[Still on vacation in TOLEDO, Ohio (our hometown)]
So this morning Vivienne started sneezing.
She woke up at 7:15 a.m. and by 9 a.m. I counted 32 sneezes.
So, of course I took some extra vitamins to protect myself: a multivitamin, some C and some B complex.
Then the morning went on. And I ate some melon but no “proper” breakfast.
Note: Remember that I ate no proper breakfast.
By 11:45 a.m. the four of us were out the door.
The girls and I dropped Craig off at our TWO storage units that we’ve had since 2006. He wanted to drive his Jeep Wrangler that he’s had since he was 17 and I wanted to hit the local grocery store before I planned to take Lila and The Sneezer back to my brother’s downtown condo for a nap. (That’s where we’ve been staying throughout our visit. THANK YOU again, Brother!)
About 5 minutes into the grocery visit I felt… sick.
About 10 minutes into the grocery visit I thought… “Ok. I just need to eat something. Obviously. I’m an idiot and should have eaten breakfast.”
So, I rip open a box of breakfast bars and scarf down an entire one mid-soup aisle while toddlers are asking to eat what I’m eating.
Lila: “Mommy, can I have one?”
Lila: “Mommy, why not?”
Lila: “Because why?”
Me: “Because Mommy’s doing her best not to throw up all over you and your sister in the middle of Kroger. That’s why.”
After I scarfed down the breakfast bar, which I’ve decided was my second lapse in judgement for the day, I quick-grabbed a box of vicks vaporub for The Sneezer who has declared upteen times during our grocery visit that, “MY NOSE IS NOT WORKING,” and I rushed toward the checkout line.
As I’m walking… it’s happening. My mouth is watering NON-STOP. Oh no. The dreaded watering.
I’m a 33-year-old mother of two and I’m going to throw up in the checkout lane.
I literally make NO eye contact with the cashier because I keep telling myself, “You’re ok, you’re ok, you’re ok…” and if I move my head I will vomit. She asks me for my ID because I’m buying cupcake wine and summer wheat beer and I nearly throw her my wallet and tell her to find it herself.
The bagger who is bagging our groceries appears to be in no hurry and cannot see that I’m turning green and almost vomiting on my first-born who has the unfortunate luck of sitting in the shopping cart seat. Thirteen years later, he finished bagging and I ask him for two bags… for the road.
I’m now envisioning how this is all go down as I’m walking toward the car. I’m going to put the girls in the car, the groceries in the trunk, then I’m going to buckle them in and sit in the front seat of my brand-new car and throw up in plastic grocery bags.
Luckily, when I hit the outside moderately warm/moderately cool Ohio summer air I think, “Wait. I might be ok. I may not vomit all over the place.”
So, seriously… the original plan was to go to the grocery store then swing by Arby’s because I live in Mexico and when I come to the States I eat horrendously calorie-laden food and an Arby’s roast beef sandwich was on my food checklist. I honestly, at this point, am thinking, “I might be able to still go to Arby’s… I mean, I know I almost threw up in the checkout line 5 minutes earlier, but I’m cool now…” (My unhealthy relationship food is a topic for another post.)
Thankfully, I thought better and decided to disregard the original plan.
I drove the approximately 10 minutes back to my brother’s condo, parked in the garage, got Lila out of her seat, loaded the groceries into the little grocery-cart-pull-thing and got a sleeping The Sneezer out of her carseat. I’m carrying her in, pulling 50 lbs of groceries and trying to get Lila to keep up.
And the feeling comes back… intensely…
I have the length of a football field to walk and all I want to do is throw up.
Up the ramp I run/walk… the lovely lady who maintains the gorgeous flower beds wants to talk… I attempt to be neighborly but know that the last thing this sweet woman needs is a stranger to throw up on her. SO, we rush through the first set of double doors, then the second.
I’m 25 feet away from the door to the condo which is located in an indoor/outdoor courtyard. I all but throw The Sneezer out of my arms and RUN to the door. I park the groceries in front of the door and fumble for the right key…
and it happens.
I stand outside the door, in the courtyard, and proceed to projectile vomit on the ground in front of the welcome mat. (Luckily, not on it.)
My children just stare.
I somehow manage to open the locked door and RUN to the… sink. Yes, the kitchen sink, and continue to throw up. The groceries are still parked outside the courtyard front door and my children are now IN the condo watching me gag in the sink.
Whose life am I living?
I clean up the mess outside the door, because nothing says, “Welcome!” like a pile of bile. (Sorry, had to type that.)
I dump Mr. Clean down the sink and wash it. The condo now smells like engineered “fresh linen” and all is well.
I put The Sneezer down for a nap.
I put The Sneezer’s big sister down for a nap.
I lay down, too.
And I think to myself, you know, I consider it a success that I was able to throw up just STEPS from my goal: the bathroom toilet. At least I didn’t do it in the car or in the soup aisle at the grocery store or on the slow bagger.
Ah, a vacation wouldn’t be a vacation for me without at least someone vomiting.
NOTE: Don’t take your vitamins on an empty stomach like an idiot.
ALSO NOTE: I ate an Arby’s sandwich for dinner. I have no shame.