I spend most of my time at home, the man would outdress me when we go out. Not so. Now, when I have the opportunity to present myself to the world, I like to get all gussied up. (Although, in my time at home, I have developed a lower tolerance for 4-inch heels. The 2 1/2 inch breed is more my style now.)

My point is that my man and I rarely dress at the same formality level. The only time we really do is at church, but we tend to have pretty different styles so even when we're both wearing church clothes, we rarely look like we dressed to match. Of course, we tend to verify the phrase, "opposites attract" in more aspects of our life than our fashion sense.

These couples must have a lot in common with each other. When I first noticed my friends in the row in front of me, I was amused that their sweaters had the exact same stitch. And I thought, "Wow. Married couples do start to look alike." And then I noticed the couple in front of them. Both wearing blazers (do we still call them blazers?) with shoulder pads, I think. Tee hee.

And yes, I realize how inappropriate it was to snap a photo in sacrament meeting. I just couldn't resist sharing this moment with you.