Wishing In One Hand

Thanks to all our friends that sent their sympathies after reading the last post. I know it may not always show by the comments, but I have a lot of readers and I appreciate everyone of you. Life can be a very cruel thing sometimes. Take this past week for instance. We had just started seeing through The Fog, laughing again, and getting back to our old selves. We had like one day of “ok so I feel pretty good” and then WHAMO!!! The next thing we know our heads are in a toilet and we were thankful we got them there. Here is how life decided to torture us next.

I haven’t vomited in 9 years. Where exactly did my body decide to break this streak? At home maybe, where I am at my most comfortable? Nope, I had to chunk it at work where the roars of my displeasure rang out like a steel triangle across the open range at suppertime. I can imagine my coworkers popping their little heads up over the cube walls searching for the source of the nastiness. Like prairie dogs searching for the source of the unique sound.

Lucy was sitting in a business meeting surrounded by bosses and bosses bosses and bosses bosses bosses, when suddenly she bolted for the door and managed to find a garbage can down the hall somewhere. If that wasn’t bad enough, she had to stop three times on her way home to do it again…in the rain…on the side of the road.

So like I said we were happy to finally have our heads in our home toilets.

This lasted for 4 days. After the first day we quit getting sick every few minutes, but lets just say things then took a turn in a different direction.

It was during all of this that many prayers were said and wishes were wished for.

We wished Fred didn’t have to go live with GiGi for 2 days. She loved it and I think he had ice cream for dinner a couple of times. What a big help she was!
I wished my body would quit aching like I was on the rack during a “more authentic than usual Renaissance Fair exhibit”
Lucy wished she hadn’t had soup for lunch.
I wished we could actually enjoy the empty house so we could do what married people do best…me watch football in one room and her a Lifetime movie in the other.
I wished my stomach would quit begging for food just so is could have something to make me get sick again with. I only ate 1 chicken nugget all day Friday.

On the fourth day most of the drama was over, Fred was back at home, though we were sore and still not too keen on the idea of ever eating again; Lucy and I were feeling better.
Fred made that grunt and put on his serious face that means there’s trouble in his basement. Since Lucy was still nauseas, I took the task of changing his diaper.

One thing you should know is that as a man and a father, the word help is practically one of the seven words you can’t say on TV. You won’t hear it much and when you do you’re shocked and amazed. In this case though I think I had a valid reason to “break the glass” and scream for reinforcements.

It wasn’t the fact that it was such a vile, radioactive diaper; I can handle those any day. Just pull your shirt over your nose and jump in. What sent me screaming for my wife like a man on fire searching for a puddle was that as the diaper came off and Fred lay there in all his poop…he grabbed a big handful of it!!!! This alone is enough to sound the sirens, but it got worse…you know where things go once they get in the hands of a baby don’t ya? Straight to the mouth.

That’s when I started the help me sirens. HELLLLLPPPPP MEEEEEE!!!! Help Help
Help Help Help Help Help Help!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I guess it’s true, when you wish in one hand and poop in the other you should always know which one will be filled up faster.