I spuddle.

Every once in a while something happens to me that is gross and the VERY FIRST people I think of when this happens are YOU people, aren’t you so happy? Because this story is gross, and it also has no ending. It’s really a short story. I’ll have to flesh out this blog post with other anecdotes, such as memories of that time I was walking down the street and was suddenly overcome with a need to puke, and so vomited into a planter while people WATCHED. No one asked if I was OK, I guess they assumed I was pregnant or drunk or both, who knows? People sometimes are awfully nice but other times are just awful. For example, the other day we were at skating and The Birdy was up in the bleachers watching The Bun skating and he fell or incurred another injury (such as one to HIS FEELINGS) and I was racing down to see what on earth was wrong this time and The Birdy somehow fell down the entire set of concrete stairs to the bottom, hitting the boards so hard that everyone on the ice stopped what they were doing in case it was the roof collapsing. There was a man with his two kids sitting next to those steps that The Birdy had just tumbled down, and Internets, he did NOTHING. He didn’t even get up to see if she was OK. He was much much closer than I was, in fact he was within arms reach of her. I ran over and scraped her up off the ground and when she’d stopped screaming I asked him, “How far up was she when she fell? How far did she fall?” And he STARED OFF INTO SPACE as though he didn’t realize I was addressing HIM, the only adult within a hundred yards. I was flabberghasted. And yes, that IS a word, although I may have spelled it wrong. Lately I’ve been spelling a lot of things wrong. I used to be an awesome speller, it was my best feature actually, and now I find myself stumped by words that I know I KNOW such as “turd”.

But my story was about the barf, and about how last night The Birdy announced she wanted to go to bed at 5:30 and I was all for it because, why not? She was tired. Up we went, she fell asleep quickly, I spent the next three and a half hours cajoling The Bun to sleep. And then… THEN… The Birdy called me. When I went into her room, she’d fallen asleep again but there was a SMELL. That smell. The unmistakable smell of Birdy Barf. But I couldn’t find it, peeps. I COULD NOT FIND THE BARF. I still haven’t found it. I told you the story didn’t have much of an ending. I am now washing all of her bedding but the vomit is stealthy and obviously camouflaged as a pink bear or piece of carpet, I STILL DO NOT KNOW THE SOURCE OF THE SMELL. Part of the source, of course, is me because I lay with her all night while she woke up and variously tried to pull non-existent stickers from my hair, demanded the “other mummy” (no, I have no idea what she means by that either), attempted to pry my nose off, and screamed about dinosaurs, monsters and ghosts. Guess who is tired today? There is no prize if you guess right, the prize is just knowing that you have a high enough IQ to not bother clicking that DM on Twitter that seems to really really want you test yours.

This is all I have. But I am preparing a FIVE THING FRIDAY for you as well, because I know you miss those, I’ve been busy writing and rewriting things that aren’t blogs but also have four letters and begin with B. As it’s almost Christmas, I know you are waiting on bated breath for FIVE THINGS TO BUY FOR YOUR WIFE FOR CHRISTMAS SO YOU CAN STOP PANICKING ALREADY AND IT’S NOT EVEN DECEMBER QUITE YET. Stay tuned.

Filed under: Kids