It's a Glorious Day for Sweatpants

Today is a sweatpant day.  (Everyday I try to think of a reason to make it a sweatpant day - but today, it legitmately is a sweatpant day)

It's also a no shower day, no brush your teeth day, no clean your ears day, or wash your face day.  At all cost, there is to be zero gussying up.

I made my decision based on this:

Mother went to Florida.  And I really thought she was getting back today (Tuesday).  Which affects me, because I am the picker-upper.

But wouldn't you know, I'm making dinner last night (Monday) - and I get a text (that resembles the Egyptian hieroglyphics) from Mother.  Stating something along the lines that she's in Atlanta until 8:30 "boo-hoo".

And the only reason she contacted me, was to say that she had to tag her baggage, so to pick her up 1/2 later than her flight actually got in.

So . . . .  Mother.  If you didn't have to tag your bags, you were just assuming that I, your ride from the airport, knew your flight schedule - telepathically?

Yes, yes.  That's how Mother works.  She would call around 11 pm and say that she was "here and waiting, and on the lower level and where were we?"

Oh, Mother.  Thank the Lord you had to tag your bags.

So what that all really meant for me - was to relay the message to Big D (who really is the airport chauffeur)  And then I (lucky me!!!) had a whole extra hour to watch more RobinHood. (My latest tongue-slurping show on Netflix)

I guess to explain that more - I don't like to stay up by myself.  So if Big D goes to bed, I have to scurry to make it to the bathroom first.  And then of course bed first. 

Big D has the. worst. bathroom manners.  And it is a mood changer for sure, if I get stuck in the bathroom with him.

First, he pees for 17 minutes.  Standing up.  Which just makes me cringe to think about all the pee splatters splattering all over my teeth-brushing sesh.

But thee worst thing he does - is hog the entire sink when brushing his teeth.

We have a small bathroom.  So when he's bent over the sink with a toothbrush down his throat (which is the entire time, full 2 minutes of teeth brushing) his large bottom sticks out so far - that anyone (large or small, male or female) is banned from entering or exiting.  The entire doorway is blocked.  With a large bottom.

Now that gets me real excited.  Especially when I'm trying to race him to bed.  Because I don't want to be the last person in bed.  Because I hate closing up "shop".  And sometimes I like to annoy him with mindless banter.  And if he makes it to bed 0.0056878 seconds before I do - he falls asleep.

So every night it's a race.  Stay up as long as I can, but get to the bathroom/bed first.

All of that to say, because Big D had to get Mother at the airport late, I had extra time to watch tv.  And. I. Did.

 . . . . . . . . 

Finally rolling into bed around 11:30, half-way between pleasant thoughts and dreaming, I felt a very soft nudge of the bed.

So soft, that I was certain there was an intruder in our bedroom - who accidentally bumped the bed.  And he was now going to have to kill me for seeing him.

I slowly rolled over, to face my fate.

It was just Murnice.  Sometimes she can be more than stealth like.  It's a curse for us parents.

She wanted to tell me her tummy hurt.  We had a nice conversation.  She didn't feel she needed the puke bowl. 

But then she burped.  And her eyes got real big.

The next part happened in slow motion.

She turned.  I heard the splatter.  I saw the silhouette of her slipping.  Arms out.  Hair whooshing.

And I yelled, "stay there!!!"

And she did.  And puked and puked.

I started to giggle.  Because there was nothing left to do.

It was midnight.  The boy was in his nest - which meant he would wake up.  There was a sheep-skin rug and pile of clothes on the floor.  There was copious amounts of puke.  And I heard the splatters.  A girl is crying in the middle of our room.  And Big D, 1/2 before, was complaining about how late it was then.  Sleep will be limited tonight.  And smelly.  Praise the Lord.

In one foul swoop, Big D managed to sweep Murnice off her feet, throw her in the tub, and turn on the light.  Where I observed the damage.

We had steak for dinner.

It looked like somebody had shot a cow in our bedroom.

Meat particles were everywhere.  But not on my sheep-skin rug.  God loves me.

And the night played out exactly the way a mother knows how it's going to play out.  Big D disappeared for 30 minutes.  Ed woke up.  And cried.  I Norwexed cow bits.  We got to bed even later.  With interrupted sleep of more puking.  And wafts of stomach acid.

 . . . . . . . 

So I'm wearing sweatpants today.  And I like it.  And Big D is going to like it too.  He may even pinch my buns.  And appreciate the extra jiggle that sweatpants allow.