Back when my kids weren’t grown up and my school-teacher husband held down two jobs and was busy working on a master’s degree, things were a little crazy at our house. (Who am I kidding? They’re still crazy.) I remember one day that was particularly difficult. I was sick. The kids were sick. The house was out of control. (OK, that could have been any day.) And for some insane reason I found myself responsible for taking in a meal that night to another sister who possibly had things worse than I did that day.
I was downstairs in the basement with my daughter, who was sickest of them all (not nearly as much fun as being fairest of them all). Susie was sprawled across the sofa with–despite her raging fever–almost every blanket in the house piled on top of her. Rolling hills of laundry in various stages of being sorted and folded dotted the landscape of the sofa, spilling over on to the carpet below. I stood at the end of the sofa, talking on the phone with my friend who was helping arrange dinner for this other family.
During our call I remember thinking, “What I really need is for someone to be bringing me dinner tonight!”
And then it happened.
My daughter erupted with what is historically one of the best episodes of projectile vomiting ever. She spoke volumes. She nailed the sofa, every blanket, and surely a month’s worth of already washed, dried and somewhat folded laundry. Not to mention any wall and carpet within a one-mile radius.
Time slid to a stop as I surveyed the damage. At that moment I realized I had a choice to make.
Laugh or cry?
I looked at my sweet daughter and said to her in all seriousness, “Susie Q., you are by far the very best thrower-upper I have ever known.”
Then I started to laugh so hard I had tears (to be honest, they may not have all been tears of laughter) running down my cheeks. Near hysteria at that point, I quickly told my friend I’d call her back in a few…minutes…hours…whatever would be required. Then I resolutely plugged my nose and set about cleaning up my daughter and the ambient mess.
I was reminded of that moment this week when I read this post from a friend of mine (because admit it, on your worst days it can be a bit of a toss up–which is worse, puke or poop?).
And I wondered, what do you do in such moments?
Do you laugh or cry?
Or, like Bek, do you simply decide to sleep on it?
Tell me about your best laugh or cry moment. Make it good. There could be prizes involved.